work_2ei7tqntfveo7pirys7seuge7q	----	A New Field: History of Humanities UvA-DARE is a service provided by the library of the University of Amsterdam (https://dare.uva.nl) UvA-DARE (Digital Academic Repository) A New Field: History of Humanities Bod, R.; Kursell, J.; Maat, J.; Weststeijn, T. DOI 10.1086/685056 Publication date 2016 Document Version Final published version Published in History of Humanities Link to publication Citation for published version (APA): Bod, R., Kursell, J., Maat, J., & Weststeijn, T. (2016). A New Field: History of Humanities. History of Humanities, 1(1), 1-8. https://doi.org/10.1086/685056 General rights It is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), other than for strictly personal, individual use, unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Disclaimer/Complaints regulations If you believe that digital publication of certain material infringes any of your rights or (privacy) interests, please let the Library know, stating your reasons. In case of a legitimate complaint, the Library will make the material inaccessible and/or remove it from the website. Please Ask the Library: https://uba.uva.nl/en/contact, or a letter to: Library of the University of Amsterdam, Secretariat, Singel 425, 1012 WP Amsterdam, The Netherlands. You will be contacted as soon as possible. Download date:06 Apr 2021 https://doi.org/10.1086/685056 https://dare.uva.nl/personal/pure/en/publications/a-new-field-history-of-humanities(db1a021e-8fcf-4645-9744-3c0f49373928).html https://doi.org/10.1086/685056 T A New Field: History of Humanities Rens Bod Julia Kursell Jaap Maat Thijs Weststeijn hese are exciting times for the humanities. The impressive corpus of knowl- edge that the humanities have discovered, created, and cultivated over many centuries is available for the benefit of more people than ever and evolving rap- idly. Fresh perspectives open up as digital tools enable researchers to explore questions that not long ago were beyond their reach and even their imagination. Novel fields of research deal with phenomena emerging in a globalizing culture, enabling us to make sense of the way in which new media affect our lives. Cross-fertilization between dis- ciplines leads to newly developed methods and results, such as the complex chemical analysis of the materials of ancient artworks, yielding data that were unavailable to both artists and their publics at the time of production, or neuroscientific experiments shedding new light on our capacity for producing and appreciating music. At the same time, there is a sense of gloom, perhaps even crisis, among those who are convinced that the humanities are valuable, precious, indispensable. The number of students taking humanities courses declines, and humanities departments at univer- sities worldwide are subject to severe budget cuts or abolition altogether. In a period in which the academic world is plagued by governments insisting on measurable results for the sake of short-term financial profit, the humanities seem most vulnerable. We present the first issue of History of Humanities with feelings of anticipation. Our journal is meant to stand for the fact that scholarly practices of a type today la- beled “humanities” have been an essential part of the process of knowledge making ever since human inquisitiveness sought to enhance our understanding of the world and ourselves. This long history has been studied in fruitful and illuminating ways, but the focus has been on either the natural sciences or on single disciplines within the humanities, such as history writing and linguistics. The fundamental contribu- tion of the humanities to the intricate web of knowledge that scholars, thinkers, and researchers have spun in the course of several millennia has thus been poorly recog- History of Humanities, Volume 1, Number 1. http://dx.doi.org/10.1086/685056 © 2016 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved. 2379-3163/2016/0101-0001$10.00 11 This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on November 16, 2017 05:22:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 2 | H I ST O R Y O F H U M A N IT IE S S P R I N G 2 0 1 6 nized and is consequently undervalued. We intend to redress the imbalance in the his- toriography of the search for knowledge that mankind has been engaged in for so long. A more balanced picture, we believe, will show that the ways we arrive at knowledge are complex, varied, and unpredictable and often involve the transmission of methods and insights from one field of investigation to another. The humanities have always been strong in reflecting on their own history and have sometimes even defined themselves as primarily concerned with the history and his- toricity of human endeavors. However, our motive for starting a journal devoted to the history of the humanities is not nostalgia. Instead we see a potential for a large com- munity of scholars and researchers to make their cause more tangible through re- flecting on their own history in a new constellation. We invite contributions on as many aspects of the history of the humanities as possible. Authors can discuss the histories of the study of the visual and literary arts, of language and music, of thinking, and of the past, to name but several central subjects. These studies stretch from ancient times up to the present, and they can be found in different regions across the globe. A platform of this sort is called for in view of both the positive and negative trends in today’s humanities, and we hope that it will strengthen the voice of the humanities in the academic discourse at large. First attempts to bring together historians of the humanities took shape as a series of four conferences, “The Making of the Humani- ties,” in Amsterdam (2008, 2010) and Rome (2012, 2014). This is now followed by a series of annual meetings that will take place in Baltimore (2016), Oxford (2017), and Beijing (2018). Having published The Making of the Humanities, a trilogy of se- lected papers from the first conferences, we decided as a next step to found History of Humanities.1 We have witnessed how scholars worldwide are forming a vibrant com- munity of historians of humanities, a process that recently resulted in the founding of the Society for the History of the Humanities.2 WH A T D O WE M E A N BY “H U M A N I T I E S ”? TOWA R D A D EFI NI TI O N It is probably impossible to give a definition of the term humanities that would cover a category of practices, or objects of study, that remains fixed throughout all periods of intellectual activity across the world. In the European tradition alone, classifications of 1. The Making of the Humanities, vol. 1, Early Modern Europe (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2010); vol. 2, From Early Modern to Modern Disciplines (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2012); and vol. 3, The Modern Humanities (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2014). 2. See http://historyofhumanities.org/. This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on November 16, 2017 05:22:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). I N T R O D U C T I O N | 3 fields and disciplines have been many and diverse. Activities that may in hindsight be seen as belonging to a single discipline have migrated between categories. Aristotle’s distinction between his Organon (works on logic), on the one hand, and the theoret- ical, practical, and productive sciences, on the other, existed alongside categorizations motivated by pedagogy, such as the Hellenistic enkyklios paideia and the late Roman artes liberales. A key moment as far as terminology is concerned was Coluccio Salutati’s (1331–1406) defense of the studia humanitatis as a coherent and independent field: the secular study of grammar, rhetoric, poetics, history, and moral philosophy, complemen- tary to the studia divinitatis, or Biblical scholarship. When fifteenth-century Italian uni- versities adopted the curriculum of the studia humanitatis, its supporters were called umanisti, giving rise to the terms humanist and, later, humanism.3 It is an open question whether or not the humanities as a whole can be distin- guished from other groups of disciplines, such as the natural or the social sciences, on the basis of a specific method or object of study. A strong conceptual division be- tween a science of the human and a science of nature dates back at least to Giambattista Vico’s (1668–1744) Scienza Nuova of 1725. In the late nineteenth century, Wilhelm Dilthey (1833–1911) authoritatively distinguished the humanities (Geisteswissenschaften) from the sciences (Naturwissenschaften) with regard both to the methods and to the objects studied. Rather than explaining (erklären) the world in terms of countable and measurable regularities, the humanities attempt to understand (verstehen) the inten- tions of historical actors; the specific objects investigated by the humanities are “the expressions of the human mind.”4 Over the twentieth century, other categories were introduced in addition to the humanities and the sciences, in particular the social sci- ences (or human sciences), which study human behavior in its social context. While these divisions are not stable, Dilthey’s definition covers by and large the disciplines that are today referred to by the term humanities at continental European univer- sities, including in languages other than German or English—for example, scienze umanistiche in Italian, humanités in French, humaniora in the Dutch and Scandina- vian languages, and gumanitarnyje nauki in Russian. If we move outside Europe, the picture obviously becomes more complicated. It has been argued that Islamic scholarship formed the basis for the studia humanitatis: the studia adabiya included grammar and lexicography, poetry, rhetoric, history, and 3. For the history of the word humanist, see Paul Oskar Kristeller, “Humanism and Scholasticism in the Italian Renaissance,” Byzantion 17 (1944–45): 346–74. 4. Wilhelm Dilthey, Einleitung in die Geisteswissenschaften: Versuch einer Grundlegung für das Studium der Gesellschaft und der Geschichte (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1883), 29. This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on November 16, 2017 05:22:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 4 | H I ST O R Y O F H U M A N IT I E S S P R I N G 2 0 1 6 moral philosophy.5 But China, for one, presents a different picture: the “six arts” that Confucius identified with genteel education were rites and rituals, music, archery, charioteering, calligraphy and writing, and mathematics (or prediction). Another an- cient Chinese practice, to treat literature, philosophy, and history (the triad wen-shi-zhe) as one body of knowledge, was revived in the nineteenth century under the header of guoxue (national studies). Guoxue was intended as a counterweight to the term renwen, a calque of the Japanese denomination for the Western category “humanities” (as different from the social and natural sciences). In fact, however, renwen—the term still used today—was a retranslation, since the Japanese compound was originally de- rived from the Chinese Book of Changes.6 Looking at the term humanities from a systematic perspective, we encounter yet another challenge. Although (and because) the journal aims at the broadest possible audience in its endeavor to contribute to a new field, it appears in a single language. Choosing English as the lingua franca entails many risks, some of which have become apparent in this first issue. In modern English, for one, the division between the hu- manities and the sciences is emphasized by the terminology itself. Yet in many other languages there is a single term, such as Wissenschaft in German, scienza in Italian, or nauka in Russian, that denotes the study of both the natural and the human world. In German and Italian, Literaturwissenschaft and scienza della letteratura are common terms. The emphasis in English on the difference between humanities and sciences suggests that methods do not easily migrate between these spheres of knowledge. This may be partly responsible for the tendency of English-speaking scholarship to associ- ate the humanities with historical approaches, rather than analytical ones that study their objects independently of the historical and cultural background. By contrast, the humanities outside the United States and Britain have frequently depended on an- alytical, nonhistorical methods: famous examples include the Vienna School of art his- tory, Russian formalism, and French structuralism. Our terminological challenges do not end with this alleged contrast between sci- ences and humanities. Another hurdle consists in an ambiguity of the latter term itself. In English, humanities can refer both to the study of the products of the human mind and to these products themselves. We do not intend to include historical studies of lit- erature, music, theater, or the visual arts; rather, we aim at the history of the studies 5. George Makdisi, The Rise of Humanism in Classical Islam and the Christian West: With Special Reference to Scholasticism (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1990). 6. Hsiung Ping-chen, “The Evolution of Chinese Humanities,” American Historical Review 120, no. 4 (2015): 1267–82; Perry Johansson, “Cross-Cultural Epistemology: How European Sinology Be- came the Bridge to China’s Modern Humanities,” in The Making of the Humanities, 3:449–64; and Arif Dirlik, ed., “The National Learning Revival,” special issue of China Perspectives 1 (2011). This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on November 16, 2017 05:22:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.1093%2Fahr%2F120.4.1267 I N T R O D U C T I O N | 5 carried out on literature, music, theater, and the visual arts. This does not mean that we ignore that the arts themselves have often played a role in research and in the acqui- sition of knowledge. S C O P E O F T H E JO U R N A L No earlier journal has assembled scholarly studies on the history of the humanities dis- ciplines across time and place. We thus believe it is not up to us to formulate rules for good practice in the history of humanities. Some of our contributors will find it legit- imate to compare methods or principles stemming from different regions or periods; in the humanities, just as in the sciences, historical actors have applied practices, meth- ods, and principles invented for specific disciplines to problems in other disciplines (sometimes by wilfully ignoring the original historical or religious contexts of these inventions). But other authors in History of Humanities may instead wish to highlight cultural incommensurabilities (and identify, for instance, the problems incurred when Western methods have been applied to the study of African literature or Chinese art).7 We are aware that referring to the study of music and the study of art in Greek or Chinese antiquity with terms such as musicology and art history may entail a lapse into Eurocentric presentism in which the past and the foreign are interpreted in terms of current concepts and perspectives. One option is therefore the use of actors’ categories, meaning period and local terms, such as poetics for the study of poetry and theater in ancient Greece, grammar for the Italian humanists’ study of language, and jinshixue (the study of metal and stone) for tenth-century Chinese antiquarianism. History of Humanities welcomes contributions that critically engage with the valid- ity of the term humanities and its related Eurocentric ideologies as predicated on an- cient philology, Renaissance humanism, and the modern humanities faculties at Ger- man, French, and English-speaking universities. Yet as universities worldwide have adopted, at least in general terms, the Western model, our focus on the humanities re- flects a global state of affairs.8 What is more, we feel that the ambition to write com- parative historiographies of the humanities is a powerful heuristic that fills a conspic- uous lacuna in the history of knowledge. We welcome articles on topics from all regions and all periods, both before and af- ter the formation of university disciplines and including recently established fields, 7. James Elkins, “Art History as a Global Discipline,” in Is Art History Global?, ed. James Elkins (London: Routledge, 2007), 3–23. 8. See, e.g., the articles on the modern humanities in South Africa (Keith Breckenridge, 1253–66), Mexico (Erica Pani, 1327–42), India (Sanjay Seth, 1354–67), and Russia (Oleg Kharkhordin, 1283–98) in American Historical Review 120, no. 4 (2015). This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on November 16, 2017 05:22:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 6 | HI ST O R Y O F H UM A N I T I E S S P R I N G 2 0 1 6 such as media studies and digital humanities, as well as discontinued fields, such as an- tiquarianism. Contributions may highlight the singularity of historical and geographical practices or emphasize parallels and connections between disciplines, periods, and cul- tures. We also invite historians of the humanities to engage with the history of science, and vice versa. Eventually a case could be made for uniting the history of the human- ities and the history of science under the header of “history of knowledge.”9 Equally, however, contributors to History of Humanities may choose to highlight the specificity of the humanities in regard to the sciences. History of Humanities also encourages contributions on the political and societal value of the humanities. While actual practices in the humanities and sciences have been quite different from Dilthey’s dichotomy between understanding and explaining, his distinction molded the minds of many, and his interpretative approach may have contributed to the current image problem of the humanities: they are seen as a luxury pastime with little relevance for society and even less for the economy. Our journal welcomes arguments in favor of (or, obviously, against) the value of the humanities, perhaps emphasizing their importance for critical thinking, social responsibility, or democratic citizenship.10 In this context, our comparative ambitions entail more than simply redressing an imbalance in our knowledge of the “global humanities.” The un- derstanding of how one’s own traditions have been different from, and determined by, outside influences contributes to cultural consciousness. This insight is to be taken to heart by historians of the humanities; as Edward Said (1935–2003) argued, it is their disciplines—the study of languages and civilizations—that have molded the Eurocen- tric worldview.11 In sum, History of Humanities offers a stage to different practices and ideals in the humanities, from antiquity to the present and from all regions and cultures. Contri- butions may individuate singular historical actors or draw overarching parallels and connections; seek out commonalities with the sciences or emphasize the humanities’ special status; and argue for or against their societal value. The journal publishes in- 9. See, e.g., Rens Bod, A New History of the Humanities (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013); John Pickstone, “Toward a History of Western Knowledges: Sketching Together the Histories of the Humanities and the Natural Sciences,” in Bod, Maat, and Weststeijn, Making of the Humanities, 3:667–85; Rens Bod and Julia Kursell, “Focus: The History of Humanities and the History of Science,” Isis 106, no. 2 (2015). 10. See Jörg-Dieter Gauger and Günther Rüther, eds., Warum die Geisteswissenschaften Zukunft haben! (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2007); Jonathan Bate, ed., The Public Value of the Humanities (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2010); Martha Nussbaum, Not for Profit: Why Democracy Needs the Humanities (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2010); Helen Small, The Value of the Human- ities (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). 11. Edward Said, Humanism and Democratic Criticism (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2004). This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on November 16, 2017 05:22:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.1093%2Facprof%3Aoso%2F9780199683864.001.0001 http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.1093%2Facprof%3Aoso%2F9780199683864.001.0001 I N T R O D U C T I O N | 7 dividual research articles, book reviews, and conference reports, with a special Forum section presenting a set of articles devoted to a specific theme. In the present volume, the first such Forum section explores the contemporary rel- evance of the dichotomy “monument and document” as formulated by Erwin Panof- sky (by John Guillory, with commentaries by John Joseph and Geoffrey Harpham). This is followed by five articles that range from historical overviews to specific case studies. The first analyzes the status of the Chinese tradition of historical writing in the light of recent Western influences, concluding with a programmatic plea for the survival of Chinese scholarly virtues (by Liu Dong, with an introduction by Haun Saussy). The role of mythology in the Northern European humanities of the eigh- teenth and nineteenth centuries is analyzed from historical and methodological per- spectives (by Joep Leerssen). Ferdinand Gregorovius provides a case in point of the importance of legends in historical scholarship (by Maya Maskarinec). The next con- tribution is a “bio-bibliographical” sketch of the Russian scholar Semen Vengerov, who spent his life compiling such sketches (by Mark Gamsa). Finally, one of the main chal- lenges described above—the relationship between the humanities, human sciences, and natural sciences—is addressed (by Hans-Jörg Rheinberger). W O R K S C I T ED Bate, Jonathan, ed. 2010. The Public Value of the Humanities. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Bod, Rens. 2013. A New History of the Humanities. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bod, Rens, and Julia Kursell. 2015. “Focus: The History of Humanities and the History of Science.” Isis 106, no. 2. Bod, Rens, Jaap Maat, and Thijs Weststeijn, eds. 2010–14. The Making of the Humanities. 3 vols. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Dilthey, Wilhelm. 1883. Einleitung in die Geisteswissenschaften: Versuch einer Grundlegung für das Studium der Gesellschaft und der Geschichte. Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot. Dirlik, Arif, ed. 2011. “The National Learning Revival.” Special issue of China Perspectives 1. Elkins, James. 2007. “Art History as a Global Discipline.” In Is Art History Global?, edited by James Elkins, 3–23. London: Routledge. Gauger, Jörg-Dieter, and Günther Rüther, eds. 2007. Warum die Geisteswissenschaften Zukunft haben! Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder. Hsiung, Ping-chen. 2015. “The Evolution of Chinese Humanities.” American Historical Re- view 120 (4): 1267–82. Johansson, Perry. 2014. “Cross-Cultural Epistemology: How European Sinology Became the Bridge to China’s Modern Humanities.” In The Modern Humanities, vol. 3 of The Making of the Humanities, edited by Rens Bod, Jaap Maat, and Thijs Weststeijn, 449–64. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Kristeller, Paul Oskar. 1944–45. “Humanism and Scholasticism in the Italian Renaissance.” Byzantion 17:346–74. This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on November 16, 2017 05:22:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.1093%2Facprof%3Aoso%2F9780199683864.001.0001 8 | H I ST O R Y O F H U M A N I T I E S S P R I N G 2 0 1 6 Makdisi, George. 1990. The Rise of Humanism in Classical Islam and the Christian West: With Special Reference to Scholasticism. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Nussbaum, Martha. 2010. Not for Profit: Why Democracy Needs the Humanities. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Pickstone, John. 2014. “Toward a History of Western Knowledges: Sketching Together the Histories of the Humanities and the Natural Sciences.” In The Modern Humanities, vol. 3 of The Making of the Humanities, edited by Rens Bod, Jaap Maat, and Thijs Weststeijn, 267–85. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Said, Edward. 2004. Humanism and Democratic Criticism. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Small, Helen. 2013. The Value of the Humanities. Oxford: Oxford University Press. This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on November 16, 2017 05:22:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 
work_27ojiqrrtzenpbhgg7rggpboaa	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 21 December 2019 Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky Peter Gillgren […] the hallmark of the new type of researcher is not the eye for the ‘all-encompassing whole’ nor the eye for the ‘comprehensive context’ (which mediocrity has claimed for itself) but rather the capacity to be at home in the marginal domains. Walter Benjamin, ‘Rigorous Study of Art’, 1933. Figure 1 Friedrich Feigl, Portrait of Felix Horb, 1909. Oil on canvas. Stockholm University Art Collections. (Photo Christian Saltas.) Felix Horb is one of the lesser-known art historians of the Vienna School. He never held a permanent position within the academy and his publications are few. His main contributions to the art historical field are his studies on architectural representation in Late Medieval painting, presented in his unpublished dissertation of 1923 and in the publications Das Innenraumbild (The Inner-room Image) from 1938 and Cavallinis Haus der Madonna (Cavallini’s House of the Madonna) from 1945. He also published a book on a painting by Vincent Sellaer and one single, odd article.1 1 Felix Horb, ‘Duccios und Giottos Architekturbild und seine Vorgeschichte’, Stockholm University Library, MAG HUM 89.309 [Vienna, 1923]; Das Innenraumbild des späten Mittelalters. Seine Entstehungsgeschichte, Zürich and Leipzig: Max Niehans Verlag, 1938; Cavallinis Haus der Madonna, Gothenburg: Wettergren & Kerners Förlag, 1945; Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 2 Horb’s method could be called constructivist. It was founded in Alois Riegl’s and especially Max Dvořák’s early works, but there are connections also with the New Vienna School and Hans Sedlmayr. Furthermore, Horb’s studies are in direct dialogue with Erwin Panofsky and the Warburg School. Horb was born in 1890 and grew up in Prague.2 His older brother Max Horb (1882– 1907) was an expressionist painter who belonged to the circle of Max Brod and Frans Kafka.3 Stockholm University owns a portrait of Felix Horb, dated 1909, which was painted by Friedrich Feigl, another member of the group (Fig. 1).4 Felix Horb’s elder sister Gabriele (1876–1957) was politically active and married to Karl Heller, one of the founders of the Social Democratic Party in Czechoslovakia.5 Heller was a member of the Czech Parliament between 1920 and 1938. Another sister, Valerie (1886–1948), was a translator and participated in the publication of a book on anti-Semitism at the anarchist press of Michael Kácha in 1933.6 In 1910 Horb went to Vienna, to study art history, archaeology and philosophy.7 When he arrived, Max Dvořák had recently been appointed professor. Dvořák’s principal work up to that date was Das Rätsel der Kunst der Brüder van Eyck (The Enigma of the Art of the Brothers van Eyck).8 He was at the time still heavily influenced by Riegl, not least Das holländische Gruppenporträt (The Dutch Group ‘Kunstdenkmäler herausgeben von Ernst Garger’, Konsthistorisk tidskrift, vol. XX, 1952, 33–7; Zu Vincent Sellaers Eklektizismus, Stockholm: Kungl. Vittterhets Historie och Antikvitetsakademien, 1956. 2 Sten Karling, ‘Felix Horb in Memoriam’, Konsthistorisk tidskrift, vol. XXVII, 1958, 138–9, is the only publication on Felix Horb. The best source for biographical information about him and his relatives is the documentation on police interrogations that took place from his arrival in Sweden in 1939 until he received Swedish citizenship in 1955, Statens utlänningskommission 401819, Felix Horb. Riksarkivet, Stockholm. I am currently working on the intellectual biography of Horb, to be published by the Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities. 3 Nicholas Sawicki, ‘The Critic as Patron and Mediator. Max Brod, Modern Art, and Jewish Identity in Early Twentieth-Century Prague', Images, vol. 6, 2013, 30–51, with further references. 4 Sten Karling, The Stockholm University Collection of Paintings, Stockholm, 1978, 98 (No. 309); on Feigl, see also Sawicki 2013 and Harald Christoph Tesan, ‘Feigl, Friedrich’, Allgemeines Künstlerlexikon. Die bildenden Künstler aller Zeiten und Völker, vol. XXXVII, Munich, 2003, 529– 31. 5 Statens utlänningskommission, Centrala dossiéer 1941–1945, F1B:831, Gabriele Heller. Riksarkivet, Stockholm. 6 Statens flyktingnämnd, Personaler rörande flyktingunderstöd, Akt 976, Valerie Horb. Riksarkivet, Stockholm; Valerie Horb et al., Weltgericht über den Judenhass. Eine internationale Rundfrage über das Wesen des Antisemitismus, Prague: Michael Kácha Verlag, 1933. 7 Felix Horb, Philosophischen Fakultät – Nationalien, 1909–1914. Sign: 329–31. Archiv des Universität Wien, Vienna. 8 Max Dvořák, Das Rätsel der Kunst der Brüder van Eyck, Munich: R. Piper & Co. Verlag, 1925 [1904]. Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 3 Portrait).9 The methodology is exacting, with detailed analyses of related, individual works of art. The ‘enigma’ to be solved by Dvořák was the unexpected advances in painting, shown by the van Eyck brothers in the 1420s, explained by the author as resulting from an integration of Italian Renaissance art with a North European tradition. The first part of the study is dedicated to the differentiation between the hands of Hubert and Jan in the Ghent altarpiece. The following part outlines the earlier history of Netherlandish painting, from the mid-fourteenth century until the time of the van Eycks. The method is historic-genetic and Dvořák tries to understand the gradual developments leading up to Jan van Eyck’s breakthrough; the causal links (Kausalverbindungen) and development chains (Entwicklungsketten) of the individual works of art.10 In his later period Dvořák became more expressionistic. The lectures on Italian Renaissance artists held during 1918–19 are far less detailed and less methodologically oriented. The first, on Giotto, begins with a contrast–comparison between a fresco in the Arena chapel and a relief by Giovanni Pisano, instead of a historic-genetic analysis.11 The purpose is not to understand the historical development but to establish the spiritual meaning of the individual artist’s work. The art historical problems to be resolved are not foregrounded, as before. Dvořák died in 1921 and the lectures were published posthumously by his students. Some of his later essays were printed under the well-known title Kunstgeschichte als Geistesgeschichte (Art History as a History of the Spirit). According to Hans Sedlmayr it was Felix Horb who came up with the telling title that has since then come to represent Dvořák’s later scholarship.12 Horb’s studies were interrupted for almost five years by the 1914–18 war, just as he had begun working on his thesis. The original topic was ‘Der Architekturbild bei Giotto und Duccio’ (The Architectural Image in Giotto and Duccio) and was probably given to him by Dvořák.13 In the book on the van Eyck brothers Dvořák had touched upon the matter, claiming that the Italian Renaissance had its origin in the recuperation of certain antique motifs in late thirteenth-century art, such as landscapes and architecture.14 Some early drafts for Horb’s dissertation deal specifically with the art of Duccio and Giotto, much in the style of the late Max 9 Alois Riegl, Das holländische Gruppenporträt, Vienna: Druck und Verlag Österreichischen Staatsdruckerei, 1931 [1901]. 10 Dvořák, Das Rätsel, 12–13. The historic-genetic method was elaborated by another of Horb’s teachers, Hans Tietze, Methode der Kunstgeschichte. Ein Versuch, Leipzig: E. A. Seeman Verlag, 1913 and defended again by Dvořák in an essay from 1914, ‘Über die dringedsten Methodischen Erfordernisse der Erzeihung zur Kunstgeschichtlichen Forschung’, Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, vol. XXVII, 1974 [1913/14], 7–19. 11 Max Dvořák, Geschichte der italienischen Kunst im Zeitalter der Renaissance. Akademische Vorlesungen, Munich: R. Piper & Co. Verlag, 1924. 12 Max Dvořák, Kunstgeschichte als Geistesgeschichte. Studien zur abendländischen Kunstentwicklung, Munich: R. Piper & Co. Verlag, 1927; Hans Sedlmayr, Kunst und Warheit. Zur Theorie und Methode der Kunstgeschichte, Hamburg: Rowhohlt, 1958, 71. 13 Felix Horb. Kunsthistorisches Institut Wien, Vienna. 14 Dvořák, Das Rätsel, 185–6. Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 4 Dvořák.15 The intention is to establish the ‘spiritual personalities’ of the two artists. Horb begins with a contrast–comparison between Duccio’s Christ Entering Jerusalem and a Byzantine mosaic with the same subject. The purpose is not to establish a historic-genetic relationship but, as in the late Dvořák, to bring out the psycho- phenomenological content of the artist’s work. When Horb’s thesis was delivered to Julius Schlosser almost ten years later, in January 1923, the title had been changed to Die Vorgeschichte der Duccios und Giottos Architekturbild (The Pre-History of Duccio’s and Giotto’s Architectural Image).16 From a reference in the text to ‘my unforgettable teacher’ it can be assumed that it was written after Dvořák’s death, most of it probably in 1922. The style of writing and the whole approach to the problem has changed. Already the first sentences can be read as a critique of the abandoned method: Two possibilities to restrict the work: You limit yourself to the architectural image of Duccio and Giotto, deal with the individual paintings, examine their relation to each other and come to an understanding of the development of the artist’s work in relation these representations. To restrict the topic in such a way would, in our opinion, be a fatal mistake. Much would remain unexplained that can only be understood in the context of the greater historical development.17 Instead of restricting himself to the two artists, Horb is now focused on the specific art historical problem: the development of architectural representations in late thirteenth- and early fourteenth-century Italian painting. All comparisons between works of art are made in order to explain historic-genetic sequences, rather than for contrast. He follows the motif all the way back to the Hellenic-Roman tradition, where he finds two principal types of architectural representations, interiors (Interiören) and inner rooms (Innenräume). The first type is sometimes called box-space (Kastenraum), because the figures are placed in a kind of box or ‘doll’s house’ (Fig. 2). The inner room, on the other hand, is characterized by its openness 15 Bound with the volume of the delivered thesis, Horb, ‘Duccios und Giottos Architekturbild und seine Vorgeschichte’. In his last will, Horb donated his books and papers to what is today Stockholm University Library; Bouppteckning efter Felix Horb. Stadsarkivet, Stockholm. 16 Rigorosenakt des Felix Horb, 23/1 1923:478. Sign: Phil. Rig. Akt. PN. 5547, Fol. 7. Archiv des Universität Wien. 17 Horb, ‘Duccios und Giottos Architekturbild und seine Vorgeschichte’; ‘Zwei Möglichkeiten, die Arbeit zu begrenzen: Man beschränkt sich auf das Architekturbild Duccio’s und Giotto’s, beschäftigt sich mit den einzelnen Gemälden, prüft ihr Verhalten zu einander und kommt dadurch zur Erkenntnis einer Entwicklung im Werke der Künstler innerhalb des in Frage stehenden Darstellungsgebietes. Den Umfang so zu bestimmen, wäre nach unserer Meinung ein verhängnisvoller Fehler. Denn es bliebe dann sehr Vieles unerklärt, dass nur im grossen entwicklungsgeschichtlichen Zusammenhange erklärt werden kann.’ Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 5 Figure 2 Unknown artist, Chorego with Actors, c.79 AD. Mosaic. Museo Nazionale, Naples (The Poets House). Figure 3 Unknown Artist, Architectural Phantasy, c.79 AD. Museo Nazionale, Naples. (From Fausto & Felice Niccolini, Le case ed i monumenti di Pompei disegnati e descritti, vol. I, Naples 1854) and it flourishes especially in the Pompeian fourth style, where different architectural motifs are combined in a fanciful manner (Fig. 3). Horb calls these constructions prop-architecture (Stützenarchitektur). The architectural compositions are based on differently connected, free-standing columns, usually without walls, supporting flat roofs, segmented arches and/or pediments. The outside as well as the inside of the buildings are displayed simultaneously. Horb follows the motifs and their different variations into the Early Middle Ages, in book manuscripts and the mosaics in, for example, Ravenna. After that, the motifs disappear altogether and are not seen again until the mid-thirteenth century. It was Joseph Garber’s studies that had made Horb aware of the importance of the wall paintings at San Lorenzo fuori le Mura and San Paolo fuori le Mura in Rome. Garber finished his dissertation on the topic for Dvořák in 1912 and published it in 1918.18 Horb had a copy of the book with a personal dedication in his library.19 Following up on a few paragraphs in Dvořák’s book on the van Eyck brothers, Garber showed that the Early Christian wall paintings of the old Roman basilicas became important models for artists in late thirteenth-century Rome, pointing at similarities between iconographic programmes and at the classicizing style of Pietro Cavallini. What Horb noted was that the prop-architecture of the Pompeian style made a reappearance in the same churches and at same time (Fig. 4). He dated the paintings at San Lorenzo to the 1260s, followed by the works of Cavallini in San Paolo, then the works in Old Saint Peter’s and finally Cavallini’s mosaics in Santa Maria in Trastevere, documented to 1292. In the Birth of the Virgin of the latter church, the prop-architecture has been stabilized with stronger walls 18 Julius Schlosser, ‘Die Wiener Schule der Kunstgeschichte’, Mitteilungen des Österreichischen Instituts für Geschichtsforschung, vol. XIII:2, 1934, 220. 19 Joseph Garber, Wirkungen der Frühchristlichen Gemäldezykeln der alten Peters- und Paulus- Basiliken in Rom, Berlin–Vienna: Verlag von Julius Bard, 1918; Horb’s copy is now at Stockholm University Library, Mag. Hum. 89.826. Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 6 and is characterized by more pronounced realism (Fig. 5). It is as if the two Late Antique types had been combined. The development was carried further in Assisi by the so-called Isaak Master and the Master of the Saint Francis Cycle (Figs 6 and 7). In the Arena chapel Giotto reused Cavallini’s architectural backdrops, for example in the Birth of the Virgin (Fig. 8). Giotto’s figures are better integrated with the architecture, but the simultaneous display of the outside and inside remains the same. With Giotto, the circle is completed, so that the Antique box-space almost seems to be reappearing (Fig. 9). Still, a curious aspect is that the exterior is always accounted for, even though it is relegated to the very margins. Figure 4 Unknown artist, Life of Saint Lawrence, 1260–70. Fresco. San Lorenzo fuori le Mura, Rome. (From Joseph Wilpert, Die römischen Mosaiken und Malereien, vol. II, Freiburg 1914.) Figure 5 Pietro Cavallini, Birth of Maria, 1291. Mosaic. Santa Maria in Trastevere, Rome. Figure 6 Isaak Master, Isaak Rejecting Esau, c.1295. Fresco. San Francesco, Upper Church, Assisi. Figure 7 Master of the Saint Francis Cycle, Miracle of the Crucifix, c.1295. Fresco. San Francesco, Upper Church, Assisi. Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 7 Figure 8 Giotto, Birth of the Virgin, 1305. Fresco. Arena Chapel, Padua. Figure 9 Giotto, Christ Disputing the Doctors, 1305. Fresco. Arena Chapel, Padua. Clearly, much of Horb’s work was inspired by Dvořák’s scholarship, both in historical outline and historic-genetic methodology. There were some differences, though. First of all, the style of writing is much dryer, without any poetic claims whatsoever. In Horb there are no elaborations on peripheral matters, no pleasant excursions beyond dealing with the facts of the given art historical problem. Another difference is that Horb does not analyse styles as much as single motifs. He never discusses the style of a period, an artist or a particular painting. The architectural constructions have been singled out and he deals solely with their typologies. This gives the whole presentation a constructivist approach that is close to the New Vienna School and the work of Hans Sedlmayr. Sedlmayr completed his dissertation in the same year as Horb.20 At the time Horb was the older and more experience art historian, whereas Sedlmayr had switched from architectural studies to art history as late as 1920.21 Horb was well versed in the tradition of the Vienna School – he had read the early Dvořák, Riegl and Franz Wickhoff. Sedlmayr wrote his dissertation on Fischer von Erlach and in his first publication on the architect in 1925 he was dealing with similar historic- genetic aspects as Horb, trying to detect the architect’s Italian sources.22 If anything, this study is more conventional than Horb’s, with its biographical outline and catalogue of attributed works. After finishing his dissertation Horb found work at Krystall-Verlag and became editor of the Belvedere journal in the 1920s. This is where Sedlmayr published some of his first articles; and Horb also made efforts to advance his career in other ways.23 In a correspondence with Fritz Saxl in 1926 he tried to persuade him to publish Sedlmayr’s work on Borromini in the Warburg series.24 It was too long for the Belvedere, he explained, and could not be published in the 20 Schlosser, ‘Die Wiener Schule’, 223. 21 The studies on Sedlmayr are growing steadily; Maria Mannig, Hans Sedlmayrs Kunstgeschichte. Eine kritische Studie, Vienna, 2017, with further references. 22 Hans Sedlmayr, Fischer von Erlach der Ältere, Munich: R. Piper & Co. Verlag, 1925. 23 Hans Sedlmayr, ‘Gestaltetes Sehen’, Belvedere, 1925, 65–75, as well as other studies. 24 Letters from Felix Horb to Fritz Saxl, 1925–27. Warburg Archive, London. Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 8 Wiener Jahrbuch because of a conflict. Horb describes the author as ‘unusually talented’ and an ‘excellent speaker’. However, Saxl declined, both to publish the article and to have Sedlmayr as a guest in Hamburg, arguing that his work was too remote from the interests of the Warburg Institute. It is not difficult to understand Horb’s support for, and fascination with, Sedlmayr’s study on Borromini.25 They seem to have shared an understanding of images as functions rather than styles. Sedlmayr would talk of them as machines, where the art historical problem was to understand the different elements and how they functioned together.26 In order to do so the genetics of the image had to be discovered, just as Horb had done with the architectural backdrops in Giotto’s art. In a well-known essay from 1931 Sedlmayr proposed a movement towards a more rigorous study of art. Differentiating between two different kinds of art history he promoted the primacy of a scholarship founded strictly on the visual appearance of artworks, as opposed to the history of culture. Sedlmayr hoped for an art history that ‘can investigate the properties of works and their internal organization and structure … classify works according to their natural groups and establish genetic connections among works on the basis of their properties [and] … arrive at an understanding of the historical events whose products it is studying and of the forces at work behind these events’.27 These were issues that truly interested Horb, not least the strict focus on the visual aspects of artworks. There are no texts whatsoever on the architectural backdrops of Giotto’s paintings, making them an ideal test case for such a rigorous study of art. When it came to the field of psychology they did differ, though. Horb had no interest in the study of psychological types or Gestalt psychology. He was content with the concept of Kunstwollen, sometimes Formwollen, bringing dynamics to the historical situation. Perhaps like Schlosser, he saw the danger of psychology turning into mythology in the hands of some younger Vienna scholars.28 In the 1930s, with the rise of fascism and the upcoming war, Horb and Sedlmayr came to diverge even further. Sedlmayr, a Catholic, was a racist and an early member of the Nazi party.29 In his later publications on Fisher von Erlach he distanced himself from previous methodological approaches and in a preface to the Borromini book published in 1939, he deplored his own constructivist tendencies of the 1920s.30 Horb’s book Das Innenraumbild from 1938 is even more constructivist than the thesis of 1923. 25 Hans Sedlmayr, ‘The Architecture of Borromini’, Journal of Art Historiography, vol. XIV, 2016 [1930], 1–114. 26 Sedlmayr, ‘Gestaltetes Sehen’, 65; Sedlmayr, ‘The Architecture of Borromini’, 10. 27 Hans Sedlmayr, ‘Toward a Rigorous Study of Art’, The Vienna School Reader, ed. and trans. Christopher Wood, New York: Zone Books, 2000 [1931], 139. 28 Schlosser, ‘Die Wiener Schule’, 190. 29 Mannig, Hans Sedlmayrs Kunstgeschichte, 2017 with further references; especially illuminating is Evonne Levy, ‘Sedlmayr and Schapiro Correspond, 1930–1935’, Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, vol. LIX, 2010, 235–63. 30 Hans Sedlmayr, ‘Introduction to the New Edition [of the Architecture of Borromini]’, Journal of Art Historiography, vol. XIV, 2016 [1939], 111. Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 9 With the German annexation of Austria in 1938 Horb had to flee Vienna, where he had lived and worked for almost thirty years. Thanks to his sister Gabriele and brother-in-law Karl Heller he was helped by the Workers’ Movement Refugee Association to go to Sweden in November 1939.31 Together with them and his sister Valerie he settled in Stockholm, where after some years he achieved a position as a curator of paintings at the Berg Institute for Art History, today part of Stockholm University. He stayed there until his death in June 1958. With his nearness to the Social Democratic party, admiration of his brother’s avant-garde painting and as a secularized Jew, it does not seem likely that Horb very much enjoyed Sedlmayr’s later developments. It is surprising, therefore, and suggests a profound relationship dating back to the 1920s, that Sedlmayr travelled to Stockholm to meet Horb in 1955. From a couple of letters, we learn that they discussed Sedlmayr’s Verlust der Mitte from 1948. Horb’s only comment in relation to the book is cryptic, focusing on the method rather than the results. Probably it is meant to clarify something from their discussions, when Horb explains that the method should be ‘an opportunity to learn about and to think through the specific theme’.32 Sedlmayr’s ‘method of critical form’, launched in Verlust der Mitte, was perhaps not so much a method for ‘thinking things through’ as for a certain selectivism and it was heavily debated at the time.33 Sedlmayr’s idea was that the most radical works of art are best suited to represent the dreams and the subconsciousness of an era. Critics claimed that with such a spectacular selection of artworks it is only logical that the common-sense, middle-ground – der Mitte – must appear as altogether missing. A lack of historic- genetic background is no doubt paradigmatic for such works of art, which most probably was seen as a problem by Felix Horb. Horb had just completed his dissertation in 1923 when Erwin Panofsky’s essay Die Perspective als symbolische Form (Perspective as Symbolic Form) appeared for the first time.34 It deals with similar issues and materials as Horb but with a very different approach. Panofsky begins his investigation with a discussion of definitions and theories of perspective, from Antiquity and into the Early Modern period. Where Horb exclusively analyses specific works of art and their genetics, Panofsky understands the history of ideas as being all-important and fundamental. While Panofsky seldom gives individual works of art more than a sentence Horb will give them at least half a page. Horb is careful in sorting out problems of 31 Letter from Felix Horb to Workers’ Movement Refugee Association, 7 November 1939. Arbetarrörelsens arkiv, Stockholm. 32 Letter from Felix Horb to Hans Sedlmayr, 1 June 1955, Stockholm University Archive, Sten Karling Collection, Tavelsamlingens korrespondens; ‘Der methodische Teil bedeutet für mich eine über das konkrete Thema gehende belehrende Gelegenheit, mit- und nachzudenken.’ 33 Hans Sedlmayr, Verlust der Mitte. Der Bildende Kunst des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts als Symptom und Symbol der Zeit, Salzburg: Otto Müller Verlag, 1951 [1948], 8–10; for a severe criticism, see Werner Hofmann, ‘Zu einer Theorie der Kunstgeschichte’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, vol. 14:1, 1951, 118–23. 34 Erwin Panofsky, Perspektive as Symbolic Form, trans. Christopher Wood, New York: Zone Books, 1991 [1924/25]. Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 10 restorations, dating and copying while Panofsky shows no such concern and displays a self-confidence that is foreign to Horb. Panofsky’s well-known hypothesis is that Antiquity had knowledge enough to produce spatial representations similar to modern perspective, but lacked the single-point central perspective of the Renaissance period, where the room is seen with one eye from a particular point of view and is spread out on a flat image surface. Basically, it was Giotto who conceived of this new symbolic form by combining the flatness of Gothic art with the materiality of particular Byzantine motifs. Figure 10 Unknown artist, Scenes from the Story of Joseph (Old Testament) with Pharaoh’s Dream (left), c.1300. Mosaic. Baptistry, Florence. When Horb resumed his studies again in the 1930s he added a critique of Panofsky’s essay. A central issue is a series of mosaics in the Florentine Baptistry from around 1300, representing, among other things, Pharaoh’s Dream (Fig. 10). According to Panofsky, the architectural construction is a typical Byzantine form that was later elaborated by Giotto.35 Horb does not agree: Panofsky is exaggerating the influence of Byzantine art on Italian artists of the period and he does not realize the important influence of Late Antiquity upon thirteenth-century art. The sleeping Pharaoh is reclining under a structure of the same type as the prop-architecture in San Lorenzo fuori le Mura from 1260s and as developed by Cavallini, Jacopo Torriti and others in the following decades. The very abstract logic of Panofsky is learned and impressive but, according to Horb, not founded in the logic of the actual, historical situation. Understanding the development of the motif means ending up in Rome, not in the Baptistry of Florence. With a clear aim at Panofsky’s theoretical foundation, he writes: If we were presented with the Late Medieval inner-room image of the early trecento in one stroke, that is, without any pre-history, then one could understand this sudden appearance as the result of a pure thought-process … Beside the fact that the suggested train of thought rests on a completely 35 Panofsky, Perspective as Symbolic Form, 54–5 and 119 (note 39). Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 11 unrealistic and excessively abstract foundation, it is refuted because it is countered by the actual development of Late Medieval architectural space and inner-room representations and because a knowledge of this development gives a better understanding of their fundament.36 While Panofsky understood the Renaissance perspective as a realization of abstract ideas and ideals, Horb explained it as a gradual development of already existing visual forms that took place from the late thirteenth century onwards. Their different views on Cubism are telling. For Panofsky the style of Modern painting represents a cultural shift comparable to the one that took place during fall of the Roman Empire.37 Horb is more down to earth, noting that, despite the efforts of Cubism, the image concept developed by the Renaissance is still the dominant one.38 The importance of photography and film all through the twentieth century seems to support Horb’s view. In 1952 Panofsky visited Stockholm and held a series of lectures at Gripsholm Castle.39 The theme was ‘The Renaissance Problem in the History of Art’ and one of the lectures dealt specifically with the relation between thirteenth- century painting and Antiquity. Panofsky also made a visit to the Berg Collection of paintings in Stockholm. Correspondence between Panofsky and Horb informs us that they discussed the latter’s opinion on the matter. Horb writes: ‘I am very pleased to know that you, highly honoured Professor, after going over the literature, found my thesis … to be correct.’40 Panofsky in turn writes to Horb that he recently has had the opportunity ‘to make some propaganda for your writings’.41 A young PhD student is working on the problem of representational space in Giotto. Panofsky has put Horb’s publications in her hand – publications that naturally were ‘as unknown to her as they had been to me’, he writes. Panofsky’s lectures at Gripsholm were not published until 1960, when Horb was no longer alive. The author refers generously to Horb and embraces the idea 36 Horb, Das Innenraumbild, 72; ‘Wären wir mit einen Schlage, also ohne Vorgeschichte, das spätmittelalterliche Innenraumbild zu Anfang des Trecento da, dann können man diesem plötzlichen Erscheinen einen reinen Denkvorgang zugrunde legen … Abgesehen davon, daß der angenommen Gedankengang nur für einer Seite vollständig wandlosen in ihrem allzu abstrakten Charakter verdächtige Interpretation abgelehnt werden, weil sie durch die Entwicklung der spätmittelalterlichen Darstellung des nur-architektonischen Raumes zum Innenraumbild widerlegt wird und weil gerade die Kenntnis dieser Entwicklung volle Klarheit über die Verhaltensweise schafft, auf der jenes beruht.’ 37 Panofsky, Perspective as Symbolic Form, 72. 38 Horb, Das Innenraumbild, 71–2. 39 Gregor Paulsson, ‘Editor’s Preface’, in Erwin Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1965 [1960], VIII. 40 Letter from Felix Horb to Erwin Panofsky, 2 October 1952, Smithsonian Institution, Archives of American Art, The Erwin Panofsky Papers. Washington DC; ‘Es its mir ein sehr angenehmes Bewusstsein, dass Sie, sehr verehrter Herr Professor, nach vorläufigen Lektüre, meine these … als richtig angesehen haben.’ 41 Letter from Erwin Panofsky to Felix Horb, 3 December 1952. Smithsonian Institution, Archives of American Art, The Erwin Panofsky Papers. Washington DC. Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 12 that Antique art had an influence upon late thirteenth-century artists. Still, he sticks to his model from Die Perspective als symbolische Form, where the merging of Gothic and Byzantine styles are essential for the emergence of the new art. Cavallini’s name has been added to the list of painters who were responsible for the changes, but no individual work of art by him is mentioned or discussed.42 Pharaoh’s Dream in Florence is once again given as an example of a purely Byzantine art, notwithstanding Horb’s observation that the architectural structure is a result of the rediscovery of Late Antique imagery. Basically, Panofsky has not changed his mind and in direct response to Horb he writes that ‘the undeniable influence of Late Antique and Early Christian art on Jacopo Torriti, Cavallini and Giotto is, I think, only one aspect, however important, rather than the cause of this process’.43 For Panofsky the Renaissance was a unified, cultural and intellectual phenomenon that cannot seriously have made a return to another era. For Horb the problem was all about the evidence of images and he did not exclude the possibility that an Antique motif may have had just as big an impact on a later period as contemporary cultural circumstances or abstract ideas could have had. Visual representations are carriers of their own truth and internal logic. They have their own traditions. Horb’s legacy as an art historian is slight compared to figures such as Dvořák, Sedlmayr and Panofsky. The results of his work have not gone altogether unnoticed, though. The idea of a late thirteenth-century Proto-Renaissance in Rome is today accepted by most well-informed scholars. For example, Richard Krautheimer writes in his standard book on Rome in the Middle Ages that Cavallini and other artists turned to Late Antique models ‘for credible space, achieved by placing into depth figures and architectural props’.44 Giotto scholars, on the other hand, have been reluctant to adopt this point of view.45 Still, the historical implications do not seem to have been the most important issues for Horb. It was the method. Like so much else that was done and achieved within the Vienna School it had to carry a heavy weight. Horb was a scholar who believed strongly in the systematization of visual representations and the possibility of building solid links between individual works of art. With his rigid and constructivist approach he evaded the lure of dichotomic simplifications and crude generalizations about styles, nations or races that haunt so many of his contemporaries’ texts. The grand narratives of the giants may be ever so fascinating. Clarifications, corrections and subtle objections are quietly pencilled in the margins. Peter Gillgren is Anders Zorn professor of Art History at Stockholm University. He is the author of several books and articles on Renaissance and Baroque art, as well 42 Erwin Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art, Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1965 [1960], 133. 43 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 137. 44 Richard Krautheimer, Rome. Profile of a City, 312–1308, Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980, 210. 45 The Cambridge Companion to the Art of Giotto, eds Anne Derbes and Mark Sandona, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004, 30, 62, 76–102. Peter Gillgren Felix Horb: Notes in the margins of Max Dvořák, Hans Sedlmayr and Erwin Panofsky 13 as on the theories and methods of Art History. His major publications in English are Siting Federico Barocci and the Renaissance Aesthetic (Ashgate 2011) and Siting Michelangelo: Spectatorship, Site Specificity and Soundscape (Nordic Academic Press 2017). peter.gillgren@arthistory.su.se This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial 4.0 International License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ Peter Gillgren 
work_2ek3xaxdxrfjpkbn6jiq5urmfa	----	00096407_86-2_00096407_86-2 AMERICAN SOCIETY OF CHURCH HISTORY VOLUME 86, NUMBER 2 JUNE 2017 CH U R C H H I S TO RYS T U D I E S I N C H R I S T I A N I T Y A N D C U L T U R ECH U R C H H I S TO RYS T U D I E S I N C H R I S T I A N I T Y A N D C U L T U R E CONTENTS ARTICLES 287 Shaping Church-State Relations After Constantine: The Political Theology of Hilary of Poitiers Eric Wickman 311 Advocating for Poor Relief in Zurich: Heinrich Bullinger’s Contributions to Religious Ideals and Policy Reforms Esther Chung-Kim 339 “I Believe Because it is Absurd”: The Enlightenment Invention of Tertullian’s Credo Peter Harrison 365 Huguenot Refugees and the Meaning of Charity in Early New England Adrian Chastain Weimer 398 The Disputed Origins of Dutch Calvinism: Religious Refugees in the Historiography of the Dutch Reformation Jesse Spohnholz and Mirjam G. K. van Veen 427 Infidel Deathbeds: Irreligious Dying and Sincere Disbelief in Nineteenth-Century America Bradley Kime 458 BOOK REVIEWS AND NOTES 598 BOOKS RECEIVED Cambridge Journals Online For further information about this journal please go to the journal website at: cambridge.org/chh C H U R C H H IS T O R Y 8 6 :2 JU N E 20 17 Front Cover, llustration from the “Wickiana” depicting the hard winter of 1570–1571 (Johannes Jakob Wick, Nachrichtensammlung, Msc. F 19, 191r, 1571, Zentralbibliothek Zürich). Heinrich Bullinger interpreted the calamities of this Little Ice Age as an expression of God's judgment and introduced congregational prayers for relief from inflation, hunger, plague, and bad climate. 00096407_86-2_00096407_86-2 03/08/17 9:17 AM Page 1 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/S0009640717001238&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 https://www.cambridge.org/core THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF CHURCH HISTORY PRESIDENT CATHY GUNTHER BROWN, Indiana University PRESIDENT-ELECT RALPH KEEN, University of Illinois, Chicago EXECUTIVE SECRETARY CALEB MASKELL, Princeton University EDITORS EUAN CAMERON, Union Theological Seminary, Columbia University DANA ROBERT, Boston University JON SENSBACH, University of Florida ANDREA STERK, University of Minnesota MEMBERS OF THE COUNCIL Class of 2016 VALERIE COOPER SPENCER FLUHMANN DAVID HOLLAND PAUL LIM HEATHER VACEK PETER CHOI Class of 2017 ELESHA COFFMAN TIMOTHY LARSEN XI LIAN ANDREA STERK WILLIAM YOO Class of 2018 BRANDON BAYNE MATTHEW HEDSTROM ARIENE SÁNCHEZ WALSH JOHN SEITZ DEANNA WOMACK The Society was founded in 1888 by Philip Schaff, was reorganized in 1906, and was incorporated by act of the Legislature of the State of New York in 1916. 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The opinions expressed in this journal represent the views only of the individual contributors; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the editors, University of Minnesota, the American Society of Church History, or Cambridge University Press. Advertising in Church History does not necessarily imply endorsement. 00096407_86-2_00096407_86-2 03/08/17 9:17 AM Page 2 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 https://www.cambridge.org/core Vol. 86 June 2017 No. 2 CHURCH HISTORY Studies in Christianity & Culture Published quarterly by THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF CHURCH HISTORY © 2017, The American Society of Church History terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 https://www.cambridge.org/core CHURCH HISTORY Studies in Christianity and Culture Editors Euan Cameron, Union Theological Seminary, Columbia University Dana Robert, Boston University Jon Sensbach, University of Florida Andrea Sterk, University of Minnesota EDITORIAL STAFF, UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA Senior Assistant to the Editors Tim McDonald Copyeditor Jessica B. Farrell Editorial Assistants Ben Hansen Matt King Kate Tuley Associate Editors Randall Balmer Dartmouth College Catherine Brekus Harvard University Simon Ditchfield University of York Susanna Elm University of California, Berkeley William Chester Jordan Princeton University Jeanne Halgren Kilde University of Minnesota Thomas Kselman University of Notre Dame Xi Lian Duke University Howard Louthan University of Minnesota John McGreevy University of Notre Dame Michelle Molina Northwestern University Eric Rebillard Cornell University Miri Rubin University of London CHURCH HISTORY (ISSN 0009-6407) terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 https://www.cambridge.org/core ARTICLES 287 Shaping Church-State Relations After Constantine: The Political Theology of Hilary of Poitiers ERIC WICKMAN 311 Advocating for Poor Relief in Zurich: Heinrich Bullinger’s Contributions to Religious Ideals and Policy Reforms ESTHER CHUNG-KIM 339 “I Believe Because it is Absurd”: The Enlightenment Invention of Tertullian’s Credo PETER HARRISON 365 Huguenot Refugees and the Meaning of Charity in Early New England ADRIAN CHASTAIN WEIMER 398 The Disputed Origins of Dutch Calvinism: Religious Refugees in the Historiography of the Dutch Reformation JESSE SPOHNHOLZ AND MIRJAM G. K. VAN VEEN 427 Infidel Deathbeds: Irreligious Dying and Sincere Disbelief in Nineteenth-Century America BRADLEY KIME BOOK REVIEWS AND NOTES 458 Cooper, Derek, Introduction to World Christian History...... Scott W. Sunquist 460 Kreider, Alan, The Patient Ferment of the Early Church: The Improbable Rise of Christianity in the Roman Empire......................................Joel Elowsky 462 Gray, Patrick, Paul as a Problem in History and Culture: The Apostle and His Critics through the Centuries .............................................R. Ward Holder 465 Smith, Geoffrey S., Guilt by Association: Heresy Catalogues in Early Christianity........................................................................David E. Wilhite 467 Lenski, Noel, Constantine and the Cities: Imperial Authority and Civic Politics ..................................................................................... H. A. Drake 469 Caridi, Cathy, Making Martyrs East and West: Canonization in the Catholic and Russian Orthodox Churches .................................................. Daniel Nodes 472 Boersma, Gerald P., Augustine’s Early Theology of Image: A Study in the Development of Pro-Nicene Theology...............................Matthew Drever 474 Lane Fox, Robin, Augustine: Conversions to Confessions.......Danuta Shanzer terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 https://www.cambridge.org/core 477 Bequette, John P, ed., A Companion to Medieval Christian Humanism: Essays on Principal Thinkers ..........................................................Ronald G. Witt 479 O’Brien, Conor, Bede’s Temple: An Image and its Interpretation .......................................................................W. Trent Foley 480 Nakashian, Craig M., Warrior Churchmen of Medieval England, 1000–1250: Theory and Reality............................................................. Mary Blanchard 483 Thibodeaux, Jennifer D., The Manly Priest: Clerical Celibacy, Masculinity, and Reform in England and Normandy, 1066–1300................... Felice Lifshitz 485 Alvis, Robert E., White Eagle, Black Madonna: One Thousand Years of the Polish Catholic Tradition............................................................Neal Pease 487 Dreisziger, Nándor, Church and Society in Hungary and in the Hungarian Diaspora ............................................................................... Robert Nemes 490 Rose, E. M., The Murder of William of Norwich: The Origins of the Blood Libel in Medieval Europe....................................................Emily Colbert Cairns 492 Heale, Martin, The Abbots and Priors of Late Medieval and Reformation England....................................................................Nicholas A. Cumming 494 Clark, Mark J., The Making of the Historia Scholastica, 1150–1200...........................................................................Frans van Liere 496 Webster, Paul and Marie-Pierre Gelin, eds., The Cult of St Thomas Becket in the Plantagenet World, c.1170–c.1220 .................................Rachel Koopmans 498 Kramer, Susan R., Sin, Interiority, and Selfhood in the Twelfth-Century West .....................................................................................Atria A. Larson 500 McCosker, Phillip and Denys Turner, eds., The Cambridge Companion to the Summa Theologiae............................................................ Mark F. Johnson 502 Green, Richard Firth, Elf Queens and Holy Friars: Fairy Beliefs and the Medieval Church.............................................................Michael D. Bailey 505 Laugerud, Henning, Salvador Ryan, and Laura Katrine Skinnebach, eds., The Materiality of Devotion in Late-Medieval Northern Europe: Images, Objects and Practices ....................................................Virginia C. Raguin 507 D’Elia, Anthony F., Pagan Virtue in a Christian World: Sigismondo Malatesta and the Italian Renaissance................................................. Emily O’Brien 509 Reston, James, Jr., Luther’s Fortress: Martin Luther and His Reformation Under Siege.........................................................................Mark Granquist 510 Luebke, David M., Hometown Religion: Regimes of Coexistence in Early Modern Westphalia ....................................................Christopher W. Close 513 Poirier, Lisa J. M., Religion, Gender, and Kinship in Colonial New France....................................................................... Leslie Choquette 515 Murphy, Andrew R., Liberty, Conscience, and Toleration: The Political Thought of William Penn ................................................Jean R. Soderlund 517 Lehner, Ulrich L., Richard A. Muller, and A. G. Roeber, eds., The Oxford Handbook of Early Modern Theology, 1600–1800.......Donald K. McKim 520 Gribben, Crawford, John Owen and English Puritanism: Experiences of Defeat...................................................................................Paul C. H. Lim 522 Angell, Stephen W. and Pink Dandelion, eds., Early Quakers and Their Religious Thought: 1647–1723................................................ Ryan Jordan 524 Smith, Seán Alexander, Fealty and Fidelity: The Lazarists of Bourbon France, 1660–1736 ..........................................................................Karen E. Carter 526 Mulsow, Martin, Enlightenment Underground: Radical Germany, 1680–1720 .................................................................. Jonathan Blake Fine 528 Marissen, Michael, Bach & God....................................... Timothy Alan Smith terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 https://www.cambridge.org/core 530 Apetrei, Sarah and Hannah Smith, eds., Religion and Women in Britain, c. 1660–1760...............................................................Elizabeth Dillenburg 531 Juster, Susan, Sacred Violence in Early America....................Michael Winship 534 Bailey, Julius H., Down in the Valley: An Introduction to African American Religious History ..................................................................... Paul Harvey 536 Moore, Joseph F., Founding Sins: How a Group of Antislavery Radicals Fought to Put Christ in the Constitution ...................................... Patrick H. Breen 538 Catron, John W., Embracing Protestantism: Black Identities in the Atlantic World...................................................................................Jenna M. Gibbs 541 Byrne, Julie, The Other Catholics: Remaking America’s Largest Religion..................................................................Peter Savastano 543 Ingot, Mark, SJ, How the Jesuits Survived Their Suppression: The Society of Jesus in the Russian Empire (1773–1814) ..................Yury P. Avvakumov 546 Purvis, Zachary, Theology and the University in Nineteenth-Century Germany............................................................................. Andrew Hansen 548 Alvarez, Elizabeth Hayes, The Valiant Woman: The Virgin Mary in Nineteenth- Century American Culture....................................................... Mark Massa 550 Hollett, Calvin, Beating Against the Wind: Popular Opposition to Bishop Feild and Tractarianism in Newfoundland and Labrador, 1844–1876 .................................................................... Richard W. Vaudry 553 Appelbaum, Patricia, St. Francis of America: How a Thirteenth-Century Friar Became America’s Most Popular Saint ......................... Kathleen Holscher 555 Wessel, Martin Schulze and Frank E. Sysyn, eds., Religion, Nation, and Secularization in Ukraine ............................................... Catherine Wanner 557 Ford, Bridget, Bonds of Union: Religion, Race, and Politics in a Civil War Borderland .............................................................. Laura Rominger Porter 560 McGreevy, John T., American Jesuits and the World: How an Embattled Religious Order Made Modern Catholicism Global ......... James M. O’Toole 562 Reeve, W. Paul, Religion of a Different Color: Race and the Mormon Struggle for Whiteness.................................................................. Scott D. Marianno 564 Trexler, Melanie E., Evangelizing Lebanon: Baptists, Missions, and the Question of Cultures ..............................................Deanna Ferree Womack 567 Ramírez, Daniel, Migrating Faith: Pentecostalism in the United States and Mexico in the Twentieth Century .......................................... Hector Avalos 569 Weikart, Richard, Hitler’s Religion: The Twisted Beliefs that Drove the Third Reich .....................................................................................William Skiles 571 Buggeln, Gretchen, The Suburban Church: Modernism and Community in Postwar America........................................................Jeanne Halgren Kilde 574 Chandler, Andrew, George Bell, Bishop of Chichester: Church, State and Resistance in the Age of Dictatorship ...............................John S. Conway 576 Barrett-Fox, Rebecca, God Hates: Westboro Baptist Church, American Nationalism, and the Religious Right....................................... Leah Payne 578 Ingle, H. Larry, Nixon’s First Cover-Up: The Religious Life of a Quaker President ....................................................................Kenneth J. Heineman 580 Reiff, Joseph T., Born of Conviction: White Methodists and Mississippi’s Closed Society ................................................................................Davis W. Houck 583 Curtis, Finbarr, The Production of American Religious Freedom .............................................................Winnifred Fallers Sullivan 585 Balmer, Randall, Evangelicalism in America.................................Robert Elder terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 https://www.cambridge.org/core 588 Thomas, Martin, English Cathedral Music and Liturgy in the Twentieth Century......................................................................... Nicholas Temperley 590 Ringenberg, William C., The Christian College and the Meaning of Academic Freedom: Truth-Seeking in Community..........................Richard C. Goode 593 Grem, Darren, The Blessings of Business: How Corporations Shaped Conservative Christianity .......................................James Hudnut-Beumler 595 Mason, Patrick Q., ed., Directions for Mormon Studies in the Twenty-First Century..................................................................................David Holland 598 BOOKS RECEIVED terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640717001238 https://www.cambridge.org/core OFC.pdf IFC.pdf CHH_86_2_FM1.pdf CHH_86_2_FM2.pdf CHH_86_2_Contents.pdf << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles false /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Dot Gain 20%) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (U.S. Web Coated \050SWOP\051 v2) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Error /CompatibilityLevel 1.3 /CompressObjects /Tags /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Default /DetectBlends true /DetectCurves 0.1000 /ColorConversionStrategy /LeaveColorUnchanged /DoThumbnails false /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedOpenType false /ParseICCProfilesInComments true /EmbedJobOptions true /DSCReportingLevel 0 /EmitDSCWarnings false 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work_2fcjnshhyrbvtjjp5auvwein7m	----	Fornaciari et al. BMC Musculoskeletal Disorders 2014, 15:301 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2474/15/301 CASE REPORT Open Access A great enigma of the Italian Renaissance: paleopathological study on the death of Giovanni dalle Bande Nere (1498–1526) and historical relevance of a leg amputation Gino Fornaciari1, Pietro Bartolozzi2, Carlo Bartolozzi3, Barbara Rossi4, Ilario Menchi5 and Andrea Piccioli6* Abstract Background: The Medici project consisted in archeological and paleopathological researches on some members of the great dynasty of the Italian Renaissance. The remains of Giovanni de’ Medici, so-called “dalle Bande Nere” (Forlì 1498- Mantua 1526) have not been investigated yet. The enigma of the fatal injury and leg amputation of the fam- ous Captain excited curiosity of paleopathologists, medical scientists and Italian Society of Orthopedic and Trauma- tology which contributed to realize the project of exhumation and study of his skeletal remains. The aim of the study is to report the first anthropological and paleopathological results. Case presentation: The tomb of Giovanni and his wife Maria Salviati was explored and the skeletal remains were investigated. Anthropological and paleopathological examination defined: age at death, physical constitution and activity, skeletal diseases. The bones of the leg were studied macroscopically, under stereoscopic microscope, at X-ray and CT scans to detect type of injury and level of amputation. Conclusions: The skeleton and muscular insertions of Giovanni revealed a young-adult and vigorous man, subjected to stresses of military activity since adolescence. Right tibia was amputated below the proximal half of diaphysis leaving long tibio-fibular stumps with a horizontal cut only at the lateral portion. Thus, the surgeon limited to complete the traumatic hemi-amputation. Amputation in the Sixteenth Century technically consisted in guillotine incisions below the knee using crescent shaped knife and bony saw, usually leaving a quite long tibial stump. Amputations in the Sixteenth Century were contaminated and grossly performed not providing vascular binding nor wound closure. The surgeon performed the procedure in conformity with surgical knowledge of that period. Keywords: Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, Leg amputation, Paleopathology Background The Medici Project (2004–2007) consisted in the exhum- ation, exploration and paleopathological investigations on 49 tombs of the Medici family members (16th-18th cen- turies) housed in the church of San Lorenzo in Florence. It resulted in interesting archeological, anthropological and medical findings on the notorious family that ruled the Italian Renaissance all over three centuries [1-3]. Paleopathology is the science of morphological and * Correspondence: andrea.piccioli2013@libero.it 6Orthopedics Oncology, “Palazzo Baleani”, Teaching Hospital Policlinico Umberto I, Corso Vittorio Emanuele II 244, 00186 Rome, Italy Full list of author information is available at the end of the article © 2014 Fornaciari et al.; licensee BioMed Cent Commons Attribution License (http://creativec reproduction in any medium, provided the or Dedication waiver (http://creativecommons.or unless otherwise stated. molecular “footprints” left by any disease on skeletal or mummified human remains. It involves several disciplines such as history, archeology, physical anthropology, anato- mopathology; when sided by archival and iconographic sources, paleopathology and history of medicine converge to research on medical therapies, epidemiological scenar- ios and lifestyles of ancient populations [4-6]. Within the framework of the Medici Project, the enigma of the fatal injury and leg amputation of the Captain Giovanni de’ Medici, so-called “dalle Bande Nere” (Forlì 1498- Mantova 1526) (Figure 1) recently excited curiosity of paleopathologists, medical scientists and orthopedics who contributed to the realization of ral Ltd. This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative ommons.org/licenses/by/4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and iginal work is properly credited. The Creative Commons Public Domain g/publicdomain/zero/1.0/) applies to the data made available in this article, mailto:andrea.piccioli2013@libero.it http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0 http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/ Figure 1 Portrait of Giovanni dalle Bande Nere (1498–1526) (Salviati, Galleria Palatina). Figure 2 Open funerary zinc coffin containing skeletal remains in perfect state of conservation. Figure 3 Frontal vision of the skull of Giovanni de’ Medici. Traumatic curvature of nasal septum is visible. Fornaciari et al. BMC Musculoskeletal Disorders 2014, 15:301 Page 2 of 7 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2474/15/301 exhumation and study of the his remains. The “Giovanni dalle Bande Nere” project was the result of a scientific collaboration among the Division of Paleopathology of the University of Pisa, Divisions of Radiology of the Universities of Florence and Pisa and the Italian Society of Orthopaedics and Traumatology. At the time of military Franco-Spanish conflicts, when political power was shared out by the Pope, the King of France, the Emperor of Spain and several Italian States, Giovanni dalle Bande Nere was a brave leader and a charismatic commander, beloved by his troops and feared by his enemies. Giovanni had the command of the papal troops sided with Francesco I against the Emperor Carlo V when the lansquenets, German mer- cenaries under Carlo V’s pay, were moving against Rome on autumn 1526: in the attempt to arrest their advance, Giovanni was injured by a ball of falconet at his right leg on November 25, 1526 near Governolo sul Po [7,8]. After several hours from the injury, the captain was transported to Mantua to be cured by the Jew surgeon Abraham formally under the protection of marquis Federico Gonzaga, who had actually assisted the lans- quenets’ descent. The wound was judged serious and infected; moreover, Giovanni had been seriously wounded at the same leg one year before by an harquebus, an epi- sode that had implied many cures and a long period of rest. Giovanni forcedly underwent his right leg amputation and died few days later, on November 30, at 28 years of age. Several records report these events, leaving dynamics and weapon responsible for the injury, level of amputation and medical causes of death unresolved [7-12]. Discordant rumors said that Giovanni might be the victim of a polit- ical plot, thus the cut was poorly practiced by the surgeon leaving the leg stump in gangrene. The open wound was Figure 4 Typical low back disorders were caused in a young horseman by cronic mechanical stresses: a Schmorl’s hearnias and b spondylolysis of the fifth lumbar vertebra, c as well-documented on CT scan. Fornaciari et al. BMC Musculoskeletal Disorders 2014, 15:301 Page 3 of 7 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2474/15/301 treated with plasters in use in that time, which certainly favored suppuration. The hypothesis of malarial fever or poisoning has been even reported but probably it was too late to prevent septicaemia that had probably already spread at the moment of amputation [11]. Giovanni’s corpse was first exhumed in 1857, then in 1946–47 when the armor was recovered [13-15]. The aim of the study is to report the first anthropological and paleopathological results from recent investigations on his skeletal remains. Case presentation The manuscript was performed with the approval of the ethics committee of “Ministero per i beni e le attività culturali”, references number 1736–3416.07. Skeletal remains of Giovanni dalle Bande Nere and his wife Maria Salviati were examined on November 2012. The tomb was sited in the center of the Medici Chapels in the church of San Lorenzo at Florence: floor slab was re- moved to reach the subterranean chamber in which the zinc coffins containing the funerary depositions of the two spouses was deposed. After an archeological survey, Figure 5 Skeletal markers associated with habitual horseback riding a deformity of the body of fifth lumbar vertebra. the box were shifted to the Lorenese Chapel, on the back of the Medici Chapel, where a temporary laboratory was organized to perform the anthropological and paleopathological examination. Anthropological investigation on Giovanni’s remains included sex identification, age at death, stature and physical constitution, examination of skeletal markers and insertions of the major muscle groups. Then, a paleopathological analysis was made in order to define some specific skeletal diseases. The bones of the ampu- tated limb were finally examined to detect the type of injury and the exact level of amputation. Besides macro- scopic observation, the skeletons were examined under a stereoscopic microscope and at X-ray and CT scans in the Department of Radiology of the Hospital of Santa Maria Nuova in Florence. The remains of Giovanni and Maria were finally reassembled and relocated in the crypt. Skeletal remains of Giovanni dalle Bande Nere appeared in good condition (Figure 2). The study of the skeleton revealed that he was a vigorous man, 1.78 m tall, with an athletic body, estimated skeletal age of 25–30 years, re: a. Poirier’s facet, b. ovalisation of acetabula and c. wedge Fornaciari et al. BMC Musculoskeletal Disorders 2014, 15:301 Page 4 of 7 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2474/15/301 medium-sized skull, narrow nose and great skull capacity (1494 cc) (Figure 3). His well-developed upper limbs muscular insertions (deltoid, great pectoral, great dor- sal, biceps, forearm muscles) and thigh muscles con- firmed his great physical strength and robusticity. Strong hypertrophy of rotator cuff, great dorsal, teres minor and anconeus insertions were all present, as well as gluteal insertions to the femur, confirming he was a highly skilled horseman. The presence of numerous Schmorl’s hernias (Figure 4a) and a wedge collapse with spondylolysis of the fifth lumbar vertebra (Figure 4b, c) revealed that Giovanni had carried heavy loads since ado- lescence due to horse-riding and body armor. Diffuse bilateral enthesitis was found at the clavicular insertions of deltoid and pectoralis major, as well as at the small trochanter (psoas muscle). Skeletal markers left by habitual horseback riding were all present: exostoses and ovalization of acetabula, hypertrophy of femoral rectum Figure 6 Giovanni was injured several times in battle. a Entire right rad bayonet shot. c Posterior surface of the right tibia with a swelling due to u the tibial lesion. muscle, strong hypertrophy of the femoral biceps, great adductor, small and great gluteus, Poirier’s facet (Figure 5a, b and c) [16]. Paleopathological investigation showed the aftermaths of several injuries: fractures of nasal septum (Figure 3) and proximal third of the left humerus, injury from dagger affecting right ulna and radius (Figure 6a, b) and swelling of the posterior surface of the right tibia 131 (Figure 6c), with underlying osteo- myelitic focus in reparative phase, as well-documented on CT (Figure 6d). The amputation level was exactly assessed: the tibia was sawn immediately below the proximal half of diaph- ysis and only the lateral portion was surgically treated with a horizontal cut (Figure 7a, b, arrow). Only oblique splitting was found at the medial site of the tibia. At stereoscopic microscope, surgical section revealed a marked proliferation of endosteal callus, due to the pre- vious harquebus shot wound occurred about one year ius and ulna injury. b Particular of the bones presenting grazes from nderlying osteomyelitic focus in reparative phase. d CT scan study of Figure 7 Characteristics of amputation were investigated: a anterior and b posterior view of right tibia and fibula reveal the injury from falconet cannonball at the same level of the horizontal surgical cut (arrow). Fornaciari et al. BMC Musculoskeletal Disorders 2014, 15:301 Page 5 of 7 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2474/15/301 before the death; distal extremity of fibular fragment showed an oblique splitting and a horizontal cut, with no sign of reparative process in the medullar canal (Figure 8). Considering the morphological aspect of the tibial and fibular injury, it was probably due to a cannonball from a falconet of caliber 6–7 cm, as written by Benedetto Agnello in the same day of injuring [8]. The limb had been severely damaged by a traumatic hemi-amputation when surgeon Abramo performed the intervention, con- sisting in a simple completion of the amputation and regularization of proximal fragments. Conclusions Giovanni dalle Bande Nere is a central figure of the Italian Renaissance. He was son of Giovanni de’ Medici and Caterina Sforza, nephew of the Popes Leone X and Clemente VII, both named de’ Medici, father of the first Gran Duke of Tuscany Cosimo I. He was at the center of the genealogic tree of the epic Florentine family and in the middle of the Franco-Spanish wars that took place in northern Italy in the early decades of the Sixteenth century. His military talent unfelt when the traditional heavy cavalry and steel weapons were abandoned for firearms, including harquebus, muskets and guns. The historical and orthopedic interests of the “Giovanni dalle bande Nere” project arise from the halo of mystery about his violent death, which dynamics and causes have been unknown for a long time. The Medici project previously demonstrated that many components of the family were affected by several illnesses, abscesses, malarial fevers, arthritis, Diffuse Idio- pathic Skeletal Hyperostosis and familiar arthropathy Figure 8 Proximal stump of right tibia with the oblique fracture of the ball of falconet (above the arrows) and the cut of surgical amputation (below the arrows), at the stereomicroscope. Fornaciari et al. BMC Musculoskeletal Disorders 2014, 15:301 Page 6 of 7 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2474/15/301 [17-19]. On the contrary, this recent paleopathological study on Giovanni dalle Bande Nere revealed interesting orthopedic findings and the originality of this figure among the Medici dynasty for his untimely death, when he was still young and healthy. Archival records about the weapon that caused the fatal injury are often discordant, probably because it was mistaken for the harquebus that had shut Giovanni at the same leg one year before [10,11]; moreover, harquebus and muskets were the most com- monly used firearms of that period [7,12]. Other sources report that Giovanni was shot from a cannonball, since the Duke of Ferrara Alfonso I betrayed papal troops sell- ing three falconets to lansquenets: the river traffic of arms was secretly favored by hiding falconets among provisions to imperial army [7,8]. Historical evidences refer the wound at the leg, sometimes proximally to the foot, other times around the knee but surely more than 20 hours passed from the injury to first aids; therefore, the injury might have involved also the vascular bundle along with the crush fracture [7-9,11,12,20]. Giovanni arrived at Mantua in critical conditions and gangrene compelled the surgeon Abraham to perform the amputation. Amputation in the Sixteenth Century technically consisted in guillotine incisions below the knee using crescent-shaped knife and bony saw, usually leaving a quite long tibial fragment; afterwards, Ambroise Paré defined the stump length in 5 fingers (10 cm) below the knee [21]. Vascular binding was not provided, whereas haemostasis was performed through the practice of cauterization; however, the cautery was itself a means of infection [21]. Paleopathological investigations lead to exclude the hypothesis of an amputation above the knee, since the surgeon Abraham performed the proced- ure as better as he could in conformity with surgical knowledge of that period [7,21]. The reason for which he left tibial and fibular stumps longer than normal remains unknown: was it in consideration of a future prosthesis? During the Middle Ages and Renaissance limb prostheses were made in iron, steel, copper or wood, locked with screws or strings in fixed positions. However, lower limb prostheses could poorly allow walking and weight-bearing despite an esthetic role in order to hide deformity and mutilation while riding during the battle. Just few years after Giovanni’s death, in 1536, Ambroise Paré projected a above the knee prosthesis with joint articulation and prox- imal notch similar to modern prostheses [21]. Otherwise, the leg so inexorably damaged that were hemi-amputation and gangrene fatal in any case? During the three days after amputation, Giovanni alternated between delirium and comatose phases, due to malarial fever or else to sepsis; this might have led to the hypothesis of poisoning to endorse the theory of a political plot [11]. Since the first exhumation of Giovanni dalle Bande Nere in 1857, death was attributed to the imperfection of surgical amputation, describing the tibial section as the result of a coarse procedure using “a car- penter’s saw” [13]. This paper reports only the preliminary results of the investigations on Giovanni’s skeletal remains: further la- boratory studies are still in progress. Some bone samples will be taken for laboratory immunological tests, ancient DNA, immunochromatographic tests, already experimen- ted to other Medici samples, for the diagnosis of malaria, disease attested by the historical sources in the months preceding the death of Giovanni [1,11,14]. This study shows that the integration between history of medicine and paleopathology can bring historically important figures to life: scientific methods of research are used to discover their disease, lifestyle habits, their personality, in other words the true story of the past. Consent Written informed consent was obtained from the “Ministero per i beni e le attività culturali” for publication of this case report and any accompanying images. A copy of the written consent is available for review by the Editor of this journal. Competing interests The authors declare that they have no competing interests. Authors’ contributions All authors contributed equally to this article. All authors read and approved the final manuscript. Fornaciari et al. BMC Musculoskeletal Disorders 2014, 15:301 Page 7 of 7 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2474/15/301 Acknowledgements The study was supported by Angelica Vitiello, Valentina Giuffra, Simona Minozzi, Antonio Fornaciari, Raffaele Gaeta from Division of Paleopathology, University of Pisa and Luca Ventura from Unit of Pathology, S. Salvatore Hospital, University of L’Aquila. Author details 1Division of Paleopathology, Department of Translational Research on New Technologies in Medicine and Surgery, University of Pisa, Via Roma 57, 56126 Pisa, Italy. 2Past President S.I.O.T., Department of Surgery, Orthopaedic and Traumatology Clinic, G.B. Rossi Hospital, University of Verona, Piazzale Scuro 10, 37134 Verona, Italy. 3Department of Diagnostic and Interventional Radiology, University of Pisa, Via Paradisa 2, 56100 Pisa, Italy. 4Unit of Oncological Orthopaedics, Musculoskeletal Tissue Bank, Regina Elena National Cancer Institute, via Elio Chianesi 53, 00144 Rome, Italy. 5Department of Radiology, University of Florence, Viale Morgagni 85, 50134 Florence, Italy. 6Orthopedics Oncology, “Palazzo Baleani”, Teaching Hospital Policlinico Umberto I, Corso Vittorio Emanuele II 244, 00186 Rome, Italy. Received: 17 June 2014 Accepted: 1 September 2014 Published: 10 September 2014 References 1. Fornaciari G, Vitiello A, Giusiani S, Giuffra V, Fornaciari A, Villari N: The Medici Project first anthropological and paleopathological results of the exploration of the Medici tombs in Florence. Med Secoli 2007, 19:521–543. 2. Fornaciari G: Il Progetto Medici: primi risultati dello studio paleopatologico dei Granduchi di Toscana (secoli XVI-XVIII). Arch Antrop Etnol 2009, 138:138–156. 3. Villari N, Fornaciari G, Lippi D, Cerinic MM, Ginestroni A, Pellicanò G, Mascalchi M: Scenes from the past: the Medici Project radiographic survey. Radiographics 2009, 29:2101–2114. 4. Aufderheide AC, Rodriguez-Martin C: The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Human Paleopathology. New York, USA: Cambridge University Press; 1998. 5. Ortner DJ: Identification of Pathological Conditions in Human Skeletal Remains. 2nd edition. London, UK: Academic Press; 2003. 6. Waldron T: Palaeopathology. New York, USA: Cambridge University Press; 2008. 7. Guicciardini F: Storia d’Italia, Volume 17. Edited by Einaudi. Torino: IT; 1971. ch.16. 8. Gobbetti C: Governolo, un viaggio nella storia: le guerre, la chiesa, il fiume. Lettera di Benedetto Agnello, ambasciatore presso la Repubblica di Venezia, al Marchese di Mantova, 25 novembre 1526. 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Belcastro MG, Facchini F, Neri R, Mariotti V: Skeletal markers of activity in the early Middle Ages necropolis of Vicenne-Campochiaro (Molise, Italy). J Paleopath 2001, 13:9–20. 17. Fornaciari G, Giuffra V, Giusiani S, Villari N, Vitiello A: The “Gout” of the Medici, Grand Dukes of Florence: a Palaeopathological Study. Rheumatology 2009, 48:375–377. 18. Giuffra V, Giusiani S, Fornaciari A, Villari N, Vitiello A, Fornaciari G: Diffuse Idiopathic Skeletal Hyperostosis in the Medici, Grand Dukes of Florence (XVI century). Eur Spine J 2010, 19:103–107. 19. Giuffra V, Vitiello A, Giusiani S, Fornaciari A, Villari N, Fornaciari G: Spinal pathology in the Medici family, Grand Dukes of Florence (XVI-XVII centuries). Paleopat Newsl 2010, 150:24–33. 20. Braghirolli W, d’Arco C: In Documenti inediti intorno a Maestro Abramo, medico mantovano del secolo XVI. Edited by Segna L. Mantova: IT; 1867. 21. Kirkup J: A History of Limb Amputation. London, UK: Springer-Verlag Ed; 2007. doi:10.1186/1471-2474-15-301 Cite this article as: Fornaciari et al.: A great enigma of the Italian Renaissance: paleopathological study on the death of Giovanni dalle Bande Nere (1498–1526) and historical relevance of a leg amputation. BMC Musculoskeletal Disorders 2014 15:301. Submit your next manuscript to BioMed Central and take full advantage of: • Convenient online submission • Thorough peer review • No space constraints or color figure charges • Immediate publication on acceptance • Inclusion in PubMed, CAS, Scopus and Google Scholar • Research which is freely available for redistribution Submit your manuscript at www.biomedcentral.com/submit Abstract Background Case presentation Conclusions Background Case presentation Conclusions Consent Competing interests Authors’ contributions Acknowledgements Author details References 
work_2gk324xzmjdcvpudk6to6ak3hm	----	RQX_73_2_Book-Reviews 664..666 Renaissance Woman: The Life of Vittoria Colonna. Ramie Targoff. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2018. 342 pp. $30. Vittoria Colonna was the most renowned Italian female writer of her day, and she was the first woman in Italy to see a collection of her poetry in print. She led a peripatetic life, leaving her birthplace in the Alban Hills for Naples when her father became grand constable of the Spanish-dominated kingdom, and thence to the island of Ischia. On Ischia in 1509, she was married to Francesco Ferrante D’Avalos, Marquis of Pescara, to whom, despite his long absences, she was devoted. There, too, at thirty-five, she received news from Milan of his death. Colonna traveled to Rome, seeking a vocation as a nun and the peaceful isolation of convent life. After sojourns in Ferrara, Orvieto, and Viterbo, she returned to Rome where, in 1547, she died. Hers was a household name among Europe’s political circles—she had ties to Charles V, Clement VII, Paul III, and Marguerite of Navarre—and she sustained famous friendships with ambitious, mercurial figures, including Michelangelo and Reginald Pole. Colonna maintained fruitful intellectual affiliations with Baldassare Castiglione, Paolo Giovio, and Pietro Bembo. Her commitment to her faith was cons- tant and conspicuous. Her widely circulated writings, which seem to have increased after Ferrante’s death, offer an astonishing picture of the work of grief and of her resis- tance to the possibility of reconciling religious passion with earthly love. We know from her poetry not only that she contemplated suicide after her husband’s death, but also that writing became the means by which she came to a détente with loss, moving for- ward to embrace a personal and prescient activism on behalf of the project of Catholic reform. Ramie Targoff tells Colonna’s story with empathy and imagination, gracefully cir- cumventing academic conceits and disciplinary boundaries. This is the kind of book that many of us dream of writing, a book without footnotes that wears its learning lightly. She does provide a fine, annotated bibliography for each of her thirteen chapters at the end. With winning transparency, she tells us how she came to her subject after encountering the extraordinary sonnets written after Ferrante’s death. Describing a hot afternoon in the Colonna archives in Subiaco, she then takes her reader on a vicarious pilgrimage. Her study is loosely chronological, beginning with the poignant chapter, “The View from the Cliff,” in which a messenger from Milan arrives on Ischia and makes his way to the unsuspecting young widow. In the final chapter, “Last Rites,” Targoff describes the circumstances of Colonna’s approaching death and her late med- itations on paradigms of female piety, Catherine of Alexandria, and Mary Magdalene, whom she commissioned Titian and Michelangelo to paint. These meditations were quickly rushed into print. In a fascinating epilogue, Targoff narrates the history of the discovery of Colonna’s name among the Roman records of the Inquisition in the archives of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. REVIEWS 665 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog?doi=10.1017/rqx.2020.49&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core Targoff’s accessible book brims with intriguing vignettes and historical detail: the menu of a courtly wedding banquet; a day in the life of a convent; thumbnail descriptions of Neoplatonism, the Sack of Rome, the struggle for the Capuchin Order (of whom Colonna was a champion), and the format of a Renaissance book; salt taxes; and advice to pilgrims: “Dress poorly, so as to avoid having to pay endless tips” (129). Targoff is especially clear and incisive in her explication of poetry, mindful of the nonspecialist, and therefore helpfully elaborative on the originality of Colonna’s works. A great achievement, in fact, apart from the funda- mental one of making these materials available in English, is her interweaving of his- torical context with the exigencies of biography. This also constitutes an invitation for the specialist to rehearse and then question received wisdom, to recollect more fully the gritty realities of the past. Whether Colonna was a “Renaissance woman,” or whether she embodies something quintessentially essential to the Renaissance, are perhaps ultimately irrelevant questions. What emerges in this prismatic portrait is the degree to which Colonna pursued a very public career and, equally, an enduring leg- acy, all the while refusing social norms such as remarriage and endeavoring to find refuge from the world among her sisters. All the while, too, she wrote as if her life depended on it. Meredith J. Gill, University of Maryland, College Park doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.49 Vasari’s Words: The “Lives of the Artists” as a History of Ideas in the Italian Renaissance. Douglas Biow. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018. xxii +238 pp. $105. Douglas Biow’s Vasari’s Words seeks to make the case that the sprawling and intensively studied Lives of the Artists is a neglected chapter in the intellectual history of Renaissance Italy, hiding in plain sight. The Lives is a fat and digressive three volumes (in its 1568 edition), from which a slim set of ideas is struggling to get out. Five keywords are all Biow needs to articulate his view of the fundamental design of the Lives: profession, ingegno (genius), speed, time, and night. Many would place disegno not just on a short list of Vasari’s key theoretical concepts, but as an overarching framework and undergirding principle of the Lives given institutional form in the founding of the Accademia del Disegno. Both disegno and artistic style are subsumed for Biow under a new understanding of art as a profession, a word with “the combined force of a com- mand, declaration and promise” (42). Genius, commonly critiqued now on the grounds of gender, social hierarchy, disci- plinary exclusions, and cultural bias, is here advanced as an engine of explanation in the RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY666 VOLUME LXXIII, NO. 2 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_2gt4hsltvfbthnbnnqxti5hdze	----	LE CHOIX DES ANNALES COARELLI (FMippo), llforo romano, Rome, Quasar, 1983. Un livre de Filippo Coarelli fait toujours sensation, mais quand il se mêle de parler du Forum romain il faut bien y voir un événement capital. Ce livre austère dans sa présentation est le bilan de plus de vingt ans de réflexions et d'analyses. Pierre après pierre, inscriptions après textes, voici une lecture critique de la topographie de la capitale. Chez Coarelli l'érudition n'est jamais ennuyeuse. Elle débouche toujours sur des problèmes psycholo- giques, sociaux, esthétiques. Érudition endiablée qui se heurte à Gjerstad, Dumézil, Brelicn et quelques autres, érudition iconoclaste qui fait table rase des ajouts, des boursouflures, des interprétations successives pour donner à lire un plan comme épuré du forum archaïque où l'histoire fait son Ut de chaque pierre. La méthode de Coarelli est inimitable, il fait feu de tout bois pour arriver à l'intelligible, au démontrable. On ne pouvait déjà plus visiter Rome sans le guidé de Coarelli, on ne pourra plus étudier le Forum sans ce livre sur l'époque archaïque qui est le premier d'une série qu'on souhaite longue. FREDRICKSON (George M.), White Supremacy, a Comparative Study in American and South African History, New York, Oxford University Press, 1981, 355 p. La comparaison entre l'esclavage des Noirs aux États-Unis et en Amérique latine a été faite il y a trente ans par Frank Tannenbaum. Elle revenait à mettre en parallèle, essentiellement, les traditions culturelles du catholicisme et du protestantisme. Dans ce livre, George M. Fredrickson analyse les sys- tèmes de ségrégation des États-Unis et de l'Afrique du Sud, deux créations coloniales peuplées à l'origine de protestants du Nord de l'Europe. La comparaison est passionnante en elle-même dans ce qu'elle révèle d'une Afrique du Sud peu connue, mais aussi parce qu'elle est une œuvre de comparatisme proprement historique, prenant en compte l'évolution d'une société riche (les États-Unis) et d'une société beaucoup plus pauvre (l'Afrique du Sud) ainsi que le rôle déterminant pour cette dernière de l'antagonisme anglo-boer. GOROG (Ralph de), Lexique français moderne-ancien français, Athens, Univer- sity of Georgia Press,1983, 481 p. Connu déjà pour ses travaux de sémasiologie, R. de Gorog a fait entrer en mémoire d'ordinateur tout le Lexique de l'ancien français, c'estrà-dire l'abrégé du Godefroy, publié en 1901 par J. Bonnard et A. Salmon. A l'aide d'un programme ad hoc, cette masse a été triée dans l'ordre alphabétique des équivalents en français contemporain. D'où résulte un instrument de travail sans précédent qui permet de retrouver la plupart des termes de l'ancien et du moyen français correspondant à une notion donnée* C'est sans doute aussi la première opération importante et concluante réalisée avec un ordinateur dans le domaine des études médiévales. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Groupe de La Bussière, Pratiques de la confession. Des pères du désert à Vati- can II. Quinze études d'histoire, Paris, Les Éditions du Cerf, « Historique », 1983, 301 p. La longue histoire des consciences en Occident, dans un livre attentif, peut-être pour la première fois avec tant de rigueur, aux pénitents plutôt qu'aux confesseurs, à la pratique plus qu'à fa doctrine, et qui est aussi un modèle de travail collectif. HUMPHREYS (Sally), The Family, Women and Death. Comparatives Studies, Londres, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1983, 210 p. . Comment les Grecs ont inventé la division de la société entre les domaines public et privé : autour de ce problème majeur, un ensemble très cohérent d'études, mené dans un souci constant du comparatisme historique et anthropologique. Un livre à tous égards stimulant. KENYON (John), The History Men, Londres, Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1983, 322 p. Ni hagiographie ni catalogue, cette histoire de l'historiographie anglaise est destinée à un public plus large que celui des seuls spécialistes. Elle trace l'évolution et fixe les principales étapes qui marquent, depuis la Renais- sance, la professionnalisation du métier d'historien. L'œuvre et la carrière de quelques grandes figures constituent les jalons de cette exploration alerte sinon toujours exhaustive, dont les choix, les omissions, les préfé- rences — des hommes et des thèmes — vont assurément prêter à débat. KOCH-HARNACK (Gundel), Knabenliebe und Tiergeschenke : Ihre Bedeutung im Pâderastischen Erziehungsystem Athens, Berlin, Gebr. Mann, 1983. Voici que l'homosexualité grecque suscite un puissant regain d'intérêt. Après l'étude novatrice et provocante de Sir Kenneth Dover (Greek Homo- sexuality, Londres, Duckworth, 1978, traduction française, Homosexualité grecque, Grenoble, La Pensée Sauvage, 1982), le livre de G. Koch-Harnack va un peu plus loin dans la redécouverte d'un domaine de l'Antiquité clas- sique que l'érudition avait tendance à négliger depuis la fin du XIXe siècle. L'originalité du travail est sans conteste de tenter pour la première fois une étude iconologique sérieuse. Il ne s'agit pas de produire une nouvelle typologie, mais de regarder avec attention et intuition les images. Merveille : elles parlent, et leur discours muet est aussi riche que celui des textes. Une contribution de première importance à l'histoire de la sexualité grecque où l'anthropologie rejoint l'archéologie. MÛLLER (Hans-Peter), Karl Marx. Die technologisch-historischen Exzerpte. His- torisch-kritische Ausgabe, Francfort-Berlin-Vienne, Ullstein Verlag, Ullstein Buch Nr. 35131, 1981 [XVMI]-CXX-169-[244] p. WINKELMANN (Rainer), Karl Marx. Exzerpte ùber Arbeitsteilung, Maschinerie und Industrie. Historisch- kritische Ausgabe. Mit einem Vorwort von Lawrence Krader, Francfort-Berlin- Vienne, Ullstein Verlag, Ullstein Buch Nr. 35136, 1982 [XVIII]-CXCM-260 p. Première publication, selon des méthodes d'érudition rarement égalées, d'un ensemble de manuscrits de notes de lecture de Marx relatives à la technologie, la machinerie, la division du travail et l'industrie. Cette publi- cation, à la fois parce qu'elle a été réalisée en dehors du cadre officiel de la « nouvelle MEGÀ » et parce que les rapports de Marx à la technologie consti- tuent un enjeu de première importance, a déjà déclenché, notamment en RFA et à Amsterdam (où sont conservés les manuscrits), une très violence polémique, dont le récit et toutes les pièces sont publiés dans une lettre d'information : Das Junge WortDienst (Wiesbaden) Exclusiv Bericht. Marx- Engels Forschungj Nr. 243, 10 mai 1983. « Ein Stùck aufgegebene Partei- geschichte? Die SPD und der Nachlass von Karl Marx und Friedrich Engels. » 20 p. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms «f« # ' « * # > La presse périodique en France Michel Jamet Du simple journal d'opinion à la grande presse hebdomadaire qui a une diffusion élevée et d'abondantes recettes publicitai- res, Michel Jamet étudie quelques 77 titres et son ouvrage est un répertoire précieux pour tous ceux qui souhaitent se re- trouver dans le dédale des titres français. Qu'il s'agisse des journaux et magazines d'informations géné- rales, de la presse féminine, sportive, de la presse des jeunes ou bien encore de la presse économique et financière, Michel Jamet fait l'historique de chaque titre, analyse ses caractéris- tiques rédactionnelles et commerciales, rappelle les titres con- currents. Un portrait de la presse française. Collection U2, 208pages : 5 5 F Déjà paru dans la collection U : L'INFORMATION AUJOURD'HUI Bernard Voyenne Pour comprendre l'information, son fonctionnement et son évolution. Il s'agit d'une présentation générale historique et sociologique de Pinformation sous ses différents aspects. 320 pages, figures et tableaux .- 118 F ARMAND COLIN h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Out-of-Print Back Issues of Annales Économies Sociétés Available as follows Years 1-24. Paris. 1946-1969 Years 25-31. Paris, 1970-1976. Index to Years 1929-1948, (Paris 1953) and Index to Years 1949-1968, (Paris 1972) available in original édition. Civilisations cloth $2433.00 paper$2109.00 cloth $1320.00 paper $1176.00 Please inquire. The forerunners of this title are available. Please inquire for détails: Annales d'histoire économique et sociale, 1929-38. Annales d'histoire sociale, 1939-41. Mélanges d'histoire sociale, 1942-45. Kraus Reprint Route 100, Millwood, New York 10546, USA. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Art d'Occident Le Moyen Age roman et gothique Henri Focillon Du Xlle au XVe siècle, Henri Focillon découvre un art médié- val plein de vitalité qui s'affirme et se renouvelle dans ses for- mes et sa sensibilité. A la recherche «des accords profonds de la vie», H. Focillon décrit non seulement les caractères essentiels des styles, mais aussi la manière dont ils se sont faits et dont ils ont vécu. Il souligne les influences, les traditions et les innovations silen- cieuses qui permettent le passage de la voûte à l'ogive, l'évo- lution du premier art roman au gothique flamboyant. Publié pour la première fois en 1938, cet ouvrage est devenu un classique de l'histoire de l'art. Il est réédité dans sa version originale. Les notes et la bibliographie de Focillon ont été ce- pendant complétées par Jean Bony et les illustrations amélio- rées grâce à la qualité des documents photographiques d'au- j o u r a h u i . 360 pages, plus 152 pages hors-texte et suppléments .- 190 F Chez le même éditeur : REVEILS ET PRODIGES : Le gothique fantastique Jurgis Baltrusaïtis 368 pages, 570 illustrations : 290 F ARMAND COLIN h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms IXe CONGRÈS INTERNATIONAL D'HISTOIRE ÉCONOMIQUE 1986 Le I X e Congrès International d'Histoire Économique aura lieu en Suisse, du 24 au 29 août 1986. Il comportera quatre types de sections. • Débats et Controverses. Cinq sujets discutés sur la base d'un rapport général diffusé à l'avance. • Thèmes de recherche. Huit sujets, avec discussion de communications diffusées à l'avance. • Séminaires. Réunions informelles. • Présentation de recherches internationales. Le Comité de l'Association a adopté le programme suivant : — Débats et Controverses 1. La montagne : économies et sociétés. 2. Villes en déclin : réactions économiques et effets sociaux à la fin du Moyen Age et au début des temps modernes. 3. Les étapes de la formation du marché mondial, x v m e - x i x e siècles. 4. Les entreprises multinationales : finance, commerce et politique au x x e siècle. 5. Les effets de la crise des années 1930 et leur signification actuelle. — Thèmes de recherches 1. Le problème de la productivité : comparaisons internationales et mesures x i x e - x x e siècles. 2. Les changements à long terme de l'alimentation et du niveau de vie. 3. Les structures du commerce intérieur x v e - x i x e siècles. 4. Le Crédit local et international au Moyen Age et au x v i e siècle. 5. Le pétrole et l'économie mondiale. 6. Origines et développement des entreprises à participation publique. 7. Éducation technique et mobilité sociale. 8. Histoire économique et sociale de l'Antiquité (sujet à déterminer). Le programme sera complété à la prochaine réunion du Comité (avril 1984). En plus des nombreuses propositions déjà reçues, de nouvelles propositions de séminaires (l'organisation incombant aux auteurs de propositions) pourront être envoyées avant le 29 février 1984 au Secrétaire général de l'Association Internationale d'Histoire Écono- mique (Pierre Jeannin, École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, 54 Boulevard Raspail — 75270 Paris Cedex 06). X h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms MÉLANGES DE LA CASA DE VELÂZQUEZ Tome XVIII - 1982 TABLE DES MATIÈRES ( T o m e 1) Jean-Noël BONNEVILLE. Remarques sur l'indication de Vorigo par la tribu et le toponyme après des tria nomina sans filiation. Christian G U I L L E R E . Les finances royales à la fin du règne d'Alfonso IV el Bénigne (1335- 1336)- Alain MILHOU. La chauve-souris, le nouveau David et le roi caché (trois images de l'empe- reur des derniers temps dans le monde ibérique : x m e - x v i i e s.). Thierry SAIGNES. Métis & sauvages : les enjeux du métissage sur la frontière Chiriguano (1570-1620). Francisco CHACUN J I M E N E Z . El problema de la convivencia. Granadinos, Mudéjares y cristianos-viejos en el reino de Murcia, 1609-1614. Juliân MONTEMAYOR. Tolède en 1639. Martine LAMBERT-GORGES. Le bréviaire du bon enquêteur, ou trois siècles d'information sur les candidats à l'habit des ordres militaires. Marie-Laure R I E U - M I L L A N . Projets de formation des élites créoles dans la Péninsule, à la fin du x v n i e siècle. Carlos SERRANO. Prologue régénérationiste : Valladolid, 1897. Michel R A L L E . Les socialistes madrilènes au quotidien, II (des origines de VAgrupaciôn à 1910). Jean-Marc DELAUNAY. De nouveau au sud des Pyrénées : congrégations françaises et refuges espagnols, 1901-1914. Edmond RAILLARD. Santiago Rusifiol face à la grande guerre : autopsie d'un engagement. Elisée TRENC-BALLESTER. Alexandre de Riquer, ambassadeur de l'art anglais et nord- américain en Catalogne. Gérard IMBERT. Stratégies discursives et non-dit dans le discours de la presse : à propos de « El Pais ». Annie GARRISSOU. Démocratie et Régime Local ou les hypothèques d'une transition. Martin ALMAGRO-GORBEA. Nota sobre la seriaciôn de las urnas de la necrôpolis SE. de Belo. Pierre ROUILLARD. Fouilles du site ibérique de Cabezo Lucero (Guardamar del Segura, Alicante), Deuxième campagne, 1981. Pierre SILLIERES. Centuriation et voie romaine au sud de Mérida : contribution à la délimitation de la Bétique et de la Lusitanie. André BAZZANA, Pierre GUICHARD et José Maria SEGURA M A R T I . Du hisn musulman au castrum chrétien : le château de Perpunchent (Lorcha, province d'Alicante). Robert R I C A R D . La notion de « sobrenatural » chez Sainte Thérèse d'Avila. Yves BOTTINEAU. L'art de cour dans l'Espagne de Philippe V, 1700-1746 : mise au point 1962-1982. Francisco N U N E Z ROLDAN. J u a n Francisco O J E D A R I V E R A . Posibilidades de representa- ciôn cartogrâfica del catastro de Ensenada : el condado de Huelva, configuraciôn de los términos municipales y mapa de aprovechamientos. Bernard B A R R È R E . Ramôn Gômez de la Sema et la Casa de Velâzquez. ( T o m e 2) Jean-Noël BONNEVILLE, François D I D I E R J E A N , Patrick L E R O U X , Pierre ROUILLARD, Pierre S I L L I E R E S . La seizième campagne de fouilles de la Casa de Velâzquez. É Q U I P E D E RECHERCHE PLURIDISCIPLINAIRE. Évolution des paysages, transformations socio-économiques et aménagement du territoire en Andalousie Occidentale. (Conclu- sions de la première étape du programme). MESA REDONDA. (30-31 de Marzo de 1981) Iglesia y Politica en Hispanoamérica (Siglos x v i - x v m ) : un acercamiento. Jean-Marc DELAUNAY. Colloque de Madrid : du 20 au 22 mai 1981. Relations Franco- Espagnoles autour de la première guerre mondiale. XI h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Colloques internationaux du C.N.R.S., n° 551 CONTRIBUTION DE LA RECHERCHE ETHNOLOGIQUE A L'HISTOIRE DES CIVILISATIONS DU CAMEROUN (Paris, 24-28 septembre 1973) Responsable : C. TARDITS • quête historique africaine à travers les traces matérielles et les traditions' orales à l'échelle des villages ou des lignages • établissement d'une chrono- logie, implantation des populations, informations relatives au commerce, la diffusion du maïs et du manioc, les effets de l'islamisation tome 1 • rapports généraux (linguistique) • —- —• (archéologie) • —- régionaux (nord et centre du Cameroun) (24 communications dont 3 en anglais) tome 2 • rapports régionaux (ouest du Cameroun) • — — (sud du Cameroun) (20 communications dont 6 en anglais) 21 x 29 / 628 p . / broché T. 1 : 352 p., 60 fig., 32 cart. ISBN 2-222-02802-7 T. 2 : 276 p., 4 fig., 47 cart. 490 F 10 15 quai Anatole France. 75700 Paris CCP Parii 9061-11 Tel 555 92 25 chez son libraire D à défaut aux Editions du CNRS (chèque joint) D et demande votre documentation G Sciences humaines O Sciences exactes et naturelles D Trésor de la langue Française D Revue de l'Art • «OuSIWE SERVCE XII h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms MONDES EN.™,-™, DEVELOPPEMENT Co-écHtàon Economie Economy Tome 10 I.S.M.EA.-G.O.R.D.E.S. Politique Policy Année 1982 Revue trimestrielle Sociologie Sotiotogy fondée en 1973 Démographie Demogrâphy *.,anr% par François PERROUX Statistiques Statisttes N 3 9 Directeurs : R. Gendarme, A. Philippart. Rédacteurs en chef : F- Denoél, B. Crousse LES NOUVELLES CATEGORIES D'ECONOMIES SOUS-DEVELOPPEES Résumés Abstracts Resumen René G E N D A R M E Le Tiers-Monde éclaté : sa problématique, ses incidences Paul S T R E E T E N Basic N e e d s and die N e w International Economie O r d e r Pierre J U D E T Les nouveaux pays industriels dans l'évolution d u commerce mondial Raphaël C H A P O N N I E R E Alain G A U L E Abdelkader S I D A H M E D L'action internationale de l ' O P E P : u n exemple de concertation et de coopération Charles M A G A U D Après la Conférence de Paris : p o u r une politique d'aide aux pays les moins avancés (P. M. A.) H u b e r t G E R A R D I N L'intégration monétaire et économique régionale : une alternative p o u r le développement des P M A ? L'exemple de l'Afrique de l'Ouest Bernard P H I L I P P E Les préférences tarifaires généralisées des pays de l ' O C D E : un révélateur de l'inégal sous développement C h r o n i q u e Comptes rendus A B O N N E M E N T / S U B S C R I P T I O N S F F . F.B. U . S . J 1981 et 1982?ar<i«néeabonnementencours 250 2.000 50 1981 and 1982 per year entrent subscriptions nouvel abonnement pris à partir de 1981 500 4.000 100 new subscriptions front 1981 D i r e c t i o n , Edition et gestion, p o u r t o u t e s c o r r e s p o n d a n c e s , a b o n n e m e n t et ventes Edition and Management, for att correspondent, subscriptions and sales A . P H I L I P P A R T , G . O . R . D . E . S . G r o u p e Opérationnel de Recherche, de Documentation et d'Etude sur ta Science Tdsk Force of Research, Information andStudyon Science c/o Inst. de Sociologie - bur. 1105 - C . P . 124 - av. Jeanne 44 - B-1050 Bruxelles - Tél. 02/648.81.58 ou 02/649.00.30, ext. 3444 STUDI STORICI rvnsta tnmestrdt ttretla du Raaho Villmi Enrico Guaita Mctodotogia rtorica c tcoria mandata ddle cbni sociah' Rosario Villari Appnnri «ni Seicento OPINIONI E DœATrrn Rourio Villari La città e la cnltiua RICERCHE Michèle Fatica ta regolarizzazione dei mendicanti attmeuu il hrmo: l'Otpiiio dei poTeri di Modem nd Settecento Domcnko Lonirdo Intellettaali e impegao polirieo in Getmaaia: 1789-1848 Innocerao Cervelli Libenili tedeachi dei Vormto: profile di nn'élitc polinca TEMI DI RICERCA Giorgio Caredda II dirigiano coHabotaiionista: «Comités d'organisation» e padronato ndla Frauda di Vichy Nino Calice 11 ftwriimo e l'emigraione locana negli Usa Albenina Vittoria Totalitariano e intellettaali: l'Initata nationale tatâsta di cultiva dal 1925 al 1937 NOTE CR1T1CHE Bruno Vecchjo Geografia e noria Claudio Milabesi L'educazione totale Fabio Baizani Filomfia e poHrica ael Norecento italiano INFORMAZIONI MBUOGRAF1CHE RMsta trimeatrala - L 6.500 - e t * , annuo L. 23.000 Editori Rlunltl Rtviste - 00186 Rom» Pimza Graztoli, 1B • T«l. 6792996 • cep, n. 502013 XIII h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms ÉDITIONS DE L'ÉCOLE DES HAUTES ÉTUDES EN SCIENCES SOCIALES Bibliothèque générale de l'École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales et JEAN TOUZOT LIBRAIRE ÉDITEUR Vient de paraître PIERRE LÉVÊQUE Une société provinciale : la Bourgogne sous la monarchie de Juillet A l'origine de ce travail, un problème d'histoire politique régionale : la différence de comportement électoral, sensible à plusieurs reprises, entre la Bourgogne du Nord et celle du Sud. Comme elle s'est manifestée avec une particulière netteté sous la Seconde Répu- blique, l'auteur a été amené à rechercher une explication dans les structures profondes des deux départements de la Côte-d'Or et de Saône-et-Loire, au temps de Louis-Philippe. Empreinte des anciennes civilisations agraires, répartition et exploitation du sol, compor- tements démographiques, hiérarchies sociales, etc., dans presque tous les domaines, l'enquête a fait ressortir l'originalité des « pays » qui composent l'ancienne province. 1983. 800 p. 480 F Une société en crise : la Bourgogne au milieu du XIX siècle (1846-18J2) Dans le volume précédent, l'auteur avait présenté, dans un essai d'histoire globale, la phy^ sionomie complexe d'une société provinciale sous la monarchie de Juillet. Comment va réagir cette société devant une crise économique et politique majeure, celle des années 1846- 1852 ? Cette crise a-t-elle infléchi l'évolution d'un monde rural largement majoritaire ? compromis ici, favorisé ailleurs un développement capitaliste aux origines et aux formes très diverses ? Mais, surtout, a-t-elle révélé, au-delà d'un consensus prévisible, peu original, autour de la République modérée, puis du prétendant bonapartiste, les racines des oppositions tran- chées entre régions « rouges » et pays conservateurs ? La rencontre entre un mouvement national de contestation de l'ordre établi, et des milieux sociaux très variés, véritable microcosme de la France d'alors, a-t-elle mis en place une géographie politique durable ? 1983. VI-594 p. 310 F Diffusion et vente CID Librairie Touzot 131 bd Saint-Michel 38 rue Saint-Sulpice 75005 Paris 75006 Paris Ives prix sont susceptibles de modifications sans préavis. XIV h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms DIOÇÈNE R E V U E INTERNATIONALE DES SCIENCES HUMAINES fondée par ROGER CAILLOIS N° 123 — Juillet-Septembre 1983 SOMMAIRE J A N M A R E J KO M I L I C C A P E K R I C H A R D L. F R A N K L I N D A V I D H . D A R S T J E A N L O H I S S E TlLO SCHABERT Les conséquences philosophiques de la formulation du principe d'iner- tie. Espace euclidien et espace absolu. Temps-espace plutôt qu'espace- temps. Libre arbitre, déterminisme et pen- sée scientifique. La notion de symétrie dans les arts plastiques et dans les sciences. L'artefact informatique ou la com- munication asservie. Modernité et histoire. Diogène, Unesco, 1, rue Miollis, Paris XVe - Tél. 577 16 10 (poste 49-70) L'édition française est publiée par les Editions Gallimard, 5, rue Sébastien-Bottin, Paris-VII". Les abonnements sont souscrits auprès du Service abonnements, 49, rue delà Vanne 92120 Montrouge (65689 00) (c.c.p. 169-33 L, Paris). Le n° : 39,50 F. Abonnement : France, 124,80 F ; Etranger 140 F. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Centre Interinstitutionnel pour la Diffusion de publications en sciences humaines. DIFFUSION CID - 131, bd Saint Michel, 75005 Paris - tél. (1) 354.47.15 Clemenceau et la justice. Actes du colloque de décembre 1979 organisé pour le cinquantenaire de la mort de G. Clemenceau 1983. Publications de la Sorbonne X + 196 p., 140 F C.-J. BERTRAND Les États-Unis : histoire et civilisation. Témoignages et documents 1983. Presses Universitaires de Nancy 404 p., 65 F J. GALLET La seigneurie bretonne, 1450-1680 1983. Publications de la Sorbonne 642 p., 180 F P. LÉVÊQUE Une société provinciale : la Bourgogne sous la Monarchie de Juillet 800 p., 480 F Une société en crise : la Bourgogne au milieu du 19' siècle, 1846-1852 V + 592 p., 310 F 1983. Éditions de l'École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales & Librairie Touzot J.-P. POUSSOU Bordeaux et le Sud-Ouest au XVIII' siècle : croissance économique et attraction urbaine 1983. Éditions de l'École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales & Librairie Touzot 654 p., 390 F P. LEVILLAIN Albert De Mun : Catholicisme français et catholicisme romain du Syllabus au ralliement 1983. École Française de Rome 1062 p., 600 F J. A. SHARPE Crime in seventeenth century England : a county study 1983. Éditions de la Maison des Sciences de l'Homme VIII + 290 p., 321 F L. VERSINI (éd.) François Ignace de Wendel, 1741-1795. Essais inédits : religion, philosophie, histoire, politique 1983. Presses Universitaires de Nancy XXVII + 248 p., 98 F O. ZELLER Les recensements lyonnais de 1597 et 1636 : démographie historique et géographie sociale 1983. Presses Universitaires de Lyon 474 p., 145 F S. LEBECQ Marchands et navigateurs frisons du haut Moyen Age 1983. Presses Universitaires de Lille T. I : Essai. Préface de Michel Mollat. 376 p., 160 F T. Il : Corpus des sources écrites. 470 p., 200 F Ces ouvrages sont disponibles chez votre libraire ou au CID. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms CRITIQUE Direction - Rédactinn ^ - .lean PIFI Jean PIEL A o û t - S e p t e m b r e 1983 N ° 435-436 LES MYSTÈRES DE TRIESTE Trieste a toujours été une ville-frontière : de l'Empire Romain, puis de celui des Habsbourg, enfin de l'Italie. Beaucoup d'hommes y sont venus terminer leur vie, parfois dans des conditions dramatiques. Quelques génies, errants ou exilés, ont trouvé dans le climat ou le cosmopolitisme de cette ville étrange l'inspiration pour écrire des chefs- d'œuvre : tels Rilke et Joyce. Quant aux mouvements d'idées, beaucoup y ont afflué, parmi les plus audacieux. Venant surtout de Vienne, ils ie sont le plus souvent heurtés aux murs de cette frontière pour rebondir ailleurs. AU SOMMAIRE: Jean PIEL : I n t r o d u c t i o n Daniel GRANGE : De la c i t é des marches à la v i l l e i r r é d e n t e Jacques NOBECOURT : Freud e t le « Triskeles » J.N. : Psychanalyse f r e u d i e n n e en Italie via Trieste Robert CASTEL : La v i l l e de « M a r c o Cavallo », e m b l è m e de l ' a n t i p s y c h i a t r i e M a r i o FUSCO : I t a l o Svevo : dans un monde qui s e dérobe... Yves HERSANT : U m b e r t o Saba est m o r t à Gorizia Patrizia LOMBARDO : Lieu de retour ou l i e u de f u i t e ? De Slataper à Bazlen Elena PONTIGGIA : Le grand posthume : M i c h e l s t a e d t e r Pierre BARUCCO : O u a r a n t o t t i Gambini Jean-Michel RABATE : Joyce à T r i e s t e , seconde p a t r i e de l'exil Franco RELLA : Le château de Duino et les Elégies de Rilke Franck VENAILLE : « T r i e s t e docile » f a i t semblant d ' e x i s t e r c o m m e avant Marie-Anne LESCOURRET : « La planète Trieste » NOTES J.-P. : Le poète slovène Srecko Kosovel Keiko KIRISHIMA : Eléments austro-allemands dans le Novecento Jacques VANVES : Un « voyage extraordinaire » de Jules Verne Jean DAVIRON : L'assassinat de Winckelmann France Etranger TARIFS D'ABONNEMENT 6 mois 1 an 160 F 275 F 180 F 330 F Prix de ce numéro : 55 F Editions da Minutt - 7. n i * Swfwrd-PapMy - 76006 Paria C.C.P. Pana 180.43 T XVII h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms l'homme et u s o c i é t é revue internationale de recherches et de synthèses sociologiques F O N D A T E U R S : Serge J O N A S , Jean P R O N T E A U D I R E C T E U R : Serge J O N A S Direction - Rédaction - Administration - Abonnements ÉDITIONS ANTHROPOS, 15, rue Lacépède, 75005, Tél. 535-22-47 N o s 65-66 Juillet-Décembre 1982 S O M M A I R E A d a m S C H A F F : Les pays socialistes sont-ils socialistes ? 3 A n d r é G U N D E R F R A N K : La crise mondiale, théorie et idéologie 2 1 Michael LOWY : Le marxisme rationaliste de l'Ecole de Francfort 45 Pierre B E Z B A K H : Pour en f i n i r avec le « mode de produ- t i o n féodal » 67 Georges L A P A S S A D E : Les thérapies de la transe 7 7 Kristian F E I G E L S O N : Le gai savoir de Pierre Clastres 107 Michèle M A T T E L A R D : Télévision, éducation et culture rjc> pnn^p ' David B U X T O N : Le rock, le « star-system » et la montée de la société de consommation » 151 Abdelghani M E K K A O U I : La « nouvelle génération » prend la parole 1^9 Colloques -|g-| Karl POPPER : Théoricien de la « faisifiabilité » (Eddy TREVES) Comptes rendus 197 Pierre BOURDIEU : Ce que parler veut dire, L'économie des échanges linguis- tiques (André JACOB) Gyorgy MARKUS :Langage et production (Michael LOWY) Zoltan TAR : The Franlcfurt School (The Critical théories of Max Horkheimer, Theodor W. Adorno)(Joseph GABEL) Jacques ANTOINE : Le sondage,outil de marketing (André REGNIER) Georges AUCLAIR : Le Mana quotidien (Eddy TREVES) Revues des revues (Eddy TREVES) 205 Prix du numéro double 70 F. Abonnement 1 an. France : H0 F. Étranger : 150 F. Les abonnements peuvent se régler par chèque bancaire, mandat-carte, mandat-poste chèque postal (C.C.P. Paris 8.721.23) Directeur de ta publication : Serge JONAS h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms K i; V U I! T I I: H S - M 0 N II li Tome XXIV avril-juin 1983 »' 94 DEMAIN LE TIERS-MONDE : POPULATION ET DEVELOPPEMENT sous la direction de Philippe BOURCIKR de CARBON Préface par Alfred SAUVY Avant-propos par Jacques AUSTRUY et Philippe BOURCIER de CARBON I.- BILAN DEMOGRAPHIQUE ACTUEL ET TENDANCES RECENTES Jacques BRENEZ et William SELTZER.- La collecte des informations démo- graphiques dans les pays du Tiers-Monde: recensements et enquêtes dans les années 70 et 80 Henri LERIDON.- Tendances récentes de la fécondité et de la mortalité dans les pays du Tiers-Monde. Jean-Claude CHASTELAND.- Les politiques de population dans le Tiers- Monde huit après Bucarest: espoirs et réalités. Léon TABAH.- Les perspectives démographiques mondiales. II.- DEMOGRAPHIE ET TRANSFORMATION DES STRUCTURES SOCIO-ECONOMIQUES Paul BAIROCH.- Tendances et caractéristiques de l'urbanisation du Tiers Monde d'avant-hier et après-demain (1900-2025). Isabelle DEBLE.- Population et besoins scolaires. Philippe HUGON.- Pression démographique, "secteur informel" et choix technologiques dans les pays du Tiers-Monde. Mouna Liliane SAMMAN.- Activité économique des femmes du Tiers-Monde et perspectives de baisse de leur fécondité. III.- DEMOGRAPHIE ET ECONOMIE DU DEVELOPPEMENT Jean COUSSY.- Croissance démographique et dynamique de la spécialisa- tion du Tiers-Monde. Philippe BOURCIER de CARBON.- Les modèles démo-économiques de dévelop- pement : Evolution et tendances récentes. Léon TABAH.- Quelques réflexions en vrac sur les interrelations entre la population, les ressources, l'environnement et le développement. IV.- DEUX NATIONS GEANTES DU TIERS-MONDE : LA CHINE ET 1,'INDE Michel CARTIER,- Le sous-développement chinois. Un effet de la croissance démographiques ? Gilbert ETIENNE.- La population de l'Inde et les niveaux de vie. BIBLIOGRAPHIE PUBLIEE PAR L'INSTITUT d'ETUDE du DEVELOPPEMENT ECONOMIQUE et SOCIAL de 1'UNIVERSITE de PARIS 1 et par les PRESSES UNIVERSITAIRES DE FRANCE Direction-Rédaction : Institut d'Etude du Développement EconomiqiiC et Social 58, boulevard Arago - 75013 - PARIS (tel: 33b 23 55) Abonnements et vente: Presses Universitaires de France, 12, rue Jean de Beauvais - 75005-PARIS (tel: 326 22 16) (cep: Paris, n° 1302 69 C) F r a n c e : 2 1 6 , 0 0 F r a n c s E t r a n g e r : 2 7 6 , 0 0 f r a n c s XIX h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms janvier-mars 1983, numéro 122 le mouvement social revue trimestrielle publiée avec le concours du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique et avec la collaboration du Centre de recherches d'Histoire des Mouvements sociaux et du Syndicalisme de l'Université Paris I (Panthéon-Sorbonne) S0miïl3irB Les rapports sociaux et le mouvement syndical dans l'ins- dustrie lourde japonaise au xixc siècle, par Andrew Gor- don 3 Le Comité d'Action (CGT-PS) et l'origine du réformisme syn- dical du temps de guerre (1914-1916), par John Home 33 Une analyse d'implication : l'évolution du groupe des Temps Nouveaux en 1915, par Jean-Louis Robert 61 Un groupe d'étudiants protestants en 1914-1918, par Rémi Fabre 75 La CGT et les syndicats de l'Afrique noire de colonisation française, de la Deuxième Guerre mondiale aux indépen- dances, par Paul Delanoue 103 Réponse à Paul Delanoue, par Philippe Dewitte 117 IlOteS Jaurès et la classe ouvrière, par M. Rebérioux et alii (G. Candar). La scission syndicale de 1921, par J.-L. Robert de l e c t u r e (M- Launay). Histoire de la CSM 1921-1981, par J. Rouil- lard (A. Lacroix-Riz). — NOTES BREVES. Divorcer à Lyon sous la Révolution et l'Empire, par D. Dessertine (F. Riffault-Regourd). Le syndicalisme agricole en France, par C. Delorme et alii (G. Postel-Vinay). L'Alsace, par P. Klein (M. Rebérioux). Un républicain méconnu : Martin Bernard, par C. Latta (id.). Le Parti communiste de Bel- gique (1921-1944), par R. Lewin et alii (id.). Memoria n° 1 (F. Werner). Une Eglise ébranlée, par E. Poulat (M. Lau- nay) 122 Informations et initiatives 138 Résumés 140 Livres reçus 143 A nos lecteurs et à nos lectrices 144 les éditions ouvrières 12, avenue Sœur-Rosalie, 75621 Paris Cedex 13 XX h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms *>£ SOCIOLOGIE OE « f S O O O t O G ï O F Jean REMY Avant peropaof **""** U" " F ° ™ ° ^ S a c r a , i , é e, vie quotidien. - Jean REMY Vie quotidienne, production de valeurs et religion Josianne BODART Modernité et néo-clercs. A partir de l'image de soi du travatlleur social Alain BOURD1N - Mireille SAIN-CR1CO - Monioue HFRÇruunuM The Wood and the Tree: Ref.ec.ions on The Retur'n o f tne Sacred N Juliette HADDAD moderne"6 q U ° t i d i e n n e : « * « ! « * « sur une société arabo-musulmane Yvon AMBROISE The Hindu Concept of Space and Time Mary PILLAI The Non-Brahmin Movement and Desacralization Claude RIVIERE A quoi servent les rituels séculiers? EDJTEURSÎ «ENTRÉ m RECHERCHES SOCîO-REUOtÉUSÊâ Plsee MantwqutH* 1, S.21 8*t*4* OltigûtBv-Lwviiik-te-N«itV¥<N8iq»ie) XXI h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. http://Ref.ec.ions https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms INTERNATIONAL REVIEW OF SOCIAL HISTORY EDITED BY THE INTERNATIONAAL INSTITUUT VOOR SOCIALE GESCHIEDENIS, AMSTERDAM Director: J.R. van der Leeuw EDITORIAL BOARD: L. J. Altena, M. A. H. Campfens, D. E. Devreese, T. Haan, R. de Jong, G. Langkau, J. Rojahn, L. i. van Rossum, M. W. H. Schreuder, F. Tichelman, J. M. Welcker, A. V. N. van Woerden (Secretary) EDIT. ADDRESS: Kabelweg 51, Amsterdam DISTRIBUTION: Van Gorcum, Assen, The Netherlands SUBSCRIPTION: D.fl. 72.—per annum PUBLISHED: Three times per annum AU rights reserved CONTENTS OF VOL. XXVIII - 1983 - PART 1 Karl Marx 1883-1983 Jtirgen Rojahn, Marxismus — Marx — Geschichtswissenschaft. Der Fall der sog. "Okonomisch-philosophischen Manuskripte aus dem Jahre 1844" 2 FredE. Schrader, Karl Marxens Smithkommentar von 1861/62 im Heft VII. Zur Rationalitât des aporetischen Arbeitsbegriffs 50 Teinosuke Otani, ZUT Datierung der Arbeit von Karl Marx am II. und III. Buch des Kapital 91 Gôtz Langkau, Marx-Gesamtausgabe — Dringendes Parteiinteresse oder dekora- tiver Zweck? Ein Wiener Editionsplan zum 30. Todestag, Briefe und Briefausziige 105 Bibliography General Issues Religions and Philosophy 143 Social Theory and Social Science 143 History 144 Contemporary Issues 148 Continents and Countries Africa 149 America 149 Asia 153 Europe 153 Notes on Contributors 174 XXII h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Editor: Vittorio Capecchi Clniversity of Bologna, Italy Associate Edltors: Raymond Boudon, Université René- Descartes, Paris, France Charles Kadushin, Columbia Clniversity, (J.S.A. Quality and Quantity is an in- terdisciplinary journal which systematically correlates disciplines such as mathematics and statistics with those of the social sciences, particularly sociology, économies and social psychology. The journal constitutes a ma- jor point of référence for ail scholars wishing to discuss instruments of methodology for more rigorous scientific research in the social sciences. Subscription Information 1983: Volume 17 (6 issues) CIS$ 90.80/Dfl. 245,00, including postage. T ^ F 8 REOUEST MFTHODOLOGY ^ROPEAN^ERICAN S R N A L O F METHODOLOGY S o m e Recently Published Articles... Multidimensional scaling in Riemann space Joseph Woelfel and George A. Barnett (USA) A really gênerai impossibility theorem Thomas Schwartz (USA) Vote-maximizing versus utility-maximizing candidates: comparing dynamic models of bi-party compétition François Petry (Italy) Effects of categorization on the corrélation coefficient LilyNeumann (Israël) The convergence between the commonsense method of reading a contingency table and regression-based models of its structure Richard D.AIba (OSA) A property-space perspective for interaction terms of ordinal variables Kris Merschrod (USA) Causal modeling in international migration research: a methodological prolegomenon Demetrios G. Papdemetriou and Gerald W. Hopple (USA) A demoeconomic model of the rural sector FM. Borodkin and V.M. Alfiorov (USS.R) ELSEVIER P.O. Box 211, 1000 AE Amsterdam, The Netherlands, 52 Vanderbilt Ave, New York, N.Y. 10017. The Dutch guilderprice is de/initive US $ priecs arc subjecl to exchange rate fluctuations. XXIII h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms V I L L A I T A T T I T H E H A R V A R D U N I V E R S I T Y C O N T K R F O R I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E S T U D 1 E S Via di Vincigliata 50135 Florence, Italy tel. 603.251 608.909 Villa I Tatti: The Harvard Center for Italian Renaissance Studies at Villa I Tatti will award upward of ten stipendiary fellowships for independent study on any aspect of the Italian Renaissance for the académie year 1984-85. I Tatti offers fellowships for scholars of any nationality, normally post-doctoral and in the earlier stages of their careers. The fellowship program is presently made possible by the Lawrence Berenson Fellowship Fund, the Francesco E. de Dombrowski Bequest, the Leopold Schepp Foundation, the Rush H . Kress Fellowship for Art History at I Tatti, the Robert Lehman Fellowship, a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities for fellowships to support ad- vanced study in the humanities, the H a n n a Kiel Fellowship given by friends of Hanna Kiel, and the fellowship fund from the Committee to Rescue Italian Art for American conservators and art historians. Stipends will be given in accord with the individual needs of the approved applicants and the availability of funds. The maximum grant will be no higher than $22,000; most are considerably less. Fellows must be free to dévote full time to study. Fellowships run from July 1,1984 to June 30, 1985. It is in keeping with the purposes of I Tatti that Fellows not be absent for very protracted periods during the académie year, although they certainly are expected to corne and go in the course of carrying out necessary work and making visits elsewhere. Each Fellow is offered a place to study, use of the Biblioteca Berenson and Fototeca, lunches during weekdays, participation in the activities of the Center, and an opportuni- ty to meet scholars from the United States and other countries working in related fields. Applicants should send their curriculum vitae and a description of their project to the Director at the above address before November 1,1983 ,' and duplicates to Professor Walter Kaiser, 401 Boylston Hall, Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138, U.S.A. Candidates should ask three senior scholars familiar with their work to send con- fidential letters of recommendation to the Director by the same date with duplicates to Professor Kaiser. I Tatti also offers a limited number of non-stipendiary fellowships for scholars work- ing in Florence on Renaissance subjects with support from other sources. Non-stipendiary Fellows should hâve the same qualifications and will hâve the same privilèges as those whose stipends are derived from I Tatti funds. Scholars interested in thèse fellowships should apply as described above by November 1,1983 . The Commissioneper gli Scambi Culturalifra l'Italia e gli Stati Uniti offers an addi- tional fellowship available to Italian citizens not residing in Florence. Those interested may apply directly to the Commissione, Via Buoncompagni 16, 00187 Rome, or may request application forms from I Tatti. The deadline for thèse applications is January 31, 1984. XXIV h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms CAHIERS DES ANNALES En vente à la LIBRAIRIE ARMAND COLIN, 103, boulevard Saint-Michel, 75005 PARIS Compte chèques postaux : Paris, N° 21 335-25 E 2. Ch. MORAZÉ, Trois essais sur Histoire e t C u l t u r e . 13. M. BLOCH, La France sous les derniers C a p é t i e n s (1223-1328), 3* édition. 15. J . BARNAVE, I n t r o d u c t i o n à la R é v o l u t i o n f r a n ç a i s e (présentation de F. RUDE), 2* édition. 16. M. BLOCH, Seigneurie f r a n ç a i s e e t manoir anglais, 2e édition. 17. M. DELAFOSSE et C. LAVEAU, Le c o m m e r c e d u sel d e Brouage aux X V I I * e t X V I I I * siècles. 20. H. ANTONIADIS-BIBICOU, Recherches sur les d o u a n e s à Byzance. 22. T. PLATTER, A u t o b i o g r a p h i e (texte traduit et présenté par Marie HELMER). 24. M. MORINEAU, J a u g e s e t m é t h o d e s d e j a u g e anciennes e t m o d e r n e s . 25. J.-P. ARON, Essai sur la sensibilité a l i m e n t a i r e à Paris au X I X * siècle. 26. M. BLOCH, Souvenirs d e g u e r r e , 1914-1915. 27. A r c h é o l o g i e d u village d é s e r t é , 2 volumes. 29. G. et M. VOVELLE, V i s i o n d e la m o r t e t d e l'au-delà e n Provence. 30. M. MORINEAU, Les f a u x - s e m b l a n t s d'un d é m a r r a g e é c o n o m i q u e : agriculture e t d é m o g r a p h i e en France au X V I I I * siècle. 31. H.-D. MANN, Lucien F e b v r e . La pensée v i v a n t e d'un h i s t o r i e n . 34. M. MALOWIST, Croissance e t régression e n Europe ( X I V ' - X V I I * siècle). 35. W . FRIJHOFF et D. JULIA, École e t société dans la France d ' A n c i e n R é g i m e . 36. M. AGULHON, Le c e r c l e d a n s la France bourgeoise (1810-1848). 37. P. CHAUNU, H i s t o i r e q u a n t i t a t i v e , histoire sérielle. 38. W . G. L. RANDLES, D e la t e r r e p l a t e au g l o b e t e r r e s t r e . h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms A n n a l e s Économies Sociétés Civilisations NUMÉROS SPÉCIAUX Ouvrir des dossiers-débats en regroupant des articles autour d'un thème précis; donner de la recherche en cours une image tout ensemble fidèle et prospective; confronter et articuler entre elles des approches disciplinaires diverses : telles sont les ambitions des numéros spéciaux que les Annales publient depuis plusieurs années. A n t h r o p o l o g i e historique des sociétés andines (n° 5-6/1978) Recherches sur l'Islam, histoire et anthropologie (n° 3-4/1980) Le document : éléments critiques (n° 5-6/1982 ; 2e édition 1983) • Famille et société (n° 4-5/1972, 2<= édition, 1983) Les nombreuses demandes que les lecteurs nous ont adressées, nous ont incités à faire un nouveau tirage de ce numéro spécial depuis longtemps épuisé. A u lieu de se demander ce qu'annonce, pour la société actuelle, l'intérêt que l'historien porte aux problèmes de la famille, il faudrait se demander pourquoi il s'en est désin- téressé pendant si longtemps... La famille était non seulement négligée, mais rejetée comme une scorie du réel, réfractaire au mouvement, réfractaire à l'histoire... Pourtant, si l'application récente de la réflexion historique aux problèmes de la famille a eu quelque mérite, c'est d'avoir mis en évidence l'affrontement constant, dans l'évolution des sociétés, de la famille et de l'État, institutions concurrentes : dès que l'État s'affai- blit, dès qu'il ne dispose plus d'un pouvoir d'intervention et de protection suffisant, la famille s'élargit, reprend totalement en charge l'individu et se transforme en bastille. Dès qu'il se renforce, elle se rétracte, desserre les liens affectifs qu'elle imposait à l'individu et le laisse s'intégrer plus largement à la société globale. armand colin h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 08 15 67 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 16 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900081567 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms 
work_2hnsj5pbofa3rpnjg7kat4meca	----	doi:10.1016/j.cub.2006.11.043 Magazine R7 but can be mundane. Many beginning faculty members want their first papers to be ‘home runs’. But, ‘home runs’ come after the lab has momentum, and the way to gain that momentum is to start producing as quickly as possible. Do you think there is an increased trend towards translational research? Throughout the history of modern science there have been times when political or societal needs have set the agenda for scientific research. For example, World War II accelerated research in a number of areas related to communications and weapon systems. So the present push towards finding cures for the major illnesses that plague humankind today is understandable. That said, I find the extent of the present translational rhetoric a bit troubling for two reasons. First, there is a phenomenal amount of human suffering that today could be alleviated with the knowledge, medicines and technology that we already have, if the political will were there. Second, I believe that much of what drives discovery by scientists is sheer curiosity, and the desire to solve puzzles. It is a mistake to forget that the creation of new knowledge, for its own sake, is an important part of what makes us human. At the same time, science is increasingly expensive and technologically demanding, and our fellow citizens pay for it. Therefore, each of us has the responsibility to honestly, to the best of our ability, attempt to create new knowledge. Some of this new knowledge will be directly relevant to curing human disease or other important society issues in the short-term. Some of the new knowledge may change conceptual frameworks in ways that are unpredictable, with unpredictable consequences, on both short-term and long-term timescales. Volen Center and Biology Department, Brandeis University, Waltham, Massachusetts 02454-9��0, USA. E-mail: marder@brandeis.edu Quick guide Prosopagnosia Alison M. Harris and Geoffrey K. Aguirre What is prosopagnosia? Prosopagnosia — from the Greek prosop for ‘face’ and agnosia for ‘ignorance’ — also known as face-blindness, is an impairment in the ability to recognize other individuals by their faces, sometimes even those of parents, siblings and spouses (Figure �). Despite its potentially distressing social consequences for sufferers, this disorder has proved a boon to cognitive neuropsychology research, providing some of the earliest and strongest evidence for the existence of ‘face- selective’ processing in the human visual system. Although first systematically observed only 60 years ago by Joachim Bodamer, prosopagnosia is now the subject of an extensive literature. Despite what you may have heard, prosopagnosics seldom mistake their wives for hats. What causes prosopagnosia? Prosopagnosia can be ‘acquired’ as a result of brain damage, specifically from lesions to the occipito-temporal region. In recent years, there has also been growing interest in quantifying lifelong impairments in face recognition, known as developmental or congenital prosopagnosia. In such cases, the etiology is often unknown, but evidence of familial inheritance suggests a genetic component in at least some individuals. Recent research has also examined whether links exist between congenital impairments in face perception and social developmental disorders like autism. What cognitive systems are affected in prosopagnosia? Impairment of any number of cognitive systems, from perception to memory, could result in a failure to recognize familiar faces. Yet, although prosopagnosia is often accompanied by mild to moderate difficulties in object recognition, prosopagnosics may learn to rely on non-face visual cues, such as hairstyle or gait, for recognition, as well as information from other modalities, such as voice. This allows many prosopagnosics to discern facial characteristics such as gender, age, and emotion. Prosopagnosia is therefore commonly conceptualized as reflecting damage to a cognitive system specific to visual processing of facial identity. Supporting this idea, Moscovitch and colleagues (�997) described a patient, CK, with a severe deficit in general object perception whose face recognition was nonetheless intact. This ‘double dissociation’ between prosopagnosics and object agnosics like CK supports the existence of two separate visual processing streams for faces and other objects. What neural systems are affected in prosopagnosia? Acquired prosopagnosia is frequently associated with bilateral (occasionally unilateral, right) damage to extrastriate visual cortex, particularly the Figure �. Prosopagnosia. In Giuseppe Arcimboldo’s The Vegeta- ble Gardener (Natura), prosopagnosics can see the vegetables, but not the face. Object agnosic CK, on the other hand, easily perceives the face but not its un- usual composition. (Sistema Museale della Città di Cremona — Museo Civico “Ala Ponzone”.) Current Biology Vol �7 No � R8 Correspondences Mediaeval artists: Masters in directing the observers’ gaze Ute Leonards1, Roland Baddeley1, Iain D. Gilchrist1, Tom Troscianko1, Patrick Ledda2 and Beth Williamson3 The gold leaf in early Renaissance paintings such as Duccio’s “The Annunciation” (�3��) appears to glow when lit by candles as the artist would have expected. Subjectively, the candle-lit painting appears drastically different from the same painting illuminated with diffuse daylight typical of modern art galleries. By analysing the density of observers’ eye fixations when looking at this painting under these two lighting conditions, we found objective differences in where in the painting observers attended: specifically, the glow of the gold induced shifts in fixations to symbolically important regions of the painting. To investigate the effects of illumination on the perception of mediaeval paintings, we first constructed an area of gold leaf, using the techniques of the Italian Renaissance painters, and measured its reflectance properties. We also measured the spectral characteristics of beeswax candle light and daylight illumination. This allowed us to mimic the effects of such light sources on gold. On the basis of these data, we then used photorealistic computer graphics to render a high resolution digital scan of the original painting under both beeswax candle illuminant and daylight illuminant (see Supplemental experimental procedures in the Supplemental data available on-line with this issue). In the behavioural experiment, we had two groups of human participants view one of the two rendered pictures while we measured their eye movements. Figure � shows how the nature of the illuminant affected where in the picture the participants fixated in the picture. The gold leaf, which is used so extensively in paintings of this era, creates a dramatic glow effect when lit by candles, which would have been the contemporary illuminant for these paintings. This glow effect leads the eye to fixate in a different part of the image than when ordinary diffuse daylight illumination is used. In the case of Duccio’s Annunciation, observers look less at the faces of the Angel and the Virgin and more towards the Virgin’s hand. One might speculate that this is the eyes being directed away from the faces (looking at them directly might have been considered irreverent). Alternatively, the eyes could have been directed towards the Virgin’s hand, which she uses to grasp her veil and to gather her mantle around herself protectively. Her gesture has been claimed to reflect a state of mind somewhere between disquiet and reflection, consistent with the early stages of the Angelic Colloquy or the interaction between the Angel and the Virgin [�]. The methods used by this great Italian painter appear to exploit the effect of ‘glowing’ gold to direct the viewer’s eyes. Our results raise two important scientific issues. First, why does the subtle induction of ‘glow’ have such a significant effect on eye movements? Sources of illumination are often the most perceptually visible regions in a visual scene. Traditional low- level salience models of eye movement control [2] would predict a high fixation probability of these regions. In the current experiment, however, eye movements were not directed toward the brightest parts of the image, such as the gold- covered garments or windows under candle-light conditions, as predicted if fixations were driven by either brightness or the global effect in which saccades are directed to the centre of gravity fusiform gyrus. This relatively posterior locus of injury buttresses the view of acquired prosopagnosia as a disorder of visual processing. Although people with developmental prosopagnosia have no obvious lesion in the fusiform gyrus, recent work suggests that there is a subtle alteration of the white matter connections in this region of the brain. Neurons in this area have been shown to respond vigorously, and selectively, to the visual image of faces. Aren’t faces just harder to recognize? Or the subject of greater experience? In fact, several such alternative explanations have been proposed. Many are variants on the ‘individuation’ account, which holds that special processing for faces is not specific to this visual stimulus category. Proponents of this view note that faces are a special category of object for which we constantly identify individual exemplars, whereas such ‘subordinate-level’ processing is seldom necessary for recognition of other classes of object. In line with this view, some prosopagnosics demonstrate impairments in individuation of other object classes, such as specific animals. But this within- category impairment may reflect damage to adjacent but separate cortical areas. Furthermore, some experiments have still found specific impairment for faces versus other object classes in prosopagnosic subjects when the difficulty of individuation for these stimulus sets is matched. The issue of the specificity of the deficit in prosopagnosia remains an active area of debate. Where can I find out more? Barton, J.J. (2003). Disorders of face perception and recognition. Neurology Clinic 21, 52�–548. Moscovitch, M., Winocur, G., and Behrmann, M. (�997). What is special about face recognition? Nineteen experiments on a person with visual object agnosia and dyslexia but normal face recognition. J. Cognitive Neurosci. 9, 555–604. Department of Neurology, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania �9�04, USA. E-mail: aguirreg@mail.med.upenn.edu mailto:aguirreg@mail.med.upenn.edu Prosopagnosia What causes prosopagnosia? What cognitive systems are affected in prosopagnosia? What neural systems are affected in prosopagnosia? Aren’t faces just harder to recognize? Or the subject of greater experience? Where can I find out more? 
work_2kycckjoyzb2tn45yazfmcvqte	----	Bibliography of Books Published in 1995, 1996 and 1997 Books Received Bibliography of Books Published in 1995, 1996 and 1997* Kurt Siehr** Allen, Brian and Dukelskaya, Larissa (eds.). British Art Treasures from Russian Imperial Collections in the Hermitage. New Haven and London: Yale University Press 1996. 328 pp. ISBN 0-300-06946-4. £45.00. Anema, Karin (ed.). Archeologisch erfgoed goed beheerd: behoud, inrichting en beheer in het landelijk gebied [Archaeological heritage well administered: Preservation, organization and administration in rural areas]. The Hague: Sdu 1997. 101 pp. ISBN 90-12-083184. Dutch Guilders 37.00. Atkinson, John A., Banks, Iain and O'Sullivan, Jerry (eds.). National- ism and Archaeology. Scottish Archaeological Forum. Glasgow: Cruithne Press 1996. X, 213 pp. ISBN 1-873448-11-2. £ 12.50. Backer, Ernst (ed.). Kunstwerk oder Denkmal? Alois Riegls Schrif- ten zur Denkmalpflege [Piece of Art or Monument? Writings of Alois Riegl on Preservation of Historical Monuments]. (Studien zu Denkmalschutz und Denkmalpflege, vol. XV). Vienna, Cologne, Weimar: Bohlau 1995. 239 pp. ISBN 3-205-98414-5. SFr. 37.50 Bastien, Herve. Droit des archives [Law of Archives]. Paris: Docu- mentation francaise: Direction des Archives de France 1996. 192 pp. ISBN 2-11-003640-0. FFr. 130.00. Bode, Wilhelm von. Mein Leben [My Life]. Edited by Thomas W. Gaehtgens and Barbara Paul. Commented by Barbara Paul, Til- mann von Stockhausen, Michael Miiller and Uta Kornmeier (Quellen zur deutschen Kunstgeschichte, vol. 4) Berlin: Nicolai 1997. 2 vols. Vol. 1 (text): XVIII, 467 pp.; vol. 2 (commentary): XIII, 464 pp. ISBN 3-87584-637-0. DM 128.00. Carducci, Guido. La restitution international des biens culturels et des objets d'art voles ou illicitement exportes. Droit commun, Direc- tive CEE, Conventions de l'Unesco et d'Unidroit [The International Restitution of Cultural Objects and of Stolen or Illegally Exported Pieces of Art. Domestic Law, EEC Directive, Unesco and Unidroit Conventions] (Droit des affaires). Paris: Librairie Generate de Droit * Inclusion in this list does not preclude review. ** Professor of Law, University of Zurich. 427 use, available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Basel Library, on 11 Jul 2017 at 14:43:44, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 https:/www.cambridge.org/core Books Received et de Jurisprudence (L. G. D J.) 1997. XI, 493 pp. ISBN 2-275- 01571-X. FFr. 300.00. Carman, John. Valuing Ancient Things. Archaeology and Law. Lon- don & New York: Leicester University Press 1996. X, 246 pp. ISBN 0-7185-0012-1. £59.95. Cornu, Marie. Le droit culturel des biens. L'interet culturel juri- diquement protege [The Cultural Law of Property. The Legally Pro- tected Cultural Interest]. Brussels: Bruylant 1996. 621 pp. ISBN 2-8027-0761-2. Belgian Francs 2'950.O0. Doutrelepont, Carine. Le droit et l'objet d'art: le droit de suite des artistes plasticiens dans l'Union Europeenne [The Law and the Ob- ject of Art: The Droit de Suite of Artists in the European Union] (Collection de la Faculte de Droit de l'Universite Libre de Bruxel- les). Brussels/Paris: Bruylant/L. G. D J. 1996. 490 pp. ISBN 2-8027- 0638-1 / 2-2750-0236-7. Francs beiges 3800.-. Duchene, Herve. The Golden Treasures of Troy. The Dream of Hein- rich Schliemann (New Horizons). London and New York: Thames and Hudson, Abrams 1996. 144 pp. ISBN 0-500-300658. £6.95 (translation of the French original published in 1995). Edeleien-Badie, Beatrice. La collection des tableaux de Lucien Bo- naparte, prince de Canino [The Picture Gallery of Lucien Bonaparte, Prince of Canino]. Paris: Reunion des Musees Nationaux 1997. 431 pp. ISBN 2-7118-3383-6. FFr. 490.00. Epstein, Edward Jay. Dossier. The Secret History of Armand Ham- mer. New York: Random House 1996. 419 pp. ISBN 0-679-44802- 0. $ 30.00. Esch, Arnold and Frommel, Christoph Luitpold (eds.). Arte, com- mittenza ed economia a Roma e nelle corti del rinascimento (1420-1530). Atti del Convegno Internazionale Roma 2 4 - 2 7 otto- bre 1990. [Art, Commission and Economy in Rome and in courts of the Renaissance (1420—1530). Acts of the International Conference in Rome 2 4 - 2 7 October 1990]. (Piccola Biblioteca Einaudi, vol. 630). Torino: Einaudi 1995. XX, 420 pp. ISBN 88-06-14048-5. L. 48.000.-. Feliciano, Hector. The Lost Museum. The Nazi Conspiracy to Steal the World's Greatest Works of Art. New York: Basic 1997. IX, 278 pp. ISBN 0-465-04194-9, US$ 27.50 (English translation and up- dated edition of the French original "Le musee disparu"). Fliedl, Gottfried, Giersch, Ulrich, Sturm, Martin and Zendron, Rainer (eds.) Wa(h)re Kunst. Der Museumshop als Wunderkammer. Theoretische Objekte, Fakes und Souvenirs [Merchandise (True) Art. The Museum Shop as Chamber of Miracles. Theoretical Objects, Fakes and Souvenirs]. Frankfurt/Main: Anabas 1997. 166 pp. ISBN 3-87038-294-5. DM 48.00 (exhibition catalogue). 428 use, available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Basel Library, on 11 Jul 2017 at 14:43:44, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 https:/www.cambridge.org/core Books Received Fornari Schianchi, Lucia (ed.). I Farnesi. Arte e collezionismo. Studi. [The Farnese. Studies in Art and Art Collecting]. Milano: Electa 1995. 214 pp. ISBN 88-435-5171-X. L. 90.000.-. Gamboni, Dario. The Destruction of Art. Iconoclasm and Vandalism since the French Revolution. London: Reaktion Books 1997. 416 pp. ISBN 0-948462-94-9. £ 25.00. Genius-Devime, Barbara. Bedeutung und Grenzen des Erbes der Menschheit im volkerrechtlichen Kulturguterschutz. [The "Cultural Heritage of Mankind" in International Protection of Cultural Prop- erty — Meaning and Limits]. (Saarbriicker Studien zum Internatio- nalen Recht, vol. 3). Baden-Baden: Nomos 1996. 491 pp. ISBN 3-7890-4480-6. DM 9 8 . - (with English and French summaries). Graepler, Daniel and Mazzei, Marina (eds.). Provenienza: Sconosci- uta! Tombaroli, mercanti e collezionisti: l'ltalia archeologica allo sbaraglio. [Provenance Unknown! Tomb Robbers, Merchants and Collectors: Archaeological Italy at Stake". (Temi e luogi del mondo antico, vol. 3). Bari: Edipuglia 1996. 91 pp. ISBN 88-7228-167-9. L. 20.000.-. Guglielmino, Giorgio. Le opere d'arte trafugate. Legislazione e nor- mativa intemazionale [Stolen and Suppressed Works of Art. Legisla- tion and International Regulation]. Fiesole: Nardini 1997. 153 pp. ISBN 88-404-4045-3. Lire 30.000.-. Honan, William H. Treasure Hunt. A New York Times Reporter Tracks the Quedlinburg Hoard. New York: Fromm 1997. VIII, 289 pp. ISBN 0-88064-174-6. US$ 24.95. Ilatovskaya, Tatiana. Les dessins retrouves: chefs-d'oeuvre de col- lections allemandes d'avant-guerre [The Drawings Rediscovered: Masterpieces from Prewar German Collections]. Paris: La Martiniere 1997. 224 pp. ISBN 2-7324-2273-8. FFr. 380.00 (French version of the catalogue of the exhibition in the Hermitage Museum of St. Pe- tersburg, Russia, from 3 December 1996 until 30 March 1997). Kaiser-Friedrich-Museums-Verein (ed.). Wilhelm von Bode. Muse- umsdirektor und Mazen. Wilhelm von Bode zum 150. Geburtstag [Wilhelm von Bode. Museum Director and Patron. To Wilhelm von Bode's 150th Birthday]. Berlin: Staatliche Museen 1995. 178 ff. ISBN 3-88609-410-3. DM25.00.-. Kaiser-Friedrich-Museums-Verein (ed.). 100 Jahre Mazenatentum. Die Kunstwerke des Kaiser-Friedrich-Museums-Vereins Berlin [100 Years of Patronage. The Art Objects of the Kaiser-Friedrich-Muse- ums-Verein Berlin]. Berlin 1997. 240 pp. No. ISBN. DM45.00. Kretschmann, Georg and Syndram, Dirk. Der Schatz der Wettiner. Ein Sensationsfund in Sachsen [The Wettin Treasure. A Sensational Treasure Trove in Saxony]. Leipzig: Seemann 1997. 120 pp. ISBN 3-363-00671-3. DM29.90. 429 use, available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Basel Library, on 11 Jul 2017 at 14:43:44, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 https:/www.cambridge.org/core Books Received Lanciotti, Alessandra. La circolazione dei beni culturali nel diritto internazionale private e comunitario. [The Trade in Cultural Objects in Private International and Community Law]. (Universita degli Studi di Perugia). Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane 1996. X, 217 pp. ISBN 88-8114-348-8. L. 32.000.-. Lehmann, Klaus-Dieter and Kolasa, Ingo (eds.). Die Trophaenkom- missionen der Roten Armee. Eine Dokumentensammlung zur Verschleppung von Buchern aus deutschen Bibliotheken. [The Tro- phy Commissions of the Red Army. A Collection of Documents on the Carrying Off of Books of German Libraries]. (Zeitschrift fur Bibliothekswesen und Bibliographic, Sonderheft 64). Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann 1996. 251 pp. and 12 pp. appendix. ISBN 3-465- 02882-1. DM 1 0 8 . - . Lombardi, Ferruccio. Roma. Le chiese scomparse. La memoria stor- ica della citta. [Rome. The Vanished Churches. Historical Recollec- tion of the City]. Rome: Palombi 1996. 492 pp. ISBN 88-7621-069- 5. L. 90.000.-. Mini, Maria Beatrice. Beni culturali e centri storici. Legislazione e problemi [Cultural Objects and Historical Town Centers. Legislation and Problems]. Genova: ECIG 1996. 217 pp. ISBN 88-7545-699-2. Lire 24.000.-. Moore, Andrew (ed.). Houghton Hall. The Prime Minister, The Em- press and the Heritage. London: Wilson 1996. 176 pp. ISBN 0- 85667-438-9. £ 29.95. Natale, Mauro and Ritschard, Claude. L'art d'imiter. Falsifications, manipulations, pastiches. Images de la Renaissance italienne au Musee d'art et d'histoire [The Art of Copying. Fakes, Manipulations, Imitations. Images of the Italian Renaissance in the Museum of Art and History]. Geneva: Ville de Geneve 1997. 304 pp. ISBN 2-8306- 0144-0. SFr. 65.00. Nora, Pierre (ed.). Science et conscience du patrimoine. Actes des Entretiens du Patrimoine, Paris 28, 29 et 30 novembre 1994. [Sci- ence and Consciousness of Patrimony. Acts of the Curators of His- torical Monuments, Paris 28, 29 and 30 November 1994]. Paris: Fa- yard 1997. 413 pp. ISBN 2-213-59850-9. FFr. 160.00. Paolucci, Antonio. Museo Italia. Diario di un soprintendente-min- istro [Museum Italy. Diary of Supervisor-Minister]. Livorno: Sillabe 1996. 191 pp. ISBN 88-86392-249. Lire 39.000.-. Plattner, Stuart. High Art Down Home. An Economical Ethnography of a Local Art Market. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press 1996. XIII, 250 pp. ISBN 0-226-67082-1. $ 40.45. Poli, Jean-Franois. La protection des biens culturels meubles [The Protection of Movable Cultural Objects] (Bibliotheque de droit d'ur- 430 use, available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Basel Library, on 11 Jul 2017 at 14:43:44, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 https:/www.cambridge.org/core Books Received banisme et de l'environnement, vol. 3). Paris: Librairie Generate de Droit et de Jurisprudence (L. G. D J.) 1996. XX, 530 pp. ISBN 2- 275-00185-9. FFr. 270.00. Poulot, Dominique. Musee, nation, patrimoine 1789 — 1815 [Mu- seum, Nation, Heritage 1789-1815]. Paris: Gallimard 1997. 406 pp. ISBN 2-07-074241-5. Ffr. 180.-. Russell, John Malcolm. From Nineveh to New York. The Strange History of the Assyrian Reliefs in the Metropolitan Museum and the Hidden Masterpiece at Canford School. New Haven/London/New York: Yale University Press/The Metropolitan Museum of Art. 1997. 232 pp. ISBN 0-300-06459-4. $ 40.00. Schneider-Brodtmann, Jdrg. Das Folgerecht des bildenden Kunstlers im europaischen und internationalen Urheberrecht [The Droit de Suite of the Artist in European and International Law of Copyright]. (Heidelberger rechtsvergleichende und wirtschaftsrechtliche Studien, vol.25). Heidelberg: Winter 1996. 304pp. ISBN 3-8253-0394-2. DM 178.00. Simpson, Elizabeth (ed.). The Spoils of War. World War II and its Aftermath: The Loss, Reappearance and Recovery of Cultural Prop- erty. New York: Abrams and The Bard Graduate Center for Studies of the Decorative Arts 1997. 336 pp. ISBN 0-8109-4469-3. US$ 49.50. Sire, Marie-Anne. La France du patrimoine. Les choix de la memoire [France and her Cultural Heritage. The Choices of a Study] (Decouv- ertes Gallimard No. 291). Paris: Gallimard & Caisse nationale des monuments historiques et des sites 1996. 144 pp. ISBN 2-07- 053343-3. FFr. 82.00. Staatliche Museen zu Berlin — Preussischer Kulturbesitz (ed.). Do- kumentation der Verluste. Bd. I: Gemaldegalerie [Documentation of Losses. Vol. 1: Picture Gallery]. Compiled by Rainer Michaelis. Ber- lin: Staatliche Museen 1995. 110 pp. ISBN 3-88609-329-8. DM 30.00. Toman, Jiri. The Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict. Commentary on the Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict and its Protocol, signed on 14 May 1954 in The Hague, and on other instruments of international law concerning such protection. Aldershot/Paris: Dart- mouth/UNESCO 1996. XVI, 525 pp. ISBN 1-85521-800-3/92-3- 102862-6. FFr. 220.00. Valland, Rose. Le front de l'art. Defense des collections francaises 1939-1945 [Art Front. The Defense of French Collections 1939-1945]. Paris: Reunion des Musees Nationaux 1997. VIII, 262 pp. ISBN 2-7118-3590-1. FFr. 120.00 (reprint of original edition of 1961). 431 use, available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Basel Library, on 11 Jul 2017 at 14:43:44, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 https:/www.cambridge.org/core Books Received Van Erp, Hubertus Johannes Antonius. Kunst, douane en btw. Een onderzoek naar aspecten van de heffing van douanerechten en be- lasting over de toegevoegde waarde bij de circulatie van voorwerpen van visuele kunst [Art, customs and vat. A study of aspects concern- ing the levying of customs duties and value added tax in the circula- tion of objects of visual art]. Hermstede: Grave 1996. 272 pp. No ISBN (Ph.D. thesis University of Amsterdam). Watson, Peter. Sotheby's. Inside Story. London: Bloomsbury 1997. 326 pp. ISBN 0-7475-3443-8. £ 20.00. Wilton, Andrew and Bignamini, Ilaria (eds.). Grand Tour. II fascino dell'Italia nel XVIII secolo [Grand Tour. The Lure of Italy in the Eighteenth Century]. Milan: Skira 1997. 351 pp. ISBN 88-8118-224- 6. Lire 85.000.—. [Italian edition of the catalogue for the exhibition in the Tate Gallery, London and Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Rome]. Wiplinger, Gilbert and Wlach, Gudrun. Ephesos. 100 Jahre oster- reichische Forschungen [Ephesos. 100 Years of Austrian Research]. 2d ed., Vienna, Cologne, Weimar: Bohlau 1996. IX, 189 pp. ISBN 3-205-98582-6. SFr. 52.50. Wolf, Gunther G. Die Wiener Reichskrone [The Imperial Crown in Vienna]. (Schriften des Kunsthistorischen Museums, vol. 1). Vienna: Skira/Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien 1995. 205 pp. ISBN 88- 8118-022-7 (Skira), ISBN 3-900-325-40-5 (Kunsthistorisches Mu- seum). L. 90.000.-. 432 use, available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Basel Library, on 11 Jul 2017 at 14:43:44, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0940739197000519 https:/www.cambridge.org/core 
work_2m6gvudwpnfufht6i5sceyxfva	----	untitled IRSH 56 (2011), Special Issue, pp. 89–106 doi:10.1017/S0020859011000496 r 2011 Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale Geschiedenis Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance: A Comparison between Tomaso Garzoni’s La Piazza Universale and Leonardo Fioravanti’s Dello Specchio Di Scientia Universale L U C A M O C A R E L L I Università di Milano Bicocca E-mail: luca.mocarelli@unimib.it SUMMARY: This article compares two highly successful treatises written in the second half of the fifteenth century: Tomaso Garzoni’s La piazza universale di tutte le professioni del mondo [The Universal Workplace of All the Professions in the World], and Leonardo Fioravanti’s Dello specchio di scientia universale [On the Mirror of Universal Knowledge]. It examines how each of these books presented and considered commercial activities such as the manufacture and trading of silk and wool – which were of great importance to the Italian economy of the day – and other more humble occupations. This is an interesting comparison since Garzoni and Fioravanti personified two very different spirits of the Renaissance. The for- mer was a learned man, anxious to construct a moralistic-literary monument, complete in every detail, while the latter was a great observer, intent on making full use of every kind of knowledge, even that which seemed lowly and contemptible. Attitudes towards so-called manual skills in Italy during the late Renaissance were not monolithic. In a recently published essay I pointed out how, in the midst of the harsh mainstream condemnation of manual work, differing opinions were also voiced, though they remained min- ority opinions, in line with a tradition that came from afar, and that was rooted especially in some of St Paul’s letters in which he exalted the dignity of work.1 1. See Luca Mocarelli, ‘‘The Attitude of Milanese Society to Work and Commercial Activities: The Case of the Porters and the Case of the Elites’’, in Josef Ehmer and Catharina Lis (eds), The Idea of Work in Europe from Antiquity to Modern Times (Farnham, 2009), pp. 101–124, 105–107. In re-evaluating manual work, Bartolomeo Paganelli, from Prignano, even managed to reverse the very negative connotation of the etymology of the term ‘‘mechanic’’. In his De imperio Cupidinis (Modena, 1492), and with few classical references at his disposal, he com- posed a poetic celebration of technical inventions in which the only distinction he made in terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core What I intend to do here, developing this line of research, is to compare two highly successful treatises written in the second half of the sixteenth century, a time when the principal manufacturing cities of Italy were still expanding rapidly, with waged work controlled by the merchants becoming more widespread, to the detriment of the independent artisan. I shall examine how each of these books presented and considered commercial activities such as the manufacture and trading of silk and wool – which were of great importance to the Italian economy of the day – and other more humble occupations. This is an interesting comparison because Tomaso Garzoni and Leonardo Fioravanti, the authors of the trea- tises in question, La piazza universale di tutte le professioni del mondo [The Universal Workplace of All the Professions in the World] and Dello specchio di scientia universale [On the Mirror of Universal Knowledge],2 differed widely in terms of their background and beliefs. Consequently, they approach the subject of work and occupations in different ways. T O M A S O G A R Z O N I A N D L E O N A R D O F I O R AV A N T I Garzoni was an ecclesiastic, a member of the Augustinian order, who wrote about the world from within the protective walls of his monastery library, inspired by post-Council-of-Trent moral and educational aims, which appear not only in La piazza universale but in all his writings. His L’hospidale de’ pazzi incurabili [The Hospital of Incurable Madness] and La sinagoga degli ignoranti [The Synagogue of the Ignorant] contrast sharply with the adverse criticism by many Renaissance writers of the scope for human knowledge. In those studies he derided the idea of the docta ignorantia expounded by Cusano in a highly successful book published in 1440.3 Leonardo Fioravanti, by contrast, was a well-known physicist and surgeon in his day. He performed the first successful operation in Italy to mechanical work was between trades that were dirty because of their working conditions and shameful jobs such as those of the moneylender and toll collector, who lived on money earned by others; on Paganelli’s work see Giorgio Montecchi, ‘‘Bartolomeo Paganelli da Prignano: ossia della nobilità della stampa, arte meccanica e liberale’’, Discipline del libro, 2 (1999), pp. 117–122. 2. In this article I shall refer to the following versions of the two books: Giovanni Battista Bronzini (ed.), La piazza universale di tutte le professioni del mondo, 2 vols (Florence, 1996), and Dello specchio di scientia universale dell’Eccell. Dottore et Cavalier Leonardo Fioravanti Bolognese (Venice, 1583). 3. For Cusano, the docta ignorantia meant a ‘‘visio sine comprehensione, speculatio’’. See De Docta ignorantia (1440), in Ernst Hoffmann and Raymond Klibansky (eds), Nicolai de Cusa, Opera Omnia (Leipzig, 1932), I, p. 26. As mankind cannot grasp the infinity of a deity through rational knowledge, the limits of science need to be surpassed by means of speculation that blur the borders between science and ignorantia. In other words, both reason and a supra-rational understanding are needed to understand God. 90 Luca Mocarelli terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core remove a spleen. He was also known as an inveterate experimenter and globetrotter, who, during his adventurous life, visited most of the Medi- terranean world, Spain, and Africa, and worked in Messina, Palermo, Naples, Rome, Pesaro, Genoa, and Venice. He believed that scholastic knowledge was of little use in itself, since true knowledge is none other than the theory of experience. His colourful life has been recreated by the incomparable pen of Piero Camporesi in a book eloquently titled Camminare il mondo [Walking the World].4 What these two such different personalities shared was an unconditional admiration of the printing press, one of the great innovations of the Renaissance, which they both exploited to the full, producing highly suc- cessful books – beginning with the two considered here. La piazza universale was indeed a veritable bestseller in its day. Between 1585 and 1665 there were fifteen Italian editions, an adaptation into Spanish, and translations into German and Latin. It then fell into oblivion, but it has been resurrected in recent years in linguistic-cultural studies.5 Dello specchio di scientia uni- versale had similar success. Published for the first time in Venice in 1564, it reached its tenth edition in 1660 and was also translated into French, English, and German. This book is of particular importance because it started the genre of letteratura dei mestieri (literature on trades and professions) in Italy. Although the most complete work of this genre is in fact Garzoni’s La piazza, it owes a great deal to the work of Fioravanti, as we shall see.6 T O M A S O G A R Z O N I A N D L A P I A Z Z A U N I V E R S A L E D I T U T T E L E P R O F E S S I O N I D E L M O N D O Garzoni’s work is more organized, and his system of classification much clearer, than Fioravanti’s, since his aim is to provide a comprehensive catalogue. However, it is not merely a rhetorical catalogue, but a con- scious attempt to order all social functions, thus presenting the image of a perfectly organized society. Indeed, because of its richness and com- plexity, La piazza, divided as it is into 154 sections dealing with no fewer than 540 professions and trades, can be read in different ways. 4. Piero Camporesi, Camminare il mondo. Vita e avventure di Leonardo Fioravanti medico del Cinquecento (Milan, 1997). 5. In 1996 two very accurate editions were published, almost contemporaneously: one by Olschki Press, edited by a great anthropologist, Giovanni Battista Bronzini, and the other by Einaudi, edited by the great historian of Italian literature, Paolo Cherchi. 6. There are, in fact, strong links between these two books, as pointed out by Elvina Vidali Giorio, ‘‘Una fonte del Garzoni: ‘Dello specchio di scienza universale’ di Leonardo Fioravanti’’, Lingua nostra, 30 (1969), pp. 39–43. On the other hand, one cannot exclude the possibility that Fioravanti modelled his work on the encyclopaedic Catalogus gloriae mundi, the work of the Bourgogne jurist Barthélemy de Chasseneuz, published in Lyon in 1529 and printed in Italian in Venice around 1560. Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance 91 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core So whereas Paolo Cherchi recognizes in Garzoni’s precise exploration of the world of skills and occupations the desire to be associated with the efforts of the Counter-Reformation to restore the dignity afforded to manual work by the Gospels, Beatrice Collina convincingly proposes that La piazza should be read as an instruction manual for a prince. Giovanni Battista Bronzini, however, stresses the author’s attempt, which he believes to be successful, to point out the connection between classes, and to engender harmony among the workforce in order to build up a principality in which a man is valued for what he knows and what he can do:7 a unitarian and harmonious reality in which it would be possible to overcome the bitter observation of Guicciardini that ‘‘often between the palace and the town square there is such a thick fog and such a high wall that, since no man can see through them, the populace know as much about what their rulers do and why, as they know about what goes on in India’’.8 Obviously, what we are most interested in is Garzoni’s attitude to work and workers, and a significant indicator is the omission of the phrase ‘‘noble and ignoble’’, referring to all the professions of the world, in the title of the book’s second edition. This is perfectly consistent with his desire to value work, in opposition to the humanist-Renaissance scepticism seen particu- larly in the work of Cornelio Agrippa, who had heavily criticized the arts, sciences, and the clergy in De incertitudine et vanitate scientiarum et artium (published in Italian in Venice in 1547) while also, in De occulta philosophia, exalting magic, considering it the perfection and fulfilment of all natural sciences. This does not mean that Garzoni questioned the superiority of the intellectual, liberal arts, but simply that he wanted us to understand the reciprocal functioning between noble and less noble activities, without in any way reducing the distance between them. So Garzoni too subscribed to the harmonious and organistic view of society which was so deeply rooted in the aristocratic culture of his day, and he took pains to hide the conflicts, quarrels, and civil strife which, however, were also present. It was a view expressed by many other contemporary writers, such as Silvio Antoniano, who wrote ‘‘that the humblest worker wishes to be the equal of the townsman, the townsman of the gentleman, the gentleman of the nobleman, and the latter of the prince; such things are beyond reason and not to be tolerated, they are displeasing to God, and lead to a thousand sins’’.9 This was a totally hierarchic concept of society, in which everyone had a role and a well-defined place, in which he had to stay, 7. Compare the essays of Paolo Cherchi and Beatrice Collina in Tomaso Garzoni, La piazza universale di tutte le professioni del mondo (Turin, 1996), and that by Giovanni Battista Bronzini in the Olschki edition of La piazza. 8. Francesco Guicciardini, Ricordi, diari, memorie (Pordenone, 1991), pp. 213–214. 9. Silvio Antoniano, Tre libri dell’educatione christiana dei figliuoli (Verona, 1584), p. 296. For Antoniano – humanist, cardinal, and prime mover in the educational changes that followed the 92 Luca Mocarelli terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core in the order that was assigned to him. Not by chance did sixteenth- and seventeenth-century writers compare this society to the biblical statue of Nebuch, with a head of gold (the prince), breast and arms of silver (the highest ranks of the nobility), other parts of baser metal (the lower-ranking nobles and honoured professions), and feet of mud (the populace).10 An example of this thinking is the passage in which Garzoni observes how all the manual (mechanical) arts, from those reputed honourable to those less honourable, are to be taken equally into consideration, because their humble nature sets off ‘‘the more noble arts, just as the clouds soften the piercing rays of the sun, which filter through the surrounding haze in spite of them’’.11 This passage is taken from the Discorso universale [Universal Comments] with which he prefaced La piazza and which he entitled, not coincidentally, In lode delle scienze et dell’arti liberali e mechaniche in commune [In Praise of All the Sciences and the Intellectual and Manual Skills in Common]. In his all-embracing catalogue of skills and trades he considered necessary to the socio-political scheme of his ideal principality, Garzoni plundered the work of the most disparate authors, often committing outright plagiarism. Fioravanti himself was a victim, although cited in La piazza, in a section dedicated to surgeons, as ‘‘the glorious miracle-worker Fioravanti’’.12 L E O N A R D O F I O R AV A N T I A N D D E L L O S P E C C H I O D I S C I E N T I A U N I V E R S A L E In his Specchio Leonardo Fioravanti, who lived by direct observation of and dialogue with a section of humanity eschewed by most, was not a systematic cataloguer like Garzoni. Many trades are missing from his work (suffice it to say that there is practically no mention of domestic service), and there is a strong bias in favour of his own specialism, the preparation of remedies for various illnesses. This is also confirmed by the multiple dedications which preface the book, most of which are to doctors and surgeons practising in Italy’s most important cities.13 Council of Trent (1545–1563) – see Elisabetta Patrizi, Silvio Antoniano un umanista ed educatore dell’età del Rinnovamento cattolico (1540–1603) (Macerata, 2009). 10. An example of this appears in the volume which synthesizes and systematizes this train of thought by Giovanni Battista De Luca, Il principe cristiano pratico (Rome, 1680). Of great interest is the essay on these problems by Daniela Frigo, ‘‘La ‘civile proportion’: ceti, principi e composizione degli interessi nella letteratura politica d’antico regime’’, in Cesare Mozzarelli (ed.), Economia e corporazioni. Il governo degli interessi nella storia d’Italia dal medioevo all’età contemporanea (Milan, 1988), pp. 81–108. 11. Bronzini, La piazza universale, I, p. 56. 12. Ibid., p. 155. 13. Following the obligatory dedication to an eminent person, in this case the Milanese count Giovanni Anguissola, the most important scholars and physicians of Venice, Padua, Bologna, Naples, and Rome are named and praised (Dello Specchio, pp. iii–x). Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance 93 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core We need only remember the subject matter of the three books which constitute the Specchio, a great deal of which was the fruit of Fioravanti’s own studies. The first is dedicated to ‘‘all the intellectual and manual skills’’, the second deals with ‘‘various sciences and many fine reflections on ancient philosophies’’, and the third, ‘‘some notable inventions, which it is necessary to know about, and which are most useful’’. Fioravanti therefore moves through the full circle of human knowledge, strong in the belief expressed in the Ragionamento importantissimo ai lettori [Observa- tions of Great Importance to the Readers], with which he opens his work, that interdisciplinarianism is fundamental to knowledge. Indeed, since ‘‘no science or art can be perfect without an understanding of the others, it seemed fitting to deal with many arts and sciences in this book’’.14 In terms of quantity, however, the result is that Fioravanti dedicated much less space to skills and trades than Garzoni did, roughly 150 pages as opposed to 1,000. W O O L L E N M A N U F A C T U R I N G I N T H E W R I T I N G S O F G A R Z O N I A N D F I O R AV A N T I In spite of this, it is possible to compare these two books by examining what they say about commerce and occupations, and by noting whether observations are based on the perceived importance of the work, and the possible ranking of the professions and trades.15 Some interesting facts emerge when we consider how Garzoni and Fioravanti examine the textile industry and its most important activities. This was the basis of the economic success of the late Italian Renaissance, starting with the pro- cessing of wool, in which cities such as Milan, Florence, and Venice, as well as many smaller centres, still excelled. It should be noted that towards 1570–1580 – that is, when Garzoni was writing La piazza and Fioravanti supplementing and reprinting his Specchio – around 150,000 bolts of cloth per year were produced in central and northern Italy, much of which was exported.16 Fioravanti’s comments on this are particularly interesting. After underlining the importance of this activity – a skill which is ‘‘noble all over the world, as everyone knows [y] and the masters of this skill are all wealthy and noble men’’ – and having described in detail the complexity of the production process, from the selection of the wool to the making of the final product, he gives us a realistic glimpse into the organization of this sector, and the unstinting effort that went into the success of Italy’s 14. Ibid., pages not numbered. 15. Unfortunately, Garzoni and Fioravanti did not mention gender in their evaluation of the different occupations. 16. See Paolo Malanima, L’economia italiana dalla crescita medievale alla crescita con- temporanea (Bologna, 2002), p. 192. 94 Luca Mocarelli terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core wool-manufacturing centres. He observed that the manufacture of wool is ‘‘a job that is most lucrative for those who order it to be done: but for the poor workers who actually do it, it is very bad, since they can never earn more than a meagre living, for all the profits go into the pockets of the merchants’’. He added, however, that ‘‘it cannot be said that this is not better for the artisans, even though they live in poverty, than to go begging in the world’’.17 Thus, Fioravanti demonstrated that he was well aware of the change that the sector had undergone since the late Middle Ages, with the gradual disappearance of autonomous artisans and the merchant class taking control of the whole production process as two of the characteristics of the developing market economy. He clearly understood the great importance of the woollen mills as a source of employment. Confirmation that his appraisals were the result of his own observations comes from the fact that he cited some of the most important manufacturers of woollen cloth in Venice at the time, such as Camillo Molgora from Milan and Giovanni Piero Girardoni. Fioravanti’s remarks in the section dedicated to weaving and weavers, which naturally refers to the working of the wool, are also worthy of note. He makes it clear that a job which is considered among the meanest and most humble actually required great skills, which ranged from the ability to recognize ‘‘the quality of all the different kinds of yarn’’ to knowing how to carry out the complex operations involved in weaving. In the production of the best quality goods, this kind of expertise called for skills which could be acquired only after a long apprenticeship.18 Fioravanti was well aware of the numerous skills required of weavers, and concluded this section by saying that [y] since we are dealing with an art which is extremely intricate, it calls for a much more detailed description; this I do not give, since my knowledge of it is limited. And it is no surprise that I do not know everything about the art of weaving, since among the weavers themselves those doing one job do not know or understand what the others do.19 This situation was not surprising given that the wide variety of goods produced by the Italian weaving industry was the fruit of a policy of strict specialization, which meant that ‘‘the person doing one type of weaving cannot do another type, nor even understand it’’.20 17. Dello specchio, p. 58r. 18. Some illuminating ideas on the importance assumed by the guilds in the transmission of these skills were put forward by the late Larry Epstein, as recalled by Maarten Prak, ‘‘S.R. Epstein (1960–2007) and the Guilds’’, International Review of Social History, 53 (2008), Supplement, pp. 1–3. 19. Dello specchio, p. 26r. 20. Ibid. Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance 95 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core Garzoni also reconstructed the complex chain of production in this sector, and presented the various and numerous end products in much more detail than Fioravanti, listing dozens of articles, from the finest cloths to the humble beret and mattress. However, it is interesting to note that when writing about the woollen mill, he departed from the mere citation of books only in order to formulate more concrete considera- tions, when he repeated, almost to the letter, the work of Fioravanti, although he took care not to quote him. In section CII, ‘‘De’ lanaiuoli o lanefici e mercanti di lana’’ [On Wool-Workers, Woollen Mills, and Wool Merchants], Garzoni wrote that the activity ‘‘yields much more to the merchants than to the poor workers, who, even though they barely manage to earn a living, represent the great number of artisans who would finish badly if it were not for this work’’.21 It is significant that the author, consistent with his ideological purpose, did not include in his evident plagiarism the more polemic and less politically correct ideas of Fior- avanti – that this art is bad for the workers, and, above all, that the total profits went into the pockets of the merchants. T H E S I L K T R A D E I N T H E W R I T I N G S O F G A R Z O N I A N D F I O R AV A N T I The other activity which was experiencing growing success in Italy at that time was the silk trade. There was widespread rearing of silkworms, and an imposing array of spinning and weaving machinery was set up to process the raw silk produced. There were numerous excellent centres of this activity, which provided a steady flow of produce for export, from Milan to Venice to Bologna. Thanks to this development, some 23,000 looms were in operation in the peninsula by the end of the sixteenth century, mostly concentrated in northern and central Italy.22 Also in the case of silk, Fioravanti insisted upon the decline in the earning power of the work in ‘‘an art which further enriches the rich and helps the poor’’. In the chain of production which links the countryside, where the silkworms are reared and the silk obtained, to the city, where it is woven, he emphasizes the role of the merchants, who dominated the sector and took charge of the most delicate phases of the process, such as the dyeing. These were people of great standing, not only financial, but also social and political, if what he says is true, namely that ‘‘throughout Italy, this art carries great privileges, and in many cities 21. Bronzini, La piazza universale, II, p. 898. 22. The number of looms can be calculated from the accurate count by Francesco Battistini, ‘‘La tessitura serica italiana durante l’età moderna: dimensioni, specializzazione produttiva, mercati’’, in Luca Molà, Reinhold C. Mueller, and Claudio Zanier (eds), La seta in Italia dal Medioevo al Seicento (Venice, 2000), pp. 335–352, 344–345. 96 Luca Mocarelli terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core has its own independent court, which administers justice in complete freedom’’.23 Garzoni, on the other hand, besides repeating Fioravanti’s detailed description of the whole productive process (without citing the source), dedicated ample space to the variety of products from this sector, and to the changing tastes of purchasers in favour of silk: ‘‘is it not obvious that there is as much difference between a lady dressed in silk and one in woollen cloth, as there is between luminous day and dark night?’’ It is worth noting that in the usual description of the shortcomings of the art, with which he concluded all his commentaries, he directed his criticism not at the workers, accused only of ‘‘frequently’’ stealing the silk given to them to work, but at the merchants who [y] underpay them [the workers], avoid paying tax by smuggling out the finished goods, buy the silk from women who have obtained it cut price, so that even the Jews in the bank would have qualms of conscience, and make a thousand deals and contracts among themselves and with others, all illegal.24 So Fioravanti alone gave a realistic view of work and workers in these two important sectors. What he looked at, however, is the organizational aspect of the sector, and the logic behind the functioning of the system, created and dominated by merchants and their capital, which was widening and extending market relations. He said nothing about the conditions of workers, or how the work was allocated to the different sexes, aspects which were dealt with, albeit summarily, by other contemporary writers. One such writer was Count Giovanni Maria Bonardo, whose description of the ‘‘miseries of the life’’ of those engaged in the mechanical arts begins precisely with the woollen mill. ‘‘I will not speak again of the toils of trans- forming wool into cloth, I shall say only that from the middle of the summer when the wool is cut, sometimes until the following summer, without a single day of idleness, the cloth is laboriously formed.’’ Of the utmost importance in this work were the spinners, whose task was ‘‘vile and wearisome’’, and the weavers ‘‘who have no sensibility which is not used up in their weaving’’.25 His writing shows clearly his awareness of the hard work involved in pre-industrial trades. It was a wearing existence even without factories and assembly lines, because the hours of work could be extended to the bitter end, 23. Dello specchio, p. 58v. 24. See section CL, ‘‘De’ setaiuoli ove si comprendono gli accavigliatori, bavellari, agguindi- latori, filatori, le maestre, i tessitori e i mercanti da seta’’ [On Silk Workers, including Thread Crossers, Flossers, Winders, Spinners, Teachers, Wavers and Silk Merchants], in Bronzini, La piazza universale, II, p. 1124. 25. Giovanni Maria Bonardo, Della miseria et eccellenza della vita humana, ragionamenti due dell’ill. s. Gio. Maria Bonardo Frateggiano, conte & caualiere. Nel qual con infiniti essempi, cauati da più famosi scrittori, s’impara quali siano i trauagli, et quali siano le perfettioni di questo mondo. Fatti alla illustriss. signora la sig. Lucrezia Gonzaga marchesana (Venice, 1586), pp. 17–18. Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance 97 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core without any ‘‘day of idleness’’, and many jobs, such as weaving, required the total involvement and attention of the workers, who were given no rest. Figure 1. Silk worker. Biblioteca Riccardiana Firenze, Ricc. 2580, Libro d’arte di seta, second half of the fifteenth century, Florentine school. Used with permission. 98 Luca Mocarelli terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core M E R C H A N T S I N T H E W R I T I N G S O F G A R Z O N I A N D F I O R AV A N T I When describing the woollen mill and the silk factory, Garzoni was even less interested in the aspects of the actual work and limited himself, from his strictly hierarchical standpoint, to assigning the most important role to the merchants. However, with reference to the undisputed protagonists of the manufacturing and commercial success of the most important cities in Italy between the Middle Ages and the early modern period, his basic point of view seems very different from Fioravanti’s. In his lengthy treatment of merchants, Garzoni, after a fairly technical section (again taken largely from Fioravanti), and some mannered praise for the positive role that merchants played in the economic life of their day, then dedicates much of what follows to a moralistic invective because ‘‘looking at it afterwards more closely, and bringing into discussion the strength of this profession, I see it as ragged and ruined, and am aware of the thousand vices and faults contained within it’’. According to Garzoni, merchants, as we have seen, already harshly criticized in the section dedicated to the silk factory, were not only fraudulent by nature, but above all [y] are the ones who murder the world many times over with their falsified rubbish, with rotten and tainted goods, who bring about famine in the provinces and the cities, hoarding excess food and keeping it hidden, so that the poor gentleman and the miserable populace fall dead from starvation in the streets, they cause their creditors to fail, they ensnare and skin the citizens with documents and bonds of the very devil, they devour the substance of the whole populace through usury and interest, they put up their prices and cause shortages whenever they wish.26 Garzoni is very harsh in his criticism, and it is not by chance that section LXV deals not only with merchants, but puts them together with banchieri, usurai, fondaghieri e merciari [bankers, usurers, wholesale grocers, and drapers]. Associating merchants with moneylenders, who were ‘‘known to be infamous’’, and with drapers, who, on a smaller scale, used the same incorrect dealings and tricks as the merchants to deceive and harm their fellow men, clearly emphasized the negative connotations of the category. Here again Garzoni aligned himself with the current of thought, pre- valent in his time, which reflected the increasing desire of the urban aristocracy to close ranks against the merchants, who were on the rise and aspiring to nobility themselves. Indeed, in the course of the sixteenth century an ever-widening gap emerged between commerce and the 26. Bronzini, La piazza universale, I, p. 664. Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance 99 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core discharge of public office, attested to by the growing insistence on the idea that the nobility were born with certain qualities and requirements – blood, birth, and honour – which were automatically transposed to Figure 2. Jewish Paduan merchant. Biblioteca Riccardiana Firenze, St. 12886, P. Bertelli, Diversarum nationum habitus, Patavii, apud Alciatum Alcia et Petrum Bertellium, 1594–1596. Used with permission. 100 Luca Mocarelli terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core political virtue. These ‘‘natural’’ virtues were the prerogative of a single class, and effectively marginalized the members of the merchant class, who could neither possess them nor cultivate them since they were occupied the whole day in ‘‘lowly activities and mechanical arts’’, as Memmo wrote in a volume published in Venice in 1563.27 Evidence for this changed attitude to commerce in this period, which in view of its political and social reappraisal led to greater emphasis being laid on its negative aspects, can be found in the most important Italian cities, from Genoa to Milan. In Genoa, the inclusion of the silk industry among the mechanical arts led to a reduction of about 300 in the number of people who could consider themselves noble. In 1575 the College of Jurisprudence in Milan prohibited access to the nobility to ‘‘those who, even though only through agents, have been involved in squalid com- mercial activity’’, reaffirming, in 1593, that ‘‘people, whether they them- selves or any of their ancestors, who might be in any way connected with commerce’’ could not become noble.28 It is also significant that in early modern Milan the only pragmatic sanction against luxury, which imposed precise and differentiated modes of behaviour according to sex and social class, was that of 1565. This was in fact a period of great vitality in the local economy, accompanied by remarkable social mobility, and it was consequently deemed necessary to observe the boundaries between the classes, also by safeguarding external symbols such as attire, before eventually cutting off access to the nobility, which, as we have seen, happened quite soon after.29 Fioravanti’s treatment was much more lucid and devoid of any mor- alistic tone when dealing with an activity which he regarded as ‘‘an art involving great memory and intelligence’’. He showed the very essence of big business, demonstrating a sound knowledge of the Venetian situation by giving a detailed description of the flow of merchandise to and from the city. His merchant was not a merchant-entrepreneur, but one involved in business on an international scale. He perceived, with great modernity, how the merchant’s real capital lies in his knowledge of the market and the 27. Giovanni Maria Memmo, Dialogo del magn. caualiere m. Gio. Maria Memmo, nel quale dopo alcune filosofiche dispute, si forma un perfetto prencipe, & una perfetta republica, e par- imente un senatore, un cittadino, un soldato, & un mercatante, diuiso in tre libri (Venice, 1564), p. 92. 28. On these topics see Rodolfo Savelli, ‘‘Tra Machiavelli e S. Giorgio. Cultura giuspolitica e dibattito istituzionale a Genova nel Cinque-Seicento’’, in Aldo De Maddalena and Hermann Kellenbenz (eds), Finanze e ragion di stato in Italia e in Germania nella prima età moderna (Bologna, 1984), pp. 249–321, 295, and Mocarelli, ‘‘The Attitude of Milanese Society to Work and Commercial Activities’’, pp. 114–115. 29. Luca Mocarelli, ‘‘‘Lusso dannoso e lusso discreto’. Il lusso nella Milano settecentesca tra prescrizioni legislative e comportamenti’’, in Antonella Alimento (ed.), Modelli d’oltre confine. Prospettive economiche e sociali negli antichi Stati italiani (Rome, 2009), pp. 295–308, 296–297. Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance 101 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core product, ‘‘knowing the products that are well-received in one place rather than another’’, and he was equally realistic about the bad business practices that could devour accumulated capital. On the astuteness and trickery so harshly criticized by Garzoni, he had little to say, evidently considering them inherent to the profession, and limited himself to advising that ‘‘the mer- chants should be content to sell their merchandise at a fair price, and not be overcome by greed or tempted by high profits’’.30 A note of criticism was present in Bonardo since the Venetian nobleman limited himself to pointing out, in great detail, the problems and difficulties that made the practice of commerce so complicated, and of uncertain success, ‘‘because the selling price of goods bought at a high price so frequently drops, meaning that no profit is made [y] buying dear and selling cheap [y] the increases and falls in business because of the constant changes in the currency, domestic theft, robbery by strangers, taxes’’. This was an extremely precarious situation, therefore, which led him to conclude that ‘‘miserable merchants are not safe at sea, nor on land, neither in the wood nor the city, not even in the town square or their own home’’.31 T H E M E C H A N I C A L A R T S I N T H E W R I T I N G S O F G A R Z O N I A N D F I O R AV A N T I The difference between Garzoni and Fioravanti is even more apparent in their treatment of the trades they considered to be lowly. Here we will consider what Garzoni and Fioravanti had to say about stonemasons and shoemakers. When, after a few mannered praises, Garzoni goes on to consider the meanest occupations such as these, he lays great emphasis on their faults and tricks. So, even though stonemasons carry out work of ‘‘strict necessity, since they construct dwelling places’’, they are not precise and they prolong the work unnecessarily in order to earn more, ‘‘thus as a penance they frequently fall from the roof, or the wall or the stairs, and break their necks’’.32 Similarly, shoemakers undoubtedly pro- duce useful articles, but they knew little about ancient footwear, and above all they ‘‘often cheat you with the stuff they give you [y] diffi- culties and lies are commonplace with them, as with all such people who serve others’’.33 30. Dello specchio, pp. 35r–38v. 31. Bonardo, Della miseria et eccellenza della vita humana, p. 20. 32. See section XCIIII, ‘‘De’ muratori o fabricatori et de’ biancheggiatori’’ [On Bricklayers, Builders, and Decorators], in Bronzini, La piazza universale, II, pp. 843–844. Bonardo’s tone is quite different (Della miseria et eccellenza della vita humana, p. 19) when he says ‘‘but who is more unfortunate than the bricklayer or the carpenter who when building walls or adjusting beams is in danger, a thousand times a day, of falling from on high and breaking his neck?’’. 33. See section CXXXI, ‘‘De’ calzolari, o caligari et ciavattini’’ [On Shoemakers and Slipper- Makers], in Bronzini, La piazza universale, II, p. 1031. 102 Luca Mocarelli terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 3. Stonemason. Biblioteca Casanatese Roma, Rari 212, F. Indovino and A. da Carpentieri, Il mezzo più sicuro per vincere al lotto, o sia nuova lista generale de’ Sogni, col Nome di tutte le cose, e numeri corrispondenti all’Estrazioni (Macerata, 1796). Used with permission. Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance 103 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core The attitude of Fioravanti is totally different; he exalts the art of the stonemason – the most necessary after the provision of food and clothing – to the point where he deals with them before architects. He does not limit himself to the technical abilities and skills required of such workers, but points to the redistributory nature of the building industry, noting how ‘‘in no other case will a man so willingly pay others, as when he is having a sumptuous and magnificent house built [y] yet since this is what he wants to do, the art of the stonemason is necessary’’. He also appreciates the significance of houses as status symbols, remarking that some houses are built with ‘‘stupendous facades, which add nothing to the comfort of the owner and serve no purpose other than to be seen by others’’.34 Even in the case of shoemakers, whose art he considers the lowliest of all, Fioravanti indicates many positive elements, from the protection of our feet to the aesthetic aspect, reaching the conclusion that ‘‘among the other arts this is most necessary and worthy of doing’’.35 C O N C L U D I N G R E M A R K S What considerations does this comparison suggest? First, that though dealing with the same subject, the two authors made very different appraisals. Garzoni built his argument on scholarship and his principal objective was the formation of a humanist prince, [y] in this scene and this rich display you will easily understand the good and the bad that all the workers of the world can do; since the prince who governs must take care of so many people and so many things, perhaps there could not be any book more useful than this.36 The prince must indeed know the world, since his basic role is to heal the more serious rifts and put the different classes back into their designated places. According to Giovanni Battista Pigna, a writer well-known to Garzoni, the prince had to reduce the nobles and the populace ‘‘to their (just) dimensions and mediocrity’’. That was no easy task since, if it is true that ‘‘gentlemen have a preference principally for honour, and plebeians for profit’’, it is also true that without the intervention of the prince to keep 34. Dello specchio, p. 78v. 35. Ibid., p. 73r. 36. The quotation is taken from Garzoni’s dedication to Alfonso II d’Este in Bronzini, La piazza universale, I, p. 6. His desire to include everything was echoed in the preface to L’autore a’ spettatori [The Author to the Spectators], in which Garzoni recalled the ‘‘very lowly skills which I have described’’ and concluded, not without a certain satisfaction, that he has created a ‘‘monstrous’’ building because of ‘‘the great number of people it accommodates all together’’ (ibid., pp. 47–48). It is certainly not a coincidence that Garzoni’s work opened with section I, ‘‘De’ signori o principi, et de’ tiranni’’ [On Lords or Princes, and Tyrants], and finished with section CLV, ‘‘Degli humanisti’’ [On Humanists]. 104 Luca Mocarelli terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core ‘‘these two such different natures within their own confines, one will aspire to be a magistrate, and the other will interest himself in merchandise’’.37 This was Garzoni’s perspective in attempting to restore order and sense to the bustling life of trades and professions, and it led him to study the mul- titude of human activities rather as an entomologist studies insects – calmly and clinically. So he takes particular care to reveal the cunning tricks and faults of the humble, without trying to find any meaning in their work. Fioravanti on the other hand based his work on direct observation and, beyond praising each activity, he attempted to restore dignity to all types of work. His interest was not that of the cataloguer, but of a professional and a participant, and he offered considerations which would be incon- ceivable to Garzoni. An example of this can be found in what each of them wrote about tailors. To Garzoni, they were people who offered beauty and dignity to all, especially when they made fine clothes,38 but to Fioravanti they represented an opportunity to question the social hier- archies of the time. It is worth quoting his reasoning: [y] for all honours and robes are but smoke. And the truth is that we are born equal and we die equal, the greatest and the least alike, for we are born naked, and in the end we die and abandon our faculties. So I conclude that when all is said and done, we are all the same. His criticism of dressing in a certain way to show distinction, an unassailable requirement in the most important cities at the time, inevi- tably became directed at tailors. For Fioravanti their art did not require the skill and competence one might suppose ‘‘since making clothes is nothing more than draping a piece of cloth over someone and cutting away the excess, thus the garment is made’’.39 What clearly differentiated the two authors was also the ranking of the professions, which is evident in their work. Garzoni, besides having no doubt about the superiority of the intellectual arts, offers us a catalogue apparently based on aesthetic criteria and the desire of the curious scholar to compile a history of what is lowly and neglected.40 The structure of Fioravanti’s writing is different: he puts human occupations on a func- tional scale, ordering them according to how necessary and useful they are. Thus, he begins his treatise with agriculture and animal husbandry, and puts among the first the arts of the blacksmith and the woodworker, since very few skills, if any, can be practised without recourse to these. 37. Giovanni Battista Pigna, Il principe [y] nel qual si discrive come debba essere il principe heroico, sotto il cui gouerno un felice popolo, possa tranquilla & beatamente vivere (Venice, 1561), pp. 35–36. 38. See section CXX, ‘‘De’ sartori’’ [On Tailors], in Bronzini, La piazza universale, II, pp. 999–1000. 39. Dello specchio, p. 27r. 40. Bronzini, Introduzione, in idem, La piazza universale, I, pp. xx–xxiv. Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance 105 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core Furthermore Fioravanti does not make the traditional distinction between liberal and mechanical arts, preferring instead to distinguish between using one’s hands and pure knowledge (skills and sciences): [y] so that everything that calls for the use of hands can justly be defined as skills, yet medicine, surgery, and anatomy are all manual: therefore I call them skills, as I do all the others. The sciences are composed of memory and intellect, they can be defined as reasoning, and manual work plays no part in them. Fioravanti goes even further, maintaining that knowledge alone is of little use in itself, as he confirms when speaking about anatomy: ‘‘this knowledge is of very little importance, because when one is unlucky enough to be injured [y] one needs to be treated and cured: which cannot be done by knowing about anatomy, but only by medicating with tried and tested remedies’’. Indeed he claims that ‘‘it is far better to operate well than to know how to speak about it [y] therefore we can rightly affirm that anatomy is nothing more than knowing how our body is made. But the truth is that it cannot be used in medical treatment’’.41 In short, it can be said that Garzoni and Fioravanti incarnate two very different spirits of the Renaissance, although both were driven by the same inexhaustible curiosity and thirst for knowledge. The Augustinian was a contemplative, learned man, anxious to construct a moralistic-literary monument, complete in every detail. The restless physician-surgeon from Bologna, however, was a student of first-hand experience, a great observer intent on making full use of every kind of knowledge, even that which seemed lowly and contemptible: a man who was not in the least scholastic, and who would never have agreed with the distinction between noble and ignoble arts included in the original title of Garzoni’s La piazza universale. 41. Dello specchio, pp. 52v and 51v. 106 Luca Mocarelli terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020859011000496 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_2qnly4fkejbtrgzmorqaqn2ray	----	renq68206 613..802 University of Groningen Review of: Koenraad Jonckheere, ed. Michiel Coxcie (1499–1592) and the Giants of His Age. Exh. Cat. Museum Leuven. Turnhout: Harvey Miller Publishers, 2013 de Jong, Johannes Published in: Renaissance Quarterly DOI: 10.1086/682454 IMPORTANT NOTE: You are advised to consult the publisher's version (publisher's PDF) if you wish to cite from it. Please check the document version below. Document Version Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Publication date: 2015 Link to publication in University of Groningen/UMCG research database Citation for published version (APA): de Jong, J. (2015). Review of: Koenraad Jonckheere, ed. Michiel Coxcie (1499–1592) and the Giants of His Age. Exh. Cat. Museum Leuven. Turnhout: Harvey Miller Publishers, 2013. Renaissance Quarterly, 68(2), 637-638. https://doi.org/10.1086/682454 Copyright Other than for strictly personal use, it is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Take-down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please contact us providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Downloaded from the University of Groningen/UMCG research database (Pure): http://www.rug.nl/research/portal. For technical reasons the number of authors shown on this cover page is limited to 10 maximum. Download date: 06-04-2021 https://doi.org/10.1086/682454 https://research.rug.nl/en/publications/review-of-koenraad-jonckheere-ed-michiel-coxcie-14991592-and-the-giants-of-his-age-exh-cat-museum-leuven-turnhout-harvey-miller-publishers-2013(2cf28a65-0037-4a0e-b5b6-244c3e8e9729).html https://doi.org/10.1086/682454 Michiel Coxcie (1499–1592) and the Giants of His Age. Koenraad Jonckheere, ed. Exh. Cat. Museum Leuven. Turnhout: Harvey Miller Publishers, 2013. 208 pp. €75. Even though the sizeable but largely lost oeuvre of Michiel Coxcie (1499–1592) is “too complex for this to be a comprehensive study,” Koenraad Jonckheere and six other scholars have made an attempt “to reveal the historical truth” (6), in a beautifully produced book that appeared as the catalogue of an exhibition at the M-Museum Leuven. During his long career, Coxcie was an internationally and highly respected artist, who counted the principal members of the Habsburg dynasty among his patrons. Yet twelve years after his death, Karel van Mander had little to report on him in his Schilderboeck and even criticized him for being “not copious in his composition” and “making use of Italian designs now and then.” This urged Jonckheere “to restore Michiel Coxcie to his rightful place at the fore front of art history” (6). In eight chapters, Coxcie’s reputation and career are discussed, and his works, subdivided into the various media he was active in, reconstructed and studied. The image that emerges is that of a Netherlandish artist who was highly appraised for adopting the Italian Renaissance style and introducing it in the North, where the Habsburg monarchs gladly availed themselves of it to pose as successors to the rulers of classical antiquity. According to the authors, Coxcie’s work was also (or still) important in the 1560s, when a revitalized religious art was desired in the wake of the Council of Trent. Although Coxcie kept receiving respectable commissions until the end of his life, his work must by then have seemed outdated. A few years before his death he received financial support from Philip II, after an emotional complaint that he was in a pitiful state. Overseeing his career and assessing his importance, Jonckheere concludes that “Coxcie can be regarded as Rubens’s forerunner in the Low Countries in several respects” (45). The authors have succeeded in giving Coxcie the attention he deserves within a historical context, but Jonckheere in particular may have been overzealous in his attempt to rebut Van Mander’s critical remark and restore Michiel Coxcie “to his rightful place.” In his discussion of the Paradise paintings in Vienna, Jonckheere eagerly discovers 637REVIEWS This content downloaded from 129.125.148.244 on July 02, 2018 00:23:10 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). borrowings from classical sculptures and the work of Michelangelo, where I do not see any specific similarities and only notice that the presumed example and Coxcie’s figure both raise their arm to pick a fruit or hold a hand behind their head. In the Holy Kinship in Kremsm€unster, the borrowings from various works of Leonardo are more evident, but here the pertinent questions should have been where, when, and how did Coxcie become familiar with these works? The answer might have shed more light on Coxcie’s 1539 stop in Milan and point to a visit to Florence (where Coxcie might also have seen Masaccio’s Eve in the Brancacci chapel). Still, these Leonardo adaptations do not necessarily make Coxcie a better painter from the artistic point of view that Van Mander was talking about. The same is true of learned iconographic details. The inscriptions on the Last Supper in Brussels are indeed an ingenious and appropriate commentary on the debate on iconoclasm and the veneration of images, but that they are in Hebrew indicates that Coxcie received help from some scholar — if this person was not the one who, instead of Coxcie, came up with the idea of inserting the inscriptions. The suggestion that Saint George in Antwerp is a self-portrait, meant to make anyone who approached the painting with religious intentions “bow, genuflect or kneel before Michiel Coxcie in the guise of St George” (162), raises the question of whether the patron would have allowed such arrogance. Plausible or not, a detail like this one also does not necessarily contribute to the artistic qualities of the painting. (Unfortunately, Jonkheere does not give any source or argument for identifying Saint George as Coxcie’s self-portrait, while the resemblances between the three presumed “(self-)portraits” on page 25 are not particularly striking.) Ironically, in the last chapter Joris van Grieken describes Coxcie’s work, in spite of Jonkheere’s efforts, as an “incoherent compilation of quotations” (172). Thanks to the writers of this book we are now much better informed about Coxcie and his context than Van Mander was, but according to at least some authors, the latter’s assessment of Coxcie’s work still holds true. JAN L. DE JONG, University of Groningen 638 RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY VOLUME LXVIII, NO. 2 This content downloaded from 129.125.148.244 on July 02, 2018 00:23:10 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 
work_33acxxkmznfkbgw4vudbsvznse	----	Shaping and understanding sound : Violin makers, musicians and scientists from Renaissance to Romantism Shaping and understanding sound : Violin makers, musicians and scientists from Renaissance to Romantism A. Houssay Cité de la musique, 221, avenue Jean Jaurès, 75019 Paris, France ahoussay@cite-musique.fr Acoustics 08 Paris 3399 The training of instrument-makers in Renaissance Italy is linked to a rediscovery of theoretical works on physics and sound as well as to some new tools and skills. Then, the development of physics in the seventeenth and eighteenth century lead the establishment of acoustic as a modern science, with the distinction of partials from harmonics. The ''western world'' has given explanations on vibrations, modes and then elasticity theories, some of which have been included into general knowledge. By times, links between scientists and makers have developed and have participated to the development of musical instruments. Traditional violin makers are craftspeople, and they construct instruments by choosing step by step between many possibilities from the drawing of the model and the choice of materials, to the cutting out of the shapes to create air volumes and vibrating facings. Their parameters are the dimensions, shapes, weight, elasticity, quality and duration of sounds and notes. The test for judging the results is the playing of the instrument by a very competent musician. We will explore, with a point of view of the historian of techniques how the meeting of different cultures and knowledge have transformed the instruments from the Renaissance to the beginning of the 19th century. 1 Introduction In the first part of our talk, we will see how the designs of the violin family evolved from the monochord proportions to the Divina Proportion. The futher work of Da Vinci on arch influenced arched belly on instruments. Then we will see the step of ruling out the consonance as a result of the universal harmony of whole numbers, and the rediscovery of Achimedes work on gravity, as well as experimental work from Gallileo on strings. Last, we will show the influence of Chladni on Savart and Vuillaume. 2 First shapes in violins 2.1 Proportional compasses in Italian Renaissance Proportional designs, as applied to stringed musical instruments is directly derived from the divisions of the monochord, which was an instrument of mathematics as well as music pedagogy during the Middle Ages. The musical context in which the violin family appears is that of polyphony, first written for choirs by composers such as Ockeghem and Josquin des Prés. Woodwind instruments are the firsts to play as ensembles this “music without words”, and Isabella d’Este seems to be one of the initiators who played bowed instruments as families. [1] What is remarkable at that time is the circulations of knoledgeable people converging to Italy from may different places : musicians from Spain with the new Aragonese pope in 1492, the same year Jews where expelled from Spain and found refuge elsewhere. [2] The wealthy activity of editors in Venice, favours the presence of many German woodcarvers working for the printing industry [3]. Experienced German lute makers immigrate to northern Italy from Füssen, where lute making has been a speciality since the crusades [4]. (workshops of Maler and Frei in Bologna; of Venere, member of the Tieffenbrücker family, in Padua) [5]. We can see a vihuela shaped instrument in a marqueterie of Urbino dated 1474, with a flat body made out of cut out planks, without arches, sound holes in a C shape facing each other, and flat bridge. If it is bowed, the strings are not played independently. The pegs are inserted from the front into a rounded peg box. An instrument painted by Bellini thirty years later (Virgin, Venice, San Zaccharia, 1505), a lira da braccio with five strings and two bourdons, played in chords to accompany the voice. Four corners are now distinct in the outline. The table is also flat, as is the bridge, which is moved a little more towards the tailpiece. The lira da braccio was very fashionable at the time, especially by painters in Florence. Leonardo da Vinci and Bramante played it. [6] Bellini shows here another position of the bridge, lower down, proportionally increasing the vibrating string in relation to the body length of the resonant box. The violins in the sixteenth and seventeenth century have a variety of designs that are still made with techniques of proportional drawings, but rely on different ratios, depending on the different schools. Kevin Coates [7] shows that the golden section, the square root of 2 and other root proportional obtained by rule and compass, where differently used by makers, thus producing quite different looking instruments. Remy Gug completes the argument in showing how the underlying thought of the makers in the 16th century is that of whole numbers [8]. At that time of wars and conflicts that affect essentially the political relations between towns and States, French armies try to gain territories in Italy, and alliances change from year to year between Venice and France. Mathematics and practical arts meet then in an urge of knowledge. In 1496, Leonardo starts friendship with mathematician Luca Pacioli, and both men work towards the publication of de divina proportione by in 1509. Leonardo writes theoretical notes on the nature of arches and on the resistance of beams. In 1500 Scipione Del Ferro solves the cubic equation, Leonardo paints a portrait of Isabella d’Este in Mantova, and a violin maker named Carcanius, is registered in Cremona. Dürer learns Italian drawing techniques in 1494 and 1505-1506, and we can see it in his Underweysung der Messung in Nuremberg (1525). The use of compasses for proportional drawings, as described in his treaties, is used by craftsmen in northern Italy Acoustics 08 Paris 3400 2.1 Arches, curved walls and parabolic mirors The next step of the new making techniques can be seen in a painting by Carpaccio : Presentation of Jesus at the Temple, where the arching of the belly is clearly visible, with a fluting all around the edge and C holes lying on level lines. The analogy between light and sound may have been used to evolve from flat plates to carved out inside volumes, while works on the vaults in architecture showed the better resistance to pressure of certain types of arches. In 1513 Leonardo works on parabolic mirrors. Concerning the reflection of sound on curved walls, architects of the time were rediscovering the works of Vitruvius. In De architectura Book 5, Vitruvius discusses acoustics. Sarton writes [9]:- Vitruvius explains sound as a displacement of air in waves which he compares with the waves that can be observed on the water's surface when a stone is thrown into a pond. What is more remarkable was Vitruvius' application of the wave theory to architectural acoustics. The wave theory of sound was Greek, its application to the acoustics of a hall typically Roman. ... Vitruvius analyzes the acoustics of a theatre and the phenomena that may spoil it, which we call interference, reverberation, echo. In Book 10 Vitruvius describes water organs, stringing and tuning of catapults ... It is worth noting that, although today we see Vitruvius more as a practical man rather than as a scholar, Cardan (Gerolamo Cardano (Pavie, 1501 - Rome, 1576)) included him in his list of the twelve leading thinkers of all time. Tartaglia (1499-1587), a mathematician born in Brescia, translated the Elements by Euclid and De insidentibvs aqvae by Archimedes. He is known to have earned a living in teaching mathematics and geometry to craftsmen, making it accessible to instrument makers in a town reknown for its musical instrument maker in the 16th century such as Girolamo Da Virchis and Gasparo da Salo. 3 Science and music in the 16th and 17th century 3.1 Consonance and dissonance : from the harmony of whole numbers to cultural taste The physicist Giambattista Benedetti (1530-1590) introduces a new way of studying sounds, which is not a mathematical deduction, but by physical experiment. He introduces the idea that consonances and dissonances are not separate qualities of sound, but must be taken as continuous series. This is a very important change, because, up to then, the way music and mathematics were linked was with a coincidence of whole numbers. Vincenzo’s Galilei’s father has the same opinion, and for him there is no interval that is more “natural” than another. For them, consonances have nothing to do with the aesthetics of simple proportions. It is the first time that a theorician thinks that what sounds nice does not depend on a numerical system, but by the judging of the ear. For musicians, it is time to reconsider the modes and natural scales and their consonances, and to switch to equal temperament, as was promoted by Giosefo Zarlino in his Istitutioni Harmoniche. The cistre by Gerolamo Da Virchis show placements of fixed frets that experiment with new temperament. The interval of a third, which becomes then musically acceptable, does not meet the preceding theories on the harmonies of numbers [10]. 3.2 Centre of gravity In the year 1582-83 Ostilio Ricci, who was the mathematician of the Tuscan Court and a former pupil of Tartaglia, taught a course on Euclid's Elements at the University of Pisa which Galileo attended to study the works of Euclid and Archimedes from the Italian translations which Tartaglia had made. The treatise on plane equilibriums sets out the fundamental principles of mechanics, using the methods of geometry. Archimedes had discovered fundamental theorems concerning the centre of gravity of plane figures and these are given in this work. In particular he finds, in book 1, the centre of gravity of a parallelogram, a triangle, and a trapezium. Book two is devoted entirely to finding the centre of gravity of a segment of a parabola. In the Quadrature of the parabola Archimedes finds the area of a segment of a parabola cut off by any chord. [11] It seems that the balancing point of violin plates have deliberately being placed at the position of the bridge by the most informed makers that can be achieved by a proportional drawing of the outline, taking into account the position of the geometrical centre of the table. It means that the bridge is proportionally distant from the rib structure in relation to the mass of wood it has to put in vibration to exercise forces on the rib structure. 4 The birth of modern acoustics: a new science for understanding sound 4.1 Stradivari, concertos and concert halls The science of Acoustic has been named as such by Joseph Sauveur (1653-1716) a member of the “Académie des sciences” in Paris, as was Mersenne. He had studied the high harmonics of a vibrating string and gave the names to the nodes (“noeuds”) and antinodes (“ventres”). [11]. Pigott and Noble had worked independently on the same subject in England and their work was presented by Wallis in 1677. Sauveur wished to organise the science of sounds and make it into a branch of physics. In 1715, Brook Taylor, developing results obtained by Mersenne, gives the frequency of the fundamental of a vibrating string in function of its length, linear density and tension. But at the time of Vivaldi and Stradivari, the improvement in violin making is essentially turned towards the satisfaction of concerto playing. That is still visible today is the change in the shape of the arching. In Nicolo’s Amati’s Acoustics 08 Paris 3401 instruments, and in the early Stradivari’s, the arches are high, and slightly “pinched”. A large channel scoops the plates around the tables, and the turning point of the arch is quite far from the outline of the plate. [12] The front is very thin, frequently around 2 or 2.5 mm at the thinnest. Stainers archings have like a flat on the top and a sudden drop towards the scoped channel. Both Amati and Stainer arch models are high and quite stiff. The kind of sound that is referred to at the time for a violin is a fluted tone. But progressively, Antonio works his models until having a lower arch, fuller around the outline, and more flexible. This gives more power and a good response. The virtuosity of the instrumentalists of the time increased notably, and the size of the halls where they are played increases to accept the first public concerts. A good carrying power is necessary. Stradivari becomes the most appreciated makers for violin, and his models (outlines and arching) are copied. If they become the standard in the next century, as does the work of Giuseppe Guarneri Del Gesu, is probably due to the capacity of the plates of their instruments to enhance the sound of the violin to satisfy solo playing, and to adapt to the classical and romantic bows and bowing techniques. “The mathematical theory of sound propagation began with Isaac Newton (1642-1727), whose Principia (1686) included a mechanical interpretation of sound as being "pressure" pulses transmitted through neighbouring fluid particles. Accompanying diagrams illustrated the diverging of wave fronts after passage through a slit. The mathematical analysis was limited to waves of constant frequency, employed a number of circuitous devices and approximations, and suffered from an incomplete definition of terminology and concepts.(…) Substantial progress toward the development of a viable theory of sound propagation resting on firmer mathematical and physical concepts was made during the eighteenth century by Euler (1707-1783), Lagrange (1736-1813), and d'Alembert (1717- 1783). During this era, continuum physics, or field theory, began to receive a definite mathematical structure. The wave equation emerged in a number of contexts, including the propagation of sound in air. “ [11] Practically, in the domain of music performance, the increase of the size of concert halls with the development of public concerts is starting; it corresponds to this understanding of sound propagation. Multiplication of the number of musicians in orchestras is one of the consequences, and it is for two centuries a change in the social use of music which will lead to symphonic orchestra music and compositions techniques. These preoccupations are common for people at the time, but makers and physicists seem to work independently for the same aim. 4.2 Science for Progress: Chladni, Savart and Vuillaume The work of Chladni marks a new step in the correspondences between physicists and violin makers [13, 14]. Published in 1798 and 1802, after those of Thomas Young who established the vibrating nature of light. In 1794 the École Centrale des Travaux Publics was founded by and was directed by Carnot and Monge. It was renamed the École Polytechnique in 1795 and de Prony was certainly one of the main lectures by this time. It seems that with Laplace and Lagrange, he had as students at Polytechnic Poisson, Savart and Chanot., studied there when it was open in 1798, as well as Sophie Germain who, being a women, was reading the teachings of the prestigious school at home by herself. These have all seen Chladni’s demonstrations on the modes of vibrating plates. Napoleon assisted to one in 1808, and was so pleased with it that he to commissioned the further study of the mathematical principles of vibrating plates which then encouraged a plethora of research in waves and acoustics [26]. Germain, as an unknown and unrecognisable mathematician, then devoted herself to respond to the concourses challenge: formulate a mathematical theory of elastic surfaces and indicate just how it agrees with empirical evidence. In 1815, she obtained finally the price, but didn’t present herself to receive it. Before her death, she completed papers on number theory and on the curvature of surfaces "Recherche sur la théorie des surfaces élastiques" (1821) et "Mémoire sur la courbure des surfaces" (1830). Meanwhile, Savart constructed the flat rectangular violin, while Chanot, a student who came from Mirecourt and was from a violin makers family, showed to the Academie a cornerless arched violin, made by a young maker: Jean- Baptiste Vuillaume. The violin maker Jean-Baptiste Vuillaume came to Paris from Mirecourt to make the experimental violin designed by Francis Chanot while he was put aside by the army after Napoleon’s defeat. He was only eighteen, when he arrived from Mirecourt to work for Chanot in Lété’s workshop, but this time influenced all of his carrer. He kept relations with Savart, and counted the musicologist Fétis in his acquaintances. Vuillaume published Fétis book on the origin and transformation of violin [15], and was the inspirer of most of its content, even though Fétis was the right man to write, study and correct the subjects that evidently interested Vuillaume. Fétis mentions experiments with pieces of wood certainly cut out by Vuillaume from old Cremonese instruments. It seems that Vuillaume has used the Chladni patterns with the help of Savart. He also most probably tuned his plates. One table of an instrument by Vuillaume has been tested by John Dillworth [16] for the three modes 1, 2 and 5, and they were found an octave apart. 5 Conclusion The violin family appears around 1500 in northern Italy at the same time as the viol family and takes its modern shape in a few decades. Is there any influence of scholars and mathematicians in its designs? Are there any links between the theoretical works of the time and the design of the instruments? It is a common thought amongst scholars to believe that techniques have derived from scientific discoveries. However, the study of artifacts, ideas, makers and scientists show that very good experimental craftsmanship, can produce extremely well designed instruments without the help of theoretical work. But we have shown that crystallization of knowledge between scientific experimenters and craftspeople have had an definite influence on instrument making. Acoustics 08 Paris 3402 References [1] Holman Peter, Four and twenty fiddlers. (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1993) [2] Woodfield Ian, The Early history of the viol. (Cambridge University Press, 1984) [3] Lowry, M., “Venetian Capital, German technology and Renaissance Culture in the late fifteen century”, Renaissance Studies, p.1-13. (sept. 1988) [4] Collectif, La facture instrumentale européenne : suprématies nationales et enrichissement mutuel. (Musée Instrumental du Conservatoire national supérieur de musique de Paris, 1985) [5] « Les luths (Occident) », catalogue des collections du Musée de la musique (Vol.1). (Cité de la musique, 2006) [6] Serge Bramly, Léonard de Vinci-Biographie. ( JCLattès,1988) [7] K. Coates, Geometry, proportion, and the art of lutherie. (Oxford, 1985) [8] R. Gug, Arithmetic in the 16th century lutherie. (unpublished) [9] G Sarton, Hellenistic science and culture in the last three centuries B.C. (New York, 1993). [10] C. Abromont, Guide de la Théorie de la musique. (Fayard, 2001) [11] J J O'Connor and E F Robertson, University of Saint Andrews, Scotland. http://www-history.mcs.st- andrews.ac.uk/Mathematicians, (1999) [12] Sirr, S. A., Waddle.D., M.S. and J.R., « Tomographic Analysis of Bowed Stringed Instruments », in Minnesota Medicine, Volume 82, Minnesota Medical Association, (September 1999) [13] E. Chladni, Entdeckungen Über Die Theorie Des Klanges. (Leipzig, Weidmanns Erben und Reich, 1787) [14] Jackson, Myles W. , Harmonious Triads- Physicists, Musicians and Instrument Makers in Nineteenth- Century Germany, (MIT Press, 2006) [15] F.-J. Fétis, Antoine Stradivari, Luthier Célèbre : Recherches Historiques et Critiques sur l’Origine et les transformations des Instruments à Archet. (Paris, 1856) (english translation by John Bishop, William Reeves, Londres 1864) [ 16] John Dillworth, unpublished, oral communication. Acoustics 08 Paris 3403 
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work_33mifywa6rgttcmle2p3n7fnei	----	S0007680520000057jra 5..38 Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert Italy and the Origins of Capitalism Keywords: early capitalism, economic theory, Italy, Great Divergence, Harvard Business School, Werner Sombart, Max Weber, Frederic C. Lane, Robert S. Lopez, Raymond de Roover Capitalism does not seem like a concept in danger of disappearing.1 Atthe Fourth Congress of the International Economic History Associ- ation, which met in Bloomington, Indiana, in September 1968, however, the term itself was under siege. The association’s president, Frederic C. Lane (Figure 1, left), a historian of Renaissance Venice’s shipping and shipbuilding industries who by that time had also become one of American economic history’s foremost impresarios, noted that some of the Congress’s participants found the very term “offensive or at least dis- tasteful” and he set about trying to avert a “semantic battle.”2 In an William Caferro, Richard Goldthwaite, Julius Kirshner, Reinhold Mueller, John Najemy, Erik S. Reinert, Daniel Lord Smail, and Francesca Trivellato helped us to think more rigorously about the ideas in this essay; Elizabeth Leh provided additional expert assistance, especially in obtaining photographic reproduction rights; we thank them, and we also thank Geoffrey Jones and Walter Friedman of Harvard Business School’s Business History Initiative for their con- tinuing support and capacious vision of what business history can be. 1 Though see, for the record, Daron Acemoglu, “Capitalism,” in Economic Ideas You Should Forget, ed. Bruno Frey and David Iselin (Cham, Switzerland, 2017), 1–3. 2 Frederic C. Lane, “Meanings of Capitalism,” in “The Tasks of Economic History,” ed. Frederic C. Lane, special issue, Journal of Economic History 29, no. 1 (1969): 5–12. A number of items by Lane were reprinted in Lane, Profits from Power: Readings in Protection Rent and Violence-Controlling Enterprises (Albany, 1979); Lane appears to have had in mind this short “memo” (reprinted as chapter 5) when he expressed discomfort with calling all of the items “essays.” See Lane to William D. Eastman, 23 Mar. 1979, MS-0381, series 2, box 7, Fred- eric C. Lane Papers, John Hopkins University Libraries (hereafter Lane Papers). Worth noting also, in the same folder, are Lane’s early extensive notes on the stadial theories of the German Historical School, notes that found their way into the important introduction of Profits from Power, 1–11. For further details on the controversy in Bloomington, see Lane, “Introductory Note,” in “The Tasks of Economic History,” 1–4. The title of the 1969 special issue of the Journal of Economic History was recycled in honor of Edwin F. Gay, who had entitled his inau- gural lecture as first president of the Economic History Association “The Task of Economic History”; see supplement, Journal of Economic History 1, no. S1 (1941): 9–16; on Gay’s lecture, see Sophus A. Reinert, “Historical Political Economy,” in The Palgrave Handbook Business History Review 94 (Spring 2020): 5–38. doi:10.1017/S0007680520000057 © 2020 The President and Fellows of Harvard College. ISSN 0007-6805; 2044-768X (Web). terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core attempt to find common ground, Lane circulated a memorandum, enti- tled “Meanings of Capitalism,” before the Congress and solicited early comments from a small group of leading economic and business histori- ans. The document bore the clear marks of Lane’s long-term interest in sociology. Already in 1940, Lane had invited Talcott Parsons to lecture at Johns Hopkins University. Parsons, a Harvard sociologist close to both the epochal economist Joseph A. Schumpeter (Figure 5, left) and the first dean of Harvard Business School (HBS), Edwin F. Gay (Figure 3, left), had received his PhD in Heidelberg, appropriately, with a disserta- tion titled “Capitalism in Sombart and Max Weber,” and he published the first English-language translation of Weber’s Protestant Ethic in 1930.3 Figure 1. Above left, Frederic C. Lane; above right, Arthur H. Cole. (Sources: Lane photo- graph, Image #14963, Ferdinand Hamburger Archives, Sheridan Libraries, Johns Hopkins University; Cole photograph, 1956, © Yousuf Karsh, courtesy of the Estate of Yousuf Karsh.) of Political Economy, ed. Ivano Cardinale and Roberto Scazzieri (Basingstoke, 2018), 133–69. On Lane, see the biographical sketch by Reinhold C. Mueller, “Frederic C. Lane, 1900–1984: Un profilo, con bibliografia aggiornata,” Ateneo veneto 171 (1984): 269–75; for more detail on Lane as impresario of American economic history, see Giuliana Gemelli, “‘Leadership and Mind’: Frederic C. Lane as Cultural Entrepreneur and Diplomat,” Minerva 41, no. 2 (2003): 115–32; for Lane’s thoughts on the origins of capitalism, see Melissa Meriam Bullard, S. R. Epstein, Benjamin G. Kohl, and Susan Mosher Stuard, “Where History and Theory Interact: Frederic C. Lane on the Emergence of Capitalism,” Speculum 79, no. 1 (2004): 88–119. 3 Lane’s interest in sociology long preceded, for example, the founding by Sylvia Thrupp in 1958 of the pathbreaking journal Comparative Studies in Society and History, in which Lane published. A copy of Talcott Parsons’s doctoral thesis, “Der Kapitalismus bei Sombart und Max Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 6 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core Even in 1968, for Lane, the conceptual vocabulary of “capitalism”— accumulation, rationalism, traditionalism, and so on—seemed indelibly marked by the interventions during the first decade of the twentieth century of Weber and Werner Sombart, who both, in their own ways, offered correctives to Karl Marx’s purely materialist explanatory mechanisms. One large insurgent group in Bloomington, made up of “orthodox economists” and numerous economic historians, hoped to replace “cap- italism” with “growth,” which they regarded as the “dominant concept of our discipline, its determining standard of relevance.”4 Another group, a self-described “band of infidels,” challenged “capitalism” and called for its “abandonment” from the strategic high ground of entrepreneurship and entrepreneurial history. Arthur H. Cole (Figure 1, right), long-time professor-librarian of HBS’s Baker Library, and organizer of the Harvard Research Center in Entrepreneurial History, active from 1948 to 1958 and influential long after, presented the case in a critical comment later published alongside Lane’s memorandum.5 Cole invoked historians including Fritz Redlich, Thomas Cochran, and Alfred D. Chandler who “place explanation of economic change upon business management—broadly interpreted—rather than upon any magic in the operations of capital” and who give “prime importance” to administration among the many factors affecting economic produc- tion.6 In this, they echoed their friend Schumpeter’s critique of the “pedestrian view that it is the accumulation of capital per se that propels the capitalist engine.”7 Weber,” is in box 1, HUGFP 42.8.2, Papers of Talcott Parsons, Early Papers, Harvard Univer- sity Archives. Parsons taught in the Harvard economics department from 1927 until 1931, when a department of sociology was finally formed. On Parsons and Schumpeter, see Richard Swedberg, “Schumpeter and Talcott Parsons,” Journal of Evolutionary Economics 25, no. 1 (2015): 215–22. In his latter years, Parsons reminisced: “Another very important figure, for me, was the economic historian Edwin F. Gay. Gay had been trained in Germany. He got his doctorate with [Gustav] Schmoller in Berlin and he knew the background that I had been exposed to in Germany, whereas most of the Harvard economists hadn’t the slightest idea of what that stuff was all about. And most of them, not knowing anything about it, knew it was bad!” See “A Seminar with Talcott Parsons at Brown University: ‘My Life and Work’ (in Two Parts), Saturday, March 10, 1973,” in “Talcott Parsons: Economic Sociologist of the 20th Century,” ed. Laurence S. Moss and Andrew Savchenko, special issue, American Journal of Economics and Sociology 65, no. 1 (2006): 1–58, quotation at 8. 4 Lane, “Introductory Note,” 3. 5 On Cole in the years of this entrepreneurial insurgency, see Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert, “The Harvard Research Center in Entrepreneurial History and the Daimonic Entre- preneur,” History of Political Economy 49, no. 2 (2017): 267–314. 6 Lane, “Meanings of Capitalism,” 12, quoting Cole’s comment on the memorandum. 7 Joseph A. Schumpeter, A History of Economic Analysis, ed. Elizabeth Boody Schumpeter (Oxford, 1954), 468. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 7 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core The rejection of “capitalism” did achieve a modicum of success in limited disciplinary areas. In a well-known 1999 New York Times profile of the heterodox economist Robert Heilbroner, for example, the fact that the word capitalism “no longer appears in popular textbooks for Economics 101” was decried as a symptom of the abandonment of the goal of modeling “all the complexities of an economic system—the political, the sociological, the psychological, the moral, the historical,” an encompassing goal that had once defined the work of Heilbroner’s beloved “worldly philosophers.”8 But in academia writ large, especially since the economic crisis of a decade ago, “capitalism” has made a remarkable comeback and is (along with slavery) occasioning much of the most vibrant historical scholarship being done today, though what precisely one is to understand by the term remains open for debate.9 We raise the case of 1968’s semantic battle over “capitalism,” then, not as a mere historiographical curiosity but to stress that questions about the origins and development of capitalism remain—fifty years on—largely questions of, in Lane’s words, the “meanings of capitalism.” Another of the historians who replied to Lane’s memorandum was Jacques-François Bergier, a Swiss student of Fernand Braudel, perhaps now best known for drafting Switzerland’s controversial 2001 report on its wartime com- plicity in Nazi crimes.10 Bergier too stressed the requisite role of entrepre- neurs—“in the sense,” he clarified, “that Schumpeter gives the term”—to capitalism, but he added an important observation: “Jacques Coeur [and] Cosimo de’ Medici were capitalists, but neither the France of Charles VII nor the Florence of the Medici were nations where capitalism was dominant.”11 Whatever we make of this particular judgment, Bergier’s 8 Louis Uchitelle, “Robert Heilbroner: An Economic Pioneer Decries the Modern Field’s Narrow Focus,” New York Times, 23 Jan. 1999; Robert Heilbroner, The Worldly Philosophers: The Lives, Times and Ideas of the Great Economic Thinkers, 7th ed. (New York, 1999). 9 Jennifer Schuessler, “In History Departments, It’s Up with Capitalism,” New York Times, 6 Apr. 2013. For a foundational example of this recent trend, see Sven Beckert and Christine Desan, eds., American Capitalism: New Histories (New York, 2018) and the historiographical tradition to which it speaks. For an insightful definitional discussion, see Nancy Fraser and Rahel Jaeggi, Capitalism: A Conversation in Critical Theory (Cambridge, U.K., 2018). The so-called new history of capitalism is only one strand in this story, but for an enlightening dis- cussion of one of its predominant themes, see John J. Clegg, “Capitalism and Slavery,” Critical Historical Studies 2, no. 2 (2015): 281–304, 282n2 (which also identifies finance as the field’s other main theme). For a more critical approach, see Eric Hilt, “Economic History, Historical Analysis, and the ‘New History’ of Capitalism,” Journal of Economic History 77, no. 2 (2017): 511–36. And for a broader picture, from a different and salutary perspective, see Walter A. Friedman, “Recent Trends in Business History Research: Capitalism, Democracy, and Inno- vation,” Enterprise & Society 18, no. 4 (2017): 748–71. 10 On Bergier as historian, see the introductory material in François Walter and Martin H. Körner, eds., Quand la montagne aussi a une histoire: Mélanges offerts à Jean-François Bergier (Bern, 1996), 1–24. 11 Lane, “Meanings of Capitalism,” 11–12, quoting Bergier’s comment (here translated from the French). As Werner Sombart once argued, “nothing could be more absurd than populating Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 8 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core point speaks to something important. Just as Steven L. Kaplan, the histo- rian of bread and French political economy, has written of the defining dif- ference between a society with markets and a society governed by the “market principle,” so we might ask whether it is useful to think of the dif- ference between societies, as it were, with capitalists and capitalist socie- ties.12 From the perspective of the contemporary global economy, a key insight of the literature on “emerging markets” highlights precisely the degree to which self-identified “capitalists” can operate in jurisdictions that are far from “capitalist,” while officially “capitalist” regimes similarly exist where large numbers of people do not organize their lives in such terms at all. Even in the twenty-first century, people continue to be “social- ized” into “capitalism,” and there is no reason to believe that societies were more neatly compartmentalized around marketization in the past than they are in the present.13 As the Canadian science-fiction writer William Gibson, best known for his 1984 novel Neuromancer, famously quipped, “The future is already here—it’s just not very evenly distributed.”14 Might we say the same of capitalism in the France of Charles VII and Medici Florence? Of capitalism across history? Even of capitalism today? This was certainly the stance of the Danish socialist politician and historian Gustav Bang. In 1902 he straightforwardly equated “the modern condi- tion” with “the age of capitalism,” the roots of which stretched “far back into the Middle Ages,” but he rightly warned that it was “impossible to draw sharp chronological lines around it,” because it appeared “with differ- ent strengths in different countries at different times” and its “transition” anyway was “gradual” and “not simultaneous in all areas.”15 the Middle Ages with economically sophisticated merchants, imbued with a capitalist mental- ity.” Sombart, “Medieval and Modern Commercial Enterprise,” in Enterprise and Secular Change: Readings in Economic History, ed. Frederic C. Lane and Jelle C. Riemersma (Home- wood, IL, 1953), 25–40, at 27. 12 Steven L. Kaplan, Provisioning Paris: Merchants and Millers in the Grain and Flour Trade during the Eighteenth Century (Ithaca, 1984), 23–40. See also, for the intellectual reverberations of this transition, Kaplan and Sophus A. Reinert, “The Economic Turn in Enlightenment Europe,” in The Economic Turn: Recasting Political Economy in Enlighten- ment Europe, ed. Kaplan and Reinert (London, 2019), 1–35. On the absurd extremes to which the “market principle” has been taken today, see Michael J. Sandel, What Money Can’t Buy: The Moral Limits of Markets (New York, 2012). 13 See, for example, the analysis of “institutional voids” in Krishna G. Palepu and Tarun Khanna, Winning in Emerging Markets: A Road Map for Strategy and Execution (Boston, 2010), 13–26; and Sophus A. Reinert, The Academy of Fisticuffs: Political Economy and Com- mercial Society in Enlightenment Italy (Cambridge, MA, 2018), 393. 14 William Gibson, Neuromancer (New York, 1984). On the books’ timeliness, see, among others, Fredric Jameson, Archaeologies of the Future: The Desire Called Utopia and Other Science Fictions (London, 2005), 93. Though others may have expressed similar formulations before, Gibson, in conversation with David Brin, described this as something he has often said. Gibson and Brin, “The Science in Science Fiction,” Talk of the Town, National Public Radio, 30 Nov. 1999, https://www.npr.org/2018/10/22/1067220/the-science-in-science-fiction. 15 Gustav Bang, Kapitalismens gennembrud (Copenhagen, 1902), 1–6. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 9 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.npr.org/2018/10/22/1067220/the-science-in-science-fiction https://www.npr.org/2018/10/22/1067220/the-science-in-science-fiction https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core Weber and Sombart The very rubric under which this special issue is presented, “Italy and the Origins of Capitalism,” will seem, to many nonspecialists, first and foremost an affront to the so-called Weber thesis, which in its ver- nacular form posits Protestantism—or a “protestant ethic” emerging both from Luther’s notion of calling and from the this-worldly asceticism of Calvinism—as a prerequisite for capitalism and its “spirit” to take form. But Weber (Figure 2, left) himself resisted drawing one-way causal connections between the two terms of his title, between Protes- tantism and capitalism. Instead, he rigorously employed an alchemical or chemical term well known in German literature: “elective affinity,” a topos signifying a kind of kinship or convergence marked by both recip- rocal attraction and mutual reinforcement.16 And, as such, in Weber (especially in the Weber of the decade after the initial publication of the Protestant Ethic in 1904–1905) the sixteenth century is advanced not as a strict terminus post quem for capitalist practices per se but for a particular type of modern rational capitalism. In 1910 Weber clar- ified this point in a pointed reply to his critic Felix Rachfahl, who had Figure 2. Above left, Max Weber; above right, Werner Sombart. (Sources: Weber photograph courtesy Encyclopædia Britannica, accessed 27 Feb. 2020, https://www.britannica.com/biog- raphy/Max-Weber-German-sociologist/images-videos#/media/1/638565/32320; Sombart photograph courtesy of Erik S. Reinert.) 16 Michael Löwy, “Le concept d’affinité élective chez Max Weber,” Archives de sciences sociales des religions 127 (2004): 93–103. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 10 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.britannica.com/biography/Max-Weber-German-sociologist/images-videos%23/media/1/638565/32320 https://www.britannica.com/biography/Max-Weber-German-sociologist/images-videos%23/media/1/638565/32320 https://www.britannica.com/biography/Max-Weber-German-sociologist/images-videos%23/media/1/638565/32320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core published a sprawling, ninety-page review the previous year. Stressing that “large-scale capitalist development” was “known throughout history,” Weber noted that the “non-ascetic” type of capitalist had, in fact, “been around since the Pharaohs’ time.” In order to clarify his posi- tion, Weber turned, not surprisingly, to premodern Florence: The merchant of the Florentine early Renaissance did not feel at one with his actions. Here is not the place to analyse the deep inner con- flict running through the most serious men of those days, despite all their overflowing energy and apparent inner unity. These men’s res- titution of property gained usuriously is just one phenomenon that fits this picture, and certainly a rather superficial one. But fit this picture it certainly does. I—and indeed anyone at all impartial—can only see in such means of self-appeasement one of the many symp- toms of tension between “conscience” and “action,” of the incompat- ibility of the ideals of the serious-minded Catholic and the “Deo placere non potest” [he, i.e., the merchant, cannot please God] with “mercantile” striving for profit—an incompatibility unsurmounted even by Luther. One can understand those men’s countless practical and theoretical “compromises” precisely as “compromises.”17 Figure 3. Above left, Edwin F. Gay; center, N. S. B. Gras; above right, Wallace B. Donham. (Sources: Gay photograph, Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe Institute, Harvard University; Gras photograph, HBS Archives Photograph Collection: Faculty and Staff [olvwork375033]; Donham photograph, HBS Archives Photograph Collection: Faculty and Staff [olvwork399909].) 17 Weber’s reply to Rachfahl appeared in the Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpo- litik 30 (1910): 176–202; it has since been translated by Austin Harrington and Mary Shields in David Chalcraft and Austin Harrington, eds., The Protestant Ethic Debate: Max Weber’s Replies to His Critics, 1907–1910 (Liverpool, 2001), 61–88, quotations at 69, 73–74. Weber’s thoughts on this controversy were partly incorporated in his revised edition of The Protestant Ethic (the edition translated into English by Parsons), especially in the famous foot- note on Leon Battista Alberti, which also served as a response to Sombart (pp. 194–98). On the Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 11 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core Weber’s psychological phraseology—deep inner conflict, feelings of oneness (or not) with one’s actions, compromises of conscience, self-appeasement—is striking, as is his willingness to reduce the mental universe of the Florentine merchant to two existentially conflict- ing motivations: striving for profit, on one side, and a “serious-minded” Catholicism, on the other. Rachfahl—appropriately, we think—suggested that Weber’s conception of the “spirit of capitalism” is, in this way, much too narrow because it excludes other motivations: honor, respect, well- being for one’s family and kin, clientelism, power, or even service to the city-state or nation.18 And, importantly, for the same reasons, so is Weber’s radically circumscribed view of Catholicism as it was practiced in a Mediterranean context bound by long-term traditions concerning family, shame, honor, and power. Perhaps more to the point, although it was easy enough for Weber to find quotations like “the merchant cannot please God” (found in the so-called Opus imperfectum, a com- mentary on the Gospel of Matthew, once attributed to fourth-century church father John Chrysostom), the merchant was anything but a wholly dishonorable figure in the city-states of late medieval Italy.19 In Florence, and other communes, membership in merchant guilds was an essential gateway to civic honors and a requisite for political office holding.20 Though not a “calling” in Luther’s sense, being a merchant was, for the jurist Baldo degli Ubaldi, in (likely) the first ever legal trea- tise on the subject of merchants, a professio, a professing or profession, a word with its own strongly religious overtones. And because merchants are men of “upright living and proven credibility and legality,” he could write without running afoul of any Catholic ethic in fourteenth-century restitution of usury in medieval and Renaissance Italy, which remains a vibrant area of research, see the classic articles of Armando Sapori, “L’interesse del denaro a Firenze nel Tre- cento (dal un testamento di un usuraio),” in Studi di storia economica (secoli XIII, XIV, XV), 3rd ed., vol. 1 (Florence, 1955), 223–43; and Florence Edler de Roover, “Restitution in Renais- sance Florence,” in Studi in onore di Armando Sapori, vol. 1 (Milan, 1957), 773–90, which is based on material in the Selfridge Collection of Medici business records at Baker Library; Gio- vanna Petti Balbi, “Fenomeni usurari e restituzioni: La situazione ligure (secoli XII–XIV),” Archivio storico italiano 169 (2011): 199–220; and Sylvie Duval, “L’argent des pauvres: L’in- stitution de l’executor testamentorum et procurator pauperum à Pise entre 1350 et 1424,” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome – Moyen Âge 125, no. 1 (2013), https://doi.org/10. 4000/mefrm.1157. For a larger legal-philosophical-theological background, see the important work of Lawrin Armstrong on usury and restitution, especially The Idea of a Moral Economy: Gerard of Siena on Usury, Restitution, and Prescription (Toronto, 2016). 18 For a similar debate, see also Sophus A. Reinert, “The Way to Wealth around the World: Benjamin Franklin and the Globalization of American Capitalism,” American Historical Review 120, no. 1 (2015): 61–97. 19 It was also cited in Gratian’s extraordinarily influential compilation, Decretum Gratiani, p.1, d.88. c.11, which lay at the heart of medieval canon law. 20 On the contours of guild-based office holding in medieval Florence, see John M. Najemy, Corporatism and Consensus in Florentine Electoral Politics, 1280–1400 (Chapel Hill, 1982). Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 12 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://doi.org/10.4000/mefrm.1157 https://doi.org/10.4000/mefrm.1157 https://doi.org/10.4000/mefrm.1157 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core urban Italy, “their account books are presumed to be correct and true and faithful.”21 Weber was rightly and explicitly uneasy about drawing a clean or bright line between the “traditionalistic” and “acquisitive” economies, but as he became more comfortable with speaking of “Ancient capital- ism”—as in his long 1909 dictionary entry on “Agrarian Conditions in Antiquity”—he also became more insistent that his subject in the Protes- tant Ethic was “modern capitalism” rather than capitalism in some essential and transhistorical sense, just as “modern capitalism” had been the great subject of his friend and rival Werner Sombart (Figure 2, right), a student of Gustav von Schmoller and perhaps the most famous social scientist of his age, whose unfortunate politics tra- versed an unsteady arc from Marxism to national socialism.22 In chapter 20 of the heavily revised 1916–1917 edition of his Modern Cap- italism, Sombart described the “spirit of capitalism” with heightened drama: Capitalism came from the profound depths of the European soul. . . . It is the spirit of earthliness and worldliness, a spirit with a tremen- dous power for the destruction of old, natural creations, old con- straints and barriers, but also a strong power for the reconstruction of new forms of life, of artificial and artistic creations, serving a purpose. . . . It is the Faustian spirit: the spirit of commotion and rest- lessness that now animates man.23 For Sombart, the acquisitive economy is a “whirlpool,” a maelstrom, and men of enterprise—those “unafraid men, non-enjoying men”—are engaged in a ceaseless struggle. Theirs is a spirit of “creative destruction” that foreshadows Schumpeter and participates, explicitly, in a Nietz- schean “will to power.”24 Though a vocal critic of Sombart, the eminent German economist and social reformer Lujo Brentano, a leading member of the so-called 21 Vito Piergiovanni, “Un trattatello sui mercanti di Baldo degli Ubaldi,” Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria n.s. 52 (2012): 987–1003, 997 and 999n31. See also, on Baldo and mer- chant writings, Maura Fortunati, Scrittura e prova: I libri di commercio nel diritto medievale e moderno (Rome, 1996), 29–41. 22 Weber, “Agrarverhältnisse im Altertum” (1909), reprinted in Weber, Gesammelte Auf- sätze zur Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, ed. Marianne Weber (Tübingen, 1924), 1–288. On Weber’s own perceived development on this point, see The Protestant Ethic Debate, 75n34. 23 Werner Sombart, Der moderne Kapitalismus (Munich, 1916), xx, 1, 327–30, 327. Erik S. Reinert kindly provided this translation from an in-progress translation of the 1916 edition of Modern Capitalism. On Sombart, see the important three-volume collection edited by Jürgen G. Backhaus, Werner Sombart (1863–1941): Social Scientist (Marburg, 1996). 24 Hugo Reinert and Erik S. Reinert, “Creative Destruction in Economics: Nietzsche, Sombart, Schumpeter,” in Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900): Economy and Society, ed. Jürgen G. Backhaus and Wolfgang Drechsler (Dordrecht, 2006), 55–85. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 13 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core Kathedersozialisten, or “Socialists of the chair,” addressed the origins of capitalism in similar terms. “Today we live in the age of capitalism,” Brentano lectured to the Bavarian Academy of Sciences on March 15, 1913, and while “the word capitalism” was “a monstrosity for many,” it remained that a large number of the very same people practiced “capital- ism without even realizing it.” But what was capitalism, really? In a number of seminal essays on the topic, Brentano essentially identified “capitalism” with what Enlightenment writers had called “commercial society,” namely, a growth-oriented economy anchored in “money” rather than “land,” in which “no one consumes only what they them- selves have produced.” Like Weber and Sombart, he believed there had been many “capitalist” eras, but he was always resolute in tracing what he called “new capitalism” or “modern capitalism” to the city-states of early medieval Italy, where one could observe how “the mentality of the merchant made its way into all other aspects of life.”25 His deepest disagreement with Sombart resulted from the question of when, pre- cisely, human beings began to seek a real “surplus.” Sombart’s “funda- mental error” had been to follow Marx in locating this impulse for “infinite wealth” only in more recent times after the advent of capitalism, whereas, for Brentano, it was evident from the example of “the Medici,” and, indeed, much earlier, that “the desire for unlimited profit” was “something extremely personal, profoundly rooted in human nature, and in the desire, of all men of all races and of all peoples, to excel over others and dominate them. It did not first appear in the period of the capitalist economy but is rather common to this as to all preceding ones.” Capitalism had simply given this instinctive “desire a new direc- tion,” in a context where it was “money, and not, as before, land, which conferred dominion over others.”26 Though Brentano, too, would invoke the emotive power of Goethe’s Faust to convey the spirit of capitalism, his emphasis on humanity’s instinct for domination led him to formulate a pregnant, if exaggerated, critique of Sombart and earlier theorists of the phenomenon. By focusing so much on “the economy” as such, he observed polemically, his predecessors had “entirely forgotten he who, with his wit and will, first gives life to capital,” to the point of “not mentioning the entrepreneur 25 Lujo Brentano, “Die Anfänge des modernen Kapitalismus,” read in 1913 but published in Brentano, Der wirtschaftende Mensch in der Geschichte (Leipzig, 1923), 204–60, quotes from 204, 209–13, 259. On Brentano, see James J. Sheehan, The Career of Lujo Brentano: A Study of Liberalism and Social Reform in Germany (Chicago, 1966). Brentano is, curiously, some- times falsely said to have been awarded the 1927 Nobel Peace Prize for his antimilitarism. See, for an example, Antonio Giolitti, “Avvertenza,” in Lujo Brentano, Le origini del capital- ismo, ed. Antonio Giolitti (Florence, 1968). 26 Lujo Brentano, “Handel und Kapitalismus,” in Der wirtschaftende Mensch, 301–62, esp. 353n, 358–60. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 14 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core [Unternehmer] even once.” As such, he concluded, there was every reason to return to the “more acute” Saint Antonino of Florence, who had been archbishop at the time of Cosimo de’ Medici the Elder and who, in his widely read Summa, had argued that “money is in itself only minimally lucrative, nor can it multiply itself, but it becomes lucra- tive due to the industry of merchants through their commerce.”27 Business History However tempting it may have been to cast a Jacques Coeur or a Cosimo de’ Medici, or, for that matter, a Rockefeller, as a Faustian entre- preneur, Sombart’s and Weber’s theories are theories inextricably embedded in the historical moment that created them. This has been true of every generation that surveyed the history of premodern capital- ism, of us and of the pioneering group that, on the foundation laid by this earlier tradition, launched the field of “business history” at HBS in the 1920s and 1930s. While Gay, Cole, and N. S. B. Gras (Figure 3, center) may have dis- agreed (as Weber and Sombart, and Sombart and Brentano, had) over how much attention should be paid to entrepreneurs, firms, states, and the environments in which they operated, none of them doubted the per- tinence of contextualizing economic history in light of the lives and times 27 Brentano, “Handel und Kapitalismus,” 361, citing the Catholic theologian Franz Xaver von Funk, “Über die ökonomischen Anschauungen der mittelalterlichen Theologen: Beiträge zur Geschichte der Nationalökonomie,” Tübinger Zeitschrift für die gesamte Staatswissen- schaft 25 (1869): 125–175, 151n1, in turn citing Antonino’s Summa. For the original version of the quotation, see Sancti Antonini archiepiscopi Florentini ordinis praedicatorum Summa theologica in quattuor partes distributa, Pars seconda (Verona, 1740), facsimile reprint, ed. Pietro Ballerini (Graz, 1959), tit.1, cap.7, par.16, at col.99: “Pecunia ex se sola minime est lucrosa, nec valet seipsam multiplicare: sed ex industria mercantium fit per eorum negotiationes lucrosa.” The text quoted by Xaver and Brentano has “mercantiones” instead of “negotiationes” with minimal or no change of sense. The sentiments of Antonino, the sterility of money in itself and the value of merchants in producing both profit and socially useful goods, were already commonplace a century earlier. When Brentano was writing, the economic thought of Antonino and his contemporaries was becoming a more and more popular subject. See, for example, the work of Carl Ilgner, In S. Antonini Archiepiscopi Flor- entini sententias de Valore et de Pecunia Commentarius (Breslau, 1902). Raymond de Roover, who is discussed below, declared St. Antonino to be one of the “two great economic thinkers of the Middle Ages” in a small volume in a series overseen by Arthur H. Cole. De Roover, San Bernardino of Siena and Sant’Antonino of Florence: The Two Great Economic Thinkers of the Middle Ages, Kress Library of Business and Economics Publication No. 19 (Boston, 1967). In his recent dissertation, working from autograph manuscripts of the Summa held at the Convent of San Marco in Florence, Jason Brown has prepared a critical edition of Antonino’s section “On merchants” (Summa 3.8.1, De merchatoribus et artificibus per modum predicationis). See Brown, “St Antonin of Florence on Justice in Buying and Selling Introduction, Critical Edition, and Translation” (PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2019), 304–18. On Antonino, see David S. Peterson, “Archbishop Antoninus: Florence and the Church in the Earlier Fifteenth Century” (PhD diss., Cornell University, 1985). Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 15 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core of business actors.28 History had been a cornerstone of HBS’s mission and pedagogy from its origins—indeed, Gay, its first dean, was a medie- valist and America’s first “economic historian”—but, under the direction of dean Wallace B. Donham (Figure 3, right), the late 1920s saw a con- certed push to truly make the institution the world’s premier site for studying the history of business. This meant the building of Baker Library’s collections and the appointment of Gras, the so-called father of business history, as Isidor Straus Professor of Business History (the first such professorship) in 1927. Gras had been Gay’s favorite student and, like Gay, was a medievalist steeped in the German historical tradi- tion, from which he took a keen interest in stadial models of economic change and the notion that the history of individual firms should form the building blocks of a business-inflected economic history.29 Although Gras’s influence on the field of business history remains well known, the crucial part he played in the origins of Renaissance eco- nomic history is little remembered. Nearly sixty years ago, and much closer to the events, the Canadian-American historian and historiogra- pher Wallace K. Ferguson in a historiographical essay on Renaissance economic history stressed the important role played by Gras and by busi- ness history. What distinguished business history from economic history more broadly was its source material, to be found “not in guild 28 See, for an example that also highlights the group’s surprisingly broad influence, Julius Kirshner to Frederic C. Lane, 8 Mar. 1971, 1r, series 2, box 7, Lane Papers. Kirshner notes, “Five years ago I was a fellow in economic history at the Harvard Business School and discussed this problem with Redlich and Coles [sic]. In many ways, they argued in the same vein as you have —that is, one must view the businessman in the context of his own operation—in order to appreciate the rhythm of entrepreneurial development. I have kept that lesson in mind.” 29 For context, see Fredona and Reinert, “Harvard Research Center”; Barry E. C. Boothman, “A Theme Worthy of Epic Treatment: N. S. B. Gras and the Emergence of American Business History,” Journal of Marketing 21, no. 1 (2001): 61–73; and Gras, Devel- opment of Business History up to 1950: Selections from the Unpublished Work of Norman Scott Brien Gras, ed. Ethel C. Gras (Ann Arbor, 1962), 185–87. Gay and Gras clashed over the editorship of the short-lived HBS Journal of Economic and Business History, because of Gras’s increasingly proselytic devotion to “business history” as a discipline distinct from eco- nomic history, but they also disagreed about stadial models in economic history. Already in 1907, Gay was very critical of Karl Bücher’s stages of economic development, stressing that all generalizations must be approached with caution: “My attitude with regard to stages,” he said, “may perhaps be summed up in what Meredith somewhere says of a proverb. A proverb is like an inn; an excellent halting place for the night but a poor dwelling.” Gay, “Some Recent Theories Regarding the Stages of Economic Development,” and, responding to points raised by others at the 1906 meeting of the AEA, “Stages of Economic Development: A Discussion,” Publications of the American Economic Association 8, no. 1 (1907): 125–136, quotation at 136. Gras, on the other hand was deeply informed by the theory of stages. Hen- rietta Larson, Gras’s protégée, who perhaps knew his vision for business history better than anyone, noted that Gras took “the early inspiration for his concept of economic stages” from “the theorist Von Thünen and the genetic economist Bücher,” though as he turned toward busi- ness history explicitly and away from economic history, it was the “writings of Werner Sombart and of George Unwin [that] made a deep impression on him.” Larson, “Business History: Ret- rospect and Prospect,” Bulletin of the Business Historical Society 21, no. 6 (1947): 173–99. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 16 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core regulations, city ordinances, state legislation, or treatises on the conduct of business, but in the records of individual business men, partnerships, and firms—in account books, diaries, partnership agreements, notarial records, correspondence, and all the detailed evidence of the way in which a particular business actually operated.” For Ferguson, business history, “in the sense in which Professor Gras envisaged it,” encom- passed works including the pathbreaking studies of the Bardi, Peruzzi, and del Bene firms by Armando Sapori (Figure 6, right); most of the work of Raymond de Roover (and, we would add, that of his wife Flor- ence Edler de Roover) (Figure 4, left); Lane’s biography of the merchant Andrea Barbarigo; and even Iris Origo’s Merchant of Prato.30 Gras also had a knack for creating new concepts and coining new terms, which he then imbued with momentous significance in his theoretical works, such as the defining figure of the stage of “mercantile capitalism”: the so- called sedentary merchant, who managed his business from home, using correspondence and intermediaries, in contrast to the earlier “traveling merchant,” who accompanied his own goods to trade fairs, such as the famous Champagne fairs. In the first decades of Renaissance economic history in the United States, in a testament to Gras’s impact, the “sedentary merchant” regularly appeared in the field’s most impor- tant work.31 30 Wallace K. Ferguson, “Recent Trends in the Economic Historiography of the Renais- sance,” Studies in the Renaissance 7 (1960): 7–26, 13–14. On Raymond de Roover, see Paola Ortelli, “Vita e opere di Raymond de Roover,” in “La Società,” special section, Etica ed economia 1 (2011): 9–51; see also Richard A. Goldthwaite, “Raymond de Roover on Late Medi- eval and Early Modern Economic History,” and Julius Kirshner, “Raymond de Roover on Scho- lastic Economic Thought,” both in Raymond de Roover, Business, Banking, and Economic Thought in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. Julius Kirshner (Chicago, 1974), 1–14, 15–35; a full list of Raymond de Roover’s works appears on pp. 367–75. A list of works by his wife and scholarly partner, Florence Edler de Roover, may be found in Edler de Roover, L’arte della seta a Firenze nei secoli XIV e XV, ed. Sergio Tognetti (Florence, 1999), xxi–xxiii. 31 Of Gras’s sedentary/traveling merchant, Wallace K. Ferguson noted that the distinction “has since been generally accepted” in Renaissance economic history. Ferguson, “Recent Trends,” 17. Shortly after Gras’s 1939 book Business and Capitalism came out, his protégée Florence Edler de Roover wrote Gras from Paris: “Your book should make the use of the dif- ferentiating terms, ‘petty capitalism,’ ‘mercantile capitalism,’ etc., common. . . . I can now clas- sify my merchants better and fit them into the picture of mercantile capitalism. . . . Last summer we spent a good part of our evening with Marc Bloch trying to find French expressions for many of your business terms that are well expressed by one or two words in English, but have no short equivalents in French or Italian.” Edler de Roover to Gras, 13 Aug. 1939, box 1, Florence Edler de Roover Papers, University of Chicago Library. Frederic Lane’s book Andrea Barbarigo, Merchant of Venice, 1418–1449 (Baltimore, 1944) was explicitly described as a study of a “sedentary merchant” in Gras’s mold. Reinhold C. Mueller has also, more gen- erally, noted the influence of Gras’s business history group on Lane. See Mueller’s entry “Lane, Frederic Chapin” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Economic History, vol. 3, ed. Joel Mokyr (Oxford, 2003), 277–78. Raymond de Roover called attention to the “sedentary merchant,” expressly invoking Gras, throughout his chapter in The Cambridge Economic History of Europe and Robert S. Lopez, in his chapter, used the term some nine times. De Roover, Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 17 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 4. Above left, Raymond and Florence Edler de Roover; above right, Robert S. Lopez. (Sources: De Roovers photograph courtesy of Kathleen Edler Allison; Lopez photograph, Office of Public Affairs, Yale University.) Figure 5. Above left, Joseph A. Schumpeter; above right, Jacob Viner. (Sources: Schumpeter photograph, HUGBS 276.90, [olvwork351238], Harvard University Archives; Viner photo- graph, Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library.) “The Organization of Trade,” in The Cambridge Economic History of Europe, vol. 3, Economic Organisation and Policies in the Middle Ages, ed. M. M. Postan, E. E. Rich, and Edward Miller (Cambridge, U.K., 1963), 42–118, esp. 74; Lopez, “The Trade of Medieval Europe: The South,” in The Cambridge Economic History of Europe, vol. 2, Trade and Industry in the Middle Ages, ed. M. M. Postan and E. E. Rich, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, U.K., 1952), 306–401. De Roover, who received his HBS MBA in 1938 under Gras’s guidance, dedicated his first book on the subject, The Medici Bank: Its Organization, Management, Operations, and Decline (New York, 1948), “to N. S. B. Gras, whose teaching inspired this study of one of the most famous business firms in history” (p. v; see also xiv). We are currently completing a biography of Florence Edler de Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 18 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core A unifying aim of the early group of economists orbiting HBS was explicitly to make the study of business and capitalism proper more his- torical and to push the field of inquiry, and the “roots” of “modernity” as such, deeper into the past. In 1941, Gras delivered a paper entitled “Cap- italism—Concepts and History” at the American Historical Association’s annual meeting, positing “capitalism” as a “basically psychological concept,” behind which there was a “will to save, to plan, to advance, to accumulate, and to attain security.” In short, he argued, against Weber’s more focalized definition, “the essential element in the system of capitalism is administration.”32 At the time, Gras asked de Roover Figure 6. Above left, Michael Rostovtzeff; above right, Armando Sapori. (Sources: Rostovtzeff photograph, courtesy of the University of Wisconsin-Madison Archives [ID X251709]; Sapori photograph, courtesy of the Baker Old Class Collection, Baker Library, Harvard Business School; image from Studi in Onore Di Armando Sapori, vol. 1, [Milan, 1957], frontmatter.) Roover, which will address in detail the de Roovers’ debts to Gras. Not everyone, of course, was convinced about the “sedentary merchant”: Shepard B. Clough, for example, found “extrava- gant” Gras’s claim “that economic history for the period 1200–1800 has to be rewritten because of his discovery of the sedentary merchant.” Clough, review of Business and Capital- ism, by Gras, and Casebook in American Business History, by Gras and Larson, Political Science Quarterly 55, no. 2 (1940): 273–75. 32 N. S. B. Gras, “Capitalism—Concepts and History,” Bulletin of the Business Historical Society 16, no. 2 (1942): 21–34, at 68; Raymond de Roover, “Discussion by Raymond de Roover,” Bulletin of the Business Historical Society 16, no. 2 (1942): 34–39. Of course, the idea of a “commercial revolution” was not new. Lane, for example, had published “Venetian Shipping during the Commercial Revolution,” American Historical Review 38, no. 2 (1933): 219–39, but this revolution occurred in the transition from the fifteenth to sixteenth century, or around then (p. 219). Ed Muir has described this article as “the earliest example of extensive research by an American in an Italian archive.” Muir, “The Italian Renaissance in America,” American Historical Review 100, no. 4 (1995): 1095–1118, 1106n45. De Roover expressly rejects a sixteenth-century “commercial revolution” in his discussion, in a section boldly titled “No Commercial Revolution in the Sixteenth Century” (p. 37), directed Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 19 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core to provide the perspective of medieval history as a discussant; de Roover’s short discussion, which evidently was inspired by Sapori’s earlier work and built upon Gras’s interest in “forms of business and problems of management,” did nothing less than posit a new paradigm for medieval capitalism at odds with the views of both Sombart and Weber: a “commercial revolution” occurring in Italy in the late thirteenth century.33 This view, and later versions such as that of the Italian émigré and Yale economic historian Robert S. Lopez (Figure 4, right) (whom Gras had helped settle in the United States)—in his famous 1971 book The Commercial Revolution of the Middle Ages, which pushed the rev- olution further back and expanded its space to the wider Italian Mediter- ranean—soon became the dominant paradigm in premodern economic history concerning the origins of capitalism.34 But what did it matter, really, when “capitalism” emerged? Already in an internal business school memo of 1928, Nathan Isaacs, professor of business law at HBS, had argued, The Medici did not belong to a different business civilization, a differ- ent dynasty, so to speak, from ours—our methods are built on theirs. The system of bookkeeping prevailing in the modern world today is still known as “Italian.” The capitalist regime was not only foreshad- owed—the Medici were the first great capitalists in the modern sense. not at Lane but at those who associated this revolution with England’s rise to prominence on the global commercial stage. 33 Though Sombart had argued that “medieval trade” was “instrumental in the develop- ment of capitalist forms of organization,” he nonetheless maintained that it “had nothing in common with modern capitalism.” See Sombart, “Medieval and Modern Commercial Enter- prise,” 34–35. 34 Robert Lopez’s The Commercial Revolution of the Middle Ages, 950–1350 was pub- lished by Prentice-Hall in 1971 and by Cambridge University Press in 1976 and subsequently reprinted many times. In 1945, when Lopez was hired by Yale University, he wrote Gras to thank him: “I think with both remorse and deep gratitude of the amount of letters you must have had to write on my behalf before my pilgrimage could end.” Lopez to Gras, 20 Nov. 1945, box 3, folder 2, Norman S. B. Gras Papers, Baker Library Special Collections, HBS (here- after BLSC). Lopez’s library contained a number of Gras’s works, including at least one auto- graphed offprint; see box 23, folder 13, Robert S. Lopez Collection, Arizona State University, Tempe. Unsurprisingly, Lopez himself favored the longue durée. As he wrote to Eric Cochrane upon hearing Cochrane had embarked on his Florence in the Forgotten Centuries, 1537–1800 (Chicago, 1973), “Best of luck on your history of Florence from 1530 on, a much needed job, for on the whole the history of Tuscany falls into the doldrums after 1530. . . . I am glad that at long last the Society for Italian Historical Studies faces up to the fact that the history of Italy begins somewhat before 1815, but even so, I think it would be bolder and more useful to give admis- sion to the whole run of Italian history, from Neanderthal to Neanderthal (Mussolini). Surely there are problems that run through the history of the country.” Lopez to Cochrane, 15 Feb. 1963, MS 1459, series 1, box 3, folder 50, Robert Sabatino Lopez Papers, Yale University Archives (hereafter RSLP). For a very brief sketch of Lopez’s career, see Archibald R. Lewis, Jaroslav Pelikan, and David Herlihy, “Robert Sabatino Lopez,” Speculum 63, no. 3 (1988): 763–65. Lopez’s publications are listed in Harry A. Miskimin, David Herlihy, and A. L. Udovitch, The Medieval City: In Honor of Robert S. Lopez (New Haven, 1977), 329–34. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 20 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core However the solutions may have differed, problems of their business life were not unlike ours. . . . The problems are different but the dif- ferences are instructive.35 And when he lectured in Turin in 1974 on the rise of modern business, almost half a century later, Chandler made a similar point: “The Amer- ican merchants of the nineteenth century and the Italian merchants of the thirteenth century used the same form of partnership or joint ven- tures, sold in the same way on consignment and commission, and used the same type of double-entry bookkeeping.”36 What ultimately and meaningfully would change, for Chandler, was, of course, the scale and scope of firms. Where the Medici bank in 1470 had only seven branches and 57 employees at its main branch, “the BayBank where I have my checking account,” he noted, “operates over 200 branches, has close to 5,000 employees, some 300 managers, and daily clears 1.25 million checks.”37 All of Isaacs’s and Chandler’s specific points can certainly be problematized, but their confidence in the comparative relevance of pre- modern business outlines the backbone of a venerable tradition of engag- ing with the phenomenon. If, as the case method they championed often implicitly or explicitly assumes, judgment is developed by knowledge gained through practice, then history remains our most valuable store of such experience by proxy.38 It was in this spirit that Gras, in his first HBS lecture on business history, on September 27, 1927, told his stu- dents that history “should give a man a perspective. It should give him suggestions. It should provide an interpretation of factors and situa- tions.”39 In effect, as Gras wrote only half-jokingly to then HBS dean Donham in 1929, he was simply being more transparent about the histor- ical nature of the case method as such: “It does not seem extravagant to hold that all of the other courses in the School of Business are recent 35 N. I. [Nathan Isaacs], “Memorandum for Mr. Eaton re. The Medici Collection,” 25 Apr. 1928, 4; the memo was revised on May 16, 1928, and incorporated into “The Florentine Mer- chant and the Law’s Delays,” Harvard Business School Arch GA41, box 1, folder “Medici Col- lection at Baker Library 1928,” Nathan Isaacs Papers, 1915–1941, BLSC. On the Selfridge collection of Medici manuscripts donated to HBS, which inspired Isaacs’s musings, see, for now, the entry in Seymour De’ Ricci, Census of Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts in the United States and Canada, vol. 1 (New York, 1935), 1052–53. 36 Alfred D. Chandler, “The Rise of Large-Scale Business Enterprise” (lecture, Fondazione Giovanni Agnelli, Turin, Italy, 14 Mar. 1974), box 150, folder 15, Alfred D. Chandler Jr. Papers, BLSC. 37 The comparison of the scale of the Medici and BayBank is in Chandler, “The Beginnings of the Modern Industrial Corporation,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 130, no. 4 (1986): 382n1. For Chandler’s interest in the scale and scope of business, see, of course, his Scale and Scope: The Dynamics of Industrial Capitalism (Cambridge, MA, 1994). 38 See, generally, C. Roland Christensen, David A. Garvin, and Ann Sweet, eds., Education for Judgment: The Artistry of Discussion Leadership (Boston, 1992); and Reinert, “Historical Political Economy.” 39 Gras, The Development of Business History up to 1950, 180–81. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 21 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core business history. I say this, of course, with my tongue in my cheek, but still I believe there is a good deal of truth in it.”40 The history of capital- ism, in short, was relevant for Gras and his followers as a repository of experience from which to derive knowledge and, ultimately, with which to refine one’s judgment. Yet, even for insiders within this group, the question of how to relate to such historical dynamics across the centuries could be vexing. The Roots of Modernity In de Roover’s classic 1958 Business History Review article, “The Story of the Alberti Company of Florence, 1302–1348, as Revealed in Its Account Books”—almost the Platonic form of an ideal business history in the mold of Gras: the history of a firm, based on its books— the Belgian-American accountant and historian noted, in a footnote to a discussion of how Leon Battista Alberti’s Della famiglia was “only one among several treatises on household management after the manner of Xenophon,” that “one of these treatises, that of Benedetto Cotrugli (Della mercatura e del mercante perfetto), written in 1459, but published only in 1573, actually has a chapter entitled ‘L’uomo economo’ (The Economic Man). Of course, this expression does not have the same meaning as that attached to it by economists today: it refers simply to an efficient household and business manager.”41 De Roover had been interested in the Ragusan merchant and humanist Cotrugli for some time and discussed him, among others, with the great Chicago economist Jacob Viner (Figure 5, right).42 In a 1956 letter reminiscing about one of their encounters, de Roover recounted how, “in the course of the conversation, I mentioned a book of the XVth century in which I found a chapter actually entitled ‘l’Uomo eco- nomico’ (The Economic Man).” The book in question was, of course, Cotrugli’s Della mercatura, and, de Roover went on, “as for the chapter on the ‘Economic Man,’ it is by no means an economic man in the modern sense, but an efficient administrator of his private household in the same sense of Xenophon’s economics.”43 This was, almost 40 N. S. B. Gras to Wallace B. Donham, 19 Oct. 1929, in series I (Correspondence), carton 1, folder 53 (Donham, Wallace, 1927–1947), Norman S. B. Gras Papers, BLSC. 41 Raymond de Roover, “The Story of the Alberti Company of Florence, 1302–1348, as Revealed in Its Account Books,” Business History Review 32, no. 1 (1958): 17–18n15. 42 For Viner and his thoughts, see Jacob Viner, Essays on the Intellectual History of Eco- nomics, ed. Douglas A. Irwin (Princeton, 1991). 43 Raymond de Roover to Jacob Viner, 15 June 1956, 1r, Jacob Viner Papers (MC #138), box 8, folder 12 (de Roover, Raymond, 1940–1967), Seeley G. Mudd Manuscript Library, Princeton, NJ (hereafter Viner Papers). The editio princeps of Cotrugli’s Della mercatura et del mercante perfetto (Venice, 1573) to which de Roover refers actually includes a chapter enti- tled “Dell’huomo Economo,” rather than “economico,” but the shorthand economico for uomo Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 22 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core verbatim, the insight he soon would publish in his article on the Alberti, neatly differentiating household and economy, ancient and modern, alien and familiar. The following year, however, after discovering Bartolomeo Frigerio’s 1629 L’Economo prudente in the catalog of HBS’s Kress Library, Viner wrote de Roover to ask whether he was familiar with it, noting that, because it similarly was devoted to the “‘arte infallibe [sic] d’acquistar, e conseruar la robba’ [the infallible art of acquiring, and conserving la robba],” it “seem[ed] close to your item.”44 De Roover’s reply is worth quoting at some length: No, I did not know about Frigerio, Bartolomeo, L’Economo prudente, but I shall look it up on my first [by which he meant next] visit to the Kress Library. Many thanks for the reference. This Kress Library is a treasure trove. Yet the Economics Department at Harvard scarcily [sic] knows of it! No professor ever works there and rarely a graduate student. I was the first to have one or two classes each year in the room of the Kress Library. I am now working on Cotrugli, but I have not gotten very far. . . . Roba (one b in modern spelling) has a variety of meanings: stock, merchandise, inventories, wealth. Of course the economic man of these early economists was an efficient manager of the household, but he became more and more an efficient business man. In any case, the accent is on efficiency in the manage- ment of worldly affairs. This is not so very different from the modern economic man, though the concept was more concrete and less abstract.45 economico appears repeatedly in the text (e.g., pp. 85–86). The recent critical edition based on the earliest known manuscript of 1475 (ms. 15, National Library of Malta, Valletta) and others refers to the chapter in question as “De lo yconomo” and uses the phrases “yconomo,” “homo yconomo,” “vivere yconomico,” and even “virtù icognomiche.” See Benedetto Cotrugli, Libro de l’arte de la mercatura, ed. Vera Ribaudo, with an introduction by Tiziano Zanato (Venice, 2016), 157, 162. The recent English edition conservatively translates the chapter title as “On Man as Administrator of His Household,” discussing “the administration of the life of a house- hold” by an ideal “administrator.” See Benedetto Cotrugli, The Book of the Art of Trade, trans. John Francis Phillimore, ed. Carlo Carrraro and Giovanni Favero (Cham, Switzerland, 2017), 145–46. For Xenophon’s work and the tradition it took part in, see Xenophon, Oeconomicus: A Social and Historical Commentary, ed. Sarah B. Pomeroy (Oxford, 1994). On the relationship between micro and macro in this tradition, see Sophus A. Reinert, “Authority and Expertise at the Origins of Macro-Economics,” in Antonio Serra and the Economics of Good Government, ed. Rosario Patalano and Sophus A. Reinert (Basingstoke, 2016), 119. 44 Jacob Viner to Raymond de Roover, 3 June 1957, 1r, box 8, folder 12, Viner Papers. The book in question, Kress Catalogue No. 464, is Bartolomeo Frigerio, L’economo prudente: Nel quale con l’autorità della sacra scrittura, d’Aristotile, e d’altri graui scrittori si mostra l’arte infallibile d’acquistar, e conseruar la robba, e la riputatione d’vna famiglia, e d’vne corte (Rome, 1621). As the full subtitle suggests, the work is indicative of the transition from the economy of families to that of courts and eventually states; see Reinert, “Authority and Expertise.” 45 Raymond de Roover to Viner, 5 June 1957, 1r, box 8, folder 12, Viner Papers. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 23 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core De Roover would never publish this bolder, more adventurous medita- tion on the relationship between economic men past and present, perhaps in emulation of Frigerio’s prudence, but his insight that moder- nity was somehow related to an “accent” on “efficiency in the manage- ment of worldly affairs” certainly informed his work more broadly, as is evident from the opening phrase of his magnum opus, The Rise and Decline of the Medici Bank: “Modern capitalism based on private own- ership has its roots in Italy during the Middle Ages and the Renais- sance.”46 Historians are rightly torn about how, exactly, to engage with such “roots,” simultaneously distant and pertinent, deep and shallow. The past may be a foreign country, but where exactly is it located? How near or far away? On a different continent? Or planet, perhaps? How related are we to our past, and how far can it, really, refine our judgment? A Usable Past The problem is, as Gras, de Roover, and Lane all realized, particu- larly acute with regard to concepts such as “capitalism,” which are habit- ually considered “modern” by default, however difficult to define in a durable fashion, and which are frequently engrossing precisely because of their perceived connection to present and future concerns— whether with progress, sustainability, or social justice. As Henrietta M. Larson put it in her own comment to Gras’s seminal 1941 talk on “Capitalism,” a historical approach to business administration “is to us no mere academic concern.”47 The historical profession may today be increasingly challenged to prove its “relevance” in modern academia, but the anxieties surrounding this are old. Marc Bloch, himself no stranger to the question of the “use of history,” felt there was something uniquely American about Gras’s program.48 Writing in 1929 about the ambitious plans at HBS to patronize work on the economic and business history of the Italian Renaissance, Bloch noted, “Faith in the practical utility of research about the past, confidence in the economic expansion 46 Raymond de Roover, The Rise and Decline of the Medici Bank, 1397–1494 (Cambridge, MA, 1963), 2. See also, earlier, Armando Sapori, “The Culture of the Medieval Italian Mer- chant” (1937), trans. Raymond de Roover and Florence Edler de Roover, in Lane and Rie- mersma, Enterprise and Secular Change, 65. For a similar notion of when “modernity” began, chosen from among many possible examples, see Istvan Hont, Jealousy of Trade: International Competition and the Nation-State in Historical Perspective (Cambridge, MA, 2005), 1–9, drawing on David Hume’s meditation on when “trade” first became “an affair of state,” in Hume, “Of Civil Liberty,” in Political Essays, ed. Knud Haakonssen (Cambridge, U.K., 1994), 52. 47 Henrietta M. Larson, “Discussion by Henrietta M. Larson,” Bulletin of the Business Historical Society 16, no. 2 (1942): 39–42, at 41. 48 Marc Bloch, The Historian’s Craft, trans. Peter Putnam (New York, 1953), 3. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 24 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core of the United States of America, inheritors and imitators in a much larger world of Italian pre-capitalism, these feelings . . . are worthy . . . of focus- ing the thoughts of historians.”49 Needless to say, not everyone agreed on the virtue or necessity of such a functional approach to the past, and tra- ditions differed internationally. In a 1947 letter to the Venice-based medieval economic historian Gino Luzzatto suggesting they collaborate on a book in English, for example, Lopez tried to explain that “it will be necessary to consider the mentality and methods of the Americans. Great interest in statistics and in the ‘what for,’ which is to say: what use is it to study this? What lesson can we draw from the past?” Unless one took this realization to heart, the danger was that “an American student or professor would be left disoriented.”50 And the case of Lane is here, again, instructive. Fol- lowing in the footsteps of Italian pioneers like Luzzatto, Lane was a groundbreaking archival historian. But Lane, in an often remarkably open way, squeezed his prodigious archival findings into a politicized schema according to which America inherited and ultimately uplifted the traditions, especially the republican traditions, of Venice. The most striking artifact of Lane’s politicized historiography is his 1965 presiden- tial address at the American Historical Association’s annual meeting in San Francisco, later published under the title “At the Roots of Republi- canism.” Lane’s long-time friend Lopez accurately summarized its con- tents in a congratulatory letter to Lane early the next year: “I have just read your masterly presidential speech and I could not agree more: republicanism was more important than capitalism as a peculiar trait of the Italian medieval town, and that is why the Renaissance is not a sur- prise.” In another letter, somewhat in jest, written seven years later, Lopez described his and Lane’s shared politics: “Like you I am a 49 Marc Bloch, “Nouvelles scientifiques. De Florence à Boston: Les vicissitudes d’un fonds d’archives commerciales,” in Annales d’histoire économique et sociale 1, no. 3 (1929): 418. 50 Robert Sabatino Lopez to Gino Luzzatto, 22 Sept. 1947, 1r, MS 1459, series 1, box 7, folder 148, RSLP (translation ours). Lopez himself spoke of “Florentine capitalists” and was transpar- ent in wishing to understand “the slow process by which the small, isolated, self-sufficient economies of the late Middle Ages evolved into the modern world economy”; see Lopez, “Small and Great Merchants in the Italian Cities of the Renaissance” (1931), in Lane and Rie- mersma, Enterprise and Secular Change, 4, 45. Over time, however, he came to feel more wary about such strong statements, admitting that “I have lost, by force of habit, the courage of making a generalization without many qualifications, a probable statement without the warning that it is a mere conjecture, a personal judgment without some hint that it may be wrong and it is open to challenge.” The cost, for Lopez, was ironically high even in terms of his- torical understanding, as “too many footnotes and ‘perhapses’”—for example, in a new biogra- phy of Benedetto Zaccaria, the Venetian “admiral, merchant, industrialist, writer, diplomat, crusader, [and] pirate”—would ultimately fail “to bring out the incredible maverick he was while the Middle Ages was at its peak.” See Lopez to Eric Cochrane, 17 Nov. 1978, MS 1459, series 1, box 3, folder 50, RSLP. A final irony, of course, is that Lopez gained fame not as a meticulous scholar but as a great generalizer, associated with major revisionist claims. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 25 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core republican . . . and a moderate anarchist of the Genoa–New England type.”51 Lane’s magnum opus, Venice: A Maritime Republic, published the next year, was met with uniform praise from Venetianists, but two younger American historians of Florence, Eric Cochrane and Julius Kirshner, published a scathing review. For them, Lane’s Venice was a “work of political ideology intended to remind us of our usable past.”52 And for Lane, they argued, the task of defending this American ideology fell upon historians and, in particular, American historians since so much European history had been infected by Marxism. The late British economic historian Stephan R. Epstein defended Lane from Cochrane and Kirshner’s criticism, stressing the extent to which Lane’s central theoretical insight—that is, the positive effect of systematic vio- lence on economic development—emerged from the traditions of the German historical school, and in particular Schmoller and Sombart, and was at odds with (at least the public face of) the twentieth century’s “American ideology” in the economic (or political-economic) sphere.53 51 Frederic C. Lane, “At the Roots of Republicanism,” American Historical Review 71, no. 2 (1966): 403–42; Lopez to Lane, 31 Jan. 1966, and Lopez to Lane, n.d. [1973], both in series 2, box 7, Lane Papers. Lane and Lopez alike almost certainly had in mind an imperial republic and not a benign Ciceronian one. 52 Eric Cochrane and Julius Kirshner, “Deconstructing Lane’s Venice,” review of Venice: A Maritime Republic, by Frederic C. Lane, Journal of Modern History 47, no. 2 (1975): 334, emphasis added. Albeit from a different ideological stance, Renzo Pecchioli made a similar and wider case about Venice and America in his Dal “mito” di Venezia all’“ideologia ameri- cana”: Itinerari e modelli della storiografia sul repubblicanesimo dell’età moderna (Venice, 1983). J. G. A. Pocock replied, noting that Pecchioli “describes [him], along with Hans Baron, William J. Bouwsma, and the late Frederic C. Lane, as conducting an offensive against Marxist historiography which must necessarily serve the interests of American ruling classes, and in which the thesis of a continuity of republican political values passing from Italy to England and the United States plays a leading part.” Pocock, “Between Gog and Magog: The Republican Thesis and the Ideologia Americana,” Journal of the History of Ideas 48, no. 2 (1987): 325; for further discussion of Lane and Cochrane and Kirshner’s cri- tique, see pp. 328, 332. See also Pocock’s fascinating retrospective, “The Machiavellian Moment Revisited: A Study in History and Ideology,” Journal of Modern History 53, no. 1 (1981): 49–72, which discusses “Deconstructing Lane’s Venice” on p. 55; at the time, Kirshner was one of the editors of the Journal of Modern History. For a different argument about the role of American ideology at work in Italian Renaissance historiography, see Anthony Molho, “The Italian Renaissance, Made in the USA,” in Imagined Histories: American Historians Interpret the Past, ed. Anthony Molho and Gordon S. Wood (Princeton, 1998), 263–94. We do not wish to judge here the merits of the Cochrane-Kirshner-Pecchioli criticisms of Lane, but the following should be noted: friends of Lane describe him as having been a “left liberal”; he firmly defended his Hopkins colleague Owen Lattimore against Joseph McCarthy’s charge that he was a Soviet agent, writing that “[Lattimore] has not followed the Communist line . . . [and] I never had any reason to think him a Communist or to doubt his good faith and loyalty”; and, during his long tenure as editor of the Journal of Economic History, Lane reg- ularly acted as an intermediary between, as it were, both sides of the Iron Curtain and had many productive contacts among Marxist historians. Lionel Stanley Lewis, The Cold War and Academic Governance: The Lattimore Case at Johns Hopkins (Albany, 1993), 101, 295n6. 53 Stephan R. Epstein, “Lane and Theory,” in Bullard et al., “Where History and Theory Interact,” 97–106, esp. 103–4. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 26 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core Both Epstein’s and Cochrane and Kirshner’s cases have merits, but the debate about Lane’s Venice and his American ideology raises a more fun- damental question for historians: whether uncovering or creating a “usable past”—as in Cochrane and Kirshner’s disparaging phrase—is something that they can do and should do. Indeed, in a sort of critical obituary for Raymond de Roover, Kirshner himself warned that “the flight from Anachronism should not lead to Antiquarianism,” but, without ever explaining precisely what that might mean, it remains up for debate exactly where said flight should lead and by what standards one can be deemed to err toward one extreme or the other.54 In light of the tempestuousness of academia, nihilism and pusillanimity seem to remain the safe harbors of choice. Historiographically, in short, we are still seeking the right course to navigate between the Scylla of presentism and the Charybdis of irrele- vance, between the philistine and antiquarian impulses that, to differing degrees in different practitioners, inspire historical inquiry. And, often, we have gone to extremes. The decidedly cyclical (even generational) tra- jectories taken have ranged widely, from the purposeful deployment of historical chimeras as political weapons to what Quentin Skinner has called an “aesthetic response” to the past, whereby the historian becomes a “redeemer of lost time.”55 Among the more wonderful exam- ples of the former category, it may be worth remembering the Russian émigré Michael Rostovtzeff (Figure 6, left), who in light of his experi- ences during the October Revolution recreated a veritable bourgeoisie already operating a “capitalistic” system of trade and industry across the Mediterranean basin in the fifth and fourth centuries before the common era: “to the Hellenistic period, then, we are indebted for many of the economic phenomena which now form the basis of our own economic life.”56 Tragically, however, that golden age had fallen at 54 Kirshner, “Raymond de Roover,” 36. Incidentally, Lane himself once asked, “Is there no way in which to draw the line, then, between history and antiquarianism?” He ultimately con- cluded, “I do not think there is any general universally valid answer.” Lane, “Conclusion,” in Lane and Riemersma, Enterprise and Secular Change, 534. 55 Quentin Skinner, Liberty before Liberalism (Cambridge, U.K., 1997), 107. 56 Michael Rostovtzeff, The Social and Economic History of the Hellenistic World (Oxford, 1941), 100, 304; Rostovtzeff, “Presidential Address Delivered before the American Historical Association at Chattanooga on December 28, 1935,” American Historical Review 41, no. 2 (1936): 231–52, at 252. For a critique, see Peregrine Horden and Nicholas Purcell, The Cor- rupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History (Oxford, 2000), 31–32. The debate over whether the “ancient economy” was “modern” or “primitive” continues unabated, but see, for powerful contrasting views, M. I. Finley, The Ancient Economy, with a foreword by Ian Morris (Berkeley, 1999); and Edward Cohen, Athenian Economy and Society: A Banking Per- spective (Princeton, 1992). For one of the earliest salvos in the debate, see August Böckh, Die Staatshaushaltung der Athener, 4 vols. in 2 bks. (Berlin, 1817). The debate really took on a life of its own during the controversy between Eduard Meyer, a “modernist” who saw in Ancient Greece the womb of modern capitalism, and the “primitivist” Karl Bücher, who did not. See Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 27 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core the feet of the marauding Alexander the Great, much, Rostovtzeff warned, as the “capitalist” world of the 1930s might give way to Nazism and Communism. At the opposite extreme, one cannot but mention Carlo Ginzburg’s influential work (particularly in the historiog- raphy of early modern Italy) emphasizing the radical otherness of a past that is “really dead”—“totally forgotten and completely irrelevant to the present.”57 Though positions similar to these two extremes always coexist in the almost infinitely variegated halls of academia, the broader historiography itself can be seen to shift back and forth across the spectrum. As Adam Smith once recalled, “if the rod be bent too much one way, says the proverb, in order to make it straight you must bend it as much the other.”58 A trend in the historical scholarship on cap- italism since the 2008 crisis has undeniably aimed at being more “usable,” though the how and why of this utility remains a matter of intense dispute. Continuing Relevance It may be best not to formalize a definitive answer to the conundrum, as historical inquiries are too diverse for easy codification, nor to simply fall back to prudently writing with our proverbial cards close to our vests, never letting our readers really know how we secretly connect our argu- mentative dots to whatever it is that we argue about in the present. Rather, we would suggest actively probing the ways by which historical scholarship can be both methodologically rigorous and relevant to current concerns. And few fields of historical investigation are more Paul Cartledge, “‘Trade and Politics’ Revisited: Archaic Greece,” in Trade in the Ancient Economy, ed. Peter Garnsey, Keith Hopkins, and C. R. Whittaker (Berkeley, 1983), 1–15, at 1. 57 Keith Luria and Romulo Gandolfo, “Carlo Ginzburg: An Interview,” Radical History Review 35 (1986): 89–111, at 105. The phrase “totally forgotten and completely irrelevant to the present” appears in Edward Muir, “Introduction: Observing Trifles,” in Microhistory and the Lost Peoples of Europe, ed. Edward Muir and Guido Ruggiero (Baltimore, 1991), vii–xxviii, at xii. This is, of course, not the only way of writing a microhistory; Francesca Triv- ellato’s self-described “global history on a small scale” is the most important example. Trivel- lato, The Familiarity of Strangers: The Sephardic Diaspora, Livorno, and Cross-Cultural Trade in the Early Modern Period (New Haven, 2009), 7; see also Trivellato, “Is There a Future for Italian Microhistory in the Age of Global History?” California Italian Studies 2, no. 1 (2011), http://escholarship.org/uc/item/0z94n9hq. For other, very different studies that establish the global import of the small scale, see Paul Cheney, Cul-de-Sac: Patrimony, Capitalism, and Slavery in French Saint-Domingue (Chicago, 2017); and Michael Kwass, Con- traband: Louis Mandrin and the Making of a Global Underground (Cambridge, MA, 2014). John Brewer has elegantly sketched some of the differences between different national micro- historical traditions, in “Microhistory and the Histories of Everyday Life,” Cultural and Social History 7, no. 1 (2010): 87–109. 58 Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, vol. 1, ed. Edwin Cannan (Chicago, 1977), 183. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 28 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core http://escholarship.org/uc/item/0z94n9hq http://escholarship.org/uc/item/0z94n9hq https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core promising for such approaches than that vast expanse represented by the interconnected historiographies of the new history of political economy, ranging across business history, the history of capitalism, economic history, intellectual history, legal history, and environmental history, to name only a few.59 Since the time of Sombart, the “origins” of “modern” economic con- ditions, alternatively identified with “capitalism” or even “the economy” as such, have been located not only in Rostovtzeff’s Hellenistic period but also in medieval Italy, in the early modern Low Countries, in the Britain of the Industrial Revolution, and in nineteenth-century America.60 Though studiously avoiding the term “capitalism,” Michael McCormick recently pushed the Lopez thesis about the European commercial revo- lution even further back in time, arguing that “the decisive advance of the European commercial economy started in the eighth, not the tenth or eleventh centuries” and that already then “the basic pattern for the commercial development of the European economy over the next half- millennium was set.”61 The history of Europe’s “decisive advance” and “development” has, in recent years, been increasingly related—some- times explicitly, sometimes obliquely—both to the origins of capitalism and to the issue of the Great Divergence, that is, the question of why it was that Europeans initiated contact with, and eventually dominated, the rest of the world rather than the other way around. Or, as Samuel Johnson put the question in his 1759 Rasselas, “By what means . . . are the Europeans thus powerful; or why, since they can so easily visit Asia and Africa for trade or conquest, cannot the Asiaticks and Africans invade their coasts, plant colonies in their ports, and give laws to their natural princes? The same wind that carries them back would bring us thither.”62 Did Europe conquer the world because it was more 59 On the importance of adding legal history to this mix, see Robert Fredona, “Angelo degli Ubaldi and the Gulf of the Venetians: Custom, Commerce, and the Control of the Sea,” in New Perspectives on the History of Political Economy, ed. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert (London, 2018), 29–74. 60 See, for example, Jan de Vries and Ad van der Woude, The First Modern Economy: Success, Failure, and Perseverance of the Dutch Economy, 1500–1815 (Cambridge, U.K., 1997). 61 Michael McCormick, Origins of the European Economy: Communications and Com- merce, AD 300–900 (Cambridge, U.K., 2002), 780, 794, 797. 62 Samuel Johnson, The History of Rasselas: Prince of Abissinia, originally published as The Prince of Abissinia: A Tale (London, 1759), quote at 73. The character Imlac’s original answer to the question was, for the record, “because they are wiser; knowledge will always pre- dominate over ignorance.” The quote plays a significant role in Niall Ferguson, Civilization: The West and the Rest (London, 2011). For a parallel, see Yali’s question—“Why is it that you white people developed so much cargo and brought it to New Guinea, but we black people had little cargo of our own?”—which inspired Jared Diamond, Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Modern Societies (New York, 1999), 14. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 29 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core “developed,” or did it “develop” because it conquered the world? And where, not to mention why, did this process first start? In order to begin to answer these questions, it may be worth being more specific about what we are seeking to understand. Terms such as “capitalism” and “socialism” remain endlessly protean, and scholars often operate with “looser,” “less precise,” and even conflicting concep- tions of them.63 And, as Lane rightly observed, even by stricter standards “capitalism is a matter of degree: it is hard to find a society 100 percent capitalistic or 0 percent capitalistic.”64 Given this, it may be worth spec- ifying what we mean when we write about “Italy and the Origins of Cap- italism.” As we have tried to make clear already, we are more interested in “capitalism” and its meanings over time than in actually finding “origins,” if such a thing were even possible, except insofar as thinking about “origins” was a remarkably productive way of thinking about pre- modern capitalism for our intellectual forebears and remains a compel- ling heuristic.65 In a recent synthesis, Larry Neal has suggested that “capitalism . . . can be defined usefully as a complex and adaptive eco- nomic system operating within broader social, political, and cultural systems that are essentially supportive,” highlighting private property, enforceable contracts, responsive markets, and supportive governments as its central “four elements.”66 By this incredibly capacious definition, “capitalism” is both older and vaster than many would have suspected, and the next question may be what, exactly, we want the term to do for us. What, really, do we want to learn? This is, needless to say, not 63 This is hardly a new observation; see R. H. Hilton, “Capitalism—What’s in a Name?” Past & Present 1, no. 1 (1952): 32–43, at 32. See also Reinert, Academy of Fisticuffs, 400–1. 64 Frederic C. Lane, “Economic Growth in Wallerstein’s Social Systems: A Review Article,” in Profits from Power: Readings in Protection Rent and Violence-Controlling Enterprises (Albany, 1979), 66–71, at 70. This is not to say that Lane and de Roover always shared common interests. See, for example, Lane’s statement that “in medieval bookkeeping we met on common ground, but his [de Roover’s] concern with the scholastics grew out of ele- ments of his background which are not part of mine.” Frederic C. Lane to Julius Kirshner, 21 Jan. 1974, 1r, series 2, box 6, Lane Papers. 65 However, it may be best to separate the productivity of this heuristic from the ideologies and insecurities that brought it about. It was in their search for disciplinary purpose and per- tinence, as Daniel Lord Smail shows, that medievalists over the last century have found in the European Middle Ages the “origins” of a wide range of phenomena with more or less unques- tionable present-day relevance, including “civil society, the state, commerce and trade, banking, cities, individualism, universities, the modern nuclear family, scientific method, law and justice, human rights, citizenship, colonialism, fashion, and . . . even persecution.” Smail, “Genealogy, Ontogeny, and the Narrative Arc of Origins,” French Historical Studies 34, no. 1 (2011): 21–35, at 31–32, esp. 32n33. As Tim Carter and Richard Goldthwaite rightly observe, “All history is about continuity and change, and which dynamics gets emphasized depends on the objective of the historian.” Carter and Goldthwaite, Orpheus in the Marketplace: Jacopo Peri and the Economy of Late Renaissance Florence (Cambridge, MA, 2013), 348. 66 Larry Neal, “Introduction” to The Cambridge History of Capitalism, vol. 1, ed. Larry Neal and Jeffrey G. Williamson (Cambridge, U.K., 2014), 1–23, at 2–4. This extraordinary anthology opens with a chapter on Babylonia in the first millennium BCE. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 30 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core the first time this question is asked. Lane himself suggested, in his “Meanings of Capitalism,” that the real purpose of understanding the origins of “capitalism” might lay in “finding the causes of ‘modern eco- nomic growth’” (i.e., what Simon Kuznets defines as “rates of growth in per capita income rang[ing] mostly from 10 percent to over 20 percent per decade”) and why it first emerged from the “conditions and institutions . . . in Western Europe rather than elsewhere.” For, “whether the institutions are called capitalism or not, the problem remains.”67 From this perspective, the purpose of triangulating the “origins of capitalism” really becomes that of discovering how humanity escaped the so-called Malthusian trap by achieving growth in output fast enough to allow for simultaneous demographic and economic develop- ment. This has been described as “the most important event in world history,” but few agree on how, why, and where it first happened.68 It is in this spirit that we suggest that Italy indeed plays a founda- tional role in the development of “capitalism,” of “modern economic growth,” and thus of any “modernity” understood in such terms. Kenneth Pomeranz broke crucial new ground in these debates, but we would suggest that the subsequent scholarly insistence on comparing eighteenth-century Britain to parts of China as a means of periodizing the Great Divergence begins the stories of modern economic growth 67 Lane, “Economic Growth in Wallerstein’s Social Systems,” 99. The review is largely even handed, as evident also in a letter from Goldthwaite to Lane: “I also want to thank you for the review of Wallerstein’s book. I thought you were remarkably generous and restrained in your criticisms. Personally, the book enraged me, for its style, for its shoddy use of materials, for its simplistic schematicization of things. . . . I learned more from your review than I learned from the book”—to which Lane added the laconic marginal note “Problem of syntheses.” Gold- thwaite to Lane, 9 Mar. 1977, 1v, series 2, box 6, Lane Papers. For Kuznets’s definition, see Simon Kuznets, Economic Growth and Structure (London, 1965), 18; on this, see, among others, Robert William Fogel, Enid M. Fogel, Mark Guglielmo, and Nathaniel Grotte, Political Arithmetic: Simon Kuznets and the Empirical Tradition in Economics (Chicago, 2013). For a similar (though not explicit) emphasis on discovering the sources of growth rather than the definitions of “capitalism,” see Joel Mokyr, A Culture of Growth: The Origins of the Modern Economy (Princeton, 2016). 68 Deirdre McCloskey, “‘You Know, Ernest, the Rich Are Different from You and Me’: A Comment on Clark’s A Farewell to Alms,” European Review of Economic History 12, no. 2 (2008): 138–148, at 141. For overviews of these debates, see Peer Vries, The Escape from Poverty (Vienna, 2013); and Sophus A. Reinert, “The Great Divergence: Europe and Modern Economic Growth” (Harvard Business School Case 715-039, Boston, 2015). On the “Malthusian trap,” see Gregory Clark, A Farewell to Alms: A Brief Economic History of the World (Princeton, 2007), 19–40. For a critique of Clark, see Karl Gunnar Persson, “The Malthus Delusion,” European Review of Economic History 12, no. 2 (2008): 165–73. Note that even the causes and contexts of the Industrial Revolution remain uncertain. See, for example, recent salvos in the important and continuing debate about Allen’s “high wage” thesis: Robert C. Allen, “Real Wages Once More: A Response to Judy Stephenson,” Economic History Review 72, no. 2 (2019): 738–54; Judy Z. Stephenson, “Mistaken Wages: The Cost of Labour in the Early Modern English Economy: A Reply to Robert C. Allen,” Economic History Review 72, no. 2 (2019): 755–69. Its world-changing importance, though, is undeniable. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 31 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core and subsequent global dynamics much too late.69 As the best scholarly estimates indicate, in terms both of assumed output and of corollaries such as life-expectancy and literacy rates, the real story of per capita development in human history begins not in Enlightenment Britain but in medieval and Renaissance Italy, and this—as de Roover, Lopez, David S. Landes, and others intuited—is one place where we ought to focus our efforts. Why was Italy the region that first escaped the Malthu- sian trap in a sustainable manner (understood on a secular rather than millennial scale)? Why did it forge ahead to diverge, not only from the trajectories of other countries and regions but indeed from the material baseline of human history up to that point?70 (Figure 7) And what can we learn from this deeper history of business, capitalism, and political economy? The point is of course not to follow Rostovtzeff’s example or, as Martha C. Howell recently warned, to make past actors “into infan- tile—and not very bright—versions of ourselves,” but we may have to risk being less prudent than de Roover was willing to be. For though Howell’s point is well taken, it seems facile to simply conclude, as she does, that “economic systems are historically specific sociocultural systems” and that this is as far as we get in terms of history’s “implications for the con- temporary global economy.” Based on her focus on the Low Countries, Howell concludes that, like the people in fifteenth-century Bruges or Antwerp, people in Delhi, Lagos, or Beijing today . . . are confronting a world where prop- erty is changing form and place with astonishing and unprecedented speed. As it does, their sense of themselves and their relationship with others will change, but just how the changes occur, and what kind of changes they may be, will depend as much on how these people have traditionally used and understood material goods as on any logic inherent in “economic laws.” Unless we understand those traditions, we cannot hope to predict the future. However, we can be sure that these places will experience no “transition” to the kind of capitalist market society that defines the modern West, for 69 Kenneth Pomeranz, The Great Divergence: China, Europe, and the Making of the Modern World Economy (Princeton, 2000). 70 See Maddison Project Database, version 2018, by Jutta Bolt, Robert Inklaar, Herman de Jong, and Jan Luiten van Zanden, “Rebasing ‘Maddison’: New Income Comparisons and the Shape of Long-Run Economic Development” (Maddison Project Working Paper 10, Groningen Growth and Development Centre, University of Groningen, Jan. 2018), https://www.rug.nl/ ggdc/historicaldevelopment/maddison/releases/maddison-project-database-2018. Again, this basic argument has a long pedigree; see, for example, the literature surveyed in Michael Postan, “Bibliography: Studies in Bibliography,” Economic History Review 4, no. 2 (1933): 212–27 (“I. Mediaeval Capitalism”). On the sustainability of this moment, see Sophus A. Reinert, “Lessons on the Rise and Fall of Great Powers: Conquest, Commerce, and Decline in Enlightenment Italy,” American Historical Review 115, no. 5 (2010): 1395–425. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 32 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.rug.nl/ggdc/historicaldevelopment/maddison/releases/maddison-project-database-2018 https://www.rug.nl/ggdc/historicaldevelopment/maddison/releases/maddison-project-database-2018 https://www.rug.nl/ggdc/historicaldevelopment/maddison/releases/maddison-project-database-2018 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core they belong to a world economy that looks very little like Europe of 1600.71 Yet, may we learn more from the past than simply its alterity? After all, if that truly were the case, we would really not need more than a single Figure 7. Earlier and later divergences. Note: GDP per person in thousands of 1990 interna- tional dollars. (Sources: Modeled on “A great leap, for some,” graphic in “China has been poorer than Europe longer than the Party thinks,” The Economist, 15 June 2017, which is based on an early draft of Stephen Broadberry, Hanhui Guan, and David Daokui Li, “China, Europe and the Great Divergence: A Study in Historical National Accounting, 980–1850,” Journal of Economic History 78, no. 4 [2018]: 1–46.) 71 Martha C. Howell, Commerce before Capitalism in Europe, 1300–1600 (Cambridge, U.K., 2010), 300–2. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 33 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core example of a different past to do the trick, and then only a collector’s impulse could justify a historical profession that undertakes the Sisy- phean task of completing a kind of Linnaean catalog of historical moments. Development is by necessity path dependent, but the histori- cal record is replete with cases of more or less deliberate decisions to change tracks, whether out of experimentation or emulation.72 And though a lot of ink has rightly been spilled “provincializing” the European experience, showing the multiple and entangled threads to the present, the problem remains that in the end there seem to be certain ways of “developing,” of “forging ahead” and “catching up” in Moses Abramo- vitz’s vocabulary.73 With the still dubious examples of a select number of petro-states, the only truly successful stories of economic develop- ment understood as rapid and sustained increase in output and human welfare outside of the Western tradition remain China, Korea, Japan, Singapore, and Taiwan, all of which essentially followed or are following a playbook—based on a conscious emphasis on high-value- added industries and “Western” modes of business—codified and theo- rized already in Renaissance Italy and quite purposefully and explicitly emulated by the Low Countries, Britain, Germany, the United States, and practically everyone else since.74 This does not mean that any of them looked anything “like Europe in 1600” or, for that matter, the Europe of the 1950s when they embarked on their new trajectories, but it does suggest that there are economic activities and ways of organiz- ing them that are more conducive to development than others, that these can be purposefully and successfully emulated on the basis of historical examples, and that there ultimately may be limits to how far we can fruit- fully provincialize the European experience in global history or, for that matter, stress the uniqueness and incommensurability of our pasts.75 Indeed, though different sorts of questions demand different period- izations, and studies of all kinds can—and should—contribute to our 72 Sophus A. Reinert, Translating Empire: Emulation and the Origins of Political Economy (Cambridge, MA, 2011), 287. For a useful meditation on this problem, see Geoffrey M. Hodgson, How Economics Forgot History: The Problem of Historical Specificity in Social Science (London, 2001). 73 See, importantly, Dipesh Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference (Princeton, 2007); and Moses Abramovitz, “Catching Up, Forging Ahead, and Falling Behind,” Journal of Economic History 46, no. 2 (1986): 386–406. 74 For different yet (in important matters) aligned perspectives on this issue, see, among others, Alice H. Amsden, The Rise of “the Rest”: Challenges to the West from Late-Industri- alizing Economies (Oxford, 2003); Robert Wade, Governing the Market: Economic Theory and the Role of Government in East Asian Industrialization (Princeton, 2003); and Erik S. Reinert, How Rich Countries Got Rich . . . and Why Poor Countries Stay Poor (London, 2008). 75 For just how far back this is true, see Tim Flannery with Luigi Boitani, Europe: The First 100 Million Years (London, 2018), 1–2, 28. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 34 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core historical understanding, there are questions that can only be answered over long time periods. Thomas Piketty’s identification of what he calls “the central contradiction of capitalism: r > g,” for example—in other words, that the rate of return on capital is higher than the rate of eco- nomic growth over the long term, with powerful consequences for income inequality—by definition demanded observations over the long term.76 Similarly, though repeatedly presented as an impossibility in theory (with the right assumptions, after all, anything can be argued), the age-old question of whether governments can and should regulate economic life looks ever more curious in light of global economic history over the last millennium. After all, the visible hands of guilds, princes, and governments have been integral to all stories of economic “development” (understood in Kuznetsian terms) since the Middle Ages, from Florence to Britain and the United States to Singapore— indeed, even to the ostensibly “libertarian” Hong Kong.77 This is, of course, not to say that interventions and regulations are by necessity good, but it does suggest that it may be more fruitful to ask what sorts of interventions are successful for what purposes in different contexts than to maintain a sterile Manichean opposition between “regulation” and “laissez-faire” as such.78 Again, a long-term view of the ebbs and 76 Thomas Piketty, Capital in the Twenty-First Century, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Cambridge, MA, 2014), 571. 77 Douglas Irwin has dismissed this line of argument on the grounds that it suffers from “selection bias” by cherry-picking examples of development that coincided with purposeful industrial policy. See his review of Kicking Away the Ladder: Development Strategy in His- torical Perspective, by Ha-Joon Chang, EH.net (Apr. 2004), https://eh.net/book_reviews/ kicking-away-the-ladder-development-strategy-in-historical-perspective/. Milton Friedman, in Free to Choose: A Personal Statement (New York, 1990), 33–34, forwarded the shibboleth of Hong Kong as a capitalist paradise, but see, for a corrective, Manuel Castells, “Four Asian Tigers with a Dragon Head: A Comparative Analysis of the State, Economy, and Society in the Asian Pacific Rim,” in States and Development in the Asian Pacific Rim, ed. Richard P. Appelbaum and Jeffrey William Henderson (Newbury Park, CA, 2012), 33–70. More gener- ally on this point, see Sophus A. Reinert, “State Capitalisms Past and Present: The European Origins of the Developmental State,” in The Oxford Handbook of State Capitalism, ed. Geof- frey T. Wood, Anna Grosman, and Mike Wright (Oxford, forthcoming). 78 See also Bernard Harcourt’s essential The Illusion of Free Markets: Punishment and the Myth of Natural Order (Cambridge, MA, 2011). As libertarian Peter T. Leeson has shown, after all, anarchy may be preferable to certain kinds of predatory regulatory regimes. See Leeson, “Better Off Stateless,” in Anarchy Unbound: Why Self-Governance Works Better Than You Think (Cambridge, U.K., 2014), 170–196, at 194. More specifically, the fact that similar but not identical import-substitution policies in Nigeria and South Korea in the 1960s had such incredibly divergent consequences for the respective countries suggests that it may be more enlightening to evaluate policies in their contexts than to pass judgment on policies as such. Compare, say, M. Daly, Development Planning in Nigeria (Ibadan, 1977), and Michael Adebayo Adejugbe, “Industrialization, Distortions and Economic Development in Nigeria since 1950,” in Industrialization, Urbanization and Development in Nigeria: 1950–99, ed. Michael Adebayo Adejugbe (Lagos, 2004), 325–54, esp. 334–35, to Alice H. Amsden, Asia’s Next Giant: South Korea and Late Industrialization (Oxford, 1989). Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 35 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://eh.net/book_reviews/kicking-away-the-ladder-development-strategy-in-historical-perspective/ https://eh.net/book_reviews/kicking-away-the-ladder-development-strategy-in-historical-perspective/ https://eh.net/book_reviews/kicking-away-the-ladder-development-strategy-in-historical-perspective/ https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core flows of human history can uniquely inoculate us from theoretical and ideological excesses. It can, as Gras declared, provide “perspective.”79 This is not to say that long-termism somehow is inherently superior to other forms of historical inquiry—far from it—and we could not agree more with William Caferro that “important ideas and relevance may also be found in the small scale.”80 What we are suggesting is that our under- standing of capitalism and economic development today does benefit from an awareness of their deeper histories. And we are in the middle of a veritable Renaissance for scholarship about these matters. This is, admittedly, less a “turn” than a “re-turn,” for, as so often before in the wake of crises, the enduring financial collapse of 2008 renewed interest in the histories of economic phenomena.81 The “history of capitalism” is today one of the most flourishing subfields of the profession, and related historiographical sectors like “economic history,” “business history,” and “the history of political economy” have similarly experienced a notable resurgence in recent years.82 We would argue this is a propitious moment to bring together these different perspectives—drawing also on the more nuanced ways of engaging with sources developed during the linguistic turn and historiography’s move toward anthropological and cultural history—to recast and enrich our understanding of the historical dynamics of economic life. Beneath—or beyond—these cycles of attentiveness to the issues in question, the long-term trajectory of scholarship has, of course, never entirely lost interest in the foundational questions of when, where, and why this thing we have come to call “capitalism” emerged, a main- stream historiography that students and laymen alike continue to trace back to Weber’s 1904–1905 The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Cap- italism.83 Weber may, as Daniel Lord Smail recently observed, have been “spectacularly wrong in his argument that the seeds of capitalism lay in an ascetic denial of consumption in favor of capital accumulation,” but 79 Gras, Development of Business History, 180–81. For a related recent argument for the “relevance” of a “historical dimension,” see Umberto Eco, “C’era una volta Churchill,” in Pape Satàn Aleppe: Cronache di una società liquida (Milan, 2016), 60–62. 80 William Caferro, Petrarch’s War: Florence and the Black Death in Context (Cambridge, U.K., 2018), 178. See also Robert Fredona’s review of this work in Business History Review 92, no. 4 (2018): 749–53. 81 On the relationship between economic crises and historically informed economic inqui- ries, see Reinert, “Historical Political Economy.” For a history of this most recent crisis, see Adam Tooze, Crashed: How a Decade of Financial Crises Changed the World (New York, 2018). 82 For the lattermost, see, among many possible works, the essays in Fredona and Reinert, eds., New Perspectives on the History of Political Economy, as well as the volume’s introduc- tory essay, Fredona and Reinert, “Introduction: History and Political Economy,” xi–xxxii. 83 Max Weber, Die protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus, ed. Dirk Kaesler (Munich, 2013); on this, see Peter Ghosh, Max Weber and “The Protestant Ethic”: Twin His- tories (Oxford, 2014). Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 36 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core crucially no single explanation, or even influential narrative, has arisen to take its place.84 Indeed, as scholarship becomes ever more nuanced and specialized, the professional tolerance for grand narratives seems to have diminished. Already in his 1982 The Economist as Preacher, Nobel laureate in economics George J. Stigler noted a central “paradox” in the life of most economists, whereby “the influence of an economist’s work and the popular (non-professional) esteem in which he is held are most likely to be negatively correlated,” a dynamic that may be expanded to include a number of popular scholars in contempo- rary academia.85 The essays in this special issue of Business History Review are emi- nently aware of the deeper historiographies of their inquiries and can all, in different ways, be read as critiques of the overly simplifying grand nar- ratives that continue to dominate the historiography of our economic lives and ideologies. Though they all engage with real and durable trans- formations that occurred in medieval and Renaissance Italy, and many adumbrate their longer-term consequences for European and indeed world history, together they also show that we are in a moment of histo- riographical exploration, in which new research opens rather than closes fields of inquiry that are perceived to be pertinent, adding rather than removing nuance. Indeed, the essays suggest that what we ultimately call the constellation of activities and institutions that initiated the Great Divergence may in the end be less interesting than what we can learn from it and that its successful exploration undoubtedly must strad- dle the habitually separated subfields of business history, economic history, the history of capitalism, and the history of political economy. As this special issue shows, the city-states of medieval and Renaissance Italy remain (as the pioneers of business history argued almost a century ago) good places to begin such a deeper inquiry, which undoubtedly will matter to different people for different and eminently justifiable reasons. On our end, though methodologically and temperamentally ecumenical, we would venture to suggest that these histories matter also for the reasons they mattered to Gay and to Gras, to Schumpeter and to the 84 Daniel Lord Smail, Legal Plunder: Households and Debt Collection in Late Medieval Europe (Cambridge, MA, 2016), 17. This is not to say that no new explanations have been pro- posed. As Richard Goldthwaite wrote to Frederic C. Lane, “Conspicuous consumption did lead to investment—investment in crafts and in taste, and I think that this may be a much neglected aspect of the economic history of Europe.” Goldthwaite to Lane, 12 Nov. 1973, series 2, box 6, Lane Papers. Goldthwaite might be read in relation to Lopez’s infamous 1952 lecture (pub- lished in 1953) at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Hard Times and Investment in Culture.” Goldthwaite himself later developed this theme in Wealth and the Demand for Art in Italy, 1300–1600 (Baltimore, 1993). 85 George J. Stigler, “Do Economists Matter?” in The Economist as Preacher and Other Essays (Chicago, 1982), 57–67, at 67. Italy and the Origins of Capitalism / 37 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core de Roovers, to Lopez and to Lane, to Isaacs and to Chandler, to mention only some of the early titans of our fields, and that is by virtue of shed- ding light on one of the greatest challenges that we collectively face: that of enhancing our judgment regarding the natures, pasts, and possi- ble futures of worldly improvement. . . . ROBERT FREDONA is the Marie Skłodowska-Curie Research Fellow at the York Management School, University of York, U.K. He is coeditor of New Perspectives on the History of Political Economy (with Sophus Reinert: 2018) and author of numerous articles about Renaissance Italy and business history. SOPHUS A. REINERT is professor of business administration at Harvard Business School. He is author recently of The Academy of Fisticuffs: Political Economy and Commercial Society in Enlightenment Italy (2018) and of numerous books and articles on the history of political economy. Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert / 38 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680520000057 https://www.cambridge.org/core Italy and the Origins of Capitalism Weber and Sombart Business History The Roots of Modernity A Usable Past Continuing Relevance 
work_3ke7io55efeldayk6hk4hnl3oq	----	1 Submission for Architecture and Culture, Vol. 4, Issue no. 3. Title: The Consequences of Dialogue and the Virgilian Nostalgia of Colin Rowe Author(s): Mollie Claypool Email: m.claypool@ucl.ac.uk Affiliation: The Bartlett School of Architecture, University College London Words (main text): 3551 Words (bibliography): 294 Words (endnotes): 184 Author biographical Details [max 100 words] Mollie Claypool is a designer, writer and educator in architectural design, history and theory based in London. She is a Lecturer at The Bartlett School of Architecture, UCL, and also teaches at the AA School of Architecture. She has worked for architectural design practices in New York and London and is currently working on a PhD supervised by Professor Mario Carpo and Barbara Penner at The Bartlett. She has written for and edited books on architecture and design including a forthcoming book on Antoni Gaudi with Laurence King Publishing, Adaptive Ecologies: Correlated Systems of Living (Theodore Spyropoulos, AA Publications, 2013), In Search of a Forgotten Architect (Lily Dubowitz, AA Publications, 2012) and Composing Space: The Photographs of Helene Binet (Phaidon Press, 2012), amongst others. (total no. of words in author biographies: xx total here) Images Fig. 1 Rowe, Colin. “The Mathematics of the Idea Villa,” The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa and Other Essays (Massachusetts Institute of Technology: 1987). Fig. 2 “The Italicised Architecture of Inigo Jones and His School.” 1941. British Art and the Mediterranean exhibition. London: The Warburg Institute. Fig. 3 “The English Interpretation of Palladio.” 1941. British Art and the Mediterranean exhibition. London: The Warburg Institute. Fig. 4. Colin Rowe’s final draft of his MA dissertation. Author’s own photograph. Acknowledgements (if included) Include here if required 2 (total no. of words in acknowledgements: xx total here) Abstract: 150 words maximum At the time Colin Rowe published the now-famous essay “The Mathematics of the Idea Villa” (1947) he was close to completing his MA in the History of Art as Rudolf Wittkower’s only student at the Warburg Institute in London. Rowe’s unpublished Master’s thesis, titled “The Theoretical Drawings of Inigo Jones: Their Sources and Scope,” demonstrates how Rowe began to explore the method of comparative dialogical technique through the use of literary texts, images and diagrams in the construction of the history of architecture as myth. While it has been widely acknowledged that Rowe is an important source on the work of Jones, Rowe’s development of and application of the technique of dialogical construction – often less relying on true factual evidence and rather more with imagination – have rarely been examined. This Roweian myth will be viewed as an act of dialogical construction: a theoretical positioning of the role of history within the discipline of architecture. (total no. of words in abstract: 154) Keywords: 4-8 Rowe; comparative; diagram; visual; history. The Consequences of Dialogue and the Virgilian Nostalgia of Colin Rowe In his essay "The Mathematics of the Idea Villa”, originally published in March 1947 in The Architectural Review, the architectural historian and critic Colin Rowe lucidly observes that the Renaissance villas of architect Palladio and the Modernist villas of master Le Corbusier are, in a sense, similar in effect. The effect that Rowe particularly speaks of harks back to the dreams of Virgil on the absurdity of humanity’s relationship to nature, or, as Rowe writes, to a “Virgilian nostalgia.”1 The reference to Virgil that Rowe makes allows him to write about Le Corbusier's villas in a way that relates them to Palladio's villas. This compellingly transforms the perception of Le Corbusier as a 1920s revolutionary architect into a nostalgic architect of 1940s. The space of the villas of Le Corbusier and Palladio is, in Rowe’s terms, a return to the “bucolic” of Palladio’s writing and to the “pastoral” in Le Corbusier’s writing. 3 Rowe cites Le Corbusier’s statement “Leur vie domestique sera insérée dans un rêve virgilien” [“Their domestic life will be inserted into a Virgilian dream”] as evidence of Le Corbusier’s interest in Virgil as the invocation of “the ideal life of the villa,” which Rowe attributes also to Palladio further on in his essay.4 Rowe’s particular brand of historiography is, as one can observe in the first few paragraphs of this now-famous essay, born from an act of construction of a dialogue between two points in history. The words that Rowe has quoted – from Palladio’s The Four Books of Architecture (1570) and Le Corbusier’s Precisions (1930) - were written centuries apart. Rowe chooses to construct a dialogue, utilizing literary evidence derived from the pastoral, between these two points in architectural history. Later, when he constructs relations between Villa Malcontenta by Palladio and Villa Garches by Le Corbusier, and then Palladio’s Villa Rotonda and Le Corbusier’s Villa Savoye, Rowe uses visual evidence. Rowe uses both text and image (photographs and drawings) as a means through which to insinuate a certain argument or a revelation of truth. At the same time, as demonstrated in the latter part of his (?) essay, the visual evidence that Rowe employs is mainly as a technique of diagrammatic comparison. This paper argues that the analytical act of seeing through the technique of diagrammatic comparison with visual evidence is developed in a parallel with the technique of dialogical construction. Furthermore, the paper argues that, between these parallel constructions, there is a theoretical positioning of the role of history within the discipline of architecture. This space between is a space of intent, projection and nostalgia: the construction of a myth. The visual comparison that Rowe makes utilizes both Palladio’s and Le Corbusier’s words, as well as the plans and elevations of their buildings. The comparison for him reveals an under-arching, implicit structure; it is the evidence of a constituent system that becomes legible through the way these buildings are composed, ordered and idealized. This enables architecture and its history to be understood as demonstrations of this system. The technique, as developed further by Rowe in its application, enables early twentieth century Modernism with a capital “M” to be read not as being divorced from history, but instead, as very much “in bed” (a term that Rowe himself would 4 have enjoyed very much) with the rules and systems of classicism. It is therefore possible to read modernism (with a lowercase “m”) as part of a longer and deeper history of architecture. This technique is derived from the work of art historian Rudolf Wittkower, whose work on the interpretations of Palladian elements by the English Renaissance and eighteenth century architects refers to the same constituent system as “the eternal rules of architecture.”5 Rowe’s recalling of Virgilian nostalgia is, as Monica Centanni notes, an “epistemological filter through which the scholar views the ancient.”6 Rowe’s position as a historian dissolves the early twentieth century boundaries of architectural history defined by epochs, and establishes an emblematic link between twentieth-century architectural history and the classical tradition. This also signals the emergence of a framework which becomes what we know as the practice of architectural theory today. Rowe’s filter enables him, through a process of precise exclusions (of hundreds of other texts, buildings and architects) and inclusions (of only the works of Palladio and Le Corbusier), to selectively construct a shared history between architects who lived hundreds of years apart. In his version of history, the reader of “The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa” must be able to believe in the dialogue that he has constructed; the constituent system that underlies the work of Palladio and Le Corbusier must have carried across the centuries through their words and buildings. This is, in a sense, both absurd and yet highly rational, as it requires that the discipline of architecture is reduced (in a positive sense) to the construction of a dialogue between past and present. It is here, in the act of diagrammatic comparison and the reduction to subjective dialogue, that the myth (myth here being inherently subjective) becomes history. Decades after Rowe published “The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa,” he writes in The Architecture of Good Intentions (1994) that “all architecture is determined by a shared myth.”7 This notion of the myth, one could argue, refers back to this act of construction – being at once an invention and an idealization - as the etymology of “myth” suggests. 5 This positioning of architectural history by Rowe in “The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa” has been widely assumed in the scholarly work of more recent historians and critics such as Monica Centanni, Alina Payne, James Ackerman and Francesco Benelli, to trace back to the methodology of comparative technique – the construction of dialogue between two subjects – that Rudolf Wittkower used in his own work on the Renaissance. Derived from the teachings and work of the art historian Aby Warburg while Wittkower was employed at the Warburg Institute from 1934 to 1956, this methodology can be seen in the work that Wittkower produced during his stay at the Institute, such as “Pseudo-Palladian Elements in English Neo-Classical Architecture”, published in the Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes in 1943. This methodology also supports the argument that Wittkower set forth in his 1949 book Architectural Principles in the Age of Humanism, published originally as Volume 19 of the Studies of the Warburg Institute, which is most evident in the second chapter titled “Palladios’s Geometry: The Villas.” At the time Rowe was writing "The Mathematics of the Idea Villa”, he was in the process of completing his Master’s degree in the History of Art as Wittkower’s only student at The Warburg Institute in London. Rowe’s unpublished thesis, titled “The Theoretical Drawings of Inigo Jones: Their Sources and Scope” was submitted in 1948, a year after “The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa” was published. The thesis on the work of Jones (often revered as the first modern English architect) demonstrates the depth to which Rowe was exploring dialogue through the method of comparative technique. Rowe’s Master’s dissertation can currently be found in the Senate House Library at the University of London. A second copy of the thesis that was originally held in the Library of the Warburg Institute is lost; however, the copy held in the Senate House Library at the University of London has been one of the most accessed pieces of unpublished work on Inigo Jones by scholars working on English Renaissance architecture. For example, John Bold, the author of John Webb: Architectural Theory and Practice in the Seventeenth Century (1989), accessed Rowe’s thesis three times between 1976 and 1979, presumably while researching his book on Webb, a sixteenth- and seventeenth-century architect who worked with Inigo Jones and inherited the collection of drawings 6 and books that Rowe had accessed for his own research on Jones. Rowe’s dissertation has also been used by several scholars working on Wittkower and on the Warburg Institute, such as Francesco Benelli (mentioned above), a scholar from the Columbia University’s Italian Academy for Advanced Studies in America, and Katia Mazzucco, an academic at the Università Iuav di Venezia, both of whom published essays in L’architettura come testo e la figura di Colin Rowe (2010), a compilation of essays originally presented at a conference in 2008 at Università Iuav di Venezia. It is pertinent to discuss the contexts that these latter two texts have provided before looking at Rowe’s dissertation in more detail. The essays by Benelli and Mazzucco provide some insights into the context of the Warburg Institute for both Wittkower and Rowe. Mazzucco’s interest lies in the role exhibitions played in the ethos of the Warburg and the establishment of the Warburg Method in the mid- to late-1940s, while Benelli’s work looks at establishing a timeline and the circumstances of Wittkower and Rowe’s first meeting, with a focus on how Rowe employs his “Wittkowerian” education in “The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa.” Mazzucco’s essay uses the exhibition “British Art and the Mediterranean” (1941) as the fulcrum point around which her investigation, titled “The Context of Colin Rowe’s Meeting with Rudolf Wittkower and an Image of the ‘Warburg Method’,” rotates. The exhibition opened at the Warburg Institute, with the support of the Council for the Encouragement of Music and the Arts (CEMA), then travelled around the UK between 1942-1944. The exhibition catalogue records that it was shown at the University of Liverpool for two weeks in late July 1942, when Rowe was a student there.8 In the exhibition, the history of British art in the Mediterranean was grouped into two sections: reproductions of works of British art dating from pre-history to the sixteenth century, and from the sixteenth century to the nineteenth century. This choice of using reproductions allowed the curators, Fritz Saxl (pre-history to the sixteenth century) and Wittkower (sixteenth century to the nineteenth century), to suggest that, as Gertrude Bing wrote in the CEMA Bulletin in March 1942, “the contact between Britain and Mediterranean 7 peoples has in the past produced permanent value […] thus simple but unforgettable truth can be shown in artistic terms, and approached through visual education.”9 Rowe would have presumably seen the exhibition when it was shown in Liverpool, and therefore would have been familiar with the Warburgian methods employed by Wittkower and Saxl. In addition, the exhibition that Wittkower and Saxl curated (see Figures 2 and 3) and its subsequent catalogue contained images of the Queen’s House by Inigo Jones, described in the catalogue as “the first building in full Italian style built in England.” Wittkower went on to analyze Jones’ building in comparison to Palladio’s Villa Pisani and construct a conversation between Jones and Palladio, as Rowe would later do in his Master’s dissertation.10 Here, though, Wittkower’s dialogical comparison was purely through the use of images; he did not use diagrams, as Rowe did in “The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa,” or even as Wittkower himself later did in The Architectural Principles of Humanism. The viewer was forced to construct an idea about the intent of the conversation that Wittkower was suggesting. The exhibition and its catalogue required the viewer to look at the two images, and from them intuit Wittkower's argument. It enabled the subject to play a role in the construction of the myth. Wittkower's essay “Pseudo-Palladian Elements in English Neo-Classical Architecture” (1943), published in the Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, further highlights the dialogical method that Wittkower employed in his comparative study of Palladio (as representative of the Renaissance) and the English Neo-classical. Wittkower again used the work of Inigo Jones as an example, and suggested that English neo-classical architecture “should be seen from a distance like a picture,” with the aim of demonstrating that English neo-classical architecture was an interpretation of Italian architecture.11 His evidence for this was based on findings in collections of Italian Renaissance drawings that architects in seventeenth-century England had access to.12 Wittkower’s own development of a “visual education” was thus evident in his work throughout the 1940s, as it was in work by other historians at the Warburg Institute, Fritz Saxl amongst them. In early 1939, Saxl had presented an exhibition at the Warburg titled The Visual Approach to 8 the Classics. Like the later exhibition, this too used large, high-resolution photographs of reproductions of classical masterpieces. There was little text of explanation; instead, Saxl’s interpretations of classical masterpieces were expressed through these enlarged details of the reproductions. Saxl, as recalled by Gertrude Bing, “did not think of his exhibitions in terms of ‘education to art’.” Instead, “he wanted to convey a historical message,” one which “relied on an appeal through the eye.” Bing went on to state that “it was left to the spectator’s perceptiveness to read the message, without necessarily noticing how his understanding was guided by the control of relevant material and the choice and combination of pictures.”13 The methods used by Wittkower and Saxl in their exhibitions were therefore constructive, utilizing a dialogical, comparison-orientated view of history to establish a theoretical position towards the role of the visual. Simultaneously, this method allows the subject (the constructee) to interpret the position of the constructor (in this case the art historian). It enables, in a way, a multiplicity of interpretations to occur within a set framework that relies on an “appeal through the eye,” as Bing argued, which is a reliance on the aesthetic experience of the subject. This is perhaps where Rowe begins to differ, as we will see later. It is important to note at this point that theory, or the term “theoretical,” is used by Rowe in the sense of a means of justifying an explanation, or more precisely, and to borrow a definition from the Oxford English Dictionary, as the establishment of “a set of principles… upon which the practice of an activity is based,” such as a comparison as a tool or technique for/of visual education.14 In Wittkower and Saxl’s exhibition, that practice is purely aesthetic, but in Rowe’s dissertation, it is epistemological; it is a projection of how architectural knowledge and history can be constructed. Coming back to Rowe’s Master’s thesis, it is here that we see Rowe’s experiment with the same technique. The Virgilian nostalgia present in “The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa” is not present per se in any visual evidence in Rowe’s dissertation. However, it is present in Rowe’s verbal description, when he compares Inigo Jones’s work with Italian classicism. The construction of Rowe’s argument is very similar to that of the exhibition put on by Wittkower 9 and Saxl with their use of reproductions and enlarged details, particularly in terms of its use of the myth as a theoretical device (as explained further below) and its emphasis on comparison. It is not, however, reliant on aesthetic experience. In the case of Rowe’s MA thesis, the evidence shown is the untitled drawings by Inigo Jones. It is not the subjective experience of these that is particularly important for Rowe; instead, he attempts to highlight (?) their specific (?) content in order to project Jones’ own intent. Rowe accessed these drawings in multiple locations, from Worcester College, Oxford to the Royal Institute of British Architects in London; yet despite his diligence he noted certain difficulties of access in the Prefatory Note to the thesis that prevented him from “proceed[ing] systematically.” He was unable to be as rigorous with his quantification as he had wished. The thesis was, he wrote, “necessarily uneven and sketchy” as a result.15 The confidence with which Rowe writes “The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa” is not to be found in his dissertation; its sketchiness conveys uncertainty, but is also an opportunity for epistemological projection, one that Rowe clearly harnesses. Rowe deduces (?) from these untitled drawings that Jones intended to write a treatise on architecture akin to those written by Alberti, Palladio or Scamozzi. In a sense, Rowe adopts a similar strategy to Saxl’s, in that the viewer is the interpreter of that which he confronts; he is a reader, participating in a conversation with the past. However, in the case of his Master’s thesis, Rowe is largely still the viewer, looking from a distance. Rowe constructs his argument both structurally (as in how he orders and arranges the chapters of the thesis) and in terms of the actual evidence that he is examining (Inigo’s unpublished drawings). The thesis is divided into four main sections (see Figure 3), beginning with a biography of Inigo Jones and a conceptualization of his architectural development, both in conceptual and stylistic terms. He then proceeds to outline a history of the English architectural treatise, using Jones’ relationship with Italian architecture and the main Italian architectural treatises of the Renaissance. These first two chapters provide the context for the final two chapters. These include Rowe’s “projected treatise” in terms of the origin, history, content, technique and arrangement of the drawings, and a catalogue of Jones’ unpublished 10 (“theoretical”) drawings, which Rowe argued is the evidence of Jones’ intention to produce a treatise. The final chapter, at over one hundred and fifty pages, or over one third of the entire thesis, tediously and obsessively outlines every drawing of Jones’ used by Rowe, cataloguing them with a numbering and identification system (see Figure 4). There is an introductory text to the catalogue, a key to the catalogue, and then four subchapters, or “books” (a reference to Palladio’s The Four Books of Architecture) titled: “Book I: The orders. Minor elements associated with the orders;” “Book II: Domestic buildings. The ancient house. Elements of domestic design and their application. The palace, the villa, and the house;” “Book III: Urban building;” and “Book IV: Ecclesiastical building. The manners of the temple according to Vitruvius. The church and the cathedral.” Further to this, there is a subchapter titled “The Extraordinary Book: Composite capitals. Grottoes and fountains. Gates and doors.”16 The rigour with which Rowe presents this chapter of the dissertation gives the effect of research which is complete. Rowe relies on the appearance of a fully formed argument, while what he offers is only a sketch. Elsewhere in the thesis Rowe refers again to a form of sketchiness, particularly in terms of how he began to compare Jones to the masters of the Italian Renaissance. Using the Italian Renaissance treatises and works of Palladio, Scamozzi, Alberti, Michelangelo and Serlio, Rowe positions Jones’s as a next of kin to the Italians. Through Jones’ interpretation of the treatises of the Italian Renaissance, and in reference to Jones’ background and his travels, Rowe is able to argue for Jones as someone who is within the same architectural history. While Rowe observes that Jones freely borrowed from the Italians, he argues that “the principal difference lies in the general feeling of Inigo’s designs, which to use his own phrase, are ‘moi suelta’ than their originals,” and are novel in their “looseness of organization and a general easiness of effect.”17 Elsewhere Rowe again refers to this “looseness,” albeit in slightly different terms, for example when he writes of the elevation of the Banqueting House that it is “uninhibited.”18 The looseness, or uninhibitedness, of Jones’ interpretation of the Renaissance was an opportunity for Rowe. The 11 viewer who Wittkower and Saxl relied on to bring their subjective interpretation to bear when looking at juxtaposed images is here required to read into the gaps in Rowe’s dissertation, just as Rowe reads into the gaps in the evidence he has amassed, and is unable to fully formulate a demonstration of Jones’ intent to write an architectural treatise. Rowe’s methodolgy requires that he, and we, believe in the myth that he presents; it is by constructing a dialogue between one point in history and another that Rowe can argue that Inigo Jones intended to construct a theoretical treatise on architecture. After the methodological experimentation in his Master’s thesis, Rowe was able to more adept at controlling his argument, more confident in the role of the subjective viewer or reader (of himself as constructor and of the reader as complicit in that construction). The sketchiness and looseness opens up a path for dialogical comparison between these two points in history. Rowe’s argument is supported not purely by the evidence left behind by Jones, but also through Rowe’s manipulation of that evidence in his particular form of writing. In the dissertation, seeing, or “visual evidence,” means reading, and reading into, through dialogical comparison. What Rowe refers to early in his thesis as a “piece-meal approach to the whole catalogue” is in fact an acknowledgement and emphasis on the thesis being at its core a construction of a myth, of an intended and projected dialogue - a myth in the sense of a projection of what, or nostalgia for what, may have been.19 It is in the shift from the sketchiness of his dissertation to the certainty in his use of the diagram in “The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa” that Rowe shifts from student to master, from an account of what may have been to a writing of what is. 1 Colin Rowe, “The Mathematics of the Idea Villa,” in The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa and Other Essays (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1987), 3. 4 Ibid., 2, 3. 5 Rudolf Wittkower, “Pseudo-Palladian Elements in English Neo-Classical Architecture,” in Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 6 (London: The Warburg Institute, 1943), 154. 6 Monica Centanni, “For an Iconology of the Interval. Tradition of the Ancient and Retrospective View in Aby Warburg and Colin Rowe,” translated by David Gordon in L’Architettura come testo e la figura di Colin Rowe, edited by Mauro Marzo (Venice, Marsilio, 2010), 226. 7 Colin Rowe, The Architecture of Good Intentions (London: John Wiley & Sons, 1994), 48. 12 8 Fritz Saxl and Rudolf Wittkower, British Art and the Mediterranean (London, New York: Oxford University Press, 1948). 9 Gertrude Bing, “Article outline by Gertrude Bing for CEMA Bulletin,” attached to a letter from Fritz Saxl to Philippe James, 2 March 1942 (Warburg Institute Archive, General Correspondence, Exhibitions). 10 Saxl and Wittkower, British Art. Page numbers? 11 Rudolf Wittkower, “Pseudo-Palladian Elements in English Neo-Classical Architecture,” in Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 6 (London: The Warburg Institute, 1943), 164. 12 Ibid., 158. 13 Gertrude Bing, “Fritz Saxl: A Biographical Memoir,” in Fritz Saxl (1890-1948): A Volume of Memorial Essays from His Friends in England (London: Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1957), 31. 14 Definition of ‘theory’ in Oxford English Dictionary, http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/english/theory, accessed 1 October 2015. 15 Colin Rowe, “Prefatory Note,” in The Theoretical Drawings of Inigo Jones: Their Sources and Scope, unpublished thesis (Warburg Institute, University of London, 1948). Page number? 16 Ibid. Page number? 17 Rowe, referring to Palladio’s Palazzo Thiene, parts of which derive from Giulio Romano, quotes Jones: “‘and most of Palladio his works are moi suelta than they ar in designe’.” See Rowe, “Prefatory Note,” ??, 35. 18 Ibid., 34. 19 Ibid. References Bing, Gertrude. “Article outline by Gertrude Bing for CEMA Bulletin,” attached to a letter from Fritz Saxl to Philippe James, 2 March 1942 (Warburg Institute Archive, General Correspondence, Exhibitions). Bing, Gertrude. 1957. “Fritz Saxl, A Biographical Memoir,” in Fritz Saxl (1890-1948): A Volume of Memorial Essays from His Friends in England, edited by D.J. Gordon, London: Thomas Nelson and Sons. Marzo, Mauro, editor. 2010. L’Architettura come testo e la figura di Colin Rowe, Venice: Marsilio. Rowe, Colin. 1994. The Architecture of Good Intentions. London: John Wiley & Sons. Rowe, Colin. 1987. “The Mathematics of the Idea Villa,” The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa and Other Essays, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Rowe, Colin. 1948. The Theoretical Drawings of Inigo Jones: Their Sources and Scope, unpublished thesis, Warburg Institute, University of London. Saxl, Fritz and R. Wittkower. 1948. British Art and the Mediterranean, London, New York: Oxford University Press. Wittkower, Rudolf. 1943. “Pseudo-Palladian Elements in English Neo-Classical Architecture,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 6, London: The Warburg Institute. Wittkower, Rudolf. 1949. Architectural Principles in the Age of Humanism, London: The Warburg Institute. 13 
work_3m2c6wnvmnh4fjdmncnkxrb5ce	----	'' Lessons From the Culturally Diverse Classroom: Intellectual Challenges and Opportunities of Teaching in the American University HAL Id: hal-01816148 https://hal-univ-tln.archives-ouvertes.fr/hal-01816148 Submitted on 14 Jun 2018 HAL is a multi-disciplinary open access archive for the deposit and dissemination of sci- entific research documents, whether they are pub- lished or not. The documents may come from teaching and research institutions in France or abroad, or from public or private research centers. L’archive ouverte pluridisciplinaire HAL, est destinée au dépôt et à la diffusion de documents scientifiques de niveau recherche, publiés ou non, émanant des établissements d’enseignement et de recherche français ou étrangers, des laboratoires publics ou privés. ” Lessons From the Culturally Diverse Classroom: Intellectual Challenges and Opportunities of Teaching in the American University Emmeline Gros, Laura Barberan, Florian Schwieger To cite this version: Emmeline Gros, Laura Barberan, Florian Schwieger. ” Lessons From the Culturally Diverse Class- room: Intellectual Challenges and Opportunities of Teaching in the American University. College Teaching, Taylor & Francis (Routledge), 2010, 58, pp.148 - 155. �hal-01816148� https://hal-univ-tln.archives-ouvertes.fr/hal-01816148 https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 1   “Lessons From the Culturally Diverse Classroom: Intellectual Challenges and Opportunities of Teaching in the American University” College Teaching, 58.4 (2010): 148-155. Emmeline Gros (with Laura Barberan and Florian Schwieger) RESUME: Cette publication (2010) est apparue comme le résultat d’une communication faite lors d’un colloque traitant de pédagogie et d’enseignement (Atlanta, 2007). Cette communication (faisant intervenir des Graduate Teaching Assistants d’origine allemande, française, argentine ou chinoise et responsables des cours de composition en anglais et techniques de rhétoriques auprès de natifs anglophones) avait voulu engager une réflexion didactique sur le rôle de “médiateur culturel” dans l’enseignement et l’apprentissage de l’anglais spécialisé. Traitant de la position du locuteur non-natif face aux locuteurs natifs apprenants, la question centrale était de savoir ce que l’on pouvait entendre par locuteur natif ou non-natif. Pour Adam Chomsky, par exemple, le simple fait d’être humain donne la capacité de discerner entre le vrai et le faux grammatical. Le locuteur natif pour Chomsky n’a pas de réalité sociale. Pour d’autres, au contraire, l’environnement social joue un rôle même inconscient. Dans notre cas, le problème n’est pas d’être intégré dans une culture étrangère ni même de perdre sa culture source mais plutôt d’être accepté et reconnu pour ce que l’on est par l’autre communauté de langue. Plutôt que d’essayer de se rapprocher d’un locuteur natif, l’enseignant de langue étrangère (le non-natif) va pouvoir devenir un médiateur entre sa propre culture et celle de l’autre et inscrire son enseignement dans un ensemble langue- discours-culture. ABSTRACT: University education in the United States has become an increasingly global environment. In the classrooms of a modern university students and teachers from literally all corners of the world come together and reshape the face of higher education. Without a doubt the multicultural classroom of the 21st century necessitates fresh pedagogical approaches to university instruction that questions both established student and teacher models. This article then addresses intercultural relationships within a multicultural university classroom setting and the resulting changes for the conceptualization of student and teacher roles. While the essay raises interdisciplinary and multicultural issues we wish to encourage international and American readers alike to ponder fresh questions about the transnational learning environment of the modern university and consider how teaching in this ever-evolving atmosphere forces us to question ourselves. Finally, this essay is guided by the conviction that a culturally diverse classroom, both on the level of pedagogical theory and practice, is the foundation of a successful university education in the 21st century. Keywords: Medici Effect; multicultural educators; autobiographic narratives; teaching assistants; contact zone ; Teaching, Methodology, Linguistics, teacher education, genre studies, classroom discourse studies, and language pedagogy. Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 2   PAPER: The idea for this article grew out of a professionalization conference organized by the English Department at Georgia State University. We, a group of three international graduate students from Germany, France, and Argentina, got together and shared our understanding of what it means to work as teaching assistants in the humanities in an American university from a foreigner's perspective. To our surprise, we discovered that despite coming from different countries (and continents), our university experience at home appeared to have been astoundingly similar. However, we also realized that all of our educational backgrounds varied greatly from the American educational system we were then experiencing at GSU, both as students and teachers. One obvious difference lies in the less strictly defined hierarchies established in the American university, where graduate students in the humanities often become responsible for teaching classes as teaching assistants during the course of their academic pursuits. Yet perhaps the most interesting distinction is the diversity we found at our American alma mater and the immense educational potential of such an environment. Unlike our own fairly uniform college experiences in our respective home countries, what we witnessed at GSU can be best described as an intellectual contact zone: a space in which the most diverse body of students and teachers converge, producing a unique learning environment. We discovered that in the multicultural classroom of the 21st century, “otherness” and cultural diversity are an integral part of the learning process that must be embraced, rather than restricted, in order to provide quality university education in increasingly globalized institutions. Moreover, we realized that becoming a multiculturally responsible educator also means to recognize that teachers and students are part of the larger process of “transforming higher education from a monocultural to a multicultural institution” (Castaeda 41). In The Medici Effect (2006), Frans Johansson refers to early Modern Florence as an “intersection,” where “different fields meet” while triggering an “explosion of remarkable innovations” that occur as a consequence (2). The Medici metaphor emerges from the outburst of creativity that took place in Florence during the Italian Renaissance, when different ideas— conceived and circulated by “sculptors, scientists, poets, philosophers, financiers, painters, architects” (Johansson 2) ―converged under the patronage of the Medici family. This exceptional “intersection of fields, disciplines, or cultures,” Johansson explains, allowed for the combination of “existing concepts into a large number of extraordinary new ideas” (2). Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 3   Similar to the phenomenon described by Johansson, we would like to propose, the university classroom has become a place of intersection and combination, a “cultural contact zone,” to use Mary Louise Pratt's term, which harbors enormous educational potential. In this respect, a look at the demographics of a modern, urban research university, such as Georgia State University, confirms the heterogeneity of its student population and substantiates the continuing cultural diversification of the American classroom. Therefore, it is not only possible to realize how modern American research universities create a “Medici Effect” of their own but, in fact, every single culturally diverse classroom can produce unique and rewarding forums for new ideas. If we then apply Johansson's concept to our own teaching practices, it becomes clear that educators should embrace diversity as the breeding ground for fruitful productivity. Teachers should not only treat the diverse classroom as an opportunity to instill tolerance and respect, but also understand diversity as an actual necessity for the highest quality of education to take place. From a pedagogical standpoint, then, what in the past could have been perceived as a problem—with the urge to strive for uniformity and accountability — today becomes an opportunity for development beyond barriers. The task of educators, as the epistemological Medici of the 21st century, thus centers around providing ways to allow all the different voices and perspectives to coexist effectively in order to reach more creative solutions to educational challenges that binary teaching models (with traditional Western philosophy at the top of the hierarchy) seem unfit to address. Consequently, multicultural educators, as Carolyn Jackson rightfully notes, “must abandon the use of simplistic recipes for learning and monolithic representations of people based on their cultural backgrounds, physical appearances, and intellectual abilities” (63). Instead, educators must strive to further develop the existing pedagogical methods in order to productively address the new understanding of student-teacher roles, literacy, and identity that the multicultural classroom of the 21st century has produced. We do not wish to imply here that our own education abroad was faulted because of its apparent homogeneity, but that we recognize the vast possibilities of a classroom where fresh ideas from various cultures cross-pollinate and grow. By scrutinizing, and eventually unseating, our own, often internalized, pedagogical frame we wish to encourage international and U.S. readers alike to ponder fresh educational questions about the transnational learning environment of the modern university, and consider how teaching in this novel environment forces us to question ourselves. In this effort, we follow Geneva Gay in her conviction that autobiographical narratives and personal stories “act as mirrors, opportunities, and Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 4   invitations” and therefore help ourselves and others to “look inward and outward in becoming multicultural educators” (7). This essay then hopefully serves as a point of departure for future analytic discussions of the interrelation of educational traditions and contemporary challenges in the increasingly global world of higher education. Five or Seven Continents?: A Cross-Cultural Comparison Between the Argentinean and the American Student A few years ago, I was teaching an English 1102 composition lesson at Georgia State University to a group of about 20 American students. We were working with argumentation and support, so I asked my students to try to respond to a proposed argument with “new, original ideas,” and not just with something that everybody would know, such as “the fact that the world is made up of five continents.” I thought that my random example was self- explanatory, but when my students' faces looked puzzled, confused, even amused, I had to ask what was wrong. “There are seven continents in the world, Ms. Barberan!” “You didn't know that?” Needless to say, I felt initially perplexed. I even doubted myself: Could I simply not remember such an obvious, basic fact? What followed was one of the most enlightening moments of my cross-cultural teaching experience. Born and raised in Argentina, I had learned that our world is divided into five continents: Africa, America (only one continent), Asia, Europe, and Oceania. The list the students shared with me, on the other hand, included seven: Africa, Antarctica, Asia, Australia, Europe, North America, and South America. Without thinking twice, I took this opportunity to talk to them about cultural differences, how people can have such dissimilar outlooks about the same thing, and how thinking in binary oppositions of right or wrong oftentimes can be misleading. Instead, I told them, we should try to understand that we form part of a diverse world where people have different but equally valid perceptions (and we were just talking about geography!). I then spent some time with the “cultural conversation,” feeling satisfied that I had contributed with my little seed to a heightened and respectful awareness of differences. Once I had finished talking, a student at the back timidly raised his hand and asked me: “Very well, Ms. Barberan, but now you know that there are seven continents, right?” Everybody laughed. I laughed. What happened that day taught me a valuable lesson: Coming to a different culture means emptying oneself of assumptions and welcoming new perspectives. What may have Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 5   been obvious to me was evidently not obvious to my students, and I can imagine how they may have felt when I unintentionally challenged one of the most basic common knowledge facts they learned at school; after all, they challenged my own understanding of the world, and it felt uncomfortable, to say the least. Before arriving in the United States to teach in 2002, my sponsoring company, Visiting International Faculty Program (VIF), asked me to compare the educational systems in Argentina and in the United States.1 They provided me with a detailed description of the American educational system and the “American student,” while I had to present the same information about my home country. According to the VIF Instructional Handbook, the American student is “verbal, outspoken, and questions authority … is respected as an individual whose opinion is valued … strives for independence [and] values personal choice” (2002, 121). These are, of course, general parameters, but they served me as a good starting point to consider how different or similar students across cultures can be. I then tried to think of my own experience as a student during the course of my 5-year program (1994-9) at the School of Languages, now Facultad de Lenguas, National University of Crdoba. Being a student in this public university was intense, while those apprentice years are perhaps best described as a Darwinian struggle for survival. At the time, just to be accepted into the program, students had to pass a competitive exam after taking a leveling course. Once in, classes were generally conducted inside vast auditoriums (where bringing food would be unthinkable), with professors lecturing at the front to a group of often hundreds of students. In an environment where one gets lost among the many faces and where professors and students relate only from a distance—a “fountain of knowledge” educating the “eager recipients”—the boundaries establish themselves from the beginning. While students in the United States generally pay substantial amounts of money for their education, in my home country public universities are highly subsidized by the government. This benefit allowed me to study practically for free, but did not entitle me to make any special demands on the university such as having frequent one-on-one meetings with professors or email conversations. Unlike here in the United States, professors in Argentinean public universities do not generally conduct office hours, so personal contact becomes a rare occurrence. A student typically sees the professors only for class and for the day of the gargantuan final exam. As far as Teaching Assistants, the closest to the American GTA position in my home country involves helping the professor in charge of a class with some objective tasks, but never assuming complete control, while access to such privilege depends on the student's academic merits and it is often ad honorem. Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 6   With this academic background, I came to work as a Graduate Teaching Assistant at Georgia State University while completing my Ph.D. in Literary Studies. What initially caught my eye was the size of my class (never more than 25 students) and its ethnic and cultural diversity. Argentina can be considered relatively homogeneous in terms of ethnicity, religion, customs, etc., so the richness of this new environment immediately attracted me. At the same time, it forced me to rethink who the “American student” is, because what I found in my classroom did not fit one single category. In this respect, GSU's body of students creates a microcosm of the world. An ordinary group of freshmen a GTA may encounter any semester can include first- or second-generation immigrants from India, Iran, Colombia, Kenya, Palestine, Mexico, China―just to name a few of the cultures I had the privilege to meet. Students, on the other hand, seem accustomed to having instructors from every corner of the world, as a look at the faculty working at GSU proves. As the instructor, then, I make it my duty to bring attention to the necessity of finding new and varied alternatives to a problem, while the challenge lies in drawing everybody's perspectives into class discussions in an atmosphere of respect and collaboration. Half-way through the semester, my students already understand that for any topic discussed, we will examine every possible angle. In fact, what the text does not mention or does not represent will help us find the prevailing ideologies under the surface, while the more culturally diverse the class is, the easier it becomes to unsettle and question such ideologies. Once the students discover this need for difference, class discussions reach a level of depth and involvement that I believe can translate into their practices in society. My hope is that, as future professionals, they will require difference in order to achieve the most original and ground-breaking results in their work endeavors, and that “multiculturalism” loses its status as a “buzz” word we often hear about but rarely understand what to do with it, and actually gains the relevance it should have: Cultural diversity facilitates and promotes positive change, creativity, and innovation. Understanding that basic premise changed my whole teaching practice. In this regard, as a now happily adjusted international teacher, I have no secret formula. I only try to design learning tasks relevant to my students' needs, challenge them intellectually, and provide a space where diversity of perspective is not only desirable but also necessary to reach productive conclusions. If we want to educate contributing citizens in today's increasingly heterogeneous society, our role as teachers lies in facilitating instances where cultural “differences,” as Louise Rosenblatt explains, “are to be seen as alternatives” (53). The connections that arise as a result of combining cultural perspectives in turn foster creative solutions to problems to which one-sided approaches can only provide limited or partial Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 7   answers—and here I echo Edward Said's concern in Culture and Imperialism (1993) with the “modern university's secular mission … to be a place where multiplicity and contradiction co- exist with established dogma and canonical doctrine” (321).2 On my part, as a South American teacher, I had to meet my students halfway, yet they had to travel the distance as well in order to benefit from my “foreign” experience. In this respect, it is clear to me that the classroom of today in American universities is a space where both students and instructors can look at the world and question the weakness of apparently fixed “facts”—whether one speaks of a map with five or seven continents—in order to find meaningful, innovative answers to the challenges facing our present moment. Teaching in the Global Classroom Students and teachers of English in the 21st century inhabit a global classroom. As this cross- cultural learning space provides seemingly endless opportunity to improve university education, it also creates unprecedented challenges for all participants. Creating a truly multi- cultural classroom depends therefore on the prior recognition of the different elements that come together in the transnational melting pots of university education. From the particular classroom methods of university professors to the fundamental differences in mapping and imagining the world, identifying and acknowledging a student's or teacher's unique cultural heritage becomes a pivotal requirement in the English classroom of the 21st century. Standing in a composition classroom and suddenly realizing that your students think about the world as a conglomerate of seven continents rather than five illustrates beautifully the pedagogical and even personal challenge teachers face in a cross-cultural classroom environment. However, the anecdote also acknowledges the importance of sociocultural pedagogies that see “identity as fluid and changing” (Hammerberg 649). Moreover, it exemplifies that one of the most crucial skills for a multicultural educator is to be able to teach students to respond constructively to comprehension break-downs (Hammerberg 653). In a university classroom, “cultural differences may often go unnoticed by learners [and teachers] until they actually create a problem (Liddicoat 278). Thus, detecting, acknowledging, and embracing these differences, what Giroux calls “border pedagogy,” is one of the most fundamental features of a successful multicultural learning environment. Besides variations in cultural identity and cultural practice, however, there are oftentimes profound variations in the way different nations structure their university education. These variations may include teaching methodologies, the relationship between students and Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 8   professors, or the learning environment, but they are especially evident in the way graduate students are prepared for their future as university professors. In some countries, as in my native Germany, there is very little preparation. "Teaching, No Thank You:" Accounting for the Absence of Teaching Assistants in the German Academic Environment Graduate teaching assistants are, without a doubt, an undiscovered species in the German academic system. Although a speedy “discovery” and subsequent employment of motivated and able graduate students would, I believe, prove beneficial, there are very valid systemic reasons for the absence of graduate teaching assistants. On an organizational level, German university students traditionally enter their degree program of choice straight out of high school without the additional burden of having to complete core curriculum requirements. Thus, students seeking a master's degree in American Literature will take classes solely related to their field from the moment they enter the university. This ability to limit class requirements to major-related courses, grounded in the stratified German high school system, allows for concentrated 5-year degree programs. In an academic environment that does not require students, regardless of their intended major, to take basic composition classes such as English 1101 or English 1102, the teaching load of, for instance, an English department faculty as well as the dependence on teaching assistants becomes drastically reduced. While the structural organization of German universities contributes greatly to the absence of graduate teaching assistants, it is the perceived relationship between professors (the “learned”) and students (the “learning”) that best explains this phenomenon while revealing a general, transatlantic difference in the conceptualization of fruitful academic education. Graduate students in Germany are exclusively students. Professors, as well as instructors, on the other hand are clearly defined as those who have left the world of exams and term papers behind, earned their degree, and established themselves within the academic community. This belief in strictly separated student-teacher roles serves mainly to maintain quality academic education, but, of course, also connotes the hierarchical nature of traditional German university learning. Detaching graduate students from both teachers and teaching does, on the one hand, further a sense of self-determined academic education which allows, sometimes even forces, students to take responsibility for their own learning. Unfortunately, on the other hand, many graduate students, especially those who strive for a career in Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 9   academics, perceive their time in graduate school as both sheltered from and unconnected to the realities of their future occupation. Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 10   "Teaching, Yes Please": Becoming a Teaching Assistant at Georgia State University (While Being German) After a year as an exchange student and an additional term finishing my master's degree, I entered the PhD program at Georgia State University in the fall of 2005 and became part of a legion of approximately 75 graduate teaching assistants. Being the product of the above-described German academic environment, the perspective of teaching lower-division composition and literature classes while being a graduate student myself filled me therefore equally with anticipation and angst. Not only did I doubt that I was adequately prepared for teaching— mainly based on the fact that I never had myself, nor ever witnessed any other fellow graduate student, teach a class in my native Germany― but I further questioned that my understanding and expectation of academia would be compatible with the American university classroom. How could I be a figure of authority when I was still a student myself (and a foreign one)? How could I teach a composition class when my specialty is literature? I was about to find out. Before I walked into the classroom on my first day of teaching in the fall of 2005, I promised myself to stick as closely to the teaching objectives our department had given out as a safety net for graduate teaching assistants. I further decided that it was in the best interest of the students, and myself, to not reveal too much of my “Germanness.” Well, it turns out I didn't have to do any revealing anyway. The students, from the very beginning of the course seemed fascinated with the idea, and the apparent paradox, of having a German guy teach them English composition. As the semester progressed I realized that my fears had been the product of my inability to see beyond what I had learned and experienced myself. I had been afraid of insufficient authority on my part because of the simple fact that I perceived authority as the result of age and accomplishment, two characteristics I clearly lacked. But I learned that the American composition classroom is not a strict hierarchy. Instead, the two classes in that first semester taught me that a productive learning environment can rest on respect for the individual qualities of both the student and the teacher, including their specific cultural background. In a sense, I believe, my students were motivated and respectful because I am from another culture. Now, after almost three years in the classroom, it has not only become apparent to me that enlisting graduate students early in their academic career as teachers allows them to collect invaluable, practical experience. More importantly, my own experience as a foreigner teaching in an American academic institution has taught me the fundamental importance of Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 11   transnational teaching practices and learning environments in an increasingly global world. In a multicultural environment such as Georgia State University that unites students from “every state in the nation and over 145 countries,” an ethnically coherent classroom has ceased to exist. Instead, increasing educational globalization has generated, what Mary Louise Pratt coined, the classroom as “contact zone”—a transnational social space “where cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other” (34). It is thus exactly the diverse experience and background students and teachers bring to the classroom that creates a rewarding learning environment for both. Attempting to realize a truly global classroom means to embrace, rather than limit, different perspectives and responses from the students and the teachers to both classroom discussion and assignments. However, in order to fully realize the cultural democratization of the university classroom, professors and teaching assistants alike have to abandon the spell of Western pedagogical hegemony that still bewitches many, foreigners and natives alike, who enter the American classroom. Of course I am not trying to suggest that we should hastily abandon our cherished pedagogical foundations and personal values. Instead, I am promoting a heightened sense of cultural awareness inside and outside the classroom. I believe, for example, that if I would have been aware of the fact that my initial challenges in the classroom were the result of the internalization of the “German system,” I might have been a better teacher in that first semester. If we are trying to become transnational educators in a transnational arena, we have to understand ourselves as translators between different, and even competing, cultures. I therefore believe that we have to become ambassadors of a “culturally responsive pedagogy” (Irvine 73) that promotes “border crossings” between the various groups within the classroom and encourages the teachers to become “translators of culture” (Shapiro et al. 116). The foremost responsibility of the teacher then becomes to appropriately identify one's own personal and cultural limitations as well as the advantages of a German, Argentinean, or French education and share them beneficially with the many other cultures in the classroom of the 21st century. The French Way, the American Way: Learning to Negotiate Cultural Differences in the Global Classroom When I was awarded the Georgia Rotary Student Program Scholarship in 2002, I had no idea that my initial year of study at Georgia State University would lead me to enter the PhD program and start a new degree in an American university. Only a year after my arrival, I began teaching for the modern and classical languages department, and a few semesters later, for the English department. I knew what it meant to teach undergraduate students (I had Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 12   already taught in France) yet I had never imagined—among other things—that I would be “left” on my own and as such find myself responsible for preparing and giving lectures, monitoring, grading written examinations, or even answering students' questions on a daily basis. Of course, teaching assistants do exist in France, and their workload varies from teaching in private graduate schools to public universities. However, rarely are teaching assistants asked to have full responsibility for planning and conducting a course.3 I can still remember the anxiety I felt when I arrived on the campus no more than a week before classes started. I was handed a document labeled “Resources for Instructors of English” together with a small package of books, was told to read it, and was thrown into the classroom. I must confess that I was probably more frightened than I had ever been before, not really by the work or the responsibility itself but by the way professors trusted me as fully capable of doing it. As I perceived it, I was a foreigner, not only in terms of culture and identity, but also in terms of competence. U.S. universities have long employed graduate students as teaching assistants to work as part-time instructors. As Judith Levinson-Rose explains, TAs are trusted as professors in the becoming and “perform several important functions at the university … Their responsibility ranges from supervised, quasi-clerical assistance for a professor to completely autonomous instructional decision making for a large undergraduate class” (Levinson-Rose and Menges 102). Seen through the eyes of a French university student, the transition from graduate student to teaching assistant (or negotiation between the two), however, seemed far more complicated than what is often regarded as a “common” phenomenon in the American classroom. I was in for a shock, for I was in charge of teaching a course that students were required to take (not an elective), which, in France, would probably have been “reserved” to certified professors.4 I knew what it meant to be a student, at least a French student: Follow the schedule, sit in large auditoriums, write essays or papers with subjects already assigned, and rarely ask any questions to the professors who, once the lecture was over, would quickly leave the room until the next lecture. It must be added that, in France, only a relatively small portion of high school graduates go on to the university, since most students choose to go to “grandes coles,” private business schools, music schools, or independent technical institutes. And within the same university system, the law school, the arts and humanities, and the sciences, are regarded as “independent” entities, which means that students studying physics will never share a course with a student majoring in English, for instance. At Georgia State, however, I Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 13   remember taking my first class and sharing my views on a specific subject with a vastly diversified group of students. As a consequence, a vital part of my own experience abroad was to be able to understand the mindset of people from different cultures, majors, and interests. The specificity of the American system, in that regard, comes precisely from the “globality” of a mandatory course like English Rhetoric and Composition, for instance, in which a student majoring in Business can sit next to a student majoring in English. The ensuing exchange of ideas triggered by this “melting pot” of students is unique and contributes largely to the diversity of the American classroom beyond a social, religious, or even ethnic diversity. When students bring their cultural strengths with them, both they and the classroom is enriched. When I became a teacher myself, I quickly discovered that the classroom behavior in the United States and the students' attitudes toward their teachers was “informal,” to say the least. On the first day of class, afraid that students would throw me out of the classroom because of my French accent (let us not forget that I am teaching English to native speakers), I soon realized that they addressed me in an informal way that I would have never dared in an auditorium: “Oh, really! You're French, where from?” or “I went to Paris last summer. Gosh, French people smoke!” If American students look at the classroom as a space to feel at ease— a space to bring soft drinks, food, and sometimes books—they also tend to consider the teacher as someone who would not only come to lecture but who would also learn their names, smile, and be willing to engage in some informal conversation outside of the class. Interestingly, the University of Iowa specifies those to its foreign teaching assistants: The U.S students… may have had a less rigorous academic experience than … those students in your country who follow an academic or university-bound curriculum. U.S. freshmen and sophomores may also be at least as interested in their social lives as in their academic lives. For them, “college life” is not just an intellectual experience, but a phase in their lives that is intended to focus on social and cultural activities as well (Althen 3). Georgia State being a very heterogeneous community, my students expected me to share something about my own background and culture. Yet, accustomed to a wider social distance between lecturer and students, I found myself trying to adapt to a new culture where the teacher needs to maintain a delicate balance between flexibility and discipline. As Bailey, Pialorsi, and Faust explain, “the foreign TA, like any foreign student coming at an American university, must undergo a process of acculturation in order to be effective in the U.S. classroom. In other words, he or she must, to an as yet undetermined degree, 'become more like us' in order to function” (17). More than the switching of languages, teaching English to Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 14   native-speakers has entailed for me the necessity to switch between various roles, to become not only a professor, but also a mediator between cultures. I had been a student, I had been a teacher, but I quickly realized that I had never been a mediator. I had no idea of how to diplomatically deal with my students' questions about France or their complaints when they found that lectures and readings were boring, or out of date, and when they argued that the syllabus I followed did not make sense. Obviously (in my case at least), the classroom became the site of cross-cultural encounters which also involved identity negotiation in a “global contact zone,” in which people with disparate historical trajectories and cultural identities interact, “often in highly asymmetrical relations of domination and subordination” (Pratt qtd in Singh & Doherty 11). Therefore, if I wanted to become an understanding mediator between cultures in the classroom, I needed to be able and willing to recreate, what Lothar Bredella terms, “the context of the foreign, take the others' perspective and see things through their eyes” (29). This process does involve embracing differences and in turn being “able to distance [oneself] from [one's] own categories, values and interests” (Bredella 29). I experienced an interaction of this kind when I taught a class of American literature, for I quickly realized that the specific literary training that I had received (and later taught) in France posed a problem in the American classroom. Of course, there is not one way of appreciating literature, even less a French way. Yet, the close reading of one particular passage of literature, as the French structuralists call it, consists of following a set of “reading” rules that does not focus on the reader (or “audience”) and his or her individual or personal experience of a work. Criticizing a text means focusing attention primarily on the author or the content and form of the work. Understanding the meaning of a text becomes a very unifying experience, since most text-oriented critics assume that one can understand a text while remaining immune to one's own culture, status, personality, and hence “objectively. In the American classroom however and, to my surprise, students would impart “real existence” to the work. There was a tendency for most of my American students to complete the meaning of a text through interpretation by projecting their own background onto the story. In that context, it was the classroom, more than the text itself, that generated meaning and knowledge. Soon enough, debates, open questioning, individual responses, or paraphrasing imposed themselves (at least for my students) as valid alternatives to the close- reading exercise I initially had in mind. Of course, such an exercise was not conventional in the specific context of the American classroom; yet, I could not help but think that my students were “corrupting” the act of reading. In my demand for “authenticity” (at least my Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 15   own vision of authenticity in reading a text), I was pushing for a uniform way of reading and writing, which failed to reflect the diversity of contexts in which literature is supposed to be learned and used. The conceptual framework that I had internalized from years of study in France, I realized, could become a major source of misunderstanding. As Claire Kramsch and Steven Thorne specify: “[w]ithout a knowledge and understanding of … genres, no 'understanding of each other's lives' and no reconfiguration of one's own is possible” (100). As time progressed, I therefore decided to aim for appropriateness rather than authenticity. Seen in that light, interpretation and reader-response no longer felt like an alternative but as a reading exercise that was complementary to the French one.5 Such a reading, by pointing in directions never considered before, forces students and teacher alike to enter unknown territory: that of embracing new perspectives. It is precisely, I believe, at the intersection of the individual differences among readers' responses that a contact zone is created within the classroom: the “foreign” teacher and the “foreign” students met when literature became not only an object to apply unitary literary techniques but also a way to reveal the diversity and creativity of individual interpretations. As my individual experience shows, this encounter, however, could only be achieved when I accepted to challenge the myth of the “teacher” (or authority) as the sole arbiter of learning and when I engaged in discourses that, while acknowledging differences, helped learners achieve understandings across cultural boundaries.6 CONCLUSIONS It has been a good 500 years since the Florentine city state became the epicenter of the Italian Renaissance under the patronage of the Medici. While the political accomplishments of their reign quickly faded, it was the cultural and artistic legacy of the period that achieved historical immortality. And although it would be presumptuous to assume that teaching assistants and university instructors can measure their educational impact against the patrons of Donatello, Fran Angelico, and DaVinci, it is nonetheless fruitful to learn from their method. Similar to the city of Florence during the golden age of the Renaissance, the American classroom of the 21st century has, undoubtedly, become a marketplace of both contrasting and coexisting ideas and cultures. Edward Said had already diagnosed this tendency early in the nineties when he argued that to “match knowledge in the arts and sciences with [the] integrative realities [of multiculturalism and minority discourse is] the intellectual and cultural challenge of the moment” (331). This ongoing diversification, as our personal experiences testifies, is clearly not limited to the student body. In fact, the increasingly heterogeneous Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 16   nature of the global classroom has by now permeated every fiber of the educational matrix of our society, including teachers, curricula, and institutions at large. Whereas some might lament the vanishing of the traditional educator, we believe that the affirmation of a culturally diverse classroom produces unique opportunities that will, in the end, benefit both students and teachers alike; for it not only enables its participants to contribute to and comprehend a global reality, but also allows educational institutions to become forums where remarkable ideas emerge and intersect. We have tried to share here three visions from different continents that have met in one of the most productive intellectual grounds: the university. When we entered the American university system, our expectations of both teacher and student roles in the classroom of higher education was largely based on our own experiences. For all of us our mono-cultural background initially seemed to be a hindrance and even a source of insecurity, in that our new surrounding appeared to be vastly different in its socio-pedagogical make-up. What we learned, however, over the course of the last couple of years, is that cultural difference, and especially the introduction of unfamiliar practices and concepts to the humanities classroom (from both teachers and students), can be an invaluable component in creating an interactive, interesting, and innovative learning experience for all parties involved. Out of this experience grew our conviction that a culturally diverse classroom, both on the level of pedagogical theory and educational practice, is the foundation for successful university education in the 21st century, and that the teachers are blessed with the unparalleled opportunity of becoming epistemological Medicis, but also face the challenge of managing it responsibly.7 Notes 1. The Visiting International Faculty Program (VIF) is the United States' largest cultural exchange program for teachers and schools. It began in 1987 with the intention of bringing to the United States teachers from all over the world in order to foster an international approach to education and advance cultural understanding. 2. Said takes this description from Alvin Gouldner. 3. In France, the traditional Attach Temporaire d'Enseignement et de Recherche (ATER) position is indeed something that is earned after careful analysis and selection among the Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 17   numerous PhD applicants. The number of positions offered is quite limited, and the appointment regarded as an honor. This year (2008-2009), at the University of Avignon, France, for instance, two ATER positions were offered in the English Department. 4. Lia.D. Kamhi Stein, in her article “Preparing non-native Professionals in TESOL: Implications for Teacher Education Programs,” further explores this issue of self-perception. 5. We find here an example of what de Beaugrande calls “discourses of solidarity,” which “promote negotiation and collaboration among [all] participants,” rather than discourses of power, which “promote authority and confrontation and pursue goals of some participants at the expense of others” (de Beaugrande 2). 6. Addressing the teaching of the English language (not literature), Jane Crawford comes to the same conclusion in her enlightening article, “Becoming an L2 User: Implications for Identity and Culture in the Language Classroom.” 7. Our understanding of pedagogy follows theorists of critical pedagogy, such as Giroux and Popkewitz, and asserts that teaching and learning is at all times embedded in cultural practices and political power structures, while being concerned with issues of identity formation. Therefore, in order to meet the challenges of an increasingly diverse classroom, it is imperative to constantly improve existing teaching models and methods. Following the important work of earlier models by Kitano, Chesler, and Jackson, Jacueline Jordan Irvine, for example, proposes six helpful revisions of traditional teacher roles: teachers as culturally responsive pedagogists, teachers as systemic reformers, teachers as members of caring communities, teachers as reflective practitioners and researchers, teachers as pedagogical- content specialists, teachers as antiracist educators (73 ff.). REFERENCES 1. Althen, G. (1988) Manual for foreign teaching assistants University of Iowa Press , Iowa City 2. Bailey, K. M. , Pialorsi, F. and Faust, J. Zukowki (eds) (1984) Foreign teaching assistants in U. S. universities National Association for Foreign Student Affairs , Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 18   Washington, DC 3. Bredella, L. Alred, G. , Byram, M. and Fleming, M. (eds) (2003) For a flexible model of cultural understanding. Intercultural experience and education pp. 31-49. Multicultural Matters , Clevedon, England 4. Castaeda, C. R. (2004) Teaching and learning in diverse classrooms Routledge Falmer , New York 5. Crawford, J. (2006) Becoming an L2 user: Implications for identity and culture in the language classroom. Kalb Studijos: Studies About Language 8 , pp. 70-76. 6. de Beaugrande, R. (1997) New foundations for a science of text and discourse Ablex , Norwood, NJ 7. Gay, Geneva Gay, G. (ed) (2003) Introduction: planting seeds to harvest fruits. Becoming multicultural educators pp. 1-17. Jossey-Bass , San Francisco 8. Hammerberg, D. D. (2004) Comprehension instruction for socioculturally diverse classrooms: A review of what we know. The Reading Teacher 57:7 , pp. 648-658. 9. Irvine, J. J. (2003) Educating for diversity: Seeing with a cultural eye Teachers College Press , New York 10. Johansson, F. (2006) The Medici Effect Harvard Business School Press , Boston 11. Kamhi Stein, L.D. Braine, George (ed) (1999) Preparing non-native professionals in TESOL: Implications for teacher education programs. Non-native educators in English language teaching pp. 145-158. Lawrence Erlbaum Associates , Hillsdale, NJ 12. Kramsch, C. and Thorne, S. Block, D. and Cameron, D. (eds) (2002) Foreign language learning as global communicative practice. Globalization and language teaching pp. 83-100. Routledge , London [informaworld] 13. Levinson-Rose, J. and Menges, R. J. (1981) Improving college teaching: A critical review of research. Review of Educational Research 51:3 , pp. 403-434. [ crossref ] 14. Liddicoat, A. J. (2008) Pedagogical practice for integrating the intercultural in language teaching and learning. Japanese Studies 28:3 , pp. 277-290. [informaworld] 15. Pratt, M. L. (1993) Arts of the contact zone. Profession 91 , pp. 33-40. Barberan, Gros, Schwieger 19   16. Rosenblatt, L. (2005) Making meaning with texts: Selected essays Heinemann , Portsmouth, NH 17. Said, E. (1993) Culture and imperialism Alfred A. Knopf , New York 18. Shapiro, J. P. , Sewell, T. E. and DuCette, J. P. (2001) Reframing diversity in education The Scarecrow Press , Lanham, MD 19. Singh, P. and Doherty, C. A. (2004) Global cultural flows and pedagogic dilemmas: Teaching in the global university contact zone. TESOL Quarterly 38:1 , pp. 9-42. [ crossref ] 20. (2002) — Chapel Hill, NC: Center for International Education 
work_3m3mvg6ysvehfp6pthlm2zo22e	----	CHH volume 45 issue 4 Back matter New religious books that minister to the mind as well as to the spirit PROCESS THEOLOGY: An Introductory Exposition by JOHN B. COBB. JR. and DAVID RAY GRIFFIN. A vision of reality that brings fresh light and depth on Christian doctrine and ethics. Soft Cover $6.95t GOD, POWER, AND EVIL: A PROCESS THEODICY by OAVIO RAY GRIFFIN. New answers to the age-old question: "If there is a good God, why is there evil in the world?" $17.50 CREATOR, CREATION AND FAITH by NORMAN YOUNG. A sensitive, clear, and sweeping view of the doctrine of crea- tion. $8.50 VOICES OF AMERICAN FUNDAMENTAL- ISM: 8 c m Biographical Studies by C. ALLYN RUSSELL. Covers William Jen- nings Bryan and six other leading fig- ures. Illustrated with photos. $15 THE LEAP OF REASON by DON CUPITT. 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A fresh and inspiring way of reconciling the paradox: God as judge and retrlb- utor/God as redeemer. Soft Cover $4.95 A BULGAKOV ANTHOLOGY by SERGIUS BULGAKOV. Edited and translated by NICOLAS ZERNOV and JAMES PAIN. A selection of the writings of one of East- ern Orthodoxy's most creative thinkers. $12.50 . . t-tontattve price THE WESTMINSTER PRESS 920 Witherspoon Bldg. Philadelphia, PA. 19107 549 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700043407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700043407 https://www.cambridge.org/core Interaction of the 'Sibling" Byzantine and Western Cultures in the Middle Ages and Italian Renaissance (330-1600) Deno John Geanakoplos A unique interdisciplinary study showing the gradual permeation in the West of both the classic Greek inheritance and the crea- tivity of the Orthodox church. Focusing on the estrangement of two kindred societies and churches, it analyzes their encounter in theology, political ideology, mysticism, liturgy, law, and art. Illus. $27.50 The Godly Man in Stuart England Anglicans, Puritans, and the Two Tables, 1620-1670 J. Sears McGee McGee examines Anglican and Puritan con- cepts of the "godly man"—that ideal pat- tern of Christian behavior which was depicted in sermons, tracts, and letters by seventeenth-century Englishmen. 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Miller Illus. 2-volume set $60.00 Coming in Spring 1977 The Works of Jonathan Edwards Volume 5: Apocalyptic Writings edited by Stephen J. Stein This volume presents the first published text of Jonathan Edwards' private commentary on the book of Revelation. Edwards' fas- cination with apocalyptic speculation spanned his lifetime, as did his conviction that the visions could be useful in the life of the Christian church. The volume also con- tains the first complete edition (since the eighteenth century) of the Humble Attempt —the call for united prayer that was Edwards' response to the decline in religious fervor after the Great Awakening. $28.50 Vale University Press New Haven and London available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700043407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700043407 https://www.cambridge.org/core "Robert L. Ferm's biography . . . is a very welcome addition to the history of a neglected period in American religious and intellectual history. He pro­ vides a sensitive, lucid, and carefully researched account which throws valuable light on the years between the First and Second Great Awakenings." —Sydney E. Ahlstrom Yale University The accomplishments, of Jonathan Edwards the younger have been overshadowed by his. luminous father. Yet his significance in the development of American theology" was great. • • '•.. " : Here Robert Ferm focuses-attention on the younger man as •well as the eighteenth century in which he lived.-Working; '• directly with manuscript sources, he examines in detail .the • complex party structure within the New England churches arid, by looking at Edwards' responses and contributions, clarifies the fervent theological issues of his day; - A A Colonial Pastor: 1745-1801 by Robert L Ferm 3485-X cloth, $7.95 at your bookstore or write W M . B. EERDMANS PUBLISHING CO. 2 5 5 J E F F E R S O N A V E . S.E., G R A N D R A P I D S . M I C H . 4 9 5 0 2 of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700043407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700043407 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_3njkdpwtzrhivi7hfmcno26aoe	----	00344338_72-3.indd T H E R E N A I S S A N C E S O C I E T Y O F A M E R I C A V O L U M E L X X I I , N U M B E R 3 , F A L L 2 0 1 9 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core R Q EDITORS Articles JESSICA LYNN WOLFE University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill Book Reviews W. DAVID MYERS Fordham University MANAGING EDITOR COLIN S. MACDONALD The Renaissance Society of America COPYEDITORS RACHEL JULIA ENGLER Columbia University ELLIS LIGHT Fordham University JEFFREY D. CASTLE University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign BOOK REVIEWS MANAGER MICHAEL J. SANDERS Fordham University Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core R           Q         EDITORIAL BOARD STEPHEN CAMPBELL, Johns Hopkins University GIANCARLO CASALE, University of Minnesota / European University Institute KIMBERLY ANN COLES, University of Maryland, College Park LUC DEITZ, National Library of Luxembourg / University of Trier PAULA FINDLEN, Stanford University SUSAN GAYLARD, University of Washington GIUSEPPE GERBINO, Columbia University JOEL HARRINGTON, Vanderbilt University NEIL KENNY, All Souls College, University of Oxford LEAH MIDDLEBROOK, University of Oregon GUIDO RUGGIERO, University of Miami ALISON STEWART, University of Nebraska STEFANIA TUTINO, University of California, Los Angeles LISA VOIGT, Ohio State University AMANDA WUNDER, Lehman College and The Graduate Center, CUNY MEMBERSHIP AND SUBSCRIPTION INFORMATION © 2019 by the Renaissance Society of America, Inc. 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Vol. LXXII, No. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. http://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/renaissance-quarterly/subscribe http://www.cambridge.org/about-us/rights-permissions http://www.cambridge.org/about-us/rights-permissions http://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/renaissance-quarterly/information/advertising-information http://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/renaissance-quarterly/information/advertising-information https://www.cambridge.org/core R           Q         V O L U M E L X X I I • N U M B E R 3 • F A L L 2 0 1 9 A R T I C L E S The 2018 Josephine Waters Bennett Lecture: The Protestant Reformation through Arab Eyes, 1517–1698 Nabil Matar • 771 Annotating the Golden Legend in Early Modern England Morgan Ring • 816 Did Alexander the Great Discover America? Debating Space and Time in Renaissance Istanbul Giancarlo Casale • 863 Francisco de Vitoria and Alberico Gentili on the Juridical Status of Native American Polities Daragh Grant • 910 Deciphering Galileo: Communication and Secrecy before and after the Trial Hannah Marcus and Paula Findlen • 953 R E V I E W S De imitatione. Sobre la imitación: Edición Bilingüe. Pietro Bembo and Giovanni Francesco II Pico della Mirandola. Antonio Sorella 996 Dialogus de Adoratione. Gianfrancesco Pico della Mirandola. Maria Vittoria Comacchi 997 I Marmi: Edizione critica e commento. Anton Francesco Doni. Paul F. Grendler 999 Giordano Bruno: “Die heroischen Leidenschaften.” Maria Moog-Grünewald. Sergius Kodera 1001 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Physicae et Theologicae Conclusiones / Conclusions de Physique et de Théologie (1621). Otto Van Veen. Elizabeth Black 1002 Le prime edizioni greche a Roma (1510–1526). Concetta Bianca, Saulo Delle Donne, Luigi Ferreri, and Anna Gaspari, eds. Claudio Bevegni 1004 Lire Homère à la Renaissance: Philologie humaniste et tradition grecque. Patrick Morantin. Stephen Murphy 1005 Plato’s Persona: Marsilio Ficino, Renaissance Humanism, and Platonic Traditions. Denis J.-J. Robichaud. Teresa Rodríguez 1007 The Intellectual World of the Italian Renaissance: Language, Philosophy, and the Search for Meaning. Christopher S. Celenza. Michael J. B. Allen 1008 The Emancipation of Biblical Philology in the Dutch Republic, 1590–1670. Dirk Van Miert. Jan Bloemendal 1010 The Afterlife of Aldus: Posthumous Fame, Collectors and the Book Trade. Jill Kraye and Paolo Sachet, eds. Oren Margolis 1012 Trust and Proof: Translators in Renaissance Print Culture. Andrea Rizzi, ed. José María Pérez Fernández 1013 Ghirlandaria: Un manoscritto di ricordi della famiglia Ghirlandaio. Lisa Venturini, ed. Philip R. Gavitt 1015 Still Life before Still Life. David Ekserdjian. Alfred Acres 1016 Sprezzatura: Concealing the Effort of Art from Aristotle to Duchamp. Paolo D’Angelo. Robert W. Gaston 1018 Ut pictura amor: The Reflexive Imagery of Love in Artistic Theory and Practice, 1500–1700. Walter S. Melion, Joanna Woodall, and Michael Zell, eds. James Grantham Turner 1020 Le mythe de l’art antique. Emmanuelle Hénin and Valérie Naas, eds. Arthur J. DiFuria 1021 Voir l’au-delà: L’experience visionnaire et sa representation dans l’art Italien de la Renaissance. Andreas Beyer, Philippe Morel, and Alessandro Nova, eds. Maria Vittoria Comacchi 1023 The Lives of Paintings: Presence, Agency and Likeness in Venetian Art of the Sixteenth Century. Elsje van Kessel. Jodi Cranston 1025 Drawing after Architecture: Renaissance Architectural Drawings and Their Reception. Carolyn Yerkes. Krista De Jonge 1026 David Bowie’s Tintoretto: Angel Foretelling the Martyrdom of Saint Catherine of Alexandria. Benjamin van Beneden and Nicola Jennings, eds. Thomas Dalla Costa 1028 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Creating Distinctions in Dutch Genre Painting: Repetition and Invention. Angela K. Ho. Elisabeth Berry Drago 1029 Rembrandt’s Roughness. Nicola Suthor. H. Perry Chapman 1031 L’imaginaire de l’âge d’or à la Renaissance. Élinor Myara Kelif. Patrick Hunt 1032 Animating Empire: Automata, the Holy Roman Empire, and the Early Modern World. Jessica Keating. Wenrui Zhao 1034 Typographorum Emblemata: The Printer’s Mark in the Context of Early Modern Culture. Anja Wolkenhauer and Bernhard F. Scholz, eds. Tamar Cholcman 1036 Ehre über Gold: Die Meisterstiche von Hendrick Goltzius, Bildtheorie und Ikonographie um 1600. Petra Wandrey. Larry Silver 1037 Perspectives on Wenceslaus Hollar. Andrea Bubenik and Anne Thackray, eds. Susan Maxwell 1039 Der Kaiser und sein Grabmal 1517–2017: Neue Forschungen zum Hochgrab Friedrichs III. im Wiener Stephansdom. Renate Kohn, Sonja Dünnebeil, and Gertrud Mras, eds. Katherine M. Boivin 1040 Cosmesi e chirurgia: Bellezza, dolore e medicina nell’Italia moderna. Paolo Savoia. Dominic Olariu 1042 Medicine, Religion, and Magic in Early Stuart England: Richard Napier’s Medical Practice. Ofer Hadass. Ryan J. Stark 1043 The Lynx and the Telescope: The Parallel Worlds of Federico Cesi and Galileo. Paolo Galluzzi. Sheila J. Rabin 1045 Translating Early Modern Science. Sietske Fransen, Niall Hodson, and Karl A. E. Enenkel, eds. Evelien Chayes 1046 Editio princeps: A History of the Gutenberg Bible. Eric Marshall White. Mart van Duijn 1048 L’impero di carta: Storia di una biblioteca e di un bibliotecario (Vienna, 1575–1608). Paola Molino. Maria Alessandra Panzanelli Fratoni 1049 Évêques et cardinaux princiers et curiaux (XIV e–début XVI e siècle): Des acteurs du pouvoir. Monique Maillard-Luypaert, Alain Marchandisse, and Bertrand Schnerb, eds. Jennifer Mara DeSilva 1051 A Portuguese Abbot in Renaissance Florence: The Letter Collection of Gomes Eanes (1415–1463). Rita Costa-Gomes, ed. Jeanette M. Fregulia 1053 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Sveti Pavao Shipwreck: A 16th Century Venetian Merchantman from Mljet, Croatia, with Italian and Croatian Abstracts. Carlo Beltrame, Sauro Gelichi, and Igor Miholjek. Lilia Campana 1054 The Venetian Discovery of America: Geographic Imagination and Print Culture in the Age of Encounters. Elizabeth Horodowich. Mary Watt 1056 Décapitées: Trois femmes dans l’Italie de la Renaissance. Élisabeth Crouzet-Pavan and Jean-Claude Maire Vigueur. Anne R. Larsen 1057 Machiavelli’s Florentine Republic. Michelle T. Clarke. Jérémie Barthas 1059 Il corpo della città: Politica e parentela a Torino nel tardo Medioevo. Marta Gravela. Amanda G. Madden 1060 Istituzioni, scritture, contabilità: Il caso molisano nell’Italia tardomedievale. Isabella Lazzarini, Armando Miranda, and Francesco Senatore, eds. Andrea Gamberini 1062 Masculine Virtue in Early Modern Spain. Shifra Armon. Jose Rico-Ferrer 1064 The Crown of Aragon: A Singular Mediterranean Empire. Flocel Sabaté, ed. Silvia Z. Mitchell 1065 Midwife to the Queen of France: “Diverse Observations.” Louise Bourgeois. Kirk D. Read 1067 Peindre en leur âme des fantômes: Image et éducation militante pendant les guerres de religion. Florence Buttay. Eric Durot 1068 Savoir géographique et cartographie dans l’espace germanique protestant (1520–1620). Axelle Chassagnette. Martine Sauret 1070 Medieval Bruges, c. 850–1550. Andrew Brown and Jan Dumolyn, eds. Peter Arnade 1071 Misdaad en straf in een Hollandse stad: Haarlem, 1245–1615. Maarten Müller. Pieter Spierenburg 1073 De Friese volkslegers tussen 1480 en 1560. J. A. Mol. Joop W. Koopmans 1074 Anglo-Italian Cultural Relations in the Later Middle Ages. Helen Fulton and Michele Campopiano, eds. Kenneth Bartlett 1076 A Day at Home in Early Modern England: Material Culture and Domestic Life, 1500–1700. Tamara Hamling and Catherine Richardson. David Cressy 1078 A Business of State: Commerce, Politics, and the Birth of the East India Company. Rupali Mishra. Emily Erikson 1079 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Other Englands: Utopia, Capital, and Empire in an Age of Transition. Sarah Hogan. Chloë Houston 1081 The Solemn League and Covenant of the Three Kingdoms and the Cromwellian Union, 1643–1663. Kirsteen M. MacKenzie. Samuel Fullerton 1082 Visualizing Sensuous Suffering and Affective Pain in Early Modern Europe and the Spanish Americas. Heather Graham and Lauren Kilroy-Ewbank, eds. Esther Cohen 1084 To Heaven or to Hell: Bartolomé De Las Casas’s “Confesionario.” David Thomas Orique, ed. and trans. Raúl Marrero-Fente 1085 The Mystics of al-Andalus: Ibn Barrajān and Islamic Thought in the Twelfth Century. Yousef Casewit. Anna Akasoy 1087 The Republic of Arabic Letters: Islam and the European Enlightenment. Alexander Bevilacqua. Nabil Matar 1088 Levi’s Vindication: The “1007 Anonymous” as It Really Is. Kenneth Stow. Sara Lipton 1090 Women, Art and Observant Franciscan Piety: Caterina Vigri and the Poor Clares in Early Modern Ferrara. Kathleen G. Arthur. Marilyn Dunn 1092 Il carisma della magnificenza: L’abate vallombrosano Biagio Milanesi e la tradizione benedettina nell’Italia del Rinascimento. Francesco Salvestrini. Charles Hilken 1094 Dying Prepared in Medieval and Early Modern Northern Europe. Anu Lahtinen and Mia Korpiola, eds. Petri Karonen 1095 Reformations: The Early Modern World, 1450–1650. Carlos M. N. Eire. C. Scott Dixon 1097 The Turks and Islam in Reformation Germany. Gregory J. Miller. Azeta Kola 1099 King Sigismund of Poland and Martin Luther: The Reformation before Confessionalization. Natalia Nowakowska. Maciej Ptaszyński 1100 Konfession und Kommunikation: Religiöse Koexistenz und Politik in der Alten Eidgenossenschaft (Die Grafschaft Baden 1531–1712). Daniela Hacke. Peter G. Wallace 1102 Martin Bucer (1491–1551): Collected Studies on His Life, Work, Doctrine, and Influence. Marijn de Kroon and Willem van ‘t Spijker. Donald K. McKim 1104 Registres du Consistoire de Genève au temps de Calvin, Tome X (14 février 1555–6 février 1556). Jeffrey Rodgers Watt and Isabella M. Watt, eds. Jeannine Olson 1105 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Dio in uniforme: Cappellani, catechesi cattolica e soldati in età moderna. Vincenzo Lavenia. Enrica Guerra 1107 Trent and Beyond: The Council, Other Powers, Other Cultures. Michela Catto and Adriano Prosperi, eds. Xavier Tubau 1108 The Roman Inquisition: Centre versus Peripheries. Katherine Aron-Beller and Christopher Black, eds. Francisco Bethencourt 1110 Representing Heresy in Early Modern France. Gabriella Scarlatta and Lidia Radi, eds. Matthew Vester 1111 Et Amicorum: Essays on Renaissance Humanism and Philosophy, in Honour of Jill Kraye. Anthony Ossa-Richardson and Margaret Meserve, eds. Massimo Lollini 1113 Hobbes e Galileo: Metodo, materia e scienza del moto. Gregorio Baldin. Carla Rita Palmerino 1114 Liberté de conscience et arts de penser (XVIe–XVIIIe siècle): Mélanges en l’honneur d’Antony McKenna. Christelle Bahier-Porte, Pierre-François Moreau, and Delphine Reguig, eds. Alexandra W. Albertini 1116 A Critical Companion to Medieval Motets. Jared C. Hartt, ed. Mary Channen Caldwell 1118 Hearing the City in Early Modern Europe. Tess Knighton and Ascensión Mazuela-Anguita, eds. Emanuela Vai 1119 “Weil es ein Zierlich vnd lieblich ja Nobilitiert Instrument ist”: Der Resonanzraum der Laute und die musikalische Repräsentation am Wolfenbütteler Herzogshof 1580–1625. Sigrid Wirth. Janette Tilley 1121 Petrarchism at Work: Contextual Economies in the Age of Shakespeare. William J. Kennedy. Aileen A. Feng 1123 Poetry in a World of Things: Aesthetics and Empiricism in Renaissance Ekphrasis. Rachel Eisendrath. Andrew James Johnston 1124 Meditations on the Life of Christ: The Short Italian Text. Sarah McNamer, ed. and trans. Ronald L. Martinez 1126 A Poetry Precise and Free: Selected Madrigals of Guarini. Nicholas R. Jones, ed. and trans. Seth Coluzzi 1128 Le virtù di Griselda: Storia di una storia. Raffaele Morabito. Teresa Caligiure 1129 Virtù più che virili: Le lettere familiari di Beatrice Caetani Cesi (1557–1608). Caterina Fiorani, ed. Julia L. Hairston 1131 Moral Combat: Women, Gender, and War in Italian Renaissance Literature. Gerry Milligan. Lilia Campana 1132 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Luigi Pulci in Renaissance Florence and Beyond: New Perspectives on His Poetry and Influence. James K. Coleman and Andrea Moudarres, eds. Alessandro Polcri 1134 Carmina: Livre II. Michel de L’Hospital. Marie Seong-Hak Kim 1135 The Ship of Virtuous Ladies. Symphorien Champier. Carrie F. Klaus 1137 Passing Judgment: The Politics and Poetics of Sovereignty in French Tragedy from Hardy to Racine. Hélène Bilis. Brian Moots 1139 Secrets of Pinar’s Game: Court Ladies and Courtly Verse in Fifteenth-Century Spain. Roger Boase. Rachael Ball 1140 Ficciones entre mundos: Nuevas lecturas de “Los Trabajos de Persiles y Sigismunda” de Miguel de Cervantes. Jörg Dünne and Hanno Ehrlicher, eds. Donald Gilbert-Santamaría 1142 Het Narrenschip in de Lage Landen. Deel 1: Josse Badde: “Der zotten ende der narren scip”—tekst en hertaling; Deel 2: “Het schip ingaan”— inleiding en aantekeningen. Theo Janssen and Ann Marynissen, eds. Jan Bloemendal 1144 History of Early Modern Women’s Writing. Patricia Phillippy, ed. Julie A. Chappell 1145 Prose Fiction in English from the Origins of Print to 1750. Thomas Keymer, ed. Mary Ellen Lamb 1146 The Subtle Knot: Early Modern English Literature and the Birth of Neuroscience. Lianne Habinek. Perry Guevara 1148 Addiction and Devotion in Early Modern England. Rebecca Lemon. Tanya Pollard 1150 Theatre and the English Public from Reformation to Revolution. Katrin Beushausen. Gavin Hollis 1151 The Literary Culture of Early Modern Scotland: Manuscript Production and Transmission, 1560–1625. Sebastiaan Verweij. Salvatore Cipriano 1153 “A Brief Discourse of Rebellion and Rebels” by George North: A Newly Uncovered Manuscript Source for Shakespeare’s Plays. Dennis McCarthy and June Schlueter. Alan Stewart 1155 Style, Computers, and Early Modern Drama: Beyond Authorship. Hugh Craig and Brett Greatley-Hirsch. Mattie Burkert 1156 Rethinking Shakespeare Source Study: Audiences, Authors, and Digital Technologies. Dennis Austin Britton and Melissa Walter, eds. Rachel Willie 1158 Temporality, Genre and Experience in the Age of Shakespeare: Forms of Time. Lauren Shohet, ed. J. K. Barret 1160 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Shakespeare and the Cultivation of Difference: Race and Conduct in the Early Modern World. Patricia Akhimie. Ariane M. Balizet 1161 Shakespeare and Posthumanist Theory. Karen Raber. Craig Dionne 1163 Shakespeare’s Originality. John Kerrigan. Gayle Gaskill 1165 Shakespearean Arrivals: The Birth of Character. Nicholas Luke. Cristina León Alfar 1166 Shakespeare’s Double Plays: Dramatic Economy on the Early Modern Stage. Brett Gamboa. Farah Karim-Cooper 1168 Shakespeare Dwelling: Designs for the Theater of Life. Julia Reinhard Lupton. Martin Elsky 1170 Shakespeare’s Two Playhouses: Repertory and Theatre Space at the Globe and the Blackfriars, 1599–1613. Sarah Dustagheer. Brett Gamboa 1171 The Bible on the Shakespearean Stage: Cultures of Interpretation in Reformation England. Thomas Fulton and Kristen Poole, eds. David Bevington 1173 English Authorship and the Early Modern Sublime: Spenser, Marlowe, Shakespeare, Jonson. Patrick Cheney. Richard F. Hardin 1175 The Variorum Edition of the Poetry of John Donne, Volume 3: The Satyres. John Donne. Kader N. Hegedüs 1176 Gluttony and Gratitude: Milton’s Philosophy of Eating. Emily E. Stelzer. Elizabeth Skerpan-Wheeler 1178 Samson’s Cords: Imposing Oaths in Milton, Marvell, and Butler. Alex Garganigo. Jonathan Michael Gray 1179 Cover illustration: Johannes Vermeer. The Astronomer, ca. 1668. Oil on canvas, 51 x 45 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris. Artwork in the public domain. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core OFC.pdf RQX_FM.pdf RQX_Contents.pdf 
work_3pl6vuybd5bm5hyut3yoe4wa4e	----	Contents viii Foreword x Preface 3 1 : Scenic Design in Ancient Greek and Roman Theatres 29 2: Medieval Scenic Design 61 3: The Italian Renaissance i n 4: Design in France and the Holy Roman Empire from 1640 to the Early Eighteenth Century 131 5: The Influence of Scena per Amjolo on Eighteenth-Century Design 157 6: Neoclassicism and Romanticism— A Rivalry of Opposites 189 7: Realism and Naturalism 223 8: Modernism 257 9: American New Stagecraft, Russian Constructivism, Epic Theatre, and the Bauhaus 289 10: Post-World War II and the Late Twentieth Century 334 Epilogue Looking Toward the Twenty-First Century 344 Bibliography 353 Index 
work_3r2nuqzigrab7f2wwf7zhiewvy	----	PII: S0378-4266(99)00085-0 A critique on the theory of ®nancial intermediation Bert Scholtens a,*, Dick van Wensveen b,c a Department of Finance, University of Groningen, P.O. Box 800, 9700 AV Groningen, Netherlands b Erasmus University, Rotterdam, Netherlands c University of Amsterdam, Amsterdam, Netherlands Received 25 September 1998; accepted 22 April 1999 Abstract This comment discusses the review by Franklin Allen and Anthony Santomero of the theory of ®nancial intermediation in the 20th anniversary special issue of the Journal of Banking and Finance. We do not fully agree with their view that risk management is only of recent importance to the ®nancial industry and with putting central the concept of participation costs. We suggest how the theory of ®nancial intermediation might be developed further in order to understand present-day phenomena in the ®nancial ser- vices sector. Ó 2000 Elsevier Science B.V. All rights reserved. JEL classi®cation: E51; G10; G20; L23 Keywords: Banks; Financial intermediation; Financial system; Risk management; Transformation 1. Introduction In a recent paper, Allen and Santomero (1997) review the state of inter- mediation theory and attempt to reconcile it with the observed behavior of Journal of Banking & Finance 24 (2000) 1243±1251 www.elsevier.com/locate/econbase * Corresponding author. Tel.: +31-50-363-7064; fax: +31-50-363-7207. E-mail address: l.j.r.scholtens@eco.rug.nl (B. Scholtens). 0378-4266/00/$ - see front matter Ó 2000 Elsevier Science B.V. All rights reserved. PII: S 0 3 7 8 - 4 2 6 6 ( 9 9 ) 0 0 0 8 5 - 0 institutions in modern capital markets. They argue that current theory of ®- nancial intermediation too heavily focuses on the functions of ®nancial insti- tutions that are no longer crucial in mature ®nancial systems. They suggest that the emphasis on the role of intermediaries as reducing the frictions of trans- action costs and asymmetric information is too strong; while these factors may once have been central to the role of intermediaries, they are increasingly less relevant. Allen and Santomero suggest a view on ®nancial intermediaries that centers on two of their roles. First, they are the facilitators of risk transfer and deal with an increasingly complex maze of ®nancial instruments and markets. The key area of intermediary activity therefore has become risk management, whereas traditional intermediation theory o�ers little to explain why institu- tions should perform this function. Second, ®nancial intermediaries reduce participation costs ± the costs of learning about e�ectively using markets as well as participating in them on a day-to-day basis ± and this plays an im- portant role in understanding the changes that have taken place. We welcome their e�ort to bring the theory of ®nancial intermediation further. We basically agree with Allen and Santomero but we think that their analysis is incomplete. In this comment, we go into some points which, in our opinion, are missing in their theory of ®nancial intermediation. We question whether risk management is something that is undertaken only recently in the ®nancial industry, we focus on their concept of participation costs, we argue that some of their critique on the existing literature goes too far and we argue that some of their critique does not go far enough. We hope to bring the fundamental discussion about ®nancial intermediation a small step further by suggesting elements for a theory that is helpful in understanding and explaining the daily operations of ®nancial institutions and markets and their function and signi®cance in the real economy. 2. Do ®nancial intermediaries face extinction? We wholeheartedly agree with Allen and SantomeroÕs (hereafter AS) anal- ysis in terms of a functional perspective, rather than an institutional perspec- tive. Countries use di�erent de®nitions of various types of ®nancial intermediaries. Furthermore, regulations in some countries still forbid the formation of certain types of ®nancial institutions that are an essential part of the economy elsewhere. The paradigm used in the current theory of ®nancial intermediation is the famous classical idea of the perfect market, introduced by Marshall and Walras and since then the leading principle, the central point of reference in the theory of monopolistic competition and the neo-classical growth theory, the portfolio investment theory and the theory of ®nancial intermediation. This paradigm is formalized in the traditional Arrow±Debreu model of resource allocation. 1244 B. Scholtens, D. van Wensveen / Journal of Banking & Finance 24 (2000) 1243±1251 Financial intermediaries, according to that theory, have a function only be- cause ®nancial markets are not perfect. They exist by the grace of market imperfections. As long as there are market imperfections, there are interme- diaries; as soon as markets are perfect, intermediaries are redundant: they lose their function as soon as savers and investors have the perfect information to ®nd each other directly, immediately and without any impediments, so without costs. Thus, in a world with a tendency towards greater market transparency and e�ciency, ®nancial intermediaries are an endangered species. However, despite globalization, the information revolution and a much more prominent role of public markets, ®nancial intermediaries appear to survive. A tendency towards a relative reduction of certain activities of some ®nancial intermediaries is going on, most clearly in the US. For example, Fig. 1 indicates that the relative size of depository institutions (commercial banks, savings institutions, credit unions) in the ®nancial system diminishes. The same applies to insurance companies. In contrast, the relative size of pension funds (both private and government funds) as well as that of mutual funds (including money market funds) increases considerably. The overall size of the assets held by US ®nancial institutions in relation to gross domestic product is depicted in Fig. 2 (left-hand scale). It rose from 100% in 1950 to 120% in 1960, it remained 120% in 1970 but rose to 210% in 1980. In the eighties, it became somewhat smaller, namely 200% in 1990. However, in the nineties, the increase continued, and in 1995 the combined assets of the ®nancial intermediaries in the US stood at 250% of GDP. 1 Banks, both uni- versal and investment banks, are under pressure, not only from competition amongst themselves but increasingly also from other intermediaries such as life Fig. 1. Distribution of US ®nancial assets by the main types of ®nancial intermediaries (Source: Barth et al., 1997). 1 Based on Barth et al. (1997) and the IMFÕs international ®nancial statistics. B. Scholtens, D. van Wensveen / Journal of Banking & Finance 24 (2000) 1243±1251 1245 insurance companies, investment funds, leasing companies and other ®nance companies, such as specialized daughters of big industrial or trade companies, merger and acquisition specialists and advice departments of auditor or lawyer ®rms. And large companies are entering the money market directly instead of dealing with a bank. The growth of securitized assets re¯ects the upcoming role of stock exchanges at the expense of traditional banking. But it is a miscon- ception to interpret the relative declining role of banks in Fig. 1 as a general process of disintermediation. Fig. 2 (right-hand scale) shows that the ratio of depository institutionsÕ assets to GDP was 0.53 in 1950. Thereafter, it fell to 0.45 in 1960 and it was 0.46 in 1970. The 1970s saw a huge increase in the growth of bank assets and in 1980 the ratio had become 0.73. The savings and loans crisis of the 1980s was very much responsible for a decline to 0.56 in 1990. In the 1990s we witnessed a renewed increase in the ratio of bank assets to GDP as it was 0.63 in 1995. Thus, the relative size of depository institutions in the US in the mid-1990s was more than one third larger than that in the mid- 1960s. Note that Fig. 2 does not take into account the rise in o�-balance sheet items that took place in the banking industry in the 1980s and 1990s. From Fig. 2, we conclude that ®nancial intermediaries are not fading away. Neither is the banking industry. Only an institutional perspective might conclude (on the basis of Fig. 1) to disintermediation of the banking industry. The functional Fig. 2. Relative size of the US ®nancial sector and the banking industry (Source: Barth et al., 1997). 1246 B. Scholtens, D. van Wensveen / Journal of Banking & Finance 24 (2000) 1243±1251 view, however, reveals that ®nancial intermediaries are of increasing impor- tance to the modern economy. Why is it that the relative importance of ®nancial intermediaries increases? Financial intermediaries perform gradually more sophisticated functions in the modern ± more and more complex ± economy. Despite the ongoing perfection, indicating a declining price of information, asymmetric information and transaction costs seem to be still important elements in intermediation pro- cesses. This suggests that there is something extra that is relevant for ®nancial intermediation. But what is that ÔextraÕ? We agree with AS that risk manage- ment has become a prominent function of ®nancial intermediation. However, in our opinion, it is not the only factor that can be held responsible for the seemingly steady rise of the ®nancial industry within the modern economy. In the next section, we evaluate ASÕs suggestion of risk management as responsible for modern ®nancial intermediation. In Section 4, we put forward ideas that may complement the justi®cation of the growth of the ®nancial in- dustry as given by AS. 3. Risk management and participation costs In our opinion, AS are right in suggesting a central role of risk in the in- termediation process and proposing that risk management become the main item in the research agenda. Risk analysis is, since the emergence of the modern portfolio theory, fully incorporated on the micro level in pricing models and plays the central role in the research on securities and derivatives. But the risk/ reward relation has not yet been analyzed on an industry level or on a macro- economic level. What is the remuneration of the industry for its risk trans- forming activity? How is the relation of this part of its revenues to total revenues? Is the remuneration adequate in view of risk losses (bad debtors, interest rate ¯uctuations, stock price movements, mortality)? Is risk well paid for at the industry level? Furthermore, is risk management really a new phenomenon? Something that emerged in the 1960s or 1970s as AS argue? We very much doubt it. Risk management has not become important only in the recent past. In contrast, we see risk as the root of ®nancial intermediation and as its main raison dÕêtre. The origins of banking and insurance lie in their risk transforming and risk man- aging functions. The merchant bankers in the Italian Renaissance already managed the ®nancial risks not only of kings and popes but also of merchants. Insurers took over the risks of merchants sending their goods overseas. In the Dutch Republic in the eighteenth century, true investment bankers emerged who not passively managed assets but actively assumed underwriting risk themselves. And even the seemingly dull business of savings and loans asso- ciations and credit unions in the US in the 1950s and 1960s is risk management, B. Scholtens, D. van Wensveen / Journal of Banking & Finance 24 (2000) 1243±1251 1247 as they manage interest rate risk, credit risk, and liquidity risk. Therefore, dealing with risk is ± and always has been ± the bread and butter of ®nancial intermediaries. By specializing in information production and processing, and by diversifying individual credit and term risks, they have been able to absorb risk. AS associate the risk management function of ®nancial intermediaries with the growing importance of new ®nancial instruments and markets (fu- tures, options, swaps) and characterize their role as facilitators of risk transfer as a new role (p. 1462). As such, AS appear to overlook the traditional role of banks in the process of risk transfer, taking deposits from savers and extending credit to borrowers with risky business. We agree with AS that intermediation theory has o�ered little to explain why institutions should perform this func- tion (pp. 1462, 1465), the more so because risk management, contrary to what AS say, has always been Ôa key area of intermediary activityÕ. Informational asymmetries and transaction costs do not fully explain why savers deposit money in banks and do not select investors themselves. A second key concept in ASÕs theory of ®nancial intermediation is Ôpartic- ipation costÕ. This is the cost of participation in a ®nancial market. AS argue that participation costs are crucial to understanding the current activities of intermediaries and in particular to their focus on risk management. Trading costs have fallen dramatically in the 1980s and mid-1990s which would have encouraged the direct participation of households and reduced the role of mutual funds. However, AS argue, the value of peopleÕs time has increased signi®cantly in the last 15 years (p. 1482), which promoted the role of mutual funds, whose participation costs are low and thus are an e�cient means to invest for individuals whose costs of direct participation have risen. Further- more, there has been a spreading of the income distribution and a resulting increase in the value of time at the high end of this distribution. This argument is rather weak as we ®nd that the growth of wages was much higher in the 1970s than in the 1980s and 1990s. 2 And not only has the size of mutual funds risen rapidly (see Fig. 1), but also the direct participation of the public in the stock market has increased substantially. In all, ASÕs explanation on the basis of lower participation costs is not very convincing. AS also point to the fact that the use of derivatives by ®nancial institutions for risk management has increased enormously. AS argue that the concept of participation costs sug- gests that intermediaries create products with a relatively stable distribution of returns. However, this also happened before the widespread and intense use of 2 For example, the average increase in the unit labor costs in the business sector in the US in the 1970s was 7.0% per year. In the 1980s it fell to 4.0% per year, and for the years 1991±1997 it averaged 2.5% per year. Furthermore, the compensation per employee in the business sector stood at 7.9% in the 1970s. In the 1980s, it was 5.1%. For 1991±1997 it was 3.4% per year (OECD, Economic Outlook 63, 1998, 236±237). 1248 B. Scholtens, D. van Wensveen / Journal of Banking & Finance 24 (2000) 1243±1251 ®nancial derivatives, as it is an important rationale for savers to put their money into a bank (see Bryant, 1980). Therefore, we conclude that although participation cost can be relevant in understanding new roles of the ®nancial intermediary, it does not seem to be able to explain drastic changes in the ®- nancial industry such as the dramatic rise of mutual funds and the widespread use of ®nancial derivatives. The key word for their growth is again ÔriskÕ. AS discuss the current rationales for the interest in risk management that is evident in the market. They can be divided into four cases: (1) managerial self- interest, (2) the non-linearity of taxes, (3) the costs of ®nancial distress, and (4) the existence of capital market imperfections. The plausibility of these four explanations varies especially if not only the bene®ts of hedging but also the costs of risk management are taken into account, as AS rightly state. It should be clear that the bankruptcy costs as discussed by AS should be viewed as the total economic costs of the ®nancial distress and/or bankruptcy. We think that the most important rationale of ®nancial risk management is the prevention of bankruptcy of a company induced by monetary and ®nancial factors. Financial risk management aims to protect the companyÕs balance sheet against severe losses of a monetary nature (e.g. exchange rate shocks) and the companyÕs operational cash ¯ow against serious ®nancial uncertainties (interest rate and exchange rate ¯uctuations, credit risk). 4. How further? How must we move further in constructing a theory of ®nancial interme- diation that can understand and explain the day-to-day operations of ®nancial institutions and markets and their role within the real economy? It will be obvious that ÔriskÕ will need to get a central place in that theory. But there is more. In order to place risk transfer as an entrepreneurial activity in its proper context, the theory of ®nancial intermediation should move beyond its present borders. It should leave its paradigm of static perfect markets and assume a more dynamic concept in which new markets are developed for new products, where ®nancial institutions do not act as ÔagentsÕ who intermediate between savers and investors and thus alleviate Ômarket imperfectionsÕ like asymmetric information and participation costs, but are independent market parties that create ®nancial products and whose value added to their clients is the trans- formation of ®nancial risk, term, scale, location, and liquidity. Table 1 gives in key words an overview of how the stylized present theory might be amended to come nearer to this goal. Stylized present theory, as already clearly summarized by AS, has the perfect market as its benchmark. Financial intermediaries emerge to make do with the market imperfections that mainly stem from informational asymmetries. They may reduce the information and transaction costs within the economy, but B. Scholtens, D. van Wensveen / Journal of Banking & Finance 24 (2000) 1243±1251 1249 they still have to make do with agency problems and with moral hazard and adverse selection. In all, the ®nancial intermediary is a more or less passive agent who intermediates between ultimate savers and investors. The process of disintermediation threatens the agent, as public ®nancial markets promote a more e�cient and transparent handling of the allocation of scarce resources in the economy, thanks to deregulation and information technology. In line with AS, we think the traditional approach should be amended. The right-hand column of Table 1 shows the main elements that the theory of ®- nancial intermediation, in our opinion, should include to explain the present- day ®nancial industry. Instead of the static case of the perfect market that is hampered by incidental imperfections, the theory of ®nancial intermediation needs to have the dynamic process of ®nancial innovation and market di�er- entiation at its basis. We need to explain changes instead of describing com- parative statics. Furthermore, as in our vision, the ®nancial intermediary provides consumer and business households with a variety of services that ful®ll their di�erent needs, the ®nancial intermediary is involved in a complex process of ®nancial transformation. In the course of qualitative asset trans- formation ± with respect to maturity, liquidity, risk, scale, and location ± it adds value for ultimate savers and investors. This active role contrasts sharply with the passive intermediating of savings to investments within the economy, a thought that prevails in the traditional theory of ®nancial intermediation. Value-addition appears to be a major drive of the modern ®nancial interme- diary. Therefore, value-addition should be the focus of intermediation theory. This may be accomplished through participation cost reduction as AS suggest, and/or through an expansion of the set of services in the ®nancial sector. This means that though asymmetric information is relevant in understanding certain policies of the ®nancial intermediary, customer orientation is his general de- vice. His business is selling ®nancial services to customers and making a pro®t Table 1 Stylized and amended theory of ®nancial intermediation Stylized (present) theory Amended theory Static: perfect market Dynamic: market di�erentiation Market imperfections Product innovation Financial intermediary is an agent between savers and investors Financial intermediary is an entrepreneurial provider of ®nancial services E�cient allocation of savings Financial transformation Costs Value Asymmetric information Customer orientation, both to borrowers and savers Adverse selection, moral hazard, credit rationing Risk/reward optimization and risk management Disintermediation Dynamics of intermediation (new markets, new products) 1250 B. Scholtens, D. van Wensveen / Journal of Banking & Finance 24 (2000) 1243±1251 on it. Reducing costs and informational asymmetries may be part of this process, but it occurs as a by-e�ect. We suggest that the analysis of policies of optimization of risks and rewards by ®nancial intermediaries helps to better understand the essence of its business than does paying attention to the po- tential e�ects of asymmetric information, i.e. adverse selection, moral hazard, credit rationing. As an illustration, the modern ®nancial intermediation theory would see the rise of the mutual fund industry not as disintermediation, but as the involvement of a new type of ®nancial intermediary in providing ®nancial transformation services. Of course, we cannot present here a complete modern theory of ®nancial intermediation yet. The aim of our critique was only to illuminate some issues not dealt with by AS and some suggestions on how to proceed further. We hope the discussion started by AS will result in a better understanding of the ®nancial world. Acknowledgements The authors wish to thank one anonymous referee for helpful comments and suggestions on a previous version of this paper. References Allen, F., Santomero, A.M., 1997. The theory of ®nancial intermediation. Journal of Banking and Finance 21, 1461±1485. Barth, J.R., Nolle, D.E., Rice, T.N., 1997. Commercial banking structure, regulation, and performance: An international comparison. Working Paper 97-6, March, Comptroller of the Currency Economic, Washington, DC. Bryant, J., 1980. A model of reserves, bank runs, and deposit insurance. Journal of Banking and Finance 4, 335±344. B. Scholtens, D. van Wensveen / Journal of Banking & Finance 24 (2000) 1243±1251 1251 
work_3usctspz3fdczcukjxotc5szda	----	doi:10.1016/j.cub.2006.11.046 Current Biology Vol �7 No � R8 fusiform gyrus. This relatively posterior locus of injury buttresses the view of acquired prosopagnosia as a disorder of visual processing. Although people with developmental prosopagnosia have no obvious lesion in the fusiform gyrus, recent work suggests that there is a subtle alteration of the white matter connections in this region of the brain. Neurons in this area have been shown to respond vigorously, and selectively, to the visual image of faces. Aren’t faces just harder to recognize? Or the subject of greater experience? In fact, several such alternative explanations have been proposed. Many are variants on the ‘individuation’ account, which holds that special processing for faces is not specific to this visual stimulus category. Proponents of this view note that faces are a special category of object for which we constantly identify individual exemplars, whereas such ‘subordinate-level’ processing is seldom necessary for recognition of other classes of object. In line with this view, some prosopagnosics demonstrate impairments in individuation of other object classes, such as specific animals. But this within- category impairment may reflect damage to adjacent but separate cortical areas. Furthermore, some experiments have still found specific impairment for faces versus other object classes in prosopagnosic subjects when the difficulty of individuation for these stimulus sets is matched. The issue of the specificity of the deficit in prosopagnosia remains an active area of debate. Where can I find out more? Barton, J.J. (2003). Disorders of face perception and recognition. Neurology Clinic 21, 52�–548. Moscovitch, M., Winocur, G., and Behrmann, M. (�997). What is special about face recognition? Nineteen experiments on a person with visual object agnosia and dyslexia but normal face recognition. J. Cognitive Neurosci. 9, 555–604. Department of Neurology, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania �9�04, USA. E-mail: aguirreg@mail.med.upenn.edu Correspondences Mediaeval artists: Masters in directing the observers’ gaze Ute Leonards1, Roland Baddeley1, Iain D. Gilchrist1, Tom Troscianko1, Patrick Ledda2 and Beth Williamson3 The gold leaf in early Renaissance paintings such as Duccio’s “The Annunciation” (�3��) appears to glow when lit by candles as the artist would have expected. Subjectively, the candle-lit painting appears drastically different from the same painting illuminated with diffuse daylight typical of modern art galleries. By analysing the density of observers’ eye fixations when looking at this painting under these two lighting conditions, we found objective differences in where in the painting observers attended: specifically, the glow of the gold induced shifts in fixations to symbolically important regions of the painting. To investigate the effects of illumination on the perception of mediaeval paintings, we first constructed an area of gold leaf, using the techniques of the Italian Renaissance painters, and measured its reflectance properties. We also measured the spectral characteristics of beeswax candle light and daylight illumination. This allowed us to mimic the effects of such light sources on gold. On the basis of these data, we then used photorealistic computer graphics to render a high resolution digital scan of the original painting under both beeswax candle illuminant and daylight illuminant (see Supplemental experimental procedures in the Supplemental data available on-line with this issue). In the behavioural experiment, we had two groups of human participants view one of the two rendered pictures while we measured their eye movements. Figure � shows how the nature of the illuminant affected where in the picture the participants fixated in the picture. The gold leaf, which is used so extensively in paintings of this era, creates a dramatic glow effect when lit by candles, which would have been the contemporary illuminant for these paintings. This glow effect leads the eye to fixate in a different part of the image than when ordinary diffuse daylight illumination is used. In the case of Duccio’s Annunciation, observers look less at the faces of the Angel and the Virgin and more towards the Virgin’s hand. One might speculate that this is the eyes being directed away from the faces (looking at them directly might have been considered irreverent). Alternatively, the eyes could have been directed towards the Virgin’s hand, which she uses to grasp her veil and to gather her mantle around herself protectively. Her gesture has been claimed to reflect a state of mind somewhere between disquiet and reflection, consistent with the early stages of the Angelic Colloquy or the interaction between the Angel and the Virgin [�]. The methods used by this great Italian painter appear to exploit the effect of ‘glowing’ gold to direct the viewer’s eyes. Our results raise two important scientific issues. First, why does the subtle induction of ‘glow’ have such a significant effect on eye movements? Sources of illumination are often the most perceptually visible regions in a visual scene. Traditional low- level salience models of eye movement control [2] would predict a high fixation probability of these regions. In the current experiment, however, eye movements were not directed toward the brightest parts of the image, such as the gold- covered garments or windows under candle-light conditions, as predicted if fixations were driven by either brightness or the global effect in which saccades are directed to the centre of gravity Magazine R9 Figure �. Lighting conditions can affect the significance of parts of a painting as revealed by the pattern of observers’ fixations. The top two panels show Duccio’s “The Annunciation” rendered either using syn- thetic diffuse illumination (A), or synthetic candle light (B). When observers view such paintings, they make about three eye movements a second, and where they choose to fixate will be determined by both the visual characteristics of the picture and their interest. (C) The density of eye fixations from observers, estimated using a new kernel density estimator specifically designed to estimate the density of eye movements (see Supplemental data). The density of fixations to the diffuse illumina- tion is shown in green; the fixations to the candle light are shown in red, and hence regions fixated in both conditions are shown as yellow. As can be seen, the vast majority of eye movements were concentrated around the faces of the angel and Virgin. (D) The differences in fixation patterns between candle lit and diffusely lit paintings, analysed using a spatial permutation test [7], where regions coloured red show areas significantly more fixated when viewed using synthetic candle light, and regions coloured blue show locations viewed under synthetic diffuse light. As can be seen, simply changing the lighting changes the pattern of emphasis from the faces to the Virgin’s hand. of a number of discrete objects [3]. Instead, fixations were more likely on the less visible hands. The apparent avoidance of the illuminant fits with recent computational studies showing that extremes of low-frequency brightness predict low fixation probability [4] and neuroimaging studies demonstrating that the visual system shows differential activation of light-emitting and light-reflecting objects in the occipito-temporal cortex [5]. Moreover, light sources are mostly behaviourally unimportant. Second, by measuring fixation density across different conditions for the same visual scene and using rigorous statistical methods developed for the analysis of brain images, we are now in a position to objectively identify the factors that determine what is fixated. As we have shown here with Duccio’s painting, the nature of the lighting has the effect of significantly altering the way in which observers look at paintings. The current practice in the exhibition of mediaeval paintings is to use lighting that maximises visibility and discriminability [6]. However, these criteria might disrupt the sophisticated techniques available to the artist to direct the observer’s gaze. Supplemental data Supplemental data including experimental procedures are available at http://www.current-biology.com/cgi/ content/full/�7/�/R8/DC� Acknowledgments This work was supported by Reverse Engineering the VERtebrate Brain (April 2005–March 20�0) EPRSC GR/S�9639/0�. We thank Dr. David Saunders and the National Gallery, London, for providing a hyper-spectral scan of Duccio’s “Annunciation”. References �. Baxandall, M. (�972). Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy. (Oxford/NewYork: Oxford University Press), pp. 48–56. 2. Itti, L., Koch, C., and Niebur, E. (�998). A model of saliency-based visual attention for rapid scene analysis. IEEE Trans. Pattern Analysis Mach. Intell. 20, �254–�259. 3. Coren, S., and Hoenig, P. (�972). Effect of non-target stimuli on the length of voluntary saccades. Percept. Motor Skills 34, 499–508. 4. Baddeley, R.J., and Tatler, B.W. (2006). High frequency edges (but not contrast) predict where we fixate: A Bayesian system identification analysis. Vision Res. 46, 2924–2833. 5. Leonards, U., Troscianko, T., Lazeyras, F., and Ibanez, V. (2005). Cortical distinction between the neural encoding of objects that appear to glow and those that do not. Cogn. Brain Res. 24, �73–�76. 6. Linhares, J.M.M., Carvalhal, J., Nascimento, S.M.C., Regalo, M.H., and Leite, M.C.V.P. (2005). Estimating the best illuminant for art paintings by computing chromatic diversity. Perception 34 (Suppl), 88. 7. Nichols, T.E. and Holmes, A.P. (2002). Nonparametric permutation tests for functional neuroimaging: a primer with examples. Human Brain Mapping 15, �–25. �Department of Experimental Psychology, 2Department of Computer Science and 3Department of History of Art, University of Bristol, �2a Priory Road, Bristol BS8 �TU, UK. E-mail: ute.leonards@bristol.ac.uk The editors of Current Biology welcome correspondence on any article in the journal, but reserve the right to reduce the length of any letter to be published. All Correspondence containing data or scientific argument will be refereed. Queries about articles for consideration in this format should be sent by e-mail to cbiol@current-biology.com http://www.current-biology.com/cgi/content/full/17/1/R8/DC1 http://www.current-biology.com/cgi/content/full/17/1/R8/DC1 mailto:ute.leonards@bristol.ac.uk mailto:cbiol@current-biology.com Mediaeval artists: Masters in directing the observers’ gaze Supplemental data Acknowledgments References 
work_3utibwenwngcbow7ua6lgcwfcq	----	472 Scrinium IV (2008). Patrologia Paci ca . . , . . , . . , . . , . ( .), . . I ( : « », 2008) 568 . [ - : , : ]. L. I. Z u , V. Y. K u k , N. V. Si i , B. L. F ki , K. K (ed.), Saint Maxim the Greek. Collected Works. Vol me I (Moscow: “Indr p bl shers”, 2008) 568 pp. [R s- s an Academy of Sc ences: Inst t te of R ss an H story; S be- r an Branch of RAS: The Inst t te of H story] ISBN 978-5-85759-445-2. The rst long-awaited volume of the new edition of the works of St Maxim the Greek has been published by renowned Moscow scholar Nina Sinitsyna in collaboration with one of the strongest teams work- ing with pre-Peter texts and the old-believer tradition — the N. Po- krovsky group from Novosibirsk. The volume includes texts of the rst period of the life of St Maxim in Russia until the condemnation (1518–1525) as well as works preserved in Greek (with Russian trans- lation), wri en in Italy and on Mt Athos (1498–1516) by Michael (Max- imos) Trivolis. The very identity of St. Maxim the Greek known from the Russian sources remained unclear until I. Denisov identi ed him as Maksimos Trivolis in 1943; since then his hypothesis has received general acknowledgement. The rst publication of the Greek part of the heritage of St Maxim will strongly contribute to the research of Maxim’s relation to the Ital- ian Renaissance. Although the problem itself remains somehow out- side the focus of the introductory article, it remains pre y acute and demands tough work with Latin contemporary sources. The new edition comes almost 150 years a er the three-volume edition which was completed in 1859–1862 in the Kazan Theological related to the spelling of the titlo (abbreviations). Thus двд7овы on p. 75 is most likely and not , likewise дка on p. 89 is very probably a titlo Dка and should be spelled as . Nevertheless, a very high level is maintained in the book, which could be labeled as a very helpful addition to the dossier of one of the most famous gures in the religious and cultural history of XVI century Russia. A. Muraviev Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:17AM via free access 473 Academy. The later edition was a breakthrough, for until that time St Maxim was considered somewhat suspicious. He wrote before the Raskol and in his works Old-believers always found arguments against Nikonian reforms and the new rite in general. The Kazan editors made some alterations in the text and suppressed the most eloquent pas- sages concerning the old-rite practices. Moreover their work has been based on the manuscripts from the end of the XVI–XVII century. Con- trary to that the new edition is made on solid scholarly ground and is practically free from confessional censure. The basis for the pub- lication of the new volume are the manuscripts, created in Maxim’s lifetime, among them two with the author’s handwri en remarks. The manuscript tradition of the texts included in the volume was carefully investigated, and that work is well re ected in the textual commentary. A new principle has been applied — a chronological one. Previous edi- tions of St. Maxim have been compiled along thematic lines. The texts belong for the most part to the epistolographical genre minus several treatises (e.g. a treatise on the monasteries of Mt Athos which was also conceived as a le er to the Great Prince). The texts published in the volume contribute also to the research of the political ideas and of the Reichseschatologie of St Maxim. In his let- ters to the Great Prince Vasiliy III he developed an idea which accord- ing to Nina Sinitsyna is opposed to the Third-Rome theory. This concept is called the Greek idea and regards the role of Russia only as a media- tor for the Greek people in its quest for independence. In this Maxim was an opponent of Philotheos of Pskov. Another group of writings by Maxim is dedicated to the anti-Latin polemic, so that the published works do help to understand in what measure and by what means that tradition of criticizing Latins (= Roman catholics) was translated to Russian Muscovy. In the subsequent history that trend participated actively in the struggle against westernization e orts of the Romanov dynasty. Le ers of St Maxim to Feodor Karpov demonstrate another side of the Athonite’s activity. He objected strongly to any a empt to introduce or legalize in Russian society astrology which was becoming more and more popular in Europe. The new edition is a pioneering work in many aspects. However some minor decisions taken by the editors are open to some criti- cism. The use of the footnote principle with lots of numbers in the text makes reading quite di cult. The use of a traditional apparatus would be more adequate here. Some incorrect and alas! confessionally motivated transcriptions look very unhistorical and make a strange Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:17AM via free access 474 Scrinium IV (2008). Patrologia Paci ca ( . . ) ( . .), . - - - ( ) (1964–1985) ( - , 2007) (Scr ptor m: , 1) 608 . + 62 . N n K i (T. A. S i ) (ed.), A Pillar of Fire. Metropolitan Philaret (Voznesensky) and the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad (1964–1985) (St. Petersbo rg, 2007) (Scr ptor m: H story of the Ch rch, 1) 608 pp. + 62 ll. No ISBN. Metropolitan Filaret (Philaret) (1903–1985) was the third First-Hi- erarch of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia (ROCOR). His uncorrupted relics were revealed in 1998. He is especially known for his rm stand against ecumenism and his e orts to bring unity be- tween the Russian Church and the Churches of the Greek Old Calen- darists. Under his presidency, the Council of the ROCOR anathema- tized ecumenism as heresy (1983). The book contains a detailed account of Metropolitan’s life, his epis- tles and private le ers, selected sermons, as well as Church documents and materials concerning the history of the ROCOR from 1960s to 1980s, and also some other relevant documents. Some of them have never been published previously; others were published in rare and almost un- known periodicals or lea ets. Several pages of history of the ROCOR, such as the so-called “Revolt of laymen” in the 1960s, are discussed here for the rst time. An important collection of photographs (62 pictures in black and white), some of them very rare, accompanies the text. As a supplement, the book contains a liturgical service to St Filaret in Church Slavonic wri en by the author in 1999 and used now in the Russian Church communities where the cult of St Filaret is established. The book is a fascinating read for both scholars and laymen inter- ested in the history of the Orthodox Church in the 20th century. B. L. impression given the participation of the Novosibirsk scholars. These are transcribing ї©ъ (reading impossible before the 17th cent.), дв7дъ transcribed as and some others. Nonetheless the total im- pression from the published volume remains very positive and makes the reader await future volumes with impatience. A. Muraviev Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:17AM via free access Λ. И.ЖYPOBA, B.Ю. KPYTEЦKИЙ, H.B. CИHИЦЬIHA, Б. Λ. ФOHKИЧ K.XBOCTOBA (И3Λ), Пpeno∂o∂hblŭ Makcum Γpek. Coцuhehuя 
work_3vrprdyoknbgxfyvuhgvu7eqwu	----	Microsoft Word - Blanc_TOREHJ 84 The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, 3, 84-93 1874-9437/10 2010 Bentham Open Open Access History of the Study of Skeletal Muscle Function with Emphasis on Kinesiological Electromyography Yves Blanc *,1,2 and Ugo Dimanico 2 1 Formerly In Charge of the Kinesiology Laboratory, Neuclid Department, University Hospital, 24 Rue Micheli du Crest, 1211 Genève 14, Switzerland 2 Laboratorio Analisi del Cammino e del Movimento, S.S.D. Neurofisiologia Riabilitativa A.S.L. CN1, Osp. S.S. Trinità., Fossano, CN, Italy Abstract: Study of muscles started probably when someone tried to understand how he can move from A to B and executes movements at will. Knowledge was always dependent on the technology available to conduct investigation. Religious belief had a negative impact on muscle study when interfering with dissection of human corpse. During the Italian Renaissance (end of XIV th to beginning of XVI th century), study of muscles was first descriptive, based on dissection. Artists like Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519) and Michael Angelo (1475-1564) exaggerated the bulk of muscles. Their first concern was the influence of the volume of the superficial muscle on the surface modelling represented in their paintings and sculptures. Leonardo da Vinci multiplied the number of bundles of some muscles. Most of his representations of tendon insertions are imprecise. Leonardo da Vinci applied mechanical principles to rib, elbow kinematics and kinetics of the foot. Vesalius (1514-1574) was a medical doctor and an anatomist. His anatomical plates are remarkable because they respect most of the relationships between muscles. Then Galileo (1564-1642), Borelli (1608- 1679) and Newton (1642-1727) thought that physics and mechanical laws governed motility of animal and human body alike. Incidental discovery of electro stimulation effect on muscle in Galvani’s laboratory and electric current concomitant of muscles contraction by Matteucci and Du Bois Reymond were major breakthroughs. Recording of this current was the starting point for ECG, EMG and EEG. ECG entered first in the clinic. EMG and EEG waited for cathode ray oscilloscope. The Voltaic Pile and faradic current opened the door of electrical stimulation to Duchenne de Boulogne (1806-1875). Matteucci’s (1811-1868) publications inspired and stimulated Du Bois Reymond. Du Bois Reymond (1818-1889) repeated and completed his experiments on frogs. He designed a very sensitive galvanometer with which he recorded his own global EMG. EMG remained a curiosity of laboratory until Erlander (1874- 1965) and his pupil Gasser (1888-1963) improved the cathode ray oscilloscope for electrophysiological recordings. A combination of orthopaedic surgeons, engineers and physiologists in Berkeley (1945) systematically recorded EMG during gait of normal man. EMG biofeedback and phonomyography have also raised interest by clinicians. Their EMG signals processing in the time domain (full wave rectification miscalled integrated EMG) was later completed in the early ‘80s by computation of the root mean square on personal computers. Despite all factors minimizing the reliability of analysis based on amplitude of the EMG signals, these methods still represent the clinician’s routine tool today. Since 1999, researchers have proven the benefits of muscular intensity analysis, time frequency analysis, mapping of spatio temporal activity. We deplore that the corresponding software is not available for clinicians. Multivariate methods of statistics allow the comparison of EMG patterns under pathological condition and can be helpful in differential diagnosis. Keywords: Skeletal muscle, electromyography, kinesiology, history. Egyptian fishermen feared painful shock generated by electric fishes like “torpedo marmorata Risso” of the Mediterranean Sea. Greeks and Romans used the electrical potentials delivered by electric fishes as therapeutic means. Electric organs are modified muscles cells or branched nerves endings that generate electric fields. These fishes where probably the first recorded manifestation of electricity produced by muscles. The practice of using electricity for pain control can be traced to 2500 BC and the Egyptian Fifth Dynasty, in which stone carvings depict an electric fish being used to treat pain. During the Socratic era, *Address correspondence to this author at the Route de Frontenex 43, 1207, Switzerland; Tel: 41 22 735 22 21; E-mail: yv-blanc@bluewin.ch electrogenic torpedo fish (Scribonius longus) were used to treat arthritis and headache. [1] This scope of application is the ancestor of Trans Electrical Neuro Stimulation (TENS). Electromyography (EMG) biofeedback [2-4] and myocontrol of prosthesis are other clinical applications of the current produced by muscles. “WHY” and “HOW” drive human movement. Psychological aspects of the movements depend on the “WHY” and “WHEN” while “HOW” relates to motor patterns, muscle mechanic and sensory control. Study of function and action of skeletal muscles has been dependent upon technology available to researchers and clinicians. Philosophical or religious interdicts have limited access to knowledge through dissection of corpses. History of the Study of Skeletal Muscle Function The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, Volume 3 85 Successive eras of investigation starting with dead muscles have come to the use of dynamic poly electromyography of living subjects during their recreational and usual activities. ANATOMICAL ERA: TIME OF “WHAT MUSCLES MIGHT OR CAN DO!” In ancient Greece, based on dissection of human corpses, Herophilus of Chalcedon’s treatises (ca. 300 BC) (are lost but were reported by Galenus) and his pupil Erasistrus of Chios (ca.304-ca.250 BC) were interested by the brain and organs but not by muscles. Myological studies described muscles origin and insertion, based on observation and geometrical analysis; from his observations, Aristotle (384- 322 BC) deduced the potential action of various muscles [5]. His treatise “De Motu Animalium” described the actions of muscles with geometrical analysis. Later Borelli called also his treatise “De Motu Animalium “ (1680). In the pagan Roman Empire, political authorities prohibited dissection of human corpse so Claudius Galenus (Claude Galien, Galen) (AD 131-201), Greek physician, anatomist and physiologist, dissected primates and transposed his knowledge to human anatomy. This extrapolation was not without consequences on the development of anatomy and surgery. His medical influence remained predominant for about 1500 years until the Italian Renaissance. He thought that “animals spirits” controlled muscular contraction [6] As the physician of a team of gladiators; he probably acquired a great knowledge of functional anatomy and traumatology. Even if he wrongly assumed that primates and human beings share the same anatomy, his work remained the reference among physicians until Ambroise Paré (1510-1590) and Vesalius (1514-1564). From 10 th to 12 th centuries Arab physicians installed in Spain boomed in surgery and design of surgical instruments. Human dissection supported their anatomical knowledge but study of muscles function seems out of their field of interest. Our anatomical nomenclature suggests that Greeks and Romans physicians were prominent but authors of the Renaissance period translated their name in Latin Arabic names still used actually. It seems that Galenus remained the reference in anatomy until Vesalius (1514-1564) published “De humanis corporis fabrica” and his” Epitome” in 1543. Christian theology did not prescribe human dissection and autopsy universally. Michelangelo’s patron Popes Sixte IV (1471-1484), then Clement VII (1523-1534) permitted human dissection [7]. Human dissection and autopsy was a physicians’ privilege. Meanwhile, painters and/or sculptors attended physicians’ teaching and managed to dissect, more or less secretly, unclaimed corpses of vagrants or executed convicts. With Prior Nicolas Bichiellini’s agreement [7] Michelangelo ((Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni (1475- 1564)) studied anatomy through dissection in hospital Santo Spirito in Florence. Nevertheless, like many contemporary artists Michelangelo was not interested in the function of muscles but in their shape, bulk, relationships and proportions in various postures. Painter, anatomist and engineer among many other talents, Leonardo da Vinci ((Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci (B. April 15, 1442; D. May 02. 1519)) is may be the first to apply mechanical thinking to human posture. His anatomical sketches are imprecise and unreliable in term of origin and insertion of muscles i.e.: sketches of a man posterior view of the arm, shoulder, and trunk. After the removal of the skin: the bulk of middle trapezius, posterior deltoideus, brachio radialis are exaggerated while lower part of trapezius and latissimus dorsi are curtailed to emphasize the volume of para spinalis muscles. Leonardo da Vinci used letters to name anatomical pieces. He exaggerated the bulk of the muscle and areas of insertion are imprecise. [8]. These drawings are useful for painters and sculptors alike. They outrageously emphasised the bulk of muscles and does not respect the ratio of volume between muscles. In his mechanical sketches, muscle bundles are represented by cords or muscle equivalent materializing their direction of pull. He replaced a muscle by its “muscle equivalent” or cord without considering that some tendons wraps up around joints and/or bones which modifies the direction of their force of pull and the intensity of their peripheral and radial forces. Actually, some software still uses the same concept reproducing the same errors. Weight, pulley and string replaced also traction of muscles. Influence of the length of the muscle lever arm on the range of motion was sketched comparing monkey and man arm. His kinematic drawings emphasized the effect of the point of muscular insertion on the range of motion and force. This observation corresponds to “shunt” and “spurt” muscles defined by Mac Conaill & Basmajian, 1969 [9]. From his architectural sketches of simple device to lift heavy weight, he derived lever to describe the action of the calf when rising on tiptoe. Andries van Wesel (1514 - 1564) known as André Vesale, Vesalius or Andreas Vesalius, was a physician and anatomist. Born in Brussel he had the Spanish citizenship. Some historians of medicine think he was the greatest anatomist of the Renaissance. The precision of his descriptions combined with the detailed illustrations of the plates engraved by Jan Van Calar a Tiziano one of Vecellio’s pupils, “De humani corporis fabrica libri septem” published in 1543 in Basileae (Basel) by Ioanis Oporini are striking of realism. The same editor published a version for students “De humani corporis fabrica librorum epitome” the same year. A fac simile of his illustrations is available with comments and translation by Saunders and O’Malley [10]. It is interesting to notice he presented dissected corpses in “live posture”. Our contemporary anatomist, famous for his technique of plastination, Gunther von Hagens also presents corpses in “live posture and recreational activities”. We do not know if muscle function and mechanic interested Vesalius or if he limited himself to descriptive anatomy and teaching. Vesalius ended Galenus‘s leadership on anatomists. Galileo Galilei (1564 – 1642) mathematician and scientist is mainly known as an astronomer. Muscle did not particularly interested him but he searched for the laws governing motions. His experiments on falling objects demonstrated that the relationships between space, time and velocity is crucial in mechanic of motion. His pupil Giovanni Alfonso Borelli (1608 – 1679), professor of mathematic in Messina (Sicily) then at the University of Pisa (Italy), physiologist and physicist, accessorily anatomist and astronomer, carried on the same path. He followed Galileo’s principle of scientific investigation and applied mechanic to solve animal and 86 The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, Volume 3 Blanc and Dimanico human’s muscular movement. “His theory was that bones are levers and that muscles function according to mathematical principles” [11, 12]. However to explain muscular contraction he repeated more or less Aristotle’s theory “ nerves are canals filled with a spongy material through which flow animal spirits (succus nerveus), sometimes translated “nerve gas”; that agitation of these spirits from the periphery to the brain produces filling and enlargement of the porosities of the muscles, with resultant turgescence. Reaction of these spirits with a substance in the muscles themselves initiated a process resembling fermentation, with subsequent contraction. He distinguished between tonic and voluntary contraction and perhaps vaguely perceived the principle of reciprocal innervation and antagonistic muscles” [13] His work on movement of animals and humans “De motu animalium” volume 1 and 2 were published post mortem in 1680 and 1681. These two volumes are considered like the first treatises of biomechanics. Following Descartes and influenced by Harvey’s mathematical explanations of the blood circulation, he founded the iatrophysical school which members though that the laws of physic explain all physiologic and pathologic phenomena. However, Francis Glisson (1597 – 1677) disputed his theory of muscular contraction. By plethysmographic experiments, he demonstrated that muscles contract and not expand. “He suggested also that all viable tissue possesses that capacity to react to stimuli. This capacity is referred as ”irritability”. Glisson’s concept was later elaborated by Albrecht von Haller (1708 – 1777), the outstanding physiologist of the Eighteenth century, into his theory that contractility is an innate property of muscle which exists independently of nervous influence” [14]. Irritability of muscular fibre refers to the contraction of the muscular fibre under excitation. Somehow, Galvani’s assistant incidental contraction of the muscles of a leg of a frog during a storm in Bologna (Italy) in 1786, confirmed Glisson’s theory. To identify muscles Galenus used number, Leonardo da Vinci and Vesalius used letters. Muscles received Latin names in the 18 th century. John Hunter (1728 – 1793) anatomist and surgeon delivered six Croonian lectures on Muscles Motion from 1776 to 1782. He reported his “observations concerning the structure and power of muscles and the stimuli by which they are excited...... He emphasised that muscular function can be studied only by observations of living persons, not cadavers” [14]. ERA OF ELECTRICAL STIMULATION: PHYSIO- LOGICAL STUDIES This era started when incidentally, in 1786, one of Galvani’s assistant touched a nerve of a frog leg with a metallic rod charged with static electricity. He observed a muscular contraction. Luigi Galvani (1747 – 1798) physician, obstetrician, physiologist and anatomist opened a new area of muscular experimentation and research. “Galvani wrote, "While one of those who were assisting me touched lightly, and by chance, the point of his scalpel to the internal crural nerves of the frog, suddenly all the muscles of its limbs were seen to be so contracted that they seemed to have fallen into tonic convulsions” [15]. He named this phenomenon “animal electricity” also called “animal electric fluid ”. For his ulterior experiments, he used a Leyden jar, which is an accumulator of static electricity. He published his experiments in “De viribus electricitatis in motu musculari commentarius” in the 7 th volume of the memoirs of the Institute of Sciences at Bologna in 1791.” [16]. For some times Galvani’s animal electric fluid replaced Aristotle and Borelli‘s nerve gas generated by the brain and propagating along the nerves to the muscles. Thrilled by Galvani’s experiments Alessandro Giuseppe Antonio Anastasio Volta, physicist, interested in chemistry and physiology, (1745 - 1827) invented the term “galvanism”. However, he refuted Galvani’s interpretation of “animal electric fluid”; this led to a fierce controversy between static electricity and dynamic electricity. Volta demonstrated that two different metals in contact with a frog nerve or muscle generated a current, which provoked a muscular contraction. He concluded that different metals are the "motor" of electricity and frogs are simple but sensitive detectors of electricity. In 1800, he presented “an artificial electric organ”. This new electrical generator was named the “Voltaic Pile”. The Voltaic Pile delivered a DC current of low intensity. This settled, for a time, the controversy with Galvani’s theory of animal electricity [17]. Following Volta and Galvani, Carlo Matteucci (1811 – 1868) showed that electricity produced by the evoked contraction of a muscle of one frog (A) can be transmitted along the motor nerve to a second frog (B). This electrical stimulus was powerful enough to trigger a contraction of the muscle of the second frog (B). Galvani and Volta discoveries had no or little impact on medical sciences until reliable stimulators delivering accurately controlled current were available see [18]. Michael Faraday, physicist and chemist (1791 – 1867) [18] designed devices, which produce alternative current named faradic current [19]. This current induces muscles contraction when applied to the nerve or to the muscle through the skin. Nowadays, it is widely used in therapeutic electro stimulation even if there is a persistent lack of evidence of its usefulness in prevention of atrophy in peripheral and central paralysis and paresis. Guillaume–Benjamin Amand Duchenne (nicknamed Duchenne de Boulogne) French physician, neurologist (1806 – 1875) extensively used localised faradisation to “ determine the proper action which the muscles possess in life, their mechanism, as direct voluntary motors, or moderators, or synergistic factors to prevent abnormal motion, and finally, as forces which contribute to then normal position of extremities during muscular rest by the tension of their tonic tension. The possibility of limiting the electric stimulation to each muscle or separate fibers, and thus imitate voluntary muscle contractions would give a fair idea of the individual action of the muscle and, generally, of the physiology of motion of the living man. This method of electric stimulation was similar to the study of anatomy on living animal as practised by the old anatomists, and permitted for the first time to experiment on the living man without an operation, using a harmless process of my localised faradization.” [20] We have not retrieved the characteristics of the current he used. He History of the Study of Skeletal Muscle Function The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, Volume 3 87 demonstrated that faradisation of the Extensor Digitorum Longus brings the foot in slight dorsi flexion and mainly in supination. He showed and underlined the fact that the Tibialis Anterior alone cannot dorsiflex the foot. Its faradisation supines the forefoot with a mild dorsiflexion. The simultaneous toe flexion is due to the passive stretching of the flexors hallucis longus and flexor digitorum longus. Full dorsi flexion is achieved only if Tibialis Anterior and Extensor Digitorum Longus have a balanced and simultaneous contraction. Predominance of pull of Tibialis Anterior over Extensor Digitorum Longus creates the typical supinated foot deformity i.e. seen in stroke, varus equinus club foot. A SPLATT procedure rebalances the foot [21]. A burst of EMG activity of the tibialis anterior at the transition stance to swing is a prerequisite for an efficient SPLATT, which corrects the forefoot supination, possibly the rear foot varus and reduces the foot drag. If the EMG burst is delayed from the start and / or during the early swing phase, the forefoot deformity is controlled but clearance problem will persist. In this situation, the SPLATT has mainly a tenodesis effect. Duchenne de Boulogne’s published in 1862 his pioneering work on expression provoked by faradisation of facial muscles “Mécanisme de la physionomie humaine ou analyse électro-physiologique de ses différents modes d'expression“ Paris Asselin 1862 (reprinted in 1876 then translated in English in 1990 [22]. He thought that soul controls facial muscles to express our emotions and sentiments. The photographs taken of the facial expressions during his expriments are striking. While the subject lowered voluntarily his mandible, simultaneous stimulation of both musculus corrugator superficili and musculus cutaneus colli produces an expression of terror and pain. The expression of fear was not a painful reaction to the stimulus because the patient had a hypoesthesia to pain and was not experiencing pain. Selective stimulation of the musculus zygomaticus major elicits the expression of joy. Duchenne de Boulogne called zygomatus the muscle of joy. So far, we have not found any study confirming Duchenne’s systematic work. ENGINEER’S ERA: TIME OF “WHAT MUSCLES SHOULD DO” In 1874, Pierre Jules César Jansen (1824 – 1907), astronomer, commissioned the making of a photographic device named “revolver photographique” to photograph the phase of Venus passing in front of the sun [23]. It takes frame-by-frame photographs at fixed intervals. Frame by frame photos split movements and trajectories into their sequences and phases. Development of sequential photography of a galloping horse (1877) by Edward James Muybridge (1830 – 1904) popularised extensive studies of kinematics of functional activities of human and animals. Engineers and physiologists developed special instruments and methods to study heart, muscles, gait, flight of birds and insects [24, 25]. Marey recorded changes of the volume of muscles of the chest during the flight of pigeons. He used the same technology to record heart rate and human myograms. The pigeon wore a tight waistcoat holding a manometer in front of the pectoralis muscles. Variations of volume of the chest modify the pressure on the manometer. A very soft tube of rubber transmitted these variations of pressure to the fixed or portable recording unit. Marey and Carlet applied a scientific method to extensively study human gait during the second half of the nineteenth century. Jules Etienne Marey (1830 – 1904) physician, physiologist developed a sphygmanometer to study the physiology and patho-physiology of heart. Later he focused his work on kinematics and movement decomposition based on chronophotography (high speed photography). He probably modified Janssen’s “revolver photographique” for his recordings of kinematics. He developed a complete set of equipment and techniques and adapted photography to Lippmann’s electrometer (1877) to display electrical activity of the heart of turtle and frog but we have not retrieve any recording of electrical activity during muscular contraction [26] His colleague Gaston Carlet recorded sequence of contraction of muscles, called myogram, with the sphygmanometer that Marey [cf. 22] developed to record pulse of human beings and flight of pigeons [27]. Now we know that these myograms give false timing of the muscular sequences. Later with a less precise method for the muscle ON-OFF timing but improved for the foot rollover, Scherb reproduced the same error while palpating the muscle belly and tendons of subjects walking on a treadmill. Sphygmanometer and palpation records globally changes of the firmness of the under lying tissues. Firmness varies during muscular contraction but also if muscles are stretched or passively shortened. Electromyography has demonstrated that myographs are unreliable. Incidentally, Marey’s stance and swing were false because his pressure sensors included in the sole of a shoe did not touch the posterior and anterior borders of the sole. Actually, the same error perpetuates if one uses 3 foot switches (under heel and metatarsal heads) to record foot rollover, stance and swing phases duration. A special mention is due to Isaac Newton (1642 – 1727), mathematician and physicist. His formulation of the three laws of movement and rest is a milestone in modern kinesiology. They are relevant in kinetics and sports. The parallelogram of force applied to muscles splits up the muscular force (resultant force) into its radial and peripheral components [28]. Adolf Eugene Fick (1829 – 1901) mathematician then physician ophthalmologist and physiologist, inventor of the contact lens, was also interested by muscular movement and its energetic. He introduced the terms “isometric contraction” and “isotonic contraction” [29]. According to Rash, in 1897 experimenting on dogs walking and running on a treadmill, Morburgo wrote “As certain as is the fact that the mass of voluntary muscles increases in response to greater work so uncertain is our knowledge concerning the mechanism that underlies that enlargement. There is no lack of assertion in the literature that deal with this subject in more or less decisive fashion and interpret the activity-hypertrophy as either a true hypertrophy in the sense of Virchow or as a combination of hyperplasia and hypertrophy; but exhaustive proof is everywhere lacking” [30, 31]. See also Siebert [32]. Wilhelm Roux (1850 – 1924) “muscular hypertrophy develops only after a muscle is forced to work intensively” (we have not retrieved the 88 The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, Volume 3 Blanc and Dimanico original of this statement). Among other physiatrists, in 1952 Delorme codified a method for muscle strengthening [33, 34]. Jules Amar (1879-1935) engineer, physiologist, ergonomist, considered the couple muscles-bones as a motor powered with food. He applied mechanical rules, parallelogram of forces and similitude between man and machine. He referred to Galileo, Newton and Marey among others. He used ergometers but we have not found any reference to EMG [35]. Amar published also a book on the physiology of industrial organisation and the re-employment of the disabled. He used Marey`s and Carlet`s devices to measure muscular activities [36]. He paid a special attention to power and mobility of stumps from First World War amputees. Muscle modelling is widely used in simulations that compute the potential role of muscles in controlling posture and movements like gait or sport activities. Researchers favour Hill based models. Usually common Hill models assume that force-velocity; length-tension and activation properties are independent. Errors of a common Hill model are greatest between 10-20 Hz and depend on how the model activates the muscle(s). The most prevalent error is the inability to account for, at low motor unit firing rate, the coupling between force velocities properties and muscle activation [37]. Clinicians must be cautious when interpreting results of computation of muscle force and muscle length. They must first understand the limitations and pitfalls of the model. PIONEERS IN ELECTRO PHYSIOLOGY, PRECUR- SORS OF ELECTROMYOGRAPHY After Galvani and Volta, Carlo Matteucci (1811 – 1868), Italian mathematician and physicist, repeated and improved Galvani’s experiments. He demonstrated that electricity produced by muscle contraction of one frog could induce contraction of a muscle of another frog (c.f. figure 12 [38]). However, he did not interpret his results, his professor and friend Antoine César Becquerel (1788 – 1878) proposed the correct interpretation of Galvani’s experiments on frogs. Initially he measured bioelectricity with Nobili’s astatic galvanometer developed in 1825. Then in 1846, he invented a ”kymographe” which recorded and measured electricity produced during muscular contractions over time. This might be the first recording of electromyography from animals even if anteriority is often attributed to Du Bois Reymond around 1849. His results in bioelectricity strongly influenced Du Bois Reymond. Finally, in 1848, he withdrew from sciences to politic and became an influent member of the “Risorgimento” (Italian unification) after the Italian revolution of 1848. Emil Heinrich Du Bois Reymond (1818 – 1896) was a German mathematician and professor of physiology. From 1841, he repeated, verified and extended Matteucci’s work on the electrical properties of frog muscles i.e.: Essai sur les Phénomènes électriques des Animaux published in 1840. He studied electricity generation of electric fishes and conduction along nerve. He discovered the nerve action potential. In 1849, an academic controversy about the discovery of electric current produced by muscular contraction opposed him to Matteucci [39-42]. In 1849, he invented a very sensitive galvanometer then showed the first representation of the electrical activity concomitant of muscular contraction in human: probably the first representation of EMG signals. We have not retrieve any printout of his first EMG recording. May be sketches in his notes in his laboratory dairy 1845-1849 represents this EMG. Einthoven Willem (1860 – 1927) physician continued Waller’s pioneering work of electrocardiography. To improve the quality of the recorded ECG signals he boosted the improvement of the capillary electrometer. The quality of the ECG signals allowed the comparison of normal and pathological subjects. For his work on ECG recording and interpretation Einthoven received the Nobel Prize of Medicine in 1924. Later his technological improvements benefited to electromyographers. Both Einthoven and Du Bois Reymond used large electrodes that mean extremely poor selectivity and consequently no specificity of the signals. Einthoven detected ECG with three electrodes: each hand plunged into a bucket of water and his left foot into a tub. His recording with a capillary electrometer reminds Marey’s photos of the ECG of turtles and frogs. Then, since 1903, his string galvanometer recorded ECGs with their actual aspects. From his photo, Du Bois Reymond recorded a sum of currents with two electrodes, between his right hand plunged into a jar filled with a conductive liquid (water ? salted water?) and his left hand holding a metallic bar. His recording device was most likely his capillary electrometer which displays the variation of current between the two electrodes but did not stored the signals. From a drawing explaining his photo, arrow indicates the direction of the current from his right hand to his left hand across his chest. The recorded electrical potentials are the algebraic sum of all the muscles active between both hands. Du Bois Reymond’s first recording were monopolar no third electrode (reference or ground electrode) is visible. This method cannot localise the origin of the source of the EMG signals. Its lack of specificity and accuracy represents its main drawback. It is not reliable for kinesiology. Another milestone of EMG was the recording of the so-called “Piper rhythm” 1907 [43]. The electromyogram (EMG) of healthy humans demonstrates a tendency to rhythmically oscillate at around 40-50 Hz (range 30-60) Hz (the Piper rhythm). It increases from weak to strong voluntary contraction [44]. Available technology limited their recording possibilities. The modern era of electro physiology started in 1922 when Joseph Erlander and Herbert Gasser modified a cathode-ray oscilloscope and recorded nerve action potential [45, 46]. They won the Nobel Prize of Medicine in 1944. Nowadays electrode size and selectivity remains a major issue for accuracy and reliability of surface EMGs. Adrian gave some advices to record surface EMG but unfortunately, was not interested by selectivity of surface electrodes. The base line of his figures is very thick; we suspect that significant amplitude of noise polluted his data. Noise (50 Hz, white noise) was common fact before bipolar detection and low noise differential amplifier [47, 48]. In 1929, Adrian and Bronk designed and developed their concentric needle electrode to pick up motor action potentials (MUAPS) from small number of motor units within deep muscles. They gave access to small History of the Study of Skeletal Muscle Function The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, Volume 3 89 volume of muscular tissue and to deep muscles. For diagnostic neuro electromyography, physicians still use these electrodes. However, these stiff electrodes are unsuitable for kinesiological EMGs. KINESIOLOGICAL ELECTROMYOGRAPHY (EMG) GIVES THE ANSWER TO “WHEN” AND “WHICH” MUSCLES OR ”PART OF A MUSCLE” ARE ACTIVE IF THE DETECTING ELECTRODES GUARANTEE THE SPECIFICITY OF THE EMG SIGNALS During his Croonian lecture Beevor [49] questioned: “Which is the best method to ascertain the action of a muscle?” He listed “three chief methods”: 1. the anatomical method, which is employed on the dead subjects and consist in dissecting out a muscle, freeing it from its connexion, but leaving it attached at its origin and insertion. The muscle is then pulled up by the dissector and the resultant position of the limb is taken to show the action would exercise during life. 2. the electrical method. Duchenne employed it. 3. the physiological or natural method, differs from the first two in reversing the order of procedure .... in the physiological method a living person is told to perform a definite movement and it is then observed which muscles take part in this movement. ... The mean that I have used for determining whether a muscle is taking part in any given movement are inspection and palpation either of the muscle as a whole of its tendon.” Beevor palpated muscles and/or tendons in –1- free movements, -2- against a load, -3-of limb fixed by an opposing force. Despite its lack of specificity, reliability and accuracy, this method is still widely used by clinicians and physical therapists alike during manual muscle testing. No doubt, that if the EMG had been available Beevor would have used it to analyse the sequential muscle ON-OFF patterns during free movements. Scherb Richard, (1880 – 1955) [50, 51] orthopaedist, repeated the same method and the same errors to study muscular patterns when a subject walked on a treadmill. Three ON-OFF switches, under heel, fifth and first metatarsal areas detected partial sequences of each foot roll over.. He combined five errors: -1- footswitch too forward under the heel –2- no footswitch under the great toe –3- combination of 1 and 2 give false stance and swing duration, -4- no specificity of EMG electrodes because they are too far apart –4- walking on a treadmill, which is different from normal gait and –5- palpation that does not reveal the true pattern of a muscle. Unlike ECG, kinesiological EMG remained confidential in physiology laboratories until technological breakthroughs simplified recording procedures and allow testing during dynamic situations. Movement analysis benefited and sprouted when poly channels recorders become available. At first researchers recorded kinesiological EMG on ECG or EEG strip chart recorders because they offered many channels. However, their low bandwidth filtered the high frequency components of any EMG signal: minimizing its amplitude and impoverishing its frequency content. They modify EMGs like a low pass filter. Another weak point was the contamination by 50 Hz combined with movement artefacts of high voltage. Few anatomists used kinesiological EMG to investigate muscle sequences during free movements. John V. Basmajian (1921 – 2008) anatomist, physician with interest in rehabilitation and biofeedback, is often considered as the father of kinesiological EMG. In the preface of the second edition, 1967, of “Muscles alive. Their functions revealed by electromyography” Basmajian wrote ”The place of Electromyography in biology and medicine. A brief review of the special role that electromyography has assumed in scientific research is a proper ending for this introductory chapter. As with other scientific techniques, this one arose in response to a need. Obviously, the actions and functions of muscle had not been fully understood in spite of continued interest and investigation. Not withstanding the admirable zeal of many investigators, serious limitations in the classical methods of muscle-evaluation account for the gaps and errors in our knowledge. The classical methods of study on which most of our knowledge of muscle function have been based are: (1) topographical study of dead muscles combined with mechanistic calculations of what they “ought to do”, (2) direct electrical stimulation, (3) visual observation and palpation through the skin of the muscles in action and (4) study of paralyzed patients and an evaluation of the deficits. Except in some obvious applications, the above methods are incomplete, whether they are taken alone or all together. They cannot adequately reveal—as electromyography can – the function of deep, impalpable muscles and the exact time- sequences of activity. It is not enough to estimate by classical methods what a muscle can do or might do. Electromyography is unique in revealing what a muscle actually does at any moment during various movements and postures. Moreover, it reveals objectively the fine interplay or coordination of muscles; this is patently impossible by any other means” [52] Basmajian compiled publications reporting muscles activities and interplay under voluntary controlled or free movement. He regularly upgraded them until the last fifth edition in 1985. Surface EMG (sEMG) senses only muscles under the skin. Deeper muscles are only accessible with indwelling electrodes. Rigid (Rhen, 1921) and coaxial needle electrodes (Adrian, Bronk, 1929) used in clinical EMG are inappropriate in kinesiological EMG because they generate pain and artefacts during movement. Pain and fear of pain modify the subject’s behaviour and consequently the pattern of movement or posture. Bi-polar fine wire electrodes (Basmajian and Stecko, 1961) are the best compromise when we examine deep muscles and / or very slender muscles [53]. Accurate localisation of the tip of each wire within the targeted muscle must be controlled by electrical stimulation at the beginning and end of each recording session. Beware that fine wire recording are not free of crosstalk. The huge number of American veteran amputees during World War II brought a need to develop better, more comfortable and reliable prosthesis. For that purpose, a thorough study of normal gait was organised. Instrumental gait analyses, kinematics, kinetics and EMG started in 1945, 90 The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, Volume 3 Blanc and Dimanico led by orthopaedic surgeons, had its cradle in the departments of civil engineering and orthopaedic surgery of the Berkeley school of medicine at the University of California, in San Francisco [54, 55]. It was the first comprehensive study of gait that reported kinematics and EMG patterns of lower extremity of normal adult men. Results were widely spread in the medical community [56]. Raw EMG signals was rectified and low pass filtered to produce smooth rectified EMG. Polarity of one group of muscles was reversed to easily correlate timing with its antagonistic group i.e. pre tibial and calf groups. Psychologists then favoured this presentation because comparison of timing between two channels is easier at a glance. Precise relationships of phase timing were established on filtered EMG. Overlay of smooth rectified EMG from various gait cycles normalised over time showed the between cycles variations of EMG amplitude and timing of peaks. Then these normalised full wave rectified EMG were averaged to show a “typical pattern”. What they named integration (integrated EMG) is not a true mathematical integration of the signals but a smoothed rectification. Verne Thomas Inmann (1905 – 1980) anatomist and orthopaedic surgeon transmitted his passion and belief in the usefulness of EMG to study gait, patients’ follow up and help in decision-making. Amongst many others, his most famous pupils are (in alphabetic order): John V. Basmajian, J.R. Close, Jacquelin Perry and David Sutherland. Nowadays, the least remembered is probably Dr. J.R. Close (1913 - 1980 ?). His books [57, 58] should be on a list of “must be read” by those interested in tendons transfer and kinesiological EMG of hand and leg. With the help of EMG, he showed that a muscle rarely changes its phasic activity after a transfer of one of its tendon. He referred to more than 125 patients for the lower extremity and 150 for the hand, mainly polio: “despite its ability to voluntarily perform the function for which they are intended is well known..... For instance, the peroneus longus transferred to the dorsum of the foot may act as an excellent voluntary dorsiflexor. The same muscle may fell completely to act during the swing phase of walking when its action is required to dorsi flex the foot and prevent a foot drop. This change in the muscle’s phasic activity is maintained only as long as the patient concentrates on its use” “Thus the demonstration of the voluntary action of a transferred muscle with the patient sitting may have nothing to do with the effectiveness of the transfer during walking.” Same observation applies to upper extremity especially at the upper extremity during reaching, handling and object manipulation. Before soft tissue surgery (lengthening, release, tendon transfer), a functional EMG is of great value to select the most appropriate candidate with the corresponding phasic pattern [57, 58]. We made the same observation in patients with upper motor neurone lesion i.e. cerebral palsy, stroke, incomplete spinal cord lesion and multiple sclerosis. Cineplastic surgery of muscle(s) from the stump of the arm of an amputee to power hand prosthesis was disappointing because, when under permanent passive tension, muscles adapt their length and loses their power to animate the prosthesis [59]. KINESIOLOGICAL EMG SINCE THE ADVENT OF COMPUTER EMG became largely involved in ergonomics when calculators and later computers become easily available for measurement of localised muscular fatigue. One breakthrough was the possibility to compute, fast Fourier Transform (FFT) and extract power spectrum of the EMG signals on home PC [60-65]. Digital transmission and storage of EMG data have replaced strip chart recorders and FM tape to store signals. Unknown new problems and artefacts have replaced known ones. Processing of signals either in time or frequency domains is faster. Automatic recognition of ON-OFF patterns is still unsatisfactory, is it too dependent of the signal to noise ratio. Programmers must improve ergonomics of software to make it user’s friendly and time saviour tools in a clinical setting. We are still waiting for indexes and/or criteria to estimate the probability of cross-talk versus co- contraction in sEMG between channels and/or adjacent muscles [66]. Advanced signal processing has not entered clinical practice. Raw filtered EMG remains the golden standard to read muscular patterns. Processing and statistics are useful to compare within and between trials and subjects after normalization of data. Since 1999, Von Tscharner and col. [67], have proven the benefits of surface EMG intensity analysis, time frequency analysis, They computed the energy contained into the SEMG signals based on its frequency contents over time and not only its amplitude variation [68]. Overall, amplitude variations alone are contingent upon external factors attenuating muscular action potentials amplitude. Using sEMG to map of spatio temporal activity at the spinal cord level is also interesting [69-72]. This mapping relies on published distribution of motor nerve roots and spinal muscular nuclei (myotomes) of each muscle. Clinicians use these tables to estimate the level of the spinal cord lesion after a spine injury. We can imagine that the process be extended to Penfield's motor homunculus and its refinement from MRI maps. We deplore that the corresponding software is not available for clinicians. Multivariate methods of statistics allow the comparison of EMG patterns under pathological condition and can be helpful in differential diagnosis [73]. Arrays of electrodes allow localisation of innervation zone(s) of superficial muscles at the surface of the skin. They are not adapted for daily movement analyses. They are potentially interesting for those injecting botulinum toxin and to follow progresses of re-innervation. Despite technological improvements, the main enemies of EMG are -1- too easy to get EMG signals even with inappropriate equipment and conditions, -2- especially without selective electrodes –3- without any knowledge of functional anatomy, -4- over interpretation of signals that leads to misinterpretation. Does kinesiological EMG decline in gait analysis laboratories? Since the `80s, when 3D gait analysis based on video became affordable and fashionable, mechanical engineers and bio-engineers in charge of gait laboratories History of the Study of Skeletal Muscle Function The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, Volume 3 91 have favoured kinetics (net joint moment and net joint power) to consider muscle behaviour. This is an unwise decision. Net joint moment and net joint power do not give information about the behaviour and timing of the moment and power of antagonist muscles. Assumption that net joint moment depicts the timing and the EMG pattern of the dominant muscular group has never been confirmed in our experience consequently kinetics cannot replace kinesiological EMG. Some gait lab engineers forsake and/or scorn kinesiological EMGs probably because recording EMG is too time consuming and needs an extreme rigour. Furthermore, EMG is unsuitable to compute muscular forces accurately. EMG BIOFEEDBACK The ability to voluntarily modify the firing rate of a single motor unit in the ‘60s opened a field of clinical research in the treatment of stroke [74]. In the early 1970, Basmajian presented EMG biofeedback as a tool enabling patients to acquire or reacquire a better voluntary control of their skeletal muscles [75]. A line of surface EMG apparatus was specially developed: visual feedback of the raw EMG with or without auditory feedback. Selectivity of electrodes and electrode placed on “minimal crosstalk areas” condition the fidelity and the specificity of the sEMG signals [76]. Recognition of crosstalk versus co-activation is still a matter of personal expertise because we do not know any reliable index or coefficient that estimate them automatically. Main goals of muscular biofeedback were to improve the contraction of weak muscles and to reduce activity of so- called “spastic muscles”. Psychotherapists used it to enhance and speed up patients’ relaxation. A change of ability to regain motor control under visual and auditory feedback is easy and quick. However, the integration of this change (post effect) with deprivation of external feedback is not accessible to every one. Integration of proprioceptive and other sensory information is impossible if the subject has lost his or her capacity of abstraction. Since the mid ‘80s, EMG biofeedback has steadily lost its interest because of the limited long-term results. In addition, its interference in the relationship therapist-patient bothered some therapists jealous of their power. PHONOMYOGRAPHY is the recording with a microphone placed on the skin over a contracting muscle of the sounds concomitant of muscular contraction. In 1866, Marey wrote that in 1809 Dr Wollaston reported that a muscle in a tetanic contraction vibrates and generates an audible noise at 32 Hz [77]. Refining the recording device Dr Collonge reported a vibration between 32 and 35 Hz. According to Helmotz’s experiments, a tetanic contraction appears with a stimulus at 32 Hz [78]. In the late ‘80s, phonomyogram was investigated as a competing or alternative technique to EMG [78, 79]. In case of orthostatic tremor, when the subject stands at ease, with a stethoscope we can hear the 14-16 Hz “clicks” of the trembling quadriceps even if the tremor is not visible yet. Permanent muscular contraction, also named “tonic spasticity”, is detectable as well. Nevertheless, our experiences showed that phonomyography is less specific, extremely demanding to minimise artefacts and inappropriate during dynamic situations. CONCLUSION Actually kinesiological EMG, either with surface or fine wire electrodes, is still the only means to record objectively muscular patterns and co-ordination between muscles. However, it is a very demanding technique. Recording accurate and reliable signals is not an easy task. Only controlled cross contraction during specific static and/or dynamic movements provoked by experienced individuals can estimate crosstalk versus co-contraction. Force/EMG relationships are complicated because they depend on many technical, anatomical, physiological and mechanical factors. Nowadays EMG cannot measure muscular force accurately. 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Biography. Available from: http://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/Michael_Faraday [Cited: February 20th 2009] 92 The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, Volume 3 Blanc and Dimanico [19] Faraday’s electrical current and law of induction. Available from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Faraday%27s_law_of_induction [Cited: February 20 th 2009] [20] Duchenne de Boulogne GM. Physiologie des mouvements. Démontrée à l’aide de l’expérimentation électrique et de l’observation clinique et applicable à l’étude des paralysies et des déformations. Paris :Baillière 1867. transl. by Kaplan EB. Physiology of motion. Demonstrated by means of electrical stimulation and clinical observation and applied to the study of paralysis and deformities. Philadelphia : JB Lippincott 1949. [21] Waters RL, Perry J, Garland D. Surgical correction of gait abnormalities following stroke. Clin Orthop Relat Res 1978; 131: p. 54-63. [22] Duchenne de Boulogne G.-B. Mécanisme de la physionomie humaine ou analyse électro-physiologique de l’expression des passions. Paris: Baillière 2 nd ed. 1876. English translation available from: http://books.google.ch/books [23] Janssen J. Présentation de quelques spécimens de photographies solaires obtenues avec un appareil construit pour la mission du Japon Comptes rendus hebdomadaires des séances de l’académie des sciences 1874; Tome LXXVIII, N° 1 : 1730-1. [24] Marey EJ. La machine animale, locomotion terrestre et aérienne. Paris: Baillière 1882. [25] Marey EJ. Le vol des oiseaux. Paris: Masson 1890. [26] Marey EJ. Le Mouvement. Paris: Masson 1894. [27] Carlet G. Essai expérimental sur la locomotion humaine. Etude de la marche. Ann Sci Nat 1872; XVI: 1-92. [28] Rasch PJ, Burke RJ. Kinesiology and applied anatomy. The science of human movement 3 rd ed. Philadelphia: Lea & Febiger 1967. p. 4. [29] Rasch PJ, Burke RJ. Kinesiology and applied anatomy. The science of human movement. 3 rd ed. 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The physiology of industrial organisation and the re- employment of the disabled Transl. Miall B. London Library Press 1918. Available at: http://www.archive.org/stream/physiologyindus 00kentgoog#page/n6/mode/1up [Cited: 15 th february 2009] [36] Perreault EJ, Heckman CJ, Sandercock TG. Hill muscle model errors during movement are greatest within the physiologically relevant range of motor unit firing. J Biomech 2003; 36: 211-8. [37] Matteucci C. Phénomène physiologique produit par les muscles en contraction. Ann Chim Phys 1842; VI, 3ème série : 339-41 [38] Matteucci C. Réclamation de priorité à l’occasion des communications récentes de M. Du Bois-Reymond, sur des recherches d’électricité. C R Acad Sci 1850; 30: 479-80. [39] Du Bois Reymond E. Réponse à la réclamation de priorité de M. Matteucci. C R Acad Sci 1850; 30: 512-5. [40] Du Bois Reymond E. Seconde réponse à la réclamation de priorité de M. Matteucci. C R Acad Sci 1850; 30: 563-6. [41] Matteucci C. Réponses aux deux dernières lettres de M. Du Bois Reymond, insérées dans les n° 17 et 18 des Comptes rendus de l’Académie, et en général à toutes les observations faites par le même auteur sur quelques unes de mes recherches d’électrophysiologie. C R Acad Sci 1850; 30: 699-708. [42] Rasch PJ, Burke RJ. Kinesiology and applied anatomy. The science of human movement. 3 rd ed. Philadelphia: Lea & Febiger 1967; p. 22. [43] Piper H. Uber den willkurlichen Muskeltetanus. Pflügers Gesamte Physiol Menschen. Tiere 1907; 119: 301-38. [44] Brown P, Salenius S, Rothwell JC, Hari R. Cortical Correlate of the Piper Rhythm in Humans. J Neurophysiol 1998; 80: 2911-7. [45] Erlander J. Available from: http://www.faqs.org/health/bios/13/Jos eph-Erlanger.htm [Cited: February 15 th 2010] http://nobelprize. org/nobel_prizes/medicine/laureates/1944/erlanger-bio.html [Cited: February 15 th 2010] [46] Adrian ED. Interpretation of the electromyogram. Lancet 1925; I (lecture 1) : 1229-33. [47] Adrian ED. Interpretation of the electromyogram. Lancet 1925; I (lecture 2): p. 1282-6. [48] Beevor CE. Muscular movements and their representation in the central nervous system. Lancet 1903; I: 1715-24. [49] Scherb, R: Weitere Ergebnisse myokinesigraphischer Untersuchungen. 3. Mitteilung zur Myokinesigraphie. Zeitschr Orthop Chir 1927; 48: 156. [50] Scherb, R Kinetisch-diagnostische Analyse von Gehstörungen: Technik undResultate der Myokinesigraphie/ von Richard Scherb. Zeitschr Orthop 1952; 82: 31-80. [51] Basmajian JV. Muscles alive. Their function revealed by electromyography. 2 nd ed. Philadelphia: Williams & Wilkins 1967; pp.21-2. [52] Basmajian JV, Stecko G.A. A new bipolar indwelling electrode for electromyography. J Appl Physiol 1962; 17: 849. [53] Eberhart HD, Inmann VT. An evaluation of experimental procedures used in a fundamental study of human locomotion. Ann N Y Acad Sci 1951; 51: 1213-28 [54] Institute of engineering research (US). The pattern of muscular activity in the lower extremity during walking. Prosthetic devices research project. Berkeley: University of California 1953. [55] Inmann VT, Ralston HJ, Todd F. Human Walking. Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins 1981. [56] Close JR. Functional anatomy of the extremities. Some electronic and kinematic methods of study. Springfield, IL: Charles C Thomas Publishers 1973; p.81-2. [57] Close JR. Motor function in the lower extremity. Analyses by electronic instrumentation. Springfield, IL: Charles C Thomas Publishers 1964. [58] Inmann VT, Ralston H, Todd F. Human walking. Baltimore: William & Wilkins 1981; pp. 89-93. [59] Lindström L, Kadefors R, Petersen I. An electromyographic index for localized muscle fatigue. J Appl Physiol 1977; 43: 750-4. [60] Kadefors R, Lindström L, Petersen I, Ortengren R. EMG in objective evaluation of localized muscle fatigue. Scand J Rehabil Med 1978; 10(suppl 6): 75-94. [61] De Luca CJ, Gilmore LD, Roy SH. Methodology for measuring muscle fatigue objectively. 37th ACEMB, Los Angeles, Sept. 17- 19, 1984. [62] De Luca CJ. Myoelectric manifestations of localized muscular fatigue in humans. Crit Rev Biomed Eng 1985; 11: 251-79. [63] Merletti R, Knaflitz M, De Luca CJ. Myoelectric manifestations of fatigue in voluntary and electrically elicited contractions. J Appl Physiol 1990; 69: 1810-20. [64] Linnamo V, Bottas R, Komi PV. Force and EMG power spectrum during and after eccentric and concentric fatigue. J Electromyogr Kinesiol 2000; 10: 293-300. [65] Disselhorst-Klug C, Schmitz-Rode T, Rau G. Surface electromyography and muscle force: Limits and new approaches for applications–force relationship. Clin Biomech 2009; 24: 225- 35. [66] Von Tscharner V. Electromyographic signal analyzed by wavelet transform. Int Soc Biomech XVIIth Congress Book of Abstracts Calgary 8, 1999; p. 482. [67] Von Tscharner V. Intensity analysis in time-frequency space of surface myoelectric signals by wavelets of specified resolution. J Electromyogr Kinesiol 2000; 10: 433-45. [68] Göpfert B, Tscharner V, Wirz D, Romkes J. Time frequency analysis of the electromyogram of thigh and shaft in level walking Gait Posture 2002; 16(suppl 2): S155-S156. [69] Von Tscharner V, Goepfert B. Gender dependent EMGs of runners resolved by time/frequency and principal pattern analysis. J Electromyogr Kinesiol 2003; 13: 253-72. [70] Valderrabano V, Nigg BM, Hintermann B, et al. Muscular lower leg asymmetry in middle-aged people. Foot Ankle Int 2007; 28: 242-9. [71] Ivanenko Y P, Poppele R E, Lacquaniti F. Spinal cord maps of spatiotemporal alpha-motoneuron activation in humans walking at different speeds. J Neurophysiol 2006; 95: 602-18. History of the Study of Skeletal Muscle Function The Open Rehabilitation Journal, 2010, Volume 3 93 [72] Blanc Y. Contribution de l’EMG cinésiologique des muscles péroniers latéraux pour différencier les instabilités chroniques de cheville et le syndrome du sinus du tarse. Thèse de doctorat en réadaptation. Université Catholique de Louvain. Faculté de Médecine. Institut d’éducation physique et de réadaptation. 1994; p. 182. [73] Marinacci AA, Horande M. Electromyography in neuromuscular re-education. Bull Los Angeles Neurol Soc 1960; 25: 57-71. [74] Basmajian JV. Control and training of individual motor units. Science 1963; 141: 440-1. [75] Basmajian JV, Blumenstein R. Electrode placement in EMG biofeedback. Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins 1980. [76] Marey EJ. Etudes graphiques sur la nature de la contraction musculaire. Extrait du Journal de l’anatomie éd Robin Paris 1866; 1er mars: p.1. [77] Maton B, Petitjean M, Cnockaert JC. Phonomyogram and electromyogram relationships with isometric force reinvestigated in man. Eur J Appl Physiol 1990; 60: 194-201. [78] Dalton PA, Stokes MJ. Acoustic myography for investigation human skeletal muscle fatigue. Eur J Appl Physiol 1991; 71: 1422- 6. [79] Petitjean M, Maton B. Phonomyogram for single motor unit during voluntary isometric contraction. Eur J Appl Physiol 1995; 71: 215- 22. Received: September 13, 2009 Revised: April 23, 2010 Accepted: April 24, 2010 © Blanc and Dimanico; Licensee Bentham Open This is an open access article licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial License (http: //creativecommons.org/licenses/by- nc/3.0/) which permits unrestricted, non-commercial use, distribution and reproduction in any medium, provided the work is properly cited. 
work_47gbt65kpzhhnl4cpilufdzlxu	----	ISSN 0030-8129 Publications of the Modern Language Association of America January 1987 Princeton Nietzsche in Russia Edited by Bernice Glatzer Rosenthal Here presented are eighteen essays and a bibliography on the Russians' fascination with Nietzsche from 1890 to 1917, with glimpses of developments in the Soviet period. In this interdisciplinary volume scholars document Nietzsche's enormous impact on Russian cultural and political life—an influence that has until now been ignored, understated, or denied in both the United States and the Soviet Union. The contributors describe how key Nietzschean ideas brought about profound changes in Russian religiosity, metaphysics, ethics, social thought, cultural policy, literary theory and criticism, poetry, fiction, drama, painting, music, and popular literature. Also discussed are the reasons for the wide- spread renunciation of Nietzsche after 1908, even while Nietzschean thinking retained its effect on Russian culture. LPE: $19.95. C: $50.00 Ariosto's Bitter Harmony Crisis and Evasion in the Italian Renaissance Albert Russell Ascoli "I feel quite privileged to have read Albert Russell Ascoli's study of Orlando Furioso. It is the finest book-length study to date of this complex and elusive poem." —David Quint, Princeton University $40.00 New Limited Edition Paperbacks Thoreau and the American Indians Robert F. Sayre "By treating Thoreau's pervasive and lifelong interest in Indians, Sayre not only provides significant new approaches to A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, Walden, the Journal, and The Maine Woods, and a convincing reassessment of the importance of the 'Indian books' to Thoreau's canon, but also enables us to assess the unity of that canon from a unique and most enlightening perspective." —Bernard Hirsch, American Studies LPE: $13.50. C: $26.50 Realism and Consensus in the English Novel Elizabeth Deeds Ermarth "...a model of conceptual clarity. She has utilized her reading of modern theory in an independent way to construct a view of realism that is all the more impressive for being built out of such simple materials." —Roger Moss, Times Literary Supplement LPE: $14.50. C: $28.00 At your bookstore or Princeton University Press 41 William Street, Princeton, NJ 08540 January 1987 Publications of the Modern Language Association of America Volume 102 Number 1 PUBLISHED SIX TIMES A YEAR BY THE ASSOCIATION The Modern Language Association of America ORGANIZED 1883 INCORPORATED 1900 OFFICERS FOR THE YEAR 1987 President: Winfred P. Lehmann , University of Texas, Austin First Vice-President: Barbara Herrnstein Smith , University of Pennsylvania Executive Director: Phyllis Franklin Deputy Executive Director and Treasurer: Hans Rutimann EXECUTIVE COUNCIL For the term ending 31 December 1987 Houston A. Baker , Jr . University of Pennsylvania Elaine Marks University of Wisconsin, Madison James Olney Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge For the term ending 31 December 1988 Mary Louise Pratt Stanford University Frank J. Warnke University of Georgia Ruth Bernard Yeazell University of California, Los Angeles For the term ending 31 December 1989 Peter Elbow State University of New York, Stony Brook Joan M. Ferrante Columbia University Patricia M. Spacks Yale University TRUSTEES OF INVESTED FUNDS William O. Baker C. Waller Barrett Murray Hill, New Jersey Charlottesville, Virginia Joel Conarroe New York, New York PMLA (ISSN 0030-8129) is issued six times a year, in January, March, May, September, October, and November, by the Modern Language Association of America. Membership is open to those persons who are professionally interested in the modern languages and literatures. Annual dues, which include subscription to PMLA, are based on members’ salaries and are graduated as follows: student members (four years maximum), $10; new regular members (first year), $25; regular members (salary under $12,000), $10; regular members (salary $12,000-$15,000), $35; regular members (sal- ary $15,000-$20,000), $45; regular members (salary $20,000-$25,000), $50; regular members (salary $25,000-$30,000), $55; regular members (salary $30,000-$35,000), $60; regular members (salary $35,000-$40,000), $65; regular members (salary $40,000-$45,000), $70; regular members (salary $45,000-$50,000), $75; regular members (salary $50,000-$55,000), $80; regular members (salary $55,000-$60,000), $85; regular members (salary $60,000-$65,000), $90; regular members (salary $65,000-$70,000), $95; regular members (salary $70,000-$75,000), $100; regular members (salary $75,000 and above), $105; joint members (two individuals sharing the same household, who receive one subscription to PMLA but two copies of all other publications), add $20 to dues category of higher-income member; foreign members, same as regular members (ascertain dues category based on American dollar equivalent). Membership applications are available on request. The subscription price of PMLA for libraries and other institutions is $80. A subscription including a bound volume at the end of the year is $195, domestic and foreign. Agents deduct 4% as their fee. Single copies of the January, March, May, and October issues may be obtained for $7.50 each; the November (Program) issue for $20; the September (Direc- tory) issue for $35. Issues for the current year are available from the MLA Member and Customer Services Office. Claims for undelivered issues will be honored if they are received within one year of the publication date; thereafter the single issue price will be charged. For information about the availability of back issues, inquire of Kraus Reprint Co., Millwood, NY 10546; (914) 762-2200. Early and current volumes may be obtained on microfilm from University Microfilms, Ann Arbor, MI 48106. Purchase of current volumes on film is restricted to subscribers of the journal. OFFICE OF PUBLICATION AND EDITORIAL OFFICES 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003 All communications including notices of changes of address should be sent to the Member and Customer Services Office of the Association. If a change of address also involves a change of institutional affiliation, that office should be in- formed of this fact at the same time. Second-class postage paid at New York, NY, and at additional mailing office. Copyright © 1987 by The Modem Language Association of America. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 12-32040. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to Member and Customer Services Office, Modern Language Association of America, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003. Contents • January Editor’s Column 3 Notes on Contributors ........ 5 Forthcoming in PMLA ........ 6 Intelligibility and Meaningfulness in Multicultural Literature in English. Reed Way Dasenbrock ........................................10 Abstract. As new literatures in English emerge all over the world, literature in English is increasingly multicultural, but the criticism of these literatures has not fully come to terms with this multiculturalism. Specifically, a work read across cultures is likely to be at least partially unintelligible to some of its readers, and critics have seen this as a factor neces- sarily limiting the readership of these works. But intelligibility and meaningfulness are not synonymous. This essay analyzes moments of difficulty in four such multicultural texts, by Narayan, Kingston, Anaya, and Ihimaera, showing on Gricean lines that meaning can be created precisely by the struggle to make sense of the unintelligible. The work done in that process can lead to a deeper understanding of the text, and the reader who must do that work is therefore not excluded from a full understanding. (RWD) Alison’s Incapacity and Poetic Instability in the Wife of Bath’s Tale. Susan Crane ................................................. ......... 20 Abstract. Chaucer’s Wife of Bath longs to counter the assertion of antifeminist satire that women’s authority over men is noxious and undeserved. At first it seems that for her tale she chooses romance as the genre that can imagine a worthy sovereignty of secular women, yet she undermines romantic elevation by frequently returning to satiric stances. The generic mixing in her tale signals that romance is inadequate to her argument and indeed that no conventional discourse sustains women’s sovereignty. Alison attempts to reach beyond the discourses available to her by destabilizing gender, genre, and gentillesse in her narration, intimating that these categories are flexible and open to new meanings. (SC) Androgyny, Mimesis, and the Marriage of the Boy Heroine on the English Renaissance Stage. Phyllis Rackin ... 29 Abstract. Changing conceptions of gender and of theatrical mimesis can be seen in the representations of transvestite heroines on the English Renaissance stage. This paper com- pares their roles in five comedies: Lyly’s Gailathea-, Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, As You Like It, and Twelfth Night-, and Jonson’s Epicoene. In each play the plot centers on marriage, the bride-to-be wears transvestite disguise, and the disguise plays a crucial role in the plot. In all five plays, the sexual ambiguity of the boy heroine is associated with the problematic relations between the male actor and the female character he portrays, the dramatic representation and the reality it imitates, the play and the audience that watches it. Increasingly rigid gender definitions and a devaluation of the feminine are associated with a rejection of fantasy, the development of neoclassical mimetic theory, and a deepening anxiety about the process of theatrical representation. (PR) Master W. H., R.I.P. Donald W. Foster ....................................... 42 Abstract. Thomas Thorpe’s brief greeting to “Mr. W. H.” in the 1609 Quarto of Shake- speares Sonnets has been one of the great conundrums of modern literary studies. But it is not Thorpe’s only such greeting to survive. His remaining epistles, taken together with the dedications in many other English books of the period, suggest that, unless Thorpe was here forsaking the conventions that elsewhere governed his and his contemporaries’ practice, scholars have been wrong about “the only begetter of these ensuing sonnets,” wrong about “Mr. W. H.,” and wrong about “our ever-living poet” and the “eternity” he “promised.” But in this they are not alone. The original compositor also got something wrong. If the evidence of other Renaissance epistles is to be trusted, the mysterious and celebrated “Mr. W. H.” is a misprint. (DWF) William Bradford’s American Sublime. David Laurence . . 55 Abstract. William Bradford’s tableau of the Pilgrims’ landing at Cape Cod supplies a con- ventional point of departure for American literature. Yet, in the customary ordering of liter- ary history, the passage is doubly anomalous. Written in 1630, it presents, at least one hundred years too soon, an example of what Kant later called the dynamical sublime; and it anticipates, some two hundred years too soon, episodes from the canon of nineteenth- century American literature that criticism describes as characteristically American. The essay considers the formal motives and rhetorical coercions behind this double anomaly to show how the sublime, as it emerges in Bradford, signals a withdrawal from empirical fact in a search for satisfactions of meaning that derive from literature. The level of aggression Bradford finds necessary to this withdrawal lends his writing a recognizably American bent. The passage shows us a scene of writing at once singular to Bradford and distinctly Ameri- can. (DL) “When You Call Me That . . . Tall Talk and Male Hegemony in The Virginian. Lee Clark Mitchell ....................................... 66 Abstract. Owen Wister’s The Virginian, considered the prototypical cowboy western, only vaguely satisfies formula expectations. Encounters consist more of wordplay than gunplay, and physical conflicts rarely occur. Far from depicting a conventional male violence tamed at last by a feminized East, the novel celebrates the Virginian’s rhetorical triumph over the schoolmarm and the silencing of her feminism in favor of a “logic” of patriarchy. Why should this best-seller have established a formula it does not fulfill? One explanation may involve its setting in Wyoming—known as the “Equality State” for first having enfran- chised women. By opposing a thesis of sexual inequality to that setting’s implications, the novel could be read as two things at once: a paean to an older, masculine West and yet a brief for modern male hegemony. Readers troubled by a resurgent feminism could de- light unawares in the novel’s contradictions and read into it the formula western. (LCM) Forum ........... 78 Forthcoming Meetings and Conferences of General Interest . . 80 Index of Advertisers..................................................................... 81 Professional Notes and Comment 94 PUBLICATIONS OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA Published Six Times a Year Indexes: Vols. 1-50, 1935; 51-60, 1945; 51-79, 1964 EDITORIAL BOARD Barbara Becker -Cantarino , 1987 Ohio State University Margaret Williams Ferguson , 1988 Columbia University Henry Louis Gates , Jr ., 1988 Cornell University ADVISORY COMMITTEE Richard Helgerson , 1988 University of California, Santa Barbara Peter Uwe Hohendahl , 1987 Cornell University James M. Holquist , 1987 Yale University Peggy Kamuf , 1989 Miami University Julia Lesage , 1987 Jump Cut Marjorie Beth Levinson , 1990 University of Pennsylvania Deborah E. Mc Dowell , 1989 Colby College James J. Murphy , 1989 University of California, Davis Margot C. Norris , 1990 University of Michigan, Ann Arbor Susan Hardy Aiken , 1989 University of Arizona Martha Banta , 1987 University of California, Los Angeles Terry J. Castle , 1990 Stanford University Giovanni Cecchetti , 1987 University of California, Los Angeles Carol T. Christ , 1987 University of California, Berkeley Frederick A. de Armas , 1989 Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge Heather Dubrow , 1990 Carleton College George D. Economou , 1990 University of Oklahoma Daniel Mark Fogel , 1990 Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge Jean Franco , 1988 Columbia University Editor: John W. Kroner , Cornell University Editorial Supervisor: Claire Cook Assistant Editor: Bonnie V. Levy Herbert S. Lindenberger , 1988 Stanford University Domna Stanton , 1987 University of Michigan, Ann Arbor Alexander Welsh , 1987 University of California, Los Angeles Jonathan F. S. Post , 1989 University of California, Los Angeles Mary Louise Pratt , 1987 Stanford University Gerald Prince , 1987 University of Pennsylvania Francois Rigolot , 1988 Princeton University Judith L. Ryan , 1987 Harvard University Naomi Schor , 1988 Brown University Wendy Steiner , 1990 University of Pennsylvania Eugene Vance , 1990 Emory University Tilly Warnock , 1989 University of Wyoming Thomas Russell Whitaker , Yale University George T. Wright , 1990 University of Minnesota, Minneapolis Managing Editor: Judy Goulding Assistant Managing Editor: Roslyn Schloss Assistant Editor: Elizabeth Holland A STATEMENT OF EDITORIAL POLICY PMLA welcomes essays of interest to those concerned with the study of language and literature. As the publi- cation of a large and heterogeneous association, the journal is receptive to a variety of topics, whether general or specific, and to all scholarly methods and theoretical perspectives. The ideal PMLA essay exemplifies the best of its kind, whatever the kind; addresses a significant problem; draws out clearly the implications of its findings; and engages the attention of its audience through a concise, readable presentation. Articles of fewer than 2,500 words or more than 9,000 words, including notes, are not considered for publication. Translations should accom- pany foreign language quotations. The MLA urges its contributors to be sensitive to the social implications of language and to seek wording free of discriminatory overtones. Only members of the association may submit articles to PMLA. Each article submitted is sent to at least one consultant reader and one member of the Advisory Committee. Articles recommended by these readers are then sent to the members of the Editorial Board, who meet periodically with the editor to make final decisions. Until a final decision is reached, the author’s name is not made known to consultant readers, to members of the Advi- sory Committee and the Editorial Board, or to the editor. Submissions, prepared according to The MLA Style Manual, should be addressed to the Editor of PMLA, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003. An author’s name should not appear on the manuscript; instead, a cover sheet, with the author’s name, address, and the title of the article, should accompany the article. Authors should not refer to themselves in the first person in the submitted text or notes if such references would identify them; any necessary references to the author’s previous work, for example, should be in the third person. 
work_4ddwhs7gxvevfnrrl2qoyha4ya	----	Ginsb & Weyers-final 1 On the Formation of Canons: The Dynamics of Narratives in Art History Victor Ginsburgh ECARES, Université Libre de Bruxelles and CORE, Université catholique de Louvain and Sheila Weyers Université catholique de Louvain Abstract The paper illustrates the formation over time of the late 20th century canons of two schools that dominated all other European schools in their time: Italian Renaissance and Flemish Realism. Since most artists were discussed, some 400 years ago, by Vasari in the second edition of his Vite, and by van Mander in his Schilder-boeck, narratives by art historians can be followed over a long period of time. To explore the dynamic process of canon formation, we collected data on the presence and the greatness of a large number of artists in narrative works written by important art scholars at time intervals of roughly 75 years, so that the 400 years elapsed between 1600 and 2000 are spanned as best as possible. At least half of the artists in the two canons were already there 400 years ago. There are several cases of wrong attributions or of new technical discoveries that prevented some names to be canonical any sooner. There are also artists who art historians learnt to appreciate or to understand better, and who entered at much later times. Finally, the number of names that entered or were moved up in the canon because their works acquired new properties in the light of works by artists that followed them is not very large. This appears to be in contradiction with the frequent suggestion that canons are continuously moving and that no artist can survive forever. Piblshed in Empirical Studies of the Arts 28 (2010), 37-72. 2 In her paper on canon formation, Silvers (1991, p. 212) suggests that “understanding how evaluative critical judgment evolves might be supposed to require detailed empirical study more properly pursued in disciplines other than philosophy because the nature of the process which forms canons is sociological, political or economic, rather than autonomously aesthetic.” In this paper, we try to contribute by illustrating the formation of the late 20th century canons of two groups of artists (Italians and Flemish) who, according to Panofsky (1971) dominated all other European schools during the Renaissance. Since most of them were discussed, some 400 years ago, by Vasari (1981, [1568]i) in the second edition of his Vite, and by van Mander (1604) in his Schilder-boeck, narratives by art historians can be followed over a long period of time. To explore the dynamic process of canon formation, we collected data on the presence and the greatness of a large number of artists in narrative works written by important art scholars at time intervals of roughly 75 years, so that the 400 years elapsed between 1600 and 2000 are spanned as best as possible. Though the choice of art scholars as “true judges” may be “embarrassing” (Hume, 1965, p. 17, [1757]) we shall consider them as our trustworthy (though fallible) indicators of the best artworks, or artists, whose identification emerges as a consequence of the passage of time and leads to canonical status. How Do Artists (or Works) Attain Canonical Status? Silvers (1991, pp. 212-213) describes several paths that may lead to canonical status. A work (or an artist) may qualify in one of the following three ways: (a) Failing, despite systematic scrutiny, to reveal defects or disagreeableness sufficient to be disqualified, or (b) Revealing previously unnoticed meritorious or agreeable properties sufficient to qualify, or (c) Acquiring valuable properties sufficient to qualify it. She points out that (a) and (b) account for this process in terms of permanence or changes in the opinions of art scholars (traditionalism), while (c) accounts for events that took place after a work was produced and change its properties (revisionism). According to traditionalist art theorists, all properties are present when the work is conceived and realized, though their importance may have been overlooked. Leonardo da Vinci’s oeuvre is an example that satisfies criterion (a). According to Grove’s Dictionary (1996, vol. 19, p. 196) “there has never been a period in which Leonardo’s greatness has not been acknowledged.” A similar argument can be invoked when attributions are revised. Duccio appeared in the canon after Berenson gave him the Madonna di Ruccellai, previously thought by Cimabue. The Master of 3 Flémalle has benefited from both a rediscovery and attributions of works thought by the young van der Weyden. In such cases, changes in canonical status are due to epistemic reasons. Revisionists advocate that some properties or attributes may be added to existing works by newly created works, or that earlier works “acquire salience in relation to the proper understanding of [new works], which they naturally didn’t have before” (Levinson, 1996, p. 268). Silvers (1991) illustrates what happened with Rubens’ figures after Renoir and Picasso. Rubens himself considered his figures to be coarse, and this was accepted for centuries after he painted them. Today, writes Silvers “when art’s history embraces treatments of the human figure such as those painted by Renoir and Picasso, Rubens’ treatments are transfigured to become fluently refined and elegantly vital… the composition of Rubens’ paintings remain[s] the same, but the works’ aesthetic attributes change, develop, transmogrify or evolve” (p. 217). Junod (1995) similarly suggests that Vermeer was rediscovered in the mid- 19th century due to the closeness of his work to pre-impressionist sensitivity. Whether such situations change the properties of the work itself is hotly debated among art philosophers. Levinson (1990, p. 194) for example argues against revisionism, and brings the revisionist argument to an extreme with another example: After Cubist painting came into existence, “the non-Cubist mode of depiction of, say, Holbein’s Ambassadors suddenly appears as an artistically relevant attribute of this painting,” though the painting was produced in 1533. Both traditionalism and revisionism are present in the narratives of art historians who, by continuously provoking our attention, are among the most important contributors to the formation of canons. That traditionalism is present is obvious, since historians evoke what occurred before and during the creation of the artworks that they describe. Revisionism comes into narratives because art historians also take into account what happened after the creation of the works. Discussing Goya’s influence on Bacon in an article devoted to Bacon qualifies Bacon. But Bozal’s (1997) observation in his monograph on Goya that the “horribly open devouring mouth in Saturn is a prelude to the howling mouths of Bacon,” may be an addition, even if only second-order, to the fame of Goya. However, one can argue whether this changes Goya’s Saturn itself, or whether it merely changes our vision of the work.ii Therefore, as we shall see, it is often difficult to decide whether a work qualifies by criterion (b) or (c). The above analysis of canon formation implies that artworks are endowed with properties, a view that is not shared by all art theorists. Bourdieu (1983, 1996; see also Hutter & Shusterman, 2006, p. 193) argues that evaluation, and thus value, is arbitrary, even if it stands the test of time, because it is based on motivations imposed 4 by the social and political structures of the cultural hierarchy. It is objective but only as a social fact: the artistic field is contained within the field of power, which is itself situated within the field of class relations (Bourdieu, 1983, p. 319). Accordingly, there are no criteria that allow determining the intrinsic quality of a work, but only professional judges who “possess the socially accepted authority to ascribe specific properties to a work ... and how it should be ranked” (Van Rees, 1983, p. 398; and see Rajagopalan, 1997; Van Peer, 1996). Method To describe the process of canonization, we follow over time the presence of artists (measured by the length of the entry or the number of citations devoted to each of them; length of entries and citations are always transformed into ranks) in a certain number of art histories, encyclopedias and art dictionaries. Such an approach had already been suggested by Teyssèdre (1964, p. 187), the expert of the French art critic de Piles (1635-1709), who writes that “even if ratings are difficult to assess, one could just look at whether artists are quoted or not.” Milo (1986) uses the length of entries in encyclopedias and dictionaries over time, to study whether 17th century French painters who are praised today were already so between 1650 and 1750. See also Verdaasdonk (1983, 2003), Simonton (1998) or Ginsburgh and Weyers (2006) who perform similar analyses for literary works, operas or Italian Renaissance painters. Using such a method, without any appeal to the details of the narratives of art historians may seem unusual, and it happens that the length of an entry devoted to an artist may be due to criticizing him instead of praising him. One such example is that of Félibien’s lukewarm comments on both Veronese and Tintoretto, since they were both colorists, while he considered disegno to be superior. Félibien nevertheless devotes more space to Veronese than to Andrea del Sarto and Leonardo (two Florentine artists) , and Tintoretto gets almost as much space as Leonardo. The opposite can also happen: Vasari had a very favorable opinion of Corregio, but does not rank him very high in terms of the length of his vita. However, we take comfort in the fact that writing takes time and effort, and it is likely that “professionals will not devote labor and attention, generation after generation, to sustaining [artworks] whose life-functions have terminated” (Coetzee, 2002, p. 18). The alternative is using hermeneutics. These make it difficult, and often subjective, to decide who is part of the canon. Consider for example the following description given in Giorgione’s entry by Grove (1996, vol. 12, p. 677): Giorgione received “the highest praise from Vasari, who, although disapproving of his method of painting without drawing, regarded innovative softness and suggestiveness of his 5 handling admirably natural…and placed his Life close to the beginning of Part III of the Vite, between those of the other great pioneers of maniera moderna, Leonardo and Corregio.” Still, the entry devoted to Leonardo is 2.6 times longer than the one devoted to Giorgione, and Corregio’s is much shorter than Giorgione’s. The more quantitative approach that we take produces clear-cut answers that also have the advantage of allowing comparisons over time. The ranking that we base on entries or citations (2 for an artist ranked among the top 50; 1 for an artist who is described without being among the top 50; 0 for the one who is only mentioned or even ignored) is a way of representing what Westphal (1993, p. 436) describes as the degree of canonicity: “Status as a classic is not an either/or matter, but a matter of degree. At any given time, the canon is represented by a series of concentric circles. At the center are texts with the highest degree of canonicity, while at the periphery are those whose classical status is most tenuous. This means that historical changes in the canon are not simply matter of inclusion and exclusion, but also matters of location between the center and the periphery.” The Italian Renaissance and Flemish Realism Canons at the End of the 20th Century For the sake of illustration, and without going into the aesthetic versus socio- political debate of defining the canon, we assume that the late Twentieth Century canons are defined by the names that appear in Grove’s (1996) entries for the Italian Renaissance (vol. 16, pp. 654-668) and for Flemish painting (vol. 3, pp. 551-562). This generates two lists of 125 and 129 names, respectively. In both lists reproduced in Tables 1 and 2, artists are ranked according to the length of their individual entries in Grove’s Dictionary. Here are some examples that illustrate how the tables should be read. For Italian art, Michelangelo is the artist whose entry is the longest (Grove Rank 1), Leonardo and Giotto come next and Paolo di Giovanni is ranked 125th. Rubens is first in the Flemish canon, followed by Breughel and Van Dyck, while Clara Peeters has rank 129. Further details are given in Appendix 1. Each list provides dates of birth and death, or the period during which the artist flourished. This is especially useful in the case of Flemish painters who were born too late to be known by van Mander. For Italians, we also give some information on the city or region in which they were active (Central Italy, Florence, Northern Italy, Siena and Venice) since their different styles are known to have influenced Vasari’s writings, who preferred Florentine to North Italian and Venetian painting. This approach is different from Cutting’s (2006a, b) for the following reasons: (a) Cutting’s purpose is to construct a canon (for Impressionist painters), while we 6 take it as given by Grove; and (b) he looks at different sources (number of images, presence in museums and collections, writings of scholars, etc.) to determine who and what was influential in defining the canon; we only look at narratives by selected scholars and, given the 400 years that is embraced in our paper, we are rather concerned with the dynamics (when) and the whys of its formation. [Inset Tables 1 and 2 about here] On Narratives Scholarship guided our list of art historians whom we consider as our “true judges.” They were also chosen for their overall coverage of Italian or Flemish painting (which led us to discard historians who deal with local or regional issues, as well as monographic works). For Italy, the 20th century canon is formed by painters whose names appear in the entry on Italian painting in Grove (1996, vol. 16, pp. 654-668). For each of them we collected the entries (or number of citations) in Vasari's Vite (1981, [1568]), Félibien's Entretiens (1967, [1725]), Lanzi's art history of the Quattrocento (1824, [1789]), Burckhardt's Cicerone (1855), Berenson (1926, [1894, 1896, 1897, 1907]), Chastel (1995, [1956]), and Grove's Dictionary itself. Vasari's Vite appear an undisputable choice, though, as has often been pointed out, the work is biased towards Florentine artists, and gives less credit to Venetians, like Giovanni Bellini or Veronese. Félibien (1967, p. 40), who writes one hundred years after Vasari, is considered the father of art history and art criticism in France. He mentions that “as far as modern painters are concerned, I merely follow what Vasari, Borghini, Ridolfi, the cavaliere Baglione and a few others have amply described, and with whom I agree,” though he discusses at great length Venetians. Under the influence of Winckelmann, Lanzi makes art history into a discipline that does more than describing the lives of artists. His work encompasses Italy as a whole. He classifies artists according to schools, including a large number of local schools, and tries to convey an impartial view of history, putting aside his personal neo- classical tastes. According to Bazin (1986, p. 91), Lanzi's work contains 3,000 names of artists. Lanzi is proud to claim that he makes no selection but also discusses mediocre artists, who, given their relations with the “great,” do also participate. Burckhardt is almost unanimously considered to be one of the greatest historians of the Italian Renaissance, and is representative of Kulturgeschichte, a movement, which suggests that art produced in an era, cannot be separated from the society by and in which it is produced. He was also deeply influenced by Vasari. In Kultur der 7 Renaissance in Italien, Burckhardt mentions having copied over 700 excerpts from Vasari's Vite, and inserted them at the right places in his own book (Gombrich, 1969). By choosing Berenson to represent the views of the early 20th century, we privilege connoisseurship. Berenson's choices were, nevertheless, very influential on the whole century. To represent the mid-20th century, we selected Chastel's celebrated work on the Italian Renaissance. Chastel is considered the most influential art historian in France after World War II. We end with Grove’s encyclopedic Dictionary narratives. We followed a similar procedure for Flemish painting, picking all the painters mentioned in the entry on Flemish painting in Grove (1996, vol. 3, pp. 551-562). For each artist, we retrieved the length of the entry in van Mander (1604), Sandrart (1675), Descamps (1753, 1760-1764), Fiorillo (1815), Immerzeel (1842, 1855), Wurzbach (1906-1911), van Puyvelde (1953, 1962; van Puyvelde & van Puyvelde, 1970) and Grove’s Dictionary. Max Friedländer (1924-1937) could have been an obvious choice as representing the early 20th century, but his writings are essentially concerned with old Netherlandish painters and do not cover the second half of the 16th century. Though van Mander is considered as important as Vasari, he wrote his Schilder-boeck at a time where great Flemish painters such as Rubens (born in 1577), Jordaens (1593) or Van Dyck (1599) were very young and could hardly have been known by him. Therefore, not surprisingly, van Mander missed many great names of the Golden Age of Flemish painting who belong to the Flemish canon. The painter Sandrart who represents the late 17th century is famed for his biographical writings, inspired by Vasari and van Mander. Descamps, a French painter and dealer, was also the very successful writer of La vie des peintres flamands, though, according to Grove (1996, vol. 8, p. 788), his work contains many inaccuracies. Fiorillo, a painter and professor of art history in Göttingen, was influenced by Lanzi, who emphasizes the “compilation of information at the expense of interpretive synthesis” (Grove, vol. 11, p. 118). Immerzeel, a Dutch art and books dealer wrote his Levens on the basis of existing biographies, but also used unpublished manuscripts and documents. Wurzbach, an Austrian art historian, produced his Niederländishes Künstler Lexikon, considered a standard dictionary of Flemish (and Dutch) artists. Van Puyvelde was chief curator of the Royal Museums of Fine Art of Belgium in Brussels from 1927 to 1948. His three volumes on Flemish painting represent the views of the mid-20th century, though Bazin (1986, p. 502) considers his judgments too personal, and always taking a view opposite to generally accepted ideas. Grove’s Dictionary closes the list of our narrators. In both cases, three art historians or art histories represent the Twentieth Century, while the two or three hundred years between Vasari (or van Mander) and 8 Berenson (or Wurzbach) are spanned by four names only. This is due to two main reasons. First, we are obviously more interested in how our era evaluates art created during the Renaissance. Secondly, if, as suggested by Junod (2002), the past can be rediscovered through contemporary works, it may be useful to examine who and what has been rediscovered in the wake of the largest possible set of narratives, and have a finer grid for more recent years. Table 3 gives a summary view of the database that was set up. [Inset Table 3 about here] The Dynamics of Canonization We now concentrate on artists who are ranked 1 to 50 in Grove’s Dictionary and try to understand how the two late 20th century canons were formed. For each artist, we compute the rank (based on length of the entry, or number of citations) given by previous art historians (Vasari to Chastel for Italians, and van Mander to van Puyvelde for Flemish painters). Each artists is assigned code “2” if he is ranked among the top 50 by a given art historian. If he is discussed at sufficient length, but is not part of the top 50, his code is “1.” If he is ignored or only very briefly mentioned (for example in passing in the life or entry devoted to another painter), his code is “0.” Consider for example (Jacopo) Bassano in Table 4. Lanzi and Berenson rank him among the top 50, he therefore is assigned a “2.” Félibien, Burckhardt and Chastel, discuss him, but none of them ranks him among the top 50 (code “1”). He has no vita or notice in Vasari’s Vite, and is thus assigned code “0.” Michelangelo is always among the top 50 (code “2”). Tables 4 (Italians) and 5 (Flemish) are also constructed in such a way that they make the dynamics more transparent. For Italians, we rank first those among the top 50 by Vasari, though some may disappear and reappear again later (Fra Angelico or Verrochio, for example). Then we move to those who were not ranked as such by Vasari, but introduced later by Félibien (starting with Tintoretto), and we keep going that way for Lanzi, Burckhardt, Berenson and Chastel. The first column in the table (Grove Ranks) gives the order in which Grove ranks artists. Michelangelo, for example is first, Mantegna is seventh, etc. Table 5, devoted to Flemish painters, is constructed in the same way. Drawing mainly from Grove’s (1996) “critical reception” or “posthumous reputations” remarks, we now turn to the analysis of the two canons using Silvers’ criteria. [Inset Tables 4 and 5 about here] The choice of 50 as the number of painters in Westphal’s first circle of the canon may look arbitrary and large when compared to the seven names that Cutting 9 considers as the first circle of the Impressionist canon. This choice is discussed in Appendix 2. Italian Painters To begin with, it is worth pointing out that Vasari devotes a vita to 45 out of the 50 canonic painters; two Venetian artists (Tintoretto and Giorgione) have notes that are however longer than many vite, the names of two others (Bassano and Tura) are at least mentioned in other lives or notes. Only one of them (Paolo Veneziano) is not referred to at all. We follow the stages set up in Table 4, in which artists enter the canon with Vasari (1981, [1586]), Félibien (1967, [1725]), Lanzi (1824, [1789]), Burckhardt (1855), Berenson (1926, [1894, 1896, 1897, 1907]), Chastel (1995, [1956]), and Grove (1996), at various moments in time. Vasari. Eight artists from the Italian Renaissance (Michelangelo, Leonardo, Giotto, Raphael, Titian, Mantegna, Perugino and Andrea del Sarto) are always among the top group of 50. These are canonized in terms of Silvers’ (a) criterion. A second group of 17 artists (Botticelli, Bramante, Giulio Romano, Masaccio, etc.) are among the 50 first artists in Vasari’s Vite, but disappear from the top group at some point after Vasari and reappear later. However, with the exception of Carpaccio and Bartolommeo della Porta (ignored by Félibien), Parmigianino (ignored by Burckhardt) and Salviati (ignored by Berenson), they are always present even if not among the top 50. These dynamics of being present, leaving and reappearing in the top group are not surprising, and are evoked by many art historians. With the exception of some (Leonardo, Giotto), most artists had darker periods. The case of Botticelli has often been underlined, but is far from being unique. Even Michelangelo was subject to negative criticism. Ludovico Dolce (1508-1568) “unfavourably compared his narrow expertise in depicting the male nude with the greater variety displayed by Raphael and Titian” (Grove, 1996, vol. 21, p. 459); some 150 years later, the critic Milizia thought that he did not understand anatomy (Junod, 1995). Even Raphael was mistreated at some point, as the “normative status that Poussin and Ingres and their followers gave to his art has certainly done much to diminish his popularity” (Grove, vol. 25, p. 910). Here are some other examples. Masaccio who had “laid the groundwork for what Raphael perfected” was in Raphael’s shadow from which Berenson finally removed him (Grove, vol. 20, p. 537). There has been “a quickening of interest in [Uccello’s] work in the 20th century, mainly because of its appeal to modern sensibilities” (Grove, vol. 31, p. 517). Carpaccio “stood in the shadow of the Bellini brothers, and it was not until John Ruskin’s passionate appraisal of his work in the 1860s that [he] 10 emerged as a fully autonomous artistic personality” (Grove, vol. 5, p. 822). Bronzino’s reputation declined with the reaction against maniera. “Only since World War II has he been recognized as the most sophisticated and technically accomplished Italian painter to embody the ideals of maniera” (Grove, vol. 4, p. 859). Parmigianino’s “reputation declined as his works became of less interest to practicing artists. There has been a new appreciation of his work in the 20th century” (Grove, vol. 24, p. 202). Cimabue temporarily lost some of his reputation after the Madonna di Rucellai which had been attributed to him by Vasari, was reattributed to Duccio by Berenson. All of those who were singled out by Vasari can therefore also be considered to have qualified in terms of criterion (a), failing despite scrutiny, to reveal defects sufficient to be disqualified. This makes for 25 out of 50 artists who are present in first circle of the late 20th century canon since 1568. Félibien. The next group of nine artists entered at the time of Félibien. Recall that Vasari found North Italian and Venetian artists less perfect than Florentine painters. This is why Tintoretto, Veronese, Giorgione, Bellini, and Corregio were only introduced by Félibien, though Vasari devoted to each of them sometimes long and favorable (in the case of Tintoretto, Giorgione and Corregio) vite or notes. Five among these nine artists (Tintoretto, Veronese, Giorgione, Piero della Francesca, and Corregio) never disappeared from the top group. The four others (Giovanni Bellini, Simone Martini, Antonello da Messina and Castagno) left the canon at some moments (Castagno, in particular, was considered vulgar by Cavalcaselle and Berenson), but were never omitted from the various narratives. One may consider that all nine entered the canon following Silvers’ criterion (b): previously unnoticed meritorious or agreeable properties sufficient to qualify them were discovered, or at least better underlined. Lanzi. Lorenzo Lotto and Jacopo Bassano -- both from Venice, the second is simply cited by Vasari, but discussed by van Mander and praised by Ridolfi, who “placed him among the great Venitians” (Grove, 1996, vol. 3, p. 351) -- were introduced by Lanzi, but disappear again with Burckhardt. Both found the acclaim they deserved thanks to Berenson and Venturi (1967, [1901]), but none of them is a new discovery since Vasari and Félibien knew them. Silver’s criterion (b) seems to apply again. Burckhardt. Similar arguments can be invoked for the three artists (Francesco di Giorgio, Luca Signorelli and Pollaiolo) introduced by Burckhardt. Berenson. Berenson introduces six additional artists at the dawn of the 20th century. Duccio appears obviously because of the famous Madonna di Rucellai that was attributed to him by Berenson. Domenico Veneziano has a vita (coupled with that of Castagno), but did not make it to the canon before Berenson. The Ferrarese artist 11 Tura, who was forgotten 50 years after his death in 1495, is one of the rare artists who has neither a vita nor a note in the Vite, appears quite late with Lanzi, thanks to the Ferrarese art historian Baruffaldi (1675-1755) who restored his reputation, and considered him as the founder and greatest representative of the Ferrarese school. He became part of the canon with Berenson, after art historians Campari (1821-1887) and Venturi (1856-1941) rediscovered his lost works through archives (Grove, 1996, vol. 31, p. 433). Together with him, appears Ercole di Roberti, also from Ferrara and Pisanello who used to work in Ferrara, Verona, Mantua, and Milan. Gentile’s case is somewhat different. He was “perceived as the consummate master of the late Gothic style [as] Masaccio alone was credited with the introduction of space and of light and shade into Renaissance painting” (Grove, vol. 12, p. 302). His role as a “progressive artist” was recognized only in the early 20th century. With the exception of Tura, all others are present in narratives since Vasari’s time. Here we may be getting to the borderline between Silvers’ criterion (b) of accessing the canon because of previously unnoticed meritorious properties, and criterion (c) of acquiring valuable properties sufficient to qualify. Chastel. Though they were present in almost all narratives since Vasari, Masolino, Lorenzo Monaco and Pietro Cavallini are canonized by Chastel, because new works by them were discovered or reattributed to them. This obviously qualifies them according to Silvers’ criterion (b) of unnoticed, but existing, properties. Masolino’s work had often not been distinguished from that of Masaccio, and it was only in the mid-19th century that his independent fresco cycle in Castiglione Olona was recovered, while one hundred years later the frescoes and sinopie of another cycle were discovered in Empoli (Grove, 1996, vol. 20, p. 553). Likewise, in the mid- 19th century, Crowe and Cavalcaselle reattributed to Lorenzo paintings that were thought by Giotto, Taddeo Gaddi and other 14th century painters (Grove, vol. 19, p. 683). Cavallini, finally, was thought a pupil of Giotto, and this view prevailed until the early 20th century. It was reassessed after the discovery of the Last Judgment in Santa Cecilia in 1900, followed by more works attributed to him later (Grove, vol. 6, p. 107). Grove. The two last cases are Jacopo Bellini and Paolo Veneziano. Bellini’s Venetian works were lost very early, and neither Vasari nor his team could have seen them. An important addition to Bellini’s work “came with the reappearance of the volume on parchment that was bought by the Louvre in 1884, which was followed by a wide range of critical writings. His high standing as an artist and his fundamental historical role were continually debated until the late 20th century when he received the recognition that is his due” (Grove, 1996, vol. 3, p. 654). Paolo Veneziano’s very late appearance with Chastel (though Chastel does not rank him among the top 50) is 12 due to the very recent realization that he was instrumental in merging Gothic and Byzantine art by quoting from both: "Understanding Paolo's art and that of Venice as a whole in this period has been hampered by a false dichotomy between Gothic and Byzantine influences and by the failure to appreciate the progressive role of Byzantine painting...[Paolo's] influence on later Venetian painters of the 14th century seems to have been fundamental and almost universal" (Grove, vol. 33, p. 33). Bellini is again clearly a Silvers’ (b) case. Paolo’s entry in the canon is more difficult to qualify, and could fall under Silvers’ (c) criterion. It is remarkable that Vasari gave birth to half of the late 20th century first circle’s canon, with artists satisfying Silvers’ criterion (a). Narratives made them being, almost always, part of the canon. Félibien, who was keen to take on board North Italian artists, added nine names. Lanzi and Burckhardt added five; Berenson made room for six, of which Tura may have entered because of newly discovered properties, Silvers criterion (c). Chastel added another three to the list. For reasons described in some detail before, Silvers’ criterion (b) is likely to apply to all of them, as well as to Jacopo Bellini. Paolo Veneziano should probably benefit from having entered the canon, thanks to Silvers criterion (c). There are thus two accessions to the canon for which criterion (c) could in principle have played a role: Tura and Paolo Veneziano, though it is hard to decide whether the reason is more ontological than epistemological. One may also appeal to criterion (c) for Uccello and Piero della Francesca who were praised for their “Cubist” manner. The French painter and art critic André Lhote (1930, cited by Del Buono, 2006, p. 169) thinks of Piero as the first cubist artist, and Clark (1983) “compares Uccello’s achievement to that of George Seurat and likened his methods to those of the Cubists” (Grove, 1996, vol. 31, p. 517). Flemish Painters A similar picture emerges for the Flemish canon in Table 5, for which we follow the same presentation as the one for the Italian Renaissance, starting with van Mander (1604) and Sandrart (1675), following up with Descamps (1753, 1760-1764), Fiorillo (1815), Immerzeel (1842, 1855), Wurzbach (1906-1911), van Puyvelde (1953, 1962; van Puyvelde & van Puyvelde, 1970) and ending with the Grove Dictionary (1996). van Mander and Sandrart. Six names (Pieter Breughel, Jan Van Eyck, Gossart, Metsys, Mor van Dashorst and Floris) appear with van Mander, and are there to stay. Van der Weyden should also be part of this group had he not been attributed many unworthy pictures during the 18th and 19th centuries (Grove, 1996, vol. 33, p. 13 127). Similar comments apply to Joos van Cleve following the confusion between him and his son Cornelis. Four additional painters (Rubens, van Dyck, Jordaens and Brouwer) could hardly have been singled out by van Mander, since they were too young in his time, but they are added by Sandrart, and do not leave the first circle of the canon. So is Vos who was already known by van Mander. Abraham Janssen leaves the canon during the 19th and 20th centuries, with a comeback in Grove’s Dictionary. By the time of Sandrart, 26 names -- that is, like in the Italian case, half of the contemporary canon’s first circle -- were already there in 1675. It may also be worth pointing out that out of the 23 artists of Lampson (1956, [1572]) canon, who wrote 30 years before van Mander, and 100 years before Sandrart, 13 are present in the Flemish contemporary canon. Some disappear from time to time over the centuries: Sandrart fails to mention Aertsen. Neither Sandrart nor van Puyvelde mention Vredeman de Vries; this may be due to the fact that he was mainly involved in trompe l’oeil wall paintings and architecture and fortifications engravings. Little is known about his paintings. But narratives kept going for all the others and they are part of today’s canon, most of them qualifying according to Silvers’ criterion (a). Descamps, Fiorillo and Immerzeel. Sandrart already mentions five of the seven names (Memling, Snyders, Teniers the Younger, Thulden, Breughel Velvet, Crayer and Heem) that enter next with Descamps. Thulden’s work was dismissed in the beginning of the 19th century, but is “beginning to be accorded [its] rightful place in the history of art.” (Grove, 1996, vol. 30, p. 789). Van Mander and Sandrart very briefly mention Hemessen, but “van Mander gave little information about him and failed to appreciate the avant-garde aspects of his work, characterizing him as an archaizing painter” (Grove, 1996, vol. 14, p. 381). He and Diepenbeek are rediscovered by Fiorillo in the early years of the 19th century only. So are Quellinus and Frans Francken II who appear somewhat later with Immerzeel in the mid 19th century. Wurzbach. A group of so-called Flemish primitives enters only in the beginning of the 20th century, some because more art historic research discovered them, some because their work had previously been misattributed. Friedländer’s important essays on early Netherlandish painters (1903, 1924-1937, 1956) are obviously no less important here than were those of Berenson.iii He introduces Petrus Christus, Gerard David, Dieric Bouts, Justus van Gent and The Master of Flemalle. Petrus Christus, for example, suffered from the lack of evidence concerning his artistic origins. David’s fame diminished after his death for unknown reasons. Dieric Bouts’ work was attributed to Memling until 1833, Justus van Gent’s to Pedro Berruguete (see Ainsworth, 1992). Though most of them were also known by Vasari, 14 they were forgotten until the beginning of the 19th century, where they started to be collected by Melchior and Sulpiz Boisserée from Cologne, and later studied and published by James Weale, who played a significant role in the rediscovery of Flemish painters, organizing large exhibitions in Bruges in 1867 and 1902. This rehabilitation, explains Sulzberger (1961), “is the consequence of a more general interest in the Middle Ages which develops jointly in Germany, France, England and the Low Countries. The cause has enthusiast defenders, but also powerful detractors whose opposition is based on their prestige; the conflict is fuelled by a conflict of generations, since those who are in favor of the gothic are young people, anxious to oppose to well-established values” (p. 9). Van Puyvelde. Finally, seven names enter the first circle during the 1950s only. The most important is the Master of Flémalle, so christened by von Tschudi in 1898 from three surviving parts of a lost panel. He was obviously “unhelped by a personality cult” (Grove, 1996, vol. 20, p. 672). Today, he is identified with Robert Campin, to whom Wurzbach devotes some space, and does also very briefly mention Flémalle. Pieter Brueghel II’s works were merely “recognized as copies and imitations of his father’s most famous compositions” (Grove, vol. 4, p. 910; Friedländer, 1956, p. 133), and his oeuvre was neglected in the 18th and 19th centuries. Finally, Isenbrandt’s works were thought to be by David, and reattributed in 1902 only. Grove. The three last introductions are due to the Grove Dictionary. Paul de Vos is mentioned by Descamps, Cornelis de Vos, much later, and Benson only in the beginning of the 20th century, probably in the wake of the exhibitions organized by Weale in Bruges in 1867 and 1902. Except for those artists who have been the object of misattributions, it is hard to say whether their late rediscoveries (that is after the time of Sandrart) are due either to their merely technical rediscovery, for example by von Tschudi or Weale, or to revealing previously unnoticed properties, that is, Silvers’ criterion (b) or to the acquisition of properties in the light of later artworks, that is, Silvers’ criterion (c). Conclusions Half of the artists in the two contemporary canons that we study had already been introduced 400 years ago [Silvers’ criterion (a)]. Wrong attributions (Duccio or the Master of Flemalle) or of new technical discoveries (Cavallini thought for long to be a pupil of Giotto, while he preceded him) prevented some names to be canonical any earlier. Some artists entered the canon at later times, given that art historians learnt to appreciate or to understand them better [Silvers’ criterion (b)]. The group of 15 artists who entered or were moved to the first circle because their works acquired new properties in the light of later works [Silvers’ criterion (c)] is small (Paolo Venezianoto, Uccello, Piero della Francesca, and to some extent, Tura). One may argue that changes of attributions and new discoveries (the Flemish primitives) are contextual and should be included in the latter group. Even this would not make their number very large. Though criteria such as invention, originality, newness and progress, and their relative weights in evaluating artists change over time, it is surprising that half of the canons were there almost from the beginning. This appears to be in contradiction with the suggestions made by Junod (1976), Genette (1994) and many others that canons are continuously moving and that no artist can survive forever. One reason for this apparent discrepancy may be that we examine two “closed” canons, that is, canons that make no room for artists who appeared after 1600, and for rather small (even if artistically important) regions of Europe. A contemporary canon that would be devoted to “European great painters of all times” would probably include Manet, Duchamp, Picasso, and Pollock, and certainly exclude Botticelli, not to speak about Pietro Cavallini, Thulden, Mostaert and van Coninxloo. But Leonardo, Michelangelo, Van Eyck and Rubens would probably be there to stay forever. Our finite memory gives more importance to newness and forces out “those whose classical status is most tenuous” (Westphal, 1993). The closed character of the canons that we examine, as well as appealing to well known historians may explain why we witness less discoveries or rediscoveries and shifts than those that Haskell (1976) describes. His celebrated work is mostly based on the behavior of art collectors and much less on the opinion of art historians, and changes of taste to which well-trained art historians such as those on whom we based our research should be less prone. Botticelli never left the canon. He became indeed peripheral during 200 years after Vasari’s description, but regained centrality with Burckhardt in his 1855 Cicerone. And so did many other Italian and Flemish painters who are the subject of this paper. Acknowledgments We are very grateful to two referees and to the editor of this journal for extremely useful comments. James Cutting’s remarks as well as his impressive analysis of the Impressionist canon, and his use of the Zipf distribution, clarified our views on the necessity to justify the number of painters who form the first circle of the canon. We are also very grateful to Philippe Junod for careful comments on a previous version and to Didier Martens who helped us selecting art historians and 16 artists to describe the Flemish canon. Referencesiv Ainsworth, M. (1992). Implications of revised attributions painting. Metropolitan Museum Journal, 27, 59-76. Bazin, G. (1986). Histoire de l'histoire de l'art. De Vasari à nos jours. Paris: Albin Michel. Berenson, B. (1926, [1894, 1896, 1897, 1907]). Les peintres italiens de la Renaissance (4 vol.). Paris: Editions de la Pléiade. This is the 1926 translation of Berenson’s four volumes Venetian Painters of the Renaissance (1894), Florentine Painters of the Renaissance (1896), Central Italian Painters of the Renaissance (1897), North Italian Painters of the Renaissance (1907). Bourdieu, P. (1983). The field of cultural production, or the economic world reversed. Poetics, 12, 311-356. Bourdieu, P. (1996). The rules of art. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bozal, V. (1997). Pinturas negras de Goya. Madrid: Tf. Editores. Burckhardt, J. (1855). Le Cicerone: Guide de l'art antique et de l'art moderne en Italie (2 vol.). Paris: Firmin-Didot. Chastel, A. (1995, [1956]). L'art italien. Paris: Flammarion. Clark, K. (1983). Paolo Ucello and abstract painting. In K. Clark (Ed.), The art of humanism. London: Murray. Coetzee, J. M. (2002). What Is a Classic? In J. M. Coetzee. Stranger shores. Essays 1986-1999. London: Vintage. Cutting, J. E. (2006a). Impressionism and its canon. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Cutting, J. E. (2006b). Mere exposure, reproduction, and the Impressionist canon. In A. Brzyski (Ed.), Partisan canons (pp. 79-94), Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Del Buono, O. (2006). Piero della Francesca. Paris: Flammarion. Descamps, J-B. (1753, 1760-1764). La vie des peintres flamands, allemands et hollandais. Paris: Chez Charles-Antoine Jombert, tome 1; Paris: Dessaint et Saillant, Pissot, Durand, tomes 2-4. Félibien des Avaux, A. (1967, [1725]). Entretiens sur les vies et sur les ouvrages des plus excellens peintres anciens et modernes; avec la vie des architectes. (Edited by 17 Sir Anthony Blunt, Farnborough: Gregg Press). Fiorillo, J. (1815). Geschichte der zeichnende künste in Deutschland und den vereinigten Niederlanden (4 vol.). Hannover: Bei den Gebrüdern Hahn. Friedländer, M. (1903). Meisterwerke der Niederländischen malerei des 15. und 16. jahrhunderts auf der ausstellung zu Brügge. München: F. Bruckmann. Friedländer, M. (1924-1937). Die altniederländische malerei (14 vol.). Leiden: Sijthoff. Friedländer, M. (1956 [1916]). From Van Eyck to Breughel. London: Phaidon Press. (Originally published in German in 1916 as Von Jan van Eyck bis Brueghel). Genette, G. (1994). L’oeuvre de l’art (2 vol.). Paris: Seuil. Ginsburgh, V., & Weyers, S. (2006). Persistence and fashion in art: The Italian Renaissance from Vasari to Berenson and beyond. Poetics, 34, 24-44. Gombrich, E. H. (1969). In search of cultural history. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Grove (1996). The Dictionary of Art (34 vol.). Edited by Jane Turner. New York: Grove. Haskell, F. (1976). Rediscoveries in art. Some aspects of taste, fashion and collecting in England and France. London: Phaidon. Hume, D. (1965 [1757]). Of the standard of taste. In On the standard of taste and other essays. Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Company. Hutter, M., & Shusterman, R. (2006). Value and the valuation of art in economic and aesthetic theory. In V. Ginsburgh & D. Throsby (Eds.), The handbook of the economics of art and culture. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Immerzeel, J. (1842). De levens en werken des Hollandsche en Vlaamsche kunstschilders, beeldhouers, graveurs en bouwemeesters van het begin der vijftiende eeuw tot heden. Amsterdam: J. C. Van Kesteren. Immerzeel, Johannes, Jr (1855). De levens en werken des Hollandsche en Vlaamsche kunstschilders, beeldhouers, graveurs en bouwemeesters van het begin der vijftiende tot op de helft der negentiende eeuw. Amsterdam: Gebroeders Diederichs (Unchanged reprint, Amsterdam: B. M. Israël, 1974). Junod, P. (1976). Transparence et opacité. Lausanne: L'Age d'Homme. Junod, P. (1995). Comment une oeuvre d’art devient un classique. In P. Gisel (Ed.), La selection (pp. 95-108). Lausanne: Editions Payot. Junod, P. (2002). Dans l'oeil du rétroviseur. Pour une histoire relativiste. Artibus et Historiae, 45, 205-221. 18 Junquera, J. J. (2003). The black paintings of Goya. London: Scala Publishers Ltd. Lampson, D. (1956, [1572]). Les effigies des peintres célèbres des Pays-Bas. Brussels: Desclée de Brouwer. Lanzi, A. (1824, [1789]). Histoire de la peinture en Italie depuis la Renaissance des beaux-arts jusque vers la fin du 18e siècle (5 vol.). Paris: Seguin/Dufart. Levinson, J. (1990). Artworks and the future. In J. Levinson, Music, art and Metaphysics (pp. 179-224) . Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Levinson, J. (1996). Work and oeuvre. In J. Levinson, The Pleasures of Aesthetics (pp. 242-273). Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Milo, D. (1986). Le phénix culturel: De la résurrection dans l'histoire de l'art. Revue Française de Sociologie, 27, 481-503. Panofsky, E. (1971). Early Netherlandish painting: His origins and character. New York: Harper and Row. Rajagopalan, K. (1997). Aesthetic ideology: The case of canon formation. British Journal of Aesthetics, 37, 75-83. Sandrart, J. von (1675). Teutsche academie der bau-, bild- und mahlerey-künste. Nürnberg (Neu gedruckt Nördlingen: Verlag Dr. Alfons Uhl, 1994). Silvers, A. (1991). The story of art is the test of time. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 49, 211-224. Simonton, D. (1998). Fickle fashion versus immortal fame: Transhistorical assessments of creative products in the opera house. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 75, 198-210. Sulzberger, S. (1961). La réhabilitation des primitifs flamands, 1902-1867. Bruxelles: Académie Royale de Belgique. Teyssèdre, B. (1964). L'histoire de l'art vue du Grand-Siècle. Paris: Julliard. van Mander, K. (1604). Het schilder-boeck. Haerlem: Paschier Van Wesbusch. Van Peer, W. (1996). Canon formation: Ideology or aesthetic quality. British Journal of Aesthetics, 36, 97-108. van Puyvelde, L. (1953). La peinture flamande au siècle des Van Eyck. Amsterdam: Elsevier. van Puyvelde, L. (1962). La peinture flamande au siècle de Bosch et Breughel. Paris: Elsevier. 19 van Puyvelde, L., &. van Puyvelde, T. (1970). La peinture flamande au siècle de Rubens. Bruxelles: Ed. Meddens. Van Rees, C. J. (1983), How a literary work becomes a masterpiece: On the threefold selection practiced by literary criticism. Poetics, 12, 397-417. Vasari, G. (1981, [1568]). Les vies des meilleurs peintres, sculpteurs et architectes. Edited by André Chastel, Paris: Berger Levrault. Venturi, A. (1967, [1901]). Storia dell'arte Italiana. Milano: Ulrico Hoepli (Reprinted by Kraus Reprints, Nendeln, Liechtenstein, 1967. Artists index compiled by Jacqueline D. Sisson, Nendeln, Liechtenstein, Kraus-Thompson Organization, 1975). Verdaasdonk, H. (1983). Social and economic factors in the attribution of literary works. Poetics, 12, 383-395. Verdaasdonk, H. (2003). Valuation as rational decision-making: a critique of Bourdieu’s analysis of cultural value. Poetics, 31, 357-374. Westphal, M. (1993). The canon as flexible, normative fact. The Monist, 76, 436-449. Wurzbach, A. von (1906-1911). Niederländisches künstler-lexikon (Reprinted Amsterdam: Boekhandel en Antiquariaat, B.M. Israël, 1963). 20 21 22 23 24 25 Appendix 1 Defining the two canons Italy Our interest centered on the parts of entry on Italian Art in Grove’s Dictionary, devoted to the following subsections of vol. 16, pp. 654-668: "Late medieval painting, c. 1100-c. 1400," "Early Renaissance painting, c. 1400-c. 1500," "High Renaissance and Mannerist painting, c. 1500-c. 1600." We collected all the names cited in these subsections. They appear in Table 1. Baldassare Peruzzi, Cima da Conegliano, and Federico Barocci have entries in the Dictionary whose length would qualify them to appear among the top fifty. They are not cited in the entry on Italian Art and therefore do not appear in the tables. Others, such as Pellegrino Tibaldi who are not cited either also have rather long entries, though they would not be ranked among the top fifty. Some names were excluded from our lists for the following reasons: (1) artists but not painters (Pietro Aretino, Leon Battista Alberti, Poggi Braccioloni, Brunelleschi, Leonardo Bruni, the della Robbias, Ludovico Dolce, Donatello, Marcilio Ficino, Francia, Lorenzo Ghiberti, Christoforo Landino, Nanni di Banco, Andrea Palladio, Angelo Poliziano, Marcantonio Raimondi, Jacopo Sansovino, Sebastiano Serlio, Vespasiano da Bisticci); (2) painters born less than 20 years before the publication of the Vite in 1568 who could hardly be described there (Michelangelo Caravaggio, Agostino, Annibale, and Ludovico Carracci, Lavigna Fontana, Galizia Fede, Marietta Tintoretto); and (3) others who were not artists, but supported them, such as the Medici, Niccolo Niccoli, etc. Lazzarro Vasari who has a vita was excluded since he is not cited by any other historian. So was Giorgio Vasari, mainly because in his Vite, he devotes 31 pages to Raphael's life and 42 to his own. Flanders The sections of interest in Grove’s entry on Flemish Art are "Before 1400," "1400-c. 1550," and "c. 1550-1600." We ignored names of artists quoted in the subsections devoted to "manuscript illumination," (p. 552-553 and p. 555) and "graphic arts" (p. 555-556). See Table 2. Barthelemy Spranger, Karel van Mander, Gérard Horenbout and Jan Kessel II have entries in the Dictionary whose length would qualify them to appear among the top fifty. They are not cited in the entry on Flemish Art and therefore do not appear in the tables. Some names were excluded for the following reasons: (1) in spite of being in the general entry, they have no personal entry in Grove’s Dictionary (Lucas 26 Achtschellinck, Thomas Willeboirts Bosschaert, Jan van der Asselt, Dieric Bouts II, Pierre de Bruxelles, Pieter van Coninxloo, Lodewijk De Dijster, Jehan de Gand, Anselm van Hulle, Godfried Maes, Theodoor Roeyermans, Jan van der Asselt); (2) they were artists but not painters (François Duquesnoy, Artus Quellinus); (3) they are cited in the general entry, but were mainly active in a foreign country (Jean de Beaumetz, Melchior Broederlam, Juan de Flandes, Master of Moulins, Master of the Parement de Narbonne, Michel Sittow, Justo Suttermans); (4) they are cited but are not Flemish artists (Maarten van Heemskerck); and (5) they were not artists (Justus Lipsius, etc.). We also attributed to Master of Flemalle the lengths of possible entries devoted to Robert Campin, since according to recent research, they are the same person, though there is also a small entry for Campin in Grove’s Dictionary. Since he is cited in the entry on Flemish painting, he nevertheless appears in the lists. Note that we introduce in the Flemish canon some painters, such as Aertsen, Mostaert and Heem, who were born in the North, because they were attracted to Flanders, in the same spirit that made us discard Flemish painters who left for Italy or Spain. Appendix 2 The canons’ first circles or Why 50? In this appendix we justify our choice of including 50 painters as first circle in both canons. We certainly do not want this first circle to become too large, since then, almost all the painters who are in the two Grove articles would be canonical. We decided to follow Cutting’s (2006a) suggestion and try to find a cutoff value using Zipf’s law, based on an empirical regularity observed in many fields (for the many domains of application, see http://www.nslij-genetics.org/wli/zipf/), including the arts as shown by Cutting. The “law” shows that the frequency or absolute number of occurrences of a certain category of N items (words in a language or in a given text, populations in cities, number of citations of artists, etc.), is related to the their ranks (1, 2, 3, etc.) in the category. The mathematical form that relates the two series of numbers can be written yixi α = C, (1) where yi is the frequency, or the number of occurrences of item i in a list, xi represents its rank,α and C are two parameters of the law that can be determined empirically by running the following linear in logarithms (log) regression: logyi = −α logxi + C. (2) 27 Figures 1 (Italian painters) and 2 (Flemish painters) illustrate the relations between length of the entries in Grove’s Dictionary (on the y-axis) and ranks (x-axis). The upper part of each figure illustrates equation (1), while the lower part illustrates equation (2). As can be checked, the upper parts of the two figures show that the relations are very non-linear. This is no longer the case in the lower parts of the two figures, at least up to a certain rank (represented on the horizontal axis). In both figures, it can be seen that the relation is roughly linear for ranks that are smaller than 1.70 (which happens to be the logarithm of 50), and drops afterwards. [Insert Figures 1 and 2 about here] The choice of the cutoff point, that is, the number of artists who belong to the first circle of the canon, can be determined by searching for the approximate rank after which (2) ceases to be linear. The intuition is therefore to run regressions of model (2), by varying M, the number of observations (here, the number of artists), and looking for the highest fit, measured by the coefficient of correlation (R2). Here we chose M = 10, 20, 30, …, N, where N = 125 for Italian and 129 for Flemish painters. Table A shows the values of the correlation coefficients associated to different choices of M. As is readily seen, the choice of M is 50 for Italian painters (R2 = 0.966) and should be M = 70 (R2 = 0.977) for Flemish painters if we followed strictly our choice criterion. To keep things symmetric, and since for Flemish painters, the correlation coefficient increases only slightly when going from 50 to 70 painters, we also chose M = 50. 28 Table A Determining the Number of Artists in the “First Circle” _______________________________________________________ Number of artists Coefficient of correlation of Eq. (2) __________________________________ Italian painters Flemish painters _____________________________________________________ 10 0.944 0.885 20 0.948 0.932 30 0.958 0.957 40 0.962 0.967 50 0.966 0.971 60 0.954 0.975 70 0.943 0.977 80 0.940 0.974 90 0.936 0.960 100 0.911 0.916 125 0.819 - 129 - 0.861 _____________________________________________________ 29 Figure 1. Zipf charts, Italian Painters 0 200 400 600 800 1000 1200 1400 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 140 lin es rank 0 0.5 1 1.5 2 2.5 3 3.5 0 0.5 1 1.5 2 2.5 lo g lin es log rank 30 Figure 2. Zipf Charts, Flemish Painters 0 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 140 lin es rank 0 0.5 1 1.5 2 2.5 3 0 0.5 1 1.5 2 2.5 lo g lin es log rank 31 Footnotes i The dates between square brackets refer to the original publication date. This indication is given only when the work is cited for the first time. ii Note that, in some interviews, the Spanish art historian Junquera, author of a monograph on Goya’s black paintings (Junquera, 2003) casts doubt about Goya being their author. iii They were both considering themselves as privileging connoisseurship and enjoyment of art rather than art history. Here is what Friedländer (1956, p. vi) writes about art historians: “The ability to attribute and check attributions will then follow automatically from study and enjoyment. Yes, from enjoyment! Many art historians, it is true, make it their ambition to exclude pleasure from art, in which, for obvious reasons, some of them succeed too well… Reasoning based on calculations and measurements is presented as the true method. A dry approach stands high in favor. Abstruseness, involved terminology, which makes the reading of art-historical books such torture, derives from that very ambition. Sometimes there are depths, but so obscure as to be worthless for the reader, generally all is shallow but cunningly troubled so as to suggest depths.” iv The dates between square brackets refer to the original publication date. 32 
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work_4ffmtdl4hfhedga3v745ot5gge	----	149 2019 ACTA UNIVERSITATIS CAROLINAE PAG. 149–161 PHILOSOPHICA ET HISTORICA 2 / STUDIA HISTORIAE ARTIUM III HOMOSEXUALITA A STARÉ UMĚNÍ: POZNÁMKY K INTERPRETACI MUŽSKÝCH RENESANČNÍCH PORTRÉTŮ LIUBOV MARSOVA Ústav pro dějiny umění, Filozofická fakulta Univerzity Karlovy E-mail: marsovaliubov@gmail.com ABSTRACT Homosexuality and Old Art: Notes to Interpretation of Male Portraits of Renaissance The paper is concerned with the problematic of one of the aspects of the perception of the male portrait of the Renaissance. The article is a separate chapter of the master’s thesis devoted to the male portrait of friends in Italian Renaissance painting. The contemporary (current) viewer can perceive old masters portraits rather ambiguously, including as im- ages of homosexuals. However, for such statements is necessary to realize very confidently what exactly “homosexuality” means and whether such a concept existed in the past. In addition, it is necessary to have as much knowledge as possible about the most varied aspects of the period under study, while always be aware that our knowledge is very mediocre and limited. The author critically analyzes the studies, in which the problem of the representation of homosexuality in old art is touched upon, and tries to identify meth- odological warnings for further interpretations. In conclusion, the author proposes new open discourses for future research in this field, encourages researchers to take a fresh look at not only the portraits of the Renaissance, but also at their own interpretations. Keywords: Portraits; Renaissance; homosexuality; Italy; art history; paintings; sexuality; Foucault; Giorgione; Pontormo; Titian; Raphael; Renaissance poetry; interpretation Homosexualita stále zůstává jedním z relativně málo probádaných témat v dějinách umění; minimálně kvůli tomu, že byla v širším společenském kontextu „objevena“ re- lativně nedávno a například v americkém prostředí si zatím udržuje charakter „boje za práva gayů“. V současnosti často vznikají publikace, které získávají popularitu převáž- ně díky svým provokativním názvům a které jsou postaveny zejména na spekulacích o  „kvantitě“ (například různé historické „seznamy“), nebo „kvalitě“ jednotlivců (vý- znamné osobnosti), čímž nepřesahují úroveň žlutého tisku. Ve své knize Homosexua- lita v dějinách české kultury Martin Putna označuje podobné spisy názvem „apologický biografismus“.1 Výše zmíněná literatura spíše odvrací zájem odborníků od zkoumání  této oblasti a  v  určité míře znevažuje ty seriózní odborné studie, které odvážně vznikají. Praktic- ky v každém případě nesou úvahy o vztazích starého umění a homosexuality charakter kritiky dosavadního bádání a uměleckohistorické sebereflexe. Nicméně odborníci by se neměli vzdávat podobných pokusů a předávat tento diskurs do rukou bulvárních autorů. Před začátkem pojednání o homosexualitě v renesančním umění je nutné položit ně- kolik důležitých otázek, odpovědi pak určují celkový charakter výzkumu. Základní otáz- 1 Martin C. Putna et al., Homosexualita v dějinách české kultury, Praha 2013, s. 24. https://doi.org/10.14712/24647055.2020.7 © 2020 The Author. This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0). 150 ka zní: co je homosexualita? Je nutné na to odpovědět aspoň v rámci jednoho konkrétního bádání. Nejde o to, co znamená homosexualita po medicínské a biologické stránce, ale o to, co se vnímá jako homosexualita při uvažování o uměleckém díle a co tak bylo vní- máno šest staletí před tím. Přestože na poslední otázku nelze odpovědět přesně, je onu neviditelnou linii zapotřebí určit. Pokud budeme přistupovat k otázce homosexuality z dnešního pohledu, je nutné začít zvláštní diskursem, jenž je ovšem těžko slučitelný s diskursem historickým. Stejná gesta, stejné pohledy, oblečení a jiné věci, které jsou dnes považovány za „symboly“ homose- xuality, nemusely být vnímané stejně člověkem minulosti. Jednalo by se spíš o výzkum vnímání (termín z literární vědy – tzv. receptivní estetiky). Uvažování o obrazu přestává být spojeno s dějinami vůbec, ale má vztah jenom k jednomu konkrétnímu uměleckému dílu v mimočasovém rozměru. V případě „historického“ diskursu je nutné aspoň přibližně pochopit, o čem se kon- krétně jedná, když mluvíme o „homosexualitě v umění 16. století“ a jaké existují podkla- dy pro zkoumání. Jak v „soudobém“ „vizuálním“ diskursu, tak i v diskursu „historickém“ se nelze vyhnout otázce – o čí homosexualitu se vlastně jedná? Klíčovým momentem pro pochopení homosexuality je vědomí toho, že homosexu- alita jako taková ve starší době vlastně vůbec neexistovala. To, co se pod tímto pojmem myslí dnes, je produktem kulturních dějin od 18. století. Michel Foucault poukazuje na to, že sexuální vztahy byly do té doby řízeny v rámci stejného systému (ze strany církve, občanského práva apod.) jako ostatní složky společenského života – stejný přístup jako kupříkladu ke krádeži či pomluvě byl aplikován také na hříchy typu manželská nevě- ry, incest a také „sodomie“. Pojetí „nepřirozenosti“, „úchylky“, které se začalo používat v odsuzující rétorice následujících staletí, tehdy neexistovalo, jak manželská nevěra, tak sodomie byly vnímány jako přestupek porušující zákon.2 Termín „sodomie“, kterým operovaly někdejší předpisy, přitom není přesně definován. Jednalo se ovšem v každém případě jednoznačně pouze o konkrétní fyzický čin – důraz na sny, touhy, duševní vnitřní procesy začal být kladen teprve po protireformačním období. Pro období renesance proto není snadné najít pro tuto oblast lidských vztahů správný termín. Zatímco „homosexu- alita“ jako pojem neexistovala, termín „sodomie“ do sebe zase nemůže zahrnout oblast vnitřních pocitů, myšlenek, platonické lásky, tedy právě to, co se vyhledává na portrétech ve starém umění. Pojetí homosexuality nepochybně odráželo dělení uvnitř určité společnosti (církev, aristokracie, buržoazie, rolnictvo), přičemž toto dělení není jediné možné (jiným je li- teratura, hudba, církevní předpisy, občanské zákony). Hřích sodomie byl dlouhou dobu přísně pronásledován církví a zakazován nařízeními vládnoucích autorit. Právě tyto zá- kazy a dokumentace pronásledování přitom dnes slouží jako hlavní podklad pro bádání v této oblasti. Například je známo, že tresty za „sodomii“ ze strany církve nebyly stejně kruté pro aristokracii jako pro rolnictvo.3 Pokud je řeč o homosexualitě autora uměleckého díla, je nejprve nutné zaujmout něja- ké stanovisko vůči otázce vztahu osobnosti „autora“ a jeho díla. V celé řadě badatelských prací 19. století byla postava „génia“ podstatná, k ní jako k centru se vztahovaly veškeré 2 Michel Foucault, Volja k istině: po tu storonu znanija, vlasti i seksuaľnosti, Moskva 1996, s. 97–133. – České vydání: Michel Foucault, Dějiny sexuality. I, Vůle k vědění, Praha 1999. 3 Guy Poirier, L’homosexualité dans l’imaginaire de la Renaissance, Paris 1996, s. 8–21. 151 nitky interpretace. První generace badatelů, kteří začali analyzovat homosexualitu v umění jako historický fenomén, přitom náleží právě k poslední čtvrtině 19. století. Stojí za zmín- ku například práce britského kritika a básníka Johna Addingtona Symonda ( 1840–1893). Ve svých knihách Life of Michelangelo, Life of Benvenuto Cellini, The Renaissance in Italy se poprvé pokusil překonat cenzuru a nepozornost starších badatelů, pokoušel se propojit osobní život umělců s jejich díly.4 Tato generace badatelů však nebyla schopna překonat určitá omezení své doby, jak metodologická, tak i filozofická. Často připisovali homose- xualitu historickým osobnostem na základě kritérií, která nemohou sloužit jako doklady: psychické zvláštnosti, netypické chování, odívání apod. Kromě toho si Symonds byl vě- dom své vlastní homosexuality a rozhodl se doplnit život Celliniho „nejtemnějšími chtíči, které deformovaly florentskou společnost své doby“.5 Další důležitou kapitolu tvořil také odkaz Sigmunda Freuda s jeho interpretací vzpo- mínky na dětství Leonarda da Vinciho. Ve své studii Vzpomínka z dětství Leonarda da Vinciho na základě dochovaných textů renesančního mistra dospívá k závěru, že umělec byl v důsledku nepřekonaného oidipovského komplexu založen homosexuálně, ale svou homosexualitu sublimoval do své tvorby a do platonických vztahů ke svým žákům.6 Freu- dova práce se stala velice inspirativní, neboť nabízela novou cestu interpretaci umělec- kých děl, avšak později byl tento psychoanalytický přístup přehodnocen. Ovšem po zrušení autora jakožto „centra“ umění Barthesem,7 Foucaultem8 a do jisté míry i  psychoanalýzou Lacana9 se zdá mluvit o  „géniovi“ jakožto o  základní postavě dějin umění skoro nevhodné, i když se nelze často obejít bez jeho konstrukce. Pochopení toho, zda pro určité bádání bude použito pojetí „autora“, je každopádně velice důležité, neboť se od toho odvíjí, jak bude vnímáno umělecké dílo. I kdyby nějaký umělec byl gay, nemuselo se to nutně projevovat v jeho umělecké tvorbě. Na druhou stranu to, že gayem nebyl, ještě neznamená, že téma nezobrazoval. Vztah autora k homosexualitě mohl být jakýkoliv, ale to, jak dílo žije v očích diváka, je úplně jiný příběh. Dále pokud se mluví o  homosexuálním modelu na nějakém portrétu, vzniká řada jiných problémů. Je-li zobrazená osobnost zároveň objednavatelem? Musí se něco z osob- ního života odrážet na barevné ploše? Dostáváme se do virtuální oblasti vztahů mezi umělcem a  jeho modelem a  mluvíme o  tom, jak umělec vnímal model a  jak model/ objednavatel chtěl být prezentován. Jaký byl objednavatel? Byla to stejná postava na portrétu a zároveň homosexuál, nebo homosexuál, který chtěl mít portrét nějakého člověka? Věčná otázka, která je vždy spo- jena s díly starých mistrů – kde je hranice mezi přáním objednavatele a úmyslem samot- ného autora? 4 James M. Saslow, Ganymede in the Renaissance: Homosexuality in art and society, New Haven – Lon- don 1986. s. 14. – Nebo Whitney Davis, Queer beauty: Sexuality and aesthetics from Winckelmann to Freud and beyond, New York 2010, s. 99–134. 5 Ibidem. 6 Sigmund Freud, Vzpomínka z dětství Leonarda da Vinci [Eine Kindheitserinnerung des Leonardo da Vinci (1910)], Praha 1991. – Putna (pozn. 1), s. 23. 7 Roland Barthes, Smrt autora, Aluze X, 2006, č. 3, s. 75‒77. 8 Michel Foucault, „Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur?“ (1969), Paris 1994. 9 Například Jacques Lacan, Séminaire Les quatre concepts fondamentaux de la psychanalyse. Les fonde- ments de la psychanalyse, Paris 1964. Autorka měla k dispozici ruské vydání: Jacques Lacan, Seminary, kniga XI (1964), Četyre osnovnyje ponjatija psychoanaliza, Moskva 2004. s. 116–130. 152 Konečně existuje ještě další „tvůrce“, který je pro nás nejbližší a zároveň nejvzdáleněj- ší – divák. Tuto „masku“ může použít každý z aktérů: umělec, který není vyloučen ze spo- lečnosti a reflektuje svou kulturu, ve které žije; objednavatel, který mohl buď dát umělci konkrétní zásady, anebo ho nechat tvořit samostatně; jsou to měšťané v Římě, Benátkách a Florencii, návštěvníci a přátelé; konečně to jsme i my, vytvářející tuto konstrukci vnímá- ní, náš vztah k homosexualitě je stejně důležitý a musí být zahrnut do diskursu. Opatrné formulace typu „nejednoznačná sexualita“ tento problém neřeší: taková „nejednoznač- nost“ se v podstatě rodí v očích diváka, nikoliv v barevné vrstvě.10 Ze všeho řečeného vyplývá, že homosexuální diskurs ve vztahu k dílům starého umění je velice složitým problémem a vyvolává víc otázek než odpovědí. Přehled dosavadního bádání Tématu homosexuality v renesančním umění byla v poslední době věnovaná aktivní pozornost badatelů, jejichž publikace se ovšem nedokázaly vyhnout některým problé- mům v přístupu, které byly probrány výše. Na tomto místě je nutné připomenout několik jmen, jejichž práce jsou s výzkumem homosexuality spojeny nejúžeji. Přestože například Guy Poirier se zajímá spíš o renesanci ve francouzském prostředí, metodologické po- střehy, které přináší v úvodu své knihy, jsou velice cenné.11 Patricia Simons se dlouhou dobu zabývá otázkou reprezentace homosexuality a „mužskosti“ v renesančním umění, zasahuje rovněž i  do feministického diskursu tím, že zkoumá problematiku ženského portrétu.12 Publikace Armandea Maggiho, primárně profesora literatury a dějin středo- věké italské kultury, jsou přínosné i pro renesanční umění, a to v tom smyslu, že dává představu o tom, jak byla otázka homosexuality reflektována ve spisech Marsilia Ficina a následující generace.13 Ulrich Pfisterer se zabývá tím, zda homosexuální vztahy mohly mít vliv na výtvarné umění: postupuje většinou skrze zkoumání literárních pramenů, dopisů a archivních dokumentů. Dá se říct, že jeho zájem o tuto problematiku se začal rozvíjet po jeho „objevu“ homosexuálního kontextu v díle římského medailéra Lyssipa.14 Christofer Reed rozbíjí rámec evropocentrismu tím, že zkoumá homosexualitu v umění z celosvětového hlediska, včetně zaoceánských kmenů a starobylých kultur. Snaží se po- rovnat rozmanitá pojetí homosexuality v různém prostředí a rozdílné vztahy mezi homo- 10 Patricia Simons, Homosociality and erotics in Italian Renaissance portraiture, in: Joanna Woodall (ed.) Portraiture, Manchester 1997, s. 29–51. 11 Viz Poirier (pozn. 3). V úvodu pod názvem Imaginaire et homosexualité? (Imaginárnost a homo- sexualita?) dává přehled literatury jak historického charakteru, tak i autorů, kteří se zabývali spíše psychoanalýzou. 12 Patricia Simons, Women in frames: The gaze, the eye, the profile in Renaissance portraiture, in: Norma Broude – Mary D. Garrard (edd.), The expanding discourse, Boulder 1992, s. 38–57. – eadem, Homosociality and erotics in Italian Renaissance portraiture, in: Joanna Woodall (ed.) Portraiture, Manchester 1997, s. 29–51. 13 Armando Maggi, On Kissing and Sighing, in: Beert C. Verstraete – Vernon Provencal (edd.), Same- -sex desire and love in Greco-Roman antiquity and in the classical tradition of the, Journal of Homose- xuality XLIX, 2005, č. 3–4, s. 315–339. 14 Ulrich Pfisterer, Lysippus und seine Freunde: Liebesgaben und Gedächtnis im Rom der Renaissance, oder, Das erste Jahrhundert der Medaille, Berlin 2008. 153 sexualitou a uměním.15 Marianne Koos a Jaynie Anderson zkoumají většinou benátské prostředí okruhu Giorgioneho. Jeho nejasné a mnohoznačné portréty se staly předmětem dlouhodobého zájmu těchto badatelek.16 Pod vedením Marianne Koosové rovněž vyšel sborník příspěvků věnovaných problematice homosexuality v umění.17 Bádání pokraču- je nadále a nabízí stále více otázek než odpovědí. Především chybějí prameny, které by dokázaly jednoznačně určit význam některých mužských portrétů. A kromě toho tzv. „nejednoznačnost“ například benátských mužských portrétů je výsledkem interpretace z pohledu současného diváka, a proto potřebuje velkou míru sebereflexe. Mužský renesanční portrét a homosexualita Nelze si nevšimnout, že ve většině případů portrétů anonymních žen v uměleckohis- torické literatuře se objevuje výraz „ideál krásy“, který prý neměl nějaký reálný prototyp, tedy existující ženu. Ale v případě mužské reprezentace se nejčastěji jedná o „představu osobnosti“, člověka jako takového, jehož ctnosti a zásluhy jsou samozřejmě akcentovány. Nakolik taková představa o mužském portrétu odpovídá realitě? Objednavatelem obrazů byl v převážné většině případů muž. Právě mužské publikum bylo adresátem výtvarného díla. Vyplývá z toho otázka, jestli mohl existovat také ideál krásy v mužském světě, který by nebyl ideálem vojenským, ideálem kondotiéra, dobyva- tele, ale krásy zženštilejší, mladé a křehké jako na portrétech mladých pastýřů, Amorů, Erótů, Ganymedů, sv. Sebastianů. Pro čí oči byla vytvořena podobná plátna? Pokud se ponoříme do dobové literatury – buď filozofického charakteru, nebo krásné literatury – situace se komplikuje. Jak již bylo poznamenáno, slovo „sodomie“ v záko- nech, předpisech a jiných dokumentech se vztahovalo jenom na fyzickou stránku vzta- hů, zatímco oblast duševních vztahů a touhy, vášní nebyla v době před protireformací ničemu podřízena. Velice nejednoznačně by se daly interpretovat pasáže Marsilia Ficina O lásce (jinak Komentář k Symposionu Platóna). Renesanční novoplatonik přímo tvrdí, že láska mezi muži je mnohem silnější a přirozenější než vztah se ženou.18 Přičemž je jasné, že Ficino nemá na mysli to, co se nazývalo „sodomií“, ale lásku platonickou, filo- zofickou, lásku jako ideální, všepohlcující přátelství. Je pravděpodobné, že by v dnešní době takové vztahy, ač nespojené s fyzickým vztahem, byly považovány za vztahy jed- noznačně homosexuální. Ovšem v minulosti taková rozdělení neexistovala – znamená 15 Dokonce uvádí tabulku, ve které se snaží porovnat tyto rozdíly: Christopher Reed, Art and homose- xuality: A history of ideas, New York – Oxford 2011, s. 8. 16 Jaynie Anderson, The Giorgionesque portrait II: Representations of homosociality, or the importance of friendship, in Renaissance Venice, in: Sylvia Ferino-Pagden (ed.), Giorgione entmythisiert, Turn- hout 2008, s. 155–173. – Jeanette Kohl – Marianne Koos – Adrian W. B. Randolph (edd.), Renaissance love: Eros, passion, and friendship in Italian art around 1500, Berlin – München 2014. 17 Mechthild Fend – Marianne Koos (edd.), Mänlichkeit im Blick: Visuelle Inszenierungen in der Kunst seit der Frühen Neuzeit, Köln 2004. 18 Marsilio Ficino – Nina Revjakina (ed.), Kommentarij na Pir Platona, in: Vasilij Zubov (ed.) Istorija estetiky. Pamjatniki mirovoj estetičeskoj mysli. Moskva, 1962. – Český překlad se zatím připravuje: https://www.kosmas.cz/knihy/122240/o-lasce-de-amore, vyhledáno 28. 7. 2017. – Viz Maggi (pozn. 14), s. 317–321. 154 to tedy, že objednavatelé portrétů tuto hranici nevnímali?19 Ideální přátelství a  láska v pojetí novoplatonismu se prakticky nerozlišovaly: když si uvědomíme tento rozdíl, nebudou vznikat chybné interpretace uměleckých děl, například reliéfu se zobrazením dvou mužů z  dílny Pietra Lombarda.20 Přestože se mohlo jednat o  zvláštní ilustraci Dialogu o lásce Marsilia Ficina, nelze považovat dílo za reprezentaci homosexuálních vztahů, jak je chápeme dnes.21 Renesanční novoplatonici také považovali mužskou krásu za nejdokonalejší, ale nej- spíš skrze pozorování; domnívali se, že prostřednictvím půvabného vzhledu člověkem prostupuje půvabná duše a  že osobnost, která má vnitřní hodnoty, bude mít i  vnější krásu. Zobrazení, vizuální kontakt je pro renesanční novoplatoniky klíčový. Uznávání milovaného člověka, empatie, vcítění – tyto hodnoty jsou povýšeny do procesu skoro magického, božského rázu. Samotný vzhled a pohled z hlediska novoplatonismu 15. sto- letí nabývá neobyčejné síly.22 Jako jeden z příkladů složitosti terénu, do kterého zde vstupujeme, lze uvést traktát Flaminia Nobiliho Il Trattato dell’amore humano (Traktát o  lidské lásce), ve kterém je představeno dost složité schéma druhů lásky a druhů polibků rozdělených na svaté, ob- čanské, zamilované a chlípné. Přičemž pouze ten poslední se vztahuje výhradně na vztahy mezi mužem a ženou.23 Samozřejmě že uvažování novoplatoniků nebyla vždy přijata. Například Francesco Sansovino v  Ragionamento d’amore zmiňuje, že společnosti novoplatoniků je třeba se vyhýbat, neboť jejich chování je dost pochybné. Tullia Aragonská v dopise Benedettu Varchimu velice ostře odsuzuje učení Marsilia Ficina.24 Nejvzdělanější osobnosti epochy jako Janus Pannonius, Pico della Mirandola, Galeo- tto Marzio da Narni a další byli s těmito myšlenkami, které se tehdy „objevovaly ve vzdu- chu“, obeznámeni. A pro dějiny zůstane navěky nejasné, zda například Jana Pannonia s Galeottem spojoval jenom přátelský vztah v moderním pojetí. Ztracený Galeottův por- trét, který namaloval Andrea Mantegna před rozloučením dvou přátel, je znám jenom podle veršů Jana Pannonia. Přestože verše se staly předmětem různých interpretací, ne- lze je považovat za doklad mileneckých vztahů.25 Stejně nelze říct nic konkrétního ani o  vztazích portrétovaných na dochovaných dílech: mezi Raffaelem a  jeho neznámým 19 Viz Foucault (pozn. 2). Ten označuje soudobou (20. století) společnost za „znovuobjevení viktori- ánství“. Ve třech dílech nedokončeného velkého projektu Dějiny sexuality Foucault analyzuje, jak zákazy a „normy“ určovaly lidské chování po celé dějiny. Dnešní společnost také nazývá společností perverzí. 20 Viz Anderson (pozn. 17) s. 168. 21 Pietro Lombardo (dílna): Reliéf s profily starého a mladého muže, 1495–1500, mramor, Kunsthistoris- ches Museum, Vídeň. [Obr. 1] 22 Viz Ficino (pozn. 19). – Originální text Marsilio Ficino, Sopra Lo Amore ovvero Convito Di Platone, 1914: https://archive.org/details/MarsilioFicinoSopraLoAmoreovveroConvitoDiPlatoneCarabba Editore1914, vyhledáno 28. 7. 2017. 23 Viz Maggi (pozn. 14), s. 315–339. 24 Ibidem. Maggi cituje spis Dialogo dell’infinit à d’amore (Dialogy o  nekonečnosti lásky) Tullie Ara- gonské. Tullia reaguje na otázku Varchiho o tom, jaký je její názor na milenecké vztahy mezi dvěma mládenci, neboť ve svém vztahu neusilují o pokračování rodu, a proto vyvstává otázka, zda jejich láska může být považována za „čistou“. 25 Ágnes Ritoók-Szalay, Andrea Mantegna e Giano Pannonio, in: Peter Farbaky – Louis A. Waldman (edd.) Italy & Hungary, humanism and the art in the early Renaissance, Milano 2011, s. 151–172. Interpretace veršů viz také Liubov Marsova, Přátelské portréty v italském renesančním malířství (di- plomová práce), Ústav pro dějiny umění FF UK v Praze, Praha 2017, s. 38–43. 155 přítelem26 nebo mezi dvěma mladými muži na obrazu Jacopa Pontorma.27 I když o fy- zický vztah, přísně zakázaný a odsuzovaný, se nejednalo, nelze jednoznačně odmítnout i to, že čistě platonické vztahy, tzv. ideální přátelství mohly mít i homosexuální náboj. Ještě jednou je třeba zdůraznit, že pojetí ideálního přátelství nevycházelo jenom ze spisů Cice- rona De amicitia, k nimž odkazuje jeden z protagonistů Pontormova obrazu, když drží citát z nich, harmonicky se prolínalo s tehdejším novoplatonismem. Lze zmínit například spis Leona Battisty Alberti, který nese název O rodině. Na základě spisů antických filo- zofů Alberti vynáší vztahy mezi dvěma muži na nejvyšší stupeň své hierarchie vztahů.28 Alberti nepochybně byl ovlivněn soudobým novoplatonským myšlením, které poznal na setkáních tzv. Platonské akademie v medicejské vile v Careggi. Složitá situace vzniká v oblasti benátských portrétů. V Benátkách vzniká zvláštní žánr zobrazení většinou mladých „ideálů“ mužské zženštilé krásy v  podobě děl na hranici alegorie a portrétu. Dokonce i obraz připisovaný dnes Giorgionemu v Palazzo Venezia v Římě mohl být objednán jedním z podobných sběratelů kolekcí, které obsahovaly por- tréty mladých pastýřů, amorů apod., obeznámeného s novoplatonskými představami, čtoucího traktáty o lásce.29 Portrét mohl vystupovat jako plnohodnotný společník, které- mu chybí jenom hlas. Vizuální ztělesnění ideálu mužské krásy mohlo být také i objektem lásky. Básně nalezené Ulrichem Pfistererem jsou věnovány portrétu krásného mladého „Daniela“, do kterého se autor veršů zamiloval natolik, že hodlá skončit svůj život sebe- vraždou. Lhostejnost obrazu, jeho chladnost a nepřístupnost hubí básníka, jako odraz sebe samého ve vodní hladině hubí mladého Narcise: Na dospívajícího Daniela v rozpuku Ó pevná naději, která mi září, obraze Daniela, zřítelnice mých očí už po dlouhý čas. Jsem spalován láskou k tobě a střelu nosím v hrudi raněn, a ty se nestaráš o naši (= mou) bolest. Před tvou tváří probodnu mečem svou hruď a vypustím duši se zuřivou bolestí. Na můj náhrobek budou napsány takové zpěvy: Tady leží. Pohleďte, mládenci, na toho, jehož onen proradný spanilý Daniel krutou smrtí zahubil. Říká se o tobě, že jsi svědek i původce mé smrti.30 26 Raffaello Santi: Autoportrét s přítelem, 1518–1520, olej na plátně, 99 × 83 cm, Louvre, Paříž. [Obr. 2] 27 Jacopo Carucci, zv. Pontormo: Portrét dvou přátel, kol. 1523–1524, olej na dřevě, 88 × 68 cm, Galleria di Palazzo Cini, Fondazione Cini, Benátky. [Obr. 3] 28 Leon Battista Alberti, Knigi o semje, Moskva, 2008, s. 242–318. 29 Giorgione da Castelfranco (přip.): Portrét mladíka s  bigarádií v  ruce a  sluhou v  pozadí, kol.   1502–1509, olej na plátně, 80 × 68 cm, Museo Nazionale del Palazzo Venezia, Řím. [Obr. 4] 30 [Překlad podle originálního textu]: ZODOMI IN DANIELEM ADOLESCENTVLVM PRIMARIVM // 0 Spes firma mihi fulgens Danielis ymago / Luminibus pupilla meis iam tempore longo / Vror amore tui telumque in pectore porto / Saucius & nostri non est tibi cura doloris. / […]/ Ante tuos vultuo [sie] gladio mea pectora dextra / Percutiam ejfundamque animam foribundo dolore. / Talia dehinc nostro scribentur carmina saxo: / Hic jacet aspicite, o Iuvenes, quem perfidus ille / Formosus daniel crudeli morte peremit, / Spectatosque mee mortis et diceris autor. Přepsáno z Ulrich Pfisterer, Freundschaftsbilder – Liebesbilder: Zum visuellen Code mänlicher Passionen in der Renaissance, in: Sibylle Appuhn-Radtke – Esther P. Wipfler (edd.), Freundschaft, München 2006, s. 239–259; s. 253, 156 Dalším poukazem na vztah mužského portrétu a homosexuálního náboje může být portrét také zmíněný Pfistererem, pocházející od benátského malíře Francesca Torbida.31 Řádek z veršů zobrazený na plátně je citátem z poezie Girolama Angeriana, reflektující řecké antické básnictví věnované homosexuální lásce. Do stejné poetické linie patří rov- něž verše vytvořené bratrem zmíněného Leonica Tomea, Bartolomea Fusca v Benátkách, věnované portrétu Giovanniho Belliniho.32 Interdisciplinární bádání, kterých by se zúčastnili historici umění, každodennosti, sexuality a filologové, se mohou stát pramenem pro nové výklady uměleckých děl. Pro- pojení výtvarného umění a  umění básnického je příznačné pro evropskou tradici od nejstarších časů. Pro italské renesanční umění lze uvést příklad florentského básníka zv. il Burchiello. Záhadné a složité sonety tohoto autora jsou předmětem sporů různých ba- datelů.33 Nicméně odvážím se vyslovit předpoklad, že výrazové prostředky nebo „kódy“ použité básníkem byly součástí dobové kultury a mohly být svým způsobem aplikovány rovněž ve výtvarném umění, například pro žánr portrétu. Zvlášť se to týká těch případů, kdy význam zobrazení nemusel být jasný pro každého, kdy se jednalo o  portrét sou- kromého charakteru určeného pro intimní prostředí, jako jsou portréty blízkých přátel nebo milenců. Podobnou analýzou se zabýval například již zmíněný historik umění John Shearman. Porovnával například básnické přístupy oslovení čtenáře a zapojení diváka do obrazu pomocí vizuálních nástrojů, jimiž je pohled portrétovaného, nebo gesta, se kterými se zobrazený obrátí na pozorovatele.34 Závěr Jako objednavatel a divák uměleckého díla vystupoval převážně muž. Nelze jednoduše říct, z jakého důvodu si mohl objednávat zobrazení mladých mužů, která neměla reálný prototyp. Mohlo se jednat o nostalgii vlastního mládí, o abstraktní pozorování ideálu krásy a/nebo erotický podnět (v dnešním pojetí) nebo všechno dohromady – nelze to chápat jednoznačně. Pravděpodobné se jeví jedině to, že podobné portréty náležely k ve- lice intimní oblasti lidského života a nebyly určeny pro širokou veřejnost. Pojetí „ideálního přátelství“ harmonicky absorbovalo jak antické spisy, tak renesanční novoplatonskou filozofii. Nejpodstatnější je to, že pojetí lidských vztahů vůbec se výraz- ně lišilo od toho dnešního. Ideální přátelství zahrnovalo také i nefyzickou, platonickou pozn. 1. Děkuji panu PhDr. Josefu Šimandlovi, Ph.D. za podstatnou pomoc při překládání latinského textu. 31 Francesco Torbido, Portrét mladíka s růží, 1516, olej na plátně, 62 × 51,8 cm, Alte Pinakothek, Mni- chov. [Obr. 5] 32 Jennifer Fletcher, Harpies, Venus and Giovanni Bellini’s  classical mirror: Some fifteenth century Venetian painters responses to the antique, in: Gustavo Traversari (ed.), Congresso Internazionale Venezia e l’Archeologia, Roma 1990, s. 170–176. 33 Poslední vydání sonetů s  potvrzeným autorstvím: Domenico di Giovanni detto il Burchiello  – Antonio Lanza (ed.), Le poesie autentiche di Domenico di Giovanni detto il Burchiello, Roma, 2011. Interpretace sonetů viz: Alan K. Smith, Fraudomy: reading sexuality and politics in Burchiello, in: Jonathan Goldberg (ed.), Queering the Renaissance, Durham, 1994, s. 84–106. Antonio Corsaro, Appunti sull’autoritratto comico fra Burchiello e Michelangelo, in: Aldo Galli – Chiara Piccinini – Massimiliano Rossi (edd.), Il ritratto nell’Europa del Cinquecento, Firenze 2007, s. 117–136. 34 John K. G. Shearman, Only connect: Art and the spectator in the Italian Renaissance, Princeton 1992, s. 115–117. 157 lásku, která by mohla být z  dnešního pohledu chápána jako homosexuální. Takzvaná „sodomie“, fyzický akt, byla pronásledována množstvím zákonů, zákazů, policií, církví, obecnou morálkou. Ale nefyzické vztahy v podstatě nebyly omezeny. Je nutné podotknout, že žádné poznatky o intimních vztazích nemohou být základem definitivního výkladu uměleckého díla. Týká se to i případů, které jsou jaksi „potvrzené“ dokumenty ohledně některých umělců. Rozsáhlé pasáže, ve kterých Giorgio Vasari od- suzoval chování malíře Sodomy,35 nemohou sloužit jako klíč pro traktování jeho tvorby, stejně jako i případ Benvenuta Celliniho.36 Řeč je především o rozšíření kontextu, o zapo- jení do naší představy o minulosti neviditelných „aktérů“, skrytých za oponu historických předsudků, cenzury, náboženských a občanských zákazů. LITERATURA A PRAMENY Leon Battista Alberti, Knigi o semje, Moskva 2008. Jaynie Anderson, The Giorgionesque portrait II: Representations of homosociality, or the importance of friendship, in Renaissance Venice, in: Sylvia Ferino-Pagden (ed.), Giorgione entmythisiert, Turnhout 2008. Roland Barthes, Smrt autora, Aluze X, 2006, č. 3. Benvenuto Cellini, Žizň Benvenuto Cellini, Moskva, 1958. Antonio Corsaro, Appunti sull’autoritratto comico fra Burchiello e Michelangelo, in: Aldo Galli – Chiara Piccinini – Massimiliano Rossi (edd.) Il ritratto nell’Europa del Cinquecento, Firenze 2007. Mechthild Fend – Marianne Koos (edd.), Mänlichkeit im Blick: Visuelle Inszenierungen in der Kunst seit der Frühen Neuzeit, Köln 2004. Marsilio Ficino – Nina Revjakina (ed.), Kommentarij na Pir Platona, in: Vasilij Zubov (ed.) Istorija este- tiky. Pamjatniki mirovoj estetičeskoj mysli. Moskva, 1962. – Český překlad se zatím připravuje: https:// www.kosmas.cz/knihy/122240/o-lasce-de-amore, vyhledáno 28. 7. 2017. Marsilio Ficino, Sopra Lo Amore ovvero Convito Di Platone, 1914: https://archive.org/details/MarsilioFicinoSopraLoAmoreovveroConvitoDiPlatoneCarabbaEditore1914, vyhledáno 28. 7. 2017. Jennifer Fletcher, Harpies, Venus and Giovanni Bellini’s classical mirror: Some fifteenth century Vene- tian painters responses to the antique, in: Gustavo Traversari (ed.), Congresso Internazionale Venezia e l’Archeologia, Roma 1990. Michel Foucault, Volja k istině: po tu storonu znanija, vlasti i seksuaľnosti, Moskva 1996. – České vydání: Michel Foucault, Dějiny sexuality I, Vůle k vědění, Praha 1999. Michel Foucault, „Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur?“ (1969), Paris 1994. Sigmund Freud, Vzpomínka z dětství Leonarda da Vinci [Eine Kindheitserinnerung des Leonardo da Vinci (1910)], Praha 1991. Domenico di Giovanni detto il Burchiello – Antonio Lanza (ed.), Le poesie autentiche di Domenico di Giovanni detto il Burchiello, Roma 2011. Jeanette Kohl – Marianne Koos – Adrian W. B. Randolph (edd.), Renaissance love: Eros, passion, and friendship in Italian art around 1500, Berlin – München 2014. Jacques Lacan, Seminary, kniga XI (1964), Četyre osnovnyje ponjatija psychoanaliza, Moskva 2004. Armando Maggi, On Kissing and Sighing, in: Beert C. Verstraete – Vernon Provencal (edd.), Same-sex desire and love in Greco-Roman antiquity and in the classical tradition of the, Journal of Homosexuality XLIX, 2005, č. 3–4. Liubov Marsova, Přátelské portréty v italském renesančním malířství (diplomová práce), Ústav pro dějiny umění FF UK v Praze, Praha 2017. 35 Giorgio Vasari, Žizněopisanija naibolee znamenitych živopistcev, vajatelej i zodčich, polnoje izdanije v odnom tomě, Moskva 2008. s. 928–935. 36 Benvenuto Cellini, Žizň Benvenuto Cellini, Moskva 1958, s. 537, pozn. 1 ke kap. XCIX. 158 Ulrich Pfisterer, Lysippus und seine Freunde: Liebesgaben und Gedächtnis im Rom der Renaissance, oder, Das erste Jahrhundert der Medaille, Berlin 2008. Guy Poirier, L’homosexualité dans l’imaginaire de la Renaissance, Paris 1996. Martin C. Putna et al., Homosexualita v dějinách české kultury, Praha 2013. Christopher Reed, Art and homosexuality: A history of ideas, New York – Oxford 2011. Ágnes Ritoók-Szalay, Andrea Mantegna e Giano Pannonio, in: Peter Farbaky – Louis A. Waldman (edd.), Italy & Hungary, humanism and the art in the early Renaissance, Milano 2011. James M. Saslow, Ganymede in the Renaissance: Homosexuality in art and society, New Haven – London 1986. John K. G. Shearman, Only connect: Art and the spectator in the Italian Renaissance, Princeton 1992. Patricia Simons, Women in frames: The gaze, the eye, the profile in Renaissance portraiture, in: Norma Broude – Mary D. Garrard (edd.), The expanding discourse, Boulder 1992. – eadem, Homosociality and erotics in Italian Renaissance portraiture, in: Joanna Woodall (ed.) Portraiture, Manchester 1997. Alan K. Smith, Fraudomy: reading sexuality and politics in Burchiello, in: Jonathan Goldberg (ed.), Queering the Renaissance, Durham 1994. Giorgio Vasari, Žizněopisanija naibolee znamenitych živopistcev, vajatelej i  zodčich, polnoje izdanije v odnom tomě, Moskva 2008. Whitney Davis, Queer beauty: Sexuality and aesthetics from Winckelmann to Freud and beyond, New York 2010. Joanna Woodall (ed.), Portraiture, Manchester 1997. HOMOSEXUALITY AND OLD ART: NOTES TO INTERPRETATION OF MALE PORTRAITS OF RENAISSANCE Summar y The paper is concerned with the problematic of one of the aspects of the perception of the male portrait of the Renaissance. The article is a separate chapter of the master’s thesis devoted to the male portrait of friends in Italian Renaissance painting. The contemporary (current) viewer can perceive old masters portraits rather ambiguously, including as im- ages of homosexuals. However, for such statements is necessary to realize very confident- ly what exactly “homosexuality” means and whether such a concept existed in the past. In addition, it is necessary to have as much knowledge as possible about the most varied aspects of the period under study, while always be aware that our knowledge is very me- diocre and limited. The author critically analyzes the studies, in which the problem of the representation of homosexuality in old art is touched upon, and tries to identify meth- odological warnings for further interpretations. In conclusion, the author proposes new open discourses for future research in this field, encourages researchers to take a fresh look at not only the portraits of the Renaissance, but also at their own interpretations. 159 Obrázek 1: Pietro Lombardo (dílna): Reliéf s  profily starého a  mladého muže, 1495–1500, mramor, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vídeň. Převzato z: Alison Luchs, Tullio Lombardo and ideal portrait sculpture in Renaissance Venice: 1490–1530, Cambridge 1995, s. 273, fig. 127 Obrázek 2: Raffaello Santi: Autopor- trét s  přítelem, 1518–1520, olej na plátně, 99 × 83 cm, Louvre, Paříž. Převzato z: Sylvie Béguin – Odile Menegaux, Les peintures de Raphael au Louvre, Paris 1984, s. 39 160 Obrázek 3: Jacopo Carucci, zv. Pon- tormo: Portrét dvou přátel, kol. 1523–1524, olej na dřevě, 88 × 68 cm, Galleria di Palazzo Cini, Fondazione Cini, Benátky. Převzato z: Alessan- dro Cecchi  – Antonio Natali  – Carlo Sisi (edd.), L’officina della maniera: Varietà e fierezza nell’arte fiorentina del Cinquecento fra le due repubbliche 1494–1530, Venezia, 1996, s. 296, kat. heslo 104 Obrázek 4: Giorgione da Castelfran- co (přip.): Portrét mladíka s  biga- rádií v  ruce a  sluhou v  pozadí, kol. 1502–1509, olej na plátně, 80 × 68 cm, Museo Nazionale del Palazzo Venezia, Řím. Převzato z: Anderson (pozn. 17), s. 159, fig. 4 161 Obrázek 5: Francesco Torbido, Por- trét mladíka s  růží, 1516, olej na plátně, 62 × 51,8 cm, Alte Pinako- thek, Mnichov. Převzato z: Pfisterer (pozn. 30), s. 241, Abb. 1 
work_4ir6mfe7a5hmheaidkipdxhfvi	----	Davis, J. 2020.Holotipus rivista di zoologia sistematica e tassonomia I (2) 2020: 49-76 H o l o t i p u s s p e c i a l i s s u e 2020 HT PUBLISHER U N I F I C AT I O N O F K N OW L E D G E Holotipus is an open access, peer -reviewed scientific journal devoted to Zoology, Systematics and Taxonomy. Special issues are dedicated to editorials and scientific papers focused on Art and Biology. Submitting papers should be addressed to Publisher, Chief Editor or Managing Editor. holotipus@holotipus.it Designed, published and printed in Italy by Holotipus publisher & ActionKlavier studio, Corso Peschiera 315/A, 10141 Torino Holotipus rivista di zoologia sistematica e tassonomia ISSN 2704-7547 Chief Editor Carlo Arrigo Casadio Managing Editor Pier Cacciali Sosa Senior Editor for BioArt Joe Davis Senior Language Editor Michael Skalicki Junior Language Editor Claudia Geria Printed version in 25 numbered copies is deposited at BNCN in Firenze, IT ISBN 979-12-80005-01-4 DOI 10.5281/zenodo.4362201 urn:lsid:zoobank.org:pub: E73BDDC6-69AC-4E76-8B11-71F544E3DF5A Pictures by Vincent Fournier from Post Natural History · 2012-ongoing Front cover image [Manouria praecognito] BLACK CELESTIAL TORTOISE Divine Tortoise Animal used to observe and divine the future through constellations. Dynamic display of the Milky Way on the shell. U N I F I C AT I O N O F K N OW L E D G E IntroductIon by Matteo Grasso text by Joe davIs PIctures by vIncent FournIer 59. [Oryctes transmissionis] RHINO BEETLE Insect adapted for continuous tracking GPS receiver in the horn acts as an integrated antenna. Secretion of a two-layer ABS/Plexiglas material. Accurate time signals. Head and thorax made with aluminum for short-wavelength transmissions in the ISM band from 2,400–2,480 MHz. Able to withstand accelerations of 12,000 g or about 118 km/s2. Additional L5 frequency band at 1.17645 GHz. 62. [Zerdas hypnoticus] WHITE FENEC Ability to enter and control the mind. Provides unparalleled access (haemodynamic response) to detailed patterns of activity in the human brain. Data storage. For this special issue we thank Pedro Medina Reinón, IED Madrid & Artecontexto Chiara Lunazzi, Università degli studi di Torino, Italy. OPEN ACCESSHOLOTIPUS EDITORIAL introduction BioArt is a broad term used to introduce many artworks. In order to simplify, two main points of focus could be examined: one is devoted to increasing and ordering our knowledge about life, whilst the second one involves the ethical implications derived from the “living” tissue on which BioArtists work. Last but not least, the “device” matter. This helps to accentuate the emphasis on the display, intended as dialogic process. This is easily done: interaction between biology and human being. However these two share more than one goal. In fact, they are responding to connections drawn from the human history. These connections are often marked by amazing events in technological or social fields, thus resuming a linear time scan. Joe Davis is an affiliate researcher in the biology department at MIT and Harvard Medical School – George Church Laboratory, Massachussets, U.S.A. His artworks, carried out with a science-based approach, investigate philosophical issues working on topics which can be considered very “small” -such as texts and graphic in DNA- compared to others -such as astrobiology-. Davis’ efforts have often been quoted in the scientific literature. In fact, he is currently cooperating with Holotipus as a senior editor. Vincent Fournier is a French art photographer. Relating space, utopian architecture and live technology he is inspired by visions and scientific utopias in order to make them resound in the collective imaginery. Issues and tensions are suspended between reality fiction and science. In doing so, Fournier stresses the visible – invisible boundary in his artworks, uncoupling what is natural from what is not. His works can be easily seen at Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art (New York), at Centre Pompidou in Paris and at other important museums. The extensive experience of Davis stresses a renaissance interdisciplinarity which needed to be recovered. Fournier’s work warns us not to neglect the importance of an in depth analysis that appears to us as a stream of consciousness, just like the expressionist writing style. As Hauser wrote (2005), the taxonomic origin of the term BioArt is not simply a hybrid or a teratological, cultural organism. Nevertheless the focus is still on the time. The latter continues to assert itself in a punctual and homogeneous continuum. Starting to get through historical materialism, BioArt has moved away from the Greek supremacy of the witness gaze. Industrial and technological revolutions, social events and punctuated linearity of time were reinforced by the value-based on Natural Science, as an ideal (Agamben, 2001), distancing us from a genuine reunification. Instead art and science share the observation time, such as the occurrence of an event. We can and must restate the unity, not just endure it as an ideal. Rethinking a new perception of time. Davis’ reference to “doing” as well as Fournier’ “showing” is not left to chance. It is in acting that we escape time and we approach History, pleasure and joy in discovery which combine art and science. As the publisher of Holotipus, I am delighted to introduce Davis and Fournier to an ever wider audience, such as zoologists and taxonomists. I am absolutely convinced that art aims to innovation to zoology, therefore a pivotal and contemporary goal. U N I F I C AT I O N O F K N OW L E D G E Joe Davis joedavis@mit.edu Laboratory of Thomas Schwartz, MIT Department of Biology, Building 68 Room 480 Cambridge, MA 02139. Laboratory of George M. Church, Harvard Medical School, Department of Genetics NRB232 New Research Building 77, Avenue Luis Pasteur, Boston, MA 02115, United States of America Davis, J. 2020. Holotipus rivista di zoologia sistematica e tassonomia I (2) 2020: 49-76 Introduction by Matteo Grasso. Received on 21 April 2020 / Accepted on 1 June 2020 / Published on 24 December 2020 63HOLOTIPUS SPECIAL ISSUE With reference to an artist’s wealth of knowledge, scientific information plays a key role. Specific knowledge of cosmos and heavenly bodies heavily characterizes Adam Elseimer’s work (German artist at the turn of the 16th and 17th century, well known for his tiny, meticulous landscapes and mythological representations). In “The flight to Egypt”*, preserved in Moscow, there are stars, the moon and the milky way. Moreover, they are represented as they had been observed for the first time through the telescope conceived by Galileo Galilei**. Designed in Venice, the telescope is the outcome of his studies on optics. In addition to that, during the Baroque period there were lively contacts between scientists and artists, which extended far beyond Leonardo Yet in our own time, artists can not understand physics or chemistry, law, philosophy, medicine, or astronomy. The deep connections between art and mathematics are all but forgotten and in many cases, even music and history have been removed from the list. While we continue to call upon artists to describe the whole world, whatever artists choose to remain clueless about simply cannot be described. The conceiving and doing paintings and their aspect ratio are based on mathematics. In “Flagellation of Christ”, painted by Piero della Francesca in 1444 or 1451: the golden section (Divine proportione or Constant of Fidia) postulated by Luca Pacioli, carries the base of painting in the proportional relationship AB:AC = AC:AB. Until relatively recently, technological advancement seems to have come hand-in-hand with the grand fragmentation of knowledge into arbitrarily concise subjects and specialized categories. Scholars of the humanities now acknowledge that the separation of arts and sciences was an artificial one perpetuated by centuries of history that turned metaphysics into the foundation of all things artistic. The machinery of this historical artificiality and its categories can be traced back to the 18th century’s Romanticism, an artifact of the “Counter-Enlightenment” that has now assumed a kind of de facto reality. Times have changed in ways that could not have been foreseen by Marcus Vitruvius Pollio. In the majority of cultural contexts, artistic thought and practice have been relegated to the fringes of society as frivolous, trivial or ornamental where art is most often thought of as a means to decorate rather than to innovate. However, these notions call for some pretense or disregard of history. Art students in our own era generally have no idea that this is a constructed separation of art and science and that artists contributed to the invention of mathematics, astronomy, chemistry, physics and biology. The idea that great advances in art and science can be part of the same pursuit has become increasingly difficult to reconcile. There is a surviving impression that artists have unique abilities to draw together ideas from all quarters in order to represent our collective dreams and aspirations. Art is still expected to summon the human spirit. We depend on artists to predict the future and to answer deep questions about the mysteries of life. Artists are still expected to interpret the world for us. It is no secret that in the modern world, artists are mostly unemployed. Nevertheless, it would be a grave mistake to extrapolate from the privileged and insular art markets of say, London or New York to gauge potential impacts that the arts can have on society at large. Just as in many cases, the dry, empirical operations of scientific research might lead us to believe that they cannot become importantly poetic, or aesthetically relevant. The scientific search for extra-terrestrial intelligence, interpretation of dreams in Freudian psychoanalysis and mind-bending aspects of quantum physics might be counted as several contrary examples. So, what kind of background do artists need now to make significant contributions to society? Artists still require broad knowledge. Ideas about the grand synthesis of knowledge inspired the first universities and centers of learning in medieval Europe, medieval China and Japan. In addition to that, the Royal Societies and great academies of the European “Enlightenment” (the Age of Reason) were also founded thanks to these ideas. These same aspirations have resonated with every historic movement of mind, every intellectual elite, every perestroika of the exact sciences and liberal arts. In fact, the idea that artists have special abilities to reach out across domains may stand as evidence that some kind of unification among them already exists. 65 UNIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE HOLOTIPUS SPECIAL ISSUE Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, namesake of Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, was a Roman polymath who lived during Caesar Augustus’ reign. His great work, De Architectura, got lost but resurfaced during the Italian Renaissance. The first illustrated version was republished in 1511. In the first chapter, Vitruvius wrote that the knowledge that artists and architects possess should be rooted in both practice and theory. The Vitruvian motto, “Mens et Manus” appears on the MIT seal, likewise suggesting that craft must be accompanied by rigorous scholarship. During the first century BCE, Vitruvius pointed out that artists must both be creative and have the ability to listen and learn new things. Indeed, an artist deficient in either of these qualities could never become a master of their practice. Vitruvius went on to outline a list of things he thought an artist should know: “He should be a good writer, a skillful draftsman, versed in geometry and optics, expert at figures, acquainted with history, informed on the principles of natural and moral philosophy, somewhat of a musician, not ignorant of the sciences both of law and physic, nor of the motions, laws, and relations to each other, of the heavenly bodies… Since, therefore, this art is founded upon and adorned with so many different sciences, I am of opinion that those who have not, from their early youth, gradually climbed up to the summit, cannot, without presumption, call themselves masters of it.” (Marcus Vitruvius Pollio: de Architectura, Book I, Chapter 1) Vitruvius advised that artists should know something about the science of medicine and the motions and proportions of the human body. A conviction that inspired da Vinci more than 1500 years later. While he remains largely unknown to modern readers, Vitruvius is known to have influenced the multi-talented Renaissance figures presented to us as schoolchildren. We were told that these people were the flowers of the human intellect and led to believe that this is what we may all become. However over time, secular structures embedded in higher education and business would ultimately sweep away this Renaissance ideal. The dream of Renaissance would ultimately be replaced by the belief that the arts and sciences have become far too specialized and complicated and that in our own era, no individual can make significant contributions to multiple fields. Somehow, more than two thousand years ago, Vitruvius seems to have anticipated this reaction. He claimed that since everything is connected, all that is needed is natural curiosity and an ability to pay attention: “Perhaps, to the uninformed, it may appear unaccountable that a man should be able to retain in his memory such a variety of learning; but the close alliance with each other, of the different branches of science, will explain the difficulty. For as a body is composed of various concordant members, so does the whole circle of learning consist in one harmonious system. Wherefore those, who from an early age are initiated in the different branches of learning, have a facility in acquiring some knowledge of all, from their common connection with each other.” (ibid) What is the common thread in this heterogeneous opus? Vitruvius seems to think that unity of knowledge is, in fact, intrinsic: everything already exists as a kind of synchronized whole, and it is only the way we link things together that newly transforms them into opportunity and innovation. 64 64-65. [Marcus Vitruvius Pollio...] Joe Davis ...unity of knowledge is, in fact, intrinsic... Vitruvius advised that artists should possess a certain level of knowledge about the science of medicine and the motions and proportions of the human body. HOLOTIPUS SPECIAL ISSUE 6766 Davis, J. 2020. Holotipus rivista di zoologia sistematica e tassonomia I (2) 2020: 49-76 HOLOTIPUS SPECIAL ISSUE 69 Artists don’t have to entirely devote themselves to science and technology, but the mandate of Romanticism to disregard all rules but your own has become untenable as well. Perhaps “Renaissance” is inevitable whenever civilization reaches a point where legacies of war and brutal religious intolerance have been overturned and people find time for scholarship and access to sufficient concentrations of knowledge. Perhaps pursuit of the great unification of knowledge has always been an intrinsic part of human nature. Many prerequisite elements are already in place. Findings in physics and biology have exponentially expanded the landscape onto which humanity can project its activities. Breath taking profusions of knowledge are now bursting into existence with the potential to accelerate intellectual, social, scientific and technological development worldwide. We have the cognitive apparatus and we have the technological means. So, what is missing? 66-67. [Hemikyptha botuli] TREEHOPPER Pollutant-sensitive insect Bacterial sensor-reporter cells detect pollutants. DNA parts (by direct DNA synthesis) for constructing an inducible sensor-reporter circuit. Production of a fluorescent protein based on the bluelight receptor YtvA protein (from Botulus subtilis). VP64 activation domains. Nuclear localization signals of cells on ventral abdominal region. 68. [Fantauma cerebrum] ETHEREAL JELLYFISH Electronic entity able to travel between dimensions. Pure electricity delivers data to other dimensions. Quantum space messaging capacity. 68 The culture we reside in must have the capacity to sustain Renaissance. Just as in the Italian Quattrocento, social and institutional structures cannot cope with the consequences of such sweeping changes. In many cases, powerful religious communities and conservative political forces control or completely block universal access to education and to comprehensive education in many of the sciences. In some of the most technologically advanced societies universal education is available only to individuals of low or moderate income. Even if they are admitted into the classroom or laboratory, it is unlikely they will be able to afford the large financial investment that attending a university will increasingly require. P r e v i o u s g e n e r a t i o n s h a v e l e f t u s w i t h a deteriorating environment, destabilized international political situations, stumbling top-heavy economies, and dwindling public support for science, art, the humanities and many social services, including education. As universities turn to sources of private support, many have converted their endowments to become fully diversified international super-corporations with operations and capital investments that reach far beyond traditional mandates to carry on scholarship and research. Businesses work toward profits and university administrators fail to reconcile those interests with the primary mission of creating new knowledge. Relationships of sponsored research with unrestricted enterprise and entrepreneurship are flawed at the expense of innovation and creativity. Advancement of knowledge is all too often subsidiary to technology licensing, profits, market strategies and military and political initiatives. The ways in which research enterprises are supported restrict the nature of scientific investigation, determine the nature of projects undertaken and the realm of possibilities that will be considered for future research. Problems that cannot be solved profitably are likely to be ignored. In Star Trek lingo, we have compromised our university systems with something like “Ferengi economics” and “Rules of Acquisition.” Tr a g i c a l l y, n o s o c i e t y h a s e v e r b e e n m o r e technologically advanced and yet the average person has never been more indifferent to technological developments and scientific principles that make “quality of life” possible. If the Romantic era saw the humanities moving away from the sciences, the Modern era erased hope for the reunion of science and art. Despite this, signs of change are appearing. In the past decade, many scientific laboratories and whole fields of research have become increasingly interdisciplinary. International conferences and conclaves resonate with these changes and new university programs have been established to coordinate these developments. So far, such initiatives do not formally integrate art and science, but these disciplines too are quietly disengaging from their historic separation. Keeping in mind that the artistic curriculum of Vitruvius can be dated to the first century BCE, it seems obvious that he might now feel the need to update his list of prerequisites for artists in the 21rst century. Art can have little relevance or immediacy unless it is constantly rebuilt with increasingly sophisticated sets of actions, forms, and symbols. There are absolutely no reasons why artistic practice should not be just as precise and rigorous as the practice of physics, chemistry, philosophy or mathematics. 70 71. [Passeridae temperatio] IBIS Drought-and frost-resistant bird Long talons made with silicon-28 with an improved cell wall strength of 1% lethylvinylsiloxane units (R= CH3 —; R’ = CH2 = CH—) 95-99% purity. Molecular weight, (3-8) x 105; density, 960-980 kg/m3 (0.96-0.98 g/cm3). Temperature resistance: from -30°C up to +700°C. More than ever before, the future of innovation in both art and science depends on fluency in multiple fields and strong, multidisciplinary mindsets. Some artists may be too impatient to wait for art to fully recover its former scope and they may instead opt to explore a role that still remains unknown to us: neither as an artist nor as a scientist, but rather as an artist-scientist, both free enough to tackle absurd questions and disciplined enough to be scientifically rigorous about the way the work is carried out. There is a chance, where it is possible to both dream and act, that the centuries of opposition between art and science can finally be resolved. Notes * Galilei’s discovery is well documented in his work: the “Sidereus nuncius” (Celestial messenger) published on March 13, 1610 in Venice, one year after the execution of Adam’s painting. ** Optical information on Galilei’s telescope is a topic that will also affect Caravaggio. References Agamben, G. (2001) Infanzia e storia. Distruzione dell’esperienza e origine della storia, Einaudi editore. Torino, Italy, 167pp. Cook, T. A. (1979) The curves of life. Dover Publications Inc. New York, United States of America, 528 pp. Maek-Gerard, M. (2006) Adam Elsheimer: 1578-1610. Paul Holberton publisher. London, United Kingdom, 245 pp. Gintzburg, C. (1994) Indagini su Piero. Ed. Biblioteca Einaudi. Einaudi editore. Torino, Italy, 53-64 Hauser, J. (2005) Bio Art – Taxonomy of an Etymological Monster. In: Hybrid - Living in Paradox. Gerfried Stocker and Christine Schopf publisher (Linz: Ars Electronica, 2005), pp.181–92 Ronchey, S. (2006) Una mistica della misura. In: Ronchey, S. L’enigma di Piero. Rizzoli editore. Segrate (MI), Italy, 97-99 Ronchey, S. (2006) L’enigma di Piero. Rizzoli editore. Segrate (MI), Italy, 256 pp. 72 00/25 9 791280 005014 ISSN 2704-7547 ISBN 979-12-80005-01-4 
work_4kaqpb7lqvhyffchpvq2durlja	----	543Book Reviews journal of jesuit studies 3 (2016) 485-564 <UN> Piers Baker-Bates & Miles Pattenden, eds. The Spanish Presence in Sixteenth-Century Italy: Images of Iberia. Transculturalisms, 1400–1700. Farnham, Burlington: Ashgate, 2015. Pp. 292. Hb, $119.95. Considering the historical relevance of the Spanish presence in early modern Italy and the rich cultural, religious, and material exchanges between these two centers of the early modern Mediterranean world, the English-language scholarship on the subject has remained slim until recently. While important work by John W. O’Malley, Tom Dandelet, Antonio Calabria, and John Marino, among others, has enriched our knowledge of the Spain-Italy nexus, the recent volume, The Spanish Presence in Sixteenth-Century Italy: Images of Iberia, of- fers a valuable addition to the current scholarship. Providing ten thoughtful essays developed out of earlier conference papers, the book largely succeeds in its mission to challenge conventional ideas of the story of Spain’s political and military presence in Italy as “one of hegemony and subordination” (229). The section on religiosity will be of great interest to students of the Jesuits, in particular. The Spanish Presence in Sixteenth-Century Italy begins with Simon Ditch- field’s excellent introductory essay that highlights the fraught relationship be- tween the Spanish conquerors and their Italian subjects in the wake of the Italian Renaissance, with all of its implications for Italian notions of “cultural superiority,” alongside the tricky balancing act that Spanish/Habsburg rul- ers had to negotiate with the Roman Church. Ditchfield characterizes Span- ish-Italian relations as sometimes colored by “mutual suspicion” (3), though also tinged with admiration. In all, he reminds us—as several contributors to the volume reinforce through their analyses—that we cannot easily cast the Spanish-Italian relationship in broad strokes, but must instead attend to local conditions, the changing cast of characters (individual and institutional), and periodization. Part One of the volume, “The Spanish Presence in Italian Politics, Soci- ety, and Culture,” offers three substantive essays that evaluate, in turn, what we can learn of Italian views of the Spanish through the writing of Italian diplomats from various parts of the peninsula, the anxieties that plagued Venetian commentators, given perceived Spanish threats to the Republic’s sovereignty, and the layered nature of local and “foreign” identities in Span- ish Naples. Catherine Fletcher’s “Mere Emulators of Italy: The Spanish in Italian Diplomatic Discourse, 1492–1550,” surveys a regionally diverse group of diplomatic reports from the first half of the sixteenth century—though highlighting Venetian relazioni—in order to argue that Italian diplomats had Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access Book Reviews journal of jesuit studies 3 (2016) 485-564 <UN> 544 a healthy sense of their own prowess as “superior observers of the other nations of Europe” (11). Building upon Fletcher’s emphasis on the Venetian perspective, Nicolas Davidson roots his essay, “Hispanophobia in the Venetian Republic,” much more squarely in the specific historic context of the Venetian Republic in all of its vulnerability in Spanish-dominated Italy, c.1530–1630. While he men- tions moments of shared purpose, such as the Venetian and Spanish alliance to fight the Turkish threat in 1571, for example, Davidson writes compelling- ly about the “pervasive distrust of Spanish intentions in Italy” that colored Venetian views of Spain and Spaniards (38). Using the term Hispanophobia quite self-consciously, he seeks to illustrate that Venetian elites’ seemingly cari catured notions of an untrustworthy Spanish character was only encour- aged by a series of historical circumstances, geographical realities, and Span- ish policy itself. Moving southward to Spanish Naples, in “Encountering Spain in Early Mod- ern Naples: Language, Customs and Sociability,” Stephen Cummins hopes to move beyond the historiographical impact of Benedetto Croce, who highlight- ed the negative impact of Spanish rule on his native city. In his exploration of contemporary accounts of Neapolitan taverns and other popular locales, Cummins sketches the contours of a highly stratified, burgeoning metropolis in the early modern period where caste divisions and notions of foreignness and citizenship were intertwined and national identities were perhaps less sa- lient than elsewhere. The next section of the book, “Spanish Religiosity and Roman Religion,” ze- roes in on the complex dance between the Spanish crown, the Roman Catholic Church, and religious orders as they jockeyed for influence. In the first of three essays, “Rome as a ‘Spanish Avignon’? The Spanish Faction and the Monar- chy of Philip ii,” Miles Pattenden argues that—whatever his purposes might have been—Philip ii was not able to exert effective influence over the Roman Catholic Church. Further, he explores the notion that the popes of this period pursued their own agendas. Even within the so-called “Spanish faction” within the Roman Church, Pattenden contends, the monarchy was not able to easily push its own goals. Where Pattenden plays up the limitations of the Spanish crown’s hegemo- ny over the Roman Church, Paolo Broggio instead highlights the monarchy’s complicated relationship to volatile theological disputes. Broggio examines theological and institutional disputes between the Dominicans and Jesuits during the transition from the reigns of Philip ii and Philip iii. In “Rome and the ‘Spanish Theology’: Spanish Monarchy, Doctrinal Controversies and the Defence of Papal Prerogatives from Clement viii to Urban viii,” Broggio Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 545Book Reviews journal of jesuit studies 3 (2016) 485-564 <UN> explores these theological clashes in order to demonstrate how the Spanish state at the turn of the seventeenth century endeavoured to publicize its su- premacy as defender of the faith, but this essay also sheds light on how reli- gious orders like the Jesuits and Dominicans engaged with the crown in very particular ways. Moving on to a deeper consideration of local vs. transnational religious identities, Clare Copeland’s essay, “Spanish Saints in Counter-Reformation Italy” focuses upon the canonization of multiple religious figures on the same day in 1622. Copeland views this process as exemplary of the adaptability of saints’ legacies and the important influence that the religious orders wielded in the early modern period. The final section of the book, “Spanish Vision and the Visual Arts in Italy” includes an additional four essays that creatively mine the rich vein of art and material cultural exchange in the Spanish and Italian relationship of the early modern period. Beginning with an even-handed assessment of the complex relationships between Spanish patrons and Italian visual artists, subsequent essays focus upon the tomb monument of the Neapolitan viceroy, don Pedro de Toledo, the patronage strategies and taste making of Spanish patrons, and the “reform agenda” (219) of the late seventeenth-century Neapolitan Viceroy the Marquis del Carpio. The Spanish Presence in Sixteenth-Century Italy provides a series of thought- ful interventions into the rich history of Iberian-Italian relations in the early modern period. As with any such collection, not every essay is equally well written, nor will each piece appeal equally to the inter-disciplinary audience of scholars and students who be drawn to the volume, but the book is a worthy addition to early modern studies. Jennifer Selwyn Portland State University/California State University, Sacramento Selwyn@psu.edu doi 10.1163/22141332-00303008-19 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 
work_4kyxg4drgvbxfae3aat2jfukcy	----	RoBERT BLACK CICERO IN THE CURRICULUM OF ITALIAN RENAISSANCE GRAMMAR SCHOOLS* It is well known that Cicero had a place in the curriculum of fJ.f- teenth-century Italian grammar schools: his treatises, De officiis, De se- nectute and De amicitia were recommended by Aeneas Sylvius in his De liberorum educatione(l); Cicero's letters were used by Guarino Veronese, so suggests his son Battista, to teach Latin(2); schoolmasters in com- munes such as Pistoia were enjoined to lecture on Ciceronian texts in- cluding De officiis(3). Nevertheless, this didactic interest was not ).mprece- dented in the long and complex history of Cicero's post-antique transmis- sion. There is evidence to show the important place which Cicero occupied in the medieval grammar curriculum as well. Thus, in Aimeric of Gatinaux's Ars lectoria of 1086, Cicero was one of the recommended au- thors, albeit placed in the second or silver rank alongside Donatus, Pris- cian or Boethius(4). In the following century he received higher status at the hands of Conrad of Hirsau, who placed him firmly among the auctores maiores(5) of the grammar curriculum, recommending in particular De amicitia and De senectute(6). Even more Ciceronian texts were endorsed at the end of the twelfth century by Alexander Neckham, who added De oratore, the Tusculan Disputations, the Paradoxa stoicorum and De offici- is to Conrad's more modest suggestions(?). (*) The following abbreviations will be used: BLF = Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Florence; BNF = Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence; BRF = Biblioteca Riccardiana, Florence; BAY= Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana; ASP= Archivio di Stato, Florence. (1) Tractatus de liberorum educatione, in Il pensiero pedagogico dell'Umanesimo, ed. E. Garin, Florence 1958, 270, 294. (2) Battista Guarino, De ordine docendi et discendi, ibid. 452; he claimed this treatise was based on the pedagogical practices of his father, Guarino: ibid. 434-436. (3) A Zanelli, Del pubblico insegnamento in Pistoia dal XIV al XVI secolo, Rome 1900, 147. (4) E. R. Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, tr. W. R. Trask, New York 1953, 464-65; B. Munk Olsen, I classici net canone scolastico altomedievale, Spoleto 1991, 5-6. (5) Ibid. 5. (6) Curtius, European Literature, 49. (7) Ibid. 50. 106 ROBERT BLACK With Alexander's Sacerdos ad altare, one has obviously left the real classroom and entered into the realm of an ideal curriculum, but it is clear that, as far as Cicero is concerned, these early curricular lists corresponded to some extent with actual educational practice. Summarizing the findings of recent codicological research, including his own monumental cata- logue(8), Birger Munk: Olsen has gone a long way to disclosing the real- ities which lay behind ideals of an Aimeric, Conrad or Alexander. While in the ninth and tenth centuries, this research offers little evidence of Ci- cero as a grammar school author(9), by the eleventh century the situation is beginning to change: there is uow a significant if still modest presence of the shorter moral treatises (De amicitia, De senectute and De officiis) among surviving manuscript copies(lO); contemporary library catalogues reveal almost as many references to his moral treatises as to Juvenal or Lucan, and more than to Ovid or Statius(ll); and there are a significant number of glossed Cicero manuscripts(l2). By the twelfth century, Cicero had become a staple of the medieval grammar schools, second as a prose writer only to Sallust: surviving manuscript copies include 41 of De offici- is, 38 of De amicitia and 23 of De senectute(l3); there are some citations of glossed Ciceronian texts in contemporary inventories(14); and there are a notable number of commentaries on the moral treatises (15). Particularly indicative of Cicero's role as a grammar school author in the twelfth cen- tury are the number of different accessus now accompanying the moral treatises, including nine to De amicitia, six to De officiis and five to De se- nectute(l6). In I classici nel canone scolastico altomedievale the findings are pre- sented without geographical distinction; nevertheless, it is clear, even so, that much of this educational use of Cicero, insofar as it is documented by Munk: Olsen, took place in Northern Europe: for example, all the citations of glossed Ciceronian texts in contemporary catalogues are German(17). More geographical precision would be useful here, especially since it has sometimes been argued that there was a significant divergence in educa- (8) B. Munk Olsen, L'etude des auteurs classiques Iatins aux XI• et XII• siecles, 3 vols., Paris 1982-1989. (9) Munk Olsen, I classici, 23-32. (10) Ibid. 32. (11) Ibid. 33. (12) Ibid. 34. (13) Ibid. 38. (14) Ibid. 42. (15) Ibid. 47. (16) Ibid. 48-49. (17) Ibid. 42. CIC~RO IN THE CURRICULUM 107 tion during the twelfth century between Northern Europe, on the one hand, and Italy, on the other: "con riferimento alle scuole- in particolare alle preuniversitarie - del Xll secolo [ ... ] puo assumersi [ ... ] che, mentre. nelle scuole preuniversitarie francesi [ .. ,] ha notevole rilevanza una formazione culturale a carattere generale, in Italia [ ... ] e quella giuridica in utroque- quindi immediatamente utilitaristica - che tende ad assorbire tutti gli -spa- zi. Sicche lo 'scolaris' s' adopera per acquisire con rapidita la 'latinitas' [ ... ]per concentrarsi poi sugli studi pratici [ ... ] la partita che si gioca negli ultirni decenni dell' XI secolo pare grossa: da un lata la chiosa all' 'auctor' [ ... ]; dall'altro il nuovo modello messo innanzi dalla scuola bolognese [ ... ] Nei tempi nuovi d'Italia le ragioni della 'lectura' stavano per riuscire 'aspre' e 'spinose"'(18). Although it would be distorted to suggest that there was no contrast between grammatical study in Italy and France in the twelfth century, nev- ertheless the decline of the authors resulting from the rise of the law schools and the ars dictaminis in the twelfth century can be exaggerated. In this connection, the moral philosophical treatises of Cicero, f0r exam- ple, suggest the longue-duree of traditional lectura in Italian grammar schools up to the turn of the thirteenth century. One example is a well- glossed Italian manuscript of De amicitia(l9), dating from the later twelfth century, with many of the typical features of a grammar school text: letters written over words to show word order(20); a contemporary simple acces- sus outlining the work's intentio, utilitas and philosophical classifica- tion(21); elementary glosses ("Anibal rex cartaginensis"(22), "Thernis- tode inperator grecus fuit"(23)). There is even a direct reference here to school experience, with the comment that ecclesiastical grandees tend to forget their school friends: "sicut fit de episcopis qui [ ... ] spernunt veteres amicitias [et] scholarres quos habuere" (24). Another Italian glossed copy of the moral treatises dating from the twelfth century contains De officiis and a fragment of the Paradoxa stoicorum(25): although there are some (18) G. C. Alessio, Le istituzioni scolastiche e l'insegnamento, in Aspetti della letteratu- ra latina nel secolo XIII, ed. C. Leonardi and G. Orlandi, Perugia and Florence 1986, 4-9. (19) BLF, 76, 23. (20) Ibid. fol. 1r, 2r, 3r, 3v, 4r, 6r, 7r, 8v, 9v, 13r, 14v, 16v. (21) Ibid. fol. 20r: Est ergo Ciceronis in hoc opere materia arnicitia [ ... ] lntentio est auc- toris de arnicitia tractare, precepta quidem de ea dare de quibus veram a non ['a non' repea- ted] vera posscimus [sic for possimus] agnoscere et honestis modis excolere. Utilitas est quod per huius operis doctrinam sciemus arnicitiam congruis modis excolere. Utilitas est nobis [arnicitiam] parare et falsam et inhonestam evitare. Subponitur ethicae. Ostendit enim mores qui digni sunt [ ... ] (22) Ibid. fol. 3r. (23) Ibid. fol. 8r. (24) Ibid. fol. 10v. (25) BLF, 76, 13. 108 ROBERT BLACK word-order markers here(26), there is relatively little simple interlinear paraphrase glossing, and the more sophisticated contents of some of the glosses, as well as citations of other authors (Lucan[27], Seneca[28], Ju- venal[29], Ovid[30]) may suggest a post-school reader. Another Italian annotated manuscript dating from the same period contains De officiis and De amicitia(3l); there are not really enough contemporary glosses here to comment on the academic level of the reader, but there can be little ques- tion that the text of De amicitia contained in an Italian manuscript dating from the turn of the thirteenth century emanated from a grammar school(32). The copyist, who was also the principal glossator, appears to have been a relatively inexpert reader, who frequently, for example, used word order markers (33) and gave very simple philological marginal glosses to the text (e.g. the biography of Cato [34] or the fable of Orestes [35]) typical of school manuscripts. He also included a great deal of vernacular interlinear glossing: (fol. 15v) scomonecata, presentanza, adunatrice; (fol. 16r) ordinaremo, addemandare, iudicamenti; (fol. 18v) confortante; (fol. 21v) indigeant = abesonge; (fol. 22v) intolerabilius = non sostenebele, sperni = refudare; (fol. 24r) commova, tracta; (fol. 24v) conestringere; (fol. 25v) losengando; (fol. 28v) selvatebre; (fol. 29r) dis- sonore; (fol. 31v) contumelie = disunuri; (fol. 35v) desertu; (fol. 36r) comitas = cortesia, losengamentu (also on fol. 37r, 38v, 39r); (fol. 37v) contio = aringo. As far as Cicero is concerned, therefore, the shorter moral treatises remained the subject of traditional lectura in Italian grammar schools up to the beginning of the thirteenth century. It is problematic to assess whether Cicero continued to be read in twelfth-century Italian grammar schools with the same intensity as had taken place earlier at Montecassino, but it is clear that during the thirteenth century the shorter moral treatises dropped out of the Italian· grammar school curriculum. In fact, it is very difficult to find any Italian manuscripts at all containing De amicitia, De senectute, Paradoxa stoicorum or De officiis which are clearly datable to the thirteenth century: this seems to hold true not only for Florentine li- (26) Ibid. fol. 1v, 29r, 54r. (27) Ibid. fol. 5r, 7r. (28) Ibid. fol. 8v, 16v. (29) Ibid. fol. 15r. (30) Ibid. fol. 21v. (31) BLF, 76, 20. (32) BLF, Edili, 214. The dating of this manuscript and of the vernacular glosses has been confirmed by Prof. A de la Mare. (33) Ibid. fol. 15r, 19v, 21v, 24v, 29r, 30r, 30v, 33v, 40r. (34) Ibid. fol. 2r. (35) Ibid. fol. 10r. CICERO IN THE CURRICULUM 109 braries but also for manuscripts so far described in Les manuscrits clas- siques Iatins de la Bibliotheque Vaticane (36). These texts began again to be copied in Italy during the"fourteenth century, but they seem not yet to have re-entered the schoolroom(37). Whatever academic use they had in the fourteenth century seems to have been at the university level, to judge from one Florentine manuscript of De officiis, with the following col- ophon: "Marci Tulii Ciceronis liber tertius et ultimus ad Marcum eius fil- ium feliciter explicit per me Michaelem filium Domini Johannis de Mutina die iovis XII mensis decembris 1392" (38). This was apparently a uni- versity-level textbook, originally a large volume ruled in the customary fashion with double lines. round a small central text and surrounded by a dense, all-embracing commentary. In this case, unfortunately, it is im- possible to discover how De officiis was studied, since the comment was scrubbed off the margins and is only faintly visible now under ultraviolet light(39); but more can be said about another university-level text of Par- adoxa stoicorum, dating from the turn of the fourteenth century ( 40). Here (36) Paris, 1975-. One manuscript datable to the thirteenth century from this selection is BAV, Borg. Lat. 326, containing on fol. 100r-159r De senectute, De amicitia, Paradoxa stoi- corum and De officiis, which despite this catalogue (vol. I, p. 232: "origine: italienne") is clearly French, for example using Z = et. L. D. Reynolds, The Medieval Tradition of Sene- ca's Letters, Oxford 1965, 72 and 109, gives a French provenance. BFL, Ashb. 250 (De in- ventione, Rhetorica ad Herennium, Paradoxa stoicorum) is datable to saec. XIIIIXN, but the glosses are from the fourteenth century. (37) The fourteenth-century Italian manuscripts of the shorter moral treatises listed in this note have all been examined and eliminated as schoolbooks. Florentine libraries: BLF, 76, 25 (De amicitia, Paradoxa); BLF, 76, 32 (De senectute, Paradoxa, Brutus, Somnium Sci- pionis); BLF, 89, inf. 41 (De senectute, Orations, De officiis, Paradoxa); BLF, Strozzi, 35 (De officiis); BLF, Strozzi, 36 (De officiis, De amicitia, Paradoxa, De senectute); BRF, 516 (De amicitia, De senectute); BRF, 566 (De officiis). Fourteenth-century Italian manuscripts of the shorter moral treatises in BAV: Arch. S. Pietro, H22 (De officiis, Somnium, De amici- tia, De senectute); Vat. Lat. 1739 (De officiis [fragmentary'], De amicitia, Paradoxa); Chigi, H. V. 151 (De officiis). Catalogued as saec. XIV but eliminated as actually saec. XV and in any case not apparently schoolbooks: Vat. Lat. 1736 (De officiis, De amicitia, De senectute, Paradoxa: humanist script, saec. XV); Ottob. Lat. 1494 (De officiis: humanist script, saec. XV); Vat. Lat. 2880 (De officiis, Paradoxa: heavy late. gothic script, saec. XV); Vat. Lat. 1747 (Orations, De amicitia: late gothic script, saec. XV); Ottob. Lat. 2034 (De officiis: hea- vy, late gothic script, saec. XV); Chigi H. IV. 106 (Paradoxa, De amicitia, De senectute, De officiis: widely spaced, late gothic hands, saec. XV); Arch. S. Pietro H. 21 (Tusculanae, De officiis: late gothic script, saec. XV); Barb. Lat. 116 (De officiis, De amicitia, De senectute, Paradoxa: humanist script, saec. XV in.); Pal. Lat. 1526 (De officiis: late gothic script, saec. XV); Vat. Lat. 1737 (De officiis: late gothic script, saec. XV) (38) BLF, Edili, 213, fol. 79v. The ms. was written on reused notarial parchment, dated (fol. 27v) "Millesimo trecentesimo trigessimo quinto". (39) The university-level commentary has been erased from the following folios: 2r-19r, 33r, 34r, 55r, 56v, 57r, 59r, 61r. The manuscript passed into the ownership of Giorgio Antonio Vespucci in the later fifteenth-century: see fol. 84v for his ex libris and fol. Illv for his mot- to. (40) BLF, Ashb. 250. 110 · ROBERT BLACK the text forms the third part of an anthology with the Ciceronian rhetorical works, De inventione and Rhetorica ad Herennium; it seems that the nu- merous fourteenth-century students of rhetoric who left their copious glosses on this manuscript went on to read the Paradoxa, making gram- matical (e.g. fol. 65r, 70r), philological (e.g. fol. 70r), rhetorical(41) and moral philosophical ( 42) comments on the text, suggesting they were pos- sibly following a course on rhetoric and moral philosophy, often studied in the early stages of the notarial or legal university curriculum(43). It is one of the achievements of the Italian Renaissance to have re- stored the shorter moral treatises to the grammar school curriculum, after two centuries of disuse. Now in the fifteenth century one again fmds co- pies of the shorter moral treatises with typical school features such as al- phabets at the conclusion or on the fmal folios ( 44); probationes pennae in the vernacular, sometimes with childish contents ("Francesco mio fratello, io vorei che tu mi mandasi una scarsella"(45), "Detur pro pena scriptori pulcra puela"(46), or "scolares"(47), or in illiterate Latin ("Deus in none tuo salum me fac")(48); references to the glossator's teacher ("quod turn magister meus non sensit") ( 49); childish ownership notes (" questo libro e di Baroncino Baroncini; chi lo truova silo renda")(50); puerile and illiter- ate verses ("Ad risum multum potes cognoscere stultum./ Si prestabis non reabebis./ Si reabebis non tarn bonum./ Se tarn bonum non tarn cito./ Se (41) Ibid. fol. 65r, where the glossator provides an accessus, emphasizing the power of rhetoric to render true statements probable, which otherwise would remain improbable and obscure. (42) Ibid. fol. 66v: In hac seconda paradoxa est intentio Ciceronis quemdam errorem vulgarem attenuare et funditusextinguere. Dicebat enim vulgus solos divites esse beatos et virtutem penitus alienam a beatitudine, quod iste improbat, ostendendo solam virtutem suffi- cere ad beatitudinem, quod habetur in titulis paradoxe, cum dicitur in quo virtus sit ei nichil deesse ad beate vivendum [ ... ]; fol. 68r: non enim actendendum est in quot peccetur, qui enim delinquit in uno reus est omnium. (43) This was the kind of course offered, for example, by Giovanni Travesio da Cremo- na in the later fourteenth century at Pavia: see V. Rossi, Dal Rinascimento al Risorgimento, Florence 1930, 3-30; Barzizza was appointed to teach moral philosophy and rhetoric at Padua in 1407: L. A Panizza, Gasparino Barzizza's commentaries on Seneca's letters, "Traditio" 33, 1977, 298-99; R. G. Mercer, The Teaching of Gasparino Barzizza, London 1979, 39 ff., 91 ff. (44) ASF, Carte Cerchi, 740 (De officiis, De amicitia, De senectute, Orations, Tuscula- nae [fragmentary]), fol. [1]43v, [1]44v; BRF, 555 (De senectute, De amicitia, Paradoxa, Somnium), fol. 80v (alphabet written by 16th c. hand). (45) ASF, Carte Cerchi, 740, fol. [1]37v. (46) BRF, 555, fol. 80v; cf. also ibid. fol. 29v: detur pro pena scriptori pulcra puella. (47) BNF, Panciat. 166 fol. 98v (Paradoxa, De amicitia, De senectute, Litterae familia- res, dated 1474 [fol. 35v] and 1460 [fol. 66r]). (48) ASF, Carte Cerchi, 740, fol. [1]43v. (49) BNF, Panciat. 166, fol. 37r. (50) BRF, 579 (De senectute, De amicitia, Paradoxa), fol. 84v. CICERO IN THE CURRICULUM 111 tarn cito perdis amicus [sic]./ Omnia mea mecum porto.")(51); vernacular notes or glosses ("imperio= signoria"(52), "itaque =per la qual cosa, ex quo = per la qual cosa"(53), "manza, la rason, la possanza, le zanze"(54)); glosses and notes referring to other standard works in the grammar school curriculum(55) (fol. 78v: "Catholicon id est liber quidam ita dictus quia universalis in tota gramatica", fol. 81v: "Secundum Uguzo- nem" and "Secundum Papiam", fol. 82r: "Secundum K<a>tholicon et Magistrum Bene [ da Firenze] "); schoolboyish colophons (" Finito libro is- to frangamus ossa magistro")(56); simple Latin-vemacular vocabulary lists(57); basic one-word equivalents of elementary vocabulary ("videre- tur = manifestum est, adiumentum = auxilium, non modo = non solum, dissidentia = discordantia") (58). In the fifteenth century, such copies of the shorter moral-philosophi- cal treatises now abound(59), demonstrating the secure place which Cice- ro had regained in the grammar school curriculum. In this way Renais- sance grammar masters were deviating from the path of their thirteenth and fourteenth-century predecessors, but this important curricular/innova- tion did not in practice herald the emergence of a new distinctive humanist pedagogy, direc!ed towards human moral improvement and the formation of the whole man. Humanist educational theorists such as Aeneas Sylvius' may have suggested that the study of Cicero's moral treatises would lead schoolboys to philosophical knowledge and wisdom(60), but in practice the scope of lessons on these texts in fifteenth-century grammar schools was more modest. Occasionally one fmds in these manuscripts brief moral comments (e.g. "Molesta veritas est, si quidem ex ea nascitur odium quod (51) Ibid. fol. 83v. (52) BRF, 580 (De amicitia, De senectute, Paradoxa), fol. Sr. (53) BRF, 575 (De amicitia, De senectute, Paradoxa, Rhetorica ad Herennium [frag- mentary]), fol. 5v. (54) BLF, Ashb. 1886 (De amicitia, De senectute, Somnium, Paradoxa), fol. 83v; see al- so BRF, 555: arillus, -li est lo vinaciuolo del'uva (fol. 18v); talus, -li: el dato grosso, inde tac xillus, -li: el dado piccolo (fol. 20v); vulgare dictus parisitorum: e ghiotoncelli (fol. 59r). (55) BLF, Ashb. 1886. (56) BRF, 575, fol. 20v. (57) BLF, Ashb. 920 (De amicitia, Paradoxa), fol. Ilv: e.g. discedo, -dis, -ssi, -ssum: per partirsi [ ... ] hec mors, -tis: la morte. (58) BRF, 3600 (De officiis), fol. lr. (59) E.g., BLF, Ashb. 976 (De officiis); BLF, Ashb. 1082 (De senectute, De amicitia, Paradoxa); BRF, 3600; BRF, 582 (De officiis); BRF, 517 (De amicitia); BRF, 569 (De senec- tute, De amicitia, Paradoxa); BRF, 577 (De officiis, Paradoxa, De senectute, De amicitia); BLF, 76, 29 (De amicitia); BNF, 11, Ill, 222 (De officiis); BRF, 579; BLF, Ashb. 1886; BRF, 580; BRF, 575; BNF, Panciat. 166; BRF, 555; ASF, Carte Cerchi, 740; BLF, Edili, 213 (glos- ses saec. XV; text dated 1392: see above p. 109); BLF, Ashb. 920. (60) De liberorum educatione, ed. Garin, 292-294. 112 ROBERT BLACK est venenum amicitie, sed obsequium multum maius [ms: maior]"(61), or "Quid est honestas? Est vite fmis. In quot partibus dividitur? In quatuor partes: iustitiam, temperantiam, fortitudinem, prudentiam"(62) or "Sapientia tres habet partes, scilicet, memoriam, intelligentiam et provi- dentiam;'(63); but the overwhelming fare in teaching the shorter Cicero- nian moral treatises in the fifteenth century was the simple philology typ- ical of the grammar school: figures, etymology, mythology, geography, history, institutions, simple rhetorical analysis, Roman customs, vocabu- lary definitions, simple literary history, parts of speech and elementary grammatical ana1ysis(64). There may sometimes have been an intention to provide instruction in moral philosophy, but manuscript evidence suggests that this was seldom realized in fifteenth-century grammar schools. The traditional accessus to one fifteenth-century text of De amicitia may have pointed to the moral- izing intentions of the teacher: "Est ergo Ciceronis in hoc opere materia amicicia, res utique honesta et clara et in rebus pluribus valde necessaria. Interest auctoris de amicicia tractare, precepta quidem de ea dando quibus veram amiciciam possimus cognoscere et honestis moribus excolere. Util- itas est quod huius operis doctrina [ms.: doctrinam] sciemus amiciciam congruis moribus parare et falsam et inhonestam devitare. Supponitur eth- ice, quia tractatur de moribus"(65). But this teacher's moral intentions soon were overtaken by the need to provide a detailed philological analy- sis, so making the text comprehensible to his pupils and fulfilling the more basic purpose of teaching Latin. Thus, a dense interlinear commentary is given, providing one-word Latin equivalents to the vocabulary of the text; and as far marginal glossing is concerned, this consists of the simple phi- lology typical of the grammar school: for example, "Nota quod in tabella tunc temporis scribebantur leges et constitutiones civitatis a comuni ordine imposite sed tabella est nomen diminutivum in qua solebant scribi capitula noviter extracta ab aliquo novo officiali"(66). Besides texts of De senec- tute, De amicitia and Paradoxa stoicorum, all glossed in this manner, this manuscript also contains some verses attributed to Guarino(67), possibly (61) BRF, 569, fol. 32r. (62) BRF, 3600, fol. 1r. (63) BRF, 517, fol. 41v. (64) E.g. see BRF, 555, fol. 3v, 4v, 5v, 7r, 7v, llr, 12r, 13v, 18v, 20v, 21r, 21v, 23r, 23v, ~~~-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 66r, 66v; BRF, .569, fol. 17r, 17v, 18r, 18v, 19r, 29v, 32r, 34v. (65) BLF, Ashb. 1082, fol. 26v. (66) Ibid. fol. 38r. (67) Ibid. fol. 54v: Versus Guarini Veronensis ad Antonium Panormitam: Musarum de- CICERO IN THE CURRICULUM 113 suggesting some connection with a humanist school, but as such its tradi- tional character is all the more striking. Indeed, this gap between the moralizing intentions of the teacher, as announced in the accessus, and the ensuing philological character of the glosses, is typical· of earlier medieval grammar school manuscripts of Ci- cero. Thus, in one of the twelfth-century Florentine manuscripts of De amicitia mentioned above, there was almost no moral philosophy after the accessus; instead, the fare was the usual simple philology such as: "con- suetudo Romanorum erat ut per novem dies [ms.: novem diem] unum quemque mortuum custodirent cum diversis instrumentis musicae" (68). There is a small amount of evidence that occasionally other Cicero- nian texts such as De oratore(69), Orator(10) or Disputationes Tuscula- nae(11) were read at grammar school in the fifteenth century, but this con- stituted no more than a fraction of the interest devoted to the shorter moral treatises. As far as lectura Ciceronis is concerned, therefore, the fifteenth- century saw an important innovation in the reintroduction of the shorter moral philosophical treatises into the grammar school classroom, ralthough the teaching methods applied to these texts appear to have remained en- tirely traditional, concentrating on skills in comprehending Latin prose rather than on moral philosophy. In this sector of education, Cicero at school in the Renaissance was not an entirely novel departure from medie'- val practice, but there was another aspect of Ciceronian pre-university pedagogy which was entirely without medieval precedent. This was intro~ duction of Cicero's letters into the grammar schoolroom. With regard to Latin composition, as distinct from reading Latin texts ("lactinare" as op- posed to "auctores audire"), the grammar school curriculum involved a graduated progress from the composition of short phrases or passages up to the composition of an entire letter. Thus, the grammar courses laid out by Francesco da Buti (72) in the fourteenth century (and still widely used throughout Quattrocento)(73), as well as that constructed by Niccolo Pe- cus Antoni per secu1a salve = L. Bertalot, Initia humanistica latina, ed. U. Jaitner-Hahner, Tiibingen 1985, n. 3462, where they are not attributed to Guarino. (68) BLF, 76, 23, fol. 3v. (69) BRF, 506, 561. (70) BRF, 506, 2127. (71) BRF, 508, 510. (72) E.g. BRF, 674; Oxford, Bod1eian Library, Lat. Mise. e. 52. (73) E.g. see BLF, Medic. Palat., 64, fol. Illr: lste liber est mei Iovanis Petri de Vu1terris in sco1a Magistri Taddei de Piscia. Taddeo da Pescia taught in Vo1terra from 1426 to 1427, and from 1434 to 1437: see M. Battistini, Taddeo da Pescia maestro di grammatica del sec. XV, "Bullettino storico pistoiese" 31, 1929, 86-93. For many fifteenth-century manu- scripts of Francesco da Buti's Regule, see G. C. Alessio, "Hec Franciscus de Buiti", "Italia medievale e umanistica" 24, 1981, 86-87, as well as W. K. Percival, Renaissance grammar: rebellion or evolution?, in Interrogativi dell'Umanesimo, ed. G. Tarugi, Florence 1976, II, 114 . ROBERT BLACK rotti in the second half of the fifteenth century(74), both ended with exten- sive treatments of epistolography. It seems to have been at this final stage of the grammar curriculum that Cicero's letters, almost completely un- known in the middle ages and rediscovered by Petrarch and Salutati in the fourteenth century, were used in the fifteenth-century schoolroom. Their place at the end of the grammar curriculum is suggested by an interesting series of Florentine grammatical compilations, preserved in five Florentine manuscripts(75) and five others outside Florence(76), all dating from the second half of the fifteenth century. The compilation in the five Florentine manuscripts seems relatively uniform for a grammat- ical anthology. In general, they seem to constitute a full school-level grammatical course of study, beginning with morphology of the parts of speech(77) (=the contents of Ianua); continuing with syntax especially of the verb but also of nouns, comparatives, participles, relatives etc. (78) ( = the contents of Guarino's or Francesco da Buti's Regule); going on to Guarino's orthography(79) and his Carmina differentialia(80); and end- ing with a brief section on verbal conjugations(81). Although this is the end of the strictly grammatical section of the manuscript, it goes on to give the text of twenty-seven very short familiar letters of Cicero(82), and a couple by Pliny(83). The compilation ends with a series of sententiae drawn from the Bible, the Church Fathers and various Latin classiCal au- thors(84). Other grammar courses sometimes included sententiae: e;g. that by Filippo Casali(85), grammar master in Florence, Pistoia~ Bologna and 73, n. 1 and his Textual problems in the Latin grammar ofGuarino Veronese; "Res publica litterarum" 1, 1978, 252, n . .13. (74) See e.g. N. Perotti, Rudimenta grammatices, Naples 1479 (BRF, Edizioni rare, 546). The statement of W. K. Percival, The place of the Rudimenta graminatices in the history of Latin grammar, "Res publica litterarum" 4, 1981, 233 ("Perotti, however, broke new ground by adding to his graminaf a manual of epistolary style, which comprises the final third of his work.") is therefore incorrect. (75) BNF, L 37; BRF, 675, 999, 1236; BNF, Conv. Soppr. J.II.22. (76) Columbia University, Plimpton, 136; British Library, Burney, 316; British Library, Add. 10351; Biblioteca Marciana, Lat. 4479; Warsaw, Biblioteka Narodowa, Cod. Boz. 35. I have not yet seen the last two manuscripts, whose location and shelf-marks I have taken from G. Bursill-Hall, A Census of Medieval Latin Grammatical Manuscripts, Stuttgart 1981. (77) E.g., BRF, 999, fol. 1r-20r. (78) Ibid. fol. 20r-73v. (79) Ibid. fol. 73v-74r. Cfr. Bodleian, Canon. Mise. 102, fol. 53r-v: (80) BRF, 999, 74r-79r. Cfr. Bodleian, Canon. Mise. 102, fol. 53v-59v. (81) BRF, 999, 79v-84r. (82) Ibid. fol. 84r-89r .. (83) Ibid. fol. 89r-v. (84) Ibid. fol. 89v-94r. (85) BLF, Ashb. 1658, fol. 1r-117r. CICERO IN THE CURRICULUM 116 Volterra in the third quarter of the fifteenth-century(86). This constitutes the kind of syllabus becoming fashionable in the second half of the fif- teenth century, in that, like Perotti but unlike Guarino or Francesco da Bu- ti, it comprises both elementary morphology. and. intermediate syntax. It seems that the Ciceronian letters are placed at the end of the treatise for stylistic inspiration in epistolography, which, as has been seen above, was the traditional end of the school grammar course; because of their brevity and their proximity to the Carmina differentialia (87) as well as to the sen- tentiae, these Cicero letters may have been intended for memorization by the pupil. Memorization of his letters for stylistic improvement, indeed, was recommended by Battista Guarino: "In Ciceronis epistulis declama- bunt, ex quibU:s stili turn elegantiam turn facilitatem et sermonis puritatem ac scientiarum gravitatem adipiscentur; quas si memoriae mandaverint mirificos postea fructus in scribendi promptitudine percipient" (88). This grammar course seems to have a strong Florentine affiliation, given that five manuscripts are now in Florence. Albinia de la Mare informs me that two further manuscripts are associated with Giorgio Antonio ,Vespucci (one written mainly in his hand(89) and the other corrected by him(90)), a fact which would obviously strengthen this Florentine connection; his copying and annotation, of course,· might indicate authorship, or, at least, use· in teaching his grammar pupils. This group of Ciceronian letters can be related to the model letters traditionally associated with the ars dictaminis, a custom continued in the fifteenth century with such compilations as Barzizza's Litterae ad exerci- tationem accommodatae or Gian Mario Filelfo's Novum Epistolarium seu ars scribendi epistulas(91). It is well known indeed that various florilegia from Cicero's letters were compiled, probably for school use, including Giorgio Valagussa's lnflosculis epistolarum Ciceronis vernacula interpre- (86) M. Battistini, Filippo da Bologna maestro di grammatica a Volterra nel secolo XV, Bologna 1917. (87) Verse was regarded as particularly suitable for memorization; see for example the following comment on Alexander de Villa Dei: "sermo metricus ... ad plura se habet, quam prosaicus, quem sequitur Piiscianus, et hoc ita probatur: sermo metricus utilis factus est ad faciliorem acceptionem, ad venustam et utilem brevitatem et ad memoriam firmiorem". (Ci- ted by G. Manacorda, Storia delta scuola in Italia, vol. I. 11 medio evo, Milan, Palermo and Naples 1914, Parte II, 231), a view reiterated by Battista Guarino, De ordine docendi et di- scendi, ed. Garin, p. 446: "non inutilis erit is liber qui sub Alexandri nomine versibus habe- tur, ... nam praeterquam quod omnia sumit a Prisciano, facilius etiam quae carminibus scripta sunt memoriae commendantur conservanturque". (88) Ibid. 452. (89) Columbia University, Plimpton, 136. (90) British Library, Burney, 316. (91) W. Bracke, Fare la epistola nella Roma del Quattrocento, Rome 1992,. 35-36. 116 . ROBERT BLACK tatio and Giovanni Gabriele's Ciceronis clausulae ex epistolisfamiliaribus excerptis (92). But Cicero's letters also provided another kind of stylistic exercise in the fifteenth-century grammar schoolroom. Fourteenth and fifteenth-centu- ry teachers illustrated various syntactical points by reference to vernacular sentences which are then provided with Latin translations. This reflects the schoolroom practice of themata, which were vernacular passages assigned to pupils for Latin translation. This type of exercise was established by the early fourteenth century and is explicitly mentioned by two early four- teenth-century Florentine grammar teachers, Filippo di Naddo(93) and Guglielmo da Veruscola(94). Indeed, many of the grammatical points in their treatises were specifically mentioned in order to solve problems of translation from vernacular to Latin and were accordingly introduced by the phrase "si detur therria". The use of themata to teach Latin syntax can be amply illustrated in the most important intermediate Latin grammar of the fourteenth century, the Regule grammaticales by the Pisan grammarian, Francesco da Buti (d. 1406). Francesco's textbook is particularly rich in the vernacular, in- cluding copious lists of Latin verbs with vernacular translations, but it is especially notable for its detailed treatment of problems in translating ver- nacular sentences into Latin. For example, he gives four modes for themat- ic translation of deponent verbs: when there is no personal object: "Io ingiurio" debemus dicere "ego iniurior"; when there is a subject but not an object: "Io sono ingiuriato" debemus dicere "aliquis iniuriatur"; when there is a subject and ap object: "lo ingiurio Piero" - "ego iniurior Petro"; and when there is neither subject no object: "In questa terra si ingiuria" debemus dicere "in hac terra fit iniuriato [sic]"(95) .. (92) Ibid. 36. (93) In his widely diffused treatise on syntax, inc. Constructio est unio constructibilium, e.g. BLF, Gaddi, 203; Ashb. 243; or BRF, 2795. For his biography, seeS. Debenedetti, Sui piu antichi "doctores puerorum ", "Studi medievali" 2, 1906-7, 341 n. 2. (94) BNF, Nuove accessioni, 398 ("Regule mediocres Magistri Guillielmi de Verruscola Bosorum", preserved in a manuscript with a Florentine watermark dating 1341, which ac- cords well with the scrittura cancelleresca used by the copyist), fol. 6v : "si detur thema". (95) BRF, 674, f. 10r. CICERO IN THE CURRICULUM 117 Another point at which he illustrates thematic translation concerns imper- sonal verbs: "A me piace lo leggere"- "legere placet mihi"(96). A typical thematic problem comes when explaining. how to translate the past tense of certain verbs lacking a preterite: Et nota quod quando datur thema in preterito tempore ... debemus recurrere ad sum/es/est et capere tertiam personam singularis numeri in eo tempore per quod datur thema et ad infinitum verbi per quod datur thema etdaresi- bi suppositum et appositum ... ut in hoc exemplo: "Io sono stato studiato dal maestro" debemus dicere "michi fnit studeri a magistro" et "tu se' sta- to medicato da uno buono medico" "quemdam bonum medicum fuit med- eri tibi" et "le virtu sono .. ~ state ricordate dame" "me fuit reminisci virtti- tum"(97). Francesco not only treats thematic problems in translating vernacular verbs; thus for nouns lacking Latin plurals he explains: Et nota quod quando datur thema per . . . nomina in plurali nu'mero quo charent debemus recurrere ad hoc nomen maneries et ponere in eo casu que<m> vult verbum et predicta nomina in genitivo vel ad nomina adiecti- va ponderalia et ponere ista in singulari numero cum predictis nominibus in eo casu quem requirit verbum ut in.boc exemplo: "due fummi escuveno di chasa tua" debemus dicere "due maneries fummi exibant domum tuam" vel "duplex fumus exibat domum tuam?'(98); or similarly: "Io abbo due seti" debemus dicere "ego <h>abeo duas maneries sitis" vel "duplicem sitim"(99). Francesco similarly deals with thematic translation problems for compara- tives, superlatives, verbal nouns and especially participles, but he was of course not the only early· school grammarian to help his pupils with such translation difficulties. Even earlier, there is an intermediate probably Tus- can schoolbook written in notarial script of the first half of the fourteenth century which has substantial sections devoted to problems of translating vernacular words such as the definite article, prepositions, or "che"(lOO). It is possible that the use of themata, that is, translation from the ver- nacular into Latin, in the schoolroom was of Bolognese origin. In the let- (96) Ibid. f. 13v. (97) Ibid. f. 16r-v. (98) Ibid. f. 17r-v. (99) Ibid. f. 18r. (100) BNF, ll. Vlll. 121, not foliated. 118 ROBERT BLACK ters of Pietro de' Boattieri found in BNF IT. N. 312, a school anthology, as Zaccagnini has shown(10l), dating from 1314(102), there are various ver- nacular letters followed by Latin translations and on one occasion even introduced by the phrase "Tema istarum llll 'epistolarum"(103). More- over, in the list of 1321 giving all Boattieri's works, mention is made of "formando themata quelibet dicendorum"(104). It seems therefore that the thema was a teaching method well-established at Bologna by the turn of the fourteenth century, and one might conjecture that it was from Bologna, the "caput exercitii litteralis" (Buoncompagno da Signa)(105), that thema- ta arrived in Tuscany during the first half of the Trecento. When Perotti devoted the last section of his Rudimenta grammatices to turning an entire vernacular letter into Latin, he was probably repeating a not infrequent pedagogic practice in the fifteenth century; indeed, Wouter Bracke has re- cently published a short collection of such dual-language letters, with the Latin text following the vernacular version(l06). A similar dual-language work was Francesco Filelfo's Exercitatiunculae, consisting of 214 of his letters preceded by vernacular translations and published in at least four incunables (107). What is significant for the history of Cicero' s use in the Renaissance classroom is that one can find manuscripts of his familiar letters preceded by such vernacular translations. One maimscript contains twelve such let- ters by Cicero, as well five by Leonardo Bruni, similarly preceded by ver- nacular translations (108). This manuscript seems to have belonged to Bat- tista, the twenty-one year-old son of the papal secretary, Pietro Lunense, during the former's enforced residence in Viterbo during an outbreak of plague in Rome during the summer of 1451(109); it is clearly a schoolbook associated with the studia humanitatis, which, so Battista declares, he himself was pursuing at the time(llO). Not only does it contain mis- (101) G. zaccagnini, Le epistole in latino et in volgare di Pietro de' Boattieri, "Studi e memorie per la storia dell'Universita di Bologna" 8, 1924, 213-248. (102) Ibid. 221. (103) Ibid. 243, 246. (104) Ibid. 245. (105) Ibid. 237. (106) Bracke, Fare la epistola, 59-117. (107) L. Quacquarelli, Felice Feliciano nel suo epistolario, "Lettere italiane" 46, 1994, p. 118. (108) BLF, 90, sup. 65, fol. 61r-72r. (109) Piergiorgio Parroni, Il cod. Oliv. 23 di Marziale e il suo copista Battista Lunense, "Studia Oliveriana" 11, 19(!3, 3-10. (110) Ibid. 5: "Cum humanitatis studia quibus omnem operam praestare decreveram Ro- mae aeris intemperie interrupta essent, meque Viterbii nullis impeditum negociis haberem [ ... )". CICERO IN THE CURRICULUM 119 cellaneous philological information useful to a beginning classicist(111), as well as a text of Cicero's Somnium Scipionis, glossed in the usual schoolish elementary philological manner(112), but also metrical analyses of verses by Boethius (113), whose poems in De consolatione philosophiae were frequently studied in this way in fifteenth-century schools(114). This manuscript bears various signatures or probationes typical of a school- book, including one with a reference to the gratuity ("lo vanto") (115) nor- mally given to schoolmasters on various religious holidays. It is to be pre- sumed that a pupil such as Battista Lunense practised his Latin prose com- position by translating the vernacular text given first in the manuscript, and then comparing the results with Cicero's original. ·Other manuscripts make it clear that this practice of using dual language Ciceronian letters continued into the sixteenth century(116). The stylistic use of Cicero's let- ters in fifteenth-century schools is also suggested by their distinctive ap- pearance in manuscripts; unlike his shorter moral treatises, they are rarely glossed(117), and this contrast is all the more telling when the unglossed letters appear in the same manuscript(118) together with texts trapitionally subject to lectura, such as Horace's satires(119), heavily glossed for exam- ple in a version copied by Francesco de' Medici in 1515 (120), who, as a (111) BLF, 90, sup. 65, fol. lr: Significatio litterarum antiquarum et abbreviature antique que reperiuntur in aepistolis prescriptis. fol. 2r: Debent omnia poni in eo casu et proferri in quo posite sunt dictiones ad quas referuntur ut M. Cicero Marcus Cicero, ut M. Ciceroni Imp. Marco Ciceroni imperatori [ ... ]. (112) Ibid. fol. lOOr: legio a legendo quia meliores legebantur milites; tribunus dicitur a tribu quia populus romanus in tribus partibus dividebat[ur]; migrare cum tota familia ire[ ... ]; fol. lOOv: legatus quem hodie dicirnus commissarius [sic], sine quo nee bellum nee pacem dux tractare quibat. (113) Ibid. fol. 121r-122r. (114) E.g. BLF, 78, 21, fol. 9v, 11v, 27r, 28r, 29r, 30r; BNF, II, VI, 12, fol. 2v, 5r, 9r; BLF, Conv. Soppr. 258, fol. lr, 2r, 2v, 3v, 5v and passim. (115) BLF, 90 sup. 65, fol. 189r. This meaning of "vanto" does not appear in N. Tomma- seo and B. Bellini, Dizionario delta lingua italiana, IV, pt. 2, Turin 1879, p. 1728. "Vanto" was a standard educational term in the Quattrocento meaning the "mancia" given by pupils at various religious holidays (Easter, Christmas, Santa Maria Candelaia, Ognisanti) to tea- chers. For example, according to the ricordi kept for the heirs of Francesco Pecori, on 27 Ja- nuary 1474 reference was made to "S. cinque ... dati a Dino Francesco per dare il vanto al mo dell'abacho per lla chandellaia": ASP, Dono Panciatichi, Patrimonio Pecori, 51, fol. 45 right. (116) BNF, Magi. VI, 88 (Epistolae familiares). (117) BNF, Magi. VI, 165, compiled for "pueris" in 1462 (fol. lv); BLF, 90, inf. 52: 2 readers, one learned, the other school-level, the latter of whom hardly glosses, while the for- mer's glosses are too sophisticated and learned for a school (e.g. fol. 20r); BLF, 49, 16, fol. 80r-100v; BRF, 421: a few school-type interlinear glosses only on fol. 2r-3r, 5r (see puerile probationes on fol. 41r-v, 42v-43r). (118) BRF, 594, fol. 144r-185r. (119) Ibid. fol. lr-34v. (120) Ibid. fol. 144r: Hec sunt quedam epistole Ciceronis ex toto volumine electe et scripte fuere a Francisco Medice in anno MCXV tertio nonas octobris. 120 ROBERT BLACK pupil, begs the forbearance of his readers: "Que cernis lector scripsit dis- cipulus ipse Franciscus; patcas barbara signa [que] leges"(121). Thus, in Italian Renaissance grammar schools Cicero represented various levels of innovation: in respect to what had been taught over the previous two hundred years, his shorter moral treatises constituted novel reading material; moreover, his letters had never been stylistic models in the medieval schoolroom. Nevertheless, these innovations can be related to important medieval precedents: the use of the shorter moral treatises as textbooks in twelfth-century Italian grammar schools; the continued ab- sence of moral philosophical lectura in the fifteenth century, despite the lofty claims of humanist educators; and the resemblance between medie- val themata and dual-language letter collections by dictatores such as Pie- tro Boattieri and the dual-language Ciceronianletter anthologies of the fif- teenth century. (121) Ibid. 
work_4m57butnjvcpfkmovjwsddoj2e	----	Colin Rowe: 1920–1999 Colin Rowe: 1920-1999 Profoundly gifted as both a studio teacher and a scholar, Colin Rowe's erudition was legendary, his insights extraordinary, his influence immense. James Stirling was just one, if perhaps the most distinguished, of his many students. But perhaps his greatest significance is, as Robert Maxwell suggests, the fact that he 'established a crucial continuity in architectural culture". He is remembered here by Maxwell, John Sergeant, Peter Carl and Leon Satkowski. Also reproduced is a perspective of the building designed by Colin Rowe and Brian Richards during theirfirst visit to North America. Colin Rowe was an architect who made his mark through his ideas and writings rather than his built work. In 1995 he was awarded the Royal Institute of British Architects' Gold Medal, only the second scholar in the twentieth century to receive the honour. From the beginning, he seems to have inhabited an ideal landscape, that landscape where thought and feeling combine in an event. It is as if he faced the world the way the figures do in a Claude Lorrain painting, overwhelmed by the architectural constructions, yet not intimidated by them. His observations were best heard in front of the evidence, and, since his subject was architecture, that meant walking. There was a period when the coincidence of Colin Rowe and Henry-Russell Hitchcock meant prolonged walks through the city of London, extending into the small hours, examining the evidence as it presented itself to the eye. This immediacy had a lot to do with Rowe's appeal, and it is represented in both his writing and lecturing style as a letters arq • V0I4 • noi • 2000 io arq • V0I4 • noi • 2000 obituary characteristically conversational tone, as with most of the essays in his bookAs I was Saying (1995). Rowe could force a photograph to give up its hidden qualities, to move before one's very eyes. Colin Rowe was born in 1920 in Yorkshire, at Rotherham, but his accent was metropolitan. He won a scholarship to Liverpool University in 1939 to study at the School of Architecture, graduating in 1946 following war service. He continued his studies at the Warburg Institute in London under Rudolf Wittkower - his thesis was on the theoretical drawings of Inigo Jones - and spent a year on a Smith-Mundt/Fulbright Scholarship at Yale, studying with Henry-Russell Hitchcock. As a contemporary of Rowe's at Liverpool University I succumbed to his charm at once, and found it difficult to throw it off. After he was invalided out of the Parachute Regiment in 1944 with a broken back we were students together, and after I returned from war service in India he was lecturing at the university and was my tutor for thesis. He was and remained my mentor, the one who awakened me, as so many others, to the excitement of the idea built. Rowe was attracted by the openness of American society (he became an American citizen in 1984), and by the extraordinary effect this freer horizon had on architectural models imported from Europe. After his year at Yale, he travelled in the United States, working on a number of architectural projects before accepting a post in 1953 at the University of Texas at Austin. During only five semesters when he taught there he not only revolutionized the teaching of architectural design by bringing in European models, but he alerted Americans to their own heritage by his praise for the city of Lockhart in Texas and generally, by pointing to the dynamic quality of American settlements, and the American revitalization of the Classical. It was his peculiar virtue to be able to imbue the present moment of creation with an excitement derived from past moments of creation, and students were often sent to the library to check out a plan of a Palladian villa before drawing up their plan for a secondary school. Between 1958 and 1962 Rowe was a lecturer at Cambridge University, where among other things he became adviser to Peter Eisenman and encouraged h i m to study Terragni. Rowe's enthusiasm for the inherent contradictions within Italian Mannerism, allied to frequent trips to Italy, created something of a legend, and when he came to inhabit the Palazzo Massimi, during a spell running the Rome programme of Cornell University, it seemed perfectly appropriate, a personal apotheosis, even though his rooms were in the attic. From that eyrie he could hear the footsteps of the last scion of the family promenading in the salone. The Italian inheritance seemed like a prolonged and radiant sunset. Some warmth from Italian art may also have promoted his long friendship with the New York architect Judy de Maio. Where Rowe had found Austin disruptive, he found Cambridge exasperating. In 1962 he returned to America, and from then on taught at Cornell University, except for prolonged visits to Italy which, by his own admission, made him more or less italianizzato. At Cornell his influence was directed at city planning, not in the direction of management, but of exploring that margin where city form and architectural form act together to create a sense of place and occasion. The current movement in new urban design is a direct result of the enthusiasm he inspired. In his half-basement room at Cornell, hemmed in by seemingly eternal snows, he confirmed his opinions through the books that surrounded him, and his erudition was based on an unerring sense of character, and hence of provenance. Rowe will be remembered for his conversations as much as for his writings, which nevertheless, through the good offices of his editor, Alex Caragonne, form in the end a considerable corpus, committed to paper only in his final years. His life was bent on the discoveries that come only through close reading; he did not pursue a career. A master of hermeneutics, he thought nothing of cultural studies and preferred to ignore 'the whole semiology thing'. His first essay, 'The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa' (first published in The Architectural Review, 1947), was in some ways his best, but all his essays were tremendous in showing how modern architecture can be understood through, the subtleties of form that it employs. In this way he established a crucial continuity in architectural culture. ROBERT MAXWELL Colin Frederick Rowe, architectural educator and critic: born Rotherham, Yorkshire, 27 March 1920; Lecturer, University of Texas, Austin, 1953-56; Lecturer, University of Cambridge, 1958-62; Professor of Architecture, Graduate School of Architecture and Urban Design, Cornell University, 1962-85; Andrew Dickson White Professor in Architecture, 1985-90 (Emeritus); died Washington DC 5 November 1999 (Reprinted with the consent of The Editor, The Independent - in which it was published on 8 December 1999) Scrutinizing buildings like a text It was probably October 1958:5 or 6 p.m., pitch dark, freezing cold with folds of damp fog wrapping themselves round Cambridge's yellow streetlights. It was my first tutorial session with Colin. I had just come from rowing on the river. The flat was in a college house near Magdalene (the curved-wall end flat in the 1930s Causewayside block of general memory was yet to be). He greeted me, wearing white shorts, perhaps a white tennis shirt, and barefoot. The temperature inside was tropical. There was a chrome Pither stove which he tended religiously, maintaining the conditions of a sauna. I was shell-shocked. Nothing in my small life had prepared me for this. Colin must have got me over my embarrassment and started the conversation, but I cannot remember it. Nothing was said about supervisions1 but I was to see him every week until my fifth year when he abruptly disappeared, to be replaced by Jim Stirling. Of course I assumed that he had had this role for aeons, but in truth it was probably one of his own first supervisions. What we embarked on was a close interrogation of the Oeuvres Completes of Le Corbusier. With Colin I mentally crawled through every centimetre of the villas of the '20s and '30s. We did this through photographs, plans and sections and the paintings, which he compared more with those of Leger than Ozenfant, Corb's fellow Purist. The material we had was grey, or black and white photographs, and showed buildings to my eyes of such alien boxiness that I dared say nothing. But so well did Colin do obituary arq • V0I4 • n o i • 2000 11 Proposed Sailors' Home, Vancouver, designed by Colin Rowe and Brian Richards, 1952-53 for Sharp, Thomson, Berwick and Platt. Perspective of Garden Court. This building was later built in slightly modified form as the Blue Cross Seamen's institute. (Collection Brian Hemingway Architect Ltd.) his work that I became myself a proselytizer, until that is, my own first exposure to the Villa Savoie. Today's wealth of analysis, of Curtis, of von Moos, of a dozen more, was all in Colin's head; he was writing it, or laying its foundations. With hindsight, it was a huge privilege to be working with just him, and the Oeuvres in all their didactic freshness. There were numerous deviations from our road, many far above my head, and all I now realize following some current or recent Rowe work. For example he had a passion for Mannerism, and I remember writing my only essay for him, trying to wring something cosmic from my analysis of Parmegiano's Madonna del Collo Lungo. However, what was ostensibly a taste for Giulio Romano, turned out 1 think to be a more general predilection for the warping and subversion of given rules (Laurenziana Library stair-lobby, Florence). Indeed I suspect that in the clubby workings of those days this more general trait may have brought about his departure.2 In design, the given rule was Modernism, Corbu's Maison Domino, and he would grind the wall-free column grid into our skulls. He never tired of drilling this into our overlays or our sketchbooks: he did it in that quivering, intense way with a stub of pencil pushed round and round so hard that it often went right through the paper or left an indelible mark on the board beneath. Once he felt that he was understood he would urge its subversion, but the problem was how, not just for me, but also I think, for him. He did not or could not draw, and words were his guide. He spoke frequently of the Polish School at Liverpool;3 among their number had evidently been an individual who could achieve this alchemy; near-symmetries were set up, but broken, and by so doing, ambiguities introduced. My friend Sumet Jumsai showed him plans of Thai and Indian temple complexes and Colin was silent. I like to think that his later American students translated the challenge into complete work, but this may have been wrecked on the rather littoral reefs of early Michael Graves or all Richard Meier. My closest contact with Colin in the studio was in second and fourth years. First year studio had been firmly and refreshingly run by Sandy Wilson, so imagine our reaction to the amazing combination of Colin and Peter Bicknell4 as joint second year masters. Colin started us off with a block planning project - a shopping centre, bank, perhaps a library, complex along the south side of a large open green space in the city, Parker's Piece. I did this well and seemed to go up in his estimation. He also seemed to enjoy my interpretation of our next project, Dons' Housing for Peterhouse. The brief called for accommodation for a number of couples without children, and I assumed that this was because they were old rather than young, and disposed them into a severe, asymmetrical group of mastabas, in effect a funerary complex. Colin encouraged individual struggle for vocabulary at a time when the school was overwhelmingly Brutalist in expression and I suspect that this catholic attitude showed in our design examinations.5 It would be fascinating to exhume that work, but it was probably destroyed. In third year Peter Eisenman appeared as Colin's PhD student5 and our last contact was during fourth year while I was involved in a gigantic housing project. He helped me find the context for my fifth year project: the Cadogan Estate in Knightsbridge, where the leases were about to fall in.' It was salutary to complete it without him. Colin showed us how to scrutinize buildings like a text; his scholarship was erudite and breathtaking for us and he won our admiration. It was good that so many of us were there at the RIBA to witness him receiving the Gold Medal. JOHN SERGEANT Notes 1. A supervisor at Cambridge is appointed by a Director of Studies, her/himself being responsible to the College of the student, not the Department of the University. To this day I do not know what Colin's role was: he never told me, and I remember no supervisions with anyone else. Universal practice was learn as you go'. 2. There was a student legend that the Cambridge Senior Common Rooms had been set aflutter by Colin's MA ceremony (this honorary degree is conferred on all non-Cambridge lecturers in order to enable them to 'belong'). On being introduced to the Congregation, in Latin, Colin had seemingly failed to walk across the Senate House to kneel before the Vice Chancellor, but had crawled as before an Eastern potentate to finally end up prostrate with his head on the cushion. There was even a version, which went on, that so encumbered with scarlet and ermine was the VC that he could not lay his hands upon Colin's, which were fluttering at his feet (the correct position being clasped in prayer, a quaint medieval memory). So bulldogs (non-academic University servants with great boots and legendary running powers deputed by Proctors to catch any student not wearing a gown on the streets by night) were dispatched to elevate him for this purpose. However arq • V0I4 • noi • 2000 obituary these gentlemen were themselves either carrying an axe, or chained to a copy of the Statutes. So, all in all, his Degree induction was less solemn than the norm. Even if it was untrue this story was for us bound into Colin's mystique. 3. At that time, the Liverpool University School of Architecture where Colin studied and later taught was, together with the Architectural Association, the leading British architecture school. During Colin's time in Liverpool, the Polish School, made up of exiled staff and students, was established there and operated parallel to its English host. 4. Peter Bicknell was the architect for the 1930s Fen Court at Peterhouse and lectured on British Architecture. We thought him past the best of his powers and knew nothing of his polymath nature. He was an authority on J. M. W. Turner and the Picturesque and his annual firework parties were apparently a local sensation. 5. These took the form of brief and site given cold, and designed and drawn up in the examination room; six hours or one day for first year, two days for second and three days for third. I suspect that today's students would be distraught at the prospect, with no opportunity to seek a tutor's opinion. They should be revived. 6. Peter set us a sketch design for a pedestrian bridge over the Mi motorway and came over like a football coach: 'You gotta work like hell'. 7. On our walks in west London a bump in the road would identify a building campaign or change of titled estate. He knew every event, every date, acquisition by marriage or inheritance. The streets spoke with him. The gossipy nature of these footnotes has been intentional, and tries to echo the endless sub-texts and anecdotes of our mentor, without perhaps his occasional waspishness, nor, of course, his virtuosic sentence structure. J. S. A distant recollection Colin Rowe was always a fairly remote figure - even when we worked together briefly, I gave him less than he gave me. Perhaps this was more common than others who worked with him longer led me to suspect; but none of these earned specific annoyance in print ... a matter of personal regret, therefore. However, the remoteness itself had many levels which required several years to understand. Architecture at Princeton in the late '60s was dominated by Le Corbusier and Colin Rowe. Their physical absence - Le Corbusier had died the previous year and Rowe was teaching at Cornell - allowed them to mingle as one authoritative voice. My teachers at that time included Peter Eisenman and Anthony Vidler, both Rowe students at Cambridge, as well as Anthony Eardley and Michael Graves, both close adherents of Rowe's interpretation of architecture. Ken Frampton was a more independent member of this circle; but even Emilio Ambasz, who arrived from Argentina as a proselyte of Semiotics, was responsible for assembling a samizdat collection of Rowe's articles nearly 15 years before the publication of Mathematics of an Ideal Villa and OtherEssays. Eisenman concentrated upon the formalistic side of Rowe's interests, Vidler upon the political side and Graves the architectural synthesis of Le Corbusier, Cubism and Terragni. Rowe was the spiritual, largely legendary, centre of this triangular division of a fairly comprehensive approach to architecture and its possibilities. The importance of Rowe's concern for decorum eluded us at that time. Where, for example, we indulged in elaborate analyses of a recently completed addition to the Institute for Advanced Study, Rowe asked simply, 'Can you imagine Einstein having to work here?' Nor did we strive to link this question of decorum to Rowe's argument, which had the strange quality of deploying examples from history as if they were his own works. In many senses they were, since his interpretations were unlike those of conventional architectural history or the pronouncements of architects themselves. However, the effect was to make him transparent for the history of which he spoke, a history which only came through him. The uniqueness was enhanced by his manner. By comparison with my American colleagues, Colin spoke, or rather declaimed, like the House of Lords, or R. H. Tawney, and his intense eyes always seemed to be focused somewhere beyond immediate circumstances. Once heard, one could not forget the voice; and he wrote as he spoke. Rowe's arguments were always aimed at current practice and understanding - he seemed to operate in an eternal present more nuanced and relevant than that of Giedion. It was possible to travel from Italian Mannerism via Letarouilly to Le Corbusier and Terragni without pause. Even when the argument was concerned to demonstrate the great difference between the richness of Mannerist architecture and urbanism by comparison with the present, the argument itself depended upon the intrinsic properties of the architecture. Born out of Rowe's remarkable powers of observation, such demonstrations paradoxically made it possible for students to be far more attentive to architectural physiognomy than to the culture which the architecture seemed so effectively to embody. Emblematic in this respect was his apercu that the Unite d'Habitation was effectively cast from the mould of Vasari's Uffizi. Everything that needed to be said about the urban discontinuity and the architectural continuity seemed to reside in that pair of slides. Correlatively, the cultural integrity and richness of present proposals depended upon a fastidious attention to a particular physiognomic complexity that possessed its highest horizon in the issue by which Rowe attained his ultimate remoteness - phenomenal transparency. The formalism which supported such exercises did not become apparent until the appearance, in the early '70s, of a counter- argument launched by Robert Venturi and Vincent Scully at Yale. They deployed similar means - readings of plan-configuration, architectural physiognomy and iconography - to reach cultural ends opposite to those of Rowe. What was known on the East Coast of America as the battle of the Whites and the Greys effectively summarized the instability of formal argument - the accusations of'elitism' levelled at Rowe came from a species of populism made safe for university consumption. However, the conflict had the effect of displacing attention from the means to the cultural content, and it was on this that Tafuri pounced shortly afterwards in his article 'L'architecture dans le boudoir'. At this time, American architectural debate was divided roughly between the massive industrial icons of Kevin Roche, a revived International Style, the small town iconography of Venturi and the typology emerging from obituary arq • V0I4 • n o i • 2000 13 the Fifteenth Triennale. In 1977, Michael Graves arranged that I work with Judy DiMaio and, later, Stephen Peterson, assisting Rowe on his portion of the Nolli Plan (the Forum, Palatine, Aventine and Celio) for the Roma Interrotto exhibition. I was extremely surprised to discover that Rowe intended to pursue this exercise in re-opening a dialogue with tradition by adopting a scenario in which Napoleon's son - the Roi de Rome - inhabited a renovated Palatine Palace, and by developing our contribution strictly within those historical circumstances. I was even more surprised to discover that all the formal apparatus that had been transmitted to me by his students was, for Rowe himself, only the visual support for an elaborately detailed cultural vision, for which the Roma Interrotta contribution was a minor manifesto. The most significant memory of the event was Rowe devouring in an afternoon an entire roll of yellow- trace in re-drawings of the urban lay-out, all the while accompanying his efforts with a running commentary upon the presumed inhabitants and their disposition in the plan. Princes, princesses, nobles, courtiers and members of every other level of society were summoned as if they were known to him personally and were very much alive. This was - and still is - utterly unique in my experience: as if Baedeker and Goethe of the Italian Journey had taken up a felt- tip pen and were recalling the town from which they had come for the benefit of a contemporary American audience. Indeed, I was so perplexed by the historicism that I missed the point. Moreover, I think the historicistic and iconographic excesses of the immediately ensuing Post- Modernism have contributed to a general missing of the point, particularly since much of its imagery seemed so similar to Rowe's. From the early essay, 'Lockhart, Texas', through Collage City to The Architecture of Good Intentions (each separated by 20 years), Rowe's affirmation of nineteenth-century towns and architecture was only partly concerned with spatial sophistication or even the details of planning, ornament and furniture which so obviously absorbed his consummate depth of perception and passion. All this was the scenography of a society dependent upon individual strength of character, depth of commitment, profound sensitivity, and a wit occasionally touching on the violent (neither, therefore, the mono-cultures of early Modernism nor a vacuous pluralistic polyculturalism). The 'aristocratic' content of this society had little to do with birthright and far more to do with a moral or political imagination, integrity and generosity of understanding. What Athens or Rome had been to earlier generations, the nineteenth-century European city was for Rowe, useful particularly since it required less of an exercise in translation for present consumption. It was not 'laid up in heaven' but, like his conception of Utopia, a 'tragic' manifestation of human possibilities in this world. Unable to find a setting suitable for Einstein in even the best Modernist architecture, he resorted to, for example, Early Romantic Munich as an approximate paradigm. The 'problem of conscience which no responsible person can evade' (The Architecture of Good Intentions) is intrinsically remote from everyday needs and desires. It is a matter of cultural imagination, and resides in its freedom. If this, ultimately, is the source of Rowe's remoteness, it is also so remote from present architectural or cultural preoccupations as to pass unrecognized. Of Rowe's rich legacy, however, it deserves to be recalled first. PETER CARL Looking with Colin In his writings and teaching, Colin Rowe fundamentally altered our understanding of modern architecture by demonstrating its relationship to the world of ideas. Although this notion is considered self-evident by many architects, it is not universally embraced by historians of art and architecture. In part this is due to a misunderstanding by those who saw his writings as an apology for a kind of formalism while ignoring his readings of Modernism's historical, ideological and aesthetic roots. In part this is also due to Colin's generosity in sharing ideas with friends and colleagues before their (often much-belated) appearance in print. But most of all, Colin's historical method - if he can be said to have one - combined aspects of formal study, literary biography and political history, the history of ideas, and his own experiences. This form of speculation ran against the current of Germanic positivism, still the prevailing ideology in the study of architectural history. This can be illustrated by Colin's sometimes tenuous relationship with Rudolf Wittkower, his first and major teacher. Colin frequently remarked that The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa and Mannerism and Modern Architecture were not well received by Wittkower, though both were close to his mentor's interests both in and out of print. There were suggestions that the articles involved the misuse of historical concepts and their evidence was wrong. Presumably Colin's historical career would be best served by a strong dose of that German elixir, archival research. Although the relationship between the two men remained cordial, Colin was miffed when he was not invited to contribute to the Wittkower Festschrift. The architectural essay rather than the scholarly book or article was Colin's preferred literary form. For this task he was self-taught but remarkably well prepared. Blessed with a prodigious memory, he could recite long passages from poets as diverse as Shakespeare and Byron, or historians as dissimilar as Mary McCarthy and Henri Focillon. His personal library was extensive and reflected his catholic taste for Serlio or Scamozzi in their original editions, the collected works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the diaries of James Lees-Milne, or the biographies of the notable families of Europe and America. Colin took particular delight in reciting the family trees of royalty, and when Princess Diana died, all work stopped because friends continually telephoned for his prediction on the future of the House of Windsor. Colin's fondness for the minutiae of interpersonal relationships allowed him to detect subtleties of wit and (sometimes biting) humour. As an outsider to the rarefied world of art history, Colin had little patience for the attribution of late medieval paintings and once described Hitchcock's unfinished PhD dissertation as the 'designated pursuit of Merovingian bric-a-brac'. About Minneapolis he remarked how skyways could be anchored by an upper level hotel lobby at one end and the ladies' lingerie section of a department store on the other. 14 arq • V0I4 • n o i • 2000 obituary On the other hand, Colin observed that in Charlotte irony had become a tragedy; here skyways were an agent of racial segregation, with black on the street and whites in the passageways above. Above all, Colin recognized the mythic dimension of writing history and was not above creating a good myth just when one was required. The classic example is, of course, the fictitious late Father Vincent Mulcahy, S.J., invented by Colin for the Romalnterrotta exhibition in 1978. Even though fake scholarship was in keeping with the idea of the exhibit, there were unintended consequences of the spoof. It surprised Colin how many readers thought that the yarn was genuine, and discretion prevents me from revealing the name of a noted historian of Roman urbanism who, knowing my ties to Colin, wanted to borrow my copy of Father Mulcahy's magisterial achievement, the catalogue to Rome: the Lost and Unknown City. When infirmities confined Colin to his Washington apartment, his appetite for reading increased, as evidenced by the heavy cartons of books that would arrive with regularity every several weeks. Although he never consciously attempted to keep up with 'the literature', friends would bring him books by Richard Sennett or Henri Lefebvre, usually for their mutual provocation. The New York Review of Books and Book Review Section of the Sunday New York Times were inexhaustible resources for conversation. Even if Colin read widely, he was disarmingly candid about his lack of interest in specific areas, most notably in ancient and medieval art and architecture. Colin's writings and teaching were the consequences of the authors whom he read with admiration. His respect for Karl Popper and Isaiah Berlin is well- known, but none mattered more to him than Bernard Berenson. Although Colin appreciated Berenson's perceptive observations and frequently quoted BB in his writing, I suspect that his respect for the Renaissance art connoisseur and passionate defender of Western culture went deeper. The core of the admiration lay in Berenson's capacity for the sustained visual study of paintings and the emphasis on their intrinsic values. To claim that Berenson's aesthetics influenced Colin's concept of modern architecture would be a gross exaggeration. Admittedly, the influence of Berenson is indirect and reached Colin through S. J. Freedberg's Painting of the High Renaissance in Rome and Florence. Still, something of Berenson's concept of tactile values underlies the Transparency articles and those that deal with Italian subjects. Rightfully Colin never took up Berenson's case for 'life enhancing' qualities of art, which he must have considered overly Utopian. Colin's last years vacillated between self-imposed isolation and the legendary admiration that consumed Berenson throughout his long life. To me, the accounts of Colin's drives into the Virginia countryside recalled descriptions of Berenson's giri to Assisi and Vallombrosa in the last years of his life, though without BB's enfeeblement. Even more so than his house in Ithaca, the apartment in Washington became his own I Tatti, an exile's habitable museum and library with its own stream of guests. Here the collective efforts of former students brought an order to Colin's affairs that Signor Gioffredi did for Berenson. In an irony of biblical proportions, two sisters, each named Mary, cared for Colin's personal needs at the Kennedy-Warren with the same care that Nello and Liliana did for BB at I Tatti. 'You must look, look, and look until you are blind with looking', Berenson was reputed to have said, 'and out of blindness will come illumination.' All of us who have looked with Colin are the better for i t . LEON SATKOWSKI Robert Maxwell is Emeritus Professor of Architecture at Princeton University John Sergeant practises in England and Spain Peter Carl is a Lecturer at the University ofCambridge Leon Satkowski teaches architectural history at the University of Minnesota and studied with Colin Rowe at Cornell. He wos working with Rowe at the time of his death on a book surveying sixteenth- century architecture in Italy CAMBRIDGE Ciulio Romano ManfredoTafuri The Giulio Romano exhibition in Mantua in 1989 was the occasion for the publication, for the first time, of a full and thorough account of Giulio's art. Now this lavishly illustrated book, selected from the original Italian catalogue by the late Manfredo Tafuri, brings together essays by a distinguished team of scholars to provide a full picture of Giulio's activities as an architect. £75.00 HB 0521573394 345PP Architecture in Early Modem Italy A History of Venetian Architecture EnnioConcina and Judith Landry Ennio Concina's comprehensive survey of Venetian architecture draws on extensive original research on the city's cultural history. From its classical roots, to the twentieth-century battles against flood and economic decline, Concina discusses the influence of Venice's extraordinary position in history and geography on architectural styles. E50.00 HB 0521573386 362pp The Architectural Treatise in the Italian Renaissance Architectural Invention, Ornament and Literary Culture Alina Payne Vitruvius's Ten Books of Architecture was the fountainhead of architectural theory in the Italian Renaissance. This treatise did not, however, address all of the questions that were of concern to early modern architects. This study examines the Italian Renaissance architect's efforts to negotiate between imitation and reinvention of classicism. £50.00 HB 0521622662 32opp Wren's 'Tracts' on Architecture and Other Writings LydiaM.Soo This book examines the theoretical work of one of the most important architects of early modern Europe. Wren posited a new version of the origins and development of the Classical style, thereby becoming one of the first to challenge theoretical principles of architecture that had been upheld since the Renaissance. £45.00 HB 0521573696 236PP Decoding Homes and Houses Julienne Hanson Decoding Homes and Houses uses a computer-based method of analysis to explore the relation between the design and layout of traditional, vernacular, speculative and architect-designed houses and people's evolving tastes, lifestyles, habits and domestic routines. £47.50 HB 0521572843 328pp Space is the Machine A Configurational Theory of Architecture Bill Hillier In this ground-breaking book, Bill Hillier looks at a wide range of architectural and urban problems. Using new techniques of configurational analysis he shows that the patterns of space created by buildings are the key to how buildings and cities work for people. £17.95 pB 052164528 X 475PP Now in Paperback) Lewis Mumford and American Modernism Eutopian Theories for Architecture and Urban Planning Robert Wojtowicz Lewis Mumford and American Modernism examines the career and writings of America's leading critic of architecture and criticism. His numerous books on the history of architecture have proved to be prescient, forming the basis for architecture and urban planning at a time of transition and redefinition at the end of the twentieth century. £16.95 pB 0521639247 240PP Unity Temple Frank Lloyd Wright and Architecture for Liberal Religion Joseph M.Siry This is the first in-depth study of one of the seminal works of America's most renowned twentieth-century architect. Unity Temple is treated as a work of art that embodies both Wright's theory of architecture and his liberal religious ideals. £18.95 PB 0521629918 383PP Now in Paperback) Cambridge books are available from good bookshops, alternatively phone UK +44 (0)1223 325588 to order direct using your credit card, or fax UK +44 (0)1223 325152. C A M B R I D G E The Edinburgh Building UNIVERSITY PRESS Cambridge, CB2 2RU, UK http://www.cup.cam.ac.uk 
work_4mn7mq6q2nfm3ocekkk6zfxqqi	----	Sparavigna, A. (2015). The orientation of the Kings Knot of Stirling Castle. PHILICA.COM Article number 549. doi 10.5281/zenodo.3368834 The orientation of the Kings Knot of Stirling Castle Amelia Carolina Sparavigna (Department of Applied Science and Technology, Politecnico di Torino) Published in anthro.philica.com Abstract In the satellite images of Google Earth we can easily see the King s Knot of the Stirling Castle, a knot garden made of earthworks with a geometric layout. Using SunCalc software, which is giving direction of sunrise and sunset on satellite maps, we can study the orientation of this Knot in relation to the apparent motion of the sun. The orientation of the King's Knot of Stirling Castle Amelia Carolina Sparavigna Department of Applied Science and Technology, Politecnico di Torino, Torino, Italy Abstract: In the satellite images of Google Earth we can easily see the King’s Knot of the Stirling Castle, a knot garden made of earthworks with a geometric layout. Using SunCalc software, which is giving direction of sunrise and sunset on satellite maps, we can study the orientation of this Knot in relation to the apparent motion of the sun. Keywords: Satellite images, Google Earth, Orientation, SunCalc. Stirling Castle is one of the most important locations in Scotland, relevant for its position, architecture and history. The castle is atop a hill, in a strong defensive position, so that it was an important fortification to control River Forth until the 1890s. Most of the principal buildings of the castle date from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries [1]. Stirling Castle had a King's Park enclosed, of which today that part known as King's Knot still exists. In the Figure 1, we can see an image from Google Earth of the castle and of the garden. The King's Knot is an octagonal stepped mound, standing in a double-ditched enclosure. It survives as a remnant of a wider garden, a description of which is given in the Rotuli Scaccarii Regum Scotorum, that is, the Exchequer Rolls of Scotland [2], Volume VIII, A.D. 1508-1513. At the beginning of XVI Century, the Castle had a "Great Garden" and a “Garden under the Wall”. A "new park had been formed for the beasts, probably deer, boars, and the wild cattle which may still be seen in the parks of Cadzow and Chillingham, favourite pets of James IV, as of other kings. It was in the Great Garden that the Round Table, or elevated plot of ground, sometimes called the King’s Knot, had been laid out, of which the outlines may still be seen. Barbour refers to it, but the revival of the Arthurian romance by James IV (1473-1513), gave it a new significance in the chivalric and poetic traditions of Scotland” [2]. Let us remark that this reference gives that the King's Knot was also considered as a Round Table. Figure 1 – Stirling Castle and its King’s Knot as it is shown by Google Earth. In [3], it is told that the earthworks we see of the King's Knot represent the final form created for Charles I, in 1627-9. In 1625, William Watts was despatched from London to be ‘maister gairdiner to his Majestie at the Castell of Stirling’ [4]. Probably, it was built for the king’s Scottish coronation in 1633 [4-6]. "Viewed from the castle above, James IV had earlier created in the 1490s a landscape of leisure with his park, loch, fish ponds and great garden of fruit trees, flowers and hedges which came close to the garden ideal of the Italian Renaissance" [3]. Let us note that the King’s Knot is defined a “knot garden”, a garden of very formal geometrical design in a square frame (most Renaissance knot gardens were composed in such a manner [7]). However, as we will see in the following discussion, its layout could have an astronomic meaning too. The archaeological investigation of the site proposed in [3] is very interesting. In this reference, it is told that aerial photographs taken in 1980, by the Royal Commission for Ancient and Historical Monuments of Scotland, made an important discovery: ditches in a trapezoidal form beneath and around the King’s Knot mound suggested that an earthwork monument had preceded it. From the images of the archaeological surveying proposed in [3], it seems that earthworks changed their orientation. Here, we discuss what we can see today in the satellite images. In recent papers (see for instance [8-10]), we have compared the orientation of gardens with the direction of sunrise and sunset on solstices. This is quite easy to do by means of software, such as Sollumis.com or SunCalc.net (the use of this software was proposed in [11]). Software gives sunrise and sunset on satellite maps for any day of the year. In this manner, we observed that the gardens of Taj Mahal have specific orientations to solstices. These Mughal gardens, which had been planned to represent the Earth Paradise, seem being also representing a local horizon coherent with the apparent motion of the sun. Is this also possible for a knot garden? The answer can be positive, having these gardens a geometric layout too. Figure 2 – Result of an analysis with SunCalc.net of the King’s Knot. In the Figure 2, it is shown the result of an analysis with SunCalc.net of the King’s Knot. It is interesting that the orientation with the direction of the sunset on solstices is quite good. From the center of the knot, which is the most elevated part of these earthworks, the king could observe the azimuth spanned by sunrise and sunset throughout the year. Then, probably, the orientation of the garden is not accidental, but having an astronomical meaning. Let us conclude, remembering that the layout of this knot has an orientation which looks like that of the Roman Fort of Hardknott, of which we discussed in Ref.12. References [1] Vv. Aa. Stirling Castle, Wikipedia. Retrieved 27 Dec 2015. [2] Rotuli Scaccarii Regum Scotorum, the Exchequer Rolls of Scotland, edited by G. Burnett, AE. J. G. Mackay, M.A Oxon, L.L.D. Edin, Vol. VIII, A.D. 1508-1513, H.M. General Register House, Edinburgh, 1891. [3] Digney, S.; Maldonado, A.; Jones, R.; Poller, T. The King’s Knot, Stirling: Geophysical and Topographic Survey, Stirling Local History Society, Stirling Field and Archaeological Society, Archaeology University of Glasgow. Retrieved 27 Dec 2015. See also: http://www.stirling- lhs.org/uploads/5/0/2/4/5024620/kings_knot_poster.pdf [4] Archaeologists conduct laser survey of King's Knot gardens, 14 October 2015, BBC.com. Retrieved 27 Dec 2015, http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-scotland-tayside-central-34532983 [5] Stirling: King’s Knot, Retrieved 27 Dec 2015, http://www.historic- scotland.gov.uk/propertyresults/propertydetail.htm?PropID=PL_277 [6] Stirling, King's Knot, The online catalogue to Scotland’s archaeology, buildings, industrial and maritime heritage. Retrieved 27 Dec 2015, https://canmore.org.uk/site/46256/stirling-kings-knot [7] Vv. Aa. Knot garden, Wikipedia. Retrieved 27 Dec 2015. [8] A.C. Sparavigna. The Gardens of Taj Mahal and the Sun, International Journal of Sciences, 2(11), 104-107, 2013. [9] A.C. Sparavigna. Solar Azimuths in the Planning of a Nur Jahan’s Charbagh, International Journal of Sciences, 2(12), 8-10, 2013. [10] A.C. Sparavigna. Observations on the Orientation of Some Mughal Gardens. PHILICA.COM Article number 455, 2015. [11] V. Pankovic, M. Mrdjen and M. Krmar. Was Lepenski Vir an Ancient Sun or Pleiades Observatory?, arXiv:1501.01108 [physics.hist-ph] [12] A.C. Sparavigna. Solstices at the Hardknott Roman Fort, PHILICA.COM, Article Number 442, 2014. Information about this Article Published on Sunday 27th December, 2015 at 14:01:37. The full citation for this Article is: Sparavigna, A. (2015). The orientation of the Kings Knot of Stirling Castle. PHILICA.COM Article number 549. Author comment added 27th December, 2015 at 17:59:29 At the north-west side of the part of the Knot shown in the Figure 2, the garden has a layout resembling a giant board of “Nine Men’s Morris” game. In Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nine_Men%27s_Morris), it is told that “giant outdoor boards were sometimes cut into village greens. In Shakespeare’s 16th century work A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Titania refers to such a board: “The nine men’s morris is filled up with mud” (A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act II, Scene I).” 
work_4revxqlkmbe4pamtg5ni24qc2u	----	Leonardo Bruni and the Shimmering Facets of Languages in Early Quattrocento Florence Leonardo Bruni and the Shimmering Facets of Languages in Early Quattrocento Florence Author(s): Andrea Rizzi Source: I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance , Vol. 16, No. 1/2 (September 2013), pp. 243-256 Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of Villa I Tatti, The Harvard Center for Italian Renaissance Studies Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/673417 JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at https://about.jstor.org/terms The University of Chicago Press and Villa I Tatti, The Harvard Center for Italian Renaissance Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/673417 L A T I N A N D V E R N A C U L AR I N Q UAT T R OC E N T O F L O R E N C E A ND BE YO N D Leonardo Bruni and the Shimmering Facets of Languages in Early Quattrocento Florence Andrea Rizzi, University of Melbourne LEONARDO BRUNI WAS one of the greatest humanists of the early quattro- cento. He represents the “new generation’s talent for a more classicizing style and of the new locutionary energy that it provided.”1 Bruni is recognized as the quin- tessential humanist of his time: “if Bruni is not a typical Quattrocento humanist, nobody is.”2 Bruni set the standard for humanistic prose writing of the early quattrocento, and his legacy goes beyond the confines of the history and politics of Florence. Some of the most copied and studied works by Bruni in fifteenth- century Italy were his translations from Greek to Latin. His Latin versions of Greek histories paved the way for the reception of ancient Greek literature in the Contact Andrea Rizzi at the School of Languages and Linguistics, Babel Building 504, University of Melbourne, Parkville VIC 3055, Australia (arizzi@unimelb.edu.au). This article originated as a Shoptalk at the Villa I Tatti Harvard Center for Italian Renaissance Studies in 2011. A subsequent iteration was presented at the Renaissance Society of America (RSA) conference in 2012. I would like to acknowledge here my gratitude to all staff and 2011 fellows at the Villa I Tatti for supporting my work. I also wish to thank Timothy McCall, Elizabeth Horodowich, Eva Del Soldato, and Elizabeth Mellyn for reading various versions of this article. Thank you also to the two anonymous readers as well as Andrew McCormick and Cynthia Troup for their invaluable suggestions and Christopher Celenza, James Hankins, and Gary Ianziti for their comments on my RSA paper. Last but not least, a special thanks to Jane Tylus for her strong support and assistance with this essay and the current ITS issue. The title of this essay is modeled on Celenza’s inspiring representation of Latin and vernacular as “differently shimmering facets of the same unique jewel” (Christopher Celenza, The Lost Italian Renaissance: Humanists, Historians, and Latin’s Legacy [Bal- timore, 2004], 144). All translations into English are my own unless noted otherwise. 1. Ronald G. Witt, In the Footsteps of the Ancients: The Origins of Humanism from Lovato to Bruni (Leiden, 2000), 404. 2. James Hankins, “Humanism in the Vernacular: The Case of Leonardo Bruni,” in Humanism and Creativity in the Renaissance: Essays in Honor of Ronald G. Witt, ed. Christopher S. Celenza and Kenneth Gouwens (Leiden, 2006), 12. I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance, volume 16, number 1/2. © 2013 by Villa I Tatti: The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies. All rights reserved. 0393-5949/2013/1612-0004$10.00 243 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Italian vernaculars. Evidence of this are the five different vernacular versions of his De primo bello punico—surviving in 120 manuscripts—and thirty manuscript copies of a vernacular version of his De bello gothico.3 It is somewhat ironic that Bruni’s cultural project to demonstrate the superiority of Latin over Greek—as Cicero did before him—turned into a wide vernacular reception of Greek texts through their Latin versions. Given the tremendous success of his Latin translations and rewritings of clas- sical texts and the subsequent vernacular versions of his work, Bruni is an excel- lent figure through which to study the perceived relationship between Latin and vernacular in early quattrocento Italy. This article advances a novel interpreta- tion of Leonardo Bruni’s understanding of the link between Latin and vernacu- lar languages of early quattrocento Florence and the cultural and political spaces they occupied. According to this new reading, for Bruni, Latin and the Florentine vernacular occupied specific and yet compatible cultural domains befitting their audiences and users. Both Latin and vernacular served specific functions, and each language was considered capable of compensating for the other’s limitations. Bruni’s recognition of the strengths and weaknesses in both Latin and the Flor- entine languages represents a radical departure from the perception of vernacular humanism as a vehicle for the dissemination of neo-Latin texts and ideals. Bruni encouraged the mutual enrichment of two clearly different traditions within pub- lic communication in early Renaissance Italy: Latin for supraregional, epideictic, and demonstrative oratory and official written exchange, on the one hand, and the vernacular for localized, deliberative, and forensic exchange, on the other. As discussed in the opening essay of this journal’s issue, the Aretine humanist contributed to a heated debate about the nature of the language used in ancient Rome. The discussion was initiated by Pope Eugene IV in March 1435, while the papal court was taking refuge in Florence. Several humanists participated in this debate: Antonio Loschi, Poggio Bracciolini, Cencio Rustici, Andrea Fiocchi, Biondo Flavio, and Bruni exchanged their views and thoughts. This debate was crucial to humanists, as it weighted the vaunted supremacy and perfection of the Latin language against the instability and corruption of the vernaculars.4 In his De ver- bis Romanae locutionis (April 1, 1435), which he addressed to Bruni, Flavio initi- ated the discussion. He asked whether the populace of ancient Rome spoke the grammatical Latin he and his fellow scholars knew through classical texts or, rather, 3. Ibid., 26. The use of vernacular for the dissemination of Latin humanistic ideas is discussed by Hankins (ibid., 11–29) and Witt, In the Footsteps. 4. See the introduction to this cluster by Andrea Rizzi and Eva Del Soldato. 244 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms the “vulgato idiomate” spoken by the illiterate people of Flavio’s day. Except for the passages analyzed in this article, the status of the vernacular scarcely figures in the 1435 discussion, and both Bruni and Biondo agree that its role and position is “low” and limited to the illiterate. Given the focus on spoken Latin, Biondo’s essay and Bruni’s response are concerned with orations. Importantly, Biondo follows Cicero’s Brutus in considering the Latin language to have three registers (medium, grave, and low), with a correspondent tripartite level of vocabulary (verba ele- gantissima, media, and abiecta sive dissipata).5 By contrast, in his 1435 letter to Flavio, Bruni described languages as either grammatical or nongrammatical. He advanced the theory—shared by medieval scholars—that a diglossia existed in ancient Rome, whereby two languages, one grammatical and one nongrammati- cal, coexisted just as they coexisted in his day. In other words, Biondo believed that ancient Latin had various rhetorical levels and registers, and he imagined a lower style of Latin that had been used and understood by the illiterate of Rome. Instead, Bruni saw a barrier between the Latin that was not understood by il- literate audiences and the vernacular that was, by nature, “low” and unstable. According to Bruni, an ancient Roman senator would address his fellow poli- ticians in the Latin that Bruni and his friends learned from Cicero’s texts. This was distinct from the vernacular spoken by the ancient Roman populace who could, therefore, appreciate a Latin speech or oratorical performance—including theater—only through gestures and other nonverbal elements or, in other words, through the highly ritualized and formulaic features of orality: “De oratoribus haec michi quidem dicta sint. In senatu enim et iudiciis ad scientes litteras lo- quebantur litterate, in concionibus vero etiam ad scientes. Aderant quoque in- docti quidam: hi sic intelligebant oratoris verba ut nunc intelligunt Missarum solemnia” (In speaking about the orators I would add the following. The orators addressed the learned members of the community in the senate and court in Latin. They would also use Latin when giving speeches to the same audience. The illiter- ate would also attend, but they understood the words of the orators the same way as today they follow Mass).6 On the basis of Biondo’s treatise and Bruni’s reply, two clear differences emerge. For Bruni, in ancient Rome, Latin and vernacular represented two sepa- rate trajectories that never met. Latin is artificially constructed and therefore the only language appropriate for oratory, poetry, and literature in general, while the vernacular is confined to the more popular, oral, less formal, unofficial levels of 5. See Mirko Tavoni, Latino, grammatica, volgare: Storia di una questione umanistica (Padua, 1984). 6. Ibid., 217. Leonardo Bruni and Facets of Languages | 245 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms communication. Both humanists agreed on the superiority of Latin, although Bi- ondo implicitly accepted the possibility that the vernacular would eventually com- pete with Latin. When examining Bruni’s perceptions of the vernacular and its potential more closely, two distinct views emerge from his Dialogi ad Petrum Paulum Histrum (1406), Laudatio Florentinae Urbis (1404), and the letter to Biondo.7 On the one hand, Bruni praises Florentine as the perfect language while confining it to a non- grammatical and spoken realm; on the other, he recognizes the inadequacy of spoken Latin as a verbal medium that can only reach the scholarly and interna- tional community. BR UNI A ND FLOR ENTINE VER NACUL AR OR ATORY Less than a year after replying to Biondo’s essay, Bruni wrote the Vite di Dante e del Petrarca (1436). Here we find an encomium of the tre corone, or Three Crowns, of Tuscan language and a statement on the dignity of the vernacular, which he says should be seen to be as perfect as Greek and Latin: Or questa è la verità certa e assoluta del nome e dell’effetto de’ poeti. Lo scrivere in istile litterato o vulgare non ha a fare al fatto, né altra differenza è se non come scrivere in greco od in latino. Ciascuna lingua ha la sua per- fezione e suo suono e suo parlare limato e scientifico; pur, chi mi doman- dasse, per che cagione Dante piuttosto elesse scrivere in vulgare che in la- tino e litterato stile, risponderei quello, che è la verità, cioè: che Dante conosceva sé medesimo molto più atto a questo stile volgare ed in rima che a quello latino e litterato.8 [Writing in literary or vernacular style has nothing to do with the case, any more than the difference between writing in Greek or in Latin. Each lan- guage has its own perfection and its own sound, and its polished and learned diction. Yet, if someone should ask me why Dante chose to write in the vernacular rather than in Latin and the literate style, I would reply that 7. Several Renaissance scholars have discussed the dating of Dialogi ad Petrum Paulum Histrum. Stefano Baldassarri’s recent suggestion is accepted here (Leonardo Bruni, Dialogi ad Petrum Paulum Histrum, ed. Stefano U. Baldassarri [Florence, 1994], 7–12 and 61–64). See also Riccardo Fubini, L’umanesimo italiano e i suoi storici: Origini rinascimentali, critica moderna (Milan, 2001); James Hankins, Plato in the Italian Renaissance, 2 vols. (Leiden, 1991), 1:371–78; and David Quint, “Hu- manism and Modernity: A Reconsideration of Bruni’s Dialogues,” Renaissance Quarterly 38 (1985): 423–45. 8. Tavoni, Latino, grammatica, volgare 30. 246 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms the truth is right here, that is to say, that Dante knew himself much better adapted to his vernacular style in rhyme than to that Latin and literate style.]9 Bruni is indicating here that the vernacular had rhetorical and stylistic po- tential, even if it was grammatically unstable. In this passage Bruni recalls Cino Rinuccini’s defense of Dante: by paraphrasing Convivio I, ix, 4, Rinuccini ex- plains that Dante’s use of the vernacular allowed his work to be more useful to his fellow countrymen.10 Bruni takes a different passage from the Convivio (IV, xvi, 4–8)—in which Dante is discussing and quoting from Aristotle’s Physics—in order to tone down the usefulness of the vernacular while at the same time stressing its potential: “‘Ciascuna cosa è massimamente perfetta quando tocca e aggiugne la sua virtude propria.’ . . . E così manifestamente vedere si può che generalmente questo vocabulo, cioè nobilitade, dice in tutte cose perfezione di loro natura” (“Each thing is most completely perfect when it reaches and attains its own proper virtue.” . . . Thus we may clearly see that in general this word, namely “nobility,” means in all things perfection of their own nature).11 Each language has its own perfection and nature. In other words, every idiom has its own realm and conventions, but only Latin and Greek are grammatical in the sense of a stable and systematic language.12 Bruni reinforces the statement he had made a year earlier when writing to Flavio: vernacular languages are non- grammatical, but they can encompass all fields of knowledge (another meaning of “scientifico,” as indicated by Angelo Mazzocco).13 Mirko Tavoni points out that when Bruni expresses his linguistic views on Latin, he makes a clear distinc- tion between the Latin “lingua” and the vernacular “sermo”—as spoken lan- guage.14 Further, in the same passage of the Vite, Bruni refers to the “scrivere in istile litterato o vulgare,” which should be interpreted as litterate scribere (writing grammatically) as opposed to writing and speaking nongrammatically. Accord- 9. Simon A. Gilson, Dante and Renaissance Florence (Cambridge, 2005), 120. 10. See Angelo Mazzocco, Linguistic Theories in Dante and the Humanists: Studies of Language and Intellectual History in Late Medieval and Early Renaissance Italy (Leiden, 1993), 87–88. 11. Dante Alighieri, Dante’s Convivio (The Banquet), trans. Richard Lansing (New York, 1990), bk. 4, 16.4–6. 12. Enea Silvio Piccolomini: “Altre volte ho già pensato che si potesse per il parlar politicamente intender il parlar comune e non scientifico né artifizioso, e per il parlar retoricamente, per il contrario, il parlar scientifico o ver artifizioso” (taken from Salvatore Battaglia, Grande dizionario della lingua italiana [Turin, 1961], s.v. “scientifico”). Hankins translated Bruni’s words “suo parlare limato e scientifico” as “polished and learned diction” (Hankins, Humanism, 14). 13. See Mazzocco, Linguistic Theories, 216. 14. Tavoni, Latino, grammatica, volgare 50. Leonardo Bruni and Facets of Languages | 247 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms ingly, Bruni recognizes the stylistic and lexical potential of the Florentine vernac- ular but rejects the possibility that the volgare might become a grammatical language.15 Bruni’s understanding of the lexical and stylistic potentials of the volgare points to his recognition of the vernacular tradition of Ciceronian rhetoric going back to the mid-thirteenth century.16 In particular, the oratorical skills required of the podesta (ars concionandi) lost with Brunetto Latini the negative connota- tions expressed by mid-thirteenth-century grammarians such as Boncompagno da Signa and Thomas of Split.17 As a result, the civic vernacular speeches intended to sway the population went alongside the more technical and theoretical study of rhetorical discourses. An example of the coexistence of vernacular and Latin- ate rhetorical practices is offered by the teachings of Bartolinus de Benincasa.18 In the 1320s, Bartolinus was contracted by the commune of Bologna to provide two courses on rhetoric: the first was on the study of the Rhetorica ad Herennium (in Latin); the second, on the art of writing letters (ars dictaminis) and speech mak- ing—based on the epistolary style—for a non-Latin-literate audience. Dictaminal studies, which included the art of speaking publicly (ars concionandi), accom- panied the teaching of classical Latin rhetoric for the purposes of understanding the texts and, from the end of the fourteenth century, emulating their style (imi- tatio). Inevitably, the study of rhetoric in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries is not divided between dictaminal and classical learning but between vernacular and Latin and written and spoken (rhetoric and oratory). Where the Latin human- istic culture occupied the space of written and performative oral eloquence (cere- monies and rituals such as funerary speeches, reception of visitors, and prolusions), the vernacular occupied the broader space of political debate, deliberations, and everyday communication. If the former practice was clearly in the hands of highly trained scholars, the latter encompassed deliberative oratory, which was practiced mostly in vernacular and by a broader community of politicians and citizens. As 15. It is worth remembering here that the Latin language was often described as grammatica, as opposed to the vernacular. 16. See Virginia Cox and John O. Ward, The Rhetoric of Cicero in Its Medieval and Early Renaissance Commentary Tradition (Leiden, 2006). 17. On the development and perceptions of the ars concionandi in communal Italy, see Enrico Artifoni, “Gli uomini dell’assemblea: L’oratoria civile, i concionatori e i predicatori nella società com- unale,” in La predicazione dei frati dalla metà del ’200 alla fine del ’300: Atti del XXII Convegno in- ternazionale, Assisi, 13–15 ottobre 1994 (Spoleto, 1995), 143–88. 18. See Sandra Karaus Wertis, “The Commentary of Bartolinus de Benincasa de Canulo on the Rhetorica ad Herennium,” Viator: Medieval and Renaissance Studies 10 (1979): 283–310; and Cox and Ward, Rhetoric, 122–30. 248 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms demonstrated by Stephen Milner, Virginia Cox, and John O. Ward, among others, the coexistence of these practices was very strong throughout communal and late medieval Italy.19 Bruni’s assessment of Dante’s defective knowledge and use of Latin is a criti- cism of the scholastic tradition of Latin teaching and learning, as evidenced in the following passage: ma in versi latini o in prosa [Dante] non aggiugne appena a quelli che mezzanamente hanno scritto. La cagione di questo è che il secolo suo era dato a dire in rima; e di gentilezza di dire in prosa o in versi latini niente intesero gli uomini di quel secolo, ma furono rozzi e grossi e senza perizia di lettere, dotti, niente di meno, in queste discipline al modo fratesco scolastico.20 [but in Latin verse, or in prose, he barely comes up to the average. The reason for this is that his century was given to rhymed speaking; the men of that time understood nothing of speaking in prose, or in Latin verse, for they were coarse and heavy and unskilled in letters, even if nonethe- less learned in these disciplines according to the monkish scholastic man- ner.]21 Indeed, such an attack on the low Latin proficiency of medieval scholars and authors was a standard topos used by fifteenth-century humanists. However, the alleged lack of competence in Latin shown by medieval writers does not preclude a perfect knowledge of the vernacular, for according to Bruni, the two languages and cultures are unrelated. Given the superiority of the Latin language over the vernacular, where can the latter excel? Bruni makes a subtle point about the do- main in which Dante’s vernacular excelled and proved to be useful in his Dialogi ad Petrum Paulum Histrum. In the first dialogue, Niccolò Niccoli criticizes the Three Crowns—Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio.22 As expected, the most vehe- ment attack is directed toward Dante’s inadequate knowledge of Latin: “De his 19. Stephen J. Milner, “Communication, Consensus and Conflict: Rhetorical Precepts, the ‘Ars Concionandi,’ and Social Ordering in Late Medieval Italy,” in Cox and Ward, Rhetoric, 365–408. 20. Leonardo Bruni, Le vite di Dante e del Petrarca, ed. Antonio Lanza (Rome, 1987), 49–50. 21. Gilson, Dante, 120–21. 22. There is an extensive debate on Niccoli’s attack and defense of the Three Crowns in the two books of the Dialogues. See Bruni, Dialogi; and Quint, Humanism, for a summary of this debate. The view taken in this article is that, even if Niccoli’s discussion is clearly a rhetorical exercise, some of Bruni’s opinions on vernacular and Latin percolate through the text and are, to some extent, reliable. Leonardo Bruni and Facets of Languages | 249 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms loquamur que ad studia nostra pertinent: que quidem ab isto ita plerumque igno- rata video. . . . Denique, ut alia omnia sibi affluissent, certe latinitas defuit” (Let us talk now about the topics closest to our studies. I see that these have been largely ignored by Dante. . . . Finally, even if Dante possessed every other skill, he certainly did not have a good knowledge of Latin).23 In the closing remarks of his invective, Niccoli describes Dante as a poet who “talked” (locutus est) in a way that made him seem familiar to wool makers, bakers, and other members of the artisanal class.24 When, in the second book of the Dialogi, Niccoli is asked to defend the same Florentine authors he criti- cized in the first book, he praises Dante’s imagination, knowledge, and elegance of speech (“oris elegantiam”). Does “oris” refer to the oral realm of communica- tion? If so, why is Dante referred to in this context? The expression “oris ele- gantiam” echoes Quintilian’s “sermonis elegantia.” There is, however, a stronger connection with a passage in Macrobius’s Saturnalia (fifth century CE), in which the author apologizes to his readers because “[his] discourse lacks the native elegance of the Roman tongue (ie. elegance of speech)”:25 “Quod ab his, si tamen quibusdam forte nonnumquam tempus voluntasque erit ista cognoscere, petitum impetratumque volumus ut aequi bonique consulant, si in nostro sermone nativa Romani oris elegantia desideretur” (And if others chance at some point to have the time and desire to make this work’s acquaintance, I hope that they will, as I request, be fair and righteous judges, should my discourse lack the native elegance of the Roman tongue).26 The Saturnalia take the form of a dialogue. Therefore, when Macrobius apol- ogizes for his use of the language, he is transposing the fictional oral context onto written Latin. Macrobius asks to be excused for his alleged poor writing, not for the spoken language. Equally, from the point of view of Bruni, Dante’s vernacu- lar mirrored the spoken Florentine of his time, and it is his writing that it sub- jected to criticism, not his fundamental contribution to the rhetorical power and 23. Leonardo Bruni, Opere letterarie e politiche di Leonardo Bruni, ed. Paolo Viti (Turin, 1996), 110. 24. “Sic enim locutus est ut videatur voluisse huic generi hominum esse familiaris [lanariis, pistoribus atque eiusmodi turbe]” (ibid., 112). Compare this sentence with what Bruni writes in the letter to Biondo: “Itaque non ad pistores tantum et lanistas, sed multo magis ad eos qui in reipublicae gubernatione versabantur . . . orator loquebat” (ibid., 128). 25. Compare Guarino Guarino’s quote from Quintilian: “Tanta in eo vis est [Caesar], id acumen, ea concitatio, ut illum eodem animo dixisse quo bellavit appareat. Exornat tamen haec omnia mira sermonis, cuius proprie studiosus fuit, elegantia” (from Prosatori Latini del Quattrocento, ed. Eugenio Garin [Milan, 1952], 345). 26. Ambrosius Aurelius Macrobius, The Saturnalia, ed. Percival Vaughan Davies (New York, 1969), 9. 250 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms effectiveness of the spoken Florentine. Through Niccoli’s praise of Dante’s vernac- ular, Bruni implies that the volgare used by the Three Crowns is nongrammatical and is therefore essentially oral. Such a view was not new: a hundred years before Bruni, Boncompagno da Signa remarked that the ars concionandi had little struc- ture, method, and learning.27 In sum, Bruni indicates, in this passage of the Dia- logi, that Dante’s vernacular is expressive and efficacious for the civic oratory of his time but does not have the grammaticality and stability needed by a written language. This point echoes the differentiation Bruni makes in the 1435 letter to Biondo that the vernacular is sermo, not lingua. In this light, the passage from the life of Dante in which Bruni asserts the perfection of the vernacular for its own style is further explained by the passage already quoted above: “Dante conosceva sé medesimo molto più atto a questo stile volgare ed in rima che a quello latino e litterato.”28 This sentence leaves no doubt that the humanist is making a clear distinction between the nongrammatical “stile volgare,” in “rima” on the one hand and writ- ten, grammatical Latin on the other. In the words of Niccoli/Bruni, Dante’s ver- nacular has an elegance of speech that makes it perfect in its own realm, even if it does not have the status of language (with a clearly defined syntactical struc- ture). In the second dialogue, Niccoli goes on to say that Dante’s “facundia” and rhetorical skills delight (“delectet”) Florence as a whole (“universam civitatem”).29 Further evidence that Bruni is focusing on the oral aspects of Dante’s vernacu- lar can be seen in his Laudatio Florentinae urbis: “Nam quid ego de orationis suavitate et verborum elegantia loquar? In qua idem re sine controversia superat. Sola enim hec in tota Italia civitas purissimo ac nitidissimo sermone uti existim- atur. Itaque omnes qui bene atque emendate loqui volunt ex hac una urbe sumunt exemplum” (What will I say about the sweetness and suaveness of the spoken [Florentine] and its elegant and polished expressions? In this I believe without doubt that Florentine excels over all other vernaculars, for Florence is the Italian city reputed to have the purest and most polished speech). Similarly, in his 1435 response to Biondo, Bruni wrote that the Roman women of his time “elegantissime loquuntur, et purius certe quam viri. Et quanquam non litteratus 27. On Boncompagno da Signa and his views on the ars concionandi, see Artifoni, “Gli uomini,” 150–53. 28. “Stilo vulgari” is how Petrarch describes the volgare. See Silvia Rizzo, Ricerche sul latino umanistico (Rome, 2002), 62. 29. Bruni, Opere, 130; “volgare” and “rima” recall Petrarch’s use of rhytmus and vulgaris to de- scribe the vernacular poetry of ancient Rome. Petrarch affirmed the existence of this poetry (in Familiares 1,1), in order to present his Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta and Triumphi as a legacy from ancient literature. See Rizzo, Ricerche, 54–57. Leonardo Bruni and Facets of Languages | 251 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms sit earum sermo, potest tamen figura ipsa dicendi nitorque verborum eloquent- iam adiuvare” (speak very eloquently and more purely than men. Even if their spoken language is not grammatical, nevertheless the figures of speech and elegance of words enhance its eloquence).30 These last two passages corroborate Bruni’s belief that the spoken vernaculars can be eloquent, even if they are not grammatical, as well as his notion that the Florentine vernacular is the most eloquent of the Italian sermones. Yet if Floren- tine oratory is praiseworthy, prose in the vernacular is not. In the Lives of Dante and Petrarch, for instance, Bruni voices his misgivings about using Florentine to write about poetics: Et perché della qualità de’ poeti abbiam detto, diremo ora del nome, per lo quale ancora si comprenderà la sustanzia: con tutto che queste sono cose che mal si possono dire in vulgare idioma, pure m’ingegnerò darle ad in- tendere, perché, al parer mio, questi nostri moderni poeti non hanno bene intese; né è maraviglia, essendo ignari della lingua greca.31 [Since we have spoken of the qualities of poets, now we shall speak of the name, by which one will also understand the substance; even though these things can only be said poorly in the vulgar tongue, yet I shall exert myself to offer them to be understood, because in my opinion these modern poets of ours have not understood it well—but that is not surprising since they are ignorant of Greek.]32 Clearly, Bruni’s subtle acceptance of the importance and usefulness of Dante’s vernacular within a verbal context can be considered a realistic acceptance of the difficulty Latin humanists faced when applying their rhetorical skills to effec- tive secular public speaking. Bruni had already recognized this difficulty thirty years before the Lives. In the second book of the Dialogi, Bruni voices his con- cerns about the effectiveness of Latin in public speaking through the words of Niccoli: “In summo poeta tria esse oportere: fingendi artem, oris elegantiam, multarumque rerum scientiam” (I believe that an eloquent poet should have the following skills: art of imagination, elegance of expression, and wide-ranging knowledge).33 30. Bruni, Opere, 644; Tavoni, Latino, grammatica, volgare 221. 31. Bruni, Opere, 549. 32. Gordon Griffiths, James Hankins, and David Thompson, eds., The Humanism of Leonardo Bruni: Selected Texts (Binghampton, NY, 1987), 92. 33. Ibid., 128–29. 252 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms These oratorical skills are somewhat close to those that the early thirteenth- century Oculus Pastoralis requires of a good podesta. A specific connection is made in this text between the oratorical skills needed by a vernacular public speaker and the ones seen as paramount for a Latin orator: “Oratorem itaque oportet esse intendentem, ingeniosum et gratiosum” (It therefore behoves the orator to be pur- poseful, inventive, and graceful).34 Although it is unlikely that Bruni knew this medieval treatise, such a similar description shows the premium that Bruni placed on vernacular oratory in the early fifteenth century. As Milner has remarked, “pub- lic oratory become a key component in the educational programme for young Florentine males” in the early quattrocento, just as “demonstrative oratory [became] a key part of the ritual of republican government.”35 Bruni’s high estimation of the Florentine spoken volgare is couched in a tradi- tion that developed in the early trecento and became an essential part of civic life. Bruni’s discussion of the elegance and perfection of the spoken vernacular per- fected by Dante in his poem shows that he was well aware of how powerful the vernacular was in the hands of civic orators. In other words, Bruni stresses Dan- te’s fundamental contribution to vernacular oratory and the influence the lan- guage shaped by the poet had on public speaking. The literate and illiterate com- munities of Florence enjoyed Dante’s poem more through public reading and performances than through private and silent reading.36 In the Dialogi, Bruni upholds the commonly held critical reception of Dante’s poem among Latin liter- ati: the written vernacular is suitable to the lower classes and cannot belong to the loftier world of Latin poetry. Here Bruni echoes Petrarch’s comment that Dante’s poetry was acclaimed by “dyers, drapers, shopkeepers, thugs and their ilk,” by mak- ing Niccolò Niccoli say that he would take Dante out of “the ranks of learned and leave him with the fullers and millers.”37 This criticism goes back to Dante’s lifetime; around 1318–19 Bolognese professor Giovanni del Virgilio reproached Dante for not writing the Commedia in Latin.38 As we have seen, thirty years after the Dialogi, and following the 1435 language debate and Matteo Palmieri’s and Francesco Filelfo’s interpretations of the life and works of Dante, Bruni qual- 34. Milner, “Communication,” 379. 35. Ibid., 398. 36. See John Ahern, “Singing the Book: Orality in the Reception of Dante’s Comedy,” in Dante: Contemporary Perspectives, ed. Amilcare A. Iannucci (Toronto, 1997), 214–39, 215. 37. Petrarch, Familiares, XXI.15; and Bruni, Dialogi, 255–56. The English translation of these passages is taken from Ahern, “Singing,” 215; cf. also Gilson, Dante, 83–88. This coincidence was noted by Giuliano Tanturli, “Il disprezzo per Dante dal Petrarca al Bruni,” Rinascimento 1985 (25): 199–219. I wish to thank the first reviewer for alerting me to Tanturli’s article. 38. Gilson, Dante, 5. Leonardo Bruni and Facets of Languages | 253 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms ifies his view on Dante’s vernacular by accepting that Florentine, in its own oral realm, is perfect.39 The passages discussed above show that Bruni recognized the power and importance of the Florentine vernacular in the political and cultural practices of everyday Florence. What about spoken Latin? In his Dialogi, through the char- acters of Salutati (who represents the old school of Latin scholars) and Niccoli (the new generation of humanists), Bruni expresses the inefficacy of Latin for public oratory. After the dedication to Pietro Paolo Vergerio, Bruni describes his meeting with Coluccio Salutati and Rossi. There is a brief exchange of greetings and then silence descends since no one knows what to say or discuss. This prompts Salutati to reproach his younger friends for not practicing the art of disputation and discussion: quod disputandi usum exercitationemque negligitis: qua ego quidem re nescio an quicquam ad studia vestra reperiatur utilius. . . . Etenim absurdum est intra parietes atque in solitudine secum loqui, multaque agitare, in oculis autem hominum atque in coetu veluti nihil sapias obmutescere.40 [you neglect the active use and practice of disputation. I doubt that any- thing could be discovered more useful to your studies. . . . In fact, it is absurd to talk to yourself and deliberate upon many things when you are alone shut up in your study, but to be dumb, as if you knew nothing, in the presence of others and in society.]41 O’Rourke and Holcroft have interpreted this passage as Salutati criticizing his younger friends for being “unable to speak Latin fluently.” Yet that is unlikely since disputations and discussions in Latin were the everyday staples of humanis- tic pedagogy. Rather, Bruni is concerned to point out a lack of confidence among scholars of his generation. In another passage, Niccoli blames the times in which they live and singles out the philosophers: “O preclaros nostri temporis philoso- phos . . . cum litteras ignorent; nam plures solecismos quam verba faciunt cum loquuntur: itaque illos stertentes quam loquentes audire mallem” (Oh unwise phi- losophers of our time . . . for they ignore the language; when they speak they utter 39. Ibid., 97–123, 120. 40. Bruni, Opere, 84–86. 41. Siobhan O’Rourke and Alison Holcroft, “Latin and the Vernacular: The Silence at the Begin- ning of Bruni’s ‘Dialogi ad Petrum Paulum Histrum,’” in Latinity and Alterity in the Early Modern Period, ed. Yasmin Haskell and Juanita Feros Ruys (Tempe, AZ, 2010), 35–51, 39. 254 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms more grammatical mistakes than words: I would rather listen to them while they snore than speak).42 Bruni’s criticism of the philosophers and, more generally, his peers, evokes the crisis he perceived in Latin-speaking culture, a crisis that undermined the ability of humanists to adapt Latin to the political and cultural life of the city. This was not because the humanists’ Latin was inadequate but because there was a more accessible and effective language available to them: the Florentine vernacular. Bruni’s anxiety concerning the inadequacy of Latin when it came to public oratory (arringa) can thus be appreciated only by taking into account the strong tradition of Ciceronian oratory in the vernacular and the growing prestige and effectiveness of the spoken vernacular in the political arena. In his Dialogi, Bruni exposes a critical issue within the studia humanitatis: the knowledge of Latin culture and literature is confined to the realm of the written word and cannot reach the increasingly educated community of non-Latin readers and listeners. In the eyes of Bruni, the vernacular in early fifteenth-century Florence was an un- avoidable tool for communication and persuasion.43 Bruni recognized the effectiveness of the vernacular oratorical tradition and the narrowing space for spoken Latin in the civic Florentine space. At the same time, those passages by Bruni that have been considered in this essay highlight the porousness of the written and oral dimensions of languages. Indeed, the bound- ary between oral and written communication had been blurred for centuries.44 In the fourteenth century, public speaking entailed public reading of letters or documents that often needed translating from Latin into the vernacular.45 Argu- ably, Bruni’s work represents the earliest acknowledgment among quattrocento humanists that communication in Latin was mostly written; only in some cases was the written material conveyed by way of public addresses. Public speaking in the vernacular took precedence over Latin oratory, to the extent that Latin eloquence existed almost exclusively in written form. 42. Bruni, Opere, 94. 43. See Francesco Tateo, “Francesco Filelfo tra latino e volgare,” in Francesco Filelfo nel quinto centenario della morte: Atti del XVII convegno di studi maceratesi (Tolentino 27–30 settembre 1981) (Padua, 1986), 61–87, 77. As with Bruni, Filelfo “credeva alla funzione, sia pure circoscritta, della lingua volgare, ma soprattutto credeva alla forza di persuasione, in senso didattico non eloquente, e nella efficacia della lingua materna.” 44. In his De Institutione Oratoria (ca. 95 CE), Quintilian makes it clear that speaking, writing, and reading are all intimately connected and necessary to gain oratorical power (James Jerome Murphy, Latin Rhetoric and Education in the Middle Ages and Renaissance [Aldershot, 2005], 164). Clearly, writing was integral to the learning and practice of public speaking in Latin. 45. See Stephen J. Milner, “Citing the Ringhiera: The Politics of Place and Public Address in Trecento Florence,” Italian Studies 55 (2000): 53–82, and “Communication.” Leonardo Bruni and Facets of Languages | 255 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms This acceptance of vernacular oratory as the most effective means for public communication became even stronger toward the end of Bruni’s life. If the Dia- logi reflect on the relationship between the ancients and the moderns and demon- strate the superiority of the former and the weaknesses of the latter, his Lives of Dante and Petrarch abandons the comparatio in order to look closely at the mer- its of the Three Crowns and their legacy in quattrocento Florence.46 In this work, Bruni demonstrates the potential of the vernacular prose by using a clear and ef- fective volgare: Bruni provides a “practical demonstration of how such difficul- ties [of writing in the vernacular] can be overcome” and recognizes the power of the vernacular in the prose realm.47 This experiment confirms Bruni’s apprecia- tion of the importance of the Florentine vernacular in the political and cultural practices of everyday Florence. It is no coincidence that Bruni wrote his Lives during the tumultuous years in which Cosimo de’ Medici was banished for a year while several of Bruni’s close friends were banished for good. Bruni scrutinizes and demystifies the lives of Dante and Petrarch by making them relevant to cur- rent affairs, which were mostly discussed and resolved in the volgare. In Lives, lessons are drawn from the recent past of Dante and Petrarch, in order to learn and teach a broader and non-Latinate audience how to survive the troubled times Bruni and his fellow Florentines were experiencing. As Lives has no dedicatee and is written in the vernacular, Bruni clearly aimed to speak about a past that felt dramatically close to his present. Even if the cultural space given by Bruni to the written vernacular remains limited and tentative, the Florentine tongue is seen in Bruni’s own writing and thinking as a ubiquitous means for communica- tion and persuasion stretching beyond the written world of literature and into the realm of orality. 46. Gary Ianziti, Writing History in Renaissance Italy: Leonardo Bruni and the Uses of the Past (Cambridge, MA, 2012), 41. 47. Ibid., 176. 256 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:02:46 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Minerva Access is the Institutional Repository of The University of Melbourne Author/s: Rizzi, A Title: Leonardo Bruni and the Shimmering Facets of Languages in Early Quattrocento Florence Date: 2013-09 Citation: Rizzi, A. (2013). Leonardo Bruni and the Shimmering Facets of Languages in Early Quattrocento Florence. I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance, 16 (1/2), pp.243-256. https://doi.org/10.1086/673417. Persistent Link: http://hdl.handle.net/11343/221815 File Description: Published version 
work_4vn4hrfyd5daxpwigzfdpbgt6m	----	CHH volume 48 issue 3 Back matter DUKE MONOGRAPHS IN MEDIEVAL AND RENAISSANCE STUDIES CLIO UNBOUND Perception of the Social and Cultural Past in Renaissance England Arthur B. Ferguson "Clio Unbound is outstanding, original, and based on first-class historical scholarship. The development of historical consciousness in Renaissance England is a difficult subject that has long needed a distinguished scholar to do it justice. Ferguson has succeeded admirably. What he has done, essentially, is to ask new questions of both old and new sources. Why and how did historical consciousness develop in England? How did ideas and attitudes in different fields reinforce each other, or sometimes conflict and slow each other? The chapters on literary criticism and language, on law, and on the concept of civilization are especially good, full of original arguments. The final chapter is excellent in suggesting the specific ways in which 'medieval' attitudes and concepts differed from 'Renaissance' ones." F. SMITH FUSSNER "An important contribution to the history of ideas and attitudes about the past. The approach is original, the scholarship massive and comprehensive, the argument temperate and judicious." WILLIAM NELSON Summer 1979, $22.75 PRAISE AND BLAME IN RENAISSANCE ROME Rhetoric, Doctrine, and Reform in the Sacred Orators of the Papal Court, c. 1450-1521 John W. O'Malley "O'Malley's book is a unique contribution, and its subject, to my knowledge, has not been touched by any other book in any language." PAULOSKAR KRISTELLER "Renaissance scholarship over the past twenty years has become increasingly aware that Italian Renaissance culture had a religious side, that Renaissance Humanism did indeed express a certain break with the traditional medieval scholastic modes of writing and arguing, but that Renaissance Humanism was a Christian movement as far as its own practitioners were concerned. What O'Malley shows is that perhaps the most characteristic feature of Renaissance Humanism, epideictic rhetoric, found its way into the very center of traditional, Catholic Christendom in the shape of the sermons preached at .the papal court. Moreover, it profoundly influenced the form and style of Renaissance Christianity, and without in any way denying the Christian past, gave Renaissance Catholicism at the papal curia a very special emphasis. This means that O'Malley's book is one of the most important contributions in recent years to Renaissance cultural and religious history." CHARLESTRINKAUS Autumn 1979, $17.75 Publisher pays postage on prepaid orders. DUKE UNIVERSITY PRESS 6697 College Station / Durham, North Carolina 27708 Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039755 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039755 https://www.cambridge.org/core -Temple- In this book Wilson approaches the subject of civil religion from a new angle. Looking at the arguments ad- vanced to support Robert Bellah's in- terpretation of American culture, he concludes that there is not an institu- tionalized civil religion cult, but rather a more generalized public re- ligion in America. He suggests that the intellectual and social changes that led to the discovery of "civil re- ligion" are more interesting than the concept itself, and argues for a reflec- tive analysis of assumptions made in scholarly research. 240 p p . 1979 ISBN 0-87722-159-6 $12.50 Public Religion in American Culture John F. Wilson In this original monograph on the conceptual foundations of religion, James Muyskens examines the dif- ference between religion based on belief and religion based on hope. The dialectical subtlety of this con- trast lends his account its freshness and air of pertinence not only for pro- fessional theorists, but also for be- lievers who must attempt to reconcile their convictions with contemporary science and philosophy. 200 p p . 1979 ISBN 0-87722-162-6 $15.00 The Sufficiency of Hope Conceptual Foundations of Religion James L. Muyskens Drawing upon sociology, anthropol- ogy, literary criticism, and linguis- tics, Sandra Sizer analyzes the im- mensely popular revival meetings of the nineteenth century which shaped much of American culture and rhet- oric. This book offers a new perspec- tive on revivalism by examining the rhetoric of the hymns themselves and the sorts of events and developments in American society which made hymn-singing and revivals appeal- ing. The author shows how the hymn created a "social religion" or com- munity based on shared feelings and the feminine ideal. 238 p p . 1979 ISBN 0-87722-142-1 $15.00 Temple University Press Broad & Oxford Sts. Philadelphia 19122 (215) 7 8 7 - 8 7 8 7 Gospel Hymns and Social Religion The Rhetoric of Nineteenth-Century Revivalism Sandra S. Sizer In the series, American Civilization, edited by Allen F. Davis Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039755 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039755 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_4we3f6nw2ncirldjazvtmp7nz4	----	Marta Ajmar, Mechanical Disegno, RIHA Journal 0084 RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" Mechanical Disegno* Marta Ajmar Peer review and editing organized by: Anne Puetz, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London and Glenn Adamson, Museum of Arts and Design (MAD), New York City Reviewers: Martina Droth, Jules Lubbock Abstract The article argues that the debate around Italian Renaissance disegno has tended to overemphasize the rhetoric promoting a separation between design and execution, mind and body, and asserting a hierarchy of the arts constructed on the friction between intellectual and corporeal engagement in the making of artefacts. Building on written sources such as so-called "technical treatises" and on objects taken as evidence of the design process, it is suggested that we should consider instead a more integrated, organic, technologically engaged and "mechanical" notion of disegno, in which design might be seen to grow within a physical environment from the interconnection of human action and materials. Using Renaissance pottery as a case study, and exploring its understanding within different linguistic, literary and material contexts, the article proposes an epistemology allowing for greater fluidity, overlap and communality between supposedly distinct arts. * * * * * [1] The emergence of a distinctive, theorised and self-reflexive concept of design is conventionally associated with the Italian Renaissance, through the formulation of the notion of disegno. From the Latin designo – a verb used within military and civil practice to refer to the physical act of marking out a territory, within politics to signify electing or appointing and within oratory to denote the process of setting out and ordering an argument – disegno encompasses in Italian a complex set of meanings: from design, to drawing, plan, intention and even conspiracy. Disegno is generally understood in the Renaissance as an act or practice involving rationality, intentionality, order and specificity – something programmatic, an offspring of the mind. Disegno is also a concept that has been seen to become increasingly central during the Renaissance not only in the articulation of the arts, but also to the professional identity and working practices of artisans, with new figures, such as the "master of design" (maestro di disegno), and related notions of individual authorship and intellectual property stemming from it.1 The rise of disegno has also been linked to momentous changes in the organisation of labour * I would like to thank the symposium organisers Anne Puetz and Glenn Adamson and the many friends who have greatly helped shape this paper with their questions and suggestions, especially Alison Britton, Richard Checketts, Rembrandt Duits, Lisa Godson, Christine Guth, Angela McShane, Alessandro Scafi, Katie Scott, François Quiviger and Simona Valeriani. Much gratitude to Elaine Tierney for her assistance with the editing. – Unless otherwise indicated, translations are mine. 1 For an extensive discussion of disegno, also in relation to the "minor arts", see Luke Syson and Dora Thornton, Objects of Virtue, London 2001; Beth L. Holman, ed., Disegno: Italian Renaissance Designs for the Decorative Arts, exh.cat., New York 1997, Introduction, 1-14; Beth L. Holman, "Historiographies and Methodologies – Past, Present, and Future Directions: Guest Editor's Introduction," in: Studies in the Decorative Arts 9/1 (2001-2002), 2-12; David Rosand, Drawing Acts. Studies in Graphic Expression and Representation, Cambridge 2002. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" in early modern Europe. This includes the slow but steady decline of traditional guild- based practices, replaced by the emergence of forms of design activity operative above and beyond the guild system, and new proto-industrial frameworks for manufacture.2 We can also link to this the parallel emergence of the concept of the arti del disegno, informing a taxonomy separating out those practices seen as the central repositories of disegno – generally confined to painting, sculpture and architecture – from those perceived as being at its margins – rather paradoxically, those activities that we most associate with design today: the so-called "minor arts" (arti minori), a loaded phrase used by some Renaissance art theorists, such as Giovan Battista Armenini.3 Although we should be wary of imposing a teleological view on this process of separation within the arts, we might notice the resonance with later taxonomies affirming a hiatus and a downward intellectual (and thus social) ranking between the "fine" and the "decorative" (or "applied" and "industrial"), and ultimately between "art" and "design".4 While generally portrayed by Renaissance art theorists as the "father"5, the "principle" or common "foundation" of all the arts6, disegno might also be perceived as a strongly divisive and distorting force. Arguably at the heart of the profound dichotomy between design and execution, between thinking and doing, that has been asserted by the discourse around the arts since at least the Quattrocento, disegno and its articulations might be seen as, in part, responsible for, or at least instrumental in, the pervasive hierarchical distinction that places intellectual endeavour above physical labour, and artistry above craftsmanship.7 2 S.R. Epstein, "Craft Guilds, Apprenticeship, and Technological Change in Preindustrial Europe," in: The Journal of Economic History 58/3 (Sep., 1998), 684-713; S.R. Epstein, "Labour Mobility, Journeyman Organisations and Markets in Skilled Labour in Europe, 14th-18th Centuries," in: Le technician dans la cité en Europe Occidentale (1250-1650), ed. M. Arnoux and P. Monnet, Rome 2004, 251-269; J. Farr, "On the Shop Floor: Guilds, Artisans and the European Market Economy, 1350-1750," in: Journal of Early Modern History 1/1 (1997), 24-54; L. Molà, "States and Crafts: Relocating technical skills in Renaissance Italy," in: The Material Renaissance, ed. Michelle O'Malley and Evelyn Welch, Manchester 2007, 133-153; C.M. Belfanti, "Guilds, Patents, and the Circulation of Technical Knowledge: Northern Italy During the Early Modern Age," in: Technology and Culture 45 (2004), 569-589; Pamela O. Long, "Invention, authorship, intellectual property and the origins of patents: notes towards a conceptual history," in: Technology and Culture 32 (1991), 846-884. 3 See, for example, Giovan Battista Armenini, using disegno as a way to discriminate between painting and the "minor arts": "Che cosa sia il dissegno, quanto egli sia universalmente necessario a gli uomini et a qualsivoglia minor arte, quantunque in speciale egli sia più destinato alla pittura" (Giovan Battista Armenini, De' veri precetti della pittura [1586], ed. Marina Gorreri, Turin 1988, 52). 4 For an exploration of the terminology of the arts, see Ferdinando Bologna, Dalle Arti Minori all'Industrial Design. Storia di un'ideologia, Bari 1972. For a discussion of the relationship between craft and the arts, see Glenn Adamson, The Invention of Craft, London 2013. 5 Vasari calls disegno the father of the three arts of architecture, sculpture and painting (see Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de' più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori, ed. Paola Barocchi, Rosanna Bettarini and Rosanna Gaeta Bertelà, Florence 1966-1987, 1, 111: "Perché il disegno, padre delle tre arti nostre architettura, scultura e pittura"). 6 Pomponius Gauricus defines disegno as the principle (caput) and foundation (fundamentum) of all sculpture. See Pomponius Gauricus, De Sculptura, ed. Paolo Cutolo, Naples 1999, 148-151. 7 See the powerful assessment of this intellectual framework as "one of the hallmarks of Western modernity" offered by Tim Ingold, The Perception of the Environment. Essays on Livelihood, License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" 1 Maso Finiguerra, Apprentice architect (?), Florence, c.1450, pen and ink, wash and white lead on paper, 19.4 x 12.5cm. Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi, Florence, GSDU 115F [68] © Polo Museale Fiorentino 2 Maso Finiguerra, Apprentice woodcarver (?), Florence, c.1450, pen and ink and wash on paper, 18.4 x 12.2cm. Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi, Florence, GSDU 69F [35] © Polo Museale Fiorentino Dwelling and Skill, London 2000, ch. 16. For an extensive discussion of the Renaissance debate around the mechanical arts, see Bologna, Dalle Arti Minori all'Industrial Design; for the longue durée historical roots of this discrimination, see Elspeth Whitney, Paradise Restored: The Mechanical Arts from Antiquity through the Thirteenth Century, Philadelphia 1990. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" [2] It is tempting to see this supposed disjunction captured by two drawings by the fifteenth- century Florentine maestro di disegno Maso Finiguerra. One drawing, depicting a male figure in the act of sketching on a notebook, carries an eloquent inscription (an unusual occurrence for Maso), "I want to be a good draughtsman and become a good architect".8 We might thus feel persuaded to identify the man as an apprentice architect and to see this drawing as a statement about disegno, in this case to be interpreted as draughtsmanship, as the main route to the practice of architecture (Fig. 1). The other drawing, which bears significant affinities with the first, might be seen to portray an apprentice woodcarver (Fig. 2). The two drawings bear striking resemblances in the way both the minds and the bodies of the artisans are merged together in the performance of their arte, their tools and equipment becoming one with their being. Both activities are shown as rational, thus deserving a similar status. Striking differences, however, are also visible here, for example in the way the woodcarver's tool is represented as a blunt object, allowing for the expression of a relatively brutal agency, rather than subtle and refined artistic skill or intellectual discernment. No self-reflexive inscription is provided here, an absence that in itself might be seen as significant, as we are left to speculate on the "professional" identity of the artisan. In accordance with a narrow notion of disegno, these drawings might also suggest that these two practices should be seen as discrete. Is it then legitimate to interpret the first drawing as illustrating disegno, the mental and physical act of drawing, and the one on the right as a representation of a merely manual, productive activity, devoid of a mental dimension and thus, ultimately, of design? Should we read these drawings as depicting two physically, intellectually and epistemologically distant, disconnected environments? [3] This article puts forward a different way of understanding the role and meaning of Renaissance disegno and offers a more integrated approach to the theory and practice of the arts at the time. The fact of having largely accepted a notion of disegno that takes at face value the dominant rhetoric of Renaissance art theory, whose agenda is to claim a higher status for some arts on the basis of their supposedly higher intellectual, and thus liberal and moral content, is highly problematic. Most of the dissatisfaction, however, rests with the tendency of these conceptualisations to frame disegno as primarily an occupation of the mind, placing the corporeal and material dimensions of production in second place, while being oblivious to the interconnectedness between mind, body, materials and the environment which they inhabit. This construct leads us to ultimately disjoin disegno from the materiality of the things that it supposedly designs and to separate those who "design" from those who "make". I want to propose a different approach to disegno, one rooted within contexts of discourse and experience that challenge the polarity between hand and mind. This will bring the agency of making fully 8 The inscription reads: "Vo esere uno buono disegnatore e vo / [de]ventare uno buono archittetore". License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" into the creative process and, in doing so, also reintegrate the "minor arts" into broader frameworks of contemporary artisanal practice and knowledge. The "mechanical" or "technological" notion of disegno that this article would like to propose might help to bridge the gap between theory and practice, thinking and making, mind and body, design and execution, and thus also contribute to a more rewarding conversation between the arts. [4] Any discussion of Renaissance disegno must take into account Giorgio Vasari's influential position, as outlined in different loci of his 1568's Vite de' più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori. While situating it firmly at the heart of any artistic practice, Vasari embraces a largely aprioristic notion of disegno and uses it to affirm a vertical relationship and division of labour between hand and mind. Combining Aristotelian and Neoplatonic theory,9 for Vasari "disegno is expression and declaration of the concept that we have in our mind" and "proceeding from the intellect [...] produces a form or idea of all things in nature".10 Relying on the dexterity of the hand and on the aptness of the tool to be articulated "disegno requires […] that the hand through study and the practice of many years be fast and able to draw and express well whatever thing nature has created, with a pen, stylus, charcoal, pencil or other thing, so that, when the intellect sends out the concepts purified and selected, the hands that have for many years practiced disegno make known the perfection and excellence of the arts and the knowledge of the artificer as well".11 Vasari presents disegno as a hands-on activity, and yet, because it is seen to originate from a mental process, in its performance the hand, while central to its materialisation, retains an ancillary, instrumental role. The intellect produces the ideas that the hand proceeds to execute, in a relationship that clearly implies a split between the mental and the manual dimension, and affirms the superiority of the former above the latter. [5] A second key notion put forward by Vasari, that of the imitation of nature (one of the variants of mimesis) understood principally as figuration, might be seen at the core of another rupture, this time within the arts.12 According to him, disegno is "the imitation of 9 Patricia Lee Rubin, Giorgio Vasari. Art and History, New Haven and London 1995, 241-242. 10 These concepts are explained at length in the following passage (Vasari, Le vite, 1, 111): "Perché il disegno, padre delle tre arti nostre architettura, scultura e pittura, procedendo dall' intelletto cava di molte cose un giudizio universale simile a una forma overo idea di tutte le cose della natura […]; e perché da questa cognizione nasce un certo concetto e giudizio, che si forma nella mente quella tal cosa che poi espressa con le mani si chiama disegno, si può conchiudere che esso disegno altro non sia che una apparente espressione e dichiarazione del concetto che si ha nell'animo, e di quello che altri si è nella mente imaginato e fabricato nell'idea". 11 Vasari, Le vite, 1, 111: "Ma sia come si voglia, questo disegno ha bisogno, quando cava l'invenzione d'una qualche cosa dal giudizio, che la mano sia mediante lo studio et essercizio di molti anni spedita et atta a disegnare et esprimere bene qualunque cosa ha la natura creato, con penna, con stile, con carbone, con matita o con altra cosa; perché, quando l'intelletto manda fuori i concetti purgati e con giudizio, fanno quelle mani che hanno molti anni essercitato il disegno conoscere la perfezzione e eccellenza dell'arti et il sapere dell'artefice insieme". Here I followed the translation provided by Louisa S. Maclehose in G. Baldwin Brown, Vasari on Technique, London 1907, 263. 12 Stephen Halliwell, The Aesthetics of Mimesis. Ancient Texts and Modern Problems, Princeton 2002, 350. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" the most beautiful in nature in all its figures, both painted and sculpted".13 Placing the representation of figures at the core of disegno has enormous implications for those arts whose remit might not be fundamentally bound with this form of visual articulation. Vasari subsumes all the arts under the rubric of painting, sculpture or architecture – something clearly expressed in the section of the proemio devoted to the paragone, where we learn that, for example, "to work with earth, wax, plaster, wood, ivory" or to "cast metals" is "subjected to" sculpture, while painting "embraces" wood intarsia, mosaic, engraving, tapestry-making and painted pottery.14 This is not a relationship built on equality, and the recognition of a modest role for the "minor arts" is further asserted by the omission from the Vite of many artificers operating exclusively in those arts that are not accorded an independent status, such as painted pottery. Thus, while a painter of limited fame who doubles up as a "designer" of pottery, such as Battista Franco, is conferred by virtue of his painting a space in Vasari's biographic collection, a potter of high repute specialising in painted ware, such as Francesco Xanto Avelli, active for elite patrons such as the Dukes of Urbino and of Mantua, is not included in the Vite. 3 Bottle, Venice, 1500-1525, chalcedony glass, 37.5 x 18.5cm. Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 5301-1901 © Victoria and Albert Museum, London 13 Vasari, Le vite, 4, 4: "Il disegno fu lo imitare il più bello della natura in tutte le figure, così scolpite come dipinte". 14 Vasari, Le vite, 1, 11: "Dicono che la scultura abbraccia molte molte più arti come congeneri e ne ha molte più sottoposte che la pittura, come il basso rilievo, il far di terra, di cera o di stucco, di legno, d'avorio, di gettare de' metalli, ogni ceselamento, il lavorare d'incavo o di rilievo nelle pietre fini e negl'acciai, et altre molte le quali e di numero e di maestria avanzano quelle della pittura". License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" [6] Adding to the problem, this proclaimed sisterhood between painting, sculpture and the other arts works only with regard with their figurative, rather than technological or material imitation of nature. Accordingly, not much attention is paid to those arts that engage with mimesis through non-pictorial means, as with glass, capable to transcend itself and take on trans-materially the appearance of a natural mineral, as with so-called chalcedony glass (Fig. 3). When referring to pottery, which is not given a dedicated space within the "technical" section of the proemio, it is not accidental that the only mention made by Vasari relates to so-called istoriato maiolica "depicting enamelled figures and making stories and other figures in earthenware vases", whereby tin-glazed pottery is presented as painting.15 Instead of engaging with the possibilities proposed by the materiality of artefacts and the manner of their making, Vasari highlights how material and process can significantly hinder the full expression of disegno, as we learn from his discussion of wood inlays: And because such a line of work consists only in the choice of designs that may be appropriate to it – those containing blocks of buildings and objects with rectangular outlines to which force and projection can be lent by means of light and shade – it has always been exercised by persons possessing more patience than disegno.16 [7] Thus technological demands are seen to threaten, rather than enable and manifest, disegno. The specific properties of materials can even be seen to conspire against disegno, as we learn from an anecdote in the life of the Florentine "sculptor and architect" Benedetto da Maiano, where Vasari recounts an episode that he sees as pivotal in Benedetto's radical decision to abandon his practice as a woodcarver ("intagliatore di legname"), where he had excelled in the mechanical art of intarsia work, to embrace the arts of sculpture and architecture.17 Having been invited to Hungary by king Matthias Corvinus, an enthusiastic patron of the arts, Benedetto worked "on two chests with difficult and beautiful mastery of wooden intarsia" and set sail to deliver them in person.18 Once there he had the chests unwrapped in the presence of the king, but mildew and humidity had softened the glue in such a way that almost all the pieces of intarsia fell off, leaving Benedetto astonished and silenced. Although the chests were 15 Vasari, Le vite, 1, 15-16: "il dipigner le figure invetriate e fare ne' vasi di terra istorie et altre figure". 16 Vasari, Le vite, 1, 157: "E perché tale professione consiste solo ne' disegni che siano atti a tale esercizio, pieni di casamenti e di cose che abbino i lineamenti quadrati e si possa per via di chiari e di scuri dare loro forza e rilievo, hannolo fatto sempre persone che hanno avuto più pacienza che disegno". Here I followed, with minor adjustments, the translation provided in G. Baldwin Brown, Vasari on Technique, London 1907, 263. 17 Vasari, Le vite, 3, 523. 18 Vasari, Le vite, 3, 524: "un paio di casse con difficile e bellissimo magisterio di legni commessi […] e quelle fatte sballare alla presenza del re che molto disiderava di vederle, vide che l'umido dell'acqua e 'l mucido del mare aveva intenerito in modo la colla, che nell'aprire gl'incerati quasi tutti i pezzi che erano alle casse appiccati caddero in terra: onde Benedetto rimase attonito et ammutolito". License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" successfully repaired, this public humiliation led him to dislike and relinquish intarsia work and instead devote himself wholeheartedly to sculpture, excelling in it. In this way, in Vasari's words, he demonstrated that the fault has resided "in the exercise [of intarsia], which was low, and not in his ingenuity, which was high and rare".19 Elsewhere Vasari blames intarsia for its tendency to blacken and to get infested by woodworm.20 [8] The long-standing debate about disegno and its place in relation to the arts has been dominated by the intellectual framework exemplified by Vasari and Armenini and by their narrow notion of disegno, mobilised to support a hierarchical ordering of the arts, a dichotomy between thinking and doing, and to dismiss or condemn the engagement of disegno with material and technological forces.21 It is possible, however, to propose that different definitions and understandings of disegno were available in the Renaissance, suggesting an intellectually more fluid and open situation. If we examine more carefully contemporary attitudes to the "mechanical arts", of those arts supposedly outside the reach of disegno, or at least quite marginal to it, we can in fact find a healthy confluence between these two apparent polarities that, arguably, can enrich our understanding of how the arts might have been practised and understood. In his Pirotechnia (or "Arts of fire"), a vernacular treatise first published in 1540 exploring all aspects of the technology of fire and especially metalworking, the Sienese engineer Vannuccio Biringuccio brings forward what might be seen as an alternative understanding of disegno. For Biringuccio, disegno, materials and process are linked almost inextricably, in a continuum that defies clear signposting, and together constitute the foundation of arte. We can see it, for example, in his discussion of pottery: The art of the potter has two sources as its principal basis. One comes from the art of disegno, the other from various alchemical secrets and elemental mixtures. In regards to these, I find that, in my opinion, all this art depends in the last analysis on four things: on good judgement in general, and on the art of disegno, so as to be able to make the vessels beautiful and of good shape, as well as to ornament them with painting; after firing them well the first and second time, the next thing is to know how to make and apply the glaze well and to paint them with varied and appropriate colours. The fourth is to see that you have good, fine clay without small stones or lumps – indeed this is to be considered the first thing.22 19 Vasari, Le vite, 3, 525: "Nella quale arte [scultura], prima che partisse d'Ungheria, fece conoscere a quel re che, se era da principio rimaso con vergogna, la colpa era stata dell'esercizio che era basso, e non dell'ingegno suo, che era alto e pellegrino". 20 Vasari, Le vite, 1, 157: "ma per essere cosa che tosto diventa nera e non contrafà se non la pittura, essendo da meno di quella e poco durabile per i tarli e per il fuoco, è tenuto tempo buttato invano, ancora che e' sia pure e lodevole e maestrevole". 21 For a discussion of the historical and epistemological roots of this value system, see the seminal work by Pamela Smith, The Body of the Artisan: Art and Experience in the Scientific Revolution, Chicago and London 2004. 22 Vannuccio Biringuccio, Pirotechnia, Venice 1559, 301: "[…] per il suo principale fondamento ha due derivationi: una, che viene dal arte del dissegno: e l'altra, da varii secreti, e alchimiche mistioni. Et finalmente, appresso le dette (secondo il parere mio) tutta quest'arte ritrovo consister in quattro cose, cioè, in buono, et universale giudicio, in dissegno, per poter far belli, e ben garbati License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" [9] Not only does Biringuccio's text foreground the role and significance of disegno within the practice of pottery, but disegno here is not just painterly ornament and surface. Instead, it informs the body of the vessel in its totality, starting from its physical appearance and shape, down to the use of glazes, and is placed firmly within an integrated, on-going, organic process of making. It is disegno of a mechanical, technological kind. Biringuccio seems to allow for an outlook whereby the forms of artefacts are not "imposed from above" but "grow from the mutual involvement of people and materials in an environment".23 This approach carries the potential of overturning the canonical paradigm and replace it with a model of action in which "the blacksmith, the carpenter or potter works from within the world, not upon it".24 This invigorated, engaged notion of disegno as a "form-generating process"25, as opposed to a stage that precedes and stands separate from making, is what this article intends to foreground. [10] Before discussing further this integrated, embodied concept of disegno I would like to return to the classifications of the arts mentioned above, so as to ascertain whether this vision might be supported at the time by a theoretical framework sympathetic to these ideas. There is an alternative way of understanding artistic taxonomies that is relevant to the Italian Renaissance, one that bears greater continuity with Mediaeval formulations and embraces both Christian and Arabic frameworks of knowledge, manifested both in contemporary writings on the arts and in artisanal practices. It concerns the concept of the so-called mechanical arts, a term that had substantial currency during Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages as artes mechanicae and that carried on having an important intellectual role during the Renaissance, only replaced in the seventeenth century by the new, narrower notion, and the neologism, "technology".26 During the Middle Ages, it has been convincingly argued, the "mechanical' or "technical" arts – a concept constructed around the notion of techne (τέχνη) or "productive art", that could encompass anything from building a cathedral to making a shoe – experienced a substantive epistemological reassessment that eliminated many of the ambiguities that had been associated with them in Graeco-Roman antiquity.27 In Classical thought some suspicion was often vasi: et ancho, per puoterli ornar di pitura: l'altra (oltre al ben cuocerli prima, e seconda volta) saper dargli ben il vetro con appropriati, et varii colori dipingerli: e la quarta è di veder d'haver bona terra, sottil, senza ghiaiette, o nocchi, ch'invero questo debbesi averter come cosa principale". 23 Ingold, The Perception of the Environment, 347. See especially chps.15-20 for a broader discussion of technology and making. 24 Ingold, The Perception of the Environment, 347. 25 Ingold, The Perception of the Environment, 347. 26 Whitney, Paradise Restored, 148. See the extensive bibliography provided by Whitney for the epistemology of the artes mechanicae in antiquity, Arabic thought and Christian theology. For the Renaissance debate on the mechanical arts, see Paul Oskar Kristeller, "The Modern System of the Arts: A Study in the History of Aesthetics," in: Journal of the History of Ideas 12/4 (Oct. 1951), 496-527. 27 See Whitney, Paradise Restored, 57-73. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" expressed about the epistemological status of the mechanical arts, activities whose rationality, and therefore morality, was often questioned. Between Late Antiquity and the thirteenth century, however, a more positive intellectual framework emerged, supporting a notion of the mechanical arts as active contributors to knowledge. Although there is no space here to do justice to this complex debate, it is important to point out that this significant shift has been attributed to a cumulative rethinking embedded in Arabic thought, assigning to the mechanical arts a clear place within learning, and to new Christian formulations emphasising the role of work in salvation.28 In turn, this reconceptualisation suggested an ecumenical and non-hierarchical epistemology of the arts, all the arts, and this notion of communality is something I would like to explore further here. [11] To navigate this complex terrain it is fruitful to engage with a text occupying a significant position within the Renaissance debate on the arts, Benedetto Varchi's Lezzione nella quale si disputa della maggioranza delle arti e qual sia più nobile, la scultura o la pittura, ("Lesson in which the primacy of the arts of sculpture and painting is disputed, on which is the most noble"), delivered in Santa Maria Novella under the auspices of the Accademia Fiorentina in 1547. The second of two lectures on art theory, the Lezzione was first published in 1550 and republished in 1590.29 What makes Varchi's text especially significant, ironically, is that it is largely the distillation of other people's thoughts. The Lezzione might be characterised as the result of a "consultation", during which Varchi gathered and responded to the views of eight illustrious Florentine art practitioners – from Michelangelo to Vasari – about the primacy of painting versus sculpture. The outcome of his enquiry is a confused, unresolved attempt to shed light on the crowded pantheon of competing taxonomies of the arts loosely inspired by Aristotle's theories of artistic creation.30 Nevertheless, it can shed light on the issue at hand in terms of the epistemological context surrounding the arts at this moment in time. Rather than attempting to explain his argument in detail, I'd like to summarize some of its most striking formulations around the arts. Varchi distinguishes between liberal arts (grammar, law, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy) and illiberal arts (encompassing everything else). The former are worthy of free men, while the latter can be practised by servants and even slaves. He separates out the arts of contemplation (including physics, astronomy and the "true" sciences), from the arts of making, which in turn can be factive – if they produce lasting work, for example with architecture – or active – if they don't produce lasting work, as in the case of dancing. Some arts are 28 Whitney, Paradise Restored, 57-73. 29 For a critical discussion of this text, see Leatrice Mendelsohn, Paragoni. Benedetto Varchi's "Due Lezzioni" and Cinquecento Art Theory, Ann Arbor, Mich. 1982; and François Quiviger, "Benedetto Varchi and the Visual Arts," in: Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 50 (1987), 219- 224. 30 Quiviger, "Benedetto Varchi and the Visual Arts," 220, 222. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" necessary to the body, some to the soul, some are useful, some delightful, some honest, some vulgar, dirty and filthy (engaged in satisfying human needs); some are playful and humorous (mostly designed to please the populace). Some arts take their subject from nature (painting, sculpture), while others take their subject from arte (as in the case of weaving or shoemaking). Some arts prepare matter, some introduce form, while others use ready-made things – as with ship-building, where the first stage involves cutting the wood, the second giving form to the ship and the third using it. Some arts are called "principal", on the basis that they provide principles to the other arts, for example in the case of arithmetic "giving principles" to music; while the so-called "inferior arts" receive rules from the other arts. It is a cluttered, often impenetrable territory we are led through, as Varchi himself admits when, after engaging strenuously with this lengthy set of distinctions, he deplores their complexity and awkwardness: From these many and various discussions of different authors everyone can work out the difficulty of this matter, addressed by many with such confusion that seems to me not just uncomfortable, but impossible to understand, without the distinctions and explanations provided above by us.31 [12] The unintelligibility and incoherence of this subject is also a clear indication that we are looking at an open intellectual landscape, layered with diverging accretions of thinking – and for this very reason, one that is also to some extent dynamic and in flux. In the attempt to bring some unity and partially resolve the fragmented nature of this topic, Varchi proposes a breaking down of the boundaries between the arts, in a statement that claims a common ground between all arti: All the arts are mechanical, meaning by mechanical neither what is signified by the Greek word, that refers to the machine [which is of concern mostly to the architect], nor what is ordinarily understood, that is mercenary, vile and lowly; but by mechanical we mean those arts which are manual, and whose job involves making use in some way of the body.32 [13] Thus Varchi supports an understanding of the term "mechanical" as something corporeal, as an activity carried out through the use of the body and, more specifically, the hand – manual coming from the Latin for hand (manus) – and also as the foundation of all the arts. At the same time he takes into account two other current meanings of the word "mechanical" – as pertaining to machines33 (and architecture) and as "vulgar" and 31 Benedetto Varchi, Due Lezzioni, Florence 1550, 71: "Da queste tante e così varie divisioni di diversi autori può conoscere ciascuno la difficultà di questa materia, trattata da diversi tanto non pure diversamente, ma con tale confusione, che a me pare non solo malagevole ad intendersi, ma impossibile, senza le distinzioni e dichiarazioni fatte di sopra da noi". 32 Varchi, Due Lezzioni, 71: "[…] tutti l'arti sono mecchaniche, pigliando mecchaniche non in quella significazione, che suona la parola greca, tratta dalla macchina […] la quale parte appartiene massimamemte all'Architettore; ne ancora quella significazione, che si dice volgarmente mecchaniche, cioè mercennarie, e del tutto vili, e abbiette; pigliando meccaniche, cioè manuali, e nelle quali sia di mestiero di servirsi in qualche modo del corpo". 33 The word "machine" derives from the Latin word "machina", which in turn derives from the Greek "mekhané" (μηχανή), "contrivance, machine, engine", a derivation from "mekhos" (μῆχος), "means, artifice, expedient, remedy". For an extensive lexical analysis of this term and its history, License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" "filthy", and thus debased – and it is to these three connotations of the term mechanical that I would now like to turn. [14] I would like to explore these issues further by looking at pottery as a mechanical art. Italian Renaissance pottery occupies an ambiguous epistemological space within contemporary conceptualisations of the arts for a number of reasons: its spectrum of production is unusually wide, encompassing anything from "works of art" to humble cooking pots. Its making involves complex technological processes, which include the use of machinery, such as the potter's wheel. It has a relationship with other arti via material mimesis, whereby pottery might be transformed into other arts, such as painting or metalwork. And lastly, pottery evidently engages with the wider, "mechanical" notion of disegno. 4 Cipriano Piccolpasso, I tre libri dell'arte del vasaio, c.1557, pen on paper. National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, MSL/1861/7446 [f.55] © Victoria and Albert Museum, London [15] The notion of the mechanical art fits well with Renaissance pottery. In a manual understanding of this art, in line with Varchi's thinking, it demands and displays an intimate, corporeal relationship between the body of the artisan and the vessel. The hand at work is closely observed and the skilled handling of even the most basic stages of production, such as the dipping of the vessels in tin-glaze, are carefully portrayed in contemporary technical treatises, such as Cipriano Piccolpasso's pottery manual, the Tre libri dell'arte del vasaio (c.1557). According to Piccolpasso, it is important to distinguish the work that requires both hands, from that demanding only one hand, and also that which uses just the fingertips of the index and middle fingers, from practices involving the thumb too, depending on the shape and size of the vessel. The hands of the potter (Fig. 4), which appear in a series of close-up drawings, don't just hold the vessel – they physically inform and are informed by it, in a physical dialogue between maker and matter that suggests organic flow rather than external control. The potter at the wheel is see Machina, Atti dell'XI Colloquio Internazionale del lessico intellettuale europeo, ed. Marco Veneziani, Florence 2005. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" shown moulding the vessels with his own body, both hands engaged in a coordinated, dynamic form-generating process (Fig. 5): the fingers imprinted energetically on the clay, the arm plunged deep inside the vessel to shape and smooth out the inside, in a close relationship that resembles a dance for its careful timing, spatial awareness and subtle coordination of movement. As with glass entrapping the breath, the pneuma of the blower, the form of the pottery vessels might be seen as a physical imprint. Pottery displays a vestige of the arm of the maker, an embodied manual action, in the way it captures and freezes the movements and pressures imparted by the hand, in a flowing dialogue with the clay. Consummate craftsmanship and discernment are displayed here, in a continuous conversation between mind, body, tool and material, challenging a subject-object approach to making.34 5 Cipriano Piccolpasso, I tre libri dell'arte del vasaio, c.1557, pen on paper. National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, MSL/1861/7446 [f.16] © Victoria and Albert Museum, London [16] Here, the mechanical as manual and the mechanical as machine-related are very closely intertwined, with the potter often shown throwing pots, his body in a symbiotic relationship with the wheel. The potter's wheel (Fig. 6) takes on a life of its own in sixteenth-century representations, as technical treatises increasingly present the mechanical as rational and worthy of articulate explanation in written and visual form.35 Piccolpasso provides a step-by-step explanation of how to construct a wheel, assigning to the process intellectual legitimacy by virtue of this close combination of word and image. The ontological status of the tool is elevated through in-depth dissection and conceptualisation across different genres, with the wheel emerging as a visual trope. The 34 For in-depth discussion of these ideas, see Raymond Tallis, The Hand: A Philosophical Inquiry into Human Being, Edinburgh 2003, chp. 1; Erin O'Connor, "Embodied knowledge in glassblowing: the experience of meaning and the struggle towards proficiency," in: Sociological Review 3 (2007), 126-141; and Ann-Sophie Lehmann, "Wedging, Throwing, Dipping and Dragging – How Motions, Tools and Materials Make Art," in: Folded Stones, ed. Barbara Baert and Trees de Mits, Ghent 2009, 41-60. 35 For a detailed discussion of the emergence of the Renaissance technical treatise as a genre, see P.O. Long, Openness, Secrecy, Authorship: Technical Arts and the Culture of Knowledge from Antiquity to the Renaissance, Baltimore 2001. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" wheel, however, personifies within Renaissance culture also the more "vulgar", intellectually, morally and artistically debased side of pottery production. In this tin- glazed earthenware dish probably used, in a self-reflexive fashion, as an advertisement device for a pottery shop (Fig. 7), a sophisticated visual language is displayed – conflating an understanding of ceramic technology in the representation of the wheel, with some familiarity with naturalistic painting and the conventions of perspective – but problematically, these visual devices are put to the service of selling humble kitchen ware, as the inscription testifies: "Here we make cooking pots".36 6 Cipriano Piccolpasso, I tre libri dell'arte del vasaio, c.1557, pen on paper. National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, MSL/1861/7446 [f.10] © Victoria and Albert Museum, London 7 Dish, Deruta (Italy), 1520-40, tin-glazed earthenware (maiolica), diameter: 36.6cm. Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 659-1884 © Victoria and Albert Museum, London [17] Given this inconsistent portrayal of pottery, how are we to understand its status in the Renaissance, what are its cultural connotations? In his playful and irreverent "encyclopaedia", the Piazza universale di tutte le professioni del mondo, published in 1585, the polymath Tommaso Garzoni defines the art of pottery in broad terms under the 36 "QUI SE LAVORA DE PIGNATE". License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" heading: "De' figuli o vasari o pignattari o boccalari"("Of potters, cooking pot makers and beaker makers").37 This polarity between the prestigious end of the production and utilitarian ware is also recorded by Piccolpasso, who devotes a section of his treatise to cooking pots (pignatte) and explains how for the sake of inclusiveness he has mentioned the two extremes of the art of the potter, the most and the least excellent down to the cooking pots.38 Garzoni describes pottery as follows: The art in itself is quite dirty and vile, but clean and convenient for everybody else, because almost all the eating is done out of earthenware vessels. Others say that it is the neatest art that can be found, because […] the potter always washes his hands.39 [18] Although Garzoni acknowledges the broader social benefits of pottery, this view of it as a lowly, literally "soiled" occupation, in line with the notion of the mechanical arts as mercenary and "vulgar", certainly finds some support here. A more concerted attempt to apply a linguistic approach to Renaissance definitions, however, leads us to an acknowledgement of the taxonomic complexity associated with pottery. I would argue that it is exactly this multilayered quality that points to a lack of consensus about its epistemological position within the hierarchy of the arts. [19] How is pottery understood at the time and where does it sit within the ordering of the arts? The lexicon employed to refer to pottery embraces a wide semantic field, from "arte del vasaio" to "arte figulina". The phrase "arte del vasaio" or "potter's art" had wide currency during the Renaissance, and we find it in technical treatises such as Piccolpasso's. It refers to the ware produced or vasi. The Latin term "vas" or "vasum" (from the Sanskrit "vas") alludes to the ability to contain, enclose, wrap, shroud or cover something else, and can be applied to any object embodying this property – from a house, to a garment, from a box to a pot. Thus the vasaio is a maker of things able to contain other things. This definition of pottery anchors this arte firmly to the earthly products that it gives rise to. [20] "Arte figulina" is another phrase found commonly to refer to the potter's art, reviving the Latin use of the word "figulus" to refer to the potter. It derives from the Latin "fingere", meaning to give form, to model, and connects pottery firmly with the liberal art of sculpture. In the Renaissance, this notion of the potter as someone able to inform and manipulate matter leads to a merging together of potter and modelling sculptor, or 37 Tomaso Garzoni, Piazza universale di tutte le professioni del mondo, ed. Paolo Cherchi and Beatrice Collina, Turin 1996. 38 Cipriano Piccolpasso, Li tre libri dell'arte del vasaio, ed. Bernard Rackham and Albert Van de Put, London 1934, 65: "Mi son disposto por dua estremi del arte del Vassaio insiemi, cioe il piu eccelente et il meno eccelente, dico il bianco del Duca di ferara, che oggi e in tanto pregio, et il muodo da fare gli pigniatti o voglia dir pentole". 39 Garzoni, Piazza universale di tutte le professioni del mondo, vol. 1, 751: "L'arte in se stessa è alquanto sporca e vile, ma polita e comoda per gli altri, imperò che tutto il mangiare quasi si fa in vasi di terra […] Alcuni, però, dicono che lei è la più netta arte che ritrovar si possa, con cotesta ragione, che in tutti i bisogni più necessari il boccalaro sempre si lava le mani". License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" sculptor in clay, thus eliding the distance between "ceramics" and "sculpture". This emerges, for example, from two contemporary treatises sitting, supposedly, at the opposite ends of the taxonomy of the arts, the Pirotechnia, devoted to the muscular technologies employing fire and the De sculptura, on the refined arte of sculpture. In his Pirotechnia, Biringuccio uses, somehow unexpectedly, the term "arte figulina" to refer to pottery and illustrates it through the representation of a potter at the wheel. His description of the products of pottery, however, proposes a wider understanding of its remit, as not just pots are mentioned, but also "clay statues, painted with enamels",40 of the kind that we would associate with the Della Robbia workshops, thus blurring the boundaries between what would conventionally be seen as pottery and sculpture.41 This merging together of sculpture and pottery can also be found in the opposite camp, Pomponius Gauricus' De sculptura, an accomplished humanistic treatise written in Latin and first published in 1504. Gauricus classifies the five different strands of sculpture according to material and process, rather than products, and provides a definition that bridges the gap between sculpture and pottery: "when one works with clay, we will call it plastiké, [or the art of giving form] because it is the art of those that mould and model the material, the potters or figuli".42 "Plastica" is also the term used by the natural philosopher Ferrante Imperato in his Historia naturale of 1599, where pottery sits alongside clay sculpture and architecture because it uses earth in its making.43 In a long chapter devoted entirely to plastica, Imperato devotes his attention to the processes that lead to the production of vases, statues and bricks, in a continuum underpinned by their common materiality and the spontaneous circulation of technologies from one production to another. This rich intellectual framework, foregrounding a material- and process-based approach to pottery, prompts important questions as to the epistemological classification of this arte, suggesting that a simplistic understanding of it as a self-contained and neatly defined "minor art" should not be endorsed. [21] How can pottery be inscribed within a debate around the role of disegno in the Renaissance? To address this question I would like to focus now on the branch of Renaissance pottery that has most often been associated with notions of disegno and with arts of a higher standing, such as painting: tin-glazed earthenware, or maiolica. Maiolica is often presented by modern scholarship as the quintessentially Renaissance – in the conventional, "humanistic" sense of the word – "medium" (an anachronistic notion 40 Biringuccio, Pirotechnia, 303: "[…] nell'arte della [sic] figure di terra, colorite in fresco di smalti". 41 Bruce Boucher, "Italian Renaissance Terracotta: Artistic Revival or Technological Innovation?," in: Earth and Fire. Italian Terracotta Sculpture from Donatello to Canova, New Haven and London 2001, 1-31. 42 Gauricus, De sculptura, 148: "[…] quum argilla, quoniam figulorum est, πλαστική nominabitur". 43 The second book of his Historia naturale is entirely dedicated to clay. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" in the Renaissance),44 combining as it does a low intrinsic, monetary value with a high added value provided by its extraordinary variety and multiplicity of shapes, figurative subjects and ornaments, "the value of culture".45 Widely appreciated by elites across Europe because of its intellectual cache, Italian maiolica embodied the Renaissance idea of the culturally charged artefact and was enthusiastically collected. Maiolica produced in the most prestigious workshops strove to comply with Renaissance notions of disegno and to compete with painting. Among figurative maiolica the most valued production was istoriato – named after its ability to depict stories, as opposed to simply ornamental patterns (Fig. 8). 8 Francesco Xanto Avelli, Marriage of Ninus and Semiramis, Urbino, 1533, tin-glazed earthenware, diameter: 46.9 cm. Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 1748-1855 © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Coat of arms of Gonzaga and Paleologo families [22] This new type of narrative object, developed in Italy in the second half of the fifteenth century, enabled maiolica to come to terms with broader developments in the visual arts. Now pots could accommodate themes inspired by Classical antiquity, from contemporary literature or even from current affairs. Traditionally, the discourse surrounding istoriato has brought about associations with "high" culture and humanism. It has been pointed out that even in the Renaissance, painting on pottery could occasionally be taken seriously and lead to a connoisseurial enjoyment of painted pots, as best documented by sixteenth- century examples of narrative dishes mounted within purpose-made contemporary frames, presumably with the aim of enjoying them as "paintings".46 And yet there is a parallel story surrounding Renaissance ceramics that can help to illuminate the culturally complex 44 Michael Cole, "The Demonic Arts and the Origin of the Medium," in: The Art Bulletin 84/4 (Dec. 2002), 621-640. 45 Richard Goldthwaite, "The Economic and Social World of Italian Renaissance Maiolica," in: Renaissance Quarterly 42 (1989), 1-31. 46 Marta Ajmar, "Talking Pots: Strategies for Producing Novelty and the Consumption of Painted Pottery in Renaissance Italy," in: The Art Market in Italy (15th-17th Centuries), ed. M. Fantoni, L.C. Matthew and S.F. Matthews-Grieco, Modena 2003, 55-64. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" and historically deep roots of this type of ceramics. These roots enable it to get out of a tête-à-tête with an abstract notion of disegno, and into a lively conversation between design, technology and materiality, where pottery connects meaningfully with other arts, not just painting, but also metalwork and sculpture and where disegno is an integrated mechanical process merging together the mental, the manual and the material. 9 Dish, Manises (Spain), c.1400-1450, tin-glazed earthenware with lustre decoration, height: 4.8cm, diameter: 42.8cm. Victoria and Albert Museum, London C.2053-1910 © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Coat of arms of degli Agli family of Florence [23] The direct technological precedents and immediate commercial competitors for Italian Renaissance maiolica were tin-glazed and lustred ceramics manufactured by Muslim craftsmen and imported from the Middle East or Southern Spain. Production of tin-glazed earthenware in the Middle East stretched back to at least the ninth century and prospered during the Middle Ages. Lustreware pottery (Fig. 9) became particularly popular with Italian elites from the early fifteenth century.47 Florentine families would often commission entire services – customized with their armorial devices – and display them prominently within their homes. The maiolica technique relies on the use of a lead and tin glaze, which enables the potter to disguise completely the clay body of the pot and transform it into a homogenously white surface, through a process perhaps comparable to a material rebirth performed through the dipping of the vessel into a bath ("sinking" in Renaissance Italian, or affondare). The vessel emerges from this process with its new clothes on – which in Renaissance Italian was called coperta or cover, thus evoking a kind of shrouding of the body – and was now receptive to all kinds of decoration, some participating in a visual culture connected with painting, but others in 47 Timothy Wilson, "The Beginnings of Lustreware in Renaissance Italy," in: The International Ceramics Fair and Seminar, London 1996, 35-44; Anthony Ray, Spanish Pottery, 1248–1898: With a Catalogue of the Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London 2000; Marco Spallanzani, "Maioliche Ispano-moresche a Firenze nei secoli XIV-XV," in: Istituto Internazionale di Storia Economica 'F. Datini', Prato. Serie II, Atti della 'Trentatreesima Settimana di Studi', 30 aprile – 4 maggio 2000, ed. S. Cavaciocchi, Florence 2002, 367-377; Marco Spallanzani, Maioliche Ispano- Moresche a Firenze nel Rinascimento, Florence 2006. License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" conversation with other arts and other materials, such as metalwork. This proposed, in turn, the potential for a material mimesis, or what we might call trans-materiality. The shimmering, lustrous decoration on objects like these lustreware vases was obtained through the application of metallic oxides, usually copper or silver, a technique that involved a third firing. The end result was perceived in ways that alluded to a material metamorphosis, real or apparent, since these vases were referred to in workshop accounts as "d'horo", or golden, suggesting a trans-material process from earth into gold.48 10 Vase, Gubbio (Italy), c.1510, tin-glazed earthenware with lustre decoration, Height: 25.4cm, diameter: 22.8cm. Victoria and Albert Museum, London 499-1865 © Victoria and Albert Museum, London [24] By the sixteenth century these artefacts were successfully imitated by select Italian pottery workshops and customized for the local market to look increasingly like gold and silver vessels, not just on the surface, but also in the body (Fig. 10). This local Italian production made immanent the connection with metalwork, through the application of metallic lustre used not just as a decorative device, but in constructing structurally the vase, with conspicuous, plastic embossing and gadrooning, and importantly, through the process of making and naming of these objects that connected them forcefully with their metallic counterparts. [25] The process involved in the making of these earthenware vessels confirms this tri- dimensional aspiration to the metallic form, as it involved the preparation of deep plaster moulds devised to imprint voluminous, curvaceous patterns on them. This process of transmission of design should not be perceived as a merely instrumental, passive procedure: the mould was also referred to as a "form" or "exemplar" (forma or exemplar).49 Accordingly, it was meant to inspire and incite the material recipient by 48 See, for example, the seventeenth-century recipe for "maiorcha che pare horo", in Dionigi Marmi, Segreti di Fornace, ed. Fausto Berti, Montelupo Fiorentino 2003, 210. 49 Piccolpasso uses the term "forma" (Piccolpasso, Li tre libri, 23); while Gauricus, "exemplar" (Gauricus, De sculptura, 148). License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" example, as an actual agent of making, in a dialogue with the clay matter. The resulting vase, named "lavoro di rilievo" or "work of relief" might thus have been seen as especially close to the plastic branch of sculpture mentioned earlier, thus connecting it not just with metalwork, but also with the arte della scultura. Piccolpasso refers to these pots as "aborchiati" or "studded", a name that explicitly alludes to embodied action, stating: "they have certain external reliefs in the way it is much in use today for courtly silver",50 thus recognizing how this technology enabled a material mimesis between pottery, metalwork and sculpture (Fig. 11). 11 Cipriano Piccolpasso, I tre libri dell'arte del vasaio, c.1557, pen on paper. National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, MSL/1861/7446 [f.18v] © Victoria and Albert Museum, London 12 Cipriano Piccolpasso, I tre libri dell'arte del vasaio, c.1557, pen on paper. National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, MSL/1861/7446 [f.19] © Victoria and Albert Museum, London [26] This trans-material comparison goes on, not just aesthetically, but technologically, as he connects the process of making these pots to what "we said for ancient bronze".51 Piccolpasso returns to the metallic analogy later, when he talks about other pots informed by gold and silver vessels: the "smartelati", literally "hammered out", "of which kind I 50 Piccoplasso, Li tre libri, 25: "Gli aborchiati adunque sonno questi: cioè quegli che hano certi rilievi in fuori come s'usa molto ne gli argenti oggi per le corti". 51 Piccolpasso, Li tre libri, 25: "Posta adunque la terra nella sua forma. Ragiungasi, come si è detto del bronzo antico". License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en RIHA Journal 0084 | 27 March 2014 | Special Issue "When Art History Meets Design History" have seen many, in my days, made of gold and many of silver" (Fig.12).52 Although, revealingly, disegno as such is not discussed in Piccolpasso's treatise, his concept of pottery foregrounds an engagement with design that brings together technology and materiality, supporting a notion of disegno fully embedded in the generative process of making. Conclusion [27] The debate around Italian Renaissance disegno has tended to overemphasize the role of the sixteenth-century art theory rhetoric promoting a separation between design and execution, mind and body, and asserting a hierarchy of the arts constructed on the friction between intellectual and corporeal engagement in the making of artefacts. Building on written sources such as so-called "technical treatises" and on objects taken as evidence of the design process, I suggested that we should consider instead a more integrated, organic, technologically engaged and "mechanical" notion of disegno, in which design might be seen to grow within a physical environment from the interconnection of human action and materials. I have used Renaissance pottery as a case study and explored its understanding within different linguistic, literary and material contexts, to propose an epistemology allowing for greater fluidity, overlap and communality between supposedly distinct arts. <top> 52 Piccolpasso, Li tre libri, 25: "Mi sono ancor risoluto mostrarvi gli smartelati […] Di queste, dico, ne ho vedute molte, a' dì miei, di oro e molte di argento". License: The text of this article is provided under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/deed.en Conclusion 
work_4yq5lfilrvehva57tkohluu5py	----	PROCEEDINGS 491 for the study of military architecture. Other publications were: La peinture murale en France; le haut Moyen Age et Pepoque romane (1951); La peinture murale au dibut de Vepoque gothique (1963); and a more popular work, Aux temps des croisades. It was during his period as Director that the Mus6e de sculpture comparee became the Mus^e des monuments frangais. With the collaboration of the Historic Monuments Service, M . Deschamps created an office for the documentation of monuments, to study construction tech- niques of the past: this has proved invaluable for students of both archaeology and architecture. C O M T E BLAISE DE M O N T E S Q U I O U - F E Z E N S A C Elected Honorary Fellow 8th May 1947 Le Comte de Montesquiou-Fezensac died at his home in France on 3rd September 1974. He published widely on aspects of medieval art-history. T h e first volume of his last work, Le Tresor de Saint-Denis, appeared in 1972, and the second volume was in the hands of the printers at the time of his death. PROFESSOR DR. E M I L V O G T Elected Honorary Fellow nth January 1951 Professor Dr. Emil Vogt died as the result of a street accident on 2nd December 1974, aged 68. He was born in Basle in 1906 and worked for a short time at the Historical Museum there. From 1930 until his retirement in 1971 he worked at the National Museum in Zurich, of which he was made Vice-Director in 1953 and Director in 1961. He was appointed as the first Pro- fessor of Prehistoric Archaeology at the University of Zurich in 1945. Emil Vogt was a scholar of international repute, and a pioneer in the study of Swiss prehistory, particularly that of the Neolithic and Bronze Ages. His excavations at Egolwil from 1950 to 1966 enabled him, with other scholars, to reinterpret on a scientific basis the so-called 'lake- dwellings'. His tenure of directorship at the National Museum saw considerable advances in the techniques of display and conservation. T H O M A S SHERRER ROSS BOASE, ESQ., M . C . , M.A., F.B.A. Elected gth January 1947 Thomas Boase died on 15th April 1974 at the age of 75. He was President of Magdalen College, Oxford, from 1947 to 1968, and had been Chairman of the British School at Rome since 1965. He had a keen interest in medieval history, but his overriding interest was in pic- tures, architecture, and sculpture, including that of the medieval period, the Italian Renaissance, and eighteenth- and nineteenth-century art in England. From 1922 to 1937 Boase was tutor in History and Dean at Hertford College. He was then appointed Professor in the History of Art at the University of London and Director of the Cour- tauld Institute. In 1943 he went to the Middle East, where he spent two years as chief repre- sentative to the British Council. On returning to England he became a trustee of the National Gallery (1946—53), and a member of the advisory council of the Victoria and Albert Museum (1947—70). He was a governor of the British Museum and also of the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre. From 1958 to i960 he was Vice Chancellor of Oxford University. His publications included: Boniface Fill, St. Francis of Assisi, English Art 1100-1216, English Art 1800-jO, and Kingdoms and Strongholds of the Crusaders. He edited the Oxford History of English Art and also made valuable contributions to the Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008787 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008787 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_53ui56gfifgbno25w6dnpdylrm	----	(JPMNT) Journal of Process Management – New Technologies, International Vol. 6, No 2, 2018. 21 www.japmnt.com COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS OF ANTIQUE FURNITURE WITH REGARD TO THE SCANDINAVIAN DESIGN Petar Namicev,1 Emilija Shopova2 1,2 University Goce Delcev Shtip, Republic of Macedonia petar.namicev@ugd.edu.mk, emeshopova@gmail.com Original Scientific Paper doi:10.5937/jouproman6-17224 Abstract: The style and design, as an artistic expression of its creators, existed in the ancient period, as evidenced by the numerous representative, authentic and unique works. Confirmation of the connection of styles, and the non existence of a clear border between them, is exactly the connection of the antique furniture to the Scandinavian one. The Scandinavian design, driven by the correlation with nature and the need for durable, simple, functional, yet perfect furniture pieces, finds its connection to the ancient design and its unique historical values. Today's modern Scandinavian style, as a design of the 20th century, carries numerous antique elements and peculiarities. Based on a detailed analysis of the characteristics of both styles separately and their individual elements, as well as their comparison, we can see the correlation between them and the direction in which they move. Keywords: armchair, stool, chair, shape, design, color Introduction: The editing and the design, which is present today through different styles and forms, is a result of its centuries-old influence, development and change. It is difficult to distinguish innovations and modifications from the factors that shape them. Even within those trends, which claim to be without previous influence, there is some basis on the experience and technology of the previous generations. Some of the most important and influential architectural designs come from classical Greece, ancient Rome, the Middle Ages and the Italian Renaissance (Nelson and Taylor, 2012) The historical styles are identified by exploring their architectural details. The antiquity, as a historical period and also an artistic direction and style that went through history and civilization, has left visible historical and authentic pieces of furniture, which today represent the inspiration of numerous designers. The most distinctive application of this style, through certain aspects, can be recognized in the Scandinavian furniture design. The presence of durable, unique and functional pieces of furniture as part of the home interior of the Scandinavian design signifies the connection of the form with antiquity. By analyzing the characteristics of both designs and distinctive pieces of furniture and their comparison, the connection between the ancient and Scandinavian designs will be defined. 1. Antique furniture The ancient period, as the beginning of civilization and culture, is an exceptional period of stylistic expression and creation. During this period, complex and highly decorative structures were intended solely to the rulers or to glorify the gods, while the paintings, sculptures and other objects were created for the purpose of fulfilling various functions (Wilkins, Schultz, Linda, 2009). http://www.japmnt.com/ mailto:petar.namicev@ugd.edu.mk mailto:emeshopova@gmail.com http://dx.doi.org/10.5937%2Fjouproman6-17224 (JPMNT) Journal of Process Management – New Technologies, International Vol. 6, No 2, 2018. 22 www.japmnt.com Although preserved only in fragments, there are many artifacts and unique archaeological specimens, which are an evidence of the existence and stylistic definition of the antique furniture. The furniture and other pieces of art were made from a wide range of durable materials, ranging from plain lime, to the most precious metals and valuables (Ajzenberg, 2009). During this period, most pieces were made at the request of the patrons. The role of rulers in ordering works of art was an expression of the strengthening of his regime and the presentation of his wealth, as well as the benevolence. For example, through Greek furniture, the individuality and the personal style of the artist is emphasized. 1.1. Egypt Ancient Egypt is the first distinctive style in the world architecture and furniture, which is a forerunner to the entire world civilization, and as such exists and evolves, in the next millennium. Here, the architectural works served to worship the Pharaohs. The Egyptian furniture, retained at the pharaohs' funerals, was made mostly of wood. For example, the Tutankhamen tomb from the 14th century BC was filled with many representative samples. Egyptian furniture is characterized by geometric shapes with strict symmetry. The simple chairs with curly elements that had legs in the shape of the mammals’ hooks or ended with a duck head, while the seat was made of wood with an imitation of leopard skin. The chairs laid on supports that showed the lion's paws with ivory nails. The surface of the seat was made of knitted cane, leather belts and several boards. The backrest was inclined backward to make it more comfortable sitting. In addition, decorative winged discs of gold were mounted, which were made for corner reinforcement of the furniture, as well as the heads of connecting nails. The construction of the chairs was exceptionally refined and unique. The low chairs were made of gilded wood with dark blue faience, intended for the throne, for the feet of the ruler. Also, there were stools with skeleton of whole elephant teeth (Pisareva, 2002). Fig.1. Characteristic Egyptian stool The armrests and the thrones had decorated backrests with a relief thread, and precious metal and enameled color were applied as decoration. For example, on the throne of Tutankhamen metal is found for the application of the golden sun - the sign of the god Amon Ra. The masses of this period had a form of a mast (towers) with a typical Egyptian expression. The beds were made of ebony, son malachite and ivory. There was an Egyptian custom for the presence of boards at the feet of man. Usually it was coated with a gold coating, or silhouettes of domestic gods were cut out on it. The lying surface - knitted mattresses or a rope network - fastened to the frame of the bed, which was twisted in the middle. There was also a bed with sides, which hung with hooks to the frame of the bed (Knežević, 2012). Among the most distinctive pieces of furniture, from this period is the Tutankhamen throne, made of gold, silver, glass in color and glazed ceramic, coated with calcite. It was 1.14 m high. The very top of the throne represented the defeated enemies (Nelson and Taylor, 2012). http://www.japmnt.com/ (JPMNT) Journal of Process Management – New Technologies, International Vol. 6, No 2, 2018. 23 www.japmnt.com Fig.2. Tutankhamun's armchair, Egyptian Museum, Cairo To summarize, the Egyptian furniture was most often made of wood, by applying ornaments and decorations of gold, silver, malachite and other valuables. The shape of the furniture most often followed and imitated the shape of some animals, retaining all the features and accessories in the form of an overcrowded decoration. 1.2. Ancient Greece The Egyptian style, as the first significant style in the world architecture of the XXXII century BC was an inspiration to the later Greek design, which appears sometime around the 12th century BC. The ancient Greeks saw their teachers in the face of the Egyptians, which was also described in the Greek books themselves, and was also noticed in the detailed description of the ancient Egyptian masterpieces (Grozev and Tiholov, 1993). The main characteristic of the ancient Greek artistic style is the connection of simplicity, clear composition and proportionality between the form and construction, which leads to the attainment of excellence. The interior in this period is characterized by rigor and moderation. Greek furniture is mainly characterized by simplicity of construction and master- made details. Its shape, with unusual grace on the line, reflects recognizable plasticity, practicality and excellence. This will influence later on the samples of ancient Rome and the classicism in France in the eighteenth century (Ajzinberg, 2009). The seating furniture has a rugged construction with an abundance of straight angles. It includes wide and comfortable seats, a semicircular backrest slope, made with mildly curved attachments. The shaping of the chair is influenced by the logic and tectonic clarity of the constructive basis. After 25 centuries, the pioneer of modern architecture, Ludwig van der Rohe, will be inspired by the pure proportions of ancient Greek works when creating its famous chair - the Barcelona capital. Fig.3. Klismos –Characteristic Greek group of furniture The tables in that period, are encountered in several varieties. In one variant, the circular surface stands on three carriers, in the form of muscular legs of coarse animals. The upper leg is decorated with acanthus petals. There is also a trapezoidal or rectangular dinner table, which was used by people who are eating around it. After the dinner was over, the table was put under the bed (Pisareva, 2002). The beds were multifunctional pieces, so they were used for sleeping, sitting or eating. http://www.japmnt.com/ (JPMNT) Journal of Process Management – New Technologies, International Vol. 6, No 2, 2018. 24 www.japmnt.com Fig.4.High bed with table The Greek furniture, can be defined as simplified furniture, compared to the Egyptian, with the rules of simplicity, clear construction and proportionality prevailing. The Klismos furniture, tableware, and the appearance of multifunctional pieces of furniture are characteristic. 1.3. Ancient Rome The ancient Roman art represents the final phase of the historical period of antiquity. As an heir to the culture and tradition of the earlier ancient civilizations, especially from Greece (especially in the part of plasticity, convenience and perfection of form), it includes exceptional diversity of both objects and furniture (Keller, 1975). The furniture of this period, the Romans made from wood, bronze, marble, even from willow rods. In general, Roman furniture is characterized by the gracefulness and elegance of the forms that are combined with small ornaments. They adapted the Greek designs to their needs, but contributed to the style with their own materials and unique engineering techniques. The overwhelming decoration was masked on the constructive parts of the furniture with sculptural rosettes, applications and similar details. The chair had a flat seat of metal or ivory, and the legs were twisted in the shape of "X". The armchair, known as sella curulis (Grozev and Tiholov, 1993), was designed exclusively for senior officials. Typical Roman furniture with a transfiguration from ancient Egypt is the chair with a backing, known as the master’s desk and curly chairs. The backrests had an anthropometric, twisted, comfortable shape. The legs are shaped like a lion's paw, while the armrests depict sphinxes, lions, griffins, and so on. In addition to the seating furniture, there is also immovable representative seating furniture, of white marble or bronze. There were also used Greek-type armchairs (without armrests) and Roman type - with armrests and shields instead of legs (Knežević, 2012). Fig.5. “Sella curulis“ armchair The tables had a rectangular and circular surface. The rectangular had dense vertical sides, covered with a strong relief decoration, while the surface was decorated with mosaics and stone plates. The circular, bronze tables were three legged and had legs on thin animal paws of a goat, a cat, and so on. A richly decorated frieze appears through the perimeter of the dense. Fig.6. Table with mosaic surface Beds resembled ancient Greek types. They were composed of a wooden frame in combination with ivory. http://www.japmnt.com/ (JPMNT) Journal of Process Management – New Technologies, International Vol. 6, No 2, 2018. 25 www.japmnt.com Fig.7. Bed of bronze Roman furniture can be defined as a kind of imitation or inspiration of ancient Greek furniture, with a larger and richer choice of materials and engineering techniques. It is characterized by reduced application of details and occurrence of various types of furniture in several variants. 2. Scandinavian design and furniture The Scandinavian design emerges and develops in the early years of the 20th century, ranging from the Scandinavian countries, and rapidly expanding across Europe and beyond. Although the Scandinavian design is always associated with minimalism, it is not realized to the extreme (Arnason, 2009). Regarding the interior, some of the basic rules of arrangement in the Scandinavian homes are: minimalism, combined with multifunctional pieces of furniture, daylight, spaciousness, elements of nature and a mix of textures. Scandinavian contemporary furniture is vintage wood furniture, which definitely has its roots in the past centuries. Furniture reflects a new perception, with a great style, modeling the best of the past, in many more modern furniture designs (Fiell, 2014). Nordic designers use traditional craftsmanship, thanks to their valuation of traditional crafts, for the purpose of developing modern pieces of furniture, which are characterized by exceptional beauty, functionality and practicality. One of the basic characteristics of Scandinavian furniture is the use of natural materials, such as teak wood and rich skin. The furniture is characterized by clean and smooth edges - complete shutdown and reduction of glamour design, asymmetry - in shortening, form or assembly and a unique combination of materials - wood with glass, leather, stone, chrome. The basic technique of making furniture is the technique of folding the wood. Mainly, the furniture consists of a structure made of twisted wood or chipboard, mostly wooden frames, the use of as few materials as possible and the reduced use of upholstered elements (Raiceva, 1999). Fig.8. Model no.881 cabinet-on-stand – Josef Frank, 1938 Recognizable Scandinavian pieces of furniture are wooden chairs with a seat made of molded plywood and rear parts with a lightweight construction that eminently corresponds to high volume production and innovative armchairs with fully upholstered seats, a seat which can be removed from its construction. Dining tables can be found in various forms. The shape between the rectangle and the ellipse is characteristic, which was based on the mathematical concept of the so-called "superelipse" of Piet Hein. An example of a dining table with chairs is the famous Kristian Vedel's Modus furniture system, with its low chairs (Fiell, 2014), but with a high back rest support. Comfortable, triple chairs without armrests and adequate table covered with glass. The Modus series was characterized by its leather-coated seats and backrest, which form the hand and rear parts that are embedded in the frame of a richly colored wood. http://www.japmnt.com/ (JPMNT) Journal of Process Management – New Technologies, International Vol. 6, No 2, 2018. 26 www.japmnt.com Fig.9. AX table – Peter Hvidt, 1950 The sofas are the most modern representation of traditional seating furniture. They are characterized by frequent use of light beech wood, male proportions, superior craft skills, use of natural materials, high quality construction and excellent interpretation of visible historical forms. As a result of the influence of the previous styles, a type of seats appear - a folded shape of mahogany and leather - e.g. Egyptian Stool (1960), based on an ancient collection of antique pieces in the Berlin Museum (Fiell, 2014). The production consists of high quality construction and finish, showing the skill of the craft tradition in Scandinavia. Fig. 9. Egyptian Stool – Ole Wanscher,1960 The Scandinavian furniture is minimalist, simple, functional and nice furniture, which draws its inspiration from the ancient uniqueness and beauty of shape and design. It is characterized by simple natural woodwork, with slightly rounded elements. The main feature is multi- functionality, lightweight construction with a noticeable reduction in the decoration. 3. Comparative analysis of the ancient design of the Scandinavian furniture As one of the basic features of the Scandinavian design of furniture and interior, it is the inspiration and application of vintage pieces of furniture. The use of antique and classical elements within the entire home interior is a hallmark of the very style and at the same time a characteristic of the design of the Nordic designers themselves. There are easily matched and mixed new with old pieces of furniture, they are discrete elements that emphasize the style and comfort itself, but not the colors, details or glamour. By analyzing the individual characteristic elements of the furniture of both styles, we can generalize and make a correlation between the two designs. http://www.japmnt.com/ (JPMNT) Journal of Process Management – New Technologies, International Vol. 6, No 2, 2018. 27 www.japmnt.com 3.1.Antique furniture design Furniture: Materials: Form: Color: Egypt - Stool; - Table; - Armchair; - Bed; - Table; - Folding bed; - wood; metal; - faience; -Ivory; - reeds; ebony; - skin; gold; - malachite; -simple and curly chairs with backrest; -tables-like masts; -bed with pages; -decorations - animal forms; -stellar gold; -dark blue; -strong red; - light-yellow; -melahit; Ivory; - sunflower yellow Greece - Chair - Klismos; - Armchair; - Dining table; - Floding chair; -Bed of bronze; - wood; - ceramics; - marble; - bronze; -beads and pulley; - Ivory; -simple construction; -plasticity; - wide seats; - rounded backrest; - backrest; -multi-functionality; -stellar; - red; -dark blue; - copper brown; -merme rosé; -olive green; Rom - Armchair; -Table; -Benches; - Chair -cathedra; -Lashing stool; - Bed; -wood; - metal; -bronze; -marble; -willow rods; -Enamel; -Ivory; -chairs with backrest and armrests; -curly legs; -Table with a rectangular and circular surface; -Bed -Ancient Greek prototype; - imperial violet; -richly gold; -Pompeii red; -Rimic green; -black; Table.1. Characteristics of antique furniture according to form, furniture, materials and color 3.2. Scandinavian furniture design Furniture: Materials: Form: Color: - Chairs; - Armchair; -Sofa; - Bed; - Table; - Corpus furniture; - Stool; -teak wood, oak, pine, beech, birch; -metal and plastic; -flax, cotton, wave, leather, hemp, jute; -organic form; - rounded edges; stools with curved backrests and legs; - mostly armrests; - reduction of decarcation; - white; - beige; - pastel blue; -light yellow; -carnation; -colorful red; -pale-turquoise; Table.2. Characteristics of Scandinavian furniture according to form, furniture, materials and color Based on a detailed analysis of the characteristics of both styles separately and their individual elements, we can conclude that in today's modern Scandinavian style, as a design of the 20th century, numerous antique elements and peculiarities can be found in relation to characteristic pieces of furniture, use of natural materials, shape, design and color. 4. Similarities and Differences The Scandinavian style, driven by the connection with nature and the need for durable, simple, functional, yet perfect pieces of furniture, finds its connection with ancient design and its unique historical values. We can define the similarities through the following elements: • Recognizable large corpus furniture for storage-cabinets; • Roman and Greek types of beds for lying by the bed; • Antique coffins of massive wood; http://www.japmnt.com/ (JPMNT) Journal of Process Management – New Technologies, International Vol. 6, No 2, 2018. 28 www.japmnt.com • Chairs with folded backrests and legs; • Large and comfortable armchairs; The main difference consists in the desire to simplify and avoid scenery in the Scandinavian style, with the aim of greater functionality and practicality. To better understand the correlation of the two designs, we will show the similarities and differences of the same: Ancient furniture: Similarities: Scandinavian furniture:  Materials: -gold, bronze, marble, ivory, enamel, ebony, faience;  Materials: - Wood, leather, metal;  Materials: - plastic, flax, hemp,wave, jute ...  Form: -rich decoration, beds with pages, armrests (Roman type)  Form: -technique of wood bending, without armrests, folding mechanism, backrest, wide seats;  Form: -simplified form, reduced decoration, use of less materials;  Color: -strong colors-red, blue, green, gold ...  Color: -white, beige, sunny yellow, rose;  Color: -neutral and pastel colors; Table.3. Similarities and differences between ancient design and Scandinavian Conclusion: The antique furniture is one of the key elements of the interior design and contributes to creating a certain style in the home. As a confirmation of the fact that there are no clear boundaries between the styles and they themselves are interwoven with each other, it is precisely this correlation of the Scandinavian design with the ancient. The Scandinavian design is characterized by extreme laconism of forms, complete lack of decor and ornaments, clarity of composition and monochromism, emphasizing the naturalness of textures (Nelson and Taylor, 2012). The application of solid furniture in the style of the past eras gives it a unique, historic identity of the interior. Through a comparative analysis of the individual characteristics of both styles, the correlation between the styles and the direction in which they move can be seen. Dividing the individual elements, through which antiquity notices its presence in today's Scandinavian style, we can see the scope of influence of the antique furniture on the Scandinavian: • Characteristic pieces of furniture, which are distinctions of the ancient period (stool, big comfort armchairs, seats, solid furniture, coffins, etc.); http://www.japmnt.com/ (JPMNT) Journal of Process Management – New Technologies, International Vol. 6, No 2, 2018. 29 www.japmnt.com • Use of natural materials, without extensive artificial processing, in order to preserve the natural texture and contours. Increased selection of materials in antique furniture, in contrast to the Scandinavian; • Similarities in shape and furniture design - curved form of stools and multi- functionality. • The color and the use of strong colors in antiquity is richer, while in the Scandinavian design, the application of neutral shades prevails. • The use of decoration, in antiquity is quite present, while in the Scandinavian design it is reduced to a minimum. The positive contemporary aspect of interpreting the applied antique elements in the modern furniture design is evident through the works of numerous contemporary designers, which are interpretations of prominent ancient masterpieces and at the same time the application of the features of antiquity - first of all in terms of functionality, durability - the use of natural materials, simple and clear construction and perfect proportion. Based on the overall research, we can safely summarize that the ancient design offers classical forms that are simply defined, purified and durable, which at the same time represent a non- exhaustive inspiration, which is proof of their centuries-old revelation and exploitation in different periods of the development of the design of furniture. References: 1. Ajzinberg, A.(2009). Stilovi arhitektura, enterijer, namešta, Beograd, Prosveta. 2. Arnason, X.X.(2009). Istorija na modernata umetnost, Skopje, Napres. 3. Wilkins, D., Schulz, B., i Lindaf, K. (2009). Umetnost minata, umetnost segashna, Skopje, Nampres. 4. Fiell, Ch. & Fiell, P. (2014). Scandinavian Design, Cologne, Taschen. 5. Grozev, O. I Tiholov, K.(1993). Interior, Sofija, Tehnika. 6. Keller, G.(1975). Dizajn, Zagreb, Vjesnik. 7. Knežević, O.(2012). Stilovi namestaja, Beograd, Krug Commerce. 8. Nelson, K. i Taylor, D. (2012). Enterieri – Voved, Skopje, Ars Lamina. 9. Pisareva, E.(2002). Istorija na interior I mebelite, Sofia, Lesnotehniceski Univerzitet. 10. Raiceva, R. (1999). Istorija na interiora i mebelite, Sofia, Lesnotehniceski Univerzitet. http://www.japmnt.com/ 
work_56nc3yc2lncbvphhqvqrsic6iq	----	Materials 2020, 13, 1435; doi:10.3390/ma13061435 www.mdpi.com/journal/materials Article Experimental Investigations of Timber Beams with Stop-Splayed Scarf Carpentry Joints Anna Karolak *, Jerzy Jasieńko, Tomasz Nowak and Krzysztof Raszczuk Faculty of Civil Engineering, Wroclaw University of Science and Technology, Wybrzeze Wyspianskiego 27, Wrocław 50-370, Poland; jerzy.jasienko@pwr.edu.pl (J.J.); tomasz.nowak@pwr.edu.pl (T.N.); krzysztof.raszczuk@pwr.edu.pl (K.R.) * Correspondence: anna.karolak@pwr.edu.pl; Tel.: +48-71-3203879 Received: 4 February 2020; Accepted: 17 March 2020; Published: 21 March 2020 Abstract: The paper presents the results of an experimental investigation of stop-splayed scarf joints, which was carried out as part of a research programme at the Wroclaw University of Science and Technology. A brief description and the characteristics of scarf and splice joints appearing in historical buildings are provided, with special reference to stop-splayed scarf joints (so-called ‘Bolt of lightning’) which were widely used, for example, in Italian renaissance architecture. Analyses and studies of scarf and splice joints in bent elements presented in the literature are reviewed, along with selected examples of analyses and research on tensile joints. It is worth noting that the authors in practically all the cited literature draw attention to the need for further research in this area. Next, the results of the authors’ own research on beams with stop-splayed scarf joints, strengthened using various methods, e.g., by means of drawbolts (metal screws), steel clamps and steel clamps with wooden pegs, which were subjected to four-point bending tests are presented. Load-deflection plots were obtained for load-bearing to bending of each beam in relation to the load-bearing of a continuous reference beam. A comparative analysis of the results obtained for each beam series is presented, along with conclusions and directions for further research. Keywords: carpentry joints; scarf and splice joints; stop-splayed scarf joints (‘bolt of lightning’), static behaviour; experimental research 1. Introduction Wood has been used for centuries in different buildings and structures, from residential buildings, through sacral architecture, to defensive structures for settlements and towns or complex engineered structures [1]. A large number of these structures, which have survived tens or hundreds of years, now require interventions to maintain or improve their technical condition. A key factor in their development is related to joints, which enabled building elements to be connected into a single whole and for loading to be shared between elements. Historical joints pay testimony to the highly developed techniques and craftsmanship of builders at that time [2]. It should also be noted that, to date, there are few reliable references that include detailed specifications related to forming carpentry joints [3], as their creators relied mainly on their own experience and tradition. As a rule, the behaviour of joints has a large influence on the global outcome of the structure as a whole, especially with respect to internal forces. This is why carrying out a detailed analysis of the structure as a whole requires analyses of the behaviour of joints. A simple example serves to demonstrate the role played by correctly formed scarf and splice joints connecting construction elements. In the case of vertical loading, an element with a splice joint formed on an horizontal surface can transfer the bending moment up to a quarter of the moment transferred in a continuous beam, whereas the same joint formed on a vertical surface, with the same load, can transfer a Materials 2020, 13, 1435 2 of 17 moment of half the value of the moment transferred in the continuous beam. Analyses presented in the literature [4] suggest that in the case of a nibbed scarf joint, which is the most effective solution for transferring shearing stress [3], the moment that can be transferred is only one-third of the load in the continuous beam. To a large degree, it is the technical condition of joints that shapes the ability of a structure to transfer loading, its static behaviour and deformations. Over time, carpentry joints in historic wooden structures are worn down or even completely destroyed by loading and other external factors, which can present serious danger. The damage or destruction of a joint can threaten the safety of the whole structure due to a considerable weakening of segments where elements are connected to one another. Understanding the static behaviour of joints in wooden structures allows for a detailed and comprehensive analysis of the whole system and helps in making decisions concerning corrective measures or reconstruction work, which is acceptable from the point of view of conservation doctrine [5,6]. Researchers distinguish many different types of carpentry joints in historic buildings, depending on their function and form (inter alia [7]). One group includes scarf joints and splice joints which enable a connection along the length of two elements. These were applied when the available material could not cover the whole beam length. Typically, whenever possible, the joints were applied in the least stressed sections, as the connecting elements at the point of contact could not bear a load greater than that in continuous sections [8]. Aside from extending foundation beams and capping beams in the building frames of historical structures, scarf and splice joints were used to extend roof frame elements, such as purlins or rafter beams. Until the introduction of glulam wood, this was a universal method for extending wood elements [9]. Scarf and splice carpentry joints are used today to restore historical joints or replenish material in historical elements of special value [10]. Examples of scarf and splice joints found in historical structures are presented in Figure 1. (a) (b) (c) (d) (e) (f) Figure 1. Various forms of scarf and splice joints: (a) splice joint, (b) nibbed splice joint, (c) nibbed scarf joint, (d) tabled splice joint, (e) stop-splayed scarf joint (‘Bolt of lightning’), (f) stop-splayed and tabled scarf joint with key. The type of joint applied in a given connection is related to the function to be performed or the type of loading to be transferred. For example, a nibbed scarf joint (Figure 1c) would be used where the connection is stressed vertically and located near a support. In such a situation, the joint is responsible for transferring shear stress. In situations where tensile elements are connected, such as rafter beams, a different type of joint needs to be applied. For tensile elements, stop-splayed and tabled scarf joints with a key (Figure 1f) were used. 2. Stop-Splayed Scarf Joints (‘Bolt of Lightning’) Stop-splayed scarf joints (presented inter alia in [11–15] and referred to as ‘Bolt of lightning’, ‘Trait-de-Jupiter’) were widely used in historical buildings. They constituted a sophisticated type of connection along the length of elements in the form of a scarf joint. In historical structures, there are Materials 2020, 13, 1435 3 of 17 also elements connected along their whole length with a so-called stop-splayed scarf joint or a composite beam (built-up beams, composite beams with a teethed joint), described inter alia in [16– 18]. Stop-splayed scarf joints (‘Bolt of lightning’) were used in ancient times, for example, in the Roman construction of bridges, and later, in roof beam constructions and wooden ceiling construction elements right up to the end of the 19th century. A special period of development for this method of joining beam elements was that of the Italian Renaissance, which was the time of such masters as Leon Battista Alberti (Figure 2a) [19] and Leonardo da Vinci (Figure 2b) [16]. This method of connecting elements along their length was applied especially in elements subjected to tensile and bending forces. Typically, the joints were wedged, which was supposed to help in transferring loading and to ensure a tight fitting joint. Today, they are used mainly to strengthen and repair historical structures. Examples of stop-splayed scarf joints (‘Bolt of lightning’) and so-called composite beams are presented below (Figures 2–4). (a) (b) Figure 2. Sketches presenting scarf and splice joints in wooden beams (a) according to Leon Battista Alberti, (b) according to Leonardo da Vinci. Figure 3. Sketch of a stop-splayed scarf joint (‘Bolt of lightning’) with dimensions of an actual element, drawing based on data from [11]. (a) (b) Figure 4. Examples of scarf and splice joining of wooden beams in existing buildings: (a) building in Italy, (b) building in Poland—13th century Czocha Castle in Sucha. The few available descriptions of research concerning typical stop-splayed scarf joints (‘Bolt of lightning’) are presented in [16–18,20–23]. An analysis of the behaviour of a stop-splayed scarf joint subjected to tensile forces is presented in Figure 5 (drawing based on data from [20]). Different methods of strengthening the joints using timber pegs and steel pins were also analysed. Materials 2020, 13, 1435 4 of 17 Figure 5. Geometry of a stop-splayed scarf joint (‘Bolt of lightning’). An increase in estimated stiffness for the joints with strengthening was noted: 41% for the joint strengthened with wooden pegs and 52% for the joint strengthened with steel pins in relation to joint without strengthening was noted. Load-deflection plots were prepared and failure modes were described. Attention was paid to the difference in the static behaviour of the joints in relation to the material used for strengthening (wood, metal). The results of research carried out at the University of Bath in the UK by a team consisting of Walker, Harris, Hirst and others on the static behaviour of scarf joints, inter alia stop-splayed scarf joints, which are universally found in historical buildings across England, are presented in [21]. The joints studied were under-squinted butt in halved scarf with two pegs, side-halved and bridled with two pegs, stop-splayed and tabled scarf with key and four pegs, and face-halved and bridled scarf with four pegs (Figure 6) (drawing based on data from [21]). (a) (b) (c) (d) Figure 6. Scarf joints analysed in research: (a) under-squinted butt in halved scarf with two pegs, (b) side-halved and bridled with two pegs, (c) stop-splayed and tabled scarf with key and four pegs, (d) and face-halved and bridled scarf with four pegs, Experimental testing [21] was carried out on model beams of 2.5 m in length joined by means of the joints listed above and 1.5 m continuous beams in order to compare results. The elements were subjected to a four-point vertical bending test and lateral bending test to provide for pure bending. Load-deflection plots were determined, and on the basis of a comparison of results for the different joint types and also the parameters for the continuous element, it was possible to determine the performance factor describing the relationship of loading and stiffness of the composite beam to that of the continuous beam. The stop-splayed scarf joint (‘Bolt of lightning’) displayed the greatest stiffness and load-bearing (28% in relation to the continuous beam) with bending in the vertical plane. For the case of bending of the elements joined along their length with the stop-splayed scarf joint (‘Bolt of lightning’), i.e., for the so called composite beams (or built-up beams), analyses were presented by Mirabella-Roberti and Bondanelli in [16]. Based on a numerical analysis, the authors identified the most probable locations of stress concentrations, especially in the vicinity of joining planes. Rug et al. [17,18] present principles for developing and gauging the beams described above, which have been presented in the literature up to the 1970s. Today, it is difficult to find any principles which can provide a basis for constructing or restoring such building elements. For this reason, the University of Eberswalde in Germany carried out experimental research aimed at determining the load-bearing capacity of such elements, describing their static behaviour in terms of displacement resulting from applying loading. The research [17,18] was carried out on models constructed at a 1:1 technical scale (the dimensions adopted were the same as those in an existing rafter beam roof in a tower of a German church) and also on 1:2 scale models (Figure 7). Bending tests were carried out (in accordance with EN408), achieving an average loading at the level of Materials 2020, 13, 1435 5 of 17 approximately 57 kN; the deflection plot and flexibility modulus of the joint in the technical scale were determined in accordance with EN26891. Figure 7. Model of a composite beam connected with a stop-splayed scarf joint and models used for testing of the joint itself and the element as a whole, image adapted from [17] with permission. Sangree and Schafer [22,23] presented their research and numerical analysis carried out in Baltimore, USA on scarf joints with key found in traditional wooden constructions, e.g., in the Morgan Bridge, which was the subject of their analysis. They tested halved and tabled scarf joints and stop-splayed scarf joints with key (Figure 8 drawings based on data from [22,23]). Figure 8. Models representing the geometry of scarf joints. The joints were analysed as elements operating under complex loading conditions, i.e., tensile bending. In the case of the stop-splayed scarf joints with key [23], it was determined that the orientation of the key had the greatest influence on the static behaviour of the joint, as it causes a vertical pressure to the grain. In addition, special attention was paid to the presence of drawbolts as essential for sustaining the joint. In such cases, it was possible to obtain shear failure parallel to the grain, which made it possible to withstand higher stress levels. The research presented to date in the literature concerning the static behaviour of carpentry joints has focused mainly on tenon and notched joints. There has been decidedly less research on joints typically subjected to bending (or bending and tensile stress or bending and compressive stress). It is worth noting that practically all researchers who have been concerned with this topic (in Germany inter alia Rug [17,18], in the UK Hirst et al. [21], and also in The Czech Republic Kunecky et al. [24–29] and Fajman et al. in [30–35]) underscore that there is a shortage of research for appropriately describing the static behaviour of such joints, and so proposing the most beneficial methods for repairing or strengthening them. As a consequence (as part of a research project financed by the National Science Centre), experimental testing was carried out on the static behaviour of stop-splayed scarf joints subjected to bending. The goal was to determine the load-bearing capacity and stiffness of the joint subjected to Materials 2020, 13, 1435 6 of 17 testing and to determine the dependency of the type of joint and the method of sustaining it and its load-bearing capacity. 3. Experimental Tests 3.1. Static Schemes and Investigations Procedure For the purposes of experimental testing, technical scale beam models were made from pine wood (Pinus sylvestris L.) of 360 cm in length and with a cross-section measuring 12 cm × 18 cm. Testing involved four series, each with three models. Series A included continuous beams as references, whereas series E, F, and G included beams with stop-splayed scarf joints in the horizontal plane. The series with joints differed from one another in terms of the methods uses to strengthen the joint, i.e.:  series E—beams with stop-splayed scarf joints and two drawbolts (double-sided tooth plate connectors type C10 (Geka) + M12 screws);  series F—beams with stop-splayed scarf joints and wooden keys made from oak wood and additional steel clamps;  series G—beams with stop-splayed scarf joints and flat steel clamps and steel tie-rods. With respect to the geometry of the joints, these were based on data obtained for real structures and on data from the literature. The schematics and views of the various models used for testing are presented in Figures 9–11. (a) (b) (c) Materials 2020, 13, 1435 7 of 17 Figure 9. Schemes of the experimental testing models: (a) series E—with 2 drawbolts (double-sided tooth plate connectors type C10 + M10 screws), (b) series F—with wood inserts (and additional steel clamps), (c) series G—with steel clamps. (a) (b) (c) Figure 10. Axiometric schematics of joints used in the experimental models: (a) series E—with 2 drawbolts (double-sided tooth plate connectors type C10 + M10 screws), (b) series F—with wood inserts (and additional steel clamps), (c) series G—with steel clamps. (a) (b) (c) Figure 11. View of an example beam in each series: (a) series E—with 2 drawbolts (double-sided tooth plate connectors type C10 + M10 screws), (b) series F—with wood inserts (and additional steel clamps), (c) series G—with steel clamps. In order to determine the load-bearing and the load-deflection plot, the beam was subjected to four-point bending tests, in accordance with the standard procedure described in [36]. A schematic of the experimental testing is provided in Figure 12 (drawing based on data from [36]). Figure 12. Scheme of the four-point bending test in accordance with standard procedure. The experimental testing was carried out at the Building Construction Laboratory of the Faculty of Civil Engineering of the Wroclaw University of Science and Technology. An electronically-controlled linear hydraulic jack, the Instron 500 (Instron®, Norwood, MA, USA), was used. The results were registered using the MGC plus measurement system made by the Hottinger Baldwin Messtechnik (HBK GmbH, Darmstadt, Germany). The measurement equipment used in the experimental testing was calibrated to at least class 1 accuracy. The beams were freely supported at both ends. The span between the axes of the supports was 3.24 m. The supports included a fork support, which ensured that there was no loss in flexural static (lateral buckling). The beams were loaded symmetrically with a loading force applied at two points, Materials 2020, 13, 1435 8 of 17 thanks to which pure bending was obtained in the central part of the element. The speed of application of the loading was 5 mm/min. A schematic and view of the testing stand is presented in Figures 13 and 14. Registration of the strains observed in the materials was carried out by means of a series of RL 300/50 strain gauge. Figure 13. Scheme of the experimental testing site showing locations of the strain gauges. Figure 14. View of experimental stand for testing with an example beam. Additionally, during the course of the testing, the wood moisture was determined using a resistance hygrometer (FMW moisture meter) to take measurements in several locations on each tested beam. The moisture content of the elements was kept close to the required standard of 12% [36,37]. 3.2. Results All the beam models (altogether 12 elements) were loaded at a constant speed right up to their failure. The failure of beams in series A resulted from the shearing of fibres in the bottom part of the central area of the beam where earlier there were no visible cracks (except for cracks in the vicinity of knots in the beams). Sudden failure with no prior signs occurred. Generally, the failure of beams in series E, F, and G involved a loosening of the joint in the lower zone of the central part of the beam and the appearance of cracks and fractures on the edges of the joint and in points weakened as a result of earlier flaws (such as knots or primary cracks of the beam). The tested joint was unsymmetrical. In the right part of the joint, the beam elements were bent and pressed to each other. Materials 2020, 13, 1435 9 of 17 In the left part of the joint, the elements were also bent, but the bottom element was not pressed and the joint was loosened. Destruction occurred in the left part of the joint by breaking the upper element (visible cracks above the edge of the joint). The cross-section of the destruction was in the joint area. Failure resulted from delamination due to stretching across the fibres. The failure views of selected experimental models are presented in Figure 15. (a) (b) (c) (d) Figure 15. Failure views for selected beams (a) A01, (b) E03, (c) F01, (d) G02. Table 1 presents the value of the ultimate forces Fu obtained for each of the beam series. Ratio of mean destruction force for specified series to reference beam series is FuX/FuA, where X stands for E, F, or G (and expresses mean destructive force for this series). Table 1. Ultimate forces for beams in each series. Beam Series A E F G Ultimate force Fu [kN] 44.95 13.21 14.52 9.09 37.52 13.79 17.58 16.64 55.74 11.00 7.03 17.06 Mean ultimate force for each beam series ��� [kN] 46.07 12.67 13.04 14.26 Standard deviation s [kN] 9.16 1.47 5.43 4.49 Variation coefficient ν [%] 19.89 11.62 41.61 31.45 Ratio of mean destruction force for specified series to reference beam series 1.00 0.27 0.28 0.31 Load-deflection plots (in the central part of the beam span, i.e., in point 1) for beams in the various series are presented in Figure 16. Materials 2020, 13, 1435 10 of 17 Materials 2020, 13, 1435 11 of 17 Figure 16. Load-deflection plots for beams in series A, E, F, and G. Deformations in the area of point 1 in the central part of the beams are presented in Figure 17. The deformation profiles are consistent with expected curves: for beam A01, the standard image of deformation in the cross-section for the continuous beam was obtained, whereas for beams E02, F02, and G02, it was noted that the typical curve shape for the composite cross-section was as presented inter alia in [18]. Materials 2020, 13, 1435 12 of 17 Figure 17. Strain profile in the cross-section for selected beams subjected to bending. 3.3. Analysis of Results The mean ultimate force value for beams in series A (continuous beams) was 46.07 kN. The value of the mean load bearing for bending for this series was 24.88 kNm. Compared to the reference beams, beams joined with stop-splayed scarf joints, i.e., beams in series E, F and G, achieved lower load-bearing levels, which were comparable to one another. The highest values were obtained for series G beams with a mean ultimate force of 14.26 kN (load-bearing for bending of 7.70 kNm), which constituted 31.0% load-bearing in relation to reference beams. The largest variation in results was obtained for this series (variation coefficient exceeds 30%). Beams of series E and F obtained lower ultimate force values: series E—12.67 kN (load-bearing for bending 6.86 kNm), series F—13.04 kN (load bearing for bending 7.04 kNm) which constitutes respectively 27.5% and 28.3% load-bearing in relation to the reference beam. The results of series E were characterised by the smallest variation with an indicator of not much more than 10%. A comparison of the values of ultimate force values for beams in series A, E, F, and G is presented in Table 2 and in the curve in Figure 18. Materials 2020, 13, 1435 13 of 17 Table 2. Comparison of load-bearing for beams in the various series. Beam Series A E F G Mean ultimate force for each beam series ��� [kN] 46.07 12.67 13.04 14.26 Mean load-bearing for bending for each beams series M����� [kNm] 24.88 6.84 7.04 7.70 Ratio of load-bearing for specified series to reference beam series 1.00 0.27 0.28 0.31 Figure 18. Comparison of values obtained for ultimate force values for beams of series A, E, F, and G. As part of the comparative analysis, in Figure 19, a comparison of the load-deflection plots of the beams of series E, F, and G to the reference beams of series A is presented. It should be noted that the tested beam series attained similar values for final deflection, but with different levels of force, which are several times higher for series A, whereas the values for beams of series E, F, and G were similar to one another. Materials 2020, 13, 1435 14 of 17 Figure 19. Comparison of load-deflection plots of beams of series E, F, G to the reference beam of series A. An analysis of the graph (curves for series E, F, and G) shows a change in the nature of the static behaviour of the joint when strain η is equal to approximately 60% of the elastic to ductile state. Estimations on the basis of the load-deflection plots of the ‘stiffness parameter’ in the elastic state, calculated as the ratio of loading force value to deflection (1) for the beams representing series A, E, F, and G, are as follows: for A01—0.94 kN/mm, for E01—0.31 kN/mm, for F01—0.32 kN/mm, and for G02—0.45 kN/mm. k = tgα = F� u� [kN/mm] (1) It should be noted that the parameters for beam E01 and F01 are close to one another and amount to approximately 30% of the stiffness parameter for the continuous beam A01, whereas in the case of beam G02, the parameter amounts to approximately 50% of the reference value. The most important test results obtained for the beams from the specified series in relation to the reference beam (continuous beam) are presented in Table 3. 0 10 20 30 40 50 60 0 20 40 60 80 series A series E series F series G Deflection [mm] F o rc e [k N ] Materials 2020, 13, 1435 15 of 17 Table 3. Presentation of results for beams from specified series. Beam Series A E F G Beam Type (Strengthening of the Joint) Reference-C ontinuous Beam Drawbolts Wooden Pegs (keys) Steel Clamps Mean ultimate force ��� [kN] 46.07 12.67 13.04 14.26 Mean load-bearing in bending M����� [kNm] 24.88 6.84 7.04 7.70 Ratio of load-bearing as compared to reference beam series 1.00 0.27 0.28 0.31 Mean deflection u1 in the middle of the span with a load of 10 kN [mm] 12.34 37.44 32.48 24.59 Ratio of deflection as compared to reference beam series 1.00 3.03 2.63 1.99 Mean stiffness parameter k [kN/mm] 0.94 0.29 0.32 0.39 Stiffness parameter as compared to the reference beam series 1.00 0.32 0.35 0.43 4. Conclusions Stop-splayed scarf joints are common in historical structures where there are elements that are subject to bending, tensile stress, and bending with tensile stress, which are to be found primarily in roof framing elements, but also less commonly in wooden ceilings. When appropriately strengthened, e.g., with steel clamps or screws, etc., these joints can transfer bending loads. These types of strengthened joints have not been described to date in the literature. The obtained test results can be helpful in the design and strengthening of this type of joint, especially in historical buildings. Experimental testing carried out on technical-scale models presented the static behaviour of such connections subjected to bending load compared to bending of a continuous reference beam. The bending load-bearing levels obtained for beams with joints compared to the reference beam amounted to approximately 30% (27.5–31% depending on the type of strengthening method used). The stiffness levels obtained in laboratory experimental testing amounted to 30–40% in comparison to the reference beam. The lowest load-bearing capacity and stiffness were obtained for beams in series E, which were strengthened with drawbolts, and higher values for beams strengthened with steel clamps and wooden pegs. Despite a small sample from a statistical point of view, the obtained test results confirm the results of other researchers regarding the level of load-bearing capacities observed in beams with joints of a similar type. It is important to underscore that the laboratory testing involved three models in each series, which resulted in large variations in results in some series (as, for example, with the beams in series F, where the variation coefficient for ultimate force amounted to approximately 40%). It can be concluded that the high variation coefficient obtained resulted from primary flaws in the material, and not from the behaviour of the joints themselves. As a natural material, wood is characterised by large variations due to the presence of knots, cracks etc. The experimental investigation that was carried out allowed us to obtain a description of the static behaviour of stop-splay scarf joints subjected to bending. For more precise analyses and conclusions, numerical analyses and further laboratory testing are recommended. Given the failure mechanisms observed and the deformations in the lower edges of the joint, it is recommended that in further experimental testing, consideration is given to testing asymmetrical joint strengthening, with greater strengthening in the zone, where the largest deformations were obtained. Materials 2020, 13, 1435 16 of 17 As a next step of the research programme, numerical analyses and further experimental investigations in the laboratory of beams with different types of joints will be carried out on the described joints. The main goal of this research is to determine the solution of optimizing the design of carpentry joints in bent wooden elements. Author Contributions: Conceptualization, J.J. and T.N.; methodology, J.J., T.N.; formal analysis, A.K., K.R., T.N.; investigation, A.K., T.N.; resources, A.K., K.R.; data curation, A.K.; writing—original draft preparation, A.K.; writing—review and editing, K.R., T.N.; supervision, J.J.; project administration, A.K., T.N.; funding acquisition, A.K. All authors have read and agreed to the published version of the manuscript. Funding: This research was funded by the National Science Centre, grant number 2015/19/N/ST8/00787. Acknowledgements: The authors would like to thank DWE Publisher for giving the licence and permission to use them by authors in the article. Conflicts of Interest: The authors declare no conflict of interest. The funders had no role in the design of the study; in the collection, analyses, or interpretation of data; in the writing of the manuscript, or in the decision to publish the results. References 1. Nowak, T.; Karolak, A.; Sobótka, M.; Wyjadłowski, M. Assessment of the Condition of Wharf Timber Sheet Wall Material by Means of Selected Non-Destructive Methods. Materials 2019, 12, 1532. 2. Jasieńko, J.; Nowak, T.; Karolak, A. Historical carpentry joints. Wiad. Konserw. J. Herit. Conserv. 2014, 40, 58– 82. 3. Branco, J.M.; Descamps, T. Analysis and strengthening of carpentry joints. Constr. Build. Mater. 2015, 97, 34– 47. 4. Yeomans, D. The Repair of Historic Timber Structures; Thomas Telford Ltd: London, UK, 2003; Volume 3, p. 7. 5. Kłosowski, P.; Lubowiecka, I.; Pestka, A.; Szepietowska, K. Historical carpentry corner log joints—Numerical analysis within stochastic framework. Eng. Struct. 2018, 176, 64–73. 6. Corradi, M.; Osofero, A.I.; Borri, A. Repair and Reinforcement of Historic Timber Structures with Stainless Steel—A Review. Metals 2019, 9, 106. 7. Šobra, K.; Fonseca Ferreira, C.; Riggio, M.; D’Ayala, D.; Arriaga, F.; Aira, J.R. A new tool for the structural assessment of historic carpentry joints. In Proceedings of the 3rd International Conference on Structural Health Assessment of Timber Structures—SHATIS’15, Wrocław, Poland, 9–11 September 2015. 8. Ross, P. Appraisal and Repair of Timber Structures; Thomas Telford Ltd: London, UK, 2002. 9. Thelandersson, S.; Larsen, H.J. Timber Engineering; John Wiley & Sons Ltd: Chichester, UK, 2003; Volume 16. 10. Ilharco, T.; Lechner, T.; Nowak, T. Assessment of timber floors by means of non-destructive testing methods. Constr. Build. Mater. 2015, 101, 1206–1214. 11. Parisi, M.A.; Piazza, M. Seismic strengthening of traditional carpentry joints. In Proceedings of the 14th World Conference on Earthquake Engineering, Beijing, China, 12–17 October 2008. 12. Parisi, M.A.; Piazza, M. Seismic strengthening of traditional timber structures. In Proceedings of the 13th World Conference on Earthquake Engineering, Vancouver, BC, Canada, 1–6 August, 2004. 13. Perez, L.P. Design and construction of timber roof structures, built over different structural systems. Cases studium at the Valencia Community. In Proceedings of the First International Congress on Construction History, Madrid, Spain, 20–24 January, 2003. 14. Tampone, G.; Semplici, M. Rescuing the Hidden European Wooden Churches Heritage, an International Methodology for Implementing a Data Base for Restoration Projects; In cooperation with Fly Events and Alter Ego Ing Arch, S.r.l.: Città di Castello, Italy, 2006. 15. Aira, J.R.; Arriaga, F.; Íñiguez-González, G.; Guaita, M. Failure modes in halved and tabled tenoned timber scarf joint by tension test. Constr. Build. Mater. 2015, 96, 360–367. 16. Mirabella-Roberti, G.; Bondanelli, M. Study and analysis of XIV century timber built-up beams in Verona. Adv. Mater. Res. 2013, 778, 511–516. 17. Rug, W.; Linke, G. Study on the load bearing capacity and the load-deferral behavior of wooden composite beams with a teethed joint. In Proceedings of the 3rd International Conference on Structural Health Assessment of Timber Structures—SHATIS’15, Wrocław, Poland, 9–11 September 2015. Materials 2020, 13, 1435 17 of 17 18. Rug, W.; Thoms, F.; Grimm, U.; Eichbaum, G.; Abel, S. Untersuchungen zur Biegetragfähigkeit von verzahnten Balken. Bautechnik 2012, 89, 26–36. 19. Alberti, L.B. L’Architettura di Leon Batista Alberti, Tradotta in lingua Fiorentina da Cosimo Bartoli. Con la aggiunta de disegni. Et altri diuersi Trattati del medesimo Auttore. Appresso Lionardo Torrentino, Italy, 1565. (In Italian) 20. Ceraldi, C.; Costa, A.; Lippiello, M. Stop-Splayed Scarf-Joint Reinforcement with Timber Pegs Behaviour. In Structural Analysis of Historical Constructions; Aguilar, R., Torrealva, D., Moreira, S., Pando, M., Ramos, L.F., Eds.; Springer: Cham, Switzerland 2019; pp. 360–369. 21. Hirst, E.; Brett, A.; Thomson, A.; Walker, P.; Harris, R. The structural performance of traditional oak tension & scarf joints. In Proceedings of the 10th World Conference on Timber Engineering, Miyazaki, Japan, 2–5 June 2008. 22. Sangree, R.H.; Schafer, B.W. Experimental and numerical analysis of a halved and tabled traditional scarf joint. Constr. Build. Mater. 2009, 23, 615–624. 23. Sangree, R.H.; Schafer, B.W. Experimental and numerical analysis of a stop-splayed traditional scarf joint with key. Constr. Build. Mater. 2009, 23, 376–385. 24. Arciszewska-Kędzior, A.; Kunecký, J.; Hasníková, H. Mechanical response of a lap scarf joint with inclined faces and wooden dowels under combined loading. Wiad. Konserw. J. Herit. Conserv. 2016, 46, 80–88. 25. Arciszewska-Kędzior, A.; Kunecký, J.; Hasníková, H.; Sebera, V. Lapped scarf joint with inclined faces and wooden dowels: Experimental and numerical analysis. Eng. Struct. 2015, 94, 1–8. 26. Kunecký, J.; Hasníková, H.; Kloiber, M.; Milch, J.; Sebera, V.; Tippner, J. Structural assessment of a lapped scarf joint applied to historical timber constructions in central Europe. Int. J. Archit. Herit. 2018, 12, 666–682. 27. Kunecký, J.; Sebera, V.; Hasníková, H.; Arciszewska-Kędzior, A.; Tippner, J.; Kloiber, M. Experimental assessment of full-scale lap scarf timber joint accompanied by a finite element analysis and digital correlation. Constr. Build. Mater. 2015, 76, 24–33. 28. Kunecký, J.; Sebera, V.; Tippner, J.; Hasníková, H.; Kloiber, M.; Arciszewska- Kędzior, A.; Milch, J. Mechanical performance and contact zone of timber joint with oblique faces. Acta Univ. Agric. Et Silvic. Mendel. Brun. 2015, 63, 1153–1159. 29. Kunecký, J.; Sebera, V.; Tippner, J.; Kloiber, M. Numerical assessment of behavior of a historical central European wooden joint with a dowel subjected to bending. In Proceedings of the 9th International Conference on Structural Analysis of Historical Constructions, Mexico City, Mexico, 15–17 October 2014. 30. Fajman, P.; Máca, J. Stiffness of scarf joints with dowels. Comput. Struct. 2018, 207, 194–199. 31. Fajman, P.; Máca, J. The effect of inclination of scarf joints with four pins. Int. J. Archit. Herit. 2018, 12, 599– 606. 32. Fajman, P. A scarf joint for reconstructions of historical structures. Adv. Mater. Res. 2015, 969, 9–15. 33. Fajman, P.; Máca, J. Scarf joints with pins or keys and dovetails. In Proceedings of the 3rd International Conference on Structural Health Assessment of Timber Structures—SHATIS’15, Wrocław, Poland, 9–11 September 2015. 34. Fajman, P.; Máca, J. The effect of key stiffness on forces in a scarf joint. In Proceedings of the 9th International Conference on Engineering Computational Technology, Naples, Italy, 2014; Civil-Comp Press: Stirlingshire, UK, 2014; Volume 40. 35. Šobra, K.; Fajman, P. Utilization of splice skew joint with a key in the reconstruction of historical trusses. Adv. Mater. Res. 2013, 668, 207–212. 36. Structural Timber—Determination of Characteristic Values of Mechanical Properties and Density; PN-EN 384: 2016-10; PKN: Polish Committee for Standardization, Warsaw, Poland, 2016. 37. Timber Structures. Structural Timber and Glued Laminated Timber. Determination of Some Physical and Mechanical Properties; PN-EN 408+A1: 2012; PKN: Polish Committee for Standardization, Warsaw, Poland, 2012. © 2020 by the authors. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). 
work_5it3u352k5g6njvgiikhn4o54a	----	Book Reviews Frankland, Sims Woodhead, and Edward Klein. Not surprisingly, the attempt to reduce the Victorian ideological maze to order results in omissions: the moral dimension, considered elsewhere by Christopher Hamlin, is lacking; as also is reference to the wider scientific context. Neither Justus von Liebig nor Robert Koch, both influential figures in this context, receives a mention. Part Two, which deals with the main diseases transmitted by the Thames is, says the blurb, "highly original", but, inevitably, much here is predictable; and Luckin's conclusions often simply reinforce points already made by Margaret Pelling in Cholera, fever and English medicine. The chapter on diarrhoea does not reduce confusion about the identity of the disease (was it a disease rather than a symptom?), its causation, and path of transmission, which is very far from being exclusively water-related. The third section of the book is the most novel, containing an account of the Thames Conservancy, which Luckin reveals as a wonderfully exclusive and self-sufficient body, and an analysis of why national legislation failed to control river pollution in the nineteenth century. Despite this book's weaknesses, it should provide a valuable stimulus to debate. Bill Luckin has not been well served by his publisher, however. The index is so perfunctory as to be virtually useless; the print is grey; the lines are too long and too close together; thejacket design is hideous. Anne Hardy Nuffield College, Oxford W. F. BYNUM, C. LAWRENCE and V. NUTTON, (editors), The emergence of modern cardiology (Medical History, Suplement no. 5), London, Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine, 1985, 8vo, pp. x, 178, illus., £12.00 (UK)/£16.00 (overseas). The volume under review deals with the genesis of the cardiologic discipline during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It examines also, as a subordinate and illustrative theme, a few aspects of present cardiological practice and research. The discussions of physics and physiology are based on work done in almost every country of western Europe and North America, whereas the sociological problems are almost entirely those ofGreat Britain. Whoever reads each article carefully will find himself well rewarded. The opening article, the longest in the collection, was written by Christopher Lawrence and considers the "new cardiology" in Britain, 1880-1930. It describes the way in which late-nineteenth-century research in experimental physiology effected a reconstruction of the clinical conceptions of the heart that were held in British medicine during the first three decades of the twentieth century, the new concept being that of the living organ, which was not merely a mechanic's pump but a live muscle. Disease of the heart was not only an alteration in structure but a variable change in function. This led to the recognition ofnew syndromes, especially in the realm of arrhythmia. The new outlook encountered resistance, and was responsible for important institutional changes. Lawrence's article is an example ofexcellent historical analysis in the modem style. The developments, arranged in intelligible sequence, repeatedly demonstrate the relation between technical innovations and their social and institutional background. An essay on "soldier's heart" by J. D. Howell describes the way in which evolving concepts of disease may influence the formation of medical specialities. Soldier's heart, a condition that is now difficult to define satisfactorily, was ofhigh importance to the British Army in World War I. Howell explains the changes from early mechanical concepts of this disease to its redefinition as effort syndrome; this change, from anatomical to dynamic, was consonant with the trends examined by Lawrence. In discussing the electrocardiograph as a clinical instrument, John Burnett concentrates on the conditions which made the invention possible, emphasis being directed not toward the physician but toward the instrument-maker. He shows that most of the components of the apparatus were recent, and he describes in turn the development of each. He observes that the electrocardiograph is in the category ofinstruments that were first devised for use in the physical sciences and were applied later to biology. Burnett describes a close and productive relation between industry and science. 234 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300046688 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300046688 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Reviews A paper by D. M. Krikler points out that when graphic techniques such as sphygmography were first introduced, they were not applied at once to cardiac irregularities. Of crucial importance was the invention ofa practical form ofelectrocardiogram. A major role was played by men at University College Hospital, e.g. Lewis, Cushny, and Starling. Arthur Hollman's history of bundle branch block appropriately recalls Harvey's naked-eye observations of the dying heart in experimental animals. Attention is called also to the suggestion ofvon Leyden (1868) that contraction might occur in one ventricle alone, and to early ECGs of experimental bundle branch block (1909, 1910). Necessary emphasis is placed on Thomas Lewis's incorrect localization and on clarifications by subsequent investigators. Burch's paper on vector cardiography, presented in Leiden in 1977, is the work of an acknowledged master. It recalls the basic work of Horatio Williams, Mann's monocardiogram, and the ultimate application of the cathode-ray oscilloscope. Proper emphasis is accorded to the difficulties, especially the lack of a universally accepted frame of reference and the even more vexatious problem of the real value of the vectorcardiogram. Burch describes an area of research that has been strongly attractive to theoreticians and remains in advance of practical usefulness. He says little about possible relation between VCG and recent advances in physics and mathematics. This deficiency is compensated in part by a series of twenty-one footnotes on pp. 128-129. An essay by Wray, Eisner, and Allen considers the foxglove and wisely includes the pre-Withering era. Withering's research is examined, but we are not told how his turkeys were used in experiments. Withering's principal contribution is seen to be his formulation of guidelines for the use of the drug. Much important information is given about later developments, especially the theory of inhibition of the sodium-potassium pump. An essay by Finlayson, 'Ischaemic heart disease, aortic aneurysms, and atheroscleorsis in the city of London, 1868-1982', can hardly receive adequate analysis in a brief review. A judicious and valuable consideration of autopsy statistics leads Finlayson to the surmise that "apart from the increasing age of the population. . . an additional factor has triggered off the epidemic of coronary heart disease, and possibly yet another factor has caused the more recent and more modest increase in abdominal aortic aneurysms." His suspicions point toward tobacco and hydrogenated margarines. Chronic medical historians will be interested to compare Finlayson's research with Lancisi's. Saul Jarcho New York KATHARINE PARK, Doctors andmedicine in early renaissance Florence, Princeton University Press, 1985, 8vo, pp. xii, 298, £33-40. Katharine Park has written an excellent book that contributes equally to medical history and to Italian renaissance studies. Florence was a good choice. For, if it was not the richest city in Italy, it did have highly-developed forms of civic organisation which structured the political, social and economic lives of its citizens. The city has left us a huge collection of records and they allow us to recreate its histories in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, its collectivities such as guilds and confraternities, and its individuals and their relationships, much more fully than is possible for most other cities. This rich treasure has attracted a stream of able historians such as Gene Brucker, David Herlihy, and Christiane Klapisch. Park has joined their ranks, and her elucidation of the profession of medicine in the city will add one more piece to the research programme on renaissance Florence. Her findings are novel and important for the history of medicine. In Florence, the medical marketplace was not made up solely of individual buyers-corporate demand was just as significant. The city and institutions such as hospitals, religious orders, and confraternities gave regular employment to doctors, and a salary from, say, the prison service or seasonal employment in the army could provide as much income as private practice. Florence, in other words, had a well-developed infrastructure of health care. This perhaps is not so surprising, for we have been prepared by Cipolla's work on plague and public health to view Italian cities as having much more sophisticated and comprehensive health systems than the rest of Europe. The 235 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300046688 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300046688 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_5p3wy3pevjbxtkty6shzdhdzj4	----	In Chapter 3, Osnabrugge unscrambles a series of artists close in name and oeuvre, focusing upon Hendrick de Somer. The next chapter is devoted to Matthias Stom. Here, better plates would have helped the reader appreciate this artist’s individual approach. The concluding chapter is devoted to the experiences of five Netherlandish immigrant painters in Naples. Like the other sections, this one abounds in documen- tation, useful bibliography, and a fresh approach. At a time when most students seem to wish to study the art of tomorrow, it is reassuring to come across a publication that main- tains such a welcome sense of individual discovery and proportion. One can only congrat- ulate Dr. Osnabrugge for having shed light on a still-difficult area of knowledge, illuminating the gloomy, complex Northern art emanating from cavernous Naples. In view of its excellence, this book has two regrettable flaws, neither the author’s fault. The first lies in the present publication’s far-too-small format, which should have been at least twice its present size. Could the Fonds Général de l’Universite de Genève or the Amsterdam Studies in the Dutch Golden Age have seen to an appropriate subsidy or found a more suitable publisher? The 265 text pages and the 89 black-and- white illustrations are hard to read. Of the twenty “color plates,” the less said the better. Since so many of the visual Rubens references are well known to the general reader, these could have been omitted. A minor concern are the little errors in English, which are no more than mildly irritating or amusing and could all have been caught at a single sitting by any editor brought up in that language. Moreover, the title seems unnecessarily cumbersome. Colin Eisler, NYU Institute of Fine Arts doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.141 Buontalenti e Le Nôtre: Geometria del giardino da Pratolino a Versailles. Amelio Fara. Biblioteca dell’“Archivum Romanicum,” Serie I: Storia, Letteratura, Paleografia 477. Florence: Olschki, 2017. viii + 144 pp. + 69 color pls. €29. The first of the two chapters contained in this book addresses the design method of Bernardo Buontalenti, the multitalented military engineer and stage and garden designer responsible for the park of the Medici villa at Pratolino, commissioned by Francesco I and left incomplete at the grand duke’s death, in 1587. The second chapter compares the work of Buontalenti in Tuscany to that of André Le Nôtre, a century later, in France and Turin. The purpose of the comparison is to establish a precedent and argue for the direct descent of some of Le Nôtre’s geometric schemes from the Florentine designer’s work, which he may have seen while visiting Italy in 1679. Fara argues that Buontalenti made use of the accelerated perspective for the design of Pratolino’s stradone degli zampilli (alley of fountains), rendered in the famous RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1020 VOLUME LXXIII, NO. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog?doi=10.1017/rqx.2020.142&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core mid-seventeenth-century etching of Stefano della Bella. Pratolino’s layout was irreme- diably altered in the nineteenth century, but Buontalenti’s method survives in a less- known, late sixteenth-century villa located at Poggiofrancoli. Here, too, Buontalenti’s accelerated perspective connects garden and architecture, forcing the supporting walls of the external staircase and access ramp to converge toward the building. This method anticipates Francesco Borromini’s gallery of Palazzo Spada, built a few decades later in Rome according to a similar optical illusion. Pratolino’s design would have been known in France thanks to the diffusion of the description by Francesco de’ Vieri (1586)—included in the first of the book’s six appendixes—and of the etchings of Stefano della Bella. The author speculates that the latter might in fact derive from lost drawings by Buontalenti. He goes on to suggest that the rendering of the alley of the fountains would have been Le Nôtre’s inspiration for a detail of the garden at Versailles. The most apparent similarity would be the way in which the outer diameter of the Latona fountain at Versailles forms the base of a triangle whose center is located in the courtyard adjacent to the front facade of the palace, and it is this triangle that also determines the diameter of the intermediate circular water basin. The same technique seems to have been used in the design of the Park of Racconigi in Turin, but neither in Italy nor at Versailles, the author concedes, did Le Nôtre make use of the kind of accelerated perspective still visible at Poggiofrancoli. Also, there is no proof that Le Nôtre actually visited Pratolino. This would make the book’s premise less convincing and the indebtedness of Le Nôtre to Buontalenti also a matter of conjecture. The book’s strength lies in its gathering of primary sources, most of these already published—though not recently—with the exception of a newly discovered eighteenth-century plan of Versailles. The book is enriched by a discussion of the water- marks that distinguish the paper produced in Italy from paper produced in France and in the Piedmont region, used by Italian and French draftsmen, respectively, for their drawings. These discussions, contained in two of the appendixes, lead to close-up pho- tographs of paper details, from drawings housed at the Uffizi and from documents in private collections. The main purpose of these sections is to argue that the newly found map of Versailles included in the volume was likely drawn on paper produced in Turin. None of these details, however, are addressed in the main text or are used to corroborate the main argument presented by the author. The high quality of the publication is typ- ical of Olschki’s handsome volumes, as is that of the exquisite color images. These, how- ever, are not accompanied by captions; instead, the captions are listed in a separate section sandwiched between the illustrations and the appendixes. This layout makes the to-and-fro between text, images, and captions quite cumbersome for the reader. The audience is surely an academic one of landscape and architectural historians, as the many designers and contemporaries of the two protagonists appear in the text with- out introduction. Quotations from original primary sources in French are not trans- lated, and neither is the biography of Le Nôtre included among the appendixes. REVIEWS 1021 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Finally, the author’s minute investigation of morphological correspondences between a Florentine and a French garden, as well as his insistence on the primacy of the plan and on a static interpretation of the latter at the expense of movement, so paramount at Versailles as at Pratolino, is reminiscent of a landscape historiographic tradition rooted in the first half of the twentieth century and responsible, in part, for the modernist ostra- cism of history and historical precedents from design education. Raffaella Fabiani Giannetto, Harvard University doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.142 Cut in Alabaster: A Material of Sculpture and Its European Traditions 1330– 1530. Kim W. Woods. Distinguished Contributions to the Study of the Arts in the Burgundian Netherlands 3. London: Harvey Miller Publishers, 2018. ii + 418 pp. €150. Alabaster sculpture is a highly engaging topic. The sculpted white semi-transparent stone is still as attractive today as it was centuries ago. Cut in Alabaster: A Material of Sculpture and Its European Traditions 1330–1530 focuses on the main regions where alabaster artworks were made from the fourteenth to the beginning of the sixteenth cen- tury in Western Europe. The author’s original approach consists in her attention to ala- baster sculpture made in England, France, the Low Countries, and Spain. In this way, she sheds a new light both on the influence of these different centers on one another and on their resemblances and differences. The heavily illustrated book is structured in nine chapters followed by an extensive bibliography. The first chapter deals with the geological aspects and the use of alabaster as a sculptural material. It pays attention to the late medieval confusion between alabas- ter and white marble, arguing that there was no difference in status between the two materials and that there was an interchangeability between them. Furthermore, the chapter deals with the challenging supply of good-quality blocks in Northern Europe. Some concise attention is dedicated to sculpting and polishing techniques, fol- lowed by a more elaborate part on polychromy, stressing the fact that late Gothic ala- baster sculptures were as a rule either minimally or partially painted at least until the mid-sixteenth century, with the arrival of Italian Renaissance ideas. In the second chapter, the author deals with the sculptors working in alabaster and the coinciding trade in their works of art. The court of France was a trendsetter in the taste for lustrous white materials. As the use of alabaster rose at the end of the fourteenth century in France, its application in the Low Countries from 1440 until the first decades of the sixteenth century remained rare. Woods proves, however, by means of various cases, the undeniable pioneering role of sculptors from both the Low Countries and the extreme north of France in using alabaster as a sculpting material in Paris as well as Spain. RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1022 VOLUME LXXIII, NO. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_5qvybg4ra5hwnfyupsyzufrwmq	----	comptes rendus 195 the variety of reasons and goals that gave birth to this fascinating series of frescoes. johnny l. bertolio, University of Toronto Quinlan-McGrath, Mary. Influences: Art, Optics, and Astrology in the Italian Renaissance. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013. Pp. xi, 284 + 26 ill. ISBN 978-0- 226-92284-3 (hardcover) $35. Mary Quinlan-McGrath, professor of art history, succinctly states in the ope- ning pages that her book interrogates “why the learned believed in astrology and how art participated within its practices” (7). Over the next several hun- dred pages, she ambitiously attempts to investigate the importance of astrology as it pertains to astronomy and theology. Quinlan-McGrath structures her text around four basic points derived from Plato’s Timaeus: the study of heavens as it relates to the work of a “single creator”; how the creator gave humans alone a share of the divine intelligence to allow them to see and understand cosmic patterns; the idea of vision as “the threshold for the study of the heavens,” the latter capable of being rendered in the visual arts; and a consideration of how the study of the heavens related to spiritual and intellectual pursuits. Such a structuring allows Quinlan-McGrath to trace a clear and logical evolution of thought relating to the corollaries among theology, astronomy, and astrology, which she derives from the treatises of Plato, Vitruvius, Plotinus, St. Augustine, Marsilio Ficino, Ptolemy, Roger Bacon, Alberti, and al-Kindi. To explore these themes, Influences is divided into eight chapters, each of which examines topics related to the history of astronomy and astrology, followed by tangential discussions of their effects on urbanism, their relevancy to Renaissance treatises, particularly Ficino’s, and three painted Roman vaults: the Sala della Cosmografia (Palazzo Farnese, Rome), the astrological vault at the villa of Agostino Chigi (Rome), and the astrological vault of the Sala dei Pontefici (Vatican, Rome). Of these chapters, the last is the only one dedicated to art historical analyses. Despite the diversity of the chapters, each is divided into sections that outline the nuances among specific terms and their usages 196 bo ok reviews from ancient to Renaissance times. Although at times repetitive, the systematic approach allows the author to illustrate how even the most devout Christian intellectuals turned to astrology to inform their religious and political futures, even to the point of changing the date of their births or arguing for a differ- ent founding date of important Italian urban centres to correspond with more favourable horoscopes and astrological readings. Despite the merits of Quinlan-McGrath’s Influences, I would be remiss if I did not express my concerns about its structure and presentation. First, I found the scattered inclusion and references to Arabic astronomical and philo- sophical writers somewhat superficial, especially given the author’s propensity to sound their accolades. Although Arabic intellectual practices were highly influential upon early modern engineers, scientists, artists, and the like, as the author rightly notes, their sporadic inclusion within Influences seems forced at times. This suggests a struggle for inclusivity and simultaneously highlights the restrictions of the topic. Indeed, Quinlan-McGrath is unable to explore the rational and religious significances of astronomy in Arabic traditions with the same legibility that emerges from her detailed examination of Italian culture. Nevertheless, the connections drawn are logical and highlight the known influ- ences of Arabic writers despite the lack of cultural context. Second, despite the book’s catalogue designation (Fine Arts) and title, and the art historical value of the author’s other published works, art was substantially lacking within Influences. The text could just as easily have stood alone—and probably should have—in the category of historical inquiry, with- out attempting art historical analysis. As a point of fact, approximately fifteen percent of the text is devoted to artistic works that at the outset were presented as being central to the book’s argument. Discussions of the painted Roman vaults are isolated to the final twenty pages of the book’s last chapter. Although much information about these wonderfully complex painted ceilings can be gleaned from canonical art historical surveys of Italian Renaissance art and architecture, the presentation of the visual content seems rushed and com- pressed. Quinlan-McGrath’s formal descriptions and interpretive analyses of these paintings would have benefitted immensely from the inclusion of several drawings of the vaults. At the centre of book, among the “plates,” the small co- lour reproductions are crisp; however, schematics of the paintings would offer much needed clarity to those not trained in Italian Renaissance visual culture. Similar issues abound in references to the numerous other black-and-white comptes rendus 197 reproductions throughout the whole of the text, as little descriptive content is provided. In other words, a more sophisticated weaving of visual descriptors with the book’s wonderful textual analyses would have benefitted the reader. Aside from my concerns over the presentation of the book’s visual data, the book is wonderful in its originality and the author’s willingness to take on the tedious task of highlighting the subtlety of meaning in Italian Renaissance culture. For those interested in the nuances and complexities that existed among astronomy, astrology, and theology, Mary Quinlan-McGrath’s Influences is a must read, with text rich in content and data. c. cody barteet, The University of Western Ontario Strier, Richard. The Unrepentant Renaissance: From Petrarch to Shakespeare to Milton. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011. Pp. xii, 304. ISBN 978-0-226- 77751-1 (hardcover) $45. Richard Strier’s timely study proclaims itself as “a return to Burckhardt” and an alternative to the dour and repressed picture of the Renaissance proposed by Stephen Greenblatt’s New Historicism, and its more recent inheritor, the “new humoralism” of Michael Schoenfeldt. Treating an impressive range of poets, playwrights, philosophers, and theologians from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century—including Petrarch, Luther, Ignatius, Erasmus, More, Shakespeare, Donne, Herbert, Montaigne, Descartes, and Milton—Strier ar- gues that the authors he analyzes oppose (or do not accept as unassailable) the “Christian-Stoic-Platonic synthesis that produced the ‘official’ and, one might wrongly think, unquestioned values of the period” (2). In this sense, they are unabashedly “unrepentant.” The chapters consider texts that reject the values and virtues of, in order, reason and the moderation of anger, the inferiority of the physical to the spiritual, ordinary decency and morality, the denial of materialism and worldliness, and the need for humility (1). Taking up where Burckhardt’s Italian Renaissance individualism left off, Strier contends that the Reformation and Counter-Reformation contributed to the elevation of the or- dinary layperson, and made possible expressions of “self-assertion, perversity, 
work_5zyc52fwnfceba32yzaf2m72za	----	Impact of an augmented reality system on students' motivation for a visual art course This document is published in: Computers & Education, (2013), 68, 586-596. DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.compedu.2012.03.002 © 2012 Elsevier Ltd. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.compedu.2012.03.002 Impact of an augmented reality system on students’ motivation for a visual art course Ángela Di Serio a, María Blanca Ibáñez b,*, Carlos Delgado Kloos b a Departamento de Computación y Tecnología de la Información, Universidad Simón Bolívar, Caracas, Venezuela b Departamento de Ingeniería Telemática, Universidad Carlos III de Madrid, Av. de la Universidad, 30, 28911 Leganés, Madrid, Spain Keywords: Augmented reality, Motivation, Middle-school education Abstract: In this paper, the authors show that augmented reality technology has a positive impact on the moti-vation of middle-school students. The Instructional Materials Motivation Survey (IMMS) (Keller, 2010) based on the ARCS motivation model (Keller, 1987a) was used to gather information; it considers four motivational factors: attention, relevance, confidence, and satisfaction. Motivational factors of attention and satisfaction in an augmented- reality-based learning environment were better rated than those obtained in a slides-based learning environment. When the impact of the augmented reality system was analyzed in isolation, the attention and confidence factors were the best rated. The usability study showed that although this technology is not mature enough to be used massively in education, enthu-siasm of middle-school students diminished most of the barriers found. 1. Introduction Scientists, researchers, and teachers agree that students who are motivated to learn are more likely to engage, persist, and expend effort for task completion than those who are unmotivated (Csikszentmihalyi, 1991; Efklides, Kuhl, & Sorrentino, 2001; Keller, 1979; Schmidt, 2007). Although there is no consensus about how to define motivation (Kleinginna & Kleinginna, 1981), researches at the education field usually adopt the definition stated by Houssaye (cited by Vianin, 2006, p. 24) that describes motivation as the force that initiates and directs behavior. Thus, it can be stated that “motivation provides a source of energy that is responsible for why learners decide to make an effort, how long they are willing to sustain an activity, how hard they are going to pursue it, and how connected they feel to the activity.” (Rost, 2010). Research on education has always been very active defining specific actions that teachers should take to increase motivation in class- rooms (Huitt, 2011; Keller, 1987a,b; Raffini, 1993; Stipek, 1998; Taran, 2005; Wlodkowski, 1978). In the past few years, there have been considerable efforts in the use of technology to support and enhance learning. Learning environments have integrated, among others, the use of computers, multimedia material, whiteboards, internet, Web 2.0 authoring tools, simulations, games and more recently mobile phones and immersive technologies such as 3D virtual worlds and augmented reality (Dror, 2008). Although learning is a holistic process and “. it cannot be understood by simply analyzing human responses to attributes of technologies that carry the messages to be learned” (Jonassen, 1994), several empirical evaluations analyzing the effects of particular technologies on educational practices yield encouraging results. Indeed, technologies with different affordances have been identified as one of the factors that might improve student motivation. Earlier studies carried out on learning environments that are not web-based found that technology causes positive attitudes and higher motivation toward instruction (Kulik, 1994; Schacter, 1999; Sivin-Kachala, 1998). The integration of web tools in learning activities marked an important turning point. Indeed, several studies proved that motivation is enhanced by the sense of control and the possibility to create knowledge collaboratively that offer web technologies (Annetta, Minogue, Holmes, & Cheng, 2009; Bolliger, Supanakorn, & Boggs, 2010; Rovai, Ponton, Wighting, & Baker, 2007). 3D virtual worlds can be considered an evolution of WWW, they have been successfully employed in educational applications (Chittaro & Ranon, 2007; Dalgarno & Lee, 2010) and some studies reveal that their immersive and interactive capabilities foster student motivation and engagement (Barab, Thomas, Dodge, Carteaux & Tuzum, 2005; Huang, Rauch, & Liaw, 2010; Shen & Eder, 2009). *Corresponding author. Tel.: þ34 91 624 8744; fax: þ34 91 624 8749. E-mail addresses: adiserio@ldc.usb.ve (Á. Di Serio), mbibanez@it.uc3m.es (M.B. Ibáñez), cdk@it.uc3m.es (C.D. Kloos). 1 Advances in mobile technology make it nowadays feasible to use augmented reality (AR) technology for learning (Specht, Ternier, & Greller, 2011). This technology makes the enhancement of our senses (vision, aural, and tactile) with virtual or naturally invisible infor- mation superimposed on top of the real world by digital means possible (Azuma, 1997). Augmented reality, much like 3D virtual worlds, offers different degrees of immersion and interaction that might help to engage students in learning activities. There have been some attempts to use AR for training and educational purposes (Billinghurst, Kato, & Poupyrew, 2001; Nejdl, Tochtermann, Bogen, Wind, & Giuliano, 2006; Platonov, Heibel, Meier, & Grollmann, 2006). However, the potential of AR in education remains unexplored and, there is a limited amount of studies investigating student motivation with the use of AR. In this paper, we explore the impact of augmented reality technology on the motivation of middle-school students. 2. Literature review 2.1. Augmented reality and its use in learning The term augmented reality refers to technology that enhances the user’s sensory perception of the real world with a computer-assisted contextual layer of information (Azuma,1997). Augmented reality (AR) and virtual reality (VR) are closely related; both are contained within the Milgram Reality-Virtuality Continuum (Milgram & Kishino,1994) and reflect different levels of user’s immersion in environments where physical and digital objects co-exist. VR technology completely replaces a real environment with a synthetic environment, whereas AR brings virtual information to the user context (Azuma,1997). According to R. Azuma et al. (Azuma et al., 2001), AR systems are characterized by three properties: (1) Combine real and virtual objects in a real environment. (2) Align real and virtual objects with each other. (3) Run interactively, and in real time. Augmented reality and virtual reality share some common features such as immersion, navigation and interaction (Dunleavy, Dede, & Mitchell, 2009; Kye & Kim, 2008). These features can be derived from Azuma’s AR properties. According to Sherman and Craig (Sherman & Craig, 2003), immersion encompasses both the physical aspects of the environment (Lombard & Ditton, 1997) and the condition whereby people are absorbed by an activity (Csikszentmihalyi, 1991). Display and tracking technologies deal with the three AR properties and contribute to physical immersion showing changes in the environment as result of movement or interaction. The use of different display and tracking technologies might cause different degrees of physical immersion. For instance, head mounted or spatial displays foster a higher degree of immersion than handheld displays such as PDAs or smart phones (Carmigniani et al., 2010; Krevelen & Poelman, 2010). Furthermore, poor alignment of digital information with real objects would cause a loss of immersion feeling. An educator’s challenge is to use physical immerse capabilities of AR technology to foster student engagement in learning activities. Azuma’s second property implies that digital information is superimposed on the real environment for the user’s perspective. As result, the users point of view changes and they require knowing where they are, where everything is and how to get particular objects or places, that is the navigation process. Although navigation is not the main objective of a user in a virtual or augmented environment, it has direct implications on the way users interact with the pervasive computing landscape (Burigat & Chittaro, 2007; Kye & Kim, 2008; Narzt et al., 2005) and also contributes to the feeling of immersion (Huang et al., 2010). Azuma’s third AR property is directly related with real-time interactivity. AR technology naturally supports one of the three types of interaction needed in education stated by M. Moore (Moore, 1989): learner-content interaction. Several authors emphasize the importance of this kind of interaction to foster cognitive tasks such as understanding, memory, and imagination among others (Dalgarno, 2004; Neumann & Majoros, 1998). The quality of learner-content interaction is tied to the kind of AR interface used and goes from simple WIMP interfaces (windows, icons, menus, and pointing) to haptic devices (Carmigniani et al., 2010; Krevelen & Poelman, 2010). The other two types of interactions: learner-instructor and learner–learner should be supported by the environment itself and are tied to collaboration (Chittaro & Ranon, 2007; Dalgarno & Lee, 2010). Educators and researchers are enthusiastic about the use of emerging technologies such as augmented reality and multi-user virtual environments in teaching and learning (Bower, 2008; Dalgarno & Lee, 2010; Dunleavy et al., 2009; Kye & Kim, 2008). The immersion, interaction and navigation features of these technologies are expected to improve student satisfaction, help in knowledge comprehension and are potentially useful in learning tasks that require experimentation; spatial ability; and collaboration among others (Dalgarno & Lee, 2010; Dunleavy et al., 2009). Furthermore, some authors highlight unique affordances of AR such as its capacity to promote kinesthetic learning tasks and its support for memory cognitive processes (Chien, Chen, & Jeng, 2010; Dunleavy et al., 2009). On the other hand, recent advances in mobile technology and integration of AR software in PCs encourage the use of AR in education. There are indeed some initial attempts to use AR for learning tasks with these simple devices. Table 1 presents some AR applications recently developed in education and identify the AR learning affordances they have exploited. Our study analyzes the impact of a basic AR system on middle-school students’ motivation to learn a visual art module. The system is composed of PCs, webcams and markerless images which are easily available in schools but with limited capabilities of immersion, interaction and navigation. 2.2. Student motivation In the educational arena, motivation can be defined as the student’s desire to engage in a learning environment (Keller & Litchfield, 2002). The impact of motivation on students’ academic achievements and learning outcomes has been addressed in several studies. P. Pintrick (Pintrich, 1999) highlights the role of motivation in promoting and sustaining self-regulated learning tied to better academic performance (Zimmerman, Bandura, & Martinez-Pons, 1992). His study proves that three general types of motivational beliefs: self-efficacy, task-value and goal orientation predict self-regulation. Also D. Schunk (cited by Schmidt, 2007, p. 44) states that motivation has potential to 2 influence the what, when, and how of learning, and increases the likelihood of engaging in activities that will help students to learn and achieve better performance. Thus, learning strategies that connect with students’ interests and provide them with opportunities to take an active part in their instruction can lead to increased engagement, effort, and eventual success (Theall, 1999b). The opposite thesis is also true; lack of motivation can be a major obstacle that prevents learner success (Jeamu, Kim, & Lee, 2008). A learning motivation theory defines the set of factors which influence students’ motivation to learn. A study of M. Theall (Theall, 1999b) compiles in an “author by factor matrix” the motivational factors present in thirteen motivation theories. The matrix includes relevant theories such as P. Pintrich’s work on self-regulation based on an expectancy-value model of motivation (Pintrich & De Groot, 1990), Perry’s work on perceived control and attributional issues (Perry, 1991) (cited by Theall, 1999a, p. 8) and Keller’s work based on the ARCS model (Keller, 1987a). The theories surveyed have six consensual motivation factors: inclusion, attitude, meaning, competence, leadership and satisfaction. These motivation factors can be seen as building blocks for instructional strategies that intend to provide reinforcement for activities to be encouraged; set challenging yet attainable goals for learning; provide feedback on progress; enhance the perceived value of the tasks, convince the learners they can succeed; give the learners choices about goals and strategies for achieving them (Svinicki, 1999). A. Barger and K. Byrd (Barger & Byrd, 2011) state that computer-based instructional design would benefit from the application of Keller’s ARCS model and Maslow’s theory of needs. J. Keller proposes a problem-solving approach to applying motivation to instructional design called ARCS, which is directly based on four out of six components reported at M. Theall’s survey: Attention, Relevance, Confidence and Satisfaction (Keller, 1987a,b). The missing factors in ARCS, inclusion and leadership, can be derived from the treatment given by Keller’s model to the other four factors (Theall, 1999b). Keller’s model illustrates a motivational design process where the first step is to gain and sustain learners’ attention and stimulate their curiosity to learn. The second step must guarantee that learning activities have been aligned with learners’ personal goals and needs in order to be perceived as relevant. According to the model, learners should build confidence by feeling in control and having expectancy for success because the degree of expectancy achieved will determine the amount of effort learners invest to accomplish the activities. Goal-directed effort will also be influenced by external factors such as teacher enthusiasm, social values, quality of instruction and availability of resources (Keller, 2008). The learners’ effort combined with their knowledge, ability and skills will lead to the accomplishment of the learners’ activities with some degree of performance. Finally, the cognitive evaluation and the reflection learners made on their performance determine their levels of satisfaction. Adequate levels of satisfaction help them to maintain motivation (Rodgers & Withrow-Thorton, 2005). Thus, each ARCS model component plays a critical role in motivating students throughout the learning process. On the other hand, a diagnostic evaluation of student motivation is necessary to determine the strengths and weaknesses of instructional design used. In this sense, the ARCS model was originally developed as a descriptive model for diagnosing problems associated with learning motivation (Driscoll, 2000, p. 3–28) as cited in (Huang, Diefes-Dux, Imbrie, Daku, & Kallimani, 2004). The Instructional Materials Motivation Survey (IMMS) was the instrument developed to measure learner motivation following the ARCS model (Keller, 2010). The instrument is particularly relevant for our study because it has been validated and used on several research studies using technology as a motivational factor in learning (Bolliger et al., 2010; Green & Sulbaran, 2006; Huang et al., 2004; Rodgers & Withrow-Thorton, 2005). In this work, we use IMMS to evaluate motivation levels of middle-school students towards a visual art course. The course was taught using two different learning scenarios, the first one was slides-based, and the second one used augmented reality technology. 3. Case study The study was conducted on three sections of a visual art compulsory course taught at a middle school in Madrid (Spain). The experiment was performed on a two-sessions-module on Italian Renaissance Art. The module material comprised images and information related to eight relevant masterpieces of Italian Renaissance prepared by the teacher of the school. Students were expected to acquire both general information about the masterpieces studied and guidelines to appreciate the art work of the Renaissance. In order to inflict the minimum disturbance upon the course, the design and the content of previous editions were kept intact. The sessions should maintain a general structure: study of four Renaissance art masterpieces through the presentation of their images and explanation of their relevant details. Whereas the first session maintained a teaching scenario using slides (TS1), the education scenario of the second session (TS2) was changed to one supported by augmented reality technology. Table 1 A summary of AR applications in education. Research AR technology employed Most relevant features Learning affordances Dünser, Steinbügl, Kaufmann, and Glück (2006) HMD. Stylus tracked with 6Do. Immersion. Interaction. Spatial ability. Collaboration. Motivation. Gutiérrez et al. (2010) Fiducial markers. PC. webcam Interaction. Navigation. Spatial ability. Maier, Tönnis, and Klinker (2009) Fiducial markers. PC. webcam Interaction. Navigation. Experiential learning. Spatial ability. Klopfer and Squire (2008) Handheld devices. Navigation. Immersion. Collaboration. Motivation. Nilsson, Johansson, and Jönsson (2010) HMD. Marker Tracking. Immersion. Navigation. Collaboration. Chien et al. (2010) Fiducial markers. PC. webcam Interaction. Navigation. Spatial ability. Support to memory cognitive processes. Henderson et al. (2011) Custom-built stereo VST HWD. 10 tracking cameras. Immersion. Navigation. Interaction. Experiential learning. Kinesthetic learning. Sumadio et al. (2010) Fiducial markers. PC. webcam Navigation. Interaction. Experiential learning. Motivation. 3 TS1 comprised the study of four masterpieces of Italian Renaissance Art using images illustrating the whole pieces and some of their relevant details. Students received the lecture in a room where their chairs were arranged in auditorium style seating. There was a small presentation area for the teacher and all the room lights were off. The masterpieces studied were: “David” (Michelangelo,1504), “St. John the Baptist” (Leonardo Da Vinci, 1513), The Dome of St. Peter’s Basilica (Bramante, 1506) and The School of Athens (Raphael, 1510). The masterpieces studied included in session TS2 were “Mona Lisa” (Leonardo Da Vinci, 1519), “The birth of Venus” (Sandro Botticeli, 1486), Brunelleschi’s dome of the Duomo of Florence, Santa Maria del Fiore (1436) and the Sistine Chapel ceiling frescoes (Michelangelo Buonarroti, 1512) (Fig. 1). AR was used to enhance the masterpiece images with information about art details relevant for the course. Added information was multimodal and included text, audio, video files and 3D models. Popcode, a markerless augmented reality tool was used to superimpose digital data to images of the masterpieces. Students explored freely augmented reality learning content in a laboratory room equipped with desktops and webcams. 3.1. Research questions The purpose of this research study was to investigate the impact of two teaching scenarios: TS1 (based on slides) and TS2 (based on augmented reality technology) on student motivation. The study also included a qualitative analysis to determine the acceptability of AR technology among students. The research questions were: 1. Is there any difference in the students’ motivation depending on which of the two teaching scenarios proposed they used? 2. Are there any differences in the four factors that measures student motivation depending on which of the two teaching scenarios proposed is used? 3. How motivated are students by using augmented reality teaching material? 4. Are there any difficulties or barriers that compromise the acceptability of AR technology in learning environments? 3.2. Procedure Due to constraints imposed by the educational institution, it was not possible to separate students into two groups: an experimental group and a control group. Therefore, all the students participated in both learning scenarios and we applied a paired-sample analysis using paired t-tests. Quantitative data was collected in two steps. After the first part of the module (TS1), the motivational measurement instrument Instructional Materials Motivation Survey (IMMS) (Keller, 2010) was used to evaluate students’ motivation. The same ques- tionnaire was administered after students finished the second part of the module (TS2). Descriptive statistics were applied to summarize the answers on both surveys. All tests were conducted using a two-sided alpha level of 0.05. The equality of population variances was checked before the use of any test that required this information. Finally, paired-sample t-tests were carried out to compare motivation between the two teaching scenarios. The qualitative data was collected by observing students interacting with the augmented reality learning environment and conducting post-experience interviews. 3.3. Participants In this study, sixty nine middle-school students (age 13–16, M ¼ 13.7, SD ¼ 0.73) from three sections of a public Spanish school were surveyed. A text document was provided to students and their parents outlining the purpose of the research and their right to withdraw at any moment. Informed consent was obtained for every participant. Among the respondents, 29 out 55 were female and 26 out of 55 were male. Only two participants declared having smart phones and previous contact with augmented reality technology. 3.4. Instrument After obtaining permission from the author to use and modify the IMMS questionnaire, the instrument was slightly modified to adapt its terminology to the augmented reality field. IMMS contains 36 questions with 5-point Likert-scale items; this motivational measurement instrument is based on J.M. Keller’s ARCS motivation model (Keller, 1987a,b). IMMS has a documented reliability coefficient of 0.96 (Keller, 2010) and has been administered in some research studies (Bolliger et al., 2010; Green & Sulbaran, 2006; Rodgers & Withrow-Thorton, 2005). The qualitative data was collected looking for quality components of usability: learnability, efficiency, errors and satisfaction identified by Jakob Nielsen (Nielsen, 2003). Fig. 1. Italian renaissance art images augmented with information, questions and 3D objects. 4 4. Results Sixty nine students participated in the research study. After the data collection phase, nine cases with missing data were deleted from the data. An exploratory data analysis revealed five outliers that were deleted. 29 out of 55 of the respondents were female. Participants’ ages ranged from 13 to 16 with 48 out of 55 falling in the 13–14 year category. 4.1. Research question 1 Is there any difference in students’ motivation depending on which of the two teaching scenarios proposed they used? The minimum and maximum scores of the instrument IMMS are 36 and 180 since the response scale ranges from 1 to 5. The total scores in TS1 ranged from 83 to 158 and the scores in TS2 ranged from 96 to 165. These results indicate that students were moderately motivated when the module was taught within the slides-based learning environment and more motivated when it was taught within the augmented reality learning environment. The Shapiro–Wilk test of normality distribution was used to examine the distribution of the difference in the motivation when the two teaching sceneries considered were used (W ¼ 0.9748, p-value ¼ 0.299). Fig. 2 shows a normal Q–Q plot of the difference in motivation. We can assume that the difference in motivation may come from a normal distribution (Shapiro & Wilk, 1965). Therefore, parametric tests can be used for the rest of the analysis. A paired-sample t-test was conducted to compare motivation. Result indicates a statistically significant difference in motivation between students following the course within TS2 (M ¼ 3.616, SD ¼ 0.499) and the same students following the course within TS1 (M ¼ 3.293, SD ¼ 0.458), t(54) ¼ 4.1971, p ¼ 0.000. 4.2. Research question 2 Are there any differences in the four factors that measures student motivation depending on which of the two teaching scenarios proposed is used? Table 2 shows descriptive statistics for the four subscales used to describe motivation. For all subscales, the mean scores corresponding at TS2 are higher than those of TS1. Whereas all mean score subscales at TS1 are below 3.5, the attention, confidence and satisfaction subscales at TS2 are above 3.5. The highest differences among mean scores were yielded by the attention subscale (M2 ¼ 3.76, M1 ¼ 3.28, M2 � M1 ¼ 0.48) and satisfaction subscale (M2 ¼ 3.51, M1 ¼ 3.11, M2 � M1 ¼ 0.40). The lowest difference was produced by the relevance subscale (M2 ¼ 3.48, M1 ¼ 3.31, M2 � M1 ¼ 0.17). For each of the four factors that describes motivation (Attention, Relevance, Confidence and Satisfaction) a Shapiro–Wilk test was performed to examine the difference when the two teaching scenarios were used. We conclude that the difference between each factor may come from a normal distribution: Attention (W ¼ 0.9681, p-value ¼ 0.151), Relevance (W ¼ 0.9617, p-value ¼ 0.078), Confidence (W ¼ 0.9788, p-value ¼ 0.438) and Satisfaction (W ¼ 0.9784, p-value ¼ 0.422). Paired-sample t-tests were conducted to compare the teaching scenarios over the four factors. Equality of population variances were tested for each factor and assumed to be equal. Results indicate that the difference between the two teaching scenarios was statistically significant in Attention (t(54) ¼ 4.6629, p ¼ 0.000) and Satisfaction (t(54) ¼ 3.9422, p-value ¼ 0.0002). Since we performed multiple tests of significance, the Bonferroni correction procedure was applied to prevent a chance of making a type I error. In both factors, the level of significance was confirmed. Fig. 2. Normal Q–Q plot. 5 4.3. Research question 3 How motivated are students by using augmented reality teaching material? As it was previously stated (research question 1), students were highly motivated when using augmented reality teaching material. Indeed, data collected from IMMS survey revealed a mean score of 130.2 in a scale ranging between 96 and 165. Table 1’s two rightmost columns display descriptive statistics for the four subscales that describe motivation. The highest mean scores were yielded by the attention subscale (M ¼ 3.76) and the confidence subscale (M ¼ 3.63). The lowest mean value was obtained by the relevance factor (M ¼ 3.48). Table 3 shows the mean scores and standard deviations for each of the items that compose the attention factor. The highest mean score corresponds to item 8 which states that the augmented reality learning scenario was attention-grabbing for students. 43 out of 55 students thought that it was mostly true or very true that augmented reality technology was attention-grabbing. 41 out 55 of the respondents indicated that it was mostly true or very true that the way the information was arranged using this technology helped to keep their attention during the session (item 17). 40 out of 55 students responded that it was mostly true or very true that there was something interesting at the beginning of the augmented reality lesson that caught the students’ attention (item 2). Mean scores and standard deviations of the elements that describe the confidence are presented in Table 4. 8 out of 55 participants indicated that it was mostly true or very true that the material was difficult to understand (item 3). 35 out of 55 students answered that it was mostly true or very true that the good organization of the material helped them feel confident that they would learn this lesson (item 35). Table 5 shows the mean scores and standard deviations for items on the satisfaction subscale. The highest mean score was yielded by item 36 which states it was a pleasure to work on such a well designed lesson. 43 out of 55 participants indicated that it was mostly true or very true that it was a pleasure to work on such a well-designed lesson. Finally, the lowest rated motivation factor is the relevance. Table 6 shows the mean scores and standard deviations for items on this subscale. None of the items had a mean score higher than 4. 35 out of 55 participants indicated that it was mostly true or very true that the content and audio visual material in the lesson convey the impression that its content was important to know. Regarding the items with the lowest mean scores (items 18 and 30), we can assert that the use of augmented reality technology is not the main cause of the low score. Only 16 out of 55 the participants reported that it was mostly true or very true that there were explanations or examples of how to use the knowledge in the lesson. 21 out of 55 participants indicated that it was true or very true that they could relate the content of the lesson to things they have seen, done, or thought about in their own life. 4.4. Research question 4 Are there any difficulties or barriers that compromise the acceptability of AR technology in learning environments? For this research, we observed students to determine whether augmented reality, limited to desktops, could be used for middle-school classes. The criteria examined in this work included two areas of evaluation: learnability of the augmented reality system and efficiency on pursuing the learning tasks. Twenty four students were interviewed about their experience in using the system. The comments were related to difficulties found, satisfaction in the use of this technology and the impact that AR technology had in the learning process. In the tutorial phase, the students were eager to learn the basic functionality of the learning tool. Whereas instructors conducted the tutorial on a group-by-group basis, the unattended students tried to use the learning system by themselves. We observed that close to twenty percent of the groups succeeded in this task, either by discovering how to operate the system by themselves or with the help of their peers. Students had no problems at all in learning how to interact with the different masterpieces presented and easily switched among the pictures. They quickly learned how to navigate through the information presented. From the very beginning of the experience, a collabo- ration nexus among students was established. Students’ comments show that learning to use the system was easy and enjoyable: “Nice, it is so easy!” “I find that it is really easy to use.” “It is just like a game.” The following situation was repeated several times with different students. A student observes that a peer is already using the application and asks for help: “How did you achieve it?” His/her peer answers: “The picture has marks and when I click on them, I get information.” Table 2 Descriptive statistics for all subscales. Subscale TS1 TS2 M1 SD1 M2 SD2 Attention 3.28 0.55 3.76 0.72 Relevance 3.31 0.47 3.48 0.47 Confidence 3.4 0.53 3.63 0.57 Satisfaction 3.11 0.68 3.51 0.59 6 Students finalized the exploration of all masterpieces in less time than expected. Two hours at the laboratory were enough to explore the information provided. Thus, students performed their learning activities efficiently. Spontaneously, some students began to review the information they found particularly interesting. We observed how in most of the groups, students continued being engaged in the activity by showing their peers the information they found more interesting or appealing. The exchange of views was centered on the artistic aspects of the masterpieces that students found relevant. For instance, we saw students arguing about the role of the nymph in “The Birth of Venus” and others comparing scenes from the Sistine Chapel. From the three sessions, only two students did not show interest in extra exploration. This situation contrasts with our observations after the TS1 session. Students did not comment about the masterpieces examined and gave few details about them when they were asked. When we asked some of them to reveal details of interest for them their answers were superficial with a low level of detail. During the sessions, students had two kinds of technical problems with the images. Sometimes, it was hard to maintain the digital information visible superposed on the real image. Students mentioned that the problem was solved by changing the position of the real image in relation with the webcam. Once a group discovered how to fix the problem, they taught others and soon they stopped worrying about this. Thus, they soon continued with the learning activity. The second problem was related to shaking images and it was not possible to solve. Examples of comments related with problems found: “It is difficult to keep the picture in the right position.” “I notice that I have to maintain the picture centred but . it is fine!” “The image is shaking, this is a little bit annoying but . I can continue.” “Sometimes, I lose the image. Nevertheless, it is easy to recover it.” Regarding the role of the AR technology on the learning process, students highlighted some advantages found: “It helps me remember the information.” “I can concentrate better using this system than reading a book.” “I feel like I have been inside the picture.” “When I don’t understand something, I can see or hear the information again.” “It was more fun than sitting in class, I did not feel bored.” “I like it better than the reading material or attending class.” “I prefer watching the videos than reading the text.” “I liked the 3D models.” Furthermore, for those students that claimed to have easily memorized the content, we asked them to describe the parts they liked most and they did it with a high detail level. In the interviews, students also said they were more confident about the knowledge acquired in this session than in the previous one. Table 3 Mean scores and standard deviations of the attention items. Item M SD 2 There was something interesting at the beginning of the AR lesson that caught my attention 3.95 1.14 8 Augmented reality technology is attention-grabbing 4.19 1.01 11 The quality of the augmented reality material helped to hold my attention 3.88 1.05 12 The material is so abstract that it was hard to keep my attention on it (Reversed) 3.72 1.28 15 The images, videos and text that I discovered through the lesson are unappealing (Reversed) 3.77 1.34 17 The way the information is arranged using this technology helped keep my attention 3.98 1.14 20 The information discovered through the experience stimulated my curiosity 3.56 1.10 22 The amount of repetition of the activities made me feel bored (Reversed) 3.54 1.38 24 I learned some things from the augmented reality that were surprising or unexpected 3.46 1.13 28 The variety of audio visual material helped keep my attention on the lesson 3.68 1.00 29 The audio visual material is boring (Reversed) 3.88 1.25 31 There is so much content that it is irritating (Reversed) 3.63 1.36 Table 4 Mean scores and standard deviations of the confidence items. Item M SD 1 When I first looked at the lesson, I had the impression that it would be easy for me 3.67 1.12 3 This material was more difficult to understand than I would like for it to be (Reverse) 4.11 1.19 4 After the introductory information, I felt confident that I knew what I was supposed to learn from this lesson 3.21 0.88 7 The information that I was exploring was so much that it was hard to remember the important points (Reverse) 3.68 1.27 13 As I worked on this lesson, I was confident that I could learn the content 3.70 1.24 19 It was difficult to discover the digital information associated with the real image (Reverse) 3.61 1.33 25 After working on this lesson for a while, I was confident that I would be able to pass a test on it 3.44 1.07 34 I could not really understand quite a bit of the material in this lesson (Reverse) 3.63 1.40 35 The good organization of the material helped me be confident that I would learn this material 3.72 1.10 7 “I can tell you all that’s happening in “The birth of Venus” and what the role of each character is.” “I know why Monalisa’s smile is so interesting.” “I understood this lecture better than the previous one.” Finally, students expressed their satisfaction with the learning experience, their willingness to participate in similar tasks and showed interest in installing the application on their phones. A student even wanted to learn how to develop these kinds of applications in his mobile phone. We reproduce some of their comments: “This activity is entertaining.” “It is better than reading the book; I would like to have it (the application) in other courses.” “May I have this in my phone?” “How did you do it? Can I do it by myself?” 5. Discussion 5.1. Considerations about how the study was conducted Due to constraints imposed by the school, the study was performed with no control group. Instead the same motivational instrument was applied twice to the same group of students in order to evaluate both scenarios. The appropriate statistical methods were used to analyze the results. Both sessions followed the same pedagogical structure and students received similar learning contents. In what follows we analyze some considerations regarding content and delivery of the course material in order to identify any factor related to the deployment of the study that could favor TS2 over TS1. � The attention motivation factor reflects the interest of learners toward the activity performed. The sessions were deployed using the same content of previous editions of the course and it was evenly distributed between the sessions. Thus, neither the content nor the order of sessions could be an important disturbing factor on results. On the other side, an AR based learning environment has a technical advantage over the TS1 in terms of grasping the attention of students, the content can be multimodal and students could interact with it. Indeed, both quantitative and qualitative data showed that these special characteristics of AR technology had indeed an impact on students’ motivation. � The ARCS confidence factor intends to measure the feeling of control and expectancy for success. From the qualitative study we noticed that students were pleased to freely explore the learning contents at TS2, they did not have that possibility at TS1. Thus, neither the content, nor the order of sessions could have a significant impact on results. On the other hand, due to the fact that the expectancy for success is linked to module’s assessment, there is a risk of confusion among the answers of both sessions. Even if students said they were more confident about what they have learnt in TS2 than in TS1, their opinions may have favored the results for AR because it is easier to remember what has just happened. � The satisfaction factor could have been more favorable for TS1 than for TS2. Nevertheless, whereas students were familiar with TS1, TS2 represented a new learning environment based on the use of an unknown technology. Fortunately, the usability study proved that students did not have any difficulty with the new technology. Further studies are necessary to determine whether the novelty factor could have a significant impact on the results. � The relevance factor deals with how well the course meets a learner’s needs and goals. The course material was similar in both sessions and neither quantitative data nor students’ comments suggest significant changes in their motivation. Table 5 Mean scores and standard deviations of the satisfaction items. Item M SD 5 Completing the exercises in this lesson gave me a satisfying feeling of accomplishment 3.60 1.12 14 I enjoyed this lesson so much that I would like to know more about this topic 3.26 1.03 21 I really enjoyed studying this lesson 3.53 1.07 27 The wording of feedback after the exercises, or of other comments in this lesson, helped me feel rewarded for my effort 3.11 1.06 32 It felt good to successfully complete this lesson 3.63 1.06 36 It was a pleasure to work on such a well-designed lesson 4.14 0.88 Table 6 Mean scores and standard deviations of the relevance items. Item M SD 6 It is clear to me how the content of this material is related to things I already know 3.68 1.10 9 There were images, videos and texts that showed me how this material could be important to some people 3.58 1.13 10 Completing this lesson successfully was important to me 3.54 0.89 16 The content of this material is relevant to my interests 3.44 0.96 18 There are explanations or examples of how people use the knowledge in this lesson 3.02 1.04 23 The content and the audio visual material in this lesson convey the impression that its content is worth knowing 3.79 0.96 26 This lesson was not relevant to my needs because I already knew most of it (Reversed) 3.70 1.15 30 I could relate the content of this lesson to things I have seen, done, or thought about in my own life 3.14 1.06 33 The content of this lesson will be useful to me 3.54 1.02 8 5.2. Differences on learner’s motivation by the use of two teaching scenarios The result obtained when we compare both scenarios using a paired-sample t test indicates that there is a statistically significant difference. The mean scores obtained were MTS2 ¼ 3.616 and MTS1 ¼ 3.293 respectively. Thus, students were moderately motivated by the traditional way of teaching the course and slightly more motivated when augmented reality technology was used. MTS2 and MTS1 summarize four motivational factors; in our case it is worth analyzing the mean scores of the subscales to determine the impact of support technology on each of the four factors. The mean rates’ difference becomes bigger when comparing attention (MTS1 ¼3.28, MTS2 ¼ 3.76) and satisfaction (MTS1 ¼ 3.11, MTS2 ¼ 3.51) motivation factors. The positive impact of AR technology on students’ attention is an encouraging result in the education arena. Indeed, it is one of the educational affordances that is expected from emerging technologies such as 3D virtual worlds and augmented reality (Dalgarno & Lee, 2010; Dickey, 2005). Better participants’ satisfaction perception could be tied to their active participation in exploring information that is a consequence of the interactive possibilities of AR technology. The study also demonstrates that the relevance factor remained almost unchanged in both learning scenarios. Thus students’ interest for the subject was not modified by AR technology. 5.3. Learner’s motivation by the use of augmented reality technology in their courses The results show that participants were motivated by the use of augmented reality technology when it was integrated into their learning environments. The attention (M ¼ 3.76) and the confidence (M ¼ 3.63) factors received the highest ratings of the four subscales. Results suggest that education based on augmented reality could assist us in gaining and holding the attention of learners. It is important to note that five out of twelve statements on the attention subscale exceeded a mean score of 3.8. In addition, the confidence factor related to participants’ feelings of personal control and expectancy for success can influence their learning efforts. Five out of nine items on the confidence factor exceeded a mean score of 3.65. In general, participants were confident that they were able to understand and follow the learning content. In terms of the attention and confidence levels, our results are similar to those presented by D.U. Bolliger et al. (Bolliger et al., 2010) in their study about the impact of podcasting on student motivation in the online learning environment that also uses the IMMS questionnaire. However, there is a slight difference, D.U. Bolliger et al. found that confidence received higher ratings than attention (M ¼ 3.76 and M ¼ 3.61 respectively). It is worth to notice that these mean values are very similar to ours. Regarding the satisfaction factor, results show that students were satisfied with the use of augmented reality technology to support the learning environment. The term satisfaction is defined either as the fulfillment of a need or wants (items 5, 32 and 36) with mean scores above 3.6, or as source of enjoyment (items 14 and 27) with mean scores of 3.26 and 3.53 respectively. Besides, in our study, the relevance subscale received the lowest mean score (M ¼ 3.48) with five out nine items below 3.55. These results suggest that students were pleased to fulfill an academic requirement even though their needs were not aligned with course objectives. The lowest items in all IMMS questionnaire are items 18 and 27 with mean scores M ¼ 3.02 and M ¼ 3.11 respectively. The former inquires about the existence of examples showing how to use the knowledge of the lesson, the latter asks about the student’s perception of appropriate feedback. In both cases the drawback can be overcome with a better design of the learning experience. 5.4. Feasibility of using augmented reality technology in middle-school education From the usability study, it can be concluded that students learned with no difficulty how to use the augmented reality learning system. They successfully and timely completed the tasks assigned. Technical problems found were not serious enough to diminish the enthusiasm of students to accomplish the learning activities sup- ported by augmented reality technology. 5.5. Benefits of using AR technology in learning During the sessions, students showed high levels of engagement and enjoyment and the AR learning environment was repeatedly described as appealing. Students expressed their satisfaction in terms of material used, the possibility of receiving information in different formats, and the feeling of having control of the activity as they could explore the topics in the order they chose and could revisit materials as needed. Several students reported they achieved high levels of concentration while performing tasks. They also claimed that had managed to memorize the learning content easily. Indeed, once the exploration activity had finished, students spontaneously formed discussion groups where each one described and analyzed in detail parts of the material they found particularly interesting. 6. Conclusions and future work The quantitative results of this research study showed that the use of augmented reality technology on learning environments had a positive effect on the motivation of middle-school students. The effect has been analyzed in isolation and in comparison with traditional course lectures. The motivation mean scores obtained were M ¼ 3.62 for the augmented reality based learning scenario and M ¼ 3.29 for the course based on slides. A clear improvement on the attention and the satisfaction motivation factors for the learning environment based on augmented reality technology compared with a more traditional learning environment was noticed. These results were supported by a qualitative study where students claimed that an AR learning environment was more appealing and easy to understand than the slide- based course. It was not surprising to find that the relevance motivation factor remained almost the same for both learning environ- ments. Technology is not the panacea for education; students demand content aligned to their interests. When the measures of the quantitative analysis were analyzed in isolation, the attention and confidence factors were the highest rated motivation factors with mean scores of M ¼ 3.76 and M ¼ 3.63 respectively. The results for satisfaction (M ¼ 3.51) and relevance (M ¼ 3.48) 9 were also encouraging. Thus, the quantitative analysis proved that learners were moderately motivated with the use of augmented reality technology. These results were completed with a qualitative analysis that provides clues about the benefits of AR in the teaching-learning process. Relevant affordances of AR technology for learnings such as enhancement of concentration and memorizing were detected during the qualitative analysis of TS2 session. We observed that after the TS2 session, students were able to describe and analyze the learning content with a higher level of detail than after the TS1 session. We believe that the immersive capabilities of AR helped students maintain higher levels of attention and interest on the learning content. The higher concentration and memorization levels that students claimed to achieve with AR technology, seems to cause this positive effect on learning outcomes. Further studies should be conducted to validate this conclusion. At TS2, students remarked as positive to have control of the exploration of the material and the possibility to receive multimodal information. This gives us clues about the differences found in motivation in both teaching scenarios. Students at TS1 could only interact with the learning material through their teacher. Due to its navigability possibilities, AR allows the deployment of learner-centered activities more easily. On the other hand, multimodal information helps to break monotony and to deal with different learning styles. In this regard also, AR technology is a valuable supporter for learning. A favorable factor for social learning was the discussion groups formed about the learning content explored. When comparing the attitude of students after the two sessions evaluated we noticed a desire to share their experiences of TS2 but not in TS1. We believe that the difference is mainly due to the satisfaction produced on using AR technology but further studies should be done to confirm this hypothesis. In relation with the usability study, authors were greatly surprised to observe how students were able to quickly learn and use the augmented reality system and the ease with which students overcame the technical problems that arose. Students manifested their interest in continuing using this technology in other courses and at home. Thus, although AR is not mature enough to be used massively in education, enthusiasm of middle-school students diminished most of the barriers found. As a result of our study, we conclude that the positive impact of AR on motivation leads students to achieve higher levels of engagement in learning activities with less cognitive effort. 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Preliminary evaluation on user acceptance of the augmented reality use for education. In. 2010 second international conference on computer engineering and applications, Vol. 2 (pp. 461–465). Svinicki, M. (1999). New directions in learning and motivation. In M. D. Svinicki (Ed.), Teaching and learning on the edge of the millennium: Building on what we have learned. New directions for teaching and learning, Vol. 80. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Taran, C. (2005). Motivation techniques in elearning, ICALT 2005. In Fifth IEEE international conference on advanced learning technologies (pp. 617–619). Theall, M. (1999a). Motivation from within: encouraging faculty and students to excel. New Directions for Teaching and Learning, N. 78. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Theall, M. (1999b). New directions for theory and research on teaching: a review of the past twenty years (80). New Directions for Teaching and Learning29–52, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Vianin, P. (2006). La motivation scolaire: Comment susciter le désir d’apprendre ? Bruxelles: De Boeck & Larcier, Editions De Boeck Universite. Wlodkowski, R. J. (1978). Motivation and teaching: A practical guide. National Education Association. Zimmerman, B. J., Bandura, A., & Martinez-Pons, M. (1992). Self-motivation for academic attainment: the role of self-efficacy beliefs and personal goal Setting. American Educational Research Journal, 29(3), 663–676. 11 
work_63vjm466o5bnpjg2oxbd4kaxs4	----	Cortigiana (review) Cortigiana (review) Michael Lettieri University of Toronto Quarterly, Volume 74, Number 1, Winter 2004/2005, pp. 397-398 (Review) Published by University of Toronto Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:06 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0135 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180611 https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0135 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180611 humanities 397 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 Pietro Aretino. Cortigiana. Translated by J. Douglas Campbell and Leonard G. Sbrocchi Carleton Renaissance Plays in Translation. Dovehouse. 158. $10.00 Pietro Aretino (1492–1556) wrote in a large variety of literary genres: the short story, the epic, familiar letters, the ascetic tale, lyric poetry, satire, comedy, and tragedy. Although much of his production is not lacking in aesthetic value, it has been for many years the object of unfavourable criticism, stemming mainly from the author�s questionable reputation, which has haunted him over the centuries. The �divine� Aretino, as he was called by Ludovico Ariosto, was subjected to a systematic attack on his person and was judged exclusively from a moral standpoint. For centuries, literary critics have judged his works without always having read them, copying from one another and basing their opinions mainly on the general moralistic opinion held of Aretino by various defamers, who derived it from his libellous diatribes and sonnets, most of which are attributable to Aretino�s former friends. In the last forty years, however, Aretino scholarship, in Italy and abroad, has been successful in shedding new light on Aretino�s literary production by avoiding extremes and attempting to offer a more accurate and more carefully thought out exegesis of it. But it is his dramatic works that have received most of the favourable criticism. Of his plays, one to which Aretino probably dedicated much of his artistic energy was the comedy Cortigiana (La cortigiana), which, written in 1525 (a revision was printed nine years later, in 1534), has been described as one of the most remarkable plays of the century. The Cortigiana, as we read on the back cover of the translation by J. Douglas Campbell and Leonard G. Sbrocchi, �focuses on the aspirations, affectations, and delusions of two foolish gentlemen, who, to achieve their desires, place themselves in the hands of unscrupulous servants � with pre- dictably disastrous consequences. Combining elements of New Comedy, commedia erudita, and improvisational street comedy, La cortigiana also draws on Castiglione�s then unpublished Cortegiano to create a telling dissection of Roman courtiers and a vivid portrait of a worldly Roman society.� Campbell and Sbrocchi�s English translation of Cortigiana is an especially welcome and important addition to the excellent Carleton Renaissance Plays in Translation series. Interest and research in the area of Italian Renaissance comedy (but this is true for any other literary genre) can be fostered only if we have at our disposal works edited with the utmost critical accuracy and in dependable translations. It is within the ongoing re- evaluation of the comedy of the Cinquecento that this translation of Cortigiana finds its justification. Cortigiana is one of the most significant xxxxxxxx chf 398 letters in canada 2003 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 comedies of the Italian Renaissance, and yet it had to wait almost five hundred years to be translated into English. The volume contains a select bibliography (of primary sources and secondary studies) and a rich and insightful critical introduction by Raymond B. Waddington with notes on a great number of relevant issues such as Aretino�s life and theatrical production, the two Cortigiana texts, the title and language of the play La cortigiana and the commedia erudita, Rome and Italy from 1517 to 1527, the New Golden Age of Leo X�s Rome, Castiglione�s Book of the Courtier and La cortigiana, and on Pasquino (Aretino�s alter ego in the mid-twenties) and pasquinades. Finally, in his last introductory note (entitled Holding the Mirror Up to Nature), Wadding- ton demonstrates how �in the multiple reflections of the mirror that is La cortigiana, the audience sees themselves, Rome, and, not least, a portrait of Pietro Aretino� (43). The text of Cortigiana (consisting of a prologue and five acts, each divided into scenes) is followed by useful textual annotations. The translation is based on the 1525 single manuscript of Cortigiana. The translators are to be commended for translating the text directly from the editio princeps, since it is the only authorative text of Cortigiana. Campbell and Sbrocchi�s English translation is very clear, accurate and philologically sound; indeed, the linguistic subtleties are sensitively preserved. This book will definitely be of great help to English-speaking scholars interested in this most important comedy. (MICHAEL LETTIERI) Gary K. Waite. Reformers on Stage: Popular Drama and Religious Propaganda in the Low Countries of Charles V, 1515–1556 University of Toronto Press 2000. xxii, 364. $78.00 This study focuses on the role of the Chambers of Rhetoric and their plays in religious, orthodox or dissident, propaganda. These literary guilds were widespread by the end of the fifteenth century and contributed greatly to religious and secular urban culture. They participated in religious and civic celebrations and their poetry and drama competitions were often lavish events. The Chambers provided opportunities for exchanging views and ideas. Their members came together from a love of rhetoric, poetry, or drama; their main aim was to voice emotions and ideas in beautiful, accomplished language for entertainment and instruction. Soon after Luther�s writings reached the Low Countries, the Rhetori- cians became involved in religious debates about the shortcomings of the established Church and the new religious ideas. Plays discussed the importance and the behaviour of priests, the importance of the Sacraments and the benefit of experiencing God�s Word directly through the Bible. 
work_64ceqmrdrjfhndvhflpjgfgur4	----	untitled Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rhrc20 Download by: [Universiteit Antwerpen] Date: 14 September 2015, At: 03:06 History of Retailing and Consumption ISSN: 2373-518X (Print) 2373-5171 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rhrc20 In ‘splendid isolation'. A comparative perspective on the historiographies of the ‘material renaissance' and the ‘consumer revolution' Bruno Blondé & Wouter Ryckbosch To cite this article: Bruno Blondé & Wouter Ryckbosch (2015) In ‘splendid isolation'. A comparative perspective on the historiographies of the ‘material renaissance' and the ‘consumer revolution', History of Retailing and Consumption, 1:2, 105-124, DOI: 10.1080/2373518X.2015.1063818 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/2373518X.2015.1063818 Published online: 25 Jul 2015. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 24 View related articles View Crossmark data http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rhrc20 http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rhrc20 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/2373518X.2015.1063818 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/2373518X.2015.1063818 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=rhrc20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=rhrc20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/2373518X.2015.1063818 http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/2373518X.2015.1063818 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/2373518X.2015.1063818&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2015-07-25 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/2373518X.2015.1063818&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2015-07-25 In ‘splendid isolation’. A comparative perspective on the historiographies of the ‘material renaissance’ and the ‘consumer revolution’ Bruno Blondéa* and Wouter Ryckboschb Richard Goldthwaite’s pioneering work on the material culture of the Italian Renaissance offered many clues for better understanding long-term changes and continuities in European patterns of consumption during the early modern period. Yet the large historiographical body on the subject of the ‘material renaissance’ has largely ignored or rejected these, and has more often than not studied the field in a sort of ‘splendid isolation’. This article presents a review of some of the most important contributions to this field, and attempts to link them to the ongoing debates on early modern consumer change in the social and economic history outside of Italy. The empire of things The time when the concept of ‘Renaissance’ called forth only associations with an elite culture of the arts and humanities – with or without the dressing of Jacob Burckhardt’s inspired ideas about modernity, creativity and individuality – is long behind us. To an important degree many Italian city dwellers still had their couture, art collections, table etiquette, residences – in short, their everyday life and consumption – to thank for their identity besides access to a learned culture. It was Jacob Burckhardt himself who provided the spark for this insight: Outward life, indeed, in the fifteenth and the early part of the sixteenth centuries, was polished and ennobled as among no other people in the world. A countless number of those small things and great things which combine to make up of what we mean by comfort, we know to have first appeared in Italy. We read in the novelists of soft, elastic beds, of costly carpets and bedroom furniture, of which we hear nothing in other countries. We often hear especially of the abundance and beauty of the linen. Much of all this is drawn within the sphere of art. We note with admiration the thousand ways in which art ennobles luxury, not only adorning the massive sideboard or the light-brackets with noble vases, clothing the walls with the moveable splendor of tapestry, and covering the toilet table with nonethe- less graceful trifles, but absorbing whole branches of mechanical work – especially carpentry – into its province.1 It was above all Richard Goldthwaite, though, who in the 1980s and 1990s put the Renaissance on the map as the cradle of ‘material modernity’.2 Goldthwaite pointed to consumer mentality as a © 2015 Taylor & Francis aCentre for Urban History, University of Antwerp, Prinsstraat 13, B-2000 Antwerp, Belgium; bFund for Scientific Research Flanders (FWO Vlaanderen), Centre for Urban History, University of Antwerp, Prins- straat 13, B-2000 Antwerp, Belgium *Corresponding author. Email: bruno.blonde@uantwerpen.be 1 J. Burckhardt, The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy (London: Dover Publications, 1945), 227. 2 R. Goldthwaite, Wealth and the Demand for Art in Italy, 1300–1600 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Uni- versity Press, 1993). For a relativizing ‘framing’ of that modernity concept, see R. Mackenney, Renais- sances. The Cultures of Italy, c. 1300–c.1600 (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 22–3. History of Retailing and Consumption, 2015 Vol. 1, No. 2, 105–124, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/2373518X.2015.1063818 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 http://orcid.org/0000-0002-2118-799X mailto:bruno.blonde@uantwerpen.be ‘creative force’ that gave shape to the identity of the Italian city dweller. Whereas economic his- toriography had claimed for decades that the cradle of consumer society must have stood some- where in the seventeenth or eighteenth century,3 Goldthwaite’s great powers of persuasion shifted attention to late medieval Italy:4 Although the world has become infinitely more cluttered since the Renaissance, an argument can be made that modern consumer society, with its insatiable consumption setting the pace for the pro- duction of more objects and changes in style, had its first stirrings, if not its birth, in the habits of spending that possessed the Italians in the Renaissance.5 This article will argue that these ideas, and the expansive literature on the material world of the Italian Renaissance which they have spawned, should be taken out of their splendid isolation. More specifically, we will argue that there is a growing need to draw out the many connections between the ‘material renaissance’ and the ‘consumer revolution’ of the early modern North Sea area – not only historiographically, but also historically. At the heart of Goldthwaite’s reasoning was the commonsensical finding that over the course of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the house (palazzo or casa), its furnishings and their uses each became successively more and more luxurious, varied and extensive. Around 1400, in spite of their external magnificenza, even the grandest palazzi only had rather sparsely decorated and furnished interiors. Over the course of the following two centu- ries, however, not only clothing but also furniture, paintings and tableware acquired a more important place in everyday and social life. The proliferation of paintings in private possession is considered to be exemplary of the transformations of material culture writ large. In Gold- thwaite’s explanation, the Italian nobility played a prominent role. Much earlier than their Euro- pean peers, they exchanged an essentially aristocratic or feudal model for much more complex and subtle forms of conduct and consumption. Those social models were, like their residences, essentially ‘urban’.6 Not everyone received this thesis with open arms.7 Yet the idea that Renaissance culture took shape also in the many hundreds of thousands of everyday purchases and in the interiors of Italian palazzi has nevertheless been commonly accepted ever since.8 In her book on Italian interiors, published 10 years ago, Elizabeth Currie described this as a genuine ‘consumer revolution’.9 3 W. Ryckbosch, ‘Early Modern Consumption History. Current Challenges and Future Perspectives’, BMGN – The Low Countries Historical Review 130, no. 1 (2015): 57–84. 4 R. Goldthwaite, ‘The Renaissance Economy: The Preconditions for Luxury Consumption’, in Aspetti della vita economica medievale’, Atti del convegno di studi nel X anniversario della morte di Federigo Melis Firenze-Pisa-Prato, 10–14 marzo 1984 (Florence: Instituto Datini, 1985), 659–75; Goldthwaite, ‘The Empire of Things: Consumer Demand in Renaissance Italy’, in Patronage, Art and Society in Renaissance Italy, ed. F.W. Kent and P. Simons (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), 153–75; Goldthwaite, ‘The Economic and Social World of Italian Renaissance Maiolica’, Renaissance Quarterly 42, no. 1 (1989): 1– 32; Goldthwaite, Wealth. 5 Goldthwaite, ‘Renaissance Economy’, 660. 6 Goldthwaite, Wealth, 203. 7 See, for example, the critical review by C.L. Stinger in Sixteenth Century Journal 25 (1994): 925–6 and L. Martines, ‘The Renaissance and the Birth of a Consumer Society’, Renaissance Quarterly 51 (1998): 193–203. 8 Another work in which this idea plays a central role, yet which is left outside the scope of this discussion on account of its analytical shortcomings, is L. Jardine, Worldly Goods: A New History of the Renaissance (London: Norton & Company, 1996). 9 E. Currie, Inside the Renaissance House (London: Victoria & Albert Museum, 2006), 14. 106 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 Although this last claim may well be overstated,10 the attention to everyday life and more specifically to the materiality of the Renaissance is more than justified. The exceptionally rich cor- respondence of Isabella d’Este, for example, nicely shows the extent to which elites around 1500 were caught up in a myriad of anxieties and desires concerning their outfits, art collections, table- ware and furniture.11 Those who work their way through this source in its entirety are rewarded by numerous references to purchases, gifts, exchanges and pledges, in which the entire material culture of Isabella d’Este as well as everyday life at the Mantuan court spring to life. In 1491, for instance, the 17-year-old Isabella had items purchased for her in Paris and she asked insistently that they be according to the latest fashion. Her letters teem with orders, pledges, exchange activi- ties and purchases of goods ranging from precious gemstones to gloves. And she does not just write about ‘things’; she does it at times with an emotional, nearly physical appetite and with a barely veiled acquisitive drive. Such utterances of consumer consciousness, which at moments look surprisingly ‘modern’, pique one’s imagination of course. They call forth questions about the role of material culture and consumption in ‘the Italian Renaissance’ in relation to modern consumer culture. The splendour of the material renaissance By now, the list of works that consider the ‘material culture’ of the Renaissance can hardly be surveyed.12 Few syntheses or anthologies appearing today about any Italian city fail to notice the purchasing behaviour, consumer habits or interior designs of Italian Renaissance households.13 10 Invoked to excess, that is, if only because very comparable phenomena can be determined for other places and time periods. See, for example, J.M. Redfield, ‘The Development of the Market in Archaic Greece’, in The Market in History, ed. B.L. Anderson and A.J.H. Latham (London: Croom Helm, 1986), 9–28. 11 A.M. Lorenzoni, ‘Contributo allo studio delle fonti Issabelliane dell’archivio di stato di Mantova’, Atti e memori dell’academia virgiliana di Mantova 47 (1979): 97–135. 12 Here follows but a small selection from a harvest – almost impossible to survey – of relatively recent pub- lications on consumption, domestic culture, the (nuclear) family and daily life on the Italian peninsula: C. Klapisch-Zuber, Women, Family and Ritual in Renaissance Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985); P. Thornton, The Italian Renaissance Interior: 1400–1600 (London: Harry N. Abrams, 1991); D. Thornton, The Scholar in His Study: Ownership and Experience in Renaissance Italy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998); J.M. Musacchio, The Art and Ritual of Childbirth in Renaissance Italy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999); G. Clarke, Roman House – Renaissance Palaces: Inventing Antiquity in Fifteenth-Century Italy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003); L. Syson and D. Thornton, Objects of Virtue: Art in Renaissance Italy (London: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2001); A. Scotti Tosini, Aspetti dell’abitare in Italia tra XV e XVI secolo. Distribuzione, funzioni, impianti (Milan: Unicopli, 2001); R. Sarti, Europe at Home: Family and Material Culture 1500–1800 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2002); P.F. Brown, Private Lives in Renaissance Venice: Art, Architecture and the Family (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004); R.J.M. Olson et al., The Biography of the Object in Late Medieval and Rrenaissance Italy (London: Wiley, 2005); the special subject issue of Renais- sance Studies. Journal of the Society for Renaissance Studies 19 (2005): 573–709, including, among others, L. Lindow, ‘For Use and Display: Selected Furnishings and Domestic Goods in Fifteenth-Century Florentine Interiors’, Renaissance Studies 19 (2005): 634–46. 13 See, for example, R.J. Crum and J.T. Paoletti, ‘“ … Full of People of Every Sort”: The Domestic Interior’, in Renaissance Florence. A Social History, ed. R.J. Crum and J.T. Paoletti (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer- sity Press, 2006), 273–91, and in the same collection M. Linguor, ‘The Palace and Villa as Spaces of Patri- cian Self-Definition’, 240–72, in which the embedding of noble families in the urban context is considered extensively; P.F. Brown, ‘Behind the Walls. The Material Culture of Venetian Elites’, in Venice Reconsid- ered. The History and Civilization of an Italian City-State, 1297–1797, ed. J. Martin and D. Romano (Bal- timore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000). Note that in these examples architecture, lifestyle and the interior domestic culture of society’s elites play a central role. As is often the case, it is the exception that confirms the rule. Thus, for instance – in an otherwise splendid guide – the entire consumer flank of the History of Retailing and Consumption 107 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 In the past decade varied and impressive publications have appeared in the (art-)historical world, which increasingly have taken on the appearance of a ‘state of the art’.14 Thus, it is difficult to do justice to the recent historiography of material culture in late medieval and sixteenth-century Italy. As we will argue, the wealth of approaches is not only the charm but also the potential pitfall of this historiography. In the following pages we will take a few recent seminal and exemplary publications as a point of departure for identifying the challenges facing future research on both the material renaissance and later changes in early modern material cul- tures. The stakes are high, since the scholarly literature on the material renaissance has much to gain by entering into a comparative debate, both in time and place, as this might potentially clarify our views on the nature of its causes and consequences. Although she has seriously contemplated the major questions regarding the Renaissance as prefiguring modern consumer society, Welch’s Shopping in the Renaissance, for example, almost unabashedly confronted the debates about modern consumer culture.15 With ‘shopping’ in the main title, the work appeals to modern consumer cultures on its very cover.16 Yet, already in the introduction Welch tempers the wrong expectations this title may have elicited from her readers: a search for the cradle of a modern consumer society in Renaissance Italy is treacherous. The least that can be said of her work is that it does justice to the kaleidoscopic reality of shopping in Renaissance Italy. There are no triumphant narratives of burgeoning consumer societies but instead a vivid account of multiple consumption practices and several commercial circuits in which they functioned.17 Gifting, stealing, lottery drawings, purchasing, pawning, recycling and reselling: all belonged to the many possibilities in the realm of the material. One and the very same object could lead varied lives, following just as many divergent paths, each time laden with another meaning.18 Welch wrote a book with narrative ‘splendour’. economy and social activity is left as good as uncovered by K. Apuhen, ‘Tools for the Development of the European Economy’, in A Companion to the Worlds of the Renaissance, ed. G. Ruggiero (London: Wiley, 2002), 259–78. While the author does devote attention to the broader processes of urbanization, international trade and the artisanal world, the work of Goldthwaite is only referred to tangentially. 14 A project that played an important role was undoubtedly ‘The Material Renaissance: Costs and Consump- tion in Italy 1300–1650’, which ran from 2001 at the University of Sussex and the Victoria & Albert Museum. 15 E. Welch, Shopping in the Renaissance. Consumer Cultures in Italy, 1350–1600 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005). 16 Cf. E. Welch, ‘The Gonzaga Go Shopping: Commercial and Cultural Relationships between Milan and Mantua in the Fifteenth Century’, in Leon Battista Alberti e il Quatrocento: studi in onore di Cecil Grayson e Ernst Gombrich, ed. L. Chiavoni, G. Ferlisi and M.V. Grassi (Florence: Casa Editrice Leo S. Olschki, 2001), 269–84. 17 For a rejection of linear development models in the retail trade, see, among others, B. Blondé et al., ‘Retail Circuits and Practices in Medieval and Early Modern Europe: An Introduction’, in Buyers and Sellers. Retail Circuits and Practices in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. B. Blondé, P. Stabel, J. Stobart and I. Van Damme (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 7–29. 18 For this reason, too, the study of secondary markets and circuits is important. See, among others, P. Allerston, ‘Le marché d’occasion à Venise aux XVIe-XVIIe siècles’, in Echanges et cultures textiles dans l’Europe préindustrielle, ed. J. Bottin and N. Pellegrin (Lyon: Lille University Press, 1996), 15–29; Allerston, ‘Reconstructing the Second-Hand Clothes Trade in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century Venice’, Costume 33 (1999): 46–56; Allerston, ‘Meeting Demand: Retailing Strategies in Early Modern Venice’, in Retailers and Consumer Changes in Early Modern Europe. England, France, Italy and the Low Countries, ed. B. Blondé, E. Briot, N. Coquery and L. Van Aert (Tours: Presses universitaires Fran- çois-Rabelais, 2005), 169–87; A. Matchette, ‘To Have and Have Not: The Disposal of Household Furnish- ings in Florence’, Renaissance Studies 20 (2006): 701–16; E. Welch, ‘From Retail to Resale: Artistic Value and the Second-Hand Market in Italy (1400–1550)’, in The Art Market in Italy: Fifteenth to Seventeenth Cen- turies, ed. M. Fantoni, L.C. Matthew and S.F. Matthews-Griecco (Modena: Panini, 2003), 283–300. 108 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 In many respects it can serve as a sort of synecdoche for the recent historiography of the Italian Renaissance. For that which we gain in nuance, depth and breadth as well as in the aesthetic quality of publishing, we may well lose in comprehensiveness and overarching argumentation. Eventually this book does not engage in a dialogue with the broader historiography on material culture and consumption, nor does it compare systematically with evidence outside the Italian peninsula. Welch strongly believes in continuities, but by programmatically rejecting develop- mental perspectives many questions are left unexplored. Certainly the Italian material world of the early fifteenth century was not that of the late sixteenth century. Yet we are left guessing as to the influence of the increased array of products on commercial circuits and consumer practices and mentalities. We find the same commitment to filleting the material renaissance in the collection of essays, The Material Renaissance,19 an extremely refreshing book that ventures into debate with econ- omic history. And even though here, as well, the kaleidoscopic approach is striking, this work has an important central message, as stated by Ann Matchette: ‘Economic transactions cannot be seen as freed from the myriad social commitments that linked people to each other’.20 Throughout the different chapters this message informs the multiple and complex social practices of buying, selling, consuming and producing. Social relationships, it is rightfully argued, heavily influenced price formation, and – conversely – commodities also held a central position in that very social system (as gifts, means for exchange, pledges and monetary alternatives). Even in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, scholarly studies showed much inter- est in the Renaissance home, especially mapping its stylistic developments and decorative idiom.21 Yet as late as the 1990s Goldthwaite had to plea ‘to pull all these approaches and materials together and breathe a little social life into the Renaissance palace’.22 Since that plea, quite a few studies have been published that have more or less systematically analysed wills, probate inventories and household diaries.23 Works inspired by anthropology have fleshed out the active cultural role fulfilled by the home as well.24 Meanwhile, art historians have emphasized the ‘agency’ of objets d’art.25 And even the relationships between architecture and private life have been put thoroughly through the mill.26 The authors of At Home in Renaissance Italy 19 This can be considered the academic flagship of the eponymous research project that Evelyn Welch and Michelle O’Malley supervised (see note 14). M. O’Malley and E. Welch, The Material Renaissance (Man- chester: Manchester University Press, 2007). 20 A. Matchette, ‘Credit and Credibility: Used Goods and Social Relations in Sixteenth-Century Florence’, in O’Malley and Welch, The Material Renaissance, 225–41, particularly 239. 21 See, for example, W. von Bode, Die Italienischen Hausmöbel der Renaissance (Leipzig: H. Seeman, 1902); M. Praz, An Illustrated History of Interior Decoration, from Pompeii to Art Nouveau (London: Thames and Hudson, 1964); Thornton, The Italian Renaissance Interior. 22 Goldthwaite, Wealth, 238. 23 Among many others, see I. Palumbo Fossati, ‘L’interno della casa dell’artista nella Venezia del Cinque- cento’, Studi Veneziani 8 (1984): 109–53; S. Cavallo, ‘What Did Women Transmit? Ownership and Control of Household Goods and Personal Effects in Early Modern Italy’, in Gender and Material Culture in His- torical Perspective, ed. M. Donald and L. Hurcombe (London: Palgrave, 2000), 38–53. There is also the work on inventories in M.S. Mazzi, ‘Gli inventari dei beni. Storia di oggetti e storia di uomini’, Società e Storia 7 (1980): 203–14. 24 D. Romano, Housecraft and Statecraft: Domestic Service in Renaissance Venice, 1400–1600 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996); Sarti, Europe at Home. 25 G. Johnson, ‘Family Values: Sculpture and the Family in Fifteenth-Century Florence’, in Art, Memory and Family in Renaissance Florence, ed. G. Ciapelli and P. Lee Rubin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 215–33. 26 E.g. Brown, Private Lives; E. Cohen and T. Cohen, ‘Open and Shut: The Social Meanings of the Renais- sance Italian House’, Studies in the Decorative Arts 9 (2001): 64–84. History of Retailing and Consumption 109 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 were able to expand significantly on this scholarship,27 investigating the house as a space of social change. For as much as massive Italian city palaces were meant to convey immutability and con- stancy, the lives that played out in them and the way in which Italians dealt with their interiors had to do not only with upholding family tradition but also just as much with continual accommo- dation and mutability. That the writers of At Home in Renaissance Italy did not evade the dialogue between ‘materiality’ and sociocultural interaction is admirable.28 They also made a case for a presentation in which, for once, not just the urban palazzo but also the burgher’s residence and the artisan’s shop entered into discussion – albeit perhaps still rather timidly.29 Hats off, then, to this impressive collection of essays about sociability, health and nutrition, table manners, the Venetian and Florentine casa, the artisan’s residence, ‘house music’, the representation of interiors, marriage and sexuality, working, cooking, praying and so forth.30 Yet at the same time the book may frustrate readers in search of the relationships between space, people and objects, and how these factors have ultimately shaped culture in the Renais- sance. The book could have profited from a more incisive conclusion. The ‘material renaissance historiography’ is doing well. Yet upon closer inspection the discipline also pays a high price for its success. The subject suffers somewhat from the ‘affluenza’ that has also affected the broader historiography of consumption and material culture in general: too much fragmentation.31 In the introduction of a recent, and otherwise unsurpassed, collection, The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 1400–1700, the idea of proceeding case study by case study is no longer adopted for purely methodological reasons, but seems to have become a goal in itself.32 For more than 20 years our understanding of the material culture of the Renais- sance has become increasingly more complex and nuanced. Yet this nuance has come at the expense of an engagement with the major debates in the history of consumption and society outside of Renaissance Italy. To make matters worse, the ‘Italian Renaissance’ is a very strong brand, one that sells itself. Unlike Goldthwaite, who emphasized that Italy was ‘different’, recent scholarly literature has almost entirely folded itself back onto the Italian peninsula.33 In a similar vein, comparisons with developments in consumption in the later early modern period have also become rare.34 27 M. Ajmar-Wollheim and F. Dennis eds., At Home in Renaissance Italy (London: V&A Publications, 2006). 28 A fine example in this context is the complex material culture that was developed surrounding marriage and sexuality, including, in addition to the dowry, a number of objects with commemorative functions as well. S.F. Matthews-Griecco, ‘Marriage and Sexuality’, in Ajmar-Wollheim, Dennis and Miller, At Home in Renaissance Italy, 104–19; P. Allerston, ‘Wedding Finery in Sixteenth-Century Venice’, in Marriage in Italy, 1300–1650, ed. T. Dean and K.J.P. Lowe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 25–40. 29 Palumbo Fossati, ‘L’interno’. 30 In Renaissance Studies 20, no. 5 (2006) an entire series of articles was conceived in the wake of At Home in Renaissance Italy. Among others, see M. Ajmar-Wollheim et al., ‘Introduction. Approaching the Italian Renaissance Interior: Sources, Methodologies, Debates’, Renaissance Studies 20, no. 5 (2006): 623–8. 31 F. Trentmann, ‘Introduction’, in The Oxford Handbook of the History of Consumption, ed. F. Trentmann (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 2. 32 E. Campbell et al., ‘Introduction. Early Modern Domesticities: Integrating People, Spaces, Objects’, in The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 1400–1700, ed. E. Campbell, S.R. Miller and E.C. Consavari (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013), 13. 33 R. Burr Lichtfield thus reasonably wonders: ‘Do we know enough to say that Italian urban society was so precociously different from that of the cities of northern Europe, which by the seventeenth century had devel- oped much the same kind of luxury consumption that Italy had?’ In The Business History Review 68, no. 2 (1994): 318. 34 S. Cohn, Jr., ‘Renaissance Attachment to Things: Material Culture in Last Wills and Testaments’, Econ- omic History Review 65, no. 3 (2012): 984–1004. 110 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 To be sure, Goldthwaite did attribute a kind of modern ‘spirit of consumerism’ to the Italians of the Renaissance. Yet as he saw it, there could still be no talk of a genuine ‘consumer revolution’ in the manner described by Neil McKendrick for eighteenth-century north-western Europe.35 As a result, many assertions about the Italian Renaissance stand as claims devoid of systematic com- parative evidence or explanatory power. This absence of a comparative approach cannot be ascribed to any lack of sources across numerous regions of Europe from the late middle ages to the eighteenth century. The focus of attention rather seems to follow the shifting economic maps of pre-industrial Europe, where the centre of economic and urban gravity moved from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic, producing diverging (echo-)historiographies prioritizing ‘golden ages’ with little room for comparison between them.36 Yet, as we will try to show, this is regrettable, for it too often causes us to fumble in the darkness when questioning the nature and impact of the material renaissance on broader developments in consumption, or when con- sidering the origins of the urban lifestyle that is arguably its major explanatory variable. Was there a material renaissance outside Italy? And what about the material renaissance after the Italian material renaissance? Material cultures and social (in)equalities According to most scholars of the Italian Renaissance, the greatest difference between the ‘material renaissance’ of fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Italy and the ‘consumer revolution’ of the seven- teenth and eighteenth centuries was the social dissemination of new consumption practices. Yet most chroniclers of the material renaissance have been content describing the transitions in the (splendid) material culture of the rich alone.37 Implicitly they argued that only in the eight- eenth-century consumer revolution did these transitions gain wide currency among the masses. The issue of the social dissemination of Renaissance material culture cannot, however, be iso- lated from the nature of changing materiality itself. Goldthwaite correctly indicated that in the fif- teenth century style, taste and artistic design began to prevail at the expense of the intrinsic value of raw materials as determinants of the value and price of commodities.38 The social and econ- omic ramifications of this ‘material paradigm shift’ were numerous, and cannot be fully detailed here.39 However, an important consequence of this shift was a cheaper material culture. Majolica objects – however precious they might be – cost a fraction of the same objects made in pewter or silver.40 As early as the sixteenth century a Neapolitan commentator noted that the nobility no longer used gold and silver eating utensils, but tableware produced by potters.41 Unlike many 35 Goldthwaite, Wealth, 251; N. McKendrick, ‘The Consumer Revolution of Eighteenth-Century England’, in The Birth of a Consumer Society: The Commercialization of Eighteenth-Century England, ed. N. McKen- drick, J. Brewer and J. H. Plumb (London: Indiana University Press, 1982), 3–33. 36 H. Van der Wee, ed., The Rise and Decline of Urban Industries in Italy and in the Low Countries (Late Middle Ages–Early Modern Times) (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1988); J. De Vries, European Urban- ization, 1500–1800 (London: Methuen, 1984), 167–73. 37 B. Blondé, ‘Shoppen met Isabella d’Este: de Italiaanse renaissance als bakermat van de consumptiesamen- leving’, Stadsgeschiedenis 3, no. 2 (2007): 139–51. 38 Goldthwaite, ‘The Empire of Things’, 171; Goldthwaite, ‘The Economic and Social World’, 31. 39 B. De Munck, ‘Artisans, Products and Gifts: Rethinking the History of Material Culture in Early Modern Europe’, Past and Present 224, no. 1 (2014): 39–74. 40 Goldthwaite, ‘The Economic and Social World’; Syson and Thornton, Objects of Virtue; M. Ajmar-Woll- heim and F. Dennis, ‘Introduction’, in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, ‘At Home’, 10–31. 41 E. Welch, ‘Public Magnificence and Private Display. Giovanni Pontano’s De Splendore (1498) and the Domestic Arts’, Journal of Design History 15, no. 4 (2002): 211–221.’, Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, ‘Intro- duction’; Goldthwaite, ‘The Economic and Social World’. History of Retailing and Consumption 111 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 Europeans, Italians no longer felt the need to regale with an expensive dinner service and silver or pewter cutlery.42 It is this shift from ‘intrinsic qualities’ to fashion, workmanship and design that many histor- ians have seen as perhaps the most fundamental, distinctive characteristic of changes in the material culture at the end of the early modern period, one that also brought ‘things’ within the reach of more and more people.43 This ‘transition’ inspired Jan De Vries’s model of ‘new luxury’.44 On the demand side of the ‘industrious revolution’ De Vries identified a transition from a cultural model in which ‘old luxuries’ dominated, towards a repertoire based on ‘new luxu- ries’. Where ‘old luxuries’ were strongly oriented towards the ‘leisure’ and ‘conspicuous con- sumption’ of a limited group of economically privileged people in socially skewed societies, ‘new luxuries’ were accessible to broad groups within pre-industrial society. The new consumer culture was no longer directed at distinction per se, but at domesticity, comfort and pleasure. Searching for the roots of those modern patterns of consumption, de Vries landed in the Dutch Golden Age. Here something extraordinary was growing: a ‘bourgeois/urban’ model of consump- tion. This was a pattern of consumption in which large strata of the population could participate, one that united rather than distinguished or divided. The new luxuries aimed not so much at what was unique or distinctive, but rather at what could be multiplied and shared. Even though expens- ive things were not eliminated from the array of products, cheap alternatives were developed for most luxury items. In so doing the primary hurdle in the transition from an aristocratic towards a bourgeois model of consumption was immediately cleared. The social attainability of all manner of consumer practices – such as using snuff or smoking tobacco, and displaying paintings – played a key role: ‘Here, for the first time – on such a scale and on so enduring a basis – was a society in which the potential to purchase luxuries extended well beyond a small, traditional elite. A substantial tranche of society was now in a position to exercise choice – to enter the market and spend money to fashion a consumer culture’.45 However, given the ‘new luxury’ nature of the material renaissance, how fundamental was the difference between the Renaissance and these late early modern developments? Goldthwaite – still the economic historian of the wealthy in many respects46 – remained 42 R. Liefkes, ‘Tableware’, in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, ‘At Home’, 255. 43 Among others, see B. Blondé, ‘Tableware and Changing Consumer Patterns. Dynamics of Material Culture in Antwerp, 17th–18th Centuries’, in Majolica and Glass from Italy to Antwerp and Beyond. The Transfer of Technology in the 16th–Early 17th Century, ed. J. Veeckman (Antwerp: Stad Antwerpen, 2002), 295–311; B. Blondé, ‘Cities in Decline and the Dawn of a Consumer Society. Antwerp in the 17th–18th Centuries’, in Blondé, Briot, Coquery and Van Aert, ‘Retail and Consumer Changes’, 37–52; J. De Vries, ‘Between Purchasing Power and the World of Goods: Understanding the Household Economy in Early Modern Europe’, in Consumption and the World of Goods, ed. J. Brewer and R. Porter (London: Routledge, 1993), 85–132; H. Clifford, ‘A Commerce with Things: The Value of Pre- cious Metalwork in Early Modern England’, in Consumers and Luxury. Consumer Culture in Europe 1650–1850, ed. M. Berg and H. Clifford (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999), 147–68; C. Fairchilds, ‘The Production and Marketing of Populuxe Goods in Eighteenth-Century Paris’, in Brewer and Porter, Consumption and the World of Goods, 228–48; H. Nijboer, De fatsoenering van het bestaan: consumptie in Leeuwarden tijdens de Gouden Eeuw (Groningen: University of Groningen, 2007). 44 J. De Vries, The Industrious Revolution. Consumer Behavior and the Household Economy, 1650 to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 45 J. De Vries, ‘Luxury in the Dutch Golden Ages in Theory and Practice’, in Luxury in the Eighteenth Century. Debates, Desires and Delectable Goods, ed. M. Berg and E. Eger (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 41–56. 46 Among others, see the discussion of Wealth and the Demand for Art in Italy, 1300–1600 by R. Burr Litch- field in The Business History Review 68, no. 2 (1994): 318; and Martines, ‘The Renaissance and the Birth of a Consumer Society’, 198. 112 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 unable to provide a conclusive answer. At one point he remarked that consumers of modest means were able to enter the consumer market,47 and at another he cautioned that prosperity was distrib- uted too unequally to enable the broadening of consumption so typical of eighteenth-century England. In any case the ‘new luxury’ of the Renaissance was more varied than ever before and enabled the development of completely new products which in turn created new needs and manners, for instance at the table.48 And, of course, cheaper materials gave greater numbers of commoners the prospect of a more ‘luxurious’ dining culture.49 For this reason, Sandra Cavallo contests the idea of a radical fault line between the elite and the artisan’s world in Flor- ence, Genoa and Bologna.50 The fluidity of the artisan’s domestic culture was far greater, com- pared to that of the elites. Yet master artisans could also, for instance, invest in silver forks. Concerning the degree to which more modest people took part in this culture, the current histor- iography on the Italian Renaissance fails to provide a conclusive answer. How did the ‘normal’ city dweller of the sixteenth century, faced with a declining purchasing power, succeed in bring- ing more silver valuables to the home?51 Conversely, how are we to interpret the finding that not all artisans’ houses included a kitchen? Even if they did possess one, it often proved to have par- ticularly ‘basic’ equipment. Cavallo suggests that the few artisans studied so far may well have been used to eating outside the home. They were in no sense participants in the elaborate rituals of sociability performed in the wealthier city residences. In the complex interplay between dom- estic interior and outside world, Marta Ajmar-Wollheim discerns an important contribution to the development of Renaissance sociability.52 Was this sociability a luxury that was accessible to the wealthier Italians alone? Did these rituals of Renaissance sociability reproduce existing social inequalities? These are vital, yet unanswered, questions. As Cohn argued, current research into the material renaissance is indeed still too much a study of the culture of the rich.53 Wealth generates archival sources and is appealing – also to the (art) historian – even if it is only on account of aesthetics. Yet this selective historiography is unjustified, as Paula Hohti, among others, has shown: urban middling groups, too, had an authentic word to say in the Italian consumer narrative.54 Renata Ago’s research on seventeenth-century Rome even shows that it was above all the better middling groups – the wealthier craftsmen, merchants and lawyers – who demonstrated a particular ‘gusto’ for things. In the interim the many suggestive and stimulating studies of alternative circuits 47 Goldthwaite, Wealth, 234. 48 J. Lindow, ‘Splendour’, in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, ‘At Home’, 306–7; Welch, ‘Public Magnifi- cence’; C. Goldstein, Pieter Bruegel and the Culture of the Early Modern Dinner Party (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013), 87–123. 49 Liefkes, ‘Tableware’, 264. 50 S. Cavallo, ‘The Artisan’s Casa’, in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, ‘At Home’, 66–75. 51 H. Blake, ‘Everyday Objects’, in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, ‘At Home’, 332. For a contrast with the standard of living of Italian wage-labourers, see J.M. Nayemi, A History of Florence, 1200–1575 (Oxford: Carlton, 2006), 310. 52 M. Ajmar-Wollheim, ‘Sociability’, in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, ‘At Home’, 206–21. 53 Cohn, ‘Renaissance Attachment to Things’; see also Blondé, ‘Shoppen met Isabella d’Este’. 54 P. Hohti, ‘“Conspicuous” Consumption and Popular Consumers: Material Culture and Social Status in Sixteenth-Century Siena’, Renaissance Studies 24, no. 5 (2010): 654–70; Hohti, ‘The Innkeeper’s Goods: The Use and Acquisition of Household Property in Sixteenth-Century Siena’, in O’Malley and Welch, The Material Renaissance, 242–59. In addition to the publication of I. Palumbo Fossati cited earlier, see for example D. Balestracci, The Renaissance in the Fields: Family Memoirs of a Fifteenth-Century Tuscan Peasant (Philadelphia: Penn State University Press, 1999). History of Retailing and Consumption 113 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 (whether commercial or not), and specifically second-hand markets, help to explain why even city dwellers with a modest purse could at times afford surprisingly luxurious objects.55 For the time being, though, we have to wait for studies that will hold larger samples of probate inventories up to scrutiny and connect them to wider developments in the standard of living, dis- tribution of income and patterns of group formation – and to engage in more systematic analysis as has been employed for decades in French, Belgian, Dutch and English studies of early modern material culture.56 For now, it remains difficult to determine whether the Italian material renais- sance was comparable to the ‘consumer revolutions’ of the Dutch Republic in the seventeenth century or England in the eighteenth century, but the idea that the ‘material renaissance’ was a ‘VIP-only’ phenomenon clearly does not hold. This re-assessment becomes all the more urgent since some historians working on the late early modern period are now less convinced that the expansion of the world of goods in the eight- eenth century was paralleled by improvements in living standards, or resulted in significant reductions in social inequality.57 Recent studies tend to disagree with McKendrick’s idea that the eighteenth-century ‘consumer revolution’ was an expression of England’s uniquely rising living standards, and the emergence of a society of ‘socially closer rungs’. Nor do they confirm Daniel Roche’s assertion that the new Parisian material culture prefigured the ‘more open, less stiff and more frivolous world’ that would arise during the French Revolution.58 Instead, these studies emphasize that the living standards of the masses remained stagnant at best, and in most places declined.59 Income inequalities throughout early modern Europe were high and were often rising, in the ‘miracle’ economies of the North Sea area as well as in the less vigorous Mediterranean.60 All this does not prevent the connection with the idea of underlying strong economic growth and social progress from potentially being cut.61 Focused inventory studies have shown that even 55 Allerston, ‘Reconstructing’’ Allerston, ‘Le marché d’occasion’; Allerston, ‘Clothing and Early Modern Venetian Society’, Continuity and Change 15 (2000): 367–90; Matchette, ‘Credit and Credibility’. 56 The principle examples here are L. Weatherill, Consumer Behaviour and Material Culture in Britain 1660–1760 (London: Routledge, 1988); T. Wijsenbeek-Olthuis, Achter de gevels van Delft. Bezit en bestaan van rijk en arm in een periode van achteruitgang (1700–1800) (Hilversum: Verloren, 1987); M. Overton, J. Whittle, D. Dean and A. Hann, Production and Consumption in English Households, 1600–1750 (London: Routledge, 2004). 57 B. Blondé and I. Van Damme, ‘Early Modern Europe: 1500–1800’, in The Oxford Handbook of Cities in World History, ed. P. Clark (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 240–57. 58 D. Roche, The Culture of Clothing. Dress and Fashion in the ‘Ancien Regime’ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996 [orig. 1990]), 504; McKendrick, ‘The Consumer Revolution’, 3–33. A somewhat different take on the issue, from the perspective of ‘civic equality’, can be found in W.H.J. Sewell, ‘Connect- ing Capitalism to the French Revolution: The Parisian Promenade and the Origins of Civic Equality in Eight- eenth-Century France’, Critical Historical Studies 1, no. 1 (2014): 5–46. 59 For an overview, see R.C. Allen et al., Living Standards in the Past: New Perspectives on Well-Being in Asia and Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). 60 C. Santiago-Caballero, ‘Income Inequality in Central Spain, 1690–1800’, Explorations in Economic History 48, no. 1 (2011): 83–96; G. Alfani, ‘Wealth Inequalities and Population Dynamics in Early Modern Northern Italy’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History 40 (2010): 513–49; W. Ryckbosch, ‘Economic Inequality and Growth before the Industrial Revolution: A Case Study of the Low Countries (14th–19th Cen- turies)’ (working paper, Dondena Working Papers n° 67, Bocconi University, Milan, 2014), 33. 61 P. Malanima and V. Pinchera, ‘A Puzzling Relationship: Consumptions and Incomes in Early Modern Europe’, Histoire & Mesure 27, no. 2 (2012): 197–222; H.-J. Voth, ‘Living Standards and the Urban Environment’, in The Cambridge Economic History of Modern Britain Volume 1: Industrialisation, 1700–1860, ed. R. Floud and P. Johnson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 268–94; S. Horrell, J. Humphries and K. Sneath, ‘Consumption Conundrums Unravelled’, Economic History Review (2015). 114 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 in England the novelties associated with the new consumer culture did not spread to the labouring classes and the poor before the second half of the eighteenth century.62 Moreover, historians have increasingly argued that the social effects of changes in consumption in late modernity were any- thing but unequivocally levelling.63 Last but not least, although new and affordable luxuries might well have entered the homes of more and more people, this did not prevent the vocabulary of ‘old luxury’ – including its social philosophy – from continuing to be very attractive in eight- eenth-century Europe.64 This revision of the early modern ‘consumer revolution’ has important consequences for any engagement with the material renaissance, as it tends to diminish the perceived contrast between the social spread of the material renaissance in Italy and the later period on both sides of the equation. Consuming anxieties Perhaps the presumed contrast between the early modern ‘consumer revolution’ and the Italian ‘material renaissance’ is at least partly justified by the discursive and moral contexts surrounding acts of consumption. After all, the materiality of the ‘material renaissance’ was still fraught with moral anxieties and fears over the loss of spirituality. Indeed, the current historiography stresses how the Italians possessed an ideological frame of reference in which magnificentia and splen- dore were morally sanctioned as important virtues.65 As it turns out, the inhabitants of six- teenth-century Venice, to give but one example, maintained complex and ambiguous ideologies in matters of consumption. While travelling in the ‘city of doges’, none less than Desi- derius Erasmus described the ‘things’ of the physical world in plain neo-Platonic terms as ‘mere shadows of reality’. The religious touchstone, too, in which objects ultimately were seen as ephemeral, subordinated to spiritual life. Here the anxieties over the relationship between the spiritual and the material with which Petrarca had wrestled were still strong.66 In addition to utter- ances of ‘inconspicuous consumption’, there was also the especially complex ‘sumptuary legis- lation’, which all too clearly demonstrates that it is problematic to approach sixteenth-century Italy with a concept like ‘consumerism’.67 62 K. Sneath, ‘Consumption, Wealth, Indebtedness and Social Structure in Early Modern England’ (unpub- lished PhD diss., University of Cambridge, 2009); P. King, ‘Pauper Inventories and the Material Lives of the Poor in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries’, in Chronicling Poverty. The Voices and Strategies of the English Poor, 1640–1840, ed. T. Hitchcock, P. King and P. Sharpe (London: Palgrave, 1997), 155–91; S. Horrell, ‘Home Demand and British Industrialization’, Journal of Economic History 56 (1996): 561–604. A more optimistic perspective on the spread of new consumer patterns among the poor can be found in A. McCants, ‘Poor Consumers as Global Consumers: The Diffusion of Tea and Coffee Drinking in the Eight- eenth Century’, The Economic History Review 61, no. 1 (2008): 172–200. 63 W. Ryckbosch, ‘A Consumer Revolution under Strain? Consumption, Wealth and Status in Eighteenth- Century Aalst (Southern Netherlands)’ (unpublished PhD diss., University of Antwerp, 2012). 64 B. Blondé, ‘Conflicting Consumption Models? The Symbolic Meaning of Possessions and Consumption amongst the Antwerp Nobility at the End of the Eighteenth Century’, in Fashioning Old and New. Changing Consumer Preferences in Europe (Seventeenth–Nineteenth Centuries), ed. B. Blondé (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009), 61–79; M. Kwass, ’Big Hair: A Wig History of Consumption in Eighteenth-Century France’, Amer- ican Historical Review 111 (2006): 631–59. 65 E. Welch, ‘Magnificence and the Private Display: Pontano’s “De Splendore” and the Domestic Arts’, Journal of Design History 15 (2002): 211–27; G. Guerzoni, ‘Liberalitas, Magnificentia, Splendour. The Classic Origins of Italian Renaissance Lifestyles’, History of Political Economy 31, no. 5 (1999): 332–78. 66 P. Findlen, ‘Possessing the Past: The Material World of the Italian Renaissance, American Historical Review 103, no. 1 (1998): 83–144. 67 P. Allerston, ‘Consuming Problems: Worldly Goods in Renaissance Venice’, in O’Malley and Welch, The Material Renaissance, 11–46. History of Retailing and Consumption 115 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 This moralizing and legally restricted context for consumption has been contrasted with the dis- course surrounding ‘improvement’, ‘progress’ and the moral acceptance of luxuries arising in seven- teenth- and eighteenth-century England.68 In the later luxury debates, so the argument goes, consumption was finally freed from moralizing restrictions. Bernard Mandeville’s Fable of the Bees is, of course, the ultimate textbook example in point.69 Yet on closer examination both cultural frameworks of consumption might be different in degree rather than in kind. After all, the arguments ofEnlightenment thinkers such as HumeorMandeville, who attributed moral virtue toluxuriouscon- sumption, were not all that different from those of a scholastic philosopher such as Thomas Aquinas, who – following Aristotle – had thought the virtue of ‘liberality’ (in spending and consumption alike) tobeatleastinprincipleattainablebyallgoodChristians,richorpoor.70 Mostdebatesonluxury,from Antiquity to the Renaissance and the Enlightenment, concerned not primarily whether luxury con- sumption was acceptable in principle, but by whom.71 After all, Bernard Mandeville himself did not consider it a good idea to have the labouring classes indulge in luxury consumption, since such a thing might end up making them less industrious. It is true that some places, such as the Low Countries, were relatively spared from sumptuary legislation. In 1497 Philip the Fair (1478–1506) issued what was probably the first sumptuary law in the Low Countries, and this was repeated again in 1531, 1546 and 1550 – but applied with what seems to have been much less fervour than in Italy or France.72 Yet this relative lack of restrictive sumptuary legislation should not be interpreted as a carte blanche for liberal consumption. In the seventeenth-century Dutch Republic, at the heart of the early modern consumer revolution, the ambivalence regarding consumption was largely similar to the concerns expressed by those like Petrarca and Pontano during the Italian Renaissance.73 Even in the eighteenth century medical treatises, popular songs, plays and poems in the Low Countries continued to portray the drinking of new luxuries such as tea or coffee by the ‘lower social ranks’ in the familiar nega- tive and moralizing words associated with the condemnation of ‘old luxuries’ during the Renaissance.74 Urbanity and consumption With his claim on the ‘urbanity’ of the ‘new luxury’ model, de Vries was writing his Industrious Revolution into a long lasting intellectual discussion on the social processes that drove 68 P. Slack, ‘The Politics of Consumption and England’s Happiness in the Later Seventeenth Century’, English Historical Review 122, no. 497 (2007): 609–31; M. Berg, Luxury and Pleasure in Eighteenth- Century Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); J. Sekora, Luxury. The Concept in Western Thought, Eden to Smollet (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977). 69 On Mandeville, see E.G. Hundert, The Enlightenment’s Fable, Bernard Mandeville and the Discovery of Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). 70 Guerzoni, ‘Liberalitas’, 354–5. 71 A. Hunt, Governance of the Consuming Passions. A History of Sumptuary Law (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1996). 72 R. Van Uytven, ‘Hiérarchies sociales et prestige au Moyen Age et aux Temps Modernes’, in Structures sociales et topographie de la pauvreté et de la richesse aux XIVe et XVe siècles, ed. W. Prevenier (Ghent: Ghent University, 1986), 157–75; F. Buylaert et al., ‘Sumptuary Legislation, Material Culture and the Semio- tics of “vivre noblement” in the County of Flanders (14th–16th Centuries)’, Social History 36, no. 4 (2011): 393–417; M. Howell, Commerce before Capitalism in Europe, 1300–1600 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer- sity Press, 2010). 73 S. Schama, The Embarrassment of Riches: An Interpretation of Dutch Culture in the Golden Age (New York: Random House, 1987). 74 De Vries, ‘Luxury in the Dutch Golden Ages’; V. De Laet, Brussel binnenskamers. Kunst- en luxebeizt in het spanningsveld tussen hof en stad, 1600–1735 (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2011), 168–74. 116 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 material changes in history. Scholars specializing in different places and periods have tended to emphasize different causal factors, ranging from court culture and emulation to the civilizing process, the rise of the middle class, Romanticism or the emergence of ideals of civic equal- ity.75 Here as well, possibilities for fruitful comparisons abound. The nineteenth-century sociologist Werner Sombart thought that the new sensual consumer culture of the early modern period originated at court and was spread by its status-seeking courtesans. Norbert Elias’s ‘civilizing process’, with its associated cultured manners and specific material culture, saw a similar spread from the early modern courts to bourgeois society. More recent cultural historical understandings of early modern consumer change, such as the transition from a culture of ‘gentility’ to one of ‘respectability’ argued by Woodruff D. Smith, continue to describe a long-term process in which a new material culture originated among the medieval aristocracy of Europe, and gradually became appropriated by the emerging urban bourgeoisie.76 Yet none of these influential theories was based on evidence from Italy or the Low Countries, nor could they have been. For in neither of these regions, often seen as the birthplaces of the ‘material renaissance’ and the ‘early modern consumer revolution’, does such a transition appear likely. Contrary to what is often assumed, sumptuary legislation in medieval Italy did not arise from an aristocratic desire to prevent emulation by the urban middling sorts. Instead, it seems to have primarily grown out of (religious) moral concerns for excess, and attempts by the urban ‘popolo’ to constrain overly conspicuous consumption by aristocratic families residing in cities.77 The growing inflation of dowry sizes in fifteenth-century Italy did spark legislation to impose a ceiling on social mobility through marriage, but even there the demarcation line was not placed between the aristocracy and the urban elites.78 The rare pieces of sumptuary legislation that were promulgated in the Low Countries during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were not so much concerned with marking the boundaries between nobles and non-nobles. Rather they were drawn between the elites (noblemen or not) who lived in a noble way and other members of the elites who debased themselves by performing manual labour. Such was the consequence of the combination of both a very affluent and politically influential urban society with mighty and wealthy elites on the one hand, and a nobility heavily engaged in this urban environment on the other.79 Frederik Buylaert has unveiled what ultimately demarcated the boundaries of this Flemish nobility (the entitlement to a seigneurie), yet what role exactly was played by the material culture and lifestyles of the urbanized nobilities is far from clear. Nor do we know why material culture would have played only an auxiliary role in the Flemish context, while it played a key role in Italian society. 75 N. Elias, The Civilizing Process: The Development of Manners: Changes in the Code of Conduct and Feeling in Early Modern Times (Oxford: Blackwell, 1978); W. Sombart, Luxus und Kapitalismus (Munich: Verlag von Duncker & Humblot, 1922); C. Campbell, The Romantic Ethic and the Spirit of Modern Consumerism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987). 76 W.D. Smith, Consumption and the Making of Respectability, 1600–1800 (London: Routledge, 2002). 77 D.O. Hughes, ‘Sumptuary Law and Social Relations in Renaissance Italy’, in Disputes and Settlements: Law and Human Relations in the West, ed. J. Bossy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 69–99. 78 A. Molho, Marriage Alliance in Late Medieval Florence (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994); S. Chojnacki, ‘Dowries and Kinsmen in Early Renaissance Venice’, The Journal of Interdisciplinary History 5, no. 4 (1975): 571–600. 79 Van Uytven, ‘Hiérarchies sociales’; Buylaert et al., ‘Sumptuary Legislation’. History of Retailing and Consumption 117 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 In any case, both Italy and Flanders were marked by a strong interaction between the feudal aristocracy and the new, urban lifestyles they came to adopt and adapt.80 In both places a culture of splendour seems to have sprung from the intermarriage of a realm of status with the world of commerce: a ‘trahison de la aristocratie’ as much as a ‘trahison de la bourgeoisie’.81 Material culture may have had an agency in constructing social relationships. In her study on early modern Rome, Ago argued that the lifestyles shaped by the new material culture produced a new social stratification.82 In a world where commerce and urban life had eroded the traditional legitimacy of the upper classes, a material language arose that could imbue class with status, and propagated status in the language of class. In the words of Owen Hughes, late medieval Italy ‘dreamed of orders while facing the daily consequences of class fluidity’.83 Upon comparison then, perhaps more than Elias, Sombart or most historians of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century consumptive change suspected, many changes in early modern material culture had their roots in the city rather than at the court. In an early fifteenth-century fictional narrative, Gentile Sermini presents his readers with a prosperous farmer. Mattano, as the man is called, is doing comfortably and thinks he can lay claim to a political career in Siena. When it turns out that he has lots of money to spend but continually transgresses against urbane table manners and food choices, he is ultimately forced to abandon those ambitions.84 Discourses in which ideal conduct in the city is shaped in opposition to the countryside are of course a well- tested literary technique, not only in Italy but also in the Low Countries and elsewhere in north-western Europe.85 Goldthwaite noted regretfully that the literature on the civilizing process and the changing be- havioural repertoires focused too exclusively on France. And moreover this happened without proper attention to the material culture that, according to him, did not simply issue forth from changing manners but also directed them.86 To be sure, the editors of At Home in Renaissance Italy also maintain that it was ‘urbanity’ rather than the court that lay at the basis of Elias’s civi- lizing process.87 For that matter, it is these refined codes of conduct with which Italians thought to distinguish themselves from the rest of Europe. In a popular etiquette book from 1558, Della Casa praises the Italians as fortunate for not having adopted the ‘European’ custom – he himself calls it a plague – of getting drunk purely and only for the sake of ‘honour’.88 In short, not only what you possess but also how you behave and what you know becomes crucial in the Renaissance model of material culture. For collecting antiquities and assembling art collections, more is needed than a 80 F. Buylaert, ‘Lordship, Urbanization and Social Change in Late Medieval Flanders’, Past and Present 227, no. 1 (2015): 31–75. 81 Hughes, ‘Sumptuary Law’. 82 R. Ago, Gusto for Things. A History of Objects in Seventeenth-Century Rome (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2013). 83 Hughes, ‘Sumptuary Law’, 99. 84 A.J. Grieco, ‘Meals’, in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, ‘At Home’, 251–52. On Sermini and his anti-rural attitudes, see also S. Cohn, Jr., ‘Highlands and Lowlands in Late Medieval Tuscany’, in Mìorun Mòr nan Gall, The Great Ill-Will of the Lowlander? Lowland Perceptions of the Highlands, Medieval and Modern, ed. D. Broun and M. MacGregor (Glasgow: University of Glasgow, 2009), 110–27. 85 P. Vandenbroeck, Beeld van de andere, vertoog over het zelf: over wilden en narren, boeren en bedelaars (Antwerp: KMSK, 1987). 86 Goldthwaite, Wealth. 87 Ajmar-Wollheim et al., ‘Introduction’; D. Knox, ‘Civility, Courtesy and Women in the Italian Renais- sance’, in Women and Italian Renaissance Culture and Society, ed. L. Panizza (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 2–17. R. Muchembled, too, places increasingly more emphasis on this in his ‘more recent’ pub- lications concerning this topic. See his ‘Manners, Courts, and Civility’, in Ruggiero, A Companion to the Worlds of the Renaissance, 156–72. 88 Ajmar-Wollheim, ‘Sociability’, 212. 118 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 purse full of money.89 In that respect it also seems that civilization and the aestheticizing process of the Renaissance counteracted the potential redistributive effects of a cheaper material culture. It was not without reason that Peter Burke called assembling collections ‘Renaissance chic’;90 and that even more modest master artisans were challenged to keep up with the deeper layers of meaning in the classicizing culture.91 For less-educated city dwellers, the Renaissance erected a cultural barrier that was difficult to break. The ‘material renaissance’ not only offered possibi- lities for social participation, but also contributed in culturally reproducing social inequalities. However, with this relocation of cultural dynamism in urban society and with the postulated bourgeois nature of new luxuries, the need for a more systematic comparison of Italy with the Low Countries (and beyond) becomes all the more urgent. The example of sixteenth-century Antwerp can serve to bridge the gap between the ‘material renaissance’ and the ‘consumer revo- lution’ – or at least of their respective historiographies. Antwerp was not only a prominent commercial gateway, but also an important centre for the production of luxuries: it was a prominent fashion maker. The commercial fate of the city was closely intertwined with trade and commerce in the Italian peninsula92 and as a result mid-six- teenth-century Antwerp functioned as an important mediator of Italian (material) cultures in northern Europe. The city remained devoid of a strong urban nobility, but was dominated (though not ruled) by mercantile elites.93 Nevertheless, little sets Antwerp fundamentally apart from Italy in the sixteenth century.94 First, a range of material innovations were launched from Italy via Antwerp into northern Europe, such as – to name but a few important ones – the pro- duction of Venetian glass, the manufacture of majolica and the Antwerp silk industry.95 Strikingly enough, these three sectors yielded local decorative models that quickly gained importance, by targeting new bourgeois markets through product and process innovations which lowered prices. Without a doubt the Antwerp material renaissance already followed a clearly bourgeois (or ‘new luxury’) rather than a genteel pathway. And the renaissance influence reached beyond these sectors.96 It is no coincidence that whenever Hans Fugger of Augsburg (1531–98) needed shoes in Italianate style, he ordered them to be made in Antwerp.97 To a great extent 89 Findlen, ‘Possessing the Past’. 90 P. Burke, The European Renaissance: Centres and Peripheries (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), 175. 91 Allerston, ‘Consuming Problems’, 17. 92 For a recent update with further references, see J. Puttevils, Merchants and Trading in the Sixteenth Century: The Golden Age of Antwerp (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2015). 93 H. Soly, ‘Social Relations in Antwerp in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, in Antwerp. Story of a Metropolis, 16th–17th Century, ed. J. Van Der Stock (Ghent: Snoeck Ducaju & Zoon, 1993), 37–47. 94 In this context see the research of C. De Staelen, ‘Spulletjes en hun betekenis in een commerciële metro- pool. Antwerpenaren en hun materiële cultuur in de zestiende eeuw ’ (unpublished PhD diss., University of Antwerp, 2007); I. Baatsen, B. Blondé, J. De Groot and I. Sturtewagen, ‘At Home in the City: The Dynamics of Material Culture’, in City and Society in the Low Countries, 1100–1600, ed. B. Blondé, M. Boone and A.- L. Van Bruaene (forthcoming). 95 See, for example, J. Veeckman, ‘Production and Consumption of Glass in 16th and Early 17th Century Antwerp: The Archeological Evidence’, in Veeckman, Majolica and Glass , 79–93; Veeckman, ‘Recent Research Concerning Antwerp Majolica Production’, in Material Culture in Medieval Europe, ed. G. De Boe and F. Verhaeghe (Zellik: IAP, 1997), 113–17; C. Dumortier, Céramique de la Renaissance à Anvers. De Venise à Delft (Brussels: Racine, 2002); I. Baatsen and B. Blondé, ‘Antwerp and the “Material Renaissance”. Exploring the Social and Economic Significance of Crystal Glass and Majolica in the Six- teenth Century’, in The Ashgate Research Companion to Early Modern Material Culture, ed. D. Gaimster, T. Hamling and C. Richardson (Farnham: Ashgate, forthcoming); A. Thijs, De zijdenijver- heid te Antwerpen in de zeventiende eeuw (Brussels: Pro Civitate, 1969). 96 R. Fabri, ‘De “inwendighe wooninghe” of de binnenhuisinrichting’, in Stad in Vlaanderen. Cultuur en Maatschappij, 1477–1787, ed. J. Van der Stock (Brussels: Gemeentekrediet, 1991), 127–40. 97 U. Rublack, ‘Matter in the Material Renaissance’, Past and Present 219, no. 1 (2013): 41–85. History of Retailing and Consumption 119 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 the Low Countries’ material culture experienced an autonomous dynamic as well, as recent research into the production and consumption of paintings demonstrates.98 Even in modest house- holds multiple paintings generally decorated different rooms, and mass-produced artworks coex- isted with tailor-made paintings.99 Moreover, next to the new luxuries, costly old luxuries such as pewter and silver objects also fared well on the shelves and cupboards of Antwerp families. These commodities extended well beyond the ‘happy few’ who were making big money in international trade. Relatively modest middling groups in Antwerp purchased luxury items of various sorts. The trades in artworks and luxury items targeted the urban middling groups, who proved to be more prosperous than often has been presumed.100 The ‘cheapness’ of some luxuries can explain why different luxury industries continued to prosper even when the town’s economy experienced a severe economic crisis in the years following 1585. In Antwerp, the paradigm shift from intrinsic value to decoration and workmanship, as postulated for Italy by Goldthwaite, also occurred with all its consequences for the economic relationships between different actors in the artisans’ trades. Hence, in terms of their material culture, and the legislative and cultural context surrounding it, Renaissance Italy and the Low Countries were not so different. Nor was the difference with the Dutch model of the seventeenth century all that much clearer. Metropolitan life, and a society based on money and commerce that came with it, increased the need for outward differentiation – a driving force of fashion, as Georg Simmel noted around the beginning of the twentieth century.101 A superficial comparison like the one undertaken here can only offer a few preliminary suggestions, but it will be clear that the splendid isolation of the historiography on the Italian material renaissance does little justice to the long-term continuities in European consumption history. At the very least, it can be argued that the materiality of the Italian Renaissance is certainly not beyond comparison, and that its historians have much to gain from looking outwards, both temporally and across the Alps. Attachment to things The parallels and continuities drawn above should not be pushed too far. It is far from our intention to drag the ‘material renaissance’ back into a Weberian modernization narrative, in which Petrarca shows the way to social and economic modernity. Despite its urban roots, 98 F. Vermeylen, Painting for the Market. Commercialization of Art in Antwerp’s Golden Age (Turnhout: Brepols, 2003); B. Blondé, ‘Art and Economy in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Antwerp. A View from the Demand Side’, in Economia e Arte Secc. XIII-XVIII. Atti delle Trenteessima Settimana di Studi, 30 aprile–4 maggio 2000, ed. S. Cavaciocchi (Florence: Le Monnier, 2002), 379–91; M.J.P. Martens and N. Peeters, ‘Antwerp Painting before Iconoclasm: Considerations on the Quantification of Taste’, in Cava- ciocchi, ‘Economia e Arte’, 875–94. 99 H. Vlieghe, ‘The Fine and Decorative Arts in Antwerp’s Golden Age’, in Urban Achievement in Early Modern Europe. Golden Ages in Antwerp, Amsterdam and London, ed. P. O’Brien, D. Keene, M. ’t Hart and H. Van der Wee (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 173–85. 100 This idea has been forwarded by Herman Van der Wee at various instances. H. Van der Wee, ‘The Economy as a Factor in the Revolt of the Southern Netherlands’, Acta Historica Neerlandica 5 (1971): 52–67; B. Blondé and J. Hanus, ‘Beyond Building Craftsmen: Economic Growth and Living Standards in the Sixteenth-Century Low Countries: The Case of ’s-Hertogenbosch (1500–1560)’, European Review of Economic History 14 (2009): 179–207. 101 G. Simmel, ‘Fashion’, in On Individuality and Social Forms, ed. D.N. Levine (London: University Press of Chicago, 1971 [1904]), 294–323; G. Simmel, The Philosophy of Money (London: Routledge, [trans. 1990]). 120 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 the ‘material renaissance’, whether in Italy, the Low Countries or elsewhere, certainly did not represent any sort of ‘liberation’ of the market from traditional aristocratic and moral con- straints. The gradual shift in the location of value described by Goldthwaite – from a focus on intrinsic worth to a stronger emphasis on aesthetic and fashionable value – has been ident- ified in many studies of material culture across early modern Europe, and more often than not it has been interpreted in a rather linear manner of growing commercialization, progress and modernity. Yet, when seen from a long-term perspective, this interpretation becomes increas- ingly unconvincing. Sam Cohn’s groundbreaking research into testamentary practices after the Black Death demonstrates how fruitful a more systematic and long-term approach can be. Unlike much recent historiography, which approaches the centuries between 1300 and 1600 as almost ‘time- less’, Cohn sketches an image of clearly changing sensitivities with regard to material culture. Especially after the second outbreak of plague in 1362–3, more and more Italians also began to worry explicitly about their material legacy in all sorts of varied ways when redacting their wills.102 All kinds of stipulations, from ordering commemorative artwork to determining what could happen to a certain house, bear witness to a rapidly changing and socially widespread ‘attachment to things’. Yet, such practices of ‘keeping while giving’ significantly distorted the functioning of the marketplace, and ultimately contributed to the so-called bullion famine of the fifteenth century.103 In many ways the pre-plague economy of the twelfth century came much closer to the ideal type of a fully commodified, commercialized and monetized market economy than did that of the ‘material renaissance’ In studying the seventeenth- century material culture of Roman upper middling groups, Ago also stressed how the ‘gusto for things’ often ran counter to commercialization and commodification. Many house- holds, not only the aristocratic, sought to make their possessions inalienable, to preserve rather than trade, and ultimately to sacrifice their utility.104 In the Low Countries as well, noble families – and those aspiring to an elite lifestyle – made use of ‘enclaved commodities’: objects traded freely on the market, but which held the personal qualities usually associated with gifts or heirlooms.105 These findings raise the important question of what the ‘material’ and ‘objectified’ attitude to culture which rose to dominance during the Renaissance actually meant, and how it operated in the social world. Certainly, it did not signal a straightforward progression from a world of gifts to one of commodities, from a feudal to a commercial economy.106 Similar caution is needed when interpreting the multiple ways in which the transition from intrinsic value to aesthetics, decoration and design affected product value constructions at the supply side of material culture. Currie, for instance, clearly demonstrated how the occupation of the tailor underwent noticeable changes in Renaissance Italy. Until the beginning of the six- teenth century the cost of fabrics used for clothing dominated. As the century progressed, design and decoration with all sorts of accessories also increased in relative importance, a shift that was further intensified by the increasing use of cheaper and lighter fabrics. It put the tailors in an entirely new position of power, one in which they themselves started purchas- ing fabrics, stocking accessories and began valuing design in monetary terms by explicitly billing customers for it. In the process they derived part of their power from a relationship 102 This is also the same time period that Paula Findlen associates with the rise of an – admittedly elitist – ‘attachment to things’ in her ‘Possessing the Past’, 95. 103 Cohn, ‘Renaissance Attachment to Things’, 1001–2. 104 Ago, Gusto for Things. 105 Buylaert et al., ‘Sumptuary Legislation’. 106 De Munck, ‘Artisans’. History of Retailing and Consumption 121 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 of trust with their clients, to whom they provided extra services in addition to advice on taste.107 Here one almost imagines himself in an eighteenth-century fashion shop.108 As long as medieval material culture remained less varied, less complex and less culturally constructed, and hence more ‘transparent’, master craftsmen could more easily safeguard the exchange value of commodities by politically and morally sanctioning their intrinsic value. The ‘renaissance model’, conversely, set in motion a fundamental shift in value creation that redefined, among other things, the very nature of the value of labour109 and products.110 Henceforth, in the Low Countries as well as Italy, craftsmen and artists derived symbolic and economic power from their acquaintance with a knowledgeable culture and with designing skills. An interesting example from the middle of the sixteenth century brings us back to Bruges. In 1554 a dispute was brought before the municipal aldermen’s bench between the cabinetmaker Gillis vanden Coornhuuse and Pieter vander Heyde, who was the dean of the turners’ guild. The latter had dragged Gillis before the court because he had made and sold a bed that was finished with turned posts. Turned products traditionally belonged to the domain of the turners’ guild, not to the cabinetmakers. Gillis, however, defended himself by claiming that these posts were only a component or accessoire for the piece of furniture. Therefore, the production of larger beds simply fell to the cabinetmakers’ guild. Moreover, as Gillis contended, ‘those people from the turners’ guild’ did not understand the craft of archi- tecture enough to create these posts, since there were diverse and distinct forms, ‘the one [as] Tuscan, the other Doric, the other Ionic, some [as] Corinthian and some Composite [ … ]’.111 By his own account, making turned woodwork should thus be open to him, certainly for the sake of the aesthetics of the piece of furniture and by virtue of his underlying knowledge. His arguments presumably carried weight because the complaint by vander Heyde was ultimately rejected. Tellingly, in the eighteenth century even silverware – the textbook example of the ‘old luxury’ – was framed and advertised as a ‘new luxury’, deriving its value also from its fash- ionability.112 Thus, the transition from an intrinsic value to a design-based value model caused a major series of interrelated shifts in power relationships that also redrew the map between producers, designers, retailers, supervisors and eventually also corporate firms. Yet here as well an obvious continuity from the material renaissance to the late early modern period can be unveiled.113 Hence, engaging with the very materiality of ‘things’ also requires a thoughtful treatment of the ‘material renaissance’, one that hardly fits a model of linearity or modernity. 107. E. Currie, ‘Diversity and Design in the Florentine Tailoring Trade, 1550–1620’, in O’Malley and Welch, The Material Renaissance, 154–73. 108 B. Blondé, L. Van Aert and I. Van Damme, ‘According to the Latest and Most Elegant Fashion: Retailing Textiles and Changes in Supply and Demand in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Antwerp’, in Selling Textiles in the Long Eighteenth Century: Comparative Perspectives from Western Europe, ed. J. Stobart and B. Blondé (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 138–59. 109 C. Lis and H. Soly, Worthy Efforts: Attitudes to Work and Workers in Pre-Industrial Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 365–400. 110 For a different, more modernist interpretation, see De Munck, ‘Artisans’. 111 Arthur Van De Velde, De ambachten van de timmerlieden en de schrijnwerkers te Brugge, hun wetten, hun geschillen en hun gewrochten van de XIVe tot de XIXe eeuw (Ghent: Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie voor Taal- en Letterkunde, 1909), 144–5. 112 I. Baatsen and B. Blondé, ‘Zilver in Antwerpen: drie eeuwen particulier zilverbezit in context’, in Zilver in Antwerpen: de handel, het ambacht en de klant, ed. L. De Ren (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 95–125. 113 B. Blondé and I. Van Damme, ‘Retail Growth and Consumer Changes in a Declining Urban Economy, Antwerp (1650–1750)’, The Economic History Review 63, no. 3 (2010): 638–63. 122 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 Conclusions We have attempted to demonstrate the importance of breathing new life into the ‘material renaissance’ by offering a comparative perspective across time and space. Given the historio- graphical divergence between the literature on the consumer revolution and that of the material renaissance, this implies a methodological rapprochement between both historiographies. Whereas the latter has been heavily influenced by semiotic and anthropological research tra- ditions, the former is more obviously steeped in social and economic history. Both traditions have much to learn from one another. Presumably out of fear for narratives of linearity and modernization, much of the recent literature on the Italian material renaissance has consciously avoided the larger debate on long-term changes in consumer behaviour before the industrial revolution. Yet this principled rejection has undesirable side-effects of its own. The historio- graphy on renaissance material culture so far remains too focused on the rich and fails to track changes in the social dissemination of consumption in Renaissance Florence, or to compare them with Augsburg and Antwerp at the same time, or with later developments in Amsterdam, London or Paris, let alone to places of less economic and cultural importance. The available evidence briefly touched upon here is suggestive: Italy does not seem to differ fundamentally from the Low Countries. But to validate this claim, more systematic research on lower and middling income groups must be conducted.114 What is worse, the ‘splendid isolation’ of the historiography has tended to reinforce claims of the ‘revolutionary’ nature of early modern consumer changes in north-western Europe. Yet, when comparing six- teenth-century Antwerp with Renaissance Florence, the parallels abound. And the continuities between Antwerp in the sixteenth century and the Dutch Republic, England and France in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries are obvious as well. The two historiographies need inte- gration. Drawing out parallels and continuities is not only important in itself, but will shed light on the very nature and causes of changes in the material culture. Turning to the material renaissance in Italy and the Low Countries from a more integrated perspective implies a stron- ger focus on the city rather than the court as a causal factor, as well as a heightened sensitivity to the interweaving of aristocratic and urban lifestyles as the guiding principle of early modern material cultures. However, a long-term view of European consumption patterns brings to the fore not only con- tinuities but also changes. As the very focus on materiality which emerged in Renaissance Italy brought a growing range of objects within the grasp of European consumers, the heightened importance of global commerce115 and commodification of the natural world116 shifted the social balance of power throughout Europe. The consumer revolution and material renaissance that emerge from a more integrated and long-term perspective ultimately remain the highly ambiguous product of societies that were urban yet aristocratic, feudal yet capitalist, organized by principles of status as well as by class, that both embraced and rejected luxury consumption, and that combined new and old luxury models. It is by approaching the material renaissance from a wider temporal, geographical and methodological perspective that these fundamental insights can gain in historical perspective again. 114 A notable exception is Hohti, ‘“Conspicuous” Consumption’. 115 M. Norton, ‘Tasting Empire: Chocolate and the European Internalization of Mesoamerican Aesthetics’, The American Historical Review 111, no. 3 (2006): 660–91; M. Norton, Sacred Gifts, Profane Pleasures. A History of Tobacco and Chocolate in the Atlantic World (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008). 116 H.J. Cook, Matters of Exchange: Commerce, Medicine, and Science in the Dutch Golden Age (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008). History of Retailing and Consumption 123 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 Acknowledgements The authors wish to thank two anonymous referees and Samuel Cohn for their most helpful comments on earlier drafts of this article. Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the authors. Notes on contributors Bruno Blondé is Research Professor at the Centre for Urban History at the University of Antwerp. His major research interests include the history of transportation, economic growth and social inequality, material culture and consumption. Currently he is, with Ilja Van Damme, writing a new synthesis on the material culture of Antwerp, sixteenth-eighteenth centuries. Wouter Ryckbosch obtained his PhD in history from the University of Antwerp in 2012. He specializes in early modern economic history and has published on issues of social inequality, public services and con- sumption. He currently works as a postdoctoral fellow of the Fund for Scientific Research Flanders at the University of Antwerp and as a lecturer in early modern history at the Vrije Universiteit Brussel. ORCID Bruno Blondé http://orcid.org/0000-0002-2118-799X 124 Bruno Blondé and Wouter Ryckbosch D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it ei t A nt w er pe n] a t 03 :0 6 14 S ep te m be r 20 15 http://orcid.org/0000-0002-2118-799X Abstract The empire of things The splendour of the material renaissance Material cultures and social (in)equalities Consuming anxieties Urbanity and consumption Attachment to things Conclusions Acknowledgements Disclosure statement Notes on contributors ORCID 
work_65b7z6j5org33owceyvwvnd4em	----	Zurich Open Repository and Archive University of Zurich Main Library Strickhofstrasse 39 CH-8057 Zurich www.zora.uzh.ch Year: 2013 Notes from the field: materiality Weddigen, Tristan Posted at the Zurich Open Repository and Archive, University of Zurich ZORA URL: https://doi.org/10.5167/uzh-85361 Journal Article Originally published at: Weddigen, Tristan (2013). Notes from the field: materiality. Art Bulletin, 95:34-37. on this and the next earliest copy of the text, now in Doha.5 As a nonspecialist, I was struck that so little attention seemed to have been hitherto paid to the colophon as a problematic physical object. Once this documentary anchor had been cut away, our group was able to speculate freely on date and provenance. We followed Savage-Smith on the dating (to the later twelfth century, perhaps?), but on provenance, judging by stylistic considerations of the drawings, we were naturally able to span the Islamic world, from central Asia to North Africa. I myself rather fancied an Egyptian attribution but, more seriously, I hope that further specialist study of this important manuscript will start with a close examination of the thing itself. Oliver Watson worked at the Victoria and Albert Museum (1979 – 2003), in Doha, Qatar (2003–5), the Ashmolean Museum (2005– 8), and as the director of the Museum of Islamic Art, Doha (2008 – 11). He was appointed the first I. M. Pei Professor of Islamic Art and Architecture at the University of Oxford in 2011 [Khalili Research Centre, University of Oxford, 3 St. John Street, Oxford OX1 2LG, U.K., oliver.watson@orinst.ox.ac.uk]. Notes 1. A. S. Melikian-Chirvani, Islamic Metalwork from the Iranian World, 8th–18th Centuries; Victoria and Albert Museum Catalogue (London: HMSO, 1982), 44, no. 5. Interestingly, the piece had been earlier published as twelfth century, in A. U. Pope’s notoriously unreliable Survey of Persian Art (Ox- ford: Oxford University Press, 1939), pl. 1277d. 2. Museum of Islamic Art, Berlin, no. I.31/63, unpublished. 3. Oliver Watson, “Samarra Revisited: The Rise of Islamic Glazed Pottery,” Hundert Jahre Grabungen in Samarra, Beiträge zur Islamischen Kunst und Archäologie, vol. 4 (Wiesbaden: Ernst Herzfeld Gesellschaft, forthcom- ing). 4. A. Soudavar, “The Concepts of ‘al-aqdamo as�ah� h� ’ and ‘Yaqin-e sābeq’, and the Problem of Semi-fakes,” Studia Iranica 28 (1999): 262– 64. 5. Emilie Savage-Smith, “The Stars in the Bright Sky: The Most Authorita- tive Copy of ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Sufi’s Tenth-Century Guide to the Con- stellations,’ ” in God Is Beautiful; He Loves Beauty: The Object in Islamic Art and Culture, ed. Sheila Blair and Jonathan Bloom (New Haven: Yale Uni- versity Press, in association with Qatar Foundation and Virginia Com- monwealth University, forthcoming). Tristan Weddigen Confronted with postwar movements such as Post-Minimal- ism, feminism, and Arte Povera, which questioned and ex- panded traditional uses of materials, and faced with an al- leged digital dematerialization of contemporary reality, materials have become a field of art historical research, to which Monika Wagner has signally contributed. Textiles are not only part of this new field, but, more interestingly, they also challenge established notions of artistic material. A fab- ric is commonly called a material. Being a technological product and not a raw material, however, the label “textile” is correct only in the metaphoric sense of designating anything, processed or not, that can be used in the manufacture of something else, such as clothes. But, raw material itself being irrelevant to a definition of “textility,” and used to designate equally wickerwork, written text, and metal curtains in archi- tecture, textiles should rather be defined by specific tech- niques of production. Then again, the techniques of assem- bly implied in embroidery, in weaving, or in connecting the World Wide Web are so diverse that we need to operate with a vague “family resemblance.” Textiles are also often under- stood as a specific medium of art. Yet this definition tends to reduce textiles to material neuters and flattened carriers of visual information—rather the opposite of the meaning con- noted by the materiality of mediums that is the focus of today’s scholarship. So, “the textile” is a hybrid under which properties are often strung together—material, technology, medium, and metaphor—and only rarely does it refer to one of these in isolation. The study of textiles consequently re- quires a wide range of methodologies, and it must concern itself with a vast array of objects.1 The history of artists’ materials contributes to the study of material culture. Over time, the appreciation and meaning of materials and mediums can drastically change. The textile decoration of sacred and profane interiors in early modern Europe is a prominent case in point. Back then, textiles were arguably the most important and expensive means of repre- sentation, apart from architecture itself. With the end of the ancien régime and the emergence of modernist aesthetics, textiles have slowly withdrawn from interior design. More- over, the textile medium was already marginalized in the aesthetic discourse with Leon Battista Alberti’s rejection of material in favor of pure artistic form, with the rise of Italian idealist “disegno” theory, with Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel’s spiritualization of art, and with the succeeding modernist primacy of painting among the visual arts, which contributed to its fading, both in art and research, until today. Nonetheless, an emerging history of artistic materi- als is not content with technological analysis, iconography, or the history of design, but will probably move toward a more comprehensive iconology of materials and history of objects.2 A more phenomenological approach to late medieval and early modern textile interiors shall be sketched here in order to illustrate the potential of an iconology of materials and, more specifically, the possible relation of materials to some- thing as abstract as space. In order to look back onto a vanished textile culture, we might start with its modern re- ception. In his Arcades Project, left unfinished at his death in 1940, Walter Benjamin critically analyzes the late nineteenth- century French intérieur. Referring to Theodor W. Adorno’s habilitation thesis on Søren Kierkegaard, published in 1933, which portrays the bourgeois flaneur and his inauthentic interiority, Benjamin characterizes the Parisian apartment as the surrogate of a domesticized public space, such as an 34 A R T B U L L E T I N M A R C H 2 0 1 3 V O L U M E X C V N U M B E R 1 rich4/z18-arbu/z18-arbu/z1800113/z182206d13m trumans S�19 11/15/12 14:40 Art: z18-2216 Input-mek arcade, theatrically costumed in fabrics. In Benjamin’s ac- count, the upholsterer’s art fights against modern glass and iron architecture, disintegrates architectural space itself, and transforms it into an arachnean cocoon or uterine cave. According to him, the prototype of the historicist dwelling is not the house but the case or container (“Gehäuse”), the silk-lined etui, sheath, or capsule (“Futteral”), which holds the imprint of their occupants and receives the traces of their lives. Benjamin’s Arcades Project, an archaeology of the bour- geois culture that amassed and commodified all styles dating before the Restoration, layers a modernist stance onto medi- eval and early modern notions of interior space. Benjamin might have also been aware of Adolf Loos’s article “Interior,” first published in 1898 and again in 1921 and 1931, which adopts Gottfried Semper’s anthropological clothing princi- ple (“Bekleidungsprinzip”), as laid out in his Style of 1860/63, and his notion of “truth to materials.” What matters most here is that Loos demands the architect start by imagining the emotional impact of the planned interior spaces that are developed from basic decorative elements, such as carpets. Only thereafter shall the architect conceive of a tectonic structure to sustain or “wear” those interior spaces.3 Norbert Elias’s understanding of dwelling structures as socially inflected and of spatial dispositions as materializa- tions of communication structures and social formations, which he expounded in his Court Society of 1969, has been foundational to the sociology of space and to the study of architecture. Still, while he stresses decorum as the expression of negotiated and regulated social distinction, he says little about decoration. More to the point, the attempt to link inte- rior arrangement with social practice often fails to accept the de facto multifunctionality of architectural spaces and their ad hoc definition by furniture. Indeed, in premodern resi- dences, habitable spaces or cubicles are constituted by lining a building’s architectural cavities with fabrics. The alcove appears as a mise en abyme of such textile spaces, a phenom- enon that contradicts the Renaissance notion of architecture as transparent geometric space. Thus, Benjamin’s analysis of the historicist interior and Loos’s conception of architectural space as perceived from within are useful for overcoming two common approaches in scholarship: one that views tapestries as autonomous, decontextualized works of art, akin to paint- ings, and another that considers wall hangings as superfluous froufrou disguising architecture. Instead, textile decor should be understood as a most vital element of a cultural “habitus.”4 A close reading of late medieval and early modern visual evidence for textile interiors reveals some characteristics of textile spaces, such as the temporal thickness and aesthetic longevity conferred by narrative tapestries; the ability of tex- tile ephemeral microarchitecture, such as baldachins and balconies, to literally turn inside out, in a manner reminis- cent of the topological model of the reversible “sock” de- scribed by Benjamin; and tapestries’ function as portable iconographic contexts or symbolic spaces fostering a typolog- ical perception of a doubled reality and creating immersive panopticons. The late medieval tradition of courtly “cham- bres,” room-filling and often furniture-covering sets of ver- dures, millefleurs, and genre scenes in landscapes, trans- formed bare architectural interiors into loci amoeni, that is, artificial paradises, as Aby Warburg made clear in his essay “Peasants at Work in Burgundian Tapestries” of 1907. Such verdures powerfully suggest the nonarchitectural, spatially am- biguous depth and texture of nature itself. As places of atemporal pleasures and unlikely encounters, they estab- lished a “heterotopy.” In Michel Foucault’s “Of Other Spaces,” a lecture delivered in 1967 and published in 1984, the heterotopia is exemplified by the garden as a microcosm and the carpet as a mobile garden. On the one hand, the material and colored flatness of wall hangings was to re- emerge later, as the modernist “carpet paradigm” of abstract art. On the other hand, tapestries undulating in the draft, folded, pulled back, or, especially, hung around the corners of a room created a unique, immersive experience of visual depth by warping an otherwise flat or relieflike picture, which offers an alternative notion of illusion based on the materi- ality of the textile image in which figure and support merge. This medium-specific effect, which outdoes perspectival panel painting, can sometimes be experienced in museums today, but it was observed and documented already by the Limbourg brothers with the greatest perspicacity in the early fifteenth century (Fig. 1). In their January miniature of the Tr̀es riches heures for the Duke of Berry, a War of Troy tapestry is hung around the left corner of the room and wrapped up above the chimneypiece so as to suggest that the turret of the city wall protrudes into the room, that the cavalry enters and storms the real space, and that it crushes the enemy into the tapestry’s folds. Tapestries’ incongruous and material spati- ality adapts to a plurality of moving eyes looking at nonplanar and multifocal images.5 At the turn of the twentieth century, with August Schmar- sow, Alois Riegl, and Heinrich Wölfflin, an art historical concept of space emerges that is not based on architectural and perspectival definitions and techniques. In combining the “history of seeing” with the history of representational techniques, Erwin Panofsky’s Perspective as Symbolic Form in 1927 still offers a master narrative for the history of visual space. Panofsky describes early and high medieval pictorial flatness as a Neoplatonic repudiation of the Aristotelian to- pological notion of place, in favor of a qualitative, bodily two-dimensionality, conceived as an immaterial fabric made of light, lines, and colored surfaces. Late medieval art then discovers the transparency of the picture plane and creates boxes, niches, and textile baldachins in order to form a pictorial and sculptural space for human figures. The transi- tion from medieval discontinuous space to infinite res extensa, from relational space (“Aggregatraum”) to absolute space (“Systemraum”), began with the invention of linear perspec- tive and was later theorized by Isaac Newton. As Wolfgang Kemp remarks, pictorial space from Giotto to Jan van Eyck can be described as a carved-out relieflike cavity, furnished with figures and objects, constituted by their reciprocal rela- tion, both spatial and narrational. Here, textiles follow or replace the walls, fabricate alcovelike spaces, and are lifted to open the view through the missing “fourth wall.” Early mod- ern perspectival space, instead, gives a view through a con- tinuum in which textiles, hung or folded, are reduced to two-dimensional planes symbolizing the opaque materiality and deficiency of pictorial representation.6 The fact that textiles defined the experience and idea of N O T E S F R O M T H E F I E L D : M A T E R I A L I T Y 35 rich4/z18-arbu/z18-arbu/z1800113/z182206d13m trumans S�19 11/15/12 14:40 Art: z18-2216 Input-mek F1 interior space from the Middle Ages well into the nineteenth century, as Benjamin and Loos acknowledge, contradicts a one-dimensional, modernist, evolutionary narrative. The re- construction of a premodern “textile discourse,” which has been obscured by the paradigm of perspectival transparency, can profit from phenomenological and topological ap- proaches, as sketched out in Foucault’s lecture and explored by Gilles Deleuze, that emerge with the recent “spatial turn” in the humanities and social sciences. Medieval and early modern textile interiors testify to a notion of space as some- thing material, opaque, sensorial, discontinuous, non-Euclid- ean, folded, polyfocal, social, and topological. For instance, Jan Vermeer’s boxlike, furnished, textile intérieurs have been recently associated with a relational understanding of space endorsed by Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz and Christiaan Huy- gens against Newton’s theory. Instead of a longue durée, bodily understanding of space, art history assumes the break- through and pervasiveness of the perspectival idea of space since the quattrocento, defined as something transparent, immaterial, neutral, rational, uniform, and infinite. In the history of visuality, the instauration of the perspectival tableau and the idea of absolute space have eclipsed an earlier, but 1 Limbourg brothers, January, from Les tr̀es riches heures du duc de Berry, 1412–16, illumination on vellum, 113⁄8 � 81⁄4 in. (29 � 21 cm). Musée Condé, Chantilly, fol. 1v (artwork in the public domain; photograph © RMN-Grand Palais (Domaine de Chantilly)/Rene-Gabriel Ojéda) 36 A R T B U L L E T I N M A R C H 2 0 1 3 V O L U M E X C V N U M B E R 1 rich4/z18-arbu/z18-arbu/z1800113/z182206d13m trumans S�19 11/15/12 14:40 Art: z18-2216 Input-mek C O L O R long-lasting textile spatiality, which contemporary art and architecture, today, help to re-discover.7 Tristan Weddigen is professor of early modern art at the University of Zurich (PhD Technische Universität, Berlin). He has published on Italian Renaissance art and on the history of collecting. He is currently leading the European Research Council Starting Grant research project “An Iconology of the Textile Medium in Art and Architecture” [University of Zurich, Institute of Art History, Raem- istrasse 73, CH-8006 Zurich, Switz., tristan.weddigen@uzh.ch]. Notes I would like to thank Gail Feigenbaum (The Getty Research Institute), Julia Gelshorn (University of Hamburg), and David Young Kim (University of Pennsylvania) for their valuable comments. 1. Monika Wagner, “Material,” in Ästhetische Grundbegriffe, ed. Karlheinz Barck et al. (Stuttgart: Metzler, 2000 –2001), vol. 3, 866 – 82; idem, Das Material der Kunst (Munich: Beck, 2001); Monika Wagner and Dietmar Rübel, eds., Material in Kunst und Alltag (Berlin: Akademie, 2002); Monika Wagner, ed., Lexikon des künstlerischen Materials (Munich: Beck, 2002); Dietmar Rübel et al., eds., Materialästhetik (Berlin: Reimer, 2005). See also Michael Baxandall, Painting and Experience in 15th Century Italy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972); Jean-François Lyotard and Thierry Chaput, eds., Les immat́eriaux, 3 vols. (Paris: Centre Georges Pompidou, 1985); Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht and Karl Ludwig Pfeiffer, eds., Materialität der Kommunikation (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1988); Thomas Raff, Die Sprache der Materialien (Munich: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 1994); Andreas Haus et al., eds., Material im Prozess (Berlin: Reimer, 2000); and Michael Cole, “The Cult of Materials: Sculpture through Its Material Histories,” in Revival and Invention, ed. Martina Droth and Sébastien Clerbois (Oxford: Lang, 2011), 1–15. 2. Leon Battista Alberti, De statua—De pictura—Elementa picturae, ed. Oskar Bätschmann et al. (Darmstadt: WBG, 2011), 235–37; and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Vorlesungen über die Ästhetik III (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1990), 11–16. 3. Walter Benjamin, Das Passagen-Werk, ed. Rolf Tiedemann (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1982), 281–300; Theodor W. Adorno, Kierkegaard: Konstruk- tion des Ästhetischen, ed. Rolf Tiedemann et al. (Darmstadt, WBG, 1998), 61– 69; Adolf Loos, “Intérieurs,” in Gesammelte Schriften, ed. Adolf Opel (Vienna: Lesethek, 2010), 68 –74; and Gottfried Semper, Style (Los Ange- les: Getty Research Institute, 2004). Cf. Christoph Asendorf, Batterien der Lebenskraft (Giessen: Anabas, 1984), 89 –99; Philippe Ariès and Georges Duby, A History of Private Life, 5 vols. (London: Belknap, 1987), vol. 3; Claudia Becker, Zimmer-Kopf-Welten (Munich: Fink, 1990); Sabine Schulze, ed., Innenleben (Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz, 1998); Susie McKellar and Penny Sparke, eds., Interior Design and Identity (Manchester: Man- chester University Press, 2004); Charles Rice, The Emergence of the Interior (London: Routledge, 2007); Felix Krämer, Das unheimliche Heim (Co- logne: Böhlau, 2007); Markus Brüderlin and Annelie Lütgens, eds., Inter- ieur Exterieur (Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz, 2008); Karl Schütz, Das Interieur in der Malerei (Munich: Hirmer, 2009); Karl Schütz, ed., Raum im Bild (Mu- nich: Hirmer, 2009); and Alla Myzelev and John Potvin, eds., Fashion, Interior Design and the Contours of Modern Identity (Farnham, U.K.: Ash- gate, 2010). Cf. Alina Payne, “Notes from the Field: Anthropomorph- ism,” Art Bulletin 94 (March 2012): 29 –31. 4. Norbert Elias, The Court Society (New York: Pantheon, 1983). Cf. Émile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life (New York: Free Press, 1968); Pierre Bourdieu, “Post-face,” in, Architecture gothique et pensée scolas- tique, by Erwin Panofsky (Paris: Minuit, 1967), 134 – 67; Henri Lefèbvre, The Production of Space (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991); and Martina Löw, Raumsoziologie (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2001). 5. Walter Benjamin, Kleine Prosa, ed. Rolf Tiedemann (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1982), 283– 87; Aby Warburg, “Peasants at Work in Burgun- dian Tapestries,” in The Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, ed. Kurt W. Forster (Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 1999), 315–24; Michel Foucault, “Des espaces autres,” Architecture, Mouvement, Continuit́e, no. 5 (1984): 46 – 49. Cf. Philipp Ekardt, “Benjamins Bekleidungsmodelle,” in Visuelle Modelle, ed. Ingeborg Reichle et al. (Munich: Fink, 2008), 85–98; Oliver Grau, Virtual Art (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2004); Joseph Masheck, “The Carpet Paradigm,” Arts Magazine 51 (1976): 82–109; and Birgit Franke, “Die Januarminiatur der Tr̀es riches heures,” in Die Bildlichkeit sym- bolischer Akte, ed. Barbara Stollberg-Rilinger and Thomas Weissbrich (Münster: Rhema, 2010), 55–90. 6. Hans Jantzen, Über den kunstgeschichtlichen Raumbegriff (Munich: Beck, 1938); Erwin Panofsky, Perspective as Symbolic Form (New York: Zone Books, 1991); Wolfgang Kemp, Die Räume der Maler (Munich: Beck, 1996); idem, “Beziehungsspiele,” in Innenleben, ed. Sabine Schulze (Ost- fildern: Hatje Cantz, 1998), 17–29; and idem, “Raum,” in Metzler Lexikon der Kunstwissenschaft, ed. Ulrich Pfisterer (Stuttgart: Metzler, 2011), 367– 69. 7. Gilles Deleuze, The Fold, ed. Tom Conley (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992). Cf. Karin Leonhard, Das gemalte Zimmer (Mu- nich: Fink, 2003). My note from the field here is part of a larger re- search project conducted at the University of Zurich. See also the Textile Studies series published with Edition Imorde, Emsdetten: Philipp Zitzl- sperger, ed., Kleidung im Bild: Zur Ikonologie dargestellter Gewandung (2010); Tristan Weddigen, ed., Metatextile: Identity and History of a Contem- porary Art Medium (2011); idem, ed., Unfolding the Textile Medium in Early Modern Art and Literature (2011); and David Ganz and Marius Rimmele, eds., Kleider machen Leute: Vormoderne Strategien vestimentärer Bildsprache (2012). N O T E S F R O M T H E F I E L D : M A T E R I A L I T Y 37 rich4/z18-arbu/z18-arbu/z1800113/z182206d13m trumans S�19 11/15/12 14:40 Art: z18-2216 Input-mek 
work_6a33e6ttvfh2plfrluqaheznai	----	Middlesex University Research Repository An open access repository of Middlesex University research http://eprints.mdx.ac.uk Carter, Alexandra (2009) Reshaping dance through time: a critical appraisal of periodisation in relation to pedagogy and research. In: Global Perspectives on Dance Pedagogy: Research and Practice, Congress on Research in Dance, Special Conference 25-27 June 2009, de Montfort University, Leicester. Randall, Tresa, ed. Congress on Research in Dance, Birmingham, Ala., pp. 40-46. . [Book Section] This version is available at: http://eprints.mdx.ac.uk/4732/ Copyright: Middlesex University Research Repository makes the University’s research available electronically. Copyright and moral rights to this work are retained by the author and/or other copyright owners unless otherwise stated. The work is supplied on the understanding that any use for commercial gain is strictly forbidden. A copy may be downloaded for personal, non-commercial, research or study without prior permission and without charge. Works, including theses and research projects, may not be reproduced in any format or medium, or extensive quotations taken from them, or their content changed in any way, without first obtaining permission in writing from the copyright holder(s). They may not be sold or exploited commercially in any format or medium without the prior written permission of the copyright holder(s). Full bibliographic details must be given when referring to, or quoting from full items including the author’s name, the title of the work, publication details where relevant (place, publisher, date), pag- ination, and for theses or dissertations the awarding institution, the degree type awarded, and the date of the award. If you believe that any material held in the repository infringes copyright law, please contact the Repository Team at Middlesex University via the following email address: eprints@mdx.ac.uk The item will be removed from the repository while any claim is being investigated. See also repository copyright: re-use policy: http://eprints.mdx.ac.uk/policies.html#copy http://eprints.mdx.ac.uk http://eprints.mdx.ac.uk/4732/ mailto:eprints@mdx.ac.uk http://eprints.mdx.ac.uk/policies.html#copy Reshaping Dance Through Time: A critical view of historical periodisation in relation to pedagogy and research Alexandra Carter ABSTRACT: Western history is organised into more-or-less distinct “periods” which give shape to our conception of the past. I offer an alternative way of conceptualising dance history which retains the long view but disturbs conventional periodisation. This is based on Corfield‟s (2007) premise that time can be organised not only by distinguishing radical disjunctures, but also by “continuity” and “micro” change. If these concepts are applied to dance, many of the difficulties of time frame, hierarchy and value might be eroded. Furthermore, they expand the opportunities for pedagogy and research to address works or people who have been elided by traditional periodisation. The situation is a classroom in a British university. Second year undergraduates are working on a dance history module. In a previous session we have distinguished some general characteristics of modern dance and now I am describing the general social upheavals which produced the conditions of post-modernity and the relationship of these to the genre of post-modern dance. I have to make it very clear that although “post” strictly means “after” it is not a question that one set of attitudes or aesthetic imperatives replaced the other, but many manifestations of modern and post-modern dance ran – and still run - parallel. Furthermore, despite no intentional value-judgements, the notion that the post- modern is somehow “better” than the modern – an improvement - creeps into student consciousness from the reading they have done. On another day, a group of dance students tackle “classicism” as historical period and aesthetic practice. It is the period(s) which cause the problem; the early classicism of social dance, Petipa‟s classicism, Duncan‟s and the Greek revivalists, Balanchine‟s – where to put the “neo”? Yet another classroom and the topic is Romanticism. Here, again, a cautionary note must be sounded for although there seems to be a clear delineation of a Romantic era in dance, manifest in the ballets of the 1830s and 1840s, this cannot be mapped neatly on to the Romantic period in other arts. For, as John Tosh says, “different things turn at different times” (2007).The difficulties which are characterised here arise from the labelling of Western social and dance history. These labels are common; they give shape to our conception of time. They are the main structuring principles for the construction and transmission of knowledge, in texts and teaching syllabi, as frames for historical research. And yet, as indicated by classroom practice, they can be troublesome. Motivated by these complexities, the purpose of this paper is to further characterise the concept of periodisation; identify the ways in which dance history is shaped by acceptance of dominant periods, and to point to ways in which the shape of dance history might be reconceptualised. There have, of course, been significant scholarly challenges to how we organise time. Seminal examples include those of Foucault, who was persuaded by “systems of simultaneity” (1997, xxiii) and argued for a synchronic approach as well as a diachronic one, and Lyotard (1984) who heralded the post-modern suspicion of meta-narratives, of which Western periodisation is one. Hayden White (1978) pointed more specifically to the uses and abuses of the narrative-type structures which underpin the shapes of time in historiography. In dance specifically, Franko (1996) offers an example of one way in which the canon, instrumental in forming and being formed by traditional periods in time, can be disrupted by exploring non-canonical work in parallel. Early challenges came not from historians but from anthropologists such as Joann Kealiinohomoku (1969-70) and Drid Wiliams (1991). i Despite these challenges, however, the idea of shaping time based on canons of work and communicated though narrative structures which shape periods is still fundamental to how we think about the past. Theories of periodisation As I have summarised elsewhere, “the writing of history is the writing of stories about the past … which imply a traditional narrative structure of beginning, middle and end” (Carter 2004, 11). These stories “give shape to experiences as a way of understanding them” (Husbands 1996, 46) and we “choose the chronological parameters or boundaries of our narrative in order to construct a meaningful account of what has happened” (Southgate 1996, 114). As such, “almost every product of historical scholarship includes a statement on periodisation, at least implicitly” (Reinhard in Bentley 1997, 281). These periods may take the sweeping general form of Ancient, Medieval and Modern, or be sub- divided into stages such as Early Modern and late Modern (though one rarely meets a Middle Modern). They might be more ethnically specific in terms of reigning monarchs such as “Elizabethan” or “Victorian” or might privilege certain artistic traits such as the Baroque or the Classical. Furthermore, there are “numerous subdivisions that are conveniently accepted for ease of teaching and communication” (Corfield 2007, 202). Conceptualised and transmitted in many different modes, from classic written texts to artefacts to human memory, all world histories are shaped through time. These organising principles are not neutral, however, for they give rise to meaning as phenomena are interpreted within the critical frames of reference which belong to each period. Now, however, these are “tending to become hazy, as the established categories have been overstretched” (Corfield 2007, 202). Reinhard affirms, “we no longer believe in periods with clear cut temporal limits. . . However, communication among scholars cannot do without some recognizable subdivision of history” (1997, 282). Furthermore, although constructed by human beings and in that sense artificial, Reinhold argues that “this is not to say that they are the creations of complete arbitrariness” but they depend on “a critical mass of new knowledge” which conforms to “the dominant ideology, especially with a consistent idea of national history” (1997, 282). It is, perhaps, a postmodern wariness not only of the fallibility of these grand narratives but also a wariness of causality and resultant suspicion of any chronological categories at all, that has given rise to a blurring of disciplinary boundaries, as history – which looks back through time - merges with cultural studies, which tends to look across time. This, however, has resulted in history being “salami sliced”, a strategy which misses the wider view of how patterns are created and how they relate (Corfield 2007). This trend is reflected in the more recently published dance history texts, as I will go on to illustrate. However, as John Tosh hinted, the “temporal turn” in the humanities which has paid more attention to a deeper analysis of the small moments in time, the “thick descriptions”, is now possibly turning back to the “long view” (2007). The shape of time in dance How has dance organised its “long view” of Western theatre history? I undertook a qualitative analysis of the organisation of time in a selection of twenty-five dance history books published mainly in the twentieth/early twenty-first century. These largely comprised English language texts which recorded “popular” history, written in the main, not by academics but by dance lovers and critics. Nevertheless they were, and still are, influential in sustaining periodic constructs. I explored how information was organised into chapters which clustered around specific time periods or themes. Although a close reading might reveal some deep continuities this tends not to be the case, for each “period” is usually addressed quite discretely. This analysis, although rudimentary, revealed some discernible trends. Not surprisingly, until recently, most texts offer the long view, and the earlier the publication, the longer the view. Three early texts (Vuillier 1898, Urlin 1911, Kinney & Kinney 1914) all follow a similar pattern and tell an on-going narrative which embraces social, folk, national and theatre dance. They start with “primitive” (a term we are now somewhat more sensitive to) or ancient dance and move on to the “antique” forms of Egypt, Greece and Rome. Then there are sections on national dances followed by chapters on ballet and modern dancing. In these early texts, the term “modern” refers to both ballroom and social dance (Vuillier) and also to the temporal “modern” in relation to the time the books were published. ii It is not until the 1940s, particularly in the United States, when “modern” is firmly used to describe a genre. (In Britain, the term “contemporary” evolved as a way of avoiding the genre-based association with ballroom and modern theatrical dance.) iii The dance history books of the early twentieth century prefigure a trend which continues throughout the corpus of later writing. That is, they trace the history of dance as a social or ritual activity and then move seamlessly into the history of ballet from the sixteenth century. The social history tends to stop as theatre dance takes over. iv In these texts, the all-encompassing titles of the books hide the fact that dance genres become bifurcated. The branch of social/popular forms is rendered invisible as the history of theatre dance is privileged. The history of social dance is then recorded through a different corpus of texts with different organising principles. Thus, although time is shaped chronologically, the different functions of dance have different shapes. In the main, the history of theatre dance is clustered into what have become solidified key periods and places. Precursors are traced to the Italian Renaissance and the English masques, then the French ballets de cours. Ballet history “proper” continues on from the mid seventeenth century. The next chunks of history are organised in to the Romantic era in London and Paris of the 1830-1840s, the classical period emerging from Imperial Russia in the latter half of the nineteenth century and the Ballets Russes in Western Europe during the first two decades of the twentieth. Depending on authorial perspective, the focus then turns to the development of ballet in the United States (Kirstein 1935, Martin 1946, Anderson 1992) or in Britain (Brinson and Crisp 1980), thus conforming to Reinhold‟s idea of an ideological national history (1997, 282). The history of theatre dance forms tends to bifurcate at the beginning of the twentieth century into ballet and modern. Modern dance as an accepted genre settles in the United States, as does the postmodernism of the 1960s and 1970s. There is only brief mention of indigenous activity in Central Europe. After that, with no nomenclature to describe the varied phenomena of broader international developments, there tends to be a more fragmented approach by recording the activities of individual artists rather than “movements” or “periods” (for example, Au 1988, Anderson 1992). v This is, of course, a generalised description of how dance writers of popular texts shape time and privilege place. Recent research on the content of dance history syllabi in British universities revealed the same shape to dance time (Carter 2007) thus confirming how reified the major periods and geographic epicentres of dance have become. Re-shaping time In order to, if not overturn this reification, at least to render our teaching syllabi and research paradigms a little more flexible, I offer some concepts taken from Penelope Corfield‟s book on Time and the shape of history (2007). Corfield argues that the radical disjunctures which mark the key stages through time have been over-emphasized. It is these disjunctures which shape the recording of dance history: the evolution of theatre dance marks a key turning point away from social dance; the (neo-) classicism of the late nineteenth century is set against ballet‟s Romantic period; vi the works produced for the Ballets Russes embody a conscious rebellion against this neo-classicism; postmodern dance marks a radical turning point away from the modern. To exemplify the problematic nature of dominant modes of categorisation, Corfield explores the concepts of modernity and postmodernity and their related ‟isms, arguing that “none of these categories remain historically stable. The contradictory usages stem from the fact that the rival pulls of continuity and of the different sorts of change are not analysed together” (2007, 124) his is a useful argument for dance wherein the continuity of modernism is rarely addressed alongside the radical changes of postmodernism or, it must be said, the varying national contexts for the development of postmodernism in dance. vii A further consequence of shaping late-twentieth century dance history into these two over- arching categories of modernism and post-modernism is the question of value judgements which binaries entail. There is “often a subtle disparagement within the “aftermath” terminology, or at least a downplaying of what has gone before. In particular, „postmodern‟ attitudes to „modernity‟ were often hostile ones of rejection” (Corfield 2007, 127). Manning describes how in many dance departments in the U.S. “the values of postmodern dance” have “replaced the values of modern dance” (2008, 5). And yet, claims Martin (2008, 11), in similar “historical succession … postmodern dance comments and innovates on what had come before in a manner that would render it indistinguishable from the process of linear stylistic progression in modernism itself”. The claimed polarity between “modernity/ postmodernity”, says Corfield, “greatly underestimates diversity within the former concept and equally overestimates novelty within the latter” (2007, 130). The same argument can be applied to other periods in dance history: the Romantic era put back the heart that had been lost in ballet, and, one of dance history‟s most “radical disjunctures,” Diaghilev‟s Ballets Russes “revolutionised” dance by deploying unity of production in order to put back the expressiveness that had been lost in the preceding neo-classical era. In dance literature, periods such as these are seen to emerge afresh, with “the shock of the new,” from stages of decline. We must be wary, however, for history “resists being simply explained by a binary change from state A to state B” (2007, 130). Corfield‟s solution to this emphasis on radical change as the shaping principle of time is that there is not just this one but “three central and interlocking dimensions of history . . . continuity (persistence, tradition), gradual change (evolution) and all forms of rapid, frictional and discontinuous change (turbulence; upheaval; revolution)” (2007, xx). The first of these, continuity, is an under-rated and under-theorised phenomenon. It also, Corfield argues, attracts value judgements, being seen not as a continuous moving on but as an historical state of stasis. In the arts particularly, continuity of practice is not “value added”, and we lose the sense of shared practices, lasting aesthetic concerns and common audience tastes over time. Corfield further argues that the different types of change have not been distinguished. As well as radical or macro change, she argues for the notion of gradual or “micro change.” It is the micro changes which tend to produce trends and it enables cultural commentators to take a short-term view. The notion of micro change might also help our understanding not only of dance‟s past but also of recent developments. This conceptual category allows for speculation and might also soften or blur the hard edges of what have been seen as key turning points in dance history. In summary, dance history as organised in formal modes of transmission such as history books and teaching syllabi, is characterised by rebellion against what went before, with the privileging of what came “after.” However, “while stage theories do well at highlighting fundamental transformations, they consistently underplay both deep continuities and the micro-changes that bridge turning points” (Corfield 2007, 184). In dance, the work of Merce Cunningham might exemplify the point. Using Corfield‟s model, we need not fret as to whether Cunningham was a modernist, a postmodernist or (latterly) a neo-classicist, nor even posit that he was in-between or on the cusp of any of these. What might be more helpful and less constraining would be a reflection on Cunningham‟s work which revealed the intersections between the continuities, the micro-changes and the radical departures both within his own practice and in relation to the practice of others. As Southgate argues, the categorisation of stages, the “imposition of frameworks . . . enables us to live and to do history . . . what we are calling our history is something that is imposed upon a far more complex reality than we could ever otherwise deal with, and that by accepting one history (or version of history) we are inevitably excluding many others” (1996, 64). viii New critical frameworks have enabled new histories to be written (Banes 1998, Burt 1998, Stoneley 2007). The trend for self- reflexivity has resulted in books which not only present the narratives but which also tackle the methodological nature of their construction (Adshead and Layson 1983; Carter 2004; Dils and Albright 2001). Although presented in “reader” type form with discrete chapters, the former two also adopt a roughly chronological stance. In Dils and Albright, however, the intersections between dance history and cultural studies is most fully demonstrated, as the free-standing chapters range across genre, time and place with large section headings which are organised geographically rather than chronologically. Thus, the problems of periodisation are avoided. It is in this trend for the fragmented, with contributions from many different writers in edited collections, that the postmodern suspicion both of causality and of the authorial “one view” reaches fruition. It is noticeable that no-one writes general theatre dance history texts, spanning the breadth of time or even linking times, any more. It is a challenge to those who research and write, to teachers who communicate that knowledge, to organise the past into ways that have coherence, that can be transmitted to students with some logic but that allows for the discernment of continuities, trends and radical changes. As Corfield argues, “we learn . . . from happenings that are rare and strange as well as from those that are habitual and routine” (2007, 194). Nevertheless, I would argue, if “the past forms and informs us, as we are in time and time is in our very bones” (2007, 194), the long view of time – perhaps more flexibly organised - is still essential if we are to make sense of our dances, ourselves and our present. Notes i I am grateful to the anonymous reader of this paper in an earlier form for these references. ii What constitutes the “modern” time is variable; for example, for Perugini (1915 and 1935) the Modern Era starts in the early nineteenth century. iii Although the term contemporary had been used before, it was consolidated with the founding of London Contemporary Dance School and Theatre in London in the mid 1960s. iv This is apparent in, for example, Martin (1946), Sorell (1967), Kraus (1969), Cohen (1974), Sorell (1981) and Clarke and Crisp (1981). Interestingly, some texts such as Martin and Clarke and Crisp return to the popular, if not the social, in terms of dance for stage and screen. v Even though some book chapters are organised thematically, they still evolve into a chronological perspective. For example, in Martin (1946), “Dance for the sake of the dancer” offers an overview of folk and ballroom, “Dance as spectacle” is on the court ballet through to the American roots of ballet and “Dance as a means of communication” focuses on the early modern, modern and “Negro” dance. What seems to be thematic is still, therefore, chronological and periodical. A rare example of how dance history is genuinely treated thematically is in Fonteyn‟s The Magic of Dance (1980). Chapters given titles such “Dance magical”, “Dance universal” and “Dance experimental” do embrace a wide ranging and chronologically overlapping content. It is highly likely that such a structure evolved from the origins of the book as a television series (BBC2, 1980), for a purely chronological account might not have had the same viewer appeal as a more visually diverse thematic one. The Martin and Fonteyn texts tend to be exceptions to the general overt chronological organisation of dance history. vi I use upper case for Romantic here as this is a commonly recognised era across the arts, whereas although there was a re-emergence of classicism in the late 19 th c. lower case classicism tends to the refer to the aesthetic principles of the works. However, this typographical strategy is arguable. vii Most of the literature on this period emanated from American writers. Although happening within the same time frame, the British New Dance movement was equally “postmodern” and although recorded by writers such as Jordan (1992) and Mackrell (1992) it is noticeable how this aspect of postmodern dance has lacked the same visibility. In fact, an analysis of the history teaching syllabi in British universities revealed that it is decidedly invisible (Carter 2007). Activity which contested the norms of modernism in mainland Europe during this period are even more rarely recorded in the English language long view of Western theatre dance history, though this is now receiving far more critical and historiographic attention. viii Recently, dance historians have explored these exclusions by focussing on the „gaps‟ between periods, claiming the case for marginalised practitioners (for example, Clark and Johnson 2005) and widening the net for what constitutes the generic history of dance in the West (O‟Shea 2007). Works Cited Bentley, Michael, ed., 1997. Companion to historiography. London: Routledge. Burt, Ramsay. 1998. Alien bodies: representations of modernity, “race” and nation in early modern dance. London: Routledge. Carter, Alexandra. 2007. Dance history matters in British higher education. Research in Dance Education 8, no. 2 (November): 123-137. Claid, Emilyn. 2006. Yes? No! Maybe…seductive ambiguity in dance. London: Routledge. Clark, VèVè A. & Johnson, Sara E., eds. 2005. Kaiso! Writings by and about Katherine Dunham. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Corfield, Penelope. 2007. Time and the shape of history. New Haven: Yale UP. Foucault, Michel. [1966] 1997. The order of things: an archaeology of the human sciences. London: Routledge. Franko, Mark. 1995. Dancing modernism/performing politics. Bloomington: Indiana UP. Husbands, Chris. 1996. What is history teaching? Language, ideas and meaning in learning about the past. Buckingham: Open UP. Jordan, Stephanie. 1992. Striding out: aspects of contemporary and New Dance in Britain. London: Dance Books. Kealiinohomoku, Johann. 1969-70. An anthropologist looks at ballet as a form of ethnic dance. Impulse: Impulse Publications. Llewellyn, Nigel. 1997.The history of Western art history. In Companion to historiography. ed. Michael Bentley, 828-848. London: Routledge. Lyotard, Jean-François. [1979] 1984. The postmodern condition: a report on knowledge. Manchester: Manchester UP. Mackrell, Judith.1992. Out of line: the story of British New Dance. London: Dance Books. Manning, Susan. 2006. Letter from the President. Society of Dance History Scholars Newsletter XXVI, no. 2: 1-2 ____ 2008. Looking back, Looking back, moving forward. 31 st Annual Conference Proceedings, Society of Dance History Scholars: Saratoga Springs. Martin, Randy. 2008. Moving forward. Looking back, moving forward. 31 st Annual Conference Proceedings, Society of Dance History Scholars: Saratoga Springs. O‟Shea, Janet. 2007. At home in the world: Bharata Natyam on the global stage. Middletown: Wesleyan UP. Reinhard, Wolfgang. 1997. The idea of Early in modern history. In Companion to historiography. ed. Michael Bentley, 281-292. London: Routledge. Southgate, Beverley. 1996. History: what and why? Ancient, modern and postmodern perspectives. London: Routledge. Tosh, John. 2007. Unpublished introduction presented at Time and History: inter-disciplinary symposium. Centre for Research in History and Theory, March 24 at Roehampton University, London. White, Hayden. 1978. Tropics of discourse. Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins UP. Williams, Drid. (1991) 2004. Anthropology and the dance: ten lectures. Illinois: University of Illinois Press. Dance history texts used for analysis Adshead, Janet & Layson, June. 1983, 1994. Dance history: an introduction. London: Routledge. Anderson, Jack. 1992 (2 nd ed.). Ballet and modern dance: a concise history. Princeton: Princeton Book Co. Au, Susan. 1988. Ballet and modern dance. London: Thames & Hudson. Banes, Sally. 1998. Dancing women: female bodies on stage. London: Routledge. Brinson, Peter. & Crisp Clement. 1980. Ballet and dance: a guide to the repertory. Newton Abbot: David & Charles. Carter, Alexandra. 2004. Rethinking dance history: a reader. London: Routledge. Clarke, Mary and Clement Crisp. 1981. The history of dance. New York: Crown Publishers. Cohen, Selma Jeanne. 1974. Dance as a theatre art: source readings in dance history from 1581 to the present. New York: Dodd Mead. Dils, Ann and Ann Cooper Albright, eds. 2001. Moving history/dancing cultures: a dance history reader. Middletown: Wesleyan UP. Flitch, John Ernest Crawford. 1912. Modern dancing and dancers. London: Grant Richards. Fonteyn, Margot. 1980. The magic of dance. London: British Broadcasting Corporation. Jowitt, Deborah. 1988. Time and the dancing image. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kinney, Troy & Margaret. 1914. The dance: its place in art and life. New York: Tudor. Kirstein, Lincoln. [1935], 1942. Dance: a short history of classic theatrical dancing. New York: G.P. Putnam‟s Sons. Kraus, Richard. 1969. History of the dance in art and education. New Jersey: Prentice Hall. Lawson, Joan. 1964. A history of ballet and its makers. London: Dance Books. Martin, John. 1946. The dance: the story of the dance told in pictures and text. New York: Tudor. Perugini, Mark Edward. 1915. The art of ballet. London: Martin Secker. ---- 1935. A pageant of the dance and ballet. London: Jarrolds. Sachs, Curt. 1933 trans. B. Schönberg 1937. World history of the dance. New York: W.W.Norton. Sorell, Walter. 1967. The dance through the ages. New York: Grosset & Dunlap. ----- 1981. Dance in its time. New York: Anchor Press. Stoneley, Peter. 2007. A queer history of the ballet. London: Routledge. Urlin, Ethel. 1911. Dancing ancient and modern. London: Herbert & Daniel. Vuillier, Gaston. 1898. A history of dancing from the earliest ages to our times. London: Wm. Heinemann. © 2009, Alexandra Carter Alexandra Carter is Professor of Dance Studies at Middlesex University. She edited Rethinking Dance History (2004), published on the music hall ballet (2005) and is now co-editing a 2 nd edition of the Routledge Dance Studies Reader. She is also Co-investigator on the Pioneer Women project at the University of Surrey. 
work_6bgb5rqpt5chll2i2ykb43lrbu	----	Multiperspective imaging - Computer Graphics and Applications, IEEE Our eyes have evolved with perspective optics.Because of this, perspective images seem some- what natural to our eyes; they’re well tailored for human vision. In a perspective image, the objects close to us appear large and in detail, yet we enjoy sweeping wide-range views of distant scenery. Cameras have also evolved with perspective optics. It’s natural for the optics of cameras to mimic the human eye—after all, a camera’s primary function is to produce images that humans can interpret and enjoy. However, our perspective has some unfortunate shortcomings. In particular, our eyes have a limited field of view, and we can only see the world in front of us. Ideally, we could see in all directions at once. Additionally, we can only see one side of an object at a time—for example, the front or the back. But suppose you could see all sides at the same time? In the last several years, some researchers (including ourselves) have investigated techniques that capture mul- tiple perspectives into a single image—a problem known as multiperspective imaging. Multiperspective images are useful for several reasons. The ability to capture a panoramic field of view or both the front and back of an object leads to richer and more complete visualizations. At the same time, these images are well suited for pro- cessing in computer vision problems such as stereo recon- struction and motion analysis. This article presents an overview of our work in this area, and our view of multi- perspective imaging in general. References to additional research are available at http://grail.cs.washington. edu/projects/stereo/cga.htm and elsewhere.1 Beginnings Multiperspective imaging has a long and interesting background. Indeed, before the Italian Renaissance, vir- tually all paintings were multiperspective. Purposefully bending the laws of perspective is a common theme in modern art as well, for instance in the work of Picasso and Cezanne. A particularly striking example is M.C. Escher’s Print Gallery (see http://escherdroste.math. leidenuniv.nl/). Outside of art, multiperspective projections are com- mon in cartography and in aerial and satellite-sensing applications. You can find a fascinating range of multi- perspective optics in biological systems; perhaps the best-known example is the common house fly’s com- pound eye. Studying these biological systems has inspired man-made devices, including a cosmic ray detector known as “The Fly’s Eye” (see http://www. cosmic-ray.org/reading/flyseye.html). Plenoptic function An image captures light emanating from a scene in certain directions—that is, along a distribution of light rays. We may characterize an image based on which dis- tribution of light rays it captures. In particular, a per- spective image captures only the light in the scene that hits the focal point, as Figure 1 shows. Other light ray distributions give rise to multiper- spective images. Generally, we can define an image to be any 2D distribution of rays in space. A 5D function known as the plenoptic function p(x, y, z, θ, φ) describes the set of all light rays. This function specifies each ray’s origin (x, y, z) and direction (θ, φ).2 The light along each ray is defined by additional parameters of wavelength λ and the time t at which point the light was sensed. The plenoptic function provides a mathematical framework for categorizing different varieties of images. In partic- ular, we can represent any image as a 2D subset, or slice, of the plenoptic function. Path images How do you actually produce multiperspective images? Unlike perspective images captured with con- ventional cameras, producing multiperspective images requires specialized optical devices, arrays of conven- tional cameras, or moving cameras in special ways. The easiest way to capture multiperspective images Steven M. Seitz and Jiwon Kim University of Washington Multiperspective Imaging____________________________ Projects in VR Editors: Lawrence Rosenblum and Michael Macedonia 16 November/December 2003 Published by the IEEE Computer Society 0272-1716/03/$17.00 © 2003 IEEE (a) (b) 1 Set of rays corresponding to (a) a perspective image and (b) a multiperspective image. is to move a regular video camera along a path and assemble the resulting image sequence into an x-y-t block of pixel data. The resulting pixel data is known as the spatiotemporal volume, or simply, the video cube. Once assembled, you can slice the video cube to pro- duce different types of multiperspective images, as Figure 2 shows. We call these slices path images. As a concrete example, Figure 3 shows a video cube created by pointing a camcorder out a car window and driving slowly down a residential street. The cube’s left face is the last image of the input sequence, an x-y slice with a constant value of t. The video cube’s top face is an x-t slice, corresponding to y = 1. This image contains the first row of all of the input images, stacked one on top of the next. We gen- erally refer to this as an epipolar plane image (EPI) in computer vision literature. Each scene point traces out a linear path in the EPI. Furthermore, the line’s slope is proportional to scene depth, a useful property for image analysis. Notice the cube’s front face, a y-t slice containing the last column of all of the input images. This image—known as a pushbroom image—provides a panoramic view of the street. Although it looks similar to a perspective image, each column of a pushbroom image is acquired from a different point along the camera’s trajectory. It therefore depicts a continuum of camera viewpoints. We can create a pushbroom image from any column of the image—that is, any y-t slice. We can achieve an inter- esting effect by viewing all the y-t slice images as a movie sequence, in order of increasing x. The street scene appears to rotate in place from left to right. To see this movie, visit http://grail.cs.washington.edu/projects/ stereo/cga.htm. Pushbroom images yield superior visualizations of streets, landscapes, and other long linear scenes. We can produce different types of video cubes and multiperspective images by moving a camera on a curved path instead of a line. For example, consider moving a camera in a circle around an object of interest, with the camera facing in toward the center of the circle. If the image is assembled into a video cube, y-t slices capture an inward-facing panorama of the object or scene within the circle. Archeologists sometimes use these images (known as cyclographs) to create unwrapped views of ancient pot- tery. Traditional cyclographs are produced by pho- tographing a rotating object through a narrow slit placed in front of a length of moving film—a technique that dates back to the late 19th century. We can simu- late the same effect with a regular video camera, as we show in the “Multiperspective stereo” section. Multiperspective stereo Sometimes we can view two perspective images with the right characteristics stereoscopically. Our brain fuses the two images to produce a sensation of depth. Interestingly, the same is true for certain types of mul- tiperspective images. For example, any two pushbroom images created from different y-t slices of the same video cube may be fused stereoscopically. Figure 4a (next page) shows an example of a stereo pushbroom image created in this manner from a longer version of the same sequence shown in Figure 3. It’s displayed as an anaglyph, viewable using red-blue glasses. Stereo images may also be created by moving a cam- era on a circle instead of a line. If the camera is facing outward, the resulting images are often referred to as stereo panoramas. If the camera is facing inward, the results are stereo cyclographs. Figure 4 shows a stereo cyclograph anaglyph image created by moving a cam- era on a rotary arm around a person’s head. Also shown is a stereo cyclograph of a toy horse, generated by rotat- ing the horse on a turntable, in front of a stationary video camera. Note that the head and horse stereo cyclo- graphs let you see both the front and back of the subject in the same image. We can usually generate a stereo pair by moving a camera along any conic path—for example, a line, cir- cle, ellipse, hyperbola, or parabola. For more informa- IEEE Computer Graphics and Applications 17 y x t (a) (b) (c) 2 (a) A camera moves along a path and captures light rays. (b) Stacking the images one on top of another yields (c) an x-y-t video cube. Each slice of the video cube produces a path image and represents a subset of the captured light rays (shown figuratively in red). 3 Video cube captured by driving a car down a residential street with a camera pointed out the window. tion on multiperspective stereo images and how to cre- ate them, see our related article.1 Beyond their use for 3D visualization, stereo images also enable 3D measurement and reconstruction using computer vision algorithms. Traditional stereo match- ing algorithms operate on perspective images. However, we can easily adapt and apply the same tech- niques for multiperspective stereo pairs. Figure 5 shows a texture-mapped mesh model reconstructed from the horse stereo pair in Figure 4. Observe how the front, back, and both sides of the horse are recon- structed from a single stereo pair—a capability not pos- sible with perspective images. The top-down view (see Figure 5c) is hollow, since the top of the horse wasn’t visible. Looking ahead and all around So far, we’ve only considered axis-aligned planar slices of the video cube—that is, x-y, y-t, or x-t slices. To see the effects of other planar slices, we recommend down- loading the video cube application (available at http://research.microsoft.com/downloads/VideoCube/ VideoCube.asp). The application lets you view any video as an x-y-t cube and slice it interactively. Nonplanar slices enable other visualization types. We’ve developed an interactive tool that lets users spec- ify any vertical (composed of columns from the input images) video cube slice and display the result as a multiperspective image. Users specify slices through two mechanisms. The first option is to draw a curve in the x-t plane, specifying what the slice looks like from the Projects in VR 18 November/December 2003 4 (a) Stereo pushbroom of a residential street. Stereo cyclographs of (b) a human head and (c) a toy horse. All are 3D viewable with red-blue glasses. (a) (b) (c) 5 Renderings of a 3D model reconstructed from the horse cyclograph stereo pair in Figure 4: (a) front, (b) back, and (c) top-down view. (a) (b) (c) (a) (b) (c) 6 (a) Multi- perspective view showing three aisles of a supermarket at once. (b) Strip image of a train, horizontally compressed to fit on this page. (c) Expanded view of four train cars. top down. The second option is to click on regions from a set of input images that should be included in the panorama. The tool interpolates these samples via an optimization procedure to produce a smooth slice through the video cube. Figure 6a shows an image of a supermarket (created using this tool) in which the con- tents of three aisles are visible at once. We captured the input sequence by mounting the camera on a shopping cart and rolling it in a straight line in front of the aisles. We can also apply these techniques to moving scenes. For example, Figure 6b shows a pushbroom-like image of a moving train, captured from a stationary video cam- era. David Dewey created this image by taking a narrow vertical strip from the center of each image and com- positing them. Because the scene background doesn’t move, it’s repeated in each image and gives rise to the texture pattern seen in Figure 6c’s background. There’s still much room for improvement and growth in the area of multiperspective imaging. While it’s bet- ter suited than perspective images for stereo processing, problems still exist. For example, the best way to effi- ciently capture multiperspective images using special- ly designed sensors or arrays of cameras is under debate and remains an important and active topic of research. The images shown in this article are only examples and not representative of the full range of image vari- eties. Researchers are still investigating the range of images we can create as well as identifying their practi- cal uses. We believe that multiperspective images will have promising applications to a wide range of computer vision and visualization problems. � Acknowledgments Kiera Henning and David Salesin helped us develop the tool used to create the supermarket image shown in Figure 6a. We thank David Dewey for providing the train images shown in Figures 6b and 6c. References 1. S.M. Seitz and J. Kim, “The Space of All Stereo Images,” Int’l J. Computer Vision, vol. 48, no. 1, 2002, pp. 21-38. 2. E.H. Adelson and E.H. Bergen, “The Plenoptic Function and the Elements of Early Vision,” Computation Models of Visual Processing, M. Landy and J.A. Movshon eds., MIT Press, 1991. Readers may contact Steven M. Seitz and Jiwon Kim at {seitz, jwkim}@cs.washington.edu. Readers may contact the department editors by email at rosenblu@ait.nrl.navy.mil or michael_macedonia@ stricom.army.mil. IEEE Computer Graphics and Applications 19 Coming in 2004… A Free CD-ROM with Your CG&A January/February issue on Emerging Technologies IEEE AN D A PPL IC AT IO N S The January/February 2004 special issue covers the Siggraph 2003 Emerging Technologies Exhibit, where the graphics community demonstrates innovative approaches to interactivity in robotics, graphics, music, audio, displays, haptics, sensors, gaming, the Web, artificial intelligence, visualization, collaborative environments, and entertainment. The bonus CD will feature peer- reviewed, interactive demos from the exhibit. Index: CCC: 0-7803-5957-7/00/$10.00 © 2000 IEEE ccc: 0-7803-5957-7/00/$10.00 © 2000 IEEE cce: 0-7803-5957-7/00/$10.00 © 2000 IEEE index: INDEX: ind: 
work_6dglvqpfqzacjfcx74ux7pxmxi	----	PROCEEDINGS 491 for the study of military architecture. Other publications were: La peinture murale en France; le haut Moyen Age et Pepoque romane (1951); La peinture murale au dibut de Vepoque gothique (1963); and a more popular work, Aux temps des croisades. It was during his period as Director that the Mus6e de sculpture comparee became the Mus^e des monuments frangais. With the collaboration of the Historic Monuments Service, M . Deschamps created an office for the documentation of monuments, to study construction tech- niques of the past: this has proved invaluable for students of both archaeology and architecture. C O M T E BLAISE DE M O N T E S Q U I O U - F E Z E N S A C Elected Honorary Fellow 8th May 1947 Le Comte de Montesquiou-Fezensac died at his home in France on 3rd September 1974. He published widely on aspects of medieval art-history. T h e first volume of his last work, Le Tresor de Saint-Denis, appeared in 1972, and the second volume was in the hands of the printers at the time of his death. PROFESSOR DR. E M I L V O G T Elected Honorary Fellow nth January 1951 Professor Dr. Emil Vogt died as the result of a street accident on 2nd December 1974, aged 68. He was born in Basle in 1906 and worked for a short time at the Historical Museum there. From 1930 until his retirement in 1971 he worked at the National Museum in Zurich, of which he was made Vice-Director in 1953 and Director in 1961. He was appointed as the first Pro- fessor of Prehistoric Archaeology at the University of Zurich in 1945. Emil Vogt was a scholar of international repute, and a pioneer in the study of Swiss prehistory, particularly that of the Neolithic and Bronze Ages. His excavations at Egolwil from 1950 to 1966 enabled him, with other scholars, to reinterpret on a scientific basis the so-called 'lake- dwellings'. His tenure of directorship at the National Museum saw considerable advances in the techniques of display and conservation. T H O M A S SHERRER ROSS BOASE, ESQ., M . C . , M.A., F.B.A. Elected gth January 1947 Thomas Boase died on 15th April 1974 at the age of 75. He was President of Magdalen College, Oxford, from 1947 to 1968, and had been Chairman of the British School at Rome since 1965. He had a keen interest in medieval history, but his overriding interest was in pic- tures, architecture, and sculpture, including that of the medieval period, the Italian Renaissance, and eighteenth- and nineteenth-century art in England. From 1922 to 1937 Boase was tutor in History and Dean at Hertford College. He was then appointed Professor in the History of Art at the University of London and Director of the Cour- tauld Institute. In 1943 he went to the Middle East, where he spent two years as chief repre- sentative to the British Council. On returning to England he became a trustee of the National Gallery (1946—53), and a member of the advisory council of the Victoria and Albert Museum (1947—70). He was a governor of the British Museum and also of the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre. From 1958 to i960 he was Vice Chancellor of Oxford University. His publications included: Boniface Fill, St. Francis of Assisi, English Art 1100-1216, English Art 1800-jO, and Kingdoms and Strongholds of the Crusaders. He edited the Oxford History of English Art and also made valuable contributions to the Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008763 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008763 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_6gbywtxgtbatfaqnvshtpwbyve	----	Microsoft Word - aace200902defdef.doc FACTA UNIVERSITATIS Series: Architecture and Civil Engineering Vol. 7, No 2, 2009, pp. 161 - 169 DOI: 10.2298/FUACE0902161A BERLIN BETWEEN PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE UDC 711.48+72.011(430.2)(045) Biljana Arandjelović1, Kaja Pogacar2 1University of Niš, The Faculty of Civil Engineering and Architecture, Serbia 2University of Maribor, The Faculty of Civil Engineering, Slovenia E-mail: biljana.arandjelovic@gaf.ni.ac.rs, kaja.pogacar@uni-mb.si Abstract. Berlin is one of the most interesting European cities. In the Cold War period, The Berlin Wall physically divided West Berlin and East Berlin for 28 years in period from August 1961 till November 1989. Berlin was also the symbolic boundary between West countries and Communism during the Cold War, which influenced also the architectural development in the city. The city was the biggest building site in Europe in the period of 1990s. Today, Berlin is an important art center with around 1500 cultural events daily. Berlin is also since 2005 the only European UNESCO city of design. Key words: Modern architecture of Berlin, history of architecture, art in open urban space, UNESCO city of design, memorials at urban place. 1. INTRODUCTION Berlin is the city of very turbulent history that was founded in 13th century. Many radical changes happened to Berlin in the past. Today contemporary Berlin is an important world metropolis with more than 3.5 million of citizens. The World War II devastation resulted in complete destruction of the inner city center. After the World War II, Berlin was divided, as well as the whole Germany. In the year 1948, the eastern sector of Berlin, which was part of the Soviet sector become the capital of the newly established German Democratic Republic. The Western part of Berlin was under Allied rule and a part of the Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Berlin Wall, the symbol of divided Germany, has been built in 1961 and divided Berlin till 1989. The city was re-united in 1990, after collapse of Communism in Europe, and became again the capital of Germany. In 1990s the construction boom happened to Berlin which lead to attracting the most famous architects of the time to the city. In the period after 1990 many important modern buildings have been built in Berlin such as The Reichstag building by Norman Foster in 1999, Jewish Museum by Daniel Libeskind in 1999, German History Museum by I.M.Pei in 2003, Marie-Elisabeth-Lüders-Haus and Paul Löbe Haus by Stephan Braunfels, Potstadamer Platz by Renzo Piano, Richard Rogers, Arata Isozachi, Helmut Jahn, Rafael Moneo and more. Received October 10, 2009 B. ARANDJELOVIĆ, K. POGACAR 162 2. BERLIN TODAY – 20 YEARS AFTER REUNION The wall divided Berlin in two cities. In 2009 Germany celebrates 20 years of reunion after the Fall of Berlin Wall. Political decisions that influence people's lives very often lead to visual changes. Due to that reason, Berlin was the biggest building site in Europe in 1990s and the new era of the city began with the new modern look. Completely new city districts have been built after reunification. An enormous number of new buildings and representative buildings have been raised in new urban vista of Berlin. Today Berlin is a strong European political center as well as a world important art center. The Reichstag building is not only the seat of German Bundestag, but also one of the main attractions for visitors due to magnificent glass dome which welcomes everyone coming to see where German parliament operates and where important political decisions are made. The architecture in modern Berlin shows that nowadays Germany is open to everyone. Berlin is rich in numerous diverse examples of memorials all around the city, dedicated to a variety of victims of the past. The city can present a great example how ar- chitecture is able to contribute to understanding the past, forgiving and remembering all innocent victims. Beside deconstructivist masterpiece, Jewish Museum by the architect Daniel Libeskind which was opened to public 2001, the Memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe is another valuable example how Germany deals with past. In this case of pub- lic memorial, architecture has the main role because it makes ideas and visions visible and accessible to the public. There are also many small examples, apart from those already mentioned big architectural structures, where the respect to the victims is paid. These ex- amples are just small in size but the message they are sending is equally strong. At Figure 4 the example of small fence at the river Spree across the Paul Löbe Haus with the names of Cold War victims could be seen. Owing to architecture, Berlin in present is dealing with the past and is ready for a better future. Fig. 1 Wall Memory in metro station at Brandenburg gate; the newest underground station has three lines that going from Hauptbahnhof to Brandenburg gate (Berlin main train station officially opened in 2006 after almost eight years of construction work) Photograph made by the author 2009 Berlin between Past, Present and Future 163 2.1. The Reichstag- symbol of political power The Reichstag played an important role in the German history and was always a part of Berlin. The building had changed its appearance throughout different phases of the past. Also the Reichstag had very important role in the modern history as the symbol of German re-unification. The original building of the Reichstag, German Parliament, was built in the style of the Italian Renaissance in 1894 by architect Paul Wallot. The Reichstag building suffered huge damage in bombing during World War II. Renovation of the building which was carried out according to plans by Paul Baumgarten, started in 1954 and was finally com- pleted in 1972. After German reunification, Sir Norman Foster was commissioned to carry out the design for new Reichstag. The major change was removing mezzanine floors and adding a new glass dome to the room. Adding the new glass dome was very success- ful as the dome became one of the main tourist attraction of the city. Glass panels in the dome allows visitors to look at down into the parliamentary chamber beneath. Fig. 2 Reichstag, German Parliament; Photograph made by the author 2009 2.2. Paul Löbe and Marie Elisabeth Lüders Haus – part of the new parlament complex When the German parliament was moved again to Berlin, after re-unification, new ad- ditional administrative buildings had to be constructed due to new administrative needs. This new complex which is positioned just next to Reichstag is a symbol of new growing power of united Germany. Buildings are reflecting visual power due to its size and suit perfectly to the Reichstag. The Reichstag rests on one side of the river, and at the other two huge modern buildings on the other. The river Spree in the same time separates two buildings with Reichstag and is emphasizing the re-unification even stronger. B. ARANDJELOVIĆ, K. POGACAR 164 The new modern buildings, Paul Löbe Haus and Marie Elisabeth Lüders Haus, along- side the river Spree has been built after the design of the architect Stephan Braunfels. The Marie Elisabeth Lüders Haus is situated on the eastern bank of the river Spree and to- gether with the Paul Löbe Haus creates a functional and visual unity. Two pedestrian bridges over the river Spree connect this two buildings. The building Paul Löbe contains more than 900 offices for the deputies of the German parliament, and is 200m long, 100m and 22m high. The name of the building Paul Löbe is after the last parliamentary presi- dent, until 1933. Fig. 3 The two left side buildings are divided by the river Spree. At the left river side is Marie Elisabeth Lüders Haus. At the right side is Paul Löbe Haus; Photographs made by the author 2009 Fig. 4 Detail of memorial could be seen in front of the Bundestag complex. This is one of the numerous examples how the German government pays respect to the victims of the past; Photographs made by the author 2009 2.3. Memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe –urban memory The building Memorial in the heart of Berlin means official recognition of historical mistakes. This Memorial is part of new modern urban Berlin together with more symbolic memorials all around the city. Berlin between Past, Present and Future 165 The Memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe stands in the heart of Berlin, just next to Brandenburg gate in order to send message to all, not only visitors as this is one of the most visited tourist location in the whole Berlin, but also to be visible to the German politicians on their way to Reichstag. This monument, open to public day and night as a place as a remembrance of six million Jewish victims, has been made by the architect Peter Eisenman. The construction work on the Memorial, consisting of the Filed of 2,711 concrete slabs arranged in grid pattern and the underground memorial center, began in 2003 and ended in 2005. The size of the field of concrete slabs is 19.073m2 with height that vary from 0-4,7m. Each mounted steale has been made from high performance concrete. Fig. 5 The Memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe Photographs made by the author 2009 2.4. Potsdamer Platz - simbol of new Berlin The Potsdamer Platz, a new downtown center with its business buildings, is the high- light if new modern Berlin from 1990s. This modern area consists of the three main parts, Daimler City of the DaimlerChrysler Areal (1998), the Sony Center (2000) and the Bei- sheim Center (2004). This part of Berlin was known as a desolate, sandy no man's land in the time of the Cold War. Looking back into the history, Potsdamer Platz was high lively metropolis center in 1929. After the World War II, this part of the town was totally de- stroyed and was marked as no man's land. During the Cold War this strip of sandy soil was dividing west and east Berlin until 1989. Important international investors and in the most famous international architects such as Renzo Piano, Richard Rogers, Arata Iso- zachi, Helmut Jahn, Rafael Moneo and others came to Berlin after Fall of the Wall in 1898. In the 1990s Potsdamer Platz was the biggest building city in Europe. The rebuilding of Potsdamerplatz started in 1980s. Investor Daimler-Benz bought a plot of land along the Landwehr Canal to the Wall in the time when still this part was con- sidered to be lifeless and just one peripheral site. After Fall of the Wall, this part become the top real estate in Berlin. The first big competition on this site was organized in 1991 for ''Potsdamer and Leipziger Platz Competition for Urban Design Ideas". Architects Heinz Himmler and Christoph Sattler won this competition. The main architectural attractions at Potsdamerplatz are the Debis Tower by Renzo Piano and the Daimler-Chrysler Atrium with changing art exhibition and an auto show- room in the public space, The Sony Center and Cinema Complex and Film Museum, The B. ARANDJELOVIĆ, K. POGACAR 166 Arkaden Shopping Mall by Richard Rogers, a 3D IMAX cinema and Musical Theatre and Casino. Fig. 6 Potsdamer Platz; Photographs made by the author 2009 2.5. East Berlin - past and future East Berlin became the capital city of the East Germany after Second World War. The typical architecture of socialism is still present in the east part of Berlin. In Figure 7, Fig- ure 8 and Figure 9 the most important parts of East Berlin could be seen. After reunifica- tion of Germany, government spent huge investments for reintegration of the two parts of the city. Many changes happened since 1990s. Still, architecture of these two parts, mainly the survival of sky-scrapers from communistic period, made the visual differences between eastern and western part of the town clearly discernible. Fig. 7 East Side Gallery, Photograph made by the author 2009 Berlin between Past, Present and Future 167 East side gallery, TV tower and Alexander square ate three landmarks of the east Ber- lin. The East Side Gallery is 1.3 km painted part of former Berlin Wall, along the Mühlenstrasse in former East Berlin. This is the largest remaining evidence of the past city division. Today, wall mural with its visual testimony of the spirit of the liberation, made by various world artist, is one of the main touristic attraction in Berlin. In year 2009 is the 20th anniversary of the Peaceful Revolution and the Fall of the Wall of Berlin. Fernsehturm (TV tower), with its 365 meter, the highest structure of Berlin topped by a metal globe is the symbol of the old East German regime. The purpose of its high structure, which is impossible not to be seen from almost all central parts of the town, was to remind those in West Berlin that they were surrounded by the East German State. Alexanderplatz is the main square in the eastern part of Berlin, named to honor Alex- ander I, Tsar of Russia. In the 1970, Alexanderplatz became a typical socialistic urban square. The former department store ''Centrum Warenhaus" was the largest department store in DDR and is transformed nowadays to a modern department store. Important traf- fic junction with S-Bahn (surface rail network) as well as the underground railway, to- gether with well known buildings such as Hotel Stadt Berlin (123m high hotel), the Haus des Lehrers (Teachers' House), The House of Travel and the publishing house building (today Berliner Zeitung) had the aim to make this square competitive with West Berlin. The architectural future of East Berlin is in further urban development. The positive urban development is possible only by integrating typical socialistic architecture. These sky-scrapers from the communistic period are a part of the past. The successful future could not be built by destroying the leftovers of the past. There are always ways of recon- struction that could bring progress and modernization. Fig. 8 Fernsehturm Fig. 9 Alexanderplatz Photographs made by the author 2009 Photographs made by the author 2009 B. ARANDJELOVIĆ, K. POGACAR 168 3. BERLIN TODAY AS UNESCO CITY OF DESIGN AND ART CENTER Using public spaces for art installation is common in Berlin. The city is famous as world art center and attracts artist worldwide. This tendency is particularly strong in the last ten years and is considered to be the top art destination in Europe due to big number of galleries and good life conditions for artists. The city is also official UNESCO city of design since November 2005 as the first city in Europe to have this title. This title was re- sult of incredible creative industry of the city. The creative potential of Berlin resulted in almost 11.700 Berliners working in fashion, product and furniture design, architecture, photography and visual arts. At this moment, UNESCO world cities of design are Berlin (Germany), Buenos Aires (Argentina), Montreal (Canada), Nagoya (Japan), Kobe (Japan) and Shenzhen (China). 3.1. Art in open urban space as part of modern Berlin Today trend is to make art in open urban space in order to make art more accessible and visible to all citizens. Here is an example how art could assume a role in public space. At Brandenburg gate with installation of Greek artist Kalliopi Lemos. This installation at Brandenburg gate is part of trilogy "Crossing" (Eleusis, Istanbul and Berlin) made by Greek artist Kalliopi Lemos. Each exhibition in this trilogy is consisting of a different in- stallation of wooden Turkish boats which were found abandoned at Greek islands. These three cities are typical route of migration from East to West. Artist raises a question of the feeling of being in between borders, cultures and identities. The last part of trilogy is held in Berlin in period of 13th -30th October 2009. By putting this installation in front of the Brandenburg gate, boundaries and limits of art in open spaces are moved forward. Berlin is the best place to make such avant-garde story with a strong message. The time has come when public space also participate in the evolution of art. Fig. 10 Installation "At the crossroads" by Greek artist Kalliopi Lemos; Photograph made by the author 2009 Berlin between Past, Present and Future 169 4. CONCLUSION Berlin is the city of diverse architectural styles as the turbulent history has always been reflected in the architecture. Today Berlin is facing many problems, the same as the other metropolises. Berlin had learnt a lot form the past. The present shows how past should never be forgotten. Without understanding of past there is no future. It could be concluded that Berlin is definitely unique city with rich history, fruitful present and without no doubt a city with great possibilities for future development. Thanks to its diversity Berlin is an international cosmopolitan that will always attract people from all around the world. It is also well known that Berlin gives endless creative possibilities as the UNESCO city of design. After the Second World War different archi- tectural styles have been developed in the town divided by the Wall. In the year of cele- bration of 20 years of German reunion after Fall of the Berlin Wall, many questions have to be raised in Berlin and still a lot of work has to be done in order to make Berlin better. The biggest treasure that Berlin has is the fact that Berlin is the city of past, present and future. REFERENCES 1. New Architecture Berlin 1999-2000" Andreas Gottlieb Hempel, Martin Kieren, Jovis/Deutsches Architektur Zentrum Berlin, 1999 2. "Renzo Piano" architecture monograph, Anatxu Zabalbeascoa, Javier Rodriquez Marcos, Editorial Gustavo Gili, USA, 1988 3. http://holocaust-mahnmal.de 4. http:// kalliopilemos.com 5. http://artdaily.com "Akademie der Kunst will Present an Installation by Kalliopi Lemos in Front of the Brandenburg Gate" , October 23, 2009 6. UNESCO city of design http://portal.unesco.org/culture BERLIN IZMEĐU PROŠLOSTI, SADAŠNJOSTI I BUDUĆNOSTI Biljana Arandjelović, Kaja Pogacar Berlin je jedan od najinteresantnijih evropskih gradova. U periodu hladnog rata grad je fizicki bio podeljen na Zapadni Berlin i Istocni Berlin 28 godina u periodu od avgusta 1961 do novembra 1989. Berlin je simbol granice izmedju Zapadnih zemalja i komunizma za vreme hladnog rata sto je takodje uticalo i na arhitekturu Berlinu. Grad je bio najvece gradiliste u Evropi za vreme devedesetih. Danas je Berlin bitan umetnicki centar sa oko 1500 dnevnih umetnickih dogadjaja. Berlin je takodje i jedini grad u Evropi koji nosi titulu UNESCO city of design. Ključne reči: moderna arhitektura Berlina, istorija arhitekture, umetnost na otvorenom prostoru, UNESCO grad dizajna, memorijali na otvorenom prostoru << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Dot Gain 20%) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (U.S. Web Coated \050SWOP\051 v2) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Error /CompatibilityLevel 1.4 /CompressObjects /Tags /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJDFFile false /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Default /DetectBlends true /DetectCurves 0.0000 /ColorConversionStrategy /CMYK /DoThumbnails false /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedOpenType false /ParseICCProfilesInComments true /EmbedJobOptions true /DSCReportingLevel 0 /EmitDSCWarnings false /EndPage -1 /ImageMemory 1048576 /LockDistillerParams false /MaxSubsetPct 100 /Optimize true /OPM 1 /ParseDSCComments 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work_6gz4dwsda5ha3nr7yfkkaprpky	----	308 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 * National Gallery of Art 2000B South Club Drive, Landover, MD 20785, USA. The author is grate- ful to the authors in this volume who provided useful comments and especially wishes to thank the editorial team: Sven Dupré, Sachiko Kusukawa, Karin Leonhard, Nicholas Forshaw and Kristyna Comer. Claudio Seccaroni, Heike Stege and Elena Basso generously read the paper and offered much appreciated advice. Many thanks to Darren J. Barker and Jeffrey Post for help with obtaining illustrations. Mining for Color: New Blues, Yellows, and Translucent Paint Barbara H. Berrie National Gallery of Art b-berrie@nga.gov Abstract In the sixteenth century, the Erzgebirge mountains were mined for mineral ores of cobalt and antimony that were used to make the blue pigment smalt, a potash glass, and yellow pigments based on lead-antimony oxides, respectively. By the beginning of the seventeenth century, these pigments had found a permanent place on the easel paint- er’s palette, smalt used in place of ultramarine and the antimonial compounds enliven- ing the yellows of the spectrum. Mining efforts also located sources for naphtha, and improvements in distillation would have allowed it (and other solvents) to be fractioned and purified for use as a solvent and diluent for oil paint. The mention of naphtha in treatises and color-sellers’ inventories attests to its use in color making. Thinning paint allowed artists to use glazes of paint to lively, luminous, coloristic effect and made blending easier. These three discoveries contributed to the saturated colors characteris- tic of seventeenth-century painting and offered artists latitude in the ways they pursued their goal of imitative painting. Keywords smalt – antimony – Naples yellow – naphtha – lead-tin-antimony yellow – paint- ing – cobalt © BARBARA H. BERRIE, WASHINGTON DC, 2015 | doi 10.1163/15733823-02046p02 Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 ISSN 1383-7427 (print version) ISSN 1573-3823 (online version) ESM 1 www.brill.com/esm Early Modern Color Worlds Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 309Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 Introduction In their search for mimesis, artists combined technical prowess with a keen sensitivity to hue and light, engaging acute powers of observation to discern the colors of shadows thrown on diverse surfaces, the difference between the luster of velvet and taffeta, or the quality of a gleam of light reflected from a mirror or from armor. The ability to paint such subtle differences in appear- ance was admired by many sixteenth- and seventeenth-century writers, who were not only critics but also described painting materials. Such writers in- cluded Gian Paolo Lomazzo (1538–1592), the Tuscans Giorgio Vasari (1511–1574) and Raffaello Borghini (1537–1588), and the Huguenot physician, Théodore Turquet de Mayerne (1573–1654/5).1 A heightened sensitivity to color was pres- ent in society in general. Attention to color was important not only in art, but as Valentina Pugliano describes in this volume, was a crucial part of identifica- tion and characterization for the scientific and medical disciplines and other areas of erudition.2 Painters worked within this world of color using a wide array of materials. At the turn of the sixteenth century, new sources of raw materials and produc- tion led to the manufacture of vast amounts of blue and yellow pigments that augmented their palette. Such addition of colors followed the mining discover- ies that occurred in present-day Germany, Austria and Hungary. These contrib- uted to the world of color-making, providing new materials for glass-making, ceramic decoration and painters’ pigments. Full exploitation of the potential of the oil medium to give impasted paint or translucent glazes was aided by production of solvents and diluents which became more available due to im- provements in distillation of natural resins and increased mining for petro- leum. Concurrent developments of theories of color liberated practice to be the artists’ guide and influence their ways of working.3 In this chapter I will focus on cobalt, antimony and naphtha as three case studies that illustrate the impact that mining and technological discoveries had on painters’ materials and methods. 1 De Mayerne’s keen interest in and investigation of the physical and color properties of pig- ments is discussed by Leonhard in this volume. Vasari described how to make art, but in his Lives also noted individuals’ techniques, style and ability to paint varieties of color and real- ism: he praised Sebastiano del Piombo’s portrait of Pietro Aretino: “Besides being a good likeness […] the real beard could not be more natural.” Giorgio Vasari, Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, trans. Gaston Du C. de Vere (London, 1913), 180. 2 See Valentina Pugliano in this volume. 3 Moshe Barasch, Light and Color in the Italian Renaissance Theory of Art (New York, 1978). Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 310 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 The Materiality of Color Written descriptions of artists’ materials and practice give only parts of the picture. Sources may include colors and prices, but are often imprecise in ter- minology and silent on the manner of use.4 Inventories of color-sellers stores are helpful in judging the range available at a specific time and place but only seldom identify who used the supplies or how they were employed.5 Treatises written for painters describe the core palette, and often include some informa- tion on how to prepare supports and use pigments, but often they only allude to practice and technique. Trade accounts and bills of lading attest to the worldwide trade in precious materials for art-making, such as colors and resins that were imported from afar, but the local, the quotidian and the secret are more difficult to learn about, though equally important.6 Although the guild structure would appear to have inhibited artistic exploration through regu- lations and requirements for workshop output, even the strictest rules did not, in the end, inhibit the use of novel materials.7 Personal style and individu- ality flourished and paved a path for others to follow and actual practice – demonstrated by close observation and chemical analysis – was diverse and 4 Bomford et al., Art in the Making (London, 2006); Jo Kirby, “The Price of Quality: Factors Influencing the Cost of Pigments During the Renaissance,” in Revaluing Renaissance Art, eds. Gabriele Neher and Rupert Shepherd (Aldershot, 2000), 2–40; Michelle O’Malley, Painting under Pressure: Fame, Reputation and Demand in Renaissance Florence (New Haven, 2012). 5 Louisa C. Matthew, “‘Vendecolori a Venezia’: The Reconstruction of a Profession,” The Burlington Magazine, 144 (2002), 680–6; Julia DeLancey, “Dragonsblood and Ultramarine: the Apothecary and Artists’ Pigments in Renaissance Florence,” in The Art Market in Italy (15th– 17th Centuries), eds. Louisa C. Matthew and Sara F. Matthews-Grieco (Modena, 2003), 141–50; Roland Krischel, “Zur Geschichte des venezianischen Pigmenthandels. Das Sortiment des Jacobus de Benedictis à Coloribus,” Wallraf-Richartz-Jahrbuch, 63 (2002), 93–158; Paolo Bensi, “Gli arnesi dell’arte. I Gesuati di San Giusto alle mura e la pittura del Rinascimento a Firenze,” Studi di Storia delle arti, 3 (1980), 33–47. 6 Trade in Artists’ Materials. Markets and Commerce in Europe to 1700, eds. Jo Kirby, Susie Nash and Joanna Cannon (London, 2010). 7 For examples of the rules imposed by artists’ guilds on use of materials see Rachel Billinge et al., “Methods and Materials of Northern European Painting in the National Gallery, 1400–1550,” National Gallery Technical Bulletin, 18 (1997), 6–55; Melissa R. Katz, “Archi tec tural Polychromy and the Painters’ Trade in Medieval Spain,” Gesta, 41 (2002), 3–13; Jo Kirby, David Saunders and Marika Spring. “Proscribed Pigments in Northern European Renaissance Paintings and the Case of Paris Red,” Studies in Conservation, 51 (2006), 236–43. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 311Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 even idiosyncratic.8 The ways paint and color were handled showed even greater variety. Oil painting allowed colors to be mixed on the canvas and blended while wet, so artists could use gentle gradations in tone to create chiaroscuro and the effect of sfumato. Translucent paints could be prepared, and colors adjusted using thin glazes or ‘veils’ of color to build rich tones and subtle shading. In the sixteenth century, artists explored and exploited the full potential for creating color and texture through the use of different pigments and brushwork, employing impasted strokes and scumbles of opaque color in addition to glazes.9 Even the most adventurous artists were, however, limited by what was available to them. Thus our knowledge of trade in materials, prac- tice and innovation in color-making provides an underlying context for the interpretation of novelty in painting practice. Almost all of the materials used for painting, whether natural or synthetic, required some kind of processing from the raw state; methods for preparing certain colorants involved many steps, which cumulatively contributed to their cost. The rarity and expense of some meant that the production of cer- tain colors was limited in scale and their use was restricted to special decora- tive purposes. Some were employed for medicines and luxury items such as perfumes and cosmetics, while others could only be differentiated from paint- ers’ colors based on the scale of production and in particular the purity of the product.10 Newly developed means of sourcing minerals provided abundant supplies of certain elements necessary to the color-making process. Mining and the production of particular metals in combination with technological advances in manufacturing opened opportunities to add new colorants and thereby improved paint-making. Two pigments, smalt and Naples yellow, coming to painters via the ceramic and glass industries, became established on oil 8 Marika Spring, Rachel Grout and Raymond White, “‘Black Earths’: A Study of Unusual Black and Dark Grey Pigments Used by Artists in the Sixteenth Century,” National Gallery Technical Bulletin, 24 (2003), 96–114; Barbara H. Berrie, “Rethinking the History of Artists’ Pigments through Chemical Analysis,” Annual Review of Analytical Chemistry, 5 (2012), 441–59. 9 Jill Dunkerton, Susan Foister and Nicholas Penny, Dürer to Veronese: Sixteenth-Century Painting in the National Gallery (New Haven, 1999); Jill Dunkerton et al., Giotto to Dürer: Early Renaissance Painting in the National Gallery (New Haven, 1994); Arie Wallert and Carlo van Oosterhout, From Tempera to Oil Paint: Changes in Venetian Painting 1460–1560 (Amsterdam, 1998). 10 The considerable overlap of painting and make-up in terms of color and material is dis- cussed in this volume by Romana Sammern, who points out the common sources for information on material aspects of maquillage. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 312 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 painters’ palettes in the mid-sixteenth century. Smalt is a potassium-contain- ing (potash) glass that is colored deep blue owing to the presence of cobalt. Naples yellow, an oxide of lead and antimony, is a warm, rich, quite stable and rather intense yellow. A very different material, mineral oil (or naphtha) was mined from sources that were found in the sixteenth century.11 Using it as a diluent allowed artists to spread paint thinly, to use the translucency of oil paints to make gradations in hue to blend thinner glazes of paint, and make clear varnishes. The relationship between availability of new ores and the look of paintings solicits further investigation. Blue Colors From early times mineral pigments offered a variety of blue colors to painters; of these azurite and ultramarine dominated the early modern artists’ palettes.12 Ultramarine provided a deep true blue, often with a violet undertone that was much admired. Lapis lazuli, the stone from which ultramarine was prepared, was transported from Badakhshan (today Afghanistan) to Constantinople (Is- tanbul, Turkey) and Persia, from where we can trace its exportation to the great trade centers of Venice, Genoa and Antwerp. The stone was worked up through a laborious system of grinding, washing and levigating that involved forming pastes using resins and waxes that contributed to its high cost.13 The scale of manuscript illumination offered an ideal medium for using luxury materials and miniaturists in far-flung parts of Europe had used ultramarine for a very long time.14 However its discovery in eighth-century frescoes was less expect- ed.15 In medieval painting its use flourished and contributed to the glory of works commissioned for religious institutions. The cost of ultramarine restrict- ed its lavish use to high value commissions, and often artists would use it only 11 Luciano Novelli and Mattia Sella, Petrolio: una storia antica (Milan, 2009). 12 The dye indigo provided another blue that was used frequently. The blue palette was com- pleted by other minerals and less intensely colored organic blues. 13 Alessio Piemontese described the process in his Secreti (Venice, 1555). See Joyce Plesters, “Ultramarine,” in Artists’ Pigments: A Handbook of their Characteristics, ed. Ashok Roy (Washington, D.C. and Cambridge, 1986; reprinted 2012), 2: 37–65. Spike Bucklow, The Alchemy of Paint (London, 2009), 5 –66. 14 Mark Clarke, “Anglo-Saxon Manuscript Pigments,” Studies in Conservation, 49 (2004), 231–44. 15 Maria Carolina Gaetani, Ulderico Santamaria, and Claudio Seccaroni, “The Use of Egyp- tian Blue and Lapis Lazuli in the Middle Ages: The Wall Paintings of the San Saba Church in Rome,” Studies in Conservation, 49 (2004), 13–22. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 313Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 as a final layer of color over the mineral azurite.16 The major sources of azurite in Europe were present-day Germany, Hungary, Austria and Central Europe. The Fugger family (among others) obtained azurite from the mid-1400s on, in association with mining for copper and silver, enjoying a robust international trade. It seems they may have protected their local monopoly in blue by re- stricting the importation of ultramarine from Venice.17 While a subtle range of blues could be achieved by controlling the particle size of azurite, its green undertone was not always desired; this was adjusted however by mixing in red lakes and, as noted, applying layers of ultramarine on top. The situation changed in the early 1500s with the invention (or more cor- rectly, the re-invention) of smalt. Just when silver mines were becoming more difficult to exploit and less profitable, further economic pressure came as vast quantities of silver were discovered in the New World and imported into Eu- rope, especially through Spain. Canny mine operators and owners therefore began to exploit their mines for rarer metal ores and minerals that could be used by the color industry. The Erzgebirge (Ore Mountains) contains a large variety of such minerals. Relatively minor deposits of certain blue and pur- plish-blue minerals were found in the Tyrolean mountains, including blue john (a form of fluorite, calcium fluoride) and vivianite (iron phosphate). These minerals have been discovered in paintings, and no doubt others were also used especially when local sources were available.18 Oltrogge in this vol- ume notes that Agricola specifically comments on painters using fluorite, since it did not have any other important uses.19 The use of fluorite and other 16 For a 1583 panel painting, more than twenty percent of the total cost (excluding the wood) was for blue pigments alone: see Susanne Kubersky-Piredda, “The Market for Painters’ Materials in Renaissance Florence,” in Trade in Artists’ Materials: Markets and Commerce in Europe to 1700, eds. Jo Kirby, Susie Nash and Joanna Cannon (London, 2010), 223–43; 228; 231. Jo Kirby, “The Price of Quality: Factors Influencing the Cost of Pigments During the Renaissance,” in Revaluing Renaissance Art, eds. Gabriele Neher and Rupert Shepherd (Aldershot, 2000), 2–40. 17 Andreas Burmester and Christof Kreckel, “The Relationship between Albrecht Dürer’s Palette and Fifteenth/Sixteenth-century Pharmacy Price Lists: the Use of Azurite & Ultra- marine,” in Painting Techniques: History, Materials and Studio Practice, eds. Ashok Roy and Perry Smith (London, 1998), 101–5. 18 Mark Richter, Oliver Hahn and Robert Fuchs, “Purple Fluorite: A Little Known Pigment and Its Use in Late Gothic and Early Renaissance Painting in Northern Europe,” Studies in Conservation, 46 (2001), 1–13. Marika Spring, “Occurrences of the Purple Pigment Fluorite on paintings in the National Gallery,” National Gallery Technical Bulletin, 21 (2000), 20 –7. Marika Spring, “Pigments in sixteenth-century painting of the German School,” in The Pictorial Technique of Grünewald and his Peers, eds. P. Béguerie-De Paepe and Michel Menu, Musée d’ Unterlinden (Paris, 2007), 136 –44. 19 See Doris Oltrogge in this volume. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 314 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 uncommon minerals for pigments seems to have been confined to regions near to these minerals’ sources, suggesting they were not widely traded.20 The history of these minerals as pigments is quite scant compared to that of smalt, which became widely used. Cobalt Mining and Smalt Cobalt has been used for millennia to make blue glass.21 The substance has a long history of use in enamels and pottery glazes.22 These all have qualitatively the same chemical composition as the pigment smalt. As a painter’s pigment cobalt was introduced at first in small amounts and to a limited extent.23 Stege has traced the first examples of cobalt in pigments in European paintings.24 These are not associated with Venice and its glass industry; the pigment has been found only infrequently in paintings from before 1450, and only identified in somewhat isolated examples, such as a painting by an anonymous Swabian master and works by the Northern artists Lukas Moser (ca. 1390–ca. 1434) and Dieric Bouts (ca. 1415–1475). From then the pigment seems to have had a grad- ual introduction until the mid-1550s when it is found in paintings all over Europe.25 20 From current research it appears for the most part to be restricted to German and Aus- trian paintings and, to our knowledge, mainly between the years 1450–1535. Fluorite was found in works painted by Lucas Cranach while he was in Austria, but it does not appear that the colorant was traded very widely; for example, there is no evidence that it was sold at fairs in Leipzig. See Gunnar Heydenreich, “The Leipzig Trade Fairs as a Market for Painters’ Materials in the Sixteenth Century,” in Trade in Artists Materials (2010), 297–313. 21 Venetian blue glass changes composition in the fifteenth century, and the impurities indi- cate that German ore was used from then on, see Marco Verità, “Influence of the Islamic Tradition on the Chemistry and Technology of Venetian Glass,” in Venice and the Islamic World 828–1797, exhibition catalogue, ed. Stefano Carboni (New York, Paris, 2007), 276–99. See also Bernard Gratuze et al., “De l’origine du cobalt: du verre à la céramique,” Revue d’archéométrie, 20 (1996), 77–94. 22 See for example, Isabelle Biron and Sébastien Beauchoux, “Ion Beam Analysis of Mosan Enamels,” Measurement Science and Technology, 14 (2003), 1564–78. 23 An intriguing suggestion that the glass was used as a pigment is mentioned by Johann Beckmann, A History of Inventions, Discoveries and Origins, trans. William Johnston, eds. William Francis and J.W. Griffith (London, 1846), 473: “There is also another receipt which orders blue-bottles to be pounded in a mortar.” 24 Heike Stege, “Out of the Blue? Considerations on the Early Use of Smalt as Blue Pigment in European Easel Painting,” Zeitschrift für Kunsttechnologie und Konservierung, 18 (2004), 121–42. 25 Bruno Mühlethaler and Jean Thissen, “Smalt,” in Artists’ Pigments: A Handbook of their Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 315Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 The pigment, whether used for easel painting, decorating ceramics or color- ing glass, was not prepared directly from the ore but from an intermediate product generally known as zaffre. In Italian sources this product is cited un- der variants of names such as zafera, zaffera or zafra and chafarone.26 To make zaffre, cobalt ores, which in the Erzgebirge are predominantly cobalt-nickel- bismuth arsenides, were roasted (Fig. 1).27 Volatile components in the ore, par- ticularly arsenic or zinc, might be burnt off to varying degrees depending on the temperatures used in the process. While this product was sold under the name zaffre, the roasted ore was also mixed with sand and a flux, usually one containing potassium (pearl ash or potash) obtained from lees or tartar, to make a fusible mass which was also known as zaffre. Vannoccio Biringuccio (1480–ca. 1539) described zaffre as among the “semiminerals” or “half metals” due to its reaction to heat and the difficulty of extracting a metal from it.28 Smalts in general were described by Leonardo Fioravanti (1517–1583) as “mezzo minerali” (half minerals).29 This zaffre was used to color glass, enamels and to make smalt. Glass needs only 0.1–2% cobalt to be decidedly blue, but on grind- Characteristics, ed. Ashok Roy (Washington, D.C. and Cambridge, 1986; reprinted 2012), 2: 113–30. 26 The earliest reference to the name we know is ç[z]afarone by the late fourteenth-century glassmaker Antonio da Pisa, see Ulrich Middeldorf, “Li tre libri dell’arte del vasaio by Cipriano Piccolpasso; Giovanni Conti; Il trattato di Antonio da Pisa sulla fabbricazione delle vetrate artistiche (secolo XIV) by Salvatore Pezzella,” The Art Bulletin, 59 (1977), 429– 30. Among the early allusions to making smalt from zaffre is in a late fifteenth century compilation of methodologies and recipes which mentions “Florentine azure of zaffano.” See W.J. Wilson, “An Alchemical Manuscript by Arnaldus De Bruxella,” Osiris, 2 (1936), 220–405; 239. 27 Richard Beck, The Nature of Ore Deposits, trans. and rev. Walter H. Weed (New York and London, 1905) 2: 342–346, 2: 373. The ore minerals include erythrite, cobaltite, smaltite, skutterudite and many others. 28 Mühlethaler and Thissen, “Smalt,” 114. Biringuccio said that zaffre melted with fire “in the company of vitreous things” but noted that other semi-minerals were “much more adapted for adorning paintings than anything else.” The Pirotechnia of Vannoccio Biringu- ccio. The Classic Sixteenth Century Treatise on Metals and Metallurgy, trans. and eds. Cyril Stanley Smith and Martha Teach Gnudi (Mineola, 1990), 77; 113. 29 Leonardo Fioravanti, Dello specchio di scientia universale (Venice, 1629; 1st edition Venice, 1564), 67–8: “I mezzo minerali son gli smalti d’ogni colore [...] ma I mezi minerali non si possono metter in opra se non a guazzo, o a tempra, perche l’oglio li fa morire.” This is an early instance of noting the discoloration of smalt in oil. I am grateful to Michel Hochmann for bringing this reference to my attention. These smalti do not appear to be mentioned in either the 1564, 1583 or 1603 editions. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 316 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 ing the intensity of the color is lost, therefore to have an intense color, enamel and the painters’ pigments would contain as much as twenty percent cobalt. Anecdotal evidence suggests that around 1520 there was a change in the manufacture of zaffre. Later writers credit either one Peter Weidehammer or a glass-maker, Christoph Schürer, with some innovation.30 These men perhaps fused the roasted ore with sand and flux – a method that caused the pro- duction of smalt to be dramatically increased.31 The story of Weidehammer 30 Christian Melzer, Historia Schneebergensis Renovata (Schneeberg, 1714), 683. Melzer (first published in 1684) reported that Weidehammer prepared his color “aus denen Wismuth Graupen.” If this is true, it may suggest that the cobalt he used was a by-product of bis- muth production. Bismuth was quite commonly used in art and artifacts from the four- teenth century on, particularly in Germany. See Stefanie Küthe, Wismutkästchen – Bismut als Farbmittel (Dipl., Munich, 2004), accessed January 31, 2015, <http://www.rkk.ar.tum. de/fileadmin/w00ble/www/media_rkk/downloads/Diplomarbeiten/Kuethe_Wismuth kaestchen_Dipl-2004.pdf>; Renate Gold, “Reconstruction and Analysis of Bismuth Paint- ing,” in Painted Wood: History and Conservation, 3 (Washington, D.C., 1998), 166–178. 31 Albrecht Kirsche suggests that the invention was already known, but Weidenhammer introduced the method for making the color: Albrecht Kirsche, Zisterzienser, Glasmacher und Drechsler: Glashütten in Erzgebirge und Vogtland und ihr Einfluss auf die Seiffener Holz kunst (Münster, 2005), 117. It seems unlikely to be a coincidence that 1520 is also around the time when assaying methods for measuring the metal content of ores and smelted products are developed and codified, see Christoph Bartels, “The Production of Silver, Copper and Lead in the Harz Mountains From Late Medieval Times to the Onset of Figure 1 A specimen of the cobalt ore skutterudite found at Schneeberg, Germany. Courtesy of the Smithsonian Institution, 140235 J.J. Trewlaney Collection, photographed by Ken Larsen. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 317Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 becoming rich from the export of great quantities of zaffre to Venice was retold many times.32 And indeed, the item called “zafara” appears in a rather large amount on the 1534 inventory of the stores of a Venetian color-seller.33 Schürer, a glassmaker at Platten, obtained “cobalt” at Schneeberg, and serendipitously discovered he could use it to make a blue frit.34 He prepared this frit specifi- cally for potters, but eventually the invention was taken to Neudeck and Hol- land where since “painting on glass was then much cultivated in the latter, the artists knew better how to appreciate this invention.”35 Evidence for a change in cobalt blue production comes from the analyses of ceramics. The trace metal profile in the blue glazes on della Robbia sculptures and enamel glazes in pottery corroborates the anectodal evidence for a change in the source or in the technology for making the cobalt-containing colorant. After 1520, the date given in anecdotal evidence, the minor or trace metals in the blue glaze in sculptures from the della Robbia workshop in Florence in- clude nickel, arsenic and bismuth, which is consistent with use of raw material from veins of ore located near Schneeberg, Germany. Although it is likely that this had been the source prior to that time as well, the amounts of nickel and arsenic impurities did increase.36 Analogous trends in the levels of impurities have been observed in Italian maiolica, in which arsenic was rarely detected in pieces made before the sixteenth century but is measurably present after then.37 Zucchiatti et al. propose that the change in composition was due to a change in the technology for production of the raw material, perhaps the pro- cesses of sorting the mineral ores, namely choosing those highest in cobalt, or a change in the way they were roasted.38 Analysis of Spanish ceramic ware also indicates there was a change in composition at this time, suggesting the source Industrialization,” in Materials and Expertise in Early Modern Europe, eds. Ursula Klein and E.C. Spary (Chicago, 2010), 71–100, 89. 32 For example, Carl Limmer, Urkundliche-pragmatisch-allgemeine Geschichte der neu-säch- sischen Lande (Grimma, 1848), 83. 33 L.C. Matthew, “‘Vendecolori’ a Venezia’: The Reconstruction of a Profession,” The Burling- ton Magazine, 144 (2002), 680–6. 34 Beckmann quoted an earlier commentator, J.F. Klotzsch, in declaring this. 35 Beckmann, A History of Inventions, 473 and 484–6, quoting Klotzsch. 36 A. Zucchiatti et al., “The ‘della Robbia blue’: a case study for the use of cobalt blue pig- ments in ceramics during the Italian renaissance,” Archaeometry, 48 (2006), 131 –52. 37 G. Bandini, Pietro Moioli, R. Scafè, and Claudio Seccaroni, “Studio sulle decorazioni policrome mediante fluorescenza X di alcune maioliche rinascimentali ritrovate in Roma,” Faenza, 83 (1997), 223–51. 38 Zucchiatti et al., “The della Robbia Blue,” 150. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 318 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 for the raw material for blue glazes in the Iberian peninsula was a new product, presumably also from mines near Schneeberg.39 The change in composition of cobalt blue glazes that occurred around 1517– 1540 coincided with the commodification of zaffre on a very large scale throughout Europe. It is also at this moment that many artists began to use smalt in their works as a replacement for ultramarine and azurite. One reason to choose smalt over ultramarine was cost. In the majority of the early occur- rences, smalt was used as a glaze over azurite, the way ultramarine was em- ployed, which suggests that artists were using it as a substitute for ultramarine due to its similar color. The Italian artist Girolamo Romanino (ca. 1485–ca. 1566) must have been choosing smalt for its color when he layered it over azur- ite in The Nativity, around 1524.40 Successful painters, such as Nicholas Hilliard (ca. 1547–1619), who could afford it, often preferred ultramarine. But for Hill- iard, price alone was not the determinant: Leonhard’s discussion of his ap- proach to color offers many hints to his pigment choices; for gems Hilliard favored pureness of color, hardness and transparency, the qualities of the best grades of ultramarine.41 However, other painters admitted a special role for smalt on the palette, for example, Edward Norgate (1581–1650) saying, “work your Blewish Skies and Cloudes with Smalt, not with Bise [azurite], for it is too Greene and Blewe.”42 Richard Symonds who chronicled the work of artists while he travelled in Italy (1650–51) noted some painters’ use of smalt thus: “Aria in Quadri Grandi. For it in great vast quadros in oyle, lo smalto is excellent wch is blew bice, & so it has been usd at Venice where the ayre is seene at distance.”43 39 J. Pérez-Arantegui et al., “Materials and Technological Evolution of Ancient Cobalt-blue- decorated Ceramics: Pigments and Work Patterns in Tin-glazed Pbjects from Aragon (Spain) from the 15th to the 18th Century AD,” Journal of the European Ceramic Society, 29 (2009), 2499–2509. 40 Marika Spring, Catherine Higgitt and David Saunders, “Investigation of Pigment-Medium Interaction in Oil Paint Containing Degraded Smalt,” National Gallery Technical Bulletin, 26 (2005), 56–70. 41 Karin Leonhard, this volume 42 Edward Norgate, Miniatura, or, The Art of Limning, eds. Jeffrey M. Muller and Jim Murrell (New Haven, 1997). Despite this endorsement, smalt of a good color was too coarse to be particularly appropriate for miniature painting, nonetheless, a patent allowing manufac- ture of smalt in England made it prominent on the English palette after 1605. See Norgate, Miniatura, 122; Nicola Costaras, “Early Modern Blues: The Smalt Patent in Context,” in Trade in Artists’ Materials, 401–14. 43 Mary Beal, A Study of Richard Symonds. His Italian Notebooks and Their Relevance to Sev- enteenth-Century Painting Techniques (New York and London, 1984), 229–30. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 319Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 The intensity of color of the pigment was related to the amount of cobalt and also to the particle size.44 Early inventories noted only either smalto claro (chiaro) or smalto scuro (light or dark smalt); later, ways of grading smalt ac- cording to the depth of hue and an assessment of how finely it had been ground indicate the wide variation in the pigment quality.45 The coarsest smalt was the deepest colored, and prized for that, but no smalts were easy to use. They made a paint that was difficult to spread under the brush, and oil dulled the color, an effect most pronounced for the smalt with the largest particles. For this reason, artists developed a way to use smalt that did not rely on making a traditional paint. To preserve the deep and luminous color of the sparkling smalt they painted a thick layer of lead white onto a surface, and before it was dry they sprinkled the coarse particles of smalt over it, giving a highly colored, glittering surface. This practice was reflected in the name given to this grade of the pigment, “strew blue” or “streu blau.”46 Varnishing smalt could cause the same kind of sinking in of the color, and this must be why the artist Giovanni Angelo Canini (1609–1666) told Symonds that blues ought never be varnished.47 Beckmann’s assertion that the Dutch appreciated the invention of zaffre is borne out by their constructing many glasshouses by the late sixteenth centu- ry.48 It was estimated that 3,000 tons of zaffre were exported from Schneeberg, much of it going to Holland; Schürer sold it at seven and a half thalers a hun- dredweight. In the first half of the sixteenth century smalt was sold in Holland for fifty or sixty guilders.49 Blue tiles and Delftware dominated the aesthetic of 44 As noted by Roos in this volume, Hooke commented on this effect. 45 J.R.D. Riffault, A.D. Vergaund, and G.A. Toussant, A Practical Treatise on the Manufacture of Colors for Painting, rev. and ed. M.F. Malepeyre, trans. A.A. Fesquet (Philadelphia, 1874), 351–4. 46 Turquet de Mayerne (1620) described this practice for all the blue pigments (Faidutti and Versini, 1974), 150. An early use of the term is in J.C. Lochner, Der künstliche Gold- und Sil- ber-Arbeiter (Nuremberg, 1708), 123. 47 Beal, A Study of Richard Symonds, 250. The same effect is also true for large-particled azur- ite which loses its brilliance when varnished. 48 Beckmann, Inventions, 484. 49 These prices are often mentioned in the literature, but no firm evidence is given. How- ever, the point is that zaffre and smalt were not especially expensive commodities in the color world (particularly in comparison to ultramarine). Price lists for smalt confirm it was a low to middle-priced pigment. See: Richard Spear, “A Century of Pigment Prices: Seventeenth-Century Italy,” in Trade in Artists’ Materials, 275–93. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 320 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 Fi g u re 2 Ja n Jo se ph sz . v an G oy en , V ie w o f R he ne n, 16 56 , o il on w oo d pa ne l. Th e sk y is p ai nt ed w ith w el l-p re se rv ed b lu e sm al t. CO U RT ES Y O F TH E BA LT IM O RE M U SE U M O F AR T, T he M ar y Fr ic k Ja co bs C ol le ct io n (B M A 19 38 .2 09 ). Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 321Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 Dutch potters. Dutch smalt became broadly exported50 and some sorts were highly regarded.51 Many Dutch painters too enjoyed that blue color (Fig. 2). Rembrandt van Rijn (1606–1669) hardly used ultramarine, and azurite is found mainly in his earlier paintings in underlayers. Comprehensive studies have shown that smalt was the artist’s choice.52 Smalt was used extensively in Spain during the seven- teenth century. The product from one manufacturer in Holland, “Master Bernard,” was much preferred and artists were willing to pay more for it because of its color.53 This information indicates the variability possible in making the colorant and artists’ desire for specific qualities, as well as to how the Dutch mediated transfer of the material. The Spaniards began to re-export smalt (of various sorts, it seems) quite early on to the New World, as the words “esmaltes para pintores” on a bill of lading from 1592 attest.54 Although smalt is a glass, it is not particularly stable, since its formula does not contain stabilizing ions such as calcium, lead or barium. Our appreciation of the wide range of uses of smalt is hindered by its having deteriorated over time. The skies in paintings by the Venetian artist Paolo Veronese have turned greyish.55 The blue robe worn by the Virgin in Tintoretto’s Madonna of the Stars has lost its blue color and become brownish.56 Unfortunately, the smalt Rem- brandt used has decayed and the paint has become a turbid brownish color; 50 The Dutch supplied Ireland too. G.R. Mickle, “The Early History of the Cobalt Industry on Saxony,” Report of the Bureau of Mines, Ontario Department of Mines, 16 (4) Appendix II, (1908) 182–98. 51 Zahira Véliz, “In Quest of a Useful Blue in Early Modern Spain,” in Trade in Artists’ Materi- als (2010), 389–400. See also Rocío Bruquetas Galán, Técnicas y materiales de la pintura española en los Siglos de Oro (Madrid, 2002). 52 Smalt is the major blue pigment on Rembrandt’s paintings, but he also used vivianite, which might have had a local source. David Bomford et al., Art in the Making: Rembrandt (London, 2006), 45–7; TheRembrandtDatabase. Research resource on Rembrandt paint- ings, accessed January 18, 2015, <http://www.rembrandtdatabase.org/Rembrandt>. 53 Véliz, “In Quest of a Useful Blue,” 389–400. 54 José María Sánchez and María Dolores Quiñones, “Materiales pictóricos enviados a América en el siglo XVI,” Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, 95 (2009), 45–67. 55 Nicholas Penny and Marika Spring, “Veronese’s Paintings in the National Gallery. Tech- niques and Materials: Part 1,” National Gallery Technical Bulletin, 16 (1995), 4–30. 56 This was determined using X-ray fluorescence analysis. Kathryn Morales, April, 2015. A remnant of old blue, which provides only an imperfect hint of the original color, can be seen in a high-resolution image of the painting. See “The Madonna of the Stars,” accessed July 2015, <http://www.nga.gov/content/ngaweb/Collection/art-object-page.33757.html>. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 322 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 backgrounds and curtains in his paintings are now dingy looking, but must once have been quite blue.57 Smalt and blue glass are chemically almost identical, differing in the pro- portion of cobalt. The glass was widely used for vessels, and in enamels and pottery glazes in the Middle Ages to provide a deep, true blue, but in contrast it was only sporadically used as a painter’s pigment before 1500; however, it was used frequently in easel paintings from then on until the eighteenth century. 58 The change in usage appears to be related to a change in the manufacturing process of the intermediate material zaffre used in the production of the color. This modification is suggested by a change in the profile of trace elements in blue glazes. Smalt was produced in large quantities and various grades which offered a handy and affordable alternative to ultramarine. It was ubiquitous by the beginning of the seventeenth century, occurring in paintings and architec- tural finishes, where it was even used for painting fictive lapis lazuli (Fig. 3).59 Smalt provided the desirable color of natural ultramarine at a fraction of the cost, and despite its difficult handling properties was widely adopted in the sixteenth century. Yellow and Orange Orange paint was conveniently made by mixing red and yellow pigments, though the color is not commonly seen before the sixteenth century. Red lead (minium) has a hot orange-red color and the arsenical sulfides orpiment and realgar provided deep yellow and reddish-orange colors. They were highly un- pleasant to use – being both toxic and foul smelling when ground. Despite these disadvantages, regarding the famed color of the cinquecento Venetian artists, Lomazzo declared that “burnt orpiment is the alchemy of the Vene- tians,” and indeed a warm orange color is a hallmark of their painting.60 Lead 57 Petria Noble and Annelies van Loon, “Rembrandt’s Simeon’s Song of Praise, 1631: Pictorial Devices in the Service of Illusion and Changes in Appearance,” Art Matters. 4 (2007), 19–36. 58 Smalt has been found in many wall paintings and frescoes from the last quarter of the fifteenth century though these have been analyzed less than altarpieces and easel paint- ings. Claudio Seccaroni, personal communication, 11 April, 2015. 59 Smalt and gold were used to paint the columns of Great Yarmouth Chapel to imitate lapis lazuli. See: <http://www.greatyarmouthpreservationaltrust.org/en/news/2012/03/11/ st-georges-chapel>, accessed July 2015. 60 “[…] il ranzato le fà il minio, & ancora l’oropimento arso, il quale si dice color d’oro. E questo è l’alchimia de i pittori Venetiani.” Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo, Trattato dell’arte della pittura (Milan, 1584, reprinted 1965), 191. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 323Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 tin yellow was a reliable and clear-toned pigment, but the addition of antimo- ny to the recipes offered a wide choice of deeper-hued pigments which filled a gap in the artists’ palette. Antimony, Naples Yellow and Lead Tin Antimony Yellow Antimony had been used as an opacifier and to make yellow glass in Ancient Egypt and has been found in pottery glazes from as far back as 1300 BCE. 61 It was used in Roman times until the fourth century CE when either major sourc- es became unavailable or the art of working antimony up to make a colorant was forgotten, and manufacturing of lead antimony oxides was not under- 61 Ian N.M. Wainwright, John M. Taylor and Rosamond Harley, “Lead Antimonate Yellow,” in Artists’ Pigments: A Handbook of their History and Characteristics, ed. Robert L. Feller (Washington, D.C., 1984, reprinted 2012), 1: 219–354. Figure 3 The grand columns in St. George’s Chapel, Great Yarmouth, England (1714), painted using smalt and gold to simulate lapis lazuli. Courtesy of Darren J. Barker. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 324 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 taken to any significant degree during the next millenium.62 At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the pigment Naples yellow, lead antimony oxide, can be found in painters’ works.63 Earlier than that, however, ceramic painters employed a glassy version of the colorant for their craft. Around 1485 a funda- mental change in the technology and aesthetics of ceramic decorating oc- curred, allowing the development of intricately painted istoriato pottery.64 Due to the development of new enamels that fused but did not melt and flow in the kiln, artists could paint crisp, detailed compositions on white-glazed ware. A low-temperature melting glaze called a coperta could be sprinkled on the painted image and the object then fired only once to give a piece with a detailed image with a glossy surface. Low-flow white, yellow, orange and black colors contributed to the development of the new art form.65 Vibrant yel- lows and oranges often dominated the pictorial designs, but their source was not arsenic (Fig. 4). The white, yellow and orange pigments are glassy frits, enamels, or glasses opaquely colored by submillimeter crystallites of binary and ternary oxides of lead, tin and/or antimony suspended in lead – and cal- cium – rich siliceous matrices. Cipriano Piccolpasso (1524–1579) noted these yellows in a compendium of recipes used in Gubbio, Castel Durante, Siena and Deruta, which he assembled in the middle of the sixteenth century.66 He recorded recipes used in central Italy that included antimony for making yellow and green glazes.67 The lively palette of yellows and oranges on maiolica demonstrates the broad range of intense yellow hues that could be produced by adjusting the proportions of tin, antimony, iron and zinc in recipes.68 In essence, the maiolica decorators used 62 A silver-antimony ore was used by the Romans, see Jennifer L. Maas, Richard E. Stone and Mark T. Wypyski, “An Investigation of the Antimony-Containing Minerals used by the Romans to Prepare Opaque Colored Glasses,” in Materials Issues in Art and Archaeology V, eds. Pamela B. Vandiver, James R. Druzik, John F. Merkel, John Stewart (Pittsburgh, 1997), 193–204. 63 Wainwright, “Lead Antimonate Yellow,” 221–4. 64 W. David Kingery, “Painterly Maiolica of the Italian Renaissance,” Technology and Culture, 34 (1993), 28 –48. 65 Ibid., 37. 66 Cipriano Piccolpasso, The Three Books of the Potter’s Art, 2 vols., trans. and eds. Ronald Lightbown and Alan Caiger-Smith (London, 1980). 67 Ibid., 1: 55/66, 1: 56/67–68, 1: 81/132–133. 68 C. Sandalinas et al., “Experimental Confirmation by Raman Spectroscopy of a Pb-Sn-Sb Triple Oxide Yellow Pigment in Sixteenth-century Italian Pottery,” Journal of Raman Spec- troscopy, 37 (2006), 1146–1153. Further variety can be introduced by changing the temperature of the kiln, see Joris Dik et al., “Early Production Recipes for Lead Anti- monate Yellow in Italian Art,” Archeometry, 47 (2005), 593–607. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 325Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 Figure 4 Nicola da Urbino, an istoriato maiolica dish, 1535–1538. Victoria and Albert Museum (c. 2246–1910). Bequeathed by George Salting, Esq. © Victoria and Albert Museum, LONDON. colors in the same way as easel painters used their paints.69 What is interesting about these pigments is that they did not change color in the furnace, so tonal work as well as fineness of line survived the firing process.70 These recipes for yellow pigments are the first to use antimony that we know of in the early 69 The designs were painted after drawings using fine brushes in a painterly manner. ‘Art’ and ‘craft’ were linked since easel painters sometimes provided designs for istoriato ware. For example, Dosso Dossi, a court painter for Alfonso I d’Este, Duke of Ferrara, was paid for designs for plates. Giuseppe Campori, “Notizie storiche e artistiche della maiolica e della porcellana di Ferrara nei secoli VV e XVI,” in Istorie delle Fabriche di Majoliche Metu- arensi, ed. Giuliano Vanzolini, vol 2, (Pesaro, 1879), 127. Alfonso asked Titian to oversee production of large jars in Venice. See: Timothy Wilson, “Maiolica in Renaissance Venice,” Apollo, 125 (1987), 184–9, esp. 185. 70 Steve Wharton, “What you See is What You Get: Colour in Italian Renaissance Istoriato Ware,” Renaissance Studies, 19 (2005), 592–603. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 326 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 modern period. Biringuccio stated that there were several antimony mines in the vicinity of Siena, Maremma and Santa Fiora in Tuscany.71 Piccolpasso made the same assertion.72 These mines had likely been exploited for centuries, but the product must not have been preferred or was difficult to use or purify. Bir- inguccio noted that antimony was sourced from the north of the country.73 Piccolpasso said the best antimony was obtained in Venice where it was im- ported from Germany.74 Antimony was used in metal type to give crisp letters and it has been suggested that antimony recycled from old type was reused for many purposes.75 The superiority of the antimony from the north might have been the catalyst for the development of the industry in Italy. The lead-based yellow pigments used in easel painting, generally called gial- lolino or giallorino in Italian, masticot in English, or lithargyrum in Latin and plygel (from blei meaning ‘lead’ and gelb meaning ‘yellow’) in German sources, form a group of colors prepared in the kiln.76 Lead oxides (massicot and li- tharge), lead-tin oxides, lead-antimony oxides and lead-tin-antimony oxides have all been found in paintings dating from the early sixteenth century onward.77 Color names that are still being studied suggest sources and pro- duction methods for the pigments.78 The history of these pigments is not continuous, stopping and restarting with variations over time, and indeed they intermix at points. The reasons for the substitutions are not well known, but involve changes in sources for raw materials, whether due to local discoveries 71 Biringuccio, Pirotechnia, 90–1. 72 He may have been quoting Biringuccio. See Lightbown and Caiger-Smith: Piccolpasso, The Three Books, 2: 66. 73 When Biringuccio spoke of “antimonio,” he was describing antimony sulphide while metallic antimony was “regolo de antimonio.” 74 Antimony ores are dispersed throughout Germany, Hungary, and Austria. In Italy, there are also sources for the materials in Tuscany and Sardinia. See Chung Yu Wang, Antimony (London, 1919), 47–53. 75 Hermann Kühn et al., Reclams Handbuch der künstlerischen Techniken, 3 vols. (Stuttgart, 1984), I, 364, 366. Isotope ratios for the lead used in Naples yellow in have been interpreted as showing that Turkey was the source for the lead used to make the colorant found in fifteenth and sixteenth century mailolica and perhaps was the source for the recipe as well, see: Laura Chiarantini et al., “Early Renaissance Production Recipes for Naples Yel- low Pigment: A Mineralogical and Lead Isotope Study of Italian Majolica from Montelupo (Florence),” Archeometry, 57 (2015), 879–96. 76 Claudio Seccaroni, Giallorino: Storia dei pigmenti gialli di natura sintetica (Rome, 2006). 77 Wainwright et al., “Lead Antimonate Yellow,” 225–6. 78 Seccaroni, Giallorino, 93–165. These names might refer to lead tin yellow, lead antimony yellow or lead tin antimony yellow since the manufacture was so variable. They include “giallo di Fiandra,” “giallo in vetro,” “giallo di fornace,” “giallo di Alemania,” etc. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 327Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 of ore or the disruption of trade. Lead tin oxide, free from any silicon, had been the predominant light yellow augmenting the range of hue obtained from yel- low iron earths.79 Shortly after 1500, rich deep yellows based on siliceous ox- ides of antimony, lead, tin and/or antimony reappear on painters’ palettes in very small amounts, only a few years after their prolific use on pottery began. Analysis of yellow pigments in paintings has revealed the re-emergence of the use of yellow lead-tin glasses (lead tin yellow type II) for easel painting oc- curred in Venice in the mid-1500s.80 But before then, a few artists had already borrowed colors from the potters. The materials would have been hard to grind, but the variety of colors must have been alluring. The painter Lorenzo Lotto (ca. 1480–1556/7) kept a ledger of his expenses related to his art making, and this included pigments he purchased. One that has been of great interest is “zalolin da vasari” which he bought at Venice in 1541.81 Since Piccolpasso gave many recipes for yellow glazes, we cannot be sure of the breadth of colors available at the color-seller’s shop;82 but we do know from analysis that Lotto used a small portion of a siliceous lead-antimony compound in the amber yel- low robe worn by Joseph in his painting, The Nativity, which is dated to 1523 (Fig. 5).83 Seccaroni gives some other examples of antimonial yellows in early cinquecento paintings and frescoes.84 The Venetian painter Giovanni Bellini (ca. 1430–1516) had a long career that spanned the change in painting in tempera to painting in oil. Analysis of his methods and materials offers a vivid example of an artist changing and adapting. He was among the first Italians we know of to use smalt in oil paint- 79 Hermann Kühn, “Lead-Tin Yellow,” in Artists’ Pigments: A Handbook of the History and Characteristics, (Washington, D.C., 1993, reprinted 2012), 2: 83–112. 80 Corenelia Syre, Andreas Burmester and Christoph Kreckel, “ Sprezzatura” in Tintoretto: The Gonzaga Cycle, exhibition catalogue, (Munich, 2000), 196–7. 81 Lorenzo Lotto, Libro Di Spese Diverse, 2 vols., eds. Floriano Grimaldi and Katy Sordi (Loreto, 2003). See also Paolo Bensi, Studi di storia dell’arte, 5 (1983–1985), 63. 82 Symonds noted that the Roman painter Canini (1609–1666) used three or four different kinds of ‘giallo lino’. See Beal, A Study of Richard Symonds (1984), 252. 83 Barbara H. Berrie and Louisa C. Matthew, “New Materials on the Renaissance Artists’ Pal- ette,” 7th Symposium on Materials Issues in Art and Archaeology, eds. Pamela Vandiver, Jennifer Mass and Alison Murray (Warrenton, 2005), 131–40. He also used an antimony- containing pigment in ‘Portrait of Giovanni della Volta and his Family (?)’, probably 1547; see Ashok Roy and Barbara Berrie, “A New Lead-Based Yellow in the Seventeenth Cen- tury,” in Painting Techniques: History, Materials and Studio Practice, Contributions to the Dublin Congress of the IIC, eds. Ashok Roy and Perry Smith (London, 1998), 160–5. 84 Seccaroni, Giallorino, 153–65. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 328 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 Figure 5 Lorenzo Lotto, The Nativity, 1523, oil on panel. Joseph’s deep yellow robe contains a glassy antimony yellow which could be the zalolin da vasari mentioned in his account books. COURTESY OF NGA, Samuel H. Kress Collection (1939.1.117). Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 329Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 ing.85 In a further exploration of the materiality of color, he added a very small proportion of opaque antimony orange glass to blue azurite for painting the horizon in Feast of the Gods.86 He completed this work in 1514 (Fig. 6).87 This is 85 Gianluca Poldi, “Note quasi sparse sul colore e la tecnica di Giambellino. Nuovi studi anal- itici,” in Indagando Bellini, eds. Gianluca Poldi and Giovanni Carlo Federico Villa (Milan, 2009), 161–70. 86 Barbara H. Berrie and Louisa C. Matthew, “Venetian ‘Colore:’ Artists at the Intersection of Technology and History,” in Bellini, Giorgione, Titian and the Renaissance of Venetian Painting, exhibition catalogue, eds. David Alan Brown and Sylvia Ferino-Pagden (Wash- ington, D.C. and Vienna, 2006), 301–9. 87 Bellini finished the painting in Venice and it was sent to Alfonso I at the Este court in Fer- rara. In 1523 Titian painted other works for Alfonso and reworked Bellini’s Feast of the Gods. David Bull and Joyce Plesters, The Feast of the Gods: Conservation, Examination, and Interpretation (Washington, D.C., 1990). Figure 6 Giovanni Bellini and Titian, The Feast of the Gods, 1514/1529, oil on canvas. Bellini added a glassy antimony yellow to azurite in the paint along the horizon to subtly change its hue. COURTESY OF NGA, Widener Collec- tion (1942.9.1). Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 330 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 a remarkable use of mixing complementary colors to adjust hue.88 It is innova- tive, rare and indicative of Bellini’s sensitivity to color. There was no stable or- ange on the traditional, typical palette that could have been safely used in combination with the copper carbonate mineral azurite. Perhaps a dye could have offered an orange-yellow, but such dyes fade rapidly. Realgar and orpi- ment, which Bellini used in this picture to paint Silenus’ orange tunic, were known to react with the copper compounds.89 Red lead was known to darken in certain mixtures.90 The pigment Bellini decided on is a siliceous material and certainly related to the colors for decorating glass and ceramics. Bellini’s and Lotto’s antimonial yellows are not the classic Naples yellow of later times, but early uses of “potter’s yellow,” of which there were many variants, for paint- ing in oil.91 The bright and deep-hued yellows that we find in paintings from this time were not invented for the ‘figurer’ or easel painter; they were for the artisans who decorated ceramics and for glass-makers who used concentrated colors to make stained glass and false gems. The amount of material used by potters was considerable, but the adoption of the yellow to the artists’ palette was slow in comparison. Sometime in the early seventeenth century, the nature of the an- timony-containing product changed and the glassy constituent was not pres- ent. This indicates another moment in the development of the color, but its invention is unknown, though Wainwright et al. wondered if it occurred in Na- ples.92 88 Berrie and Matthew, “Venetian ‘Colore’,” 305. 89 Most often indigo is mixed with orpiment to give green colors, since orpiment reacts with copper minerals. In particular, its incompatibility with verdigris had been noted for a long time. See Daniel V. Thompson, The Materials and Techniques of Medieval Painting (1936, reprinted 1956), 169. 90 Cennini commented that red lead turned black when used on walls, as did vermilion. Daniel V. Thompson, The Craftsman’s Handbook “Il Libro dell’Arte (New York, 1960), 24–25. The author of the Mappae Clavicula warned of the incompatibility of red lead and orpi- ment, see Cyril Stanley Smith and John G. Hawthorne, “Mappae Clavicula: A Little Key to the World of Medieval Techniques,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, 64 (4) (1974), 1–128. 91 Joris Dik et al., “Early Production Recipes for Lead Antimonate Yellow in Italian Art,” Archeometry, 47 (2005), 593–607; Claudia Pelosi et al., “Artificial Yellow Pigments: Produc- tion and Characterization through Spectroscopic Methods of Analysis,” ePreservation- Science, 7 (2010), 108 –15; Laura Cartechini et al., “Modified Naples Yellow in Renaissance Majolica: Study of Pb-Sb-Zn and Pb-Sb-Fe Ternary Pyroantimonates by X-ray Absorption Spectroscopy,” Journal of Analytical Atomic Spectroscopy, 26 (2011), 2500–7. 92 Wainwright et al., “Lead Antimonate Yellow,” 230–1. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 331Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 Fluid, Transparent Paint For all the nuance of hue and shade that was possible using the augmented sixteenth-century palette, an artist’s skill and sensitivity to mixing, juxtaposing and layering paint were nonetheless required for mimetic effects. As Paolo Pino (1534–1565) noted, writing about painting and the role of color in creating realistic and lively works, the ineffable quality of colors such as ultramarine and lakes do not only show their beauty when giving art its zest, since these colors are already beautiful in their boxes.93 One way that artists worked up color for painting was to use multiple thin, translucent layers that mix color in luminous, vibrant ways. Lomazzo described, if only briefly, how to paint “transparently.”94 This mode of color mixing relies on being able to paint trans- lucently, smoothly and thinly. Our ability to understand how early modern art- ists achieved this is hindered by the essential fact that we cannot know from an analytical perspective about the ways they thinned their paint since most of the diluent is, by necessity, volatile.95 The early Netherlandish artists somehow used oil to great effect in a way unknown to the Italians. Vasari, writing in The Life of Antonello da Messina (1430–1479) who was be- lieved to have brought the secret of painting in oil to Italians said, But when he [ Johann of Bruges, or Jan van Eyck] became old he finally bestowed the favour upon Ruggieri da Bruggia , his pupil, and Ruggieri told Ausse his student and others who are mentioned in works treating the subject of oil painting. But in spite of this […] the method did not travel beyond Flanders. And although such works, especially when they were fresh and when it seemed possible to recognize the secret, pos- sessed the sharp odour that the colours and the oils mixed together gave them, this secret was still never discovered over the course of many years.96 Since pure linseed oil has a quite subtle smell, the mention of odor alerts us to the addition of a solvent or diluent for the paint. The likely materials are 93 Paolo Pino, Dialogo della pittura (Venice, 1548), accessed February 2, 2015, <http://www. memofonte.it/home/files/pdf/scritti_pino, 15>. 94 Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo, Trattato dell’arte della pittura (Milan, 1584, reprinted 1965), 191. 95 Painters could have had access to alcohol and learned to use it, as has been discussed in Rachel Billinge et al., “Early Northern European Painting,” National Gallery Technical Bul- letin, 18 (1997), 41–2. 96 Giorgio Vasari, The Lives of the Artists, trans. Julia Conaway Bondanella and Peter Bondanella (Oxford, 1991), 187. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 332 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 distillates of balsams or turpentine or essential oils, which are often mentioned in treatises on painting. Work-up of these involved collection, which depend- ing on the source demanded tapping trees, or grinding seeds, followed by puri- fication and refining, using filtration and distillation.97 Mineral oil or naphtha was also a possibility. Mineral oil appears on color-sellers’ inventories, but we know relatively little about its uses in art and color making, though it is men- tioned in sixteenth-century guides for painters.98 One of many examples is a recipe for “varnish that dries in the sun” in Borghini’s Il Riposo: That which is dried in the sun can be made [in] two ways. In the first, tak- ing an ounce of pine oil and an ounce of petroleum oil and mixing them together, this is heated and when lukewarm is used by spreading thinly. In the other way, two ounces of walnut oil, an ounce of mastic, and a half ounce of petroleum oil are taken and mixed together and put to the fire.99 Italy and Austria had documented sources of mineral oil.100 Gerali has sug- gested that before oil became an industrial or commercial commodity in the mid-nineteenth century it was mined locally and not transported, and discov- ered, not sought out. It appeared in caverns, caves and on lakes mixed with water.101 The rarity of very pure oozing oil contributed to its value for medici- nal purposes, another example of the very purest sort of a material used in the color trade being reserved for medicine. The surge of interest in medicine and medicinals in the sixteenth century was spurred by important developments in distillation.102 Strides in improving methods and apparatus for distillation 97 Merrifield has commented on the early literature of varnish making. See Mary P. Merrifield, Original Treatises on the Arts of Painting (New York, 1969). 98 “Olio di sasso” is listed on a 1534 inventory; Louisa C. Matthew, “Le vernis dans les bou- tiques des marchands de couleurs vénitiens,” De la peinture de chevalet à l’instrument de musique: vernis, liants et couleurs, Musée de la musique, Paris, eds. Stéphane Vaiedelich and Jean-Philippe Echard (Paris, 2008), 22–5; and “oglio de saso” in a small quantity on a 1596 inventory of a color seller, see Roland Krishel, in Trade in Artists’ Materials (London, 2010), 253–66. 99 Lloyd H. Ellis, Raffaello Borghini’s ‘Il Riposo’: A Critical Study and Annotated Translation (PhD diss., Case Western University, Cleveland, 2002) 428–9. 100 Novelli and Sella, Petrolio. 101 Francesco Gerali, “The Development of the Italian Oil Industry in the Emilian Appe- nines,” Oil-Industry History, 11 (2010), 173–86. Naphtha was most often found in conjunc- tion with bitumen. The smell in mines was nauseating and miners could only stay in the shafts a short while. 102 Among the earliest books on distillation were Hieronymus Brunschwig, Liber de arte dis- tillandi de simplicibus (Strasbourg, 1500) and Liber de arte distillandi de compositis Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 333Mining For Color Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 also benefitted the lucrative perfume industry.103 The purification and produc- tion of light fractions of native mineral oil would also have helped artists who liked to spread their paints thinly. The innovative achievements of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century artists is due not only to their expanded palette but also to their exploration of ways to handle paint. Many writers talk of blending colors, but the stiffness of some colors of oil paint would make this difficult. Lorenzo Lotto, who painted with thin glazing layers of red paint purchased materials for varnish making, including olio di sasso.104 We know from written descriptions and the evidence from fingerprints that artists of this time ma- nipulated the paint with their fingers, and we can tell from the thinness of lay- ers of oil paint that it must have been extended with a diluent.105 Spirits of turpentine, prepared by distilling resins, would have performed this service. Since mineral oil or naphtha is mentioned more frequently in texts and we know that efforts for mining it increased in the sixteenth and seventeenth cen- turies, we must assume artists used it as well. (Strasbourg, 1512). Within decades these books were translated (English edition 1527) and new books written. In Venice many stills were set up in the mid-1500s and by 1640 distill- ers became separately recognized tradesmen. See Richard Palmer, “Pharmacy in the Republic of Venice in the Sixteenth Century,” The Medical Renaissance of the Sixteenth Century, eds. Andrew Wear, Roger Kenneth French and Iain M. Lonie (Cambridge, 1985), 100–17. 103 On making perfumes, Woolgar has noted that most significant changes occurred in the sixteenth century: “[…] naphtha-water, a volatile mix of water and extract of bitumen [was used], but most medieval perfumery was based on oils perfumed by absorption.” Advances were limited by the difficulties of distillation, although that did not prevent many in England producing infusions.” C.M. Woolgar, The Senses in Late Medieval England (New Haven, 2006), 137. 104 Matthew, “Le Vernis,” 22–5. 105 Giovanni Battista Armenini (1530–1609) in his treatise on painting described patting translucent paints (lakes, smalt and copper green) with the hand or using a wad to even them out, as noted in Renate Woodhuysen-Keller, “Aspects of painting technique in the use of verdigris and copper resinate,” in Historical Painting Techniques, Materials and Stu- dio Practice, eds. Arie Wallert, Erma Hermens and Marja Peek (Marina del Ray, 1995), 65–9. Titian’s mixing paint with his fingers was described by Giacomo Palma the Younger to Boschini, see Joy A. Thornton, Renaissance Color Theory and Some Paintings by Veronese (PhD diss., University of Pittsburg, 1979) 196–7. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 334 Berrie Early Science and Medicine 20 (2015) 308-334 Conclusion Our understanding of the material world of color is founded on many sources including descriptions by artists themselves, merchants, treatises and com- mentaries. Each of these provides a single perspective, oftentimes individual and subjective. Adding chemical analysis of the colorants actually used in paintings helps to round out the picture and provide a concrete time for their use. From this type of analysis, we find that the adoption of smalt and Naples yellow for easel painting follow similar stories. When mining and technologi- cal circumstances increased the availability – or felicitously altered the formu- lation – of the colorants in the early sixteenth century they became more widely used. These pigments, adopted from the arts of glass-making and pot- tery decoration, were first used by a few artists in limited and specific ways, apparently related to a desire to achieve particular colors or effects. These in- novators, using atypical materials that might have been refractory, in the sense of challenging to use, paved the path for those who followed them, and both smalt and Naples yellow found secure and prominent places on the artists’ pal- ette, enlivening the blue and yellow spectrum on paintings. When and how solvents were introduced to oil painting remains unclear, but in order to ex- ploit the full possibility of infinite shading by using multiple translucent glazes and blending, thin layers of paint would be preferred. Fast-evaporating sol- vents such as naphtha, which was being increasingly mentioned in relation to artistic endeavors in the sixteenth century, would make this kind of work more facile. The thinness of paint glazes in pictures, especially red and green glazes, assures us that though written evidence for specific products that could thin paint is still scarce, some early modern artists must have been using distilled solvents to achieve their goals of mimesis. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 
work_6kcmqr3er5f3jbrfbbcp2abkt4	----	renq66105 169..347 Edinburgh Research Explorer Review of Matt Kavaler, Renaissance Gothic: Architecture and the Arts in Northern Europe, 1470-1540 Citation for published version: Campbell, I 2013, 'Review of Matt Kavaler, Renaissance Gothic: Architecture and the Arts in Northern Europe, 1470-1540', Renaissance quarterly, vol. 66, no. 1, pp. 215-217. https://doi.org/10.1086/670437 Digital Object Identifier (DOI): 10.1086/670437 Link: Link to publication record in Edinburgh Research Explorer Document Version: Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Published In: Renaissance quarterly Publisher Rights Statement: © Campbell, I. (2013). Review of Matt Kavaler, Renaissance Gothic: Architecture and the Arts in Northern Europe, 1470-1540. Renaissance quarterly, 66(1), 215-217. General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Edinburgh Research Explorer is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The University of Edinburgh has made every reasonable effort to ensure that Edinburgh Research Explorer content complies with UK legislation. If you believe that the public display of this file breaches copyright please contact openaccess@ed.ac.uk providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1086/670437 https://doi.org/10.1086/670437 https://www.research.ed.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/review-of-matt-kavaler-renaissance-gothic-architecture-and-the-arts-in-northern-europe-14701540(d7b6a29e-c1db-4560-8ee8-5b3c67554bf1).html Ethan Matt Kavaler. Renaissance Gothic: Architecture and the Arts in Northern Europe, 1470–1540 Renaissance Gothic: Architecture and the Arts in Northern Europe, 1470–1540 by Ethan Matt Kavaler Review by: Ian Campbell Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 66, No. 1 (Spring 2013), pp. 215-217 Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the Renaissance Society of America Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/670437 . Accessed: 06/05/2014 05:52 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . The University of Chicago Press and Renaissance Society of America are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Renaissance Quarterly. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 129.215.19.187 on Tue, 6 May 2014 05:52:12 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucpress http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=rsa http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/670437?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Ethan Matt Kavaler. Renaissance Gothic: Architecture and the Arts in Northern Europe, 1470–1540. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012. xi + 332 pp. $75. ISBN: 978–0–300–16792–4. I remember Robert Cook, author of the classic Greek Art (1972), once asked me what my favorite architectural style was. I began to answer how I specialized in the Renaissance in Rome, but was cut short and asked if I actually liked the style. He insisted that it was an advantage not to like one’s area of study too much. I was relieved to confess that secretly I preferred Gothic and especially the Flamboyant phase. How much Kavaler loves the luscious late Gothic tours de force portrayed here isn’t clear but he has confirmed my opinion that the Renaissance was the greatest con trick ever played on patrons and practitioners of architecture. I’m not saying I don’t admire Bramante’s Tempietto but, like conceptual art, one gets the idea in an instant. In comparison, the sheer exuberance of architectural invention of the contemporary spire of the church of the Madeleine in Verneuil is far more engrossing. 215REVIEWS This content downloaded from 129.215.19.187 on Tue, 6 May 2014 05:52:12 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Kavaler breaks the book into a long introduction, five main chapters, and a short conclusion. The introduction largely consists of an examination of the reception and historiography of later Gothic architecture (roughly mid-fourteenth to mid-sixteenth century), showing how illuminating terms, usually invented by Germans, such as Baroque or Rococo Gothic, have failed to dispel or even reinforce disapproval of its perceived decadent nature. He also establishes the self-conscious character of the style. The idea that the arrival of the Italian Renaissance cavalry saved benighted Northern Gothic masons from endless repetition of an outmoded repertory is given short shrift. Margaret of Austria considered the all’antica manner for the funerary church she had built at Brou in Burgundy, but opted instead for what Kavaler calls ‘‘virtuoso late Gothic.’’ The first main chapter, ‘‘Ornament and Aesthetics,’’ looks at the evident enjoyment taken in filling surfaces with superfluous ornament, in contrast to the structural logic (and the implied moral superiority) of High Gothic, in a conscious attempt to stimulate the eye of the beholder. Kavaler suggests that Alberti’s theorizing about the nature of ornament may have been made known to some masons, since copies of De Re Aedificatoria, both printed (1486) and manuscript, were in circulation north of the Alps. He also makes the intriguing suggestion that the geometric games designers increasingly played, forcing spectators to look hard to find the underlying key, may have been stimulated by the increasing sophistication of readers once printing allowed more and more elaborate page structure. The next two chapters are largely descriptive: ‘‘Flamboyant Forms’’ takes us through the bewildering variety of tracery, both for windows and adorning walls, and vaulting, with examples ranging from Spain to Poland and from England to the Sudtirol, followed by ‘‘Microarchitecture,’’ concentrating on features such as fonts, sacrament houses, rood screens, and organ lofts. One has to admire Kavaler’s own virtuosity in finding words to pin down these complex forms, my own favorite being ‘‘tennis racket,’’ though a few more plans would have helped make sense of objects such as the Vienna organ loft. The fourth chapter, ‘‘Natural Forms,’’ examines the fashion for explicitly imitating vegetative forms in vaulting and tracery and the late medieval ambivalence toward nature, which often contrasted ‘‘wayward’’ nature against reason. A few pages later he tries a structuralist approach to make sense of the juxtaposition of (feminine) naturalistic and (masculine) geometrical ornament in the same object. One of the strengths of the book is that such attempts to introduce theory to throw light on the bewildering profusion of forms are offered to rather than forced on readers. Kavaler does not impose a conceptual framework, but still invites us to do more than marvel at the excellent illustrations. Finally, ‘‘Deconstruction and Hybridity’’ and the conclusion look at the increasing penetration of all’antica motifs into the Gothic idiom. I would have welcomed more exploration of Romanesque Revival, whether in Germany, or Scotland, but one cannot have everything. Kavaler has demonstrated that late Gothic was not just a decadent coda to the heroic High Gothic but a style still RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY216 This content downloaded from 129.215.19.187 on Tue, 6 May 2014 05:52:12 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp potentially capable of evolution. The fascinating experiments of masters such as Benedikt Ried make one regret that printed pattern books finally allowed unalloyed classicism to triumph. IAN CAMPBELL University of Edinburgh 217REVIEWS This content downloaded from 129.215.19.187 on Tue, 6 May 2014 05:52:12 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 
work_6nrkz7ek7vempc2qkibwkumwgm	----	10 Black Swan Review - Corpus.indd H U M A N I T I E S D I L I M A N 157 BALLET IN THE DARK: A Critical Review of Black Swan by Darren Aronofsky  RINA ANGELA CORPUS Rina Angela Corpus is an assistant professor at the Department of Art Studies, UP Diliman. Her first book, Defiant Daughters Dancing: Three Independent Women Dance, was published by the UP Press in 2007. Her research interests include feminist dance history, spirituality and gender issues in the arts. Choreographing the life of a ballerina in an ominous psychological thriller is a highly gendered project that takes us to well-established suspects in the patriarchal schema of the ballet world. Black Swan’s filmmakers created a narrative out of a performance of the classic ballet Swan Lake, making it a mimicry of the life of the tragic heroine Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman). The symptomatic pathology of perfectionism haunts the lead character, revealing her manifest hubris while unmasking the systemic social conditioning of women in the ballet system. These women are driven to become tenacious competitors, pleasant and willing objects of a gaze and patronage that are traditionally male-defined and controlled. Director Darren Aronofsky delivers the storyline via shots of fatalistic surrealist imagery – violent punctures and scars on the dancer’s fragile body, mumbling paintings, homoerotic and other hallucinatory effects. The film’s camera literally rushes behind the back of the dancer as she careens on her way to stardom that leads to her own self-destruction. We are invited to watch a sordid performance invested in highlighting the belabored beauty of a fledgling principal dancer living and working in the heart of the dog- eat-dog world that is New York City, revealing in this way the horrors of the aesthetics of ballet. For it is indeed an irony that while the ballet system has traditionally embraced women as dancers, as epitomized by the 19th century Romantic Black Swan Film Review Corpus 158 ballerina, ballet was in fact crafted by 15th century male aesthetes under the service of the Italian Renaissance courts, and later developed under the patronage of France’s Sun King Louis XIV. Its patronage and aesthetics have always been an idealization of the feminine form; and yet, over its 500-year history, it has been traditionally controlled by male impresarios, masters, choreographers and critics. Contemporary dance research conducted by critics such as Christy Adair in Women and Dance (1992), have offered scathing materialist critiques of women’s induced subservience in the patriarchal ballet setup, and have referred to ballerinas as “unthinking bodies.” But more recent feminisms (Aalten,1997; Banes,1998; Fisher, 2007) have attempted to recover a more empowered reading of the ballerina’s agency as an active negotiation with the powers-that-be and the dancer’s capacity to reclaim power in her chosen artistic domain. Dance historian Jennifer Fisher in her current ethnographic study of the ballerina’s image states: I doubt if anyone suspected that ballet might help me discover aspects of power, art, dedication, and spiritual resonance. For me and other women I have met in my research, ballet symbolized resistance and independence. . . . Despite her history of stereotyping and attacks against her, the ballerina continues to evolve, embracing both her conventionally ‘feminine’ side and her steely ‘macho’ physique and resolve—embracing conflict and finding a transcendent power in doing so. (Fisher, 2007, p. 14) Yet this filmic foray leans more towards laying bare women’s victimization in the ballet company, which is portrayed to be a hothouse for brutality that appears nevertheless to be of a pleasurable kind. And as the story unfolds, spectators are shown three women keeping silent about the scheming sexual maneuvers of a virile artistic director (Victor Cassell) in their bid for principal dancer status, showing how women can be easy prey to unethical acts just to climb up the proverbial ladder. Criticized for her fragility and frigidity, Nina acquieses to the imperious demands of her master, revealing her own dark character as she jockeys for power. Suddenly, Nina finds herself pushed in real life to personify the fierce and fiendish Black Swan. Further victimized by a wrong sense of self-volition characterized by a kind of fascism over the body, the dancer is also time and again both subject and H U M A N I T I E S D I L I M A N 159 object of psychological disorders, such as anorexia nervosa and bulimia. American culture is known for producing pop culture’s infamous anorexic icons, such as Karen Carpenter and the Barbie doll; and the film does not fail to show its own version of this infirmity through the lead dancer’s bulimic bouts through self-induced vomiting. On top of this is the high and precise discipline of keeping the body in shape through a daily regimen of ballet workouts in front of a massive studio mirror that acts like an imposingly powerful panopticon, not to mention enduring the pain of having to dance on highly fetishist satin-laced pointe shoes, exclusively worn by the danseuse. Instead of a solidarity of women–potentially between Nina and her ex- ballerina mother, between Nina and Lily, and between Nina and Beth – we find a fierce clash of motives among the main female characters that is characteristic of women’s portrayal in patriarchal narratives. The trope of power is forever disfigured, and possibilities for empowerment are nowhere in sight. We realize with predictability that this filmic formula is, after all, a contemporary Hollywood version of the tragedy that was the classic Swan Lake ballet, which also saw the heroine Odette killing herself after realizing that her prince had fallen in love with her alter ego, the “wrong” girl, the Black Swan. And while saturated with powerful subtexts and layering of images surrounding the problematique that emerges from the grotesque mix of patriarchy and ballet culture, the film also allows us to ponder how Hollywood-style commodification of the heinous thriller might not be too different from classical ballet’s five centuries-old objectification of women’s bodies. For in the thriller genre as in ballet, women’s bodies at once become objects of romantic idealization on one hand, and of scopophilic brutality on the other. Black Swan Film Review Corpus 160 WORKS CITED Aalten, Anna. Performing the Body, Creating Culture. In Kathy Davis (Ed.), Embodied Practices: Feminist Perspectives on the Body. London: Sage Publications, 1997. Print. Adair, Christy. Women and Dance: Sylphs and Sirens. New York: New York University Press, 1992. Print. Banes, Sally. Dancing Women: Female Bodies On Stage. New York: Routledge, 1999. Print. Fisher, Jennifer. Tulle as Tool: Embracing the Conflict of the Ballerina as Powerhouse. In Ann Dils (Ed.), Dance Research Journal. North Carolina: Congress on Research in Dance, (pp. 3-24), 2007. Print. 
work_6q2fn7zxrzg5vdc36m7ws37fse	----	untitled published for the internationaal instituut voor sociale geschiedenis, amsterdam international review of social history 0020–8590 volume 56 special issue 19 2011 SPECIAL ISSUE 19 Edited by Karin Hofmeester and Christine Moll-Murata The Joy and Pain of Work: Global Attitudes and Valuations, 1500—1650 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X https://www.cambridge.org/core SUBSCRIPTIONS International Review of Social History (ISSN 0020–8590) is published in three parts in April, August and December plus one special issue in December. Three parts plus one special issue form a volume. 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Information on International Review of Social History and all other Cambridge journals can be accessed via journals.cambridge.org © Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale Geschiedenis EXECUTIVE EDITOR Aad Blok, Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale Geschiedenis, Cruquiusweg 31, 1019 AT Amsterdam, The Netherlands EDITORIAL COMMITTEE Ravi Ahuja, Stefano Bellucci, Dennis Bos, Ulbe Bosma, Gita Deneckere, Karin Hofmeester, Marcel van der Linden (Chair), Elise van Nederveen Meerkerk, Michael Zeuske EDITORIAL STAFF Angèle Janse, Editorial Assistant Jenneke Quast, Bibliography CORRESPONDING EDITORS Friedhelm Boll, Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, Bonn Eileen Boris, University of California, Santa Barbara David De Vries, Tel Aviv University Nancy Green, EHESS, Paris Michael Hall, Universidad Estadual de Campinas David Howell, University of York Elina Katainen, Helsinki Amarjit Kaur, University of New England, Armidale Reinhart Kößler, Bochum Friedrich Lenger, Justus-Liebig-Universität, Giessen Paolo Malanima, Università degli Studi di Reggio Calabria Siegfried Mattl, Institut für Zeitgeschichte, Wien Prabhu Mohapatra, New Delhi Irina Novičenko, Center for Social History, Moscow Lars Olsson, Linnaeus University, Växjö Ricardo D. Salvatore, Universidad Torcuato di Tella Lucy Taksa, University of New South Wales, Sydney ADVISORY BOARD Eileen Boris, University of California, Santa Barbara Ute Frevert, Yale University Manuel Pérez Ledesma, Universidad Autonoma de Madrid Richard Price, University of Maryland Wilfried Reininghaus, Nordrhein-Westfälisches Staatsarchiv Münster International Review of Social History PUBLISHED FOR THE INTERNATIONAAL INSTITUUT VOOR SOCIALE GESCHIEDENIS, AMSTERDAM terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X https://www.cambridge.org/core international review of social history Special Issue 19 The Joy and Pain of Work: Global Attitudes and Valuations, 1500–1650 Edited by Karin Hofmeester and Christine Moll-Murata terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X https://www.cambridge.org/core Published by the Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge The Pitt Building, Trumpington Street, Cambridge, CB2 1RP 40 West 20th Street, New York, NY 10011-4211, USA 10 Stamford Road, Oakleigh, Melbourne 3166, Australia r Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale Geschiedenis A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data applied for ISBN 9781107609754 (paperback) Printed in Great Britain by the University Press, Cambridge terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS The Joy and Pain of Work: Global Attitudes and Valuations, 1500–1650 Edited by Karin Hofmeester and Christine Moll-Murata Notes on Contributors The Joy and Pain of Work: Global Attitudes and Valuations, 1500–1650 Introduction Karin Hofmeester and Christine Moll-Murata 1 Studying Attitudes to Work Worldwide, 1500–1650: Concepts, Sources, and Problems of Interpretation Marcel van der Linden 25 Labour Ideologies and Women in the Northern Netherlands, c.1500–1800 Ariadne Schmidt 45 Between Sin and Salvation: The Seventeenth-Century Dutch Artisan Pieter Plockhoy and His Ethics of Work Henk Looijesteijn 69 Attitudes to Work and Commerce in the Late Italian Renaissance: A Comparison between Tomaso Garzoni’s La Piazza Universale and Leonardo Fioravanti’s Dello Specchio Di Scientia Universale Luca Mocarelli 89 The Just Wage in Early Modern Italy: A Reflection on Zacchia’s De Salario seu Operariorum Mercede Andrea Caracausi 107 The Religious Aspect of Labour Ethics in Medieval and Early Modern Russia Arkadiy E. Tarasov 125 Jewish Ethics and Women’s Work in the Late Medieval and Early Modern Arab-Islamic World Karin Hofmeester 141 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X https://www.cambridge.org/core Work Ethics and Work Valuations in a Period of Commercialization: Ming China, 1500–1644 Christine Moll-Murata 165 Prostitutes and Courtesans in the Confucian Moral Universe of Late Ming China (1550–1644) Harriet T. Zurndorfer 197 Japan in the Seventeenth Century: Labour Relations and Work Ethics Regine Mathias 217 The World of Labour in Mughal India (c.1500–1750) Shireen Moosvi 245 Norms of Professional Excellence and Good Conduct in Accountancy Manuals of the Mughal Empire Najaf Haider 263 Labour Ideologies and Labour Relations in Colonial Portuguese America, 1500–1700 Tarcisio R. Botelho 275 Free and Unfree Labour in the Colonial Andes in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries Raquel Gil Montero 297 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X https://www.cambridge.org/core NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS Tarcisio R. Botelho, Department of History, Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, Avenida Antônio Carlos, 6627, Belo Horizonte, MG, Brazil; e-mail: tbotelho@fafich.ufmg.br Andrea Caracausi, Department of History, University of Padua, Via del Vescovado, 30, 35141 Padua, Italy; e-mail: andrea.caracausi@unipd.it Raquel Gil Montero, Instituto Superior de Estudios Sociales, Consejo Nacional de Investigaciones Cientificas y Tecnologicas (CONICET- UNT), San Lorenzo 429, 4000 San Miguel de Tucumán, Argentina; e-mail: raquelgilmontero@conicet.gov.ar Najaf Haider, Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi 110067, India; e-mail: snajafhaider@yahoo.co.in Karin Hofmeester, Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale Geschiedenis, Cruquiusweg 31, 1019 AT Amsterdam, The Netherlands; e-mail: kho@iisg.nl Marcel van der Linden, Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale Geschiedenis, Cruquiusweg 31, 1019 AT Amsterdam, The Netherlands; e-mail: mvl@iisg.nl Henk Looijesteijn, Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale Geschiedenis, Cruquiusweg 31, 1019 AT Amsterdam, The Netherlands; e-mail: hlo@iisg.nl Regine Mathias, Faculty of East Asian Studies, Ruhr-Universität Bochum, Universitätsstrasse 150, 44780 Bochum, Germany; e-mail: regine.mathias@rub.de Luca Mocarelli, Departimento di Economia Politica, Università di Milano Bicocca, Edificio U6, Piazza dell’Ateneo Nuovo, 1, 20126 Milano, Italy; e-mail: luca.mocarelli@unimib.it Christine Moll-Murata, Faculty of East Asian Studies, Ruhr-Universität Bochum, Universitätsstrasse 150, 44780 Bochum, Germany; e-mail: Christine.Moll-Murata@rub.de Shireen Moosvi, Centre of Advanced Study in History, Aligarh Muslim University, Aligarh (UP), 202002 India; e-mail: shireen.moosvi@gmail.com Ariadne Schmidt, Institute for History, Economic and Social History, Leiden University, PO Box 9515, 2300 RA Leiden, The Netherlands; e-mail: a.schmidt@hum.leidenuniv.nl Arkadiy E. Tarasov, Faculty of History, Lomonosov Moscow State University, Lomonovsky Prospekt 27-4, Moscow 119992, Russia; e-mail: tarasov@histmsu.ru Harriet T. Zurndorfer, Leiden University Institute for Area Studies (LIAS), Leiden University, PO Box 9515, 2300 RA Leiden, The Netherlands; e-mail: h.t.zurndorfer@hum.leidenuniv.nl terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002085901100071X https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_6s4msdtx4vfczafcudxtckassi	----	Rezension von: C. M. Woodhouse: George Gemistos Plethon. The Last of the Hellenes, Oxford 1986 O R T H O D O X E S F O R U M Zeitschrift des Instituts für Orthodoxe Theologie der Universität München 2.Jahrgang 1988 O R T H O D O X E S F O R U M Zeitschrift des Instituts für Orthodoxe Theologie der Universität München Herausgegeben von Prof. Dr.phil., Dr. theol. Theodor Nikolaou Schriftleitung: Prof. Dr. Dr. Theodor Nikolaou Dr. phil. Athanasius A.Fourlas Kyriakos Savvidis Manuskripte, redaktionelle Zuschriften und Besprechungsexemplare sind zu richten an: » O r t h o d o x e s Forum« Institut für Orthodoxe Theologie der Universität M ü n c h e n L u d w i g s t r a ß e 29 D-8000 M ü n c h e n 22 Nachdruck nur mit Genehmigung der Schriftleitung. B ü c h e r für Besprechungen werden direkt angefordert. Unverlangte Rezensionsexemplare k ö n n e n nicht z u r ü c k g e s a n d t werden; sie werden der Institutsbibliothek zugeführt. Bezugsbedingungen: Das » O r t h o d o x e Forum« erscheint zweimal im Jahr und kann beim Verlag oder bei allen Buchhandlungen bestellt werden. Jahresabonnement 36.— D M z u z ü g l i c h Versandkosten. Einzelheft 2 0 . - D M . Abbestellungen k ö n n e n mit dreimonatiger Kündigungsfrist nur zum Jahresende angenommen werden. Gesamtherstellung: E O S Druckerei, D-8917 St.Ottilien ISSN 0933-8586 UniYersi J .öts-1 B i b l i o t h e k JJ M ü n c h e n jj J A H R E S I N H A L T S V E R Z E I C H N I S 1988 Geleitwort 3 G.Larentzakis, Im Mysterium leben. Entwicklungen in der Mysterientheologie des Westens aus der Sicht eines orthodoxen Theologen 5 T h . Nikolaou, Das Wirken des Heiligen Geistes in der Predigt des Evangeliums und in der Feier der Sakramente 29 M.Basarab, Die Kirche als Verkünderin und Auslegerin der Heiligen Schrift . . 43 J.Chryssavgis, Dependence and Divorce in Patristic Theology. The relationship with hellenistic philosophy and scholastic methodology 51 G . Wagner, Zum Problem der Epiklese im Abendland 57 E . Trapp, Kelch und Teller der Eucharistiefeier. Die byzantinischen Belege zu oioKonoiripiov 69 G.Mantzaridis, Ehe und Ehelosigkeit in der Orthodoxen Kirche 74 D O K U M E N T E Ökumenisches Patriarchat, Patriarchal- und Synodalenzyklika zum 1200jährigen Jubiläum seit der Einberufung der Heiligen Siebten Ökumenischen Synode in Nikaia (787—1987), Athen 1987 (ins Deutsche übersetzt v. K.Savvidis) 84 Rundschreiben des Metropoliten von Deutschland Augoustinos zum 25jährigen Bestehen der Griechisch-Orthodoxen Metropolie von Deutschland (1963 — 1988) 112 R E Z E N S I O N E N A. Payer, Der Ökumenische Patriarch Athenagoras I., ein Friedensbringer aus dem Osten (K. Kallinikos) — A. St. Anestidis, 'OpOoöo&a, fJepiooiKÒv zoo OÌKOvjueviKOV narpiapxeiov, 1926—1963, Evperrjpiov (K. Kallinikos) — Dam. Papandreou (Hg.), Les dialogues oecuméniques hier et aujourd'hui — Orthodoxie et mouvement oecuménique — Un regard orthodoxe sur la paix (Les Études théologiques de Chambésy 5—7) (R.Miron) — Chr. Yannaras, Kaxacpvyio Vôeœv (papwpia) (Th.Nikolaou) — CM. Woodhouse, George Gemistos Plethon. The Last of the Hellenes (Th.Nikolaou) — J.M.Hussey, The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire (E.Trapp) — W.Härle / H. Wagner (Hgg.), Theologenlexikon. Von den Kirchenvätern bis zur Gegen- wart (J. Modesto) — K. Mantzaridou, Was vor den Festtagen so gut schmeckt. Rezepte aus Griechenland für die Fastenzeit. Deutsch von W . O . F e i ß t (K.Ni- kolakopoulos) 115 C H R O N I K 133 E I N G E S A N D T E S C H R I F T E N 138 A U T O R E N 140 Geleitwort 143 D O K U M E N T E Ökumenisches Patriarchat, Patriarchal- und Synodalenzyklika zum 1000jährigen Jubiläum der Taufe der Russischen Orthodoxen Kirche, 1988 (ins Deutsche übersetzt v. K . Savvidis) 146 BEITRÄGE Chr. Hannick, Konstantinopel und Bulgarien als Träger der schriftlichen Mission in der Kiever Rus' 165 G.Podskalsky, Das Gebet in der Kiever Rus' — seine Formen, seine Rolle, seine Aussagen 177 G.Limouris, Art, Theology and Russian Piety in Relation to Liturgy 193 Th.Nikolaou, Der hl. Berg Athos und die orthodoxe Kirche in Rußland. Spirituelle Impulse 209 G . Larentzakis, Über die Bedeutung der Ortskirche in der orthodoxen Theologie 227 H . Döring, Die Wiederentdeckung der Ortskirche in der katholischen Ekklesiologie 239 M.Plathow, Die Bedeutung der »Ortskirche« in der lutherischen Ekklesiologie . 259 R E Z E N S I O N E N A.Borrely - M.Eutizi, L ' Oecuménisme spirituel (M.Basarab) — B.P.Stogian- nos, 'EpjurjvevTiKà jueAezrjpaza (K. Nikolakopoulos) — D. Wendebourg, Reforma- tion und Orthodoxie (Th. Nikolaou) — E. Voordeckers - F. Tinnefeid (Hgg.), Ioan- nis Cantacuzeni Refutationes duae Prochori Cydonii et Disputatio cum Paulo Pa- triarcha Latino epistulis Septem tradita (E.Trapp) — A.M. Wittig, Die orthodoxe Kirche in Griechenland (D. Savramis) — M. P. Begzos, Dialektische Physik und eschatologische Theologie. (K. Angelis) — G. D. Martzelos, révearj Kai nrjyèç zov "Opov zfjç XaÀKrjôovaç (K. Savvidis) 275 C H R O N I K 293 E I N G E S A N D T E S C H R I F T E N 300 A U T O R E N 302 ABKÜRZUNGSVERZEICHNIS 303 O R T H O D O X E S F O R U M Zeitschrift des Instituts für Orthodoxe Theologie der Universität München 2. Jahrgang 1988 Heft 1 O R T H O D O X E S F O R U M Zeitschrift des Instituts für Orthodoxe Theologie der Universität München Herausgegeben von Prof. Dr.phil., Dr. theol. Theodor Nikolaou Schriftleitung: Prof. Dr. Dr. Theodor Nikolaou Dr. phil. Athanasios A . Fourlas Kyriakos Savvidis Manuskripte, redaktionelle Zuschriften und Besprechungsexemplare sind zu richten an: » O r t h o d o x e s Forum« Institut für Orthodoxe Theologie der Universität M ü n c h e n L u d w i g s t r a ß e 29 D-8000 M ü n c h e n 22 Nachdruck nur mit Genehmigung der Schriftleitung. B ü c h e r für Besprechungen werden direkt angefordert. Unverlangte Rezensionsexemplare k ö n n e n nicht z u r ü c k g e s a n d t werden; sie werden der Institutsbibliothek zugeführt. Bezugsbedingungen: Das »Orthodoxe Forum« erscheint zweimal im Jahr und kann beim Verlag oder bei allen Buchhandlungen bestellt werden. Jahresabonnement 36,— D M z u z ü g l i c h Versandkosten. Einzelheft 2 0 - D M . Abbestellungen können mit dreimonatiger Kündigungsfrist nur zum Jahresende angenommen werden. Gesamtherstellung: E O S Druckerei, D-8917 St.Ottilien ISSN 0933-8586 I N H A L T S V E R Z E I C H N I S Geleitwort 3 G.Larentzakis, Im Mysterium leben. Entwicklungen in der Mysterientheologie des Westens aus der Sicht eines orthodoxen Theologen 5 T h . Nikolaou, Das Wirken des Heiligen Geistes in der Predigt des Evangeliums und in der Feier der Sakramente 29 M . Basarab, Die Kirche als Verkünderin und Auslegerin der Heiligen Schrift . . 43 J . Chryssavgis, Dependence and Divorce in Patristic Theology. The relationship with hellenistic philosophy and scholastic methodology 51 G.Wagner, Zum Problem der Epiklese im Abendland 57 E . Trapp, Kelch und Teller der Eucharistiefeier. Die byzantinischen Belege zu oioKonorrjpiov 69 G.Mantzaridis, Ehe und Ehelosigkeit in der Orthodoxen Kirche 74 D O K U M E N T E Ökumenisches Patriarchat, Patriarchal- und Synodalenzyklika zum 1200jährigen Jubiläum seit der Einberufung der Heiligen Siebten Ökumenischen Synode in Nikaia (787—1987), Athen 1987 (ins Deutsche übersetzt v. K . Savvidis) 84 Rundschreiben des Metropoliten von Deutschland Augoustinos zum 25jährigen Bestehen der Griechisch-Orthodoxen Metropolie von Deutschland (1963-1988) 112 R E Z E N S I O N E N A. Payer, Der Ökumenische Patriarch Athenagoras I., ein Friedensbringer aus dem Osten (K. Kallinikos) — A. St. Anestidis, 'OpOoôoÇia, IJepioôiKOv rov OÌKOVjueviKoO narpiapxeiov, 1926—1963, Evpertjpiov (K. Kallinikos) — Dam. Papandreou (Hg.), Les dialogues oecuméniques hier et aujourd'hui — Orthodoxie et mouvement oecuménique — Un regard orthodoxe sur la paix (Les Études théologiques de Chambésy 5—7) (R.Miron) — Chr. Yannaras, Kaza<pvyio lôeœv (ßapwpia) (Th. Nikolaou) — C. M. Woodhouse, George Gemistos Plethon. The Last of the Hellenes (Th. Nikolaou) — J. M. Hussey, The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire (E.Trapp) — W.Härle / H. Wagner (Hgg.), Theologenlexikon. Von den Kirchenvätern bis zur Gegen- wart (J. Modesto) — K. Mantzaridou, Was vor den Festtagen so gut schmeckt. Rezepte aus Griechenland für die Fastenzeit. Deutsch von W . O . F e i ß t (K.Ni- kolakopoulos) 115 C H R O N I K 133 E I N G E S A N D T E S C H R I F T E N 138 A U T O R E N 140 Rezensionen 125 Erwähnenswert scheint mir schließlich das einseitige und kaum begründbare Urteil von Yannaras über die orthodoxen Theologen: Begeisterte Bewunderung für die Theologen der Exilsrussen auf der einen Seite und völlig ablehnende Kritik für die theologische A r - beit der Athener Universitätsprofessoren auf der anderen Seite (S. 144 ff, 147 f, 153, 305). Ob diese Einseitigkeit sich durch die akademischen Enttäuschungen des Autors erklären läßt, muß hier dahingestellt bleiben. Dieses Buch stellt im Grunde eine Abrechnung mit der Zoi-Bewegung dar und läßt des- halb zeitweilig an Objektivität zu wünschen übrig. M i t einer Fülle von wertvollen Details untermauert es jedoch die allgemeine Ansicht, daß die »Zoi« eine importierte protestantisch-pietistische Bewegung war, die mit der Tradition und dem Leben der K i r - che schlechthin unvereinbar ist. In dieser Hinsicht ist das Buch von Yannaras ein einmali- ges, unwiderlegbares und lesenswertes »Zeugnis«. Theodor Nikolaou, München C. M. Wocdhouse, George Gemistos Plethon. The Last of the Hellenes, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1̂ 86, X X I + 391 S. Zum Aisgangspunkt seines Buches macht W. die Ansicht, daß es zwar viele Monogra- phien übe- verschiedene Aspekte des Lebens und des Werkes Plethons gibt, aber »there ist no previous account in any language of his life and writings as a whole« (S. I X ) . Diese pauschale Ansicht kann unter Berücksichtigung der Arbeiten von Schultze (»Erstes Buch«), Matnalakis und vor allem Masai nicht völlig unwidersprochen bleiben; auch das Buch von Chr. Sp. Soldatos, rsœpyioç repiaroç IJXrjôœv, Athen 1973, welches W. in der Litentur nicht anführt, befaßt sich mit dem Leben und dem Werk Plethons, auch wenn es mdere Akzente setzt. Nach ener kurzen Einleitung (S. IX—XII) folgen bibliographische »Abbreviations« (S. XIII—vV) und Bibliographie (S. X V I — X X I ) , welche sorgfältig ausgesucht und über- sichtlich mgeführt wird. Es fällt jedoch bei den Schriften Plethons auf, daß der Autor mit Verwiis auf Mercati und Masai auch eine angeblich unveröffentlichte Schrift »flepi Tvxtic« v n Gemistos vermerkt (S. X V I I , vgl. auch S.44f, 375), obwohl Fr. Masai selber einige Jähe später sie als ein Kapitel des Werkes des Alexandras von Aphrodisias (Ka- rien), um300 n.Chr., hat indentifizieren können (Le »de fato« d'Alexandre d'Aphrodise Attribué i Pléthon, Byzantion 33, 1963, 253—256). Ebenfalls läßt W. den Nachdruck der Arbeiten on Fr. Schultze, Georgios Gemistos Plethon, und A. Ellissen, Analekten der mittel- urJ neugriechischen Literatur, im Zentralantiquariat der Deutschen Demokrati- schen Repiblik unerwähnt (Leipzig 1975 u. 1976); als »Nachwort« zu dem Werk Schultzes erschien oendort auch meine Arbeit zum Forschungsstand von Gemistos (Leipzig 1978). Hier sei uch auf zwei Druckfehler hingewiesen: Auf S. X I V , Z . 19: èniôpaarj statt eniöpaoi und Z.33 : 297-341 statt 3 0 0 - 3 9 . Das Buh enthält zwei Teile: »Part I. Gemistos« (S. 1—188), »Part II. Plethon« (S. 189—39) und schließt mit einem Index ab (S. 381—391). Die Überschrift der beiden Teile mit en jeweiligen Namen »Gemistos« und »Plethon« ist eigentümlich und schwer erklärlich Die Erläuterungen auf S. XI überzeugen kaum, denn der Name Gemistos wird 126 Rezensionen auch nach 1439 verwendet, wie W. selber bestätigt (z.B. S.50,227). Den Namen Plethon bezeichnet W. als »pseudonym« (z.B. S . X I , so, 186—187), obwohl er zugeben muß, daß Gemistos diesen Namen niemals gebraucht hat, »to conceal the identity of the author« (S. 239). Den Wendepunkt für die Zulegung des Namens Plethon erblickt der Verfasser bei der Herausgabe seines Werkes »De differentiis« im Jahre 1439 (S. 186). Hat W. recht, was den Zeitpunkt betrifft, so muß man ihm in bezug darauf widersprechen, daß dies in Verbindung mit dem Werk »De differentiis« steht, zumal die Edition der Schrift durch B.Lagarde nach dem Autograph Plethons (Codex Marcianus gr. 517) den Titel trägt: »reojpyfov rsßiGTOü nepi OJV 'ApiaroTéXrjç npoç ffXàrœva oiacpepßiai« (Byzantion 43, 1973, 321). Diese Einteilung des Werkes und die Benennung der beiden Teile wider- spricht übrigens auch der Verwendung der Namen durch W. im Index, wo Gemistos für »the events of his Life and times and his Charakter and scholarship« und Plethon für »the list of his writings and the analysis of his philosophical doctrines« angeführt wird (S. 381, 384f, 3880. Die Erörterungen über die Namensänderung scheinen mir auch ein Beispiel für die A r - beitsweise von W. zu liefern (vgl. die Seitenangaben s.v. Gemistos »change of name«, S. 384). Einerseits gibt es hierbei einige Wiederholungen, andererseits haben wir z. B. auf S. 186ff eine gute Sammlung von brauchbarem Material, welche aber die Ausführungen von Masai (Pléthon et le Platonisme de Mistra, Appendice I: Le Pseudonyme de »Plet- hon«, S. 384—386) kaum weiterführt und den Leser ob der fehlenden Konklusion unbe- friedigt läßt. Den roten Faden des Buches bildet wohl die chronologische Reihenfolge der Ereignisse im Leben Plethons und der Abfassung seiner Schriften. Dies wird allerdings durch die Titel der zehn Kapitel des I. und der acht Kapitel des II. Teiles des Buches eher angedeutet als systematisch und übersichtlich angelegt. Dieses Defizit des Buches wird durch den de- taillierten Index und insbesondere die näheren Angaben unter den Begriffen »Gemistos« und »Plethon« weitgehend aufgewogen. Von besonderem geschichtlichem Interesse aus dem 1. Teil des Buches ist das Kapitel VI über die »Angelegenheiten des Staates« (S. 79—118), in dem die sich stets verschlech- ternde Situation des Byzantinischen Reiches im 14. und zu Beginn des 15. Jhs. anschaulich gemacht wird. Für den Theologen und den Kirchenhistoriker dürften dagegen die Ausfüh- rungen des Autors in den Kapiteln VII: »A Prospect of Union« (S. 119—135), VIII: »Fer- rara 1438« (S. 136—153), I X : »Humanists and Scholastics« (S. 154—170) und X : »Florence 1439« (S. 171—188) Beachtung und Anerkennung finden. Der Autor als Nicht-Theologe ist um Objektivität und Äquidistanz bemüht. Hier wird deutlich, daß es verschiedene Diffe- renzen in Lehre und Praxis zwischen der Ost- und der Westkirche gab, und daß sie je nachdem verschiedentlich akzentuiert wurden, daß aber zu diesem Zeitpunkt »the crucial issue was political. The Greeks needed military help against the Turks as the price of Union. The Latins were divided between supporters of papal supremacy and the Conciliar Movement, each wishing to exploit the opportunity of Union with the Greeks to streng- then their claim to predominance over the reunited Church« (S. 119). Der Dialog und die Unionsverhandlungen zwischen der Ost- und der Westkirche fanden im Mittelalter mei- stens unter Bedingungen statt, die nicht einer objektiven Wahrheitsfindung dienlich waren. Hiervon ist auch das Unionskonzil von Ferrara/Florenz nicht auszunehmen, ob- Rezensionen 127 wohl hier intensiver als bei früheren Begegnungen diskutiert wurde. Die Union, die in Florenz über die strittigen Punkte des Filioque, des Papsttums, des Fegefeuers etc. be- schlossen und von den meisten Orthodoxen unterschrieben wurde, war nicht so sehr das Ergebnis dieser Diskussionen, als vielmehr der determinierten Entschlossenheit des K a i - sers »that they should not delay or prevent the signature of the degree of Union« (S. 175). Sieht man in diesem ersten Teil des Buches von Teilaspekten ab, wie z. B. über die Rolle des Elisaeos im Leben Plethons ( z . B . S.23—28, 65f, 71 0 und des Proklos im Hinblick auf die Lehre des Philosophen von Mistra (S.75ff), in denen die Forschung wohl noch nicht das letzte Wort gesprochen hat (vgl. z . B . meine Publikationen in: Enszrjpiç Traipefaç BvÇavzivœv Znovôœv 38, 1971, 297—341 und Jahrbuch der Österreichi- schen Byzantinistik 32/4, 1982, 387—399), so liefert W. insgesamt viele aufschlußreiche Erörterungen. Besonders bemerkenswert sind seine Ausführungen über den Anstoß Ple- thons nicht nur zu der Kontroverse zwischen Piatonikern und Aristotelikern, sondern auch zu der Renaissance überhaupt. Im Jahre 1439 begann in Florenz »something more impor- tant to the cultural history of Europe, which was to be a major part of the Greek contribu- tion to the Italian Renaissance« (S. 188). Dieses Ergebnis hat W. auch schon früher darge- legt (The impact of Pletho on the Western Renaissance, TìpaKxiKà rfjç "AKaônpiaç "AQnvœv 55, 1980 — erschienen 1981 —, 473—483). Gerade diesen Beitrag Plethons behandelt W. im zweiten Teil des Buches. Denn hier wird die Schrift »De differentiis« erstmalig vollständig in englischer Übersetzung zugäng- lich gemacht und überdies die Kontroverse Plethons mit Georgios Scholarios ausführlich besprochen. W. gibt hier auch die entsprechenden Werke teils in Übersetzung, teils in Zu- sammenfassung wieder. Ebenfalls findet sich hier eine Zusammenfassung der »Gesetze«, des wichtigsten, leider nicht vollständig erhaltenen Werkes von Gemistos. Den Hinter- grund des zweiten Teils des Buches bildet die Darstellung der letzten Jahre des Byzantini- schen Reiches. Was die englische Übersetzung der Schrift »De differentiis« betrifft, so verwundert auf der einen Seite die Angabe von W., daß er hierbei der französischen Über- setzung von Lagarde folgt (S. 191) und demzufolge keine eigene anzufertigen versucht hat; auf der anderen Seite kann man nicht umhin, auch festzustellen, daß er trotzdem Lagarde nicht völlig treu gefolgt ist. Hatte Lagarde manche Stellen ungenau übersetzt, so fügte W. darüber hinaus einige weitere hinzu. Die festgestellten Übersetzungsfehler waren aller- dings nicht sehr gravierend bzw. sinnentstellend. Zusammenfassend: Trotz der angeführten Mängel ein insgesamt empfehlenswertes Buch, das mit Gewissenhaftigkeit und viel Fleiß geschrieben wurde; der Autor hat das Z i e l , das er sich gesteckt hat, in der Hinsicht erreicht, daß er für den englischsprachigen Raum eine umfassende Darstellung Plethons geliefert hat, welche aber im Gesamt der Plethonforschung betrachtet werden muß. Theodor Nikolaou, München 
work_6x4nzyyngrdthbwvs57cebjsnm	----	Renaissance and Reformation, 1999 Book Reviews / Comptes rendus / 95 tures d'excellente facture, qui font tout le prix de ce document étonnant. Ces illustrations sont ici rendues avec toute la précision et la finesse désirables. Notons encore que, par sa présentation, par l'excellence de sa typographie et la qualité remarquable des nombreuses reproductions qui l'illustrent, la maison Nuovi Orizzonti a produit un ouvrage dont la manipulation est aussi agréable que la lecture en est aisée. On regrettera cependant qu'aucune notice ne présente les auteurs qui ont contribué à sa réalisation, et que la seule bibliographie, d'ailleurs rudimentaire, qui accompagne une des contributions contient quelques erreurs, la rendant peu fiable. LOUIS VALCKE, Université de Sherbrooke Robert Williams. Art, Theory, and Culture in Sixteenth-Century Italy: From Techne to Metatechne. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Pp. 243. This compact, lucid book about the role of art theory in the later Italian Renaissance argues that in the sixteenth century art became "essentially theoretical" and is thus concerned as much with the invisible as with the visible. The book deals with Vasari, Varchi, Borghini, Gilio, Lomazzo, Zuccaro, Tasso, Bocchi, and other theorists, who claimed in various formulations that art creates culture, or at least a new idea of culture. It raises a number of arresting questions about form, disegno, and decorum, and about the coercive powers of art and representation— their producing, and then their constituting, an age's reality. Above all, it explores the idea that art exercises a "superintendency" over knowledge, is "a form of knowledge or mode of knowing that necessarily involves a mastery of other modes," and is potentially, even ideally, "a mastery of all modes." Williams' at times Neoplatonic, at times neo-Kantian, thesis, which dwells on the central considerations attending signification, asserts that this theoretical redefinition of art is itself "the distinctive achievement" of the Renaissance. It explores the complexity of the transaction occurring in the viewer, who subordinates his subjective perceptions to a belief in the power of an intelligible order of an art transcending his eye, even his mind's eye. For these theorists indeed, the artist is transformed from being a master technician into someone with "a special kind of insight into things," who strives to create "a reflection of his entire mode of being in the world." This orients us, predictably, towards a Michelangelesque notion of art as "the process of self-perfection," "a prolonged process of becoming," "a spiritual pilgrimage," "a search for valid signs," "a search for the ground of being," for "transcendence" itself. As the "art of arts," it is the fundamental faculty of the mind which judges and then correlates all things perceived, designing our realities. 96 / Renaissance and Reformation / Renaissance et Réforme Hence the centrality for Williams of Vasari and disegno, the topic of his opening chapter. In the second edition of his Lives, Vasari had defined disegno in Aristotelian terms, as that which "derives from many things a universal judgment" and comprehends the law, form or idea of all of nature, that is, the relationship of nature's parts to the unified whole. Along with the cognate notion of maniera^ which strives "for that beauty which comes from having frequently copied the most beautiful things," disegno signifies, in other words, an ideal envisioning: a collec- tive judging of analogies, which governs the practical functioning aspects of the artist's mind, but also its "loftiest understanding." It constitutes "the most funda- mental, most profound, rule of art," in that it supposes and creates a formal, and thus an aesthetic, reality. Chapter Two argues that the period's notion of style is "fundamentally a problem of identity" conceived in an "idealized and objective way," whereas decorum is the principle that regulates the relation of style to matter and audience and therefore "the superintendency of style." Insofar as style rationalizes the diversity of the modes of representation and subjects them "to a potential unity" reflecting the world's order, it regulates the relation of art to the world beyond art, presenting the objective in the subjective terms of decorum. Here Williams turns to a probing discussion of the "virtues" that certain paintings, Michelangelo's Last Judgment, for instance, are said to possess: strength, purity, and so on. Such paintings discover what Cennini calls "things unseen" — the abstract characters and ideals, not just the affective valencies, of their subjects. Or, rather, given their participation in the whole cultural system of presentation and representation, they discover conceptions and definitions. The third chapter deals with Lomazzo, Zuccaro, and Tasso's dialogue // FicinOy and particularly with Zuccaro' s understanding of disegno interno as "an epistemological principle," as the power — and not a just a power — of the mind which generates all other rational activity, including our ability to define it as a power. Given these self-reflective premises, one might question Williams' claim in his introduction that "the lingering power of idealism" reflects a consciousness of the fact that "signification is not a natural process but both an arbitrary and a transcendent — a culturally constructed — one." The Neoplatonic grounds of this argument would seem to undermine the distinction here between "natural" and "transcendent," in that the natural participates, however imperfectly, in the tran- scendent construction (which neither Zuccaro nor his fellow theorists interpreted as culturally determined). Even so, this chapter clearly sets out the intricate faculty psychology, especially of the concetto, which undergirds these intricate specula- tions. This is important precisely because of the theorists' assumption that art encounters and represents ideas and is itself an idea — that it is an object of knowledge and yet the ground of epistemology. The last chapter turns to Francesco Bocchi's youthful but sophisticated essays on the visual arts, which synthesize Aristotelian and Platonic arguments. Bocchi Book Reviews / Comptes rendus / 97 emphasizes the role of the viewer, whose experience of a picture "is always intended to be one of immediate apprehension of the ideal in the real, or of the universal in the particular" (a response that Williams sees as a variety of Platonic noesis). The viewer is "possessed by the absolute" and thus "reconstituted" before being moved to action. Bocchi's reception theory thus nicely complements Lomazzo's and Zuccaro's concern with the originating artist's possession and reconstitution. The book's subtitle eventually comes sharply into focus. Art ceases in the sixteenth century to be just "a well-defined technique or set of techniques," emerging instead as the technique of techniques, the master art, the form of form-making, metatechne. Correlatively, subjectivity becomes "essentially a the- oretical subjectivity," since lived experience is now perceived primarily in its relationship to the ideal. Art as an idealizing play of signifiers becomes the way in which the humanists define both common humanity and individual identity, preeminently because they have come to see "all meaning, all knowledge, all identity" as the products of art. This is a well written, well conceived, provocative study and will fascinate those interested in Renaissance thought, and in the art in, and of, that thought. MICHAEL J. B . ALLEN, UCLA Sources et fontaines du Moyen Age à l'âge baroque. Actes du colloque tenu à l'Université Paul Valéry, MontpelHer III, les 28, 29 et 30 novembre 1996. Ed. l'Equipe d'acceuil Moyen âge-Renaissance-Baroque. Paris, Champion, 1998. P. 493. Ces journées d'étude ont permis de mettre en commun les recherches et les réflexions de 24 communicants, des universités françaises, suisses et allemande et d'un conservateur du musée du Louvre, sur un objet polymorphe et complexe, les sources et les fontaines. La double dénomination s'expliquait à la fois par les variations lexicales importantes du Moyen Âge à l'époque baroque et par le souci d'inclure explicitement les deux formes de surgissement de l'élément aqueux, naturel et artificiel. L'édition a distingué trois grands chapitres chronologiques : le Moyen Age (huit communications portant sur des œuvres littéraires des XII-XIV® siècles). Renaissance (neuf études portant sur le seul XVP siècle mais faisant place tant aux fontaines construites qu'aux sources du monde réel nouvellement exploré, ou aux thèmes et figures littéraires liés aux fontaines), et Âge baroque (sept essais concernant le XVIP siècle et traitant de la présence du motif dans les jardins réels, dans les divers genres littéraires — éloquence religieuse, poésie pétrarquisante, roman courtisan ou galant—dans la pastorale et la musique et dans la mise en scène d' opéras). Mais si le corpus des objets et des textes se situait entre le XIP et le XVII® 
work_6ybfo7zywfawtd3uofeupgblzu	----	Microsoft Word - 02 Turza.doc Karel Turza School of Medicine University of Belgrade Izvorni naučni članak UDK: 316.422 Primljeno: 21. 05. 2004. ON MODERNITY IN GENERAL AND ON THE MAIN OBSTACLES TO MODERNITY IN SERBIA IN THE 20TH CENTURY � AND AFTERWARDS O modernosti uop�te i o glavnim preprekama modernosti u Srbiji tokom XX stoleća � i kasnije APSTRAKT Ovaj rad nudi, najpre, jednu definiciju pojma modernost, zatim, rekonstrukciju istorijskog porekla modernosti kao �irokog i dugotrajućeg idejnog/duhovnoh i praktičnog projekta � te glavne teorijske vizije atributa i uslova njegove savremene egzistencije. Zatim se, na osnovu rezultata tih logičkih, teorijsko-metodolo�kih i istorijskih razmatranja, analizuje karakter glavnih dru�tveno-istorijskih tokova u Srbiji tokom dvadesetog veka i, najzad, utvrđuju se razlozi zbog kojih projekat modernosti nikad nije postao osnova ili makar relevantan usmeravajući faktor ljudskog delanja/pona�anja u ovoj sredini. KLJUČNE REČI modernost, visoka/kasna modernost, Srbija, sociocid ABSTRACT This work offers, in the first place, a definition of the notion of modernity, then, a reconstruction of historical origins of that wide and longlasting ideal/spiritual and practical project, and the main theoretical views of the attributes and conditions of its contemporary existence. The analysis of the character of the main socio-historical currents in Serbia during the 20th century � based upon the above mentioned logical, theoretical, methodological and historical considerations � reveals the reasons why the project of modernity has never become a basis or, at least, a relevant orientational factor for human action/behaviour in the milieu. KEY WORDS modernity, high/late modernity, Serbia, sociocide 118 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 Introductory note In the opinion of some politicians and political analysts in Serbia, the assassination of Dr. Zoran Đinđić, the Prime Minister of Serbia (on 12 March 2003), was not only an act of terrorism, but also an essentially anti-modern act; an endavour against the strategy of modernization of Serbia which, according to them, Zoran Đinđić had embodied. What did they mean by that? Well, many things. Yet, in spite of the differences in their views and analyses, it could be noticed that almost all of them had in mind the fact that modernizing projects in Serbia over the past, say, nearly two centuries (as a matter of fact, in the periods when the projects had existed at all), had always been obstructed, in many ways; including killing some of those prominent and influential individuals who intended − and tried − to carry them out. The politicians and analysts (mentioned above) were right. For the history of Serbia, ever since it came into being as a more or less independent state/political entity in the 19th century, and throughout the period in which it has been incorporated into (the first, second and third) Yugoslavia (from 1918 to 2003), and finally now, when it exists as a part of the State Unity of Serbia and Montenegro might ultimately be seen as a history of decisive resistance to, and/or reckless denials of modernity. * Let us see now, firstly, what modernity is − including the origins and historical genesis of modernity �as such�, and of its more specific contemporary varieties: new, second, high, late, reflexive, third phase..., as Ulrich Beck (e.g., in his Risk Society), Anthony Giddens (e.g., in: Modernity and Self-Identity, The Consequences of Modernity�), Stephen Toulmin (e.g., in Cosmopolis � The Hidden Agenda of Modernity) and many others use to call them in their works • − then, in short, what the main (particularly more recent) ways of theoretical/ideological and practical denying of modernity have been, and, finally, why modernity, namely, its ���� • Dealing with postmodernity, as an undoubtedly legitimate comprehension/understanding of, and approach to the world we are facing and living in nowadays, would require an extra chapter. Some suspicions about validity of postmodern social thought, however, I already exposed � in: Karel Turza, ��ta je modernost i kako se ona najče�će dovodi u pitanje?� (�What is modernity, and how is it mainly questioned?�), Treći program Radio Beograda, No. 107, 108 (III, IV 1996), str. (pp.) 83- 102 � so, postmodernity will be only slightly considered in this article. Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 119 main attributes/conditions have not been acceptable in Serbia (Yugoslavia) in the 20th century and afterwards. What is modernity? Searching for a proper definition of modernity has always been a difficult task for at least two reasons: because modernity is, in many of its aspects, an inevitably unstable and everchanging phenomenon − as John Herman Randall put it many years ago1 − and, on the other hand, due to the fact that various authors, living in various, sometimes very different socio-historical and cultural contexts usually reflect the issue of modernity (as well as almost all other issues/topics they are facing and are interested in) in various ways, mainly or entirely in accordance with the cultural values, and patterns that (as social facts) prevail in their milieus; about the latter, the most important heuristically fruitful theoretical and methodological ideas were developed in the works of Emile Durkheim and Heinrich Rickert2. ���� 1 John Herman Randall, The Making of the Modern Mind, Columbia University Press, New York, 1976, p. 566. 2 As is well known, according to Durkheim, social facts (les faits sociale) exercise coercive power over individuals and, what is more important, the constraining nature of social facts is often not recognized by people, so they usually comply (with them) convinced that they follow their own choices and interests. Social scientists (and sociologists of course) − I add � share and follow, more or less, the same pattern, which means that they are not immune from taking some (or most) of predominant ideas/values/feelings/beliefs� (social facts) of the social/cultural milieus to which they belong for granted, and/or as their own personal things/mental constructions. The point of the Rickert�s view is similar; he as well suggests that the influence of prevailing (he would not say �social facts� but) cultural values in a specific cultural (social) context is coercive, and almost unavoidable; even social scientists, who are supposed to be conscious of such affections, more often than not choose their subjects/topics, and shape their theoretical and methodological conceptions according to what is actually �en vague� in their socio-cultural surroundings. By the way, those abstract theoretical insights have become quite concrete, and recognizable and obvious/transparent in Serbia/Yugoslavia... whatever, relatively recently; during the nineties − when, instead of former communist collectivism, the collectivism(s) of the ethnic nationalism(s) have prevailed (as social fact(s)), namely, as general �cultural value(s)� in the milieu − most of people (in all former republics of Yugoslavia) have significantly, or even radically changed their systems/patterns of ideas/values/feelings/beliefs...; for instance, the majority of former internationalists have almost immediately become militant nationalists; former radical atheists have become very committed believers; most of former communists, even those who had used to declare themselves as communists in their heart of hearts, have as individuals (personally) become bizarre �amalgams� of radical/militant nationalism, theism, and neoliberalism!?! The social theorists (including some of sociologists) simply could not resist (coercive) influence of the new cultural values/social facts. But, that would be another story. (See about that in: Karel Turza, �Sociology without society? Yugoslav sociology after 1990�, Sociology in Central and Eastern Europe Transformation at the Dawn of a New Millennium, Edited by Mike Forrest Keen and Janusz L. Mucha, Praeger, Connecticut, London, 2003, pp. 187-198). About the Durkheim�s and Rickert�s 120 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 Nevertheless, in my opinion, there is a (logical) way, namely, the definiens that provides overcoming an inevitably unstable and ever changing nature of modernity and, on the other hand, avoiding pitfalls of diversities in attempts/efforts to comprehend and define modernity that are brought about by the diversities of various cultural milieus. That is to say, there is though the differentia specifica (and, of course, the genus proximum) of modernity that can make the definition of modernity adequate, accurate, not circular (the circulus vitiosus, like: �modernity is a modern way of life�), not negative (like: �modernity is not a feudal socio-historical ideal and practical project�) and so on, namely, congruent to the main, generally (still) recognized logical rules. So, the differentia specifica consists of the following (a) �objective- ontological� and (b) �subjective-ontological� attributes/conditions of modernity: Ad a) New, postfeudal forms of private property, and market economy/commodity production; Ad b) Individualism and rationality. And the definition is: modernity is a wide ideal/spiritual and practical project that came into being in the period of the Renaissance in the city-states of Florence, Milan, Genoa, Venice, Rome... (�the south pole of the first European economy- world� � as Fernand Braudel defined that region), of which the main attributes/conditions � market economy/commodity production, and new (postfeudal) private property, and individualism and rationality � made up a historical form of long duration within which a permanent differentiation/heterogenization has been under way. The latter means that modernity has existed so far in various modalities � ever since it came into being. That furthermore means that the main attributes/conditions have remained generally and at the most abstract level invariant, which means that they have (still) remained a general form/frame (a �set of rules�) within (under) which many concrete socio-historical and cultural entities have built their specific, often rather different (yet modern) contexts. To clarify the latter thesis, an analogy could be useful; the analogy with chess. Chess is a very old game (much older than modernity, of course) with very precise and invariable (of long duration) set of rules (the laws of chess); yet, it still leaves a lot of room to the players to produce new combinations. To make the conceptions, see, e.g., in: Emile Durkheim, Les Formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse, F. Alcan, Paris, 1960, and Heinrich Rickert, Kulturwissenschaft und Naturwissenschaft, J. C. B. Mohr (P. Siebeck), Tübingen, 1899. The idea of using both Durkheim (a positivist/sociological realist) and Rickert (an ant-ipositivist/sociological nominalist, and a representative of the so-called verstehende Soziologie) in clarifying this problem might seem, I admit, as a serious contradiction; but it is not. Why? Well, the answer would require a particular chapter (or even a book); so there is no room for it in this article. Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 121 analogy more specific, let us say that the �rules of game� (namely, the above mentioned attributes/conditions) of modernity, in a political sense only, have permitted, up to now, the existence of postfeudal city-states, then absolute monarchies, limited (parliamentary) monarchies, republics and, finally � an entirely new state/political entity: the EU. On the other hand, regarding economic aspects and facts, it (modernity) has, nota bene in its very early phase, namely, in the fifteenth, or � according to some historians � even in the fourteenth centuries, brought about many rules, ways and means, principles, and customs and habits that exist in contemporary business too, particularly in trade and banking. Some economic historians (e.g., A. Sapori) say that there is almost nothing in financial/banking and trade business that exists nowadays that could not be found in economy of the Renaissance.3 That might seem contradictory to the (above) story on political diversities within modernity, as well as to the final part of the definition of modernity in which differentiation is pointed out. But it is not so. On the contrary, the �paradox� reveals and confirms the fact that even �an everchanging phenomenon� still has some stable and fixed points which ultimately make it � definable. Politics generally should be treated as �an everchanging phenomenon� within modernity. For, e.g. democracy, a word, as well as a predominant cultural value/social fact familiar to most nowadays, has actually, as a practice, become familiar to most quite recently (the history of modern parliamentary democracy occupies a short period of the history of modernity �as such�!). However, many other �sectors� of modern systems of human interdependence (social/cultural milieus) have, over the past five or six centuries, remained similar; and not only in the economic �sector�, but as well in what could generally be regarded nowadays as private sphere − as a sphere of personal �life projects�, family life, mentality, emotions and so on and so forth. Among many various conceptions of modernity (as well as of its origins) that have been developed over the past, say, 25 years, the one that is most similar to my view has been exposed in the works of Nikolas Rose. When dealing with the issue of individualism (�the individual�, or �individuality�, or subjectivity), for instance, although he suggests that individualism (or subjectivity) has its own history � namely, that the ways in which human beings understand themselves and act upon themselves and others do not fit into a linear historical narrative, nor do they emerge as a mere consequence of �more fundamental� changes elsewhere, e.g. in conditions of production, in family forms, in culture... − Rose confirms that the changes associated with modernity were �...the product of the Italian Renaissance of the ���� 3 More about that, see in: Karel Turza, Modernost na biciklu - Renesansa, Grad, Porodica (Modernity on a Bicycle − Renaissance, City, Family), Akademia nova, Beograd, 1996, str. (pp.) 148-151. 122 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 fifteenth century...�4 And, those changes − he adds − �...destroyed the fixed social and cultural formations of community and kinship, which had defined the identity of subjects from outside, embedded the person within a stable order of status, within a transcendental and implacable cosmology, within a certain, even if imaginary, space and time. Such persons were not individuals in our modern sense; their personhood emerged from a collective sense of identity, their will was directed according to a traditional and unquestioned moral order, their consciousness was not a unique individual but of inhabitant of given destiny. With modernity, with the move from country to town, from stability and fixity to change and fluidity, from feudalism and agriculture to capitalism, commodity production and the sale of labour on the market, the person takes on a new form: that of the unique, conscious, responsible, atomized, discrete, bounded, coherent, choosing, acting individual equipped with a personal consciousness and a personal conscience. This person is a subject simultaneously of freedom � that is to say, fated to choose, and to shape his or her own life through everyday decisions as to conduct � and of responsibility � that is to say, the locus of address of moral, spiritual and commercial obligations concerning conduct.�5 Rose�s insights into the changes of subjectivity/individuality, and of the socio- historical (�external�) contexts that are associated with modernity are − as I have already put it − similar to my insights. Actually, his insights summarize quite well some parts of what I identified as objective-ontological and subjective-ontological attributes/conditions of modernity. Regarding the first, Rose�s �summary� embraces (almost) everything; except new, postfeudal forms of private property − that came into being through the so-called primary accumulation of capital, the process by which the predominant private property in the means of production in feudalism, based in the first place on ownership of land, was gradually disintegrated and decayed/destroyed. In the �Italian�• Renaissance, the so-called primary accumulation of capital occurred, approximately, as a process that was thoroughly described in the first volume of Karl Marx�s Capital (Marx had in mind the same process that had occurred in England). A more specific and to the issue I am dealing with now much more interesting analysis can be found, however, in The Social History of Art (vol. I), by Arnold Hauser6. For, Hauser�s insights include some aspects that are very ���� 4 Nikolas Rose, �Authority and the Genealogy of Subjectivity�, in: Detraditionalization, Edited by Paul Heelas, Scott Lash & Paul Morris, Blackwell Publishers, Cambridge Massachusetts, USA, Oxford, UK, 1996, p. 301. 5 Ibidem, pp. 301-302. • �Italian� because Italy did not exist at the time (Italy was constituted in the 19th century, and when it happened its elite�s slogan was: �We made Italy; now we have to make the Italians!�). 6 Arnold Hauser, Socijalna istorija umetnosti i knji�evnosti, I, II, Kultura, Beograd, 1966. Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 123 interesting when compared with �ways and means�, the methods that are prevalent in contemporary transition (transformation) in Serbia/Yugoslavia, or Serbia and Montenegro (whatever). In brief, according to Hauser (by the way, his analyses were rather influenced both by his intellectual mentor, Max Weber, and by Karl Marx), rationalization was the main axis of the then (first, emerging) capitalism. That is to say − in his words − the first actors of the so-called primary accumulation of capital (Hauser would say: of the �heroic capitalism�) were wild (and irrational of course) pirates, robbers, bandits, adventurers... who made, accumulated and kept their treasures. In the next generation they were replaced by their heirs who, however, �brought to life� the treasures; they transformed them into capital by investing in financial and trade business, rationally calculating the cost, namely, the risks, possible losses, etc.; in short, they transformed money into commodities, and commodities back into money. (In Marx�s words, private ownership of the means of production at the time took on a different form, and a diversity of goods became freely alienable. Essential to the process was the universalizing of commodity form, and the condition of such universalization was the development of a full-blown money economy, etc.) But, only their heirs − i.e., the third generation − could and really did enjoy all the benefits of their wealth, gained by themselves, and/or by their fathers and grandfathers; in other words, only they were those who lived in luxury, and only they could afford spending money in a manner of generous donors and Maecenas.7 Mentioning the cycle − of at least three generations within which (a) the so- called primary accumulation of capital, (b) rationalization of economic behaviour and, finally, (c) the �art of spending money� (the transformation of the heirs of pirates, robbers, adventurers... through rational bookmakers and businessmen into luxury consumers and donors/Maecenas) in the �Italian� Renaissance were accomplished � is in this context, as I have already said, interesting primarily in regard to some aspects of transitional/transforming processes that have been under way in Serbia/Yugoslavia, and/or Serbia/Montenegro (whatever) over the past 10-15 years. Why? Well, because a similar cycle has occurred in the milieu (Serbia/Yugoslavia; Serbia/Montenegro, whatever), but it has lasted scarcely some 10-15 years!?! For, most of the businessmen (or, better: �busimessmen�•), the ���� 7 See about that in: A. Hauser, op. cit., str. (p.) 278 et passim. • The �m� in the word businessman (busimessman) is an ironic response of the ordinary people to the fact that those who have constituted new plutocracy (or, better: �kleptocracy�) in Serbia/Montenegro − those who have recently gained quite a lot of money and property in a, well, say, dubious way − still do not have a proper idea/knowledge to define/title their own (new) identity; in searching for it, most of them choose the word businessman; but since many of them do not speak English, they − when appear in public − often say: �I am a busimessman (phonetically: bizmismen)�. 124 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 individuals and their families, have managed to transform themselves � during the period between 1991 and 2000/2003 � from criminal•• groups to a social group that possesses legal and recognized (legitimate) power/influence because of its reaches; the new businessmen (busimessmen) have also, in fact very soon, become enthusiastic consumers of all sorts of luxuries, and (in some cases though) generous donors and patrons of art and science too. Concerning subjective-ontological attributes/conditions of modernity, Rose�s �summary� does not deal sufficiently with rationality; individualism (namely, subjectivity) is, on the other hand − as I have showed above − thoroughly analyzed in it. About the rise of rationality (and rationalization), Hauser�s insights are very inspiring � and were quite helpful to me when I dealt with the issue (in the above mentioned book and article: Modernity on a Bicycle, and �What is modernity, and how is it mainly questioned?�). Yet, there is an important difference: in Hauser�s conception Weber�s idea of rationality � as a universal principle, and as �an anthropological invariant� � completely prevails; my understanding of rationality is based on the idea that reason (rationality) is historically constructed.8 It should be said here as well that there is no strict line that separates objective-ontological and subjective-ontological attributes/conditions of modernity in reality. For these are not mere descriptions, but primarily mental constructions/analytical tools which provide theoretical framework of analysis of modernity. That does not mean though that the attributes/conditions are entirely abstract (or even fictional); they are real, at least to the extent to which many other socio-theoretical notions/concepts (such as: capital, capitalism, division of labour, class, and so on and so forth) are � real. * ���� •• In Serbia/Yugoslavia, Serbia/Montenegro (whatever), criminal should be considered with a sense of relativity. For, during the nineties, owing to an unprecedented inflation (of 10 000 000 or even 15 000 000%!!!), literally all adult citizens of the FR Yugoslavia were pushed to break the law by selling and buying (illegally of course, on the black market) foreign currencies, becoming thus criminals; it was a state of anomie that went far beyond Durkheim�s most pessimistic views of anomie. Such �relativization� of criminal (that lasted more than ten years!!!), by making it common and �natural� � which was just one aspect of sociocidal strategy of the then (Milo�ević�s) power elite � has ultimately provided an alibi, a plausible proof of innocence to many of those who were real, gross, flagrant criminals (they usually justified their �business� endeavours by: �we all have to find a way to avoid/trick the international sanctions, to survive�; and, these words were almost always �completed� with: �...for the sake of Serbia and the Serbs�), and who have, more or less, managed to gain recognition/legitimacy up to now. 8 This is, in a way, similar to Michel Foucault�s understanding of rationality; see, e.g., in: Michel Foucault, �The Question of Method�, in: Graham Burchell et al. (eds.), The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1991, p.79. Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 125 Now, let us see in brief what is going on within late, high, reflexive, second, new, third� (whatever) modernity. According to the authors of those views of (contemporary) modernity, living in our current age cannot be properly comprehended without taking into account the two key categories/phenomena: risk and globalization. In his book: Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity,9 Ulrich Beck developed the main points of the concept of risk (in some other works, he has also dealt, extensively, with the relationship between risk and globalization). According to Beck, we live nowadays (second, new� modernity) in a global risk society, namely, in a world in which hazards are not restricted spatially, temporally or socially. Today�s risks affect all countries and all social classes; they have global consequences. For instance, the explosion at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant in Ukraine, in 1986, provides a clear illustration of this point. Actually, in our own age � as Anthony Giddens puts it � we are continually facing many forms of �manufactured risk� that concern human health and the environment, and which cross national boundaries: global warming, the BSE (Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy � known popularly as �mad cow disease�) crisis, the debate over GM (genetically modified) food etc.10 So, the management of risk is the prime feature of the global order. Risk and globalization, however, are not something that is simply �out there�. They are something that is as well ��an �in here� phenomenon that affects our intimate and personal lives in many diverse ways�.11 How? Namely, what is going on within new, late, second, reflexive� modernity regarding our personal lives, and even our intimacy? Well, all fixed traditions and established customs and habits seem to be questioned as never before; by the breakdown of the stabilities of class and patterns of labour, many new uncertainties have entered the relationships between the sexes too; far more than earlier, individuals must supply them for themselves, import them into their own biographies through their own actions. �One has to win, know how to assert oneself in the competition for limited recourses � and not only once, but day after day. (�) The normal biography thus becomes the �elective biography�, the �reflexive biography�, and the �do-it-yourself biography�. (�) The do-it-yourself biography is always a �risk biography��� �The do-it-yourself biography can swiftly ���� 9 Ulrich Beck, Risikogesellschaft: Auf dem Weg in eine andere Moderne, Suhrkamp Verlag, Frankfurt am Mein, 1986. (A very good translation of the book appeared in FR Yugoslavia, in 2001: Ulrih Bek, Rizično dru�tvo, �Filip Vi�njić�, Beograd; an English translation appeared in 1992 − Sage, London � but it is a reduced version of Beck�s original book). 10 See, e.g., in: Anthony Giddens, Sociology, Polity, Cambridge, 2001, chapter 3 (�A Changing World�). 11 Ibidem, p. 61. 126 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 become the breakdown biography� − ��owing to the wrong choice of career or just the wrong field, compounded by the downward spiral of private misfortune, illness, divorce, the repossessed home��12 Zygmunt Bauman gives a precise description/diagnosis of those circumstances/uncertainties: �Nowadays everything seems to conspire against lifelong projects, permanent bonds, eternal alliances, immutable identities. I cannot build for the long term on my job, my profession or even my abilities. I can bet on my job being cut, my profession changing out of all recognition, my skills being no longer in demand. Nor can a partnership or family provide a basis in the future�.13 In these new circumstances, �identity is no longer experienced as a natural, coherent and unchanging attribute of the individual, but as the uncertain and fractured result of personal decisions and plans. Biography and identity become self- reflexive, to be constructed, worked upon, the outcome of choices � about clothes, marriage, relationships, diet � in which the individual himself or herself is the self- conscious centre of action�.14 Risk and globalization, and uncertainties that they hold, should not however be regarded as bogies, as evil spirits that cause nothing but the fears. Regarding globalization − as well as risk/uncertainty, and all other things that are connected with it − Giddens is right when writes: �globalization is changing the way the world looks, and the way we look at the world. By adopting a global outlook, we become more aware of our connections to people in other societies. We also become more conscious of the many problems the world faces at the start of the 21st century. The global perspective opens our eyes to the fact that our increasing ties with the rest of ���� 12 Ulrich Beck and Elisabeth Beck-Gernsheim, �Individualization and �Precarious Freedoms��, in: Detraditionalization, op. cit., pp. 25-26. 13 Quoted in: Ulrich Beck and Elisabeth Beck-Gernsheim, op. cit., p. 26. 14 Nikolas Rose, op.cit., p. 302. It should be stressed here that in his article Rose calls in question some of the main theses about the distinctive features/attributes of late, reflexive, second etc. modernity (new identity shaped by risk and uncertainty; a move towards a new individualism under conditions of globalization; that nowadays increasingly everyone has to choose his/her social and self-identity and so on); in his words, almost all these themes are by no means new � as the authors such as Jacques Le Goff, Philippe Ariès, George Duby etc. have convincingly showed in their historical reconstructions, risk, uncertainty, the do-it-yourself biography..., have existed ever since modernity came into being, many centuries ago. An implicit answer to those objections offers Anthony Giddens when describes Beck�s theoretical thinking: �Beck is not arguing that the contemporary world is more risky than that of previous ages. Rather, it is the nature of the risks we must face that is changing. Risk now derives less from natural dangers than from uncertainties created by our own social development and by the development of science and technology�. (Anthony Giddens, op. cit., p. 678.) There is no room in this article for analysing the disagreement; let us say though: they are both right, in a way. Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 127 the world means that our actions have consequences for others and that the world�s problems have consequences for us�.15 The denials of modernity Human beings have always been aware of the fact that they should not move incautiously when find themselves on the edge of a cliff, for instance, or an abyss, or the roof of a tall building, whatever; for if they slip, they will, owing to an unavoidable force, reach the ground in a certain time. Reaching the ground that way � human beings have always known that too � does not bring any good; on the contrary, it might be even fatal. Yet, it took about 1500 years − from Ptolemy, who first, in the 2nd century A.D., felt that there was something (a force/power) that caused the bodies/things fall on the ground, to Isaac Newton who, finally, revealed and formulated the �something�, in the 17th century − for the law of gravitation to be discovered. The Newton�s discovery has changed the life on earth; among other things, it has enabled human beings to fly and, ultimately, to visit the moon. Before Newton, though they had been aware of the �something� that had inevitably directed their (of course, in the first place physical) behaviour in almost every sense, people could have only dreamt of interfering in and/or opposing the rules that the �something� had imposed upon them. What does the law of gravitation have to do with modernity? Well, nothing really. The story about gravitation is told here only to illustrate the fact (truism) that human beings have lived their lives on earth often knowing nothing about the real nature of both natural forces and historical/social circumstances and processes that have, more or less, shaped the ways they have acted and thought.• The truism concerns modernity too; for, before it was conceptualized, in the 20th century, it had existed as a �wide ideal/spiritual and practical project� for at least four centuries.•• The curious thing about that is that it still has not become part of common knowledge � even among social theorists (or it is not strange at all, when we have in ���� 15 Anthony Giddens, op. cit., p. 51. • Just one short excursion: It would be very interesting I think to find out how many people in the contemporary world, i.e. in the 21st century, know that the law of gravitation exists at all. It would be quite interesting as well to find out what percentage of the people who travel by airplane know what the law says. By the way, companies like TWA, Lufthansa, British Airways, Swissair, Quantas, Alitalia, Austrian Airlines and so on and so forth, could easily get such information by a simple questionnaire. The result would be, well, amazing I believe. •• A similar story could be told about many other things/phenomena − about capitalism, for instance. Capitalism had existed long before it was conceptualized, defined, and before the term itself came to be widely used (in the later nineteenth century). 128 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 mind the law of gravitation, which, there is no doubt about that, is far more �obvious� to human beings). In fact, in some milieus theoretical critiques of modernity had started even before it was reflected, conceptualized and/or defined. In some cases the critiques had appeared even before the term was recognized and used as a common word with a more or less definite meaning; for instance, among some philosophers and social theorists in Serbia/Yugoslavia over the past 20-25 years, it has been, well, say, in/trendy to speak about the end of modernity or, simply (in Lyotard�s words) about �la condition postmoderne�, and in connection with it, about the meaning of, for example, (Derrida�s) �la déconstruction�, �la différance� etc. − though modernity has been actually far away from the milieu, especially in its practice. Among theoretical denials of modernity it is only postmodern thought that still deserves serious attention and consideration. Some others have been put on margins of the contemporary Zeitgeist (the main stream of thought) − e.g. Marxism which has drastically lost its significance, or has even sunk into oblivion (temporarily?), especially in former communist countries since 1989 − or have never really gained an important role in questioning modernity.16 Yet, I do not believe that dealing with postmodernity would bring about any profit in this context; so let us see the meaning of the practical denials of modernity. Every practical denial of modernity implies a practical negation of some of its main attributes/conditions � or of all of them. The example of the latter are former communist countries, in which: a) instead of new, postfeudal forms of private property, state − or the so- called social (like in former Yugoslavia) − ownership prevailed; b) instead of market economy, a centrally planned economy existed; c) individualism was suppressed by a specific form of collectivism, and d) rationality was inhibited by ideology, and/or by the so-called substantive rationality.• ���� 16 About the latter, see, for example, in Karel Turza: Luis Mamford � Jedna kritika modernosti (Lewis Mumford � A Critique of Modernity), Zavod za ud�benike i nastavna sredstva, Beograd, 1998. • I do not use the concept (substantial rationality) in the sense in which Max Weber used it (e.g. in his: Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft − Economy and Society). Substantial rationality here primarily means that in some systems of human interdependence there is an instance (a leader/führer, or a party, or an oligarchic elite�) that has, legitimate or illegitimate (all the same), monopoly over making decisions about what is and what is not true, and what is good and what is not good, and what are and what are not genuine, both immediate and strategic/historical interests of individuals, social groups, strata and classes, entire society and, sometimes, of the entire world�s population. (It might seem ridiculous today, but the communists were convinced that socialism/communism was a historically inevitable worldwide process that would, some day, win a victory over capitalism in every part of the world.) In former communist countries such substantial rationality was justified in Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 129 Another example (Germany under the rule of the National Socialist Party) shows that modernity can as well be denied � partially. For in Hitler�s Germany (1933-1945), individualism was replaced by collectivism, market economy was replaced by centrally planned economy (�war economy�), but private ownership over the means of production still existed; it remained (though, if the regime had lasted longer, I think that it would have been, sooner or later, replaced by a variety of state ownership); regarding rationality, it was suppressed by (Nazi) ideology/substantial rationality of course, but in a specific, perverse way. That is to say, Nazi substantial rationality was more often than not �dressed� in a costume of formal rationality; the state apparatus was keenly interested and engaged in putting (�dressing�) literally all political/administrative decisions (even, e.g., those many ways, for instance, by the famous Marx�s (and Engels�) thesis from The Communist Manifesto that (I paraphrase it) proletarians do not have any particular, but a very clear and definite universal human interest. Whoever was within former communist countries recognized as the one who opposed (or inclined not to believe in) that historical and world wide mission of the dictatorship of the proletariat (and its avant-garde, Communist party), namely, who was in any sort of disagreement with that substantially rational Truth, had to take the consequences (from being stigmatized in public and/or loosing the job, through spending years in a concentration camp, to being tortured and/or killed). The similar consequences were brought about by another substantial rationality (of German National Socialist Party); the �similar� actually means that both regimes killed millions for the sake of their substantial rationality (their �Truth�). In my understanding, the opposite of substantial is formal rationality (again not in Weber�s sense). In brief, formal rationality is based on recognizing and respecting certain �rules of game(s)�, such as formal procedures that are the distinctive feature of modern democracies. It does not have to be stressed again that that (political) aspect of modern formal rationality came into being relatively recently. On the other hand, within modern economy, formal rationality has a long history. For instance, recognizing/respecting the law � rule of game − of supply and demand, that came into being in its full sense simultaneously with modern market economy, many centuries ago, has strategically provided economic successfulness; however, those who have ignored or opposed that �rule of game� � as individuals or at a level of national economies � have, sooner or later, experienced the bankrupt (as individuals, or as countries/states, or as a general project � e.g., communism). Etc. At last, it should be said here that regarding contemporary (late, high, second, reflexive� whatever) modernity, one of its main achievements − namely, its political formal rationality − has been, in some cases, seriously diminished, or even ignored/abandoned over the past several years. For it is obvious nowadays that the USA (and their allies, Great Britain in the first place, as well as Germany�) do not strictly respect any more the formal rationality of their own legal systems, neither of the legal system of the international community (UN). Thus it seems that we are facing now − after the collapse, in 1989, of Soviet-style communism, which, by the way, was in itself a synonym of substantial rationality, and within globalization (whatever it means) − a new form of substantial rationality, that could be (again) expressed in recognizable phrases: �we (that is to say: we who are the West) know what is the Truth, and thus what is good for the world in general as well as for every single part of the world, for every single country/state, for every single society/culture and, ultimately, even for every single individual on earth!?! This implies an intrinsically malign message: �Those who are not with us, they are against us, and will take the consequences − economic sanctions, or bombing, or wider military action including occupation�; in any case: living in penury�� Well, this is frightening, isn�t it? 130 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 concerning time tables of the trains by which the Jews, and the others who were not substantially in harmony with the Nazi project, were transported to the concentration camps) into a legal form (�costume�). Thus, as I have said, it was a perverse and therefore an intrinsically anti-modern variety of formal rationality. That is why I do not agree with Zygmunt Bauman (whose theoretical corpus otherwise I do appreciate very much) when he blames modernity for, e.g., the Holocaust. As he puts it: ��the Holocaust was not an antithesis of modern civilization and everything (or so we like to think) it stands for�. It was just another face of modernity ��whose other, more familiar, face we so admire. (�) The two faces are perfectly comfortably attached to the same body. What we perhaps fear most is that each of the two faces (of modernity � K. T.) can no more exist without the other than can the two sides of a coin�.17 The main reason of my disagreement is his concept of modernity which is simply inadequate: sometimes too wide, though in some aspects quite narrow. In my opinion, he has not recognized those political/social/historical actors/phenomena/ processes etc. that have been intrinsically anti-modern as anti-modern, because his concept of modernity lacks clear and definite criteria of what is and what is not modern. That is why Bauman understands the Holocaust (and Nazi Power, and Stalinism, and the Gulag) just as another face of modernity (�another side of a coin�), and not as a very anti-modern project/endeavour. It is illustrative indeed when he writes (in fact, quotes Freingold): �Auschwitz was also a mundane extension of the modern factory system. Rather than producing goods, the raw material was human beings and the end-product was death, so many units per day marked carefully on the manager�s production chart. (�) The brilliantly organized railroad grid of modern Europe carried a new kind of raw material to the factories. It did so in the same manner as with other cargo. (�) Engineers designed the crematoria; managers designed the system of bureaucracy that worked with a zest and efficiency�� Etc. Yet, all these words do not offer any convincing reason what modernity in itself has to be blamed for.18 ���� 17 Zygmunt Bauman, �The Century of Camps�, in: The Bauman Reader, Edited by Peter Beilharz, Blackwell Publishers, Massachusetts, USA, Oxford, UK, 2001, p. 236. By the way, another theoretical (also postmodern) critique of modernity � that of Jacques Derrida � was similar in a way. Derrida accuses modern rationality for being responsible for all disasters of the 20th century totalitarisms; yet, on the other hand � as Manfred Frank showed, in his Conditio moderna (Reclam Verlag, Leipzig, 1993; Serbian translation: Svetovi, Novi Sad, 1995, str. (p.) 126) � Derrida praises Heidegger�s indifference about the victims of Auschwitz as a sign of his philosophical superiority, as a sign of his indifference towards responsibility as an unacceptable modern (logocentric) category. 18 Zygmunt Bauman, op. cit., p. 237. In that view modernity is reduced: a) to industry/industrialization (as a mater of fact, many authors mistakenly regard industrialization as the main attribute/condition � or, as Giddens puts it, axis − of modernity, or even equate modernity with industrialization). Industrialization in itself can, however, exist without having any real connection with modernity − Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 131 In short, the crucial question here is: what (or who) did though stop that, and all other monstrous Nazi projects? If all those (monstrous) things had really been modern, and/or inherent to modernity, they would have lasted, together with their producers (Nazi and their state, the Third Reich) much longer, because there would not have been any real force within modernity (or, better, inherent to modernity) to defeat them; fortunately, the force, a modern force, did exist and did defeat them. At last, I do not praise modernity as an ideal, coherent, monolithic and incontrovertible project; on the contrary.• For modernity is − as Jürgen Habermas has already said − �an unfinished project�, and thus a controversial historical conglomerate. However, it is a project that still has no acceptable, and/or plausible alternative nowadays, even in theory. That is why I insist on clear and precise seeing, recognizing and understanding well the difference between modern and anti- modern theories and practices: ideas, phenomena, forces, processes� Serbia and modernity Few notes on the earlier times The story about Serbia and modernity − whatever the story might deal with and whatever it ultimately means − actually coincides with the end of the 19th century and the first decades of the 20th century. In fact, this sentence would be correct in regard to almost all parts of the Balkans, especially those that were, for about five hundred years, parts of the Ottoman empire. According to some historical analyses,19 in the period from the 13th century to the end of the 15th century (when the Ottoman/Turkish military expansion and the conquest of the Balkans was finished) � in which period, by the way, the main attributes/conditions of modernity (or, at least, their main features) were already shaped and established in Florence, Venice, Rome, Milan etc. (and in some parts of like it did exist in the USSR, for instance − and industrial products as such can be used in many ways; e.g., one can use an airplane − as a supreme product of (modern) industry − to destroy a skyscraper in New York city, causing the death of several thousand men, women and children, but the usage of airplane does not mean that such an insane act is modern, and b) ultimately to a perverted pattern of rationality, which might have eternal varieties (the paranoiacs, for example, construct sometimes very systematic, sophisticated, convincing and in appearance rational stories, aren�t they? Yet, their stories are in fact irrational, nothing but systematic delusions, and can, sometimes, as is well known, have quite dangerous practical effects.) • I wrote about the Thanatos aspects of modernity in: Luis Mamford � jedna kritika modernosti, op. cit. 19 See, e.g., in: Sima Ćirković, Rabotnici, Vojnici, Duhovnici (Toilers, Soldiers, Spirits) Equilibrium, Beograd, 1997, str. (pp.) 23, 25 et passim. 132 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 the then North-Western Europe) � some, though rudimentary elements of the coming modernity appeared in the Balkans too. For example, it was money (�the metamorphosed shape of all other commodities� − as Marx defined it well) which was coined by the then rulers (mainly despots) in some parts of the region rationally, namely, with a clear idea that it would improve economy and bring about more wealth. Owing to that, there were, not many though, urban centers/markets in which money gradually replaced sheep, cows, oxen etc. − that had been used as �money� in the then still prevailing barter economy. Yet, this was not sufficient at all to enable realization of the project of modernity in the Balkans area. As S. Ćirković puts it, Balkan was generally an undeveloped region,20 and when the Turks established their rule over it, even those modest elements � that might have otherwise turned into new, postfeudal form of property, market economy, rationality and individualism, particularly if the connections with the Western, primarily �Italian� cities of the Renaissance had been intensive• − were blocked and scarcely maintained. For, while the Ottoman empire existed the life of most (non-Turks) in the Balkans was more or less reduced to mere survival. * Ever since 1804, throughout the 19th century, Serbia continually fought for its liberty attempting to get free from the Turkish government (in fact, the wars against the Turks lasted until 1913). Simultaneously with spreading of the free territories, its political framework was constituted, its economy was, slowly though, transformed from barter to a rudimentary market economy, the Serbian society was gradually shaped and structured. All these processes occurred, however, under the conditions that were very much burdened by a heritage that was intrinsically premodern/traditional and, in addition, contaminated by permanent antagonisms and by latent or actively violent enmities between the domestic people and the Turks � and that, as I have already put it, had lasted about five hundred years! That, certainly not fortunate, heritage affected literally every aspect of both individual and collective life of the Serbs, and had, more often than not, an active role in shaping their attitudes towards many (or most of) things with which further historical processes, up to now, have challenged them. There is no need now, I think, for making wider diachronic comparisons in order to prove that the Balkan countries, including Serbia of course, have not been in favour of history; not only in regard to modernity, but − generally. As a matter of ���� 20 Ibidem, str. (p.) 23. Another important thing did not exist in the Balkans: continuity of urban centers and urban life as such. See about that: ibidem, str. (pp). 259-274. • The case of Dubrovnik confirms that this might be a realistic assumption. Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 133 fact, the Balkan region as such has, in the meantime, become a synonym (and/or a stereotyped pattern) of something that should (or had better) be, by all means, avoided, as a social, cultural, economic, political� whatever model. There is, by the way, an interesting illustration of that: at the page 118, in the New Webster�s Dictionary of the English Language,21 it is written: �balkanize, v.t. � balkanized, balkanizing (�) to partition, as an area, into various small, politically ineffective divisions which often display hostility among themselves�. (Well, since the dictionary was published in 1975, I must admit that the authors were real prophets; for they did not only anticipate, but they did have a clear preview of what would really happen in Balkan/Yugoslavia during the nineties!) In a diachronic/historical sense � concerning the main attributes of modernity, at least − the Balkan countries, including Serbia of course, were, at the end of the 19th century, several centuries late. More than 80% of the population was engaged in agriculture; market/money economy barely existed (e.g., Serbia did not have its own money until 1873, when dinar became its national currency; until then, 39 − according to some other sources, 43 − foreign currencies had been in use in Serbia•); semi feudal form of ownership prevailed (private property in the means of production was based predominantly on ownership of land); rationality and individualism did not exist at all. The 20th Century Serbia Part I The story about Serbia and modernity in the 20th century could be divided in various ways and in several parts − e.g., Serbia between 1900 and 1918; Serbia in the first Yugoslavia (the monarchy that existed from 1918 to 1941); Serbia in the second (communist) Yugoslavia (between 1945 and, say, 1992, when the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, consisted of Serbia and Montenegro, was constituted) and, finally, Serbia in the State Unity of Serbia and Montenegro (since January 2003 up ���� 21 College Edition, Consolidated New Publishers, Chicago-New York, 1975. • See about that in: Milan Vujović, �Akcionarstvo u jugoslovenskoj privredi� (�Joint-stock companies in Yugoslav economy�), in: Jugoslovenska dr�ava, 1918-1998, Zbornik radova sa naučnog skupa (The Yugoslav State, 1918-1998, Congress Proceedings), Institut za savremenu istoriju, Beograd, 1999, str. (p.) 344. Many interesting information about the issue can be found in: Danica Milić, �Monetarnokreditni sistem u privredi Srbije početkom XX veka� (�Monetary and credit system in the economy of Serbia in early 20th century�), in: Srbija u modernizacijskim procesima XX veka (Serbia in the Modernization Processes of the 20th Century), Naučni skup, Institut za noviju istoriju Srbije, Beograd, 1994, str. (pp.) 79-89. 134 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 to now). This concrete formal division could be useful in another context (if, for instance, some legal, or political elements were in the focus of attention); for our purpose though, it would be too fractional. Thus, since modernity can be fully comprehended only in terms of long duration, my division will be quite rough: Serbia before World War II, and Serbia after World War II � up to now. Regarding economy, many authors have showed so far that in the period up to 1941, some significant changes did occur in Serbia;• in short, some main elements of capitalism were gradually developed in it. Yet, all in all, Serbian economy actually stagnated in the period. Between about 1918 and 1939 only, the average annual national income per capita remained extremely low (it rose until 1929, at an annual rate of some 3%, but in the period between 1930 and 1934 it fell by 7%). The role of agriculture and industry in the gross domestic product remained almost the same; in connection with that, the ratio of the population that was engaged in agriculture decreased only by about 7%, from nearly 80% to some 73% − though in absolute terms it increased!22 Foreign capital was absolutely insufficient for intense industrialization, and Serbia remained a primarily agrarian country in which, however, most, namely those who were engaged in agriculture, were burdened by debts that they could not repay. Such socio-economic circumstances were not at all suitable for developing the main objective-ontological attributes/conditions of modernity, namely, for new, postfeudal forms of private property and market economy. They, as well as the then general socio-historical, cultural, political etc. environment, were not, of course, appropriate for developing another, subjective-ontological pair of the main attributes/conditions of modernity − individualism and rationality − either. Regarding the latter, rationality was, as a matter of fact, encouraged at least by the need of those who were engaged in trading, industry, financial endeavours etc. to calculate rationally in order to gain profit; and a kind of individualism did come into being simultaneously with that, particularly with the need of a new emerging social stratum, of the then coming bourgeois to form its specific self-identity. Yet, in ���� • For example, capital market appeared; joint-stock companies, especially in the sphere of industry and finances, became common; foreign capital was invested in industry, mining, smelting works, electrical industry etc.; private property over the means of production was predominant� (See in: Milan Vujović, op.cit., str. (pp.) 341-359. In her article (mentioned above), D. Milić praises monetary and credit system in the economy of Serbia at the turn of the century as an almost built modern economic system (�In the economic life of the 19th century Serbia considerable changes marked its transition to the commodity economy and subsequently to an industrial society�; Danica Milić, op. cit., str. (p.) 89). Considerable changes did occur, it is true; yet, they should be seen cum grano salis, namely, as changes that affected just one, quite narrow part of the then Serbian (still semi feudal, traditional, undeveloped�) society. 22 See about that in: Kosta Mihailović, �Privreda Jugoslavije 1920-1990� (�Yugoslav Economy 1920- 1990�), in: Jugoslovenska dr�ava 1918-1998, op.cit., str. (pp.) 89-123. Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 135 Serbia, as a predominantly agrarian/traditional milieu, these elements were too weak to initiate and/or accelerate the main patterns of modernity. There have been, by the way, many attempts − mainly in literature, or in some historical and/or political/ideological reconstructions � to present Serbia before World War II as a semi developed modern civil society. Such stories are simply false. Usually, they have been nothing but individual expressions of nostalgia − wistful longings for an imagined past; or have been (and still are) instrumental ideological illusions consciously constructed in the ideological confrontations with the communist regime − either in the period of communism or now − in order to emphasize, and to exaggerate of course, all evils and misfortunes the communist regime brought about. To confirm that the stories are not true much information could be added. There is no need for that though, I think; yet, just few more things. Less than 10% of the population of Serbia at the time were craftsmen, or worked in factories and mines (the percentage includes those who were dependent upon them, i.e. members of their families and/or households); most of the population was illiterate; the then cultural policy remained poorly organized, ideologized and parochial, and political life, which was pluralistic (both Serbia and � after 1918 − the first Yugoslavia were parliamentary/constitutional monarchies), was in fact a mere simulacrum of modern democracy shaped, by the way � as were all other aspects of the social, economic, cultural� life in the milieu � by substantially rational interests of numerous fractions of the political elite, that is to say, political life was commonly far from being shaped by �rules of game� of formal (political) rationality.• In her article �Political elite and modernization in the first decade of the independent Serbian state�, Latinka Perović correctly summarizes the real nature of politics in Serbia. Though she deals with a relatively short period, her ideas have much wider meaning and are heuristically fruitful for understanding political life in ���� • For more information about the issues see the following articles (published in: Srbija u modernizacijskim procesima XX veka, op. cit.): a) Mira Bogdanović, �Modernizacijski procesi u Srbiji u XX veku� (�Modernization processes in Serbia in the 20th century�), str. (pp.) 35-58; b) Ljubodrag Dimić, �Kulturna politika i modernizacija jugoslovenskog dru�tva, 1918-1941� (�Cultural policy and modernization of the Yugoslav society, 1918-1941�), str. (pp.) 193-209 ; c) Latinka Perović, �Politička elita i modernizacija u prvoj deceniji nezavisnosti srpske dr�ave� (�Political elite and modernization in the first decade of the independent Serbia�), str. (pp.) 235- 245. Etc. It should be stressed here that most of articles published in Serbia in the Modernization Processes of the 20th Century, when the book appeared (1994), were a real refreshment for the Serbian/Yugoslav social-scientific community. For − owing to Latinka Perović, in the first place, who was the spiritus movens of the endeavour/conference/publication � the issue of modernity was finally brought into focus of some Serbian/Yugoslav historians, social scientists and intellectuals. It should be stressed here too that many (if not the majority) of the then influential and prominent Serbian intellectuals ignored the publication, being convinced that it had nothing to do with − or was even contra-productive in regard to − the strategic interests of the Serbs at the time; in fact, with an aggressive (substantially rational) ethno-nationalistic project. 136 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 Serbia throughout the 20th century too. In brief � as she puts it − �modernization for Serbia is the same as its Europeization. That is what Serbian political elite (became) divided over after Serbia became independent. One larger part, organized in the Radical Party, tended to build the state and society based on traditional Serbian institutions and relied on Russia. The other part, consisting of the Liberal and Progressive Party, wanted to make Serbia the country modeled after European states. That division was visible about every issue, and most pronounced was when construction of the first railroad in Serbia was concerned�.23 By the way, until 1884, Serbia, together with Montenegro, was the only European state without a railroad! The decision that the railroad would be built was made in the Serbian parliament after a long lasting and rough debate; many members of the Parliament were decisively against the railroad because it would � in their opinion − disintegrate traditional Serbian way of life and would bring to Serbia �chains of a new slavery�!?! Finally, a very important obstacle to establishing historical form of modernity (particularly the aspect of its subjective-ontological attributes/conditions, namely, rationality and individualism) in the milieu was lack of urban centers and generally urban way of life in Serbia. As I showed elsewhere, in the 14th and the 15th centuries, when modernity historically came into being, urban centers and urbanity were its �natural� soil.24 So, all in all, though some new forms of private property over the means of production did appear in Serbia at the turn of the centuries, and especially in the first three decades of the 20th century, and although some elements of modern market/money economy and commodity production did come into being, the Serbian society in the period remained an undeveloped, predominantly agrarian and fundamentally traditional/premodern ambient. Obstacles to all aspects of modernization were numerous and very hard to remove. The �embryo� of modernity − that in spite of all appeared then − was, however, terminated by World War II, namely, by the communist revolution that occurred in it. ���� 23 Latinka Perović, �Politička elita i modernizacija u prvoj deceniji nezavisnosti srpske dr�ave�, op. cit., str. (p.) 245. 24 See: Karel Turza, Modernost na biciklu (Modernity on a Bicycle), op. cit. The city-states of the �Italian� Renaissance were places where it first appeared. It should be stressed here that cities/urban centers alone do not bring about modernity − automatically. There were in Europe at the time some developed and very rich cities (Augsburg for instance, about which Michel Montaigne exposed lucid observations/remarks in his Journal de voyage) in which, however, modern individualism and rationality (and all other things that are in a modern system of human interdependence connected with them) barely existed. The fact is important because some authors consider urbanization in itself (some other consider/treat industrialization in the same way, as I have mentioned above) as an unquestionable indication, or even certain proof that modernity exists. That is not true though. Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 137 The 20th Century Serbia Part II After 1945, Serbia remained in the so-called second, communist Yugoslavia as one of its six republics (the others were: Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro and Slovenia). While in the pre-war period the obstacles to (and the denials of) modernity in Serbia had always had a legitimate and legal, both objective-ontological and subjective-ontological opposition (no matter how strong or weak it actually was), when the communists came in power, in 1945, all ideas about market economy, private ownership over the means of production, and about (formal) rationality and individualism became more or less illegitimate, politically unacceptable/inappropriate, and − illegal, namely, forbidden, in theory/ideology and practice! This (nota bene) does not mean that the term modernity (or modernization) was proscribed; on the contrary. Since modernity (modernization) was more commonly, though wrongly of course, understood as a synonym of industrialization and/or urbanization � the processes that were the main hall-marks of a �brave new� anti-capitalist, anti-bourgeois, anti-imperialist, anti-consumerist, desalinated and, above all, human etc. world, a world in which there would be no more exploitation of the working class/the proletariat (�a real producer of the surplus value which, however, in capitalism, had no share in its distribution and appropriation�), in which classless, harmonious, desalinated etc. community would replace the contemporary class divided, alienated and fundamentally inhuman societies etc. � it (namely, modernity/modernization), comprehended that way, was warmly embraced and enthusiastically encouraged in the communist regimes. In fact, denying modernity � in theory, or better, in ideology and practices of all former communist countries, including of course Serbia/Yugoslavia after 1945 � was systematic and almost absolute. For (as I already put it; see previously in this article), instead of market economy, a centrally planned economy was established; instead of private ownership over the means of production, state (or the so-called social, self-management) ownership prevailed; individualism was suppressed by a specific collectivism, by the �we�, namely, by the proletariat � and the Communist Party as its avant-garde − that had no any particular, but a universal human interests and, concerning that, a clear and definite, historically predetermined mission which had to be realized. (Those who were not the proletarians − the peasants and the so- called straight intellectuals − should have been an active part of the �working people�, that is to say, their personal life-projects, their individual ambitions, wishes, desires and aims had to be adjusted to, and always in accordance with the general, strategic, historical and so on and so forth interests of the proletariat). Finally, 138 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 instead of rationality, ideology prevailed; in fact, a substantial rationality that did not tolerate at all any doubt about its truthfulness about everything.• So, ever since 1945 modernity in Serbia (and Yugoslavia) has not been denied nominally; on the contrary, the term was in favour of the then communist political oligarchy! It was � as was in all other former communist/Bolshevik countries � denied factually and fundamentally. In other words, modernity as a historical project of which (to say it again) the main attributes/conditions are: market/money economy (and commodity production), new (postfeudal) forms of private property, individualism and rationality, was in all communist regimes, including Serbia/Yugoslavia after 1945, systematically thwarted; the �embryo� of modernity was de(con)structed for the sake of another, Bolshevik project or, better (as was confirmed by the events in 1989) − an utopia. Thus, the phrase �socialist (or communist) modernization� � which is, by the way, quite common among historians, social theorists etc. who deal with Yugoslavia/Serbia and/or with communism in general � is nothing but the contradictio in adjecto. There is no need now, I think, for analysing, nor even describing more extensively the period between 1945 and 1990, because all the facts about, e.g. the economy, state and politics/ideology, legal system, culture, society... in Serbia/Yugoslavia would be more or less in accordance with that general assertion. This of course might seem as � and in fact is � a simplification; for the Lebenswelt (life world) in all mentioned aspects of the then Serbian system of human interdependence surely was much more complex than even the most complex theoretical insight and understanding could comprise. But, the data/information such as: �after World War II Serbia entered upon the period of economic development: the average annual growth of the national income between 1947 and 1990 was 4,5%...�; or �between 1952 and 1990 the number of the employed rose from 103 to 280 per 1000 inhabitants...�, or �Serbia turned from an agricultural into an industrial society� and so on and so forth, have no greater significance when viewed in the context (of an anti-modernity) and, especially, when one knows historical epilogue of the Serbian (and the Yugoslav) anti-modernity; the epilogue which was � tragic. Thus, what still is interesting from the contemporary point of view is the period from 1990 up to now. While all other former communist countries in Europe (including the USSR/Russia) started the transition/transformation in 1989/1990, in accordance with the main attributes/conditions of modernity, in Serbia/Yugoslavia �la danse macabre� started: a horrible sociocidal process that destroyed almost everything. The disaster began in 1991, with the wars in Slovenia and Croatia; in Bosnia and Herzegovina it started in April 1992. ���� • See about substantial (and formal) rationality foot-note previously in this article. Karel Turza: On Modernity in General...� 139 In all those wars � probably the cruelest conflicts in Europe during the last few centuries − in which �Serbia did not take part� (as Slobodan Milo�ević cynically keeps on saying even today), about half a million people were murdered or wounded, about 2 million people lost their homes. Regarding Serbia only, since 1991, hundreds of thousands of young educated people have fled abroad, millions have been pauperized, the economy, culture, health care, education, science�, have all been destroyed. The Third Yugoslavia (Serbia and Montenegro � a sad reminiscence of the country that was probably doomed to disappear!?!), primarily due to a destructive anti-modern project of which the producer was Slobodan Milo�ević and his entourage (together with a part of the Serbian intellectual elite), remained nothing but a mere ruin, a simulacrum of a nation-state, a country without society. The title role in that project had an aggressive �ethno-nationalistic� politics, a variety of collectivism which replaced former (communist/proletarian) collectivism, and by which modern individualism was (again) suppressed. Actually, Milo�ević did manage to mobilize and engage all the worst parts of the Serbian anti-modern tradition that had had long history in the milieu, in political, economic, cultural/spiritual etc. sense. On the other hand, he and his entourage allowed a kleptocratic primary accumulation of capital (as is described above; see; pp. 8-9), which process ultimately brought about total pauperization of most, and of which the final result was sociocide (or destroyed society − as some other authors define that25). In short, sociocide means that the social structure was reduced to a rudimentary division between the elite and the masses; the very concrete everyday life of the majority of population was reduced to mere survival, accompanied by spiritual, cultural etc. impoverishment/devastation. When the DOS (Democratic Opposition of Serbia) came to power, after the 5th October 2000, Serbia was nothing but a deserted country, a country without society (sensu stricto), and with a state apparatus that was deeply connected with organized crime. So all attempts of the new government to initiate and realize the changes that should have been done in order to renew the institutions of the state and society, and to make them modern, faced almost irremovable obstacles within many segments of the old regime that remained vigorous and influential. When Dr. Zoran Đinđić finally tried to make some radical changes in those segments, he was killed. ���� 25 See, e.g. in: Mladen Lazić, Razaranje dru�tva − jugoslovensko dru�tvo u krizi devedesetih (The Destruction of Society − the Yugoslav Society in Crisis in the Nineties) Filip Vi�njić�, Beograd, 1994; or in: Račji hod (Crab�s Walk), ed. Mladen Lazić, �Filip Vi�njić�, Beograd, 2000. 140 SOCIOLOGIJA, Vol. XLV (2003), N° 2 An analysis of the period after the assassination of the Prime Minister of Serbia would prove, I think, that the pro-modern and anti-modern rival groups still are at war in Serbia. The outcome of that cannot be predicted though. 
work_6ymflzbwuvcqxbhxdgxvfaybne	----	The Cultural Landscape Past of the Eastern Mediterranean: The Border Lord’s Gardens and the Common Landscape Tradition of the Arabic and Byzantine Culture land Article The Cultural Landscape Past of the Eastern Mediterranean: The Border Lord’s Gardens and the Common Landscape Tradition of the Arabic and Byzantine Culture Konstantinos Moraitis School of Architecture, National Technical University of Athens (NTUA), 8A Hadjikosta Str., 11521 Athens, Greece; mor@arsisarc.gr; Tel.: +30-210-6434101 Received: 5 January 2018; Accepted: 21 February 2018; Published: 26 February 2018 Abstract: An evaluation of landscape tradition, in Near and Middle East area, could emphasize a profound past of agricultural experience, as well as of landscape and garden art. In reference to this common past, Byzantine and Arabic landscape and garden art paradigms appear to be geographically and culturally correlated, as proved by a Byzantine 12th century folksong, presenting the construction of a villa, with its surrounding gardens and landscape formations, in the territory of Euphrates River. This song refers to Vasilios Digenes Akritas or ‘Border Lord’, a legendary hero of mixed Byzantine-Greek and Arab blood; ‘Digenes’ meaning a person of dual genes, both of Byzantine and Arabic origin, and ‘Akritas’ an inhabitant of the borderline. At the end of the narration of the song, contemporary reader feels skeptical. Was modern landscape and garden art born in the European continent or was it transferred to Western world through an eastern originated lineage of Byzantine and Arabic provenance? Keywords: Arabic landscape and garden art; Byzantine landscape and garden art; cultural sustainability; political sustainability; Twain-born Border Lord 1. Introductory References: The Western Interest for Landscape and Its Eastern Precedents We ought to remark in advance that the present article is written by a professional design practitioner who believes, however, that space formative practices are not of mere technological importance. They may present, moreover, central cultural assumptions, in many cases correlated to the political identity of the societies in reference, as they not only depict but also support and enforce their political ethics. It is under the conscious or the unconscious feeling of the political importance, which potentially inhere within landscape and garden art, that Western centralized ‘civilization’ and afterwards Western extended ‘cultural’ appreciation1 recognized them as emblematic practices. They refer not only to practical interest for space formation, for the reclamation and cultivation of land, for agrarian economy; they also represent an overall volition for the rational control of nature, for its ‘mastery and possession’2. 1 We tend to use the term ‘civilization’ (or the adjective ‘civilized’) in order to describe societies with centralized organization and centralized production of knowledge, correlated to ‘civic’ societies principally. In comparison we use the term ‘culture’ (or the adjective ‘cultural’) in order to describe a non-necessarily centralized social identity, social behavior and social production in general. 2 As described by René Descartes: ’La science peut nous rendre comme maîtres et possesseurs de la nature – Science may turn us to be masters and possessors of nature‘ [1] (p. 84). Land 2018, 7, 28; doi:10.3390/land7010028 www.mdpi.com/journal/land http://www.mdpi.com/journal/land http://www.mdpi.com http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/land7010028 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/land Land 2018, 7, 28 2 of 12 We could compare the previous Western need for environmental ‘policy’, with the expansive colonizing identity of modern Europe, with its political ethics. Thus we could also understand the need of Western historians to present the period of the first Western neoteric political formation, Italian Renaissance, as the natal period of landscape appreciation and landscape art. In contradiction to this approach, cultural geography clearly stated that no society could exist, not possessing landscape formative practices or, at least, a landscape perception for its place of living [2]. This generative affinity between social structure and landscape organizing activity, mental activity of cultural perception and interpretation or applied construction activity, may appear even more ‘loudly’, in the context of the Eastern Mediterranean and Near and Middle East3. We refer to a privileged geo-cultural territory, where the first development of agricultural prosperity coexisted with the first need for geometrical abstraction. 2. The Eastern Genealogy of the Western Landscape and Garden Art We have just presented a central argument of our exposé, insisting on the fact that Western ethnocentrism tends, in many ways, to underestimate the impact of exterior contributions to the genealogy of neoteric Europe. However, it is clear that the input of organized knowledge from Arabic world presented important influences for Europeans, while the same seems to be true for the influences exerted by Byzantine culture as well. It is rather obvious for objective historic research that Byzantine scholars offered an important help to the first flourishing of the Italian Renaissance in Florence. Italian Renaissance could be regarded in this way as the immediate sequence of the Palaiologian Renaissance, a period of important achievements in culture, concerning the revival of ancient Greek wisdom in Byzantine Empire. We could therefore speak of Byzantine originated influences, while at the same time we should remind the imprint of the Arabic knowledge, introduced to Europe through the Iberian Peninsula. An even more detailed description could present a mixed Arabo-Byzantine body of influences as introduced to Europe, for example, through the famous Arabic libraries of Spain, where scriptures of Arab and Greek scholars co-existed. Let us now return to the exact subject of our interest, the historic past of the landscape perception in the Eastern Mediterranean, in Near and Middle East. Let us now insist on the landscape description in poetry, in folksongs originated in the Middle Byzantine Ages and still in use in Greece and Cyprus. Let us now focus on the rocky landscape backgrounds of the Byzantine icon painting or on the still surviving garden examples of Alhambra. Then we could rather rush to conclude that the geographically extended and prosperous cultures of the past, that of the East Roman Empire, also known as Byzantium, and that of the Arabic kingdoms, could not be alien to landscape and garden art and, moreover, to an important landscape feeling, to an unconscious and in the same time conscious relation to landscape, which was afterwards devaluated by Western neoteric non-reference. We could even assert that a highly developed knowledge of landscape intervention existed in the Byzantine and Arab world, prior for sure to the analogous approaches of the Western Renaissance period; a knowledge that offered its pre-existent maturity to Westerners. 3. The Political Importance of the Re-Evaluation of the Neoteric Landscape History What the present article is all about? Is it about the history of landscape, or is it about the importance of landscape formative techniques in general, of landscape aesthetics or environmental sustainability? We dare to admit that the principal aim of this article tends to surpass the previous issues. Its principal aim is to emphasize the need for cultural and political ‘sustainability’ of peoples in Eastern Mediterranean, in Near and Middle East; to insist on their need to evaluate their cultural 3 The landscape formative activities described in the Border Lord’s folksong that will be presented principally refer to Euphrates region that means to the Middle East zone. However some of its references, as those concerning vegetal acclimatization procedures refer to a larger Eastern Mediterranean and Near East territory, to the extended territory of interconnection between Byzantine and Arab cultural groups. Land 2018, 7, 28 3 of 12 and political identity correlated to their profound historic past. Even more, its principal aim has to do with the recognition of their age-long liaisons, of their cross-border bounds mutually correlating their knowledge as well as their tradition and cultural experience. It is under this ultimate political scope that indigenous cultures of Eastern Mediterranean, of Near and Middle East, have to reconsider their correlation to their landscape substratum; not on the ‘shallow’ prospect of touristic activity only, but on the deepest need for self-conscience and self-esteem. Western political identity is intensively correlated, since the Renaissance, with landscape perception, with landscape and garden art. The upraising of the organized political control in Italian Florence is clearly expressed through the application of perspective geometry in the re-structure of urbanscape, or in ‘extra muros’ landscape formations. Baroque grandiose gardens were intimately linked to the promotion of the royal sovereignty in Louis XIV’s France or in other European kingdoms. Moreover, the bourgeois innovatory regimes, the innovatory liberal political tendencies, as expressed in the British Isles in particular, were expressly correlated to the genesis of the English ‘landscape architecture’. It was under those powerful political connotations that landscape perception and landscape art gradually developed their neoteric ideological allure; it was under those powerful political connotations that the genesis of the neoteric landscape perception and landscape art had to be principally and even exclusively European. In his Dissertation on Oriental Gardening, firstly edited in 1773, the English architect Sir William Chambers referred to the influences exerted to the English landscape architecture through Chinese garden examples [3]. The result was an immediate polemic against his commentary; the principal British space formative art that expressed the British political and social ethics, the British political liberal volition, could not be presented as ‘imported’ from abroad. Three centuries after Chamber’s proposal, ought we to re-write neoteric landscape history? Do we have to re-evaluate it for the profit of the ‘peripheral’ influences, which, anyway, used to be historically and politically central in the remote pre-Renaissance past? 4. A ‘Border Lord’ of Dual Origin and His Landscape Formative Activity We have already commented the fact that Western ethnocentrism has in many ways underestimated the impact that Byzantine and Arabic influences exerted on the genealogy of modern Europe. It is probably because of this generalized devaluation that Byzantine landscape and garden culture has been seriously researched by Western scholars only recently4. Offering a comparative example we may comment that Marie Louise Gothein, a pioneer landscape historian, dedicated only six and a half pages to the subject of the Byzantine Gardens, in her famous book A History of Garden Art, while presenting the Islamic Gardens in 26 pages, focusing her interest on the Arabic examples [5] (Vol.1. pp. 137–168). In comparison Italian Renaissance and Baroque gardening was presented by her at the length of 484 pages [5] (Vol.1. pp. 205–459, Vol.2. pp. 1–230). However Gothein presented, both Byzantine and Arabic references in a common chapter, under the title ’Byzantine Gardens and the Countries of Islam‘, probably recognizing that Byzantines and Arabs shared a common ‘ground’ of cultural expression and, moreover, a common landscape experience concerning the borderline territories asserted by both populations. The clearest paradigm of such a common Byzantine and Arabic landscape experience is probably offered by a Byzantine 12th century folksong, usually described by the name of its principal protagonist’Digenes Akritas’ or ’Digenis Akritis’ [6]. It refers to a fictional personality, a legendary Byzantine hero of mixed Byzantine-Cappadocian Greek and Arab blood, named ’Vasilios Digenes Akritas’ or, in English translation, ’Twain-born Border Lord’. In a part of the song named by modern scholars with the indicative title “The Home, the Garden and the Tomb” [6] (pp. 63–66), the construction 4 In the fall of 1991 Dumbarton Oaks dedicated a roundtable to the subject ’Gardens and Garden Culture in Byzantium’. It was followed, in 1996, by a Colloquium under the title ’Byzantine Garden culture’, which brought together a group of garden historians with scholars who were experts in Byzantine studies. The proceedings of the Colloquium were published by Dumbarton Oaks Research Library [4]. Land 2018, 7, 28 4 of 12 of a villa is presented, accompanied with its surrounding gardens and landscape formations in the territory of Euphrates River, with the addition of a bridge over Euphrates and a monumental tomb on the top of it. The reference to this part of the song, in correlation to the double ethnic origin of its protagonist, will be used as the central argument of our article, exemplifying the assertion that organized landscape formative activity, similar to what developed latter in 14th and 15th century in Europe, already existed in Eastern geo-cultural regions, in the territory of Eastern Mediterranean, in Near and Middle East. If historians agree that the folk song was already in extended use during 12th century then, the cultural experience described by it must be even earlier, possibly originating in the 11th century or even earlier in the 10th century. Extending our previous statement, we may remark in addition that this cultural experience appears to be a common production of cultural affinity between different ethnic groups inhabiting the territory, a production of dual origin at least, as Vasilios Digenes Aktitas himself was. 5. Presenting the Part of the Folksong Described as “The Home, the Garden and the Tomb” ‘Vasilios Digenes Akritas’, we have already mentioned it, are the Greek names of the ‘Border Lord’. ‘Vasilios’ is the first name of the hero to whom the folksong refers, while ‘Digenes’ and ‘Acritas’ describe his identity, his personal origin and his social and military status. The adjective ‘Digenes’ means a person of dual origin and ‘Akritas’ an inhabitant of the borderline obliged, as it also happened in the previous historic example of the Roman armed ‘limitanei’5, to react as border guard, in the case of an enemy invasion. The folksong in question has the form of an extensive epic narration, known under a general title identical, as we have also mentioned, to the name of the hero, ’Digenes Akritas’. Six manuscripts have been preserved dedicated to it, the oldest two held one in Escorial Library, in Spain, in a version of 1867 lines indicated with the letter E, and one in Grottaferrata Library, in Italy, in a version of 3749 lines indicated with the letter G. In the first part of the epic the lives of Digenes’ parents are narrated; the way they met, and the way his father, an Arab Emir, was converted to Christianity after abducting and marrying Digenes’ mother. Then the Emir resettled in ‘Romania’, in the lands of the Byzantine population of Greek origin, together with his people. The second part of the song discusses, often from a first-person point of view, Vasilios’ acts of heroism on the Byzantine border. Finally, having defeated all his enemies Digenes builds, as described in the last part of the song to which we refer in particular, a luxurious villa by the river Euphrates, surrounded by an extended garden and there he peacefully ends his tormented life. In a clear way this last part of the narration, entitled by the literary commentary with the description ’The Home, the Garden and the Tomb’, may be regarded as evidence of an age-deep experience and organizational knowledge, concerning landscape and garden formation practices. It refers to an age-deep experience and knowledge established in Near and Middle East areas by people of mixed origin or by populations being in correlation to mixed cultural impacts. The above, seems to be the first important statement that our article has already emphasized. A second important statement refers to the maturity and complexity of the examined landscape formative example. The folksong presents an organized variety of practices, starting with a site evaluation previous to the beginning of the construction works. Thus it seems to offer a description of practical guidelines, similar to those proposed two centuries later in the Re Agraria, a guide for agricultural and landscape practices written in poetic form by Michelangelo Tanaglia in Renaissance Florence6. In Akritas’ folksong a less detailed sequence of works is denoted, however it is described in an organized way. Following the evaluation of the site, land reclamation activities take place. 5 The Roman ‘limitanei’ as the Byzantine ‘akrites’, were settlers of the border Roman or Byzantine zones. The central government offered them the ownership of land and, in return, they ought to protect the empire from enemy invasion. 6 As Mariachiara Pozzana’s describes, Michelangelo Tanaglia’s Re Agraria, was written in poetic form, thus associated to Digeni’s folksong presented in our article [7]. (pp. 120-137). Land 2018, 7, 28 5 of 12 Afterwards the villa is built and the formation of the gardens follows. Transplantation of vegetal species from other remote countries is testified and also description of minor constructions is offered, as for example those concerning the decorative fountains of the garden. At the end of the song, the contemporary reader feels astonished. Was modern landscape and garden art born in the European continent during Renaissance period, or was it rather transferred to the Western world through an eastern originated lineage, related to the Byzantine and Arabic culture? 6. The Landscape Formative Activities in Detail; the Decision for the Construction of the Villa and the Practical and Aesthetic Evaluation of the Site Let us follow now the presentation of an extended sequence of landscape formative activities, as presented in the previous folksong of Digenis’, in the part of the song entitled ’The Home, the Garden and the Tomb’ [6] (pp. 63–66). At the beginning of a song, we have a summary of the heroic feats of Digenis’, and his decision to build his own house in the meadows. ’ . . . Then the whole Universe frightened by his power was. Many local chiefs under his control were, And many chiefs of robbers were by Acritas killed, as well as many ‘apelates’7. Thus no other concern for military attacks Or for military defense had he anymore . . . V.1615 And as no other concern for nice deeds had he, He decided a house to have, a house to build in the meadows . . . ’ And the folksong continues by describing Digenis’ effort to locate the proper site for the construction of his house, an effort correlated to the natural properties of the landscape, the irrigation possibilities and the rich flora of the place, but also with the aesthetic qualities, the ‘beauty’ of the water streams. The natural formation of the site may already be compared to the aesthetic elegance of an artificially ‘composed’ garden, of a ‘paradise’; a term used to describe in Greek, during this period, not only the holy primordial place of the Scriptures, but also the artificial landscape formation, a garden. Thus we may answer to the arguments of the Western scholars, as for example to the Western centered opinion of Joachim Ritter, according to which the landscape perception has to do with the Function of Aesthetics in the Modern Society, of the Western society in principal [8] (pp. 33–97). First of all, landscape feeling has not necessarily to do with conscious appreciation and description, or with the conscious ‘distance’, between the spectator and the objectified evaluated perception of his interest, created in the neoteric world. Otherwise we could not refer any more to a ‘phenomenology’ of landscape, in the Heidegger’s use of the term, or to an immediate aesthetic appreciation of the un-cultivated mind in response to its perception. In any case, even in reference to the sophisticated Western mind of Ritter ’s exposition, the societies of the Western modernity were not the first to develop a ‘res cogitans’ examining and evaluating the landscape ‘res extensa’. In Digenis’ song, the hero visits a sequence of possible sites, where his house, a villa similar to those constructed three or four centuries later in Europe, may be erected accompanied by its surrounding garden. His examination has to do with practical needs and with an aesthetic evaluation as well, many years before the proverbial ascent of the Italian scholar and poet of Renaissance Italy, Francesco Petrarca, on Mont Ventoux [9]. Francesco Petrarca commonly anglicized as Petrarch, is often considered the founder of Humanism, and his landscape wondering from the top of the previous mountain, accompanied by a literary description, is also considered as the first ‘civilized’ [1] recognition of the landscape aesthetic qualities. In the Border Lord’s song we may find descriptions of an analogous aesthetic admiration; though we 7 ‘Apelates’: independent guerilla warriors of the Byzantine border zone. Land 2018, 7, 28 6 of 12 refer not to a letter of a prominent scholar, as in the case of Petrarch’s but to a folksong, in use by the vast majority of the inhabitants of average or even low education. We refer, however, to the inhabitants in a territory of extremely high cultural past. In comparison to the Western Middle Ages, they still live, at the time that the folksong appears, in a rather active cultural present that lasts until the period of the great destruction created by the European Crusades. At the beginning of his landscape formative intervention the Border Lord inspects the possible sites of his future installation, finally arriving to the land of Euphrates (Figure 1). ’Thus to the nearby river-bank zone he went, But no suitable place, for a person as noble as he, he found; So to the land of Euphrates he decided to go. V.1620 . . . In a place of meadows many trees he found, Standing around, thick shadow they offered, While the beauty of water streams Down from the mountain was coming. V.1625 Thus the site as beautiful as a paradise8 seemed’ Land 2018, 7, x FOR PEER REVIEW 6 of 12 many years before the proverbial ascent of the Italian scholar and poet of Renaissance Italy, Francesco Petrarca, on Mont Ventoux [9]. Francesco Petrarca commonly anglicized as Petrarch, is often considered the founder of Humanism, and his landscape wondering from the top of the previous mountain, accompanied by a literary description, is also considered as the first ‘civilized’ [1] recognition of the landscape aesthetic qualities. In the Border Lord’s song we may find descriptions of an analogous aesthetic admiration; though we refer not to a letter of a prominent scholar, as in the case of Petrarch’s but to a folksong, in use by the vast majority of the inhabitants of average or even low education. We refer, however, to the inhabitants in a territory of extremely high cultural past. In comparison to the Western Middle Ages, they still live, at the time that the folksong appears, in a rather active cultural present that lasts until the period of the great destruction created by the European Crusades. At the beginning of his landscape formative intervention the Border Lord inspects the possible sites of his future installation, finally arriving to the land of Euphrates (Figure 1). ’Thus to the nearby river-bank zone he went, But no suitable place, for a person as noble as he, he found; So to the land of Euphrates he decided to go. V.1620 …In a place of meadows many trees he found, Standing around, thick shadow they offered, While the beauty of water streams Down from the mountain was coming. V.1625 Thus the site as beautiful as a paradise8 seemed’ Figure 1. ’Thus to the nearby river-bank zone he went, but no suitable place, for a person as noble as he, he found; so to the land of Euphrates he decided to go… In a place of meadows many trees he found, standing around, thick shadow they offered‘ (sketches by the author). 8 The word ‘paradise’ is used as synonym to the word ‘garden’. Figure 1. ’Thus to the nearby river-bank zone he went, but no suitable place, for a person as noble as he, he found; so to the land of Euphrates he decided to go . . . In a place of meadows many trees he found, standing around, thick shadow they offered‘ (sketches by the author). 8 The word ‘paradise’ is used as synonym to the word ‘garden’. Land 2018, 7, 28 7 of 12 7. Land Reclamation Activities and Landscape Architecture Interventions Then the Border Lord continues with land reclamation activities, as a proof of an already developed experience of similar geotechnical interventions. It would be important to mention that big gardens and landscape architecture interventions, in European history—as in Vaux-le-Vicomte and Versailles Baroque gardens, in Dutch polder formation, or later in the English garden park of Blenheim—were also largely associated to the efficacy of analogous engineering projects; however, the description presented by the Border Lord’s song is much earlier. ’So the river out of the meadow sent he, And a garden of pleasure he actually formed . . . . . . The four confluent-streams of the river he took, For the irrigation of his whole dominion to use them‘ V.1635 The description continues with the presentation of the smaller parts of the water management infrastructure, the irrigating fountains (Figure 2, details n. 1 and n. 3) and the ‘vivaria’, a term describing in the song aquaria constructions, ’full of fishes’. ’Fountains, cast-out of iron he placed, Enclosed parts to irrigate (And) vivaria of wonder, full of fishes he made‘ V.1638 The landscape formative works continue with an activity rather common to the Western societies during the next centuries. We refer to the acclimatization of vegetal species introduced from distant places, as palm trees and the red St. John’s wort, brought from Egypt and described in detail in the song. ’Then palms he planted in this garden V.1641 And out of Egypt the red St. John’s wort they brought: V.1640 Its leaves green they are, but its flower red. V.1642 Long its root is, of fragrant wood, And perfume full its fruits are, Its branches red, spinning leaves around. V.1645 Snow-white juice out of the root springs out, Rose-water smell, a sweet euphoria producing’ 8. The Transition from Tradition Cultural Practices to Organized Knowledge: Landscape, Botany, Literary Expression Let us quote a recent scientific article concerning the last verse of the song. It indicates that ’studies have supported the efficacy of St. John’s wort as a treatment for depression in humans’ [10], an indication close to the descriptive words ’sweet euphoria’, used in the song (Figure 2, detail n. 2). We must not be astonished for the medical knowledge of the East Mediterranean remote past historic societies. Byzantines and Arabs were excellent doctors and possessed deep knowledge of medical herbs. Thus we may find 13th century Arabic translations of De Materia Medica, a famous five-volume encyclopedia written much earlier under the ancient Greek title —On Medical Material, by Pedanius Dioscorides, a Greek physician, pharmacologist and botanist of the first century A.D. This medical thesaurus was dedicated to herbal medicine and to relate therapeutic treatment, it was widely read for over 15 centuries, and seems to be highly respected by Byzantine and Arab physicians equally. A Byzantine manuscript of it with Land 2018, 7, 28 8 of 12 notes in Arabic9, probably belonging to the library an Arab doctor of the 11th century, proves that knowledge of both languages, Greek and Arabic, was common at the territory we examine and that cultural and scientific exchanges were a continuous fact. It also proves the correlation to nature in a highly organized way, comprising technical capacity as well as scientific intentions, concerning for example developed landscape formative techniques and a fairly developed expertise in botany. If we should like to extend our remarks about the refinement of the cultural practices, gradually developed form a state of the tradition and the folk-culture to the state of a centralized sophistication, corresponding to a highly elaborated expression, then we must also mention the changes in the composition of the song of Digenes’ itself. While the text of Escorial manuscript appears to be closer to the features of the oral origins, the Grottaferrata manuscript is heavily marked by learned reworking. In both cases the manuscripts preserved, indicate the transformation of the immediate verbal ‘tradition’ to the written and afterwards to a more sophisticate re-evaluation. This cultural transformation from oral tradition to written, and then to elaborated expression, seems to be comparable to the transformation of the traditional agrarian practices to the developed land reclamation and to the landscape intervention, or to the transformation of the traditional use of herbal remedies to organized botanical, medicinal, and medical knowledge. 9. Art Imitating Nature and the Mechanical Replicas If we return to the folksong we present, we shall find Digenes decorating his garden (or should use the word in plural; his gardens), with highly sophisticated devices usually described as ‘automata’. Similar mechanisms, as we know, existed in the Abassid palaces in Bagdad as well as in the throne room10 of the Byzantine emperor Theophilos, in Constantinople, in 10th century, as the Italian ambassador Liutprand of Cremona testifies11 (Figure 2, detail n. 4). ’ . . . All gold and all silver animals he erected, Lions, leopards and eagles, partridges and fairies, Springing out of their mouths and wings Clear water, fragrant and crystal like. V.1655 All these on sublime fountains were placed’ It is normal to conclude that a culture, animating its gardens with mechanical replicas of living creatures springing out water out of their mouths, possessed a rather developed landscape art. In the 17th century, the famous French philosopher René Descartes proposed a Baroque garden fountain, in his book Les Météores [1] (p. 198). It seems to be, in comparison, a construction much simpler than the ‘sublime fountains’ of Digenes’. Then the Border Lord continues with the winged inhabitants of the gardens and, having finished with other projects, he proceeds with the construction of a single vault bridge, over the river, with a monumental tomb on the top of it (Figure 2, n. 5). To describe the bridge, the narration uses again an adjective of aesthetic value; it is a ‘handsome bridge’ connecting the two banks of Euphrates and, at the same time, the earthly existence of the Lord with his future life in the heavenly garden of Paradise, the term being now used in our article with its religious connotation. ’Then golden cages he hanged on the tree branches Nice parrots in them, chirruping and telling: 9 It exists in the library of the Georgian Monastery of Iviron or Iveron, an Eastern Orthodox monastery in the monastic state of Mount Athos in northern Greece. 10 For the use of wind powered automata in Bagdad see J. W. Meri’s description [11]. 11 For automata in Byzantium see G. Brett’s description [12] (pp. 477, 487) as well as M. L. Gothein’s references [6] (Vol. I, p. 141). In any case it seems that an ancient tradition of manufacturing automata is ascending from Greek antiquity and continues to be vivid in Jewish legends, as those concerning King Solomon’s throne and in ancient Chinese references. Land 2018, 7, 28 9 of 12 ‘Long live to the lord and to the lady of his desire’... . . . And finally a handsome bridge he built, over Euphrates V.1660 A bridge of a single vault. A court of four entrances was built over the bridge . . . . . . and inside a tomb there was, V.1665 For his own body to be buried’ Land 2018, 7, x FOR PEER REVIEW 9 of 12 Figure 2. 1 and 3—‘Fountains… enclosed parts to irrigate’; 2—‘and out of Egypt the red St. John’s wort they brought’; 4— ‘lions, leopards and eagles, partridges and fairies springing out of their mouths and wings clear water,’; 5—‘a court of four entrances was built over the bridge… and inside a tomb there was’ (sketches by the author). Figure 2. 1 and 3—‘Fountains . . . enclosed parts to irrigate’; 2—‘and out of Egypt the red St. John’s wort they brought’; 4— ‘lions, leopards and eagles, partridges and fairies springing out of their mouths and wings clear water,’; 5—‘a court of four entrances was built over the bridge . . . and inside a tomb there was’ (sketches by the author). Land 2018, 7, 28 10 of 12 10. Conclusive ‘Rhetorical’ Questions and Conclusive Statements For many Western scholars, the appreciation of landscape must be correlated with Renaissance, more precisely with Petrarch, who climbed on Mount Ventoux in order to enjoy the distant view, in a state of aesthetic delight [9]. In an analogous mode of reference, Western political interpretation of history correlates the emergence of the garden and landscape formative practices with the villas construction in the countryside surrounding Florence, in Toscana; with their landscape ‘scenic integration’ and their formal gardens. If we accept this well-known historic approach, how can we then judge the legendary references to the gardens of the Border Lord? What have we to say about the paradigm of the Arabic garden, still preserving its lineage in Alcázar of Seville, in the Court of la Acequi in Generalife, in the Lions Fountain of Alhambra? Finally, how can we judge the need of the ethnic groups, in Eastern Mediterranean, in the Near and Middle East, to establish a contemporary political and cultural ‘sustainability’, in correlation to their history and to their ancestral landscape of origin? Comments on the central ideas underlying the present paper, could probably criticize the previous conclusive questions and their tendency to put Eastern and Western evidences of landscape and garden art, into a ‘competitive relationship’. We ought to insist on the importance of this criticism, in order to explain that the previous tendency is not a negative obsession of the author. On the contrary, it seems to express a number of prominent Western intellectuals; Georg Simmel in his essay on the philosophy of landscape, Philosophie der Landschaft [13], Joachim Ritter in his essay on landscape and the function of aesthetics in neoteric society, Landschaft—zur Funktion des Ästhetischen in der Modernen Gesellschaft [8], we already mentioned him, or Ernst Hans Gombrich in his Renaissance Theory of Art and the Rise of Landscape [9]. All of them explicitly insist on the opinion that landscape appreciation is a matter of conscious response towards the qualities of the environment; of conscious response, which could be only produced in neoteric post-Renaissance societies. It is under the same ideological approach that the art historian Kenneth Mackenzie Clark referred to landscape painting, to Landscape into Art [14], insisting on the assumption that it firstly appeared in Renaissance depictions and attained its mature quality during the next centuries. We could certainly excuse the previous approaches, through the explanation of their limited historical documentation or their restricted theoretical depth. Most likely they were not in touch with the 20th century doctrines of historical geography, of Carl Ortwin Sauer’s ‘cultural landscape’ approaches for example [2]. According to them, no culture could be conceived outside place attributes, without cultural forms superimposed on natural landscape, without conscious or unconscious landscape references. Thus, conscious apperception is not ‘sine qua non’ causation for cultural landscape formations, while Pre-Renaissance place references and place intervention practices are not necessarily deprived of serious organizational landscape qualities. On the contrary, Arabic garden examples appear to be as formal as the Euclidean geometry gardens of renaissance and Baroque era, correlated to the appraisal of the Western conscious intellect. In an even more specific way, in the folksong just presented, a developed expertise of landscape reclamation techniques is revealed, described side by side to a an equally developed experience of botanic knowledge and flora acclimatization practices, to which we could safely acknowledge the quality of conscious interventions. We could equally reverse Clark’s argumentation, by insisting on the arboreal depiction, as presented in the late Paleologean era frescoes in Pantanassa church of Mystras; or we could argue that landscape references on the background of the Byzantine icons are not ‘primitive’ or ‘immature’ representations in comparison to the 18th Dutch landscape painting examples. Under a more sophisticated statement of art hermeneutics, they could be accepted as representatives of an expressive ‘schematization’ much closer to the early 20th century abstract art, than to the 18th and 19th Western realistic tendencies. However, the most revealing example of the ‘competitive relationship’ between Western neoteric landscape culture and its oriental precedents is probably the one concerning the public reaction against William Chamber’s book, A Dissertation on Oriental Gardening [3], already previously mentioned. Land 2018, 7, 28 11 of 12 Chamber’s argumentation referred in his book, as we already stated, to the supposition of formative influences exerted to Western landscape art, especially to the 18th British landscape architecture, through examples of Asiatic origin, transferred to the European continent. Though the author’s arguments referred to Chinese and not to Near or Middle East influences, the reaction to it was representative of the general desire of the Western societies, to appropriate landscape and garden art and promote them as a genuine Western cultural creation. Minor restricted elements of Arabic, Chinese, or Japanese provenance could be introduced, decorating European gardens with ‘arabesque’ stylistic elements, or with ‘chinoiseries’ and ‘japaneseries’ ornamental constructions; however, principal compositional trends had to be of Western invention. We shall not continue our commentary on this highly irritating subject. We shall only assert that Western landscape theory approaches, as well as Western landscape art hermeneutics, appeared to be cautious towards ‘exterior’ influences. Landscape art, in both forms of landscape architecture and landscape painting, appeared to be, for four centuries at least, representative of the high level of the Western political identity and everyday social ethics; it seemed thus inconceivable that their attitude, regarded as principally Western, could be produced through alien guidance. Our primary concern in the essay presented was to prove that mature landscape apperception, as well as mature landscape formation techniques, already existing in the Eastern Mediterranean and Near and Middle East area, at least 400 years earlier than the Renaissance flourishing of the garden art in Tuscany and afterwards to Rome and the rest of Italy. We could of course try to locate even older important paradigms, going backward to Hellenistic and Roman gardens, to Macedonian and Pompeii frescoes. We shall insist however in Eastern Mediterranean and Near and Middle East 10th century, for three interrelated reasons. The first one refers to the similarity of the Border Lord’s folksong description, to an analogous poetic landscape formative guide, written during 14th century in Florence. We already mentioned it; it was Michelangelo Tanaglia’s De Re Agraria [7]. However the Border Lord’s garden is described in a folksong, and not in a poem written by an intellectual presenting himself as an agriculture and landscape formative techniques specialist. It refers therefore to an extended knowledge, shared not only by educated readers but also by a much larger cultural group of interest, in 10th century Eastern Mediterranean and Near and Middle East; by an extended cultural group that produced this landscape knowledge at least two centuries before the appearance of the folksong describing it. The second reason refers to the fictional creator of the landscape works described in the song. The Border Lord is a fictional personality; it represents nevertheless the osmosis of two co-existing cultures, the Byzantine and the Arabic one, their shared common experience, their interchanged knowledge and practices. They could even claim, those two interconnecting cultural groups, a common origin, mixed genes, rather bringing them together than separating them. Landscape formation practices could be regarded as closely correlated to this cultural osmosis. The third reason, justifying the general attitude of the present essay, could be correlated to a contemporary cultural and political statement. The Border Lord or Digenis Akritas, this fictional hero of double origin, may be described as one of the longest living personalities of the Hellenic heroic Pantheon. Until recently, folk songs commemorating his feats were common in the agricultural regions of Greece and Cyprus, and literary references of Greek modernity presented him as a personification of Hellenic ethnic continuity. However, the Border Lord was not of Byzantine origin only; on the contrary he was half Byzantine and half Arab. It could be an interesting occasion to look backward to Middle and Near East past and indicate to the contemporary inhabitants of this controversial geopolitical territory that, besides continuous antagonism, they also share a deep tradition of synergies, of synergies surpassing religious or ethnic differences, of synergies having probably to do with their common affection to their land and landscape substratum. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. Land 2018, 7, 28 12 of 12 References 1. Descartes, R. Discours de la Méthode, suivi D’extraits de la Dioptrique, et des Météores; Garnier Flammarion: Paris, France, 1966. 2. Sauer, C.O. The morphology of landscape. In Foundation Papers in Landscape Ecology; Wiens, J.A., Moss, M.R., Turner, M.G., Mladenoff, D.J., Eds.; Columbia. University Press: New York, NY, USA, 2007. 3. Chambers, W. A Dissertation on Oriental Gardening; Printer to the Royal Academy: London, UK, 1773; Available online: http://books.google.com (accessed on 20 December 2017). 4. Littlewood, A.; Maguire, H.; Wolshke-Bulmahn, J. Byzantine Garden Culture; Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection: Washington, DC, USA, 2002. 5. Gothein, M.L. Geschichte der Gartenkunst; 1904. English Translation by Archer-Hind A history of Garden Art; Hacker: New York, NY, USA, 1979. 6. Aleksiou, S. Vasilios Digenis Acritis and Armouris’ Song, Greek ed.; Ermis publ.: Athens, Greece, 1985. 7. Pozzana, M. Agricoltura e orticoltura nella Toscana del Quattrocento. In Giardini Medicei. Giardini di palazzo e di villa nella Firenze del Quattrocento; Luchinat, C.A., Ed.; Federico Motta Editore: Milano, Italy, 2000. 8. Ritter, J. Landscape and the aesthetic appreciation in Modern society. In To Toπιo—The Landscape, Greek ed.; Simmel, G., Ritter, J., Gombrich, E.H., Eds.; Potamos publ.: Athens, Greece, 2004; pp. 33–97, First published as Landschaft—zur Funktion des Ästhetischen in der Modernen Gesellschaft. Aschendorff Verlag: Münster, 1963. 9. Gombrich, E.H. Renaissance Theory of Art and the rise of Landscape. In Norm and Form. Studies in the Art of the Renaissance I; Phaidon Press: London, UK, 1966; pp. 107–121. 10. Klemow, K.M.; Bartlow, A.; Crawford, J.; Kocher, N.; Shah, J.; Ritsick, M. Chapter 11: Medical Attributes of St. Joh’s Wort (Hypericum perforatum). In Herbal Medicine Biomolecular and Clinical Aspects, 2nd ed.; Benzie, I.F.F., Sissi, W.G., Eds.; CRC Press: New York, NY, USA, 2011. 11. Meri, J.W. Medieval Islamic Civilization: An Encyclopedia; Routledge publ.: London, UK, 2005. 12. Brett, G. The Automata in the Byzantine ‘Throne of Solomon’. Speculum 1954, 29, 477–487. [CrossRef] 13. Simmel, G. Philosophy of landscape. In To Toπιo—The Landscape, Greek ed.; Simmel, G., Ritter, J., Gombrich, E.H., Eds.; Potamos publ.: Athens, Greece, 2004; pp. 9–31, First published as ‘Philosophie der Landschaft‚, in Die Guldenkammer II, Bremen 1913. 14. Clark, M.K. Landscape into Art; Icon Editions: New York, NY, USA, 1979. © 2018 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://books.google.com http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/2846790 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introductory References: The Western Interest for Landscape and Its Eastern Precedents The Eastern Genealogy of the Western Landscape and Garden Art The Political Importance of the Re-Evaluation of the Neoteric Landscape History A ‘Border Lord’ of Dual Origin and His Landscape Formative Activity Presenting the Part of the Folksong Described as “The Home, the Garden and the Tomb” The Landscape Formative Activities in Detail; the Decision for the Construction of the Villa and the Practical and Aesthetic Evaluation of the Site Land Reclamation Activities and Landscape Architecture Interventions The Transition from Tradition Cultural Practices to Organized Knowledge: Landscape, Botany, Literary Expression Art Imitating Nature and the Mechanical Replicas Conclusive ‘Rhetorical’ Questions and Conclusive Statements References 
work_6z57z7e2l5ayzmib67vv4ddere	----	J. clin. Path. (1967), 20, 5 Obituary Gordon Roy Cameron Kt., M.B., D.Sc., LI.D. Melb., Ll.D. Edin., P.C. Path., F.R.C.P., F.R.S. Roy Cameron was appointed Professor of Morbid Anatomy at University College Hospital Medical School in 1937 and the clinical staff quickly realized that they had gained an outstanding teacher and colleague. Cameron had already worked for seven years in the Graham research laboratories and his benign bespectacled figure was well known in the School but it was not until he took over teaching in the post-mortem room that his learning, profound interest in pathology, and kindliness were generally appreciated. No-one could have been more encourag- ing to young hbuse physicians and surgeons when first faced with the awe-inspiring task of expounding the clinical history and diagnosis in the necropsy room. Professor Cameron was so modest and un- assuming that it was not until his knighthood in 1957 that those not intimately associated with him had their attention drawn to his truly formidable attain- ments. Before leaving Australia as a young man he had already been deputy director of the Walter and Eliza Hall Institute in Melbourne. In 1928 at the age of 29 years he spent a year with Aschoff at Freiburg and came from there to work with A.E. Boycott in the Graham research laboratories at U.C.H. Within two years of his appointment as Professor he had to leave his department on the outbreak of war and go to the Chemical Research Station at Porton to take charge of pathology. The war years at Porton, where Cameron worked with a team of scientists, including Barcroft, Douglas, Gaddum, and Carleton, represented a turning point; he showed how basic experimental pathology had a vital part to play in problems of a primarily bio- chemical or physiological nature. The long evenings during the blackout at Winterslow gave time for the collection of the vast amount of factual and biblio- graphical detail that were published in 'The path- ology of the cell', his largest single work. Returning to U.C.H. with this wide experience of pure scientific investigation, Professor Cameron set to work to rebuild his department ofmorbid anatomy. Though grateful for his earlier work in Aschoff's laboratory in Freiburg, which he always recalled with affection, morphological pathology was to be used mainly as a tool for the study of dynamic path- ological processes. A steady stream of young path- ologists, almost all from overseas, came to his Graham laboratory to study, by simple techniques, basic problems in pathological reactions. All re- ceived, in addition to guidance, much detailed help, the benefits of Cameron's tremendous capacity for quick and lucid writing and his vast knowledge of the pathological literature, which was remembered, not card indexed. The liver was the organ to which Cameron kept returning, and by the early fifties he had established his interest in inter-relating micro- scopical changes with biochemical processes. This was his greatest and most satisfying work, linking the dynamic processes of pathology with the newly determined biochemical metabolic pathways. In natural and rapid sequence there followed rec- ognition by the Royal Society, public honours, and his wise, quiet counsel on many committees, at one time over 50 in all, including the Medical and Agri- cultural Research Councils. His knighthood left Sir Roy slightly surprised, even ill at ease, as he was simple and unassuming and did not readily take to the new title. At this time his research laboratories were crowded, though modestly equipped, for Cameron believed, and proved, that good work was not dependent upon expensive apparatus or new buildings. It might be thought that this experimental 5 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jcp .b m j.co m / J C lin P a th o l: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jcp .2 0 .1 .5 o n 1 Ja n u a ry 1 9 6 7 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jcp.bmj.com/ emphasis and the large volume of public work would take Sir Roy away from student teaching and hospital routine, but the Tuesday 'wet meat' class and the surgical histopathological sessions were zealously preserved. Both were opportunities for demonstra- tions of the living processes of pathology, not the end stages of disease. For several years before his retirement ill-health interrupted, but never stopped, the flow of Cameron's pen. Reading and writing were his main activities in the home he shared with Mr. and Mrs. Fred Crew, his closest friends, who provided to the end the domestic background he needed. Interest and de- tailed knowledge ofvisual and musical arts, especially of the Italian Renaissance, were coupled with an astute observer's interest in people, in Association football, in the early history of medicine and path- ology. Cameron mistrusted the go-getter, and his honesty was the reason for his caution of new applied knowledge but his complete integrity was at home with basic problems. With his own hand he kept in touch with the large number of old pupils, now lead- ing teams of pathologists throughout the world. His last public appointment came at a time when his health was far from good and it cannot have been easy for him to accept. It must have been clear to him, however, that pathologists from all disciplines were unanimous in their wish to appointhim first President of the College of Pathologists and he willingly accepted. He attended many meetings even though in the premises recently vacated he had to climb a short flight of stairs to reach the Council room. There is no doubt that his presence and wise counsel influenced the College in its early days. He was able to conduct all general meetings until May this year when he was unfortunately too ill to attend the second Roy Cameron lecture given by his friend Lord Florey. Pathologists all over the world will mourn him and we in Britain are proud to claim him as the first President of the College of Pathologists. JOAN STOKES R. A. B. DRURY J. W. HOWIE, President of the College of Path- ologists, writes of Roy Cameron as Foundation President of the College: Roy Cameron was the ideal man for Foundation Presi- dent of our College, and he was very proud of holding this office. He was not personally involved in the debates about whether there should be a College but those who had privately sought advice from him as a respected senior knew that he thought there was a need and a place for such a College as we now have. His nomination as Presi- dent, first of the Provisional Council and later of the College, was carried unanimously and by acclaim at the two general meetings of subscribers which led to the form- ation of the College. This was not surprising, for Roy Cameron was a man of great scientific distinction and of correspondingly great modesty. He was a warm-hearted Australian not greatly interested in the goings-on of London society; but he captured a secure place at the very centre of the Establishment. He had a sincere interest in all affairs of the mind and spirit, and he had made a thorough study of some aspects of church history but he never pushed or paraded religion. When he was at the height of his powers his spoken and written communica- tions were models in their content, style, and construction but as an editor he was as considerate of authors' feelings as he was conscious of readers' needs. He always drew a clear and necessary distinction between a good article and one that was merely well written, a point whose import- ance editors are often tempted tomiss. He always held that serious matters demanded proper consideration; but his judgments, though often gravely delivered and weighty, were never ponderous or wrapped up either in tedious obscurities or clever ambiguity. Although, even when he accepted office, his health was far from good, he undertook his duties as President very seriously and gave them a great deal of thought and study. When failing strength prevented his doing all that he wished, he was punctilious in seeing to it that someone else both accepted and understood what was delegated. In his dealings with those who were closest to him he made it very clear that the work he did for the College brought him a real sense of accomplishment and of fellow- ship with office bearers and members. He knew that he was the man for the job; and he made no secret of his conviction. 'I couldn't do it,' he said, 'unless I thought I could.' His ability to identify the essen- tials and concentrate on them was truly impressive. Once, during his days on the Agricultural Research Council, he set aside an evening to discuss with me what looked like being a tedious and troublesome problem. But it was analysed and dealt with inside an hour. We then spent the rest of the time more profitably discussing different kinds of liver injury. Even this did not need all of our time so he took to straightforward discussion of various persons known to us both. His analysis of character, although never frankly uncharitable, was certainly free from illusions of every kind. He rejoiced both in directness and in subtle understatement. 'Yes,' he said a little doubt- fully about one acquaintance, 'I'm told that he tends to grow upon you.' To us of this College it was a great thing that he gave us so good a start and so fine a lead, equally based on insight and on ideals. It was a great happiness too, for us, that he was able so long to stand against ill-health and to defy every pessimistic omen. It is also a matter of sadness that so near the end of his term of office he was taken from us before we could publicly thank him for the great services he did for this college. 6 Obituary o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jcp .b m j.co m / J C lin P a th o l: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jcp .2 0 .1 .5 o n 1 Ja n u a ry 1 9 6 7 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jcp.bmj.com/ 
work_6zxqgvyozzdlvfr7bnudh7u3ua	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 21 December 2019 Modernism and, or versus traditionalism: the work of the Wagnerschűler Leopold Bauer Review of: Jindřich Vybiral, Leopold Bauer, Häretiker der modernen Architektur 1872-1938, Basel: Birkhäuser, 2018, English Summary, 548 pp., 350 b/w illustrations, 120 colour illustrations, ISBN 978 3 0356 130 62 Stefan Muthesius Wagner – Mackintosh - Loos – Behrens – Gropius: no further information is needed to convey the essence of the history of architecture of the years 1896-1911, not only for Austro-German lands, but, in view of what it was thought to have led to, world architectural history as a whole. Only one stylistic term was needed, ‘Modern’. It all gave these names an immensely high rank, alongside which almost all other figures, however much meritorious could be said about their work, seemed to pale into insignificance. One case in point was the career of Leopold Bauer. With a most thorough investigation of his work, Vybiral makes a major contribution to supplement the central Modernist narrative, even to partly push it aside, and thus opens one’s eyes and understanding to a wider world of diverse 20th century architectural manifestations. Vybiral chooses the term ‘heretic’, thus suggesting that Bauer’s departures from the Modernist line were fully intentional. Vybiral’s Introduction addresses in some detail two methodological conundrums which will be of good use for many readers of this journal. The subheadings are: ‘The right Modernism and the other Modernism’ and ‘the biographical method and the “death of the author”, concluding with ‘Leopold Bauer – creative subjectivity and sociology’s dependant [soziologisches Sujbekt]’. Vybiral starts off with Bauer’s marginalisation within the Wagner-Schule very early on, for his partial return to Classical forms. Such kinds of judgements would still be found in most later assessments by Austrian art historians. Vybiral counters it by throwing doubts on some basic tenets of Modernism itself; ‘… the thorough marketing-strategies of the avant-gardists the specialists [Fachleute] are not even agreed upon the essence of their movement’ (11). What is most problematic is the relationship of ‘Modernity’ with its actual present, because of its constant utopian leanings(13). Vybiral then cites a number of other, more recent analysts, such as Colin St. John Wilson, who were searching for broader frameworks, comprising tradition, respect for natural conditions and the individual sites, as well as the individual requirements of the clients (12). As regards the biographical method, Vybiral aims to forestall possible reservations. He rehearses in some detail the radical condemnations of auctorial intentionalism of Barthes and Foucault, as well as pointing to the ways in which Heinrich Wölfflin and Hans Tietze appealed for an ‘art history without artists’, without biographies, postulating that each practitioner simply adopts a particular way of seeing, a style prevalent at the time. Yet Tietze also stated that ‘an act of Stefan Muthesius Modernism and, or versus traditionalism: the work of the Wagnerschűler Leopold Bauer 2 creation is always something individual’ (17). The arguments go backwards and forwards. Arnold Hauser, avowedly a ‘social historian of art’, postulates a ‘dialectical reciprocity … the individual always finds himself in a historical-social situation and conducts himself, without knowing it or wanting it, according to its requirements’. Vybiral’s own conclusion appears more balanced: ‘… a more active relationship between artist and style, whereby every artist has different modi vivendi at his disposition, so as to make his choice according to the shape of the task’ (19), something that also conforms to Wilson’ just mentioned broadened analysis of the Modernisms. One may at this point also add a less theoretical note: the abundant ‘material’, i.e. the remarkable state of preservation of Bauer’s Nachlass, textual, pictorial, as well as the excellent state of preservation of most of his buildings. This can also be seen in the context of the way Bauer conducted himself, namely, so Vybiral, ‘as a gifted director [Regisseur] of his own career’ (20), all of which, one may claim, greatly justify a biographical approach. At the same time the social and political framework is effectively conveyed through ordering much of the material according to building types. To begin with one needs to summarise the new Vienna scene from around 1895 to 1902. What art historians have so far not emphasised enough is the impact of the new style of drawing, and drawing for its own sake, emanating from designers in the circle of Paul Wallot in Berlin, notably Otto Rieth, with their phantasy sketches, creating impressiveness by looking upwards from a low position and at an angle. Wagner then geometrises these structures, particularly by emphasising strong horizontals. In their designs for large monuments the Germans, especially Wilhelm Kreis, also increasingly went for sheer walls in cyclopic masonry, with decoration restricted to small zones. The surface without any décor began to fascinate the Viennese and by 1900 it was adopted in a radical geometrization in domestic interior decoration, resulting in a repetition of square outlines, large blank surfaces, contrasting with restricted zones of equally geometrising décor (‘Quadratlstil’). As in the case of the architectural monuments it was a style which also preferably manifested itself in a certain way of drawing, but this time it was in shadowless perspectives, with maximal contrast of whiteness and strongly coloured details. The two spheres of drawing and designing, the monumental and the intimate, merged in 1902 in Bauer’s astonishing project ‘einfache Pfarrkirche’, or ‘simple Parish church’, of 1902; horizontals, verticals, squares rectangles and triangles. A new catchword was “einfach”, but Vybiral rightly warns that the adjective, especially as ‘einfache Möbel’; was not at all identical with ‘schmucklos’ [unornamented] (119). It would be totally misleading to understand ‘einfach’ here in terms of low-cost reductionism; to the contrary, Secession geometry must be categorised as bespoke throughout. In terms of the history of interior design, socio- historically speaking, these Secessionist designs helped to drive home Modernism’s claims that it is the architect who is the sole guarantor of artistic worth of interiors and all their furnishings. All this brings us already to the peak of the Wagnerschule and Vienna Secession movement. From here its members, Wagner himself, Hoffmann, Plečnik, Olbrich and others went their own and often quite different ways, not yet aware of, or worrying about the fact that the narrative of Modernist architecture was about to Stefan Muthesius Modernism and, or versus traditionalism: the work of the Wagnerschűler Leopold Bauer 3 move to Berlin. And at this point begins the discovery of Bauer’s relatively independent career. The first field of an intense design activity is domestic work. In those years the well-appointed individual house was considered by many as the primary task for the architect, especially for the forward-looking designer. The Darmstadt competition Haus eines Kunstfreundes of 1900-1901 marked the high point of these efforts. Bauer’s project was one of the three widely publicised entries. A year later he built his first major house, the Villa Reissig in Brűnn / Brno. The principal idea is a multidirectional grouping around a central hall, held to be at the times an English custom, which also meant the abandonment of any idea of a principal façade. Secondly there are the completely plain external walls, apart from some gentle Secessionist ornamentation occurring at the top and the bottom, into which the windows are quasi punched into. But there is also one element that one might consider strongly traditional, reminiscent of old peasant houses, namely the hipped roof and the mansard roof. Not championing the flat roof, as did Wagner and Adolf Loos, or as they were to do, must have been a momentous decision, and it was fuelling the growing negative evaluation of Bauer’s work. The peak of this traditionalism came just before the First World War. In some of his projects for the Ősterreichisch- Ungarische Bank in Vienna he returned to an almost Semperian kind of Italian Renaissance / Baroque revival. In the built version there is, again, a mansard roof. And here comes the point at which Vybiral goes on the attack, stressing that the ‘front lines between the propagators of progress and the reactionaries were at that time not as impermeable and as sharp [eindeutig] as the later Modernist historians tried to suggest in their trivial attacks’. Among others he cites Loos, who at one point accused Wagner of ‘distancing himself from the formal language of Antiquity …’ (320). The Post-WW I world, meaning, in retrospect, the Interwar world, was a different one in very many respects. In terms of architectural history, we lack a general overview of what happened in Austria, and, for that matter, in Prague or Brno, too; though, if anything, as regards advanced Modernism there was more of to report from Czecho-Slovakia than from Vienna. Vybiral’s account of Bauer’s work can be taken as going some way to fill these gaps. As with so many Viennese designers, Bauer had been an immigrant from lands well beyond old Austria; as it happens, a group photo from the Trade School of Brno, i.e. Brünn, in 1889, shows, apart from Bauer, two other Viennese protagonists, Josef Hoffmann and Adolf Loos. One may say that Bauer was now returning to his homeland, working until the late 1930s as a Sudetendeutscher in the new Czecho-Slovakian republic, obtaining most of his commissions in the region of his birth and in provincial Opava (Troppau) in particular, while holding on to a respected position in Austrian cities as well. The eclipse of the dominating wealthy Austro-Hungarian capital and the weakening of its intellectual circles from 1918 radically changed the pattern of architectural patronage. Now all kinds of tasks had to be taken on. This included factories, offices, stores, exhibition buildings, hospitals, municipal housing (for Vienna) and more, though there was still the occasional well-appointed villa and luxury interior. For Bauer, all buildings, including factories, required monumental treatment, that is, vigorous corner accents and strong cornices, with the occasional attic storey, as well Stefan Muthesius Modernism and, or versus traditionalism: the work of the Wagnerschűler Leopold Bauer 4 pitched, or hipped roofs. The verticals, whether or not they corresponded to the internal structural supports, still feel like pilasters. A rather different and singular treatment is shown with his Breda & Weinstein Warenhaus Store in Troppau of 1926-28. Here the verticals are merely thin strips and the top can no longer be labelled a cornice, but an Art-Nouveau / (German) Expressionist kind of curved projection , while the roof now has completely disappeared from view– the whole curiously reminiscent of Sullivan’s early skyscrapers. There is no monumental base, but the skeleton structure is exposed on the ground floor. A curious feature is the way a portion of the building on one side gently curves forward while its windows are smaller and more numerous: one can read a lower ceiling height inside and may guess that there are flats here, contrasting with the zones of larger windows indicating the commercial spaces. This Troppau store was duly chosen for the cover of the book. Its elevation was unique; at the same time one may take it to mark a transitional phase in Bauer’s work. By 1930, in a design for a store in Novi Sad, Bauer adopted a very different formal language: horizontal window bands set into otherwise undisturbed surfaces and at the top there is no cornice, nothing whatsoever, the wall just ends. Inevitably one has to label this Modern, that is, belonging to the one, the international Modern, which Bauer has finally joined, and which effectively meant, so Vybiral, trying out the ‘methods of his ideological adversaries’ (448). Like many architects of his generation, Bauer was fascinated with towers; it was a time when, notably in Germany, by the early 1930s a ‘Hochhaus’ was de rigeur for every large city. For Bauer it principally meant the search for varied solutions for the top. For one of his 1913 projects for the Austro-Bank, the highest part is crowned a copy of the square Temple of Helicarnassos. The factory watertower at Maffersdorf of 1924, actually built, alternates polygonal and circular sections. Bauer, in a thoroughly utopianist mood, proposed a number of urban complexes with a special stress on placing living and working areas in close proximity. A huge complex was to be the ‘Monumentale Arbeitsstätte [place of work] an der Donau’ of 1918 which shows a centrally placed triumphal arch, flanked by a high tower. 1922 saw Bauer’s entry to the Chicago Tribune competition. Again, the top presents an opportunity for a multiplex combination of temples, becoming smaller as the building goes up. For him the design principle of the top of a tower was a gradual stepping back, in total contras to the just mentioned Sullivanesque method of a flat, invisible roof of a rectangular block. What is most curious is how his Chicago tower was imagined to be surrounded gently by a leafy promenade and an 18th century palace; probably the assistant who helped with the drawing did not have the foggiest idea of an American city. By the early to mid-thirties Bauer’s proposals for towers did give up the icings on the top, and are now terminating like other urban buildings with decisive horizontals. Finally, there was a complete oddity, manifesting itself only as a sketch, in 1929, namely the corner of the Gerngross Store in Vienna which was to be topped by an extension in the form of a sphere, a globe, containing five floors of commercial space. Finally, there are two quasi natural towers, namely church towers. St.Nikolaus in Bieltiz (today Bielsko-Biała in Poland) of 1908-10 one may call, with its round-arches arcades, a Vienna Secession version of the Neo-Romanesque. One Stefan Muthesius Modernism and, or versus traditionalism: the work of the Wagnerschűler Leopold Bauer 5 of the architect’s last works, certainly his last magnum opus, was St. Hedwig in Troppau of 1935-8. Compared with all the earlier solutions, its tower presents a sobered-up version of tower design, piling up a number of rectangular blocks of diminishing size, but increasing height. The round arch is now almost given up and there is a unified treatment with vertical flat bands framing white fields. One is tempted to use the dangerous epithet ‘simple’, but one hesitates to use a style-label. If one opts for Modern, then the question arises which version of Modern should one cite? If anything, the strong sense of rectangular geometry reminds one of rectangular frames and pure white surfaces in his Vienna-Secession - style interiors of 1900-1902. Even more reminiscent of delicate Secession ornament is the grille in the entrance, where, woven in with the ornament, one meets a most unusual feature, the letters ‘Invenit Leop Bauer’. ‘Konservative Moderne‘, ‘Heimat und Modernität’, or ’das Dilemma des romantischen Pragmatikers’, such are Vybiral’s formulations for his sections on Bauer’s work of the Interwar period. They would apply to the work of numerous important figures of the period in Central and East Central Europe. What is most needed is investigations case by case, in the way Vybiral demonstrates it in his book on Bauer. The splendour of its production, hailing from Prague, almost identical with the first edition in Czech, brings out the most attractive qualities of Bauer’s work. One thing is certain: the times of having to apologize for not being Modernist, or not Modernist enough, have definitively passed. Note The original Czech language version otherwise almost identical, appeared in 2015 Leopold Bauer Heretik Modernĺ Architektury, publ. Akademia Vysoká Škola umĕleckoprűmyslová v Praze, 2015. See also: Jindřich Vybiral, Reissigova vila v Brnĕe a reforma rodinnéeho domu po rice 1900 - Jindřich Vybiral, The Reissig Villa in Brno and the Reform of the Family House after 1900, Barrister & Principal: Prague 2011 (text in Czech and English), and Jindřich Vybiral, Junge Meister Architekten aus der Schule Otto Wagners in Mähren und Schlesien, Wien-Köln-Weimar: Böhlau 2007 (also in Czech). Stefan Muthesius’s recent books include: The Poetic Home. Designing the 19th century Interior (Thames and Hudson, London 2009) and Towers for the Welfare State. An architectural History of British Multi-storey Housing 1945-1970 (SCCS Edinburgh 2017). 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work_72767d3fu5fevg3uf5k3rbk7vu	----	warwick.ac.uk/lib-publications Original citation: Muratori, Cecilia. (2017) From animal bodies to human souls : (pseudo-)Aristotelian animals in Della Porta’s Physiognomics. Early Science and Medicine, 22 (1). Permanent WRAP URL: http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/86159 Copyright and reuse: The Warwick Research Archive Portal (WRAP) makes this work by researchers of the University of Warwick available open access under the following conditions. Copyright © and all moral rights to the version of the paper presented here belong to the individual author(s) and/or other copyright owners. To the extent reasonable and practicable the material made available in WRAP has been checked for eligibility before being made available. Copies of full items can be used for personal research or study, educational, or not-for-profit purposes without prior permission or charge. Provided that the authors, title and full bibliographic details are credited, a hyperlink and/or URL is given for the original metadata page and the content is not changed in any way. Publisher’s statement: Published version: http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/15733823-00221p01 A note on versions: The version presented here may differ from the published version or, version of record, if you wish to cite this item you are advised to consult the publisher’s version. Please see the ‘permanent WRAP URL’ above for details on accessing the published version and note that access may require a subscription. For more information, please contact the WRAP Team at: wrap@warwick.ac.uk http://go.warwick.ac.uk/lib-publications http://go.warwick.ac.uk/lib-publications http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/86159 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/15733823-00221p01 mailto:wrap@warwick.ac.uk From Animal Bodies To Human Souls: (Pseudo-)Aristotelian Animals In Della Porta’s Physiognomics Cecilia Muratori University of Warwick c.muratori@warwick.ac.uk* Abstract This article analyses the role that animals play in Della Porta’s method of physiognomics. It claims that Della Porta created his own, original, method by appropriating, and yet selectively adapting Aristotelian and pseudo-Aristotelian sources. This has not been adequately reconstructed before in previous studies on Della Porta. I trace, in two steps, the conceptual trajectory of Della Porta’s physiognomics, from human psychology to animal psychology, and ultimately from psychology to ethics. In the first step, I show how Della * Italian Studies, H4.21 Humanities Building, School of Modern Languages and Cultures, University Road, University of Warwick, CV4 7AL Coventry, UK. c.muratori@warwick.ac.uk. Research for this essay was supported by the ERC Starting Grant Project 2013 – 335949 “Aristotle in the Italian Vernacular: Rethinking Renaissance and Early-Modern Intellectual History (c. 1400–c. 1650).” All translations are my own unless stated otherwise. I wish to thank David Lines for insightful comments on a draft of this essay. I also thank the anonymous readers for their useful comments and suggestions. 2 Porta substantially adapts the physiognomic principle of the body-soul relationship as found in the pseudo-Aristotelian Physiognomonica. In the second, I demonstrate that the real aim of Della Porta’s physiognomics is a practical one, namely understanding how to live a good life, and I explain why he refers to Aristotle in order to ground this conception. Keywords Giovan Battista Della Porta – Aristotle – physiognomics – animals – body-soul interaction – human uniqueness – hands 1. Introduction: Physiognomics is in the Hands of the Animals In the Chirofisonomia,1 Giovan Battista Della Porta (1535-1615) describes how he used to visit jails2 in order to study the hands and feet of criminals, both dead and alive: 1 This is the vernacular version, prepared by Pompeo Sarnelli, of Della Porta’s De ea naturalis physiognomiae parte quae ad manuum lineas spectat: Della Porta, Della chirofisonomia [...] (Naples, 1677). 2 Della Porta made arrangements with a hangman named Antonello Cucuzza to inspect corpses of criminals straight after execution: see Giovan Battista Della Porta, De ea naturalis physiognomoniae parte quae ad manuum lineas spectat libri duo, e in appendice Chirofisonomia, ed. Oreste Trabucco (Naples, 2003) (abbreviated: Chirofisonomia), 6. He also inspected corpses at the church of S. Restituta (ibid., 92). See also Sergius Kodera, “The 3 I put no less effort into visiting public jails, where a multitude of riotous thieves, patricides, street murderers, and other similar types of human beings are always kept, with the aim of carefully inspecting their hands. Then, by looking at the feet and the hands of animals, I compared their shapes with those of the humans, not without natural reasonings and by using the same method that I had employed in the Fisonomia. And so in the end, after many and continuous efforts, and several observations, I have compiled in this book the truth contained in them, and what I have learned through repeated experience. If this isn’t a perfect description of it, then at least it is not so imperfect.3 Laboratory on Stage: Giovan Battista della Porta’s Experiments,” Journal of Early Modern Studies, 3.1 (2014), 15-38, here 30-1. 3 Chirofisonomia, 92: “Né hebbi minor pensiero a visitare tutte le carceri pubbliche, dove sempre è racchiusa gran moltitudine de’ facinorosi ladri, parricidi, assassini di strada e d’altri huomini di simile fattezza, per vedere diligentemente le loro mani; doppo, contemplando i piedi e le mani de gli animali, conferii le loro figure con quelle de gli huomini, non senza naturali ragioni, e con l’istesso metodo, del quale mi sono servito nella Fisonomia. E così alla fine doppo molte, e continue fatiche, e varie esperienze quanto di verità in quelle si conteneva, e quanto mi haveva insegnato la moltiplicata esperienza ho compilato in questo libro, il quale habbiamo condotto se non a totalmente perfetta, almeno a non tanto imperfetta descrittione.” 4 The essential element of Della Porta’s method of physiognomics is clearly described in this passage: it consists in using animal bodies in order to understand the depths of human character. Della Porta inspects the prisoners’ hands and compares them with the “hands and feet” of animals, in order to seek bodily evidence of the deranged exceptionality of those human beings. The central question driving Della Porta’s method of physiognomics is how the soul manifests itself in the shape of the body, and the description of his visits to jails reveals that this cannot be answered without observing animals. There is a precise sequence to Della Porta’s method, as sketched here: first, he scrutinizes human hands; second, he compares them with the equivalent body-part of animals in order to decipher the meaning of signs and features that would otherwise remain mysterious. Human character is literally inscribed in the human body, but it becomes legible only through the use of a key to decode it – and this is the animal body. What could appear at first sight as a simple, and even commonplace use of animals to describe human features (for instance a particularly powerful man might be called “as strong as an ox”), is in fact the result of a precise account of the differences and similarities between animals and humans, grounded in the intertwining of anatomy and psychology. The use of animals in Della Porta’s physiognomics is systematic, and it presupposes a theory of the relationship between a body and the soul inhabiting it. This, in turn, involves a twofold consideration: first, it is necessary to address the relationship 5 between soul and body in both animals and humans; second, comparing animal and human bodies inevitably leads to a comparison of their respective souls as well. This article analyses the role that animals play in Della Porta’s method of physiognomics. It claims that Della Porta created his own, original, method by appropriating, and yet carefully and selectively adapting Aristotelian and pseudo-Aristotelian sources.4 This has not been adequately reconstructed before in the studies on Della Porta.5 I will trace, in two steps, the conceptual trajectory of Della Porta’s physiognomics, from human psychology to animal psychology, and ultimately from psychology to ethics. In the first step, I show how 4 I thus disagree with Porter’s view that Della Porta’s De humana physiognomonia “was basically a collection of the opinion and physiognomical traditions of the earlier authorities” (Martin Porter, Windows of the Soul: The Art of Physiognomy in European Culture 1470- 1780 (Oxford, 2005), 129). 5 Karen Raber, for instance, talks about “analogies” between humans and animals in Della Porta’s De humana physiognomonia (Raber, Animal Bodies, Renaissance Culture (Philadelphia, 2013), 52). Juliana Schiesari states that in the case of Della Porta “bodily manifestations of psychic vicissitudes inevitably seem to trigger comparison with animal behaviour,” and then explains that “bodily symptoms are not simply the translation of a mental or emotional disposition; they are the trans-species signs of those dispositions.” She defines Della Porta’s approach as a “systematized key of animal characteristics,” but does not discuss in detail how this works, and does not take into consideration the ancient tradition of physiognomonics (Schiesari, Beasts and Beauties: Animals, Gender, and Domestication in the Italian Renaissance (Toronto, 2010), 57-9). 6 Della Porta substantially adapts the physiognomic principle of the body-soul relationship as found in the pseudo-Aristotelian Physiognomonica. Della Porta often refers to this source, but I argue that man-animal comparisons play a radically different role for Della Porta and the Pseudo-Aristotle. In the second step, I then proceed to demonstrate that the real aim of Della Porta’s physiognomics is a practical one, and that he refers to Aristotle to demonstrate that the investigation of the soul-body relation ultimately serves the purpose of understanding how to live a good life.6 Humans need physiognomic investigation to select associates wisely, and thus physiognomics can even be considered an essential tool for building human societies. 7 As he deploys and adapts both pseudo-Aristotelian and Aristotelian writings, Della Porta’s aim is to put this understanding into practice, thus moving from the level of psychology to that of ethics. The following analysis is centred on Della Porta’s main work on physiognomics, De humana physiognomonia, the text in which his method and its differences from the Aristotelian and pseudo-Aristotelian sources emerge most clearly and fully. It is also 6 On physiognomics as a means for humanistic self-representation, see Katherine MacDonald, “Humanistic Self-Representation in Giovan Battista Della Porta’s Della Fisonomia dell’Uomo: Antecedents and Innovation,” Sixteenth Century Journal, 36.2 (2005), 397-414. 7 Giovan Battista Della Porta, Della fisonomia dell’huomo (Naples, 1610) (abbreviated: Fisonomia), “Proemio.” 7 necessary to refer to the treatise dedicated to the physiognomic study of the hand (Chirofisonomia), for two reasons: first, because it highlights clearly Della Porta’s specific use of animals as key to physiognomics; and second, because the focus on the hand enables direct comparison with the role of this body part as criterion for human-animal differentiation in the Aristotelian corpus. Furthermore, the analysis is based specifically on the 1610 Italian version of De humana physiognomonia, which presents the latest version of the text revised by the author. 8 Della Porta fully exploited the dual-language channel to disseminate his writings in Latin and in vernacular editions.9 The latter often include apparatuses such as indexes, or lists of recipes, possibly encouraging a more practical use of the books in 8 Giovan Battista Della Porta, De humana physiognomonia/Della fisionomia dell’huomo, ed. Alfonso Paolella (Naples, 2011-2013) (abbreviated: DHP), vol. 1, xxxiii. For this reason I shall translate from the 1610 Italian edition, referring to the Latin version whenever the passage in question contains noteworthy differences in terminology. 9 See Antonella Orlandi, Le edizioni dell’opera di Della Porta (Pisa-Rome, 2013), 12. On Della Porta’s linguistic choices in Latin and in the vernacular, see Raffaele Sirri’s introduction to Giovan Battista Della Porta, Taumatologia e criptologia, ed. Raffaele Sirri (Naples, 2013), xiv and xxv. Della Porta’s strategy bears some resemblance to Campanella’s: see Germana Ernst, Tommaso Campanella: The Book and the Body of Nature (Dordrecht, 2010), 115. Vernacular editions of philosophical texts need to be studied in their own right: see the methodological framework developed by David Lines in “Beyond Latin in Renaissance Philosophy: A Plea for New Critical Perspectives,” Intellectual History Review, 25.4 (2015), 373-389. 8 question, as is the case with the Della magia naturale (which in the 1677 edition includes the Italian Chirofisonomia).10 In the case of De humana physiognomonia, Della Porta tenaciously pursued the project of printing an Italian edition following the 1586 Latin edition. Throughout, Della Porta’s aim is that of disseminating knowledge of his method, and in the dedicatory letter to the marquis of San Marco, Marcello Cavaniglia, 11 he justifies this publication by the desire to cater for the rising interest in his work.12 The Italian editions of Della Porta’s physiognomic works present formal and stylistic peculiarities, which I will point out in the analysis of specific passages. Versions of the same core material can vary according to the usage he envisaged for a particular edition, and the readership he wanted to address, and even according to his assessment of the risk of collision 10 See also the dedication of the publisher, Antonio Bulifon, to Fabio Capece, stating that this edition had “some interesting, peculiar topics” (“alcune materie curiose”) that were lacking in the Latin one (in Della magia naturale libri XX (Naples, 1677)). The original Latin version of the treatise has remained unpublished. On Bulifon see Nino Cortese, ed., Giornali di Napoli dal 1547 al 1706 (Naples, 1932). Bulifon also published several works by Sarnelli, including a guide to Naples for foreign visitors (see Vladimiro Valerio, “Representation and Self- Perception: Plans and Views of Naples in the Early Modern Period,” in A Companion to Early Modern Naples, ed. Tommaso Astarita (Leiden, 2013), 63-86, here 80). 11 On Cavaniglia see Erasmo Ricca, La nobiltà del regno delle due Sicilie, Part 1, vol. 4 (Naples, 1869), 132. 12 Cf. Milena Montanile, ed., L’edizione nazionale del teatro e l'opera di G. B. Della Porta: atti del Convegno, Salerno, 23 maggio 2002 (Pisa-Rome, 2004), 60-2. 9 with the Inquisition.13 Indeed, the first edition of De humana physiognomonia was printed in Vico Equense after three years in the hands of the Inquisition.14 The main accusation against Della Porta’s physiognomics was that interpreting the meaning of bodily signs is ultimately a form of divinatory practice. In Coelestis physiognomoniae libri sex (1603) Della Porta had rather argued in favour of a “naturalized form of divinatory astrology,” 15 and in all his physiognomic publications he maintains that physiognomics is a fully scientific method.16 13 The issue of the man-animal distinction recurs in accusations of heresy (one famous example is the trial against Bruno: see Fulvio Papi, Antropologia e civiltà nel pensiero di Giordano Bruno (Florence, 1968), 3. 14 See DHP, vol. 1, xii. See also Michaela Valente, “Della Porta e l’Inquisizione.” Bruniana & Campanelliana 5 (1999/2), 415-34. 15 See Sergius Kodera, “Giambattista della Porta,” in Edward N. Zalta, ed., The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2015) http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2015/entries/della-porta/ (accessed 30 January 2017). 16 On Della Porta and magic/divination see William Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Culture (Princeton, 1994), 196ff. On Aristotelianism and (the condemnation of) magic see Ugo Baldini, “The Roman Inquisition’s Condemnation of Astrology: Antecedents, Reasons and Consequences,” in Church, Censorship and Culture in Early Modern Italy, ed. Gigliola Fragnito (Cambridge, 2001), 79- 110, here 86. For the specific issue at the centre of the present essay, the Coelestis physiognomonia does not add new conceptual layers, but it is a necessary point of reference to investigate the role of animals in the accusations that physiognomics could turn into a dangerous form of divinatory practice. 10 But what is essential to the present study is the explanation of why animals are necessary in Della Porta’s understanding of physiognomics as a science that allows a transition from the body to the soul of the human (or animal) subject under examination. The key starting point is the definition contained in Book 1 of the Fisonomia. Della Porta here defines physiognomics as “a science, which from the attributes that are fixed on the body and from the accidents that change the signs, investigates the natural habits of the soul.” 17 Physiognomics thus promises to supply the philosopher with a key, which will make it possible to infer from the presence of certain visible signs, or bodily features, corresponding invisible characteristics of the soul. The assumption is that the foundation is the body itself, rather than celestial influences acting on the body, and it is in this context that the role of animals is central.18 As I will show, Della Porta uses Aristotelian materials in order to support this line of argument. This scientific approach is exemplarily defended in the title chosen by Pompeo Sarnelli for the translation of Della Porta’s treatise on hands: Chirofisonomia, rather than 17 Fisonomia, 58: “una scienza che impara da’ segni che sono fissi nel corpo, et accidenti [che trasmutano i segni], investigar i costumi naturali dell’animo.” (I amend the passage, which in this edition appears corrupted: see DHP, vol. 1, 87 and vol. 2, 96.) 18 See Trabucco’s introduction in Chirofisonomia, xxxi-xxxii and xxxviii. Further on this point, Giovan Battista Della Porta, Coelestis physiognomiae libri sex (Naples, 1603), 21. 11 Chiromantia.19 Sarnelli supports his defence of Della Porta’s physiognomics by quoting the theologian Martin del Rio (1551-1608), according to whom the study of the lines of the hands can help to establish the temperament (temperies) of the body, and hence to understand the dispositions of the soul.20 This transition from the body to the soul is justified by Sarnelli with reference to Aristotle’s Historia animalium, “where the philosopher infers from the shortness or length of the lines [in the hand] the shortness or length of life.” But Sarnelli adds that the reason for this inference is made explicit in the pseudo-Aristotelian Problemata, which explains that the more articulated an animal is, the longer it lives.21 In this defence, 19 Chirofisonomia, xlvi and 83. Jütte has suggested that the source of inspiration for this title might have been a previous work on the same topic by Abramo Colorni (d. 1599): Daniel Jütte, The Age of Secrecy: Jews, Christians, and the Economy of Secrets, 1400-1800 (New Haven and London, 2015), 144. On Sarnelli see Ruth B. Bottigheimer, ed., Fairy Tales Framed: Early Forewords, Afterwords, and Critical Words (Albany, 2012), 71ff. 20 Ibid. See also Jütte, Age of Secrecy, 360. On the religious legitimacy of chiromantia, see Roberto Poma, “Les erreurs de la main. Regards croisés sur la chiromancie naturelle de Giambattista della Porta,” in Die Hand: Elemente einer Medizin- und Kulturgeschichte, ed. Mariacarla Gadebusch-Bondio (Berlin, 2010), 117-33. 21 Chirofisonomia, 83. The pairing of bodies and souls in the pseudo-Aristotelian Physiognomics can lead to a deterministic view: Steven J. Williams, The Secret of Secrets: The Scholarly Career of a Pseudo-Aristotelian Text in the Latin Middle Ages (Ann Arbor, 2003), 285. Trabucco has stated that De humana physiognomonia follows in the Aristotelian tradition, and that the innovation of the Chirofisonomia consists in expanding the field of 12 Sarnelli follows Della Porta himself not only in the juxtaposition of Aristotelian and pseudo- Aristotelian writings, but also – and more importantly – in extending the physiognomic procedure to include animals, too. In the Fisonomia Della Porta explains why this inclusion is essential for the foundation of the method itself, and he does so through a dialogue with the main ancient text dealing systematically with physiognomics: the Physiognomonica.22 2. The Sympathy of Body and Soul: Della Porta’s Fisonomia and the Pseudo- Aristotelian Physiognomonica A classic eighteenth-century work on physiognomics, Johann Caspar Lavater’s Physiognomic Fragments, states that both Aristotle and Della Porta grounded their physiognomic investigation in comparisons of humans and animals, which Lavater deems to be often arbitrary. 23 Some of the famous vignettes of human and animal heads included in Della research to include hands. But this expansion, in my opinion, reveals the originality of Della Porta’s interpretation of Aristotle, uncovering his non-conformity with Aristotelianism on the man-animal differentiation. Cf. Trabucco’s introduction in Chirofisonomia, lii. 22 On the authorship of the text and its role within ancient physiognomics see Aristotle, Physiognomonica, ed. Sabine Vogt, in Aristoteles Werke in deutscher Übersetzung, gen. ed. Christof Rapp, vol. 18.6 (Berlin, 1999), 43ff. 23 Johann Caspar Lavater, Physiognomische Fragmente zur Beförderung der Menschenkenntniß und Menschenliebe (Leipzig, 1775-1778), vol. 4, 57: “Aristoteles, und nach ihm am meisten Porta, haben bekanntermaßen viel auf diese Aehnlichekeit gefußt – 13 Porta’s De humana physiognomia are reproduced in Lavater’s book, but only for the sake of showing that there is little scientific evidence to support such a physiognomic method.24 What Lavater does not seem to acknowledge is that the function of animals and of man- animal comparisons is radically different in Della Porta and in the Physiognomonica: Della Porta was not – as Lavater put it – a “compiler” drawing his material mostly from the Aristotelian tradition.25 For Della Porta, physiognomics is “a law or rule of nature, that is that by a certain norm, rule and order of nature one can know that from a given shape of the body a certain passion of the soul is known.”26 Furthermore, physiognomics serves the purpose of disclosing what Della Porta calls the “habits of the soul,” “that is, those that belong to the sensitive part, and are common to man and the beasts, called διάνοια by the Greeks.” 27 The precise aber oft sehr schlecht; denn sie sahen Aehnlichkeiten, wo keine – und diejenigen oft nicht, die auffallend waren.” 24 Ibid. 25 See Lavater, Physiognomische Fragmente, vol. 2, 192. On Della Porta see also ibid., 218. It is noteworthy that Lavater understands the aim of his work to be the promotion of knowledge and the love of humanity. 26 Fisonomia, 58: “legge, o regola di Natura, che con certa regola, norma et ordine di Natura si conosce che da tal forma di corpo, si conosce tal passione dell’anima.” 27 Ibid.: “[i costumi dell’animo], che sono quelli che sono nella parte sensitiva, che sono communi all’huomo e alle bestie, da Greci detti διάνοια.” DHP, vol. 1, 87: “Et dum animi 14 reference to dianoia is an indicator that Della Porta here has in mind the pseudo-Aristotelian Physiognomonica, which comprises two tractates. At the beginning of Tractate A the relationship between bodies and dispositions is defined in these terms: “Dispositions [dianoiai] follow bodily characteristics and are not in themselves unaffected by bodily impulses.”28 This connection is the foundation of physiognomics, yet usually humans are only capable of understanding the dispositions of those animals they know well (as is the case for horsemen with horses, or huntsmen with dogs), without applying this method more generally. Tractate A also explains that physiognomists developed three ways of approaching the study of physiognomics. The first consists in comparing the bodies of certain species of animals with human bodies. For instance, if a man resembles a hare, an expert in physiognomics would conclude that he is in character as timid and meek as that animal.29 The second method does not rely entirely on animals, but also takes into account the differences between human races. Finally, the third ancient method of physiognomics consists in choosing “superficial characteristics” which are then paired with corresponding dispositions. mores dicimus, eos intelligimus qui in sensitiva parte sunt, quae hominibus et brutis communis est et a Graecis διάνοια dicitur.” 28 Aristotle, Physiognomics, in Minor Works, ed. W. S. Hett (Cambridge, MA, 1955), 84-5 (805a1-2). 29 Ibid., 84-7 (805a). 15 The author of Physiognomonica considers these methods faulty, and the reason is that “those who proceed in their science entirely by characteristics are wrong.”30 The text claims that we know from experience that sometimes people look alike but have nothing in common in terms of disposition (dianoia, again). All in all, “those who base this science of physiognomics on wild beasts [theria] do not make their selection of signs correctly. For it is impossible to go through the forms of each of the beasts and say that whoever resembles this beast in body, will also be similar to it in soul.”31 In other words, those who ground their physiognomic investigation in a straightforward comparison between humans and animals, quoting certain specific signs or characteristics that they have in common, will probably draw arbitrary or even wrong conclusions. For example, upon encountering two people with soft hair, the physiognomist might recall that the rabbit has very soft fur and is timid: but can he legitimately infer that both people in question will be as timid as the animal?32 Furthermore, a man might in fact resemble not just one, but a whole variety of animals with regard to specific characteristics: he could at the same time have the soft fur of the hare, but also the large head of the lion, and the physiognomist might find himself incapable of drawing one straightforward conclusion about the character – timid or ferocious? – of that human. Such an approach would not be scientifically sound. 30 Ibid., 87 (805a33-b1). 31 Ibid., 87-99 (805b10-13). 32 Ibid., 93 (806b6-8). 16 The pseudo-Aristotelian text thus recommends various strategies to overcome such difficulties. First of all, it is of the utmost importance that the signs be chosen skilfully. Not every bodily characteristic taken on its own will be very telling, but if it is combined and considered together with other characteristics that tend to occur together, then the material for drawing the inference will at least be stronger. Therefore even if it is true that “generally speaking it is foolish to put one’s faith in any of the signs,”33 yet “if the man who is quick to anger, hard to please, and small-minded is always jealous, then if there are no signs of a jealous man, it might still be possible for the physiognomist to recognize the jealous man from the other qualities.”34 This method does not appear to be as heavily reliant on man- animal comparisons as the other three. On the contrary, the focus has shifted from animal bodies to clusters of characteristics found in humans, making careful and limited use of man- animal parallels.35 Tractate B focuses on the difference between the male and the female character by using examples from the animal world; but here, too, the animals offer little more than simply explicatory analogies. As Sabine Vogt explains, the man-human analogies in this tractate are considered to be self-explanatory, and thus no detailed reasons are given for the parallels between animal features and human characters.36 33 Ibid., 95 (806b37-807a1). 34 Ibid., 97 (807a4-7). 35 Cf. ibid., 100-5 (807b19-808b10). 36 Vogt, “Einleitung,” in Aristotle, Physiognomonica, 153-9. 17 Della Porta, however, employs the pseudo-Aristotelian source to justify a far-reaching and specific use of animals for physiognomic investigation, turning animals into the key to his own method. While for Physiognomonica the animal world offered a complex, but also vague and unreliable, pool of characteristics, Della Porta builds on the idea that the relation between the body and the soul of an animal guarantees the success of physiognomics. Referring to the three methods mentioned in the Physiognomics, Della Porta writes that there are “three ways of knowing habits, as Aristotle discusses in the Physiognomics, and all three are reduced to a syllogism.”37 This “physiognomic syllogism,” as Della Porta terms it, is at the basis of his claim that physiognomics is a scientific discipline. Della Porta refers to Aristotle’s Prior Analytics as the methodological source, arguing that such an Aristotelian syllogism, once applied to physiognomic practice, would also involve elements of comparative anatomy.38 The syllogism would work like this: in order to find out which bodily characteristic signifies strength, the physiognomist would first consider all animal species, noting which species are strong. Second, he would observe that strong animals have big “extremities.” Using the physiognomic syllogism, he would thus conclude that possessing big extremities is undeniably a sign of strength.39 But Della Porta himself is well aware that using animals in physiognomic syllogisms could be methodologically questionable, as 37 Fisonomia, 11. 38 Ibid. On this syllogism see Caputo, “Un manuale di semiotica del Cinquecento,” 79-80. 39 See Fisonomia, 59. 18 Physiognomonica had warned: for instance, different animals could share the same characteristic, or one characteristic might not be present in all specimens of a species. In such cases, Della Porta recommends consideration of all animals that share a particular disposition, in order to select the signs pertaining only to those.40 Della Porta’s suggests that the selection be progressively refined, until one has identified a sign that all creatures with a certain disposition share, even if they belong to different species altogether. Yet, the crucial question that Della Porta must address is why animals should be essential to the physiognomic procedure at all: would it not be safer, and perfectly sufficient, to compare only human bodies and personalities in order to isolate certain characteristics? Della Porta’s answer is based on his understanding of the way in which souls and bodies are matched in the case of humans and of animals. In the case of animals, body and soul are always in a specific relation to each other: they are perfectly matched, in such a way that a certain body will always be inhabited by a soul with certain characteristics. This correspondence of souls and bodies in the case of animals is the real foundation of Della Porta’s method: 40 Ibid., 21. Schiesari argues that this method implies that Della Porta does not describe ‘real’ animals, but instead collects “a vast array of animalistic traits” (Schiesari, Beasts and Beauties, 60). 19 Nature never made an animal with a body of one animal and the soul [animo] of another, that is to say a wolf, or a lamb that would have the soul [anima] of a dog, and of a lion; but the wolf and the lamb have the soul of a wolf and of a lamb. Therefore it necessarily follows that a certain body is appropriate to a certain soul, suitable to its own species.41 Thanks to this correspondence of bodies and souls in the case of animals, it is possible to rely on the fact that a certain bodily characteristic (for instance, soft fur) will also be indicator of an internal characteristic that the animal will most certainly have (in this case a ‘softness’ of the soul). Upon encountering the same bodily character in a human being, it is thus legitimate to start formulating a syllogism about the invisible habits of the soul. Animals provide a map for understanding humans. According to Della Porta the study of animal bodies allows one to gain access to the complex depths of human souls: this is necessary because, in the case of humans, there is no perfect match between the outside and the inside. Therefore physiognomics is the only path that is able to guide from the 41 Fisonomia, 6: “Ne mai la Natura fece un animal che havesse il corpo d’uno, e l’animo di un altro animale, cioè un lupo, over agnello, che havesse anima di cane, e di Leone, ma il lupo, e l’agnello han l’anima di lupo, e di agnello; onde per cosa necessaria ne segue, che in tal corpo se gli conviene tal anima convenevole alla sua specie.” 20 observation of the exteriority to the revelation of the hidden interiority, and it does this by comparing humans and animals. The reason why animal bodies are ‘easy’ to read, and human bodies are not, is explained in another pseudo-Aristotelian text to which Della Porta often recurs, the so-called Secretum secretorum. 42 The Secretum offers a series of counsels, also on the topics of hygiene and medicine, which Aristotle was supposed to have given Alexander the Great in the form of a letter. This text circulated in a vernacular version prepared by Giovanni Manente: Il Segreto de Segreti, le Moralita, & la Phisionomia d’Aristotile (1538).43 In Book I of the Fisonomia Della Porta uses a key argument drawn from the Secretum, according to which man bears in himself all possible signs, or characteristics, which are found in individual animal species. This is part of God’s plan, because man is the worthiest creature of 42 Cf. the edition of the Latin text in Richard Foerster, ed., Scriptores physiognomonici graeci et latini (Leipzig, 1893), 2 vols., here vol. 2, 182-222. 43 There is a vast literature on the Renaissance reception of the pseudo-Aristotelian Secretum secretorum: see especially W.F. Ryan and Charles B. Schmitt, eds., Pseudo-Aristotle, The Secret of Secrets: Sources and Influences (London, 1982) (= Warburg Institute Surveys and Texts, IX); and more recently the useful overview presented by Ilaria Zamuner, “La tradizione romanza del Secretum secretorum pseudo-aristotelico. Regesto delle versioni e dei manoscritti,” Studi Medievali, 46.1 (2005), 31-116. On the Italian translations of the Secretum see Matteo Milani, “La tradizione italiana del Secretum Secretorum,” La parola del testo, 5/2 (2001), 209-53. 21 all, and a sort of microcosm, in which all characters of all animals can be found.44 In other words, human nature is never restricted to one characteristic, and this explains why it is difficult to understand the human soul by simply looking at the human body. This is the reason why animals become crucial to physiognomic investigation: from the analysis of the animal body Della Porta proceeds to inferring the psychological character not only of animals, but of humans, too. In doing so, Della Porta has placed animals at the centre of this mechanism, reformulating the guideline he found in Tractate B of the pseudo- Aristotelian Physiognomics, which had stated: “it seems to me that soul and body react [sympathein] on each other.”45 There is sympathy between the body and the soul, in the sense that they accord with each other. For Della Porta this synchronization is natural in animals, but it can vary greatly in the case of humans, whose bodies and souls are not necessarily in a sympathetic relationship. Unlike animals, humans can lie and be deceptive, thus making it even more difficult to read the signs of the body: The human soul, says Cicero, is so enveloped by the most obscure veils and hidden underneath the dark mist of dissimulation, that when you believe that the eyes, the forehead and the entire appearance, and more than anything else the words spoken, 44 Fisonomia, 23. 45 Aristotle, Physiognomics, 105 (808b11-12). 22 are revealing to you the truth, in fact they are deceiving more than ever. Sometimes, as Seneca says, underneath the appearance of a benevolent man, one catches a glimpse of the soul of a beast, and in fact fiercer than the beasts.46 Humans tend to employ a series of ‘tricks’ to hide their souls in the inscrutable depths of their bodies: the matching criteria of souls and bodies, therefore, are not as clear in the case of humans as they are in animals. While the bodies of animals speak to us, informing us of the kind of soul they house, the bodies of humans tend to disguise the character of the soul inside. Indeed, even language, traditionally associated with man’s unique capabilities both to think and to express himself in speech, appears in this context to be a deceptive strategy for confusing one’s conversation partners. Humans might be able to speak through language, but their bodies appear, at least at first glance, to be mute. Animal bodies, on the other hand, do not speak with human tongue, and yet they talk to us (or at least to the physiognomist) with a 46 Fisonomia, “Proemio:” “L’animo humano, dice Cicerone, è così involto negli oscurissimi veli, e così nascosto sotto la tenebrosa caligine della simulatione, che quando stimi gli occhi, la fronte e tutto il sembiante si manifestino la verità, e il parlar più di tutti, all’hor mentiscono più che mai. Si scorge talvolta sotto sembianza di huomo benigno, come afferma Seneca, come animo di fera, anzi più fiero delle fiere fere.” Cf. DHP, vol. 1, 3 (“animo humano” translates “mens humana”). 23 clearer language. Seen from this perspective, physiognomics is a remedy to the drawbacks of human uniqueness, providing a solution to the difficulty of understanding a human being’s nature simply by looking at his bodily features. Quoting the Greek physician Adamantius, a main source for Renaissance physiognomics, Della Porta writes that even when the mouth does not utter words, the forehead and the eyes can be the gateways to a human’s interiority.47 Animals provide us with a compass for approaching the study of humans. They are not simply examples: for Della Porta they are the most effective instrument for making sense of the plurality of signs inscribed on human bodies. But the process of deciphering is made difficult not only by the amount of information that must be structured in a physiognomic syllogism: Della Porta laments the fact that the physiognomist must also be a good philologist in order to be able to reconstruct exactly which comparisons the ancient sources on physiognomics recommended. Della Porta often reads the Secretum in parallel with the pseudo-Aristotelian Physiognomonica, and with authentic Aristotelian texts, deciding on each occasion which interpretation appears to make more sense. For instance, he expresses his doubts about the relationship between a certain quality of the nostrils and propensity to anger: it seems that the “ancient translation of the Arabic text is very false and full of lies, and one 47 Fisonomia, “Proemio:” “Dice Adamantio che la Natura, ancor che taccia la bocca, si ragiona dalla fronte, e da gli occhi.” 24 cannot guess what it means.”48 In another passage he claims that the old Latin translation of Aristotle’s physiognomics (by Bartolomeo da Messina) 49 is also inaccurate, because the practical descriptions of the signs do not make sense.50 The task of the physiognomist is thus in equal measure a philological and a practical one, involving skills in comparative anatomy, and even in medicine. But despite the difficulties, Della Porta believes that physiognomics is nothing less than a path towards 48 Ibid., 103: “Ma l’antica traslazione dal testo Arabico è assai falsa e bugiarda, né si può intendere che voglia dire.” 49 See the edition of the Greek text accompanied by Bartolomeo da Messina’s translation in Foerster, ed., Scriptores physiognomonici graeci et latini, vol. 1, 3-91. For a brief summary of the transmission see s.v. ‘Physiognomy’ in Medieval Science, Technology, and Medicine: An Encyclopedia, eds. Thomas F. Glick, Steven Livesey and Faith Wallis (London, 2005), 400. On medieval physiognomics see especially Jole Agrimi, “‘Ingeniosa scientia nature.’ Studi sulla fisiognomica medievale,” (Florence, 2002). Several Latin versions of the Physiognomics were published between the end of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth century; Foerster did not include them in his critical edition because their lectiones are variously corrupted (Foerster, Scriptores physiognomonici graeci et latini, vol. I, 60-2). On this tradition see also Charles B. Schmitt and Dilwyn Knox, Pseudo-Aristoteles Latinus: A Guide to Latin Works Falsely Attributed to Aristotle Before 1500 (London, 1985), 45-9. Particularly noteworthy is the 1514-1515 folio edition printed in Pavia with the title Infinita nature secreta: this contains various physiognomic and chirophysiognomic treatises, and opens with the pseudo-Aristotelian physiognomics. 50 Fisonomia, 98. http://www.mirabileweb.it/search-scholars/jole-agrimi-scholars/1/10113 25 understanding humanity, and that every philosopher should engage in it, because “anyone who neither loves nor gladly embraces it will never be a philosopher and will not desire to live well.”51 This statement reveals that one main purpose of physiognomic investigation consists in applying the knowledge gained through comparative study to the aim of achieving a good life. It may seem that animals are left behind, as the attention now focuses on man’s pursuit of a fulfilled life. This would not be not surprising since, in line with Aristotle’s Ethics, to which Della Porta refers,52 animals do not partake in any degree in virtue, and thus cannot be said to be just or unjust, or to aim for a good life. Yet, once animals are placed at the heart of the physiognomic procedure, their influence inevitably stretches beyond the physical comparison and reaches further, affecting the ethical development of the discourse, too. 3. Physiognomic Advice for a Happy Life By outlining his method of physiognomics Della Porta indirectly intervenes in one of the major areas of debate in the Renaissance reception of Aristotle: the difference between the 51 Ibid., “Proemio:” “Dunque questa scienza ricerchiamola tutti assai volentieri, e abbracciamola di tutto cuore, come cosa veramente nostra, e che tratta di noi medesimi, la qual chi non ama, e chi volentieri non abbraccia, ne serà egli Filosofo mai, ne desidererà di viver bene.” 52 See also the description of the just man, echoing the Nicomachean Ethics, ibid., 283. 26 soul of animals and the human soul, approaching the problem from the point of view of the relation to their respective bodies.53 Della Porta appears to follow in the tradition of assigning to beasts only a sensitive soul: if the habits of the soul are identified with the sensitive soul, it follows that the latter is in fact that ‘soul’ which is under investigation in the physiognomic procedure. Physiognomics would thus use the link between the body and the sensitive soul of animals to delve into a much more complex human compound. But the terminological crossovers, particularly evident if one compares Latin and vernacular texts of Della Porta’s Physiognomics, point to an underlying philosophical crossover between the body and the soul: they are closely linked in the case of animals, and by using the method of comparing animals to humans it seems only logical to infer a very strong link in the case of the latter, too. The danger is thus that of turning man into merely a more complex animal, one with a broader spectrum of features, but an animal nonetheless. In other words, materialistic conclusions are easily drawn from such an approach, and Della Porta himself is conscious of 53 For an overview of this debate see Cecilia Muratori, ed., The Animal Soul and the Human Mind: Renaissance Debates (Pisa-Rome, 2013); on the legacy of ancient philosophy in Renaissance debates on animals, with special regard for the issue of rationality, see Thierry Gontier, ed., Animal et animalité dans la philosophie de la Renaissance et de l’âge classique (Leuven, 2005) and id., La question de l’animal. Les origines du débat moderne (Paris, 2011); on the ethical consequences of the negotiations regarding the man-animal distinction see Cecilia Muratori and Burkhard Dohm, eds., Ethical Perspectives on Animals in the Renaissance and Early Modern Period (Florence, 2013). 27 this problem. It becomes crucial to explain the nature of the soul that is under examination in his physiognomics. Adopting a very Aristotelian method, Della Porta presents a survey of the ways in which ancient philosophers understood physiognomics and the differences between body and soul that emerged from them. In the case of Empedocles, for instance, the emphasis on the overlap of body and soul implied by physiognomics led to the conclusion that the soul is nothing other than “harmony of elements.” Similarly, according to Galen, “the soul itself is nothing other than harmony, and a temperament of the body, that is to say of dry, cold, humid, and that the good temperament produced good habits and the bad one bad habits.”54 Della Porta implies that, in order for physiognomics to be a reliable method, the body and the soul must be so closely related that it becomes difficult to conceive the human soul as incorporeal and separable from the body itself. The medical concept of temperament might end up taking the place of the soul. But Della Porta is quick to add that this opinion is “condemned and refuted by theologians,” thus distancing himself from materialistic conclusions which are easy to draw from such a theory of the soul’s nature. He then counters Galen’s materialistic view by pointing out that we observe instances of the body’s influence 54 Fisonomia, 10-1: “l’anima istessa non esser altro che armonia, e temperamento del corpo, cioè del secco, freddo, caldo, humido, e che il buon temperamento produceva buoni costumi, e il cattivo cattivi.” On temperament and complexion, see Sandra Cavallo and Tessa Storey, Healthy Living in Late Renaissance Italy (Oxford, 2013), 32. 28 on the soul on a daily basis: “dietary changes, as well as changes of the places and the physical activity bring about modifications, as for instance from an overwhelming phlegm derives stupidity, and from black choler melancholia, and from phlegm lethargy.”55 Yet these frequent modifications of the body-soul balance regard only that kind of soul which humans and animals have in common, namely the sensitive soul. Affecting the soul by acting on the body is an instance of the synchronization, or sympathein, about which Della Porta had read in the pseudo-Aristotelian Physiognomonia: “Aristotle in the Physiognomics proves that when the soul changes a habit, the body changes the shape of the features, and when the body changes its shape, the soul, too, changes its habits.” 56 Apart from natural circumstances, such as food and climate, there are also exceptional or pathological interventions of the body on the soul. For instance, Della Porta uses the example 55 Fisonomia, 11: “percioche ei si muta al mutar de’ cibi, de’ luoghi, e di essercitio, come dalla soverchia fleuma nel cervello venir la stupidezza, e dalla colera nera la maliniconia, e dalla fleuma la letargia.” In the Latin version the theologians are not mentioned directly: DHP, vol. 1, 21: “cuius sententia ab omnibus explosa est et mores non solum ex pravo corporaturae habitu mutari, sed alimentorum et loci ratione, utpote ex superabundanti phlegmate in cerebro, in desipientiam, ex nigra bile melancholiam et ex phlegmate in letargum trahi.” 56 Ibid., 5: “Prova Aristotile nella Fisonomia che l’anima mutando il costume, il corpo muta forma de’ lineamenti, e il corpo mutando la sua forma, l’anima muta anchor ella i suoi costumi.” 29 of lycanthropy, describing a transformation from man to wolf that affected the external shape as well as the behaviour: the werewolf has the body of a wolf, and behaves as such.57 Indeed, elsewhere in the Fisonomia, Della Porta imagines that “if the human soul were to enter the body of a dog, but retain the intellect, it would have no other habits than those of the dog, and the same [would happen] if it were to enter a wolf’s body: it would assume the habits of a wolf, because those habits are given by its temperament.”58 The fact that Della Porta here refers to the habits and the temperament, rather than using directly the word ‘soul’ is telling: the parallel between bodies and souls of animals and humans would suggest that the same 57 Ibid., 6. On lycanthropy see especially Dennis M. Kratz, “Fictus lupus: The Werewolf in Christian Thought,” Classical Folia, 30 (1976), 57-79. Della Porta is briefly mentioned on p. 75, but the article contains no discussion of transformation into werewolves in Italian Renaissance literature. Similarly, Charlotte von Otten, ed., A Lycanthropy Reader: Werewolves in Western Culture (New York, 1986) provides useful background, but no specific materials on Italian Renaissance authors. On Medieval reflections on werewolves and the human-animal border see Joyce E. Salisbury, The Beast Within: Animals in the Middle Ages (London and New York, 2011, second ed.), 141-2. Caroline Walker Bynum raises the issue of the connection between food intake and metamorphosis, including that from man into wolf (“Metamorphosis, or Gerald and the Werewolf,” Speculum, 73/4 (Oct., 1998), 987-1013. 58 Fisonomia, 44: “se l’anima umana venisse in un corpo di cane, restandogli però l’intelletto, non havrebbe costumi se non di cane, così in un corpo di lupo havrebbe costumi di lupo, perché tai costumi le dà il suo temperamento.” 30 mechanism of interaction is in place in both cases. Lycanthropy is of course a rare, pathological transformation, but one could ask how body and soul affect each other in the case of perfectly natural phenomena, such as the process of growth and ageing. Della Porta explains that when the soul enters the body of a child, because of the excessive moisture that disturbs it, we see that it is little different than a brute animal. During adolescence the temperament becomes hotter and the intellect emerges, and it lasts up to a certain point and no longer. With the onset of old age, it starts to decline, and this does not depend on the soul, which remains the same throughout life.59 Here Della Porta is careful to underline that the ‘human soul,’ indirectly identified with the intellect, remains unaffected, and that it only becomes more or less ‘visible’ according to the state of the substratum, that is to say the temperament affecting the body. Less extreme cases than lycanthropy are derived from the Bible: “Salomon says that the melancholic soul makes 59 Ibid.: “Venendo l’anima nel corpo d’un figliuolo, per la soverchia humidità che l’offende, veggiamo ch’è poco meno che un animal bruto, nella adolescentia cambiando il temperamento in caldo mostra intelletto, e dura fin ad un certo tempo, e non più. Viene alla vecchiezza e comincia a declinare, il che non vien dall’anima, per sempre sempre ella la medesima in tutta la vita.” 31 the bones dry and if it is joyful it fattens them.”60 Madness is also a prominent example of how the body can even intervene to restore the balance of a specifically human part of the soul: the intellect. Madness is a “disease of the intellection [intelletto], and the physicians, by taking care of the body, heal the soul from the madness, so that with the care of the body, the sensitive part of the soul, which was sick, is healed.”61 In this case, Della Porta explicitly uses the word ‘soul,’ rather than specifying that it is the changes in the temperament that indirectly support or hinder the performance of the soul’s faculties, and of intellection in particular. With reference to Plato, Della Porta supports the view that changes of the body directly affect the soul, because “when diseases of the body occur, the soul becomes ill as well.” More specifically, “from the bitter and choleric humours which wander around in the body, rise vapours which penetrate into the hidden areas of the soul and force it to change and to become brave, shy, crude and forgetful.”62 This theory uses a physical explanation of the chain of modifications set in motion by changes in the body. The digestion of food is one of 60 Ibid., 6: “Dice Salomon che l’anima melancolica dissecca l’ossa, e essendo allegra l’ingrassa.” Cf. Proverbs 17.22. 61 Ibid.: “La pazzia è una malattia dell’intelletto, e i Medici curando il corpo curano l’anima della pazzia, onde dalla cura del corpo si guarisce la sensitiva parte dell’anima, che era inferma.” 62 Ibid., 4: “[D]a gli amari e colerici umori che vanno vagando per lo corpo, i vapori surgenti penentrando ne’ reposti luoghi dell’anima la costringono a lasciar d’essere come era e a divenir audace, timida, rozza e smentichevole.” 32 the most common ways in which the body acts on the soul, because it affects the temperament. 63 Ingesting food changes the body and thus leads to a change in the soul, including its most important part, arguably present only in humans, the capability of thought. Della Porta notes, for instance, that salt makes man clever, while goat’s milk and honey promote strong intellect and memory, as Galen said.64 Aristotle himself – adds Della Porta – stressed the link between the quality of the blood and a creature’s level of intelligence (sagacitas).65 These are all instances of the body’s effect on the soul, including its thinking faculty. Indeed, if the opposite were true – that is to say, if the soul were completely independent of the body – there could be no science of physiognomics at all, because the relation between a certain type of soul and a certain type of body would be arbitrary. Della Porta underlines that this is precisely what would happen if Pythagorean transmigration of the soul took place: it would be impossible to study the outside shape in order to catch a glimpse of the inside, because bodies would simply be containers (and the very same soul could inhabit different bodies).66 On the contrary, physiognomics assumes that there is a very tight relationship between body and soul. But this means that the relationship between humans and animals 63 Ibid., 343. 64 Ibid., 45. 65 Ibid., 10. 66 Ibid., 9. 33 also becomes more compelling, potentially putting the human soul on the same level as the animal soul, and ultimately opening the way to viewing man as a complex animal. Foreseeing this objection, Della Porta adds the following explanation: Our soul receives the habits when God infuses it in the bodies, and this is accepted not only by Hippocrates, Aristotle, Plato and Galen, but also by the theologians themselves [...] [U]pon receiving the soul, matter takes on the form and the soul receives the habits of the quality of the embryo.67 All philosophers (even Galen!) are said to fundamentally agree on the fact that a person’s habits first come into play when the soul is infused in the body. But the soul received from God plays no crucial role in the Fisonomia, which focuses on the habits instead. It thus remains an empty conception, especially when Della Porta, in Book 6, claims that the real goal of physiognomics is an ethical one. The Nicomachean Ethics is a point of reference, and Della Porta states that “in the book on morals to Nicomachus, Aristotle says about the soul 67 Ibid., 43: “l’anima nostra riceve i costumi quando dall’altissimo Dio se infonde ne’ corpi, e questo non solo da Hipocrate, Aristotele, Platone, Galeno, e da gli altri Filosofi è accettato, ma dagli istessi Theologi [...] [N]el ricever l’anima s’informa la sostanza, e l’anima prende i costumi della qualità dell’embrione.” 34 that one part is rational and the other irrational.”68 But once again, the distinction does not seem to have an impact on the course of Della Porta’s own physiognomic procedure. Rather, the role of the comparison with the animals, and of practical, material interventions becomes even stronger when Della Porta explains that virtue is not achieved by employing rational thinking, and not even with imagination or moral convictions. Much more prosaically, it is achieved with “purgations, topical remedies and natural virtues of herbs, stones, and animals, and occult properties.”69 On the practical level, a crucial difference between humans and animals that crystallises from Della Porta’s physiognomic reflection is the simple observation that man is the only animal that chooses his own food, and that by directing his dietary choice he can learn how to provoke bodily changes that echo within the soul itself. The difference between humans and animals with regard to the synchronization of body and soul is best exemplified by the respective approaches that man and the animals have towards food. Animals spontaneously choose the food which is appropriate to them: an herbivore will always turn to 68 Ibid., 282: “Aristotele nel libro de’ morali a Nicomaco fa che dell’anima una parte sia ragionevole, l’altra irragionevole.” 69 Ibid., 329. The whole passage reads: “A che dunque ci gioveria questa arte, se conosciuti i suoi defetti, non potessi quegli convertirgli in virtudi? Ma ciò non con pensieri, imaginationi, o persuasioni di morali Filosofi, che per lo più vani riescono, ma con purgationi, locali rimeddi, e natural virtù di herbe, pietre et animali, & occulte proprietadi.” 35 vegetables, and a carnivore to meat, while man’s diet is flexible and in a sense unpredictable, just like the soul that is enclosed in his body: “Only man enjoys and wants to help himself to all of them, so that it is still unclear what is his proper food, beyond bread and water; and still he has various habits, pleasant, savage, indulgent, beastly.”70 Humans can thus eat like a violent beast, or like a tame one. Selecting which foods to ingest appears to be Della Porta’s practical way to deal with vices and virtues – not very Aristotelian, after all, since for Aristotle virtuous habits are acquired by training, and certainly not through such alimentary interventions.71 Vices and virtues appear to affect animals too: the lion and the elephant have a sense of justice, 72 while foxes, women and snakes are deceitful, a grouping that stresses how human-animal comparisons for Della Porta have a clear gender connotation.73 One animal is represented as being particularly close to humans in terms of character: the monkey [see fig. 1]. The comparison is not particularly flattering since, “with regard to its habits, the monkey 70 Ibid., 44: “sol l’huomo di tutti gusta e vuol servirsi, onde ancor non si sa qual sia il suo proprio e peculiar cibo dal pane, e dall’acqua in poi; e però ha varii costumi, piacevoli, selvaggi, indulgenti e ferini.” 71 See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1180a. 72 Cf. Fisonomia, 283-4. 73 Ibid., 285. On the gender differentiation in Della Porta see Schiesari, Beasts and Beauties, 60. 36 is full of malignity and deceit” and it is an animal that “simulates very well.”74 Indeed, Della Porta states that in applying physiognomics man is like a “simia di Dio” (literally: a monkey of God),75 learning how to catch a glimpse of the inside in the outside. But he carefully adds that man should use his reason (“il lume della ragione”) in aping God. Simia can simply mean “imitation” (“to ape”), and indeed the Latin version features the verb aemulari.76 Yet the choice of the expression “simia di Dio,” in the vernacular, is telling, given the importance of the animal simia in Della Porta’s method. In Chirofisonomia the hands of the monkey are the main point of comparison for the interpretation of the lines that can be observed in human hands. In line with Aristotle, Della Porta states that the human hand is the best testimony to the marvel and dignity of the human body; and yet his physiognomic study of the hand draws its material from visits to the jails, comparing the hands of particularly brutal human 74 Fisonomia, 27. 75 Ibid., 1. 76 Cf. DHP, vol. 1, 7. On the monkey as a symbol of imitation in classical antiquity, see Catherine Connors, “Monkey Business: Imitation, Authenticity, and Identity from Pithekoussai to Plautus,” Classical Antiquity, 23.2 (2004), 179-207. For an overview of the various roles and symbols associated with the ape from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance, mainly folly, sinfulness, and vanitas, see H.W. Janson, Apes and Ape Lore in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance (London [printed in Vienna], 1952), and especially chap. 10 on ‘simia’ as imitation. 37 specimens with those of the animal which most resembles humans at their worst.77 In fact, Della Porta explains that he chose to inspect the hands of criminals on purpose, because those humans are more prone to follow sensual inclinations than reason: therefore, the distance between animals and humans seems to be particularly short in their case.78 If reason can still be considered a qualitative difference that distinguishes humans from animals, the jails nevertheless provide plentiful counter-examples. Generally, the physiognomic procedure prompts the question whether it is possible to compare animals and humans in terms of bodies, and characters, while assuming that they differ on a qualitative level, for instance by attributing to humans only the capability to think rationally. Possessing reason, in fact, is an attribute directly connected to possessing hands, as Della Porta suggests by quoting On the Parts of Animals, where Aristotle argued that it is not by chance that only humans have hands, and that it is the possession of hands which distinguishes man from all other animals.79 Being endowed with hands and being capable of 77 Cf. Chirofisonomia, 99, where Della Porta quotes Ennius: “Quanto simile a noi la simia pare/ bestia brutta, insolente.” 78 Ibid., 91. 79 Ibid., 94. On the role of hands in Aristotelian and pseudo-Aristotelian writings see especially Aristotle, On the Soul, ed. W. S. Hett (Cambridge, MA, 1995 [1936]), 181 (432a 1-3): “The soul, then, acts like a hand; for the soul is an instrument which employs instruments, and in the same way the mind is a form which employs forms.” Parts of Animals, ed. E. S. Forster and A. L. Peck (Cambridge, MA, 1998 [1937]), 371 (687a9-10): 38 reason are characteristics that are necessarily linked in nature’s design, and they converge in defining human uniqueness.80 Della Porta’s engagement with the Aristotelian legacy shows how the role of animals in the body-soul comparison provoked the question about human uniqueness, and the quest for a good life that was supposed to express it. Yet, Della Porta’s animals are not Aristotle’s: unlike Aristotle, Della Porta grounds this aim in the human-animal resemblance rather than on their radical difference. Della Porta creates his own comprehensive method for understanding human nature by using animals as mirrors that allow us to ‘see’ humanity. But “but surely the reasonable point of view is that it is because he [man] is the most intelligent animal that he has got hands.” On the parallel between the mind and the hand, with regard to man’s learning process of how to use them, see: Pseudo-Aristotle, Problems II, ed. W.S. Hett (Cambridge, MA, 1957 [1937]), Book 30, § 5, 171: “just as we do not use the hand in the best way as soon as we are born, [...] in the same way also the mind [...] does not assist us in the best way at once.” On the differences between bodies that possess hands and bodies that do not, see also Pseudo-Aristotle, Problems I, ed. W.S. Hett (Cambridge, MA, 1953 [1936], Book 10, § 16, 213: “it is necessary for the other animals to see sideways, since they don’t have hands.” For an overview of the Aristotelian legacy in Renaissance zoology see Stefano Perfetti, Aristotle’s Zoology and its Renaissance Commentators (1521-1601) (Leuven, 2000). 80 According to Jonathan Lear, Aristotle does not mean that man “gained his superior intelligence through his hands,” but rather that “man is endowed with hands because he has the practical intelligence to employ them in their myriad uses.” (Lear, Aristotle: The Desire to Understand (Cambridge, 1988), 49). 39 the reflected image implicitly questions man’s uniqueness by firmly linking his soul to his body, through the mediation of the animals. Della Porta’s description of his visits to jail best highlights his distance from the Aristotelian background: not only are the animals’ paws referred to as “hands and feet,” but these paws themselves become the instrument for understanding the secret of the human hand. Placed at the centre of the natural philosophical investigation, the animals also tend to invade a territory that, in Aristotle’s view, remained precluded to them: ethics. In Della Porta’s reinterpretation, physiognomics emerges as a complex philosophical approach, which proceeds from the study of the natural world to include psychology and ethics. The physiognomist – that is to say the philosopher – must act in his practice like a “simia di Dio,” aping God and yet remaining uncomfortably similar to a real monkey. 40 Fig. 1: The animal ‘simia’ in Della Porta’s Fisonomia (1610), in comparison with a human head featuring ‘monkeyish’ characteristics. Giovan Battista Della Porta, De humana physignomonia (Vico Equense, 1586), 96. [This image is in the public domain: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:De_humana_physiognomonia_libri_IIII_- _NLM_NIH_-_page_96.jpg, with the following original source: Historical Anatomies on the Web (U.S. National Library of Medicine / National Institutes of Health: https://www.nlm.nih.gov/exhibition/historicalanatomies/porta_home.html)>]. 
work_737vo6ecunbghogpx64zbmzl4a	----	ASA News - January 2009.indd 5ASA NEWS ~ January 2009 In Memoriam Michael Baxandall, who has died aged 74, was an art historian of extraordinary perceptive and analytical powers whose writings on painting and sculpture are as important as they are original. In 1958, Baxandall began formulating a thesis topic on concepts of decorum and restraint in the Italian Renaissance and, in 1959, he was awarded a two-year fellowship at the Warburg to work on this, under the direction of Ernst Gombrich. He began investigating how humanist literature on art was shaped by the traditions of classical rhetoric. Although this research never resulted in a PhD, it provided material for his acclaimed fi rst book, Giotto and the Orators (1971), which acutely highlighted the limitations as well as the achievements of Renaissance discourse on art. He returned to the Warburg in 1965, as a lecturer in renaissance studies. The course on the Renaissance which he taught to undergraduates exploited this experience and bore fruit in the bestselling Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy (1972). Lucid and provocative, this “primer in the social history of pictorial style”, as he called it, continues to interest countless readers in early Renaissance pictures and the society in which they were created. It was this book that introduced the concept of “the period eye;” Baxandall’s idea was that at different times and places, certain features of the knowledge and culture of viewers attuned them to aspects of images which are not naturally picked up today, but which the historian, with the help of texts and contexts, can elucidate and recover. The notion was further refi ned in relation to sculpture in The Limewood Sculptors of Renaissance Germany (1980), in which, for example, the scrolls of Nuremberg calligraphy were related to stylistic elements. This book, which evolved from the Slade lectures at Oxford in 1974, was awarded the Mitchell prize for the history of art. He came to refl ect more and more on the diffi culties of the historian’s task. These issues, articulated in Patterns of Intention (1986), were encouraged by his friendship and then collaboration and close association with Svetlana Alpers. Together they wrote Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence (1994), an intriguing mix not only of art criticism and art history but of the styles of two contrasting personalities. By the time these latter works were published, Baxandall was an academic celebrity. He had been given a London University chair in 1981 and been elected to the British Academy in 1982; he had also held a visiting professorship at Cornell University in New York state and a fellowship in Berlin, and been awarded prizes by the University of Hamburg and the MacArthur Foundation (both 1988). Since 1986 he had held a part-time post at the University of California, Berkeley, initially in combination with his job at the Warburg Institute. Thereafter, until his retirement in 1996, he spent part of the year in California. But he retained old habits of thought along with old ties and loyalties. The work of Gombrich on perception remained an important point of reference as he himself became increasingly interested in modern as well as historical theories about visual attention, especially primary focus and peripheral vision. The most important publication of his later years, however, was Shadows and the Enlightenment (1995), in its persuasive juxtaposition of scientifi c analyses of shadows with the pictorial practice of 18th-century artists, notably the quiet, but “in some ways slyly showy” Chardin. Baxandall’s last years were lived under the shadow of Parkinson’s disease. He had never relished large gatherings and with the progression of illness, he tended to avoid any encounters in public places. His last book, Words for Pictures (2003), a collection of essays that returned to the subject of art and humanism, also included a long piece on Piero della Francesca’s Resurrection. He is survived by Kay Simon, daughter Lucy and son Tom. Michael David Kighley Baxandall, art historian, born August 18 1933; died August 12 2008 Submitted by Michael Conner, September 7, 2008 Michael Baxandall Christopher FyfeMichael Baxandall Youssef Chahine https://doi.org/10.1017/S0278221900071728 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0278221900071728 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms 
work_74ebj7p5rrbzxp3ufci3xsi3yy	----	1000 successes as CDDIS reaches 1000 published papers&excl; OPEN Editorial 1000 successes as CDDIS reaches 1000 published papers! G Melino* ,1,2 Cell Death and Disease (2014) 5, e1041; doi:10.1038/cddis.2014.15; published online 30 January 2014 Even though it feels like just a few months ago, CDDIS was actually launched in 2010, meaning we are now almost at the ends its 4th year of publication.1 Moreover, in a felicitous conjunction, this coincides with publishing our 1000th paper. This is a remarkable achievement and bears witness to the trust the scientific community places in our journals. This must lead us to ask: what are the reasons for this success; what are the challenges ahead; how can we build on such success to ensure that CDDIS strives for an even better service in future? The motivation behind launching CDDIS was relatively simple. In the successful wake of our leading journal, Cell Death and Differentiation (CDD), we received an ever- increasing number of the top-quality submissions. How- ever, force majeure – the limited number of pages that we were able to print – compelled us, reluctantly, to reject papers of indisputable merit. We had no difficulty in establishing that more than 100 papers each year were subsequently published in journals elsewhere, rated with impact factors between 4 and 6. In so doing, the authors had been obliged to reformat, resubmit, respond to further reviewers’ comments and conduct further experiments – all this requiring additional time, staff and costs. Therefore, why not transfer these already-reviewed manuscripts to a new journal directly?2 Moreover, we would create an opportunity to move from the strictly mechanistic cell-death field 3,4 towards a more clinical, translational view. A name for the new title seemed obvious: Cell Death & Disease, CDDIS. To circumvent the imbalance in papers versus pages, we opted for the more up-to-date model of online only, as well as open access. Umbrella branding under the Nature Publishing Group and synergy with our core publication, CDD, together with this progressive approach, generated a warm and widespread welcome among our scientific readership. Was this, as might be implied, no better than a cynical commercial exercise to make money by publishing low quality work? Or, was it a genuine scientific success story? I should like to answer from two perspectives. First, the readership’s rapid, positive reaction has far exceeded expectations. This was obvious from the following: � the number of submissions made immediately (Figure 1a), � the high percentage of authors who accepted automatic transfer from CDD to CDDIS, � the fact that it was read and cited even before we were in Medline and had an impact factor, � the particularly high impact factor obtained was 45 on first evaluation; now it is 46 (Figure 1b). The respect CDDIS has earned itself in these four short years is further reflected in the burgeoning number of direct submissions, and that we are now celebrating the 1000th paper published. Second, the concept of a sister journal has been imitated by other journals in the same publishing family – such as Oncogene, Leukemia and even Nature itself, as well as by journals not published by NPG (for example, Cell Reports). CDDIS in not just a downmarket version of CDD with a translational perspective, while CDD itself retains greater focus on underlying molecular mechanisms of cell death but together they complement each other in the same arena. It is also very clear that authors fully understand and endorse this concept, while 1000 published manuscripts of such impact is the plainest evidence of success. At the beginning of last year, I stepped down as Editor-in- Chief, paving the way for two excellent new Editors, Eric Baehrecke, from Worcester (USA), and Yufang Shi, from Shanghai (China), to demonstrate their (considerable) worth and inject new blood alongside our new ideas. So now the Old Continent, with Guido Kroemer, is supported by the old New World and the new New World. We are considering head- hunting an Editor from Antarctica – mechanisms of cell death in frostbite injury, perhaps? The journal’s presence in the Far East is further bolstered by a yearly Meeting in China, with the participation of several, leading international scientists. As for the spiraling Chinese submissions, this large community has responded with incredible enthusiasm. Leaving my formal role does not in the least mean withdrawing my interest and support. On the contrary, relinquishing overall responsibility means that I can help and contribute to this now well- established journal far more than previously and at a grass- root level – particularly in view of continuing growth. 1 Department of Experimental Medicine and Surgery, Biochemistry Laboratory, IDI-IRCCS, University of Rome ‘Tor Vergata’, 00133 Rome, Italy and 2 Medical Research Council, Toxicology Unit, Hodgkin Building, Leicester University, Lancaster Road, P.O. Box 138, Leicester LE1 9HN, UK *Corresponding author: G Melino, Department of Experimental Medicine and Surgery, Biochemistry Laboratory, IDI-IRCCS, University of Rome ‘Tor Vergata’, Via Tor Vergata, via Montpellier 1, Rome 00133, Italy. Tel: +39 6 204 27299; Fax: +39 6 204 27290; E-mail: melino@uniroma2.it Citation: Cell Death and Disease (2014) 5, e1041; doi:10.1038/cddis.2014.15 & 2014 Macmillan Publishers Limited All rights reserved 2041-4889/14 www.nature.com/cddis http://dx.doi.org/10.1038/cddis.2014.15 mailto:melino@uniroma2.it http://www.nature.com/cddis How do we see CDDIS evolving? What are the challenges ahead of us? Of course we want the scientific community to contribute views and suggestions. We are indeed at its service. However, let us begin by offering a few thoughts. Accessibility The pace of technological advances has profound implica- tions for the evaluation and dissemination of scientific information. The model of author-pay has already opened unexpectedly innovative ways to access and spread knowledge. One simple development will be to make available an ‘APP’ for CDDIS (and CDD), further facilitating open access to the journal. As in science itself, change is often as much technology-led as concept-led. The generation of ideas is a random and largely unmanageable process, and informal discussions are now just as easy via social media (although perhaps requiring more than 140 characters) as a chat in the pub (although perhaps less convivial). Indeed, new communi- cation technology will change the whole discipline of the scientific paper. Can we put experimental data online as soon as they come in and provide interested scientists an opportunity to comment immediately? How would this affect management’s ability to evaluate scientific achievement? Another aspect is the volume of non-public scientific informa- tion, which may even exceed the portion in the public domain. We are shadowing these developments closely, leaving behind the era of dusty photocopying in the library and moving into uncharted territory. We no longer adhere to Darwinian vertical transmission of scientific ideas but have progressed to Lamarckian and horizontal transmission. We’ll see what the ‘APP’ era brings. Interactivity Blogs, webinar, Twitter and Facebook will facilitate author– reader interaction, maybe only using the journal as an intermediary. Superficially, this is just technology and fashion. In reality the core of interaction between scientists, readers, laymen, institutions, publishers and editors is at a crucial, evolutionary juncture. In fact, embryonically the central concept of creating CDDIS was one of interactivity, via online and open access as new media. New scientific directions CDD was the discussion forum for a new community raised around the then novel concept of cell death.3 This has now expanded and fused with more classical differentiation paths5 and, quite recently, with more translational and pathology- oriented trends. Today, cell death is fully integrated into the field of cell biology and is rapidly moving towards clinical significance and therapeutic application. CDDIS will follow this latter development with much enthusiasm. Young voices We have already added numerous ‘young’ group leaders, ‘lesser-known’ names, ‘lower H-index’ scientists and ‘less- cited’ people to the editorial board. The brain is the last organ to develop but its maturity only precedes senility. Did Ancient Greek culture prevent its decay? Did Roman sophistication prevent ruin? Did the Italian Renaissance prevent its end? We need the unbridled enthusiasm, brute strength, untested faith in the future and raw innovation of the young generation. We need their ingenuity, their faith that the world is honest and that science will improve it. Ingenuity is the word. It brings energy, untried strength and uncompromising integrity. Yes, we’ll take on-board more ‘low-profile’ youngsters! Integrity is the other word. 46 2 0 0 9 165 2 0 1 0 222 2 0 1 1 434 2 0 1 2 2 0 1 3 1100* 26 94 142 222 470* m a n u sc ri p ts /y e a r Submitted Accepted 5.333 2 0 1 1 6.044 2 0 1 2 im p a ct f a ct o r 45/180 35/184ranking (cell biology) Figure 1 Papers and impact factor of CDDIS. (a) Paper flow in CDDIS. Number of manuscripts per year submitted to (blue) and accepted in (green) CDDIS. Although CDDIS was published since January 2010, some papers were already submitted and accepted by the end of 2009. The star indicates an estimated number. (b) CDDIS impact factor. The histogram shows the Impact factor by ISI- Web of Knowledge (Thomson Reuters) referring to the years 2011 and 2012; the ranking (in green) in the cell biology category is shown over the total number of journals listed in that category Editorial 2 Cell Death and Disease Scientific Integrity The advent of digitalized image software, open access and more people with time to spare has facilitated scientific awareness but has abetted the chances of unexpected and less easily detectable manipulation which, of themselves, are a danger to science. I refer not only to scientific fraud proper but also to the more subtle and even more important distinction between science and pseudoscience, to Richard Feynman’s Cargo Cult ‘science’. There is a risk that high- lighting honest mistakes, which do not invalidate scientific conclusions, will generate as much publicity as does the much rarer, deliberate falsification, encouraging intelligent-design creationists or climate-change deniers to believe that all science is phoney and untrustworthy. We are neither police, nor a court of law, and, even less, a theological inquisition, but we have a duty to keep our readers informed of potential concerns, and interact with the Institutions in which alleged malpractice has occurred. Akin to scientific integrity is the reproducibility of published data. Industry has already alerted our community. These ‘hot’ topics are highly debated in other, more appropriate settings6 yet we do, and will further ensure, that such important issues stay among the forefront of our editorial agenda. Peer Review Is peer review still the gold standard? Is there a better method? Is reviewing at 10 and 5 impact factors different? Should this be anonymous or open to post-publication blogs? Equally important are the criteria and variables selected to support the system. Clearly this is an important ongoing debate. 7 Impact Factor What do the impact factor and citation mean in reality? If we adopt the distinction of descriptive, correlative, mechanistic and physiologically/pathologically relevant papers, roughly corresponding to impact factors 3-5-9-20, respectively, CDD and CDDIS belong to the third and second arenas. This does not imply a judgment, as all science is one, and science is (or should be) a representation of truth. Having said this, the current CDDIS impact factor, higher than 6, seems to me an overevaluation, and with the current rate of acceptance I am sure we will return to a more realistic value of 5±0.2, still a highly respectable achievement. Furthermore, CDDIS should not expend too much effort on the rather sterile race toward high impact factors but rather concentrate on providing, synergistically with CDD, a high-quality service to our contributors, readers and correspondents. On a similar note, a final word of thanks goes to our readers, to our authors, to our editors, indeed to all our extended, scientific family. The success of CDDIS could not have been achieved without the incredible support of our editorial office and publisher, Nature Publishing Group, and in particular that of Dr. Margherita Annicchiarico-Petruzzelli, Dr. Alison Mitchell, Rebecca Vickerstaff and Pooja Aggarwal. A big round of applause to all of you, and here’s to many more thousands of successes. Conflict of Interest The author declares no conflict of Interest. 1. Knight RA, Melino G. Cell Death Dis 2011; 2: e202. 2. Knight RA, Melino G. Cell Death Differ 2012; 19: 185. 3. Galluzzi L et al. Cell Death Differ 2012; 19: 107–120. 4. Vendenabeele P, Melino G. Cell Death Differ 2012; 19: 1093–1095. 5. Levine AJ. Cell Death Differ 2011; 18: 1391–1392. 6. Yong E, Ledford H, van Noorden R. Nature 2013; 503: 454–457. 7. Ploegh H. Nature 2011; 472: 391. Cell Death and Disease is an open-access journal published by Nature Publishing Group. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial- NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ Editorial 3 Cell Death and Disease http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ 1000 successes as CDDIS reaches 1000 published papers! Accessibility Interactivity New scientific directions Young voices Scientific Integrity Peer Review Impact Factor References 
work_7a6z7ddmirdpjjicsmrg7x7lx4	----	In chapter 2, Gearhart turns her attention to the role of matter in the text. She argues that for Theophilus, art is the transformation of materials into useful objects, which serves to justify monastic art at a time when it could be treated with suspicion. For Theophilus, Gearhart shows, it is important that the reader know and understand the properties and origins of his various materials. Gearhart gives special attention to Theophilus’s language in chapter 3, delineating how Theophilus moralizes the making of art by presenting it as a series of choices, comparable to the exercise of free will. It is the process—the good or bad decisions—rather than the finished product that concerns Theophilus, Gearhart argues, and art making is a way to practice virtue. Chapter 4 is especially rich. Using an early manuscript of On Diverse Arts, now in Vienna, as her starting point, Gearhart explores the virtue of skill, which Theophilus describes as “the order, variety and measure (quo ordine qua varietate, qua mensura) with which to pursue your varied work (diverso operi tuo)” (106). Here she complements her textual analysis with detailed case studies of twelfth-century metalworks that display these qualities. In chapter 4 Gearhart also addresses the question of Theophilus’s rela- tionship to Roger of Helmarshausen, one of the few known artists of his time. Because an inscription in the Vienna manuscript announces that Theophilus’s name is Roger, some scholars have argued that the two men were one and the same. This identification is controversial. Gearhart believes it to be likely, though she does not fully commit to it, and proving it is not her objective. More important, she argues, is that the inclusion of Roger’s name was part of a larger effort to enhance the treatise’s authority. Given the inscription’s weight in the debate regarding Roger, however, some discussion of its pale- ography would have been helpful. Furthermore, despite her neutrality toward the iden- tification of Theophilus as Roger, most of the objects she discusses have been attributed to him or his workshop, which ultimately promotes their co-identification. Quibbles about Roger, however, do not diminish Gearhart’s impressive contribution to our understanding of medieval artists, especially those in monastic contexts, and how they approached their work. Perhaps with a nod to Theophilus’s own regard for dili- gence, the book itself has been designed with care, complete with beautiful color plates and crisp black-and-white images. Stephanie Luther, Berlin, Germany doi:10.1017/rqx.2018.23 Leonardo da Vinci. Walter Isaacson. New York: Simon and Schuster, 2017. xx + 602 pp. $35. If Giorgio Vasari extolled Leonardo da Vinci as a celestial genius, Walter Isaacson brings this most singular artist, engineer, and scientist back to earth. Author of best-selling RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY256 VOLUME LXXII, NO. 1 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core biographies of Steve Jobs and Benjamin Franklin, Isaacson offers his readers a portrait of the artist as an avatar of passionate curiosity. While Michelangelo has attracted numerous biographers—Vasari, Condivi, Symonds, Papini, Hirst, and Wallace, to name but some of the earlier and more recent chroniclers of the sculptor’s life—Leonardo has not. This difference reflects the nature of the sources available for each. Michelangelo left a trove of letters, poems, and finan- cial records, all of which have been reproduced in modern editions and translated into English. But there is no edition of the voluminous record of Leonardo’s preoccupations contained in the 7,200 pages, many written in his famous mirror script, of his note- books. Taking a different tack than earlier biographers, who tended to focus on the painter’s works of art, Isaacson examines Leonardo’s life through the notebooks. The result is a monument to “the greatest record of curiosity ever created.” Ever intent on showcasing the way in which Leonardo’s scientific and artistic interests intersect, Isaacson delves into Leonardo’s Wunderkammer of interests—architectural pursuits, productions of plays and pageants, literary amusements, bird-watching activities, math- ematical explorations, studies of water, vegetation, anatomy, perspective, and optics, and inventions of musical instruments, flying machines, and military weaponry. Isaacson breaks down each of these pursuits, all the while pointing out analogies Leonardo found between phenomena as disparate as hair curls and waves of water. In such instances the story often gives way to lists of phenomena, each section a testi- mony to Leonardo’s restless mind, ingenuity, and relentless curiosity. Describing innovations such as a needle-grinding machine or a water screw intended to illustrate the concept of perpetual motion, however, is a daunting task. The marvel is the intricacy of the drawing itself. Prose description, unless rendered by a writer pos- sessed of an exceptionally dynamic style, has the effect of dulling the fascination of Leonardo’s inventions. The biography is absorbing, but readers might prefer to read these sections in stints. Isaacson seldom ventures aesthetic judgments of his own. In describing works such as the The Annunciation, Madonna and Child with Flowers, Ginevra de’ Benci, and The Adoration of the Magi, he relies on Leonardo specialists, citing amply from studies by Kenneth Clark, Martin Kemp, Carmen Bambach, and other art historians. Leaving it to the experts, especially in this case, serves Isaacson well. Isaacson often expands their claims with citations from the notebooks on how to draw hair, a smile, water, lines, shadows, and other phenomena. These are some of the most engaging parts of the biog- raphy: the author deftly presents Leonardo’s artistic virtuosity in the painter’s own words. In discussing the luster of Ginevra de’ Benci’s curls, for example, Isaacson adds an elucidation from the notebooks that reveals that spots of luster will shift and “appear in as many different places on the surface as different positions are taken by the eye” (66). We have the glorious artifact and the observation or theory that informs it. Other lively sections include Isaacson’s account of the diverse personages living in Florence when Leonardo arrived in the city, in 1472; the engrossing efforts to REVIEWS 257 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core authenticate La Bella Principessa; the presence of Cesare Borgia, Machiavelli, and Leonardo in Imola, in the autumn of 1502; and the discussion of the range and depth of Leonardo’s to-do lists (get the measurement of the sun promised me by Maestro Giovanni Francese, describe the tongue of the woodpecker). Early modern specialists will find other sections less compelling—for example, Isaacson’s account of the rivalry between Leonardo and Michelangelo, one social and handsome, the other unattractive and antisocial, and the contemporary observation that the realism of The Lady with an Ermine offers an example of a portrait that does all but speak. But such factors do not detract from Isaacson’s splendid achievement, at once a magisterial biography and tribute to every aspect of Leonardo’s observatory prowess. The book is magnificently produced, with ample reproductions, an illustrated timeline, and an uplifting conclusion on how we can all learn from Leonardo’s omnivorous curiosity. Deborah Parker, University of Virginia doi:10.1017/rqx.2018.24 Jacopo de’ Barbari: Künstlerschaft und Hofkultur um 1500. Beate Böckem. Studien zur Kunst 32. Cologne: Böhlau Verlag, 2016. 516 pp. €65. The name Jacopo de’ Barbari resonates now only faintly among specialists in Northern Renaissance art, as the obscure Venetian artist who spent his career in the Holy Roman Empire (ca. 1500–16) and who may have reinforced Albrecht Dürer’s reception of the Italian Renaissance. As Böckem’s excellent study makes clear, Barbari’s extant oeuvre may be small and somewhat mysterious, but he was also part of the transformative wave of Italian innovators that swept across the empire. Altogether, Böckem has assem- bled an extant corpus of possibly twelve paintings, two drawings, thirty engravings, and two woodcuts. (She is doubtful or uncertain about a few of the attributions.) Importantly, Barbari created art for major rulers of the empire, especially for those engaged in promoting humanism: Emperor Maximilian, Elector Friedrich the Wise of Saxony, Elector Albrecht of Brandenburg, and Archduchess Margaret of Austria, regent of the Hapsburg Netherlands. In her study, Böckem pursues two goals: she offers a comprehensive analysis of Barbari’s “artistry” (“Künstlerschaft”) in several media—his techniques, style, themes, and achievements—as well as a thorough historical reassess- ment of the artistic culture of the courts with which he was associated. Indeed, nearly half of the book is devoted to wide-ranging analyses of these courts, with especially insightful portrayals of the ambitions of Friedrich the Wise and Margaret of Austria. Moreover, Böckem expertly and vividly charts Barbari’s connections to Venetian art from the late fifteenth century. RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY258 VOLUME LXXII, NO. 1 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_7jnmq62lqja3fihdcs4dtpiqem	----	BIROn - Birkbeck Institutional Research Online Sellars, John (2012) Review article: Renaissance philosophy. British Journal for the History of Philosophy 20 (6), pp. 1195-1204. ISSN 0960-8788. Downloaded from: http://eprints.bbk.ac.uk/id/eprint/8149/ Usage Guidelines: Please refer to usage guidelines at https://eprints.bbk.ac.uk/policies.html or alternatively contact lib-eprints@bbk.ac.uk. http://eprints.bbk.ac.uk/id/eprint/8149/ https://eprints.bbk.ac.uk/policies.html mailto:lib-eprints@bbk.ac.uk REVIEW ARTICLE RENAISSANCE PHILOSOPHY Christopher C. Celenza (ed.): Angelo Poliziano’s Lamia: Text, Translation, and Introductory Studies, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 189 (Leiden: Brill, 2010) pp. 272. $140 (hb). ISBN 978-9004-18590-6. Stephen Clucas, Peter J. Forshaw, Valery Rees (eds): Laus Platonici Philosophi: Marsilio Ficino and His Influence, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 198 (Leiden: Brill, 2011) pp. 384. $183 (hb). ISBN 978-9004- 18897-6. 1. INTRODUCTION Of all the periods in the history of philosophy, Renaissance philosophy is one of the more neglected and maligned backwaters, at least in the company of historians of philosophy. Although there is a steady stream of excellent work by intellectual historians and literary scholars, on the whole philosophers have remained far more sceptical about the period.1 A recent volume exploring philosophical themes from the thirteenth to the seventeenth centuries by Robert Pasnau, aimed at making connections between medieval and early modern philosophy, is sceptical about the importance of the period in the few remarks it offers.2 1 The label ‘Renaissance’ is itself a contested term, famously used to refer to a distinct period and intellectual movement by Nietzsche’s Basel colleague Jacob Burckhardt (in The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy, trans. S. G. C. Middlemore [Oxford: Phaidon, 1945]), but whose value has been increasingly called into question. The chronological limits of the period it is used to refer to are equally contested, ranging from a narrow 1400- 1500 to a much broader 1350-1600. For present purposes I use the label ‘Renaissance philosophy’ to refer to that period in the history of philosophy that falls between the better defined periods of medieval philosophy and early modern philosophy. Inevitably there is overlap at either end. 2 See Robert Pasnau, Metaphysical Themes 1274-1671 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), who writes (p. 93) “It is perhaps too much to say that there is no philosophy in authors like Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Marsilio Ficino” and (p. 419) “the so-called Renaissance philosophers”. Note also the recent event at the British Academy (the Dawes Hicks Symposium ‘Continuity and Innovation in Medieval and Modern Philosophy of Knowledge, Mind and Language’, held on the 28th October 2011), that focused on making connections between medieval and early modern philosophy, while passing over Renaissance philosophy in silence. 2 This was not always so. Last century Ernst Cassirer and Paul Oskar Kristeller both wrote philosophical and historically informed studies of themes in Renaissance philosophy, and Kristeller of course went on to do so much to shape the modern discipline of Renaissance Studies.3 The two collaborated with John Herman Randall to produce an anthology of translated texts published in 1948, and in the introduction to that volume Kristeller mapped out the philosophy of the period.4 Although some now question the rigid divisions proposed by Kristeller, even so his framework remains a valuable point of departure and it will be helpful briefly to outline it here. Kristeller suggests that philosophy in the Renaissance was dominated by three distinct movements: Humanism, Platonism, and Aristotelianism.5 The question whether Humanism ought to count as a philosophical movement (and in particular whether Humanists deserve to be called philosophers) is one that we shall turn to shortly. Recent work by Lodi Nauta has done an excellent job in showing the philosophical significance of the work of the Humanist Lorenzo Valla.6 But note that even if one were deeply sceptical about the philosophical credentials of the Humanists, Kristeller’s model emphasizes that Renaissance thought was shaped by other, unambiguously philosophical, movements as well. We shall turn to the Platonic movement associated with Marsilio Ficino later on. As for the continuity of the medieval Aristotelian tradition, those modern scholars making connections between medieval and early modern philosophy should note that Kristeller’s model already accommodates the continuity of Aristotelianism through to the seventeenth century, as well as encompassing the Humanist and Platonic traditions that they tend to overlook.7 3 See Ernst Cassirer, The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy, trans. Mario Domandi (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1963), and Paul Oskar Kristeller, The Philosophy of Marsilio Ficino, trans. Virginia Conant (New York: Columbia University Press, 1943). 4 Ernst Cassirer, Paul Oskar Kristeller, John Herman Randall, eds, The Renaissance Philosophy of Man (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1948). The ‘General Introduction’ is credited to Kristeller and Randall; I refer just to Kristeller partly for the sake of brevity and partly because the theme I mention was a recurrent one in Kristeller’s work (see e.g. the opening three chapters of his Renaissance Thought and its Sources [New York: Columbia University Press, 1979]). 5 Ibid, p. 2. 6 Lodi Nauta, In Defense of Common Sense: Lorenzo Valla's Humanist Critique of Scholastic Philosophy, I Tatti Studies in Italian Renaissance History (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009). 7 On the topic of the continuation of the Scholastic tradition through the Renaissance and into the early modern period it is worth noting two recent collections of essays devoted to the philosophy of Francisco Suárez: Daniel Schwartz, ed., Interpreting Suárez: Critical 3 2. POLIZIANO Kristeller’s threefold division of Renaissance philosophy is a useful point of departure but has been criticized for implying rigid divisions between three distinct movements. Inevitably things are never quite so neat and clear cut, and I doubt Kristeller was ever naive enough to think they were. A case in point is Angelo Poliziano, famed as a Humanist, but also closely associated with the Platonic circle around Marsilio Ficino, who towards the end of his career lectured on Aristotle. Just as modern academic philosophers might question Poliziano’s status as a philosopher proper, so too did his contemporaries, and Aristotelian philosophers working within a broadly Scholastic tradition attacked Poliziano for moving onto their turf by attempting to lecture on the Stagirite. Poliziano began his foray into teaching Aristotle with a series of lectures on the Nicomachean Ethics in 1490-91, followed by lectures on parts of the Organon (Categories, On Interpretation, also the Sophistical Refutations) in 1491-92, and then a series of lectures on the Prior Analytics in 1492-93. In the opening lecture to the last of these, his Praelectio in Priora Aristotelis Analytica, Poliziano responded to his critics via a series of reflections on the nature of philosophy and the relationship between philosophy and philology. This Praelectio has gained the alternative title Lamia as Poliziano opens by characterizing his critics as lamias, busybodies with removable eyes who gossip about the business of others when out and about, but with no perception of themselves when at home. This leads on to a discussion about the nature of the philosopher. Poliziano begins with a somewhat unflattering account of Pythagoras (reputed to be the first person to use the word ‘philosopher’) that implies that not being a philosopher is no bad thing. However, as the discussion progresses Poliziano offers a more thoughtful and positive account of what it means to be a philosopher, drawing on various Platonic sources as well as Iamblichus’ Protrepticus. On this account the philosopher is someone with self-knowledge who takes care of his soul, and so cultivates virtue. This turns the tables on the Scholastic lamias, who claim to be philosophers but lack the necessary self-knowledge and so fail to live up to the ancient definition that Poliziano is keen to resurrect. Poliziano is happy to admit he doesn’t meet this ancient standard himself, at the same time implying that neither do his critics. Instead Poliziano is content to call himself an interpreter of Aristotle rather than a philosopher, but he then goes on to add that his role as a philologist Essays (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), and Benjamin Hill and Henrik Lagerlund, eds, The Philosophy of Francisco Suárez (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). 4 (grammaticus) places him above all other disciplines, including philosophy, and this makes him qualified to interpret any kind of text. The earlier sudden shift from mocking to idolizing the philosopher is followed by this sudden shift from modesty to megalomania. Poliziano admits he has no formal training in philosophy but adds that he is well versed in the ancient Greek commentators on Aristotle, implying that this is a far better qualification to interpret Aristotle than a contemporary scholastic education. The recent volume edited by Christopher Celenza comprises a series of introductory essays by various hands followed by the text of the Praelectio/Lamia with a facing translation and notes. The text is taken from the critical edition prepared by Ari Wesseling and the notes draw on Wesseling’s commentary.8 Celenza’s new volume offers the first translation of the text into English and the essays by various hands offer a number of interesting contextual discussions. However, it is a supplement to Wesseling’s volume rather than a replacement and anyone seriously interested in the text will still want to have Wesseling’s volume to hand. Celenza’s translation is highly readable, rendering the text into an accessible modern idiom. The text and translation are divided into numbered paragraphs, whereas Wesseling’s text is not, his commentary referring simply to page and line numbers of his edition. So one minor gripe is that it would have been helpful to have had included Wesseling’s page and line numbers in order to ease cross-reference to his commentary, not to mention being able to cite the text according to a single system of reference. But before one gets to the text and translation Celenza offers us four introductory essays, one by his own hand and others by Francesco Caruso, Igor Candido, and Denis J.-J. Robichaud. Celenza’s own essay offers a helpful overview of both the text and the context in which it was written and as such forms a fine introduction. An attempt to draw a parallel with Wittgenstein (pp. 34-5) seems a bit tenuous, but the discussion seemed much closer to the mark when emphasizing the presence of Stoic elements alongside the more explicit Platonic and Neoplatonic influences (p. 38). Caruso’s essay attempts to map out connections between Poliziano and John of Salisbury. The discussion is informed and interesting but, for this reviewer, ultimately unconvincing. It is true that John of Salisbury was also a Humanistically minded commentator on Aristotle’s logic but there is no real evidence presented for the claim that Poliziano drew on John’s Metalogicon and the textual parallels outlined on pp. 82-3 seem somewhat thin. Even so, Caruso’s placing of Poliziano’s text within a tradition 8 Angelo Poliziano, Lamia: Praelectio in Priora Aristotelis Analytica, ed. Ari Wesseling (Leiden: Brill, 1986). 5 stretching back through Petrarch to the Humanism of the twelfth century is a helpful and worthwhile exercise in contextualization. Candido seeks to consider the Praelectio/Lamia alongside the famous epistolary debate between Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Ermolao Barbaro on the relative merits of Humanism and Scholasticism.9 Doing so makes good sense but, again, although Candido’s essay is packed with helpful contextual material, it doesn’t quite manage to deliver. It is only after 25 or so pages of preamble that we finally turn to the Pico-Barbaro exchange and the essay ends before reaching any kind of detailed analysis of the parallels between the claims of the two texts. Robichaud’s essay addressing Poliziano’s debts to Neoplatonism is likely to be the one of most interest to historians of philosophy. Unsurprisingly one of the themes that emerges in this essay is Poliziano’s intellectual relationship with Ficino, and Robichaud suggests that both were “doing stylistic readings of Plotinus’s Enneads around the same time and in dialogue with each other” (p. 135). Poliziano’s debts to Iamblichus in the Praelectio/Lamia are explicit (Celenza § 58; Wesseling p. 13,38) but rather than go over these in too much detail Robichaud focuses his attention on wider issues concerning Neoplatonic models of textual interpretation in Plotinus, Porphyry, and Proclus, focusing on late ancient debates about the relationship between philosophy and philology. Although chronologically more distant, this close attention to the texts that Poliziano (and Ficino) were actually reading offers the most enlightening window into Poliziano’s way of thinking. Notwithstanding the few critical comments above, all of the essays have much to offer and the volume as a whole does a fine job in making Poliziano’s little-known text significantly more accessible. 3. FICINO As I have noted, one of the themes in the essays discussing Poliziano’s Praelectio/Lamia is Poliziano’s relationship with Ficino. While Robichaud stresses their shared debt to Neoplatonism others, noting Ficino’s debt to Scholastic ways of doing philosophy, align him with the lamias. The 9 Pico’s letter to Barbaro is available in English translation in Arturo B. Fallico and Herman Shapiro, eds, Renaissance Philosophy I: The Italian Philosophers (New York: The Modern Library, 1967), 105-17. I also note a helpful discussion of the debate in another relatively recent book on Renaissance philosophy: Jill Kraye, ‘Pico on the Relationship of Rhetoric and Philosophy’ in M. V. Dougherty, ed., Pico della Mirandola: New Essays (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 13-36. 6 volume as a whole tends to vacillate between presenting Poliziano and Ficino as mutual admirers or intellectual adversaries. Ficino is the subject of another recent book on Renaissance philosophy, a collection of essays also published in the series Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History. This collection has its origins in a conference held in London in 2004. It is in many ways a companion piece to a previous collection of essays on Ficino also inspired by a London conference, published in 2002.10 Both volumes also share a co-editor (Rees), a number of contributors (Toussaint, Hirai, Clucas, Rees), and the earlier volume was also published in the same series (they are volumes 108 and 198). Both volumes address a range of broadly religious themes and both volumes address Ficino’s later legacy. Anyone familiar with that earlier volume should find this new volume equally interesting. The Introduction bullishly asserts that Ficino’s importance is well recognized in many fields, including philosophy (p. 1). Alas I fear that is not quite the case yet, even among historians of philosophy (cf. n. 2 above), although the continuing series of Ficino publications in the I Tatti Renaissance Library will hopefully encourage philosophers to start to explore his work more than they have to date.11 A couple of pages later the tone is more defensive but realistic, suggesting that the value of some of the papers to follow is that they challenge the common judgement that Ficino was “primarily a translator rather than an original philosophical thinker” (p. 3). The first half of the volume is entitled ‘The Philosophy of Marsilio Ficino’ and its eight papers address a range of themes in his work. Although they all make interesting reading, taken together I doubt they will convince many contemporary philosophers of Ficino’s philosophical weight. Contributions include discussions of levitation (Toussaint), astrology (Clydesdale), and the magical power of hymns (Wear). Ficino’s relationships with his contemporaries Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Georgios Gemistos Plethon are recurrent themes (esp. Blum), and we also hear much about his use of and debts to Plato (Aasdalen), Lucretius and Galen (Hankins), and 10 Marsilio Ficino: His Theology, His Philosophy, His Legacy, ed. Michael J. B. Allen and Valery Rees with Martin Davies, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 108 (Leiden: Brill, 2002). 11 The major step forwards is the edition and translation of Ficino’s Platonic Theology, by Michael J. B. Allen and James Hankins in 6 volumes (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001-6). This is now being supplemented with a series of volumes devoted to his Commentaries on Plato: the first volume (also by Allen) with commentaries on the Phaedrus and Ion appeared in 2008, and a two-volume edition of his commentary on the Parmenides (by Maude Vanhaelen) is scheduled for publication in 2012. 7 Plotinus (Dillon). A number of the papers in this section focus on material drawn from Ficino’s correspondence (Rees, Clydesdale), while the more philosophically interesting contributions are those that get stuck into the details of Ficino’s magnum opus, the Platonic Theology. Particularly worthy of note are the contributions by James Hankins and John Dillon. Hankins' chapter on 'monstrous melancholy' suggests that the origins of this idea in Robert Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy can be traced back to Ficino. I don't have much to say on the main concern of the chapter but Hankins makes two points about influences on Ficino that are worth noting. The first is that Ficino was a follower of Galen as well as Plato, as much interested in the health of the body as the health of the soul (p. 31). From Galen he took a concern for the body and the idea that the body can affect the soul, both of which temper his Neoplatonism. The second is that Ficino was a fan of Lucretius in his youth and, although he later repudiated it, his familiarity with Lucretius formed an important influence on the development of his mature work (p. 34).12 One might say that Ficino's Platonic Theology is his reply to Lucretius' On the Nature of Things. Both of these observations help to complicate our picture of Ficino’s philosophical development and to rescue him from the charge of merely regurgitating late Neoplatonism. Ficino’s debt to Neoplatonism is the topic of Dillon’s chapter, focusing on Plotinus. It is well known that Ficino was heavily indebted to Proclus – especially in his commentary on Plato’s Parmenides – but Dillon suggests that Ficino has good reasons to want to distance himself from Proclus due to the latter’s multiplication of gods, as well as his claim that the highest principle is, as Dillon puts it, “supra-essential and supra-noetic” (p. 15). So, notwithstanding his genuine admiration for Proclus and late Neoplatonism, Ficino is theologically committed to downplay these two aspects of Neoplatonic thought. Dillon suggests that the way Ficino tries to do this in his Platonic Theology (esp. 2.6, 2.12) is to turn to Plotinus. Although in some respects Plotinus is as committed to these two aspects as Proclus, Dillon draws attention to a number of tractates in the Enneads (esp. 6.4-5, 6.8) where they are given much lesser prominence. In the first of these (the pair Enn. 6.4-5) the distinction between Intellect and the One is played down, making it much easier for Ficino to identity 12 This topic is also addressed in another recent book worth noting: Alison Brown, The Return of Lucretius to Renaissance Florence, I Tatti Studies in Italian Renaissance History (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010), esp. pp. 92-4, citing a draft of Hankins’ chapter. 8 both with each other and with God. This suits his purposes very well in his construction of a monotheistic Neoplatonism. The second (Enn. 6.8) discusses the will of the One, again opening the way for its identification with God. In particular Plotinus’ discussion seeks to combine divine freedom with necessity in a way that proves highly appealing to Ficino, who follows a similar line in the Platonic Theology (2.12). Dillon points to a series of conceptual (rather than textual) parallels but the lack of explicit textual debt is hardly a problem for his argument given what we know about Ficino’s thorough immersion in Plotinus’ texts. Dillon stresses at the end that this is not merely a repetition of Plotinian ideas, as Ficino’s very different theological context means he has to engage in a creative yet “delicate juggling act” (p. 24) when handling Neoplatonic ideas in a Christian context. It is a shame that more of the papers in the first half of the volume did not get involved with the detail of philosophical positions in Ficino’s substantial philosophical works (such as the Platonic Theology or his commentaries on Plato’s Parmenides or Sophist) in the way that Dillon does. For that kind of detailed account of Ficino’s philosophy one must look elsewhere.13 Having said that, the fact that some of the papers deal with (what now look like) more esoteric themes, rightly highlights the distance between Ficino’s conception of philosophy and our own. The role of levitation or astrology in his thought, for instance, have their own rational foundations when approached within the context of the Neoplatonic worldview with which he is operating, and Toussaint and Clydesdale both do admirable jobs in explaining how this is the case. The second half of the volume is devoted to Ficino’s influence. Some of these papers explore his impact beyond the confines of philosophy narrowly conceived, including Italian literature (Panizza), occultism (Clucas), and alchemy (Forshaw). Others tackle more explicitly philosophical topics. Hiro Hirai’s chapter examines Ficino’s theory of spontaneous generation or, to be more precise, criticisms of Ficino by the Paduan professor of philosophy Fortunio Liceti. Much the chapter is devoted to a close study of Liceti’s On The Spontaneous Generation of Living Beings (De spontaneo viventium ortu) of 1618. Hirai offers a nice account of Liceti’s analysis of three distinct Platonist responses to the problem of (apparent) spontaneous generation: ‘junior Platonists’, who refer to the World-Soul as the cause; ‘major Platonists’, who refer to the Ideas as the cause; and Ficino, who cites the ‘earth’s soul’ as the cause (as outlined in Book 4 of the Platonic 13 In many ways Kristeller’s monograph (see n. 3 above) remains the best available account of Ficino’s philosophy, even if it is in some respects outdated, not least due to Kristeller’s own subsequent contributions to the field. 9 Theology). Liceti attacks Ficino’s theory, doubting both the existence of an earth’s soul and the possibility that such a thing, if it existed, could adequately explain the origin of life. Liceti’s objections, as Hirai presents them, seem well founded and they also help to bring into focus Ficino’s own view. Indeed, it is a somewhat odd view for a Neoplatonist, effectively proposing the generation of something ‘higher’ from something ‘lower’, when we might expect the order of generation to be the other way round. Hirai points to possible influences from Plotinus and Proclus but, following Liceti, also notes potential Stoic sources, via Seneca’s Natural Questions or Cicero’s On the Nature of the Gods. This intriguing suggestion closes Hirai’s chapter, which notes that more work might be done on this topic. One of the most philosophically interesting contributions to the whole volume is David Leech’s study of the influence of Ficino on the Cambridge Platonist Henry More. Although it is commonly held that Ficino was an important influence on the Cambridge Platonists, there are few direct citations, making pinning down the nature and extent of that influence a difficult task. Leech focuses on More’s arguments for the immortality of the soul and the shift in his position that takes place between his earlier philosophical poems and his later prose works. In his later works in particular More draws on Ficinian arguments against the monopsychism of Averroes in order to defend a version of Lockean personal identity (avant la lettre), using Ficinian arguments in a philosophical context that Ficino would never have known. What is especially noteworthy in Leech’s account is the way in which it highlights continuity in the history of philosophy. More is working within a distinctively early modern context (responding to Hobbes, pre-empting Locke), drawing on Renaissance arguments (Ficino) in order to respond to a problem inherited from medieval philosophy (Averroist monopsychism). This neatly brings us back to my opening remarks, for what this account does is places Renaissance philosophy in dialogue with both its medieval predecessors and its early modern successors. The final contribution to the volume, by Constance Blackwell, does something similar, examining concordism in Simplicius, Ficino, and Cudworth, emphasizing continuity in a Platonic tradition running through late antiquity, the Renaissance, and the early modern period. Both of these volumes are welcome additions to the scholarly literature on Renaissance philosophy. Yet they both indicate in different ways how much more work remains to be done. The fact that Celenza’s volume makes a text available in English for the very first time highlights the extent to which Renaissance philosophy remains largely uncharted territory for all but a few specialists. Those essays in the volume by Cluclas et al. that engage with 10 Ficino’s Platonic Theology in particular whet the appetite for more thorough philosophical studies of this work, studies that will continue to draw connections back to late ancient and medieval philosophy, and forwards to early modern philosophy. 
work_7qzi6pfiq5g37aopdwyyhgf3o4	----	BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL 7 w.y 1977 1203 Medical History Arthritis in Flemish paintings (1400-1700)* J DEQUEKER British Medical_Journal, 1977, 1, 1203-1205 Summary A close examination of the hands of people depicted in paintings of the Flemish school showed that in five paintings there were figures with hand lesions resembling those of rheumatoid arthritis. Although none of the deformities or swellings are indisputable examples of rheumatoid arthritis, they do at least suggest that the painters must have been confronted with rheumatoid- like lesions in their models. In two other paintings there were signs of rheumatic fever and of temporal arteritis. No arthritic lesions were found in the works of painters of the Italian Renaissance, probably because they are less detailed. The finding of rheumatoid deformities in the Flemish paintings does, however, question the general belief that rheumatoid arthritis is a condition that has arisen relatively recently. Introduction Rheumatoid arthritis was first clearly described by Landre Beauvais in 1800. Before then there are no convincing medical reports of the disease,' except perhaps the description of the arthritis of Constantine IX (980-1055), who suffered a pro- gressive inflammatory polyarthritis with disease of the soft tissues and increasing deformities.2 Ankylosing spondylitis with or without affected peripheral joints was, however, fairly com- mon in the ancient world.' The art of the past is a suitable avenue in which to explore the existence of rheumatoid arthritis or rheumatoid-like lesions before 1800, although several authors have commented on the absence of rheumatoid deformities in painting or sculpture before 1800.3 Nevertheless, living in a country that possesses a collection of Flemish paintings I rose to the challenge of looking at our ancient paintings with a rheumatological eye. Methods Hands are often said to indicate rheumatological diseases. I there- fore started looking through catalogues and reproductions of paintings with a magnifying glass, trying to find hand lesions resembling those of rheumatoid arthritis. *Based on a lecture delivered a,t the annual general meeting of the Heberden Society, London, on 28 November 1975. Results I soon discovered that a painting in my own city showed rheuma- toid-like lesions. The hand of Christ in a painting by Jan Rombauts (circa 1500) resembles that of someone with longstanding rheumatoid arthritis (fig 1). Encouraged by this finding, I searched further and discovered that several other Flemish painters had depicted people with arthritic hands. The famous portrait of Federigo de Montefeltre, thought to have been painted by Joos (Justus) van Gent, shows arthritis of the proximal interphalangeal joint of the left index finger. The third metacarpophalangeal joint of the same hand may also be affected (fig 2). In the drawing by Jan van Eyck (circa 1441) John IV, Duke of Brabant, who was one of the founders of Leuven University, clearly has swan-neck and boutonniere deformities of the right fingers (fig 3). In Jacob Jordaens's (1593-1678) painting of his own family the housemaid's hands seem to be affected by rheumatoid arthritis. The second and third metacarpal and proximal interphalangeal joints are swollen (fig 4). The man in the painting The Donators (1525-30) by Jan Gossaert, also called Mabuse, seems to have polyarthritis of the fingers of his left hand, although Dupuytren's contracture may be an alternative explanation. He has flexion deformities of the second, fourth, and fifth fingers (fig 5). During my search for rheumatoid lesions I did not see any joint deformities that looked convincingly like Heberden nodes or the lesions of gout. Two other paintings, however, did attract my atten- tion. The young sick woman in the painting by Jan Steen (1626-79) might have rheumatic fever (fig 6). She seems to be very ill, feverish, and orthopnoeic. She also has a facial bloss; her left arm seems to be paralysed with a diffuse swelling of the hand; and the doctor is measuring her pulse rate. All these features suggest a diagnosis of acute rheumatism complicated by mitral valve disease. More indirect evidence of inflammatory rheumatism, polymyalgia rheumatica, is found in the painting by Jan van Eyck (1436) of the holy virgin with Canon van der Paele, who was the donor of the painting (fig 7). The Canon clearly has temporal arteritis, with scar forming and hair loss at the eyebrow and before the left ear. He also has a dermal cellular naevus and a sebum cyst at his left ear. Discussion Clearly, one has to be careful in making medical deductions from painters' representations. This is especially true when studying hands, since painters use them as a powerful expression of feelings, or they may be the hallmark of a particular school. It is well known, for example, that in several of the paintings of Rogier van der Weyden the fingers are particularly fine and long, and the little finger often shows a clinodactyly deformity. It is also well known that most of El Greco's figures have Marfanoid features. The deformities I have described here, however, are not of this kind. They are incidental to these painters' styles, except perhaps for the hands in the painting of Jan Gossaert, which are probably an example of a mannerism of this painter. Similar hand deformities may be seen in a Rheumatology Unit, Academic Hospitals, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Belgium J DEQUEKER, MD, FRCP ED, professor BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL 7 mAy 1977 1203 o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.1 .6 0 7 0 .1 2 0 3 o n 7 M a y 1 9 7 7 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ BRITISH MEICAL JOURNAL- 7 MAY 1977 FIG 1-(Left) Jan Rombauts: Christ appearing to St Peter. Leuven, Stedehik Museum. Detail (above) shows signs of longstanding rheumatoid arthritis in Christ's right hand. FIG 2-(Right) Joos (Justus) van Gent: Federigo de Montefeltre. Urbino, Ducal Palace. Detail (above) shows arthritis in proximal interphalangeal joint of left index finger. FIG 3-Jan van Eyck: J7ohn IV, Duke of Brabant. Rotterdam, Museum Boymanns- van Beuningen Swan-neck and bouton- niere deformities of the fingers of the right r hand may be seen in this drawing. * :~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. .;* '.. ......... FIG 4-(Right) Jacob Jordaens: The painter'sfamily. Madrid, Prado. Detail (above) shows housemaid's hands; second and third metacarpal and A proximal interphalangeal joints are~~~+4 ~~~~~swollen. *1 ~ ~~~~~~~FIG5-(Right) Jan Gossaert (Mabuse): The donators. Brussels, NationalMuseum. Detail (below) shows decI ~~~~~~~~~formities of man's left hand. I 1204 o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.1 .6 0 7 0 .1 2 0 3 o n 7 M a y 1 9 7 7 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL 7 MAY 1977 1205 FIG 6-Jan Steen: The sick woman. Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum. ~~~~~~~~~4 j FIG 7-Jan van Eyck: Holy virgin with Canon van der Paele. Bruges, Gemeentemuseum. portrait of a woman (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam) and in the painting of a man with a rosary (National Gallery, London), both of which are attributed to Gossaert. The monoarthritis of the proximal interphalangeal joint of Federigo de Montefeltre might be due to tuberculous arthritis; gout; or a variant of the so-called seronegative peripheral arthritis that is seen in Reiter's disease, arthritis associated with gastrointestinal disease, psoriasis, and ankylosing spondylitis. In all these conditions except tuberculous arthritis, however, the proximal interphalangeal joint is rarely affected. In tuberculous arthritis tumour albus or spina ventosa is typical. The polyarthritis of the small hand joints seen in four paintings was present or visible in only one hand and not with certainty in the other. The feet were visible in only one painting and there they were normal. Therefore there was no absolutely convincing evidence of symmetrical rheumatoid arthritis. All but one of the people with arthritis were men, which is in contrast with the normal female :male ratio of rheumatoid arthritis. Although I looked for arthritis in the work of other Renais- sance painters, and that of Breughel, van Dyck, Rembrandt, Jerom Bosch, Rubens, and David, I found no more arthritic deformities. It is not due to chance that people with arthritis are shown in Flemish paintings but not in those of the Italian Renaissance. The Flemish painters were portraitists with a feeling for natural scenes, which they liked to reproduce in a realistic, detailed way. They also often included in their paintings a portrait of their patrons, and, quite accidently, some of the rheumatic signs have been found in these portraits of patrons. The painters of the Italian Renaissance had more fantasy and paid less attention to detail, and their pictures were more lively. It is thus less likely that rheumatic lesions would be found in their paintings. Although none of the described deformities or swellings are indisputable examples of rheumatoid arthritis, they do at least suggest that the Flemish painters must have been confronted with rheumatoid-like lesions in their models. And this casts doubt on the general belief that rheumatoid arthritis has arisen comparatively recently. I am grateful to Professor R Van Schoutte, laboratory of art, Universite Catholique Louvain, for his critical advice and to Mr A Rununens for the excellent photographic reproductions. References I Short, C L, Arthritis and Rheumatism, 1974, 17, 193. 2 Caughey, D E, Annals of the Rheumatic Diseases, 1974, 33, 77. 3 Snorrason, E, Acta Medica Scandinavica, 1952, 142, suppl No 266, p 115. ' Boyle, J A, and Buchanan, W W, Clinical Rheumatology. Philadelphia, F A Davis, 1971. What are the long-term dangers for athletes who take anabolic steroids? Hepatocellular carcinoma has been described in patients after long- term ingestion of anabolic steroids, usually for the treatment of aplastic anaemia, and this must be considered as a risk in athletes.' Reversible hypertension2 and testicular atrophy with impotence and azoospermia have also been reported. Cholestatic jaundice is another side effect,3 but is rarely severe and is often only biochemically evident. Finally, acne is common and masculinisation frequent in women. ' Farnel, G C, et al, Lancet, 1975, 1, 430. 'Freed, D L J, et al, British MedicalJournal, 1975, 2, 471. ' Perez-Mera, R A, and Shields, C E, New England Journal of Medicine, 1962, 267, 1137. What is the treatment for a naevus in childhood? I presume that this refers to melanocytic naevi. Treatment may be necessary for three reasons: (a) cosmetic, (b) malignant change, and (c) malignant potential. The first is the most common. A parent is usually worried about an unsightly naevus on an exposed area. There are no general rules about the timing of removal, and each case must be treated on its own merits. It is tricky to give a child under 10 years old a local anaesthetic, but general anaesthesia is not indicated for the removal of a trivial skin lesion. Unless there is noticeable enlargement of the lesion with body growth, delayed excision (under local anaes- thetic) seems preferable. Liaison between practitioner and plastic surgeon may be necessary in borderline problems. Malignant change in a naevus is quite exceptional before puberty, and is rarely a cause for concem. Nevertheless, sudden increase in size, change in colour, bleeding, and ulceration all call for prompt excision and microscopic examination. The experienced doctor should be able to distinguish these from the phase of growth, associated with papillation and hyperkeratosis, which often occurs in naevi in late childhood and adolescence. Malignant change may occur in a few large pigmented naevi that are present at birth. Sometimes surgical removal of such large birth marks is not feasible, but a plastic surgeon should advise soon after birth. There is still considerable controversy whether trauma starts malignant change. There are not enough surgeons to remove all naevi on soles and areas exposed to friction, but I have found that the parents of children who worry about these are reassured only by the removal of the lesion. o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.1 .6 0 7 0 .1 2 0 3 o n 7 M a y 1 9 7 7 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_7szsdm7eb5fuplucu7gcjbzfve	----	The University of Brighton Skip to main navigation Skip to search Skip to main content Welcome to The University of Brighton Explore profiles, expertise and research at The University of Brighton Search as: concept matching text Advanced search 1210 Profiles 69 Organisational Units 49 Equipment 189 Projects 19260 Research output 3162 Activities 878 Student theses The University of Brighton research portal Welcome to the University of Brighton's database of research and enterprise including researcher profiles, activities, outputs, projects and our groups and centres. Our research and enterprise activities tackle global challenges, solve practical problems and seek to improve people’s lives and environments. We foster a vibrant, agile research community; supporting our established experts and nurturing the next generation of talent from our thriving postgraduate and early career researchers. Collaborations and top research areas from the last five years Click dots and donuts to bring up details or Select a country from the list Dive into details Select a country to view shared publications and projects Close University (1) Centres (15) Groups (36) School (14) Department (2) 1 results Name (ascending) Name(descending) Export search results Search results University of Brighton Organisational unit: University Powered by Pure, Scopus & Elsevier Fingerprint Engine™ © 2021 Elsevier B.V. We use cookies to help provide and enhance our service and tailor content. By continuing you agree to the use of cookies Log in to Pure About web accessibility The University of Brighton contact form 
work_7t4fowj4mfcijpmqwdy5vmp3le	----	renq67106 181..375 Monica Azzolini. The Duke and the Stars: Astrology and Politics in Renaissance Milan. I Tatti Studies in Italian Renaissance History. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013. xiii + 370 pp. $49.95. ISBN: 978-0-674-06663-2. The origins of this book lie in an encounter with the Fondo astrologi of the State Archives in Milan. This collection, devised in the eighteenth century and later redistributed over other parts of the Milan archive, documents the use of astrology by the fifteenth-century Sforza princes, and formed the basis of Ferdinando Gabotto’s pioneering studies and text editions on the subject (1889–91). Revisiting this tantalizingly rich source, Monica Azzolini has finally produced what Gabotto never gave us: a book-length monograph on the astrological engagements of five Milan dukes and one duchess. In her introduction, Azzolini lays out the two ways in which her research contributes to the field of Renaissance history. First of all, she sets out to make a difference in the way we narrate political history: ‘‘Italian Renaissance leaders may have been cunning, calculating men driven by personal and dynastic ambitions, but this did not make them immune from embracing the worldview of their contemporaries’’ (2). Secondly, the author intends to make a difference to our knowledge of the history of Renaissance astrology. Over the past few decades, our knowledge of the social and technical aspects of Renaissance astrology has been considerably advanced by scholars like John North, Patrick Curry, Sophie Page, Jean-Patrice Boudet, Germana Ernst, and Gunther Oestmann, as well as Robert Zoller’s underacknowledged group of professional astrologers studying the techniques of premodern astrology. Only rarely, however, does one get the opportunity to inspect Renaissance astrologers’ private correspondences and prognostications, as Azzolini has done. Starting out with a focus on astrology as an academic science, chapter 1 also takes advantage of a student notebook to reconstruct the kind of astral science that was imparted at the local studium of Pavia. On this basis, the four subsequent chapters take different Sforza dukes as exempla for different aspects of their adoption of astrological consulting: nuptial and pedagogical planning, political strategy, medical care, and the almost obsessive authorization of desire per puncto de astrologia. By casting the courtly client rather than the astrologer as its protagonist, The Duke and the Stars forms a fine counterpart to Anthony Grafton’s succesful Cardano’s Cosmos (1999). In the course of four elegantly written chapters, Azzolini 229REVIEWS This content downloaded from 157.193.001.134 on July 31, 2017 01:29:58 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). gives us important insight into the complex social dynamics and negotiations surrounding the prince’s relation to the astrologers, and the way in which this formed an integral part of Renaissance political practice. Azzolini also pulls off another remarkable feat: in her capable hands, lengthy discussions of the arcane techniques deployed by Renaissance astrologers actually become fun and an integral part of the microhistorical approach to past actors that she favors. There is really only one point where Azzolini’s timely study fails to open new ground. By adopting the well-worn economic metaphors of ‘‘information,’’ ‘‘market-place,’’ ‘‘circulation,’’ and ‘‘consumption,’’ Azzolini effectively asks the reader to commit to disputed methodological approaches to astrology. Throughout the book runs the assumption that astrology really does not work, that it thrives on psychological anxiety and social crisis, that much of its attractiveness revolves around the absence of a better alternative (cf. Malinowski’s infamous analysis of magic), that princes ultimately did not take it seriously as a form of prophecy or truth-telling (in the sense of Marcel Detienne and Michel Foucault), and that those who did paid a severe price for doing so. The problem with these presuppositions is not that they are wrong: they are presuppositions precisely because they are unprovable, and hence beyond right or wrong. They do, however, tend to obscure those aspects of Renaissance astrology that are not about power/knowledge (cf. Galeazzo Maria Sforza’s fascinatingly delicate articulation of the sociopolitical challenges of astrology, 126 sqq.). They also seem to limit our options for integrating this book in a longue dur�ee story of astrology’s credibility to the older narrative of astrology dying under the conceptual and practical breakthroughs in mankind’s mastery over nature (i.e., the Scientific Revolution). Despite my methodological qualms, this is a magnificent achievement. I know of no existing historical study that gets us closer to the relation between the Renaissance prince and the astrologer (including Pierre Brind’Amour’s overlooked book on Nostradamus), making this an incontournable point of reference for anyone who is interested in courtly knowledge economies of the Renaissance. STEVEN VANDEN BROECKE Ghent University RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY230 This content downloaded from 157.193.001.134 on July 31, 2017 01:29:58 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 
work_a6z2p2e6avecrndtr24rrdrjre	----	VOL16_1.CHP:Corel VENTURA Reviews Artistic Exchange and Cultural Translation in the Italian Renaissance City, eds. Stephen J. Campbell and Stephen J. Milner. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. xiv, 371 pp., 82 ill., 1 table. ISBN 0-5218-2688-8. US.$ 95. This exciting volume appears following a conference (12–13 November 1999) at the National Gallery, London, that accompanied the exhibit “Florence and the 1470s: Contexts and Contrasts,” curated by Pat Rubin and Alison Wright. Al- though many of the collection’s twelve essays do have a link to Florence, its focus stretches geographically from the duchy of Milan to the kingdom of Naples, and chronologically from 1400 to 1550. The editors state that the book aims at the revision of Burckhardtian historiography, substituting an analysis of cultural exchange for the traditional “taxonomy of national culture” (p. 2). This tradition is impossible to uphold in the face of a peninsula awash with differentiation. The reference to “translation” in the volume’s title seeks to reveal the strategies and circumstances of differentiation employed by Italian cities through the vestiges of artistic influence, literary imitation, religious orthodoxy and clientage in sociopolitical relations. The volume divides into three sections, each pertaining to an issue linked with “translation”. The first section, “How to Translate,” contains essays that show how the requests of clients, often geopolitically defined, are transformed by artists based on their own need for continuous patronage or the demands of popularity. In particular, Shelley E. Zuraw’s chapter deconstructing Mino da Fiesole’s construction of a tomb for Cardinal Niccolò Forteguerri († 1473) shows the integration of Florentine tomb design with Roman sepulchral iconography spurred by the change in status faced by the deceased cardinal’s family. Following Zuraw, Luke Syson presents Bertoldo di Giovanni, an instructor in the famed Medici sculpture garden, as aiding Lorenzo il Magnifico in creating a “Florentine visual vernacular” (p. 124) through his dissemination of Donatello’s models. In the second section, “Regional Identities and the Encounter with Florence,” three essays reveal the varied relationships that Medicean Florence had with surrounding states. Stephen J. Milner explores the Medici appropriation of a Pistoiese commission established to build a domestic sepulchral monument to the same Cardinal Forteguerri. Milner shows how the commission evolves to become part of Lorenzo’s attempt to assert personal control over the subject city during the 1470s. Writing from another perspective, Stephen J. Campbell’s chapter suggests that the unlegitimated Lorenzo sought to emulate the practices of Ferrara’s Duke Ercole d’Este, as one who carved a seigniorial state out of a papal vicariate. This essay suggests quite persuasively that historians re-evaluate their current conceptions of centre and periphery. Georgia Clarke presents the interest- ing case of Giovanni II Bentivoglio: a man whose enterprises balanced the cultural translation of courtly and all’antica motifs with the influence of several neigh- bouring states, while maintaining a bolognese image throughout. Other essays by Deborah L. Krohn and Bruce L. Edelstein round out the section by providing discussions of the translation of political identities in the artistic portrayal of civic hagiography and landscape design respectively. The third section, “Negotiating the Cultural Other,” includes three essays that examine attempts to include traditionally alien groups and topics in the orthodox city. Morten Steen Hansen shows how an Armenian merchant in Ancona sym- bolically submitted himself to contemporary political powers through ecclesias- tical artistic patronage, simultaneously asserting his conversion and heterodox identity. Brian A. Curran illuminates the extensive, but frequently ignored, relics of interest in Egyptianism that remain in Rome from the pontificates of Alexander VI to Leo X. Christopher S. Celenza returns the volume’s focus to Florence in his examination of Marsilio Ficino’s journey from the intellectual centre to the periphery, as his study of Platonic sources continued into the 1490s, growing more esoteric and further at odds with the Savonarolan regime. Confraternity enthusiasts will find with pleasure a couple of essays that relate directly to their field. Michelle O’Malley’s contribution discussing the negotia- tion of artistic subject between clients and artists describes, though briefly, the experiences of a few sodalities, while Megan Holmes examines the increased demand for personal devotional portraits of the Madonna, through an investiga- tion of the workshop of the Lippi and Pesellino Imitator during the late Quattro- cento. This volume provides a fascinating entrée into the diversity of Italian cities and the creativity they and their inhabitants exercised to meet a variety of demands. Campbell and Milner should be congratulated for organizing a well-re- searched collection of essays that happily concludes with a valuable “Selected Bibliography” (pp. 355–66). Jennifer Mara DeSilva Department of History University of Toronto 24 Confraternitas 16:1 
work_abyopwfy7bdqrmyjftzhera3ta	----	University of Groningen Post-Secularism in a World-Historical Light Schewel, Benjamin Published in: Religions DOI: 10.3390/rel9050139 IMPORTANT NOTE: You are advised to consult the publisher's version (publisher's PDF) if you wish to cite from it. Please check the document version below. Document Version Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Publication date: 2018 Link to publication in University of Groningen/UMCG research database Citation for published version (APA): Schewel, B. (2018). Post-Secularism in a World-Historical Light: The Axial Age Thesis as an Alternative to Secularization. Religions, 9(5), [139]. https://doi.org/10.3390/rel9050139 Copyright Other than for strictly personal use, it is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Take-down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please contact us providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Downloaded from the University of Groningen/UMCG research database (Pure): http://www.rug.nl/research/portal. For technical reasons the number of authors shown on this cover page is limited to 10 maximum. Download date: 06-04-2021 https://doi.org/10.3390/rel9050139 https://research.rug.nl/en/publications/postsecularism-in-a-worldhistorical-light(4045fe4d-ce85-4ac4-af2c-963dfe6c9dd6).html https://doi.org/10.3390/rel9050139 religions Article Post-Secularism in a World-Historical Light: The Axial Age Thesis as an Alternative to Secularization Benjamin Schewel 1,2 1 Centre for Religion, Conflict and the Public Domain, University of Groningen, Groningen 9712 GK, The Netherlands; bbs9g@virginia.edu 2 Institute for Advanced Studies in Culture, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, VA 22903, USA Received: 5 March 2018; Accepted: 4 April 2018; Published: 24 April 2018 ���������� ������� Abstract: The secularization thesis claims that religion will lose its public influence as the forces of modernity advance. This hypothesis has long functioned as a paradigm within the humanities and social sciences. However, due to the apparent “resurgence” of publicly influential religion throughout the world in recent years, scholars have recognized that a “straightforward narrative of progress from the religious to the secular” is no longer viable. I describe the current state of narrative perplexity regarding the changing place of religion in the modern world as the “post-secular problematic.” The aim of this article is to examine the contours of one specific post-secular narrative of religious change—the one that has crystallized around the concept of the axial age—and consider how it can be used to reconceptualize the public role of religion in the modern world. Keywords: religion; axial age; secularism; post-secular; public religion; religious history 1. Introduction As classically articulated, the secularization thesis claims that religion will lose its public influence as the forces of modernity advance. This is one of the few hypotheses to have achieved “a truly paradigmatic status” within the modern social sciences and humanities (Casanova 1994). Yet, the secularization thesis has recently fallen into disrepute. The main cause of this has been an apparent “resurgence” of publicly influential religion throughout the world.1 As a result, contemporary scholars increasingly acknowledge that a “straightforward narrative of progress from the religious to the secular” is no longer viable (Asad 2003, p. 1). There is little agreement, however, about how to tell a better story of modern religious change. Maybe secularization theory was basically right and the public resurgence of religion is only a last-ditch effort by religious believers to halt their own demise. Perhaps the modern world is simply transitioning from one stage of religious history to the next. Alternatively, modernity might be a kind of religious disaster that arose because humanity left the true religious path behind. Or maybe “religion” never existed at all, but is simply a category constructed by the modern Westerners and then projected outward onto everyone else. Well-regarded thinkers actively argue for these and other narrative perspectives today. I describe the current state of narrative perplexity regarding the changing place of religion in the modern world as the “post-secular problematic.” In a recent book, I developed a typology of the major narratives being advanced in this context (Schewel 2017). The aim of this article is somewhat different. 1 See (Thomas 2005). Demographic studies that demonstrate the enduringly high levels of global religious belief and critical studies that expose the many class-based and Eurocentric elements of secularization theory have also played an important role. See (Philpott 2009; Asad 2003). Religions 2018, 9, 139; doi:10.3390/rel9050139 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/2077-1444/9/5/139?type=check_update&version=1 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel9050139 Religions 2018, 9, 139 2 of 7 It examines the contours of one specific post-secular narrative of religious change—the one that has crystallized around the concept of the axial age—and considers how it can be used to reconceptualize the public role of religion in the modern world. 2. The Idea of an Axial Age German philosopher Karl Jaspers articulated the concept of an axial age in 1949.2 Rejecting the claim that Christianity constitutes the singular spiritual axis of history, he argued that history’s true spiritual axis lies in the collection of religious-philosophical movements that erupted throughout Eurasia during the first millennium BCE. “The most extraordinary events,” he writes, “are concentrated during this period . . . ” Confucius and Lao-tse were living in China, all the schools of Chinese philosophy came into being [ . . . ] India produced the Upanishads and Buddha and, like China, ran the whole gamut of philosophical possibilities down to scepticism, to materialism, sophism and nihilism; in Iran Zarathustra taught a challenging view of the world as a struggle between good and evil; in Palestine the prophets made their appearance, from Elijah, by way of Isaiah and Jeremiah to Deutero-Isaiah; Greece witnessed the appearance of Homer, of the philosophers—Parmenides, Heraclitus and Plato—of the tragedians, Thucydides and Archimedes. Everything implied by these names developed almost simultaneously in China, India, and the West. (Jaspers 1953, p. 2) Jaspers describes these movements as “axial” because they collectively established “the fundamental categories within which we still think today,” as well as the philosophical and religious traditions “by which human beings still live” (Jaspers 1953, p. 2). For even later movements, such as Christianity, Islam, Mahayana Buddhism, neo-Confucianism, and later the Protestant Reformation and the Italian Renaissance, continued operating within the basic parameters set by the movements of the axial age. He locates the axial age alongside three other major historical turning points. “Four times,” he explains, “man seems . . . to have started out from a new basis” (Jaspers 1953, p. 24). The first happened during the early days of human life, when the development of sophisticated tools and the domestication of fire propelled the global spread of humanity. The second began around 3000 BCE, when the first urban-imperial civilizations arose in the Fertile Crescent, and later in the Indus and Yellow River valleys. The third took place during the first millennium BCE, when resonant religious-philosophical movements erupted in Greece, Israel, Persia, India, and China. Finally, marking the fourth turning point, new scientific and technological powers created a densely interconnected world order. Jaspers places these four turning points within a broad account of the twofold arch of historical progress: The history of mankind visible to us took, so to speak, two breaths. The first led from the Promethean Age via the ancient civilisations to the Axial Period and its consequences. The second started with the scientific-technological, the new Promethean Age and may lead, through constructions that will be analogous to the organisation and planning of the ancient civilisations, into a new, second Axial Period, to the final process of becoming-human, which is still remote and invisible to us . . . . [And] whereas the first breath was, as it were, split up into several parallel ones, the second breath is being taken by mankind as a whole. (Jaspers 1953, p. 25) 2 Eugene Halton demonstrated that John Stuart-Glennie independently developed the deeply resonant idea of a first millennium BCE “moral revolution” seventy-five years before Jaspers articulated the idea of an axial age. See (Halton 2014). Religions 2018, 9, 139 3 of 7 This “two breaths” model clarifies why Jaspers considers the socio-spiritual revolutions of the first millennium BCE to be the axis of history. They culminated the arch of civilizational development that had been underway since the dawn of human life and set the stage for the next arc of civilizational development, which will likely culminate in a similar process of collective socio-spiritual ferment. 3. An Axial Vision of Human History Before considering how various thinkers use the axial age thesis to reframe debates about the role of religion in modern public life, it may be helpful to examine in greater detail the broad vision of religious history that they have put forth. To be clear, axial age theorists—which include Jürgen Habermas, Robert Bellah, Charles Taylor, Marshall G.S. Hodgson, Shmuel Eisenstadt, and Samuel Huntington—describe aspects of religious history quite differently from one another. Yet when one considers their arguments as a whole, a common historical framework rooted in the four major periods of socio-spiritual transition that Jaspers identifies—early humanity, archaic civilization, the axial age, and the modern breakthrough—begins to emerge. 3.1. Tribal Societies and the Religion of Total Integration The axial story of history begins with an analysis of tribal religious life. Tribal societies claimed that their social order emanates from the structure of reality itself. Or, as Habermas puts it, they bound “the collective identity of . . . the tribe to the cosmic order” (Habermas 1985, p. 56). Robert Bellah further explains how tribal societies used ritual to sustain their integrated socio-cosmic vision. For lacking external symbolic systems like writing in which to store their culture, ritual provided the only plausible means by which early peoples could create and maintain a meaningful world (Bellah 2011, p. 131). Chronologically, tribal groups spread throughout Afro-Eurasia and some areas of the Pacific by around 30,000 BCE, and throughout the Americas by around 12,000 BCE. 3.2. Archaic Empires and the Religion of Myth The central feature of the archaic social order was the appearance of urban, imperial states that justified their authority through world integrating myths. Bellah argues that myths originally arose to support tribal ritual activity. He offers the example of the Brazilian Kalapalo tribe, which used acts of mythic narration as part of their ritual system (Bellah 2011, p. 139). However, as the size and complexity of societies grew, face-to-face ritual could no longer serve as the primary social glue. Early archaic societies managed this dilemma by detaching myth from ritual and binding it to the mediating function of a divinely chosen leader. And as the scope of archaic societies continued to expand, so too to did the mythic status of this divinely chosen leader. In this light, Bellah argues that the archaic period was characterized by the transition, first, from large tribes into chiefdoms that united several tribal units, such as we find in the Polynesian islands, and, then, from large chiefdoms into expansive empires of divine kingship, such as we find among the Egyptians and the Shang and Zhou Chinese (Bellah 2011, p. 183). Archaic empires were organized around the idea that only the divine king could harmonize humanity with the divine order. Each divine king thus felt compelled to substantiate his mediating claim by glorifying his own imperial rule. This glorifying imperative stimulated expansionist military endeavors, as well as efforts to construct monumental edifices, such as the Egyptian pyramids (Bellah 2011, p. 215). Empires of divine kingship emerged in Mesopotamia, Egypt, the Indus valley, and Northern China from around 3000–2000 BCE. Similar empires emerged in the Americas from around 500–1500 CE. 3.3. The Axial Age and the Rise of Religious-Metaphysical Worldviews The major axial systems—which include Greek philosophy, Jewish prophecy, Zoroastrianism, Buddhism, Upanishadic Hinduism, Confucianism, and Taoism—differed from one another in significant ways. Yet they all displayed a novel reliance upon rationally articulated and universally Religions 2018, 9, 139 4 of 7 applicable religious-metaphysical worldviews (Habermas 1984, p. 254). Texts such as the Bible, the Analects, the Pali Cannon, and the Platonic Dialogues became the repositories for these new worldviews, and specialized interpretive communities formed in order to unravel and apply their ideas. Thus, as Charles Taylor notes, it was during the axial age that “monks, Bhikkus, sanyassi, devotees of some avatar or God [first] strike out on their own” and start “unprecedented modes of sociality: initiation groups, sects of devotees, the sangha, monastic orders and so on.” (Taylor 2012, p. 37). The first true traditions of scientific, philosophical, and theological inquiry emerged in these spaces. One key characteristic of the axial age was the appearance of empires that used religious-metaphysical worldviews to unite their unprecedentedly vast domains. Examples of such empires include the Achaemenid, the Alexandrian, the Mauryan, and the Ming (Voegelin 2000). This dynamic continued until an interlinking network of five domains of religious-metaphysical influence, which we can respectively describe as Hindu, Buddhist, Confucian, Christian, and Islamic, had emerged. Of course, other religious-metaphysical systems, such as Judaism, Zoroastrianism, and Greek thought, continued to influence this wider Afro-Eurasian nexus, albeit now in either a more secondary (Judaism and Zoroastrianism) or diffuse (Greek thought) form. Regardless, by around 1000 CE, a single Afro-Eurasian ecumene of religious-metaphysical civilizations had appeared.3 No indigenous axial movements arose in the Americas. 3.4. Revolutions and Multiple Modernities Axial age theorists recognize that the profound cultural transformation that took place in Western Europe from around 1600 to 1900 fundamentally altered the course of human history. This modern cultural transformation involved at least five major subsidiary revolutions: the Scientific Revolution; the Enlightenment; the Industrial Revolution; the popular political revolutions of the United States, France, and Russia; and the emergence of a global political economy (Hodgson 1993, pp. 44–45). The combined impact of these revolutions collectively disrupted the axial ecumene of religious-metaphysical civilizations. Each axial system provided a framework within which diverse cultures, peoples, and political units could navigate the increasingly cosmopolitan contexts of medieval Afro-Eurasia. The modern revolutions undermined the integrating function of the axial systems, as least as it had been traditionally maintained, by establishing radically new socio-spiritual conditions. Christianity was the first axial system to bear the brunt of modernity’s disruptive impact, though the others soon experienced a similar fate. Nevertheless, the religious-metaphysical traditions stemming from the axial age did not simply disappear, as classical secularization theorists had hypothesized. To the contrary, they interacted with new modernizing forces in order to create diverse modern social configurations, each of which exhibited distinctive patterns of public religious life. Shmuel Eisenstadt helpfully describes this pattern, whereby diverse modernizing societies end up wrestling with “the basic tensions inherent in the modern program . . . more in terms of their own . . . Axial religions than in those of European Enlightenment,” as “multiple modernities.”4 4. Religion’s Future in an Axial Light Axial age theorists have offered three normative frameworks for addressing the public role of religion in the post-axial context of multiple modernities. The first is represented by Samuel Huntington, who argues that, in the post-Cold War period, “a civilization-based world order is emerging: societies sharing cultural affinities cooperate with each other; efforts to shift societies from one civilization to another are unsuccessful; and countries group themselves around the lead or core states of their civilization” (Huntington 1996, p. 20). 3 The Afro-Eurasian ecumene centered upon the territories and networks of Islamdom. See (Hodgson 1993, pp. 98, 117, 114, 106). 4 See (Eisenstadt 2000a, 2003). Religions 2018, 9, 139 5 of 7 Drawing explicitly on the axial age thesis and Eisenstadt’s complementary framework of multiple modernities, he mentions six major contemporary civilizations—the Sinic, Japanese, Hindu, Islamic, Western, and Latin American, African, and Theravada—and argues that, in every instance, “religion is a central defining characteristic” (Huntington 1996, pp. 44–48). He concludes that we should abandon the goal of establishing universal standards for these civilizations, particularly on issues concerning the role of religion in the public sphere. Instead, if we are to avoid falling into a “global war of civilizations,” we must acknowledge the “multi-civilizational character of global politics” and find mutually agreeable ways of cooperating with one another despite our deep socio-spiritual differences (Huntington 1996, p. 21). Jürgen Habermas’s vision of post-metaphysical discourse constitutes a second approach. He argues that all modern peoples should see the emerging global public sphere as a space in which diverse religious-metaphysical worldviews can advance their respective insights. Such a public sphere should not align with any particular religious-metaphysical tradition. Habermas notes that naturalism constitutes its own religious-metaphysical tradition. Hence, its advocates must show the same public restraint as those who espouse some form of religion. The liberal framework of freedoms and rights established in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights provides the framework within which post-metaphysical public discourse should initially proceed. Yet the palate of concepts should expand as diverse religious-metaphysical systems make their respective contributions (Habermas 2008a, pp. 110, 121–22, 130–41). Karl Jaspers presents a third option. Technological and economic forces, he argues, are rapidly fusing humanity together into a single civilizational unit. But humanity does not yet possess a socio-spiritual framework that can address the many challenges and opportunities that the processes of globalization present. Liberalism is too morally and spiritually truncated to accomplish this task, while the religious-metaphysical worldviews stemming from the axial and post-axial period are too laden by their own histories and traditions. Hence, our only hope is that a new and more globally oriented socio-spiritual framework will emerge, an event that Jaspers likens to a second axial age. Although the reality of this second axial age must remain “beyond our powers of imagination” until it has actually appeared, Jaspers envisions two possibilities. First, it might arise as the fruit of a new and universal pattern of inquiry into the spiritual dimensions of reality and human existence. Or, second, it could be catalyzed by a “fresh revelation from God,” which is to say by the appearance of some kind of new, globally oriented religious movement (Jaspers 1953, pp. 97, 127, 227). Each of these three visions of religion’s role in humanity’s future aligns with the basic story of history that unfolds around the concept of the axial age. Yet they also each envision quite different trajectories. The Huntington framework sees religion as a major civilizational fault line that must be managed if we are to avoid a third world war. Habermas describes religion as a source of insight that can be deployed within a still largely liberal pattern of global public discourse. And Jaspers considers religion to be a wellspring of transformation that can help create a new world order. 5. The Prospects of Transformation Each approach provides important insights. However, Jaspers’s vision of a second axial age offers the most far-reaching reconceptualization of the role of religion in the modern public sphere. It posits that even the kind of modified liberalism that Habermas recommends cannot provide humanity with a framework for world order. It also suggests that humanity’s diverse socio-spiritual traditions of the world are still too potent to simply be subsumed by liberalism. Hence, if we want to envision a future in which humanity avoids sinking into the kind of relativistic realpolitik that Huntington’s “clash of civilizations” thesis suggests, Jaspers argues that we have no choice but to conclude that a new socio-spiritual order stands on our collective horizon. This is the aim of Jaspers’s concept of a second axial age, to orient our minds toward the emergence of something new, or to convince us, as Hodgson puts it, that “the future is still open” (Hodgson 1993, p. 230). Religions 2018, 9, 139 6 of 7 One hesitation that some readers may have when considering the viability of Jaspers’s transformation-based framework concerns its potential lack of practicality. Why should we spend time thinking about a second axial age when there are still so many empirical and practical questions concerning the role of religion in modern public life that need to be addressed? I see at least three plausible responses to this concern, one conceptual, one empirical, and the other normative. First, adopting the kind of transformation-based framework that Jaspers suggests encourages us to develop ways of thinking about the public role of religion that go beyond the longstanding secular-religious divide. The “post-secular” is one such concept that Habermas has productively employed, as is Eisenstadt’s notion of “multiple modernities” and Taylor’s vision of modern Western culture as a kind of spiritually cross-pressured “immanent frame” (Habermas 2008b; Eisenstadt 2000b; Taylor 2007). The aim of these concepts is to help us think and speak about the modern world in ways that acknowledge the central and enduring role of religion in public life. Second, a transformation-based vision of modern religion encourages new kinds of empirical analyses. Contemporary discussions of public religion tend to focus on the efforts of religious actors to either win elections, influence policies, or disrupt established political and economic systems through violent and coercive means (e.g., terrorism and revolution). Of course, scholars operating within a transformation-based framework would appreciate these lines of inquiry. But they would also expand the range of subjects considered to include efforts of religious actors to constructively transform the patterns of collective existence upon which public life depends. In a recent book, several authors examined the worldwide Bahá’í community in this light (Cameron and Schewel 2018). One of the basic arguments they made was that the specific strategies that the Bahá’í community employed in its efforts to, for example, contribute to the UN discourse on gender equality, promote a conversation amongst policymakers and practitioners about the relationship between science, religion, and development, and facilitate the global resettlement of Iranian Bahá’ís refugees, only make sense in light of the community’s broader project of contributing to the creation of a materially and spiritually united world civilization.5 Similar analyses—which frame publically oriented religious efforts in terms of the broader visions of transformation that lie behind them—could be undertaken with regard to the efforts of other religious communities, whether historically or today. Finally, third and relatedly, adopting a Jaspersian framework of transformation reorients normative debates. Instead of focusing only on questions concerning the role of religion in a liberal public sphere, theorists would additionally consider how insights from different religious traditions could be used to reconceptualize the very relationships—between individuals, communities, institutions, and reality as a whole—that sustain public life. The efforts of Alasdair MacIntyre to use the Thomist-Benedictine virtue tradition to critique and reorient modern moral discourse can be interpreted as an early version of this approach, as can John Hick’s attempt to establish an inter-religiously valid account of the spiritual good (MacIntyre 2007; Hick 2005). Nevertheless, such analyses provide only a glimpse of the vast project of normative inquiry that could be pursued in relation to the full spiritual heritage of humankind. Regardless of where one comes down within the broader conversation about the nature and consequences of the axial age, the broader point remains that our visions of humanity’s past and future matter when thinking about the role of religion in modern public life. They shape the way we understand ongoing patterns of religious change and frame the possibilities we see for public religious influence today. Reflections on the past and the future accordingly have a very practical role to play in the broader project of reconceptualizing public religion. The growing body of literature surrounding the axial age thesis should be interpreted in this light; it attempts to reconceptualize the public role of modern religion by retelling the story of religion’s past and future trajectories. 5 See in particular (Cameron and Schewel 2018, pp. 1–12, 163–90). Religions 2018, 9, 139 7 of 7 Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References Asad, Talal. 2003. Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Bellah, Robert N. 2011. Religion in Human Evolution: From the Paleolithic to the Axial Age. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Cameron, Geoffrey, and Benjamin Schewel, eds. 2018. Religion and Public Discourse in an Age of Transition: Reflections on Bahá’í Practice and Thought. Waterloo: Wilfred Laurier University Press. Casanova, José. 1994. Public Religions in the Modern World. Chicago: University Of Chicago Press, p. 17. Eisenstadt, Shmuel N. 2000a. Multiple Modernities. Daedalus 129: 1–29. [CrossRef] Eisenstadt, Shmuel N. 2000b. The Reconstruction of Religious Arenas in the Framework of ‘Multiple Modernities’. Millennium—Journal of International Studies 29: 591–611. [CrossRef] Eisenstadt, Shmuel N. 2003. Comparative Civilizations and Multiple Modernities. Leiden: Brill. Habermas, Jürgen. 1984. The Theory of Communicative Action: Volume 1: Reason and the Rationalization of Society. Boston: Beacon Press. Habermas, Jürgen. 1985. The Theory of Communicative Action, Vol 2: Lifeworld & System: A Critique of Functionalist Reason. Boston: Beacon Press. Habermas, Jürgen. 2008a. Between Naturalism and Religion: Philosophical Essays. Translated by Ciaran Cronin. Malden: Polity. Habermas, Jürgen. 2008b. Secularism’s Crisis of Faith: Notes on Post-Secular Society. New Perspectives Quarterly 25: 17–29. [CrossRef] Halton, Eugene. 2014. From the Axial Age to the Moral Revolution: John Stuart-Glennie, Karl Jaspers, and a New Understanding of the Idea. London: Palgrave MacMillan. Hick, John. 2005. An Interpretation of Religion: Human Responses to the Transcendent, 2nd ed. New Haven: Yale University Press. Hodgson, Marshall G. S. 1993. Rethinking World History: Essays on Europe, Islam, and World History. Edited by Edmund Burke III. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Huntington, Samuel P. 1996. The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. New York: Simon & Schuster, p. 20. Jaspers, Karl. 1953. The Origin and Goal of History. Translated by Michael Bullock. New Haven: Yale University Press. MacIntyre, Alasdair. 2007. After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, 3rd ed. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Philpott, Daniel. 2009. Has the Study of Global Politics Found Religion? Annual Review of Political Science 12: 183–202. [CrossRef] Schewel, Benjamin. 2017. Seven Ways of Looking at Religion: The Major Narratives. New Haven: Yale University Press. Taylor, Charles. 2007. A Secular Age. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Taylor, Charles. 2012. What Was the Axial Revolution?. In The Axial Age and Its Consequences. Edited by Robert Bellah and Hans Joas. Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Thomas, Scott M. 2005. The Global Resurgence of Religion and the Transformation of International Relations: The Struggle for the Soul of the Twenty-First Century. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Voegelin, Eric. 2000. Order and History: Volume IV, The Ecumenic Age. Edited by Michael Franz. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, pp. 106–7. © 2018 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://dx.doi.org/10.5840/protosociology2007242 http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/03058298000290031201 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1540-5842.2008.01017.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1146/annurev.polisci.12.053006.125448 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction The Idea of an Axial Age An Axial Vision of Human History Tribal Societies and the Religion of Total Integration Archaic Empires and the Religion of Myth The Axial Age and the Rise of Religious-Metaphysical Worldviews Revolutions and Multiple Modernities Religion’s Future in an Axial Light The Prospects of Transformation References 
work_ad3q2s4ahjflbhfb5xst3ni4ha	----	Frédérique Verrier. Le miroir des Amazones: Amazones, viragos et guerrières dans la littérature italienne des XVe et XVIe siècles Frédérique Verrier. Le miroir des Amazones: Amazones, viragos et guerrières dans la littérature italienne des XVe et XVIe siècles Le miroir des Amazones: Amazones, viragos et guerrières dans la littèrature italienne des XVe et XVIe siècles by Frédérique Verrier Review by: Jo Ann   Cavallo Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 58, No. 1 (Spring 2005), pp. 169-171 Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the Renaissance Society of America Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1353/ren.2008.0583 . Accessed: 24/04/2014 15:31 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . The University of Chicago Press and Renaissance Society of America are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Renaissance Quarterly. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 128.59.152.213 on Thu, 24 Apr 2014 15:31:45 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucpress http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=rsa http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1353/ren.2008.0583?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Frédérique Verrier. Le miroir des Amazones: Amazones, viragos et guerrières dans la littérature italienne des XV e et XVI e siècles. Paris: L’Harmattan, 2003. 256 pp. index. bibl. €21.80. ISBN: 2–7475–5596–8. This study explores the figure of the female warrior and the question of the military aptitude of women in Italian literature of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The introduction announces that the volume’s four chapters correspond to the genres of biography, treatise, history, and epic poem, each with its distinct treatment of the question (didactic, polemical, historical, and poetic). This divi- sion is useful, albeit somewhat artificial, and thus references to works such as Castiglione’s Book of the Courtier and Domenichi’s La nobiltà delle donne are spread across various chapters. The author provides a wealth of primary sources when discussing biographies, treatises, and histories, including some lesser-known works not republished after the sixteenth century, while the treatment of the epic is less satisfactory. The first chapter opens with a description of the virago in works celebrating illustrious women by Boccaccio, Sabadino degli Arienti, and Lucrezia Marinella, and then proceeds by theme rather than by author. Verrier frequently offers insights on how perspectives regarding women can be understood as mirrors of society. For example, she finds that the positive treatment of the “rustic” virago arising from the peasantry goes beyond the “questione della donna” and is tied to a democratization of the military and the ideal of a meritocracy in military and social life (49). The second chapter covers various attitudes regarding the martial aptitude of women found in civil and military treatises. Verrier argues that increasing openness to female involvement in battle corresponds to a shifting emphasis in warfare from physical force to mental agility and astuteness. In this context, she contrasts Boccaccio’s assumption that women’s physical weakness was accompanied by an intellectual inferiority (apart from his illustrious exceptions) with later treatises in which women’s physical weakness becomes inversely the gauge of their intellectual superiority. At the same time, she notes that such an argument could give rise to ambiguities and contradictions since the very astuteness of women that make them adept in warfare could be turned around to demonstrate their falseness in all spheres of activity. In noting that texts from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries extend the figure of the Amazon to Africa, Asia, and America, Verrier points to recent dis- coveries and subsequent “récits de voyage” that describe women performing tasks traditionally reserved for men in Western European society. While she makes the important point that these alternative scenarios reveal the division of roles between the sexes to be culturally and not biologically determined, at the same time she misses the fact that such travelogues also relied on ancient accounts. The passages cited from a sixteenth century publication by Johann Boemus regarding the Egyptians (104) were not the result of recent voyages of exploration, but anecdotes from Herodotus’s Histories, available at the time in the Latin and Italian translations of Valla and Boiardo. Herodotus would have also provided a useful R E V I E W S 169 This content downloaded from 128.59.152.213 on Thu, 24 Apr 2014 15:31:45 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp reference point for the cultural relativism the author uncovers in Renaissance travel literature. The third chapter maps out the actual participation of women in military actions during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries through chronicles and con- temporary histories. Verrier addresses the problem of rape and prostitution, the presence of daughters in military campaigns, the example of women actively de- fending their besieged cities, and the progressive normalization and legitimization of firearms which allowed for a greater presence of women in the military. The information provided is useful for measuring the representations of female warriors in biographies and treatises against the historical relation of women to war. Par- ticularly fascinating were the accounts of unexceptional women who rose to defend their families and cities under siege. Verrier argues that in such cases the domestic space, the traditional realm of women, was extended to the city walls. The female warrior of the epic, occasionally mentioned in passing during the first three chapters, was the announced subject of chapter 4. The chapter title, however, indicates a different direction, that of “réductions et parades,” and indeed much of the chapter deals with miscellaneous subjects (parades, carnival, folklore, domestic battles). When Verrier does turn her attention to the epic, the treatment is disappointingly reductive. The opening paragraph anticipates her thesis: “on verra comment les poèmes épiques, malgré les libertés consenties par la fiction, font de l’expérience amazonienne une impasse et proposent aux viragos des solutions ‘bourgeoises’ de compromis” (173). This theme was discussed in Ariosto studies with regard to Bradamante’s “transformation” from intrepid warrior to dutiful wife, and Verrier neither offers new insights regarding the episode nor attempts to support her thesis through other cases. Part of the problem is an almost exclusive reliance on Ariosto. Thus a single moment from the Furioso is used to exemplify such a general statement as “Les paladines dissimulent leur chevelure pour abuser les hommes sur leur sexe, car ceux-ci refuseraient des les affronter, s’ils les savaient femmes” (93); similarly, one episode is offered to support the generalization “toute la poésie épique du XVIe siècle et du premier tiers du XVIIe siècle s’efforcera de normaliser et de féminiser les Amazones” (297). As a result, the multiplicity and richness of romance episodes are reduced to a static point of view. Boiardo and Tasso are cited along with Ariosto in the introduction, yet their epics are absent from the bibliography just as their female warriors are absent from the study (Tasso’s Clorinda is simply mentioned in passing in the initial chapter on biographies). Verses from three other epics are cited from Tomalin’s 1982 study of the warrior heroine in Italian literature. The pages on Moderata Fonte’s Tredici canti del Floridoro, while a welcome inclusion, are not placed within the larger context of the chivalric epic. The section entitled “le syndrome d’Hercule,” regarding men’s fear of pow- erful women, begins with the following affirmation: “La promotion de la femme signifie la déchéance de l’homme” (179), and goes on to relate the militarization of women to the domestication of men. Once again, the epics do not support such R E N A I S S A N C E Q U A R T E R L Y170 This content downloaded from 128.59.152.213 on Thu, 24 Apr 2014 15:31:45 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp a view. On the contrary, it is the luxurious maga and not the female warrior who “effeminizes” the knight by depriving him of his martial valor and identity. At- tention to the epic paradigms in which the female warrior is the friend/beloved/ wife on equal terms with her male counterpart would have offset the author’s insistence that in Italian Renaissance literature the militarization of the female necessarily brought about the emasculation of the male. In sum, despite the reservations stated above, I found this volume to be a valuable contribution to the “questione della donna” in fifteenth- and sixteenth- century Italy, offering a viable method of testing “representation” in literature against “reality” in non-fictional writing. Verrier not only presents a vast array of primary texts on the subject, but is interested in uncovering the various forces and ideologies at play. Although some of her assertions are more convincing than others, the volume has much to offer regarding the social and psychological mo- tives behind attitudes running through two centuries of writing about women and warfare. JO ANN CAVALLO Columbia University R E V I E W S 171 This content downloaded from 128.59.152.213 on Thu, 24 Apr 2014 15:31:45 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 
work_ajbmzakuzvaqrcjumpuvvcg5f4	----	FILOZOFIJA I DRUŠTVO XXIV (1), 2013. 293 RELIGIJSKI I FILOZOFSKI PLURALIZAM: SUSRE T ISTOKA I ZAPADA UDK : 165.742 : 297 DOI: 10.2298/FID1301293D Originalan naučni rad Hans Daiber Goethe-University Frankfurt am Main Humanism: A Tradition Common to both Islam and Europe Abstract The growing interest of the Arabs in Arabic translations from Greek since the 8th century has been interpreted as a sign ^of humanism in Islam. This is comparable to humanists in Europe who, since the 14th centu- ry, considered the Greek and Latin literature the foundation of spiritual and moral education. We will have to address the question of whether a similar ideal of education has been developed in harmony with religion in the Is- lamic cultural sphere. The perceived tension between the humanists of an- tiquity and Christianity has a parallel in the tensions between Islamic religi- osity and a rational Islamic worldview. However, there are past and present approaches to developing an educational ideal, which is comparable to the European concept of a moral shaping of the individual. The Qur’ān and Is- lamic tradition do not impede the free development of personality and cre- ative responsibility if their historicity is taken into account and if they are not elevated to an unref lected norm. Keywords Humanism, Islamic and European; education; individuality; soli- darity; free will and subordination; Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ; Fārābī; Yaḥyā IbnʿAdī; Miskawayh; Rāghib al-Iṣfahānī; Ghazzālī; Ibn Khaldūn; Renaissance of Is- lam – Italian Renaissance; Pico della Mirandola; Nahḍa; Ṭāhā Ḥusayn; Sadik J. Al-Azm; Edward W. Said; Naquib Al-Attas. The formulation of my theme seems to involve the assumption that the word “humanism” is a well defined term and includes humanity. But from history we know that humanism is also an educational program of the 12th and especially of the 14th to the 16th century, in the Ital- ian Renaissance.1 This educational program is oriented towards Ancient Greek and Roman literature.2 Among the many aspects of the concept of humanism (Rüsen 2010: 273–315) we mention here the following two: On the one hand, since Kant in the 18th century, “being human” and “dignity of man” has been understood as the sense of a rational orientated moral duty towards oneself, and legal and moral obligation towards fellow human beings (Lutz-Bachmann 2006: 370; Rüsen 2010: 297). On the other hand, hu- manism originally means our return to the exemplary antiquity. We can 1 On the humanism of the Italian Renaissance cf. the standard work by Kristeller 1973. 2 Cf. the survey in Graf 1998: 11-29; Menze/Romberg/Rieks 1974: 1218–1232. H U Ma n I s M: a T r a D I T I O n CO M M O n TO b OT H I s l a M a n D E U r O p E HA n S DA I b E R 294 take both aspects as a starting point for our analysis of the cultural his- tory of Islam and its educational policy.3 The rise of Islam was essentially shaped by its dialogue with cultures that it encountered during its expansion.4 The Arabian Peninsula be- fore Islam was the bone of contention between Rome and Persia. Since Alexander the Great in the 4th Century BC, the Hellenistic culture had spread to Persia.Islamic culture received crucial stimulation from the Iranian and, especially, from the Greek culture (Gutas1998; Felix Klein- Franke 1980),5 without thereby losing its identity. This resulted in the islamization of the Hellenistic heritage.6 In the middle of the 8th cen- tury, an Iranian named Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ had translated a Greek redac- tion of Aristotle’s Organon, based upon a Pehlevi version, as well as an Indian collection of fables. He is the author of a Mirror of Princes, the Kitāb al-adab al-kabīr, which, on the basis of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, stresses the values of human friendship and cooperation. Ibn al- Muqaffaʿs work, especially his Mirror of Princes and his collection of gnomological sayings is dominated by a sceptic-rationalistic and moral- istic tone and betrays a new evaluation of the individual; one would ex- pect from this individual solidarity and responsibility, based on religion and reason and regulated by the relation between the ruler and his sub- jects (Daiber 1996: 842; Nagy 2009a: 199–218; id.: Nagy 2009b: 285–301).7 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿs work betrays a remarkable openness to foreign knowl- edge. This can be compared with the openness of the Sassanids in Persia since the 3rd century and which continued to have an impact in Islamic times. According to the Zoroastrian-Sassanian tradition, knowledge is something universal and for this reason the Sassanid ruler Shapur I in the 3rd century and Khosrow I Anushirwan in the 6th century were in- terested in Greek astrology, astronomy and mathematics and commis- sioned the translation of works on medicine and philosophy, including logic. A member of the Nestorian Christian Church, Paulus Persa, wrote 3 On the publications about humanism in Islam and on Islamischen ‚humanists‘, who are not mentioned here completely, cf. Schöller 2001: 275–320. An inspiring and great erudition betraying an attempt to show and describe humanistic tendencies in the field of classical Arab-Islamic literature, ethics, philosophy and historiography is Goodman 2003. 4 Cf. here and on the following discussion Daiber 2012: Ch. 3. 5 It is little known that the hellenization of Islam provided important impulses even for the Arabic language (vocabulary, grammar and syntax) through translations from Greek; cf. Ullmann 2010: 31. 6 Cf. the appropriate final remark by Gätje 1985: 365f. 7 On Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ cf. Daiber 2013 r E l I G I J s K I I F I lO ZO F s K I p lU r a l I Z a M: s U s r E T I s TO K a I Z a pa Da 295 in Middle Persian and dedicated to Khosrau I, his Prolegomena to phi- losophy and logic, as well as commentaries on Aristotle’s Hermeneutics and Analytica priora. This interest in logic and science finds its continuation in the Arab world and culminates with the Caliph Hārūn ar-Rashīd (786-809) and al-Ma’mūn (813-833) in the organization of a center for scholarly books and scholars, namely in the newly founded capital of the Abbasid Em- pire, Baghdad. Christian scholars translated medical and mathemati- cal books for the Caliphs, either directly from Greek into Arabic or from Greek-Syriac, because of their practical use. Also, requirements of the Islamic religion have played an important role; I mention the determi- nation of the direction of prayer towards Mecca, the qibla, with the help of mathematics and astronomy; or the technical prerequisites of water transportation for the creation of ritual purity in mosques. Finally, the interest of Muslims in Greek thought and Greek philosophy is notewor- thy. Almost the entire work of Aristotle was translated into Arabic; as well as the political works by Plato and Neoplatonic texts by Plotinus and Proclus. This selection became important in several respects: An encyclopedic knowledge was made available, which leads to a concept of education that includes practical and theoretical knowledge. It is, moreover, focused on the contemplation of nature and of the cosmos. In addition, the actions of individuals in the community of the state be- came a central theme.There is a striking early interest in the writings of Aristotle on logic, on the categories, on hermeneutics and on the art of disputation, as well as an interest in Neoplatonic texts that assume a chain of emanations between God and the created world. The mentioned features lead us to the core of Islamic theology, to the problem of the description of an Islamic God, who, according to Koran- ic interpretation is a ‘secret’ and who means absence (ġayb) and tran- scendence.8 Since the 9th century God’s infinity in the developing Is- lamic theology is placed in relationship with the visible world through Neoplatonic emanations. For this purpose, Islamic thinkers used the so called Theology of Aristo- tle, an Arabic redaction of Plotinus’s Enneads, or they referred to a se- lection of Proclus’ Elements of Theology, known in the Middle Ages in its Latin version, the Liber de causis. The attributes of God were a con- stant subject of discussion between Islamic theologians. As early as the 8 Cf. here and on the following discussion Daiber 2012: Ch. 1, p. 40. H U Ma n I s M: a T r a D I T I O n CO M M O n TO b OT H I s l a M a n D E U r O p E HA n S DA I b E R 296 9th century, the so-called Mu’tazilites, a rationalist movement, reached a radical conclusion, drawn from the existence of a man-made and re- cited Qur’ān: the Qur’ān was not the original word of God, but on the contrary, a linguistic shaping, which originated with time – or as the Muʿtazilites formulated it: The Qur’ān was “created”. This thesis of the “createdness” of the Qur’ān, which means specifically its temporality, could not last long. Theologians instead focused more and more on the allegorical interpretation of anthropomorphic descrip- tions of God in the Koran and thus avoided the attribution of human characteristics to God. A Koranic hermeneutics was developed, which already grappled with the problem of whether a verse is to be interpret- ed literally or allegorically. This led to an awareness of the possible dis- crepancy between characters, the linguistic expression on the one side and the signified, the meaning on the other side. In the religious context of the conception of a transcendent God the linguistic expression, the term became a problem and became the subject of ongoing reflections with different, “humanistic” shapings.9 In addition, the causality of the visible world is no longer directly related to God, but rather is a result of many or even infinite number of intermediate causes – comparably to the Neo-Platonic doctrine of emanations. According to the Muʿtazilite doctrine, which is based on Aristotle’s conception of substances, God did not create the visible accidents, but the carriers of these accidents, the substances. According to the Muʿtazilite Muʿammar Ibn Abbad as- Sulamī, who died in 830 AD, the accidents are the final product of an infinite chain of determining causes, which begin with God. This Neo- platonic model saved God’s infinity, as the visible world is not deter- mined directly from God. Muʿammar’s younger contemporary Naẓẓām restricted God’s work to the nature that God has created in things. At the same time, the discussions of the Muʿtazilites in the 9th and 10th century created the necessary room for the free will of man;10 they in- tended to limit the old Arabic fatalism and Islamic Qur’ānic divine pre- destination. Man has free will to be guided by the concepts of good or evil; however, his decisions, although based on his own, follow the laws of nature, which he cannot escape. 9 Here I agree with the thesis of Carter 1997: 27–38. In this article he established this philological interest in kinds of humanism, which he called ‚philosophical hu- manism‘, ‚intellectual humanism‘, ‚literary humanism‘, ‚religious humanism‘ and ‚le- galistic humanism‘. On this cf. Schöller 2001: 290ff. 10 On the following discussion cf. Daiber 2012: Ch. 2. r E l I G I J s K I I F I lO ZO F s K I p lU r a l I Z a M: s U s r E T I s TO K a I Z a pa Da 297 The reassessment of human will is the product of a polarity between divine immanence and determination on the one hand, and transcen- dence of an infinite God on the other. The human will implies increas- ing sovereignty of the individual, who is responsible for his own deci- sions. In case the Qur’ān and prophetic tradition required an adaptation to the changing circumstances of the time, a Muslim lawyer made his judicial decisions, and responsible considerations on his own; he fol- lowed the comparative and deductive method of analogy. Authority and responsibility of the lawyer, the faqīh, originally meant the authority and responsibility of the “knowing”, the faqīh. The lawyer was in the service of the Caliph, the Deputy of God on earth, and regulated the life of the Islamic community, the umma. Here, the ethics of the individual played a dominant role in its integration with the sharīʿa and in addition adopted approaches of the already men- tioned Mirror of Princes. The critical reflection of the relationship between ruler and subject, the reassessment of the human will with regard to the freedom of man to opt for the good and to avoid the evil, culminated in the 10th century in a remarkable conception of an ideal state, developed by the philoso- pher Fārābī in his late work written in 950 and called “Principles of the Views of Residents of the Excellent City.”11 He does not offer a guide to the perfect state, but principles that govern the behavior of individuals in a world state, that is ruled by a charismatic leader, who is inspired by God and who has intellectual and rhetorical qualities; he has the task to inform his people about good and evil, enabling them to comply with the rules of a religion that turns out to be the realization, the reality of philosophical truth, of wisdom. Everyone should strive to achieve it in an endless process of alignment with God. Religion appears here as a constant challenge to reflect on the desirable good and avoidable evil. According to Fārābī, doing the good, compliance with the rules of re- ligion, is the object of the actions of man’s will, of his af ʿ āl irādīya. It arises from the human will (irāda) and is based on man’s “selection” (iḫtiyār). “Will” and “selection” are powers of the human soul and nour- ished by the divine active intellect. Reflection, volition and ethical behavior in the process of approxima- tion to God appeared as instruments of a society, which Fārābī considers 11 On details of the following discussion cf. Daiber 2010. H U Ma n I s M: a T r a D I T I O n CO M M O n TO b OT H I s l a M a n D E U r O p E HA n S DA I b E R 298 to be joined by the attribute insānīya, “humanness” across the boundar- ies between peoples and nations. The species “humanity” or “human- ness” became the basis for the peaceful coexistence of peoples and na- tions.12 This sounds like the principle of solidarity, which more than 400 years after Fārābī became a central theme in the “Introduction” (Muqa- ddima) to world history, written by the most important Islamic histori- an, Ibn Khaldūn; the principle of solidarity appears as ʿaṣabīya, a sense of community that exists among the nomads in an authentic manner; it is a prerequisite for social union. This is true not only for Muslims but for all humanity. For this reason Islamic prophecy and revelation are no longer essential pre-conditions (Daiber 2002: 43).13 We return to Fārābī. He wrote in a century that was called “the Renais- sance of Islam” (Kraemer 1986: 1ff.) because it is compared with the much later Italian Renaissance and its humanist interest in ethics. This interest in ethics was part of the reception of hellenistic scientific and philosophical heritage in Islam. Differing from the Renaissance in Islam we find in the later Italian Renaissance a stronger interest in the rhetori- cal and literary traditions of antiquity, in the art, architecture and style of the ancient world. The common interest in ethics can be an explana- tion that both in the Islamic Renaissance and in the Italian Renaissance reflections are beginning to emerge on individualism, on human digni- ty and on cosmopolitan ideas about humanity. The secretary and courtier Abū Ḥayyān at-Tauḥīdī, who died in 414/1023 and who has been called a humanist (Ibid., 212ff.), wrote a treatise on friendship (Risala f ī ṣ-Ṣadāqa wa-ṣ-ṣadīq, in Tauḥīdī 1958-60) (Ber- gé 1979). The scholar Miskawayh (Kraemer 1986: 222ff.),14 who died in 421/1030 in Isfahan and who was the librarian of the Buyid vizier Ibn al- ʿAmīd, wrote a philosophical ethics with the title “Improvement of the Characters” (al-Tahḏīb aḫlāq), in which, under the influence of Plato and Aristotle, he discussed love and friendship as the basis for harmony among people. Miskawayh has inspired Rāġib al-Iṣfahānīs ethics, which he called “Ways and Means to the Good Actions of the Law” (aḏ-Ḏarīʿa ilā Makarim aš-šarīʿa) and which influenced al-Ġazzālī (d. 505/1111) in his “Revival of Religious Sciences” (Iḥyā’ ʿulūm ad-dīn).15 Rāġib played a 12 Cf. Ibid.: 75 and the references given there. – On Fārābī’s concept of insānīya as species cf. also Fārābī 1970: 78, 7ff. 13 See also the comparative and inspiring study by Hellmut Ritter (1948). 14 On Miskawaih’s ethics Fakhry 1994: 107ff., esp. 115ff. 15 On the details cf. Mohamed 2006: 347ff. and on Ġazzālī Fakhry 1994: 193ff. r E l I G I J s K I I F I lO ZO F s K I p lU r a l I Z a M: s U s r E T I s TO K a I Z a pa Da 299 leading role in his effort to bring evidence from the Qur’ān, in order to demonstrate the harmony of Koranic and philosophical ethics and to give a rational justification of its ethics. These efforts appear as a result of discussions in schools and scholar- ly circles such as the one around Abū Sulaiman al-Siǧistānī (Kraemer 1986: 103ff.), and allow us to speak of a “Humanism in the Renaissance of Islam”. Here we have to be aware that they are part of a lively exchange of ideas between scholars on philosophical and scientific questions. In letters sent to the Buyid ruler ʿAḍud ad-Daula, the aforementioned vi- zier Ibn al-ʿAmīd (gest.360/970) wrote on meteorology, physics, cos- mology, astronomy, mechanics and psychology, some of which is quite original and allows -not entirely without reason – mutatis mutandis, a comparison with the Italian polymath Leonardi da Vinci from the 14th/15th century (Daiber 1993: 1ff.). Encyclopedic knowledge was being developed, which became a model for teaching in the centuries to come (Brentjes 2002). Under Aristotle’s influence, scholars classified sciences with branches of linguistics, log- ic, mathematics, physics, metaphysics, politics, jurisprudence and the- ology (Biesterfeldt 2002). During this time an Ismaili group of authors composed an encyclope- dia with the title “Treatises of the Brethren of Purity” (Rasā’ il Iḫwān aṣ-Ṣafā’); their aim was purification of the soul and closeness to God through increasing knowledge. This can be considered an Islamic vari- ant of the educational program called egkyklios paideia from the Greco- Roma era, which would shape the Middle Ages and the Renaissance as the Seven Liberal Arts (Kraemer 1986: 9). The Islamic version stressed the universal character of the ancient sci- ences, the ʿulūm al-awā’il, which the first “philosopher of the Arabs” ( faylasūf al-ʿ arab), al-Kindī in the 9th century, called “human scienc- es” (al-ʿulūm al-insānīya), because they are a common property of man- kind (Ibid.: 10). The emerging awareness of humanity as something that includes all nations, becomes a breeding ground not only for Fārābī’s aforemen- tioned concept of “humanity” or “humanness” as a basis for peaceful coexistence of people and nations; it also created the basis for the great thought of Yaḥyā Ibn ʿAdī, an Iraqi Christian, who died in 363/974. This student of the Muslim philosopher Fārābī tried to prove, that behind H U Ma n I s M: a T r a D I T I O n CO M M O n TO b OT H I s l a M a n D E U r O p E HA n S DA I b E R 300 every verbal statement a universal truth is concealed, insofar as it is based on logic and reason (Ibid.: 113–115). Logic and reason connect humanity and oblige each individual to perfection (kamāl), to friend- ship (maḥabba), affection (tawaddud), compassion (taḥannun), friend- liness (ra’fa), and goodness (raḥma) to all men who share a rational soul and who worship the divine power. Such a “humanity” (insānīya) con- nects all beings into one and the same tribe (qabīl), which belongs to the same family.16 Here, similarities to statements of the Italian humanist Giovanni Pico della Mirandola should be pointed out: in 1486, at the age of 24, he wrote his “Oration on the Dignity of Man” (Oratio de hominis dignitate),17 in which he stressed ethical and philosophical thinking as a way to self-de- velopment of people and as a universal bond of humanity. Pico della Mirandola was not afraid in his Oratio, which he originally called “Song of Peace” (Carmen de Pace), to refer in addition to Greek, Latin and Christian sources, also to Arabic and Hebrew texts; he starts his Oratio with a quotation from an unidentifiable Muslim scholar named ʿAbdallāh (Makdisi 1990: 307),18 according to which nothing is more worthy of admiration (admirabilius) than man. In his cosmopolitan setting Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī appears to be more detailed than Pico della Mirandola. Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī offers a description and jus- tification of the bond between people, which aims at respectful treat- ment of the individual and his relationship to the other. Prompted by the observation, that the society consists of “excellent” ( fuḍalā’) and “imperfect” (nuqaṣā’) people, it adds a significant passage on the rela- tionship between rulers and subjects, which should be marked by the previously mentioned characteristics and which should not loose sight of the welfare (maṣāliḥ) of people. Clearly here the legacy of Yaḥyā’s Muslim teacher Fārābī is felt. In Fārābī’s “Ideal State” the regent is phi- losopher and prophet, who must have the intellectual and pedagogi- cal features to persuade his subjects of the demands of religion and to cause them to do the good. 16 Cf. the passage in the ethics of Yaḥā Ibn ʿAdī, in his Tahḏīb al-aḫlāq (2002: 106- 107, § 5.14); a translation of this text can also be found in Kraemer 1986: 115. 17 Based on the text of the first edition ed. and translated by Gerd von der Gönna, Stuttgart 2009. On Pico della Mirandola cf. Gerl 1989: 63ff. and Gröschner/Kirste/ Lembcke 2008: esp. 159-186, 199ff., 221ff., 235-250. 18 A remote similarity exists with a passage in Ghazālīs Persian Kimīya’ as-saʿāda, s. the German translation Ritter 1979: 26. r E l I G I J s K I I F I lO ZO F s K I p lU r a l I Z a M: s U s r E T I s TO K a I Z a pa Da 301 Here as well as in Pico della Mirandola, there is no antinomy between humanistic thinking that emphasized individuality and rational inde- pendence on the one hand, and religion on the other. But such an an- tinomy arises in Europe, increasingly in the 16th century, in the German Reformation since Luther, which more and more called into question the tradition of the Roman Catholic Church as a guideline. This post-medieval orientation crisis discovered Cicero anew and his writings De officiis and the Tusculanes, which at the beginning of the 16th century became bestsellers in their German translation (Graf 1998: 25). Since then, the tense relationship between humanism and Chris- tian religion has never really improved; this fact explains the increasing development of humanism in the 19th and 20th century as an educa- tional program with a focus on Greek (Ibid.: 28, 11ff.). Such a development found an echo in the Middle East in the 19th centu- ry. Intellectuals in Egypt, during the Arab renaissance in modern times, the Nahḍa, became interested in the common foundations of Europe and the Near East, namely Greece (Kreutz 2007: 26ff.).19 In this time the Iliad of Homer was translated into Arabic (Kreutz 2007: 29ff.). The most prominent figure of the emerging Arab humanism is the Egyptian Ṭāhā Ḥusayn (born in 1889), who understood the study of the ancient world, of Plato and especially of Aristotle, as a training program for the eman- cipation of the rational individual and for democratic thinking (Ibid.: 46ff.). Ṭāhā Ḥusayn attaches special importance to Alexander the Great from the 4th century B.C., because, through his campaigns in Asia, he spread universal Greek culture. Greek culture is one of the roots of Arab cul- ture, and in turn, Arab culture is its completion (Ibid.: 72f.). Here, Ṭāhā Ḥusayn follows the European Enlightenment and assumes an equality of religions, which according to him are a form of universal humanity, which is based on democracy and philosophical reason. If they disap- pear, then there will be a disastrous symbiosis of religion and dictator- ship (Ibid.: 74 and ff.). Ṭāhā Ḥusayn, as well as other representatives of the Arab Renaissance of the modern era (Ibid.: 83ff.), is not antireligious. However, the re- actions and developments after Ṭāhā Ḥusayn lead to a polarization of Islamic religion and humanism. The Syrian scholar Sadik J. Al-Azm 19 In addition and on the following discussion the review by Pormann 2010: 95–106. H U Ma n I s M: a T r a D I T I O n CO M M O n TO b OT H I s l a M a n D E U r O p E HA n S DA I b E R 302 of Damascus (born in 1934) has discussed this in a 2004 lecture given in Tübingen on “Islam and secular humanism” (Al-Azm 2005). In his view a reconciliation of Islam and humanism, which he called “secular humanism”,20 can be established from the history of Islam, but not with regard to Islamic dogma. He assumes that Islam was in the past “a liv- ing, dynamic and developing religion”, which “responded to different conditions and rapidly changing political situations” and for this rea- son was compatible with different social and political structures (ibid.: 31 and 33). According to Al-Azm, Islam is in principle compatible with secular humanism. Here, he considered Turkey to be exemplary (41ff.) and he proposed among other things (57ff.), that the šarīʿa should be substantially amended and that Islam must renounce the idea of an ir- reconcilable antagonism between the Islamic land of faith and the land of unbelief (59). In his discussion of Samuel Huntington’s thesis of the clash of civiliza- tions (63ff.), which he accepts only in a limited way, because Islam is at best a “civilization or culture in terms of history and tradition” (71), Al- Azm, in the footsteps of Max Weber, makes the following observation: the idea of the clash of civilizations arises in a situation, where a reified system of basic Western beliefs and values is juxtaposed against anoth- er reified but incompatible system of equally basic Muslim beliefs and values. The implied “essentialist” and “static” or “ahistorical” (67, 69) consid- eration of values and concepts appears to be the opposite of what Islam had been according to Al-Azm in the past, namely a “living, dynamic and developing religion”. Al-Azm here did not discuss the problem of conceptualization of val- ues. Are values and their terms defined in an archetypal manner? Are they, once defined, universally valid at all times and everywhere? A native of Palestine, the American literary critic Edward W. Said (1935- 2003) in his posthumously published work Humanism and Democrat- ic Criticism has criticized traditional humanism as ahistorical and es- sentialist; therefore he argues for a critical and transparent humanism without geographical boundaries that corrects itself constantly (Rad- hakrishnan 2010: 434ff. and 442ff.).21 In the footsteps of the Italian phi- losopher of history and law Giambattista Vico (1668-1699) and his work 20 On the concept of the secular humanism cf. Schöller 2001: 301. 21 Cf. Rosenthal 2010: 468ff.; Mitchell 2010. r E l I G I J s K I I F I lO ZO F s K I p lU r a l I Z a M: s U s r E T I s TO K a I Z a pa Da 303 on the “New science” for Said the world is made in humanism by man, not by God; what is made by man can be understood by him rationally. In the view of Said, religion is an irrational product of human imagina- tion, which can nevertheless determine thought and action of humans. (Mitchell 2010: 492ff.) Man’s rationality is in a constant process of confrontation with the irra- tional product of human imagination, that is to say, with religion. This requires self-knowledge and self-criticism, and that forms the essence of humanism. This humanism manifests itself in the critical discourse of the word, in philology, which connects writers, intellectuals and crit- ics, as well as creativity, learning and judgement (Ibid.: 494 and ff.). Edward Said’s position is significant in three aspects: 1. in the empha- sis on the factor of the human being as a subject, in which rationality of thinking and irrationality of religion are opposite to each other; 2. in the assessment of religion as a reality of man, even as the object of hu- man creativity, of his imagination; 3. in the evaluation of language as a tool of humanism, which must constantly define its values in a new critical discourse. Edward Said hereby provides a theoretical foundation for the existence of humanism in Islam. Our historical excursus has already shown that there has already been an Islamic humanism in the past. It manifests it- self not so much as a norm, but rather as striving for ethical values, as critical consciousness, as self-knowledge and reflection on the will and mind of man in his responsibility and position in society and in his de- pendence on God and the divine inspiration. There were attempts in the history of Islam to emphasize the universal- ity of humanistic thought.22 The philosopher Fārābī connects such a universality with the notion that a ruler of the world state must be someone who in his knowledge has recourse to the divine inspiration of a prophet; moreover, all sub- jects should look toward God in a constant process of reflection and for ethical action. They are tools of a society that Fārābī considers to be connected across the boundaries between peoples and nations by the attribute insānīya, humanity. Here, Fārābī inspired, as we have seen, his Christian student Yaḥyā Ibn ʿAdī. 22 Cf. the still worthwhile reading article by Schulemann 1950; in addition Grous- set 1955: 28ff. H U Ma n I s M: a T r a D I T I O n CO M M O n TO b OT H I s l a M a n D E U r O p E HA n S DA I b E R 304 But Islamic tradition and dogma of the increasingly consolidated Islam- ic religion led to the rigidity of structures, which made impossible a dy- namic adaptation to the changing circumstances of time. Moreover, we are faced with the dilemma that even humanist thinking, as a generally and universally valid standard, tends to become a fixed and static rule. Fārābī seems to have been aware of this dilemma, as he does not offer a clear system or details of an ideal state. Fārābī merely encourages to strive for alignment with God under divinely inspired and charismatic leadership, under the guidance of an educator23 and philosopher and in compliance with the laws. It is primarily an epistemological act, which in constant reflection should lead to self-education, but also to the criti- cal attitude towards any political system. Fārābī has not discussed the problem of any terminology or develop- ments or incorrect ratings of concepts; nor did Abū Bišr Mattā Ibn Yūnus or Abū Saʿīd as-Sīrāf ī (Kraemer 1986: 110ff.) before him nor his pupil Yaḥyā Ibn ʿAdī after him (Ibid.: 113f.). For Fārābī the existing things are identical to their meaning – they are in their nature and in their mean- ing something created by God. For his pupil Yaḥyā Ibn ʿAdī the mean- ing is in its linguistic structure logical, rational and a universally valid truth (Ibid.: 114f.). For a Muslim, the Qur’ān had to be the universally valid truth, even if in its allegorical interpretation. It has been suggested that the formula- tions of the Koranic language are something produced in time and “cre- ated” by God – this was the dogma of the so-called Muʿtazilites in the 9th century – or the Qur’ān was considered to be a literary document that must be interpreted in its historical context – this was the thesis of a few Muslim scholars of the 20th century, who faced the strong resis- tance of Muslim orthodoxy (Hildebrandt 2007). In their view the repu- tation of the Qur’ān as incontrovertible truth and guideline is at stake. The inability to distinguish between historical formation and reli- gious truth, leads to an assessment of Koranic statements as archetypal truths. In a small monograph entitled “The Concept of Education in Is- lam”, published in 1980 and translated into Arabic in 1998, the Malay- sian philosopher and scholar Syed Muhammad Naquib al-Attas (b. 1931) puts forth the view that the Qur’ān and the prophetic traditions in the 23 The educative function of the ruler appears after Fārābī also in the 12th century in Averroes, cf. Butterworth 2006: 54. r E l I G I J s K I I F I lO ZO F s K I p lU r a l I Z a M: s U s r E T I s TO K a I Z a pa Da 305 Ḥadīth are in their linguistic shape archetypes of knowledge and do not constitute historical developments. What was not clear in the Qur’an, can be explained by the exegesis. The Qur’ān has islamized Arabic and non-Arabic languages of Muslim peoples; semantic changes or deformations of meanings are the result of so-called “deïslamization” and result from lack of education (adab). Education is according to Al-Attas the ability, to understand the word- ing and the meaning of the Qur’ān: In this manner man is able to learn how he has to behave before God and as a member of a good society and how he has to act. Syed Muhammad Naquib al-Attas considers this knowledge to be wis- dom and justice. “Education” (adab) is knowledge and acting accord- ingly, Adab is man’s awareness of the task, to do virtuous acts towards his family, his society and his people, with the help of the rational soul. A leading position should only have those who have knowledge with high moral, intellectual and spiritual standards, and who watch over the proper use of the Koranic language and thus avoid misconceptions about Islam and its ideology. Naquib al-Attas’s conception of “education” touches with our concep- tion of education as the formation of man by increasing knowledge and reflection on the ethics of human beings and their role in society. How- ever, it appears to restrict the creative imagination of the individual by the divine inspiration of a normative Qur’ān. The Qur’ān is not a product of a particular historical period and its archetypal truth is not doubted. The foreign, that which is not Islam, is according to Al-Attas, not en- riching and not stimulating; it leads to deïslamization to secularization. Islam is the unfolding of a universal divine wisdom, as it has been re- vealed in the Qur’ān. Here Al-Attas joins the Iranian philosopher Seyyed Hossein Nasr (b. 1933), who since 1984 has taught at George Washington University in the USA. Nasr however, emphasized the commonality of ethical and “spiritual” or religious values of Islam and the West,24 this on the basis of universal humanism (Nasr 2002). Al-Attas’s conception of education is different from the contemporary humanistic ideal of education25 that focusses on the formation of man 24 Cf. in this book the epilogue pp. 307-316 (‘The ethical and spiritual nature of human life, East and West’). 25 Cf. the stimulating brochure by Dörpinghaus 2009. H U Ma n I s M: a T r a D I T I O n CO M M O n TO b OT H I s l a M a n D E U r O p E HA n S DA I b E R 306 and his identity in dialogue with one another. Al-Attas’s view limits the possibility of a critical reflection of the individual, as well as his open- ness to a diversity of interests that give life its meaning, even in the en- counter with other cultures. However, Al-Attas’s conception of education is in touch with the hu- manistic ideal of education, inasmuch as the maturity of man, called “Mündigkeit” by Kant (Lutz-Bachmann 2006: 368–371), became crucial as a constant reflection of the individual over himself, over his ethics and over his role in society. The Qur’ān remains for Al-Attas a guideline, whereas traditional humanism uses universal, generally valid values as a norm. However, can we be sure in our assessment of human dignity, jus- tice, and democracy? Or is humanism a never-ending process of critical reflection of man about himself and about others? Fārābī spoke about reflection, volition and ethical behavior of the indi- vidual and his will in the process of alignment with God; Edward Said spoke about the critical discourse, in which humanistic values constant- ly must be reshaped and their terminology must be redefined. Neither offer a panacea; nor is it basically the case with Al-Attas; he combines critical reflection and the forming of the judgement with the never- ending task of a “creative” (Heath 1989)26 interpretation of the Qur’ān and its real meaning. There was and there is an Islamic humanism. Through Arab-Latin translations it shaped scholastic thinking in the Middle Ages, as well the educational program.27 Today, humanism, as well as an Islamic hu- manism, can be a basis for the abolition of the inhuman rules of Šarīʿa and of irrational polarizations of “believers” and “infidels”. This would be a prerequisite for ensuring a co-existence between Muslims and non-Muslims. primljeno: 20. januar 2013. prihvaćeno: 22. mart 2013. 26 Cf. in addition, Schöller 2001: 304. 27 This is in my opinion convincingly shown by Makdisi 1990. Cf. the summaries by Makdisi 1989 and Makdisi 1997. – The criticism by Schöller 2001: 284f. aims at the question, whether parallels between Islamic and medieval humanism indeed can be traced back to influences or were the result of independent developments (on the problem cf. Daiber 1975: 10ff. 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The Journal of the International Society for Islamic Phi- losophy, 1/1: 71–77 Daiber, Hans (2012), Islamic Thought in the Dialogue of Cultures, Leiden/Bo- ston: Brill Daiber, Hans (2013), „Wissen und Handeln in der philosophischen Ethik des Islam. Griechische Wurzeln und islamische Transformation“, in: FIDEM. Textes et Études du Moyen Âge. Turnhout (in print) Dimitri Gutas (1993), Greek Thought, Arabic Culture, London/New York: Routledge Dörpinghaus, Andreas (2009), Bildung. Plädoyer wider die Verdummung, Bonn: Dt. Hochschulverb. 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(2009b), „Reason, Religion and Power in Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ“, in: Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 62, Budapest: 285–301 r E l I G I J s K I I F I lO ZO F s K I p lU r a l I Z a M: s U s r E T I s TO K a I Z a pa Da 309 Nasr, Seyyed Hossein (2002), The Heart of Islam. Enduring Values for Huma- nity, San Francisco: Harper Pormann, Peter E. (2010), „The Continuing Tradition of Arab Humanism“, in: International Journal of the Classical Tradition 17/1: 95–106 Radhakrishnan (2010), „Edward Said and the Possibilities of Humanism“, in: Edward Said. A Legacy of Emancipation and Representation, ed. by Adel Iskandar and Hakem Rustom, Berkeley: University of California Press: 431–447 Ritter, Hellmut (1948), „Irrational Solidarity Groups. A socio-psychological study in connection with Ibn Khaldūn“, in: Oriens 1: 9–44 Ritter, Hellmut (1979), Al-Ghasāli, Das Elixier der Glückseligkeit, Köln: Diederichs Rosenthal, Lecia (2010), in: Edward Said. A Legacy of Emancipation and Repre- sentation, ed. by Adel Iskandar and Hakem Rustom, Berkeley: University of California Press: 462–489 Rüsen, Jörn (2010), „Klassischer Humanismus. Eine historische Ortsbe- stimmung“, in: Perspektiven der Humanität. Menschsein im Diskurs der Disziplinen, ed. by J. Rüsen, Bielefeld: Transcript Said, Edward W. (2004), Humanism and Democratic Criticism, New York: Co- lumbia University Press Schöller, Marco (2001), „Zum Begriff des ‚islamischen Humanismus“, in: Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 151: 275–320 Schulemann, Günther (1950), „Westöstlicher Humanismus“, in: Saeculum 1: 87–110 Tauḥīdī, Abū Ḥayyān (1958-60), „Risala f ī ṣ-Ṣadāqa wa-ṣ-ṣadīq“, in Marc Bergé (ed.): Une anthologie sur l’amitiè d’Abū Ḥayyān At-Tawḥīdī, Bulletin des Etudes orientales 16: 15–60 Ullmann, Manfred (2010), Die Conclusio a minori ad maius im Arabischen (Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philos.-hist. Kl., Sitzungsbe- richte, Jg. 2010, Heft 1), Münich H U Ma n I s M: a T r a D I T I O n CO M M O n TO b OT H I s l a M a n D E U r O p E HA n S DA I b E R 310 Hans Dajber Humanizam: zajednička tradicija islama i Evrope apstrakt Sve veće zanimanje Arapa za arapske prevode sa grčkog jezika od 8. veka interpretirano je kao znak humanizma u islamu. Ovo je uporedivo sa hu- manistima u Evropi koji su od 14. veka smatrali grčku i latinsku književnost osnovom duhovnog i moralnog obrazovanja. Mora se postaviti pitanje, da li je u islamskoj kulturološkoj sferi razvijan sličan ideal edukacije koji je u skladu sa islamskom religijom. Opažena tenzija između humanista antič- kog razdoblja i hrišćanstva poseduje paralelu u tenzijama između islam- ske religioznosti i racionalnog islamskog svetonazora. Ipak, postoje prošli i sadašnji pristupi koji će razvijati obrazovni ideal, koji se može uporediti sa evropskim konceptom moralnog oblikovanja pojedinca. Kur’ān i islam- ska tradicija ne sprečavaju slobodni razvoj ličnosti i kreativnu odgovornost ukoliko je njihova istoričnost uzeta u obzir i ukoliko nisu uzdignuti do ne- promišljene norme. Ključne reči humanizam, islamski i evropski; edukacija; individualnost; solidarnost; slobodna volja i podređenje; Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ; Fārābī; Yaḥyā IbnʿAdī; Miskawayh; Rāghib al-Iṣfahānī; Ghazzālī; Ibn Khaldūn; islam- ska renesansa – italijanska renesansa; Pico della Mirandola; Nahḍa; Ṭāhā Ḥusayn; Sadik J. Al-Azm; Edward W. Said; Naquib Al-Attas. 
work_aoifggeqlrgk7d6buxutwn3yhu	----	IN MEMORIAM Ingrid Brainard Strikingly attuned to scholarship that depends upon historical details, Ingrid Brainard was always very much in the present moment. She was keenly aware of her body and the space around it—she loved the sun, her garden, and feeling her bare feet upon the earth. I saw her gleeful, mischievous smile grow upon hearing the first few bars of raucous medieval music in rehearsal. In pure enjoyment she began to move her shoulders, hips, and knees with the looseness of an African dancer, completely contrary to the pulled-up, noble Renaissance postures she taught so well. Ingrid relished watch- ing others in their moments, too: from Margaret Daniels' lightness and ease practicing pas de passacaille on the sandy Massachusetts beach near Castle Hill, to Madeleine Nichols' industrious, focused handspinning during a Society for Dance History Scholars conference members' luncheon in Albuquerque. As I remember the encounters I shared with her, I realize only now that I've lost the opportunity to learn more about Ingrid's own past—her years growing up in Germany, her choice of musicology as a field, how she came to study dance, mime, and gesture, and how it must have felt to be so close on the heels of the monumental German musicologists of the early twentieth century. I am left with only a few brief comments she made during our conversations spanning over twenty years. Ingrid was astonished and excited in 1961 to have come upon the Giorgio manuscript of Guglielmo Ebreo's treatise through a New York Public Library exhibit. The manuscript, soon to be housed at The New York Public Library's Dance Division, was on display for the International Musicological Society meetings and Ingrid hoped to produce an edition of it following the completion of her work on Domenico. She offered an early workshop at the Dance Notation Bureau in 1969, some twelve years before I was to arrive there as librarian. She gave numerous workshops, papers, and panel presentations, and regularly attended and contributed to the International Con- gress on Medieval Studies at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. Ingrid was concerned that her reconstructions became too "fixed" when set down in Labanotation, and that those texts would not reflect the latest changes she incorporated based on her continuous study and re-studying of the manuscripts them- selves. She was further concerned that the integrity of her work would be threatened by careless students, who might cavalierly learn her reconstructions at a two-hour work- shop and subsequently perform them without permission and far below her standards. I remember once telling her, frustrated, that working with early dances was like seeing part of a painting, and she firmly told me that was all right—that there is a place in this world for parts of paintings. Ingrid mused frequently about the stagnation inher- ent in codified, unchanging approaches to the material, likening some (admittedly pioneering) practitioners "across the pond" to mother hens, settling smothering feathers over young chicks in their nests who had begun to chirp, "Treatise! Treatise!" She was perhaps most pleased at discoveries in the treatises themselves that opened her eyes and body to the translation of words into movement. One of her favorites was a continenza based on a description in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum Nurnberg [Nuremberg] Ms. 8842 (Hie Innen sindt geschriben die wellschen tenntz, 1517) of treading organ bellows. I was grateful that she clambered up the stairs to the stage to demonstrate it at last year's Society of Dance History Scholars roundtable on the II Papa manuscript. Her writings have been an inspiration to me, as has she herself. The next issue of Dance Research Journal will offer a preliminary bibliography with additional memo- ries of Ingrid from her extended family of colleagues. If you would like to contribute, please e-mail Forlngrid@dancehistorystudio.org. or send regular mail to Patricia W. Rader, 120 Bennett Ave., Apt. 3-B, New York, NY 10033-2318. Patricia Rader The New York Public Library Dance Research Journal 32/1 (Summer 2000) 173 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 https://www.cambridge.org/core Memories of Ingrid Ingrid Brainard had a wonderful way of sniffing out, and spurring to action, those young scholars who might follow her in the path of early dance scholarship. I have many memories of Ingrid—each one etched as a clear picture of friendly greeting, intense exchange, and warm parting. Ingrid first approached me when I, a very raw young grad student, was invited to speak on my still quite naive research plan at an early (second?) conference of The Society of Dance History Scholars, at Barnard College. Looking back at what I was talking about then (or thought I was talking about), I wonder that she even bothered with me; but Ingrid made a point of coming up to me after the panel, introducing herself, and encouraging me. That was an enormous boost to me, since Ingrid was already a grande dame of the early dance world. Who was I to draw the notice of such an accomplished scholar? That exchange spurred me to seek out Ingrid at a Castle Hill Early Music and Dance Week. That week of study under Ingrid—so full of discovery, so joyous in its unfolding, so rich in information—was fundamental to orienting me in any functional way to the tasks facing a researcher in early dance. Ingrid was not content, however, in prodding and poking me (or others) along professionally. She became an inquiring and ever vigilant friend and personal advisor, remembering whatever I told her about my family, my career thoughts, my home. From that point onward, I was in touch with Ingrid periodically throughout my career. We crossed paths at many dance conferences, and corresponded on and off, especially when I was living in Europe, writing my dissertation. I always wondered why and how someone of Ingrid's breadth of knowledge and ever expanding scholarship found time for me, but I now know that Ingrid was as stimulated by the young colleagues whom she helped to train as we were by her. Upon my return to the U.S., Ingrid invited me to Kalamazoo several times to give papers at the International Congress on Medieval Studies. It was wonderful to be with Ingrid in a setting where she flourished so freely, and where we could share our passion about early dance in a larger setting of scholars with such a wide range of expertise. In 1991, Ingrid was the Lecturer in Dance at the Aston Magna Academy, held at Rutgers University, focus- ing on the Foundations of the Italian Baroque. In addition to Ingrid's multilingual lectures at Aston Magna, we had early morning classes in galliards and other Italian Renaissance dances where Ingrid was a big, lively, bustling energy in those sun-drenched summer studios. Wherever we found ourselves together, Ingrid and I always parted with wishes that we'd find time for a visit to one another's home and family. Alas, that time never arrived. I'm so grateful for the many books and articles of Ingrid's that fill my shelves, for the many encouragements she gave me, for the exposure to such a powerful mind and enthusiastic spirit as hers. Ingrid was one of the great mentors, a monument in and of herself to scholarship, erudition, and the deep joys of dance and dance history. Lynn Matluck Brooks Franklin & Marshall College 174 Dance Research Journal 32/1 (Summer 2000) https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 https://www.cambridge.org/core The following review by Tobi Tobias, reprinted here with her permission, first appeared as part of her article "Family ties" in New York Magazine, Oct. 13, 1986. A second evening in the "Jews and Judaism in Dance" conference [Sept. 22, 1986, at the 92nd Street YM-YWHA in New York City] was devoted to the Renaissance. It opened with a lecture by the historian Barbara Sparti on Guglielmo Ebreo (William the Jew), an Italian dancing master of the fifteenth century whose manual on the theory and practices of his art has made possible contemporary reconstructions of choreography from that period. The dances themselves were demonstrated by a Boston-based sextet, the Cambridge Court Dancers, whose director, Ingrid Brainard, prefaced the showing with a brief explanation. "Such manuscripts [as Ebreo's]," she pointed out, "do not relinquish their contents without a struggle"; she cited the problems of dealing with a foreign language, difficult handwriting, technical vocabulary, and involved and ambigu- ous notations. She might also have added that the passage of several centuries and our living in a cultural milieu that is light years apart from the context in which the dances were originally done makes it difficult not only for scholars to retrieve them and dancers to perform them authentically, but also for viewers to see them with the right understand- ing and sympathy. If, for instance, many of the Ebreo dances look alike to us today, it is probably because we are unfamiliar with subtle distinctions in just the areas in which the choreographer is making them. In the twenty-fifth century all tangos may look alike. Despite the obstacles, there is a great deal to enjoy in the pieces. Though their vocabulary seems limited, even tame, to eyes conditioned by the virtuoso capabilities of present-day classical ballet, the very simplicity is refreshing. The dancing—at least in the examples chosen for this program—alternates between a little stream of steps executed with gentle buoyancy and brisker, lustier adventures for the feet where they skip or chase one another. The arms remain soft and elegant, now creating an arbor under which a partner circles, now extending with a flexed wrist, so that the palm can touch the partner's palm. (For contained eroticism this last gesture is pretty hard to beat.) Floor patterns are important; one longs for a bird's-eye view of the evanescent scrolled designs the couples trace on the ground. There are lots of formal social courtesies and plenty of leisure for impromptu social byplay. Brainard's dancers take every opportunity to look tenderly or flirtatiously into one another's faces, and if the fleeting intrigues in some of the pas de trois look contrived where they once must have been spontaneous, at least they are acknowledged. The dances were accompanied and augmented by period music from the excel- lent Boston Shawm and Sackbut Ensemble, who also explained what they were up to at the beginning with the information that their instruments, wind and brass, were the ancestors of the oboe and trombone. Dancing, Ebreo held, was born from music and is an outward show of its true nature. The cooperation of the music and dance ensembles, their friendly performance style and purity of intent, suggest that the family relationship has held firm. Dance Research Journal 32/1 (Summer 2000) 175 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 https://www.cambridge.org/core CONGRESS ON RESEARCH IN DANCE Department of Dance, State University of New York College at Brockport Brockport, New York 14420 U.S.A. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 https://www.cambridge.org/core ADVERTISE IN DANCE RESEARCH JOURNAL RATES PAGE SIZE WIDTH X HEIGHT COST FULL PAGE (6 1/4" X 8 1/4 ") $350 1/2 PAGE (6 1/4" X 3 1/2") $175 1/4 PAGE (2 1/2" X 3 1/2") $100 1/8 PAGE (2 1/2 " X 1 1/4") $ 50 COPY SPECIFICATIONS PREFERRED: Composite negative (right-reading, emulsion side down) plus one proof of ad, computer generated laser copy, or computer disk (PageMaker for the Macintosh) plus one hard copy ALSO ACCEPTABLE: Velox of stat (shiny white paper with dark ink) FULL PAYMENT MUST ACCOMPANY ORDER DEADLINES March 1 for Summer issue October 1 for Winter issue Make checks payable to DRJ/CORD, and mail with ad copy to: Dance Research Journal The Gallatin School New York University 715 Broadway, 807D New York, NY 10003 For further information call CORD office: (718) 395-2590 DRJ Editor office: (212) 998-7311 CORD office fax: (716) 395-5413 DRJ Editor fax: (212) 995-4509 Dance Research Journal 32/1 (Summer 2000) 177 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 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POLITICS REPRESENTATION SITE DISCOURSE IMAGINATION POWER DESIRE SIGNIFICA- TION SPECTACLE HABIT SPORT GESTURE RITUAL FILM-VIDEO PERFORMANCE MOVING EXOTIC BODIES POPULAR BODIES COLONIZED BODIES GROTESQUE BODIES REBELLIOUS BODIES ANNOUNCING THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, RIVERSIDE PhD IN DANCE HISTORY AND THEORY in.ili;:i'. r.nnt.if Dppnrinwnt of Dance - Bo.1 TEL: (909) 787-5424 FAX: (909) 787-5461 Special Jewish Dance Publication JewOiih folklore/ & Ethnology Review Summer 2 0 0 0 , Cost $20 Dance experts in this exciting issue include Janice Ross, Barbara Sparti, Dawn Lille Horwitz, Naomi Jackson, Elke Kaschl, and Giora Manor. • To order, contact: Judith Brin Ingber, Guest Editor 4209 Basswood Rd; Mpls, MN 55416; Ph: 612-920-1712 Fax: 612-928-0109; jBrinlngber@cs.com 178 Dance Research Journal 32/1 (Summer 2000) https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 https://www.cambridge.org/core The American University M.A. in Dance; B. A. in Music Theater; interdisciplinary dance/music/theater major; interdisciplinary dance with other areas The Danoe program was established in 1973 in the Depaitment of Performing Arts. Students work closely with faculty and students in music, theater and arts management. Direct Injuries to: Department of Performing Arts (202) 885-3424 Krceger Musio Building Fax (202) 885-1092 4400 Massachusetts Avenue Dr. Naima Prevots Washington, DC 20016 Director Dance Program www.amerioan.nhi E-mail: dpagrad@ameriean.edu Texas Woman's Universit Choreography Performance Teaching Research B.A. M.A. M.F.A. Ph.D. 9-12 Dance Certification Program Programs in Dance,TVVU, Denton, TX 76204, 940-898-2085 or email dance@twu.cclu, hUp://www.twu.edu/a.s/pa/dance Dance Research Journal 32/1 (Summer 2000) 179 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 https://www.cambridge.org/core CRITICAL MOVES Dance Studies in Theory and Politics RANDY MARTIN Drawing on his own experiences as a dancer as well as his observations as a cultural critic and social theorist, Martin illustrates how the study and practice of dance can reanimate arrested prospects for progressive politics and social change. "Critical Moves makes a crucial contribu- tion to the emerging field of dance studies. Martin's ability to think politics through dance also suggests a challenging and enabling new critical framework for politi- cal theory."—Susan L. Foster, author of Choreography and Narrative: Ballet's Staging of Story and Desire "Martin has written a bold and interesting book, imaginative and deftly presented. Few political theorists understand dance and dancing as well as Martin does." —Jane Desmond, editor of Meaning in Motion: New Cultural Studies of Dance 180 pages, paper $17.95 DUKE UNIVERSITY PRESS Box 90660 Durham, NC 27708-0660 toll-free 1-888-651-0122 PAPER TANGOS JULIE TAYLOR Taylor—a classically trained dancer and- anthropologist—examines the poetics of the tango while describing her own quest to dance this most dramatic of paired dances. "Julie Taylor has written a wonderful, brilliant book about the poetics of the tango in Argentina. . . . [Sjuccinctly presented in a sparse, elegant, suggestive prose."—Kathleen Stewart, University of Texas at Austin "This is a highly unusual work, an allegory of violence and civil war through reflections on the tango by an unusually honest writer with an intimate knowledge, as insider and outsider, of Argentinian history and culture." —Michael Taussig, Columbia University 160 pages, 89 b&w photos, paper $14.95 Public Planet Books 180 Dance Research Journal 32/1 (Summer 2000) https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0149767700005908 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_ar4bbvjsozd4teet6r7w3ko3hi	----	doi:10.1016/j.culher.2003.08.002 Original article Non-destructive characterization of Della Robbia sculptures at the Bargello museum in Florence by the combined use of PIXE and XRF portable systems G. Pappalardo a,b, E. Costa b, C. Marchetta b, L. Pappalardo b,c,*, F.P. Romano b,c, A. Zucchiatti d,e, P. Prati d,e, P.A. Mandò f,g, A. Migliori f,g, L. Palombo f,g, M.G. Vaccari h a Dipartimento di Fisica, Università di Catania, Viale Andrea Doria 6, 95123 Catania, Italy b Laboratori Nazionali del Sud, INFN, Via S. Sofia 44, 95123 Catania, Italy c C.N.R., Sezione di Catania dell’Istituto per i Beni Archeologici e Monumentali, Via. A. di Sangiuliano 262, 95100 Catania, Italy d INFN, Sezione di Genova, Via Dodecaneso 33, 16146 Genova, Italy e Dipartimento di Fisica, Università di Genova, Via Dodecaneso 33, 16146 Genova, Italy f Dipartimento di Fisica, Università di Firenze, Largo E. Fermi 2, 50125 Florence, Italy g INFN, Sezione di Firenze, Largo E. Fermi 2, 50125 Florence, Italy h Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Via del Proconsolo 4, 50122 Florence, Italy Received 17 April 2003; accepted 1 August 2003 Abstract “In situ” non-destructive characterization of the blue pigments present in the ceramic glazes of Della Robbia sculptures have been carried out at the Bargello museum in Florence. PIXE and XRF portable systems have been used to determine the matrix composition and the trace-elements, respectively. The results indicate that the arsenic is present as trace-element only after 1520. © 2004 Elsevier SAS. All rights reserved. Keywords: PIXE-alpha; XRF; Portable systems; Non-destructive characterization; Della Robbia sculptures; Ceramic glazes; In situ measurements Research aims The presence of arsenic in the blue pigments could be used as an indicator of the provenance of raw materials. Recently, the arsenic presence has been found in some blue pigments of the Della Robbia sculptures. The richest and best known collection of these sculptures is conserved in the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Flo- rence. By the use of new non-destructive and portable instru- ments it has been possible to establish that arsenic is present in the Della Robbia sculptures only starting from the 1520. 1. Introduction Glazed terracotta sculptures have undoubtedly been one of the artistic innovations of the Italian Renaissance brought by Luca Della Robbia in Florence in the first half of the XV century and continued afterwards by his family and also by the Buglioni’s. The distinctive character of glazed terracottas is the smooth, bright, often polychrome cover that has largely contributed to the success of such artefacts (the Robbiane) at the Della Robbia time and constitutes today one of the keys for a better understanding of the artists skills and techniques. Ceramic glazes are complex mixtures of silica, fluxes and metallic oxides, baked at high temperature, whose composi- tion can be conveniently determined for major, minor and trace chemical elements with non-destructive “elemental” analytical techniques [1]. The glaze elemental composition is expected to depend on raw materials and workshop recipes; the precise determina- tion of minor and trace-elements can be particularly impor- tant to differentiate [2] or to aggregate [3] groups of objects that are stylistically related, to possibly establish the prov- enance of the artefact and the origin of pigments as well as to monitor the time evolution of materials and techniques. Since a few years, the polychrome glazes of the Robbiane have been extensively investigated on potsherds, whole sculptures ∗ Corresponding author. E-mail address: lighea@lns.infn.it (L. Pappalardo). Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 www.elsevier.com/locate/culher © 2004 Elsevier SAS. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.culher.2003.08.002 and polished sections [1]. Particle-induced X-ray emission (PIXE), an ion beam analysis technique particularly suited in the Cultural Heritage field [4,5], has been successfully ap- plied in the above studies performed at the INFN Florence accelerator [6,7] and at the Centre de Recherche et Restaura- tion des Musées de France [1]. In the blue colour the study has shown the most evident changes of raw materials, marked primarily by highly different amounts of arsenic in the pigment, definitely related to time and therefore poten- tially suitable for indirect dating [8]. In this context analyses of artefacts that have sure author attribution and are dated, on the basis of documents, with high degree of certitude, are of the highest importance to establish a more precise relation of the glazes composition with time. The richest and best known collection of Della Robbia sculptures is conserved in the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Florence. It has been extensively studied by art history specialists [9] and offers a unique opportunity of combining archaeometric and stylistic time-related information subject, quite evidently, to the capability of applying non-destructive in situ techniques for the analysis of glazes. In the present work, we illustrate a new approach, making use of PIXE and XRF portable techniques to determine in the Robbiane of the Bargello both the major constituents of the blue glaze matrix (Si, Al, Pb, Sn) and some characteristic elements brought in by the blue pigment (Co, Ni, Fe, As). 2. Experimental methods 2.1. Portable PIXE analysis PIXE is a well established analytical technique that, due to the behaviour of the ionisation cross-section, strongly de- creasing with the increasing of Z atomic number, is particu- larly suitable for light elements analysis [10,11]. A portable system, unique in the world, has been developed at the INFN Laboratori Nazionali del Sud of Catania (Italy), in collabora- tion with the DIMRI Laboratory of Saclay (France), and the Italian CNR-Progetto Finalizzato BBCC [12,13]. The system, called PIXE-alpha, is made of: (i) A 1 mCi 210Po alpha-source assembled in an annular geometry; (ii) The beam spot has a 7 mm diameter; (iii) A Si-drift detector, 10 mm2 active surface, Peltier- cooled, with a resolution of 145 eV at 5.9 keV pro- duced by KETEK and assembled by EIS; (iv) A standard acquisition system. Helium gas is continuously flown between the alpha source and the sample surface so that the PIXE-alpha system can detect elements as light as Na. The good energy resolu- tion enables to distinguish between the K line of S at 2.308 keV from the M line of Pb at 2.345 keV. The measure- ment time is typically 15–30 min, with the Minimum Detec- tion Limits (MDL) shown in Table 1. As it can be seen the system is able to analyse major-elements of low Z as those constituting the silicate matrix, but cannot analyse trace- elements because of the low intensity of the alpha-source that must be kept below mandatory limits to obey safety regula- tions. A typical energy spectrum, taken on a petrological standard SCO-1, particularly rich in light elements [14], is shown in Fig. 1. The peaks corresponding to Na, Mg, Al, Si, S + Pb, K, Ca and Fe elements are well recognized. 2.2. Portable XRF analysis XRF (X-Ray Fluorescence), contrary to PIXE, is suitable for analysis of heavier elements due to the increase of the Table 1 Minimum Detection Limits in PIXE-alpha analysis Na Mg Al Si S K Ca Fe MDL (%) 0.2 0.09 0.15 0.14 0.08 0.13 0.33 0.93 1 10 100 1000 10000 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Energy (keV) stnuo C Si Al K FeNa Ca Mg Cl S Ti Fig. 1. PIXE spectrum on the Sco-1 standard. 184 G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 ionisation cross-section with the increase of the Z atomic number [10,11]. X-rays in our portable system are emitted by three 109Cd radioactive sources assembled in a annular ge- ometry [15,16]. The X-ray energy is 22.1 keV and it is particularly suitable to excite fluorescence in medium and heavy elements like As, Pb (L lines), Rb, Sr, Zr, Y. The detector is a Ge (IGLET-ORTEC), 80 mm2 surface. MDL is some tens of ppm. Figs. 2 and 3 show typical PIXE and XRF spectra on blue glazes. 2.3. Calibration and test of the systems The PIXE and XRF systems were calibrated by using reference standards: the SCO-1 petrological standard for PIXE calibration (see Table 2) and pure elements for XRF. Quantitative analysis were performed using the Gupix code [17,18] in the matrix option for PIXE and the AXIL QXAS code [19] in the “known low Z-matrix” option for Table 2 Compar ison between measured and certified values (SCO-1 petrological standard) in the PIXE-alpha analysis Na2O MgO Al2O3 SiO2 P2O5 K2O CaO TiO2 Fe(III) tot PIXE data 0.8 ± 0.2 2.8 ± 0.4 16.2 ± 2.2 64.7 ± 6 0.3 ± 0.2 3.5 ± 0.4 2.8 ± 0.5 0.7 ± 0.1 5.5 ± 1.6 Ref. 0.9 2.72 13.67 62.78 0.21 2.77 2.62 0.63 5.14 Barg6 - XRF 1 10 100 1000 10000 100000 1000000 0 2 4 6 8 10 12 14 16 18 20 22 24 26 Energy (keV) stnuo C 22.1 keV Fe Ni Co Cu Pb Fig. 2. XRF spectrum of a blue glaze. Medium and high Z elements typical of a glaze are clearly present. Arsenic is not detected in this 1475 Andrea Della Robbia sculpture. Barg6 - PIXE 1 10 100 1000 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 Energy (KeV) stnuo C Si S, Pb-M Al Na Mg Cl Sn-L Ca Pb-L Fig. 3. PIXE spectrum of a blue glaze. Si, Pb-M, Sn and Ca are clearly present. 185G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 XRF. We have used the PIXE data as matrix input to XRF calculation. To test the systems a series of glass standard has been measured and the obtained data are shown in Table 3. As can be seen the agreement of measured and certified concentra- tions is generally good both for elements detected by the PIXE-alpha system (low-Z) and by the XRF system (me- dium, high Z). It must be observed that the glass standards are intrinsically homogeneous. This is not the case for ceramic glazes [2] at a microscopic level; we can however assume that in the present analysis that involves large glaze areas (1 cm2), the composition is well averaged over the glaze- microstructures. 3. Results of measurements at the Bargello museum in Florence The blue pigment characterization was the main objective of the present work. The relative flexibility of the equipment, and the remarkable cooperation and assistance of the mu- seum staff, to whom we are deeply indebted, has allowed us to perform a measuring campaign, lasted 1 week and cen- tered on 12 sculptures, without interfering with the public access to the museum. Fig. 4 shows a detail of the system during PIXE-alpha analysis of the blue background of the Madonna del Roseto, a masterpiece of Luca Della Robbia. Table 3 Compar ison between measured and certified values (various glass stan- dards) in PIXE-alpha and XRF analysis PIXE STD621 SiO2 70 ± 2 71.13 ± 0.03 Na2O 11 ± 2 12.74 ± 0.05 CaO 11 ± 1 10.71 ± 0.05 Al2O3 3.7 ± 0.7 2.76 ± 0.04 K2O 2.1 ± 0.3 2.01 ± 0.03 MgO – 0.27 ± 0.03 SO3 – 0.13 ± 0.03 XRF BaO <1500 1200 Fe2O3 400 ± 120 400 As2O3 400 ± 120 300 TiO2 – 140 ZrO <100 70 PIXE STD1412 SiO2 49.7 ± 4 42.38 ± 0.18 Na2O 4.5 ± 1.4 4.69 ± 0.07 CaO 4.97 ± 0.7 4.53 ± 0.1 Al2O3 8.6 ± 0.9 7.52 ± 0.24 K2O 4.9 ± 0.6 4.14 ± 0.1 MgO 5.1 ± 0.8 4.69 BaO 6.6 ± 0.8 4.67 ± 0.16 PbO 4.3 ± 1.3 4.4 ± 0.17 CdO 3.8 ± 1.0 4.38 ± 0.08 ZnO – 4.48 ± 0.12 SrO 5.6 ± 1.4 4.55 ± 0.09 PIXE STD610 SiO2 68.22 ± 1 72 Na2O 14.2 ± 1.4 14 CaO 11.2 ± 0.67 12 Al2O3 2.9 ± 0.43 2 XRF K <1000 461 Mn <1000 485 Fe 548 ± 164 458 Co 372 ± 111 390 Ni 596 ± 178 458 Cu 355 ± 106 444 Zn 350 ± 105 433 Rb 377 ± 113 425 Sr 440 ± 132 515 Nb 423 ± 129 – Mo 438 ± 131 – Pb <1000 426 Th <1000 457 U 781 ± 234 461 PIXE STD612 SiO2 80.0 ± 1.2 72 Na2O 12.7 ± 1.3 14 CaO 12.6 ± 0.8 12 Al2O3 3.4 ± 0.5 2 Fig. 4. The PIXE-alpha set-up during the analysis of the blue background of the Madonna del Roseto (Inv. n. 31), a 1460–70 Luca Della Robbia sculpture conserved in the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Florence. The publication of the picture has been authorized by the Italian Ministero dei Beni e le Attività Culturali. Duplications or reproductions of the picture are forbid- den. 186 G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 Fig. 5 shows the entire apparatus during XRF measurement on a Madonna che adora il Bambino still from Luca Della Robbia. A few important details can be observed. With the help of a manual micro-gauge the head containing the source is brought in contact with the blue glaze in a zone of the artefact selected over a flat area of the sculpture in order to assure operation of both the PIXE-alpha and the XRF sys- tems in the best geometrical conditions. The position of the analysis could be marked sufficiently well to allow the align- ment of detectors, in the sequence of measurements, with a precision of the order of 1 mm over a 1 cm2 irradiation area. PIXE and XRF spectra were collected by standard ADC conversion and displayed on a portable PC for immediate control. Quantitative analysis was performed as with the standards. Tables 4 and 5 shows the final results for each analysed point together with the name of the sculpture, its author and the date of manufacture, which is in most cases drawn by art historian on the bases of speculations and deductions from written document. In only one case, the Natività of Giovanni Della Robbia (Barg10), the sculpture base bears to the right the inscription ANO DNI MDXXI. The composition of the blue glazes are similar to other measured on Robbiane sculptures. All the blue is based on cobalt pigments as expected but the behaviour of arsenic, which is associated to cobalt in most cobalt-minerals, is rather peculiar. Arsenic is above detection limits in all sculp- tures dated after 1520, certainly at or after 1521 since it appears in the Natività of Giovanni Della Robbia (Barg10). It is on the contrary absent (below MDL) in the entire Luca production and in the early production of Andrea Della Rob- bia as well as in part of the Benedetto and Santi Buglioni work. The transition takes place, according to our data, be- tween 1514 (Noli me tangere of Benedetto and Santi Bu- glioni) and 1520 (Pietà of Giovanni Della Robbia). The sudden change in arsenic content can provide a before/after dating criterium, which can be of great help in the attribution of Robbiane sculptures of the late period, running from about 1520 up to the death of Santi Buglioni in 1586. 4. Conclusions The complementary use of portable PIXE and XRF sys- tems has enabled to characterize in situ the ceramic glazes of Fig. 5. A view of the equipment during the XRF analysis of the blue background of the Madonna che adora il Bambino (Inv. n. 21), a Luca Della Robbia sculpture conserved in the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Flo- rence. The publication of the picture has been authorized by the Italian Ministero dei Beni e le Attività Culturali. Duplications or reproductions of the picture are forbidden. Table 4 Pixe analysis. Blue glazes composition. Errors are due to statistics and to the fitting procedure. For error >40% data must be considered qualitative Na2O MgO Al2O3 SiO2 P2O5 SO3 K2O CaO Iron oxides CoO SnO2 PbO Barg1 3.5 ± 1.05 52.6 ± 1.0 1.1 ± 0.9 4.9 ± 0.7 4.6 ± 0.9 8.6 ± 2.6 16 ± 1.6 Barg2 2.7 ± 1.9 1.2 ± 0.7 2.4 ± 0.8 40.0 ± 0.8 1.5 ± 0.6 1.3 ± 0.6 2.0 ± 1.6 5.4 ± 2.4 37 ± 2.2 Barg3 33.3 ± 1.7 4.7 ± 0.9 4.0 ± 1.4 5.1 ± 3.6 10 ± 4.0 33 ± 2.6 Barg4 2.1 ± 1.0 2.6 ± 1.3 29.0 ± 1.4 4.8 ± 0.9 2.0 ± 0.8 3.2 ± 2.2 12 ± 1.9 32 ± 2.3 Barg5 3.3 ± 1.6 2.3 ± 0.6 3.4 ± 0.5 41.2 ± 0.8 1.5 ± 0.45 2.8 ± 0.4 1.6 ± 0.5 1.3 ± 0.6 8.9 ± 1.6 29 ± 1.1 Barg6 2.7 ± 0.5 45.8 ± 0.9 3.6 ± 0.7 8.8 ± 1.0 8 ± 2.4 27 ± 1.6 Barg7 34.0 ± 1.4 5.2 ± 1.0 2.9 ± 1.4 16 ± 4.5 34 ± 2.4 Barg8 1.8 ± 1.0 3.0 ± 0.9 31.0 ± 1.2 2.2 ± 1.1 2.8 ± 1.0 3.7 ± 1.1 3.0 ± 1.8 14 ± 3.5 31 ± 1.8 Barg9 4.4 ± 1.3 1.8 ± 0.6 3.7 ± 0.5 35.0 ± 1.0 1.4 ± 0.5 2.2 ± 0.3 3.6 ± 0.5 1.0 ± 0.6 5.6 ± 1.7 36 ± 1.4 Barg10 3.7 ± 1.5 1.1 ± 0.7 1.3 ± 0.65 35.0 ± 1.0 2.0 ± 0.4 4.6 ± 0.7 1.6 ± 0.9 5.2 ± 2.1 36 ± 2.0 Barg11 2.7 ± 2.2 2.0 ± 1.0 30.0 ± 1.8 1.3 ± 0.9 6.0 ± 1.2 5.0 ± 1.0 9.5 ± 4.3 35 ± 2.4 Barg12 2.9 ± 0.7 40.0 ± 0.8 2.4 ± 1.4 2.9 ± 0.3 4.0 ± 0.8 2.6 ± 1.6 4.6 ± 2.3 7 ± 2.8 26 ± 2.0 Note: (1) Must probable iron oxides are Fe2O3 and FeO. Due to the experimental errors our calculations do not distinguish between the two oxides. (2) Barg 5 and Barg 11 measurements are two parts of the same sculpture. 187G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 some selected Della Robbia sculptures exhibited at the Bargello museum in Florence. The obtained data are in range with previous observations on attributed Robbiane but, due to the precision with which such masterpieces are dated, they indicate that arsenic exceeds detection limits only after 1520 and could be used for dating of non-attributed objects on a before/after basis. The sudden appearance of arsenic in association with cobalt is certainly linked to a change of raw materials [20] but more work should be done to relate it to mining sites or preparation procedures. References [1] A. Zucchiatti, A. Bouquillon, J. Salomon, J.R. Gaborit, Study of Italian renaissance sculptures using an external beam nuclear micro- probe, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 161– 163 (2000) 699–703. [2] A. Bouquillon, J. Castaing, J. Salomon, A. Zucchiatti, F. Lucarelli, P.A. Mandò, P. Prati, IBA techniques to study renaissance pottery techniques, Proceedings of the International Conference Fundamental and Applied Aspects of Modern Physics, Luderitz, 13–17 November, in: S.H. Connell, R. Tegen (Eds.), World Scientific. Singapore, 2001, pp. 441–448. [3] A. Zucchiatti, A. Bouquillon, J. Castaing, J.R. Gaborit, Elemental analyses of a group of glazed terracotta angels from the Italian renais- sance as a tool for the reconstruction of a complex conservation history, Archaeometry 45 (2003) 391–404. [4] K.G. Malmqvist, Application in art and archaeology, in: S.A.E. Johan- son, J.C. Campbell, K.G. Malmqvist (Eds.), Particle-Induced X-ray Emission Spectrometry (PIXE), Chemical Analysis Series, 133, John Wiley, Chichester, 1995. [5] Louvre, Laboratoire de recherche des musées de France, Rapport annuel, Direction des musées de France, 1991. [6] A. Zucchiatti, A. Bouquillon, G. Lanterna, F. Lucarelli, P.A. Mandò, P. Prati, J. Salomon, M.G. Vaccari, PIXE and µ-PIXE analysis of glazes from terracotta sculptures of the Della Robbia workshop, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 189 (2002) 358–363. [7] A. Bouquillon, F. Lucarelli, P.A. Mandò, G. Lanterna, J. Salomon, P. Prati, M.G. Vaccari, A. Zucchiatti, Analisi non distruttive di smalti robbiani con fasci di ioni”, in: Edizioni del Giglio (Ed.), Atti del XXXIV Convegno Internazionale della Ceramica, Savona, 25–26 Maggio, Firenze, 2001, pp. 157–162. [8] A. Bouquillon, J. Castaing, E. Vartanian, A. Zink, A. Zucchiatti, Etude des oeuvres robbiesques: le cas de San Frediano, in: J.R. Gaborit, M. Bormand (Eds.), Reunion des Musées de France, Les Della Rob- bia, Sculptures en terre cuite émaillée de la Renaissance italienne, 2002, pp. 140–158. [9] G. Gentilini, I. Della Robbia, La scultura invetriata nel Rinascimento, in: Cantini (Ed.), 1992. [10] R. Woldset, X-ray Energy Spectrometry, Kevex Corporation, Burlin- game, California, 1970. [11] R. Cesareo, Nuclear Analytical Techniques in Medicine, Elsevier, Amsterdam, 1988. [12] G. Pappalardo, J. de Sanoit, A. Musumarra, G. Calvi, C. Marchetta, Feasibility study of a portable PIXE system using a 210Po alpha source, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 109/111 (1996) 214–217. [13] L. Pappalardo, F.P. Romano, S. Garraffo, J. de Sanoit, C. Marchetta, G. Pappalardo, The improved LNS PIXE-alpha portable system: archaeometric applications, Archaeometry 45 (2) (2003) 321–327. [14] Geostandards Newsletter 18 (1995) 35 (special issue). [15] V. Francaviglia, G. Pappalardo, L. Pappalardo, F.P. Romano, Obsidian provenance determination by means of a portable XRF spectrometer, in: Patron Editore (Ed.), Atti del II Congresso Nazionale di Archeome- tria, Bologna, 2002, pp. 387–393. [16] G. Barone, M. Brandaglia, L. Pappalardo, M. Triscari, Caratterizzazi- one di ossidiane mediante spettrometria XRF con sorgenti radioattive, Plinius 16 (1996) 25–27. [17] J.A. Maxwell, W.J. Teesdale, W.J. Campbell, The Guelph PIXE soft- ware package II, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 95 (1995) 407–421. [18] T.L. Hopman, Z. Nejedly, J.A. Maxwell, J.L. Campbell, Extension of GUPIX to 2H, 3He and 4He excitation, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 189 (2002) 138–142. [19] G. Bernasconi, A. Taiani, Manual of QXAS (Quantitative X-Ray Analysis System), version 3.2, IAEA. [20] B. Gratuze, I. Soulier, M. Blet, L. Vallauri, De l’origine du cobalt: du verre à la céramique, Revue d’Archéométrie 20 (1994) 77–94. Table 5 XRF analysis. Blue glazes composition. Errors are due to statistics and to the fitting procedure. For error > 40% data must be considered qualitative. XRF Iron oxides CoO NiO CuO ZnO As2O3 Name of sculpture Author Date Barg1 1.2 ± 0.4 0.7 ± 0.2 0.6 ± 0.2 1.2 ± 0.4 <0.1 – Madonna Della mela Luca Della Robbia 1440–1445 Barg2 0.8 ± 0.2 0.6 ± 0.2 0.6 ± 0.2 0.9 ± 0.3 – – Adorazione con cornice di Angeli (center) Luca e Andrea Della Robbia + Giovanni 1460–1465 Barg3 1.2 ± 0.4 1.4 ± 0.4 1.2 ± 0.4 0.5 ± 0.2 <0.1 – Madonna col bambino dell’umiltà Andrea Della Robbia 1465 Barg4 1.8 ± 0.5 0.7 ± 0.2 0.4 ± 0.2 0.3 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Madonna del Roseto Luca Della Robbia 1460–1470 Barg5 1.8 ± 0.5 0.7 ± 0.2 0.3 ± 0.2 0.2 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Madonna che adora il bambino Luca Della Robbia 1470 Barg6 1.1 ± 0.4 0.3 ± 0.1 <0.1 0.4 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Ritratto di Fanciullo (Piero di Lorenzo de Medici) Andrea Della Robbia 1475 Barg7 1.7 ± 0.5 0.9 ± 0.3 0.6 ± 0.2 0.2 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Annunciazione Andrea Della Robbia 1505–1510 Barg8 1.3 ± 0.4 0.8 ± 0.2 0.5 ± 0.1 0.4 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Pietà Giovanni Della Robbia 1514–1515 Barg9 1.0 ± 0.3 0.8 ± 0.2 0.5 ± 0.2 <0.1 <0.1 0.9 ± 0.3 Noli me tangere Benedetto e Santi Bu- glioni 1520 Barg10 0.7 ± 0.2 1.0 ± 0.3 0.5 ± 0.2 <0.1 <0.1 0.7 ± 0.2 Adorazione con cornice di Angeli (frame) Luca e Andrea Della Robbia + Giovanni ca. 1520 Barg11 0.7 ± 0.2 0.6 ± 0.2 0.5 ± 0.2 <0.1 <0.1 0.7 ± 0.2 Natività Giovanni Della Robbia 1521 dated Barg12 1.7 ± 0.5 1.5 ± 0.5 0.6 ± 0.2 0.2 ± 0.1 <0.1 0.4 ± 0.1 Noli me tangere Santi Buglioni (Giovanni Viviani) 1530–1540 Note: Barg5 and Barg11 measurements are two parts of the same sculpture. 188 G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 Non-destructive characterization of Della Robbia sculptures at the Bargello museum in Florence by the combined use of PIXE and XRF portable systems Introduction Experimental methods2.1. Portable PIXE analysis Portable XRF analysis Calibration and test of the systems Results of measurements at the Bargello museum in Florence Conclusions References 
work_arjximx7m5gtdimjueuqyxwhxi	----	CAR volume 45 issue 1 Cover and Back matter P R I N C E T O N THE ARA PACIS AUGUSTAE AND THE IMAGERY OF ABUNDANCE IN LATER GREEK AND EARLY ROMAN IMPERIAL ART David Castriota 12S halftones. Cloth: £39.50 ISBN 0-691 -03715-9 Due July 1995 WHOM GODS DESTROY Elements of Greek and Tragic Madness Ruth Padel Cloth: £19.95 ISBN 0-691-03360-9 IN AND OUT OF THE MIND Greek Images of the Tragic Self Ruth Padel Paper: £10.95 ISBN 0-691-03766-3 THE COMING OF THE GREEKS Indo-European Conquests in the Aegean and the Near East Robert Drews Paper: £12.95 ISBN 0-691-02951-2 EMPIRE TO COMMONWEALTH Consequences of Monotheism in Late Antiquity Garth Fowden Paper: £10.95 ISBN 0-691-01545-7 Winner of the Archaeological Institute of America's James R. Wiseman Book Award DAIDALOS AND THE ORIGINS OF GREEK ART Sarah P. Morris 63 halftones. Paper: £24.95 ISBN 0-691 -00160-X Expanded edition With a new introduction, notes, and bibliography by John Carswell ARAB SEAFARING In the Indian Ocean in Ancient and Early Medieval Times George F. Hourani Paper: £10.95 ISBN 0-691-00032-8 Cloth: £27.50 ISBN 0-691-00170-7 Due July 1995 PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS AVAILABLE FROM YOUR BOOKSELLER OR DIRECTLY FROM THE PUBLISHER: (609) 883-1759 U.S. • (0243)829121 U.KJEUROPE terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009840X00291786 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009840X00291786 https://www.cambridge.org/core Simonides: A Historical Study by J. H. Molyneux "The largest and most important work written on Simonides." —D.L. Page Further Greek Epigrams "Molyneux's work is a scholarly and exhaustive analysis that makes a significant contribution to ancient Greek literary his- tory. " —Gordon Kirkwood In his examination of the public life and poetic career of Simonides, Prof. J. H. Molyneux has provided a thorough examination of all the docu- mentary evidence available with respect to one of history's major choral lyric poets. Simonides: A Historical Study offers a judicious assessment of the evidence for dating of events and poetry in the various stages of Simonides' career. In analyzing this information, Prof. Molyneux considers the occasion and date of the poems of Simonides; the dates of his association with various patrons; his whereabouts and move- ments at various stages of his poetic career; and his relationship with the communities, governments or individuals for whom he wrote. This meticulous study is certain to be of great value to both literary and historical scholars. Senior Lecturer in the Classics at Nottingham University in England, Dr. Molyneux earned his doctorate from the University of Sheffield. His writings have appeared in numerous journals, and he has presented papers to many of the most prestigious scholarly organizations. ISBN 0-86516-222-0 Hardbound, $39.00 ISBN 0-86516-223-9 Paperbound, $24.00 Order from: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, Inc. 1000 Brown St., Unit 101 Wauconda, IL 60084 (708) 526-4344: Fax (708) 526-2867 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009840X00291786 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009840X00291786 https://www.cambridge.org/core Plato in the Italian Renaissance By James Hankins Plato in the Italian Renaissance, the first book-length treatment of Renaissance Platonism in over fifty years, is a study of the dramatic revival of interest in the Platonic dialogues in Italy in the fifteenth century. Through a richly contextual study of the translations and commentaries on Plato, James Hankins seeks to show how the interpretation of Plato was molded by the expectations of fifteenth-century readers, by the need to protect Plato against his critics, and the broader hermeneutical assumptions and practices of the period. The second half includes 20 appendices which treat of the dates, character, and sources of the translations and commentaries discussed in the first half. It also contains a catalogue raisonee of texts illustrative of Plato in the Quattrocento, comprising new critical editions of 59 texts, thirty-eight of them hitherto unpublished. The volume ends with a complete catalog of manuscripts and printed editions of Renaissance Latin translations of Plato, an incipitarium, and full indexes. James Hankins received his A.B. in Classics at Duke University and his Ph.D. in History at Columbia University under Eugene F. Rice, Jr., where he also served for a number of years as assistant to Paul Oskar Kristeller. He has published and co-published The Humanism of Leonardo Bruni, Supplementum Festivum: Studies in Honor of Paul Oskar Kristeller and numerous articles. Now in One Volume • Columbia Studies in the Classical Tradition, 17 • 3rd impression 1994. 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Oxford Classical Monographs 0-19-814789-9, 296 pp., 2 halftones. Clarendon Press £35.00 Essays on Plutarch's Lives Edited by BARBARA SCARDIGLI This volume brings together the work of a wide range of international scholars on the most important themes in Plutarch's Greek and Roman Lives. 0-19-814076-2, 410 pp., Clarendon Press £45.00 NEW IN PAPERBACK Aeschylus: The Seven Against Thebes Edited with an introduction and commentary by G. O. HUTCHINSON 'A good and thoroughly reliable edition.' A.F. 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Particularly welcome are its exquisitely de- tailed discussion of meter, frequent reference to secondary literature, and generous translation of colloquialisms, particles, obscure vocabulary, lyric' Bryn Mawr Classical Review • An indispensable commentary on this celebrated \ Greek comedy • Includes the complete Greek text, and a comprehensive introduction 0-19-815005-9, 414 pp., Clarendon Paperbacks £13.95 NEW IN PAPERBACK Shakespeare and Ovid JONATHAN BATE 'fascinating book ... wipes out the memory of static classroom excerpts and reveals Ovid in his full splendour' Spectator Examining the full range of Shakespeare's works, this is the first comprehensive account of the relationship between Shakespeare and his favourite poet, Ovid. 0-19-818324-0, 308 pp., Clarendon Paperbacks £12.95 Available now from bookshops Order direct ft (01536) 741519. 24 hour credit card hotline: <•> (01536) 454534 In case of difficulty, or for more information, contact Rosalind Loten, Arts & Reference Marketing, Oxford University Press, Walton Street, Oxford 0X2 6DP, or ft (01865) 56767 x4674. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009840X00291786 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009840X00291786 https://www.cambridge.org/core CLASSICAL LIBRARY RECENTLY PUBLISHED Euripides Cyclops, Alcestis, Medea FORTHCOMING Chariton Callirhoe EdHed and Translated by David Kovacs Edited and Translated by G. P. GooW Loeb Classical Library, 12 Chariton's Callirhoe, subtitled "Love Story in ISBN 0-674-99560-0 £11.50/821.00 Syracuse," is the oldest extant novel. Chariton narrates the adventures of an exceptionally beautiful young bride named Callirhoe, beginning with her abduction by pirates—adventures that involve shipwrecks, several ardent suitors, an embarrassing pregnancy, the hazards of war, and a happy ending. This enchanting tale is here made available for the first time in an English translation facing the Greek text. Loeb Classical Library, 481 July 1995 4 " B x 6 v 4 400 p p . 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009840X00291786 https://www.cambridge.org/core w DE G Walter de Gruyter Berlin • New York Maximus Tyrius Philosophumena - AiakE^ElC, Edited by George Leonidas Koniaris 1995. Large-octavo. LXXXIII, 527 pages. Cloth DM 390.-/6S 3042,-/sFr 370,- ISBN 3-11-012833-0 (Texte und Kommentare, Vol. 17) Critical edition of the Lectures of Maximus of Tyre (Phoenicia), a rhetorician and eclectic philosopher of the 2nd cent. A. D. The AiaXe^eit; of Maximus of Tyre contribute to our knowledge of the Cynic diatribe, the Second Sophistic, and Middle Plato- nism. They also exemplify the intellectual syncretism of the time - in Maximus, for example, Asianism joins forces with Atticism, and philosophy diluted in rhetoric becomes manneristic belles-let- tres. 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work_arludgr2yvfndhq4sgdsgwhgwm	----	FOREWORD Structural Simulations and Conservation Analysis -Historic Building Information Model (HBIM) C. Dore a , M. Murphy a , S. McCarthy a , F. Brechin a , C. Casidy a , E. Dirix b a School of Surveying and Construction Management, Dublin Institute of Technology, Maurice.Murphy@dit.ie b KU Leuven - University of Leuven, Raymond Lemaire International Centre for Conservation, Faculty of Engineering, Graduate Student, eveliendirix@outlook.com Commission V, WG V/4 KEY WORDS: Historic Building Information Modelling, HBIM, Surveying, Historic Structures, Building Conservation, Architectural Conservation, Laser Scanning, Virtual Cultural Heritage ABSTRACT: In this paper the current findings to date of the Historic Building Information Model (HBIM) of the Four Courts in Dublin are presented. The Historic Building Information Model (HBIM) forms the basis for both structural and conservation analysis to measure the impact of war damage which still impacts on the building. The laser scan survey was carried out in the summer of 2014 of the internal and external structure. After registration and processing of the laser scan survey, the HBIM was created of the damaged section of the building and is presented as two separate workflows in this paper. The first is the model created from historic data, the second a procedural and segmented model developed from laser scan survey of the war damaged drum and dome. From both models structural damage and decay simulations will be developed for documentation and conservation analysis. 1. INTRODUCTION 1.1 Overview The specific aim of this paper is to present the research outputs to date of a Historic Building Information Modelling (HBIM) of the Four Courts, a historic classical building in Dublin City. This case study forms part of an overall project to develop a prototype system for national monuments in Ireland for the conservation, maintenance and management of historic properties, based on HBIM. 1.2 Definition As a multi-disciplinary and evolving system, Historic Building Information Modelling (HBIM) has been developed in the Dublin Institute of Technology. The HBIM process (Murphy, M. et al, 2013) consists of the survey of existing structures using remote sensing followed by the mapping of parametric and information rich objects onto a geometric framework based on the remote survey data. The parametric objects which represent the architectural elements are built using a geometric descriptive language and are based on historic architectural documents (architectural rules and shape grammars). In addition these rules and grammars are exploited to procedurally model parts of the structures to speed up and automate parts of the process (Dore, C. and Murphy, M. 2014).The resultant HBIM can then be used for automatically producing conservation documentation and analysis of historic structures in addition to visualisation. 1.3 Complementary Research Within the field of Virtual Cultural Heritage, Historic BIM was preceded by researchers (Chevrier, et al 2010; De Luca, L. 2012) developing parametric CAD objects which are then mapped onto laser scan or photogrammetric surveys. The parametric primitives or objects can be modified to fit the range of geometry and texture requirements for virtual representation of historic structures. Parametric modelling was then improved by introducing the benefits of using Building Information Modelling (BIM) for cultural heritage preservation. BIM was developed for the design, build and future management of new buildings and facilities. In BIM the production of virtual models can automatically generate not only standard drawings and schedules but also provides for structural, economic, energy and project management analytical data. Two problems existed for researchers in generating HBIM, the first is the absence of complex historic architectural elements in BIM libraries and secondly a system for mapping the objects onto remotely sensed survey data. While these problems are been improved upon by the developments of HBIM carried out in the DIT (1), research in HBIM is becoming fairly widespread. This includes for example the work in Carleton University (Fai, S. et al, 2011; 2013; 2014), Polytechnic of Milan (Oreni, D. et al, 2014), KU Leuven (Boeykens, S., 2011; Boeykens, S. et al 2013) and others (Baik, A. et al 2014; Wu, T. C. et al 2013). The later research initiatives are case study based (modelling of historic structures) using various remote sensing hardware and software systems and BIM software platforms. In addition, in the later research the problem of building parametric architectural libraries is mainly overcome graphically as opposed to coding the parametric objects. In contrast, HBIM developed in the DIT; the library objects are built using Geometric Descriptive Language (GDL). Generative Modelling Language (GML) in addition to the existing Geometric Descriptive Language (GDL) is now being examined to allow for the libraries to be used as stand- alone or cross-platform. The systems used for mapping the objects onto point clouds or mesh models are based on manually aligning the objects onto orthographic projects from the point cloud or mesh model. More recent work concentrates on automation for improving the current slow process of converting unstructured point clouds into structured semantic BIM components; this includes DIT research (Dore, C. and The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W4, 2015 3D Virtual Reconstruction and Visualization of Complex Architectures, 25-27 February 2015, Avila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. doi:10.5194/isprsarchives-XL-5-W4-351-2015 351 mailto:Maurice.Murphy@dit.ie mailto:eveliendirix@outlook.com Murphy, M. 2014) and the University of Bologna (Garagnani, S., 2013). The principal results from this research, which converts laser scan or photogrammetric survey data to HBIM is the creation of intelligent computer models which are used for conservation analysis and solutions for historic structures and their environments. 1.4 Case Study – Four Courts The Four Courts is a late 18th century classical building in Ireland; the building was partially destroyed in 1922 during the civil war in Ireland which occurred during the early establishment of the Republic (see Figure 1). The effects of the civil war damage to the building are once again a threat to the structural stability of parts of the building. The intention is to use the HBIM to illustrate virtually the current extent of the damage/decay and as a basis for the proposed conservation interventions. Figure 1: War Damage to the Four Courts 1.5 Summary of Methodologies Used Two data sets are available for creating the HBIM, the first is the archive of historic surveys carried out since the 1780s through to recent years. The second data set is a recent laser scan survey. The laser scan survey was carried out in the summer of 2014 of the internal and external structure using a Leica HDS C10. For this reason the HBIM work programme is divided into two workflows, the first based on the historic data and the second on the laser scan survey (see Figure 2). Figure 2: Laser Scan Survey The historic documents (drawings, documents and iconographic sources of the specific building) are interpreted and identified from an art and architecture historical perspective to accompany the computing research methods. In addition to this, information concerning historic European construction techniques and architectural details can be found in architectural manuscripts, which have evolved from Vitruvius (70 – 35 BC) to the 17th and 18th century architectural pattern books. These architectural pattern books are employed to supplement specific architectural records for creating library objects. The second model is created as a procedural and segmented model from the laser scan of part of the war damaged drum and dome. Using concepts from procedural modelling, a new set of rules and algorithms have been developed to automatically combine parametric library objects and generate Historic Building Information Models (HBIMs) from survey data. The procedural HBIM workflow is shown in Figure 3. First a laser scan or photogrammetric survey is carried out to acquire data to generate a HBIM. In the second stage survey data is processed to produce segmented point clouds and cut-sections which are imported into BIM software. Next procedural rules are applied to survey data to automatically generate the required BIM geometry. The generated geometry can then be refined by adjusting parameters to accurately match the geometry to specific survey data. Once a HBIM has been generated and precisely mapped to survey data, documentation can be automatically generated from the model. This includes plans, elevation drawings, sections and 3D perspectives. Further analysis can also be carried for structural and conservation analysis of historic buildings. Figure 3: Procedural Workflow 2. WORKFLOW 1 - HISTORIC RECONSTRUCTION 2.1 HBIM The series of routines for building the first model is based on historic data entirely and no input is introduced from the laser scan survey and is illustrated in the Figure 4 below. Given that the Four Courts is one of the Dublin city’s most important historic buildings a large collection of drawings and surveys from a period over 220 years are still available within the state archive. These documents have been scanned and scaled for re- The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W4, 2015 3D Virtual Reconstruction and Visualization of Complex Architectures, 25-27 February 2015, Avila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. doi:10.5194/isprsarchives-XL-5-W4-351-2015 352 mapping in HBIM. The historic documents are reviewed from an art and architectural history perspective to accompany the computing methodological approaches in order to identify correct uses and interpretation of historic sources. In Figure 4, (Detail 1) a sample of the historic drawings is shown, the columns, wall and beams are placed on a scaled plan and the section detail which contains imperial measurements allows for vertical positions as shown in detail 2. Other sets of data are used to position the wall (Detail 3), beams and dome (Detail 4). Mouldings and details such as dental block are added (see Detail 5), windows and accompanied openings are inserted, as illustrated in Details 7, 8 and 9. The internal dome is added (see Detail 10) and the supporting buttresses are added as shown in Detail 11. Figure 4: Details 1 to 11 - Historic Model 2.2 Building Morphology The model illustrated in the figure 4 above, indicates a number of relevant physical characteristics concerning the damaged section of the building. These are the original historic construction techniques used in the 18 th century and the interventions to repair to the building after war damage in the 1920s. In summary, almost all of the Corinthian columns surrounding the dome had been shattered. The inner walls of granite appear to have remained intact. The Corinthian columns, which had originally been carved on all sides were removed and rotated so that the damaged sides face inwards. Two of the columns which had been destroyed were replaced with replicas cast in artificial stone. An internal system of steel framing was employed to brace the external walls and reinforced concrete floors replaced the original floors. The dome was replaced using reinforced concrete, which was a very progressive solution for the time, as a thin skin of ferro-concrete was used. This consists of a very slender, complex curved leaves of reinforced concrete used for shell roof construction. 2.3 Creating the Library of Architectural Elements In the case of this building, an understanding of classical architecture within its correct time-frame is essential. This is required to identify significant rules, which can be applied to developing the library of objects used to plot the model. The historic surveys and drawings (see Figure 5) usually show the spatial positions of architectural elements but do not contain the construction detail, the architectural rules and shape grammars for composing these elements. This information can be found in various historic architectural texts. Therefore a substantial portion of the investigation for creating accurate parametric objects relates to locating and understanding these texts within the correct historic and geographic framework. Figure 5: 18 th Century Section of Four Courts (Architect Gandon) 2.4 Historic Framework for Classical Architecture The first recorded treatise concerning classical architectural rules was “De Architectura” by the Roman scholar Vitruvius. Later, during the classical revival of the Italian Renaissance the following three tractates on architectural theory are of key importance: “De re Aedificatoria” (1443-1452) by Leon Battista Alberti, “Regole Generali D'Architettura” (1537) by Sebastiano Serlio and “Regola Delli Cinque Ordini D’Architettura” (1562) by Giacomo Barozzi da Vignola. Vitruvius’s influence stretched across Europe with the treatises of Claude Perrault who published the only French translation of ‘De Architectura’ in 1673 and hereby contributed to revive the feeling for the rules and principles in architecture. In 18 th century Britain, Andrea Palladio’s work “Quattro Libri dell'Architettura” (1570) influenced the production of crucial architectural treatises. ‘The Rules for Drawing the Several Parts of Architecture’ (1732) by James Gibbs can be considered as a precursor for the production of practical pattern books (see Figure 6 below) throughout the 17 th and 18 th centuries in Britain (with an extension in 19 th century Irish architecture) . Figure 6: Pattern Book Detail – Corinthian Capital The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W4, 2015 3D Virtual Reconstruction and Visualization of Complex Architectures, 25-27 February 2015, Avila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. doi:10.5194/isprsarchives-XL-5-W4-351-2015 353 The interpretation and understanding of architectural rules can be more easily adapted from these architectural pattern books, which can fill the hiatuses in historic archival documents. The coding or graphic system for developing the libraries follows on from this, below is an example of sash window library parts developed from these rules and pattern book sources (Murphy, M., 2012). Figure 7: Library Objects 3. WORKFLOW 2 – PROCEEDURAL RECONSTRUCTION 3.1 Procedural Rules for HBIM Procedural rules have been developed for modelling building façades and complete external building geometry. A prototype plug-in has been developed with these rules for the ArchiCAD BIM software. This prototype plug-in allows for semi-automatic generation of existing buildings from survey data. The design and implementation of the procedural HBIM rules are described in this section. 3.1.1 Design and Conceptual Framework The design and conceptual framework for the HBIM procedural rules are based on concepts from shape grammars. A shape grammar is a production system used in procedural modelling to automatically generate two or three dimensional geometries from a basic vocabulary of shapes and a set of production or shape rules. A HBIM library of parametric architectural elements (Murphy etal, 2013) are used as a shape vocabulary on which the rules and algorithms are applied. Architectural rules and proportions are also used to assist the reconstruction process. Architectural rules and proportions outlined in pattern books relating to classical buildings are used to provide an initial estimate for the position and size of building elements on a generated building. This greatly reduces the amount of further editing required when modelling classical buildings from survey data. 3.2 New Procedural Rule for Modelling Deformed Drum Walls This new procedural rule is designed for accurate and efficient modelling of curved walls that contain deformation such as the walls supporting a dome and drum of the Four Courts. As a result of deformation the walls which support the dome may not be perfectly vertical and may contain different levels of deviation at different heights and locations. A design for accurately modelling this type of irregular wall has been developed using multiple cut sections from a point cloud (see Figure 8). Horizontal cut sections through a circular wall at different heights will show areas where the wall is bulging or warping. Creating a surface from cut sections through the wall at different heights allows the variances of the surface to be accurately represented. This new procedural rule allows users to select a group of horizontal cut sections which are then used to automatically generate the irregular wall surface (Figure 9). The non-vertical wall is created by generating a surface between each horizontal cut section. This rule results in automatically generated geometry for a drum wall which represents the true condition of the wall with deformation based on scan data. The design and implementation of this rule is described more in in this section. Figure 8: Segmented point cloud and horizontal cut sections imported into BIM software Figure 9: Irregular non-vertical walls containing deformation automatically generated from cut-sections. A split rule is used to automatically add window openings. 3.2.1 Conceptual Design for New Procedural Rule The input for this rule is a set of horizontal cut sections which are created from the point cloud. For this rule the cut sections need to be represented as closed polygons made up of arcs or lines. Each cut section also must have an associated height parameter for that section. The conceptual design for this rule involves a user selecting any number of cut sections from the point cloud and applying the rule which automatically generates the irregular wall surface. The main challenge in implementing this rule is in determining how points in one cut section correspond and relate to points in The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W4, 2015 3D Virtual Reconstruction and Visualization of Complex Architectures, 25-27 February 2015, Avila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. doi:10.5194/isprsarchives-XL-5-W4-351-2015 354 the next cut section above and below it. As all cut sections will vary there are no common points between each section. To overcome this problem a common framework is set up to identify relating points between each section (Figure 10). An algorithm is used to calculate coordinates at the intersection of this regular framework and each cut section. The wall surface is then created by connecting these relating points between each section. 3.2.2 Implementation of New Procedural Rule This new rule has also been implemented as part of the prototype plug-in to the ArchiCAD BIM software. The C++ programming language is first used with the software API to retrieve data relating to the group of cut sections selected by a user. This data is then passed on to a GDL script where the main code for this rule is implemented. An algorithm is used to calculate the corresponding points between cut-sections (Figure 10). The 3D “RULED” function in GDL is then used to create the new surface which connects the cut sections based on corresponding points. Offsets for the inner wall surface are then calculated based on a user parameter for the wall thickness. Figure 10. Framework (black lines) for identifying corresponding points between horizontal cut sections (coloured) Once the walls have been automatically generated with this new procedural rule then other rules can also be applied such as the split rule described in the previous section. This split rule will automatically divide the drum wall into any number of equal tiles with openings (Figure 11). The positions and size of window openings can then be graphically refined to precisely fit the survey data. An additional rule is also used to create a mesh surface for the roof of the dome from a sample of points from the scan data (Figure 11). Continued work will involve developing additional procedural rules for automatically arranging columns and mouldings to complete the HBIM for this section of the Four Courts building. Existing tools within the ArchiCAD BIM software are very limited for modelling non-vertical circular walls which contain deformation. This new rule allows for more accurate and efficient generation of HBIMs from survey data which can facilitate structural and conservation analysis of existing buildings. Figure 11. Wall containing deformation automatically generated from cut sections. Additional mesh surfaces used to represent dome roof and floor surfaces (right). 4. NEXT PHASE OF WORK 4.1 Sub-Phases The project is multidisciplinary; the initial phase for developing the Historic Building Information Model involved surveyors and architectural historians. The next phase encompasses using the model to automate documentation to identify and propose solutions for decay, damage and structural integrity, which will involve material scientists and engineers. 4.1.1 Building Decay and Damage Mapping Three approaches are recommended: initially, manually mapping of decay onto 2D scaled orthographic projections of the model in plan, elevation and section. The second is an attempt to locate the decay and damage onto the 3D geometry using total station or other instruments, which will locate 3D coordinate positions. Finally the use of digital photogrammetry is proposed, to build the elements where the scan data is not sufficiently dense or cannot access. Below is an example of a digital photogrammetric reconstruction of part of the scroll from the Corinthian capital which broke away from the capital of the column. Figure 12: Corinthian capital – Photogrammetric Model The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W4, 2015 3D Virtual Reconstruction and Visualization of Complex Architectures, 25-27 February 2015, Avila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. doi:10.5194/isprsarchives-XL-5-W4-351-2015 355 4.1.2 Structural Analysis Open BIM is a model-based design approach based on the Industrial Foundation Class or IFC model exchange format. Using standard international formats such as the Industry Foundation Class (IFC) it is also possible to export HBIM data for further analysis in other software. This has been shown by Oreni et al. (2014) where the interoperability of HBIM was tested with other software such as Rhino for performing geometric analysis and simulations and Midas for finite element analysis. An example of structural behaviour is illustrated in the Figure below, a Section through dome and drum walls automatically created from survey data with procedural rules (workflow 2) shows true condition of wall which outlines deformation, which may be due to the traditional materials used or movement. A warping of the drum wall is clearly evident from this section. Figure 13. Section through dome and drum walls automatically created from survey data with procedural rules. Section shows true condition of wall which contains deformation. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The laser scan survey was carried out by Andrew Moore, Survey Instrument Services Ireland. REFERENCES Baik, A., Alitany, A., Boehm, J., & Robson, S. (2014). Jeddah Historical Building Information Modelling JHBIM &ndash; Object Library. ISPRS Ann. Photogramm. Remote Sens. Spatial Inf. Sci., II-5, 41-47. doi: 10.5194/isprsannals-II-5-41-2014 Boeykens, S. (2011, 6-8 July 2011). Using 3D Design software, BIM and game engines for architectural historical reconstruction Paper presented at the CAAD Futures 2011, Liège, Belgium. Boeykens, S., Himpe, C., & Martens, B. (2012, 12-14 September 2012). A Case Study of Using BIM in Historical Reconstruction - The Vinohrady synagogue in Prague. Paper presented at the The 30th International Conference on Education and research in Computing Aided Architectural Design in Europe, Prague, Czech Republic. Chevrier, C., Charbonneau, N., Grussenmeyer, P., & Perrin, J.- P. (2010). 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Building Information Modelling and the documentation of architectural heritage: Between the 'typical' and the 'specific'. Paper presented at the Digital Heritage International Congress (DigitalHeritage), 2013. Garagnani, S. (2013). Building Information Modeling and real world knowledge: A methodological approach to accurate semantic documentation for the built environment. Paper presented at the Digital Heritage International Congress (DigitalHeritage), 2013. Dore, C., urphy, ,. Semi-automatic generation of as-built B fa ade geometry from laser and image data, Tcon Vol. 19, pg. 20-46, http://www.itcon.org/2014/2 Murphy, M., (2012), PhD, Historic Building Information Modelling, Trinity College Dublin, unpublished. https://www.academia.edu/8237173/Historic_Building_Informa tion_Modelling_HBIM_PhD Murphy, M., McGovern, E., Pavia, S., (2013), Historic Building Information Modelling -Adding intelligence to laser and image based surveys Elsevier, ISPRS Journal of Photogrammetry and Remote Sensing. https://www.academia.edu/5932333/HBIM Oreni, D., Brumana, R., Della Torre, S., Banfi, F., Barazzetti, L., & Previtali, M. (2014). Survey turned into HBIM: the restoration and the work involved concerning the Basilica di Collemaggio after the earthquake (L'Aquila). ISPRS Ann. Photogramm. Remote Sens. Spatial Inf. Sci., II-5, 267- 273. doi: 10.5194/isprsannals-II-5-267-2014 Von Geÿmuller, 1898-1901. Die Baukunst der Renaissance in Frankreich. Stuttgart Wu, T. C., Lin, Y. C., Hsu, M. F., Zheng, N. W., & Chen, W. L. (2013). Improving Traditional Building Repair Construction Quality Using Historic Building Information Modeling Concept. Int. Arch. Photogramm. Remote Sens. Spatial Inf. Sci., XL-5/W2, 691-694. doi: 10.5194/isprsarchives-XL-5-W2- 691-2013. The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W4, 2015 3D Virtual Reconstruction and Visualization of Complex Architectures, 25-27 February 2015, Avila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. doi:10.5194/isprsarchives-XL-5-W4-351-2015 356 APPENDIX HBIM model of dome and drum The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W4, 2015 3D Virtual Reconstruction and Visualization of Complex Architectures, 25-27 February 2015, Avila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. doi:10.5194/isprsarchives-XL-5-W4-351-2015 357 
work_auwp6swqw5bfxa32wkn7px7lg4	----	PETER A. REDPATH* Studia Gilsoniana 1 (2012) GILSON AS CHRISTIAN HUMANIST In chapter 1, paragraph 19, of his encyclical Caritas in veritate, quoting Pope Paul VI, Pope Benedict XVI tells us that, among other things, the vision of development as a human vocation today requires “the deep thought and reflection of wise men in search of a new hu- manism which will enable modern man to find himself anew.” In this paper I am going to suggest that the intellectual life of Étienne Gilson constituted just the sort of search for a new humanism about which the Pope speaks, that Gilson’s scholarly work was part of a new renais- sance, a new humanism that Gilson thought was demanded by the pre- carious civilizational crisis of the modern West after World Wars I and II. In sum, I wish to argue that, more than anything else, Gilson was a renaissance humanist scholar who consciously worked in the tradi- tion of renaissance humanists before him, but did so to expand our understanding of the notion of “renaissance” scholarship and to create his own brand of Christian humanism to deal with problems distinctive to his age. Anyone familiar with the revived interest in Thomistic studies that happened during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries will likely be struck by the sharp contrast in writing-style between the manual Thomists who first started this revival and that of Gilson. A chief purpose of this paper is to argue that the radical difference in style is connected to part to a kind of Christian humanism, renaissance thinking, that Gilson developed as part of his distinctive style of doing historical research and of philosophizing. * Dr. Peter A. Redpath – Rector, Adler-Aquinas Institute, Manitou Springs, Colo- rado (USA); e-mail: redpathp@gmail.com PETER A. REDPATH 54 In referring to Gilson as a renaissance humanist, as did Gilson himself, I am predicating the term “renaissance” in a wide sense. As is well known, Gilson was chiefly responsible among scholars of the twentieth century for demonstrating as bogus the modern prejudice that attempted to reserve the term “renaissance” to a period of Western intellectual history that occurred from around AD 1350 to 1600. In my opinion Gilson’s critique of this specious intellectual reductionism was part of a conscious attempt on his part to develop his own brand of Christian humanism rooted in a way of philosophizing common to the High Middle Ages. As he saw it, the celebrated Italian renaissance was only one of a series of intellectual renaissances that had occurred in the West prior to the fourteenth century and heavily depended on the scholarly work of many prior centuries. In referring to Gilson as a humanist, I am predicating the term “humanist,” in a two-fold way, in accord with two chief ways that I think professional philosophers today generally understand the term “humanism.” In these senses, Gilson the humanist was (1) a student of classical literary, artistic, and scientific works of Ancient Greece and Rome. This is the sense in which thinkers such as Paul Oskar Kristeller often use the term to refer to the humanism of the Italian Renaissance. Professional philosophers also use it to refer to (2) a way of studying that places emphasis on (a) the centrality or dignity of the human per- son, (b) subjects of study that relate to such centrality or dignity, or (c) ways of engaging in such a study that gives a special dignity to the human subject as agent doing the studying. Reasonable justification exists to predicate “humanism” of Gilson’s scholarship in both phi- losophical senses of the term. Gilsonian humanism has about it the quality of a wonder about the whole of classical wisdom from the an- cient Israelites to the High Middle Ages and beyond; it also empha- sizes those subjects that relate to the person’s centrality and dignity and the way of studying such subjects such that it gives a special dig- nity to the agent studying. In the first sense, similar to the Italian renaissance humanists and many of the renaissance humanists of the High French Middle Ages, GILSON AS CHRISTIAN HUMANIST 55 including St. Thomas, in the tradition of St. Bernard of Chartres, Gil- son engaged in a study of the classics to revive aspects of higher learn- ing in his time, get truth from classical philosophical and theological works, and build upon these truths to see further and deeper than his predecessors. In the second sense, Gilson’s humanism is a way of philosophiz- ing within theology, what Gilson often called a “Christian philosophy.” As a Christian theology utilizing the classical mode of philosophizing that traces back to Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, and the pre-Socratics, Gilson’s humanism emphasizes the centrality of the human person, the subjects it studies that have a direct bearing on the centrality and dig- nity of the human person, and the way it studies these subjects in- creases the dignity of the philosophical act. I call attention to this issue of Gilson’s scholarly humanism for several reasons. One is that, despite its evident influence on Gilson’s scholarship, his way of attacking philosophical problems, I do not think many Thomists have thought about it as a form of humanism. Another is that, while later twentieth-century and early twenty-first century scholars might have largely ignored this quality of Gilson’s intellectual life, early twentieth-century thinkers would likely have found it glaring, so glaring that they might have found Gilson suspect because of it. A brief review of Gilson’s educational background gives insight into why a general interest in classical studies (1) should have been a main influence in the way Gilson approached scholarship and (2) would provide for him the wider context within which to make intelligible the thought of others to himself and his audience. As de- scribed by Gilson’s authoritative biographer Lawrence K. Shook, Gil- son’s formal education that took its start at home under the long- distance supervision of Ursiline sister Mother Saint-Dieudonne was immersed in the liberal arts. After this, in 1890, he entered the Christian Brothers’ run parish school of Ste-Clotilde where, among other things, he received educational grounding in Latin, catechism, and love of language. In 1895, Gilson left Ste-Clotilde to start seven PETER A. REDPATH 56 years of education at the Catholic secondary school, Petit Séminaire de Notre-Dame-des-Champs. There he underwent rigorous training in classical (“humanistic”) studies that included ancient Greek, Latin, Roman and French history, mathematics, physical science, liturgy, and music. Gilson left Notre-Dame-des-Champs in 1902 to attend a year of studies at the celebrated Lycée Henri IV. While there, Gilson was in- troduced to philosophy by Professor Henri Dereux and attended Lucien Lévy-Bruhl’s course on David Hume. Gilson graduated from Lycée Henri IV in 1903 with a bachelor’s diploma and certification from the Faculty of Letters at the University of Paris that would permit him to continue his studies at the Sorbonne. Gilson enrolled in the Sorbonne in 1904 and completed his studies there in three years. Especially memorable to Gilson during this time were a course on Descartes he took under Lucien Lévy-Bruhl and a set of lectures that Henri Bergson gave at the Collège de France. Lévy- Bruhl’s course so strongly influenced Gilson that he decided to write his doctoral thesis on Descartes under Lévy-Bruhl’s direction. Other major thinkers with whom Gilson studied during this time included Émile Durkheim and Victor Delbos. Jumping ahead from this period of formal education to that of teacher and public lecturer, as long ago as 1926, when he made his first visit to North America to participate in an international congress in Montreal on Education and Citizenship, Gilson was bothered by the conviction that there were not enough good students at the time capa- ble of doing advanced work in philosophy. In 1929, in part to help solve this problem, he established his Institute of Mediaeval Studies (later to become The Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies [PIMS]) at the University of Toronto. But I think Gilson’s interest in founding this famed Institute went deeper than this. Throughout his adult intellectual life, Gilson was convinced that, during the later Middle Ages, under the influence chiefly of Latin Averroism, Western culture had suffered a psychological rupture be- tween faith and reason that has continued until modern times and has GILSON AS CHRISTIAN HUMANIST 57 caused a political secularization of modern education and an increased propensity to engage in global war. In Reason and Revelation in the Middle Ages, he tells any historian who might investigate the sources of “modern rationalism” that an uninterrupted chain of influence exists from the Averroistic tradition of the Masters of Arts of Paris to the European freethinkers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries (the so-called “Age of Reason”). Accompanying this fracture across the centuries, there was, Gilson thought, an ever-increasing loss of the sense of a classical Western, philosophically-based humanism rooted in what, in his book The Unity of Philosophical Experience, Gilson had called the “Western Creed.” He was equally convinced that these problems could only be reversed by recovering a true Christian humanism in education. Without recov- ering an understanding of, and belief in, this Western Creed, Western culture, Gilson thought, would collapse. In my opinion, as a result of his experiences during World War I and his research into the influence of Latin Averroism on the subse- quent rupture between faith and reason at the tail end of the Middle Ages, part of the reason Gilson founded this Pontifical Institute was to counteract the growth of the influence on Western culture of what I have labeled “neo-Averroism,” the contemporary Western tendency to maintain the rupture between faith and reason that Latin Averroism had initiated. I maintain that Gilson thought he could best combat this mindset through a philosophically-based humanism that defended the Western Creed. Explicitly or not, Gilson established the Pontifical Institute, I think, as a kind of renaissance institute similar to that of Lorenzo Valla’s Platonic Academy, with the express purpose of using medieval renaissance wisdom to counteract the secularization of the West under the centuries-old philosophical deconstruction initiated by the Italian renaissance and the neo-Averroism of the Enlightenment counter-renaissance. In support of my claim, I refer to the fact that around mid- December, 1933, Gilson presented a series of three lectures on Le so- ciété chrétienne universelle at Salle Saint-Sulpice, Montreal. At this PETER A. REDPATH 58 time, Gilson started to become convinced that, by decreeing faith and reason to be irreconcilable and by separating the political world into one empire directed by the pope and another by the prince, Latin Aver- roism had fractured the medieval Christian hope of a Christian social order rooted in moral law, justice, and charity. Shortly after this, in 1934, under the influence of Fr. Phelan and Basilian Fr. Henry Carr, Gilson went to Rome with them to hold meet- ings with the Sacred Congregation of Seminaries and Universities to discuss a charter for the Institute. After these meetings, in late March of the same year, Jacques Maritain accompanied Gilson to a private audience with Pope Pius XI. This meeting put the request for a charter firmly on the Congregation’s agenda. After a provisional refusal in 1936, final approval came on 21 November 1939. Beyond this, in 1934, Gilson published La théologie mystique de saint Bernard. Also in 1934, in preparing a policy statement for an- other journal, Sept, which his friend Fr. Bernadot had just established, to unify French Catholics and reverse the French republic’s educa- tional program of secularization, Gilson repeated this theme of over- coming the political divorce between faith and reason. This policy statement then served as background for a collection of articles entitled Pour un ordre catholique that he published in Sept related to education and political and social problems. Gilson’s first article in this collection, En marge de Chamfort, at- tacked French intellectuals for having formed their own secular priest- hood for controlling politics. His second article was a review of G. K. Chesterton’s biography of St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Thomas Aquinas: The Dumb Ox, in which Gilson marveled at Chesterton’s ability to penetrate into the essence of Thomas’s thought. According to Shook, reading Chesterton caused Gilson to realize that, just as Ches- terton had seen English Protestant historians writing history back- wards, from the perspective of their understanding of the Reformation, “Gilson now saw French historians writing it from the vantage point of GILSON AS CHRISTIAN HUMANIST 59 seventeenth-century rationalism,”1 or according to what, once again, I call “neo-Averroism.” I also refer to comments Shook makes about an article that Gilson had written shortly before the outbreak of World War II in 1939, Erasme: citoyen du monde. Commenting on the article, Shook says that, at heart, Gilson was an Erasmian humanist who wanted to end all wars and to liberate men to work out their salvation in the context of personal freedom. He believed that this could be achieved through the kind of education that fostered the acquisition of moral virtue through the writings of Cicero and Seneca, and through the teachings of Christ.2 According to Shook, during this period, Gilson’s main motivation was to drive home to his Institute students that in humanism lay the best an- tidote to the venom of war. For Gilson medieval universalism, or ‘true hu- manism’ as Maritain called it, held the key to the ultimate health in the hu- man condition.3 Because Gilson thought that, to be of use, students needed to ana- lyze Christian humanism philosophically, he thought he had to present humanism within the context of the lives of men who lived it, histori- cal humanists, humanist intellectuals continuing a tradition of classical learning through a series of intellectual renaissances, the high point of which had been the Medieval Renaissance. Hence, in the fall, 1939, Shook says that, after publishing his monograph Dante et la philosophie (Paris), Gilson offered to his To- ronto students a public course of twelve lectures on Roman Classical Culture from Cicero to Erasmus in which he led his students through the transmission of classical humanism to Christianity through a series of renaissances covering the eighth through the fifteenth centuries. 1 Lawrence K. Shook, Étienne Gilson (Toronto, Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, The Gilson Series 6, 1984), p. 218. Most of the preceding biographical infor- mation about Gilson is taken from Shook. 2 Id., p. 254. 3 Id., p. 239. PETER A. REDPATH 60 Shook states that as World War II came to an end, Gilson became increasingly devoted to realizing the possibility of that ordre ca- tholique he had advocated in the 1930s. He was convinced that German hitlerism, Russian communism, Italian and Spanish fascism and American Deweyism had stood in the way then: each of them had focused on the production of their own brand of citizen, and none of them had seen a pressing need for the teaching of moral and intellectual virtue. Now… real changes were finally possible.4 To address these changes, in 1945, Gilson wrote an article for Le monde entitled Instruire ou éduquer? in which he argued for the need to (1) have greater concern for students as individuals, not prospective adherents to a political cause, and (2) familiarize students from infancy with moral virtues of the individual such as honor, duty, justice, and piety. He quickly followed this article with four others that had the same keynote theme: The first step of any totalitarian regime is to seize the schools in order to have exclusive monopoly over shaping tomorrow’s citizens.5 In these articles, Gilson sought to focus educators’ attention on in- culcating personal virtue, not the power of movements. He entitled them: (1) Hitler fera-t-il notre revolution?, (2) La circulaire 45 ou: comment l’on se propose de pervertir la vérité, (3) La revolution ou l’amitié redressera la Cité, and (4) La schisme national. He published the articles in Stanislas Fumet’s religiously-oriented journal Hebdo- madaire du temps present. About a month after publishing these articles, Gilson published Pour une education nationale in La vie intellectuelle. He argued therein that free education must include religion. In another article published around this same time in La croix, entitled La liberté de l’enseignement en Angleterre, Gilson expressed his admiration for the open British conformist and non-conformist educational policy in con- trast to France’s closed State-controlled one. 4 Id., p. 254. 5 Id. GILSON AS CHRISTIAN HUMANIST 61 On 15 March 1945, he spoke before a packed meeting of La Jeunesse Intellectuelle in La Grande Salle de la Mutualité. As a result of these educational works, Gilson started to correspond with many of the leading intellectuals in post-liberation France and to become rec- ognized as a spokesman for them. As a result, the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs selected him to join his friend Jacques Maritain as part of the French delegation to the 1945 San Francisco meeting to plan the United Nations charter, which was signed on 26 June of that year. After returning to Toronto for a few months in anticipation of teaching his fall courses, Gilson was informed that the French Foreign Ministry had named him to as a participant in the October and Novem- ber 1945 London conference designed to create the constitution for what would later become UNESCO, the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization. Gilson served on the committee that drafted UNESCO’s constitution. During his stay in London, Gilson wrote five articles about the conference that were published in Le monde. Several others appeared over the next several years. In them, among other things, Gilson ex- pressed his disappointment about the limited roles intellectuals would actually have in UNESCO. He also later expressed disappointment about the behavior of intellectuals at UNESCO’s first general confer- ence in Paris in 1946. In a radio discussion in which he took part with several other conference participants after the meeting regarding the question Can UNESCO Educate for World Understanding?, Gilson maintained that the world would not be ready for global understanding until university education became more international than it then was. I think this is something Gilson hoped to achieve through his Toronto Institute. While many people would call Gilson a neo-scholastic, Gilson considered himself to be chiefly a Christian humanist and his Thomism to be a Thomist humanism. He thought that the Christian-inspired hu- manism of classical Western culture embodied in the Western Creed rooted in classical philosophical realism was the best antidote for the ills of the contemporary world. Hence, he sought to imbue all his PETER A. REDPATH 62 scholarly work, including his famed Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, with this humanism. On 22 March 2011, the Vatican issued a declaration entitled De- cree on the Reform of Ecclesiastical Studies of Philosophy, regarding the crucial role of philosophy, especially metaphysics, in training priests. Commenting upon this declaration, Vatican Secretary of Edu- cation Cardinal Zenon Grocholewski said that the most fundamental aspects of life are under assault today: [R]eason itself is menaced by utilitarianism, skepticism, relativism and dis- trust of reason’s ability to know the truth regarding the fundamental prob- lems of life.6 He added that science and technology, those icons of what he called materialist philosophies, cannot satiate man’s thirst in regard to the ultimate questions: What does happiness consist of? Who am I? Is the world the fruit of chance? What is my destiny? etc. Today, more than ever, the sciences are in need of wisdom.7 The Cardinal added that the study of philosophy must be returned to its roots in reason, adding that, because of the present crisis of Christian culture, logic, the discipline that gives structure to reason, has “disappeared.” I think Gilson would largely concur with the Vatican declaration and the statements of Cardinal Grocholewski. But I think he would add that what they propose is not enough. Beyond this return to the study of philosophy and metaphysics, and recovery of the study of logic, I think Gilson would maintain that the West needs that new humanism about which Pope Benedict spoke in his encyclical Caritas in veritate. In returning to philosophy and metaphysics, the West does not need to return to Cartesian Thomism and to a wisdom that mistakes philosophy for systematic logic. It needs a philosophy, a metaphysics, rooted in sense realism and a new humanism that can properly identify and re- solve the fracture between faith and reason initiated by Latin Averro- 6 “Vatican: Priests Can’t Skip Metaphysics,” ZENIT (22.03.2011), http://www.zenit.org/article-32095?l=english, access: July 16, 2012. 7 Id. GILSON AS CHRISTIAN HUMANIST 63 ism. It needs an intellectual academy, a circle of scholars, capable of training students to understand and defend their own intellectual tradi- tion, the Western Creed. In short, it needs Gilsonian humanism and a flourishing International Étienne Gilson Society. * * * GILSON AS CHRISTIAN HUMANIST SUMMARY The author suggests that the intellectual life of Étienne Gilson constituted a new hu- manism, that Gilson’s scholarly work was part of a new renaissance, that a new hu- manism that Gilson thought is demanded by the precarious civilizational crisis of the modern West after World Wars I and II. He also argues that, more than anything else, Gilson was a renaissance humanist scholar who consciously worked in the tradition of renaissance humanists before him, but did so to expand our understanding of the no- tion of “renaissance” scholarship and to create his own brand of Christian humanism to deal with problems distinctive to his age. The author shows the specificity of the Chris- tian humanism that Gilson developed as part of his distinctive style of doing historical research and of philosophizing. KEYWORDS: Étienne Gilson, renaissance, Christianity, humanism, Western civiliza- tion. 
work_b3g537zxkzhnzpjdsyan4gowha	----	PAPERS OF THE BRITISH SCHOOL AT ROME This volume has been published with the aid of grants from the Marc Fitch Fund and the Dr M. Aylwin Cotton Foundation. PAPERS OF THE BRITISH SCHOOL AT ROME VOLUME LXVIII 2000 PUBLISHED BY THE BRITISH SCHOOL AT ROME, at THE BRITISH ACADEMY, 10 CARLTON HOUSE TERRACE, LONDON, SW1Y 5AH 77 »& 01/U 02-013-08 The British School at Rome, at The British Academy, 10 Carlton House Terrace, London, SW1Y5AH Registered Charity No. 314176 ISSN 0068-2462 Printed in Great Britain Typeset and printed by Stephen Austin and Sons Ltd, Hertford, Great Britain CONTENTS PAGE ANDREW WALLACE-HADRILL, Timothy William Potter (1944-2000) viii SIMON KEAY, MARTIN MILLETT, SARAH POPPY, JULIA ROBINSON, JEREMY TAYLOR AND NICOLA TERRENATO, Falerii Novi: a new survey of the walled area 1 JANE STUART-SMITH, TWO South Picene inscriptions reread — CH.2 and AP.4 95 FRANCO DE ANGELIS, Estimating the agricultural base of Greek Sicily I l l JAS ELSNER, From the culture of spolia to the cult of relics: the Arch of Constantine and the genesis of late antique forms 149 MICHAEL MATHEUS, Borgo San Martino: an early medieval pilgrimage station on the Via Francigena near Sutri 185 EVELYN WELCH, Engendering Italian Renaissance art — a bibliographic review 201 KATE LOWE, Franciscan and papal patronage at the Clarissan convent of San Cosimato in Trastevere, 1440-1560 217 ROBERT SENECAL, Carlo Borromeo's Instructiones fabricae et supellectilis ecclesiasticae and its origins in the Rome of his time 241 P. PERKINS AND S. SCHAFER, The excavation of the Villa Pigneto Sacchetti 269 INTERIM REPORTS VEDIA E. IZZET, The Etruscan sanctuary at Cerveteri, Sant'Antonio: prelim- inary report of excavations 1995-8 321 R.J.A. WILSON, Rural settlement in Hellenistic and Roman Sicily: excava- tions at Campanaio (AG), 1994-8 337 NOTES OLIVER GILKES, SALLY MARTIN AND MICHAEL MATHEUS, Excavation and survey at Prati San Martino, Sutri 371 RICHARD HODGES AND JOHN MITCHELL, A new interpretation of the ninth- century hilltop (Colle della Torre) at San Vincenzo al Volturno 381 RESEARCH REPORTS BALSDON FELLOWSHIP (Ruth Whitehouse and John Wilkins); CARY FELLOWSHIP (Alastair Small); HUGH LAST FELLOWSHIP (Boris Rankov); ROME SCHOLARSHIPS IN ITALIAN STUDIES (Marios Costambeys, Nicholas Vella, Caroline Vout); HUGH LAST AWARD (Fay Glinister); ROME AWARDS (Anne Dunlop, Victoria James, Corinna Riva, Janet Robson); ARCHAEOLOGICAL FIELDWORK SUPPORT (Edward Bispham and Susan Kane; Amanda Claridge; Neil Christie; Janet DeLaine and David Wilkinson; Martin Millett and Simon Keay; Ulla Rajala and Simon Stoddart) 387 SOMMARII 403 CONTRIBUTORS'ADDRESSES 408 The Papers of the British School at Rome exists to publish work related to the archaeology, history and literature of Italy and other parts of the mediterranean area up to early modern times, in the first instance by the staff of the School and by its present and former members. The Papers is edited by the Publications Advisory Committee of the Council of the British School and is a refereed journal. The present members of the Committee are: Dr L. Bourdua Dr G. Clark (Publications Manager, ex officio) Prof. A. Crawford Dr E. Dench Dr K. Lowe Dr S. Stoddart Prof. A. Wallace-Hadrill (Director of the School, ex officio) Mr B. Ward-Perkins (Editor of the Papers) Prof. C. Wickham (Chairperson) Prof. R. Wilson Intending contributors are advised to get in touch with the Publications Manager, British School at Rome, at The British Academy, 10 Carlton House Terrace, London, SW1Y 5AH, before preparing their papers in final form, since they will be required to conform to the conventions currently followed in the Papers. The British School also publishes a series of Supplementary Volumes and a series of Archaeological Monographs, to accommodate works on a scale larger than is suit- able for the Papers. The Papers is indexed in the Bibliography of the History of Art, published by the Getty Art History Information Progra 
work_b3zrqbir5rge5gyiarr7nwgooq	----	Leave an empty line here [Full text papers will be a maximum of 10 pages] TUHED Spring 2017, 6(1), ss. 129-139 Turkish History Education Journal www.tuhed.org Yayın Geliş Tarihi: 01.05.2017 Yayına Kabul Tarihi: 25.05.2017 PROF. DR. PETER BURKE ile RÖPORTAJ1 Sibel YALI* Profesör Peter Burke (1937), Cambridge Üniversitesi'nden emekli öğretim üyesidir. Kültürel tarih konusunda yaptığı araştırmalar ile uluslararası üne sahip bir akademisyendir. Burke, bazıları Türkçeye çevrilmiş “Tarih ve Toplumsal Kuram”, “Avrupada Rönesans: Merkezler ve Çeperler”, “Tarihin Görgü Tanıkları”, “Annales Okulu: Fransız Tarih Devrimi” gibi birçok kitabın yazarıdır. Son yıllarda Erken Dönem Modern Avrupa’da yapılan tarih kitabı çevirilerine, özellikle de 1500- 1750 döneminde yapılan Hollandaca çevirilere odaklanmıştır. SY. Biz, sizi Tarih Profesörü olarak tanıyoruz. Ancak siz hem bir sosyolog, kamu bilimcisi, kültür tarihçisi hem de bir dilbilimcisiniz... Uzmanlık alanı bu denli geniş olunca, spesifik bir alan hakkında sorular yöneltmek oldukça güçleşiyor. Bu uzmanlıklar hakkında bize biraz bilgi verebilir misiniz? Sizce sosyal bilimlerde bir problem olan disiplinlerarası bölünme sorununun üstesinden gelmek mümkün mü? 1 Bu röportaj, 5 May 2017 tarihli e-posta yazışmalarından derlenmiştir. * İstanbul Üniversitesi, Sosyal Bilimler Enstitüsü, Avrupa Birliği Anabilim Dalı, E-posta: ataman_si@yahoo.com mailto:ataman_si@yahoo.com Turkish History Education Journal, Spring 2017, 6(1), ss. 129-139 130 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 PB. Oxford'da bir öğrenci olduğumdan beri ki orada tarih alanında 3 yıl geçirdim, diğer disiplinlerle, özellikle de tarihin 'komşuları' ile ilgilendim. Eskiden felsefe, sosyoloji ve edebiyat üzerine dersler ve seminerlere katılırdım. Sussex Üniversitesi 1961'de disiplinlerarası bir programla kurulduğunda oraya bir iş başvurusunda bulundum ve 1962'de bireylerin disiplin sınırlarını aşmaya teşvik ettiği bir ortamda öğretime başladım. İlk üniversite dersim Freud'du ve mesleğe başladığım ilk yılda öğrencilerime sosyolojiye ve tarih öğrettim. O yıllarda sosyal bilimler arasındaki bazı bölümler, özellikle sosyoloji ve antropoloji arasındaki ayrışma yapay olmaya başlamıştı. Antropolog bir arkadaşım Alan Macfarlane, 'Sosyoloji ve Tarih' (1980) başlıklı bir kitap yayınladığımda, bunun 'Antropoloji ve Tarih' adıyla eşit derecede iyi olabileceğini söylediğini hatırlıyorum. SY. Bir tarihçi olarak hangi dilleri okuyup yazabilmektesiniz? P.B. Konuştuğumdan daha fazla dilde (Latince, Almanca, Hollandaca, Danimarkaca, İsveççe ve Norveççe) okuyabilmekteyim ancak Fransızca, İtalyanca, Portekizce ve gerekirse İspanyolca konuşabiliyorum ve (bu lisanlarda ders verebilmekteyim). SY. Tarihçilik açısından, mesleğe girmeye nasıl karar verdiniz? Bununla ilgili faktörler nelerdi? PB. Yaklaşık yedi yaşındayken anneme, büyüdüğümde tarih profesörü olmak istediğimi söyledim. (Aslında) o tarihte profesörlerin ne yaptıklarını tam olarak bilmiyordum. Onların ders anlatıyor, kitap yazıyor olduklarını düşünüyordum. Her neyse, tarihteki ilgim askerlerle oynamaktan kaynaklandı. Biri bana eski bir kitap verdi, Edward Creasy'nin “Dünyanın On Beş Belirleyici Savaşı (1851). Kitabı okumadım, ancak kitaptaki diyagramları bu savaşları yeniden canlandırmak için kullandım. Bu oyunlar, armacılık ve zırhcılık alanları ile gotik mimari ve askeri tarih konularında bende bir merak uyandırdı. Lise döneminde, bir ortaçağ tarihçisi olacağımı düşünüyordum. Ancak Oxford'a gittiğim zaman öncelikle Rönesans dönemi üzerinde durmaya karar verdim. Bu karar, o tarihlerde Oxford'da sanat tarihi dersi bulunmayışından kaynaklanıyordu (1957). Sanat Tarihi “özel bir alan olarak”, İtalyan Rönesansı alt başlığında tarih derslerinin seçmeli bir parçasıydı. Sibel YALI 131 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 SY. Kitaplarınızdan birinde "sosyalist tarihçi değilim ve sosyalist tarihe inanmadım" diyorsunuz. Bir tarihçi olarak felsefenizi disiplin çerçevesinde nasıl tanımlıyorsunuz? PB. Aslında 1973 yılındaki Tarih Atölyesi toplantısında bu konuda şunları söyledim: 'Ben bir sosyalistim ve tarihçiyim ancak sosyalist bir tarihçi değilim'. Mesele şu ki ben dün olduğu gibi bugün de (polyphonic history) 'çok sesli tarihe' inanıyorum. Bu görüşe göre bir tarihçinin ödevi çalıştığı dönemin tüm bakış açılarını temsil edebilmesidir. Bu bakış açıları günümüz insanına tuhaf ya da kabul edilemez gelse dahi tarihçi bu sesleri dillendirebilmelidir. Bunu benim tarih felsefem olarak adlandırabilirsiniz! SY. Aslında “polifonik tarih” için Türkçede bir karşılık yok. Bunun için bir tanımlama yapailir misiniz? PB. 'Polifonik tarih' ile farklı seslerin duyulmasına veya metaforun bu seslerden görülebilmesine olanak tanıyan, geçmişi farklı bakış açıları ile anlatan bir duruşu kastediyorum. Örneğin, bir iç savaş tarihi anlatımı, çatışmanın her iki taraftan görülebilen şekliyle okuyucularına aktarılabilmelidir. SY. Kitaplarınızdan, kültürel tarihle ilgilendiğinizi / kültür tarihçisi olduğunuzu biliyoruz. Kültür tarihine bir dönüş olduğuna inanıyor musunuz? Bu tarihçilik açısından farklı bir konu mu? PB. Öğrenci olduğumdan beri gerçekten de kültürel bir ‘dönüş’ var. Oxford’ayken siyasi tarih egemendi, ekonomik tarih yeni ve heyecan verici bir alternatifti, toplumsal tarih sadece yeni başlamıştı ve kültür tarihi Rönesans’taki 'özel konuyla' sınırlıydı. Kendime kültür tarihçisi olarak baktığım 1960'lı yıllarda, insanlar bunu biraz garipsediler, bu konudaki yorumlarımı tuhaf buldular. Bugün, birçok akademik tarihçi iş tanımında kültür tarihçisi olduğunu dile getiriyor. SY. Bize kültürel tarihin hangi formları üzerinde çalıştığınızdan bahseder misiniz? PB. Kültür tarihinin üç ana biçimini de uygulamaya çalıştım. “Rönesans İtalya'sında Kültür ve Toplum” (1972) 'üst' bir kültüre ait bir toplumsal tarihtir. “Erken Dönem Turkish History Education Journal, Spring 2017, 6(1), ss. 129-139 132 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 Modern Avrupa'da Popüler Kültür” (1978), 'alt' kültürü incelemiştir. Erken Dönem Modern İtalya'nın Tarihsel Antropolojisi (1987), gündelik hayatı incelemektedir. SY. Akademik tarih ile kültürel tarih arasındaki ilişki hakkındaki görüşlerinizi alabilir miyim? PB. 'Kültür' terimi gibi, 'kültür tarihi' de çeşitli anlamlara sahiptir. Bir uç noktada kültür tarihi sanat, edebiyat, müzik, felsefe ve bilim tarihine atıfta bulunur. Bu bağlamda Fransız ve İtalyan kültürlerinin bir parçası şeklinde görülebileceği fikriyle özdeşleşerek resim ve müzik gibi alanların özel tarihi olarak karşımıza çıkabilir. Bu tür tarih farklı bir konuya sahiptir. Diğer uç noktada ise antropologun kültür kavramı hemen hemen 'toplum' ile eşanlamlıdır. Bu tür kültürel tarih neredeyse her şey dâhil bir alandır ve sadece 'tarih'tir. SY. Tarih disiplini çerçevesinde gözlemlediğiniz eğilimler nelerdir? Ve bunlara etkileriniz? PB. Zamanımdaki trendlere gelince, 1957'den bugüne, 60 yıl, ilk önce sosyal tarihin Marksizmle bağlantılı yükselişi, ikincisi özellikle 1980'lerden itibaren kültür tarihinin yükselişi, üçüncüsü gezegenin geleceği ile ilgili endişelerle bağlantılı olarak küresel tarihin yükselişini görüyorum. Kişisel olarak Marx, Burckhardt ve Braudel’den etkilendim. Diyebilirim ki hepsi 50'lerin sonlarında ve 60'lı yılların başındaydı. Toplumsal tarih için Marks; kültürel tarih için Burkhardt; Braudel’in insan faaliyetleri ile bağlantılı "bütüncül" tarih anlayışı için Braudel (ve genel olarak Annales grupları). SY. Trendler doğrultusunda ortaöğretimde tarih eğitiminde değişime gidilmesi gerektiğini düşünüyor musunuz? Evet, ise önerileriniz nelerdir? PB. Bugün tarihin dünyanın farklı yerlerinde nasıl öğretildiğinden emin değilim - Londra, İstanbul, Pekin, vs. Fakat tarihin nasıl öğretileceği konusunda oldukça eminim. Öncelikle, gelecekteki dünya vatandaşlarını eğitmek için vurgulanan tarih, ulusal değil küresel olmalıdır. İkinci olarak, tarih eğitimi, eleştirel olmalı, önyargı, propaganda ve etnosentrizmi (mümkün olduğunca) önlemek için yorumlama farklılıklarına ve bu yorumlamaların temellerine vurgu yapmalıdır. Sibel YALI 133 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 SY. Osmanlı İmparatorluğu ile ilgili bir soru sormak istiyorum. Acaba “Avrupa tarihi ile Osmanlı tarihi iki paralel tarihtir; Bu nedenle iki dünyanın tarihi karşılaştırmalı olarak incelenmelidir” görüşüne katılıyor musunuz? Cevabınız evet ise alan öğrencileri için görüşlerinizi alabilir miyim? PB. Karşılaştırmalı tarih meraklısı biri olarak (ki böylesi tarih mekân ve dönemlerin benzerlikleri kadar farklılıkları da araştırmaktadır) bu çalışmaların açıklamalar için nispeten sağlam bir temel oluşturduğuna inanıyorum. Osmanlı İmparatorluğu ile Habsburg İmparatorluğu arasındaki karşılaştırmaların gerçekten yararlı olduğunu düşünüyorum, Ancak Batı Akdeniz'in tarihini Doğu Akdeniz’inki ile kıyaslamak ve Osmanlı İmparatorluğu tarihini, Safevi ve Babür imparatorluklarıyla karşılaştırmak da iyi bir fikirdir. Tek bir 'doğru' karşılaştırma yoktur, ancak bir takım yararlı karşılaştırmalardan söz edilebilir. SY. Disiplinin veya mesleğin geleceği hakkında ne düşünüyorsunuz? Öğrenciler ve öğretmenler için herhangi bir öneriniz var mı? PB. Geleceğe bakarsak, en azından yakın gelecek, bazı yeni trendlerin devam edeceğini göstermektedir. Bir: yazılı geçmiş önemini kaybedecek, TV'de sunulan ve diğer görsel araçlarla desteklenen tarih daha fazla değer kazanacaktır. İki: tarihçi, sayısallaştırılmış materyali daha fazla kullanacak ve daha önce olduğundan daha fazla veriyi, özellikle niceliksel veriyi incelemesi gerekecektir. Üç: tarihin kapsamı genişlemeye devam edecek: daha fazla küresel ve çevre tarihi çalışmaları üzerinde durulacaktır. Homo Sapiens dışındaki insanlara daha çok ilgi duyulacaktır (Yuval Noah Harari'nin kitabına bakınız). “Büyük Tarih” anlatısı ile Big Bang ve ötesine duyulan ilgi artacaktır (David Christian vs.). Böylesi bir eğilim tarih anlatısını “insanlık tarihinden” hayvanlar ve makineler de dâhil olmak üzere “insanlık dışı tarihe” doğru yöneltecektir. Geleceğe doğru ilerlediğimizde tarihçiler - öğrenciler ve öğretmenler de dâhil olmak üzere - geçmişi yeni yollarla görecekler! Turkish History Education Journal, Spring 2017, 6(1), ss. 129-139 134 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 SY. “Büyük Tarih” ilginç bir tema. Bu tema ulusal ve dini anlatıdan oldukça farklı. Sizce tarih eğitimi için sponsorluk yapılması mümkün mü? PB. Sponsorluk harika bir fikir olabilir, ancak bunun mümkün olup olmadığını bilmiyorum. Öğretmenlerin dünya tarihi konularında eğitim almaları gerekir. Milli tarihin eğitsel nedenlerden ziyade siyasi gerekçelerden dolayı birçok hükümet tarafından halen tercih edildiğini düşünüyorum! SY. Yeni çalışmalarınız hakkında bize bilgi verebilir misiniz? PB. Geçtiğimiz aylarda, “Tarih Bilgisinde Sürgünler ve Gurbetçiler” 2 adlı bir kitabı bitirdim. (Kitap, ünlü Auerbach gibi 1933'te Türkiye'de çalışan Alman bilim insanlarını de içeriyor). Şu sıralar Avrupa ve Amerika'da 1500 ile 2000 yılları arasında yaşamış âlimlerin kültürel tarihi üzerinde çalışıyorum. Amacım, bu kişilerin yaşadıkları dönemin şartlarına göre nasıl ihtisas yapabildiklerini anlamak üzeredir. SY. Sayın Profesör ayırdığınız zaman için teşekkür ederim. 2 Çeviri bana ait. Sibel YALI 135 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 INTERVIEW3 with PROFESSOR PETER BURKE4 Sibel YALI* SY. You are a Professor of History. However, you are a sociologist, a public scientist, a cultural historian, a linguist… These multi-fields areas would make asking specific questions difficult about one particular area. Could you give us some information about these topics…? Do you think to overcome the interdisciplinary division problem is possible in social sciences? PB. Ever since I was a student at Oxford, where I spent 3 years in the study of history, I have been interested in other disciplines, especially history’s ‘neighbours. I used to attend lectures and seminars on philosophy, sociology, literature. When the University of Sussex was founded in 1961 with an interdisciplinary programme, I immediately applied for a job there, and began teaching in 1962, in an environment in which individuals were encouraged to cross-disciplinary boundaries. My first university lecture was about Freud, and in my first year of teaching, I taught sociology as well as history. Some divisions between the social sciences have become artificial, notably the one between sociology and anthropology. I remember that when I published a little book entitled ‘Sociology and History’ (1980), an anthropologist friend, Alan Macfarlane, remarked that it could equally well have been entitled ‘Anthropology and History’. SY. I also wonder the languages you read as an historian.. I read more languages than I speak (including Latin, German, Dutch, Danish, Swedish and Norwegian) but I only speak (give lectures) French, Italian, Portuguese and, if necessary, Spanish. 3 This interview was an e-mail correspondence, 5 May 2017. 4 Emeritus Professor. He is considered as an important name in social and cultural history as well as early modern European history. * İstanbul University, Social Sciences Institute, Department of European Union, E-mail: ataman_si@yahoo.com Turkish History Education Journal, Spring 2017, 6(1), ss. 129-139 136 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 SY. In terms of history itself, how you decide to come into the Profession? What were the factors involved in that? PB. When I was about seven years old, I told my mother that when I grew up I wanted to become a professor of history. I am not sure what I then thought that professors of history did, I think giving lectures and writing books. Anyway, my interest in history grew out of playing with soldiers. Someone gave me an old book, Edward Creasy’s Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World (1851). I did not read it through but I used the diagrams to re-enact historic battles. That led to an interest in arms and armour, in heraldry, in Gothic architecture and in military history. At school, I thought, I would become a medievalist, working on the 14th century, but by the time I went to Oxford I had decided on the Renaissance, mainly because of the art (there was no degree course in art history at Oxford at this time, 1957, but there was an optional ‘special subject’ on the Italian Renaissance as part of the history course. SY. One of your books you say, “You were not a socialist historian and not believed in socialist history”. As an historian, how do you define your philosophy in the frame of discipline? PB. Actually, I said more or less this at a meeting of History Workshop around 1973: ‘I am a socialist and a historian but not a socialist historian’. The point is that I believed – and still believe – in ‘polyphonic’ history: that is, I think it the duty of the historian to represent all the viewpoints in the period that he or she studies, however odd or repellent they may seem to us today. You might call this my philosophy of history! SY. Actually there is no Turkish word for the polyphonic’ history. I was wondering how you could define it? PB. By 'polyphonic' history, I mean an account of the past that allows different voices to be heard, or to change the metaphor from sound to sight accommodates different points of view. For example, a history of a civil war should allow readers to understand the way in which the conflict was seen from both sides. Sibel YALI 137 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 SY. From your books, I know that you were/are interested in cultural history. What do you think that there has been a turn towards cultural history? Is it a distinct subject matter? PB. There has indeed been a cultural ‘turn’ since I was a student. When I was at Oxford, political history was dominant, economic history was a new and exciting alternative, social history was just beginning and cultural history was more or less confined to the ‘special subject’ on the Renaissance. In the 1960s, when I called myself a cultural historian, people gave me an odd look as if I was some kind of eccentric. Today, many academic historians claim that job description. SY. Meanwhile what forms did you practice of the cultural history? PB. I have tried to practice all three main forms of cultural history. Culture and Society in Renaissance Italy (1972) was a social history of 'high' culture. Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe (1978) was a study of 'low' culture. Historical Anthropology of Early Modern Italy (1987) discussed everyday culture - how to walk, drink, speak, insult people, etc. SY. May I have your views on the relationship between academic history and cultural history? PB. Like the term ‘culture’ itself, ‘cultural history’ has a variety of meanings. At one extreme it refers to the history of art, literature, music, philosophy, science – that is the old meaning, linked to the idea that the ‘special’ histories of painting, music etc can be linked by viewing them as part of French culture, Italian culture, etc. This kind of history has a distinct subject matter. At the other extreme is the anthropologist’s concept of culture as virtually synonymous with ‘society’. This kind of cultural history is almost all- inclusive, just ‘history’. SY. The discipline in general I wonder if you had any reflections, over the period of your career as to trends that you might have observed? And your influences? PB. As for trends in my time, let us say from 1957 to now, 60 years, the first was the rise of social history, linked to Marxism, the second was the rise of cultural history, Turkish History Education Journal, Spring 2017, 6(1), ss. 129-139 138 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 especially from the 1980s onwards, and the third and fourth, both in progress, are the rises of global history, linked to globalization, and environmental history, linked to worries about the future of the planet. As for my personal influences, to simplify I would say Marx, Burckhardt and Braudel, all of whom I encountered in the late 50s and early 60s. Marx for social history, Burckhardt for cultural history, Braudel (and the Annales group in general) for what Braudel called ‘total’ history, linking all human activities. SY. Do you think that the changes are necessary in the way in which history in high schools was taught? If yes, what are your suggestions? PB. I am not sure how history is taught today in different parts of the world – London, Istanbul, Beijing, etc. But, I am rather more certain about how history should be taught. In the first place, to educate future world citizens the history emphasized should be global rather than national. In the second place, the history should be critical, emphasizing differences of interpretation and the bases for these interpretations, in order to avoid (so far as is possible) bias, propaganda and ethnocentrism. SY. One specific question about Ottoman Empire. Do you agree with the idea that “Ottoman history with European history is two parallel histories; for this reason the history of the two worlds should be studied comparatively”. If yes, may I have your comments for the major and PhD students in history? PB. I am an enthusiast for comparative history (looking for differences as well as similarities in both places and periods), since this is a relatively firm basis for explanations. Comparisons between the Ottoman Empire and the Habsburg Empire are indeed useful, but it is also a good idea to compare the history of the Western Mediterranean with that of the Eastern Mediterranean, and to compare the Ottoman Empire with the Safavid and Mughal empires. There is no single ‘correct’ comparison, but a number of useful comparisons. Sibel YALI 139 © 2017 TUHED Tüm Hakları Saklıdır. ISSN: 2147-4516 SY. What do you think on the future of the discipline, or indeed of the profession? Do you have any suggestion for the students and the teachers? PB. Looking into the future, at least the near future, means guessing that some recent trends will continue. One: written history will become less important in comparison to history presented on TV and by other visual means. Two, historians will make increasing use of digitized material, allowing them to examine more data, especially quantitative data, than before. Three, the scope of history will continue to widen more global and environmental history; more interest in humans other than Homo Sapiens (see the book by Yuval Noah Harari); more concern with ‘Big History’, from the Big Bang onwards (David Christian, etc); more interest in ‘non-human history’, including animals and machines. As we move into the future, historians – including students and teachers – view the past in new ways! SY. Big history is an interesting subject and much more different from national and religious narrative. Do you think a sponsorship for history education is possible? PB. Sponsorship would be a great idea but I do not know if it is possible or not. The teachers would need to be trained in world history. However, I think many governments prefer national history for political rather than educational reasons! SY. I was wondering you could give us some brief information about your recent works. PB. I recently finished a book called Exiles and Expatriates in the History of Knowledge, 1500-2000 (it includes the German scholars who worked in Turkey after 1933, like the famous rich Auerbach). Now I have begun working on the cultural history of polymaths, once again in Europe and the Americas from about 1500 to about 2000, the challenge is to understand the survival of polymaths in an age of increasing specialization. SY. Thank you for this interview. 
work_b45vgls3mjcejkflq6gv5dbdum	----	Reviews Winter 2021 Lieber, J, et al. 2021. Reviews Winter 2021. Architectural Histories, 9(1): 5, pp. 1–11. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.580 REVIEW Reviews Winter 2021 Jeffrey Lieber, Lorenzo Vigotti, Max Grossman and Enrique Ramirez Lieber, J. A review of Nicholas Adams, Gordon Bunshaft and SOM: Building Corporate Modernism. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019. Vigotti, L. A review of Nadja Aksamija, Clark Maines, and Phillip Wagoner (eds.), Palimpsests: Buildings, Sites, Time. Turnhout: Brepols, 2017. Grossman, M. A review of David Hemsoll, Emulating Antiquity: Renaissance Buildings from Brunelleschi to Michelangelo. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2019. Ramirez, E. A review of Countryside, The Future, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 20 February 2020–15 February 2021. Mandarin or Maverick? Reassessing the Architecture of Gordon Bunshaft Jeffrey Lieber Texas State University, US jdl188@txstate.edu Nicholas Adams, Gordon Bunshaft and SOM: Building Cor- porate Modernism, New Haven: Yale University Press, 296 pages, 2019, ISBN: 9780300227475. Gordon Bunshaft remains an oddly controversial figure in modern architectural history. Was he a consequential fig- ure or a corporate shill? Was he ‘The Establishment’s Archi- tect-Plus’, as a 1972 New York Times profile labeled him, or an outsider who carved out a niche for himself on the inside? Does he deserve credit for the buildings attributed to him or, as some critics now maintain, were they largely designed by the senior designers who worked under him at Skidmore, Ownings, and Merrill (SOM)? Nicholas Adams, the author of a well-regarded monograph about SOM, Skid- more, Owings & Merrill: SOM Since 1936 (2007), answers all these questions and more in his new book about Bunshaft, Gordon Bunshaft and SOM: Building Corporate Modernism (Figure 1). Adams marshals a treasure trove of archival materials, including project files, interviews, travel dia- ries, transcripts, and oral histories, as well as his extensive knowledge of the inner workings of the firm, to disentan- gle myths and misconceptions about Bunshaft that have clouded our understanding of both his role at SOM and his place in 20th-century American culture. The book’s revelations are subtle but significant, and this has as much to do with Adams’ judicious method as Bunshaft’s character and the corporate politics of SOM. One of these revelations comes in Adams’ discussion of the Heinz Research Building in Pittsburgh, PA (1959). ‘Bunshaft’s architectural playfulness was rarely sup- pressed’, Adams states, pointing to the way Bunshaft mar- velously toyed with Miesian and Corbusian motifs on the building’s street-facing façade (92). ‘He could transform Mies’s modern vocabulary in impish ways’ (92). These are Figure 1: Cover of Gordon Bunshaft and SOM: Building Corporate Modernism. Photo Credit: Yale University Press. https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.580 mailto:jdl188@txstate.edu Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021Art. 5, page 2 of 11 not traits normally ascribed to Bunshaft or his architec- ture, but over and again throughout the book, by focus- ing attention on specific details, Adams shows him to be one of the great innovators of modern architectural style — and something of a maverick, too. While Bunshaft ‘always had a big idea’ (according to Ambrose Richardson, whom Adams quotes), it was often up to SOM’s senior designers to figure out how to realize the details (55). In a chapter titled ‘Bunshaft’s Hands and the Exquisite Details’, Adams follows the trail of archival evi- dence to discern who at SOM did what on which projects. This leads at times to semantic discussions about how Bunshaft and his favored senior designers, including Nathalie de Blois, recalled the design process in later years (85–87). That said, Adams succeeds in giving us a clear understanding of how the process of design development worked at SOM, and why Bunshaft selected the senior designers he did for certain projects, and the roles they played. In the end, how- ever, Adams leaves little doubt that Bunshaft was the driving design force at SOM and that the buildings credited to him are the realization of his aesthetic vision (252–253). The buildings with which Bunshaft is most closely iden- tified (e.g., Lever House, Connecticut General, Union Carbide, Pepsi-Cola) compose one chapter in his long career. Adams moves beyond these buildings — and the issue of the senior designers — to highlight Bunshaft’s relationship with the engineer Paul Weildlinger, with whom he collaborated in the 1960s. A specialist in rein- forced concrete, as Adams explains, Weildlinger provided both the inspiration and expertise that allowed Bunshaft to shift from glass curtain wall construction to experi- ments in concrete (126). In framing this transition, Adams suggests the buildings from this period are more signifi- cant artistically than the earlier works: The result was that Bunshaft’s buildings, while remaining true to the principles of modern archi- tecture, using structure and design to capture function, also became objects in a way that the curtain-wall buildings never could. Ultimately, as we will see, as Bunshaft thought more about these new architectural objects, he found inspiration in Le Corbusier and in Henry Moore and began to endow his own works with some of the qualities of sculpture, an approach that proved highly contro- versial. (126) In a chapter titled ‘Plasticity’, Adams reveals the original- ity of the buildings from this period (e.g., Emhart head- quarters in Bloomfield, CT; the John Hancock buildings in Kansas City, MO, and New Orleans, LA; Banque Lambert in Brussels, Belgium) through an evocative style of descrip- tive writing rarely found in books about modern archi- tecture. Describing the concrete columns on the facade of the Heinz Administrative and Research Center, in Mid- dlesex, England (1964), for example, Adams writes, ‘The swelling of the columns is like a baluster or a block-and- turned leg on a neoclassical chair’ (132). In a tour-de-force of descriptive analysis, he rebuts critics (including Vincent Scully) who found the Beinecke Rare Book Library at Yale University troubling at the time of its completion in 1963; it is arguably Bunshaft’s masterpiece and Adams compares it favorably with Mies’s Seagram Building (150–155). In 1963, Bunshaft was appointed to the Commission of Fine Arts, which advised on new federal building projects in Washington, DC. Using meeting transcripts, Adams relates Bunshaft’s run-ins with young postmodernists, nota- bly Ehrman B. Mitchell and Romaldo Giurgola, and Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown. In 1968, Venturi and Scott Brown produced a design, which Bunshaft hated, for a building on a site called Transportation Square. Adams wonderfully draws out their conflicting worldviews in his narration of the commission’s meeting about the project. ‘This is a hot rod who wrote a book’, Bunshaft told the com- missioners (196). In defending the design, Venturi deployed a jargon-laden argument and proved Bunshaft’s point: ‘it was by far the longest of any of the presentations in this period’, Adams notes (197). The episode tells us as much about Venturi as it does Bunshaft. The irony of Bunshaft’s conflagrations on the commission is that his own building for the Mall, the Hirshhorn Museum (1971), was compro- mised by bureaucratic haggling. In theory, it could have surpassed the Beinecke Library as a monument, but instead it became one of his less distinguished projects. Adams considers a number of late works in a chapter titled ‘Powers Matchless’. In an unrealized proposal for the State University of New York at Buffalo (1968), Bunshaft experimented with megastructural form. A timely design, it became a basis for the Philip Morris Administrative Headquarters and Manufacturing Center in Richmond, VA (1974). This building at first appears plain, but as Adams draws out in a beautiful analysis of its exterior forms and interior spaces, it has a pastoral quality and a ‘strength and clarity’ reminiscent of Romanesque architecture (220). The climax of the chapter — and to some extent the book — is a sympathetic reassessment of the elegant yet whimsical skyscraper Bunshaft designed for the real estate developer Sheldon H. Solow at 9 West Fifty-Seventh Street in New York (1973). Ada Louise Huxtable denounced it as ‘bellig- erently antihuman’ in the New York Times, but as Adams explains in a lovely meditation on monumentality, such attacks were more indicative of changing views of modern- ism than true appraisals of the building itself (224–229). In 1952, Bunshaft and his wife, Nina, moved from Greenwich Village into Manhattan House, a white-brick luxury apartment building on the Upper East Side and one of SOM’s showpiece projects. Ezra Stoller’s photographs of the Bunshafts’ two Manhattan House apartments rep- resent the pinnacle of 1950s New York chic, with modern art on white gallery walls, accented by Knoll furniture, and sweeping views of the East River and the 59th Street Bridge. Adams devotes an entire chapter, titled ‘Mixing Public and Private’, to the Bunshafts’ impressive art col- lection, which comprised works by Picasso, Miró, Léger, Giacometti, Calder, Moore, Dubuffet, and Frankenthaler, among others, as well as pieces of African and Asian art. Using Bunshaft’s travel diaries, now housed in the Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library at Columbia University, Adams explores how the couple grew the collection in con- cert with Bunshaft’s rising profile. This leads to a discussion Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021 Art. 5, page 3 of 11 of the place of art in Bunshaft’s architecture, notably his collaborations with Isamu Noguchi. Adams’ study of the collection is one of the book’s greatest contributions, because, as he suggests, even more than the architecture, the collection is the key to Bunshaft’s inner life. Although sensitive to art, Bunshaft had a gruff, abrasive demeanour and a penchant for sarcasm. Stories of the way he spoke to women, including de Blois and especially his wife, present a caricature of 1950s male chauvinism (3, 161). Adams emphasizes Bunshaft’s egotism, the way he periodi- cally bristled at SOM’s corporate ethos and pushed him- self forward at the firm’s expense (82, 160). He pinpoints instances where Bunshaft indulged in self-mythologizing, whether in a 1959 Newsweek profile (‘Designers for a Busy World’), or his involvement in Carol H. Krinsky’s seminal 1988 monograph, Gordon Bunshaft of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, or a 1989 oral history conducted by Betty J. Blum (Bunshaft 1990) for the Art Institute of Chicago (3, 4). Adams has laid out an entirely original account, which in its scope encompasses art and architectural history, biography, and cultural and social history. Spanning 80 years, his book brings an expansive cast of people to life, chronicles changing styles and mores, and resets our understanding of many of Bunshaft’s buildings. Although corporate modernism features prominently in the title, the book ultimately convinced me that the label is too limiting to describe Bunshaft’s oeuvre or the era as a whole. High modernism is more fitting. A Global Approach to the Architectural Palimpsest Lorenzo Vigotti Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz, IT lorenzo.vigotti@columbia.edu Nadja Aksamija, Clark Maines, and Phillip Wagoner (eds.), Palimpsests: Buildings, Sites, Time. Turnhout: Brepols, 247 pages, 2017, ISBN: 978-2-503-57023-5. Palimpsest, a term originally used to describe the erasure and reuse of a papyrus or parchment manuscript for the inscription of a different text, has been extended in recent literature to indicate a similar process in the realm of architecture. Palimpsests: Buildings, Sites, Time, an edited volume, is the product of an international symposium organized at Wesleyan University in February 2014, with the intent of providing conceptual and methodological tools for future scholarship in several interconnected fields (Figure 2). Although the term palimpsest has been previ- ously used in the field of architecture, this collection of diverse case studies aims to expand upon its geographical and temporal limits. In the introduction, the book’s editors, Nadja Aksamija, Clark Maines, and Phillip Wagoner, discuss ways it has been mentioned by architectural historians and then focus on the methodological benefits of addressing a building as a palimpsest. They begin with the observation that, after the initial act of construction, every structure can be considered a palimpsest following any later demolition, alteration, rebuilding, or expansion. While the historical phases of many buildings have been studied in spatial and experiential terms, the concept of the palimpsest empha- sizes the temporal dimension of a construction, which is crucial for a full comprehension of a building or site. The editors also introduce the concept of ‘cultural biography’, which maps how the building has been seen and used dur- ing the different phases of its life. Finally, they seek to dem- onstrate that such concepts as spolia, adaptive reuse, and appropriation do not cover all the possibilities opened by addressing a building through the metaphor of the palimp- sest, although ‘spolia may be present as parts of a given pal- impsest; adaptive reuse may describe a key process at work in shaping the palimpsest; and a desire to appropriate a site and its past may serve as the ultimate impetus for creating the palimpsest’ (15). Therefore, the broader aim of these ten essays assembled in this volume is to provide ‘a col- lection of chronologically and geographically diverse case studies to present a range of methodological possibilities’ (18). These methods privilege — more than the moment of creation — how and when changes in appearance were linked to changing historical circumstances. The term palimpsest was first adapted to architecture during the 20th century by archaeologists and architec- tural historians to discuss ancient and medieval build- ings with evident traces of reconstructions or restorations (Giovannoni 1935; Coolidge 1943), and it is now employed by scholars studying different regions of the world (Flood 2003; Necipoğlu 2008; Cantatore 2000; Trachtenberg 2010). Since the 1980s, the use of the term has expanded to include landscape architecture (Corboz 1983; Marot 2003), history of cities (Adams 1994), museum buildings (Frampton 2009), and projects concerned with the renewal of industrial complexes. The term has also evolved to the point that it is used to describe new projects intended to facilitate their transformation in time. One of the first instances of this was Peter Eisenman’s 1988 Wexner Center for the Arts at the Ohio State University, which was defined by the architect ‘as a palimpsest. A place to write, erase, and rewrite’ (19). The editors aimed to present case studies of the most diverse variety in terms of their subjects’ geographical breath, function, and formal characteristics. Of the ten essays, four address subjects in Europe, and two each consider structures in the Americas, Africa, and Asia. The buildings’ functions are evenly split between religious and non-religious. While the intrinsic idea of the palimpsest naturally favors structures with a long history, two exam- ples from the twentieth century are included to demon- strate how the mechanics of erasure and reshaping can also happen in a short time. The contributions are divided into four thematic sec- tions. The first, ‘Building Transformations’, introduces three archetypal cases of architectural palimpsests. Philip Wagoner explores how the Deval Masjid at Bodhan in India was originally a Hindu temple before being trans- formed into a mosque in 1323. He argues that traces of the temple were purposely left visible in the mosque as a reminder of the ruler’s conversion to Islam. The second essay, by Sheila Bonde, describes the multiple reuses of mailto:lorenzo.vigotti@columbia.edu Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021Art. 5, page 4 of 11 the Porta Nigra in Trier, from its original function of the city gate of the Roman city to its transformation into a medieval church and finally to its restoration as a gate under Napoleon. Porta Nigra perfectly illustrates the idea of heterotopia, first introduced by Michel Foucault to indicate ‘a space that maintains relationships to multiple times and places’ (43), an essential element of a palimp- sest. The final study in this section, by Erik Gustafson, examines the transformed meaning of a portal that origi- nally decorated a crusader church in Acre and was later transported as a war trophy to Cairo and inserted into the facade of a Cairene madrasa. Going beyond its established interpretation as an example of appropriation, the author cites the views of the patrons, designers, and builders to ‘make an assertive statement of the sultan’s power in the Mediterranean world’ (80). The second thematic section, ‘Restoration and Rewriting’, contains two essays in fields that have resisted a palimpses- tic approach. Sarah Newman applies the idea of palimpsest to the Mayan context, in which the idea of history was not linear but circular, examining two archaeological sites that stretch our concept of palimpsest by incorporating ruins in living cities, venerating invisible temples, and maintain- ing the original meanings in rebuilt structures. In the sec- tion’s second contribution, Nadja Aksamija challenges the traditional scholarship of Italian Renaissance architecture, which has typically emphasized design and patronage over the issue of authenticity, showing ‘immutable and Figure 2: Cover of Palimpsests: Buildings, Sites, Time. Photo Credit: Brepols. Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021 Art. 5, page 5 of 11 temporally static entities’ (123) instead of their layered materiality. She describes the centuries-long process of continuous maintenance and rebuilding of structures as a ‘restoration palimpsest’, promoting a more comprehen- sive temporal perspective, and praising the few scholars who started to take this perspective into account. The two examples in the third section, ‘Buildings Inscribed’, explore a subject in relation to the literal meaning of palimpsest, analyzing the addition and eras- ure of texts on buildings. Christopher Parslow analyzes the political and commercial graffiti painted on the prop- erties of Julia Felix in Pompeii during the decade before the destruction of the city in 79 CE. He focuses on the intentionality of such inscriptions, made on buildings that were not intended to carry such messages, and their prominence in the political life of the city. In a parallel case, Clark Maines investigates the inscriptions added dur- ing the French Revolution to the Gothic portals of several Catholic churches in France, intended to transform them into ‘temples of reason’. The book’s fourth and final section, ‘Site Transformations’, contains three contributions in which the idea of the palimpsest provides better insight into the complexity of contemporary building sites, at the level of landscape architecture. The multi-layered site of Kadwaha in India is described by Tamara Sears, who shows how a palimpsestic approach can help us understand buildings that have been recently destroyed or isolated from their context for con- servation purposes, with the risk of losing their connec- tion with the local inhabitants. Similarly, Annalisa Bolin uses a site of memory, the Presidential Palace Museum in Kigali, to demonstrate that Rwandan heritage can be exploited for contemporary political interpretations, and how the shifting meanings of memory might shape the country’s future. Finally, Joseph Siry analyses the ‘ground zero’ site in New York City, from its early history as Little Syria, with the redesign of the area as World Trade Center, and after 9/11. He emphasizes the limitations on what the museum and memorial can display of the multifaceted history of the location. This well-curated volume, rich in images, reveals the complexities of applying the concept of the palimpsest to the built environment and provides architectural histori- ans, critics, and restorers — as well as a broader audience — with an innovative reading for a more comprehensive understanding of architecture. Following a recent trend in scholarship that includes the idea of identity and the ‘effect of a doubling or bending of time’ in works of art (Nagel and Wood 2010), Palimpsests successfully summa- rizes different avenues of investigation opened up by the historical application of the palimpsest concept. For the first time, in the limited space of a book, a comprehensive number of case-studies show differences in scale, time, and meaning, both physically and culturally, resulting in meaningful analyses that overlap physical, cultural, social, and temporal layers. This volume contributes to a renewed attention toward a methodological approach based on a layered temporality in architecture, ranging in scale from the single building to the city or a territory, and at the same time responds to the current interest in cross-cultural and multiregional approaches to architectural history, based more on global themes than local traditions. Re-evaluating Classicism and Meaning in Italian Renaissance Architecture Max Grossman The University of Texas at El Paso, US megrossman@utep.edu David Hemsoll, Emulating Antiquity: Renaissance Build- ings from Brunelleschi to Michelangelo, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 352 pages, 2019, ISBN: 9780300225761. Numerous studies over the last several decades have re- evaluated how Renaissance architects perceived ancient buildings and adapted their features in their projects. Since the time of Vasari, scholars have tended to highlight the all’antica innovations of individual masters. Brunelleschi is typically framed as the first builder to break definitively from medieval tradition, with his predilection for freestand- ing columns, fluted pilasters, and classicizing entablatures and his rigorous design methods. Subsequent architects, from Giuliano da Sangallo to Raphael, systematically built upon the accomplishments of their predecessors until Michelangelo, whom Vasari claimed was endowed with godlike creativity and powers of disegno such that he eclipsed all who lived before him, ancient or modern, took architecture to the highest pinnacle of achievement. The Vasarian schema, according to which architects saw ancient structures as models of excellence to be imitated, has been reaffirmed by Renaissance specialists to the present day with surprisingly little critical discussion of how and why individual architects actually engaged with antiquity. The handsome volume Emulating Antiquity: Renaissance Buildings from Brunelleschi to Michelangelo by David Hemsoll provides a fresh look at the professional practices of several key masters, starting with Brunelleschi (1377– 1446) and continuing through Michelangelo (1475–1564) (Figure 3). Hemsoll has spent the past thirty years at the University of Birmingham investigating the Renaissance art and architecture of major Italian cities, with an empha- sis on architectural theory and design methodology. His wide-ranging explorations of both primary evidence and secondary literature have culminated in this novel study of how architects perceived and assimilated the antique. He deconstructs the teleological approach established by Vasari, replacing it with a nuanced analysis that incorpo- rates contemporary developments in literature and phi- losophy while taking account of historical and cultural circumstances. Although the author’s claim that his book is ‘the first in any language to be devoted to the unfolding of Renaissance architecture’s engagement with antiquity’ (13) is a slight exaggeration, it nevertheless offers new insight into a field of inquiry that has been constrained by orthodox dogma for more than four and a half centuries. Hemsoll assesses the various scholarly accounts of how Renaissance architects approached the antique. His mailto:megrossman@utep.edu Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021Art. 5, page 6 of 11 central thesis is that Brunelleschi, Giuliano da Sangallo, Bramante, Raphael, and Michelangelo — who are the focus of his book — employed strategies and methods for impart- ing meaning through classicism that do not fit neatly into the Vasarian model. He claims these architects never intended to merely replicate ancient structures but rather imitated or, more precisely, emulated prototypes ‘very selectively and often very eclectically and inventively’ (16). This study is not a comprehensive survey of Italian Renaissance architecture; rather it focuses on the careers of the most impactful designers in Florence, Rome, and Venice between approximately 1400 and 1550. It is ‘a charting of advances in architectural outlook and ideology, especially as regards the period’s repeated re- evaluation of classical antiquity’ (19). One particularly refreshing aspect of this book is its questioning of the semiotic theories put forth by Donald Preziosi (1979) and others, who insist that meaning in buildings relies upon the identification of signs and symbols, which in turn are rooted in tradition. Hemsoll posits that a building’s ‘meanings are perceived by way of its associations’ and that these are ‘expressed or recognized as similarities and differences between it Figure 3: Cover of Emulating Antiquity: Renaissance Buildings from Brunelleschi to Michelangelo. Photo credit: Yale University Press. Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021 Art. 5, page 7 of 11 and other buildings’ (22). In other words, we should strip away acquired interpretations and aim for a more accurate analysis of meaning, rooted in the political and cultural environment of the time. The volume is organized into three richly illustrated chapters: ‘The Early Renaissance in Florence’, covering the period from Brunelleschi to Giuliano da Sangallo; ‘The High Renaissance in Rome and Italy Beyond’, treating Bramante, Raphael, and their followers in Rome and other Italian cities; and ‘Michelangelo and his Contemporaries’, focusing on the disparate visual cultures of Florence and Rome and the rivalry between Michelangelo and the circle of Antonio da Sangallo the Younger. In the first chapter, Hemsoll guides us through Brunelleschi’s major works, from the beginning of his career through his death in 1446. Vasari, whose bias toward the achievements of the Florentines is well documented, cred- its Brunelleschi with inaugurating the Renaissance in archi- tecture and plotting a course in which successive designers imitated ancient models with increasing skill and accuracy. After investigating the diversity of styles in Florence in the duecento and trecento, Hemsoll explains what he calls the ‘Brunelleschi Conundrum’ — how the architect struck a bal- ance between Florentine tradition and all’antica innovation. This is hardly the first time that Brunelleschi’s reliance on local tradition has been observed — Heinrich Klotz (1970) comes to mind — but here the phenomenon is examined with impressive precision. Hemsoll compares his build- ings to a diverse array of earlier structures while meticu- lously documenting his utilization of classical features. The author’s approach differs sharply from Ludwig Heinrich Heydenreich, Wolfgang Lotz (1974), and Christoph Luitpold Frommel (2007), who in their surveys of Renaissance archi- tecture allege that Brunelleschi and his successors were principally concerned with reviving ancient forms. There are some interesting quirks in Hemsoll’s book, such as his assertion that Brunelleschi designed the Pazzi Chapel (convincingly disputed by Trachtenberg (1996)) and that he rejected Gothic because of its negative asso- ciations with Milan. Also noteworthy is his argument that the Ospedale degli Innocenti, considered by many to be a novel invention, is actually rooted in tradition, as, he main- tains, are the Old Sacristy, San Lorenzo, and Santo Spirito. The second half of the first chapter turns to Giuliano da Sangallo, often characterized as a transitional figure whose particular fusion of Florentine tradition with the antique lay midway between Brunelleschi and Bramante. Some have argued that Sangallo was essentially a conserv- ative who clung to orthodoxy, but for Hemsoll he was a forward-thinking visionary whose style was well adapted to the sophisticated taste of the Florentine elite at the time of Lorenzo de’ Medici. In his designs, he imitated a carefully chosen selection of ancient prototypes while embracing idealism and regularization, and his methods had a philosophical parallel in the writings of Alberti, Cristoforo Landini, and Poliziano. Chapter two focuses on Bramante and Raphael in High Renaissance Rome. Although their achievements were downplayed by Vasari, Hemsoll contends that Bramante’s arrival in Rome in 1499 heralded a new era in Renaissance design. Much like Brunelleschi, Bramante developed his personal style over time, and it is argued that his Roman works did not represent as sharp a break with the past as Heydenreich, Lotz, Frommel, and Arnaldo Bruschi (1969) imply. In his early Roman works, Hemsoll notes, Bramante ‘was not intent on reviving antiquity but on establishing a new and distinctively different style for the city of Rome’ (126). His specific contributions can be hard to decipher because so many of his works — such as the Cortile del Belvedere and St. Peter’s — were altered repeatedly, but Hemsoll deftly reconstructs the original projects. In addi- tion, he resolves a number of persistent chronological prob- lems, especially with regard to the Tempietto and the Palazzo Caprini. In the course of the papacy of Julius II, Bramante increased his reliance on ancient prototypes in order to match the imperialist strategy of his cultivated patron, who famously fashioned himself as a new Julius Caesar. Hemsoll next turns to Raphael, drawing parallels between the master’s architectural practice and the liter- ary theories of Bembo and Castiglione, who sought to imi- tate select works by ancient Latin writers and recombine their features into a unique synthesis. Likewise, Raphael assimilated specific ancient models into his designs, expanding his repertoire of all’antica motifs while aim- ing for a new Roman style. The chapter concludes with a general treatment of Giulio Romano, Sanmicheli, and Sansovino, who introduced High Renaissance classicism to northern Italy. Thanks in part to Serlio’s writings, the new trend spread to nations beyond the Alps. The third and final chapter is devoted to the architectural works of Michelangelo and, to a lesser extent, his rivalry with Antonio da Sangallo the Younger and his followers. The bibliography on the architecture of Michelangelo is extensive, yet Hemsoll manages to shed new light on his adaptation of the antique. He insists that Michelangelo did not develop his architectural style in a vacuum but, in fact, drew from Florentine tradition while absorbing and reinter- preting the all’antica innovations of Bramante and Raphael. Furthermore, it is claimed that after his arrival on the Roman scene Michelangelo gradually freed himself from conven- tion and embraced a highly creative design process, much to the dismay of Antonio da Sangallo the Younger, who restrained his creativity in favor of imitating the antique more faithfully. Of course, Vasari was filled with praise for Michelangelo’s fantasia, citing his God-given mission to improve the arts, his ‘unchallengeable powers in disegno’, (210) and his licenzia to diverge from all’antica orthodoxy. Although there are distinct echoes of James Ackerman (1961) and other specialists in Hemsoll’s analysis, he takes us through the artist’s architectural career in a completely original manner, correlating his design approach with phil- osophical and rhetorical concepts promoted by Ficino and Poliziano. Hemsoll’s writing is lucid and precise and thankfully devoid of the abstruse technical jargon that plagues so many architectural history studies. His analyses of the buildings, especially his scrupulous examination of the numerous plans and elevations, is masterful and never tedious. One comes away with a fuller understanding of the development of Renaissance classicism in quattrocento and cinquecento Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021Art. 5, page 8 of 11 architecture and a deeper appreciation for the historical and cultural circumstances that informed design decisions. A Neglected Realm at the Museum Mile: Visiting Countryside, The Future Enrique Ramirez Yale School of Art, Yale University, US e.ramirez@yale.edu Countryside, The Future, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 20 February 2020–15 February 2021. AMO, Rem Koolhaas, Countryside: A Report, Cologne: Taschen, 352 pages, 2020, ISBN: 9783836583312. The relation between the city and the country is a topic that continues to bedevil critics, historians, and writers of all stripes. This ‘problem of perspective’ was, of course, the subject of Raymond Williams’s The Country and the City (1973), which envisioned the rural as a realm that was, for all practical purposes, ideologically, temporally, and even physically distant and that still informed our understand- ing of modernity. Williams’s own observations and criti- cisms did not operate in a cultural void. They were part of a rich and distinguished body of literature that includes important contributions by social historians and literary critics. This is an enviable and lengthy roster, one includ- ing E.P. Thompson’s 1967 essay ‘Time, Work Discipline, and Industrial Capitalism’, Leo Marx’s The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America (1964), the writings of the American agrarian historian James C. Scott, and recent art historical treatments such as W.J.T. Mitchell’s Landscape and Power (1994) among its ranks. One way to look at this body of work is to understand the distinction between city and country (or rural and urban) not so much as a false dichotomy but rather as a process of agonizing fits and starts. Modernization was punctuated (to borrow paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould’s terminology) by periods of stasis and change (Gould 1989: 54). Although this point of view is almost certainly historical, its scope is always at issue. The narrator of George Eliot’s Middlemarch (1872), for example, was loath to worry about large sweeps of historical time, instead opting to focus on ‘this particular web’ of pre-Reform Bill rural England, and not the ‘tempt- ing range of relevancies called the universe’ (Eliot 2015: 135). And for novelist L.P. Hartley, the past is more than just a bygone epoch: ‘The past is a different country: they do things differently there’ (Hartley 2002: 17). For Rem Koolhaas, the country is not different, but an altogether ‘neglected realm’ that merits the attention of architects and urbanists (Figure 4). At least this is the cen- tral conceit underlying Countryside, The Future, his latest show at the Guggenheim Museum. Developed with AMO’s Samir Bantal and Troy Conrad Therrien, the Guggenheim’s curator of architecture and digital initiatives, Countryside was billed as an installation in the museum’s rotunda designed to ‘explore radical changes in the rural, remote, and wild territories collectively identified here as “country- side,” or the 98% of the Earth’s surface not occupied by cities’.1 When the show opened almost a year ago, it was touted as a kind of alembic through which Koolhaas, AMO, and the Guggenheim viewed environmental, social, politi- cal, and economic issues. And yet it was a project that was wholly, unmistakably born from the kind of boundless, energetic research to be expected from OMA and AMO. What the audience will find, however, is a hastily assembled and conceived installation. Featuring research conducted at various architecture schools through- out the world, Countryside, The Future transforms the Guggenheim’s signature rotunda into a spiraling bill- board teeming with montages, diagrams, visualizations, as well as a hay bale hanging from the ceiling, and — most famously — a robotic vacuum cleaner brandishing a life-size cut-out of Stalin. The materials are arranged in roughly chronological sequence. Upon entering, a visi- tor will be greeted by wall-sized images of phalansteries, landscape gardens, and other schemes mined for their ability to deal with a scale that would not be recognizable as ‘urban’. Or rather, these appear as spatial artefacts that operated in some kind of idealized space outside popula- tion centers and yet provided much of the energy that came to dominate and typify urban life in the modern era. That is to say, these are the spaces of agricultural produc- tion, resource extraction, and even political experimen- tation. The installation continues with topics organized more or less to themes concerning environmental, social, and technological issues. There are plenty of arresting collections of images and data on display. However, the connective tissue that is supposed to bind these into a unified theme — that is, the ‘countryside’ — only appears exhaustive. It is treated glibly, devoid of any resonances. Countryside is an exhibition to be consumed as a kind of confection, a weightless and fleeting criticism that leaves us starving for something more substantive. There are reasons for this. Perhaps the most obvious is that the rotunda was a literal, architectural constraint. This irony is deeply felt, however, as the Guggenheim is no stranger to Koolhaas or to exhibitions that deal with the rural. In 2009, a maquette of Broadacre City was featured in Frank Lloyd Wright: From Within Outward. Readers familiar with Koolhaas’ earliest sojourns in New York may recall that audiences first encountered OMA’s ‘City of the Captive Globe’ as part of the 1978 The Sparkling Metropolis exhibition at the Guggenheim. And as an instal- lation meant to display architectural thinking, or rather, to explore ways in which architectural thinking can be brought to bear on a subject as expansive as the ‘country- side’, Countryside, The Future confronts the museumgoer with low-resolution montages blown up to the point of distortion, and more regrettably, a relentless amount of wall text. No surface of the rotunda was spared from sound-bite length pronouncements conjured by Koolhaas and his research teams. Even more maddening is that the exhibition was left unfinished, a misguided evocation of the kind of ‘open work’ imagined by Umberto Eco to be completed by readers. Indeed, there are different parts of the installation designed to remind visitors that the exhi- bition is a work in progress. For example, a piece of wall text on a bare wall reads, ‘Originally left fallow to allow mailto:e.ramirez@yale.edu Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021 Art. 5, page 9 of 11 for an update to the exhibition during its run, this section was developed for the fall 2020 reopening’. Sometimes, an audience does not want to be left wanting for more. Even more troubling is the way in which the installa- tion dealt with sensitive issues. This was especially evident in those parts of the show dedicated to politics. A case in point is a space featuring cropped and edited images of Mao Zedong, Nikita Khrushchev, Joseph Stalin, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Adolf Hitler, Muammar al-Gaddafi, and Herman Sörgel signing papers or reading documents. Here, Koolhaas is making an important point: namely, that many of the transformations that altered the physical, social, and eco- nomic makeup of the ‘countryside’ occurred under the aegis of institutional control. The wall text reads, ‘Authoritarian and democratic states alike took colossal risks attempting to increase productivity and food security, and remake rural society. They harvested success and failure, famine and overproduction … We live in a society still deeply marked by these Promethean efforts’. This should give readers pause, as it uses the spatial artefact that is the putative subject of the installation — the ‘countryside’ — to equalize the actions of these world leaders. There is nary a chance to get any kind of historical perspective on their deeds. Whether meant to excite or outrage, this material is only dealt with as a col- lection of images that may or may not catch visitors’ eyes as they continue their path through the installation. And in some instances, the topic is handled unevenly. When it comes to the treatment of Herman Sörgel’s Atlantropa (1922–1952) at the museum, Koolhaas appears to relish this scheme to dam and drain the Mediterranean Sea in order to create fertile farmland for its sheer audacity. Gaze at the large maps and archival images, blown up into a larger- than-life size information visualization, and you too may forget that Atlantropa was a geospatial solution to reclaim, protect, and feed White Europeans. Atlantropa is there in all its strangeness, left for audiences to mull over and forget. Figure 4: Cover of Countryside: A Report. Photo Credit: Taschen. Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021Art. 5, page 10 of 11 Fortunately, there is solace to be found in the accompa- nying catalogue, designed by Irma Boom. Tiny, bounded with a reflective cover, and filled with small print, Countryside: A Report packs a collection of essays writ- ten by historians, critics, and writers. It does not absolve the exhibition of all its dalliances but manages to con- front some of the larger implications brought to bear on ‘the rural’. Like the exhibition, the book touches on these themes tacitly, or even vaguely. And yet there are moments where this presentation format does work. Among the more successful examples is Niklas Maak’s account of rural hamlets in the Mannheim region and abandoned open mine pits, a well-honed account of the countryside as a site of dynamic change and relentless opprobrium. Others tread on more well-worn routes — literally — as in the case of Anne M. Schindler’s report of a road trip through the American desert, a chance for the author to ruminate on the various abstract, global forces that become more concrete only in the expansive realm of the rural. In all, Countryside: A Report speaks to connections and digressions better than the installation, which is itself constrained by a delicate editorial agenda that barely manages to keep the text from spiraling out of control. This approach once secured Koolhaas’s legacy as a designer who trafficked in boundless ruminations that became confused for a kind of intellectual journey. Beginning with Delirious New York (1978) and onward, Koolhaas showed himself a deft and cunning writer whose ability to locate theoretical platitudes within loose his- torical frameworks has been wildly influential. We would never claim that Delirious New York is ‘historical’, and yet we are all too happy to assign it an equation and locate its point within the great curve of architectural history and theory. The same cannot be said for Countryside. The historical examples are only that, instances of things that happened before in an inert, idealized, and isotropic space otherwise known as ‘the rural’. This may have been lost on audiences who had the benefit of seeing the show in February 2020. Countryside opened on the heels of one blockbuster show (the Guggenheim’s Hilma af Klint: Paintings for the Future) and near another (the Met Breuer’s stellar and compre- hensive Gerhard Richter: Painting After All). Both exhibi- tions showcased a fierce curatorial ambition that was as engaging as it was provocative. And this begs the question: what is Countryside in these days? What are we to make of an exhibition that few have seen, and that now appears merely as the setting for ancillary programming, such as the Institute of Queer Ecology’s H.O.R.I.Z.O.N. (Habitat One: Regenerative Interactive Zone of Nurture), a partici- patory online multiplayer game ‘attuned to the intelli- gence of ecology, queerness, and sovereign living’, and a residency for The World Around, the yearly symposium founded by Beatrice Galillee? Countryside is now closed, and yet its conceit seems not quaint, not misguided, nor irrelevant. Only small, shrinking to something quiet, to something infinitesimally small. In all, the past year has shown that it is not the countryside, but rather a virus, that has connected and disrupted the world, that traveled aerial routes and shipping lanes, that skip-traced the air currents throughout our cities and, yes, countrysides. Note 1 Guggenheim Museum, ‘Countryside, The Future’ website, https://www.guggenheim.org/exhibition/countryside. Competing Interests The authors have no competing interests to declare. References Mandarin or Maverick? Reassessing the Architecture of Gordon Bunshaft Adams, N. 2007. Skidmore, Owings & Merrill: SOM since 1936. Milan: Electa. Bunshaft, G. 1990. Oral History of Gordon Bunshaft. Inter- viewed by Betty J. Blum, compiled under the auspices of the Chicago Architects Oral History Project, Depart- ment of Architecture, the Art Institute of Chicago. Designers for a Busy World: Mood for Working. 1959. Newsweek, May, 97–100. Krinsky, CH. 1988. Gordon Bunshaft of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. A Global Approach to the Architectural Palimpsest Adams, N. 1994. La città in Italia tra il 1300 e il 1600. In: Rinascimento da Brunelleschi a Michelangelo, 205– 232. Milan: Bompiani. Cantatore, F. 2000. Niccolò V e il Palazzo Vaticano. In: Niccolò V nel sesto centenario della nascita, 399–410. Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. Coolidge, J. 1943. The Villa Giulia: A Study of Central Ital- ian Architecture in the Mid-Sixteenth Century. The Art Bulletin, 25(3): 177–225. DOI: https://doi.org/10.108 0/00043079.1943.11409196 Corboz, A. 1983. The land as Palimpsest. Diogenes, 31 (124): 12–34. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1177/039219218303112102 Flood, B. 2003. Pillars, Palimpsests, and Princely Practices: Translating the past in Sultanate Delhi. RES: Anthro- pology and Aesthetics, 43: 95–116. DOI: https://doi. org/10.1086/RESv43n1ms20167592 Frampton, K. 2009. Das Museum als Palimspest. In: Neues Museum Berlin, 97–106. Cologne: König. Giovannoni, G. 1935. Saggi sulla architettura del Rinasci- mento. Milan: Treves. Marot, S. 2003. Sub-urbanism and the Art of Memory. London: Architectural Association. Nagel, A and Wood, C. 2010. Anachronic Renaissance. New York: Zone Books. DOI: https://doi.org/10.2307/j. ctv1453n0p Necipoğlu, G. 2008. The Dome of the Rock as Palimpsest. Muqarnas, 25: 17–105. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1163/ 22118993_02501004 Trachtenberg, M. 2010. Building-in-Time from Giotto to Alberti and Modern Oblivion. New Haven: Yale Univer- sity Press. Re-evaluating Classicism and Meaning in Renaissance Architecture Ackerman, JS. 1961. The Architecture of Michelangelo. 2 vols. London: Zwemmer. Bruschi, A. 1969. Bramante architetto. Bari: Laterza. Frommel, CL. 2007. The Architecture of the Italian Renais- sance. Trans. Peter Spring. London: Thames & Hudson. https://www.guggenheim.org/exhibition/countryside https://doi.org/10.1080/00043079.1943.11409196 https://doi.org/10.1080/00043079.1943.11409196 https://doi.org/10.1177/039219218303112102 https://doi.org/10.1086/RESv43n1ms20167592 https://doi.org/10.1086/RESv43n1ms20167592 https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv1453n0p https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv1453n0p https://doi.org/10.1163/22118993_02501004 https://doi.org/10.1163/22118993_02501004 Lieber et al: Reviews Winter 2021 Art. 5, page 11 of 11 Heydenreich, LH and Lotz, W. 1974. Architecture in Italy, 1400 to 1600. Trans. Mary Hottinger. Hammonds- worth: Penguin. Klotz, H. 1970. Die Frühwerke Brunelleschis und die mit- telalterliche Tradition. Berlin: Mann. Preziosi, D. 1979. Architecture, Language and Mean- ing: The Origins of the Built World and Its Semiotic Organization. The Hague: Mouton. DOI: https://doi. org/10.1515/9783110808674 Trachtenberg, M. 1996. Why the Pazzi Chapel is not by Brunelleschi. Casabella, 635(June): 58–77. A Neglected Realm at the Museum Mile: Visiting Countryside, The Future Eliot, G. 2015. Middlemarch: A Study of Provincial Life. New York: Penguin Classics. Frank Lloyd Wright: From Within Outward. 2009. Solo- mon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 15 May–23 August 2009. Gerhard Richter: Painting After All. 2020. The Metro- politan Museum of Art, New York, 4 March–12 March 2020. Gould, SJ. 1989. Wonderful Life: The Burgess Shale and the Nature of History. New York: W.W. Norton. Hartley, LP. 2002. The Go-Between. New York: NYRB Clas- sics. Hilma af Klint: Paintings for the Future. 2018–2019. Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 12 Octo- ber 2018–23 April 2019. Koolhaas, R. 1978. Delirious New York. A Retroactive Manifesto for Manhattan. New York: Monacelli Press. Marx, L. 1964. The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mitchell, WJT (ed.). 1994. Landscape and Power. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. The Sparkling Metropolis. 1978. Solomon R. Guggen- heim Museum, New York, 17 November–17 December 1978. Thompson, EP. 1967. Time, Work Discipline, and Indus- trial Capitalism. Past and Present, 38: 56–97. Williams, R. 1973. The Country and the City. London: Chatto & Windus. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1093/ past/38.1.56 How to cite this article: Lieber, J, Vigotti, L, Grossman, M and Ramirez, E. 2021. Reviews Winter 2021. Architectural Histories, 9(1): 5, pp. 1–11. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.580 Published: 18 March 2021 Copyright: © 2021 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. OPEN ACCESS Architectural Histories is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110808674 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110808674 https://doi.org/10.1093/past/38.1.56 https://doi.org/10.1093/past/38.1.56 https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.580 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Mandarin or Maverick? Reassessing the Architecture of Gordon Bunshaft A Global Approach to the Architectural Palimpsest Re-evaluating Classicism and Meaning in Italian Renaissance Architecture A Neglected Realm at the Museum Mile: Visiting Countryside, The Future Note Competing Interests References Mandarin or Maverick? Reassessing the Architecture of Gordon Bunshaft Re-evaluating Classicism and Meaning in Renaissance Architecture A Neglected Realm at the Museum Mile: Visiting Countryside, The Future Figure 1 Figure 2 Figure 3 Figure 4 
work_avyg4gyd6bfltgr3kmkwgu5y4y	----	Odoni’s Façade The House as Portrait in Renaissance Venice University of Massachusetts Amherst From the SelectedWorks of Monika Schmitter September, 2007 Odoni’s Façade The House as Portrait in Renaissance Venice Monika Schmitter, University of Massachusetts - Amherst Available at: https://works.bepress.com/monika_schmitter/3/ http://www.umass.edu https://works.bepress.com/monika_schmitter/ https://works.bepress.com/monika_schmitter/3/ Odoni's Façade: The House as Portrait in Renaissance Venice Author(s): Monika Schmitter Source: Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, Vol. 66, No. 3 (September 2007), pp. 294-315 Published by: University of California Press on behalf of the Society of Architectural Historians Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294 . Accessed: 28/08/2014 10:09 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . University of California Press and Society of Architectural Historians are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucal http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=sah http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Whoever wishes to see how clean and candid his mind is should look at his face and his house, look at them, I say, and you will see as much serenity and beauty as one can desire in a house and in a face.1 I n this sentence from a letter to the Venetian citizen Andrea Odoni (Figure 1), Pietro Aretino conflates two tropes of Italian Renaissance architectural theory. First, he makes an analogy between bodies and buildings: Odoni’s face is compared to his house. Second, he alludes to the idea that a house ought to accurately represent its owner: both the face and the house denote the animo (mind or spirit) “inside.”2 In employing the metonymic metaphor of house/inhabitant, Aretino was surely influenced by his friend Sebastiano Serlio, who had begun publishing his famous architectural treatise the year before (1537).3 But Aretino’s literary use of the metaphor is particularly com- plex and layered.4 For Serlio and other theorists, the rela- tionship between man and house was essentially symbolic; one could represent a man’s character and status, translate it in a sense, into the language of orders and ornament: the house is a symbol invented by the architect to represent the patron.5 As I will demonstrate, Aretino’s conception of the relationship between house and owner is iconic and index- ical as well as symbolic, for he conceives of the house as a portrait of the owner. Since the owner makes decisions about its decoration and interior space, it is also in effect a self-portrait.6 For Aretino, houses do not just represent their inhabitants; they are literally “embodied” by them and thus are “endowed with subjectivity, as quasi-agents rather than mere backdrop in the social drama.”7 In a letter of 27 October 1537, Aretino used the house/inhabitant metaphor to describe himself, attributing the observations to his friend Giulio Camillo.8 [Camillo] . . . used to take delight in remarking to me that the entrance to my house from the land-side, being dark and crooked, with a beastly stairway,9 was like the terrible name I had acquired by revealing the truth; and then, he would add that any one who came to know me would find in my pure, plain, and natural friend- ship the same tranquil contentment that was felt on reaching the portico and coming out on the balconies above.10 Aretino compares the two parts of his house, the back entrance and the principal room and front, to his own mul- tiple “façades”—his terribilità contrasted with his “pure, plain and natural friendship.” To visit Aretino’s residence is like entering into the man himself; one passes through a sequence of spaces that physically evoke his contradictory persona.11 Aretino uses the house/inhabitant analogy in his letter to Odoni to simultaneously describe the cittadino’s house and evoke his character. (The full text of the letter is trans- lated in Appendix 1.) The passage that begins my essay sets up the conceit and also contains an important double mean- ing that, to my knowledge, has not previously been noted. Aretino employs the word fronte to mean both building m o n i k a s c h m i t t e r University of Massachusetts—Amherst Odoni’s Façade The House as Portrait in Renaissance Venice This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp front (façade) and forehead (as synecdoche for face). As the social context of the letter makes clear, Aretino chose this word very deliberately. Aretino wrote to Odoni in the first place because of their mutual friendship with the painter Girolamo da Treviso il Giovane, who, it happens, was responsible for frescoing the façade of Odoni’s house some years earlier (probably in 1531–32).12 On the one hand, Aretino is saying that Odoni’s face and his house reveal his character; on the other hand, he says that both the façade and the interior of the house (the “abitazioni”) are products of Odoni’s animo.13 Aretino does not compare Odoni’s house so much to his body as to his face, and in this sense he suggests an anal- ogy with portraiture.14 Aretino used the word fronte often when writing about portraiture, one of his favorite subjects, and with good reason. In modern Italian, the expression “avere qualcosa scolpito in fronte” (to have something carved on one’s forehead—notably an artistic metaphor itself) means to show one’s thoughts, often unintentionally, in one’s facial expression.15 The saying stems from Petrarch: “spesso ne la fronte il cor si legge” (one may often read the heart upon the brow).16 The concept under- lies Aretino’s descriptions of several portraits by Titian, and in Ludovico Dolce’s dialogue on art theory, the character named and fashioned after Aretino espouses the proverb.17 Writing about Titian’s portrait of Daniele Barbaro, the real Aretino exclaims: “the elevation of his thought, the gen- erosity of his mind, and the clarity of his soul are seen within the regal space of his serene countenance [fronte].”18 In the face of the duchess of Urbino, also painted by Tit- ian, Aretino sees more feminine virtues: “Chastity and beauty, eternal enemies, join themselves to her in her face [sembiante], and between her eyebrows one sees the throne of the Graces. . . . The other internal virtues ornament her face [fronte] with every marvel.”19 Self-styled the “Assidu- ous Demonstrator of Virtue and Vice,” Aretino was, in his own terms, a portraitist: “I strive to portray other men’s manners with the liveliness that the amazing Titian por- trays this and that face.”20 In Aretino’s letters as well as in his other writings, both his descriptions of portraits and his descriptions of houses were a means to point out virtues and vices and draw his own verbal portrait of the sitter/inhabitant.21 Aretino’s letter was a public pronouncement on Odoni’s character. Published in his second volume of letters in 1542, the literary set piece was not just a personal missive. It is no accident that Aretino used the man/house metaphor exten- sively in a letter to Odoni; there is considerable evidence that O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 295 Figure 1 Lorenzo Lotto, Portrait of Andrea Odoni, 1527, Hampton Court, England This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-000.jpg&w=369&h=310 http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Odoni was not only particularly interested in his self-image but was also much attuned to the power of the house, and the manner of living it conveyed, to create distinction. In 1527, he commissioned the painter Lorenzo Lotto to depict him surrounded by a variety of antiquities and other objects that identify him as an “art collector” (see Figure 1), a por- trait that Aretino may have been rivaling or complementing in composing his own likeness of Odoni.22 Vasari also elided man, portrait, and house in his brief mention of Odoni’s por- trait, noting that Lotto “depicted Andrea Odoni, whose house in Venice is filled with paintings and sculptures.”23 The inscription placed on Odoni’s tomb in the Venetian church of Santa Maria Maggiore is indicative as well: “Andrea Odoni a citizen [civi] marked by the splendor of his mind [animi], his liberality, and elegance that surpassed his citizen [civilem] status.”24 Odoni’s epitaph expresses his desire to transcend his non-noble cittadino status, but more impor- tantly, it suggests that he attempted this through his patterns of consumption and display. The words “splendor,” “liber- ality,” and “elegance” were all part of Renaissance discourse on the proper modes of spending, especially with regard to domestic activities and decoration.25 In writing the letter at all, Aretino may have been sug- gesting Odoni’s (over?) reliance on his house to create his reputation, a general characteristic that was specifically crit- icized in Renaissance theoretical writing. In the second half of the fifteenth century, the Venetian Giovanni Caldiera, for example, noted, “What is truly appropriate to the houses of citizens is utility and not splendor. . . . The householder should rather make himself worthy of admiration because of the virtue by which he excels than because of the sumptu- ous home by which he has desired to be conspicuous. Not the house but the virtue makes men immortal and equal to the gods.”26 He, like others, was echoing Cicero: “a man’s dignity may be enhanced by the house he lives in, but not wholly secured by it; the owner should bring honour to his house, not the house to its owner.”27 Thus, Aretino’s letter may not be entirely flattering. While it seems on the surface to point out Odoni’s virtues (and this is the way it has nearly always been read in the past), it may also be slyly drawing attention to his flaws.28 I propose that we address Aretino’s implication that Odoni’s house and façade can be read as multifaceted por- traits of the man. The rest of this article focuses on the exte- rior of the house—its location, setting, and façade decoration—analyzing how Odoni used his façade to proj- ect a public persona that negotiated his liminal status as a non-noble citizen and head of an immigrant family.29 With the house, Odoni literally and metaphorically created a place for himself in Venetian society. A Collector of Art and Taxes Due to a fortuitous confluence of sources—visual, literary, and documentary—much is known about the exterior orna- ment, interior contents, decoration, and layout of the Casa Odoni. In addition to Aretino’s letter, there is the innova- tive and unusual portrait by Lotto (signed and dated 1527), both of which represent him as a collector and lover of fine things. Odoni has been identified as Lotto’s sitter because the painting was described, along with many other works of art in Odoni’s collection, by the Venetian nobleman and art expert Marcantonio Michiel in 1532. Michiel’s notes on Odoni’s house are particularly important because they not only provide the artist and subject of the objects on display, but unlike any of Michiel’s other descriptions of private col- lections, they are organized by room, as if on a tour.30 These notes, in turn, may be compared to an extensive inventory of all household property made by a notary some years later (in 1555), also conveniently organized by room.31 Finally, the frescoes both on the outside and on the inside of the house were described by several art enthusiasts and histori- ans from the sixteenth to the nineteenth century before they faded completely from view. The fact that we know more about Odoni’s house than we know about him may itself be an indication of how important the house was to his identity. Piecing together details about Odoni’s life is a sketchy enterprise, but research in the past two centuries has revealed some basic biograph- ical information.32 Born in 1488, Andrea was the son of a wealthy Milanese immigrant to Venice, Rinaldo Odoni.33 However, his mother Marieta came from an established Venetian cittadino clan, and it was his maternal uncle, Francesco Zio, who initiated Andrea into the special privi- leges accorded Venetian cittadini, such as offices in the state bureaucracy and leadership positions in the religious charity organizations known as scuole.34 Odoni also inherited land, works of art, and (presumably) his taste for collecting from Zio, who was a well-known collector in his own right.35 Odoni began his career in civil service working as Zio’s assistant at the Raxon nuove (the central accounting office of the state).36 By 1523, he had obtained the position of scrivan (accountant) at the Dazio dil vin (the office in charge of the tax on wine), one of the highest paid positions avail- able to cittadini, worth about four hundred ducats a year.37 He reached a pinnacle in his career in 1532 when he was appointed co-condutor of the Dazio, meaning that he and his patrician partner Piero Orio were contracted to be in charge of collecting taxes on wine. The pair amassed record sums, perhaps due in part to shady dealings.38 Writing in 1533, when Orio and Odoni were still working together, Marino Sanuto noted that Piero Orio “has a bad reputation” (ha 296 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp mala fama), and accused him of cruelty and excessive taxa- tion. In any case, corruption appears to have been endemic in this office.39 Although Odoni is often described as a merchant, his involvement in commerce has not actually been demon- strated.40 The idea probably derives from an unspecified chronicle cited by Emmanuele Antonio Cicogna, which states that Odoni’s father, Rinaldo, came to Venice “con grosso capitale di mercanzie.”41 Since cittadini were often engaged in commerce related to their bureaucratic offices, the family may have been involved in the wine trade.42 An inventory of the Odoni family papers lists accounts and receipts concerning the Dazio dil vin and various wine mer- chants and estimators, although it is difficult to determine if these pertain to the Odonis’ own trade in wine or whether they are merely records related to their positions as wine tax officers.43 It is also possible that the family was involved in the cloth trade. The inventory of goods lists a consider- able amount of cloth in what appear to be storehouses,44 and the inventory of documents refers to business with dyers, tailors, and other cloth-related workers, including a four-page account book regarding textiles from the shop (bottega) that Odoni’s brother, Alvise, had “in company with” a certain Messer Francesco Moranzon.45 If Alvise was involved in the cloth trade, it is likely that Andrea Odoni was also, since it was common in Venice for brothers to form a family business partnership called a fraterna.46 Since we cannot be sure what other sources of income (legitimate or illegitimate) Odoni may have had in addition to his salary at the Dazio, it is difficult to determine his rel- ative wealth.47 The common measures of affluence—land ownership and dowry prices—do not indicate exceptional prosperity. Odoni owned his own house and a few proper- ties in Venice and on the terraferma, but his overall invest- ment in real estate is not notable, even for a non-noble cittadino. 48Although Andrea and his wife (Isabeta Taiapiera, née de Monte) had no children, his nieces received dowries that were adequate but well below the allowable limit. 49 Much of Odoni’s “disposable income” was probably spent on the “cultural capital” of his house and art collection. Not only is it difficult to calculate Odoni’s net worth, but it is also hard to judge what kind of education he received. While some members of his family were well-edu- cated or married into scholarly circles, there is no concrete evidence about Odoni’s background.50 He must have been very experienced in matters of business and accounting, but there seems little reason for him to have had any kind of humanist education or to have learned Latin. His handwrit- ing is more that of a merchant than a humanist, and it is striking that the inventory of the Odoni household lists only two books by title—a popular world history and a medical text. 51 From the evidence we have, it would seem that any pretensions Odoni had to learning and culture lay largely in his abitazioni and the collection of art and antiquities it housed, an impression reinforced by Lotto’s portrait. Odoni did not rise to the highest position in his scuola, nor did he obtain a position in the prestigious chancellery. Other than his collection, and his ability to collect taxes, there was little that was remarkable about him. His public persona in Venice thus must have been primarily as a tax collector and probably a merchant as well. Through his bureaucratic office Odoni would have had business dealings with a very wide range of people, from wealthy patricians to workers. Although prominent in many ways, he was both an insider and an outsider in Venetian society. As a wealthy cittadino, he was accorded a certain social status and eco- nomic privilege. But as a non-noble he was politically dis- enfranchised and excluded from the highest social elite. In addition, despite the established Venetian heritage of his mother’s family, in this patrilineal society Odoni remained a newcomer, the son of a wealthy Milanese immigrant. In an important sense, as the eldest of three brothers, Odoni became the first male “founder” of the Venetian branch of his family.52 It may have been precisely his liminal status and familial ambition that led him to challenge the traditional structures of Venetian oligarchical society—in the words of his epitaph, to “surpass his cittadino status.” I suggest that the most important way he sought to construct an elevated social and cultural position for himself and his family was through the fashioning of his “fronte e abitazioni.” Location, Location, Location Although neither the house nor the façade survive in any- thing resembling their original state, the location of the Casa Odoni may be determined on the basis of an address given by a nineteenth-century visitor.53 The utterly nonde- script residence now on the site (Figure 2) may incorporate pieces of the original structure on the inside, but it does not seem to preserve the original exterior or the interior lay- out.54 The house must have been destroyed or rebuilt beyond recognition sometime between 1829 and 1863 (and probably before 1841).55 The location and size of the house within the city are significant, however. Near the present-day Piazzale Roma, the house was decidedly on the periphery (Figure 3). Nor does it appear to have been very large. The inventory, which presumably covered the entire house, lists a courtyard and garden, three principal rooms, and six other more utilitar- ian spaces. Yet, the site of the house had much to recom- O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 297 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 298 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 Figure 2 House at Dorsoduro 3537–38, Fondamenta del Gaffaro, Venice, on the site of the Casa Odoni Figure 3 Lodovico Ughi, Map of Venice, 1729, showing the location of Odoni’s house This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-001.jpg&w=189&h=278 http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-002.jpg&w=476&h=351 http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp mend it. The façade overlooked the Rio del Gaffaro (now Rio di Malcanton), a principal canal linking the upper part of the Grand Canal (near the current train station) to the lower part past the Rialto bridge (a shortcut around the large bulge created by the S-curve of the Grand Canal) (see Figure 3). Along the portion where Odoni lived the canal is also flanked by two fondamente (walkways that run alongside Venetian canals), creating an unusually wide-open and sunny space in the dense, congested fabric of the city (Figure 4). The more peripheral situation of Odoni’s casa also had the advantage of allowing for a substantial garden by Venet- ian standards. Jacopo Barbaro’s perspectival view of Venice in 1500 shows the open space in back of the houses on the Fondamenta del Gaffaro (Figure 5). A property agreement of 1551 between the Odoni family and their neighbors mentions gardens behind both houses, and the inventory of the Odoni residence reveals that Odoni displayed frag- mented statuary in his.56 Thus, while Odoni’s house was rel- atively modest in location and size, he fully exploited the possibilities of the site, creating an all’antica garden in the rear and commissioning large, colorful figures on the façade that looked out on a wide and busy canal. Despite its loca- O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 299 Figure 4 View of the Rio di Malcanton with the Fondamenta del Gaffaro on the right Figure 5 Jacopo Barbaro, View of Venice, 1500, woodblock print from six blocks on six sheets of paper, detail showing the houses and their gardens on the Fondamenta del Gaffaro This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-003.jpg&w=350&h=237 http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-004.jpg&w=311&h=240 http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp tion, the house certainly had a public presence; the colorful painted façade in particular put Odoni and his house “on the map.”57 The Painted Face We do not know if Odoni commissioned the fresco from Girolamo da Treviso in 1531–32 as a way of updating, reg- ularizing, and classicizing a preexisting building or whether he had the house built with a painted façade in mind. 58 In either case, because the façade of a house was its most pub- lic feature, it bore the heaviest burden of satisfying measures of decorum. Above all, it was the façade that negotiated the house’s place in the city and thus metaphorically, and to some extent literally, the owner’s place in society.59 The façade was both the external shell of the private home and a part of the urban fabric, and it had to suitably accommo- date both roles. The sensitivity of the site was particularly marked in Venice because the physical circumstances of the city called for a “façade architecture” and because the polit- ical ideology of the Venetian state, the so-called myth of Venice, held that civic harmony stemmed from (a form of) social equality.60 Domenico Morosini’s treatise On the Well- Managed Republic (begun 1497) provides an example of how these ideas could be applied to architecture. As summarized by Margaret King, Morosini’s treatise made the point that “just as the citizens are to be all of one mind in the ideal republic, the façades of all the buildings should so harmo- nize according to one grand plan.”61 On the one hand, the façade was an ornament to the city-state.62 On the other hand, it was an articulation of the individual or family as distinct from the state.63 Built façades in Venice reveal how their owners addressed the tension between promoting themselves and honoring the city. Particularly relevant here is the house façade of Giovanni Dario, perhaps not coincidentally a cit- tadino like Odoni. Dario’s house on the Grand Canal is not only more prominently located than Odoni’s, but its façade is also covered in very expensive colored marbles (Figure 6). The rather large inscription on its surface, “URBIS GENIO IOHANNES DARIUS” (To the Genius of the City, Giovanni Dario [has dedicated this]), claims credit for the individual, while at the same time framing the palace as a civic contribution.64 There was a delicate balance to main- tain between “ornamenting the city” and drawing attention to oneself and one’s family, a subject of particular tension in the Venetian Republic where no citizen or family was to stand out too much from the rest.65 Every new façade had to negotiate this balance. In examining Odoni’s façade as his public face, three issues must be taken into account: Odoni’s decision to fresco the front rather than ornament it in some other way, his choice of artist and style, and the invention of the iconog- raphy. Choosing to have his façade frescoed rather than “encrusted in marble” in the manner of Dario’s could be read as a sign of Odoni’s decorous modesty as well as his 300 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 Figure 6 Palazzo Dario (at right), begun 1486-87, Venice, view of the marble-encrusted façade This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-005.jpg&w=354&h=270 http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp lesser wealth. There is evidence to suggest that painted façades were seen as the more modest alternative, and cer- tainly they were less expensive.66 But at the same time, they must have been quite flashy and attention-getting, especially in Venice where they were usually painted in color rather than monochrome, color that would have been spectacu- larly reflected in the water of the canals. Precisely because painted façades were less expensive but very eye-catching and rhetorical, they had the potential for dissembling—acti- vating the Renaissance anxiety that a house, or a façade, might not properly depict the owner’s character or status.67 So while the location and size of Odoni’s house were deco- rous, the façade ornament was potentially more socially aggressive. The façade was probably painted in or just before 1532, the year Odoni became co-condutor at the Dazio dil vin and Michiel visited and made notes about Odoni’s collection. It thus is tempting to see the decoration of the façade as part of a successful strategy of self-promotion.68 The fashion for façade frescoes depicting figurative scenes, often of mythological subjects, began in earnest in Venice with the Fondaco dei Tedeschi (begun 1508), a very prominently located building painted by Giorgione and Tit- ian.69 By ordering a façade fresco in this tradition, Odoni could be seen as advertising his artistic discernment. In Dolce’s Dialogo della pittura, intitolato l’Aretino (1557), the character named Aretino, exalting the art of painting in general, recom- mends this form of ornament: “the façades [facciate] of houses and palaces give far greater pleasure to the eyes of other men when painted by the hand of a master of quality than they do with incrustations of white marble and porphyry and serpen- tine embellished with gold.”70 Painted façades thus were not only modest; they could also demonstrate the patron’s privi- leging of skillful art over mere rich material.71 While there are known examples of figurative façade frescoes on private Venetian houses that predate Odoni’s, his marked a stylistic shift, again highlighting its visual self- consciousness. Although Girolamo da Treviso was presum- ably trained in the Veneto, he traveled widely, worked with many important central Italian artists, and developed a Raphaelesque romanista (Tuscan-Roman) style that differed considerably from established local practices.72 While the artist is known to have painted other façade frescoes, Odoni’s appears to have been the only one in Venice. Giro- lamo’s work for Odoni is thus “the first Venetian fresco in a modern, classical style,” since it predates by several years the larger and more centrally located Palazzo Talenti d’Anna, painted by Giovanni Antonio Pordenone for the cittadino Ludovico Talenti. 73 A sense of the style of Odoni’s fresco may be deter- mined from an almost contemporary large-scale fresco by Girolamo in the apse of the Chiesa della Commenda in Faenza (completed in 1533, following the artist’s sojourn in Venice). The fresco demonstrates Girolamo’s manner on a monumental scale, showing how he harmoniously inte- grated figures with fictive architecture to illusionistic effect (Figure 7).74 Odoni’s façade, like most painted in northern Italy (including the Fondaco dei Tedeschi and the Palazzo Talenti d’Anna), almost certainly also depicted a combina- tion of figures and painted architectural motifs. On a fres- coed façade in Treviso attributed to Girolamo, one can still make out putti seen through fictive windows at the top of the façade and painted pilasters at the mid-level where a large figurative scene of the judgment of Solomon was once visible (Figure 8).75 By hiring an artist so influenced by cen- tral Italian art, Odoni was making a significant statement of style. Mauro Lucco has suggested that Odoni was actively promoting a “third style,” between those of Titian and Por- denone, intended to represent the modern Roman manner. It may be that with this commission, Odoni embraced the opportunity to mark out his own “foreignness”; his aim was perhaps not just to fit into Venetian society, but in fact to distinguish himself within it.76 The façade was distinctive for its iconography as well as its style. A general idea of the overall composition and sub- jects depicted can be pieced together by comparing visual evi- dence from other painted façades and the descriptions of Odoni’s façade written by Vasari, Carlo Ridolfi, and Marco Boschini between 1550 and 1674.77 All the accounts agree in identifying the principal subject in the upper portion of the façade as, in the words of Boschini, “a chorus of gods.”78 Vasari and Ridolfi agree on the identification of two of these—Bacchus and Ceres. While Ridolfi describes them simply as “sitting on clouds” (sedente sopra le nubi), Vasari sug- gests a more narrative interaction: Bacchus is depicted as “fat and ruddy, with a vessel that he is upsetting, and holding with one arm a Ceres who has many ears of corn in her hands.”79 Connected with these gods was a second female figure. Vasari describes her as “Juno, seen from the thighs upwards, flying on some clouds with the moon on her head, over which are raised her arms, one holding a vase and the other a bowl.”80 Ridolfi is less positive in his identification: “a girl, I think one of the Graces, who pours wine from two vases, and some flying children with flowers in their hands.”81 Ridolfi’s idea that it might be one of the Graces may stem from Vasari, who also notes the appearance of “the Graces, with five little boys who are flying below and welcoming them.”82 Both writers signal the presence of flying putti, a common motif of painted façade decoration, also seen, for example, in the façade fresco in Girolamo’s hometown (see Figure 8). In sum, we have the interconnected figures of O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 301 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Ceres and Bacchus, a mysterious female figure (Juno, one of the Graces, or Diana—suggested by the moon on her head—or Venus—to be discussed below), flying putti, and possibly the Graces. All these principal figures were painted in color, although there seem to have been additional fig- ures and ornament in chiaroscuro.83 These figures seem to have comprised the upper part of the façade. Below or in front of this, perhaps opening out of the front camera (bedsitting room) and/or the mezzado (office/study), were balconies (pergolato) with sumptuously carved figurative fretwork, which would have contrasted with the more modest use of fresco on the rest of the façade.84 Parts of at least one of these balconies survive and now ornament the façade of the Palazzo Torre, in another part of the city (1373 Rio Terrà San Leonardo; Figure 9).85 The Odoni arms that originally filled the central escutcheon have been replaced, but they are still preserved on the inside of the panel (Figure 10).86 The written descriptions of the 302 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 Figure 7 Girolamo da Treviso, Madonna and Child with St. John the Baptist, Two Saints, and Sabba da Castiglione as Donor, 1533, Chiesa della Commenda, Faenza Figure 8 Girolamo da Treviso (?), remnants of a painted façade, Via Manin, no. 67, Treviso, show- ing fictive oval windows with frolicking putti still visible above This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-006.jpg&w=280&h=373 http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-007.jpg&w=190&h=284 http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 303 Figure 9 Sculpted panels originally on the balcony of the Casa Odoni, now at no. 1373 Rio Terrà San Leonardo, ca. 1531–33 (?), Venice Figure 10 View of the interior of the panels illus- trated in Figure 9, showing a detail of the Odoni family arms This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-008.jpg&w=434&h=293 http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-009.jpg&w=220&h=327 http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp façade suggest that frescoed color figures of the gods Apollo and Minerva flanked the balconies.87 Reading the Façade Any interpretation of the iconography is severely hampered by the absence of the actual fresco and by the likelihood that the descriptions are approximate.88 Still, the written accounts provide enough to determine the overall tone of the façade and its principal themes. In his account, Vasari provides the beginning of an interpretation of at least parts of the iconography. He describes the Graces with “five lit- tle boys who are flying below and welcoming them, in order, so they signify, to make the house of the Udoni abound with their gifts.”89 And Girolamo painted Apollo and Minerva “to show that the same house was a friendly haven for men of talent.”90 The figures thus demonstrate that the house is full of Grace (full of the gifts of the Graces) and a friend and refuge of “virtuosi” (talented/virtuous/vir- ile men). Vasari may have taken these interpretations from inscriptions that Ridolfi tells us once filled cartelle (car- touches) beneath the windows.91 Ridolfi could no longer read the words on the cartelle, so he probably relied on Vasari for his pronouncement on the meanings of the same figures; the flying putti “indicate the comfort and fortunes of Odoni,” and Apollo and Minerva “demonstrate the tal- ents he derived from many virtues.”92 Of particular interest and clearly prominent on the façade were the interconnected figures Bacchus and Ceres. While these gods enjoyed a long iconographic tradition in later painting, in the early sixteenth century, they were not a common pictorial pair. At the most basic level, they could be paired as male and female gods of fertility or as allegor- ical representations of the two most fertile seasons, summer and fall. Odoni’s façade may also have referred to the proverb “SINE CERERE ET BACCO FRIGET VENUS” (Without Ceres and Bacchus, Venus freezes), which would have been well-known among relatively educated Venetians through contemporary collections of proverbs if not from Cicero, Terence, or other classical authors. As the proverb books make clear, the general meaning of the adage was that food and wine incite desire and love. While the saying was not directly illustrated by Odoni’s time, there were several allusions to it in the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, published in 1499 in Venice by the Aldine Press. Illustrations of Venus, Bacchus, Ceres, and Aeolus (personifying the seasons) as individual reliefs decorating the base of an altar to Priapus seem to allude to the proverb, and in another part of the text, the inscription “To the gods—Venus the most reverend Mother and her son cupid, Bacchus, and Ceres have given of themselves” hangs on a plaquette above a doorway.93 The association of these particular gods with an entryway may have inspired the idea for Odoni’s façade. If a reference to the proverb was intended, perhaps the second female figure, whose identity Vasari and Ridolfi dis- pute, was in fact Venus, who could then appropriately be accompanied by the Graces. What is clear is that the woman held two vessels—either a “vase” and a “bowl” held above her head, according to Vasari, or “pouring wine from two vases,” according to Ridolfi.94 While this recalls figures of Temperance diluting wine with water (discussed below), it could conceivably be Venus holding burning lamps, not unlike the nude woman, often identified as Venus, in Tit- ian’s Sacred and Profane Love (circa 1514). This would fit the proverb since Venus would not be freezing now that she is in the presence of Bacchus and Ceres. An engraving (circa 1595) after a composition by Titian (one of the first surviv- ing depictions of the subject in art) shows Venus holding a burning censer in the shape of a vase with figures of Ceres and Bacchus around her (Figure 11).95 The descriptive observations of Vasari and Ridolfi are as revealing, if not more, than their interpretative musings. Bacchus is described as “fat and ruddy,” knocking over a vessel (surely of wine), with a girl on his arm (Ceres)—an image of drunkenness, sexuality, and superfluity.96 On the positive side it is an image of abundance and fertility, on the other of lasciviousness and drunkenness. The other female figures (one carefully pouring wine, and the Graces) counter this image of excess with restraint and decorum. Similarly, the gods of the arts and knowledge, Apollo and Minerva, who are shown with weapons and armor—Apollo his bow and a cuirass and Minerva her lance and spear—also empha- size the marital and the intellectual as opposed to the amorous and the sensual.97 The ebullience of Bacchus and Ceres, which conveys the abundance and fertility of the Odoni house, is kept in check to some degree by the other major figures. The façade is simultaneously inviting and protective (particularly in the armor of Apollo and Minerva who stand guard either side of the balcony), appropriate qualities for this permeable barrier between self and society, house and city.98 The theme of fertility, abundance, and generosity is reiterated in the balcony decoration (see Figure 9). The two side panels represent mermaids with baskets of fruit on their heads and little satyrs nursing at their breasts.99 The stand- ing putti between the middle and side panels also have bas- kets of fruit on their heads, and one of them urinates on the unsuspecting viewer below.100 These are all well-known allusions to fertility, human and agricultural.101 In the cen- tral panel, two tritons with forelegs raise an escutcheon that 304 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp once bore the Odoni arms. Hanging above the heraldic shield is a grotesque skull-like mask. The central panel thus seems to resonate with the more defensive characteristics of the façade. Given the consonance in theme, it would seem that the balcony was commissioned in conjunction with the frescoes.102 Such imagery signals the prosperity and generosity of the homeowner, or as Ridolfi puts it, “i commodi e le for- tune dell’Odone.”103 Vasari refers to hospitality and con- viviality when he calls the house “a friend and refuge of virtuosi.”104 Through an iconography of abundance, if not excess, Odoni demonstrated his liberality as well as the splendor and elegance of his life—the three qualities stressed in his tombstone inscription. In Renaissance writ- ings about the home, hospitality and liberality were key aspects of virtuous consumption.105 This dimension of Odoni’s constructed persona also finds expression in the portrait by Lotto. The cittadino is depicted extending a stat- uette of Diana of Ephesus, a symbol of fecundity and abundance, to the viewer, who is a visitor to his house and collection.106 While the façade fresco had an overall thematic coher- ence, it is more difficult to say that it had an iconographic program in the strictest sense.107 Selecting which mytho- logical gods or scenes to depict on your façade was proba- bly akin to selecting which saints to include in an altarpiece. One chose gods or stories that had personal associations. From this point of view, Odoni’s choice of subject makes a lot of sense. Odoni had at this point been working in the Dazio dil vin for at least nine years (since 1522), so he was closely connected to that commodity (and was probably campaigning for the position of co-condutor). He may also have been a wine merchant. The façade prominently depicted the god of wine, in a seemingly inebriated state. It also featured vessels and flowing wine: the vessel that Bac- chus overturns and the female figure who, according to Ridolfi, pours wine from one container to another—images of excess and of constraint with regard to this substance. O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 305 Figure 11 Jacob Matham, Sine Cerere et Baccho friget Venus, 1595, engraving after Titian This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-010.jpg&w=440&h=336 http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp These figures were placed in the most prominent part of the façade, the area that viewers described first. The figures would also have drawn attention because they were painted in color, in contrast to the elements exe- cuted in chiaroscuro and the fictive architectural frame- work. The viewer would probably have seen these gods, sitting on clouds, through framed openings. They could thus be said to “inhabit” the house—in a pictorial equivalent of a literary conceit used by the poet Girolamo Borgia in eulogizing the Villa Chigi in Rome: But where Augustus Chigi founded his kingly palace and restored [thereby] a [truly] ancient splendor, Gods and their consorts at once descended again from the heavens vying among themselves to favor this one blessed house. Finally Bacchus and Love, the Graces, golden Venus, and Pal- las vowed in a pact to inhabit just this place. Augustus [Chigi], a man is blest when benevolent gods love his dwelling; Men, too, compete to praise it with admiring words. 108 Interestingly, some of the same gods inhabit both resi- dences, as if they were considered the most desirable house- mates. And although Odoni’s house is hardly comparable to Chigi’s extravagant pleasure retreat on the banks of the Tiber, the two men may have had some epicurean charac- teristics in common. While the Odoni façade may have alluded to a classical proverb (notably a lighthearted one), it could also be under- stood in a more ludic mode by passersby, who may or may not have grasped its more learned allusions. The depiction of a hefty Bacchus propped up against Ceres was also meant to be amusing, to suggest the owner’s own joviality and per- haps even a willingness to poke fun at himself.109 A jocular note may also be detected in Odoni’s portrait by Lotto. In the background, a small figurine of Hercules mingens is posi- tioned so that he appears to urinate into the vessel in which the larger adjacent statuette of Venus washes her feet, his powerful jet of (acidic) urine eroding her ankle.110 The sculp- tures in the foreground, added late to the composition, also poke out from under the tablecloth in a humorous man- ner.111 The smaller headless nude female torso reclines against the looming male portrait head, as if suggesting what the male figure (who looks not unlike Odoni) has on his mind. Both the façade and the portrait signal Odoni’s learn- ing and masculinity through humor and wit. This levity may have been an important counter to what might otherwise have been perceived as heavy-handed self-promotion. At the same time, the classicizing subject matter and style of the façade also acted as an advertisement for the col- lection of antiquities and other art works housed within (and depicted in the portrait). Both the design of the balcony and the subject of Bacchus and Ceres can be tied to the Hyp- nerotomachia Poliphili, that well-known monument of Venet- ian pseudo-classicism.112 As visitors entered through the canal façade, they would have emerged into a world some- what reminiscent of the protagonist Poliphilo’s dream as depicted in one of the book’s illustrations (Figure 12); the entrance hall was ornamented by statues in niches and led into a courtyard and garden strewn with fragmented statu- ary. Aretino pointedly commented that, upon entering Odoni’s house, he felt as though he had been transported to Rome, in particular to places where impressive classical statuary was on display.113 Aretino may be explicitly alluding to the campaign to promote Venice as a “new Rome” in the years after the League of Cambrai and the sack of Rome.114 Odoni’s façade (and possibly the structure of the house itself) was certainly part a new spurt of building in Venice after roughly 1520, when the depression caused by the War of the League of Cambrai had subsided.115 With its novel central-Italian painting style and its iconographic classicism, the façade’s decoration may have been Odoni’s attempt to participate in the renovatio of Venice as a New Rome then being advanced by Doge Andrea Gritti in Jacopo Sansovino’s projects for the Piazza San Marco. Among his other works of art, Odoni displayed a painting of the Justice of Trajan with an archi- tectural backdrop designed by the architect Serlio, a recent immigrant to Venice and a major exponent of central Ital- ian classicism in the city. Odoni’s patronage of such a work suggests that he was interested in and connected to circles concerned with the development of a new architectural style in Venice—circles that included Odoni’s visitors, Aretino and Michiel.116 While this stylistic revolution is commonly thought of as a top-down campaign instigated by Gritti, centered on the Piazza San Marco, and promulgated by elite patrician patrons, Odoni’s façade may have been a more modest contribution, in paint rather than stone, celebrat- ing renewed peace and prosperity.117 To get the full effect of the façade, we must envision it on the outskirts of town but on a major canal and very vis- ible because the canal is two fondamente wide. The house was not particularly large, but it had a very brightly painted façade with a sumptuously carved balcony. The façade, both in subject and in ornament, proclaimed the classicizing, innovative tastes and knowledge of the owner. We can imagine Odoni himself coming out onto the balcony, framed by his coat of arms carved below and by the mytho- logical “inhabitants” of his house depicted in the fresco 306 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp above and to his sides—making of himself and his house a “degno and reale spettacolo” in the words of Aretino.118 Appearing thus, he became a kind of Bacchus, the god of wine, the ultimate authority regarding this commodity. Yet, he was a Bacchus also flanked by Apollo and Minerva so that he would appear as a sophisticated bon vivant within a clas- sicizing architectural structure and amongst the company of the gods.119 But the images of abundance—the inter- twined, (re)productive figures of the god of wine and the goddess of grain, the carved putti with baskets of fruit, the maritime figures of sirens and tritons—not only signaled Odoni’s wealth and liberality but also the renewed well- being of Venice.120 In this sense, the façade is about Venice as much as it is about Odoni, or more particularly it is about Odoni’s place in Venice. Celebrating Odoni’s relationship (through the Dazio dil vin) to the city and its economic prosperity, the façade does not just combine honor for the city and promotion of the self/family, it intertwines them. It was Odoni’s most public portrait and a statement of his cit- izenship; in the words of Leon Battista Alberti, “We deco- rate our property as much to distinguish family and coun- try as for any personal display (and who would deny this to be the responsibility of a good citizen).”121 By commissioning a painted façade, Odoni ornamented the city without explicitly flaunting his personal and familial wealth. At the same time, he undeniably drew attention to himself—his artistic discernment and cultural knowledge as well as his profession and position in Venetian society. What is remarkable about Odoni is the degree to which he was and is known for his house rather than for any other distinction; were it not for his painted façade, his collection, and his por- trait, he would be unknown to us today. The example of Odoni demonstrates the degree to which, by the sixteenth century, consumption and display centered on domestic space could make a “Renaissance man.”122 Aretino’s letter to Odoni is a semi-ironic commentary on this state of affairs. Both Odoni and Aretino understood the power of the house not only to represent but, indeed, to create the man. O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 307 Figure 12 Benedetto Bordone (?), Philiphilo among Fragments, in Francesco Colonna, Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (1499), page a7 recto This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showImage?doi=10.1525/jsah.2007.66.3.294&iName=master.img-011.jpg&w=405&h=335 http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Appendix—Translation of Aretino’s Letter to Odoni Do not think, my excellent man, that my waiting for the letter from England of signor Girolamo da Trevigi—a man most worthy of the reputation he has earned through the favor of that fortunate and religious [King] Henry—was due to my pride. Of every other defect I may be accused, but not of that vice. Certainly the desire to see you and your house was the reason that before I had that letter in hand I was given the pleasure of seeing your house and you. Whence your delay and your promptness injured me twice, and then shamed me, con- sidering that your service to me—that is owed to me—caused me embarrassment. True, the kindness of the good Udone is so full of goodness that whatever he does is without ceremony and without arrogance. But whoever wishes to see how clean and candid his mind is should look at his face and his house, look at them, I say, and you will see as much serenity and beauty as one can desire in a house and in a face. If it were not for a little something: I would compare the chambers [bedrooms], the salon, the loggia, and the garden of the apartment in which you live to a bride who awaits her relatives coming to attend her wedding. So I must [do], it is so well-kept, tapestried, and splendid. I myself never visit that I do not fear to tread there with my feet, its floors are so exquisite. I don’t know what prince has such richly adorned beds, such rare paintings, and such regal decor. Of the sculp- tures I will not speak: Greece would have the best of ancient form [art] had she not let herself be deprived of her [these] relics and sculptures. For your information, when I was at court I lived in Rome and not in Venice; but now that I am here, I am in Venice and in Rome. When I leave here where I do not see marbles or bronzes, no sooner have I arrived there [at your house] than my soul enjoys that pleasure it used to feel when it visited Belvedere on Monte Cavallo or another of those places where such torsos of colossi and statues are seen. Whence one judges on the evidence of such a worthy and regal spectacle the great- ness of your generous and magnificent spirit. Truly the pleas- ure of such carvings and castings does not issue from a rustic breast or an ignoble heart. Now to return to the announcement that our friend gave us of his happiness, I tell you it cheers me up. And in this cheer- ful mood, I beseech you, when you have more news from him, that you be so kind as to let me hear it at your palace, because hearing from him in such lovely accommodations will redou- ble my joy. 30 August 1538, Venice. Notes I thank the Gladys Krieble Delmas Foundation and the University of Mass- achusetts—Amherst for grants that funded research for this article. I am also grateful to Pat Simons and the anonymous readers for JSAH for their thoughtful comments, and to Elissa Weaver and Antonella Mallus for their help translating the letter in the appendix. 1. Pietro Aretino, letter no. 79, in Lettere, libro secondo, ed. Francesco Erspamer (Parma, 1998), 153. “Ma chi vol vedere in che modo il suo animo è netto e candido, miri di lui la fronte e l’abitazioni; e mirile, dico, e vedrà quanto di sereno e di vago si può bramare in una abitazione e in una fronte.” The full letter is translated in the appendix to this article. 2. Both ideas derive from classical writers—Aristotle, Cicero, and Vitruvius in particular—but were much elaborated by Renaissance theorists. The lit- erature on buildings and bodies is vast. For a discussion focused on the façade, see Charles Burroughs, The Italian Renaissance Palace Façade: Struc- tures of Authority, Surfaces of Sense (Cambridge, England, 2002), 31–32. For a recent discussion of the correspondence between houses and their own- ers, see Georgia Clarke, Roman House-Renaissance Palaces: Inventing Antiq- uity in Fifteenth-Century Italy (Cambridge, England, 2003), 57–65. 3. This is argued convincingly by John Onians, Bearers of Meaning: The Clas- sical Orders in Antiquity, the Middle Ages, and the Renaissance (Princeton, 1988), 299–301, who also allows that the influence might have gone both ways. Although Onians finds Aretino’s use of architectural simile “highly unusual in a literary context” (299), Aretino could have found inspiration in earlier literature, including Dante’s Convivio III, 8 (see n. 119 below). 4. The house/inhabitant analogy had broader diffusion in Renaissance cul- ture as well. In a particularly graphic example, the loose woman Lena, in Ludovico Ariosto’s play by the same name, complains that her “front door” is so trafficked she might have to use the “back one” as well. Ludovico Ariosto, The Comedies of Ariosto, ed. and trans. Edmond M. Beame and Leonard G. Sbrocchi (Chicago, 1975), 197 (act 5, sc. 11). This and other examples of popular usage are discussed in Elizabeth S. and Thomas V. Cohen, “Open and Shut: The Social Meanings of the Cinquecento Roman House,” Studies in the Decorative Arts 9 (Fall/Winter 2001–2), 64, 79. The analogy is alive and well in contemporary popular culture, for example, in the title of the television show Extreme Makeovers: Home Edition. 5. See discussion in Onians, Bearers of Meaning, 273, 277; Alina Payne, The Architectural Treatise in the Italian Renaissance: Architectural Invention, Ornament, and Literary Culture (Cambridge, England, 1999), 123; and Mario Carpo, “The Architectural Principles of Temperate Classicism: Merchant Dwellings in Sebastiano Serlio’s Sixth Book,” Res 22 (Autumn 1992), 135–51. 6. The idea that a house reflects the identity of its owner is commonplace in our own culture, but we tend to think of the owner as the active agent who shapes the house into the image he or she wants. The Renaissance notion of the relationship between house and inhabitant has more abstract underpinnings. If one conceived of the house as a work of art (as men like Aretino and Serlio clearly did), then according to Renaissance artistic the- ory, the design of the house ought to be based on the study of nature (one of the underlying concepts of Alberti’s architectural treatise). What, then, is the referent? What is being depicted in domestic architecture? The answer is the owner/inhabitant. It is in this sense that the house is a portrait, a built body that imitates the natural body. This also explains why it was so important that the house be an accurate representation of the owner. 7. Burroughs, Italian Renaissance Palace Façade, 10. For an interesting and more generalized discussion of façade, portrait, and subject, as well as sym- bol, icon, and index as applied to architecture, without reference to Aretino’s use of the man/house analogy or to Odoni’s house, see ibid., 2–3, 29–30, 33–34. On the house as “embodiment of the family” and the “metaphori- 308 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp cal character” of the home, see Patricia Fortini Brown, Private Lives in Renaissance Venice (New Haven, 2004), 24, 89. 8. Camillo also made use of architectural metaphors in his own writing. See Mario Carpo, Alberti, Raffaello, Serlio e Camillo. Metodo ed ordini nella teoria architettonica dei primi moderni (Geneva, 1993). Onians, Bearers of Meaning, 299–301, analyzes Aretino’s use of architectural metaphors in some detail. 9. Onians translates “di scala bestiale” as “bestial in scale” rather than the more common “with a beastly stairway.” Both translations are probably cor- rect; the phrase is typical of Aretino’s love of double meaning. The entrance has a beastly stair; Aretino’s dark side is beastly in scale. Aretino also used the stairway as a metaphor for himself in another letter dated 27 Nov. 1537: “So many gentlemen break in on me continuously with visits that my stairs are worn with their feet, like the pavement of the Campidoglio from tri- umphal chariots.” Quoted and translated in Patricia LaBalme, “Personality and Politics in Venice: Pietro Aretino,” in Titian: His World and His Legacy, ed. David Rosand (New York, 1982), 122. 10. Aretino to Domenico Bolani, letter no. 213, in Aretino, Lettere, libro primo, ed. Francesco Erspamer (Parma, 1995), 442–43. “La cui piacevolezza mi suol dire che l’entrata per terra di sì fatta abitazione, per essere oscura, mal destra e di scala bestiale, si simiglia a la terribilità del nome acquis- tatomi ne lo sciorinar del vero. E poi sogiunge che chi mi pratica punto, trova ne la mia pura, schietta e naturale amicizia quella tranquilla con- tentezza che si sente nel comparire nel portico e ne l’affacciarsi ai balconi sopradetti.” Translation based on Samuel Putnam, ed. and trans., The Works of Aretino (New York, [1933]), 2:181. Aretino apparently uses the word por- tico (portego in dialect) in the Venetian sense, to refer to the principal salon on the piano nobile of Venetian homes. He may also be playing at another level with the analogy of body and house because the term “portego scura” (dark entrance hall—of which there are many in Venice) in Venetian dialect/slang (here contrasted with the light portico above), can also mean culo (arse), essentially the same metaphor used by Ariosto (see n. 4). Giuseppe Boerio, Dizionario del dialetto veneziano (1856; Florence, 1993), 527. Aretino probably intended to liken entering his house to an act of sodomy. For Aretino’s frequent references to the culo and sodomy, see Ray- mond B. Waddington, Aretino’s Satyr: Sexuality, Satire, and Self-Projection in Sixteenth-Century Literature and Art (Toronto, 2004), 28–30. 11. On Aretino’s actual houses, see Juergen Schulz, “The Houses of Titian, Aretino, and Sansovino,” in Rosand, Titian: His World and His Legacy, 73–118. 12. The exact circumstances of the communication are difficult to decipher from the letter, but Girolamo is clearly the intermediary and in some sense responsible for the correspondence. In Aretino, Lettere, libro secondo, 153 n. 2, Erspamer suggests that Aretino asked his friend Girolamo to write Odoni on his behalf and was waiting for this communication to take place when Odoni extended Aretino an invitation to visit the house. For Aretino’s prac- tice of beginning his letters in media res with reference to social connec- tions, see Waddington, Aretino’s Satyr, 51–52. 13. Aretino is also alluding to Renaissance ideas of physiognomy, in which one could know the soul from an exterior reading of the body, particularly the face. On Aretino and physiognomy, see Luba Freedman, Titian’s Por- traits through Aretino’s Lens (University Park, Penn., 1995), 28–29. In his discussion of physiognomy, the Neapolitan humanist Pomponius Gauricus compared reading character from a face to knowing the nature of a man from his house. De sculptura (1504), ed. and trans. André Chastel and Robert Klein (Geneva, 1969), 128–29. 14. This analogy is made very explicit in Vincenzo Scamozzi, L’idea dell’ar- chitettura universal (1615; Bologna, 1982), 1:255.“Nelle facciate, e nel di dentro tenghino qualche cose del bello, e gratioso, e con Colonne, e Pilas- tri, e simili parti, che le accreschino ornamento; acciò da questi segni esteriori: come dalla faccia dell’huomo si possi comprendere che sia Casa da Gentil’huomo” (emphasis added). For an early example (1432) of the analogy between buildings and portraits, see Onians, Bearers of Meaning, 126. 15. Il grande dizionario Garzanti della lingua italiana (Milan, 1987), 775. 16. Petrarch, Petrarch’s Lyric Poems: The “Rime sparse” and other Lyrics, ed. and trans. Robert M. Durling (Cambridge, Mass., 1976), 379 (sonnet 222, line 12). 17. Mark W. Roskill, Dolce’s “Aretino” and Venetian Art Theory of the Cinque- cento (1968; Toronto, 2000), 97. See Lora Anne Palladino, “Pietro Aretino: Orator and Art Theorist” (PhD diss., Yale University, 1981), 264. The Ital- ian word fronte therefore is very different from “façade” as used in modern English to mean, in the words of Burroughs (Italian Renaissance Palace Façade, 32), “the artificial display or suppression in an individual’s face of telltale marks of interior feeling.” By contrast, the fronte may betray feelings one does not wish to convey. 18. Translated and discussed in Palladino, “Pietro Aretino,” 265. “[S]ino a lo egregio del pensiero, sino al generoso de la mente, sino al candido de l’anima si gli scorge nel reale spazio de la serena fronte.” Aretino to Paolo Giovio, Feb. 1545, letter no. 150, in Fidenzio Pertile and Ettore Came- sasca, eds., Lettere sull’arte di Pietro Aretino, (Milan, 1957–60), 2:48. 19. Translated and discussed in Palladino, “Pietro Aretino,” 281–82. “Pudi- cizia e Beltà, nimiche eterne, le spazian nel sembiante, e fra le ciglia il trono de le Grazie si discerne . . . l’altre virtuti interne l’ornon la fronte d’ogni meraviglia.” Aretino to Veronica Gambara, 7 Nov. 1537, letter no. 223, in Aretino, Lettere, libro primo, 465. These letters also participate in the much beloved Renaissance paragone of painting and poetry, which often revolved around portraiture. 20. Palladino, “Pietro Aretino,” 54–55. For Aretino as “Demonstator,” see ibid., 4, 183–86. For Aretino and portraiture, in addition to Palladino see Freedman, Titian’s Portraits through Aretino’s Lens; and Waddington, Aretino’s Satyr, chap. 3. 21. Waddington, Aretino’s Satyr, 64, argues convincingly that the first volume of Aretino’s Lettere is visually and physically “designed to present itself as a portrait of the author as demonstrative orator, assigning praise and blame.” Interestingly, Aretino’s author portrait on the frontispiece depicts him inside an architectural frame that resembles a building or house. Ibid., fig. 19. 22. On Odoni’s portrait, see especially Lars Olaf Larsson, “Lorenzo Lottos Bildnis des Andrea Odoni in Hampton Court. Eine typologische und ikono- graphische Studie,” Konsthistorisk Tidskrift 37 (1968), 21–33; John Shear- man, The Early Italian Pictures in the Collection of Her Majesty the Queen (Cambridge, England, 1983), 144–48; Barbara Coli, “Lorenzo Lotto e il ritratto cittadino. Andrea Odoni,” in Il ritratto e la memoria. Materiali I, ed. Augusto Gentile, (Rome, 1989), 183–204; Monika Schmitter, “The Dis- play of Distinction: Art Collecting and Social Status in Early Sixteenth- Century Venice” (PhD diss., University of Michigan, 1997), 223–76; Schmitter, “‘Virtuous Riches’: The Bricolage of Cittadini Identities in Early Sixteenth-Century Venice,” Renaissance Quarterly 57 (2004), 954–58; and David Alan Brown, Peter Humfrey, and Mauro Lucco, eds., Lorenzo Lotto, Rediscovered Master of the Renaissance (Washington, D.C., 1997), 48–49, 161–64. 23. Giorgio Vasari, “Il Palma veneziano pittore,” in Le vite de’ più eccellenti architetti, pittori, et scultori italiani, da Cimabue, insino a’ tempi nostri. Nell’edi- zione per i tipi di Lorenzo Torrentino, Firenze 1550 (Turin, 1986), 2:802. “Ritrasse Andrea Odoni che in Vinegia ha la sua casa molto adornata di pit- ture e di sculture,” changed in the 1568 edition to the more neutral “in casa d’Andrea Odoni è il suo ritratto di mano di Lorenzo, che è molto bello.” Vasari, “Jacopo Palma e Lorenzo Lotto pittori viniziani,” in Le opere di Gior- gio Vasari con nuove annotazioni e commenti di Gaetano Milanesi (1906; Flo- rence, 1998), 5:249. Vasari could have read Aretino’s letter since it was published before the first edition of Vasari’s Le vite. O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 309 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 24. “ANDREAE VDONIO CIVI / INSIGNI ANIMI SPLENDORE / LIB- ERALITATE ATQUE ELEGANTIA / ETIAM SVPRA CIVILEM FORTV- NAM SPECTANDA / HIERONYMVS ET ALOYSIVS FRATRES / MOERENTES SIBI AC POSTERIS PP. / VIXIT AN. LVII. OBIIT A. MDXLV.” The inscription, now apparently lost, was recorded by Jacopo Morelli in [Marcantonio Michiel], Notizia d’opere di disegno nella prima metà del secolo XVI, ed. Jacopo Morelli (Bassano, 1800), 193. Emmanuele Anto- nio Cicogna also published the epitaph, taken from the “codice di Giovan Georgio Palfero” with very slight variations, in Delle inscrizioni veneziane (1824–53; Bologna, 1969), 3:454. 25. Evelyn Welch, “Public Magnificence and Private Display: Giovanni Pontano’s De splendore (1498) and the Domestic Arts,” Journal of Design His- tory 15, no. 4 (2002), 211–27; and Guido Guerzoni, “Liberalitas, Magnificen- tia, Splendor: The Classic Origins of Italian Renaissance Lifestyles,” in Economic Engagements with Art, ed. Neil De Marchi and Crauford D. W. Goodwin, annual supplement to History of Political Economy, vol. 31 (Durham, N.C., 1999), 332–78. The term splendore was associated in partic- ular with “virtuous and pleasurable” magnificence in the private sphere; see Luke Syson and Dora Thornton, Objects of Virtue: Art in Renaissance Italy (Los Angeles, 2001), 29–32. It is significant that the inscription makes no claim to “magnificence,” a virtue that was accessible only to the most pow- erful and wealthy. 26. Giovanni Caldiera, quoted in Margaret King, “Personal, Domestic, and Republican Values in the Moral Philosophy of Giovanni Caldiera,” Renais- sance Quarterly 28 (1975), 552. Caldiera probably wrote the text in the early 1460s. 27. Cicero, quoted in Clarke, Roman House, 63 (see n. 2), who also discusses Caldiera. 28. For the suggestion that the letter is so hyperbolic that it verges on crit- icism, see Schmitter, “‘Virtuous Riches’,” 960–61. Irene Favaretto, Arte antica e cultura antiquaria nelle collezioni venete al tempo della serenissima (Rome, 1990), 75, also notes: “Pietro Aretino descrisse la dimora dell’Odoni con parole piene di ammirazione, senza però riuscire a celare una punta di sottile ironia per il lusso e lo splendore qui profusi a piene mani.” Elissa Weaver, who helped with my translation, agreed that Aretino means to imply that the house is ostentatious. It can be difficult to fully grasp innu- endo, tone, and connotation in Aretino’s letters, and his comments about Odoni’s house might have been interpreted variously by different readers. 29. The interior of the house, as well as the portrait by Lotto, will be ana- lyzed in forthcoming publications. 30. Marcantonio Michiel, Der Anonimo Morelliano (Marcanton Michiel’s Notizia d’opere del disegno), ed. Theodor Frimmel (Vienna, 1896), 82–86. Michiel’s manuscript was written ca. 1521–43. The notes on Odoni’s collec- tion are grouped under subheadings for each room. Some of Michiel’s nota- tions on other Venetian collections may be similarly organized, although in a less explicit manner. For the example of the collection of Taddeo Con- tarini, see Rosella Lauber, “‘Et è il nudo che ho io in pittura de l’istesso Zorzi.’ Per Giorgione e Marcantonio Michiel,” Arte Veneta 59 (2002), 105. 31. Cancelleria inferiore, Miscellanea notai diversi, busta (hereafter b.) 39, carta (hereafter c.) 58, Archivio di Stato, Venice (hereafter ASV). Published in part in Georg Gronau, ed., “Beiträge zum Anonymus Morellianus,” in Archivalische Beiträge zur Geschichte der venezianischen Kunst aus dem nachlass Gustav Ludwigs, ed. Wilhelm von Bode et al. (Berlin, 1911), 53–84. The inventory was taken after the death of Andrea’s brother Alvise; Andrea died in 1545. Isabella Palumbo-Fossati, “L’interno della casa dell’artigiano e del- l’artista nella Venezia del Cinquecento,” Studi Veneziani 8 (1984), 114, esti- mates that about 70 percent of Venetian inventories are organized by room. 32. Odoni first became the subject of historical research with the publica- tion in 1800 of Michiel’s notes. As he did for the other collectors mentioned by Michiel, Morelli, the editor of the then anonymous text, gathered together the initial primary sources concerning Odoni and his family; see Morelli in [Michiel], Notizia, 190–93. These sources were augmented in 1830 by Cicogna in his Delle inscrizioni veneziane, 3:434–38. Cicogna, who was born in the house next door (see n. 55), also had the fortune to visit the Casa Odoni (then still-standing) with his friend Girolamo Odoni, a descen- dent of Andrea. Further contributions, particularly of an archival nature, were made by Gronau, “Beiträge zum Anonymus Morellianus,” 55–71; Donata Battilotti and Maria Teresa Franco, “Regesti dei committenti e dei primi collezionisti di Giorgione,” Antichità Viva 17, no 4–5 (1978), 58–86; Schmitter, “Display of Distinction,” 137–164; and Schmitter, “‘Virtuous Riches’” 939–42. Additional research may be present in Rosella Lauber, “Per l’edizione critica della Notizia d’opere di disegno di Marcantonio Michiel” (PhD diss., Università degli Studi di Udine, 2001). Lauber’s dis- sertation may contain new findings pertinent to this article, but the author would not permit me to consult it. 33. For the origins of the family, see Schmitter, “Display of Distinction,” 139-41. 34. There is no hard evidence that Rinaldo’s wife Marieta was Francesco Zio’s sister, but Zio and Andrea Odoni were certainly closely related: Francesco refers to Odoni as his nipote (a term which could at the time be applied to a variety of younger male relatives). Given that Francesco was only eleven years Andrea’s senior, the most likely relationship is uncle- nephew. See Schmitter, “Display of Distinction,” 141–43. Both Zio and Odoni belonged to the Scuola di Santa Maria della Carità, one of the five principal Scuole Grande. See Schmitter, “‘Virtuous Riches’,” 920, 941. 35. On Zio and his collection, see Schmitter, “‘Virtuous Riches’,” 919–38; Schmitter, “Display of Distinction,” 46–134; and Anne Markham Schulz, “A Newly Discovered Work by Giammaria Mosca,” Burlington Magazine 146 (Oct. 2004), 663–64. 36. Odoni is first mentioned by Marino Sanuto in 1517, when he was accused of stealing while working for Zio at the Raxon nuove; the case was later dropped. See Sanuto, I diarii, ed. Rinaldo Fulin et al. (1879–1902; Bologna, 1969–70), 24:622; 25:252–53. 37. Odoni was listed as “dal dacio del vin” in 1522; Scuola Grande di S. Maria della Carità, register entitled “Successioni, ereditarie, guardiani, e confratelli, 1450–1545,” c. 59r, ASV. He appears listed as “scrivan al datio del vin” in 1523; Scuola Grande di S. Maria della Carità, register 254, c. 179r, ASV. As of 1523, the “notaryship” (apparently the same position as scrivan) of the Dazio dil vin had an annual revenue of 400 ducats. See Mary Frances Neff, “Chancellery Secretaries in Venetian Politics and Society, 1480–1533” (PhD diss., University of California, Los Angeles, 1985), 182–83. 38. Schmitter, “Display of Distinction,” 144–45. The contract was renewed in 1533 and 1534. 39. “[E]l qual Orio ha mala fama, usa grande crudeltà con tutti, fa stimar fino li cerchii, fa meter per l’ordinario una quarta de più per anfora contra el statuto.” Sanuto, I diarii, 58:643. It should be noted, however, that Sanuto’s family owned a tavern, and Sanuto represented “its interests to the government when higher taxes were being levied on wine sales.” Robert Finlay, Politics in Renaissance Venice (New Brunswick, N.J., 1980), 15. Sanuto was therefore in a good position to know about Orio and Odoni’s practices, but his comments could also be colored by self-interest. Nonetheless, there is considerable evidence of corruption in the Dazio in general. Zio himself was rewarded for catching someone embezzling at the Dazio dil vin in 1513; see Sanuto, I diarii, 17:389. In 1516, a certain Marco Michiel was stripped of his office at the Dazio dil vin “per haver fatto alcuni sconti ad alcuni gen- tilhuomini contra li mandati del consiglio di X.” Codice Cicogna 2848, Diarii di Marcantonio Michiel 1511–1521, 235r, Biblioteca Museo Correr, 310 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Venice. The following year, Giovanni della Vedova, notary at the Dazio, was charged with embezzlement but was allowed to keep the office after paying 200 ducats. Neff, “Chancellery Secretaries,” 574. For further evidence, see Schmitter, “‘Virtuous Riches’,” 940 n. 113. Odoni had already been accused of stealing when he worked with this uncle, although the charges were sub- sequently dropped. On this occasion, Piero Orio testified for Odoni, so the relationship between the men was of long standing (see n. 36). 40. See, for example, Battilotti and Franco, “Regesti,” 79; Maria Teresa Franco, “Andrea Odoni” in I tempi di Giorgione, ed. Ruggero Maschio (Rome, Gangemi, 1994), 217; Shearman, Early Italian Pictures, 145 (see n. 22); Michel Hochmann, Peintres et commanditaires à Venise (1540–1628), Collection de L’École Française de Rome, vol. 155 (Rome, 1992), 191; and Coli, “Lorenzo Lotto,” 186 (see n. 22). 41. Cicogna, Delle inscrizioni veneziane, 3:434, quotes unspecified “cronache nostre.” Although I have not been able to determine for certain which chronicle Cicogna used, his phrasing is very similar to that in the late six- teenth/early seventeenth-century manuscript “Le due Corone della Nobil- ità di Alessandro Zilioli, Tomo II,” MS It. VII, 5 (7926) in the Biblioteca Nazionale, Marciana, Venice. An entry in Sanudo’s I diarii (50:47) has Odoni acting as a middleman in a wine transaction (worth 9250 ducats!), but it is not obvious whether he was acting for the Dazio or in his own business interest. However, Odoni is not listed as a member of the Scuola dei Mer- canti. Scuole Piccole, b. 406, San Cristofalo, Mariegola 1377–1545, ASV. 42. According to Ugo Tucci, “Contacts were especially close between the category of merchant and that of public functionary: the incidence of men employed in both sectors at the same time and equally actively is very fre- quent. . . . [In the case Tullio Fabri] we see him carrying on an intense com- mercial activity which was so closely bound up with this public office [rasonato (accountant)] that it would be difficult to establish which of the two was his principal occupation.” “The Psychology of the Venetian Mer- chant in the Sixteenth-Century,” in Renaissance Venice, ed. J. R. Hale (Lon- don, 1973), 361. 43. Cancelleria inferiore, Miscellanea notai diversi, b. 39, c. 58, ASV. Odoni’s brothers followed him in his position at the Dazio; see Schmitter, “Display of Distinction,” 145. 44. The following list of items appears in Cancelleria inferiore, Miscellanea notai diversi, b. 39, c. 58, 5r and v, ASV; and in Gronau, “Beiträge zum Anonymus Morellianus,” 62 (see n. 31): “Item alla volta del Bevilacqua, panni ditti cento e ventiquatro (124) computando 42, tenti in cavezzi 84, de diversi colori. In bottega de mro Domenego Bochinato, panni bassi villazi tenti n.o do. Alla volta del figer, panni cinque mestrini tenti. Item sette bassanesi tenti, cavezzi n.o quarantatre tenti. Item panni vintiotto, in cavezzi cinquantasie imballadi. In Chiovere de Maragno cavezzi cento e do (102), fanno panni cinquantaun. Alla tentoria de mro Matthieto cavezzi n.o cento e otto (108), fanno panni cinquan- taquatro.” On the Venetian practice of renting storage rooms (magazini or volte) for merchandise, see Juergen Schulz, The New Palaces of Medieval Venice (Uni- versity Park, Penn., 2004), 26. 45. Cancelleria inferiore, Miscellanea notai diversi, b. 39, c. 58, 15v, ASV. “Un conto in nome di messer Alvise di Odoni di carte 4 per panni habbuti dalla bottega havena in compagnia con messer Francesco Moranzon/ Prin- cipia à di 2 decembrio 1546, et finisse à di 23. luio 1547.” This document pertained to a court case involving Andrea’s estate. 46. On fraterne, see James C. Davis, A Venetian Family and its Fortune 1500–1900. The Donà and the Conservation of their Wealth (Philadelphia, 1975), 7. 47. Tucci, “The Psychology of the Venetian Merchant,” 362, notes that a post as customs officer al Purgo had “an annual stipend of 200 ducats and the certainty of ‘helping oneself’ to more than 40,000 a year—a figure, this, which in its evident exaggeration well expresses the expectations which rested with jobs of this kind.” 48. Dieci savi sopra le decime, b. 100, c. 274 (Mar. 30, 1538), and b. 106, c. 703 (Oct. 27, 1540), ASV; Battilotti and Franco, “Regesti dei commit- tenti,” 80–81; and Schmitter, “Display of Distinction,” 154–55. Odoni can be compared with some cittadini working in the chancellery who owned substantially more land and had much higher incomes. See appendix to Neff, “Chancellery Secretaries,” esp. entries for Alessandro Capella, Gio- vanni Battista Ramusio, and Gasparo della Vedova. 49. I have not been able to find a contract for Odoni’s marriage to Isabeta or otherwise determine the date of their marriage. It certainly took place after 1527, when Isabeta’s first husband died, and very possibly not until between 1538 and 1540 when Odoni first declared ownership of land that was part of Isabeta’s dowry from her first marriage. See Schmitter, “Dis- play of Distinction,” 154–56; and Schmitter, “‘Virtuous Riches’,” 942. On Odoni’s nieces’ dowries, see Schmitter, “Display of Distinction,” 153–56; and Schmitter, “‘Virtuous Riches’,” 941–42. Yet, a large number of scuola members attended Odoni’s funeral and were given substantial alms, an indi- cator of Odoni’s wealth and prominence. Scuola Grande di S. Maria della Carità, register entitled “Successioni, ereditarie, guardiani, et confratelli, 1450–1545,” c. 99v, ASV. 50. Zio, Odoni’s uncle, was procurator of the convent of Santa Maria degli Vergini, a position that probably required him to know Latin, and in his testament he was anxious to arrange for the education of his illegitimate son. Schmitter, “Display of Distinction,” 41–42, 98. Odoni’s brother Alvise married the granddaughter of a doctor in Padua, who was indirectly related to Zio. Ibid., 143. Odoni’s nephew, Rinaldo (son of his brother Gerolamo), was a scholar, prelate, and collector who studied philosophy with Flavio Orsini in Perugia and published a book on Aristotle’s conception of the soul. Rinaldo’s sister Catherina (mistakenly identified as Margherita by Cicogna) married the scholar and publisher Paolo Manuzio. See Cicogna, Delle inscrizioni veneziane, 3:436–37. 51. A sample of Odoni’s handwriting can be found in his tax declaration (dec- ima); Dieci savi sopra le decime, b. 100, c. 274, ASV. The two titles of books found in the Casa Odoni are “El supplimento delle chroniche coperto di carton, del padre Filippo carmelitano” and “Libbro de medicina de Mro Din da Fiorenza.” Cancelleria inferiore, Miscellanea notai diversi, b. 37, c. 58, 15r and v, ASV; and Gronau, “Beiträge zum Anonymus Morellianus,” 71. The first book was probably an Italian translation of the Supplementum chroni- carum by Fra Jacopo Filippo Foresti of Bergamo (1434–1520), a very popu- lar world history. The second was one of several books and commentaries written by the Florentine physician Dino del Garbo (ca. 1280–1327). I am grateful to Paul Grendler, Karen Reeds, and Valery Rees for their help iden- tifying the authors and texts. In the mezzado, a mezzanine room used as a business office or study, there were another “[s]ette pezzi de libri de diverse sorte, coperti de cuoro,” but the word “libbro” is used elsewhere in the inventory to describe account books. See Gronau, “Beiträge zum Anony- mus Morellianus,” 68. Since most of the art collection remained in the house until Alvise’s death, it is likely that books owned by Odoni did as well. 52. When his eighteenth-century descendants applied for “cittadini origi- nari” status, they used Odoni to prove the antiquity and “nobility” of their family. Avogaria di Comun, Cittadinanze Originarie, b. 404, c. 92 (dated 1716), ASV. Such petitions typically present genealogical information for only the two previous generations. 53. The address given by Cicogna is Fondamenta del Gaffaro numero civico 443. The modern address is Dorsoduro 3537–38 (Fondamenta del Gaf- O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 311 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp faro), as noted by Lino Moretti in his edition of Giuseppe Tassini, Curiosità veneziane ovvero origini delle denominazioni stadali di Venezia (1863; Venice, 1970), 737 n. 1. Also see Andrew Martin, “‘Amica e un albergo di virtuosi.’ La casa e la collezione di Andrea Odoni,” Venezia Cinquecento 19 (2000), 157. I independently came to the same conclusion about the location using planimetrie and catasti. Note: the new Hotel Palazzo Odoni on the opposite side of canal was never Odoni’s residence. The owners of the hotel have capitalized on Odoni’s reputation for splendid living—his “albergo dei vir- tuosi”—in an ingenious, if obscure, marketing campaign. 54. When I visited the interior in the summer of 1998, I noticed stairs made of red marble and niches in the passageway wall on the ground floor, both items noted by Cicogna. There is also a pozzo (wellhead). It is not the orna- mented stone one described by Cicogna (see n. 101), but it may mark the location of the original well. If the ground floor and square footage of the plot have not changed, then the house was quite modest in size and the niches were very unimpressive. I would like to thank Renato Oran for his hospitality and Antonella Mallus for arranging the visit. 55. Cicogna visited the house in 1829, but in 1863, Tassini, Curiosità veneziane, 273, spoke of it in the past tense. Tassini reports that Cicogna was born on the Fondamenta del Gaffaro at no. 3542–43, but that the build- ing “venne atterrato, meno il piano terreno, che ora ha due magazzini seg- nati dai N. 3542, 3543.” In the “Elenco dei numeri anagrafi” from 1841 (Biblioteca Legislativa, b. 290, ASV), no. 3537–38 are also listed as maga- zzini rather than case, so the Casa Odoni may have suffered the same fate, which fits the physical remains of the building today. 56. Notarile, Atti, Vettor Maffei, b. 8098, c. 214v–215v, ASV. 57. On the way in which “social meanings” were created by houses in their wider physical and social settings, see Cohen and Cohen, “Open and Shut,” 67–69 (see n. 4). 58. The date of the façade fresco is based on the assumption that Girolamo executed it when he was in Venice to paint an altarpiece for the Church of San Salvatore, which is signed and dated 1531. (The altarpiece still survives, albeit in very poor condition.) This seems plausible since this is the only time Girolamo is known to have worked in the city, and as Mauro Lucco has pointed out, the correspondence of this date with that of Michiel’s visit to the collection and Odoni’s appointment as co-condutor reinforces the likeli- hood. While most scholars have suggested the date 1531, Lucco argues that the façade must have been painted in 1532 since Girolamo would have been busy with the altarpiece before. Mauro Lucco, “‘Di mano del mio Travisio, pittore certo valente e celebre’,” in Sabba da Castiglione 1480–1554. Dalle corti rinascimentali alla Commenda di Faenza, ed. Anna Rosa Gentilini (Flo- rence, 2004), 372; and William R. Rearick, “Pordenone ‘Romanista’,” in Il Pordenone. Atti del convegno internazionale di studio, ed. Caterina Furlan (Por- denone, 1985), 130. There are numerous examples of frescoes used to update a preexisting building or of houses built with the intension of a painted façade in mind. Cicogna, Delle inscrizioni veneziane, 3:436, also saw remnants of fresco paint- ing on the side of the building facing the “corticella detta della Polvere,” but he could not make out any subjects. 59. For an example of how façades represented inhabitants and were thus the targets of rituals of shaming, see Cohen and Cohen, “Open and Shut,” 71. 60. For the overwhelming emphasis on façades in Venice, see Ralph Lieber- man, Renaissance Architecture in Vencie 1450–1540 (New York, 1982), 22. 61. Margaret L. King, Venetian Humanism in an Age of Patrician Dominance (Princeton, 1986), 148. Morosini’s treatise is not specifically about Venice, but as a Venetian nobleman, his concept of an ideal closely resembled his patria; ibid., 141. According to Venetian mythology as embroidered by the sixteenth-century patrician Nicolò Zen, the early settlers of the city fixed “by law, that all residences should be equal, alike, of similar size and orna- mentation.” Manfredo Tafuri, Venice and the Renaissance, trans. Jessica Levine (Cambridge, Mass., 1995), 3. Also see Brown, Private Lives, 35 (see n. 7). 62. The humanist Giovanni Pontano referred to the house as “a sort of pub- lic ornament.” Welch, “Public Magnificence,” 214 (see n. 25). 63. Sanuto succinctly expressed this dual role when he noted that the burn- ing of the famous Palazzo Corner on the Grand Canal was both a private sorrow for the family and a public sorrow because the palace was “the most beautiful in Venice”: “Io . . . havendo grandissimo dolor . . . si per il private che questa caxa e mia amicissima, si per il publico ch’è la più bella caxa di Veniexia.” I diarii, 56:753. In this passage, Sanudo conflates the meanings of “casa” as “family” and “house.” 64. Clarke, Roman House, 61 (see n. 2). For more on inscriptions, see ibid., 22–32. A more “self-effacing” inscription on the façade of the palace of the patrician Andrea Loredano referred to Psalms 115: “Not to us, o Lord, not unto us, but to Thy name be the glory given.” Brown, Private Lives, 33–34. Vendramin modestly deferred credit more fully than Dario by not actually inscribing his name, and perhaps as a patrician he felt less need to express his devotion to the city-state. For other related examples of palace inscrip- tions in Venice, see Brown, Private Lives. 65. The classic discussion of this is Tafuri, Venice and the Renaissance, chap. 1. These ideas were sometimes expressed with fanatical concern about the well-being of the republic. In his dialogue of 1563, Giovanni Maria Memmo wrote that while people used to build for utility and comfort, “finalemente corrotti dall’ocio, si hanno preparato gli edificij a i piaceri, & lascivie loro, con tanti soverchi ornamenti & spese, che non solo rendono stupore a cui le mira, ma sono cagione di corrompere i buoni costumi, & il civile & politico vivere. . . . Il che non solo è dannoso a’ Cittadini, & famiglie private, ma corrompe le Città.” Dialogo del Magn. Cavaliere M. Gio. Maria Memmo (Venice, 1563), 73 (emphasis added). 66. Monika Schmitter, “Falling Through the Cracks: The Fate of Painted Palace Façades in Sixteenth-Century Italy,” in The Built Surface, ed. Christy Anderson, vol. 1, Architecture and the Pictorial Arts from Antiquity to the Enlightenment (Aldershot, England, 2002), 144–45. 67. Schmitter, “Falling Through the Cracks,” 152–54. In book seven of his treatise on architecture, Serlio provides an instructive example. A certain miserly patron, forced to restore the façade of his palace by his prince, placed “statues of the four moral virtues in the four niches [on the façade]; perhaps wishing, by putting on the clothing of the pharisee, to give the impression that he possessed these noble qualities, or else, like a cunning man, he wished to make the world believe that he was good.” Serlio notes dryly that he should have chosen a statue of Avarice instead. Sebastiano Ser- lio on Architecture. Volume Two, ed. Vaughan Hart and Peter Hicks (New Haven, 2001), 310. 68. In a particularly striking example of quid pro quo, in 1559 the lawyer Pietro Cogollo was promised citizenship of Vicenza if he would ornament the façade of his house to the tune of 250 ducats. The façade was designed by his friend Palladio and frescoed by Giovanni Antonio Fasolo with mythological figures that Ridolfi interpreted as an allegory of vanitas. Howard Burns, “Le opere minori del Palladio,” Bollettino del centro inter- nazionale di studi di architettura Andrea Palladio 21 (1979), 12–14; and Gian- giorgio Zorzi, Le opere pubbliche e il palazzi privati di Andrea Palladio (Venice, 1965), 232–37. Lionello Puppi, Andrea Palladio (Boston, 1975), 331, notes that the fresco functioned “almost like a shop sign for the lawyer’s office.” 69. The classic overview of external frescoes in Venice is Lodovico Foscari, Affreschi esterni a Venezia (Milan, 1936). 70. Roskill, Dolce’s “Aretino,” 115 (see n. 17). This is one the few positive assessments of painted façades in Renaissance artistic theory; see Schmitter, “Falling through the Cracks,”145–52. 312 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 71. In a similar vein, in his comments on cardinals’ palaces (1510), Paolo Cortesi notes that some prefer to “face [façades] with incised stucco [sgaffito] thus rendering the house more elegant through skill than sumptuous through the abundant use of marble.” Kathleen Weil-Garris and John F. D’Amico, “The Renaissance Cardinal’s Ideal Palace: A Chapter from Cortesi’s De cardinalatu,” in Studies in Italian Art and Architecture 15th through 18th Centuries, ed. Henry A. Millon, Memoirs of the American Acad- emy in Rome 35 (Cambridge, Mass., 1980), 87–89. 72. For a recent discussion of the artist summarizing earlier literature, see Lucco, “‘Di mano del mio Travisio’,” 357–78 (see n. 58). Rearick, “Porde- none ‘Romanista’,” 129 (see n. 58), describes him as “a complete convert to central Italy, although he may never have been south of Emilia.” 73. Rearick, “Pordenone ‘Romanista’,” 130. For the secure identification of Lodovico Talenti as the patron of the fresco and the builder of the palace, see Blake de Maria, “A Patron for Pordenone’s Frescoes on Palazzo Talenti d’Anna, Venice,” Burlington Magazine 146 (Aug. 2004), 548–49. The fres- coes must have been painted between ca. 1535, when the palace was com- plete, and Sept. 1538, when Pordenone left Venice. The Talentis were Florentine textile merchants who became Venetian citizens. The parallels between the Talenti and Odoni families are striking and may appear to sug- gest that painted façades are associated with wealthy and ambitious new- comers, but established patrician families also commissioned painted façades. For an initial attempt to decode the social meanings of painted façades in Venice, see Schmitter, “Falling Through the Cracks,” 139–45. 74. Paolo Casadio, “Un affresco di Girolamo da Treviso il Giovane a Faenza,” in Furlan, Il Pordenone. Atti del convegno internazionale di studio, 209–15 (see n. 57). The fresco was commissioned by the collector Sabba da Castiglione. 75. This fresco appears at Via Manin, no. 67, and is described by Carlo Ridolfi, who considered it an early work by Girolamo, in Le maraviglie del- l’arte (1835; Bologna, 2002), 1:305. The judgment of Solomon was depicted in the main space on the second floor with allegorical figures of Prudence and Fortitude below. Luigi Coletti, Catalogo delle cose d’arte e di antichità d’I- talia: Treviso (Rome, 1935), 84–85. 76. Odoni was also a patron of the central Italian painter and architect Ser- lio; see discussion on p. 306 of this text. Lucco, “‘Di mano del mio Travi- sio’,” 373, sees Odoni’s patronage of Girolamo as another sign of the Venetian cittadino’s “marcatissima individualità.” 77. The fresco is also mentioned by Anton Maria Zanetti, Della pittura veneziana, (Venice, 1771), 213, but by his time very little was visible. 78. Marco Boschini, Le ricche minere della pittura veneziana (Venice, 1674), Sestier di Dorsoduro, 52–53. According to Boschini, the “chorus of gods” was above, with the statues in chiaroscuro and figures of Apollo and Diana [?] in color below. Vasari also says these figures are “in a large scene in the middle of this façade” (nel mezzo di questa facciata è, in una storia grande). Giorgio Vasari, Lives of the Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, ed. David Ekserdjian, trans. Gaston du C. Vere (New York, 1996), 1:887; Vasari, Le opere, 5:136 (see n. 23). All the accounts begin with this subject, suggesting it was the principal one and largest in scale. 79. Ridolfi, Le maraviglie, 1:305; and Vasari, Lives, 1:887; original in Vasari, Le opere, 5:136: “Bacco grasso e rosso e con un vaso, il quale rovescia, tenendo in braccio una Cerere che ha in mano molte spighe.” 80. Vasari, Lives, 1:887; original in Vasari, Le opere, 5:136: “Giunone che vola, con la luna in testa, sopra certe nuvole dalle cosce in su e con le brac- cia alte sopra la testa; una delle quali tiene un vaso e l’altra una tazza.” 81. Ridolfi, Le maraviglie, 1:305: “ed una fanciulla, credesi una delle Grazie, che versa vino da due vasi, ed alcuni bambini volanti con fiori in mano.” 82. Vasari, Lives, 1:887; original in Vasari, Le opere, 5:136: “le Grazie e cinque putti, che volando abbasso le ricevano.” 83. Vasari, Lives, 1:887, notes that Girolamo executed Odoni’s façade “in colour, and not in chiaroscuro, because the Venetians like colour better than anything else.” However, Ridolfi, Le maraviglie, 1:305–6, noted that “there are figures in chiaroscuro above the windows,” and Boschini Le ricche minere, Sestier di Dorsoduro, 52–53, identified “various statues in chiaroscuro” below in contrast with Apollo and Diana “in color.” On the use of color on Venetian façades, see David McTavish, “Roman Subject-Matter and Style in Venetian Façade Frescoes,” RACAR: Canadian Art Review 12 (1985), 188–96. 84. Among the objects listed in the inventory as in the “stairway room” (camera della scala)—the room that housed Odoni’s portrait by Lotto and a reclining female nude by Giovanni Gerolamo Savoldo among other works of art—are “due testoline de piera viva, su i balchoni.” Listed in the section detailing the mezzado are “quatro testoline de marmoro su i balchoni del mezzado.” Gronau, “Beiträge zum Anonymus Morellianus”,” 67–68 (see n. 31). Ridolfi mentions a pergolato, which was described in detail by Cicogna Delle inscrizioni veneziane, 3:436. However, Cicogna also noted balconi on the side of the building that faced the corticella della Polvere. When the Venetian state rebuilt the Fondaco dei Tedeschi, not only did they choose fresco decoration, but they specifically forbad any kind of carved ornament or fretwork: “ne si possi in esso Fontego far cosa alcuna de marmaro, ne etiam lavoriero alcuno intagliato de straforo over altro per alcun modo.” Joseph A. Crowe and Giovanni Battista Cavalcaselle, The Life and Time of Titian (London, 1881), 1:84. This suggests that while the fresco was deemed appropriately modest, the use of elaborate carving was consid- ered too sumptuous. 85. Cicogna’s description is so detailed that I discovered the balcony quite by accident and only later learned that its location had already been pub- lished by Moretti in Tassini, Curiosità veneziane, 737 (see n. 53). The balcony was reproduced in Pietro Paoletti, L’architettura e la scultura del Rinascimento in Venezia, pt. 1 (Venice, 1893), 186, 188, fig. 78. Paoletti notes that the balcony was transferred from another house, but does not connect it to Odoni. As both Paoletti and Cicogna note, only the elaborately carved pan- els of the balcony are original. Cicogna, Delle inscrizioni veneziane, 3:436. 86. I am grateful to Signora Foà Marinello for allowing me to examine the inner side of the balcony. 87. Boschini identifies the female figure as Diana, but Vasari and Ridolfi concur on Minerva; Ridolfi describes her as holding a “lance and shield”— attributes more appropriate to Minerva than Diana. 88. In the second edition (1568), Vasari greatly amplified his brief mention of the façade in his first edition of the Lives (1550). (He may first have seen the façade when working in Venice between 1 Dec. 1541 and late Aug./early Sept. 1542.) He probably augmented the account for the later edition because he was able to obtain more detailed and accurate information, either as the result of his own observations on a trip to Venice, in 1566 or through correspondence. It is known that after 1562 Cosimo Bartoli wrote letters responding to Vasari’s “frequent and demanding” requests for infor- mation about Venetian art. All this suggests that his description of the Odoni façade is probably fairly accurate. On Vasari’s process for revising and amplifying facts in the 1568 edition, see Patricia Rubin, Giorgio Vasari: Art and History (New Haven, 1995), 215–26. For Vasari’s trips to Venice, see ibid., 11, 18; and Juergen Schulz, “Vasari at Venice,” Burlington Magazine 103 (1961), 500. 89. Vasari, Lives, 1:887; original in Vasari, Le opere, 5:136: “cinque putti, che volando abbasso le ricevono per farne, come accennano, abondantissima quella casa degli Udoni.” 90. Vasari, Lives, 1:887; original in Vasari, Le opere, 5:136: “che fusse amica e un albergo di virtuosi.” 91. Ridolfi, Le maraviglie, 1:306. Cicogna, Delle inscrizioni veneziane, 3:436, noted remnants of inscriptions on the fresco on the side of the house as O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 313 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp well. For inscriptions on façades, see Clarke, Roman House, 227–32 (see n. 2), although she does not mentioned painted inscriptions, which must have been quite common. 92. Ridolfi, Le maraviglie, 1:305: “dinotando i comodi e le fortune del- l’Odone”; “per dimostrare il talento ch’egli aveva di molte virtù.” Although the general meaning is similar (denoting abundance, hospitality, learning, and virtue), it is interesting to note how Ridolfi reads the façade as provid- ing messages about Odoni himself, whereas Vasari, in a manner more typ- ical of the sixteenth century, attributes these virtues to the house, understood as metonomy for the owner and his family (the “Casa Odoni.”) Writing nearly a century later, Ridolfi rejected the embodied house and severed the tight equivalence between a man and his accommodations. 93. Alison Luchs, Tullio Lombardo and Ideal Portrait Sculpture in Renaissance Venice, 1490–1530 (Cambridge, England, 1995), 158 n. 10, was the first to connect the proverb specifically to Odoni’s façade. For a discussion of the proverb, its representation, and in particular its connections to the Hyp- nerotomachia, see Sarah Blake Wilk [McHam], The Sculpture of Tullio Lom- bardo: Studies in Sources and Meaning (New York, 1978), 78–81; Wilk [McHam], “Tullio Lombardo’s ‘Double-Portrait’ Reliefs,” Marsyas 16 (1972–73), 79–81, 83–86; and Jaynie Anderson, “The Provenance of Bellini’s Feast of the Gods and a New/Old Interpretation” in Titian 500, ed. Joseph Manca, Studies in the History of Art 45 (Washington D.C., 1993), 273–80. Anderson believes the proverb was the inspriation for Giovanni Bellini’s Feast of the Gods (as well as the rest of camerino cycle). Interestingly, Bellini depicts Ceres kneeling to support a man who is drinking wine, a scene that recalls Vasari’s description of Odoni’s façade; however, the male figure in Bellini’s painting is usually identified as Apollo. 94. Vasari, Lives, 1:887; Ridolfi, Le maraviglie, 1:305. 95. See the catalog entry no. 149 by Jaynie Anderson in Tiziano. Amor Sacro e Amor Profano (Milan, 1995), 435–36. 96. Vasari, Lives, 1:887. 97. As described by Ridolfi, Le maraviglie, 1:305. 98. On the façade as social boundary, see Cohen and Cohen, “Open and Shut,” 64 (see n. 4). Burroughs, Italian Renaissance Palace Façade, 3 (see n. 2) notes: “[T]he façade precisely marks the threshold between distinct domains, often dramatizing this with architectural and other elements func- tionally and symbolically related to the act of entry.” 99. Contributing to the theme of rampant fertility, the mermaids’ foliate tails transform into vines that end in flowers from which small figures emerge. While similar designs can be found in the Hynerotomachia Poliphili, these motifs were so widespread in Italian art by the second quarter of the sixteenth century that the book need not be a direct source. Alison Luchs, personal communication with Monika Schmitter, 2 Feb. 2005, in relation to her forthcoming book, The Mermaids of Venice: Hybrid Sea Creatures in Venetian Renaissance Art. 100. According to Cicogna, Delle inscrizioni veneziane, 3:436, who was able to see the relief more closely, the other child is female. 101. On urinating and nursing figures as symbols of fertility, see Waldemar Deonna, “Fontaines anthropomorphes. La femme aux seins jaillissants et l’enfant ‘mingens’,” Genava 6 (1958), 239–96. 102. Perhaps the balcony was ordered or installed at the same time as the wellhead in the courtyard, which was carved with foliate festoons between masks and bore the date 1533. Cicogna, Delle inscrizioni veneziane, 3:436. 103. Ridolfi, Le maraviglie, 1:305. 104. Vasari, Le opere, 5:136: “amica e un albergo di virtuosi.” Francesco Sansovino used similar terminology when he described the house of the patrician art collector Gabriele Vendramin as a “ridotto de i virtuosi della città.” Venetia Citta Nobilissima (Venice, 1581), 144r. Memmo called the Palazzo Corner-Spinelli “vero honore della città nostra et albergo d’ogni gentile spirito.” Quoted in Michel Hochman, “Tra Venezia e Roma: Il Car- dinale Francesco Corner,” Saggi e memorie di storia dell’arte 18 (1992), 101. This puts Odoni in very distinguished company. 105. See Welch, “Public Magnificence” (see n. 25); and Guerzoni, “Liber- alitas, Magnificentia, Splendor” (see n. 25). In the words of the famous Flo- rentine homeowner Giovanni Rucellai: “In the house of a rich man numerous guests should be received and they should be treated in a sump- tuous manner; if one did otherwise the great house would be a dishonor to the owner.” Translated in Brenda Preyer, “Planning for Visitors at Floren- tine Palaces” Renaissance Studies 12, no. 3 (1998), 357. 106. The peeing putto on the façade balcony also relates to the depiction in the portrait of Hercules mingens, discussed here on p. 306. 107. This looseness of subject matter was typical of contemporary Venet- ian façades. McTavish, “Roman Subject-Matter,” 190 (see n. 83), notes that whereas narrative subjects were common in Rome, “earlier Venetian façades [before the 1530s] seem only rarely to have included narratives of any sort. Instead, the Venetians preferred allegorical subjects with personifications or classical deities standing for abstract ideas.” McTavish states that the scenes from classical mythology and Roman history on the Palazzo Talenti façade by Pordenone were unusal, but the Talenti façade was also more a collection of parts loosely centered around a theme than a tightly con- structed program. For a brief description of the subjects, see de Maria, “Por- denone’s Frescoes,” 549 (see n. 73). 108. Translated and discussed in Ingrid Rowland, “Render unto Caesar the Things which are Caesar’s: Humanism and the Arts in the Patronage of Agostino Chigi,” Renaissance Quarterly 39 (Winter 1986), 688–89. The poem presumably predates Chigi’s death in 1520. 109. A parallel can be seen in the design for the Palazzo Talenti-d’Anna, where the patriotic Roman citizen Marcus Curtius, astride his horse, appeared to leap into the Grand Canal, a scene that was attention-getting for its humor as well as for its novel foreshortening. De Maria, “Porde- none’s Frescoes,” 549. 110. On the humor of this and other urinating figures in art, see Keith Christiansen, “Lorenzo Lotto and the Tradition of Epithalamic Paintings,” Apollo 124 (1986), 170. 111. Shearman, Early Italian Pictures, 145 (see n. 22). 112. See nn. 93, 99. 113. See appendix; and Aretino, Lettere, libro secondo, 154 (see n. 1). 114. Just before comparing Odoni’s house to the Quirinale Hill in Rome, Aretino notes that “quando io era in corte, stava in Roma e non a Vinezia; ma ora ch’io son qui, sto in Vinezia e a Roma.” Translated in appendix; orig- inal in Aretino, Lettere, libro secondo, 154. 115. John McAndrew, Venetian Architecture of the Early Renaissance (Cam- bridge, Mass., 1980), 195. 116. Loredana Olivato, “Con il Serlio tra i ‘dilettanti di architettura’ veneziani della prima metà del’ 500. Il ruolo di Marcantonio Michiel,” in Les traités d’architecture de la Renaissance, ed. Jean Guillaume (Paris, 1988), 247–54. 117. On social and political origins of this stylistic turn, see Barbara Marx, “Venezia—altera Roma? Ipotesi sull’umanesimo veneziano,” Centro Tedesco di Studi Veneziani, Quaderni 10 (1978), 3–18; Manfredo Tafuri, ed., “Reno- vatio urbis.” Venezia nell’età di Andread Gritti (1523–1538) (Rome, 1984); Tafuri, Venice and the Renaissance (see n. 61); and Patricia Brown, Venice and Antiquity: The Venetian Sense of the Past (New Haven, 1996), 277–81. 118. Translated in appendix; original in Aretino, Lettere, libro secondo, 154. 119. In his letter describing his own house, Aretino specifically says that the one side of his character can be known “nel comparire nel portico e ne l’affacciarsi ai balconi sopradetti.” Lettere, libro primo, 443 (see n. 10). Aretino associates the revelation of his character with the act of showing 314 J S A H / 6 6 : 3 , S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 7 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp oneself at the balcony, echoing a metaphor used by Dante in his Convivio III, 8: “E però che nella faccia massimamente in due luoghi opera l’anima . . . cioè nelli occhi e nella bocca. . . . Li quali due luoghi, per bella similitudine, si possono appellare balconi della donna che nel dificio del corpo abita.” Dante Alighieri, Convivio, ed. Franca Brambilla Ageno (Flo- rence, 1995), 2:197–98. 120. On the association between façades and triumphal processions, see Schmitter, “Falling through the Cracks,” 137–38; and Burroughs, Italian Renaissance Palace Façade, 19 n. 30. 121. Leon Battista Alberti, On the Art of Buildings in Ten Books, ed. and trans. Joseph Rykwert, Neil Leach, and Robert Tavernor (Cambridge, Mass., 1988), 292 ( bk. 9, I). For more on the relationship between house building or façade decoration and citizenship, see the examples detailed here in n. 67 and in David Friedman, “Palaces and the Street in Late-Medieval and Renaissance Italy,” in Urban Landscapes: International Perpectives, ed. Jeremy W. R. Whitehand and Peter J. Larkman (London, 1992), 70–71, 96. 122. The choice of Lotto’s portrait of Odoni as the cover art of a recent Ital- ian edition of Jacob Burckhardt, La civiltà del Rinascimento in Italia (Florence, 1996), is perhaps more appropriate than the publisher realized. A growing body of literature identifies increasing consumption as one of the defining features of Renaissance culture and society, as well as of the “Renaissance self.” In particular see Richard A. Goldthwaite, Wealth and the Demand for Art in Italy 1300–1600 (Baltimore, 1993); Lisa Jardine, Worldly Goods: A New His- tory of the Renaissance (New York, 1996); and Paula Findlen, “Possessing the Past: The Material World of the Italian Renaissance,” The American Histor- ical Review 103 (1998), 83–114. Stephen Campbell contributes an important nuance to these arguments in “The Study, the Collection, and the Renais- sance Self,” chapter one of his The Cabinet of Eros: Renaissance Mythological Painting and the Studiolo of Isabella d’Este (New Haven and London, 2004). Illustration Credits Figure 1. Hampton Court, Royal Collection, © 2006 Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II Figures 2, 4, 8–10. Photographs by Monika Schmitter Figure 3. Library of Congress Figure 5. © Cleveland Museum of Art, purchase from the J. H. Wade Fund 1949.565 Figure 6. Photograph by Osvaldo Böhm Figure 7. Comune di Faenza Figure 11. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Figure 12. Houghton Library, Harvard University O D O N I ’ S F A Ç A D E 315 This content downloaded from 128.119.169.171 on Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:09:54 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp University of Massachusetts Amherst From the SelectedWorks of Monika Schmitter September, 2007 Odoni’s Façade The House as Portrait in Renaissance Venice Odoni's Façade: The House as Portrait in Renaissance Venice 
work_b5y3n5oxpbbmjded7mjzrwiwsu	----	Quaderni d'italianistica : revue officielle de la Société canadienne pour les études italiennes = official journal of the Canadian Society for Italian Studies, 2001 Recensioni status quo. Pertanto, la seconda parte del libro "Testimonianze" è come una casa con le finestre aperte solo da un lato e gli interventi, benché interessanti nella loro individualità, sembrano acquarelli dello stesso panorama. Malgrado questa lacuna, il libro Giuliano-Dalmati in Australia aggiunge un vali- do ed importante capitolo alla storia delle popolazioni delle regioni nord orientali dell'Italia che, maggiormente colpite dalla guerra e disperse dalla pace, aspirano oggi a riunirsi nella storiografia. Angelo Principe University of Toronto Shemek, Deanna. Ladies Errant: Wayward Women and Social Order in Early Modern Italy. Chapel Hill: Duke University Press, 1998. Pp. 258. The title's juxtapositions, "wayward" versus "order," "women" versus "soci- ety," reinforced by the multi-levelled meaning of "errant," encapsulate the thesis of this study concerned with the literature that conveys women's potential for transgressing bounds set by society, and deviating from paths sanctioned by a cul- ture centred on male privileges, thus posing, supposedly, a danger to individual men and to the order of the community as a whole. The title intends to evoke the fear in early modern culture, that representations of feminine initiatives — in intellectual achievement, in images of military prowess, in amorous indulgence — might lead the ordered society astray. The study that considers the Orlandofurioso, the Discorso by Laura Terracina, and two of Bandello's novelle, effectively presents a counterpoint to social reservations and censure by celebrating the deliberate efforts of women in fiction, who advance beyond the social and cultural barriers set for them by men. In this way, the author invites the reader to understand erran- cy not in relation to doing "wrong" or "straying" from a fixed path, but rather as the deliberate act of resistance, symbolizing a separate sexual affirmation. Both fictional and historical references capture the sixteenth-centurv attempts at arrest- ing the mobile and elusive female, personifying the difference that men located in women as a way of defining their own selves. Feminine physical and intellectual "mobility" was synonymous with waywardness, instability. (In today's colloquial jargon as well, the notion that woman ought to be "pregnant," "barefoot," "in the kitchen," implies essentially to circumscribe her mobility in the interest of mas- culine control.) Although three of the five large chapters are centred upon the then very pop- ular Orlando furioso, discussions about the feminine range over a wide literary and historical landscape where womanhood acquired its meanings, be it in the writings of progressive humanists, in fictional narrative, in poetry, treatises, or in literary theory, in a period of early modern Italy when writings on nearly every aspect of women's lives flourished to an unprecedented degree. Shemek regards the Furioso's importance as pivotal in European literary development up to Spenser, — 204 — Ri ( ENSK '\l Monteverdi, Cervantes, even to Italo Calvino's best loved novels, inherent in the vast cultural panorama disclosed in this epic are fundamental dichotomies which Ariosto deliberately blurred in order to expose the difficulty of interpretation in a world of "contingency and moral dilemma" (10): dichotomy of Christian and Muslim, friend and foe, man and woman, good and evil. Shemek regards the con- temporary, raging querelle des femmes as pertaining to the fashion of the b//rioso's Story where the narrating "voice" cannot make up his mind about women, and is in fact an "errant" type himself, fickle as the knights. Taken as a whole, the chap- ters are concerned not only with examining the great literary works concerned with gender issues in the early modern period, but also with identifying the inabil- ity to arrest, or set free, a movement potentially able to effect an unprecedented social transformation. The female figures examined loom large on the literary stage of this period, but were nevertheless denied a rooted context, a locus with- in the accepted social and moral fabric — headstrong, but also compromising and ambivalent women destined to remain in fiction and in literary iconicity as wax- ward women out of place. The first chapter engages in an extensive examination of the Palio of San Giorgio as depicted in the Salon of the Months commissioned by Duke Borso d'Esté of Ferrara. Here, the role of women and "pute insino a 14 anni" (202) is analysed in relation to moral and social significance. Although both "good" women and prostitutes participated, the former were clearly privileged by keeping a visible distance to affirm their Christian values, their domestic place and obedi- ent stance in contrast with women regarded as transgressors. This visible and accepted festival pattern remained consonant with ongoing social practices and philosophies, which categorized women in terms of their relations to the female ideal of virginity. Like the querelle des femmes, it placed the question of chastity at the centre of the concerns with women's worth and proper social roles. Chapters 2 and 3 continue the discussion of the contrasting representations and roles of women in the Furioso, in the creations of the exotic Indian princess Angelica, inexplicably blonde and supremely beautiful on one hand, and on the other, the warrior-heroine, wife and queen, Bradamante. In "That Elusive Object of Desire," Deanna Shemek offers a detailed and fresh exploration of the rela- tions between the notions of womanhood and desire in the Furioso, relating them to Ariosto's presentations of selfhood and difference, pointing out that Ariosto deliberately imports into the text several of the most important discourses of the sixteenth century: the humanist liberalization of female education, the activity of a number of women poets, the prominence of the women of powerful families in Italy's courtly society, and in contrast, the relegation of women to a subsidiary sphere, the value of accomplished women as a reflection and enhancement of the superior skills of men — issues significant enough "to constitute Italy's querelle des femmes" (46). The presence of Angelica as an elusive object of male gaze and desire is studied in terms of Lacan's structural scheme where, as fot Ariosto, the elements of escape and repetition are integral components. As a consequence, woman always remains beyond grasp and comprehension, so that attempts at appropriation are doomed to continuous repetition. Having placed himself in — 205 — Recensioni absolute specular opposition to Angelica as ideal, as Woman, Orlando can possess Angelica only in his imagination, and when confronted with concrete evidence confirming his loss of her, his withdrawal from desire, his rejection of language and self lead to loss of his human self and eventual madness. Intrigues and blur- ring of gender and desire form the basis of discussion for the chapter centred upon Bradamante, "Gender, Duality, and Sacrifices of History." Shemek discuss- es the fact that issues of gender are kept very visibly in the foreground in repeat- ed instances of the Furioso, not only in light-hearted instances as when Fiordispina mistakes the gender of Bradamante and her twin look-alike brother Ricciardetto (113), but also in dramatic and crucial moments as when on Rodomonte's bridge, Bradamante makes an uncommon declaration of her sex before a joust, following her discovery of Isabella's tragic death in fidelity to the spirit of her dead husband. Toward the conclusion of the epic, the blurring and yet affirmation of gender reappears in the person of the pregnant warrior-wife-mother Bradamante who, with Marfisa, ventures out in search of the body of her slain husband Ruggiero, and in bloody revenge destroys "by fire and sword" the fief of the Maganzesi (123). Bradamante may give the semblance of domestication through marriage and motherhood, but till the end Ariosto impresses upon the reader her role as warrior and her nature as hero. Whatever today's interpretations of femininity and feminism may be, it is recorded that in Ariosto 's time women readers were affected by the poem's rep- resentations of the female sex and by the manner in which Ariosto repeatedly dis- plays — openly and subliminali}7 — the irrationality in contemporary notions of femininity. The purpose of Chapter 4, then, is to examine the response to the poem by the poet Laura Terracina, one of the Furioso"?, most avid readers of the sixteenth century. A prolific writer herself, Terracina set forth her views in the Discorso sopra tutti i primi canti ({'"Orlando furioso, " which appeared in more than eleven editions between 1549 and 1608, over the six decades following Ariosto's death. So successful was the Furioso, that the Discorso, architecturally mimicking the epic, proved to be the most successful "spin-off" of its time. Shemek outlines in detail how Terracina constructed her poem replacing Ariosto's internal stanza content with her own message, framed by Ariosto's first and last verses for each stanza, so that what results is in fact a "kind of coauthored Furioso in miniature, whose female-authored stanzas serve as echo chambers for the resonance of the canonical male poet's lines" (131). One can only imagine how a living Ariosto would have reacted to such appropriation, especially following his recommenda- tion (Canto XXXVII.23), that women should render their own independent "virtues immortal" ("poi che voi fate / per voi stesse immortai vostra virtute"). Terracina's purpose, however, was timely and pressing, and using a remake of the most popular literary work as a vehicle, assured not only the profitable marketing and dissemination of her own message, but also the continued popularity of the Furioso's illustrations, much to the printers' profit and delight. Terracina's pressing wish was to discuss men's injustices to women, as well as the barriers she herself experienced as woman and writer: "Vorrei parlar, ma l'ira il dir m'intoppa / Poi che sola difendo il nostro sesso./ Già il desiderio mio brama, e galoppa / Di ven- — 206 — Ri i I NSU >N1 dicarsi, e pur non m'è concesso,/ Contra costor c'han si la mente /oppa Appo noi Donne; in darne oltraggi spesso:/ Ma spero che dal ciel verrà saetta,/ Et credo che di noi tara vendetta (( anto V). 1 1ère, and more dramatically elsewhere, writing is cast as a means of combat often used In nun against women, who till now have been ill-equipped to retaliate. As a lyrical document composed during the ( .ounter Reformation, the Discorsi also displays themes consonant to the times: a nostalgia tor a more innocent past; mistrust of worldly ambitions; disapproval of abuse of sexual freedom by women; concern for victims of wars. Terracina's work and its popular reception at the time illustrate the ability of accomplished women to articulate through creative methods independent and often very contrasting \iews in relation to those of prominent writers. At the same time, Terracina's appropri- ation and remaking ot the Ivtrioso also demonstrates how even highly literate women were dependent (openly or not) upon acclaimed models, in light of which their own were to remain of secondary importance. Illustrating the motif of "errancy" in a person of early modern Italy, the last chapter, "Adding Insult to Injury: Bandello's Tales of Isabella de Luna," examines the difficult but wealthy life-style of the Spanish-born Isabella (d. 1565), who "practised virtually the only profession that allowed women of her day the free- dom to earn and dispose of their own income as she does ... a courtesan" (158). A well known figure in military circles, Isabella travelled through Europe and north Africa, following the vicissitudes of a man she loved in the army of Emperor Charles V, eventually settling in Rome to build a career as one of the most successful courtesans of the Renaissance. This useful chapter reviews the main literature of the sixteenth century concerned with courtesans, be they "oneste" or otherwise, in order to contextualise Bandello's Sorelle that include sev- eral tales of courtesans with the figure of Isabella featured in two tales. Bandello's portrayal of Isabella attests to his concern for both accuracy and literary organi- zation of historical material: she is in fact depicted as a world-wise prostitute, often echoing Bradamante-like bravery and intelligence. In the first of Bandello's example (Part II, Novella 51), Isabella comically outsmarts a man who set her up to being defamed in front of his friends. To her profit and amusement, she man- ages to show him up as a truly hypocritical and untrustworthy man. The second example (Part IV, Xore//a 16), addresses the more thorny issues of prostitution that place Isabella at the centre. She submits to a public whipping for having defied the law and clashed with authority- — this cruel public punishment is sig- nificantly foreshadowed in the preface to the novella where another defiant military prostitute is burned at the stake. Shemek effectively points to Foucault's observa- tion — and Nietzsche's before him — that public punishments rely on the cre- ation of memorable images for the observing audience (178), and Bandello makes eminent use of punishment as spectacle in order to drive home to women the dangers of waywardness and defiance. In real life, however, Isabella was fully responsible with respect to settling properly her public score before death, ensur- ing that all debts were paid, all her beneficiaries were recompensed, that her loved ones, monasteries, and convents were remunerated handsomely, that servants and destitutes were well cared for, and several dowries distributed. In keeping with the — 207 — Recensioni concerns of the Council of Trent, as a woman of considerable means, Isabella de Luna reformed the latter years of her life in order to enjoy a life of ease and inde- pendence, far from the errancy that had characterized her youth. The fifteenth and sixteenth centuries saw an unprecedented outpouring of treatises and manuals on social behaviour and good governance. Fiction and real- ity, what was and what ought to be, often became blurred as did the crucial con- cerns related to sex and gender roles. This study by Shemek addresses both liter- ary fiction and contemporary social realism seeking to distinguish one from the other, but also pointing out how fairly and unfairly they affected each other. Her answer to the question "Did women have a Renaissance," remains not less nega- tive than when it was first asked twenty years ago (15). Her careful, detailed inves- tigations confirm, in fact, that Renaissance women were "creatures of compro- mise and ambivalence as much as of headstrong rebellion," who "trace the early modern notion of women 'out of place,' of wayward ladies dangerously errant"(16). This work is valuable to students of the. Quattrocento and Cinquecento for the several revisions it brings to previous studies on errancy and feminine behaviour, and how these were perceived to threaten male identity and social order in the artistic, social, and intellectual manifestations of the Italian Renaissance. For these same reasons, this study is also valuable to students of con- temporary Italian women writers, who often portray women characters at odds with their familial and social milieus, who often argue that an individual identity and voice mav be best achieved through resistance to or separation from the unques- tioned social order. Vera F. Golini St. Jerome's/ University of Waterloo 208 
work_b7x6bjt64rb6riqc2ejqbiwgwy	----	The British Journal for the History of Science http://journals.cambridge.org/BJH Additional services for The British Journal for the History of Science: Email alerts: Click here Subscriptions: Click here Commercial reprints: Click here Terms of use : Click here Mary Quinlan-McGrath, Inuences: Art, Optics, and Astrology in the Italian Renaissance. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2013. Pp. xi+284. ISBN 978-0-226-92284-3. \$35.00 (hardback). Steven Vanden Broecke The British Journal for the History of Science / Volume 47 / Issue 02 / June 2014, pp 374 - 375 DOI: 10.1017/S0007087414000247, Published online: 01 May 2014 Link to this article: http://journals.cambridge.org/abstract_S0007087414000247 How to cite this article: Steven Vanden Broecke (2014). The British Journal for the History of Science, 47, pp 374-375 doi:10.1017/S0007087414000247 Request Permissions : Click here Downloaded from http://journals.cambridge.org/BJH, IP address: 137.44.100.1 on 30 May 2014 of those of you student readers who have such a wonderful Marauder’s Map (another Harry Potter reference) to help you navigate your way through those early days of graduate school. NEERAJA SANKARAN Yonsei University, Seoul MARY QUINLAN-MCGRATH, Influences: Art, Optics, and Astrology in the Italian Renaissance. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2013. Pp. xi+284. ISBN 978-0-226- 92284-3. $35.00 (hardback). doi:10.1017/S0007087414000247 Beginning with Fritz Saxl’s 1934 study of the horoscope ceiling which Baldassare Peruzzi painted for Agostino Chigi in the Villa Farnesina (1511), art historians have been fascinated by the monumental astrological vaults of Renaissance architecture. These lavish productions are often interpreted as rhetorical tools for naturalizing the legitimacy of the ruler among the ruled by associating the former’s position with astrological fate. According to Mary Quinlan-McGrath, this was not at all how the patrons of such vaults interpreted their significance and use. Instead, she claims, these vaults were built as instruments for purifying and protecting the bodies, spirits, and minds of these patrons and their kin. There is very little evidence for actors’ understandings of these starry vaults. One precious exception, which is central to Quinlan-McGrath’s argument, occurs in Chapter III.19 of Marsilio Ficino’s influential De vita, where Ficino concludes an extensive discussion of astrological images with the advice for a man to construct, ‘in the very depth of his house . . . a chamber, vaulted and marked with these figures and colors, and he should spend most of his waking hours there and also sleep’ (p. 161). The distinguishing feat of Quinlan-McGrath’s book is to carefully explore how such advice could have made perfect sense for the elites of Renaissance Italy, embedded as it was in widely shared intellectual presuppositions reaching back as far as Plato’s Timaeus. The planning and ambit of this exploration, carried out in eight chapters, are simply breathtaking. In terms of planning, the author privileges a select number of presuppositions (‘gazing’ as the default relation between patrons and their vaults; vision as a (meta)physical mediator between things, rather than as a transmission of visual content; the self and architectural art as equally embedded in a divinely given, astrologically shaped nature and fate; artificial figures as privileged sites for capturing such celestial powers), and carefully shows how each of these was connected with another. This yields an elegant, Russian doll-like structure ‘from the larger concepts to the more particular’ (p. x). In terms of ambit, it is clear that the author has waded through an enormous literature on premodern metaphysics, epistemology, astrology, mathematics, natural philosophy, psych- ology and art history, in supplying the reader with ‘the tools’ by which to ‘judge the case’ (p. 198). No less impressive is her judicious selection of what to include in the main body of the text (two hundred pages), and what to relegate to the particularly insightful endnotes (fifty pages). So how is the case to be judged after reading this book? At the very least, Quinlan-McGrath’s thesis is far less anachronistic than anything else which is on offer concerning this topic. This is not to say, of course, that her precise interpretation of the Renaissance equivalent of the oxygen tent is definitive. Consider her interpretation of Book III of Ficino’s De vita. As early as Chapter III.8, Ficino introduces doubt and uncertainty about amulets as suitable recipients of portable celestial power; his subsequent discussion of figurae never really abandons these suspicions. Ficino, who articulates this in terms of ‘medicine’ versus ‘magic’, does grant the possibility of demonic agency in the effectiveness of figurae, and repeatedly takes the position that the heat released when inscribing a figure, not the inscription as such, is the source of its effectiveness. This makes the distance between him and a theologian like Aquinas less large than Quinlan-McGrath tends 374 Book reviews to suggest. Likewise, it remains unclear whether Ficino’s talk of harmonies obtaining between images speaks the language of ‘sympathy’ or ‘copy’, of ressemblance or ‘representation’. Further research may also highlight Ficino’s tendency to advance a strong distinction between the sub- and superlunary realms, as well as his apparent investment in an anagogy of the spirit towards the celestial and supra-celestial realm, rather than in sublunary empowerment per se. Finally, it remains to be seen what we should make of Ficino’s frequent adoption of metaphors of preparation and accommodation in describing the relation between spirits and ‘celestial gifts’. Is the Ficinian self really an embodied being which also has spirits, or rather a ‘spirit in the material world’? The simple fact remains, however, that Quinlan-McGrath’s fresh look at these astrological canopies opens up entire new vistas of Renaissance intellectual life. This alone makes it required reading for anyone interested in Renaissance visual culture, architecture, and history of natural philosophy. But it can also serve as a model of scholarship. Over the past few decades, it has become far less uncommon for art historians to sink their teeth into premodern intellectual history and history of science. Influences crowns them all in tenaciousness and thoughtfulness. STEVEN VANDEN BROECKE Ghent University GIDEON MANNING (ed.), Matter and Form in Early Modern Science and Philosophy. Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill, 2012. Pp. x+248. ISBN 978-90-04-21870-3. E105.00 (hardback). doi:10.1017/S0007087414000259 Historians of both science and philosophy have often discussed the relation between matter and form in the early modern period. The intricacies of this issue are caused by the various meanings associated with each of these terms, and the emphasis placed by different historical actors on either of the two. Despite becoming a classic theme in the literature, the problems of how matter and form relate to each other and how their meanings change in the early modern period still requires careful analysis. This is why the present volume makes a valuable contribution to an ongoing debate. In his foreword to the volume, Mordechai Feingold acknowledges that Matter and Form in Early Modern Science and Philosophy puts together nine papers that were presented at a conference at the California Institute of Technology in 2010. Gideon Manning opens the volume with a study of the term ‘hylomorphism’. After tracing its origins to the final decades of the nineteenth century, Manning turns to three historical cases: Aristotle himself, Scipion Dupleix (a late Scholastic) and Jacques Rohault (a Cartesian). The main aim of this chapter is to argue against the view that a commonly shared doctrine of hylomorphism endured in the early modern period. Thus his chapter makes a nice introduction to the volume, as the other contributions document a rich variety of early modern views about matter and form. In the second chapter, Michael Edwards explores a body of scholastic texts on the scientia de anima and compares them with the ‘science of human nature’ (p. 52) that one can find in their contemporary Protestant authors. He argues convincingly that anatomy and its newly associated imagery played an important role in reshaping the terms of the debate, revealing among other things ‘semi-permeable’ disciplinary boundaries that raised the problem of authority (p. 44). Hiro Hirai is the author of the third chapter, in which he provides a careful analysis of Daniel Sennert’s theory of seeds. Based on his prior work on the concept of ‘seed’ in the Renaissance and the early modern period, Hirai gives a convincing account, concluding that in Sennert’s view the seeds are similar to substantial forms. The next chapter is again focused on Sennert, but this time it deals to a larger extent with his chymical views. William Newman compares Sennert with Etienne-François Geoffroy, who almost a century later advanced his famous theory of affinities. Newman gives textual support for the claim that a pre-theory of affinities can already be found in Sennert, reacting in this way to some Book reviews 375 
work_bbhokuosizgh7pjgvvko2g3lre	----	Blackwell Publishing LtdOxford, UKEPATEducational Philosophy and Theory0013-1857© 2006 Philosophy of Education Society of AustralasiaSeptember 2006384 7 On CreativityUlrich Bröckling On Creativity: A brainstorming session U  B  University of Konstanz Theological Niceties. Creativity—in other words, creative potential—is a metaphysical concept. Creatio ex nihilo only exists as a divine act. To insert something into the undefined or empty, amounts to generating a miniature world. Even in creativity’s form as a secularised human capacity, its religious roots have not been severed. True, we can formulate conditions more or less propitious for new things to emerge; we can analytically reduce the process into increasingly tiny units and describe what is taking place in the brain; but inevitably, an inexplicable ‘leap’ remains: a ‘miracle’ when expressed theologically. Even though, as the well-known formula has it, creativity involves 99% perspiration, we are still left with one per cent inspiration. This is revealed not least of all in a metaphorical terminology recalling the Pentecostal advent of the Holy Spirit: from the ‘flash of insight’ and the ‘stroke of genius’ to ‘brainstorming’, where ‘the wind bloweth where it will’ (John 3,8). Invocations of creativity always have something of the supplicatory prayer about them: Veni creator spiritus . Potential . Creativity is tied to the human potential to bring into being something new. Its basis is, first, the power of imagination as the capacity to make the absent present; and second, building upon this, fantasy as the capacity to realize the (as yet) inexistent. Following the distinction suggested by the German sociologist Heinrich Popitz, generating the new can transpire along three paths: firstly, that of exploring (discovery and invention; the search for new knowledge); second, that of shaping (the production and formation of artefacts); third, generating meaning (interpretation, philosophical justification) (Popitz, 1997). This distinction is ideal- typical. In reality the three dimensions of action intersect, as do the social func- tions and role models deriving from them. Mirror game . The effort to pin down creativity culminates in an infinite regression. Something old lurks within everything new; the new builds on the old, modifies it, distances itself from it. The closer one looks, the more familiarly it stares back. Inversely, a moment of creative variation lurks within every repetition. One does not step twice into the same brook. For this reason, it is just as easy to confirm or deny that an artefact, discovery, or interpretation is creative. Those wishing to establish the old’s present in the new will prove just as successful as those seeking the new in the old. What decides is the angle of vision. 100 Ulrich Bröckling Contingency . Creative acts do or do not take place. They can be enticed into being through work or enthusiasm, and above all through both, but they cannot be forced. As Max Weber wrote, ‘ideas occur to us when they please, not when it pleases us’ (Weber, 1946, p. 136). The entire realm of human knowledge, of artefacts and interpretations, hence all products of creative investigation, forma- tion, generation of meaning, possess no necessary existential grounding. They could also be otherwise or not be at all (Makropoulos, 1997). In its contingency, creativity is ambivalent to a high degree—at one and the same time a desirable resource and a threatening potential. Consequently, with the experience of contin- gency comes a need to direct it, that is, to render its productive aspects useful and its destructive aspects null and void. On the one hand, creativity is meant to be mobilized and set free; on the other hand, it is meant to be controlled and reined in, oriented toward the solving of certain problems while kept at a remove from others. Liberation and domestication are here inextricably tied together. Phantasms of complete controllability must necessarily end up shattered, because creativity can- not be shoved into the domain of compliance—with absence of the anarchic moment, it is never present. Regimes of control change; what remains are attempts to steer the course of creativity. Historical a Priori. What constitutes creativity has not been determined once and for all, but rather emerges from the various ways it has been attributed, evoked, and catalysed throughout history. This fact comprises determination of those capa- ble of and called on for creative action (the gods or God, and human beings as well? which of the latter should be included or excluded?). It also comprises defi- nition of the realms in which creativity can manifest itself; the shifting nature of the strategies and tactics through which it is governed; and both the final purpose of the creative action and the sources of its legitimacy (in the name of which authority does the call go forth to encourage or control creativity?). A genealogy of creativity would have to explore its historical semantic elements; the disparate technologies involved in forming the human capacity to discover and shape, and to generate meaning; the various models of creative accomplishment and self- accomplishment (from genius embraced by the muses to unorthodox mind- mapping thinkers); finally, both the heterogeneous creativity specialists and various justifications of creative action: pedagogic (the personality’s unfolding), therapeu- tic (fantasy’s healing powers), economic (competitive advantages through innova- tion), and political (the well-ordered commonweal). Metaphors . Because what creativity is cannot be precisely defined, metaphors run rampant. Described roughly, six associative field are at work here ( Joas, 1997), a specific anthropological or conceptual tradition corresponding to each. The divid- ing lines are hazy, the overlaps many. Firstly, creativity is associated with artistic action, with the moment of expressivity occupying the foreground. Human beings are here defined as expressive beings, both in terms of capacity and innate nature; the embodiment of this approach is the artistic genius, with lines of tradition reaching back to the Italian Renaissance and to Herder and German Romanticism, On Creativity 101 but also to the philosophical anthropology of Max Scheler, Helmuth Plessner, and Arnold Gehlen. Second, creativity is conceived in terms of production. The focus here is on individuals as beings who realize and objectify themselves through work and its products; the craftsman is here an exemplary figure. The roots of this conceptual model extend back to Aristotle’s distinction between praxis and poiesis; one of its most prominent formulations is the ontology of work formulated by the young Marx. With their concept of ‘immaterial work’, the Italian postoperaists offer a contemporary variant of the model (Lazzarato, 1993). It contrasts with, third, the concept of creativity as problem-solving action, with stress being placed on invention and innovation. The anthropology implied here is along the following lines: human beings are beings who master their lives, being able to rely neither on instinct-bound reactive patterns nor on simple behavioral routines. For this con- ceptual model, creativity is concretely situated; it responds to challenges demand- ing solutions that are both new and fitting: an approach exemplarily embodied in the figure of the inventor. It has been extensively formulated by American pragmatism as a theory of cognition and action, and by Jean Piaget in his theory of cognitive development. A fourth metaphoric field is that of revolution. Creativity here means liberating action, a radical new invention of social structure: the human being confronts the world as a border-transgressor, a ‘creative destroyer’. Proto- types for this dimension of creativity are, naturally, nonconformists and dissidents de tout couleur , with manifestos of various artistic and political avant-gardes offering relevant programmatic statements. Creativity evokes, fifth, life-connected associa- tions: metaphors of birth and generation, but also of biological evolution. In general, what is here being centred on is the phenomenon of emergence, creativity manifesting itself as personal or supra-personal energies even—and particularly— clearing new ground when encountering resistance. At this model’s centre we find, on the one hand, the individual’s drive-related dimension—the creativity of what Deleuze and Guattari called ‘machines of desire’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1988); and, on the other hand, the non-intentional processes of adapting to one’s environment through natural selection. Theoretical efforts in this direction have been offered by Nietzsche, Bergson, and Freud, as well as by Darwin and various neo-Darwinists (Simonton, 1999). Sixth and last, the probably most familiar creativity metaphor is that of play, identifying creative with purposeless activity. The paragon for homo ludens is the child. This model can be traced back to Plato’s ideal of ‘spend[ing] life in making our play as perfect as possible’ (Plato, 1966, VII, 803 C); Schiller’s declaration that ‘the human being plays only when he is human in the full sense of the word; and he is only fully human when he plays’ (Schiller 1795/1954, p. 601) moves in the same direction. Whether this or that metaphor or several at once are evoked depends on which creative potentials happen to be required and are meant to be furthered. That such varied associations can be linked to creativity is not the least of the reasons no one wishes to see them go. In the flurry of metaphors, each person discovers his or her own. Common coinage . The heroic productive powers of the genius were only reserved for a few; everyone can and should be creative. Where geniality was exclusive, bestowed 102 Ulrich Bröckling on some and not others, creativity has gradations—some have more of it, others less. Genius belonged in a sphere beyond the norm, common sense thus locating it in the vicinity of madness. Creativity is normal; it is distributed in conformity with the curves of Gaussian norm-distribution. Geniuses distinguished themselves through extraordinary accomplishments in the arts and sciences, perhaps also in politics and warfare. The attribute ‘creative’ ennobles even the most banal activities—from the washing-cutting-drying of the creative coiffeur around the corner to the creative bookkeeping of someone faking a balance. ‘Every man is an artist’ propagated Joseph Beuys in documenta 5 of 1972, and this is the legitimating ideal behind every extension school’s program. Creativity-promotion is democracy’s cult of genius. Interpellation . One is creative starting from birth—and is never finished with becom- ing so over a lifetime. This is the source of the implicit Rousseauism of most creativity programs: they offer cultural techniques meant to lead one back to a nature putatively buried by the process of cultural formation. Appeals (‘be creative!’) and self-understanding (‘I’m myself to the extent I’m creative’) here come together. The unity of description and prescription corresponds to a paradoxical temporal structure that fuses the ‘always was’ with the ‘not yet’: According to this schema, creativity is firstly something everyone has—an anthropological capacity ; second, something one ought to have—a binding norm; third, something one can never have enough of—a telos without closure; fourth, something that can be intensified through methodological instruction and exercise—a learnable competence. Political economy . Creativity is an economical resource that the market both mobi- lises and consumes: creative destruction is the entrepreneur’s economical function; his profits result from ‘carrying out new combinations’ (Schumpeter, 1926, p. 110). In order not to go under, he must offer other commodities than the compet- itors, or the same commodities in better quality or at a more appealing price, more speedily furnished, and so forth. And success here is only for the moment. As soon as competitors catch on, the advantage vanishes. Entrepreneurial action thus demands permanent innovation—and consequently ceaseless creative exertion. Everybody not only has to be simply creative, but more creative than the others; and nobody can be sure of finding takers for the new combinations. Despite all efforts to objectify or subjectify the conditions for success by market research or entrepreneurial intuition, individual economic subjects have only the principle of trial and error at their disposal. As the competition’s products, ever-more artefacts, reserves of knowledge, and interpretations are piled up by the society as a whole. In this sense, creativity is ‘general labour’, the innovative side of general intellect and, as such, a direct productive force (Marx, 1894/1969, p. 114). Spirit of Enterprise . To the extent that nowadays everyone is expected to act, in all life circumstances, as his or her own entrepreneur, the mobilization of innovative potential is itself privatised and individualized. Entrepreneurship not only forms the goal of all interpellations of creativity, but its privileged means as well. In contrast, the state appears as the great institutionalised hindrance to creativity. The On Creativity 103 individual who proceeds creatively resembles the successful investor: he speculates on the future and seeks his chances outside the beaten path. ‘Buy low and sell high’ is his principle. Today he lays his stake on offbeat ideas, hoping that tomorrow they comprise the norm. The market decides which creations yield effective interest. The remainder fizzles. The opportunity for success only waves a hand at those incurring the risk of failure upon their shoulders. Whether or not something is creative only emerges afterwards, when it appears pleasing, illuminating, or useful to others, in short: when it experiences valuation, or at least attracts attention. In the presence of disinterest, simply travelling other paths than the masses is useless—what is creative is the new that prevails (Sternberg & Lubart, 1991). Distinction . The new is a relational category, existing through demarcation from the old. What is new is what was not there. (As soon as it is there it stops being new.) Being creative thus means drawing distinctions. This can involve the invention of previously unknown artefacts, insights, or interpretations; but it can also involve the recombination or variation of what is already present, the privileging of previ- ously devalued or devaluation of previously privileged artefacts, insights, or inter- pretations (Groys, 1992). The possibilities for creating something new are unlimited; what is decisive is the moment of difference—creative persons thus being always already postmodern. The creative imperative necessitates permanent deviation; its enemies are homogeneity, compulsory identity, standardization, repe- tition. Attributes of being apart and special are only enjoyed by those who do not fit in. But within the promise of alterity, a threat is lurking: ‘be someone select … or you’ll be a reject’ is the way it is put in a guide to constructing ‘Me Inc’. (i.e. one’s own personal business) (Peters, 2000, p. 8). Ambiguity . Like every order, societal order needs constant renewal in order to deal with changing circumstances. Creativity is thus a civic responsibility, its promotion a political duty no less important than street-maintenance or preserving public safety. But creativity is also a subversive force, a force threatening every order. Celebrating the great negation, Bakunin exclaims that ‘the passion for destruction is a creative passion, too!’ (Bakunin, 1842/1969, p. 69). Hence political rhetoric either alternates between appeals to freedom and postulates of loyalty or has recourse to oxymorons such as ‘creative obedience’ and ‘revolutionary discipline’. The political Janus-face has its counterpart in moral ambivalence: creative achievements are both the directing of a military campaign and the negotiation of a peace treaty. Technologies . The appeal to be creative is no less paradoxical than the legendary appeal to be spontaneous. Creativity can neither be ordered into existence nor pressed into study plans or work contracts. One cannot command something indef- inite. In any event, factors can be specified that make creative acts more likely. Creativity-promotion involves controlling contexts—it creates nothing, but makes things possible. Nevertheless, programs of ‘innovation gymnastics’ thrive (Hentig, 2000, p. 60)—and these have of course moved far past the stage of home prescriptions. An army of scientific specialists is investigating the relevant terrain, furnishing 104 Ulrich Bröckling those hungry for creativity with ever-new training methods (this itself a creative accomplishment under the sign of the market). The specialists base their work on everyday forms of idea-production, these assimilated into systematically derived, often professionally run and institutionally supported strategies for innovation management. Precisely this constitutes the leap from technique to technology. Contemporary creativity programs thus make use both of inventories from the communication and information sciences (neurolinguistic programming) and of discoveries in cognitive research (activation of the brain’s right hemisphere); they adapt formerly ‘alternative’ educational concepts (learning through projects, ‘future factories’, therapeutic techniques (free association), and practices of artistic avant-gardes ( écriture automatique ). Performative contradiction . The creative imperative demands serial singularity, ready- made difference. Creativity-training standardizes the breach with standard solu- tions. It normalises deviations from the norm, instructing us not to rely on what has been learned. The paths to the particular should be the same paths for all. For this reason, they are as general as possible: an irritation of certainties and of conceptual and behavioural patterns that have been hammered in from birth ( lat- eral thinking ); an exclusion of both inner and outer censoring instances (a doing away with ‘creativity killers’); artistic naivety ( being dumb as a creative strategy); associative leaps and analogy-formation (synectics); the systematic exploration and grasping of possible solutions (brainstorming, mind-mapping, and similar proce- dures). Being creative means hard work yet demands the lightness of play. The realm of necessity forces what can only thrive in the realm of freedom. Fun-culture . Being creative is fun. Joy at individual or common activity and its results is not the least of the motivations for creative action. Psychologists name this ‘intrinsic motivation’, and it serves as one of the main sources tapped by the ubiquitous appeals to creativity. People in a good mood are more productive. Because not so much occurs to the unhappy and depressed, our fun-culture blossoms. Gone are the times when carnivalizing daily life was still a subversive project and the Munich Situationists in the S  group could declare that ‘being creative means pleasure playing with everything through permanently new creation’; in the Bavarian German original: ‘ Schöpferisch sein heißt: durch dauernde Neuschöpfung mit allen Dingen seine Gaudi treiben ’ (The S  group, 1961, pp. 16/17). Today this is taken care of by comedy shows on all channels, and firms engage professional fun-makers who place clown-noses on staff members in order to ready them for new business strategies through ‘motivational theatre’. Speed of circulation . Creativity needs leisure, the market forces speed. Creativity released by the economic imperative thus undermines the basis of its existence. The higher the pressure to innovate, the shorter the half-time of the new and the greater the corroding of creative potential. To be sure, everyone can be creative, but no one can be so constantly. ‘If I were only free for a few days or weeks from the need to always offer something new’, complains the creative individual, ‘then I’d On Creativity 105 certainly come up with some truly new ideas’. To which his manager offers the crushing reply: ‘without deadline-pressure you’d end up producing nothing’. When leisure-time is systematically shortened or functionalized into a catalyst for innova- tive processes, only the simulation of creativity remains. (Doubtless, such simula- tion also requires a fitting measure of fantasy.) Perhaps this is the reason why nothing seems more antiquated than what just seemed so trendy. Progress—the return, once again, of what has often seemed new. Les misérables . That necessity is invention’s mother is only maintained by those not in need. Those tormented by hunger or anxiety seek bread and shelter; they are not inclined towards creative experiments. Creativity requires free spaces in which the pressures of self-preservation have been at least temporarily suspended. But necessity itself knows no imperative. Those living in misery cannot afford to always stick to the straight path. The adroit hand-flick into the stranger’s wallet, the beggar’s pity-evoking story, opening the clasp of the passer-by’s purse, the less ambitious and more ambitious tricks for gaining what one needs but cannot afford, for making money through whatever can be sold—all of this demands the highest possible degree of innovation, improvisational talent, and deviation from the norm. The art of survival is the poor man’s creativity. Beyond the imperative . In face of the exactions of the creative imperative, neither the pathos of refusal nor the furore of raising the stakes will prove sufficient. When deviance becomes a normative demand, flagrant non-conformism emerges as abso- lute conformity. But when renunciation of the new is inflated into a principle, this itself marks a creative difference, with the concomitant hope of gaining distinction. Originality- and repetition-compulsion are two sides of the same coin. Freedom that deserves the name only begins where neither one nor the other prevails. The negation of the ubiquitous creativity postulate is not ‘Don’t be creative’, but rather a turn away from speaking in the imperative. One cannot not be creative, but perhaps one can stop wanting to always be creative. Social Fantasy . The ‘creative moment’, the ‘eureka’, may be the individual’s prerog- ative, coming over him in the proverbial quiet little room, but one is never creative when alone. Creative action is always addressed somewhere and is always ‘an action upon an action, on possible or actual future or present actions’ (Foucault, 2000, p. 340). There are no creative monads. The creative individual lives face to face with others, whose recognition he hopes for and whose displeasure he fears, with whom he forges common ideas or whom he avoids, who furnishes him with prob- lems or whose solutions are not satisfactory to him, whose footprints he steps into or out of, and so forth. Like Nietzsche’s ‘chain-thinker’, ‘every new thought that he hears or reads of ’ appears to him ‘immediately in the form of a chain’ (Nietzsche, 1969, p. 864). One of creativity’s main objects is the social self. Like the ego, society is always invented, formed, established anew. To show that social fantasy can be more than the sum of efforts to contain it in truth-regimes, behav- ioural codices, and world-views would be a truly creative project. 106 Ulrich Bröckling Addendum—a test . Theories of creativity unfailingly soar to the highest heights of philosophical abstraction while simultaneously landing in the most awful aporias. In response to the questions of what creativity is and, above all, who is creative, they furnish nothing but contradictory answers. For this reason, in conclusion let us look at a creativity test as simple as it is unerring. It was devised by Niklas Luhmann: The test involved here is a self-test that, however, can be derived from a survey-procedure. It is likewise a two-stage test. The first stage involves following a very simple behavioral rule: The subject must take his conscience into his neighbor’s room. Whenever he sees that the neighbor is reading books he himself has not yet read and then has a bad conscience, he is not creative—he simply wishes to imitate his neighbor. Whenever, to the contrary, he sees that the neighbor is reading the same books as he is and then has a bad conscience, he is presumably creative. For in the latter case he is—perhaps unconsciously—seeking new paths. Hence creativity is here tested in terms of the way guilt-feelings are steered. This is, however, only the first stage of the test. The rule applied in the second stage is as follows: Whoever carries out the creativity test is not creative for just that reason, since this shows he is interested in being creative. And in the end everybody wishes to be so (Luhmann, 1988, pp. 18, 19). translated by Joel Golb References Bakunin, M. (1842 /1969) Die Reaktion in Deutschland, in: idem, Philosophie der Tat (Köln, Verlag Jakob Hegner). Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. (1988) Anti-Oedipus. Capitalism and schizophrenia (Minneapolis, MN, University of Minnesota Press). Foucault, M. (2000) The Subject and Power, in: Essential Works of Michel Foucault , Vol. 3: Power , J. D. Faubion, ed. (New York, New Press), pp. 326–348. Groys, B. (1992) Über das Neue. Versuch einer Kulturökonomie (Munich & Vienna, Hanser Verlag). Hentig, H. v. (2000) Kreativität. Hohe Erwartungen an einen schwachen Begriff ( Weinheim & Basel, Beltz Verlag). Joas, H. (1997) The Creativity of Action (Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press). Lazzarato, M. (1993) Immaterielle Arbeit, in: T. Negri, M. Lazzarato & P. Virno, Umher- schweifende Produzenten. Immaterielle Arbeit und Subversion (Berlin, ID Verlag), pp. 39–52. Luhmann, N. (1988) Über ‘Kreativität’, in: H.-U. Gumbrecht (ed.), Kreativität—Ein verbrauchter Begriff (Munich, Wilhelm Fink Verlag). Makropoulos, M. (1997) Modernität und Kontingenz (Munich, Wilhelm Fink Verlag). Marx, K. (1894/1969) Das Kapital, Vol. 3 , Marx und Engels, Werke , Vol. 25 (Berlin, Dietz Verlag). Nietzsche, F. (1969) Menschliches, Allzumenschliches, in: idem, Werke , Vol. 1 (Munich, Hanser Verlag). Peters, T. (2000) TOP 50 Selbstmanagement. Machen Sie aus sich die ICH AG (Munich, Econ Verlag). Plato, Laws (1966) in: E. Hamilton & H. Cairns (eds), Collected Dialogues of Plato (New York, Princeton University Press). Popitz, H. (1997) Wege der Kreativität. Erkunden, Gestalten, Sinnstiften, in: idem, Wege der Kreativität (Tübingen, Mohr & Siebeck), pp. 80–132. On Creativity 107 Schiller, F. (1795/1954) Über die ästhetische Erziehung des Menschen in einer Reihe von Briefen, in: idem, Werke , Vol. 2 (Munich, Droemersche Verlagsanstalt), pp. 563–641. Schumpeter, J. (1926) Theorie der wirtschaftlichen Entwicklung (Munich & Leipzig, Verlag Duncker & Humblot). Simonton, D. K. (1999) Origins of Genius: Darwinian Perspectives on Creativity ( New York, Oxford University Press). Sternberg R. J. & Lubart, T. L. (1991) An Investment Theory of Creativity and its Develop- ment, Human Development , 34, pp. 1–31. The S  group (1961/1968) Januar-Manifest, in: A. Goeschel (ed.), Richtlinien und Anschläge. Materialien zur Kritik der repressiven Gesellschaft (Munich Hanser Verlag), pp. 16, 17. Weber, M. (1946) Science as Vocation, in: H. H. Gerth & C. W. Mills (eds), From Max Weber: Essays in sociology (New York, Oxford University Press), pp. 129–156. 
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work_bchd6mir3ngnnf6romzbyi7po4	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 5 December 2011 Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite: the unpublished manuscript of the Lettera a Messer Giorgio Vasari in the Archivio Borromeo (Stresa, Italy) Eliana Carrara The writing of the second edition of the Vite, published in Florence by Giunti in 1568, was a crucial time for discussions and fruitful exchanges of ideas between Vasari and his closest friends and collaborators.1 Vasari was well aware of that, and patently recognized his debt in the case of Giovanni Battista Adriani. The short treatise on the artists of antiquity (this is the content of the Lettera a Messer Giorgio Vasari, which is dated September 8, 1567)2 was, in fact, clearly printed with the name of its editor, and was inserted in haste by Giunti at the beginning of the second volume of the Terza parte of Vasari’s biographies, together with Vasari’s letter addressed Agli artefici del disegno (To the craftsmen in design), and not where it has been intended, which is immediately after the Teoriche (Introduction to the three arts of drawings): Architecture, Painting and Sculpture), at the beginning of the first of the three volumes of the Vite.3 I will quote the sixteenth-century texts according to the following criteria: u is distinct from v, j is transcribed with i; accents, apostrophes and punctuation marks are used according to the custom of today, as is the division of words and the use of capital letters; all abbreviations have been withdrawn without giving any account, only when an abbreviated reading is not certain, the total will appear in parentheses. All my amendments or additions will be placed between square brackets. All translations are mine, unless otherwise stated. I’m very grateful to Dr. Alessandro Pisoni, keeper of the Archivio Borromeo in Isola Bella (Stresa, Italy) for his helpful suggestions. Many thanks also to Bob Learmonth for reviewing my original text and to Richard Woodfield for his valuable advice and assistance. 1 Le Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori, e architettori scritte da M. Giorgio Vasari pittore et architetto aretino, di nuovo dal medesimo riviste et ampliate […], 3 vols, in Fiorenza, appresso i Giunti, 1568. For a recent overview of the 1568 edition see Eliana Carrara, ‘Giorgio Vasari’, in the exhibition catalogue, Claudia Conforti, Francesca Funis, and Francesca de Luca, eds, Vasari, gli Uffizi e il Duca, Firenze: Giunti, 2011, 386-87 (entry ‘XV.16’). 2 See Liana De Girolami Cheney, Giorgio Vasari’s teachers. Sacred & profane art, New York: Peter Long, 2007, 111. For the collaboration of Vincenzio Borghini and Giovanni Battista Adriani with Vasari see also Robert Williams, Art, theory, and culture in Sixteenth-century Italy. From techne to metatechne, Cambridge: University Press, 1997, 30-33. 3 Giorgio Vasari, Le opere, Gaetano Milanesi, ed, 9 vols, Firenze: Sansoni, 1878-1885, I, 15-90; Giorgio Vasari, Le Vite de più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori nelle redazioni del 1550 e 1568, Rosanna Bettarini and Paola Barocchi, eds, 6 vols, Firenze: Sansoni (from 1976 onward SPES), 1966-1987 (henceforth cited as: Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, followed by volume number), I, 177-227. For an account of Adriani’s text and its collocation in the editions of Vasari’s Vite see Paola Barocchi, ‘Lettera di G.B. Adriani a G. Vasari’, In: Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I (Commento), 232-35. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 2 Adriani’s work4 was conceived to fill the space, temporal and historio- critical, left empty by Vasari in the edition of Vite published in 1550 (Florence, Torrentino), which starts from the Middle Ages and ends with the artists who were his contemporaries.5 Because he treats the arts of antiquity, Adriani’s main source is, of course, Pliny, as Vasari confirms in the letter Agli artefici del disegno (To the craftsmen in design), just mentioned above: ‘And to the end that this work may prove to be in every way complete, and that there may be no need to seek anything outside its pages, I have added a great part of the works of the most celebrated craftsmen of antiquity, both Greek and of other nations, whose memory has been preserved down to our own day by Pliny and other writers, without whose pens they would have been buried, like many others, in eternal oblivion’.6 The Lettera a Messer Giorgio Vasari, previously known only through the printed text in the Vite,7 consists of forty pages full of erudite references (Herodotus, Varro and Pomponius Atticus are mentioned among others), where citations are rare, but the whole essay is rich in information taken from various sources and not only from Pliny. The Florentine scholar, Adriani, also cleverly reformulated information taken from Pliny’s Naturalis historia. Whereas the Roman historian distributes the discussion of the fine arts across books XXXIV-XXXVI, dealing, respectively, with metals, clays and stones, and then dedicated to metal carving, painting and sculpture in marble, Adriani organizes his treatise in a very different way, detaching himself from any homage to the ancient model (whilst he was also well aware of Greek sources, from Strabo to Plutarch, from Pausanias to Lucian, and of many 4 On the work’s contents see Paola Barocchi, ‘Indice analitico del commento alla lettera dell’Adriani’, In: Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I (Commento), 386-415, and Eliana Carrara, ‘Pliny and the Art of the Ancients and the Moderns. Reading the Naturalis Historia (Books XXXIV-XXXVI) in Florence in the Sixteenth Century (the Anonymous Magliabechiano to Vasari’s Lives)’, In: De l’autorité à la référence. Les repères textuels à la Renaissance. Actes de la journée d’études organisée dans le cadre du congrès annuel de la Renaissance Society of America (2010), Isabelle Diu and Raphaële Mouren, eds, in print. For an intellectual profile of Adriani (1511-1579) see Simone Albonico, ‘Giovan Battista Adriani. Nota introduttiva’, In: Storici e politici fiorentini del Cinquecento, I, Storici e politici fiorentini del Cinquecento, Angelo Baiocchi and Simone Albonico, eds, Milano-Napoli: Ricciardi, 1994, 907-917; see also Elena Fasano Guarini, ‘Committenza del principe e storiografia pubblica: Benedetto Varchi e Giovan Battista Adriani’, In: La pratica della storia in Toscana: continuità e mutamenti tra la fine del ‘400 e la fine del ‘700, Elena Fasano Guarini and Franco Angiolini, eds, Milano: Franco Angeli, 2009, 91-8; Elena Fasano Guarini, Repubbliche e principi. Istituzioni e pratiche di potere nella Toscana granducale del ‘500-‘600, Bologna: il Mulino, 2010, 268-79. 5 For a recent overview of the 1550 edition see Eliana Carrara, ‘Giorgio Vasari’, In: Vasari, gli Uffizi e il Duca, 384 (entry ‘XV.14’). 6 See Giorgio Vasari, Lives of the painters, sculptors and architects, Translation by Gaston du C. de Vere. With an introduction and notes by David Ekserdjian, 2 vols, New York: Knopf, 1996, II, p. 188. ‘E perché questa opera venga del tutto perfetta né s’abbia a cercare fuora cosa alcuna, ci ho aggiunto gran parte delle opere de’ più celebrati artefici antichi, così greci come d’altre nazioni, la m e m o r i a d e ’ q u a l i d a P l i n i o e d a a l t r i s c r i t t o r i è s t a t a f i n o a ’ t e m p i n o s t r i c o n s e r v a t a , che senza la penna loro sarebbono, come molte altre, sepolte in sempiterna oblivione’; Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 176 (the spacing of the characters is mine). 7 Le Vite de’ più eccellenti, III, fols a1 recto-e4 verso. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 3 Latin writers, in particular Cicero (Orationes in Verrem, De inventione), Vitruvius and Valerius Maximus).8 In fact, he opens his analysis of the origins of art by considering the oldest, that is painting, underlining the high esteem it enjoyed in ancient Greece, as it was only to be practiced by free men (p. 189). This should be carefully noted at a moment when the amateur practice of art was becoming increasingly popular, especially painting, as is evidenced in a treatise written, not coincidentally, by Alessandro Allori, another of the young men in Vasari’s vast workshop.9 After the catalogue of Greek painters (pp. 189-202), including the mention of several women (p. 202), the Romans are also remembered (pp. 202-204). After that, the Florentine scholar considers ‘plastic’ (pp. 204-206), that is the art of modelling with clay, and then examines sculptures in bronze and other metals. Considerable space is dedicated to big names in the art of casting, from Polykleitos to Lysippus, not forgetting of course Phidias and Praxiteles (pp. 206-216). These sculptors’ names reappear shortly after, when Adriani addresses the birth and development of stone sculpture (pp. 216-224), giving his attention to large colossal statues and establishing a comparison between the Greek and Roman worlds, and between the figurative types of the two great ancient cultures (pp. 224-226). The conclusions (p. 227) follow a very brief overview of the goldsmith’s art, the very minute and refined art of modelling tableware (pp. 226-227), which is connected to miniature works of sculpture in marble (p. 223), which, in turn, introduces conversely the above mentioned monumental stone sculpture. The sophisticated interplay of parts refers also to the structure of the Teoriche. If Vasari begins his writing starting from architecture, sculpture and then finally approaches painting, and as a painter it is this art that has the last word,10 Adriani seems to harmonize everything and closes the circle of the narrative with a path which, like Pliny, his source, not only excludes architecture, considered most commonplace and utilitarian, but relies entirely on great monumental marble sculpture, both sacred and profane; the basic model, incidentally, for contemporary celebrations of the Medici princes.11 It is, therefore, a text that has many points of interest and should deserve a closer examination than it has received so far, in order to address the discussion, necessarily thoughtful and far-reaching, about the numerous sources consulted by 8 See Paola Barocchi, ‘Indice analitico del commento alla lettera dell’Adriani’, In: Vasari- Bettarini/Barocchi, I (Commento), 386-415. The text of the Lettera is easily accessible in Vasari- Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 176-227, from which I shall quote by simply referring to the page. 9 See Alessandro Allori, Ragionamento delle regole del disegno, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze, ms. Palatino E. B. 16. 4: the first draft dates to 1565; see Eliana Carrara, ‘La nascita dell’Accademia del Disegno di Firenze: il ruolo di Borghini, Torelli e Vasari’, In: Les académies dans l’Europe humaniste. Idéaux et pratiques, Marc Deramaix, Perrine Galand-Hallyn, Ginette Vagenheim and Jean Vignes, eds, Genève 2008, 141-42, with references to previous bibliography. 10 See Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 31-172; and Eliana Carrara, ‘Doni, Vasari, Borghini e la tecnica del mosaico’, In: Fra lo “spedale” e il principe. Vincenzio Borghini. Filologia e invenzione nella Firenze di Cosimo I, Gustavo Bertoli and Riccardo Drusi, eds, Padova: Il Poligrafo, 2005, 83-4. 11 See the overview presented by Dietrich Erben, ‘Die Reiterdenkmäler der Medici in Florenz und ihre politische Bedeutung’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, XL, 1996, 287-361. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 4 the historian of the Medici and their consolidation into a dense synthesis, documenting knowledge of the fine arts of Antiquity in the second half of the sixteenth century in Florence. A newly discovered manuscript, almost complete, facilitates a more thorough exegesis of the Lettera (Fig. 1).12 In the course of a wider survey of Vasari’s manuscripts,13 I was able to retrieve a copy of the work that I think was written by Adriani’s own hand, with significant autograph corrections and interventions. Figure 1 Giovanni Battista Adriani, The manuscript of Lettera a messer Giorgio Vasari, Isola Bella, Archivio Borromeo, ms. AD, LM, Adriani, G. B ., f. 1r (photo by Archivio Borromeo, with permission). 12 See Eliana Carrara, ‘Giovanni Battista Adriani e la stesura della seconda edizione delle Vite: il manoscritto inedito della Lettera a messer Giorgio Vasari’, in print (Pisa, Scuola Normale Superiore). 13 See Eliana Carrara, ‘Giorgio Vasari’, In: Autografi dei letterati italiani. Il Cinquecento, I, Matteo Motolese, Paolo Procaccioli and Emilio Russo, eds., with paleographic revision by Antonio Ciaralli, Roma: Salerno, 2009, 359-372. My thanks, again and wholeheartedly, to Emilio Russo and Antonio Ciaralli for their helpful suggestions. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 5 I am convinced by comparing the handwriting in letters signed by the learned Florentine man, both when young—like a letter to Piero Vettori of 17 January 1543,14 and when old — the text is dated September 14, 1574 and this time is addressed to Vincenzio Borghini - (Figs. 2-3).15 Figure 2 Giovanni Battista, Letter to Piero Vettori , London, British Library, ms. Additional 10268, f. 62r (phot o by BL, with permission). 14 London, British Library, ms. Additional 10268, f. 62r: see Donato Giannotti, Lettere a Piero Vettori, Roberto Ridolfi and Cecil Roth, eds, Firenze: Vallecchi, 1932, 170. The document (unpublished as far as my knowledge) is reported and illustrated in Carrara, Giovanni Battista Adriani. Another letter of young Adriani to Vettori, sent ‘di Firenze il primo di giugno 1537’ (from Florence, June 1th, 1537), is kept in London, British Library, ms. Additional 10273, f. 305r-v: see Salvatore Lo Re, Politica e cultura nella Firenze cosimiana. Studi su Benedetto Varchi, Manziana (Rm): Vecchiarelli, 2008, 175-76. 15 Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale (henceforth cited as: BNCF), ms. Magliabechiano XXV 551, f. 160r-v: the letter, unedited, is mentioned in: Vincenzio Borghini. Filologia e invenzione nella Firenze di Cosimo I, Gino Belloni and Riccardo Drusi, eds, Firenze: Olschki, 2002, 27 (entry ‘2.4.’ by Eliana Carrara); see also Vincenzio Borghini. Carteggio 1541-1580. Censimento, Daniela Francalanci and Franca Pellegrini, eds., Firenze: Accademia della Crusca, 1993, 176 nr. 1519; and also other autograph letters addressed by Adriani to Borghini are mentioned: 31 nrr. 241-242, 38 nr. 300, 165 nr. 1337, 182 nr. 1570, 184 nr. 1592, 189 nrr. 1634 and 1637. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 6 Figure 3 Giovanni Battista Adriani, Letter to Vincenzio Borghini , Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, ms. Magliabechiano XXV 551, f. 160r (photo by BN CF, with permission). Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 7 No less persuasive is then the comparison with the draft of the sonnet La ben faconda, e più verace storia accompanied by the signature in full of its author ‘Giovanbatista Adriani Marcellino’ (Fig. 4).16 Just as good is the comparison with the final version contained in the manuscript Palatino 1154 (Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale) of the Oratio Iohannis Baptistae Adrianii habita Florentiae in sacris funeribus Caroli Quinti, printed by Lorenzo Torrentino in 1558 (and again in 1562) (Fig. 5).17 Figure 4 G. B. Adriani, La ben faconda, e più verace storia , sonnet to Benedetto Varchi, Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, ms. Banco Rari 63, f. 17r (photo by BNCF, with permission). 16 BNCF, ms. Banco Rari 63, f. 17r; the poem is published in Sonetti spirituali di M. Benedetto Varchi. Con alcune risposte, et proposte di diversi eccellentissi mi ingegni, in Fiorenza: nella stamperia de’ Giunti, 1573, 125. For the surname ‘Marcellino’ used to indicate the direct descent of Giovanni Battista by Marcello Virgilio Adriani (1464-1521), Chancellor of the Florentine Republic and learned scholar, see Giorgio Bartoli, Lettere a Lorenzo Giacomini, Anna Siekiera, ed, Firenze: Accademia della Crusca, 1997, 291. 17 BNCF, ms. Palatino 1154, ff. 4r-9v; the manuscript contains, in addition to the rough draft of the work (ff. 1r-3v), other Orazioni e Lezioni Accademiche of the Florentine historian: see Ministero della Pubblica Istruzione, Indici e Cataloghi. IV. I Manoscritti Palatini della Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze. Vol. III, Fasc. 4, Anna Saitta Revignas, ed, Roma: Istituto Poligrafico dello Stato, 1955, 298- 300. The funeral oration, held by Adriani on December 9, 1558, should have been originally pronounced by Benedetto Varchi: see Maria Fubini Leuzzi, ‘L’oratoria funeraria nel Cinquecento. Le composizioni di Benedetto Varchi nei loro aspetti culturali e politici’, Rivista Storica Italiana, CXVIII, 2006, 384 (and, with the title Le orazioni funebri di Benedetto Varchi nella loro cornice storica, politica e letteraria, also in Benedetto Varchi (1503-1565). Atti del Convegno (Firenze 2003), Vanni Bramanti, ed, Roma: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 2007, 219-20). Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 8 Figure 5 Giovanni Battista Adriani, Oratio Iohannis Baptistae Adrianii habita Florentiae in sacris funeribus Caroli Quinti , incipit, Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, ms. Palatino 1154, f. 4r (photo by BNCF, with permission). And a further confirmation comes from the autograph signature by Adriani on May 23th 1566, in his role as ‘censor’ of the Accademia Fiorentina, to ratify the Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 9 readmission of Agnolo Bronzino into that illustrious literary institution for poetic merit (Fig. 6).18 Figure 6 Giovanni Battista Adriani and Leonardo Salviati, Autograph signing, Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, ms. II IX 10 ( Delle rime del Bronzino pittore libro primo ), f. 109v (photo taken from: Bronzino. Pittore e poeta alla corte dei Medici , Carlo Falciani and Antonio Natali, eds, Firenze: Mandragora, 2010, 178, fig. 67). 18 The document present at f. 109v of the ms. II IX 10 of the BNCF (Delle rime del Bronzino pittore libro primo), is edited by Giuliano Tanturli, ‘Formazione d’un codice e d’un canzoniere: «Delle rime del Bronzino pittore libro primo»’, Studi di filologia italiana, LXII, 2004, 196-197 footnote 9, and illustrated in Massimiliano Rossi, ‘«… quella naturalità e fiorentinità (per dir così)». Bronzino: lingua, carne e pittura’, In: Bronzino. Pittore e poeta alla corte dei Medici, Carlo Falciani and Antonio Natali, eds, Firenze: Mandragora, 2010, 178 fig. 67. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 10 The manuscript is now divided into two fragments consisting of respectively 18 and 20 folios, bringing the top, right, a later numbering in pen and continuous from 1 to 40, with one gap between f. 18v (white as its recto) and f. 21r.19 Figure 7 Giovanni Battista Adriani, The manuscri pt of Lettera a messer Giorgio Vasari, Isola Bella, Archivio Borromeo, ms. AD, LM, Adriani, G. B ., f. 17v (photo by Archivio Borromeo, with permission). The text, which has the same form as the printed letter,20 without discontinuity or large changes comes to f. 17v (Fig. 7), when it stops abruptly after a 19 The manuscript is kept in the Archivio Borromeo, Isola Bella, Stresa (Italy), with the shelfmark AD, LM, Adriani, G. B. (henceforth cited as: Adriani, ABIB, followed by folio number). The folios have the following measurements: mm. 300 x 215. These watermarks are recognizable: Briquet 6085 at ff. 1-16; Briquet 5377 at ff. 17-18; Briquet 7387 at ff. 21-40. As Dr Alessandro Pisoni, keeper of the Archivio, confirms to me that the ms. was acquired by Count Giberto VI Borromeo (1815- 1885), the refined bibliophile: see Carlo Alessandro Pisoni, ‘“À céléberrime bibliophile conte Gilberto Borroméo …”’, In: Capolavori da scoprire. La collezione Borromeo, Mauro Natale and Andrea Di Lorenzo, eds, Milano: Skira, 2006, 221-231, ‘Giberto V’, as quoted in Eliana Carrara, ‘Alcune lettere inedite di Giorgio Vasari’, L’Ellisse, V, 2010, 69 footnote 30, is therefore not correct. 20 Adriani, ABIB, f. 1r: ‘Io ho dubitato alcuna volta meco medesimo messer Giorgio carissimo se quello di che voi et il molto reverendo don Vincenzio Borghini mi havete più volte ricerco si deveva mettere in opera o no, cioè il raccorre et brevemente raccontare coloro che nella pittura et nella scultura, et in arti simiglianti alli antichi tempi furono celebrati, de’ quali il numero è grandissimo, et a che tempo essi feciono fiorire l’arti loro, e delle opere di quelli le più onorate e le più famose, cosa che in sé ha del piacevole assai, ma che più si converrebbe a coloro che in cotali arti fussero [as replacement of ‘fusseno’] esercitati o come pratichi ne potessero più propriamente parlare [‘più ... parlare’ in interline instead of ‘dare miglior giudizio di me’ crossed out]’. See Vasari- Bettarini/Barocchi, I, p. 179. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 11 few lines, with the narrative that has as its subject the looting of art works made by the Romans in the conquered territories, leaving blank the rest of the folio.21 At f. 21r the draft begins with a list of the works of a Greek painter,22 whose name is not testified because of the gap above-described, and the text follows continuously up to f. 23r, when a couple of lines clearly crossed out are a sign of a decided intervention by the author, also attested to by a very visible reference mark in the left margin (Fig. 8).23 The narrative, in fact, picks up where it left off at f. 17v, with a partial rewriting, in order to reach, except for forms of greeting and farewell seen in Giunti’s edition, the end of the printed text.24 21 Adriani, ABIB, f. 17v: ‘[...] figure di bronzo e di marmo, delle quali a Roma ne fu portato dal mondo, et in Roma sì gran numero, che si credeva che vi fossero più statue che huomini; dell’arte delle quali e de’ maestri più nobili d’esse è tempo homai, come habbiamo fatto delle pitture e de’ pittori, che alcune cose ne diciamo, quello che intanto troviamo scritto da altro, che volendo ogni cosa raccontare sarebbe cosa troppo lunga, e più di noia che di diletto’. See Vasari- Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 204 (lines 22-7). On this folio there are two later notations and by an other hand than Adriani; on the same line, where Adriani’s text ends, is noted: ‘Vedi fogli seguenti alla chiamata [a conspicuous reference mark follows]’; in the left margin, a nineteenth-century hand (which I have not been able to identify until now) writes: ‘Seguita lo stampato: “quanto però pare che al nostro proponimento si convenga. E perocché egli pare che il ritrarre etc. etc.”’. 22 Adriani, ABIB, f. 21r: ‘[…] un che si soffiava il naso, et il medesimo dipinse Oreste che uccideva la madre et Egisto adultero, et in più tavole la guerra troiana, la quale era in Roma, nella loggia di Filippo, et una Cassandra nel tempio della Concordia». See Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 201 (lines 29-32). In the printed text the noun ‘Teodoro’ is mentioned, as in the Selva of Vincenzio Borghini, while the modern editions read ‘Theorus’ instead: see Pline l’Ancien, Histoire naturelle. Livre XXXV, Jean-Michel Croisille, ed, Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1985, chapter 144; Eliana Carrara, ‘Vasari e Borghini sul ritratto. Gli appunti pliniani della Selva di notizie (ms. K 783.16 del Kunsthistorisches Institut di Firenze)’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, 44, 2000, 256 and footnote 135. 23 Adriani, ABIB, f. 23r: ‘E come questo advenne nelle cose dipinte, così e molto più nelle [follows crossed out: ‘figure di bro’] statue di bronzo e di marmo, delle quali a Roma ne fu portato d’altronde, et ve ne fu [‘ve ne fu’ in interline instead of ‘quivi’ crossed out] fatto sì gran numero, che si teneva per certo [‘per certo’ written in interline] che vi fusse più statue che huomini; delle arte delle quali e de’ maestri più nobili d’esse è tempo homai, come habbiamo fatto de’ pittori e delle pitture, così anco alcune cose ne diciamo [the above mentioned crossed out lines follow], e quanto pare che si convenga al nostro proponimento’. See Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, 204 (lines 21-7). See also above footnote 21. 24 Adriani, ABIB, f. 40r-v: ‘Havevano le greche statue et le romane differenza infra di loro assai chiara, che le greche per lo più erano secondo l’usanza delle palestre igniude, dove i giovani alla lotta et ad [‘ad’ written in interline] altri giuochi si esercitavano igniudi, che in quelli ponevano il sommo honore. Le romane si facevano coperte o d’armadura [corrected in interline above ‘arme’] o di toga, habito [‘propriam’ crossed out follows] spezialmente romano, il quale honore, come noi dicemo poco fa [f. 40v] dava primieramente il comune; poi, cominciando l’ambitione a crescere, fu dato anco da privati e da comuni forestieri a questo e quel cittadino, o per benefizio ricevuto da lui o per haverlo amico, e massimamente lo facevano i minori amici ai più potenti, di maniera che in brieve spazio le piazze, i templi [‘i templi’ replaced in interline above ‘le chiese’ crossed out] e le loggie ne furono tutte ripiene’. See Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 225-226 (lines 1-10). Adriani’s source is Pliny, Naturalis historia, Book XXXIV, Chapters 17-18. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 12 Figure 8 Giovanni Battista Adriani, The manuscript of Lettera a messer Giorgio Vasari, Isola Bella, Archivio Borromeo, ms. AD, LM, Adriani, G. B ., f. 23r (photo by Archivio Borromeo, with permission). That the folios of the Archivio Borromeo constitute the first draft of Adriani’s Lettera is confirmed by the state of the incomplete sketch of some parts, where precise references to years of activity of one or more artists are lacking or of the accomplishment of a work, generically remembered with the mention of the ancient Olympics then in progress, on the basis of the Plinian text.25 25 Adriani, ABIB, f. 33r: ‘Dicesi [located on the left margin, with a reference mark, to replace ‘e si dice’ crossed out in the body of the text] che i primi maestri di questa arte di cui ci sia memoria Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 13 Figure 9 Giovanni Battista Adriani, The manuscript of Lettera a messer Giorgio Vasari, Isola Bella, Archivio Borromeo, ms. AD, LM, Adriani, G. B ., f. 5v (photo by Archivio Borromeo, with permission). A clear demonstration is present at f. 5v (Fig. 9), where the name is quoted of ‘Polignotus of Thasus, the first to paint women with clothes of bright and beautiful colours, and adorn their heads with various ornaments and of the new fashions, and this was around the years ... . Thanks to him, painting rose in importance. He first furono Dipeno e Scilo, che nacquero nell'isola di Creti al tempo che i Persi regnavano, che secondo il corso degli anni de’ Greci viene a essere intorno a l’olimpiade cinquantesima inanzi alla fondazione di Roma anni [...]’. See Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 216-217 (lines 39-40 and 1-3), where the date is now completed: ‘intorno alla olimpiade cinquantesima, cioè dopo alla fondazione di Roma anni 137’. The corresponding passage is to be found in the book XXXVI, chapter 9 of Pliny’s Naturalis historia. And see also f. 36v, that is to be compared with Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 221 (lines 16-17) and with Chapter 30 of Book XXXVI of Pliny’s Naturalis historia. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 14 made his figures open their mouth, and show teeth, and made the faces look more alive and more gentle than the old coarseness.26 The passage in question was integrated and corrected as follows in the Giunti edition: ‘Polignotus of Thasus, the first one who painted women with clothes of bright and beautiful colours, and adorned their heads with various ornaments and of the new fashions, and this was around 330 years after Rome was built. Thanks to him, painting rose in importance. He first made his figures open their mouth, and show teeth, and made the faces look more alive and more gentle than the old coarseness’.27 Along with this passage from the Lettera, which echoes Pliny exactly,28 one can mention another point in the same folio of the manuscript, where Adriani recalls the ‘excellence of the art [i.e. painting], to which the Athenian Apollodorus brought much clarity... [on the left margin ‘Olimp. 93’], who first began to create beautiful figures in this art and obtained very great glory’.29 Also in this case, the time reference, inserted in the manuscript’s margin according to the Olympic cronology, is transformed in the 1568 edition in a dating ab Urbe condita: ‘around the year 345 after Rome was built’.30 An example of a broader integration made by the Florentine historian into his draft is demonstrated by the narration of Myron’s celebrated activity ‘for that beautiful heifer that he made of bronze, which was much praised in famous verses. He also painted a dog of great beauty and a man who threw the discus into the air, and a satyr who appeared to be surprised by the bagpipe’s sound […].31 A long 26 Adriani, ABIB, f. 5v: ‘Polignoto da Taso, il primo che dipingessi le donne con veste lucenti e di belli colori, ed i capi di quelle con ornamenti varii e di nuove [‘di’ replaces a two-syllable word beginning with vowel (reason why Adriani uses the conjunction copulative ‘ed’, here amended in ‘e’), while ‘nuove’ replaces in interline ‘belle’] maniere adornò; e ciò fu intorno agli anni … [on the left margin ‘Olimp. 90’]. Per costui fu la pittura molto innalzata. Egli primo mostrò nelle sue figure aprire la bocca, scoprire i denti, e i volti da quella antica rozzezza [‘rozzezza’ in interline (preceded by ‘e’, here expunged) to replace ‘durezza’ crossed out] fece parere più arrendevoli [‘arrendevoli’ in interline to replace ‘humani’] e più vivi. 27 I quote directly to be more faithful to the sixteenth-century text from Delle Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori scultori et architettori scritte da M. Giorgio Vasari pittore et architetto aretino. Secondo et ultimo volume della terza parte […]. Et con una Descrizione degl’artefici antichi, greci et latini, et delle più notabili memorie di quella età […], in Fiorenza, appresso i Giunti, 1568, f. a3v: ‘Polignoto da Taso, il primo che dipinse le donne con veste lucenti e di begli colori, et i capi di quelle con ornamenti varii e di nuove maniere adornò; e ciò fu intorno a gli anni 330 dopo Roma edificata: per costui fu la pittura molto inalzata. Egli primo nelle figure humane mostrò aprir la bocca, scoprire i denti, et i volti da quella antica rozzezza fece parere più arrendevoli e più vivi’. See Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 185 (lines 11- 17). 28 See Pliny, Naturalis historia, XXXV, 58. 29 Adriani, ABIB, f. 5v: ‘eccellenza della arte, alla quale arrecò gran chiarezza Apollodoro atheniese …, il quale primo cominciò a dar fuora figure bellissime et arrecò a questa arte gloria grandissima’. 30 Delle Vite, f. a3v: ‘intorno a l’anno 345 da Roma edificata’; see Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 185 (lines 36-39); the source is Pliny, Naturalis historia, XXXV, 60. 31 Adriani, ABIB, f. 26v: ‘per quella bella giovenca che egli fece [‘che egli fece’ inserted in the interline] di bronzo, la quale fu in versi lodati molto commendata. Fece anco un cane di meravigliosa bellezza et uno che scagliava in aria il disco, et un satiro il quale pareva che stupisse al suono della sampogna. See Delle Vite, f. d1r: ‘[…] per quella bella giovenca che egli formò di bronzo, Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 15 annotation appears on the left margin, taken from Cicero’s Verrines (2.4.93), which was not accepted in the Giunti edition: ‘At Agrigento in Sicily there was an Apollo, that had written on its thigh with letters inlaid in silver the name of its maker, a statue that was stolen by Verres’ (Fig. 10).32 Figure 10 Giovanni Battista Adriani, The manuscript of Lettera a messer Giorgio Vasari, Isola Bella, Archivio Borromeo, ms. AD, LM, Adriani, G. B ., f. 26v (photo by Archivio Borromeo, with permission). la quale fu in versi lodati molto commendata. Fece anco un cane di meravigliosa bellezza, et uno giovane che scagliava in aria il disco, et un satiro, il quale pareva che stupisse al suono della sampogna […]’; Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 208 (lines 27-31); the source is again Pliny, Naturalis historia, XXXV, 57. 32 Adriani, ABIB, f. 26v: ‘In Cicilia a Gergento era anco uno Apolline che haveva scritto in una coscia a lettere d’argento comesso il nome dello artefice, la qual figura fu rubata da Verre’. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 16 At f. 39r, still on the left margin, a note is present that was then inserted in the text of the edition that appeared in 156833 relating to the dispersal of ancient statues in the Byzantine period: ‘[…] in the time of the emperor Zeno in a very large fire, which destroyed the finest and the best part of Constantinople, many [i.e. statues] were ruined, among which was that beautiful Aphrodite of Cnidus by Praxiteles, of which we made mention above, and that wonderful Jupiter by Phidias, which was at Olympia, and many other noble statues in marble and bronze’ (Fig. 11 at end of text).34 At f. 39v (Fig. 12 at end of text)35 we find a broad range of corrections related to the passage where the presence is mentioned, already in Republican Rome, of statues in honour of outstanding personalities: ‘Also Hermodorus had a statue in his 33 Adriani, ABIB, f. 39r: ‘[…] al tempo di Zenone imperatore per un grandissimo incendio, che [‘gran’ crossed out follows] disfece la più bella e la miglior parte di Costantinopoli, molte ne [‘molte ne’ inserted in interline] furono guaste, fra le quali fu [a letter crossed out follows] quella bella Venere Gnidia di Prassitele, di cui di sopra facemo menzione, e quel Giove miracoloso di Fidia che era ad Olimpia [‘e quel Giove miracoloso di Fidia che era ad Olimpia’ inserted in margin], e molte altre nobili di marmo e di bronzo’; see Delle Vite, f. e3r: ‘[…] al tempo di Zenone imperatore per un grandissimo incendio, il quale disfece la più bella e la miglior parte di Gostantinopoli, molte [that is statues] ne furono guaste, infra le quali fu quella bella Venere da Gnido di Prassitele, di cui di sopra facemo mentione, e quel meraviglioso Giove Olimpico fatto per mano di Fidia, e molte altre nobili di marmo e di bronzo’; see Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 224 (lines 18-23). The Phidian sculpture probably was lost in the fire that, in 475, destroyed the Lauseion in Constantinople, where it had been brought along with other classical works: see Robin Cormack, Icons, London: The British Museum Press, 2007, 27. For the collection of antiquities set up in his palace by Lausus, a rich eunuch and ‘praepositus sacri cubiculi’ (in charge of the sacred bedroom) see: Cyril Mango, Michael Vickers and Eric D. Francis, ‘The palace of Lausus at Costantinople and its collection of ancient statues, Journal of the History of Collections, IV/1, 1992, 93-95. 34 According to information provided by Frey (see Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori scritte da M. Giorgio Vasari, Karl Frey, ed, München: Müller, 1911, 312 footnote 262), the source is to be found in Georgius Cedrenus’ Σύνοψις ἱστορίων, printed in Basel in 1566 in a bilingual version (Greek and Latin), with rich indexes and chronological tables: Georgii Cedreni Annales, sive Historiae ab exordio mundi ad Isacium Comnenum […], Basileae, per Ioan. Oporinum et Episcopios fratres, 1566, 265 lines 12-13, and 288-289 (lines 57-60 and 3-9). About the author, who lived in Constantinople in the late eleventh and early twelfth century, see Riccardo Maisano, ‘Note su Giorgio Cedreno e la tradizione storiografica bizantina’, Rivista di Studi Bizantini e Slavi, III, 1983, 227-248; for the Basel edition see Agostino Pertusi, Bisanzio e i Turchi nella cultura del Rinascimento e del Barocco. Tre saggi, Carlo Maria Mazzucchi, ed, Milano: Vita e Pensiero, 2004, 55-56. 35 Adriani, ABIB, f. 39v : ‘Hebbevela [‘la’ inserted in interline’] ancora [‘ra’ inserted in interline. ‘La statua’ crossed out follows] quello Hermodoro savio da Efeso, il quale, a quei X cittadini romani che compilavano le romane [‘romane’ inserted in interline to replace ‘leggi’ crossed out], le greche leggi interpretava. E quello Oratio Coclite, il qual solo sopra il ponte haveva l’impeto de’ Toscani sostenuto. Vedevansene inoltre molte altre antiche poste dal popolo o dal Senato ai lor cittadini, e massimamente a coloro i quali, essendo ambasciatori, erano stati da’ nimici uccisi, come alcuni che da [‘Fidenati’ crossed out follows. Adriani’s correction seems to originate from having compared the narration of Pliny’s, Naturalis historia, XXXIV, 23-24, which is the entire passage’s source, with Livy’s History of Rome, IV, 17, where Lars Tolumnius, King of the Veientes, is quoted] il re de’[‘d’ crossed out follows ] Veienti, a Fidene [‘Il re … Fidene’ inserted in the left margin, with reference mark in the text], furono uccisi, et altri da Teusa, regina di Schiavonia, e quello Ottavio che, rinchiudendo il re Antiocho in breve cerchio fattoli intorno nella polvere con una verga, e che domandava spazio, costrinse a risolversi avanti che quindi uscisse, il quale, essendo poi dagli inimici ucciso, meritò per questo conto d’havere in ringhiera una statua’. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 17 honour, the wise man of Ephesus, who translated the Greek laws to the ten Roman citizens who were writing the Roman ones. And also the Horatius Cocles, who alone on the bridge [i.e. Pons Sublicius] had resisted the attack of the Etruscans. There were also many other ancient statues erected by the people or by the Senate to their citizens, and especially to those who, being ambassadors, were killed by enemies, like some who were killed by the king of Veientes, in Fidenae, and others by Teusa,36 Queen of Slavonia, and the Octavius who, having locked King Antiochus in a tight circle made around him in the dust with a stick, while he was asking for space, forced him to make his choice before he could come out, who, being then killed by the enemy, deserved for this reason to have a statue on the Rostra’.37 As evidenced by a note of a nineteenth-century hand,38 the second part of the passage (from ‘come alcuni’ to ‘una statua’) is not present in the Giunti edition, which thus gives no account of the names mentioned by Adriani among ‘ambasciatori […] da’ nimici uccisi’.39 Every exegesis of the Letter should in the future, I think, start from this manuscript, which testifies to corrections and variations made by Adriani himself, and certifies to the collaboration with Vasari. Documenting the drafting of the Lettera, with changes, variations and additions made by Adriani to his own text, as well as the editorial curation which took place in the Giunti workshop,40 is also a useful way to approach, with proper respect, the large corpus of the Vite. It is important to examine, without prejudice and preconception, Vasari’s extraordinary work, and his personal involvement as a writer41 to create one of the masterpieces of Italian Renaissance literature. 36 Already Ermolaus Barbaro (1454-1493), based on Polibio (2, 4, 7; 2, 6, 4 ff.; 2, 8, 4 ff.; 2, 9, 1; 2, 11, 4 ff.; 2, 12, 3) had doubts (‘non Teusam’ about the name transmitted by the manuscripts of Naturalis historia, corrected in ‘Teuta’ in modern editions: see Hermolai Barbari castigationes Plinianae et in Pomponium Melam, Giovanni Pozzi, ed, 4 vols, Patavii: in aedibus Antenoreis, 1973-1979, III, 1090; Pline l’Ancien, Histoire naturelle. Livre XXXIV, Henry Le Bonniec and Hubert Gallet de Santerre, eds, Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1953, 116. 37 For the presence of statues on the Rostra of the Roman Forum and in the Comitium see Markus Sehlmeyer, Stadtrömische Ehrenstatuen der republikanischen Zeit. Historizität und Kontext von Symbolen nobilitären Standesbewusstseins, Stuttgart: Steiner, 1999, 63-88 and 103-109. 38 On the left margin, pointed out by a ‘manicula’ (a reference mark in the shape of a little hand): ‘Tutto questo luogo fra le due linee verticali manca nello stampato’. 39 See Delle Vite, f. e3v; Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, I, 225 (lines 13-19). 40 Roland Le Mollé, Georges Vasari et le vocabulaire de la critique d’art dans les “Vite”, Grenoble: Ellug 1988, 209-235 emphasizes the importance of the corrections made to the Vasari’s text in the Giunti’s typography. On the editorial work see Paolo Trovato, L’ordine dei tipografi. Lettori, stampatori, correttori tra Quattro e Cinquecento, Roma: Bulzoni, 1998, 175-195; Brian Richardson, Print Culture in Renaissance Italy. The editor and the vernacular text, 1470-1600, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994, 127-139 and 155-181 for what concerns the sixteenth-century Florence. 41 Faced with the thesis, dear to some Anglo-Saxon scholars (see Thomas Frangenberg, ‘Bartoli, Giambullari and the prefaces to Vasari’s Lives (1550)’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, LXV, 2002, 244-258; Charles Hope, ‘The Lives of the Trecento Artists in Vasari’s First Edition’, In: Le Vite del Vasari. Genesi, topoi, ricezione. Die Vite Vasaris. Entstehung, Topoi, Rezeption, Katja Burzer, Charles Davis, Sabine Feser, and Alessandro Nova, eds, Venezia: Marsilio, 2010, 33 and footnote 1, with reference to previous bibliography), of Vasari non-author (or author only formally) of the Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 18 There is, in conclusion, a more and more urgent need for a study devoted to Vasari’s language, after the research undertaken by Nencioni,42 and not continued by the most recent historiography, although certainly there are — and indeed new ones emerge — autograph documents of the painter of the Medici court.43 Vite, I fully agree with the objections raised by Mario Pozzi, Enrico Mattioda, Giorgio Vasari storico e critico, Firenze: Olschki, 2006, 22 and footnote 45; Floriana Conte, Cronache vasariane per il XXI secolo: rotte di inchiesta, Torino: Lexis 2010, 10-15; Piero Scapecchi, ‘Chi scrisse le Vite del Vasari. Riflessioni sulla editio princeps del 1550, Letteratura & Arte, 9, 2011, 153-159, to reaffirm what I have already stated in Eliana Carrara, ‘Spigolature vasariane. Per un riesame delle “Vite” e della loro fortuna nella Roma di primo Seicento’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, in press. Are still valid the cautious comments made by Gianfranco Folena, Il linguaggio del caos. Studi sul plurilinguismo rinascimentale, Torino: Bollati Boringhieri, 1991, 261 footnote 10, about the letters written by Titian: ‘Tiziano si è certo servito di varie consulenze letterarie, e quelle dell’Aretino e del Verdizzotti sono a tratti evidenti: ma tutte le lettere da lui firmate vanno considerate “autentiche”, seppure in parte o in toto frutto di una mediazione letteraria [...]’. 42 Giovanni Nencioni, ‘Premesse all’analisi stilistica del Vasari’, Lingua nostra, XV/2, 1954, 33-40. And see also, and even further back in time, the ‘Parte seconda. Esame stilistico dell’opera vasariana’ of the still useful monograph by Ugo Scoti-Bertinelli, Giorgio Vasari scrittore, Pisa: Lischi, 1905, 155-223. Vasari, in the Torrentino edition (1550), had made a profession of humility, but also of conscious pride in his own expressive capacity, in the ‘Conclusione della opera a gli artefici et a’ lettori’ (‘Work’s final observations addressed to craftsmen and to readers’): ‘[...] io ho scritto come pittore, e nella lingua che io parlo, senza altrimenti considerare se ella si è fiorentina o toscana, e se molti vocaboli delle nostre arti, seminati per tutta l’opera, possono usarsi sicuramente, t i r a n d o m i a s e r v i r m i d i l o r o i l b i s o g n o d i e s s e r e i n t e s o d a ’ m i e i a r t e f i c i più che la voglia di esser lodato. Molto meno ho curato ancora l’ordine comune della ortografia, senza cercare altrimenti se la Z è da più che il T, o se si puote scriver senza H, perché; rimessomene da principio in persona giudiziosa e degna di onore, come a cosa amata da me e che mi ama singularmente, le diedi in cura tutta questa opera, con libertà e piena et intera di guidarla a suo piacimento, pur che i sensi non si alterassino et il contenuto delle parole, ancora che forse male intessuto, non si mutasse’; see Vasari-Bettarini/Barocchi, VI, 412. As noted by Pozzi, Mattioda, Giorgio Vasari, 5 footnote 12, the passage (from ‘tuscan’ onward) has this version only in the first edition of the Vite, then it changes radically in that of 1568 (where even the mention of the ‘judicious person and worthy of honour’ vanishes, who is to be identified, in my opinion, with Borghini: see Carrara, Spigolature); see Vasari, Lives of the painters, II, 1065-1067. The value and originality of Vasari’s language was also well recognized by Michael Baxandall, ‘Doing justice to Vasari’, Times Literary Supplement, 1980, February 1, 111: ‘1550 was a benign moment for the biggest critical catch of all, but i t w a s V a s a r i w h o m a d e i t ’ and by Philip Sohm,’Ordering history with style: Giorgio Vasari on the art of history’, in: Antiquity and its interpreters, Alina Payne, Ann Kuttner and Rebekah Smick, eds, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000, 46-49. An important work on this topic by Paola Barocchi is in the course of completion. 43 Carrara, Alcune lettere inedite. Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 19 Figure 11 Giovanni Battista Adriani, The manuscript of Lettera a messer Giorgio Va sari, Isola Bella, Archivio Borromeo, ms. AD, LM, Adriani, G. B ., f. 39r (photo by Archivio Borromeo, with permission). Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 20 Figure 12 Giovanni Battista Adriani, The manuscript of Lettera a messer Giorgio Vasari, Isola Bella, Archivio Borromeo, ms. AD, LM, Adriani, G. B ., f. 39v (photo by Archivio Borromeo, with permission). Eliana Carrara Giovanni Battista Adriani and the drafting of the second edition of the Vite 21 In 1984 Eliana Carrara was admitted to the Faculty of Arts and Philosophy of the Scuola Normale Superiore in Pisa, where she obtained a PhD in the History of Art Criticism (Supervisor Paola Barocchi). In 1998 she received a scholarship from the National Research Council (sector “Science and Technology of Cultural Heritage”) to study abroad at the Warburg Institute in London. From 1 February 2005 she is a researcher in the History of Art Criticism. She is now working on Vasari’s texts and his cultural milieu in the Medici court: Eliana Carrara, ‘Pliny and the Art of the Ancients and the Moderns. Reading the Naturalis Historia (Books XXXIV-XXXVI) in Florence in the Sixteenth Century (the Anonimo Magliabechiano to Vasari’s Lives)’, in: De l’autorité à la référence. Les repères textuels à la Renaissance, Isabelle Diu and Raphäele Mouren, eds, in print). Eliana Carrara Researcher in Storia della critica d’arte (History of Art Criticism) Università degli Studi del Molise Facoltà di Scienze Umane e Sociali Via Mazzini 8 86170 Isernia Italy eliana.carrara@unimol.it 
work_be3khgmimzemfb2c64aluqvryi	----	Microsoft Word - BB et al - revised.doc 1 Archaeometric characterization of 17th century tin-glazed Anabaptist (Hutterite) 1 faience artefacts from North-East-Hungary 2 3 Bernadett Bajnóczia1, Géza Nagya, Mária Tótha, István Ringerb, Anna Ridovicsc 4 5 aInstitute for Geological and Geochemical Research, Research Centre for Astronomy and 6 Earth Sciences, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, H-1112 Budaörsi út 45., Budapest, Hungary 7 bRákóczi Museum of the Hungarian National Museum, H-3950 Szent Erzsébet u. 19., 8 Sárospatak, Hungary 9 cHungarian National Museum, H-1088 Múzeum krt. 14-16., Budapest, Hungary 10 11 12 Abstract 13 The paper presents the first results of a long-term project aiming to reconstruct the production 14 technology of the Anabaptist (Hutterite) tin-glazed ceramics produced in Eastern-Central 15 Europe. Microanalytical investigations were performed on 17th-century faience artefacts (six 16 samples) excavated at Sárospatak, North-East-Hungary. The results are compared with 17 analytical data on the direct or indirect precursor, Italian maiolica. 18 The studied Hutterite faience artefacts reveal similarities with the Italian maiolica. 19 Calcareous clay with 14 to 22 wt% CaO was used for the buff-coloured ceramic body. Up to 20 about 400 µm thick, tin-opacified white and blue lead-alkali glaze was applied on the biscuit-21 fired body. The glaze suspension contained sand admixture and a significant amount of 22 common salt and was not fritted before application. The colorants used for the ceramic 23 colours are lead antimonate for yellow, cobalt with arsenic, nickel and iron for blue, copper 24 for green and manganese with minor iron for black. The ceramic colours were applied on the 25 unfired glaze and maturing occurred during the second firing. The main technological 26 difference when compared with the Italian Renaissance maiolica is the deliberate use of a 27 high amount of tin oxide (17 to 20 wt% SnO2) together with 18 to 28 wt% PbO content for 28 white glaze of the studied Hutterite faience. 29 30 Keyword: Eastern-Central Europe, Anabaptist, Hutterite, faience, maiolica, tin glaze 31 32 1 Corresponding author. Tel/fax: +36 1 319-3137, E-mail address: bajnoczi.bernadett@csfk.mta.hu, bajnoczi@geochem.hu 2 1 1. Introduction 2 Production of tin-glazed earthenware (faience) in Eastern-Central Europe was mainly 3 propagated by the Anabaptists in the 16th to 17th centuries. The name “Anabaptist” refers to 4 the third branch of the Reformation (Szebeni, 1998). Anabaptist movement started in the 5 1520s in Switzerland and quickly diffused to the nearby region of South Germany and the 6 Tyrol. The movement was not united, taking a number of directions with differing viewpoints 7 and degrees of radicalism. The main feature of their religious doctrines, confessional adult 8 baptism and free church organisation resulted in their being from the beginning hunted, 9 executed and forced to leave their homelands. In Eastern-Central Europe the German-10 speaking Anabaptist communities settled down very early in Moravia, then in the historical 11 territory of Hungary (present-day Slovakia and Hungary) and from 1622 in Transylvania. The 12 first colonies were established in Moravia. In these colonies they began to live in 13 communities of shared property according to the ideas of their leader Jacob Hutter (+1536). 14 The Hutterites (in Hungary locally called New Christians or latter Habans) excelled in 15 the crafts, among them in pottery production. They started to produce faience alongside their 16 traditional lead-glazed pottery ware in the late 16th century in Moravia (Horvath and 17 Krisztinkovich, 2005; Katona, 1974, 1983, 2001; Kybalová and Novotná, 1982; Pajer, 2007, 18 2011; Ridovics, 2008). The faience products are mostly white-glazed vessels decorated with 19 flowers and festoons in the late Renaissance style using a reduced, attractive colour palette 20 (yellow, blue, green and purple-black). The Anabaptist ceramic art was formed from 21 particular elements of form, decoration and style of various origins – primarily Italian and 22 Northern Renaissance elements ornamented with Eastern, Persian-Turkish plant motives – 23 reconceptualised in the unique order of Haban pottery. The inspiration of the contemporary 24 Italian maiolica, the “bianchi” di Faenza, highly popular all over Europe, was fundamental 25 (Horvath and Krisztinkovich, 2005; Katona, 1974; Kybalová and Novotná, 1982; Marsilli, 26 2010; Pajer, 2007, 2011; Ravanelli Guidotti, 1996; Ridovics, 2008; Wilson, 2007). Faience 27 was a high-quality luxury ware produced for high noble families; during the 17th century, 28 especially from the second part, the Anabaptist products slowly spread among wealthy town 29 people, minor nobility and members of the guilds as well. At the end of the 17th century 30 Hutterite colonies started to disintegrate, and by the middle of the 18th century people were 31 either being forced to convert to Catholicism and assimilated into the local population or they 32 emigrated. The art of Anabaptist ceramic production was preserved in folk pottery as well as 33 in the artistic faience ware produced by manufactures. 34 3 It is not certain from where the know-how of tin glazed pottery, the inspiration for the 1 application of the faience technique in the Anabaptist ceramic workshops, has originated. 2 Some researchers suggest the possibility that Anabaptist faience has a direct relationship with 3 Italian maiolica. The tin-glaze technique had been brought by refugees (emigrants) from 4 North Italy (e.g. Faenza) who joined their co-religionists in Moravia (Kybalova, 1995; 5 Kybalová and Novotná, 1982; Marsilli, 1985, 2010). Other scholars (e.g. Pajer, 2007, 2011) 6 think it more likely that the Italian influence was mediated and indirect, the direct source of 7 inspiration being from a geographically and culturally closer region, probably South 8 Germany, where this technology already existed in the 16th century. 9 While the production technology and the materials used for the Italian Renaissance 10 maiolica are fairly well known thanks to Cipriano Piccolpasso’s treatise on the potter’s art 11 written circa 1557 (Lightbown and Caiger-Smith, 2007) and to extensive archaeometric 12 research (see the recent comprehensive paper published by Tite, 2009), similar sources are not 13 available for Hutterite faience. No contemporary written documents are known about the 14 production technology. A potter’s diary reporting recipes of some Haban white and coloured 15 glazes is known (Wartha, 1892); however, recipes were recorded later, only at the beginning 16 of the 19th century. Systematic archaeometric investigation on Hutterite faience using modern 17 analytical techniques has not yet been performed either in Hungary or other countries. Only a 18 very few tin-glazed, lead-glazed and unglazed Hutterite archaeological ceramic artefacts from 19 Southern Moravia have been analysed to date (Gregerová et al., 2007; Kuljovská, 2007; 20 Trojek et al., 2010). 21 Our archaometric research aims to identify the raw materials used for the body, the 22 glaze and the decoration (colours) as well as the reconstruction of the production technology 23 (i.e. the firing conditions, the preparation method of the glaze). Today numerous public and 24 private collections hold Hutterite-Haban ceramic objects (from the period of appr. 1593 to 25 1750), several hundreds of items exist. But due to the good quality of preservation, sampling 26 of these museum and collection objects is usually limited. We therefore mainly focus on 27 archaeological artefacts, which have previously gained little attention in Hungarian research. 28 This study presents the result of the microanalytical investigations performed on 29 Hutterite faience fragments excavated at Sárospatak (NE Hungary, Fig. 1). Six samples were 30 analysed in the first step of the archaeometric research. They obviously do not give a 31 comprehensive overview of the whole Anabaptist faience production existing over circa one-32 and-a-half centuries in several production centres of Eastern-Central Europe. However, even 33 these six analysed samples provide an interesting idea about the technology, especially if we 34 4 compare the results with the previously published analytical data of the possible model, 1 Italian maiolica. 2 3 2. Materials and methods 4 2.1 Samples 5 In 2006 the team of the Rákóczi Museum of the Hungarian National Museum started the 6 excavation of the remnants of a gun-foundry in the outer castle of Sárospatak (NE Hungary, 7 Fig. 1) (Ringer, 2011). According to written sources (Détshy, 1970) the gun-foundry 8 functioned in the 17th century, between 1631 and 1648 and was most probably destroyed by a 9 fire in 1672. Fragments of Anabaptist faience objects were found in the late 17th century 10 infillings of the remnants, at several occurrences, mainly in the southern part of the gun-11 foundry. 12 In the frame of this study six samples from different faience objects were analysed 13 (inventory numbers: sample 1: SRM 2010.07.15.1, sample 2: SRM 2010.07.15.2, sample 3: 14 SRM 2010.06.25.1, sample 4: SRM 2010.06.22.1, sample 5: SRM 2010.06.24.2, sample 6: 15 SRM 2010.06.23.1). The studied artefacts are mainly white-glazed ceramics: a fragment of a 16 jug (Fig. 2a; sample 1) and fragments of several other objects, most probably bowls (Fig. 2b, 17 c, d, e; samples 2, 3, 4, 5). Also found was a fragment of a tazza with opaque blue glaze on 18 the stand and on the external side of the dish and white glaze on the internal side of the dish 19 (Fig. 2f; sample 6). Several fragments of the objects, especially of the bowls, were found (Fig. 20 2b, c, d), and one fragment of each object was chosen for detailed study. Both sides of the 21 objects are glazed and half of the analysed shards are non-decorated (samples 3, 4, and 5). On 22 one side of the other artefacts there are blue, yellow, green and black decorations (samples 1, 23 2 and 6); they represent all the decoration colours used for Hutterite faience (Fig. 2). 24 Decorative motives, e.g. the blue lace motif on sample 1 (Fig. 2a), black numbers on sample 2 25 (Fig. 2b) or the blue ornaments on sample 6 (Fig. 2d) are typical of Hutterite faience. 26 These artefacts were chosen for study due to their possible local provenance. Written 27 sources documented that in 1645 Prince György I. Rákóczi invited Hutterites from Csejte 28 (today Čachtice in Slovakia) to Sárospatak (Román, 1955, 1959). The Hutterite colony in 29 Sárospatak existed until c. 1680 when due to conversion to Catholicism it was dissolved, the 30 craftsmen emigrated or were assimilated into the local community. The colony had a ceramic 31 workshop operated by one master and four assistants (Román, 1959). Figure 75 drawn on 32 sample 2 (Fig. 2b) indicate most likely the date of production, i.e. 1675, which would fit in 33 with the active period of the local Hutterite ceramic workshop. However, archaeological 34 5 excavation of the local Hutterite settlement with the ceramic workshop has only started 1 recently (in 2010) and until now ceramic finds have not been analysed. Therefore the 2 provenance of the studied faience fragments based on the comparison with the local Hutterite 3 products cannot currently be determined. 4 5 2.2 Analytical methods 6 From the selected samples, after washing with water polished cross-sections were made from 7 slices cut perpendicular to the glaze-ceramic body interface. After coating the cross-sections 8 with carbon, the microstructure of the ceramic body, glaze and colours was examined using 9 the backscattered electron (BSE) mode of a Zeiss EVO MA 15 scanning electron microscope 10 (SEM) and a JEOL Superprobe-733 electron microprobe. 11 The ‘bulk’ chemical composition of the body, the glaze and the colours were 12 determined using an Oxford Instruments Inca Energy 200 energy dispersive spectrometer 13 (EDS) attached to the electron microprobe, run at 20 keV and 6 nA. During quantitative EDS 14 analyses natural and artificial materials were used as standards. For the ceramic body, 15 standards provided by the Taylor Co. (USA) were used: quartz for Si, corundum for Al, 16 wollastonite for Ca, magnesium oxide for Mg, albite for Na, orthoclase for K, hematite for Fe 17 and rutile for Ti. For the glaze and the colours well-known artificial glasses (NMNH 117218-18 4, -1, -2, -3, i.e. Corning archaeological reference glasses A, B, C and D, Vicenzi et al., 2002) 19 were used as standards for the main elements, while SnO2 for Sn, pure metals for Co and Ni, 20 gallium arsenate for As, chalcopyrite for Cu and antimony telluride for Sb were applied. For 21 all the ‘bulk’ measurements the count time was 100 seconds. PAP correction was 22 automatically made by the Oxford Instruments software. The method is not able to distinguish 23 between oxidation states of polyvalent elements; therefore all iron is expressed as FeO and all 24 manganese as MnO. The detection limits of the spot (matrix) analyses is about 0.2 to 0.3 wt% 25 for most elements, but not better than 0.4 wt% for CuO and As2O3, 0.5 wt% for Sb2O3 and 0.6 26 wt% for SnO2. The limits of the areal analyses are lower by a factor of 0.63. 27 The area of ‘bulk’ EDS analyses for the ceramic body was 1000 × 1000 μm. On the 28 other hand, the analysed areas of the glaze and the colours were set as large as possible 29 depending on glaze/colour thickness and on the density of pores and cracks that have been 30 eliminated as far as possible. The areas varied from 66 × 66 μm to 250 × 250 μm for the glaze 31 and from 30 × 30 μm to 185 × 185 μm for the colours. Typical inclusions, such as quartz, 32 feldspar, tin oxide and pigment particles, were included in the analysed area, but the body-33 glaze interface and the outermost part of the glaze were avoided. At least three area 34 6 measurements were performed on each body and glaze and the results were averaged. In 1 addition, several spot analyses were performed for the determination of glassy matrix 2 composition. During analysis the stability of beam/specimen current was repeatedly checked. 3 The analytical totals of the body are between 67 and 78 wt%. There are several reasons for 4 low totals of the quantitative analyses of ceramics (Ionescu et al., 2011); in this study the low 5 totals are related to the high porosity of the body. The analytical totals of the glaze and the 6 colours vary in the range of 88 and 100 wt% for various reasons, e.g. pores (and sometimes 7 cracks), the possible presence of components that cannot be analysed and the analytical 8 uncertainties. All analytical data were normalised to 100%. The glaze was analysed on both 9 sides of the objects and no significant differences were detected, therefore we report here only 10 the chemical compositions measured on the glaze under the decorations or on the thicker 11 glaze. The chemical composition of the colour pigments was also measured using spot EDS 12 analyses. 13 Phase composition of the ceramic body, the glaze and the yellow colour was 14 determined on powdered samples (circa several hundred milligrams) by X-ray diffraction 15 analysis (XRD) using a PHILIPS PW 1730 diffractometer in Bragg-Brentano geometry 16 (instrumental and measuring parameters: CuKα radiation, 2-70° range of 2 theta scanning, 17 45kV acceleration voltage, 35 mA tube current, 1 sec/0.05° 2Θ data collection speed, graphite 18 monochromator). 19 The colour pigments were identified by using Raman microspectroscopic analysis on 20 the polished cross-sections using a HORIBA JobinYvon LabRAM HR800 dispersive, edge-21 filter based confocal Raman spectrometer (focal length: 800 mm) equipped with an Olympus 22 BXFM microscope. The spectra were collected using the 632.8 nm emission of a He-Ne red 23 laser, a 100× (N.A. 0.9) objective, a grating with 600 grooves/mm and a pinhole of 100 µm, 24 which also acted as the entrance slit to the spectrometer. The Raman spectra of the inclusions 25 were compared with the reference spectra of mineral phases of the RRUFF Project database 26 (http://rruff.info). 27 28 3. Results 29 3.1 Ceramic body 30 The XRD analysis revealed that the ceramic body of the artefacts is generally composed of 31 quartz, gehlenite, diopside, plagioclase, sometimes K-feldspar, hematite and traces of 10 Å 32 phyllosilicate (illite) (Fig. 3a). Calcite was detected in only two samples (samples 1 and 6). 33 7 The BSE images indicate that the body has high porosity (Fig. 3b, c). Mainly quartz, 1 K-feldspar, mica (biotite, muscovite), accessory minerals (e.g. apatite, zircon, Ti-oxide, 2 monacite, ilmenite, garnet) and composite particles (e.g. quartz+K-feldspar, K-3 feldspar+biotite, quartz+mica) occur in the matrix, their sizes ranging from several up to 300 4 µm. Regarding the type, the quantity and the size of particles the samples show no noticeable 5 difference. Only some tiny, discrete Pb±Sb-bearing particles occur in the body of sample 1; 6 these were (most likely randomly) added to the clay before firing. Carbonate (calcite) 7 particles of several tens of µm size rarely occur, but most frequently voids due to the 8 dissociation of carbonate are present (Fig. 3b, c). Spot EDS analyses indicate the enrichment 9 of calcium in the fine network of the matrix and around the particles. According to ‘bulk’ 10 chemical analyses by EDS the ceramic body has 14.2 to 22.5 wt% CaO accompanied by 3.9 11 to 5.4 wt% FeO content (Table 1). 12 The glaze-ceramic body interface is usually sharp; no intermediate zone is visible. 13 Only a small amount of newly-formed, acicular Ca-rich phases (wollastonite?) of 2-3 µm size 14 were detected at and near the glaze-body boundary suggesting that the interaction between the 15 body and the glaze was usually limited. 16 17 3.2 Tin glaze 18 The tin-opacified glaze covering the artefacts includes two types: the white one (all samples) 19 and the blue one (sample 6 only). 20 The white glaze has a thickness of 170 to 430 µm on the front/decorated side in the 21 studied cross-sections, except on sample 6, where the white glaze is 100 to 150 µm thick. The 22 white glaze is thinner on the reverse/non-decorated side (140 to 250 µm). All of the white 23 glazes contain high amounts of inclusions and rounded pores heterogeneously distributed in 24 the vitreous matrix (Fig. 4a). The size of the pores usually ranges from several to 60 µm, 25 sometimes up to 120 µm. The inclusions are mainly cassiterite particles and varying amounts 26 of angular to rounded quartz and potassium feldspar grains up to 60 µm size. BSE images 27 show two types of cassiterite in the white glaze (Fig. 4b): relatively large (up to 10 µm size) 28 angular particles as well as small needles (up to 1-2 µm size) and aggregates of needles (up to 29 40 µm size) occur. In several cases the close intergrowth of the two types of cassiterite is 30 clearly visible (Fig. 4b). 31 The ‘bulk’ compositions of the white glaze measured by EDS (Table 2) indicate that 32 according to classification of Tite et al. (1998) it is a lead-alkali glaze with 22 to 28 wt% PbO 33 content (except sample 4 with 18 wt% PbO content) and 5.8 to 7.4 wt% total alkali 34 8 (Na2O+K2O) content. The SnO2 content ranging from 16.9 to 20.3 wt% confirms the high 1 amount of cassiterite visible on the BSE images. Spot analyses of the glaze matrix show SnO2 2 values of up to 6 wt%. The Na2O content is greater than or equal with the K2O content in the 3 ‘bulk’ white glaze and the K2O/Na2O ratio is relatively low (0.5 to 1.0), except for sample 6, 4 where the Na2O content is lower than the K2O content, and the K2O/Na2O ratio is 1.8. 5 Chlorine has detectable amounts up to 1 wt% in the tin glaze. 6 The microstructure of the tin-opacified blue glaze is similar to the white glaze with 7 fewer quartz and feldspar particles (Fig. 4c). The thickness of the blue tin glaze varies 8 between 180 and ~300 µm and it is also of lead-alkali type with 28 wt% PbO, 8 wt% total 9 alkali content and K2O/Na2O ratio of 1.6 (Table 2). Both types of cassiterite are present, but 10 the SnO2 content is lower (11 wt%, Table 2) than that of the white glaze on the same object 11 (sample 6). The presence of significant CoO content (~0.7 wt%) associated with As2O3 (0.86 12 wt%) and some NiO (0.16 wt%) (Table 2), as well as the calcium-lead arsenate crystals 13 preferentially deposited inside the pores (Fig. 4d) and also dispersed within the glassy matrix, 14 indicate the use of cobalt colorant for the blue glaze. 15 16 3.3 Decorations 17 The yellow, blue, green and black ceramic colours were applied as paintings on the tin-18 opacified white glaze. The paintings can be as thick as the glaze (Fig. 5), their thickness 19 sometimes exceeding 300 µm. The ceramic colours consist of coloured glass containing in 20 ‘bulk’ more SiO2 (38 to 56 wt%) than PbO (22 to 37 wt%) and the total alkali contents range 21 from 6.5 to 9 wt% with K2O/Na2O ratio from 0.5 to 1.4 (Table 3). The SiO2 and PbO contents 22 as well as the alkali content of the vitreous matrix of the different colours vary considerably 23 among the studied samples. Chlorine is present in the colours in concentrations of up to 1 24 wt%. 25 The yellow colour is opaque due to the presence of a high number of angular, few µm 26 size, antimony-bearing pigment particles (Fig. 6a, b). The pigment is lead antimonate 27 indicated by EDS spectra and confirmed by XRD. The Raman spectra of the lead antimonate 28 particles (Fig. 7a) show an intensive band at about 510 cm-1 along with peaks at 330-340 and 29 460 cm-1 indicating that the original pyrochlore structure is distorted due to substitution of 30 antimony by a larger cation like Zn, Sn or excess Pb (Rosi et al., 2009, 2011). However, in the 31 studied yellow colour the structure of lead antimonate is probably modified by other cations: 32 EDS spectra indicate iron, calcium and sodium as minor components in the lead antimonate 33 pigment (e.g. in sample 1 up to 3.5 wt% FeO, 2.8 wt% CaO, 1.8 wt% Na2O). The vitreous 34 9 matrix of the yellow colour has a small amount of antimony (especially in sample 1 with 1.2 1 wt% Sb2O3, Table 3). Slightly elevated iron content compared to that of the white glaze was 2 also detected (≥2 wt% FeO, Table 3). The colour shows two different microstructures. In 3 sample 1 pigment particles are distributed heterogeneously, frequently aggregating into 4 clusters, with a few quartz and feldspars particles and relatively large pores occurring (Fig. 5 6a), while in sample 2 pigment particles are distributed homogeneously accompanied by 6 higher quantities of quartz and feldspar particles and smaller pores (Fig 6b). Tin oxide may be 7 present only in very small amounts in the yellow glaze of sample 2 (0.86 wt% SnO2, Table 3). 8 Similarly to the tin-opacified blue glaze, the blue colour contains cobalt colorant (up to 9 1.4 wt% CoO) dissolved in the vitreous matrix accompanied with comparable concentrations 10 of nickel and arsenic (up to 0.9 wt% NiO and 1.7 wt% As2O3, Table 3); discrete pigment 11 particles were not identified. Slightly elevated iron content (1.1 to 1.4 wt% FeO) is 12 characteristic compared to the white glaze. The blue colour may contain a small number of 13 cassiterite particles if it is directly applied over the white glaze (Fig. 6c); also the underlying 14 white glaze contains some cobalt and arsenic above detection limit (Table 2). Tiny arsenate 15 crystals together with small-sized quartz particles and silica flakes (probably newly formed 16 cristobalite) occur scattered in the vitreous matrix of the blue painting of sample 2 (Fig. 6d). 17 The green contains copper dissolved in the matrix as colorant (1 to 2 wt% CuO, Table 18 3). A few lead antimonate particles occur in the green colour of sample 1; however, its ‘bulk’ 19 Sb2O3 content is very low (0.2 wt% Sb2O3). In both samples 1 and 6 the green colour is 20 opaque due to the presence of abundant, homogeneously distributed cassiterite particles (Fig 21 8a). The SnO2 content is 13.8 and 11 wt%, respectively (Table 3) which is lower than that of 22 the white tin glaze applied on the same object, but in a range similar to that of the blue tin 23 glaze applied on sample 6. In addition, the green colour of sample 6 contains some traces of 24 quartz and feldspars. The white glaze under the green colour contains copper colorant (0.6 to 25 1.5 wt% CuO). 26 The black is usually applied as the last decoration, as e.g. contour lines (Fig. 2, 5). 27 Black is associated with manganese, which is present in two forms: as an ionic colorant in the 28 vitreous matrix (Table 3), and as discrete pigment particles. Rhombic manganese silicate 29 crystals up to 5-6 µm size occur in the black colour of samples 1 and 6 (Fig. 8b, c). Raman 30 microspectroscopic analysis shows the manganese silicate crystals to be braunite (Fig. 7b). 31 Porous crystal aggregates up to 30 µm size occur in the black colour of sample 2 (Fig. 8d). 32 Spot EDS analyses indicate that some aggregates are composed of manganese silicate, while 33 others are made of manganese oxide. Raman microspectrometry revealed presences of 34 10 braunite and hausmannite (Fig. 7b). EDS spectra indicate iron, calcium and copper as minor 1 components in the pigment particles (in sample 1: up to 5.7 wt% FeO, 1.1 wt% CaO, in 2 sample 2: up to 5.7 wt% FeO in both types of particles, in sample 6: up to 7.5 wt% FeO, 1.8 3 wt% CaO, 2.6 wt% CuO). Elevated iron content compared to the white glaze is typical for the 4 black colour (>0.7 wt%, Table 3). If applied directly over the green colour or the white glaze, 5 the black contains abundant cassiterite particles (Fig 8a, b, Table 3). The white glaze below 6 the black colour contains some manganese colorant (0.3 to 0.7 wt% MnO). If applied over the 7 yellow colour, the black does not contain cassiterite, but a few lead antimonate inclusions 8 (Fig. 8c). When applied over blue colour, the black contains some cobalt with nickel and 9 arsenic (Table 3). 10 11 4. Discussion 12 4.1 Ceramic body 13 The chemical and phase analyses indicate that the buff-coloured body of the studied 14 Anabaptist faience was produced using calcareous clay. The CaO content is in the same range 15 for the faience bodies (14.2 to 22.5 wt%) as for most of the Italian maiolica bodies (14 to 25 16 wt% CaO, Tite, 2009). Calcareous ceramic body is typical for tin-glazed pottery due to its 17 several advantages: e.g. calcareous clay fires to pale buff colour (due to the incorporation of 18 iron into high-temperature calcium silicates and aluminosilicates developed during firing), has 19 thermal coefficient matching more closely to those of lead-alkali glazes, and exhibits less 20 shrinkage during firing compared to non-calcareous clay (Molera et al., 1998, Tite et al., 21 1998, Tite, 2009). 22 The presence of calcium silicate phases (gehlenite, diopside) formed during firing 23 indicates that the firing temperature of the faience reached 800 °C (Cultrone et al., 2001); 24 occasional presence of illite supports firing around 800 to 900 °C. Calcite detected by XRD 25 and microstructure analyses in two faience samples is a primary phase and was not 26 completely dissociated during firing due to its grain size (i.e. large calcite particles might have 27 survived firing), therefore somewhat lower firing temperature, 750 to 800 °C can be estimated 28 for these samples. 29 The absence of any significant reaction zone at the body-glaze interface suggests that 30 the body was fired to biscuit before the glaze slurry was applied (Tite et al., 1998). Biscuit 31 firing is also supported by the semi-finished products (fired, but non-glazed faience artefacts) 32 found in archaeological excavations of Hutterite ceramic workshops in Southern Moravia 33 (e.g. in Tavíkovice and Vacenovice, Pajer, 2007). 34 11 1 4.2 Tin glaze 2 The microchemical analyses revealed that the tin-opacified white and blue glazes covering the 3 studied Hutterite faience artefacts are of lead-alkali type. Production of such a glaze involves 4 preparation of slurry containing lead compound, alkali and silica with the addition of tin oxide 5 (Tite et al., 1998). There are several ways to prepare the glaze suspension; however, the first 6 step is the melting of lead and tin metals together to produce a mixture of lead and tin oxides 7 (lead-tin calx or calcine) as mentioned in Piccolpasso’s treatise (Lightbown and Caiger-Smith, 8 2007) and in Abu’l-Qasim’s treatise on Persian pottery manufacture written in 1301 (Allan, 9 1973). Alkali can be added to the glaze suspension in the form of wine lees, tartar, common 10 salt or soda. Due to its solubility in water, alkali is usually pre-fritted with silica (the latter is 11 mainly in the form of sand) before making the glaze suspension. The vitreous frit made from 12 alkali and silica is then mixed with the lead-tin calx and this mixture can be 13 (i) fritted as described in Abu‘l-Qasim’s treatise (Allan, 1973) or 14 (ii) not fritted, although sometimes further sand is added as in the case of the Italian maiolica 15 (Tite et al., 2008, Tite, 2009). 16 The other preparation method involves mixing the lead-tin calx directly with sand as well as 17 alkaline and other fluxes, and melting them together to vitreous frit as in the case of the 18th 18 and 19th century French faience (Maggetti, 2012). After preparation employing one of the 19 methods, the frit or the mixture is then ground to obtain a powdered raw glaze and diluted in 20 water to prepare the suspension, to which sometimes clay or other compounds are also added. 21 The angular to rounded morphology of the quartz and feldspar grains observed in the 22 tin glaze of the Hutterite faience indicates that these particles were only partially dissolved 23 during glaze firing and can be interpreted as relicts of the sand added to the glaze mixture. 24 Two generations of cassiterite crystals with different morphology and size were detected in 25 the tin glaze which can be related to the well-known phenomenon of dissolution and 26 recrystallization of the tin oxide opacifier during firing (and subsequent cooling) (Molera et 27 al., 1999; Tite et al., 2008). Angular tin oxide particles are remnants of the raw material, while 28 fine needles are in situ newly-formed tin oxide crystallites. Heterogeneous distribution of the 29 tin oxide particles and the partially resorbed sand grains in the Hutterite tin glaze indicate that 30 the glaze mixture (lead-tin calx + frit + sand) was not fritted when the slurry was prepared 31 before application. Therefore Hutterite potters applied similar production technique for 32 preparation of the glaze as for the tin glaze of the Italian maiolica. Mason and Tite (1997) and 33 Molera et al. (2001) supposed that the sand added to the glaze mixture, as well as the rounded 34 12 pores after bubbles in the glaze, contribute to the opacity of the glaze and less tin oxide is 1 needed. However, recently Tite (2009) suggested that when sand is introduced in the glaze 2 mixture the unfired, opaque glaze is more robust and less powdery and its surface is better 3 suited to taking the painted decorations. Our faience samples having a glaze with relatively 4 high tin oxide content and varying amounts of sand particles support the latter explanation. 5 The K2O/Na2O ratio for the Hutterite tin glaze is generally lower (0.5 to 1.0) than for 6 the maiolica glaze (1.1 to 6, Amato et al., 2010; Tite, 2009). The low ratio together with the 7 detectable chlorine (~1 wt%) indicates that a significant part of the alkali was obtained from 8 the common salt added to the frit. The tin glaze with more K2O than Na2O (with a ratio of 9 1.8) covers only sample 6, indicating the dominant use of K-bearing flux (wine lees, tartar). 10 The quality of faience, among other factors, depends on the quality of the tin glaze, i.e. 11 its whiteness and opacity (Vendrell et al., 2000). The whiteness of the glaze can be achieved 12 by (i) increasing its SnO2 content, (ii) increasing its thickness and (iii) reducing the reddish 13 hue of the ceramic paste; the latter can be enhanced by using calcareous (Ca-rich) ceramic 14 pastes. Analyses of the Islamic and hispano-moresque (múdejar) tin-glazed pottery from 15 Spain and Italian Renaissance maiolica indicate that for production of an opaque white glaze 16 which can adequately conceal the ceramic body, the tin oxide content should be typically in 17 the range of 4-5 to 9-10 wt% with glaze thicknesses ranging from <100 µm to 600 µm (Fig. 9, 18 Molera et al., 2001; Vendrell-Saz et al., 2006; Tite, 2009). One example of the application of 19 thick tin glaze on ceramics is the Late Renaissance “bianchi” di Faenza, on which an intense 20 white glaze was produced by combining the usual tin oxide content (5.5 to 10.4 wt% SnO2) 21 with considerable thickness (500 to 980 µm, sometimes up to 1250 µm on the front/outer side 22 of the ceramics, Tite, 2009, Amato et al., 2010). Our data indicate that the analysed 23 Anabaptist faience artefacts with buff-coloured calcareous ceramic body are covered by an 24 opaque white glaze with usual thickness, but with a significant amount of tin oxide inclusions. 25 Elevated SnO2 content (16.9 to 20.3 wt% SnO2) was detected compared with the Renaissance 26 maiolica: the SnO2/PbO ratio is 0.6 to 1.8 for the Hutterite white tin glaze (Table 2), while 27 this ratio is lower (0.2 to 0.6) for most maiolica glazes (Tite, 2009). In contrast to the white 28 glaze, the Hutterite blue tin glaze contains a smaller amount of tin oxide (11 wt%) for 29 opacification, more probably due to its coloured character. 30 Very high tin oxide content (13 to 28 wt% SnO2) with usual high lead oxide content 31 (21 to 48 wt% PbO) in glazes with 30 to 550 µm thickness was found in some of Italian 32 Archaic maiolica from the 13th and 14th centuries by Tite (2009) (Fig. 9). He explains that 33 the use of very high tin oxide content in the early period of Italian maiolica production 34 13 reflects a lack of understanding of the amount of tin oxide necessary to achieve adequate 1 opacity and whiteness. High tin oxide content, 14 to 20 wt% SnO2 extending up to 24 wt%, 2 higher than the tin oxide content of Renaissance maiolica glazes, is also characteristic for the 3 white glaze of della Robbia terracotta sculptures and panels produced in the 15th and 16th 4 centuries (Fig. 9, Barbour and Olson, 2011; Gianoncelli et al., 2008; Kingery and Aronson, 5 1990; Tite, 2009; Zucchiatti et al., 2003, Zucchiatti and Bouquillon, 2011). The glaze 6 composition was deliberately modified by the della Robbia workshop to produce sculptural 7 ceramics of high artistic quality. The high presence of tin oxide in the della Robbia glazes was 8 applied in order to increase their whiteness and opacity as well as to increase their viscosity 9 which can help to compensate the decrease in viscosity due to the higher lead oxide content of 10 the glaze (up to 40 wt% PbO, Tite, 2009). It is obvious that the Hutterite potters also 11 deliberately increased the tin oxide content of the glaze and that the white glaze of faience 12 with its high tin oxide content and relatively low K2O/Na2O ratio resembles the della Robbia 13 glaze, the latter having a K2O/Na2O ratio of 0.6 to 2.5 (Tite, 2009). However, it seems that the 14 Hutterite potters did not increase the lead oxide content of the glaze, and so its moderate PbO 15 content (18 to 28 wt%) resembles that of the (Late) Renaissance maiolica glaze (Fig. 9). 16 17 4.3 Ceramic colours 18 The decorations covering the surface of the white glaze on the Anabaptist faience are 19 individual coloured glass layers. A transparent lead glaze, called coperta, typically covering 20 the tin glaze of many maiolica objects from the 15th century (Lightbown and Caiger-Smith, 21 2007, Tite, 2009), does not appear on the studied faience samples. The ceramic colours are 22 usually thicker, reaching several tens of µms, than the decoration layer of the coperta-free 23 maiolica, which is up to about 50 µm thick (Tite, 2009). 24 Ceramic colours are chemically slightly different from the white glaze. The blue, 25 green and black colours of each decorated sample have a higher total alkali content than the 26 white glaze most probably indicating the use of a different frit (glass) for these colours (e.g. in 27 sample 1 mostly 8 to 9 wt% K2O+Na2O in the colours vs. 6.7 wt% K2O+Na2O in the glaze, 28 Tables 2 and 3). However, the yellow colour has a total alkali content similar to that of the 29 white glaze on the same ceramic, indicating that a different (colourless) frit was used for the 30 yellow than for the other colours. The less than 1 K2O/Na2O ratio and the presence of chlorine 31 are evidences of the use of common salt in the preparation of the ceramic colours of samples 32 1 and 2, while the more than 1 K2O/Na2O ratio indicates the use of a higher amount of K-33 bearing flux for the colours of sample 6. 34 14 Two of the ceramic colours, yellow and green, are intentionally opacified, while the 1 blue and the black are originally transparent colours. However, the latter is in several cases 2 opaque due to the fact that among the ceramic colours the black especially is greatly 3 incorporated into the underlying decorations or the white glaze during firing gaining tin oxide 4 particles as well as other colorants. In addition, the presence of a small amount of copper, 5 manganese or cobalt colorant in the white glaze under the colours suggests that diffusion 6 processes occurred between the colours and glaze during firing. These phenomena indicate 7 that the ceramic colours were applied on the surface of the unfired, powdery glaze, and then 8 the opaque glaze and colours were matured simultaneously in a single step, during the second 9 high-temperature firing, similarly to the production of maiolica. The reduced colour palette 10 (yellow, blue, green and black) of the studied Hutterite faience also supports the theory that 11 high-temperature, so-called in-glaze decorations were used. 12 The colouring and opacifying pigment for the yellow colour of the Hutterite faience 13 under study is the artificial lead antimonate. This compound is analogous with the natural 14 mineral bindheimite (Pb2Sb2O6(O,OH)) and stable up to 1100°C (Dik et al., 2005) surviving 15 the second high temperature firing. Similar pigment was used for the yellow and orange 16 decorations of maiolica (Bultrini et al., 2006; Tite, 2009); however, lead-tin antimonate and 17 lead-zinc antimonate were also identified in some 16th century maiolica glazes by Sandalinas 18 et al. (2006) and Rosi et al. (2011). Lead antimonate was most probably produced by 19 calcinating lead oxide and antimony oxide at temperatures starting from 750°C, since instead 20 of sulphides or metals the mixture of oxides is necessary to produce lead antimonate in high 21 concentration and as purely as possible (Dik et al., 2005). The detectable Na content of the 22 pigment indicates the addition of a Na-bearing flux, i.e. NaCl, to the mixture (Dik et al., 23 2005). Iron incorporated into the lead antimonate pigment indicates the deliberate addition of 24 iron as in the case of maiolica (Bultrini et al., 2006, Tite, 2009). Iron added to the mixture of 25 lead and antimony in the form of iron scale (rust) was also mentioned in Piccolpasso’s treatise 26 (Lightbown and Caiger-Smith, 2007). Opaque colours can be produced in two ways (Maggetti 27 et al., 2009): the pigment is mixed (i) with the raw materials of the glass, then fired, and after 28 cooling the opaque glass is powdered, or (ii) with the already prepared, powdered, transparent 29 (or coloured) glass. The use of the later preparation method is indicated by the presence of the 30 angular and sometimes clustered lead antimonate particles as well as the quartz and feldspar 31 particles, the latter being relicts of the additional sand added to the glaze suspension. The low 32 antimony, but higher iron content of the vitreous matrix of the yellow colour probably 33 indicates that the reaction of lead antimonate particles with the glass was limited. 34 15 The green decoration of the faience is opaque due to the addition of tin oxide to the 1 glass; however, smaller amounts of tin oxide were used for opacification than for the white 2 glaze. The green glassy decoration was coloured with copper colorant. Piccolpasso described 3 in his treatise two types of green pigment: (i) “burnt copper” (ramina), which is copper oxide 4 prepared by burning (oxidising) copper metal and its colour in lead-alkali glazes is green with 5 bluish tint, and (ii) “mixed green”, which is a prefired mixture of copper oxide, lead oxide and 6 antimony oxide and its colour is green without any bluish tint (Lightbown and Caiger-Smith, 7 2007, Tite, 2009). Copper dissolved in the glassy matrix in combination of abundant lead 8 antimonate particles was observed for della Robbia green glaze (Tite, 2009). Lead antimonate 9 particles only very sporadically occur in the green glaze of the faience under study, therefore 10 “burnt copper” was used for colouring, similarly to the Archaic and medieval green maiolica 11 glazes (e.g. Ricci et al., 2005). 12 The cobalt colorant associated with nickel, arsenic and small amounts of iron in the 13 blue colour as well as in the blue tin glaze of the Anabaptist faience indicates the use of a 14 pigment made of impure cobalt oxide prepared by roasting arsenic-bearing cobalt-nickel ore 15 minerals like arsenides, arsenosulphides or arsenates. In the blue glaze of terracotta sculptures 16 arsenic appears around 1520, whereas arsenic is absent (i.e. below detection limit, <0.1 wt% 17 As2O3 for PIXE) in blue glaze produced before 1520 (Padeletti et al., 2006; Pappalardo et al., 18 2004; Zucchiatti et al., 2006). The arsenic content of the pigment is separated from the cobalt 19 and typically present in the form of newly-formed calcium-lead arsenate crystals in the 20 vitreous matrix (e.g. Viti et al., 2003; Zucchiatti et al., 2006) as in the blue decorations of the 21 16th century berettino ceramics from Faenza (Tite, 2009). The same arsenate particles were 22 also detected in the blue colour and the blue tin glaze of the studied faience artefacts. Based 23 on the analysis of blue glasses and ceramic glazes Gratuze et al. (1996) suggested that the 24 most probable source of cobalt pigment used by glassmakers and potters from the 13th to the 25 18th century is the Erzgebirge region of Saxony and Bohemia. In the Erzgebirge region the 26 ‘five-element’ (Ni-Co-As-Ag-Bi(-U)) veins were exploited (Kissin, 1992). Two cobalt 27 pigments were produced in this region: (i) zaffre (safre, zaffer, zaffera), invented around 28 1520, which is a roasted Co-Ni-Fe-As ore, that is, an impure cobalt oxide with a presence of 29 arsenic due to incomplete roasting (Padeletti et al., 2004, Barilaro et al., 2008) and/or partial 30 recuperation during processing (Zucchiatti et al., 2006) and (ii) smalt (smalte), invented 31 around 1540-60, which is a potassium glass obtained by melting the roasted cobalt ore 32 together with quartz (sand) and potash or added to molten glass (Mühlethaler and Thissen, 33 1969). Pigments characterised by Co-As-Ni-Bi(-Fe) element association from the Erzgebirge 34 16 region were used from the 15th to the 18th century (Gratuze et al., 1996). We suppose that 1 Anabaptists might also have imported cobalt pigment from this region. The absence of 2 discrete cobalt pigment particles in the blue colour of the studied faience artefacts indicates 3 the use of smalt rather than zaffre. 4 In the black decoration of the Hutterite faience we detected manganese accompanied 5 by minor iron. Manganese was used for colouring purple and brown decorations of maiolica 6 (e.g. for Archaic maiolica, Alaimo et al., 2004; Ricci et al., 2005); however, in addition to 7 manganese and iron, the presence of cobalt, nickel, copper and antimony indicating complex 8 mixing of colours to produce black was detected in some della Robbia and maiolica glazes as 9 well (Padelletti et al., 2006; Zucchiatti and Bouquillon, 2011). Manganese oxides, mostly 10 pyrolusite (Mn4+O2) as well as manganese-iron nodules and concretions composed of several 11 oxides and oxihydroxides of manganese and iron might have been used as pigments (Alaimo 12 et al., 2004). 13 In the black colour discrete manganese-bearing particles occur: braunite (manganese 14 oxysilicate, Mn2+Mn3+6SiO12) and hausmannite (manganese oxide, Mn2+Mn3+2O4). Similar 15 compounds were also detected in the purple-brown-black decorations of Spanish tin-glazed 16 ceramics, Italian maiolica (Molera et al., 2013; Pradell et al., 2013,), and Portuguese tiles 17 (Coentro et al., 2012), and interpreted as newly-formed crystals or pigment remnants. The 18 idiomorphic morphology of crystals in the black colour of two Anabaptist faience artefacts 19 (samples 1 and 6) clearly indicate that the braunite was crystallized in situ during firing (and 20 subsequent cooling). In one of the studied faience artefacts (sample 2) the pigment particles 21 preserved the original morphology of the manganese pigment, but after firing their 22 mineralogical composition became that of braunite and hausmannite. In the black ceramic 23 colour, as temperature increased the Mn4+O2 (pyrolusite) pigment started to decompose 24 (deoxidise) in air at about 550-600 °C to (Mn3+,Fe3+)2O3 (bixbyite), and at about 870-900 °C, 25 or a higher temperature depending also on the iron oxide content, to Mn2+Mn3+2O4 26 (hausmannite) (Dent Glasser and Smith, 1968; Muan, 1959; Muan and Somiya, 1962; Roy, 27 1968). In tis case a reaction with the silica-rich molten glaze is responsible for the formation 28 of braunite as suggested by Molera et al. (2013) and Pradell et al. (2013). Considering the 29 phase equilibria in the system manganese oxide-SiO2 in air, braunite can be stable at 30 temperatures up to 1168 °C depending on the silica content of the system (Muan, 1959). 31 32 5. Conclusions 33 17 In comparing the 17th century Anabaptist (Hutterite) faience artefacts from NE Hungary 1 under study with their direct or indirect precursor, Italian Renaissance maiolica, similarities as 2 well as differences are observed between the production technologies of the two tin-glazed 3 ceramics. 4 Similarities: 5 (i) use of calcareous clay for the ceramic body, which was biscuit-fired, 6 (ii) use of tin-opacified lead-alkali glaze, where the glaze suspension contained an admixture 7 of sand and significant amount of common salt, and was not fritted before application, 8 (iii) use of similar colorants for ceramic colours: lead antimonate for yellow, cobalt with 9 arsenic, nickel and iron for blue, copper for green, manganese with iron for black; decorations 10 were applied on unfired opaque glaze and matured during the second firing. 11 Differences: 12 (i) higher amount of tin oxide added to the white glaze, 13 (ii) no application of outer transparent glaze (coperta), use of ceramic colours comparable in 14 thickness with the opaque glaze. 15 The most important difference is the tin oxide content, which is definitely higher (17 16 to 20 wt% SnO2) in the white glaze of the studied Hutterite faience artefacts compared to that 17 of the white glaze of the Renaissance maiolica, and reaches the elevated tin oxide content 18 typical for the white glaze of della Robbia terracotta. 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Az agyagipar technológiája (Technology of clay industry), 4 Természettudományi Könyvkiadó-vállalat, Budapest, 240 p. 5 Wilson, T., 2007. Le maioliche, in: Franceschi, F., Goldthwaite, R., Mueller, R. (Eds), Il 6 Rinascimento italiano e l’Europa, IV, Commercio e cultura mercantile. Fondazione 7 Cassamarca - Angelo Cola Editore, Treviso - Costabissara, 217-245. 8 Zucchiatti, A., Bouquillon, A., Castaing, J., Gaborit, J. R., 2003. Elemental analyses of a 9 group of glazed terracotta angels from the Italian Renaissance, as a tool for the 10 reconstruction of a complex conservation history. Archaeometry 45, 391-404. 11 Zucchiatti, A., Bouquillon, A., Katona, I., D’Alessandro, A., 2006. The Della Robbia blue: a 12 case study for the use of cobalt pigments in ceramics during the Italian Renaissance. 13 Archaeometry 48, 131-152. 14 Zucchiatti, A., Bouquillon, A., 2011. Les glaçures: atout maître des Della Robbia, in: 15 Bouquillon, A., Bormand, M., Zucchiatti, A. (Eds.), Della Robbia: dieci anni di studi – 16 dix ans d’études. Sagep Editori, 32-43. 17 18 Web reference 19 RRUFF Project database: http://rruff.info 20 21 22 Table and figure captions 23 24 Table 1. Chemical composition (in wt%) of the ceramic body of the studied Hutterite faience 25 artefacts (average of area measurements for ‘bulk’ composition by EDS, standard deviation in 26 parenthesis, n: number of analyses, results are normalised to 100%, original analytical totals 27 are also indicated). 28 29 Table 2. Chemical composition (in wt%) of the white and blue tin glaze of the studied 30 Hutterite faience artefacts (average of area measurements for ‘bulk’ composition and spot 31 measurements for matrix composition by EDS, standard deviation in parenthesis, n: number 32 of analyses, results are normalised to 100%, original totals are also indicated, na: not 33 analysed). 34 24 1 Table 3. Chemical composition (in wt%) of the ceramic colours of the studied Hutterite 2 faience artefacts (average of area measurements for ‘bulk’ composition and spot 3 measurements for matrix composition by EDS, standard deviation in parenthesis, n: number 4 of analyses, results are normalised to 100%, original totals are also indicated, na: not 5 analysed). 6 7 Fig. 1. Location of Sárospatak in Hungary. 8 9 Fig. 2. The studied Hutterite faience artefacts, (a) sample 1: fragment of a jug, (b) sample 2: 10 fragments of a bowl, (c) sample 3: fragments of a bowl, (d) sample 4: fragments of a bowl, (e) 11 sample 5: fragment of a bowl?, (f) sample 6: fragment of a tazza, the inlet shows it from the 12 lateral view. 13 14 Fig. 3. (a) X-ray diffraction patterns of the ceramic body of the studied samples (st: standard, 15 SnO2 derives from the tin glaze). BSE images showing the microstructure of the ceramic body 16 of sample 1 (b) with a void due to dissociation of carbonate and (c) with a non-dissociated 17 (residual) carbonate (calcite). Q: quartz, M: matrix, CC: calcite, V: void (tiny bright crystals 18 on fig. a are Pb±Sb particles). 19 20 Fig. 4. The microstructure and inclusions of the tin glaze (BSE images). (a) white tin glaze 21 with high concentration of tin oxide (bright inclusions) and quartz and feldspar particles (dark 22 inclusions) (sample 4), (b) tin oxide (abbreviated as cass) particles and aggregates of needles 23 in white tin glaze (sample 1), (c) blue tin glaze with tin oxide and small amount of quartz and 24 feldspar particles (sample 6), (d) calcium-lead arsenate needles and prisms in a rounded pore 25 in the blue tin glaze (sample 6). 26 27 Fig. 5. Yellow, blue and black colours over white glaze (sample 2, BSE image). 28 29 Fig. 6. The microstructure and inclusions of the colours (BSE images). (a) bright lead 30 antimonate particles and aggregates and dark quartz particles in the yellow colour over white 31 glaze (sample 1), (b) bright lead antimonate and dark quartz particles in the yellow colour 32 (sample 2), (c) blue colour over white glaze (sample 1), (d) tiny, bright arsenate crystals and 33 dark quartz and silica particles in the blue colour (sample 2). 34 25 1 Fig. 7. Raman spectra of the colour pigments. (a) lead antimonate identified in yellow colour 2 of (i) sample 1 and (ii) sample 2, (b) braunite identified in the black colour of (i) sample 1, (ii) 3 sample 2, (iii) sample 6 and (iv) the reference spectrum of braunite from the RRUFF database 4 (R050385); (v) hausmannite identified in sample 2 and (vi) the reference spectrum of 5 hausmannite from the RRUFF database (R060512). 6 7 Fig. 8. The microstructure and inclusions of the colours (BSE images). (a) green and black 8 colours over white glaze (sample 6), (b) idiomorphic manganese silicate (braunite, br) crystals 9 in the black colour (sample 6), (c) idiomorphic manganese silicate (braunite, br) crystals in 10 the black colour over yellow colour (sample 1), (d) manganese pigment particles in the black 11 colour: hausmannite (h) and braunite (br) (sample 2). 12 13 Fig. 9. Variation diagram PbO vs. SnO2 for the white glaze of the studied Hutterite faience 14 artefacts (see Table 2) compared with the white glaze of the Archaic, Early and Late 15 Renaissance Italian maiolica (data from Viti et al., 2003, Tite, 2009, Amato et al., 2010) and 16 white glaze of della Robbia sculptural ceramics (data from Kingery and Aronson, 1990, 17 Zucchiatti et al., 2003, Gianoncelli et al., 2008, Tite, 2009, Barbour and Olson, 2011). The 18 chemical compositions as measured by SEM-EDS analyses for maiolica glaze, and SEM-19 EDS, microprobe and portable XRF analyses for della Robbia glaze, respectively. 20 Explanations: ●: studied Hutterite faience, ▲: Archaic maiolica, : Early Renaissance 21 maiolica, : Late Renaissance maiolica, ■: della Robbia terracotta. 22 Table 1 Sample n SiO2 Al2O3 Na2O K2O MgO CaO TiO2 FeO Orig. total sample 1 3 53.14 13.80 1.04 2.27 2.99 21.23 0.63 4.91 71.89 (3.22) (0.62) (0.36) (0.29) (0.22) (1.59) (0.19) (0.34) (4.21) sample 2 3 53.63 12.77 1.03 2.20 2.85 22.46 0.44 4.62 69.76 (1.20) (0.66) (0.40) (0.35) (0.32) (0.77) (0.06) (0.28) (3.11) sample 3 3 55.08 16.50 1.36 2.68 3.77 14.51 0.70 5.40 73.35 (1.06) (0.59) (0.15) (0.10) (0.25) (0.43) (0.07) (0.41) (5.26) sample 4 4 57.61 15.04 1.26 2.70 2.93 15.99 0.58 3.91 71.87 (1.02) (0.62) (0.29) (0.13) (0.17) (0.70) (0.07) (0.19) (4.51) sample 5 4 56.05 15.84 1.33 2.75 4.11 14.16 0.68 5.08 74.88 (0.22) (0.31) (0.14) (0.27) (0.26) (0.37) (0.08) (0.27) (0.63) sample 6 6 54.58 16.32 0.78 2.50 2.82 17.91 0.62 4.48 72.10 (1.27) (0.98) (0.13) (0.25) (0.28) (0.45) (0.11) (0.15) (2.57) Table 2 Sample n SiO2 PbO SnO2 Na2O K2O CaO MgO Al2O3 FeO CoO NiO As2O3 Cl Orig. total SnO2/ PbO K2O/ Na2O K2O+ Na2O Tin-opacified white glaze Sample 1 Bulk 4 46.33 23.14 20.34 4.15 2.58 1.04 0.12 1.27 0.34 na na na 0.69 98.40 0.88 0.62 6.73 (1.09) (2.34) (0.73) (1.00) (0.55) (0.31) (0.15) (0.22) (0.12) (0.14) (3.29)) Matrix 24 55.21 28.66 5.48 3.09 3.15 1.67 0.12 1.26 0.44 na na na 0.91 99.00 (2.84) (4.53) (2.08) (0.76) (0.42) (0.92) (0.23) (0.65) (0.70) (0.30) (2.43) Sample 2 Bulk 8 44.06 26.49 16.87 3.70 3.68 1.34 0.13 2.50 0.18 na na na 1.05 94.79 0.64 0.99 7.38 (0.36) (0.73) (0.66) (0.46) (0.29) (0.44) (0.11) (0.36) (0.19) (0.19) (1.13) Matrix 28 52.55 31.90 4.18 2.54 3.77 1.63 0.15 2.04 0.15 na na na 1.09 97.06 (1.87) (3.17) (0.85) (0.51) (0.41) (0.95) (0.27) (0.57) (0.23) (0.26) (2.72) Sample 3 Bulk 5 43.41 27.69 19.30 3.79 2.02 0.58 0.03 2.12 0.20 na na na 0.87 94.30 0.70 0.53 5.81 (1.86) (1.30) (0.96) (0.13) (0.16) (0.17) (0.13) (0.24) (0.17) (0.04) (4.37) Matrix 7 51.26 36.73 2.80 2.20 2.44 0.75 0.08 2.40 0.15 na na na 1.19 94.50 (0.83) (1.16) (0.78) (0.31) (0.36) (0.10) (0.15) (0.36) (0.25) (0.19) (2.36) Sample 4 Bulk 3 49.53 17.88 20.21 2.89 2.94 2.41 0.27 3.10 0.38 na na na 0.39 95.01 1.13 1.02 5.83 (0.53) (1.14) (1.60) (0.24) (0.15) (1.17) (0.11) (0.45) (0.18) (0.07) (3.18) Matrix 22 54.46 26.68 6.09 3.00 3.89 2.17 0.18 2.55 0.32 na na na 0.68 99.44 (1.69) (2.53) (1.86) (0.50) (0.52) (0.61) (0.18) (1.02) (0.20) (0.16) (2.83) Sample 5 Bulk 3 44.63 26.22 19.27 3.26 2.50 0.85 0.07 2.19 0.11 na na na 0.88 94.27 0.73 0.77 5.77 (0.38) (0.95) (1.15) (0.23) (0.39) (0.16) (0.08) (0.40) (0.16) 0.09 (1.42) Matrix 19 52.74 32.49 3.85 2.60 3.28 1.17 0.09 2.22 0.24 na na na 1.31 97.92 (2.04) (2.51) (0.72) (0.43) (0.37) (0.66) (0.19) (0.32) (0.21) (1.09) (2.69) Sample 6* Bulk 3 48.57 22.05 17.10 2.54 4.47 1.08 0.18 2.32 0.31 0.15 -0.03 0.23 1.02 96.18 0.78 1.76 7.02 (2.16) (0.86) (0.84) (0.09) (0.28) (0.20) (0.16) (0.09) (0.11) (0.07) (0.24) (0.19) (0.11) (2.87) Matrix 18 56.96 25.78 4.13 1.77 5.03 1.56 0.21 2.77 0.46 0.13 -0.03 0.20 1.15 96.01 (2.30) (3.53) (1.59) (0.45) (0.63) (0.67) (0.22) (1.19) (0.31) (0.25) (0.26) (0.15) (0.77) (4.40) Tin-opacified blue glaze Sample 6 Bulk 9 46.50 28.10 11.06 3.07 4.94 0.85 0.04 1.94 0.74 0.68 0.16 0.86 1.06 97.76 0.39 1.61 8.02 (0.93) (0.71) (1.44) (0.30) (0.38) (0.17) (0.13) (0.38) (0.24) (0.26) (0.10) (0.12) (0.08) (2.35) Matrix 57 53.07 30.65 2.76 2.03 4.55 1.29 0.20 1.57 0.98 0.80 0.17 0.78 1.15 98.91 (2.17) (2.77) (0.96) (0.40) (0.57) (0.68) (0.23) (0.72) (0.41) (0.24) (0.29) (0.38) (0.91) (4.00) *white glaze partly below blue colour Table 3 Sample n SiO2 PbO SnO2 Na2O K2O CaO MgO Al2O3 FeO CoO NiO As2O3 Sb2O3 CuO MnO Cl Orig. total K2O/ Na2O K2O+ Na2O Yellow Sample 1 Bulk 3 43.66 37.01 0.34 4.00 2.53 0.71 0.20 2.95 2.08 na na na 6.11 na na 0.41 96.53 0.63 6.53 (1.26) (1.35) (0.33) (0.48) (0.21) (0.02) (0.02) (0.43) (0.07) (1.08) (0.14) (3.03) Matrix 9 51.73 35.23 0.37 2.24 2.75 0.35 0.19 3.38 2.10 na na na 1.16 na na 0.50 96.09 (1.16) (1.65) (0.53) (0.34) (0.30) (0.13) (0.14) (0.85) (0.34) (0.67) (0.24) (1.89) Sample 2 Bulk 4 50.09 25.49 0.86 3.59 3.43 0.75 0.23 3.41 2.81 na na na 8.87 na na 0.47 95.02 0.96 7.03 (2.06) (1.22) (0.66) (0.31) (0.41) (0.10) (0.13) (0.30) (0.41) (0.44) (0.15) (1.93) Matrix 10 58.36 25.10 0.33 1.91 3.39 0.35 0.29 3.00 3.87 na na na 0.33 na na 0.48 96.22 (2.39) (1.48) (0.43) (0.43) (0.46) (0.10) (0.18) (0.81) (1.20) (0.43) (0.24) (1.93) Blue Sample 1 Bulk 3 51.40 31.95 2.01 5.39 3.57 0.96 0.05 1.19 1.12 0.77 0.48 0.71 na na na 0.39 92.77 0.66 8.96 (0.26) 1.01 (0.31) (0.80) (0.21) (0.08) (0.02) (0.07) (0.14) (0.21) (0.04) (0.32) (0.09) (5.54) Sample 2 Bulk 2 56.06 25.69 1.20 4.80 3.61 0.81 0.11 1.57 1.40 1.10 0.95 1.62 na na na 1.08 92.23 0.75 8.41 Sample 6 Bulk 2 47.96 33.40 3.51 3.40 4.81 0.70 -0.13 0.80 1.42 1.38 0.34 1.71 na na na 0.69 94.74 1.42 8.21 Green Sample 1 Bulk 4 40.49 30.82 13.78 5.44 2.56 0.85 0.26 2.39 0.61 na na na 0.20 1.82 na 0.77 96.55 0.47 8.00 (0.83) (0.67) (0.54) (0.07) (0.04) (0.10) (0.10) (0.30) (0.17) (0.43) (0.17) (0.06) (0.86) Matrix 8 47.78 36.18 3.05 3.09 2.59 0.85 0.27 2.65 0.60 na na na na 2.02 na 0.91 90.44 (1.16) (0.99) (0.41) (1.19) (0.22) (0.24) (0.13) (0.54) (0.22) (0.36) (0.26) (1.58) Sample 6 Bulk 6 47.81 24.47 10.97 3.75 5.15 0.91 0.38 3.94 1.16 na na na na 0.66 na 0.81 98.37 1.37 8.89 (1.48) (2.64) (1.92) (0.31) (0.36) (0.09) (0.12) (1.04) (0.44) (0.22) (0.17) (1.72) Matrix 9 53.16 30.01 3.48 2.12 4.18 1.26 0.35 2.17 0.94 na na na na 1.19 na 1.13 95.43 (1.43) (2.17) (1.74) (0.22) (0.35) (0.26) (0.12) (1.00) (0.59) (0.27) (0.26) (1.93) Black Sample 1* Bulk 1 38.83 24.46 16.75 5.25 2.94 1.51 0.38 2.48 1.30 na na na na 0.33 5.36 0.42 87.89 0.56 8.19 Matrix 2 48.89 28.06 4.23 2.88 3.29 1.94 0.35 2.76 1.12 na na na na 0.56 5.40 0.51 88.48 Sample 1** Bulk 1 38.29 21.62 0.68 4.88 2.14 1.28 0.59 2.50 3.20 na na na na na 24.61 0.20 91.13 0.44 7.02 Matrix 2 48.01 31.48 0.50 3.41 3.15 1.47 0.28 3.61 2.57 na na na na na 5.35 0.17 92.12 Sample 2*** Bulk 1 41.30 33.84 6.74 5.05 3.73 0.73 0.19 2.62 0.71 na na na na na 4.05 1.05 100.33 0.74 8.78 Matrix 3 46.58 34.65 2.78 3.00 3.84 0.59 0.40 2.32 0.78 na na na na na 4.22 0.85 96.42 (1.47) (2.52) (1.13) (1.53) (0.35) (0.01) (0.16) (0.33) (0.18) (0.25) (0.13) (0.85) Sample 2** Bulk 3 42.54 25.67 1.63 5.61 3.15 0.70 0.04 2.81 1.45 0.89 0.72 1.52 na na 12.49 0.78 95.16 0.56 8.76 (3.07) (0.59) (0.22) (0.26) (0.36) (0.12) (0.14) (0.24) (0.17) (0.08) (0.17) (0.31) (4.44) (0.10) (1.35) Matrix 4 48.81 30.30 0.29 2.32 2.91 0.80 0.25 3.88 1.51 0.70 0.50 1.33 na na 5.64 0.76 92.36 (1.73) (1.71) (0.93) (0.31) (0.18) (0.13) (0.12) (0.96) (0.08) (0.41) (0.36) (0.28) (0.43) (0.24) (1.25) Sample 6* Bulk 4 44.91 23.63 12.24 4.11 4.87 1.14 0.24 3.58 1.11 na na 0.13 na 0.63 2.53 0.89 96.03 1.18 8.98 (1.70) (1.61) (1.58) (0.68) (0.51) (0.28) (0.21) (0.82) (0.23) (0.26) (0.35) (1.36) (0.24) (2.92) Matrix 13 50.44 28.22 2.12 2.36 4.60 1.56 0.28 3.27 1.41 na na 0.42 na 0.76 3.77 0.80 95.12 (2.63) (1.81) (0.82) (0.29) (0.39) (0.32) (0.18) (0.69) (0.42) (0.50) (0.39) (1.38) (0.28) (1.94) * black colour over green colour, ** black colour over yellow (sample 1) or blue colour (sample 2), *** black colour over white glaze, 0 50 100 km AUSTRIA SLOVAKIA SLOVENIA CROATIA 46° 48° 18° 21° SERBIA ROMANIA UKRAINE Budapest Sárospatak La ke Ba la to n D a n u b e Körös T is z a a c e d f b 1 cm 2 cm 2 cm 2 cm 2 cm1 cm b Q Q CC V M M sample 1 sample 2 sample 3 sample 4 sample 5 sample 6 q u a rt z q u a rt z c a lc it e S n O 2 c a lc it e q u a rt z q u a rt z q u a rt z q u a rt z q u a rt z p la g io c la s e K -f e ld s p a r g e h le n it e g e h le n it e , p la g io c la s e g e h le n it e g e h le n it eg e h le n it e g e h le n it e h e m a ti te , g e h le n it e g e h le n it e g e h le n it e s t s t d io p s id e d io p s id e g e h le n it e 1 0 p h y ll o s il ic a te d io p s id e a 20 mµ 20 mµ c a c d b 20 mµ 10 mµ 2 mµ d 5 mµ cass a 50 mµ w h it e y e ll o w b lu e b la c k a c d b 20 mµ 10 mµ 20 mµ w h it e y e ll o w a w h it e b lu e 10 mµ 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 900 1000 1100 1200 1300 658 371317 316 364 655 202 217 330 474 510 572 617 687 954 220 337 476 513 575 618 688 957 214 331 506 575 608 681 950 (vi) reference (iv) reference (v) sample 2 (i) sample 1 (ii) sample 2 (iii) sample 6 248 330 475 509 577 614 689 954 (ii) sample 2 (i) sample 1 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 900 1000 1100 1200 1300 - 774 640 138 202 300 341 458 508 364 139 204 302 332 382 459 512 644 751 in te n s it y a in te n s it y b Raman shift (cm ) -1 Raman shift (cm ) -1 b d 5 mµ 5 mµ a c 20 mµ 2 mµ w h it e y e ll o w g re e n , b la c k b la c k br br h br 0 5 10 15 20 25 30 0 10 20 30 40 50 60 PbO S n O 2 (w t% ) (wt%) Archaic maiolica (13th - 14th cent.) Early Renaissance maiolica (15th - early 16th cent.) Late Renaissance maiolica (late 16th - early 17th cent.) della Robbia terracotta (15th - 16th cent.) studied Hutterite faience (17th cent.) BB et al - revised Table 1 new Table 2 new Table 3 new Fig 1 new Fig 2 new Fig 3 new Fig 4 new Fig 5 new Fig 6 new Fig 7 new Fig 8 new Fig 9 new 
work_bfrrlmigfnhzhggc2cuezcljxa	----	Microsoft Word - aace2003.doc FACTA UNIVERSITATIS Series: Architecture and Civil Engineering Vol. 2, No 5, 2003, pp. 395 - 404 FOUNDATIONS OF BYZANTINE LATE MIDDLE AGES ARCHITECTURE THOUGHTFULNESS UDC 7.033.2:72"04/14"(045)=20 Predrag Milošević Faculty of Civil Engineering and Architecture Beogradska 14, 18000 Niš, Serbia and Montenegro Abstract. Only in the recent few years have a number of facsimile publications on architecture offered a possibility of studying the original texts from different time periods. Those, already rare studies on the theory of architecture in the western civilization, almost regularly completely omit the Byzantine achievements in the so- called entirety of thoughtfulness (enkyklios paideia), that was a main characteristic of Byzantine learning. This learning, based on the ancient Greek and Hellenistic foundations, in many ways concern architecture, especially the architectural theory. That is why writing a good account of the architectural theory of this, historically such an important country as Byzantium, in such a long historical period (since 312 till 1453), has been a difficult task (this contribution is just the initial part of the study). One should not be disregarded that the architectural theories are never completely independent of historical, geographical or even personal prejudices of their authors. In this sense, a subject matter of this treatise is just one 1141 year long part of the architectural theory of the West (West - in civilizational terms, not a political West), the part that rests on Christian foundations that is the Orthodox, Roman Catholic and Protestant ones, mainly. It is all treated in order, from ancient pagan Greece and Rome, ancient and Middle Ages Orthodox Byzantium, until Middle Ages and New Age Europe, altogether, Orthodox, Roman Catholic and Protestant Europe, and then those parts of the world in which the said civilizational circle managed to take root in: parts of Asia, North and South America, parts of Africa and Australia. Key words: Theory, architecture, entirety of thoughtfulness, Byzantium, Hellenism, Greece, 1141 years Byzantine late Middle Ages and Byzantine Renaissance (1204-1453) are two final pe- riods in the culture and architecture of that 1141 year lasting Empire. That is the time, as can be recognised by the year when the first of those periods started i.e. when the second of them ended, when the great Orthodox Empire found itself between the Crusades (led Received June 14, 2002 P. MILOŠEVIĆ 396 primarily against it by mostly the Catholic westerners in 1204) and the final fall of Con- stantinople under the Turkish rule in 1453. After that, no other culture or architecture in the western world lasted so long or left so dispersed seed around the world; starting with Italy and its Renaissance, based on the Byzantine one in many respects. And this fact is a carefully avoided one out of no scien- tific reasons, as we will see. Byzantine Empire was shattered into pieces in 1204. While the Crusaders occupied Constantinople, a part of Bytinia, Thrace, the eastern part of today's Greece and the Pelo- ponnesus; the Venetians became the rulers of Aegean Isles and Crete, the Byzantine Greeks themselves formed a number of independent states: Nicomedian Empire, Epire Empire, as well as the far off Trapesunt Empire which continued to last up to 1461. Ni- comedian emperor Michael VIII Paleologus was able to reclaim Constantinople and his heirs, although being surrounded by the Bulgarians, Serbs, Venetians, and particularly by the oncoming Ottoman Turks, tried to stop the gradual diminishing of their territories in the southern part of the Balkan Peninsula. During the reign of Michael VIII (1259-1282) Byzantine Empire still stood as a European power, but the reign if his successor Androni- cus II (1282-1328) was marked by heavy losses and the beginning of a series of civil wars which almost ruined the state. By the middle of the fourteenth century the Turks started to grow strong in Europe, and the Byzantine emperor became nothing but the weak vassal of their Sultan. When, in 1453 Constantinople finally fell, that event did not have any great effect on the political scene in eastern Europe. Viewed in such a dark environment, the artistic and architectural achievements during the reign of Paleologuses are very impressive; at least those created up to 1325. The in- comparable mosaics and frescoes of the Chora monastery, today the mosque Kariye Camii, and Holy Mary Pammacaristos, today the mosque Fethiye Camii in Constantinople as well as those in the churches in Mistra, on Athos, in Thessaloniki and Ohrid, all show us what luxury the rich Byzantine could still afford at that time. The Serbian kings and emperors gave their best to reproduce the Byzantine models on their own territories. The written documents about art and architecture of this period are disappointingly scarce. The renewed interest in ancient monuments was documented in the scripts of the Nicaean emperor Theodorus Ducas Lascaris (1254-1258), which we present here because of its significance for the history of taste. It is, however, an important document because there are very few proofs about any interest for the remains of the classic art and archi- tecture in 13th and 14th centuries. In The Thirty-second Epistle to G. Acropolitus (Epistolae XXXII ad G. Acropolitam) Lascaris said: "Pergamon… full of the monu- ments of the old origin, as it is known, and yet ruined, shows the earlier splendour and elegance of those who made it, as if through the glass. Because, those things are filled with the sublimity of the Hellenic thought and are part of the idea of Hellenic wisdom. That city shows the things like those to us, the descenders, reproaching us with the magnificence of our inherited glory. In comparison to the buildings of to- day, these evoke awe… The upright walls are there, and the structure is as varied as the structure of the defiant heavens. The river runs between them, crossed by the high arcs, for which (by the Creator of the heaven!) you would not think to have been laid, but to have grown out, naturally, as a sole slab of rock. If a sculptor like Pheidias had seen them, he would have admired their precise sameness and the ab- Foundations of Byzantine Late Middle Ages Architecture Thoughtfulness  397 sence of inclination. Among the buildings, there are low cottages, which, appear as the last traces of the ones who left, and that image evokes a lot of pain. For, as if the mouse holes are compared to the houses of modern times, one could say the same, comparing these cottages with the destroyed houses… At each side of the circular wall of the great theatre there are the round towers, competing by the sameness of their stone works, and surrounded by a sort of rings. They are not the work of a modern hand, nor do they reflect the notions of a modern mind: for their appear- ance fills us with admiration. What inspired the most important monument of the Michael VIII rule, a bronze statue of an emperor kneeling in front of its namesake, Archangel Michael, was most likely the influence of the ancient times, and not the western part of Europe. Yet, whatever new forms the art and architecture adopted in the times of the Paleologus', the old Byzantine tradition remained prevalent, and the donors were still found among the tiny class of the feudal aristocrats. Our main literary source for the art production of the early 14th cen- tury, Manuel Philes the poet, created a river of the trendy verses, regularly ordered by the aristocracy, dealing with the icons, lithurgic and mundane equipment, posthumous por- traits and similar. The contents of his poems were, however, very rarely interesting to the historians and theoreticians of art and architecture, because it consists either out of the cliches or the praises or lineage of his noble patrons. We do not have much use of the poems of the first Minister Theodorus Metochites (1370-1332) who, after he had been demoted, described the beauties of his ex palace and monastery Chora (which he had renewed) in a meticulously developed hexameter. The overthrow of Andronicus II (1282-1328) led to the fall of his almighty and rich first Min- ister Metochites, whose palace, described in the following section, and as given in the Metochites' personal records, was devastated by the population: Inside of it (palace) there was the chapel, the ravishing building… Owing to its sturdy structure made of equally dressed stones, interconnected, it remained un- damaged. Inside, the piers support the roof, and outside, also, all around the com- fortable vestibule, they are set in the circle. It is a pleasure to see them shining. The entire work, both inside and outside, is composed of the beautiful multicoloured marble cut into slabs, which are also placed upright, all around. Such was the chapel in my palace. Around were the houses seemly of the modern man living conditions, and very usable, too. There were also the gardens of enthralling beauty and unstoppable fountains with running water conducted from outside, by the well- built water network… In the interior, the underground reservoirs of water, prevented the capricious heats by coolness of the hand made fountains. Also inside, according to the needs, out of the lavishly built bathroom, the numerous and voluminous water streams exuded, that was joy to see and to use, both inside or outside. There was also the court yard encircled by the porch, thus protected from the sun-rays; it was the pleasure to stroll in it. It was very large, as befits those build- ings, and it was pleasurable to behold its position and the proportion of its length to its width. It was paved by the quarry stone, sprinkled with old lime dust in a uni- form, dry layer, so that it can provide the easy passage for the people and the horses without the impairment caused by the muddy soil… P. MILOŠEVIĆ 398 The contacts with the west European art and architecture in the times of the Pa- leologus must have been more frequent than before, and they had twofold reaction. The Byzantine priests, as was Simeon from Thessalonika, were deeply shocked by the natu- ralistic paintings and the statues of the western states that showed the break up with the Christian tradition. But that naturalism in the worldly arts and architecture incited the ad- miration of several educated Byzantine who, rather curious, found their expression in the form of exphrasis. The turn towards the more naturalistic understanding of the art appeared in Byzantium around 1400. It is hard to talk about the architecture in that sense, though one should always have in mind that its relationship with the other visual arts is always present. At any rate, a few of the Byzantine who in the time of decline of their Empire went to the west European countries, started to regard the art and architecture in different terms. The case of Manuel Chrysoloras is especially interesting. He accepted Aristotle's relationship of art towards the nature, and was the first to evaluate the Byzantine contribution in historical terms.Chrysoloras was a great traveler, the stateless Greek and a man of Renaissance, at first the Paleologian one and only after, and on its basis, the Italian one. In the Epistle 1 (Epistolae 1) sent to Prince Ioannis Paleologos (later emperor Ioannis VIII) in 1411, the philologist and diplomat, Manuel Chrysoloras (1350-1415) compares the Roam, where he lived then, to Constantinople in 15th century (Fig 1). The old and the new Rome were similar, as a daughter is similar to her mother. But, Constantinople is more beautiful than Rome: Fig. 1. The church of Saint Sofia, Trapesunt, before 1260. (foundations by Talbot Rice) Foundations of Byzantine Late Middle Ages Architecture Thoughtfulness  399 If I wished to count the memorials, crypts, monuments and statues that exist or have existed in our city (Constantinople), I would be in a hard position. I would have to admit that there are several more of them there, than here (in Rome), but some of them are also a lot more beautiful and ravishing. Take, for instance, the tomb of the emperor who is the founder and the guardian of the city, as well as other tombs which are situated in the imperial mausoleum around it – which is mi- raculous to see – and many other which are preserved in the vicinity of the Church of the Apostles, except for those that disappeared, as all those which are in the vesti- bules of the churches in different parts of the city. Or take for instance, the statue of the emperor who made the laws, in front of it, if I remember correctly, to the east, there are other statues erected on the giant pier. All such statues existed in the city, as their remaining pedestals show, and the inscriptions on them; they were in differ- ent places, but especially on the hippodrome. Many of them, I heard are removed now, I saw myself before… How big, costly and beautiful those statues must have been, one can suppose by the beauty, height, lavishness and magnificence of those pedestals. Remembering them, I remember that in the line with the same street, to- wards the west, once existed the city gate, large enough to let through the whole towers and fortresses (if they could move) and cargo ships with all their rigging and masts; and (it was made) of large marble slabs, and above it there was a stoa which glittered to a distance; and far off, there was the pier which also supported the statue. And on the other hill, the one above your residence, there is a pier and other on the Strategion, and the third to the right from the church of the Apostles, as well as many other pedestals convenient for the statues. And what about the purple pier on the east end of the same street, where there is the soaring cross – the same one which Constantine the Great himself placed in the courtyard of his palace, and which surpasses all the other statues and monuments… The Trapesunt Empire was founded in 1204 the successors of the Byzantine emperor Andronicus I Comnenus) (1183-1185). The palace in the Trapesunt city on the Black Sea whose remnants still stand, was built some time later, probably gradually (Fig. 2). In the Trapesunt Praise (Encomium Trebizondis) Ioannis Bessarion (1403-1472), At first the Nicaean Bishop and then the Patriarch, that is the Cardinal, whom the Crusaders instituted the same year as the one who was for the Roman Catholic church in Constantinople, wrote the following about that palace: The dwelling place of the emperors was placed in the present-day acropolis, and is nothing else than acropolis itself, because by the force of its walls and the variety, magnitude and the beauty of its structure surpasses, by the nature of things, all the other buildings. Its western wall is the common to the acropolis and the palace, and to a height of the second floor, serves the same purpose. From that point on, it rises solely as the wall for the palace itself, and is high above the acropolis wall, almost to the same extent as the acropolis wall rises above the ground. The walls turn into other directions, appropriate by the height, thickness and the rest, go all the way down. Taking up more than half of the acropolis, they adjoin that area to the palace, and they are enough for the resistance to the oncoming enemy, and for the safe protection for those who are inside. They give a possibility to enter through two gates and have one emergency exit, and the rest is compact so that they disable and contain the attacker. At each side, there is an open space for the rooms and dwelling places for P. MILOŠEVIĆ 400 the emperor's servant, while the palace is rising in the middle and has one entrance with the staircase, so that the access road leads uphill. When it is entered, at once, on one side one comes across the lavish vestibules and the halls of sufficient beauty and size, to receive a large number of people. The halls are surrounded with the balconies turned to all the directions and exposed to all the winds. On the other side, there is a very long and beautiful building, with a floor completely covered with the white marble, and the ceiling glitters with the bouquets of flowers, gold and various colours. The complete recess of the ceiling gleams with the glittering stars which emulate the celestial ones and does not conceal the excellence and refinement of the painting. All around, on the walls, the corps of the kings is painted. Both the ones who ruled our country and their predecessors; There are, painted, the dangers our city survived and those who attacked it, to their own peril. High above, at the top of the building, a covered imperial bema stands, with pyramidal roof supported by four pillars. It is also covered with white marble, the roof and everything, and it divides the emperors from their subordinates, as if with a partition. It is there where the emperor dwells the most, to work with his ministers, to talk to the ambassadors, to speak and to be spoken to. Further on, there is another imperial room (bema) of an outstanding height and width, covered with roof, with piers all around. In this structure, decorated with paintings, there is a number of stairs, so that the emperor elevates very high, so it there he wants to give lavish banquets for his ministers and other subordinates. On the left side, one unexpectedly enters the system made of many rooms, with one very different among them: it is bounded by four equal sides, like the framework, and it contains memories of the Creation of the world and of the origin and history of men. On the right hand side, there are many halls, vestibules, terraces, premises and rooms divided by the colonnades flowing one into another, in an unsurpassable proportion, and each bigger than the next one, all built up to evade description and truly harmonious. There is the church, decorated with the beautiful paintings and the holy objects, which are, though not so numerous, of an outstanding beauty. What the church lacks in size, it compensates with its loveliness. About perspective, and in the framework of the esthetics theory, in the time of the Byzantine dynasty of Paleologus, Nicephorus Gregoras in his work On the Measuring of the Celestial Bodies Altitude (Astrolabica) (p. 222) wrote: Outlining the sphere in a plane is similar to painting. For, exactly as the painters strain to copy the objects exactly, not according to their true characteristics, but in order to render the recognizable to the observers, within the capacity of the human nature, and the length and width of very high structures present as somewhat reduced and lowered, in accordance with requirements of the art, to make them visually more probable in such a way, so do the geometricians and the astronomers draw the solid object in a plane, such as the octahedrons or cubes or all the spherical bodies, like the stars, sky and the earth. Epiphanus the Wise, the Russian hagiographer (died 1420) in the letter written 1415 to Cyril of Tver, spoke about how he entreated the renowned sage, philosopher, book illuminator and exquisite religious painter who painted over 40 churches in the cities of Constantinople, Chalcedon, Galata, Kaffa, Veliki Novgorod, Nizhni Novgorod, Greek Teophanes to draw the images of the Saint Sofia's Church in Constantinople for his Four Gospels (Cetveroblagovestie): Foundations of Byzantine Late Middle Ages Architecture Thoughtfulness  401 Realizing he loves me, and does not despise me, I joined the shamelessness to my bravery and required the following: I beg your Wisdom to paint for me in colours the image of that large church of Saint Sophia in Constantinople, the one erected by the great emperor Iustinian who competed with the wise Solomon. Some characters think that it, as it comes to its value and the size, is like the Moscow Kremlin in the inner city – so large is the span of its foundations, when you walk around it. If a stranger to it enters it, and wishes to go around without the guide, he is not able to found the exit, without losing himself, however he may be wise, owing to the multitude of piers and colonnades, entrances and downway stairs, passageways and corridors, various rooms, chapels, staircases, treasury vaults and crypts, partitions and additions, windows, path- ways, doors, entrances and exits and massive stone pillars. Draw Iustinian for me, as he was called, as he sits on the back of the horse and holds the copper apple in his hand, the apple said to be as big and voluminous as to be able to contain two buckets of water. I beg you to place all previously mentioned on page of the book for me, so that I can place it at the beginning of my book, and to, remembering your hand work and that church, imagine I am myself in Constantinople…Being a wise man, he answered wisely: It is impossible… Fig. 2. Paragoritisa Church, Arta, Greece, 1282-89. (axonometric cros section) P. MILOŠEVIĆ 402 The Byzantine culture was, as can easily be noted in this paper, thoroughly pervaded with faith, Christian Orthodox one. That is why all its definitions were based on the dog- mas, evolved in most cases straight from the Bible. There lies the main explanation for the fact that, though systematically destroyed or at least very ruined, the traces of Byzan- tine architecture were not hard to spot: they were in front of their very eyes in, mostly in the form of enthrallingly structured words about the different building achievements. That is how it was possible to, very often without seeing certain buildings in situ, the west European, medieval, but also the Renaissance builders, using the excellent descrip- tions of those buildings in Byzantine scripts they had in the libraries of their cities, erect the building quite alike their Byzantine, many centuries old predecessors. The chapel of Carolus Magnus in Achen, as it is already said here, and the Church of Saint Marc in Venice, are only the most famous in the multitude of such proofs of the supremacy of Byzantine architecture and entire Byzantine culture in the long passage of centuries we are discussing. Covering the traces other than own is an enduring, unfortunately, trait of the conquer- ing onslaughts from the European Catholic West on the Orthodox Byzantium. Fortu- nately, both for the conquered and the conquerors, and as opposed to architecture itself, the words about architecture are hard to cover. This presentation about the magnificent philosophical background of the Byzantine architecture bears witness to that. This archi- tecture was magnificent both in the late ancient times and the early Christianity, as well as in the Byzantine by no means dark Middle Ages, essentially totally different than the rather dark and chronologically later west European Middle Ages. It was magnificent in the Byzantine renaissance, ravishing precursor of the also ravishing Italian Renaissance. REFERENCES 1. -, Byzantium: Church, Society and Civilization Seen Through Contemporary Eyes. Chicago 1984. 2. -, Idea, Ein Beitrag zur Begriffsgeschichte der aelteren Kunsttheorie (1924), Berlin 1960. 3. -, Truth and Convention in Byzantine Descriptions of Works of Art, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 28, Dumbarton Oaks 1974. 4. _, Ikonologie der Architektur, Jahrbuch fuer Aesthetik und allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft, 1951, 67-109 (ponovo štampano u vidu sveska, Darmstadt 1969). 5. Allatios, Leo, The Newer Temples of the Greeks, prevod na engleski sa komentarom: Anthony Cutler, University Park Rome-London 1969. 6. Bandmann, Guenther, Mittelalterliche Architektur als Bedeutungstraeger, Berlin 1951 (nekoliko iz- danja). 7. Barasch, Moshe, Theories of Art From Plato to Winckelmann, New York-London 1985. 8. Beck, H.G., Kirche und theologische Literatur im byzantinischen Reich, Munich, 1977. 9. Bekker, I., izd., Corpus scriptorum historiae byzantinae, Bonn 1838. 10. Borinski, Karl, Die Antike in Poetik und Kunsttheorie, 2 sveska, Leipzig 1914-24 (Darmstadt 1965). 11. Borissavlievitch, Miloutine, Les theories de l'architecture, Paris 1926. 12. Chandler, Richard, Travels in Asia Minor or an account of a tour made at the expense of the society of Dilettanti, Dublin 1775 (izd. Edith Clay, London 1971). 13. Choisy, Auguste, Histoire de l'architecture, 2 sveska, Paris 1899, nekoliko izdaWa; faksimilsko izd. iz 1899, ponovo štampano Geneva-Paris 1982. 14. Deno John Geanakoplos, Constantinople and the West. Essays on the Late Byzantine (Paleologan) and Italian Renaissances and the Byzantine and Roman Churches, Madison, Wsc. 1989. 15. Ehrhard, A., Ueberlieferung und Bestand der hagiographischen und homiletischen Literatur der griechischen Kirche, 3 sveska, Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur, Leipzig 1937-1952. Foundations of Byzantine Late Middle Ages Architecture Thoughtfulness  403 16. Fischer von Erlach, Johann Bernhard, Entwurf einer historischen Architektur, Wien 1721 (jako skra}eno izdanje ponovo štampano sa pogovorom: Harald Keller, Dortmund 1978); drugo izdanje: Leipzig 1725 (faksimil ponovo štampan 1964); tre}e izdaWe: Leipzig 1742. 17. Friedlaender, Paul, Johannes von Gaza, Paulus Silentiarius. Kunstbeschreibungen justinianischer Zeit, Berlin-Leipzig 1912 (faksimil ponovo štampan: Hildesheim-New York 1969). 18. Gaus, Joachim, Weltbaumeister und Architekt, u: Guenther Binding (izd.), Beitraege ueber Baufuehrung und Baufinanzierung im Mittelalter, Koeln 1974, 38-67. 19. Germann, Georg, Einfuehrung in die Geschichte der Architekturtheorie, Darmstadt 1980 (1993). 20. Grabar, A., L'empereur dans l'art byzantin, Strasbourg 1936 (London 1971). 21. Huebsch, Heinrich, Inwjelchem Style sollen wir bauen?, Karlsruhe 1828 (faksimil ponovo štampan sa pogovorom: Wulf Schirmer, Karlsruhe 1984). 22. Hunger, H., Die hochsprachliche profane Literatur der Byzantiner I, Muenchen 1978. 23. Jenkins, R. J. H., The Hellenistic Origins of Byzantine Literature, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 17, Dumbar- ton Oaks 1963. 24. Junecke, Hans, Die wohlbemessene Ordnung. Pythagoreische Proportionen in der historischen Architek- tur, Berlin 1982. 25. Kora} Vojislav, Marica [uput, Arhitektura vizantijskog sveta, Beograd 1999. 26. Kustas G. L. , Studies in Byzantine Rhetoric, Salonika 1973. 27. Le Corbusier (‚‚Jeanneret), Le voyage d'Orient (1911), Paris 1965 (italijansko izdaWe: Il Viaggio d'Oriente, Faenza 1974). 28. Maguire, Henry, Art and Eloljuence in Byzantium, Princeton, W 1981. 29. Mango, Cyril, The Art of the Byzantine Empire 312-1453. Sources and Documents, Toronto-Buffalo- London 1986 (ponovo štampano 1993, 1997). 30. Meridier, L., L'influence de la seconde sophistiljue sur l'oeuvre de Gregoire de Nysse, Paris 1906. 31. Mumford, Lewis, The City in History. Its Origins, its Transformations, and its Prospects (1961), Har- mondsworth 1975. 32. Weitzmann, K., The Survival of Mythological Representations in Early Christian and Byzantine Art and Their Impact on Christian Iconography, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 14, Dumbarton Oaks 1960. 33. Onians, John, Bearers of Meaning: The Classical Orders in Antiljuity, the Middle Ages, and the Renais- sance, Princeton, W 1989. 34. Panofsky, Erwin, Die Entwicklung der Proportionslehre als Abbild der Stilentwicklung, Monatshefte fuer Kunstwissenschaft XIV, 1921, 188-219 (ponovo štampano u: Panofsky, Aufsaetze zu Grundfragen der Kunstwissenschaft, Berlin 1964, 1669-204). 35. Pevsner, Nikolaus, Studies in Art, Architecture and Design, 2 sveska, London 1968. 36. Pochat, Goetz, Geschichte der Aesthetik und Kunsttheorie. Von der Antike bis zum 19. Jahrhundert, Koeln 1986. 37. Procopius, Prokop, Opera, III, 2, izd. J. Haury, Leipzig 1913; Procopius, izd. H. B. Dewing, Glanville Downey, svezak VII (Loeb Classical Library), London-Cambridge, Mass. 1940. 38. Richter, Jean Paul, LJuellen zur byzantinischen Kunstgeschichte, Wien 1897. 39. Rosenau, Helen, Vision of the Temple. The Image of the Temple of Jerusalem in Judaism and Christian- ity, London 1979. 40. Saufer, Josef, Symbolik des Kirchengebaeudes und seiner Ausstatung in der Auffassung des Mittelalters, Freiburg 1924. 41. Scholfield, Peter Hugh, The Theory of Proportion in Architecture, Cambridge 1958. 42. Silentiarius, Paulus, Eĸφςασις του ναου της Αγιας Σοφιας(ekfrazis) u: Paul Friedlaender, Johannes von Gaza, Paulus Silentiarius. Kunstbeschreibungen justinianischer Zeit, Berlin-Leipzig 1912 (faksimil po- novo štampan: Hildesheim-New York 1969). 43. Spon, Jacob, Wheeler, George, Voyage d'Italie, de Dalmatie, de Grece, et du Levant, fait aux annees 1675-1676, 2 sveska, Amsterdam 1679 (ostala izdanja: Lyon 1678, London 1682). 44. Tafuri, Manfredo, Teorie e le storia dell'architettura (1968), Roma-Bari 1976. 45. Unger, Friedrich Wilhelm, LJuellen zur byzantinischen Kunstgeschichte, Wien 1878. 46. Viljamaa, T., Studies in Greek Encomiastic Poetry of the Early Byzantine Period, Helsinki 1968. 47. Zucker, Paul, Town and Sljuare. From the Agora to the Village Green (1959), Cambridge, Mass.-London 1970. P. MILOŠEVIĆ 404 MISAONI OSNOVI VIZANTIJSKE ARHITEKTURE KASNOG SREDNJEG VEKA Predrag Milošević Tek poslednjih godina mnogobrojne faksimilske publikacije o arhitekturi omogućile su proučavanje originalnih tekstova koji potiču iz raznih vremenskih razdoblja. Ta ionako malobrojna dela o teoriji arhitekture u zapadnom civilizacijskom krugu redovno gotovo potpuno izostavljaju vizantijska dostignuća u sveukupnosti misaonosti (enkyklios paideia), kao osnovnom određenju vizantijske učenosti, koje se u mnogo čemu tiče i arhitekture i koje za svoj osnov ima grčka i helenistička krupna, a neprekinuta dostignuća u istom. Stoga, sastaviti zadovoljavajući prikaz teorije arhitekture u jednoj istorijski tako značajnoj zemlji kakva je Vizantija, i to još u tako dugom istorijskom vremenu, sve od 312. do 1453, prikaz kome je ovaj prilog samo početni deo, pokazalo se kao težak cilj. Nikada ne treba smetnuti s uma da teorije arhitekture ni u jednom slučaju nisu sasvim odvojene od istorijskih, geografskih ili čak ličnih predrasuda svojih autora. U tom smislu, predmet ovog istraživanja je jedan 1141 godinu dug deo teorije arhitekture civilizacijskog Zapada (ali ne onog političkog, dabome), onog koji počiva na hrišćanskim, što će reći pravoslavnim, rimokatoličkim i protestantskim, uglavnom, osnovima. I to sve idući redom, preko antičkih paganskih Grčke i Rima, antičke i srednjevekovne pravoslavne Vizantije, do srednjevekovne i novovekovne cele, pravoslavne, rimokatoličke i protestantske uglavnom Evrope, a onda i onih delova sveta u kojima je isti civilizacijski krug uhvatio svoj koren: delova Azije, severne i južne Amerike, delova Afrike i Australije. Ključne reči: Teorija, arhitektura, sveukupnost, misaonost, Vizantija, helenizam,Grčka, 1141 godina 
work_7p7h7giinfamvfajtnitpsygia	----	CHRISTIAN MYSTERIES OF THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE: CHRISTIAN MYSTERIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE: TYPOLOGY AND SYNCRETISM IN THE ART OF THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE A Dissertation Submitted to the Temple University Graduate Board In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY by Jonathan Dunlap Kline August 2008 iii © by Jonathan Dunlap Kline 2008 All Rights Reserved iv ABSTRACT Christian Mysteries in the Italian Renaissance: Typology and Syncretism in the Art of the Italian Renaissance Jonathan Dunlap Kline Doctor of Philosophy Temple University, 2008 Marcia B. Hall My dissertation studies the typological juxtaposition and syncretic incorporation of classical and Christian elements–subjects, motifs, and forms–in the art of the Italian Renaissance and the significant meaning of classical subjects and figures in such contexts. In this study, I analyze the interpretative modes applied to extra-Biblical and secular literature in the Italian Tre- and Quattrocento and the syncretic philosophies of the later Quattro- and early Cinquecento and reevaluate selected works of art from the Italian Renaissance in light of the period claims and beliefs that are evident from such a study. In summary, my dissertation considers the use of classical subjects, motifs, and forms in the art of the Italian Renaissance as a means to gloss or reveal aspects of Christian doctrine. In chapter 1, I respond to the paradigm proposed by Erwin Panofsky (Renaissance and Renascences) and establish a new criteria for understanding the difference between medieval and Renaissance perceptions of classical antiquity. Chapter 2 includes a study of the mythological scenes painted in the Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral, which are here shown to gloss and reveal aspects of the developing Christian doctrine of Purgatory. In chapter 3, I study the Renaissance use of representational ambiguity as a means of signifying the propriety of pursuing an allegorical interpretation of a work and specifically address the typological significance of figures in Botticelli‟s v Primavera. In chapter 4, I examine the philosophical concepts of prisci theologii and theologicae poetae and their significance in relation to the representation of classical figures in medieval and Renaissance works of art. This study provides the necessary background for a reevaluation of syncretic themes in Raphael‟s Stanza della Segnatura, which is the subject of the final chapter. In chapter 5, I identify classical figures in the frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura–among them, Orpheus in the Parnassus and Plato and Aristotle in the Disputa–and offer a new interpretation of the iconographic program of the Stanza della Segnatura frescoes as a representation of the means by which participants in the Christian tradition, broadly conceived, approach God through the parallel paths of dialectic and moral philosophy. vi ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am very profoundly indebted to a great number of friends, family members, colleagues, and advisors who have given me support and sympathy, criticism and council throughout the duration of my graduate career and in the years that I have spent researching and writing my dissertation. I must thank, first and foremost, my advisor at Temple University, Marcia B. Hall, for her guidance and encouragement. I very firmly believe that this project would not have been possible with any other advisor. Professor Hall has, at every stage, encouraged me to think freely, to pursue new and often unorthodox interpretations where these are merited, and to trust both in the work of art and in my own scholarly inclinations. Professor Hall has been a model, also, in her own scholarship and teaching. I am deeply in her dept and offer to her my most sincere gratitude. I would thank, also, Tracy Cooper and Elizabeth Bolman, for all of their advice and instruction, both in and out of the classroom, and for reading and commenting on my dissertation. Professors Cooper and Bolman, both, have consistently pushed me to grow as a scholar and have held me to a high measure of scholarship. I do believe that my work is far better for their instruction, and I offer them both my humble appreciation. I would express my sincere gratitude also to John O‟Malley, S.J., for his willingness to read and comment on my dissertation, for giving of both his time and his expertise. I am deeply honored by his attention and interest in my work. I have relied on a number of friends and colleagues, as experts to assist me in fields that are beyond my own area of specialty, as critical minds to help in resolving the vii intricacies of ideas, representations, and beliefs, and, on more than one occasion, as audience for my pontification. I would name and thank, in particular, Travis Clark, Alejandra Gimenez-Berger, Rhea Higgins, Fran Altvater, Wendy Closterman, and Jane Evans, for all that they have done and contributed. Raphael Esterson and Rebecca Kline Esterson receive special thanks for their continued interest and for their help in understanding the doctrines, histories, and exegetical methods of both the Jewish and Christian traditions. My research has been supported, even made possible by a number of departments and individuals from Temple University. I wish to thank the Tyler School of Art and Dean Kim Strommen of the Temple campus in Rome for providing funds to travel, study, and teach in Italy in the summer of 2004. I thank also Dean Achilles Iglesias and the Graduate School of Temple University for providing a Dissertation Completion Grant, which has made possible the timely completion of this study. My sincere and heartfelt thanks go to Robert and Marilyn Asplundh, for making possible an extended stay in Florence, Italy, and to Susan Asplundh, for her generosity and support, particularly in the last year of writing. This study has not only been a scholarly endeavor, but has consumed or impacted nearly every other aspect of my life for a number of years. I thank all of those closest to me for their unfailing support and encouragement: Tom and Nina Kline, Bill and Lois Kulp, Henry and Joan Dunlap, and Christina and George Orthwein. Thank you Victoria, Isabelle, Leopold, and Alexander, for sharing your daddy with his studies. Thank you, Caroline, for everything. viii DEDICATION With the deepest appreciation for all that she has done, and with the recognition that none of this would have been possible without her support, her encouragement, and her belief in my ability to achieve that which seemed impossible and should rightly have been so, I dedicate this dissertation. To Caroline. ix TABLE OF CONTENTS Page ABSTRACT ....................................................................................................................... iv ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ................................................................................................. vi DEDICATION ................................................................................................................. viii TABLE OF CONTENTS ................................................................................................... ix LIST OF FIGURES .............................................................................................................x INTRODUCTION .......................................................................................................... xvii CHAPTER 1. MEDIEVAL AND RENAISSANCE RESPONSES TO CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY: RETHINKING THE PARADIGM .................................1 2. TYPOLOGY AND ANAGOGY IN RENAISSANCE MURAL DECORATION: THE ARENA CHAPEL, PADUA, THE CHAPTERHOUSE OF SANTA MARIA NOVELLA, FLORENCE, AND THE CAPELLA NOVA, ORVIETO ..........................................38 3. TYPOLOGICAL ALLEGORY AND REPRESENTATIONAL INCONGRUITY IN DONATELLO‟S BRONZE DAVID AND BOTTICELLI‟S MYTHOLOGIES ...........................................................................114 4. THE PRISCI THEOLOGII IN EARLY RENAISSANCE PHILOSOPHY AND ART ........................................................................................160 5. CLASSICAL THEOLOGIANS IN RAPHAEL‟S FRESCOES OF THE STANZA DELLA SEGNATURA..............................................................197 CONCLUSIONS..............................................................................................................283 SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY ............................................................................................293 x LIST OF FIGURES Figure Page 1. Fresco from the chapel of Sant‟Agostino in the church of Sant‟Andrea, Ferrara, now Pinacoteca Nazionale, Ferrara. ....................................................... 34 2. Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, Ms. N. 197, folio 3r. ............................................. 35 3. Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Ms. B. 42 Inf...................................................... 36 4. Chantilly, Musée Condé, Cd. XX 6426, B .......................................................... 37 5. Typological Image of the Madonna and Child Enthroned from the Legendarium Cisterciennse (Dijon, bib. Mun. Ms 641) ...................................... 83 6. Michelangelo, Pietà, St. Peter‟s Basilica, Vatican, Rome ................................... 84 7. View of the Arena Chapel, Padua, from the west toward the Altar Wall ............ 85 8. Giotto (or school of), The Circumcision of the son of Abraham, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ............................................................................. 86 9. Giotto (or school of), Moses Striking the Rock, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ...................................................................................................... 86 10. Giotto (or school of), The Creation of Adam, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ...................................................................................................... 87 11. Giotto (or school of), Elisha Entering Jericho, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ...................................................................................................... 87 12. Giotto (or school of), The Archangel Michael Triumphant, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ............................................................................. 88 13. Giotto (or school of), Moses and the Brazen Serpent, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ............................................................................................ 88 14. Giotto (or school of), Jonah Swallowed by a Fish, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ............................................................................................ 89 15. Giotto (or school of), Elisha Assumed Into Heaven, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ............................................................................................ 89 xi 16. Giotto (or school of), God Appearing to Ezekiel, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ............................................................................................ 90 17. Giotto (or school of), A Lion Breathing Life Into His Stillborn Cubs, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua ............................................................ 90 18. Detail of the north wall of the Arena Chapel, Padua, showing the juxtaposition of medallions with scenes from the Old Testament and narrative panels with scenes from the New Testament ........................................ 91 19. Andrea di Bonaiuto, Passion Cycle, north wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella ...................................................................................................... 92 20. Andrea di Bonaiuto, Resurrection and Noli Me Tangere, vault quadrant over the north wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella .................................... 93 21. Andrea di Bonaiuto, Ascension, vault quadrant over the south wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella .................................................................... 94 22. Andrea di Bonaiuto, Via Veritatis, east wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella ................................................................................................................. 95 23. Andrea di Bonaiuto, St. Thomas Aquinas Enthroned, west wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella .................................................................... 96 24. Andrea di Bonaiuto, Scenes from the Life of St. Dominic, south wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella .................................................................... 97 25. Andrea di Bonaiuto, Pentecost, vault quadrant over the west wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella .................................................................... 98 26. Andrea di Bonaiuto, Navicella, vault quadrant over the east wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella .................................................................... 99 27. Parri Spinelli, Copy after Giotto‟s Navicella, c. 1400 ....................................... 100 28. Francesco Berretta, Copy after Giotto‟s Navicella, 1628 .................................. 100 29. The Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral, view to the south ............................. 101 30. Luca Signorelli, Dante with scenes from Purgatorio, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral .................................................................................... 102 31. Luca Signorelli, Statius (?) with scenes from Purgatorio, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral ..................................................................... 103 xii 32. Luca Signorelli, Purgatorio scenes from the south wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral .................................................................................... 104 33. Luca Signorelli, Virgil (?) with mythological scenes of Aeneas, Hercules, and Orpheus, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral ................................ 105 34. Luca Signorelli, Ovid / Claudian (?) with scenes from the Rape of Persephone, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral .................................. 106 35. Luca Signorelli, Mythological scenes from the south wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral .................................................................................... 107 36. Luca Signorelli, Medallions from the south wall, left of the altar, of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral ..................................................................... 108 37. Luca Signorelli, Medallions from the south wall, right of the altar, of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral ..................................................................... 108 38. Luca Signorelli, Homer / Cicero (?) with medallions, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral .................................................................................... 109 39. Luca Signorelli, Lucan (?) with medallions, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral ............................................................................................... 110 40. View of the west wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral, showing the Cappellina della Pietà ................................................................................... 111 41. Luca Signorelli, Damaged Poet from the entry wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral ............................................................................................... 112 42. Luca Signorelli, Empedocles (?), from the entry wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral .................................................................................... 113 43. Donatello, David, bronze, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence ................ 153 44. Donatello, David, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence ............................. 154 45. “Farnese Hermes,” 1 st century C.E. Roman statue after a Greek, Praxitelean original, British Museum, London .................................................. 155 46. Botticelli, Birth of Venus, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence ................................. 156 47. Alessio Baldovinetti, Baptism of Christ, Museo di San Marco, Florence ......... 156 48. Botticelli, Primavera, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence ....................................... 157 xiii 49. Botticelli, Castello Annunciation, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence .................... 158 50. Alessio Baldovinetti, Annunciation, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence ................. 159 51. Francesco Traini, Triumph of St. Thomas, Santa Caterina, Pisa ........................ 185 52. Francesco Traini, Triumph of St. Thomas, detail showing Christ with nine rays of inspiration descending from his mouth Santa Caterina, Pisa ................. 186 53. Francesco Traini, Triumph of St. Thomas, detail showing St. Mark and the ray of inspiration from Christ, which is visible crossing the halo of the Saint, Santa Caterina, Pisa ................................................................................. 187 54. Francesco Traini, Triumph of St. Thomas, detail showing Plato and the absence of a ray of inspiration from Christ, Santa Caterina, Pisa ...................... 188 55. Pietro Perugino, Lunette with Prudence, Justice, and Six Uomini Famosi, from the Collegio del Cambio, Perugia ............................................................. 189 56. View of the Collegio del Cambio, with fresco decoration by Pietro Perugino, Perugia. The lunette depicting God the Father over Jewish Uomini and the Sibyls is to the right and the Nativity is at right center ............ 190 57. Pinturicchio, Dialectic, from the Sala delle Arti Liberali, the Borgia Apartments, the Vatican..................................................................................... 191 58. Pinturicchio, Geometry, from the Sala delle Arti Liberali, the Borgia Apartments, the Vatican..................................................................................... 192 59. Pinturicchio, Music, from the Sala delle Arti Liberali, the Borgia Apartments, the Vatican..................................................................................... 193 60. Mosaic panel depicting Hermes Trismegistus, from the floor of the Duomo, Siena. .................................................................................................... 194 61. Pinturicchio, Io-Isis and Moses as the Sources of Egyptian Law and Letters, fresco decoration of the Sala dei Santi, the Borgia Apartments, the Vatican ......................................................................................................... 195 62. Luca Signorelli, The Testament and Death of Moses, detail with the nude figure in the lower left corner, south wall of the Sistine Chapel, the Vatican, c. 1481 ................................................................................................. 196 63. Raphael, School of Athens, fresco on the east wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome. ........................................................................... 253 xiv 64. Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figure group in the left foreground, Fresco on the East wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome.................................................................................................... 254 65. Raphael, Parnassus, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome ............................................................................ 255 66. Raphael, Parnassus, detail of the figure group including Homer, Virgil, and Dante, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome.................................................................................................... 256 67. Raphael, Parnassus, detail of the figure group including Orpheus and Muses, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome.................................................................................................... 257 68. Raphael, Apollo and Marsyas from the vault of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome ............................................................................ 258 69. Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the statue of Apollo, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome ............................ 259 70. Raphael, Poetry, from the vault of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome.................................................................................................... 260 71. Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figure of Aglaophemus, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome ...................... 261 72. Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figure of Pythagoras, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome ...................... 262 73. Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figure of Philolaus, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome ............................ 263 74. Raphael, Disputa, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome .............................................................................................. 264 75. Raphael, Disputa, detail of the figures surrounding Dante, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome. .......................... 265 76. Raphael, Disputa, Detail of the figure group surrounding Aristotle, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome ................. 266 77. Raphael, Disputa, detail of the figure group surrounding Plato, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome ...................... 267 xv 78. Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figures of Plato and Aristotle, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome ...... 268 79. Marcantonio Raimondi, Parnassus, engraving after Raphael ........................... 269 80. Raphael, Study for Parnassus, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford ........................... 270 81. Raphael, Study for the central figure of Parnassus, Musée des Beaux- Arts, Lille ........................................................................................................... 271 82. Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, Royal Library, Windsor .............................. 272 83. Raphael, Study for the Disputa, upper register, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford ................................................................................................................ 273 84. Raphael, Study for the Disputa, lower register, Musée Condé, Chantilly ......... 273 85. Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, British Museum, London............................ 274 86. Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, detail of a figure group from the left side, British Museum, London ........................................................................... 275 87. Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, detail of the figures behind one of the seated Fathers, British Museum, London .......................................................... 276 88. Raphael, Study for the Disputa, lower register, detail of a figure from the left side, Musée Condé, Chantilly ...................................................................... 277 89. Raphael, Study for the Disputa, two figures, including the standing philosopher, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford ........................................................ 278 90. Raphael, Study for the Disputa, drapery study for the standing philosopher, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford ........................................................ 279 91. Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, Albertina, Vienna ....................................... 280 92. Raphael, Study for the Disputa, Albertina, Vienna ........................................... 281 93. Raphael, Study for the Disputa, Graphische Sammlung, Munich ..................... 282 94. Luca Signorelli, Madonna and Child, Alte Pinakothek, Munich ...................... 288 95. Luca Signorelli, Madonna and Child, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence .............. 289 96. Michelangelo, Doni Tondo, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence .............................. 290 xvi 97. Botticelli, Pallas and the Centaur, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence ................... 291 98. Luca Signorelli, Court of Pan, formerly Kaiser Friedrich Museum, Berlin (Destroyed 1945) ............................................................................................... 292 xvii INTRODUCTION It is, or seems, perhaps, something more than coincidental that exactly fifty years have passed between the publication of Edgar Wind‟s influential study, Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance, and the completion of this dissertation, which derives its title, Christian Mysteries in the Italian Renaissance, from that other work. 1 The observant reader will note that the similarity between these two studies runs considerably deeper than their titles. This dissertation, like Wind‟s study, offers a system of allegorical interpretation by which certain classically-themed works of art from the Italian Renaissance may, in Wind‟s terminology, be “elucidated.” 2 There are significant differences between the two studies, as well, which are the result not only of differences in scholarly opinion and method, but are also a reflection of developments in the study of Renaissance theology that have, in intervening years, transformed a number of scholarly disciplines. Edgar Wind, himself, was particularly attuned to the importance of theology for the study of Renaissance art. 3 In his consideration of classical subjects in Renaissance 1 Edgar Wind, Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1958). 2 Wind, Pagan Mysteries, 21: “Although the chief aim of this book will be to elucidate a number of great Renaissance works of art, I shall not hesitate to pursue philosophical arguments in their own terms, and in whatever detail they may require.” Inasmuch as this passage applies equally to this dissertation, it bears quotation in full. 2 Wind, Pagan Mysteries, 21: “Although the chief aim of this book will be to elucidate a number of great Renaissance works of art, I shall not hesitate to pursue philosophical arguments in their own terms, and in whatever detail they may require.” Inasmuch as this passage applies equally to this dissertation, it bears quotation in full. 3 Edgar Wind, The Religious Symbolism of Michelangelo: The Sistine Ceiling, ed. Elizabeth Sears (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2000). xviii art, however, he turned primarily to philosophy, above all to the Neo-Platonism of the Quattrocento humanists, to explain the use of classical motifs by Christian artists and patrons. Wind took as his subject a set of interrelated motifs. His method was strictly iconographic, and his conclusions were, for the most part, well reasoned and insightful. There is, however, another class of objects, in addition to those studied by Wind, which include classical subjects and motifs within a greater program that is explicitly Christian or in juxtaposition with Christian motifs or forms. In such a context, and in specific instances, it is reasonable, even requisite to pursue a theological, rather than a purely philosophical significance for certain classical subjects and motifs in Renaissance art. This is the subject of the dissertation which follows. This dissertation does not seek to refute or revise Wind‟s findings, but to consider works of art which fell outside of his study and to pursue their meanings particularly in light of contemporary, i.e. Renaissance, modes of interpretation and modern studies of Renaissance theology. The last fifty years have seen significant developments in the modern perception of Renaissance theology and its importance in relation to various aspects and products of Renaissance society, visual art included. Rather than recount, here, the contributions made by each scholar in turn, it will more than suffice to refer the interested reader to John O‟Malley‟s introduction to a posthumous collection of Edgar Wind‟s studies on the religious symbolism of Michelangelo‟s Sistine Ceiling. 4 There, O‟Malley, who has himself contributed significantly to the literature on Renaissance theology, describes the 4 John O‟Malley, “The Religious and Theological Culture of Michelangelo‟s Rome, 1508-1512,” in Edgar Wind, The Religious Symbolism of Michelangelo: The Sistine Ceiling, ed. Elizabeth Sears (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), xli-lii. xix developments of the past fifty years far more ably than could the author of this dissertation. The same interested reader would also do well to consider Timothy Verdon‟s introduction to a compilation of essays presented at a 1985 conference on Christianity and the Renaissance, and, indeed, the essays, themselves. 5 Verdon comments on the difference between the mid nineteenth-century view of Renaissance society, as represented and defined by Jacob Burckhardt, and the late twentieth-century perception of the same, which is decidedly more enlightened and informed with regard to the place of theology. 6 What O‟Malley and Verdon have done well, elsewhere, it is not necessary to do again, here. This dissertation builds on the foundation these scholars have laid, and on the work of others like them, most notably including Ernst Curtius and Charles Trinkaus, whose respective studies of medieval literature and Renaissance philosophy are also histories of theology and treatises on the integration of theology into medieval and Renaissance societies. 7 In methodology, this dissertation is largely iconographic, but employs also other methods of determining the meaning and significance of a subject or motif and of establishing the propriety of an plausible interpretation. Thus, this dissertation studies the development of literary interpretation in the late medieval and early Renaissance periods 5 Timothy Verdon, “Christianity, The Renaissance, and the Study of History: Environments of Experience and Imagination,” in Timothy Verdon and John Henderson, eds., Christianity and the Renaissance: Image and Religious Imagination in the Quattrocento (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1990), 1-37. 6 Verdon, “Christianity, The Renaissance, and the Study of History,” 1-2. 7 Ernst Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, trans. Willard Trask (New York: Bollingen Foundation, Inc., 1953); Charles Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness: Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought (London: Constable & Co, 1970). xx and pursues the manner in which each society regarded the allegorical content of extra- Biblical texts and, through this, the manner in which each of these society regarded the relationship between classical culture and their own. Elsewhere, this dissertation considers the means by which a Renaissance artist may have signaled the propriety of an allegorical interpretation, particularly through the use of representational ambiguity in works of art that defy easy categorization or interpretation as classical or Christian in subject. Furthermore, the concepts of change and development–manifest in changes in interpretative methods, changes in the perceptions of the relationships between classical and Christian cultures, the development of ideas and doctrines, the development of style, and the development of an iconographic program–are, are essential throughout this study. Though the established method of pairing a source text with a represented subject or motif is still employed in this study, so, also, are these other methods and concerns, which, strictly speaking, are not the concern of an iconographic method. The interpretations allowed and supported by the methods employed in this study reveal its central thesis, that the Renaissance use of classical motifs differed from that of the medieval period, preceding it, primarily in that Renaissance authorities believed that Christian doctrine could be glossed and even revealed by the representation of subjects and motifs drawn from classical history and mythology. Thus, this dissertation seeks the typological, anagogical, and syncretic significance of classical subjects represented in Renaissance art. These are the subjects treated in the dissertation which follows. 1 CHAPTER 1 MEDIEVAL AND RENAISSANCE RESPONSES TO CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY: RETHINKING THE PARADIGM It has been well established that authors, artists, and philosophers of the Italian Renaissance expressed in their creative output a deep and pervasive interest in the forms and subjects of classical Antiquity. It has also been established, however, that the authors, artists, and philosophers of the Italian Renaissance were not alone in such an interest. A significant body of literature describes the varied response of medieval authors, artists, and philosophers to the remains of classical culture. Scholars such as Fritz Saxl, Erwin Panofsky and Jean Seznec have charted and described the persistence of classical subjects and motifs in the art of the Middle Ages and expounded on the differences between these medieval manifestations of the pagan gods and their subsequent representation in the art of the Italian Quattro- and Cinquecento. 1 Though these authors have contributed greatly to the study and understanding of the occurrence and representation of mythological subjects in medieval and Renaissance art, there are developments in the Italian Trecento, particularly regarding the interpretation of secular and mythological literature, that have yet gone unnoticed by art historians, though their effect on the visual art of the Renaissance period is profound. It is in the realm of interpretation that significant differences can be seen between medieval and Renaissance 1 Erwin Panofsky and Fritz Saxl, “Classical Mythology in Medieval Art,” Metropolitan Museum Studies 4:2 (March 1933), 228-80; Erwin Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art (Stokholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1960); Jean Seznec, The Survival of the Pagan Gods: The Mythological Tradition and Its Place in Renaissance Humanism and Art (New York: Pantheon Books, 1953). 2 responses to classical mythology–where medieval exegetes and commentators allowed a spiritual or an anagogical meaning only to the Judeo-Christian narrative represented in the canonical books of the Bible, Renaissance authors increasingly claimed a similar degree of spiritual significance for their own work and ultimately for other secular narratives, including those of ancient Greece and Rome. Thus, by the end of the Trecento, the application of exegetical modes to the interpretation of classical mythology allowed the perception of Christian content in the stories of the pagan pantheon, beyond allegorical moralizing, even to degree that these sources could be seen to contain an objectively Christian Truth. This development, in turn, contributed to the development of Renaissance syncretism and to the rise of mythologically themed works of art in subsequent centuries. Panofsky wrote his Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art–or composed the 1952 Gottesman Lectures that would become that book–to address the “Renaissance Problem,” a contemporary debate over the nature and even the existence of a distinct Italian Renaissance.2 At the heart of the debate was the question of what factors or characteristics, if any, distinguished the Italian Renaissance from the European Middle Ages. Other scholars and critics had rightly observed that the Middle Ages had included various “renaissances”–the so-termed Carolingian Renaissance and the Twelfth-Century Renaissance–or periods of profound and significant interest in the remains or the perception of classical Greece and Rome.3 In his study, Panofsky acknowledged these 2 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, xvii. 3 Jean Hubert, The Carolingian Renaissance (New York: G. Braziller, 1970); Charles Haskins, The Renaissance of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard 3 instances of interest in classical antiquity, but found, also, reasons to retain the division of periods and to distinguish the Italian Renaissance. Ultimately, Panofsky followed Giorgio Vasari‟s lead, four centuries earlier, in proposing a break from medieval precedent and dividing the subsequent Renaissance into three phases, roughly equivalent to the divisions of the thirteenth-, the fifteenth-, and the sixteenth-centuries. According to Panofsky‟s system, artists of the thirteenth-century, the first phase, sought new means of representing the visual world; artists of the fifteenth-century, the second phase, returned to forms known from the study of antique models; and artists of the sixteenth-century, the third phase, expressed in their art the full realization of advances that had been made in the previous centuries. Panofsky‟s own summary bears quotation in full: Similarly, the art historian, no matter how many details he may find it necessary to revise in the picture sketched out by Filippo Villani and completed by Vasari, will have to accept the basic facts that a first radical break with the mediaeval principles of representing the visible world by means of line and color was made in Italy at the turn of the thirteenth century; that a second fundamental change, starting in architecture and sculpture rather than painting and involving an intense preoccupation with classical antiquity, set in at the beginning of the fifteenth; and that a third, climactic phase of the entire development, finally synchronizing the three arts and temporarily eliminating the dichotomy between the naturalistic and the classicistic points of view, began at the threshold of the sixteenth.4 Panofsky did attempt to distinguish the Renaissance “preoccupation with classical antiquity” from earlier medieval interest in classical culture. The essential differences, he claimed, derived from the manner in which the artists, authors, and authorities of each University Press, 1927). Also note Panofsky‟s discussion of the topic and bibliography, Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 1-8 and in particular 5 n. 4. 4 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 39. 4 period viewed Antiquity in relation to their own culture: that the Carolingians and even twelfth-century medievals thought of themselves as legitimate heirs to Antiquity and could not, therefore, reinvent what they felt had never fully been lost, while the greater chronological and conceptual distance between Ancient civilization and the Renaissance permitted Trecento poets, authors, artists, philosophers, and their descendants in subsequent centuries to lament the death of Ancient Rome and pine for its rebirth. Thus, where medievals sought only to renew Antiquity, Petrarch and his ilk called for its rebirth.5 The distinction has significant ramifications. Panofsky claimed that it would have been anachronistic for artists in the twelfth-century to present a classical figure in classical garb, enacting a scene from classical mythology and placed within a classically inspired setting, precisely because the medieval mind did not view classical Antiquity as entirely separate from its own era and could only present classical elements together with medieval subject or form.6 Thus Panofsky developed his “principle of disjunction”: Whenever in the high and later Middle Ages a work of art borrows its form from a classical model, this form is almost invariably invested with a non-classical, normally Christian, significance; wherever in the high and later Middle Ages a work of art borrows its theme from classical poetry, legend, history or mythology, this theme is quite invariably presented in a non-classical, normally contemporary, form.7 5 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 108-13. 6 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 111-12. 7 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 84. 5 Conversely, in Panofsky‟s view, because the artists of the Italian Renaissance viewed Antiquity as separate from their own period, they could reconstruct and admire a classical ideal, rather than a contemporary reality, and re-integrate classical forms with classical subject and setting.8 This, for Panofsky, was the great achievement of the Italian Quattrocento.9 There is much to admire in Panofsky‟s study. There is also be sufficient room for refining or amending some of his theories. Panofsky was correct to observe, or at least to quote Libeschütz in his observation that the middle ages drew from Antiquity “such [ideas and forms] as seemed to fit in with the thought and actions of the immediate present.”10 Certain ecclesiastical authorities in the medieval period dictated precisely this approach toward the appropriation and interpretation of pagan knowledge and literary remains. Yet this very practice belies Panofsky‟s assertion that the Middle Ages did not fully distinguish their own era from that of classical Antiquity. In fact, late Antique and medieval theologians and exegetes were exceedingly careful to distinguish what aspects of classical culture could and should be appropriated by medieval Christianity and to distinguish the basis of their belief system from that of the pagan culture which had preceded them. This suggests, at least, that the ecclesiastical authorities of the medieval period saw their own history and culture as distinct from that of Antiquity and were able to select portions of their cultural heritage to adapt to their own use. Conversely, 8 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 112-13. 9 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 100. 10 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 111, citing Libeschütz. 6 ecclesiastical authorities, authors and perhaps even artists of the Italian Renaissance may have perceived significantly less distinction between their own culture and that of Antiquity than Panofsky asserted, and in certain respects less than their predecessors in the medieval period. Beginning in the Trecento, Italian authors–Dante Alighieri, Giovanni Boccaccio, and Coluccio Salutati–enacted a change in the interpretation of secular text, such that certain contemporary and even classical works were perceived to contain elements of Christian wisdom in deeper levels of allegorical meaning. Where medieval theologians had allowed this “spiritual” or “anagogical sense” only to the Biblical narrative, Renaissance authors claimed the same degrees of allegory even for the narrative of classical mythology. Ultimately, Renaissance philosophers expanded Christianity beyond Judeo-Christian history, even to include the history and culture of classical Antiquity. Thus, the differences between the two periods–medieval and Renaissance–may be somewhat other than those proposed by Panofsky. Certain authorities of the medieval period did perceive a great difference between their Christian culture and the pagan culture of Ancient Greece and Rome, and thus selected only those portions that were harmonious with their own. The phenomenon that Panofsky described in his “principle of disjunction” may result from a perceived distance, rather than a perceived continuity. If the Italian Renaissance did produce works of art in which both form and subject are classically inspired–the great re-integration that is, for Panofsky, a hallmark of the Renaissance, proper–the interpretive methods of Renaissance authors, and later artists and theologians, suggest that even these works may have underlying Christian significance and express a Renaissance perception of the essential unity and continuity of 7 Antiquity and the Christian culture which follows. Panofsky rightly observed certain fundamental formal and iconographic distinctions between the art of the Middle Ages and that of the Italian Renaissance. However, the underlying principles or causes for these differences may not be as Panofsky had suggested, but may relate instead to changes in the interpretation of allegorical meaning in sacred and secular texts and corresponding changes in the perceived relationship of the classical and Christian cultures. It is incorrect to speak in general terms of a medieval response to Antiquity. The broad expanse of European history that is collectively invoked by the term “medieval” was by no means uniform, and the peoples and institutions of its various periods, regions, or cultures responded to the physical, literary, and conceptual remains of classical Greece and Rome in a host of different ways. It is true, however, that theologians from the far ends of the chronological period dictated a certain response to classical philosophy, instructing that any elements of pagan thought or knowledge that were harmonious with the beliefs and systems of the Christian faith could be appropriated and put to proper, Christian use. It is this principle, rather than any lack of “perspective distance,” as Panofsky claims, which is reflected in a certain tendency, within the vast medieval period, to select classical ideas or forms and to marry them, respectively, with aspects of contemporary representation or significance.11 The medieval theologians who crafted and refined this response toward classical philosophy were variously defensive, hostile, or suspicious of pagan culture, and allowed the appropriation of certain Truths, as they viewed them, not out of a sense of continuity with classical Antiquity, but, quite the 11 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 111. 8 opposite, in order to reclaim and properly use what had been accidentally found and largely corrupted by a people who were distinct and different from themselves and their tradition. Early in the third-century C.E., the Greek Apologist Origen advised Gregory Thaumaturgus, later Bishop of Caesarea, both on his career and on the proper use of philosophy. 12 Recommending that Gregory should focus his intelligence on Christianity, Origen nevertheless allowed that Gregory should take from the philosophy and sciences of the Greeks what was suitable for the pursuit of Christian understanding and the interpretation of Holy Scripture. Origen wrote: And I would wish that you should take with you on the one hand those parts of the philosophy of the Greeks which are fit, as it were, to serve as general or preparatory studies for Christianity, and on the other hand so much of Geometry and Astronomy as may be helpful for the interpretation of the Holy Scriptures. The children of the philosophers speak of geometry and music and grammar and rhetoric and astronomy as being ancillary to philosophy; and in the same way we might speak of philosophy itself as being ancillary to Christianity.13 Origen allowed the study of philosophy and certain worldly sciences, but also established a hierarchy of learning or scholarly pursuit. Philosophy was permitted as a learned pursuit, but only as an introduction or foundation for proper Christian learning. 12 Origen to Gregory Thaumaturgus, translated and reproduced in Allan Menzies, ed., The Ante-Nicene Fathers: Translations of the Writings of the Fathers down to A.D. 325, Original Supplement to the American Edition, vol. 10 (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1951), 295-96. 13 Origen to Gregory Thaumaturgus, in Menzies, Ante-Nicene Fathers, 295. 9 In the same letter to Gregory Thaumaturgus, Origen illustrated his views on the proper application of pagan knowledge with examples drawn from the Biblical narrative. Origen explained that the appropriation of Truth from pagan knowledge and its use for Christianity was signified by God‟s direction to the children of Israel to take Egyptian gold, silver, and raiments before leaving that land and to make from those spoils the Tabernacle and its furnishings. 14 The Egyptians, he stated, had not made proper use of their goods, but the Hebrews, because the wisdom of God was with them, put them to religious purposes.15 Origen implied, though he did not explicitly state, that classical scholars and philosophers had not fully realize or appreciate those elements of their own work that were True, but that these elements could, nonetheless, be properly appropriated, even reclaimed, and applied to the development of Christian ritual or scholarship. Origen was careful to warn against the dangers of pagan knowledge, however, and cautioned Gregory with the example of Ader, the Edomite, who fled Solomon and later, after spending too much time in Egypt and assimilating to its culture, tempted the Israelites with a false god: Holy Scripture knows, however, that it was an evil thing to descend from the land of the children of Israel into Egypt; and in this a great truth is wrapped up. For some it is of evil that they should dwell with the Egyptians, that is to say, with the learning of the world, after they have been enrolled in the law of God and in the Israelite worship of Him.... I have learned by experience and can tell you that there are few who have taken of the useful things of Egypt and come out of it, and have then prepared what is required for the service of God; but Ader the Edomite on the other hand has many a brother. I mean those who, founding on some 14 Exodus 11:2-3, 12:35-36. 15 Origen to Gregory Thaumaturgus, in Menzies, Ante-Nicene Fathers, 295. 10 piece of Greek learning, have brought forth heretical ideas, and have as it were made golden calves in Bethel, which is, being interpreted, the house of God.16 Implicit in this example are Origen‟s warning and the details of his instruction: the study of pagan philosophy or worldly knowledge may provide a suitable precursor to religious studies, but these pursuits are not innocuous, and prolonged study by the Christian initiate may tempt him into heresy. In his Confessions, St. Augustine described his own progress from professor of rhetoric and student of philosophy to Christian convert, enacting the very steps that Origen had allowed in the letter to Gregory.17 It is not surprising, given this background, to find Origen‟s principles repeated in Augustine‟s treatise On Christian Doctrine. Like Origen, Augustine allowed that the arts and sciences of pagan knowledge–from astrology and mechanics to logic, rhetoric, mathematics, et cetera–may be pursued, not for their own ends, but as precursors to the study of Scripture and Christianity.18 Augustine also called for the selective appropriation of suitable elements from pagan philosophy and illustrated the principle with the example of Egyptian spoils: Furthermore, if those who are called philosophers, especially the Platonists, have said things by chance that are truthful and conformable to our faith, we must not only have no fear of them, but even appropriate them for our own use from those who are, in a sense, their illegal 16 Origen to Gregory Thaumaturgus, in Menzies, Ante-Nicene Fathers, 295-96. 17 Augustine Confessions 5:12-14, 6:2-4. On the proper progression from philosophical study to scriptural study, 7:20. 18 Augustine On Christian Doctrine 2:28-39. 11 possessors. The Egyptians not only had idols and crushing burdens which the people of Israel detested and from which they fled, but they also had vessels and ornaments of gold and silver, and clothing, which the Israelites leaving Egypt secretly claimed for themselves as if for a better use. Not on their own authority did they make this appropriation, but by the command of God, while the Egyptians themselves, without realizing it, were supplying the things which they were not using properly. In the same way, all the teachings of the pagans have counterfeit and superstitious notions and oppressive burdens of useless labor, which anyone of us, leaving the association of pagans with Christ as our leader, ought to abominate and shun. However, they also contain liberal instruction more adapted to the service of truth and also very useful principles about morals; even some truths about the service of the one God Himself are discovered among them. These are, in a sense, their gold and silver. They themselves did not create them, but excavated them, as it were, from some mines of divine Providence which is everywhere present, but they wickedly and unjustly misuse this treasure for the service of demons. When the Christian severs himself in spirit from the wretched association of these men, he ought to take these from them for the lawful service of preaching the Gospel. It is also right for us to receive and possess, in order to convert it to a Christian use, their clothing, that is, those human institutions suited to intercourse with men which we cannot do without in this life.19 If this passage is lengthy, its significance and subtleties merit its quotation in full. Augustine elaborated on Origen‟s interpretation, specifying that only certain elements are to be drawn from philosophy, as only certain spoils were taken from Egypt, while others must be abhorred and shunned. Augustine made clear that Truths–precepts that are harmonious or even identical to Christian doctrine–are to be found in philosophy, and apparently with more abundance among the Platonists, but that these do not rightfully belong to philosophy and are perverted by philosophers toward unholy worship. 19 Augustine On Christian Doctrine 2:40. Aurelius Augustinus, Writings of Saint Augustine, trans. John J. Gavigan, O.S.A. (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1947), 4:112-13. 12 Though both Origen and Augustine wrote at the onset of the Christian Middle Ages, even in the waning years of the classical era, the principle that they established with regard to the selective appropriation of pagan philosophy was repeated and enacted even in the late medieval period.20 The application of this principle was vividly illustrated in the resolution of a conflict over the propriety of teaching Aristotle at the University of Paris in the early decades of the thirteenth-century. Believing that Aristotelian works were at the root of various heretical movements among students and professors at the University, the Provincial Council of Paris condemned the reading of Aristotle‟s Natural History in 1209. Six years later, a second council, initiated at the request of Pope Innocent III, found that Aristotle was still read in Paris, and forbade also his Physics and Metaphysics, though other works were permitted for study, including the Dialectics and Ethics. It was not Innocent III, however, but Gregory IX, in the 1220s and 1230s, who settled the matter, first by repeating the condemnation of those books which infect and corrupt the word of God, but ultimately by calling for a commission to examine, translate, and correct Aristotle‟s text and to remove any elements harmful to Christianity.21 In language somewhat more eloquent than Augustine‟s, the pope‟s letter appointing the commission essentially repeated the Church Father‟s injunction to claim 20 More specifically, Augustine‟s prescription on the proper use of pagan philosophy has continued relevance, even if Origen and his writings began a sharp fall from favor by the end of the fourth-century C.E. See also New Catholic Encyclopedia, s.v. “Origen and Origenism.” See also Jerome to Pammachius and Oceanus, 400 C.E., in which he distances himself from Origen‟s teachings, also Theophilus to Jerome, 400 C.E., on the attack against fanatics and the heresy of Origen, among others. 21 Brother Azarias, Aristotle and the Christian Church (London: Kegan, Paul, Trench & Co., 1888), 34-37. 13 what is true and harmonious with Christianity and the view shared by Augustine and Origen that pagan knowledge must support Christian doctrine. Gregory even employed the well-worn metaphor of Egyptian spoils taken by the Hebrews: As other sciences ought to minister to the wisdom of Holy Writ, the Faithful should embrace them according as they perceive them giving willing service to the sovereign master; so that should aught of poison or other vicious thing be found in them calculated to diminish the purity of the Faith, the same should be cast far away... Thus, that the Hebrews might grow rich with the spoils of the Egyptians, they were commanded to borrow their precious vases of gold and silver, leaving aside those of brass, copper, or wood. Having learned, then, that certain books of natural philosophy, which were prohibited by the Provincial Council of Paris, are said to contain things useful and baneful, and lest the baneful should mar the useful, We strongly enjoin upon your discretion... to examine those books with as minute care and prudence as behooves, and to remove whatever is erroneous, or of scandal, or in the least offensive to the readers, so that after the severe pruning of all suspected passages, what remains, may, without delay and without danger, be restored to study.22 Augustine‟s charge to claim from philosophy what is harmonious with Christian faith was also depicted in word and image in a series of frescoes and manuscript illuminations from the Italian Trecento. If these works of art are now widely scattered and in varying states of preservation, they share essentials of subject and representation and appear to derive, through various paths of redaction, from a common prototype, no longer extant.23 The family of works includes two fresco cycles, painted for the church 22 Gregory IX to William of Beauvais, Simon of Authie, and Stephen of Provins, April 23, 1231 (Paris, Bibliothéque Nationale, Suppl. lat. num., 1575). Transcribed and translated in Brother Azarias, Aristotle and the Christian Church, appendix. 23 On the family of related works and their possible redactions, see Sergio Bettini, Giusto de’ Menabuoi e l’Arte del Trecento (Padova: Società per Azioni, 1944), 112-21. 14 of the Eremetani, Padua, and for Sant‟Andrea, Ferrara. The Padua cycle, though originally more extensive than the Ferrara frescoes, exists today only in small fragments.24 Its appearance can be partially reconstructed from a fifteenth-century description of its composition and inscriptions and through comparison with other, related works.25 The remnant of the Ferrara cycle, one wall from a chapel dedicated to Saint Augustine, survived the destruction of the church and is preserved in the Pinacoteca Nazionale, Ferrara. (Figure 1) The same compositional and figurative elements are variously included in a number of manuscript illuminations, of which the decoration on folio 3r of a codex now in Madrid (Biblioteca Nacional, Ms. N. 197) most closely corresponds to the Padua and Ferrara frescoes.26 (Figure 2) In the Madrid manuscript, Augustine sits enthroned at the top and center of the composition, flanked by Theology and Philosophy, personified as female figures, to his 24 On the church of the Eremitani and its decoration, see Paolo Carpeggiani, “Gli Eremitani,” in Neri Pozza, editor, Padova: Basiliche e Chiese (Vicenza: Officine Grafiche Sta, 1975), 217-34. The remaining fragments of the relevant cycle were published by Bettini, Giusto de’ Menabuoi, figs. 33-37. 25 In particular, Hartmann Schedel‟s description gave the fullest understanding of composition and inscriptions. The relevant portion of Schedel‟s Memorabilienbuch (München, Hof- und Staatsbibliothek, Cod. lat. 418, fol. 104-109) were reproduced in Julius von Schlosser, “Giusto‟s Fresken in Padua und die Vorläufer der Stanza della Segnatura,” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses 17 (1896), 91-94. 26 Paolo d‟Ancona, “Nicolò da Bologna miniaturista del secolo XIV,” Arte Lombarda: Rivista di Storia dell’Arte 14 (1969), fig. 16; Dieter Blume and Dorothee Hainsen, “Agostino Pater e Praeceptor di un Nuovo Ordine Religioso (Considerazioni sulla Propaganda Illustrata degli Eremiti Agostiniani),” in Arte e Spiritualità negli Ordini Mendicanti: Gli Agostiniani e il Cappellone di San Nicola a Tolentino (Rome: Argos, 1992), fig. 8; Luigi Coletti, “Un Affresco Due Miniature e Tre Problemi,” L’Arte, n.s., 4 (1934), fig.1. 15 proper right and left, respectively. Theology looks upward, toward a miniature manifestation of God, and stands over a wheel-within-a-wheel that bears the four heads of creatures seen by Ezekiel and is inscribed: testa[mentum] vet[us], testa[mentum] nov[u]m, sensus allegoricus, and sensus literalis. An open codex within the wheel is inscribed with a passage derived from Ezekiel 1:16: Apparuit rota una super terram habens quatuor facies et opera quasi roti in dimidio rote / “There appeared a wheel over the earth having four faces and its work was as it were a wheel in the midst of a wheel.” Philosophy looks downward and stands over the consecutive circles of the planets and the Zodiac. Behind each personification are seated four representatives: four authors each of Scriptural and philosophical text. Each figure is named in inscriptions either above or below: St. Jerome, St. John the Evangelist, St. Paul, and Moses on the side of Theology, Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, and Seneca behind Philosophy. The poses and gestures of these figures mirror those of their personified disciplines: the four authors of Scripture look upward to God, as if to view and receive revelation; the four philosophers look down to the earth and planets and hold their chins in their hands, fold their hands, or gesture in learned discourse. Passages from Augustine‟s writings appear on scrolls above both the theologians and the philosophers and define the Church Father‟s opinion on the relative merits of the two disciplines. The scroll over the theologians paraphrases a letter to Jerome, in which Augustine praised the purity of Scripture: Scriptura[s] ca[n]onicas solas ita sequor ut sc[ri]ptores ea[rum] ni[chil] i[n] eis o[mn]i[n]o erasse v[e]l fal[la]cit[er] posuisse n[on] dubitem. For I confess to your Charity that I have learned to yield this respect and honor only to the canonical books of Scripture: of these alone do I most firmly believe that the authors were completely free from error. 16 In stark contrast, the passage over the philosophers is none other than Augustine‟s injunction, from On Christian Doctrine, to appropriate those portions of pagan philosophy that are harmonious with Christian faith: Phylosophy, si q[ua] v[er]a dix[er]u[n]t et fi[dei] n[ost]re accommodea, s[un]t ab eis ta[n]q[uam] ab iniusti[s] poss[ess]or[i]b[us] i[n] usu[m] no[strum] vindicanda. Philosophy, if it has said what is true and in harmony with our faith, is to be claimed for our own use from those who possess it unlawfully. The figures on the lower register of the Madrid manuscript also illustrate the division of sacred and secular and, through their positions in the composition of the greater scene, correspond to Augustine‟s views on the proper pursuit of those activities that belong to each, respectively. Nicolò di Bologna, the illuminator, managed to fit fourteen female figures side by side, each with her own attributes and detailed inscriptions describing certain characteristics. The seven figures to the right, below philosophy and her representatives, are named as the seven Liberal Arts, arranged in the order of instruction and increasing complexity: Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic, Arithmetic, Geometry, Music, and Astrology. Below each Art is a representative figure, an exemplar of the Art drawn from either Classical or Biblical history. The seven women to the left are the sacred counterparts to these secular pursuits–the Virtues, personified: Justice, Fortitude, Temperance, Prudence, Charity, Hope, and Faith. Below these Virtues are seven bowed and broken figures who represent not the application or institution of each virtue, but their antitheses: seven heretics and fallen kings who lacked in precisely those 17 qualities that are represented above them. If the Madrid manuscript places these figures, the Virtues and the Arts, side by side on a single register, they still take their positions in the composition in relation to the division of sacred and secular that is established by the figures above. The Arts sit below the Philosophers, to Augustine‟s left–the sinister side– as if to imply what is explicit in Augustine‟s On Christian Doctrine, that these branches of worldly knowledge may be explored by the Christian, but should only be precursors to the study of sacred Scripture. The Virtues, however, sit at Augustine‟s right hand, beneath the authors of Scripture. The same composition was exhibited in the Padua fresco, with, perhaps, the same connotations.27 In the Ferrara fresco, the Virtues and Arts each filled their own register and a hierarchical distinction gave the upper level to the holy figures. The lower register, with the personified Arts, has been severely damaged, and only fragments of those figures remain. The Virtues and Arts appear similarly composed, on registers, in another manuscript illuminated by Nicolò di Bologna, now found in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan (Ms. B. 42 Inf.).28 (Figure 3) The works of art that comprise this family of images are of interest not only as illustrations of a late medieval attitude toward pagan philosophy, but also for the details of the comparison that is made between secular text and sacred Scripture. Both of the frescoes and the Madrid illumination juxtapose pagan authors with the authors of the canonical books of the Bible and, in the inscription drawn from Augustine‟s letter to Jerome, implicitly castigate the secular authors while praising their sacred counterparts. 27 See Micchiel and Schedel, quoted in von Schlosser, “Giustos Fresken in Padua,” 90-94. 28 Coletti, “Un Affresco Due Miniature e Tre Problemi,” fig. 3. 18 The passage states that only the authors of Scripture are without error. The precise nature of Scripture–the canonical Judeo-Christian Biblical narrative–is further glossed in the figure of a wheel-within-a-wheel that accompanies Theology and her representatives and is matched by the spheres of the planets and the Zodiac on the side of Philosophy. The inscriptions on the wheel suggest that it is a figure for Scripture and the methods of exegetical interpretation. The inscriptions on the wheel in the Madrid manuscript refer to the Old and New Testaments and to literal and allegorical senses. The same wheel appears also in a manuscript of Bartolomeo di Bartoli‟s Canzone delle Virtù e delle Scienze (Chantilly, Museo Condé, Cd. XX 6426, B), which manuscript includes also the full cycle of theologians, philosophers, Virtues and Liberal Arts.29 (Figure 4) Here, the four heads that surround the wheel are labeled as the Evangelists–Matthew, Luke, Mark, and John–and the two wheels, outer and inner, are designated by inscriptions as the Old Testament (testamentum vetus) and New Testament (testamentum novum), respectively. The space circumscribed by the wheels is divided by six radii, and inscriptions in each section further distinguish the senses of scripture: the literal sense (sensus litteralis), the moral sense (sensus moralis), the natural sense (sensus naturalis), the anagogical sense (sensus anagogicus), the historical sense (sensus ystor[i]ografus), and the allegorical sense (sensus allegoricus).30 These various degrees of literal and allegorical interpretation appear only on the side of Theology, only on the motif that designates 29 In particular, Leone Dorez, La Canzone delle Virtù e delle Scienze di Bartolomeo di Bartoli da Bologna (Bergamo: Instituto Italiano d‟Arti Grafiche Editore, 1904). 30 Dorez, La Canzone delle Virtù, 25 19 Scripture. Indeed, the full range of these senses, including the anagogical sense, would be allowed only to the Biblical narrative throughout the medieval period, from the earliest centuries of Christianity through the High Middle Ages, and this distinction would separate that era from the Renaissance which followed. In his Contra Celsus, Origen defended the Judeo-Christian narrative from the attacks of his pagan counterpart, arguing, against Celsus‟ claims to the contrary, that the Bible text did indeed contain allegorical meaning. Moreover, while Origen allowed or acknowledged that pagan mythology could also contain useful or wholesome moral instruction hidden within its fables of gods and goddesses, Origen praised the Bible for the purity and veracity of its literal sense and chastised the shameful and absurd stories of the Greeks, which offended and corrupted through their literal meaning.31 Elsewhere, in his De Principiis, Origen described the particular nature of the Biblical narrative, its three senses, and what he termed its “historical,” its “corporeal,” and its “spiritual” interpretation. Origen asserted that the Bible was divinely inspired, not only in those portions which were prophetic, but also in its histories.32 Further, Origen maintained that the Bible‟s text was composed with multiple levels of meaning, which he compared to the body, soul, and spirit of man. In Origen‟s system of exegesis, the “bodily” or “corporeal” sense was understood to recount the narrative of Creation and the histories of both the just and the wicked, and to serve for the edification and improvement of the greater multitude, who, in Origen‟s words, were unable to endure the fatigue of 31 Origen Contra Celsus 4:47-48. 32 On the divine inspiration of Scripture, see Origen De Principiis 4:1:6. On the inner meaning of histories, as well as prophecies, see 4:1:13-14. 20 investigating more important matters. This “bodily” sense covered over a sense relating to the soul, which revealed the mysteries of the Christian faith–the nature and manner of God and his Son, of angels, demons, souls, and the world.33 A third sense, that of the spirit, was understood to be the allegorical meaning of the Biblical narrative that was contained in the patterns of the Old and New Testaments, that is, in the Christian meaning of passages from Jewish text or history that were thought to contain a shadow of future blessings. Thus “spiritual” interpretation brought to light the Christian mysteries that were, according to Origen, hidden within the “corporeal” laws and histories of the Jews.34 An important distinction inherent in Origen‟s system was made more explicit later in the Middle Ages, in Thomas Aquinas‟ Summa Theologiae. Origen was careful to specify that the Jewish laws and histories recorded in the Old Testament contained Christian significance in their “spiritual” sense–i.e. Christian mysteries were to be found within the whole of the Jewish narrative, historical as well as prophetic.35 In the Summa Theologiae, Aquinas claimed that God had not only composed the Biblical narrative in such a manner that it was “true”–that the narrative of the Old and New Testaments contained Christian Truth in moral, typological, and anagogical senses–but also that the Divine author had so shaped historical events that history, itself, as well as the Biblical text which recorded it, was crafted in relation to Christian mysteries. This very quality 33 Origen De Principiis 4:1:14. 34 Origen De Principiis 4:1:12. 35 Origen De Principiis 4:1:13-14. 21 distinguished the allegories of the Biblical narrative from those of other, secular works. Wrote Aquinas: The author of sacred scripture is God, who has the power not only to use words in order to signify (which even humans can do) but also to use things themselves in order to signify. Thus although words are used to signify in every science, it is proper to this science that the things signified by the words themselves signify something.36 Thus, according to Aquinas, not only the Judeo-Christian narrative, but Judeo-Christian history, as well, was crafted so as to have Christian relevance, i.e. to contain within events and their description the Truths of Christian theology. In contrast, other sciences were understood to signify only by words, not by things themselves. Pagan poetry, pagan mythology, pagan history could not compare to the interwoven Judeo-Christian narrative, theology, and history that was the Bible text. Because secular or pagan narratives were neither authored by God nor invested with mystical truths that were inherent in things themselves, the allegorical systems within secular poetry and pagan myth could not include typological or anagogical senses, and thus did not reveal the mysteries of the faith. Thus, in the perception of medieval theologians such as Origen, Augustine, and Aquinas, a gulf existed between the allegory of the poets and the allegory of the theologians, and signaled, perhaps, that these theologians and their contemporaries perceived a similar gulf between the history and culture of Antiquity and that of the Judeo-Christian tradition. If certain medieval institutions, practices, or concepts grew 36 Aquinas Summa Theologiae 1:10c. Thomas Aquinas, The Treatise on the Divine Nature: Summa Theologiae I 1-13, trans. Brian Shanley, O.P. (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 2006), 16. 22 from those of Antiquity, here, in the perceived significance of sacred history, medieval theologians distanced themselves from any culture, literature, or history that was not part of the Biblical narrative. The representation of classical subjects in the art and literature of the Middle Ages corresponds to the systems of meaning or interpretation implicitly allowed to secular text by medieval theologians. In a 1940 publication, Jean Seznec studied the mythological tradition in the Middle Ages and Renaissance and observed that medieval representations of classical subjects tended to present the pagan gods or goddesses as historical figures (actual heroes, kings, and queens who were mistaken for deities and elevated to the pagan pantheon), as physical entities (planets or celestial bodies that were similarly mistaken for deities), or as signs with allegorical significance relating to proper codes of behavior.37 Thus, to paraphrase Seznec‟s work in the language of this study, Seznec observed that in medieval art and literature, classical subjects could be presented or interpreted for historical or physical significance or for moral meaning, on a literal or allegorical level. Until the later Middle Ages, the allegorical interpretation of classical subjects was restricted to moral significance. Seznec did sketch the development of a sort of Christian exegesis applied to classical myth, but this development occurred primarily from the fourteenth-century on.38 Earlier representations and interpretations seem to have been more closely related to the principles outlined in Origen‟s discussion of 37 See Seznec, Survival of the Pagan Gods. Seznec called these the Historical Tradition, the Physical Tradition, and the Moral Tradition, respectively, and treated of each in chapters 1, 2, and 3, also respectively. 38 Seznec, Survival of the Pagan Gods, 89-109. 23 classical mythology–though they need not have followed Origen directly–in allowing or acknowledging a degree of moral allegory and edifying instruction in the allegorical sense of pagan myth, even if the letter was seen as fallacious or corrupting. Throughout the greater expanse of the medieval era, medieval artists, poets, and theologians did not seek after any typological or anagogical allegory in pagan mythology. Thus, as example, Medieval art did not depict mythological subjects in typological relationship with Christian figures or events. Such a representation would have run counter to the perceived divisions of secular and sacred allegory and the possible interpretations of secular versus sacred text or history. This impossibility makes apparent the perceived division between the Judeo-Christian tradition, on the one hand, and the culture of Greco- Roman Antiquity, on the other. It is possible, even necessary, in light of the views of medieval theologians outlined above, to refute or refine Panofsky‟s theories on the causes of principle of disjunction. As Panofsky observes, medieval works of art that have formal elements borrowed from classical models tend to have Christian significance, and medieval works that have subjects taken from classical sources tend to clothe them in contemporary form. This very phenomenon may have occurred as a result of the perceived distance between medieval culture and that of Antiquity and in accordance with the practice of selectively appropriating classical elements that were perceived as harmonious with the Christian faith. Indeed, to represent classical subjects in classical form would have been entirely antithetical to the culture of the Middle Ages, not because there existed any perceived continuity of cultures, which in theory could have made such a representation possible, but because medieval authorities recognized the gulf between the classical and Christian 24 cultures and prescribed the appropriation of elements from that Other culture only when they could be used for proper Christian purposes. A work of art with both classical form and subject could not have been produced by medieval artists; such a work would have belong to a different culture entirely. In contrast to the views of medieval ecclesiasts, however, authors of the Italian Trecento increasingly claimed for their own writing and for other secular works the allegorical modes that had previously been recognized as belonging only to the Biblical narrative. Twice in his oeuvre Dante discussed the levels of meaning, or the senses that he believed were inherent in his own work. In his Convivio, a work dating to the first decade of the fourteenth-century, he offered to expound on the meaning of certain canzoni–songs–that he had previously published under the title Vita Nuova.39 Though Dante specified that writings may be interpreted on four distinct levels–the literal, the allegorical, the moral, and the anagogical–he claimed only literal and allegorical meaning for his work, and even distinguished the allegorical sense that is employed by secular poets from that of the theologians. Thus, Dante wrote: As I noted in the opening chapter, this commentary must be literal and allegorical. To indicate what this means, it should be explained that texts can be interpreted, and must therefore be elucidated, principally in four senses. The first is called literal: this is the sense conveyed simply by the overt meaning of the words of a fictitious story, as, for example, in the case of fables told by poets. The second is called allegorical: this is the sense concealed under the cloak of these fables, and consists of a truth hidden under a beautiful lie…. I recognize that theologians understand this allegorical sense in a different way from the poets; but since my intention 39 Dante Convivio 1:1. See Dante, The Banquet, trans. Christopher Ryan (Saratoga, CA: ANMA Libri & Co, 1989), 15. 25 here is to follow the practice of the poets, I shall understand the allegorical sense as they do.40 Dante‟s description of the moral and anagogical senses is somewhat ambiguous: though he seems to have been describing his own, secular work, he includes a description of both the moral and the anagogical sense of allegory. His wording is vague, but inasmuch as his examples were drawn from the Bible, he may have here implied that these allegorical senses were found primarily, if not exclusively, in the Judeo-Christian narrative: The third sense is called moral: this is the sense that teachers must be on the alert to notice as they work through texts, for their own benefit and that of their students. One can, for instance, notice in the Gospel that when Christ went up the mountain to be transfigured he took with him the three selected from the twelve apostles; the moral lesson which can be drawn from this is that we should have few companions in matters that touch us most closely. The fourth sense is called anagogical, that is, transcending the senses: this is brought out when a work is expounded with regard to its spiritual meaning; even though the work is true in a literal sense, what is said there speaks also of things beyond our knowledge relating to eternal glory. One can see this, for instance, in that song of the prophet which says that, when the people of Israel escaped from Egypt, Judah was made holy and free. For although what is said here is clearly true in a literal sense, the spiritual meaning of these words is no less true, namely, that when the soul escapes from sin it is made holy and free in its distinctive power.41 Indeed, there is relatively little that is new in Dante‟s discussion of meaning and interpretation as given in the Convivio, excepting his division of the allegorical sense into the distinct categories of that which is used by the poets and that which belongs to the theologians. Even here his discussion was strictly orthodox. The levels or degrees of 40 Dante Convivio 2:1, as in Dante, The Banquet, 42-43. 41 Dante Convivio, as in Dante, The Banquet, p. 43. 26 meaning that were allowed to secular poetry and its interpreters were fewer and more mundane than those allowed to the Biblical narrative and its exegetes. Elsewhere, however, Dante appears to have claimed even the moral and anagogical senses for his great masterwork, the Divina Commedia. In a letter to Can Grande, Vicar General of Verona and Vicenza, Dante wrote, with regard to the Commedia: For the clearness, therefore, of what I shall say, it must be understood that the meaning of this work is not simple, but rather can be said to be of many significations, that is, of several meanings; for there is one meaning that is derived from the letter, and another that is derived from the things indicated by the letter. The first is called literal, but the second allegorical or mystical. That this method of expounding may be more clearly set forth, we can consider it in these lines: “When Israel went out of Egypt, the house of Jacob from a people of strange language; Judah was his sanctuary and Israel his dominion.” For if we consider the letter alone, the departure of the children of Israel is signified; if the allegory, our redemption accomplished in Christ is signified; if the moral meaning, the conversion of the soul from the sorrow and misery of sin to a state of grace is signified; if the anagogical, the departure of the sanctified soul from the slavery of this corruption to everlasting glory is signified. And although these mystical meanings are called by various names, they can in general all be said to be allegorical, since they differ from the literal or historic.42 Though there was some ambiguity inherent in his description of allegory in the Convivio, in that work Dante had been careful to distinguish between the allegory of the poets and that of the theologians and to take for himself only the levels of meaning allowed to the former. Here, in the letter to Can Grande, Dante attempted the exact opposite. He blurred the distinction between secular and sacred allegory, collapsing the moral and anagogical 42 Dante to Can Grande, paragraph 7, as in Charles Allen Dinsmore, Aids to the Study of Dante (Cambridge, MA: The Riverside Press, 1903), 267. 27 senses into the allegorical level of meaning, and illustrated each sense with examples taken from the Biblical narrative, though the work that he refers to as having these many senses was not the Bible, but his own Commedia.43 Dante‟s discussions of the allegorical sense were somewhat cryptic and perhaps not entirely out of order–while it was not Holy Writ, his Divina Commedia was a theological narrative of sorts and could even have been perceived as something of an historical account. Rather more extreme were the claims made later in the Trecento by Boccaccio. Boccaccio realized the possibilities that were hinted at in Dante‟s work and made an explicit claim for anagogical meaning in the most secular of sources, the mythological narrative of classical Antiquity. In the Genealogie Deorum Gentilium, written between 1350 and 1374, Boccaccio described the literal and allegorical levels of meaning, as Dante had done in the Convivio and the letter to Can Grande. Boccaccio‟s description differed, however, in that he illustrated the interpretation of the literal and allegorical senses with an example from pagan mythology, as befitting the subject of his work. The greatest difference then followed, as Boccaccio described the anagogical meaning of the same pagan myth and demonstrated his method of interpreting the Christian significance of pagan text. In book 1, chapter 3 of the Genealogie, Boccaccio wrote: 43 On Dante‟s use of allegory and the significance of the Convivio and the letter to Can Grande, see Richard Hamilton Green, “Dante‟s “Allegory of Poets” and the Mediaeval Theory of Poetic Fiction,” Comparative Literature 9:2 (spring 1957), 118-28; Massey H. Shepherd, Jr., review of The Typological Problem in Dante: A study in the History of Medieval Ideas, by Johan Chydenius, Speculum 35:3 (July 1960), 438-40. 28 The first meaning is the superficial, which is called literal. The others are deeper and are called allegorical. To make the matter easier, I will give an example. According to the poetic fiction, Perseus, son of Jupiter, killed the Gorgon, and flew away victorious into the air. Now, this may be understood superficially in a wise man‟s triumph over vice and his attainment of virtue. Allegorically it figures the pious man who scorns worldly delight and lifts his mind to heavenly things. It admits also an anagogical sense, since it symbolizes Christ‟s victory over the Prince of this World, and his Ascension.44 In explicitly claiming the anagogical sense for secular, even pagan, text, Boccaccio signaled not only a certain difference from Dante‟s system of interpretation, but a revolutionary departure from medieval interpretative methods and the perceived distinctions between sacred and secular text, even the perceived distinctions between Christian and classical culture that marked the medieval response to Antiquity. Not only did Boccaccio seek the mysteries of Christianity in the myths of classical Greece and Rome, but, in the same work, he claimed that the ancient poets were, in fact, theologians. Ironically, his justification for this assertion would appear to depend on the very same argument that supported the medieval practice of selective appropriation. Boccaccio noted that Ancient poets, at times, related Truths that were harmonious with Christian belief, and gave this as evidence for their status as sacred theologians. In book 15, chapter 8, of the Genealogie Deorum Gentilium, Boccaccio argued his case: On the other hand there are times, as in this book, when the theology of the Ancients will be seen to exhibit what is right and honorable, though in most cases it should be considered rather physiology or ethology than theology, according as the myths embody the truth concerning physical nature or human. But the old theology can sometimes be employed in the 44 Boccaccio Genealogie Deorum Gentilium 1:3. Translation in Charles Osgood, Boccaccio on Poetry (New York: The Liberal Arts Press, 1930), xviii. 29 service of Catholic truth, if the fashioner of the myths should choose. I have observed this in the case of more than one orthodox poet in whose investiture of fiction the sacred teachings were clothed. Nor let my pious critics be offended to hear the poets sometimes called even sacred theologians.45 Thus Boccaccio foiled Dante‟s distinctions of poetic and theological allegory, and thus he countered the greater medieval system of exegesis, which privileged the Biblical narrative over secular text precisely for its ability to convey, in the deeper senses of meaning, the mysteries of Christianity. Similarly, Coluccio Salutati, who wrote only shortly after Boccaccio, sought Christian meaning in the myths of pagan Antiquity. In his De Laboribus Herculis–written primarily in the 1380s and 1390s, but left unfinished at the author‟s death in 1406– Salutati maintained that, thought there were distinctions between sacred and secular poetry, God used both to relate the mysteries of the Christian faith. In the case of the Biblical narrative, this was achieved through the Divine author. Salutati proposed, however, that God, as the author of all things, worked even through secular poets who were, perhaps, unaware of his intrusions into their work. Thus secular, and even pagan poetry could contain, within, divinely inspired Truth relating to God, Heaven, salvation, and other mysteries properly known only to Christianity. Wrote Salutati: The former type of poetry in Scripture, since it has as its author the Holy Spirit, is ordained to an infinity of meanings, nor is a truth congruent to the letter able to be conceived which was not from the beginning intended by the infinite spirit from whose throne that truth proceeds. The latter sort of poetry [secular poetry], however, insofar as it is a human invention, is 45 Boccaccio Genealogie Deorum Gentilium 15:8. Translation in Osgood, Boccaccio on Poetry, 120-21. 30 so ordered to the meaning of the author that sometimes it is related by God, the author of all things, to something other than what man thinks and sometimes it means only what the man wished to express.46 Thus, for Salutati, as for Boccaccio, it was possible to interpret pagan mythology in exactly the same manner as the Biblical narrative, with respect to its typological or anagogical meanings, and to find, hidden beneath the fallacious literal sense, truth that was not simply historical or moral, but relating to the mysteries of the Christian faith. Herein, also, lies the significance with respect to the perceived distances between medieval culture and Antiquity, on the one hand, and between the Italian Renaissance and Antiquity, on the other. Where medieval exegetes, among them the foremost ecclesiastical authorities, viewed classical philosophy and literature as distinct and separate from the sacred Judeo-Christian tradition, Renaissance poets, and later philosophers and even ecclesiastical authorities would increasingly incorporate the classical tradition into the greater sweep of Christian history. Though, admittedly, certain medieval institutions and authorities evoked the idea of Rome and even took on certain forms that were derived from Ancient models, these same institutions and authorities maintained a distance from that Other culture, which was only made acceptable by Christianizing any elements that were borrowed. Conversely, because the Renaissance essentially Christianized the entire classical tradition by bringing the histories, literature, and forms of Greece and Rome into the Christian tradition, investing them with Christian significance, the two traditions were increasingly perceived as one, and poets, patrons, 46 Salutati De Laboribus Deorum 1:86-87, as translated and quoted by Ronald Witt, Hercules at the Crossroads: The Life, Works, and Thought of Coluccio Salutati (Durham: Duke University Press, 1983), 224-25. 31 and artists were freed to draw both form and subject from Antiquity without obscuring either under a veil of Christianity. This perceived continuity of cultures has been described by various scholars in relation to Salutati‟s writing, in particular the De Laboribus Herculis. Thus, wrote Ronald Witt: While only a few passages in all of ancient poetry appeared divinely inspired because of their prophetic nature, nonetheless the belief that at some point ancient poetry bridged the gulf between natural and supernatural truth exercised a pervasive effect on Salutati‟s attitude toward ancient literature in general, causing him to assume a continuity between pagan and Christian culture.47 Charles Trinkaus, who discussed these developments at some length, has provided such a fine summary of the principles here discussed that the relevant passage deserves an extended quotation: Thus in greatly expanding the application of the allegorical method of interpretation to the pagan poets he [Salutati] was simultaneously staying within an old and Christian tradition of Biblical and literary exegesis and opening it up to include the necessary and expanded vision of human life. Thus he fulfills the need that was at that time felt to relate the wide world of the poets‟ imagination to the Christian world of the Renaissance, to show that not only Dante and Petrarch composed poetry with Christian meaning, but that, if Christian meaning was also human meaning, this legitimately could and should be sought in Homer and Virgil as well. It meant a movement towards a universalizing, not only of literature–a conception of the possibility of a world literature where a Christian Dante could stand beside a pagan Homer–but towards a universalizing of human experience, so that a Renaissance Christian might understand the experience of an ancient pagan and also find in it elements that were comparable to his own.48 47 Witt, Hercules at the Crossroads, 226. 48 Charles Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness: Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought (London: Constable & Co., 1970), 2:703. 32 Indeed, the concepts presented above are not entirely new to studies of Renaissance literature and philosophy. This study draws from the work of scholars in those fields. Here, however, certain particulars regarding the nature of medieval exegesis and the differences between medieval and Renaissance interpretative systems are more fully developed here than in other scholarship. It is also the unique purpose of this study to consider the significance of these developments with regard to the history of Italian Renaissance art, given that scholars of art history has not fully realized the significance of the Trecento developments herein described. A detailed understanding of medieval and Renaissance systems of interpretation is essential to art historical discourse, not only so that the differences between the periods can be more correctly realized and the particular qualities of the Italian Renaissance distinguished, but also in order that modern methods of interpreting Renaissance art may more accurately recognize meanings that are potentially inherent in representations of classical subjects during that period. The change in interpretative method that is reflected in the claims made by Dante, Boccaccio, and Salutati in the Italian Trecento made it possible for authors to juxtapose pagan and Christian subjects within a single work, to describe characters from pagan myth as types for figures from the Judeo-Christian narrative, and to explore the mysteries of the Christian faith which, in their perception, lay hidden beneath the literal representation of classical subjects. These practices must be recognized as essentially “Renaissance,” i.e. as characteristic of the manner in which Renaissance authors responded to the remains of classical Antiquity. The same practices characterize the response of Renaissance artists to the remains of classical Antiquity and 33 are represented in the use of classical subjects in the visual art of the period. Though medieval artists did occasionally depict classical subjects in their works of art or include motifs or forms borrowed from classical prototypes, this use of classical subjects primarily conformed to the interpretative modes allowed to secular literature in the medieval period. Thus, in this period, classical subjects were primarily represented and interpreted according to their perceived historical, physical, or moral significances. In contrast, Renaissance authors and artists expanded the interpretation of classical subjects to include also those modes of allegorical significance which had previously been allowed only to sacred texts, and, as a result, Renaissance art includes depictions of classical subjects in typological juxtaposition with Christian subjects and, either through a perceived typological significance or in a more direct, anagogical manner, employs classical subjects as a means even of revealing the mysteries of the Christian faith. 34 Figure 1 – Fresco from the chapel of Sant‟Agostino in the church of Sant‟Andrea, Ferrara, now Pinacoteca Nazionale, Ferrara. 35 Figure 2 – Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, Ms. N. 197, folio 3r. 36 Figure 3 – Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Ms. B. 42 Inf. 37 Figure 4 – Chantilly, Musée Condé, Cd. XX 6426, B 38 CHAPTER 2 TYPOLOGY AND ANAGOGY IN RENAISSANCE MURAL DECORATION: THE ARENA CHAPEL, PADUA, THE CHAPTERHOUSE OF SANTA MARIA NOVELLA, FLORENCE, AND THE CAPPELLA NOVA, ORVIETO The typological relationship of stories or events from the Old and New Testaments was frequently represented in Christian art, from its origins in the first centuries C.E. through the so-called Medieval period of European history. Examples abound and include both well and lesser known works of art: Jonah as a type for Christ in the decoration of Roman catacombs and on Early Christian sarcophagi, numerous examples of Mosan enamel work of the twelfth-century, among them the famed Klosterneuberg Altar Frontal, and an equally sublime, if less ostentatious illustration from the twelfth-century Legendarium Cisterciennse, in which the Madonna and Child are surrounded by Moses at the Burning Bush, Gideon and his fleece, Daniel in the lion‟s den, and the three Hebrews in the furnace.1 (Figure 5) In such a work as the Legendarium Cisterciennse, the juxtaposition of types did more than simply establish the existence of parallels between the figures or stories of the two Testaments. The typological juxtaposition of figures allowed the medieval artist to communicate significant meaning which would otherwise be difficult to convey artistically: here, the perpetual virginity of Mary was glossed in four scenes in which a person or object remains inviolate though its condition or surroundings would normally dictate its consumption or corruption. Though Renaissance artists, in certain instances, developed alternate means of expressing doctrinal themes of this sort–Michelangelo Buonarotti famously defended the youthful 1 See, as examples, the Jonah cycle in the Catacomb of Pietro e Marcellino, the Balfour Ciborium, now in the collection of the Morgan Library, and the Klosterneuberg Altar Frontal. The Legendarium Cisterciennse is Dijon, bib. Mun. Ms 641. 39 appearance of Mary in his Pietá (Figure 6) as an expression of her perpetual virginity–the typological juxtaposition of Old and New Testament subjects remained a valid means of conveying significant meaning.2 The 1481 cycle of decoration on the walls of the Sistine Chapel followed a typological program, pairing scenes from the life of Moses with scenes from the life of Christ.3 Here, as in the Legendarium Cisterciennse, the message was greater than the sum of its parts. In pairing the Punishment of Korah with the scene of Christ giving the keys to Peter, for example, the architects of the program did not simply illustrate the calling of Old and New Testament priests, but glossed that latter event as the establishment of a true priesthood with legitimate authority, as that of Aaron over the Hebrews, in opposition to the false claims of Korah and his followers. It is not the inclusion or representation of typologically related scenes or figures that distinguishes the art of the Middle Ages from that of the Renaissance. Artists and iconographers of both periods proved themselves adept at the juxtaposition of Old and New Testament scenes and employed this interpretative and artistic convention more or less consistently as a means of conveying the allegorical meaning that was, according to patristic exegesis, perceived as inherent in the relationship of Biblical types. The distinction is not in the use of typological juxtaposition as an artistic trope, per se, but in the range of subjects that were represented as significant types in the art of the Italian Renaissance, as compared to the range of subjects represented as types in medieval art. Where medieval exegetes and artists saw and represented typological parallels in the 2 On Michelangelo‟s explanation of Mary‟s youth and the relationship between her appearance and her perpetual virginity, see Condivi, as in Howard Hibbard, Michelangelo (New York: Harper & Row, 1974), 48. 3 On the program of the walls of the Sistine Chapel, Leopold Ettlinger, The Sistine Chapel before Michelangelo: Religious Imagery and Papal Primacy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965); Carol Lewine, The Sistine Chapel Walls and the Roman Liturgy (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1993). 40 subjects of the Old and New Testaments, Renaissance artists, authors, and philosophers posited parallels and typological relationships also between figures and events from the Judeo-Christian narrative and figures and events from world history and secular literature. Furthermore, as the range of perceived typological relationships expanded, ultimately to include even pagan mythology as a source for types to Christian figures and themes, Renaissance artists and iconographers found and conveyed Christian meaning in the perceived anagogical significance of extra-Biblical, even pagan sources. These developments and practices are seen in Renaissance literature, as described in the previous chapter. These developments and practices may be seen also in Renaissance art, as demonstrated here by a comparison of the decorative, typological, and anagogical programs of three Renaissance chapels: the Arena Chapel in Padua, the Chapterhouse or Cappellone degli Spagnuoli of Santa Maria Novella, Florence, and the Cappella Nova or Cappella di San Brizio of Orvieto Cathedral. In each of these chapels, the authors and executors of the decorative program juxtaposed scenes from disparate traditions in a typological manner. The range of sources differed, however, in each example. Thus, a comparison of the three programs shows the expansion of typology from a conventional paring of Old and New Testament types, to an innovative juxtaposition of New Testament and contemporary events, which are still sacred if not strictly Biblical, and ultimately to a more syncretic cycle of Biblical, extra-Biblical, and classical narratives that depends not only on a perceived classical / Judeo-Christian typology, but also on the perception of an anagogical meaning inherent in scenes and subjects from classical mythology. The expansion of typological juxtapositions and anagogical representation depicted in these three chapels illustrates the very shift in the perception of allegorical meaning in sacred and secular texts that was claimed successively by Dante, Boccaccio, and Salutati and proves a parallel path for art in the developing Renaissance. 41 The Arena Chapel, Padua Giotto di Bondone‟s fresco decoration of the Arena Chapel in Padua is sufficiently known to art historical discourse to require but little introduction. 4 The chapel was begun in 1303 and formally dedicated in 1305, and the fresco decoration dates to those few years or, perhaps, to the years immediately after that date. The interior of the chapel is divided by painted bands of fictive architecture into three registers of narrative scenes on the side and altar walls, a decorative vault above, and a dado of fictive marble alternating with monochromatic figures representing various virtues and their opposing vices. (Figure 7) The narrative scenes of the side walls include scenes from the Life of Joachim, the Life of the Virgin, and the Life of Christ. These narrative scenes have long been included in the art historical cannon and are variously described and reproduced in survey texts and specialist studies. A series of smaller scenes painted on medallions that decorate the bands of fictive architecture, however, is described and reproduced much less frequently and has been the subject of dedicated study only on two notable occasions, in a chapter and an article published, respectively, by Aldo Bertini and Claudio Bellinati.5 Bertini‟s study was largely iconographic and connoisseurial in 4 See, among other works, James Stubblebine, ed., Giotto: The Arena Chapel Frescoes (New York, W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1969); Andrew Ladis, ed., The Arena Chapel and the Genius of Giotto (New York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1998); and Anne Derbes and Mark Sandona, eds., The Cambridge Companion to Giotto (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 5 Aldo Bertini, “Per la Conoscenza dei Medaglioni che Accompagnano le Storie della Vita di Gesu‟ nella Cappella degli Scrovegni,” in Giotto e il suo tempo, Atti del Congresso Internazionale per la celebrazione del VII centenario della nascita di Giotto (Rome: De Luca Editore, 1971), 143-47; Claudio Bellinati, “Tipologia e Arte nei Medaglioni della Cappella di Giotto all‟Arena,” Padova e la sua Provincia 18:5 (1972), 7-10. Note that these scenes have been reproduced and mentioned by other scholars, though not as dedicated subjects of study and often in passing. See, for example, Stubblebine, Giotto: The Arena Chapel Frescoes, who reproduced two portions from the “decorative frieze” as figures 72 and 73, but described these only as symbolic vignettes, 42 methodology. Bellinati, on the other hand, rightly recognized the scenes within the smaller medallions as typological precedents of the larger narrative subjects which are represented in the chapel‟s primary cycle of decoration. The medallions appear only on the north wall of the chapel–on the south wall, the larger narrative scenes are divided by the actual architecture of the chapel, by a series of windows that pierce the wall at the level of the lower two bands of narrative scenes, and the fictive architectural bands do not appear. The decoration of the north wall includes a total of ten medallions, of which nine depict scenes from the Old Testament. As Bellinati has observed, the Old Testament scenes in the medallions are parallels or types for the scenes of the larger narrative cycle of events from the Life of Christ, which they accompany as follows: the Circumcision of the son of Abraham (Figure 8) is painted in the medallion to the left of the narrative scene of the Baptism of Christ; Moses striking the Rock (Figure 9) accompanies the Marriage Feast at Cana; the Creation of Adam (Figure 10) accompanies the Raising of Lazarus; Elisha Entering Jericho (fig. 11) accompanies Christ Entering Jerusalem; the Archangel Michael Triumphant Over the Devil (Figure 12) accompanies the Expulsion of the Money Changers; Moses and the Brazen Serpent (Figure 13) accompanies the Crucifixion; Jonah Swallowed by a Fish accompanies the Lamentation (Figure 14); Elisha Assumed Into Heaven (Figure 15) accompanies the Ascension of Christ; and God Appearing to Ezekiel (Figure 16) accompanies the narrative scene of Pentecost.6 The on page 75: “To balance the windows, Giotto introduced decorative bands opposite them on the north wall, and these contain little vignettes or heads in quatrefoils, which symbolically echo the episodes in the large scenes nearby.” 6 These were described by Bellinati, “Tipologia e Arte ,“ 9, and Bertini, “Per la Conoscenza dei Medaglioni,” 143-47. The only substantial difference in their identification of scenes is in regard to the medallion to the left of the Pentecost panel. Bertini identified the scene according to its apparent representation as God giving the Law to Moses. Bellinati described this as a representation of Ezekiel receiving a book from God, according to Ezekiel 3:1-15, in which the Prophet is visited by God, given a scroll to eat, and sent out to speak to the Jews, who would listen regardless of his 43 only medallion not depicting a story from the Old Testament shows, instead, a lion breathing life into his stillborn cubs (Figure 17), and is placed in juxtaposition with the Resurrection of Christ. In the Arena Chapel, the inclusion of typological motifs in addition to the scenes from the Life of Christ shows that these were not intended to be interpreted only in a literal or narrative fashion. Rather, the juxtaposition of scenes from the Old Testament draws particular attention to the type, i.e. to the parallel theme or quality which allows a typological relationship. Thus, in each instance, an allegorical interpretation was evoked, in addition to the narrative depicted. For example, the Old Testament subject of Jonah entering the mouth of the great fish is a typological parallel to the Entombment of Jesus– this is established in the Gospel text, by the words of Jesus: that as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the great fish, so the Son of Man will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.7 The juxtaposition of this subject with the New Testament scene commonly described as the Lamentation over the Body of Christ highlights the shared theme of Entombment. Because the narrative depicted in the larger panel is not a scene of the Entombment, the pairing of images glosses the Lamentation by pairing it with a typological representation of that event and leads the viewer to consider particular themes or qualities that are common to both subjects. (Figure 18) Thus, in the Arena Chapel, the viewer is to recognize not only a narrative sequence of events from the Life of Christ, but is to reflect on the subjects depicted and to contemplate the themes represented in the typological pairing of larger narrative panels and their accompanying medallions. The apparent attention to themes, rather than simply subjects, may give language–a closer parallel to the New Testament story of Pentecost. I find Bellinati‟s reading more convincing, particularly as it finds support in the typology that defines the relationship between medallion and New Testament elsewhere in the program of the Arena Chapel. 7 Matthew 12:39-41; Luke 11:29-30. 44 support to those scholars who have suggested that the narrative scenes have relevance in their position and opposition, in particular Ursula Schlegel‟s proposition that the Betrayal of Judas was included and placed not solely in relation to the progress of a narrative cycle, but in order to highlight the significance of its underlying theme of Betrayal.8 The iconographic program of the Arena Chapel is conventional, medieval, in its use of typological juxtaposition–the allegorical meaning that is perceived as inherent in the Judeo-Christian narrative is revealed through the juxtaposition of scenes, events, or figures from the Old and New Testaments. Indeed, this may be as expected, given that the chapel was decorated in the few years immediately prior to Dante‟s work on the Divine Comedy, and it is in that work, or properly in Dante‟s discussion of the polysemaity of the Divine Comedy in his letter to Can Grande, that an Italian author first claims for an extra-Biblical work the same degrees of allegorical interpretation present in the Biblical narrative, including typological allegory. The Arena Chapel decoration is, nevertheless, a proper foil to later Trecento examples of mural decoration in which Biblical subjects are presented in typological juxtaposition with extra-Biblical scenes. This is the case with the mural decoration of the Guidalotti Chapel or Cappellone degli Spagnuoli–the Chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella, in Florence. The Chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella, Florence 8 Among them Michael Alpatoff, “The Parallelism of Giotto‟s Paduan Frescoes,” Art Bulletin 29:3 (1947), 149-54, and Ursula Schlegel, “On the Picture Program of the Arena Chapel,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 22 (1957), 125-46. I disagree with Alpatof‟s reading of the significance of the superposed images, but his method of inquiry is interesting, and his implicit recognition that the themes of the narrative scenes have significance is to be commended. 45 The Chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella was decorated with frescoes some sixty years after the Arena Chapel in Padua, in a project that spanned the years 1365 to 1368.9 The fresco cycle, executed by and under Andrea di Bonaiuto, covers the four walls and their crowning groin vault with scenes from the Passion cycle of the New Testament, the Acts of the Apostles, and with narratives and allegories constructed around the Dominican saints Dominic, Peter Martyr, and Thomas Aquinas. It is the relationship between these scenes and subjects that is of greatest importance to this study, for here the artist and iconographic advisors can be seen to have deviated substantially from the typical conventions of typological representation as practiced in the preceding centuries. Here, scenes from the lives of contemporary religious figures, painted on the walls of the chapel, are juxtaposed with events described in the Biblical narrative, painted in the vault quadrants above. Though the scenes painted on the walls are not Biblical, the actions and events depicted there parallel those which are depicted in the Biblical scenes above and relate to them in a typological manner. The program of decoration in the chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella is elaborate and complex, with subtle and varied relationships between its different components. In essence, or in summary, the decoration on the walls and vaults presents a series of scenes from the Passion and Resurrection of Christ together with scenes that depict and celebrate the actions and goals of the Dominican Order. These two themes are intricately interwoven and interdependent. The iconographic cycle may be said to begin on the north wall of the chapterhouse, directly opposite the entry into that room from the 9 The most significant recent studies on the Guidalotti Chapel are Richard Offner and Klara Steinweg, A Critical and Historical Corpus of Florentine Painting, sec. 4, vol. 4 (New York: College of Fine Arts, New York University, 1979); and Joseph Polzer, “Andrea di Bonaiuto‟s Via Veritatis and Dominican Thought in Late Medieval Italy,” Art Bulletin 77:2 (June 1995), 262-89. Offner and Steinweg include a critical history of earlier scholarship. On the date of the chapterhouse frescoes, see Offner and Steinweg, Critical and Historical Corpus, 17; Polzer, “Andrea di Boniuto‟s Vita Veritatis,” 263. 46 adjoining cloister. This wall (Figure 19) is pierced by an archway which leads, in turn, to an adjacent chapel dedicated to the Corpus Christi, and the decorative program may have extended into that space as well, though later over-painting now obscures any possibility of realizing its subject or significance.10 The remaining space on the north wall, a great arc over the entrance into the Corpus Christi chapel, is filled with three scenes from the Passion cycle, reading from the lower left, over the arch, to the lower right: the Road to Calvary, the Crucifixion, and the Harrowing of Hell, respectively. The Passion cycle continues in the vault quadrant over the north wall (Figure 20), with scenes of the Three Marys Coming to the Tomb, the Resurrection of Christ, and the Noli Me Tangere. Finally, this sequence culminates in the opposite vault, that which is over the south wall, with an Ascension of Christ (Figure 21). Though the Passion cycle unfolds on the north- south axis of the chapterhouse, there is also an iconographic progression from the lower right scene of the north wall, the Harrowing of Hell, to the upper left corner of the east wall, where the very same figures who were imprisoned by demons and freed by Christ at his descent are now gathered triumphantly within the walls of Heaven. (Figure 22) Noah, David, and John the Baptist are easily identified within the crowd of figures who are freed from Hell on the north wall, and they stand again with the crowd of figures gathered in Heaven on the east wall, adjacent, now at the front of the assembled masses, who include numerous Christian Saints as well as those saved from the Old Testament. All of these Elect turn their attention to the Beatific Vision of Jesus Enthroned, flanked by the Virgin and angels and placed over the sacrificial Lamb and four Beasts, at the apex of the east wall fresco. This Vision is not strictly Biblical, though it certainly derives from the visions of Ezekiel and John. Rather, this vision is contemporary, occurring, 10 Offner and Steinweg, Critical and Historical Corpus, 18: “The frescoes on the north wall of the Corpus Domini Chapel must have referred to the mystery of Corpus Domini and may still exist beneath the later decoration of 1592.” 47 according to Trecento doctrine, at time after the Resurrection and before the Last Judgment, or at the same time as other events depicted in the fresco, even at the same time as the fresco is viewed by the Renaissance visitor to the chapterhouse.11 The scenes on the east and west walls and on the entry wall to the south are all extra-Biblical in subject and depict scenes that occur not in the Biblical past, but in the Renaissance present, essentially contemporary to the decoration of the chapterhouse. The east wall presents an extended scene of the path to salvation through truth and the guidance of the Dominican Order. Below the Beatific Vision and the Host of Heaven, St. Dominic directs penitent souls toward Heaven‟s gates and, on the lowest level of the composition, the hierarchy of the Church sits to the left while St. Dominic, on the right, sends forth the domini canes and Saints Peter Martyr and Thomas Aquinas preach to doubters and heretics, respectively. The wall opposite is given to a representation of Thomas Aquinas Enthroned, flanked by wise men from both the Old and New Testaments, with the Virtues personified above him and defeated heretics at his feet. (Figure 23) Across the bottom of this wall are fourteen enthroned female figures– personifications of the seven Spiritual Sciences and the seven Liberal Arts–together with their historical representatives. Three events from the Life of Peter Martyr, now heavily damaged, decorate the entry wall to the south. (Figure 24) The two remaining scenes, painted on the vault quadrants above the east and west walls, are essential for understanding the perceived relationship between Biblical and extra-Biblical events, as depicted in the chapterhouse. Both vault quadrants are painted with scenes from the Bible. The Triumph of St. Thomas on the west wall is surmounted 11 On the Beatific Vision, and its acceptance as doctrine, see the constitution Benedictus Deus, by Pope Benedict XII, issued on January 29, 1336, reproduced in Catholic Church, The Church Teaches: Documents of the Church in English Translation, (St. Louis, MO: Herder Book Co., 1955), 349-51. 48 by an elaborated depiction of Pentecost: the Dove of the Holy Spirit descends on the Virgin and Apostles, who are elevated in an architectural construction over the men from all nations, to whom the Apostles will minister.12 (Figure 25) The vault quadrant over the east wall is filled by a ship carrying the Apostles over a stormy sea. (Figure 26) In the lower right corner of this composition, Peter has walked on the water toward Jesus and, having doubted and fallen through the surface, is saved by him. This particular detail has largely been overshadowed in interpretative scholarship by the boat above–the navicella– which has been viewed as an allegorical parallel to the Florentine Duomo depicted in the fresco on the wall below.13 Indeed, while scholars such as Steinweg and Meiss have correctly posited a relationship–a unity of theme, to paraphrase–between the scenes painted in the vault quadrants and on the side walls below, 14 the particulars of this relationship have not been fully explored, due in part to a tendency of scholars either to gloss over or to completely ignore the numerous inscriptions included within the decorative frame of each scene and, as a result, to misinterpret the significance of each scene and the apparent relationships between the vault and wall frescoes. Modern interpretation of the east wall and vault quadrant has been largely shaped by Adolfo Venturi‟s 1907 study, in which he posited a relationship between the frescoes of the chapterhouse and the Specchio di vera penitenza by Jacopo Passavanti.15 Venturi 12 Offner and Steinweg, Critical and Historical Corpus, 58. 13 Offner and Steinweg, Critical and Historical Corpus, 36; Polzer, “Andrea di Boniuto‟s Vita Veritatis,” 279-81. 14 Millard Meiss, Painting in Florence and Siena after the Black Death: The Arts, Religion and Society in the Mid-Fourteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1951), 94-104. 15 Venturi, Adolfo. Stori dell’Arte Italiana: v. La Pittura del Trecento e le sue Origini (Milano: Ulrico Hoepli, 1907). 49 noted both the similarities and differences between the scene painted in the eastern vault quadrant and Giotto‟s mosaic of the navicella–the Church as a ship of the Apostles and Peter saved by Jesus from sinking below the waves–at the old St. Peter‟s Basilica in Rome. Furthermore, Venturi noted that the Church-as-ship allegory featured repeatedly in Passavanti‟s Specchio, and thus had a place in a program designed around the interrelated concepts of salvation and the means toward salvation through penitence.16 Subsequent scholarship has largely retained Venturi‟s view of the boat as an allegorical representation of the Church, though authors have variously critiqued or defended the connection between the iconographic program and Passavanti‟s Specchio.17 The series of inscriptions that gloss the scene from its decorative frame, however, suggest that the Renaissance program was designed with a different theme in mind–that the episode of Peter saved by Christ was of primary importance, rather than the ship of the Apostles. Thus, though modern scholars have largely viewed the scene as an allegorical representation of the Church and a parallel to Duomo and its assembled dignitaries, the Renaissance viewer was directed by these framing inscriptions to look on the salvation of Peter and to recognize the typological relationship between Jesus‟ action in that scene and St. Dominic‟s action in the fresco below. Andrea di Bonaiuto‟s fresco decoration in the chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella is notable for its lack of framing divisions within each of the architectural fields– the vault quadrants and the walls themselves. This was noted by Vasari and has been 16 Venturi, Stori dell’Arte Italiana, 778-82. 17 Note that Offner and Steinweg did not see a direct correlation between the fresco cycle and the Specchio, nor did Meiss, while Polzer‟s article was very strongly in support of Venturi and expanded on his original argument with additional evidence supporting a theme of penitence. 50 described by modern scholars who traced the development of Trecento painting.18 The greater program of decoration, however, does include framing bands painted around the edges of each vault quadrant, separating the vault sections from themselves and from the scenes on the walls below. These bands are painted with repeating floral patterns and appear to be largely decorative, but include also an extensive series of figured medallions. The medallion at the apex of the north wall, and thus directly over the scene of the Crucifixion, contains a pelican feeding its young with blood from its breast. The medallion at the apex of the east wall bears the figure of Christ, who gestures toward Thomas Aquinas, enthroned on the wall below. These two are exceptions to the pattern repeated throughout the remainder of the chapterhouse–each of the remaining forty-six medallions contains a half-length figure holding a scroll inscribed with Latin text. Thus, a total of forty-six inscriptions line the room, surrounding the narrative and allegorical scenes depicted on its mural surfaces. Ironically, these inscriptions have been largely ignored by modern scholars. Only Offner and Steinweg, who listed by chapter and verse the Biblical passages from which the inscriptions are taken, gave the inscriptions more than a passing and summary mention.19 The inscriptions, which are brief and often abbreviated excerpts from the Old and New Testament, gloss the scenes that are depicted in the chapterhouse and offer an invaluable key toward understanding its iconographic program. The seven inscriptions included in the framing band that arches over the eastern vault quadrant make no mention whatsoever of the boat that is painted there, nor of the Apostles in the boat, but focus the reader‟s attention on the figures of Peter and Christ 18 Meiss, Painting in Florence and Siena, 95. Meiss noted Vasari‟s praise of this aspect of the chapterhouse decoration. 19 Offner and Steinweg, Critical and Historical Corpus, 73. 51 painted in the lower right corner of the composition. In particular, these inscriptions highlight Peter‟s lack of faith and, conversely, the charge from the book of James, chapter 1: postulet autem in fide nihil haesitans / “Let him ask in faith, nothing wavering.” This passage, abbreviated as POSTULET I[N] AU[TEM] E NIHIL and POSTULET I[N] FIDE NICHIL HESITA[N]S, is inscribed on the scrolls held by figures in the medallions at the top of the vault and again at the lower right, respectively. The inscription in the medallion to the lower left continues the text of James 1:6–QUI HESITAT SILIS [lacuna] EST FILUET [lacuna] / “He that wavereth is like a wave of the sea.” This portion of the text provides a contrast with the man who is strong in faith and relates the passage to Peter, whose lack of faith is described in three of the other inscriptions, drawn from Matthew chapter 14. The inscription in the center right medallion relates Peter‟s fear–VER[O] VIDISSET VE[N]TUM VALIDU[M] TIMUIT / “Seeing the wind strong, he was afraid”–and that in the center left medallion has him sink beneath the waves–CU[M] C[O]EPISSET MERGI CLAMIVIT DICE[NS] / “When he began to sink he cried out.” Immediately above, in the inscription in the upper left medallion, Jesus questions Peter‟s lack of faith: AIT ILLI MODIC[A]E FIDEI QUARE DUBITASTI / “O thou of little faith, why didst thou doubt?” The remaining inscription, that in the medallion to the upper right, is taken from another story, described in John chapter 21, in which Peter leaves the other Apostles in a boat and hastens across the water toward Jesus. The excerpt painted in the chapterhouse describes Peter girding his coat about him before jumping into the water: UT AUDIVIT PETRUS Q[UI]A D[OMI]N[U]S ESSET TUNIC[AM] / “Peter, when he heard that it was the Lord, gird his coat.” This inscription draws the scene, conceptually, into the Passion cycle depicted on the north-south axis of the vault, as the account in John takes place between the Resurrection and the Ascension, though the earlier event from Matthew is more fully recounted in inscriptions and more accurately depicted in the fresco. 52 The evidence provided by the inscriptions surrounding the eastern vault quadrant suggest that its painted scene was intended as a representation of the importance of faith and the means of salvation from doubt through the agent of Christ, rather than as any mystic ship of penitence, boat of St. Peter, or conceptual Church. This representation, in turn, is typologically related to the scene painted on the eastern wall, below, though this will only be recognized when the lower scene, as well, has been reinterpreted according to the gloss of the inscriptions which surround it. The inscriptions over the eastern vault quadrant focus the reader / viewer on the doubt of Peter and the saving action of Jesus. Similarly, the inscriptions over the eastern wall focus the reader / viewer on the action of Dominic in saving those who have turned from doubt or wavered in their faith. There, the texts written on the medallion scrolls draw attention to the Saints in Heaven, who witness the Beatific Vision, and to St. Dominic, hailed as a shining light, a morning star, and a herald. Thus, the inscriptions on the medallions at the apex of the arch and at the lower left corner of the arch praise the Saints, reading, respectively: BEATI QUI AD CENAM NUPITARUM AGNI VOCATI SUNT / “Blessed are they who are called to the marriage feast of the lamb,” from Revelation 19:9, and DECOR EST OM[N]IBUS S[AN]C[TOR]IS EIUS / “This glory is to all his saints,” a portion of Psalm 149:9, altered. An inscription to the upper left draws attention to Dominic, as it quotes from John 5:35: ILLE ERAT LUCERNA ARDE[N]S ET LUCENS / “He was a bright and shining light.” The inscription opposite, on the right side of the wall, takes from Daniel 3:4: PRAECO CLAMABAT VALENTER VOBIS / “Then a herald cried with a strong voice.” The inscription to the lower right draws from Ecclesiasticus, 50:6: QUASI STELLA MATUTINA I[N] MEDIO NEBULAE ET QUASI LUNA PLENA I[N] DIEBUS SUIS/ “(He shone) in his days as the morning star in the midst of a cloud and as the moon at the full.” If, in the original context of John, Daniel, and Ecclesiasticus, these passages refer to John the Baptist, to a Babylonian herald, and to Simon the High Priest, 53 respectively, here they apply to St. Dominic, who is active in the center of the composition, and who exhibits an action that is parallel in theme to that of Christ in the vault above. Both Dominic and Jesus offer salvation to those who are brought out of doubt to faith. Just as Jesus calls forth Peter from the boat and raises him from the turbulent waves of wavering faith, so, too, Dominic is a herald, who cries in a strong voice and calls the Blessed to the marriage feast of the Lamb. Herein lies the significant relationship between the two frescoes, in a typology of figures and events and in the types of Dominic and Jesus. It is not only the shared action which reveals these figures as types, but also their juxtaposition in the fresco cycle of the chapterhouse. Apart from the scene in the vault, Dominic‟s action could be explained as a simple imitatio Christi, or removed from any Scriptural basis entirely, as has been typical in modern scholarship. The architect or architects of the iconographic program, however, placed these scenes in juxtaposition, and, through the inclusion of multiple inscriptions in the framing border, focused the viewer on certain figures and events in the two scenes that share a common action and theme. The greater number of inscriptions framing the lower scene refer to St. Dominic, and this, together with his prominence in the composition, shows him to be the primary focus of that scene. Furthermore, the action that he performs is paralleled by that of Jesus in the scene above. Herein lies the significant relationship, the essential purpose of the subject depicted in the vault and the cause of its inclusion. The vault scene is not first and foremost a navicella, a symbolic representation of the Church that is pictured, also allegorically if somewhat more literally, on the wall below, but a scriptural basis for the action of Dominic, who leads mortals out of doubt toward salvation and Heaven. This relationship, a similarity of action and theme in events from two distinct traditions, is typological, where a shared allegorical representation–church as Church and ship as 54 Church–would not have been, and has not been so identified by those scholars who have previously written on the chapterhouse frescoes. The typological relationship that is presented in the juxtaposition of scenes on the eastern wall and eastern vault of the chapterhouse in Santa Maria Novella is not, however, a conventional or traditional typology. Artists and iconographers of the European Middle Ages, the Italian Trecento included, produced works of art in which figures or events from the two Testaments of the Bible were juxtaposed. The frescoes painted on the east side of the chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella present a juxtaposition of a Biblical subject and an extra-Biblical subject, an action or event that is essentially contemporary with the viewer and not described in the Biblical narrative. The very possibility that such a juxtaposition could have been viewed as typological depended on a broadening of parameters, such that extra-Biblical subjects could be perceived as polysemous in the same manner as subjects or events from the Bible, i.e. as having degrees of meaning that can be understood beyond the literal or moral significance. This, of course, was the very claim made by Dante in his letter to Can Grande: that his work, which was essentially religious in nature, if extra-Biblical, contained the same degrees of meaning that had previously been understood as present only in the Biblical narrative. What Dante had claimed for his Divine Comedy, the artists and iconographers of the Cappellone degli Spagnuoli practiced in their program of decoration. Like the frescoes on the eastern side of the chapterhouse, those of the western wall and vault juxtapose a Biblical event with a contemporary figure in order to highlight a particular quality associated with that figure. St. Thomas Aquinas sits enthroned at the center of the scene painted on the western wall. A scene of Pentecost is painted in the vault quadrant above. (Figure 23) The passages inscribed in the medallions of the border framing the scene of Thomas Enthroned praise his wisdom: IPSE H[AB]ET CO[N]S[IL]IUM ET I[N]TELLEGENTIAM / “He hath counsel and understanding” (Job 55 12:13), PROFU[N]DA FLUVIORUM SCRUPTATUS EST / “The depths of the rivers he hath searched” (Job 28:11), ILLUMINAS TU MIRABILITER A MONTIBUS ETERNIS / “Thou enlightenest wonderfully from the everlasting hills” (Psalm 75:5), QUAM SPETIOSA VARE SAPI[ENTIA] ET G[LORI]OSUS I[N]TELL[ECT]US / “O how beautiful is wisdom for the aged and understanding for men of honor” (Ecclesiasticus 25:7). An additional passage, inscribed on the book that Thomas holds open on his lap, makes clear the origin of his wisdom and establishes the typological relation between Thomas as the recipient of the Spirit and the Apostles as recipients of the Holy Spirit in the scene painted in the vault. The text on Thomas‟ book is taken from the Biblical book of Wisdom (7:7-8): OPTAV[I] ET DAT[U]M SENSUS ET I[N]VOCAVI [E]T VENIT I[N] ME SP[IRITU]S SAPI[ENTIA]E ET P[RAE]POSUI ILLA[M] REGNIS ET SEDIBUS / “Wherefore I wished, and understanding was given me: and I called upon God, and the spirit of wisdom came upon me: And I preferred her to kingdoms and thrones.”20 Similar themes are expressed in the inscriptions that surround the Apostles in the scene of Pentecost above: SP[IRITU]S QUI A PATER PROCEDIT ILLE VOS DOCEBIT / “The Holy Ghost who proceeds from the Father will teach you” (John 14:26), SP[IRITU]M TUU[M] BONU[M] DEDISTI EIS / “Thou gavest them thy good spirit” (Nehemiah 9:20), CUMQUE REQUIEVISSET I[N] EIS SP[IRITU]S PR[OPHET]AVERU[N]T / “When the Spirit had rested on them they prophesied” (Numbers 11:25), QUIS SCIVIT NISI TU DEDERIS SAP[IENT]IAM ET MIS[ERR]I[S] SP[IRITU]M / “Who know nothing except thou give wisdom and send thy Spirit” (Wisdom 9:17). These passages, drawn from the Gospel of John and the Old Testament books of Nehemiah and Wisdom, do not provide the source text for the scene 20 Polzer described and translated the inscription. Polzer, “Andrea di Boniuto‟s Vita Veritatis,” 264-66. 56 of Pentecost represented in the western vault quadrant–this text is provided in the three uppermost inscriptions of the vault border 21 –but gloss that scene with additional references from the Biblical narrative and highlight the one aspect of that event–the descent of the spirit of wisdom from God to his earthly representative–which is represented also in the wall fresco, painted below. Here, as on the wall opposite, the inscriptions over the wall fresco and over the vault quadrant emphasize shared aspects of the scenes or figures depicted and reveal a perceived typological relationship between figures or events from the New Testament and a figure or event that is extra-Biblical. This similarity of theme is made explicit in the medallion at the apex of the arch over the wall, from which the figure of Jesus looks down on Thomas and opens his arms toward him, as if in the very act of giving wisdom to the Dominican saint. This figure parallels the Dove of the Holy Spirit at the apex of the vault section, which descends to give wisdom to the gathered Apostles. It is necessary again to point out that the particular relationship of scenes and figures juxtaposed in the frescoes of the chapterhouse is typological, even though the similarities of theme are shared by scenes that are Biblical and extra-Biblical. The relationship between Thomas Aquinas and the scene of Pentecost is precisely the same as that between the enthroned Madonna and Child and the surrounding scenes from the Old Testament in the Legendarium Cisterciennse, described at the beginning of this chapter. (Figure 5) In the chapterhouse frescoes, as in that manuscript illumination, abstract 21 The three uppermost inscriptions of the vault border were taken from the second chapter of Acts and together describe the event depicted in that vault quadrant : FACTUS EST REPE[N]TE DE C[A]ELO SONUS TAMQUA[M] ADVENI[ENTIS] ET / “Suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of (a wind) coming, and...” (Acts 2:2); APPARUERU[N]T APOSTOLIS DISPERTITE LINGUA[E] ET / “...there appeared to the Apostles parted tongues, and...” (Acts 2:3); REPLETI SU[N]T OMNE[S] SPIRITU S[AN]C[T]O ET C[O]EPERU[N]T LOQUI / “...they were all filled with the Holy Ghost and the began to speak” (Acts 2:4). 57 qualities associated with a holy figure are represented through the juxtaposition of that figure with another figure or event from the Biblical narrative that expresses or epitomizes the same essential qualities. More than an artistic convention, this significant juxtaposition was both possible and legible in Christian art of the pre-Renaissance period due to the belief that the narrative of the Bible was constructed with levels of underlying allegory, including typological allegory, which convey meaning through the similarities of Old and New Testament figures and events. That the same manner of significant juxtaposition was employed in the chapterhouse frescoes of Santa Maria Novella shows that the same belief regarding the relationship between figures and events was here present, though the figures and events juxtaposed were not exclusively Biblical. The iconographic architects of the chapterhouse program revealed their perception that Thomas Aquinas, who is a Saint but not a figure from the Bible, could be typologically juxtaposed with an event from the Bible. The importance of such a perception is subtle but significant: where medieval exegesis allowed typological allegory only to the Biblical narrative, and works of art from the medieval period depicted typological relationships only between figures and event described in the Bible, in the Italian Trecento, Dante claimed the same degree of allegory for his own religious, but extra-Biblical work, and typological juxtapositions of figures and events that are Biblical and extra-Biblical begin to appear in Trecento works of art. Recognition of this particular development allows a more accurate reading and understanding of the complex interplay of scenes and subjects in the cycle of frescoes that decorate the chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella. The scenes and subjects that decorate the chapterhouse are more accurately read and understood in relation to the inscriptions that surround them and make up a significant portion of the decorative program. In light of these inscriptions, it becomes possible to distinguish the intent of the iconographer from the work of the artist and to properly place the chapterhouse decorations in the larger context of Trecento 58 development. Scholars have correctly observed that in conceiving and composing the scene in the eastern vault quadrant Andrea di Bonaiuto worked from the model of Giotto‟s Navicella mosaic for the old St. Peter‟s Basilica in Rome.22 A comparison with that work, through surviving copies (Figures 27 and 28),23 shows that Andrea re-worked portions of the scene to fit the triangular space of the vault quadrant, but retained all elements of the subject that are iconographically significant. The architects of the chapterhouse program, however, were able to shift the emphasis of the subject–to signal the particular manner in which they intended the scene to be read or interpreted–through the inclusion of textual glosses in the framing border. If the Navicella has suggested to other scholars, chiefly Venturi and Polzer, that the artist was working from Passavanti‟s Speculum according to a program dedicated to themes of penitence, the marginal glosses suggest a different intention. The border inscriptions make no mention of penitence, but emphasize faith. Similarly, the inscriptions surrounding the fresco on the wall below do not describe penitence, but focus the reader / viewer on St. Dominic as a herald of the Faith and as one who leads the Blessed toward their reward in Heaven. Though themes of penitence may be present within the greater subject of the via veritatis, the absence of any references to penitence within the textual inscriptions would suggest that this was not the primary message of the fresco and, as a result, that Passavanti‟s Speculum was not the primary inspiration for the iconographic program of the chapterhouse. A similar process of artistic production and iconographic construction is apparent in the fresco on the eastern wall of the chapterhouse. In its overall composition and in particulars of its subject matter, the scene represented there is reminiscent of a 22 Offner and Steinweg, Critical and Historical Corpus, 62. 23 Parri Spinelli‟s copy after Giotto‟s Navicella, executed c. 1400, is now in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art (19.76.2). Francesco Berretta‟s copy, painted in 1628, is now in the Fabbrica di San Pietro, Rome. 59 conventional depiction of the Last Judgment: God is enthroned in glory above, with angels and the Madonna over the Blessed and the Good at his right hand, and those in greater need of salvation at his left.24 The artist appears to have modified the concept and composition of a Last Judgment to fit the new theme of the wall–not the day of reckoning, itself, but the path through St. Dominic and through the Faith which leads to salvation and the right hand of God, now and at that Judgment. Andrea and his team modified a Last Judgment composition and draw certain portions from other works in order to represent this new subject. Yet again, the iconographic program was revealed in the surrounding inscriptions, which provide the key toward understanding the essential subject of the work and how it relates in a typological manner to the scene above. The same is true also of the frescoes on the west wall. The scene of Thomas enthroned belongs to a larger family of works that represent a scholar enthroned above the Sacred Sciences and Liberal Arts, as described in the first chapter of this study. Again, the artist responded to an available model and adapted the composition to the space provided. Again, the iconographic importance of the subject was described in the marginal inscriptions. Indeed, this method was largely traditional, and Andrea di Bonaiuto can not here be praised as a Renaissance artist in the manner of the subsequent Quattrocento, when an increasing importance would be placed on the invenzione of the artist rather than the program of the iconographer. Andrea‟s method belonged to the medieval practice of altering a preexisting composition to fit within the composition and program of a new space. The frescoes of the chapterhouse may be praised for their place in the development of Trecento composition, as Vasari and Meiss have noted, because each wall and vault quadrant is conceived as a single, expansive space and not divided 24 Meiss hinted repeatedly at this similarity in his description of the scene, though he did not pursue the comparison. Meiss, Painting in Florence and Siena, 95-98. 60 with internal frames into smaller sections. The frescoes of the chapterhouse must also be noted for their place in the development of Renaissance typology, for here the juxtaposition of scenes and the border inscriptions make clear that this program is designed according to a new and distinctly Renaissance belief that typological allegory is present in contemporary subjects as well as the narrative of the Bible. The comparison of typological juxtapositions in the Arena Chapel, Padua, and in the Chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella shows an expansion of the perception of allegorical interpretation, such that the levels or degrees of allegorical meaning that were previously perceived as present only in Scripture were, by the mid Trecento, allowed or perceived also in extra-Biblical sources. This perception allowed a greater range of juxtaposed subjects, or more properly the understanding of significant meaning in the juxtaposition of those subjects, in Renaissance mural decoration. By the end of the Trecento, Italian authors had claimed the full range of allegorical interpretation– typological and anagogical as well as moral allegory–even for the stories of classical mythology. Little more than a century later, in the opening years of the Cinquecento, this claim formed the basis for the inclusion and significance of the classical subjects represented in the socle of the Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral. The Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral The Cappella Nova is built into the south transept of Orvieto Cathedral, extending directly from the nave, with its entry through an iron gate to the north and its altar, which is dedicated to the Assumption of the Virgin, to the south. The Cappella consists of two vaulted bays, very richly decorated with scenes depicting Christ Enthroned, the numerous populations of Heaven, the Blessed and the Damned at the Last Judgment, the End of Days and the Rule of the Antichrist (Figure 29). Though the fresco cycle was begun by 61 Fra Angelico (Fra Giovanni da Fiesole) in the summer of 1447, he and his shop completed only half of one of the two vaults in the Cappella–the vault quadrant directly over the altar, in which Christ sits enthroned in Judgment and surrounded by angels, and the eastern quadrant of that same vault, which is filled with a pyramidal arrangement of sixteen Old Testament prophets. The subsequent history of the Cappella decoration has been well documented and fully described in scholarly publication: the failed attempts, over the succeeding half-century, to secure a suitable artist to complete the program, and the eventual hiring of Luca Signorelli in 1499, first to complete the decoration of the vault, then to paint the lunettes on the walls under the vault, and finally, beginning in 1502, to complete the decoration of the Cappella with a series of portraits, grotesque decoration, and grisaille medallions in the socle.25 Signorelli‟s frescoes in the Cappella Nova are justifiably famous. They were praised by Vasari and have recently been the subject of numerous dissertations, articles, and monographs.26 While these studies have each contributed to a deeper understanding 25 The history of the Cappella has been outlined in nearly every significant study. Most recently, Sara Nair James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto: Liturgy, Poetry and a Vision of the End-time (Aldershot, UK, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2003). See also Edwin Hall and Horst Uhr, “Patrons and Painter in Quest of an Iconographic Program: The Case of the Signorelli Frescoes in Orvieto,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 55:1 (1992), 35-56. 26 Among recent studies and publications are Rose Marie San Juan, “The Illustrious Poets in Signorelli‟s Frescoes for the Cappella Nuova of Orvieto Cathedral,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 52 (1989), 71-84; Edwin Hull and Horst Uhr, “Patrons and Painter in Quest of an Iconographic Program;” Dugald McLellan, “Luca Signorelli‟s Last Judgment Fresco Cycle at Orvieto: An Interpretation of the Fears and Hopes of the Commune and the People of Orvieto at a Time of Reckoning” Ph.D. diss., University of Melbourne, 1992; Guisti Testa, ed., La Cappella Nova o di San Brizio nel Duomo di Orvieto (Milan: Rizzoli, 1996); Jonathan Riess, The Renaissance Antichrist: Luca Signorelli’s Orvieto Frescoes (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995); Sara Nair James, “Poetic Theology in Signorelli‟s Cappella Nuova at Orvieto” Ph.D. diss. University of Virginia, 1994; Sara Nair James, “Penance and Redemption: The Role of the Roman Liturgy in Luca Signorelli‟s Frescoes at Orvieto,” Artibus et Historiae 22: 44 (2001), 119-47; Creighton Gilbert, How Fra Angelico and 62 of the Cappella Nova and its decorative programs, the particular meaning of the socle decoration has remained problematic and obscured to scholarly comprehension, even despite specific attempts to unveil and elucidate its significance. Among these, Sara Nair James, in a new (2003) publication that reworked her 1994 dissertation, came exceedingly close to understanding the importance of allegorical interpretation to the socle decoration. 27 Even though this is to be highly commended on various counts, in this work, Nair, as others before her, did not fully realize the typological and anagogical significance of Signorelli‟s mythologically-themed medallions. Thus, to date, no scholar has fully recognized the degree to which the classical scenes represented in the medallions of the socle of the Cappella Nova relate to and represent Christian themes of penance and particular judgment and, in this particular context, convey the Christian belief that the torments visited on good souls in Purgatory are alleviated through the prayers and actions of the living, even those faithful who visit the Cappella Nova in Orvieto. Though the figures and scenes that decorate the vault and lunettes of the Cappella Nova are relatively straightforward in iconography and representation–an expanded representation of the Last Judgment and certain Apocalyptic themes which surround that event–the decoration of the socle is unique in the history of Italian Renaissance art and particular to the program of the Cappella. Here, on the lowest register of the walls, Signorelli and his team painted portraits of nine authors from the classical and contemporary periods–eight are visible today, though one of these is severely damaged; Signorelli Saw the End of the World (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003); and James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto. 27 James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto. 63 the ninth was destroyed in 1715 when a large altarpiece was added to the Cappella.28 The figures are portrayed bust-length in perspectival frames, as if seated in a space beyond the surface of the wall and seen through round or rectangular openings cut into the wall. These figures act and react as if they exist properly in the space of the chapel–though three are absorbed in books or scrolls, the others look out of their frames as if aware of the decoration that surrounds them, and two appear even to lean out beyond the wall surface to better view the frescoes above. Excepting only the two figures on the entry wall, each figure has a book, books, or a scroll open before them, held or resting on the shelf that is formed by the lowest edge of the surrounding frame. Each figure is intimately connected to his accompanying volume. Their figures touch the books, turn pages, mark places in their texts with their fingers as they read or if they turn their eyes to look away from what they had been reading. One figure, the only one who can be identified with any degree of certainty, reads from one open book, propped up against two closed volumes, even as he rests one hand on another text open before him. (Figure 30) This is Dante, with his characteristic profile, red gown and cap, and poet‟s crown of laurel. Two of his companions, poets also, are similarly crowned with laurel wreathes, and a third wears bay leaves in his youthful curls. Though they are distinct in presentation, none of the poets of the socle, i.e. none but Dante, is as readily identified. There are no identifying inscriptions, no titles on the books that they read. If some may be plausibly identified as the authors of the works which provide the subjects of the scenes which surround them, in grisaille monochrome, in medallions that are also framed against the wall of the socle, some degree or uncertainty and scholarly debate will nonetheless remain. 28 James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto, 87; and Gilbert, How Fra Angelico and Signorelli Saw, 98-99, 104-5. 64 The framed medallions constitute a second, or perhaps a third cycle of decoration to the socle of the Cappella, joining the series of authors and the grotesque tendrils that fill the surface of the wall around and between them. On the side walls of the Cappella, to the east and west, the pattern is to surround each of the author portraits with four medallions–above, below, and to either side. This pattern is interrupted in two instances by the architecture of the Cappella, where the frames of the smaller burial chapels, the Cappellina della Magdalena to the east and the Cappellina della Pietà to the west, cut through the lower medallions and the author portraits and eclipse what would be one of the side medallions, in each case. (See figure 40) The two authors of the entry wall, to the north, are not accompanied by medallions, but the fictive architecture of the altar wall opposite, to the south, is decorated with grisaille medallions even where there are no authors. If the arrangement is difficult to describe, it follows a logical composition relating to the architecture and space of the Cappella and is visually comprehensible, even aesthetically pleasing. Many, though not all, of the scenes depicted in the grisaille medallions have been plausibly identified. Those surrounding Dante, on the east wall immediately to the right of the Cappellina della Magdalena and beneath the lunette in which is painted the Crowning of the Elect, depict scenes from his Purgatorio. (Figure 30) This same source provides the subjects of the medallions surrounding Dante‟s neighbor poet farther to the right (Figure 31), who also sits beneath the Crowning of the Elect–the division of the wall places two poets beneath each lunette, where the wall is not interrupted by burial cappelline. Dante‟s neighbor has been variously identified by scholars as Statius, Virgil, or St. John the Evangelist, according to the various scholarly readings of the Cappella and its decoration.29 The series of scenes from Purgatorio continues on the south wall, in 29 Tom Henry and Laurence Kanter, Luca Signorelli: The Complete Paintings (New York: Rizzoli, 2002), 204. For St. John, see San Juan, “Illustrious Poets,” 83. 65 three medallions that decorate a space between two fictive piers that is not wide enough to accommodate a framed poet. (Figure 32) The series of scenes from Purgatorio–eleven medallions with their subjects drawn from the first eleven cantos of that poem, one from each canto–is the most extensive series from a single source in the socle. Furthermore, it takes a privileged position in relation to the greater program of decoration in the Cappella Nova. These scenes fill the space beneath the Blessed and the Elect, at the right hand of Christ, pictured in Judgment in the vault above. Opposite Dante and the series of medallions drawn from Purgatorio are the two other laurel-crowned poets, surrounded each by scenes taken from classical mythology. Directly opposite Dante, and thus to the immediate left of the Cappellina della Pietà and beneath the lunette in which is depicted the Torture of the Damned, the poet sits in the midst of scenes depicting Aeneas and the Cumaean Sibyl, Hercules restraining Cerberus and the release of Theseus, Orpheus before Plato and Persephone, and Orpheus with Eurydice. (Figure 33) The poet painted here has most commonly been identified as Virgil.30 His neighboring poet, closer to the altar wall, is surrounded with scenes taken from the abduction of Persephone. (Figure 34) Thus, Persephone appears with Diana, Minerva, and Venus in the uppermost medallion; she is taken by Pluto in the scene to the right; Ceres hunts for her daughter in the left medallion; Pluto sinks into the pool of Cyan below.31 The poet surrounded by these medallions has been traditionally identified as Ovid, who described the rape of Persephone in his Metamorphoses, though it has been noted that the story is described in other sources, and, accordingly, the poet has 30 Henry and Kanter, Luca Signorelli, 204. 31 Henry and Kanter, following earlier identification, described this scene as Pluto surveying Mount Aetna. Henry and Kanter, Luca Signorelli, 201. Sara Nair James identified this as Pluto sinking into the Pool of Cyane and claimed a derivation from an illustration in the Ouidio Methamorphoseos vulgare, though she did not provide a figure as support. James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto, 115, 168 n. 33. 66 alternately been alternately been identified as Claudian, the author of one such text, the De Raptu Proserpinae.32 Just as the scenes from Purgatorio fill one bay of the east wall and spill over onto the east side of the altar wall to the south, the scenes drawn from mythological sources fill the southern bay of the west wall and continue on the west side of the altar wall, adjacent. There, three additional scenes from the Metamorphosis–a scene of punishment visited on mortals by demons, the rescue of Andromeda by Perseus, and Phineus at the wedding of Perseus and Andromeda–are painted in the narrow space provided.33 (Figure 35) The continuity of subjects from the Metamorphosis supports the identification of Ovid as the author portrayed in the nearest portrait, at the south end of the west wall. The scenes drawn from Dante‟s Purgatorio and from various works of classical mythology are relatively easy to identify. Dante is readily recognized, both in his author portrait and as a figure in the grisaille medallions that take their subject from his work. Though some of the mythological subjects are obscure and have been variously interpreted by scholars, the greater number of scenes represent well known characters and events and follow established artistic conventions. This is the case with Perseus rescuing Andromeda, Persephone carried to Hades by Pluto, with Ceres on her serpent-drawn chariot in pursuit, and Orpheus, lira da braccio in hand, whose beloved Eurydice is pulled from him by a host of hideous demons. Hercules also will be recognized, restraining three-headed Cerebus as Theseus is released from Hades, slaying the centaur Nessus, and, in a series of even smaller medallions that alternates with the scenes from Purgatorio surrounding Statius / Virgil, performing four of his famous labors. (See 32 James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto, 88; Henry and Kanter, Luca Signorelli, 204. Creighton Gilbert proposed Claudian, who is the author of De Raptu Proserpinae: Gilbert, How Fra Angelico and Signorelli Saw, 93-94, 33 San Juan, “Illustrious Poets,” 73. 67 Figure 33) The remaining medallions in the Cappella, however, are more obscure in subject and source. These, and the poets whose portraits they surround, have been variously interpreted and explained by those scholars who have studied the socle. The medallions on the altar wall, of which the death of Nessus is one, appear to celebrate virtue and condemn vice: to the left of the altar Charity vanquishes Envy and Chastity stands triumphant. (Figure 36) A scene to the right, in which a bound figure is held and beaten by three others, has been interpreted both as an allegorical representation of Blasphemy punished and as a scene of Deiphobus beaten in the Underworld, as witnessed by Aeneas.34 (Figure 37) Indeed, this scene, like others to the north end of the Cappella, is somewhat ambiguous in subject. The five medallions that remain visible–one has been obscured by a later grave marker–around the two author portraits on the east and west walls to the north of the cappelline are similarly ambiguous. Like the scene of a figure beaten on the altar wall, these grisailles depict figures bound, tortured, mercilessly set upon by others, or brought captive to judgment. Some have been identified as scenes from the Iliad surrounding a portrait of Homer, or as scenes from the rule of Anthony surrounding a portrait of Cicero.35 (Figure 38) The opposite figure, on the west wall, has traditionally been identified as Lucan, accompanied by representations of the atrocities committed under the 34 Henry and Kanter, Luca Signorelli, 204. For Deiphobus: James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto, 122-23. 35 Luzi proposed the figure as Homer: Ludovico Luzi, Il Duomo di Orvieto descritto e illustrato (Florence: Le Monnier, 1866). For Cicero, see Riess, Renaissance Antichrist, 123-27. Henry and Kanter list, as proposed identifications: Cicero, Statius, Sallust, and Homer. Henry and Kanter, Luca Signorelli, 203. 68 reign of Caesar and described in that author‟s Pharsalia.36 (Figure 39) This identification, of course, has been questioned in subsequent scholarship.37 The program of the socle, therefore, appears to be comprised of distinct sections or categories of subjects. In the east and southeast are a series of scenes that take their subjects from Dante‟s Purgatorio. Opposite, on the west wall and to the right side of the south wall, are scenes that are readily recognizable as classical in subject, drawn from classical mythology. These two categories of subject may have found an easy transition on the south wall, in the poet and surrounding medallions that were, regrettably, lost to view in the 18th century. The program of poets is broken by two burial chapels, opposite each other on the east and west walls. The east cappelina, dedicated to Mary Magdalene, was originally decorated with a grisaille scene of the Resurrection of Lazarus and roundels depicting Mary Magdalene and her sister, Martha. The west cappellina still displays a Pietà with Saints Mary Magdalene, Faustino, and Pietro Parenzo and roundels depicting the martyrdom of the latter two saints, to whom the cappellina is dedicated. (Figure 40) The series of poets and grisailles resumes to the north of these two cappelline with the third category of subjects: scenes of punishment and torture that may relate to events from classical history or events described in civic commentary from that era. Finally, the north wall, itself, displays two author portraits, one to either side of the entrance into the Cappella. One of the north wall poets is so obscured by damage as to be impossible to identify. (Figure 41) The other has been called Empedocles, though this derives not from any mark or sign on the figure or in his surroundings, but from one 36 Luzi called him Lucan. Riess elaborated on the rule of Caesar. Riess, Renaissance Antichrist, 129-30. 37 Gilbert, How Fra Angelico and Signorelli Saw, 142-45. 69 possible interpretation of the larger program.38 (Figure 42) Indeed, any understanding of the socle of the Cappella Nova rests on the interpretation of figures and scenes and of how they relate, both to each other and to the Apocalyptic events that are depicted above. It is essential, therefore, to properly assess contemporary Renaissance beliefs and perceptions regarding the nature and interpretation of classical mythology and its relation to Christian subject and doctrine and to place the program of the socle, accordingly, in relation to the development of allegorical interpretation in the Renaissance period. The decoration of the socle of the Cappella Nova has been thought to relate to the scenes and subjects depicted in the frescoes above, though there has been no consensus on the precise manner in which this is achieved. Certain authors have perceived or recognized a degree of typology in the juxtaposition of scenes, noting a similarity of theme between the mythological subjects and the actions and events depicted above, but the particular nature of this relationship has not been properly understood. Scholars have sensed, and sought to resolve, a tension between the representation of classical authors and mythological subjects, on the one hand, and the Christian subjects and setting, on the other. Thus, Rose Marie San Juan, in a dedicated study of the socle decoration, attempted to “justify” the presence of pagan authors in a religious context and proposed that their writings, perceived as prophetic visions and prefigurations of the Last Judgment, were included in the decorative program of the Cappella in order to give credibility to the religious narrative of the Apocalypse by providing a foundation of those textual sources championed by the humanists.39 Jonathan Riess, who studied the Cappella with a particular focus on the figure of the Antichrist, interpreted the medallions as representing 38 Luzi believed that the poets are those described by Dante as being in Limbo. Luzi, Il Duomo di Orvieto. 39 San Juan, “Illustrious Poets,” 77, 84. 70 the savagery of the Earthly City, and viewed the poets as at once celebrated and condemned, as errant in being politically engaged, but also praiseworthy for writing of matters that are important to Christians, even prefiguring or paralleling Christian themes in their subjects.40 Riess outlined some of these parallels, calling Hercules a “figure” for Michael and Theseus, as a defender of the moral law, a “figure for the leadership of the Church.”41 Riess stopped short of naming this relationship as typology, however, and presented the figures from classical mythology as models of moral behavior, rather than true types to their Christian counterparts. The same practice limits Sara Nair James‟ otherwise exceptional study of the socle figures in the Cappella Nova. James placed the series of authors in the context of the Renaissance humanist view that certain classical poets were among the earliest theologians–the prisci theologii–to have a “correct” view of what was perceived to be an objective, Christian Truth. James also discussed the mythological scenes as typological, described the development of allegorical interpretation in the Renaissance, and attempted a reading of Signorelli‟s frescoes according to a fourfold system including literal, moral, typological, and anagogical degrees.42 Ironically, however, James ultimately interpreted the program of the Cappella Nova according to a more traditional view of the significance of classical mythology, its relationship to Christian subjects and sources, and the degrees of allegorical meaning perceived in each. James appropriately identified the scenes which are to be understood according to the literal level of meaning as those of the upper walls and vault–the events from the Apocalypse and Last Judgment. Though she described them separately, James conflated the second and third degrees of meaning– 40 Riess, Renaissance Antichrist, 131, 127-28. 41 Riess, Renaissance Antichrist, 132. 42 James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto, 138-43. 71 moral and typological allegory–and identified the classical subjects represented in the Cappella Nova as moral exemplars for Christian virtue. Finally, James reserved the anagogical or mystical level of allegory for the Christian scenes in the vaults, where, she claimed, truth is revealed “in the form of liturgical texts and the heavenly hosts.”43 Though James, alone, recognized the Renaissance development of allegorical interpretation as a significant context within which the fresco cycle of the Cappella Nova was constructed and within which the iconographic program will be understood, ultimately she fell back on a pre-Renaissance mode of interpretation in attempting to determine the significance of the classical subjects that are integrated into the decoration of the socle. James viewed the heroes and deities of classical mythology as moral exemplars, a role that they play in medieval interpretation and in the Ovide moralisée, the text that she saw as the source for the iconography and meaning of the classical scenes that decorate the socle. Unfortunately, the interpretations of the socle decoration offered to date are not plausible, either because they invert the relative authority of the pagan and Christian traditions or because they fail to provide a definitive reason why scenes from the classical tradition were a necessary inclusion in the decoration of the chapel. It has been well established that the classical authors and even the mythological subjects depicted in the grisaille panels could have been interpreted for Christian content, that Renaissance humanists and philosophers professed a belief that certain aspects of Christian Truth were known by philosophers and poets even in the period before Christ and that this belief may have factored in to the reasons for including the poets in the Cappella Nova decoration. This belief, however, does not provide the necessity of including the pagan poets or the mythological scenes, i.e. the reason why these figures and scenes were chosen, and 43 James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto, 142-43. 72 particularly the reason why these figures and scenes were chosen over Judeo-Christian figures and scenes which, in other contexts and in other iconographic programs, represent the same subjects or themes that are proposed in the studies by San Juan, Riess, and James. Why, in the context of the Cappella Nova, would pagan authors replace Old Testament prophets–Daniel and Ezekiel, for example, who also professed and described their Apocalyptic visions–as an authority on the events of the Second Coming? Why would pagan heroes replace Hebrew heroes–David, Job, or Judith–as moral exemplars or abstract personifications–Faith, Hope, Charity, and those others represented in the socle of the Arena Chapel in Padua–as representations of model virtues? These subjects and themes are not, by necessity, represented through classical references. A certain tension between the classical elements of the decoration and the Christian context and significance of the iconographic program remains inherent in any scholarly interpretation that simply replaces Judeo-Christian elements with classical figures and scenes, without making that exchange necessary. The classical elements of the Cappella Nova decoration, their relation to the Christian subjects depicted in the greater program of decoration, and the necessity of their inclusion in this program, will be properly understood only when the program is viewed according to a Renaissance mode of interpretation. It is necessary to recall, a priori, that the Cappella Nova was, above all, a Christian space, and that the architects of the iconographic program of vault, wall, and socle were Christian and would have believed in the authority of the Biblical narrative over any supporting contribution that could have been made on the authority of classical poetry. It is essentially anachronistic to Christian belief to argue, as in San Juan‟s reading of the Cappella, that the events described in the last book of the Bible needed support from classical mythology. The scenes of the Apocalypse, painted on the vault and on the walls above, are not more acceptable or authoritative to the Christian mind when glossed by the classical subjects or classical 73 authors painted below. Thus, while there was likely a relationship of the scenes on the socle to the scenes portrayed above, the mythological narrative did not support or justify the narrative of the Biblical book of Revelation. The mythological scenes do relate, however, in both a typological and an anagogical manner to the other subjects depicted on the socle, to the scenes from Dante‟s Purgatorio. These scenes, or more particularly the Christian beliefs and developing doctrine that they present and signify, did not rest on the unerring authority of the Biblical narrative and could, in turn, be glossed and supported by the mythological subjects that were their types. Furthermore, the mythological subjects are here presented not only as types for Christian subjects, but, on the authority of the perception that the classical authors were heirs to Christian Truth, the mythological scenes can be understood for their anagogical significance and may contribute directly to the understanding of Christian doctrine. Because these mythological scenes, in their perceived anagogical meaning, expound on the developing doctrine of Purgatory, and because neither the narrative of the Old Testament nor the doctrine and parable of the New Testament explicitly justifies or glosses the belief in Purgatory, the mythological elements of the Cappella Nova are a necessary component and contribute to its iconographic program in ways that scenes from the Bible could not. Though the doctrine of Purgatory was not officially codified until the twenty-fifth session of the Council of Trent in the mid-sixteenth-century, the belief in Purgatory was an essential component of Western Church dogma for centuries before.44 The existence and nature of Purgatory was discussed and debated at the Councils of Lyon in 1274 and 44 Curiously, Riess, who otherwise exhibited a sensitivity to the doctrine and importance of Purgatory, maintained that Purgatory did not feature in Christian dogma at the time of the decoration of the Cappella Nova (Riess, Renaissance Antichrist, 42) and that the doctrine of Purgatory was not officially sanctioned until the middle of the sixteenth-century (Riess, Luca Signorelli: The San Brizio Chapel, Orvieto (New York: George Braziller, 1995), 101), an apparent reference to the Council of Trent. 74 Ferrara in 1438 and defended by Thomas Aquinas in the Summa Theologiae.45 The idea and nature of Purgatory resisted acceptance and definition in certain arenas, most notably in the Eastern Church, largely because the belief and doctrine of Purgatory were founded on the interpretation of Biblical passages rather than any direct Biblical reference to that realm. The efficacy of prayer for the dead is implied in a portion of the second book of Maccabees (12: 41-46), and the forgiveness of sins even after death is similarly implicit in a passage from the Gospel of Matthew (12: 31-32),46 yet Purgatory, as a place, is neither named nor described in Bible text. Nonetheless, Purgatory existed in popular imagination and developed over the centuries in official Church theology as a place where good souls go immediately after death to be subjected to the refining fire of Hell as a means of atonement for sins that were not grievous enough to condemn the offending body to an eternity of torment. What is more, one essential component of the belief and doctrine of Purgatory described the ability of the living to alleviate the torment of those good souls and even to win their release through prayer and sacrament. Thus Thomas Aquinas interpreted the words of Gregory of Nyssa as support for the efficacy of prayer over the sins of the dead: Hence Gregory of Nyssa, after the words quoted above, adds: “This we preach, holding to the teaching of truth, and this is our belief; this the 45 New Catholic Encyclopedia, s.v. “Purgatory.” On the Councils of Ferrara and Florence, New Catholic Encyclopedia, s.v. “Florence, Council of.” See also Jacques Le Goff, The Birth of Purgatory (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1984), 41, 284-88, and on 289: “Purgatory triumphed in the thirteenth century both in theology and in dogma. Doubts about its existence were silenced: it became a truth of faith and of the Church. In one form or another, concretely or in varying degrees of abstraction, it was accepted as a place. It took on an official character.... [I]t was controlled by the theologians and the Church hierarchy, who refused to allow the imagination of the faithful to run riot.” 46 The passage from II Maccabees was cited by Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, supp., App. 2:1 in support of the doctrine of Purgatory. See also Le Goff, Birth of Purgatory, 41-42. 75 Universal Church holds, by praying for the dead that they may be loosed from sins.” This cannot be understood except as referring to Purgatory: and whosoever resists the authority of the Church, incurs the note of heresy.47 This also was affirmed in the mid-sixteenth-century by the Council of Trent, in the decrees of the twenty-fifth session: “[T]hat there is a purgatory, and that the souls detained there are helped by the prayers of the faithful, and especially by the acceptable Sacrifice of the Altar.”48 The program of the socle of the Cappella Nova, conceived as a whole, confirms the existence and efficacy of Purgatory and places that realm and the beliefs pertaining to it in relation to the Last Judgment portrayed in the frescoes above.49 This program is most apparent in the portrait of Dante and in the scenes that surround him and his neighbor poet. Here the architects of the iconography presented a series of scenes from Dante‟s work, but drew from Purgatorio alone. Neither Heaven nor Hell is represented, though in his Divine Comedy Dante traveled to and described those places, also. In the Cappella Nova, the subject, source, and position of the Purgatorio medallions profess a belief in Purgatory, draw from Dante‟s narrative description of that realm and rest on his authority as a poet / theologian, and locate that place–Purgatory itself–on the side of the Blessed, who may need refining through penitential labor before their resurrection into 47 Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, supp. App. 2:1. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica (New York: Benziger Bros., 1947-1948), 3:3022. 48 Catholic Church, The Church Teaches, 352. 49 Riess did explore the doctrine of Purgatory and relate various aspects, including the efficacy of prayer, to the socle decoration and to the frescoes above. However, he limited his interpretation of the relevance of Purgatory to the medallions that depict scenes from Dante‟s Purgatorio and did not recognize that these things are signified also in the mythological subjects. Riess, Renaissance Antichrist, 42-45. 76 Heaven.50 The extra-Biblical subject has a proper place in the Cappella Nova and in relation to the events described in the Bible and painted above, precisely because Purgatory is not described in the Bible. There was, quite simply, no other authoritative source for narrative scenes depicting the landscape and population of the Third Realm. For this same reason, the scenes and subjects of the opposite wall are included in the program of the socle. Despite their unorthodox origin in classical poetry, these mythological-themed grisailles are necessary in relation to the program of the socle and in relation to the greater iconographic cycle of the Cappella Nova, for they make clear the efficacy of prayer in redeeming the souls in Purgatory, which practice or belief was, again, not described in the Bible, nor in Dante‟s Comedia, and therefore not otherwise able to be represented in narrative form. The relationship between the mythological scenes and the surrounding decoration of the Cappella Nova is not as simple or direct as that of the Purgatorio medallions. The Purgatorio scenes are positioned to the right-hand of God, enthroned in Judgment on the vault above, and immediately to the right of the Cappellina della Magdalena–the burial chapel dedicated to a penitential saint, Mary Magdalene. These scenes show both the necessity of penitence and the destination of all good souls in the time between their death and eventual ascent into Heaven. Even the particular subjects represented–the torture of souls in Purgatory rather than Dante‟s ascent up Purgatory‟s mountain toward Heaven–are relevant in this context. These scenes relate directly to the subject pictured in 50 Riess noted the relationship of the Purgatorio scenes and the Coronation of the Blessed fresco, and even referred to the efficacy of prayer in releasing the souls in Purgatory, who then would rise to the Blessed. However, Riess did not make explicit the relationship between the grisaille medallions and the release from Purgatory through the prayers of the living–he relied on a vague reading of Le Goff in claiming that the first eleven cantos “proclaim the importance of prayer among the living”–and did not view the classical subjects as typologically parallel to the scenes from Dante‟s Divine Comedy. Riess, Renaissance Antichrist, 44-45. 77 the lunette above–the good souls of Purgatory are essentially the same as the Blessed who assemble higher on the wall. This is not the case with the pagan scenes on the wall opposite. Though Hades is, admittedly, the setting of the mythological subjects represented on the western wall of the Cappella, these scenes do not simply represent those souls who will end in Hell. Such a representation could more properly be represented either through Biblical subjects–the story of Lazarus and Dives, for example– or with scenes drawn from Dante‟s Inferno, perhaps following the model of Nardo di Cione‟s layered depiction of Hell in the Cappella Strozzi of Santa Maria Novella, Florence. Furthermore, if logic alone does not dictate that Christian sources would have been chosen, as elsewhere in the chapel, to represent the Christian Hell, the particular subjects and themes represented in the mythological scenes show that this is not their intended message, not the significance of their placement, and not their contribution to the greater iconographic program of the chapel. With the sole exception of the scenes from the myth of Perseus, the subjects depicted in the mythological-themed grisaille medallions center around figures who descend into Hades, willingly or unwillingly, and either win their own return to earth or attempt to bring back a beloved friend or spouse who already in that afterlife. Thus, Aeneas is brought to the mouth of Hades by the Cumaean Sibyl and descends to witness the dead being flogged as they confess their sins. Persephone is taken to Hades by Pluto, but her distraught mother, Ceres, petitions Jupiter and wins her daughter‟s release. Hercules, who descends into Hades to rescue Theseus and Pirithous, brings the former back to earth. Orpheus enters Hades and plays for Pluto and Persephone in a doomed attempt to bring back his beloved Eurydice. Even Perseus, though he does not enter Hades, performs an act of salvation in releasing Andromeda from imprisonment and 78 certain death on the rock to which she was bound.51 These are not simply scenes of Hades, and they do relatively little to gloss the Christian Hell, with its many layers and its vast and varied population. Rather, these are all scenes in which the action and intervention of a living figure provides release for one who is already in the afterlife. In this respect, these scenes parallel one essential component of the Renaissance Christian belief in Purgatory: that the actions and prayers of the living can lessen the suffering of souls in Purgatory and even win their release.52 This particular aspect of the developing doctrine of Purgatory is not explicit in the scenes from Dante‟s Purgatorio, but is represented on the wall opposite, in the allegorical meaning of the scenes from classical mythology. The figures portrayed here, and Aeneas in particular, are types both for Dante and for Lazarus, whose return from the afterlife was depicted on the back wall of the Cappellina della Magdalena, though alterations to that space have since destroyed that New Testament scene.53 The mythological scenes may also be seen to function on the level of anagogical significance–that is, they do not only reveal, through juxtaposition, the meaning that is inherent in other stories that are typological parallels, but they reveal the very mysteries of the Christian faith directly in and of themselves. Though their literal significance is entirely meaningless in a Christian context, these scenes gloss the Christian belief in 51 San Juan and James, both, cited the various classical source texts from which these subject ultimately derive. San Juan, “Illustrious Poets;” James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto. Because the mythological subjects represented are drawn from numerous sources and certain subjects are recounted or described in multiple versions by various authors from various periods and/or represented in works of art available to Signorelli and/or his patrons, I have chosen not to reproduce the citations given by other scholars, in part to avoid the impression of a direct relationship between Signorelli‟s medallions and specific classical sources. 52 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Supp., App. 2: on Purgatory. 53 James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto, 115. 79 Purgatory as examples of the efficacy of the actions of the living on the state of souls in the afterlife. Here, in the anagogical significance of carefully selected episodes from classical mythology, the narrative of classical mythology had a greater relevance for the doctrine of Purgatory than any Judeo-Christian narrative, excepting only the raising of Lazarus, which was depicted elsewhere in the decoration of the socle.54 In the context of the iconographic program which decorates the Cappella Nova, the scenes from Dante‟s Purgatorio posit the very existence of that realm and show it to be a place of torment and the necessary refining of souls through just punishment. The scenes from classical mythology further gloss the Church‟s views on Purgatory and reveal the role that the living can play–that through their actions the souls of their loved ones can be spared torture and punishment and even released into a blessed existence above. This is the allegorical message of the scenes from classical mythology, their essential contribution to the socle and to the larger program of decoration, and the very reason for their inclusion in that program–that the message they convey can best or only be conveyed through their narrative, not from any cycle or series provided in the Judeo-Christian tradition. This study, which is primarily concerned with the Renaissance perception of allegorical meaning in Christian and classical subjects, has focused on the portions of the socle that more readily identified as either Christian or classical. The remaining scenes also fall into place within the iconographic program that is here proposed. The grisaille 54 II Maccabees, 12:42-46, in which the Jews under Judah Maccabeus pray and sacrifice for the sins of their dead, has frequently been cited in support of the doctrines of Purgatory. If this event does not now appear in the decoration of the socle, one can not entirely rule out the possibility that it originally appeared on the portion of the wall that is now hidden by the chapel altarpiece–this panel was described as a poet surrounded by “souls tormented by punishments, scourges, and others” (Gilbert, How Fra Angelico and Signorelli Saw, 104). Furthermore, one may note that the dead in this story were slain at God‟s will for their sins, which aspect of the story could have been not only troublesome but out of place in the message of the Cappella Nova. 80 scenes that are painted on the north side of the Cappella quite clearly depict scenes of judgment and torture. In one scene, a figure is bound and brought captive before a judging authority. In others, figures are held and beaten without mercy. Whether these scenes illustrate passages from Virgil‟s Aenead or derive from civic texts by Cicero or Lucan, they describe also the tortures visited upon souls in Purgatory, and thus may be seen as types from classical literature or from Ancient history. Thus, the iconographic program that decorates the socle of the Cappella Nova will be understood in relation to contemporary beliefs regarding the allegorical interpretation of extra-Biblical literature. The mythological subjects depicted on the socle convey meaning on the level of typological and anagogical allegory and in this way contribute to a program that is of immediate or contemporary significance to the viewer and complementary to the scenes from the Apocalypse depicted above. The frescoes of the upper walls and vault present the End of Days–the Last Judgment and its effects. The frescoes of the socle present the effects of the Particular Judgment, which is visited on souls at their death and determines whether they will enter into Purgatory or descend directly into Hell.55 In the frescoes of the socle, the existence and nature of Purgatory is described in scenes from Dante‟s Purgatorio, and the efficacy of prayer or sacrifice in relieving the suffering of the dead is illustrated in scenes from classical mythology. As glosses on the Renaissance doctrine of Purgatory, the classical scenes painted on the socle have a relevance, also, in relation to the actual use of the Cappella Nova. The Apocalyptic scenes above instilled the righteous fear of God and Judgment in the Renaissance Christian observer, together with hope for a resurrection among the Blessed, though that time of judgment and resurrection remained in the uncertain future. If that 55 New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2 nd edition, s.v. “Judgment, Divine (in Theology).” 81 End of Days was, perhaps, thought near when the Cappella Nova decoration was begun in 1449, the half-millennium had passed by the time the socle decoration was begun. It may be more than coincidence that the subjects represented in the socle speak not to the ultimate future, but to the importance of contemporary action, to the effect of the very action and prayer that the observer was to undertake in that space. Prayer and participation in the liturgical service saved the participant ultimately from the Hell that Signorelli painted on the west wall of the Cappella. Prayer and participation could also save those beloved to the participant from the torture and torment that was being visited upon their souls at the very moment in which the observer turned his or her eyes to the mythological scenes painted lower on that same wall. Other eyes may have found in those same scenes an entirely different message–it is Sara Nair James‟ argument that the intellectual elite of Orvieto would have recognized the virtues that are represented by Aeneas, Hercules, Perseus, and others.56 Indeed, it is the particular nature of Renaissance interpretation to perceive a polysemaity in the allegorical meaning of subjects, both Biblical and classical. These same scenes may have held a moral significance in the mind of the Renaissance observer, or may have been interpreted on such a level, in the Renaissance just as today. It is on the deeper levels of typological allegory and even anagogical allegory, however, that these scenes relate directly to the Christian doctrines that define the message of the socle and place it in relation to the events portrayed above. It is also in its reliance on the perceived typological and anagogical significance of classical subjects that the Cappella Nova program demonstrates a characteristically Renaissance response to classical mythology and, correspondingly, signals its place in the Renaissance development of allegorical interpretation. The process of expanding the 56 James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto, 90, 118-27. 82 perceived levels of allegorical significance in extra-Biblical sources that was begun in early Trecento literature and manifest in the typological juxtapositions of elements in Trecento mural decoration reaches perhaps no greater height than the decoration of the Cappella Nova, where classical subjects are included in the iconographic program in order to reveal mysteries of the Christian faith through their typological and anagogical significance. The full range of the development of allegorical interpretation can thus be bound, on either end, by the examples of the Arena Chapel, Padua, and the Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral, and an intermediate step in that development signified by the change in the perceived scope of typological interpretation from decoration of the Arena Chapel to the decoration of the Chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella, Florence. If the gulf between the decoration of the Chapterhouse and the Cappella Nova is considerable, both conceptually and chronologically, nevertheless these two programs are worthy of comparison, because both are complex mural programs, variously interpreted in art historical scholarship, which originally constructed and ultimately reveal their meaning in relation to the developing perception of allegorical interpretation. The lacuna between these two programs may be filled, at least in part, with other works of Renaissance art that originally constructed and will ultimately reveal their meaning in relation to the developing perception of allegorical interpretation–specifically with certain freestanding works of art, rather than mural decoration, which depend on the perceived typology of classical and Judeo-Christian subjects. This is the subject of the chapter which follows. 83 Figure 5 – Typological Image of the Madonna and Child Enthroned from the Legendarium Cisterciennse (Dijon, bib. Mun. Ms 641) 84 Figure 6 – Michalengelo, Pietà, St. Peter‟s Basilica, Vatican, Rome 85 Figure 7 – View of the Arena Chapel, Padua, from the West toward the Altar Wall 86 Figure 8 – Giotto (or school of), The Circumcision of the son of Abraham, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua Figure 9 – Giotto (or school of), Moses Striking the Rock, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua 87 Figure 10 – Giotto (or school of), The Creation of Adam, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua Figure 11 – Giotto (or school of), Elisha Entering Jericho, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua 88 Figure 12 - Giotto (or school of), The Archangel Michael Triumphant, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua Figure 13 – Giotto (or school of), Moses and the Brazen Serpent, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua 89 Figure 14 – Giotto (or school of), Jonah Swallowed by a Fish, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua Figure 15 – Giotto (or school of), Elisha Assumed Into Heaven, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua 90 Figure 16 – Giotto (or school of), God Appearing to Ezekiel, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua Figure 17 – Giotto (or school of), A Lion Breathing Life Into His Stillborn Cubs, medallion from the Arena Chapel, Padua 91 Figure 18 – Detail of the north wall of the Arena Chapel, Padua, showing the juxtaposition of medallions with scenes from the Old Testament and narrative panels with scenes from the New Testament 92 Figure 19 Andrea di Bonaiuto, Passion Cycle, north wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella 93 Figure 20 - Andrea di Bonaiuto, Resurrection and Noli Me Tangere, vault quadrant over the north wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella 94 Figure 21 - Andrea di Bonaiuto, Ascension, vault quadrant over the south wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella 95 Figure 22 – Andrea di Bonaiuto, Via Veritatis, east wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella 96 Figure 23 – Andrea di Bonaiuto, St. Thomas Aquinas Enthroned, west wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella 97 Figure 24 – Andrea di Bonaiuto, Scenes from the Life of St. Dominic, south wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella 98 Figure 25 – Andrea di Bonaiuto, Pentecost, vault quadrant over the west wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella 99 Figure 26 – Andrea di Bonaiuto, Navicella, vault quadrant over the east wall, Chapterhouse, Santa Maria Novella 100 Figure 27 – Parri Spinelli, Copy after Giotto‟s Navicella, c. 1400 Figure 28 – Francesco Berretta, Copy after Giotto‟s Navicella, 1628 101 Figure 29 – The Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral, view to the south 102 Figure 30 – Luca Signorelli, Dante with scenes from Purgatorio, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 103 Figure 31 – Luca Signorelli, Statius (?) with scenes from Purgatorio, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 104 Figure 32 – Luca Signorelli, Purgatorio scenes from the south wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 105 Figure 33 – Luca Signorelli, Virgil (?) with mythological scenes of Aeneas, Hercules, and Orpheus, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 106 Figure 34 – Luca Signorelli, Ovid / Claudian (?) with scenes from the Rape of Persephone, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 107 Figure 35 – Luca Signorelli, Mythological scenes from the south wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 108 Figure 36 – Luca Signorelli, Medallions from the south wall, left of the altar, of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral Figure 37 – Luca Signorelli, Medallions from the south wall, right of the altar, of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 109 Figure 38 – Luca Signorelli, Homer / Cicero (?) with medallions, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 110 Figure 39 – Luca Signorelli, Lucan (?) with medallions, from the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 111 Figure 40 – View of the west wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral, showing the Cappellina della Pietà 112 Figure 41 – Luca Signorelli, Damaged Poet from the entry wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 113 Figure 42 – Luca Signorelli, Empedocles (?), from the entry wall of the Cappella Nova, Orvieto Cathedral 114 CHAPTER 3 TYPOLOGICAL ALLEGORY AND REPRESENTATIONAL INCONGRUITY IN DONATELLO‟S BRONZE DAVID AND BOTTICELLI‟S MYTHOLOGIES In De Principiis, Origen not only argued in favor of an allegorical meaning that lay hidden beneath the history and law described in the literal sense of the Bible, but also claimed that portions of that history and law were intentionally crafted by God to interrupt the logical progression of the Biblical narrative and thus to lead the reader to pause and pursue the deeper significance of passages that appear incongruous. Thus Origen wrote, in the second chapter of book IV: But if in every detail of this outer covering, that is, the actual history, the sequence of the law had been preserved and its order maintained, we should have understood the scriptures in an unbroken course and should certainly not have believed that there was anything else buried within them beyond what was indicated at a first glance. Consequently the divine wisdom has arranged for certain stumbling-blocks and interruptions of the historical sense to be found therein, by inserting in the midst a number of impossibilities and incongruities, in order that the very interruption of the narrative might as it were present a barrier to the reader and lead him to refuse to proceed along the pathway of the ordinary meaning: and so, by shutting us out and debarring us from that, might recall us to the beginning of another way, and might thereby bring us, through the entrance of a narrow footpath, to a higher and loftier road and lay open the immense breadth of the divine wisdom…. All this, as we have said, the Holy Spirit supervised, in order that in cases where that which appeared at the first glance could neither be true nor useful we should be led on to search for a truth deeper down and needing more careful examination, and should try to discover in the scriptures which we believe to be inspired by God a meaning worthy of God. 1 1 Origen, De Principiis, Book IV, chapter 2, section 9. Origen on First Principles: Being Koetschau’s Text of the De Principiis Translated into English, Together with an Introduction and Notes, trans. G. W. Butterworth (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1966), 285-87. 115 On a basic level, Origen‟s method outlined the circumstances in which an allegorical interpretation was necessary: that when a portion of the Biblical narrative or the law given in the Bible text was unintelligible or incongruent in its literal meaning, the reader was to pursue its symbolic or allegorical significance. In this passage, however, Origen was not simply concerned with nature of the Bible, with the object and narrative that is placed before the reader, but also with the creator of that work. Origen attributed the incongruities and difficulties inherent in the Biblical text to the active design of its author, and attributed to Him the express purpose of causing the reader to question the literal meaning of His work and to contemplate the deeper levels of its allegorical significance. Origen‟s method has significance not only for Biblical exegesis and the attempt to understand the motive and method of the Divine author, as Origen saw him, but also for the interpretation of other works of art, both literary and visual, and for the attempt to understand the motives and methods of those mortal creators, the artists of the Italian Renaissance. Just as an incongruous or unintelligible passage may cause the reader to contemplate the possible meanings inherent in a portion of Bible text, so also an incongruous element or unexpected form may cause the viewer to consider the allegorical meaning of a work of art. Furthermore, if the author of the Bible may be credited with the intentional inclusion of stumbling-blocks or intrusions to the Biblical narrative as signs that the allegorical meaning was, in those instances, of greater significance than the literal, perhaps also certain ambiguities of representation in Renaissance art could be seen as intentional signifiers of allegorical significance. Origen‟s method applies to the programs of mural decoration described in the previous chapter. In each instance, particular elements are incongruous to the cycle or narrative that is presented elsewhere in the program–the Old Testament subjects represented in medallions in the Arena Chapel are not part of the New Testament 116 narrative that is presented in the larger scenes that decorate the walls, the contemporary scenes that decorate the side and entry walls of the Chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella are not part of the Passion sequence that covers the altar wall and vault of that space, and the mythological subjects depicted in grisaille medallions on the socle of Orvieto Cathedral‟s Cappella Nova appear to be entirely at odds with the Christian space and the Christian subjects that are presented on the walls and vault above. As shown in the previous chapter, these elements are, in each instance, included for their allegorical significance rather than their literal meaning. It is only as types or allegories of anagogical significance that these elements function within the greater programs of decoration, and until this is properly recognized the seemingly incongruous elements appear at odds with the larger narrative cycles and are difficult to comprehend in relation to scenes with which they are juxtaposed. To a large extent, it is the juxtaposition of scenes from disparate traditions in the more elaborate programs of mural decoration that reveals the necessity of allegorical interpretation. The pairing of narrative elements from seemingly incongruous traditions is a stumbling-block or intrusion to the easy reading and comprehension of an iconographic program. Allegorical meaning is not confined to incongruous scenes within a greater cycle, however, nor is it signified only by an interruption of the narrative progress. Certain free-standing or self-contained works of Renaissance art display similar incongruence in the relationship between form and subject and may in this manner signify the intention of the artist to convey allegorical significance and the necessity of allegorical interpretation on the part of the viewer. It is here proposed that certain works of Renaissance art were intentionally ambiguous, or more properly incorporated elements that appear to be at odds or incongruous on a literal level of interpretation, and were intended by the artist to convey, through that ambiguity or incongruity, a polysemaity of subject that depended on the perceived typological relationship between figures or events 117 from the classical and Judeo-Christian traditions. Thus, in certain instances Renaissance artists evoked or signified the necessity of an allegorical interpretation for their work not only through juxtaposition of narrative scenes from disparate traditions, but also through a seemingly incongruous juxtaposition of form and subject. If these incongruities of representation have, in certain instances, prevented the easy comprehension of the subject and meaning conveyed in a work of art, this unfortunate effect only serves to prove Origen‟s method and to provide hope that when the allegorical significance of the work is understood, the tension between form and subject will be resolved. This chapter pursues the allegorical significance of two works of art from the Italian Quattrocento that are well known to art historical scholarship and of unparalleled significance to any understanding of the Renaissance response to classical antiquity, but continue to resist any easy comprehension or scholarly consensus: Donatello‟s bronze David and Botticelli‟s Primavera. 2 Both works are truly “monstrous,” to use James Elkins‟ term.3 Each work appears to have multiple meanings that are contradictory, and each work has attracted so much scholarly attention, attracted so many different interpretations, that it is effectively out of the reach of any but the most profound and probing discourse. Indeed, the often obscuring lacquer of scholarly interpretations that has built up over each of these works is, in itself, a stumbling-block and interruption to the study and comprehension of each work. The particular nature of these works and the accidents of their respective histories conspire to require such intense and continued interest, and will bring about further interpretation and debate, perhaps without end. Not only does each of these works display those ambiguities or incongruities of representation 2 Donatello‟s proper name was Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi. Botticelli was Alessandro Filipepi. 3 James Elkins, “On Monstrously Ambiguous Paintings,” History and Theory 32:3 (October 1993), 227-47. Elkins defined his term in the opening paragraph, 227. 118 which prevent an easy, literal reading and invite, even require scholarly interpretation, but each of these works also comes to modern scholarship without any clear or conclusive record of its origins, and thus deprives the art historian of any sure support for his or her interpretation. If these works were not necessarily self-contained or free- standing when first displayed, they come to the modern era orphaned, as it were, and, barring any future archaeological or archival discoveries, each will be understood only from physical analysis or iconographic interpretation. Despite the inherent uncertainty of their origins, these two works remain essential to the history and development of Italian Renaissance art. Each work is commonly celebrated as a “first” in the development of the Renaissance response to classical antiquity–the first known full-figure, free-standing male nude since Antiquity, and the first instance since Antiquity of the reintegration of classical subject and classical form, depicted on a scale previously reserved for Christian subjects. If these two works are essential to our understanding of the Renaissance period–of the beliefs, interests, and values of those who lived in Italy during that particular period of European history–they are vital also to this study, as each work displays an incongruence of representation that will, ultimately, be resolved only through the recognition of the perceived typology between the classical and Judeo-Christian traditions that variously provide the subjects and forms of the figures represented in the David and the Primavera. Donatello‟s Bronze David It is not the purpose of this study to establish, beyond a credible doubt, that Donatello‟s bronze David (Figure 43) is a polysemous work, with the Biblical hero David as its primary subject and the pagan god Mercury as a secondary image. This has been proposed and explored sufficiently by other scholars, Jenö Lànyi, Patricia Ann Leach, 119 and Francis Ames-Lewis foremost among them.4 Admittedly, this interpretation has been critiqued, most notably by H. W. Janson, who argued against Lànyi‟s unpublished hypothesis, and by John Shearman, who rather unfortunately conflated the “syncretic” interpretation of the David with another proposal that the statue has at its subject Mercury rather than David and dismissed both readings on the basis of certain misreadings and methodological difficulties that trouble the latter claim.5 Janson‟s response to Lànyi‟s proposal of a “syncretic merger” of David and Mercury, was duly addressed by Leach, whose 1983 Ph.D. dissertation was conceived as a reply to Janson and an exploration of the David as a typological representation of David and Mercury. What Leach has done well, the present study need not repeat. Leach‟s dissertation, though accessible, remains unpublished and appears to have had relatively little impact on subsequent scholarship. Her dissertation was not cited by Shearman, though he oversaw the completion of her work at Princeton, or by Ames- 4 Lànyi‟s work remained unpublished at his death in 1940, but was described in part in H. W. Janson, The sculpture of Donatello, incorporating the notes and photographs of the late Jenö Lányi, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963), 83, 84; and in John Pope-Hennesey, “Donatello‟s Bronze David,” in Scritti di storia dell’arte in onore di Federico Zeri, (Milano: Electa, and Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Trust, 1984), 122-127; Patricia Ann Leach, “Images of Political Triumph: Donatello‟s Iconography of Heroes,” unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Princeton University, 1983; Francis Ames- Lewis, “Donatello‟s bronze David and the Palazzo Medici courtyard,” Renaissance Studies 3:3 (September 1989), 235-51. 5 John Shearman, Only Connect...: Art and the Spectator in the Italian Renaissance, The A. W. Mellon Lectures in the Fine Arts, 1988, (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992), 20-22. Shearman did credit Lànyi with the initial concept and addressed Ames-Lewis‟ article (“Donatello‟s Bronze David”), but focused more on refuting the studies by Alessandro Parronchi and John Pope-Hennessy, which did not propose a syncretic or typological interpretation, but suggested instead that the statue is a Mercury and not a David–thus the title of Parronchi‟s chapter: Mercurio e non David. Alessandro Parronchi, Donatello e il potere (Bologna: Cappelli and Florence: Il portolano, 1980); John Pope-Hennessy, “Donatello‟s Bronze David,” in Scritti di storia dell’arte in onore di Federico Zeri (Milan: Electa, and Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Trust, 1984), 122-27. 120 Lewis, who nonetheless found enough similarity between the appearance of the David and the iconographic motifs associated with Mercury–that is, he accepted the associations proposed by Alessandro Parronchi and John Pope-Hennessy, if not their claims that the figure is a representation of Mercury rather than a David–to admit the possibility of a dual identity for the figure that is the David.6 Leach has only just begun to appear in bibliographic citations–Christine Sperling, in 1992, referred to those who would question the statue‟s iconography and subject, including Parronchi, Pope-Hennessy, and cited Ames-Lewis in the associated footnote, with a certain ambiguity as to whether he is one such scholar or simply a good example of an “overview of recent scholarship;” Sarah Blake McHam, in 2001, did cite Leach as the scholar who “most fully explored the underlying motives for merging David and Mercury in fifteenth-century Florence,” but gave Ames-Lewis, and Parronchi and Pope-Hennessy, higher billing in the same footnote.7 These are only representative examples. Though Leach‟s study has not had a visibly dramatic effect on subsequent scholarship, the idea that the David is a figure both of David and of Mercury may be starting to reach the mainstream of art historical discourse, either from Leach, but quietly, or, more likely, in response to the various proposals that have been put forth over the years. Paoletti and Radke, in their broad and admirable survey of Italian Renaissance art, 6 It should be noted that Ames-Lewis withheld final judgment pending an explanation of the relationship between the proposed secondary image of Mercury and the decoration of the Palazzo Medici courtyard, which, he said, “may not prove to be an impossible task, but does not come within the scope of [his] article.” Ames-Lewis, “Donatello‟s Bronze David,” 239. Parronchi, Donatello e il potere; Pope-Hennessy, “Donatello‟s Bronze David.” 7 Christine Sperling, “Donatello‟s Bronze David and the Demands of Medici Politics,” The Burlington Magazine 134:1069 (April 1992), 218, n. 2; Sarah Blake McHam, “Donatello‟s Bronze David and Judith as Metaphors of Medici Rule in Florence,” The Art Bulletin 83:1 (March 2001), 32, n. 14. 121 described the David as a possible representation of both David and Mercury, though their discussion of its typology was limited to a single paragraph and cited only “some modern historians” who propose the single identity of Mercury instead of David.8 Rather than repeating that which is elsewhere achieved in a more extensive study–Leach‟s assertion that the bronze David is a typological representation of David and Mercury, simultaneously–it will remain to pursue the operation of a typological representation in the early Italian Renaissance, i.e. the manner in which Donatello fused two figures into one, the particular conditions that allowed such a fusion, and the visual signs that such a representation was intended and that an allegorical interpretation was required, rather than a literal reading of the subject or narrative. Whatever else Donatello‟s bronze David may be–it is celebrated as the first nearly life-sized, free-standing male nude statue since Antiquity, and its public display in the courtyard of the Palazzo Medici, together with an accompanying inscription that referred to the citizenry and the overthrow of tyranny, suggest it to have been perceived as a statement of Medici power and / or the social and civic aspirations of that family–the work, itself, is strangely, and intentionally, ambiguous in representation. It is this ambiguity which has given rise to the typological interpretation of its subject, and which signals the propriety of such an interpretation. Osvald Sirén, writing in 1914, aptly described the essential cause of this ambiguity: though the figure takes as its most apparent subject a common and traditional representation, it is stripped of any clear reference to that subject and presented instead in accordance with an aesthetic that is foreign to is own origins. In Sirèn‟s words: 8 John Paoletti and Gary Radke, Art in Renaissance Italy, 3rd ed., (Upper Saddle River, New Jersey, 2005), 268. 122 As a conception of a traditional and quite common motive [sic], it is extraordinary. Were there no attributes, nobody would ever suspect it to represent the young shepherd of the Bible. A glance at Donatello‟s earlier figures of David in Florence (in the Museo Nazionale and in the Palazzo Martelli) convinces us that the artist has not conceived this later bronze as an illustration of the Davidic motive, but as a classical nude, quite incidentally vested with the sword (not with the sling) and the head of Goliath.9 As Sirén indicated, Donatello showed in his earlier work that he knew and understood the iconographic tradition or convention of representing David as a young man with a sling and stone, standing with the severed head of Goliath.10 (Figure 44) His bronze David stands not only as a departure from that established tradition, but a departure from his own work. In the bronze David, the youth is, to use Sirèn‟s term, decidedly un-Davidic. He is not clothed and does not hold the sling that is an essential component of his iconographic presentation. Furthermore, the head of Goliath is here encased in armor and shows no wound to the forehead. Together, these three motifs–the nudity of the figure, the lack of a sling, and the lack of a wound to the head of Goliath–interrupt the viewer‟s recognition of the apparent narrative. The nudity of the figure is not consistent with the Bible text–in Samuel I, 17:38-39 David removes the armor in which Saul had clothed him, but is not described as entering into battle unclothed–and the omission of other motifs that are associated with the subject that is presented–the sling that David uses to bring down the giant and the wound in Goliath‟s head where the stone struck him– compromises the relationship between the figure, as represented, and the text to which it relates. If we can not be sure whether or not Donatello conceived of the bronze as an 9 Osvald Sirén, “The Importance of the Antique to Donatello,” American Journal of Archaeology 18:4 (October–December 1914), 453. 10 The “Martelli David” has since been reattributed to Bernardo or Antonio Rossellino. 123 illustration of the Davidic motive, again quoting Sirèn, we can be sure that he did not craft the representation as an illustration of the David motive–that is, he did not give his figure those attributes that would be commonly recognized as relating to the Biblical David and understood as relating to the narrative that is the apparent subject of the work. In deviating from the source text and from established tradition, Donatello introduced a high degree of representational ambiguity, even to the extent that subsequent generations–modern scholars–would come to question the very identity of his figure. Given that Donatello had already crafted multiple successful versions of the same subject–or, more properly, of that subject which would appear to be the primary representation also of the bronze David–one may presume that the artist knowingly deviated from the Davidic motive, that his decision to jeopardized the ability of the work to readily communicate its subject was intentional, and that Donatello had a significant reason for doing so. If the particular representation of the bronze is ambiguous in its representation of David, so also is it ambiguous in any additional representations. Certain scholars have proposed that the figure is a Mercury rather than a David, and have rightly drawn a critical response from their peers.11 If, as Parronchi and Pope-Hennessy proposed, the figure were a Mercury, standing over the severed head of Argus, then Donatello‟s Mercury would be every bit as un-Mercurial as his David would be un-Davidic. The figure does wear a hat that is similar to Mercury‟s petasus, does have wings at his feet– or one wing to one side of one leg–is classically nude, and does stand in a pose that is strikingly similar to that of the Praxitelean Hermes type (Figure 45) (though one may also 11 Parronchi and Pope-Hennessy have proposed that the figure is Mercury rather than David. Parronchi, Donatello e il potere; Pope-Hennessy, “Donatello‟s Bronze David.” Shearman rightly criticizes aspects of their arguments. Shearman, Only Connect, 20-22. 124 observe that the pose is similar to that of Donatello‟s marble David of c. 1407).12 Furthermore, various classical texts, including Ovid‟s Metamorphoses, recount a story in which Mercury triumphs over a giant adversary, Argus, and severs his head with a sword, thus providing a possible source text for the statue in question.13 Yet, just as the particular representation that is Donatello‟s bronze statue does not accord in certain significant details with the Biblical account of David‟s triumph over Goliath, so, also, the representation does not accord in significant details with those texts which describe Mercury‟s triumph over Argus. Donatello‟s figure does not wear Mercury‟s winged hat or winged boots, does not hold the pipes with which Mercury lulled Argus to sleep, does hold an oversized sword that would be incongruous in such a representation, and stands over a head that has only two eyes, rather than Argus‟ many.14 If the statue is not a straightforward illustration of David over Goliath, neither is it a straightforward illustration of Mercury over Argus. The representational ambiguity inherent in Donatello‟s bronze David does make possible the dual identity of the figure group as David over Goliath and Mercury over Argus, and, furthermore, signals the propriety of such an interpretation, even requires it. Donatello need not have known Origen in order to have employed a system of representation similar to that which Origen described as active in the significative and 12 Lànyi had apparently seen these iconographic motifs as relating to Mercury– see Janson‟s critique of Lànyi‟s proposed reading, Janson, Sculpture of Donatello, 84. Sirèn noted the relation between the figure and the Praxitelean Hermes type. Sirèn, “Importance of the Antique,” 453-55. Parronchi and Pope-Hennessy described these and other motifs as relating to Mercury. Parronchi, Donatello e il potere; Pope-Hennessy, “Donatello‟s Bronze David.” 13 Ovid Metamorphoses 1:668-721. 14 Shearman raised some of these objections, and others. Shearman, Only Connect, 20-21. 125 allegorical modes of Scripture. Just as the Author of Scripture, according to Origen, incorporated incongruence into the history and law that are described therein as a means toward interrupting a literal reading of the text, thereby causing the reader to pause and consider the deeper, allegorical significance, so also Donatello interrupted the viewer‟s comprehension of his work as a literal representation–an illustration of a given narrative– and, causing the viewer to pause, necessitated an allegorical interpretation. Because the David is un-Davidic, because it has been stripped of any clear marker or attribute that would allow a literal comprehension of the narrative, it must be interpreted allegorically, as something more than an illustration, something more than a literal David. Donatello was careful to craft his figure group in such a manner that it could not be interpreted as either of its dual identities alone, but only as a simultaneous representation of both David and Mercury. Though his David does not have a sling, and though his Goliath does not show a wound, they may still be David and Goliath–there is nothing in the representation that explicitly precludes such a reading. Furthermore, because the David does not have a sling, and because the Goliath does not show a wound, these figures are not limited to that single identity. The same formula applies to the suggestion that the figure group represents Mercury: the lack of a winged hat or boots, even the lack of Argus‟ additional eyes need not preclude a secondary association with the messenger god and his foe, just as the addition of a petasus and the evocative placement of a wing do not limit the work to that subject. Because the David is characterized by representational ambiguity, David may also be Mercury, and Mercury may be David. The statue evokes both identities, and thus permits both interpretations, while avoiding the explicit representation of either, which would then preclude the other. Donatello succeeded in conveying the dual identity of his figure group not only through his subtle reworking of motifs associated with both David and Mercury–those iconographic attributes such as the stone in David / Mercury‟s hand, the petasus on his 126 head, even, perhaps, the wing that rises above his ankle–but also through the juxtaposition of a Judeo-Christian subject (for the David is a David) and an antique form. The very form of the David is incongruent to its apparent subject: the statue presents a holy figure from the Judeo-Christian tradition in a classically inspired pose, conspicuously, even gratuitously nude. Not only is the nudity of the David foreign to the conventions of representing that figure, the Biblical David, but the very concept of sculptural nudity divorced from a causal narrative is foreign to the conventions of Judeo- Christian art. Inasmuch as the nudity of the figure is gratuitous–that is, aesthetic rather than iconographic–it here contrasts with the traditions and conventions which should determine the form appropriate to the subject, and draws attention to its own origins rather than those of the subject represented. A certain tension arises from this contrast, from the juxtaposition of classical form and Judeo-Christian subject, just as a tension can be felt between iconographic elements from disparate traditions when juxtaposed within a larger cycle of decoration, as seen in the studies of the previous chapter. Here, the tension between form and subject will not be resolved until the cause for such a representation is understood–until the viewer recognizes that the allegory underlying the representational ambiguity depends on a perceived typological relationship of subjects from the classical and Judeo-Christian traditions. There is a similarity of plot and theme in the stories of David‟s triumph over Goliath and Mercury‟s triumph over Argus. The Bible described David as young shepherd and a gifted musician, who, in earlier in the Biblical narrative, used his music to soothe King Saul when the latter was troubled by an evil spirit (Samuel I, 16:23). David also was victor over Goliath, a giant and champion of the Philistine army. David felled Goliath with a stone thrown from a sling and cut off the giant‟s head with his own sword (Samuel I, 17:45-51). In classical mythology, recounted by Ovid in his Metamorphoses 127 and described elsewhere by various other authors, Mercury was sent by Jupiter, the ruler of the Olympian gods, to slay the giant Argus, who had been charged by Juno with guarding Io from Jupiter‟s lascivious intentions. Disguised as a shepherd, Mercury approached the ever-watchful Argus. Gaining his trust and company, Mercury lulled him to sleep with music played on the pipes and, when the giant closed the last of his hundred eyes, cut his head off with a sword.15 If the particular details differ, the essential subjects of the Biblical account and the pagan myth are similar. Though one was a story of Israel‟s future king saving that land by the will of God and the other a fantastic tale of the means by which a lusty god removes a barrier to the fulfillment of his desires, both were tales in which a shepherd stepped forth to defeat a mighty giant, brought that monster to the ground unconscious, and beheaded his enemy. In both stories, the hero removed his garments–David the tunic and armor of Saul and Mercury his cap and wings, to take the guise of a shepherd. Furthermore, one classical tradition even held that Mercury brought down his foe with a stone. Apollodorus, in his Library, wrote that: [Argus] tethered [Io, as a cow] to the olive tree which was in the grove of the Mycenaeans. But Zeus ordered Hermes to steal the cow, and as Hermes could not do it secretly because Hierax had blabbed, he killed Argus by the cast of a stone; whence he was called Argiphontes.16 It was not only the similarity between David and Mercury in their respective narrative traditions that marked possible a typological comparison between the two characters and their simultaneous representation in Donatello‟s David, but also the 15 Ovid Metamorphoses 1:668-721. 16 Apollodorus Library 2.1.3. Apollodorus, The Library, James George Frazer, trans. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press and London: W. Heinemann, Ltd., 1961, 133. 128 contemporary perception that such a typology was possible. Without the Renaissance belief that classical mythologies could, like the Biblical narrative, contain typological allegories beneath the level of the literal narrative, the similarities between the pagan and Judeo-Christian characters may have gone unnoticed or may have been perceived as lacking in any real significance. It was only in and after the fourteenth-century, when Christian authorities proposed and accepted the expansion of typology to include not only Biblical text, which is to say Judeo-Christian narrative and history, but also extra-Biblical narrative that the parallels between David as giant killer and Mercury as Argiphontes would have had any real significance in the mind of the Christian reader or viewer. Recall that Thomas Aquinas had distinguished the allegories of the Bible from other, secular works and described the action of God in Judeo-Christian history, so shaping events that they, themselves, had meaning, which was then conveyed also in the text that recorded them.17 In order for classical mythology to participate also in the typological relationships that characterized the Old and New Testaments of the Bible, classical myth would also have had to have been so shaped by its author–or more properly to have been so shaped by God, working through the classical author–as to also prefigure Christian events or mysteries. The proposal that Donatello‟s David presents a fusion of typologically related figures from pagan mythology and Judeo-Christian narrative depends, therefore, on the recognition of a Renaissance perception that classical authors– in this case the anonymous poets who first composed the myths of the pagan gods–were theologians as well as poets. This idea, the concept of the theologicae poetae, was developed by Petrarch, Boccaccio, and Salutati, and current in Florence by the end of the Trecento, though not as fully syncretic or as refined as it would become under Marsilio 17 Aquinas Summa Theologica 1:10. See also chapter 1 of this study, above. 129 Ficino or Pico della Mirandola.18 Donatello‟s David may depend, to some degree, on the idea of a classical populace that participated, at least to an extent, in the mysteries of Christianity and expressed them allegorically in the narrative that comprised pagan mythology. The representational ambiguities and juxtapositions that characterize the bronze David indicate the propriety, even the necessity of interpreting its subject on an allegorical level, rather than on a literal or illustrative level. Thus, the figure may be a typological comparison and simultaneous representation of the Biblical David and the mythological Mercury, relating to early Quattrocento perceptions of the possible relations between classical myth and the Judeo-Christian Bible and to what was a developing Renaissance belief in the theological knowledge of the poets and philosophers of antiquity. What is ultimately lacking from our modern understanding of the work, however, is the very reason for this representation. The subject or subjects of the David can be understood from the particulars of its representation, but the significance of the statue, its meaning or message in the minds of artist and patron and in the context of its original or intended display, may be impossible to discern, despite the attempts of scholars to the contrary. Though scholars have put forth various interpretations, and will no doubt continue to do so, the ambiguities that characterize not only the representation, but also the patronage, dating, and original display of the statue continue to foil attempts to unlock the underlying motive for the work, its literal raison d’être. What the David provides, if not ultimately its own meaning, is an entry into a method of interpretation. A study of the David‟s mode of representation, such as this one, presents a model that can be judiciously applied to other works of the period which 18 On the theologica poetica, see Charles Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness: Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought (London: Constable & Co, 1970), 2:683-704. 130 present the same or similar features–i.e. representational ambiguity, an incongruity of iconographic elements or of form and subject, a juxtaposition of classical and Judeo- Christian elements which may depend on a Renaissance perception of a typological relation between the two traditions. Inasmuch as such a work can be found, the David may be seen not only as an isolated and somewhat problematic uniquum, but as one in a series of works which, through their pattern of shared characteristics, reveal certain aspects of the Renaissance beliefs in the potential for polysemaity in text and image, the allegorical levels of interpretation inherent in both classical and Judeo-Christian narratives, and the methods by which these can be represented in art. Botticelli‟s Birth of Venus and Primavera Botticelli‟s Birth of Venus and Primavera offer, respectively, a test and a proof of the methodological model that is proposed here for determining the propriety of reading a work of art from the Italian Quattrocento as polysemous and, specifically, as a typological representation that draws together the classical and Judeo-Christian traditions and depends, for its subject or significance, on Renaissance perceptions that the sacred texts of both traditions participated in the full range of allegorical modes. Both works have previously been described as typological. Ernst Gombrich, in his “Study in the Neo- Platonic Symbolism of [Botticelli‟s] Circle” considered these and the Pallas and the Centaur according to “the typological approach,” and he referred both to Horne and, vaguely, to “other critics” who had seen or suggested a greater degree of Christian form than classical in the Birth of Venus.19 The methodological model that is proposed here, 19 Ernst Gombrich, “Botticelli‟s Mythologies: A Study in the Neo-Platonic Symbolism of his Circle,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 8 (1945), 7- 60; reprint in Ernst Gombrich Symbolic Images: Studies in the art of the Renaissance (London: Phaidon, 1972), 31-81 (page citations are to the reprint edition). On the 131 however, as a means of determining the propriety of a typological interpretation, reveals one of these paintings to be a relatively straightforward narrative presentation, with no inherent ambiguity of representation and therefore no requisite allegorical interpretation, and the other, which is so characterized by ambiguity that the very identity of its protagonist has been misunderstood almost since its creation, to be exceedingly similar to the bronze David in its typological approach and in the manner in which this is conveyed visually. Botticelli‟s Birth of Venus (Figure 46) was a novel work for its period, and therefore significant to the development of art in the early Renaissance. Like the bronze David, it has been hailed as an artistic “first” or, more particularly, as a “first since antiquity.” The David was the first full-sized, free-standing male nude statue created in Europe after the classical era. The Birth of Venus was, or appears to have been the first large-scale depiction of a pagan deity in a classical, rather than contemporary form in Europe after the classical era, and as such was the embodiment of Panofsky‟s idea of the reintegration of classical subject and form, for that author a defining characteristic of the Italian Renaissance.20 Other scholars, however, noted a degree of similarity between the composition of the Birth of Venus and the typical representation of a common Christian subject, the Baptism of Christ. Fritz Saxl made a point of this in an unpublished lecture, and Gombrich put the idea into print.21 In the body of his study, Gombrich compared the composition of the Birth of Venus to that of Alessio Baldovinetti‟s Baptism of Christ “typological approach” to the Primavera, Pallas and the Centaur, and Birth of Venus, see Symbolic Images, 62-64, 70-72, 73. 20 Erwin Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1960), 101, 109-13. 21 Gombrich, Symbolic Images, 73, 218 n. 156, which includes a reference to Saxl‟s lecture. 132 from the Museo di San Marco, Florence (Figure 47), though he cautioned in a footnote that this was a conceptual comparison rather than a proposed model-copy relationship and noted, further, that a panel from Lorenzo Ghiberti‟s first set of bronze doors for the Florentine Baptistry is even closer to Botticelli‟s “scheme” in the inclusion of flying angels, who are like the winds in the Birth of Venus.22 Even Gombrich, though, cautioned against overestimating the significance of this compositional similarity. Thus, he wrote: “How far the artist, in making use of such a formula, was thinking of its precise theological significance, it is, of course, impossible to determine.”23 There is a high degree of compositional similarity between Botticelli‟s Birth of Venus and the conventional representation of the Baptism of Christ. The painting and the trope, if they may be so distinguished, both present an upright central figure, in or on water, framed by an attendant to the right, who leans and reaches to center, and winged attendants / participants to the left, who similarly lean or reach to center, completing the great triangle that encompasses all of the figures. Gombrich was right, however, to retreat from the proposal of a theological significance to this similarity. Though Botticelli borrowed the traditional form of a Christian subject for his classically themed Birth of Venus, he did not invest his representation with any visual or conceptual incongruity, any impediment to the understanding of the classical subject as a coherent and successfully conveyed narrative. He did not, through the use of representational ambiguity, signal to the viewer that an allegorical interpretation was necessary, but allowed the classical subject to stand on its accord and with any significance that was its own. Though Botticelli may have borrowed the composition of his Birth of Venus from the conventional representation of the Baptism of Christ, it was, nonetheless, a relatively 22 Gombrich, Symbolic Images, 218 n. 156. 23 Gombrich, Symbolic Images, 218 n. 156. 133 straightforward and accurate illustration of Venus, newly born from sea foam and the severed genitals of Saturn, blown to shore by the winds and there met and clothed by one of the Horae. Venus, the primary subject of the painting, is portrayed as nude and standing in a pose that had been an attribute of Venus since Antiquity. There is nothing in this representation of Venus that interrupts or bars an understanding of her identity or is incongruous to the apparent narrative of the work. Excluding, perhaps, the female Breeze that is carried by the blowing Wind, there is nothing in the painting that was not also present in artistic precedents (i.e. the shell, the essential form of Venus) or in an available source text–the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite: There [to Cyprus] the moist breath of the western wind wafted her over the waves of the loud-moaning sea in soft foam, and there the gold-filleted Horae welcomed her joyously. They clothed her with heavenly garments...24 Inasmuch as there is no representational ambiguity or incongruity, no interruption to the viewer‟s comprehension of the narrative and its participants, the painting permits a literal reading and does not necessitate an allegorical interpretation, though, admittedly, it does not preclude one either. The 1492 inventory of the possessions of Lorenzo de‟ Medici included entries for two paintings by Botticelli, a Pallas Athena hung in the room of Lorenzo‟s eldest son, Piero, and a Fortuna described as a sopracielo over a bed in Piero‟s antecamera.25 There 24 Homer Hymns 6, to Aphrodite. Hesiod, the Homeric Hymns and Homerica, trans. Hugh G. Evelyn-White, (London: W. Heinemann and New York: The Macmillan Co., 1914). Regarding artistic precedents, see also the description of Apelles‟ Aphrodite Anadyomene in Pliny Natural History 35.1.86-87, 91. 25 Marco Spallanzani and Giovanna Gaeta Bertelà, eds., Libro di Inventario dei Beni di Lorenzo il Magnifico (Florence: Associazione Amici del Bargello, 1992), 80, 94. The Pallas was described on the manuscript folio 42v: “Uno panno in uno intavolato messo d‟oro, alto br. 4 inchircha e largo br. 2, entrovi una fighura di Pa[llade] et con uno 134 is neither evidence, nor reason to believe that either of these figures, the Athena or the Fortuna, was depicted in an ambiguous representation or had any manner of classical / Judeo-Christian typology inherent in its presentation or significance. The Pallas was described in the inventory immediately preceding a helmet belonging to Piero on which was a depiction of Pallas modeled in relief.26 Even as the virginal Pallas, Athena was a goddess of war, and her representation in Piero‟s camera in a Botticelli painting and on Piero‟s helmet suggests a totemic potency akin to that which was allowed to the pagan gods in the physical / astrological tradition described by Jean Seznec.27 Similarly, the Fortuna, mounted over Perio‟s bed as a sopracielo, could have been intended to exert a totemic force over the inhabitant, or inhabitants, of that bed. It is, of course, impossible to say what these works represented or how they may have functioned. It is possible, however, to propose that Botticelli‟s Birth of Venus functioned in such a role. This unorthodox proposal is, at the very least, conceivable. There is nothing in the Birth of Venus that explicitly requires an allegorical or typological interpretation. Given that the Birth of Venus is painted on linen, unlike the Pallas or the Primavera, it is even conceivable that the painting was originally suspended, like Piero‟s Fortuna, over a letto in a private, domestic setting, and conceivable that it was intended to exert a totemic force over the bed‟s inhabitant or inhabitants, inspiring them to pursue the actions properly associated with Venus, the goddess of Love. If this proposal is entirely schudo dandresse e una lancia d‟archo di mano di Sandro di Botticello”. The Fortuna was described under the rubric designating the antichamera of Piero, ms. folio 48: “Uno sopracielo a detto letto di detta antichamera, dipintovi una Fortuna, di mano di Sandro di Botticelli”. 26 Spallanzani and Bertelà, Libro di Inventario, 80: “Uno dono d‟una giostra d‟uno cimere in sun un elmetto con una fighura di Pa[llade] di rilievo e d‟ariento”. 27 Jean Seznec, The Survival of the Pagan Gods: The Mythological Tradition and Its Place in Renaissance Humanism and Art (New York: Pantheon Books, 1953), 37-83. 135 hypothetical and largely rhetorical, it is grounded in one of the more traditional beliefs regarding the nature of the pagan deities and the efficacy of their images, it explains the curious linen support of the Birth of Venus, and it interprets the work in one possible context. Such a setting and interpretation are conceivable, and this very fact reveals the significance of a literal representation of a pagan subject, rather than an ambiguous representation that draws from both the classical and Judeo-Christian traditions. Attempts to interpret or explain the Birth of Venus will necessarily remain inconclusive. Like the bronze David, the Birth of Venus was unknown to the historical record for some decades after any likely date of its creation. It was first described by Vasari in 1550, in a troubled passage that succeeded only in placing the work in the Medici Villa at Castello at that particular date.28 Thus, the work of art as it has been known to modern scholarship and as it is visible today is separated from the particulars of its creation, display, and earliest history, complicating any attempt to identify an intended audience or to reconstruct what perceived meaning the Venus may have had to the period eye or mind. Attempts at interpreting the work beyond a literal meaning are further complicated by the very fact that the Birth of Venus does not, in its particular representation, make necessary an allegorical interpretation or any reading other than the literal comprehension of its narrative. The work could have been intended as an allegorical representation, or could have had a significance beyond the literal rendition of a scene from classical mythology, but such an intention or significance would have depended on the perceptions of the audience or the particulars of context and display, rather than on any quality inherent in the representation itself. 28 Giorgio Vasari, The Lives of the Artists, trans. Julia Bondanella and Peter Bondanella (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1991), 225. 136 Botticelli‟s Primavera (Figure 48) is deceptively similar to the Birth of Venus in certain particulars of its form and format. Both works are large-scale paintings of mythological subjects with a central figure who faces the viewer and assemblies of associated deities to either side.29 In the operation of its representation, however, the Primavera is considerably closer to Donatello‟s bronze David than to Botticelli‟s Birth of Venus. The central figure of the Primavera, like David / Mercury, is presented without any readily identifiable attributes, stripped of those motifs which would make clear her identity, and given a form that is incongruous with the apparent narrative of the painting. This representational ambiguity, together with the assumption that the Primavera and Birth of Venus were pendants, led Vasari to incorrectly identify the protagonist of the painting as Venus, an erroneous assertion that has confused modern scholarship until only very recently. The central figure of the Primavera is not, in fact, Venus, but Persephone, and the subject of the work her return from Hades, led by Mercury Psychopompos and the dancing Graces and accompanied by the transformation of Seasons at the warming breath of Zephyr. 30 Even when the true subject of the painting is recognized, however, incongruence remains, particularly in the form of the central figure, whose apparent pregnancy is not dictated by the source text, and in the presence of the 29 On the Primavera see Aby Warburg, “Sandro Botticelli‟s Birth of Venus and Spring” (1893), in The Renewal of Pagan Antiquity (Los Angeles, CA : Getty Research Institute for the History of Art and the Humanities, 1999): 112-142; Gombrich, Symbolic Images, 31-81; Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1960); Edgar Wind, Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1958), 100-10.; and Charles Dempsey, The Portrayal of Love: Botticelli’s Primavera and Humanist Culture at the Time of Lorenzo the Magnificent (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992). For a fuller description of relevant literature, see Gombrich, Symbolic Images, 37-39; Ronald Lightbown, Sandro Botticelli (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978). 30 Jonathan Kline, “Botticelli‟s Return of Persephone: On the Source and Subject of the Primavera,” forthcoming. 137 diminutive god of love, that Cupid who hovers over Persephone and also is not proscribed by the literary source which assembles the other participants in the vernal drama that is the Primavera. If these ambiguities and incongruences have confounded attempts at understanding the subject and significance of the Primavera, they also reveal the process by which the true subject and significance will be revealed. The representational ambiguities that characterize the Primavera signal the propriety, even the necessity of an allegorical interpretation of the figures and events depicted and an understanding of the perceived typology of pagan and Christian subjects that allows a dual identity of the central figure, who is Persephone and the Virgin Annunciate, both, simultaneously. Because the central figure of the Primavera is represented without identifying attributes, the subject of the painting will not be understood through any method or study which first posits her identity, but through a careful consideration of the attendant figures, their forms and relations, and the cause of their assembly.31 The various classical and Renaissance texts which have previously and frequently been proposed as sources for the Primavera–Lucretius‟ De Rerum Natura, Seneca‟s De Benificiis, Ovid‟s Fasti, Horace‟s Odes, and Poliziano‟s Stanze per la Giostra and Rusticus–are actually relevant to the painted depiction only in very broad terms; Aby Warburg, who first proposed a relationship between these texts and the Primavera, did not posit a strictly causal or iconographic relationship, but an association of literary and pictorial modes.32 If these texts do not accurately describe the figures and actions depicted in the Primavera, such a 31 This material is presented in greater detail in a forthcoming study by the author of this dissertation: Kline, “Botticelli‟s Return of Persephone.” 32 These texts, and others, were proposed by Aby Warburg, whose method was associative rather than iconographic. See Warburg‟s own statement of methodology, Warburg, Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 89. 138 text does exist, and was known in the later Quattrocento among the intellectual circle of Florentine humanists and their Medici patrons. The Orphic Hymns, a collection of invocative prayers to the deities of the pagan pantheon, described the Horae, or Seasons, as playing or colluding with Persephone when she is led by the Graces from Hades to light, described Mercury in his role as Psychopompos, or guide of souls in Persephone‟s realm, and Zephyr as meadowy, vernal, and all-begetting.33 In composing the Primavera, which is a representation of the advent of Spring, Botticelli drew from particular passages in the Orphic Hymn to the Seasons, the Hymn to Mercury, the Hymn to the Zephyrs, and the Hymn to Eros, and crafted from them an invenzione of the transformation of Winter into Spring at the warming breath of the West Wind and at the return of Persephone from Hades, lead by Mercury, Guide of Souls, and the Graces. The identification of this text as the source for the painting resolves certain issues that have remained problematic in scholarship and explains certain iconographic, compositional, and conceptual elements of the Primavera.34 Even so, certain particulars of representation–the appearance of the central figure and the presence of Cupid–are not strictly proscribed by the source text and remain somewhat inexplicable or incongruous to the subject of the painting. The incongruity of the central figure does not reveal a flaw in the proposed interpretation, however, but suggests a dual identity of the protagonist, an inherent polysemaity akin to that of the bronze David, and like it dependent on the perception that a typology of classical and Judeo-Christian figures was both possible and significant. 33 On the Orphic Hymns, see Ilana Klutstein, Marslio Ficino et la Theologie Ancienne: Oracles Chaleaïques, Hymnes Orphiques, Hymnes de Proclus (Florence: L. S. Olschki, 1987), 21-45, 55-110; Apostolos Athanassakis, The Orphic Hymns: Text, Translation, and Notes (Missoula, MN: Scholars Press for the Society of Biblical Literature, 1977). The Hymns to the Horae and Mercury referred to in the text are in Klutstein, Marsilio Ficino et la Theologie Ancienne, 86, 93-94. 34 Kline, “Botticelli‟s Return of Persephone.” 139 Just as scholars noted a similarity between the form or appearance of the bronze David and the typical depiction of the pagan god Mercury, so also have scholars noted a similarity of form or appearance between the central figure of the Primavera and the typical depiction of the Virgin Mary. Lionello Venturi described the figure as a Venus “conceived as a Madonna.”35 Gombrich borrowed from Ficino a passage in which Humanitas was described as a “nymph of heavenly origin whom God exalts by His love” and, proposing that the central figure of the Primavera is a Venus-Humanitas, drew a conceptual parallel between the exalted nymph and the “handmaid of the Lord” who is exalted and a visual parallel between the Primavera‟s protagonist and the Virgin Annunciate, giving as example and “spiritual sister” the Mary in Baldovinetti‟s Uffizi Annunciation.36 (Figure 50) Panofsky, in Renaissance and Renascences, wrote briefly of the morphological and spiritual relationship between the figure of the supposed Venus in the Primavera and the Mary Annunciate.37 The central figure of the Primavera is closer in appearance to the Marys painted by Botticelli and his contemporaries than to the artist‟s depictions of the pagan goddesses Venus and Pallas Athena. Her pose, costume, and facial features are similar–vaguely or ambiguously so–to those of the Virgin in Botticelli‟s own Castello Annunciation (Figure 49), and Baldovinetti‟s Uffizi Annunciation (Figure 50), the example given by Gombrich. The central figure of the Primavera, like the Virgin Annunciate in these works and others, stands with her body turned toward the viewer, lifts her right hand upward, with 35 Leonello Venturi, Botticelli (Vienna: Phaidon Press and New York: Oxford University Press, 1937), 20. 36 Gombrich, Symbolic Images, 62-63, pl. 38. 37 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 196. 140 fingers poised in a gesture of greeting or listening,38 and tilts her head to that same side. She wears the traditional red and blue garments of the Virgin, though reversed–Mary most often wears a blue cloak over a red robe, while the Primavera‟s figure wears a red cloak over a blue robe, an inversion that is not unknown to Marian iconography. Her personal appearance–hair and facial features–are as close or closer to any Botticelli Madonna as they are to his Athena in the Pallas and the Centaur or to either of the Venuses in the Birth of Venus or the Venus and Mars, and the gossamer veil that holds back her brown locks is similar to that worn by the Virgin, while all of these pagan goddesses wear their hair unbound. Ultimately, however, this similarity is ambiguous. The figure in the Primavera is not the Virgin, or not represented in such a manner or in such a context that she could be interpreted only as the Virgin. The Virgin‟s appearance in the midst of easily recognizable pagan deities would indeed be incongruous. However, the similarity of appearance between this figure and the typical conventions of representing Mary is not without significance, in part because her particular representation does not exclude the possibility that she, like the bronze David, is both a pagan deity and a figure from the Judeo-Christian tradition, presented simultaneously as a synthesis of parallel types. She is not exclusively a Madonna, though she is closest in appearance to the Virgin. Neither is she exclusively any recognizable pagan goddess. She is so ambiguous in representation that her identity could be misunderstood for nearly five centuries, from Vasari to the scholars of the twentieth-century, who named her Venus not because of any inherent quality of the figure, herself, but from a perceived connection between this figure and those others closest to her–Cupid and the Graces–and a belief that these figures, as 38 Michael Baxandall, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth Century Italy: A Primer in the Social History of Pictorial Style (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1988). 141 attributes, proved her to be that goddess of Love. In fact, she is not Venus, but neither is she a recognizable Persephone. She lacks any motif or attribute which would reveal that identity–the pomegranate, perhaps, that doomed Persephone to Hades for a portion of each year. The consequences of this omission are profound: Botticelli prohibited the viewer from comprehending the identity of his central figure and from any easy recognition of the greater subject as a narrative scene, and required, instead, an interpretative response that pursues the allegorical significance of the central figure and of the Primavera as a whole. The similarity between this figure, who is surrounded by mythological figures and must, herself, be a mythological figure, and the Virgin Mary further signifies the manner or mode of allegory–i.e. that this is a typological synthesis of a pagan goddess and the Virgin Mary–and its relevance for the greater work of art–that the mythological event depicted must parallel an event or quality associated with Mary, or have been perceived to parallel an event or quality associated with Mary in the mind of the Renaissance observer. The identification of the subject and source text for the Primavera as none other than Persephone and the Orphic Hymns, respectively, is of primary importance to the study of the typological significance of the painting. Not only does the Hymn to Persephone describe that goddess in terms that are similar to those used in the Middle Ages and Renaissance to describe the Virgin Mary, but the perceived author of the Orphic Hymns was believed to have been among those select poets and philosophers of the Greeks who were initiated into the mysteries of the Christian faith and incorporated Christian truth into their works, as allegories hidden beneath the veil of the literal sense. The Orphic Hymns are a series of invocations to the various deities of the Greco- Roman pantheon, thought to have been written by the mythological Orpheus, though they were likely composed by an unknown author in the early centuries C.E. Each of the individual hymns calls forth a pagan deity by name, by descriptive epithets, and by poetic 142 pleas for the appearance of the deity before the devout initiate. The invocative mode of the text may have inspired the frontal pose and outward gaze of the central figure of the Primavera–Persephone stands before the viewer, hand raised in greeting, as if she has just revealed herself to the initiate–and may have inspired even her lack of interaction with the other figures–she is present in response to the viewer‟s invocation, not as a participant in a narrative scene or subject. At first glance, however, her physical appearance does not seem to relate directly to the epithets that describe her in the Orphic Hymn. She is there described as pulchricoma, pulchriformis, bene lucens, cornuta, verna, and sacrum manifestans corpus germinibus viridifructibus–i.e. beautiful-haired, beautiful-formed, brilliant or shining, horned, vernal, and showing her holy body in germination and green fruits.39 Though the Primavera‟s Persephone is comely in her tresses and form, she is not particularly brilliant, is not particularly vernal, is not horned, and does not appear to show her holy body in germination or green fruits. Neither does her appearance correspond to those terms which place her in relation to other mythological figures who are not included in the Primavera–here, the passages which praise her as the greatly honored wife of Pluto or the mother of the Furies or of Eubouleos are of little significance. There is considerable significance to other terms, however. She is described as the Horarum complicatrix, or she-who-folds-together the Horae, which epithet may have contributed to the representation of the transformation of Seasons that is depicted to the right side of the Primavera. Persephone is also described in terms that have a distinctly Marian ring: she is casta, vita datrix, subterrestrium regina, omnipotens, sola mortalibus desideranda, vita et mors sola mortalibus longe laboriosis, beata dea, and pace abundans et sanitate manus admovente mites et vita felici 39 Orphic Hymn to Persephone. Klutstein, Marsilio Ficino et la Theologie Ancienne, 77-78. See Athanassakis‟ translation of the Greek, Athanassakis, Orphic Hymns, 40-43. 143 laetam senectutem deducenti ad tuam regionem, o regina–pure, she who gives life, queen of the underworld, all powerful, only desire of mortals, life and death alone for long suffering mortals, blessed goddess, and she who “sends abundant peace, soft-handed health, and life happy and joyful to the old who are sent to your realm, O queen.”40 These terms and descriptions are not explicitly Marian, but parallel Mary‟s roles as Queen of Heaven, intercessor for mortal souls, and Blessed Virgin. Even the most descriptive passage of the Hymn to Persephone could find a parallel in Marian imagery, if the phrase sacrum manifestans corpus germinibus viridifructibus–showing your holy body in germination and green fruits–could be understood as relating to Mary‟s fructus ventris– the fruit of her womb–which is blessed by Elizabeth at the Visitation (Luke 1:42) and by pious Christians in every recitation of the Ave Maria. If the figure of Persephone in the Primavera is a typological representation of Persephone and Mary simultaneously, she may show her sacred body as rich in fruit–the fructibus abundans described elsewhere in the Hymn to Persephone–through the apparent fullness of the figure‟s womb–the exterior sign of Mary‟s fructus ventris. The Renaissance belief that the author of the Orphic Hymns was none other than the mythological Orpheus is likely to have contributed to a perception that the description of Persephone in that text contained or hid a typological gloss on the Virgin Mary, thus allowing a typological presentation of Persephone / Mary in the Primavera. A late Quattrocento belief in the prisci theologii, championed by Marsilio Ficino, who translated the Orphic Hymns for Cosimo de‟ Medici, placed Orpheus in a lineage of classical poets and philosophers who were believed to have been instructed in the knowledge and mysteries of Christianity, even before the advent of Christ, and to have 40 Klutstein, Marsilio Ficino et la Theologie Ancienne, 77-78; Athanassakis, Orphic Hymns, 40-43. 144 incorporated elements of this Truth into their written works, where it lay hidden beneath the literal level of narrative, invocation, or philosophical treatise. Orpheus was believed to have been among the earliest of these prisci theologii, or ancient theologians. Ficino lists Zoroaster and Hermes Trismegistus as his predecessors, and Aglaophemus, Pythagoras, and Plato as his theological descendants.41 Inasmuch as Orpheus, the supposed author of the Orphic Hymns, was believed to have known Christian truths, his description of Persephone could have been perceived as a veiled gloss on Mary, and a painting such as the Primavera, which is based on the description of gods and goddesses in the Orphic Hymns, the invocative mode of the Orphic Hymns, and the association of particular deities who, according to the Orphic Hymns, are involved in the return of spring at Persephone‟s return from Hades, may also be a typological depiction of Mary and her participation in the advent of spring. Parallels between the seasonal and liturgical calendars may also have contributed to the perception that Persephone and Mary were types. The season of spring properly begins at the vernal equinox, occurring on the 22nd or 23rd of March, within days of Florentine New Year, March 25th. The 25th was also celebrated as the feast day of the Annunciation to Mary, at which time, according to Christian doctrine, the Virgin conceived or became fruitful. Thus, the year was renewed and the seasons changed when Persephone returned from Hades and / or when Jesus was conceived at the Annunciation to Mary. Both events marked an instance of renewal or rebirth–Persephone‟s return brought the transformation of barren winter into flowering spring; the Annunciation to Mary and her conception at that event marked the change of religious eras, from the period of the Law to that of Grace. In that vein, the transforming Horae in the Primavera, i.e. the figures of Winter and Spring, could, conceivably, find a parallel in the Christian 41 Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness, 742, 881 n. 57. 145 personifications of Synagogue and Ecclesia. Though the Horae in the Primavera are not invested with characteristics or motifs that specifically recall those other figures, they could have been perceived or recognized as types for Synagogue and Ecclesia by an informed viewer. Such an interpretation would have been in keeping with the themes of renewal or rebirth that are represented in the Primavera and with the typology that underlies the dual identity of the central figure. The particulars of Florentine devotion to Mary may also have played into the typological presentation of Persephone / Mary in the Primavera. In 1296 the dedication of the Florence cathedral was shifted from St. Reparata to Santa Maria del Fiore–Saint Mary of the Flowers. The dedication was reinforced by a vote of the Florentine councils of the Popolo and Commune in 1412 and the decree of the priors of the Signoria, at which time the feast of the Annunciation, on March 25th, was established as the principal holy day of the cathedral.42 Though the celebration of the feast of the Annunciation was later restored exclusively to the Servite Friars of SS. Annunziata, the dedication of the Duomo remained to Santa Maria del Fiore.43 This particularly Florentine vision or conception of the Virgin could relate not only to the images of Mary holding a lily and the flowering reliefs on the Duomo‟s cantorie by Donatello and Luca della Robbia, as Mary Bergstein has suggested,44 but also to the perception of a typological parallel between Maria del Fiore and Persephone, goddess of the spring, who is, in the Primavera, surrounded by a great number of blooms. 42 Mary Bergstein, “Marian Politics in Quattrocento Florence: The Renewed Dedication of Santa Maria del Fiore in 1412,” Renaissance Quarterly 44:4 (winter 1991), 673-75. 43 Bergstein, “Marian Politics,” 704-5. 44 Bergstein, “Marian Politics,” 704-16. 146 It is difficult to determine the extent to which the particulars of the Primavera are dependent on its typological message. One could imagine or interpret the figures of the Horae to be types for Synagogue and Ecclesia, Persephone as Maria Annunciata, Mercury (the messenger god) a type for Gabriel (God‟s messenger), and the Graces as a figural manifestation of the gratia that is part of Gabriel‟s salutation to Mary and which, in some Gothic depictions, is literally written in the space between those two figures.45 Zephyr, spiritus qui spirat, is a parallel to the Holy Spirit, Sanctus Spiritus, and his causal participation in the transformation of the Seasons suggests the action of the latter in the shift from the period of Mosaic Law to that of Christian Grace. Even Cupid finds a place in this scheme: the diminutive pagan god of love could stand in for the Christian God, who is Love and who appears in certain Gothic Annunciations as a flying homunculus.46 Admittedly, some of these connections or connotations are tenuous, at best, and it must be stated that, with the notable exception of the central figure, the forms and actions of the figures in the Primavera appear to derive from a relatively close reading of the pagan source text, the Orphic Hymns, rather than from any conventions of Christian representation. Mercury, for example, looks and acts like the Psychopompos, rather than any Christian angel, and the Graces take their place in the composition and the particulars of their form from the literary and artistic conventions of representing the Graces. These figures are not ambiguous in their representation. The central figure is, however, and signifies through her representational ambiguity the propriety of an allegorical interpretation of her identity and of the subject of the greater work of art. 45 See, as example, Simone Martini‟s Annunciation altarpiece, now in the Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence. 46 See, as example, Robert Campin‟s triptych of the Annunciation, now in the Cloisters collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. 147 It remains to determine the ultimate significance of Botticelli‟s use of typology, the very meaning of his Primavera and the reason for depicting Persephone as a typological figure of Mary. The perceived parallels between Persephone and Mary make possible such a depiction, but do not elucidate Botticelli‟s intentions in crafting such a figure. The mere depiction of types is not the ultimate function of typological allegory, but it exists, or is perceived to exist, for the purpose of revealing deeper truths of the Christian faith. Thus, there is little to be gained or conveyed from the simple statement that Persephone is a type to Mary. There is a greater relevance in the possibility that the scene surrounding Persephone is intended as a gloss on Mary, that the transforming figures of Winter and Spring are intended as types for Synagogue and Ecclesia, and that in pairing this change of Seasons with the advent of spring the painting seeks to establish also that the change of religious eras occurred at the parallel moment, the Annunciation to the Virgin. The figures of Ecclesia and Synagogue appear more frequently in medieval art in association with the Crucifixion, for the Bible text specifies that at the moment of Jesus‟ death on the Cross the veil of the Temple was torn from top to bottom (Matthew 27:51), the literal destruction of the Old Law which is symbolically represented in the figure of Synagogue bent and broken next to the Cross–see, as examples, the well known illustration from the Psalter of Blanche of Castille and the Crucifixion panel in pot metal glass from the ambulatory of St. Etienne, Bourges.47 Later medieval and Renaissance art and theology did not restrict the association of Ecclesia and Synagogue to the Crucifixion, however, but connected these figures also with Mary. Thus, Thomas 47 The Psalter of Blanche of Castille is Paris, Bibliothèque de l‟Arsenal, MS. 1186. The pot metal glass panel from St. Ettienne, Bourges, is reproduced in Emile Mâle, Religious Art in France: The Thirteenth Century: A Study of Medieval Iconography and Its Sources (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), 195 fig. 131. Ecclesia and Synagogue were described in association with the Crucifixion in Gertrud Schiller, Iconography of Christian Art, Janet Seligman trans. (Greenwich, CT: New York Graphic Society, 1972) 2:110-12, and in Mâle, Religious Art in France, 192-99. 148 Aquinas described Mary as the boundary between the Old and the New Law.48 The iconographers and sculptors of Strasbourg Cathedral placed Ecclesia and Synagogue on the jambs of the south portal, beneath depictions of the Death and Coronation of the Virgin, thereby associating the establishment of the New Law with Mary‟s establishment in Heaven. Giotto may have glossed the Annunciation as a boundary between the Old and New Law, if Laurine Bongiorno‟s interpretation of changes in the depiction of architectural elements in the Arena Chapel frescoes is correct.49 Later Renaissance tondi by Signorelli and Michelangelo may present similar themes, if the presence of nudes and poses taken directly from classical sculpture signifies an ancient period or religious era, John the Baptist the period of Old or Mosaic Law, and the Madonna and Child the new period or era of Grace. Botticelli‟s Primavera may join these works as a gloss or comment on the role of Mary in the establishment of a new era at the passing of the old, if the transformation of Winter into Spring at the return of Persephone can be seen as a typological representation of the transformation of Synagogue into Ecclesia at the Annunciation. In such a reading, Botticelli‟s use of typology is not simply noted, but explained–his Primavera is an allegorical depiction of the advent of spring at the return of Persephone from Hades, but finds its deeper meaning and significance in the implicit message that the Old Law was fulfilled, transformed into the New Law, at the moment of Mary‟s conception at the Annunciation. This perception or belief is not strictly Biblical, not implicit in the Gospel narrative, but revealed through the typological parallels between Persephone and Mary and between the advent of spring and the advent of Ecclesia. 48 Thomas Aquinas Commentum in quattuor libros sententarium magistri Petri Lombardi 4.30.2.1. This was observed in Laurine Mack Bongiorno, “The Theme of the Old and the New Law in the Arena Chapel,” Art Bulletin 50:1 (March 1968), 12 n. 18. 49 Bongiorno, “Theme of the Old and the New Law,” 12. 149 Thus, the representational ambiguity of the Primavera‟s central figure is key to the interpretation of the painting‟s meaning. Through the ambiguity of the central figure, the artist signaled the necessity of an allegorical interpretation. Because the ambiguity inherent in the figure draws from the pagan and Judeo-Christian traditions or conventions, specifically, the viewer is led to the understanding of an inherent typology and is ultimately led to pursue the typological significance not only of the central figure, but of the greater work–the very reason for a typological representation, which is to gloss a doctrine or belief that is essentially extra-Biblical. The method gleaned from Origen‟s practice here proves most fruitful. Epilogue: Botticelli‟s Birth of Venus and Representational Clarity If the method here employed reveals the Birth of Venus to be without any considerable degree of ambiguity in the represented narrative, that painting is nevertheless highly significant to the studies of Renaissance typology and the Renaissance response to classical antiquity. The Birth of Venus is among those first paintings of the Italian Renaissance that reintegrated pagan subject with pagan form. The Birth of Venus is significant in the development of Renaissance painting precisely because it did not bring together elements drawn from the pagan and Judeo-Christian elements, unlike late medieval and earlier Renaissance representations of pagan subjects, which tended to portray classical figures and events in contemporary forms, or the those contemporary works like the bronze David or the artists‟ own Primavera, which drew variously from both traditions in order to convey a typological or syncretic message. Given Botticelli‟s use of representational ambiguity in the Primavera, revealing his knowledge of this artistic trope and its significance with regard to the viewer‟s response, it seems possible, even likely that the artist choose to represent the Venus of his other 150 painting with a strict representational clarity in order to avoid the typological connotations that are implicit in ambiguous works. Panofsky described the medieval tendency to separate pagan form and subject in his “principle of disjunction,” stating that “wherever in the high and later Middle Ages a work of art borrows its form from a classical model, this form is almost invariable invested with a non-classical, normally Christian, significance; wherever in the high and later Middle Ages a work of art borrows its theme from classical poetry, legend, history or mythology, this theme is quite invariably presented in a non-classical, normally contemporary form.”50 The reasons for this “disjunction” were, for Panofsky, rooted in a perception that the medieval mind sensed a continuity between the classical era and its own and was thus unable to look objectively on the remains of the classical past or to reconstruct its literary or artistic product in a true or archaeological manner.51 Further, Panofsky argued that the medieval mind, under the influence of scholasticism, tended to compartmentalize psychological experiences and cultural activities, apparently including the forms and subjects of Antiquity, and drew piecemeal from the wealth of the classical remains.52 The Renaissance, however, was for Panofsky a period of “decompartmentalization” and intercultural fusion under the influence of that great syncretic movement, Neo-Platonism.53 Panofsky‟s Renaissance was an era entirely apart from the continuity of Antiquity and Middle Ages and able to look with nostalgia on the great civilizations that had been Greece and Rome. Thus the mind of the Renaissance, as 50 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 84. 51 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 111-13. 52 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 106. 53 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 183. 151 Panofsky would have put it, could reconstruct and properly apply the aesthetic of the classical era, because it perceived a distance between its own culture and that of Antiquity and was, at the same time, aided by a unifying philosophical system and driven by a great yearning for the true forms of the ancient past.54 Panofsky‟s system is well and poetically summarized in portions of the closing paragraph of his second chapter: “The Middle Ages had left antiquity unburied and alternately galvanized and exorcised its corpse. The Renaissance stood weeping at its grave and tried to resurrect its soul. And in one fatally auspicious moment it succeeded.” While there aspects of Panofsky‟s proposed system that are to be admired, the evidence here provided suggests an entirely different understanding of the medieval and Renaissance perceptions of cultural continuity and difference with regard to the classical era. If medieval authorities expressed a distance between the authority and polysemaity of the Bible and classical texts, the relative insignificance of classical subjects relegates them to representation in a foreign aesthetic–i.e. because classical subjects were not able to convey any significant meaning other the (perceived) fallacy of their literal narrative or the possible moral content that is their permitted allegorical significance, they did not significantly impact the aesthetic of the period, which was crafted in response to the doctrinal and philosophical systems of Christianity, and were subject instead to its forms and purposes. Here, the perceived distance between the two periods, classical and medieval, was perhaps the result of an egocentric hierarchy and, in turn, brought about the phenomenon in which the culture of (perceived) lesser importance was relegated to the status of Other. The changes in the perceived significance of extra-Biblical texts that characterize the Italian Trecento, such that these were allowed the same allegorical significances that had previously been read only in the Biblical narrative, show that the 54 Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences, 112-13. 152 Italian Renaissance found and celebrated a perceived continuity between the classical and Christian cultures that was absent in the medieval period. The perception of significant and meaningful (Christian) content in classical subjects and a continuity of (Christian) culture between the classical and contemporary periods allowed the typological form of the bronze David and the typological form and content of the Primavera and necessitated the reintegration of classical form and subject in the Birth of Venus for the sole purpose of avoiding the representational ambiguity that characterized those other works and the implicit typology that is signified by that ambiguity–i.e. in the Birth of Venus, Botticelli presented a classical subject in its classical form because the representation of a classical subject in contemporary (Christian) form had become an artistic trope used to signify to the viewer the presence of an inherent allegorical meaning and a perceived typology between the subject and a parallel Christian subject or narrative. Thus, Renaissance artists reintegrated classical form and subject not simply because of a cultural interest all’antiqua, a new availability of classical texts, or a perceived distance from the classical period, but in reaction to the new sense that certain classical subjects were potent or significant in a Christian context. Thus, works like the Birth of Venus reintegrated classical form and subject to avoid a typological interpretation, to retain their literal, moral, or physical significance. Thus, the great reintegration of classical form and subject, celebrated by Panofsky as a sign of the one true Renaissance, was reactionary and opposed to the uniquely Renaissance response to antiquity, which was syncretic and unifying and produced those other, typological works–the David, the Primavera, and any others like them. Unlike the Birth of Venus, these could only have been produced in such a period. 153 Figure 43 – Donatello, David, bronze, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence 154 Figure 44 – Donatello, David, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence 155 Figure 45 – “Farnese Hermes,” 1 st century C.E. Roman statue after a Greek, Praxitelean original, British Museum, London 156 Figure 46 – Botticelli, Birth of Venus, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence Figure 47 – Alessio Baldovinetti, Baptism of Christ, Museo di San Marco, Florence 157 Figure 48 – Botticelli, Primavera, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence 158 49 - Botticelli, Castello Annunciation, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence 159 50 – Alessio Baldovinetti, Annunciation, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence 160 CHAPTER 4 THE PRISCI THEOLOGII IN EARLY RENAISSANCE PHILOSOPHY AND ART It is shown, in the preceding chapters, that certain Italian poets and philosophers of the Tre- and Quattrocento professed a belief that extra-Biblical texts could be interpreted typologically or anagogically, and that Christian “truth” lay hidden even in the allegorical meaning of the narrative of classical mythology. Intimately intertwined with this belief, as it developed, was a belief also that the authors of these texts were, like the authors of the Bible narrative, inspired by the Christian God to hide or communicate Christian “truth” in the typological or anagogical meaning of their works. Indeed, these two beliefs or perceptions can not be separated. Classical mythology and philosophy, in certain particular instances, expressed ideas or beliefs that were similar to Christian doctrine, or, at the very least, could be viewed as harmonious with the tenants of the Christian religion. The earliest Apologists and Church Fathers explained these either as instances of accidental and unwitting veracity or as borrowings from the Judeo-Christian tradition. Thus, for Clement and Augustine, the classical author of a mythological text was either entirely erroneous, or, inasmuch as he expressed ideas harmonious with Christian belief, ignorant of the truth within his own work and of the true Author from whence it came, or a thief of that truth, having stolen from those who were rightly given 161 revelation from the Divine. 1 Renaissance poets and philosophers pursued, instead, an alternate explanation that had never been fully explored by the theologians of earlier periods–that classical authors had been divinely inspired theologians, fully aware of the Christian truths hidden in the allegorical meaning of their works, and willing participants, initiates, even, into the Christian tradition, broadly conceived, rather than outsiders and interlopers. Like other beliefs or perceptions, the concept of ancient poets and philosophers as true theologians changed over time and was variously expressed from the early Trecento to the late Quattrocento, depending on the individual proponent and his place in the development of the idea. To be sure, the idea that poets were theologians had a more ancient pedigree, dating back to Antiquity and finding expression throughout the Middle Ages. Thus Isidore of Seville followed Suetonius in giving the origins of poetry to humanity‟s desire to praise and describe the gods. 2 There existed also from Antiquity the claim that poets were divinely inspired–thus Plato in both the Phaedrus and the Ion. 3 It remained to the Renaissance humanists, however, to marry these ideas together and to Christianity and to claim both the divine inspiration of poets, even pagan poets, by the 1 Clement Stromata 1 refers to pagan philosophers as “thieves and robbers. See also Augustine On Christian Doctrine 2:40. 2 Ernst Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, trans. Willard Trask (New York, Bollingen Foundation, Inc., 1953), 219. See also Isidore of Seville Etymologies 7.7.2: on Poets: “Therefore, just as they made temples more beautiful than their homes, and idols larger than their bodies, so they thought the gods should be honored by speech that was, as it were, loftier, and they raised up their praises with more brilliant words and more pleasing rhythms.” As in Isidore of Seville, The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, trans. Stephen Barney, W. Lewis, J. Beach, and Oliver Berghof (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 180. 3 Plato Phaedrus 245; Plato Ion 534c. 162 Christian God or Godhead and, correspondingly, the status of poets, even “pagan” poets, as theologians within the greater Christian tradition. The Renaissance concepts of theologicae poetae–theological poets–and prisci theologii–ancient theologians–are known to modern scholarship and were discussed most thoroughly by Ernst Curtius and Charles Trinkaus, respectively. 4 In his study of Latin literature from the European Middle Ages, Curtius sought the place of poetry, as he phrased it, “in the intellectual cosmos of the Middle Ages.” 5 In respective chapters, he examined the relationships, as they were perceived by poets and philosophers of Late Antiquity and throughout the medieval period, between poetry and philosophy and poetry and theology. Curtius discoursed on allegory and its role in Alexandrian and medieval syncretism, the Late Antique and Early Christian responses to Greek philosophy, the debate between late medieval Scholastics and early humanists over the theological nature of poetry, and, in a brief excursus, on the poet‟s divine frenzy, all topics that have relevance to the present study. 6 Curtius‟ treatment of poetic theology is of particular significance to the study of Renaissance beliefs regarding the status of classical poets and philosophers relative to their Christian counterparts. Curtius contrasted the views of Albertino Mussato, a poet of the Italian Trecento who espoused the ideas that poetry was divinely inspired and that the poets of Antiquity wrote as theologians and prophets of God, with the views of his correspondent, Fra Giovanino of Mantua, a Dominican friar 4 Curtius, European Literature; Charles Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness: Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought, (London: Constable & Co, 1970). 5 Curtius, European Literature, 480. 6 Curtius, European Literature, 203-27, 474-75. 163 who refuted Mussato‟s claims and maintained that poetry was a human invention and therefore both distinct from theology and beneath it as a learned pursuit. 7 Two points, in particular, may be drawn from Curtius‟ commentary on the epistolary communication between these two men and on the subtleties of their respective arguments. Curtius was careful to note that Mussato‟s claims were not entirely new to literary theory, that Mussato drew from medieval and Late Antique precedents. 8 Though he did not fully pursue the significance of the statement, Curtius also noted Fra Giovanino‟s willingness to admit that ancient poets were philosophers and had they, in their poems, had treated of things divine. “But,” Fra Giovanino wrote, “since they were treating of false gods, they could not have transmitted the true theology.” 9 These two points reveal at once the humanist method, which was revolutionary not as a practice of crafting new ideas from whole cloth, as it were, but in significantly expanding the application of ideas already current in the preceding period, and the very element or aspect which distinguished the view of classical poetry held by certain Renaissance poets and philosophers from that of their brethren, as it were, in all preceding periods–that medieval and Late Antique authorities, though they may have believed in or acknowledged the tradition of divinely inspired poets, did not view these poets as inspired by the Christian God, and therefore denied their authority as true theologians in the Christian sense. Explicit in the correspondence between Mussato and Fra Giovanino, and implicit in Curtius‟ study of that episode, is one essential difference between the medieval and Renaissance beliefs on 7 Curtius, European Literature, 215-16. 8 Curtius, European Literature, 219. 9 Curtius, European Literature, 216. 164 poetry and on the nature of the classical poets. Medieval theologians may have recognized a long-standing belief in the divine inspiration of poets and may have allowed that the poets of Antiquity wrote or sang of theological matters, yet they maintained that these poets, because they were not inspired by the Christian God and because they wrote, in the literal sense, of false gods, were not true, Christian theologians. Renaissance poets and philosophers, however, developed a system of belief in which their classical counterparts were increasingly viewed as divinely inspired by God–the Christian God– and, as true theologians, were believed to have been able to describe and reveal even the mysteries of the Christian faith in the allegories which, in their works, lay hidden beneath the veil of the literal sense. Charles Trinkaus, in his study of Renaissance philosophy, reviewed and expanded upon the developments described by Curtius. 10 Trinkaus, like Curtius, described the place of poetry and allegory in early humanist thought, and he drew specific attention to the humanists‟ use of allegorical interpretation as a means of reconciling the apparently disparate traditions and narratives of the classical and Judeo- Christian cultures and thereby legitimizing the Renaissance interest in res antiqua. 11 Building on the foundation laid by Curtius, Trinkaus then mapped the development of the humanist belief in theologica poetica–theological poetics–and the corresponding concept of the prisci poetae–the ancient poets–as theologians, as these concepts were expanded in the later Renaissance into the theories of the theologica platonica–platonic theology–and the prisci theologii–the ancient theologians–which concepts counted both the classical 10 Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness. 165 poets and their intellectual or enlightened heirs, the classical philosophers, among the true theologians. This latter theory depended not only on a perceived harmony between the philosophical systems of classical philosophers and the doctrines of the Christian faith or on a discovery of perceived similarities in the theories of Plato and the tenants of Christianity, but, as it was expressed both in the writings of the Renaissance philosophers and in Trinkaus‟ study, on a belief that the classical philosophers had obtained “true” knowledge from the poets. 12 In the material that he presented and in the very structure of his discourse, Trinkaus made clear that the humanists of the Tre- and Quattrocento developed the concepts of theologica poetica and prisci theologii over the course of centuries. Thus, the theories and philosophies of Petrarch and Boccaccio were not those of Caldiera, Landino, Ficino, or Pico, all of whom were discussed individually within Trinkaus‟ study. 13 There emerges, from Trinkaus‟ study, a nuanced recognition that the various humanist poets and philosophers of the long Renaissance each viewed the relationship of poetry, philosophy, and theology in his own way, though there does seem to have been a general trend, with each generation of philosophers and philosophies, toward greater syncretism. It is possible, therefore, and necessary to distinguish certain characteristics of the philosophies of Giovanni Caldiera and Marsilio Ficino from those of Giovanni Pico della Mirandola. If Caldiera and Ficino, both and variously, espoused the idea of theologicae poetae, both also sought to maintain the superiority of the Judeo-Christian tradition over 11 Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness, 2:683-89, and particularly 2:687-88. 12 Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness, 2:714-15, 2:721, 2:735-36, 2:741-42. 13 Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness, 2:683-760 (chapters 15 and 16). 166 that of the pre-Advent theologii, even if they admitted these, albeit in a limited fashion, into the mysteries of the Christian faith. Thus, for example, although Caldiera allowed that the gentiles may have known, from the poets, the mystery of the Trinity, he maintained that they saw the splendor of the triune God obscurely, as if through a cloud, while the Christians, themselves, were able to more clearly distinguish the fullness of the Christian Godhead. 14 Similarly, Ficino, though he believed firmly that the poets and philosophers of Ancient Greece were theologians in the Christian tradition and initiates into the divine mysteries of the Christian faith, wrote also that the “true” knowledge of the ancient theologians originated from contact with Moses or Mosaic text and was borrowed, even usurped, from the Judeo-Christian tradition. 15 Only in Pico‟s writing are these distinctions absent. In the De hominis dignitate, Pico wrote of parallel traditions of secret knowledge, known respectively to the classical and Jewish traditions, and passed verbally from generation to generation by select initiates. 16 Though he did, at one point in the De hominis dignitate, describe knowledge as flowing “from the East to the Greeks and from the Greeks to us,” he did not elsewhere elaborate or otherwise specify a Jewish 14 Caldiera On the Concord of the Poets, Philosophers, and Theologians, as quoted and described in Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness, 707. 15 Ficino De Religione Christina, as in Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness, 742. 16 Pico De hominis dignitate, in Pico della Mirandola, On the Dignity of Man, On Being and the One, Heptaplus, trans. Charles Wallis, Paul Miller, and Douglas Carmichael (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc, 1940), 29-30: “…Moses on the mountain received from God not only the law, which, as written down in five books, he left to posterity, but also a more secret and true interpretation of the law. But God commanded him to publish the law indeed to the people, yet not to pass on in writing the interpretation of the law, or to make it generally known, but to reveal it himself under a great holy seal of silence to Jesus Nave alone, and afterwards he to the other high priests succeeding him…. The ancient philosophers observed this custom very faithfully.” 167 origin for the enlightenment of the prisci theologii, and, inasmuch as he contrasted the “Mosaic and Christian mysteries” with the “theology of the ancients,” he implied that these were distinct and that each of these traditions–gentile, Jewish, and Christian–was uniquely informed by the Divine. 17 The development of the Renaissance beliefs that classical poets were theologicae poetae and that the Greek philosophers were prisci theologii in the Christian tradition is expressed not only in the writing of the Tre- and Quattrocento humanists, but also in the art of those centuries and in the early decades of the Cinquecento. The series of portraits of poets, both classical and Christian, in the decoration of the socle of the Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral depends on and communicates the idea that these authors were divinely inspired and that they, as true theologians, included elements of Christian truth in their writing, such that scenes and subjects drawn from their texts could be used to gloss the developing doctrine of Purgatory. Though Botticelli‟s Primavera does not, in its own representation, depict the author of its subject, its representation and meaning depend on the contemporary perception that the author, the pseudo-historical Orpheus, was one of the divinely inspired theologicae poetae, and that he glossed or revealed Christian doctrine in the typological allegories hidden within his hymns to the deities of the classical pantheon. 17 Regarding the “flow of knowledge,” see Pico De hominis dignitate, as in Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness, 755-56. See also Pico De hominis dignitate, in Pico, On the Dignity of Man, 13: “But in truth, not only the Mosaic or Christian mysteries but also the theology of the ancients show the advantages for us and the dignity of these liberal arts about which I have come here to dispute.” 168 Documentary evidence shows that Signorelli began the decoration of the socle of the Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral in 1502 and suggests that the program of decoration that was to fill that particular space had not been determined even until that date. 18 Indeed, nothing entirely like the Cappella Nova‟s poet series appears in Renaissance art until the Cinquecento, though pagan figures did appear in the art of the preceding centuries. Pagan poets and philosophers were represented in the art of the Tre- and Quattrocento either as men of particular accomplishment or moral virtue or, in certain rare and notable instances, as participants in the theological tradition which includes the prisci theologicii, the Jewish patriarchs, and the Christian Apostles and Evangelists, alike. Yet even in these latter examples, when, in the Tre- and Quattrocento, artists and iconographers depicted a classical poet or philosopher as a theologian within a sacred context or in juxtaposition with figures from the Judeo-Christian tradition, a certain distinction was made between pagans and Judeo-Christians, conveying in visual form the philosophical or religious belief that the prisci theologii, though enlightened or initiated into the mysteries of the Christian faith, saw obscurely what was clear to God‟s Chosen People. This distinction was not made in the art of the Cinquecento, in Signorelli‟s frescoes on the socle of the Cappella Nova in Orvieto Cathedral or in Raphael Sanzio‟s fresco decoration of the Vatican‟s Stanza della Segnatura. The representation of classical poets and philosophers as theologians in these later works is not without precedent, as the evidence of the earlier works will attest, but the fresco 18 Sara Nair James, Signorelli and Fra Angelico at Orvieto: Liturgy, Poetry and a Vision of the End-Time (Aldershot, UK, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2003), 78. 169 cycles of the Quattrocento may be shown to represent a further stage in the development of the idea of prisci theologii and to respectively depend on and convey a belief in the theological status of Ancient poets and philosophers that is a great deal closer to Pico‟s concept of the idea than that of any of his predecessors. Pagan Philosophers and Prisci Theologii in the Art of the Early Renaissance Two of the images described in the first chapter of this study, the Trecento St. Augustine in Triumph fresco from the church of St. Andrea in Ferrara (fig. 1) and the contemporary manuscript illumination of the same subject (fig. 2), present Judeo- Christian theologians and pagan philosophers in marked juxtaposition. In these images, the accompanying text draws a clear distinction between the theologians and philosophers–the authors of scripture, alone, were completely without error, while the philosophers, if they had spoken truthfully, possessed that truth unlawfully. The distinction between the two disparate pursuits is also represented spatially in the composition of each work of art–the theologians sit at Augustine‟s right hand, the philosophers to his left. These are not Last Judgment scenes, however, and the pagan philosophers, though they sit on the sinister side of the enthroned Augustine, are not, in these works, consigned to Hell. Though their position was not as honored or respected as their Judeo-Christian counterparts, the pagan philosophers were, in the particular instance of the Ferrara fresco, painted high on the wall of the chapel of Sant‟Agostino in the Church of Sant‟Andrea. Though classical, these figures were given a place within the Christian Church, both literally and figuratively speaking. 170 A similar statement of the relative worth of classical philosophy and Christian theology was represented in a contemporary panel painting originally made to decorate an altar dedicated to St. Thomas in the church of Santa Caterina in Pisa. 19 Though the painting is still displayed in that church, it is no longer associated with an altar and instead hangs as on the north wall of the nave. 20 The titular saint of the altar, St. Thomas Aquinas, is the primary subject of the altarpiece. (Figure 51) Aquinas is depicted as if enthroned and in glory, with Jesus above him in the pinnacle of the irregularly shaped panel and six Judeo-Christian theologians–Moses, Paul, and the four Evangelists– hovering three to a side in the space above Thomas and below Jesus. Each theologian is nimbed, invested with an identifying attribute, and holding tablets (Moses) or a book open with its pages turned toward Aquinas. Rays of gold descend from Jesus and from the writings of the theologians to cross Aquinas‟ own halo and reach his head, thus connecting the source of Aquinas‟ inspiration–the Divine Author and the works of the Bible–with the seat of his own intellect. Aquinas receives inspiration also from two other figures who stand below him on registers that project out, in front of the great golden halo that surrounds the Saint. These figures, identified by inscriptions as Aristotle, to the left, and Plato, to the right, hold their books open and turned upward toward Aquinas, and golden rays ascend from these open books to the Saint‟s head. Aquinas, in turn, faces directly forward and holds open a book that is turned toward the viewer, with a passage 19 Joseph Polzer, “The Triumph of Thomas Panel in Santa Caterina, Pisa: Meaning and Date,” Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 37:1 (1993), 29-70. 20 The author found the panel hanging on the north wall of the nave in the summer of 2004. 171 from the Biblical book of Proverbs legible on its pages: Veritatem meditabitur guttur meum et labia mea detestabuntur impiu[m]–“My mouth speaks what is true, for my lips detest wickedness.” 21 Four other books lie open on his lap. Two can be identified by the text written on their pages–one gives the opening of Genesis, the other the initial lines of Peter Lombard‟s Sententiarum Quattuor Libri. 22 The remaining two books bear only a pseudo-script and no real text. Golden rays emanating from the book held in Aquinas‟s hands signify the glory of his work–presumably his Summa contra gentiles, which opens with the text from Proverbs, and not the Bible, itself–and descend on crowds of monks, friars, and ecclesiasts below, thus completing the flow of wisdom, which originates both in heaven and on earth, is channeled through the titular saint of both chapel and altarpiece, and descends ultimately from his work to his brethren and intellectual descendents. 23 Indeed, this particular representation does honor Aristotle and Plato–here they stand to either side of a Christian altarpiece, here they offer their work to St. Thomas, and, inasmuch as the rays that ascend from their books reach his head, he accepts their offerings and shows them to be useful to the Christian theologian. The same is not true for all philosophers– the Arabic philosopher Ibn Roschd, or Averroes, is 21 Proverbs 8:7. Polzer transcribed and identified the inscription and noted also that the passage opens Aquinas‟ Summa contra gentiles. Polzer, “Triumph of Thomas Panel,” 37. 22 Polzer transcribed the text of each and identified the passage from Genesis, but did not know the origin of the inscription on the pages of the latter book, here identified. Polzer, “Triumph of Thomas Panel,” 38-39. 23 Polzer identified the rays and their interconnected pattern as the stepped descent of knowledge, which, he said, is the central theme of the Triumph of Thomas panel. Polzer, “Triumph of Thomas Panel,” 35. 172 shown defeated at Aquinas‟ feet, his work symbolized by a book that lies face down and offers no rays of light to the Christian theologian. Like the Triumph of St. Augustine fresco in Ferrara, the Triumph of St. Thomas panel in Pisa admitted pagan philosophers into a Christian representation and into a Christian space, and like the Ferrara fresco, the Pisa panel distinguished between the authority of pagan philosophy and that of Christian theology through the spatial and compositional division of figures within the work of art. Here, pagan and Judeo-Christian are separated by relative depth and by a vertical hierarchy that corresponds to the relative sanctity of the figures depicted. Aristotle and Plato stand closer to the surface of the represented space than the theologians above–though the space of the representation is ambiguous, these figures turn into the depth of the painting and angle their books in such a manner that they may be understood as standing to either side of Aquinas in a line that is parallel with the picture plane, while the books of the Christians and the tablets of Moses, above, are subtly turned as if to imply an arc of increasing depth into the sacred space of the altarpiece. Furthermore, the presence of Jesus at the pinnacle of the altarpiece establishes a literal mark for determining the proximity of a figure to God–the theologians are not only highest in the represented space, but closest, literally, to God. Aquinas is both literally and figuratively beneath them, but still closer to the Divine than the philosophers, who are separated from the sanctity of Christ and the theologians by a compositional divide. The greatest distinction between the Judeo-Christian theologians and the classical philosophers is made, however, not through the compositional division of figures, but in the descending rays of gold which signify the divine inspiration of the true theologians. 173 Nine golden rays proceed out of the mouth of Jesus. (Figure 52) Six of the rays lead to the heads of each of the six Judeo-Christian theologians, signifying the divine inspiration of the authors of the Bible–Moses, the author of the Old Testament Pentateuch, the four Evangelist Gospel writers, and Paul as the author of the Epistles. (Figures 53) Three rays fall directly on St. Thomas Aquinas, showing that he, as a true, Christian theologian, is also the recipient of divine inspiration. No golden rays connect the pagan philosophers to God, and this absence signifies a contemporary and represented belief that the philosophers, though they could offer in their works certain elements or beliefs that were useful to the Christian theologian, were not, themselves, inspired by the Divine Source, and thus could not be recognized as truthful or proper authorities on sacred matters in the same manner as the divinely inspired theologians. (Figure 54) A direct comparison between these examples of Trecento iconography and later Quattrocento works of art may serve to illustrate the change in Renaissance beliefs regarding the relative status of classical poets and philosophers that is seen also in the writing of the Italian humanists of that later century. Care must be taken, however, not to over simplify the comparison or to gloss over the particular significance of the earlier examples, and the Pisa St. Thomas panel, in particular. The mere presence of classical philosophers does not distinguish this as a humanist or proto-humanist work of art. The iconography is, by the combined nature of its primary subject and its original setting, decidedly Dominican and explicitly Thomistic. This panel more closely represents the contemporary views expressed by the Dominican Fra Giovanino, who opposed the poet Mussato and his views that the classical poets were divinely inspired by God and wrote allegorically on matters of Christian doctrine, while at the same time allowing that there 174 was a certain use for the philosophical writings of the Ancient philosophers. 24 This panel is not so much an artistic precedent for the High Renaissance depiction of classical philosophers and poets as it is a foil for those works of the later period which, like Signorelli‟s series of poets in the Cappella Nova, present classical authors not as different and distinct from the theologians, but as theologians, themselves. Classical authors appeared in relatively few Renaissance works of art or cycles of decoration, and even in those instances, the particular meaning or purpose of their representation was slow to change. Classical poets and philosophers were given a place in the cycles of famous men–the uomini famosi–that decorate both public and private spaces in the Quattrocento, but in this context their appearance depended as much or more on their status as men of particular virtue or accomplishment rather than on any notion that they were, or could have been theologians in the Christian tradition. Thus, for example, Plato, Aristotle, Virgil, and Homer were included in the series of panels that decorated Federico da Montefeltro‟s studiolo in Urbino, together with Ptolemy, Cicero, Seneca, Boethius, Dante, Petrarch, the Church Fathers Jerome, Ambrose, Augustine, and Gregory, Moses, Pope Sixtus IV, Bartolo of Sassoferrato, John Duns Scotus, and other men drawn from the ranks of acclaimed academics, philosophers, theologians, scholars of law, poets, and the like. 25 Though the inscriptions accompanying the portraits of Plato and Homer made reference, in each case and respectively, to some aspect of “divine 24 Curtius discussed the particulars of Fra Giovanino‟s arguments, in which the Dominican argued for a relative authority of pagan and Christian authors. Curtius, European Literature, 216-17. 175 philosophy” or the “divine variety” of the teachings of his poetry, this vague association between the philosopher‟s or poet‟s work and the Divine was not made explicitly Christian. 26 The dedicatory inscriptions accompanying the portraits of Jerome and Ambrose did refer to Christianity, explicitly. Jerome was praised “because he expressed the precepts of the Christian faith with learning and elegance”–ob fidei christianae praecepta, doctrina elegantiaq[ue] illustrata–and Ambrose “for adopting the name of Christianity, and adorning it with the beauty of Latin speech”–susceptum christianum nomen et ornatum latini sermonis jucunditate. 27 Had the classical authors been praised in such terms, they, too, would have been placed with the Christian theologians, but their inclusion in the cycle was dependent, instead, on their accomplishments as secular, pagan men, and this was reflected in the dedicatory inscriptions which named them as philosopher and poet. The same, or something similar, was true of the cycles of uomini famosi painted on the walls of the Collegio del Cambio in Perugia and in the Borgia Apartments of the Vatican. In both of these instances, notable pagans were included as exemplars of the 25 On the Urbino studiolo, see in particular Luciano Cheles, The Studiolo of Urbino: An Iconographic Investigation, (State College, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1986). 26 The inscriptions are transcribed and translated in Cheles, Studiolo of Urbino, 93. Beneath Plato: Platoni Atheniensi, humanae divinaeq[ue] philosophiae antistiti celeberrimo, Fed[ericus] dicavit ex observantia–“To Plato of Athens, most famous high priest of human and divine philosophy, Federico dedicated this out of reverence.” And beneath Homer: Homero Smirnaeo, cujus poësin ob divinam disciplinarum varietatem omnis aetas admirata est, assecutus nemo post, gratitudo pos[uit]–“To Homer of Smyrna, whose poetry, on account of the divine variety of its teachings, has been admired by every age, and equaled by no one afterwards, gratitude placed this.” 27 Cheles, Studiolo of Urbino, 94. 176 virtues depicted in personification above or enthroned, respectively. Thus, Socrates was included among the famous men painted in the Collegio del Cambio, together with Numa Pompilius and Fabius Maximus under the personification of Prudence, as classical figures who were thought to particularly exemplify that virtue. (Figure 55) These figures stand well apart from the lunette in the same room of the Collegio in which God the Father appears in majesty over the notable men of the Jewish tradition and the Sibyls, who, in the Christian view, prophesied the coming of Jesus. (Figure 56) The presence of one member of the Godhead over the wise men and kings of the Jews and the seers of classical Greece and Rome shows that these figures were believed to have participated in the greater history of Christian religion, though they remain separated from Christianity, as such–both Jews and Sibyls move toward the birth of Jesus, depicted in the lunette immediately to the left, on the adjoining wall, but Jesus is significantly absent from the particular lunette in which they stand, and they are in that manner denoted as having lived in an era that did not know Christ. Classical poets and philosophers, of whom Socrates is the only one represented in this cycle of famous historical figures and Christian events, are markedly absent from the ranks of those who are present within the Church, even as it is very broadly, if traditionally, conceived and represented in Pietro Perugino‟s frescoes. 28 Similar ideas were represented in the slightly later frescoes that decorated the private rooms of Pope Alexander VI in the Vatican–the so-called Borgia Apartments– 28 Note that Augustine included the Sibyls among those belonging to the City of God in his City of God. Perugino‟s inclusion of the Sibyls belongs to this long established tradition. 177 painted by Bernardino di Betto, called Pinturicchio, and his assistants. There, Old Testament figures were painted together with Sibyls in the Sala delle Sibille. Though classical authors, poets, and sages did appear in the greater program of decoration, they were again presented as exemplars of virtue or accomplishment rather than as participants in the theological history of the Christian Church. Aristotle, Euclid, and other pagan worthies were painted in the Sala delle Arti Liberali–the Room of the Liberal Arts–but not in the Sala del Credo, the Sala delle Sibille, the Sala dei Santi, or the Sala dei Misteri–the Room of the Creed, the Room of the Sibyls, the Room of the Saints, or the Room of the Mysteries. In the Sala delle Arti Liberali, Aristotle was included among the figures who stand before the enthroned personification of Dialectic–he can be recognized by his wide-brimmed hat (Figure 57)–and Euclid with those who practice Geometry (Figure 58). Because poetry was classified under the art of Music, Virgil and Homer found a place beside Music‟s throne, behind Tubalcain and his hammers (Figure 59). Though, in each of these instances, classical figures were presented within larger programs that included Judeo-Christian figures, even representations of God or the various members of the Christian Godhead, nothing in the iconography, the composition, or the context of the decoration suggested or conveyed the idea that these figures were anything more than men of particular virtue or accomplishment, nothing suggested that they were anything more than pagan, that they had any particular place in the development of Christian history, or that they acted as theologians in the Christian sense. This is not the case with certain other works, like Signorelli‟s poet portraits in the Cappella Nova or Botticelli‟s Primavera, which convey or depend on the idea that classical authors were theologians, and thus represent a parallel tradition, existing and 178 developing simultaneously with the decoration of Federico da Montefeltro‟s studiolo, Perugia‟s Collegio del Cambio, and the Sala delle Arti Liberali in the Vatican‟s Borgia Apartments, but distinct from the concept and tradition of the uomini famosi which these works represent. The representation of Hermes Trismegistus in marble mosaic on the floor of the Duomo in Siena stands in marked contrast to the representation of classical poets and philosophers as uomini famosi in a purely secular fashion. 29 (Figure 60) This “Thrice- Blessed” Hermes was venerated throughout European history and celebrated particularly by Renaissance humanists as one of the earliest of the prisci theologii–he was described variously by Ficino, for example, as the original head of all ancient teaching or as the first of the learned and divinely inspired Egyptians. 30 In the mosaic on the floor of the Siena Duomo, Hermes is presented as a classical contemporary of Moses–an inscription at the base of the panel names him and describes him as such: HERMES MERCURIUS TRIMEGISTUS / CONTEMPORANEUS MOYSI–and as the giver of literacy and law to the Ancient Egyptians. Hermes stands at the center of the composition, one hand resting on an inscribed plaque, the other holding a book, which he gives to one of the two figures to the left of the scene. The book is open, and on its pages are inscribed the words SUSCI 29 On the Hermes Trismegistus panel and its context within the program of the Duomo‟s decoration, see Roberto Guerrini, “Ermete e le sibille. Il primo riquadro della navata centrale e le tarsie delle navate laterali,” in Marilena Caciorgna and Roberto Guerrini, Il Pavimento del Duomo di Siena: L’Arte della Tarsia Marmorea dal XIV al XIX Secolo Fonti e Simbologia (Florence: Silvana Editoriale, 2004), 13-51. 30 Clement Salaman, Introduction to The Letters of Marsilio Ficino, vol. 7 (London, 2003), xxi; Pasquale Arfé, “The Annotations of Nicolaus Cusanus and Giovanni Andrea Bussi on the Asclepius,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 62 (1999), 35. 179 / PITE / O LI / CTE / RAS / ET LE / GES / EGIP / TII–suscipite o licteras et leges egpitii or “receive, O Egyptians, letters and laws.” 31 It is the inscription on the plaque beside Hermes, however, which reveals the reason for his inclusion in the decorative program of the Duomo and places him in relation to orthodox Christian belief and to the theologians who reveal the “true” mysteries of the Christian faith. The inscription presents a passage from Hermes Trismegistus‟ writing, which, transcribed and translated, reads: DEUS OMINUM CREATOR / SECUM DEUM FECIT / VISIBILEM ET HUNC / FECIT PRIMUM ET SOLUM / QUO OBLECTATUS EST ET / VALDE AMAVIT PROPRIUM / FILIUM QUI APPELLATUR / SANCTUM VERBUM God, creator of all things, made a second, visible God and made him first and only, in whom he is pleased, and loved him as his own son, and called him the Holy Word. This particular passage was hailed in the Renaissance as evidence of Hermes Trismegistus‟ knowledge the Trinity of God and of the Christian mystery of the Divine Word, though early Quattrocento commentators yet maintained that he had not understood these things clearly and that he had only hinted at them in his texts. 32 Indeed, the passage inscribed on the floor of the Duomo in Siena is ambiguously Trinitarian, at best, verges on Arianism, and is not explicitly Christian. Inasmuch as Hermes, in this passage, appears to have believed that the Second Person of the Godhead was created by the First, he was at odds with official Church doctrine, which maintained that Jesus was 31 Guerrini, “Ermete e le sibille,” 13. 32 Arfé, “Annotations of Nicolaus Cusanus,” 36. 180 not created by God the Father, but co-existent with him from eternity. 33 Yet because this Hermes was believed to have had even a vague understanding of the triune nature of God–the inscription drawn from his writings attests to this–he was perceived by those Christians who knew his work to be something different from those classical poets and philosophers who professed a belief in a pantheon of deities. As such, Hermes could be seen by the Renaissance Christians as a “true” theologian, though handicapped by the accident of his place in history and in the development of the Christian religion. His placement in the Church, as a concept, and in the Duomo, in mosaic representation, is dependent on the perception that he was a theologian and represents that same perception. Within the iconographic program that decorates the floor of the Duomo in Siena, Hermes Trismegistus is positioned within the sacred space of the Cathedral, though his position near the entrance, at a considerable distance from the altar, may distinguish him from others more fully enlightened or initiated. 34 He is present not simply as a wise or virtuous man–a member of the uomini famosi–but as a theologian from the classical era who was in some manner aware of the “true” nature of God. Furthermore, in presenting Hermes as the source of all law and literacy among the Ancient Egyptians, the artist and iconographers of the Siena panel effectively appropriated and made Christian any aspect 33 See, for example, the “Declaration of Faith” attributed to Gregory Thaumaturgus in St. Gregory of Nyssa‟s biography, as in St. Gregory Thaumaturgus: Life and Works, trans. Michael Slusser, The Fathers of the Church: A New Translation, vol. 98 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1998), 54. Gregory Thaumaturgus stated that there is nothing created in the Trinity. The view of Hermes, as expressed on the plaque in the mosaic on the floor of the Duomo in Siena is closer to that of the Arian heretics, who maintained that the Second Person of the Trinity was created by God the Father. 34 Guerrini, “Ermete e le sibille,” 15. 181 of truth or knowledge that subsequently appeared in Egyptian culture or among those who could be shown to have come into contact with Egyptian law or literary work, including those philosophers of Ancient Greece who traveled to Egypt, Plato among them. In the Siena Duomo, Hermes Trismegistus was presented as a theologian, as an initiate into the mysteries of the Christian faith, though he was permitted to know them only obscurely, and as a means by which these “truths” were passed, if obscurely, even into the law and culture of “pagan” antiquity. A Renaissance belief in the transmission of knowledge and theology from the Hebrew tradition to the cultures of classical Egypt and Greece may be represented in a choice few figures painted into the decorative programs of the Vatican‟s Borgia Apartments and the Sistine Chapel walls. Moses appears with Isis / Io as a source of laws and letters in a medallion painted on the transverse arch of the Sala dei Santi in the Borgia Apartments. 35 (Figure 61) In Luca Signorelli‟s Testament and Death of Moses, painted on the south wall of the Cappella Sistina, a conspicuously nude figure sitting in the crowd of attentive Hebrews at Moses‟ feet (figure 62) could represent a classical “stranger” in their midst and the means by which Mosaic law and learning was received into the Egyptian or Greek cultures. 36 If these works are somewhat syncretic in theme or 35 Fritz Saxl identified the scene as Io-Isis enthroned and teaching the Egyptians with Moses at her side. Fritz Saxl, Lectures, (London: The Warburg Institute, 1957), 1:182. Claudia Cieri Via identified the figure to the left as Hermes Trismegistus, though, apart from a very general resemblance to the figure of Hermes depicted elsewhere in the program, there is, in fact, no real reason to believe that this is so. Claudia Cieri Via, “Characteres et figuras in opere magico: Pinturicchio et la decoration de la camera segreta de l‟appartement Borgia,” Revue de l’Art 94 (1991), 15. 36 Franz Wickhoff noted the classical nudity of the figure and identified him as “the stranger among the Israelites.” Franz Wickhoff, “Der Apollo von Belvedere als 182 in the particulars of their representation, they depend more on the long-standing belief in the Jewish origins of classical wisdom than on any sense that the recipients of this wisdom were, themselves, theologians. Nothing in either work depicts the recipient of Mosaic wisdom as anything other than pagan, and each work reinforces the idea that any truth in pagan knowledge was twice removed from its original source in God. The idea and representation of classical figures as true theologians did not appear again in Renaissance art as explicitly as it had in the Siena mosaic panel of Hermes Trismegistus until the opening years of the Cinquecento and Signorelli‟s series of classical poets painted in the Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral. To be sure, the simple fact that both the mosaic floor of the Siena Duomo and the socle frescoes of the Cappella Nova present a classical figure or figures as a theologian or as theologians does not by necessity bring the two works together in any sort of continuous development or tradition. Just as Renaissance poets and philosophers expressed varying and independent ideas on the developing concept of the theologicae poetae, so also Renaissance artists and their iconographers represented the concept in various ways according to the particular desire to communicate an idea or message appropriate to the greater meaning of the iconographic program as a whole. The purpose of the Siena panel would seem to have been relatively straightforward and broadly syncretic. Hermes Trismegistus was included Fremdling bei den Israeliten,” Schriften 2, ed. M. Dvorak (Vienna, 1913), 406ff. Leopold Ettlinger supported Wickhoff‟s identification with a Biblical reference from Deuteronomy 29:10 ff. and suggested, further, that the figure “becomes a central figure in this assembly, for through him the Gentiles would again be brought within the writ of the Covenant and of the Church.” Leopold Ettlinger, The Sistine Chapel before Michelangelo: Religious Imagery and Papal Primacy (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1965), 72. Ettlinger did not, however, further discuss the idea of a transfer of wisdom from the Jewish to the Greek tradition. 183 in the mosaic floor, in an iconographic program that includes the Sibyls and various Old Testament figures and scenes, as a means of showing the presence and action of God among the people of the classical and Jewish cultures. The purpose and function of the classical poets in Signorelli‟s fresco cycle was quite different. These figures were present, as was Dante, to lend theological authority–literally the sense of legitimacy that derives from a properly recognized and respected author–to the mythological scenes depicted in the socle frescoes. The Orvieto poets are present not because they, themselves, are able to convey the idea that the suffering of those in Purgatory can be mitigated by the prayers of the living, but because the ability of the mythological scenes to convey that idea depends on the recognition of the theological authority of the authors of classical mythology. For this very reason, the classical poets painted in the Cappella Nova are depicted as true theologians, wholly and directly inspired by God, rather than as poets or sophists once removed from the Divine and understanding God only obscurely, like the Hermes in Siena. There is no intermediary figure or carefully worded caveat painted into the program of the Cappella Nova, nothing even to imply that the classical poets do not see God directly. Just the opposite is true. Two of the poets lean forward and look out of the framing portals in which they sit. One lifts his eyes to the Apocalyptic events depicted in the fresco above him. (Figure 42) The other looks to the vault above the altar, toward God. 37 (Figure 31) Here, in this figure, in the representation of even one classical poet- 37 Note that scholars have seen this pose, specifically his gaze toward “the scene of heaven,” as evidence that this figure is Christian rather than pagan, not recognizing that the contemporary belief in classical poets as theologians in the Christian tradition allows him to be both Christian and classical. See Creighton Gilbert, How Fra Angelico and Signorelli Saw the End of the World (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003), 97. 184 theologian who lifts his eyes to the source of Christian knowledge and, though composing poems that speak in their literal sense of pagan deities, writes in allegory of the mysteries of the Christian faith, the Renaissance artist makes manifest what had been slowly developing in poetic theory over the two centuries preceding, an idea that was implicit in Pico‟s late-Quattrocento philosophy but found visual expression only in the first decades of the Italian Cinquecento–an unqualified, unreserved belief in classical poets as theologians who were directly inspired by the Christian God. 185 Figure 51 – Francesco Traini, Triumph of St. Thomas, Santa Caterina, Pisa 186 Figure 52 – Francesco Traini, Triumph of St. Thomas, detail showing Christ with nine rays of inspiration descending from his mouth Santa Caterina, Pisa 187 Figure 53 – Francesco Traini, Triumph of St. Thomas, detail showing St. Mark and the ray of inspiration from Christ, which is visible crossing the halo of the Saint, Santa Caterina, Pisa 188 Figure 54 – Francesco Traini, Triumph of St. Thomas, detail showing Plato and the absence of a ray of inspiration from Christ, Santa Caterina, Pisa 189 Figure 55 – Pietro Perugino, Lunette with Prudence, Justice, and Six Uomini Famosi, from the Collegio del Cambio, Perugia 190 Figure 56 –View of the Collegio del Cambio, with fresco decoration by Pietro Perugino, Perugia. The lunette depicting God the Father over Jewish Uomini and the Sibyls is to the right and the Nativity is at right center 191 Figure 57 – Pinturicchio, Dialectic, from the Sala delle Arti Liberali, the Borgia Apartments, the Vatican 192 Figure 58 – Pinturicchio, Geometry, from the Sala delle Arti Liberali, the Borgia Apartments, the Vatican 193 Figure 59 – Pinturicchio, Music, from the Sala delle Arti Liberali, the Borgia Apartments, the Vatican 194 Figure 60 – Mosaic panel depicting Hermes Trismegistus, from the floor of the Duomo, Siena 195 Figure 61 – Pinturicchio, Io-Isis and Moses as the Sources of Egyptian Law and Letters, fresco decoration of the Sala dei Santi, the Borgia Apartments, the Vatican 196 Figure 62 – Luca Signorelli, The Testament and Death of Moses, detail with the nude figure in the lower left corner, south wall of the Sistine Chapel, the Vatican, c. 1481 197 CHAPTER 5 CLASSICAL THEOLOGIANS IN RAPHAEL‟S FRESCOES OF THE STANZA DELLA SEGNATURA The preceding chapter examines developments in Renaissance poetic theory, philosophy, and artistic representation that are significant in their own right, but also serves as the necessary preface to an examination of the representation and meaning of figures both classical and Christian in Raphael Sanzio‟s fresco cycle in the Vatican‟s Stanza della Segnatura. The precise relationship between “pagan” and Christian figures in the Stanza della Segnatura fresco cycle has long been an issue and has featured prominently in scholarship from Giorgio Vasari‟s description of the room in the mid- sixteenth century to Timothy Verdon‟s study of the School of Athens and Disputa frescoes in the late twentieth. 1 Though Verdon properly looked to the Renaissance idea of prisci theologii to explain the role played by the philosophers in the School of Athens fresco, his reading of the represented space of the School of Athens and Disputa frescos and the respective placement of the figures in each may have prevented him from realizing the full extent to which the philosophers are, in this cycle, depicted as initiates into the mysteries of the Christian faith. As a result, Verdon‟s reading of the frescoes and their meaning is more in line with mid-Quattrocento philosophy and representation. A very careful study of the figures represented on all four walls of the Stanza della 1 Giorgio Vasari, Vita de’più eccellenti architetti, pittori et scultori italiani. Timothy Verdon, “Pagans in the Church: The School of Athens in Religious Context,” in Marcia Hall, ed., Raphael’s “School of Athens” (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 114-30. 198 Segnatura will show that the roles played by Ancient poets and philosophers in the fresco cycle are entirely a la mode du jour, as it were–in the style of the day, or represented according to Cinquecento belief, exemplifying, perhaps even illustrating Pico‟s philosophy rather than Caldiera‟s and following from artistic precedent set at the beginning of the sixteenth century rather than any Tre- or Quattrocento traditions. 2 Vasari and Verdon on the “Pagans” in the Stanza della Segnatura Vasari described Raphael‟s “School of Athens” (figure 63) as a depiction of theologians reconciling philosophy and astrology with theology. 3 Vasari correctly identified Plato and Aristotle, who stand in the center of the composition, but mistook Pythagoras for Saint Matthew and imagined that the painted scene contained both pagans and Evangelists. Thus, when he wrote, “There are some astrologers to one side who have drawn geomantic and astrological figures and characters in various forms on some tablets, and they send them by means of certain beautiful angels to the Evangelists, who 2 Note that various authors have proposed as precedents one or more of the Tre- and Quattrocento works described previously in this dissertation. See, for example, Julius von Scholsser‟s essay on the precedents of the Stanza della Segnatura, focusing on Giusto‟s fresco in Padua and Andrea Bonaiuto‟s frescoes in the Chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella, Florence: Julius von Schlosser, “Giusto‟s Fresken in Padua und die Vorläufer der Stanza della Segnatura,” Jahrbuch der kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses 7 (1896), 13-100; Polzer makes repeated references to the Stanza della Segnatura in his essay on the Triumph of Thomas panel: Joseph Polzer, “The Triumph of Thomas Panel in Santa Caterina, Pisa: Meaning and Date,” Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 37:1 (1993), 41, 50. 3 Giorgio Vasari, The Lives of the Artists, trans. Julia Bondanella and Peter Bondanella (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1991), 313. 199 explain them,” 4 he referred, respectively, to the figure groups to either side of the foreground. This is evident from his description of group around Pythagoras, his supposed Matthew, the Evangelist, in the left foreground (Figure 64): And behind Saint Matthew, who is copying characters out of the engraved tablets held by an angel and writing them down in a book, an old man who has placed a sheet of paper on his knee copies all the words Saint Matthew is writing down. 5 Thus Vasari imagined a motion across the composition, parallel to the picture plane, as the characters on the far right of the scene, Vasari‟s astrologers, inscribe figures and forms on tablets and send them by means of angels, similar in appearance to the boy kneeling before Matthew, to the characters to the far left of the scene, that is to the Evangelist and his associates, where the tablets are explained and the explanations written. Thus, for Vasari, this one wall of the Stanza della Segnatura was, in itself, an expression of the reconciliation of pagan and Christian traditions. Vasari erred. Where he saw an Evangelist, we now recognize Pythagoras. 6 Where he saw a communion of pagans and Christians, of philosophers and theologians, we now recognize only pagans, only philosophers. If we do admit a few stray Christians–either masquerading as classical philosophers, like Donato Bramante in the role of Euclid or Michelangelo as Heraclitus, or, like Raphael himself, simply standing in the crowd–these 4 Vasari, Lives of the Artists, 313. 5 Vasari, Lives of the Artists, 313. 6 J.-D. Passavant identified the figure as Pythagoras in his 1860 publication. J.-D. Passavant, Raphael d’Urbin et son Pére Giovanni Santi (Paris: Jules Renouard, 1860), 121ff. 200 are either so transformed or so positioned that they carry no real Christian significance. These are not Vasari‟s theologians, but actors, homage, the artist‟s portrait, i.e. artistic conceits rather than iconographic signs. There may be a certain validity to Vasari‟s description, however. If the School of Athens is not, itself, a depiction of the concord between pagan philosophy and Christian theology, that theme is in some way implicit in the juxtaposition of classical and Christian elements that comprise the greater program of decoration in the Stanza della Segnatura. In more recent scholarship, Timothy Verdon pursued this concord between pagan and Christian in his study of the School of Athens and its relation to the Disputa. 7 Verdon‟s study–a chapter in Marcia Hall‟s Raphael’s “School of Athens,” titled “Pagans in the Church: The School of Athens in Religious Context”–sought the underlying context of Renaissance beliefs which provided both justification and reason for the presence of pagan figures in the Christian space that is the Stanza della Segnatura. Verdon, responding to Vasari‟s description, analyzed the space of the room and the space depicted in the frescoes and argued for an implied motion across the chamber, from the “School of Athens” to the “Disputa,” such that the pagan figures of the former fresco could be read as approaching God in the latter. Furthermore, Verdon interpreted the architecture of the two scenes as a single depiction of a unified space, such that the pagan philosophers, on one side, stand in what would be the nave of a great church, with the 7 Verdon, “Pagans in the Church,” 114-30. On the relationship of pagan and Christian elements, see also Franz Wickhoff, “Die Bibliothek Julius‟ II,” Jahrbuch der königlich Preussischen Kunstsammlungen 5 (1893), 49-64, in particular his view of the primacy of theology and the propriety of such a representation in the Stanza della Segnatura on pp. 63-64. 201 Christian theologians, Saints, and God arranged around the sacrament in the apse of that same structure. 8 The respective placement of philosophers and theologians is of the greatest significance to Verdon‟s interpretation of meaning in the fresco cycle. In his reading of the room, its space, decoration, and meaning, pagans had a place in the church, both literally and figuratively. Quoting from the writings of Augustine, Boccaccio, Salutati, Caldiera, and Ficino, Verdon reconstructed a system of belief which included Greek philosophy in the “divine plan” of Christianity. 9 Verdon found in these authors and in the decoration of the Stanza della Segnatura a “syncretic vision of intellectual history,” in which pagan philosophers, divinely inspired in their quest for wisdom, approached, imitated, or even understood the Christian God, though obscurely. 10 In the texts from which he quotes, and in his reading of the Stanza‟s decoration, pagans were permitted “into the Church” and allowed to approach God because they participated in God‟s “hidden plan,” though they did not realize that they did so. Thus, in the Stanza della Segnatura representation, pagans remained separated from the Christians, who, by virtue of their belief in the Incarnation and the Passion, may lift their eyes to see God. 11 Plato and Aristotle, together with others of their ilk, stood in the nave of a church depicted on the walls and encompassing the space of the Stanza della Segnatura, proper. Though they were, and, in Verdon‟s reading, remain pagan, their participation in God‟s universal plan 8 Verdon, “Pagans in the Church,” 119-21. 9 Verdon, “Pagans in the Church,” 122-27. 10 Verdon, “Pagans in the Church,” 122-25. 11 Verdon, “Pagans in the Church,” 126, 128. 202 gained them admission into that sacred space. Because they were, and remain pagan, they were permitted to enter and approach God, but remained in the depicted and conceptual nave, separated from the true believers, the theologians in the Disputa, who worship and debate in the sanctuary. Furthermore, in Verdon‟s reading of the message of the fresco cycle and the unified space of room and its decoration, the pagan philosophers remained behind even the visitor to the chamber, who, as a presumed Christian, stood closer to God. 12 Verdon‟s method was correct, even if the particulars of his argument will benefit from refinement. Admirable in his study is his willingness to posit a connection between the School of Athens and the Disputa, despite their spatial and (apparent) thematic opposition, and to pursue a meaning for the former fresco that is appropriate to the religious character of both setting and patron. Verdon‟s study ultimately falls short, however. His argument that the School of Athens and Disputa share in a common space, both conceptual and represented, together also with the actual space of the room, itself, is countered by the repeated representation of certain figures on multiple walls. Dante‟s presence in both the Parnassus and Disputa, for example, suggests that these frescoes were conceived as separate scenes, rather than unified in space and concept. Either two Dantes appear in one, unified space–Verdon‟s great church / Church–or one Dante appears twice in the distinct spaces that are the respective realms of Poetry and Theology. The remainder of his argument–that the Greek philosophers are present within the church 12 Verdon, “Pagans in the Church,” 128. 203 / Church and approach God, though they do not know Him and can not understand Him– will not hold if his interpretation of the space of the frescoes is compromised. In Verdon‟s reading, the pagan philosophers of the School of Athens shared a space with the Christian theologians of the Disputa–a space which encompassed the represented depth of both frescoes and the room in between–yet these two disparate populations remained separate, both physically and conceptually. Verdon found support for this idea not only in the represented space of the painted scenes, but also in the philosophy of Giovanni Caldiera, whose Concord of the Poets, Philosophers, and Theologians, penned in the middle of the fifteenth-century, allowed some degree of true perception–or perception of the truth–to the Ancient poets and philosophers, but maintained that these understood obscurely, as if seen from a distance or through a veil, what their Christian counterparts, the theologians, knew by certain knowledge. 13 Indeed, Verdon‟s interpretation of the role played by the classical figures in the decoration of the Stanza della Segnatura is very much in keeping with mid-Quattrocento philosophy and with the representation of classical figures in works of art from that century, even from the century preceding. In actuality, classical figures appear throughout the Stanza della Segnatura fresco cycle, in the School of Athens and the so-called Parnassus frescoes, but also in the Disputa, and their placement and actions in the respective fresco scenes, understood in the light of later Quattrocento philosophy and the early Cinquecento artistic precedent of Signorelli‟s cycle of poet-theologians, shows them to be more than pagan sages on the path toward Christian knowledge. In the frescoes of the Stanza della 13 Verdon, “Pagans in the Church,” 125-26. 204 Segnatura, classical poets are portrayed as the direct recipients of divine inspiration, and classical philosophers, the heirs to that most ancient theology, are invested with such theological authority that they not only stand among the Christians in the Disputa, but one stands even nearer to God than the honored Church Fathers and, with his finger raised toward Heaven, reveals to Ambrose the glory of the Trinity made manifest above. With due respect to Verdon, these are not “pagans in the Church,” as envisioned or represented by Caldiera and his contemporaries, but poetae et philosophi theologici as imagined by Pico and represented in one of the most revolutionary iconographic cycles of the early Cinquecento. “NVMINE AFFLATVR” and the Theologicae Poetae of the “Parnassus” Fresco The study of the relationship of classical and Christian figures in the Stanza della Segnatura must begin with the so-called Parnassus fresco, rather than with the School of Athens and / or Disputa frescoes. The theological nature of the philosophers depicted in those scenes depends on the perception of an inherited knowledge that is passed to the philosophers from their poetic predecessors, who are the more ancient theologians. In the perception of some Renaissance philosophers, certain classical philosophers could be considered true theologians because they had inherited a true theology from the poet- theologians, who were, themselves, the recipients of inspiration or revelation directly from the divine source. This–the divine inspiration of the classical and Christian poets and their participation in the Christian tradition as true theologians–is precisely what is 205 shown in the Parnassus fresco, as a careful study of the scene and of the superimposed inscription–NVMINE AFFLATVR–will show. The north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura is decorated with a scene of classical and Christian poets gathered around and amidst the Muses on the summit of a grassy hill–the fresco known popularly as the “Parnassus” and read as a depiction of Apollo with the Muses and his devotees or “children,” the poets. (Figure 65) Indeed, the greater number of figures in the scene are poets–seventeen of the twenty-eight figures wear the laurel wreath crown given in Antiquity and in the Renaissance to the poet-laureate, and another is identified by her name written on the scroll she holds aloft: Sappho–the female poet from the island of Lesbos. If these figures are largely indistinct in their particular representation–most do not display any recognizable attribute–three of them, in addition to Sappho, may be identified with near certainty. These are the figures standing in a loose group to the upper left of the scene. (Figure 66) One, standing in front of the others, lifts sightless eyes as if toward heaven, even as he opens his mouth in speech and gestures to a boy sitting nearby, who, with pen poised over an unseen book or tablet, prepares to write the words of the poet. This poet may only be blind Homer of the Greeks, and his companions his Roman and Renaissance counterparts, Virgil, behind and to the right (proper), who leads Dante, easily recognized from his characteristic profile and red robe and cap. The central figure of the Parnassus may also be named, though his particular representation is somewhat ambiguous. (Figure 67) Like the other poets that populate the scene, he wears the leafy crown of a laureate. He is clothed only loosely, in a swath of fabric that covers his loins and falls from one arm. In the hand of that arm he holds a 206 bow, with which he plays the viola da braccio that is held on the other arm. 14 This representation, together with his close association with the Muses–the nine goddesses of the musical, literary, and dramatic Arts, who are represented around this figure in the Parnassus–shows him to be either Apollo, the pagan god of music, poetry, and the Arts, or Apollo‟s half-mortal protégé, the poet Orpheus. The latter was, in classical mythology, the son of Kalliope, that Muse which, in the Parnassus, reclines immediately to the right of the figure in question and turns her head toward him. In the Italian Renaissance, he was celebrated by humanist philosophers as the earliest of the poetae theologicae. 15 Though no scholar has yet had the courage to break wholly with the well- established tradition that the central figure of the Parnassus is, in fact, the pagan god Apollo, a number of scholars have quietly raised objections or voiced reservations concerning the attributes and pose of the figure and the notion that he is that classical deity. Scholars have long noted and troubled over the literal anachronism of the figure‟s instrument–he holds a Renaissance viola da bracchio, rather than the classical kithara, or lyre, which was properly Apollo‟s instrument–and the lack of continuity or integrity within the greater program of decoration if this figure is Apollo holding such an 14 Kathi Meyer-Baer identified the instrument as a contemporary viol. Kathi Meyer-Baer, “Musical Iconography in Raphael‟s Parnassus,” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 8:2 (December 1949), 92. 15 On Orpheus in the Renaissance and in humanist philosophy, see D. P. Walker, “Orpheus the Theologian and Renaissance Platonists,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 16 (1953), 100-20; Edgar Wind, Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1958), 24-29; Ilana Klutstein, Marsilio Ficino et la Theologie Ancienne: Oracles Chaldaïques, Hymnes Orphiques, Hymnes de Proclus (Florence: Leo S. Olschki Editore, 1987); Charles Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness: Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought (London: Constable & Co., 1970), 758-59. 207 instrument rather than his traditional lyre. 16 In the decoration of the vault of the Stanza della Segnatura, Apollo appears in a scene with Marsyas and two assistants, one of whom will crown the god, and the other flay the hapless satyr. (Figure 68) In that scene, Apollo holds a lyre, rather than a viola da braccio. So, also, in the School of Athens fresco, a “statue” of Apollo–a representation in grisaille, which is to be read as a statue placed in a niche in the background of that scene–prominently displays the classical lyre which is properly the attribute of that god. 17 (Figure 69) The pose of the Parnassus figure has also troubled scholars as an unclassical, unprecedented, un-Apollonian feature of this supposed Apollo. 18 Indeed, his upward gaze is anticlassical both in its lack of Antique precedent and in its apparent meaning, in that the figure is looking away from himself, upward, either toward an implied audience–a possibility that is unlikely in the extreme, given that the audience for the fresco, itself, stands before the figure in the place of the viewer and, further, that there is no reasonable cause to believe that Apollo would play for the personified Poetry in the roundel above or for any implied Christian Divinity in heaven “above”–or, more likely, toward an inspirational source. Inasmuch as this figure, like the blind Homer of the Parnassus, “looks” upward in a pose that signifies his turning toward the Divine source of inspiration, a pose which illustrates or enacts the very 16 Beth Cohen, “The Rinascimento dell’Antichita in the Art of Painting: Pausanias and Raphael‟s Parnassus,” Source; notes in the history of art 3 (summer 1984), 34, 43 n. 61; Meyer-Baer, “Musical Iconography,” 94-95. 17 Meyer-Baer, “Musical Iconography,” 94. 18 Meyer-Baer, “Musical Iconography,” 95; H. von Einem referred to the glance as “der Antike unbekannt.” H. Von Einem, “Das Programm der Stanza della Segnatura im Vatikan,” Rheinisch-Westfalische Akadamie der Wissenschaften: Geisteswissenschaften 169 (1971), 33; See also Luba Freedman, “Apollo‟s Glance in Raphael‟s Parnassus,” Source: notes in the history of art 16:2 (winter 1997), 20-25. 208 inscription–numine afflatur–that is painted over the Parnassus fresco, he contradicts any reading or interpretation that the figure is or could be Apollo. There is nothing in Renaissance art or philosophy known to this author which would allow a pagan god, who in the classical pantheon is himself a source of poetic inspiration, to be shown as seeking or receiving inspiration from outside himself, particularly from the Christian God. The Renaissance belief that classical poets were theologians, however–the idea of theologicae poetae–expresses, even depends on this very concept of the divine, Christian inspiration of classical figures, the Ancient poets. Thus, what the anachronistic and incongruent instrument suggests, the pose of the figure reveals: that this is not Apollo, is not a pagan god, but is a classical poet, Orpheus, who, according to the Renaissance belief in theologicae poetae, looks to the Christian God and from him receives inspiration, even Christian truth. In pose and identity, the central figure of the Parnassus expresses the central concept of the Renaissance belief in theologicae poetae, expresses the concept explicit and the connotations that are implicit in the inscription written in the vault directly above the Parnassus, and establishes the line and lineage of true theologians who will populate the other frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura, the School of Athens and the Disputa. The theme of poetic inspiration is expressed not only in the poets‟ upward gaze, but also in the inscription held by putti in the roundel immediately above the Parnassus fresco. This inscription functions as a sort of rubric or title for the scene depicted below and, in drawing attention to those classical theories of poetic theology which underlie the Renaissance belief in classical poets as theologians who are inspired, even possessed by God, supports the interpretation of the central figure as a poet seeking or receiving 209 inspiration rather a pagan deity who inspires from himself. The inscription is but two words, numine and afflatur–inscribed in Roman capitals as NVMINE and AFFLATVR– written on plaques held by the two putti who accompany the female figure of Poetry personified in a roundel on the vault of the chamber. (Figure 70) The Latin phrase numine afflatur is loosely translated as “divine inspiration” and more properly carries the connotation of the very breath of God or the gods as it infuses the oracle or poet, or even proceeds from the mouth of the oracle or poet who is possessed entirely by his or her divine inspiration. 19 Virgil used these words to describe the Delphic Sibyl as she spoke her prophesy to Aeneas, not from herself, but as inspired, or more literally enfilled by the spirit of god and speaking in a state of manic possession. Thus, in the sixth book of the Aeneid, Virgil described the Sibyl: …Cui talia fanti, ante fores subito non voltus, non color unus, non comptae mansere comae, sed pectus anhelum, et rabie fera corda tument; maiorque videri nec mortale sonans, adflata est numine quando iam propiore dei. 20 And in her, as she spoke these words, there was no single expression, no single color, nor did her hair stay in place. Her heart, now out of control, swells with madness. She is greater to look upon, and sounding inhumanly since she was inspired by the spirit of the god, even now drawing near. 21 19 Oxford Latin Dictionary, s.v. “afflo”–to breathe, to breathe into; s.v. “numen”– the will of the gods, or the gods themselves. 20 Virgil Aeneid 6:47-51. Virgil, Aeneid VI, ed. Keith Maclennan (London: Bristol Classical Press, 2003), 44. 21 Translation by Keith Maclennan, in Virgil, Aeneid VI, 80. 210 Though the Segnatura inscription derives, ultimately, from this text, from Virgil‟s description of divine inspiration as manifest in the action and appearance of the Delphic Sibyl, the association of the term numine afflatur with the Muses and poets of the Parnassus fresco depends as much on Plato‟s theory of poetics, as expressed in the Phaedrus and Ion, as it does Virgil‟s Aeneid. In the Phaedrus, Plato wrote of the divine madness, literally a form of mania, that possessed the Delphic Sibyl as she prophesied, but also wrote of the madness which came from the Muses and possessed gentle and pure souls, arousing and inspiring them to song and poetry. 22 There, as in the Ion, Plato emphasized that poetic composition was achieved not through the activity of the poet, but through divine possession and the agency of the Muses. Thus, to quote from the Phaedrus in full: And a third kind of possession and madness comes from the Muses: taking a tender, virgin soul and arousing it to a Bacchic frenzy of expression in lyric and other forms of poetry it educates succeeding generations by glorifying myriad deeds of those of the past; while the man who arrives at the doors of poetry without madness from the Muses, persuaded that expertise will make him a good poet, both he and his poetry, the poetry of the sane, are eclipsed by that of the mad, imperfect and unfulfilled. 23 Similarly, in the Ion, Plato wrote of a madness or mania that is the divine possession of the poet by an inspiring Muse. Here, again, he specified that the poet does not create by his own technical ability, by technêi or “art,” but from the surrender to divine power. 24 22 Plato Phaedrus 245. 23 Plato Phaedrus 245, as in Plato, Phaedrus, trans. C. J. Rowe (Warminster, UK: Aris & Phillips, Ltd., 1986), 57-59. 24 Plato Ion 534c. 211 Plato emphasized the active role of the Muse in poetic “inspiration” and the passive participation of the poet by likening these and the poet‟s audience to a magnet stone, a piece of iron which touches the magnet, and any number of additional pieces of iron, respectively. According to Plato‟s text, and illustrated in his metaphor, the poet, himself or herself, is merely the vehicle through which a divine message is transmitted and plays no active role in composing or crafting the poetic work. In Plato‟s system of poetics and poetic mania, it is god / God, working through the poet, who composes and who “inspires” the mortal to sing of things above or beyond his or her own knowing. Plato stated this explicitly in the Ion: Had [the poet] learned by rules of art, he would have known how to speak not of one theme only, but of all; and therefore god takes away the minds of poets, and uses them as his ministers, as he also uses diviners and holy prophets, in order that we who hear them may know them to be speaking not of themselves who utter these priceless words in a state of unconsciousness, but that god himself is the speaker, and that through them he is conversing with us. 25 Thus Plato described poetic inspiration as a form of manic possession in which the poet is roused and excited by contact with the divine and sings or speaks not from himself or herself, not through his or her own art or even his or her own volition, but from the afflatus–the breathing in–of god / God. Virgil‟s account of the Delphic Sibyl speaking in prophesy described the same state of manic possession. His text, and the inscription drawn from that text, is relevant to the depiction of poets in the Parnassus only inasmuch 25 Plato Ion 534c, as in The Dialogues of Plato, trans. B. Jowett (New York: Random House, 1937), 1:289. 212 as the same state of mania relates, through Plato‟s poetic theory, to the poets as to the Sibyls. It may be helpful to express these points somewhat more succinctly. The phrase numine afflatur written on the ceiling over the Parnassus draws from Virgil‟s description of the Delphic Sibyl in the Aeneid, in which the Sibyl prophesies not in her own words or from her own agency, but in a state of divine possession, even an inspired madness. In the Stanza della Segnatura, however, this phrase is written over a fresco populated not by the Sibyls, but by the Muses and poets. Through the use of this particular phrase, the artist and / or iconographic architects of the fresco program convey the idea that poets, also, are divinely “inspired” in the same manner of manic possession, which idea corresponds directly to Plato‟s poetic theory, as described in both the Phaedrus and the Ion, suggesting that these texts, also, are evoked by the Segnatura inscription. In accordance with this inscription and the associated texts, the general theme of the Parnassus fresco may be understood to be the divine “inspiration” of the poets, or the idea, more fully expressed, that classical and Christian poets, both, compose or produce not from themselves, but from a divine possession or inspired mania which is, according to Plato‟s poetic theory, the action of god, and according to a Renaissance Christian neo- Platonism and/or a humanist syncretic viewpoint, the action of the Christian God even on those theologians who lived before the advent of Christ. These concepts are made present and communicated in the Segnatura decoration and in the Parnassus simply by virtue of the phrase numine afflatur written on the vault above, regardless of the particular identity of the figures represented in the Parnassus–whether the central figure is Apollo, Orpheus, or any other deity or poet from the classical or Christian eras. However, given the 213 particular pose of the central figure–his upward gaze, as if he, like Homer, “looks” toward heaven for “inspiration,” and therefore receives rather than disseminates the will or power, the afflatus, of the divine–and the harmony between the poetic theory of divine “inspiration” as expressed in the fresco, the inscription, and in Plato‟s texts, on the one hand, and the contemporary belief in classical poets as divinely “inspired” theologians who receive the ancient theology directly from the Christian God, on the other hand, it seems most reasonable to read and identify the central figure as one such poet-theologian, the classical Orpheus rather than the pagan Apollo. The inscription over the Parnassus is in no way hidden from view or ambiguous in its most basic meaning, a vague notion of “divine inspiration,” and scholars have recognized that the poets painted on this wall of the Stanza della Segnatura are theological in some form or manner. Thus, for example, Konrad Oberhuber wrote that “the poets”–presumably Renaissance poets–“fought for poetry to become a “divine art” (ars divina), “another theology” (altera theologia) poetically testifying to the truth by divine inspiration.” 26 However, none yet, Oberhuber included, have recognized the full degree to which the poets are represented as theologians in the Christian tradition, according to the Renaissance belief in the theologicae poetae and, specifically, as they were perceived and represented toward the end of the Italian Quattrocento and in the early Cinquecento. The poets of the Parnassus, Homer and Orpheus in particular, receive “inspiration” from the Divine, and thus communicate knowledge of the Divine, directly from the Divine source, rather than from any intermediary tradition. These poets, 26 Konrad Oberhuber, Raphael: The Paintings, (Munich, London, New York: Prestel Verlag, 1999), 104. 214 therefore, do not participate in “another theology,” but in the One theology, as it was perceived by Renaissance Christians. This, and the particular identity of the central figure in the Parnassus, are of the utmost importance for the proper reading of subject and significance of the Parnassus, itself, but also for properly comprehending its relationship to the other frescoes in the room and the greater subject and significance of the fresco cycle as a whole. Though some few scholars have noted the resemblance of the central figure of the Parnassus to the poet Orpheus as he is represented in art, none have realized the true identity of that figure as Orpheus, and, as a result, none have fully realized the significance of this figure in the Parnassus fresco or in relation to the figures of the School of Athens painted on the wall adjacent, on the east wall of the Stanza della Segnatura. 27 It is not so much an actual historical figure that is presented in the center of the Parnassus as a Renaissance construction or conception of a pseudo-historical character who was believed to have been among the earliest poets and poet-theologians of Ancient Greece. Renaissance humanists, Marsilio Ficino foremost among them, 27 Kathi Meyer-Baer saw the instrument and pose as indicative of Orpheus, but suggested that “the persons of Apollo and Orpheus merged in Raphael‟s mind” and maintained that the figure was an Apollo. Meyer-Baer, “Musical Iconography,” 95. Beth Cohen posited that the composition of the Parnassus was loosely based on Pausanias‟ description of Polygnotos‟ painting of Hades and that the figure of Apollo corresponded to Pausanias‟ description of Orpheus in that work. Cohen, “The Rinascimento dell’Antichita,” 32-35. Note that Luba Freedman claimed that Meyer-Baer had suggested “that Raphael actually rendered Orpheus,” while this was not Meyer-Baer‟s claim, that Cohen had proposed that “Raphael represents Orpheus during his visit to Hades,” while this was not Cohen‟s proposal, and that E. Verheyen had remarked “that Orpheus was never shown surrounded by Muses or poets,” though Verheyen had not made such a statement. The possibility that the central figure in the Parnassus is Orpheus may not so summarily be dismissed as in Freedman‟s own study. Freedman, “Apollo‟s Glance,” 20, 24 n. 3. 215 attributed a body of invocative hymns and prophetic texts to an author known as Orpheus and believed him to have been the same Orpheus who was described in Greco-Roman mythology–the son of the Muse Calliope who was trained in music by Apollo, wed to Eurydice, whom he failed to bring safely back from Hades, and eventually torn to pieces by Maenads. 28 The Late Antique authors Iamblichus and Proclus had placed this Orpheus at the head of a mystical and intellectual tradition that culminated, ultimately, in Plato, claiming that Orpheus‟ knowledge was passed to his disciple Aglaophemus, who in turn instructed Pythagoras, whose theory of numbers informed Plato. 29 Renaissance philosophers recounted the same genealogy of poets and philosophers and added the idea that true theology, known to the most ancient poets, was handed down by means of this mystical and intellectual descent. Thus Ficino, who translated the Hymns attributed to Orpheus, wrote in his Argumentum of the path of theology‟s descent from its origin in the studies undertaken by Hermes Trismegistus, through Orpheus and his “descendants,” to “the divine Plato”: He [Hermes] was the first among philosophers to desert the physicists and mathematicians for the contemplation of divine things; he was the first to discuss–with great wisdom–the majesty of God, the order of demons and the transmigration of souls. That is why he is called first author of Theology. Orpheus followed him and earned the second place in ancient theology. Then Aglaophemus, initiated into the sacred teaching of Orpheus, was succeeded in theology by Pythagoras; this disciple was Philolaus, the teacher of our divine Plato. So one ancient theology, in all respects consistent within itself, was put together by six theologians in a 28 See in particular Walker, “Orpheus the Theologian,”100-20; Klutstein, Marsilio Ficino et la Theologie Ancienne. 29 Walker, “Orpheus the Theologian,” 100. 216 marvelous succession, beginning with Hermes and brought to perfection by the divine Plato. 30 Here, Orpheus, his pupil Aglaophemus, and the philosophers Pythagoras and Plato were all identified as theologians, the latter by virtue of their place in the succession of inherited knowledge. Inasmuch as Orpheus is present in the Parnassus fresco as a “true theologian” and Pythagoras and Plato, perhaps even the intermediary Aglaophemus, are present in the School of Athens, adjacent to the Parnassus, it is possible to surmise that this very theme of the origins and inherited descent of “true theology” is represented in these two frescoes. Thus, Orpheus is present in the Parnassus, and there receives the divine “afflatus,” as a representation of the origin of the theological tradition among the Greeks. This tradition passes from Orpheus in the Parnassus to his pupil Aglaophemus, and subsequently to Pythagoras, pictured on the wall adjacent, in the School of Athens. According to this tradition, described in Renaissance philosophy and represented on the walls of the Stanza della Segnatura, the philosophers of the School of Athens may also be present in that space and in that cycle of decoration as theologians, as initiates into the mysteries of the Christian faith. Pythagoras, Plato, even Aristotle, Zoroaster, Euclid, and indeed the entire population of philosophers represented on that eastern wall of the Stanza della Segnatura may be present not as “pagans in the church,” but as theologii in the Church. Furthermore, as theologii, these same figures may appear also on the western wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, among their post-Advent counterparts in the Disputa. 30 Ficino Argumentum, reproduced in Marsilio Ficino, Opera Omnia (Torino: Bottega d‟Erasmo, 1962), 2:1836. Translation by Philippa Gould. 217 Theologici Philosophi in the School of Athens and in the Disputa The classical figures represented in the School of Athens are not included in the iconographic program of the Stanza della Segnatura merely as representatives of philosophy as a discourse or pursuit that is distinct from art, jurisprudence, or theology. The classical figures of the School of Athens are, most of them, philosophers, but are also, by virtue of the knowledge inherited from certain of their poetic predecessors in the Parnassus fresco, theologians of the Christian tradition, broadly conceived. The idea that a true theological tradition existed among the Greeks of Antiquity is established in the Parnassus fresco, where Orpheus is depicted as an “inspired” poet-theologian, whose knowledge of the divine comes from the very “afflatus” of God, rather than from a more removed contact with the Judeo-Christian tradition, via Moses or Mosaic texts. Thus the representation of classical figures in the Stanza della Segnatura differs from any Tre- or early Quattrocento precedent, in which Greek philosophers are placed in relation to their Christian counterparts or even to the Christian God, but remain always outside of that tradition both visually and conceptually. The poets of the Stanza della Segnatura– Orpheus, Homer, and any others who are instructed in the “truth” that these possess from God–are full participants in the Christian tradition, equal in authority to those others of the Jewish and Christian traditions who, according to Christian belief, also received the divine “afflatus” and wrote from a God-given knowledge of the Christian faith. So, too, the philosophers of the Stanza della Segnatura, inasmuch as they are represented as the mystical or intellectual descendents of Orpheus or of Homer, are also full participants in the Christian tradition and may be recognized as theologians as well as philosophers. 218 The figures in the left foreground of the School of Athens represent those classical philosophers who were believed to have received and handed down the true theology that was known to the poet-theologian Orpheus. The slightly rotund figure who stands directly behind a column base and reads from a book resting on that truncated pillar may plausibly be identified as Orpheus‟ own disciple, Aglaophemus. (Figure 71) Konrad Oberhuber and Giovanni Reale both identified this figure as an initiate into the “Orphic mysteries” and as an intellectual predecessor of Pythagoras. 31 Both scholars correctly viewed the figure as a representation of the origins of philosophy and variously noted the theological significance of Orpheus as perceived by Renaissance theologians, but inasmuch as each scholar essentially viewed the School of Athens as separate and distinct from the Parnassus and failed to recognize the Orpheus of that scene as both a theologian and as the truly represented origin of philosophic wisdom, neither full realized the identity and significance of this transitional figure in the School of Athens, who is a necessary step in the descent of divine wisdom and a participant in the lineage of theologians which spans the Parnassus and School of Athens frescoes. This figure may plausibly be identified as Aglaophemus, the pupil of Orpheus who instructed Pythagoras in divine matters and passed to him the Orphic principle of number symbolism. Aglaophemus is not well known to history. He is, however, described as a pupil of Orpheus and teacher of Pythagoras in late Antique biographies of the latter and in the lists of prisci theologii composed by later Renaissance humanists. The most relevant 31 Giovanni Reale, Raffaello: La “Scuola di Atene”: una nuova interpretazione dell’affresco, con il cartone a fronte (Milan: Rusconi, 1997), 11-14; Oberhuber, Raphael: The Paintings, 100-1. 219 description of Aglaophemus, that which may have defined his appearance in the School of Athens fresco, was included in Iamblichus‟ biography of Pythagoras, in a chapter in which he treated of the “divinity of Pythagoras,” specified that the Pythagorean number theory was foreshadowed in the Orphic writings, and noted that Pythagoras composed his treatise on the gods with assistance from Orpheus. 32 In describing the origins of Pythagoras‟ wisdom, Iamblichus quoted from an earlier, unnamed biographer: [T]hat Pythagoras the son of Mnesarchus was instructed in what pertains to the Gods, when he celebrated orgies in the Thracian Libethra, being initiated in them by Aglaophemus; and that Orpheus the son of Calliope, having learnt wisdom from his mother in the mountain Pangæus, said, that the eternal essence of number is the most providential principle of the universe, of heaven and earth, and the intermediate nature; and farther still, that it is the root of the permanency of divine natures, of Gods, and dæmons. 33 The reference to Thracian orgies–literally the mystical rites associated with the cult of Orpheus–could have inspired the depiction of the figure of Aglaophemus in the School of Athens as a man with “il volto rubicondo, l‟espressione particolare, e soppratutto la corona di pampini,” to use Reale‟s description. 34 This reddened face, “particular expression,” and crown of vine leaves, as Reale observed, have caused other scholars to seek a Dionysian association for this figure and to identify the figure as a philosopher who advocated the pursuit of pleasure. 35 Indeed, such a reading isolates the figure and 32 Iamblichus’ Life of Pythagoras, or Pythagoric Life, trans. Thomas Taylor (London: John M. Watkins, 1926), 71-83. 33 Iamblichus, 78. 34 Reale, Scuola di Atene, 12. 35 Reale, Scuola di Atene, 12. 220 reduces him to one in a series of philosophical exemplars, uomini famosi, as it were. 36 The figure‟s physical appearance may bear a certain resemblance to one of the patron‟s most trusted advisors, Tomasso Inghirami, 37 and his ivy wreath may have been intended to associate him with the rites of the Orphic mystics rather than with any of the more pleasurable pursuits of Bacchus, at least in the minds of those in the intended audience who, like the learned Inghirami and his contemporaries, may have been so disposed as to recognize and interpret the motif. 38 As Aglaophemus, the Orphic initiate, informed theologian, and practitioner who passed divine knowledge to Pythagoras and to his descendents, in turn, this figure plays a more significant role in the School of Athens and in the fresco cycle as a whole. The identifications of Aglaophemus and of the greater theme of theology‟s descent from Orpheus through Aglaophemus to Pythagoras permit also a more accurate reading of the attributes and activity associated with the figure of Pythagoras in the 36 Ingrid Rowland, “The Intellectual Background of the School of Athens: Tracking Divine Wisdom in the Rome of Julius II,” in Marcia Hall, ed., Raphael’s “School of Athens” (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 158: “To the left a chubby Epicurus, crowned in the ivy that signified participation in a drinking party but engrossed in a book, may also be identified with a fair degree of probability, his back to the Pythagoreans and Socratics, and indeed to the rest of the school. Like Diogenes and Heraclitus, he, too, is lost in his own world of contemplation; unlike them, he sees no conflict between philosophy and indulging his senses.” 37 This was noted by Rowland, “Intellectual Background,” 158-60; Reale, Scuola di Atene, 13-14; and Oberhuber, Raphael: The Paintings, 100-1. 38 Oberhuber made the point that after Inghirami‟s death, Cardinal Sadoleto made him a character in a treatise in which he, Sadoleto, maintained that “everything later written was already contained in the mystical and mythological writings of Orpheus and his followers.” Oberhuber, Raphael: The Paintings, 100-1. While this is not proper proof that Inghirami, himself, was interested in or knowledgeable of Orphism, it does show that his contemporaries were so interested and devoted. 221 School of Athens. (Figure 72) This is the figure sitting near Aglaophemus, but closer to the center of the composition, who rather studiously writes in a book while others near him crane their necks as if to see what he has written. This is the figure Vasari had mistakenly named St. Matthew, who was, in Vasari‟s interpretation, expounding the tablet before him, which had been brought from the astrologers by one of “several very lovely angels.” Surprisingly, there may be more accuracy in Vasari‟s reading than first appears: while Vasari‟s “St. Matthew” is Pythagoras and the tablet before him is not brought from the astrologers on the opposite side of the scene, the action that Vasari described and attributed to “St. Matthew” is accurately observed and very much in keeping with the particulars of Iamblichus‟ description of the Pythagoras‟ reception of Orphic knowledge. The tablet before Pythagoras is commonly described as belonging to him and bearing a diagram that, in some mysterious manner, expresses the essentials of his number theory. 39 In his biography of Pythagoras, however, Iamblichus had specified that the Pythagorean number-theory was derived from Orphic texts. Wrote Iamblichus: If, therefore, any one wishes to learn what were the sources whence these men derived so much piety, it must be said, that a perspicuous paradigm of the Pythagoric theology according to numbers is in a certain respect to be found in the writings of Orpheus. Nor it is to be doubted, that Pythagoras receiving auxiliaries from Orpheus, composed his treatise Concerning the Gods…. 40 In the School of Athens fresco, Pythagoras does not appear to own the table before him–it is held by a youthful figure–one of Vasari‟s “angels”–who looks back over his shoulder 39 On the tablet, see Marcia Hall, Raphael’s “School of Athens” (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 33-34. 40 Iamblichus, 77. 222 and Pythagoras‟, as if toward the turbaned figure behind them, or even to Aglaophemus, who is farther from the youth, but directly in his line of sight. As in Vasari‟s interpretation, Pythagoras seems to “expound” this tablet–he faces the tablet, but writes in his own book, as if interpreting into words what is there represented in diagram form. The action is confusing, even confounding if the tablet is thought to belong to Pythagoras, but appropriate, even illustrative of the theme of Pythagoras as a philosopher-theologian who interprets the number-theory of Orpheus and makes this the basis of his own understanding of divine theology. Though Konrad Oberhuber wrote much that is true, or appears to be near the truth in regard to the representation and meaning of figures and themes in the School of Athens, he nevertheless erred significantly in his reading of the relationship between the figures in the left foreground, the Orphic initiates and Pythagoreans, and those in the center background of the composition, Plato and Aristotle. Oberhuber noted that figures ascend the steps from the foreground to the background on the right side of the composition, but not on the left, and read this as an attempt on the part of the artist to isolate the Pythagoreans from Plato both spatially and conceptually. Thus he wrote: From behind Archimedes, a white-clad youth mounts to the school of Aristotle, while an older philosopher descends. From the sciences it is possible to proceed to philosophy proper or vice versa. From Pythagoras, on the other hand, one cannot easily arrive at Plato‟s discipline. Pythagoras‟ wisdom was complete knowledge in itself. 41 Indeed, nothing could be further from the truth. The entire message of the School of Athens depends on the perceived continuity between the figures in the left foreground and 41 Oberhuber, Raphael: The Paintings, 101. 223 that figure in the left center position, Plato himself, and this continuity is expressed both in the lineage of the prisci theologii as given by Ficino and in the figure of a philosopher standing to the right of Pythagoras, directly between him and his heir-once-removed, as it were, Plato. This figure, whose pronounced torsion anticipates that of Raphael‟s celebrated Galatea by only a couple of years, turns his head over one shoulder to gaze down at Pythagoras and the book in which Pythagoras writes, even while he holds his own book on the other side of his body, away from his face, in a direct line between the Orphic tablet at Pythagoras‟ feet and the figure of Plato at the center of the composition. (Figure 73) His position near Pythagoras and his pose, at once facing that older philosopher and turning his body and work toward those philosophers who came later, chronologically, and are represented further in the depth of the scene, suggest that he is a pupil of Pythagoras and predecessor of the Socratics or of Plato. He has been tentatively identified by Raphael scholars as Empedocles, who did hold such a place in the history of Greek philosophy. 42 As there are no motifs or attributes that reveal this figure‟s particular identity, merely his position and pose. He could as easily be another of Pythagoras‟ students, Philolaus, who was named by Ficino as the intermediary theologus between Pythagoras and Plato. To paraphrase Ficino, this disciple is Philolaus, the teacher of our divine Plato. As such, he continues the unbroken descent and inheritance of divine theology, which proceeds then to Plato, shown standing in the left center of the 42 Passavant saw this figure as the liaison between Pythagoras and Heraclitus and a transition to the school of Socrates, above / behind in the composition, and therefore named him as Anaxagoras. Passavant, Raphael d’Urbin, 123. Reale noted that he has been called Empedocles, but suggested that he could alternately be Parmenides. Reale, Scuola di Atene, 18-19. 224 composition. Though Raphael, admittedly, did not paint figures ascending and descending the stairs on the left side of the School of Athens, there is no visual or conceptual barrier to the implied passage of knowledge or wisdom, and this, in fact, may be the very reason for the absence of any additional figures between Philolaus and Plato– there are no intermediaries between these figures in the lineage of theology‟s descent. Both Plato and Aristotle, his pupil and heir, appear in the School of Athens as theologians as well as philosophers. For this reason, they may appear also in the fresco opposite, commonly known by the title Disputa. (Figure 74) Their figures have not, in recorded history, been recognized among the more easily identified or categorized Christian theologians who populate the lower portion of that scene, the earthly realm that is home to novices, initiates, friars, monks, bishops, cardinals, popes, and the four Church Fathers: Gregory, Jerome, Ambrose, and Augustine. There is precedent, however, for the repeated presence of a figure on multiple walls of the Stanza della Segnatura–Dante stands with Virgil behind Homer in the Parnassus, and he appears again, with his same characteristic profile, wearing the same red cloak and cap, and crowned with a poet‟s laurel wreath, in the Disputa, where he stands behind the rather more glorious figure of Pope Sixtus IV. (Figure 75) If Dante, who was beloved as a poet and respected as a theologian, appears twice in the frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura, once among the poets and again with the theologians, so also may Plato and Aristotle appear twice in the fresco cycle, once among the philosophers and again with the theologians, if they, like Dante, are recognized as philosophers and theologians, both. The figure of Aristotle may more easily be recognized in the Disputa than that of his teacher, Plato. He stands to the left side of the composition on the second of the broad 225 steps that rise from the level of the foreground, with his back turned toward the viewer and facing and gesturing into the depth of the painted space. (Figure 76) This figure has largely been ignored or glossed over in studies of the Stanza della Segnatura. 43 He is not named in an inscribed halo, as are St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Bonaventura, and the Church Fathers. His nondescript clothing does not reveal his particular association or affiliation with any order or rank in the ecclesiastical hierarchy. His facial features are almost entirely obscured from view. This figure is significant to both the composition and the action of the Disputa, however, and is singled out from the nameless ecclesiastics who populate the left side of the Disputa by virtue of his particular iconographic representation–he is one of the relatively few figures of the lower register, ten of the forty-three figures, who either hold books or have books lying at their feet. This motif, together with the particulars of his representation and the action and meaning signified in his gesture, reveal him to be none other than that great philosopher, Aristotle, here revealing to the initiates the means of approaching the divine through proper moral behavior. The figure in the Disputa here identified as Aristotle stands before a group of three youths–initiates or novices in the Christian faith–and directs them with a gesture of his hand to give their attention to a book which lies at the feet of the seated Father, Pope Gregory. This book is identified by an inscription written across its fore edge–L[iber] MORALIVM–as a representative volume of Gregory‟s Commentary on the Book of Job, 43 Hagen identified him as Scot Eriugena and Pfeiffer identified him as Origen. See Giovanni Reale Raffaello: La “Disputa”: una interpretazione filosofica e teologica dell’affresco con la prima presentazione analitica dei singoli personaggi e dei particolari simbolici e allegorici emblematici (Milan: Rusconi, 1998), 62-63. 226 also known as the Moralia or the Magna Moralia. The youths, attentive to the master‟s direction, react in surprise and wonder, throwing open their hands, opening wide their eyes, and craning to see the Church Father who wrote that treatise on morality. Their master, the standing figure, must, himself, be an author–the volumes at his feet attest to this. These books, however, bear no inscriptions and do not openly reveal the identity of their author. He, this figure, may reasonably be identified as some philosopher or theologian who, like Gregory, wrote on morality or ethics, and therefore achieved through his writing that same effect that is signified by his gesture in the Disputa. Could he not be Aristotle, philosopher of ethics and morality, author of a multi-volume work that was known by the very same title as Gregory‟s great study of morals, the Magna Moralia? Indeed, this Aristotle bears a strong resemblance to the Aristotle of the School of Athens. Both are bearded and have short, ruddy-brown hair that curls into rings at its ends. Both have a strong forehead with a slightly prominent brow. Both wear blue cloaks over their robes, though admittedly these robes differ in color–the School of Athens Aristotle wears a brown robe that reaches to his ankles and is trimmed in gold; the Disputa Aristotle wears a shorter emerald green robe beneath his blue cloak–which difference may, conceivably, owe more to the compositional distribution of color than to particular iconography. Furthermore, both figures take the same pose and make the same gesture, slight variations not withstanding–both stand with their weight on the right leg, proper, with the right arm bent at the elbow and the forearm extended, and with the head turned slightly to the right. Thus, the similarity of pose and gesture, of facial appearance and clothing provide visual clues to the identity of the figure, as do the placement of the figure in relation to Pope Gregory and meaning of his gesture in relation to the other 227 figures near him. This is Aristotle, the author of the Magna Moralia, who here directs the assembled youths to consider Gregory‟s work own Moralia, thereby leading the Christian initiate from divinely inspired philosophy to God-given theology and, at the same time, reinforcing the idea that moral behavior is an essential component of the Christian‟s approach toward the Divine. If Aristotle appears on the left side of the Disputa, standing among the initiates some short distance from the Fathers of the Christian Church, his teacher, Plato, appears on the right side of the scene, standing even in the very space between St. Ambrose and the altar that supports the consecrated Host. (Figure 77) Like Aristotle, Plato may be recognized from a general resemblance to his representation in the School of Athens, opposite, and from a similarity of gesture. Both representations of Plato show him as an older, balding man with a long grey beard. There are slight differences in their physical appearance and in their dress. The Plato of the School of Athens has slightly more and longer hair on his balding head than the Plato of the Disputa, and the Plato of the School of Athens wears a salmon-pink cloak over a heather-purple robe that is trimmed in azure blue, while the Plato of the Disputa is wrapped in a green robe and blue cloak that are both so dark as to nearly prove indistinguishable. The latter difference may certainly be attributed to the compositional distribution of color. The high value pastels worn by the figure in the School of Athens cause him to stand out from the background of that scene and from the figures surrounding him, as is appropriate for the compositional and iconographic focus of that fresco. The same colors would not fit the mostly primary palette that is used in the immediate surroundings of the figure in the Disputa–the red, gold, blue, white, and small patches of green that clothe the Fathers and the altar–and 228 would not only bring to the fore a figure who properly belongs in the depth of the scene, but would also obscure the very expressive and significant gesture made by Ambrose‟s hands, which are, in the actual painting, easily read even from a distance because of their placement against Plato‟s dark robe. It is the gesture made by the figure standing immediately to the right of the altar in the Disputa that is most characteristic of Plato, as Raphael represents him, and reveals his identity. Like the figure of Plato in the School of Athens (figure 78), this figure raises his right arm, twisting the forearm so that the palm of the hand faces inward, toward his body, and points upward with the index finger. Giovanni Reale recognized this similarity of gesture and, following the lead of J. Braun, suggested that the figure in the Disputa was the philosopher Justin Martyr, a Christian theologian whose and theories and methods were similar to Plato‟s. 44 Reale, who was perhaps unable to look beyond the prescribed populations of each scene, stopped short of identifying the figure as Plato, settling, instead, on characterizing him as a Platonist. There is, in fact, no reason why this figure could not be Plato, and every reason to believe that he is precisely that philosopher. The figure of Plato in the Disputa does not stand alone as an allegorical sign or self-referential icon. Rather, he actively participates in the action of the Disputa. Plato is one of only three figures in the lower register of the scene, the earthly realm, who demonstrate any awareness of the heavenly figures depicted above, in the upper registers, where the full Trinity of the Christian Godhead is represented, together with a host of 44 Reale, Disputa, 65-66. 229 angels, Mary and John the Baptist, and twelve enthroned figures drawn from the Old Testament Prophets and Patriarchs and the Christian Saints and Apostles. Plato does not look on these, but points to them, revealing to the viewer, and to Ambrose, his knowledge of things Divine. Ambrose reacts to Plato‟s gesture by looking up, and is represented in that very moment of comprehension, as, with his hands spreading wide in overwhelming awe, he first beholds God and his kingdom. The monumentality of Plato‟s gesture, of its significance as a sign of that figure‟s own knowledge, and of its effect on Ambrose do not permit any lesser identification of that figure‟s identity. Ambrose does not, in the Disputa or in the philosophy from which it is derived, achieve the realization of God through the agency of Justin Martyr or any such figure of secondary import. Two paths lead toward the Divine and grant admission to the mysteries: the path of moral philosophy, or proper ethical behavior while in this lower realm, which is represented in the School of Athens by Aristotle and in the Disputa by the gesture of Aristotle toward the books of Gregory, and the path of dialectic, which more properly concerns things divine than the affairs of this world, and which is represented in the School of Athens by Plato and in the Disputa by Plato‟s gesture and the reaction it affects from Ambrose. On the Concord of Pico and the Stanza della Segnatura: The Parallel Paths of Dialectic and Moral Philosophy The themes and subjects represented in the frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura find significant expression also in Pico della Mirandola‟s 1486 treatise and intended oration On the Dignity of Man. In that work, Pico consulted the “theology of the ancients” as well as Christian and Jewish authorities in his attempt to comprehend the mysteries of the 230 Christian faith and determine the means of achieving the dignity and glory of the angels. In so doing, he signaled his belief that the classical poets and philosophers, those whom he consults, were equal in authority to their Christian and Jewish counterparts, that they, like these, were initiated into the mysteries of the Christian faith, which could then be gleaned from their works as from the Bible and from Biblical exegesis. 45 Thus the depiction, in the Stanza della Segnatura, of classical poets and philosophers as theologians who are, like their Christian and Jewish counterparts, divinely inspired and initiated into the Christian mysteries has a certain precedent in Pico‟s oration. So, also, the depiction of moral philosophy and of dialectic as parallel paths leading toward the Divine has a precedent in Pico‟s text. Pico singled out these two practices or pursuits, specifically, as the means by which the body and soul, respectively, are purified in the earliest step in the process of emulating the angels and perfecting man. 46 This idea is expressed repeatedly in his treatise, such that the idea that moral philosophy and dialectic act as purgative and preparatory means toward the purification of the soul may be identified as a central theme and essential component of his philosophical system. These were, for Pico, the initial and fundamental processes by which man first approaches his own perfection and that of the Divine. Thus, for example, he wrote: 45 Pico della Mirandola On the Dignity of Man, as in Pico della Mirandola, On the Dignity of Man, On Being and the One, Hetaplus, trans. Charles Glenn Wallis (Indianapolis, New York, Kansas City: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1965), 13. 46 Pico, On the Dignity of Man, 9: “Therefore, by rivaling the life of a cherub upon the earth, by confining the onslaughts of the affections by means of moral science, and by shaking off the mist of reason by means of dialectic, as if washing off the filth of ignorance and vice, let us purge the soul, that the affections may not audaciously run riot, nor an imprudent reason sometime rave. Then, over a soul which has been set in order 231 Therefore, by rivaling the life of a cherub upon the earth, by confining the onslaughts of the affections by means of moral science, and by shaking off the mist of reason by means of dialectic, as if washing off the filth of ignorance and vice, let us purge the soul, that the affections may not audaciously run riot, nor an imprudent reason sometime rave. Then, over a soul which has been set in order and purified, let us pour the light of natural philosophy, that lastly we may perfect it with the knowledge of divine things. 47 In the decoration of the Stanza della Segnatura, as in Pico‟s treatise, the concept of moral philosophy and dialectic as parallel paths leading toward human perfection and knowledge of the Divine is a defining theme, even the fundamental subject that is expressed in the program of decoration, as a whole. The concept is expressed in the actions performed by Aristotle and Plato in the Disputa, in the division of Church Fathers and their respective actions in that same fresco, and in the greater division and distribution of figures and subjects throughout the entire room. Plato stands in the Disputa with those Fathers of the Church–Ambrose and Augustine–who could be seen as having pursued divine knowledge through dialectic. Augustine was himself a rhetorician and a student of classical philosophy, and came to theology only after his own doubts on the nature of the Christian God were allayed by Ambrose‟s well reasoned explanations. 48 Though Augustine, in the Disputa, does not see God, his master, Ambrose, follows Plato‟s lead–literally turns his eyes in the direction signaled by Plato‟s upraised finger–and, from dialectic, as it were, is given the and purified, let us pour the light of natural philosophy, that lastly we may perfect it with the knowledge of divine things.” 47 Pico, On the Dignity of Man, 9. 48 Augustine Confessions 4:2-4. 232 opportunity to see God. Furthermore, those other ecclesiastics who stand with Plato on the right side of the Disputa may also be classed as those who sought the Divine through reason. St. Thomas Aquinas, author of the Summa Theologiae, stands on that side, and Sixtus IV, who is depicted not only as pope, but as the author of a scholarly treatise, symbolized by the book at his feet. The Fathers and ecclesiastics of the other side of the Disputa are properly categorized as those who concerned themselves with moral behavior among Christians and within the Christian Church. Gregory is enthroned there, the Moralia at his feet, and Jerome, who made the Bible accessible to the Church in the Latin Vulgate and counseled his Christian contemporaries, those in the world, with epistolary advice. These figures do not look up to heaven, they do not aspire directly to the contemplation of the Divine, but consider God‟s earthly presence, the consecrated Host that is before them on the altar. Thus, Gregory does not gaze upward, but across, to the Host, and Jerome, lost in the book on his knee, is directed to turn his attentions there by the gesture of the figure beside him. Similarly, the figures gathered into the space behind these Fathers are those Church members who restrict their behavior through holy orders, and thus seek God through proper codes of morality. These are the monks and friars of the Church, and the bishops who lead the laity. The artist or author of the Stanza della Segnatura‟s program did allow that this practice, as well as the dialectic approach to God, permitted the realization of perfection and led its practitioner to see God, as Ambrose does–the leftmost figure in the Disputa, an aging man in the habit of a Dominican monk, lifts his eyes to heaven and, like Ambrose, is aware of the glory revealed in the upper registers of the Disputa, though 233 he does not, in his expression, exhibit the awe or wonder that overtakes the Father of the Church. The Disputa is divided by sides into a study of the parallel paths of dialectic and moral philosophy. So also is the School of Athens. Plato stands on the left side of that fresco, which is the same side of the room that he occupies in the Disputa, and, with finger raised toward the Idea or toward God, signals the path of dialectic–pure logic or mental reason, as opposed to worldly experience–as a means toward approaching the Truth. Aristotle, standing again on “his” side of the room, gestures toward the world and signals the path of moral philosophy–the practice of ethics, which is described in the book in his hand–as a means of constricting one‟s behavior and approaching the proper end. As the Disputa and School of Athens are divided according to the parallel paths of dialectic and moral philosophy, so decoration of the entire room is arranged according to this program. The Parnassus wall properly depicts the poets as theologians and establishes a path of true knowledge, or knowledge of the Truth, from its divine origin to the philosophers, to Plato in the School of Athens, adjacent. Furthermore, this fresco establishes the essential principal that dialectic is not merely a human pursuit, i.e. that poet, philosopher, and theologian do not approach God through their own reason or agency, but from the inflowing “afflatus” of the divine. This, after all, is Plato‟s own argument in the Phaedrus and in the Ion. Thus this scene justifies dialectic as a theological rather than a purely philosophical pursuit, as a practice that is inspired by the Divine and ultimately leads back to the Divine, as shown in the action of Plato in the Disputa. Jurisprudence, on the other hand and on the remaining wall, is nothing other 234 than the practice of moral philosophy, the establishment of just rule and governance, which is at once forceful, temperate, and prudent, under systems of civil and ecclesiastical law. The iconographic program of decoration that encompasses all four walls of the Stanza della Segnatura thus divides neatly into two parallel and concordant themes, the art of dialectic as a divinely inspired path toward the recognition of divine Truths and the realization of Divine Glory and the practice of moral philosophy as a similar means toward approaching the Divine. On the Development of the Iconographic Program of the Stanza della Segnatura The Stanza della Segnatura has been plausibly identified as the library of Pope Julius II, and the frescoes that decorate its walls have been long been viewed as a representation of the four divisions or branches of knowledge represented in a humanist library. 49 It is possible that the fresco program was planned, even begun as an illustration, as it were, of the faculties of theology, philosophy, poetry, and jurisprudence, with the four walls of the chamber populated with representatives of each faculty as in a uomini famosi cycle. Francis Ames-Lewis has shown, however, that Raphael exhibited in other significant instances a tendency to change not only the poses of figures or particulars of 49 Shearman reviewed the documentary evidence and concluded that the Stanza della Segnatura was the most plausible location of Julius‟s library, though he acknowledged on page 383 of his study that the possibility remained that the Pope‟s collection could have been housed in the Torre Borgia. John Shearman, “The Vatican Stanze: Functions and Decoration,” Proceedings of the British Academy 57 (1971), 369- 424. On the relationship of the frescoes to the subjects represented in Raphael‟s frescoes, see Wickhoff, who first developed the concept. Franz Wickhoff, “Die Bibliothek Julius‟ II,” Jarbuch der königlich preussischen Kunstsammlungen 4 (1893), 49-64. 235 composition but even the very essentials of subject and iconography as he developed a project through sketches, studies, and modelli. 50 The iconographic program of the Stanza della Segnatura may have developed in a similar manner. Raphael appears to have presented an early concept for the Stanza della Segnatura program, presumably to his patron or to the patron‟s representative, in a set of preliminary modelli which defined the general themes or subjects and certain essentials of composition for each of the four frescoes to be painted on the walls of the room. 51 In subsequent studies, however, Raphael reworked and revised his original concept, making changes not only to the composition of individual scenes but also to the very subjects and themes represented in the program as a whole. John Shearman has already described the transformation of the Jurisprudence fresco from a planned Judgment scene, drawn from the Apocalypse, into the scene actually painted in the Stanza della Segnatura. 52 Raphael also transformed the Parnassus and Disputa frescoes, though not as radically, by repositioning key figures and changing the attributes which identified these and other figures, including Aristotle and Plato in the Disputa and central figure of the Parnassus, 50 Francis Ames-Lewis, The Draftsman Raphael (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1986), 2-9, 50-59. 51 On the preliminary modelli for the Segnatura program, see Ames-Lewis, Draftsman Raphael, 73-76, figs. 86, 90, 93. A study of the left half of the Disputa (Windsor, Royal Library, 12732) could have been produced as a modello for that fresco. A modello for an Apocalypse scene (Paris, Louvre, 3866r) has been identified as an early study for the Jurisprudence wall. Marcantonio Raimondi‟s print after a drawing by Raphael of the Parnassus could represent an early modello for that scene. This is preserved as London, British Museum, 1973-II-8. 52 John Shearman, “Raphael‟s Unexecuted Projects for the Stanze,” in Georg Kauffmann, ed., Walter Friedlaender zum 90. Geburtstag: eine Festgabe seiner europäischen Schüler, Freunde und Verehrer (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co, 1965), 158-80, in particular 165-66. 236 who may have looked more like Apollo in Raphael‟s early modelli, but is more clearly Orpheus in later studies and in the fresco as executed. In this, the second period of Raphael‟s activity on the Stanza della Segnatura project, between the presentation of modelli and the actual execution of the frescoes, the iconographic program of that project of decoration was developed and changed dramatically, such that it became something greater than a division of faculties or a glorified uomini famosi cycle, such that it became, instead, a new Renaissance statement on the relations between classical and Christian figures and on the place of classical poetry and philosophy in the Christian approach toward the Divine. There is no surviving study or modello for the Parnassus by Raphael‟s own hand in which the central figure of the composition is clearly or irrefutably marked as Apollo. Rather, an engraving made by Marcantonio Raimondi after or from a Raphael drawing of the Parnassus shows the central figure in a pose and with attributes that are consistent with the typical representation of that god and allows the possibility that Raphael, himself, had originally intended that the central figure of the Parnassus be Apollo. (Figure 79) In other instances, Raimondi executed his prints directly from drawings or modelli provided by Raphael, and there is every reason to belief that such a model-copy relationship is represented also in Raimondi‟s engraving of the Parnassus. 53 Raimondi‟s print does not correspond in every particular to the Parnassus fresco, as executed, but is closer in certain significant details to a nude study for the Parnassus, now in the collection of the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford (figure 80), which, itself, includes other 53 Ames-Lewis, Draftsman Raphael, 8. 237 elements not present in the Raimondi print but appearing in the finished fresco. This makes it possible to determine the sequence in which Raimondi‟s model, the Oxford nude study, and the fresco, itself, were executed, to speculate on Raphael‟s original intentions for the scene, and to track the changes he made to composition and iconography. Leaving aside obvious differences between the works–the absence of Sappho and her compositional foil from both of the works on paper and the presence of putti or cupids, as Vasari described them, in the Raimondi print–one may observe that the Raimondi print does not include a standing female figure with her back to the viewer on the right side of the composition, while she is present in both the nude study and the painted Parnassus. The Raimondi print could not reproduce a drawing or study made between the execution of the Oxford nude study and the fresco, itself, as the print would then by necessity include this female figure, who is constant in those latter works. Furthermore, the very existence of a nude study executed after the model for Raimondi‟s print may suggest that Raimondi‟s model was nothing less than a presentation modello–a relatively complete study of the composition and essential figures, fully clothed in appropriate garb, i.e. not a garzone study. The existence of later nude and garzone studies shows, however, that Raimondi‟s model subsequently reworked through the various stages of production, including a nude study of all the figures together and a garzone study of the central figure in an entirely different pose and with different attributes. One of the primary differences between Raimondi‟s print, on the one hand, and both the Oxford study and the Parnassus fresco, on the other, is in the representation of the central figure. In Raimondi‟s print, the central figure is fully clothed in a cloak and tunic, is posed with his head at a slight tilt, but looking outward, toward the viewer, and 238 holds a lyre. With these attributes, he is, or could be Apollo, the classical god of music and poetry. In the Oxford print, however, the lyre has been replaced by a lira da braccio and the figure looks upward, as he does in the Parnassus fresco. This change is neither slight nor insignificant and could not have been made without careful consideration. Not only did this change require the artist to reconsider the pose and position of the man playing such an instrument–a drawing now in the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Lille, (figure 81) attests to Raphael‟s concern over the matter–but, inasmuch as this change of instruments involved the very attribute of the central figure, it must be read either as a change in that figure‟s identity through the change in attribute, as an attempt to clarify the figure‟s identity by removing an ambiguous attribute, or, conversely, as an attempt to obscure or cloud the figure‟s identity by introducing just such an attribute. The latter possibility is difficult to entertain–what reason would Raphael have to deliberately obscure his representation of Apollo by replacing the traditional attribute of that figure, the lyre, with an anachronistic lira da braccio? It would seem, instead, either that Raphael had intended the figure to be Apollo and presented that god as a patron deity of the poets in his early modello, perhaps in keeping with a program that required only that the scene signify the faculty of poetry in a broad sense, and subsequently changed his identity as the greater subject of the fresco cycle developed into something more syncretic, or that the figure was never an Apollo at all, but some other person who, like Apollo, could be represented as playing a lyre or, unlike that god, as playing a lira da braccio, and that Raphael chose the latter option precisely as a means of avoiding any possibility that the figure would be misinterpreted as the pagan god. 239 Raphael did not fail in his attempts to transform the figure. The figure, as painted, can not be Apollo, for the very reasons given in the discussion above–he does not hold Apollo‟s instrument and he is not, himself, a source of divine inspiration, as Apollo would be in this context, but looks toward a Divine source that is outside of his person. Raphael‟s Orpheus–for he is that poet rather than the pagan god–has nevertheless been mistakenly identified as Apollo for nearly five hundred years. The fault lies not with Raphael, however, and not wholly with Giorgio Vasari, who first identified the figure as Apollo, but with those authors and scholars who have failed to recognize Vasari‟s source or to question his assertion that the figure of the Parnassus, whom he did not describe, was that god. Vasari, as it happens, did not describe figures and motifs from Raphael‟s painted fresco, but those he saw in Raimondi‟s print, executed from an early modello for the Parnassus, in which the central figure did appear with the attributes of Apollo. This is revealed in his description of “a number of naked cupids… floating above, holding laurel branches, of which they make garlands and scatter them over the mount.” 54 These cupids appear in the Raimondi print and could have been present in its model, but are absent from any of Raphael‟s subsequent studies and from his painted fresco. Either Vasari had not seen the actual fresco and erred in assuming that the details visible in Raimondi‟s print accurately reproduced Raphael‟s work as executed, or, if he had seen the fresco, Vasari compromised his memory by working more directly from the Raimondi print while composing his description of the Parnassus. Either way, Vasari erred. Those critics and scholars who have followed Vasari in believing that the central figure of the 54 Vasari, Lives of the Artists, 315. 240 Parnassus is, in fact, Apollo have, presumably, been unaware of Vasari‟s dependence on the Raimondi print, of the changes made by Raphael between the execution of the model for that print and the execution of the fresco, itself, and of the full significance of those changes with regard to the subject and iconography of the Parnassus fresco. Ironically, scholars have largely perpetuated an interpretation of the Parnassus fresco which is based on early preparatory drawings and represents only a preliminary stage in the development of the iconographic program of the Stanza della Segnatura frescoes. It is difficult to determine with any certainty what Raphael had intended to represent in his early modelli and what iconographic program had been originally proposed for the frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura. If Raimondi‟s print does faithfully reproduce Raphael‟s modello for the Parnassus, that modello could have been a proposal for a relatively straightforward and rather traditional representation of Poetry, with a patron deity, Apollo, in the center of the composition surrounded by representatives and exemplars. Such a scene would largely reproduce the formula represented by Pinturicchio‟s frescoes of the Liberal Arts painted in the Vatican‟s Borgia Apartments. (Figures 57-59) Alternately, the figure in the center of Raphael‟s modello could have been an Orpheus even at that early stage of production. Orpheus, like Apollo and like the figure in the center of Raimondi‟s print, could be represented as a clothed figure holding a lyre–he appears with these attributes in a grisaille medallion on the socle of the Cappella Nova in Orvieto Cathedral. (Figure 33) If the central figure was Apollo and the scene was a representation of Poetry and its practitioners, the greater iconographic program proposed in Raphael‟s preliminary modelli could have been a more traditional cycle presenting those pursuits or faculties which are represented in a 241 humanist library. If this was the case, the changes introduced into the Parnassus scene and into the Disputa after the presentation of modelli transformed the iconographic program into something radically different. It is possible, also, that the iconographic program of the Stanza della Segnatura frescoes was distinct, original, even radical from its very inception–that the Parnassus figure was always an Orpheus and always a participant in the line of true theologians–and that the changes made by Raphael were intended to develop and clarify themes and subjects that were present even at the presentation stage. Just as Raphael introduced or developed syncretic themes in the preparatory studies executed for the Parnassus, so also he introduced or developed syncretic themes in his studies for the Disputa. More studies and preparatory drawings for the Disputa are extant today than for any of the other three frescoes which decorate the walls of the Stanza della Segnatura. This has been variously explained by scholars, either as evidence that Raphael began with the Disputa and, because of his relative inexperience, struggled to resolve issues of composition inherent in that work–i.e. that he expressed in these drawings a youthful difacilità that was in marked contrast to the facilità with which he executed that greater work, the School of Athens–or simply as an accident of survival. 55 55 See, for example, Joseph Crowe and Giovanni Cavalcasselle, Raphael: His Life and Works (1882-1885; reprint, Freeport, NY: Books for Libraries Press, 1972), who took the drawings for the Disputa as evidence of Raphael‟s youth and inexperience and traced, in them, the “traditions that were potent in their effect on him, when he first composed the Disputa,” including the “spirit of Fra Bartolommeo” and Leonardo da Vinci (pages 29-31), and who wrote of the Disputa as “the result of many compromises” and noted “the elements of disharmony which remained in the Disputa to the end” (page 37). Crowe and Cavalcasselle used the term “difficulties” on page 54: “The difficulties which required to be overcome in the Disputa….” The School of Athens was, in their words, “simply the finest, best balanced, and most perfect arrangement of figures that 242 While either or both of these are possible as contributing factors, it is also possible that a large number of the drawings executed in the preparation of the Disputa represent Raphael‟s process of developing an original and nuanced iconographic content. The earliest extant drawings for the Disputa–a preliminary modello now in the Royal Library at Windsor (figure 82) and a slightly later study divided between the Ashmolean Museum and the Musée Condé, Chantilly (figures 83 and 84)–establish the fundamental subject and composition of the Disputa, but for the most part do not so distinguish individual figures by attribute that any conclusive statements can be made with regard to the particular iconography of the scene. 56 It is not possible, in these works, to determine the identities of the figures who populate the lower register, even to distinguish them as classical or Christian, philosopher or theologian, and thus it is not possible to determine with any certainty whether Raphael intended, at this stage of production, the syncretic themes which would be developed in later studies and represented, ultimately, in the painted fresco. was ever put together by the genius of the Italian revival, and the scene in which the action is set is the most splendid display of monumental architecture that was ever made in the 16 th century” (page 59). Ames-Lewis noted that more drawings survive for the Disputa than for all other walls of the Stanza della Segnatura together, but, with the use of the conditional “if,” allowed that this may reflect survival rather than production–“If survival reflects production,”–and noted, further, that Raphael could have used the solution to the composition of he Disputa as a model for further work, in which likely case the comparison between frescoes in terms of difficulty and facilità would not properly apply. Ames-Lewis, Draftsman Raphael, 73. 56 The modello is Windsor, Royal Library, 12732, reproduced in Ames-Lewis, Draftsman Raphael, 79 fig. 86. The study is preserved as Oxford, Ashmolean Museum, 542 and Chantilly, Musée Condé, Fr VIII, 45–Ames-Lewis, Draftsman Raphael, 77 figs. 88 and 89, respectively. 243 The philosophers of the Disputa made their debut, as it were, in a modello for the left foreground of the composition, now in the collection of the British Museum, London. 57 (Figure 85) The figures in this drawing are suitably distinguished by the manner of their clothing, and two in particular may be plausibly identified as philosophers rather than clergy. One stands to the left of the page with two members of the clergy–a monk or friar and a bishop, who are so identified by the particulars of their costume. (Figure 86) The third member of this group, who turns his back to the viewer even as he steps deeper into the composition, wears the flowing robes of a philosopher rather than any manner of ecclesiastical habit or vestment and shows his curling locks to the viewer, in marked contrast to his companions, who wear a tonsure and a miter, respectively. This figure turns to face the friar at his side, but gestures into the composition with his left arm and, with his hand turned palm-up and fingers outstretched, he directs his companion to consider the upper register of the composition, implied beyond the boundary of the page. The hand, itself, is sufficiently detailed as to preclude any confusion or ambiguity over which figure to whom it belongs–the bishop seen between the philosopher and the friar seems to turn his right arm in that direction, also, but the ring and little finger of the hand are visible on its front side, respective to the viewer, and that pose can only be held by the philosopher. The friar, for his own part, reacts to the philosopher‟s gesture by raising his head toward heaven, or toward God in the register above, and spreading his own arms in revelation and surprise. 57 London, British Museum, 1900-8-24-108. Reproduced in Ames-Lewis, Draftsman Raphael, 79 pl. XI. 244 A second philosopher may be present in the London modello, standing to the right of another bishop, immediately behind the seated figure of Saint Gregory. (Figure 87) This figure appears to wear some form of head covering and presumably a robe. He is otherwise distinguished only by his beard, by his pose and placement in the composition, and by his interaction with the figure beside him, with the bishop. Indeed, the bearded figure could as easily be a Christian hermit or other loose affiliate of the Church as he could be a classical philosopher or any other manner of person. It is not primarily his physical appearance that is of significance here, but his gesture and the interaction with the bishop, for these elements would be retained by Raphael and given prominence elsewhere in the composition, even though this figure, himself, would disappear in subsequent studies and fail to show in the completed fresco. In the London modello, he is the figure who points directly upward, with one finger raised to heaven, and thus signals to the bishop, his companion, a knowledge of the Divine, above. Whether Christian or classical, he is here a bridge from the Chantilly study, which placed a similar figure, or a similar gesture, further in the background, but still on the same side of the composition and in the same position respective to the nearest Church Father (figure 88), and the completed fresco, in which the figure and gesture appear on the opposite side of the composition and actually involve one of the Fathers, who takes the pose and action of the surprised friar in the London modello. In the London modello, this figure may or may not be a philosopher. He is, however, a precursor to the Plato who appears in the final, painted version of the Disputa and the sign of Raphael‟s continuing interest in and development of a motif that would, in that final version of the scene, be of the utmost iconographic importance. 245 The London modello would seem to represent a middle or intermediate stage in the development of the iconography of the Disputa. The modello does appear to include a philosopher, perhaps more than one, among the theologians of the lower register and to present, in some manner, the theme of philosophy as a method of knowing or approaching the Christian God. If this theme is present in the London modello, it is not as fully defined as it would become in later drawings or in the final fresco. The London modello may include philosophers in the population of the lower register, but does not place them in any direct relationship with the Fathers of the Church, with their writings or doctrines, or with any theological pursuit or method associated with one or more of the Fathers in particular. Furthermore, if the figure in the background, beside the bishop and behind Pope Gregory, is, in fact, a precursor to Plato, his presence together with a proto- Aristotle on the same side of the Disputa, to the left of the altar, would suggest that Raphael had not yet developed the idea of dividing that scene and the other frescoes of the room according to a program in which one side of the Stanza della Segnatura would present figures and disciplines related to moral philosophy and the other would present a justification for philosophy and dialectic as a means toward comprehending the Divine. A final stage in the development of the iconography of the Disputa is represented by a series of drawings in which Raphael established the poses and positions of his philosophers, Aristotle and Plato, and the particulars of their interactions with the Christian figures of the Disputa, which is to say their very roles in the action and subject of the Disputa and in the greater iconographic program of the Stanza della Segnatura. Raphael reworked the left side of the Disputa, rearranging the figures present in the London modello such that the striding philosopher and the other, possible philosopher 246 were replaced by or conflated into a single figure standing at the head of the group of novices and directing their attention toward Gregory‟s books. Raphael crafted this figure in a series of drawing preserved in the collection of the Ashmolean museum, progressing from a quick figure sketch to more detailed studies of his drapery, (figures 89 and 90) and finally inserted him into the left foreground of the Disputa in a modello now in the Vienna Albertina. 58 (Figure 91) Also in this stage of iconographic development, Raphael transferred the upward pointing finger of the pseudo-philosopher in the London modello and the friar‟s gesture of surprise to the right side of the Disputa, where they were given ultimately to Plato and to Ambrose. Raphael experimented with these figures in a loose sketch also in the Vienna Albertina, trying both a bishop‟s miter and a full head of hair on the head of his pointing figure and rendering Ambrose as a passive and expressionless participant in the exchange. 59 (Figure 92) Raphael redrew Ambrose in greater detail and in a more expressive pose on another sheet. 60 (Figure 93) If he studied the pointing figure any further before the execution of the fresco, those studies do not survive. Conclusions 58 The studies are Oxford, Ashmolean 545 recto and verso and Oxford, Ashmolean 543, reproduced in Paul Joannides, The Drawings of Raphael: with a complete catalogue (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 187, cat. nos. 218r, 218v, and 219, respectively. The modello is Vienna, Albertina Bc. V, 224, reproduced in Joannides, Drawings of Raphael, 188, cat. no. 222. 59 Vienna, Albertina Bd. IV, 205, reproduced in Joannides, Drawings of Raphael, 184, cat. no. 207r. 60 Munich, Graphische Sammlung 2458, Joannides, Drawings of Raphael, 184, cat. no. 208r. 247 It is possible that the frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura were originally conceived as the decoration of a library space and that the subjects chosen for the decorative program, in its earliest stage of development, corresponded to the four faculties or divisions of knowledge that were particularly relevant or of interest to the patron, Pope Julius II, and deemed suitable for representation in his personal library. 61 The earliest surviving drawings from Raphael‟s involvement in the project do fit such a program, and the room has plausibly been identified as having served such a function. 62 Whether acting on his own authority, openly or under the guise of making compositional changes to the scenes he would paint, or on the advice of a patron or iconographic advisor, Raphael so transformed the scenes through changes made to the relative position of figures, to poses, and to iconographic attributes, that the final program was not divisive, not characterized by opposing populations or bounded faculties, not a cycle simply of Arts or Humanities or of the most notable exemplars of any of these, personified. Over the course of production, Raphael introduced new themes, new subjects, and ultimately executed a fresco cycle that was entirely unique, even revolutionary in subject matter–a statement on the concord of philosophy and theology and a depiction of the parallel paths of moral philosophy and dialectic as means toward approaching and knowing the Christian Godhead. 61 One may note, as Wickhoff, “Bibliothek Julius‟ II,” 53, that university libraries were more commonly organized into the categories of theology, philosophy, law, and medicine. Wickhoff gave little relevance to the difference between this ideal or prototypical organization and the faculties represented in the Stanza della Segnatura, perhaps because this distinction would have complicated his argument that the frescoes were organized according to the divisions and faculties represented in a library catalog. 62 Shearman, “The Vatican Stanze, Functions and Decoration.” 248 In recent years, scholars have sought the papal courtier or learned advisor responsible for the intricate and particular program of the Stanza della Segnatura. 63 The evidence presented in Raphael‟s preparatory drawings suggests that the iconographic program developed from its first inception through a series of small but significant changes in a gradual process of transformation. The general subjects represented in the frescoes–one wall, each, dedicated to theology, philosophy, poetry, and jurisprudence– must certainly have been prescribed by the patron or by his representative, but the particulars of representation, the precise identity of individual figures and their respective positions in each scene and within the greater scope of the iconographic program were apparently not prescribed. Only two possible scenarios explain the process by which these details and, indeed, the final iconographic program of the Stanza della Segnatura were established–either Raphael was, himself, responsible for both the artistic and the iconographic changes made to the Stanza della Segnatura program or a very active advisor worked with the artist at virtually every stage of development, suggesting subtle changes to figure poses, positions, and attributes, not only in response to presented modelli, but even between each individual figure study, compositional study, garzone sketch, modello, cartoon, and during the actual execution of the fresco. Francis Ames- Lewis refrained from passing judgment on whether Raphael or his patron was responsible in each other instance in which significant iconographic changes were made during the 63 See, for example, Ingrid Rowland‟s proposal that Tommaso Inghirami was Raphael‟s advisor. Rowland, “The Intellectual Background,” 158-59. 249 production of a major work. 64 Given a pattern of such occurrences, however, with the only constant being the involvement of the particular artist, it would seem that Raphael, himself, may have been active in developing, even transforming the iconography of his major works and may have been responsible for the particular iconography introduced into the program of the Stanza della Segnatura over the course of its preparatory production. If Raphael was, himself, responsible for introducing new themes into the iconographic program of the Stanza della Segnatura frescoes, he did not so transform the original program, here presumed, as to obscure or obliterate its essential content. On a basic level, the frescoes on the walls still retain their original subjects and represent the faculties of philosophy, theology, jurisprudence, and poetry. Indeed, one may even wonder whether a patron such as Julius II, active on so many other fronts, notorious for his intellectual restlessness, and, according to Vasari‟s account, preferring the sword to the book as his own attribute, would have been fully aware of the iconographic content of Raphael‟s frescoes, as painted, or whether he and his advisors would have continued to see in Raphael‟s work the project initially prescribed. 65 64 Ames-Lewis, Draftsman Raphael, 2-3. On the development of the Baglioni Entombment, see Ames-Lewis, Draftsman Raphael, 50-59, and on changes made to the typical composition and iconography of the Madonna and Child image, see Ames-Lewis, Draftsman Raphael, 59-65. 65 On Julius‟ restlessness during lectures or sermons, even by his own advisors, see John O‟Malley, Praise and Blame in Renaissance Rome: Rhetoric, Doctrine, and Reform in the Sacred Orators of the Papal Court (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1979), 27. Vasari described an encounter between Michelangelo and Julius in which the Pope rejected the idea of a book as an attribute in the monumental bronze portrait made for Bologna with the words, “Put a sword there, I know nothing about literature!” Vasari, Lives of the Artists, 438. 250 If the papal Person and Court were aware of the message and themes represented in Raphael‟s frescoes, this knowledge was not passed to future generations. A veritable army of impediments prevented later critics and scholars from recognizing the content of Raphael‟s program. Access to the room has not always been as readily attained as in the present day. The frescoes have been variously studied through reproductions–as prints, photographs, slides, and now digital images–by those at a distance from Rome or from the Papal Apartments, and, as a result, generations have come to know the individual scenes as individual scenes rather than as interwoven components of a seamless whole. Tourist guides, textbooks, and scholarly tomes have neatly divided the cycle into quadrants and described each portion in poetic ekphrasis and in manufactured sequence. The subjects and populations of the walls have been variously arranged in intellectual, theological, and artistic hierarchies, which fracture the program and promote the perception that each subject and population is the polar opposite of its “opposing” subject and population. Not least among these, a tradition of interpretation now stretches back over centuries, elucidating many aspects of the frescoes‟ content, context, and artistic significance, but also obscuring the origins of certain unfortunate elements that have, over centuries, become canonical. 66 Each of these factors has contributed in turn to a 66 Wickhoff, “Bibliothek Julius‟ II.” Wickhoff developed the idea first proposed by Anton Springer, that the frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura were composed according to an ideal Bücherkataloges. While there are aspects of this theory which are relevant and have merit, Wickhoff‟s study also proposed a hierarchal ordering of faculties that does not accord with the actual representation in the Stanza della Segnatura and may have contributed to the continuing perception that theology and philosophy are, in that space, opposed conceptually. Note also that Crowe and Cavalcasselle interpreted the greater number of surviving drawings for the Disputa as evidence of Raphael‟s artistic immaturity when working on this fresco and his difficulty with its composition, an assumption which has persisted in subsequent scholarship and has perpetuated not only 251 persistent tendency to overlook the actual representation of Raphael‟s frescoes. This is not so much the result of any refusal or inability to see or to comprehend the iconography of the Stanza della Segnatura program, but reflects an ever increasing separation from the context and conditions in which the syncretic themes there represented would be easily recognized. The frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura must be viewed in relation to the philosophical development of the Renaissance concepts of theologicae poetae and of prisci theologii, for these developing concepts shaped the representation of classical and Christian figures in that cycle of decoration. The frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura must be viewed directly, with an eye toward comprehending what is actually painted in the frescoes, themselves, whatever that may be and however that may relate to the scholarly tradition of interpretation. Furthermore, the frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura must be viewed in light of the iconographic changes and programmatic development made, likely by Raphael himself on his own authority, over the course of production, as each successive stage of drawn studies and modelli gave way successively to an ever more nuanced composition and iconography. So viewed, so studied, Raphael‟s work may properly be recognized as entirely unique, innovative, even radical in its departure from the traditions of library decoration and cycles of uomini famosi. Raphael‟s frescoes of the Stanza della Segnatura present a statement–his statement, Pico‟s statement, a distinctly High Renaissance statement–on the concord between classical their view that the School of Athens was a more perfect work than the Disputa but also the tendency to distinguish between the two frescoes in terms of iconography as well as perceived quality of execution. Crowe and Cavalcasselle, Raphael: His Life and Works, 29-31, 37, 54, 59. 252 philosophy and Christian theology, and a representation of the distinctly Renaissance view or perception that all of the cultures of Western history, classical included, fall within the greater scope of the Christian tradition. 253 Figure 63 – Raphael, School of Athens, fresco on the east wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 254 Figure 64 – Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figure group in the left foreground, Fresco on the East wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 255 Figure 65 – Raphael, Parnassus, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 256 Figure 66 – Raphael, Parnassus, detail of the figure group including Homer, Virgil, and Dante, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 257 Figure 67 – Raphael, Parnassus, detail of the figure group including Orpheus and Muses, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 258 Figure 68 – Raphael, Apollo and Marsyas from the vault of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 259 Figure 69 – Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the statue of Apollo, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 260 Figure 70 – Raphael, Poetry, from the vault of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 261 Figure 71 – Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figure of Aglaophemus, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 262 Figure 72 – Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figure of Pythagoras, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 263 Figure 73 – Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figure of Philolaus, fresco on the north wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 264 Figure 74 – Raphael, Disputa, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 265 Figure 75 – Raphael, Disputa, detail of the figures surrounding Dante, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 266 Figure 76 – Raphael, Disputa, Detail of the figure group surrounding Aristotle, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 267 Figure 77 – Raphael, Disputa, detail of the figure group surrounding Plato, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 268 Figure 78 – Raphael, School of Athens, detail of the figures of Plato and Aristotle, fresco on the south wall of the Stanza della Segnatura, the Vatican, Rome 269 Figure 79 – Marcantonio Raimondi, Parnassus, engraving after Raphael 270 Figure 80 – Raphael, Study for Parnassus, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford 271 Figure 81 – Raphael, Study for the central figure of Parnassus, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Lille 272 Figure 82 – Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, Royal Library, Windsor 273 Figure 83 – Raphael, Study for the Disputa, upper register, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford Figure 84 – Raphael, Study for the Disputa, lower register, Musée Condé, Chantilly 274 Figure 85 – Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, British Museum, London 275 Figure 86 – Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, detail of a figure group from the left side, British Museum, London 276 Figure 87 – Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, detail of the figures behind one of the seated Fathers, British Museum, London 277 Figure 88 – Raphael, Study for the Disputa, lower register, detail of a figure from the left side, Musée Condé, Chantilly 278 Figure 89 – Raphael, Study for the Disputa, two figures, including the standing philosopher, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford 279 Figure 90 – Raphael, Study for the Disputa, drapery study for the standing philosopher, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford 280 Figure 91 – Raphael, Modello for the Disputa, Albertina, Vienna 281 Figure 92 – Raphael, Study for the Disputa, Albertina, Vienna 282 Figure 93 – Raphael, Study for the Disputa, Graphische Sammlung, Munich 283 CONCLUSIONS The foregoing study is primarily interpretative in nature and offers new readings of certain works of art from the Italian Renaissance which have classical subjects and motifs either as their primary representation or included within a greater iconographic program. It is the central thesis of this dissertation that classical subjects and motifs were, in the literary theory and practice of the Italian Renaissance, interpreted allegorically for a perceived Christian content and were employed in the visual arts in order to gloss or reveal Christian doctrines through typological or anagogical allegory. Accordingly, the mythological scenes depicted in the socle of the Cappella Nova of Orvieto Cathedral are here identified as glosses on the developing Christian doctrine of Purgatory, Botticelli‟s Primavera is interpreted as a typological representation of the Virgin Mary‟s role in the transition from the period of the Old or Mosaic Law to the period of the New Dispensation, and the particular representation and placement of classical figures in the fresco cycle of the Vatican‟s Stanza della Segnatura are shown to contribute to a syncretic statement on the parallel paths of moral philosophy and dialectic as means toward approaching the Christian God. This study offers more than simply a series of new interpretations, however, but also an interpretative method and criteria for its application. I do not propose that every representation of classical subjects or motifs in the art of the Italian Renaissance is intended as a gloss on Christian doctrines or relates allegorically to the mysteries of the Christian faith, but that this is one of a number of possible modes of representation. Thus, this dissertation does not seek to replace the more established modes of interpretation 284 with a new system in which every work must be interpreted according to an imposed Christian viewpoint. Rather, this study shows that in specific instances, particularly those in which classical and Christian elements are juxtaposed within a greater program of decoration or those particular examples in which an ambiguity of representation suggests that an allegorical interpretation is warranted, a typological, anagogical, or syncretic interpretation may be appropriate to the work of art. This method or mode of interpretation does apply to the works described in this dissertation and does lead to plausible explanations of elements or aspects of works that are otherwise problematic. Other, similar works may yet prove to be typological, anagogical, or otherwise syncretic in theme or subject. Certain tondi painted by Signorelli and Michelangelo, for example, juxtapose the Madonna and Child with figures that are either overtly or ambiguously classical, and could, conceivably, gloss the nature or quality of the Virgin or of the Christ Child through a perceived quality or characteristic shared by or exemplified in the classical element included in the representation. 1 (Figures 94, 95, and 96) If these tondi are not discussed in the present study, this is only because I am not yet satisfied with scholarly attempts to explicate or interpret the classical elements, including my own. Further study may reveal a meaning or significance for 1 These are two tondi painted by Signorelli, now in the Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, and the Alte Pinakothek, Munich, and Michelangelo‟s celebrated Doni Tondo, also in the Uffizi. On Signorelli‟s Uffizi tondo, see Tom Henry and Laurence Kanter, Luca Signorelli: The Complete Paintings (New York: Rizzoli, 2002), 112, 173-74, with a critical bibliography. For the Munich tondo, Henry and Kanter, Luca Signorelli, 194. The Doni Tondo is variously described in most major works on Michelangelo and in more focused articles. On the Spinario and its appearance in Renaissance art, including all three tondi, Leonard Barkan, Unearthing the Past: Archaeology and Aesthetics in the Making of Renaissance Culture (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1999), 148-58. 285 these works that is in keeping with the subject of this dissertation. It is my greatest hope that further study will also bring to light other works like these and that, with each new example, the scope of this study may expand and its significance increase. It is possible, as well, that other works of art from the Italian Renaissance which depict classical figures or mythological subjects may prove to be typological or anagogical in the particulars of their representation and in intended message. Works like Botticelli‟s Pallas and the Centaur (figure 97) and Signorelli‟s Court of Pan (figure 98) continue to confound scholars and defy explanation. 2 Given that certain Renaissance artists, in particular instances, sought to gloss or convey the mysteries of the Christian faith through the representation of classical figures and themes, and that these very artists did precisely this in other works–Botticelli in the Primavera and Luca Signorelli in the cycle of mythological scenes that decorate the socle of Orvieto Cathedral–there is at least the possibility that they did the same in these works, as well. It has not been, and will not be the aim of this study to “elucidate” every mythological work of art from the Italian Renaissance, nor every work that is or may be typological, anagogical, or syncretic in subject or theme, but to explore the interpretative systems of the Renaissance and to pursue the significance of certain primary exemplars. The Pallas and Pan will not, here, be elucidated. May it suffice to say that in further studies, either by myself or by others who follow, the scholar of Renaissance art must, at the very least, consider the possibility 2 On Botticelli‟s Pallas and the Centaur, see Ronald Lightbown, Ronald, Sandro Botticelli, vol. 1, Life and Work (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1978), 82-85; Lightbown, Ronald, Sandro Botticelli, vol. 2, Complete Catalog (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1978), 57-60. On Signorelli‟s Court of Pan, see Henry and Kanter, Luca Signorelli, 172-73, with a critical bibliography. 286 that works such as these were composed with typological, anagogical, or syncretic themes in mind, though surely the prudent scholar will consider also those various other possibilities which remain–that the work could have been intended to serve a more literal or decorative purpose, or that some manner of personal, civic, moral, or philosophical allegory was coded in the figures and forms from Antiquity. This dissertation has considered, also, themes of continuity and change, above all in the medieval and Renaissance responses to classical Antiquity. It is a thesis of this dissertation that the expansion of the interpretative modes of Biblical exegesis to extra- Scriptural texts and a developing belief in the theological authority of certain classical poets and philosophers represent a fundamental shift in the post-Antique response to classical culture and are phenomena first manifest in the Italian Renaissance. Together with other contributing factors, these phenomena are at least partially responsible for the changes that characterize the use and representation of classical subjects and motifs in Renaissance art, as opposed to the use and representation of classical subjects and motifs in the art of the Middle Ages. Classical figures and subjects appear more frequently in Renaissance art than in medieval art. Classical subjects are represented in the art of the Italian Renaissance on a scale and in media primarily reserved for Christian subjects in the art of the Middle Ages. Further, Classical subjects are, in the Italian Renaissance, represented in their “true” forms–i.e. as known from classical Antiquity–and, to all appearances, in an aesthetic that owes more to Antique forms, literary as well as visual, than to medieval or Christian traditions. 3 If these are the oft repeated hallmarks of Italian 3 Aby Warburg, “Sandro Botticelli‟s Birth of Venus and Spring,” in The Renewal of Pagan Antiquity (Los Angeles, CA: Getty Research Institute for the History of Art and the Humanities, 1999), 112-142; Rensselaer Lee, Ut pictura poesis; the humanistic theory of painting (New York: W. W. Norton, 287 Renaissance art, to these may be added one other distinction, which may be more fundamental than these others and perhaps even their essential cause. That distinction, which is the very essence of this dissertation, is this: that artists and patrons of the Italian Renaissance, believing in a universal, Christian history which, in their perception, encompassed and included classical culture as well as the Judeo-Christian tradition, used classical figures and forms, subjects and motifs in art in order to gloss and even to reveal the most profound mysteries of the Christian faith. 1967); Charles Dempsey, The Portrayal of Love: Botticelli’s Primavera and Humanist Culture at the Time of Lorenzo the Magnificent (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992). 288 Figure 94 – Luca Signorelli, Madonna and Child, Alte Pinakothek, Munich 289 Figure 95 – Luca Signorelli, Madonna and Child, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence 290 Figure 96 – Michelangelo, Doni Tondo, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence 291 Figure 97 – Botticelli, Pallas and the Centaur, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence 292 Figure 98 – Luca Signorelli, Court of Pan, formerly Kaiser Friedrich Museum, Berlin (Destroyed 1945) 293 SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Allen, Don Cameron. 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work_bgljpqmhgjgqhgmo5odwxffzui	----	Res aut res publica: The Evidence from Italian Renaissance Manuscripts and Their Owners Religions 2012, 3, 210–227; doi:10.3390/rel3020210 religions ISSN 2077-1444 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Article Res aut res publica: The Evidence from Italian Renaissance Manuscripts and Their Owners John M. McManamon, S. J. History Department, Loyola University, Chicago, IL 60660, USA; E-Mail: jmcmana@luc.edu Received: 31 March 2012; in revised form: 10 April 2012 / Accepted: 11 April 2012 / Published: 11 April 2012 Abstract: This paper examines a key tension in Renaissance culture as reflected in the origin and provenance of manuscript books. Were Renaissance manuscripts the private property of individual owners or the common wealth of a lettered public? Even an officially public library could not escape that tension, whether through abuse of borrowing privileges or plundering of vulnerable holdings. Market forces encouraged theft, while impoverished scholars used their knowledge to supplement meager incomes. Alternatively, a sense of common wealth is reflected in an ex-libris indicating that a codex belonged to an individual ―and his friends.‖ Book collecting, finally, becomes a helpful clue in discerning to what a scholar is committed. Some Renaissance clergymen used culture as a way to promote their ecclesiastical careers, while others collected and shared manuscripts as a way to promote tolerance. Keywords: renaissance; manuscripts; humanism; libraries; private property; common wealth ―Some <scholars> ... may even decide to read <the Iter Italicum>, just as I have enjoyed reading catalogues and inventories of manuscripts.‖ 1 Paul Oskar Kristeller Over a period of years in the recent past, I did read Kristeller‘s Iter Italicum. I found the experience exciting in a way that Carlo Ginzburg might appreciate: the historian as detective who unearths clues and follows where they lead ([2], pp. 96–125). Along the way, one encounters a tension related to Renaissance manuscripts: should one treat them as private property (res) or a common wealth 1 [1], 1, p. xxiv. I am grateful to the Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies at UCLA and Loyola University Chicago for generously supporting my research. OPEN ACCESS Religions 2012, 3 211 (res publica)? Take the history of Cardinal Bessarion‘s books, bequeathed to the Venetian Republic for public use. From the start, the Venetian government set conditions for the loan of those books: that one be a Venetian resident, provide a valuable item as security for the loan and return the book within eight days. Despite such stringent conditions, there were soon problems. In 1494, the government decreed a fine of 500 ducats for recalcitrant borrowers. In the early sixteenth century, the Procurators of San Marco, custodians of the library, added a new condition: the loan would occur only when three- quarters of their number approved. By 1506, the Procurators were ordered to stop all lending, get back in one week‘s time all books that were out or apply the 1494 penalty of 500 ducats. Nonetheless, lending continued, and matters did not improve. When Andrea Navagero (1483–1529) served as librarian from 1516 to 1524, he actually brandished an apostolic Breve threatening excommunication for those who did not promptly return loaned books. The sanction had a precedent in the 1462 bull that Pius II issued to protect the new library that the Franciscan Giacomo della Marca (1393–1476) established in Monteprandone ([3], p. xxviii). Navagero‘s recourse to papal intervention means that he too had problems in getting borrowers to return books. And Navagero may have brought problems on himself. A letter that the Cretan scholar, Markos Mousouros (ca. 1470–1517), sent to Navagero on 8 May 1517 reveals questionable choices by borrowers and the librarian. For at least the second time, Mousouros emphasized to Navagero that he had evidence proving that individuals were stealing books from the library and selling them for personal gain. For example, the nephew of Venice‘s recently deceased Grand Chancellor, Francesco Fasiol (d. 1517), had purloined a copy of Apsyrtus‘s treatise on medicinal remedies for horses and then sold it to the bookseller Francesco Pozzi. While browsing in Pozzi‘s store, nestled among the apothecary shops selling spices in Venice (la spezzeria), Mousouros spotted the book, bought it, took it home and there recognized the clues that indicated its true provenance. The margins of the book still had Greek notes in Bessarion‘s hand, and the leaf where Bessarion often wrote a table of contents had been cut out. When Mousouros confronted Pozzi with the evidence, he confessed that he had bought the book from Fasiol‘s nephew. Mousouros next confronted Chancellor Fasiol, who was indignant and began surreptitiously to run down Mousouros‘s good name. Books stolen from the Marciana not only found their way to Venice‘s booksellers but to artisans as well. The local barber near the church of Sant‘Apollinare returned to Mousouros a copy of Bessarion‘s own In calumniatorem Platonis, stolen once again by Fasiol‘s nephew, who rightly assumed that he could sell the manuscript to the barber. Obviously, a barber would want a copy of Bessarion‘s defense of Plato in order to assist his son‘s study of Greek at Mousouros‘s school. Amid the darkness of the avarice of the human spirit shines the light of a barber‘s son, Domenego, seeking to become proficient in Greek. Because Mousouros did not have time to attend to the recovered books, he ordered that they be put with others he had left for safe keeping with his student, Carlo Cappello (1492–1546). Without telling Mousouros, some of his disciples (egline) put the books in cloth containers and sent them with Mousouros‘s other baggage to Rome. Mousouros assured Navagero that he still had the books and that they were ―at your disposition‖ (al commando vostro). A diffident Navagero added a note to his copy of the letter, indicating that Alberto Pio da Carpi (1475–1531), another former student and lifelong friend of Mousouros, had come into possession of those books. Navagero seems to tip us off that Mousouros was currying favor with a patron or making his own profit on Marciana books. Religions 2012, 3 212 Other evidence indicates that Mousouros and Navagero respected the Marciana as a public institution. While Mousouros conducted negotiations in Rome to obtain for the Marciana the library of the Venetian cardinal, Domenico Grimani (1461–1523), Navagero worked to keep its books available to the scholarly public even in the absence of a permanent facility for their storage. In this exchange, however, both seem engaged in that perennial sport of covering for their actions. Mousouros was responding to an inquiry of Navagero about missing books, his explanation for the way the books reached Rome seems flimsy and he works to deflect blame by incriminating Navagero. Navagero never seemed properly concerned about Mousouros‘s repeated warnings that Fasiol and his nephew had abused borrowing privileges, and Navagero did nothing during Fasiol‘s lifetime to end the abuse. The librarian seemed cowed by powerful politicians. When notified of the theft of Bessarion‘s defense of Plato, Navagero told Mousouros not to worry about that particular book because the library had ―an infinite number of copies.‖ Though a bit short of infinite, the 1474 inventory of Bessarion‘s library listed four Greek copies and seven Latin translations of the entire work or portions thereof. 2 What ultimately happened to the two stolen books? The trail has led us to the library of Alberto Pio da Carpi and from there might logically lead to the Biblioteca Estense in Modena. But Lotte Labowsky has argued that the copy of Apsyrtus cannot be found there or anywhere else, since the only copy of Bessarion‘s In calumniatorem Platonis presently in Modena and having Alberto Pio‘s library for its provenance (Est. gr. 125) is missing the marginalia of Bessarion that Mousouros described. Labowsky is therefore inclined to identify the copy briefly in the barber‘s possession with a codex now in the Vatican Library (Vat. gr. 1435) because the Vatican codex does have additions and corrections in Bessarion‘s hand. I would observe that the precise wording of Mousouros is not clear on the extent of Bessarion‘s notations: ―having recognized some Greek letters of Bessarion in the margin‖ (havendo io recognosciuto certe lettere grece de Bessarione in margine). 3 Alas, the following centuries likewise manifest cases of insiders, who exploited their position to pilfer manuscripts or portions thereof, especially as their market value increased. From a Jesuit perspective, Cardinal Zelada (1717–1801) brought dishonor on his given name, Francesco Saverio, by supporting the suppression of the Society of Jesus and then plundering the Jesuits‘ Roman residences for books and other valuable objects. 4 In the nineteenth century, two Greeks climbed to the monastery of Vatopedi on Mount Athos, recognized the importance of a codex there that conserved rare texts of early Greek geographers and cut out some folios from the codex. Aubrey Diller identified the culprits: the first was Minoides Mynas, who visited Vatopedi in 1841 under commission of the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris and left among his private papers seven leaves from Vatopedi 655 that the Bibliothèque Nationale acquired (Suppl. gr. 443A); the second was the ―notorious Constantine Simonides,‖ who gained entrée to Athos through an uncle who was an abbot there and sold the leaves that he stole from Vatopedi to the British Museum (Add. 19391). In a rather understated way, Aubrey 2 [4], 6, pp. 306–10; [5], pp. 318–19, 367–70; [6], pp. 63–64, 76–80, 115, 139–42, 486, 490; [7], pp. 100–2; and [8], pp. 329–30. All citations from Mousouros‘s letter are from [6], pp. 139–41. 3 [6], p. 79. See also [9], pp. 1–24 (Biblioteca Estense), p. 49 (a copy of Apsyrtus, dated s. XV-XVI, in Roma, Biblioteca dell‘Accademia dei Lincei, cod. Nic. Ross. 358 [43.D.82]). 4 [10], pp. 118–20; [11], pp. 64–65, 67–89; and [12], pp. 184, 209, 219–20 n. 23. Religions 2012, 3 213 Diller describes Vatopedi cod. 655 as ―somewhat dismembered.‖ 5 Mynas and Simonides had such a fascination with old Greek manuscripts that they would forge the ones they could not steal. In that same century, Guglielmo Libri (1803–69) deservedly earned the title of ―master manuscript thief,‖ exploiting the trust of the Italian and French governments to steal their codices and sell them to the earl of Ashburnham. In another classic understatement, Libri wrote his mother in 1835 and informed her that ―the more I age and work, the more I enjoy old books.‖ 6 From his more cautious beginnings in Florence, Libri gradually utilized his eye for valuable antiques and his talent for speculating on the book market to quicken his collecting. He eventually convinced the French government to catalog all manuscripts in France‘s provincial libraries, and he began visiting those libraries as a director of the initiative. Libri stole manuscripts from libraries in at least nine different cities, including Autun, for which he introduced the seminary library in the first volume of the Catalogue générale. When Libri offered manuscripts for sale to the British Museum, the Museum‘s librarians, while examining his collection in Paris, were tipped off to Libri‘s shady character, penchant to speculate and rumored theft of codices. Even after receiving that information, they still urged the British government to approve funds for the purchase. But the government did not feel that it could afford Libri‘s asking price. The true hero of the Libri saga, Leopold Delisle (1826–1910), concluded: ―Enlightened men of all nations should agree to ostracize library pirates, who clandestinely carry abroad the fruits of their rapine, and <they> should combine to prevent any traffic in such articles‖ ([19], p. 285). There is, at times, a curious disjunction between the quality of manuscript books commissioned by the richest patrons and the quality of the written texts conserved in those books. If the d‘Este family did commission a luxury codex now in the Marciana (Marc. lat. XI.101), they received a book richly decorated with white-vine bordering and their own coat of arms and poorly written by a scribe whom Pietro Zorzanello (1883–1951) characterized as a ―uomo proprio sfigurati,‖ which one might roughly render, ―a man truly to be numbered among the morons.‖ Onto the folios of that beautiful container of quality parchment the scribe wrote a text filled with errors in rather crude letters (literis crassioribus). Zorzanello perhaps chose his words carefully: humanists of the Renaissance coined a diminutive form of crassior, ―crassiusculus,‖ for someone obtuse or mediocre ([21], 2, pp. 3 and 7; [22], p. 138). The same dynamic of poor copying probably took a few years off the life of Ciriaco d‘Ancona (1391– 1452). Ciriaco paid a scribe, Domenico di Cassio da Narni, to make two luxury copies of his letter on the battle of Ponza as gifts for wealthy patrons. At the last minute, due to Domenico‘s sloppy work, Ciriaco himself had to correct the texts before giving them to his supporters. Perhaps Ciriaco gambled that someone like Cardinal Giordano Orsini (ca. 1360–1438) would be happy to put the luxury codex on display in his home and never read it closely enough to notice those awkward, fifteenth-century equivalents of the ―white out.‖ Because Ciriaco found himself pressed for time, he failed to catch 5 [13], pp. 228–29; [14], pp. 177–79; [15], pp. 10–14; and [16], pp. 40–41, with quotation. 6 [17], pp. 53 n. 2 (letter of 26 May 1835): ―... Quanto più invecchio e lavoro mi piacciono i libri antichi e sono contento solo quando perduto nei secoli passati oblio il presente e non preveggo l‘avvenire.‖ In addition to [17], pp. 59–106, see also [18], pp. 5–21; [19], pp. 279–90; and [20], pp. 161–79, 202–31, 320–31. Religions 2012, 3 214 several errors and could not, therefore, assure a text whose accuracy would reflect his esteem for his patrons. 7 Even a zibaldone (family hodgepodge book), at the opposite end of the spectrum from the luxury parchment codex, might still be plundered as an object of perceived value. During the sack of Volterra in 1472, a local humanist notary, Biagio Lisci (ca. 1423-after 10 Dec. 1517), had his family journal taken as booty by a soldier named Lisandrino. When the rapacious Lisandrino eventually realized that he had not looted an illuminated Dante, he sold the Lisci zibaldone for four soldi to the grammarian Luca di Antonio Bernardi da San Gimignano (d. after 1 June 1499). Luca was a personal friend of Lisci but at first assuaged any pangs of conscience for the purchase by apparently concluding that, in this instance, two wrongs did make a right. At one time, Lisci had borrowed Luca‘s copy of the Liber de temporibus written by the humanist Matteo Palmieri (1406–75), but Lisci had never returned the book and apparently had lost it. There is a clue, however, that the grammarian Luca later experienced a moment of authentic remorse: the Lisci zibaldone is now part of the manuscript collection of the Biblioteca Comunale Guarnacciana in Volterra (cod. 5031). Perhaps Luca gave the journal back to its owner, a lifetime resident of Volterra, or perhaps he traded the journal for another book ([23], pp. 240– 41; [24], pp. 25–28). Down to our own times, scholars have speculated on the value of manuscripts first located during their research, utilizing legitimate and black markets. Ludwig Bertalot (1884–1960) had such an unstable income that he occasionally had to use his keen knowledge of manuscripts to support himself. In 1936, Bertalot recruited his American friend, Dean Lockwood (1883–1965), to serve as a go- between with Harvard University, whom Bertalot hoped would buy manuscripts he then owned. When Harvard did not do so, Lockwood himself bought one codex in 1946, sold it to William H. Allen (1918–97) the following year, and Allen sold it to the University of Pennsylvania Library. 8 Bertalot‘s behavior in the case of the codex Bolleanus seems less above board. After Remigio Sabbadini introduced Bertalot to Luigi Cesare Bollea (1877–1933), a Torinese historian, Bertalot recognized the value of a Renaissance miscellany that Bollea owned, and, in 1929, Bertalot purchased it. When forced by circumstances to sell the codex, Bertalot split it into two parts to maximize his profit, selling one piece to the national library in Berlin and another to the University Library in Frankfurt. However, until his death in 1960, Bertalot never revealed the division. In 1964, Kristeller and Giuseppe Billanovich identified the portion in Berlin and realized what Bertalot had done, which Billanovich characterized as a ―regrettable, commercial decision‖ (con infelice, commerciale idea). Ursula Jaitner- Hahner had to follow a clue, a note on one of the thousands of index cards that comprised Bertalot‘s incipit catalogue, in order to identify the second piece of the manuscript (―Codex Frankfurt [olim 7 Roma, Biblioteca dell‘Accademia dei Lincei, cod. Nic. Rossi 214 (35.E.27) (copied by Domenico di Cassio da Narni with autograph additions and corrections); and London, British Library, cod. Harley 4088 (copied by Domenico di Cassio da Narni with autograph additions). See [23], pp. 236–40; and [24], pp. 16–19. 8 Philadelphia, Univ. of Pennsylvania Library, cod. Lat. 7, with a note on fol. 105 that the Milanese humanist Lancino Curti (ca. 1460–1512) owned the codex in 1484. On the codex, see [1], 5, p. 372a-b; [25], pp. 247–52; [26], p. 83; [27], pp. 107–8; [28], 1, p. 253; and [29], 1, p. 154 (no. 2112). With the patronage of Ludovico Sforza (il Moro), the Lombard humanist Curti claimed to have written over 60,000 works. See [30], 31, pp. 487–88; and [31], pp. 10–11, 137–38, 190–203. Religions 2012, 3 215 Bollea], fol. 124v‖). To assure maximum value for both halves, Bertalot cut out the leaf with the fifteenth-century possessors‘ notes, cut the leaf in two and pasted one possessor‘s note into each half. 9 There seems no more eloquent image of the privatization of manuscripts books than the coffin-like boxes in which the self-described Vellomaniac, Thomas Phillipps (1792–1872), kept his more than 60,000 codices ([32], pp. 119–30; [33], pp. 91–94). As his personal property, the manuscripts were certainly dead to the world. By contrast, collective instincts are apparent in the ex libris of Renaissance intellectuals like Bartolomeo Fonzio (Della Fonte, 1446–1513), Angelo Poliziano (1455–94) and Francesco Pandolfini (1470–1520) in Florence, Giovanni Melzi (d. after 1482) in Milan and the Hellenophile Arcangelo in Rome. From the start, they labeled their books the property of themselves and their friends. 10 The Venetian humanist Leonardo Giustiniani (ca. 1386–1446) was among the first to employ such an ex libris, crafted in, admittedly, pedantic Greek. 11 Giustiniani likely knew the proverb that Plato, Aristotle and Cicero, among others, cited and that, in 1508, Erasmus awarded the honor of first place among his Adages: ―all possessions are common to friends.‖ 12 Erasmus appreciated that adages constituted the ideal medium for his cherished message of a common intellectual patrimony, both classical and Christian. The adage is a literary form that, by nature, can never be private property. Because Kristeller saw the Iter Italicum as a consciously collective enterprise, he dedicated the book to the librarians of Italy and the rest of the world. His characterization of the volumes as a ―cooperative enterprise‖ was not false modesty. Kristeller did quote a remark that his friend Robert Branner made, to the effect that Kristeller‘s research team consisted mainly of his right and left arms 9 [27], pp. 99–111. Bertalot drafted but never sent a letter to Helmut Boese in Berlin, in which he revealed the location of the second piece. At about the same time that Jaitner-Hahner found Bertalot‘s notes, she received an inquiry from the University librarian in Frankfurt about incipits in cod. Lat. octavo 136. Prior to the publication of the Iter, vol. 3, Jaitner-Hahner informed Kristeller of her discovery so that he could include the information there. 10 In general, see [34], pp. 87–99. For Fonzio‘s formula, ―Bartholomaei Fontii et amicorum,‖ see Caroti and Zamponi, 30. Caroti and Zamponi note that Poliziano and Fonzio‘s heir, Francesco Pandolfini, used a similar formula. Milano, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, cod. Sussidio H 52, belonged to Melzi (―Iste liber est mei Iohannis Meltii et amicorum‖). Ambrosiana Sussidio H 52 is a composite codex dating from the mid-fifteenth century, has at least two hands, later entered the library of Count Donato Silva (1690–1779) and was purchased by the Ambrosiana from the bookseller Vergani. Melzi was a doctor of law and wealthy Sforza courtier, who wrote on ethics and Christian morality. We may know the name of one of Melzi‘s friends, Giovanni dei Pescatori, who left a borrower‘s note in Melzi‘s humanist miscellany. Apparently, Pescatori had more than one friend who owned manuscripts since other codices bear that same borrower‘s note written in vernacular dialect. See [1], 1, 347b-48a; [36], pp. 4–5; and [37], pp. 229–31, 234, 245–52. Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, cod. Vat. lat. 2936, has a bilingual possessor‘s note on fol. 1, indicating that the book belonged to Archangelus and his friends (―Hic liber est Archangeli ‖). The Vatican codex was written by two hands in the first half of the fifteenth century. See [1], 2, p. 357b; [29], 1, p. 202 (no. 2783); and [38], 2, pp. 315–16. It has form letters and orations of Antonius de Pizzinis Padovenis and a speech of Antonio Carabello (d. after 1436), who taught rhetoric at the University of Padua from 1434–36. On Carabello, see [39], pp. 470–74; and [40], 19, pp. 300–1. 11 [34], p. 93, cites Giustiniani‘s bilingual motto: ― Leonardi Iustiniani veneti υ υ .‖ 12 [34], pp. 93–94; and [41], pp. 4–5, 25–32, 67–68, 76–77, 81–108, 122–30, 138–41, 144–45, 148–52, 164, 168. For Adagiorum chiliades 1.1.1, see [42], pp. 84–86; English translation, [43], pp. 29–30. Religions 2012, 3 216 ([1], 1, p. xxv; 3, pp. xviii-xix). Though Kristeller granted that the cataloging demanded persistence on his own part, he wanted the volumes to foster a shift from the individual adventure of scholarly research to collaboration on a broader scale. He therefore exhaustively acknowledged the assistance he received from scholars and institutions and granting agencies and, of course, librarians. Kristeller‘s emphasis on cooperation explains his dismay for a lack of solidarity among a minority of persons with whom he dealt. In the preface to volume 6, Kristeller revealed that ―there were a few librarians who failed to cooperate, and I prefer not to mention them‖ ([1], 1, p. xxii). In addition, some private individuals who owned manuscripts permitted Kristeller to see them but would not allow him to reveal their location. In a choice that would please More and Erasmus, Kristeller put those manuscripts in Utopia. Scholars of any era might readily give the award for ―Exemplary Manuscript Collector‖ to Christopher Columbus‘s illegitimate son, Hernando Colón (1488–1539). Generally, when Colón bought a book–and he bought many–he recorded the date and place of purchase, the costs to him in the local currency and the date(s) on which he consulted the book thereafter [44]. The award for ―Avid Manuscript Collector‖ should go, perhaps, to the Venetian Emmanuele Antonio Cicogna (1789–1868), who saved as many as 5,000 manuscripts from ruin. While hunting for the surviving portions of the library of the librettist Lorenzo Antonio da Ponte (1749–1838), Cicogna tracked down an autograph manuscript of Camillo Contarini (1644–1722) that he purchased from a cheese and butter vendor and a thick bundle of Arsenal papers from a delicatessen owner. It was not that there was a sudden burst of interest among grocers in Venice for early modern texts. Rather, the enterprising shopkeepers had discovered that old parchment leaves comprised a sturdy wrapping for food items. In fact, stacks of parchment sold for 6 soldi a pound. 13 Imagine your due etti of prosciutto from San Daniele wrapped in a public letter of Leonardo Bruni. Perhaps the best clue for contextualizing a Renaissance manuscript comes by pinning down its original owner. Though luxury illuminated codices make for successful exhibits, the majority of Renaissance codices are the working miscellanies of students of letters. When we follow the books of the students of Giovanni Lamola (ca. 1405–49), a product himself of an excellent rhetorical education, we appreciate better that foreigners studying in Italy and books copied for them diffused humanism to other parts of Europe, especially the Rhine and Danube regions of the German Empire. Lamola had several humanist mentors, including Gasparino Barzizza, Vittorino da Feltre, Francesco Filelfo and Guarino. His life unwound in pendular fashion: he moved away from his hometown of Bologna to pursue pedagogical opportunities elsewhere only to move back after a time and resume his lecturing at the Studium. Late in 1447 and early in 1448, while Lamola was at Bologna and not long before he died, he taught the humanities to a small but influential group of German students, who then transmitted humanist culture to their native cities. Johann Roth (1426–1506) fondly remembered Lamola as praeceptor meus after studying at Bologna in the 1440s, and the future prince-bishop first developed his lifelong interest in the humanities at Lamola‘s lectures ([46], pp. 351–53, 363; [47], pp. 403–405; [48], pp. 415–18). Hans Pirckheimer (ca. 1415–92) studied with Lamola, attributed his love for humanism to Lamola and 13 [7], pp. 327, 343. For the Da Ponte codices formerly owned by Leopold von Ranke and now at Syracuse University, see [45], pp. xi-xiii, 1–109 (codices 2, 3, 7, 15, 20, 47, 50, 63, 65, 70, 72, 73, 76, 81, 83, 104). Religions 2012, 3 217 began assembling at Bologna under Lamola‘s tutelage the massive compilation of texts in British Library codex Arundel 70. 14 Iohannes Heller (ca. 1414–1475/8) met Lamola in Bologna and put together his own compendia of epistolary, poetic and rhetorical models, now München Universitätsbibliothek Quarto 768 (terminus ante quem of 1452 and likely finished in Italy in 1450) and München Staatsbibliothek Clm 6721 (modeled on the former). 15 Hermann Schedel (1410–85) made one of Heller‘s compendia (Universitätsbibliothek Quarto 768) the nucleus of his own, now München Staatsbibliothek Clm 504, and Schedel then added in his hand the writings of Lamola and other authors active at Bologna at mid-century (Niccolò Perotti, Nicolò Volpe, Battista da San Pietro). Among the texts added, Schedel chose to include Lamola‘s panegyric for Jerome delivered in 1442. 16 Humanist miscellanies resist rigorous taxonomy. Some of the texts copied into them perforce reflect serendipity, put there to demonstrate the acquired skills of the redactor himself or reflect that redactor‘s peculiar interests. However, a core of the works consistently included in multiple codices may well represent a sort of evolving textbook of rhetorical pedagogy that traces its roots to the teaching of Barzizza and Guarino and early included speeches of Leonardo Giustiniani, Leonardo Bruni and Poggio Bracciolini. For example, after studying in Italy for fourteen years, Albrecht von Eyb (1420–75) put together a compendium of model texts that quickly found its way into print. By 1459, von Eyb had completed a first redaction of his Margarita poetica, whose title has likely misled some scholars. He originally went to Italy to study law under Catone Sacco (1394/7–1463) at the University of Pavia. When Sacco moved from Pavia to Bologna, von Eyb followed him. In Bologna, von Eyb met Lamola and joined the little circle that included Pirckheimer and Heller. The fruits of von Eyb‘s encounter with Italian humanism appear in the Margarita poetica, which Gianni Zippel has characterized as a manual of rhetoric whose model speeches were all fifteenth-century compositions, except for one sermon by Jerome. Among the contemporary speeches, von Eyb, like Schedel, chose to include Lamola‘s panegyric of Jerome. 17 So, Italian humanists of the Barzizza and Guarino schools taught eloquence based upon contemporary models, and Jerome afforded a measure of sacral protection for their rhetorical pedagogy. The sermon of Jerome that von Eyb chose to include is an apology for the value of rhetoric for believers. Though Jerome acknowledges in the sermon that one can proclaim the 14 [49], pp. 104, 113–14, 236–38 (Lamola‘s letter to Pirckheimer from late 1448); and [50], 7, pp. 701–2. The grandson of Hans, Willibald Pirckheimer (1475–1530), had Albrecht Dürer design a bookplate for him with the inscription ―Sibi et amicis‖; see [34], pp. 97–98. 15 [51], 1, pp. 1–75; and [52], pp. 75–76. Belloni questions whether the Iohannes adolescens whom Lamola mentions in his letter to Pirckheimer was Heller, given that Heller was ca. 34 years old at the time and had earned degrees in arts and in civil and canon law. I concur with scholars who believe that Lamola does refer to Heller. Lamola might be using adolescens in a Roman sense or as a way to tease the older Heller. 16 [53], p. 370; [54], pp. 411–19, 439–58; and [55], pp. 5–7. München, Staatsbibliothek, cod. Clm 504 has at least seven orations by Lamola. On humanist pedagogy at Bologna in the second half of the fifteenth century, see also [56], pp. 209–10, 216–19. 17 [53], pp. 378–79; and [57], 1, pp. 182–83, who notes the presence of the autograph in Eichstätt, Staatsbibliothek, cod. 633. Sottili remarks that, in the Margarita, von Eyb also acknowledged the impact of lectures on rhetoric he attended at the University of Pavia; see [58], p. 131. For von Eyb‘s thinking on women and whether a man should marry, see [59], pp. 734–49. Religions 2012, 3 218 Christian Gospel effectively without any formal rhetorical training, he proposes that, by using rhetorical skills, one will evangelize in a way that deepens the impact of the message and causes it to take lasting root in the hearts of believers. Thanks to Albrecht von Eyb, Giovanni Lamola, Pierpaolo Vergerio and other humanists, we have acquired a sense of the importance of Jerome as the patron saint of humanist rhetoricians. A remote echo of that Renaissance cult may have led Charles William Dyson Perrins (1864–1958) to invest the profits from his manufacture of Worcestershire sauce in a luxury Quattrocento Jerome codex. The codex illustrates that every manuscript book has its own personal history hinted at by clues left therein. 18 This particular codex has a collection of Jerome‘s letters that the scribe Giovanni Grasso di Carpi completed copying in Ferrara on 28 February 1467. No expense was spared: Jerome‘s letters are written on parchment in an antiqua characterized by its small corpus and long descenders. The first folio has an interlacing white vine border on red, blue, green and gold background. Key elements like the bordering of green leaves along the bottom and right side of that folio are edged in gold ([60], 1, pp. 179–82 and 2, plate 73; [61], 3, pp. 57–61). In the midst of a wreath of green leaves, the illuminator of the manuscript placed a coat of arms featuring a lion rampant, which leads to a first question: whose coat of arms is it? Sir George Warner suggests two possibilities: the Acciaiuoli family or the family of Grasso himself. If the coat of arms belongs to the Acciaiuoli family–and Warner sees a clear resemblance to the Acciaiuoli arms–then why did Grasso sell the manuscript to someone else two years after he had finished it? Logically, it would go to the Acciaiuoli as commissioners. So Warner feels more inclined to attribute the coat of arms to the Grasso family because their shield also featured a lion rampant. The two-year lag in sale may also be indicative: the Acciaiuoli may have turned down the completed work and it took Grasso a while to sell a book decorated with their coat of arms, or perhaps, after a time, he decided to turn his labor to profit and could only sell a codex with his own family shield to an eager collector like Battista Panetti (ca. 1439–97). Mystery 2: why did the notary son of a family with a coat of arms choose to earn a living copying luxury manuscripts? We do know that Giovanni Grasso copied other codices: Ovid‘s Fasti in 1460, Horace and Propertius in 1461, Virgil in 1464, Guarino‘s translation of Strabo in 1470 and a collection of humanist poetry in the codex Bevilacqua (Est. lat. 1080) ([60]; [61]; [62], p. 128; [1], 1, pp. 383b– 84a, and 4, pp. 180b–81a). We also know a good deal about the copying of the Jerome manuscript thanks to Grasso‘s subscription. He finished his work in the home of Niccolò da Campo, he paid homage to the duke of Ferrara, Borso d‘Este (1413–71), he offered an invocation to Jesus, Mary, Saints George and Maurelius (patrons of Ferrara) and Saints Jerome and Peter Martyr (patrons of Giovanni) and he ended with a prayer that his heavenly patrons guide him on the path of good (iter bonum!), defend his soul from the attack of the ancient enemy and his body from a deceitful tongue or a royal assault. 19 Giovanni Grasso therefore had a personal devotion to Jerome, whose works he 18 [32], p. 3: ―The bibliographer‘s ideal would be to compel each and every volume to tell its own history; the clues by which this goal may in many cases be attained would not displease the mind of the modern reader of mystery-fiction, and the brain of an ideal bibliographer, tracing the pedigree of a manuscript, works not infrequently in the same grooves as the ideal detective of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.‖ 19 The phrase ―deceitful tongue‖ (lingua dolosa) occurs in Psalm 120:2 (Vulg. Ps. 119:2). Religions 2012, 3 219 copied, flattered the d‘Este rulers of Ferrara, where he lived, and abused the hospitality of friends, whose study he littered with spilled ink and torn parchment. Mystery 3: what king would care enough about a scribe working in the home of Niccolò da Campo to attack him there? Mitto in silentium. Evidence establishes that, once Giovanni had finished copying the letters, it took him almost two years to sell the codex. Text on the flyleaf mentions a cashier‘s note (nota de cassa) from 17 February 1469 recorded in an Argenti bank register, likely bound in red. The evidence indicates that Battista Panetti had three days earlier paid Michele Argenti for the purchase of the Jerome codex copied by Grasso and for a Suetonius codex copied by another scribe. Anton von Euw and Joachim Plotzek suggest the possibility that Grasso used his finished codices to obtain financing from the Argenti bank for his copying business and would then deposit a completed codex with the bank, which handled the sale as payment on the loans ([61], 3, p. 60). Panetti, in turn, was a Carmelite friar and avid book collector, and the codex records the day of his death, 27 March 1497 ([63], pp. 183–228). The codex remained in the possession of the Carmelite friars at the convent of San Paolo in Ferrara where Francesco Antonio Zaccaria (1714–95) saw it in 1757 during his ―iter italicum‖ and mentioned it in print five years later. In 1810, according to a possessor‘s note on the first flyleaf, the codex had passed into the hands of Francesco Mainardi in Ferrara. The next notice of the codex is found in the General Catalogue of books offered for sale by Bernard Alexander Christian Quaritch (1818–99) in London in 1868. To maximize the market value of the manuscript, Quaritch made the dubious claim that ―[i]t may be remarked that this voluminous and interesting correspondence of St. Jerome is of very unusual occurrence in Manuscript.‖ 20 The book was auctioned by Sotheby‘s in 1877 where an unnamed Austro-Hungarian nobleman purchased it. The connoisseur-artist Charles Fairfax Murray (1849–1919) bought the book in 1900, probably for its illumination. Dyson Perrins then dipped into his Worcestershire sauce profits and bought the codex from Fairfax Murray in 1906. Sotheby‘s auctioned the manuscript a second time in 1959 when Arthur Rau (1898–1972), an English rare book dealer operating from Paris, bought it. The codex ultimately retained its appeal to manufacturers of foodstuffs since the chocolatiers, Peter Ludwig (1925–96), and his wife Irene (1972–2010) purchased the book and kept it for a time in Cologne. In 1983, the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles purchased at Sotheby‘s the entire lot of 144 illuminated manuscripts in the Ludwig Collection. In our age of indiscretion, of course, there is also a rumored price for the sale, a price befitting the Getty of forty million dollars. 21 The final clues worth mentioning are those related to a question that Kristeller posed in his introduction to the fourth volume of his Iter: to what were the persons who wrote or collected the manuscripts committed ([1], 4, p. xxiii)? Among craftsmen who either copied manuscript books or produced portolan charts, there is an admirable group who preferred to hide their identity and let the text or chart speak for itself. They did, at times, supply a clue: their initials. In one subscription, the scribe M. C. actually gave voice to Bruni‘s translation of Xenophon: ―Thus ends Xenophon‘s book On Tyranny, and M. C. wrote me, whom Leonardo of Arezzo translated from the Greek language into 20 [64], p. 7 (no. 36). See also [32], pp. 158–68. 21 [65], p. 246. The expression ―age of indiscretion‖ was coined by Bettini [66]. Religions 2012, 3 220 Latin.‖ 22 The portolan chartmaker, Jacopo Maggiolo (d. ca. 1605), seems an early exponent of ―the art of making the best of a difficult situation‖ (l’arte di arrangiarsi). After a fertile career producing charts from 1551 until 1573, Maggiolo gave no further signs of activity at Genoa until 1602. Out of nowhere, Jacopo reappeared that year and made a portolan chart conserved today in Milan. Corradino Astengo got on the case and noticed signs of scraping by a razor blade on the parchment below the date ―1602.‖ Astengo‘s deduction: Maggiolo may have pulled an old chart off a storage shelf in 1602 and quickly updated it by falsifying the year of its manufacture. If Maggiolo—or a subordinate at his request—did counterfeit the chart, he had a motive. Even though Maggiolo was likely old and infirm in 1602, he proved to the government of Genoa that he could still produce a chart as good as the ones he had made thirty years earlier. And if that was his ruse, it worked. The government continued to pay Maggiolo a salary until 1605 ([68], pp. 83–84). Numerous members of the Renaissance clergy either wrote works or owned books. For some reason, this detective feels drawn to search for the clues that might indicate to what those clergymen were committed. A priest like Tommaso Baldinotti (1451–1511) in Florence focused on the quality of his handwriting and not the quality of his life. He wrote vernacular and Latin elegies in a clear humanist cursive hand, but he was hardly a moral paragon, engaging in bawdy discussions and amorous liaisons ([1], 2, p. 110a–b; [69], 5, pp. 493–95). A bishop like Pierre de Versailles (1380?– 1446) seemed focused on using his noble and clerical status to pile up prestigious and remunerative benefices. Pierre accumulated those benefices as apparent rewards for services rendered but did little or nothing to provide pastoral assistance to his various flocks. While at the Council of Basel, Pierre was accused of backing Pope Eugene IV in order to become a cardinal. Eugene did trust Pierre sufficiently to make him part of an embassy to Constantinople from 1437–38, where Pierre gave public speeches and negotiated for a Council under papal patronage to reunite Catholic and Orthodox churches. Having outmaneuvered a parallel delegation from Basel, Pierre accompanied the Greek representatives on their journey to the West. As a proven supporter of papal monarchy and papal ambassador to Charles VII of France, Pierre won appointment to the bishopric of Meaux in 1439. Someone with noble roots in Versailles seems fated for attraction to the most powerful courts of the day. In addition to the discourses in Constantinople, Pierre preached on important occasions at the Council of Basel, including Jerome‘s feast day. Enea Silvio Piccolomini characterized his preaching as having ―more chutzpah than eloquence.‖ On another occasion, Pierre was said to have rushed into the midst of a meeting of the Council and stirred up ―many animated altercations,‖ suggesting the unseemly possibility of fisticuffs between assembled Church dignitaries. 23 One cannot help but wonder if the choice to have Pierre preach on Jerome was subconscious typecasting. Other clergymen balance the picture. Bishop Bernhard von Krayburg (1412–77) gathered a large and important library at his castle in Chiemsee (Salzburg). He was instrumental, for example, as a 22 Udine, Biblioteca Arcivescovile, cod. 49, fol. 49, cited by [67], p. 120: ―Explicit liber Xenophontis de tyrannide et M. C. me scripsit quem Leonardus Aretinus ex greco sermone in latinum convertit.‖ 23 [70], pp. 208–66, esp. p. 230, where Coville quotes Piccolomini‘s letter of 20 May 1437, ―... plus animi habens quam eloquentiae.‖ [70], p. 265, sees Pierre‘s commitment similarly: ―Il dut être plutôt ambitieux: il eut de nombreux benefices....‖ The ―Sermo‖ for Jerome that Pierre de Versailles delivered at Basel in 1435 was conserved in cod. 118, fols. 330v-37v, of the Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek in Kaliningrad (Königsberg) but is now lost; see [1], 5, p. 167a–b. Religions 2012, 3 221 conduit for Bruni‘s letters to Germany, and he also owned codices with the marrow of Petrarch‘s humanist ideas. From that intersection between humanist and religious cultures, von Krayburg developed a personal affection for letters, a profound sense of spirituality and a firm commitment to reform the lives of his clergy ([71], p. 95; [38], 1, p. xxxiii). The efforts to study classical languages, collect books and reform the clergy that bishops like Bernard von Krayburg and Johann Roth made helped to reshape the ideal of episcopal sanctity in German-speaking lands ([55], p. 17; [47], pp. 397– 98; [72], pp. 43–48). Battista Panetti, the Carmelite professor of theology who owned the Jerome codex that Dyson Perrins later acquired, collected humanist works, copied ancient inscriptions and probably learned Greek. While working in the scriptorium of his convent of San Paolo in Ferrara, Panetti developed his respect for books and his desire to protect them as valuable witnesses to the past. In building his collection, the Carmelite would gather individual fascicles, organize them in chronological order, bind them together, add a Latin epigram on the flyleaf and supply at least a partial table of contents for the new composite volume. Panetti‘s embrace of humanism led him to assume a public commitment as well, functioning as a secret counselor to Duke Ercole I (1431–1505), entering friendships with leading humanists like the Duke‘s orator, Ludovico Carbone (1435–82), and even giving an occasional speech himself. The tolerance of his book collecting is mirrored at least once in the tolerance of his public advocacy. When the local Dominican inquisitor, Paolo da Bologna, condemned a scholar to burning at the stake for a mistaken interpretation of Scotus, Panetti decried the unjust verdict ([73], p. 310; [62], pp. 183–92). There are also practitioners of classical philology and humanist rhetoric who later took a serious interest in Scriptural study. Agostino Dati (1421–78) accepted an appointment by his bishop to lecture on the Scriptures in Siena, and Bartolomeo Fonzio (Della Fonte, 1446–1513) came out of retirement in part to do the same at the University of Florence. There may be manuscript books somewhere in the Iter that offer clues as to what those two learned humanists said in their lectures on sacred letters ([75]; [35], pp. 60–68; [76], pp. 810–13). But the choices speak for themselves, as do Panetti‘s tolerant choices in collecting books and decrying injustice. Tolerance, moreover, seems an appropriate note on which to end a discussion of Renaissance manuscripts as private property or common wealth. In the introduction to a translation of Vitruvius, Frank Granger observed that Vipsanius Agrippa (ca. 63–12 BCE) by his geography and Asinius Pollio (76 BCE-4 CE) by his library helped expand the horizons of literate Romans of the age of Augustus. Granger‘s characterization of the contribution of Asinius Pollio seems germane to this paper, for Granger follows Pliny and others in arguing that, because Asinius Pollio assembled the literature and science of the time in the first public library at Rome, he ―made human genius a common possession (res publica)‖ ([76], p. xvii, citing Pliny N.H. 35.2.10; [77], pp. 244–45). Such an endeavor is shot through with tolerance, in the works collected and in the accessibility granted. Even a cursory journey through the vast resources of Kristeller‘s six volumes sensitizes one to the relevance of the tension between books as private property and books as common wealth. Abuse of borrowing privileges from a public library goes on. College professors, myself included, may scruple at times about our ability to withdraw a book for an entire semester or academic year, especially when we compare the amount of time we consult the book to the amount of time it sits idle on our bookshelf where it is unavailable to others. A public ethos might lead us to keep the book out of the library for the minimum amount of time. European libraries have long worked to develop other creditable Religions 2012, 3 222 solutions, from chaining their books to a reading stand in the Renaissance to creating in our own day authentic research libraries where books never leave the premises. Individuals still exploit their social prestige to gain special access to valuable books, and individuals still steal valuable books and sell them on open and black markets. Manuscript books are a marketable commodity, and the marketing of Renaissance manuscripts runs the capitalist gamut from crass speculation to responsible entrepreneurship. At its worst, it represents a violation of the public trust twice over: the theft of a book in the first place and the sale of the stolen book in the second. Moreover, in an effort to acquire resources of use to the public, institutions and libraries have had a difficult time resisting the temptation to deal with disreputable sellers. There are various ways to measure the value of a manuscript. As a container for words and the thought that they express, books are material objects put together from bundles of parchment or paper and bound together inside a variety of covers. Some collectors have bought manuscripts solely for the quality of their material production. Such manuscripts become luxury items akin to a Rolex watch. One can tell the time with a far less expensive Timex watch, and, to the delight of John Cameron Swayze (1906–95), the Timex may well be ―still ticking.‖ Most surviving manuscripts from the Renaissance, however, originated in the study of the humanities, a curriculum that revolutionized adolescent education and held sway for centuries in the Western world. Their value was not calculated in terms of cost of production and profit from resale, but in terms of assembly of contents and assistance to an education that, thanks to that compendium of texts, should last a lifetime. A student who owned such a manuscript book could always consult its particular texts whenever professional or personal needs so dictated. When one student shared his compendium with another, the educational fruits were multiplied and humanist culture more widely diffused. Magnanimous scholars did not hesitate to label a manuscript the common property of themselves and their friends. Treating a manuscript as a common wealth fostered a sense of human genius as a common possession and a concomitant spirit of tolerance. A good adage, no matter what its source, was applicable to the experience of all human beings, and genuine human insight, even by pagan authors, had appropriate application to the good and holy living of Christians. Committed bishops who had learned the humanities promoted moral reform. Given such interrelationships, it was vital that a scribe accurately copy texts into the manuscript. Alcuin of York (d. 804) composed a poem that he affixed as an inscription (titulus) in a monastic scriptorium to remind copyists of the importance of what they were doing and the accuracy with which they did it. For the Carolingian monk, copying books supplied a more valuable service than pruning vines, for, while the latter assisted only the physical appetite, the former served the human spirit. 24 Nonetheless, and ironically, some of the most valuable Renaissance manuscripts from a material perspective are among the least valuable from a textual perspective. Perhaps more ironically, sloppy copying did not always reduce the value of the manuscript in the eyes of prestigious owners, leading one to wonder if they ever read the texts in the book. Ultimately, the history of each individual Renaissance manuscript illustrates the tension between private property and common wealth, for the book regularly moved from private to public ownership and back again. Battista Panetti made the 24 Alcuin, Carmen 94, in [78], p. 320. See also [79], p. 33; [80], pp. 35–36; and [81], pp. 34–35. I thank T. C. Price Zimmermann for suggesting Alcuin to me. Religions 2012, 3 223 Jerome text copied by Giovanni Grasso available to the Carmelite friars of his convent in Ferrara and, presumably, to learned visitors to that convent. After all, friars take a vow to hold all property in common. Charles William Dyson Perrins limited the circulation of the codex after he had purchased it to enhance his collection of illuminated manuscripts. The Getty Research Center, thanks to its vast resources, was once again able to make the codex available for wider consultation. Throughout its journey, the manuscript remained a container for the words and thought of human intelligence. For that reason, we too provide a service to the human spirit when we join Pliny in lionizing Asinius Pollio for establishing a public library in Rome. We thereby acknowledge human genius as our common wealth. References 1. Paul Oskar Kristeller. 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Cambridge, New York et al.: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2006. © 2012 by the author; licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/). 
work_bhtvuqlpirh2dijvcd6jc4dzlq	----	Title * This paper is a translation (back into English, and with some revisions) of the article that appeared in French: ‘Aby Warburg, Homo victor’, in Cahiers du Musée national d'art moderne 118, 2011/12, 81-101. Journal of Art Historiography Number 11 December 2014 Aby Warburg, Homo victor* Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg has been mostly misunderstood by the British hosts of his library. This essay will suggest that this misunderstanding has itself been misunderstood. But first I wish to say something about art history’s ancestor cult. The modern academic discipline of art history has built factions around prestigious patriarchal figures. For a long time, the focal points were the German, Austrian, and Swiss art historians who were working in the years around 1900: Alois Riegl, Heinrich Wölfflin, Julius von Schlosser, Aby Warburg, but also the American Bernard Berenson. Later, a younger generation, born between 1890 and the First World War, competed with the older figures for attention: Erwin Panofsky, Ernst Gombrich, Hans Sedlmayr, Otto Pächt, Meyer Schapiro, George Kubler. All the national schools of art historical thought, not only German but also American, British, Italian, French, and others, look to the same constellation of scholars. They are not admired at a distance, like the starry constellations, but are read. Students are expected to discern the principles concealed within their texts: ideas about art, about representation, about history and time; hidden correlations between academic scholarship and the political and aesthetic project of modernism. Since the 1980s, amidst expressions of disenchantment with a cumulative, progressive model of scholarship and calls for an acknowledgment of the hermeneutic and intepretative nature of the enterprise, the study of the history of the discipline has proliferated. We have book-length studies of individual art historians; countless symposia, anthologies, articles; translations of German texts; and of course the Journal of Art Historiography. All this goes on in other disciplines, too, history, classical archeology, literary criticism; but not to the same extent. The writing of the scholars listed above are the sites where suprapersonal systems of thought find their most powerful articulations. They are also the traces of Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 2 real personalities, and this existential dimension lends charisma to their ideas, even exempts their ideas from the ordinary processes of consumption, recycling, and rejection.1 Everyone is seduced by Aby Warburg’s personality. The few published photographs of Warburg are pored over just as are the photographs of Ludwig Wittgenstein or Walter Benjamin (fig. 1).2 Figure 1 Photo of Warburg and his children Frede and Max, ca. 1907. Warburg Institute, London. Warburg’s historical project is considered inextricable from his life. Ernst Gombrich in his landmark study of 1970, Aby Warburg: An Intellectual Biography, commented cautiously on the interconnections between Warburg’s ideas and what Gombrich called his ‘psychological conflicts’, his neuroses.3 Georges Didi-Huberman, impatient with Gombrich’s discretion, wrote more recently that ‘one doesn’t separate a person from his pathos—his empathies, his pathologies, one doesn’t separate Nietzsche from his madness nor Warburg from the “losses of self” which put him for five years behind the walls of a psychiatric asylum.’4 It is as if the ideas articulated in 1 A recent study that replaces an episode in the history of ideas into its political, social, and interpersonal contexts is Emily Levine, Dreamland of Humanists: Warburg, Cassirer, Panofsky, and the Hamburg School, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013. 2 There is a good selection in Karen Michels, Aby Warburg—Im Bannkreis der Ideen, Munich: Beck, 2007. To take the measure of the recent intensification of interest in Warburg, see Björn Biester and Dieter Wuttke, Aby M. Warburg-Bibliographie 1996 bis 2005, Baden-Baden: Koerner, 2007: 1269 entries in 150 pages. 3 Ernst Gombrich, Aby Warburg: An Intellectual Biography, London: Warburg Institute, 1970; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986, 9. 4 Georges Didi-Huberman, L’image survivante: Histoire de l’art et temps des fantômes selon Aby Warburg, Paris: Minuit, 2002, 30-31. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 3 Warburg’s written texts were suspended in the liquid of his personality. This is a conception of humanistic research as a personal and inalienable creative project. The ancestor cult re-enchants scholarship. The personalities persist; they are a ‘standing over’, a superstitio, in an otherwise rational discourse. In the premodern culture of authority, knowledge advanced by the accumulation of citations. That system was disabled by the Enlightenment. If one can no longer prove a point by invoking an authority, nevertheless the personalities of the authorities, the portraits, linger. The living presence of the scholars within scholarship is structurally analogous to the magical presence of the real Florentines inside the narrative frescoes of Domenico Ghirlandaio analyzed by Warburg: painted reports on the history of the Franciscan order, submitted to the new visual rationality of perspective and the unities of time and space. These are the paintings in the Sassetti Chapel in S. Trinita in Florence, painted in the early 1480s, the subject of one of Warburg’s most significant essays, ‘The Art of Portraiture and the Florentine Bourgeoisie’, of 1902 (fig. 2).5 Figure 2 Domenico Ghirlandaio, Confirmation of the Rule of St. Francis, ca. 1482-85. Fresco. Florence, S. Trinita, Cappella Sassetti. This fresco represents the Confirmation of the Franciscan Order by Pope Honorius III in 1223. Embedded within the historical narrative are portraits of the 5 Aby Warburg, ‘Bildniskunst und Florentinisches Bürgertum’ (1902), in Warburg, Die Erneuerung der heidnischen Antike, Gesammelte Schriften, vols. 1-2, Leipzig and Berlin: Teubner, 1932, 1: 89-126; The Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 1999, 185-221. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 4 patron Francesco Sassetti himself; his brother and his sons; his own patron Lorenzo de’ Medici; the Medici sons Giovanni, who would one day be Pope Leo X, Piero, and Giuliano; and their tutor the poet and scholar Angelo Poliziano. The figures rise mysteriously and at the same time plausibly out of the ground, up a flight of stairs into the midst of a ceremony that took place 260 years earlier. Warburg explained their presence here: they are painted effigies, a transposition into two dimensions of an old quasi-pagan practice, the placing of wax effigies, a category of ex voto or offering made in fulfilment of a vow, in sacred spaces to guarantee the connection between the votary in this world and the other world. In the seventeenth century, the church of Santissima Annunziata in Florence housed more than six hundred such wax figures in actual size, many outfitted with real hair, beards, and clothes.6 The effigy of Lorenzo de’ Medici himself was mounted in Santissima Annunziata only a few years before Ghirlandaio undertook his painting. ‘This lawful and persistent survival of barbarism,’ Warburg says, ‘with wax effigies set up in church in their moldering fashionable dress, begins to cast a truer and more favorable light on the inclusion of portrait likenesses on a church fresco of sacred scenes. By comparison with the magical fetishism of the waxwork cult, this was a comparatively discreet attempt to come closer to the Divine through a painted simulacrum.’7 The realistic painting of Ghirlandaio, the power of portrayal that he learned from the Netherlanders, is here put to the service of a barbaric superstition. The Italians at first saw in Flemish painting the possibility of representing interior spaces, real and mental. But they quickly learned, according to Warburg, to put that art to their own uses, both more archaic and more dynamic.8 The portrait figures, ‘filled with their own particular vitality, …begin to emerge out of the ecclesiastical background.’9 The portraits give the impression of a direct, unmediated link to the world, a kind of super-representation, an indexical seizing of the world that punctures the screen of representation. The portraits guarantee that the historical individuals—Sassetti, Lorenzo, Poliziano, the children—remain for us far more vivid than any ‘arguments’ advanced by the paintings that contain them (fig. 3). 6 On the ex votos of Santissima Annunziata, see David Freedberg, The Power of Images, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989, 225-31, 235-37. On the ‘iconology’ of ex votos, see Hugo van der Velden, The Donor's Image: Gerard Loyet and the Votive Portraits of Charles the Bold, Turnhout: Brepols, 2000, 191-285. 7 Warburg, ‘Bildniskunst und Florentinisches Bürgertum’, in Warburg, Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 100; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 190. 8 Warburg, ‘Flandrische und florentinische Kunst im Kreise des Lorenzo Medici um 1480’ (1901), in Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 211-12; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 307. 9 Warburg, ‘Bildniskunst und Florentinisches Bürgertum’, in Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 116; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 204. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 5 Figure 3 Ghirlandaio, Confirmation of the Rule of St. Francis, detail: Giovanni de’ Medici, Piero de’ Medici, Angelo Poliziano, Giuliano de’ Medici. The portraits of the art historians are similarly charismatic. Effigy-like, they occupy space within scholarship, keeping watch over the rituals of historical work; and they have the power to bend any thinking that ventures into their proximity. For several decades art historians have been competing for intellectual control of the legacy of Aby Warburg. He left few published and many unpublished texts, all highly suggestive, even open-ended, inviting misreading. The re-readings of Warburg’s texts bring out all the fault-lines in the discipline of art history. Many thousands of pages were written about Italian Renaissance art in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, most of them completely forgotten. Yet Warburg’s few pages are read over and over again. Warburg published only nine texts longer than ten pages, and no single text was longer than 70 pages. These gnomic utterances are studied not only for the historical theses they advance, but also in the hope of connecting to essential energies and rhythms of art historical thought that are gathered in the texts, densely clustered, dead but at the same time somehow more real than life, like the wax figures that Warburg glimpsed behind the frescoes. The story mostly told today, in Germany, France, Italy, and the United States, is that after many years we are finally beginning to recover a more authentic Warburg. In the decades after his death in 1929 and the transfer of the Warburg Library to Britain in 1933, according to this narrative, Warburg’s intellectual legacy survived only in a banal, institutionalized form as his work was interpreted by followers in Britain and in the United States. In London, the ambiguities of Warburg’s thought began to fade behind the daily industry of the great library.10 10 Cf. Nicholas Mann, ‘Kulturwissenschaft in London: englisches Fortleben einer europäischen Tradition’, in Robert Galitz and Brita Reimers, eds, Aby M. Warburg: 'Ekstatische Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 6 Already by the 1950s Aby Warburg’s private concerns and puzzlements, his delphic, idiosyncratic language, must have seemed remote. Warburg was born in 1866 and his questions had been framed deep inside a lost world, a world of privileged curiosity and northern longing for a Mediterranean vitalism.11 The emigré scholars who ran the library in wartime and postwar London—Fritz Saxl and Gertrud Bing— protected but also strongly shaped the memory of the master. They were joined in London by Edgar Wind, Rudolf Wittkower, Otto Kurz, and Ernst Gombrich, all refugees from National Socialist Germany and Austria. Pioneering work was done at the Warburg Institute beginning in the immediate post-war period, above all the researches of Frances Yates and D. P. Walker into the marginal zones of medieval and early modern culture: the art of memory, the thought of Giordano Bruno, dynastic iconography, astrology, magic, and the occult. Saxl and Bing, who died in 1948 and 1964, respectively, maintained a stricter interpretation of the Warburgian project. Saxl promoted research into the fortunes of classical cultural forms, their journeys through medieval Western and Islamic culture. He trusted facts and mistrusted philosophy and risky speculation. Bing saw ‘Warburgian studies’, under Saxl’s guidance, as having ‘brought art history nearer to history.’ Warburg and Saxl understood images as a form of ‘visual evidence’, Bing explained; they showed ‘that images were not less secure guides to the actions, notions, and states of mind of those who used them than written documents.’12 It would seem, on the contrary, that the basis for recent interest in Warburg is the sense his writings give, not of the stability and reliability of images as documents, but rather of their lability and unreliability. The image in Warburg—the effigy-like portrait, the zodiacal sign or the image of the planetary god, the agitated nymph, the allegorical monstrosity of the theatrical spectacle—is a document in dynamic motion; not a secure guide at all to the states of mind of those who used it, but rather always escaping its historical anchoring and pointing forward and backward in time. Bing’s modest conception of art history as an expansion of the document-pool seems to have suited many of the library’s English hosts, to whom the whole idea of art history as a research enterprise based in a university, and generally as an advanced intellectual project, was relatively new. In Germany art history had been taught at the universities since the 1840s. Not until 1932, with the founding of the Courtauld Institute of Art, was it possible to earn an advanced degree in art history in the United Kingdom. Oxford named its first professor of art history only in 1955. Nymphe...trauernder Flussgott': Portrait eines Gelehrten, Hamburg: Dölling und Galitz, 1995, 210- 227. See also the website http://warburg.sas.ac.uk/. 11 See the comment by Michael Baxandall in his memoir Episodes: A Memorybook, London: Frances Lincoln, 2010, 118, on his own ‘foreshortened’ perspective on Gertrud Bing, whom he knew only in the end of her life, between 1958 and 1964: ‘there might be a sense in which the Warburg lore itself is foreshortened like one’s perspective on Bing, receding into an early twentieth-century German culture one is not equipped to penetrate.’ 12 Bing, ‘Fritz Saxl (1890-1948): A Memoir’, in D.J. Gordon, ed, Fritz Saxl 1890-1948: A Volume of Memorial Essays from His Friends in England, London: Nelson, 1957, 28. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 7 Until then art historical research in Britain was mostly pursued by museum curators and private scholars, or sponsored by dealers and collectors interested in settling the value of a picture or a drawing.13 The most striking fact about the British afterlife of the Warburg Institute was that Warburg’s collected writings, published in German in two volumes, in 1932, were never translated into English.14 ‘Among Warburg’s founders’, observed Edgar Wind acidly in 1970, ‘it has become a tradition to regard his literary formulations as a sort of arcanum, as an exceedingly fine but too highly concentrated elixir of learning which should not be served to British consumers without an ample admixture of barley water.’15 Warburg’s legacy was defined pragmatically, in the course of research, not by pious reference back to the texts and to the man. This was not yet the era of meta-art history. Was there a British ‘Warburg School’? A recent director of the Institute would not venture to say so, remarking in 1986: ‘The Warburg School—or if you like, Warburgianism—is and was what is and was being done by the users of the books and photographs at any given time.’16 That is the true voice of British reductionism, a little depressing. But, in the context of the war, the émigrés and their English hosts had earned the moral right to control the Warburg legacy. And there is a positive dimension to the British stewardship of Warburgianism. The Institute in London represented an approach to art history free of any ‘soft’ aestheticism, or the cult of masterpieces and great artists sustained by an elite of art collectors and patrons and by an idolatrous bourgeois public. The Warburg Institute offered instead a model of art historical scholarship independent of class and market interests, a model that the discipline of art history has found extremely difficult to sustain, especially in the United States. Warburg 13 On art history in England in the 1930s and 1940s, see Dieter Wuttke, ‘Die Emigration der Kulturwissenschaftliche Bibliothek Warburgs und die Anfänge des Universitätsfaches Kunstgeschichte in Grossbritannien’, in Horst Bredekamp et al., eds., Aby Warburg: Akten des internationalen Symposions Hamburg 1990, Weinheim: VCH, 1991, 141-163. 14 Only the lecture on the Pueblos was translated: ‘A Lecture on Serpent Ritual’, Journal of the Warburg Institute 2, 1938-39, 277-292. Until 1999 the only other text by Warburg in English was ‘Italian Art and International Astrology in the Palazzo Schifanoia in Ferrara’, in: Gert Schiff, ed, German Essays in Art History, New York: Continuum, 1988, 234-54. In the Times Literary Supplement, May 26, 1974, T.J. Clark complained about the absence of English translations of the principal German and Austrian art historians; cited by Richard Woodfield, ‘Reading Riegl’s Kunst-Industrie’, in Woodfield, ed, Framing Formalism: Riegl’s Work, Amsterdam: G+B Arts International, 2001, 57. 15 Edgar Wind, Times Literary Supplement, June 25, 1971; reprinted in Wind, The Eloquence of Symbols: Studies in Humanist Art, Oxford: OUP, 1983, 106-113, here 113. 16 J. B. Trapp, cited by Salvatore Settis, ‘Empfehlungen für eine Heimkehr’, in Bredekamp et al., Aby Warburg, 116. Of course Trapp was exaggerating for effect. See also the interesting passage in the autobiography of Kenneth Clark attesting to the impact of Warburg on Clark already in 1927; cited in Richard Woodfield, ‘Warburg's “Method”‘, in: Woodfield, ed, Art History as Cultural History: Warburg's Projects, Amsterdam: G+B Arts International, 2001, 266- 67. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 8 himself—here following the Swiss historian Jacob Burckhardt—had broken with an aesthetics of masterpieces and geniuses, replacing it with the more complex model of an art-producing process to which patrons contributed as much as artists.17 Warburg’s social-process model of art production, directly or indirectly, found resonance in post-war England, where patronage studies and what became known as the ‘social history of art’ were more intensively cultivated than anywhere else: one need only mention such figures as Frederick Antal, Francis Klingender, Francis Haskell, Michael Baxandall, and T.J. Clark to make this point. But it is striking that Baxandall, who was a professor at the Warburg Institute, never mentioned Warburg in his pioneering book Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy (1972); and that Warburg’s researches into astrology or the atavistic survival of the effigy cult into the fifteenth century found no echo in the materialist social history of art. In the United States, meanwhile, the other main destination of scholarly refugees from Nazism, Warburg was almost completely absorbed into the person and project of Erwin Panofsky. At the beginning of his career Panofsky, an early user of the library in Hamburg, had a close relationship to Warburg. His article ‘Dürer’s Attitude Towards Antiquity’ of 1922 was an elaboration—one can with justice say a complication—of Warburg’s brief essay of 1905 on the same topic.18 In the United States Panofsky developed Warburg’s coinage ‘iconology’ into a multi-institutional, interdisciplinary pedagogical and research program. His first letters back to Saxl in Hamburg, from the fall of 1931, convey Panofsky’s sense of himself as an emissary and apostle: Hier [in Princeton] zeigte ich auch einiges von unseren Sachen, und hier war man ‘amazed’, sodass ich gleich zu einem richtigen, längeren ‘report’ aufgefordert wurde, der wohl am Weihnachten herum steigen wird. ‘That’s iconography!’ sagte [Albert M.] Friend, und auch [Charles Rufus] Morey...war anscheinend sehr begeistert.19 [I also showed them some of our things, and they were ‘amazed’, and I was immediately asked to provide a proper, longer report, which will probably 17 Martin Warnke, ‘Vier Stichworte: Ikonologie—Pathosformel—Polarität und Ausgleich— Schlagbilder und Bilderfahrzeuge’, in Werner Hofmann, Georg Syamken, and Warnke, Die Menschenrechte des Auges: Über Aby Warburg, Frankfurt: Europäische Verlagsanstalt, 1980, 74. 18 Erwin Panofsky, ‘Dürers Stellung zur Antike’ (1921/22), translated as ‘Albrecht Dürer and Classical Antiquity’ in: Panofsky, Meaning in the Visual Arts, Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1955, 236-294; cf. Warburg, ‘Dürer und die italienische Antike’ (1905), in: Warburg, Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 443-449; Warburg, Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 553-558. Cf. also the obituary of Warburg by Panofsky, Repertorium für Kunstwissenschaft 51, 1930, 1-4. 19 Panofsky, Korrespondenz 1910 bis 1968 : eine kommentierte Auswahl, ed Dieter Wuttke, vol. 1, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2001, 404, no. 277, October 21, 1931. See also the letter to William Ivins, no. 305, March 14, 1932. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 9 happen around Christmas. That’s iconography!’ said [Albert M.] Friend, and [Charles Rufus] Morey, too...appeared very enthusiastic.] But again, as in Britain, and despite Panofsky’s endorsements, Warburg himself over time tended to disappear.20 Warburg’s own writings were judged too arcane to be read, and were instead decanted into Panofsky’s project. The sharp contours of Warburg’s own intellectual profile faded in the American memory. Panofsky’s model of the afterlife of the classical tradition, meanwhile, became increasingly linear, with the ripples of anachronism that Warburg had given it smoothed out. The study of the irrational and the occult as developed in Britain, by Yates, Walker, and others, was completely absent from American iconology. The re-reading of Warburg began, not in the United States nor in Britain, but in Italy in 1966, with the Italian translation of his writings and the publication of a long essay by Carlo Ginzburg, ‘From Aby Warburg to E.H. Gombrich: A Problem of Method.’21 Here Ginzburg tracked the German scholarly project of art history as a mode of cultural history. Very often Italian scholars were the most inclined after the Second World War to carry on a conversation about humanism. By ‘humanism’ I mean the tradition, initiated in the Italian Renaissance, of understanding modernity as an agonized dialogue with ancient Greece and Rome whose content is mankind’s 20 Panofsky did not cite Warburg either in his seminal paper ‘Iconography and Iconology: An Introduction to the Study of Renaissance Art’ (1939), or in the later essay ‘Three Decades of Art History in the United States: Impressions of a Transplanted European’ (1955). Warburg figures in the latter essay only in a list of important German-language art historians of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; Panofsky, Meaning in the Visual Arts, 26-54, 321-346. Cf. the influential article by William S. Heckscher, ‘The Genesis of Iconology’, in: Stil und Überlieferung in der Kunst des Abendlandes: Akten des 21. internationalen Kongresses für Kunstgeschichte, Bonn, 1964, vol. 3, Theorien und Probleme, Berlin: Mann, 1967, 239-262, which associates, in a naive and anecdotal fashion, Warburg’s introduction of the term ‘iconology’ with the ‘spirit of synthesis’ of the years just before the First World War. For Heckscher, Warburg’s accomplishment was to have prepared the iconological work of Panofsky, G. J. Hoogewerff, Guy de Tervarent, and Jan Bialostocki. 21 Warburg, La rinascita del paganesimo antico, Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1966. Carlo Ginzburg, ‘Da Aby Warburg a E.H. Gombrich: Note su un problema di metodo’, Studi medievali 7, 1966, 29-106. Among the most important Italian commentaries on Warburg are: Giorgio Agamben, ‘Aby Warburg e la scienza senza nome’, Settanta, July-September 1975; republished with a postilla in the journal aut aut, 199-200, 1984, 51-66, and translated as ‘Aby Warburg and the Nameless Science’, in Agamben, Potentialities: Collected Essays in Philosophy, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999, 89-103; Silvia Ferretti, Il demone della memoria: Simbolo e tempo storico in Warburg, Cassirer, Panofsky, Casale Monferrato: Marietti, 1984, translated as Cassirer, Panofsky, and Warburg: Symbol, Art, and History, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989; and Salvatore Settis, ‘Warburg continuatus: Descrizione di una biblioteca’, Quaderni storici, 58/ a. XX, n. 1, 1985, 5-38. A valuable account of the reception of Warburg is Claudia Cieri Via, Nei dettagli nascosto: Per una storia del pensiero iconologico, Rome: Carocci, 2009. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 10 capacity to create its own demons and gods—its own fate, as it were—and at the same time to discover the means of liberating itself from that fate, namely reason. The historical project of modernity, according to the humanist model, is mankind’s approach to self-understanding through selective remembering and forgetting of the past. The critique of humanism as a complacent, perhaps even bourgeois, model of modern culture is one of the major contexts for the re-embrace of Aby Warburg since the 1960s, begun in Italy but carried on especially in Germany, the United States, and France. Warburg is now commonly used as a wedge against what is seen as the excessively dominant humanist scholarship of the post-World War II period, represented by Panofsky and Gombrich, but also Wind, Wittkower, and others, and all their disciples in the United States and Europe who pursued a supposedly benign, disciplined, risk-averse historical scholarship.22 In Germany, the reclamation of Warburg began in the 1970s as part of the delicate collective operation of Vergangenheitsbewältigung, or coping with the past: a process of repairing the psychological damage without forgetting the cataclysm that caused it.23 In 1993 the city of Hamburg was able to acquire the original Warburg Institute in Hamburg, the townhouse that had housed the library. It soon re-opened as the Warburg-Haus Hamburg, a research centre under the direction of the art historian Martin Warnke.24 Warnke, one of the pioneers of the Marxist mode of art historical scholarship developed in Germany in the late 1960s and early 1970s, established in the house an image library and a centre for the study of what he calls ‘political iconography.’25 The library’s famous oval reading room is intact and is used today as a lecture hall. Of course, the books are gone. Some German voices have called for a return of the library to Hamburg. It is true that the library’s fate in London is at this very moment uncertain. The University of London has threatened to break its contract with the Library by charging high fees for the use of the building, thus possibly forcing the Institute to move and to house its library in an offsite storage facility, effectively ending the nearly century-old luxury of serendipitous browsing among the books, still shelved according to the original eccentric principles devised by Warburg.26 It is politically awkward, if not impossible, for post-war Germans to attack the humanist scholarly tradition represented by Panofsky and Gombrich, who were 22 Christopher S. Wood, ‘Art History’s Normative Renaissance’, The Italian Renaissance in the Twentieth Century, Acts of an International Conference, Florence: Villa I Tatti, 1999, Florence: Olschki, 2002, 65-92. 23 Wolfgang Kemp, ‘Walter Benjamin und Aby Warburg’, Kritische Berichte 3, 1975, 5-25. 24 Cf. the website http://www.warburg-haus.de/. 25 See Warnke, Uwe Fleckner, and Hendrik Ziegler, eds, Handbuch der politischen Ikonographie, 2 vols., Munich, C. H. Beck, 2011. 26 For a recent collective defense of the beleaguered library, see The Warburg Institute: A Special Issue on the Library and Its Readers, Common Knowledge 18, 2012. As of November 6, 2014, the claims of the Library seem to have been sustained by the courts. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 11 forced out of Germany and Austria in the 1930s. The humanist program of the émigré scholars was galvanized by their experience of war exile. The Hamburg scholars from the 1970s to the present are well aware of this.27 They have stressed aspects of Warburg which had been neglected in post-war Britain, for example his engagement with technological modernity. Horst Bredekamp has pointed to the relevance of Warburg in an epoch—our own—when writing is on the decline and respect for images, or fear of images, is augmenting. He has called attention to Warburg’s analyses of propaganda images of the Protestant Reformation as well as of the First World War.28 But the German historiographers have left the more violent rejection of the humanistic tradition to American and French scholars.29 The major American initiative in the last years is the translation of the Collected Writings published by the Getty Research Institute in Los Angeles in 1999. This monumental volume has attracted wide attention and is already a standard textbook in American seminars on methodology and historiography, not to mention Renaissance art. The momentum behind the Getty translation project was in a sense European, given that the previous directors of the Institute were the Italian art historian Salvatore Settis and the Swiss architectural historian Kurt Forster, who had both written important essays on Warburg in the 1970s.30 But the re-reading of Warburg now has its own American momentum. Warburg’s writings on German broadsheets and popular propaganda, anti-elitist in tone, find resonance in the United States. Warburg was quickly integrated into an American post-structuralist critique of the humanist tradition, Panofsky’s tradition, that for so long dominated art history on that side of the Atlantic. That critique has involved a new estimation of formalism, and a revival of interest in the radical formalisms of the Viennese Alois 27 The essay by Joseph Leo Koerner, ‘Aby Warburg among the Hopis: Paleface and Redskin’, The New Republic, March 24, 1997, addressing the impact of Fascism on Warburg’s thought, resonated in the German discourse of the last several years. An expanded version of the essay appeared in Common Knowledge 18, 2012, 86-106. 28 Bredekamp, ‘”Du lebst und thust mir nichts”’: Anmerkungen zur Aktualität Aby Warburgs’, in Bredekamp et al., Aby Warburg, 1-6. 29 This apparent charity towards the humanist tradition left the Hamburg group open to critique from their left. O. K. Werckmeister, at the annual meeting of the College Art Association in Philadelphia in 2002, accused Warnke and Bredekamp of having repudiated their Marxist heritage in favor of Warburg’s bourgeois humanism; the lecture was published as ‘The Turn from Marx to Warburg in West German Art History 1968-1990’, in Andrew Hemingway, ed, Marxism and the History of Art, London and Ann Arbor: Pluto, 2006. Benjamin Buchloh, for his part, criticized the readiness of German commentators after the war to see parallels between the Bilderatlas and such avant-garde practices as montage and collage, often at the expense of more subtle distinctions; ‘Gerhard Richter's Atlas: The Anomic Archive’, October 88, 1998, 122-127. 30 Kurt W. Forster, ‘Aby Warburg's History of Art: Collective Memory and the Social Mediation of Images’, Daedalus 105, 1976, 169-176; Settis, ‘Empfehlungen für eine Heimkehr.’ See also Forster’s introduction to Warburg, The Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 1-75. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 12 Riegl and Hans Sedlmayr; a shift of focus from the centred, integrated subject to the margins of society and of experience; and an attempt to locate art historical thought within the larger project of modernism. Finally, the Getty Research Institute, operating as an interdisciplinary workspace with art history at its centre, is today arguably the true institutional heir to Warburg and Saxl’s original institute.31 But the most distinctive voice in the recent reception of Warburg is Georges Didi-Huberman, whose L’Image survivante: Histoire de l’art et temps des fantomes selon Aby Warburg, published in 2002, is the most substantial study ever devoted to the thought of any single art historian, and the most stimulating. Extending a line of thought he developed in his Devant l'image: Question posée aux fins d'une histoire de l'art (1990) et Devant le temps: Histoire de l'art et anachronisme des images (2000), Didi- Huberman attacks what he considers the dominant tradition of writing on art, rooted in the humanism of Giorgio Vasari and culminating in the neo-Kantian anthropological optimism of Panofsky. In L’Image survivante, Didi-Huberman denounces a systematic occultation of Warburg’s thought by academic institutions. 32 He prescribes the writings of Warburg--’Homme du clair-obscur’ rather than ‘homme des Lumières’33--as the most potent possible antidote to the sedimentation of empiricist routine, humanist dogma, and instrumental reason within the discipline of art history. Warburg, he says, grasped the capacity of images to breach the surface of rational thought and short-circuit linear time. In this way he correlates Warburg’s project with the thought of Sigmund Freud and Walter Benjamin. Nearly all the various voices who have contributed to this rereading of Warburg harmonize on two notes: Panofsky is judged guilty of having simplified Warburg; and everyone deplores the 1970 biography of Warburg by Ernst Gombrich. The defect of that book, supposedly, was that it exorcised all that was irrational or irresolvable in Warburg’s conception of history and in his model of the image. 34 31 See the website www.getty.edu/research. Since the 1980s British scholars have tended to be less involved in the re-evaluation of Warburg than Americans. However, one will want to mention the texts by Margaret Iversen in Bredekamp et al., Aby Warburg, as well as ‘Reviving Warburg's Tradition’, Art History 16, 1993, 541-551; and the anthology of critical essays on Warburg edited by Richard Woodfield, Art History as Cultural History. Several texts in that volume, however, continue to adhere to the old theses of the Warburg Institute; an exception is the essay by Matthew Rampley; see also the monograph by Rampley, Remembrance of Things Past: On Aby M. Warburg and Walter Benjamin, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2000. 32 For a concise and amusing list of the guilty parties, who are not all art historians, see the introduction by Didi-Huberman to Philippe-Alain Michaud, Aby Warburg et l'image en mouvement, Paris: Macula, 1998, 8, n. 4; 9, n.2; translated as Aby Warburg and the Image in Motion, New York: Zone, 2004. Michaud’s study ingeniously connects Warburg’s thought to the histories of early cinema, dance, Renaissance theatre, and the serpent ritual of the Hopis. 33 Didi-Huberman, L’Image survivante, 443. 34 Edgar Wind said the same thing in his 1971 review of Gombrich’s monograph, reprinted in Wind, Eloquence of Symbols, 106-13. All the critiques underestimate the novelty and richness of Gombrich’s study. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 13 There has always been a certain degree of impatience, on the part of non-British scholars, with the empiricist, often merely antiquarian or pedantic, and undertheorized scholarship sponsored by the Warburg Institute. But a special animus is reserved for Gombrich, whose sympathy for methods of the natural sciences, and his apparent wilingness to reduce culture to what is provable and testable, finds almost no resonance outside of Britain.35 I would suggest that the charge that Panofsky or Gombrich lacked understanding for, or tried to repress, the irrational in Warburg has to be handled with care. It would seem to go without saying that the emigré scholars require no lessons about the terrible force of the irrational, regression, the fantastic imagination, and the unconscious. It seems equally clear that Warburg himself was drawn to an Apollonian ideal of serene triumph over those forces. ‘I despise the man who loses sight of the ideal homo victor’, he once wrote. 36 The phrase homo victor is an image of the ideal, and an expression of liberal hopefulness, that is hard to assimilate to the prevailing new vision of Warburg.37 Warburg’s direct comments in this vein, on ideal form and the triumph of reason, were more explicit and more naïve than anything found in the writings of Gombrich and Panofsky. Yet today one tends to find ways of ignoring this and many other idealistic passages in Warburg’s writings. There is no way out of this paradox, because Warburg is a humanist, and at the same time he is humanism’s opponent. Humanism contains its own opposite. Reason can only be understood, Warburg once suggested, as a negative recoil from unreason: ‘The struggle with the monster’, he wrote in one of his notebooks, ‘as the germ of logical construction.’38 Humanism is precisely an elaborate system of defences designed to neutralize and compensate for the destabilizing force of the unconscious, the negative, or what used to be called the ‘demonic.’ 39 In that view, the will to harmony and order of humanist doctrine is exactly the measure of humanism’s respect for the forces of disorder. Ultimately the negation of humanism is a critique already contained dialectically within humanism. This is why the discussion often seems to turn round and round, from censure of the émigrés for 35 In his subtle reading of the reception of Warburg, Spyros Papapetros drily points out that Didi-Huberman is heavily dependent on quotations from Warburg’s unpublished writings provided by Gombrich himself in his biography; ‘The Eternal Seesaw: Oscillations in Warburg’s Revival’, Oxford Art Journal 26, 2003, 169-76. Papapetros makes a plea for less commentary on Warburg and more publication of primary material from the archive; a wise warning that is ignored one more time by the present essay. 36 Letter of 1896 on the subject of d'Annunzio, cited by Gombrich, Aby Warburg, 322. 37 Warnke, following Gombrich, recognized Warburg’s liberalism and placed him in the wider framework of the rationalist cultural project, comparing him to Freud, Max Weber, and the Institute for Social Research, known as the ‘Frankfurt School.’ Warnke, ‘’Der Leidschatz der Menschheit wird humaner Besitz’,’ in Hofmann et al., Die Menschenrechte des Auges, 163. 38 Gombrich, Aby Warburg, 251. 39 See Ferretti, Cassirer, Panofsky, and Warburg. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 14 having succeeded in repressing their fear of the irrational, to praise for Warburg for having failed to repress his fear of the irrational.40 Warburg, however, cannot very easily be drafted into a conventional disciplinary critique of humanism. He may be better understood as an archaic thinker who eludes both humanism, and humanism’s own internal, ‘demonic’ antagonist. The radicality of Warburg is that he is affirmative: his thought is vitalist, enthusiastic, dionysian. Didi-Huberman, hyperbolic and himself an enthusiast, often pushing his apologia for Warburg too far, is the only one who seems to grasp the affirmative Warburg. The British Warburgians—including and perhaps especially Gombrich—may have already understood this aspect of Warburg, in their own way. For strict empiricists are also always looking for ways out of the great cliché of humanism. They find it in the natural sciences; but then in a sense so, too, did Warburg. The smooth assimilation of Warburg into post-war British intellectual life, usually dismissed as a misreading, may be a measure of a hidden affinity. Warburg broke with the mainstream tradition of art historical thought by refusing to take the work of art as the elemental analytical unit of his art history. This central tradition—what Michael Podro called the ‘critical history of art’— combines an idealist philosophical conception of art with empirical scholarship. Riegl, Wölfflin, Panofsky, and in fact most art historians take as their starting point the work of art conceived as a formal unit, as if it were a literary text. A more strictly materialist social history of art might take the artist, a social category constructed by modernity, as its elemental unit. A sociological or systems-theoretical approach might focus on art itself as the object of inquiry. Warburg avoided the artwork—and ‘art’ and ‘the artist’, for that matter—because he wanted to escape the conventional thought patterns of art history. At one level, Warburg was simply asserting that what he called the ‘onesidedly aesthetic’ approach to Renaissance art needed to be ‘adjusted’ by hard work in the Florentine archives. 41 But he was also ready to carry through this abandonment of the aesthetic in a more profound sense. Warburg took as his elemental unit of analysis the ‘heightened emotional gesture’ (pathetisch gesteigerte Mimik) 42: the abandonment of composure in fear, self-defence, confusion, desire, or anger; or the agitation of limbs, drapery, hair, even foliage in the emblematic projection of emotional states. He called these gestures Pathosformel, or ‘pathos- formulas.’ 43 Warburg often described his project as a tracing of the hieroglyphs of 40 Cf. Papapetros’s analysis of Warburg’s concept of a polarity which is never resolved; ‘The Eternal Seesaw’, 168. 41 Warburg, ‘Francesco Strozzis letztwillige Verfügung’ (1907), in Warburg, Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 158; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 249. 42 Warburg, ‘Dürer und die italienische Antike’, in Warburg, Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 445; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 553. 43 Warburg first used this term in ‘Dürer und die italienische Antike’ (1905); in Warburg, Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 446; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 555. Cf. Warnke, ‘Vier Stichworte.’ Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 15 strong emotions passed down from picture to picture through history. The pictures within which the hieroglyphs appeared were in a sense accidental way-stations, stopping-places. Any frames surrounding the pictures were permeable. These ‘phobic-ecstatic’ 44 gestures were not culturally coded; beholders do not need keys to decipher them. For Warburg, everybody reacts the same way to gestures. He rarely historicized the beholders. In painting, the pathos-formulas are dense focal points of direct, uncoded signification. Since the formula is the carrier of a real life-force, it has the power to persist through all the corruptions of contingent history, and art history. In the essay of 1912 on the astrological frescoes at the Palazzo Schifanoia in Ferrara, for example, Warburg speaks of the salvaging of the Greek archetypes in the Renaissance: ‘The new, grand style, the gift of the artistic genius of Italy, was rooted in the social will to extract Greek humanity from its shell of medieval, oriental-Latin “Praxis”.’45 Warburg also abandoned ‘art’ in the sense that he downplayed the distinction between art and life. The pathos-formulas were not transfigurations of life, but samples of heightened movement and experience, already potent even before they appeared in paintings. As Michael Podro astutely noted: Under the guise of giving archaeological or philological explanations, Warburg sets up circuits which pass through the work; these are never mere solutions to iconographic or stylistic questions. It is not so much that we confront the work but, rather, that we are allowed to enter and leave it as part of the conduct of a wider life.46 In his Botticelli essay of 1893, his doctoral dissertation, Warburg seems to be saying that the mimic gestures or the fluttering drapery represented in the paintings would have the same effect on beholders if perceived in real life. He treats costume, coiffure, grace of movement, or the heightened gesture as if they were all already ‘works of art’, already representations of some inner spiritual reality. In the Botticelli essay, Warburg traces the drapery effects through a whole range of art forms, in theatrical pageants and in poetry, as much as in the paintings. Speaking of the Primavera, Warburg in effect minimizes the input of Botticelli, the supplement of pure creativity: 44 See Warnke, ‘’Der Leidschatz der Menschheit wird humaner Besitz’,’ 130. 45 Warburg, ‘Italienische Kunst und internationale Astrologie im Palazzo Schifanoia zu Ferrara’ (1912), in Warburg, Gesammelte Schriften, 2: 479; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 586. 46 Michael Podro, The Critical Historians of Art, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982, 161; also p. 158, contrasting Warburg with Wölfflin and Riegl. See also the commentary by Werner Hofmann, ‘Die Menschenrechte des Auges’, 89. Cf. Edgar Wind, who already in 1931 distinguished Warburg from Riegl and Wölfflin, seeing him as the true disciple of Jacob Burckhardt; ‘Warburgs Begriff der Kulturwissenschaft und seine Bedeutung für die Ästhetik’, Zeitschrift für Ästhetik und allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft 25, 1931, Beiheft, 163-79; republished in Ekkehard Kaemmerling, ed, Ikonographie und Ikonologie: Theorien – Entwicklung – Probleme, Cologne: DuMont, 1979, 165-84. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 16 ‘If one accepts’, Warburg argues, ‘that contemporary theatre placed those figures physically before the eyes of the artist, as elements of a truly animated life, then the process of artistic shaping seems obvious’ (fig. 4).47 Figure 4 Sandro Botticelli, Primavera, ca. 1482. Florence, Uffizi. This is the point of view of the anthropologist who sees art as continuous with other forms of behaviour. Warburg never speaks of the art of painting as if it might have been responsible for working the magical, unanticipated transformation of life. For him, art is redundant, because the heightened gesture, the supplement of hair or drapery, was already stylized as soon as it appeared in a poem or a play; indeed, it was already stylized when it occurred in life itself. What is a gesture if not a stylized movement? In this way Warburg suspended many difficult questions about representation. The gestures he describes never seem to ‘roll over‘ into the realm of art. They never enter into the endless circuitry of intertextuality, signification, and difference. As a consequence Warburg—as if he really were an anthropologist—did not ‘see’ paintings as units, as integrated, delicately calibrated formal machines where every part functions only in relation to the other parts. Take for example the 47 Warburg, ‘Sandro Botticellis “Geburt der Venus” und “Frühling”‘ (1893), in Warburg, Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 37; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 125. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 17 Adoration of the Shepherds, the altarpiece painted by Ghirlandaio in 1485 for the Sassetti Chapel (fig. 5). Figure 5 Domenico Ghirlandaio, Adoration of the Shepherds, 1485. Florence, S. Trinita, Cappella Sassetti. Warburg understood the painting as an arena where the patron was able to bring two different visions of antiquity into harmony. The antique sarcophagus behind the head of the Child demonstrates the triumph of the Church over paganism. In the background, where an animated pagan procession passes under a triumphal arch— the arrival of the Three Magi—the emotional gestural language of antiquity is forced to celebrate the Christian victory. The procession suggests ‘symptomatically’ the ‘counterexpression of purely aesthetic Renaissance joy in animated form, a sort of “votive” offering, to the medieval and religious illustrational interest in art, summoning a reawakened antiquity as witness to its own pastness…’.48 The precise equilibrium and structure of the painted composition, its careful adaptation of its 48 Warburg, ‘Francesco Strozzis letztwillige Verfügung’, in Warburg, Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 158; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 249. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 18 pictorial models, just do not matter here. The required elements, the gestures, are all present and accounted for inside the picture—and that’s enough. By disregarding the frame and instead isolating the gesture, Warburg was seeking the deepest possible motivations behind art-making. Warburg goes so far back behind ‘art’ that he is no longer interested in the visual as such. In his art history he really does not differentiate the ‘visual arts’ and the other arts. For example, in his Botticelli articles he does not distinguish between poetry, pageantry, and painting. All the conventional conceptual tools of art history, ‘form’, ‘style’, ‘format’, ‘composition’, are functions of a synoptic ‘visualized’ conception of artefacts that is inextricable from a conception of the artwork. Warburg has no such synoptic conception of the work of visual art. He takes no interest in figure-ground relationships or framing devices that structure the art of painting: the human figure is the alpha and the omega of the artwork. Warburg’s pathos-formula was a strong symbol, a fusion of content with form. Warburg’s unpublished notes suggest that one of the key conceptual sources for the pathos-formula was the engram, a term coined by the psychologist Richard Semon to denote the capacity of living organisms to carry the traces of events and stimuli, thus preserving those stimuli in social memory. The engram was the direct imprinting of stimuli on substance. Warburg uses similar language when he speaks, for example, of ‘the experience of religious ritual as the primal mint for the expressive systems of tragic passions.’ 49 Warburg transmuted this term into his own private term ‘dynamogram.’ 50 Warburg also drew on the thought of the Italian evolutionary theorist Tito Vignoli, who saw primitive man reacting to a dimly comprehended environment with the ‘phobic reflex of cause projection’, a defensive warding off of malevolent forces. 51 The basic, often traumatic, experiences of archaic man were imprinted in symbols, often concretized gestures, and are preserved by civilization, conceived as a handing down of symbols. Warburg understood the image as an indexical record of the emotions and reactions of the past. No wonder the image within his art history could function as a sort of super-document, a supremely eloquent testimony of the past. Such a strong symbol could not be assimilated by art history. Panofsky had to domesticate Warburg’s pathos-formulae by explaining their force in the following way: they ‘retain their validity for many centuries and appear “natural” to us’, Panofsky wrote, ‘precisely because they are ‘idealized’ as compared to reality— because a wealth of particular observations had been condensed and sublimated into one universal experience.’52 But Panofsky’s description is a misrepresentation. This idealization is not at all what Warburg had in mind. 49 Gombrich, Aby Warburg, 244. 50 Gombrich, Aby Warburg, 248; also Didi-Huberman, L’image survivante, 176. 51 Gombrich, Aby Warburg, 217. 52 Panofsky, Meaning in the Visual Arts, 268. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 19 Matthew Rampley has explicated Warburg’s symbol in terms of contemporary theories of ‘empathy’, or the imaginative projection of the self onto the other. Rampley argues that Warburg understood his pathos-formulas as concrete symbols of such projections. These symbols then became themselves screens for projection; and this is the basis for their peculiar magic and strength. ‘The image’, Rampley explains, ‘itself becomes the empathized other. The symbolic representation loses its symbolic quality, the distinction between the image and its symbolized object is collapsed, and the image is subject to the same empathic identification as its represented object.’ 53 The chain of empathic gestures is recursive. In Podro’s words, the symbol is ‘both an image of a situation which confronts us, and a gesture we make within that situation.’54 The work of art that was built on an antique pathos-formula, such as a painting by Botticelli, itself immediately became a pathos-formula in its own right. The chain of pathos-formulas, for Warburg, carries ‘social memory.’ Social memory for Warburg was not a hermeneutic process of remembering only what ‘interests’ us, of the sort identified with the nineteenth-century German historians Johann Gustav Droysen or Wilhelm Dilthey. 55 Nor was memory a systemic process, whereby forms are recycled or discarded according to a logic internal to a system, generating something like an effect of memory. 56 Memory for Warburg was also something too important to be left to the individual subject. Instead, in Warburg, memory is carried like a living charge, objectively, by the recursive sequence of pathos-formulas. Warburg saw cultural history as a network of gestures that from time to time inhabit the spaces that are sometimes called ‘works of art.’ Art was not so much a place for him, as a mode of social behaviour. To express this vision, he needed to break out of conventional scholarly formats. He devised the Bilderatlas, the picture- atlas.57 The picture-atlas was the strange project that occupied Warburg at the end of 53 Matthew Rampley, ‘Aby Warburg’s Theory of Art’, Art Bulletin 79, 1997, 48. The important study by Spyros Papapetros, On the Animation of the Inorganic: Art, Architecture, and the Extension of Life, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012, understands the convulsive, empathetic identification with objects as the core theme of Warburg’s thought. 54 Podro, Critical Historians of Art, 176. 55 Warnke, ‘”Der Leidschatz der Menschheit wird humaner Besitz”’, 113. 56 Cf. Niklas Luhmann, Die Kunst der Gesellschaft, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1997, 170-71; Art as a Social System, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000, 105. 57 See Dorothee Bauerle, Gespenstergeschichten für ganz Erwachsene: Ein Kommentar zu Aby Warburgs Bilderatlas Mnemosyne, Münster: Lit, 1988; Begleitmaterial zur Ausstellung ‘Mnemosyne’, Marianne Koos, Wolfram Pichler, Werner Rappl, and Gudrun Swoboda, eds, Hamburg: Dölling und Galitz, 1994; Martin Warnke, ed, Der Bilderatlas MNEMOSYNE, Gesammelte Schriften, II, 1, Berlin: Akademie, 2000; Kurt W. Forster and Katia Mazzucco, Introduzione ad Aby Warburg e all' Atlante della Memoria, Milan: Mondadori, 2002; Cornelia Zumbusch, Wissenschaft in Bildern: Symbol und dialektisches Bild in Aby Warburgs Mnemosyne- Atlas und Walter Benjamins Passagen-Werk, Berlin: Akademie, 2004; the exhibition catalogue by Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 20 his life and which he named Mnemosyne, ‘memory.’ The atlas was never published, but only previewed. In its last version it was a room-sized display system involving forty panels stretched with black cloth to which Warburg attached something like a thousand photographs of Renaissance paintings, ancient sculpted reliefs, illuminated manuscript pages, ex votos, maps, modern news photos, advertisements. A good example is panel 77, an irregular constellation embracing Medea about to Kill Her Children and The Massacre at Chios by Delacroix, modern photographs of golfers, two Greek coins, the cover of a fish cookbook, postage stamps from France and Barbados, an advertisement for a beauty cream, and a seal presenting Charles II of England as Neptune (fig. 6). Figure 6 ‘Mnemosyne’, panel 77 (from: Aby Warburg Mnemosyne: L’Atlante delle imagine, Nino Aragno Editore 2002) What does it all mean? ‘The catharsis of the “headhunter” having taken the form of a golfer’—in Warburg’s enigmatic phrase. 58 By pinning them to panels, Warburg declined to submit the images to the hierarchies of grammar or argument, but rather allowed them to pulse in all directions at once, connecting laterally with one another. The panels of the picture-atlas were like the façade of a Romanesque Didi-Huberman, Atlas: ¿cómo llevar el mundo a cuestas?, Madrid: MNCARS, 2010; Atlas, ou le gai savoir inquiet, Paris: Minuit, 2011; Christopher D. Johnson, Memory, Metaphor, and Aby Warburg's Atlas of Images, Cornell: Cornell University Press, 2012; Matthew Vollgraff, ‘The Archive and the Labyrinth: On the Contemporary Bilderatlas’, October 149, 2014, 143–58. 58 Warburg, journal, July 31, 1929, cited by Gombrich, Aby Warburg, 301. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 21 church, studded with monstrous, apotropaic symbols, forming incomprehensible motifs. The Bilderatlas treated images like accumulations of energy circulating through history, never settling into units of discrete meaning. One need hardly point out how hard it is to sustain today such theories of the ‘direct imprinting of stimuli’, ‘phobic reflexes’, empathic projection, or memory as a living charge. They are too loosely connected to any real knowledge about the psychology of fear or ritual. Instead they rest on quasi-mystical conceptions of the survival of primordial energy. One can partially rescue the Warburgian symbol by associating it with a post-clinical, purely hermeneutic conception of the psychoanalytic symptom, as Didi-Huberman brilliantly does, but then it is no longer really Warburg’s pathos-formula. 59 The pathos-formula, it would seem, is a concept of the image that drastically underrates the conventional and systemic aspects of representation, that is, it discounts the internal logics of substitution, replication, and transformation that representations are submitted to. In Warburg’s schema there is no interference from signification.60 The pathos-formula simply retains its charge throughout its historical run, unless it is corrupted by barbarism or concealed by decadent artifice. Warburg’s intuition was that the image escapes the binds of mere culture and so confronts us with the face of history itself. Giorgio Agamben, in his essay on Warburg, translated this idea out of the scientific vocabulary of the late nineteenth century and into the terms of a twentieth-century philosophy of being: what might have appeared as an unconscious structure par excellence—the image—instead showed itself to be a decisively historical element, the very place of human cognitive activity in its vital confrontation with the past. What thus came to light...was neither a kind of diachrony nor a kind of synchrony but, rather, the point at which a human subject was produced in the rupture of this opposition.....The image is the place in which the subject strips itself of the mythical, psychosomatic character given to it, in the presence of an equally mythical object, by a theory of knowledge that is in truth simply disguised metaphysics. Only then does the subject rediscover its original and—in the etymological sense of the word—speculative purity.61 59 Didi-Huberman, L’image survivante, 284 and passim. Podro, Critical Historians, 176, thought that Warburg’s concept of the symbol was closer to Freud’s condensation than to the theory of empathy. 60 Didi-Huberman, L’image survivante, 182. 61 Agamben, ‘Aby Warburg and the Nameless Science’, 102. Another expression of the same insight, I believe, is the subtle study by Giovanni Careri, ‘Rituel, Pathosformel, et forme intermédiare’, L’Homme 165, 2003, 41-76, which understands the Pathosformel as a ‘configuration’, a place where image, text, and ritual ‘se nouent’, permitting a direct opening onto existence. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 22 Agamben’s ontological approach to the image not only rhymes with Warburg’s collective psychology of the image, but also allows us to perceive a further rhyme. For here we are not so far, once we have allowed for the difference in terminology, from the picture of the history of Western art that Gombrich offered in his magnum opus Art and Illusion (1960). In this book Gombrich argued that artists make pictures by manipulating ready-made representational devices, inherited ‘schemata’ that designate reality by force of convention. But the driving impulse of art, and the source of the historical drama for Gombrich, was the struggle to escape convention and deliver reality itself. The hidden telos of art history for Gombrich is the ‘true image’ that escapes history. It is Gombrich who best grasped the incompatibility of Warburg’s model with the traditional history of art—the art history of Wölfflin, Riegl, and Panofsky—which does not attribute to art the ability to recognize any reality beyond the reach of its representational conventions. He also perceived clearly Warburg’s disengagement from aesthetics. Gombrich rightly saw that in order to escape the impasse of Kunstwissenschaft one had to abandon abruptly the concepts of the artwork and of visuality. Gombrich in his biography noted that Warburg moved from art history to the scientific study of man, attending courses in psychology in Berlin after handing in his art historical dissertation. 62 It is the same move that Gombrich himself made in his career. Warburg was intensely engaged with the study of medicine, psychology, and evolutionary biology. Like Gombrich, and following the lead of the historian Karl Lamprecht, Warburg was interested in the psychological basis for optical perception and in children’s drawings as a starting point for a psychological ethnology. 63 Gombrich, in his own agon with conventional Kunstwissenschaft, put his trust in experimental science. He tried to force the results of science onto the phenomenon of art, with limited success. Warburg’s science and Gombrich’s science were two different ways of attempting to break with the same history of art. Our perception of this break is perspectivally distorted because Gombrich’s science is closer to us in time, and so looks more like ‘normal’ science with all its crass incapacity to deal with the mystery of art; whereas Warburg’s science is a primitive, rough-edged, nineteenth-century science. But in a hundred years the difference between their scientisms will not appear so sharp, and they will both look like audacious attempts to break away from idealist philosophy and from humanism. 62 Gombrich, Aby Warburg, 84. 63 Warburg described himself as a ‘monist’ ready to reduce aesthetic categories to psychology; see Georg Syamken, ‘Aby Warburg—Ideen und Initiativen’, Die Menschenrechte des Auges, 33. Cf. also Kathryn Brush, ‘Aby Warburg and the Cultural Historian Karl Lamprecht’, in Woodfield, ed, Art History as Cultural History. On children’s drawings, see Barbara Wittmann, ‘Indian Rituals and Children’s Drawings: A Footnote on Aby Warburg’s Psychogenesis of Culture’, in New Perspectives in Iconology: Visual Studies and Anthropology, eds. Barbara Baert and Ann-Sophie Lehmann, Brussels: ASP, 2012. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 23 Gombrich was not a pure humanist. He was not afraid of science; and he was not afraid to sketch the limits of human freedom. Science—and here it doesn’t matter whether it is ‘good’ or ‘bad’ science—is disrespectful of free will. Both Gombrich and Warburg were ready to remove the human subject and its decision-making powers from their models of cultural history. For if the visualized object is absent from Warburg’s art history, so too is the visualizing subject. The historical subject for Warburg is nothing more than the notional source of the emotion crystallized in the Pathosformel. The subject is erased in Warburg’s schema; there is only the network of concretized gestures, hieroglyphs, afterimages of rituals, into which a subject can choose to insert itself. The Pathosformel do the suffering for you. The threat to free will posed by science was understood already by Petrarch. The poet deplored both astrology and Greek science, preferring instead the ancient Roman focus on man. ‘We are not Greeks, nor barbarians’, he wrote, ‘but Italians and Latins.’ 64 Physics and astrology, for Petrarch, were both causal models that removed man from centre stage. Today Petrarch’s ‘Latin’ faith in man seems more remote than ever. No longer with dread, it seems, does anyone contemplate the anti-humanist or posthuman picture of a subjectless cultural cosmos. Such a cosmos is no longer the clockwork universe of materialistic science, perhaps, but a product of one might characterize as a new ‘astrology’ of culture. Culture, under this rubric, is understood as a system that grants the individual only a limited freedom of action; a system whose complex operations reveal themselves only in talismanic focal points that we may, if we like, call ‘works of art.’ These talismans work effects on minds and bodies that we cannot even begin to explain; effects that satisfy any possible definition of magic. Aby Warburg was already pointing towards this new astrology. The weakness of Warburg’s art history was precisely its unwillingness to approach the human subject except in its emotional states of self-loss or in performance. He avoided an expansive engagement with subjectivity just as he avoided interpreting works of art. Warburg may appear vulnerable to the same critique that was levelled against Ernst Cassirer by Martin Heidegger and others: namely, that his philosophy of culture was based on an excessively abstract model of symbol-formation and was insufficiently attentive to subjective experience and the engagement of the subject with factuality. But as Bernd Villhauer has argued, that critique may not fit Warburg.65 First, as we have seen, Warburg’s image, once it has been translated out of the language of science, promises to deliver, or even creates, the subject with an immediacy that scientific thought can only dream of. Second, Warburg understood symbol-making as a pragmatic activity embedded in ordinary experience. For Warburg the art of the Florentine Quattrocento was an 64 Eugenio Garin, Astrology in the Renaissance, London: Routledge, 1983, 30. 65 Bernd Villhauer, Aby Warburgs Theorie der Kultur: Detail und Sinnhorizont, Berlin: Akademie, 2002, 144-48. Cf. Peter Gordon, Continental Divide: Heidegger, Cassirer, Davos, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2010. Christopher S. Wood Aby Warburg, Homo victor 24 ‘occasional’ art, a practical art devised for this or that occasion, an art that moved in step with life. The artist for Warburg was ‘a master of technical tricks, born under the planet Mercury, who could do anything and supply anything; who painted and sculpted in his back workshop, but who had a front shop in which he sold all that anyone might need: belt buckles, painted marriage chests, church furnishings, votive waxes, engravings.’66 The symbol is ‘won’ out of a daily struggle with the conditions of existence. In this process the question of subjectivity is deferred. Yet Warburg’s art history does not evade factuality. In this respect, too, there is an unexpected convergence with the London Warburgians: with the Baxandall of Painting and Experience in Fifteenth Century Italy (1972), for example, where ‘art’ is defined as the medium of a social relation among artists, patrons, and other beholders, sustained by a common repertoire of mental and affective habits, skills, and bodily disciplines. The work of art, for Baxandall just as for Warburg, was not so much a mirror of mind, as it is for more humanistically inclined scholars, but rather an ‘extrusion’ of daily, sensual experience. The convergence between Warburg and the British Warburgians is, finally, limited. For Baxandall’s ‘social objects’ do not lead strange lives in time. Unlike Warburg’s symbols, they are anchored to their historical worlds. It is the temporal instability of the Pathosformel, finally, that makes it unassimilable by art history. Warburg’s symbol is so strong that it is almost a portent or epiphany. Didi- Huberman does not hesitate to associate it with Nietzsche’s conception of the eternal return.67 For Didi-Huberman—and here he follows Walter Benjamin, one of Warburg’s most perspicacious readers—the Warburgian pathos-formula has a kind of ‘natural’ force, a real force. One wonders whether the current fascination with Warburg is not a way for contemporary scholarship to achieve a desired rapprochement with emblematic or epiphanic models of apprehension without appearing too mystical. Warburg today seems draped in a kind of rough glamour, the charisma of an archaic or ‘rusticated’ mode of history-writing. He writes an ‘enthusiastic’ history, like an ecstatic witness—he represents all the sincerity and eerie insight that scholarship believes it has lost. Christopher S. Wood is Professor in the German Department, New York University. He is the author of Albrecht Altdorfer and the Origins of Landscape (1993, reissued with new afterword, 2014); Forgery, Replica, Fiction: Temporalities of German Renaissance Art (2008) (awarded the Susanne M. Glasscock Humanities Book Prize for Interdisciplinary Scholarship); and Anachronic Renaissance (with Alexander Nagel) (2010). He is the editor of The Vienna School Reader: Politics and Art Historical Method in the 1930s (2000). christopher.wood@nyu.edu 66 Warburg, ‘Bildniskunst und Florentinisches Bürgertum’, Gesammelte Schriften, 1: 113; Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, 202. 67 Didi-Huberman, L’image survivante, 169-76. 
work_bjfpvntqzray5fpxsazobnbl5u	----	A spiritual journey in Bill Viola's art. by Elena Marcheschi (Università di Pisa) Exhibition: Bill Viola (Paris, Gran Palais, Galeries nationales, March 5 – July 21, 2014) Catalogue: Bill Viola (Paris: Éditions de la Rèunion des musées nationaux, 2014), sous la direction de Jérôme Neutres http://www.grandpalais.fr/en/event/bill-viola From March 5 to July 21, 2014, the Grand Palais in Paris presented the largest retrospective ever dedicated in France to the American artist Bill Viola, one of the most important pioneers in video art creation, whose work has been showcased in many of the world's foremost museums. Moreover, that was also the first exhibition dedicated to video art in the history of the Galerie nationales du Grand Palais, a huge site for cultural commemoration, preservation and canonized art that on this occasion turned into a spectacular context to show what the medium video is through the production of one of the greatest contemporary videomakers. Almost forty years of Viola's videoproduction have been retraced, from 1977 to 2013: a span that, apart from the Sixties, represents the historical development of videoart. From single channel videos, passing through videosculptures, videoinstallations, videoprojections, sound enviroments and landing at last on the surfaces of plasma displays, the retrospective depicted what may be called the Bill Viola's spiritual journey through the electronic medium. The exhibition itinerary has been conceived as an emotional path itself: submerged in the dark, the public was meant to step into a contemporary version of the Plato's cave. A dark and silent space, with a hushed atmosphere that recalled a house of prayer, where the visitor was invited to establish a deep visual and spiritual connection with each Viola's works of art, flowing in a kind of initiatory journey. As Jérôme Neutres, curator of the exhibition, writes: 'The artist's intention is to create conditions that enable the public to immerse itself in the image - a symbol expressed by the recurrant metaphor of a body plunging into water.'1 And in fact, as Valentina Valentini says, in Bill Viola's exhibitions the visitor is not only a mere spectator, someone wandering distractedly around, because Viola's oeuvres are not just containers of multiple and different things.2 His artistic creation aims to arrange perceptive itineraries, composed by rythms and movements, which asks the spectator to take the same breath and dynamics, falling into a contemplative and estatic empathy. At the Grand Palais the invitation to a personal and intimate journey was marked at the beginnnig of the visit with an opening quotation by the soufi Ibn Arabi: 'If you engage the travel, you will arrive'. Divided into three ideal chapters connected to three metaphysical questions, the retrospective asked the public to confront about some common and fundamental issues to the human condition, questions that have been largely investigated in Viola's research – Who am I? Where am I? Where am I going? In this perspective, the artist's desire was to trigger into the viewer both an aesthetic experience and a spiritual confrontation thanks to an intimate encounter with his works of art. The cycle of life from birth to death, the practice of introspection, the relationship between landscape and mankind, the ideas of transcendence and transfiguration: these are the great themes that Viola presented in this exhibition, trying to strike the public's intellect as well as the inner emotions. Although the retrospective began with the grainy and trembling projection of The Reflecting Pool (1977-1979), one of the first Viola's work, and ended with the perfect images of the seven high- resolution screens of The Dreamers (2013), the twenty works of art presented in between were not in chronologically order. On the one hand the metaphorical beginning of Viola's videoart, an entrance with a proactive jump into the water and all the possible temporal manipulations of that bounce: frozen image, slow motion, appearance, disappearance. On the other hand a closure with the apparent stillness and peace of seven individuals submerged underwater. Water in both cases, as in most of Viola's productions. As Maria Rosa Sossai writes, the presence of http://www.grandpalais.fr/en/event/bill-viola water 'is an acknowledgement of the crucial role this element plays in the iconography of the great masters of painting, and of its value as a dynamic natural force. In its flowing, water stands in relation to passing time [...] or, as Viola recalls, the flow of electrons. In its complex symbolism, water may be seen as a celebration of the ritual of purification through which ordinary gestures turn into something unprecedented.'3 As the protagonist of Ascension (2000) that suddenly plunges into the water from above as if involved in a contemporary and choreographic baptism (another Viola's piece presented in the exhibition), in this retrospective the spectator was given the chance to drown into a spiritual itinerary, to breathe and to take his time: time to slow down, to stop, to think, to meditate, to understand and, at last, to accept or refuse life's great mysteries. As Viola says, 'the artist must immerse himself in a world so intimate and private, with the aim to create something that may be shared with many and different people.'4 At the Grand Palais, Viola and his public met in this common interior immersion. Time, however, is another great and crucial issue in the entire artist's production. As a sculptur of time, as Viola likes to define himself, his work is totally based on the manipulation of speedness of the electronic flux, slowing down the movement, slowing down the gestures, using repetitions, always mantaining technical and aesthetic perfection. 'In Viola's tapes we sense that he is manipulating the instantaneous – stretching it or exaggerating its effect of momentariness.'5 Although there is no stillness in Viola's production, his basic idea of expanded time is meant to calm down the spectator in order to purify his capacity to look outside and inside himself and to give him the chance to look at the world in a more attentive way, trying to see with a inner light made of emotions and feelings. As Valentina Valentini writes, 'what is required is a religious vision, not a distracted and fast mass consumption […] to enter the vision of Viola's works of art it's necessary to dive into a bath of darkness, to purify our eyes as the ancient incons' makers […].'6 So, in Paris the visitors have been engaged in a kind of meditation training, pushed to research something that was both mental and physical: a hidden place inside themselves where to embrace a holy sense of infinite. That was the alchemy created by the second piece presented in the retrospective, Heaven and Earth (1992), a videoscuplture formed by two exposed monitors facing each other, each one showing a black-and-white video image: the upper monitor presents the image of an old woman close to death, the lower screen shows the close-up of a new born baby. The two images reflect and blur into each other, because of the glass surface of each monitor. In this Viola's touching installation, as in the Buddhist philosophy, the concepts of birth and death melt together, since birth is not really a beginning and death is not really an end. With Four Hands (2001), a black and white video polyptych on four LCD panels, Viola has offered the public the chance for another intimate and symbolic reflection about the mysteries of our origins and the cycle of life: in this work, four pair of hands, those of a young boy, those of a middle-aged woman and a man, and those of an elderly woman perform a series of gestures, influenced by Buddhist mudras and ancient English chirologia tables. In Viola's production the idea of passage of time is strictly connected to the important issue of the body, which is not only expression of physical and mental decay, but also expression of soul and passions. In The Quintet of Astonished (2000) inspired by Bosch's Christ Crowned with Thorns, another videoinstallation presented in the exhibition, a group of five people are shown as they are afflicted by an intense emotion. The slow motion stretched to the extreme allows the spectators to catch the smallest details of facial expression, not knowing the reason of such deep pain. If many of Viola's works have been inspired by religious painting realized by Giotto, Pontormo, Durer, etc. it's important to understand how much he is not interested in a specific religion or god and how much he is fascinated by people's emotions, their surprises, their fears, their pains: feelings that Viola wants to represent always in a meticolous and overemphasized way, as Anne-Marie Duguet says during an interview included in Jean-Paul Fargier's video Bill Viola, espérience de l'infini, realized on the occasion of Viola's retrospective. The biggest space of the exhibition was dedicated to the huge installation Going Forth by Day (2002). Divided in five parts directly projected onto the walls as in Italian Renaissance frescoes, it was the largest and the most technically complex work in the retrospective, with five image sequences playing simoultaneously that explore in a narrative way some fundamental themes of human existance: the relation between the individual and society, the cycle of birth, death and rebirth. Once inside the room the atmosphere was that of a holy, collective ceremony. Overwhelmed at the entrance by the light of a huge fire, the public was free to move around looking at each single video, or keeping still, trying to catch the subtle links between the complexity of images. The final part of the exhibition was dedicated to those works connected to the ideas of rebirth and transcendence. Besides the already mentioned Ascension and The Dreamers, the two first works opening this section were the haunting and immersive installations extracted from Viola's creation for Richard Wagner's opera Tristan und Isolde, directed by Peter Sellars: Tristan's Ascension (The Sound of a Mountain Under a Waterfall) (2005) and Fire Woman (2005). On the one hand a projecton onto a tall, vertically oriented screen where the soul of the literary hero is awakened up after his death and raised to the sky through a spectacular waterfall. On the other hand and by contrast, a second tall projection presented the vision of a woman standing up against a wall of fire and then falling into the water. After these two mythical and mystical apparition, the public at the Grand Palais was invited to step back into the more concrete and fleshly human body in the diptych Man Searching for Immortality/Woman Searching for Eternity (2013), where two naked human figures of seniors projected on large vertical slabs of black granite, as if they are carved out over their graves, explore their skin with a small light, trying to capture diseases or corruptions as in a careful search to escape death. At last, the seven submerged bodies of The Dreamers, suspended between life and death, closed the exhibition and the public's spiritual journey. Inspired by the great masters of painting, and with a deep knowledge of Zen Buddhism, Christian Mysticism and Islam Sufism, Bill Viola's art, as Chris Townsend writes, is 'an art of affect rather than distanced appraisal […]; an art of duration and absorption rather than an immediate satisfaction and revelation'.7 Viola's art it's an art for everyone, that talks to everyone, engaging the public in a vision that passes through the eyes, as much as through the heart. References Neutres, J., Bill Viola. Album Bilingue de l'exposition. Paris: Édition de la Réunion des musées nationaux, 2014. Kuspit D., Bill Viola: Deconstructing Presence, in Bill Viola. Installations and videotapes, edited by Barbara London, published on the occasion of the exhibition Bill Viola, October 16, 1987 – January 3, 1988, New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1987. Sossai, M.R. Reflections beyond the threshold of the visible, in Bill Viola. Reflection., A. Bernardini (a cura di), Catalogo mostra Villa e Collezione Panza 12 maggio – 28 ottobre 2012. Cinisello Balsamo (Mi): Silvana Editoriale, 2012. Townsend C., (edited by) The art of Bill Viola. London: Thames and Hudson, 2004. Valentini, V. (a cura di), Bill Viola. Vedere con la mente e con il cuore. Roma: Gangemi, 1993. Viola B., Apprendere la tecnologia degli esseri umani, in Le pratiche del video, V. Valentini (a cura 1 Neutres 2014, p. 5. 2 Valentini 1993, p. 11. 3 Sossai 2012, p. 25. 4 Viola, 165 5 Kuspit, p. 73 6 Valentini 1993, p. 11 7 Townsend 2004, p. 9 
work_bjxsnu4df5atjofgccv3yfulfy	----	doi:10.1016/j.culher.2003.08.002 Original article Non-destructive characterization of Della Robbia sculptures at the Bargello museum in Florence by the combined use of PIXE and XRF portable systems G. Pappalardo a,b, E. Costa b, C. Marchetta b, L. Pappalardo b,c,*, F.P. Romano b,c, A. Zucchiatti d,e, P. Prati d,e, P.A. Mandò f,g, A. Migliori f,g, L. Palombo f,g, M.G. Vaccari h a Dipartimento di Fisica, Università di Catania, Viale Andrea Doria 6, 95123 Catania, Italy b Laboratori Nazionali del Sud, INFN, Via S. Sofia 44, 95123 Catania, Italy c C.N.R., Sezione di Catania dell’Istituto per i Beni Archeologici e Monumentali, Via. A. di Sangiuliano 262, 95100 Catania, Italy d INFN, Sezione di Genova, Via Dodecaneso 33, 16146 Genova, Italy e Dipartimento di Fisica, Università di Genova, Via Dodecaneso 33, 16146 Genova, Italy f Dipartimento di Fisica, Università di Firenze, Largo E. Fermi 2, 50125 Florence, Italy g INFN, Sezione di Firenze, Largo E. Fermi 2, 50125 Florence, Italy h Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Via del Proconsolo 4, 50122 Florence, Italy Received 17 April 2003; accepted 1 August 2003 Abstract “In situ” non-destructive characterization of the blue pigments present in the ceramic glazes of Della Robbia sculptures have been carried out at the Bargello museum in Florence. PIXE and XRF portable systems have been used to determine the matrix composition and the trace-elements, respectively. The results indicate that the arsenic is present as trace-element only after 1520. © 2004 Elsevier SAS. All rights reserved. Keywords: PIXE-alpha; XRF; Portable systems; Non-destructive characterization; Della Robbia sculptures; Ceramic glazes; In situ measurements Research aims The presence of arsenic in the blue pigments could be used as an indicator of the provenance of raw materials. Recently, the arsenic presence has been found in some blue pigments of the Della Robbia sculptures. The richest and best known collection of these sculptures is conserved in the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Flo- rence. By the use of new non-destructive and portable instru- ments it has been possible to establish that arsenic is present in the Della Robbia sculptures only starting from the 1520. 1. Introduction Glazed terracotta sculptures have undoubtedly been one of the artistic innovations of the Italian Renaissance brought by Luca Della Robbia in Florence in the first half of the XV century and continued afterwards by his family and also by the Buglioni’s. The distinctive character of glazed terracottas is the smooth, bright, often polychrome cover that has largely contributed to the success of such artefacts (the Robbiane) at the Della Robbia time and constitutes today one of the keys for a better understanding of the artists skills and techniques. Ceramic glazes are complex mixtures of silica, fluxes and metallic oxides, baked at high temperature, whose composi- tion can be conveniently determined for major, minor and trace chemical elements with non-destructive “elemental” analytical techniques [1]. The glaze elemental composition is expected to depend on raw materials and workshop recipes; the precise determina- tion of minor and trace-elements can be particularly impor- tant to differentiate [2] or to aggregate [3] groups of objects that are stylistically related, to possibly establish the prov- enance of the artefact and the origin of pigments as well as to monitor the time evolution of materials and techniques. Since a few years, the polychrome glazes of the Robbiane have been extensively investigated on potsherds, whole sculptures ∗ Corresponding author. E-mail address: lighea@lns.infn.it (L. Pappalardo). Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 www.elsevier.com/locate/culher © 2004 Elsevier SAS. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.culher.2003.08.002 and polished sections [1]. Particle-induced X-ray emission (PIXE), an ion beam analysis technique particularly suited in the Cultural Heritage field [4,5], has been successfully ap- plied in the above studies performed at the INFN Florence accelerator [6,7] and at the Centre de Recherche et Restaura- tion des Musées de France [1]. In the blue colour the study has shown the most evident changes of raw materials, marked primarily by highly different amounts of arsenic in the pigment, definitely related to time and therefore poten- tially suitable for indirect dating [8]. In this context analyses of artefacts that have sure author attribution and are dated, on the basis of documents, with high degree of certitude, are of the highest importance to establish a more precise relation of the glazes composition with time. The richest and best known collection of Della Robbia sculptures is conserved in the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Florence. It has been extensively studied by art history specialists [9] and offers a unique opportunity of combining archaeometric and stylistic time-related information subject, quite evidently, to the capability of applying non-destructive in situ techniques for the analysis of glazes. In the present work, we illustrate a new approach, making use of PIXE and XRF portable techniques to determine in the Robbiane of the Bargello both the major constituents of the blue glaze matrix (Si, Al, Pb, Sn) and some characteristic elements brought in by the blue pigment (Co, Ni, Fe, As). 2. Experimental methods 2.1. Portable PIXE analysis PIXE is a well established analytical technique that, due to the behaviour of the ionisation cross-section, strongly de- creasing with the increasing of Z atomic number, is particu- larly suitable for light elements analysis [10,11]. A portable system, unique in the world, has been developed at the INFN Laboratori Nazionali del Sud of Catania (Italy), in collabora- tion with the DIMRI Laboratory of Saclay (France), and the Italian CNR-Progetto Finalizzato BBCC [12,13]. The system, called PIXE-alpha, is made of: (i) A 1 mCi 210Po alpha-source assembled in an annular geometry; (ii) The beam spot has a 7 mm diameter; (iii) A Si-drift detector, 10 mm2 active surface, Peltier- cooled, with a resolution of 145 eV at 5.9 keV pro- duced by KETEK and assembled by EIS; (iv) A standard acquisition system. Helium gas is continuously flown between the alpha source and the sample surface so that the PIXE-alpha system can detect elements as light as Na. The good energy resolu- tion enables to distinguish between the K line of S at 2.308 keV from the M line of Pb at 2.345 keV. The measure- ment time is typically 15–30 min, with the Minimum Detec- tion Limits (MDL) shown in Table 1. As it can be seen the system is able to analyse major-elements of low Z as those constituting the silicate matrix, but cannot analyse trace- elements because of the low intensity of the alpha-source that must be kept below mandatory limits to obey safety regula- tions. A typical energy spectrum, taken on a petrological standard SCO-1, particularly rich in light elements [14], is shown in Fig. 1. The peaks corresponding to Na, Mg, Al, Si, S + Pb, K, Ca and Fe elements are well recognized. 2.2. Portable XRF analysis XRF (X-Ray Fluorescence), contrary to PIXE, is suitable for analysis of heavier elements due to the increase of the Table 1 Minimum Detection Limits in PIXE-alpha analysis Na Mg Al Si S K Ca Fe MDL (%) 0.2 0.09 0.15 0.14 0.08 0.13 0.33 0.93 1 10 100 1000 10000 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Energy (keV) stnuo C Si Al K FeNa Ca Mg Cl S Ti Fig. 1. PIXE spectrum on the Sco-1 standard. 184 G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 ionisation cross-section with the increase of the Z atomic number [10,11]. X-rays in our portable system are emitted by three 109Cd radioactive sources assembled in a annular ge- ometry [15,16]. The X-ray energy is 22.1 keV and it is particularly suitable to excite fluorescence in medium and heavy elements like As, Pb (L lines), Rb, Sr, Zr, Y. The detector is a Ge (IGLET-ORTEC), 80 mm2 surface. MDL is some tens of ppm. Figs. 2 and 3 show typical PIXE and XRF spectra on blue glazes. 2.3. Calibration and test of the systems The PIXE and XRF systems were calibrated by using reference standards: the SCO-1 petrological standard for PIXE calibration (see Table 2) and pure elements for XRF. Quantitative analysis were performed using the Gupix code [17,18] in the matrix option for PIXE and the AXIL QXAS code [19] in the “known low Z-matrix” option for Table 2 Compar ison between measured and certified values (SCO-1 petrological standard) in the PIXE-alpha analysis Na2O MgO Al2O3 SiO2 P2O5 K2O CaO TiO2 Fe(III) tot PIXE data 0.8 ± 0.2 2.8 ± 0.4 16.2 ± 2.2 64.7 ± 6 0.3 ± 0.2 3.5 ± 0.4 2.8 ± 0.5 0.7 ± 0.1 5.5 ± 1.6 Ref. 0.9 2.72 13.67 62.78 0.21 2.77 2.62 0.63 5.14 Barg6 - XRF 1 10 100 1000 10000 100000 1000000 0 2 4 6 8 10 12 14 16 18 20 22 24 26 Energy (keV) stnuo C 22.1 keV Fe Ni Co Cu Pb Fig. 2. XRF spectrum of a blue glaze. Medium and high Z elements typical of a glaze are clearly present. Arsenic is not detected in this 1475 Andrea Della Robbia sculpture. Barg6 - PIXE 1 10 100 1000 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 Energy (KeV) stnuo C Si S, Pb-M Al Na Mg Cl Sn-L Ca Pb-L Fig. 3. PIXE spectrum of a blue glaze. Si, Pb-M, Sn and Ca are clearly present. 185G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 XRF. We have used the PIXE data as matrix input to XRF calculation. To test the systems a series of glass standard has been measured and the obtained data are shown in Table 3. As can be seen the agreement of measured and certified concentra- tions is generally good both for elements detected by the PIXE-alpha system (low-Z) and by the XRF system (me- dium, high Z). It must be observed that the glass standards are intrinsically homogeneous. This is not the case for ceramic glazes [2] at a microscopic level; we can however assume that in the present analysis that involves large glaze areas (1 cm2), the composition is well averaged over the glaze- microstructures. 3. Results of measurements at the Bargello museum in Florence The blue pigment characterization was the main objective of the present work. The relative flexibility of the equipment, and the remarkable cooperation and assistance of the mu- seum staff, to whom we are deeply indebted, has allowed us to perform a measuring campaign, lasted 1 week and cen- tered on 12 sculptures, without interfering with the public access to the museum. Fig. 4 shows a detail of the system during PIXE-alpha analysis of the blue background of the Madonna del Roseto, a masterpiece of Luca Della Robbia. Table 3 Compar ison between measured and certified values (various glass stan- dards) in PIXE-alpha and XRF analysis PIXE STD621 SiO2 70 ± 2 71.13 ± 0.03 Na2O 11 ± 2 12.74 ± 0.05 CaO 11 ± 1 10.71 ± 0.05 Al2O3 3.7 ± 0.7 2.76 ± 0.04 K2O 2.1 ± 0.3 2.01 ± 0.03 MgO – 0.27 ± 0.03 SO3 – 0.13 ± 0.03 XRF BaO <1500 1200 Fe2O3 400 ± 120 400 As2O3 400 ± 120 300 TiO2 – 140 ZrO <100 70 PIXE STD1412 SiO2 49.7 ± 4 42.38 ± 0.18 Na2O 4.5 ± 1.4 4.69 ± 0.07 CaO 4.97 ± 0.7 4.53 ± 0.1 Al2O3 8.6 ± 0.9 7.52 ± 0.24 K2O 4.9 ± 0.6 4.14 ± 0.1 MgO 5.1 ± 0.8 4.69 BaO 6.6 ± 0.8 4.67 ± 0.16 PbO 4.3 ± 1.3 4.4 ± 0.17 CdO 3.8 ± 1.0 4.38 ± 0.08 ZnO – 4.48 ± 0.12 SrO 5.6 ± 1.4 4.55 ± 0.09 PIXE STD610 SiO2 68.22 ± 1 72 Na2O 14.2 ± 1.4 14 CaO 11.2 ± 0.67 12 Al2O3 2.9 ± 0.43 2 XRF K <1000 461 Mn <1000 485 Fe 548 ± 164 458 Co 372 ± 111 390 Ni 596 ± 178 458 Cu 355 ± 106 444 Zn 350 ± 105 433 Rb 377 ± 113 425 Sr 440 ± 132 515 Nb 423 ± 129 – Mo 438 ± 131 – Pb <1000 426 Th <1000 457 U 781 ± 234 461 PIXE STD612 SiO2 80.0 ± 1.2 72 Na2O 12.7 ± 1.3 14 CaO 12.6 ± 0.8 12 Al2O3 3.4 ± 0.5 2 Fig. 4. The PIXE-alpha set-up during the analysis of the blue background of the Madonna del Roseto (Inv. n. 31), a 1460–70 Luca Della Robbia sculpture conserved in the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Florence. The publication of the picture has been authorized by the Italian Ministero dei Beni e le Attività Culturali. Duplications or reproductions of the picture are forbid- den. 186 G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 Fig. 5 shows the entire apparatus during XRF measurement on a Madonna che adora il Bambino still from Luca Della Robbia. A few important details can be observed. With the help of a manual micro-gauge the head containing the source is brought in contact with the blue glaze in a zone of the artefact selected over a flat area of the sculpture in order to assure operation of both the PIXE-alpha and the XRF sys- tems in the best geometrical conditions. The position of the analysis could be marked sufficiently well to allow the align- ment of detectors, in the sequence of measurements, with a precision of the order of 1 mm over a 1 cm2 irradiation area. PIXE and XRF spectra were collected by standard ADC conversion and displayed on a portable PC for immediate control. Quantitative analysis was performed as with the standards. Tables 4 and 5 shows the final results for each analysed point together with the name of the sculpture, its author and the date of manufacture, which is in most cases drawn by art historian on the bases of speculations and deductions from written document. In only one case, the Natività of Giovanni Della Robbia (Barg10), the sculpture base bears to the right the inscription ANO DNI MDXXI. The composition of the blue glazes are similar to other measured on Robbiane sculptures. All the blue is based on cobalt pigments as expected but the behaviour of arsenic, which is associated to cobalt in most cobalt-minerals, is rather peculiar. Arsenic is above detection limits in all sculp- tures dated after 1520, certainly at or after 1521 since it appears in the Natività of Giovanni Della Robbia (Barg10). It is on the contrary absent (below MDL) in the entire Luca production and in the early production of Andrea Della Rob- bia as well as in part of the Benedetto and Santi Buglioni work. The transition takes place, according to our data, be- tween 1514 (Noli me tangere of Benedetto and Santi Bu- glioni) and 1520 (Pietà of Giovanni Della Robbia). The sudden change in arsenic content can provide a before/after dating criterium, which can be of great help in the attribution of Robbiane sculptures of the late period, running from about 1520 up to the death of Santi Buglioni in 1586. 4. Conclusions The complementary use of portable PIXE and XRF sys- tems has enabled to characterize in situ the ceramic glazes of Fig. 5. A view of the equipment during the XRF analysis of the blue background of the Madonna che adora il Bambino (Inv. n. 21), a Luca Della Robbia sculpture conserved in the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Flo- rence. The publication of the picture has been authorized by the Italian Ministero dei Beni e le Attività Culturali. Duplications or reproductions of the picture are forbidden. Table 4 Pixe analysis. Blue glazes composition. Errors are due to statistics and to the fitting procedure. For error >40% data must be considered qualitative Na2O MgO Al2O3 SiO2 P2O5 SO3 K2O CaO Iron oxides CoO SnO2 PbO Barg1 3.5 ± 1.05 52.6 ± 1.0 1.1 ± 0.9 4.9 ± 0.7 4.6 ± 0.9 8.6 ± 2.6 16 ± 1.6 Barg2 2.7 ± 1.9 1.2 ± 0.7 2.4 ± 0.8 40.0 ± 0.8 1.5 ± 0.6 1.3 ± 0.6 2.0 ± 1.6 5.4 ± 2.4 37 ± 2.2 Barg3 33.3 ± 1.7 4.7 ± 0.9 4.0 ± 1.4 5.1 ± 3.6 10 ± 4.0 33 ± 2.6 Barg4 2.1 ± 1.0 2.6 ± 1.3 29.0 ± 1.4 4.8 ± 0.9 2.0 ± 0.8 3.2 ± 2.2 12 ± 1.9 32 ± 2.3 Barg5 3.3 ± 1.6 2.3 ± 0.6 3.4 ± 0.5 41.2 ± 0.8 1.5 ± 0.45 2.8 ± 0.4 1.6 ± 0.5 1.3 ± 0.6 8.9 ± 1.6 29 ± 1.1 Barg6 2.7 ± 0.5 45.8 ± 0.9 3.6 ± 0.7 8.8 ± 1.0 8 ± 2.4 27 ± 1.6 Barg7 34.0 ± 1.4 5.2 ± 1.0 2.9 ± 1.4 16 ± 4.5 34 ± 2.4 Barg8 1.8 ± 1.0 3.0 ± 0.9 31.0 ± 1.2 2.2 ± 1.1 2.8 ± 1.0 3.7 ± 1.1 3.0 ± 1.8 14 ± 3.5 31 ± 1.8 Barg9 4.4 ± 1.3 1.8 ± 0.6 3.7 ± 0.5 35.0 ± 1.0 1.4 ± 0.5 2.2 ± 0.3 3.6 ± 0.5 1.0 ± 0.6 5.6 ± 1.7 36 ± 1.4 Barg10 3.7 ± 1.5 1.1 ± 0.7 1.3 ± 0.65 35.0 ± 1.0 2.0 ± 0.4 4.6 ± 0.7 1.6 ± 0.9 5.2 ± 2.1 36 ± 2.0 Barg11 2.7 ± 2.2 2.0 ± 1.0 30.0 ± 1.8 1.3 ± 0.9 6.0 ± 1.2 5.0 ± 1.0 9.5 ± 4.3 35 ± 2.4 Barg12 2.9 ± 0.7 40.0 ± 0.8 2.4 ± 1.4 2.9 ± 0.3 4.0 ± 0.8 2.6 ± 1.6 4.6 ± 2.3 7 ± 2.8 26 ± 2.0 Note: (1) Must probable iron oxides are Fe2O3 and FeO. Due to the experimental errors our calculations do not distinguish between the two oxides. (2) Barg 5 and Barg 11 measurements are two parts of the same sculpture. 187G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 some selected Della Robbia sculptures exhibited at the Bargello museum in Florence. The obtained data are in range with previous observations on attributed Robbiane but, due to the precision with which such masterpieces are dated, they indicate that arsenic exceeds detection limits only after 1520 and could be used for dating of non-attributed objects on a before/after basis. The sudden appearance of arsenic in association with cobalt is certainly linked to a change of raw materials [20] but more work should be done to relate it to mining sites or preparation procedures. References [1] A. Zucchiatti, A. Bouquillon, J. Salomon, J.R. Gaborit, Study of Italian renaissance sculptures using an external beam nuclear micro- probe, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 161– 163 (2000) 699–703. [2] A. Bouquillon, J. Castaing, J. Salomon, A. Zucchiatti, F. Lucarelli, P.A. Mandò, P. Prati, IBA techniques to study renaissance pottery techniques, Proceedings of the International Conference Fundamental and Applied Aspects of Modern Physics, Luderitz, 13–17 November, in: S.H. Connell, R. Tegen (Eds.), World Scientific. Singapore, 2001, pp. 441–448. [3] A. Zucchiatti, A. Bouquillon, J. Castaing, J.R. Gaborit, Elemental analyses of a group of glazed terracotta angels from the Italian renais- sance as a tool for the reconstruction of a complex conservation history, Archaeometry 45 (2003) 391–404. [4] K.G. Malmqvist, Application in art and archaeology, in: S.A.E. Johan- son, J.C. Campbell, K.G. Malmqvist (Eds.), Particle-Induced X-ray Emission Spectrometry (PIXE), Chemical Analysis Series, 133, John Wiley, Chichester, 1995. [5] Louvre, Laboratoire de recherche des musées de France, Rapport annuel, Direction des musées de France, 1991. [6] A. Zucchiatti, A. Bouquillon, G. Lanterna, F. Lucarelli, P.A. Mandò, P. Prati, J. Salomon, M.G. Vaccari, PIXE and µ-PIXE analysis of glazes from terracotta sculptures of the Della Robbia workshop, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 189 (2002) 358–363. [7] A. Bouquillon, F. Lucarelli, P.A. Mandò, G. Lanterna, J. Salomon, P. Prati, M.G. Vaccari, A. Zucchiatti, Analisi non distruttive di smalti robbiani con fasci di ioni”, in: Edizioni del Giglio (Ed.), Atti del XXXIV Convegno Internazionale della Ceramica, Savona, 25–26 Maggio, Firenze, 2001, pp. 157–162. [8] A. Bouquillon, J. Castaing, E. Vartanian, A. Zink, A. Zucchiatti, Etude des oeuvres robbiesques: le cas de San Frediano, in: J.R. Gaborit, M. Bormand (Eds.), Reunion des Musées de France, Les Della Rob- bia, Sculptures en terre cuite émaillée de la Renaissance italienne, 2002, pp. 140–158. [9] G. Gentilini, I. Della Robbia, La scultura invetriata nel Rinascimento, in: Cantini (Ed.), 1992. [10] R. Woldset, X-ray Energy Spectrometry, Kevex Corporation, Burlin- game, California, 1970. [11] R. Cesareo, Nuclear Analytical Techniques in Medicine, Elsevier, Amsterdam, 1988. [12] G. Pappalardo, J. de Sanoit, A. Musumarra, G. Calvi, C. Marchetta, Feasibility study of a portable PIXE system using a 210Po alpha source, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 109/111 (1996) 214–217. [13] L. Pappalardo, F.P. Romano, S. Garraffo, J. de Sanoit, C. Marchetta, G. Pappalardo, The improved LNS PIXE-alpha portable system: archaeometric applications, Archaeometry 45 (2) (2003) 321–327. [14] Geostandards Newsletter 18 (1995) 35 (special issue). [15] V. Francaviglia, G. Pappalardo, L. Pappalardo, F.P. Romano, Obsidian provenance determination by means of a portable XRF spectrometer, in: Patron Editore (Ed.), Atti del II Congresso Nazionale di Archeome- tria, Bologna, 2002, pp. 387–393. [16] G. Barone, M. Brandaglia, L. Pappalardo, M. Triscari, Caratterizzazi- one di ossidiane mediante spettrometria XRF con sorgenti radioattive, Plinius 16 (1996) 25–27. [17] J.A. Maxwell, W.J. Teesdale, W.J. Campbell, The Guelph PIXE soft- ware package II, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 95 (1995) 407–421. [18] T.L. Hopman, Z. Nejedly, J.A. Maxwell, J.L. Campbell, Extension of GUPIX to 2H, 3He and 4He excitation, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research B 189 (2002) 138–142. [19] G. Bernasconi, A. Taiani, Manual of QXAS (Quantitative X-Ray Analysis System), version 3.2, IAEA. [20] B. Gratuze, I. Soulier, M. Blet, L. Vallauri, De l’origine du cobalt: du verre à la céramique, Revue d’Archéométrie 20 (1994) 77–94. Table 5 XRF analysis. Blue glazes composition. Errors are due to statistics and to the fitting procedure. For error > 40% data must be considered qualitative. XRF Iron oxides CoO NiO CuO ZnO As2O3 Name of sculpture Author Date Barg1 1.2 ± 0.4 0.7 ± 0.2 0.6 ± 0.2 1.2 ± 0.4 <0.1 – Madonna Della mela Luca Della Robbia 1440–1445 Barg2 0.8 ± 0.2 0.6 ± 0.2 0.6 ± 0.2 0.9 ± 0.3 – – Adorazione con cornice di Angeli (center) Luca e Andrea Della Robbia + Giovanni 1460–1465 Barg3 1.2 ± 0.4 1.4 ± 0.4 1.2 ± 0.4 0.5 ± 0.2 <0.1 – Madonna col bambino dell’umiltà Andrea Della Robbia 1465 Barg4 1.8 ± 0.5 0.7 ± 0.2 0.4 ± 0.2 0.3 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Madonna del Roseto Luca Della Robbia 1460–1470 Barg5 1.8 ± 0.5 0.7 ± 0.2 0.3 ± 0.2 0.2 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Madonna che adora il bambino Luca Della Robbia 1470 Barg6 1.1 ± 0.4 0.3 ± 0.1 <0.1 0.4 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Ritratto di Fanciullo (Piero di Lorenzo de Medici) Andrea Della Robbia 1475 Barg7 1.7 ± 0.5 0.9 ± 0.3 0.6 ± 0.2 0.2 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Annunciazione Andrea Della Robbia 1505–1510 Barg8 1.3 ± 0.4 0.8 ± 0.2 0.5 ± 0.1 0.4 ± 0.1 <0.1 – Pietà Giovanni Della Robbia 1514–1515 Barg9 1.0 ± 0.3 0.8 ± 0.2 0.5 ± 0.2 <0.1 <0.1 0.9 ± 0.3 Noli me tangere Benedetto e Santi Bu- glioni 1520 Barg10 0.7 ± 0.2 1.0 ± 0.3 0.5 ± 0.2 <0.1 <0.1 0.7 ± 0.2 Adorazione con cornice di Angeli (frame) Luca e Andrea Della Robbia + Giovanni ca. 1520 Barg11 0.7 ± 0.2 0.6 ± 0.2 0.5 ± 0.2 <0.1 <0.1 0.7 ± 0.2 Natività Giovanni Della Robbia 1521 dated Barg12 1.7 ± 0.5 1.5 ± 0.5 0.6 ± 0.2 0.2 ± 0.1 <0.1 0.4 ± 0.1 Noli me tangere Santi Buglioni (Giovanni Viviani) 1530–1540 Note: Barg5 and Barg11 measurements are two parts of the same sculpture. 188 G. Pappalardo et al. / Journal of Cultural Heritage 5 (2004) 183–188 Non-destructive characterization of Della Robbia sculptures at the Bargello museum in Florence by the combined use of PIXE and XRF portable systems Introduction Experimental methods2.1. Portable PIXE analysis Portable XRF analysis Calibration and test of the systems Results of measurements at the Bargello museum in Florence Conclusions References 
work_bjxz24joa5dedncck2qto6jhz4	----	EMH volume 5 Cover and Back matter EARLY MUSIC HISTORY 5 Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Music edited J J I A I N F E N L O N 5 This volume of Early Music History continues the pattern established by its four predecessors, with a strong emphasis on archival and historical work and a keen interest in the social history of music. The contents cover a wide chronological range stretching from the early medieval period to the first decades of the seventeenth century. Three essays deal with the early middle ages; one discusses the changing role of the office of cantor in the Western church, another concentrates on three new sources (all palimpsests) of the Old Beneventan chant, and a third discusses the complex of musical, ceremonial, architectural and political concerns involved in the re- construction of the abbey church of St. Denis that took place in the thirteenth century. Other articles present studies of Cardinal Ippolito I d'Este's patronage of music and his connections with Adrian Willaert; music composed for the ceremonies of the Order of the Golden Fleece (particularly during the period of Philip the Fair), and of Caterina Martinelli's con- nections with Monteverdi. Source studies are represented by discussion of a newly-identified portion of Tinctoris's important treatise De inventione, and philological work by a detailed re-examination of the relationship of perfect and imperfect time in Italian renaissance theory. The reviews section includes consideration of a major collection of essays by a distinguished scholar ofltalian medieval and renaissance music. As with its predecessors, Early Music History is illustrated and contains music examples. A N N A M A R I A B I S S E B E R B E R The relationship of perfect and imperfect time in Italian theory of the Renaissance M A R G O T E. FASSI.ER The office of the cantor in early Western monastic rules and customaries: a preliminary investigation T H O M A S F O R R E S T K E L L Y Montecassino and the Old Beneventan chant L E W I S L O C K W O O D Adrian Willaert and Cardinal Ippolilo I d'Este: new light on Willaert's early career in Italy, 1515 21 W I L L I A M F. P R I Z E R Music and ceremonial in the Low Countries: Philip the Fair and the Order of the Golden Fleece iDMOND STRAIN*CHAMPS The life and death of Caterina Martinelli: new light on Monteverdi's 'Arianna' A N N E W A L T E R S The reconstruction of the abbey church at St-Denis (1231-81): the interplay of music and ceremony with architecture and politics R O N A L D W O O D L E V The printing and scope of Tinctoris's fragmentary treatise De inuentione el usu musice Cover design by Jan van de Watering CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS ISSN 0261-1279 Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0261127900000632 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0261127900000632 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_bkg2zwivxjd3bnu6imzeg3czta	----	DATA OPTIMIZATION FOR 3D MODELING AND ANALYSIS OF A FORTRESS ARCHITECTURE B.G. Marinoa, A. Masierob, ∗, F. Chiabrandoc, A.M. Linguad, F. Fissoreb, W. Błaszczak-Bake, A. Vettoreb a DiARC Department of Architecture, University of Studies Federico II, Naples Italy - bianca.marino@unina.it b Interdepartmental Research Center of Geomatics (CIRGEO), University of Padova, Viale dell’Università 16, Legnaro (PD) 35020, Italy - (andrea.masiero, francesca.fissore, antonio.vettore)@unipd.it c Department of Architecture and Design, Polytechnic of Turin, Viale Mattioli 39, Torino, 10125, Italy - filiberto.chiabrando@polito.it d Department of Environment, Land and Infrastructure Engineering, Polytechnic of Turin, C.so Duca degli Abruzzi 24, Torino, 10129, Italy - andrea.lingua@polito.it e Institute of Geodesy, University of Warmia and Mazury in Olsztyn, Oczapowskiego 2, 10-719 Olsztyn, Poland - wioleta.blaszczak@uwm.edu.pl KEY WORDS: Point Cloud Optimization, Data Reduction, Segmentation, Restoration, Cultural Heritage Buildings ABSTRACT: Thanks to the recent worldwide spread of drones and to the development of structure from motion photogrammetric software, UAV photogrammetry is becoming a convenient and reliable way for the 3D documentation of built heritage. Hence, nowadays, UAV photogrammetric surveying is a common and quite standard tool for producing 3D models of relatively large areas. However, when such areas are large, then a significant part of the generated point cloud is often of minor interest. Given the necessity of efficiently dealing with storing, processing and analyzing the produced point cloud, some optimization step should be considered in order to reduce the amount of redundancy, in particular in the parts of the model that are of minor interest. Despite this can be done by means of a manual selection of such parts, an automatic selection is clearly much more viable way to speed up the final model generation. Motivated by the recent development of many semantic classification techniques, the aim of this work is investigating the use of point cloud optimization based on semantic recognition of different components in the photogrammetric 3D model. The Girifalco Fortress (Cortona, Italy) is used as case study for such investigation. The rationale of the proposed methodology is clearly that of preserving high point density in the model in the areas that describe the fortress, whereas point cloud density is dramatically reduced in vegetated and soil areas. Thanks to the implemented automatic procedure, in the considered case study, the size of the point cloud has been reduced by a factor five, approximately. It is worth to notice that such result has been obtained preserving the original point density on the fortress surfaces, hence ensuring the same capabilities of geometric analysis of the original photogrammetric model. 1. INTRODUCTION Given the complexity and specificity of restoration issues in me- dieval fortress architectures, detailed, accurate and reliable anal- ysis of the current status of such cultural heritage architectures should be done in order to provide appropriate information to re- storers. In particular, the specific structure characteristics and the consequent applicable conservation and valorization strate- gies are fundamental factors to be taken into account in order to properly design the 3D survey and successfully extract and fully exploit the information from the obtained 3D model of the struc- ture. This work considers the survey and 3D modeling process of the Girifalco Fortress (Cortona, Tuscany, Italy). A fortress on the Cortona hilltop was originally built in the 5th century BC. How- ever, after such building has been damaged during battles, hence it has been rebuilt during the 17th century: the original walls were substituted in order to cope with the newly developed cannons. The current look of the fortress (visible in Fig. 1) is actually the same obtained after the realization of such new walls. The cul- tural heritage and historical importance of the fortress is also due to the famous families that owned it, and, in particular to the De Medici family, which is worldwide known for its important role during Italian Renaissance. Since the final interest in this work is that of providing suitable in- formation to the restorers, this work aims at investigating a proper ∗Corresponding author. Figure 1. Girifalco fortress, Cortona, Italy. integration between restoration goals and geomatics tools. The rationale is that of designing a survey and data processing driven by the needs of extracting the information suitable for properly supporting the conservation and restoration process. A preliminary step was the definition of the survey goals, in order to determine the building characteristics to be determined and de- tectable in the produced 3D model. Then, both UAV photogram- metry (Fig. 2 shows an orthophoto produced by properly pro- cessing UAV imagery) and Terrestrial Laser Scanning have been used in order to acquire the 3D information of interest for prop- erly describing the fortress. Nevertheless, this work focuses on the automatic processing of the 3D model obtained by means of UAV photogrammetry. The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W11, 2019 GEORES 2019 – 2nd International Conference of Geomatics and Restoration, 8–10 May 2019, Milan, Italy This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W11-809-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 809 Figure 2. Orthophoto of the Girifalco fortress. UAV photogrammetric survey of the Girifalco Fortress has been carried out on September 8, 2017, with the drone DJI Phantom 4. The UAV flew at an average altitude of 40 m over the ground (ground sample distance was 1.4 cm, approximately), acquiring 960 images of the fortress area, with (at least) 60% of overlap- ping between images (both along the same strip and between the closest images from different strips). Given the importance of properly describing the fortress walls, both nadir and oblique im- ages have been collected during the flight. Actually this ensured also a better camera network geometry (Fraser and Stamatopou- los, 2014, Chiabrando et al., 2017), which is of fundamental im- portance in order to ensure reliable reconstruction results, in par- ticular in the camera self-calibration case. Then Agisoft Photoscan 1.3.2 has been used in order to obtain a photogrammetric 3D model of the fortress. To this aim, the photogrammetric has been aided by the use of 27 targets, whose positions have been measured in a GNSS RTK survey, with av- erage accuracy (root mean square (RMS) error) of 1.6 cm. 10 targets have been used as control points, and 7 as check points, leading to an average planimetric and altimetric error of 2.0 cm and 2.4 cm, respectively. Agisoft Photoscan generated a photogrammetric point cloud of 40 Million points. The average point spacing on the central part of the model (the fortress area) is 3.0 cm. Actually, 3D modelling of large sites can lead to huge point clouds, which can lead to dramatically long computational times for pro- cessing and information extraction from such models. Conse- quently, several works recently considered the problem of reduc- ing the size of the generated point cloud while preserving its ge- ometric information in order to ease the processing phase and make it faster (Błaszczak-Bak, 2016). However, this work aims at exploiting a semantic interpretation of the points in the model in order to properly determine which areas should be sub-sampled more. To be more specific, since the fortress walls in the 3D model shall be further analyzed for restoration purposes, the goal is that of automatically extract such parts from the model and preserve their model resolution, whereas, the other parts of the generated point cloud (e.g. vegetation) will be significantly sub- sampled (actually they can also be discarded, if needed). Aiming at formulating a processing strategy that can be used for easily managing, interpreting, understanding and extracting in- formation from the generated model, in this work the following steps of 3D data processing has been considered: • automatic recognition of vegetated areas, by exploiting both spatial characteristics of tree point clouds and their intensity measurements (on either RGB imagery or LiDAR), • optimization of the point density in order to make the 3D model easier to be managed. This step can take advan- tage also from recently developed data optimization meth- ods (Błaszczak-Bak, 2016), if needed, • in particular, the produced dataset is optimized in order to ease the automatic extraction of information about the build- ing walls. This kind of procedure can be useful for in- stance for the automatic generation of semantic models (af- ter a proper segmentation and classification (Vosselman et al., 2004, Rabbani et al., 2006, Makuti et al., 2018)), e.g. BIMs and CityGML models. The the paper is organized as follows: first, Section 2. presents the proposed point cloud segmentation and classification proce- dure. Then, Section 3. deals with the data reduction and opti- mization problem. Finally, some conclusions will be drawn on the proposed procedure and on the possibility of automatically extracting information about damages on the building walls in Section 4.. 2. SEGMENTATION AND CLASSIFICATION This section aims at the automatic extraction of certain geometric information from the photogrammetric point cloud. In particu- lar, it is worth to notice that vegetated areas are of minor interest in the 3D model of the reconstructed fortress. Furthermore, the generated point cloud is very noisy on the vegetated areas. Since most of the fortress elements can be well approximated with sim- ple geometric shapes (e.g. planar surfaces), an automatic proce- dure based on the Random Sample Consensus (RANSAC) (Fis- chler and Bolles, 1981) is used in this work in order to extract the fortress parts from the point cloud. However, the presence of very noisy vegetated areas can negatively affect the outcomes of the RANSAC algorithm. Consequently, a vegetation classi- fication and segmentation procedure is applied before detecting the surfaces associated to the fortress. Despite the different im- plementation, the rationale of the proposed approach is relatively similar to the semantic segmentation principle (Long et al., 2015, Girshick et al., 2014, Noh et al., 2015). 2.1 Predictors Similarly to certain land cover classification methods (Huang et al., 2002, Foody, 2002, Gislason et al., 2006), intensities of the radiation coming from the area of interest and measured at several wavelengths can be used to estimate the vegetated areas. However, differently from multi-spectral classification techniques, which can exploit the Normalized Difference Vegetation Index (NDVI) in order to make such classification, in this case the use of a standard camera does not allow to compute such index. Nev- ertheless, such intensities can clearly be indicative of the vegeta- tion presence. In particular, the ratio between the green compo- nent and each of the other two is used in this work. Actually, the availability of 3D information about the point posi- tions and about the local point densities can also be exploited in order to determine if a point correspond to a vegetated area. To this aim, an approach based on considerations similar to those presented in (Habib and Lin, 2016) has been implemented. A lo- cal surface fitting is used to check whether points approximately lie on planar surfaces. For each considered point, all its neigh- borhood contained in the sphere centered in such point and with radius 0.5 m are used in order to determine the local variability of The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W11, 2019 GEORES 2019 – 2nd International Conference of Geomatics and Restoration, 8–10 May 2019, Milan, Italy This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W11-809-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 810 the point cloud in such area. In particular, the covariance matrix of such point positions is computed: points on a fortress wall shall form a locally smooth surface, hence the third eigenvalue of the computed covariance matrix should be small. Differently, points on vegetated areas should be associated to comparable values of the covariance matrix eigenvalues. It is worth to notice that: • if the last eigenvalue of the covariance matrix is small with respect to the other ones, the neighborhood of the considered point can be quite well approximated by a planar surface • when the last eigenvalue is not small with respect to the oth- ers it is not possible to automatically conclude about such point being or not part of the vegetation. In accordance with the description provided above, the smallest eigenvalue of the local sample covariance matrix, along with the local point density and with the point intensities, is used as a pre- dictor of the point class, as described in the following subsection. 2.2 SVM classifier A number of methods have been proposed in the literature in or- der to properly classify data appertaining to certain categories. In particular machine learning and deep learning techniques have been widely used in order to improve the performance of classi- fiers. In particular, certain features are usually either automati- cally determined (as usual in deep learning methods) or manually selected (machine learning) is order to ease the solution of the classification problem (LeCun et al., 2015, Bishop, 2006, Facco et al., 2013). Among the possible methods, a Support Vector Machine (SVM) classifier has been used in this work (Suykens and Vandewalle, 1999). Two rectangular regions, containing approximately 1000 points each, have been manually selected on a fortress wall and on a vegetated area on the north-east area of the reconstructed model and their predictor values fed into the SVM in order to properly learn the classifier parameters. Then, the trained SVM is used to classify the vegetated areas on all the model. Figure 3, 4 and 5 show the results of the classification. In partic- ular, Fig. 3 shows the vegetated areas, whereas Fig. 4 compares the side view of the model before (a) and after (b) filtering out the vegetation points. It is worth to notice that, differently from the original point cloud, the filtered point cloud contains much less noisy points (Fig. 4(b)). Such result is also confirmed by the top view of the fortress model after filtering out the vegetation points (Fig. 5). 2.3 Detection of planar surfaces Once the vegetation has been filtered out, the remaining point cloud (Fig. 5) is used in order to detect the fortress surfaces. In particular, first, RANSAC is used to detect vertical surfaces. Then, horizontal regular surfaces are determined: surfaces at heights comparable with the altitudes of the walls are classified as ceil- ings, whereas the other points (and planar surfaces) are generi- cally classified as “ground”. Actually, it is worth to notice that “ground” points can be segmented further in order to determine the presence of other objects (e.g. cars). Despite this can be of great interest in several applications, for instance for digital ter- rain model generation and for more advanced information extrac- tion from the point cloud (Costantino and Angelini, 2011), this is out of the scope of this work. Figure 3. Extracted vegetation points. (a) (b) Figure 4. (a) West side view of the point cloud generated by Agisoft Photoscan. (b) Almost vegetation-free subsampled point cloud used for planar surface detection. Fig. 6 shows the resulting classification: “ground” points are shown (a), whereas the extracted fortress walls and ceiling are shown in (b) and (c). 3. SEMANTIC BASED MODEL OPTIMIZATION The previously presented segmentation procedure provides a se- mantic classification of the 3D point cloud that can be conve- niently exploited in order to change the size reduction of each point class depending on the specific user interests. In practice, since in this work the main interest is that of preserv- The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W11, 2019 GEORES 2019 – 2nd International Conference of Geomatics and Restoration, 8–10 May 2019, Milan, Italy This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W11-809-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 811 Figure 5. Top view of the point cloud generated by Agisoft Pho- toscan after vegetation removal. ing as much geometric information about the fortress building as possible, all its points are kept. However, if a higher compres- sion is needed, model compression can be obtained by exploiting for instance the approach presented in (Błaszczak-Bak, 2016) for point cloud optimization while maintaining most of the geometric information of the original model. Differently, here vegetation and ground areas are highly com- pressed, by a factor (greater than) 100 and 20, approximately. Given the minor interest in these areas, random sub-sampling is applied to such points in order to obtain the desired compression at a low computational cost. Nevertheless, point cloud optimiza- tion can be applied to them as well, if needed. The resulting model is shown in Fig. 7, where is quite clear the different point density for the considered classes. The obtained model has a significantly smaller point cardinality with respect to the original one (it is reduced by more than a factor five). 4. DISCUSSION This paper presented a point cloud segmentation and compres- sion method, inspired by semantic segmentation, in order to re- duce the of point cloud size while preserving most of the geomet- ric information of interest. Indeed, since the currently common methods for 3D modeling of built heritage usually provide huge point clouds including also parts of minor interest for the user, it is important to reduce the size of such models in order to ease the computational burden for analyzing it and extracting any in- formation of interest, and also to reduce the storage requirements for such models. Actually, when dealing with applications of cultural heritage restora- tion, it is of fundamental importance to keep as much information as possible about the object of interest. This motivated the de- velopment of an automatic segmentation procedure in order to identify the most relevant parts of the model point cloud. Thanks to such implemented segmentation and classification pro- cedure, then it is possible to apply segmentation based point cloud optimization: the optimization function can be tailored to the user’s needs and specified differently for the identified point classes. In the considered case study this allowed the application of very different compression factors to the determined point classes. (a) (b) (c) Figure 6. Points labeled as ground (a) and as part of the fortress (side view (b), and top view (c). Despite the points associated to fortress surfaces (e.g. walls, ceil- ings) have not been sub-sampled, the overall point cloud com- pression in our case study was more than a factor five. Further- more, the application of recently developed point cloud optimiza- tion methods can reduce the cloud size further while minimizing the loss of geometric information (Błaszczak-Bak, 2016). Thanks to the preservation in the final model of the original point density, then, similarly to (Masiero et al., 2019), the obtained model is suitable for the application of surface and structural analysis (Korumaz et al., 2017, Tucci et al., 2016, Masiero et al., 2015). A secondary result of the applied method is the production of a model affected by less noise, and, in particular, once properly improved, the ground classification can also be considered for the generation of digital terrain models of the surveyed areas. The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W11, 2019 GEORES 2019 – 2nd International Conference of Geomatics and Restoration, 8–10 May 2019, Milan, Italy This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W11-809-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 812 Figure 7. Reduced size point cloud. REFERENCES Bishop, C. M., 2006. Pattern recognition and machine learning. springer. Błaszczak-Bak, W., 2016. New optimum dataset method in Li- DAR processing. Acta Geodyn. Geomater 13(4), pp. 381–8. Chiabrando, F., Lingua, A., Maschio, P. and Losè, L. T., 2017. The influence of flight planning and camera orientation in uavs photogrammetry. a test in the area of rocca san silvestro (li), tus- cany. The International Archives of Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences 42, pp. 163. Costantino, D. and Angelini, M., 2011. Features and ground auto- matic extraction from airborne lidar data. International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences. Facco, P., Masiero, A. and Beghi, A., 2013. Advances on multi- variate image analysis for product quality monitoring. Journal of Process Control 23(1), pp. 89–98. Fischler, M. and Bolles, R., 1981. Random sample consensus: A paradigm for model fitting with applications to image analysis and automated cartography. Communications of the ACM 24(6), pp. 381–395. Foody, G. M., 2002. Status of land cover classification accuracy assessment. Remote sensing of environment 80(1), pp. 185–201. Fraser, C. and Stamatopoulos, C., 2014. Automated target-free camera calibration. In: Proceedings of the ASPRS 2014 Annual Conference (Louisville, KY, USA), Vol. 2328. Girshick, R., Donahue, J., Darrell, T. and Malik, J., 2014. Rich feature hierarchies for accurate object detection and semantic segmentation. In: Proceedings of the IEEE conference on com- puter vision and pattern recognition, pp. 580–587. Gislason, P. O., Benediktsson, J. A. and Sveinsson, J. R., 2006. Random forests for land cover classification. Pattern Recognition Letters 27(4), pp. 294–300. Habib, A. and Lin, Y.-J., 2016. Multi-class simultaneous adaptive segmentation and quality control of point cloud data. Remote Sensing 8(2), pp. 104. Huang, C., Davis, L. and Townshend, J., 2002. An assessment of support vector machines for land cover classification. Interna- tional Journal of remote sensing 23(4), pp. 725–749. Korumaz, M., Betti, M., Conti, A., Tucci, G., Bartoli, G., Bonora, V., Korumaz, A. G. and Fiorini, L., 2017. An integrated terres- trial laser scanner (TLS), deviation analysis (DA) and finite ele- ment (FE) approach for health assessment of historical structures. a minaret case study. Engineering Structures 153, pp. 224–238. LeCun, Y., Bengio, Y. and Hinton, G., 2015. Deep learning. na- ture 521(7553), pp. 436. Long, J., Shelhamer, E. and Darrell, T., 2015. Fully convolutional networks for semantic segmentation. In: Proceedings of the IEEE conference on computer vision and pattern recognition, pp. 3431– 3440. Makuti, S., Nex, F. and Yang, M., 2018. Multi-temporal classifi- cation and change detection using uav images. In: 2018 ISPRS TC II Mid-term Symposium Towards Photogrammetry 2020, 4–7 June 2018, Riva del Garda, Italy, International Society for Pho- togrammetry and Remote Sensing (ISPRS), pp. 651–658. Masiero, A., Chiabrando, F., Lingua, A., Marino, B., Fissore, F., Guarnieri, A. and Vettore, A., 2019. 3D modeling of Girifalco fortress. ISPRS - International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences XLII-2/W9, pp. 479–478. Masiero, A., Guarnieri, A., Pirotti, F. and Vettore, A., 2015. Semi-automated detection of surface degradation on bridges based on a level set method. ISPRS - International Archives of Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sci- ences 40(3), pp. 15–21. Noh, H., Hong, S. and Han, B., 2015. Learning deconvolution network for semantic segmentation. In: Proceedings of the IEEE international conference on computer vision, pp. 1520–1528. Rabbani, T., Van Den Heuvel, F. and Vosselmann, G., 2006. Seg- mentation of point clouds using smoothness constraint. ISPRS - International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences 36(5), pp. 248–253. Suykens, J. A. and Vandewalle, J., 1999. Least squares sup- port vector machine classifiers. Neural processing letters 9(3), pp. 293–300. Tucci, G., Bonora, V., Fiorini, L. and Conti, A., 2016. The Flo- rence baptistery: 3-D survey as a knowledge tool for historical and structural investigations. ISPRS - International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences 41, pp. 977–984. Vosselman, G., Gorte, B. G., Sithole, G. and Rabbani, T., 2004. Recognising structure in laser scanner point clouds. ISPRS - In- ternational archives of photogrammetry, remote sensing and spa- tial information sciences 46(8), pp. 33–38. The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W11, 2019 GEORES 2019 – 2nd International Conference of Geomatics and Restoration, 8–10 May 2019, Milan, Italy This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W11-809-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 813 INTRODUCTION Segmentation and classification Predictors SVM classifier Detection of planar surfaces Semantic based model optimization Discussion 
work_bpnphnjjuzdxxfvwa7swbrajhm	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
work_brr5homcxngj5kuy6twdtox564	----	626 BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL VOLUME 283 29 AUGUST 1981 to a serious study of human society in times past, and he was never happier than when roaming over the Yorkshire or Devon moors to search out some stone circle, barrow, or other evidence of the physical presence of these ancient societies. From this practical archaeological approach, with his own know- ledge of psychiatry, human behaviour, and motivation, and a systematic study of philosophy, he had been weaving a unique view of the human state in which his own interpretations of the human past and present were harmoniously integrated. Notwithstanding the demands of a busy practice and of his ever increasing research and teaching commitments, Tony always had time particularly for his patients and for his colleagues in the practice. He will be missed by patients and colleagues, but particularly by those who were dependent on him for inspira- tion in the ever increasing number of research projects with which he was concerned and for which he had provided the major motivation. He is survived by his wife, who is also a doctor, and his three sons.-DLC. H A TREBLE MA, BM, FRCP Dr H A Treble, consulting physician to the Kent and Canterbury Hospital, died at Canterbury on 21 June. He was 73. Henry Arthur Treble was born at Croydon, Surrey, on 8 December 1907. His father was a classics teacher and from him he inherited a keen brain and a scrupulous and scholarly back- - ground. He was educated at Whit- gift School, Croy- don, where he distinguished himself on the science side and won an open scholarship to [Kentish Gazette Oxford. In 1926 he entered Mag- dalen College as a demy (foundation scholar) and took second-class honours in animal physiology in 1929 with the senior science war memorial scholarship to Guy's Hospital Medical School, which he entered in September 1929. At Guy's he qualified with the conjoint diploma in July 1932, adding the Oxford BM, BCh in December. He then served his apprenticeship under Maurice Campbell, Douthwaite, Mutch, Fagge, and Davies- Colley, becoming house physician; the MRCP (London) followed in 1935. During his post- graduate years at Guy's he contributed a paper to Brain with S de Navasquez on a case of primary generalised amyloid disease with involvement of the nerves. In 1937 he joined the general practice of the Wachers, a Canterbury dynasty, and was appointed honorary assistant physician to the Kent and Canterbury Hospital. The building was brand new and the prospects for a well- qualified physician excellent, but his early years were disrupted by the war, during which he remained in civilian practice. Treble's practice of medicine was refined into an efficient machine: he thought quickly and acted quickly. His intellectual grasp of a subject was illustrated by his self-taught mastery of dermatology when a gap in this subject needed to be filled after the premature death of a colleague in 1940. At the bedside and in the clinic he was brisk, even brusque at times, with no time wasted, no small talk, recognised by some as the performance of a shy man. His natural kindness was sometimes obscured by the abruptness of insecurity; thus he never quite came into the "beloved physician" category, although he was a much respected doctor. At the hospital he undertook more than his share of committee work and was a superb performer as member or chairman. In 1947 he was an early member of the South- east Metropolitan Regional Hospital Board, and he influenced the development of hospital services in the south-east. In 1955 he was elected FRCP. He retired from clinical practice in 1972, aged 65 and in indifferent health. A newly commissioned medical-ward was named after him. There was another H A Treble. Quite separate from his medical life, he developed an amazing range of cultural interests, to each of which he applied his perfectionism. He was a keen music-lover and in 1942 was a cofounder of the Canterbury Music Club, now in its 39th season. He was an authority on Oriental ceramics, and his collection of celadon ware from the Han and Sung periods was well known. He was a passionate lover of Italy, a great traveller, and a master of the Italian Renaissance. He was an expert gardener and an epicure. In each of these interests he had a devoted band of friends. He was a stoic also who faced the problems of deteriorating health and the domestic difficulties of a bachelor life with masterly objectivity. He was a many-sided man: in the words of a pro- fessorial friend, "a true eccentric." ALEXANDRA W MUCKLOW MB, CHB Dr Alexandra W Mucklow, who until her retirement was medical officer to Cheltenham Ladies College, died in Cheltenham General Hospital on 16 April aged 79. Her health had not been good since 1979, when she had a stroke; but death came unexpectedly after a short illness, and she had been planning to return home the next day. Alexandra Winifred Groves was born on 1 December 1901 and entered the Manchester Medical School in 1922 with the idea of work- ing in a leper colony. She graduated in 1928, having obtained her BSc in anatomy and physiology in 1925. During her student days she was interested in theatricals (she had played the part of Caliban at school) and in games, playing lacrosse for the university and obtain- ing her colours. As a student she showed a keen inquiring mind, and her insistence on finding out and giving the best she was capable of marked all her work. After her marriage to Dr Stuart Mucklow, a radiologist, they settled in Cheltenham. She joined the staff of Chelten- ham General Hospital in 1939 and was also medical officer for the nurses of this hospital and St Paul's Maternity Hospital. Later she was on the staff of Delancey Hospital for a few years; the Salvation Army home for homeless girls was another interest. In 1946 she became medical officer to Cheltenham Ladies College, and she remained there until her health forced her to retire. In all these appointments her unfailing interest in, and understanding of, problems endeared her to patients and pupils alike. Alex's great hobby was dogs: she was well known in the dog-breeding world for her Weimaraners, which she bred for 26 years. She bred several show champions and exported dogs to various parts of the world. She judged at numerous shows, including Crufts, and for some years was medical officer for the huge West of England ladies' kennel society show. She was made a vice-president of the Weimaraner club in recognition of her work on the committee. Alex loved her garden and after her hus- band's death in 1976 spent much time there; she also had several dogs to exercise. She was happiest when her four grandchildren came to see her. She leaves a son, who is a paediatrician, and a daughter.-MMR. GEORGE QVIST MB, BS, FRCS REMB writes: Many generations of students ofthe Royal Free Hospital and School of Medi- cine held George Qvist in high affection and respect (obituary, 22 August, p 565). They remember his unobtrusive generosity to the students' union, particularly during the inaugu- ration of the men's sports clubs. His interest in their affairs was as unflagging as his loyal support of the Royal College of Surgeons of England, the hospital, and the school of medi- cine. He was a memorable teacher and after- dinner speaker. His particular amalgam of clinical wisdom and humour was epitomised in the presidential address delivered to a packed meeting of the section of surgery of the Royal Society of Medicine. The beautifully produced book Surgical Diagnosis is testimony to the breadth of his experience and the meticulous care he took with all his writings, including the scholarly papers on John Hunter. Despite the remorseless progress of illness, retirement was only a change of place of work. Among other things George became a most welcome visitor in the anatomy department, which has a long tradition of part-time teaching from clinicians. It was characteristic that only 10 days before his death he came to say farewell to the retiring senior technician and, though obviously frail and ill, was as genial and humorous as ever. His courage, integrity, kindness, loathing of Bumbledom, and occasional impatiences were all great. He imparted enjoyment of life and work and will be remembered gratefully by students and colleagues, who would all wish to extend their deepest sympathy to his wife, Dame Frances Gardner. Correction An error occurred in the obituary for Dr T Seager (15 August, p 506): Dr Seager was president of the Liverpool Medical (not Mental) Institution. o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J (C lin R e s E d ): first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 8 3 .6 2 9 1 .6 2 6 o n 2 9 A u g u st 1 9 8 1 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
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work_bvq5znaqafbg3ep4jq6qqcljsy	----	© 2013 by University of Hawai‘i Press Features ‘Visiting Humanists’ and their Interpreters: Ricci (and Ruggieri) in China Ronnie Po-Chia Hsia. A Jesuit in the Forbidden City: Matteo Ricci 1552–1610. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. xiv, 359 pp. Hardcover £40.00, isbn 978-0-199-59225-8. Paperback £19.99, isbn 978-0-199-65653-0. All books speak about their authors, even if authors are not aware of it; even when, as it is the case with biographies, they intend to distance themselves from their object. This book does so in a special way. Born in Hong Kong and trained in early modern European history, Ronnie Po-chia Hsia is today known as one of the leading experts in counter-reformation history, a field that was traditionally dominated by very conservative historiogra- phy. In his many contributions, Hsia availed himself of remarkable linguistic skills in major modern languages and an equal mastery of classical languages ranging from Latin to old German and Dutch. In so doing, he was able to access and make available to scholars an extremely broad range of hitherto unpublished sources. Enriched by a unique background, Hsia has gradually begun to explore new territories in the field of sinology and Chinese studies. Writing about Matteo Ricci, an Italian Jesuit of the late Renaissance who spent most of his adult life in China, mastered the language, and interacted significantly with both the local and the court elite, may have induced Hsia to think back, on occasion, to his own intellec- tual accomplishments. According to Paul Ricoeur in Soi-même comme un autre, the self (ipse) is not construed by a duplication of itself (idem) but by its relationship with the other. François Dosse has interpreted Ricoeur’s words as being particularly true in the case of biographical writing because biographical writing is closer to this movement toward the other and the altera- tion of the self that is thereby transformed into the other. Such an endeavor entails some danger because the biographer must strive to maintain the right distance between the loss of his identity and the failure to render the singularity of the subject of the biography. This is not easy at all because the ship may fre- quently sink under the strength of the waves of passion or the need to maintain an objective distance, both as necessary as it is the permanent preoccupation not to go astray.1 (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 1–44 (p. 1) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM 2 China Review International: Vol. 19, No. 1, 2012 Although, on occasion, Hsia shows excessive appreciation for Ricci’s talents, he manages to counterbalance his esteem toward the Italian missionary by pointing out the external ingredients of his success, including Ricci’s cleverness in self- promotion, also at the expenses of his elder companion, Michele Ruggieri. We shall return to this point later. Being an exercise in the art of biography, the book obviously focuses on its main character, Matteo Ricci, but tells the main episodes in the story of his life in connection with the places where they occurred and that may have exercised an influence on them. Thus, the book opens up with Macerata and Rome where Ricci was born and spent his youth. Macerata in 1552, the year of Ricci’s birth, was an important city, situated in the Marche, a region so called because it stood at the margins of the Papal States. Ricci had been sent to Rome by his father, a wealthy pharmacist, who had great plans for his son. He had Matteo enrolled at La Sapienza to study jurispru- dence. Indeed, the study of law was not one of the faculties for which the univer- sity at Rome was renowned; it was “a significant second-line law school that produced a large number of graduates.”2 Although Hsia is right in pointing out that “we know next to nothing about Matteo at the university” ( p. 5), we can still make a few conjectures that may help us get a better understanding of his intellec- tual background. In this review, attention will be paid to the chapters in which Hsia discusses Ricci’s education in Rome and Lisbon, connecting it with the missionary’s textual production in China, thereby providing a few integrations that hopefully will enrich our understanding of Ricci as a “visiting humanist.”3 Indeed, the years spent at the University of Rome may have played a more significant role than it has been thought of so far in orienting Ricci’s future atti- tude toward Chinese culture as it is reflected in his writings. In 1567, the year prior to Ricci’s enrollment, La Sapienza was the first university in Italy to establish a Pandects professorship, a post that implied the explanation of the Corpus juris civilis or Digest (the main body of legal texts dealing with Roman law that, together with the Corpus juris canonici, constituted the basis of legal instruction), according to the humanistic tenets of historicity and philological accuracy. From 1567 to 1572, the position was held by the French humanist Marc-Antoine Muret who later moved to rhetoric.4 It is highly possible that Ricci attended at least three of Muret’s annual prolusions during which the eminent jurist extolled the virtues of eloquence and humanistic criticism of traditional jurisprudence. Muret’s lectures may have represented Ricci’s first encounter with studia humanitatis and may have played a role in shaping his decision to follow a path different from the one his father had foreseen for him. In spite of Muret’s lectures, the study of law did not have a great appeal to Matteo who, in 1571, asked to be admitted to the Jesuit novitiate at Sant’Andrea at Monte Cavallo (now the Quirinale). Notwithstanding his father’s wishes, Ricci was determined to change the course of his life. At the novitiate, he had his first encounter with Alessandro Valignano who, years later, (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 2–44 (p. 2) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 3–44 (p. 3) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM Features 3 would play a key role in devising a strategy for the Jesuits’ missionary presence in Asia and would be instrumental in Ricci’s final assignment to the China mission. Having completed the period of novitiate, he was accepted as a scholastic at the Roman College in September 1572. Hsia makes a general reconstruction of Ricci’s curriculum there and identifies a few of his professors,5 emphasizing the relevance of classical knowledge in line with the studia humanitatis — a tradition that was already consolidated in major Italian universities of the late Renaissance.6 Mastery of that tradition also contributed to shape Ricci’s and other Jesuits’ treatment of nonclassical philosophical traditions, mainly the Chinese one.7 Indeed, Hsia suggests that the Catholic notion of orthodoxy implied a conception of Christianitas, which, while hinting at the historical continuity from classical antiquity to the Christian present, at the same time meant the triumph of the present over the past ( p. 19). To this end, eloquence acquired through the mastery of Cicero was made to serve a higher goal whenever it was used to demonstrate the truth of Revelation, as much as Aristotelian cosmology could be blended with the story of the creation narrated in the Biblical book of Genesis. Ricci would later give proof of his rhetori- cal flair in a slender book, the Jiren shipian 畸人十篇 (Ten discourses of the man of paradox), to which Hsia devotes much of the twelfth chapter. Conceived as a short pamphlet in the arte della conversazione,8 an early Renaissance new gentle- manly practice, it reported ten conversations, revised and embellished for editorial purposes, held by Ricci on the occasion of the triennial scrutiny in 1607 — an event that had brought to Beijing thousands of scholars ( p. 269). Taking advantage of such a large-scale gathering, Ricci hosted many acquaintances he had made while staying at Nanchang and Nanjing, escorting them to visit his church and library, therefore providing them with some relief from the fatigue of their bureaucratic duties. Rome was the city that most of all epitomized the tension between Christianitas and classical antiquity. Hsia’s remarkable description of Rome as “the monument of Christian triumph over pagan antiquity” ( p. 19) reminds one of Piero della Francesca’s Resurrection, with the glorified Christ emerging from a classical white- marbled sarcophagus. Of all the courses attended by Ricci at the Roman College, the ones that he took from Christopher Clavius seem to have had the strongest impact on him. Clavius had been instrumental in implementing the calendrical reform during the reign of Pope Gregory XIII,9 in addition to being the mastermind of an Academy of Mathematics at the Roman College to which Ricci was admitted in 1575. The Academy did not outlive its founder, but the teaching of pure and mixed mathe- matics (mathesis pura et mixta) continued to be imparted in many Jesuit colleges, particularly the ones, such as the College of S. Antão in Lisbon, that were more directly concerned with training missionaries bound for East Asia.10 The quality of mathematical knowledge acquired by Ricci during the years spent with Clavius is testified by the number of works in Chinese that he produced in this field and that (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 2–44 (p. 2) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 3–44 (p. 3) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM 4 China Review International: Vol. 19, No. 1, 2012 are dealt with by Hsia in chapters 9, 10, and 11. Since the period spent under Clavius’ tutorship is relatively short, it may be also possible that Ricci attended one of the abbaco schools during his youth. Typical of the Italian Renaissance, these were schools specialized in providing basic notions of practical arithmetic and were especially patronized by merchant families to ensure that their offspring acquired the competence needed to pursue the family business.11 Some of the arithmetical texts composed by Ricci indeed show a high degree of skill in problem-solving, while others seem to be based on the “sequence of readings in mathematics” (orden de la lectura en mathematicas), which was the way the mathematical course was taught in Jesuit colleges. According to this schedule, the course began with the first three books of Euclid’s Elements, followed by notions of practical mathematics, then the sphere and geography, then back to Euclid’s books 5 and 6, the Astrolabes, the theory of planets, optics, horology, and ecclesiastic computation.12 The mathematical and astronomical books produced by Ricci, as well as any other text compiled by missionaries in China, regardless of the subject, were far from being lonesome enterprises, since they resulted from a complex process where various agencies came into play. Essential steps in this process were the transmission, mainly oral, of the main content of the text by the missionary to the Chinese convert, who was far from being a simple scribe. The Chinese collaborator might have been directly involved in the choice of the most appropriate terminol- ogy, as the texts show frequent borrowings from an earlier Chinese textual tradi- tion, even if sometimes the convert was compelled to create neologisms or make use of semantic loans in order to achieve the best rendition of the original. Manu- scripts eventually went through a series of revisions, edited both by missionaries and Chinese converts. This scrutiny was aimed at improving the style and, at the same time, expurgating the texts of whatever might contradict Church doctrine. By this token, the Chinese books composed by Ricci and his confreres are not true and proper translations of an identifiable source, but may be considered adaptations of a plurality of sources, among which are books missionaries had at their disposal while writing — certainly not very many in Ricci’s time — as well as their own classroom notes, including various abridgments known as summula and collectanea, and commonplace books.13 Ricci’s remarks about his selective use of different sources, delivered in a letter to the superior general of the Society of Jesus, Claudio Acquaviva, are enlightening in this regard. Also they lay bare the missionary’s criticism of an often too rigid censorship: Under all circumstances, books licensed by the Provincial, would have to be revised and approved only by those who know the Sinic script and language; secondarily because the books that we make here are not new items, for we take out of our [source] books all we need for our purposes in China and solum interponimus iudicium in seligendo [and we exert our judgment only in the selection of the sources].14 (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 4–44 (p. 4) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 5–44 (p. 5) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM Features 5 The majority of scientific texts were composed by Ricci in collaboration with the famous converts and intellectuals, Xu Guangqi 徐光啟 and Li Zhizao 李之藻. The most notable ones being: • Jihe yuanben 幾何原本(The origin of geometry, 1607). It is the translation, made by Ricci in collaboration with Xu Guangqi, of the first six books of Euclid’s Elements, edited and annotated by Clavius: Euclidis Elementorum libri XV (Rome, 1574); • Hungai tongxian tushuo 渾蓋通憲圖書 (Illustrated description of the sphere and the astrolabe, 1607). It is an adaptation, made by Ricci and Li Zhizao, of Clavius’s treatise on The Astrolabium (Rome, 1593); • Qiankun tiyi 乾坤體義 (The meaning of the terrestrial body,1608), composed by Ricci and Li Zhizao, on the basis of Clavius’ annotated version of the famous astronomical textbook by Sacrobosco, Tractatus de Sphaera (Rome, 1570). It includes a set of figures with annotations, translated as Yuanrong jiaoyi 圜容較義 (The meaning of compared [figures] inscribed in a circle). Ruan Yuan 阮元 in Chouren zhuan 籌人傳 gives a long explanation of this treatise which was also included in the Siku Quanshu 四庫全書。 • Tongwen suanzhi 同文算指 (Instructions for calculation in a common script, 1614). This is a collection of earlier texts compiled by Ricci with Li Zhizao, mainly based on Clavius’ Epitome Arithmeticae Practicae (Rome, 1583)15 Ricci began to work on a Chinese rendition of Renaissance astronomy during his residence in the south capital, Nanjing (chapter 8). Fashioning himself as “another Ptolemy,” Ricci dismissed Chinese astronomy, not realizing, as Hsia points out, that Chinese astronomers had recorded observations of supernovae and comets many centuries before their European counterparts ( p. 185). From the excursus of Ricci’s literary endeavors, provided by Hsia in chapters 7 through 12, we can see that most of his scientific production dates back to the periods spent in Nanjing and Beijing, thereby reflecting the kind of expertise that was mostly a response to Chinese interests. If, while residing in Nanchang, Ricci mainly devoted himself to writing theological and philosophical tracts — such as Tianzhu shiyi 天主實義 (De Deo vera ratio, a first version composed in Nanchang, it was later published in Beijing); Jiaoyou lun 交友論 (De Amicitia, Nanchang, 1595; second edition Beijing, 1603); and Xiguo jifa 西國記法 (Mnemotecnica, Nanchang, 1595) — it is during the ascent to Beijing that he must have realized that the Christian message could be better conveyed through astronomy and mathe- matics, since these two disciplines could, better than any other, captivate the attention of the Chinese literati. Ricci gave proof of his skill in cartography, a field that implied the practical application of astronomical and mathematical knowl- edge. His map of the world, Wanguo quantu 萬國全圖, first drawn in Zhaoqing in 1584 and later revised in Nanjing in 1598, was reproduced several times. Its fame even reached the Wanli emperor who ordered that a copy be made for his perusal. Almost a century later, Ricci’s confrere, Giambattista Riccioli, consecrated it to the honor of the press, having it engraved in his famous compendium of astronomy and mathematics, Almagestum novum ( fol. 11, Bologna, 1651). (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 4–44 (p. 4) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 5–44 (p. 5) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM 6 China Review International: Vol. 19, No. 1, 2012 Ricci is mostly known for an apologetic tract on the Catholic religion, entitled Tianzhu shiy, in which, while refuting the Chinese notions of deity, he exposes the Biblical doctrine of creation and the immortality of human soul. Hsia, who engages in a detailed discussion of this text in chapter 10, is right in referring to it as a treatise on philosophy and theology ( p. 184), and not as a catechism, as it has been thus far wrongly defined. It is worth noting that the arrival of Ricci in Goa in 1578 is marked by the printing of the first edition of a Doctrina Christiana by the Jesuit press in Goa. The full title of the text reads: DOCTRINA CHRISTIAM en Lingua Malauar Tamul/ Doctrina Cristaã treSladada em lingua Tamul pello padre Anrique Anriquez da Copanhia de IESU & pello padre Manoel de São Pedro. Another edition of this religious compendium, printed at the Jesuit College in Cochin, followed in 1579: Doctrina Christã, a maneira de Dialogo: feyta em portugal pello padre Marco Iorge da Companhia de IESV: Tresladada em lingual Malauar Tamul, pello padre Anrique Anriquez da mesma Cõpanhia. Impressa . . . Em Cochim, no Collegio da Madre de Deus.16 This tract may have been a possible source also of Ruggieri’s earlier religious compendium, the Tianzhu shilu 天主實錄, since they both have the same dialogical structure and apologetic tone. Hsia points out the paradoxical character of this text: it refutes Buddhism while, at the same time, it often employs a termi- nology pertaining to Buddhist discourse ( p. 94). In spite of the fact that Michele Ruggieri was, in fact, the founder of the Jesuit mission in China and the first author of a Christian work published in Chinese, he is barely remembered as the old companion who paved the way for Ricci’s more glorious enterprise. Thanks to Hsia’s careful reconstruction, Ruggieri’s character emerges as that of a gentle and sensible mediator between the ruthless and greedy Portuguese traders and the mandarins. His charismatic persona, combined with his knowledge of the lan- guage and rules of etiquette, did more to captivate the local Chinese authorities than did the exotic gifts presented by the Portuguese ( p. 68). Ruggieri should also be remembered as the author of the first translation into Latin of an excerpt from a Chinese classic ever published in Europe: the preface to the Da Xue, rendered as humanae institutionis ratio. Antonio Possevino, a well- known professor at the Roman College, later included it in his Bibliotheca Selecta (Book 9, c. 25, Padua, 1593). Possevino duly acknowledged his debt to Ruggieri, who had been sent back to Rome by Valignano to seek papal support in favor of the Ming dynasty, unaware of the fact that he would never return to China. During his stay in Rome, Ruggieri had long meetings with Possevino who acquired from him sufficient material to devote two chapters of his work (chapters 25 and 26), to Chinese philosophy and history. Given the early date and broad circulation of the Bibliotheca selecta, Ruggieri’s contribution should not pass unnoticed for it made available to an extensive readership in Europe one of the texts that most of all epitomized the essence of Confucianism. (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 6–44 (p. 6) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 7–44 (p. 7) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM Features 7 On April 20, 2012, a celebration in support of the canonization of Matteo Ricci took place at the Diocese of Macerata. It was a culminating event of a two-year program during which a large number of books devoted to Ricci appeared. It is difficult to ascertain to what extent such publications contributed to gather evi- dence of Ricci’s sanctity and if A Jesuit in the Forbidden City was ever considered by the committee for this purpose. Indeed, in Hsia’s view, “the patron of the Jesuit Mission was not quite a saint: wily in the ways of power, Ricci acted more like a minister” ( p. 268), receiving the visits of a carefully established network of influent acquaintances, without ever setting foot outside the imperial capital. In the course of this review, I have high- lighted several of the book’s merits, among which is that of having done justice to Michele Ruggieri, the true pioneer of the Jesuitical mission in China. It was the growing tension between the two missionaries in Zhaoqing that caused Ruggieri’s dismissal, and not, as Valignano reported to the General Acquaviva in 1588, his mediocrely spoken Chinese. Feeling the challenge posed by Ruggieri’s profound knowledge of the Chinese classics and, consequently, his appeal to the literati, Ricci — quite unexpectedly for a candidate to the honor of the altars — may have yielded to human weakness. Insinuating in Valignano’s mind the idea that Ruggieri was unfit for the mission on account of his health and age and linguistic limita- tions, Ricci secured himself the leadership of the China mission. “Among the thunderous applause for Ricci” — Hsia writes at the beginning of the fifth chap- ter — “it is time to remember the achievements of the older man” ( p. 97). For the Roman Catholic establishment, unfortunately, this time has not yet arrived. Elisabetta Corsi Elisabetta Corsi is a professor of classical Chinese and sinology at La Sapienza, State University of Rome. Her current research focuses on the contribution of Jesuit missionaries to the transmission of Renaissance Aristotelianism to China, especially in the field of natural philosophy. Notes 1. “La escritura biográfica cercana a ese movimiento hacia el otro y a la alteración del yo hacia la construcción de un sí-mismo que se ha convertido en otro. Evidentemente, una aventura así no deja de ser riesgosa: entre la pérdida de su identidad y el hecho de carecer de la singulari- dad del sujeto de la biografía, el biógrafo debe saber mantener la distancia justa, lo que no es nada sencillo, puesto que el barco puede irse a pique muchas veces y los arrebatos pasionales o las tomas de distancia que objetivan son tan necesarias para su investigación como la preocupación permanente por no perder el rumbo.” Francois Dosse, El arte de la biografía (L’art de la biogra- phie. Entre histoire et fiction) (México: Universidad Iberoamericana, 2007), p. 19. 2. P. Grendler, The Universities of the Italian Renaissance (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002), p. 460. References provided in the footnotes are not included in the bibliography of the book being reviewed. 3. I borrow this expression from H. L. Goodman and A. Grafton, “Ricci, the Chinese, and the Toolkits of Textualists,” Asia Major 3, no. 2 (1990–1991): 96. (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 6–44 (p. 6) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 7–44 (p. 7) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM 8 China Review International: Vol. 19, No. 1, 2012 4. P. Grendler, The Universities of the Italian Renaissance (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002), p. 459. On the humanists’ criticism of traditional jurisprudence, see pp. 430–473. 5. So far the most thorough reconstruction of Ricci’s curriculum at the Roman College is provided by F. Bortone, P. Matteo Ricci S.I., il “Saggio d’Occidente.” Un grande italiano nella Cina impenetrabile (1552–1610) (Roma: Desclée & C.-Editori Pontifici, 1965). 6. On this topic, see P. Grendler, The Universities, especially pp. 199–248. 7. On this problem, see Goodrich and Grafton, “Ricci, the Chinese,” p. 96. 8. On the conversazione, see A. Quondam, La conversazione. Un modello italiano (Rome: Donzelli Editore, 2007). 9. A remarkable synthesis of the complex problem of the papal reform of the calendar and the protests by Protestants it brought about, is offered by J. L. Heilbron, The Sun in the Church: Cathedrals as Solar Observatories (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 24–46. 10. The most important scholarly contributions in this field are by Ugo Baldini. See his fundamental essay, “Legem impone subactis: teologia, filosofia e scienze matematiche nella didattica e nella dottrina della Compagnia di Gesù (1550–1630),” in id., Legem impone subactis. Studi su filosofia e scienza dei gesuiti in Italia. 1540–1632 (Roma: Bulzoni Editore, 1992), pp. 19–73; as well as “L’insegnamento della matematica nel collegio di S. Antão a Lisbona (1590–1640),”, in id., Saggi sulla cultura della Compagnia di Gesù (secoli XVI–XVIII) (Padova: CLEUP Editrice, 2000), pp. 129–167. 11. On the abbaco school, see P. Grendler, Schooling in Renaissance Italy: Literacy and Learning 1300–1600 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1989), mainly pp. 311–319; E. Ulivi, “Scuole d’abaco e insegnamento della matematica,” in Il Rinascimento italiano e l’Europa, vol. 5: Le scienze, ed. A. Clericuzio, G. Ernst, and M. Conforti (Treviso-Costabissara: Angelo Colla Editore, 2008), pp. 403–442. 12. Ms. by Hieronimus Torres, Orden de la lectura de mathematicas, Codices Romani Stud. 2, f. 200, in Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale “Vittorio Emanuele,” Mss Ges. 1433; also in Monumenta Paedagogica, ed. Cecilio Gomex Rodeles et al. (Madrid: Agustin Avrial, 1901), p. 478. On Ricci’ s mathematical books in Chinese, see C. Jami, The Emperor’s New Mathematics: Western Learning and Imperial Authority During the Kangxi Reign (1662–1722) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), pp. 25–26. 13. On this problem, see M. Redaelli, Il mappamondo con la Cina al centro. Fonti antiche e mediazione culturale nell’opera di Matteo Ricci, S.J. (Pisa: Edizioni ETS), pp. 94–95. 14. “Poiché in ogni modo i libri che il Provinciale avesse da dar licentia, avriano d’esser revisti e approvati solo da quei che sanno le lettere e la lingua cinica; secondariamente perché i libri che qua facciamo non sono nove cose, ma tutto pigliamo di nostri libri quello che ci viene qui a proposito per la Cina e solum interponimus iudicium in seligendo.” Epistle dated August 15, 1606, in Matteo Ricci, Lettere. 1580–1609 (Macerata: Quodlibet, 2001), p. 429. 15. See Kiyoshi Yabuuti, Une histoire del mathématiques chinoises, trans. by C. Jami (Paris: Belin, 2000), pp. 124–130. 16. Georg Schurhammer, Die Zeitgenossischen Quellen zur Geschichte Portugiesisch-Asiens und seiner Nachbarlander (Rome: IHSI, 1962), p. 322. See also Manuel Cadafaz de Matos, “Humanismo e evangelização no Oriente no século XVI”, Revista ICALP, 7–8, 1987, pp. 67–69 (41–72). (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 8–44 (p. 8) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM (CS4) (UHP) (7×10”) Minion J-2799 CRI, 19:1 2799_19-1_01_Features pp. 9–44 (p. 9) PMU: WSL 18/07/2013 2 August 2013 10:38 PM 
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work_bxudptucfjdi7cvg4vctjdnmuq	----	1 J Gleeson-White Double Entry: How the Merchants of Venice Shaped the Modern World and How their Invention could Make or Break the Planet, Allen & Unwin: Sydney, 2011, 294 + viii pp.: ISBN: 9781741757552 Reviewed by: Alan Sangster, Griffith University, Australia This is a very interesting and easy to read book from which I gained a great deal of pleasure. The author should be commended on her courage and her success in absorbing and then retelling the history of a subject that those more equipped to do so have generally not done for the simple reason that the sum is greater than the parts – finding evidence is one thing, putting it all together in a coherent and internally consistent manner, is another. The Contents List is a challenging mixture of accounting history, economic history, and accounting - the art, the science, and the profession. The opening focus on the inability of accounting, as we know it, to present in financial statements items other than those that can be expressed in monetary terms is both surprising and refreshing. The call made later in the book for a reinvention or redesign of an accounting which embraces such factors as the impact upon the environment is well written and argued, and extremely timely. Professor Rob Gray’s “elephant in the room” (2010, 2013) has rarely had such an outing in public, even if his writings and those of many others on the subject are strangely absent from this book. It is a difficult enough task to understand sufficiently well the treatise on bookkeeping contained in Luca Pacioli’s Summa Arithmetica of 1494, without attempting to also understand the activities and processes of accounting in the previous 200 and subsequent 500+ years – a modernised translation of the treatise was sufficient to warrant a PhD (Cripps, 1995). This is not a minor task that Jane Gleeson- White set herself. In its fullness, it is nothing less than the work of an entire lifetime, and Jane Gleeson-White did it all in three years. Could this be possible? Today, with the freedom of the “library on your desktop” (Sangster, 1995: 3) finally realised, possibly, but it is still an enormous task requiring the reading of hundreds of articles, books, and websites. This was a challenge indeed and Jane Gleeson-White emerges from her travail with honour and achievement. Yet, speed is not the mother of all invention. Rather, it is the inevitable creator of shortcuts and assumptions arising from limited time to follow things through that are destined to leave questions only partially answered. Nevertheless, in this case, the flaws are not sufficient to devalue the whole. This is a very well-constructed book. I found some chapters particularly interesting:  The Preface is a superb, short, yet very informative introduction to the book.  Chapter 7 (“Double entry and capitalism – chicken and egg?”) which, while by no means covering the literature on this topic, nevertheless presents some worthy insights to the topic for those who have not encountered it previously. More from Basil Yamey would certainly not have gone amiss, as would the inclusion of material on capitalism and accounting in The Netherlands in the sixteenth century, where Funnell and Robertson (2011) suggest bookkeeping practice derived not from Pacioli but from German business practices.  Chapter 8 (“John Maynard Keynes, double entry and the wealth of nations”) opens 2 up a debate much needed to support and understand the Conclusion to the book. The material is brief and well-written, however, I do find the tenuous link to double entry bookkeeping something of a stretch. I seriously doubt if John Maynard Keynes had, as is implied on p.179, any great interest in, or more than a passing knowledge of the principles of double entry bookkeeping, if that. He will, however, have understood how to construct economic financial models of the economy using the principles of algebra, upon which the duality of double entry is based. The marvel of balance in an accounting system based upon double entry is a mathematical one, nothing more and nothing less, and Y = C + I is an algebraic equation, as is the accountant’s Capital = Assets – Liabilities. This wish of Jane Gleeson-White to brand everything under the umbrella of “double entry bookkeeping” is admirable, but, I would suggest, misplaced.  Chapter 9 (“The rise and scandalous rise of a profession”) is one of the highlights of the book. Some of the history recounted is incomplete and some of the statements made are misleading due to their inaccuracy, but the overall message of this chapter is strong and, I believe, appropriate. The author clearly believes that accounting scandals create more work for accountants, more demand for accounting services, and more jobs for accountants, and, in short, that accounting scandals are “good” for the accounting profession, and no one else. Accounting creates the image the decision makers wish it to create; accountants cannot agree on what is a “correct” interpretation of the data they have – and, much more. The manner in which the discussion towards the end of the chapter moves from accounting scandals to the $200 Big Mac and then to a very brief discussion of the flaws of GDP is very well done and a very good lead-in to Chapter 10.  Chapter 10 (“Gross Domestic Product and how accounting could make or break the planet”) and the Epilogue chapter are thought provoking and a wonderful climax to this excellent book. Among specific criticisms I have of the choice of content of the book, the “rules versus principles” distinction is introduced too briefly on pp.156–157, and the not very convincing link to the “is accounting a science?” debate is one of the low points of this book. The computerisation of accounting is barely mentioned (p.204): surely something ought to have been included concerning how auditors responded? And, surely more could have been made of the changing world of accounting arising from eBusiness and eCommerce, and, not least, the far higher profile today of forensic accounting. Furthermore, surely something ought to have been included on the beginnings of accounting standards in the US in the 1930s and the UK in the 1940s. In the history of the discipline, these were important steps and it is disappointing that Ms Gleeson-White seems to think that these initiatives originated in 1970 (p.206). While these appear to be small points and not so much strong negatives as an indication of how coverage of topics could be enlarged in subsequent editions, it is fair to say that the book is not “all good”. The first six chapters are a curate’s egg of under- researched and, sometimes, misunderstood analysis, accompanied by wonderful clarity and exposition of a seriously complicated story: the history of double entry bookkeeping. I compiled a long list of inaccuracies – 41 of them – while reading through these 160 pages. One incorrect statement every four pages is an exceptionally high error ratio if a book is to be taken seriously, and that is before consideration is taken of the virtual absence of a number of topics, not least charge and discharge 3 accounting and the manner in which it survived for hundreds of years after the emergence of double entry bookkeeping. Double entry had a serious rival and yet Ms Gleeson-White gives the impression that as soon as Pacioli’s treatise was published in 1494, everyone adopted double entry and that businesses thrived and prospered as a result; neither is the case. As an accounting historian and specialist in Pacioli and the birth of double entry bookkeeping, I found the author’s approach to citation exceedingly odd and unhelpful. In 1942, R. Emmett Taylor produced his wonderful biography of Luca Pacioli, No Royal Road. The dust jacket reveals that the typists who worked on his manuscript found it humorous and pre-publication reviewers commented upon his success in recreating the life of the times of Pacioli, but that book has one serious flaw noted by every historian who has ever used it as a source of information: you often cannot tell or identify which of Taylor’s sources is related to which of his “facts”. This was the style of academic writing evident in early Anglo-Saxon articles on accounting and accounting history (as seen for example, in the Accounting Review in the 1920s) but, by the 1940s, the style was no longer in vogue and was certainly not considered helpful to either serious researchers or students. Jane Gleeson-White writes a good story and the story she weaves flows well but, in avoiding Taylor’s unfortunate choice of referencing style, she has elected to adopt a strange mishmash of sources located at the end of the book. The entries in a section entitled “Notes” can be matched to their use in the text if you look for quoted phrases on the page indicated. These “notes” are followed by three lists of publications: in books, journals, and online, but they are not, in any instance, linked to the relevant text. This approach is inefficient and, at best, very unhelpful to any scholar. It must be of very limited use indeed to anyone else. Ms Gleeson-White’s publisher has made a poor choice here. A footnote referencing style would have suited both audiences. It would also help if sources are attributed whenever they ought to be rather than when the author feels they should be: I noted a number of instances where I knew the likely source of the text but could find no indication of it in the notes and references sections of the book. Accuracy in the references could also be improved. For example, the inclusion of material on p.162 attributed to Carnegie and Wolnizer in the Notes on p.265 is actually a quote from Sombart, something Ms Gleeson-White would know if she looked more carefully at the Carnegie and Wolnizer edited work and then dug further. Nevertheless, despite its flaws, the book is the first primer to accounting history and its relevance to the modern world that I have ever seen. It is suitable for use as a core text for a one-semester or year-long university module/course on accounting history. I am currently teaching a postgraduate class in accounting history and would happily use this book as the core student background reading text on which all the articles I currently use are hung. In this sense, the flaws in this book are its strengths, offering opportunities for debate and investigation while maintaining an impressive aura of certainty for anyone not informed enough to spot the problems. For the benefit of those interested in identifying the errors and misconceptions I have found, these are presented in an Appendix to this review, along with a bibliography of the sources which I have used both here and in the Appendix. Gleeson-White may be encouraged to go further in developing her understanding of accounting and accountants. Voices such as hers are desperately needed if we are to 4 break the mould and create accounting that considers the world we live in as much as the enterprise for which it is being applied. The history of double entry bookkeeping tells us from where our present-day accounting practices came. Now, it is time to let the stasis of 700 years of practice evolve into something truly useful, something suited to the knowledge age in which we now live. Bibliography Antinori C (2000) Introduzione. In: Luca Pacioli De Divina Proportione. Roma: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca Dello Stato. Baldi B (1589) Fra Luca dal Borgo S. Sepolcro. Republished in: Boncompagni B (ed.) (1879) Bulletino di bibliographia e di storia delle scienze matematiche e fisiche. Volume XII, pp.421–427. Bagni GT (2009) Luca Pacioli, the mathematics of his time and De viribus quantitatis. Forward accompanying Luca Pacioli’s De Viribus Quantitatis. Petruzzi: Città di Castello, pp.21–28. Bailey D (1992) The attempt to establish the Russian accounting profession 1875- 1931. Accounting, Business and Financial History 2(1): 1–23. Belloni G (1994) Nota Filologico-Linguistica. In: Luca Pacioli Trattato di Partita Doppia Venezia 1494. Venice: Albrizzi Editore, pp.35–44. Brown NM (2010) The Abacus and the Cross: The Story of the Pope Who Brought the Light of Science to the Dark Ages. New York, NY: Basic Books, p.88. Cangi D, Mattioni P, Novelli L, Massi G and Mercati C (2010) Da Euclide a Luca Pacioli: confronti linguistici e culturali. In: Martelli M (ed.) Pacioli Fra Arte e Geometria. Sansepolcro: Centro Studi “Mario Pancrazi”, pp.57–67. Ceci F, Fratini F, Marioli G, Pecchia M and Ricci G (2010) Luca Pacioli e la figura del mercante all’alba dell’età moderna con particolare riferimento a Venezia. In: Martelli M (ed.) Pacioli Fra Arte e Geometria. Sansepolcro: Centro Studi “Mario Pancrazi”, pp.73–89. Cripps JGA (1995) Particularis de computis et scripturis: 1494, Luca Pacioli; A contemporary interpretation. Seattle, WA: Pacioli Society. Davis MD (1977) Piero della Francesca’s mathematical treatises: the Trattato d’abaco and Libellus de quinque corporibus regularibus. Longo Editore: Ravenna. De Roover R (1937) Aux origines d’une technique intellectuelle: La formation et l’expansion de la comptabilite a partie double. In: Annales d’Histoire économique et sociale 44–45: 171–193; 270–298. De Roover R (1941) A Florentine firm of cloth manufacturers. Speculum 16(1): 3–33. De Roover R (1967) The scholastics, usury, and foreign exchange. The Business History Review 41(3): 257–271. Funnell W and Robertson J (2011) Capitalist accounting in sixteenth century Holland: Hanseatic influences and the Sombart thesis. Accounting, Auditing & Accountability Journal 24(5): 560–586. Gray R (2010) A re-evaluation of social, environmental and sustainability accounting: An exploration of an emerging trans-disciplinary field? Sustainability Accounting, Management and Policy Journal 1(1): 11–32. Gray R (2013) Sustainability and accounting education: The elephant in the classroom. Accounting Education: An International Journal 22 (forthcoming). 5 Grendler PF (1985) The organization of primary and secondary education in the Italian Renaissance. The Catholic Historical Review 71(2): 185–205. Grendler PF (1989) Schooling in Renaissance Italy: Literacy and Learning, 1300– 1600. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Grendler PF (2002) The Universities of the Italian Renaissance. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Jouanique P (1996) Three medieval merchants: Francesco di Marco Datini, Jacques Coeur and Benedetto Cotrugli. Accounting, Business and Financial History 6(3): 261–275. Lemarchand Y (1994) Double entry versus charge and discharge accounting in eighteenth-century France. Accounting, Business and Financial History 4(1): 119– 145. Mackinnon N (1993) The portrait of Fra Luca Pacioli. The Mathematical Gazette 77(479): 130–219. McClain DL (2008) Checkmate again for Leonardo? Chess book’s diagrams are linked to artist. International Herald Tribune, 18 April. Available at: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/18/arts/18iht-leo.1.12127016.html Marinoni A (1997) Introduction. In: Marinoni A (ed) Luca Pacioli’s De Viribus Quantitatis. Milan: Ente Raccolta Vinciana. Nakanishi A (1979) On the life of Luca Pacioli. The Accounting Historians Journal 6(2): 53–59. Orlandi A (2011) The affirmation of double-entry bookkeeping in the business accounts of Tuscan merchants in the Late Middle Ages. Presentation at The International Conference of Accounting Theory and History “View from the Past into the Future”, St Petersburg, Russia, 10–11 February. Pacioli L (1494) Summa de Arithmetica Geometria Proportioni et Proportionalita. Venice: Paganino de’ Paganini. Pacioli L (c.1500) De Ludu Scacchorum. Unpublished manuscript (facsimile published in 2007 by Aboca Museum, Sansepolcro). Pacioli L (1509) De Divina Proportione. Venice: Paganino de’ Paganini. Peragallo E (1956) Origin of the trial balance. The Accounting Review 31(3): 389–394. Picutti E (1989) Sui plagi matematici di frate Luca Pacioli. Le Scienze 246: 72–79. Sangster A (1995) World Wide Web – what can it do for accounting education. Active Learning 1(2): 3–8. Sangster A (2007) The printing of Pacioli’s Summa in 1494: How many copies were printed. The Accounting Historians Journal 34(1): 125–146. Sangster A (2011) Luca Pacioli, school teacher and university professor. In: Hernández- Esteve E and Martelli M (eds) Before and After Luca Pacioli, Proceedings of ATTI II Incontro Internazionale, Sansepolcro-Perugia-Firenze, Italy, 17–19 June 2011. Sansepolcro: Aboca Edizioni, pp.457–472. Sokolov YV and Sokolov VY (2011) Pacioli’s ideas in Russian accounting history. In: Hernández-Esteve E and Martelli M (eds) Before and After Luca Pacioli, Proceedings of ATTI II Incontro Internazionale, Sansepolcro-Perugia-Firenze, Italy, 17–19 June 2011. Sansepolcro: Aboca Edizioni. Sansepolcro: Aboca Edizioni, pp. 787–816. Stevelinck E (1986) The many faces of Luca Pacioli: Iconographic research over thirty years. The Accounting http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/18/arts/18iht-leo.1.12127016.html 6 Historians Journal 13(2): 2–18. Tagliente G (1525) Considerando … la presente opereta per quelli che hano debisogno accio che sapi no tener ordinata mente el detto conto del suo libro ugnolo …. Venice: no publisher. Taylor RE (1942) No Royal Road. New York: Arno Press. Ulivi E (2009) Nuovi documenti su Luca Pacioli. In: Giusti E and Martelli M (eds) Pacioli 500 Anni Dopo. Sansepolcro: Centro Studi “Mario Pancrazi”, pp.19–58. Yamey BS (1974) Luca Pacioli’s scuola perfetta: A bibliographical puzzle. Gutenberg- Jahrbuch: 110–116. Appendix Inaccuracies 1. Contrary to the statement on p.7, a great deal has been written about Luca Pacioli – well over 100 scholarly articles – undeniably more than have been written about any other individual in the entire history of accounting. 2. Contrary to the claim that the Datini books were in double entry from 1390 onwards (pp.23–24), Datini was using double entry in Pisa and Florence from 1386 (De Roover, 1937: 274–275; Orlandi, 2011). 3. The statement (p.26) that Datini kept his accounts using Roman numerals is, perhaps, incomplete. As can be seen from the actual records held in Prata, in 1383 Datini was using both Roman numerals and Hindu-Arabic numerals in his account books. It was the numerals in the third column, the “money column” that were in Roman numerals, hence it can be argued that the accounts were indeed kept using Roman numerals. However, in the first column can be seen examples where the same number is presented, but in Hindu-Arabic numerals. 4. “El modo de vinegia or alla viniziana: the Venetian method” (p.27) was more to do with the bilateral account form (where the debit and credit of each account appear opposite each other on the same side of a sheet of paper) than with the rest of Pacioli’s description. That form of account presentation was in use in Florence around the end of the fourteenth century and described at that time as “alla veneziana”. This is one of the reasons that it is considered that the bilateral form originated in Venice (De Roover, 1937: 181), even though the first confirmed example of its use in Venice that we have dates from 1430. 5. Pacioli was born between 20 June 1446 and 19 June 1447, not in 1445 (p.30). The record of his death on 19 June 1517 states that he was 70 years old (Nakanishi, 1979: 54). 6. It was not, as stated on p.39, Robert of Chester who introduced Europeans to the Hindu-Arabic numerals (in his 1145 translation into Latin of the algebra of Al- Khwārizmī), but Gerbert d’Aurillac, a French scholar, teacher, and Pope (Sylvester II) who did so in the last quarter of the tenth century. 7. The use of the term, “published” to describe Fibonacci’s Liber Abaci of 1202 is, perhaps, misleading for a modern audience who associate the term with printing (p.40). Liber Abaci was a manuscript book that was copied and used in abbreviated form, translated from its original Latin into the vernacular by many of the teachers of abbaco in Northern Italy. 7 8. Prior to the emergence of the abbaco schools, the dominant school type in Northern Italy was not the Latin-based monastery schools (p.40), but the Latin- based independent Grammar schools (Grendler, 1985). 9. Girls were not “excluded” from formal education (p.41), though few attended school in the modern sense (Grendler, 1985, 1989). 10. Pacioli, the very young orphan living with a merchant in Sansepolcro, was not “taught old medieval scholasticism … as well as the new Florentine humanism” (pp.43–44) – the humanist schools did not teach the scholastic curriculum; they taught the humanist curriculum (Grendler, 1985). Plus, his handwriting was in the style of mercantile script, which he would have learnt either at school, from a tutor or, more likely, from his guardian. It is unlikely that he would have been encouraged to use mercantile script in a scholastic grammar school or a church school. Plus, Pacioli went to Venice to act as guardian and taught the sons of Rompiasi when he was around 16 or 17 years old. They were the sons of a merchant. He taught them abbaco. To teach it, he would have had to have previously learnt it and it was learnt in abbaco schools which did not teach either medieval scholasticism or Florentine humanism. 11. Pacioli did not “live through the early decades of the morphing of Italian mathematics from medieval Roman to a fusion of Hindu-Arabic and Greek” (p.44). That fusion started with twelfth-century Latin translations of al-Khwārizmī’s book on algebra, and continued in 1202 with Fibonacci’s Liber Abaci. It was not a movement that started in the mid-fifteenth century. 12. Piero della Francesca did not just “supposedly” include Pacioli in one of his paintings (p.47), he included him in two (Stevelinck, 1986). 13. We do not know what Pacioli’s “primary” duty was in the Rompiasi household (p.57); nor is there any evidence that he was “teaching … bookkeeping” there or anywhere else, at any time in his life. 14. The vagueness – “40 years later” (p.58) – concerning when Pacioli was teaching in Venice (Bagni, 2009: 21) at the Scuola di Rialto (Ceci et al., 2010: 78) is unnecessary; it was 1508 and not 1504 or 1510, which are the possible dates that seem to be implied in the text. 15. There is no evidence that Pacioli “died a wealthy man” (p.62). Quite the opposite. It is likely he died relatively poor, following the apparent theft of his possessions in 1512 (Taylor, 942: 374–375). Had he died “wealthy”, his desire for a tomb (Taylor, 1943: 372) would have been realized. It was not. 16. The book he started in Perugia in 1477 was not his Summa Arithmetica (p.62). It was his Tractatus Mathematicus ad Discipulos Perusinos (p.63). 17. We know very little about what Pacioli was doing between 1480 and 1486. It is believed that between mid-1480 and mid-1484 he obtained his degree in theology: on September 24, 1484 he was mentioned as having the title “Magister Professor” (Ulivi, 2009: 35), not 1486 (p.64). 18. In 1486, although Pacioli was appointed to teach at Perugia, it was to teach abbaco. Abbaco was not taught in universities (Grendler, 1989: footnote 40, 419–420). All of Pacioli’s teaching appointments in Perugia appear to have been at that level (Sangster, 2011). If so, he would never have held a chair in mathematics at that 8 university though it has been stated by a number of writers (including myself) that he did (p.65). 19. Pacioli’s contract in Perugia is believed to have expired in April 1488. He did not then return to Sansepolcro (p.65). After April 1488, he went to Rome and obtained a public lectureship (Baldi, 1589, c. 181r) at the university (Grendler, 2002: 59–60; Taylor, 1942: 161). His next teaching appointment was in Naples (Antinori, 2000: 13) where he was appointed as a public lecturer at the university, probably for some time during the period between July 1489 and October 1490. 20. Had he returned to Sansepolcro in 1488 as suggested (p.65), it would certainly not have been “for the first time since he had left it [to first go to Venice]”. He was, for example, in Sansepolcro in February 1471, August 1472, and August 1473 (Ulivi, 2009). 21. Although it has been suggested that Pacioli was told to stop teaching the secular youth of Sansepolcro in 1491 (p.65), the instruction from his superiors in 1491 told him to close the secular school in Sansepolcro. 22. In 1494, Pacioli did not become the first author of a printed book on algebra (p.67). The first printed book to contain algebra was published in 1482: Euclides, Elementa Geometriae, printed in Venice by the publisher, Erhard Ratdolt (which is referred to on p.68). 23. The language of Pacioli’s Summa Arithmetica is now recognised as being the language of the markets of northern Italy (Belloni, 1994; Marinoni, 1997) – the language which the merchants for whom it was written would need to have used in their work. Had it been written mainly in the Florentine dialect (p.73), it would have been applauded for the language in which it was written, not derided for its hybrid version of the vernacular (Cangi et al., 2010: 67). 24. There are estimated to be 162 extant copies of Summa Arithmetica (Sangster, 2007: 140), not 135 (p.74). In addition, one copy of the 1523 printing of Volume 1 was offered for sale in London in 2006 for £18,500, indicating that the two volumes were not always bound together into one book (p.74). 25. Pacioli did not simply translate Fibonacci’s Liber Abaci. He used multiple sources for Summa Arithmetica. In addition, there is no reason to suggest that Liber Abaci was in need of restoration (presumably in the sense of reintroduction) for the benefit of European mathematics (p.75). It was the source for much that was written about mathematics by the abachists (the abbaco school teachers) at that time. In Summa Arithmetica, Pacioli acknowledged the debt all mathematicians owed to Fibonacci and took the mathematics that had been presented by Fibonacci and many others and included it in the vernacular in a printed book, with his own exposition and solutions. It was the printing of his book that brought this mathematics to the attention of Europe. He did not “restore” mathematics, rather, he developed and extended the existing state of mathematics in Western Europe. 26. Much of Volume 2 of Summa Arithmetica, from the beginning to folio 59v (118 of its 151 pages), is a direct transcription of the first 241 folios of the Praticha di geometria of Benedetto de Firenze (Picutti, 1989: 76). Thus most of this volume was sourced elsewhere than is indicated on p.75. Eleven of the remaining pages in that volume are, however, essentially identical to material in Piero della Francesca’s Trattato d’Abaco (Davis, 1977). 9 27. Summa Arithmetica was by no means “one of the earliest books to be printed on the Guttenberg Press” (p.77). This is a common misunderstanding. By 1501, there were over 1,000 printing shops in Europe and at least 150 in Venice; and it has been suggested that by 1501 35,000 different titles had been printed, representing a total of 20 million printed books. It has also been estimated that as many as 5,000 titles may have been printed in Venice before 1501 (see, Sangster, 2007). The fact that Summa Arithmetica was printed seven years before 1501 does not make it one of the earliest books to be printed in the 40-year period from 1454 to 1494. 28. Whether or not there was ever a printing of a book called La Scuola Perfetta dei mercanti is not clear. We have just one eye-witness from the nineteenth century (Yamey, 1974). While the book may have been printed, it is misleading to state this as if it were a confirmed fact (p.78). 29. De Viribus Quantitatis was not published for many years, but it has been published in print, for example, in Marinoni (1997) and, most recently, in facsimile by the Aboca Museum of Sansepolcro in 2009 (p.83). 30. Pacioli worked for the University of Pisa in Florence, not for the University of Florence, and he worked there from 1500, not 1499 (p.84). 31. There was a suggestion made in 2008 that Leonardo Da Vinci did the illustrations for Pacioli’s book of chess problems, De Ludu Scachorum (c. 1500) (p.87) but, even to the untrained eye, this must seem fanciful. As one expert on Leonardo stated concerning this possibility: “There is not an earthly chance of them being by Leonardo … [t]he silly season on Leo never closes” (McClain, 2008). 32. Pacioli’s lasting fame is not confined to accounting (p.88). His work is studied as much by mathematical historians as by accounting historians, possibly even more so; and he is famed for the calligraphy of his design of an alphabet published in De Divina Proportione in 1509. 33. No one knows who first devised the system of two equal and opposite entries in the ledger for every transaction but, from what we know, the first place the system of double entry bookkeeping was used was in Salon, France, in or before 1299. To suggest that the Venetians invented double entry in the face of all the evidence is fanciful (p.100). What Venetians probably invented was the bilateral account, where the credit entries in an account are made on the right-hand-side of the same page as the debits, which are made on the left-hand-side (De Roover, 1937). 34. On p.107, there is an error in the example concerning a purchase of 20 pieces of white cloth which was introduced on p.105. On p.107, the text mentions ten pieces at £12 while the calculations produce an amount for the purchase (which is correct) of £240. 35. Despite mentioning that the ledger closing process would enable a Trial Balance to be produced, the author joins illustrious authors of the past (see, Peragallo, 1956: 390, 392–393) and confuses Pacioli’s Summa Summarium with the trial balance, describing the former not the latter (p.111). The process to be followed in order to prepare a trial balance, which Pacioli summarises very briefly in Chapter 36 of his treatise, is not included in Ms Gleeson-White’s book. 36. The author is confused by Pacioli’s instructions for closing the books (p.112). In 10 Chapter 34 of his treatise, Pacioli explains very carefully how to transfer the balances of the asset and liability and capital accounts from the current ledger to the new ledger. The list of types of accounts which starts on the fourth line of p.112 is the same as that given by Pacioli. However, these account balances are not transferred to Profit and Loss, which is what Ms Gleeson-White states. Pacioli, in fact, says that balances on expense accounts (i.e. accounts other than asset, liability, and capital accounts) should not be transferred to the new ledger, but should, instead, be transferred to the “favour and damage account”, or “increase and deficit”, or “profit and damage account” – i.e. the profit and loss account. As Ms Gleeson-White then correctly states, once the balance on this account is known, it is closed by transferring the balance to the capital account. 37. Ratdolt discovered how to place complex designs in a printed book (Mackinnon, 1993: 135) but this had very little to do with the demise of Roman numerals (p.116) – how could it? Nor could this discovery have contributed to the demise of Latin as the universal language of Europe (p.116). Latin was surely no more difficult to print than Italian. Printing in general contributed to the demise of Latin as it facilitated the spread of usage of the everyday spoken language. 38. Many books on bookkeeping between 1500 and 1800 were based directly or indirectly upon Pacioli’s treatise (p.131) but, not all – see, for example, Tagliente’s (1525) treatise on single entry for merchants and artisans. This goes to the root of an apparent blind spot of the author: while double entry bookkeeping was used throughout much of Europe in that period, it was not used by anything like the majority of businesses until the rise of the joint stock companies in the nineteenth century – see, for example, Lemarchand’s (1994) excellent article on eighteenth century French accounting. Some governments tried to impose double entry, but all failed to extend its use beyond those enterprises over which they had some control. Otherwise, double entry was adopted when the business owners saw an advantage in its use or, presumably, where the person keeping the books preferred the method over single entry accounting. The impression in Ms Gleeson-White’s text is that double entry bookkeeping as described by Pacioli was widely adopted after the publication of Pacioli’s treatise in 1494. It was not. 39. In 1772 Wedgwood was probably one of the first businesses to use double entry bookkeeping and involve its use in the analysis of costs (p.138). However, it was not one of the “early” firms to do so. As De Roover (1941: 28) points out, this was something that the Medici had been trying to do over 200 years earlier, in the first half of the sixteenth century: The [double entry] bookkeeping system of the Medici Florentine cloth manufacturing partnerships was entirely adequate for their purpose and fitted perfectly their organization. It provided the means which the management needed to control the flow of material as well as the movement of funds. It was not yet a cost-finding system, but it came very close to being one. The account books give enough indication to permit one to assume that the Medici had a good knowledge of their approximate cost and used this information in pricing their finished cloth. 40. Depreciation was not something that first arose following the emergence of corporations in the nineteenth century (p.148). By then, it had been in use for five centuries, including in the books of the fifteenth-century Medici cloth manufacturing partnerships and the fourteenthcentury Datini partnerships (De Roover, 1937: 275; 1941). 11 41. Russia was hardly a nation of bookkeepers in 1900 (pp.153–154). Although it has been used in this context by, for example, Bailey (1992), use of the term “bookkeeper” when referring to accountants in late 19th century Russia is misleading and needs to be interpreted without the demeaning perjorative in which the term is viewed today. These Russian “bookkeepers” were every bit as much “accountants” as those recognised as such elsewhere. Double entry bookkeeping was in use in Russia in the eighteenth century and public associations of accountants appeared in Russia late in the nineteenth century with their own professional journals, such as Accounting (Schetovodstvo) and Practical Life (Prakticheskaya zhizn) from 1888 and 1889, respectively. Pacioli and his treatise were discussed in a publication in 1809 by Karl Ivanovich Arnold, in the same year by Ivan Akhmatov, and in the following year by the President of the Russian Academy of Arts, AN Ilenin. Pacioli was held in very high regard in Russia and Russian accountants celebrated the 400th anniversary of the publication of Pacioli’s treatise in December 1894 with the first translation of the treatise into Russian (by Eduard Grigorievich Valdenberg), speeches, and a dinner (Sokolov and Sokolov, 2011). 42. The book touches on usury and presents the views of James Aho, but his perspective needs to be balanced with others, such as those expressed by Raymond De Roover (1967) and Pierre Jouanique (1996) who do not see the issue as having been of such import in Medieval and Renaissance Europe as Professor Aho suggests. In addition, and more critically, the suggestion that usury is no longer relevant (to accounting) (p.173) wrongly ignores the position faced by Muslim accountants, as a routine search of the Internet will reveal. 43. Accounting did not first awake to the need for some additional regulation in the 1970s, and the Americans were the first to act, not the British (p.206). 44. “True and fair” is very much a UK invention, being enshrined in the 1947 UK Companies Act at the behest of the ICAEW, long before the establishment of the Accounting Standards Steering Committee by the ICAEW in 1970. It is not a concept that the US FASB has been involved in codifying (p.206). 45. To suggest that more regulation and further standardisation of the accounting profession from 1970 onwards “did nothing to avert or even diminish accounting- related corporate scandals” (p.207) is simply indefensible. There is no means of knowing whether or not increasing regulation and further standardisation had a neutral effect, but it seems highly unlikely that, if we had a parallel universe devoid of such measures, it would not have experienced more scandals of this type than ours. 46. It will not be only “in the long-term that the SEC will accept IFRS standards” (p.214), it already does, and has done so without requirement of any reconciliation with US GAAP since March 2008. However, this does not apply as yet, to US corporations, which is the point the author ought to have made. 47. Accounting scandals have been occurring since the South Sea Company and Mississippi Company scandals of 1720. They did not start to occur in the 1860s (p.215). 
work_bzolg2ldh5dwrdyv3pglp3iv5i	----	CSS volume 2 issue 4 Cover and Front matter COMPARATIVE STUDIES IN SOCIETY AND HISTORY An International Quarterly VOLUME II NUMBER 4 - JULY 1960 MOUTON & CO - PUBLISHERS THE HAGUE - NETHERLANDS terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0010417500000803 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:13, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0010417500000803 https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS EDWARD SHILS DAVID L. HICKS MARVIN B. BECKER HANS BARON Political Development in the New States (II) 379 Sienese Society in the Renaissance 412 Some Aspects of Oligarchical, Dictatorial and Po- pular Signorie in Florence, 1282-1382 421 The Social Background of Political Liberty in the Early Italian Renaissance 440 GORDON GRIFFITHS The Revolutionary Character of the Revolt of the Netherlands 452 GEORGE NADEL JOHN T. KRAUSE Letters to the Editor Notice Books received Subject Index The Logic of the Anatomy of Revolution, with reference to the Netherlands Revolt 473 On the Possibility of Increasing Fertility in the Underdeveloped Nations 485 488 496 497 498 Subscription Comparative Studies in Society and History appears four times per year, in October, January, March and June. Each issue consists of approximately 120 pages. The sub- scription price is $ 6.00 per year in U.S.A. currency or the equivalent in other currencies. Subscriptions should be sent to booksellers or directly to the publishers. American subscript- ions may be sent there by check. Address: Mouton and Company, The Hague, Holland. O Copyright 1960 by the Society for the Comparative Study of Society and History. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0010417500000803 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:13, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0010417500000803 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_c3avnxoawbdtrgtzmzj5kkbgfi	----	The Look of L.A. | California History | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content California History Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Richard J. Orsi Prize Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 63, Issue 1 January 1984 Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| January 01 1984 The Look of L.A. Walter Houk Walter Houk Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar California History (1984) 63 (1): 58–65. https://doi.org/10.2307/25158193 Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Walter Houk; The Look of L.A.. California History 1 January 1984; 63 (1): 58–65. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/25158193 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content California History Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1984 CHS Article PDF first page preview Close Modal You do not currently have access to this content. Sign in Don't already have an account? Register Client Account You could not be signed in. Please check your email address / username and password and try again. Email address / Username ? Password Sign In Reset password Register Sign in via your Institution Sign in via your Institution Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Mexican American Parrhesia at Troy: The Rise of the Chicana/o Movement at the University of Southern California, 1967–1974 Breaking the Eleventh Commandment: Pete McCloskey’s Campaign against the Vietnam War Fishing on Porpoise: The Origins of Dolphin Bycatch in the American Yellowfin Tuna Industry Keepers of the Culture at 3201 Adeline Street: Locating Black Power Theater in Berkeley, California Suburban Cowboy: Country Music, Punk, and the Struggle over Space in Orange County, 1978–1981 Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Richard J. Orsi Prize Contact Us Online ISSN 2327-1485 Print ISSN 0162-2897 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_c3yh3thq65h23evvolm3m2qem4	----	Master-v5n1.pdf The Virtual Library NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 177 An Annotated Bibliography of Books for Architecture and Mathematics ACKERMAN, JAMES S. Distance Points: Essays in Theory and Renaissance Art and Architecture. (Cambridge MA: MIT Press, 1991). Referenced in Lionel March’s article, NNJ vol. 3 no. 2. ———. Origins, Imitation, Conventions (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2002). Reviewed by Michael Chapman in the NNJ vol. 5 no. 1. AICHER, OTL. Analogous and Digital (Berlin: Ernst & Sohn, 1994). Referenced in Marco Frascari’s article in NNJ vol. 1. ALBERTI, LEON BATTISTA. The Ten Books of Architecture, 1755. (Rpt. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1986). Referenced in Marco Frascari’s article in NNJ vol. 1 no. 3 and in Reza Sarghangi’s article in NNJ vol. 1. ———. On the Art of Building in Ten Books. Joseph Rykwert (Introduction), Robert Tavernor and Neil Leach, trans. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1991). Referenced in Stephen Wassell’s article in NNJ vol. 1. ALEXANDER, CHRISTOPHER. A Pattern Language (New York: Oxford University Press, 1977). Referenced in Nikos Salingaros’ article in NNJ vol. 1. ———. A Timeless Way of Building (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979). Referenced in Nikos Salingaros’ article in NNJ vol. 1. ARTMANN, BENNO. Euclid: The Creation of Mathematics (Heidelberg: Springer-Verlag, 1999). This is the long awaited book by Benno Artmann, who presented a paper on the Cloisters of Hauterive at Nexus ‘96. Reviewed by Kim Williams in NNJ vol.2. BALMAND, CECIL. Number Nine: The Search for the Sigma Code (Munich: Prestel,1999). Reviewed by Jay Kappraff in the NNJ vol. 2. BARRALLO, JAVIER (ed.). Mathematics and Design 98. Proceedings of the Second International Conference on Mathematics and Design. (San Sebastian, Spain: Universidad del País Vasco, 1998). BARRATT, KROME. Logic and Design in Art, Science and Mathematics (Great Britain: The Herbert Press, 1989). BARROW, JOHN D. The Artful Universe (Clarendon, 1996). BAGLIVO, J.A. and J. GRAVER. Incidence and Symmetry in Design and Architecture. Recommended by Jay Kappraff. BECK, ANATOLE, MICHAEL BLEICHER and DONALD CROWE. Excursions in Mathematics. The Millennium Edition. A.K. Peters, Ltd. Referenced in Jay Kappraff’s article in the NNJ vol. 2. BECKMANN, PETR. A History of pi. (New York: The Golem Press, 1971). Referenced in Mark Reynolds’ article in NNJ vol. 1. BENNETT, JAMES A. The Mathematical Science of Christopher Wren. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). BLACKWELL, WILLIAM. Geometry and Architecture (Berkeley: Key Curriculum Press, 1984). Shows the occurrence and application of the basic geometrical forms in architectural designs. This book represents a lifelong fascination with the endless relationships of geometric forms and the continual discovery and reediscovery of their applications to architecture and design. Recommended by Carlo Sequin and Vera W. de Spinadel. The Virtual Library 178 NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 BLASER, WERNER. Werner Sobek: Art of Engineering.Ingenieur-kunst (Basel: Birkhauser,1999). Reviewed by Holger Falter in the NNJ vol. 1. BOESIGER, WILLY and HANS GIRSBERGER . Le Corbusier 1910-65 (Basel: Birkhauser, 1999). Reviewed by Alessandra Capanna in NNJ vol. 2. BOUCHER, BRUCE. Andrea Palladio: The Architect in His Time (New York: Abbeville Press, 1994). Referenced in Stephen Wassell’s article in NNJ vol. 1. BOULEAU, C. The Painter’s Secret Geometry. (NewYork: Harcourt and Brace, 1963). BOVILL, CARL. Fractal Geometry in Architecture and Design (Boston: Birkhauser, 1996; distributed by Springer-Verlag, New York). “My intention in this book was to explain the essence of fractal geometry to the design community. Many of the fractals can be drawn by hand and fractal rhythms for use in design can be derived from musical scores. This approach was taken to make the material more approachable. Much of the literature on fractal geometry is hidden behind computer programs or complex mathematical notation systems.” (Comments by Carl Bovill, author.) Reviewed by Leonard K. Eaton in the NNJ vol. 1. Referenced by Michael Ostwald in the NNJ vol. 3 no. 1. BRIGGS, R. Geometry of Meaning (A.M. Young, 1984). Referenced in Adriana Rossi’s article in NNJ vol. 1. BRUMBAUGH, R. Plato’s Mathematical Imagination: The Mathematical Passages in the Dialogues and Their Interpretation. BRUNÈS, TONS. The Secrets of Ancient Geometry and Its Use, 2 vols ( Copenhagen: Rhodos International Science Publishers, 1967). The founder of the Sacred Cut geometry. BURKERT, WALTER. Lore and Science in Ancient Pythagoreanism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972. 1962). BUTLER, CHRISTOPHER. Number Symbolism (New York, 1970). CAPANNA, ALESSANDRA. Le Corbusier. Padiglione Philips. Bruxelles. (Turin: Testo & Immagine, 2000). Reviewed by Maurizio Vianello in the NNJ vol.3 no. 1. CASSIRER, ERNST. The Philosophy of Symbolic Forms. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965). CATALANO, EDUARDO. Structure and Geometry. (Cambridge: Cambridge Architectural Press, 1986). This is a bilingual book (English, Spanish), that shows part of the buildings designed by Catalano, an argentine architect who has lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, since 1951 (Recommended by Vera W. de Spinadel). CHITHAM, ROBERT. The Classical Orders of Architecture (New York: Rizzoli, 1985). This classic text is no longer in print. If you want to do a search for it, click here. CLAWSON, C. CALVIN. Mathematical Mysteries. The Beauty and Magic of Numbers (New York: Plenum Press, 1996). Referenced in Marco Frascari’s article in the NNJ vol. 1. COHEN, PRESTON SCOTT. Contested Symmetries and Other Predicaments in Architecture. (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2001). Reviewed by Jin-Ho Park in the NNJ vol. 5 no. 1 COOK, THEODORE ANDREA. The Curves of Life, 1914 (rpt. New York: Dover Publications, 1979). Subtitle: “An Account of Spiral Formations and Their Application to Growth in Nature, to Science and to Art; with special reference to the Manuscripts of Leonardo Da Vinci.” DI CRISTINA, GIUSEPPE (ed.). Architecture and Science (London: Wiley-Academy, 2001). Reviewed by Michael Chapman in the NNJ vol. 4 no. 2. CRITCHLOW, KEITH. Islamic Patterns: An Analytical and Cosmological Approach (reprint, New York: Thames and Hudson, 1992). The Virtual Library NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 179 ———. Order in Space (New York: Viking Press, 1970; reprint, Thames and Hudson, 1990). CROUCH, DORA P. and JUNE G. JOHNSON. Traditions in Architecture: Africa, America, Asia, and Oceania (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Reviewed by William D. Sapp in the NNJ vol.3 no.2. CROWE, DONALD W. and DOROTHY K. WASHBURN. Symmetries of Culture: Theory and Practice of Plane Pattern Analysis. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, 1988. DAVIS, PHILIP J. and RUEBEN HERSH. Descartes’ Dream: The World According to Mathematics (Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1986). DEVLIN, KEITH. Mathematics : The Science of Patterns : The Search for Order in Life, Mind and the Universe.. Scientific American Paperback Library (W.H. Freeman, 1997). DILKE, O.A.W. Mathematics and Measurement. (Berkeley CA: University of California Press/British Museum, 1987). Referenced in Lionel March’s article, NNJ vol. 3 no. 4. DOCZI, GYORGY. The Power of Limits: Proportional Harmonies in Nature, Art & Architecture (Boulder: Shambala, 1981). DODDS, GEORGE and ROBERT TAVERNOR (eds). Body and Building: Essays on the Changing Relation of Body and Architecture (Cambridge MA: MIT Press, 2002). DUNLAP, RICHARD A. The Golden Ratio and Fibonacci Numbers. World Scientific Publishing, 1998. DÜRER, ALBRECHT. The Painter’s Manual: A Manual of Measurement of Lines, Areas and Solids by Means of Compass and Ruler. W. L. Strauss, ed. and trans. (New York: Abaris Books, 1977). Referenced in Lionel March’s article, NNJ vol. 3 no. 2 and in Paul Rosin’s article, NNJ vol. 3 no. 2. ECO, UMBERTO. Art and Beauty in the Middle Ages (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988). Referenced in Marcello Spigaroli’s article in the NNJ vol. 1 and in Nancy Wu’s article in the NNJ vol. 2 . ———. The Aesthetics of Thomas Acquinas (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988). Referenced in Marcello Spigaroli’s article in the NNJ vol. 1. EDGERTON, SAMUEL Y. The Renaissance Rediscovery of Linear Perspective. EDWARDS, EDWARD V. Pattern and Design with Dynamic Symmetry, 1932. (Rpt. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1967). “This book is probably the most successful and interesting practical application to emerge from the strikingly original theory of dynamic symmetry developed by Jay Hambidge” (Comments from the book’s cover). EGLASH, RON. African Fractals: Modern Computing and Indigenous Design (New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1999), 258 pp. Reviewed by Abdul Karim Bangura in the NNJ vol. 2. EHRENKRANTZ, EZRA D. The Modular Number Pattern. (London: Alec Tiranti, 1956). Referenced in Lionel March’s article, NNJ vol. 3 no. 2. EL-SAID, ISSAM, TAREK EL-BOURI (ed.) and KEITH CRITCHLOW (ed.) Islamic Art and Architecture (Garnet Publishing, 1993.) Originally published in 1972 with the subtitle “The System of Geometric Design”, the reprint is now available. EMMER, MICHELE (ed.) The Visual Mind: Art and Mathematics (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1993). ERLANDE-BRANDENBURG, ALAIN. Cathedrals and Castles: Building in the Middle Ages (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1995). Referenced in Mark Reynolds’ article in NNJ vol. 1. EUCLID. The Thirteen Books of Euclid’s Elements, 3 vols. Sir Thomas Heath, ed., 2nd ed. (New York: Dover Books, 1956). The Virtual Library 180 NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 EVANS, ROBIN. The Projective Cast: Architecture and Its Three Geometries (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995). Referenced by Michael Ostwald in NNJ vol.2 no.2; Referenced by Michael Ostwald in NNJ vol. 3 no. 1. ———. Translations from Drawing to Building. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1997. FIELD, J.V. The Invention of Infinity: Mathematics and Art in the Renaissance. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997). Reviewed by Mark Peterson in the NNJ vol.1. FIELD, MICHAEL and MARTIN GOLUBITSKY. Symmetry in Chaos: A Search for Pattern in Mathematics, Art and Nature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). ———. Chaotische Symmetrien. Micha Lotrovsky, trans. (Basel: Birkhauser, 1993). German translation of Symmetry in Chaos. ———. La Symetrie du Chaos. Christian Jeanmougin, trans. (Paris: Inter Editions, 1993). French translation of Symmetry in Chaos. FOMENKO, ANATOLII T. and RICHARD LIPKIN. Mathematical Impressions (Providence, Rhode Island: American Mathematical Society, 1990). FOSTER, RICHARD. Patterns of Thought: The Hidden Meaning of the Great Pavement of Westminster Abbey (London: Jonathan Cape, 1991, ISBN 0-224-02910-X). Referenced in John Sharp’s article in NNJ vol. 1. FREEDMAN, RICHARD and GEORGE L. HERSEY. Possible Palladian Villas (Plus a Few Instructively Impossible Ones) (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992). FRIEDBERG, RICHARD. An Adventurer’s Guide to Number Theory (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968). Referenced in Marco Frascari’s article in NNJ vol. 1. FURNARI, MICHELE. Formal Design in Renaissance Architecture: From Brunelleschi to Palladio (New York: Rizzoli, 1995). GABRIEL, J. FRANCOIS (ed.). Beyond the Cube: The Architecture of Space Frames and Polyhedra (New York: John Wiley, 1997). Referenced in George Hart’s article, NNJ vol. 4 no. 2. GARLAND, TRUDI HAMMEL. Math and Music (Palo Alto: Dale Seymour Publications, 1995). Referenced in Mark Reynolds’ article in NNJ vol. 1. Gast, Klaus-Peter. Le Corbusier: Paris—Chandigarh (Basel: Birkhäuser, 2000). Reviewed by Steven Fleming and Michael Ostwald in NNJ vol.3 no. 1. GERDES, PAULUS. Geometry From Africa. Mathematical and Educational Explorations. (Washington, DC: Mathematical Association of America, 1999). GHEORGHIU, V. and V. DRAGOMIR. Geometry of Structural Forms (Elsevier, 1978). Referenced in Adriana Rossi’s article in NNJ vol. 1. GHYKA, MATILA. The Geometry of Art and Life, 1946 (slightly corrected reproduction, New York: Dover Publications, 1977). The Author believes that there are such things as “the mathematics of Life” and “the Mathematics of Art” and that the two coincide. Using simple mathematical formulas...Prof. Ghyka shows the fascinating relationships between geometry, aesthetics, nature and the human body (Comments from the book’s cover). Please be aware that Ghyka’s work has been subject to severe criticism recently (NNJ Reader’s comment). GLEICK, JAMES. Chaos: Making a New Science. (New York: Penguin Books, 1988. Though I have heard this book criticized as oversimplified, I found it a very interesting introduction to chaos and fractals.The clear writing style is helpful, and more precise information may be gleaned from further reading (Comments by Kim Williams). The Virtual Library NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 181 GOMBRICH, ERNST HANS. The Sense of Order : A Study in the Psychology of Decorative Art. The Wrightsman Lectures, V. 9 (Phaidon Press, 1995). GRACE, W. Geometry for Architects (Stipes Dover, 1975). Referenced in Adriana Rossi’s article in NNJ vol. 1. GRUNBAUM, B. and G.C. SHEPARD. Tilings and Patterns. (W.H.Freeman, 1986). GUDERIAN, DIETMAR. Mathematik in der Kunst der letzten dreißig Jahre (Mathematics in the Art of the Last Thirty Years). (Edition Galerie Lahumière, 1990). The mathematical way of thinking has always had a profound influence on the artistic tendencies of man, both in painting and sculpture. this book, however, does not return to the beginnings of the relationship between mathematics and art but picks up from the last 30 years and concentrates on the art of the last decade up to the present (Recommended by Vera W. de Spinadel). GUTHRIE, KENNETH SYLVAN, JOSCELYN GODWIN and DIOGENES LAERTIUS. The Pythagorean Sourcebook and Library. An Anthology of Ancient Writings Which Relate to Pythagoras and Pythagorean Philosophy (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Phanes Press, 1991). HALE, JONATHAN. The old way of seeing. How architecture lost its magic (and how to get it back). (Boston, 1994). This is a work everybody must love. Hale is no precise scientist, but his wonderful intuition - including the intrinsic feeling that intellect and intuition must meet again in the centuries to come is challenging. I am deeply convinced that future research will confirm his “vision” (Recommended by Joachim Langheim). HAMBIDGE, JAY. The Elements of Dynamic Symmetry, 1948 (rpt. New York: Dover Publications, 1967). Part I contains the fundamental rectangles with their simple divisions based on the proportioning law found in nature; Part II the compound rectangles with their more subtle subdivisons, many of which were taken from or suggested by analysis of objects of Greek art. The elementary principles in Part I will give the student a working use of the idea. Much of Part II may be used for reference and for further study (From the book’s Preface). HANCOX, JOY. The Byrom Collection and the Globe Theatre Mystery (London: Jonathan Cape, 1997). Reviewed by John Sharp in the NNJ vol. 1. HART, GEORGE W. and HENRI PICCIOTTO. Zome Geometry: Hands-on Learning with Zome Models (Key Curriculum Press, 2001). HARGITTAI, ISTVÁN and MAGDOLNA HARGITTAI. Symmetry: A Unifying Concept (Bolinas, California: Shelter Publications, 1994). A fascinating, highly-visual journey through the worlds of symmetry, with 550 photos and some 300 drawings. From Snowflakes to starfish, from dandelions to BMW’s, from fences to Finonacci, and from crystals to Coke machines, this is a thought-provoking and stimulating display of visual imagery...describing 15 aspects of symmetry...It will help you train your eye and mind to see new patterns and make new connections (Recommended by Vera W. de Spinadel). HARGITTAI, ISTVÁN and CLIFFORD PICKOVER (eds.). Spiral Symmetry (World Scientific Publishing, 1992). HASTINGS, HAROLD and GEORGE SUGIHARA. Fractals: A User’s Guide for the Natural Sciences (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993). “This book has many different fractal analysis techniques defined with examples. Some of the examples demonstrate how to use fractal procedure with data sets that are not large. There are also some listed computer programs that can be used” (Comments by Carl Bovill, author of Fractal Geometry in Architecture and Design). HEILBRON, J.L. The Sun in the Chuch. Cathedrals as Solar Observatories. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. Reviewed by Paul Calter and Kim Williams in the NNJ vol.3 no. 1. ———. Geometry Civilized: History, Culture and Technique. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998). The Virtual Library 182 NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 HERSEY, GEORGE L. The Monumental Impulse: Architecture’s Biological Roots (Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1999). Reviewed by Michael Ostwald in the NNJ vol.4 no.2. ———. Pythagorean Palaces: Magic and Architecture in the Italian Renaissance. HERZ-FISCHLER, ROGER. The Shape of the Great Pyramid. (Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2000). Reviewed by Mark A. Reynolds in the NNJ vol.3 no.2. ———. A Mathematical History of the Golden Number (New York: Dover Publications, 1998). HILDEBRANDT, STEFAN and ANTHONY TROMBA. The Parsimonious Universe: Shape and Form in the Natural World (Copernicus Books, 1996). HISCOCK, NIGEL. The Wise Master Builder: Platonic Geometry in Plans of Medieval Abbeys and Cathedrals. (Hampshire UK: Ashgate, 2000). HOCKNEY, DAVID. Secret Knowledge: Rediscovering the lost techniques of the old masters (London: Thames and Hudson, 2001). Reviewed by David Vila Domini in the NNJ vol. 4 no. 2. HOFSTADTER, D.R. Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid (New York: Basic Books, 1979). HUNTLEY, H.E. The Divine Proportion: A Study in Mathematical Beauty (New York: Dover Publications, 1970). “This is a delightful book to read....It wanders here and there through some of the most attractive byways of simple mathematics, returning always to the oddities and pleasures of the golden section” (Comments from the book’s cover). IAMBLICHUS. The Theology of Arithmetic, Robin Waterfield, trans. (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Phanes Press, 1988). IFRAH, GEORGES. From One to Zero: a Universal History of Numbers (New York: John Wiley, 1999). Now back in print. Referenced by Michael Ostwald in NNJ vol.2. ITTEN, JOHANNES. Design and Form: The Basic Course at the Bauhaus and Later. (New York: John Wiley, 1975). IVINS, WILLIAM M. Art and Geometry: A Study of Space Intuitions (New York: Dover Publications). JABLAN, SLAVIK. Theory of Symmetry and Ornament. (Belgrade, Yugoslavia: Matematicki Institut, 1995). JAMES, JAMIE. The Music of the Spheres: Music, Science and the Natural Order of the Universe. (New York: Springer Verlag, 1995). JOSEPH, GEORGE GHEVERGHESE. The Crest of the Peacock 2nd. ed. (London: Penguin Books, 2000). Reviewed by Karim Abdul Bangura in NNJ vol.3 no.2. KAPPRAFF, JAY. Connections : the Geometric Bridge between Art and Science. 2nd edition. (Singapore: World Scientific, 2002). The new edition. Reviewed by Slavik Jablan in the NNJ vol. 4 no. 2. KEPES, G. (ed.). Module, Proportion, Symmetry, Rhythm (New York: George Braziller, 1966). Recommended by Slavik Jablan. KEMP, MARTIN. The Science of Art: Optical Themes in Western Art from Brunelleschi to Seurat (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992). KOESTLER, ARTHUR. The Sleepwalkers. (London: Arkana/Penguin Books, 1989). KRAUSSE, JOACHIM (ed.). Your Private Sky : R. Buckminster Fuller : The Art of Design Science (Lars Muller Publishers, 1999). Reviewed by Kim Williams in the NNJ vol. 2. KRIER, ROB. Architectural Composition (London: Academy Editions, 1988). Referenced by Michael Ostwald in the NNJ vol.2. The Virtual Library NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 183 KROME, BARRATT. Logic and Design: In Art, Science and Mathematics (London: The Herbert Press Ltd., 1980). LAUWERIER, HANS. Fractals: Endlessly Repeated Geometrical Figures. Princeton Science Library, Sophia Gill-Hoffstadt, trans. (Princeton University Press, 1991). Referenced in Mikiten-Saligaros-Yu in the NNJ vol.2. LAWLOR, ROBERT. Sacred Geometry: Philosophy and Practice (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1989). “This is an introduction to the geometry which, as the ancients taught and modern science now confirms, underlies the structure of the universe...Robert Lawlor sets out the system of number, shape and proportions that determines the dimension and form of both man-made nd natural structures, from Gothic cathedrals to flowers, from music to the human body” (Comments from the book’s cover). LE CORBUSIER. Le Modulor and Modulor 2. English edition (Basel: Birkhauser, 2000). Reviewed by Michael Ostwald in the NNJ vol. 3 no. 1. ———. Towards a New Architecture (London: Architectural Press, 1927). Referenced in Nikos Salingaros’ article in NNJ vol. 1. LEYTON, MICHAEL. A Generative Theory of Shape. (Berlin: Springer-Verlag, 2001). Referenced in Michael Leyton’s article in NNJ vol.3 no. 2. ———. Symmetry, Causality, Mind. (Cambridge MA: MIT Press, 1999). Referenced in Michael Leyton’s article in NNJ vol.3 no. 2. LINN, CHARLES. F. The Golden Mean: Mathematics And The Fine Arts (New York: Doubleday, 1974).Referenced by Michael Ostwald in the NNJ vol.2. MANDELBROT, BENOIT. The Fractal Geometry of Nature (New York: W.F. Freeman, 1983). “Mandelbrot is the person who brought together many diverse and strange areas of mathematics and explained and organized them as fractal geometry. Fractal is his term. This book is sometimes hard to follow, but wonderfully illustrated and fun to look and read through” (Comments by Carl Bovill, author of Fractal Geometry in Architecture and Design). Referenced by Michael Ostwald in the NNJ vol. 3 no. 1. MARCH, LIONEL. Architectonics of Humanism : Essays on Number in Architecture. (London: Academy Editions, 1998). A crucial companion to Wittkower’s classic Architectural Principles in the Age of Humanism, March’s new classic examines the role of number and number symbolism in the cultures which most influenced the Renaissance, culminating in a brilliant series of analyses of several works by Alberti, Serlio, and Palladio. Reviewed by Mark Peterson in the NNJ vol. 2. MARCH, LIONEL and PHILIP STEADMAN. The Geometry of Environment: An Introduction to Spatial Organization in Design (London: RIBA Publications, 1971). MARCHANT, PAUL. Unity in Pattern: A Study Guide in Traditional Geometry. (London: The Prince of Wales Institute of Architecture, 1997). MASI, FAUSTO. The Pantheon as an Astronomical Instrument (Rome: Edizioni Internazionali di Letteratura e Scienze, 1996).Referenced by Michael Ostwald in the NNJ vol. 2. MARTIN, ELIZABETH (ed.). Architecture as a Translation of Music. Pamphlet Architecture no. 16. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Architectural Press, 1995). MAUDE, THOMAS. Guided by a Stone-Mason : The Cathedrals, Abbeys and Churches of Britain Unveiled (I B Tauris & Co Ltd, 1997). Referenced in Nancy Wu’s article in the NNJ vol. 2. MCCLAIN, ERNEST. The Pythagorean Plato:Prelude to the Song Itself. (Nicholas Hays, 1994). MACDONALD, WILLIAM L. The Pantheon: Design, Meaning and Progeny (Harvard University Press, 1981). MICHELL, JOHN. The Dimensions of Paradise ( rpt. London: Thames and Hudson, 1988). The Virtual Library 184 NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 NAREDI-RAINER, PAUL VON. Architectur und Harmonie: Zahl, Mass und Proportion in der abendländischen Baukunst (Cologne, 1982). NECIPOGLU, GULRU and MOHAMMAD AL-ASAD. The Topkapi Scroll: Geometry and Ornament in Islamic Architecture. (Santa Monica, CA: 1995). NELSON, DAVID, GEORGE GHERVEGHESE JOSEPH and JULIAN WILLIAMS. Multicultural Mathematics: Teaching Mathematics from a Global Perspective (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). NEUGEBAUER, OTTO. The Exact Sciences in Antiquity (Harper, 1962). NEWMAN, ROCHELLE and DONNA M. FOWLER. Space, Structure, & Form (The Golden Relationship : Art, Math and Nature) Referenced by Paul Calter in NNJ vol. 2. NICHOLAS OF CUSA. The Layman on Wisdom and the Mind. Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies TranslationSeries, 4. (Ottowa: Dovehouse, 1989). NICOLETTI, MANFREDI. Sergio Musmeci. Organicità di forme e forze nello spazio. Universale di architettura, 54 (Turin: Testo & Immagine, 1999). Reviewed by Alessandra Capanna in the NNJ vol. 2. NICOMACHUS OF GERASA. Introduction to Arithmetic. M.L. D’Ooge, trans. (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1938). Referenced in Jay Kappraff’s article in the NNJ vol. 2. NICOMACHUS. The Manual of Harmonics. F.R. Levin, trans. (Grand Rapids, MI: Phanes Press, 1994). Referenced in Jay Kappraff’s article in the NNJ vol. 2. PACIOLI, LUCA. The Divine Proportion (De divina proporzione). PADOVAN, RICHARD. Proportion: Philosophy, Science and Architecture (London: E & F N Spon, 1999). PALESCA, CLAUDE V. Humanism in Italian Musical Thought. (New Haven CT: Yale University Press, 1985). Referenced in Lionel March’s article, NNJ vol. 3 no. 2. PALLADIO, ANDREA. The Four Books on Architecture. Trans. Robert Tavernor and Richard Schofield (Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1997). The new translation, in hardback. Referenced in Stephen Wassell’s article in NNJ vol. 1. ———. Four Books of Architecture. IsaacWare, ed. (New York: Dover Publications, 1976). The classic translation, in paperback. PEAK, D. and M. FRAME, Chaos Under Control (New York: W.H. Freeman and Company, 1994). Referenced in Reza Sarhangi’s article in the NNJ vol. 1. PEARCE, PETER. Structure in Nature Is a Strategy for Design (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1990). PEDRETTI, CARLO. Leonardo Architect. (New York: Rizzoli, 1985.) PENNICK, NIGEL. Sacred Geometry: Symbolism and Purpose in Religious Structures (Holmes Publishing Group, 1994). PÉREZ-GÓMEZ, ALBERTO and LOUISE PELLETIER (eds.). Architectural Representation and the Perspective Hinge (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1997). Referenced in Michael Ostwald’s article in NNJ vol. 2. PEITGEN, HEINZ OTTO, et al. Chaos and Fractals: New Frontiers of Science. (New York: Springer-Verlag, 1992). “This is by far the most understandable mathematical book on chaos and fractal geometry. The book covers a wide range of topics some of which are more difficult mathematically than others. This is an essential book if one wants to deepen his or her understanding” (Comments by Carl Bovill, author of Fractal Geometry in Architecture and Design). PLATO. The Collected Dialogues. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns, eds. Bollingen Series LXXI (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989). The Virtual Library NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 185 PLUMMER, L. GORDON. The Mathematics of the Cosmic Mind. (Wheaton IL: Theosophical Publishing House). ROBERTSON, E.G. Decorative cast iron of Australia (Viking O’Neil Penguin Books Australia, 1990). RODRIGUES, JOSÉ FRANCISCO and KIM WILLIAMS (eds.). Nexus IV: Architecture and Mathematics (Fucecchio, Florence: Kim Williams Books, 2002). Papers presented at Nexus 2002. ROWE, COLIN. The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1982). Referenced by Michael Ostwald in NNJ vol.2. RYKWERT, JOSEPH. The Dancing Column: On Order in Architecture (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996). Referenced by Michael Ostwald in the NNJ vol.4 no.2. SARHANGI, REZA (ed.). Bridges: Mathematical Connections in Art, Music, and Science. Conference Proceedings, 1998 (Winfield, Kansas, USA: Bridges Conference, 1998). ———. Bridges: Mathematical Connections in Art, Music, and Science. Conference Proceedings, 1999 (Winfield, Kansas, USA: Bridges Conference, 1999). ———. Bridges: Mathematical Connections in Art, Music, and Science. Conference Proceedings, 2000 (Winfield, Kansas, USA: Bridges Conference, 2000). ———. Bridges: Mathematical Connections in Art, Music, and Science. Conference Proceedings, 200 (Winfield, Kansas, USA: Bridges Conference, 2001). SCHATTSCHNEIDER, DORIS (ed.). M.C. Escher. Visions of Symmetry (New York: W. H. Freeman and Company, 1990). This book combines two of the artist’s previously unavailable notebooks with the complete body of his symmetrical drawings (over 400 illustrations in all, nearly 180 never before published until this book). (Recommended by Vera W. Spinadel). SCHOLFIELD, P.H. The Theory of Proportion in Architecture (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1958). Referenced by Marcus Frings, NNJ vol. 4, no.1. SCHNEIDER, MICHAEL. The Beginners Guide to Constructing the Universe (New York: Harper Collins, 1995). Referenced in Mark Reynolds’ article in NNJ vol. 1. SCHROEDER, MANFRED. Fractals, Chaos, Power Laws: Minutes from an Infinite Paradise (New York: W. H. Freeman & Company, 1991). SCHRÖER, KLAUS and KLAUS IRLE. “Ich aber quadriere den Kreis...” (Münster: Waxmann Verlag, 1998). Reviewed by Gert Sperling in NNJ vol. 2. SCHWALLER DE LUBICZ, RENE A. The Temple In Man: Ancient Egyptian Sacred Architecture and the Perfect Man. Trans. Robert Lawlor and Deborah Lawlor (Rochester, Vermont: Inner Traditions, 1988). SERLIO, SEBASTIANO. The Five Books of Architecture (New York: Dover Publications, 1982). ———. On Architecture, Vol. 2 (Books VI-VII of “Tutte l’opere d’architettura et prospetiva” with “Castrametation of the Romans” and “The Extraordinary Book of Doors”). Vaughan Hart and Peter Hicks, trans. (New Haven CT: Yale University Press, 2001.) SERRA, MICHAEL. Discovering Geometry: An Inductive Approach. 2nd ed. (Berkeley: Key Curriculum Press, 1997). “Michael Serra has written a genuinely exciting geometry book. This book is unique in that the students actually create geometry for themselves as they proceed through the activities and the problems. Concepts are first introduced visually, then analytically, then inductively, and, finally, deductively” (Comments from the Introduction). SEYMOUR, D. and J. BRITTON, Introduction to Tesselations (Palo Alto, Canada: Kale Seymour Publications, 1989). Referenced in Reza Sarhangi’s article in the NNJ vol. 1. The Virtual Library 186 NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 SHEPARD, ANNA O. The Symmetry of Abstract Design with Special Reference to Ceramic Decoration (Washington, D.C.: Carnegie Institution of Washington). SKINNER, J. RALSTON. Key to the Hebrew-Egyptian Mystery in the Source of Measure (Kessinger Publishing, 1997). Snodgrass, Adrian. Architecture, Time and Eternity : A Studies in the Stellar and Temporal Symbolism of Traditional Buildings. Sata-Pitaka Series, V. 356-357. Out of print. SOMMERSON, JOHN NEWENHAM. The Classical Language of Architecture. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1984). SPERLING, GERT. Das Pantheon in Rom. Abbild und Mass des Kosmos (Neuried, Germany: Ars Una, 1999). Gert Sperling presented an abstract of this work at the Nexus 98 conference on architecture and mathematics. SPINADEL, VERA W. DE. From the Golden Mean to Chaos (Buenos Aires: Vera W. de Spinadel, 1998). “This book...refers to relationships and connections between different fields of Mathematics and Physics, such as non-euclidian geometries, quantum mechanics, number theory, dynamical systems, fractals and multifractals, etc. Moreover, this book is addressed also to people with a moderate background in Mathematics who are interested in the cultural, historical and social aspects of the scientific problems involved” (Comments by Vera W. de Spinadel, author). To order a copy of this book, send an e-mail to Vera Spinadel. SPINADEL, VERA W. DE, JORGE G. PERERA and JORGE H. PERERA. Geometria Fractal (Buenos Aires: Nueva Libreria, 1994). STEADMAN, PHILIP. Vermeer’s Camera: The Truth Behind the Masterpieces (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Reviewed by David Vila Domini in the NNJ vol. 4 no. 2.. STEVENS, GARRY. The Reasoning Architect: Mathematics and Science in Design. International Editions, Architecture Series (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1990). STEVENS, PETER S. and C. PETER STEVENS. Handbook of Regular Patterns: An Introduction to Symmetry in Two Dimensions. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992). STEVENS, PETER S. Patterns in Nature. Out of print. STEWART, IAN and MARTIN GOLUBITSKY. Fearful Symmetry: Is God a Geometer? (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1993). ———. Denkt Gott Symmetrisch? Das Ebenmass in Mathematik und Natur. Hanjo Schnug, trans. (Basel: Birkhauser Verlag, 1993). German edition of Fearful Symmetry. Referenced by Michael Ostwald in the NNJ vol. 3 no.1 Winter 2000. ———. Turings Tijger. Hanbs van Cuijlenborg, trans. (Utrecht: Epsilon Uitgaven, 1994). Dutch edition of Fearful Symmetry. ———. Terribili simmetrie: Dio è un geometra? (Turin: Bollati Borighieri, 1995). Italian edition of Fearful Symmetry. STRUK, D.J. A Concise History of Mathematics (New York: Dover, 1987). Referenced by Dag Nilsen in the NNJ vol. 3 no. 1. TAVERNOR, ROBERT. On Alberti and the Art of Building (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999). Reviewed by Kim Williams in NNJ vol.2 no.2. TAYLOR, THOMAS. The Theoretic Arithmetic of the Pythagoreans. (Red Wheel/Weiser, 1978). The Virtual Library NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 187 THEON OF SMYRNA. The Mathematics Useful for Understanding Plato.. R. and D. Lawlor, trans. San Diego: Wizard’s Bookshelf (1979). Referenced in Jay Kappraff’s article in the NNJ vol. 2 no. 4. THOMPSON, D’ARCY WENTWORTH. On Growth and Form (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). TOMPKINS, PETER. Secrets of the Great Pyramid (rpt. New York: Budget Books,1997). VAJDA, STEVEN. Fibonacci And Lucas Numbers, And The Golden Section (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1989). Referenced by Michael Ostwald in NNJ vol. 2. VAN DER LAAN, HANS. Architectonic Space: Fifteen Lessons on the Disposition of the Human Habitat. Trans. Richard Padovan. (Leiden, Netherlands : Brill Academic Publishers, 1983). VELTMAN, KIM H. Linear Perspective and the Visual Dimensions of Science and Art (Munich: Kunstverlag, 1986). Referenced in George Hart’s article, NNJ vol. 4 no. 2. VIGNOLA, GIACOMO BAROZZI DA. Canon of the Five Orders of Architecture . Trans. Branko Mitrovic (New York: Acanthus Press, 1999). This edition, intended for practicing classical architects and students of classical architecture,includes a reprint of the 1572 edition of Vignola’s work with a new English translation, followed by a commentary. The commentary at the back helps to clarify some of the more complicated points made by Vignola in his text. It also provides information about the use of the classical orders and compares Vignola’s formulation of the canon with formulations of other major Renaissance authors. I have added illustrations of the five orders from Palladio’s Four Books on Architecture that are necessary to apply the five orders according to his version of the canon. (Comments by Branko Mitrovic, translator and commentator.) Reviewed by Stephen R. Wassell in NNJ vol. 2. VITRUVIUS. Ten Books on Architecture. Trans. Morris Hickey Morgan, 1914 (rpt. New York: Dover Publications, 1960). The only surviving primary source for Roman architectural theory, its influence has been felt through the centuries. Referenced in Marco Frascari’s article in NNJ vol. 1. Referenced by Michael Ostwald in NNJ vol.2. ———. The Ten Books on Architecture. Ingrid Rowland and Thomas Howe, trans. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). WASHBURN, DOROTHY K. and DONALD W. CROWE. Symmetries of Culture: Theory and Practice of Plane Pattern Analysis (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1988; paperback ed., 1991). Referenced in Mikiten-Salingaros-Yu in NNJ vol.2. WELLS, DAVID. Penguin Dictionary of Curious and Interesting Geometry. Illustrations by John Sharp (Penguin USA, 1992). Read John Sharp’s article in NNJ vol. 1 no. 2. Referenced in Marco Frascari’s article in NNJ vol. 1. WEYL, HERMANN. Symmetry. Princeton Science Library (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980). “This is a wonderful book that relates the mathematical concept of symmetry to the concept of symmetry as it is used in architecture and the arts. It also discusses symmetry in nature” (Comments by Carl Bovill, author of Fractal Geometry in Architecture and Design). WILLIAMS, KIM. Italian Pavements: Patterns in Space (Houston: Anchorage Press, 1997). Referenced in John Sharp’s article in NNJ vol. 1. ——— (ed.). Nexus: Architecture and Mathematics (Fucecchio, Florence: Edizioni dell’Erba, 1996). Papers presented at Nexus ’96. Reviewed by Leonard Eaton in the NNJ vol. 1 (1999). ——— (ed.) Nexus II: Architecture and Mathematics (Fucecchio, Florence: Edizioni dell’Erba, 1998). Papers presented at Nexus ’98. ——— (ed). Nexus III: Architecture and Mathematics (Pisa: Pacini Editore, 2000). Papers presented at Nexus 2000 The Virtual Library 188 NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 WILLIAMS, KIM and RODRIGUES, JOSÉ FRANCISCO (eds.). Nexus IV: Architecture and Mathematics (Fucecchio, Florence: Kim Williams Books, 2002). Papers presented at Nexus 2002. WILLIAMS, ROBERT. The Geometrical Foundation of Natural Structure - A Source Book of Design (New York: Dover Publications Inc., 1972, 1977). WITTKOWER, RUDOLF. Architectural Principles in the Age of Humanism (New York: W.W. Norton, 1971). The older paperback edition. Referenced in Stephen Wassell’s article in NNJ vol. 1. ———. Architectural Principles in the Age of Humanism. (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1998). The newest edition. YATES, FRANCIS. Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991). XENAKIS, IANNIS. Formalized Music : Thought and Mathematics in Composition (Harmonologia Series, No. 6) Bloomington:University of Indiana Press, 1971. ———. Musique. Architecture. Paris, 1976. 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work_c4asicxnznajxesvk5bugp6h7m	----	RSC_mb_C1MB90007B 1..2 This journal is c The Royal Society of Chemistry 2011 Mol. BioSyst., 2011, 7, 577–578 577 Cite this: Mol. BioSyst., 2011, 7, 577–578 Proteomics and renaissance: accounts of the V Italian Proteomics Association Congress, Florence 2010 Andrea Urbani, ab Alessandra Modesti, c Anna Maria Timperio, d Luca Bini, e Massimo Castagnola, fg Mauro Fasano h and Paola Roncada i DOI: 10.1039/c1mb90007b In the last ten years, proteomics has been consolidating its character as a novel scientific discipline that continuously develops new questions and technologies in progressing human knowledge of complex biological systems. This world- wide movement has been guided mostly by specific local niches rather than by large consortia, as typically observed in genome projects. Such a model shares an unexpected similarity with the large number of artist workshops of the Italian Renaissance. In fact, this deeply inno- vative period of Italian civilization was definitely associated with master- pieces from household names (such as Michelangelo), but it was mainly a move- ment of humble and skilful artists whose work helped to reshape Europe. Following this model in proteomics research, local conferences represent a great opportu- nity to mine significant contributions of proteome science achievements. The series of themed articles published in this issue of Molecular BioSystems aims to communicate to the wider scientific community the most complete and advanced studies performed by Italian Proteomics scientists. While human proteomics investiga- tions initially led the research in this area, the most promising applications of proteomics are presently coming from non human investigations. The advance- ments in this field have produced the first clinical proteomics tool (Biotypert), which is dedicated to the identification of clinical microbial isolates. The work from Lorenza Putignani and coworkers (DOI:10.1039/C0MB00138D) demon- strates how MALDI-TOF-MS pattern recognition may represent an incredibly powerful tool to obtain fast and accurate diagnosis of clinically relevant fungi, thus setting proteomics tools as potentially life-saving devices. The development of novel tools for multi- variate analysis is a key issue in the technological advancement of proteo- mics, the paper from the group of Emilio Marengo’s group (DOI:10.1039/ C0MB00124D) provides a state of the art classification and ranking method for the identification of tentative biomarkers based on Principal Component Analysis and variable selection procedures. Such multivariate correlations are funda- mental in order to identify relationships between molecular data and specific environmental factors, as shown in the characterization of plasma protein carbonylation in response to physical exercise in athletes presented in the study from Francesca Guidi et al. (DOI:10.1039/C0MB00106F). The appli- cation of multivariate tools is also well shown in the manuscript from Laura Giusti and colleagues (DOI:10.1039/ C0MB00191K) in the investigation of the parathyroid gland proteome. This study indicates the potential application of multivariate modeling in the definition of protein repertoires from adenoma and normal tissues. The multiple phenotypic correlations of the induced adaptation in a genetic model of Salmonella enterica is pursued in the manuscript from Domenico Ciavardelli and colleagues (DOI:10.1039/C0MB00140F) proposing a state of the art ionomics investigation by multi-elemental ICP-MS analysis coupled to parallelized quantitative shotgun LC-MS/MS for peptide profiling. This latest experimental approach has also been employed in conjunction with classical 2DE in the investigation of the platelet proteome of patients suffering the presence of a non-functional CFTR protein. The study from Luisa Pieroni and collaborators (DOI:10.1039/C0MB00135J) demon- strates via the construction of a functional relationships informatics network, a novel mechanism of platelet activation in patients with cystic fibrosis based on integrin signalling. A similar data-analysis approach was employed by Giovanni Nassa et al. (DOI:10.1039/ C0MB00145G) in a comparative analysis of nuclear estrogen receptor alpha and beta interactomes in breast cancer cells and by Angelo D’Alessandro et al. (DOI:10.1039/C0MB00027B) with the bovine milk proteome. The protein a Department of Internal Medicine, University of Rome ‘‘Tor Vergata’’, Rome b IRCCS-Fondazione S. Lucia, Rome c Department of Biochemical Sciences, University of Florence, Italy d Dipartimento di Scienze Ambientali, Università della Tuscia, Viterbo e Department of Molecular Biology, University of Siena, Italy f Istituto di Biochimica e di Biochimica Clinica, Università Cattolica, Rome g Istituto di Chimica del Riconoscimento Molecolare, CNR, Rome h Department of Structural and Functional Biology, and Center of Neuroscience, University of Insubria, Busto Arsizio i Section of Proteomics, Istituto Sperimentale Italiano L. Spallanzani, Milano, Italy Molecular BioSystems Dynamic Article Links www.rsc.org/molecularbiosystems EDITORIAL D ow nl oa de d on 1 6 Ju ly 2 01 2 P ub li sh ed o n 08 F eb ru ar y 20 11 o n ht tp :/ /p ub s. rs c. or g | d oi :1 0. 10 39 /C 1M B 90 00 7B View Online / Journal Homepage / Table of Contents for this issue http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c1mb90007b http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c1mb90007b http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c1mb90007b http://pubs.rsc.org/en/journals/journal/MB http://pubs.rsc.org/en/journals/journal/MB?issueid=MB007003 578 Mol. BioSyst., 2011, 7, 577–578 This journal is c The Royal Society of Chemistry 2011 adaptation to different stresses induced by aromatics is investigated by Roberto Mazzoli and collegues in Acinetobacter radioresistens (DOI:10. 1039/C0MB00112K) and reconstructed by ontological classification of proteins that appeared to be modulated in a wide-pI 2DE approach. The application of state of the art 2DE separation technologies is the basic experimental platform for the evaluation of quaternary structure heterogeneity of plasma apolipoprotein A1 in nephrotic syndromes in the contribution from Laura Santucci et al. (DOI:10.1039/ C0MB00127A). This paper demonstrates the complexity of protein–protein inter- action rearrangements during defined pathological conditions, casting the proteomics investigation to a new level of structural complexity. The study of the uremic biochemical milieu is also the leitmotiv of the study from Barbara Pavone and colleagues (DOI:10.1039/ C0MB00137F), which identifies a long reported uremic toxin demonstrating the subtle association between structural conformational changes induced by non- enzymatic glycation of Beta2-microglobulin and the abnormal display of phosphatidyl- serine in human red blood cells. It is our hope that this series of themed papers will open new opportunities for Italian proteomics scientists to colla- borate with the overall international scientific community. In the picture from right to left: Prof. Alessandra Modesti, PhD, Chairperson of the V Italian Proteomics Association Congress; Prof. Andrea Urbani, PhD, President of the Italian Proteomics Association; Dr Col. Mario Maida, M.D., Head of the Military School of Medicine Florence; Prof. Gian Franco Gensini, M.D., Head of the University of Florence School of Medicine. Congress events The Congress of the Italian Proteomics Association (ItPA, www.itpa.it) was held in Florence at the historical sites of the ‘‘Chiostro del Maglio’’ and ‘‘Chiostro Grande di Santa Maria Novella’’ from Wednesday 9th to Saturday 12th June, 2010. ItPA aims to (i) promote and support research and training in the science of Proteomics in Universities and all affiliated industries, hospitals and public research institutions (ii) promote and support teaching of all disciplines involved in the science of Proteomics in pre- and post-graduate University courses and in any other appropriate forum (iii) encourage the development of technological innovation in the science of Proteomics (iv) facilitate scientific communication supporting various forms of collabora- tion between laboratories at a national level and the organization of congresses and meetings. The 2010 Congress included the following five scientific sessions: (1) Human and Clinical Proteomics (2) Technological innovations and mass spectrometry (3) Plant Proteomics (4) Functional proteomics (5) Microbiological and Food Proteomics Each session began with a lecture from an invited speaker. The invited speakers were: (Opening Lecture) Pier Paolo Pandolfi (Boston, MA, USA) ‘‘Pro-senescence therapy for cancer: from the enhancement of protein translation to the inhibition of protein degradation’’ Giampaolo Merlini (Pavia, Italy) ‘‘Proteomics in pathogenesis and diagnosis of systemic amyloidoses’’ Stephen Pennington (Dublin, Ireland) ‘‘Quantitative proteomics for biomarkers discovery and validation’’ Alex Jones (Norwich, UK) ‘‘Phos- phorylation events in plant-pathogen interactions’’ Giovanni Sindona (Cosenza, Italy) ‘‘The Specificity of Mass Spectrometry in Biomolecular Research. Present and Future Innovation in Natural and Health Sciences’’ Maurizio Sanguinetti (Roma, Italy) ‘‘Transition from genomics to a post- genomic era in medically relevant Fungi: application of proteomics in clinical diagnosis and biomarker discovery’’ (Closing Lecture) Joachim Klose (Berlin, Germany) ‘‘Proteomics and Genomics’’ D ow nl oa de d on 1 6 Ju ly 2 01 2 P ub li sh ed o n 08 F eb ru ar y 20 11 o n ht tp :/ /p ub s. rs c. or g | d oi :1 0. 10 39 /C 1M B 90 00 7B View Online http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c1mb90007b 
work_c4xeq4nfxzffrm6w5esboioqka	----	Edinburgh Research Explorer St Joseph, St Peter, Jean Gerson and the Guelphs Citation for published version: Richardson, C 2012, 'St Joseph, St Peter, Jean Gerson and the Guelphs', Renaissance Studies, vol. 26, no. 2, pp. 243-268. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1477-4658.2011.00724.x Digital Object Identifier (DOI): 10.1111/j.1477-4658.2011.00724.x Link: Link to publication record in Edinburgh Research Explorer Document Version: Early version, also known as pre-print Published In: Renaissance Studies Publisher Rights Statement: © Richardson, C. (2012). St Joseph, St Peter, Jean Gerson and the Guelphs. Renaissance Studies, 26(2), 243- 268. 10.1111/j.1477-4658.2011.00724.x General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Edinburgh Research Explorer is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The University of Edinburgh has made every reasonable effort to ensure that Edinburgh Research Explorer content complies with UK legislation. If you believe that the public display of this file breaches copyright please contact openaccess@ed.ac.uk providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1477-4658.2011.00724.x https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1477-4658.2011.00724.x https://www.research.ed.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/st-joseph-st-peter-jean-gerson-and-the-guelphs(bab85423-fa13-4fa2-9a2e-d0bdf4905fe2).html For Review Only                            Renaissance Studies For Review Only St Joseph, St Peter, Jean Gerson and the Guelphs According to Peter John Olivi (1248-98), the Franciscan follower of St Bonaventure, Joseph represents God the Father or Christ because he is the spouse of the Church; he is also the type of the bishops, spouses of the Church... And in the Christian religion which, like Mary, conceived the evangelical Word through the spirit of Christ, Joseph is also the image of the Roman pontiffs, installed as guardians of the Church.1 The theological association of Joseph with Peter and his successors through the Apostolic Succession, the popes, came from drawing a parallel between the marriage of Joseph and Mary and the marriage of Christ and Ecclesia. Joseph protected the infant Jesus in the same way that Peter accompanied the adult Christ who then commissioned Peter to protect his Church. Christ was wedded to his Church which he left in the care of St Peter and his successors, the popes, through the Apostolic Succession. The theme was an important one in the dramatic events of the fifteenth century: at the climactic point of the Council of Constance (1414-17), Jean Gerson, Chancellor of the University of Paris, prayed that the three competing popes of the Papal Schism would be replaced by a single pope who followed the example of Christ’s earthly father, as will be discussed below. The paralleling of Joseph and Peter is prevalent in central Italian painting from the thirteenth to the fifteenth centuries but nothing has so far been made of it, despite the burgeoning literature on Christ’s foster father.2 Conversely, having been one of the most commonly 1 1 Peter John Olivi, Postilla super Matthaeum, chapter 1, question 1, 12 in P.A. Emmen, ‘Pierre de Jean Olivi, o.f.m. Sa doctrine et son influence’, Cahiers de Joséphologie, 15 (1966), 260-1; translated in Sheila Schwartz, ‘St Joseph in Meister Bertram’s Petri-Altar’, Gesta 24 (1985), 148-51; Wilson, St Joseph, 152. 2 Among countless scholarly and popular texts, some of them mentioned below, is a dedicated periodical, Cahiers de joséphologie, published since 1953. Page 1 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only represented saints from the fourth up to the thirteenth century, St Peter’s relative obscurity in Italian Renaissance representation seems surprising and is as yet unexplained: with the exception of the frescoes of the Brancacci Chapel in Santa Maria del Carmine in Florence and relief sculpture associated with the papal court in fifteenth century Rome, he largely lost his earlier role as patron and intercessor.3 In this article I will suggest that Peter is in fact more present than has been noticed, the integration of the two saints in large part explaining the prominence given to St Joseph in representations of the Holy Family and Nativity. I will conclude by showing that the conflation of St Joseph with St Peter in central Italian Renaissance painting can be explained by its particular connotations in Guelph circles right up to the period of the Italian Wars at the end of the fifteenth century. St Joseph and St Peter in the Renaissance St Joseph’s cultural fortunes improved dramatically in the fifteenth century. Johan Huizinga had described the medieval figure of St Joseph as ‘a clown dressed in rags’, his burgeoning cult an example of ‘popular fancy rather than theology’.4 This characterization derives from the apocryphal Gospel of Pseudo Matthew in which Joseph is an elderly man who tries his best but can never quite catch up with his precocious family: ‘Joseph was [often] in perplexity’ it says.5 In a sermon of the mid 1420s, Bernardino of Siena criticised artists for making fun of Joseph: ‘the most cheerful old man that there ever was in the world... [yet] the foolish artists paint him as a sad old man with his hand on his cheek as if he were in pain or 2 3 Carolyn Kinder Carr, ‘Aspect of the Iconography of Saint Peter in Medieval Art of Western Europe to the Early Thirteenth Century’, PhD Diss., Cape Western Reserve University, Cleveland, 1978. 4 Johan Huizinga, The Waning of the Middle Ages (Harmondsworth: Peregrine, 1965; first published 1919), 163-4. 5 Gospel of Pseudo Matthew, 37:3: <http://www.gnosis.org/library/psudomat.htm> (accessed August 2010). Page 2 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only depressed’.6 An example of this often quoted is the Master of Flémalle’s Mérode Triptych of c.1427 (Fig. 1) in which Joseph is represented in the right hand scene, apparently oblivious to the events unfolding next door in the Annunciation, depicted in the central panel of the altarpiece. In an influential 1995 article Vasvari made much of the lewd puns and associations attached to Joseph, the carpenter and cuckold, in popular songs and plays – who ‘screws’, ‘drills’ and ‘bangs’ away in his workshop.7 That is just one side of the story. In theological circles St Joseph’s status was already recognised by the fifteenth century. Bernardino of Siena counterbalanced Joseph’s more negative portrayal by artists, emphasising his ‘perpetual virginity’ and his honour in being chosen as the Virgin Mary’s husband and as the ‘nursing father’ of Christ and therefore the ‘personal holiness presupposed by this choice’.8 These were themes that had been live since St John Chrysostom (c.347-407) wrote his sermons on the Gospel of Matthew in the fourth century C.E.. In the twelfth century Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153) had promoted Joseph’s role in the narrative of Christ’s infancy in a written sermon. His ideas were then developed by 3 6 Bernardino da Siena, Le prediche volgari (Firenze 1424), ed. Ciro Cannarozzi (Pistoia: Pacinotti, 1934), 278-9: ‘El più allegro vecchio che fusse mai nel mondo... E gli sciocchi dipintori el dipingono vecchio maninconoso e colla mano alla gota, come s’elli avessi dolore o maninconia’. See also Catherine C. Wilson, St Joseph in Italian Renaissance Society and Art. New Directions and Interpretations (Philadelphia, PA: Saint Joseph’s University Press, 2001), 7. 7 Louise O. Vasvari, ‘Joseph on the Margin: the Mérode Tryptic and Medieval Spectacle’, Mediaevalia 18 (1995), 163-189. 8 Bernardino da Siena, Opera Omnia (Florence: Quaracchi, 1959), 7: 16-30; translated in A.G. Ferrers-Howell, S. Bernardino of Siena (London: Methuen and Co, 1913), 270. Page 3 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only the likes of the Benedictine Rupert of Deutz (1075-1129) and Peter John Olivi.9 These writers argued that Joseph was necessary for the story of the Incarnation because it was through him that the Old Testament prophecy was fulfilled that a saviour would be born of the house of David because, according to Jewish law, genealogy followed the male line.10 The official cult took longer to establish. The Franciscans adopted a feast of the saint as early as 1399 and Sixtus IV (1479-83) issued two liturgies for Christ’s human father.11 In doing so he permitted the wider adoption of a feast, without making it compulsory, and furthered the cause through his patronage of the cult of the Virgin’s wedding ring at Perugia, a relic with particular contemporary relevance for the pope as vicar of Christ, the Church’s spouse.12 Thereafter the feast was adopted by the Dominican order between 1508 and 1517, in 1621 it was established for the whole Church, and in 1870 Pius IX declared St Joseph Patron of the Universal Church, completing his revival. 4 9 St Bernard of Clairvaux, Opera Omnia, ‘De laudibus virginis Mariae’, Hom 2 (on the Missus est), Patrologiae cursus completus (series Latina), ed. Jacques-Paul Migne (Paris: Migne, 1862), 183: 55-87. On the cult of St Joseph see J. Seitz, Die Verehrung des heiligen Joseph in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung (Freiburg im Bressau: Hedersche Verlagshandlung, 1908); Francis L. Filas, Joseph: The Man Closest to Jesus. The Complete Life, Theology and Devotional History of St. Joseph (Boston: Daughters of St. Paul); Schwartz, ‘Petri-Altar’, 7-9. 10 This was not a new observation: John Chrysostom, ‘Cur Josephi, non Mariae genealogia ducatur’, Opera Omnia, Patrologiae cursus completus (series Graeca), ed. Jean-Paul Migne (Paris: Migne, 1857-1866), 57: 58-60. 11 Wilson, St Joseph, 7-8; Johann Konrad Eberlein, ‘The Curtain in Raphael’s Sistine Madonna’, The Art Bulletin, 65/1 (1983), 73. 12 See, for example, Maria Duranti, ‘Il ‘S. Anello’ della cattedrale di Perugia tra leggenda e devozione’, Una città e la sua cattedrale: il Duomo di Perugia, ed. Maria Luisa Cianini Pierotti (Perugia: Capitolo della Cattedrale di S. Lorenzo, 1992), 363-372. Page 4 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only Huizinga’s medieval Joseph – and the eminently quotable generalisations which are his main strength – has proved a convenient starting point from which the improvement in his cultural fortunes in the fifteenth century can be traced. However, in literature and theology Joseph’s resuscitation can be taken back to at least the twelfth century, and in art to the fourteenth century when different strands in his representation appear: Paul Payan has suggested that perhaps only 10% of images fall into the disrespectful category of the type emphasized by Vasvari.13 Instead, Joseph was more often depicted hard at work, trying to feed or provide for his family: the figure in the Mérode triptych can also be interpreted in this way (Fig. 1). Or he was shown asleep, not failing in his duties, but a reference to one of his few distinct roles in the story of the Nativity. According to the gospels, Joseph was told in a dream, ‘do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit’ and that the child should be called Jesus (Matthew 1:24). This is how Giotto depicts Joseph in the Nativity scene in the Arena Chapel in Padua for example (Fig. 2). Giotto’s Joseph sets the pattern for his subsequent, increasingly common representation in the next two centuries: he sports short hair and beard and wears a yellow cloak over a blue tunic. Notably, at the Arena Chapel Giotto groups the scenes which feature St Joseph with those that include St Peter: the Nativity appears above the Last Supper (Fig. 3), the Adoration of the Magi above the Washing of the Feet, the Presentation in the Temple above the Kiss of Judas. This kind of typology in the Arena Chapel fresco cycle has been thoroughly discussed, but not the bringing together of these saints who are important witnesses or protagonists in each scene.14 The paralleling of St Joseph who figured large in Christ’s infancy and St Peter in his 5 13 Paul Payan, ‘Pour retrouver un père. La promotion du culte de saint Joseph au temps de Gerson’, Cahiers de recherches médiévales, 4 (1997): <http://crm.revues.org//index959.html> (accessed November 2009). 14 See for example, Michel Alpatoff, ‘The Parallelism of Giotto's Paduan Frescoes’, The Art Bulletin, 29/3 (1947), 149-154. Page 5 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only adult ministry offers a sub-narrative within the meta-narratives of the Incarnation and Passion. But more curious is the fact that they are given remarkably similar physiognomy and dress. It is from this point that St Peter’s Renaissance dress is established, his liturgical vestments and pallium replaced by the same blue tunic and yellow cloak that distinguish St Joseph from around 1300.15 A correlation between Peter and Joseph has been detected before but not to the extent to which I want to go in this paper. Sheila Schwartz brought attention to the treatment of St Joseph in the huge altarpiece, dated 1379-83, for the church of St Peter in Hamburg. She draws attention to a tiny detail in the Rest on the Flight into Egypt panel: hanging from Joseph’s belt is a key, attribute of St Peter (Fig. 4) which could also refer to Joseph as housekeeper and therefore earthly protector of Mary and Jesus. Schwartz also proposes that Joseph is deliberately given the same bifurcated beard and hairstyle as the carved figure of St Peter in the altar’s interior.16 This and other visual examples of northern European art are more subtle than the assimilated Joseph/Peter which seems to find roots in the Italian peninsula earlier in the fourteenth century, and in Giotto’s painting in particular. Catherine Wilson, who focuses on northern Italian paintings of the sixteenth century, or the ‘late pre-Tridentine period’, detects fairly frequent correspondence between Joseph and Peter 6 15 The earliest representation of St Peter in blue tunic and yellow or gold cloak I have found is at San Francesco, Assisi, in mid-13th century frescoes in the right transept: P. Gerhard Ruf, Die Fresken der Oberkirche San Francesco in Assisi, Iconographie und Theologie (Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner, 2004), 74-88. The fullest account of the representation of St Peter remains Carr, ‘Aspects of the Iconography of Saint Peter’. 16 Schwartz, ‘Petri-Altar’, 152. Page 6 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only and ‘Joseph’s role as protector of the Church Militant’.17 He is also a typus apostolorum. The presence of the key in the Hamburg altarpiece and occasionally elsewhere she explains through the words of Peter John Olivi: ‘For [Joseph] is the key to the Old Testament, in whom the dignity of the patriarchs and prophets attains its promised fruit.’ But most of the links detected by Wilson and other art historians are references through attributes such as the key, not the direct assimilation of Joseph as Peter in Renaissance art to which I now turn. The Holy Family Consider, for example, Pinturicchio’s tondo of the Holy Family (Fig. 5), now in the Pinacoteca Nazionale in Siena, an attractive but otherwise apparently unremarkable picture.18 While nothing is known about its original commission or how it came to be in the convent of San Girolamo in Campansi, further analysis will reveal that it is an important representative of a deceptively innocent and undeniably attractive devotional subject that has been overlooked for its political significance. The capacity of representations of the Holy Family to bear contemporary meaning is obscured both by the prevalence of the iconography and their multiple production in workshops such as Pinturicchio’s where art historians have found more signs of accomplished craftsmanship than canny intellectual or political relevance – one might call it the ‘Christmas card factor’. 7 17 Wilson, St Joseph, 47; Caroline C. Wilson, ‘St Joseph as Custos in the Summa of Isidoro Isolano and in Italian Renaissance Art’, Saint Joseph Studies (Papers from the 7th and 8th International St Joseph Symposia Malta 1997 and El Salvador 2001) (Santa Cruz: Guardian of the Redeemer Books, 2002), 89-120. I am most grateful to the author for providing me with copies of her work. 18 The painting was loaned to the exhibition Renaissance Siena: Art for a City at the National Gallery, London, October 2007 to January 2008. See Luke Syson et al. eds, Renaissance Siena: Art for a City (London: National Gallery and Yale University Press, 2007), 258-61. Page 7 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only Pinturicchio’s painting bears the title of ‘Holy Family with the Infant Saint John the Baptist’ or ‘Madonna and Child with St John’ because it depicts the Virgin, St Joseph, the Christ Child and John the Baptist. Although he is not explicitly named in the standard title given to the painting, it is the figure of St Joseph placed centrally in the composition that I believe is the key to understanding what this painting – and indeed many others of the Holy Family – is really about. A number of features of the painting suggest that this is not a Holy Family – or at least, that is not its chief subject – but an allegory of the Church. Mary, holding a book on her lap, points towards the other figures, three of her fingers held together in the gesture of blessing. She is the most dominant figure in the picture, sitting furthest forward in the picture plane; her blue cloak takes up half of the foreground. The figure of Joseph to her left occupies the centre of the picture; he holds a barrel, presumably for wine, and two loaves of bread. The infant John the Baptist wears his customary animal skins, which refer to the time he will spend in the desert as an adult, and he carries a jug and staff surmounted by a cross. The infant Christ is dressed in a white tunic with narrow sleeves; he also holds a book. Christ’s distinctive white garb is a dalmatic, the deacon’s vestment, his book representing their service to the ministry of the word. John’s staff and jug – from which he will pour the waters of baptism – refer to the episcopal ministry. Joseph’s attributes of bread and wine represent his care for the Holy Family. They are also symbolic of the priesthood, and represent priests’ main role as guardians of the Eucharist. What is more, the Joseph figure is given the same colours, facial features and beard as St Peter customarily wears in representations of him from at least the thirteenth century – the yellow cloak, sometimes including a red lining, over a blue or green tunic. On an allegorical level, complementing the tripartite ministry of deacon, priest and bishop represented by the three male figures, Mary can be read as 8 Page 8 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only Ecclesia. ‘the female personification of the Church.’19 The figures are positioned so that they can follow Christ, recalling the evangelical summons in 1 Peter 2:21: ‘For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his footsteps’. This missionary theme was taken on by the apostles, led by Peter, who were authorized by Christ, when he founded the Church at Pentecost, to teach the nations.20 Overall it seems clear that this is a sophisticated theological allegory which works on a number of levels, and not a simple narrative or devotional image. Taking Pinturicchio’s painting as a starting point, the link between Peter and Joseph then becomes evident in many representations of St Joseph in the fifteenth century. Paradoxically, it is perhaps because it is so prevalent that its frequency has been overlooked – because it looks ‘normal’. Time and again, St Joseph, in nativities, flights into Egypt and elsewhere, takes on the features and garb of St Peter, who is given a prominent role as guardian of Mary. To take one of many examples, in Lorenzo Monaco’s Flight into Egypt (Fig. 6), the Joseph figure who leads the donkey bearing Mary and Jesus to safety is given the same short hair and beard, and wears the same yellow cloak and blue tunic as Peter and can be compared with, for example, the figure of St Peter depicted in Masaccio’s Brancacci Chapel frescoes (Fig. 7). In paintings of the Nativity, the St Joseph figure is often depicted sitting on or leaning on or near rocks and foundations. The accepted interpretation of these details as foretelling Christ’s replacing the old order with a new edifice has perhaps obscured it as an attribute of the 9 19 Rosemary Muir Wright, Sacred Distance: Representing the Virgin (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 2006), 25; Wilson, St Joseph, 5. 20 Herbert Kessler, “Discipuli domini: Apostles, Saints, and Prophets in Medieval Churches”, in Old St Peter’s and Church Decoration in Medieva Italy (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo, 2002), 188. Page 9 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only assimilated Joseph/Peter. It can be read as a direct appropriation of Petrine symbolism, referring to Matthew 16:18-19: And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hell will not overcome it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. In Domenico Ghirlandaio’s Adoration of the Magi (Fig. 8) for the Hospital of the Innocenti in Florence, dated 1488, for example, the three kings are brought together with other saints, including John the Baptist and John the Evangelist. Just behind Mary, to the right hand side, is the Joseph/Peter figure, dressed in yellow and blue, with short hair and beard. Behind him, two bricklayers build a wall that frames the Holy Family. If we assume that Joseph prefigures Peter then he is quite literally in at the building of the Church for which he will be both the foundation and guardian. In other paintings, Joseph leans on a rock or foundation, such as is visible in an otherwise unremarkable panel by Pinturicchio in the Pinacoteca Nazionale in Siena: in this painting the Joseph figure, again dressed in Peter’s colours, even points to the stone foundations of a building on which he is leaning (Fig. 9). One of the most celebrated – and discussed – representations of the Holy Family is Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo (Fig. 10). In her recent book Stefaniak stresses the significance of the marriage metaphor in the Doni Tondo which she argues is the painting’s main subject because it is a model for Republican Florence: ‘the virile new guardian Joseph projected in the theology… promoted the new republican image of the militarily prepared citizen’.21 She proposes that Joseph’s ‘erotic’ protection of the Virgin who is positioned between his legs 10 21 Regina Stefaniak, Mysterium Magnum: Michelangelo’s Tondo Doni (E.J.Brill, Leiden, 2008), 10, 16. Page 10 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only stresses his role as protector of Mary/Ecclesia.22 The gesture between Mary and Joseph who pass the child between them alludes to the genealogy of Christ for which Joseph is so important, discussed above.23 For other writers, Michelangelo’s Joseph is equated with God the father; the Christ child is the ‘gift’ that the patron’s name suggests.24 Acidini Lucinat admits that the discussions about the iconography of the Doni Tondo will almost certainly continue indefinitely as apparently strange details continue to perplex scholars. However, if Joseph is also Peter then the enigmas of the odd background full of nude figures and the ambiguous space might be more straightforward than art historians have found it to date. In the Acts of the Apostles (2:38-40), just after Peter has explained the genealogy of Christ through David, he makes clear that the only way to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit that God made possible through the incarnation of Christ is by Baptism: Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins; and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is to you and to your children and to all that are far off, every one whom the Lord our God calls to him.… Save yourselves from this crooked generation. Unknown in Medieval painting, Masaccio depicted this scene, the Baptism of the Neophytes, in the Brancacci Chapel (Fig. 7). In addition to these iconographical similarities, there are also purely artistic links between the two artists: Michelangelo’s admiration of Masaccio’s 11 22 Stefaniak, Ibid., 51-6. 23 There is a useful summary in Cristina Acidini Luchinat, Michelangelo pittore (Milan: Federico Motta, 2007), 102-3. 24 Timothy Verdon, Michelangelo teologo: fede e creatività tra Rinascimento e Controriforma (Milan: Ancora, 2005), 170; Paul Barolsky, ‘Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo and the Worshipful Beholder’, Source, 22 (2003), 8-11; Acidini Luchinat, Ibid., 102. Page 11 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only work is well known through his drawings taken from his predecessor’s paintings.25 Indeed, it was in the Brancacci Chapel that the young Michelangelo’s nose was broken by his rival, Pietro Torrigiano.26 The spatial construction of the Doni Tondo and the apparent ledge on which the foreground figures of the Holy Family sit is apparently anomalous. It divides the foreground group from the background which contains the infant St John the Baptist and the muscular neophytes. The naked figures in the background lean on stone walls. These could be understood as the foundations of a building, dug down into the ground. Taken this way, the foreground figures can be understood to be sitting on top of the same foundations further round the same construction site. The passage from Acts quoted above is important because, in it, Peter ‘strikes the theme of God’s control over the young church’s growth’ and the delegation of that authority exclusively through the apostles.27 If the baptism of the neophytes is the scene depicted in the background of the Doni Tondo, the link of Joseph with Peter opens up the interpretation of the painting as the complete story of the incarnation fulfilled by the Church: Christ’s birth of a Virgin, his genealogy foretold by the Old Testament prophets satisfied through Joseph, his baptism, his commission of Peter, and the continuation and unfolding of his legacy through the Church, protected by Peter’s successor – the pope. There are plenty more examples available which further study will show reveal different aspects of the promise of salvation ultimately through the Church (Peter) represented by the 12 25 Acidini Luchinat, Ibid., 20, 24. 26 Howard Hibbard, Michelangelo (New York: Harper & Row, 1974), 19-20. 27 The New Jerome Biblical Commentary, eds Raymond E. Brown et al. (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 2000), 734. Page 12 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only incarnation (Joseph) – Fra Filippo Lippi’s altarpiece for the Chapel in the Medici-Riccardi chapel to name but one – but discussion of them here would quickly turn this article into a book. Jean Gerson’s St Joseph But why should Joseph and Peter be so regularly linked in fifteenth century painting, to the extent that their conflation may even have become the dominant representation in images including the Holy Family? The marriage of the pope to his Church was a particularly current and indeed controversial metaphor in the conciliar context, prompted by the crises of the exile of the papacy in Avignon and the subsequent Great Schism. At the Council of Constance (1414-17) in particular the conflation of the two saints took on special relevance.28 The link of the popes with Rome was the main justification for universal papal primacy because it was the city chosen by St Peter. That link, and therefore the claim to universality, had been undermined by the removal of the papacy to Avignon from 1309 to 1377 so papal authority was divided into two separate but inextricably linked facets to explain away the problem: they were both Vicar of Christ and Bishop of Rome. Both these relationships were construed as marriages – of Christ to his Church and of the pope to Rome – which were brought together and embodied by St Peter and his successors. The proponents of the councils, on the other hand, beginning in Pisa in 1409 and ending at Basle in 1445, depended on the separation of the universal from the Roman Church. Only in this way could councils be summoned by representatives of the Church but without papal sanction. Jaroslav Pelikan 13 28 Jean Gerson, Oeuvres Complétes, ed. Palémon Glorieux (Paris: Desclée, 1960-1973), no.232, 5:376-98: ‘Nuptiae factae sunt’, 17 Jan 1417; no.281, 6:190-210: ‘De nuptiis Christi et Ecclesiae’. Page 13 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only contends that the issue in fact defines much of the fifteenth century because ‘The schism had undermined certainty about the credentials of the Roman pontiff’.29 Jean Gerson (1363-1429) was one of the celebrities at the Council of Constance. As well as becoming Chancellor of the University of Paris at the age of 32 in 1395, he was ‘adviser to kings and princes, maker of popes, renowned international preacher, devotional writer, [and] unquestionably the most recognizable intellectual figure of his age’ whose works were among the most prevalent of his day.30 He put complex ideas into evocative terms that the laity would understand, encouraging bishops to make the texts of his sermons available to their clergy so that they could preach good sermons read from his texts instead of their own mediocre efforts. Gerson’s theology continued to exercise considerable influence among both laity and clergy in the century after the Council of Constance, ‘a period characterized with only slight exaggeration as ‘le siècle de Gerson’‘.31 If, as Gilbert Ouy has pondered, printing technology had been available to him, his writings would have been even more of a sensation than they were.32 As it was, Gerson’s works circulated in manuscript copies and, as soon as the technology was available, they were quickly in print – six editions in the fifteenth century 14 29 Jaroslav Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine. Vol. 1 Reformation of Church and Dogma (1300–1700) (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1984), 111, 117 (and chapter 2 passim). 30 Brian Patrick McGuire, ed. and trans, Jean Gerson Early Works (New York: Paulist Press, 1998), 10-12. 31 Mark Burrows, ‘Jean Gerson after Constance: ‘Via Media Et Regia’ as a Revision of the Ockhamist Covenant’, Church History, 59/4 (1990), 467; quote from Etienne Delaruelle, L’eglise au temps du Grand Schisme et de la crise conciliare, 14/2, Histoire de l’eglise depuis les origines jusqu’a nos jours, ed. A. Fliche and V. Martin (Paris: Bloud & Gay, 1964), 837. 32 Gilbert Ouy, ‘Discovering Gerson the Humanist’, A Companion to Jean Gerson, ed. Brian Patrick McGuire (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006), 132. Page 14 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only alone.33 They received renewed momentum in 1488 when they were translated into German and published at Strasburg. From there they quickly travelled to Italy where Gerson’s ideas about St Joseph were incorporated into sermons of the Franciscan Bernardino de’Busi, which were in turn published in 1493.34 ‘Thus’, explains Catherine Brown in her book on Gerson’s sermons, ‘an analysis of Gerson’s pastoral teaching is an analysis of what a fair number of the laity, in France and Germany at least, were hearing and reading in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries.’35 When he arrived at Constance in 1414 Gerson was already an enthusiastic proponent of the cult of St Joseph.36 At the council his campaign took on a more urgent character for the important reason that Joseph was for him a model for a new, solitary, obedient pope. Just before the Council of Constance opened, on 17 August 1413, Gerson had written an open letter addressed to ‘all churches and especially those dedicated to Our Lady’ on the cult of St Joseph.37 In it he presented the case for a feast of the Marriage of the Virgin to celebrate her earthly spouse. Then on 26 September 1413 he made the case again in another long text.38 Two months later, on 23 November, Gerson wrote to the Duke of Berry asking for a feast of 15 33 Daniel Hobbins, Authorship and Publicity Before Print (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 5-6; E. Jane Dempsey Douglass, Justification in Late Medieval Preaching: A Study of John Geiler of Keisersberg (E.J.Brill: Leiden, 1989), 40-42. 34 Stefaniak, Doni Tondo, 38-9; Douglass, Ibid., 40-1, 199 35 D. Catherine Brown, Pastor and Laity in the Theology of Jean Gerson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 1-2. 36 Brian Patrick McGuire, Jean Gerson and the Last Medieval Reformation (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2005), 235-39. 37 Gerson, Oeuvres, no. 405, 8:61-66. 38 Gerson, Oeuvres, no.296, 7:11-15. Page 15 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only Mary and Joseph at Notre Dame in Paris.39 At the end of the same year he brought his arguments together in the Considerations on St Joseph. 40 During the Council of Constance, between 1414 and 1417, he was composing the three thousand line poem, Josephina, which tells the story of Christ’s infancy from Joseph’s point of view.41 Gerson’s campaign reached a climax on 8 September 1416, the feast of the Birth of the Virgin, when he addressed the Council of Constance in a long sermon on the day’s Gospel, the genealogy of Christ – ‘Jacob autem genuit Joseph...’ (Matthew 1:16).42 He returned to the subject of Joseph again, in January 1417, this time in a more general work about the marriage of Christ to his church.43 Gerson’s sermon for the Birth of the Virgin, delivered 8 September 1416, took place in the midst of violent discussion about the plenitude of power in the Church and whether it resides in a council or in the pope as Bishop of Rome.44 In a sermon preached only two days before, Peter of Pulkau, delegate of the University of Vienna, had argued that Rome no longer deserved the papacy: the clergy there would never reform their dissolute lives; they were more interested in looking after their concubines, selling justice to the highest bidder and, worst of all, wearing indecent habits which showed off their legs.45 Gerson’s sermon repeated his arguments for Joseph’s significance that he has set out in France but with a new spin. He 16 39 Jean Gerson, Oeuvres, no 33, 2:155-57; Max Lieberman, ‘Lettre de Gerson au duc de Berry’, Cahiers de Joséphologie, 9/2 (1961), 202-5, 236. 40 The chronology is Lieberman’s: Max Lieberman, ‘Chronologie gersonienne. IV. Gerson poète’, Romania, 76 (1955), 327; Gerson, ‘Considerations sur Saint Joseph’, Oeuvres, no. 300, 7.1:63-94. 41 Gerson, ‘Josephina’, in Oeuvres complètes, no.138, 4:31-100. 42 Gerson, Oeuvres, no.232, 5:344-62. 43 Gerson, Oeuvres, no.281, 6:195, 196. 44 Gerson, Oeuvres, no.232, 5:.344-62; Charles-Joseph Hefele, Histoire des Conciles d’après Lez Documents Originaux (Paris: Librarie Letouzey et Ané, 1916), 7/1:415-6. 45 Hefele, Ibid., 415. Page 16 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only finished his sermon with an intercession focusing his audience’s minds on the most pressing issue of the time – the end of the schism - using Joseph, whose same virtues he had just finished extolling, as a model for a single pope to lead the universal Church: ‘Let the church be delivered to a unique man, true and firm, the Highest High Priest pledged to her in place of Christ.’46 (Bernardino de’ Busti ‘faithfully transmitted’ the sermon and its intercession in his Mariale of 1493.)47 In January 1417 in his tract on The marriage of Christ and Church, Gerson restated the point: just as Joseph, and later John the Evangelist cared for Mary, his mother,so Jesus was spouse of the Church and Peter his delegated custodian.48 When Gersons 1416 sermon was delivered there was one dissident pope left of the original three pretenders to the papal throne – Benedict XIII who was not deposed until 26 July 1417. John XXIII had been deposed on 29 May 1415 and Gregory XII had abdicated the papacy on 4 July 1415. Progress towards achieving reform and even a process for electing a single pontiff was proving frustratingly elusive. Only once all three were out of the way could the council proceed to elect a single, new pope (Martin V) who would represent the new unity of the Church. These events are the subject of a hiatus in the middle of Gerson’s long poem, 17 46 Gerson, Oeuvres, no.323, 5:362: ‘Sane quatenus meritis, et intercessione tanti tamque potentis et imperiosi quodammodo patroni apud sponsam suam, de qua natus est Jesus qui vocatur Christus, reddatur Ecclesia unico viro vero et certo, Summo Pontifici sponso suo vice Christi’. 47 Bernardino de’ Busti, ‘Sermo 12’, in Vives y Tuto, José Calasanz eds, Summa Josephina ex Patribus, Doctoribus, Asceticis, et Poetis qui eximia dignitate S Joseph scripserunt (Rome: Instituto Pio IX, 1907), 173; Stefaniak, Tondo Doni, 47. 48 Gerson, Oeuvres, no.281, 6:195: ‘quod sponsus Ecclesiae Jesus dum commisit eam Pedro custodiendam, illum majori quoad hoc insignivit privilegio et auctoritate quam Joseph justum aut Joannem evangelistam dum ei in custodiae cura propriam commisit matrem’. Page 17 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only Josephina which he was writing during the Council, probably completing it late in 1417.49 In the middle of the fifth chapter, which is an account of the marriage of Joseph and the Virgin, Gerson stops the narrative and stresses the allegorical significance of the biblical accounts for his own day (‘Litera tale canit, cui concinit Allegoria’).50 He goes on to mark 26 July 1417 as the day when the triple portent – the three schismatic popes – was at last no more: ‘One legitimate man remains’, he rejoiced. ‘Let him be made the betrothed and shepherd to the Church and let the whole world obey him.’ This man is Joseph who he prays will honour and make sacrifices to his betrothed, the Virgin. In other words, Joseph is the archetype of the new solitary pope, a patient guardian and role model who will serve and protect the Church just as Joseph nurtured the Holy Family.51 Three important themes emerge from Gerson’s writing as a whole which explain his actions at Constance. First of all, Gerson believed in reform by example: when he was briefly dean of 18 49 Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, no.138, 4:62-3; for a useful outline of the poem see Giovanni Matteo Roccati, ‘La Josephina di Jean Gerson (1418): un poema virgiliano di contenuto biblico’, Studi Francesi, 121 (1997), 3-19. The passage discussed here is not given any attention by Roccati. 50 Gerson, Ibid.: ‘Litera tale canit, cui concinit Allegoria,/Non secus Ecclesiae, tu Papa daris vice Christi/ Sponsus pro Pastore pio violare pudicam,/Crede nefas, sed eam te custodire necesse est/Divina sub Lege datam, vel cedere Sedi,/Scandala subjectis, vel schismata si status affert./Sensimus hoc hodie, tempusque locumque notemus/Mille semel, centumque quarter, septemque decemque/Orbibus in propriis Phaebus confecerat annos/ Bisque decem, bis terque dies peragrando leonis/Julius in signo dederat, tunc schismatis altos/Pestiferi, Petrus de Luna cedere nolens,/Ejicitur Sede Papali voce sub una./Urbs dum Concilium retinet Constantia sanctum,/ Balthasar ejectus fuerat, jam cesserat alter,/Triceps hoc monstrum fuit, ut sunt Cerberus hidra/Unum nulla modo contentio rumpit ovile./Legimus, superest sponsus, Pastorque credetur/Unus in Ecclesia, cui totus pareat Orbis./ Virgo tuis fac hoc precibus, meritoque potenti,/Ipsa tuo celebres gratissima, spero, quotannis,/Fecundo prolis cum virginitatis honore/Conjugio sponsoque Joseph sacrabit honores/Natali ne tuo sic olim octava dicata est?/ Hoc prior inspira tali nos munere dotes’. 51 Gerson, Oeuvres, no.138, 4:62-63. Only Morrall has noticed the significance of this passage: John B. Morrall, Gerson and the Great Schism (Manchester: Manchester. University Press, 1960), 14. Page 18 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only the cathedral chapter at Bruges he wrote that ‘it should be considered what good can be done … solely by the example of life, without any words’.52 Secondly, he idealized the contemplative life of the silent watcher, exemplified by mystics such as Bernard of Clairvaux, which he promoted in many of his sermons, treatises and other works, among them The Mountain of Contemplation.53 In the Considerations on Saint Joseph and elsewhere, Joseph is described as contemplative man of divine mysteries, vigorous and, most of all, of the utmost discretion.54 If only the pope were to the Church as Joseph was to Mary, he prayed – quiet, obedient and willing to follow God’s will – all would be well. Thirdly, he believed in authority and hierarchy which incorporated the popes who embodied the unity of the Church: unity was his ultimate goal. Gerson has been accused by modern scholars of losing sight of the urgent issues and opportunities of the conciliar reform by allowing himself to be distracted by his subjective passion for the cult of St Joseph as a surrogate for the father he had lost in infancy.55 However, it would be wrong to identify him as a conciliarist keen to see an alternative to an oligarchical papacy. Instead his constant recourse to Joseph’s cult should be understood as his solution to the crisis: Gerson considered the pope as a father-figure for the Church, as head of the Christian family, like Joseph. The papacy should be honoured because it was given to the Church by Christ, but that did not mean that any immoral behavior should be tolerated and this was where the councils had a role to play. Despite it’s conciliar fervor, In the De 19 52 Gerson, Oeuvres, no.2, 2:20, letter to an unknown corespondent, Bruges 1400; McGuire ed, Early Works, 164-5; also Nancy McLoughlin, ‘Gerson as Preacher in the Conflict between Mendicants and Secular Priests’, Companion, 269. 53 McGuire, Early Works, xiv; Gerson, Oeuvres, no. 297, 7:16-55. 54 Gerson, Oeuvres, no.300, 7.1:73-4. 55 Most notably McGuire, Last Medieval Reformation, 237-39. Page 19 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only potestate ecclesiastica which Gerson presented to the council on 6 February 1415 Gerson did not deny the pope as head of the Church and the pinnacle and origins of the ecclesiastical hierarchy and again used the prevalent marriage metaphor. Without the pope, the Church ‘could not be called the Church’. ‘We should call him father, honoring him as lord and head. But… we have been told that if the vicar grows cold and becomes an evil-doer … so that he is incompetent to the needs of the spiritual children of the Church, such a one should not be thought a worthy spouse of the church or vicar of the spouse.’56 While a council could advise and even judge a pope, it could not supplant the relationship that Christ had bestowed between Peter and the Church.57 To Gerson it was the whole Church that mattered of which the papacy was admittedly its most important facet. Gerson’s method was the venerable exegetical tradition of typological analysis, a method with ancient roots. In the fifth chapter of the poem, Josephina Gerson explicitly refers to the allegorical connotations of Matthew’s Gospel and immediately points to their contemporary significance: ‘No differently are you, father, given to the Church as a betrothed in Christ’s place as a dutiful shepherd.’58 St Paul used parallels with Old Testament characters to prefigure the narrative of salvation: Moses’s leading the Israelites through the Red Sea, for example, prefigures baptism. These parallels, he explains, are ‘spiritually discerned’ and clear to those who have ‘the mind of Christ’ (1 Cor 10: 14,16).59 On this basis, as an exemplar for Peter, Joseph is problematic because he does not appear in the Old Testament but in the New. 20 56 Gerson’s first published treatise on the Schism, in Oeuvres no 281, 6:196; John J. Ryan, The Apostolic Conciliarism of Jean Gerson (Atlanta: Scholars, 1998), 59 57 Francis Oakley, ‘Gerson as Conciliarist’, Companion, 199-201. 58 See above, note 50. 59 Christopher G. Hughes, ‘Art and Exegesis’, A Companion to Medieval Art: Romanesque and Gothic in Northern Europe, ed. Conrad Rudolph, (Malden and Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 176-7. Page 20 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only However, Joseph was understood as a bridge between Old and New: Peter John Olivi called him ‘the key to the Old Testament, in whom the dignity of the patriarchs and prophets attains its promised fruit.’60 Similarly Bernardino of Siena explained that the Church had not so far been given Joseph his own feast day because, ‘He went down in Limbo and belongs to the Old Testament’.61 Typological exegesis suited Gerson’s intellectual and theological context. Connections between types were aspects of the important current of fourteenth and fifteenth century mysticism in which ‘the mystic finds his own identity by identifying with another’.62 Inspired by the English Franciscan, William of Ockham (1288-1347), theologians such as Gerson sought to explain the world through recourse to examples – unlike Scholasticism which instead preferred the abstract ideals that derived from Platonism. Thus the incarnation and story of salvation was made explicit through recourse to real, historical figures, rather than to abstract ideas or concepts. This mode also suited Gerson’s enthusiasm for communicating to the laity, by means of his sermons and open letters, complex ideas that were usually only to be found among university professors. Mark Burrows, in his study of On the Consolation of Theology, the treatise Gerson wrote in 1418 immediately after the Council of Constance, characterizes it as the mature distillation of Gerson’s ‘original blend of mysticism and nominalism’.63 Therefore Gerson’s use of St Joseph as an exemplar is symptomatic of his broader concerns with the recovery of ‘the sense of divine immediacy’, to make tangible 21 60 Catherine C. Wilson, St Joseph in Italian Renaissance Society and Art. New Directions and Interpretations (Philadelphia: Saint Joseph’s University Press, 2001), 47. 61 Bernardino of Siena, Opera omnia, vol.7, p.28; Lina Bolzoni, La rete delle immagini: Predicazione in volgare dalle origini a Bernardino da Siena (Guido Einaudi Editore, 2002), 205. 62 Henk W. van Os, ‘St Francis of Assisi as a Second Christ in Early Italian Painting’, Simiolus, 7 (1974), 115-117. 63 Burrows, ‘Jean Gerson after Constance’, 481. Page 21 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only God’s plan for his creation.64 It would be going too far to call Joseph the proto-apostle or even proto-pope however. He is an exemplar or type on which the popes might model themselves. That said, an important element of the comparison, set in the narrative of the infancy of Christ, is Christ’s adult charge to Peter: it subtly implies that his commission was part of God’s plan from the start, that the popes too are there at the beginning, and therefore that their role is without question - the ultimate riposte to the conciliar challenge. In his promotion of the cult of St Joseph as a model for a new kind of pope to emulate, we see Gerson’s reform of the Church at its most sensible, straightforward and elemental. It required an undeniably delicate touch, the comparison clearer in pictures than in words: ‘works of art actively constructed exegetical meaning, rather than passively representing it’.65 The Guelph Dimension Gerson was not new in his conflation of Peter and Joseph - he was picking up on ideas and imagery that had been prevalent for at least a century - but he was undoubtedly its most influential protagonist. In Italian painting the common thread that perhaps explains the phenomenon detected here and its longevity, is allegiance to the Guelph party. Giotto, as in so many things an innovator, made the motif his own at the Arena Chapel. Giotto’s own Guelph credentials have been well established.66 Anti-Ghibelline imagery has also been detected in the frescoes of the Arena Chapel: according to recent studies the figure of bad justice, for 22 64 Heiko Oberman, ‘Some Notes on the Theology of Nominalism with Attention to its Relation to the Renaissance’, Harvard Theological Review, 53 (1960), 61-2. 65 Hughes, ‘Art and Exegesis’, 180. 66 Robert Smith, ‘Giotto: Artistic Realism, Political Realism’ Journal of Medieval History 4 (1978), 267-84. Page 22 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only example, is represented as a Ghibelline.67 Similarly, Perugia, Pinturicchio’s hometown, was a Guelph stronghold, as was Florence where the Parte Guelfa was integral in civic government from the thirteenth century. Factional allegiance, a subject which has been sidelined in the history of early modern Italian city states, has been put back into the complex equation of Italian civic identity by a number of recent studies. It is a notoriously difficult area to investigate because ‘certain political practices or institutions can have an impact on fundamental political concepts even when they leave little or no trace in political theory’.68 Serena Ferenteis one of a number of younger Italian scholars who view partisanship as a constant, deeply embedded catalyst in early modern Italian society, not a nostalgic throwback periodically revived.69 While the ‘golden age’ of the factions was over by the middle of the fourteenth centuries, Ferente and others argue Guelphism continued to inform allegiances at local, and occasionally peninsular, level right up until the period of the Italian Wars in the 1490s, when its last flowering occurred as a result of the anticipation of renewed communal independence and liberty promised by the French invasion.70 Christine Shaw, in her recent study of the Orsini who were leaders of the Guelph party, bemoans the ‘relative neglect of the Papal States by historians of Renaissance Italy’ that has meant as a result little recognition of ‘the importance of Guelph and Ghibelline 23 67 Anne Derbes and Mark Sandona, The Usurer's Heart: Giotto, Enrico Scrovegni, and the Arena Chapel in Padua (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008), 88-90. 68 Serena Ferente, ‘Guelphs! Factions, Liberty and Sovereignty: Inquiries about the Quattrocento’, History of Political Thought, 28 (2007), 583. 69 Ferente, Ibid., 571-598; Marco Gentile ed. Guelfi e ghibellini nell’Italia del Rinascimento (Rome: Viella, 2005). 70 Christine Shaw, The Political Role of the Orsini Family from Sixtus IV to Clement VII. Barons and Factions in the Papal States, Nuovi studi storici 73 (Rome, Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo, 2007); Ferente, Ibid., 573-4. Page 23 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only factions’ throughout much of central Italy.71 Right up to the fifteenth century, ‘the Guelph side monopolized the flourishing anti-tyrannical polemic and tied it up with the older anti- imperial polemic of the pars Ecclesie (party of the Church)’.72 Redrafting the Guelph party statues in Florence in the second decade of the fifteenth century, Leonardo Bruni declared that, ‘The university of the Guelphs is connected in divine things with the Roman Church, in human things with liberty’.73 Gerson’s more accommodating pope would have particularly appealed within the context of these powerful values. Significantly in this context, Ferente points to ‘political keywords’ that included non-verbal signs such as ‘gestures, images or colours’ that ‘identified and rallied members of a political faction’.74 It is my contention that paintings of the Holy Family in which St Peter and St Joseph are paralleled should be numbered among these signals. It would explain the preponderance of this type of Joseph in Florentine painting, important among them Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo (Fig. 10), where Guelph ideology continued to underpin civic values.75 Indeed, the imagery’s prevalence may explain why its significance has not been recognised before, perhaps not unlike the wearing of a blue tie by a Conservative politician in the United Kingdom today: one has to be conversant with current political media to pick up the signal. Images of the Holy Family were suited to domestic settings, whether houses, 24 71 Shaw, Ibid., 125. 72 Ferente, Ibid., 575, 576. 73 Quoted in Hans Baron, The Crisis of the Early Italian Renaissance (Princeton NJ, Princeton University Press, 1955), 2: 446; Ferente, Ibid., 590. 74 Ferente, Ibid., 573. 75 Alison Brown, ‘The Guelph Party in Fifteenth-Century Florence: The Transition from Communal to Medicean State’, in The Medici in Florence. The Exercise and Language of Power (Florence and Perth: Italian Medieval and Renaissance Studies 3, The University of Western Australia, 1992), 103-11. Page 24 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only palaces or the residential quarters of convents, where they could communicate seamless layers of religious and secular values at a glance. Such use of saints for political and factional ends did not go unnoticed. Preaching in Siena in 1427, Bernardino of Siena criticised those who even made the saints in heaven into Guelphs or Ghibellines, explicitly mentioning St John the Baptist who was claimed by both sides, and Louis of Toulouse who was presumed to be Guelph because he was a member of the French royal house.76 He ridiculed some of the complex signs and symbols used by the factions – including the way garlic or bread or fruit could be cut or wine poured.77 (It is interesting to note that in Siena, a predominantly Ghibelline city, representations of the Holy Family are relatively rare.) Bernardino also mentioned the factions’ banners – the Guelph lily and Ghibelline eagle.78 It is not difficult to find such symbols in Florence where the lily was adopted as the predominant civic emblem. Of course, the lily was also a symbol of Mary’s purity and linked specifically with the Annunciation which was the first day of the Florentine year.79 So Joseph protects Mary the lily and therefore the Guelphs, which, in turn, takes us back again to Peter’s protection of Christ’s Church. 25 76 Bernardino da Siena, Prediche volgari sul Campo di Siena (1427), ed. Carlo Delcorno, Milan, Rusconi, 1989, sermon 23, 1:675-6. See also Francesco Bruni, La città divisa. Le parti e il bene comune da Dante a Guicciardini (Bologna: il Mulino, 2003), 288; Cynthia Polecritti, Preaching Peace in Renaissance Italy: Bernardino of Siena and his Audience (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2000). 77 Polecritti, Ibid., 217-8; Bernarino da Siena, Ibid., sermon 23, 1:659, 675-6. 78 Bernardino da Siena, Ibid., sermon 16, 1:464 79 Stefaniak, Tondo Doni, 22. Page 25 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only Conclusion St Joseph was a relatively hollow saint, and, before his fifteenth-century renaissance, all but invisible in art as a holy figure. He is a character in someone else’s story, without his own attributes distinct from those of Mary and the baby Jesus. His correlation with Peter, however, put him in the centre of the infancy of Christ and was a neat way to codify the protection of the Church by Christ’s vicar, the pope. Later in the fifteenth century, as Catherine C. Wilson has shown, Joseph acquired his own more distinctive identity as protector of Italy, particularly in the context of the Italian Wars.80 But it is as a type of Peter that he gets to this exalted point. St Peter was one of the most commonly represented saints in late antique and medieval art. His relatively rare appearance in fifteenth century Italian painting seems surprising in comparison. That picture changes if his representation is integrated into that of the Holy Family. The dramatic events of the beginning of the fifteenth century which brought the papal schism to an end made a new kind of St Peter and a new kind of pope more urgent. His place as Christ’s agent was given unequivocal validation through allegorical incorporation into the story of the Incarnation. Joseph’s guardianship of the Holy Family equated with Peter’s protection of the Church therefore tempers some of the most attractive and seemingly harmless of all Italian Renaissance paintings with a vital political energy that witnesses to the paradoxes and pressures of the times in which they were painted. It is a message that is more effective and immediate when represented by pictures rather than put into words, as this article undoubtedly demonstrates. 26 80 Wilson, ‘St Joseph as Custos’, 92, 103. Page 26 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only Figures Fig. 1 Robert Campin, The Mérode Triptych. c.1425. Oil on wood, Overall (open): 25 3/8 x 46 3/8 in. (64.5 x 117.8 cm) Central panel: 25 1/4 x 24 7/8 in. (64.1 x 63.2 cm) each wing: 25 3/8 x 10 3/4 in. (64.5 x 27.3 cm), New York, The Cloisters Collection, 1956 (56.70a-c) (Image copyright © The Metropolitan Museum of Art / Art Resource, NY) Fig. 2 Giotto, Nativity, c.1305, fresco, 200 x 185 cm, Padua, right wall, middle register of the Scrovegni (Arena) Chapel. (The Bridgeman Art Library) Fig. 3 Giotto, Last Supper, c.1305, fresco, 200 x 185 cm, Padua, right wall, middle register of the Scrovegni (Arena) Chapel. (The Bridgeman Art Library) Fig. 4 Master Bertram of Minden, Rest on the Flight to Egypt, 1379-83, tempera on panel, c. 60 x 130 cm, detail from the Grabow Altarpiece, Hamburg, Hamburger Kunsthalle (The Bridgeman Art Library) Fig. 5 Pinturicchio, Holy Family, 1490s, tempera on panel, 54.5 x 41cm (with original paper Mâché frame 123cm diameter). Siena, Pinacoteca Nazionale (Lensini, Siena) Fig. 6 Lorenzo Monaco, The Flight into Egypt, c.1405, tempera on poplar wood, 24 x 39 cm, Altenburg, Lindenau Museum (Bildarchiv Foto Marburg/The Bridgeman Art Library) Fig. 7 Masaccio, Baptism of the Neophytes, 1424-5, fresco, 255 x 162 cm, Florence, Brancacci Chapel in Santa Maria del Carmine (The Bridgeman Art Library) Fig. 8 Domenico Ghirlandaio, The Adoration of the Magi, 1488, tempera on panel, 285 x 240 cm, Florence, Museo Dell'Ospedale Degli Innocenti (The Bridgeman Art Library) Fig. 9 Pinturicchio, Adoration of the Child, 1506-15. Pinacoteca Nazionale, Siena (Lensini, Siena) Fig. 10 Michelangelo Buonarroti, The Holy Family, known also as the Doni Tondo, 1504, tempera on wood, 120 cm diameter, Florence, Uffizi Gallery (The Bridgeman Art Library) Page 27 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only !"#$%&'('' )*+&%,'-./0"1'23.456789:;5<<<=>'?@&'A11$13".B*1'?%"0,C3@4'3.4'5<(84'D"E'*1'F**G>'DH&%.EE'2*0&1=I'(8'69J'K'<L' 69J'"14'2L<48'K'5574J'3/='-&1,%.E'0.1&EI'(8'59<'K'(<'79J'"14'2L<45'K'L64('3/='&.3@'F"1#I'(8'69J'K'5M'69<'"14'2L<48'K' (746'3/=4'?@&'-E*"N,&%N'-*EE&3B*1>'5:8L'28L47M.;3=4'O/.#&'3*0C%"#@,'P'?@&'Q&,%*0*E",.1'Q$N&$/'*R'A%,'9'A%,' )&N*$%3&>'ST' Page 28 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only !"#4'6'U"*V*>'!"#$%&'(()*>'3456M8>'R%&N3*>'(MM'K'5J8'3/>' W.G$.>'%"#@,'F.EE>'/"GGE&'%&#"N,&%'*R',@&'X3%*H&#1"' 2A%&1.='-@.0&E4'2?@&'Y%"G#&/.1'A%,'Z"+%.%C='' !"#4'('U"*V*>'+",-.$/>'3456M8>'R%&N3*>'(MM'K'5J8'3/>' W.G$.>'%"#@,'F.EE>'/"GGE&'%&#"N,&%'*R',@&'X3%*H&#1"'2A%&1.=' -@.0&E4'2?@&'Y%"G#&/.1'A%,'Z"+%.%C='' Page 29 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only !"#4'<'Q.N,&%'Y&%,%./'*R'Q"1G&1>'0)#$%12%$3)%45.63$%$1% 76/($>'567:;J6>',&/0&%.'*1'0.1&E>'34'LM'K'56M'3/>'G&,."E' R%*/',@&'U%.+*F'AE,.%0"&3&>'[./+$%#>'[./+$%#&%' \$1N,@.EE&'2?@&'Y%"G#&/.1'A%,'Z"+%.%C='' Page 30 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only !"#4'8'W"1,$%"33@"*!"[*EC'!./"EC>' 5<:MN>',&/0&%.'*1'0.1&E>'8<48'K' <53/'2F",@'*%"#"1.E'0.0&%'Q]3@^' R%./&'5(63/'G"./&,&%=4'X"&1.>' W"1.3*,&3.'S._"*1.E&'2Z&1N"1">' X"&1.='' Page 31 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only !"#4'L'Z*%&1_*'Q*1.3*>'83)%45.63$%.2$1%76/($>'345<M8>' ,&/0&%.'*1'0*0E.%'F**G>'(<'K'6:'3/>'AE,&1+$%#>'Z"1G&1.$' Q$N&$/'2Y"EG.%3@"H'!*,*'Q.%+$%#9?@&'Y%"G#&/.1'A%,' Z"+%.%C='' Page 32 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only !"#4'7'Q.N.33"*>'9"(,#:%1;%$3)%+)1(3/$)#>' 5<(<;8>'R%&N3*>'(88'K'5L('3/>'!E*%&13&>'Y%.13.33"' -@.0&E'"1'X.1,.'Q.%".'G&E'-.%/"1&'2?@&' Y%"G#&/.1'A%,'Z"+%.%C='' Page 33 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only !"#4'J'`*/&1"3*'U@"%E.1G."*>'83)% <=1*",12%1;%$3)%>"6.>'5<JJ>',&/0&%.' *1'0.1&E>'(J8'K'(<M'3/>'!E*%&13&>' Q$N&*'`&EEaDN0&G.E&'`&#E"'O11*3&1B' 2?@&'Y%"G#&/.1'A%,'Z"+%.%C='' Page 34 of 36Renaissance Studies For Review Only !"#4':'W"1,$%"33@"*>'AG*%.B*1'*R',@&' -@"EG>'58ML;584'W"1.3*,&3.' S._"*1.E&>'X"&1.'2Z&1N"1">'X"&1.='' Page 35 of 36 Renaissance Studies For Review Only !"#4'5M'Q"3@&E.1#&E*' Y$*1.%%*B>'83)%?15/%4":.5/>' b1*F1'.EN*'.N',@&'@12.% 812=1>'58M<>',&/0&%.'*1' F**G>'5(M'3/'G"./&,&%>' !E*%&13&>'cd_"'U.EE&%C'2?@&' Y%"G#&/.1'A%,'Z"+%.%C='' Page 36 of 36Renaissance Studies 
work_c5qxoeff2faibmot6yx2c4l5la	----	The exhibition of otherness Cromohs (Cyber Review of Modern Historiography), ISSN 1123-7023, 20/2015-16 © Firenze University Press Massimo Rospocher, Il papa guerriero: Giulio II nello spazio pubblico europeo Bologna, Il Mulino, 2015 [ISBN 978-88-15-25350-7 Price: € 32,00] ANDREA RIZZI The University of Melbourne In the past twenty years, scholars working on the Italian Renaissance have become particularly responsive to the advantages of bringing interdisciplinary approaches to the analysis of fifteenth- and sixteenth- century texts and ideas. Some of the most influential studies in this direction are Lauro Martines’s 2001 investigation of literature as historical record, and Peter Burke and Po-chia Hsia’s 2007 call for historians to consider translation studies as an important prism through which to study past cultures and texts.1 Several projects have recently explored the intersections between scribal and print, oral and written cultures in medieval and early modern Italy, with a particular focus on political communication.2 For a long time, these realms have, in effect, been kept separate. Thanks to these recent studies, historians, musicologists, literary scholars and those focused on the history of ideas have begun to work towards a more nuanced understanding of how the performance of ideas, texts, and orality interacted and influenced each other. Massimo Rospocher’s new study is an outstanding contribution in this line of scholarship. In his book, he shows convincingly that historians need to consider all relevant media (oral, manuscript, printed, and visual) in order to understand the dynamics of ‘public’ opinion and propaganda. Rospocher offers an excellent example 1 LAURO MARTINES, Strong Words: Writing and Social Strain in the Italian Renaissance (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), and PETER BURKE and R. PO-CHIA HSIA, Cultural Translation in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007). 2 I Tatti Studies, special issue edited by GEORGIA CLARKE and FABRIZIO NEVOLA on “The Experience of the Street in Early Modern Italy”, 16 (1/2) 2014, 47-229; LUCA DEGL’INNOCENTI, BRIAN RICHARDSON, and CHIARA SBORDONI (eds.), Interactions Between Orality and Writing in Early Modern Italian Culture. Abingdon: Routledge, 2016); “Oral Culture in Early Modern Italy: Performance, Language, Religion”, special issue of The Italianist, 34.3 (2014), edited by STEFANO DALL’AGLIO, LUCA DEGL’INNOCENTI, BRIAN RICHARDSON, MASSIMO ROSPOCHER, and CHIARA SBORDONI; ELIZABETH HORODOWICH, Language and Statecraft in Early Modern Venice (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008) and “Speech and Oral Culture in Early Modern Europe and Beyond”, special issue of The Journal of Early Modern History, 16 (4), 2012, edited by ELIZABETH HORODOWICH. Further afield, key studies on orality and written practices include HAROLD LOVE, Scribal Publication in Seventeenth-Century England (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), and DONALD F. MCKENZIE, Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999). For a fuller list of recent studies on orality, print, and performance in early modern Italy see Interactions Between Orality, 22- 3. IL PAPA GUERRIERO Cromohs 20/2015-16 - p. 139 of how this can be achieved by examining propaganda pro and against Pope Julius II in the turbulent years 1507-13. Il papa guerriero is divided into three parts. The first concentrates on ways in which street performances, processions, and scribal and printed texts promoted the notion of a new ‘golden age’ under Julius II. In particular, Roman humanist culture of the era collapsed time and space by superimposing the ‘new’ Rome of Julius II upon the ancient Rome of Julius Caesar. The publication, translation, and dissemination of official documents, images, and chronicles also helped to promote Julius II’s programme of expansion, while also stirring strong anti-papal sentiments in Bologna, Ferrara, and Venice. The pro-papal materials took several different directions, without the direct control of the pope and his court. In this part, and throughout the book, Rospocher details the complex iconographic and textual strategies employed by authors, translators, and performers to disseminate propaganda. The second part of Rospocher’s study focuses on the anti-papal propaganda which radiated from Bologna, Ferrara, and Venice, and reached beyond these cities and beyond Italy: flyers, notes or bollettini, rhymes, spoken hearsay spread widely despite the governments’ attempt to control and punish their circulation and reception. Rospocher shows just how ubiquitous the various texts were. Recent studies have demonstrated the degree to which the government of Venice and other early modern centres were obsessed with controlling information: at times gossip, discussions, and small gatherings (called ‘trebbi’ in Ferrara, ‘bozzoli’ in Venice) in public spaces were formally ‘forbidden’. Rospocher emphasises the ubiquity and unruliness of the propaganda. An insult or expression of praise reverberated across a wide range of media, each text accentuating or substituting the other. Despite their ephemeral nature, a staggering number of these documents still exist. Amongst these sources, Rospocher has unearthed a miscellany containing several cheap prints on current affairs annotated by a diplomat from Ferrara (212-3). Part three of this volume has a European outlook, as it examines anti-papal propaganda produced in the France of Louis XII and the England of Henry VIII. Amongst libels, treatises, and histories, Rospocher explores theatre as an extremely effective means for the dissemination of political views. From orality to print and back, from Latin to vernacular and back, this third part of the book demonstrates the multidirectionality of political ideas, and their reach for the benefit of different audiences and agents. The breadth of documentary, literary, and visual texts examined by Rospocher is impressive. Whether referring to the ballads or sonetti by cantimbanchi, or to lavish miniatures of codices owned by the Este family of Ferrara or Anne of Britanny, Rospocher demonstrates powerfully how early Cinquecento political propaganda was generated, disseminated, and internalised by rulers, professionals of the pen, street performers, and audiences. These texts were not all produced by means of concerted, RIZZI Cromohs 20/2015-16 - p. 140 fully-controlled processes of textual and visual production. Instead, pro-papal texts by humanists, professionals of the pen, politics, street performers looking for easy financial gain, astrologists, and similar merchants of culture often spurred the production of more texts, often in conflict with each other, and targeting different audiences. Such a process points to an uncontrollable ‘ripple effect’ that Rospocher has captured and examined masterfully. In particular, this volume sheds light on the communication strategies directly and indirectly employed by Pope Julius IIand the ensuing anti-papal media campaign unleashed by the Este and Bentivoglio rulers, and the Republic of Veniceto curb dissent and promote a positive image of the leader of the Church. ‘Political propaganda’ is an anachronistic term in the context of a pre-ideological society, as Rospocher remarks at the outset of his work. Similarly, Habermas’s utopic understanding of the ‘public sphere’ eschews the extremely dynamic, conflicting, and unpredictable nature of the early modern public space (22-25). To this end, Rospocher suggests that the Italian piazza of the early sixteenth century may be seen as the space in which the rhetoric of power, the performance of consensus and dissent, and the dissemination of texts visibly converged and, in some cases, clashed. Rospocher’s multimedial approach allows for identification of a much broader spectrum of cultural and political authors, actors, and audiences. The hybridity of media such as pamphlets, street performances, and illuminated manuscripts made possible the dissemination of their content across space, texts, and audiences. Rospocher’s use of Klaus Bruhn Jensen’s three-tiered notion of intermediality is particularly effective, since it gives due consideration to the intertextual, intersemiotic, and institutional nature of political communication. The outcome is a lively, engaging, and memorably rich account of the production, dissemination, and exchange of Julius II’s image and propaganda. Through an enthralling discussion of woodcuts, etchings, miniatures, chronicles, letters, pamphlets, calendars, and poems, Rospocher illuminates the political and iconographic programme of Julius II and its reception across complex social and textual strata. More broadly, this study inspires further research on the interaction, in early modern Western cultures, between official and ephemeral communication, cultural production and reception, and between textual and visual sources. Lastly, this study can be described as fascinating for its contribution towards a more nuanced approach to the study of early modern texts and artefacts. The interconnectedness of often ephemeral materials points to Alexander Nagel and Christopher Wood’s notion of the ‘anachronic’. By this they intend that texts often transcend their historical context. In the case of the material discussed by Rospocher, the dialogue between early sixteenth-century media illuminates how rulers and citizens IL PAPA GUERRIERO Cromohs 20/2015-16 - p. 141 respond to violence, famine, propaganda, and the passing of time.3 This is why, as Rospocher’s study suggests, Raphael’s frescoes in the Stanze (commissioned by Julius II) are most revealingly studied together with the miniatures of Giovanni Nagonio and the vox populi interpreted by anonymous sonnets and invectives. The propaganda created for and against pope Julius II was designed by an individual or by a group of individuals at a specific historical moment, but it also points forward ‘to all its future recipients who will activate and reactivate it as a meaningful event’.4 Rospocher invites his readers to activate and explore the immanent dynamics of propaganda and public opinion. 3 ALEXANDER NAGEL and CHRISTOPHER S. WOOD, Anachronic Renaissance (New York: Zone Books, 2010). 4 NAGEL and WOOD, Anachronic Renaissance, 9. 
work_c5ru6gdcbfedpfa362nrtmiwda	----	PMIA ISSN 0030-8129 Publications of the Modem Language Association of America September 1988 Volume 103 Number 4 Directory Princeton University Press______ Thoreau's Reading A Study in Intellectual History with Bibliographical Catalogue Robert Sattelmeyer Thoreau's Reading charts Henry Thoreau's intellectual growth and its relation to his literary career from 1833, when he entered Harvard College, to his death in 1862. It also furnishes a catalogue of nearly fifteen hundred entries of his reading. The catalogue provides bibliographical data for, and lists all Thoreau's references to, the books and articles that he read. The introductory essay traces the shifts in his literary career marked in the chronology of his reading. The book reveals a Thoreau who was deeply interested in and conversant with the major intellectual questions of his times and whose stance of withdrawal from his age masked a lively involvement with many of its most perplexing questions. Cloth: $39.50 ISBN 0-691-06745-7 In Search of Florentine Civic Humanism Essays on the Transition from Medieval to Modern Thought Hans Baron Hans Baron's Crists of the Early Italian Renaissance is widely considered one of the most important works in Italian Renaissance studies. Now the Press makes available a two- volume collection of eighteen of Professor Baron's essays, most of them thoroughly revised, unpublished, or presented in English for the first time. The book includes studies of medieval antecedents and special studies of Petrarch, Leonardo Bruni, and Leon Battista Alberti. It offers a thoroughly re-conceived profile of Machiavelli and culminates in a reassessment of Jacob Burckhardt's pioneering thought on the Renaissance. Volume 1. Cloth: $29.50 ISBN 0-691-05512-2 Volume 2. Cloth: $29.50 ISBN 0-691-05513-0 Fabricating History English Writers on the French Revolution Barton R. Friedman Barton Friedman demonstrates the ways in which English men of letters in the nineteenth century attempted to grasp the dynamics of history. The authors he discusses—Blake, Scott, Hazlitt, Carlyle, Dickens, and Hardy- found in the French Revolution an event more compelling as a paradigm of history than their own "Glorious Revolution." To them the French Revolution seemed universally signifi­ cant. For these writers maintaining the distinc­ tion between "history" and "fiction" was less important than making sense of epochal historical events in symbolic terms. Cloth: $29.50 ISBN 0-691-06729-5 Ancient Scripts and Modern Experience on the English Stage, 1500-1700 Bruce R. Smith It was not until the sixteenth and seven­ teenth centuries that tragedy and comedy regained their ancient importance as ways of giving dramatic coherence to human events. Ancient Scripts and Modem Experience on the English Stage charts that rediscovery not in the pages of scholars' books, but on the stages of England's schools, colleges, inns of court, and royal court, and, finally, in the public theaters of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century London. Cloth: $29.95 ISBN 0-691-06739-2 Blindness and Autobiography Al-Ayyam of Taha Husayn Fedwa Malti-Douglas The three-volume life-story of the Egyptian intellectual Taha Husayn (1889-1973) is a land­ mark in modern autobiography, in Arabic let­ ters, and in the literature of blindness. This justly celebrated text, however, has never been subjected to the sustained literary analysis here presented by Fedwa Malti-Douglas, who shows that the personal, social, and literary reality of the hero's blindness gives the autobiography its unity and force. Blindness and Autobiography is not only a rich explication of al-Ayyam but a pioneering study of the interaction between a severe physical handicap and the autobio­ graphical process. Cloth: $30.00 ISBN 0-691-06733-3 AT YOUR BOOKSTORE OR Princeton University Press 41 WILLIAM ST. • PRINCETON, NJ 08540 • (609) 452-4900 ORDERS: 800-PRS-ISBN (777-4726) September 1988 Directory Publications of the Modern Language Association of America Volume 103 Number 4 PUBLISHED SIX TIMES A YEAR BY THE ASSOCIATION The Modern Language Association of America ORGANIZED 1883 INCORPORATED 1900 OFFICERS FOR THE YEAR 1988 President: Barbara Herrnstein Smith, Duke University First Vice President: Victor Brombert, Princeton University Second Vice President: Catharine R. Stimpson, Rutgers University, New Brunswick Executive Director: Phyllis Franklin EXECUTIVE COUNCIL For the term ending 31 December 1988 Mary Louise Pratt Stanford University Ruth Bernard Yeazell University of California, Los Angeles For the term ending 31 December 1990 Thomas M. Greene Yale University Lawrence Lipking Northwestern University Judith Ryan Harvard University For the term ending 31 December 1989 Peter Elbow University of Massachusetts, Amherst Joan M. Ferrante Columbia University Patricia M. Spacks Yale University For the term ending 31 December 1991 Joan DeJean University of Pennsylvania Frances Ferguson Johns Hopkins University Myra Jehlen Rutgers University, New Brunswick TRUSTEES OF INVESTED FUNDS William O. Baker Joel Conarroe (Managing Trustee) Murray Hill, New Jersey New York, New York Malcolm Smith New York, New York PMLA (ISSN 0030-8129) is published six times a year, in January, March, May, September, October, and November, by the Modern Language Association of America. Membership is open to those persons who are professionally interested in the modern languages and literatures. 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Contents • September The Ninety-Eight Presidents of the Modern Language Association ... 380 Members of the Executive Council, 1970-88 ................................................ 381 ML A Delegate Assembly................................................................................... 382 Committees and Commissions of the Modern Language Association . . 384 MLA Headquarters Staff.......................................................................................... 394 MLA Statistics............................................................................................................ 396 Distribution of MLA Members.............................................................................. 400 MLA Divisions and Discussion Groups...................................................................401 Procedures for Organizing Meetings for the MLA Convention and Policies for MLA Divisions and Discussion Groups...................................................... 403 The Committee on Scholarly Editions: Aims and Policies........................414 Reports of the Regional Modern Language Associations..................................... 417 Constitution of the Modern Language Association of America .... 424 Proposed Amendments to the MLA Constitution..........................................430 Honorary Members of the Modern Language Association...............................437 Honorary Fellows of the Modern Language Association.....................................438 List of Members of the Modern Language Association.....................................440 In Memoriam............................................................................................................ 575 Departmental Administrators, 1988-89 Four-Year Colleges and Universities.................................................................. 577 Two-Year Colleges................................................................................................ 594 Ethnic Studies Programs.......................................................................................... 604 Language and Area Programs.............................................................................. 606 Women’s Studies Programs.................................................................................... 608 Organizations of Independent Scholars and Organizations Providing Significant Programs for Independent Scholars.............................................. 616 Humanities Research Centers...............................................................................617 Fellowships and Grants...........................................................................................618 Forthcoming Meetings and Conferences of General Interest.................................641 Index of Advertisers................................................................................................ 643 Professional Notes and Comment........................................................................ 654 Announcements 654 Journal Notes 658 Meeting of the MLA Executive Council 660 Directory of Useful Addresses, 1988-89 ............................................... 706 
work_c7vjtdazr5fqtgcze6uovmhwzm	----	284 Slavic Review methodologically solid, and produce valuable results. Boris Orekhov and Kirill Reshetnikov map thirty-one languages on the internet, working out the rules for success in terms of raising awareness and visibility for minor languages. Ekaterina Khodzhaeva explores language policy in Tatarstan and the responses to this policy from Russian and Tatar speakers. She concludes that the situa- tion in the republic is far from the desirable Russian-Tatar bilingualism. In the final chapter in Part 3, Tamara Zhuravel΄ investigates the process of language loss in the Usinsk Hollow in Krasnoiarsk. The schools, Zhuravel΄ argues, are the central agents of language policy for minor languages, however, neither the schools nor the minor language speakers demonstrate enthusiasm for language maintenance. Part Four deals with post-Soviet states and, somewhat less fittingly, with Finland. Sergei Davydov and Ol ǵa Logunova analyze the chronology and content of the representation of post-Soviet states on the three main channels of Russian state- controlled television in 2011–12. The chapter shows that no community of the CIS is highlighted and the very name CIS is hardly used on TV. The depictions primarily relate to the Russian context and official visits are privileged. Overall, the authors argue that television reporting of the so called “near abroad” shows no interest in showing the various sides of life in these states. Kseniia Gusarova then explores Ukrainian Wikipedia. Finally, the Finish scholar Ekaterina Protassova discusses language policy in Finland, aiming at achieving not only Finnish and Scandinavian but also European identity. This goes hand in hand with the growing linguistic impact of their eastern neighbor, resulting in the growth of Russian language stud- ied in Finnish schools and in an increasing visibility of Russian in the country’s linguistic landscape. The book is interesting and at times, exciting, but uneven in the quality of schol- arship and the relative relevance of the contributions. Some chapters seem to be put together by thorough consideration, others by a loose connection and an imprecise metaphor of “language tuning.” Valuable guidance to the chapter’s interpretations is provided by Gasan Guseinov in a useful and intelligent introduction. Despite some hitches, the book will be important reading for all those who are intently watching the tribulations of Russian language use, discursive trends, and language policies in the Putin era. Lara Ryazanova-Clarke University of Edinburgh Khishchnyi Glaz: Novye ocherki po arkheologii vizual΄nosti. By Aleksei Kurbanovskii. St. Petersburg: Izdatel śtvo “ARS,” 2015. 311 pp. Appendix. Bibliography. Index. Plates. Photographs. RUB 800, hard bound. doi: 10.1017/slr.2018.67 Aleksei Kurbanovskii’s book, The Predatory Eye: New Essays on the Archeolog y of Visuality, is an ambitious attempt to write a multicultural art history. It traces the development of two centuries of visual culture that falls largely within the discourse of western art history, and it incorporates Russia into this discourse. The premise of the book is that, we, as humans, are endowed with “predatory”— desiring, selective—vision, that we see “what we want to see” (6). The form of the book is ambiguous. It is both a theoretical treatise and a historical summary, but most of all it resembles a collection of lectures on the history and theory of art, drawn from numerous art historical sources, mostly by western authors. It http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/slr.2018.67&domain=pdf 285Book Reviews is abundant in references to and quotations from these authors, beginning with Immanuel Kant and continuing through Friedrich Nietzsche and Sigmund Freud, to Walter Benjamin, Theodor Adorno, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, and Edward Said, among others. Western art historians and critics—such as Svetlana Alpers, Hans Belting, Rosalind Krauss, and Clement Greenberg—are also cited prolifically. Russian sources, such as Nikolai Chernyshevskii, Victor Shklovskii, Mikhail Bakunin, and Boris Arvatov are well-integrated into the narrative. The form of the book determines its content. It is a collection of articles that are united by a common methodology of applying contemporary theories of visuality to Russian material. Like some scholarly literature from Russia, it does not have a well-articulated argument, but rather a goal, which is to convince the reader of the differences of visual regimes in various cultures. To this end, the author weaves a chronologically-arranged narrative out of leading art historical and crit- ical trends that have become commonplace in the field in the past thirty years. It begins by covering the themes of “orientalism” and “art and politics” in Russia in the nineteenth century; “the material and the spiritual in art” at the turn of the next century; “the machine aesthetics” in the early 1900s; and “the screen and (de)formations of vision” in contemporary art. Each trend is assigned a certain chronological timeframe and its own chapter. The logic of the narrative follows the principle of dualistic opposites, formu- lated as “textual” versus “visual” art, following Alpers, or as the discerning gaze of the Italian Renaissance model, which “illustrates the Albertian metaphor of painting as a ‘window into the world,’” (32) versus the “descriptive” model, which does not pronounce a judgment coming from a definite point of view but rather illustrates Norman Bryson’s observation in which “the spectator is an unexpected presence, not a theatrical audience . . . the bond with the viewer’s physique is bro- ken and the viewing subject is now proposed and assumed as a notional point, a non-empirical gaze” (32). The author then projects these two tendencies onto the history of confrontation between “Westernizers” and “Slavophiles,” elaborating them anew by expertly using abundant material from Russian literary and artistic heritage. One problem of the book is that the teleological narrative of the struggle of oppo- sites cannot help but bring the author to the inevitable pessimistic conclusion of “the end of art,” presenting him as an adherent of the descriptive, “disembodied,” “apo- litical” model. While the book deserves praise for an original and insightful sum- mary of major theoretical trends in art history, it short-circuits on account of what the Russian revolutionary thinker Nikolai Chernyshevskii formulated as the eternal question plaguing the Russian psyche: “What is to be done”? After reading about multiple transformations of visuality that unfolded in various historical periods, we have a rather clear picture of the development of artistic practice and art history thought up to the present time, but have no idea of what to do next to avoid what the author describes as the inevitable artlessness of our existence. Remarkably, while the first four chapters covering the material of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries are dedicated to Russian art, the last, most pessimistic, “end of art” chapter is devoid of concrete examples of contemporary Russian art, as if it does not exist or is not worth talking about. According to the publisher’s note, the book is the continuation of the author’s archeological study of visuality launched in his previously published volume, Nezapnyi Mrak (which can be translated roughly as Nexpected Darkness, the first word being a neologism), published in 2007. Natasha Kurchanova 
work_cahnjmi5qfctriwpmawibtmf3a	----	BMS486402 79..84 Ongoing Research/Recherche en cours XI Conference of the International Society for Quality-of-Life Studies (ISQOLS) ‘‘Discovering New Frontiers in Quality of Life Research’’ (1-4 November 2012, Venice, Italy) Filomena Maggino Dept. of Statistics, Informatics, Applications ‘‘G. Parenti’’ (DiSIA), University of Florence, Firenze, Italy Résumé XIe Conférence de l’International Society for Quality-of-Life Studies (ISQOLS) – « La découverte de nouvelles frontières dans les recherches sur la qualité de vie » (1-4 novembre 2012, Venise, Italie) : Ce compte-rendu de la récente onzième conférence de la Société internationale pour les études de qualité de vie (ISQOLS) qui a eu lieu à Venise, retrace le développement des méthodes et les mouvements impliqués dans des mesure de la qualité de vie, y compris le nouveau projet BES lancé par l’Institut national italien de statistique et le projet « How is Life » de l’OCDE. Abstract This report on the recent eleventh conference of the International Society for Quality of Life Studies (ISQOLS), which took place in Venice, traces the development of methods and movements involved in measuring quality of life, including the new BES project, established at the Italian National Institute of Statistics, and the initiative ‘‘How is Life’’, led by OECD. Corresponding Author: Filomena Maggino, University of Florence, Dept. of Statistics, Informatics, Applications ‘‘G. Parenti’’ (DiSIA), viale Morgagni, 59, 50134 Firenze, Italy. Email: filomena.maggino@unifi.it Bulletin de Méthodologie Sociologique 119 79–84 ª The Author(s) 2013 Reprints and permission: sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav DOI: 10.1177/0759106313486402 bms.sagepub.com http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav http://bms.sagepub.com Mots clés Bienêtre, Qualité de vie, Indicateurs sociaux, Société internationale pour les études de qualité de vie, Conference de Venise Keywords Wellbeing, Quality of Life, Social Indicators, International Society for quality-of-life stud- ies Venice Conference Quality-of-Life Research in Italy Quality-of-life studies have a 50-year history and inherited the tradition of the ‘‘social indicators’’ movement, born in the United States during the 1960s and involving scholars and researchers, supported by the public administration and interested in gathering and analysing data aimed at studying non-economic components of societal wellbeing. Between ups and downs, quality-of-life issues and research roused scholars’ interest beyond the academic world (Ferriss, 2001; Hagerty, 2001). In 1974, the scientific journal Social Indicators Research. An International and Inter- disciplinary Journal for Quality-of-Life Measurement, and during the 1990s Internatio- nal Society for Quality-of-Life Studies (ISQOLS, http://www.isqols.org), were founded and became reference points for the movement. Actually, the idea to hold the ISQOLS conference in Italy did not arise just by chance. In fact, even though the theoretical reflection and the applied research on quality of life found it hard to take shape in Italy, especially in the academic world, it should be pointed out that several local administrations promoted numerous studies and research on liveability of cities and regions. In fact, many pioneer territorial experiences were accomplished during the 1970s, promoted by cities, provinces and regional administra- tions (for example, the Bilanci Sociali d’Area, Regional Social Balance, in Milan), and testified to a wide interest in quality-of-life studies at the local level. (Nuvolati, 1997) Other experiences should also be mentioned, even though their nature is typically journalistic, like the annual report on quality of life in the Italian provinces realized by Sole 24, a national daily business newspaper. More recently, a campaign (Sbilanciamoci!) involving around 40 associations, NGOs and networks working on globalisation, peace, human rights, environment, fair trade, ethical finance, urged the development of an alternative index for analysing and moni- toring quality of life (QUARS), and the development of public action by local authori- ties. The QUARS is a synthetic index that takes into account different dimensions of development at regional level (quality of production and consumption, environmental sustainability, democratic participation, and so on). During the past few years, the Sbilanciamoci! campaign promoted a national roundtable on using indicators of social and environmental quality in public policies. The document produced by discussion among a huge group of Italian experts (academics, scholars, researchers, and so on) and supported by many civil society organizations, aimed at urging national institutions to use different perspectives in assessing country wellbeing. In the end, all those experiences were fragmentary, with low levels of comparability and theoretical or methodological reflection. 80 Bulletin de Méthodologie Sociologique 119 At the same time, official statistical services have been developing important experi- ences in quality-of-life research, like the Multipurpose Survey project, introduced by the Italian National Institute of Statistics (ISTAT) during the 1990s and still being carried out. The system of multipurpose surveys provides official statistical services with impor- tant subjective data, completing the monitoring of country wellbeing. As we know, a common and shared idea is that to define new indicators of national progress and wellbeing, both civil society and experts should be involved to define respectively concepts and domains, and select and construct indicators. In this perspective, a new and prestigious project has been promoted in Italy by CNEL (National Council for Economics and Labour) and ISTAT (Italian National Institute of Statistics): BES (Benessere Equo e Sostenibile - Fair and Sustainable Wellbeing). This joint initiative (http://www.misuredelbenessere.it/) aims at identifying new indicators for measuring the national progress and wellbeing of the country through a process able to involve unions and management, civil society and academic experts, by considering concepts not only related just to [macro-]economics but also to equity and sustainability with reference to social and environmental dimensions. From the organizational point of view, two committees have been established: the Steering Committee (established jointly by CNEL and ISTAT), made up of representa- tives from unions and management, civil society and other organisations (April 2011- December 2012), whose task is defining domains; the Scientific Committee (established by ISTAT), made up of ISTAT researchers and academics experts and professors (May 2011-December 2012), whose task is selecting indicators. The second committee has been organized into subcommittees (defined consistently with the domains identified by the former committee). In the meantime, a lively debate developed, involving statisticians, sociologists, psy- chologists, physicians, economists, architects, communicators, educators, civil servants and other experts, which made the discussion transversal, captivating and engaging. This led to the developments of a network which became the Italian Association for Quality-of-Life Studies, by finding a unanimous consensus (Maggino, 2010). This new association – which will have a national annual conference in 2013 – established interesting links with other national and international organisations and research centres in the quality-of-life field. The ISQOLS Conference in Venice Starting in the 1990s, ISQOLS organized several international conferences around the world (USA, Spain, Germany, South Africa, Thailand). Following the great success of the IX conference (Maggino et al., 2009), which took place on 19-23 July 2009 in Florence (almost 400 participants from all over the world), the ISQOLS conference was back to Italy. In fact, the XI conference took place in another extraordinary Italian city, Venice. The event was organized with the support of the Italian Association for Quality of Life Studies (http://www.aiquav.it). 240 partici- pants from all the five continents peacefully invaded the San Giobbe Campus of the Uni- versity ‘‘Ca’ Foscari’’ of Venice. The programme was particularly rich, covering different topics and issues (World Regions and International Comparisons, Population Segments, Demographic Issues, Life Maggino 81 Domains Issues, Territorial Issues, Social Capital Issues, Conceptual Issues, Methodo- logical and Technical Issues). The fil rouge linking all the issues discussed at the confer- ence was the ‘‘new frontiers’’ idea which was identified with reference to different perspectives: how to move from academic research to policy decisions; how knowledge yielded by scientific research can support policy decisions, in terms of (i) conceptual and evidence findings, and (ii) statistical data provided by different organisations and insti- tutions at national and international level; what role can ISQOLS play in these processes. These perspectives materialized in the plenary sessions, which aroused great interest from all participants, as the full rooms testified. Enrico Giovannini, President of the Italian National Institute of Statistics (ISTAT), organised and chaired the opening session on ‘‘Did Quality of Life Become a Goal and a Measure for the Progress of Societies?’’ in which he involved Walter Vitali, member of the Senate (Italian Parliament), who testified how the most advanced political thought is sensitive to considerations of wellbeing and its sustainability – defined through a shared process – as a policy goal; Marco Romano, full professor of Aesthetics of the City at the University of Genoa, who affirmed very clearly how much beauty is important in pro- moting and improving the quality of life by recalling the philosophical approach of great architects of the Italian Renaissance; Romina Boarini, head of Measuring Well-Being and Progress Section, Statistics Directorate at the OECD, described the relevant process started at the OECD urging all advanced countries to include in their policy actions the notion of sustainable progress and shared wellbeing. On the second day of the conference, an interesting plenary on ‘‘Measuring Wellbeing in Italy: The New Challenges of the BES Project’’, organised and chaired by Linda Laura Sabbadini, Director of the Department of Social and Environmental Statistics at the Italian National Institute of Statistics, illustrated the BES (Benessere Equo e Sostenibile - Fair and Sustainable Wellbeing) project (http://www.misuredelbenessere.it/). It repre- sents a joint initiative of CNEL (National Council for Economics and Labour) and ISTAT aimed at identifying new indicators for measuring the country’s progress. This launched process involves unions and management, civil society and academic experts, by considering concepts not only related just to [macro-]economics but also to equity and sustainability with reference to social and environmental dimensions. Two committees mentioned above were established, the Steering Committee (jointly established by CNEL and ISTAT), and the Scientific Committee (established by ISTAT). The whole integrated process can be illustrated by Linda Laura Sabbadini (co-chair of both Committees) and by other members of the Scientific Committee: Viviana Egidi (University of Roma ‘‘La Sapienza’’); Andrea Brandolini (Bank of Italy); Filomena Maggino (University of Florence); Nicoletta Pannuzi (ISTAT). A few hours later, Antonella Delle Fave (full professor of Psychology at the Depart- ment of Biomedical and Clinical Sciences, University of Milan, and editor-in-chief of the Journal of Happiness Studies) gave a successful keynote lecture on ‘‘Wellbeing and Disabilities’’. She illustrated the challenges and resources in coping with disability and the experience of patients, caregivers and helping professionals from a psychological perspective. According to WHO guidelines, intervention strategies aimed at promoting well-being of persons with disabilities should take into account their daily subjective experience, the perspective of their caregivers, and the evaluation of professionals 82 Bulletin de Méthodologie Sociologique 119 interacting daily with them. In line with this approach, several studies shed light on the positive impact of individual and contextual resources in coping with disability. In this presentation, attention was paid specifically to the quality of experience in daily life and activities, and the impact of disability on meaning making and long-term adjustment. These topics were explored among patients with neurodegenerative diseases and their caregivers, hospitalized patients undergoing rehabilitation trainings due to motor or psy- chiatric problems, and parents and teachers of children with motor and mental disabil- ities Findings from studies using experience sampling procedures and mixed-method approaches were discussed. Implications for quality of life promotion and policy imple- mentation were outlined. On the third day, a new ISQOLS conferences initiative started: the ‘‘Richard J. Estes Lecture Series on International and Comparative QoL Research’’. Thanks to the gener- ous contribution of Richard Estes (past President of ISQOLS and Emeritus Professor of Social Work at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia), the ‘‘International and Comparative RJE lecture series on QOL Research’’ has been established. The lecture will be given at each of ISQOLS global conference and an ad-hoc committee will select the speaker. Richard A. Easterlin (Professor of Economics, University of Southern Cali- fornia, member of the National Academy of Sciences and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, a former Guggenheim Fellow, and past president of the Population Asso- ciation of America, and the Economic History Association) was invited to open the series in Venice and gave the first series lecture. A look over the audience at the beginning of the speech was extraordinary: the plen- ary room was completely full when Easterlin started his lecture on ‘‘Happiness, Growth, and Public Policy’’, particularly focused on the conference’s theme. The audience’s attention was particularly high and the thunderous applause was followed by an intense series of questions for the speaker. The plenary planned at the end of the third day aroused great interest and appreciation, especially from young researchers interested in identifying ‘‘International Institutions and Organizations Working on Quality Quality-of of-Life from Different Perspectives’’. In particular, the conference chair invited Marleen D. De Smedt (Advisor to the Director- General at Eurostat, European Commission), Tadas Leoncikas (Research Manager, Living Conditions and Quality of Life Unit, Eurofound), Romina Boarini (Head of Measuring Well-Being and Progress Section, Statistics Directorate, OECD), and Maria Laura Di Tommaso (University of Turin, Human Development and Capability Association - HDCA) to illustrate the work on quality of life research by their institutions, organizations and associations (data, survey projects, communication projects, conferences and meet- ings). One of the consequences of the plenary was the beginning of intense networking. The closing plenary session had a particular meaning. The idea was to avoid the sadness of any good-bye message. The goal was, after having duly thanked the persons who concretely made possible the organisational success of the conference (the Local Organizing Committee and the Venezia Congressi agency), to meet the participants to illustrate and discuss ISQOLS’ future activities and initiatives. In particular, ISQOLS President (Filomena Maggino) and two past Presidents (Wolf- gang Glatzer and Valerie Møller), together with the Executive Director (Denis Huschka), showed the new ISQOLS Web site and logo. This restyling is not only formal but has Maggino 83 also the meaning of encouraging the development and proposal of new actions. The participants submitted their suggestions for future conferences and shared their ideas on how to develop possible networks. The intent to establish a new ISQOLS conference cycle (biannual, with regional con- ferences in between) met the favour of participants, as well as encouragement for creating working groups. A particularly interesting suggestion was to include in future conference discussions not only data evidence and analysis, but also philosophical issues. From the strategic point of view, different items will be considered with particular care by ISQOLS: networking (through conferences and meetings but not alone), sharing knowledge, competences and experiences (training courses, workshops, and so on), shar- ing possible research projects (by establishing working groups on defined issues, like indicator construction). In the end, it should be added that the participants had also the opportunity to have an intense experience not only from the scientific point of view. In fact, the participants’ experience included also Venice and its particular living conditions – the high water, which on the first day of the conference reached almost 150 centimetres (corresponding to have more than 70% of the city completely covered by water) because of the strong winds from the south. In spite of that, the conference started regularly, including the workshops (‘‘Introduction to Multilevel Modelling with Applications to Quality- of-Life Studies’’ and ‘‘Communication Aspects of Statistical Graphics – How to Use Graphs for Underlining Messages’’) which regularly (and heroically) took place on 1 November in the morning. The particular environmental conditions allowed the parti- cipants to experiment one of the issues which generally are discussed about quality of life, (Quality of Life in extreme environmental conditions). Actually, the experience aroused a great success, as the participants’ boots testified, by adding new insights to Quality-of-Life definition and assessment. Authors’ Notes The author is Professor of Statistics Applied to Social Research at the University of Florence, Italy, President of the International Society for Quality-of-Life Studies (ISQOLS) and Chair and organizer of the 11th ISQOLS conference. Reference Ferriss AL (2001) The Domains of the Quality of Life. Bulletin de méthodologie sociologique 72: 5-19. Hagerty MR, Cummins R, Ferriss AL, Land K, Michalos AC, Peterson M, Sharpe A, Sirgy J and Vogel J (2001) Quality of Life Indexes for National Policy: Review and Agenda for Research. Bulletin de méthodologie sociologique 71: 58-78. Maggino F (2010) Quality of Life: Reflections, Studies and Research in Italy. SINET – Social Indicators Network News 104. Maggino F, Michalos A and Nuvolati G (2009) The IX Conference of the International Society for Quality of Life Studies: First Report. SINET – Social Indicators Network News 98 and 99. Nuvolati G (1997) Uno specifico settore di applicazione degli indicatori sociali: La qualità della vita. In Zajczyk F (ed.) Il mondo degli indicatori sociali, una guida alla ricerca sulla qualità della vita. 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work_caqpdvdtuzb5xbtde2wwhgd4ym	----	The Contribution of Regional Costume in Fashion 2351-9789 © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier B.V. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of AHFE Conference doi: 10.1016/j.promfg.2015.07.966 Procedia Manufacturing 3 ( 2015 ) 6380 – 6387 Available online at www.sciencedirect.com ScienceDirect 6th International Conference on Applied Human Factors and Ergonomics (AHFE 2015) and the Affiliated Conferences, AHFE 2015 The Contribution of Regional Costume in Fashion Maria João Bravo Lima Delgado*, Maria Heloisa Figueiredo Albuquerque CIAUD, Rua Sá Nogueira, Lisboa, Portugal Abstract With this communication we intend to discuss the role of traditional costumes in the reinvention of some items in fashion in Portugal, through partnerships based on a co-creative work, transparency and complicity of players - designers, craftsmen, users, developers, among others, set up in Co-design domain. We found a large source of inspiration in the Craft, which challenged designers to develop innovative projects in the field of fashion, with a view to promoting national cultural identity while satisfying the needs of economic and social sustainability of the regions © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier B.V. Peer-review under responsibility of AHFE Conference. Keywords: Fashion, Handicraft, Regional Costume, Tradition, Co-design. 1. Introduction Modernity in craftwork tradition fosters the development of new products that answer the current fashion trends. By aligning the know-how of handcrafters and the thinking mindset of designers the creation of new products, new production processes and the development of new knowledge becomes possible. While keeping the cultural essence diverse techniques and traditional materials are combined, as an answer to the market needs; it’s in this transformation that Design can have a very important role. * Corresponding author. Tel.: +0-000-000-0000 ; fax: +0-000-000-0000 . E-mail address: mjd.arq@gmail.com © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier B.V. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of AHFE Conference http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.promfg.2015.07.966&domain=pdf 6381 Maria João Bravo Lima Delgado and Maria Heloisa Figueiredo Albuquerque / Procedia Manufacturing 3 ( 2015 ) 6380 – 6387 Handicraft is often referred to as a collective memory of an heritage which is revealing in terms of the identity and culture of each population. The first man-made objects are dated from the beginning of mankind history itself and have always evolved with human development. The need to obtain daily use objects led to the production of handicraft goods. In our country handicraft is particularly expressed and relevant in areas such as “weaving, lace and embroidery, ceramics, jewelry, craftwork in leather, glass, metal, wood, stone and finally bone”[1]. The analysis to a population’s tradition through their regional costume allows us to take an interdisciplinary approach in the areas of design and handicraft, leveraging craftwork potential and it’s reinvention to address the modern trends. “design is positioned as a communication interface between an inherited past and a desired future” [2]. To know craftwork it’s not only to work on the past, the traditions and habits, but above all it’s to know our ancestral values and it’s techniques to create a creativity space, innovation, design and tradition that associates technical and cultural dimensions in building a national identity. The concept of Co-design appears in this context as a strategy that suggests the inclusion of the user as an active participant from the beginning of the Project collaborating with all the Professional team involved in the process. I is, in fact, a partnership of co-creation and production between handcrafters and designers, that has innovation plus regional economic and social sustainability as key objectives. This article has the objective to understand the way in which tradition in regional costumes has contributed to establishing fashion products in Portugal, through partnerships based on a co-creation work, transparency and complicity of all interveners – designers, handcrafters, users, promoters, among others. The intention was to find projects which took approaches that uncover the challenges that were thrown to these different actors to develop innovative products that promote the cultural identity of the regions. 2. Fashion, Tradition, Craftwork Since very early times the need to dress Mankind, alongside with feeding and the search or construction of shelters, has been a priority need. From these physical needs, fashion evolves, visible not only in clothing and accessories, but also in behaviors, attitudes and thoughts, which reflect the values of a society, group or class [3]. Generally this is linked to the social status of each individual, regarding their differentiation or aggregation and belonging to a social group. It is in this way that we find in regional costume the expression of different mentalities in each one of these groups, which summarize and mirror a culture. The permanence of costume from generation to generation, despite some degree of slow evolution, demonstrated its collective acceptance. Contrary to today’s trend of costume extinction as a consequence of the consumption society’s development, design develops appropriate products and roots them in a dynamic generated by the so called fashion phenomenon. However, the latter is becoming more and more temporary, changeable with a very fast trajectory in our Era of mass consumption. In Portugal, as in other western countries, the different social classes have, from the eight hundreds, distinguished themselves by their economic power, profession and by their degree of culture and values. The haute bourgeoisie due to its political and economic power has imposed a fashion culture, based on their own needs and aesthetical values, which inspire the working class costume, independently of its adequacy to the different professions. In this sense, historiography of fashion has been centered on the study of clothing and accessories of dominant classes, expressing their urban ritual, as opposed to the popular costume that fits in many aspects of rural life. Nevertheless, popular costume, associated with working classes, reflects as well, a culture linked to a space, a mentality and certain traditions, with a strong influence in fashion. As Mattoso [4] underlines, Portugal is a country that derives not from a ethnical origin, but from an administrative structure, uniting regions with different cultural specificities and without an unique identity. It is in this sense that regional costumes gain importance: by the identity and relationship that they confer each one of the distinct regions and by they role in building a national conscience. As stated by Silva and Jorge, about the cultural heterogeneity of the Portuguese territory “the national culture is rejected in plural, it is a mosaic of regional cultures of classes” [5]. 6382 Maria João Bravo Lima Delgado and Maria Heloisa Figueiredo Albuquerque / Procedia Manufacturing 3 ( 2015 ) 6380 – 6387 In this context, regional costumes evoke a memory marked by the identity of the garments in the context of adaptation to different social and cultural needs. As part of traditional Portuguese culture, can be an indispensable response to Design, Stylish, an investigative perspective that runs through fields as the traditional techniques of textiles, jewelery and other accessories. The craft knowledge are revealed in the way contemporary resisted the hegemonic know-how and therefore should be designed as alternative modernities [6]. This costumes, whether in clothing or accessories, are the result of craft techniques derived from a secular tacit knowledge, identity of the Portuguese people, which extend beyond the time when the industry replaces manufacture. The concept of craft or "ancient techniques" [7] appears for the 1st time in the Italian Renaissance, to distinguish the manual work created and produced by an artisan who uses natural raw materials, those who design artefacts that would be produced by others. Despite the craft activities are losing importance in the entire country, careful design requests for a changing industry, promotes social, cultural and humane dimension of national traditions, contributing to the process of design and effective operationalization of the concept of cultural sustainability, developing an innovative project, in response to personal needs, industrial and environmental aspects of society. Thus, the design of a cultural and operational dimension "can accept the great challenges and intervene on strategies that determine the social and environmental quality of the changing world in which we live today. [8] 3. Design and Artisans In recent decades designers have been assuming an increasingly close relationship with the target audience, particularly within the manufacturing companies for defining its product according to the needs expressed by its future users. But if the user-centered design is a specific phenomenon developed in the US since the 1970s, participatory approach has established itself in Northern Europe, and, currently, this is the interconnection of this two conceptions [9]. This association derive the concepts either of co-creation, which refers to an act of collective creativity, or co- design, which refers, in a broader sense, the joint generation of ideas and collaborative participation in the development of the design process [10]. "Co-Design is a general term that involves the Participatory Design, the Metadesign, Social Design and other design approaches that encourage participation. (...) The term "Co-Design" is used to refer to “do design with (others)»” [11]. Given the nature of the interventions and the participatory nature of the artisans in the creation and production of artefacts, it seemed important to put this research in a broad scope of design, understood as a "territory disciplinary goal that relates various disciplines that contemporary had made closer" [12]. We tried to approach the design centered on users, with the success criterion customer satisfaction[13], and the socio-cultural innovation [14], to cover not only concerns about the social context and sustainability, but also the participatory process in each intervention. We are in the domain of the concept of Co-Design, which includes users and others involved in the creative process, as active participants in the design process. This approach also refers to the concept of co-creation associated with the act of collective creativity, a system that brings together the know-how (artisans) with the ability to think and design (designers), where each participant has an understanding and upcoming reality specific skills in which it operates, which arises from their training and / or career paths. Trying to understand the intense dialogue between individuals who have identities and distinct knowledge, our study selected case studies which are based in identification of partnerships between designers and craftsmen who value relationships between border cultures "Today all cultures are border. All the arts are developed in relation to other arts: crafts migrate from the countryside to the city, films, videos and songs that narrate events of a people is exchanged with other “[15]. 6383 Maria João Bravo Lima Delgado and Maria Heloisa Figueiredo Albuquerque / Procedia Manufacturing 3 ( 2015 ) 6380 – 6387 4. Successful partnerships in Portugal The cases presented below refer to the recognition of innovative and sustainable business, created from the reconfiguration of the technical and craft materials and evoking images of traditional values and popular culture that are associated with a process of complicity and transparency between designers and craftsmen. The “Capucha” is a traditional Portuguese coat, worn by men and women, characteristic of inland mountainous areas. It's kind of cloak that reaches to the knees and is based on the head with a curved cut in the forehead area, reinforced for the best fix, leaving free the body for the implementation of rural jobs. These covers were made of woolen cloth, a traditional Portuguese fabric made from 100% wool and beaten in water so as to make it thick and waterproof, suitable for the harsh climate of these regions. This piece was taken as a result of a Co-design work, when the cooperative of the “Capuchinhas”, dedicated to the traditional art of weaving on the loom line and wool, found that the sustainability of the company went through collaboration with designers, production of parts appropriate to the current daily life. This was the case of Vânia Campos designer in a direct exchange of knowledge, know-how associated with the technical aspects of traditional raw materials and the ability to think associated with projective methodologies, analysis and synthesis of forming ideas and forms, initiates a partnership with the cooperative, a dialogue between design and crafts. Thus, the interpretation of this piece, the “Capucha”, continued its collaboration with the artisans, an approach to contemporary design, reinforcing the techniques and traditional materials, the interpretation of traditional culture and the economic viability of the appreciation of craft knowledge Fig.1 The “Capucha” The designer Filipe Faísca also develops a collection of pret à porter, Namban collection, presented at Moda Lisboa in 2010, with handmade textiles made by these artisans. The brand presented “Toino Abel”, created in 2010 and developed in 2013, is anchored not only in the potential for exploitation of raw materials and ancient techniques, but also in connection to a cultural heritage, historical and symbolic. Born in the small Portuguese village of Castanheira, where historically focuses “esteiraria” activity in reed, in Portugal, this company, following the traditional processes of manufacture, produce bags made of reed collected along the Tagus river, under the eyes of designer Nuno Henriques, who reinterpreted the tradition and transposed to modernity. This is a sophisticated fashion accessory designed for the twenty-first century, with sizes and with different patterns: striped, chess or flowers. 6384 Maria João Bravo Lima Delgado and Maria Heloisa Figueiredo Albuquerque / Procedia Manufacturing 3 ( 2015 ) 6380 – 6387 The expansion and the company's success is due to the innovation and entrepreneurship of this designer, recognizing the need for survival of artisans and realizing the need for rehabilitation of tradition and memory of craft baskets made of reed on a loom - the basket snack for school, picnic basket or basket for market purchases - sought to identify market niches and, in partnership with the artisans, undertook a sustainable business in the field of fashion accessories. This company has taken abroad culture and social traditions of a place, translated into bags that are sold in stores in cities such as Barcelona, Berlin and London, also relying on the online sales success in countries as far away as New Zealand and Australia. The Portuguese jewelery became wider in the reign of Queen Mary I, 18th century., Due to the arrival in Lisbon of large amounts of gold and precious stones from Brazil. It was at this time that some of the models that still mark the Portuguese identity, such as the Heart of Jesus, created by jewelers of the queen - the Rocaille style-, the Lacas, the rings, the earrings to the Queen, who later in the 19th century, gave rise to the King Earrings. Fig.3 Portuguese jewelery - Heart of Jesus, Collection These jewelry inspired all social classes, becoming a fixture of daily life, especially the northern women who use them as a complement costume. This reality, coupled with the abundance of gold and precious stones, took the masters of jewelery to revolutionize the concept and the techniques used in the late jewelery manufacture of the 2nd half of 18th century and early 19th century, placing Portugal at the forefront of European production jewelry. It was at this time that the watermark is said in Portugal by Minho jewelery, stylistically Baroque or Rocaille. It is a decorative work made of very thin wires in gold or silver, as made to compose a drawing. Currently there has been a resurgence of this work that has gone through a period of neglect, and reappear in the traditional jewelers in the workshops of young designers with more stylized image produced with new materials, such as non-precious metals, polymers, composites, among others, which gives them the character of contemporary prop. This applies to the artistic creations of Sara Janela designer who reinterprets the “Contas de Viana” to create Fig.2 Collection of Toino Abel 6385 Maria João Bravo Lima Delgado and Maria Heloisa Figueiredo Albuquerque / Procedia Manufacturing 3 ( 2015 ) 6380 – 6387 the “Contas de Amor”, small hollow spheres executed in gold, decorated with fine filigree wire. The reasons are inspired by embroidered regional costumes and Viana do Castelo scarves. Traditionally Viana accounts were collected by Minho girls to make necklaces that were part of their dowry. Fig 4 Toino Abel Collection The concept of co-design within the jewelery is revealed for example in the artwork of Joana Caldeira designer who, in partnership with the workshops of Póvoa do Varzim, creates accessories filigree, enjoying the great technical ability of these craftsmen to this delicate manual work. The result of this co-creation assumes a relation of the traditional practice of the goldsmiths of Póvoa do Varzim with the current design, the recognition of the cultural value of filigree, revitalizing the profession and contributing to the social and economic rehabilitation of the region. The revitalization of this sector also echoed in the work of designer Liliana Guerreiro, a joint work with renowned filigree artisans, creates a recognized jewelry collection also internationally to be exposed in MoMA. The brand “Namorar Portugal” created the concept from the theme of Vila Verde lover's scarfs transposing the fashion accessories in silver. This company develops its work with teams of designers and craftsmen in a symbiosis between modernity and tradition. Fig. 5 Namorar Portugal The lacework “Bilros de Peniche” is an art older than four centuries of existence that arrived in Portugal through trade with Flanders, becoming an ex-libris of Portuguese crafts. This art of weaving, once practiced by women of fishermen, has become a symbol of identity in the fishing village of Peniche. Creativity and innovation, culture and tradition are the basis for a jewelry collection that associates the work with diamonds, precious stones and filigree gold or bobbin lace. This partnership promoted by Peniche City Council joined the expertise of jewelers and lace makers of Peniche, a design work unique pieces where shall revise the Portuguese traditional ancestral techniques. 6386 Maria João Bravo Lima Delgado and Maria Heloisa Figueiredo Albuquerque / Procedia Manufacturing 3 ( 2015 ) 6380 – 6387 Fig 6 - The lacework “Bilros de Peniche” “The focus on product innovation and attracting new niche markets is an important part of all the strategy around sustainability of Peniche bobbin-lace” [16]. This lace work, a constant approximation to current fashion trends, it is also applied to clothing or as textiles for making garments or as applications on clothes or even shoes. 5. Conclusion The investigative journey undertaken this work largely exceeded the initial goals outlined by placing highlighted a significant number of projects arising from either the survival needs of the craftsmen and sustainability of regions or demand the professional development of young designers , along with the desire to perpetuate the values and products of an ancient tradition We note that these projects, based on the identification of market needs, materialized in a Co-design attitude, creating innovative products in fashion, based on references of traditional Portuguese culture. However, there were numerous cases, which, while not constituting a work in Co-design, offer also important situations, enhancer realities based on the development of fashion products from traditional culture. We highlight: The experimental cases, set to academic situations, with the promotion of workshops, international conferences, among others, for the purpose of dissemination and promotion of craft techniques; cases where the designers design products and hire craftsmen to produce them, without integrating the collaborative process of identification of needs, to find solutions and co - creation of the product; Finally, small and medium enterprises that have realized the importance of this symbolism in regional costumes can have the success of its fashion products, hire designers to recreate this universe, adapting it to the materials, equipment and technologies to more innovative. (Alma Lusa , Alma e Coração, Rutz, Portugal Joalharia). Of the examples presented we can see that the materials, techniques, methods and knowledge of Portuguese cultural and technological specificities, used collaboratively, seeking sustainable solutions. The path taken by this craft in traditional costumes faces the challenge of renewing and reinventing itself. Projects submitted testify to a co- creative action in the design of identity objects of culture and contemporary society, materialized in innovative articles of clothing, artistic jewelery and accessories, based on the Co-design process. References [1]. C. Albino, Os sentidos do Lugar. P&h Thesis, University Aveiro, Portugal p.123. [2]. C.Albino, R. Roda, F.Providência, Reinterpretation of tradition values in Minho territory: handcraft – a Reading key, in: Strategic Design Research Journal, 4 (2), p. 99-105. DOI:10.4013/sdrj.2011.42.09. [3].M.K. Feghali, D. Dwyer, As Engrenagens da Moda, Ed. Senac, Rio de Janeiro, 2001. [4]. J. Mattoso, História de Portugal, Círculo de Leitores, Lisboa, 1993. [5]. A. Silva , V. Jorge, Existe uma cultura portuguesa? Ed. Afrontamento, Porto, 1992, p.12. [6]. B. S. Santos, M. P. Meneses (Orgs.), Epistemologias do Sul. Almedina, Coimbra, 2009, p.532. 6387 Maria João Bravo Lima Delgado and Maria Heloisa Figueiredo Albuquerque / Procedia Manufacturing 3 ( 2015 ) 6380 – 6387 [7]. M. Heidegger, La question de la technique, In: essais et Conférences, Ed Gallimard, Paris, 1988. [8]. E. Manzini, Design para a inovação social e sustentabilidade: comunidades criativas, organizações colaborativas e novas redes projetuais. Ed, E-papers, Rio de Janeiro, 2008, p. 68. [9]. E. B.– N. Sanders, Design serving people. In: E. Salmi & L. Anusionwu, Eds. Cumulus Working Papers. Helsinki: University of Art and Design, 2006, pp. 28-33. [10].E. B. – N. Sanders, P. J. Stappers, Co-creation and the new landscapes of design. In: CoDesign: International Jounal of CoCreation in Design and the Arts, 2008, pp. 5-18. DOI: 10.1080/1571088701875068. [11]. A. Fuad-Luke, Design Activism. Beautiful strangeness for a sustainable world, Earthscan, Londres, 2009, pp. 147-148. [12]. J. Bártolo, Corpo e Sentidos. Estudos intersemióticos. Livros LabCom , Covilhã, 2007. [13]. Bonsiepe, Teoria e prática do design industrial elementos pra um manual crítico. Ed CPD, Lisboa, 1992 . [14]. Bonsiepe, Interface an approach to design. Ed. Jan van Euch Akademie. Maastricht, 1999. [15]. N. G. Canclini, Culturas Híbridas, Ed. Univ. São Paulo, São Paulo, 1998, p.348. [16]. J. Amador, http://www.cm-peniche.pt/_uploads/PDF_Noticias/RendasBilrosPeniche_SaberFazerEnraizadoComunidade.pdf 
work_ccdw3wdq5ffurecxalwcf3fk4u	----	PII: 0315-0860(80)90011-7 HM7 Reviews 449 REVIEWS EDITED BY JUDY V. GRABINER All books monographs, journal articles, and other publica- tions (including films and other multi-sensory materials) relat- ing to the history of mathematics are abstracted in the Abstracts Department. The Reviews Department prints extended reviews of selected publications. Materials for review should be sent for abstracting as indi- ------ -- cated in the heading of the Abstracts Department. Publishers --- -- who wish to accelerate the process of abstracting and subsequent reviewing may send a second copy directly to the editor of the Book Review Department: Professor Judy V. Grabiner, 424 West 7th Street, Claremont, CA 91711 USA. Most reviews are solicited. However, colleagues wishing to review a book are invited to make known their wishes. Comments on books, articles, or reviews should be submitted to the Cor- respondence Department. We also welcome retrospective reviews of older books. Colleagues interested in writing such reviews should consult first with the editor to avoid duplication. PIER0 DELL FRANCESCA'S MATHEMATICAL TREATISES: THE "TRATTATO D'ABACO" AND "LIBELLUS DE QUINQUE CORPORIBUS REGULARIBUS." By Margaret Daly Davis. Ravenna (Long0 Editore). 1977 xxii + 135 pp., 36 plates. Lit 8000 Reviewed by Warren Van Egmond Institut fiir Geschichte der Naturwissenschaften Deutsche Museum, 8 Miinchen 26, West Germany The connections between art and mathematics in the Italian Renaissance have long been recognized by both historians of art and historians of mathematics. George Sarton devoted a page to the development of the theory of perspective in painting in 14th- century Italy in his Introduction to the History of Science (Vol. III, p. 1105), while Rudolf Wittkower and P.H. Scholfield have carefully studied the mathematical principles used in Renaissance architecture. But with these exceptions, the barriers presented by modern disciplinary boundaries have long prevented any real interchange between the two fields. Except for Lon Shelby's article, "The Geometrical Knowledge of Mediaeval Master Masons" (Speculum 47 (19721, 395-421) and Diane Finiello Zervas' study, "The Trattato dell'abaco and Andrea Pisano's Design for the Florentine Baptistery Door" (Renaissance Quarterly 28 (1975), 483-503), there has been little recent interaction between the Copyright 0 1980 by Academic Press, Inc. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved. 450 Reviews HM7 two disciplines. Margaret Daly Davis' book thus constitutes one of the first major studies to concentrate on the links between art and mathematics, connected historically yet separated in scholarly activity. Its focus is a personage no less important than Piero Della Francesca, one of the foremost artists of the Italian Renaissance, whose paintings have long been recognized for their mathematical precision. This precision is not surprising since Piero based his paintings on sound mathematical principles of optics and perspective, and composed three theoretical treatises outlining these principles for those who wished to follow them: a treatise on perspective, De prospectiva pinyendi; a treatise on the five regular bodies, De corporibus regularibus; and Trattato d'abaco, a general treatise on commercial arithmetic, algebra, and geome- try which was probably written first and served as the mathemati- cal foundation for the other two. Yet despite his great fame as a painter, Piero's written works passed into an early obscurity and were not even printed until within the last century, De pro- spectiva in 1899 and again in 1942, De corporibus in 1916 and the Trattato d'abaco only within the last decade. Mrs. Davis' book is an analysis of the last two. It should be pointed out that, in spite of its perhaps slightly misleading title, this is a work in the history of art, not the history of mathematics. Only five pages are devoted to the first two parts of Piero's treatise on commercial mathematics and alge- bra, and these draw on sources no more recent than Libri, Cantor, and Zeuthen, yet still manage to make some minor errors within this small compass, such as saying that the solution of the cu- bic equation "was probably due to Niccolo Tartaglia" (p. 231, neglecting to mention the first successful solution made by Scipione de1 Ferro of Bologna. Mrs. Davis' primary attention is devoted to an analysis of the geometrical section of the abaco and the book on the five regular bodies, with particular concern for how they relate to the construction of perspective drawings of the regular bodies as they appear in Luca Pacioli's De divina proportione of 1509 and numerous treatises on perspective written after that date. A short preliminary chapter is devoted to the application of mathematics to art and its study before Piero; one chapter each is devoted to the Trattato and the Libellus; and a final chapter studies the influence they had on the artists of the 16th century, particularly Albrecht Diirer and Daniele Barbaro, mediated pri- marily by Luca Pacioli's uncredited publication of the major por- tion of the Libellus and part of the abaco in his Summa and De divina proportione. Perhaps the greatest direct interest the book holds for his- torians of mathematics is its very careful, detailed study of the connections between Piero and Pacioli, showing precisely which works Pacioli used and how he altered them. Two appendixes sum- HM7 Reviews 451 marize the results of these studies,and two tables of concordances list the corresponding problems in the Trattato d'abaco, the Libellus de corporibus regularibus, and Pacioli's Summa. Overall, the book is very well organized and well written. It is brief, clear, and nontechnical and does not demand any previous knowledge of the history of art or its voluminous lit- erature. Since it also includes a very well selected bibliography, it is a particularly good point of entry for any historian of mathematics who is interested in pursuing this subject in greater detail. Mrs. Davis has not built the bridge between Renaissance art and mathematics we have all been looking for (to be fair we must realize that this was not her intent), but she has surely laid one of the principal foundation stones on which any such bridge will eventually be built. WOMEN AND MATHEMATICS, SCIENCE AND ENGINEERING. A PARTIALLY ANNOTATED BIBLIOGRAPHY WITH EMPHASIS ON MATHEMATICS AND WITH REFERENCES ON RELATED TOPICS. By Else B#yrop. Roskilde University Library, Denmark. 1978. Reviewed by Dr. Louis L. Bucciarelli Program in Science Technology and Society M. I. T. Cambridge, Mass. 02139 Else H$yrup is a Danish mathematician who has turned her attention to the study of the sociology and psychology of mathe- matics and the individual--especially women and mathematics. Her bibliography contains approximately 400 items drawn primarily from contemporary journals in the fields of education, mathe- matics, and psychology and gathers citations under the headings "Women and Engineering," Women and Problem Solving," "Sex-dif- ferences in Cognition," and "Creativity," as well as "Women and Mathematics." Most of the entries are annotated with a brief comment, e.g., "important," "prejudiced," "very technical," "good bibliography,"etc. This slender paperback is described by the author as a work in progress. It is well worth perusing and could serve as the basis for a coherent and more comprehensive bibliography. Else H@yrup would be pleased to receive comments and references on this subject. Her address is Bdgerej 8, DK 3500 Voerlase, Den- mark. Copyright 0 1980 by Academic Press, Inc. AN rights oJ reproduction in any form reserved. 
work_cgnkdhjo3nd3tneb3b5dh5zkee	----	Hydrocephalus, rickets, and the bust of an infant from Renaissance Italy COVER EDITORIAL Hydrocephalus, rickets, and the bust of an infant from Renaissance Italy Jeanette Kohl1,2 Received: 15 March 2019 /Accepted: 20 March 2019 /Published online: 18 May 2019 # Springer-Verlag GmbH Germany, part of Springer Nature 2019 In the depot of the Museo Nazionale di Bargello in Florence is the unusual marble bust of an infant (Fig. 1 and cover). The portrait shows what seems to be a dead boy, with closed eyes in slightly sunken cav- ities and a pointed nose in the otherwise well-nourished face with its chubby cheeks, folds of fat around the neck, and rounded upper body. He must have been around a year of age when he was portrayed. Usually, portraits draw their power from the sitter’s eyes and a varying amount of Bstaging^ by means of clothes and attributes—things that speak to us and tell a story. Yet, this little boy is naked, and there are no signs of his identity or social status. Infant mortality was high in the fifteenth and six- teenth centuries—and the object is certainly from this period. However, costly marble monuments to children who died at a premature age were not very common in Italy, even in elite social circles. Practically all of the other portrait busts of children from the Renaissance emphasize the liveliness and cheerfulness of their sitters, in particular if they are of a younger age. In a culture dominated by ideas of male lineage, many of these were important portraits carved by stars of the art scene— Donatello, the della Robbia family, Desiderio da Settignano. Male heirs were the future capital of fami- lies, and their beauty, virtue, and liveliness were the key ingredients of children’s portraits. Why then have a bust in costly marble of what looks like a dead child? There have been two attempts at identifying the boy—both see it as a portrait of Filippo di Francesco I. de’ Medici by mannerist sculptor Domenico Poggini [1, 2]. Filippo, the youngest child of Francesco I. de’ Medici and Joanna of Austria, died in March 1582 at the age of 4 years and 10 months. As an heir to the throne of Tuscany, he was a central figure in the powerplay between his mother Joanna, daughter of the Holy Roman emperor Ferdinand I., and his father’s mistress Bianca Capello who had given birth to an ille- gitimate son a year before Filippo was born. Filippo died young, probably related to his hydrocephaly. But is this the portrait of a boy of almost five who was known to be weak and who died of hydrocephaly?1 Hardly [3]. The interdisciplinary Medici Project and its paleo- pathological team have investigated the burial place of most children and other members of the Medici family from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries, all in their family church of San Lorenzo in the heart of Florence. In 2004, the team opened an ornamental mar- ble slab in the church pavement—and found the en- trance to a crypt that contained eight skeletons of Medici children. Among them were the bones of Filippo de’ Medici. His skeleton shows a massive vita- min D deficiency, which was responsible for rickets, from which practically all of the Medici children suf- fered. The paleopathologists explain the phenomenon with hereditary factors such as a diet low in vitamin 1 Even if the portrait was not one of a dead child’s and taken earlier in Filippo’s life (as Langedijk seems to think), then why the closed eyes in a prestigious marble bust? Sleep, at least to my knowledge, was not a topic in bust portraits of the Italian Renaissance, nor was a child’s death. For children’s busts, see Kohl [3]. * Jeanette Kohl jkohl@ucr.edu 1 Department of the History of Art, University of California, Riverside, 900 University Avenue, Arts Building, Riverside, CA 92521, USA 2 Agnes Gund and Daniel Shapiro Membership, Princeton Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, NJ, USA Child's Nervous System (2019) 35:1093–1096 https://doi.org/10.1007/s00381-019-04134-y http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s00381-019-04134-y&domain=pdf http://orcid.org/0000-0002-8797-9930 mailto:jkohl@ucr.edu D; the heavy swaddling of babies, as can be seen in the portrait of a baby by the Medici court painter Bronzino from around 1540 (Fig. 2); and the fact that kids from elite families were generally kept inside and protected from sunlight [4, 5]. After his premature death in 1582, Filippo’s skull was opened in a documented autopsy. It shows deep cutting lines (Fig. 3) [6]. The sixteenth- century autopsy report notes the discovery of what equals a glass of water (Bun bicchier d’acqua^) in a space between the boy’s brain and skull as the likely cause of death [7, 8].2 In light of the historical sources and the paleopatho- logical data, it seems rather unlikely that the pretty tod- dler depicted in the marble bust is Filippo de’ Medici— not least because of the significant age difference. But who is this boy who was important enough to be com- memorated in a unique marble portrait taken most likely post mortem? The loss of sons who died as infants or were taken from her as adolescents had dashed the spirits of head- strong and robust Eleanor of Toledo, wife of Cosimo I. de’ Medici, who was known as Bla fecundissima^—the most fertile one. The mother of 11 children died in Pisa on December 17, 1562, only 9 days after her 15-year- old son Garcia and 4 weeks after her second eldest son, Cardinal Giovanni de’ Medici, had both fallen victim to malaria. One particular beloved child of hers was Pedricco, named after her Spanish father Don Pedro Alvarez de Toledo. He had died at the age of only 10 months in June of 1547. The infant is praised as strikingly beautiful and healthy in contemporary letters. The spouses Cosimo and Eleonora had a strong sense of dynastic family representation, as can be seen from the number of portraits by Bronzino and other court artists. They show the elegant mother together with her beautiful children (Fig. 4), or the sons alone, in a series of eye-catching paintings, such as the one of fu- ture Cardinal Giovanni de’ Medici as a toddler around the age of 18 months (Fig. 5). I find the family likeness compelling and hence I suggest that the unusual bust in the depot of the Bargello is likely to be a posthumous portrait of Pedricco de’ Medici. Pedricco was certainly Fig. 2 Agnolo Bronzino, Portrait of a swaddled child, 1540 circa, Walters Art Museum Baltimore (public domain) 2 BA’ dì 29 di marzo morse il gran principe di Firenze, Filippo…Seppellissi in S. Lorenzo. Gli stessi medici che lo avevano medicato così fisici come cerusisci, gli segorno la testa, levandone la forma come d’una scodella dove trovorno sotto il primo panno, sopra il cervello, presso a uno bicchier d’acqua; la quale pensorno e credettero tutti conformi che fussi stata la vera causa della morte sua,^ see Lapini [7].^ Il Principe si fece sparare et si trovò il capo pieno d’acqua,^ in a letter of Grand Duke Francesco to his brother Cardinal Ferdinando de’ Medici of April 7, 1589, see the Medici Project results in [8]. Fig. 1 (cover figure) Marble bust portrait of an infant, the fifteenth or sixteenth century, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence (with permission of the Ministero per i beni e l’attivita culturali—Museo Nazionale del Bargello) 1094 Childs Nerv Syst (2019) 35:1093–1096 important and loved enough to qualify as the baby we see in the Bargello bust. The family likeness with his sibling Don Garcia de’ Medici in the Prado is even more striking—Garcia would have been around 2 years when Bronzino portrayed him (Fig. 6). Their sons were the most important capital of the aspiring new line of Medicis. Neither did they belong to the family branch of Cosimo il Vecchio’s descendants nor could they boast a long noble lineage: Cosimo I. was only the second Duke of Florence after the assassination of Alessandro de’ Medici in 1537. Compared with the ancient nobility of Rome and the lords of the courts in Central and Northern Italy to which he was so eager to marry his daughters off, Fig. 5 Agnolo Bronzino, Giovanni de’ Medici, 1545 circa, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence (public domain) Fig. 4 Agnolo Bronzino, Portrait of Eleonora di Toledo with her son Giovanni, 1544/45, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence (public domain) Childs Nerv Syst (2019) 35:1093–1096 1095 Fig. 3 The skull of Don Filippo de’ Medici: anterior view (a); lateral view (b); internal view (c) https://www.researchgate.net/figure/The-skull-of-Don- Filippino-anterior-view-a-lateral-view-b-internal-view-c_fig1_277921148. Wiley Online Library (public domain) https://www.researchgate.net/figure/The-skull-of-Don-Filippino-anterior-view-a-lateral-view-b-internal-view-c_fig1_277921148 https://www.researchgate.net/figure/The-skull-of-Don-Filippino-anterior-view-a-lateral-view-b-internal-view-c_fig1_277921148 Cosimo was nouveau riche, with few aristocratic credentials. His spouse and children were his capital: His Spanish wife Eleonora had produced dutifully and abundantly, and three of her sons would survive to become influential men; yet the losses of their other sons were events that were felt strongly in the close-knit family whose line had previously been in danger of extinction. Not unlike the wealthy Roman freedmen, their offspring made up for the obvious lack of noble lineage. Hence, it does not come as a surprise that the marble bust of the little Medici boy in the Bargello is fashioned after the types of bust pro- duced by the most famous artists for the descendants of pater patriae Cosimo de’ Medici, a century earlier. Like those earlier Quattrocento bust portraits, our bust of a baby shows the horizontal lower cut which was going out of fashion in the mid-sixteenth century. It ties in perfectly with the famous bust portraits of the family’s brightest stars of the Quattrocento, which adorned the rooms in the Palazzo Medici—a reminis- cence of family history, a tribute to the promise of Medici children and their role in future Florentine politics, yet at the same time a statement of personal loss and the tragedy of premature death. Compliance with ethical standards Conflict of interest The author declares that she has no conflicts of interest. References 1. Langedijk K (1974) Two portrait busts of a child: Filippo de’ Medici by Domenico Poggini, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz XVIII, 379–383 2. Detlef H Agnolo Bronzinos Kinderbildnisse aus dem Jahre 1551, doi: https://doi.org/10.11588/mkhi.1955.2.42075 (retrieved Dec. 12, 2018) 3. Kohl J (2018) MARTIALI VERNA DULCISSIMO. Children’s busts, family, and memoria in Roman antiquity and the renaissance, in: Thierry Greub and Martin Roussel (eds.), Figurationen des Porträts, Paderborn: Fink, 241–278 4. Nature doi:https://doi.org/10.1038/nature.2013.13156 5. Giuffra V, Vitiello A, Caramella D, Fornaciari A, Giustini D, Fornaciari G (2013) Rickets in a high social class of renaissance Italy: the Medici children. Int J Osteoarchaeol 25:608–624. https:// doi.org/10.1002/oa.2324 6. Fornaciari G et al The Medici project: first anthropological and pa- leopathological results. http://www.paleopatologia.it/articoli/aticolo. php?recordID=18 (retrieved Jan. 20, 2019) 7. Lapini A (1596) Diario Fiorentino di Agostino Lapini: dal 252 al 1596, ora per la prima volta pubblicato, Firenze 8. Projetto Medici Risultate della ricercha http://www.paleopatologia.it/ attivita/pagina.php?recordID=6 (retrieved Jan. 20, 2019) Publisher’s note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Fig. 6 Agnolo Bronzino, Don Garcia de’ Medici, 1550 circa, Museo del Prado, Madrid (public domain) 1096 Childs Nerv Syst (2019) 35:1093–1096 https://doi.org/10.11588/mkhi.1955.2.42075 https://doi.org/10.1038/nature.2013.13156 https://doi.org/10.1002/oa.2324 https://doi.org/10.1002/oa.2324 http://www.paleopatologia.it/articoli/aticolo.php?recordID=18 http://www.paleopatologia.it/articoli/aticolo.php?recordID=18 http://www.paleopatologia.it/attivita/pagina.php?recordID=6 http://www.paleopatologia.it/attivita/pagina.php?recordID=6 Hydrocephalus, rickets, and the bust of an infant from Renaissance Italy References 
work_ckte3du24nffvbfdz4jxwvjok4	----	cité des dames a le grand mérite de mettre à la portée des étudiants et de nombreux lecteurs le texte intégral d’œuvres du XVIe siècle scrupuleusement éditées par des spécialistes dont la réputation n’est plus à faire. Le prix modique de ses éditions, leur petit format, la simplicité et l’élégance de leur présentation jouent un rôle considérable dans leur popularité. C’est aussi et surtout la richesse des notes qui accompagnent le texte intégral des Epîtres et du Songe qui en font pour tout étudiant un parfait outil de travail. Il convient ici de féliciter Éliane Viennot, professeur à l’Université de Saint-Étienne, membre de l’Institut universitaire de France, pour l’initiative de cette collection publiée sous sa direction par les Presses de l’Université de Saint-Étienne. R égine R eynolds-Cornell, Professeur émérite, Agnes Scott College Patricia Lee Rubin Images and Identity in Fifteenth-Century Florence New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2007. Pp. xix, 418. This sophisticated textbook is designed for upper-level undergraduate and gradu- ate students, particularly those specializing in art history. Rubin’s publication retains some aspects of a traditional art-history survey book; it features hundreds of photographic reproductions, many of them in colour, primarily of canonical art works. It is nevertheless superior to conventional textbooks—such as Frederick Hartt’s History of Italian Renaissance Art, now in its sixth edition—because it goes beyond discussing the biographical details and styles of individual artists. Images and Identity in Fifteenth-Century Florence includes chapters on the visual display of honour, and the politics of looking and being looked at in early modern Italy, offering a welcome synthesis of some of the latest scholarship in the field. Rubin’s book complements other excellent publications created to enrich the study of early modern visual culture, notably Evelyn Welch’s Art and Society in Italy, 1300–1500, a broader survey of Italian art first published in 1997. Like Welch, Rubin emphasizes the economic dimension of early modern Italian visual culture, explaining why material things such as clothing, linen, ar- mour, and furnishings were requisite for eminent citizens needing to display their rank. Drawing on early modern texts written by Leon Battista A lberti, Leonardo Bruni, and Matteo Palmieri, in addition to various archival sources, Rubin charts the “authority of possession” (16). She argues that acquiring luxurious goods was not so much a personal choice as a necessity for Florentine citizens striving to 118 Book R eviews RenRef32-4.indd 118 9/01/10 3:14:44 PM create reputations in relation to developing ideologies of wealth. Yet Rubin avoids economic determinism by focusing on the multiple interests of patrons, providing a welcome critique of explanations of the Italian Renaissance that focus on the rise of humanism to account for the concomitant flowering of visual culture. She continues to challenge previous assertions of humanism’s promotion of visual art to the status of a noble or liberal practice by examining both the tax registers and business negotiations of key artists. In an analysis of Donatello, for example, Rubin recounts that the sculptor refused to wear the fine clothes supplied by his patron, Cosimo de Medici. Donatello at once resisted moving beyond his more lowly rank as artist, and asserted a kind of authority and emerging artistic identity by not allowing himself to be refashioned by his patron. With such detailed discussions, Rubin conveys the complexity of some of the economic exchanges made between Florentine artists and their patrons. Other chapters continue to extend understandings of early modern Italian visual culture by exploring the domain of visuality, moving beyond biological understandings of vision to examine historically and culturally specific ways of seeing the world. Historians and art historians have been producing historical and theoretical writing on this topic for at least the past fifteen years, and Rubin does not repeat their findings. Instead, she summarizes and applies the work relevant to her topic, namely fifteenth-century Florentine art and culture. In Chapter Five, “The Eye of the Beholder,” Rubin considers the representation of vision in Dante’s Divine Comedy, a poem that she says both “describes a vision and is about vision.” This emphasis on a written account of the pleasures and pain associated with seeing is a welcome addition to the discussions of the development of linear perspective typically included in textbooks devoted to Italian Renaissance art. Rubin additionally examines contemporary theories of vision, addressing Alberti’s interest in Aristotle’s ideas about sight, as well as the intromission theory, which held that eyes receive rays from the surfaces of objects, rather than emitting rays toward those objects. Rubin argues that this emphasis on the power of the direct ray is crucial to under- standing the influential paintings of Giotto, which often feature representations of purposeful looking to convey biblical narratives. She furthermore addresses the kind of inner seeing sometimes associated with visual culture, promoted by such religious figures as the Dominican bishop Giovanni Dominici. He advised parents to bring children “up in the sight” of sacred representations so that young people could both identify with and emulate the visual images. In the four chapters that focus on visuality, Rubin provides a thorough overview of various acts of looking Comptes r endus 119 RenRef32-4.indd 119 9/01/10 3:14:44 PM in early modern Florence, as well as representations of vision, debates about optical functioning, and the presumed pedagogical aspects of seeing. Rubin’s textbook offers a compelling synthesis capable of inspiring students to grasp the richness of current scholarship on early modern Italian visual culture, encouraging them to explore the field more fully. The author provides extensive bibliographical notes as an addendum, describing additional scholarship on such themes as consumption, marriage, and the ethics of expenditure during the early modern period. Gender is only briefly mentioned, however, in a few chapters, even though the work of female artisans and the commissions ordered by female patrons are of current interest to scholars. The book also lacks a sustained consideration of the early modern trading practices which saw international objects flood into Florence, another issue increasingly scrutinized by specialists in the field. Anyone hoping to offer a complete overview would thus need to provide students with supplementary readings. A ll the same, the sustained focus of Images and Identity in Fifteenth-Century Florence on such central concerns as visuality is most welcome. In the end, Rubin’s up-to-date exploration of a limited time frame and cultural period is successful, and similar publications on other historical periods would be well received by both experts and students interested in the politics and practices of visual culture. LIANNE McTAVISH, University of Alberta John McA fferty The Reconstruction of the Church of Ireland: Bishop Bramhall and the Laudian Reforms, 1633–1641 Cambridge Studies in Early Modern British History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. pp. xiv, 268. John McA fferty has written a solid and impressive account of the rise, contested implications, and eventual decline of the Laudian “reconstruction” of the Church of Ireland. His rigorous and careful argument will significantly advance scholarly understanding of a complex and confused movement in one of the most complex and confused periods of early modern Irish history. McA fferty’s study focuses on the clerical career of John Bramhall, a Yorkshire clergyman whose promotions in the Church of Ireland were fast-tracked from relatively humble origins through his associations among the ecclesiastical and administrative elite. Bramhall arrived in Ireland one century after the legislative 120 Book R eviews RenRef32-4.indd 120 9/01/10 3:14:44 PM 
work_cqpfpceinnaxjcsa4kgfbubrfe	----	Response to Jennifer Scappettone Response to Jennifer Scappettone The Harvard community has made this article openly available. Please share how this access benefits you. Your story matters Citation Burt, Stephen. 2007. Response to Jennifer Scappettone. Modern Philology 105(1): 213-217. Published Version http://dx.doi.org/10.1086/587208 Citable link http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:3426330 Terms of Use This article was downloaded from Harvard University’s DASH repository, and is made available under the terms and conditions applicable to Other Posted Material, as set forth at http:// nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of- use#LAA http://osc.hul.harvard.edu/dash/open-access-feedback?handle=&title=Response%20to%20Jennifer%20Scappettone&community=1/1&collection=1/2&owningCollection1/2&harvardAuthors=d92e3e20bab708d0c8a8604f331032ae&departmentEnglish%20and%20American%20Literature%20and%20Language http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:3426330 http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA 213 ç 2008 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved. 0026-8232/2008/10501-0016$10.00 Critics who cherish procedurally generated texts such as Mac Low’s Words nd Ends from Ez (like critics who cherish other parts of the post- Steinian avant-garde) made a bad habit, for much of the 1980s and 1990s, of retreating from explicit advocacy, avoiding anything that looked like an aesthetic judgment about individual books, writers, and poems; such critics often preferred to make their tastes and judgments known only implicitly, or even to deny (as socially determined, for example), such judgments, while offering meta-analyses of the literary systems and social formations that their favored texts appeared to critique. As Jennifer Scappettone’s essay suggests, things seem to have changed. We now have, and should be glad to have, arguments not just about the meanings and methods, but about the merits of indi- vidual texts such as this one, from committed advocates familiar with the assumptions those texts contain. I admire the research that Scappettone’s essay shows, and I admire the devotion to a single author that it displays. Rather than quarrel with that devotion directly, I’d like to move the camera back a bit in order to see the assump- tions—about how we read, and about why we read, difficult texts—that her article seems to me to contain. Here are are some of those assump- tions, numbered from one to six: 1. Modernist authors—especially Pound, but not only Pound—seek not just a personal stamp or voice, but what Scappettone calls “im- perious personhood” (189). The modernist poem, that is, establishes (or tries to establish) the modernist author as an authority over some system of words, concepts, places, and things. 2. That system models a social system. The author’s “administra- tion,” or trope of administration, makes the text a trope for a social formation, or for an entire society. Response to Jennifer Scappettone M O D E R N P H I L O L O G Y214 3. This sort of authority is by its nature Fascist, at least in Pound (himself a Fascist) and perhaps in many non-Poundian texts: Fascist doctrine says that all the elements (i.e., persons) in a society must work together, all the time, for a common goal under the direction of one strong leader, and a text with modernist authority has all its elements (i.e., words and ideas) working together, from start to finish, to form a semantic and aesthetic unity, under the direction of the implied author. 4. If these aspects make the modernist text a trope of Fascism, then the way to create an anti-Fascist text is to remove or undermine one of those aspects: to make a text whose elements do not work together, which fails to offer semantic or formal coherence, or which seems to repudiate (or never to have had) any single implied author. 5. If texts are tropes of social systems, such an anti-Fascist text would trope anarchism, as a political philosophy, or anarchy, as a state of society: that is, a society with no person or set of persons in charge of the rest, and a society whose characteristics or coherences, if any, would emerge from many actors without a common goal, in a “collec- tive errand of transitive meaning” (191). 6. Many avant-garde or post-Steinian texts have indeed jettisoned one or another of the aspects that seem to give modernist texts their unity. Mac Low’s Words nd Ends, however, outdoes them all: it is as “anarchist” a text as one could wish (as Mac Low could wish, since he himself endorsed anarchist principles). In it, there is really no one in charge: it is so free of semantic or propositional constraints that it appears to be “authored neither by Pound nor by Mac Low nor by the reader, but by some combination of all” (194). A less sympathetic reader might say that it appear to be authored by no one, being the result of a procedure independent of semantics and (once under way) of human control. Scappettone argues—and here is what she adds to Watten and to Bernstein as a reader of Mac Low—that Mac Low’s anarchic, multi- authored text responds to Pound’s Fascist, single-author modernist text not only in what it does with or to its readers but in what it does with or to history and historiography. By scrambling or subjecting The Cantos (a “poem containing history”) to anarchist antiauthorial procedures, Words nd Ends (she writes) undoes Pound’s attempts to order and judge, offering instead “bluntly undifferentiated attention” that produces an “oppositional result”—opposed, that is, to Pound’s own forms of attention, to his attempts at personalized synthesis (200). The idea of joint, unstable, or unlocatable authorship has special force and pathos in Words nd Ends because the original text (The Cantos) was a palimpsestic collage that turned its initially disparate materials to unitary Fascist ends. Mac Low’s text therefore represents “an ego- Stephen Burt „ Response to Jennifer Scappettone 215 trammeling, choral outbreak through the [Fascist] original’s broken presence” (205). In order to see not only the anarchism in Mac Low’s procedurally generated texts (in general) but the special force of Mac Low’s pro- cedure applied to Pound, one must already know a lot about Pound. In this way this anarchist contemporary avant-garde poetic text—quite as much as the modernist Fascist poetic text from which it derives— exemplifies Robert Chodat’s claim that modernist and contemporary non- and antidiscursive poetic texts are parasitic on “prose sense,” on ordinary language, and on discursive texts in a way that other kinds of poems are not. “Alternative modes of making sense,” Chodat writes, “whether through ‘spatial form’ or ‘sound patterning’ ”—or, I would add, doubly palimpsestic historical implication—“presuppose the norms of rationality that we learn initially . . . in the process of making sense of speakers and agents” outside of poems. 1 We might even think of Mac Low’s texts—so dependent on what we know, or hope to know, about Pound, Pound’s knowledge, futurism, and the Italian Renaissance—as a politically antithetical, anarchist form of Poundian fan fiction, written out of admiration and very partial emulation, with an implied audience of other (uneasy, conflicted, anti-Fascist) Pound fans. 2 Pound saw poetic texts as tropes of social arrangements, and of historiographical approaches: their organization modeled, for him, approaches to history, to government, and to social life. So—to judge by Scappettone’s essay—did Mac Low. Should we? In doing so, are we not making a mistake both Walter Benjamin and (less famously) Richard Wilbur warned against, in thinking that the same sort of judgments can or ought to apply inside works of art and outside them? Wilbur—a clear opponent of McCarthyism and of the war in Vietnam— warned readers against considering any poems as tropes of any society, since no society should be or could be organized as neatly as Wilbur’s poems. 3 What do we give up, what ways of reading have we rendered hard to use, when we imagine, as we so often do, that poetic texts are tropes of social formations, or tropes of the history of any society? 1. Robert Chodat, “Sense, Science and the Interpretation of Gertrude Stein,” Mod- ernism/Modernity 12 (2005): 603. 2. One of many good explanations of “fan fiction” in general, for those unfamiliar with the term, is Rebecca Tushnet, “Legal Fictions: Copyright, Fan Fiction and a New Common Law,” Loyola of Los Angeles Entertainment Law Journal 17 (1997): 651–86, available online at http://www.tushnet.com/legalfictions.pdf. 3. Richard Wilbur, “The Genie in the Bottle,” in Mid-Century American Poets, ed. John Ciardi (New York: Twayne, 1950), 7. M O D E R N P H I L O L O G Y216 Though Scappettone speaks intriguingly of Words nd Ends as a paradoxical attempt to reorganize from the roots (“radically”) our ideas of lyric and of history, most of her terms of description and praise for it are negative or reactive. Mac Low’s work subverts, undermines, scrambles, calls into question, cancels out, even “exorcises” aspects of Pound’s beliefs and of Pound’s practice. Mac Low’s “bluntly undiffer- entiated attention . . . produces an oppositional result” (200); his “dis- continuous” text “retains no memories and leaves intact no narrative impulse of beginning or ending, consummation or rupture” (204). Another of Mac Low’s sequences “undermines grammatical hierar- chies” (209). These are the normal, though hardly invariable, terms of praise in academic literary criticism at the moment, especially though not only among academic critics who take their bearings from Stein and from the language writers. Are they enough for us, as readers of poetry? Are they enough for us, as readers of history? Mac Low’s “con- glomerate historicism” should “derail and reroute our thinking about history” (197) if we read it as Scappettone intends. Yet the derailing seems clearer than the rerouting. One might even ask whether Mac Low’s procedure—without implicit narrative, account of causation, or account of how and why people choose to collaborate or to dissent— is something like the opposite of history, rather than an alternate route to history writing that someone who wanted to write history could actually take. Can an “ambient” text ever be a history, or even a trope of the writing of history? Tan Lin’s own advocacy of the ambient, the unreadable, the entropic, sometimes seems to me less a serious argument than a provocative parody, meant to elicit grounds for refutation, as when Lin writes: “The best reading experiences have been silenced [Lin does not say by what or by whom] or whited out like a machine/diagram for the production of white noise.” 4 If this description covers Mac Low it may not constitute a recommendation: Lin himself applies it to designer shopping bags and to best sellers. Faced with such texts as Mac Low’s, and with such claims as Scappettone’s, for derailing, subverting, undermining, exorcising, we might ask, as Mark Schoening has asked: “Are we beings whose deliverance lies in the absence of structure?” Or rather are we “beings whose attraction to the idea of emancipatory change, understandable 4. Tan Lin, “American Architecture Meta Data Containers,” No: A Journal of the Arts 5 (2006): 247. Stephen Burt „ Response to Jennifer Scappettone 217 though it may be, has led to a distinctly ‘modern’ form of utopianism less liberatory to us than we imagine?” 5 On the other hand, if we insist that poems are, should be, will be, tropes of large-scale social organization, of government, society, and history, we might go on to ask: What would a poetic text look like that offered neither a trope of Fascism, nor of anarchism, but of social democracy? Could such a text count as modernist, or as avant- garde? Do the terms in which we now analyze modernist and contem- porary texts make such a text impossible to find, or to discover, or to appreciate? Stephen Burt Harvard University 5. Mark Schoening, “Literary Interest Now,” Modern Language Notes 29 (1999): 175–88. 
work_csvl25uu2bgm5a6iogfiawoe2u	----	CHH volume 48 issue 2 Cover and Front matter CHURCH HISTORY A M E R I C A N SOCIETY O F C H U R C H H I S T O R Y , J U N E , 1979 Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 https://www.cambridge.org/core T H E AMERICAN SOCIETY O F C H U R C H HISTORY PRESIDENT B R I A N A. G E R R I S H , University of Chicago PRESIDENT-ELECT R O B E R T M . K I N G D O N , University of Wisconsin SECRETARY, TREASURER W I L L I A M B . M I L L E R , Wallingford, PA ASSISTANT SECRETARY S T U A R T C. H E N R Y , T h e Divinity School, D u k e University EDITORS R O B E R T M . G R A N T 1 M A R T I N E . M A R T Y V T h e Divinity School, University of Chicago J E R A L D C. B R A U E R J MEMBERS OF THE COUNCIL Class of 1979 C A T H E R I N E L . A L B A N E S E J A Y P . D O L A N J O Y C E L . I R W I N F . E R N E S T S T O E F F L E R C. C O N R A D W R I G H T Class of 1980 C A R O L I N E W . B Y N U M E . B R O O K S H O L I F I E L D D A V I D O ' B R I E N A L B E R T J . R A B O T E A U P A U L S. S E A V E R Class of 1981 W I L L I A M J . B O U W S M A M A R I L Y N J . H A R R A N S C O T T H . H E N D R I X R O B E R T A. K O L B J . S E A R S M C G E E T h e Society was founded in 1888 by Philip Schaff, was reorganized in 1906 and was incorporated by act of the Legislature of the State of N e w York in 1916. Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 https://www.cambridge.org/core Vol. 48 June, 1979 No. 2 CHURCH HISTORY Published quarterly by THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF CHURCH HISTORY 1979, The American Society of Church History Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 https://www.cambridge.org/core CHURCH HISTORY EDITORS ROBERT M. G R A N T ~) M A R T I N E. M A R T Y I Divinity School, University of Chicago J E R A L D C. BRAUER I with the cooperation of ROBE RT T. H A N D Y , Union Theological Seminary J A M E S HENNESEY, Boston College WlNTHROP S. H U D S O N , Colgate-Rochester Divinity School J A M E S HASTINGS N I C H O L S , Princeton Theological Seminary JAROSLAV PELIKAN, Divinity School, Yale University GEORGE H. WILLIAMS, Divinity School, Harvard University assistants to the editors JAMES LEWIS JANET SUMMERS Church History is published quarterly in March, June, September and December by the American Society of Church History. Subscription prices are $15.00 a year (students with recommendation of professor and persons having been society members for five years and now retired from professional life—$9.00); $4.00 for single issues; $1.00 extra should be added for foreign countries. Please make all remittances payable to the American Society of Church History. Subscription applications, renewals, changes of address, claims for missing numbers, and orders for single copies of current or back issues should be sent to William B. Miller, 305 E. Country Club Lane, Wallingford, PA 19086. Claims for missing numbers will be honored without charge if made within two months following the regular month of publication. Microfilm reproductions of the American Society ojChurch History Papers, series I and II, and of Church History, vols, 1-17 (1932-48), are available from the ATLA Board of Microtext. Orders for these reproductions as well as inquiries about microfilm portions and xerox copies should be sent to Raymond P. Morris, Library, Yale Divinity School, 409 Prospect Street, New Haven, Connecticut 06510. Microfilm reproductions of Church History starting with vol. 18 (1949) are available to subscribers and members of the society from University Microfilms, 300 N. Zeeb Road, Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106. An Index for both series of Papers and for Church History, volumes 1-30 (1961), is available at $2.00, and an Index for Church History, volumes 31-39 (1970) is available at $2.50 from the Treasurer, Mr. William B. Miller, at the address given above. Book reviews are indexed or abstracted in Book Review Index, Historical Abstracts and America: History and Life. Manuscripts and books for review should be sent to Church History, Swift Hall, University of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois 60637. Manuscripts submitted for consideration must be typed double-spaced on sturdy paper; footnotes must be typed double-spaced on separate pages following the text. Manuscripts exceeding twenty-five pages in length (including footnotes) cannot be considered. Please submit two copies of the manuscript (no carbons) and include correct return postage. Advertising orders and requests for permission to quote should be addressed to the editorial office at the University of Chicago. Church History is printed by Science Press, Ephrata, Pennsylvania. Second-class postage paid at Wallingford, Pennsylvania and additional mailing offices. C H U R C H HISTORY (ISSN 0009-6407) Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS 129 Pre-Christian Gnosticism in the Nag Hammadi Texts? EDWIN YAMAUCHI 142 Erasmus' Paraphrase of the Gospel of John ALBERT RABIL, J R . 156 William Penn, Model of Protestant Liberalism H U G H BARBOUR 174 An Attempt at Systematic Reconstruction in the Theology of Thomas Chalmers DANIEL F. RICE 189 Revolutionary Leadership and the Russian Orthodox Church in 1917 J O H N D. BASIL 204 Book Reviews Paulsen, Henning, Studien zur Theologie des Ignatius von Antiochien E. R. Hardy Nautin, Pierre, Origene: sa vie et son oeuvre Joseph W. Trigg Geanakoplos, Deno, Interaction of the "Sibling" Byzantine and Western Cultures in the Middle Ages and Italian Renaissance (330-1600) Harry Rosenberg Analecta croatica Christiana \vo Banac Volume 1. Buturac, Josip, Kalolicka Crkva u Slavoniji za turskog vladanja (The Catholic Church in Slavonia during Turkish Rule) Volume 2. Dzaja, Srecko M., Katolici u Bosni i zapadnoj Hercegovim na prijelazu iz 18. u 19. stoljece: Dobafra Grge Iliji'ca Varesanina, 1783- 1813 (Catholics in Bosnia and Western Hercegovina at the Turn oj the Nineteenth Century: The Age of Friar Grgo Iliji'c Varesanin, 1783-1813) Volume 3. Jurisic, Karlo, Katolicka Crkva na biokovsko-neretvanskom podrucju u doba turske vladavine (The Catholic Church in the Biokovo- Neretva Region during Turkish Rule) Volume 4. Vucemilo, Stjepan Bozo, Andjeo dalla Costa i njegov "Zakon czarkovni" (Andjeo dalla Costa and His 'Church Law') Volume 5. Turcinovic, Josip, Miswnar Podunavlja Bugann Krsto Pejki'c, 1665-1731 (Missionary of the Cisdanubian Area, the Bulgar Krsto Pejkic 1665-1731) Volume 6. Sanjek, Franjo, Bosansko-humski krstjani i katarsko-dualisticki pokret u srednjem vijeku (Bosnian-Hum krstjani and the Catharo- Dualistic Movement during the Middle Ages) Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 https://www.cambridge.org/core Volume 7. Ostojic, Ivan, Mitropolitanski kaptol u Splitu (The Metropolitan Cathedral Chapter in Split) Volume 8. Fucak, Jerko, Sest stoljeca hrvatskog lekcionara u sklopu jedanaest stoljeca hrvatskog glagoljastva (Six Centuries of Croat Lectionaries in the Context of Eleven Centuries of Croat Glagolitic Literacy) Crocker, Richard L., The Early Medieval Sequence Ross J. Miller Lekai, Louis J., The Cistercians: Ideals and Reality Bede K. Lackner Schultz, Selina Gerhard, Caspar Schwenckfeld von Ossig (1489-1561) Karl H. Dannenfeldt Tolmie, Murray, The Triumph of the Saints: The Separate Churches of London, 1616-1649 J. Sears McGee Orr, J . Edwin Richard Quebedeaux Evangelical Awakenings in Eastern Asia. Evangelical Awakenings in Southern Asia. Evangelical Awakenings in Africa. Evangelical Awakenings in the South Seas. Evangelical Awakenings in Latin America. The Eager Feet: Evangelical Awakenings, 1790-1830. The Fervent Prayer: The Worldwide Impact of the Great Awakening of 1858. The Flaming Tongue: Evangelical Awakenings, 1900- Worldwide. Caskey, Marie, Chariot of Fire: Religion and the Beecher Family Leo Sandon, Jr. Caruthers, J. Wade, Octavius Frothingham, Gentle Radical Peter W. Williams Maxwell, C. Mervyn, Tell It to the World: The Story of Seventh-day Adventists Jonathan Butler Magnuson, Norris, Salvation in the Slums: Evangelical Social Work, 1865-1920 Stephen H. Snyder 218 Booknotes Nautin, Pierre, ed., Didyme I'Aveugle: Sur la G'enese, Volume 2 Robert M. Grant Le Goff, Jacques, Pour un autre Moyen Age; Temps, travail et culture en Occident: 18 essais Julius Kirshner Caviness, Madeline Harrison, The Early Stained Glass of Canterbury Cathedral, circa 1175-1220 Richard W. Pfaff Hazard, Harry W., ed., A History of the Crusades, Volume 4. The Art and Architecture of the Crusader States Bernard McGinn Boyle, Marjorie O'Rourke, Erasmus on Language and Method in Theology John O'Malley Bierlaire, Franz, Les Collogues d'Erasme: reforme des etudes, reforme des moeurs et reforme de I'Eglise au XVF siecle John O'Malley Giinter, Wolfgang, Martin Luthers Vorstellung von der Reichsverfassung Gottfried G. Krodel Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 https://www.cambridge.org/core Strasser-Bertrand, Otto E., and de Jong, Otto J., Geschichte des Protestantismus in Frankreich und den Niederlanden Paul Misner Fairchilds, Cissie C , Poverty and Charity in Aix-en- Provence, 1640-1789 Richard M. Golden Grossmann, Walter, Johann Christian Edelmann: From Orthodoxy to Enlightenment James D. Nelson Davie, Donald, A Gathered Church: The Literature of the English Dissenting Interest, 1700-1930 William L. Sachs Currie, Robert; Gilbert, Alan; and Horsley, Lee, Churches and Church-Goers: Patterns of Church Growth in the British Isles since 1700 William L. Sachs Jones, Phyllis M., and Jones, Nicholas R., eds., Salvation in New England: Selections from the Sermons of the First Preachers Jon Butler Stein, Stephen J., ed., The Works of Jonathan Edwards, Volume 5. Apocalyptic Writings: Notes on the Apocalypse and An Humble Attempt George M. Marsden Machin, G. I. T., Politics and the Churches in Great Britain, 1832-1868 William L. Sachs Westerhoff, John H., Ill, McGuffey and His Readers: Piety, Morality, and Education in Nineteenth-Century America . . . . Douglas MacNaughton Parker, Inez Moore, The Rise and Decline of the Program of Education for Black Presbyterians of the United Presbyterian Church, U.S.A. 1865-1970 Louis Weeks Hitchins, Keith, Orthodoxy and Nationality: Andreiu Saguna and the Rumanians of Transylvania, 1846-1873 Constantine N. Tsirpanlis Cardinale, H. E., The Holy See and the International Order John T. Marrone Delzell, Charles F., ed., The Future of History John F. Wilson 232 Society Notices In the articles by Dr. Robert L. Sample ("The Christology of the Council of Antioch (268 C.E.)") and Dr. John L. Boojamra ("Athanasios of Constantinople: A Study of Byzantine Reaction to Latin Religious Infiltration") in the March 1979 issue, a number of typographical errors appeared in the Greek. The assistants to the editors take responsibility for those errors and wish to apologize to the respective authors. Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700039330 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_ctw7clrpwjalhawwjcnlztrlaa	----	Nasofacial angle and nasal prominence: A quantitative investigation of idealized and normative values Accepted Manuscript Nasofacial angle and nasal prominence: A quantitative investigation of idealized and normative values Dr Farhad B. Naini, BDS MSc PhD, Consultant Orthodontist/Honorary Senior Lecturer, Martyn T. Cobourne, BDS MSc PhD, Professor of Orthodontics and Craniofacial Development, Umberto Garagiola, DDS PhD, Professor of Orthodontics, Fraser McDonald, BDS MSc PhD, Professor and Head of Orthodontics, David Wertheim, MA PhD CEng, Professor PII: S1010-5182(16)00015-9 DOI: 10.1016/j.jcms.2016.01.010 Reference: YJCMS 2282 To appear in: Journal of Cranio-Maxillo-Facial Surgery Received Date: 26 October 2015 Revised Date: 21 December 2015 Accepted Date: 6 January 2016 Please cite this article as: Naini FB, Cobourne MT, Garagiola U, McDonald F, Wertheim D, Nasofacial angle and nasal prominence: A quantitative investigation of idealized and normative values, Journal of Cranio-Maxillofacial Surgery (2016), doi: 10.1016/j.jcms.2016.01.010. This is a PDF file of an unedited manuscript that has been accepted for publication. As a service to our customers we are providing this early version of the manuscript. The manuscript will undergo copyediting, typesetting, and review of the resulting proof before it is published in its final form. Please note that during the production process errors may be discovered which could affect the content, and all legal disclaimers that apply to the journal pertain. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.jcms.2016.01.010 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 1 Nasofacial angle and nasal prominence: A quantitative investigation of idealized and normative values 1 Farhad B. Naini, BDS, MSc, PhD 2 Martyn T. Cobourne, BDS, MSc, PhD 3 Umberto Garagiola, DDS, PhD 4 Fraser McDonald, BDS, MSc, PhD 5 David Wertheim, MA, PhD, CEng Author affiliations: 1 Consultant Orthodontist/Honorary Senior Lecturer, Kingston and St George’s Hospitals and St George’s Medical School, London, United Kingdom 2 Professor of Orthodontics and Craniofacial Development, King’s College London Dental Institute, London, United Kingdom 3 Professor of Orthodontics, Department of Reconstructive and Diagnostic Surgical Sciences, University of Milan, Milan, Italy 4 Professor and Head of Orthodontics, King’s College London Dental Institute, London, United Kingdom 5 Professor, Faculty of Science, Engineering and Computing, Kingston University, London, United Kingdom Conflict of interest: None Financial disclosure/sources of funding: None M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 2 Ethical approval: National Research Ethics Service; NRES (UK); REC reference: 06/Q0806/46 Corresponding author: Dr Farhad B. Naini Consultant Orthodontist St George’s Hospital & Medical School Blackshaw Road London, UK, SW17 0QT Email: Farhad.Naini@yahoo.co.uk Tel: +44 20 8725 1251 Fax: +44 20 8725 3081 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 1 Summary Purpose: A quantitative evaluation of the influence of the nasofacial angle on perceived attractiveness and threshold values of desire for rhinoplasty. Material and Methods: The nasofacial angle of an idealized silhouette male Caucasian/white profile image was altered incrementally between 21° and 48°. Images were rated on a Likert scale by pretreatment patients (n = 75), laypersons (n = 75), and clinicians (n = 35). Results: A nasofacial angle of approximately 30° was deemed to be ideal, with a range of 27° to 36° deemed acceptable. Angles above or below this range were perceived as unattractive. Angles outside the range of 21° to 42° were deemed very unattractive. Excessive nasal prominence (nasofrontal angle of 48°) was deemed the least attractive. In terms of threshold values of desire for surgery, for all groups a threshold value of ≥39° and ≤24° indicated a preference for surgery, with clinicians least likely to suggest surgery. The patient group assessments demonstrated the greatest variability, stressing the importance of using patients as observers, as well as laypersons and clinicians, in facial attractiveness research. Conclusions: It is recommended that in rhinoplasty planning, the range of normal variability of the nasofrontal angle, in terms of observer acceptance, is taken into account, as well as threshold values of desire for surgery. Keywords: nasofacial angle, nasal tip prominence, rhinoplasty, profile aesthetics M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 2 INTRODUCTION Nasal prominence is often the most dominating parameter of the facial profile, and an observer’s visual perception is often drawn to this important facial promontory (Pitak- Arnnop., 2011). The nasofacial angle, also termed the frontal facial angle, is a potentially important factor in the perception of facial profile attractiveness (Pearson and Adamson, 2004). It is the inner angle formed by the intersection of the facial plane (glabella to pogonion) and the nasal dorsal plane (nasion to pronasale) (Figure 1) (Naini, 2011). The concept of perception in relation to facial attractiveness has been investigated (Springer et al., 2012). A total of 324 subjects completed an “adjective mood scale” and rated a number of statements regarding their own appearance, emphasising the potential impact on social functioning and willingness to undergo aesthetic surgery. Photographs of these subjects were also assessed by 50 independent judges. It was found that impaired well-being was associated with impaired facial self-perception, independent of attractiveness. Willingness to undergo aesthetic surgery appeared not to be affected by the individual’s sense of well-being and, very importantly, in subjects with impaired well-being who undergo aesthetic surgery, facial self- perception appeared unlikely to be improved. An interesting subsequent investigation by Springer et al. (2012) assessed the relationship between facial self-perception and perception by others. Their results demonstrated that individuals perceive their own facial attractiveness to be greater than that expressed in the opinions of others. These results are consequential, and the authors maintained the importance that self-identification and self-confidence play in an individual’s psychosocial status. An investigation by Springer et al. (2008) assessed the potential implications for rhinoplasty in relation to nasal morphology, particularly in relation to gender specificity, which is paramount in relation to rhinoplasty planning. Their results demonstrated that optimal female M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 3 noses had a horizontally and vertically lower nasion position and were concave to straight in profile, whereas optimal male noses had a vertically and horizontally higher nasion position and a straight profile. Also, women and men with a straight or concave profile were significantly more satisfied with the appearance of their nose than those with nasal dorsal humps. Gender-related differences in nasal shape appear to be subtle, with nasion position being one of the main factors. A nasal hump and a supratip break were found to be undesirable. Springer et al. (2009) subsequently analysed the influence of an observer’s gender in relation to nasal aesthetics and morphology. Their results demonstrated that, generally speaking, female judges accorded significantly higher ratings of attractiveness as compared to male judges independent of the gender of observed images, with this difference being magnified when assessing the most unattractive male images, although this was not apparent when assessing "optimal" female and "optimal" male noses. However, women displayed the same preferences for "optimal" and "average" noses as compared to the "most unpleasant" noses. In assessing their own noses, women were significantly less satisfied with their appearance in general as compared to men. In comparison to men, women were more critical in assessing the appearance of their own nose as opposed to the noses of other people. Roxbury et al. (2012) assessed the impact of nasal asymmetry on observer perceptions of facial asymmetry and attractiveness and the ability of rhinoplasty to minimize it. They found that faces displaying nasal asymmetry were rated as less symmetrical overall and that straightening rhinoplasty diminished overall facial asymmetry, with decreasing nasal asymmetry leading to significant improvements in facial attractiveness. It has also been observed that the visual impact of symmetry on the perception of attractiveness increases significantly when approaching the midline (Springer et al., 2007), and the nose is the major midline structure of the face. M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 4 The principal aim of this investigation was to evaluate quantitatively the influence of nasal prominence, as represented by the nasofacial angle, on perceived attractiveness. The relationship between the nasofacial angle and attractiveness was recorded to ascertain the range of normal variability, in terms of observer acceptance, and to determine the clinically significant threshold value or cut-off point beyond which the angle is perceived as unattractive and surgical correction is desired. The perceptions of patients, clinicians, and laypersons were compared for these different variables. MATERIAL AND METHODS Subjects and procedures Ethical approval was granted for the study by the National Research Ethics Service; NRES (UK) (REC reference: 06/Q0806/46). Two-dimensional profile silhouettes are used routinely to assess the perceptions of facial attractiveness (Ioi et al., 2005; Naini et al., 2012). A profile silhouette image was created with computer software (Adobe® Photoshop® CS2 software). The image was manipulated using the same software to construct an “ideal” profile image with proportions,3 and linear and angular soft tissue measurements (Farkas et al., 1986; Farkas and Kolar, 1987; Farkas, 1994; Naini, 2011), based on currently accepted criteria for an idealized Caucasian/white male profile, as previously described (Naini et al., 2012). The nasofrontal angle of the idealized image (image BL: 30°) was altered in 3° increments from 21° to 48°, to represent variations in the angle, ranging from excessive to reduced nasal prominence (Figure 2). M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 5 Based on the results of a pilot study and power calculation, 185 observers took part in the study, separated into three groups (pretreatment orthognathic patients, laypersons, and clinicians; Table 1), with the following selection criteria: ● Patients: pretreatment (only 1 consultation appointment); primary concern was facial appearance; no previous facial surgical treatment; no history of facial trauma; no severe psychological issues. ● Laypersons: no previous facial surgery, deformities, or history of facial trauma. ● Clinicians: involved in the management of patients with facial deformities; included 19 maxillofacial surgeons (all with experience in facial aesthetic and reconstructive surgery) and 16 orthodontists, with 1–16 years of experience in the clinical management of patients requiring orthognathic and facial reconstructive surgery. No plastic surgeons were used as observers, although in clinical practice any surgeon appropriately trained in surgery of the nose may undertake nasal aesthetic assessment. Each observer was given a questionnaire and asked to provide the following information: age, gender, ethnic origin (white or nonwhite), how would you rate the attractiveness of your facial appearance, and how important do you think it is to have an attractive facial appearance. An instruction sheet accompanied the questionnaire, asking the observers to rate each image in terms of facial attractiveness using the following rating scale: 1. Extremely unattractive. 2. Very unattractive. 3. Slightly unattractive. 4. Neither attractive nor unattractive. 5. Slightly attractive. 6. Very attractive. M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 6 7. Extremely attractive. Observers were also asked whether they would consider surgery to correct the appearance if this was their facial appearance (yes or no). The images were placed in random order into the software application Microsoft PowerPoint® (Microsoft Corporation, Redmondd, WA, USA). Each image was identified by a randomly assigned double letter in the top right corner of the screen (e.g. BL, GQ etc.; Figure 3). A duplicate image assessed intra-examiner reliability (images DN and EM). Each observer sat undisturbed in the same room in front of the same computer and 17-inch flat- screen monitor. The presentation and the images were created in such a way that each of the profile silhouette images, when viewed on the monitor, had the same dimensions as a normal human head, based on an average lower facial height, reducing the potential effect of image size on observer perception. Each observer examined the images in the PowerPoint® presentation by pressing the “Page Down” button on the keyboard, in their own time. The Likert-type rating scale used is largely accepted in the psychology literature as the most useful rating method (Langlois et al., 2000). The seven-point Likert scale described above was used by each observer to rate each image in terms of attractiveness. Statistical analysis The median and interquartile observer ratings were calculated for each angle and for each observer group; these descriptive statistics were calculated using software that we developed using MATLAB (MathWorks Inc, Natick, MA, USA). Additionally, data were modelled by curve fitting performed using MATLAB. Similarly, the software calculated the proportions in each group suggesting a desire for surgery. Additional paired t-tests were performed using Minitab version 16 (Minitab Inc, State College, PA, USA) following application of the Ryan– M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 7 Joiner test in Minitab used to examine whether data were consistent with a normal distribution. RESULTS Reliability analysis Table 2 shows the first and third quartile rankings of the Likert score. The results indicate that there was generally good agreement in the three observer groups. The interquartile range for all three groups was 1. Perceived attractiveness of images In Table 3, the median attractiveness rating of the observers on a Likert scale from 1 to 7 is shown, where 1 indicates ‘extremely unattractive’ and 7 indicates ‘extremely attractive’. A nasofacial angle outside the range of 27° to 36° was associated with a reduction in the median attractiveness scores in all three groups of observers. The lay and patient groups have the same median attractiveness score for the identical images (DN and EM), again indicating good repeatability. Most attractive and least attractive images Table 4 demonstrates the data in rank order from most to least attractive, sorted on the basis of responses from the clinician group then the lay group. Tables 5 and 6 demonstrate the proportion expressed as a percentage of each observer group suggesting that surgery is required. The results indicate that clinicians were generally least likely to suggest surgery for varying degrees of nasofacial angle. Images DN and EM were identical, and so repeatability of the 35 clinicians’ assessment was excellent, in both cases 20% suggesting surgery. For the 75 laypersons, the assessment of the two repeated images was also similar (17% and 23%), M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 8 which was also seen in the group of 75 patients (39% and 41%). For many of the images, there was generally good agreement among clinicians and laypersons as to whether surgery was required. There was more variability in the assessment for the patient group as indicated by fewer very low (<25%) and very high (>75%) percentages of the groups suggesting surgery. Taking 50% of each observer group as a cut-off where half of the individuals suggested surgery, for all three groups the threshold value of desire for surgery was ≥39° and ≤24°. For observers who considered attractiveness to be important (>2), Table 7 indicates the proportion suggesting surgery. For patients 68 of 75, for laypersons 71 of 75, and all clinicians considered attractiveness to be important. Thus nasofacial angle deviations of ≥39° and ≤24° were again associated with a higher proportion of individuals desiring surgery. For those who did not consider attractiveness to be important (7 patients and 4 laypersons), Table 8 summarises the proportion desiring surgery; the table has no column for clinicians, as all considered attractiveness to be important. Clearly the lay observer number is low in this category. DISCUSSION Planning aesthetic rhinoplasty requires the determination and validation of correct nasofacial morphological relationships, which requires two sources of information (Naini et al., 2008). Age-, gender-, and ethnicity-specific population averages based on anthropometric data allow comparison of a patient’s nasofacial measurements and proportions to the population norms. No longitudinal data are available for the nasofacial angle, but there are some cross-sectional data available (Farkas, 1994). Additionally, the perceived attractiveness of the proportions M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 9 and morphological relationships should be confirmed by the judgement of patients and the lay public, and ideally compared to the judgement of treating clinicians. This was the main purpose of this investigation. The results of this investigation demonstrated that increasing the nasofacial angle deviation in either direction from an angle of 30° (Image BL) was associated with a reduction in the median attractiveness scores in all three groups of observers. The highest attractiveness scores were for image BL (30°), closely followed by image CL (33°) and image KJ (27°). An angle of 36° (images EM and DN) was deemed to be neither attractive nor unattractive, i.e., essentially acceptable even if not attractive. However, from nasofacial angles of ≤24° and ≥39°, the images were viewed as unattractive by all observer groups. The farther the angle was reduced to less than 24°, the more unattractive it was perceived to be, with ≤21° being perceived as very and extremely unattractive by all observer groups. Additionally, the further the angle increased above 39°, the more unattractive it was perceived to be, with 42° and above being perceived as very or extremely unattractive by all observer groups. Angles outside these ranges are perceived as unattractive by all groups, with greater deviations leading to progressively reduced perceptions of attractiveness. In terms of desire for surgical correction, the results indicate that clinicians were generally the least likely to suggest surgery for varying degrees of nasofacial angle. Although there was generally good agreement in the three observer groups, there appears to be a high degree of agreement amongst clinicians, and the reason for this may be the potentially higher critical capabilities of clinicians resulting from their training. This stresses the importance of using patients as observers in facial attractiveness research. As with other facial parameters, it is generally acknowledged that the nasofacial angle has a range of normal individual variability. As a starting point, for comparative purposes and by M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 10 way of contrast, it is useful to look at the nasofacial angle in idealized images from classical and Renaissance art and sculpture (Table 9). The first known treatise on ideal human proportions was written by the Greek sculptor Polycleitos of Argos. Unfortunately, no copies of this book exist. However, it is known, based on evidence from the physician Galen, that Polycleitos based his most important statue, the Doryphorus, on his treatise. The nasofacial angle in these statues is approximately 25° to 30°. From a number of idealized male and female profile images painted in the Renaissance, the nasofacial angle is again within the range of 25° to 30°. Two images were 20° and 35°, respectively, although this appeared to be due to differences in the sagittal position of the chin rather than nasal prominence (Table 9). A common denominator in the morphology of the nasal dorsum in these images is that it is relatively straight in all the images. In ancient Greek sculpture, the reduced values for the nasofacial angle may be related to the classical “Greek nose” type, in which the nasal radix is higher. The nasal radix region, and the nasal starting point, are important parameters in nasal aesthetic evaluation and rhinoplasty planning. For the purposes of this investigation, the nasal starting point was not altered in any of the images, specifically for the purpose of altering only the one parameter being investigated, namely, nasal prominence. However, it should be borne in mind that differences in the nasal radix morphology must be taken into account in planning surgery. Additionally, a number of modern surgical authorities have provided “ideal” values for the nasofacial angle, based on anecdotal evidence and the “good eye” of the respective surgeon. For example, in their ‘aesthetic triangle’, Powell and Humphreys (1984) described an ideal range of 30° to 40°, and suggested that the higher values were male and the lower were better suited to female profiles. They demonstrated both the female and male “ideal” profiles with a nasofacial angle of 36°. Papel and Capone (2004) corroborated the values provided by Powell and Humphreys (1984). Lehocky (2006) provided the ideal values as 36° in men and 34° in M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 11 women, based on anecdotal opinion. Sheen (1978) and Rees (1980) stressed the importance of nasal tip prominence in achieving a pleasing facial contour, without providing any specific ranges for the angle. They stressed the importance of nasal projection in relation to the face without the imposition of an “ideal” nose onto every facial profile; however, they conceded that certain nasofacial relationships are essential for an optimal aesthetic result, with well- defined nasal relationships forming the basis of accurate diagnosis and planning. One of the pioneers of modern rhinoplasty, Jacques Joseph (1865–1934), referred to the nasofacial angle as the ‘profile angle’. He measured this angle in paintings by celebrated artists, including Leonardo da Vinci and Thomas Gainsborough, and determined an ideal angle of 30°, with a range of 23° to 37° (Naini, 2011). Farkas anthropometrically measured the ‘inclination of the nasal bridge’ in relation to ‘the vertical’, which, although not directly defined, appears to be quite similar to the nasofacial angle, except that the vertical glabella-to-pogonion line is substituted for a vertical line parallel to the Frankfort plane (Farkas et al., 1986; Farkas, 1994). Average values, based on anthropometric studies by Farkas et al. (1986), for North American adults of white ethnicity are 31.6° ± 4.6° in males and 30° ± 5.3° in females. There is ethnic variability, and average values for a Chinese population have been provided as 27.2° ± 3.5° in males and 24.5° ± 3.6° in females, and in an African American population as 32.2° ± 5° in males and 33.4° ± 5.7° in females (Farkas, 1994). The diagnosing surgeon should keep in mind that the nasofacial angle is but one of myriad facial aesthetic parameters that the treating surgeon must evaluate. A number of other nasal and nasofacial angles and proportional parameters should also be evaluated. These include the nasofrontal angle, nasal dorsal contour, supratip morphology, nasal tip rotation, nasal height to projection ratio, nasal projection to length ratio, nasal columella-lobular angle, M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 12 nasolabial angle, and vertical and transverse proportions of the nose in relation to the face. In addition, the aesthetic relationship between the nose and the other five facial profile prominences, namely, the forehead and supraorbital ridge, the lips, chin, and submental- cervical region, must also be taken into account, to achieve the most harmonious surgical outcome (Naini, 2011).. It is important to bear in mind that the profile silhouette image created was based on North American white adult male proportions and normative values. As such, it is not generalizable to different ethnic groups, and the data may not be directly relevant to other ethnic groups, although it does provide an insight into how different ethnic groups view faces of white ethnicity. It would be interesting to repeat the study using images from different ethnic groups. CONCLUSIONS The results demonstrate that a nasofacial angle of approximately 30° is ideal, with a range of 27° to 36° deemed acceptable. Angles above or below this range are perceived as unattractive, and anything outside the range of 21° to 42° is deemed very unattractive. Excessive nasal prominence, with a nasofrontal angle of 48°, was deemed the least attractive. In terms of threshold values of desire for surgery, for all groups a threshold value of ≥39° and ≤24° indicated a preference for surgery, although clinicians were the least likely to suggest surgery. For many of the images, there was generally good agreement among clinicians and laypersons as to whether surgery was required. There was more variability in the assessments for the patient group. This stresses the importance of using patients as observers, as well as laypersons and clinicians, in facial attractiveness research. M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 13 Conflict of interest There is no conflict of interest for any author. M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 14 REFERENCES Farkas LG: Anthropometry of the attractive North American Caucasian face. In: Farkas LG, (ed.), Anthropometry of the head and face, 2nd edition. New York: Raven Press, 159- 180, 1994. Farkas LG, Kolar JC: Anthropometrics and art in the aesthetics of women's faces. Clin Plast Surg. 14:599-616, 1987. Farkas LG, Kolar JC, Munro IR: Geography of the nose: a morphometric study. Aesthetic Plast Surg. 10:191-223, 1986. Ioi H, Nakata S, Nakasima A, Counts A: Effect of facial convexity on antero-posterior lip positions of the most favored Japanese facial profiles. Angle Orthod. 75:326-332, 2005. Langlois JH, Kalakanis L, Rubenstein AJ, Larson A, Hallam M, Smoot M: Maxims or myths of beauty? A meta-analytic and theoretical review. Psychol Bull. 126:390-423, 2000. Lehocky BE: Anthropometry and cephalometric facial analysis. In: Mathes SJ (ed.). Plastic Surgery, 2nd edition. Vol. II. Philadelphia: Saunders Elsevier, 1-30, 2006. Naini FB: Facial Aesthetics: Concepts and Clinical Diagnosis. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011. Naini FB: Leonardo da Vinci's aesthetic analysis of nasal tip prominence. Arch Facial Plast Surg. 14:463-464, 2012. Naini FB: The origin of the zero-degree meridian used in facial aesthetic analysis. Aesthet Surg J. 34:NP72-3, 2014. M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 15 Naini FB, Cobourne MT, Mcdonald F, Donaldson AN: The influence of craniofacial to standing height proportion on perceived attractiveness. Int J Oral Maxillofac Surg. 37:877-885, 2008. Naini FB, Donaldson ANA, McDonald F, Cobourne MT: Assessing the influence of chin prominence on perceived attractiveness in the orthognathic patient, layperson and clinician. Int J Oral Maxillofac Surg. 41:839-846, 2012. Papel ID, Capone RB: Facial proportions and esthetic ideals. In: Behrbohm H, Tardy Jr ME, (eds.). Essentials of Septorhinoplasty. New York: Thieme, 65-74, 2004. Pearson DC, Adamson PA: The ideal nasal profile: rhinoplasty patients vs. the general public. Arch Facial Plast Surg. 6:257-262, 2004. Pitak-Arnnop P, Hemprich A, Dhanuthai K, Yildirim V, Pausch NC: Panel and patient perceptions of nasal aesthetics after secondary cleft rhinoplasty with versus without columellar grafting. J Craniomaxillofac Surg. 39:319-325, 2011. Powell N, Humphreys B: Proportions of the Aesthetic Face. New York: Thieme, 1984. Rees TD: Aesthetic Plastic Surgery. Vol. 1. Philadelphia: WB Saunders Company, 1980. Roxbury C, Ishii M, Godoy A, Papel I, Byrne PJ, Boahene KD, Ishii LE. Impact of crooked nose rhinoplasty on observer perceptions of attractiveness. Laryngoscope. 122:773-778, 2012. Sheen JH: Aesthetic Rhinoplasty. Vol. 1. Saint Louis: CV Mosby Company, 1978. M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 16 Springer IN, Wannicke B, Warnke PH, Zernial O, Wiltfang J, Russo PA, Terheyden H, Reinhardt A, Wolfart S. Facial attractiveness: visual impact of symmetry increases significantly towards the midline. Ann Plast Surg. 59:156-162, 2007. Springer IN, Zernial O, Warnke PH, Wiltfang J, Russo PA, Wolfart S: Nasal shape and gender of the observer: implications for rhinoplasty. J Craniomaxillofac Surg. 37:3-7, 2009. Sringer IN, Zernial O, Nölke F, Warnke PH, Wiltfang J, Russo PA, Terheyden H, Wolfart S: Gender and nasal shape: measures for rhinoplasty. Plast Reconstr Surg. 121:629-637, 2008. Springer IN, Schulze M, Wiltfang J, Niederberger U, Russo PA, Möller B, Wolfart S: Facial self-perception, well-being, and aesthetic surgery. Ann Plast Surg. 69:503-509, 2012. Springer IN, Wiltfang J, Kowalski JT, Russo PA, Schulze M, Becker S, Wolfart S: Mirror, mirror on the wall…: self-perception of facial beauty versus judgement by others. J Craniomaxillofac Surg. 40:773-776, 2012. M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 17 Figure 1. Nasofacial angle (NFA). Figure 2. The nasofacial angle of the idealized profile image was altered incrementally, creating a series of images. Figure 3. Example of an image viewed by study observers on the monitor during data collection. M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT Table 1. Observer demographics Observer group Number Mean age (years) 95% CI Age range Gender (% male) Ethnicity (% white) Orthognathic patients 75 22 20–24 13-60 42 66 Laypersons 75 31 28–35 16-79 31 49 Clinicians 35 31 30–33 24-39 33 72 CI, confidence interval. M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT Table 2. First and third quartile rankings of the Likert score First quartile Third quartile Image Angle (°) Patients Laypersons Clinicians Patients Laypersons Clinicians BL 30 4 5 5 6 6 6 CL 33 4 4 4 5 6 6 DN 36 3 3.25 3 5 5 5 EM 36 3 3 3 4 5 4 FL 39 2 2 2 4 4 3.75 GQ 42 2 1.25 2 3 3 2 HS 45 1 1 1 2 2 2 JU 48 1 1 1 2 2 1 KJ 27 4 4 4 5 6 5.75 LI 24 2 2 2 3.75 3 3 MJ 21 1.25 2 2 3 3 2 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT Table 3. Median attractiveness observer ratings on the Likert scale Median score Image Angle (°) Patients Laypersons Clinicians BL 30 5 5 6 CL 33 5 5 5 DN 36 4 4 3 EM 36 4 4 4 FL 39 3 3 2 GQ 42 2 2 2 HS 45 2 2 1 JU 48 1 1 1 KJ 27 5 5 4 LI 24 3 3 3 MJ 21 2 2 2 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT Table 4. Data in rank order from most to least attractive (clinician ranking first) Median score Image Angle (°) Patients Laypersons Clinicians BL 30 5 5 6 CL 33 5 5 5 KJ 27 5 5 4 EM 36 4 4 4 DN 36 4 4 3 LI 24 3 3 3 FL 39 3 3 2 GQ 42 2 2 2 MJ 21 2 2 2 HS 45 2 2 1 JU 48 1 1 1 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT Table 5. Proportion expressed as a percentage of each observer group suggesting a desire for surgery Suggesting surgery Image Angle (°) Patients Laypersons Clinicians BL 30 13 5 0 CL 33 15 7 0 DN 36 39 23 20 EM 36 41 17 20 FL 39 53 51 69 GQ 42 76 80 94 HS 45 88 96 100 JU 48 89 99 100 KJ 27 19 8 9 LI 24 60 64 63 MJ 21 69 81 91 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT Table 6. Proportion expressed as a percentage of each observer group suggesting a desire for surgery in rank order Suggesting surgery Image Angle (°) Patients Laypersons Clinicians BL 30 13 5 0 CL 33 15 7 0 KJ 27 19 8 9 EM 36 41 17 20 DN 36 39 23 20 LI 24 60 64 63 FL 39 53 51 69 MJ 21 69 81 91 GQ 42 76 80 94 HS 45 88 96 100 JU 48 89 99 100 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT Table 7. Proportion of observers desiring surgery who considered attractiveness to be important Suggesting surgery Image Angle (°) Patients Laypersons Clinicians BL 30 13 1 0 CL 33 15 3 0 DN 36 41 20 20 EM 36 42 14 20 FL 39 54 49 69 GQ 42 78 80 94 HS 45 90 96 100 JU 48 90 99 100 KJ 27 21 4 9 LI 24 62 63 63 MJ 21 71 82 91 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT Table 8. Proportion of observers suggesting surgery who did not consider attractiveness to be important Suggesting surgery Image Angle (°) Patients Laypersons BL 30 14 75 CL 33 14 75 DN 36 14 75 EM 36 29 75 FL 39 43 75 GQ 42 57 75 HS 45 71 100 JU 48 86 100 KJ 27 0 75 LI 24 43 75 MJ 21 57 75 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT Table 9. Nasofacial angle in idealized images from classical and Renaissance art and sculpture Artwork Artist Era Nasofacial angle (°) Doryphorus (Pompeii, now in Naples) Polycleitos of Argos Classical Greece 30 Heracles (Naples) Polycleitos of Argos Classical Greece 25 Idolino (Florence) Unknown (After Polycleitos) Classical Greece 25 Hermes Apollonius Classical Greece 30 Leonardo’s Angel (female head, from Annunciation) Leonardo da Vinci Italian Renaissance 25 Head of a youth in profile (male head) Leonardo da Vinci Italian Renaissance 20 Head and shoulders of a youth in profile (male head) Leonardo da Vinci Italian Renaissance 25 Study of the valves and muscles of the heart (male head in profile)* Leonardo da Vinci Italian Renaissance 30 Woman’s head in profile** Leonardo da Vinci Italian Renaissance 30 La Bella Principessa Leonardo da Vinci Italian Renaissance 35 Idealised head of a woman After Leonardo da Vinci (unknown artist) Italian Renaissance 25 Head of a woman in Giovanni Antonio Italian 25 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT profile Boltraffio Renaissance David Michelangelo Buonarroti Italian Renaissance 25 Primavera (Middle sister, profile) Botticelli Italian Renaissance 30 Woman’s profile (from The Three Ages of Man) Titian Italian Renaissance 30 *This profile drawing is the first illustration of the later described zero-degree meridian line (Naini, 2014).11 **This profile drawing was used famously by Jacques Joseph to demonstrate an ideal nasofacial angle (Naini, 2011; Naini, 2012).3,12 M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT M AN US CR IP T AC CE PT ED ACCEPTED MANUSCRIPT 
work_cjryiy6sgbdorccfcv3ibrf5ju	----	S000768052000001Xjra 125..177 Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona Political Economy and the Medici Using materials from the important collection of Medici manuscripts donated to Harvard Business School by Harry Gordon Selfridge, this paper explores the geopolitics of the transformation of raw wool into finished cloth, and the role played in that process by Medici entrepreneurs, their guild, and their government. It aims to show that the history of polit- ical economy cannot truly be understood without business history. Successful business practices used by Medici entrepre- neurs were first theorized by Giovanni Botero and others as what would become an “Italian model” in political economy, a model that had a profoundly wide-ranging impact, and that puts the lie to the commonplace in the history of ideas that the Italian Renaissance, so precocious in other fields, was silent on the topic of political economy. Keywords: Medici, wool, Florence, political economy, Self- ridge collection, Giovanni Botero, Antonio Serra, Gustav von Schmoller, Raymond and Florence Edler de Roover The authors would also like to thank Doohwan Ahn, Niall Atkinson, David Armitage, Sven Beckert, Eric Beerbohm, Ann Blair, John Brewer, William Caferro, Hannah Boon Callaway, Elizabeth Cross, Christine Desan, Katrina Forrester, Franco Franceschi, Maria Fusaro, Anja- Silvia Goeing, Richard Goldthwaite, James Hankins, Lauren Jacobi, Steven L. Kaplan, Stepha- nie Leitzel, James Livesey, Hannah Marcus, Priyanka Menon, Jeff Miner, John M. Najemy, Eric Nelson, Nitin Nohria, Steven Pincus, Erik S. Reinert, Dante Roscini, John Shovlin, Daniel Lord Smail, Jacob Soll, Corey Tazzara, Anoush Terjanian, Francesca Trivellato, Fran- cesca Viano, Andre Wakefield, Carl Wennerlind, and Sophie Wilkowske for comments; and to additionally thank extraordinary audiences at Harvard Business School, Harvard’s Early Modern History Workshop, the Harvard Government Political Theory Colloquium, the Hun- tington Library, the Boston Athenaeum, and the Renaissance Society of America. The data visualizations in this article were designed by Matthew W. Norris, Associate Vice President of Data and Analytics, Art Institute of Chicago. Isabelle Lewis drew the maps. Finally, we would like to thank Cynthia Montgomery and the research directors at HBS for funding the underlying research over several years; Deb Wallace, Laura Linard, Tim Mahoney, and Chris- tine Riggle for making work on the Medici ledgers possible; Anja Goethals, Kate Jenkins, Eliz- abeth Leh, and Mikayla Schutte for various and vital assistance; and Walter Friedman and Geoffrey Jones for continuing and extraordinary support through HBS’s Business History Initiative. Business History Review 94 (Spring 2020): 125–177. doi:10.1017/S000768052000001X © 2020 The President and Fellows of Harvard College. ISSN 0007-6805; 2044-768X (Web). terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core The silence of Italian Renaissance thinkers on matters of commercehas long been a locus communis in the history of ideas. A society grounded in international trade, which produced such material magnif- icence, and spoke so precociously about politics, it is widely believed, had curiously little or nothing to say about political economy. This notion is already fully and elegantly formed in David Hume’s essay “Of Civil Liberty” (originally “Of Liberty and Despotism”). “Trade was never esteemed an affair of state till the last century; and there scarcely is any ancient writer on politics, who has made mention of it,” he writes, adding that “even the Italians have kept a profound silence with regard to it.” In this way, the late Istvan Hont argued, Hume “bracketed the Renaissance with classical antiquity” as “pre-economic and hence premodern.”1 Perhaps no Renaissance figure is more emblematic here than Niccolò Machiavelli, whose admission that “because Fortune has determined that, not knowing how to talk either about the silk business or the wool business or about profits and losses, I must talk about poli- tics” has been read as an uncompromising (if ironically formulated) mission statement.2 Transplanted from Italian to ultramontane soil, Machiavelli’s professed inability to speak of economic matters meta- phorically bloomed into nothing less than a dichotomy, so famously explored by J. G. A. Pocock, between wealth and civic virtue, the latter understood as an intellectual inheritance from Italian and especially Florentine (and Machiavellian) political thought. Yet recent work has argued that Machiavelli was indeed an economic (or at least fiscal) thinker and, more broadly, that “commercial interests, attitudes, and priorities were thoroughly accommodated by Renaissance republican- ism” in Italy.3 1 David Hume, Political Essays, ed. Knud Haakonssen (Cambridge, U.K., 1994), 52, perhaps following Nicholas Barbon, A Discourse of Trade (London, 1690), A3 recto and verso; Istvan Hont, Jealousy of Trade: International Competition and the Nation-State in Historical Perspective (Cambridge, MA, 2005), 8–9. It should be noted that Hume’s announcement unverifiably suggests an exhaustive investigation and, at the same time, radi- cally privileges discourse over practice. 2 Quoting Machiavelli’s April 9, 1513, letter to Francesco Vettori, which John Najemy has rightly argued “helped to forge the modern image (or some of the more influential modern images) of Machiavelli.” See Najemy, Between Friends: Discourses of Power and Desire in the Machiavelli-Vettori Letters of 1513–1515 (Princeton, 1993), 4, 107–8; for the original, see Machiavelli, Tutte le opere, ed. Mario Martelli (Florence, 1971), 1131–32. An important vehicle of this particular image is Albert O. Hirschman, The Passions and the Interests: Polit- ical Arguments for Capitalism before Its Triumph (Princeton, 1977), 41. 3 Mark Jurdjevic, “Virtue, Commerce, and the Enduring Florentine Republican Moment: Reintegrating Italy into the Atlantic Republican Tradition,” Journal of the History of Ideas 62, no. 4 (2001): 742. Jurdjevic has rightly called the incompatibility of wealth and virtue “the dialectical engine” of J. G. A. Pocock’s classic The Machiavellian Moment: Florentine Political Thought and the Atlantic Republican Tradition (Princeton, 1975), though he is Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 126 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Hume, himself committed not to a wealth-virtue dichotomy but to showing that wealth and even luxury were compatible with public virtue, also looked to Florence. Indeed, Emma Rothschild has persua- sively argued that Hume, in his essay “Of Refinement in the Arts,” employed a “Florentine model” of political economy. The quintessential “opulent republic,” Florence showed how wealth and virtue could coexist, and its model, Rothschild writes, “lay at the centre of Enlighten- ment optimism about the progress of commerce and industry.”4 Hume knew that “the Florentine democracy applied itself entirely to com- merce” and his argument is telling: “The same age, which produces great philosophers and politicians, renowned generals and poets,” he argues, “usually abounds with skillful weavers, and ship-carpenters. We cannot reasonably expect, that a piece of woolen cloth will be wrought to perfection in a nation, which is ignorant of astronomy, or where ethics are neglected.”5 For Hume, the Renaissance Italians were good at doing political economy but bad at thinking it, bad at teaching it, leaving behind the evidence of riches and a “profound silence” about their role in politics and, even more so, the role of politics in acquiring them. But was Hume right about the silence of the Italians? In this essay we explore the politics (or perhaps the geopolitics) of the transformation of raw wool into finished cloth, using the case of Medici entrepreneurs in the sixteenth century. In light of this, we here addressing more particularly the claims of Pocock’s “Civic Humanism and Its Role in Anglo-American Political Thought,” in Politics, Language, and Time: Essays on Political Thought and History (Chicago, 1989), 80–103. Just as Pocock’s seductive heuristic uncouples the economic from the political, there is also in him and his intellectual heirs a quasi-perma- nent displacement from Florence to the Atlantic, which at once marginalizes and masks the local and regional and, thus, the economic. On the economic Machiavelli, see especially the important work of Jérémie Barthas, L’argent n’est pas le nerf de la guerre: Essai sur une pré- tendue erreur de Machiavel (Rome, 2011) and, more recently, Barthas, “Machiavelli, the Republic, and the Financial Crisis,” in Machiavelli on Liberty and Conflict, ed. David John- ston, Nadia Urbinati, and Camila Vergara (Chicago, 2017), 257–79. Some of the most impor- tant new thoughts on Machiavelli, it might be added, deal with the issue of class. See, for example, John M. Najemy, “Society, Class, and State in the Discourses on Livy,” in The Cam- bridge Companion to Machiavelli, ed. John M. Najemy (Cambridge, U.K., 2010), 96–111; Najemy, “Machiavelli’s Florentine Tribunes,” in Renaissance Studies in Honor of Joseph Connors, ed. Machtelt Israëls and Louis A. Waldman (Cambridge, MA, and Milan, 2013), 65–72; and John P. McCormick, Machiavellian Democracy (Cambridge, U.K., 2011). As Lauro Martines long ago concluded, however, “wealth was associated with virtù and honor” in Renaissance Florence, “poverty with dishonor.” Martines, The Social World of Florentine Humanists (Princeton, 1963), 25. 4 Emma Rothschild, “Faith, Enlightenment, and Economics,” in Natural Law, Economics, and the Common Good: Perspectives from Natural Law, ed. Samuel Gregg and Harold James (Exeter, 2012), 2–8. For some additional context, see Maxine Berg and Elizabeth Eger, “The Rise and Fall of the Luxury Debates,” in Luxury in the Eighteenth Century: Debates, Desires and Delectable Goods, ed. Maxine Berg and Elizabeth Eger (Basingstoke, 2002), 7–27. 5 Hume, Political Essays, 110, 107. Political Economy and the Medici / 127 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core argue that context in the history of political-economic thought must mean not only the context of other books and ideas but also of business practices and—glancing at an even richer possible future of the field— that the history of political economy might well be incomplete without business history.6 If we wish to know what Italian Renaissance thinkers had to say about politics, we ourselves cannot be ignorant, pace Machi- avelli, of the “wool business” and of “profits and losses.” If we wish to hear voices where Hume heard nothing, we must attend to the “skillful weavers” and the perfection of pieces of “woolen cloth.” When Voltaire famously opined that France, overfed with narrative and moral fantasies, “around 1750 . . . finally turned to reasoning about grain,” he captured with his usual crispness nothing less than the start of an “economic turn” in European Enlightenment thought, a turn mani- fested in step with the emergence of political economy as an increasingly distinct and increasingly indispensable science of human affairs at the very heart of which lay the literal (especially in France) and metaphorical problem of grain.7 The coming decades witnessed the appearance in France of physiocracy (etymologically the “rule of nature”), an ideology associated with the thought of the économistes gathered around the court physician François Quesnay, which celebrated agriculture and devalued the urban world and saw land as a nation’s sole source of wealth and clearly superior to “unnatural” and even “sterile” industry. Even though applied physiocracy led disastrously to food shortages, riots, deaths, and political destabilization, its influence was long lived, leaving an indelible imprint on classical economics from its inception.8 But the physiocrats were not, of course, the first to weigh the relative merits of agriculture and industry in economic terms. This matter was already in the sixteenth century (if not much earlier) a quintessential problem of political economy avant la lettre. In his internationally best-selling On the Causes of the Greatness of Cities (1588), Giovanni Botero devoted considerable attention to precisely the question of “which is of greater value for improving a place and increasing its 6 We are, needless to say, not the first to argue this. See, for example, Steven L. Kaplan, Bread, Politics and Political Economy in the Reign of Louis XV (1976; London, 2015); and Michael Sonenscher, Work and Wages: Natural Law, Politics, and the Eighteenth-Century French Trades (1989; Cambridge, U.K., 2012). 7 Voltaire, “Bled ou Blé,” in Questions sur l’Encyclopédie, ed. Nicholas Cronk and Christi- ane Mervaud (Oxford, 2007–2013), 3:412–13. Here we follow the argument of Steven L. Kaplan and Sophus A. Reinert, “The Economic Turn in Enlightenment Europe,” in The Eco- nomic Turn: Recasting Political Economy in Eighteenth-Century Europe, ed. Steven L. Kaplan and Sophus A. Reinert (London, 2019), 1–33. On the centrality of grain to French political economy, see Kaplan, Bread, Politics and Political Economy. 8 The literature on physiocracy is vast, but see, for example, the essays in Kaplan and Reinert, The Economic Turn. Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 128 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core population: the fertility of its soil, or the industry of its people?” His answer, the opening of which is quoted at length below, was clear: The answer is undoubtedly industry, first of all because the things made by skilled human hands are far more numerous and costly than those produced by nature, for nature furnishes the material and the subject, but human skill and cleverness impart to them their inexpressible variety of forms. Wool is a crude, simple product of nature, but how beautiful, manifold and varied are the things that human skill creates from it? How many and how great are the profits that result from the industry of those who card it, give it its warp and its weft, weave it, dye it, cut it, and sew it, and shape it [la scardassa, l’ordisce, la trama, la tesse, la tinge, la taglia, e la cuce, e la forma] in a thousand ways and transport it from one place to another?9 Just as Hume more than a century and a half later unmistakably pointed to Venice and Florence, respectively, by invoking shipbuilders and silk and skilled weavers and wool, for Botero’s audience the production of wool was tangibly linked to Florence, the wool city par excellence, to its greatness (grandezza), and to industria itself, understood both as a virtue, for men and women as for cities, and as an economic process of adding variety and value to nature’s raw materials. The Italian cities of Florence, Genoa, and Venice “of whose grandezza there is no need to speak, and where the wool and silk industries support almost two- thirds of the inhabitants,” were proof enough of the power of industry.10 In making these connections, Botero—the renegade Jesuit of Piedmont, secretary to the famed Milanese archbishop Carlo Borromeo, adviser to his nephew Federico in Paris and earlier to the Duke of Savoy Carlo Ema- nuele I, a thinker whose epochal importance is only now being fully rec- ognized—was not alone.11 9 Giovanni Botero, Delle cause della grandezza delle città libri 3 (Rome, 1588), 39. The chapter “Dell’industria” (II.7), 38–43, was removed from later editions and incorporated into book 8 of Botero’s Della ragion di stato (1589), to which the entire work was appended beginning with its second edition. Here we follow a new translation—Botero, On the Causes of the Greatness and Magnificence of Cities, trans. Geoffrey W. Symcox (Toronto, 2012), 43, which is based on the 1598 text edited in Luigi Firpo, ed., Della ragion di Stato di Giovanni Botero: Con tre libri Delle cause della grandezza delle città, due aggiunte e un discorso sulla popolazione di Roma (Turin, 1948)—altering it to more literally reflect Botero’s use of the technical language of wool production and adding italics for emphasis. 10 Botero, Delle cause, 40; Botero, On the Causes, 44. 11 Working in the immediate wake of Friedrich Meinecke and Benedetto Croce, Federico Chabod’s study “Giovanni Botero,” in Opere di Federico Chabod, vol. 2, Scritti sul Rinasci- mento (1934; Turin, 1967), 271–458, remains a landmark work. For the broader context of Botero’s thought, see, especially, Robert Bireley, The Counter-Reformation Prince: Anti- Machiavellianism or Catholic Statecraft in Early Modern Europe (Chapel Hill, 1990). Apropos of the subject matter of this essay: Michel Senellart, Machiavélisme et raison d’état: XIIe–XVIIIe siècle (Paris, 1989), 71–83, treats Botero as a mercantilist; Romain Political Economy and the Medici / 129 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Botero’s extraordinary observation that “the power of industry is such that there is no silver mine or gold mine in New Spain and Peru that can be compared to it” seems to have informed if not inspired the 1613 Short Treatise on the Causes That Can Make Kingdoms Abound in Gold and Silver Even in the Absence of Mines of the jailed Neapolitan writer Antonio Serra, whom Joseph Schumpeter called “the first to compose a scientific treatise . . . on Economic Principles and Policy.”12 And the eighteenth-century philosopher Ferdinando Galiani, who pos- sessed a rare copy of the Short Treatise, explicitly followed Serra’s pre- cocious technical analysis (“If a given piece of land is only large enough to sow a hundred tomoli of wheat, it is impossible to sow a hundred and fifty there. In manufacturing, by contrast, production can be multiplied not merely twofold but a hundredfold, and at a proportion- ately lower cost”) in his devastating attack on the physiocrats in his 1770 Dialogues on the Commerce of Grain: “And voilà,” writes Galiani, “the great difference between manufactures and agriculture. Manufactures increase with the number of hands you put in, while agriculture decreases.”13 And these are just furtive glimpses of what we have else- where called the “Italian tradition” of political economy, practiced from the late Middle Ages on and first theorized around the turn of the seventeenth century, a tradition that highlighted the individually com- petitive and civic benefits of pursuing and protecting high-value-added economic activities, such as the production of luxury woolen cloth.14 Descendre, L’état du monde: Giovanni Botero entre raison d’état et géopolitique (Geneva, 2009)—in the finest discussion of the Delle cause (pp. 173–212)—examines Botero’s political economy (pp. 186–201). 12 Botero, Delle cause, 41; Botero, On the Causes, 45; Joseph Schumpeter, A History of Eco- nomic Analysis (New York, 1954), 195. On Antonio Serra and his Breve trattato delle cause che possono far abbondare li regni d’oro e argento dove non sono miniere, see Sophus A. Reinert, introduction to Antonio Serra, A “Short Treatise” on the Wealth and Poverty of Nations (1613), ed. Sophus A. Reinert, trans. Jonathan Hunt (London and New York, 2011), esp. 37–46, 65 (for an analysis of the relationship between the economic analyses of Botero and Serra); and Rosario Patalano and Sophus A. Reinert, eds., Antonio Serra and the Economics of Good Gov- ernment (New York, 2016). Immediately following Schumpeter, Arthur Cole, librarian of Harvard Business School’s Baker Library, also highlighted Serra’s temporal primacy. See Cole, The Historical Development of Economic and Business Literature (Boston, 1957), 16. The polymath Schumpeter similarly declared that “the ‘Malthusian’ Principle of Population sprang fully developed from the brain of Botero in 1589.” Schumpeter, A History, 254, but see also 143–46. The linkages between Botero and Serra are also explored in [Enzo R. Grilli], Antonio Serra visto da Enzo Grilli (Rome, 2006). 13 Serra, “Short Treatise,” 121; [Ferdinando Galiani], Dialogues sur le commerce des bleds (London, 1770), 150; in the edition published by Fausto Nicolini (Milan, 1956), 142. For context, see Sophus A. Reinert, Translating Empire: Emulation and the Origins of Political Economy (Cambridge, MA, 2011), 186–232; and Steven L. Kaplan, “Galiani: Grain and Gover- nance,” in Kaplan and Reinert, The Economic Turn, 221–303. 14 Sophus A. Reinert, “The Italian Tradition of Political Economy: Theories and Policies of Development in the Semi-Periphery of the Enlightenment,” in The Origins of Development Economics: How Schools of Economic Thought Have Addressed Development, ed. Jomo Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 130 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core The Business of Florence Is (the Wool) Business In January of 1460 a civic debate (pratica) was held in Florence to address a proposal to move the Florentine Studio, the city’s underfunded institution of higher learning, to Pisa, which had been purchased by the Florentines in 1402 and wholly subjugated four years later. The promi- nent lawyer Messer Otto Niccolini, who suggested that a university’s proper functions—to train students in classical literature and the humane letters—were not compatible with the passions and interests of the Florentines, gave a striking speech in favor of the move: This city, indeed from its very origins, has been dedicated to com- merce and manufacturing, to which it has always devoted all its ener- gies and efforts. Florentines believe that these activities are entirely responsible for sustaining and enhancing their republic, for ensuring the prosperity and the notable enrichment of private citizens, con- vinced that wealth has led to the growth of its reputation and author- ity. Putting other occupations to one side, they have always dedicated themselves especially to business.15 The business of Florence, put simply, was and would always remain business. Although the economy of Renaissance Florence was diverse, and premodern merchants and entrepreneurs tended toward diversification and not specialization in order to guard against sector-wide downturns, the most important business in Florence was the production of woolen textiles. Woolens were the most significant domestic manufacture and export commodity in Florence between roughly 1200 and 1600. Wool textile manufacturing and, more broadly, the cloth and clothing sectors represented a large share of the Florentine rural and urban econ- omies. In 1480, for example, they dominated the urban shop (bottega) economy, with nearly 8 percent of all shops, the highest for any group, being wool shops and nearly 27 percent dedicated to the cloth trade— very significant percentages especially if we keep in mind that a great deal of cloth production was done in the countryside and domestically (Figure 1). Profits from the local sale and regional and international K. Sundaram and Erik S. Reinert (London, 2005), 24–47. See also Sophus A. Reinert, “‘A Sub- limely Stupid Idea’: Physiocracy in Italy from the Enlightenment to Fascism,” in Kaplan and Reinert, The Economic Turn, 699–733. For a brief survey of the late medieval Italian economy, see Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona, “Merchants and the Origins of Capital- ism,” in The Routledge Companion to Makers of Global Business, ed. Teresa da Silva Lopes, Christina Lubinski, and Heidi J. S. Tworek (London, 2019), 171–188. 15 Gene Brucker, “A Civic Debate on Florentine Higher Education (1460),” Renaissance Quarterly, no. 34 (1981): 531; Robert Black, “Education and the Emergence of a Literate Society,” in Italy in the Age of the Renaissance: 1300–1550, ed. John M. Najemy (Oxford, 2004), 34. Political Economy and the Medici / 131 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 1. Shops (botteghe) in Florence by type, 1480. Darker shades represent closed or vacant shops. (Sources: Catasto 992-1024 [1480], Archivio di Stato di Firenze; Maria Luisa Bianchi and Maria Letizia Grossi, “Botteghe, economia, e spazio urbano,” in Gloria Fossi and Franco Franceschi, eds., Arti fiorentine: La grande storia dell’artigianato, vol. 2 [Florence, 1999], 27–64.) See supplementary material for a color version of this figure. S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 13 2 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core exportation of woolens enriched Florence, increased its population, funded much of the cultural production for which it remains famous, and allowed Florentines to create a regional state in Tuscany that remained a major player in geopolitics for centuries. The export of woolens also allowed great Florentine families and family-centered part- nerships to dominate the international banking sector in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, which in turn allowed Florentines to capture the English supply of very fine raw wool early in this period. Until its decline over the course of the sixteenth century, the Florentine woolen cloth industry sometimes outcompeted much larger wool-producing and man- ufacturing regions in Europe (chiefly England, and the Low Countries in manufacturing) to dominate some large markets for medium- and high- quality cloth in southern Europe, across the Mediterranean basin, and in the Near East.16 Thus, the Florentine wool industry is an important early case of industry and commercial globalization that still has a great deal to tell researchers about international competition; the dynamics of com- parative advantage, protectionism, and state capitalism; and the nature of East-West commercial encounters.17 Unlike the silk and cotton textile industries, which relied in the ear- liest instance on the long-distance importation of raw materials and required larger-scale investments to get off the ground, the production of woolen cloth emerged organically all across northern and central Italy out of the traditional techniques and animal and material sources of longue durée domestic cloth production, and it dominated the indus- trial economy of the region, along with, for a while, the production of cotton-linen blends (fustians). By the early thirteenth century the pro- duction and export of cloth had become a global industry. Genoese mer- chants brought raw wool and dyestuff from North Africa; these were turned into low- and mid-quality cloths for mass consumption in Milan and the Lombard countryside and then traded by Florentine cloth merchants all over central Italy or exported to Mediterranean ports, especially Byzantine and Muslim ones, through Genoa. Yet Italian wool manufacturers could not, owing to technological inferiority and supply constraints, compete with the luxury woolens of Flanders and Brabant. On the Provençal market in 1308–1309, Florentine cloths fetched only around one-third of what the cloths of Ypres did.18 In the 16 Richard Goldthwaite, The Economy of Renaissance Florence (Baltimore, 2009), esp. 265–340 (on Italian cloth production). 17 See, more generally, Sophus A. Reinert, “Rivalry: Greatness in Early Modern Political Economy,” in Mercantilism Reimagined: Political Economy in Early Modern Britain and Its Empire, ed. Philip J. Stern and Carl Wennerlind (Oxford, 2013), 248–70. 18 Roger Aubenais, “Commerce des draps et vie économique à Grasse en 1308–9,” Pro- vence historique 9, no. 37 (1959): 204–6. Political Economy and the Medici / 133 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core early fourteenth century, the merchants of the famous Arte di Calimala (Cloth Merchants’ Guild) in Florence, such as the Del Bene company studied in detail by Armando Sapori in one of the early serious busi- ness-historical case studies, mostly purchased northern cloths for resale in other markets.19 They also occasionally added economic value to their products by purchasing undyed and unfinished cloths from northern looms, finishing and dyeing them in Florence, and exporting them to the Levant, relying on their greater proximity to alum and dye supplies to undersell the Flemish in that market. Given industrial and supply factors, panni de Ypro tinti in Florentia (Ypres cloths dyed in Florence) could be more lucrative for Calimala merchants than local cloths.20 As Giovanni Villani famously noted in his Chronicle, the Flor- entine wool industry saw enormous growth in price per cloth, and thus value, only when it switched its focus from the import and export of high-quality woolens to the local production of them, which required a steady supply of high-quality raw wool. The total production of woolen cloths fell precipitously between 1310 and 1336, the chronicler noted, but the later cloths, made from English wool, were worth twice as much as the earlier, which had been coarse and of low quality.21 The 1330s, before the demographic collapse of the late 1340s, represented the high point of Florentine wool production value (Figure 2). It remains unclear to what extent this decline was the product of popula- tion decline, the shift to smaller-scale but higher-price cloths, or the con- traction of the supply of English wool in relation to fluctuating royal policies and tariffs.22 Until gradually surpassed by Spanish merino in the sixteenth century, England was the chief producer of the world’s finest raw wool.23 The best English wool was sourced from Lindsay and 19 For a classic case study of a Florentine Calimala firm involved in the over-land cloth trade, see Armando Sapori, Una compagnia di Calimala ai primi del trecento (Florence, 1932). 20 Giovanni Filippi, L’arte dei mercanti di Calimala in Firenze ed il suo piu antico statuto (Turin, 1889), v, xv, 162. 21 Giovanni Villani, Nuova Cronica, 2nd ed., ed. Giuseppe Porta (Parma, 2007), volume 3, book 12, chapter 94, at 197–202. John Najemy has shown, based on Villani’s figures, that the labor force of the woolen textile industry represented at least one-sixth of Florence’s adult population. 22 On the demographic collapse, see, among others, W. R. Day Jr., “The Population of Flor- ence before the Black Death: Survey and Synthesis,” Journal of Medieval History 28, no. 2 (2002): 93–129. 23 John Munro, “Wool-Price Schedules and the Qualities of English Wools in the Later Middle Ages, c. 1270–1499,” Textile History 9, no. 1 (1978): 118–69; Munro, “Medieval Woolens: The Struggle for Markets,” in The Cambridge History of Western Textiles, ed. David Jenkins, 2 vols. (Cambridge, U.K., 2003), 1:228–324; Munro, “Spanish Merino Wools and the Nouvelles Draperies: An Industrial Transformation in the Late-Medieval Low Coun- tries,” Economic History Review 58, no. 3 (2005): 431–84; Robert S. Lopez, “The Origin of the Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 134 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 2. Wool production in Florence, 1300–1571. Production by amount (in braccia) and by amount per person. (Sources: For wool production, Francesco Ammannati, “L’Arte della Lana a Firenze nel Cinquecento: Crisi del settore e riposte degli operatori,” Storia economica 11 [2008]: 1–39; Ammannati, “Flor- entine Woolen Manufacture in the Sixteenth Century: Crisis and New Entrepreneurial Strategies,” Business and Economic History On-Line 7 [2009]: 1–9; Patrick Chorley, “Rascie and the Florentine Cloth Industry during the Sixteenth Century,” Journal of European Economic History 32, no. 3 [2003]: 487–526; and Chorley, “The Volume of Cloth Production in Florence, 1500–1650: An Assessment of the Evidence,” in Giovanni Luigi Fontana and Gérard Gayot, eds., La lana: Prodotti e mercati, 13–20 secolo [Padua, 2004]; Franco Franceschi, Oltre il ‘Tumulto’: i lavoratori fiorentini dell’Arte della Lana fra Tre e Quattrocento [Florence, 1993]; and Richard Goldthwaite, The Economy of Renaissance Florence [Baltimore, 2009]. For population figures, Maria Ginatempo and Lucia Sandri, L’Italia della città: Il popolamento urbano tra Medioevo e Rinascimento (secoli XIII–XVI) [Florence, 1990]; David Herlihy and Christiane Klapisch- Zuber, Tuscans and Their Families: A Study of the Florentine Catasto of 1427 [New Haven and London, 1985]; and David Nicholas, Urban Europe, 1100– 1700 [New York, 2003].) P o litica l E co n o m y a n d th e M ed ici / 13 5 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Lincolnshire (Lindisea), the Cotswolds (Contisgualdo), and the Welsh Marches (La Marcia), with the Herefordshire town of Leominster pro- viding a common name for it (lana di limistri) in the Italian vernacular; by midcentury, it was precisely these “best of the best” regions that sup- plied the raw wool for Florentine firms.24 After the invention of the foot- operated horizontal loom in the Middle Ages, production costs remained relatively steady, and the cost and availability of high-quality raw wool were the most important factors in the international trade.25 Due to their high value-to-weight ratio, very fine woolens gave merchants a superior profit margin even in long-distance maritime and overland trade, where transportation and protection costs could be forbiddingly high for lower-quality cloths.26 Until the third decade of the fourteenth century, though, the Italian wool trade centered on the sale of lower- quality textiles, while the Low Countries dominated the trade in fine wool cloth.27 By the 1320s, though, and taking advantage of the disrup- tion of western European industry caused by endemic warfare, Italian wool manufacturers were importing English raw wool of the highest quality directly from Southampton.28 This transformation was also mir- rored inside Florence by the simultaneous decline of the once-powerful Arte di Calimala, whose members had control of Florentine trade at the Champagne fairs, and the rise of the Arte della Lana (Wool Guild), whose producer-merchant members manufactured and exported woolens internationally.29 By this time, Florentines dominated both international finance and the incredibly lucrative collection of taxes for the papacy. As a result, powerful “companies” like the Bardi and Peruzzi were able to make extensive loans to the English Crown, secured by income from Merino Sheep,” in The Joshua Starr Memorial Volume: Studies in History and Philology (New York, 1953), 161–68. 24 Like the Del Bene firm, whose sources are described in Hidetoshi Hoshino, L’arte della lana in Firenze nel basso medioevo: Il commercio della lana e il mercato dei panni fiorentini nei secoli XIII–XV (Florence, 1980), 216, table 26. 25 On the nature of loom technology, widely speaking, see both Marta Hoffmann, The Warp-Weighted Loom: Studies in the History and Technology of an Ancient Implement (Oslo, 1964); and Walter Endrei, L’evolution des techniques du filage et du tissage: Du moyen âge à la revolution industrielle (Paris, 1968). 26 John Munro, “I panni di lana,” in Il Rinascimento italiano e l’Europa, ed. Luca Ramin, vol. 4, Commercio e cultura mercantile, ed. Franco Franceschi, Richard Goldthwaite, and Reinhold C. Mueller (Treviso, 2007), 105–41. 27 Patrick Chorley, “The Cloth Exports of Flanders and Northern France during the Thir- teenth Century: A Luxury Trade?,” Economic History Review, 2nd ser., vol. 40 (1987): 349–79. 28 John Munro, “The ‘Industrial Crisis’ of the English Textile Towns, 1290–1330,” in Thir- teenth-Century England VII, ed. Michael Prestwich, Richard Britnell, and Robin Frame (Woodbridge, 1999), 103–41. 29 On the wool guild, see Hoshino, L’arte della lana. Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 136 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core English duties on the export of wool.30 The “bill of exchange,” invented in medieval Italy, allowed Florentines resident in England to buy English wool with English papal taxes and to have their partners resident in Italy give the pope profits from other transactions in lieu of those English taxes.31 By the mid-fourteenth century, three-quarters of the Florentine wool trade was in fine English wool imported raw to Florence and manufactured there for export, and the Arte della Lana had come to dominate the long-distance trade in high-grade textiles.32 Similarly, Florentine lanaioli (manufacturer-merchants of woolen cloth), now working with the best wools, were better able to emulate the traditionally superior cloths of northern Europe: in 1341, for example, the firm of Cione and Neri Pitti and Co. offered cloths a modo di Borsella (in the style of Brussels), a modo di Doagio (of Douai), and a modo di Mellino (of Mechlin).33 John Munro has cogently argued that this trans- formation also reflected and was causally linked to the decline of the Champagne fairs system under the weight of increasing transportation and transaction costs in western Europe as a result of endemic warfare and the decreasing costs of navigation and commercial transport at sea.34 Similarly, later in the century, warfare in northern Italy may have disastrously increased the transportation costs for Lombard fus- tians heading to traditional markets in southern Germany, where new textile industries were then able to emerge.35 Around the turn of the fifteenth century, if the accounts of the famed Datini firm of Prato are representative, the market in Spain—increasingly an exporter of raw wool—was still very hungry for finished Florentine cloths, with more than thirty times as many Florentine as non-Florentine cloths (including those of Prato) being sold at an average of more than double the price.36 30 Edwin S. Hunt, The Medieval Super-Companies: A Study of the Peruzzi Company of Florence (Cambridge, U.K., 1994). 31 Terence Lloyd, The English Wool Trade in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, U.K., 1977), 60– 140; on the letter of exchange generally, see Raymond de Roover, L’evolution de la lettre de change, XIVe–XVIIIe siècles (Paris, 1953). 32 Hidetoshi Hoshino, “The Rise of the Florentine Woolen Industry in the Fourteenth Century,” in Cloth and Clothing in Medieval Europe, ed. Negley B. Harte and Kenneth G. Ponting (London, 1983), 184–204, esp. 187–90. 33 Adrienne Atwell, “Ritual Trading at the Florentine Wool-Cloth Botteghe,” in Renais- sance Florence: A Social History, ed. Roger Crum and John Paoletti (New York, 2006), 198. 34 John Munro, “The ‘New Institutional Economics’ and the Changing Fortunes of Fairs in Medieval and Early Modern Europe: The Textile Trades, Warfare, and Transaction Costs,” Vierteljahrschrift für Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte 88, no. 1 (2001): 1–47. 35 Maureen Mazzaoui, “The Cotton Industry of Northern Italy in the Late Middle Ages, 1150–1450,” Journal of Economic History 32, no. 1 (1972): 262–86. 36 Federigo Melis, “La diffusione nel Mediterranea occidentale dei panni di Wervicq e delle altre citta della Lys attorna al 1400,” in Studi in onore di Amintore Fanfani, vol. 3, Medioevo (Milan, 1962), 229, table 4 (dealing with the period from 1394 to 1410). Political Economy and the Medici / 137 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core The commercial relationship between England and Florence around high-quality raw wool is revealing: wool was England’s most lucrative export and one of the chief concerns of royal fiscal policy. Until approx- imately 1400, duties on English wool continued to rise and, since the cost of wool was the most important factor in profitability, to decrease profit margins in the international trade. Florentines, because of their loans to the Crown, were exempt from some of these duties but, even so, were quickly losing their competitive advantage over England and the Low Countries, particularly once the English Crown began a policy of system- atically favoring the export of cloth over raw wool to encourage domestic industry.37 Florentines therefore had to seek out other sources of wool. Florentine wool manufacturing firms fell into two distinct classes or sectors: the convent of San Martino, which manufactured English wool; and the convents of Garbo (in the neighborhoods of San Pancrazio and San Piero Scheraggio and in the Oltrarno), which manufactured wool sourced in Castile, Majorca, Minorca, and Provence and from Italian producers (so-called lana matricina). Beginning in 1408 the Arte della Lana demanded a strict separation between the two in order to maintain the international reputation of exporters in the San Martino cloths.38 Nor did the power of the Arte della Lana end at the city walls: in the 1420s, the Florentines organized the entire Tuscan industry in terms of permitted and forbidden wool sources, privileging the capital and prejudicing the production of possibly rival city- industries like that of Pisa.39 Such measures meshed nicely with the overall political-economic policies of the pre-Medicean Florentine state, which involved, in the words of Franco Franceschi, “support for and stimulus of textile manufacturing, regarded as the foundation of the Florentine economy; and protectionism on a massive scale to regu- late in- and outflows.”40 37 Lloyd, English Wool Trade, 225–87. On this transition, and the long shadow it cast on the history of Italian political economy, see Sophus A. Reinert, “Blaming the Medici: Foot- notes, Falsification, and the Fate of the ‘English Model’ in Eighteenth-Century Italy,” History of European Ideas 32, no. 4 (2006): 430–55; and Reinert, “Lessons on the Rise and Fall of Great Powers: Conquest, Commerce, and Decline in Enlightenment Italy,” Amer- ican Historical Review 115, no. 5 (2010): 1395–425. 38 Franco Franceschi, “Lane permesse e lane proibite nella Toscana fiorentina dei secoli XIV–XV: Logiche economiche e scelte ‘politiche,’” in La pastorizia mediterranea: Storia e diritto, ed. Antonello Mattone and Pinuccia F. Simbula (Rome, 2011), 878–89. For other reg- ulations, see Franceschi, “Criminalità e mondo del lavoro: Il tribunale dell’Arte della lana a Firenze nei secoli XIV e XV,” Ricerche storiche 18 (1988): 551–90; on the different sectors, see also Goldthwaite, Economy of Renaissance Florence, 276–78. 39 Franco Franceschi, “Industria, commercio, credito,” in Storia della civiltà Toscana, vol. 2, Il Rinascimento (Florence, 2001), 547–53. 40 Franco Franceschi, “Medici Economic Policy,” in The Medici: Citizens and Masters, ed. Robert Blacke and John E. Law (Florence, 2015), 143. Discussing a series of import bans on foreign fabrics between 1439 and 1458, Franceschi quotes a telling justification: “it will not Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 138 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core By the late 1480s, after a steady decline in the availability of English wool, the Garbo sector in Florence was dominant, at least in terms of pro- duction volume, with less than 25 percent of the total cloths produced based on English wool.41 It was around the same time that Spanish wool began to overtake matricina in Florentine production, both in price and in volume. By the end of the fifteenth century, Spanish merino wool was beginning to rival English wool in quality and was becoming an essential part of the Florentine luxury woolens trade. After the mid-fifteenth century, the most important markets for Floren- tine garbo cloths were Ottoman territories in the Eastern Mediterranean and the panni di levante shipped eastward were made from matricina and from the wool of Castile.42 By the 1470s as much as half of the total production of the Garbo sector was bound for the Levant, and this market helped revive the Florentine woolens industry, in a slump since the second half of the fourteenth century even though San Martino cloths remained popular in domestic and luxury markets.43 The Florentine-Ottoman trade was fostered in the later period by Lorenzo de’ Medici’s peaceful diplomacy with the Turks, including the Sultans Mehmed II and Bayezid II, and the opening up of new overland routes to compete with shipping from the Florentine ports of the Tyrrhe- nian Sea.44 Florentine lanaioli, such as those of the collateral branch of the Medici family discussed at length later in this essay, imported raw wool from Spain, manufactured and finished it in Florence, and shipped the finished woolens by sea and then across overland routes (such as that through Nuovo Bazzaro, today’s Novi Pazar, in the Raška region of Serbia) developed by the Turks to Pera, the Christian trading quarter of Constantinople. Silks from Bursa, at the end of the fabled Silk Road, along with other precious commodities, were then shipped back to Florence and on to other markets, like Lyon (Figure 3). Yet the late 1520s saw another serious downturn in the Florentine woolens industry: the product of plague, war (Rome would be sacked in 1527), more competition and higher prices for Spanish wool, and, very possibly, be believed elsewhere that the textiles of Florence are satisfactory if we ourselves use foreign imports” (p. 147). 41 Hoshino, L’arte della lana, 231–44. 42 Hidetoshi Hoshino, “Il commercio fiorentino nell’Impero Ottomano: Costi e profitti negli anni 1484–1488,” in Aspetti della vita economica medievale: Atti del Convegno di Studi nel X anniversario della morte di Federigo Melis (Florence, 1985), 81–90; Hidetoshi Hoshino and Maureen Mazzaoui, “Ottoman Markets for Florentine Woolen Cloth in the Late Fifteenth Century,” International Journal of Turkish Studies 3, no. 2 (1985–86): 17–31. 43 Patrick Chorley, “Rascie and the Florentine Cloth Industry during the Sixteenth Century,” Journal of European Economic History 32, no. 3 (2003): 489. 44 Lorenzo Tanzini, “Il Magnifico e il Turco: Elementi politici, economici e culturali nelle relazioni tra Firenze e Impero Ottomano al tempo di Lorenzo de’ Medici,” Rivista dell’Istituto di Storia dell’Europa Mediterranea 4 (2010): 271–89. Political Economy and the Medici / 139 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core the rapidly diminishing Levant trade. Though silk was by this point coming largely from local and western sources, Sultan Selim I’s embargo, from 1514 to 1520, on the import of Persian silk into Ottoman lands played havoc with the western trade at Bursa, where raw silk had once been lucratively traded for finished Florentine woolens, and which would soon lose its central role in the East-West cloth trade to Aleppo, giving an advantage to the Venetians over the Genoese and Florentines.45 The Selfridge Collection and Renaissance Business History The scale, industrialization, and centralization of Florence’s late medieval wool industry became an essential issue in economic historiog- raphy when Alfred Doren, at the turn of the twentieth century and in a monumental volume subtitled “A contribution to the history of modern capitalism,” presented, on the basis of chiefly normative Figure 3. The Medici wool business in the Mediterranean, ca. 1520. (Sources: Simplified sche- matic from Mss. 553 and others, Selfridge collection. Medici Collection, Baker Library Histor- ical Collections, Harvard Business School; and Gertrude R. B. Richards, Florentine Merchants in the Age of the Medici [Cambridge, MA, 1932].) 45 Chorley, “Rascie,” 487–91; Halil İnalcık, “Part I: The Ottoman State: Economy and Society, 1300–1600,” in An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300– 1914, ed. Halil İnalcık (Cambridge, U.K., 1994), 218–56. Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 140 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core sources like guild statutes, premodern Florentine lanaioli as highly orga- nized, large-scale “supercapitalists” with partly centralized control over labor and production in their workshops. In his terms, they were indus- trial magnates (Industriemagnaten) with a huge accumulation of capital (gewaltige Anhäufung von Kapital) and of great capital (Großkapital) and with enormous economic power (ungeheure wirtschaftliche Macht- mittel), in control of the guild of great industrialists par excellence (die Zunft der Großindustrielle κατ’ εξοχήν).46 In a long note in the later edition of his Modern Capitalism (1916–1919), Werner Sombart, who along with his near exact contemporary and critic Max Weber shaped the debate on the origins of capitalism in the first half of the twentieth century, rebelled against Doren’s view, declaring wool firms in the city “essentially craft-based (handwerksmäßige) or at best small capitalist (kleinkapitalistische) enterprises,” adding, “Nowhere do we find the beginnings of large-scale enterprises. Any operations exceeding the dimensions of individual enterprises were built by the guild (e.g., the Tuchspannen),” the lattermost term being a reference to large structures for wool stretching (tiratoi), of which there were four in late sixteenth- century Florence.47 Sombart was right. Wool manufacturing in Flor- ence—which remained in essential ways the same from the fourteenth through the sixteenth centuries—was largely decentralized due to the protoindustrial system in place there, commonly called the “putting out” system. Wool was initially distributed to and worked by artisans, often women on the borders of Florence or in the countryside, in their own homes using their own tools. The wool was then collected and dis- tributed to urban weavers and dyers.48 Very little of the labor or produc- tion was centralized in a central workshop (Doren’s zentralwerkstatt), 46 Alfred Doren, Studien aus der Florentiner Wirtschaftsgeschichte, vol. 1, Die Florentiner Wollentuchindustrie vom 14. bis zum 16. Jahrhundert: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des mod- ernen Kapitalismus (Stuttgart, 1901), 202, 400, 469; and vol. 2, Das Florentiner Zunftwesen vom 14. bis zum 16. Jahrhundert (1908), 505, 560, 721. Early caveats about Doren’s method- ology were presented by, among others, Edwin F. Gay, soon to be the first dean of Harvard Business School (HBS), in his long review in Political Science Quarterly 19, no. 2 (1904): 310–15: “Doren bases all this on gild documents, which he uses with dexterity and vivacity,” Gay writes, “[b]ut this vivacity has its dangers” (p. 314). On the scale of the Florentine wool industry, see also the important early revisionism of Gertrud Hermes, “Der Kapitalismus in der Florentiner Wollenindustrie,” Zeitschrift für die gesamte Staatswissenschaft 72, no. 3 (1917): 367–400. 47 Werner Sombart, Der moderne Kapitalismus: Historisch-systematische Darstellung des gesamteuropäischen Wirtschaftslebens von seinen Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart, vol. 2, part 2 (Munich, 1919), 767 (translation ours). On Sombart and Max Weber, see Hartmut Lehmann, “The Rise of Capitalism: Weber versus Sombart,” in Weber’s Protestant Ethic: Origins, Evidence, Context, ed. Hartmut Lehmann and Günther Roth (Cambridge, U.K., 1993), 195–208. 48 For a study of one production system, see Francesco Ammannati, “Francesco di Marco Datini’s Wool Workshops,” in Francesco di Marco Datini: The Man and the Merchant, ed. Giampiero Nigro (Florence, 2010), 489–514. On protoindustrialization more generally, see Political Economy and the Medici / 141 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core and most occurred outside of direct oversight. Nearly all of the workers in the system earned piecework pay, rather than wages, and the presence of large numbers of precariously situated urban woolworkers in the city had been a significant cause of political agitation in the second half of the fourteenth century.49 The consequences of this unrest led to decreasing (not increasing) centralization in the Florentine woolen cloth industry, which did survive the political strife, the demographic collapse of the Black Death, and significant regional depressions but ultimately fell victim to international competition.50 Our image of the scale of the industry is now quite clear: the well-known and relatively large Del Bene firm, studied by the great Japanese business historian Hidetoshi Hoshino, produced (using over 98 percent English wool) an average of around 155 cloths per year in the period from 1355 to 1359 and, in its best year, had a profit margin of 40 percent before a sudden downturn in its business (Figure 4). And Franceschi has found, on the basis of pro- duction totals for 402 firms, that the average in precisely this period (1355–1374) was 122 cloths per annum.51 The Arte della Lana was, as Doren had argued, controlled by the interests of the lanaioli, the full members or artefices pleno iure of the guild; however, they had likely never been, as in Flanders, master weavers or loom operators, but instead were and remained petty industrial entrepreneurs whose role in manufacturing was largely restricted to continuous processes of capital generation and management. An unusually auspicious confluence of women, men, and institu- tional support in the 1930s led to the earliest extensive use of a firm’s account books to understand the business-historical and entrepreneurial dynamics of Renaissance wool manufacturing. And it was this approach that, practically speaking, consigned Doren’s view to obsolescence and spurred much of the most vibrant premodern business-historical research of the twentieth century. The shift in approach came, like a Sheilagh C. Ogilvie and Markus Cerman, eds., European Proto-Industrialization (Cambridge, U.K., 1996). 49 The literature on woolworker agitation is vast, but see Alessandro Stella, La révolte des Ciompi: Les hommes, les lieux, le travail (Paris, 1993) and Robert Fredona, “Baldus de Ubaldis on Conspiracy and Treason (Crimen laesae maiestatis) in Late Trecento Florence,” in The Pol- itics of Law in Late Medieval and Renaissance Florence: Essays in Honour of Lauro Mar- tines, ed. Lawrin Armstrong and Julius Kirshner (Toronto, 2011), 141–60; and, for a wider context, Samuel Cohn, “Florentine Insurrections, 1342–1385, in Comparative Perspective,” in The English Rising of 1381, ed. Rodney H. Hilton and T. H. Aston (Cambridge, U.K., 1984), 143–64. On the organization of labor in the wool guild, see Franco Franceschi, Oltre il ‘Tumulto’: I lavoratori fiorentini dell’Arte della Lana fra Tre- e Quattrocento (Florence, 1993). 50 Franco Franceschi, “L’imposa mercantile industriale nella Toscana dei secoli XIV–XVI,” Annali di storia dell’impresa 14 (2003): 229–49. 51 Franceschi, Oltre il ‘Tumulto,’ 8. Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 142 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core bolt, with the publication in 1941 of Raymond de Roover’s essay “A Flor- entine Firm of Cloth Manufacturers,” which had been written while the young Belgian business historian was an MBA student at Harvard Busi- ness School—working under N. S. B. Gras, holder of the first chair in business history and architect of HBS’s business history curriculum— and submitted originally as a thesis for a Harvard University prize in 1938.52 De Roover’s “fresh perspective” in the article “led to a major revi- sion in our understanding of the organization of the cloth industry in Florence,” according to Richard Goldthwaite; it did so by focusing on the “actual business practice of an individual firm” and by “de-emphasiz- ing the guild and revealing the considerable fluidity in human relations inside the system and therefore the more amorphous quality of Figure 4. Del Bene wool manufacturing firms, 1355–1369. (Sources: Hidetoshi Hoshino, L’arte della lana in Firenze nel basso Medioevo: Il commercio della lana e il mercato dei panni fiorentini nei secoli XIII–XV [Florence, 1980], 213.) 52 Raymond de Roover, “A Florentine Firm of Cloth Manufacturers: Management and Organization of a Sixteenth-Century Business,” Speculum 16, no. 1 (1941): 3–33, reprinted in Julius Kirshner, ed., Business, Banking, and Economic Thought in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe: Selected Studies of Raymond de Roover (Chicago, 1974), 85–118. De Roover’s original sixty-six-page typescript, with charts, is located in Harvard University’s Archives. On the early history of business history at HBS, see Robert Fredona and Sophus A. Reinert, “The Harvard Research Center in Entrepreneurial History and the Daimonic Entre- preneur,” History of Political Economy 49, no. 2 (2017): 267–314. Political Economy and the Medici / 143 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core industrial society” in the Renaissance.53 De Roover would go on to become, in the words of David Herlihy, “the historian sans pair of medi- eval business and banking institutions,” his reputation having been secured in perpetuum with his 1963 masterpiece The Rise and Decline of the Medici Bank.54 De Roover’s preliminary investigation of the Medici bank had been published fifteen years earlier and dedicated to Gras, “whose teaching inspired this study on one of the most famous business firms in history,” and there is no doubt that de Roover’s back- ground in accounting—he had been an accountant in Antwerp before emigrating to the United States—and training in business methods under Gras were together the foundation of his extraordinary talents and productivity.55 But the “Florentine Firm” was based, more immedi- ately, on the work of another scholar, Florence Edler de Roover, who, before meeting Raymond in Antwerp and marrying him in England in 1936, had worked under Gras’s supervision on a project funded by the Medieval Academy of America to prepare a lexicon of medieval Italian business terms, the detailed appendices of which—based on her exten- sive use of the collection of Medici family business manuscripts (focused on cousins of the more famous branch of the Medici dynasty that was comprised of bankers, popes, and later Grand Dukes of Tuscany) donated to HBS by the Anglo-American retail magnate Harry Gordon Selfridge—laid the groundwork for Raymond’s study.56 That Edler de Roover’s extraordinary paleographical skills permitted her husband to reconstruct the account books of the “Florentine Firm” is without doubt, just as her discovery of the libri segreti (secret books) of the Medici bank provided the foundation for his magnum opus.57 This essay, in returning to the same Selfridge manuscript books used 53 Richard A. Goldthwaite, “Raymond de Roover on Late Medieval and Early Modern Eco- nomic History,” in Kirshner, Business, Banking, and Economic Thought, 10–11. 54 David Herlihy, “The Economy of Traditional Europe,” Journal of Economic History 31, no. 1 (1971): 160. 55 “Before I became his [Gras’s] student,” de Roover further explained, “I had done some work on the history of accounting and I was familiar with medieval methods of bookkeeping. It was Professor Gras who broadened my horizon and who taught me how to apply this knowl- edge and how to use accounting as a tool rather than as an end in itself.” Raymond de Roover, The Medici Bank: Its Organization, Management, Operations and Decline (New York, 1948), v, xv. 56 Florence Edler, Glossary of Mediaeval Terms of Business, Italian Series, 1200–1600 (Cambridge, MA, 1934), appendices at 333–426. On Edler (de Roover), see Richard A. Goldthwaite, “Florence Edler de Roover (1900–1987): Nota biografica,” in Edler de Roover, L’arte della seta a Firenze nei secoli XIV e XV, ed. Sergio Tognetti (Florence, 1999), xv–xxiii. We are currently completing a biography of this remarkable yet little-known scholar. 57 Raymond de Roover, “I libri segreti del Banco de’ Medici,” Archivio storico italiano 107 (1949): 236–37; acknowledged in de Roover, The Rise and Decline of the Medici Bank, 1397– 1494 (Cambridge, MA, 1963), xii. Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 144 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core by Edler in her Glossary and de Roover in “A Florentine Firm,” is simi- larly based upon the couple’s pioneering efforts. The Medici as Industrial Entrepreneurs In his classic The Rise and Decline of the Medici Bank, Raymond de Roover devoted one chapter to “the Medici as industrial entrepreneurs,” examining the main branch’s investment in three cloth manufacturing botteghe, two wool and one silk. These shops were not, compared with the family’s banking activities, a large source of profits; in the period from 1420 to 1435, for example, the one wool shop then operating pro- vided only 3.1 percent of the bank’s profits.58 But de Roover’s idea of industrial entrepreneurship provides us with a model for presenting a case study of a single Medici wool firm’s operations. Compared with some of the other wool manufacturing firms in the Selfridge collection, the firm of Francesco di Giuliano di Raffaello de’ Medici and Co. (1556–1558), which produced only seventy-one woolen cloths, was rela- tively small. The survival of nearly all of its account books, however, allows for the fullest reconstruction of a firm from the Medici branch rep- resented by the collection. All but one (a book of weavers) of the firm’s eight account books, purchased as a set in 1556 from the firm of statio- ners (cartolai) Giovanbattista Fontani and Co. for 48 lire di piccioli (6.86 florins), are extant (Figure 5).59 These books were organized hier- archically, with the ledger (“debtors and creditors” book), in which the tally of sold cloths (panni finiti) functioned to calculate profits and losses, as the book of final entry into which fed two subsystems of books: one dealing with the direct costs of manufacturing (Filatori, Tes- sitori, Tintori e Lavoranti, Manifattori) and the other with the opera- tion’s indirect costs and cash expenditures (Quadernaccio, Entrata e Uscita e Quaderno di Cassa, and Giornale). Figure 6 shows the middle volume. Like nearly all the wool companies of the period, the firm itself, which operated for the two years from May 1, 1556, to April 30, 1558, was little more than a small core of employees and an amount of capital. The firm rented its bottega and equipment and had only four salaried employees: Rosso di Giovanni de’ Medici, maruffino (two-year 58 Raymond de Roover, Il Banco Medici dalle origini al declino (1397–1494), trans. Gino Corti (Florence, 1970), 80, table 11. 59 Ms. 567 (11), ff. 25v–26r, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School (hereafter SC). The Brandolini books studied by Richard Goldthwaite were twelve in number; another Strozzi set purchased in 1512 contained nine books. See Goldthwaite, “The Florentine Wool Industry in the Late Sixteenth Century: Case Study,” Journal of European Economic History 32, no. 3 (2003): 487–526; and Goldthwaite, “Performance of the Florentine Economy, 1491–1512: Moneys and Accountancy,” Archivio storico italiano 176, no. 2 (2018): 252. Political Economy and the Medici / 145 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 5. System of account books. For the firm of Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co., ragione A, 1556–1558. (Sources: Mss. 567-2, 567-7, 567-8, 567-11, 568 v.6, 568 v.9 [12], and 600-5, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School.) S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 14 6 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core term beginning May 1, 1556, salary of f.40/year), who kept the firm’s books; Amerigo di Giovanni de’ Medici, giovane (eighteen-month term beginning November 1, 1556, salary of f.16/year); Francesco di Piero Tucci, giovane (thirteen-month term beginning November 1, 1556, salary of f.20/year); and Antonio d’Agnolo fornaio, fattorino (six-month term beginning November 1, 1556, salary of f.6/year).60 Figure 7, which shows a breakdown of the firm’s total operating costs of 3,076.75 florins, also serves as a basic schematic of the entire Figure 6. Cover of a Medici Account Book. “Inflow and Outgo and Cash Notebook,” Entrata e uscita e quaderno di cassa, Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co., ragione A, 1556–1558. (Source: Ms. 568 v.6, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collec- tions, Harvard Business School.) 60 Ms. 567 (11), ff. 44r (Rosso) “istato a ghoverno per marufino a salario per questa ragione”; 30r (Amerigo) “nostro giovane,” 23r (Francesco) “nostro giovane,” and 32v (Antonio) “nostro fattorino,” SC. Political Economy and the Medici / 147 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 7. Breakdown of operating costs of a Medici wool firm. Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co., ragione A, 1556–1558. (Sources: Mss. 567-11 [qua- derno de’ manifattori] and 567-8 [libro grande bianco A], Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School.) S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 14 8 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core manufacturing process (from preparation to spinning to weaving to dyeing to finishing).61 The firm was not profitable, but its overall costs (excluding the cost of raw wool; see below) were not unlike those of other Medici firms, even much larger ones. Figure 8 shows the two Medici firms operating in the period of 1530 to 1543, which were more than five and fifteen times the size, respectively, in total output. The firm was operated by Francesco’s father, Giuliano, for whom we have in the Selfridge collection an extant set of richordanze beginning with his 1547 marriage to Margherita, the daughter of Giovanni de’ Nerli, who brought him a 2,700 florin dowry. In them, Giuliano records family milestones—the births and baptisms of his children, 61 What exactly a florin was “worth,” particularly in relation to today’s parameters, is a perennially vexing question to which there are no definite answers. For a premier approach to the problem, see Goldthwaite, Economy of Renaissance Florence, 362–67, 609–14. More experimentally, one could seek to triangulate the value of the florin by comparing different indices, some of which will be more generally acceptable than others. We know, for example, that the pure gold content of a florin in 1558 was 3.52 grams. At Spring 2019 gold prices of about $41.50 per gram, the operating costs of the Medici firm in question would be valued at $449,451.64 today by a Gold Index. The purchasing power of gold has, however, changed significantly over time. As Goldthwaite shows—in The Building of Renaissance Flor- ence: An Economic and Social History (Baltimore, 1982), 438—1 florin was equal to 140 soldi di piccioli in 1558, or 4.96 days of a skilled laborer’s wages averaging 28.2 soldi di piccioli per diem. The operating costs of the present Medici firm therefore amounted to the price of 15,260.68 days of skilled labor. Assuming a skilled worker in the United States today makes about $80,000 a year, or $308 per day if we consider 260 working days in a year, 3,076.75 florins would be equal to about $4,700,289 today by a Skilled Worker Index. However, accord- ing to Goldthwaite’s calculations, most unskilled workers were paid the equivalent of about 0.20 staia of wheat per day at the time (Economy of Renaissance Florence, 365), and the average price of a staio of wheat in 1558 was 62.6 soldi (of the silver lira). There were 4.5 grams of silver in a 1558 lira. The price of a gram of silver is currently about 54 cents, while wheat was recently trading at $4.43/bushel. At 35.24 liters/bushel, the value is thus 12.6 cents per liter. A staio is 24.7 liters, so 0.20 staia of wheat is 4.94 liters of wheat. As such, the unskilled daily wage was about $1.52 by the current price-of-silver standard. And, the daily unskilled wage was about 62 cents per day by the current price-of-wheat standard. So, if an unskilled laborer today works eight hours per day and makes the Massachusetts minimum wage of $11 per hour, then the current U.S. daily unskilled wage is $88, which is either 142 times (by the Wheat Index) or 58 times (by the Silver Index) larger than the 1558 pay. So, the value of the 3,076.75 florins—owing to the inflation of labor costs relative to com- modity prices—might really be as low as $81,040.86, or even $33,116.63. At the other extreme, as Walter Isaacson shows, Leonardo da Vinci was paid 35 florins for his earlier Virgin of the Rocks. Isaacson, Leonardo da Vinci (New York, 2017), 382. Considering this to be the average price of a Leonardo commission, and accepting Goldthwaite’s assumptions regarding the reduced real value of the specie florin between 1500 and 1550 (unlike the florin as a unit of account, which remained stable between 1500 and 1600; see Goldthwaite, Economy of Renais- sance Florence, 611–12), the firm’s operating costs would have covered roughly seventy-three such paintings at the adjusted value (eighty if we consider the florin as a unit of account). Given the recent $450,000,000 sale price for Leonardo’s Salvator Mundi, by a 1500 Leonardo Index 3,076.75 1558 florins would be worth almost $33 billion today. As such, depending on which index one picks, one can triangulate the current equivalent of the Medici firm’s operating costs to fall roughly in the range between $33,000 and $33 billion. For useful caveats regarding long-term price data and the perils of scientism, see William Caferro, Petrarch’s War: Florence and the Black Death in Context (Cambridge, U.K., 2018), 178–99. Political Economy and the Medici / 149 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 8. Two Medici wool firms. (Sources: Mss. 554-6 and 558-7, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School.) S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 15 0 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core first Costanza, then Francesco (so named “to reinstate the name of Fran- cesco my uncle and Francesco my brother”), Caterina, and Giovanni (named for his father-in-law), who died in his ninth month; and the deaths of Margherita at age thirty-three and of his father, both in 1555—and civic honors, from his service as Podestà of Montepoli in the Arno valley and as consul of the Arte della Lana to his election to the Otto di Pratica and Dodici Buonuomini, by this point two magistra- cies in the ducal administration of Tuscany.62 Giuliano’s memoranda also included a number of property transactions and were kept at the end of a giornale containing accounts of chiefly personal or domestic business, with about one-quarter of all entries in the first two years of his marriage to Margherita pertaining to his wife’s expenses.63 Giuliano himself would die in 1569 at the age of sixty-three. At the start of May 1556, the merchant Jacopo Pandolfi sold the firm its first supplies of raw material: eleven bales of Spanish wool “of varying types [di piu sorte]” with a combined weight, including ropes and pack- aging, of 3,214 pounds. The firm paid f.10 s.10 per 100 pounds, which was calculated after the subtraction of combined tare (“tara per tutte le tare #297”) equal to 9.25 percent of the weight, or f.306 s.5 total for a nominal weight of 2,917 pounds.64 This wool was unpacked, likely in the firm’s bottega, and sorted into twenty-two sacks (of variable weight, ranging from 125 to 160 pounds) with a combined weight of 3,110 pounds.65 In 1556–1557 the firm acquired around 8,675 pounds of raw wool all told, of which approximately 63 percent was Spanish and the rest Italian (Tuscan matricina and wool from castroni, castrated bucks), which was sorted into sixty sacks and, in the case of the Italian wool though not the Spanish, graded (as fina, seconda, or grossa). The purchase of raw wool accounted for 30 percent of the total production costs of this firm, by far the largest single category, even though it was lower than the 35 percent and 44 percent spent on wool by the related Medici firms operating from 1530 to 1543 and by the Brandolini firm examined by Goldthwaite at 40 percent. The Spanish lana della serena supplied by the Spaniard Lopez Gallo, which made up more than a quarter of the total, was by far the most expensive at f.24 s.10 per 100 pounds, followed by Italian wool shorn from castrated sheep at f.13 per 100 pounds (Table 1). 62 Ms. 562, ff. 140r–144v; “per rintegrare il nome di Francesco mio avolo e Francesco mio fratello,” SC. 63 Ms. 562, ff. 1r–4v. 64 Ms. 600 (5), f. 1r. The individual tare, found at 568 (9), f. 1r, were 133 lb. per le sache, 26 per uso, 16 per umido, and 122 per sabione. 65 Ms. 567 (7), f. 1r. Political Economy and the Medici / 151 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Table 1 Medici Wool Supplies, 1556–1557 For the Firm of Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co., ragione A Raw Wool Supplies, 1556–1557 Sorting and Grading Date Supplier Type Bales Gross Weight (lbs) Net Weight (lbs) % Tares Price (Florins) Price per 100 lbs. Transaction type Broker Sacks Weight (lbs) Grade % Loss of weight 4 May 1556 Jacopo Pandolfi Spanish (various) 11 3214 2917 9.2 306 s5 d0 10 s10 d0 Credit Niccolò Lapi 22 3110 n/a 3.2 16 July 1556 Lopes Gallo Spanish (della serena) 7 2270 2036 10 498 s16 d0 24 s10 d0 Barter (for rascie) Tadeo Risaliti 16 2180 n/a 4 24 Septem- ber 1556 Luigi and Alessandro Capponi Italian (from castroni) 7 1495 1399 6.4 188 s17 d0 13 s10 d0 Credit Benedetto Falcucci 11 1485 38% fina, 45% seconda, 17% grossa 0.7 30 June 1557 Zacheria Raparelli Matricina (from Cortona) 2 530 500 6 53 s11 d3* 10 s14 d3 Barter (for perpignani) ** ** ** ** 3 August 1557 Andrea da Talla Matricina (from Valdarno) 4 1020 1000 2 100 s0 d0 10 s0 d0 Cash 11 1456 59% fina, 41% seconda 6 Sources: Mss. 600-5 and 567-8, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School. * additional expenses of f.0 s.1 d.5 were paid for the canvas sacks, ropes, the gabella di Cortona, etc. ** combined with the 3 August 1557 total below. S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 15 2 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core The raw wool purchased in the period from 1491 to 1495 by the Medici firm of Giuliano di Giovenco and his son Francesco, “wool manufacturers in Porta Rossa,” included both matricina and garbo, from local merchants—among them the wealthy and influential Jacopo di Giovanni Salviati, who was married to Lorenzo de’ Medici’s daughter Lucrezia, sister of the future pope Leo X, and a number of his relatives— and from Spaniards resident in Florence including Miguel de Miranda, Miguel de Silos, and Fernando and Juan de Castro.66 Raw wool was delivered in bales, wrapped in cloth and tied with rope, and distin- guished in accounts by gross weight (e.g., “one bale gross weight 237 pounds”); the final purchase price (netto a pagamento) was calculated by the pound after the assessment of tares (tare), with allowances for ordinary wear-and-tear (per uso), for humidity or wetness, dirt or sand, and the weight of the ropes and packaging materials. So, for example, when on July 18, 1492, Miguel de Silos delivered six bales of wool weighing 1,381 pounds to the Medici partners, the tares combined for 117 pounds (nearly 8.5 percent of the total), and the final price (f. 145, s. 6) reflected a weight of 1,264 pounds.67 The notebook of first entry (quadernaccio) of Giuliano di Giovenco’s great-great-grandson Giuliano di Raffaello’s firm (1552–1555) similarly shows the Medici wool manu- facturer sourcing raw wool from a variety of sources. Six decades on, Spaniards were even more common as suppliers of raw wool, both Spanish and Italian matricina, and notably also as buyers of finished cloths: one Luis de Polanco, for example, sold the Medici wool from central Italy (matricina di toschanella) and bought both undyed cloths (panni bianchi) and smooth black rascie, the most expensive cloths sold by the Medici in the sixteenth century; while Lopez Gallo, who supplied raw Spanish wool, bought lower-quality coarse cloths (panni corsivi), both undyed (bianchi) and dyed blue (turchino) and pink (roseseche), as well as undyed twill (lana alla piana) and again especially the fine black rascie. These Spaniards specialized in selling wool, but that was not all; in August of 1563, for example, Juan Alonso de Malvenda sold Giuliano di Raffaello and Co. sugar from the Canary Islands (zuchero di canaria), where the Spaniards had introduced sugar cane at the end of the previous century, and larger quantities of lower- quality sugar from India (zucheri rottami d’India).68 In 1556, the same 66 Ms. 516, ff. 3r–19v; 1r, “lanaiuoli in Porta Roxa”; 2r (Salviati), 4v (Michele de Miranda), 9r (Michele de Silos), and 16v (Fernando e Giovanni de Chastro), SC. 67 Ms. 516, 9r, “ia balla peso lorda lib. 237,” SC. 68 Ms. 563, ff. 2rv, 31v, 32v, 35v, 40v (Luigi di Polancho), 19v, 23r, 32rv (Lopes Ghallo), and 62v–63r (Giannalonso di Malvenda), SC. For an overview of the Spanish merchant colony in Florence in the earlier period, see Bruno Dini, “Mercanti spagnoli a Firenze (1480–1530),” in Dini, Saggi su un economia-mondo: Firenze e l’Italia fra Mediterraneo ed Europa (secc. XIII–XVI) (Pisa, 1995), 289–310. Political Economy and the Medici / 153 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Lopez Gallo bartered his raw wool for some of the black rascie it would produce, or 1,000 pounds of the finest Spanish wool for 3 bolts of rascia together weighing 201 pounds and valued at 222.74 florins, a weight- value ratio of about five to one between the raw material and the manu- factured good.69 In the period between 1490 and 1550, studied by Bruno Dini, the Salviati firm did business with some twenty-six Spanish mer- chants; of them, more than half either broke even (bartering goods for goods: 60 percent of the time Spanish raw wool, and 32 percent of the time Spanish silk, for finished silks and woolens) or ended up with a neg- ative balance with the Salviati (Figure 9).70 In addition to wool, this firm directly purchased a number of other supplies, including some of the dyestuffs used in the dyeing process; as the company’s ledger records show, these included “various red dyes, orchil, and others to dye this firm’s cloths [piu robbie, oricello, e altro per tignere i panni di questa ragione].”71 Other necessary supplies for the manufacturing and finish- ing processes included soap and, costliest of all, oil. The Medici paid l.373 s.19 d.0 in total for 22.5 barrels of oil, purchased over a period of fourteen months from “various oil sellers [piu oliandoli]” at prices ranging from l.13 s.5 d.0 to l.18 s.14 d.0 di piccioli per barrel.72 In addition to wool quality, dyeing and final color had historically strongly affected the quality and price of sold textiles, and the cost of dyeing was itself affected by the quality of the dyestuffs being used, the quality of the wool being dyed, and whether the cloths needed to be dyed only once or re-dyed to produce the final color.73 An exemplary case of the role played by the dyestuffs themselves relates to the etymol- ogy of the word “scarlet.” Munro has amply shown that, before it was an adjective referring to a bright red-orange color, “scarlet” signified the most expensive and luxurious woolen cloth of the Middle Ages—in 69 Note that, in the context of the sixteenth-century Florentine wool trade, “barter” (a trans- action a baratto) is not a direct exchange of one good for another but a market exchange, because the parties always assigned a monetary value to the items in the transaction. 70 In a striking passage in the original Christie’s catalog for the sale of the Medici ledgers (which Selfridge bought and eventually donated to HBS), the auction house noted that “the middle of the sixteenth century saw a sharp decline in the Spanish cloth industry, and it is interesting to find that the Florentine looms had obtained such an ascendancy, that wool was brought from Spain to be manufactured into cloth that at once returned to the country which had produced the raw material.” Catalogue of the Medici Archives . . . which will be sold by Messrs. Christie, Manson and Woods . . . (London, n.d. [1919?]), 185. On the institu- tionalization of this strategy in the European world, see Reinert, “Rivalry.” 71 Ms. 567 (8), f. 34, and see also ff. 23v–24r, SC. Orchil (oricello) is a lichen-based violet dye. 72 Ms. 567 (11), ff. 5v–6r, SC. 73 For a basic introduction to dyeing in late medieval and Renaissance Florence, see Piero Guarducci, Tintori e tinture nella Firenze medievale (secc. XIII–XV) (Florence, 2005); and, for a fine case study of a Sienese dyer, Guarducci, Un tintore senese del Trecento: Landoccio di Cecco d’Orso (Siena, 1998). Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 154 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 9. Spanish merchants’ balance with Salviati firms, 1490–1500. (Source: Bruno Dini, “Mercanti spagnoli a Firenze (1480–1530),” in Dini, Saggi su una Economia-Mondo: Firenze e l’Italia fra Mediterraneo ed Europa, (secc. XIII–XVI) [Pisa, 1995], 289–310, at 297.) P o litica l E co n o m y a n d th e M ed ici / 15 5 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Italy called scarlatto di grana, which was produced with the finest English wool and the red dye kermes, commonly called “grain” or grana and derived from the tiny, dried eggs of Mediterranean shield lice.74 In a 1339 statute, the Florentine Arte di Calimala promulgated strict guidelines for maintaining the unique, luxury status of scarlatti: authentic scarlatti, called scarlatti di colpo, had to be dyed from white or an intermediate shade of gray only with the red dye kermes, which itself cost more than one-third of the total cost of production in the early fourteenth century, while cloths dyed with a mixture of kermes and madder, a cheaper vegetal dye called robbia in the Tuscan vernacu- lar, had to be sold as scarlattini or panni di mezzagrana.75 Dyeing was a craft (arte), but it was also a chemical process requir- ing, in addition to the dyestuffs, the application of heat and use of mor- dants or fixants in order to make the finished cloths colorfast, that is, with colors resistant to running or fading. Inexpensive and locally avail- able mordants included tree bark and, especially in woad dyeing, wood ash, with its high alkalinity; in contrast, high-quality dyeing, especially with vibrant reds, increasingly came to rely on chemical mordants like gromma (potassium bitartrate, or cream of tartar), a byproduct of wine- making, and, especially, allume (alum), of which several types were known, the best being the so-called allume di rocca (potassium alum, or the potassium double sulfate of aluminum).76 The demand for allume di rocca could be great—and acquiring it even played a role in the decision of Lorenzo de’ Medici, then the de facto prince of the Republic of Florence, to participate in the sack of Volterra in 1472 after its leaders reneged on a concession of its newly discovered alum deposits— as reflected in the amounts required for a dyeing firm’s annual 74 John H. Munro, “The Medieval Scarlet and the Economics of Sartorial Splendour,” in Harte and Ponting, Cloth and Clothing, 13–70, esp. 13–21; Munro, “Scarlet,” in Encyclopedia of Dress and Textiles in the British Isles, c. 450–1450, ed. Gale R. Owen-Crocker, Elizabeth Coatsworth, and Maria Hayward (Leiden, 2012), 477–78. On the basis of scientific testing of an extant cloth sample, Dominique Cardon established beyond a doubt the character of the dyestuff employed in scarlets; see Cardon, “Échantillons de draps de laine des Archives Datini (fin XIVe siècle, début XVe siècle): Analyses techniques, importance historique,” Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome: Moyen-Age, no. 103 (1991): 359–72. On kermes (from the shield louse Kermes vermilio, formerly Coccus ilicis), see Costanza Perrone da Zara, “Aspetti storici e tecnici della tintura nel Medioevo e nel Rinascimento,” in Gli arazzi della Sala dei Duecento: Studi per il restauro (Modena, 1985), 105–6. 75 Hidetoshi Hoshino, “La tintura di grana nel basso medioevo,” in Industria tessile e com- mercio internazionale nella Firenze del tardo Medioevo, ed. Franco Franceschi and Sergio Tognetti (Florence, 2001), 24–26. The most common red dye used in the premodern woolens industry was from the long, red roots of the common madder (i.e., Rubia tinctorum, or “dyers’ red”), usually sourced from Lombardy and Flanders. 76 Franco Franceschi, “Il ruolo dell’allume nella manifattura tessile toscana dei secoli XIV– XV,” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome: Moyen Âge 126, no. 1 (2014): 159–70. On the connection between wine and gromma, sometimes also called allume di feccia, see Francesco Balducci Pegolotti, La Pratica della mercatura, ed. Allan Evans (Cambridge, MA, 1936), 380. Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 156 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core operations: in the year between July 1498 and July 1499, for example, in addition to dyes including robbia, oricello, and scòtano, and smaller amounts of gromma, the firm of Raffaello di Francesco de’ Medici and Co., tintori d’arte maggiore, purchased from the Arte della Lana more than 24,000 pounds of allume di rocca for a total of f.288 s.4 d.3, at a rate of 12 florins per 1,000 pounds.77 In order to produce a wider range of final colors, Florentine lanaioli relied on the layering of colors, with a first and second stage of dyeing. The first stage was often performed by tintori di guado, dyers who used woad, a vegetal indigo dye, to produce a wide range of blues and who often dyed “in the wool” as well as in the thread or in the finished cloth. The blue hues common in Tuscan sources ranged from allazzato (very light) to turchino to sbiadato (etymologically linked to our word “blue”) to cilestro to perso (very dark). The second stage, generally done in the finished cloth, was executed by tintori d’arte maggiore, dyers who performed the more important part of the dyeing process, using a variety of dyestuffs, among which reds commonly predomi- nated.78 The large chromatic range available to Florentine lanaioli, and the two-stage dyeing process sometimes used, can be seen in the cloths produced by the wool manufacturing firm of Raffaello di Fran- cesco de’ Medici (1531–1534). Figure 10 depicts the intermediate and final colors of the cloths sold by the firm in the terminology employed in its end-of-period ricordo of sold cloths. Only 8.4 percent of the cloths remained undyed. Nearly 56 percent of the cloths were dyed blue; of these, some 18 percent remained sky blue (cilestro), 30 percent were dyed red after being dyed cilestro to produce a final black (nero), and 42 percent ranged from sbiadato to paonazzo (a popular dark purple) or to dark shades of green. The remaining 36 percent ended up as grays, tans, yellows, oranges, and a mix of other colors. The firm of this case study, Francesco de’ Medici and Co., outsourced the dyeing of its cloths, which represented a little over 10 percent of its total operational costs, to five outside firms (Table 2). 77 Enrico Fiume, L’impresa di Lorenzo de’ Medici contro Volterra (1472) (Florence, 1948), 167–71. On Fiume’s book, see Lorenzo Fabbri, “L’impresa di Enrico Fiumi contro Lorenzo de’ Medici,” Rassegna volterrana, no. 84 (2007): 33–44. For the firm’s main supplies, see Ms. 546, ff. 4v–7r, 42v–43r, 58v–59r, 61v–62r, and 86v–87r, SC. The firm’s total alum purchases exceeded 840 florins; for the year of purchases, see Ms. 545, ff. 1r–11r, SC. 78 On the medieval guado and indigo dye (from the flowering plant Isatis tinctoria), see Perrone, “Aspetti storici,” 112. For the range of shades in the mid-Trecento, see Hoshino, “La tintura di grana,” 28. A similar range is found in a fifteenth-century dyers’ manual from the Veneto; see Giovanni Rebora, ed., Un manuale di tintura del Quattrocento (Milan, 1970), chaps. 64–66. Political Economy and the Medici / 157 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 10. Cloths sold by intermediary and final color. Raffaello di Francesco de’ Medici & Co., ragione L, 1531–1534. (Source: Ms. 554 [4], Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School.) S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 15 8 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core The data for the arte maggiore dyeing is incomplete, but the guado firms, as expected, charged more for producing darker shades of blue and for dyeing higher-quality cloths. The costliest procedure was dyeing so-called rascia cloth sky blue so that it could then be dyed a second time, or overdyed, probably with a mix of kermes and madder, in order to produce the most sought-after cloth on the mid-sixteenth-century Table 2 Medici Outsourcing to Dyers Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co., ragione A, 1556–1558 Company Company type Cost (Florins) Dyed cloths Price per cloth or equivalent weight (Lire di piccioli) Giovanni d’Anto- nio di Cione Fiegiovanni Guado 6.0.0 3 turchini 14.0.0 Filippo di Messer Gio- vanni Malingiegni Guado 185.2.6 17 rascie celeste (per nere) 60.0.0 4 perpignani turchini 16.0.0 3 perpignani celesti/celesti (per neri) 44.0.0 1 grossa sbiadetta 18.0.0 Niccolò di Luigi Capponi Guado 81.11.5 8 rascie celeste (per nere) 60.0.0 6.5 turchini 14.0.0 Marco di Bene- detto di Borgho Arte maggiore 31.17.0 no data Filippo d’Aver- ardo Salviati Arte maggiore 4.14.3 3 corsivi gialli 11.0.0 Sources: Mss. 567-7 and 567-8, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Histor- ical Collections, Harvard Business School. Political Economy and the Medici / 159 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Florentine market: rascia nera, or black rascia. Quality of cloth was a crucial variable: the cost of dyeing a rascia cloth sky blue resulted in a 36 percent cost increase over dyeing a perpignano the same color. The gradual shift from the predominance of blues in the fifteenth century to more costly, twice-dyed blacks in the sixteenth was naturally the result of changes in fashion, but the intervention of the Arte della Lana had also been crucial. Florentine rascie, plausibly deriving their name from the city of Raška in Serbia, were originally intentionally developed as an import-substitution measure to compete with the so-called rascie di schiavonia that were of a surprisingly high quality and were entering the Florentine market in the mid-fifteenth century. In February of 1488, the Arte della Lana, considering the invasion of foreign cloths, decided to forbid the sale of Slavic rascie and to encourage the manufacturing of native rascie by instituting production quotas. The Arte della Lana had in 1418 similarly encouraged the production of perpignani cloths, a kind of light and elastic serge commonly used for making men’s hosiery, named for the cloths of Perpignan, and made from Spanish garbo and local Italian wools. The perpignano was the major Florentine textile of the fifteenth century and again in the seventeenth, when the cheaper fabric entirely overtook rascia. But it was the production of black rascie that, almost alone, contributed to a spike in the 1560s (see Figure 2) and for the first time allowed Florentine cloths to penetrate ultramontane markets.79 Once wool was purchased and sorted, the firm of Francesco di Gio- vanni di Giunta and Co., “washers at the canal [lavatori alla gora],” was hired to wash the sorted raw wool in an industrial canal and paid a flat rate of l.1 di piccioli per 100 pounds of washed wool in addition to being compensated for the alum used in the process at a rate of l.20 di piccioli per 100 pounds. On Saturday, May 2, 1556, for example, the washers received the first twelve sacks of Jacopo Pandolfi’s Spanish wool, weighing 1,660 pounds. The washed wool weighed 1,350 pounds, representing a loss of 18.7 percent of the original weight (near the average of 19.45 percent loss), and the washing cost l.13 s.10 piccioli, paid along with l.12 for the 60 pounds of alum used.80 All told, 6,630 pounds of wool (final weight) was washed and returned to the Medici in 1556–1557. The washed wool was then entrusted to Battista di 79 For the guild legislation, see Hoshino, L’arte della lana, 235–39. On the importance of rascie in the boom of the 1560s, see Chorley, “Rascie.” For the comparative seventeenth- century (1616–1645) production of perpignani and rascie, see Ruggiero Romano, “À Florence au XVIIe siècle: Industries textiles et conjuncture,” Annales: économies, sociétés, civilisations 7, no. 4 (1952): 508–12. For the penetration of the Lyon cloth market, see, for example, Albert Chamberland, Le commerce d’importation en France au milieu du XVIe siècle, document inédit, publié avec des notes et un tableau synoptique (Paris, 1894), 29–30. 80 Ms. 567 (7), ff. 1r–2r; 567 (11), ff. 0v–1r, 42v, SC. Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 160 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Pasquino da Bacchereto, a kind of foreman in the Medici operation called a capodieci (i.e., one nominally in charge of ten workers), who distribu- ted the wool for picking, beating, and cleaning (a process called divetta- tura, from vetta, a stick or pole used to strike the wool); he then collected it and sent it on for further work. The capodieci was paid by the pound— d.8 (for 554 lb.), s.1 (for 2,729 lb.), s.1 d.4 (for 783 lb.), and s.1 d.8 (for 2,207 lb.) for a total of l.391 s.2 d.8 di piccioli—with the rate dependent on the cloth that would ultimately be produced, such that wool destined to become rascie fetched the highest rate and wool for selvage (vivagno) the lowest.81 The capodieci sent some of the cleaned wool directly for dyeing in the wool (nel colore)—for example, between August 5 and August 10, 1556, Battista di Pasquino sent 741 pounds (equivalent to 9.5 panni of 78 lb. each) to two companies of woad dyers (tintori di guado) that were paid l.14 per panno for turchini—but most was dyed after weaving, as part of the finishing process.82 The capodieci was not the only such figure in the enterprise. Indeed, Medici and Co. similarly delegated two of the other major steps in the manufacturing process, combing and carding, to agents (fattori) to whom it made variable cash payments on a weekly schedule (almost always on Friday or Satur- day) when active and who were in turn responsible for organizing and paying workers, with whom the firm itself had no direct contact, to do the necessary work. Over the course of two active periods (July 1556 to January 1556/7 and July to September 1557), Agniolo di Giovanni— called “nostro fattore di petine [our agent who oversees combing]”— received thirty-three cash payments (ranging from l.2 s.12 d.8 to l.43 s.8 di piccioli) in the total amount of l.724 s.15 d.4 di piccioli, while Antonio di Domenico da Prato—“nostro fattore di chardo [our agent who oversees carding]”—received thirty-seven weekly cash payments (ranging from 1.5 to 1.37 s.10 di piccioli) in the total amount of l.592 s.9 d.8 di piccioli.83 At the artisanal core of every lanaiolo’s operation was the process of turning spun woolen yarn into cloth: a matrix, tightly interlaced at right angles, of longitudinal warp threads, made from combed wool (stame) and held in tension on the loom, and the thicker transversally woven weft, made from carded wool (lana). Our firm used three nonsalaried agents to distribute stame and lana and pound-rate wages to spinners in the Florentine countryside, all of them women, and to collect and deliver the spun yarn to its bottega (Table 3): Tommaso di Christofano Brandolini (nostro lanino), who distributed lana; Alessandro di 81 Ms. 567 (7), f. 10r. 82 Ms. 567 (7), f. 10r and 30rv. 83 Ms. 567 (11), ff. 3v–5r, and cash accounts passim. The corresponding accounts in Ms. 567 (7), at cc. 50–60, are missing. Political Economy and the Medici / 161 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Table 3 Distribution of Combed and Carded Wool For the Firm of Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co., ragione A, 1556–1558 Pounds Type Rate/lb July 1556 August 1556 September 1556 October 1556 November 1556 December 1556 January 1557 July 1557 August 1557 September 1557 October 1557 TOTAL lire LANINO Perpignani l.0 s.6 d.0 164 358.875 337.125 161.375 239.625 212 1473 441.9 Turchini l.0 s.3 d.0 86.875 397.125 484 72.6 Turchini corsivi l.0 s.2 d.8 223 223 29.73 Rascie l.0 s.14 d.0 122.5625 411.75 97.3125 34.375 467.125 1133.125 793.1 Corsivi l.0 s.2 d.8 182.625 139.5 153.875 476 63.47 COST (lire, decimalized) 85.2 96.39 114.17 107.98 157.68 288.23 68.12 24.35 82.2 24.06 347.5 STAMAIUOLI Pounds Lire Perpignani 0.10.0 940 470 Turchini 0.10.0 or 0.7.0* 299 76.9 Rascie 1.10.0 1117.375 1676.063 Palmella for Rascie 0.10.0 288 144 Source: Ms. 567-2, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School. Notes: Excluded from Lanino: 276 pounds of lana grossa per vivagno at a rate of 0.2.0; 71 of grossa sbiadata per vivagno at 0.2.0; and 100 of bioccoli at 0.2.4. Excluded from stamaiuoli: 196 grosso per vivagno at 0.4.0; 51 grossa sbiadata per vivagno at 0.7.0; and 62 grossa per vivagno at 0.7.0. * less than 15% at lower rate S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 16 2 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Domenico da berzighella (nostro stamaiuolo); and Pagholo di Lorenzo dal Borgho (stamaiuolo).84 As seen in Figure 11, which shows the cash payroll of the firm by month, the distribution/collection of yarn (including spinning, indi- rectly) and its subsequent weaving made up the bulk of the labor cost (in cash expenditures) and manufacturing process (in time), processes that occurred immediately after the acquisition and cleaning of new raw wool supplies. The firm paid twenty-six weavers, though each likely worked as half of a pair operating the horizontal loom, to produce all of its fabric—a cascading process that occurred when the availability of yarn and cash (on the Medici side) and of weavers aligned. In the absence of more reliable data, we can use the dates of the cash payments to weavers as a proxy for estimating the duration of the weaving process, with a full-size cloth seeming to require around two calendar weeks of weaving (compared with, for example, three to four weeks for the Brandolini firm) (Figure 12). For example, the most productive of our firm’s weavers, Catarina di Gabriello da Milano, worked four months to produce seven cloths. In the 1550s, the chief linear measures used in the Florentine cloth industry were the canna (pl. canne), roughly 2.33 meters or 2.55 yards in length, and the braccio (pl. braccia), about 58 centimeters or 23 inches, with four braccia combining to equal one canna. And wool man- ufacturers usually sold their product by the panno (pl. panni), with the whole woolen cloth, which varied in length, often at a rate expressed in lire di piccioli per canna (Table 4 and Figure 13). So, for example, the Medici firm’s first cloth sale on January 30, 1557, was to the firm of Benedetto di Ser Simone Guidi and Co., linaiuoli (manufacturers of linens), for one panno 17 canne 2 braccia in length at the price of 10 lire di piccioli per canna, or 175 total, equivalent to 25 florins.85 Assessing a loss of f.105 s.3 d.4, the firm sold the cloths it pro- duced at the combined price of f.2970 s.15 d.9.86 Of this, f.191 s.17 d.9 (6.46 percent) represented cloth sold “by the cut [a taglio]” (i.e., in small pieces to various buyers) or by bulk weight, with the rest—some sixty-seven cloths—sold by the panno to thirty-one firms or persons with accounts in the firm’s ledger. More than a third of the cloths 84 Boccaccio’s tale of Pasquino and Simona (Decameron 4, 7) concerns the relationship of a lanino and a filatrice; for a brilliant reading of it, see Justin Steinberg, “Mimesis on Trial: Legal and Literary Verisimilitude in Boccaccio’s Decameron,” Representations 138, no. 1 (2017): 118–45. 85 Ms. 600 (5), f. 1v, SC. 86 Ms. 567 (8), f. 41r. All information about sold panni here and below is based on Ms. 600 (5), ff. 1r–6r and Ms. 567 (8), ff. 6v–7r and 40v–41r, SC. Political Economy and the Medici / 163 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 11. Payroll (wages by type) of a Medici firm. Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co., ragione A, 1556–1558. (Sources: Mss. 567-8, 567-11, and 600-5, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School.) S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 16 4 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 12. Payments to weavers. September 1556–February 1558, Firm of Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co, ragione A. (Source: Ms. 557-8, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School.) P o litica l E co n o m y a n d th e M ed ici / 16 5 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Table 4 Cloth Sales of a Medici Firm Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co., ragione A, 1556–1558 Date Cloth Buyer (person or firm) Price (in florins) Price per canna (in lire di piccioli) Broker Transaction type 8 June 1558 1 panno perpignano nero Alessandro da Berzichella (nostro stamaiuolo) 33.0.0 14.0.0 Barter 17 April 1557 2 panni perpignani bianchi Alessandro di Domenico Caselesi 50.14.3 10.0.0 Credit 6 July 1557 1 panno perpignano bianco Antonio di Jacopo (fornaio al canto de’ Medici) 23.18.7 10.0.0 Credit 24 March 1558 4 panni neri per rascia Bartolomeo and Tommaso Martelli 280.17.1 32.0.0 Tadeo Risaliti Credit 7 October 1558 1 panno perpignano nero di guado Bastiano di Domenico Palmieri 30.17.1 13.10.0 Giovanni Rominelli Credit 26 May 1557 1 panno nero per rascia Benedetto di Francesco Falcucci 59.15.0 28.0.0 Cash 30 January 1557 1 panno perpignano bianco Benedetto di Ser Simone Guidi 25.0.0 10.0.0 Giovanni Rominelli Credit 4 October 1558 1 panno turchino Capitano Giovanbattista Martini 46.1.9 34.0.0 Credit 4 October 1558 1 panno turchino corsivo Capitano Giovanbattista Martini 28.5.0 Credit 3 August 1557 2 panni neri per rascia Cieseri Buonguglielmi and Tommaso Luci da Barzalona 135.6.11 31.0.0 Benedetto Falcucci Credit S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 16 6 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core 1 February 1557 1 panno perpignano bianco Francesco di Filippo Gaburri 25.3.7 10.0.0 Giovanni Rominelli Credit 15 February 1557 1 panno perpignano bianco Francesco di Filippo Gaburri 24.12.10 10.0.0 Giovanni Rominelli Credit 9 April 1557 2 panni perpignani bianchi Francesco di Filippo Gaburri 49.5.8 10.0.0 Giovanni Rominelli Credit 21 April 1558 2 panni neri per rascia Francesco di Messer Zanobi Carletti 131.19.2 29.10.0 Francesco Carli Cash 20 November 1557 4 panni perpignani bianchi Francesco Quaratesi 88.11.0 9.0.0 Napoleone Aldobrandini Cash 24 March 1558 2 panni neri per rascia Gianalonso di Malvenda Spagniolo 136.8.1 31.10.0 Tadeo Risaliti Cash 26 February 1558 1 panno festichino corsivo Giovanbattista di Francesco Bonsi 31.12.0 Francesco Carli Credit 24 March 1558 1 panno perpignano bianco Giovanbattista di Piero de’ Nerli 26.1.5 10.0.0 Francesco Carli Cash 2 December 1557 2 panni neri per rascia Giuliano di Bernardo del Tonaglia 131.5.2 30.1.0 Benedetto Falcucci Credit 27 October 1558 1 panno scampolo tane di loto Giuliano di Raffaello de’ Medici 26.15.8 20.0.0 3 June 1559 1 panno festichino Giuliano di Raffaello de’ Medici 56.15.1 34.0.0 3 June 1559 1 panno festichino corsivo Giuliano di Raffaello de’ Medici 31.1.6 17 December 1558 1 panno scampolo trafilato Guido di Daniello 18.0.0 29 January 1558 1 panno nero per rascia Guido Ginardi 61.16.8 28.10.0 Benedetto Falcucci Cash Continued. P o litica l E co n o m y a n d th e M ed ici / 16 7 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Table 4 Continued Date Cloth Buyer (person or firm) Price (in florins) Price per canna (in lire di piccioli) Broker Transaction type 26 May 1557 1 panno nero per rascia Heirs of Giuliano della Fonte 59.15.0 28.0.0 Benedetto Falcucci Cash 21 March 1558 2 panni neri per rascia Jacopo and Giovanni della Fonte 126.17.6 29.0.0 Benedetto Falcucci Cash 21 March 1558 1 panno nero per rascia Jacopo and Giovanni della Fonte 68.12.6 31.10.0 Benedetto Falcucci Credit 31 March 1558 1 panno perpignano nero di loto Jacopo del Seta 25.10.8 11.0.0 Giovanni Rominelli Credit 5 February 1558 1 panno nero per rascia Jacopo di Piero Pinadori 67.10.0 31.10.0 Benedetto Falcucci Credit 26 January 1557 1 panno perpignano bianco Lionardo di Francesco Mancini 30.3.9 11.10.0 Napoleone Aldobrandini Credit 28 February 1558 1 panno perpignano tane Lionardo di Francesco Mancini 32.18.0 13.15.0 Napoleone Aldobrandini Credit 15 November 1558 1 panno perpignano nero Lorenzo Ruspoli 29.0.4 12.10.10 Giovanni Rominelli Credit 8 November 1558 1 panno bianco per rascietta Marco Benedetti 10.0.10 4.0.0 Giovanni Rominelli Credit 18 April 1558 2 panni neri per rascia Messer Niccolò Gherardini da Parma 128.0.0 29.10.0 Francesco Carli Cash 7 March 1558 2 panni bianchi alla perpignana Michele di Francesco Ciei 51.16.0 10.5.0 Francesco Carli Credit S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 16 8 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core 17 May 1558 3 panni bianchi corsivi; 1 panno turchino corsivo Rafaello di Domenico Borghini 126.0.0 Niccolò Lapi Barter 17 May 1558 2 panni turchini Rafaello di Domenico Borghini 104.11.5 32.0.0 Niccolò Lapi Barter 26 April 1558 2 panni neri per rascia Stefano Pasero Gienovese 124.10.10 29.0.0 Benedetto Falcucci Cash n.d. Decem- ber 1558 3 panni gialli corsivi Ulivo di Michele Ulivi 64.10.0 Cash 30 June 1557 1 panno perpignano nero di loto Vincenzo di Niccolò Cinatti 24.6.7 10.18.0 Giovanni Rominelli Credit 26 January 1558 1 panno perpignano nero di loto Vincenzo di Niccolò Cinatti 23.7.1 10.18.0 Giovanni del Vecca Credit 24 May 1557 1 panno perpignano bianco Zacheria Raparelli da Cortona 25.7.1 10.0.0 Cash 30 June 1557 3 panni perpignani di piu colori Zacheria Raparelli da Cortona 106.15.0 14.0.0 Credit/Barter Source: Ms. 557-8, Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School. P o litica l E co n o m y a n d th e M ed ici / 16 9 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 13. Cloth sold by month and type, 1558–1561. Firm of Francesco di Giuliano de’ Medici and Co., ragione B. (Source: Ms. 568 v.11 [14], Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School.) S o p h u s A . R ein ert a n d R o b ert F red o n a / 170 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core (twenty-three cloths, or 34.33 percent) were black rascie sold for an average of l.30 s.4 d.0 per canna, and a quarter (seventeen cloths, or 25.37 percent) were undyed or white perpignani sold for an average of l.9 s.17 d.7. The remaining 40 percent of those sold were cloths—some- times coarse (corsivo), sometimes shorter than regulation size (scam- polo)—of various colors: blacks (nero, nero di guado, nero di loto), blues (turchino, biadetto), tawny (tanè), green (festichino), yellow (giallo), and purple (paonazzo). Six panni (nearly 9 percent of all the cloths sold) were bartered in exchange for Spanish wool; 20 panni (nearly 30 percent) were sold for cash; and 36 panni (nearly 54 percent) were sold on credit. Credit transactions were of three basic types: those requiring payment in equal monthly or weekly installments; in full at the end of a fixed period; or in two or three equal monthly pay- ments at the end of a fixed period. The sales of 73 percent of the sold panni were brokered by a broker (sensale) or middleman (mezzano) and the firm paid a total of f.7 s.15 in brokerage fees (senserie).87 The most prolific of the middlemen, Benedetto Falcucci, brokered the sale of more than half the firm’s output of black rascie and purchased one himself. In the firm’s account books, the language of cash and barter exchanges is simple. All of the former were recorded as “for cash [per li contantti]” and when the Medici and Raffaello di Domenico Borghini and Co. traded finished panni for five bales of wool they wrote in their Giornale only “to give in exchange for the Spanish wool gotten from them [per metere a rincontro della lana ispagniola avuta da lloro].” The language and varieties of credit exchanges were more complicated but nearly always more or less simple installment plans with no mention (in the firm’s public books) of an interest payment. Francesco di Filippo Gaburri, for example, made three purchases and was required to repay the first two (f.49 s.16 d.5 combined) at a rate of 6 florins per month and the third at (f.49 s.5 d.8) at a rate of 8 florins per month. More common were plans involving staggered repayment after a term of n months (per tempo di mesi n), as in the case of the Spaniard Giana- lonso di Malvenda, who was required to pay for his cloths in three equal monthly installments after a period of ten months. Business Practices and the Threshold of Political Economy The fine black rascie could mean the difference between a profitable wool enterprise and an unprofitable one, and in its subsequent period, the same firm—the highly profitable B ragione of Francesco di Giuliano’s wool company, which operated from 1558 to 1561—produced and sold 87 Ms. 567 (11), ff. 33v–34r for the brokerage fees. Political Economy and the Medici / 171 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core significantly more cloths. A higher percentage of them (80 percent) were black rascia (Figure 11), much as over 70 percent of his father’s produc- tion, from 1531 to 1534, had comprised the middle-quality broadcloth sopramani, then the most profitable type of Florentine woolen (Figure 14). The rascie, as we noted above, also briefly saved the Florentine wool industry but could not keep it afloat forever. By the turn of the seventeenth century, the Arte della Lana was complaining to Grand Duke Ferdinando I of Florentine producers attempting to pass off lower quality cloths as rascie, squeezed by growing Venetian competition for markets and, cru- cially, for the supply of fine Spanish wool, which increased prices and of which Cosimo I had already received complaints as early as 1573.88 In the aftermath of their moment of success, however, the Florentine rascie also crossed the blurry threshold into theory from mere business- historical datum. In a chapter on “having in one’s possession some mer- cantia di momento,” some commodity of particular or even unique value or quality, in his On the Causes of the Greatness of Cities, Botero men- tions, of course, that the “best wool” comes only from “a few towns in Spain and England.” But “there are also excellent manufactures,” he notes, “that flourish in one place rather than another, either because of the quality of the water, the cleverness of the inhabitants, some secret method they employ, or some similar reason, such as the weapons of Damascus and Shiraz, the tapestries of Arras, the rascie of Florence, the velvets of Genoa, the brocades of Milan, the scarlet cloths of Venice.” The success of the rascie was the result not of the Arno’s water but of a long-term convergence of management at the level of the entrepreneur, the guild, and the state. Just as Machiavelli advised princes, so did Botero: Above all he [the prince] must not permit the export of raw materials from his state, whether wool, silk, timber, metals or any other such thing. . . . The prince’s revenues from the export of finished goods are much greater than from that of primary materials. . . . Taking account of this, in recent years the kings of France and England have forbidden the export of wool from their kingdoms, as the Cath- olic King [i.e., the king of Spain] later did too. But these prohibitions could not be obeyed at once, because those countries [provincie] abound in such incredible quantities of very fine wool that there were not enough skilled workers to use it all.89 88 Pratica segreta, 9, f. 76 (1573); 16, f. 205r (1603), Archivio di Stato di Firenze, Florence; cited in Francesco Ammannati, “Florentine Woolen Manufacture in the Sixteenth Century: Crisis and New Entrepreneurial Strategies,” Business and Economic History On-Line 7 (2009): 4, 9. 89 Botero, Delle cause, 45; Botero, On the Causes, 45–46, 48. Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 172 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure 14. Cloth sold by type, 1531–1534. Firm of Raffaello di Francesco de’ Medici and Co., ragione L. (Source: Ms. 554 [4], Selfridge collection, Medici Collection, Baker Library Historical Collections, Harvard Business School.) P o litica l E co n o m y a n d th e M ed ici / 173 term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s. h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S000768052000001X D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re. C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity, o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:14, su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Botero’s codification of political economy can, from this perspective, be seen as a crucial link between the successful business practices that drove the Italian Renaissance, on the one hand, and Serra’s revolution- ary theorization of economic phenomena, on the other. But if the insights here were new, the policies behind them were surely not: by the late 1400s numerous Castilian merchants (like Lopez Gallo) and other mid- dlemen, like the Genoese traders who dominated the financial fairs at Medina del Campo, were resident in the city offering Castilian wool, but the Florentines, it is crucial to remember, had first been forced to turn to Spanish sources for fine raw wool only when English wool export duties on “aliens” were, beginning under Edward III, increased precipitously and wool prices were fixed to ensure that the cost would not be borne by English producers, which together reduced the Italian share of English wool sales from approximately 34 percent to 10 percent between 1370 and 1410.90 Botero had centuries of models to follow, but, in many ways, his model princes were the contemporary Medici Grand Dukes of Tuscany, especially the first of them, Cosimo I, whom he called “a prince of outstanding judgment,” and his son Fran- cesco, whose shared policy (“done most skillfully”) of attracting foreign skilled laborers served as a segue—in the first edition of his more famous The Reason of State (1589), the first work to use that expression in its title—for repurposing the argument, quoted at length immediately above, about prohibiting the export of raw materials from the Causes.91 It is often hard to find the line between deserved praise and undue flat- tery in Renaissance writing about princes, and Medicean dirigisme under Cosimo I and Francesco has been little studied, but the best schol- ars have indeed highlighted its transformational ambition. Goldthwaite describes it as “an extraordinary policy, much ahead of its time, [that] clearly arose from Cosimo’s initiatives and enthusiasm,” and Judith Brown characterizes it as “activism aimed at the transformation of the entire economy,” a full-fledged “political economy.”92 90 Munro, “Medieval Woolens,” 304–7. On the importance of Edward III’s policies for the development of political economy, see Reinert, Translating Empire, 93, 118, 164–66. 91 Botero, The Reason of State, trans. Robert Bireley (Cambridge, U.K., 2017), 47, 146; Bire- ley’s is an excellent new translation of Botero’s Della ragion di stato, using texts from 1590 to 1598. 92 Richard A. Goldthwaite, “Artisans and the Economy in Sixteenth-Century Florence,” in The Medici, Michelangelo, and the Art of Late Renaissance Florence (New Haven, 2002), 86; Judith C. Brown, In the Shadow of Florence: Provincial Society in Renaissance Pescia (Oxford, 1982), 281. See also Brown’s essential “Concepts of Political Economy: Cosimo I de’ Medici in a Comparative European Context,” in Firenze e la Toscana dei Medici nell’Europa del’500, vol. 1 (Florence, 1983), 279–93; in comparison, Furio Diaz’s approach is similar but negatively highlights the statist nature of the economic and political controls under the Grand Dukes: Diaz, Il Granducato di Toscana: I Medici (Turin, 1976), 127–48. On Cosimo I’s political economy, and particularly his emphasis on attracting high value-added economic Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 174 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Immediately after noting the “profound silence” of Italian Renais- sance thinkers on political economy, Hume declared that “the great opu- lence, grandeur, and military achievements of the two maritime powers”—meaning the Dutch and the English—“seem first to have instructed mankind in the importance of an extensive commerce.”93 But were those who first instructed mankind themselves without instruc- tors? Were the Dutch and English really autodidacts? If not, who had taught them? And in what? The answer was known long before Hume, and was later powerfully explained by the German historical economist Gustav von Schmoller in 1884: “what, to each in its time, gave riches and superiority first to Milan, Venice, Florence, and Genoa; then, later, to Spain and Portugal; and now to Holland, France, and England . . . was a state policy in economic matters [eine staatliche Wirtschaftspoli- tik]”—an applied political economy first theorized and codified in the late Italian Renaissance by thinkers ignored by Hume; thinkers in scho- lastic, Counter Reformation, anti-Machiavellian, and Reason of State contexts rather than republican and humanist and, later, liberal ones; thinkers for whom wealth and virtue were natural partners; thinkers who drew their lessons not from the ancients, as Machiavelli had pro- fessed, but from the successful business practices and government poli- cies of their time. 94 That said, much suggests that these insights were even more widespread than that. For Florentines seem to have been emi- nently aware of the importance of measures to protect and encourage domestic manufactures throughout the Renaissance. Already in 1458, a Florentine commission declared that the city had “became powerful and great through her industries and business, and thanks to these it defended itself from all oppression.”95 And even the humanist Aurelio activities to Tuscany, see Reinert, introduction to Serra, “Short Treatise,” 38–46; and, as evi- dence of a veritable “developmental state,” Reinert, The Academy of Fisticuffs: Political Economy and Commercial Society in Enlightenment Italy (Cambridge, MA, 2018), 400. Cosimo I was, not unexpectedly, celebrated in his own time with an outpouring of encomia. Carmen Menchini, Panegirici e vite di Cosimo I de’ Medici: Tra storia e propaganda (Flor- ence, 2005). 93 Hume, Political Essays, 52. 94 Gustav von Schmoller, The Mercantile System and its Historical Significance (New York, 1897), 48, translated from an extract from Schmoller’s twelve-part series “Studien über die wirtschaftliche Politik Friedrichs des Großen und Preußens überhaupt von 1680 bis 1786” (1884–1887); for the original German, see part 2, “Das Merkantilsystem in seiner historischen Bedeutung: städtische, territoriale und staatliche Wirthschaftspolitik,” Jahrbuch für Gesetzgebung, Verwaltung und Volkswirtschaft im Deutschen Reich 8 (1884): 42. On the context from which Schmoller emerged, see Erik Grimmer-Solem, The Rise of Historical Economics and Social Reform in Germany, 1864–1894 (Oxford, 2003). For more on the heuristic value of Schmoller’s analysis, see Reinert, Academy of Fisticuffs. 95 Franco Franceschi, “Intervento del potere centrale e ruolo delle Arti del governo dell’economia piorentina del Trecento e del primo Quattrocento: Linee generali,” Archivio storico italiano 151 (1993): 864, quoted in Goldthwaite, Economy of Renaissance Florence, Political Economy and the Medici / 175 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Lippo Brandolini would write, in his Republics and Kingdoms Com- pared (c. 1490), of how Florence could protect its “empire” only with “the help of large duties” on trade and by prohibiting the “importation” of goods that “we ourselves manufacture, all woolens and silks . . . so that we can sell our own, and to prevent foreign wares bringing down the price or reputation of ours.” This because, as Brandolini quoted the Roman playwright Terence, “everyone prefers his own betterment to another’s.”96 In line with Hegel’s frequently quoted dictum that “the owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk,” the historical mechanisms of Italy’s success were, however, only codified politically and theorized economically once decline already had set in and the center of gravity in the European economy had begun to move north and west. Soon enough, Italian writers themselves took note of how England and the Low Countries had come to beat them at their own game by adopting precisely the measures argued for by Botero, working their own raw materials and embracing import substitution. As Fernand Braudel concluded in his Out of Italy, the city-states of the peninsula declined also by virtue of teaching the rest of Europe their practices, or what he called “le Modèle italien.”97 There are few better lenses for appreciating this process than that of Florentine woolen man- ufactures and the origins of political economy. As such, a broadening of the traditional context for considering the history of political economy to include not only texts but the worlds of business enterprise as well as guild and government policies suggests fertile fields for future inquiry. For if Pocock delineated a powerful “Atlantic Republican Tradition” originating in Renaissance Florence, the extraordinary popularity of Botero’s work in the European world— “the Italian tradition” more broadly—allows us to adumbrate a different 591. For a similar statement from a century later, see Giacomo Lanteri, Della economica (Venice, 1560), 98. 96 Aurelio Lippo Brandolini, Republics and Kingdoms Compared, ed. and trans. James Hankins (Cambridge, MA, 2009), 123–25, quoting, as Hankins has shown, Terence, A[n] dria 427: “Omnes sibi malle melius esse quam alteri.” On this theme, see Reinert, introduction to Serra, “Short Treatise,” 32, and Reinert, “Rivalry.” 97 Fernand Braudel, Out of Italy: 1450–1650, trans. Siân Reynolds (Paris, 1991), 226, orig- inal published as Le Modèle italien (Paris, 1989), discussed in the context of Serra and the decline of Italy in Reinert, introduction to Serra, “Short Treatise,” 78–82. For further context, see Reinert, “Blaming the Medici”; Reinert, “Lessons”; Gino Luzzatto, “Small and Great Mer- chants in the Italian Cities of the Renaissance,” in Enterprise and Secular Change: Readings in Economic History, ed. Frederic C. Lane and Jelle C. Riemersma (Homewood, IL, 1953), 52; and Maria Fusaro, Political Economies of Empire in the Early Modern Mediterranean: The Decline of Venice and the Rise of England, 1450–1700 (Cambridge, U.K., 2015). For an earlier Tuscan analysis of this phenomenon, see Giovanni Francesco Pagnini, Della decima e di varie altre gravezze imposte dal commune di Firenze, della moneta, e della mercatura de’ fiorentini fino al secolo XVI, 4 vols. (Lisbon, 1765–1766), 2:146–47. Sophus A. Reinert and Robert Fredona / 176 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core but no less consequential conceptual arc (one that, because of its explicitly “economic” nature, Hont might even have called “modern”) similarly bridging Renaissance Italy to the rise of Britain, the birth of the United States, and the world that we inhabit.98 Through careful readers such as Francis Bacon, William Petty, and Veit Ludwig von Seckendorff, Botero’s original observation about the superiority of industry in Renaissance Flor- ence and the importance of nurturing domestic manufactures to secure greatness in a world of relentless international competition was sequen- tially institutionalized in the theories, policies, and business strategies of emerging powers everywhere, from the Germanic world of Cameralism and John Cary’s England to Alexander Hamilton’s nascent United States of America and, eventually, well beyond to our day and age. To engage with the political economy of the Italian Renaissance is to engage with the development of our world as we know it. For better and for worse, we are still crossing Botero’s bridge, its end perennially out of sight.99 Supplementary material The supplementary material for this article can be found at https:// doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X . . . SOPHUS A. REINERT is professor of business administration at Harvard Business School. He is author recently of The Academy of Fisticuffs: Political Economy and Commercial Society in Enlightenment Italy (2018) and of numerous books and articles on the history of political economy. ROBERT FREDONA is the Marie Skłodowska-Curie Research Fellow at the York Management School, University of York, U.K. He is coeditor of New Perspectives on the History of Political Economy (with Sophus Reinert: 2018) and author of numerous articles about Renaissance Italy and business history. 98 Pocock, Machiavellian Moment; Hont, Jealousy of Trade, 8–9. 99 On this theme, see Reinert, Translating Empire; Reinert, “Rivalry”; and, for an earlier statement about Botero’s influence on European political economy, Reinert, “Cameralism and Commercial Rivalry: Nationbuilding through Economic Autarky in Seckendorff’s 1665 Additiones,” European Journal of Law and Economics 19, no. 3 (2005): 271–86. On Botero’s Greatness of Cities and Reason of State as a publishing phenomena throughout the European world, with at least forty-two editions between them published in numerous lan- guages before 1830, see Erik S. Reinert and Fernanda Reinert, “33 Economic Bestsellers Pub- lished before 1750,” European Journal of the History of Economic Thought 26, no. 6 (2019): 17–21. On Botero’s extraordinary importance in England, in particular, see Jamie Trace, “Gio- vanni Botero and English Political Thought” (PhD diss., University of Cambridge, 2018). Political Economy and the Medici / 177 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S000768052000001X https://www.cambridge.org/core Political Economy and the Medici The Business of Florence Is (the Wool) Business The Selfridge Collection and Renaissance Business History The Medici as Industrial Entrepreneurs Business Practices and the Threshold of Political Economy Supplementary material 
work_cwwnowqwojggxomm4bklamgzui	----	Microsoft Word - LarvorBerlinTalk.doc Brendan Larvor School of Humanities University of Hertfordshire Hatfield Hertfordshire AL10 9AB United Kingdom b.p.larvor@herts.ac.uk What can the philosophy of mathematics learn from the history of mathematics? You ask me about the idiosyncracies of philosophers? ... There is their lack of historical sense, their hatred of even the idea of becoming, their Egyptianism. They think they are doing a thing honour when they dehistoricize it, sub specie aeterni―when they make a mummy of it. Nietzsche Twilight of the Idols This paper began as a contribution to a workshop called ‘Towards a new epistemology of mathematics’.1 The motivating perception of this workshop was that philosophers of mathematics are no longer content to restrict their enquiries to questions that they can address using formal logic and conceptual analysis. Mathematical research is natural, in the sense that naturally-evolved creatures do it, and it is social, in the sense that the validation of new mathematics is a collective activity. ‘Collective validation’ does not merely mean that mathematicians check each other’s proofs (though this is an important aspect). Mathematicians judge mathematical work for depth, importance, interest, elegance, etc. in referees’ reports to journals, book reviews, PhD exam reports and other kinds of communication. Thus, evaluation is, in most of the important instances, a group activity. To explore either of these avenues (natural and social), it is not enough to look at mathematics as modelled in meta-mathematics, nor is it enough to study completed mathematics as presented in journals or textbooks; philosophers must look at mathematics in the making, that is, at mathematical practice. This is difficult, but fortunately, there is a professional body of academics already documenting and analysing mathematical activity: historians of mathematics. Of course, historians are not the only students of mathematical practice. Mathematicians2, philosophers3 and neurologists4 have their contributions to make, among others. However, the focus of this paper is the thought that historians may have something to offer. Perhaps. But philosophers of science called on historians of science for help in the 1960s and 1970s, with mixed results. Ronald Giere, writing in 1973, called the relationship between history of science and philosophy of science a ‘marriage of convenience’; John Zammito, thirty years later, declares it a ‘failed marriage’.5 No doubt others will wish to insist that the romance is still alive, but it cannot be denied that this has been a difficult relationship, and less fertile than some hoped for at the time of the wedding. The 1 I am grateful to the conveners of this workshop for the opportunity to present these thoughts. Also to Michèle Friend for valuable criticisms and suggestions. 2 E.g. Davis & Hersh (1995). 3 E.g. Breger & Grosholz (2000); Corfield (2003). 4 E.g. Butterworth (1999). 5 Giere (1973) p. 282; Zammito (2004). Giere’s paper is a review of the published proceedings of a conference convened precisely to assess the relationship between history and philosophy of science. basic difficulty, from the philosophical point of view, is that historiography does not offer unmediated access to the past—nor could it. History is an academic discipline with its own interests and methods, its own a priori structure. The two partners see the world differently and have different ambitions. Before the history and philosophy of mathematics rush into wedlock, we would do well to consider some of these differences.6 There is a traditional contrast between history and philosophy: history deals with the particular and the temporal, while philosophy deals with what is universal and a-temporal (or in linguistic terms, tense-less). This contrast shows itself in the characteristic professional vices of historians and philosophers respectively. The temptation for historians is antiquarianism, that is, collecting interesting old facts as some people collect silver spoons. In philosophy, the temptation is to buy universality at the price of abstracting up so many levels that we lose touch with the phenomena that we hoped to understand. However, this simple distinction is itself excessively abstract. The relation between history and philosophy is more interesting, dynamic and purpose-sensitive than this. Historiographic practices are themselves too various to stand in a simple, abstract and uniform relation to philosophy; philosophy is, if anything, yet more heterogeneous. The relationship between these disciplines may depend on who is drawing it. For example, here is Emily Grosholz, comparing Sasaki’s book about Descartes’s mathematics with Bos’s work on the same topic: H.J.M. Bos’s recent (2001) book on Descartes’s mathematics… though written by a historian of mathematics, seems motivated by a thoroughly philosophical interest in how changes in mathematical procedures, representation, and ontology take place. Professor Sasaki’s concern, by contrast, is to chart how ideas are transmitted textually from one era or culture to another, and to make precise the chronology of Descartes’s acquisition, or relinquishing, of certain ideas.7 For Grosholz, Bos’s interest in procedures, representation and ontology led him into philosophy. Sasaki, on the other hand, is a purer historian (according to Grosholz) because he investigates textual transmission and chronology. Now, Bos is a historian, not a philosopher. He writes about antique mathematics for its own sake, rather than for any light it might shed on mathematics in general or on our mathematical practices now. A philosopher of mathematics who chose to write about Descartes would have to explain how a four-hundred-year-old example could illustrate anything philosophically interesting about mathematics as it is practiced now (which is not to say that antique mathematics cannot be philosophically illuminating of contemporary mathematics, but the connection would have to be argued). Grosholz’s point is not to suggest that Bos is a philosopher in disguise; rather it is that philosophy is part of Bos’ historiographic motivation. Bos and Sasaki are both historians, but they stand in different relations to philosophy. I hope that this example has made it plausible that one can relate history and philosophy in different ways for different purposes. How then should we relate history and philosophy given our purpose of establishing a new epistemology for mathematics? Here is a list of ideas one might have in mind when saying that one wants to bring the history of mathematics into the philosophy of mathematics: 1. The temporal dimension of logic 2. Explanatory Appeal to Context rather than to General Principles 3. Heraclitean Flux 6 For the courtship: Aspray & Kitcher (1988). 7 Grosholz (2005) p. 337. 4. All history is the History of Thought 5. History is Non-Judgmental This list starts at the least philosophically problematic and ends at a point where we seem to leave philosophy altogether. So then, the question becomes, is it possible to stop part-way down? 1) The temporal dimension of logic By the phrase ‘the temporal dimension of logic’, I intend the Popperian thought that we adopt a theory in part because it solves a problem present in the theory it replaced. Most of Popper’s immediate8 predecessors (principally, the Vienna circle) thought that one should accept a scientific theory solely in virtue of its relationship with the empirical evidence. Popper did not deny the importance of empirical evidence, but he thought that its function is to make trouble for theories, not to confirm them. In his view, our current scientific orthodoxies are our least lousy theories so far. We adopt our latest theory, Tn because it solves a problem present in its immediate predecessor Tn-1 (without reducing content or resorting to ad hoc manoeuvres). The details of Popper’s philosophy of science no longer command widespread assent, but most philosophers of science accept that theories are tested against each other rather than directly against nature. We accept our current theory because it beat (past tense) the previous champion. In Proofs and Refutations, Lakatos added a temporal dimension to the philosophy of mathematics. Why should we accept one mathematical definition rather than another (think of the various definitions of the continuum, or of integration, or, take one of Lakatos’ examples, the definition of measurable set9)? We accept a refined, technical definition, according to Lakatos, because it allows us to prove a theorem or solve a problem that previously defeated us or left us in some way mathematically unsatisfied. We define continuity, for example, the way we do (ε-δ) because earlier definitions (such as ‘function you can plot without taking your pencil off the page’) ran into trouble of one kind or another. The introduction of this temporal dimension does not lead, by itself, to historicism, anti-realism or relativism. However, it does require the abandonment of wholly algorithmic conceptions of rationality. There is no formula for ‘improves on’ or ‘solves a problem for’. Steering scientific research typically requires judgment calls that will not reduce to mechanical rules. For example, under criticism Popper had to temper his emphasis on refutation with the thought that in its early phase a theory cannot survive without the help of some dogmatism on the part of its defenders. Theories are not born fully formed and ready to undertake severe empirical tests. However, there is no hope of calculating the moment when a theory becomes mature enough to stand or fall without such dogmatism. Nor is there any hope of specifying exactly how much dogmatism is appropriate.10 Moreover, introducing this temporal element changes the unit and standard of appraisal. Instead of asking ‘is this theory true?’ we have to ask ‘is this series of theories (or concepts or programmes or disciplinary matrices) improving?’ This is not to say 8 Of course, there were historically-minded philosophers of science before Popper, such as Whewell and Duhem. Moreover, French philosophy of science in the inter-war years was heavily historical. For Koyré, the spirit of the time was, “tellement infectée d’historicisme qu’elle ne conçoit pas qu’il puisse y avoir d’elle-même une autre connaissance que la connaissance historique, époque qui n’admet pas qu’elle puisse se comprendre et s’expliquer à elle-même si ce n’est à travers et en fonction de son passé, son histoire.” Quoted in Jorland (1981 p. 72). See also Koyré (1973 p. 17) “le style de notre époque, éperdument théorique, éperdument pratique, mais aussi éperdument historique…”. However, this tradition does not seem to have influenced Popper. 9 Proofs and Refutations pp. 152-155. 10 “One must treat budding programmes leniently: programmes may take decades before they get off the ground and become empirically progressive… there is no refutation without a better theory.” (Lakatos 1978a p. 6) that the concept of truth drops out of the picture; without it, activities such as proving, presenting counterexamples, identifying contradictions, etc. become unintelligible. These activities play essential roles in mathematical practice, so they had better make sense.11 Hence, the philosophy of mathematical practice requires some conception of truth, even if it is conditional, attenuated or domain-specific.12 The chief point for the present purpose is that introducing this temporal element into logic does not bring philosophy into close collaboration with history. On the contrary, this approach encourages philosophers to write rational reconstructions of selected episodes from the history of science and mathematics. Rational reconstructions are quite different from the accounts that historians give of the same episodes. To see the difference, consider the explication of the term ‘rational reconstruction’ in Hans Reichenbach’s Experience and Prediction (1938).13 The programmatic section of this work is a series of distinctions: between ‘external’ and ‘internal’ relations; between psychology and logic; and between the contexts of discovery and justification. The point of these distinctions is to divorce the epistemological question from its historical context, so that the intellectual activity of the actual, human scientist may be replaced with an ideal logical relation between theory and evidence.14 For historians looking at such treatments of mathematics or science, these distinctions are arbitrary and the rational reconstruction is a fantasy. Historians have no interest in knowing how the history of science would have gone, had the agents been ideal scientists rather than real people. For philosophy, these rational reconstructions are less useful than they first appear. In the rational-reconstruction idiom, the philosopher’s conception of rationality shapes his rational reconstructions, and in doing so obliterates the original contours of the episodes reconstructed. Since a typical philosopher (such as Reichenbach) insists on just one conception of rationality, all his rational reconstructions come out the same shape. This philosophical approach thus quickly degenerates into a night in which all cows are black. To put the same point another way, the rational-reconstructionist philosopher is like a mediocre pavement artist whose caricatures all look the same. That was the experience in the philosophy of natural science. In the philosophy of mathematics, the most common form of rational reconstruction is also the most radical, namely, to identify mathematical proof with the gap-free, fully formal proofs of meta-mathematics. Just as in rational-reconstructionist philosophy of science, the effect is to obscure the specificity of mathematical practices. It is not quite true to say that all proofs look the same in this light—some fully formal proofs require stronger logical resources than do others. Nevertheless, in fully formal proofs, the logical machinery of the system does all the work of inference. Thus, identifying mathematical proof with fully formal proofs tends to wash out the differences between proof-ideas. However, this approach lacks the temporal element that Popper introduced into the logic of science. We are looking for a mathematical parallel with rational-reconstructionist philosophy of science. 11 That is why Wittgenstein’s suggestion that mathematical statements are expressions of grammar cannot be the whole account. Grammatical expressions (in Wittgenstein’s sense) cannot have counterexamples (that is most of what ‘grammatical’ means here). It is impossible to take seriously the falsehood of a grammatical expression, therefore an attempt to prove one can only be quixotic. 12 This notion of truth-in-practice is not be confused with the meta-mathematical notion of truth-in-L (where L is a fully formalised language with an explicit specification of its well-formed formulae). 13 Reichenbach credits the term rationale Nachkonstruktion to Carnap in Der logische Aufbau der Welt (Berlin and Leipzig, 1928). 14 “Epistemology thus considers a logical substitute rather than real processes. For the logical substitute the term rational reconstruction has been introduced…” Reichenbach (1938) p. 5. The proper parallel is with the rational reconstructions of episodes in the history of mathematics offered by Lakatos and his followers. Here, the temporal element is explicitly present. Lakatos complained in the introduction to Proofs and Refutations that “Formalism disconnects the history of mathematics from the philosophy of mathematics”15 (‘formalism’ in Lakatos’ sense is “the school of mathematical philosophy which tends to identify mathematics with its formal axiomatic abstraction (and the philosophy of mathematics with metamathematics”). A little later, he offers a paraphrase of Kant, “The history of mathematics, lacking the guidance of philosophy, has become blind, while the philosophy of mathematics, turning its back on the most intriguing phenomena in the history of mathematics, has become empty.”16 He never argued at any length for first half of this formula.17 Regarding the second half, Proofs and Refutations takes instructive details and isolated quotations from historical sources, but it does not offer a history of the Descartes-Euler formula (nor did Lakatos pretend otherwise18). He never theorised the relation between history and philosophy of mathematics beyond these few remarks, but he did offer an account of the relation between history and philosophy of science. This, though, returns us to the earlier problem: in spite of his best efforts, Lakatos’ philosophy of science suffers from the same difficulty as other rational-reconstructionist accounts. Every episode in the history of science has to have a research programme with a hard core, positive and negative heuristics, etc..19 Lakatos’ rational reconstructions may have been more supple and subtle than those of his rivals, but they still press the endless variety of history into a common frame. To combine a pair of Hegelian metaphors, when Lakatos’ methodology of research programmes paints its grey on grey; when dusk falls and the owl of Minerva takes flight, the cows may not all be black, but in the fading light they all start to look rather similar.20 Explanatory Appeal to Context rather than to General Principles It seems, then, that bringing history into epistemology requires more than the merely temporal element present in Popper and Lakatos. Perhaps it requires the thought that historians do not explain events by subsuming them under general schemes (be they causal laws, methodological models or conceptions of rationality), but rather by setting events in their proper historical contexts. This is controversial within the philosophy of history, but it is common to most theorists of historiography that historical explanations do not appeal to general laws in the way that explanations in natural science do. After all, our complaint about rational reconstructions is that they separate scientific thought from its context in order to caricature it. But if context plays a special role in historical explanation, we have to ask, what sort of context? Unqualified, the word ‘context’ covers a multitude of entanglements. There are three obvious candidates: • Mathematical Context • Intellectual Context 15 Lakatos 1976 p. 1 16 Op. cit. p. 2. 17 “I maintain that all historians of science who hold that the progress of science is progress in objective knowledge, use, willy-nilly, some rational reconstruction.” (Lakatos 1978a p. 192; see also op. cit. pp. 120-121). 18 “My purpose was to distil a methodological message from the history, rather than to write history itself.” (Lakatos 1978a p. 192). 19 Some authors have tried to carry the methodology of scientific research programmes (or parts of it, with modifications) from natural science into mathematics (see Hallett 1979, Koetsier 1991, Corfield 2003); for criticism of MSRP see Larvor (1998) esp. chapters four and six; for criticism of Methodologies of Mathematical Research Programmes, see Op. Cit. and Larvor (1997). Kitcher offered another philosophically motivated history of mathematics in his (1983), in which real characters give way to an ideal mathematical agent, just as Reichenbach recommends. 20 The cows appear in paragraph sixteen of the preface to the Phenomenology of Spirit; the owl of Minerva takes flight in the penultimate paragraph of the preface to the Philosophy of Right. • Institutional/Social Context No-one, including Reichenbach, would object setting a mathematical idea or theory in its mathematical context. The point of Reichenbach’s distinction between internal and external relations is to ensure that epistemologists relate scientific sentences only to other scientific sentences. That is what ‘internal’ means in Reichenbach’s phrase ‘internal relations’. However, the development of a mathematical idea may make no sense in isolation from its wider intellectual context. For example, the development of ‘mathematical’ statistics (as opposed to ‘vital’ statistics) is related in subtle ways to the change in biology from essentialism to the Darwinian emphasis on gradual variation.21 Beyond such intellectual connections, there are institutional factors. For example, the structure of incentives and rewards within the professional mathematical community may affect the content of the mathematical work (e.g. ‘pure’ mathematics is sometimes valued, sometimes despised). The history of statistics serves to illustrate the next point too; the growth of a mathematical idea may depend on the institutional or social context the mathematician finds himself in. For example, governments began to collect census data when the size and health of the population became politically important. Mathematics often develops in response to practical problems, and these practicalities may condition the mathematics for as long as it continues to develop. Thus, a question in the epistemology of mathematics (‘what is the justification for using this mathematical concept rather than that?’) may require an excursion beyond the bounds of the strictly mathematical, scientific or intellectual. In other words, a properly epistemological question may require us to violate Reichenbach’s distinction between internal and external relations. We saw earlier that the temporal dimension of logic introduced a new question: is this body of thought progressing or degenerating? In other words, after Popper, we should think of a body of scientific thought as something that changes, and ask whether the changes are for the better. Suppose now that we have to consider the wider context of a body of mathematical or scientific thought in order to understand it. There will always be some part of that context undergoing change. If contextualism is true, then change ramifies through all the contextual connections. This introduces the next idea. Heraclitean Flux Earlier, we saw Grosholz suggest that philosophical concerns were part of Bos’ motivation in his book on Descartes’ mathematics. I suggested then that Bos might defend himself against the accusation that he has fallen from history into philosophy, simply by pointing out that he was writing about antique mathematics. A philosopher who wrote about Descartes’ mathematics would have to explain what philosophical insight he hopes to gain from a study of antique mathematics. Now, there are answers that such a philosopher could give. The same question arises when philosophers write about antique philosophy; in the final section of this paper, we will look at Bernard Williams’ attempt to explain the philosophical benefits for us, now, of studying Descartes’ philosophy. However, I wish here to consider another reply that Bos might make to Grosholz. If we wished to defend Bos’ status as a historian more vigorously, we could appeal to the view that history is not defined by its subject matter but rather by its interest in change. Certainly (argues the defence), philosophers study mathematical procedures, representation, and ontology, but as a historian, Bos studies changes in mathematical procedures, representation, and ontology. On this view, if something does not change, it is of no interest to historians except, perhaps, as a background against which changes might be tracked. Gibbon said that history is “little more than the register of the crimes, 21 Magnello (2006) p. 220. follies and misfortunes of mankind”.22 His point is that a historian may spend an entire chapter on a battle, and then allow a century of peace and prosperity to go by in a single paragraph. This does not merely reflect a taste for dramatic material. Significant battles change the course of history in obvious ways, whereas the changes wrought by lasting peace and economic stability are more elusive. Crimes, follies and misfortunes predominate in political and military historiography just because historians study change. The same thought expresses itself in the well-known curse: may you live in interesting times. In order to comprehend and explain changes, historians must first bring them into view. They do this by distinguishing earlier and later versions of whatever it is that undergoes the change in question. Consequently, the historiography tends to break up the unity of the object of enquiry. For example, while the philosopher investigates the epistemology and ontology of mathematics, the historian will insist that there is no mathematics as such but rather ancient Greek mathematics, Chinese mathematics, the mathematics of the Italian renaissance, and so on. Naturally, to understand the development of mathematics during the Italian renaissance, we must distinguish the mathematics of the early renaissance from that of the later renaissance. These divisions can continue indefinitely. For his part, the philosopher, faced with the dissolution of his object of enquiry, will insist that despite all the variety and change, these diminishing temporal parts are all mathematics. This could degenerate into a stand-off in which each discipline insists on its own a priori stance. However, the question whether mathematics has an essence, or whether its unity is rather that of a narrative, is of central philosophical interest. It requires philosophers of mathematics to take seriously some unfashionable philosophical ideas (such as the dialectic of unity in diversity) and question some philosophical dogmas (such as the intelligibility of appealing to atemporal standards of rationality). To think of historiography as the explanation of change helps to diagnose what went wrong when philosophers offered general models of rational theory-change, and expected to find them present in the historical record. Philosophers expected to find that the great scientists of the past acted in conformity with a universal ‘logic of science’ (such as those on offer from the logical positivists, Popper, Lakatos and more recently Bayesianism). Such a logic would have to be an ahistorical essence, that is, something that is active in the history of science but not acted on by it. An appeal to such essences is unhistorical—from a Heraclitean historical perspective, anything that makes a difference in history is changed by its participation in events. On the whole, philosophers of science have learned this lesson; those who develop abstract methodological models do not expect these ahistorical models to explain the successes and failures of real historical scientists.23 Insofar as philosophers of science see something like a ‘scientific method’ in the history of science, they recognise it as a temporal achievement: scientists had to learn how to learn.24 To say that historiography is about change is not to say that it is exclusively concerned with revolutions and ruptures. Change can be gradual, and it can come about as the result of stability (for example, a long period of peace might deprive a nation of its military edge; a long period of intellectual stagnation might entrench some habits of thought while others fall into oblivion). In the history of mathematics, there are 22 Pp. 105-6. This remark is often mistaken as an expression of cynicism about mankind, when in fact it makes a point about historiography. “Antoninus diffused order and tranquillity over the greatest part of the earth. His reign is marked by the rare advantage of furnishing very few materials for history, which is, indeed, little more than the register of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind.” 23 E.g. Laudan, “I believe that the requirement that a methodology or epistemology must exhibit past science as rational is thoroughly wrong-headed.” (1996 p. 195-196). 24 I lay out this argument in more detail in Larvor (2007). stabilities and continuities that span centuries. For example, Viète, writing at the end of the sixteenth century, uses Eudoxus’ theory of proportions (developed in the fourth century BC) to develop his algebra.25 Pace Gibbon, it seems, such survivals and stabilities are part of the historian’s field, just as much as revolutions and breaks. However, Eudoxus’ theory of proportions is of particular interest to historians of early modern mathematics precisely because it contributed to, and was in turn transformed by, the rapid development of mathematics in the seventeenth century. To understand that, we do not need to know what Eudoxus thought about it; we need to know how Viète and his contemporaries understood the theory of proportions. Now, the theory of proportions as understood by Viète and his contemporaries is a different object from the theory of proportions as understood by Eudoxus. Otherwise, Viète could not have done something new with it. Therefore, where we thought we had an invariant (the theory of proportions), we now have variation (the theory of proportions according to Eudoxus versus the theory of proportions according to Viète). In short, the view that historiography is principally about change depends on another thesis, which we will now consider. All History is the History of Thought This slogan, due to R.G. Collingwood26, summarises his view that historians understand and explain events in the past by reconstructing the thoughts of the people who acted in those events. Collingwood’s conception of historiography is not an established orthodoxy among historians and theorists of history. A standard objection is that he puts undue emphasis on the actions of individuals and underplays trans-personal forces. However, Collingwood’s slogan can account for a common feature of historiography: it is perceptions that matter. To understand the history of Christianity and Christendom, for example, it is not enough to read the Bible. The contents of the Bible are not directly effective; what matters are people’s beliefs about the contents of the Bible. Failure to appreciate this point makes a mystery of the fact that a text containing the words “blessed are the peacemakers” and which distinguishes the kingdom of God from the empire of Caesar, could inspire so much state violence (for example). Turning to the case of mathematics, even if there are mathematical objects or truths laid up in a Platonic heaven, or gapless proofs that an ideal mathematician could give ‘in principle’, such ideal items are no more historically effective than the contents of scripture. As we just saw, to understand the historical role of the theory of proportions in the emergence of early modern algebra, it is not enough to understand Eudoxus. One must reconstruct Viète’s thoughts about the theory of proportions. At this point, we seem to be teetering on the edge of social-constructivism. However, we need not fall over the edge. Collingwood’s claim is just that material (and, presumably, mathematical) facts become historically significant only when mediated by thought.27 This remark is independent of the philosophical account we give of the word ‘fact’. The reason for mentioning this is that historians often write sentences such as, “In the seventeenth century, the universe suddenly got much bigger”. Read literally, this is false, but what is meant, of course, is that the universe suddenly seemed much bigger.28 Historians of science run no danger by using this shorthand because they study changes in thoughts about the universe, and 25 I am grateful to an anonymous referee for this example and a number of other well-taken points. 26 Collingwood (1994 p. 115) 27 Collingwood’s remark needs qualification: a change in the weather can change the outcome of a battle or sink a ship without anyone having to think about it. Nevertheless, his fundamental point survives, because purposes and convictions brought the armies to the field and put the ship to sea, and more thoughts determine the consequences. For example, if the king’s eldest son dies in war or at sea, his death will depend for its significance on beliefs about royal succession. 28 The universe is expanding, so it did get bigger in the seventeenth century as it does every century—but not suddenly. leave the universe itself to natural scientists. For philosophers, this distinction is a dilemma: is philosophy continuous with science and mathematics, or is it a meta-enquiry? That is, do philosophers of mathematics study mathematical objects and structures in a way continuous with and complementary to the work of mathematicians? Or do philosophers study mathematical thought and practice, in a way continuous with and complementary to the work of historians? Collingwood sketched the materials for an answer to this question in the final pages of The Idea of Nature. There, he argued that natural science is not the sole kind of objective enquiry. It is not even the most fundamental kind of objective enquiry. A scientist works by relating his or her thoughts and experiences to the recorded thoughts and experiences of other scientists. Therefore, the status of natural science as objective enquiry depends on the possibility of relating thoughts to thoughts intelligibly. That is, unless a scientist can explain to others the connection between two thoughts, and unless he can do so convincingly (which is a matter of interpretation and judgment), the purported connection will never become part of science. This is the core of what Collingwood understood by ‘history’. He concluded, therefore, that, “natural science as a form of thought exists and always has existed in a context of history, and depends on historical thought for its existence.”29 So too with mathematics. Mathematics, like natural science, cannot account for itself as a rational human activity. To take up the dilemma at the end of the previous paragraph: there is no reason why philosophers should not take on questions that arise within mathematics. Take, for example, the discussion of the merits of category theory as a foundational framework for mathematics. Philosophers can and do contribute to this debate. However, it is not long before prior questions arise: what virtues are desirable in a foundational framework? Why should we want a foundational framework at all? These more properly philosophical questions invite prior questions of their own: how can we answer such value-questions without arbitrariness? Pursuing this line, one will eventually run into the following fact: the ideas that we live by (including the ideas that guide our mathematical enquiries) are not fixed points. They are our least bad attempts so far to solve problems that are themselves evolving as a result of our efforts to live by our least bad notions so far. The intelligibility of our mathematical enquiries depends on the intelligibility of this historical process. Now that we have raised value-questions, we have a new problem. Historiography is not supposed to issue value-judgments. Philosophy, for its part, crucially involves evaluation. So philosophers flirting with history had better understand this value-neutrality, if only to make sure that they are not seduced into relativism. History is Non-Judgmental Historians do not make absolute moral judgments about characters living in times different to their own, because it makes no historical sense to do so. We can ask whether Caesar was a good emperor or a good man by Roman standards.30 To ask whether he was a good ruler or a good man by our standards would require us to pluck Caesar from his historical moment and consider him in isolation. Our earlier arguments show why this would be unhistorical. We understand Caesar by relating him to his circumstances rather than by treating him as an instance of a general type. Deprived of his circumstances, he becomes unintelligible. We can ask without anachronism how his character and conduct compare to those of his contemporaries such as Brutus or Augustus. But this comparison makes sense just because similar circumstances and institutions formed them, so it is reasonable to ascribe differences in conduct to 29 Collingwood (1960) p. 177. 30 As we do so we should bear in mind that Roman standards were no more clear-cut than ours are today. Whether Julius Caesar was a good emperor is as complex a question as whether Margaret Thatcher was a good prime minister. There is no ideologically neutral standard against which to measure prime ministers or emperors. differences in character. A comparison with, for example, Cromwell would have no such rigour. In order to ask how Julius Caesar would have acted in Oliver Cromwell’s place, we have to imagine a Caesar who understood early modern English politics and religion, that is, a Caesar partly formed by those institutions, in other words, not Julius Caesar at all. Moreover, as we saw in a previous section, history sees all things in flux, including people’s characters. There is, to the historical eye, no fixed essence called ‘the character of Caesar’ upon which we can conduct thought-experiments. Character and circumstance work on each other, and we cannot know what character Caesar would have had in circumstances dramatically different from those in which he lived. Finally, Collingwood’s slogan requires the historian to read Caesar’s words and deeds as expressions of his thoughts. That is possible, but only because we know a great deal about the culture to which Caesar belonged, and because he did indeed belong to it. It is a commonplace that the aim of professional historiography is to understand the past, not to judge it. However, the argument just made suggests that historians do not have a choice in the matter if they wish to remain historians in good standing. They do not need to forswear absolute normative judgments of events and people in the past. Rather, it is logically impossible to make absolute evaluative judgments without giving up the historical point of view. At most, historians can offer local, historically relative judgments (e.g. that this Roman pursued Roman ends by Roman means more successfully than that Roman). It seems, then, that the prospects for a fruitful engagement between history and philosophy are unpromising. We began with history and philosophy as opposite poles (one temporal and particular, the other tenseless and universal). Our further analysis has done little to bring them together. We now have the additional problem that the central terms in epistemology (‘rational’, ‘adequate’, ‘progressive’, etc.) are normative while absolute normative judgments are, it seems, unhistorical. The ‘History of Philosophy’ and the ‘History of Ideas’ There is, however, a place where history and philosophy come together, and that is the history of philosophy itself. This has been the subject of some discussion lately, as philosophers in the ‘analytic’ tradition have addressed the charge that they read antique philosophy as if it had appeared in the most recent edition of Mind.31 I wish in particular to appeal to a distinction that Bernard Williams introduced between ‘history of philosophy’ and ‘history of ideas’.32 Williams’ terminology is confusing, since almost everyone understands by the term ‘history of philosophy’ precisely what he called ‘history of ideas’. There is no established alternative expression in English for what he called ‘history of philosophy’. Awkward though his terms are, his distinction is what we need. What, then, is Williams’ distinction between what he calls ‘history of philosophy’ and ‘history of ideas’? For him, history of ideas is historiography properly so called. History of ideas ‘looks sideways’33 to the context in which an idea arose and took root. It studies (among other things) influences, chronology and routes of transmission (recall the quotation from Grosholz, above). It has no philosophical ambition. In contrast, ‘history of philosophy’ does have philosophical ambition. It is philosophy. The historian of philosophy (in Williams’ sense) uses historiographic techniques to place texts and actors in their proper contexts and understand them in their proper times, but only insofar as this serves the philosophical goals of the enquiry. Nevertheless, professional philosophers have not always managed even that degree of historical sense. In his Autobiography, Collingwood complained of philosophers who insisted that Greek ethical theory had the same object as Kantian ethical theory, and proved it by translating a Greek ethical 31 See Sorell and Rogers (2005) 32 In Descartes: The Project of Pure Enquiry, preface. 33 Williams (1994) p. 19. term as ‘ought’.34 This was, said Collingwood, like translating the Greek word for ‘trireme’ as ‘steamer’ and then gleefully showing that the ancient Greeks had a very poor understanding of steamers. Such failures of historical sensitivity rob the past of any philosophical interest. That is why philosophers have to learn from historians how to respect the past Williams argued that philosophy is a ‘humanistic’ discipline. Part of what he meant is that philosophy should not seek to examine its objects from an absolute standpoint, or to use Nagel’s phrase, a view from nowhere. Even if such a perspective is possible, philosophy should not seek it. Most of our philosophical problems derive from the fact that we are finite, fleshy and located in some specific time, place and culture. From an absolute standpoint, few of our philosophical problems would arise. In Williams’ words: Philosophy has to learn the lesson that conceptual description (or, more specifically, analysis) is not self-sufficient; and that such projects as deriving our concepts a priori from universal conditions of human life, though they indeed have a place (a greater place in some areas of philosophy than others), are likely to leave unexplained many features that provoke philosophical enquiry.35 This should sound familiar to seekers after a new epistemology for mathematics. We need a new epistemology precisely because the old epistemologies try to ground our mathematics in allegedly universal requirements of rationality such as formal logic or the transcendental unity of apperception. In doing so, these approaches leave unexplained the evaluative judgments of mathematicians. Why do mathematicians celebrate some theorems as deep and elegant results? Other theorems, proved with no less formal rigour, enjoy no such accolades. If we think that these judgments are not arbitrary, we have to give some account of them, and this account will require resources that we cannot find among the universal conditions of formal rationality. Specifically, it requires some philosophical reflection on mathematical practice. However, current mathematical practice is not self-explaining; there is no serious prospect of giving a mathematical account of elegance, depth, explanatory power or any of the other criteria by which mathematicians judge mathematical work. There is, of course, a mathematical account of the validity of gapless proofs expressed in fully formal systems, but since such proofs (or even approximations to them) do not appear in mathematical practice except as objects of study, this does not help us. That is why we epistemologists of mathematics have to consider the history of mathematical practice. Williams’ view requires that we philosophers learn something of the process of historical research as well as its products. We should not do this in order to become historians. Rather, we should do this in order not to become historians. If we simply copy what historians do, we run the risk of passing out of philosophy and into history.36 On the other hand, if we try to guard against historicism as Reichenbach did, by drawing distinctions a priori, we return to the principal shortcoming of the old epistemologies, that is, both the philosophical problems and the philosophical resources of finite, temporal creatures fall out of sight. The route between these extremes is to understand the process of historical research well 34 Collingwood p. 63ff. See Williams (2006) p. 181. 35 Philosophy as a Humanistic Discipline p. 192. Here and elsewhere, Williams seems to take it that the history of natural science vindicates current scientific practice straightforwardly. The discussion here, and the marital difficulties of history and philosophy of science, suggest otherwise. However, in fairness Williams was principally concerned with ethics, in comparison with which natural science must seem unproblematic. 36 This is what happened to Thomas Kuhn. See Larvor (2003). enough to borrow its methods and its sensibility just far enough to serve our philosophical ends. That is the point of this brief excursion into the philosophy of history. What remains is to find an informative name for this sort of historically engaged and self-aware philosophy. References Aspray, W. and P. Kitcher (1988). History and philosophy of modern mathematics. Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press. Breger H. & Grosholz, E. (2000). The growth of mathematical knowledge. Boston, Kluwer Academic Publishers. Butterworth, B. (1999) The Mathematical Brain. London: Macmillan. Carnap, R. (1928) Der logische Aufbau der Welt. Berlin and Leipzig. Collingwood, R.G. (1960) The Idea of Nature. Oxford: O.U.P. Knox (ed.) Collingwood, R.G. (1994) The Idea of History. Oxford: O.U.P. Revised edition; J. van der Dussen (ed.). Collingwood, R.G. (2002) An Autobiography. Oxford: Clarendon. Corfield, D. (2003). Towards a philosophy of real mathematics. Cambridge, UK ; New York: Cambridge University Press. Davis, P. J., R. Hersh, et al. (1995). The mathematical experience. Boston: Birkhäuser. Gibbon, E. (1980) The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Penguin. Giere, R.N. (1973) ‘History and Philosophy of Science: Intimate Relationship or Marriage of Convenience?’ Review of Historical and Philosophical Perspectives of Science, Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science, 5 by R. H. Stuewer in The British Journal for the Philosophy of Science, Vol. 24, No. 3. (Sep., 1973), pp. 282-297. Grosholz, E. (2005) review of Sasaki’s Descartes’s Mathematical Thought in Philosophia Mathematica 13(3) 337-342. Hallett, Michael (1979) ‘Towards a Theory of Mathematical Research Programmes’ (in two parts) British Journal for the Philosophy of Science 30 pp. 1–25, 135–159. Jorland, G. (1981) La science dans la philosophie: Les recherches épistémologiques d’Alexandre Koyré. Paris: Éditions Gallimard. Kitcher, Philip (1983) The Nature of Mathematical Knowledge. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Koetsier, Teun (1991) Lakatos’ Philosophy of Mathematics: A Historical Approach (Studies in the History and Philosophy of Mathematics vol. 3). Amsterdam: North Holland. Koyré, A. (1946) ‘Philosophie de l’histoire’ Europe, September, 108-117. Koyré, A. (1973) Études d’Histoire de la Pensée Philosophique. Paris: Gallimard. (Original: Presses Universitaires de France, 1966) Lakatos, Imre (1976) Proofs and Refutations: the logic of mathematical discovery. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lakatos, Imre (1978a and 1978b) Philosophical Papers (volumes 1 and 2). Worrall and Currie (eds), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Larvor, B. (1997) ‘Lakatos as Historian of Mathematics’. Philosophia Mathematica, vol. 5, no. 1, pp. 42-64. Larvor, B. (1998) Lakatos, an introduction. London: Routledge. Larvor, B. (2003) ‘Why did Kuhn's Structure cause a fuss?’ in Studies in History and Philosophy of Science, vol. 34/2 pp. 369 - 390 Larvor, B. (2007) ‘Between Logic and History’ in Friend, Goethe, Harizanov & Valentina (eds) Induction, Algorithmic Learning Theory, and Philosophy. Springer. Laudan, Larry (1987) ‘Progress or Rationality? The prospects for Normative Naturalism’. American Philosophical Quarterly 24 (1): 19–31. Reprinted in Papineau (ed.) The Philosophy of Science. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996. Magnello, M.E. (2006) ‘Victorian vital and mathematical statistics’ Bulletin of the British Society for the History of Mathematics 21(3) 219-229. Nietzsche, F. (1888) Twilight of the Idols the Idols, trans. R. J . Hollingdale (Middlessex, U.K.: Penguin, 1968) Reichenbach, H. (1938) Experience and Prediction: an analysis of the foundations and structure of knowledge. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sorell, T. and Rogers, G. A. J. (2005) Analytic Philosophy and History of Philosophy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Williams, B.A.O. (1978) Descartes: The Project of Pure Enquiry. Harmondsworth: Penguin; Hassocks: Harvester Press. Williams, B.A.O. (1994) ‘Descartes and the Historiography of Philosophy’ in Reason, Will and Sensation: Studies in Descartes’ Metaphysics, ed. John Cottingham (Oxford: Clarendon Press), 19-27; reprinted in The Sense of the Past: essays in the history of philosophy, ed. Myles Burnyeat (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006). Williams, B.A.O. (2006) Philosophy as a Humanistic Discipline. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press. (A.W. Moore ed.) Zammito, John H. (2004) A Nice Derangement of Epistemes: Post-positivism in the Study of Science from Quine to Latour. The University of Chicago Press. 
work_czhyll5jrjan5oak6m2a4uwp2i	----	Kings and Tyrants: Leonardo Bruni's translation of Xenophon's "Hiero" East Tennessee State University From the SelectedWorks of Brian J. Maxson October 5, 2010 Kings and Tyrants: Leonardo Bruni's translation of Xenophon's "Hiero" Brian Jeffrey Maxson, East Tennessee State University Available at: https://works.bepress.com/brian-maxson/66/ http://www.etsu.edu https://works.bepress.com/brian-maxson/ https://works.bepress.com/brian-maxson/66/ Kings and tyrants: Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero Brian jeffrey Maxson Within a few years of beginning Greek under Manuel Chrysoloras, Leonardo Bruni produced his first two Latin translations of Greek authors. Starting with a translation of St Basil’s Letter to the Youth, Bruni soon finished his Latin version of Xenophon’s Hiero. Both works survive in hundreds of manuscripts. However, their enormous popularity in the Quattrocento contrasts with the small amount of scholarship on them in modern historiography. Surprisingly, no study places Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero in the context of his early original writings. This absence is striking because scholars have fre- quently focused on the political ideas in Bruni’s early writings, particularly his Panegyric to the City of Florence and the Dialogues, and the Hiero is explicitly a political treatise that Bruni translated early in his career. This absence is even more striking because the Hiero advocates benign kingship, an advocacy which seems at odds with the ostensibly republican overtones in Bruni’s early works. This essay argues that Bruni’s translation of the Hiero fits into a broader debate between Coluccio Salutati and Bruni about tyrannical rule and vernacular culture. The Hiero proposed a dichotomy between legal kings and illegal tyrants – rather than republics and tyrants – that both men accepted and expressed in works from the early fifteenth century. However, the two men diverged in their arguments about which title best applied to Julius Caesar and what this meant for the reputation of the Florentine poet Dante.rest_619 188..206 Bruni dedicated his first translation, St Basil’s Letter to the Youth, to his mentor Coluccio Salutati. Bruni chose this work to help Salutati defend his promotion of teaching youths Latin and Greek classics against critics who argued that reading pagan authors was detrimental for young minds. Bruni’s translation of St Basil provided evidence to Salutati that studying authors like Cicero and learning to read Greek were in fact beneficial. Moreover, the authority of a church father like St Basil added weight to Salutati’s arguments. Salutati put his new evidence to use. After the Camaldulensian monk Giovanni da Sanminiato expressed a negative view of teaching the pagan classics, I would like to thank Nicholas Baker, Christopher Celenza, Stuart Lingo, Edward Muir, Ethan Shagan, Dale Schmitt and the two anonymous readers of Renaissance Studies for their suggestions on various drafts of this article. Renaissance Studies Vol. 24 No. 2 DOI: 10.1111/j.1477-4658.2009.00619.x © 2009 The Author Journal compilation © 2009 The Society for Renaissance Studies, Blackwell Publishing Ltd Salutati wrote, ‘I wish you to read Bruni’s translation of St Basil’s dialogue . . . then you will change your mind.’1 The reasoning behind Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero, which he finished shortly after St Basil’s Letter, is far more complex and less under- stood.2 Bruni’s admiration for Cicero and the teaching methods of Manuel Chrysoloras turned him towards the works of Xenophon. As Paul Botley has noted, Cicero had translated Xenophon as a youth and thus Bruni may have seen himself as imitating the Roman orator and political leader by choosing that author.3 Chrysoloras’ selection of authors to teach to his students seems to have included Xenophon, although Chrysoloras’ focus was on other authors like Plato and Demosthenes.4 Roberto Weiss suggested that the avail- ability of a manuscript with the Hiero in it played a role in Bruni’s selection.5 Luzi Schucan argued that the Hiero complemented Bruni’s translation of St Basil’s Letter to the Youth. According to Schucan, the Hiero pertained to politics and the Letter addressed literary matters, which were Bruni’s two life-long interests.6 Bruni’s preface suggests that he viewed his introduction of Xenophon, rather than the Hiero itself, to Niccolò Niccoli and his learned circle as the most critical aspect of the translation. Bruni’s translation of the Hiero made a work by Xenophon available in Italy in an accessible language for the first time since antiquity.7 Yet, the preface makes only two brief references to the actual work translated, instead focusing on a short biography of Xenophon and praise for him. Bruni began the preface with a reference to the work. He wrote that he translated this ‘little book’ for ‘practice’.8 He stated that discussions with Niccoli had led him to believe that Niccoli would ‘. . . embrace Xeno- phon with a certain special love’.9 Only at the end of the preface did Bruni make another reference to the actual work under consideration. In fact, the 1 Gordon Griffiths, James Hankins, and David Thompson, The Humanism of Leonardo Bruni, Selected Texts (Binghamton, NY: The Renaissance Society of America, 1987), 24. 2 James Hankins, Plato in the Italian Renaissance (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 2:377. 3 Paul Botley, Latin Translation in the Renaissance: The Theory and Practice of Leonardo Bruni, Giannozzo Manetti and Desiderius Erasmus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 9. 4 James Hankins, ‘Manuel Chrysoloras and the Greek Studies of Leonardo Bruni’, in Humanism and Platonism in the Italian Renaissance, Storia e Letteratura 215 (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 2003), 1:247. Eventually Xenophon would become a standard author for Greek instruction. See David Marsh, ‘Xenophon’, in Virginia Brown (ed.), Catalogus translationum et commentariorum: Mediaeval and Renaissance Latin Translations and Commentaries, Annotated Lists and Guides (Washington, DC: The Catholic University Press, 1992), 7:80. 5 Roberto Weiss, ‘Gli Inizi dello Studio del Greco a Firenze’, in Carlo Dionisotti, Conor Fahy, and Hohn D. Moores (eds.), Medieval and Humanist Greek: Collected Essays by Robert Weiss (Padua: Editrice Antenore, 1977), 252. 6 Luzi Schucan, Das Nachleben von Basilius Magnus «ad adolescentes» (Geneva: Librarie, 1973), 78–79. 7 Marsh, ‘Xenophon’, 80. 8 Leonardo Bruni Aretino, Humanistisch-Philosophische Schriften mit einer Chronologie seiner Werke und Briefe, ed. Hans Baron (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1928), 100. ‘. . . quemdam libellum, quem ego ingenii exercendi gratia . . .’ Translations from Bruni’s preface are my own. Throughout this article I have translated passages for which no published translation is available. I have provided the original language for all of my translations. In all other cases, for the sake of space, I quote published translations and refer the reader to an edition and page number of the original text. 9 Ibid. ‘. . . praecipuo quodam amore Xenophontem amplecteris.’ Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero 189 preface concluded by actually contrasting the small significance of the Hiero with the other more important works of Xenophon. Bruni wrote that he had worked particularly hard on the translation so that it would be pleasing to Niccoli and so that he could practice Greek. ‘However’, he wrote, ‘we did not dare in any way to touch the greater works of that man, which are many and most beautiful, in these first fruits of our studies.’10 Bruni certainly had some familiarity with a least one longer work by Xeno- phon. The biographical information on Xenophon in his preface suggests that he knew the basic contents of the much longer Anabasis.11 Berthold Ullman speculated that Jacopo Angeli da Scarperia, an older contemporary of Bruni, had translated a few lines of the Anabasis for Coluccio Salutati.12 However, Ullman did not present hard evidence for his claim. Instead, he based his hypothesis on the fact that Salutati quoted the Anabasis in the same passage as he cited passages from Ptolemy’s Geography. Since Scarperia had provided Salutati with the Geography, Ullman suggested that Scarperia may also have provided him with the lines from the Anabasis.13 However, it seems equally plausible that Bruni provided these lines to Salutati and subsequently used the Anabasis in his preface to the Hiero. If this hypothesis is correct then Bruni’s reference to the ‘greater works’ of Xenophon may be a direct refer- ence to the Anabasis and an implied justification for his choice to translate the Hiero rather than this longer work. Thus, the influences of Cicero and Chryso- loras, the work’s authorship by Xenophon, and the availability and brevity of the work all contributed to Bruni’s selection of the Hiero as his second Greek to Latin translation. Yet, these explanations only tell half of the story. Salutati had put the ideas contained in Bruni’s translation of St Basil’s Letter to use in a pedagogical debate then raging in Florence. The ideas in the Hiero fit into another intellectual controversy in Florence at the turn of the fifteenth century. In this case, the debate revolved around kings, tyrants, and vernacular culture. Historians have published an enormous amount of material about the political ideas in Bruni’s early writings without recognizing the importance of his translation of the Hiero in this context. Hans Baron’s Crisis of the Early Italian Renaissance made two of Bruni’s earliest original works, his Panegyric to the City of Florence (1403/04) and his Dialogues (1403–1406), famous among historians of the Italian Renaissance.14 Baron used these texts to classify Bruni as a civic humanist, for Baron meaning a person who used classical learning to promote Florentine patriotism and republicanism. In Baron’s interpretation, 10 Ibid., 101. ‘Maiora autem illius viri opera, quam permulta sunt ac pulcherrima, in his primitiis studiorum nostrorum nullo modo ausi sumus attingere.’ 11 Botley, Latin Translation, 9–10. 12 B. L. Ullman, The Humanism of Coluccio Salutati (Padua: Editrice Antenore, 1963), 255. 13 Ibid. 14 My dating follows that of Hankins, Plato, 377–8 and Laurence Bernard-Pradelle in Leonardo Bruni Aretino, Histoire, Éloquence et Poésie à Florence au Début du Quattrocento, trans. and ed. Laurence Bernard-Pradelle (Paris: Honoré Champion Éditeur, 2008), 195 and 309. 190 Brian Jeffrey Maxson the first book of Bruni’s Dialogues demonstrated the apolitical, largely contem- plative focus of humanism before the crisis year of 1402. In that year, Florence was saved from almost certain conquest by the unexpected death of the Duke of Milan, Giangaleazzo Visconti. After 1402, Bruni added a second book to his first Dialogue to refute his own earlier treatise. This new second book revealed the changed focus of humanism after the crisis year. According to Baron, this second book and the contemporaneous Panegyric both highlighted Bruni’s newfound Florentine patriotism, preference for the active over the contem- plative life, and sincere republicanism.15 Scholars have heavily criticized Baron’s thesis. Jerold Seigel and more recently James Hankins have argued that Bruni was a rhetorician employed by the Florentine state. Bruni’s actual opinions, thus, may have differed from the arguments in his literary works.16 David Quint demonstrated that Bruni’s arguments in the first and second dialogues are consistent, rather than show- casing the sharp change that Baron had claimed.17 Stefano Baldassarri studied the manuscript tradition of the Dialogues and also concluded that Bruni planned and wrote both dialogues as a single work.18 Gene Brucker tested Baron’s contention that the Florentines perceived 1402 as a year of crisis against archival sources. He concluded that this mood of crisis simply did not exist in the beginning years of the Quattrocento.19 The most recent scholar- ship continues to use the concept of civic humanism, but has dropped sincere republicanism as one of its defining characteristics. In fact, James Hankins, in agreement with Ronald Witt, has argued that Bruni’s writings suggest that he accepted the potential for just monarchical rule. Hankins argued that Bruni accepted the Aristotelian view that good government rested on the quality of rule, not the form of government. Hankins focused his argument on an analysis of Bruni’s later Oration for Nanni Strozzi (1428).20 Hankins does not examine how Bruni explicitly dealt with kingship in his earlier civic humanist treatises, nor does he investigate Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero in this context. 15 Hans Baron, The Crisis of the Early Italian Renaissance: Civic Humanism and Republican Liberty in an Age of Classicism and Tyranny, rev. edn. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966). 16 Jerrold E. Seigel, Rhetoric and Philosophy in Renaissance Humanism: The Union of Eloquence and Wisdom, Petrarch to Valla (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968); James Hankins, ‘The “Baron Thesis” after Forty Years and some Recent Studies of Leonardo Bruni’, Journal of the History of Ideas 56:2 (April 1995), 309–38. 17 David Quint, ‘Humanism and Modernity: A Reconsideration of Bruni’s Dialogues’, Renaissance Quarterly 38:3 (Autumn 1985), 423–45. 18 Leonardo Bruni, Dialogi ad Petrum Paulum Histrum, ed. Stefano Ugo Baldassarri (Florence: Leo S. Olschki, 1994), 15. 19 Gene Brucker, The Civic World of Early Renaissance Florence (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), 300–02. 20 James Hankins, ‘Rhetoric, History, and Ideology: The Civic Panegyrics of Leonardo Bruni’, in James Hankins (ed.), Renaissance Civic Humanism: Reappraisals and Reflections (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 143–78; Ronald G. Witt, In the Footsteps of the Ancients: The Origins of Humanism from Lovato to Bruni (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 422–3. Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero 191 The enormous popularity and influence of Bruni’s translation of the Hiero, combined with the political focus of the treatise, make its absence from these historiographical debates particularly striking. The translation survives in 200 manuscripts.21 It was printed three times in Italy in the 1470s, before any of Xenophon’s other works were published.22 In addition, references to Bruni’s translation in the treatises of his contemporaries and later thinkers clearly demonstrate its popularity. The humanist Lapo da Castiglionchio the Young- er’s On the Benefits of the Curia discussed sensual and material pleasures in the same order as Xenophon had treated the subject in the Hiero.23 Poggio Brac- ciolini referred to the Hiero repeatedly in his On the Unhappiness of Princes.24 Leon Battista Alberti alluded to the work in his Momus.25 Girolamo Savanoro- la’s discussion of the happiness of princes in his Treatise on the Florentine Government betrays familiarity with the Hiero.26 Machiavelli used ideas from the Hiero in both the Prince and his Discourses on Livy.27 Nearly two centuries after Bruni’s translation, it was formerly thought that Queen Elizabeth I herself attempted to translate Bruni’s Latin version of the Hiero into English. The most recent scholarship, however, suggests that the queen was not in fact the translator in the relevant manuscript.28 In addition to its popularity, the central ideas of the Hiero fit into the modern historical debate over Bruni’s political ideas in the early fifteenth century. Xenophon’s work addresses the potential happiness of tyrants. It has two major parts. The first and longer portion of the work consists of the tyrant Hiero’s proof to the poet Simonides ‘. . . that the life of a tyrant, as compared with the life of a private man, is so unhappy that the tyrant can hardly do better than to hang himself’.29 Hiero argued his point through examples of a tyrant’s lack of pleasure and a series of unfavourable comparisons between the burden of ruling and the carefree life of being ruled. Simonides countered Hiero’s arguments in the second part of the treatise. In contrast to Hiero’s 21 James Hankins, Repertorium Brunianum: A Critical Guide to the Writings of Leonardo Bruni (Rome: Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo, 1997), 264. See also Marsh, ‘Xenophon’, 149–55. 22 Marsh, ‘Xenophon’, 81 and 155. 23 Christopher S. Celenza, Renaissance Humanism and the Papal Curia: Lapo da Castiglionchio the Younger’s De curiae commodis (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 168–91. 24 Poggio Bracciolini, De infelicitate principum, ed. Davide Canfora (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1998), 76. 25 Mario Martelli, ‘Minima in Momo libello adnotanda’, Albertiana 1 (1998), 105–07. cf. Leon Battista Alberti, Momus, ed. Virginia Brown and Sarah Knight, trans. Sarah Knight (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003), 381. 26 Stefano Ugo Baldassarri and Arielle Saiber (eds.), Images of Quattrocento Florence: Selected Writings in Litera- ture, History, and Art (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 263. cf. Leo Strauss, On Tyranny, rev. edn. (London: The Free Press of Glencoe, 1963), 8–13. 27 Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince, eds. Quentin Skinner and Russell Price (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 79n; Niccolò Machiavelli, Discourses, 2.2. cf. Strauss, On Tyranny, 22–4, 57; W. R. Newell, ‘Machia- velli and Xenophon on Princely Rule: A Double-Edged Encounter’, Southern Political Science Association 50:1 (February 1988), 109 and 128. 28 L. Bradner, ‘The Xenophon Translation Attributed to Queen Elizabeth I’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 27 (1964), 324–6. 29 Strauss, On Tyranny, 29. 192 Brian Jeffrey Maxson contentions, Simonides argued that a tyrant has the potential to receive far more benefits and joy than the people over whom he rules. Simonides’ advice to Hiero concerning how to be a happy ruler occupies the remainder of the treatise. Through the points of Simonides, the implicit conclusion of the treatise is that a tyrant should rule like a ‘good king’.30 Bruni’s translation of the Hiero thus seems to fit snugly into the most recent historical scholarship on his thought, namely that Bruni accepted both mon- archy and republicanism as legal and potentially benign forms of government. In fact the Hiero suggests that Bruni expressed this opinion even in his earliest published translations. Yet, Bruni’s support of monarchy seems to be incon- sistent with the ostensibly republican ideas in his early original works. For example, in the first book of the Dialogues, Niccolò Niccoli condemned Dante for his decision to damn Brutus and Cassius in the Divine Comedy. Niccoli argued that Julius Caesar had snatched liberty from the Roman people.31 In the second book, Niccoli maintained his claim that Caesar was a tyrant, but suggested that Dante meant the damning of Brutus and Cassius as an alle- gory.32 The implication seems clear: Bruni was equating the establishment of one-man rule over Rome with tyranny and the old republican form of govern- ment with liberty. The apparent contradiction between the pro-monarchical Hiero and the ideas in Bruni’s earliest original works led Luzi Schucan to suggest that the translation of the Hiero was an aberration from Bruni’s con- sistent republicanism. According to Schucan, Bruni translated the Hiero to support Coluccio Salutati’s recent work, On the Tyrant, in which Salutati had argued in favour of monarchy. In this interpretation, Bruni returned to pro- moting republicanism in works like the Dialogues and the Panegyric to the City of Florence in the years following the translation of the Hiero.33 However, a close analysis of Bruni’s early treatises suggests a much more consistent approach to the issue of kings and tyrants throughout Bruni’s early works. In fact, Bruni seems to have accepted the idea that legal claim, rather than type of rule, defined good government, an idea also expressed in Salutati’s On the Tyrant. As Roberto Weiss has argued, the temporal proximity of Salutati’s On the Tyrant (1400) and its similar subject matter with Bruni’s translation of the Hiero make it likely that Bruni intended his translation to complement Salutati’s treatise.34 Salutati had written his On the Tyrant to defend Dante’s 30 Xenophon, Scripta minora, rev. edn., ed and trans. E. C. Marchant and G. W. Bowersock (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1925), xvi. The conclusion is implicit because Xenophon refers to Hiero as a tyrant throughout the treatise. cf. Strauss, On Tyranny, 1–20; Newell, ‘Machiavelli and Xenophon’, 115. Bruni follows Xenophon and uses the Latin term ‘tyrannus’ in his translation. I have consulted Bruni’s translation in MS 93.1, 62v–68v in the Newberry Library in Chicago, IL. On this manuscript, see Paul Henry Saenger, A Catalogue of the pre-1500 Western Manuscript Books at the Newberry Library (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1989), 175–7. 31 Griffiths, Hankins, and Thompson, Humanism, 73. 32 Ibid., 81. 33 Schucan, Das Nachleben, 79. 34 Weiss, ‘Gli Inizi’, 252; cf. Ronald G. Witt, Hercules at the Crossroads: The Life, Works, and Thought of Coluccio Salutati (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1983), 309. Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero 193 decision to damn the assassins of Julius Caesar to the deepest part of hell.35 In doing so, Dante had entered into an old debate about whether Julius Caesar was a tyrant, justly slain, or a king, cruelly murdered.36 This debate continued with Salutati and his learned circle, as indicated not only by Salutati’s own treatise but also the translations of Plutarch’s Life of Brutus (1400) and Life of Cicero (1401) by Jacopo Angeli da Scaperia.37 Salutati framed his On the Tyrant as a response to a student from Padua who had written to ask Salutati for his opinion about this debate, particularly his thoughts on Brutus and Cassius.38 Ephraim Emerton claimed that Salutati was aware that his answer would provoke further controversy. Emerton pointed to Salutati’s disclaimer near the beginning of this treatise. Salutati had written that ‘if I shall disappoint your expectation ascribe it in part to my ignorance, but partly to yourself for having greater hopes of me than experience shall have shown to be war- ranted.’39 That is, if he erred in his opinions, Salutati claimed only half the blame. The addressee of the work must take the rest.40 Salutati argued that Caesar had been a legal ruler, not a tyrant, and thus Brutus and Cassius deserved their place in hell. According to Salutati, a tyrant was one who ‘rules a state without the forms of law’.41 Such a person could fall into two categories. Some tyrants are tyrants of character. These individuals lacked power, but coveted it in order to do wicked actions.42 Others are tyrants of action. Salutati argued that under this category fell . . . one who usurps a government, having no legal title for his rule, or one who governs superbe or rules unjustly or does not observe law or equity; just as, on the other hand, he is a lawful prince upon whom the right to govern is conferred who administers justice and maintains the laws.43 Salutati’s definition placed a particular emphasis on the role of law in defining a tyrant. Rulers who lacked claim to rule or who ruled against the law were tyrants. By contrast, princes were rulers who possessed a title to rule and did so in accordance with the law. With a tyrant defined, Salutati turned to the issue of tyrannicide. He argued that subjects could legally resist and even kill a tyrant. In fact, even suspicion of plans to illegally usurp power could be grounds for resisting a tyrant. No matter how long a tyrant ruled, subjects 35 Ronald G. Witt, ‘The De Tyranno and Coluccio Salutati’s View of Politics and Roman History’, Nuova Rivista Storica 53 (1969), 441. 36 Ibid., 443–50. 37 Ibid., 472. 38 Ephraim Emerton, Humanism and Tyranny: Studies in the Italian Trecento (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Uni- versity Press, 1925), 70; cf. Coluccio Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat ‘vom Tyrannen’: Eine kulturgeschichtliche Untersuchung nebst Textedition, ed. Alfred von Martin (Berlin: Walther Rothschild, 1913), I. 39 Emerton, Humanism and Tyranny, 73. cf. the Latin in Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat, IV. 40 Ibid. 41 Ibid., 76; cf. Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat, VI. 42 Ibid.; cf. Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat, VII. 43 Ibid., 78; cf. Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat, IX. 194 Brian Jeffrey Maxson could rebel against him. However, a tyrant could become a legal ruler if an overlord or the implied consent of the tyrant’s subjects granted him such status. Should a tyrant become a legal ruler by either means, an uprising must possess the consent of the overlord or, if an overlord does not exist, the citizens. Without the consent of the proper party, acts against a legal ruler are unacceptable regardless of the quality of rule.44 Salutati then applied his definition of a tyrant to the case of Julius Caesar. He argued that the civil war at the end of the Roman Republic revolved not around if ‘one man should rule’, but rather ‘which of the two it should be’.45 The Republic, thus, was no longer a potential form of government. Divine Will dictated that Caesar defeat Pompey. The implication is that God, the highest of overlords, had consented to Caesar’s rise to power. Once in power, Caesar ruled benignly. Moreover, the citizens of Rome rewarded Caesar with the title of dictator and other honours, all in recognition of his atonement for the civil war through his benevolent actions as a ruler. Through Salutati’s character- ization, Caesar lacked both characteristics of the tyrant of action. Caesar did not rule superbe and he possessed a legal claim to rule through the consent of the Roman citizens. Since Caesar was a lawful prince, Brutus and Cassius had illegally murdered him and deserved their place in hell. Salutati emphasized their crime by praising monarchy. ‘Is it not sound politics, approved by the judgment of all wise men’, he wrote, ‘that the monarchy is to be preferred to all other forms of government, provided that it be in the hands of a wise and good man?’46 That is, monarchy is a potential form of good government and Julius Caesar was an example of a good king. Bruni’s translation of the pro-monarchical Hiero suggests that he agreed with Salutati’s praise of good kings. Xenophon’s advice to rulers in the Hiero and Salutati’s treatment of Julius Caesar in the On the Tyrant both point to the possibility of a benign and legal king. Yet, Bruni did not translate the Hiero solely as an appendix to Salutati’s On the Tyrant. Salutati had formulated his arguments about kingship in order to defend Dante.47 In fact, having exon- erated Julius Caesar from the charge of tyranny, Salutati turned the focus of his treatise to defend Dante explicitly. He argued that Dante had been correct to damn the assassins of Caesar on moral, theological, and poetic grounds. On moral grounds, Dante was correct in damning Brutus and Cassius because they had killed a legal monarch. Brutus, in fact, had killed his own father. Dante was also correct on theological grounds. Since God had ordained that Caesar defeat Pompey in the civil war, Brutus and Cassius had acted against Divine Will. Lastly, Dante did not err on poetic grounds. Salutati argued that epic poems celebrate the deeds of successful individuals more than people 44 Ibid., 78–93; cf. Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat, IX–XXII. 45 Ibid., 98; cf. Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat, XXVII. 46 Ibid., 108; cf. Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat, XXXV–XXXVI. This paragraph has summarized Emerton, Humanism and Tyranny, 93–110; cf. Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat, XXIII–XXXVIII. 47 Witt, ‘The De Tyranno’, 441. Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero 195 that fail. The actions of Brutus and Cassius led to more war and eventually suicide by both men. Therefore, Dante had been correct in condemning two failed men.48 By contrast, Bruni disagreed with Salutati about Dante and particularly about Julius Caesar.49 Both of Bruni’s earliest original treatises express ambiva- lence towards Dante and the other vernacular poets of the Trecento. Bruni’s Panegyric avoided the topic of Trecento culture in Florence altogether, devot- ing even less space to the topic than his model for the work, the Panathenaic Oration by Aristides.50 Bruni’s Dialogues was more engaged in this topic, revolv- ing around the question of the revival of classical learning around the turn of the fifteenth century. Famously, the first dialogue depicted a meeting of Coluccio Salutati, Leonardo Bruni, Niccolò Niccoli, and Roberto Rossi at Salutati’s house. Salutati attempted to entice his visitors into a learned debate in order to hone their intellects. Yet, Niccoli resisted him, complaining that the state of learning in their times was so poor that ‘. . . no disputant can appear other than absurd’.51 He bemoaned that the thousand years separating them from the ancients robbed them of learning. Salutati encouraged Niccoli to be more positive and focus on the texts that survived. Moreover, he argued, recent times had produced Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, all of whom deserved praise. These comments incited a diatribe from Niccoli against the three crowned poets of Florence and their supposed learning.52 In the Second Dialogue, Niccoli seemingly retracted his harsh criticisms of these three Flo- rentine poets, stating that he had simply been trying to provoke Salutati to defend them on the previous day. He then himself issued a spirited defence.53 However, David Quint has convincingly demonstrated that Niccoli actually avoided refuting his arguments. His laudations of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio actually amount to further criticisms of them thinly veiled under the guise of praise.54 Bruni’s disagreement with Salutati about Dante stemmed at least in part from their disagreement over Julius Caesar. Salutati had argued that Caesar possessed a legal claim to be the first emperor of Rome. Therefore, Dante’s 48 Emerton, Humanism and Tyranny, 110–115; cf. Salutati, Coluccio Salutati’s Traktat, XXXVIII–XXXXII. 49 Ronald Witt has addressed the complex issue of how Salutati’s On the Tyrant fits into the broader context of his thought. Witt argued that Salutati sometimes, but certainly not always, conceived of the distinction between tyranny and liberty as a matter of legality. He reached this conclusion at various points in his career. It was only in the late 1390s that, according to Witt, the influence of Dante led Salutati to use these grounds to defend Julius Caesar from the charge of tyranny. See Witt, ‘The De Tyranno’, 458–70. In fact, some traces of Salutati’s indecision and inconsistency on these issues remain in the treatise. See Witt, ‘The De Tyranno’, 442. For the position of Dante in the thought of writers in Florence during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries more generally, see Simon A. Gilson, Dante and Renaissance Florence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), esp. 54–93. 50 Griffiths, Hankins, and Thompson, Humanism, 57–8; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 301. 51 Ibid., 66; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 330. 52 Ibid., 66–75; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 328–62. 53 Ibid., 78–84; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 370–90. 54 Quint, ‘Humanism and Modernity’, 430–42. 196 Brian Jeffrey Maxson decision to damn the regicide Brutus was correct. Both the Panegyric and the Dialogues suggest that Bruni thought the exact opposite.55 In these writings, Bruni argued that Caesar was a tyrant, not because he ruled alone, but because he seized power by force and then ruled wickedly. Therefore, Dante was wrong to condemn Brutus, who deserved the highest praise for slaying a tyrant. Even as Salutati and Bruni disagreed about the particular case of Julius Caesar, both men accepted the same criteria for distinguishing between kings and tyrants. Bruni’s translation of the Hiero, therefore, furthered Salutati’s pro-monarchical arguments in the On the Tyrant even as Bruni disagreed with Salutati’s application of these ideas. In his Panegyric to the City of Florence, Bruni revealed that he agreed with his mentor about monarchy, but, unlike Salutati, he was at best ambivalent regarding Caesar. In the midst of his Panegyric, Bruni argued that Florence had been founded under the Roman Republic, not the empire has had been previously thought. He contended that the land claims and the qualities of the Roman people therefore passed to Florence.56 To make his point, Bruni had to demonstrate that the Roman people had not lost their claim to rule when the Republic fell to the emperors. He also had to demonstrate on what grounds Florence could claim the inheritance of Rome. Bruni argued the second of these points by drawing a parallel to the process of royal succession. He wrote that Now I believe that in the case of royal successions there is a custom observed by most peoples, namely, that the person who is finally declared to be heir to the king must be born at the time his father possessed the royal dignity. Those offspring who are born either before or after are not considered to be the sons of a king, nor are they permitted to have the right of succession to their father’s kingdom.57 Bruni was praising Florence for being the heir to the greatest age in Roman history, the late Republic, stating that the acts of individuals during such a period are ‘always especially outstanding’.58 Significantly, Bruni made his point about the republican inheritance of Florence by comparing it to royal succession. Like Salutati, he highlighted the claim of a ruler to power as the difference between a king and a tyrant. Only individuals born when a ruler ‘possessed the royal dignity’ had a claim to rule. 55 On the following points, compare my findings with those of Sarah M. Loose, ‘Hero or Tyrant: Images of Julius Caesar in Selected Works from Vergil to Bruni’ (master’s thesis, Brigham Young University, 2007). Loose has independently reached many of the same conclusions that I have regarding the treatment of Julius Caesar in the writings of Salutati and Bruni. However, Loose and I diverge in our interpretation of Bruni’s ideas about monarchs and republics. 56 Benjamin G. Kohl and Ronald G. Witt (eds.), The Earthly Republic: Italian Humanists on Government and Society (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1978), 149–51; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 236–42. 57 Ibid., 150–151; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 240. 58 Ibid., 151; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 242. Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero 197 Bruni contrasted this conception of legal monarchy with the example of the early Roman emperors. Immediately following his comparison of the repub- lican inheritance of Florence to royal succession, Bruni began a diatribe against the Roman emperors. He accused the ‘Caesars, the Antonines, the Tiberiuses, the Neros – those plagues and destroyers of the Roman Repub- lic . . .’ of robbing the Roman People of their liberty.59 He called them the ‘vilest of thieves’.60 He continued, ‘For this reason I think something has been true and is true in this city more than in any other; the men of Florence especially enjoy perfect freedom and are the greatest enemies of tyrants.’61 The emperors, for Bruni, were tyrants because they had stolen liberty rather than coming to power in a lawful fashion. Moreover, they ruled superbe rather than with benevolence. Bruni’s semi-official work had good reason to make these arguments about the Roman emperors. Specifically, the arguments are used in the treatise to launch a less than subtle attack on the Roman emperors of Bruni’s own day and their Ghibelline supporters, referring repeatedly to the continuing Flo- rentine fight against these usurpers. Bruni stated explicitly ‘If at other times these political factions were called by different names, still they were not really different. From the beginning Florence has always been united in one and the same cause against the invaders of the roman state and it has constantly persevered in this policy to the present time.’62 Bruni’s example of Caligula provides further evidence for this point. Bruni described in some detail the worst reputed deeds of Caligula, including his slaughter of citizens and incest- uous conduct with his sisters.63 Bruni argued that ‘For these reasons who will wonder that the city of Rome had such hatred against the imperial faction and that this hatred has even lasted down to the present?’64 Caligula’s outrageous, immoral, and criminal actions robbed him of any legal claim to rule. In other words, Caligula and the other emperors like him, many of whom Bruni attacks by name, were tyrants. The Florentines, and particularly their ruling party, the Guelfs, had always fought against such tyrants and their followers, that is the Ghibelline faction. In fact, one of the reasons Bruni claimed to have written this passage was to demonstrate that ‘Florence has not, without good cause, developed its political allegiances’.65 Yet, the debate in Salutati’s On the Tyrant was explicitly about Julius Caesar, not all the Roman emperors. Even in Bruni’s earliest original work after his 59 Ibid., 150; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 242. 60 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 242. 61 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 242. 62 Ibid., 152; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 244. 63 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 244–6. 64 Ibid., 153; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 246. 65 Ibid., 154; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 250. Ironically, Bruni’s arguments for the foundation of Florence under the Roman Republic rather than the Empire probably derived from Salutati, even as the two men appear to have disagreed about Caesar when Bruni presented his own version of this idea. See Witt, ‘The De Tyranno’, 471. 198 Brian Jeffrey Maxson translation of the Hiero, Bruni expressed doubts about Salutati’s treatment of this figure. He bemoaned the crimes of Julius Caesar even as he declined to provide specific details about these wicked deeds. Instead, Bruni cited the classical authority of Lucan for Caesar’s treacherous actions, writing that Lucan had described the ‘truth concerning those crimes’.66 Bruni acknowl- edged that some thinkers disagreed with Lucan. He conceded that Caesar’s virtues at times outweighed his vices. He declined to list any of Caesar’s crimes, a notable omission since he even listed specific crimes for Caesar Augustus, another emperor whom Bruni claimed that he would pass over in silence.67 The Panegyric, in short, suggests that Bruni accepted monarchy as a legal form of government and makes clear that the Roman emperors after Julius Caesar and Augustus were tyrants because they ruled wickedly. Yet, Bruni retreated from his argument when applied to Julius Caesar. Perhaps he wished to avoid controversy in a treatise designed to praise Florence. Bruni may have thought that by condemning Caesar, his readers would recall Dante’s favourable opinion of that man. A treatise praising Florence was not the place, poten- tially, to condemn one of its most famous sons. Another possibility is that Bruni himself was unsure of where Julius Caesar fit into his conception of legal kings versus illegal tyrants. Salutati had argued that Julius Caesar was a king. Lucan had argued that he was a tyrant. If Bruni was unsure when he wrote his Panegryic, his opinion had solidified by the time he wrote his Dialogues. In the first Dialogue, Niccoli condemned Dante for his treatment of Brutus and Cassius. Niccoli berated Dante for his confusion about Marcus Cato’s age at the time of his death. He continued that . . . what is more serious and intolerable is his damning with the greatest penalty Marcus Brutus, a man distinguished for justice, discretion, magnanimity – in short, for every virtue – because he slew Caesar and plucked from robbers’ jaws the liberty of the Roman people. But for driving out a king he placed Junius Brutus in the Elysian Fields. And yet Tarquin had received the kingdom from his forefathers, and was king at a time when the laws permitted that there be a king; whereas Caesar had taken possession of the commonwealth by force of arms, and when the good citizens had been slain he had taken away his country’s liberty. Therefore if Marcus is wicked, Junius must necessarily be more wicked; but if Junius is to be praised for driving out a king, why should Marcus not be exalted to heaven for cutting down a tyrant?68 Just as suggested in his selection of the pro-monarchical Hiero, Bruni accepted monarchical rule. He contrasted a lawful ruler, Tarquin, with an illegal one, Julius Caesar. Moreover, he applied the same criteria to evaluating monarchi- cal rule as Salutati had in his On the Tyrant. Bruni argued that Tarquin – that 66 Kohl and Witt, The Earthly Republic, 153; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 248. 67 Ibid., 153–4; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 248–50. 68 Griffiths, Hankins, and Thompson, Humanism, 73; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 354. Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero 199 is Tarquin the Proud, whose wicked rule help bring about the end of the Roman kings – was a legal king. Bruni’s reasoning was that the laws permitted a king to exist and that Tarquin possessed claim to rule from his ancestors.69 The opponent of such a lawful monarch, even one like Tarquin the Proud, deserved the severest censure. He contrasted Tarquin, a legal king, with Julius Caesar, who lacked a legal claim to power. Bruni argued that, unlike Tarquin, Caesar possessed power by ‘force of arms’. Therefore, Julius Caesar was an illegal government usurper and a tyrant. Marcus Brutus, the slayer of a tyrant, deserved the highest praise. Bruni’s argument regarding the type of praise that Marcus Brutus deserved may, in fact, have derived from the Hiero. In the midst of the Hiero, the conversation between Simonides and Hiero turned to tyrannicide. Hiero argued that private people condemn murderers and even censure the accom- plices to a homicide. By contrast, ‘. . . the cities greatly honour the one who kills the tyrant; and instead of excluding the killer from sacred rites, as they do the murderers of private men, the cities erect in their temples statues of those who have committed such an act.’70 Hiero, thus, framed the reward fitting for a person committing tyrannicide as heavenly. That is, the slayers of tyrants were rewarded with representations of them in religious places. In the Dia- logues, Bruni also described the reward for a tyrannicide in heavenly terms. Although he used different language, the type of praise remained the same. In this case, Marcus Brutus, the slayer of a tyrant, deserved to be ‘exalted to heaven’.71 Bruni’s treatment of Julius Caesar in the Second Dialogue was consistent with the First. The Second Dialogue opened with an explicit return to the themes discussed in Bruni’s Panegyric to the City of Florence. Two interlocutors in the treatise, Piero Sermini and Coluccio Salutati, praised Bruni for his lauda- tions of their city in the Panegyric. The section then quickly turned to Bruni’s treatment in the earlier work of Julius Caesar and the early Roman emperors in general.72 Piero Sermini commented that he approved of Bruni’s argument that the Guelf party in Florence possessed a ‘splendid origin’ and that the 69 Interestingly, Bruni is more adamant that Tarquin the Proud was a legal king than the ancient historian Livy. Livy had argued that Tarquin ‘. . . had indeed no right to the throne but might, since he was ruling neither by popular decree nor senatorial sanction.’ Shortly after, Livy returned to the theme when he questioned whether the Roman people had granted Tarquin ‘sovereignty’ over them. Livy, History of Rome from the Founding of the City, The Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967), 1:173–5. 70 Strauss, On Tyranny, 9. 71 Bruni’s language in the Dialogues is ‘. . . cur non Marcus in celum tollendus, quod tyrannum occiderit?’ Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 354; Bruni’s Latin translation of the Hiero reads ‘. . . statuae suis templis deorum immortalium collocare.’ Newberry Library, MS 93.1, 65v. Bruni uses this language at least two other times in the Dialogues, ‘. . . in celum tollatur. . . .’ Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 364. In this case, Bruni wondered why Caesar should ‘be raised to the sky’ since he was the ‘parricide of his fatherland.’ In Ibid., 366, Bruni wrote ‘. . . in celum tollere . . .’ In this case, Salutati was arguing that Caesar ought to be ‘raised to the sky’. This similarity in language may suggest that Bruni was using a trope phrase; however, it seems significant that all these instances appear in the context of a discussion about tyranny. 72 Griffiths, Hankins, and Thompson, Humanism, 76; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 362–4. 200 Brian Jeffrey Maxson party ‘. . . was taken up by this city with proper and perfect right’.73 He con- tinued that Bruni ‘. . . cast great odium upon the Caesarean faction (that is, the Ghibellines), which is hostile to ours, by relating their crimes and by lamenting the lost liberty of the Roman people’.74 In this passage, Bruni returned to the significance of his arguments regarding the Roman emperors. The Guelf party drew its origins from a powerful people with a legal claim to power. The Ghibellines traced their origins to tyrants who lacked such a claim. In this Second Dialogue, however, Bruni took the argument further and explicitly included Julius Caesar among the tyrants who had illegally seized power from the Roman people. Bruni’s interlocutors cite a series of classical authorities in defence of the opinion that Caesar was a wicked ruler. Although Bruni had expressed ambivalence towards Julius Caesar in the Panegyric, the interlocutors in the Second Dialogue begin their discussion of Julius Caesar as if Bruni had unequivocally condemned him in the earlier work. Piero Sermini claimed that in the Panegyric Bruni followed Lactantius Firmianus, the classical author who had accused Julius Caesar of being the ‘parricide of his father- land’.75 Bruni thus established the authority of the ancients to back up his argument about Julius Caesar. Worse than just a tyrant, Caesar had murdered his country. The interlocutor Salutati claims to counter Piero Sermini’s arguments, but actually adds more evidence to them through his half-hearted and ineffective defence of Julius Caesar. First, Salutati conceded that Bruni could have used any number of ancient sources to support his opinion that Caesar was a villain, including Cicero, Lucan, and Suetonius. Next, Salutati claimed that, regard- less of the testimony of the ancients, he had defended Caesar in his On the Tyrant and could not be persuaded to abandon his high opinion of him.76 However, he cites no evidence in favour of his cause. Instead, Salutati offered more arguments to further condemn Julius Caesar. He stated that he did not want his sons to emulate Caesar, but rather figures in Roman history who had combined ‘moral purity’ with ‘military virtue’.77 He admitted again that ancient sources had decried the morality of Caesar himself. Salutati stated that Bruni had done well to present Caesar’s good and bad qualities, ‘so as to recommend his cause to fair-minded listeners’.78 The statement is a non sequi- tur because Salutati has still offered no evidence of Caesar’s virtues. In fact, he stated that he is unsure if Caesar possessed ‘moral purity’ and admitted that Caesar’s biographers state that he did not. 73 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 364. 74 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 364. 75 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 364. 76 Ibid., 76–7; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 364–6. 77 Ibid., 77; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 366. 78 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 366. Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero 201 Bruni’s condemnation of Caesar enabled him to more forcefully argue his points about the origins of the Guelf and Ghibellines in Florence. After the portrayal of Caesar as an immoral parricide, Salutati claims that I have no doubt it was then that Florence took up this party cause, and thus began this lawful association. What followed later, when those brave men went forth into Apulia against Manfred to avenge the city . . . that was not the origin of the party but its splendid restoration. For at that time those who felt differently from the will of this people had seized control of the state.79 The claim of the Guelf party to rule Florence predated the Caesars. Moreover, the Caesars, starting with the first emperor Julius Caesar, seized power illegally and ruled superbe. Therefore, the Florentine Guelf party possessed ‘lawful’ claim to rule the city, whereas the Ghibellines did not. Bruni was arguing that the claim to rule of the Guelfs came into being, not in 1266 and thus long after the establishment of the Caesars and their claim to rule, but rather before even the first emperor. Implicitly he went even further. Even if the claim of the Guelfs did not predate the Empire, the Roman emperors, from Julius Caesar forward, were tyrants. As tyrants, they and their Ghibelline followers lacked a claim to rule. Bruni’s Second Dialogue continued along the same lines regarding Julius Caesar, again resorting to a definition of a tyrant very similar to the one Salutati had used in the On the Tyrant. The Second Dialogue contained a feigned recantation by Niccolò Niccoli of his condemnation of the three Florentine poets from the First Dialogue.80 Amidst this discussion, Niccoli returned to the issue of Julius Caesar. To counter his previous critique of Dante’s damning of Brutus and Cassius, Niccoli offered a lengthy rebuttal. The passage began by hinting at Caesar’s unlawful acquisition of power. ‘Do you suppose that Dante, the most learned man of his age, did not know how Caesar had attained power? That he did not know liberty was abolished and a diadem placed on Caesar’s head by Mark Antony while the Roman people groaned?’81 Dante knew that Caesar had obtained power illegally. Moreover, Caesar received this power while the Roman people, who possessed legal power over the Roman government, ‘groaned’. Thus, Caesar came to power without a legal claim and against the wishes of the relevant party. He was a tyrant. Bruni continued. Brutus, by contrast, was a virtuous man, a slayer of tyrants. ‘Do you think that he (Dante) was ignorant of the great virtue with which all histories agree Brutus had been endowed? For who does not praise the man’s 79 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 366. 80 Ibid., 79–84; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 374–90. 81 Ibid., 81; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 378–80. 202 Brian Jeffrey Maxson justice, integrity, diligence and greatness of spirit?’82 Dante knew all this, according to Niccoli, but wished to create an allegory. No, Dante was not ignorant of this; but in Caesar he represented the legitimate prince and the just, worldly monarch, in Brutus the seditious, trouble-making criminal who sinfully slays this prince – not because Brutus was of this sort, for if he were, on what ground would the Senate have praised him as the recoverer of liberty?83 In Caesar, Dante represented a lawful and good prince and in Brutus he symbolized an illegal regicide. Again, Bruni drew a clear difference between legal kings and illegal tyrants. Dante had symbolized in Brutus the serious criminal nature of regicides. He had symbolized a good king in Julius Caesar. Dante knew of but ignored the actual legal or illegal, regal or tyrannical, quality of Julius Caesar’s rule. He wrote, ‘But since Caesar had ruled, whatever the manner, and since Brutus together with more than sixty noble citizens had slain him, the poet took from this material for invention.’84 Bruni highlighted the fact that Dante had ignored in his allegory the actual manner of Caesar’s rule. Moreover, Bruni made clear that Brutus had acted with much support, a key indicator that the highest authority in Rome at that time, the Roman people (since an overlord was lacking), supported the slayer of Caesar. Bruni concluded his discussion with a final stab at Caesar. Having defended Dante’s knowledge of the events surrounding Caesar’s assassination, Bruni raised the question of why exactly Dante would place Brutus and Cassius next to Judas in hell. Bruni’s interlocutor Niccoli argued that poets and painters often go to extremes in their representation of people in the past. However, Niccoli contended, ‘. . . it could well be maintained that Brutus was impious in slaying Caesar; for there are not lacking authors who – whether on account of good will toward those parties, or to please the emperors – call that deed of Brutus wicked and impious. But for that matching of Christ and Caesar the first defence seems more probable, and I have no doubt our poet felt so.’85 Bruni acknowledged that some sources defended Caesar, but quickly dis- missed them. These sources for one reason or another were biased in favour of a wicked man. Dante could not have believed such sources. Therefore, he must have been making an allegory. Once again, Bruni expressed his deep scepticism over Salutati’s opinion in the On the Tyrant about Julius Caesar. At the same time, the foundation of Bruni’s opinion rested on the same distinc- tion between kings and tyrants that Salutati had elaborated in his treatise.86 82 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 380. 83 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 380. 84 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 380. 85 Ibid.; cf. Bruni Aretino, Histoire, 380. 86 The manuscript of Bruni’s translation of the Hiero in the Newberry Library provides a final, albeit more speculative, piece of evidence linking this translation to the debate over Julius Caesar. Immediately following Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero 203 Bruni’s translation of the Hiero, therefore, fit into a consistent dichotomy between kings and tyrants in Bruni’s early writings. This dichotomy was the same as Coluccio Salutati had presented in his On the Tyrant. The distinction between kings and tyrants allowed Bruni to discredit the legal foundation of the Ghibelline party and establish the Guelfs as possessing a stronger claim to rule Florence. A full discussion of Bruni’s application of these ideas in his later works and translations, particularly his History of the Florentine People, would require a much longer study; however, a few comments taken from the secondary scholarship point to the significance of these ideas and their con- tinued presence in his later writings.87 For example, Bruni’s argument for the classical, rather than papal or French, origins of the Guelf party was innovative and had wide-ranging repercussions.88 As Mikael Hörnquist has argued, Bruni’s arguments enabled the Florentines to strengthen their own claim for imperial rule over their neighbours.89 Riccardo Fubini has argued that Bruni’s new conception of the origins of Florence led to the development of a new conception of the territorial state.90 Both Fubini and later Gary Ianziti have pointed to the fuller treatment of these ideas in Bruni’s History of the Florentine People.91 Bruni codified his new conception of the origins of the Guelf party in 1420. Here, Bruni contrasted the devotion of the Guelfs to liberty against the the end of the Hiero, the manuscript contains a portion of a letter from Julius Caesar to Cicero, which Cicero had transcribed into one of his many letters to Atticus. According to Cicero, Caesar wrote ‘You are right to infer of me (for I am well known to you) that there is nothing further from my nature than cruelty. Whilst I take great pleasure from that fact, I am proud indeed that my action wins your approval. I am not moved because it is said that those, whom I let go, have departed to wage war on me again, for there is nothing I like better than that I should be true to myself and they to themselves.’ Marcus Tullius Cicero, Letters to Atticus, trans. E. O. Winstedt, The Loeb Classical Library (London: William Heinemann, 1921), 2:260–63. This source also contains the original Latin. The manuscript quotation ends at this point, although Cicero’s actual transcription of the letter continues to discuss Caesar’s desire to see Cicero in Rome and Cicero’s relative Dolabella. Cf. Newberry Library 93.1, 68v. An in-depth investigation of the frequency with which this epistolary excerpt is copied into manu- scripts with Bruni’s Hiero would reveal if the manuscript in the Newberry is representative of a common pairing of the texts or an aberration. If the pairing in the Newberry manuscript is common, the pairing of the texts, I think, provides strong evidence that Bruni’s Hiero was seen as contributing to the debate over the status of Julius Caesar as a benign king or a wicked tyrant. 87 I am currently preparing an essay on the political significance of Bruni’s distinction between kings and tyrants in his History of Florence. Another possible area for research would be to investigate the influence of Xenophon’s much longer Cyropaedia on Bruni’s later writings. The Cyropaedia addressed many of the same issues as the Hiero, but was not translated from Greek to Latin until the late 1430s. Marsh, Xenophon, 116–38. Bruni did not translate this work; however, he may have read it as early as 1407, the year in which he requested a copy of it from the Venetian Piero Miani. Botley, Latin Translation, 10. 88 Griffiths, Hankins, and Thompson, Humanism, 17–18. 89 Mikael Hörnquist, ‘The Two Myths of Civic Humanism’, in James Hankins (ed.), Renaissance Civic Human- ism: Reappraisals and Reflections (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 105–42. 90 Riccardo Fubini, ‘Note Preliminari sugli “Historiarum florentini populi libri XII” di Leonardo Bruni’, in Storiografia dell’Umanesimo in Italia da Leonardo Bruni ad Annio da Viterbo (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 2003), 93–130; Riccardo Fubini, ‘La Rivendicazione di Firenze della Sovranità Statale e il Contributo delle «Historiae» di Leonardo Bruni’, in Storiografia dell’Umanesimo in Italia da Leonardo Bruni ad Annio da Viterbo (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 2003), 131–64. 91 Fubini, ‘Note Preliminari’; Fubini, ‘La Rivendicazione di Firenze’; Gary Ianziti, ‘Challenging Chronicles: Leonardo Bruni’s History of the Florentine People, in Sharon Dale, Alison Williams Lewin and Duane J. Oscheim (eds.), Chronicling History: Chroniclers and Historians in Medieval and Renaissance Italy (University Park: Pennsyl- vania State University Press, 2008), 249–72. 204 Brian Jeffrey Maxson attempts of the Ghibelline party to ‘subject itself and Italy to tyrants and foreigners’.92 That is, the Ghibellines sought to subject the Italian peninsula to the rule of the Roman emperors and their supposed successors, both of whom lacked the legal claim to rule that the Guelf party in Florence possessed. Without a legal claim to rule, they were tyrants. Other later works by Bruni also contain the same legal distinction between kings and tyrants. In a 1413 letter to the Holy Roman Emperor, Bruni followed Aristotle in discussing the possible forms of good government.93 Regarding monarchy, Bruni argued that a king must exercise his power for the good of the people that he rules, otherwise he became a tyrant. Bruni compared good and bad government to the rule of a father in the home. ‘The authority of a father towards his sons mirrors the authority of kings. A father looks over his sons; he governs with justice and rules for their benefit.’ Bruni continued, ‘However, this is not the same thing as the relationship between a master and his slaves: a master does not seek the benefit of his slaves, but his own. A father, therefore, is like a king, but a master is similar to a tyrant.’94 In these passages, Bruni focused on quality of rule as the distinction between kings and tyrants, a theme present even in his earliest writings. As James Hankins has argued, the sole aberration from this acceptance of monarchy as a potentially good form of government is found in Bruni’s Oration for Nanni Strozzi from 1428.95 Hankins has convincingly argued that this statement was caused by Bruni’s ‘tendency to flattery and rhetorical exaggeration’ in the work.96 A letter from ten years later supports Hankins’ interpretation. In 1438, Bruni wrote to Biondo Flavio and argued that kingship was the ‘best of all the good [forms of government]’.97 Like St Basil’s Letter, Bruni chose to translate Xenophon’s Hiero to contrib- ute to a topic of debate among early fifteenth-century humanists. The Hiero argued that rulers ought to govern in a benevolent fashion to achieve the greatest amount of pleasure. These arguments were consistent with Bruni’s own comments about kingship in his early original writings. Like Coluccio Salutati, Bruni viewed a valid claim to power and the quality of rule as the key determinants in good government. Thus, Xenophon supported the shared assumptions of Salutati and Bruni about the potential for and characteristics of monarchical rule. However, the two men disagreed about the implications of this distinction in the case of Julius Caesar and the reputation of Dante. Was 92 Griffiths, Hankins, and Thompson, Humanism, 49; cf. Cesare Guasti, ed., Commissioni di Rinaldo degl Albizzi per il Comune di Firenze dal MCCCXCIX al MCCCCXXXIII, Documenti di Storia Italiana (Florence, 1873), 3:621. 93 James Hankins, ‘Unknown and Little-Known Texts of Leonardo Bruni’, in Humanism and Platonism in the Italian Renaissance, Storia e Letteratura 215 (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 2003), 1:25. 94 Ibid., 27; ‘Patris enim imperium erga filios regni instar obtinet. Presidet enim filiis pater; eque gubernat et regit pro eorum utilitate. At non sic dominus erga servos; non enim servorum utilitas a domino queritur, sed propria. In patre igitur similtudo regis, in domino autem tyranni.’ 95 Hankins, ‘Rhetoric, History, and Ideology’, 172. 96 Ibid., 175–6. 97 Ibid., 173. Leonardo Bruni’s translation of Xenophon’s Hiero 205 Caesar a king or a tyrant? Bruni’s arguments that Caesar was a tyrant carried implications for no less than the origins of the Florentine ruling party, the Guelfs, and the defamation of their enemies, the Ghibellines. More than just a short work for practice or an appendix to the On the Tyrant, the Hiero confirmed the dichotomy in Bruni’s thought between kings and tyrants. He then used this dichotomy to attack Julius Caesar and defend the Guelf alle- giance of the Florentine Republic. East Tennessee State University 206 Brian Jeffrey Maxson East Tennessee State University From the SelectedWorks of Brian J. Maxson October 5, 2010 Kings and Tyrants: Leonardo Bruni's translation of Xenophon's "Hiero" No Job Name 
work_d5y4aqzokjcc3phil2x4tv2fo4	----	The Birds by Tarjei Vesaas and The Heron by Giorgio Bassani: The Identification with the Ornithological Other March 2007 Volume 2, number 1 http://nome.unak.is http://hdl.handle.net/1946/5959 51 Larsen, Rune Engelbreth,Renæssancen og humanismens rødder. Århus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 2006 by Stein Wivestad Rune Engelbreth Larsen has studied religion and the history of ideas at Aarhus University. In this book he wants to describe the breakthrough in the renaissance (and renaissances) of the idea of ―humanism‖ or ―a humanist view on human beings‖ (7, 29)1. His postscript (which could have been the introduction?) reveals Larsen‘s interest: He wants a concept of humanism for the third millennium, a ―humanism, which sticks to its own historical origin‖ (337), a concept that is based in the historical new ideas that constitute the renaissance (340). He starts, however, sketching the broad use of the word ―humanism‖ during the last hundred years. The word is used in connection with persons and movements as different as Augustine, Kierkegaard (14), Human-Etisk Forbund in Norway (15), Adam Smith, Karl Marx, Jean Paul Sartre (16) and the EU Treaty for a Constitution of Europe from 2004. If ―humanism‖ contains contradictory views, but is formally accepted by almost all, it seems ―to have lost status as an independent, particular view.‖2 Larsen wants to avoid a situation where ―anything goes", and intends to go to the roots of the concept. Humanismus is first used in Germany in the beginning of the 19th century, denoting studies of language and literature within a specific culture. The broader concept of studia humanitatis and the concept of humanitas have their roots in the antique; and the word ―humanist‖ (umanista) is formed in Italy by the end of the 15th century in connection with a renewed interest in studia humanitatis, the study of ―grammar, rhetoric, history, poetry and moral philosophy‖ (22-23, 322). For me the concept of humanism is interesting in connection with an ongoing discussion about a planned new formulation of the aims of the Kindergarten, the Primary School and the Secondary School in Norway. The committee preparing this is finishing its work in June 2007. It discusses among other elements something about building the education on ―basic ideas from Christian and humanist tradition‖, or ―transfer and renew the cultural inheritance with roots in Christianity, humanism, democracy and scientific way of thinking‖, alternatively ―with sources in‖ the same elements. A ―romantic‖ concept of renaissance (rebirth) was formed by Jules Michelet and Jacob Burckhardt in the 19th century (34), referring to the Italian poet Petrarch, 1304-1374. Petrarch formed the concept of antiquity (i.e. the ancient ages?) as the period ―before Christ‖ (i.e. the time before the domination of Christendom?). Compared with his own time (i.e. the new age) he understood the ages ―between‖ antiquity and his own time (i.e. the middle ages) as a period of ―darkness‖ (31). It is the idea of a ―new time‖ in the 14th century that distinguishes the Italian renaissance March 2007 Volume 2, number 1 http://nome.unak.is http://hdl.handle.net/1946/5959 52 as the renaissance (82) lasting to the 16th century. However, renaissance is never an attempt to revive antiquity as such. It is rather an attempt to ―open up for inspiration from greater parts of antiquity‖ (34). Many impulses came from antiquity much earlier than in the Italian renaissance. Greek language and culture found a ―refugium‖ in Irish-Celtic monasteries in the 5th-7th centuries (53) and many impulses from antiquity were transferred through Arab sources (42) especially in the 12th century (35). Medieval times are often characterised by movements away from the cults of nature and fertility in pagan traditions. Strong movements in the Middle Ages presupposed a separation of God from nature (47, 60), and a contempt of the feminine. Some medieval actions and movements were definitely bad (81): religious intolerance and prosecution, and a heaping up of money and power which corrupted the Church. On the other side there are many examples of medieval movements which do not fit with the traditional dark picture: Francis of Assisi praises nature (54), Thomas Aquinas confirms the importance of human reason (57-58), Walther von der Vogelweide expresses equality between human beings of different religions (64), Dante expresses cosmopolitanism (66) and knights from different cultures meet at a round table to search for the Grail (67). A sharp division between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance is not possible. There were several renaissances during medieval times and the medieval continues in some form during the Italian renaissance (81). Larsen gives a broad picture of the Italian renaissance, starting in the 13th century with Dante, having its peak in the 15th century and ending in the 16th century (25). Though the poetry of Dante and Petrarch is guided by ―Amor‖ (love), and give respect to Greek and Roman gods and heroes, they think and write within a Christian frame of reference. In a fictional dialogue with Augustine, Petrarch lets Augustine win formally, but not in practice (90). In the 14th and 15th century the city state of Florence became a centre for studies of the antique languages and cultural heritage. Coluccio Salutari and Leonardo Bruni (92-97) had the title of secretary of state in Florence. They were exponents of a great enthusiasm ―searching for, copying, translating and spreading classical works from antique Greece and Rome‖ (92). This was economically funded by very rich people like Cosimo dei Medici (98), who also started a Platonic Academy in Caraggi led by Marsilio Ficino (100). Ficino translated the works of Plato and Plotinus, but was perhaps even more known for the translation of Corpus Hermeticum, a philosophical work building on magical wisdom traditions, identifying the Egyptian god Thoth with Hermes under the name Hermes Trismegistos (102). Including belief in magical revival of statutes of gods (105) and in astrology (106), this Hermetic tradition may be associated with the Emperor Julian (107) who in the 4th century tried to suppress the Christian religion and reinstate the old cults. Both Ficino and his younger rival Pico della Mirandola, 1463-1494, contend that love (Amor or Venus) is the central magical power in cosmos. It is through love there is communication between the gods and the mortal beings (108). A famous book from 1499 describes Poliphilios, a man who loves Polia or ―many things‖. He is lost in a wood, escapes a dragon, is sent by a Queen to three gates, enters the gate of Mater Amoris and marries Polia in a ceremony in the temple of Venus (115-116). My association to this work is the Magic Flute. A romantic duet in Mozart‘s opera ends March 2007 Volume 2, number 1 http://nome.unak.is http://hdl.handle.net/1946/5959 53 with these words: ―Mann und Weib und Weib und Mann, reichen an die Himmel an‖. Through the union of the male and the female we may reach the perfection that we hope for. There seems to be a connection between Egyptian and Hellenistic magic, Italian renaissance, Freemasonry in Vienna and Romanticism! The elite of the Italian renaissance went to Christian mass and confession, but the architecture of the churches imitated classical temples, and their palaces and gardens were completely heathen (120). It seems that both the development of natural science (135) and the great geographical discoveries (148) in this period are only loosely connected with the renaissance. A long chapter represent philosophical views on ―individualism and relativism‖ in the 15th and 16th century. Larsen gives interesting citations from works of philosophers like Cusanus, poets like Shakespeare and many other writers. Pico, Giordano Bruno and Campanella were strongly influenced by the Hermetic tradition. It seems that they believed that human beings could become like gods, with power to make a perfect world through the magic of love. The strong magical impulses in the renaissance were not accepted after the 16th century, and have been more or less forgotten by researchers until the end of the 20th century (176). Montaigne reacted against the hubris of the Hermetic tradition, but insisted on individual authenticity (215-16, 220). The human being ought to ―be and realise oneself‖3. Machiavelli described his experiences of leadership: how strong individuals ought to act immorally in order to achieve what is best for the society (177). Though Pico, Machiavelli and Montaigne have different views on the human being, they all expose the renaissance tendency in the history of ideas ―that places the human in the centre of the universe‖ (218). The universe seems to unfold itself around the individual and in the power of each individual. The Danish prince Hamlet describes the situation in the ―rotten‖ Denmark in this way: ―The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right ...‖ (274). The individualism is often combined with acceptance of different views. Pico formed a syncretistic vision, and welcomed representatives from all the different religions and philosophies to discuss his conclusions, including some conclusions of cabbalistic and magic origin (154-55). The inhabitants of Thomas More‘s Utopia have different religious views, but they all pray to ―Mithra‖ (183). And Johannes Reuchlin defended the civil rights of the Jews. Search for truth where Jews were involved had to accept their special cultural context (220-21). The renaissance opened doors for astrology, magic, antique myths and art that had been shut in Europe since the time of Augustine. Though the cults of antiquity were not revived, the renaissance implied ―a new synthesis‖ of pagan and Christian elements. ―This synthesis appears in the visual arts, more than any other place‖ (231). Larsen‘s book contains a small, well selected and commented collection of pictures. Donatello‘s Colleoni, a big sculpture of a warrior on a horse was put up in Venice in 1493. Anything like it had not been seen since the time of the Roman emperors (232). And though many renaissance sculptures and paintings have Biblical motives, the form has antique nude models and expresses renaissance ideas: individual will and March 2007 Volume 2, number 1 http://nome.unak.is http://hdl.handle.net/1946/5959 54 feelings are made visible, the composition reveal the individual artist‘s ―subjective, visual experience‖ and it calculates also the potential human observer‘s subjective experience (245), seeing everything through the individual‘s perspective. Self- portraits are painted for the first time around 1500 by Albrecht Dürer (243). The four walls in the private library of Julius II in the Vatican were painted by Raphael. Here the cross-cultural synthesis of the renaissance is visualised (265): On one wall the church fathers, theologians and popes discuss the altar sacrament. On the opposite wall Plato and Aristotle and many others (Raphael included) discuss philosophical questions. On the third wall stands Apollo, the nine muses and the antique poets. And on the opposite wall we find the cardinal virtues. Only one of the walls represents a motive from the Christian tradition! Both the renaissance and the Lutheran reformation may be compared with ―children‖ making uproar against their parents (287). Both stand in a Catholic tradition strongly influenced by the Augustinian synthesis based on the Christian and Non-Christian sources he knew around 400 after Christ. The renaissance ―child‖ is ―re-born‖ or vitalised through new direct studies of the Non-Christian sources, while the reformation ―child‖ finds its form through new direct studies of the Christian sources. Both trust their own experiences and interpretations, but their sources are different and their uproars go in different directions. Luther‘s main principles, sola scriptura: giving the Bible higher authority than the tradition and the pope, and sola fide: putting the trustful relation to Christ before good works as the basis for salvation, removed the pope‘s power (283). After only a few decennia Roman Catholicism lost its spiritual leadership of Northern Europe (314). A Danish monk, Hans Tausen, studied in Wittenberg 1523-24. When he came back to Denmark and preached what he had learned, he had to leave his Johannite Order (289). But many wanted to hear him, and after some few years the town of Viborg was dominated by the reformation. The Lutheran ideas became popular, especially in the lower classes (290). At the same time, the king, Frederik I, reduced the power of the pope by leaving to the Danish archbishop and the king to confirm the choice of new bishops, and by giving decrees of religious freedom and tolerance. When the king died, his son Christian made full freedom for the Lutheran movement a condition for accepting the throne. After a short civil war, Christian III was victorious. He arrested all the bishops, confiscated their property, and shortly afterwards forced Norway and Iceland as well to accept the reformation (291). The persons who were selected to lead the reformation in Denmark were disciples of Luther‘s friend Melanchton. Larsen contends that Melanchton stood closer to the renaissance than Luther (292), and it seems that many of the renaissance impulses that reached Denmark came from Wittenberg (298). The book contains many interesting stories and citations. Larsen has published several books, essays and articles, and he is a good story teller. It was interesting to learn about the great impact of the Hermetic tradition on the renaissance; in Denmark it also influenced Tycho Brahe (301). This underlines the difference between the renaissance movement and the natural science from the 17th century onwards. The new science believed in the Cartesian separation of subject and object March 2007 Volume 2, number 1 http://nome.unak.is http://hdl.handle.net/1946/5959 55 (225). And perhaps the modern ―Humanist Manifestos‖ where ―religion is subordinated to science‖ (15) owes more to Descartes and his followers than to the humanism of the renaissance. Larsen remarks that Johannes Sløk‘s presentation of the renaissance outwardly moves chronologically, while Sløk in ―reality‖ starts with his critique of the contemporary culture (328). The question is if it is possible at all for a researcher to avoid a starting point in his or her own prejudices. Larsen wants to find the roots of "humanism" in the renaissance movement. He mentions briefly the historical origin of humanitas in the writings of Cicero (325), but he does not follow the origin of Cicero‘s concept back in the Greek idea of paideia. I miss a discussion of the humanistic key concepts (―Humanistische Leitbegriffe‖) in the beginning of the first part of Wahrheit und Methode . Larsen wants a concept of humanism where ―the individually unique‖4 is the programme for all human beings (331, 343). I suppose this needs more philosophical argumentation than Larsen has given. He contends that ―The singular person in its individual difference from all others is the atom in Kierkegaard‘s works‖5. However, according to Kierkegaard, it is God‘s gifts that constitutes the person: "no human being can give anything that is not given to himself" from above, and "To need God is the highest perfection of the human being" . Our understanding of the first person singular, the ―I‖ or the subjectivity, has also been discussed by, for instance, Wittgenstein and Buber; and the historical roots to this understanding are deeper than the renaissance. We have to go back to Augustine and the Jewish-Christian tradition . Larsen's book has only a few disturbing misprints: I suppose ―sort‖ (134) should be ―stort‖ and that ―udbedre‖ (160) should be ―udbrede‖. The dialogue De Sapientia should not be translated ―Om viden‖ (150), but ―Om visdom‖. Knowledge is not always combined with wisdom, as Cusanus remarks. 1 All numbers in brackets refer to pages in Larsen's book. 2 "at have mistet status som en selvstændig, særegen anskuelse." (21) 3 ―være og realisere sig selv‖ (278). 4 ―det individuelt særegne‖ 5 ―Den enkelte i sin individuelle forskellighed fra alle andre er atomet i Kierkegaards værker‖ (338). STEIN M. WIVESTAD (b. 1945) is Amanuensis (Lecturer) at ‖Norsk Lærerakademi Bachelor- og masterstudier‖, Bergen, Norway. He teaches within history of educational ideas and philosophy of education. In an ongoing developmental project, called ―Upbuilding examples for adults close to children‖, he wants to encourage adults in local communities to form pedagogical discussion groups, where art works (pictures, films, music and texts) are experienced jointly and talked about. A work is ―upbuilding‖ when it builds up "the building" which is our human destiny. The vision is adults who struggle with themselves to become persons with March 2007 Volume 2, number 1 http://nome.unak.is http://hdl.handle.net/1946/5959 56 love and wisdom, adults who help each other to become better human beings and thereby also better examples for children. The main references for his concepts are Aristotle, Thomas Aquinas, Søren Aabye Kierkegaard, Hans-Georg Gadamer and Klaus Mollenhauer. See http://fagsider.nla.no/sw/ 
work_d6qplvfp6nc2zeynue3v2gb6hm	----	Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in Essays – peer-reviewed https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 ZoneModa Journal. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) ISSN 2611-0563 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the ade in Luz Neira García Published: July 24, 2018 Abstract In the last twenty years, fashion has been the main leitmotiv to more than 200 exhibitions in European museums. The rise of fashion exhibitions is linked with the recognition of the economic importance of fashion culture, which has been interpreted as cultural heritage by our society. Thus, despite the rel- evance of the aesthetical dimension of fashion artefacts and images, fashion exhibitions highlight the “Made in” discourse of fashion — the narrative about the capacity for creating, producing and circulat- ing fashion cultures —, to connect artefacts and people. This article selected several European fashion exhibitions as examples, and it was possible to discuss some discursive strategies to transform the fashion culture in cultural heritage. The intention is to demonstrate that the heritagization process of fashion is based on the exploration of the fashion system and not limited to the visual and material aspects of fashion products. Keywords: Made in; Fashion Culture; Museology; Fashion Exhibitions; Fashion Heritage. Luz Neira García: Independent Researcher (Italy)  luz.neira.garcia@outlook.com She has a Ph.D. in Art History obtained at the University of São Paulo (USP) in 2012. Her thesis, titled ‘Printed textiles in Brazil, from origin to originality’ (2012), has contributed to the field of fashion studies in Brazil, discussing aspects of the tropical myth about the relationship between the political agenda and the textile industry. She has been teaching on fashion design courses in Brazilian universities for ten years and is currently established in Italy as an independent researcher. Copyright © 2018 Luz Neira García The text of this work is licensed under the Creative Commons BY License. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 63 https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) ntersection: ashion, useology and cultural econo y It is an undeniable fact that there has recently been a new interest in the fashions in European museums. During the last 20 years, there have been more than 200 exhibitions which have fashion as the subject or central theme and these have attracted a large number of visitors and a good deal of attention from the media. As Valerie Steele pointed out, some fashion exhibitions “have attracted up to 500,000 visitors and brought in millions of dollars of sponsorship money, as well as reams of publicity, not all of it positive.”1 Countries such as Italy, the United Kingdom, France, Belgium, Germany and others, have been organiz- ing exhibitions devoted to fashion culture to demonstrate the extent of their achievements, importance, influence, and progress. It should be noted that when designing fashion exhibitions, the museums did not discover new fashion objects that were previously unknown. It was necessary, however, to define the new premises on the basis of which a wide range of artefacts or collections were turned into exhibitions: a) fashion became an interesting phenomenon; b) a broad concept of heritage was established within the new museology, and finally; c) the strength of a culture was linked to economic growth. These are the three pillars which underpin the rise of fashion exhibitions. The increasing number of academic studies on fashion confirm the first point. Several authors have claimed that fashion, in academic research, has been neglected for a long time. However, the objects of fashion still might seem a frivolous area and a part of the female world. At the same time, a large number of studies have highlighted the artistic and/or aesthetic features of fashion. As a result, the phenomenon of fashion has been misinterpreted and regarded as merely a sign of social status and only valid for its visuality and materiality. Since the 1970s, a number of academics have introduced new theories. The New History has redefined the approaches and methodologies which stimulated the study of everyday things as the fashion phe- nomenon.2 In parallel, the historical studies of fashion were substituted with fashion studies to enlarge interests and diversify methodologies.3 Briefly, the economic and social importance of the so-considered minor artefacts — as those which were identified with appearance — was recognized.4 Since then, fashion objects or images, besides their dominant visuality, have been seen as a social phenomenon.5 The second fact that is linked to the new museology, is the broadening of the concept of heritage, through a shift from artistic heritage to cultural heritage.6 The contemporary museum, made heritagization a process that is more closely tied to the community.7 Hence, there is a rise in fashion heritagization not because fashion artefacts have become valuable, but because fashion has come to be identified with cultural and creative economies. Finally, it is clear that many nations are currently using their cultural history as a means of serving their politico-economic interests. According to Ashworth, “History provides the resources … for a wide range 1. Valerie Steele, “Museum quality: The rise of the fashion exhibition” Fashion Theory 12, n. 1, (2008):8. 2. The New History is considered a movement for the renovation of the historiography that emerged in France at the end of the 1920s. The New History reproached the history narrative or the history of events that was represented for the political history to detect what occurs in the “hidden structures.” For the first time, historiography interested itself on the common things, and for this, the New History has inaugurated subjects and methodologies. See Jacques Le Goff (Dir.), La Nouvelle Historie (Paris: Editions Complexe, 2006). 3. Giorgio Riello, “The object of fashion: Methodological approaches to the study of fashion,” Journal of Aesthetics and Culture 3, n. 1, (2011): 1–9. 4. One of the main innovations of the New History was the categorization of historical studies according to its social or economic dimension. 5. In this article, the word fashion is not limited to clothing or accessories. Images which represent or are signs of the fashion artefacts or the fashion culture take part in the research. 6. Querol, Lorena Sancho. “Do coração do museu: inventário e patrimônio imaterialem 11 museus portugueses,” in Informação ICOM.PT. Lisboa: ICOM Portugal, 2010. 7. Querol. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 64 https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) of high-order economic activities,” and museums are the institutions which carry out the mission of discov- ering, saving and displaying the splendors of each society.8 Museums have the ability to select objects and transform them into “discursive practices that make up the perceptions surrounding cultures and nations and how those nations are transformed into a product to be experienced and consumed are of paramount importance.”9 Instead the interweaving of these factors explains why steps have been taken to encourage fashion exhibi- tions, the interest in the consolidation of cultural identities was responsible for these exhibitions to switch from artefacts to processes. Audiences and the media are attracted by the names, techniques, styles and reality of fashion culture, but the discourses around visualities are being increasingly carried out through the Made in perspective. The discourses of fashion are establishing links between products and skills, to demonstrate the singular features of modes of production, circulation and consumption in fashion and what can be achieved. These links create a sense of belonging which connects people to artefacts within society.10 Thus, while the exhibitions are showing the most incredible looks, photographs, accessories, etc., the dis- courses are asserting that these societies have the conditions to support a complex fashion system. From this standpoint, this discussion assumes that heritagization is a “canonization process” which is driven by utilitarian interests, and this means it is a procedure that is no longer restricted to safe concrete fashion arte- facts or registers.11 Thus heritagization focuses on fashion artefacts or registers as well as on the processes which have created and supported them. For the same reason, the appreciation of artefacts in museums, is not confined to their aesthetic qualities (their beauty, singularity or technique, for example). Their appear- ance can be used as an “observation platform” through which it is possible to observe and find out about the society that produced them.12 In addition, some of the required conditions of the artefacts displayed in museums on the past — such as their authenticity, the aura of the creator or product, the historic value derived from specific features etc. —, are still not essential for their musealization. The heritagization of fashion, “perceived as an expression of contemporary aesthetic culture, on equal standing with the other artistic disciplines” is one way to recognize its representative nature in our culture.13 Evidently, the allusion to the Made in in exhibitions, is created by drawing attention to the aesthetic, prac- tical and symbolic dimension of the artefacts, since they characterize the phenomena of fashion in a partic- ular period of time.14 This means the development of a narrative is indirect. Fashion culture, its creators and users can be shown in terms of authorship, metaphors and identities to glorify cultures and societies. This article is based on the assumption that the use of exhibitions to communicate themes of social interest, is not a new phenomenon. At the same time, it can be assumed that the highlighting of fashion icons (by the creators, users, producers, etc.), is the target of fashion exhibitions in general, and, is thus a prerequisite for an exhibition. The purpose of my argument, however, is to illustrate with some examples, that fash- 8. Gregory John Ashworth, “From history to heritage–from heritage to identity. In search of concepts and models,” in Building a New Heritage. Tourism, Culture and Identity in the New Europe, ed. Gregory John Ashworth (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), 14. 9. Eugenia Paulicelli, “Fashion: The cultural economy of Made in Italy,” Fashion Practice 6, n. 2, (2014): 164. 10. The fashion historian Adrian Forty, in his book Objects of Desire, suggests that design history is not constructed from the artefact only. For him, the life cycle of the artefact has historical relevance. See Adrian Forty, Objects of Desire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1986). 11. Regina Bendix, “Heritage between economy and politics. An assessment from the perspective of cultural anthropology,” in Intangible Heritage, ed. Laurajane Smith and Natsuko Akagawa (London and New York: Routledge, 2009), 260. 12. Ulpiano Meneses, “Fontes visuais, cultura visual, História visual. Balanço provisório, propostas cautelares,” Revista Brasileira de História 23, n. 45, (2003): 11–36. 13. Vinken (2005) apud Luca Marchetti, “Fashion curating in the fields of design: Issues in theory and practice,” in Acts of 11th European Academy of Design Conference: The Value of Design Research, (2015): 3. 14. The aesthetic, practical and symbolic dimension in design is a concept postulated by Bernd Löbach. The aesthetic dimension is defined by the artefact’s general appearance, the practical by the main use of the artefact, and the symbolic by the significance of the artefact for society. See Bernd Löbach, Design Industrial. Bases para a configuração de produtos industriais (São Paulo: Blücher, 2000). https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 65 https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) ion exhibitions are the intellectual outcome of discourses and not heritagized artefacts. It is the Made in heritagization. ade in in ashion e hibitions: brie ly introduction and short e a les The relevance of the Made in’s discourse on heritagization in general and on heritagization of fashion in particular, is a historical fact which is conditioned by our cultural environment. The heritagization of fashion reflects this statement: decades ago, fashion was, in aesthetic terms considered an applied or minor art; in terms of science or technology considered a craft; in terms of society, considered feminine and frivolous. By another hand, today, the economic and cultural importance of fashion is responsible for stimulating the creation of fashion narratives in museums in order to connect past, present and future, evidencing tradition and perspectives. Eugenia Paulicelli, for example, suggests that to understand the Made in Italy, it “is necessary to take a few steps back into the past to see how crucial it is to connect key historical moments of the Italian nation to the formation of a discourse on fashion and how these discourses animate the practices and the politics of style and identity.”15 The author characterizes the Made in Italy as a meta brand which seems to expand the Italian style’s idea. Paulicelli explains that the campaign for the Made in Italy was launched in the 1970s to identify the Italian garment with “some examples of innovations in design and history that maintain and reinforce the high levels of Italian craftsmanship, attention to detail, beauty, and cultural heritage, the values that define the Italian character and style at its best.”16 In this perspective, the Made in acquires in the museum the heritage sense or vice versa, and the heritage contributes to the valorization of Italian contemporary fashion: Italian fashion, in fact, is a cultural icon, a style and welfare symbol, an aesthetical reference and a base for the life quality. In it, the history takes a leading role, as a basis. So, the fashion history, its studies and its social and historic cultures are central part of ‘Italian Fashion System’ and of Made in Italy.17 The heritagization process is based on a transmission’s act since it puts present generations in contact with past generations.18 The Made in rhetoric — when the provenience or belonging of artefacts or images is associated with some society to be used in connection as irrefutable evidence of the creative and productive competence — reinforces the belief in the cultural and economic relevance of nations. The heritagization process or Made in discourse, therefore, is a contemporary value which projects the future and uses the past as “an appeal to the continuity.”19 The economic and political value of this kind of cultural practices has been discovered by anthropologists over 40 years and more.20 “Tradition was unmasked” and the concept of authenticity “has been thoroughly deconstructed” to understand the relationship between the “nation-building” and “the process of cultivat- 15. Paulicelli, “Fashion: The cultural economy of Made in Italy,” 158. 16. Paulicelli, 169. 17. Daniela Calanca, “Conservação e valorização do patrimônio da moda. O papel social da pós-história.” Visualidades 11, n. 1, (2013): 101. 18. Alexia Fontaine, “Conditions d’émergence et développement des collections vestimentaires: patrimonialisation, muséalisa- tion, virtualisation: regards croisés en France - Canada - Québec (XIXe-XXIe siècle),” (PhD diss., Université Charles de Gaulle - Lille III, 2016). 19. Ashworth, “From history to heritage - from heritage to identity. In search of concepts and models,” 13. 20. Bendix, “Heritage between economy and politics. An assessment from the perspective of cultural anthropology,” 253–269. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 66 https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) ing symbolic cultural capital.”21 Briefly, the heritagization process transforms the culture in an economic good.22 In general terms, heritagization is a process led by museums. The act of selection, saving, studying and exhibiting artefacts which represent a specific culture is an activity developed in museums or similar insti- tutions. Thus, permanent collections or temporary exhibitions reflect the fluidity of the sense of heritage. Past collections acquire new discursive uses while new collections are selected and arranged to attend new discursive challenges or intentions. The enlargement of the role of fashion culture in museums is notable. Public and private museums with several vocations have been interested in fashion because it is considered a new knowledge object: arte- facts or images which are “used for purposes of acquiring and transmitting knowledge.”23 Briefly, fashion culture is a way to access knowledge from the scientific and cultural order or aesthetic pleasure, and the discourse about fashion is contributing to building great nations in a cultural sense.24 These premises are observed in the diversity of fashion exhibitions which have been identified in this re- search. Over time, exhibitions have been enlarged in terms of quantity (there are more exhibitions in the last years than ten years ago) and discourses since fashion culture is used for talking another thing than fashion itself. Nowadays, exhibitions have more intentions than celebrating a designer or historical mo- ment — such as Hello, My Name Is Paul Smith (The Design Museum 2013/2014) or The Golden Age of Couture: Paris and London 1947–1957 (V&A 2007) — more than remembering historic events, such as You Say You Want a Revolution? (V&A 2016/2017), or, still, more than glamorizing celebrities, such as April Ashley: Portrait of a Lady (Liverpool Museum 2013/2015). The remembering of persons, periods or places through fashion exhibitions is exalting nations and their products: it is the Made in’s museological discourse. The Made in or provenience’s discourse seems to be the main goal of a large part of the process of heritag- ization that fashion exhibitions express themselves. Exhibitions which are dedicated to the system of pro- duction, circulation and consumption of fashion artefacts and senses from fashion culture are associated with the social conditions which are specific in a time-space. This discursive process intends to reinforce the image of its origin nations and how it is possible to observe separately. Production: ade in as authorshi The conditions which have permitted the development (production in the large sense) of fashion culture are explored by the heritagization process. Through the linking between some product or technique with specific conditions of its development, it is possible to build the Made in’s discourse. In the case of fashion material culture, the sense of authorship is widely present as a sign of Made in: ideas expressed for designers are connected with the place where they came from or the place where they have been settled. By this reason, the affiliation between designers, ideas, products and places enhances all of them. The heritage discourse that is used to connect the authorship with the Made in differs according to the period of reference. There are three different possibilities — past, present and future — to produce several perspectives in terms of heritage: the past values the tradition, the present values the importance of contem- porary fashion, and finally, the future presents new perspectives for fashion. Three different exhibitions could exemplify this idea: 21. Bendix, 254. 22. Bendix, 253–269. 23. Razgon (1982) apud Peter Van Mensch, “Towards a Methodology of Museology” (PhD diss., University of Zagreb, 1992). 24. Peter Van Mensch, “Methodological museology; or, towards a theory of museum practice,” in Objects of Knowledge, ed. Susan Pearce (London: The Atholone Press, 1990), 141–157. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 67 https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) In 2013/2014, the Museo del Tessuto de Prato (Italy) organized the exhibition Prato Workshop: Italian Fabrics from the Renaissance. The region where the museum is located (Tuscany) was an important center for the production of luxurious fabrics during the Italian Renaissance. According to the curatorship, Great wealth, technical perfection and exquisite design of textiles such as velvets, damasks and lampas make Italian fabrics from this period the most requested by national and international markets for luxury goods. The exhibition highlights the beauty of over eighty fabrics, making a connection between some of the most important figurative works of the Renaissance, in- cluding those featured in the exhibition of the Praetorian Palace.25 The influence of the Italian Renaissance on architecture, painting and sculpture extended to the exhibi- tion’s finest textiles, making them appear as one of the pillars of Western culture. According to Peter Burke, although some question him, “Renaissance Italy was a society where not only ‘so much art,’ but also ‘a greater variety’ of art has been produced.”26 This association is a discursive mechanism which intends to assert that these fabrics are a legacy to humanity. The Made in is also hidden in the declarations which affirmed that the silk fabrics had been produced in Florence, Milan, Venice and Genoa, glorifying the Italian glorious past. Not only because of the “refined aesthetic” of the textiles, but also because velvets, damasks and lampas achieved “excellence in terms of raw materials and the technique of craft work,” the Italian fabrics were “requested all over Europe.” They were seemed as “only in the world and largely desired.”27 If the past attributes tradition to the Made in, the heritagization of contemporary creations reinforces aspirations in the fashion’s field. The focus on the cultural influence that one country or region could have is understood by the audience as economic power. In this sense, exhibitions devoted to contemporary creators or producers exalt multiplatform actuations, connection with the arts, high cultural influence, brand’s significance and also the private life of the people enrolled in the fashion system. The large public is interested in fashion as a spectacle, and the contemporary scene provides this information. One good example of this is the high performance of Karl Lagerfeld, who is considered the most presti- gious German fashion designer in the last decades.28 He was the subject of the exhibition Karl Lagerfeld: Parallel Contrasts that occurred in the Museum Folkwang in Essen (Germany) in 2014.29 The designer himself contributed to the curatorship of the exhibition. Lagerfeld symbolizes to Germany, in terms of fashion design, one contemporary voice. The exhibition, with focus on Lagerfeld’s obsessions—photos, books and fashion—represents the trajectory of one con- temporary fashion designer. Not only Lagerfeld’s presence in consecrated fields, his role as a creative direc- tor of Maison Chanel, but also his performance in the fashion industry (his name is a brand in perfumes, glasses, cosmetics, clothing, etc.) put Germany in the global fashion scene. Lagerfeld is much more than a simple fashion designer, and Parallel Contrasts, which features more than 400 works, reveals the diversity of his creative output. From Chanel to Fendi and from his namesake brand to his collaboration with H&M, Lagerfeld has always known how to catch everyone’s attention. On show there will be his photos, his favorite books, various 25. “Fabrics from the Italian Renaissance opens at Textile Museum in Prato,” SACI The Art Blog, accessed December 1, 2017, https://saci-art.com/2013/09/20/fabrics-from-the-italian-renaissance-opens-at-textile-museum-in-prato-monday- september-23/. 26. Peter Burke, The Italian renaissance: Culture and society in Italy (Cambridge: Princeton Press, 2014), 18–19. 27. “Officina Pratese. Tessuti del Rinascimento Italiano,” Oltre Pistoia, accessed December 1, 2017, http://www.oltrepistoia.it/ scoprire-il-territorio/prato/arte/mostre/82-officina-pratese-tessuti-del-rinascimento-italiano.html. 28. “Karl Lagerfeld,” Folkwang Museum, accessed January 6, 2018, https://www.museum-folkwang.de/en/news/exhibitions/ archive/karl-lagerfeld.html. 29. “Karl Lagerfeld the Focus of Two German Exhibitions,” WWD, accessed January 6, 2018, http://wwd.com/fashion-news/ fashion-scoops/double-exposure-7351970/?module=Fashion-Fashion%20Scoops-main. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 68 https://saci-art.com/2013/09/20/fabrics-from-the-italian-renaissance-opens-at-textile-museum-in-prato-monday-september-23/ https://saci-art.com/2013/09/20/fabrics-from-the-italian-renaissance-opens-at-textile-museum-in-prato-monday-september-23/ http://www.oltrepistoia.it/scoprire-il-territorio/prato/arte/mostre/82-officina-pratese-tessuti-del-rinascimento-italiano.html http://www.oltrepistoia.it/scoprire-il-territorio/prato/arte/mostre/82-officina-pratese-tessuti-del-rinascimento-italiano.html https://www.museum-folkwang.de/en/news/exhibitions/archive/karl-lagerfeld.html https://www.museum-folkwang.de/en/news/exhibitions/archive/karl-lagerfeld.html http://wwd.com/fashion-news/fashion-scoops/double-exposure-7351970/?module=Fashion-Fashion%20Scoops-main http://wwd.com/fashion-news/fashion-scoops/double-exposure-7351970/?module=Fashion-Fashion%20Scoops-main https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) sketches from his collections, architectural models specially made for his catwalk shows, his illustrations and even a piano he has designed.30 The Made in, finally, can also be built from promises about the future. Countries which did not enjoy tradition or recognition in the global field of fashion design are investing in the innovation and transfor- mation discourse in fashion. It is the case, for example, of the Nordic countries. One exhibition which has been organized in the National Design Museum in Helsinki in 2014 about the Danish designer Henrik Vibskov is a good example. Vibskov was born in 1972 and takes part in a gener- ation which is contributing to erect the image that fashion from Nordic countries is auspicious. In short, proposals in fashion that came from those countries would be an alternative to the traditional (or old) ideas that came from the traditional European nations. This kind of approach is well evaluated because it presents to the cultural scene names and proposals which are considered a newness. Emma Davenport has affirmed in the blog Wornthrough that when she visited the exhibition, she did not know Henrik Vibskov but also did not have any information about fashion design from Scandinavian countries in general.31 When she looked for information about Vibskov in the Berg’s Companion to Fashion, she did not surprise herself by not finding anything about him.32 Yet, perhaps that was part of the problem. What was I looking for? A nice summarized dis- cussion on the identity of Scandinavian fashion that would explain the cultural identities of several quite distinct geographical locations? Well, yes, sort of.33 The absence of this reference is an indication that, in fact, Scandinavian fashion design, until this moment, does not occupy a featured position in fashion history. But the presence of Henrik Vibskov in this and in more exhibitions or moments when the Scandinavian brands and names are spotted demonstrates that the region is emergent. The Made in, in this case, could indicate the region should anticipate the future in terms of fashion. In theory, the region is renewing what came from more traditional places in the fashion field. Generally Scandinavian fashion is quite sleek, and it’s known to be minimal and simplistic. But a lot of the new designers have studied at the best schools in London so they’re more extreme and more focused on details than before.34 The climatic and geographic singularity of the Nordic region has produced a generalized idea that the fash- ion from these countries is simple and monochromatic. Vibskov should be a revolutionary because in his hands, Scandinavian fashion is more colorful and offbeat.35 Thus, his name and other Nordic names are using the tradition but are producing aesthetic experimentation. 30. “Karl Lagerfeld and his parallel contrasts,” HG Issue, accessed January 6, 2018, http://www.hgissue.com/new/karl-lagerfeld- and-his-parallel-contrasts-exhibition-at-the-folkwang-museum-essen-germany/. 31. “Henrik Vibsok exhibition, Helsinki Design Museum,” Worn Through, accessed Januray 7, 2018, http://www.wornthrough. com/2014/02/henrik-vibskov-exhibition-helsinki-design-museum/. 32. Berg’s Companion to Fashion (2010) is a kind of encyclopedia or a reference book which is dedicated to students and to those who are curious about fashion in general. It is more than 300 entries about designers, clothing and key concepts in fashion. Berg’s Companion to Fashion is edited by Valerie Steele. 33. “Henrik Vibsok exhibition.” 34. “Scandinavian Invasion,” Dazed & Confused Magazine, accessed Januray 7, 2018, http://www.dazeddigital.com/fashion/ article/15696/1/scandinavian-invasion. 35. “Unravelling the Ecletic World of Henrik Vibskov, Denmarks’s Adored Fashion Designer,” The Culture Trip, accessed Januray 7, 2018, https://theculturetrip.com/europe/denmark/articles/unravelling-the-eclectic-world-of-henrik- vibskov-denmarks-adored-fashion-designer/. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 69 http://www.hgissue.com/new/karl-lagerfeld-and-his-parallel-contrasts-exhibition-at-the-folkwang-museum-essen-germany/ http://www.hgissue.com/new/karl-lagerfeld-and-his-parallel-contrasts-exhibition-at-the-folkwang-museum-essen-germany/ http://www.wornthrough.com/2014/02/henrik-vibskov-exhibition-helsinki-design-museum/ http://www.wornthrough.com/2014/02/henrik-vibskov-exhibition-helsinki-design-museum/ http://www.dazeddigital.com/fashion/article/15696/1/scandinavian-invasion http://www.dazeddigital.com/fashion/article/15696/1/scandinavian-invasion https://theculturetrip.com/europe/denmark/articles/unravelling-the-eclectic-world-of-henrik-vibskov-denmarks-adored-fashion-designer/ https://theculturetrip.com/europe/denmark/articles/unravelling-the-eclectic-world-of-henrik-vibskov-denmarks-adored-fashion-designer/ https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) Circulation: ade in as a eta hor The circulation, a second approach of the Made in, is a process to social intermediation. Through the association of fashion products with meanings which encourage the consumption, clothing is interpreted besides its functional perspective. Thus, circulation is responsible for producing and supporting the imag- ination which connects creators, materials, silhouettes, rules, users, etc., to positive values which are re- quired for the consumption and use of clothing and styles. In the last years, this approach has been potentialized because it permits that the same artefact is interpreted in different angles. Several exhibitions are using fashion to produce singularities with regions or contexts. The more unique or original, the bigger the sense of belonging will be. The positive connection of product image to place yields a kind of monopoly rent that address to places, their insignia, and the brand names that may attach to them. Their industries grow as a result, and the local economic base takes shape. Favorable images create entry barriers for products from competing places.36 The artefacts, in this case, are not moved to heritage. The Made in is generated for the relationship between fashion and a political-economic-social condition and produces a determined meaning. The possibility of demonstrating that a specific fashion culture emerges in an exclusive context is explored as cultural heritage. This is the case of the exhibition Vogue 100: A Century of Style. It was an exhibition to celebrate the 100th anniversary of British Vogue in 2016. It is a kind of exhibition to prove that the United Kingdom was and is a nation that new lifestyles, models, products, aesthetics, photographers, etc., have been stimulated. The value of Vogue as a state’s spokesperson is indisputable, especially that the Duchess of Cambridge, Kate Middleton, was photographed for their cover to celebrate their centenary. The place selected for the exhibition, the National Portrait Gallery in London, is a clear demonstration that fashion has been put in the same level of painting, especially portrait. Two hundred eighty images to remember ten decades of the magazine have been organized in an inverted chronological order. The first one is Kate Moss, one of the most important symbols of British fashion. British Vogue is considered one fashion bible with histories full of metaphors, where images capture the “peculiarly British sense of aristocracy, adventure and female power” that “has created and molded our aspirations, not just reflected them.”37 Not all can buy clothing that is in the magazine, but yes, all of us can repeat “the idea behind the photograph.”38 This attitude permits that the imagination produced by Vogue is desired and reproduced around the world. Finally, the exhibition Rik Wouters and the Private Utopia associates fashion with art. Attributing value to fashion design, mainly in its heritagization, is a rhythmic process. In 2016/2017, the MoMu and the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Antwerp celebrated 100 years of Rik Wouters’s death. They promoted an exhi- bition which superimposed the paintings from Wouters with the fashion production from contemporary Belgian designers and artists. The central theme of this exhibition is the intimate relationship between the painter and his wife. Rik Wouters was the only fauvist who made paintings of everyday domestic scenes. The exhibition will combine a selection of Rik Wouters’ paintings with various garments by ac- claimed fashion designers. Prominent designers including Walter Van Beirendonck, Dries Van 36. Molotch (1996) apud Allen Scott, The cultural economy of cities. Essays on the geography of image producing industries (London, Thousand Oaks and New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2000), 5. 37. “Vogue at 100: models in the blitz, Diana with a tiara and the Kate moss creation myth,” The Guardian, accessed Ja- nuray 11, 2018, https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2016/feb/09/vogue-100-models-blitz-diana-tiara-kate-moss-fashion- bible-century-of-style-british-female-power. 38. “Vogue 100: A Century of Style, National Portrait Gallery, revew: ‘leaves you reeling,’ ” Telegraph, accessed January 11, 2018, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/art/what-to-see/vogue-100-a-century-of-style-national-portrait-gallery-review-le/. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 70 https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2016/feb/09/vogue-100-models-blitz-diana-tiara-kate-moss-fashion-bible-century-of-style-british-female-power https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2016/feb/09/vogue-100-models-blitz-diana-tiara-kate-moss-fashion-bible-century-of-style-british-female-power http://www.telegraph.co.uk/art/what-to-see/vogue-100-a-century-of-style-national-portrait-gallery-review-le/ https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) Noten, Ann Demeulemeester and Dirk Van Saene have found inspiration for their designs in the artwork of the Belgian painter.39 The connection that has been proposed was not limited to the aesthetic dimension. The central question in the artwork of Wouters — a good life — has been associated with Belgian contemporary fashion. The exhibition seemed to demonstrate that the fashion industry ruins the creative process, and because of this, “contemporary designers are going back to their roots and focus once again on craftsmanship, daily life and slow fashion.”40 The clothing that has been produced for the exhibition does not attend dressing requirements. For this reason, the utopia that is present in Rik Wouters’s paintings has been individually reinterpreted with the use of materials, techniques or other idiosyncratic elements.41 All of them contribute to the uniqueness of Belgian fashion.42 Consu tion: ade in as identity It was in the twentieth century that fashion was understood to be more decisive as an identity expression.43 Fashion identity, not only can describe short social groups that are united for a common interest — the teenagers, punks, hipsters, etc. — but also can nominate entire populations that are from circumscribed geographical areas, such as Parisians or Brazilians. In the case of national identities, despite the critique to the artificiality of its construction, its efficiency is inevitable:44 When people identify with one another as compatriots, over and above the many more specific gender, ethnic, cultural, or religious identities they may have, they are more likely to display generalized trust, and to show solidarity. This reduces social conflict and increases willingness to cooperate, which in turn makes it easier for the society to produce public goods, to decide a wide range of matters by democratic means, and to channel its resources in the direction of disadvantaged members.45 Sometimes persons are considered a symbol of a nation because they are assumed as an example of the population’s positive qualities. Their appearance towards their fashion identity, therefore, would acquire significance to represent power and distinction. Through this way, independent of the approach assumed in fashion exhibitions dedicated to identities, the fashion identity of the nation’s icons promotes the con- text where they have lived. Two exhibitions that occurred in Paris and London during the last decade are good examples of this prac- tice: Dalida: A Wardrobe from the City to the Stage in the Palais Galliera (Paris) in 2017 and Diana, Her Fashion History, which will be exhibited in the Kensington Palace (London) in the period from 2017 to 2018. 39. “Rik Wouters & the Private Utopia,” Focus on Belgium, accessed January 11, 2018, http://focusonbelgium.be/en/events/rik- wouters-private-utopia. 40. “Expo @ MOMU: Rik Wouters & The Private Utopia,” Philosofie, Accessed January 11, 2018, https://philosofiesite.wordpress. com/2016/09/25/momu-rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/. 41. “Rik Wouters & the Private Utopia at MOMU,” Itsliquid, accessed January 11, 2018, http://www.itsliquid.com/rik-wouters-the- private-utopia.html. 42. “Rik Wouters & the Private Utopia,” Rubens Project, accessed January 11, 2018, http://www.projetrubens.eu/en/rik-wouters- the-private-utopia/. Rubens Project. “Rik Wouters & the Private Utopia.” 43. Luca Marchetti, “Fashion curating in the fields of design: Issues in theory and practice,” in Acts of 11th European Academy of Design Conference: The Value of Design Research, (2015): 1–16. 44. Daniel Miller, “Introduction,” in Clothing as material culture, ed. Susanne Kchler and Daniel Miller (Berg: New York, 2005), 1–20. 45. David Miller and Sundas Ali, “Testing the national identity argument,” European Political Science Review 6, n. 2, (2014): 238. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 71 http://focusonbelgium.be/en/events/rik-wouters-private-utopia http://focusonbelgium.be/en/events/rik-wouters-private-utopia https://philosofiesite.wordpress.com/2016/09/25/momu-rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/ https://philosofiesite.wordpress.com/2016/09/25/momu-rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/ http://www.itsliquid.com/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia.html http://www.itsliquid.com/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia.html http://www.projetrubens.eu/en/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/ http://www.projetrubens.eu/en/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/ https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) Dalida was a French superstar (1933–1987) exalted for her sophistication and beauty. As a singer, she repre- sents an aural period for the French music: “An Egyptian-born, Italian female singer who became France’s most commercially successful female artist of the second half of the twentieth century.”46 The exhibition occurred on the 30th anniversary of her death and suggests that her personal and profes- sional trajectory is mirrored in her clothing: “Her wardrobe always followed the movements of fashion, but it also reflected her artistic development.”47 The museographic discourse has two main intentions: the first one demonstrates that Dalida was dressed for great designers and the second one explicates that her wardrobe followed the fashion tendencies. If all this has been narrated from French creations, the exhibition also is, in a certain sense, one way to praise French fashion design: She was a fervent lover of fashion and prepared to wear everything: from 1950s New Look dresses by Jacques Esterel to a Balmain’s seventies pinafore dress; she was chic and understated in Loris Azarro, dazzling in sequined disco outfits by Michel Fresnay in the 1980s, classical and timeless in Yves Saint Laurent rive gauche, and then there was Jean-Claude Jitrois who said dressing Dalida was ’like dressing the stars for the Cannes Film Festival.48 Diana, Her Fashion History, an exhibition in Kensington Palace from 2017 to 2018, is also another example of the success of the national identity through clothing. The exhibition, which contains 25 looks, tells in six steps the history of the fashion progress of the Princess of Wales. Similar to the Dalida exhibition, there is a chronology of fashion, but especially of British fashion design. The large part of the princess’s emblematic looks (which have been reproduced in the media so many times) is in the exhibition. Diana’s role as “a proud ambassador for the British fashion industry” is explored by the museography which, beyond clothing, is constituted for accessories and photos. The importance of the British designers—Bill Pashely, Catherine Walker, Victor Edelstien, Victoria Haddock, Bruce Oldfield, Bellville Sasson, Christina Stambolian, David and Elizabeth Emanuel, Regamus and others—for the devel- opment of the Lady Di look is highlighted.49 Princess Diana (1961–1997) benefited British fashion during her lifetime as a representative of the monarchy because she was dressed by British brands and designers. She was conscious of the meaning of her choices, and after the divorce, she was dressed by continental designers.50 This fact is an evidence that nations attribute importance to the fashion phenomenon. The exhibition captures the evolution of the princess’ style, from the demure, romantic out- fits of her first public appearances to the “Dynasty Di” glamor and self-assured international confidence of her final years — the Versace, Dior, and Chanel, they came in the ’90s, after her separation.51 Fashion, heritage and ade in: inal considerations Museums are the perfect place to demonstrate the conquests of each nation because they are institutions which represent official voices. At the same time that museology contributes to establishing some sense of 46. Barbara Lebrun, “Daughter of the Mediterranean, docile European: Dalida in the 1950s,” Journal of European Popular Culture 4, n. 1, (2013): 85. 47. “Dalida, une Garde-Robe de la Ville à la Scène,” Palais Galliera, accessed January 20, 2018, http://www.palaisgalliera.paris.fr/ en/exhibitions/dalida-une-garde-robe-de-la-ville-la-scene. 48. “Dalida, une Garde-Robe.” 49. “Diana: Her Fashion Story (Part 1),” Costume Society, accessed January 20, 2018, http://costumesociety.org.uk/blog/post/diana- her-fashion-story. 50. “Diana: Her Fashion Story.” 51. “Inside the Princess Diana Style Exhibition at Kensington Palace,” Vogue, accessed January 20, 2018, https://www.vogue.com/ article/princess-diana-exhibition-kensington-palace. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 72 http://www.palaisgalliera.paris.fr/en/exhibitions/dalida-une-garde-robe-de-la-ville-la-scene http://www.palaisgalliera.paris.fr/en/exhibitions/dalida-une-garde-robe-de-la-ville-la-scene http://costumesociety.org.uk/blog/post/diana-her-fashion-story http://costumesociety.org.uk/blog/post/diana-her-fashion-story https://www.vogue.com/article/princess-diana-exhibition-kensington-palace https://www.vogue.com/article/princess-diana-exhibition-kensington-palace https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) belonging which corresponds to political-economic interests, today fashion is one of the most important expression of the economic and cultural conquests of the nation.52 The human and social sciences showed that fashion is a word-luggage, one door opened to the comprehension of dressing fact: the appearance history and culture, the economy and sociology of the visuality, the technical and industrial system of apparel.53 It is possible that the fashion curation transformation during the last decades can contribute to associating the cultural heritage of fashion with the Made in discourse. In the museums and galleries, “the so-called ‘new’ art history as practiced in the university draws on alternative approaches and methodologies derived from cultural studies.”54 The “productions of fashion designers, or artists of all stripes for whom fashion is a subject of reflection” are welcome.55 According to Valerie Steele, many exhibitions are controversial and widely criticized for attending to the economic interests of the sponsors, such that they seem like entertain- ment shows, and demonstrating historical inaccuracy.56 In a certain sense, this could be a manner to continually amplify the dimension of the heritage from a nation since “cultural heritage is considered to have high social value and to be endowed with the capacity to foster positive identification within groups or entire polities.”57 According to Asworth, museums, in addition to transmitting values (socialization), also legitimize the values to reinforce political ideologies, “and groups can justify their dominance by an appeal to the continuity of the past and present.”58 The examples used to discuss the heritagization of Made in are shown in these points: a. The exhibitions are interpreted as evidence of distinction, power, singularity, etc., from the nations which they represent. b. The element of continuity is always identified and past, present and future are merged. c. The exhibitions that were previously commented can indicate that the discourse of belonging is not dependent (only) from the artefact or material dimension of fashion.59 Any country could present one fashion discourse. d. The association of some fashion culture with a specific place includes the process of creation and development of products and images, the system which produces senses about them and, finally, the use that people make of fashion. e. The heritagization process, therefore, tends to create a singular relationship between nation and fashion to identify and legitimize the immaterial or abstract dimension of fashion.60 Thus, the exhibition of historic, consecrated or emergent designers is an affirmation that one country has tradition, recognition or perspectives. The connection of fashion culture with arts, media or any cultural system previously legitimated is a clear demonstration that one country has a symbolic or cultural capital. Finally, the valorization of some fashion culture through the use of local brands for representative people is a recognition of the superiority of one fashion culture. 52. This idea was developed by Benedict Anderson. He argues that the nation is an abstract concept used by countries to maintain the political union. See Benedict Anderson, Imagined communities: Reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism (London: Verso, 1991). 53. Fontaine, “Conditions d’émergence et développement des collections vestimentaires: patrimonialisation, muséalisation, vir- tualisation: regards croisés en France - Canada - Québec (XIXe–XXIe siècle),” 1. 54. Steele, “Museum quality: The rise of the fashion exhibition,” 24–25. 55. Marchetti, “Fashion curating in the fields of design: Issues in theory and practice,” 8. 56. Steele, “Museum quality: The rise of the fashion exhibition,” 7–30. 57. Bendix, “Heritage between economy and politics. An assessment from the perspective of cultural anthropology,” 258. 58. Ashworth, “From history to heritage–from heritage to identity. In search of concepts and models,” 14. 59. Riello, “The object of fashion: Methodological approaches to the study of fashion,” 1–9. 60. Riello, 1–9. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 73 https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) e erences Ashworth, Gregory John. “From history to heritage–from heritage to identity. In search of concepts and models.” In Building a New Heritage. Tourism, Culture and Identity in the New Europe, edited by Gregory John Ashworth, 13–30. London and New York: Routledge, 1994. Bendix, Regina. “Heritage between economy and politics. An assessment from the perspective of cul- tural anthropology.” In Intangible Heritage, edited by Laurajane Smith and Natsuko Akagawa, 253–69. London-New York: Routledge, 2009. Burke, Peter. The Italian renaissance: Culture and society in Italy. Cambridge: Princeton Press, 2014. Calanca, Daniela. “Conservação e valorização do patrimônio da moda. O papel social da pós-história.” Visualidades 11, n. 1, (2013): 99–107. Costume Society. “Diana: Her Fashion Story (Part 1).” Accessed January 20, 2018. http://costumesociety. org.uk/blog/post/diana-her-fashion-story. Dazed & Confused Magazine. “Scandinavian Invasion.” Accessed January 7, 2018. http://www. dazeddigital.com/fashion/article/15696/1/scandinavian-invasion. Focus on Belgium. “Rik Wouters & the Private Utopia.” Accessed January 11, 2018. http:// focusonbelgium.be/en/events/rik-wouters-private-utopia. Folkwang Museum. “Karl Lagerfeld.” Accessed January 6, 2018. https://www.museum-folkwang.de/en/ news/exhibitions/archive/karl-lagerfeld.html. Fontaine, Alexia. “Conditions d’émergence et développement des collections vestimentaires: patrimoni- alisation, muséalisation, virtualisation: regards croisés en France - Canada -Québec (XIXe-XXIe siècle).” PhD diss., Université Charles de Gaulle - Lille III, 2016. HG Issue. “Karl Lagerfeld and his parallel contrasts.” Accessed January 6, 2018. http://www.hgissue.com/ new/karl-lagerfeld-and-his-parallel-contrasts-exhibition-at-the-folkwang-museum-essen-germany/. Itsliquid. “Rik Wouters & the Private Utopia at MOMU.” Accessed January 11, 2018. http: //www.itsliquid.com/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia.html. Lebrun, Barbara. “Daughter of the Mediterranean, docile European: Dalida in the 1950s,” Journal of European Popular Culture 4, n. 1, (2013): 85–97. Marchetti, Luca. “Fashion curating in the fields of design: Issues in theory and practice.” In Acts of 11th European Academy of Design Conference: The Value of Design Research, 1–16, 2015. Meneses, Ulpiano. “Fontes visuais, cultura visual, História visual. Balanço provisório, propostas caute- lares.” Revista Brasileira de História 23, n. 45, (2003): 11–36. Miller, Daniel. “Introduction.” In Clothing as material culture, edited by Susanne Kchler and Daniel Miller, 1–20. New York: Berg, 2005. Miller, David and Sundas Ali. “Testing the national identity argument.” European Political Sience Review 6, n. 2, (2014): 237–59. Oltre Pistoia. “Officina Pratese. Tessuti del Rinascimento Italiano.”Accessed December 1, 2017. http://www.oltrepistoia.it/scoprire-il-territorio/prato/arte/mostre/82-officina-pratese-tessuti-del- rinascimento-italiano.html. Pallais Galliera. “Dalida, une Garde-Robe de la Ville à la Scène.” Acessed January 20, 2018. http://www. palaisgalliera.paris.fr/en/exhibitions/dalida-une-garde-robe-de-la-ville-la-scene. Paulicelli, Eugenia. “Fashion: The cultural economy of Made in Italy.” Fashion Practice 6, n. 2, (2014): 155–74. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 74 http://costumesociety.org.uk/blog/post/diana-her-fashion-story http://costumesociety.org.uk/blog/post/diana-her-fashion-story http://www.dazeddigital.com/fashion/article/15696/1/scandinavian-invasion http://www.dazeddigital.com/fashion/article/15696/1/scandinavian-invasion http://focusonbelgium.be/en/events/rik-wouters-private-utopia http://focusonbelgium.be/en/events/rik-wouters-private-utopia https://www.museum-folkwang.de/en/news/exhibitions/archive/karl-lagerfeld.html https://www.museum-folkwang.de/en/news/exhibitions/archive/karl-lagerfeld.html http://www.hgissue.com/new/karl-lagerfeld-and-his-parallel-contrasts-exhibition-at-the-folkwang-museum-essen-germany/ http://www.hgissue.com/new/karl-lagerfeld-and-his-parallel-contrasts-exhibition-at-the-folkwang-museum-essen-germany/ http://www.itsliquid.com/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia.html http://www.itsliquid.com/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia.html http://www.oltrepistoia.it/scoprire-il-territorio/prato/arte/mostre/82-officina-pratese-tessuti-del-rinascimento-italiano.html http://www.oltrepistoia.it/scoprire-il-territorio/prato/arte/mostre/82-officina-pratese-tessuti-del-rinascimento-italiano.html http://www.palaisgalliera.paris.fr/en/exhibitions/dalida-une-garde-robe-de-la-ville-la-scene http://www.palaisgalliera.paris.fr/en/exhibitions/dalida-une-garde-robe-de-la-ville-la-scene https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Fashion: Cultural Heritage and the Made in ZMJ. Vol.8 n.1 (2018) Philosofie. “Expo @ MOMU: Rik Wouters & The Private Utopia.” Accessed January 11, 2018. https: //philosofiesite.wordpress.com/2016/09/25/momu-rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/. Querol, Lorena Sancho. “Do coração do museu: inventário e patrimônio imaterial em 11 museus portugue- ses.” In Informação ICOM.PT. Lisboa: ICOM Portugal, 2010. Riello, Giorgio. “The object of fashion: Methodological approaches to the study of fashion.” Journal of Aesthetics and Culture 3, n. 1, (2011): 1–9. Rubens Project. “Rik Wouters & the Private Utopia.” Accessed January 11, 2018. http://www. projetrubens.eu/en/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/. SACI The Art Blog. “Fabrics from the Italian Renaissance opens at Textile Museum in Prato: Monday, September 23.” Accessed December 1, 2017. https://saci-art.com/2013/09/20/fabrics-from-the-italian- renaissance-opens-at-textile-museum-in-prato-monday-september-23/. Scott, Allen. The cultural economy of cities. Essays on the geography of image-producing industries. Lon- don, Thousand Oaks and New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2000. Steele, Valerie. “Museum quality: The rise of the fashion exhibition.” Fashion Theory 12, n. 1, (2008): 7–30. The culture trip. “Unravelling the Ecletic World of Henrik Vibskov, Denmarks’s Adored Fashion De- signer.” Accessed January 7, 2018. https://theculturetrip.com/europe/denmark/articles/unravelling-the- eclectic-world-of-henrik-vibskov-denmarks-adored-fashion-designer/. The Guardian. “Vogue at 100: models in the blitz, Diana with a tiara and the Kate moss creation myth.” Accessed January 11, 2018. https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2016/feb/09/vogue-100-models-blitz- diana-tiara-kate-moss-fashion-bible-century-of-style-british-female-power. The Telegraph. “Vogue 100: A Century of Style, National Portrait Gallery, revew: ‘leaves you reeling.’ ” Accessed January 11, 2018. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/art/what-to-see/vogue-100-a-century-of-style- national-portrait-gallery-review-le/. Van Mensch, Peter. “Methodological museology; or, towards a theory of museum practice.” In Objects of Knowledge, edited by Susan Pearce, 141–57. London: The Atholone Press, 1990. Van Mensch, Peter. “Towards a Methodology of Museology.” PhD diss., University of Zagreb, Faculty of Philosophy, 1992. Vogue. “Inside the Princess Diana Style Exhibition at Kensington Palace.” Accessed January 20, 2018. https://www.vogue.com/article/princess-diana-exhibition-kensington-palace. Worn Through. “Henrik Vibsok exhibition, Helsinki Design Museum.” Accessed January 7, 2018. http: //www.wornthrough.com/2014/02/henrik-vibskov-exhibition-helsinki-design-museum/. WWD. “Karl Lagerfeld the Focus of Two German Exhibitions.” Accessed January 6, 2018. http://wwd. com/fashion-news/fashion-scoops/double-exposure-7351970/?module=Fashion-Fashion%20Scoops- main. https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 75 https://philosofiesite.wordpress.com/2016/09/25/momu-rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/ https://philosofiesite.wordpress.com/2016/09/25/momu-rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/ http://www.projetrubens.eu/en/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/ http://www.projetrubens.eu/en/rik-wouters-the-private-utopia/ https://saci-art.com/2013/09/20/fabrics-from-the-italian-renaissance-opens-at-textile-museum-in-prato-monday-september-23/ https://saci-art.com/2013/09/20/fabrics-from-the-italian-renaissance-opens-at-textile-museum-in-prato-monday-september-23/ https://theculturetrip.com/europe/denmark/articles/unravelling-the-eclectic-world-of-henrik-vibskov-denmarks-adored-fashion-designer/ https://theculturetrip.com/europe/denmark/articles/unravelling-the-eclectic-world-of-henrik-vibskov-denmarks-adored-fashion-designer/ https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2016/feb/09/vogue-100-models-blitz-diana-tiara-kate-moss-fashion-bible-century-of-style-british-female-power https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2016/feb/09/vogue-100-models-blitz-diana-tiara-kate-moss-fashion-bible-century-of-style-british-female-power http://www.telegraph.co.uk/art/what-to-see/vogue-100-a-century-of-style-national-portrait-gallery-review-le/ http://www.telegraph.co.uk/art/what-to-see/vogue-100-a-century-of-style-national-portrait-gallery-review-le/ https://www.vogue.com/article/princess-diana-exhibition-kensington-palace http://www.wornthrough.com/2014/02/henrik-vibskov-exhibition-helsinki-design-museum/ http://www.wornthrough.com/2014/02/henrik-vibskov-exhibition-helsinki-design-museum/ http://wwd.com/fashion-news/fashion-scoops/double-exposure-7351970/?module=Fashion-Fashion%20Scoops-main http://wwd.com/fashion-news/fashion-scoops/double-exposure-7351970/?module=Fashion-Fashion%20Scoops-main http://wwd.com/fashion-news/fashion-scoops/double-exposure-7351970/?module=Fashion-Fashion%20Scoops-main https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2611-0563/8222 Intersection: fashion, museology and cultural economy Made in in fashion exhibitions: briefly introduction and short examples Production: Made in as authorship Circulation: Made in as a metaphor Consumption: Made in as identity Fashion, heritage and Made in: final considerations References 
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work_dbllj5j3lvguri2ppeiimlqc4e	----	Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 3 Ardengo Soffici's The Room of the Mannequins: Primitivism, Classicism and French Modernism La sala de los Maniquíes de Ardengo Soffici: Primitivismo, clasismo y modernismo fracés Mariana Aguirre Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (México) aguirre81@gmail.com Recibido: 28/07/2016 Revisado: 22/08/2016 Aprobado: 27/09/2016 ABSTRACT Ardengo Soffici’s engagement with African art was mediated by French modernism and led him to articulate a painterly aesthetic at once ‘primitive’ and classical. Soffici moved to Paris in 1900, and after his return to Florence in 1907 devoted himself to updating Italian art by promoting French modernism. Specifically, the artist created a modern style that incorporated these advances as well as elements from the early Italian Renaissance. This paper analyzes his fresco cycle, The Room of the Mannequins (1914), which demonstrates his temporary adoption of the Parisian scene’s primitivism while recalling the decoration of ancient Roman and Renaissance villas. While Pablo Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon (1907) shattered academic conventions by relying on primitive art’s ‘savage’ nature, in Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 4 Soffici’s murals, the female figures are playful and non-threatening, bringing to mind the pastoral landscapes that informed both Henri Rousseau and Henri Matisse’s works. Though the Italian artist substituted African references in his later work with alusions to Tuscan folk paintings, his brief use of the former demonstrates the ways in which non-Western references interacted with Italian art even in the absence of direct colonial links to their places of origin. Finally, this consideration of Soffici’s frescoes and writings on primitivism serves as a pre-history of the ways in which art and visual culture under Fascism appropriated African sources to legitimize its colonial project by presenting them as inferior to classical culture. Keywords: Ardengo Soffici, Primitivism, Modernism, Cubism, Colonialism, Pastoral Landscape. RESUMEN Ardengo Soffici y su apropiación del arte africano fue mediado por el modernismo francés, y eventualmente articuló una estética pictórica tanto clásica como ‘primitiva.’ Soffici vivió en París de 1900 a 1907, y al volver a Florencia, se dedicó a renovar el arte italiano y promover el modernismo francés. En específico, el artista creó un estilo moderno que incorporara estos avances además de elementos del Renacimiento italiano. Este ensayo analiza sus murales, The Room of the Mannequins (La Sala de los Maniquíes, 1914), los cuales demuestran su adopción temporal del primitivismo parisino al mismo tiempo que recuerda las decoraciones pictóricas de las antiguas villas romanas y renacentistas. Mientras que en Les Demoiselles d’Avignon (1907) Pablo Picasso rompió con el academicismo apoyándose al apoyarse en las cualidades ‘salvajes’ del arte primitivo, en las obras de Soffici, las figuras femeninas son lúdicas Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 5 e inofensivas y se remiten a los paisajes pastorales que influenciaron tanto a Henri Rousseau como a Henri Matisse. Mientras que el artista italiano sustituyó las referencias africanas en su trabajo con alusiones a la pintura popular en Toscana, su breve uso del exotismo demuestra la manera en que referencias no-Occidentales interactuaron con el arte italiano a pesar de no contar con vínculos coloniales directos a su lugar de origen. Esta consideración de los murales y escritos de Soffici en torno al primitivismo funciona como una pre-historia de la apropiación fascista de fuentes africanas para legitimar su proyecto colonial, pues en general eran presentadas como inferiores al clasicismo. Palabras clave: Modernidad. Comunidad. Festividad Tradicional. Given Ardengo Soffici’s key role in the development of Italian art, it is necessary to scrutinize his engagement with exotic primitivism. This was part of his broader primitivism, namely an interest in sources then outside of the canon, such as folk art, the early Florentine Renaissance, Paul Cézanne, and Henri Rousseau. While rooted in his country’s artistic heritage, his interest in these sources was influenced by figures such as Guillaume Apollinaire and Pablo Picasso, reflecting his insider knowledge of advanced Parisian culture. 1 As such, Soffici’s primitivism was a complex blend of modernity and tradition that developed in a unique manner; while many European artists that turned to exotic primitivism did so in order to abandon the conventions upheld by 1 Mario Richter, La formazione francese di Ardengo Soffici 1900-1914, Prato 2 2000 ( 1 1969). For an analysis of images of Africans in Italian art and visual culture, see Karen Pinkus, Bodily Regimes: Italian Advertising Under Fascism, Minneapolis 1995, pp. 22-81. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 6 academic art and its reliance on classicism, Soffici blurred this antagonism in several frescoes, only to restore it after World War I. 2 The fresco cycle The Room of the Mannequins (1914), which he painted to decorate the philosopher Giovanni Papini’s country house in Bulciano, Tuscany, includes figures reminiscent of Picasso’s African women and inserted itself within the classical practice of decorating villa interiors with pastoral landscapes. 3 These paintings reveal that representations of Africans in Italian art before and during the war were initially mediated by French modernism and colonialism. For instance, the paintings include a number of formal references to Cubism and collage, and the dark-skinned figures recall Picasso and André Derain’s primitivist women. When analyzed alonside Soffici’s contemporaneous writings about African art and Cubism, the frescoes bring to focus Italian artists’ complicated response to French modernism. For instance, despite the fact that Italy had few colonial holdings at the time, its artists adapted France’s appropriation of non-Western sources according to their own concerns. Soffici’s visual and written primitivism points to important intersections and divergences between French and Italian modernism that have heretofore not been examined in depth. Though his early writings on African sculpture centered on its importance for Cubism, his nationalist turn led him to abandon this positive appraisal of non-Western art in favor of employing Italian folk art instead. Yet The Room of the Mannequins belies Soffici’s rejection of non-European primitivism in his art criticism, and displays further peculiarities present in the Italian approach to non-Western art. Since they were painted during World War I, these primitivist frescoes allowed Soffici to pose the superiority of Mediterranean culture over that of Germany, as will be seen below. 2 Giambattista Vico was the first to consider primitivism in relation to classicism, see Frances Connelly, The Sleep of Reason: Primitivism in Modern European Art and Aesthetics, 1725-1907, University Park 1995. 3 Diana Spencer, Roman Landscape: Culture and Identity, Cambridge 2010. See also The Pastoral Landscape, conference proceedings Washington D.C. 1992, ed. by John Dixon Hunt, Hanover and London 1992. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 7 Finally, my analysis of The Room of the Mannequins points towards the need to examine primitivism in Italy after the end of the armed conflict. Though in 1914 they referenced Soffici’s debt to French art rather than Italian colonialism in Africa, during the late thirties, black bodies and faces appeared in numerous publications, murals and mosaics comissioned by the regime. They were used to highlight the purity of the classical body, and by extension, the superiority of Italian civilization and race, and were often tied to the regime’s colonial discourse. Due to this, Soffici’s primitivist works and writings must not only be read within the context of the artist’s defense of Mediterranean culture during World War I, but also in light of his eventual support of fascist colonialism during the late 1930s. Italian primitivism and the history of modern art The rise and subsequent erasure or suppression of exotic primitivism in Italy has yet to be adequately addressed. Specifically, the ways in which non-Western sources were processed in Italy have to be described on their own terms rather than according to French and/or German art and their respective colonial projects. Though Ezio Bassani’s essay in the Museum of Modern Art’s (MoMA) catalog for the 1984 exhibition “Primitivism” in Modern Art: Affinity of the Tribal and Modern, traced Umberto Boccioni and Carlo Carrà’s exposure to both African art and French primitivism, it unfortunately erased Soffici’s key role in this phenomenon.4 The fact that he also denied that primitivism did existed during Fascism is also problematic, and has unfortunately precluded a more sustained engagement with Italian developments related to this. More recent studies have dealt with this, such as Alessandro Del Puppo’s essays on Amedeo Modigliani, which are insightful contributions to the field, but mostly focus on the Parisian context his career developed in. Emily Braun’s work on Mario Sironi’s expressionism does not dwell on his exotic primitivism, which was mediated by German 4 Bassani (note 15). Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 8 Expressionism.5 Other accounts have focused on primitivism in terms of naïveté and the influence of the Italian primitive painters or have only considered the first two decades of the twentieth century.6 Rather than restricting the existence of non-Western primitivism in Italy to the years leading up to and including World War I, as several of these studies do, I argue in favor of analyzing this phenomenon and the discourse that emerged against it before and during Fascism. Tellingly, the artists that rejected the exotic sought out similar primordial qualities in native sources such as folk art, the Italian primitives, Etruscan and Romanesque art while retaining formal elements and qualities associated with non- Western objects. Thus, focusing on Soffici’s primitivism is a way to reconsider its reception and development in Italy as well as the ways in which it drew upon and diverged from its development in France. Beyond arguing for the need to reconstruct and analyze the development of primitivism in Italy by focusing on Soffici, it is necessary to insert this country within recent debates regarding modernist primitivism. Until the mid-1980s, the art historical discourse on this strand had mostly refused engage with Western imperialism and the racist assumptions that sustained it; additionally, most studies written about this topic have centered on the primitivism that arose in countries with substantial colonial holdings. For instance, Robert Goldwater analyzed this phenomenon as early as 1938, but he neither tied it to colonialism nor considered it beyond a formal approach. Moreover, he predominantly relied on French and German examples. 7 In many ways, his reading of non-Western art’s effect on modernism cast it as a passive source, as part 5 Del Puppo; Braun. 6 See Alessandra Borgogelli, Raffaella Bonzano, Francesco Cavallini, Pierluca Nardoni, eds. Aspetti del primitivismo in Italia, Dipartimento delle Arti visive, performative, mediali Alma Mater Studiorum – Università di Bologna, 2015; and Maria Grazia Messina, Le muse d’oltremare, Turin XXXX. 7 Robert Goldwater, Primitivism in Modern Art, New York 1967. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 9 of “an internal dialectic of liberation from narrative content towards an emphasis on material form.” 8 Goldwater’s focus on formal similarities or correspondences between non- Western and modern art has since been questioned, most notably in the harsh critical reception of the MoMA’s aforementioned exhibition. 9 A number of prominent art historians and anthropologists reproached the museum for displaying art from Africa and Oceania in order to highlight modernism’s formal innovations without analyzing the colonial context that made these sources available, their intended function, or the rise of modernist projects outside of Europe. As in Goldwater’s reading, the exhibition’s curator, William Rubin, admitted no real influence, claiming that modern art’s path towards formal experimentation was merely confirmed by non-Western sources, and emphasizing instead an ahistorical relationship between ‘tribal’ and modern art. In order to revise Italy’s role within Europe’s appropriation of African art, my essay considers Soffici’s reconfiguration of French primitivism and traces how he used African references in his frescoes and art criticism. Rather than focusing only on formal or stylistic elements, it seeks to demonstrate that his depiction of African women, despite being mediated by French art, responded to Italian artistic and political concerns. His representation of these figures as timeless and passive also fits within the European racial discourse that justified colonialism, an example of how artists whose countries were not colonial powers felt entitled to employ these sources according to their needs. In general, this artist diverges from an art historical narrative largely shaped by French art and imperialism, which suggests that a comparative approach to European 8 See Fred Myers, “‘Primitivism,’ Anthropology and the Category of ‘Primitive Art,’” in Handbook of Material Culture, Chris Tilley, Susanne Kuechler, Michael Rowlands, Webb Keane and Patricia Spyer, eds. Sage Press, p. 271. Emphasis in the original. 9 For an anthology that includes the most important responses to the Museum of Modern Art’s exhibition on primitivism, see Jack Flam and Miriam Deutsch, eds. Primitivism and Twentieth-Century Art: A Documentary History, Berkeley 2003. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 10 primitivism presents a fuller picture of the variety of ways in which African art was received and reconfigured in this continent. Soffici’s art criticism, Cubism, and primitivism Soffici’s writings about primitivism were more accessible than his frescoes at Bulciano, since they appeared in the influential Florentine magazines La Voce (1908-1916) and Lacerba (1913-1915), the latter of which he directed alongside Papini. These articles were part of his campaign to update Italian art after having spent seven years in Paris (1900-1907). While in France, Soffici was part of Picasso and Apollinaire’s circle; though he is now largely forgotten outside of Italy due to his allegiance to Fascism, he promoted Impressionism, Post-Impressionism, Cézanne, Rousseau, Arthur Rimbaud, and Cubism in Italy before World War I through his paintings, the exhibits he organized, and his art criticism, which often attacked Italy’s artistic institutions and their outdated taste. Soffici’s role in Italy was akin to that of Alfred Stieglitz or Roger Fry in their respective countries, since each of them promoted European modernism and engaged with its primitivism during the first two decades of the twentieth century. Soffici was in Paris when French artists “discovered” African sources at the Trocadéro and other venues, and he began to write about this in 1911. His interest in African sculpture and its effects on modern painting was predicated upon his early appreciation of Cubism, and he was one of the first European intellectuals to evaluate this movement’s primitivism positively. However, his nationalism and belief in the supremacy of Italian culture increased in 1913, and he began to look at local sources, namely, Tuscan folk paintings and painted signs as an alternative. Thus, his return to African references in 1914 in the Bulciano frescoes marks his one of his last moments of cosmopolitanism and constitutes an important episode in the reception of Cubism and its primitivist tendencies outside of France. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 11 Even before his harsh denouncement exotic primitivism in his writings in 1914, Soffici valued it insofar as it could be inserted into a reading that privileged his country’s art. In the essay “Picasso e Braque,” published in La Voce in 1911 and perhaps one of the first accounts of Cubism to be published in Italy, Soffici praised this movement’s reliance on African sculpture while replicating stereotypes regarding its creators. At the same time, this account of Cubism considers African art’s importance for the French movement, and more importantly, describes it as an acceptable catalyst for the renewal of European painting. This indirect, or oblique primitivism depended on Cubism and its sources, but was ultimately tied to Soffici’s attempt to restore Italian art’s greatness by looking towards France. According to this article, Picasso had turned to African sculpture in his path towards Cubism and against Impressionism, an approach which Soffici did not yet see as a threat to his country’s artistic heritage. Rather, he noted that Cubism was able to incorporate Western and non-Western sources in order to return to Italian art’s plasticity. The following passage gives African sculpture a central role in this shift: Moreover, the decisive step, which would lead our artist [Picasso] to a much more advanced field of experiences, was not taken until two years later, that is, when after distancing himself progressively from the Impressionists’ vision, he found a more solid foundation for his later research in an art opposite to theirs. This art was the painting and sculpture of the antique Egyptians, and of the Africans—and perhaps even more natively synthetic—of the savage peoples of southern Africa. […] Picasso instead […] (unlike Gauguin)—even perhaps due to his somewhat Moorish origin—after he understood and loved that naïve and great art, simple and expressive, coarse and refined at once, immediately knew how to appropriate its essential virtues, and because these consisted in realistically interpreting nature by deforming its Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 12 aspects according to a hidden lyrical need in order to intensify its suggestive qualities, applied himself from then on to translate, in his works, the real, by transforming and deforming it, not as his masters had done, but—as each showed him with a particular example—by following his modern soul’s own ways. 10 While referring to their creators as “popoli selvaggi,” Soffici linked the sculptures to Picasso’s rediscovery of plasticity, a category which he claimed defined Italian art as well as making it superior to that of other nations’. 11 He also described African art as primitive and sincere, adjectives he had also applied to Cézanne, Rousseau and the Italian primitives, thus alluding to an expanded primitivism that incorporated both Western and non-Western sources. 12 In a sense, while many French artists sought primitive art in order to reject academicism, Soffici inserted it within a reading that valued Cubism’s plastic values and linked this to the Italian Renaissance. Soffici’s attitudes regarding African sculpture certainly reveal a Eurocentric bias, but it is important to note that at the time most Italian critics, art historians and anthropologists, would have refused to consider such works as art or as source for Europeans. Indeed, Soffici’s reading of this art was more or less in line with those of Apollinaire, Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler and Carl Einstein, who either noted its status as art 10 Soffici, (note 5). The original text reads: “Tuttavia il passo decisivo, quello che doveva condurre il nostro artista in un campo di esperienze molto più avanzate, non fu fatto che, un paio d’anni più tardi, e cioè quando egli, dopo essersi progressivamente allontanato dal modo di vedere degli impressionisti, trovo; in un’arte opposta alla loro un fondamento più fermo alle sue ricerche ulteriori. Quest’arte fu la pittura e la scultura degli antichissimi egiziani, e quelle africani—e forse anche più nativamente sintetiche—dei popoli selvaggi dell’Africa meridionale. [...] Picasso invece [al contrario di Gauguin]—fors’anche in grazia della sua origine quasi moresca—una volta arrivato alla comprensione e all’amore di quell’arte ingenua e grande, semplice ed espressiva, grossolana e raffinata ad un tempo, subito seppe appropriarsene le virtù essenziali, e poiché queste consistono insomma nell’interpretar realisticamente la natura deformandone gli aspetti secondo un’occulta necessita lirica, affine d’intensificare la suggestività, egli s’applico d’allora in poi a tradurre, nelle sue opere, il vero trasformandolo e deformandolo, non peraltro al modo che facevano i suoi maestri, ma—com’essi gl’insegnavano ciascuno con un particolare esempio—seguendo i propri moti della sua anima moderna.” 11 Ardengo Soffici, “Picasso e Braque”, in: La Voce, 24 August 1911. 12 Soffici, “Paul Cézanne”, in: Vita d’arte, 8 June 1908; “Henri Rousseau”, in La Voce, 15 September 1910; and “Un libro su Rousseau”, in: La Voce, 30 November, 1911. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 13 or its key role for the development of Cubism. 13 One important difference between them and Soffici, however, is that the artist claimed that the sculptures had aided the cubist painters to reinstate the Renaissance’s plasticity. This dialogue between Italian nationalism and primitivism is also present in the frescoes and will be discussed below. Before painting these works, however, the artist reconsidered not only the pertinence of African sculpture for the development of Italian art, but also that of Cubism, a choice consistent with the continental rappel à l’ordre during and after World War I and the concurrent rise of Fascism. Soffici’s position on African art shifted in response to his views on Cubism and his temporary alliance with Futurism. This occurred in his magazine Lacerba from 1913 onwards, and he adopted an increasingly nationalistic perspective that was motivated by his strtegic adherence to Marinetti’s movement. 14 In “Cubismo e oltre (abecedario),” for example, he minimized the importance of African art; rather than praising primitivism’s role in Picasso’s recovery of plasticity, he stressed that the Italian Renaissance had anticipated it. 15 Additionally, he claimed that the Futurists were in fact developing ways 13 The most representative texts these authors wrote on African art are the following: Guillaume Apollinaire, Sculptures Nègres. 24 photographies précédées d'un avertissement de Guillaume Apollinaire et d'un exposé de Paul Guillaume, Paris 1917, which was based on “Mélanophilie ou mélanomanie”, in: Le Mercure de France, 1 April 1917; Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, “L’arte nègre et le cubisme”, in: Présence Africaine, 2 March-April 1948, pp. 367-77; and Carl Einstein, Negerplastik, Leipzig 1915. For recent interpretations on Einstein, see Zeidler, Form as Revolt: Carl Einstein and the Ground of Modern Art, Ithaca 2016; Carl Einstein und die europäische Avantegarde, ed. by Nicola Creighton and Andreas Kramer, Berlin 2012; and Conor Joyce, Carl Einstein in Documents: and his Collaboration with Georges Bataille, Philadelphia 2002. Needless to say, the scholarship on Einstein has grown in recent years and it is impossible to list all of them. 14 For a discussion of Soffici’s reconsideration of Cubism in Lacerba, see Del Puppo, “Lacerba” 1913-1915, Bergamo 2000, pp. 63-66. 15 Soffici, “Cubismo e oltre (abecedario)”, in: Lacerba, 15 January 1913. The original text reads: “Chi desiderasse nomi celebri di precursori del cubismo, anche senza risalire ai nostri primitivi, ai bizantini, agli egiziani, agli africani, si protrebbero citare quelli di Masaccio, del Greco, di Rembrandt, di Tintoretto Di tutti quei pittori che nelle loro opere hanno cercato di esprimere—anzichè l’incanto della luminosità iridata, delle linee soavi e diligenti, dell’elegante vaporosità—la sobria sodezza dei corpi e degli oggetti, il peso, la gravitazione delle masse, l’equilibrio dei pani e dei volumi.—La forza del chiaroscuro. (Noterò anzi, per incidente, che sotto questo aspetto la migliore arte italiana, il cui merito precipuo consiste appunto in questa sobrietà, sodezza, pesantezza, equilibrio, è d’essenza precisamente cubista—e il cubismo, perciò, specialmente consono alla nostra tradizione. Il che hanno capito alcuni critici francesi i quali accusano i cubisti di esotismo).” Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 14 to expand Cubism in order to lead it to its logical conclusion, further demonstrating that his shift towards Futurism movement modified his attitude regarding the French art and its primitivism. 16 As such, rather than measuring his primitivism against that of French artists, it is important to consider that his writings about it mediated between his waning appreciating for Parisian art and his belief that Futurism could lead Italian art to return to its lost greatness. While Soffici’s articles for Lacerba reassessed and relativized the importance of African sources for Cubism, his later articulated a clearer rejection of them. His anthology Cubismo e futurismo (1914) included a short piece entitled “L’antiarcaismo futurista,” which might have been written upon Carrà’s suggestion, who was then still a member of Futurism. 17 Here, arcaismo refers to artists’ reliance on African art or on art from the past, both of which he dismissed as excessive intellectualism, proposing instead the primitivism of the early Italian Rennaissance. 18 In this article, Soffici rejected African art as well as ancient Egyptian art, referring to the preference for them as excessive “refinement, intellectualism, literariness, smug snobbery, decadent mysticism.” 19 By rejecting African sources as archaic and using terms that could likewise be applied to symbolist art, Soffici sided with Futurism’s scorn for the past and aided this movement to distance itself from Cubism and France. This explains the artist’s insistence in relegating African art to a timeless era, a trope that had been prevalent in nineteenth-century anthropology and racial discourse and which continued to be employed well into the twentieth century. 20 16 ibidem. 17 See Soffici, Cubismo e futurismo, Florence 1914; and Del Puppo 2000 (note 9), p. 214. 18 Soffici 1914 (note 12), p. 77. For instance, Soffici returned to the primitivism of French symbolist artists, which was untainted by African art’s arcaismo: “[...] non si esce dalla ripetizione e in fondo dall’intellettualismo, ispirandosi ai primitivi dell’Egitto o del Congo di quel che non si faccia ispirandosi, come facevan Puvis de Chavannes de Maurice Denis ai nostri pittori del tre e del quattrocento.” 19 ibidem, p. 75. The original reads: “raffinatezza, d’intelletualismo, di letterarietà, di sufficienza snobbistica, di misticismo decadente.” 20 See Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object (New York: Columbia University Press, 1893). Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 15 Soffici’s pictorial primitivism, Picasso, Rousseau and Matisse Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon (1907), which Soffici had seen in Paris, was his main source for the exotic primitivism present in the frescoes, especially with respect to the female figures. Besides that, they feature references to cubist collage and to works by Robert Delaunay, Marc Chagall, and Derain, demonstrating his, and by extension, Papini’s close ties to the French scene. 21 This synthesis confirms that African art’s influence on French painting was one of many elements that Italian artists and intellectuals grappled with after the turn of the century as they moved away from Post- Impressionism and Symbolism, leading towards an indirect primitivism. Though it is clear that Carrà, Boccioni and Soffici could have seen firsthand the same African sculptures that artists based in Paris adapted in their works, the Tuscan artist’s frescoes at Bulciano are an instance of cultural mediation. For instance, rather than presenting the women from Picasso’s Demoiselles as threatening figures, he minimized this aspect by lessening their mask-like features and by placing them within a playful atmosphere recalling classical pastorals. Though all the frescoes at Bulciano demonstrate the influence of Picasso, a portion of them is essentially a mirror image of Les Demoiselles. An earlier work by Soffici, I Mendicanti (1911), painted the same year he reviewed Cubism’s and African sculpture’s plasticity positively, also recalls Picasso’s canvas. In Bulciano, however, other than representing nude women, Soffici borrowed the crouching figure from Demoiselles as well as the left-most one. 22 The dancer in the middle recalls the standing figure on the right side of Picasso’s work; her features are not as clearly indebted to African masks, but her skin color signals her racial difference. While I mendicanti 21 See Franco Russoli, ed. Ardengo Soffici. L’artista e lo scrittore nella cultura del’900, Florence 1975, cited in Soffici. Immagini e documenti (1879-1964), ed. by Luigi Cavallo, Florence 1986, p. 234. Russoli identifies the influence of Picasso, Delaunay, Chagall, Derain, and Van Dongen. He sees this combination of Cubism and Expressionism as similar to that of Kirchner, Schmidt-Rotluff, and even Larionov. 22 The crouching figure also resembles Derain’s bathers, which were influenced by Cézanne’s late bathers. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 16 removed most of the exotic primitivism employed by Picasso by depicting clothed Italian peasants, and in a sense, anticipated his shift towards Tuscan folk art, Soffici’s frescoes retain a clear African identity without representing the women as dangerous ‘savages.’ Soffici’s reliance on Rousseau’s naïve style and fantastic jungle scenes likewise tempered Picasso’s violent representation of African women. This turn towards Rousseau coincided with Soffici’s previous art criticism, since he had written about this artist in 1910 and 1911 for La Voce by using terms akin to those with which he praised African art. 23 At Papini’s villa, Rousseau’s naïveté is evoked throughout The Room of the Mannequins and by the medium employed to paint the frescoes; for example, the artist chose materials commonly used by imbianchini (house painters or whitewashers) and was aided by Papini’s two young daughters, decisions which sought to give the works a sense of informality. 24 At the same time, the medium employed is in keeping with his growing interest in Tuscan folk art and painted signs, which eventually replaced exotic primitivism. Soffici’s depiction of the landscape and the women within it also incorporated a variant of primitivism tied to the pastoral landscape, a tradition harking back to antiquity that had been recently updated by Matisse. Despite his lukewarm opinion on this painter, Soffici’s frescoes adopted a classical aesthetic reminiscent of several of his seminal post-Fauve works. 25 The largest portion of The Room of the Mannequins resembles the composition and mood of one of Matisse’s most important pastorals, Joy of Life (1905-06). While the lines and geometric shapes in the fresco evoke Cubism, the 23 See note 6. 24 See Ardengo Soffici: vocazione e mestiere, la pittura murale dalla “Stanza dei manichini’ all’affresco di Fognano, ed. By Marco Moretti/Carlo Vanni Menichi, Pontedera 2010, p. 8; and Soffici, Fine di un mondo: autoritratto d'artista italiano nel quadro del suo tempo: IV. Virilità, Florence 1955, pp. 427-28. 25 Soffici included a landscape by Matisse lent to him by Bernard Berenson at the Prima mostra italiana dell’impressionismo, which he organized in 1910. See Soffici, “L’impressionismo a Firenze”, in: La Voce, May 12 1910, cited in Catherine C. Bock Weiss, Henri Matisse: A Guide to Research, London and New York 2014, p. 464. It is likely that the artist saw Matisse’s Dance in 1910 while in Paris, see Soffici and Giuseppe Prezzolini, Carteggio. Vol I 1907-18, ed. by Mario Richter, Rome 1977, p. 83, letter 92, Paris, 19 February 1910. In this letter Soffici mentions the retrospective of Matisse’s work at Bernheim-June gallery in 1910. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 17 subject matter in Bulciano is clearly pastoral given the presence of figures dancing, tending animals, and lounging. The three standing figures on the left likewise bring to mind Matisse’s canvas. Soffici’s debt to this artist is also evident in the figures’ flatness and stance, which recall those in Dance (1910); in these works, both artists appear to have taken their human figures from archaic red figure vases, yet another source that was associated with primitivism at the time. While looking at Rousseau had allowed Soffici to avoid the threatening nature of Picasso’s Demoiselles, his turn to Matisse established The Room of the Mannequins as a modern pastoral, enabling it to function as a refuge from the violence of World War I. Primitive and pastoral While pastoral landscapes illustrate peaceful scenes, such representations usually surface at times of chaos and strife. 26 In this particular case, Soffici’s frescoes depict a harmonious environment precisely at the beginning of World War I, when French, and by extension, Mediterranean culture was being endangered by Germany, at least according to the artist. 27 On a personal level, the war had interrupted his exchange with Apollinaire, one of the few Paris-based intellectuals he continued to value after returning to Italy and with whom he had hoped to create an Italo-French movement after the armed conflict alongside Giorgio de Chirico and Savinio. 28 This joint effort was 26 John Dixon Hunt, “Introduction: Pastorals and Pastoralism”, in The Pastoral Landscape, conference proceedings Washington D.C., ed. by Hunt, Hannover 1992, p. 15. 27 Del Puppo 2000 (note 9), pp. 244-48. 28 See Paolo Baldacci, De Chirico 1888-1919. La Metafisica, Milan 1997, p. 302ff; and Richter (note 1), pp. 258. Baldacci touches upon this project when he describes Savinio and de Chirico’s links with Apollinaire, Soffici and Papini but does not explore this within the context of Soffici’s career. See also Giorgio de Chirico, Penso all pittura, solo scopo della mia vita. 51 lettere e cartoline ad Ardengo Soffici 1914-1942, edited by Luigi Cavallo (Milan: Scheiwiller, 1987). Cavallo discusses the relationship between de Chirico and Soffici but does not explicitly describe their attempt to work with Apollinaire after the war or their competing aesthetics with respect to Valori Plastici. See also, De Chirico to Ardengo Soffici, 30 December 1914(?), in Baldacci, De Chirico, 303. The original text reads: “[...] noi infatti dobbiamo essere amici e dobbiamo amarci stimarci ed aiutarci, imperrocché siamo pochi, siamo una pleiade piccola, e ciò che facciamo e ciò che faremo è grande. Dopo la guerra noi dovremmo essere più uniti di prima poiché abbiamo i medesimi ideali. [...] Dopo la Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 18 discussed several months after the frescoes had been painted, which demonstrates that in 1914, Soffici was thinking about a pan-Mediterranean cultural project. Thus, these works revisit the exotic primitivism Soffici had rejected earlier in 1913 and 1914 in order to negate the effects of the war, since he included African women as a way to represent a Mediterranean Arcadia. Though there are no clear references to modern Italy in the paintings, the allusions to Matisse’s pastorals established a link to this country’s classical heritage. As in the pastoral tradition, Soffici’s frescoes provided a temporary refuge from the reality that threatened to destroy this idyll. In 1955, the artist mentioned in his autobiography the anxiety that Germany and its allies’ threat to France had caused him and Papini, noting that after the fresco was completed, they returned to Florence in the fall of 1914 and went on to advocate in favor of Italy’s entrance into the war. 29 Indeed, the contemplative mood evoked by both the frescoes and by the villa itself was at once an escape from the war and a reminder of the Parisian scene it seemed to threaten. At around the same time, other intellectuals interested in restoring Italy’s lost greatness relied on the opposition between Mediterranean and Nordic Europe in their landscapes related to the war. For example, the futurist leader and poet Marinetti used typography in order to condemn Germanic civilization and promote the expansion of Italy towards the Balkans; his work operated differently than the frescoes from Bulciano, however, since rather than seeking refuge from the chaos of war, he exalted it. Moreover, rather than return to the pastoral, the cultural agitator drew on French modernist poetry’s visual experiments in order to represent the war’s violence and confusion. Their different approaches to the conflict and to landscapes clearly illustrate that Soffici was working within the pastoral tradition and its resurgence in French modern painting. Additionally, his blend of exotic primitivism and classicism allowed him guerra insieme a lui (Apoll) ed a qualche altro potremo formare un circolo più solido, più forte e più puro di quella specie di riunione ridicola che erano ‘Les Soirées de Paris’” 29 Soffici 1955 (note 21), pp. 428-29. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 19 to depict an updated pastoral that alluded to the Mediterranean cultural project he sought to pursue as well. Soffici’s frescoes at Bulciano depended on racial difference in order to depict a peaceful atmosphere typical of pastorals, thus creating a distance between the viewer, in this case Papini, and the women represented. According to the conventions ruling the pastoral genre since antiquity, the peasants (or ‘natives,’ in this case) depicted are important insofar as their leisurely life in the country provides an escape for the educated viewer. At Bulciano, all the figures, whether African or not, allow the ideal viewer to fashion himself as a sophisticated observer, especially since several of them are naked. 30 This nakedness further separates the European viewer/creator from the non-European figures, exalting the difference between self and Other. Thus, while at first sight it appears that Soffici’s work has no clear racial bias, the dark-skinned figures at Bulciano are included because they portray uncivilized individuals whose dances were supposed to alleviate the artist and his friend’s anxieties by reminding them of Parisian art and their hopes to collaborate with Apollinaire. Moreover, despite the numerous references to French modernity, the cycle simultaneously evokes a timeless atmosphere, which emphasizes the figures’ racial difference, since in general, non- European cultures were relegated to an earlier temporal and cultural order than the West. As such, The Room of the Mannequin’s harmonious atmosphere, while rooted in the classical pastoral, depended on the racist attitudes that upheld French colonialism and that made African sources available to artists such as Soffici. Though Soffici’s frescoes processed recent developments in French painting, namely Cubism and Matisse’s works, an important precursor to this racially charged pastoral can be found in Paul Gauguin’s paintings, which rejected modern urban life by representing Tahitians within colorful, timeless landscapes. These tropical pastorals 30 For an analysis of Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon from a feminist perspective that also considers colonialism, see Anna Chave, “New Encounters with Les Demoiselles d'Avignon: Gender, Race, and the Origins of Cubism”, in: The Art Bulletin, LXXVI (1994): pp. 596-611. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 20 were in turn preceded by his idealized representations of religious peasants, usually Breton women and children, and constitute one of modern painting’s earliest considerations of the “primitive”. 31 Gauguin himself inserted his works within the French classical landscape tradition; much like Cézanne and Matisse, his works set in Brittany and Tahiti revisited the ideal landscapes first developed by Nicolas Poussin and Claude Lorrain. Notably, both Matisse and Gauguin often relied on non-European “natives” rather than peasants, shepherds, or figures from classical mythology or history in order to reinforce the distance between the idylls represented and their intended viewers. This reveals that Soffici’s primitivism was rooted in the tradition of depicting the Other within a landscape that arose during the nineteenth century; at the same time, it harked back to the pastoral landscapes painted in Baroque Italy by French artists, which were in turn indebted to pastorals created during the classical antiquity and the Renaissance. Despite the fact that Soffici’s pastoral frescoes immediate precursors belonged to the French tradition, it is important to consider that they were equally indebted to his identity as a Tuscan artist intellectual, which he carefully crafted after his return to Italy in 1907 and throughout his career. Tellingly, The Room of the Mannequins is not the only example in which Soffici and Papini relied on “simple” folk to represent an ideal landscape or pastoral. For example, several passages in his proto-fascist novel Lemmonio Boreo (1911) and in Papini’s autobiographical account Un Uomo Finito (1913) relied on Tuscany’s countryside and its peasants as settings and supporting characters for their respective protagonists adventures. 32 While both intellectuals were 31 One of the first accounts analysis of Gauguin that considers him from a gendered approach is Abigail Solomon- Godeau, “Going Native: Paul Gauguin and the Invention of Primitivist Modernism” in The Expanded Discourse: Feminism and Art History, N. Broude and M. Garrard (eds.). New York: Harper Collins, 1986. More recent scholarship has dealt with other aspects of this, see: Elizabeth C. Childs, Vanishing Paradise: Art and Exoticism In Colonial Tahiti (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003); Patty O'Brien, The Pacific Muse: Exotic Femininity and the Colonial Pacific (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006); Ruud Welten, “Paul Gauguin and the complexity of the primitivist gaze”, Journal of Art Historiography 7 n.12 (June 2015): pp. 1-13.; and Ralph Hajj, “Savage Strategies: Parisian Avant-garde and 'Savage' Brittany in the Definition of Paul Gauguin”, Third Text 16 n. 2 (June 2002): pp. 167-181. 32 Soffici, Lemmonio Boreo, Florence 1912. Soffici published a revised edition during the rise of Fascism, see Lemmonio Boreo, Florence 1921. See also Giovanni Papini, Un uomo finito, Florence 1913. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 21 extremely interested in their region’s countryside and its culture, they did not engage with its peasants or sought to denounce or improve their living conditions. Instead, Soffici idealized the exploitative sharecropping system prevalent in Italy during the nineteenth century, which had survived well into the twentieth century, mezzadria. In the frescoes, African figures substituted the Tuscan peasants included in the aforementioned pastoral accounts, and more importantly, functioned similarly, that is, as markers of timelessness and simplicity. Once Soffici returned to his representation of Italian peasants and proposed Tuscan folk art as a source, he abandoned non-Western primitivism and the depiction of Africans. Responses to The Room of the Mannequins Although Soffici’s frescoes were painted in an informal, lighthearted manner, written responses to this work reveal the intricate manner in which his primitivism operated as well as their respective authors’ attitude towards the African figures. Papini himself was the first to write about these frescoes in a prose poem from 1915 entitled “La sala dei manichini,” which the blend of primitive and European sources present in the frescos and retaining certain aspects related to the pastoral at the same time as he objectified them. 33 Soffici’s choice to depict dark-skinned figures distanced them from European viewers, while Papini’s poem further dehumanized them. For instance, the poet referred to these figures as mannequins, which likely led to the frescoes’ title and could be a potential link to de Chirico’s works and the widespread rise of humanoids, mannequins and mechanized men in modern art. The metaphysical painter began to depict mannequins in 1914, and eventually, objects such as store mannequins and automatons became common tropes in European art between the wars. This also resonated with Marinetti’s novel Mafarka le futuriste (1909), whose protagonist was a mechanized 33 Papini, “La sala dei manichini”, in: Cento pagine di poesie, Florence 3 1920 ( 1 1915). Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 22 African man that jointly embodied Futurism’s idealization of irrationality, savagery, and technology. 34 Finally, he fact that Papini refers to them as figures that are not quite human goes hand in hand with Soffici’s racist description of African sculptors as “popoli selvaggi” in 1911 even as he recognized their creations’ role in the rise of Cubism. In his poem, Papini erases any sort of temporal or cultural specificity, further relegating these women to a realm outside of European civilization while establishing these works as a pastoral. Indeed, he mentions Native Americans, Algerian Turks (sic), Noah’s rainbow, black women, and graceful natives despite the fact that not all of these figures or elements are present in the The Room of the Mannequins. 35 Through the writer’s description dancing “savages,” this prose poem further confirms that the scene is a pastoral playground for European intellectuals, since it begins and ends with references to an “unmoored soul” who might drown in such exotic places but nonetheless seeks them out in order to flee the middle classes’ “homicidal respectability” by imitating the “black doll that lengthens her bestial sadness along the wall, join the dance, until falling, in the resplandecent epilepsy of this prismatic banquet.” 36 In this passage, Papini’s description of a liberating dance unequivocally characterizes the frescoes as an escape, which reinforces their function as a pastoral scene. Thus, Papini’s poem described Soffici’s primitivism as a challenge to the Italian bourgeoisie, proposing instead an atmosphere that encourages loss of control through the representation and imitation of African individuals. Though Papini’s prose poem resonates with several aspects of Soffici’s adaptation of Picasso’s African women in the years leading up to the Great War, later accounts clarify primitivism’s place in Italian culture after World War II. Indeed, Soffici’s 34 Filippo Tomasso Marinetti, Mafarka le futuriste: un roman coloniale, Paris 1909. 35 Papini 1915 (note 30), the references are as follows: Native Americans and Algerian Turks, p. 109; Noah’s rainbow and black women, p. 110; and graceful natives, p. 111. 36 ibidem, pp. 109, 112. Papini refers to an “anima disancorata” that might escape the middle classes’ “omicida rispettabilità” by imitating the “bambola nera che allunga sul muro la sua bestiale tristezza, balla anche te, fino alla caduta, nell’epilessia rutilante di questo banquetto prismatico.” Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 23 eventual suppression of his non-European sources in his writings regarding The Room of the Mannequins should be considered in light of his art criticism before and after Fascism. Though he had considered it as key for Cubism, African art and exotic primitivism are all but ignored in his memoirs and accounts written after 1945; this occurred despite the fact that the artist focused exclusively on his experiences up to and including World War I given that they were untainted by Fascism and could help rehabilitate his career after the regime’s fall. Soffici’s autobiography, published in 1955, mentions the frescoes but does not acknowledge any direct or indirect engagement with non-Western sources or primitivism, referring instead to “sacred representations” as well as Greek and Etruscan vases. 37 This selective narrative calls to mind art history’s recognition of primitivism as crucial for the formal development of European modernism and its (until recently) concomitant refusal to further explore aspects such as colonialism or even problematize this appropriation. At the same time, this selective erasure suggests the challenges scholars face when exploring elements that are expunged from artists’ careers and/or subsequent autobiographies, as in the case of Soffici and Carrà’s suppression of their exotic primitivism during and after World War I. Despite the fact that Soffici omitted his reliance on primitivism in his biographical account of the creation of The Room of the Mannequins, a third account did recognize its presence within these frescoes. Viola Paskowszki Papini, one the philosopher’s daughters that had helped the artist paint the villa’s walls, described the frescoes in 1956 as an “alarming dance” in which a “a dark and unhappy Negress” rested near an ox while two men, who resembled lion tamers, observed the females dance like 37 Soffici 1955 (note 21), pp. 428-429. The original text reads: “Coprii [sic] il primo muro delle immagini figurate di uomini, donne, animali, piante, secondo il carattere, le forme, lo stile, il colore della mia più recente pittura; copersi la seconda parete di nudi danzanti, un po’ come si vede nelle raffigurazioni sacre e nei vasi greci ed etruschi; copersi la terza di bagnanti, femmine e maschi, in piedi asciugandosi, o sdraiati fra l’erba e i fiori della riva. Nei pannelli che restavano, allato alle finestre, dipinsi nell’uno, una danzatrice sola agitante un velo giallo; nell’altro una giovane donna seduta accanto a un banchetto di fruttaliola: e così tutta la stanza fu a posto.” Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 24 “beasts.” 38 Tellingly, Paskowszki Papini’s allusions to the African figures focus on their skin color and gender, and she likens women to dancing beasts, marking their difference from the peaceful “lion tamers.” Unlike her father, she does not see this as a space for freedom, but rather, as a frantic, disorienting scene. Her description incorporated common stereotypes regarding African rituals, which were regarded with fear by European colonizers well into the twentieth century. 39 While Paskowszki Papini emphasizes the African elements within the frescos, Soffici's autobiography, published one year before, removes such acknowledgement, rendering hers even more salient. Moreover, the philosopher’s daughter relies on common tropes regarding Africa while chronicling her childhood, and in a sense, reflects mainstream attitudes regarding non-Western populations and colonialism after the end of World War II. These attitudes also fit shed light on the development of primitivism in Italian art, since unlike in France, it did not usually lead to a more nuanced desire to engage with colonized peoples and their art, as in the case of Surrealism, for instance. Primitive and Italian? Soffici’s abandonment of Cubism seems to have announced the end of Italian primitivism, and correspondingly, has precluded a thorough evaluation of its development. Despite recent denials that Italian primitivism based on exotic sources existed at all, a number of his compatriots continued to rely on African sources and/or modernist primitivism after World War I, both in their writings and works of art. 40 This fraught reliance on exotic elements is typified by the mainly negative reception of the exhibitions of African sculpture and Modigliani’s work at the 1922 Biennale and by this 38 See Viola Paszkowski Papini, La bambina guardava, Milan 1956. Originally quoted in Papini and Mario Novaro, Carteggio, 1906-1943, ed. by Andrea Aveto, Rome 2002, p. 70, note 1. 39 Paszkowski Papini’s view of these frescoes contrasts with Einstein’s interest in African masks and rituals as part of his consideration of African sculpture. See Einstein (note 7) and Joyce Cheng, “Immanence out of Sight: Formal Rigor and Ritual Function in Carl Einstein’s ‘Negerplastik’”, in: RES, no. 55/56, Absconding (2009), pp. 87-102. 40 Braun, Journal of Modern Italian Studies. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 25 artist’s critical fortune in Italy after his death in 1920. The artist’s bohemianism and primitive sources were denounced by some critics (including Soffici) during the 1922 Biennale and were further rejected on the occasion of a second monographic exhibition of his works curated by Lionello Venturi for the 1930 edition of the Venetian exhibition. 41 The exhibition of African sculptures at the Biennale epitomizes this country’s complicated engagement with these sources as well as the exceptional nature of the Italian case. The organizers’ background reveals that it was approached from an ethnographic perspective, since Carlo Anti, an archaeologist, and Aldobrandino Mocchi, an anthropologist, selected the pieces. Previous exhibitions of African sculpture and modern art held in France and the United States, for instance, were usually held by artists or gallery owners such as Stieglitz and Paul Guillaume. Additionally, in the Biennale’s exhibition’s catalog, Anti recognized African sculpture’s role in European art but warned that it should not serve as an inspiration for Italian artists, while several of the critics who reviewed the Biennale denied the works’ beauty or status as art. 42 Indeed, Soffici’s abandonment of primitivism and the reception of the Biennale have led to a generalized refusal to reconstruct Italy’s primitivism and/or anti-primitivism. Nevertheless, this strand’s eventual links to fascist colonialism renders the reconsideration of this engagement with non-Western art an urgent task. The 1922 and 1930 Biennali established a continuing, if tense, engagement with primitivism, and this strand developed well into the late 1930s. Never fully excised from Italian culture, the relationship between African culture and modern art found itself at the center of fascist racial discourse, since magazines such as Il Perseo (1930-1939?) and 41 See Braun, “The Faces of Modigliani: Identity Politics under Fascism”, in: Modern Art and the Idea of the Mediterranean, ed. by Vojtěch Jirat-Wasiutyński, Toronto 2007, pp. 181-205; and Dominique Jarrassé and Maria Grazia Messina, “Introduction”, in: Expressionnisme: une construction de l'Autre/ Espressionismo: una costruzione dell'Altro, Paris 2012, pp.11-18. 42 See Carlo Anti, “Mostra di scultura negra”, in: Catalogo della XIII esposizione internazionale d’arte della città di Venezia, exh. cat. Venice 1922, Milan 1922, pp. 41-42; and “Scultura negra”, in: Dedalo I (1921), pp. 592-621, which preceded the exhibition. Others did not consider these works as art, for example, Francesco Sapori, “La XIII esposizione internazionale d’arte a Venezia. Introduzione con l’arte negra”, in: Emporium, LV (1922), pp. 275-280; and Deccio Buffoni, “La XIII Biennale di Venezia—Il ‘Palazzo dell’esposizione’”, in: Il Primato artistico italiano, IV (1922): pp.275-280. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 26 La difesa della razza (1938-1943) denounced the deformation present in primitivist works, noting that it threatened Italian culture and racial purity. Despite the fact that several of the artists accused of relying on African art and the deformation, elongation and distortion associated with it had created works for the regime and were dedicated fascists, they were blamed for denigrating the Italian race. 43 This position was certainly influenced by German initiatives such as the exhibition Entartete Kunst (1937), but it also built upon the discourse on African art that arose during the 1922 Biennale. Furthermore, its racism resonated with Soffici’s writings on African culture, fascist colonialism, and the need to recover Rome’s imperial greatness that he published during the mid to late 1930s. Thus, whereas in the Bulciano frescoes the artists had combined classical and exotic references in order to defend Mediterranean culture, he did the opposite once Italy launched in its own imperial project. Soffici’s primitivism in the Bulciano frescoes responded to the cultural and political context determined by the outbreak of World War I. Though there are no clear political allusions, The Room of the Mannequins evoked a pastoral scene as well as Picasso’s Demoiselles, creating a Mediterranean front that attempted to discredit German political and cultural hegemony. This anti-German sentiment was rooted in Giorgio Vasari’s approach to what he perceived as a decline in art due to the barbarian invasion of Rome, a view Soffici subscribed to after his return to Italy by attacking the symbolist artist Franz Stuck in his review of the 1910 Biennale. 44 During the war, the futurists as well as Soffici wrote articles against Germany and its culture in order to persuade the 43 See for example, Anonymous, “Le opere di certi modernisti è chiaro che denigrano la razza”, in: Perseo, 10 January 1938. The works criticized in this article were by Giorgio Morandi, Carlo Carrà, Arturo Martini, Marino Marini, Lucio Fontana and Corrado Cagli. 44 For a recent consideration of the classical-barbarian dichotomy in art history, see Eric Michaud, “Barbarian Invasions and the Racialization of Art History,” October no. 139 (Winter 2012): 59-76. Soffici reviewed the Biennale in four separate articles: see Soffici, “L’Esposizione di Venezia,” La Voce (4 November 1909); (11 November 1909); (27 October 1910); and (3 November 1910). Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 27 public to support the entrance of Italy into the armed conflict. 45 Since the dark-skinned figures were indices of the Parisian milieu that both Soffici and Papini valued, they were part of a pastoral meant to counteract a perceived danger coming from Europe itself, not from the African continent. Thus, the possibility that Germany would invade France led the artist to create a primitive pastoral that did not destabilize the classical, but rather, sought to maintain the superiority of Mediterranean Europe. During the 1920s and 30s, Soffici reinstated the opposition between the classical and the primitive, and eventually supported the fascist empire. Soon after the war ended, the artist repudiated his avant-garde experience in his magazine Rete Mediterranea (1920, itself a clear allusion to the Roman empire’s mare nostrum, a notion that Fascism recovered as part of its colonial project) and in his retrospective exhibition that same year. He also wrote negatively about the African sculptures and Modigliani’s works featured in the 1922 Biennale, advising artists to leave exotic sources behind. 46 Though Soffici stopped creating works inflected by exotic primitivism, his writings continued to depend on notions regarding the alleged cultural and racial inferiority of African individuals. In 1937, for example, Soffici sailed to Libya as part of a group of intellectuals that accompanied Mussolini on a tour of this colony. He eagerly chronicled this trip in La Gazzetta del Popolo and praised the dictator while characterizing the locals as animals and using an orientalizing language to refer to this country as timeless. 47 Whereas his earlier primitivism had opposed German imperialism, his depiction of Libyans as uncivilized peoples contributed to fascist colonialism. Two years later, he made multiple allusions to the Roman Empire in the conservative magazine Il 45 See Soffici, “Per la guerra,” Lacerba (1 and 15 September 1914); and “Sulla barbarie tedesca,” Lacerba (1 November 1915). 46 Soffici, “Gli italiani all’Esposizione di Venezia”, in: Il Resto del Carlino, XXXVIII, 16 June 1922, p. 3. Cited in Emanuele Greco, “L’arte negra all Biennale di Venezia del 1922. Ricostruzione del dibattito critico sulle riviste italiane”, in: Annali. Arte, musica e spettacolo, XI (2010), p. 365. 47 Soffici wrote several columns about his trip to Libya, see “Itinerario Libico”, in: La Gazzetta del Popolo, 25 April, 14 May, 28 May, 9 July, 31 August, and 10 September 1937; and “Paesaggio cirenaico”, ibidem, 24 December 1937. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 28 Frontespizio (1929-1940) while viciously attacking African culture. 48 Thus, while in 1914, Soffici’s African women relaxed within a classical pastoral to provide himself and Papini a momentary escape from the war, once Fascism consolidated its empire, his depiction of African individuals went hand in hand with the regime’s racial policies, in which they were to be dominated, segregated, and civilized so as to recover ancient Rome’s glory. Tellingly, in 1939, Soffici blamed the French Revolution for the demise of European civilization, since by then, Italians no longer needed this country’s mediation in order to access exotic sources, as they had succeeded in creating their own, if short lived, African empire in Libya, Eritrea, and Ethiopia. 49 Conclutions In general, art history has not paid attention to the rise and development of primitivism as well as its political implications in countries with few colonial holdings. Unfortunately, its first practitioners within the Italian milieu provoked the apparent erasure and subsequent disinterest in these sources. Soffici was the first to do this, as he recognized and then denied the importance of primitivism for Cubism, an operation that is replicated by the relative lack of research on his and other Italian artists’ reliance on African sources. Nevertheless, throughout the ventennio, artists and scholars did continue to engage with African sources and/or European primitivism. Others sought out domestic primitivisms as an alternative, which allowed them to retain certain formal characteristics as well as African art’s ‘sincerity’ and coarseness without directly relying on the exotic. Furthermore, Italian modernism’s debt to tradition and collaboration with Fascism has severely limited its primitivism’s visibility within art history. Despite these incomplete art historical narratives, the visual and textual evidence of an Italian primitivist turn (in)directly informed by African sources remains. More importantly, it challenges the art historical account that credits European artists with 48 Soffici, “Mediterranea”, in: Il Frontespizio, XI (1939), pp. 203-209. 49 ibidem. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 29 leading towards an acceptance of non-Western artifacts as artistic, not ethnographic objects between the wars. Whereas in France avant-garde artists’ appreciation and deployment of these sources led to debates regarding their potential entrance into art museums as early as 1914 and 1920, Italian artists’ primitivism did not subscribe to this, at least during Fascism. Besides, while the surrealists organized a counter-exhibition to denounce the Exposition international coloniale in 1931, artists associated with Futurism created artworks for the regime’s pavilion that drew upon French primitivism in order to promote fascist colonialism. Indeed, modernist primitivism became one of the several aesthetics used by the regime; most notably, it appeared in large-scale, public works such as Enrico Prampolini’s murals for the Mostra Triennale delle Terre Italiane d'Oltremare in Naples. In other words, the use of African sources or representation of Africans in modern Italian art developed well into late Fascism and did not lead to nuanced debates that questioned racism or colonialism, as had occurred in France, and to a lesser degree in the United States and in Germany before Nazism. Soffici’s adoption and subsequent repudiation of primitivism is a notable part of Italian modernism, and should lead us to reconsider Italy’s eccentric contribution to European primitivism. As I have shown, the artist adapted French primitivism in order to present an alternative to German political and cultural hegemony in his pastoral frescoes at Bulciano and later refuted this integration of non-Western elements into a pastoral in order to support the fascist regime. More importantly, his later writings on Libya and on fascist imperialism prove that Italian primitivism survived well into late Fascism, revealing the need for a more thorough engagement with the ways in which this country deployed this strand. Rweferencias Alejandría, C. (1998) El pedagogo. Introducción de Ángel Castiñeira. Traducción y notas de Joan Sariol Díaz. Madrid. Editorial Gredos. Biblioteca Clásica # 118. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 30 Alvar, J. (2001) Los misterios. Religiones “orientales” en el Imperio Romano. Barcelona. Editorial Crítica. Antología de la literatura latina (ss. III a.C.-II d.C.) (2001). Selección e introducción de J. C. Fernández Corte y A. Moreno Hernández. Madrid. Alianza editorial. Clásicos de Grecia y Roma. Antología de la poesía erótica española e hispanoamericana (2003). Edición de Pedro Provencio. Madrid. Ediciones Edaf. Biblioteca Edaf # 258. Antología de poesía erótica griega. Poemas de amor y sexo en Gracia. (2009) Edición bilingüe y traducción de José Luis Calvo Martínez. Madrid. Ediciones Cátedra. Col. Letras Universales. Archer, R. (2001) Misoginia y defensa de las mujeres. Antología de textos medievales. Madrid. Ediciones Cátedra / Universitat de Valècia / Instituto de la Mujer. Aristóteles. (1978) Acerca del alma. Introducción, traducción y notas de Tomás Calvo Martínez. Madrid. Editorial Gredos. Biblioteca Clásica Gredos # 14 _________. (2005) Fragmentos. Introducción, traducción y notas de Álvaro Vallejo campos. Madrid. Editorial Gredos. Biblioteca Clásica Gredos # 338 Epigramas eróticos griegos. Antología palatina (Libros V y XII) (2001). Introducción, traducción y notas de Guillermo Galán Vioque y Miguel Á. Márquez Guerrero. Madrid. Alianza editorial. El libro de bolsillo. Clásicos de Grecia y Roma. Gómez Pallares, J. (2003) Stvdiosa Roma. Los géneros literarios de la cultura romana. Barcelona. Universitat Autónoma de Barcelona. Grimal, P. (2011) El amor en la Roma antigua. Madrid. Paidos. Paidós Orígenes. La Biblia. (1995) Traducida, presentada y comentada para las comunidades cristianas de Latinoamérica y para los que buscan a Dios. Madrid. Editorial San Pablo y Editorial Verbo Divino. Larroyo, F. y Escobar, E. (1974) Introducción a la filosofía de la cultura. México. Editorial Porrúa. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 31 Mosès, S. (1999) El Eros y la Ley. Lecturas bíblicas. Traducción de Alejandrina Falcón. Buenos Aires. Katz Editores. Manzano, J. (2009) Nietzsche. Detective de bajos fondos. México. Universidad Iberoamericana. Segunda edición. Mead, G. R. S. (2006) Apolonio de Tyana, filósofo y ocultista reformador del primer siglo de J. C. traducción y prólogo de Rafael Urbano. México. Berbera Editores. Ovidio Nasón, P. (1995) Amores. Arte de amar. Sobre la cosmética del rostro femenino. Remedios contra el amor. Traducción, introducción y notas de Vicente Cristóbal López. Madrid. Editorial Gredos. Biblioteca clásica # 120. Propercio. (1983) Elegías. Versión de Rubén Bonifaz Nuño. México. Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Mexicana. UNAM. Quintana Salazar, E. (2011) “La Erótica como punto de apoyo para la comprensión del mundo; o De evasiones y banalidades en el hombre de principios del siglo XXI”. Guadalajara. En Xipe Totek Revista trimestral del Departamento de Filosofía y Humanidades, Iteso. N. 3 /30 de septiembre de 2011. 268-280 pp. ____________________________. (2014) Antología de canciones-baladas románticas en español, escuchadas en la radio en México. Manuscrito. México. Santa María del Río, San Luis Potosí. Robert, J. N. (1999) Eros romano. Sexo y moral en la Roma antigua. Traducción de Eduardo Bajo Álvarez. España. Editorial Complutense. Sánchez Ortega, M. E.. (1992) La mujer y la sexualidad en el antiguo régimen. La perspectiva inquisitorial. Madrid. Ediciones Akal. Santayana, G. (1994) Tres poetas filósofos / Diálogos en el limbo. México. Col. Sepan Cuantos # 645. Editorial Porrúa Valbuena, M. (1793) Diccionario Universal latino-español, compuesto por… Madrid. Imprenta de Don Benito Cano. Obtenido el 12 de agosto de 2014. Revista de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Filosofía / Departamento de Letras ISSN: 1562-384X Año XXI. Número 71 Enero-Junio 2017 32 http://books.google.es/books?id=tS7OOe7quykC&pg=PR1&source=gbs_selected _pages&cad=2#v=onepage&q&f=false. Veyne, P. (1991) La elegía erótica romana. El amor, la poesía y el Occidente. Traducción de Juan José Utrilla. México. FCE. Vives, L. (1957) Tratado de alma. Madrid. Col. Austral. Espasa Calpe. Xirau, R. (1974) De ideas y no ideas. Cinco ensayos de filosofía contemporánea. México. Cuadernos de Joaquín Mortiz. 
work_dbwq3dz3anfjflwo5s36pxljky	----	Logos and pathos in the paintings of Sandro Botticelli 1/6 www.jpnim.com Open Access eISSN: 2281-0692 Journal of Pediatric and Neonatal Individualized Medicine 2019;8(2):e080227 doi: 10.7363/080227 Received: 2019 Sept 10; accepted: 2019 Sept 11; published online: 2019 Oct 23 Logos and pathos in the paintings of Sandro Botticelli Giuseppe Di Giacomo Faculty of Philosophy, Sapienza University of Rome, Rome, Italy Abstract The Author focuses on the representation of the anatomical defects detected in Botticelli’s paintings as a process of individualization of the sitter. It seems coherent with the non idealistic patterns brought about by the newest acquaintance with the Flemish painture, pursued in Italy thanks to the innovative style of Antonello da Messina. It is seen as closely related with the dramatization and the emotional effect of the portrayal, a challenge between logos and pathos, between drawing and color, rationale and emotional. Keywords Botticelli, Portrait of a Young Man, Italian Renaissance, facial deformity in art, non idealistic naturalism. Corresponding author Giuseppe Di Giacomo, Professor of Aesthetics, Faculty of Philosophy, Sapienza University of Rome, Rome, Italy; email: giuseppe.digiacomo@uniroma.it. How to cite Di Giacomo G. Logos and pathos in the paintings of Sandro Botticelli. J Pediatr Neonat Individual Med. 2019;8(2):e080227. doi: 10.7363/080227. Original article 2/6 Di Giacomo Journal of Pediatric and Neonatal Individualized Medicine • vol. 8 • n. 2 • 2019www.jpnim.com Open Access In his remarkable essay “Cranio-facial deformity in the Botticelli’s ‘Portrait of a Young Man’ (NG626)” [1], Francesco Velardi, Pediatric Neurosurgeon, speculates that, in this young man’s portrait painted in 1483, Sandro Botticelli reveals an anatomical defect of the sitter, a “cranio-facial deformity”. Keeping in mind that his investigation is dealing with a portrait and not with a real man, Velardi has the capacity to confirm the evidences he claims through a detailed analysis, inclusive of a comprehensive 3-dimensional reformatting of the face, together with diverse modelling. In this paper, the highlighting of the facial deformity of the sitter appears very stimulating, as it converts the subject in a determined individual character, even without taking into account his identity. This process of individualization appears of utmost importance when referred to the Italian Renaissance, a period in which it was clear that the art of painting was operating within an idealistic realm. The urgency to idealize is evident in Raffaello’s “Stanza della Segnatura” (1508-1511), where the artist syntetises in a mythological contest the figurative representation of the philosophical, theological and artistic Platonic ideals during the Florentine Renaissance. From this point of view, it is possible to state, according to the Hegel’s notion, that Man pursues the Truth just through Art, Religion and Philosophy. This perspective is adherent to the standpoint of humanistic Artists, Literates and Philosophers; hence, it was allowed to represent the great founding Platonic-humanistic ideas in the form of myths and images, other than through concepts. In the Botticelli’s portrait, the “Ideal” was not overshadowed. Instead, it is coupled and melted within a framework of reality. As Velardi emphasizes, the onset of this perspective, in connection with the Neo-Platonic ideal of Beauty theorized in Florence by Marsilio Ficino, is undoubtedly the effect of the newest acquaintance with the Flemish painture, pursued in Italy thanks to the innovative style of Antonello da Messina. This groundbreaking Northern pattern is remarkably dominated by the depiction of deformities and, more in general, by a naturalism that remains totally outside the ideal Beauty. Undeniably, Ratio and Harmony, founded upon the rules of perspective established by Piero della Francesca, are the canons of Beauty determining the pictorial language in the Italian Renaissance, most of all when it comes to represent the human physiognomy. In Northern European countries, the search for a “non idealistic naturalism”, that can be defined “fabulous” or “fantastic”, was fostered instead: it is thanks to this “naturalism” that the Flemish style appears as revolutionary, compared with the Neo-Platonic Italian models. Hence, in the art-works by Bruegel and Bosch we find, indeed, a “fantastic naturalism”. Nonetheless, in these masterpieces the “subject” of the painting has to be considered “fantastic”. That is to say, “what” the painter represents is fantastic, not “how” he depicts it, since the style refers to the traditional naturalism. On the contrary, analyzing “Guernica”, a modern masterpiece by Pablo Picasso, we realize that, in this case, what we recognize as “anti-naturalistic” is not the “subject”, that appears realistic – the condemnation of violence – rather the “form”, that appears cracked and discontinuous. More in general, it is possible to state that, with the Flemish paintings, the depiction of an imperfect humanity earns in dignity. The rendering of imperfect bodies or deformities is not an exception, it becomes obvious that Beauty manifests even through imperfections and asymmetries, because Beauty belongs not to the subject itself, instead to its “form”. Once Antonello da Messina settled in Venice in 1475, hailing from the Flemish countries, Venetian painters, Giovanni Bellini first within others, learned to favour oil instead of tempera. Indeed, oil-binded colors, used by Flemish painters, enable overlapping layers of paint, ensuring subtle color tone gradients and never-perceived-before light effects. In addition, they begin to experience the use of canvas as painting support, in the place of the more traditional ones, namely wood. In actual facts, the expressive potential of the combined effect between oil (as a binder) and canvas (as a support) becomes increasingly striking. Although clearly defined lines were at the basis of the Florentine draughtsmanship, in accord with the artistic concepts argued by Vasari, painters no longer favour forms laid out by markedly defined outlines. Venetian artists, Giorgione and Sebastiano del Piombo in the first place and Titian masterfully thereafter, handle their weightless brush to spread thin coatings of saturated color tonalities, perfectly suitable for replicating the shades of the sitter’s complexion. This relevance of color and attention to its handling becomes the dominating style in Venice, in contrast with the Florentine draughtsmanship. Two antipodal attitudes: markedly defined outlines for the 3/6 Journal of Pediatric and Neonatal Individualized Medicine • vol. 8 • n. 2 • 2019 www.jpnim.com Open Access Logos and pathos in the paintings of Sandro Botticelli Florentine style, splashes of warm color tones typical of the Venetian patterns. Nevertheless, after the introduction in Italy of the Flemish style, operated by Antonello da Messina, the “imperfection” is not regarded any more as a negative point within representations. According to the Aby Warburg’s claims [2], the “Pathosformeln” (“forms of pathos”) derived from the Greek art may be recognized in the Italian Renaissance paintings. Italian painters would renew these elements to express “pathetic” scenarios and to emphasize individual idiosyncrasies, albeit within defined human types. In Botticelli’s paintings the connection between logos and pathos, i.e. between “Ideal” and “Real”, is worked out from these perspectives. With good reasons, Velardi considers Botticelli’s style as new and, at the same time, ancient, typical as well as individual. Displaying the physical defect, the Painter underlines the individuality of his depiction, closely related with the dramatization and the emotional effect of his portrayal, indeed the true elements of “pathos”. For these reasons the challenge logos-pathos, i.e. drawing-color, is predominant in Botticelli, even though the feature expressing the logos, thus the drawing, has always been considered predominant in his art production. As such, a peculiar balance between line and color can be observed specifically in Botticelli, so much that it is impossible to make clear where the line vanishes and the color dawns. This balance create the living source for the “gracefulness” expressed by the Painter. Not surprisingly, it is possible to perceive, in Botticelli’s paintings, a sense of melancholy, expressed with different connotations in all his works, both secular and religious. This emotion may be the source of the mysterious fascination differentiating Botticelli from his coeval artists. The emotion that arises while regarding at his lines and volumes, at his depthless compositions, at his hesitation between the earthly and the celestial world, even that melancholy, are perceived as the awareness of the forever-lost heaven. As regards the lack of deepness in the Botticelli’s picture arrangements, it should be observed that space and time are never presented in a preset form in his paintings. The Painter defines an “anti-prospectic” type of representation as the key benchmark to set-up vision. As well, he shrinks time within an “atemporal” scale. Therefore, such an arrangement of spatial representation prevents any illusion of deepness. Space shows no adequately perceivable depth. Likewise, volume and masses of the figures are underemphasized. Along with human figures, perspective space is nothing more than an impression and a symbol as well. Thus, we are confronting with a bi-dimensional figuration and a depiction finalized at creating the illusion of depth. Botticelli, “neglect and transgress” the rules of perspective he is certainly familiar with. More than that, he goes beyond, he “transcends” within an essentially “a-phisical” dimension, virtually as a definite compositional choice, antithetical to the one adopted by Leonardo. As a result, Botticelli’s paintings are strongly “a-prospectic”, with an “evocative” more than “descriptive” style. Botticelli represents the characters within the framework as they had no body-weight. This attitude clearly manifests the painter’s detachment from the physical elements of reality. Even colour fades away and vanishes in his textural components, to be given back as pure “quality”, whereas light itself loses essence, density and source, and remains only as a vague, poorly defined, “spiritual” irradiation. Warburg [2, 3] emphasizes the occurrence of “pathetic” characters in Botticelli’s paintings. He underlines that Italian Renaissance artists refers to the Classic Greek motifs because of their Apollonian as well as Dionysian character, thus, as such, heavy with “pathos”. Accordingly, the Italian artists of the 13th century mention the ancient Greek models for reasons in contrast with the image of the classical sculpture left behind by Johann Winckelmann. While, according to Winckelmann, the majesty of antiquity entails the “stillness” and a kind of “unabashed serenity”, Warburg claims that in 1400’s the interest for antique models is closely related to those “Pathosformeln” from which the artists of Italian Renaissance derived their images of passion and sorrow. Thus, the “noble simplicity” (peaceful grandness) that Winckelmann observed in the Greek statuary is not the rule, at least not the only rule, for the Greek style. From this point of view, according to Warburg, Botticelli produced pictures representing from within a connection between “Pathetic” (or Psychological) and “Apollonian” (or Formal) realms, being such a relationship the equivalent of the ratio between “colour” and “line”. The relationship and the ever-unstable balance between these two concepts give place to a kind of “disquiet”, distinctive of Botticelli’s works. Following Warburg’s advice, this is the origin for the “dreamy” or “pensive” beauty of his characters, 4/6 Di Giacomo Journal of Pediatric and Neonatal Individualized Medicine • vol. 8 • n. 2 • 2019www.jpnim.com Open Access who look as they were just waking up from a dream, with their conscience still permeated by oneiric images. Warburg, referring to the “Primavera” (1478-1482) and the “Birth of Venus” (1484- 1486) [2], debates on a certain dualism between “Involvement” and “Detachment”, i.e. between “Pathetic” and “Apollonian” elements. He states that in those figures “the eyes, it’s true, appear turned toward the objects of the world outside, but not exactly staring at any of those”. In this way, the “Placid Beauty” of Botticelli paintings brings some remnants of sleep, allowing glimpses of the nightlife. This is a way, for the ancient “Pathos”, to be revealed. Therefore, whatever is “intelligible” (i.e. the Apollonian elements) may not be conceived before having been grouped and unified with its “pathos- sensible” elements (i.e. with his Dionysian characters). Thereby, “Beauty” itself turns out to be drenched with “pathetic” elements, the ones that Warburg recognizes as signs of the “surviving paganism”. In his opinion, “observing” an image is not merely “looking at” something. Instead, it entails a process of “bringing back to memory”, through which the impact of primal forces and emotions do not dissolve, rather manifest in ever new and always different forms. This memory, embodied in the picture, or rather in his perceptible components, provides reasons for the multi-layered stratification of different values (i.e. depiction). The opportunity to find an ultimate and definitive meaning, manifestly evident within the image, is precluded, since it would have granted merging the “Sensible” into the “Intelligible”. The denial of the ultimate meaning is also the denial to “Enlighten” and to provide a meaning for the “Beginning”, for the “Origin”, that have proved to be unavailable for the human understanding. The “Origin” may be included only in “Myths”. As for a mythical source it may just be narrated, again and forever. “The Birth of Venus” is a testimony. Warburg describes the Botticelli’ Venus – actually the concept also applies to all the Botticelli’s figures, including the “Portrait of a Young Man” that is the topic of Velardi’s essay – as she were arousing from a fading-away dream. He describes her gaze as suspended between waking and sleeping, wobbling amidst dreams and reality. Warburg knows that Botticelli was aware of the details and the deep meanings related to the mythology of the Goddess birth. Botticelli knew it through the description that Angelo Poliziano replicated from Hesiod. According to the legend, Venus rises from the foam of the sea, that represents the seminal fluid of Urano, burst out from his phallus, when cut away with a scythe by his son Chronos. The “Birth of Venus” is preceded by horror and violence. This implies that “Beauty” emerges from a foreground of cruelty, since it is strictly related to that irredeemable imperfection. Erwin Panofsky, in “Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art” [4], agrees with the theory of Warburg. He emphasizes that Venus plays in the “Primavera” and in the “Birth of Venus” as the main character. Both paintings, based upon the “Giostra” by Poliziano, are closely bound together and form an indissoluble unity. The two works should be intended as representing “the Two Venuses” mentioned by Plato and the Neo-Platonists. The “Birth of Venus” would represent the “Heavenly Venus” and should be understood as a glaring theophany. Conversely, in the “Primavera” we faces the “Venus Naturalis”, or “Venus Humanitatis”, as referred to by Marsilio Ficino. In this case, the scene is to be intended as a great celebration rather than a theophany. Edgar Wind, in “Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance” [5], states that the theories expressed by Ficino, Poliziano, and even Botticelli himself, may help to clearly understand Botticelli’s works. Accordingly, the role of Mercurius in the “Primavera” should not be interpreted as representing a complete detachment from the mundane passions, rather in a dynamic relationship with Zephyrus. They represent the two complementary forces of love. Mercurius, the power of reason, indicating the path, Zephyrus indicating the strength of passion. Venus negotiates between the two forces. According to the idea of Nietzsche, asserted in “Die Geburt der Tragödie aus dem Geiste der Musik” [6], the two foundations presiding over an artwork, the “Apollonian” or “Figurative” one and the “Dionysian” or “Aniconic” one, are never separated. No matter how hard Dionysus, God of Music, would hesitate and shy away from any image Apollo, God of the Image, would give him. Nonetheless, it is impossible to conceive Music not bringing with it an Image or a figure. It does not mean that Music is the Image of something external. Images are inspired by the Music, even though no one of those images shall be capable to decipher it totally. Since Dionysus, God of Pathos, inextricably linked with the emotional feature of images, eludes any image that Apollo attempts to assign him, in the world of emotions it “implies” that something fatally eludes the “Transvaluation” (“Umwertung” in German) within the realm of the “Intelligible”. 5/6 Journal of Pediatric and Neonatal Individualized Medicine • vol. 8 • n. 2 • 2019 www.jpnim.com Open Access Logos and pathos in the paintings of Sandro Botticelli For Dionysus, the No-Face, no “migration” may be foreseen from the “a-idios” to the Apollonian “eidos”. Nevertheless, Art is the combined domain of both Dionysus and Apollo. There is no “Formless” without “Form”, there is no “A-idios” without “Eidos”, there is no “Sensible” without “Idea”, there is no “Shadow” without “Light”, just because even the contrary is true as well. Hence, Beauty is drenched with pathetic features, rather than complying with the Neo- Classic ideals outlined by Winckelmann. For these reasons, Warburg claims that the influences of primordial forces and emotions never dissolve, rather mutate during the following ages, still persisting as a basilar element of the representation. Indeed, the Warburg’s concept “Pathosformeln” comes from here, images archetypically displaying the “pathetic” element within the “sensible “ones. The reputation and majesty of Botticelli came back to light at the end of 17th century. In England the Pre-Raphaelites loved in his works the close connection between corporeity and spirituality. As well, in France the link between Marcel Proust and Botticelli, declared by the Author in the “Recherche”, specifically in the chapter entitled Swann’s Way, helps to grasp the deeper meaning of the Proustian masterpiece. Swann is writing an essay about Botticelli. He will never finalize the work, due to his compulsion toward the aestheticism, opposed by Proust himself, which forces him to overlap art with real life. Art in not a “different issue”, completely separated from Life. As Proust alleges and declares in the “Recherche” [7], Art is nurtured by Life, but may never become confused with it. This same interconnection between Art and Life, intended as a link between eternity and ephemerality, may be found in Botticelli. Swann meets Odette at the Verdurin house. At the beginning he recognizes she is not pretty and rather boring. All of a sudden, he realizes that her profile resembles that of Sephora, the daughter of Jethro depicted by Botticelli in the Sistine Chapel. Henceforth he falls in love with her. In the “Recherche” the allusion to Botticelli is not coincidental. The Proust work represents the effort, pursued for four thousands pages, to attain “Absolute” and “Eternity”, to redeem the “Bounded” and the “Ephemeral”, i.e. the “Accidental”, to assert and give the life an ultimate “Sense”. On the other hand, the Author realizes that “Eternity” cannot be achieved unless going through “Time”. The paintings by Botticelli are distinguished by the same imperative connection between “Eternity” and “Ephemerality”, from which the melancholy for losing the no more attainable “Paradise”, the “Eternity”, comes. According to the Warburg’s analysis of the Botticelli’s paintings, in Proust the “Wakening” represents the striving between memory and neglect, visible and invisible, discernible and indistinct, since images have no permanence at that stage. As this appears to be the scope of the Proustian narrative, the “Story-Teller” is forced to reveal his “inadequacy to disclose everything”, that he may testify with his work. With Albertine’s death, the “Story-Teller” assumes to be able to overcome time, reaching in this way the “Absolute”, since Albertine represents for him the “Great Goddess of Time”. Conversely, the death of Bergotte occurs in front of “A view of Delft” by Vermeer, a picture the “Story-Teller” considers endowed with an absolute, thus perpetual, beauty. Thence, he discards the idea of “Beauty” as an ultimate purpose, and indicates that “Beauty” and “Eternity” are permeated by “Time”. Once the “Story-Teller” recognizes that “Beauty” is revealed through “Time” and that his work should connect “Eternity” and “Ephemerality”, most predictably he may eventually finalize his narration. All these remarks may be applied also to the Botticelli’s paintings, remarkably to the “Portrait of a Young Man”, exhibited in London at the National Gallery. In this portrait the representation of the physical defect combines “pathos” with “logos”, both expressed through the majesty of draughtsmanship. The coupling between “Ephemerality” and “Eternity” generates a “disquiet”, that is expressed by his nearly absent-minded gaze that watches without seeing. It is a kind of “voyance”, turning in to “present” whatever is “absent”, although still unintelligible. It allows us to “perceive” the “invisible” and “indiscernible” in the realm of the “visible” and “discernible”, leaving everything as it is, invisible indeed. Declaration of interest The Author declares that there is no conflict of interest. References 1. Velardi F. Cranio-facial deformity in the Botticelli’s “Portrait of a Young Man” (NG626). J Pediatr Neonat Individual Med. 2019;8(2):e080226. 6/6 Di Giacomo Journal of Pediatric and Neonatal Individualized Medicine • vol. 8 • n. 2 • 2019www.jpnim.com Open Access 2. Warburg A. Sandro Botticellis Geburt der Venus und Frühling: eine Untersuchung über die Vorstellungen von der Antike in der italienischen Frührenaissance. Hamburg: L. Voss, 1893. 3. Warburg A. Francesco Sassetti letztwillige Verfügung. Leipzig: Hiersemann, 1907. 4. Panofsky E. Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1960. 5. Wind E. Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance. London: Penguin, 1969. 6. Nietzsche F. Die Geburt der Tragödie aus dem Geiste der Musik. Oder: Griechenthum und Pessimismus. Leipzig: E. W. Fritzsch, 1886. 7. Proust M. La fugitive, in A la recherche du temps perdu, 3 voll. Paris: Gallimard, 1950. Abstract Keywords Corresponding author How to cite Main text Declaration of interest References 
work_deumepylmbgybplcxvtcvdc75y	----	STUDI DI STORIA MEDIOEVALE E DI DIPLOMATICA NUOVA SERIE II (2018) B R U N O M O N D A D O R I Didattica e ricerca. L’esperienza del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco di Francesco Senatore in «Studi di Storia Medioevale e di Diplomatica», n.s. II (2018) Dipartimento di Studi Storici dell’Università degli Studi di Milano - Bruno Mondadori https://riviste.unimi.it/index.php/SSMD ISSN 2611-318X ISBN 9788867743360 DOI 10.17464/9788867743360 Studi di Storia Medioevale e di Diplomatica, n.s. II (2018) Rivista del Dipartimento di Studi Storici - Università degli Studi di Milano <https://riviste.unimi.it/index.php/SSMD> ISSN 2611-318X ISBN 9788867743360 DOI 10.17464/9788867743360 Didattica e ricerca. L’esperienza del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco Francesco Senatore Nei mesi di gennaio-maggio 2018 Francesco Storti e chi scrive, docenti di Storia medievale presso l’università Federico II di Napoli, hanno tenuto un seminario su Le corrispondenze diplomatiche nel Rinascimento italiano presso l’Istituto italiano per gli studi filosofici di Napoli. L’iniziativa merita una presentazione in questa sede, perché ha inteso formare i giovani – 12 borsisti – all’edizione di fonti docu- mentarie, facendoli esercitare in particolare sulle lettere destinate ai Dispacci sfor- zeschi da Napoli, prima serie della collana Fonti per la storia di Napoli aragonese, so- stenuta proprio dall’Istituto italiano per gli studi filosofici. La serie, inaugurata nel 1997 e giunta a quattro volumi sui sei previsti, pub- blica le lettere di interesse napoletano spedite dagli ambasciatori e da altri corri- spondenti del duca di Milano (1444-1465). Ad essa si affiancano la seconda serie, già completata, delle corrispondenze fiorentine da Napoli negli anni 1484-1494 (8 volumi), e la terza, di cui sono usciti due volumi, dedicata a corpora documen- tari analoghi 1. Non è necessario dilungarsi sull’importanza della fonte diploma- tica per la storia del Quattrocento, oggetto da sempre di grande attenzione. Va però ricordato che negli ultimi venti anni si è sviluppato un notevole interesse per la diplomazia come complesso di pratiche culturali e sociali e per la lettera 1 Dispacci sforzeschi da Napoli, all’url www.dispaccisforzeschi.it. L’iniziativa fu annunciata nel 1987 dal direttore della collana, DeL TReppO, Napoli aragonese nella corrispondenza degli amba- sciatori. La prima serie è coordinata da Francesco Senatore e Francesco Storti, la seconda da Bruno Figliuolo, la terza da quest’ultimo e Francesco Senatore. per un bilancio recente: RUSSO, La corrispondenza. 239 in sé, i suoi aspetti materiali e linguistici, la sua circolazione, le sue funzioni non solo meramente comunicative e politiche, ma anche formative e performative 2. Rispetto alle corrispondenze fiorentine e milanesi pubblicate 160 anni fa da Giuseppe Canestrini e Arnaud Desjiardins, da François De Gingins La Sarra e altri 3, gli editori attuali adottano criteri più accurati (soprattutto, non mancano di esplicitarli), benché assai differenti da tutti i punti di vista: definizione del cor- pus, trascrizione, apparati critici e testi di commento, appendici e indici 4. Un dato comune è la decifrazione delle scritture segrete, praticata anche quando manca la chiave 5. Il seminario su Le corrispondenze diplomatiche nel Rinascimento italiano non ha avuto certo l’ambizione di formare il perfetto editore di carteggi, ma semplice- mente di fornire un’istruzione di base, tra paleografia, diplomatica, filologia e storia 6, a giovani laureandi e laureati di varia provenienza. Dei dodici borsisti, selezionati tra ventisei candidati, sette erano storici, uno storico dell’arte, due fi- lologi classici, due filologi moderni. La metà era costituita da laureandi di corsi di studio magistrale 7. La formula scelta risale all’anno accademico 2002-2003, quando il seminario, nell’allora Dipartimento di Discipline Storiche, oggi Dipartimento di Studi Uma- nistici dell’Università Federico II di Napoli, si chiamò semplicemente Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco, presentandosi su un avviso cartaceo come «seminario di ri- cerca libero, aperto a tutti gli interessati (studenti del Vecchio e Nuovo Ordina- mento, laureati, dottorandi)», con l’aggiunta che «il seminario non dà crediti né 2 Al pioneristico HyDe, The Role of diplomatic Correspondence hanno fatto seguito SeNATORe, Uno mundo de carta; Politics and Diplomacy; I confini della lettera; péQUIGNOT, Au nom du roi. Negli ultimi cinque anni sono stati pubblicati, tra l’altro, Cartas = Lettres = Lettere; LAzzARINI, Commu- nication and Conflict; eAD., Lettere, minute, registri; De VIVO, Archives of speech; FeRRARI - LAzzARINI - pISeRI, Autografie dell’età minore. Sul versante della storia della lingua si vedano i recenti FeLICI, parole apte et convenienti e MONTUORI, I carteggi diplomatici. Una ricca bibliografia delle edizioni e degli studi, peraltro già invecchiata, è in La diplomazia bassomedievale in Italia. Bilanci delle edizioni diplomatiche sono stati fatti da BeRTeLLI, Diplomazia italiana quattrocentesca; ID., Carteggi diplomatici e in Diplomazia edita. 3 Négociations diplomatiques; Dépêches des ambassadeurs milanais sur la campagne de Charles- le-Hardi duc de Bourgogne; Dépêches des ambassadeurs milanais en France sous Louis XI et François Sforza. 4 SeNATORe, Filologia e buon senso. Alle collane citate in questo saggio va aggiunto il Carteggio degli oratori sforzeschi alla corte pontificia, inaugurato nel 2013. 5 Così in tutti i volumi delle Fonti aragonesi per la storia di Napoli, tra i quali va segnalata, per la decrittazione senza partire da passi decifrati, ancorché brevi, La corrispondenza italiana di Joan Ram Escrivà. 6 Lasciandosi orientare soprattutto da BARTOLI LANGeLI, L’edizione dei testi documentari. 7 Rachele Badile, Ciro Berardinetti, Gianluca Bocchetti, Matteo Briasco, Gilda de Feo, Gian- luca Falcucci, Marco Lo Tufo, Gabriella Macchiarelli, Imma petito, Mariano Saggiomo, Claudio Vergara, Raffaele Vitolo. 240 SSMD, n.s. II (2018) voti: la partecipazione è assolutamente volontaria, ma chi aderisce si impegna a lavorare con assiduità e serietà» 8. La precisazione tradiva l’incipiente insofferenza per il sistema dei crediti, un’innovazione che non si vuole criticare, ma che certo ebbe un effetto immedia- to, chiaro a tutti: far scomparire il seminario, che si aggiungeva – a discrezione dei singoli docenti e secondo le più varie modalità – al corso ufficiale. Nell’uni- versità italiana del XX secolo exeuntis, quando le parole d’ordine erano molto di- verse da quelle attuali 9, uno dei refrain più diffusi nelle riunioni collegiali e nelle rivendicazioni corporative – refrain declinato per lo più strumentalmente – era l’endiadi ricerca-didattica, a significare che era impossibile, oltre che sconveniente, scindere l’attività del ricercatore da quella del docente universitario. In quel mon- do, che non va rimpianto perché era irrazionale e si disinteressava nella sostanza degli studenti ben più di oggi 10, alcuni prendevano sul serio quel refrain, orga- nizzando seminari, cioè incontri periodici nei quali educavano gli studenti alla ricerca, introducendoli nel vivo delle loro passioni. Quelle iniziative, tranne che in casi eccezionali come quello della Scuola Normale di pisa, erano del tutto vo- lontarie per il docente e per gli studenti, che quasi sempre si trovavano a lavorare ben più di quanto prevedessero. Non è possibile documentare il fenomeno nel dettaglio: spesso si trattò davvero di preziose occasioni di incontro tra ricerca e didattica, pur se con risultati incerti e alterni, e naturalmente di un efficace viatico a tesi di laurea assai impegnative. esistevano allora due università, quasi invisi- bili l’una per l’altra: nelle stesse aule e con gli stessi professori alcuni si costrui- vano percorsi ardui e entusiasmanti (non si dimentichi che lo studente di Lettere e Filosofia sceglieva in piena libertà oltre la metà degli esami) 11, altri trovavano scorciatoie verso il pezzo di carta, troppi si arenavano per un decennio, con soffe- renze psicologiche più o meno gravi e sicuri danni sul piano economico e pro- fessionale. Il Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco ambiva a trasferire, nell’università dei CFU, quegli spazi di libertà conosciuti nei seminari tenuti a Napoli, negli anni ’80, da Mario Del Treppo (Storia medievale, Storia economica e sociale del Medioevo), ettore Lepore (Storia della storiografia, Storia romana), Liliana Monti Sabia (Let- teratura medievale e umanistica) e Alberto Varvaro (Filologia romanza), per ci- tare solo i casi – e i maestri – sperimentati in prima persona. È probabile che essi 8 L’annuncio figurava anche nel programma d’esame per tre corsi di Storia medievale (affe- renti a tre diversi corsi di studio triennali), tenuti da chi scrive nel primo anno da professore di II fascia. 9 per una riflessione sulle parole d’ordine dell’università attuale: CApANO - ReGINI - TURRI, Salvare l’università italiana. 10 Celebre al riguardo fu il pamphlet di SIMONe, L’università dei tre tradimenti. 11 I piani di studi furono ‘liberalizzati‘ con la Legge 11 dicembre 1969, n. 910, art. 2. 241 Senatore, Didattica e ricerca. L’esperienza del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco non avessero in testa il medesimo modello, o forse una fonte di ispirazione co- mune potrebbe essere individuata nei seminari dell’Istituto di Studi Storici, già frequentato da Del Treppo e Lepore, che era stato fondato da Benedetto Croce proprio come alternativa all’insegnamento universitario. Il Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco del 2002-2003 ebbe successo, e fu ripetuto fino al 2008-2009. In esso si formarono i tre editori del V volume dei Dispacci sforze- schi 12, per non parlare delle decine di tesi di laurea e di dottorato nate da quel- l’esperienza. Nel frattempo, il Laboratorio è diventato, da nome di un seminario, un gruppo stabile di studiosi, un ambito di condivisione e confronto, un deposito di riproduzioni di documenti (decine di migliaia), trascrizioni, strumenti di cor- redo (indici, inventari, spogli archivistici, chiavi di cifra), libri 13. Nel 2009-2010 l’Istituto storico italiano per il medio evo (ISIMe) ha istituito la Scuola storica nazionale per l’edizione delle fonti documentarie, che «si propone di introdurre i giovani studiosi alle tecniche, ai metodi, alla cultura dell’edizione delle fonti storiche» 14. L’evidente concordanza d’intenti, del tutto casuale, rispet- to al più modesto Laboratorio napoletano dimostra che fra gli studiosi del Me- dioevo è fortissima l’esigenza di spazi di apprendistato ‘professionale’ alternativi all’università e alle scuole di archivistica e paleografia, tra cui spicca quella vati- cana. Anche in questo caso, non si trattava semplicemente di insegnare a leggere e trascrivere le scritture del Medioevo e oltre, ciò che alcuni enti di ricerca fanno in corsi a pagamento 15, ma di fare esercitare gli alunni in un’attività scientifica complessa. La Scuola storica nazionale per l’edizione delle fonti documentarie prevedeva 60 ore di lezione e una quota d’iscrizione (senza contare le spese di viaggio e il forte impegno di studio) in cambio di un semplice attestato di fre- quenza. Nulla, nel mondo dei CFU. eppure, anche in questo caso, la risposta dei 12 Dispacci sforzeschi da Napoli, V, 1° gennaio 1462 - 3 dicembre 1463. 13 Quest’anno il Laboratorio, diretto da Francesco Storti e chi scrive, è stato formalizzato da una delibera del Consiglio di Dipartimento di Studi umanistici (http://studiumanistici. dip.unina.it/it/dipartimento/laboratori-e-archivi/). 14 Così si legge nel sito dell’ISIMe (http://www.isime.it/index.php/formazione-e- bandi/scuola-storica-nazionale-per-l-edizione-delle-fonti-documentarie). La Scuola, diretta da Massimo Miglio e coordinata da Attilio Bartoli Langeli, Antonella Ghignoli, Antonio Ciaralli, paolo Mari, ha operato fino all’anno 2015-16. Ad essa si è aggiunta, nel solo 2014-15, la Scuola storica nazionale per l’edizione delle fonti narrative. Coordinatori e docenti non erano retribuiti né, almeno nei primi anni, rimborsati delle spese di viaggio. 15 Ad esempio il Medici Archive project, con i Summer Seminars in Paleography and Archival Studies (http://www.medici.org/, sezione Courses) e l’école Nationale de chartes (http://www.chartes.psl.eu/fr, sezione Formation continue). Ha tenuto corsi on line di paleografia anche elena Brizio, in collegamento con il Medici Archive project. La sua esperienza è stata presentata nelle tavole rotonde su Methods for Studying and Teaching Vernacular Paleography nel 59° e 61° incontro annuale della Renaissance Society of America, San Diego, CA, 4-6 aprile 2013 e Berlino, 26-28 marzo 2015. 242 SSMD, n.s. II (2018) giovani è stata entusiasta e l’esperienza, cui chi scrive ha partecipato in due an- nualità, senz’altro molto positiva. La riproposizione del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco nel 2018 va collegata al rilancio dell’Istituto italiano per gli studi filosofici, dopo anni di serie difficoltà finanziarie, con conseguente diminuzione delle attività scientifiche e culturali. D’intesa con la segretaria dell’Istituto, Fiorinda Li Vigni, intenzionata a ripren- dere le vecchie collaborazioni, si è deciso di ripetere in quella sede il seminario, facendo tesoro delle esperienze ora ricordate e offrendo una piccola borsa di stu- dio ai frequentanti. Le dieci lezioni, ciascuna di due ore e mezza, sono state divise in una parte teorica, con la presentazione delle tematiche più varie e della relativa bibliografia a partire dal commento di documenti esemplari, e una parte pratica, con eserci- tazioni di lettura, trascrizione, regestazione e decifrazione e con la correzione col- lettiva delle trascrizioni di volta in volta assegnate. Sono stati affrontati i seguenti argomenti: - la situazione politica italiana nella seconda metà del Quattrocento nel quadro delle relazioni interstatali della penisola, dell’europa e del Mediterraneo, - la diplomazia, - la guerra: composizione degli eserciti, tecnica, strategia, - la lettera diplomatica: caratteristiche formali, falsi, scritture segrete, - le corrispondenze estere nei principali archivi italiani, - criteri e problemi dell’edizione delle corrispondenze, - elementi di paleografia e crittografia, - casi di studio. Alle venticinque ore in presenza – come si dice in gergo didattico – si sono ag- giunte almeno un centinaio di ore di lavoro a casa. Dopo che i borsisti si sono spratichiti nella lettura (su grafie umanistiche, in verità, abbastanza facili), e in considerazione della loro qualità e disponibilità, è stato loro affidato un compito scientifico reale: leggere e selezionare un corpus di lettere tratte dalla corrispon- denza tra il Regno di Napoli e il ducato di Milano nel 1471. I borsisti hanno rice- vuto la riproduzione integrale della cartella 220 del Fondo Sforzesco, Potenze estere, Napoli dell’Archivio di Stato di Milano, contenente 181 documenti inediti (pre- valentemente lettere da Napoli degli ambasciatori sforzeschi, in specie Giovan Andrea Cagnola), e l’inventario analitico della cartella effettuato nel 2012 da Cristian Caselli 16. 16 In quell’anno Caselli collaborò, a titolo volontario, con il Laboratorio aragonese e sfor- zesco. 243 Senatore, Didattica e ricerca. L’esperienza del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco Gli studenti, divisi in 3 gruppi con rispettivi coordinatori, hanno scelto 85 do- cumenti e li hanno editi, per un totale di 400.000 caratteri spazi inclusi, dimo- strando in re il successo della formazione ricevuta. Lavorare in gruppo è estre- mamemente stimolante, non ci sarebbe neppure bisogno di sottolinearlo. A conclusione del seminario, ciascun borsista ha scelto, discutendolo con gli altri, un argomento da sviluppare in un breve saggio dedicato ad un singolo aspetto della corrispondenza edita 17, quasi a configurare un’ampia introduzione colletti- va all’edizione documentaria, che sarà integrata e perfezionata, mediante la mis- sione a Milano di due borsisti per i necessari controlli sugli originali. Anche la scelta, ambiziosa, di un lavoro scritto collettivo è stata confortata da esperienze analoghe 18. I singoli interventi sono stati presentati e discussi in un con- vegno 19. In questo modo i borsisti hanno sperimentato diverse attività scientifiche: l’edizione, il saggio, la relazione al convegno, ma in una dimensione collaborativa, con la possibilità di confrontarsi sulla stessa base documentaria e su bibliografie e problemi comuni, ciò che non avviene abitualmente in ambito umanistico. Si sono qui ripercorse a ritroso, a partire dal seminario del 2018, le vicende del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco non per volontà autocelebrativa, né soltanto per darne notizia ai lettori, ma anche per fare qualche riflessione di portata più ge- nerale, sul piano della didattica e dell’organizzazione della ricerca. Questo tipo di seminario ha risposto a due esigenze reali, avvertite come si è vi- sto anche in altri ambienti: la volontà di arricchire la formazione dei laureati e dei dottorandi, e anche degli studenti magistrali, con un’esperienza scientifica concreta; la necessità di un addestramento specifico ai fini dell’edizione documentaria. 17 Rachele Badile, Locuzioni e proverbi nella corrispondenza diplomatica; Ciro Berardinetti, Il sistema delle leghe (1471), Maletta e Cagnola; Gianluca Bocchetti, «Pur se ha paura»: Napoli e l’Italia a confronto con la minaccia turca; Matteo Briasco, Ippolita Maria Sforza: mediazione diplomatica e ruolo politico (1471); Gilda de Feo, «Molto crita e abbaia»: Galeazzo Maria Sforza nella comunicazione politica; Gianluca Falcucci, Ferrante e l’elezione di Sisto IV; Marco Lo Tufo, Il gioco diplomatico di Napoli tra Milano e Venezia; Gabriella Macchiarelli, L’ordito sintattico; Imma petito, Ferrante e il pericolo francese; Mariano Saggiomo, Gli apparati effimeri nelle cerimonie e nelle feste napoletane; Claudio Vergara, Gli aspetti materiali delle lettere; Raffaele Vitolo, Il processo di scrittura: le minute di G. M. Sforza. 18 Quella della Scuola Nazionale per l’edizione delle fonti documentarie e di alcuni inse- gnamenti nel corso di laurea magistrale in Scienze storiche della Federico II. Ad esempio, i corsi di Istituzioni medievali, tenuti da chi scrive e frequentati da un numero di studenti tra 8 e 15, sono stati organizzati a partire dal 2010-2011 secondo lo stesso modello: trascrizione col- lettiva di una fonte latina o – più spesso – volgare, possibilmente seriale e ripetitiva per favorire l’apprendimento paleografico e linguistico (inventari, libri contabili, lettere assai formalizzate, suppliche), redazione di lavori individuali sulla fonte e su singoli aspetti di contesto. enco- miabile è stata un’esperienza, del tutto indipendente, portata avanti da Giancarlo Abbamonte (Filologia classica), della Federico II, e Craig Kallendorf della Texas A&M University. I due do- centi hanno guidato 7 studenti italiani e altrettanti statunitensi in un lavoro collettivo che è ap- prodato alla pubblicazione del volume Classics transformed. 19 1471. «Cose che me fanno crepare lo core»: lettere tra Napoli e Milano, Napoli, Istituto Italiano per gli Studi Filosofici, 19 dicembre 2018. 244 SSMD, n.s. II (2018) per quanto riguarda il primo punto, un’attività didattica siffatta sembrerebbe assolutamente adatta a un dottorato di ricerca. Come noto, da diversi anni il legi- slatore richiede un importante impegno didattico anche nei dottorati. purtroppo, la grande eterogeneità disciplinare dei dottorati spinge i docenti ad organizzare perlopiù cicli di lezioni su argomenti trasversali, approfondimenti metodologici e storiografici, discussioni dei lavori di tesi, rinunciando generalmente ad un ap- prendistato specifico, almeno nei corsi ufficiali. In altre parole, come in passato, l’innovazione didattica e l’addestramento pratico alla ricerca sono affidati all’ini- ziativa dei singoli docenti o dei singoli gruppi, restando all’esterno dell’ordina- mento. eppure, non sarebbe difficile mettere a sistema queste esperienze, e tante altre ugualmente proficue, in un corso di dottorato. Se non lo si fa non è solo per difficoltà formali (i format normativi degli ordinamenti didattici), tutto sommato superabili in questo livello di studi, ma anche per una sorta di riflesso condizionato dei nostri tempi e dei nostri ambienti, che porta a trasformare la programmazione didattica in un adempimento formale, separato dalla sostanza, ovvero dalle prati- che concrete di trasmissione delle conoscenze e competenze. Se il primo seminario del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco si indirizzò anche agli studenti del primo anno della triennale (e qualcuno effettivamente partecipò), nel corso degli anni si è di fatto rinunciato a coinvolgerli. È questa un’importante differenza rispetto ai seminari, sopra ricordati, dell’università di vecchio ordina- mento. essi erano aperti a tutti, dalle matricole ai laureandi, anche perché allora i percorsi non erano rigidi, e gli studenti di annualità e corsi di laurea diversi si incrociavano abitualmente nelle stesse aule, recensendo, con un efficace passa- parola, i migliori seminari disponibili. Un contatto con la ricerca, anche limitato ad esperienze contenute, a semplici simulazioni – come se ne fanno in qualche scuola superiore e in qualche archi- vio 20 – sarebbe di grande giovamento per gli studenti delle lauree triennali, sia quelle storiche, sia quelle filosofiche e linguistico-letterarie, in cui si formano i docenti che insegneranno storia nelle scuole medie e superiori. Come uno stu- dente di biologia fa necessariamente alcune ore di laboratorio, uno studente dei 20 Le esperienze didattiche di questo tipo sono numerose, fin dagli anni ’70, generalmente su cronologie più vicine. Mi piace ricordare la preparazione di una mostra su Ferruccio Parri nelle carte dell’Archivio Centrale dello Stato (1890-1945) da parte degli studenti di un liceo romano, per il commento che ne fece DeL TReppO, Noterelle di didattica, pp. 310-311. Si veda anche, per un esempio di quest’anno, il programma Avventure in archivio/Adventures in archives organizzato da ilCartastorie, Museo dell’Archivio Storico del Banco di Napoli (http://www.ilcartastorie.it/av- ventureinarchivio/) e dal co:op project della Federico II di Napoli (http://www.coop- unina.org/adventures-in-archives/). Siamo, certo, nell’ambito della divulgazione e, come oggi si dice, della ‘disseminazione‘. Richiamo queste iniziative solo per rilevare come non ci siano – a mia conoscenza – esperienze analoghe di simulazione e alfabetizzazione archivistica, per così dire, a un livello più avanzato, quello universitario. 245 Senatore, Didattica e ricerca. L’esperienza del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco corsi di laurea umanistici dovrebbe partecipare obbligatoriamente a laboratori di ricerca, oltre che a laboratori di scrittura e di uso della bibliografia e del web. Non perché tutti debbano fare ricerca da grandi (benché siano sempre di più quelli che lo desiderano, non sempre con piena consapevolezza 21), ma perché è opportuno che tutti sappiano, per esperienza diretta, che cosa è o potrebbe essere una ricerca storica 22. È sconfortante verificare quanto sia difficile, per molti inse- gnanti medi, capire che cosa facciamo davvero quando lavoriamo tanto a lungo in archivio, in biblioteca, al computer. Non credo che ci sia un’estraneità così marcata tra un insegnante – poniamo – di matematica e di scienze e i ricercatori dello stesso settore. Inoltre, è assurdo immaginare che un insegnante medio, che per norma ministeriale dovrebbe spiegare ai suoi alunni che cosa sono le fonti storiche e come si scrive un saggio breve, non abbia mai toccato con mano, sotto la guida di uno storico ‘professionista’, la difficoltà di leggere e interpretare una fonte di qualsiasi genere e di utilizzarla in un’esposizione scritta. La larga presenza di fonti e dossier documentari nei libri scolastici (molto meno in quelli universitari) è dovuta all’ambizione che l’insegnamento della storia nella scuola si configuri preferibilmente come un’attività laboratoriale. Il «laboratorio storico» è stato ed è, come noto, un cavallo di battaglia nei dibattiti e nelle speri- mentazioni didattiche fin dalla fine degli anni ’70, ma prevalentemente nell’ambito delle scuole secondarie e della formazione all’insegnamento post-universitaria o ’permanente’ 23. Qualcosa, invece, andrebbe fatto anche nell’università, introdu- cendo nei tre livelli di formazione occasioni sistematiche di contatto concreto con la ricerca di base, graduandone ovviamente la complessità, dalla mera alfabetiz- zazione filologico-diplomatistica ad attività via via più impegnative, certamente più impegnative di quelle organizzate nelle scuole secondarie o negli Istituti di ricerca didattica. I docenti universitari saprebbero, e dovrebbero, rendere più com- plesse ed efficaci attività formative del genere, perché, per mestiere, fanno ricerca su fonti primarie, a differenza di alcuni formatori degli insegnanti medi 24. per quanto riguarda il secondo punto, va ricordato che, nel 1923, fu istituita la Scuola nazionale di studi medievali, i cui alunni erano insegnanti di scuola di- 21 Sono interessati a fare un dottorato di ricerca il 31,9% dei laureati magistrali in scienze storiche e il 30% circa di quelli in scienze filosofiche e in filologia, letteratura e storia dell’anti- chità, a fronte del 19,6% dei laureati in filologia moderna (dati per l’anno 2017 all’url www.almalaurea.it). 22 Non per esterofilia, ma per comparazione richiamo la sezione práctica nei corsi di storia delle università iberiche e i dossier documentari contenuti nei manuali per la preparazione, in Francia, al CApeS, la certificazione per l’insegnamento nelle scuole secondarie, ad esempio GAILLARD - WAGNeR, Les sociétés en Europe. 23 BRUSA, Il laboratorio storico. Si veda, ad esempio, il sito dell’associazione IRIS. Insegnamento e ricerca interdisciplinare di storia, all’url https://www.storieinrete.org. 24 È, questo, un rimprovero ai docenti universitari più che agli insegnanti impegnati nella formazione. 246 SSMD, n.s. II (2018) staccati presso l’Istituto storico italiano, poi Istituto storico italiano del medio evo, per lo studio e l’edizione delle fonti. Nel minuscolo manipolo di insegnanti distaccati all’ISIMe ci furono straordinari editori di fonti. purtroppo, nel 2016 il Ministero dell’istruzione e della ricerca non ha rinnovato la convenzione con l’Istituto, eliminando anche questa opportunità di formazione e di ricerca 25. Non esiste, in Italia, un organismo scientifico paragonabile, per entità di fi- nanziamenti, quantità di ricercatori, stabilità istituzionale al Deutsche Institut für erforschung des Mittelalters di Monaco. Se possiamo andar fieri di alcune istituzioni di ricerca e di opere monumentali portate a termine nonostante tutto (si pensi appunto all’ISIMe e al Repertorium fontium historiae medii aevii 26), se pos- siamo confidare, tornando ai carteggi diplomatici, che l’Istituto Nazionale di stu- di sul Rinascimento porterà a termine l’edizione delle Lettere di Lorenzo de’ Me- dici 27 (sarei meno ottimista per quanto riguarda le altre iniziative), non possiamo evitare di preoccuparci per il futuro. Le difficoltà strutturali della ricerca di base in Italia e le modalità con cui sono erogati i finanziamenti nazionali e internazio- nali non lasciano ben sperare per quanto riguarda progetti editoriali che durano trenta e quarant’anni. Temo che non sarà possibile ripetere successi come l’edi- zione dei carteggi mantovani da Milano, pubblicati rapidamente (seppur non completati), grazie all’energica direzione di Franca Leverotti e a finanziamenti privati che prevedevano anche la retribuzione dei curatori 28. Conoscendo i limiti dell’organizzazione della ricerca nell’università, nella pri- ma metà degli anni ’80 Mario Del Treppo si indirizzò all’Istituto italiano per gli studi filosofici per la collana Fonti per la storia di Napoli aragonese. L’Istituto ha erogato borse di studio, pagato missioni e microfilm, finanziato la pubblicazione, ma, a partire dal 2008 circa, non è più stato in grado di programmare con rego- larità l’impegno finanziario, che a un certo punto si è interrotto, a causa di ritardi e inadempienze del Ministero, tanto che il costo degli ultimi volumi della Corri- spondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli è stato sostenuto soltanto dall’edi- tore. Solo nel 2017 sono state riattivate le borse di ricerca per i Dispacci sforzeschi. porre rimedio a carenze storiche della nostra organizzazione scientifica con l’empirismo, la buona volontà e la dedizione personale non è più possibile, né conviene accontentarci di iniziative come il Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco che, se gratifica qualcuno e merita senz’altro di essere continuato, non muta il quadro 25 Si veda la lettera aperta di Massimo Miglio del 22 settembre 2016, all’url http://www. isime.it/index.php/scuola-storica. 26 Il cui completamento in 45 anni è stato celebrato nel 2007 con il convegno Senza confini: il Repertorium fontium. 27 Sono usciti 14 volumi tra il 1977 e il 2011, LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere. 28 In nove anni (1999-2008) sono usciti 12 dei 16 volumi previsti, Carteggio degli oratori man- tovani alla corte sforzesca. 247 Senatore, Didattica e ricerca. L’esperienza del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco generale. Ad una difficoltà strutturale, costituita dagli alti costi delle edizioni di fonti in termini di denari e di tempo, se ne è aggiunta un’altra. L’edizione non è un «prodotto scientifico» appetibile per chi sia determinato a entrare in tempi ragionevoli nell’università. Come sappiamo, per essere abilitati alla I e alla II fa- scia della docenza universitaria bisogna accumulare in primo luogo numerosi saggi e articoli, di cui alcuni pubblicati in riviste di fascia A, come da consegna. Non si vuole certo negare la necessità e obbligatorietà della valutazione, neppure se fondata parzialmente su dati quantitativi, ma piuttosto criticare il suo carattere estrinseco e la sua rigidità, fattori che in breve tempo condizioneranno fortemente la libertà della ricerca e la sua organizzazione. In questi anni la medievistica ita- liana ha assistito, impotente, allo stravolgimento delle proprie tradizioni. Una delle ‘eccellenze‘ della nostra storiografia sul medio evo, se vogliamo usare un’espressione di cui abusa tanto da renderla triviale, è stata – ed in una certa misura è ancora – il solido ancoraggio alle fonti primarie, compulsate grazie a competenze che non è facile trovare altrove (la conoscenza del latino, la capacità di leggere le grafie antiche, la familiarità con la ricerca archivistica fin dalla tesi di laurea), tanto che gruppi di ricerca stranieri continuano a reclutare laureati e dottori di ricerca formatisi in Italia. La rarefazione di esperienze di ricerca nella didattica universitaria e dottorale, la scarsa spendibilità delle edizioni documen- tarie in sede di abilitazione scientifica nazionale, l’emigrazione dei diplomati ver- so le università estere, per non dire dell’inevitabile degrado della conoscenza del latino, finiranno per incidere fortemente sulla ricerca di base, nello specifico sulle edizioni di fonti medievali. Se alla mancanza di finanziamenti regolari, cui pure ci siamo abituati com- pensandola in tutti i modi possibili, si aggiungerà la mancanza di ‘risorse umane’, ovvero di giovani disposti a lavorare per almeno un lustro ad un’edizione, non ci sarà più nulla da fare e non ci resterà che prendere atto della fine di una sta- gione scientifica. B I B L I O G R A F I A Alma Laurea. Consorzio interuniversitario, all’url http://www.almalaurea.it. A. BARTOLI LANGeLI, L’edizione dei testi documentari. Riflessioni sulla filologia diplomatica, in «Schede Medievali», 20-21 (1991), pp. 116-131. S. BeRTeLLI, Carteggi diplomatici, «Bullettino dell’Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio evo e Archivio Muratoriano», 110/2 (2008), pp. 1-21. ID., Diplomazia italiana quattrocentesca, in «Archivio Storico Italiano», CLIX (2001), pp. 797-827. A. BRUSA, Il laboratorio storico, Firenze 1991. ilCartastorie, all’url http://www.ilcartastorie.it/avventureinarchivio/. 248 SSMD, n.s. II (2018) G. CApANO - M. ReGINI - M. TURRI, Salvare l’università italiana. Oltre i miti e i tabù, Bologna 2017. Cartas = Lettres = Lettere: discursos, prácticas y representaciones epistolares (siglos XIV-XV), a cura di A. CASTILLO GOMez - V. SIeRRA BLAS, Alcalá de Henares 2014. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, I, 1450-1459, a cura di I. LAzzARINI, Roma 1999. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, II, 1460, a cura di I. LAzzARINI, Roma 2000. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, III, 1461, a cura di I. LAzzARINI, Roma 2000. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, IV, 1462, a cura di I. LAzzARINI, Roma 2002. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, V, 1463, a cura di M. FOLIN, Roma 2003. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, VI, 1464-1465, a cura di M.N. COVINI, Roma 2001. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, VII, 1466-1467, a cura di M.N. COVINI, Roma 1999. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, VIII, 1468-1471, a cura di M.N. COVINI, Roma 2000. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, X, 1475-1477, a cura di G. BATTIONI, Roma 2008. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, XI, 1478-1479, a cura di M. SIMONeTTA, Roma 2001. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, XII, 1480-1482, a cura di G. BATTIONI, Roma 2002. Carteggio degli oratori mantovani alla corte sforzesca (1450-1500), coordinamento e dire- zione di F. LeVeROTTI, XV, 1495-1498, a cura di A. GRATI - A. pACINI, Roma 2003. Carteggio degli oratori sforzeschi alla corte pontificia, I, Niccolò V (27 febbraio 1447- 30 aprile 1452), a cura di G. BATTIONI, Roma 2013. Classics transformed, a cura di G. ABBAMONTe - C. KALLeNDORF, pisa 2018. I confini della lettera. Pratiche epistolari e reti di comunicazione nel Tre-Quattrocento italiano, a cura di I. LAzzARINI, in «Reti Medievali Rivista», VIII (2007), all’url http://www. retimedievali.it. co:op project, all’url http://www.coop-unina.org/adventures-in-archives/. La corrispondenza italiana di Joan Ram Escrivà ambasciatore di Ferdinando il Cattolico (3 mag- gio 1484 - 11 agosto 1499), a cura di I. pARISI, Battipaglia 2014. Corrispondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli, I, Corrispondenza di Giovanni Lan- fredini (13 aprile 1484 - 9 maggio 1485), a cura di e. SCARTON, Salerno-Napoli 2005. Corrispondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli, II, Corrispondenza di Giovanni Lan- fredini (maggio 1485 - ottobre 1486), a cura di eAD., Salerno-Napoli 2002. Corrispondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli, III, Corrispondenza di Bernardo Ru- cellai (ottobre 1486 - agosto 1487), a cura di p. MeLI, Salerno-Napoli 2013. Corrispondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli, IV, Corrispondenza di Francesco Valori e Piero Vettori (agosto 1487 - giugno 1489), a cura di eAD., Salerno-Napoli, 2011. Corrispondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli, V, Corrispondenza di Paolo Antonio Soderini (luglio 1489 - ottobre 1490), a cura di F. TRApANI, Salerno-Napoli 2010. 249 Senatore, Didattica e ricerca. L’esperienza del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco Corrispondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli, VI, Corrispondenza di Pietro Nasi (10 aprile 1491 - 22 novembre 1491), Antonio Della Valle (23 novembre - 25 gennaio 1492) e Niccolò Michelozzi (26 gennaio 1492 - giugno 1492), a cura di B. FIGLIUOLO - S. MARCOTTI, Salerno-Napoli 2004. Corrispondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli, VII, Corrispondenza di Piero Alamanni e Bartolomeo Ugolini (maggio 1492 - aprile 1493), a cura di B. FIGLIUOLO, Battipaglia 2012. Corrispondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli, VIII, Corrispondenza di inviati diversi (aprile 1493 - novembre 1494), a cura di ID., Battipaglia 2015. M. DeL TReppO, Napoli aragonese nella corrispondenza degli ambasciatori milanesi e fiorentini, in «La provincia di Napoli», 9 (1987), pp. 47-49. ID., Noterelle di didattica storica (1985), in ID., La libertà della memoria. Scritti di storiografia, Roma 2006, pp. 297-313. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, I, 1460-1474, a cura di R. FUBINI, Firenze 1977. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, II, 1474-1478, a cura di ID., Firenze 1977. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, III, 1478-1479, a cura di N. RUBINSTeIN, Firenze 1977. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, IV, 1479-1480, a cura di ID., Firenze 1981. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, V, 1480-1481, a cura di M. MALLeTT, Firenze 1989. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, VI, 1481-82, a cura di ID., Firenze 1990. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, VII, 1482-1484, a cura di ID., Firenze 1998. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, VIII, 1484-1485, a cura di H. BUTTeRS, Firenze 2001. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, IX, 1485-1486, a cura di ID., Firenze 2002. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, X, 1486-1487, a cura di M.M. BULLARD, Firenze 2003. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, XI, 1487-1488, a cura di eAD., Firenze 2004. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, XII: febbraio-luglio 1488, a cura di M. peLLeGRINI, Firenze 2007. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, XV, marzo-agosto 1489, a cura di L. BöNINGeR, Firenze 2010. LOReNzO De’ MeDICI, Lettere, XVI, settembre 1489-febbraio 1490, a cura di ID., Firenze 2011. Dépêches des ambassadeurs milanais sur la campagne de Charles-le-Hardi duc de Bourgogne de 1474 à 1477, publiées par FR. De GINGINS LA SARRA, paris-Genève 1858. Dépêches des ambassadeurs milanais en France sous Louis XI et François Sforza, publiées par B. De MANDROT, paris 1916-1923. Dépêches des ambassadeurs milanais en France sous Louis XI et François Sforza, publiées par CH. SAMARAN, paris 1923. F. De VIVO, Archives of Speech: Recording Diplomatic Negotiations in late medieval and Early Modern Italy, in «european History Quarterly», 46/3 (2016), pp. 519-544. Dipartimento di Studi umanistici, Università Federico II di Napoli, all’url http://studiuma- nistici.dip.unina.it/. La diplomazia bassomedievale in Italia, a cura di T. DURANTI, in «Reti Medievali. Reperto- rio», ottobre 2009, all’url http://rm.univr.it/repertorio/rm_duranti.html. Diplomazia edita. Le edizioni delle corrispondenze diplomatiche quattrocentesche. Contributi alla I settimana di studi medievali (Roma 18-21 settembre 2006), in «Bullettino del- l’Istituto storico italiano per il medioevo e Archivio Muratoriano», 110 (2008), pp. 1-143. Dispacci sforzeschi da Napoli, all’url www.dispaccisforzeschi.it. Dispacci sforzeschi da Napoli, I, 1444 - 2 luglio 1458, a cura di F. SeNATORe, Napoli - Salerno 1997. Dispacci sforzeschi da Napoli, II, 4 luglio 1458 - 30 dicembre 1459, a cura di ID., Napoli - Sa- lerno 2004. 250 SSMD, n.s. II (2018) Dispacci sforzeschi da Napoli, IV, 1° gennaio - 26 dicembre 1461, a cura di F. STORTI, Napoli - Salerno 1998. Dispacci sforzeschi da Napoli, V, 1° gennaio 1462 - 31 dicembre 1463, a cura di e. CATONe - A. MIRANDA - e. VITTOzzI, Napoli - Battipaglia 2009. École Nationale de chartes, all’url http://www.chartes.psl.eu/fr. A. FeLICI, parole apte et convenienti. La lingua della diplomazia fiorentina di metà Quattro- cento, Firenze 2018. M. FeRRARI - I. LAzzARINI - F. pISeRI, Autografie dell’età minore. Lettere di tre dinastie italiane tra Quattrocento e Cinquecento, Roma 2016. M. GAILLARD - A. WAGNeR, Les sociétés en Europe du milieu di VIe à la fin du IXe siècle, Bréal 2002. J.K. HyDe, The Role of diplomatic Correspondence and Reporting: News and Chronicles, in ID. Literacy and its Uses. Studies on late medieval Italy, Manchester - New york 1993, pp. 217-259. Insegnare storia. Guida alla didattica del laboratorio storico, a cura di p. BeRNARDI, Torino 2006. IRIS. Insegnamento e ricerca interdisciplinare di storia, all’url https://www.storieinrete.org. Istituto storico italiano per il medioevo. Scuola storica, all’url http://www.isime.it/ index.php/scuola-storica I. LAzzARINI, Communication and Conflict. Italian Diplomacy in the Early Renaissance, 1350- 1520, Oxford 2015. eAD., Lettere, minute, registri: pratiche della scrittura diplomatica nell’Italia tardomedievale fra storia e paleografia, in «Quaderni storici», 152 (2016), pp. 449-470. Medici Archive project, all’url http://www.medici.org. F. MONTUORI, I carteggi diplomatici nel Quattrocento: riflessioni per la storia della lingua, in «Filologia e storia», XLII (2017), pp. 177-204. Négociations diplomatiques de la France avec la Toscane. Documents recuellis par G. CANe- STRINI et publiés par A. DeSJIARDINS, paris 1859-1875. S. péQUIGNOT, Au nom du roi. Pratique diplomatique et pouvoir durant le regne de Jacques II d’Aragon (1291-1327), Madrid 2009. Politics and Diplomacy. The Structure of Diplomatic Practice, 1450-1800, edited by D. FRIGO, Cambridge 2000. A. RUSSO, La corrispondenza degli ambasciatori fiorentini da Napoli. Fonti per la storia di Na- poli aragonese, Serie II, in «Nuova Rivista Storica», CII/3 (2018), pp. 1175-1196. F. SeNATORe, Filologia e buon senso nelle edizioni di corrispondenze diplomatiche italiane quat- trocentesche, in «Bullettino dell’Istituto Storico Italiano e Archivio Muratoriano», 110/2 (2008), pp. 61-95. ID., Uno mundo de carta. Forme e strutture della diplomazia sforzesca, Napoli 1998. Senza confini: il Repertorium fontium historiae Medii Aevi 1962-2007. Atti della giornata di Studi, 9 novembre 2007, a cura di I. LORI SANFILIppO, Roma 2008. R. SIMONe, L’università dei tre tradimenti, Roma-Bari 1993. Tutti i siti citati sono da intendersi attivi alla data dell’ultima consultazione: 15 di- cembre 2018. 251 Senatore, Didattica e ricerca. L’esperienza del Laboratorio aragonese e sforzesco A B S T R A C T In the workshop on Diplomatic correspondences in the Italian Renaissance, directed in January-May 2018 by Francesco Storti and Francesco Senatore in the Istituto italiano per gli studi filosofici of Naples, 12 undergraduate and graduate students learned to read and trascribe italian diplomatic dispatches of the 15th cent., pro- ducing a specimen of scientific edition. In the opinion of the author, such activ- ities and similar ones are very useful for future school teachers and scholars and they could be introduced in the university and pHD courses of history. Students of humanistic sciences should have concrete contacts with the historical research on primary sources. On the other hand, editing of historical sources could be- come a marginal activity because it is not enough appreciated in the current re- search evaluation processes. Nel seminario su Le corrispondenze diplomatiche nel Rinascimento italiano, tenuto tra gennaio e maggio 2018 da Francesco Storti e Francesco Senatore presso l’Isti- tuto italiano per gli studi filosofici di Napoli, dodici laureati e laureandi hanno imparato a leggere e trascrivere dispacci diplomatici in volgare del XV secolo, producendo un saggio di edizione scientifica. Secondo l’autore, attività del genere sono molto utili nella formazione dei futuri insegnanti medi e degli studiosi e potrebbero essere introdotte nei corsi universitari e nei dottorati in storia. Gli stu- denti di discipline umanistiche dovrebbero avere contatti concreti con la ricerca storica su fonti primarie. D’altra parte, l’edizione delle fonti rischia di essere mar- ginalizzata perché non è adeguatamente valorizzata negli attuali processi di va- lutazione della ricerca. K E Y W O R D S education, documentary edition, renaissance diplomacy Didattica, edizione documentaria, diplomazia rinascimentale 252 SSMD, n.s. II (2018) 
work_dk4udckmizdihepdk7mplrlsfi	----	260 Braz J Cardiovasc Surg | Rev Bras Cir Cardiovasc Braz J Cardiovasc Surg 2015;30(2):260-5Mesquita ET, et al. - Andreas Vesalius 500 years - A Renaissance that revolutionized cardiovascular knowledge RBCCV 44205-1640DOI 10.5935/1678-9741.20150024 Andreas Vesalius 500 years - A Renaissance that revolutionized cardiovascular knowledge Andreas Vesalius 500 anos - Um renascentista que revolucionou o conhecimento cardiovascular Evandro Tinoco Mesquita1, MD; Celso Vale de Souza Júnior, MD1; Thiago Reigado Ferreira1 1Universidade Federal Fluminense (UFF), Niterói, RJ, Brazil. This study was carried out at Universidade Federal Fluminense (UFF), Niterói, RJ, Brazil. No financial support. Correspondence address: Celso Vale de Souza Júnior Rua Doutor Mário Vianna, 734, Bloco 5, Apto 402 - Santa Rosa - Niterói, RJ, Brazil. Zip code: 24241-001 E-mail: celsovsouzajunior@hotmail.com Article received on March 4th, 2015 Article accepted on March 23th, 2015 SPECIAL ARTICLE - HISTORICAL RECOVERY Abstract The history of medicine and cardiology is marked by some geniuses who dared in thinking, research, teaching and trans- mitting scientific knowledge, and the Italian Andreas Vesalius one of these brilliant masters. His main scientific work “De Hu- mani Corporis Fabrica” is not only a landmark study of human anatomy but also an artistic work of high aesthetic quality pub- lished in 1543. In the year 2014 we celebrated 500 years since the birth of the brilliant professor of Padua University, who with his courage and sense of observation changed the understand- ing of cardiovascular anatomy and founded a school to date in innovative education and research of anatomy. By identifying “the anatomical errors” present in Galen’s book and speech, he challenged the dogmas of the Catholic Church, the academic world and the doctors of his time. However, the accuracy of his findings and his innovative way to disseminate them among his students and colleagues was essential so that his contributions are considered by many the landmark of modern medicine. His death is still surrounded by mysteries having different hypoth- eses, but a certainty, suffered sanctions of the Catholic Church for the spread of their ideas. The cardiologists, cardiovascular surgeons, interventional cardiologists, electrophysiologists and cardiovascular imaginologists must know the legacy of genius Andreas Vesalius that changed the paradigm of human anatomy. Descriptors: Anatomy. History of Medicine. Cardiology. Resumo A história da medicina e da cardiologia é marcada por alguns gênios que ousaram na forma de pensar, investigar, ensinar e trans- mitir o conhecimento científico, sendo o italiano Andreas Vesalius um desses brilhantes mestres. A sua principal obra científica “De Humani Corporis Fabrica” não é apenas um marco do estudo da anatomia humana, mas também uma obra artística de eleva- da qualidade estética publicada no ano de 1543. No ano de 2014, comemoraram-se 500 anos do nascimento do genial professor da universidade de Pádua, que com sua coragem e senso de observa- ção mudou o entendimento da anatomia cardiovascular e fundou uma escola até hoje inovadora no ensino e na investigação da ana- tomia. Ao identificar “os erros anatômicos” presentes nos livros e discurso de Galeno, desafiou os dogmas da Igreja Católica, o mun- do acadêmico e os médicos do seu tempo. No entanto, a exatidão de seus achados e sua forma inovadora de disseminá-los junto aos seus alunos e colegas foi fundamental para que suas contribuições sejam consideradas por muitos o marco da moderna medicina. A sua morte ainda hoje é cercada de mistérios, havendo diferentes hipóteses, porém uma certeza, sofreu sansões da Igreja Católica pela difusão de suas ideias. O cardiologista clínico, cirurgiões car- diovasculares, hemodinamicistas, eletrofisiologistas e imaginologis- tas cardiovasculares devem conhecer os legados do gênio Andreas Vesalius, que mudou o paradigma da anatomia humana. Descritores: Anatomia. História da Medicina. Cardiologia. 261 Braz J Cardiovasc Surg | Rev Bras Cir Cardiovasc Braz J Cardiovasc Surg 2015;30(2):260-5Mesquita ET, et al. - Andreas Vesalius 500 years - A Renaissance that revolutionized cardiovascular knowledge INTRODUCTION The history of medicine is marked by men and scientif- ic discoveries that have transformed how medical pratice is conducted and knowledge of biological phenomena in the human body both in health and in disease, the professor of anatomy and physician Andreas Vesalius was one of these geniuses. The medieval world was gradually giving rise to a new thinking present in arts, music, literature, science and medicine, where the human body became worshiped, studied and thus better understood its aesthetic, functional and anatomical value. In addition, the observation followed by experimentalism and critical thinking were central to change the way how we search for solutions and see the world. Galen’s ideas that influenced for 15 centuries teaching and medical practice were progressively challenged and replaced front of new evidence from the obser- vational method and systematic experimentation. The Italian peninsula, the cradle of the Renaissance, was where were consolidated two important universities -Bolonha and Pádua- that enabled new knowledge in the academic envi- ronment, broadened the knowledge and promote the free de- bate of ideas, allowing that a new scientific research model, the Scientific Method, could advance over the dogmatic knowl- edge that influenced medical education from Galen’s texts. Cardiology and Cardiovascular Surgery, as medical spe- cialties that emerged centuries later, have large debts to Vesa- lius as he questioned and shown through his systematic study of the heart, Galen’s errors concerning this organ, and formed the basis for that years later, Harvey -also a student in Pádua University- demonstrates the role of circulation involving the heart and blood vessels. The story of Vesalius combines a revolutionary approach to anatomy, innovative teaching method through the execu- tion of dissection by the professor of medicine alongside the students and an innovative technique of publication. Those were made possible by the university environment of Padua in the Venetian Renaissance setting and, this way, a testament to the history of medicine of the importance and benefits be- tween science and art, in particular with the publication of his important book “De Humani Corporis Fabrica” becom- ing certainly the father of modern anatomy. Besides, due to his ideas ahead of time and the content of his literary works he suffered persecution of religious and political attitude that contributed to his tragic end. Free will, critical thinking and freedom of expression, which still in the contemporary world faces challenges and threats, in the Renaissance period was through him that we began to consolidate a new paradigm of looking at scientific phenomena - the scientific method. The aim of this review is to present a summary of his career as a physician and anatomist and his important ana- tomical contributions as a legend of Medicine. GALEN OF PERGAMUM AND HIS INFLUENCE ON CARDIOVASCULAR ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY Claudius Galenus, also known as Galen of Pergamum, was one of the most influential Roman physicians of Greek origin, his theories dominated the practice and medical sci- ence for over 15 centuries. Galen made important contri- butions to distinguish veins, arteries and the venous blood from the arterial blood, besides the concept of the brain controlling the body and the role of the kidneys in the urine formation[1,2]. In his treatise “De usu Partium” he expresses his the- ory about blood circulation. According to his concept ve- nous blood present the function of nourishing the body, as this would be secondary to the absorption of the useful part of the food and its subsequent transformation in the liver, an organ which has key role in maintaining the cir- culatory system[2]. This venous blood reaches the heart and lungs, where in addition to the nutrients being consumed, a portion of it would pass through the pores in the interventricular septum and in the process it would get in touch with the pneuma from the lungs and the very center of the innate heat, lead- ing to the formation of the arterial blood which is respon- sible for distributing the vital heat around the living body. Therefore, according to this view both venous and arterial blood circulate together and were governed by repelling properties by the heart and liver, and the attraction of other body organs[2]. PARADIGM SHIFT IN MEDICINE In many societies, formerly, the dissection was a prohib- ited act to be performed in human bodies, animals were the only source for some of these, which provided poor anatom- ical knowledge or misapplication of it by trying to interpret these findings to humans. The first anatomists, properly, probably emerged only in the Hellenistic Alexandria, with Herophilus and Erasistratus, being considered the medical school founders in the region and performed dissections in public. Herophilus, in particular is considered the father of anatomy, accounting for important descriptions of the struc- ture and functioning of nerves and vessels[3]. Only in the mid-twelfth century, with the rediscovery of Aristotle’s works, it was found that some studies were based on the dissection of animals and vivisection of these, which somehow legitimized the practice at this time, being an im- portant driver to beginning of a new ideology that would allow less restricted execution of human dissection. Those subject to dissection varied during the historical context, from a private investigation because of a noble death, the ultimate form of humiliation for criminals during public practice, until the Renaissance in which the dissection of 262 Braz J Cardiovasc Surg | Rev Bras Cir Cardiovasc Braz J Cardiovasc Surg 2015;30(2):260-5Mesquita ET, et al. - Andreas Vesalius 500 years - A Renaissance that revolutionized cardiovascular knowledge bodies is progressively introduced to medical universities and reaches a status of academic importance. The Renaissance had an important scientific milestone to Medicine fostering research on the organizer components of the human body through dissection of cadavers, process which won not only public notoriety due to the associat- ed status, as well as its relation to teaching in universities. However, even before the descriptions made by Vesalius another important name in human history has contributed significantly to medicine in the field of anatomical research. Leonardo Da Vinci, and his numerous projects in the areas of math, engineering and aerodynamics, made several ana- tomical drawings with detail and often his questions with regard to the physiological functioning became the basis for numerous other researchers after him, being one of the inspirations for Vesalius. TRAJECTORY OF ANDREAS VESALIUS Andreas Vesalius was born on December 31, 1514 in Brussels, Belgium, being the son of a family of physicians where both his father and his grandfather had served the em- peror of the Holy Roman Empire. (Figure 1) After a study phase in Louvain, where he learned clas- sical languages, went to medical degree in Paris in 1533, where he was student of the first French anatomist Johannes Quinterus of Andernach and Jacobus Sylvius. The latter was very committed to Galen’s ideas, making the study of anato- my frustrating in Paris. The lack of anatomy practical classes at the University of Paris took him in with his peers to visit at night, cemeteries outside the city in search of human bones. This set of difficulties did the young man to return to Louvain in search for completing his studies in medicine[4,5]. In 1537, after completing his bachelor’s degree, he sought the University of Padua to perform his doctorate, since it was the birthplace of Renaissance science and provided the best opportunity to advance his studies in the anatomy area. The influence of many other icons of this institution -as Pietro d`Abano, Alessandro Benedetti, Ermolao Barbaro and Giorgio Valla- allowed the advent of medical humanism with critical thinking. At 23, after completing his doctorate, he was ap- pointed Professor of Surgery at the University of Padua, which at that time was also linked to the teaching of anatomy[4-6]. As a teacher promoted a major change in the teaching of anatomy by assuming the role of dissecting the corpses instead of assistants and barbers, common practice in major medical universities in Europe, making his lessons increas- ingly attractive to his students and colleagues. He liked to communicate directly with his pupils and never as an author- ity figure, but as someone that encourages them to examine, to perform experiments and to judge for themselves. The second major innovation promoted by the teacher Vesalius was the development of anatomical drawings with didactic purpose and six of them were published as the Tabulae Sex, with the help of artist Jan Stefan van Kalkar, a disciple of the great Italian Renaissance painter Titian. It can be said that the academic life contributed to instigate the constant search for knowledge of Vesalius as can be seen in one of his notes after students request that he prepare a draft of the venous circula- tion “that claim proved to be so pleasurable for doctors and students that they strongly encouraged me to describe the ar- teries and nerves”[4-7]. Vesalius was gradually becoming a more critical observer and, in his “Letter of Venesection,” he abandons his beliefs in traditional and authorized teachings emanated from the in- fluence of Galen, who built a human anatomy extrapolated from the dissection of animals, especially chimpanzees, and incorporates the principle that scientific knowledge should be based solely by the facts derived from observation. Accord- ing to his observations Galen’s errors occurred because he never dissected a human and for thinking that the informa- tion found on dissected animals could be applied to humans, and the very words of Vesalius, Galen was “fooled by his monkeys, and compared the similarities between the human body and monkeys, barely noticed they ended in the presence of fingers and knee bend”[4-6]. Fig. 1 - Painting showing Andreas Vesalius in his dissection activity (Adapted[11]). 263 Braz J Cardiovasc Surg | Rev Bras Cir Cardiovasc Braz J Cardiovasc Surg 2015;30(2):260-5Mesquita ET, et al. - Andreas Vesalius 500 years - A Renaissance that revolutionized cardiovascular knowledge Thus, the Letter of venesection, published in 1539, is an important document that allows us to identify the transition from Vesalius knowledge of the traditional method for the method of direct observation which is consolidated in his masterpiece De Humani Corporis Fabrica, considered a pi- oneer mark of modern medical science. Even as a renowned teacher and anatomist he suffered strong opposition from those who still defended Galen’s ideas, taking a wear in his academic life in the long run and one of the reasons for ac- cepting to be a doctor of Emperor Charles V of Spain[4-8]. THE GREAT WORK - DE HUMANI CORPORIS FABRICA Modern medicine can be marked by the production of the work De Humani Corporis Fabrica, published in 1543, this book is by far the largest single contribution to medical science, being a magnificent example of creative art, with a perfect combination of form, typography and illustration, as described by Saunders and O`Malley, important Vesalius’ bi- ographers. His work was so important that after a few weeks of publication was named Emperor Charles V’s doctor[4,5,7-9]. It was composed of seven volumes, and the third vol- ume was dedicated to the vasculature in which we find a de- tailed description of the arteries and veins that was possibly essential for the future work of William Harvey in his de- scription of circulation. It was also through his experiments that it was able to link the relationship between pulse and heart contraction[4,5,7-9]. The VI volume refers to the anatomy of the heart and a small part about the lungs, this first edition despite the de- scription of the heart to be well detailed it is not noted as exceptional to the point that is still rooted in the concepts of Galen, although refute the existence of pores that commu- nicate the right side with the left side of the heart allowing blood to pass through the septum, a concept that helped to better understand the system[4,5,7-9]. (Figure 2) The illustrations drawn attention at the time because they were larger and closer to reality than any previous publica- tion, and were very well applied didactically, as Vesalius of- ten correlated visual content with text. The second edition was published in 1555, having numer- ous improvements in the text, and expanded the chapter on his physiological experiments, including the report given on the effect of nerve section on laryngeal paralysis and recur- rent laryngeal nerve section, besides adding the description of the venous valves and two new chapters. The illustrations were better due to the print quality in a thicker paper. In this edition, an important quote from Vesalius confirms the ab- sence of pores invisible to the naked eye in the interventric- ular septum, moving away permanently from Galen’s vision. A 2009 study found that there were a total of 113 copies of the second edition of De Humani Corporis Fabrica at major universities and libraries across Europe and the United States showing the rarity and historical importance that the work has even after 459 years of its publication[4,5,7-9]. (Figure 3) Fig. 2 - Cover of his work De Humani Corporis Fabrica (Adapted[11]). Fig. 3 - Illustration of Andreas Vesalius’s work in an amphitheater (Adapted[11]). 264 Braz J Cardiovasc Surg | Rev Bras Cir Cardiovasc Braz J Cardiovasc Surg 2015;30(2):260-5Mesquita ET, et al. - Andreas Vesalius 500 years - A Renaissance that revolutionized cardiovascular knowledge CONTRIBUTIONS TO CARDIOVASCULAR SUR- GERY AND ANATOMICAL-CLINICAL CORRELATION Vesalius’ power of observation allowed him to describe quite accurately the pericardial anatomy: “The heart as a whole is covered by a membranous envelope which is not attached to any point. This wrap is much broader than the heart and has in its interior an aqueous humor ...”. The prototype of anatomopathological methodology was performed by Andreas Vesalius in 1557, by correlating the signs and symptoms of a patient with pathological changes consistent with aortic aneurysm revealed in postmortem examination. This kind of research allowed in 1707 in Bologna, Giovanni Morgagni to describe the possibility of diagnosis based on findings of the “Anatomy of morbid corpses”, this clinicopathological project culminated in the publication of his iconic work “The Seats and Causes of Diseases Investigated by Anatomy” in which approxi- mately 700 dissection reviews were described to accurately iden- tify the injury giving rise to the symptoms observed in patients while they were alive, consolidating a new way of thinking and teach medicine, the anatomoclinical correlation[5,7-9]. There has been evidence that Vesalius was preparing a third edition of his De Humani Corporis Fabrica work because they found in his works, thousands of notes and corrections of all kinds, from deletions, additions and transpositions phrases to footnotes. Particularly the first three quarters of his work contained many modifications and to this day it is not know why this third edition was never released. Still, these changes demonstrate an admirable concern for the quality of his work and a willingness to correct even the smallest details[4,5,7-9]. DEATH OF ANDREAS VESALIUS AND THE REC- OGNITION OF HIS LEGACY During his career as a doctor of the emperor he poorly attended teachings of anatomy, he rarely did dissections in Padua and Pisa, as he spent most of the time attending royalty in the Netherlands and later in Spain. With no intention of returning to academic life soon he burned many of his books including the notes he had made during the years. Remained as a doctor of Charles V and, 12 years later, his successor Philip II. After a while he regretted the incident and returned to his hometown - Brussels - with a fortune conquered by his services to the most important monarch of his time and it was then that his desire for dissections resurfaced. There are few records of its activities after 1555, but it is known that he participated in the treatment and autopsy of famous names like Ferrante Gonzaga of Mantua and Henri II of France[4,5]. His last publication was Anatomicarum Gabrielis Fallop- pii Observationum Examen dated May 24, 1564, and since 1559 he moved with his wife to Spain, which stated to be a place where he had few opportunities to perform dissection and lived there until the event of his death. Fig. 4 - Seal of the American College of Cardiology (Adapted[11]). Fig. 5 - Commemorative bill to 500 years of Vesalius (Adapted[11]). The death of Vesalius is still controversial, different sources point that he would have been the target of the In- quisition and had to exchange his penalty for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. At the time of his departure from Madrid to his pilgrimage he clearly had a desire to return to the intel- lectual and scientific environment of the University of Padua according to a letter sent to his great disciple Fallopius. In return, in 1564, was the victim of a shipwreck and his body found by a goldsmith and later buried on the Greek island of Zakynthos where a tomb was found presenting an epitaph written the following sentence: “The genius lives forever, everything else is mortal - Andreas Vesalius of Brussels”[4,5]. An important acknowledgment of the legacy of Vesali- us in Cardiology was the tribute by the American College of Cardiology. It’s logo created in 1965 is a modified heart figure designed by Andreas Vesalius in his Tabulae anatom- icae sex. As it was chosen by Franz Maximilian Groedel, he aimed that this logo would have a strong identification with the scientific knowledge, a “learning seal”[10,11] (Figure 4). The genius of Vesalius’s work has been recognized not only by the scientific community, but by the different nations, whether in the form of stamps, notes, cultural or scientific events (Figure 5). 265 Braz J Cardiovasc Surg | Rev Bras Cir Cardiovasc Braz J Cardiovasc Surg 2015;30(2):260-5Mesquita ET, et al. - Andreas Vesalius 500 years - A Renaissance that revolutionized cardiovascular knowledge Authors’ roles & responsibilities ETM Final approval of the manuscript; study design; writing of the manuscript and critical review of its contents CVSJ Final approval of the manuscript; design and study design; writing of the manuscript or critical review of its content TRF Drafting of the manuscript and critical review of its content REFERENCES 1. Haas LF. Claudius Galen 131-201 AD. J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry. 1991;54(4):287. 2. Fullerton JB, Silverman ME. Claudius Galen of Pergamum: authority of medieval medicine. Clin Cardiol. 2009;32(11):E82-3. CONCLUSIONS All the works of Andreas Vesalius places him as a genius with multiple skills as an artist, naturalist, humanist and the first modern medical scientist thus included among the giants of the history of medicine. His scientific contributions and his legacy as a teacher and artist promoted a profound impact also in Cardiology and Cardiovascular Surgery. 3. Bay NS, Bay BH. Greek anatomist herophilus: the father of anatomy. Anat Cell Biol. 2010;43(4):280-3. 4. O’Malley CD. Andreas Vesalius 1514-1564: In memoriam. Med Hist. 1964;8:299-308. 5. Haas LF. Andreas Vesalius (1514-64). J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry. 1992;55(1):3. 6. Castiglioni A. Andreas Vesalius: Professor at the Medical School of Padua. Bull N Y Acad Med. 1943;19(11):766-77. 7. Nutton V. Vesalius revised. His annotations to the 1555 Fabrica. Med Hist. 2012;56(4):415-43. 8. Joffe SN. A census of the edition of 1555 of Andreas Vesalius’ De Humani Corporis Fabrica. Int Arch Med. 2009;2(1):26. 9. Dunn PM. Andreas Vesalius (1514-1564), Padua, and the fetal “shunts”. Arch Dis Child Fetal Neonatal Ed. 2003;88(2):F157-9. 10. Zampieri F, Basso C, Thiene G. Andreas Vesalius’ Tabulae anatomicae sex (1538) and the seal of the American College of Cardiology. J Am Coll Cardiol. 2014;63(7):694-5. 11. Saunders JBDCM, O’Malley CD. Andreas Vesalius de Bruxelas De Humani Corporis Fabrica. Epitome. Tabulae Sex. Campinas, São Paulo: Editora Unicamp, Imprensa Oficial; 2003. 
work_dlope6rpsneh5dhqdzdooc4bz4	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 21 December 2019 Vasari’s words Review of: Douglas Biow, Vasari’s Words: The Lives of the Artists as a History of Ideas in the Italian Renaissance, Cambridge University Press: Cambridge 2018, pp. 256, 41 b/w illus. ISBN9781108472050 (hbk). David Cast This is a slim, careful volume that in its implication, ranges far and wide across the culture of the arts in the Renaissance. The immediate subject is a group of terms that appear in the account of the lives of the artists – though that exact word he never used - written by Giorgio Vasari and published first in 1550. This is a text that Biow is prepared to sees as more than a set of stories or of biased judgments, more indeed than a simple source of information, but rather as a record of values and culturally shared forms enlisted, as he sees its purpose, in the solving of artistic problems defined within the material processes of the making of art. Such wider possibilities have long been recognised by scholars of the Renaissance, while it is acknowledged, by even his friendliest readers, that Vasari was not in any rigorous sense an original thinker. But that limitation, if such it is, does not matter; nor is it a problem that to Biow, invoking the title of a work by Mikhail Bakhtin, the text itself is at once dialogic and plurilingual. For, all else apart, what here is so important is what Biow sees as Vasari’s commitment to certain key ideas, mulled over again and again, as he describes this, with relentless persistence. It is five such ideas, Vasari’s words as they are described in the title, that are the focus of this study. And whatever other reservations about what Vasari wrote that Biow recognises, he sees this text as a vital document in the history of ideas, waiting to be dissected, to borrow the phrases once used by of Raymond Williams – and Biow repeats them – to understand the vocabulary of a culture and society. This here Biow produces by a close and contextualised reading of Vasari’s text, if then he adds, perhaps unnecessarily, that he hopes this enquiry can be effective for readers not fluent in sixteenth-century prose yet curious about Vasari, about the artists he spoke of and about the Renaissance as a whole. Little of the original Italian text, we might note, is cited in the body of this book. Yet, in its place, what we have is an account of these several words and phrases taken from the text, highlighted to underscore their frequency and to emphasise what Biow calls their pervasive yet subtle linguistic power and the cluster of associations they bring with them. Perhaps some of the terms encountered here will seem to be, as Biow acknowledges, untranslatable; disegno, for example, or drawing, or grazia, or grace, a polysemous word as he puts it, used as it is in the text of Baldassare Castiglione, to mean everything from a theological gift to the qualities of someone born with charm and David Cast Vasari’s words 2 with the ability, without training, to do something brilliantly. Or then the familiarly elusive term sprezzatura, to cite Castiglione again, where as Biow puts it, nonchalance or insouciance or being cool, simply will not do. But such familiar difficulties can easily be dealt with and, for all the linguistic detail here, there should be no problem, as indeed Biow hopes, for anyone, general readers included, to understand what Vasari was saying when he used such terms and phrases within his text. I should add that Biow does not need, for his purpose, to decide one way or another how much or how little of the final text was written by Vasari himself or by his more scholarly friends. This then is his purpose and this is the way in which Biow approaches his task, choosing to consider a few terms interestingly different in their implications. He begins with the word profession, professione, about which as an idea and practice, as he notes, there was an ever-growing interest in the XVIth century; here he is able to refer to a general text on the subject by Tomazo Garzoni, published in 1585-7. What then follows – and this is the method of this study – is a documentation, in what we might call an encyclopaedic way, of examples of the term found in the text, as when in one footnote Biow lists as many as forty-six artists spoken of as being experts within the profession of the visual arts. From such a tally of instances, exhaustive as it is, Biow is able to document the range of meanings this term could carry and then, as importantly, the particular significance of this idea when applied to individual artists. Of Leonardo, for example, Vasari said that he wanted his full profession to be painting, whereby, he practised all those others in which disegno might play its part, sculpture, drawings of ground plans in architecture, designs of flour mills and the like. Of Raphael, supreme professional that he was, Vasari noted that he was concerned to have masters in his workshop, experts capable in their own specialities, one in stucco, another in grotesques, another in foliage, another in festoons, another in historical narratives and others in other things. Such professionals, Biow comments, might then inevitably be judged by other professionals, the very idea of such practices, now so recognised, inviting certain boundaries and what, citing modern studies of professionalism, he speaks of as an ethics of duty, a field of expertise with its own defined jurisdictional claims. Hence the supreme importance of this idea of the profession throughout this text, where, as we might expect, it is Michelangelo who comes to stand as the epitome of both artistic and professional success, with his universal ability, as Vasari put it, in every art and every profession. Three crowns or three circlets, it is noted, were intertwined in the allegories of his funerary monument, to suggest that in all these three professions, painting, sculpture and architecture, the crown of human perfection was justly due to him. After profession, in Biow’s chapters, comes genius, ingegno; after genius, speed, prestezza; after speed, time, tempo; after time, night, notte. These are not, at first sight, terms immediately familiar within the critical language of the visual arts in the Renaissance and yet all of them, in Biow’s account, could exemplify what, in other contexts, Vasari spoke of often as the difficulties of art. Ingegno can, of course, David Cast Vasari’s words 3 be seen as a part of all general criticism, taken as a notion to operate across the many fields of cultural activity. But here Biow examines this idea it in what he calls its professional, pedagogical, creative and institutional contexts, less, we might say, from the language of humanism than from the practical details of workshop actions. Here again Biow can range far and wide for his evidence but at the end, whereas earlier he had crowned Michelangelo for his ingegno, here it was the Accademia del Disegno that Vasari chose to praise in conclusion as the institutional defence of this idea within the culture, defined in ways that recognized it essentially as a part of material practices. From here Biow considers the idea of the speed, prestezza, by which, very strikingly, it could be said that a work was praiseworthy – and an example is a large canvas Vasari himself produced for Don Francesco de’ Medici – for having been done with great speed, this being a token of artistic competence and authority. So too then, from this reference to a term depending on temporality, we can understand what Vasari says, at once with hope and despair, of the idea of time itself, its destructive onslaught, its relentless voracity. To which in the final chapter Biow, considering a more material aspect of the idea of time, speaks of what Vasari said about the visualisation of night, as in a picture he himself painted of Endymion. Again, as we might expect, it was is the practical aspects of this subject Vasari commented on, the effects of the moon in a particular image, or some pictures of night and fire by Girolamo Savoldo that are, as he put it, very beautiful. As Biow notes, it was Leonardo whom Vasari described as first painting in what could be called a dark manner, thereby to be held up for great praise. And if Raphael, in a picture like the Deliverance of St. Peter, was able to capture the sheen on the armour of the guards seen in the darkness, surpassing everyone within the profession of the arts, it was again Michelangelo, stepping beyond in his sculpture of the image of Night, who produced the supreme image of this idea, not one of nocturnal darkness as merely a span of time but, as Biow puts it summarizing Vasari, of immortalized, funereal sleep. It is thus, amidst these particular terms and such many examples from the text, seen here in their fuller contexts, that the special value of this study resides. At one level, as Biow admits, it is an examination of language and the way also that Vasari, in true humanist fashion, demonstrated in his examples the idea of the institutionalisation of art that was so important in his account of the artistic culture of the moment. This is important and interesting and easy for any reader to recognise. Yet in thinking about what Biow does here in his readings we might also ponder the history of such linguistic examinations of Vasari’s text, so notably opened up by Paola Barocchi the great scholar of Vasari, in her edition of the two versions of his life of Michelangelo, published in 1962 and then continued, if not completed, in the volumes, listing all the terms he used and their frequency, begun in 1994 under the patronage of the Accademia della Crusca and the Scuola Normale in Pisa. Now, later, we are fortunate to have access to an electronic data base for the text of Vasari, Lartte, produced by the Scuola Normale in Pisa as part of what on David Cast Vasari’s words 4 their web site is called a laboratory of the cultural patrimony of Italy. Here any word or phrase in Vasari is immediately accessible in all its instances. This allows us a different and easily usable way to enter into what Vasari wrote, and, as I know – as I am sure does also Biow – offering a more efficient and comprehensive method to find particular terms as they appear in this text. But with a proviso; that, to understand fully the meanings these words and phrases carry with them, we should every instance back to the text to recognise fully the delicate shades of meaning implied in each particular instance. All ways of doing things have their advantages and disadvantages; here in this study what we might think of as both the encyclopaedic and the more general ways of reading Vasari are thoroughly and nicely balanced. David Cast was educated at Oxford University and Columbia where he completed his dissertation under the supervision of Rudolf Wittkower. He has taught at Yale, Cornell and, for the last thirty years, at Bryn Mawr College. His work is centred on the language of criticism in the Renaissance, architectural theory in England in the XVIIth and XVIIIth centuries and English painting in the XXth century. His most recent publication is: Observation: Notation: Selected Writings of Andrew Forge, 1955- 2002, New York 2018. Relevant to this review is his paper ‘Vasari on the Practical’ in Philip Jacks (ed.) Vasari’s Florence: Artists and Literati at the Medicean Court, Cambridge 1998. dcast@brynmawr.edu This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial 4.0 International License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ 
work_dmmefwrnxjfuvcwsi2rtfdjb74	----	ARCHITECTURAL HISTORY volume 54: 2011 m m% K«.".» *ffi*I &*&* J . \ * >•; • > • . ..• . » • • . Jf*? • * $ at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 https://www.cambridge.org/core S O C I E T Y O F A R C H I T E C T U R A L H I S T O R I A N S O F G R E A T B R I T A I N The Alice D a v i s H i t c h c o c k M e d a l l i o n is presented annually to authors of outstanding contributions to the literature of architectural history. Recipients of the award have been: D A V I D B R O W N L E E J O H N H A R V E Y R O G E R STALLEY A N D R E W S A I N T C H A R L E S S A U M A R E Z S M I T H C H R I S T O P H E R W I L S O N E I L E E N H A R R I S & N I C H O L A S SAVAGE J O H N A L L A N C O L I N C U N N I N G H A M & P R U D E N C E W A T E R H O U S E M I L E S G L E N D I N N I N G & S T E F A N M U T H E S I U S R O B E R T H I L L E N B R A N D R O B I N EVANS I A N B R I S T O W D E R E K L I N S T R U M L I N D A F A I R B A I R N N I C H O L A S C O O P E R : P E T E R F E R G U S S O N & STUART H A R R I S O N M A R K W I L S O N J O N E S N I C O L A C O L D S T R E A M K A T H R Y N M O R R I S O N G E O R G I A C L A R K E P E T E R G U I L L E R Y D A V I D R O B I N S O N E I T A N K A R O L P E T E R D R A P E R M A R K G I R O U A R D The Society's E s s a y M e d a l is presented annually to the winner of the Society's essay competition. The regulations are available on the SAHGB website, under 'Awards and Grants'. Previous recipients of the medal have been: 1959 i 9 6 0 1961 1962 1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971 1972 1973 1974 1975 1976 1977 1978 1979 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 H. M. C O L V I N J O H N S U M M E R S O N KERRY D O W N E S J O H N F L E M I N G D O R O T H Y S T R O U D F. H . W. S H E P P A R D H. M. & J O A N TAYLOR N I K O L A U S P E V S N E R M A R K G I R O U A R D C H R I S T O P H E R H U S S E Y P E T E R C O L L I N S A. H. G O M M E & D. M. W A L K E R J O H N H A R R I S H E R M I O N E H O B H O U S E M A R K G I R O U A R D J. M O R D A U N T C R O O K & M. H. P O R T D A V I D W A T K I N A N T H O N Y B L U N T A N D R E W S A I N T P E T E R S M I T H T E D R U D D O C K A L L A N B R A H A M H O W A R D C O L V I N P E T E R T H O R N T O N M A U R I C E C R A I G W I L L I A M C U R T I S J I L L L E V E R 1986 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 1987: 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 !995 1996 G O R D O N H I G G O T T N E I L J A C K S O N J O S E P H S H A R P L E S N o a w a r d w a s m a d e L A U R A JACOBUS T I M M O W L G I L E S W O R S L E Y N O a w a r d w a s m a d e N o a w a r d w a s m a d e M I C H A E L H A L L F R A N K S A L M O N C A T H E R I N E STEEVES S E A N SAWYER J O N A T H A N H U G H E S A N D R E W H O P K I N S 1997: P E T E R M A Y H E W 1998: A N D R E W ROYLE 1999: H E N R Y D I E T R I C H F E R N A N D E Z 2000: E L E A N O R TOLLFREE 2001: K A T H R Y N FERRY 2002: A L E X B R E M N E R 2003: J A M E S W E E K S 2004: T O M N I C K S O N 2005: N o a w a r d w a s m a d e 2006: M A T T H E W W H I T F I E L D 2008: J A M E S M A X W E L L S T E V E N S O N 2008: T R I S T R A M B A I N B R I D G E 2009: P H I L I P A S P I N 2010: J E S S I C A H O L L A N D Cover image: Belgrade Theatre, Coventry, foyer in i%8 (Colin Westwood/RIBA Library Photographs Collection) at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 https://www.cambridge.org/core ARCHITECTURAL HISTORY Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians of Great Britain Volume 54:2011 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 https://www.cambridge.org/core SOCIETY OF ARCHITECTURAL HISTORIANS OF GREAT BRITAIN Founded 1956: incorporated 1964 The Society exists to encourage an interest in the history of architecture, to provide opportunities for the exchange and discussion of ideas related to this subject and to publish, in its journal, Architectural History, significant source material and the results of original research. OPFICERS A N D EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE 2 0 1 0 - 1 1 President: Malcolm Airs Chairman: Kathryn Morrison Past President: Frank Kelsall Honorary Secretary: Simon Green Honorary Treasurer: David Lermon Honorary Editors: Judi Loach, Alistair Fair Honorary Conference Secretaries: Olivia Horsfall Turner, Libby Wardle Honorary Events Secretaries: A n d r e w Martindale, Pete Smith Honorary Executive Committee Members: Sarah Whittingham, Nicholas Molyneux, Joanne O'Hara, Caroline Stanford Honorary Newsletter Editor: Lee Prosser Honorary Reviews Editor: Kathryn Morrison Honorary Publications Officer: Simon Oakes Honorary Education Officer: Julian Holder Honorary Publicity Officer: Jonathan Kewley Honorary Research Register: Kerry Bristol Honorary Membership Secretary: David McKinstry Honorary Website Manager: Robert Proctor ARCHITECTURAL HISTORY EDITORIAL TEAM 2 0 1 1 Honorary Editors: Judi Loach, Alistair Fair Deputy Editors: David Hemsoll, John Schofield All correspondence concerning the Society except applications for membership should be addressed to: Simon Green, RCAHMS, 16 Bernard Terrace, Edinburgh E H 8 9NX, or secretary@sahgb.org.uk Applications for membership should be sent to: (for individual membership) The Membership Secretary, SAHGB, Heritage House, PO Box 21, Baldock, Herts., SG7 5SH; (for institutional membership) David McKinstry, 6 Fitzroy Square, London W I T 5DX; alternatively membership can be obtained online, through the SAHGB website, at www.sahgb.org.uk/index.cfm/display _page / membership Proposals for papers for Architectural History should be e-mailed in the first instance to: Dr Alistair Fair, architecturalhistory@sahgb.org.uk Correspondence concerning the Society's Newsletter should be addressed to: Lee Prosser, Kensington Palace and Kew Palace, Apt. 25, Hampton Court Palace, Surrey, KT8 9AU. Books for review in the Society's Newsletter should be sent to: Kathryn Morrison, English Heritage, Brooklands, 24 Brooklands Avenue, Cambridge CB2 8BU, or reviewseditor@sahgb.org.uk Correspondence concerning purchase of the Society's publications, including printed copies of Architectual History, should be addressed to: outsetservices@googlemail.com copyright© 2011 Society of Architectural Historians of Great Britain and Authors I S S N : 0066-622X Produced by Outset Services Limited Boston Spa, West Yorkshire at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available mailto:secretary@sahgb.org.uk http://www.sahgb.org.uk/index.cfm/display mailto:architecturalhistory@sahgb.org.uk mailto:reviewseditor@sahgb.org.uk mailto:outsetservices@googlemail.com https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS THREE ROMANESQUE GREAT CHURCHES IN GERMANY, FRANCE AND ENGLAND, AND THE DISCIPLINE OF ARCHITECTURAL HISTORY by Eric Fernie 1 THE GEOMETRY OF A PIECE OF STRING by David Yeomans 23 MICHELANGELO'S LAURENTIAN LIBRARY: DRAWINGS AND DESIGN PROCESS by James G. Cooper 49 THE 'GREAT TEMPLE OF SOLOMON' AT STIRLING CASTLE by Ian Campbell and Aonghus MacKechnie 91 THE PRINTED ILLUSTRATION OF MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE I N PRE-ENLIGHTENMENT EUROPE by Francesco Russo 119 'THE WINDOWS OF THIS CHURCH ARE OF SEVERAL FASHIONS': ARCHITECTURAL FORM AND HISTORICAL METHOD IN JOHN AUBREY'S 'CHRONOLOGIA ARCHITECTONICA' by Olivia Horsfall Turner 171 REMAKING THE SPACE: THE PLAN AND THE ROUTE IN COUNTRY-HOUSE GUIDEBOOKS FROM I 7 7 O TO 1 8 1 5 by Jocelyn Anderson 195 'OUR ANCIENT ARCHITECTURE': CONTESTING CATHEDRALS IN LATE GEORGIAN ENGLAND by Philip Aspin 213 ADAPTING GLASSHOUSES FOR HUMAN USE: ENVIRONMENTAL EXPERIMENTATION IN PAXTON'S DESIGNS FOR THE 1 8 5 I GREAT EXHIBITION BUILDING AND THE CRYSTAL PALACE, SYDENHAM by Henrik Schoenefeldt 233 LETTING IN THE LIGHT: THE COUNCIL FOR ART AND INDUSTRY AND OLIVER HILL'S PIONEER SCHOOLS by Jessica Holland 275 COORDINATING METHOD AND ART: ALVAR AALTO AT PLAY by Harry Charrington 309 'A NEW IMAGE OF THE LIVING THEATRE': THE GENESIS AND DESIGN OF THE BELGRADE THEATRE, COVENTRY, I 9 4 8 - 5 8 by Alistair Fair 347 BUILDING ON THE BACKS: BASIL SPENCE, QUEENS' COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE AND UNIVERSITY ARCHITECTURE AT MID-CENTURY by Louise Campbell 383 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 https://www.cambridge.org/core NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS PROFESSOR ERIC FERNIE is an architectural historian with a special interest in the Middle Ages, on which he has published widely. Before his retirement he was Director of the Courtauld Institute of Art from 1995 to 2003. DR DAVID YEOMANS taught at the Liverpool and Manchester schools of architecture. He is an engineer with a Ph.D. in Architectural History and extensive experience of architectural conservation. He is the Vice Chairman of the Construction History Society and was formerly Secretary (now Honorary Member) of the International Scientific Committee on the Analysis and Restoration of Structures of Architectural Heritage (ISCARSAH). DR JAMES G. COOPER is an Assistant Professor at Pennsylvania State University where he teaches Architectural Design and Visual Communications in the Stuckeman School of Architecture and Landscape Architecture. He studied Architecture at Ryerson University, Toronto. After six years of professional practice, he completed his Masters in Architecture at the University of Michigan (1992) and subsequently studied Architectural History at the University of Virginia (Masters degree, 1998; Ph.D., 2001). His research interests include: Ancient Greco-Roman Architecture and Urbanism; Italian Renaissance and Baroque Architecture and Urbanism; and nineteenth and early twentieth century European Architecture and Urbanism. PROFESSOR IAN CAMPBELL is Professor of Architectural History and Theory at Edinburgh College of Art/University of Edinburgh. He has written several articles on aspects of Scottish and Irish Renaissance Architecture, the most recent being 'The Peripheries strike back: Romanesque and Early Gothic Revival as a reaction to Fourteenth-Century Marginalisation in Scotland, Ireland and Italy', in S. H o p p e (ed.) Stil und Bedeutung (Regensburg 2008). During 2010-12 he is Rudolf Wittkower Guest Professor at the Bibliotheca Hertziana, the Max-Planck Institute for Art History in Rome, where he is preparing an edition of Pirro Ligorio's Oxford Codex in collaboration with Professor Maria Luisa Madonna. DR AONGHUS MACKECHNIE is an architectural historian employed by Historic Scotland. His research has focussed on the Renaissance and Early Modern periods in Scotland and on the culture of the Highlands. He is author of Carragh-Chuimhne (2004), a study of Gaeldom's monuments, co-author (with Miles Glendinning) otAHistory of Scottish Architecture (1996) and Scottish Architecture (Thames & Hudson, 2004), and with Audrey Dakin and Miles Glendinning is currently co-editing Scotland's Castle Culture (forthcoming, 2011). DR FRANCESCO RUSSO graduated in Liberal Arts (Lettere Moderne) at the University of Naples Federico II with a dissertation in History of Art Criticism, 'La fondazione del Duomo di Napoli attraverso le fonti, dal XII al XVII secolo'. He then secured a Doctoral Fellowship at the same university; his Ph.D. was entitled 'Lafortuna dei Primitivi nella letteratura erudita Campana. Napoli e Capua tra la fine del XVI e la meta del XVII secolo'. In 2007 he w o n the postdoctoral San Paolo Fellowhip at the Institut National d'Histoire de l'Art (INHA) of Paris for work on Mabillon and Montfaucon's studies of Italian Medieval heritage. He subsequently obtained a post-doctoral teaching qualification in History of Art and is currently teaching that discipline in an Italian secondary school. He has published several articles in France and Italy on various aspects of antiquarianism and its consequences from the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries. DR OLIVIA HORSFALL TURNER studied History and History of Art at Cambridge and was awarded the Clare-Mellon Fellowship to Yale University were she took a Masters in History of Art. She studied for her Ph.D. at University College London, and conducted post-doctoral research at the Irish Art Research Centre, Trinity College Dublin. She is n o w an Architectural Investigator at at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 https://www.cambridge.org/core NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS v English Heritage and a Research Associate at Trinity College Dublin. Her research focuses on seventeenth- and eighteenth-century architecture in Britain, with a particular interest in antiquarianism, the after-lives of medieval buildings, and architectural description. JOCELYN ANDERSON studied History of Art and English at McGill University and is now a Ph.D. candidate at the Courtauld Institute of Art, London. The working title of her dissertation is 'Remaking the Country House: Country-House Guidebooks in the Late Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries'. In addition to her studies, she has taught at the Courtauld and she is a member of the editorial group of immediations, the Courtauld's peer-reviewed, student-run journal. She will be a visiting scholar at the Yale Center for British Art in the spring of 2012. PHILIP ASPIN studied History at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, where he is now reading for a doctorate on the Gothic Revival in early 19th-century England. In 2009 h e w o n the SAHGB Hawksmoor Essay Medal with an earlier version of the article printed in this journal. DR HENRIK SCHOENEFELDT studied Architecture at the Prince's Foundation for Architecture, Portsmouth University and TU-Wien. In 2007 he was awarded an M.Phil, in Environmental Design at the University of Cambridge, where he recently completed a Ph.D. on the history of all-glass buildings in the nineteenth century. He was awarded the LKE Ozolins scholarship from the Royal Institute of British Architects and bursaries from the Kurt H a h n and Cambridge European Trusts. In September 2011 he takes u p the post of Lecturer in Sustainable Architecture at the University of Kent. DR JESSICA HOLLAND studied Architecture at the University of Portsmouth and recently completed her Ph.D. thesis on the Modernist buildings of the British architect Oliver Hill. She is currently undertaking further research into interwar British Modernism. In 2010 she w o n the SAHGB Hawksmoor Essay Medal with an earlier version of the article printed in this journal. DR HARRY CHARRINGTON is Lecturer in Architecture at the University of Bath. He studied Architecture at Cambridge and subsequently combined academic posts with practice, including time working at the office of Alvar Aalto and Co. in Finland. In 2008 he completed his doctorate at the London School of Economics on the social and artistic practice of the Aalto atelier, on which he has published widely. This subject continues to form a major part of his research interests, together with suburbia and the relationship of planning and design. DR ALISTAIR FAIR is a Research Associate in the Department of Architecture at the University of Cambridge, where he is also a Junior Research Fellow at Wolfson College. He studied Modern History at Oxford and History of Art at the Courtauld Institute of Art before completing his Ph.D. at Cambridge. The subject of his doctoral thesis, an architectural history of British theatre between 1926 and 1991, reflected his particular interest in twentieth-century public and institutional buildings. Forthcoming publications include an article on 1970s theatres in Twentieth-Century Architecture 10 (2011) and a co-written book, Geometry and Atmosphere: theatre buildings from vision to reality (Ashgate, 2011). In addition to continuing work on theatres, he is also investigating hospital architecture as part of a multi-disciplinary EPSRC-funded project. DR LOUISE CAMPBELL is Reader in History of Art at the University of Warwick. Her publications include Coventry Cathedral: Art and Architecture in Post-war Britain (Oxford, 1996) and Twentieth- Century Architecture and its Histories published for the SAHGB in 2000; she is co-editor with Miles Glendinning and Jane Thomas of Sir Basil Spence: Buildings and Projects (RIBA, 2011, forthcoming). Her current research investigates British architecture and public art in the post-war period. She has been awarded a Paul Mellon Centre Senior Fellowship for 2011-12 in order to complete a book on the history of artists' habitats. at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066622X00003968 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_dmmntzn7bncphif652vin6trsy	----	AUC Philologica 4 2018 6385 po 2. k. barva.indd 9 EUROPEAN INFLUENCE OF DUTCH AND FLEMISH ART CULTURAL MOBILITY LUDO BEHEYDT ABSTRACT The future for European interdisciplinary culture studies lies in the rec- ognition of the dynamics in European culture. If European citizens are to identify with Europe, a familiar European culture has to be offered to them. That familiarity will not be found in a national history or national culture studied in isolation, nor will it be found in European history or culture. Europe does not have a common cultural identity, a shared web of significance. A way out of this dilemma is conceiving European culture as the result of a continuous cross-pollination. Such a view is presented here in an exemplary approach to art, looking at Flemish and Dutch art as a meeting point of cultural influences. Key words: European culture; cultural mobility; cultural identity; Flemish and Dutch art Introduction In the European context a new Cultural narrative for Europe is urgently needed. If we want European citizens to identify with Europe, recognition of the dynamics in European culture is an absolute necessity. Neither the narrow national look at art, nor the cosmo- politan generalizing view is an adequate approach. It is an obsolete nationalistic stalemate to look at the art of the Low Countries as an isolated essentialist cultural production. The current rigid compartmentalization of cultures as stable, timeless and recognizable is an academic myth. But it is as simplistic and mythical to look at European art as an integrat- ed unitary artistic expression. There is no stable, timeless and recognizable European art either. A way out of these overly narrow visions is conceiving European art as the result of a continuous cross-pollination, a fascinating encounter of legacies, in which cultural identities find their way in diversifying artistic influences. The challenge for a new cultural narrative for Europe, therefore, will be that of strik- ing the right balance between recognition of today’s  cultural super-diversity and the respect for the cultural identity of the heritage of local cultures. To adequately address this paradox Stephen Greenblatt (Greenblatt, 2010, 3–4) proposed to fully acknowledge https://doi.org/10.14712/24646830.2018.50 © 2018 The Author. This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0). 2018 ACTA UNIVERSITATIS CAROLINAE PAG. 9–33 PHILOLOGICA 4 / GERMANISTICA PRAGENSIA 10 the cultural mobility of each and every culture, that is, “the vitally important dialectic of cultural persistence and change” (2010, 2), which he considers as the ceaseless process of ‘cultural mobility’. In terms of a European cultural policy development, taking account of cultural mobility would imply recognizing and acknowledging the constraints of cul- tural continuity that define cultural identity, while at the same time revealing the dynam- ics in cultural identity and the process of hybridization caused by diversified encounters between cultures (Burke, 2009). The basic dialectic between rootedness and change, between fixity and dynamics, which according to Greenblatt forms the essence of universal cultural mobility, challen- ges both the assumption of cultural stability and the belief in total cultural relativism. In an effort to reorient European cultural studies in accordance with recognition of cultural mobility, we approvingly refer to Greenblatt’s outline of a five-point set of basic principles to guide our new look at Netherlandish art. These principles are (Greenblatt 2010: 250–253): “First, mobility must be taken in a highly literal sense. […] Second, mobility studies should shed light on hidden as well as conspicuous movements of peoples, images, texts and ideas. […] Third, mobility studies should identify and analyze the ‘contact zones’ where cultural goods are exchanged. […] Fourth, mobility studies should account in new ways for the tension between individual agency and structural constraint. […] Fifth, mobility studies should analyze the sensation of rootedness.” Operating with this set of principles as guidelines for a  new approach to Europe- an culture will lead to a  totally new look at national art, which is more in line with today’s super-diverse European societies and, at the same time, offers a better access to the specific patterns of meaning that identify European cultural communities. It will be shown in an exemplary case of the development of ‘Netherlandish art’ (in the early mod- ern period, 1450–1650) for a European audience, that applying these principles will have far reaching consequences for the new artistic narrative about art in Europe. 1. Mobility in the literal sense A systematic elaboration for Netherlandish art of the five principles of the Mobility Studies Manifesto (2010) advanced by Greenblatt, leads us, first of all, to the literal sense of mobility. Only by taking account of the actual patterns of mobility of artists, will it be possible to explain the metaphorical movement of influences, from superficial to funda- mental, from local to global, from resistance to acceptation. Mobility of Netherlandish artists was already common from the middle of the fifteenth century on. The famous Flemish primitive Rogier van der Weyden (1399–1464) was the first artist to have undertaken the journey to Italy. He went to Rome in the Jubilee Year 1450 where his emotional work was admired by the local painters and he immediately greatly influenced Italian painting. Hints of interest among Italian painters are evident even before this visit: the use of oil by Piero della Francesca about 1448–1450 during his 11 stay at the court of Ferrara and by the Ferrarese painter Cosmè Tura in the late 1450s sug- gests study of the technique of Rogier van der Weyden, whose famous triptych of the Dep- osition (Figure 1) was present at the humanist court of Leonello d’Este as we know from its eulogistic description by the antiquary Ciriaco d’Ancona in 1449. But certainly in Florence painting alla fiamminga became trendy and an emulation of Netherlandish visual qualities of Jan Van Eyck’s and Rogier Van der Weyden’s work, such as the eye for minute detail and the technical virtuosity, changed the way of Florentine painting thoroughly (Nuttall 2004). Not only Florentine painting though! Van der Weyden’s and Van Eyck’s fame were so overwhelming in Italy that some Italian masters started to paint in the Netherlandish fashion. The Sicilian Antonello da Messina is probably the most typical example. No other Italian artist of the 15th century responded in such a direct fashion to the Flemish primitives. His work is so overtly Flemish that the sixteenth century connoisseur Mar- cantonio Michiel attributed some of his works to Flemish primitives. The meticulously descriptive realism and the strong coloristic character of his portraits, for instance, con- vincingly prove direct Netherlandish influence. From the 15th century on, journeys to Italy became very popular among Netherlandish artists, who often finished their formation by a trip to Rome, Florence, Venice, … to get personally acquainted with the great Italian art of the Renaissance. Of course, such jour- neys also highly influenced the Northern painters. Thus, with Van der Weyden we notice Figure 1. Rogier van der Weyden – The Deposition (1435) – Museo del Prado, Madrid 12 in a work like The Entombment of Christ a remarkable influence of the Italian elegance he had discovered in the work of Fra Beato Angelico, but which does, nevertheless, nev- er overwhelm his genuine Netherlandish characteristics such as the expressive realism of the faces and the asymmetry in the composition (Hoogewerff 1947). On the other hand, the presence of Van der Weyden in Italy has incited the duchess of Milano, Bianca Maria Visconti, in 1463, to send the young painter Zanetto Bugatto from Milan to Van der Weyden’s studio in Brussels for three years to get him acquainted with the Flemish technique of oil painting (Kemperdick 1999: 136). As, however, Van der Weyden died in 1464 Bugatto spent the next two years in the studio of Hans Memling by whom he got so thoroughly influenced in his portraiture painting that some art historians still claim that his portrait of Lodovico Sforza was painted by Memling (Figure 2). His Flemish influ- enced portraits and landscape backgrounds reflect, indeed, the blend of Netherlandish and Italian styles that interested his Milanese patron. Thus, two-way mobility has caused mutual influence, which continued all through the Renaissance and was already acknowl- edged by Carel van Mander in his ‘Book of Painters’ (Schilder-Boeck) as early as 1604, when he wrote that Italy sent its painters to Flanders “so as to suckle at new breasts in Flanders”, but at the same time recognized that the Dutch painter Jan Schoorel “brought from Italy insight in the best way of painting”. The assimilation of Italian influences by some Netherlandish artists in the early mo dern times became so strong that they got designated as ‘Italianists’ or ‘Romanists’, names which originally had a disapproving connotation (Dacos 1995: 14). Admittedly, Italian mannerism and ‘Romanism’ had a great impact on Netherlandish painting of the 16th century. Many painters from the Low Countries did their ‘Grand Tour’ in Italy and Figure 2. Zanetto Bugatto – Portrait of Lodovico Sforza 13 familiarized themselves with the innovations of the Italian Renaissance. The groups of Fiamminghi a Roma, young artists that went to Rome to finish their education as painters, stood in sheer admiration before Raphael’ s Stanze del vaticano and Michelangelo’s Vaults in the Sistine Chapel. Raphael had become the example par excellence of perfect univer- sal harmony and Michelangelo had become the ideal of expressive human beauty. So, Netherlandish painters came to Rome to study this new art and wanted to become the ‘Flemish Raphael’ , like Michel Coxcie, or the ‘Flemish Michelangelo’, like Frans Floris Devriendt. Michiel Coxcie (1499–1592) was one of the most influential painters in the sixteenth-century Netherlands. If he was eventually dubbed the ‘Flemish Raphael’ , it just goes to show how highly rated he was by his contemporaries. Already during his lifetime he was compared to the great Italian renaissance artist Raphael and some even saw him as his equal. And as you may notice in the comparison of one of his works with a portrait by Raphael he was clearly inspired by the clear and harmonious design of Raphael’ s classical elegance (Figure 3). The Antwerp painter Frans Floris Devriendt, in turn, was more attracted by the strong expression of human beauty in great compositions with perfectly designed human bodies as we know them from Michelangelo’s ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. He followed Vasa- ri’s advice to “strive to imitate Michelangelo in all things”. Still, although Frans Floris knew about anatomy, perspective and disegno he clearly lacked Michelangelo’s mastery to create convincing perfect human forms and to design boldly simple conceptions of scenes. Even if his Fall of the Rebel Angels (1554) (Figure 4) imposes by its technical vir- tuosity, it is disenchanting by a lack of genius. The Mannerist contorted bodies are never convincing in the overall disegno. Figure 3. Michiel Coxcie – St. Luke Altarpiece (detail) – National Gallery Prague Raphael – Portrait of Agnolo Doni – Pallazo Piti, Florence 14 Figure 4. Frans Floris Devriendt – Fall of the Rebel Angels (1554) – Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp 15 No lack of genius on the other hand in the work of Pieter Bruegel the Elder who also made his ‘Journey to Italy’, but who did not want to impress by imitation of the Italians. On the contrary. If we consider his elaboration of the same theme of The Fall of the Rebel Angels (1562) (Figure 5), we are enchanted by the straightforward Flemish gift for fan- tastic and visionary art. In the great grotesque chaos a circle of light is coming down to the darkness of hell presenting us with the demonic atrocity of damnation. The appalling menagerie of hybrid monsters is chaotically at war with the Saint Michael. Was not Bruegel influenced by his ‘Grand Tour’ through Italy then? He certainly was, as he brought us great landscape drawings and engravings from his journey. But he was no imitator. He is the perfect example of cultural mobility, as he skillfully integrated what he had seen in Italy into his genuinely Flemish work. In The Fall of Icarus (Figure 6), for instance, he created a world landscape that presents a foreground with a truly Flemish view, a Brabantic hill slope on which a farmer is ploughing, continues ploughing, despite the great mythological drama that is happening, the Fall of Icarus, a drama that takes place unnoticed. The great mythological event is reduced here to a tiny leg disappearing in the water. The painting reminds us of a Flemish proverb (of the sort imaged in other works by Bruegel): “And the farmer continued to plough…” (En de boer … hij ploegde voort) pointing out the futility of the great mythological drama’s in comparison to the never ending seasonal work of the ordinary man. Genuinely Flemish in spirit and yet touched by Italian influence, for in the depth of the landscape we discover a wonderful Italian bay of Messina. Thus, Bruegel has created a  new type of landscape which has deeply influenced European landscape painting later on. Figure 5. Pieter Bruegel the Elder – The fall of the Rebel Angels (1562) – Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, Brussels 16 Bruegel was the genial exception and in that he differed from many of his contempo- raries who were infatuated with the luster of Rome. A typical example is Jan Gossaert (1478–1532), who is often considered as the first Renaissance artist or ‘Romanist’ from the Low Countries and who went to Italy in 1508 as a member of the entourage of Prince Philip of Burgundy. Gossaert was fascinated by the great Roman sculptures he discov- ered in the Courtyard of the Sassi family and in the Palazzo dei Conservatore in Rome (Ainsworth 2010) and introduced an innovative Italian sculptural approach in Nether- landish painting, but he remained loyal to the extraordinary meticulous style inheri- ted from the Van Eyck tradition. In Saint Luke painting the Virgin (ca. 1520) ( Figure 7) (Prague, Narodni Museum), for instance, he faithfully follows the Flemish verism and the almost gothic plasticity of Van der Weyden, lending the virgin Mary a sculptural volume and a warm sensuality, but he situates this typical Flemish scene in an Italianate spatial structure with striking effects of perspective foreshortening. The integration of Italian innovations in the Flemish tradition certainly had an impact on the cultural identity of Netherlandish art, but did not wash it away. Despite the obvious Italian influence, Jan Gossaert remained recognizably tied to the Netherlandish tradition (Beheydt 2002). In general, the mobility of the artists did not annihilate their recognizable cultural identity, it only contributed to their cultural mobility. Even if Netherlandish artists got employed in Italy, they developed their identity in artistic interaction with their new environment and they influenced the receiving Italian culture. Thus, when Federico da Montefeltro received the Flemish master Justus of Ghent (‘Giusto da Guanto’) in 1473 at the court of Urbino, the Fleming did not ‘Italianize’ completely. Paula Nuttall elucidated his process of cultural mobility aptly and concisely as follows: Figure 6. Pieter Bruegel the Elder – Landscape with the Fall of Icarus (1558) – Royal Museum of Fine Arts of Belgium, Brussels 17 “The experience of working in the rarefied artistic ambience of Urbino itself had a catac- lytic effect on Justus; his style underwent a rapid transformation, acquiring an increasing Italianate monumentality, a grace, an understanding of perspective, and an assimilation of renaissance architectural forms, without any loss of native virtuosity or verisimilitude.” (Nuttall 2004: 4) In the context of a European look at Netherlandish art, it is fascinating to study this process of continuous cross-pollination due to actual mobility of artists. A typical exam- ple of outspoken cultural mobility with mutual influence on the native culture and on the foreign culture is the famous Utrecht School with the leading artist Gerard (or Gerrit) van Honthorst, in Italy also named Gherardo delle Notti, who within a traditional Nether- Figure 7. Jan Gossaert – Saint Luke painting the Virgin – National Museum, Prague 18 landish iconography, introduced a composition technique totally inspired by Caravaggio (Judson, 1959). The Adoration of the Shepherds (Figure 8) signed by Honthorst in 1622 at a glorious moment in his career, is an iconic example of the harmonic reconciliation of the stark chiaroscuro’s of Caravaggio on the one hand, and the typical Dutch gift for subtle effects of light on the other hand, not unlike those of Johannes Vermeer. Honthorst enjoyed a stay in Italy where he got acquainted with the work of Caravaggio and subscribed almost immediately to Caravaggio’s revolution. His earliest work in Italy still reveals all the raw strength of a young northern artist overwhelmed by Caravag- gio’s naturalism and his strong clair-obscur. In 1620 Honthorst returned from Italy to his home town Utrecht as a celebrated painter, and introduced an artistic innovation that was immediately successfully taken over by an Utrecht group of Netherlandish painters: the Caravaggesque nocturne with life-size half-length figures. As you may notice in the Adoration of the Shepherds this Caravaggesque chiaroscu- ro was eminently suited to directly involve the spectator with the miracle of the Holy Night, as the spectator gets taken up in this mysterious circle of light. The figures also share Carvaggio’s realism. The child is the sole light source. His radiance illuminates the realistic faces of Mary, Joseph and the shepherds, evoking intensive emotions: the quiet bliss of the parents, the joyful awe and humble reverence of the shepherds. This Figure 8. Gerrit van Honthorst – The adoration of the Shepherds (1622) – Wallraf-Richartz Museum, Cologne 19 painting harmoniously fuses the Northern sensibility for subtle light shades with the caravaggesque tendency to stark chiaroscuro. The artificially lit scenes do not share the caravagessque harshness but show a typical Dutch intimacy. Such stark naturalistic chiaroscuro light scenes soon influenced Netherlandish painting and contributed the dissemination of Caravaggio’s style in Holland through the Utrecht School, consisting principally of Honthorst himself, Dirck van Baburen (c. 1590–1624), Hendrik Terbrugg- hen ( 1588–1629) and Jan van Bijlert (1597–1671). They introduced the dramatic chiaro- scuro and established new stylistic and iconographic models that were soon imitated by other artists and contributed to Netherlandish cultural mobility. Of the Flemish artists of the early modern period that due to their factual mobility exerted the greatest influence on European art, Pieter Paul Rubens and Anton van Dyck are certainly the most important. Both extensively moved from court to court in Europe and developed their artistic identity in continuous interaction with their respective artis- tic environments, yet leaving an enduring mark on the receiving cultural identity thus contributing to the cultural mobility. I only take the example of Anton Van Dyck, who was a restless traveler and worked in Italy, the Spanish and the republican Netherlands, to finally arrive in England as the court painter of Charles I. Although Van Dyck spent only seven years in England, he caused a revolution in British portrait painting which was to find deep resonance well into the 20th century. Especially in the 18th century his elegant style and several of the new genres (children, ‘friendship’ pairs) he introduced were followed by the most suc- cessful portrait painters, such as William Hogarth (1732–1750), Thomas Gainsborough (1727–1788), Joshua Reynolds (1723–1792) and Thomas Lawrence (1769–1830). Gains- borough’s famous ‘Blue boy’ (ca. 1770) is even a direct homage to Van Dyck and clearly Thomas Gainsborough – Blue boy (ca. 1770) – Royal Collection – Windsor Castle Figure 9. Anton van Dyck – Portrait of George Villiers (1635) – Huntington Library 20 reminds us of Van Dyck’s George Villiers, 2nd Duke of Buckingham (1635) in pose and dress (Figure 9), just as Joshua Reynolds’ portrait of George Seymour Conway (1771) shows us the young lord in a typical Van Dyck silk costume. Undeniably, Van Dyck’s artful fiction, graceful postures, casual glamour, cultivated ease and his shimmering drapery marked British portraiture for centuries and contributed to what later has been called ‘the Eng- lish look’, the negligent charm of the English upper class. As Martin Gayford (2009, 21st January, The Telegraph) so aptly remarked: “With a change of outfit, Van Dyck’s Dorothy, Viscountess Andover and her Sister Elizabeth, Lady Thimbleby (c1637) would be perfectly at home in the pages of [today’s quintessential glossy British magazine] Country Life”. 2. Conspicuous movements of texts, images and ideas It is not only the actual mobility of artists that causes cultural mobility, the movements of works, images and ideas certainly contributes to the dynamic character of cultural identity as well. Paula Nuttall (2004), for instance, has convincingly shown, how dur- ing the quattrocento Italians came into contact with Netherlandish pictorial mo dels – through drawings, model books, prints, and certain Netherlandish paintings that were displayed in Florence in accessible locations. She also subtly analyzed the modes of Figure 10. Hugo van der Goes – Portinari triptych (1475) – Uffizzi, Florence 21 response of Italian artists – ranging from obvious imitation, to appropriation, selective borrowing and creative personal interpretation – thus revealing the dialectic between rootedness and mobility and the accompanying hybridization. The influence of the Flemish primitives was not only exerted in Italy. Already in the fifteenth century work by Jan van Eyck and Rogier van der Weyden also deeply influ- enced painting in Central Europe. German painters, for instance, came into contact with the work of Rogier van der Weyden through the display of the famous Columba triptych with The Adoration of the Magi (ca. 1455) in the Columba church in Cologne. And from the end of the 15th century on, due to the growing influence of successful prints as inter- mediaries, German art was greatly inspired by popular motives and image compositions of the Flemish primitives. Display of important works in accessible locations, such as churches, has proven enor- mously important for the influence of Flemish art. Hugo van der Goes’ Portinari Triptych (Figure 10), for instance, which was ordered in Bruges by the Florentine expat Medici banker Tommaso Portinari and sent to Florence in 1475 for the Arcispedale di Santa Maria Nuova, caused a shock among Italian painters. This impressive Adoration must have seemed very uncanny to the Italian painters, because the perspective is so wrong according to Italian Renaissance principles, as the groups of people are placed in the composition each with their own perspective. In line with the Burgundian religious view of art, the relation in height between the groups is not dictated by geometric perspective, but by religious perspective: the most important groups have the most outspoken spatial importance. Very strikingly Flemish in this painting was, moreover, the introduction of the com- mon people. The unshaven shepherds are terribly naturalistically-depicted country peo- ple. These all too realistic rustic characters have impressed and seduced the Italian court painters. So we can notice how, when Domenico Ghirlandaio painted his Adoration in 1485 for the Cappella Sassetti in Santa Trinità in Florence (Figure 11), he masterfully com- bined the classical spirit so dear to the Italians, with the newly discovered rude realism of the Netherlandish master. The shepherds in his Adoration are clearly modelled after the example of Hugo van der Goes’ shepherds. Yet, despite its Flemish influence, Ghirlan- daio’s Adoration has not become a Flemish painting. Apart from the Netherlandish influence in Europe, there is of course the foreign influ- ence on Netherlandish art which is an equally important contribution in the cultural mobility. Here too, it will certainly be necessary to begin by looking at the conspicuous influence of incoming foreign images such as the Italian Renaissance engravings and prints. The reproduction in print of famous paintings made it possible for artists in the Low Countries to come into contact with foreign art. The boom of print production dur- ing the Renaissance has had a tremendous influence on Netherlandish painting (Landau & Parshall 1994). Italian prints based on the work of Raphael or Michelangelo familiar- ized many Netherlandish painters with Italian art, even if they themselves had not made the customary trip to Italy. Thus, the Italian engraver Marcantonio Raimondi, who produced engravings of the works of Raphael that were massively spread in the Low Countries (Figure 17), caused the Dutch painter Lucas van Leyden to introduce nudes into his works and to dramatize 22 action in his paintings in the Italian way. But, again, the influence was reciprocal. Marcan- tonio Raimondi, in turn, copied part of a landscape from a print by Van Leyden. On top of such overt borrowings, there were also more disguised forms of borrowing and hybridization, inspired by deliberate hiding and insubordination. A notorious exam- ple is Pieter Bruegel the elder, who took over familiar catholic themes such as The Census at Bethlehem or The Preaching of St. John the Baptist, that were acceptable traditional sub- jects under the catholic Spanish reign, but he incorporated disguised insubordinate and subversive signs of rebellious mobility in reaction to Spain’s religious regime of repression (Beheydt 2002: 97–99). He thus turned the innocent Biblical scene of the Preaching of St. John the Baptist (1566) into a hardly disguised subversive ‘Hagenpreek’ (hedges sermon), the type of clandestine sermon held by the Protestant reformers of that time (Figure 12). Conversely, in the seventeenth century, when under the Protestant Dutch Republic Catholic imagery became suspicious, Catholic themes were nevertheless appropriated and accommodated by painters, again causing cultural hybridization. Thus, for instance, Figure 11. Domenico Ghirlandaio – Adoration of the Shepherds (1485) – Sassetti Chapel panel, altarpiece, Florence 23 a deathbed scene of the Holy Mary, which had profound Catholic connotations, show- ing the Virgin Mary, a figure largely marginalized in Protestant belief, was recuperated by the ‘Protestant’ artist Rembrandt van Rijn in a mixing process that resulted in the etching The Death of the Virgin (1639). This disquieting presence of a Catholic subject that was hardly acceptable to Dutch Protestant eyes, illustrates that Rembrandt subver- sively acknowledged the place of the Virgin Mary in the Catholic visual practice and the contemporary Catholic theology of his age (Barker, 2010). It also demonstrates that fundamental hybridization dynamics of cultural mobility and “the creativity of reception and the renegotiation of meaning” (Burke 2009: 107) take place in encounters. Transculturation is not always overt and is not unidirectional either. The cultural mobility in Netherlandish art worked both ways. Netherlandish artists influenced for- eign artists, but foreign artists also influenced Netherlandish artists. In the perspective of A New European Narrative for culture, it is crucially important to pay attention to the intricate and continuous cross-pollination of the diversity of cultures in Europe and to discover that the processes of interaction, although sometimes highly complex and pro- found, have not washed away the cultural identities. 3. ‘Contact zones’ where cultural goods are exchanged In connection with painting, identifying and analyzing the ‘contact zones’ where cultural goods are exchanged will direct the focus to places where intercultural contact is intensified and fertile. One such contact zone was certainly the print shop (Landau & Parshall, 1994). Around 1548 the Flemish painter Hieronymus Cock (1517/8–1570) came back from Italy and founded with his wife Volxcken Diercx In de Vier Winden (At the Four Winds), Figure 12. Pieter Bruegel the Elder – The Preaching of Saint John the Baptist (1566) – Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest 24 a print shop in Antwerp, which became a meeting point for artists from the Netherlands and Italy and where humanists and art lovers from all over Europe met one another. Cock published innovative prints (by Bruegel, Giorgio Ghisi a.o.) of great renaissance masters like Raphael, Bronzino, Vasari, Floris, Lombard and Heemskerck. The flourishing print commerce of Hieronymus Cock highly contributed to the spreading of the Italianate renaissance style in Northern Europe. Appreciation for classical antique architecture, for instance, was greatly promoted by prints like the architectural fantasy by Hans Vredeman de Vries, showing us Cock’s print shop in an idealized print by Joannes and Lucas van Doetecum after Hans Vredeman de Vries, Imaginair gezicht op een straat met het huis In de Vier Winden (Imaginery view on a street with the house At the Four Winds), from the series Scenographiae sive perspectivae, 1560 (Figure 13). Cock is standing in the gate of his shop and his wife is posing behind the sales counter. The text says: “let the cook (Cock), cook to the benefit of the people” (“laet de Cock coken om volcks wille”), thus punning on the name of the shop owner. Thousands of prints from the best engravers of Europe thus found their way into the Netherlands and played a key role in the breakthrough of new artistic ideas. The Italian engraver Giorgio Ghisi, for instance, worked for Cock. He engraved, among other prints, a great School of Athens (1550) (Figure 14) after the famous School of Athens from the Stanze del Vaticano by Raphael. Figure 13. Print shop ‘In de vier winden’ – Joannes and Lucas van Doetecum after Hans Vredeman de Vries 25 Figure 14. Giorgio Ghisi – The School of Athens, print (1550) after Raphael Figure 15. Jan Steen – The Wedding at Cana (ca. 1670) – National gallery of Ireland, Dublin 26 This engraving clearly influenced Jan Steen’s  Wedding at Cana as De Groot (1952: 81) has convincingly indicated. But although the architecture, the composition and the posture of the figures (e.g. attitude of the broadly posing farmer) have been influenced by the Ghisi print, Steen transformed Raphael’ s solemn and dignified image it into a popular Dutch wedding scene (Figure 15). In his composition Steen might also have been influenced by the great monumental painting of The wedding at Cana (1562–63) by Paolo Veronese as Stechow (1972: 73) suggested, a painting Steen might have been familiar with. The contact zones were really centers of exchange, where fruitful transculturation took place, also radiating from the genuine Netherlandish art. Thus the Netherlandish work of Hieronymus Bosch or Pieter Bruegel the Elder also found its way abroad. The famous Flemish artist Pieter Bruegel the Elder worked for Hieronymus Cock’s print shop and it is known that in his day he first made his name among the general public as a designer of prints. Commissioned by the owner of the Antwerp print shop, Bruegel produced more than sixty drawings which were cut in copper by the best engravers of his time. The work comprised distinctly marked Flemish work (comparable to the work of Hierony- mus Bosch e.g.: Big fish eat little fish), also popular Flemish work (Skaters on the ice) or moralizing prints (Seven virtues, Seven deadly sins), as well as landscapes from his ‘Grand Tour’ to Italy. Cock set about making Bruegel a star artist and spreading Netherlandish influence by diffusing his prints throughout Europe. Not only print shops were centers of cultural exchange, courts too were often highly prolific sources of cultural mobility. For Italy, I already mentioned the court of Leonello d’Este in Ferrarra, a meeting point of humanist scholarship and Italian and Netherlandish artists, but also a place where Netherlandish works of art could be admired. Testimonies of humanists of fifteenth-century courts in Italy of, among others, Naples (Summonte), Ferrara (Ciriaco d’Ancona), Venice (Marcantonio Michiel) testify not only to the pres- ence of Netherlandish art at Italian courts but also to its influence on Italian artists and to its exceptional artistic merit. The quattrocento courts and their immediate networks were certainly major causes of cultural mobility. The same holds true, of course, for the famous Habsburg court of Emperor Rudolf II, in Prague around 1600, whose patronage of several Netherlandish artists (among them the ‘Rembrandt among the sculptors’, Adriaen de Vries, but also Carel van Man- der) lay at the basis of a very international ‘Stylish style’, a European mannerism that soon became very popular. Especially the virtuosic works made by the Netherlandish court painter Bartolomeus Spranger (1546–1611) helped to spread Mannerism from the court of Rudolf II all over Europe. Rudolf ’s preference for allegorical and mythological themes with an erotic flavor can be noticed in Spranger’s Angelica and Medor for instance, which shows the typical mannerist complicated and contorted poses only attained by well-trained gymnasts. The elegant and undulating lines of their sophisticated poses were soon imitated in the rest of Europe. Apart from print shops and courts, from the sixteenth century on, picture galleries (‘Picture Galleries’, like The Picture Gallery of Cornelis van der Geest, 1628 by Willem van Haecht) with collections of foreign and local paintings became international meet- ing places where agents prospected with ‘connoisseurs’ and functioned as ‘mobilizers’ between commanders’ expectations and artists’ competences. Analyzing the responses to 27 these influential contact zones reveals patterns of accommodation, compromise, rejec- tion and opinionated stubbornness related to the tension between cultural persistence and change. 4. Tension between individual agency and structural constraint causing cultural mobility Accounting for the tension between individual agency and structural constraint, could easily be done by investigating the changing social position of the artists in response to changing circumstances in society. There was indeed a striking artistic mobility to be noticed in response to the change in social position of the painters in the course of the 15th to the 17th century. In the fifteenth century, painters like Jan van Eyck or Rogier van der Weyden largely responded to the contemporary taste of the court and the church, though at the same time exhibiting their individual talents (Beheydt 2015). Van Eyck primarily satisfied the Burgundian need for display of wealth and luxury, whereas Van der Weyden responded to the societal urge for devout drama. Thus, Van Eyck, when asked to portrait the Bur- Figure 16. Frans Hals – Marriage Portrait of Isaac Massa and Beatrix van der Laen (1622) – Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 28 gundian chancellor Rolin, depicts the wealthy chancellor kneeling before the Virgin and Child in all his splendor. The ostentatious figure of the donor, dressed in gold brocade and furs, like a prince, betrays his desire to be seen as a high-ranking court dignitary. The picture presents us with a sacra conversazione, a “holy conversation” between the Holy Mary and the mighty donor. Van Eyck helped to disseminate this genre, which was to become very popular in Italy. In the 17th century, with the rise of the modern merchant society in the Dutch Repub- lic, artists started to work for a market and responded more and more to the bourgeois taste of their public, painting intimate bourgeois interiors, decorative still-lifes, family portraits and local landscapes. The new society thus caused a radical artistic mobility, changing court taste into bourgeois taste. A fine example of the new bourgeois taste that caught painting would be the portrait of Isaac Massa and his Wife Beatrix van der Laen (Figure 16), the extremely rich Amsterdam grain trader, painted by Frans Hals in 1621. This merchant is conspicuously portrayed as a smartly dressed self-confident successful business man in his silk costume with his wife Beatrix van der Laen at his side, showing off his wealth in a very bourgeois love garden. 5. The sensation of rootedness Finally, analyzing the sensation of rootedness that codetermines cultural mobility, can be undertaken by showing how Netherlandish painting, despite foreign influences has developed a specific cultural identity that is linked to a particular time and place (Beheydt 2002; Brown 2002). For a European population of a great diversity it must be a relevant experience to be shown in how far Flemish and Dutch art were heir to their own tradition and, yet, have been constantly reshaping and recreating their cultural identity in con- frontation with disruptive forces. Investigating the sensation of rootedness is particularly important to make us aware of the paradoxical character of cultural identity in an era of super-diversity. Studying cultures as a process of mobility across times and places, while at the same time recognizing the ways in which these cultures have safeguarded their identity and continuity, should prove that intercultural encounters are not a threat to cultural identities in Europe. It can convincingly be shown how in the early modern times, notwithstanding the influence of the mythological and biblical inspiration and the introduction of foreign influences, artists like Bruegel and Rubens remained genuinely Flemish. The sensation of rootedness with Bruegel’ s paintings, for instance, is undeniable. It suffices to com- pare a popular Marcantonio Raimondi print of the biblical theme of The massacre of the innocents (Figure 17) to the Mannerist treatment of the same theme by the Dutch paint- er Cornelis van Haarlem (1591) (Figure 18) who was greatly influenced by the Italian renaissance, and then to look at the elaboration of the same theme by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (ca. 1565–1567) (Figure 19), who sets the biblical event in a Flemish snowy village, alluding covertly and subversively to the Spanish domination and suppression in the Netherlands by staging a typical Spanish army in the background of the brutal massacre. The Netherlandish cultural rootedness of Bruegel has obviously not been washed away by encounters with foreign cultures. 29 Figure 17. Massacre of the innocents in Bethlehem (Antonio Raimondi after Raphaël) Figure 18. Cornelis van Haarlem – Massacre of the innocents in Bethlehem (1591) – Frans Hals Museum 30 Figure 19. Pieter Bruegel the Elder – Massacre of the innocents in Bethlehem (ca. 1565–67) – Royal Collection, Windsor Castle Figure 20. Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio – The Calling of Saint Matthew (1599–1600) – San Luigi dei Francesi, Rome 31 Not only in Flanders, in the Dutch Republic too, the foreign influences were absorbed and merged into the native tradition. In that respect, I wanted to come back to the already mentioned Utrecht School of the seventeenth century, which brought caravaggesque influences tot the Dutch Republic through the work of Honthorst, Baburen en Terbrug- ghen. Just to show how the Netherlandish character is preserved in otherwise caravag- gesque works, let me compare the same biblical theme in a painting by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1599–1600) (Figure 20) and in one by Hendrick Terbrugghen (Figure 21). Surely, Terbrugghen’s Calling of Saint Matthew (1621) is deeply influenced by Caravaggio’s  example in its strong dramatic composition and chiaroscuro, but the treatment of the facial physiognomy shows at the same time that Terbrugghen is deeply rooted in the Netherlandish tradition. The verisimilitude of the bewilderment in the face of the tax collector and of the miserly greediness in the old man remind us of types popu- larized by early 16th century Flemish artists. And the light in the painting, in line with the older Netherlandish tradition, is less hard and more atmospheric than with Caravaggio. Conclusion I hope the present article has helped to understand the true nature of cultural identity and the importance therein of cultural mobility. I have tried to show, how mutual influ- ences have created a  European art that, though consisting of artistically recognizable Figure 21. Hendrick Terbrugghen – The Calling of Saint Matthew (1621) – Centraal Museum, Utrecht 32 identities, develops in dynamic interaction. My purpose has been to combine a deepen- ing insight into the cultural mobility in European art with the comforting and reassuring recognition of its fertile diversity. If I have underpinned my ideas concerning a ‘New Art Historic Narrative’ about the artistic identity of Europe, referring mainly to Netherlandish and Italian art, I am convinced that one could readily extend and extrapolate my model of art history to, for instance, Czech art. It can easily be shown that a similar approach might strengthen the confidence in the Czech cultural identity while at the same time revealing the international importance of the Czech contribution to European art. Would it not be marvelous if Europe could learn to appreciate Alfons Mucha (1860–1939) not merely as the greatest decorative artist in the Europe of the fin-de-siècle and as the great innovator of Art nouveau in Paris, but also as a deeply conscious Czech artist, who created that beautiful national Slovanská epopej (The Slav Epic) as an evocation of Czech cultural identity in the European fin-de-siècle (Polakovicová, 2007)? BIBLIOGRAPHY AINSWORTH, MARYAN W. (ed.) (2010). Man, Myth, and Sensual Pleasures: Jan Gossart’s Renaissance: The Complete Works. New York: Yale University Press. BARKER, MARY CHRISTINE (2010). ‘Transcending tradition: Rembrandt’s  Death of a Virgin 1639: A Re-Vision.’ Dutch Crossing 34:2, pp. 138–161. BEHEYDT, LUDO (2002). Eén en toch apart. Kunst en cultuur van de Nederlanden. Leuven: Davidsfonds. BEHEYDT, LUDO (2015). ‘Een semiotische interpretatie van het werk van de Vlaamse Primitieven tegen de achtergrond van de Bourgondische cultuur’. In: Jana Engelbrechtová (ed.): De Nederlands- talige cultuur internationaal. Centraal-Europa en de Lage Landen. Olomouc: Universita Palackého v Olomouci, pp. 3–37. BROWN, CHRISTOPHER (2002). The Dutchness of Dutch Art. Amsterdam: Amsterdams Centrum voor de Studie van de Gouden Eeuw, Universiteit van Amsterdam. BURKE, PETER (2009). Cultural hybridity. Cambridge: Polity Press. DACOS, NICOLE (1995). ‘Om te zien en te leren’. In: H. Devisscher (ed.) Fiamminghi a Roma 1508–1608. Brussel PSK: Snoeck-Ducaju & Zoon, pp. 14–31. GREENBLATT, STEPHEN (ed.) (2010). Cultural Mobility: A Manifesto. New York: Cambridge Univer- sity Press. GROOT, CORNELIS W. DE (1952). Jan Steen: beeld en woord. Utrecht: Dekker & Van de Vegt. HOOGEWERFF, G. J. (1947). De Noord-Nederlandsche schilderkunst. ’s-Gravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff. JUDSON, JAY R. J. (1959). Gerrit van Honthorst: A Discussion of his Position in Dutch Art. Reprinted Springer (1961). KEMPERDICK, STEPHAN (1999). Rogier van der Weyden. Köln: Konemann. LANDAU, DAVID & PETER W. PARSHALL (1994). The Renaissance print: 1470–1550. Yale University Press. MANDER, KAREL VAN (1604). Schilder-boeck The Lives of the Illustrious Netherlandish and German Painters. Translated and edited by Hessel Miedema. Doornspijk: DAVACO (1994). NUTTALL, PAULA (2004). From Flanders to Florence. The Impact of Netherlandish Painting, 1400–1500. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. POLAKOVIČOVÁ, EVA (2007). Alfons Mucha en het Slavische Epos. Kunst als expressie van de nationale en culturele identiteit. Masterscriptie Universiteit Leiden: Leiden. STECHOW, WOLFGANG (1972). ‘Jan Steen’s  Representations of the Marriage in Cana’. Nederlands Kunst historisch Jaarboek 23 (1), pp. 73–83. 33 EVROPSKÝ VLIV NIZOZEMSKÉHO A VLÁMSKÉHO UMĚNÍ. KULTURNÍ MOBILITA Budoucnost evropských interdisciplinárních studií o kultuře spočívá v uznání dynamiky evropské kultury. Chceme-li, aby se evropští občané identifikovali s Evropou, musíme jim nabídnout evropskou kulturu, s níž se mohou ztotožnit. Taková možnost ztotožnění se nenachází v národních dějinách nebo v izolovaně studované národní kultuře. Není navíc ani součástí evropské historie ani kultury. Evropa nemá společnou kulturní identitu, nemá sdílenou síť významu. Řešení dilematu je v pojetí evropské kul- tury jako výsledku nepřetržitého vzájemného ovlivňování. Takový názor je zde představen na příkladu přístupu k umění, který se zaměřuje na vlámské a nizozemské umění jako na místo setkávání kulturních vlivů. Ludo Beheydt Université Catholique de Louvain E-mail: Ludo.Beheydt@skynet.be 
work_do53ehbwtrcodc3ao4a2slg5fy	----	BIBLIOGRAPHIC REVIEW OF ITALIAN REGULATIONS FROM 1900 TO THE PRESENT FOR THE SIMULATED DESIGN OF ITALIAN RAILWAY BRIDGES Antonella Di Meo1, Barbara Borzi2, Davide Bellotti2, and Francesco Bruno2 1 European Centre for Training and Research in Earthquake Engineering (Eucentre) Via Adolfo Ferrata, 1, 27100, Pavia (Italy) e-mail: antonella.dimeo@eucentre.it 2 European Centre for Training and Research in Earthquake Engineering (Eucentre) Via Adolfo Ferrata, 1, 27100, Pavia (Italy) {barbara.borzi, davide.bellotti, francesco bruno}@ eucentre.it Abstract The many catastrophic earthquakes that occurred in Italy in the last fourty years underline how Italy is one of the European countries at the highest seismic risk. For this reason, the vulnerability of infrastructures needs to be investigated. This paper considers the railway network as a case study with a focus on railway bridges, which are neuralgic nodes of the whole system. The most common types of railway bridges in Italy are masonry arch bridges and girder bridges with either a continuous deck or a simply supported deck. Here, we specif- ically analyze railway girder bridges. Eucentre evaluates the seismic vulnerability of railway bridges through the definition of fragility curves. Fragility curves result from analytical procedures that determine the seismic behaviour of structures according to the structural typology as well as the level of knowledge of the bridge. One step of these procedures is the simulated design, which aims at reducing the number of variables in the process and requires the knowledge of the regulatory limits used at the time of the design. This paper presents those regulatory limits that concern: (i) loads, (ii) materials resistance, (iii) longitudinal and transversal reinforcement percentages for reinforced concrete bridges, and (iv) bearings. These limits derive from a detailed biblio- graphic study on Italian regulations, concerning the design of railway bridges from the be- ginning of 1900 to the present. Keywords: Railway Bridges, Italian Regulation, Simulated Design, Seismic Vulnerability. 4598 COMPDYN 2019 7th ECCOMAS Thematic Conference on Computational Methods in Structural Dynamics and Earthquake Engineering M. Papadrakakis, M. Fragiadakis (eds.) Crete, Greece, 24–26 June 2019 Available online at www.eccomasproceedia.org Eccomas Proceedia COMPDYN (2019) 4598-4614 ISSN:2623-3347 © 2019 The Authors. Published by Eccomas Proceedia. Peer-review under responsibility of the organizing committee of COMPDYN 2019. doi: 10.7712/120119.7253.18862 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno 1 INTRODUCTION The Italian railway network is made up of about 17000 km of rail lines that are in opera- tion and are largely developed in medium-to-high seismic hazard zones. Important elements of this network are viaducts. The most common types of railway bridges in Italy are masonry arch bridges and girder bridges with either a continuous deck or simply supported deck. In this paper, only the railway girder bridges are analyzed, a brief description of which is also given in relation to the deck material. The seismic vulnerability of railway bridges is generally assessed through fragility curves. Fragility curves can be obtained through different methods, such as analytical methods that involve the mechanical modeling of the structure. For the seismic behaviour of the modeled structure to be plausible, the characteristics of materials, the amount of reinforcement, and the types of bearings used in the modeling need to be as close as possible to the actual conditions of the bridge. This information is included in the project documents which are usually not available. To solve this problem, the simulated design of the structure is carried out using the limits imposed by the regulations in force at the time of design. To this end, this paper provides a brief bibliographic review of the regulations used for the construction of reinforced concrete railway bridges from the beginning of the last century to the present day. The first Italian regulation available on the design of reinforced concrete railway bridges dates back to 1995. For this reason, the provisions on the reinforcement of piers as well as on the mechanical characteristics of materials derive from the regulations is- sued in Italy starting from 1907 concerning the construction of public reinforced concrete structures. For mobile loads, instead, specific technical standards have been considered start- ing from 1946. The definition of the permanent load depends on the composition of the superstructure. For this purpose, this paper also provides the weights of the railway track and ballast, as well as the weight of noise barriers suggested by the latest technical specifications issued by the Ital- ian State Railways ([1], [2], [3]). Finally, this paper gives a brief bibliographic review of the standards on the types of bear- ings for railway girder bridges from 1972 onwards. It is very important to identify the geo- metrical and mechanical characteristics of these devices so that their actual function can be taken into account during their simulated design. A wrong modeling of bearings could affect the actual seismic response of a bridge because it changes the way in which mechanisms of the pier-bearing system are activated. 2 RAILWAY GIRDER BRIDGES One of a widely used bridge typology in the Italian railway network is represented by gird- er bridges. The deck can consist of reinforced concrete, prestressed reinforced concrete, or steel, and generally lies on unreinforced concrete, reinforced concrete, or masonry piers. The deck can be simply supported or continuous, thus giving rise to an isostatic or hyperstatic stat- ic scheme, respectively. Between the deck and the vertical structure of the bridge are the bear- ings, the choice of which depends mainly on the type of deck and the type of constraint to be obtained. In case of a reinforced concrete deck, the method of construction depends mainly on the length of the individual spans as well as on the total length of the bridge. Specifically, the deck can be made of: (i) a slab, (ii) steel girders embedded in concrete, and (iii) reinforced concrete plate girder. The bridge with slab deck is the simplest system used in rail transport, but only when the spans do not exceed 4 m. On the contrary, the deck with steel girders em- 4599 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno bedded in concrete or reinforced concrete plate girder is used when, for orographic reasons, the deck cannot be very thick. In particular, the deck with steel girders embedded in concrete is no longer than either 13 m, in the case of “double T” beams, or 20 m, in the case of “double T” beams with wide wings. In presence of a deck with reinforced concrete plate girder, in- stead, the girders also have the function of parapet and can reach heights of also 3.5 m. The deck is continuous and supports the railway superstructure. In addition to reinforced concrete, the deck can be realized with prestressed reinforced concrete beams. This deck can reach a length that ranges 35 m and 50 m and is generally made of isolated or box beams. When the beam has a box cross-section, the common practice provides for the use of a box for each track. In this case, the beams are connected among each other with cross-beams (which are prestressed, too) to guarantee the beams cooperation in the usual load conditions (e.g. the passage of a train) so that fatigue phenomena can be reduced. Nowadays, the prestressed reinforced concrete deck is really common on both ordinary and high-speed railway lines. Another type of deck is the steel deck, which has been widely used in the past; nowadays, however, it is mainly used for long span bridges with reduced height or to replace pre-existing steel girders. Because of the high cost of construction and maintenance, steel decks have mostly been replaced by either the prestressed reinforced concrete decks for medium-to-long span bridges, or reinforced concrete and mixed structure decks for bridges with shorter spans. The most common railway steel bridges are made of straight girders lying on masonry or rein- forced concrete piers. In the case of bridges with more than one span, however, it is preferable to create non-continuous decks on which the track can be either direct lying or ballasted. De- pending on the length of the deck, the direct-laying girders can be twin-girders (for spans be- tween 10-25 m), plate girders (for spans between 30-40 m), or truss girders (for spans between 35-100 m). For what concerns bridges with railway tracks lying on the ballast, they generally have a deck with steel-concrete composite girders. In this case, the beams can be “double T” or box section collaborating with the concrete slab and reach a length of about 20- 25 m. To guarantee the interaction between all the girders of the deck, cross-beams are also used, especially in the presence of live loads. 3 ITALIAN REGULATIONS FROM 1900 TO NOWADAYS FOR RAILWAY GIRDER BRIDGES 3.1 Resistance of Materials The first recommendations about the construction of reinforced concrete structures were issued in Italy with the Royal Decree 10/01/1907 [4]. This decree provided the first indica- tions about the maximum strength to be considered in the structural calculation for both con- crete and reinforcement. In particular, this standard stated that the compressive strength of concrete at 28 days of hardening σr,28 must not be less than 150 kg/cm2, the fifth part of which corresponds to the simple compressive safety load of the concrete to be used in the calculation. Concerning the reinforcement, the regulation allowed the use of smooth steel rebars with a tensile strength between 36 kg/mm2 and 45 kg/mm2. The safety tensile and shear loads, in- stead, should not exceed 1000 kg/cm2 and 800 kg/cm2, respectively. For the reinforcement, the decree introduced a further limitation, namely the quality coefficient, which is obtained by multiplying the unit failure load per mm2 by the percentage elongation. This coefficient, which should not exceed 900, was then replaced by the percentage of elongation at maximum tensile strength of the reinforcement in the Royal Decree issued on 4/09/1927 [5]. With the exception of this introduction, the Royal Decree 4/09/1927 [5] has not made substantial changes compared to what was already established by the previous decree [4]. In fact, the de- 4600 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno cree only reduced and slightly increased the values of the safety concrete load (30 kg/m2 and 40 kg/m2 for 2nd and 1st quality concretes) as well as the tensile and shear steel ones (1200 kg/cm2 and 960 kg/cm2). As a result, the tensile strength of the steel changed slightly, i.e. 3800-5000 kg/cm2, corresponding to a minimum elongation of 27% and 21%, respectively. With the Royal Decree 23/05/1932 [6], the classification of concretes had been improved and divided into Portland, blast furnace, pozzolanic, and aluminous. Portland, blast furnace, and pozzolanic concretes could be of normal or high strength (see Table 1). The mechanical characteristics of steel, instead, did not change compared to what was already indicated in the Royal Decree 4/09/1927 [5]. Mechanical characteristics of concrete Portland, blast furnace, pozzolanic concrete Aluminous concrete Normal strength High strength Crushing strength [kg/cm2] 450 600 650 Compressive safety load [kg/cm2] 40*-50** 50 65 Maximum tangential strength with- out reinforcement [kg/cm2] 2 4 4 Maximum tangential strength with reinforcement [kg/cm2] 14 16 16 *for structures under simple pressure; **for bent structures with a thickness not less than 10 cm. Table 1: Mechanical characteristics of portland, blast furnace, pozzolanic, and aluminous concretes in the Royal Decree 23/05/1932 [6]. The Circular 17/05/1937 [7] introduced the use of medium carbon steel, only in absence of homogeneous steel. In terms of mechanical characteristics, the medium carbon steel had an ultimate tensile strength between 5000 kg/cm2 and 6500 kg/cm2 to which percentages of elon- gation corresponded to 21% and 14%, respectively. The safety load of the steel increased from 1200 kg/cm2 to 1600 kg/cm2. In 1939 a new Royal Decree [8] was issued to regulate the construction of structures made of unreinforced or reinforced concrete. In this decree, the compressive strength of concrete at 28 days of hardening σr,28 had to be at least three times the safety load σc,a adopted in the structural calculations, but never less than 120 kg/cm2 and 160 kg/cm2 for normal-strength concrete and high-strength or aluminous concrete, respectively. Regarding the reinforcement, the Royal Decree 16/11/1939 [8] introduced high carbon steel, which allowed to adopt small- er rebar sizes due to its high specific resistance [9]. Table 2 reports the mechanical properties of the three types of steel permitted by the Royal Decree 16/11/1939 [8]. Mechanical characteristics of steel Mild Steel Medium carbon steel High carbon steel Yield characteristic strength [kg/cm2] ≥2300 ≥2700 ≥3100 Ultimate characteristic strength [kg/cm2] 4200-5000 5000-6000 6000-7000 Elongation [%] ≥20 ≥16 ≥14 Safety load [kg/cm2] ≤1400 ≤2000 ≤2000 Table 2: Mechanical characteristics of steels in the Royal Decree 16/11/1939 [8]. The Royal Decree 16/11/1939 [8] has remained in force until the first years of 1970s as a consequence of a regulatory gap due to the Second World War and the following period of 4601 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno reconstruction. Between 1939 and the early 1970s, however, a series of circulars have been issued, among which it is necessary to mention the Circular 23/05/1957 [10]. This circular not only introduced a new denomination for smooth steel rebars, i.e. AQ42, AQ50 and AQ60, equivalent respectively to the mild, medium carbon, and high carbon steel of Table 2, but also introduced first indications on ribbed steel rebars [9]. The ribbed steel rebars were allowed in special cases, such as shaped or bent rebars, and with a minimum elongation percentage of 12%. A substantial change with respect to the previous regulations occurred with the Ministerial Decree 30/05/1972 [11] which has laid the foundations of modern legislation. It introduced a classification of ribbed steel rebars as well as a calculation method at the limit states, which replaced the permissible stresses approach. This change defined the transition from a deter- ministic to a statistical calculation system due to the introduction of the characteristic value. As a consequence, the yield strength and the ultimate strength were not intended anymore as an average value but as the strength that had only a 5% probability of being lowered by the effective resistance [9]. The Ministerial Decree of 30/05/1972 [11] distinguished six classes of concrete by a number that expressed the characteristic cubic resistance at 28 days of harden- ing R'bk, from which it was possible to obtain the mechanical characteristics of the concrete (e.g. compressive strength, tensile strength, etc.). For what concerns the reinforcement, smooth steels were divided in only two classes (i.e. Fe B 22 and Fe B 32), and the ribbed steel rebars into three classes (i.e. A 38, A 41, and Fe B 44) (see Table 3). Mechanical characteristics of steel Smooth steel rebars Ribbed steel rebars Fe B 22 Fe B 32 A 38 A 41 Fe B 44 Yield characteristic strength [kg/cm2] ≥ 2200 ≥ 3200 ≥ 3800 ≥ 4100 ≥ 4400 Ultimate characteristic strength [kg/cm2] ≥ 3400 ≥ 5000 ≥ 4600 ≥ 5000 ≥ 5500 Elongation [%] ≥ 24 ≥ 23 ≥ 14 ≥ 14 ≥ 12 Safety load [kg/cm2] 1200 1600 2200 2400 2600 Table 3: Mechanical characteristics of smooth steel rebars and ribbed steel rebars in the Ministerial Decree of 30/05/1972 [11]. After 1972, other decrees were issued about the construction of reinforced concrete struc- tures, but they have not considerably changed the provisions of the Ministerial Decree 30/05/1972 [11] in terms of mechanical characteristic of materials. This is evident in Table 4 and Table 5, which report the mechanical characteristics of the rebars defined in the latest standards on the construction of railway bridges, issued by Italian State Railways ([1], [2], [3]). The only significant difference between the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 1997 [1] and the newest Technical Specifications by Italian State Railways ([2], [3]) is the mechanical characteristics of ribbed steel rebars (see Table 5). As stated in the Italian Seismic Codes (NTC08) [12], the use of smooth steel rebars is definitely prohibited. Concerning concrete properties, no substantial changes were made. 4602 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno Mechanical characteristics of steel Smooth steel rebars Ribbed steel rebars Fe B 22k Fe B 32k Fe B 38k Fe B 44k Yield characteristic strength [kg/cm2] ≥ 2150 ≥ 3150 ≥ 3750 ≥ 4300 Ultimate characteristic strength [kg/cm2] ≥ 3350 ≥ 4900 ≥ 4500 ≥ 5400 Elongation [%] ≥ 24 ≥ 23 ≥ 14 ≥ 12 Table 4: Mechanical characteristics of smooth steel rebars and ribbed steel rebars in the Circular n. I/SC/PS- OW2298 and following update of 1997 [1]. Mechanical characteristics of steel B450C Yield characteristic strength [kg/cm2] ≥ 4500 Ultimate characteristic strength [kg/cm2] ≥ 5400 Elongation [%] ≥ 7.5 Table 5: Mechanical characteristics of ribbed steel rebars in the newest technical specifications by Italian State Railways ([2], [3]). 3.2 Definition of loads 3.2.1 Permanent loads The permanent loads are obtained from the structural and non-structural loads, to which the hydraulic and lateral earth pressures are added too, if existing. The permanent structural loads are evaluated on the basis of the geometric characteristics of the elements constituting the deck of the bridge (i.e. girders, cross-beams, and slab) and the specific weights of the materials with which they are made. The latter are regulated by the codes in force at the time of the structure design. The non-structural load, instead, is obtained by adding the weight of all non-structural el- ements composing the superstructure, that are mainly: (i) the railway track, (ii) the ballast, (iii) the waterproofing, and (iv) the noise barriers. A railway track is defined as the totality of rails, sleepers, and fasteners. The first rails were entirely made of cast iron, were very short, and mounted on large stone blocks drowned in the ground. Due to the fragility of cast iron, it was later replaced by iron, which is, however, subjected to wear. The solution to the problem of wear was the “double headed rail”, which was mounted through hardwood wedges into special fixing plates, fixed in turn on wooden sleepers. When the upper table was worn out, the rail was inverted so that the lower table was ready to be used. As this process was complex and expensive, other solu- tions were developed, such as the “Vignoles rail” (named by the engineer who invented it), which has a “double-T” profile with a wider lower table than the upper one. Advances in ma- terial science led to the replacement of iron with steel: steel performs better than iron and de- forms less at high speeds. The intended use of the tracks defines the type of steel used for the rails, their dimensions and, consequently, the weight and maximum permissible speed of the vehicles. The higher the linear weight of the rail, the higher are its performances. Initially, the rails had a weight of 18-25 kg/m or 27 kg/m. Later on, rails with a weight of 36 kg/m and 46- 48 kg/m became very common for secondary and main railways, respectively. Since the 1960s, during the maintenance of existing railway systems, Italian State Rail- ways replaced the old rails with “Vignoles” types UIC 50 and UIC 60. In Italy, the code that describes the “Vignoles” type rails is UNI-3134 [13] which doesn't differ much from the Eu- 4603 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno ropean and UIC (i.e. Union Internationale des Chemins de fer) regulations. Table 6 shows the weight of rails in kg/ml according to UNI-3141 [13]. Type Weight [kg/m] H [mm] F [mm] B [mm] A [mm] 21 21.373 100 50 80 10 27 27.350 120 50 95 11 30 30.152 125 56 100 12 36 36.188 130 60 100 14 46 46.786 145 63.5/67.2 135 14 50 49.850 148 65.2/70 135 14 60 60.34 172 70.6/74.3 150 16.5 Table 6: Weight and geometrical properties of rails in kg/m according to UNI-3141 [13]. The sleepers, instead, can be made of wood or prestressed reinforced concrete. Wooden sleepers are the oldest and still widespread. For reasons of cost, of supply as well as of a reduced service life due to adverse weather conditions, in the past wooden sleepers were replaced by iron ones. Nowadays, especially on high-speed rails, prestressed concrete mono-block or twin-block sleepers are used. The twin-block sleepers differ from the mono- block types because they consist of two parallelepiped prestressed concrete elements connect- ed to each other by a steel bar. Table 7 shows the geometric characteristics and the sleeper’s weight in kilogram. To calcu- late the weight per meter, it is necessary to refer to the module, i.e. the number of sleepers that are in 6 m of track length. The module depends on the class of the railway line, and conse- quently on the maximum load and speed of the train, and can be: • Module 6/10, i.e. 10 sleepers in 6 m (used for tracks belonging to the main rail network suitable for the highest speeds, for 18 t/axle in case of isolated axles, and for more than 18 t in case of locomotive axles); • Module 6/9, i.e. 9 sleepers in 6 m (used for complementary rail network as well as for crossing or priority rails suitable for lower speeds, for 18 t/axis in case of isolated axles, and for more than 18 t in case of locomotive axles); and • Module 6/8, i.e. 8 sleepers in 6 m (used for tracks belonging to the secondary rail network as well as for all other rails suitable for even lower speeds and 16 t/axis in case of isolated axles). To connect the sleepers to the rails, and often to ensure electrical insulation, the used fas- teners can be of different types; their weight has little impact on the non-structural load. Type of sleeper Length [mm] Depth [mm] Thickness [mm] Weight [kg] Wood 2600 260 160 80 – 100 Prestressed concrete mono-block 2300 - 2600 300 180 – 230 250 – 370 Prestressed concrete twin-block 2300 300 220 245 Table 7: Geometric characteristic of the sleepers. The railway tracks generally lay on a layer of ballast; the latter can be replaced by a con- crete plate in very special cases, such as viaducts with an isostatic structure and length span 4604 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno not exceeding 30 m. The ballast is a layer of crushed stone with a thickness that can be about 50 cm or 35 cm, depending on whether the importance of the rail network is primary or sec- ondary. The stone material has an internal friction angle of not less than 45° and an apparent volumetric mass of not less than 1.5 t/m3. Between the deck and the ballast exists a waterproofing layer consisting of two sheaths, one at the top and one at the bottom, and a protective layer of bituminous conglomerate about 5 cm thick. The membranes at the top and the bottom of the waterproofing layer have a thick- ness of about 5 mm and 3 mm, respectively, and a weight of 4 kg/m2 and 3-3.5 kg/m2, respec- tively. The bituminous conglomerate generally weighs 80-90 kg/cm2. Finally, the superstructure is also composed of noise barriers, the weight of which is usual- ly taken from the manufacturer’s data sheets. Table 8 shows the weight and height to be considered for the design of the noise barriers provided by: (i) the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 1997 [1], (ii) the Technical Specification “RFI DTC INC PO SP IFS 001 A” 2011 [2], (iii) and the Manual for the Design of Civil Structures “RFI DTC SI PS MA IFS 001 A” 2016 [3]. Regulation Weight [kN/m2] Height from the slab floor [m] Circular 13/01/1997 [1] 2,0 4,0 Technical Specification “RFI-DTC-INC-PO-SP- IFS-001-A” 2011 [2] 4,0 4,0 Manual for the design of civil Structures “RFI DTC SI PS MA IFS 001 A 2016 [3] 4,0 4,0 Table 8: Prescriptions for noise barriers ([1], [2], [3]). In the case of a superstructure consisting of ballast, railway track, and waterproofing (in- cluding the bituminous conglomerate), the non-structural load can be simply calculated by considering a total volume weight of 18 kN/m3. This volume weight is applied over the entire average width between the paraballast walls, for an average height between the top rail and the extrados of the deck equal to 0.80 m. For bridges in curved railway sections, , the weight of the ballast used to create the superelevation must be added to the conventional weight indi- cated above, which is evaluated with its actual geometric distribution and with a volume weight of 20 kN/m3 ([1], [2], [3]). 3.2.2 Train Live Loads The simulated design of railway bridges requires an estimate of the train live loads used in the planning step according to the year of structure design. For reinforced concrete bridges, the first regulation on this topic was issued in 1946, when Circular 30/10/1946 [14] introduced a formula for the evaluation of a dynamic increase coef- ficient φ to be used for reinforced concrete bridges: 4P/S1 0.6 0.2L1 0.4 + + + =ϕ , (1) in which L is the theoretical load capacity of the beam, P the overload, and S the perma- nent load. For the concrete structures design before the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 1997 [1], the increase in load due to the passage of trains was carried out by increasing the values of 4605 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno overloading by 25%. This criterion derived from some regulations concerning the construc- tion of concrete structures that were issued before 1945. From 1945 until the following year, instead, the design of reinforced concrete bridges was carried out by using the dynamic increase coefficient φ defined in the Circular 15/07/1945 [15] for steel bridges: its value depended on both the design speed V and the theoretical capacity L of the structural element to be designed. Specifically, if rail joints were absent or only welded, the dynamic increase coefficient φ was assumed to be maximally of 40% to be associated to the elements of limited theoretical capacity L. This value was subsequently increased to 50% as well as the maximum design speed Vmax that became equal to 100 km/h. As a consequence, the dynamic increase coefficient φ never exceeded 50%. Concerning the train live loads, Cir- cular 15/07/1945 [15] defined two types of load in relation to the presumed railway traffic, i.e. “Type A” and “Type B” (see Figure 1). Alternatively, for the calculation of longitudinal ties, cross-beams, and structural elements with a low theoretical load capacity, the standard al- lowed the use of an isolated axle of 30 t and 25 t, instead of the train live loads “Type A” and “Type B”, respectively. Before the Circular 15/07/1945 [15], other regulations defining the train live loads were is- sued in Italy, but we did not consider them here as they concerned exclusively iron and ma- sonry railway bridges, which were in the past much more common than the ones made of reinforced concrete. In Figure 2 we report only the train live loads used to design railway bridges before 1916, when the Italian State Railways was founded. (a) (b) Figure 1: (a) “Type A” and (b) “Type B” train live loads, used for the design of railway bridges according to Circular 15/07/1945 [15]. N° 2 Locomotives Limited number of vagons TYPE B N° 2 Locomotives Limited number of vagons TYPE A 4606 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno (a) (b) Figure 2: (a) “Category IV” and (b) “Category V” train live loads, used to design railway bridges before the standard issued in 1916. The provisions of the Circular 15/07/1945 [15] have remained valid until 1995, when the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 "Overloads for the calculation of railway bridges - Instructions for design, execution and testing" were issued, and then updated in 1997 [1]. This Circular incorporated the instructions from the Eurocodes and introduced two new models of train live load that replaced the previous ones. The new models of train live loads were: • for normal railway traffic “LM71”; • for heavy railway traffic “SW”, which was available in two different configurations “SW1” and “SW2”. The characteristic values attributed to the load models had to be multiplied by an adapta- tion coefficient α, which varied according to the category of the railway bridge to be designed (see Table 9). Bridges could belong to two different railway categories, i.e. “ Category A” and “Category B”. In particular, bridges in “Category A” applied to railways on which heaviest trains circulated or should be able to circulate; on the contrary, bridges in “Category B” ap- plied to the secondary railways of normal gauge, not included in “Category A”. Load model Adaption coefficient α Category A Category B LM71 1.1 0.83 SW/0 1.1 0.83 SW/2 1.0 0.83 Table 9: Adaptation coefficient α depending on the load model and the bridge category defined in Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 " and its following update [1]. As it can be seen from Figure 3a, contrary to the provisions of the previous regulations, the train live load was represented by both axial and distributed loads. In particular, the load model for normal traffic “LM71” consisted of four axles Qvk of 250 kN, placed at a distance of 1.60 m from one another, and of a distributed load qvk of 80 kN/m in both directions, starting from 0.8 m from the end axles Qvk till an unlimited length. In addi- 4607 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno tion, for this load model an eccentricity of the load towards the track axis was contemplated, depending on the gauge s, to take into account the displacement of loads. The load model for the heavy traffic “SW” (see Figure 3b), instead, was characterized by two distinct configurations, as shown in Table 10. Finally, for some particular controls, the Circular introduced a special train live load called “Unloading Train”, represented by an uniformly distributed load equal to 12.5 kN/m. a) b) Figure 3: a) Load model for normal railway traffic “LM71” and b) Load model for heavy railway traffic “SW” defined in the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 and following update in 1997 [1]. Load model Qvk [kN/m] a [m] c [m] SW/0 133 15.0 5.3 SW/2 150 25.0 7.0 Table 10: Load model for heavy railway traffic “SW” defined in the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 and fol- lowing update in 1997 [1]. The Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 1997 [1] further introduced two different dynamic in- crease coefficients φ in relation to the state of maintenance of the railway line which could be standard or reduced. These coefficients had to be applied to the theoretical load models “LM71” and “SW” in case of a static analysis, to take into account the movement effects and any imperfections of the rail, the wheels, and the suspension system. The Circular n. I/SC/PS- OW2298 1997 [1] also contemplated real dynamic increase coefficients φreal to be multiplied to load models representing a real train. Real train load models are used in particular condi- tions of analysis (or for the design of specific bridge typologies) and are made of concentrated loads, variously spaced, that schematize the succession of the axes of convoys actually or po- tentially circulating; each of them was characterized by a maximum speed and a certain over- all length [3]. Finally, the latest “RFI DTC INC PO SP IFS 001 A” 2011 [2] and “RFI DTC SI PS MA IFS 001 A” 2016 [3] assume the same load models defined in the Circular n. I/SC/PS- OW2298 1997 [1]. The only differences are: (i) the adaptation coefficient α, which herein de- pends only on the load model (see Table 11), (ii) the calculation of the real dynamic coeffi- cient φreal, and (iii) the value corresponding to the unloading train, which became 10.0 kN/m. UNLIMITED UNLIMITED 4608 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno Load model Adaption coefficient α LM71 1.1 SW/0 1.1 SW/2 1.0 Table 11: Adaptation coefficient α depending on the load model defined in “RFI DTC INC PO SP IFS 001 A” 2011 [2] and in “RFI DTC SI PS MA IFS 001 A” 2016 [3]. 3.3 Longitudinal and transverse reinforcement In the seismic assessment of existing reinforced concrete bridges through analytical meth- ods, the amount of longitudinal and transverse reinforcement in the piers needs to be known. This information is usually given in construction plans, but not often available. To fill this gap, the amount of the reinforcement can be derived from the appropriate code that was in use at the time of the structure design. Table 12 reports the minimum values of both longitudinal and transverse reinforcement de- fined from the Royal Decree 16th November 1939 [8] to the Ministerial Decree 4th 1992 [16]. The Royal Decree 10th January 1907 [4] is excluded since it does not contain any information on the reinforcement to be placed in the reinforce concrete structural vertical elements. In- stead, we deal separately with the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 1997 [1], the Technical Spec- ification “RFI DTC INC PO SP IFS 001 A” 2011 [2], and the Manual for the Design of Civil Structures “RFI DTC SI PS MA IFS 001 A” 2016 [3] because they are regulations issued di- rectly by Italian State Railways. In particular, for all viaducts built in territories seismically classified in 1st category (S=12, where S represents the seismicity level), 2nd category (S=9), 3rd category (S=6), the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 1997 [1] defined the minimum quantity of longitudinal reinforcement as 0.6%Aeff, where Aeff is the area of the effective concrete cross-section. This limit changed to 0.4%Aeff for all viaducts designed in the 4th seismic zone category (i.e. not classified zone), with the exception of the Sardinia region. In addition, the longitudinal rebars had not to be more than 300 mm apart. The diameter of the stirrups and transverse ligatures, instead, had not to be less than 8 mm and was obtained according to relationships that depended on the cross-section type of the pier, i.e. whether they were rectangular or circular, in both cases sol- id or hollow. Furthermore, in piers with a solid or hollow circular cross-section the use of spi- rals was not permitted anymore and were replaced by circular stirrups. To increase the level of ductility of the structure, the distance s between the stirrups had to be more than 10 times the minimum diameter of the vertical rebars. The Technical Specification “RFI DTC INC PO SP IFS 001 A” 2011 [2] and the Manual for the Design of Civil Structures “RFI DTC SI PS MA IFS 001 A” 2016 [3] resumed with the established values from the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 1997 [1]. Regardless of the seismic category for which the viaduct was designed, both Technical Specification and Manu- al for the Design of Civil Structures ([2], [3]) fix a minimum longitudinal reinforcement value of 0.6%Aeff. As established in the Circular n. I/SC/PS-OW2298 1997 [1], the longitudinal rebars should be connected by stirrups, which should have a diameter greater than 8 mm, but a pitch neither greater than 10 times the diameter of the longitudinal bars they connect nor 1/5 of the diameter of the section core inside them. In addition, piers with hollow section should have at least 6 ties per square meter connecting the longitudinal reinforcements. Finally, the limitations to define the diameter of pier stirrups provided by the Circular n. I/SC/PS- OW2298 1997 [1] were also present in the Technical Specification [2] and the Manual for the Design of Civil Structures [3]. The only difference was that such limitations only applied if the bridge design required the use of a structure factor q equal or less than 1.5. 4609 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno Code Longitudinal reinforcement Transversal reinforcement R.M.D. 16/11/1939 [8] As≥0.8 % Ac (Ac ≤ 2000 cm2) As ≥0.5 % Ac (Ac ≥ 8000 cm2) 0.8%Ac<As<0.5%Ac(2000cm2<Ac<8000cm2) p≤min(1/2Lmin,10ɸl) M.D. 30/05/1972 [11] 0.6 %Ac≤As≤5 %Ac As ≥ 0.3 % Aeff ɸl ≥12 mm p≤min(15ɸl,min;25cm) ɸt ≥6 mm M.D. 30/05/1974 [17] M.D. 16/06/1976 [18] As ≥ 0.6%Ac 0.3%Aeff≤As≤5%Aeff ɸl ≥ 12 mm p≤min(15ɸl,min;25cm) ɸt ≥ 6 mm M.D. 26/03/1980 [19] M.D. 01/04/1983 [20] M.D. 27/07/1985 [21] M.D. 14/02/1992 [16] As ≥ 0.8% Ac 0.3%Aeff≤As≤6%Aeff ɸl ≥ 12 mm p≤min(15ɸl,min;25 cm) ɸt≥max(6mm;1/4ɸl,max) As=Total steel area in a reinforced concrete pier cross-section; Ac=Concrete area strictly necessary for the axial load; ɸl=Diameter of the longitudinal steel in the pier cross-section; Aeff=Effective concrete cross-section; p=Stirrups pitch; ɸt=Stirrups diameter; Lmin=Smallest size of the pier cross-section; ɸl,min, ɸl,max =Smallest and biggest diameter of the longitu- dinal steel in the pier cross-section. Table 12: Longitudinal and transverse reinforcement of reinforced concrete piers from the Royal Ministerial Decree 16th November 1939 [8] to Ministerial Decree 4th February 1992 [16]. 3.4 Bearings Another necessary specification for the seismic verification of existing bridges relates to the actual function of supports in the structural response. The structural response cannot properly model the reality in case of inadequate modelling of support devices. To this end, this section contains a brief description of the state of the art of bearings avail- able in the Italian regulations from 1972 to the present. The Technical Instructions CNR 10018/72 [22] provided guidance for the calculation, ac- ceptance, and installation of elastomeric bearings, which could also be reinforced. To design this type of bearing required to define: (i) the normal force due to vertical loads acting on the support surface, (ii) the horizontal force due to permanent loads and thermal variations, and (iii) the horizontal force depending only on accidental loads and maximum rotation expected in the beam plane. Considering the most unfavorable combinations of the above mentioned loads and deformations, it was possible to calculate: (i) the normal tension due to the vertical load, (ii) the tangential tensions produced by the vertical load, the horizontal loads and the rotation, and (iii) the shortening and the elastic sliding due to the vertical load and the hori- zontal forces, respectively. These stress values were then used to carry out strength, sliding, and stability analyses in case of elastomeric bearings. In case of reinforced elastomeric devic- es, the verification of reinforcement was added to the analyses [23]. In 1985, Technical Instructions CNR 10018/72 [22] was updated. Specifically, in addition to elastomeric devices, the Technical Instructions CNR 10018/85 [24] allowed also the use of confined elastomeric disc bearings as well as PTFE slide bearings (PTFE stands for polytetrafluoroethylene, commonly known as teflon). The confined elastomeric disc bearings allow rotations around any horizontal axis due to the deformability of an unreinforced rubber disc, confined within a steel monolithic base. PTFE slide bearings, on the other hand, use sliding surfaces that consist of a layer of PTFE sliding on a surface with a flat, cylindrical, or spherical shape and that is usually made of stainless steel or aluminum alloy. To increase the load resistance, teflon is often combined with other materials (e.g. graphite, glass fibers, etc.), which can bring its load resistance up to 4610 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno 1000 daN/cm2. Although they have mostly good properties, the negative characteristic of the- se bearings is that they deplete due to their highly viscous behavior, especially if subjected to reciprocal translations [25]. In 1987 the Technical Instructions CNR 10018 instructions were updated again: in this case the changes mainly concerned the level of the maximum horizontal forces that the sup- ports could transmit to the structure [26]. In particular, bearings with metal plates solidified with reinforced concrete structures with cement or epoxy malt could transfer shear stresses of no more than 25% of the normal concurrent action. For supports with ribbed steel plates as well as with appropriate cavities or prominences, this limit could be increased by up to 35%. For shear stresses exceeding the above limits, mechanical connections had to be used (e.g. pins, clamps, etc.), especially in presence of bridges located in zones of high seismic hazard or when potentially exposed to significant dynamic actions [23]. In 1996, the Technical Instructions FS 44/B [27] were issued and incorporated all the in- novations introduced by the Decree of the Ministry of Public Works 16.1.96 [28] in case of under-track structures designed in zones of high seismic hazard. In 1998, the Technical Instructions CNR 10018 were improved again [29]. An important change compared to the latest version of the instructions, i.e. CNR 10018/85 [24], was that the use of natural rubber or neoprene devices was prohibited in favor of reinforced elastomer- ic bearings. Initially, natural rubber or neoprene devices were considered a valid alternative to steel devices, characterized by phenomena such as slippage (for cylindrical steel devices) or corrosion (both punctual and uniform). However, they were abolished because they showed several problems, such as deterioration due to atmospheric agents, hardening of the rubber, sliding of the support, as well as phenomena of fatigue and creep. These negative aspects were greatly reduced in reinforced elastomeric devices, which were capable of withstanding simultaneous loads and displacements in any direction and of restoring the undeformed con- figuration after the permitted displacements. Moreover, being immersed in the rubber, the steel of the reinforced elastomeric bearings is preserved from the phenomenon of corrosion. The only phenomenon that can cause the collapse of such devices is the delamination between elastomer and steel, which, depending on the entity, can cause the total or partial loss of com- pressive strength without additional deformation. Finally, for the design and verification of the elastomeric devices, the Technical Instructions CNR 10018/85 [24] considered the actions to which they are subjected as well as the permitted displacements, both of which had to be calculated using a three-dimensional analysis of the structure. In addition to the different types of bearings already described in the previous versions, the Technical Instructions CNR 10018/98 [29] provided new information on bridge bearings made entirely of steel. The functioning of the steel devices is based on the physical rolling phenomenon of two or more steel surfaces in contact with each other. In 2002 the Technical Instructions FS 44/E were issued [30] that initially defined and de- scribed in detail which bearings had to be used for railway bridges, also according to the type of movement allowed in the plane. In particular, the bearings could be fixed or movable. If they are fixed, all the translations are prevented, otherwise translations in one or more direc- tions of the plane are allowed. The Technical Instruction FS 44/E [30] also stated that all bear- ings had to be capable of rotation in accordance with the values given in the instruction itself and that, if bearings were required to transmit high horizontal forces, it might be convenient to use seismic restraints (fixed or movable). Finally, the recommendations defined in the Technical Instructions FS 44/E [30] were also included in the Technical Specification "RFI DTC INC PO SP IFS 005 A" 2011 [2], and then later replaced by the Manual for the Design of civil Structures “RFI DTC SI PS MA IFS 001 A” 2016 [3]. The latter provides the requirements for the calculation, construction, installation, 4611 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno and control of bearings used for railway bridges in accordance with the New Technical Regu- lations [12], and following the Ministerial Circular 2 February 2009 no. 617 [31]. 4 CONCLUSIONS This paper gave a bibliographic review about the regulations on the design of railway gird- er bridges, issued in Italy from 1900 to the present. In particular, the paper intended to report the main changes that have occurred at the regu- latory level on the construction of reinforced concrete railway bridges, especially in terms of mechanical characteristics of materials, loads, longitudinal and transverse reinforcements, as well as bearings. The first Italian regulation on the design of reinforced concrete railway girder bridges that is publicly available dates back to 1995. The provisions on the reinforcement of piers and on the mechanical characteristics of materials derived from regulations that had been issued in Italy starting from 1907. For mobile loads and bearings, technical standards specifically is- sued for railway bridges had been taken into account from 1946 until 1972. The definition of the permanent load depends on the composition of the superstructure. For this purpose, this paper also provided information about the weights of the railway track and ballast, as well as the weight of noise barriers. The bibliographic review of the Italian regulations given in this paper provides a collection of data that is necessary for the simulated design of railway reinforced concrete girder bridges in Italy using analytical methods. The presented data depend on the year of design and the type of railway bridge and eventually define the likely seismic behavior of these structures. 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Uff. del 11 novembre 1927 n°261), Nuove nor- me tecniche per l’accettazione degli agglomerati idraulici e l’esecuzione delle opere in conglomerato cementizio semplice ed armato. (in Italian) [6] R.D.L. 23 maggio 1932, n°832 (Gazz. Uff. del 23 luglio 1932 n°169); Quest’ultimo con- vertito in legge con modificazioni con la Legge 22 dicembre 1932, n°1830 (Gazz. Uff. del 26 gennaio 1933 n°21), Norme per l’accettazione degli agglomerati idraulici e per l’esecuzione delle opere in conglomerato cementizio. (in Italian) [7] Circolare 17 maggio 1937 n°2202, Impiego dell’acciaio semiduro nelle costruzioni in conglomerato cementizio armato. (in Italian) 4612 Antonella Di Meo, Barbara Borzi, Davide Bellotti, and Francesco Bruno [8] R.D.L. 16 Novembre 1939 – XVIII n°2229, Norme per l’esecuzione delle opere in con- glomerato cementizio semplice o armato. (in Italian) [9] G.M. Verderame, P. Ricci, M. Esposito, and F.C. Sansiviero, Le caratteristiche meccani- che degli acciai impiegati nelle strutture in c.a. realizzate dal 1950 al 1980. Atti del XXVI Convegno Nazionale AICAP “Le prospettive di sviluppo delle opere in calcestruzzo strut- turale nel terzo millennio”, Paper 54, Padua, Italy, May 19-21, 2011. (in Italian) [10] Circolare 23 maggio 1957 n°1472, Armature delle strutture in cemento armato. (in Ita- lian) [11] D.M. 30 Maggio 1972 (Suppl. Ord. Gazz. Uff. del 22 luglio 1972 n°190), Norme tecni- che alle quali devono uniformarsi le costruzioni in conglomerato cementizio, normale e precompresso ed a struttura metallica. (in Italian) [12] D.M. 14 Gennaio 2008 (Gazz. Uff. del 4 febbraio 2008 n° 29), Norme Tecniche per le Costruzioni (NTC). (in Italian). [13] UNI 3141, Rotaie per linee ferroviarie - Tipi, dimensioni e tolleranze. 1991. (in Italian) [14] Circolare N°125 del 30.10.1946, Ponti ferroviari in conglomerato cementizio armato – Azione dinamica. Ferrovie dello Stato, 1946. (in Italian) [15] Circolare N°54 del 15.07.1945, Nuovi sovraccarichi per il calcolo dei ponti metallici. Ferrovie dello Stato, 1945. (in Italian) [16] D.M. 4 Febbraio 1992 (Suppl. Ord. Gazz. Uff. del 5 febbraio 1996 n°19), Norme tecni- che per l’esecuzione delle opere in cemento armato normale e precompresso e per le strutture metalliche. (in Italian) [17] D.M. 30 Maggio 1974 (Suppl. Ord. Gazz. Uff. del 29 luglio 1974 n°198), Norme tecni- che per la esecuzione delle opere in cemento armato normale e precompresso e per le strutture metalliche. (in Italian) [18] D.M. 16 Giugno 1976 (Gazz. Uff. del 14 agosto 1976 n°214), Norme tecniche per la esecuzione delle opere in cemento armato normale e precompresso e per le strutture metalliche. (in Italian) [19] D.M. 26 Marzo 1980 (Suppl. Ord. Gazz. Uff. del 28 giugno 1980 n°176), Norme tecni- che per la esecuzione delle opere in cemento armato normale e precompresso e per le strutture metalliche. (in Italian) [20] D.M. 1 Aprile 1983 (Gazz. 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CIFI Editore, 2005. (in Italian) [26] CNR-UNI 10018/87, Apparecchi di appoggio in gomma e PTFE nelle costruzioni. I- struzioni per il calcolo e l’impiego. Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche, 1987. (in Ita- lian) [27] Istruzione Tecnica 44/B, Istruzioni tecniche per manufatti sotto binario da costruire in zona sismica. Ferrovie dello Stato, 1996. (in Italian) [28] D.M. 16 gennaio 1996, Norme tecniche relative ai criteri generali per la verifica delle costruzioni e dei carichi e sovraccarichi. (in Italian) [29] CNR-UNI 10018/98, Apparecchi di appoggio per le costruzioni. Istruzioni l’impiego. Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche, 1999. (in Italian) [30] Istruzione Tecnica 44/E, Istruzione tecnica per il calcolo, l’esecuzione, il collaudo e la posa in opera dei dispositivi di vincolo e dei coprigiunti negli impalcati ferroviari e nei cavalcavia. Ferrovie dello Stato, 2002. (in Italian) [31] Circolare del 2 febbraio 2009, n. 617, Istruzioni per l’applicazione delle Nuove Norme Tecniche per le Costruzioni. (in Italian) 4614 
work_dr7bh6dn3jdfnpedaynpztlxeu	----	“La Toilette”. When a doctor becomes a painter: Frederic Bazille Vol.:(0123456789)1 3 Journal of Endocrinological Investigation (2019) 42:1255–1256 https://doi.org/10.1007/s40618-019-01040-7 E N D O C R I N O LO G Y A N D A R T “La Toilette”. When a doctor becomes a painter: Frederic Bazille L. Obolonczyk1  · M. Berendt‑Obolonczyk1  · K. Sworczak1 Received: 15 March 2019 / Accepted: 21 March 2019 / Published online: 15 April 2019 © The Author(s) 2019 Abstract Purpose To find endocrinological disturbances in impressionism. Patients and methods Analysis of “La Toilette” painting of Frederice Bazille. Results We present a masterpiece work of Frederic Bazille “La Toilette” where a large goiter is visible. Short description of Bazille’s life and painting is included. Conclusion Despite of unique painting technique, thyroid disorders are visible even in impressionism. Keywords Frederic Bazille · Endocrinology · Painting Jean Frederic Bazille (1841–1870) was born in Montpellier and grew up in a wealthy, middle class family. His father was a prominent wine dealer. Due to a number of father’s con- nections, young Frederic met an art collector Alfred Bruyas. During this closer relationship, he could admire paintings of, e.g., Delacroix and Corot. First as a spectator, later as a young artist his painting adventure slowly started. In 1859, Bazille started medical study in Montpellier and since 1862 continued it in Paris. A contact with impression- ists as Monet, Renoir and Sisley made him more painter than doctor. He was also known as a great benefactor because of his material support for his friends (especially Monet). In 1864, he finished medical study, but he never worked as a doctor. He died at age of 29 years in Franco-German war [1]. “La toillete” oil on canvas was finished in 1870 just before Bazille’s death (Fig. 1). It presents a French art model Lise Trehot, but for us more interesting is a mysterious woman on the right side. We see clearly large, smooth goiter. No eye signs, but slim woman’s stature does not help with differen- tiation between simple goiter and Graves’ disease. Histori- cally, goiter seems to be “older” disease (i.e., paintings of Flemish or Italian Renaissance painters) but this question will be unanswered [2, 3]. According to Encyclopaedia Brittanica, Bazille was an unenthusiastic medical student. I strongly deny this opinion when I see such perfect thyroid. I hope every student have Bazille’s perception [4]. * L. Obolonczyk przepona@wp.pl 1 Department of Endocrinology and Internal Medicine, Medical University of Gdansk, Debinki 7 Street, 80-952 Gdansk, Poland http://orcid.org/0000-0002-7975-271X http://orcid.org/0000-0003-1802-6877 http://orcid.org/0000-0002-9866-5670 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s40618-019-01040-7&domain=pdf 1256 Journal of Endocrinological Investigation (2019) 42:1255–1256 1 3 Compliance with ethical standards Conflict of interest On behalf of all the authors, the corresponding au- thor states that there is no conflict of interest. Ethical approval This paper does not contain any studies with human participants or animals performed by any of the authors. Informed consent No informed consent. Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Crea- tive Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creat iveco mmons .org/licen ses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribu- tion, and reproduction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. References 1. Jourdan A (1992) Frédéric Bazille: prophet of impressionism. Publisher: Brooklyn Museum Bookshop; First edition (November 1, 1992) 2. Lazzeri D, Pozzilli P, Zhang YX, Persichetti P (2015) Goiter in paintings by Rogier van der Weyden (1399–1464). Thyroid 25(5):559–562 3. Sterpetti AV, Fiori E, de Cesare A (2016) Goiter in the Art of Renaissance Europe. Am J Med. 129(8):892–895 4. Encyclopaedia Brittanica. https ://www.brita nnica .com/biogr aphy/ Frede ric-Bazil le. Accessed 07 Mar 2019 Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Fig. 1 La Toilette (Decem- ber 1869–March 1870), by Frederic Bazille, oil on canvas 153 × 148.5 cm [Musee Fabre, Montpellier, France]. Please note large goiter on first right lady http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://www.britannica.com/biography/Frederic-Bazille https://www.britannica.com/biography/Frederic-Bazille “La Toilette”. When a doctor becomes a painter: Frederic Bazille Abstract Purpose Patients and methods Results Conclusion References 
work_dshunqjcvbfqxozorphuuhp7hq	----	215 Белинијева Богородица са Христом дететом у Доброти Саша Брајовић UDK: 75.034.046.3.01(=131.1)(497.16 Dobrota) Bellini Giovanni На слици Богородицe са Христом дететом Ђованија Белинија у жупној цркви Светог Матеја у Доброти неразлучиво се исказују иконографска и ликовна слојевитост. Нарочито је истакнут литургијски и сакраментални значај светих ликова, у који су уткани и архитектонско-пејзажни елементи слике. Мекота и прозрачност пејзажа указују на утицај аркадијског поетског круга који је прожео венецијанску уметност почетком XVI века. У жупној цркви Светог Матеја у Доброти сачу- вана је једна од највећих драгоцености Боке Которске: слика Богородице с малим Христом, дело Ђованија Белинија и његове радионице.1 Дуго се чувала у барок- ном оквиру од штука, који носе анђели, постављена над лук који дели брод од презвитеријума цркве. Слика, израђена на дасци (85 × 67), приказује допојасну Богородицу која је уз себе приљубила Хри- ста. Испред њих је преграда у виду мермерног парапета. Иза светих личности, с леве стране, налази се тамнозе- лена драперија. С десне стране је пејзаж: почиње испод Богородичиног левог лакта, у виду стазе с растињем на којој се одмарају две козе; наставља се језерцетом на којем плутају бели лабудови, а у њему се огледају згра- де малог утврђења; међу грађевинама доминирају кула и мост; позади су ливаде и пошумљени обронци, плава брда и у плаветнилу неба ваздушасти облаци. У литератури је примећена сличност доброт- ске слике с неким Белинијевим Мадонама, нарочито оном у збирци Х. Е. Хантингтон у Пасадени, која се датује након 1490. Добротска слика нема на парапету уобичајени бели квадрат с потписом мајстора. Упра- во с тог места, као и с неких других рубних делова слике које је покривао гипсани оквир, отпала је боја, те се не зна да ли је потписа уопште било. Тако се по- ставило питање ауторства Белинијеве слике и наслу- тило се да њен висок квалитет открива руку самог мајстора, али и да је, бар делимично, и дело радиони- це. Закључено је да је слика настала у другој полови- ни девете деценије кватрочента, из које потичу капи- тална дела Ђованија Белинија.2 1 Захвалност дугујем дон Анту Драгобратовићу, због указане љубазности и гостољубивости приликом мог давнашњег сусре- та са овом сликом. 2 K. Prijatelj, Dobrotska Bogorodica Giovanni Bellinija, in: Studije o umjetninama u Dalmaciji I, Split 1963, 31–34; idem, Dobrotska Значајно је поменути да је у Доброти, пре- ма сведочанству дон Ника Луковића, постојала сли- ка Богородице с Дететом која је носила сигнатуру Johannes Bellini pinxit 1505. Њу је власница Марица Маровић 1912. продала дон Шпиру Перушини, који ју је после 1923. продао неком париском антиквару и од тада јој се губи траг. У Доброти је, код породице Каменаровић, и копија сачуване Белинијеве Мадоне, која је нешто слободније третирана и неоштећена, те је помогла приликом реконструкције неких рубних делова оригинала.3 Када је реч о ауторству слике из цркве Све- тог Матеја, треба нагласити да се у Белинијево доба и копија мајсторове слике коју је израдио његов сту- дио високо ценила, а имала је вредност као графи- ка лимитираног броја отисака.4 Како сведоче сачу- вани уговори и други документи из Венеције, ра- дионица је била дужна да изведе уметничко дело уобичајеног квалитета.5 Мајстор је, започињући или довршавајући слику, контролисао поступак израде и био је јемац успешности и угледа радионице. Слика Мадоне с малим Христом била је специјалност Ђованија Белинија и његове ради- онице. Када га је Изабела д’Есте позвала да изради композицију митолошке тематике за њен Studiolo, он ју је питао да ли уместо тога може да наслика Мадону.6 Иконографски, добротска слика је једна од типичних. Зелена драперија, парапет и пејзаж су уобичајени. Мотив парапета служи, пре свега, да огласи одвојеност светих фигура од земаљског све- та посматрача. Та граница, међутим, није прејака: емоционална блискост између Мајке и Детета и ду- Bogorodica Giovanni Bellinia, Bulletin Zavoda za likovne umjetnosti 1–2 (1963) 135–140; idem, Slikarstvo zapadnoevropskih stilova u Boki Kotorskoj od početka XV do potkraj XIX stoljeća, Бока 18 (1986) 27– 41. 3 G. Gamulin, Preliminarni izvještaj o istraživačkim radovima Seminara za povijest umjetnosti Filozofskog fakulteta u Zagrebu u Boki Kotorskoj 1958 i 1959, Radovi odsjeka za povijest umjetnosti 2 (1962) 11–15, 14. 4 О том проблему: M. Baxandall, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy. A Primer in the Social History of Pictorial Style, Oxford 1988, 3–14. 5 P. Humfrey, The Altarpiece in Renaissance Venice, New Haven – London 1993, 157–159. 6 Од обимне литературе о Белинију издвајам: R. Goffen, Giovanni Bellini, New Haven – London 1989. 216 бока осећања која исказују њихова лица преносе се у свакидашњи свет смртника. Осим тога, парапет, као граница између два света, асоцијација је и на олтарски сто. Иконографија ове представе, која указује на то да је она поручена и замишљена као олтарска слика, а и иконографија хришћанске уметности уопште, има за циљ посред- но или непосредно илустровање онога што се зби- ва током богослужења. Она је обликована по истим правилима као и света миса, те је њихов заједнички циљ verae fidei protestatio, обзнана истинске вере.7 Белинијеве допојасне Богородице или у свом наручју држе Дете изнад парапета – као на добротској слици – понављајући гест свештеника који уздиже освећену хостију изнад часне трпезе, или га, баш на самом па- рапету, показују посматрачу, на исти начин на који свештеник указује на хостију изложену на олтару.8 Тиме се јасно исказује евхаристијска, сакраментална улога Христова, али и Богородичина. Тако Мадона с Дететом визуализује идеју о Бо- городици као табернаклу Божијем – tabernaculum Dei – као што се чита из Ecclesiasticus-а 24, 8 (Књига Сирахова) у оквиру литургије на празник Вазнесења Богородичиног: „… који ме створи, одреди мјесто за шатор мој (табернакл).“9 Као храм нерукотворе- ни и неоскрнављени (Дап 7, 48), Богородица нуж- но постаје и светохранилиште Божије. Посредством византијских химнографа та идеја се прихвата и развија на Западу, постајући популарна нарочито захваљујући спису Legenda aurea Јакопа да Ворагина. Убрзо је добила и опредмећење у западноевропској уметности. Богородица се на многим сликама, скул- птурама, олтарским целинама показује као свети- лиште инкарнације, благословена утроба која је по- стала персонификација Цркве, Mater Ecclesia, храм Христов. Ту мисао наглашава драперија иза светих фи- гура на Белинијевој слици. Проистекле из антич- ке и хебрејске церемонијалне традиције, драперије завесе улазе у хришћанску уметност с мноштвом асоцијација.10 Као олтарски вео и копрена која је по- кривала најштованије свете слике у Византији, завеса је носила суштинску поруку откривења. По уношењу у фунерарну уметност на Западу њена веза са смрћу постаје многострука и сложена, а она увек призива сећање на вео из старозаветног храма који се подерао 7 О односу иконографије и литургије: S. Sinding-Larsen, Iconography and Ritual. A Study of Analytical Perspectives, Oslo 1984. 8 О тој димензији Мадона: R. Goffen, Icon and Vision: Giovanni Bellini’s Half-Lenght Madonnas, Art Bulletin 57 (1975) 487–518, 506. 9 О Богородици као светом табернаклу: Y. Hirn, The Sacred Shrine. A Study of the Poetry and Art of the Catholic Church, London 1912, 163–164. 10 Посебно значење завесе проистиче из јеврејске традиције: оне су красиле табернакл који је Мојсије подигао у пустињи (Изл 26, 1). Завесе из Јерусалимског храма донео је у Рим Титус, с другим култним објектима. Успомена на то објашњава зашто су рим- ски Јевреји били запослени на изради завеса које су се у престо- ници западног света користиле у процесијама за велике верске празнике и приликом дочека значајних гостију: J. Freiberg, The Lateran in 1600. Crhistian Concord in Counter-Reformation Rome, Cambridge 1995, 127–129. у тренутку Христове смрти. Зелена завеса у литургији изражава ишчекивање краљевства Божијег. Како је Богородица tabernaculum Dei, аналогија олтара, хра- ма и тела Христовог, завеса постаје један од њених суштинских симбола.11 Посебна вредност слике јесте пејзаж у позади- ни. Пре Ђованија Белинија пејаж је у италијанском сликарству био орнаментални додатак наративној структури слике, ретко нешто више од њеног се- кундарног елемента. Иако и на Белинијевим сли- кама фигуре остају примарне, пејзаж добија нову вредност.12 Он постаје место контемплације, на којем се ништа не помера нити збива, снажна духовна и емоционална подршка медитативног стања јунака слике. Мир и сета у којима су удружени Богороди- ца и Христос на слици из Доброте, а који указују на њихова будућа страдања, преносе се на пејзаж, про- жет истим дирљивим хармоничним осећањем. То је ограничен део универзума, чији је бескрај само у Божанској љубави. Третман пејзажа, luntane – како се често на- зивао – наводи на размишљање о датовању доброт- ске слике. Неки елементи, нарочито морфологија Христовог лица, наводе на помисао да је слика рано Белинијево остварење.13 Међутим, мајсторство с којим је насликан пејзаж, посебна morbidezza и sfumatura у његовој обради, указује на то да је сли- ка могла настати нешто касније него што се сматра – на самом крају XV или почетком XVI века. Планови пејзажа, смењивање светлости и таме, дефиниција простора, меке градације сенке и светлости, топљење контура, светлост која као да проистиче из самог „ваздуха“ слике указују на старијег Белинија, који, иако зрео и одавно оформљен сликар, остаје отворен према променама. Оне долазе из аркадијског кру- га који се крајем XV века почео окупљати у Азолу, месту ванредне лепоте покрај Венеције, око Катери- не Корнаро, бивше краљице Кипра. Покретачки дух тог круга хуманиста био је знаменити Пјетро Бембо, песник и реформатор италијанског језика, библиоте- кар славне Марћане, пријатељ најистакнутијих ли- терата и сликара свог времена: Навагера, Беацана, Кастиљонеа, Рафаела, Ђорђонеа, Тицијана (из његове сачуване преписке зна се да је, преко нећака Матеа Бемба, истакнутог у одбрани Котора од турских на- пада, био упознат са стиховима которских ренесанс- них песника). Том интелектуалном кругу припадао је песник Јакопо Саназаро. Његова збирка L’Arcadie 11 О завеси у контексту фунерарне уметности: E. Panofsky, Tomb Sculpture. Its Changing Aspects form Ancient Egipt to Bernini, London 1964; у контексту маријанске уметности: J. K. Eberlein, The Curtain in Raphael’s Sistine Madonna, The Art Bulletin (1983) 61–77. 12 О Белинијевом третману пејзажа: A. R. Turner, The Vision of the Landscape in Renaissance Italy, Princeton, New Jersey 1974 (1966) 57–81. 13 На могућност да је слика рано дело венецијанског уметника указао ми је проф. др Рајко Вујичић, на чему му захваљујем. Вре- ме настанка добротске слике остаће, вероватно задуго, тајна. По томе она није усамљена: многе Белинијеве Мадоне непрецизно су датоване. Тако се, рецимо, за једну од његових Мадона из На- ционалне галерије у Лондону сматра да је настала између 1480. и 1500, јер на њој постоје елементи типични за Белинијев опус у току те две деценије. 217 (1480–1485), штампана први пут у Венецији, била је одлучујућа за развој пасторалне поезије и сликар- ства током XVI века. Истом културном миљеу при- падао је ученик Белинијев Ђорђоне.14 Захваљујући тој групи, у венецијанској ренесанси се, први пут након Римског царства, истовремено појављују аркадијске теме и пасторална атмосфера у литератури и сли- карству. Од доба Ђорђонеа о пејзажу се размишља као о пикторалној креацији литературе, а не као о независној представи природе. Сетна атмосфера која прожима добротску сли- ку и однос између природе и божанских личности указују на то да се Белини, одувек склон сликању ми- саоних, осећајних фигура утканих у прозрачну свет- лост, још више прожео пасторалним духом, који је, захваљујући поменутом „покрету“ из Азола, обојио венецијански интелектуални живот. Мекота и све- жина третмана пејзажа, које се преносе на слично моделовање коже, тела, драперије фигура у првом плану слике, најјачи су доказ да је добротска слика заиста дело самог мајстора. Пејзаж на таквим сликама није само демонстрација вештине уметника и пасторална под- ршка дубокој осећајности главних протагониста сли- ке. Он се непосредно односи на Богородичине епите- те преузете из старозаветних књига, нарочито Пес- ме над песмама, у којој се она, према хришћанској ег- зегези, прославља као кула Давидова, врт ограђени, студенац живе воде, а њена коса као стадо коза на брду Галаду. Осим тих мотива, насликан је и бели лабуд – прецизан маријански атрибут, који означа- ва Богородичину чистоту и милосрђе. Тако је пејзаж на слици истински paysage moralisé – што потврђују уска стаза која симболично води до капије врлина, фортификован замак и шумовито брдо што нуде си- гурност и заштиту свима који се обрате Мајци мило- сти и њеном Сину. Не зна се ко је слику поручио. Занимљиво је да није сачуван ниједан Белинијев (ни Тицијанов!) уго- вор у вези с радом на олтарским сликама. Приватни поручиоци који су желели свете слике за своје кућне капеле или капеле у црквама, као и манастирска брат- ства у Венецији, нису захтевали прецизне клаузуле уговора, нити су били посебно посвећени чувању до- кумената о таквој врсти посла.15 Зато се може прет- поставити да ће се комисији добротске слике тешко ући у траг. Остаје да се проучи ко је и када слику ку- пио и донео у Доброту. Засад се може тврдити да је 14 О Саназару и Ђорђонеу у овом контексту: G. Costa, La leggenda dei secoli d’oro nella letteratura italiana, Bari 1972, 68–70, и R. Wittkower, Giorgione and Arcady, in: Idea and Image. Studies in the Italian Renaissance, London 1975, 161–171. 15 C. Gilbert, Italian Art 1400–1500: Sources and Documents, Engle- wood Cliffs, New Jersey 1980, 38–40. то био неки капетан из тог насеља, које је у барокној епохи доживело економски и културни процват. Он, попут италијанских барокних „коношера“, купује слику ренесансног мајстора на великој цени. Пода- ци о постојању више Белинијевих слика у Доброти, наведени на почетку текста, говоре о томе да сачува- на слика није изузетак, већ да су добротски поморци куповали и у свој завичај доносили врхунска умет- ничка дела. Сем тога, барокни капетани тиме су да- ривали свом насељу ауру места с традицијом. Белинијева Богородица с Христом дететом коју је у родни крај донео засад непознати Доброћанин зрачи једноставним и непосредним порукама, али истовремено поседује велику иконографску ширину и богатство. Њена grazia и tenerezza, лирски и гото- во музички квалитет подсећају на блистави дух ре- несансе, који је запљускивао и обале Боке Которске. Сл. 1, Ђовани Белини, Богородица са Христом, црква Светог Матеја у Доброти 218 Bellini’s Mother of God with Infant Christ in Dobrota Saša Brajović In the parochial church of Saint Matthew in Dobrota, there is a preserved painting by Giovanni Bellini and his workshop, The Mother of God with the Infant Christ. In the iconographic sense it is customary: a bust of Mary with the little Christ in her arms, a parapet in the foreground, green drapery and a landscape in the background. The motif of the parapet indicates the separation of the holy figures from the earthly world. However, this border is not strong: the emotional closeness between the Mother and the Child is transferred into the everyday world of mortals. The parapet is also an association with the Holy Altar. It expresses the Eucharistic, sacramental role of Christ and the Mother of God. The idea about the Mother as the tabernacle of God is underscored by the motif of the curtain. The landscape in the background makes the painting especially valuable. The softness and transparency that characterise it point to a possibility that Bellini created this painting at the end of the XV or the beginning of the XVI century, at the time when he was under the influence of the Arcadian circle from Asolo. The landscape on the painting is paysage moralisé, because all the elements - the tower, the garden, the spring, goats, swans - are clearly symbols of the Mother of God. This altar painting, purchased by an unknown native of the Boka Kotorska Bay, and brought back to his birthplace, proves that the spirit of the renaissance also touched the southeastern coast of the Adriatic. 
work_dtxomv26ajbjjdvhnwi5rdtkge	----	1745-0179/20 Send Orders for Reprints to reprints@benthamscience.net 67 DOI: 10.2174/1745017902016010067, 2020, 16, (Suppl-1, M1) 67-69 Clinical Practice & Epidemiology in Mental Health Content list available at: https://clinical-practice-and-epidemiology-in-mental-health.com Mental Health in the Mediterranean Area Mauro Giovanni Carta1,*, Mehmet Eskin2, Driss Moussaouiand3 and Elie Karam4 1Department of Medical Sciences and Public Health, University of Cagliari, Cagliari, Italy 2Koç Üniversitesi, İnsani Bilimler ve Edebiyat Fakültesi, Psikoloji Bölümü, Sarıyer,İstanbul, Turkey 3IbnRushd University, Psychiatric Centre, Casablanca, Morocco 4Department of Psychiatry & Clinical Psychology, Institute for Development, Research, Advocacy and Applied Care (IDRAAC), Medical Institute for Neuropsychological Disorders (MIND), St. George Hospital University Medical Center, Faculty of Medicine, University of Balamand, Beirut, Lebanon 1. INTRODUCTION: A HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE The theme of “Mental Health and Mediterranean” opens the floor to three levels of discussion: 1) the relevance of the area in the current framework; 2) the significance of whole scientific communication between the shores of the Mediterranean in a historical perspective in the current context and, finally, 3) the specific role of the exchanges in mental health and between the actors of mental health care. Recently, the Mediterranean has become once again one of the critical regions of the world. The area has become a theater of conflicts and is affected by the consequences of the crisis from the surrounding areas. Violence against populations, forced migration, problems in the reception of asylum seekers, ethnic and religious discrimination and conflicts are some of the adverse consequences that imply (not only but also) public health issues [1]. The repercussions on the mental health of communities may have an impact over time to come. Knowledge of nearby cultures and its exchange by scientists are therefore essential. Once the Mediterranean was the center of civilization, but today it has been reduced to blue beaches, diet and epicenter of human tragedies. Having said this, the region should be something more than this. Considering the fact, scientific communities of the Mediterranean region must regain the will and strength to communicate and to establish links in this period of crisis. In fact, in contacts and relationships between communities of the shores of the Mediterranean (north-south, east-west) science has always played a role. Scientific exchanges were also often the consequence of wars. But even then, the periods * Address correspondence to this author at the Department of Medical Sciences and Public Health, University of Cagliari, Italy; Tel: +39 392 4944509; Fax: +39 070 6093498; E-mails: mgcarta@tiscali,it of maximum expansion and well-being of some Mediterranean exchanges were also quite common. Suleiman the Magnificent and his predecessors invited architects and artists of the Italian Renaissance to Istanbul as reported by Vasari and as more recent historical research has confirmed [2, 3]. A single-deck bridge spanning the Golden Horn design was found among Leonardo da Vinci's own documents, and it is now preserved in the National Library of France; it was considered for a long time a simple fruit of the fruitful imagination of the master. More recent historical discoveries have confirmed that there had been a real invitation from Suleiman to Leonardo to submit plans to unify Asia and Europe. Creating a (real) bridge between north and south and between east and west with the contribution of the scientists of the time which were not asked to espouse a creed but simply for the exchange of scientific skills used for the public good is indeed an ancient project, which does not necessarily start from the now western societies. These exchanges had been even closer in the field of medical sciences and in the treatment of psychiatric diseases in particular. The Mediterranean became the cradle of medical science and psychiatry through a long journey to which all the cultures of the basin have contributed. The first structure for hospitalization and treatment of what we now call mental illness was built in ancient Egypt. Greeks found a medical approach to mental illness from Hippocrates. Romans inherited this approach and they produced laws and social rules to regulate the relationship with people with psychosocial disabilities by introducing the concept of non- punishment for mental insanity. During the Middle Ages, the West lost its medical approach to mental illness and today we think that many of the witches burned at the stake in these centuries were possibly people with mental health issues. In fact the Malleus E https://clinical-practice-and-epidemiology-in-mental-health.com http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.2174/1745017902016010067&domain=pdf mailto:reprints@benthamscience.net http://dx.doi.org/10.2174/1745017902016010067 68 Clinical Practice & Epidemiology in Mental Health, 2020, Volume 16 Carta et al. Maleficarum, the text specifically written for the identification of witches describes “evil influences” which today would be interpreted as psychiatric symptoms [4]. In those dark centuries, the east and the south saved the vision of mental suffering as a disease to be cured. Firstly, far from the Mediterranean, in the Persian courts, it flourished (10th-13th centuries) in the Islamic countries of the Mediterranean [5]. The doctors of those tolerant courts were not only Muslims but also, Catholic and Jewish. Moises Maimonides, the Jewish personal physician of the vizier of Saladin, treated depression as a psychosomatic illness and suggested that emotions could affect physical health [6]. The doctors who moved from the Islamic courts to the maritime republics (the most tolerant states of Christianity), then favored the revival of medicine in the West which began to grow again starting with the Italian Renaissance. It is not easy in today's cultural crisis of the Mediterranean region given the competing interests of the actors of the region, the influence of global events and the interests of other actors. We envision that the cultural and scientific exchanges among the countries of the Mediterranean region will strengthen the regional identity and also contribute to the regional and global welfare and science. 1.1. The Contents of the Special Issue We have discussed some very demanding tasks in this special issue. This present limited contribution cannot be considered exhaustive. It is the first step towards a path that we hope will continue and grow. The special issue begins with Eskin's work [7]. This paper analyzes macro data on suicidal behavior in countries of the region. The average standardized suicide rates in the Mediterranean countries (with a stronger trend in the Arab Muslim countries) are lower than those of outside countries. However, the study fails to explain the reasons for these differences therefore other studies will be needed to explain the protective factors, which could be useful and help us in prevention. The paper by the University of Palermo in Sicily [8] deals with migrants in the Mediterranean area with a focus on the aspect of problems due to the consequences of trauma during migration on female migrants. This is a not sufficiently detailed aspect of the problem of migration today in the region. The issue of refugee women is still on the focus of the work of Ahmad Sa'adSalehAlsheikh Ali [9]. This paper shows the effectiveness of a counseling program on psychological well-being and post-traumatic stress disorder among a group of displaced women in Jordan due to civil war. The results suggest taking into consideration the importance of cultural mediation interventions when working in this field. YosraZgreb and coll [10] address the issue of staff perception of respect for human rights of users in mental health facilities in four countries (Italy, Tunisia, Gaza and North Macedonia). The authors put forward the hypothesis regarding the perception of professionals working in the mental health care setting and that the rights of users are respected is a determinant of the good organizational climate of the teams. The analysis of the results offers an insider look at the organizational conditions in mental health systems from countries. The results concerning the multi-centric validation of the tool used in this study are presented by the work of Hursky and co-workers [11]. Another paper compares the beliefs about mental disorders in the population of a Mediterranean nation (Tunisia) to that of Germany [12]. In Tunisia, the public was more likely to adopt psychosocial than biogenetic explanations to reject biological treatments and to recommend religious advice for mental illness. The authors underlined the need for professionals to be sensitive to cultural context. Another work presents the validation of the Arabic Maghreb version of the Mood Disorders Questionnaire, a screening tool for bipolar disorders, comparing the results with similar works in other languages of the regions [13]. The paper of Ventriglio and co-authors is a narrative review that deals with an under debate issue as the emerging evidence on a possible role of the Mediterranean Diet on general well-being and mental health. The article encourages further researches to verify the potential benefits of the Mediterranean diet and healthy food selection for the protection of disorders, such as major depression and anxiety disorders, and to promote health [14] The paper on “Postpartum Depression in The Arab Region: A Review” [15]by KhubaibAyoub and co-workers takes stock of current research in a theme of social impact. The work is relevant because it discusses the topic of gender health which has recently seen growing contributions in the Arab world. This work can support the policies and future researches in the field, the postpartum depression in the Arab Region, that has not been sufficiently studied so far. The final paper presents the results of a pilot project to implement the QualityRights program in Tunisia [16]. The program on human rights in mental health started to be introduced also in countries of the Mediterranean area and this is the first work that presents data repeated over time in the context of the region. CONCLUSION The special issue offers a limited contribution but opens up a set of scenarios relating to the bio-psycho-anthropological specificities of mental health in the Mediterranean region and to future aspects that research could pursue which we think can stimulate researchers in the region to establish contacts and cooperative studies. REFERENCES Carta MG, Moro MF, Bass J. War traumas in the Mediterranean area.[1] Int J Soc Psychiatry 2015; 61(1): 33-8. [http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0020764014535754] [PMID: 24869846] Vasari G. Le Vite de’più eccellenti architetti, pittori, etscultori italiani,[2] da Cimabue insino a’ tempi nostri. Torino: con una presentazione di Giovanni Previtali 1986; 3: pp. 435-6. Nova A. 2013.Il Levante nell’opera di Vasari Available from:[3] http://archiv.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/artdok/5107/1/Nova_Il_Levante_nel l_opera_del_Vasari_2013.pdf Tasca C, Rapetti M, Carta MG, Fadda B. Women and hysteria in the[4] history of mental health. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2012; 8: 110-9. [http://dx.doi.org/10.2174/1745017901208010110] [PMID: 23115576] Tardieu M. Lespaysagesreliques Routes et haltessyriennes d’Isidore à[5] http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0020764014535754 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/24869846 http://archiv.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/artdok/5107/1/Nova_Il_Levante_nell_opera_del_Vasari_2013.pdf http://archiv.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/artdok/5107/1/Nova_Il_Levante_nell_opera_del_Vasari_2013.pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.2174/1745017901208010110 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/23115576 Mental Health in the Mediterranean Area Clinical Practice & Epidemiology in Mental Health, 2020, Volume 16 69 Simplicius. Leuven, Belgium: Peeters 1990. Landscapes and relics. Routes and stops Syrian from Isidore to Simplicius Syed IB. Islamic Medicine: 1000 yearsahead of its times. Jishim 2002;[6] 2: 2-9.http://jima.imana.org/article/view/11925 Eskin M. Suicidal behavior in the mediterranean countries. In: Clin[7] Pract Epidemiol Ment Health. 2020; 2;16.(1) In press La Cascia C, Cossu G, Lindert J, et al. Migrant women - experiences[8] from Mediterranean region. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2020; 16 In press Ahmad Sa'ad Saleh, Alsheikh Ali. Efficiency of intervention[9] counseling program on the enhanced psychological well-being and reduced post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms among Syrian women refugee. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2020. In press. Yosra Z, Antonio P, Alessandra P, et al. Staff perception of respect for[10] human rights of users and organizationalwell-being: A study in four differentcountries of the Mediterranean area. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2020. In press. Husky M, Zgueb Y, Ouali O, et al. Principal component analysis of[11] the Well-Being at Work and Respect of Human Rights Questionnaire (WWR) in the Mediterranean region. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2020. In press. Angermeyer MC, Carta MG, Ghachem R, et al. Cultural variations in[12] public beliefs about mental disorders: A Comparisonbetween Tunisia and Germany. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2020. In press. Ouali U, Jouini L, Zgueb Y, et al. The factor structure of the mood[13] disorder questionnaire in tunisian patients. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2020. In press. Ventriglio A, Fornaro M, Sancassiani F. Mediterranean diet and mood[14] disorders: myth and evidences. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2020. In press. Khubaib A, Amira S, Shakur H. Postpartum depression in the Arab[15] region: A Review. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2020. In press. Carta MG, Ghacem R, Milka M, et al. Implementing WHO quality[16] rightsProject in Tunisia: results of an intervention at Razi Hospital. Clin Pract Epidemiol Ment Health 2020. In press. © 2020 Carta et al. This is an open access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Public License (CC-BY 4.0), a copy of which is available at: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode. This license permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. http://jima.imana.org/article/view/11925 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode Mental Health in the Mediterranean Area 1. INTRODUCTION: A HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE 1.1. The Contents of the Special Issue CONCLUSION REFERENCES 
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work_dxsa2q5wbbeo3blbth2knsntb4	----	672 Slavic Review Czech researchers in their simultaneous endeavor to synthesize their presenta- tion of Bohemian Gothic avoided this unsettled problem by limiting themselves to a much more consistent period in their Ceski Umeni Goticke, 1350-1420 (Prague, 1970). It was carried out in anticipation of a large exhibition which unfortunately could not take place. MojMfR S. FRINTA State University of New York at Albany JANUS PANNONIUS VERSEI. Edited by Tibor Kardos. Budapest: Szepiro- dalmi Konyvkiado, 1972. 322 pp. 34 Ft. £ L 0 HUMANIZMUS. By Tibor Kardos. Budapest: Magvet8 Kiado, 1972. 654 pp. 35 Ft. Five hundred years ago (March 27, 1472) Janus Pannonius, the most celebrated poet of the Hungarian Renaissance, died. Son of a Croatian father and a Hungarian mother, a relative of the powerful king Matthias Corvinus, and a nephew of the respected archbishop Johannes Vitez, he was destined to have a career that reflected the turbulent and controversial times of fifteenth-century Hungary. Trained in the humanist tradition, Pannonius was sent at an early age to the famous Ferrara school of Guarinus, became his favorite student, and was soon stun- ning his friends and patrons with his literary brilliance and knowledge of classical authors. In 1458, having completed his theological studies at Padua, and by then famous as a poet, he returned to Hungary to serve Matthias at the royal court. Soon after he was made bishop of Pecs, thus achieving a politically important, and lucra- tive, position in the Hungarian hierarchy. Nevertheless, it was exactly the time when the Italian humanist past and the crude realities of a culturally barren daily existence in Hungary confronted one another in his mind and in his poetry. A lavishly executed trip to Rome (1465) representing Matthias at the papal court brought only temporary relief and ultimately deepened his embitterment. He was a true Renaissance man, also in terms of ambitions. His poetry could not flourish "in exile," away from his beloved Italy, and his political concepts (all-out war against the Turks instead of attacking the West) were rejected by an even more ambitious Matthias, whose aim was to become German-Roman emperor. In a last desperate effort, the already ailing Janus (together with other dissatisfied oligarchs) organized a plot against the monarch—and lost. Fleeing the wrath of the king, he died, a broken man, in the Slavonian fortress of his friend, Oswaldus Thuz, bishop of Zagreb. However, his poetry (as far as we know he only wrote in Latin) has survived and has appeared in many anthologies, as well as separate editions, and in various translations into Hungarian and Croatian. Commemorating the five hundredth anniversary of Pannonius's death, Tibor Kardos, the outstanding Hungarian Renaissance scholar, has published a new selec- tion of his poetry in Hungarian translation, with a seventy-page assessment of his life and work. The collection contains epigrams, elegies, and longer works by Pan- nonius, in the by now traditional groupings that reflect the three major stations of his life—the Ferrara, the Padua, and the Hungarian periods. The Hungarian rendering (including both earlier and recent translations) is the work of several translators and poets, among them Sandor Weores, Gyula Illyes, and the editor, Kardos. Reviews 673 The competent editorial work, the generally excellent translations, the attrac- tively printed volume, and the copious notes (though many of them have appeared in previous Hungarian editions) make this publication an important addition to Pannonius scholarship. Nevertheless there are a few, and (since they reflect the editorial concept) not unimportant, lacunae that deserve mention. T h e last "com- plete" Latin edition of Pannonius (used as source material for this volume) ap- peared in 1784. A bilingual edition such as the Croatian one (Hrvatski latinisti, vol. 2 ) , but with much-needed new readings of the Latin text, would have been a wel- come effort. Several delightful erotic poems of the F e r r a r a period (Vat. Lib. M S . 471) have never been published in Hungary, and owing to prudishness (unwar- ranted in a scholarly context) are once again missing from this selection, thus perpetuating an incomplete image of the young Janus. Finally, and this is the most delicate problem to tackle, the last years of Pan- nonius's public career need to be re-evaluated, especially in regard to his relations with Matthias Corvinus. This, however, cannot be accomplished before a new and critical assessment of Matthias has won acceptance and national pride gives way to unbiased scholarship. Tibor Kardos in his excellent essay on the fall of Pannonius ("Janus Pannonius bukasa," Pecs, 1935) came closest among the Hungarian scholars to presenting an impartial view; yet thirty-seven years later this book seems to be hampered by the same traditional approach that has paralyzed Corvinus scholarship for centuries. That essay on Pannonius is among the most important of the twenty-five studies by Kardos reprinted under the title £15 humanizmus {Living Humanism). In addi- tion to his discussion of Janus Pannonius's exclusively Latin poetry, Kardos, in his essay on Balint Balassi, also gives a thorough analysis of Hungarian Renaissance literature in the vernacular. However, this otherwise inspired piece, written in 1954, seems to suffer from the curtailing effects of a rather vulgarized Marxist approach, which unfortunately no Hungarian publication of that period could avoid. Other essays on earlier Hungarian literature (studies on Miklos Zrinyi and Daniel Berzsenyi) are reworked variants of previous articles, adding valuable new material to the scholarship of the Hungarian baroque and classicism, respectively. Of the wider European portrait gallery dealing with various notables of the Italian Renais- sance (Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Machiavelli) as well as with Erasmus, Bacon, and Comenius, many essays render new insights and contain a critique of contemporary scholarship. The Dante article, discussing the poet's imagery, is especially rich in fine observations and new analyses. The last essay is devoted to Sandor Weores, one of the most exciting and com- plex poets of contemporary Hungarian literature. In this penetrating study Kardos undertakes to analyze Weores's poetic concepts and identifies the poet's images corresponding to these concepts. With this study Kardos, best known for his work on the Renaissance, proves that he can handle the manifold problems and phenomena of modern literature with the same knowledge and sensitivity that are found in his historically oriented writings. The particular strength of the collection is that although most of the essays address themselves to the student of literature, they also make fascinating reading for the interested layman. Perhaps two pieces, "Boccaccio-unnep Certaldoban" ("Boccaccio Festival in Certaldo") and "Parbeszed Morus Tamasrol" ("Dialogue on Thomas M o r e " ) , should have been left out. Owing to a journalese approach, their entertainment value notwithstanding, they disrupt the otherwise harmonious 674 Slavic Review style of the volume. Detailed notes informing how each essay came about and referring the reader to further relevant publications complete this handsomely printed book. MARIANNA D. BIRNBAUM University of California, Los Angeles IZABRANA DJELA IZ SLAVENSKE AKCENTUACIJE (GESAMMELTE SCHRIFTEN ZUM SLAVISCHEN AKZENT). By Stjepan Ivsic. Sla- vische Propylaen, Texte in Neu- und Nachdrucken, vol. 96. Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag, 1971. 804 pp. DM 148. Despite the German title on the spine (Gesammelte Schriften sum slavischen Ak- sent), all of Ivsic's articles reproduced here are in the original Serbo-Croatian, except for one very short piece he wrote in French. However, the three-page preface by Christiaan Alphonsus van den Berk is in German. The price of the book is quite steep but probably unavoidable (given the small market for such works and the complexity of the material). Stjepan Ivsic (1884-1962) was one of those legendary linguists who flourished in Croatian and Serbian lands during the first half of this century. Like Vatroslav Jagic, Tomo Maretic, Petar Skok, and Aleksandar Belie, Ivsic moved in the poly- math tradition of language scholarship, concerning himself with dialectology, historical grammar, the editing of earlier texts, language pedagogy, and (an in- escapable fate in the Balkans) politics. He succeeded to Maretic's chair at the University of Zagreb in 1914 and proceeded to train and influence the next two generations of Croatian linguists. Though his writing output is respectable, it is just a small measure of his actual work, since many of his discoveries and formula- tions emerged only in the form of university lectures or remained as field notes or unfinished manuscripts. Recently, for example, his former students published a 434-page book on comparative Slavic grammar on the basis of their student lecture notes (Stjepan Ivsic, Slavenska poredbena gramatika, ed. J. Vrana and R. Katicic, Zagreb, 1970). In the book under review another student, Bozidar Finka, has reworked Ivsic's field notes of the 1930s to produce a valuable article (pp. 723-98 and sketch maps) on the language of Croats in the diaspora, specifically in Austria, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia. But for all the breadth of his interests, Ivsic's first and most enduring love was accentology, and one can sense this early enthusiasm in his description (pp. 217 ff.) of his first field trip in Slavonia in 1905, as he walked from village to village, jotting down accentual novelties. Here are all his contributions in accentology, ranging from his seminal doctoral dissertation, Prilog za slavenski akcenat (first printed in 1911), to a latter-day two-page note on accent in Dubrovnik, as gleaned from lecture notes by Finka. An analysis of this copious material is not possible in this short review; readers interested in a detailed commentary on Ivsic's importance in Slavic accentology are advised to consult Dalibor Brozovic's "O Stjepanu Ivsicu kao slavenskom i hrvatskosrpskom akcentologu" ("Concerning Stjepan Ivsic as a Slavic and Serbo-Croatian Accentologist"), Ivsidev sbornik (Zagreb, 1963), pp. 25-36. The modern student of Serbo-Croatian accentology should realize that Ivsic worked in the old tradition of field investigation, relying (as was obviously nec- essary) on what van den Berk calls "his very fine ear, trained by long experience" 
work_e25keos5erhhxapt5sq3gseug4	----	Microsoft Word - Longo G.docx LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 132 Naturalizing Physics. Or, embedding physics in the historicity and materiality of the living by GIUSEPPE LONGO Abstract The rich blend of theories and experiences that made the history of physics possible still now en- lightens the scientific method. We stress the need to learn from this method the force of making its principles explicit, while developing a rich diversity of theories, which are often incompatible. Unity is preserved by common founding principles and their mathematical form, such as the understanding of conservation properties (energy, momentum etc.) in terms of symmetries. When moving from the inert to the living state of matter, new challenges are posed, beginning with biological “heterogene- sis”, as “genesis of and from diversity” in a changing space of pertinent observables and parameters: the Darwinian ecosystem. The question that is posed is how we may consistently embed the theories of the inert into biology. By naturalization we mean an analysis of physics as part of the sciences of nature, not as the science governing them all. In particular, the founding symmetry principles of phys- ical theories, often used to “naturalize” (but, actually, to “physicalize”) other sciences, will instead be framed in more general dynamics which deal with fundamental changes of symmetries, as they apply, in our views, in all historical sciences, beginning with biology. This paper will accordingly explore the notion of (non-)conservative extension of theories in a precise mathematical sense. We stress a per- spectival epistemology that promotes a dialogue of theories, in search for bridges or even unity, in- spired by the method of “unification” at the core of major theoretical inventions in physics. Our main motivation is the need to go beyond the strong dualistic separation of space (or of the more general “phase space”) as a pre-given container of the dynamics of matter, that biased physics from Aristotle to Newton and, in a technically different way, even Einstein. 1. Physics as part of the natural sciences, an introduction Physics has been leading the scientific revolution, and for centuries has represented the richest revolutionary thinking of nature, constituting a paradigm for all sciences. This well deserved role has its origin in a complex blend of naturalism and metaphysics, including the naturalistic metaphysics and theology of 15th century science (Cassirer 1906). Then, by a marriage with mathematical idealities, physical theorizing led to the invention of fantastic conceptual tools of investigation of both geometric and analytic nature. Invariance and con- servation principles, beginning with Galileo’s inertia, thus symmetries, geodetics, and LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 133 ergodicity … provided the unifying principles for a rich diversity of theories. However, Quan- tum Physics, Relativity Theory, and Hydrodynamics, … are far from being technically unified; the first two are actually incompatible (their fields, entanglement phenomena … are jointly inconsistent), the third belongs to the different physico-mathematical world of the analysis of incompressible fluids in continua, (Chibbaro et al. 2015), though we all know that water is composed of quanta. Yet, common symmetry principles ground theories that differ just by working at different scales or with different observables. Note that the existing theoretical unifications required new theories, new mathematics, and each time a true revolution: New- ton – unifying planets and falling bodies, Maxwell, Boltzmann … Einstein – the equivalence of gravitation and inertia, within the same theory. A key aspect of inter-theoretical unifica- tions is the invention of a common phase space (the mathematical space of pertinent observ- ables and parameters). These fantastic achievements often lead to some philosophical arrogance, in particular in relation to the very productive role of mathematics. Too well-known papers by top research- ers on the “The Unreasonable Effectiveness of Mathematics in the Natural Sciences”, mostly quoted only by the captivating title, deal only with the interactions of mathematics with physics - as if biology were not a science of nature1. Moreover, it is often forgotten that the different theories in physics are the result of original work at the appropriate scale or phe- nomenal level: when changing either of them, physicists dared to invent a new theory, often a new mathematics … in which case the problem of unification is soundly posed. Biology in- stead seems to deserve only to be flatly and progressively occupied by existing physico- mathematical tools, as if the living state of matter were not a rather original observable. In rejecting this physicalization of biology, often presented as a naturalization, we will there- fore present instead an integration of physical homogeneous dynamics into a heterogenesis, more adequate to historical sciences, such as biology. This is in continuation of the work with F. Bailly and M. Montévil, see references, and in Soto & Longo (2016), and has found now its mathematical counterpart in the original approach proposed in Sarti et al. (2019), which al- lows a dialogue at the cross-road of independent scientific itineraries. In an attempt to correlate the science of the inert with the science of the living, we will first stress some metaphysical commitments that biased, in a constructive way, physics’ his- torical construction. It is often said: “life must obey the laws of physics!”. What does this mean? That a cat must fall with the same acceleration of a stone or that one can derive the cat’s biological properties from “physics”? Or, more weakly, that the description of biological phenomena must be compatible with physics? When facing such a confusion, one should first ask: from which of the incompatible theories in physics should one derive biology? And 1 Also a major book by H. Weyl on the philosophy of mathematics and of natural sciences, in his 1927 edition, re- fers only to physics as a natural science, except for one key issue: “The idea of the gestaltiste and the gestaltichen type plays an important role in biology, although here it is mostly associated with the teleological concept of organ function.” (pointed out by G. Heinzmann). However, in the 1949 English edition, Weyl added several interesting remarks on biology and chemistry (Weyl 1949). LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 134 observe, at least, that there is a lot of water in an organism, with a peculiar blend of hydro- dynamic, classical and quantum effects (Del Giudice et al. 1983; Arani et al. 1995; Lesne 2006; see Buiatti & Longo 2013 for a discussion). We will thus raise the problem of the “com- patibility” of biological theorizing with regard to fundamental physical principles (it should not violate/contradict them), an issue which is often confused with the “derivability” of bio- logical properties from those principles, where symmetries play a major role. A major challenge in the passage from theories of the inert to historical sciences, in gen- eral, and of life in particular, is that the phase space should be extended to biology’s pertinent observables. Then one of the main forms of dualism of modern science should be dropped, a major conceptual discontinuity: in section 3, we will discuss the theological origin of the sep- aration of “spaces” from inert matter inhabiting them. More generally, the analyses of the relations between theories should also refer to methodological as well as empirical issues bridging physics and biology, in part addressed by the logico-mathematical notion of “con- servative extension” mentioned below and by its application to “heterogenesis”. In particu- lar, dualities, such as the genericity of physical objects (under stable border conditions, one falling stone or an electron is worth all) vs. the specificity of their trajectories (they are geo- detics, unique-optimal paths), are reversed in biology, in our perspective: objects are specific (historical) while their phylo-ontogenetic trajectories are generic, they are possible ones (Bailly & Longo 2011), (Longo & Montévil 2014). This yields the challenge of “generalization” of experiments in biology: as all experimentalists know too well, observations and experi- ments on an individual organism cannot be generalized just by an analysis of the border con- ditions, in view of the historical specificity of organisms, (Montévil 2019; 2020). On these grounds, the peculiar nature of both diachronic and synchronic measurements in biology will be recalled, following (Longo 2017; Montévil 2019), yet another challenge when broadening the analyses from the inert to the living state of matter. 2. Dualism and the expressiveness of physics Different forms of dualism found the effectiveness of western science, driven by physics and by the construction of machines (Rossi 1962). Assessing the biases or limits that these sciences and techniques (implicitly) pose may help in further scientific work. Following an early and major human invention, the distinction soul/body, we also separated, during the Scientific revolution, space (and time) from the bodies inhabiting it. As hinted in section 4, this was a key step, of religious origin, that allowed the framing of equations in pre-given Cartesian spaces. This split, whether ontological (space and time exist per se) or epistemic (they are Kantian “conditions of possibility” for knowledge construction), allow us to “write equations, solve equations” (Newton) by fixing the physically pertinent parameters in pre- given spaces. In the 19th century, by positing a priori “phase spaces” (pertinent observables LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 135 and parameters), physicists extended this separation by new observables: momentum or en- ergy where added to space or time, an extension of the a priori of Newtonian physics. And time was definitely formalized as a parameter ranging on a pre-given Cantorian line. More generally, each new theory (Hamilton’s mechanics, thermodynamics, electrodynamics …) was given in a pertinent, a priori, phase space. The great organization of knowledge (or of the world) proposed by Aristotle then found its modern version: “the actual is already ‘in potentia’” in the (phase) space of all possible trajectories. In this historical context, Relativity Theory definitely “spatialized” time: following different interpretations and developments, time is subject to (about) the same transformations as the space parameters and/or it even loses its role as a mathematical parameter (Rovelli 2008; Bouton & Huneman 2018). Even though the relativistic geometry (the metrics) is strictly correlated to energy and matter (or even depending on them), the global space-time structure, as Riemannian manifold with a given dimension and topology, remains separated from or ontologically precedes matter, as argued in sect. 4. When confronted with life phenomena, a new epistemological perspective seems to be needed. So, in order to enrich the traditional physical observables, many theories further reinforced this dualism and its correlated metaphysics, by proposing even more radical forms of soul/body separation. By the references, beyond physics, to the notions of “infor- mation” and (genetic) “program”, the distinctions syntax/semantics and software/hardware extensively affected biological research. Most often, these references were disguised under the form of even more dangerous “metaphors” that guided intuition and experiences with no request for rigor, thus without explicit principles to confront, develop, or negate.2 The very effective dualism of classical physics, such as space vs. matter, was thus further extended by these linguistic inventions of ours, which were also very powerful for constructing machines, such as modern computers, but far away from the radical (non-dualistic) materiality of life phenomena. The materiality and the historicity of life forbid the stability and independence of any form of “software” as much as of any pre-given space of all biological possibilities: it is a specific matter that is inherited, such as DNA, RNA, proteome, membranes with their chemistry and no other, no software independent from “hardware”. Some of this organized and inherited matter locally changes and, jointly with changing phenotypes, it reduces the symmetries or invariance in biological dynamics, by the inexistence of an invariant software, of a stable phase space and by the specificity of rare events. Historicity, under the form of changing phase spaces and rare events are discussed in Longo (2017), also in comparison with various forms of “path dependence” and “large deviations” in physics (Vulpiani et al. 2014), which also depend on the past or are rare, but remain within the frame of a processual time in pre- given phase spaces (see below). Historicity is further specified by the new mathematical 2 See Longo & Mossio 2020 or the papers in Soto & Longo 2016 for a few out of many recent critiques and an alter- native proposal. LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 136 ideas in (Sarti et al. 2019): it also depends on changing “differential constraints” which pro- duce new spaces and dynamics, as further analyzed below. The problem may concern whether physics too, in view of the historicity of cosmology, is undergoing a similar change in perspective, at least when studying the evolution of the Uni- verse. In Cosmology, rare events matter and there are “novelties”, such as the early “emer- gence” of fundamental constants or of new observables and parameters, including space and time themselves. These are some of the major challenges for this science, which is “physical”, as it only deals with inert matter, but historical as well. In this case, concepts coming from biology could inspire physics, an unusual occurrence. Yet, we can note such an influence in a major physicist, Boltzmann (1844 – 1906), who, while discussing randomness in physics, was also inspired by Darwin (Broda 1982). Indeed, Darwin had a very modern view as for the unpredictable (random) variability of the living and the production of diversity, that he expressed in terms of the “extreme sensitivity” (!) of organisms to changes of internal and external (environmental) “conditions” (Darwin 1859: chap. 5). A fully theorized historicity of cosmology could perhaps help in better framing also the analysis of the “emergence” of a peculiar new observable in the Universe: living organisms. Following Darwin and Darwinism, we put aside the problem of the origin of life in an inert Universe, too difficult or an impossible problem in absence of a good theory of “what an or- ganism is”, and focus first on some theoretical and epistemological relations between physics and biology. For example, hydrodynamic properties (of incompressible fluids in continua) do not emerge “theoretically” from quantum properties, but “historically”. That is, we have two robust theories at different scales, with different observables and for good empirical reasons, Hydrodynamics and Quantum Mechanics: the problem is posed soundly when working at bridges and/or looking for a unification of theories (Chibbaro et al. 2015). Then Cosmology may help to understand the formation of the new hydrodynamic observables (the early water in the universe, say) and set, by this, a historical time. The two problems of course interact, yet the understanding of the theoretical dependence and the historical order should not be confused, but reciprocally enriched – it is unlikely that the second would help in deriving Navier-Stokes’ equations from Schrödinger’s, at the core of the two theories.3 Similarly as for theories of life. For example, the approach in Bailly & Longo (2009; see also Longo & Montévil 2014: ch.9), provides a tentative explanation of the increasing “phe- notypic complexity” of organisms in evolution, by an asymmetric diffusion equation. Thus, a form of entropy growth (a diffusion) models time increasing organization. We called “anti- 3 As explained in Chibbaro et al. (2015), hydrodynamic equations are not sensitive to the details of microscopic dy- namics. Moreover, the individual behavior of particles, as described by the one-body distribution function, depends on the global or macroscopic hydrodynamic field, which is thus assumed, not derived from (possibly asymptotic) particle dynamics. Thus, there is no junction of two different theories, but the macroscopic case is used as a ‘boot- strap’ for constructing the microscopic/macroscopic bridge. Also the derivation of Navier-Stokes equation for in- compressible fluids from Boltzmann’s equation seems unlikely, in spite of remarkable progress of approximations under strong assumptions (Briant 2015). LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 137 entropy” this abstract and purely quantitative measure of biological complexity, which may thus grow with entropy. Yet, this analysis does not allow to deduce the principles of biological evolution, that is Darwin’s “reproduction with variation” and “selection” in changing (heter- ogeneous) phase spaces, nor other robust theories in biology, such as “cell theory”, away from spontaneous generation, and physiology, that are better framed in evolutionary and organismal approaches (such as Gould 2002; West-Eberhard 2003; Mossio & Montévil 2015; Soto & Longo 2016). 3. The singularity of physics in the sciences of nature In the title of Bailly & Longo (2011), we mentioned the “physical singularity” of life phe- nomena. This idea is not thematized in the book, except in the informal sense of the specific- ity or historicity of organisms as also hinted here. Shouldn’t we better reverse that evocative wording and see, conversely and more precisely, inert matter as a “singularity” of an ambi- tious global theoretical frame? When restricting the focus from living to inert matter, we drastically reduce the number and nature of pertinent observables: typically, the Darwinian organisms and phenotypes “go to 0”. By a wild analogy, note that Euclidean geometry is Rie- mannian geometry at curvature 0, it is thus a “singularity” of the general Riemannian frame (one point-value, 0, in the range of all possible curvatures). In other words, since physics and its theories are strongly needed in biology, they must be part of it. Thus, biology should be seen as an extension of physical theories, as it deals with more observables: biological functions, phenotypes, organisms … which do not belong to the language of physics. Can then the logico-mathematical notion of “conservative extension”4 help to consistently embed physical theorizing into the biological? A mathematical guideline may be provided by the work in Sarti et al. (2019). The inven- tion of mathematical physics, in pre-given phase spaces, is based on differential analysis (Newton) under homogeneous constraints (fixed dynamical equations in pre-given spaces). Mathematically, the extension to historical dynamics may be described by moving to heter- ogeneous differential constraints, that is to changing differential constraints and, thus, changing dynamical equations. In short, interacting differential operators, in Sarti et al’s 4 An extension T’ of a theory T by new notions and axioms (properties), is conservative when T’ proves no new the- orem that may be stated in the language of T. In Mathematical Logic, this is not a minor issue: Gödel’s incomplete- ness theorem, a milestone of the century, can be restated by observing that Set Theory, with an axiom of infinity, is a non-conservative extension of Arithmetics; that is, Set Theory proves extra theorems of Arithmetics, such as Gödel’s undecidable statement (Longo 2018i), and a lot more by adding more infinities or extra principles (Longo 2011). Also without being infected by “Gödelitis”, a common disease abusing of that fantastic result, these notions may informally apply to non axiomatized theories, with some extra-logical sanity (see Kreisel 1984). That is, they may provide a guideline for theoretical thinking, with no need for the exact rigor of Logic and axiomatized theories. In Miquel (2011), biology as an extended physics is also considered, along the lines of the notion of “extended critical- ity” (in Bailly & Longo 2008; Longo & Montévil 2014). LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 138 calculus, engender new differential constraints and phase spaces. The extension conserves the role of the differential analysis; does it conserve the latter also in the technical sense of “not proving more theorems” for the homogeneous case? It is likely to be so: the alternative answer (proving more theorems) would be, though, an amazing result, an analogue, in the much more explored field, as for provability, of the “concrete incompleteness” theorems for Arithmetic (Longo 2011). That is, the heterogeneous case would allow to prove so far un- provable new theorems of classical Analysis …. By continuing our wild (and provocative) analogy, if one adds infinite sets or curving spaces, then one moves from Arithmetic to Set Theory or from Euclidean to Riemannian manifolds. In these cases though, it is known ex- actly which new observables and properties to add; when canceled, one goes back to the singularity of Arithmetic (Set Theory with no infinite sets) and of Euclid’s geometry (Rie- mann’s geometry with no curving spaces). The conservativity of these extensions can be soundly analyzed, by a non obvious negative answer (Gödel as for Arithmetic, see footnote) and a positive one (Geometry). Either result would be very interesting as for heterogenesis vs. known physical dynamics in fixed phase spaces. Note that we just posit the theoretical problem of the (non-)conservativity of compatible extensions of physics, as the actual difficulties lie first within physics itself. The lack of unity of quantum and classical/relativistic fields or the ongoing, but far from accomplished, work in unifying hydrodynamics or even chemistry with quantum physics (Chibbaro et al. 2015), has not (yet) allowed for the development of unified approaches (see Longo 2016) for a re- view. That is, of which theory in physics, precisely, should biology be an extension dealing with biological functions, Darwinian phenotypes and organisms? In a cell, there are plenty of quantum, and classical effects, as well as effects proper to water, including of quantum origin (Del Giudice et al. 1983; Cortini et al. 2016); they superpose and have consequences on phenotypes (Buiatti & Longo 2013). Their analysis, though needed, is essentially incom- plete with regard to the theory of onto-philogenesis of organisms we work at, see (Montévil & Mossio 2015; Soto & Longo 2016; Longo 2017). We will go back to the mathematical pro- posal in Sarti et al. (2019), after discussing the theological commitments that ground the in- vention of pre-given universes of all possible dynamics. In summary, several theories in physics contribute to the understanding of life. Instead, there is no need, in principle, to talk of cells, organs, organisms and functions in order to investigate interacting physical particles, falling bodies, and stars.5 So, if we will ever get to a “unified theory” or “theory of everything”, physics should be seen as a singularity of that 5 Quantum Physics though may pose a challenge here. Its objects or observable values are co-constructed at meas- urement. If this is viewed as an act of a living observer, the embedding of theories would no longer be conservative: properties of life would contribute to establish properties of the inert. What matters though is the interaction of a classical measurement instrument with the quantum process: they jointly produce the “measured quantum proper- ties”. Are proper biological observables truly concerned with this interaction? Can the quantum/classical interface be objectivized independently from the measuring living agent? The debate is very lively on this matter and goes be- yond our purposes. LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 139 general frame, that is as the absence of living matter. The very analysis of this embedding and of its conservative/non-conservative alternative, in relating physics to other sciences of nature, is part of what we dare to call a “naturalization” of physics. 4. A priori spaces Greek philosophers extensively discussed about potential vs. actual infinity. The first was and is meant to be a never ending succession of numbers or an indefinite extension of lines (an “a-peiron”, with no boundary or limit), the second is the actual limit of counting or of infinite lines, e.g. the projective point. During the (late) Middle Ages (Zellini 2005), actual infinity was accepted as a legitimate concept, actually an ontology, only in reference to the infinity of God. Then, it received its first symbolic representation in the early Annonciations of Italian renaissance (XIV century). The projective/limit point of the so called “linear per- spective” was not only a “symbolic form” for the organization of the pictorial space (Panofsky 1927), but also and primarily a geometric representation of the infinite presence of God when meeting with the finiteness of the Madonna (Damisch 1987; Arasse 1999; Longo S. 2013, 2014). Theological considerations explicitly motivated the early painters, often priests and theologians, such as Ambrogio Lorenzetti (see his 1344 (!) Annonciation, below), and their commentators of the time (Arasse 1999): the actual infinity of God, preceding the ex- istence of the Universe of matter, was made visible in the painting by the convergence at in- finity, the “costruzione legittima” (the linear perspective). LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 140 And there was (mathematical) space. The result of a profound debate on infinity, in theo- logical circles, made actual infinity visible by a geometric construction, which provided at once the tridimensional space for framing and allowing the new humanism of Italian Renais- sance, in paintings and general knowledge. As later theorized: “since the ‘locus’ exists before the bodies placed in that loci, it must necessarily be placed graphically first” (Gauricus, De sculptura, 1504, quoted in De Risi 2012). Thus, the a priori role of the mathematical space, as preceding and framing the very existence of matter, to be later placed in it – by God, the painter or the scientist. Since Descartes, Desargues and Newton, modern physics mathematized and made a fun- damental use of this approach – even though not everybody agreed.6 Of course, there is noth- ing wrong in the theological origin of a scientific concept, the point is to be aware of this and not to consider a historical construction as an absolute – as this would be actual mysticism. At these regards, H. Weyl observes that we have lost, in science, the productive marriage with religion of Greek times. He could not be aware though of H. Damisch and D. Arasse’s stress on the mathematical power of theology (it is clear that A. Lorenzetti was also a very creative geometer) that contributed to the birth of the modern science of space (Longo 2019). Many consider Einstein’s relativity as a break with this dualistic approach, the separation of the container from the contained. However, Koyré (1925) observes: the theory of relativity does not destroy the idea of unique time and space: on the con- trary, it presupposes them at every step and cannot be thought and understood other- wise. The theory of relativity [...] is a profoundly absolutist theory, it is the completion and direct heir to the Cartesian doctrine of the absolute value of spatial measurements. (quoted in Ruffin-Bayardin 2019) This remark can be made more precise in the light of Einstein’s 1935 work. The presence of matter shapes relativistic spaces, in the precise sense that the energy-momentum tensor is strictly correlated to (it gives) the space curvature, thus to the metric of space (by Gauss- Riemann “theorema egregium”). So, it is not exact to say that spatial measurements in Rela- tivity are an absolute or are independent of the inhabiting matter, since the metric relations depend on the distribution of matter or, equivalently, of energy and momentum, and ground spatial measurements. Yet, Einstein’s approach consistently refers to a priori (or underlying or absolute) Riemannian manifolds as for its dimensions and topology. In particular, the proof of the “inconsistency or incompleteness” of quantum mechanics, given in (Einstein et al 1935), the well-known EPR argument, is based on the (implicit) assumption of the 6 For Leibniz, space and time are the order of possible existences, in space simultaneously, in time successively. That is, space and time are derived entities whose relational foundation is ontologically subordinated to things and their states (Anfray 2007). LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 141 absolute topological separability7 of any pair of different events in the quantum phase space, (Longo 2018i). So, the metrics is relativistic and depends on the presence of matter or en- ergy, yet the (separated) space and phase space topology of quantum observables is inde- pendent from the material dynamics. Since, in a sufficiently separated topology, the dimen- sion is a topological invariant (Alexandroff & Hopf 1972), then the Riemannian manifold and the intended extension to a phase space, both for their dimensions and topology, are consid- ered an a priori of knowledge construction (or an absolute, if one assumes an ontological perspective) also in General Relativity Theory.8 It should be clear that the invention of infinite mathematical spaces, since early Renaissance paintings, is one of the major achievements of western science. Its effectiveness as for organizing knowledge by rigorous a priori constructions of a phase space makes no doubt: just consider the fantastic use (actually, invention) of Hilbert spaces in order to make mathematically intelligible quantum dynamics as trajectories of probability amplitudes (Schrödinger equation in Hilbert spaces, Sobrino 1996). We are just stressing the powerful cognitive tracks as well as the bias this approach has been positing for science. Note that, since the proof of the irrationality of √2, singling out the limits of knowledge constructions has been a way to better specify existing knowledge and/or invent new science. As summarized in (Longo 2018i), this was the case for Poincaré’s geometry of dynamical systems, invented on the grounds of his “negative result” in classical mechanics, and the incomplete-ness of formal systems, by Gödel, Church, and Turing in the ‘30s, that started Computability, Proof Theory and Programming Theory. These results radically departed from mechanistic-linear and formal views of physics and mathematics as step-wise construction of the actual on pre-given potentialities. Yet, we have to go further and analyze the very formation of the space of possibilities. An analysis of the a priori in existing theories may help to transfer to other sciences, such as biology, the creative physico-mathematical methods, more than the theories. Indeed, a focus on the bias due to pre-given phase spaces already opened the way to new tools for investigation, such as the work on differential heterogenesis in Sarti et al. (2019). Sarti et al.’s interacting differential operators dynamically construct the phase space and are, at last, a truly new mathematical idea inspired by historical sciences, such as biology and semiotics. Moving back and forwards with regards to existing physical theories, by restricting, when 7 A “separated (Hausdorff) space” is a topological space where for any two distinct points there exists a neighbor- hood of each that is disjoint from the neighborhood of the other. Of course, different metrics may yield the same to- pology. 8 Poincaré (1902) dared to break also with these a priori, but did not turn his remarks into mathematics: “Beings that would experience our normal sensations in an abnormal order, would create a different geometry from ours” - a divi- nation, if one thinks to Non-commutative Geometry (Connes 1994). He also claims that, in order to evaluate the dis- tance of a body, we imagine the movement necessary to reach it. More importantly for us as it goes beyond the met- rics, he suggested that an immobile being could take the movements of other bodies for changes of state. That is, with no reference to a metrics, a sufficiently separated topology allows to distinguish different points, either as movement or, claims Poincaré, as different states. In our words, the mathematical construction of space follows from and depends on action. LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 142 needed, heterogeneity to homogeneity, a singularity of heterogeneity as hinted below, may help in naturalizing them - and deal, perhaps, even with the changing phase spaces of Cosmology. 5. Randomness and time The further we go from physics to the worlds of biology, psychology, linguistics, economics, ... the more we lose symmetry – the use of classical pro- babilistic concepts in heterogeneous environments becomes problematic. M. Gromov, Bernoully Lecture, March 27, 2018. Randomness is a matter of time or, better, it can be defined only in time. Randomness is unpredictability with regard to the intended theory (Calude & Longo 2016), where being able to predict or not implies a judgment in time.9 It differs in classical vs. quantum frames, as mathematics and experiments consistently prove (the violation of Bell probabilistic ine- qualities, empirically corroborated in the presence of “entanglement”, Aspect et al. 1982). Since Poincaré, the classical unpredictability of non-linear systems is fully understood: it is due to the classical limits of measurement, always an interval, and the non-linearity of the intended dynamics. Then, a fluctuation below the best possible measurement may be non- linearly amplified, in time, by a bifurcation or along a homoclinic trajectory (at the intersec- tion of stable and unstable manifolds), by positive Lyapunov exponents, etc. (Devaney 1989). Then “we have a random phenomenon” (Poincaré 1902). Quantum randomness instead be- gins at measurement (Heisenberg indetermination); it is elegantly treated by Schrödinger’s equation, a dynamics of a law (an amplitude) of probability; it pops out at entanglement, since distant measurements show non-classical probability correlations. Yet, physics shows again its principial unity by a tight correspondence, in all theories, of random events and local irreversibility of time. These phenomena co-exist and imply a sym- metry breaking, as one may show by closely looking at existing theoretical frames (Longo & Montévil 2017). Moreover, the pre-given phase space, as a space of all possibilities, allows a probability measure to be given to randomness, by Lebesgue measure for example, even in infinite dimensional Hilbert spaces. Thus, from Laplace (1820) to Kolmogorov (1932), ran- domness is “what is measured by probabilities”. Random means then unpredictable, but “not too much” (Mugur-Schachter & Longo 2014): all future events are part of Aristotle’s 9 Algorithmic Information Theory allows to compare and unify asymptotically (for infinite sequences) the various forms of randomness in physical theories (see Calude & Longo 2016). Incompressibility for finite strings of num- bers, a very important practical notion in times of immense data bases, does not define randomness, since any suffi- ciently long finite string is compressible (Calude & Longo 2017). LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 143 potentialities and their “becoming actual” may be given in probabilities. Heterogeneous dy- namics thus pose a problem, since an unpredictable novelty, in biological evolution for ex- ample, may break yet another fundamental symmetry: the conservation of the phase space (see Longo 2017 for a theoretical reflection in these terms, and Gould 2002; West-Eberhard 2003 for examples). Thus, no probability measure is possible in the phase space of evolution. As Gromov stresses (in exergue), this applies to all historical sciences, including economics (Koppl et al. 2015). R. Thom, in two papers in Amsterdamski (1990), beautifully summarizes the traditional view in physics, enriched by an explicit Platonist philosophy of mathematics: the mathema- tical phase space pre-exists the randomness (“noise”) affecting the system (Thom 1990: 270), thus ‘‘the bifurcation pre-exists the fluctuation” (see above as for this notion due to Poincaré). In Biological Evolution, as for Darwin’s observables, we should dare to say instead:‘‘the fluctuation co-constitutes the bifurcation’’. Or, more specifically, the ecosystem is constructed by co-evolving species and their niches, by motility and reproduction with variation; it yields or enables (Longo et al. 2012) interactions and changes, at all and among all levels of organization. A distinction can then be made between processual time and historical time (Longo 2017). Far from equilibrium dynamical processes, such as hurricanes, flames, micelles… , have an irreversible time, but they have been the same type for the last 4 billion years and they may be treated by exactly the same mathematics. In particular, the path and the deformations of a hurricane may be given in probabilities. Meanwhile, over the same duration, life somewhat changed and different tools of analysis are required: bacteria are not a good biological “model” for the mathematics nor for a laboratory working on morphogenesis in mammals, say. Probabilities are of little help in predicting future phenotypes. Again, this may help to distinguish also the (thermodynamical) time of the processes of formation of a star or a planet (they are restricted to of a few possible types) and cosmological time, where novelties continually pop out. These two forms of time may be represented in two different dimen- sions by the approach proposed in Sarti et al. (2019). Moreover, physical frequencies, in the dimension of thermodynamical time, should not be confused with biological rhythms – inter- nal ones, such as heart beats and respiration (Günther & Morgado 2005), and ecosystemic correlated rhythms and frequencies (Longo 2020). Thus, we have added a further dimension for the representation of biological rhythms (Bailly et al. 2011; Longo & Montévil 2014: ch. 3), inspired by the Kaluza-Klein method in physics for unifying gravitation and electromag- netism. Altogether, by adding Sarti et al’s approach and our, one thus obtains a three-dimen- sional “geometric schema” for biological time, in the Kantian sense hinted in Longo & Perret (2017). A collapse of two of these three dimensions brings us back to physical (thermody- namical) time, an (oriented) line, thus a singularity of the tridimensional time manifold of biology. LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 144 As for the notion of “collapse” and the relevance of increasing symmetries, when moving from biology to physics, there is a remarkable convergence between the mathematical ap- proach in Sarti et al. (2019) and the analysis of empirical measurement in biology, developed in Montévil (2019). On the mathematical side, a classical differential dynamics is the fully “symmetrized collapse” of a differential heterogenesis, in Sarti’s words. That is, the former works in stable (invariant, symmetric) phase spaces as well as under space-time homogene- ous differential constraints. Similarly, the challenge of preparation of experiments and meas- urement on phenotypes and organisms is due to the difficulty of “symmetrizing”, in Mon- tévil’s words, the experimental conditions (same phylogenesis, stable environmental condi- tions, no undesired, nor spontaneous variations …). This requires an analysis of the phylo- ontogenetic history of the intended organism or phenotype and then imposing constraints, as homogeneous as possible.10 Thus, measurement in physics may be described as the fully symmetrized collapse of this empirical praxis in biology, as experimental conditions in phys- ics are, or may easily be, stabilized (symmetrized), once a good theoretical framework is found: no individual conditions nor ontogenetic and historical times, in principle, and con- straints are identified with contour conditions – otherwise the physicist may learn from the biologist, one of our goals here (in Cosmology, as for history?). In other words, the artificial conditions that are needed in a laboratory, in order to control and make the experiments reproducible, are based on a sound but imposed symmetrization, which is a way to depart from the “natural” conditions – once more, in biology, physicalize or symmetrize may mean “moving away from nature”. In conclusion, the analyses in Sarti et al. (2019) and Montévil (2019; 2020) provide a mathematical and an empirical frame, respectively, for dealing with the onto- and philo-genetic historicity and novelty production of life. Of course, the symme- trized collapse is the inverse of the (non-)conservative embedding problem, mentioned in section 3. An analysis of the two directions constitute our way to frame the theories of the inert in a broader natural context. 6. Temporalize (phase) spaces, by way of conclusion In the move from physics to biology, one should first exclude considering the preferred Relativistic or Quantum Theories of time as … an absolute, as it is too often done: theories of time are instead relative to specific scales or phenomenal levels. Their transfer beyond the intended phenomena does help not in setting bridges towards other (historical) sciences of nature, as we tried in Longo (2020) in reference to the (sequels of) Bergson-Einstein debate on time. Note that physics has been successfully parametrizing dynamics in time, a major 10 For example, “The basal metabolic rate (BMR) considers organisms at rest, that is to say, undisturbed, non-sleep- ing organisms in a thermoneutral environment and in a post-absorptive state” (Montévil 2019). A forced “symmetri- zation” which allows comparisons of measurements and repeatability of experiments; field and maximum metabolic rates are also definable, but relevantly differ from BMR as for values and stabilized experimental conditions. LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 145 idea in Galileo’s analysis of movement. Then, from Newton to Einstein and Schrödinger, the time parameter has been treated by the same tools as space, in particular as a Cantorian continuum, a line “seen” in space. In Minkowski’s relativistic spaces (1908), but in current views of time as well, the time line is “there”, in the mind of a mathematician or physicist, like a line in space. This is the reason for the discontent beautifully expressed by Weyl, a major mathematician of Relativity and Quantum Theories, in Das Kontinuum (1918): the point-wise, continuous and spatialized line representation of time is conceptually remote from phenomenal time. More recent distortions are due to the very useful computational tools used in physics both for modeling and simulated “experiments”. The impossibility or cost of actual experi- ments too often encourages research programs to replace “nature” by computer screens. Once I had the occasion to appreciate the extraordinary simulation of a turbulence imple- mented by a young physicist. The most wild non-linear dynamics were unfolding under our eyes as in no other way they could ever be experienced. I then asked to the modeler: push the restart button. At his surprise, the chaotic dynamic iterated identically, a physical non- sense. The discrete, pixel by pixel, nature of the data base allowed this miracle, iteratable at leisure. Space and time were replaced by pixels and by the clock of the computer, even in the imagination of the scientist. As for time, in two books and in several (downloadable) papers with Bailly and Montévil, we developed a theory of biological time, summarized in Longo (2020), well distinguished from both the “time of physicists” and the “time of philosophers”, the latter mostly an analy- sis of psychological time. These two forms of time are at the core of the debate that issued from the revolutionary views of time in Relativity Theory, since McTaggart (1908). The time of phylogenesis requires a third form of analysis, that is an independent, autonomous repre- sentation, marked by changing phase spaces and rare events, as hinted above. Similarly, in ontogenesis, biological rhythms differ from physical frequencies. If we generalize space to phase space, it is then the phase space that is temporalized, in our approach. That is, the biologically pertinent phase spaces (organisms, phenotypes, ecosystems ... with their organ- ization in and of space) are the result of a historical (and material) evolution. Of course, when dropping history and rhythms, one goes back to an invariant, pre-given phase space, with all its symmetries and only a processual time parameter.11 Yet, the collapse from the living to the inert state of matter is far from obvious, as it may also require complex dualities, as already hinted in relation to the inversion “generic” vs. “specific”, that may constructively relate the two forms of theorizing (see end of sect. 1). In Bailly & Longo (2009; see also Longo & Montévil 2014: ch. 9), the time of evolution is tech- nically described as an operator, while energy (or mass) is a parameter, in accordance with 11 If observable quantities are conserved, Noether’s theorems force the symmetries of the observables, thus of the phase space. Then, symmetries as conservation properties, allow to derive the dynamics (by the Hamil-tonian, typi- cally) and classical morphogenesis in particular. But if the pertinent observables are not conserved (changing pheno- types, say), one has a more general case, a differential heterogenesis (Sarti et al. 2019). LA DELEUZIANA – ONLINE JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY – ISSN 2421-3098 N. 11/2020 – DIFFERENTIAL HETEROGENESIS 146 the allometric equations (the possibility to parametrize several biological properties, for ex- ample on the individual mass; Günther & Morgado 2005). This may suggest a fruitful duality, to be explored, possibly in collaboration with a quantum physicist: a well-known theorem, due to Pauli, roughly states that, if energy is an operator, bounded from below (as it is the case in physics), then time cannot be an operator and is, instead, a parameter. In biology, both ontogenetic and phylogenetic time are bounded from below, as organisms, species and life have an origin. Then their operatorial representation may fit with or, perhaps, even entail the understanding of energy or mass as a parameter in biology. The sound embedding in the more general biological/historical heterogenesis, of these and other notions invented by the powerful mathematics and physics of homogeneous frames, based on strong metaphysical claims such as static theological universes, is part of what we dare to call a naturalization of physics. Acknowledgment. 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work_ebyqgudypbabngkhjcl3n26ebu	----	Presenting Finnish Art History in International Context: Journal of Art Historiography Number 1 December 2009 Presenting Finnish Art History in an international context: The case of J. J. Tikkanen Review of: Towards a Science of Art History: J. J. Tikkanen and Art Historical Scholarship in Europe, The Acts of an International Conference, Helsinki, December 7-8 2007, edited by Johanna Vakkari, Taidehistoriallisia Tutkimuksia / Konsthistoriska Studier / Studies in Art History 38, Helsinki: Society of Art History, 2009,163 pp., 20 color plates, 61 b. & w. illus., £00.00 hdbk, £00.00 pbk ISBN 978-952-5533-10-1. How to present the history of art history? This collection of papers takes a largely celebratory approach, as is fitting given the event that occasioned it: the 150th anniversary of the birth of Johan Jakob Tikkanen, first professor of art history in Finland. Better integrating Tikkanen’s contributions and context into the discipline’s history are promising goals. The proceedings of this conference address a range of topics which, in aggregate, underline the particular value of reexamining not only Tikkanen’s scholarship but also art and its historiography in Nordic lands and their relationships to broader European artistic and academic discourses. While it is left largely to the reader to draw out common themes and overriding questions raised by individual papers, such themes and questions are plentiful, and demonstrate the strengths of highlighting positive contributions made by turn-of-the-last-century art historians to the future of the discipline. At times, however, the papers suggest the corresponding weaknesses inherent in sidelining these same scholars’ engagement with the more disturbing cultural dialogues of their own day or, in the most egregious instance, in sidelining the scholar altogether. Johanna Vakkari’s brief preface outlines the organization of the conference proceedings into three sections: ‚The Role of the Arts in Finland in J. J. Tikkanen’s Time,‛ ‚National and International Art History,‛ and ‚Viewing, Experiencing and Interpreting Art.‛ Her introduction provides an intellectual biography of Tikkanen. She notes that his early and extensive training in painting, which concluded at the Munich Academy of Art, appears to have informed his considerable skills in formal analysis as well as his interest in the creative process. Both are integral to his doctoral work on Giotto, completed in 1884 in German. Here he began investigations of the roles of color and gesture in art that he would pursue throughout his career. He shared this interest in gesture with Julius Lange (subject of another essay in this collection), whose work Tikkanen studied closely (15). Tikkanen’s lifelong work on color, with its forward- thinking technical and scientific considerations, would only be published posthumously (1933). In her notes as well as in her text, Vakkari is concerned to emphasize Tikkanen’s work on color and gesture as both undervalued and particularly relevant to twenty-first- century scholarly concerns. Another forward-thinking aspect of Tikkanen’s scholarship addressed in Tikkanen’s dissertation was the relationship of Giotto’s work to earlier, Byzantine- Jeanne-Marie Musto Review of: Vakkari on Tikkanen 2 influenced painting (10). Vakkari notes that, during studies abroad following Tikkanen’s doctoral work (from 1885 to 1888), it was the ‚Byzantine problem‛ that came to preoccupy him (16). Having acquainted himself with Anton Springer and his students, Tikkanen published studies on subjects that Springer had only recently addressed, such as the Genesis mosaics in San Marco, Venice. Tikkanen wished to underline the Byzantine contribution to Western art, which Springer had not considered particularly important (10-11). It appears that Tikkanen had been encouraged in this bold direction by both Eduard Dobbert in Berlin and Eugène Müntz in Paris, who led him to the work of leading Byzantinist Nikodim Kondakov. By the 1890s Tikkanen was corresponding with both Kondakov and his student Dmitrii Ainalov, and studying Russian for the purpose of accessing Byzantine manuscripts in Russian collections (16). This reader wished that Vakkari had not broken up her discussion of this aspect of Tikkanen’s scholarship into separate sections of her paper. It would be interesting to know more about Tikkanen’s embrace of the Byzantine material both because it suggests Tikkanen had taken a position relative to geopolitical concerns embedded in the international dialogue concerning medieval art, and because it is a thread that has relevance to other papers presented in the conference. The three essays in the section on the role of the arts in Tikkanen’s time highlight common themes. The governing board of the Finnish Art Society during the last decades of the nineteenth and the early twentieth centuries included J. J. Tikkanen and the scholar who had guided his dissertation, Carl Gustaf Estlander (1834-1910). Susanna Pettersson, in considering Tikkanen’s contributions to the Society, demonstrates his lifelong efforts to promote contemporary Finnish art and artists. At the same time, she addresses tensions between the academic community and the artistic community that even Tikkanen, though he had trained as a painter, did not fully manage to bridge. Riiitta Konttinen presents another angle on these tensions in her essay on the Finnish art world at the end of the nineteenth century. Both Estlander and, to a lesser extent, Tikkanen, retained artistic orientations rooted in German Idealism. These were strongly challenged by the Realist, Impressionist and Symbolist approaches to painting in France that increasingly fascinated the leading Finnish artists (25, 27, 37, 41). In 1880 Estlander made his preference for German Idealism explicit to his student, the painter Helena Westermark; her subsequent embrace of French art and ideas, evident in her work by 1883, was subjected to his opprobrium as well as that of Tikkanen and the Finnish press (40-42). By 1888 the tables had turned. The inaugural exhibition of the Finnish Art Society’s collections in a purpose-built space, which Estlander in particular had worked hard to achieve, met with such disapproval for its rejection of French ideas from the now numerous Finnish artists who had trained in France, that to appease the artists the next exhibition, held in 1891, was jointly organized with the Artist’s Association of Finland. Estlander only grudgingly accepted the presence of Impressionist works, openly wondering whether the Finnish Art Society should give up holding exhibitions altogether (23). An intriguing light is shed on this split between artistic and academic orientations in Finland by Konttinen’s comment that, even during a period of growing Jeanne-Marie Musto Review of: Vakkari on Tikkanen 3 political tensions between the Grand Duchy of Finland and the Russian Empire, when looking beyond France, Finnish painters looked towards Russian Realism more than towards German developments (41). The Finnish academic community, by contrast, turned increasingly towards German scholarship, as is evident by the languages in which dissertations were being written at the University of Helsinki. While dissertations in German were the exception when Tikkanen completed his, by 1914 more were written in German than in any other language.1 The triumph of the French-oriented artists’ community is evident in the following essay, in which Anna-Maria von Bonsdorff investigates Finnish art at the turn of the twentieth century. The goal towards which Axel Gallén, Pekka Halonen and Väinö Blomstedt, in particular, aspired, was a ‚Nordic Renaissance‛ (49). To achieve this they studied Assyrian and Egyptian art and the Italian Primitives at the Louvre, while absorbing the techniques and ideas of Puvis de Chavannes and Gaugin (46-47, 49- 50). Through combining historic models and contemporary ideas, these Finns sought to produce ‚a mirror of simultaneity, linking time and reflecting the past in the future and the future in the past‛ that would, through their intervention, be specifically Finnish (54). Five essays comprise the second section, ‚National and International Art History.‛ The first two of these provide a Scandinavian context for Tikkanen’s work. Mai Britt Guleng’s essay on Lorentz Dietrichson (1834-1917) looks at the development of a specifically Norwegian art historical narrative. This narrative, she demonstrates, ‚pointed forward to an, as yet, unrealized end: a future Golden Age for Norwegian art‛ (65). Another interesting aspect of Dietrichson’s work indirectly suggested by her paper concerns his transition from literary historian to art historian. Art history was a subspecialty commonly tied to literature and aesthetics. Estlander in Helsinki, for example, served as Professor of Aesthetics and Modern Literature from 1868 to 1910, while Carl Rupert Nyblom in Uppsala served as Professor of Aesthetics, Literature and Art History from 1867 to 1897. Dietrichson, who was of the same generation as Estlander, began his career as a literary historian in Sweden (67 n.12). He wrote histories of both Danish (1860) and Swedish (1862) nineteenth-century literature before turning to the poetry of Norway, his birthplace. When, in 1866-69, Dietrichson turned his efforts towards a history of Norwegian poetry, he emphasized that during the period of Danish rule Norway had not stagnated but rather had experienced inner growth (61-62). Dietrichson’s positive assessment of the impact of Danish rule was spurred by his political advocacy of a reunited Scandinavian monarchy (65; 69 n.12). The gap in Norway’s literary output evidently still troubled him, however. Inspired by the cultural approach to literary history taken by Hippolyte Taine, Dietrichson sought other forms of art to fill this gap and so turned to the subject of Norwegian woodworking (62). By 1875 this new direction had earned him an Extraordinary Professorship in Art History at the University of Christiana (Oslo) – the first professorship in art history in Norway. One can’t help but wonder whether, if Norway’s literary history had been continuous, 1 Matti Klinge, ‚The Germanophil University‛, in Finland: People, Nation, State, London: Hurst, 1989, 171. Jeanne-Marie Musto Review of: Vakkari on Tikkanen 4 Dietrichson would have turned to art at all. Marianne Marcussen’s essay on Danish art historian Julius Lange emphasizes his European context. Lange, after petitioning the university to let him graduate in art history was, in 1866, the first to receive a degree in the discipline as such (74). Marcussen points out Lange’s indebtedness to Carl Friedrich von Rumohr who, in the 1830s, had introduced the catalogue raisonée and Quellenkritik to Denmark, and to Niels Lauritz Høyen, director of the Danish Royal Art Collection, who was engaged in inventorying Denmark’s medieval architecture at the time he oversaw Lange’s examinations (72; 75). For Lange, the art of Classical Greece towered over that of all other times and places (75). The sculpted nude fascinated him most of all. His unfinished magnum opus on this subject was published, in full, shortly after his death (1898-99). Within Nordic art it is not surprising, therefore, that Lange held classicizing sculpture by the internationally- trained Scandinavians Johan Tobias Sergel and Bertel Thorvaldsen in his highest esteem (76), rather than work in any native specialty (such as Dietrichson’s Norwegian woodcarving). Asked to write a Nordic supplement for two Danish editions (1872 and 1881) of Wilhelm Lübke’s popular survey of art history, Lange obliged (73). Having fought in the Second Schleswig War against Prussia and Austria, however, Lange bore a grudge against Germans that he did not conceal in his explanations to the reader. This reader found amusing some of his changes to the 1881 edition – for instance, placing the section on the Italian Renaissance before, rather than after, the section on the German Renaissance (74). It was Lübke who had essentially created the concept of a German Renaissance with his monumental study of 1872.2 That it existed, Lange was apparently willing to accept, but that it had superceded the Italian Renaissance, apparently not. Lange’s ambivalence towards Lübke’s German-centric narrative highlights his desire and that of other scholars beyond the new German Empire, of feeling compelled both to engage with German scholarship and to maintain critical distance. Marcussen notes Lange’s, Estlander’s and Nyblom’s participation in a specifically Scandinavian forum for art history, Tidskrift för bildande konst och konstindustri, founded by Dietrichson in 1875, which helped to address this concern (80). The significance not only of German contributions to art history but also of German art collections only continued to grow. By 1904, within the German Empire, increasing interest in the art of non-Western peoples had led to the founding of the Islamic Museum in Berlin and the re-establishment of the Indian Department of the Museum of Ethnology as an independent entity; by 1906 a collection of East Asian art was also in the works (89). That such resources sparked great interest among Scandinavians is indicated by Minna Törmä’s contribution. She documents an excursion to Berlin organized by Osvald Sirén for his students in 1919. This reader would have appreciated a little more background on his studies under Tikkanen and his position, as of 1908, as professor of art history at the University of Stockholm (apparently the first permanent chair in art history as an independent discipline in the Nordic lands). The 2 Wilhelm Lübke, Geschichte der deutschen Renaissance, Stuttgart: Ebner & Seubert, 1872. Jeanne-Marie Musto Review of: Vakkari on Tikkanen 5 extensive non-Western portions of their visit were presumably informed by Sirén’s developing expertise in non-Western – and especially Chinese art. Törmä notes that Sirén had taken his first trip to Japan the preceding year and, like Otto Kümmel, the curator in Berlin, drew much of his knowledge of Chinese art from Japanese scholarship, as well as from Ernest Fenollosa at the Museum in Fine Arts in Boston (89). It is with Gianni Carlo Sciolla’s essay on the origins of ‘Kunstwissenschaft’ in Italy that we return to consideration of Tikkanen’s personal contributions. In 1888 Tikkanen, towards the end of his post-graduate study tour, arrived in Rome. Here he met Adolfo Venturi, a scholar from Modena. At that time, as Sciolla explains, Venturi was engaged in launching a new journal, L’Archivio Storico dell’Arte, with Domenico Gnoli (95). Venturi encouraged Tikkanen to contribute to the journal. Tikkanen obliged and for the first volume, published in 1888, submitted an article-length analysis of the mosaics of San Marco, which he would expand and publish as a monograph in the following year. A connection could be drawn here to Vakkari’s discussion of Tikkanen’s analysis of the mosaics, which contradicted Springer’s (95). Tikkanen made a second contribution to the journal in 1891 – this time a book review. Sciolla tells us that Tikkanen’s review of Josef Strzygowski’s Das Etschmiadzin Evangeliar ‚shows extensive learning and knowledge of Early Christian and Byzantine art and iconography, along with the principal related literature (Springer, Kondakoff, Müntz)‛ (96). What is more, according to Sciolla, Tikkanen’s articles demonstrated the use of formal and iconographical analysis in a manner that was new within Italy. Sciolla devotes much of his discussion to the early Italian art historians, and in particular to those who founded art-historical journals. He closes by describing a journal launched in 1907 that employed ‚a mould clearly deriving from the Viennese School of Art History, whose methodological approach was, by this time, also spreading in Italy, and it will become more noticeable in the years to come‛ (100). Given the significance of the Vienna school and Strzygowski’s famously difficult relationship with it, it would be satisfying to know more about Tikkanen’s reception of Strzygowski’s work in the L’Archivio review. Had Venturi or Tikkanen already made Strzygowski’s acquaintance in Rome, as seems likely? Reasons why one might be tempted to disregard such questions come to the fore in the next essay. Georg Vasold considers both the historical and the contemporary reception of Josef Strzygowski in ‚Riegl, Strzygowski and the Development of Art.‛ (A German version of this article may be found in ARS, Journal of the Institute of Art History of the Slovak Academy of Sciences, 2008, no. 1, according to a note at the end of the article.) Vasold notes ‚a strikingly intensive involvement with the founding fathers of art historiography has lately given rise to conferences and publications, all of which seek to remind us of the early masters of our discipline and their often forgotten achievements‛ (103). The present volume celebrating Tikkanen might be considered as confirmation of this observation. Rather than ‚respect for one’s elders,‛ however, Vasold asserts that studying the history of art history ‚is primarily a question of analyzing writings, studying the origin and their impact in context, and keeping that impact in mind.‛ Vasold finds Alois Riegl, for instance, ‚championing the cause of intellectual freedom Jeanne-Marie Musto Review of: Vakkari on Tikkanen 6 and deploring its subordination to political ends‛ (104). Vasold notes that Josef Strzygowski, Riegl’s nemesis, did not follow suit; much of Strzygowski’s work reflected an obsession for undermining Riegl, or an obsessive anti-Semitism, or both. Vasold mentions that Danish art historian Julius Lange’s work also contains irrational, even rabidly anti-Semitic remarks, and that these have not gained Lange equivalent opprobrium (107). Julius Schlosser, a leading member of the Vienna School, was a great admirer of Lange who overlooked the issue (107); Marianne Marcussen, in her paper in the present volume, does the same. The reader is left to wonder to what extent anti-Semitism played a structural role in Lange’s or Schlosser’s work akin to that which Strzygowski’s played in his.3 For his part, Vasold notes the context of widespread anti-Semitism, but finds Strzygowski’s work to be uniquely irredeemable. Vasold concludes by asking whether ‚there is any real justification to view Strzygowski in a positive light, to describe him as pioneer of global art history, and to make a distinction between the ‚early,’ supposedly interesting Strzyowski, and the ‘later,’ openly racist scholar? In every respect the answer is emphatically ‘no!’‛ (112). Overt racism dramatically distorted much of Strzygowski’s work. Vasold’s answer remains, nevertheless confusing. It should be possible to find some aspects of a scholar’s work to be useful, some less so or even problematic, and others reprehensible. Strzygowski could well have been both innovative in his global focus, and a virulent racist. What is more, the virulent anti-Semitism for which Strzygowski is infamous does not come to the fore in his work until 1902, well into his career and over a decade after Tikkanen’s review.4 Given his major role in the art-historical dialogue of his day, can we afford to ignore whether anything aside from anti-Semitism propelled his thinking? He was an integral part of the larger dialogue; we can’t understand it without him. By the same token, we might ask whether Lange’s anti-Semitism and Schlosser’s indifference have been sufficiently investigated in relation to their broader agendas. Racism of one sort or another has informed much of the history of art history. Even Riegl resorted to racism when it suited his political agenda; his was anti-Slavic.5 Vasold’s unmitigated rejection of Strzygowski appears in the end to be a foil for his unquestioning praise for Riegl, which in turn is rooted in the same search for attractive founding fathers that he rejected at the outset. This search promises misunderstandings. Scholarship in art history has been at least as rife with racism and politicization as scholarship in any other discipline. A sanitized historiography can only obscure the scope of the issue. The four papers in the third and final section of the conference proceedings, ‚Viewing, Experiencing and Interpreting Art‛, take an eclectic range of approaches to turn-of-the-century art history. Altti Kuusamo evaluates formalism as an approach to art in ‚The Idea of Art as a Form behind Tactile Values: The Recuperation of Art in Art 3 Schlosser’s ambivalent comments concerning Jewish artistic abilities are addressed in Matthew Rampley, ‚Art History and the Politics of Empire: Rethinking the Vienna School‛, The Art Bulletin 91 (Dec. 2009), 459. 4 ‚Strzygowski’s first extended anti-Semitic tirade was his article ‘Hellas in des Orients Umarmung,’ Beilage zur Münchener Allgemeinen Zeitung, 40-41 (1902).‛ See Rampley, ‚Art History and the Politics of Empire", n. 84. This tirade is the focus of Vasold’s analysis; he cites no earlier anti-Semitic remark on Strzygowski’s part. 5 Rampley, ‚Art History and the Politics of Empire‛, 454-59. Jeanne-Marie Musto Review of: Vakkari on Tikkanen 7 History c. 100 Years Ago.‛ Kuusamo focuses on the overriding interest in formal qualities in art expressed by Bernard Berenson, Clive Bell and Roger Fry. Berenson, Kuusamo notes, referred often to the ‚tactile values‛ of artworks, but without concrete explanation of these values (119-20). Paradoxically, Kuusamo writes, Berenson, like other formalists, uses this concept to denote a pure or universal significance that elevates artworks beyond the sensual immediacy that the term ‚tactile values‛ implies (125). Kuusamo cites a variety of authorities to underline the limitations of ‚the culture of form‛ promoted by the ‚atmosphere around Berenson‛ (125). Kuusamo underlines at the outset that Berenson, Bell and Fry belonged to ‚different camps‛ of art historical analysis than did J. J. Tikkanen and his student Osvald Sirén (119). Tikkanen, Kuusamo notes, took a strong interest in narrative, while Sirén wrote that form is merely a vehicle for ‚some indwelling purpose or principle‛ (123). This reader wished that Kuusamo had had an opportunity to delve deeper into the interrelationships between these camps. Sirén, for instance, while he sparred with Berenson concerning attributions of Italian artworks, chose English rather than German as the primary language for his publications at a time when the formalist mode dominated Anglophone scholarship, and contributed, along with Roger Fry, to a pioneering introduction to Chinese Art (Chinese Art: an Introductory Handbook to Painting, Sculpture, Ceramics, Textiles, Bronzes and Minor Arts, London, 1935). A look at just how differently Sirén approached artworks from Berenson, or just how strongly the methodology of his introduction to Chinese materials diverged from Fry’s, might yield a more complex discussion of these camps – one that could perhaps shed some light on Tikkanen as well. In ‚Learning by Looking (with Words): Wölfflin’s Legacy,‛ Dan Karlholm analyzes ‚Wölfflin’s scholarly working procedure with respect to the basic human activities of looking and speaking‛ (129). This approach reveals the significance of lecturing as an analytical framework for Wölfflin’s writing, and how his ample use of speech metaphors maintains the primacy of oral presentation in his publications. Karlhom explores, furthermore, how Wölfflin’s pioneering use of photographic images did not so much demonstrate points concerning the artworks represented by the images, as reify the ability of these images to ‚speak‛ to him while he transmitted to the audience what the images had to say. That these images distorted the size of the originals and omitted their colors and textures further served Wölfflin’s purposes, as Karlhom elucidates. For Wölfflin, the artwork demonstrated less the specific goals or circumstances of any given artist, viewer, time or place, than an abstract concept of ‚classic‛ or ‚baroque.‛ Wölfflin, in Karlholm’s analysis, thus specifically embraced the disembodied image. Wölfflin explained, for instance, of how to establish ideal viewpoints for 3D works - viewpoints that would allow these works to be analyzed as static, 2D images. His aesthetic system did not incorporate movement through time or space, and thus it was the 2D version of a sculpture or work of architecture that captured, for Wölfflin, its true, universal image – that is, one that could be projected on a wall adjacent to a similarly abstracted image and so help to establish the dialectic that was Wölflin’s larger Jeanne-Marie Musto Review of: Vakkari on Tikkanen 8 goal. At the end of his discussion Karlholm notes Wölfflin’s interpretation of Impressionism not in terms of texture or color, but rather as the physical world transformed into ‚a view of things as they appear to the eye,‛ that is, the transformation of the tactile into the visual (133). It is in this sense that Wölfflin did not merely champion Impressionist painting, but found in the term ‚impressionism‛ a means of defining and, thereby, revalorizing the virtues that he found in the Baroque. An odd stage for Alessandro Scafi’s article, ‚Warburg and Böcklin: Myths in Word and Image,‛ is set by the quotations in Vasold’s article that demonstrate Strzygowski’s similarly tremendous admiration for Böcklin. For Strzygowski, Böcklin was the modern flower of ‚Slavo-Celto-German‛ art (106, 108). For Warburg, Böcklin was ‚the champion of a new Renaissance< free from the restraints of Judeo-Christian ethics‛ (137), that offered ‚a corrective to the bourgeois materialism of modern society‛ (138). Seemingly with the text of the Christian sermon preached at Böcklin’s funeral still ringing in his ears, Warburg struggled through ten drafts of a poem in remembrance of the occasion. Scafi focuses on the final draft, noting that earlier drafts of this poem have been quoted in discussions of Warburg without attending to their provisional nature (140). Warburg sought to create an alternate, pagan text – one that honored Böcklin’s paganism and his specifically pagan funereal imagery (142). Scafi highlights Warburg’s literary ambitions and his strong identification with Böcklin as a fellow seeker of a better world who had likewise left the Germanic North for self-imposed exile in Florence (143- 44). An investigation of ‚Stendhal’s Syndrome‛ by Anna Kortelainen draws the volume to a close. This syndrome, as Kortelainen describes it, ‚may occur when a sensitive foreigner is exposed to art, especially Renaissance art in Florence<dizziness, disorientation, euphoria, rapid heartbeat, confusion, emotional collapse, and even psychosis‛ may result (149). The diagnosis, as it turns out, is fairly new. It was first made and named by the psychiatrist Graziella Magherini in 1979 (156). Jerusalem and Paris lend their names to related syndromes, in which visitors to those cities are overcome by, respectively, religious or cultural euphoria. Kortelainen describes Stendhal’s experience in Florence in 1811, for which the syndrome was named (152), and Anna Dostoevskaya’s descriptions of her husband Fyodor’s and others’ similar experiences in front of Florentine paintings which, at least in Fyodor’s case, have traditionally been attributed to epilepsy (153-55). Kortelainen’s book on this subject, in Finnish, has just been released. The Grand Duchy of Finland in Tikkanen’s day occupied a rapidly evolving geopolitical position within the Russian Empire, near the German Empire, and adjacent to Sweden, a nation that had once controlled it. This volume provides a useful introduction to issues concerning European art and art history from the perspective of a people striving towards independence while experiencing the pull of Russian, German and Scandinavian academic and cultural orientations. The issues these papers raise deserve further investigation in the interest of broadening and reframing the historiography of art, which has generally been written from a more narrowly Central and Western European perspective. That said, a few production issues are worth noting. Jeanne-Marie Musto Review of: Vakkari on Tikkanen 9 Translating the essays into English has produced typos and grammatical errors which are occasionally confusing, e.g., ‚we can thus not image that a wide brow denotes intelligence‛ (15), where ‚image‛ apparently means ‚assume,‛ or ‚the German Atropos Geographers‛ (98) meaning, it would seem, Germans who investigated Human Geography, or ‚the mystery of tactile badly values needed a theory‛ (122), where ‚badly‛ may belong on the other side of ‚values.‛ Perhaps owing to their origin as talks, an essay occasionally has not been provided with endnotes sufficient for the reader to trace just what has been pulled from where (e.g., Guleng nn. 12-17). An annotated bibliography of Tikkanen’s writings (or a note stating where one might find one) and a brief vita would have been useful supplements to this volume. Jeanne-Marie Musto Department of Art and Art History Sewanee: The University of the South 735 University Ave. Sewanee, TN 37383-1000 U.S.A. jmmusto@sewanee.edu 
work_efogy2z3xraqley6pzrxa7de34	----	Layout 1 UvA-DARE is a service provided by the library of the University of Amsterdam (https://dare.uva.nl) UvA-DARE (Digital Academic Repository) Nothing is Erased: Hubert Damisch and Jean Dubuffet Berrebi, S. DOI 10.1162/OCTO_a_00235 Publication date 2015 Published in October Link to publication Citation for published version (APA): Berrebi, S. (2015). Nothing is Erased: Hubert Damisch and Jean Dubuffet. October, 154, 3-7. https://doi.org/10.1162/OCTO_a_00235 General rights It is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), other than for strictly personal, individual use, unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Disclaimer/Complaints regulations If you believe that digital publication of certain material infringes any of your rights or (privacy) interests, please let the Library know, stating your reasons. 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Download date:06 Apr 2021 https://doi.org/10.1162/OCTO_a_00235 https://dare.uva.nl/personal/pure/en/publications/nothing-is-erased-hubert-damisch-and-jean-dubuffet(d2e4711e-37ff-4e7f-8a0b-2dfa17cb8bdc).html https://doi.org/10.1162/OCTO_a_00235 Nothing Is Erased: Hubert Damisch and Jean Dubuffet* SOPHIE BERREBI OCTOBER 154, Fall 2015, pp. 3–7. © 2015 October Magazine, Ltd. and Massachusetts Institute of Technology. “Dubuffet had all the reasons in the world to be suspicious of me,” Hubert Damisch mischievously observed when I asked him about the circumstances in which he came to edit Dubuffet’s collected writings, which appeared as two thick tomes in 1967 under the title Prospectus et tous écrits suivants (hereafter PES).1 For the pairing—between an artist who gave lectures bearing such explicit titles as “Anticultural Positions” and a young philosopher some thirty years his junior, formerly a student of Maurice Merleau-Ponty, who was soon to embark on a thesis in art history with Pierre Francastel—was anything but expected.2 In fact, Dubuffet did not refrain from teasing Damisch occasionally; for instance, he called “The Real Robinson,” Damisch’s preface to his writings, “doctoral.”3 Yet even as he debated with him about the academic tone of that text, Dubuffet accepted Damisch’s idea of making a bigger project of this col- lection. Damisch included in it not only all of the artist’s texts but also dozens of letters to different correspondents, organizing them in a labyrinthine struc- ture that has the fascinating character of a hypertext. Dubuffet eventually came to terms with that preface, going so far as to sign some letters under the nick- name “Robinson II.” The collection of articles and letters included in this issue of October repre- sents, with two exceptions, all the texts Damisch published on Dubuffet during the artist’s lifetime, as well as the essay “Entrée en matière,” which Damisch * I would like to thank Hubert Damisch for his trust and friendship; Teri Wehn-Damisch for her encouragement and support; Yve-Alain Bois and Sophie Webel for their precise and engaged read- ing of the material, and their comments and suggestions; Patricia Falguière for letting us publish in English part of Hubert Damisch–Jean Dubuffet: Entrée en matière (forthcoming in Spring 2016 from Lectures Maison Rouge/JRP Ringier); and Baptiste Brun for the richness of his conversations on all Dubuffet-related issues. 1. Conversation with Hubert Damisch, Paris, January 2014. Following those first two volumes, Damisch edited two more in 1995: Jean Dubuffet, Prospectus et tous écrits suivants, four volumes (Paris: Gallimard, 1967 and 1995). 2. Jean Dubuffet, “Anticultural Positions,” lecture given at the Chicago Arts Club on December 20, 1951, PES, vol. 1, pp. 94–100, and notes by Damisch, pp. 472 –73. 3. “Robinsonnades II: The Real Robinson,” trans. Rosalind E. Krauss, October 85 (Summer 1998), pp. 19–40. OCTOBER wrote in the immediate aftermath of Dubuffet’s death.4 The correspondence between the artist and the writer is complete, except for several letters dis- cussing corrections to galleys of the two volumes of PES. This English translation forms approximately one third of a book, which will be published in French in March 2016, containing all of Damisch’s texts and correspondence with the artist.5 It testifies to a complex relationship of thirty-five years made up of mutual understanding and occasional “breakups.” Whereas Dubuffet found in Damisch more than just a bright critic, the encounter for Damisch amounted to no less than an aesthetic education, at the very moment that he shifted his field of research from philosophy to art history. If Damisch’s contribution to the literature on Dubuffet is considerable, this compilation also makes visible what has so far remained a blind spot in the scholarship on Damisch, namely, the major role played by Dubuffet in his thinking. Reflections on the notion of origin; on history and art history; on beauty and the undersides of painting (what he calls “les dessous de la peinture”), all of which will return years or even decades later in some of Damisch’s most important books, were first sketched out in his writings on Dubuffet.6 The year they met, 1961, marks a turning point in Dubuffet’s career. He had recently completed the Texturologies and Matériologies series that constituted an end point of the exploration of pictorial matter initiated in the Hautes pâtes relief paint- ings of the mid-1940s. In 1961, Dubuffet painted the largely monochromatic Légendes series, from which he moved on to the vividly colored world of Paris Circus. At the same time, he rekindled his interest in art brut and organized the return of the collection that had been stored for a decade at the East Hampton home of his friend Alfonso Ossorio. His first French-museum retrospective ended in February 1961, and was followed less than a year later by a large survey exhibi- tion curated by Peter Selz at MoMA (the show subsequently traveled to Chicago and Los Angeles). At that point, Dubuffet began work on the Hourloupe cycle, which would occupy him for more than a decade. In 1961, Damisch was thirty-three years old and had already published close to twenty pieces, including a critical essay on the discipline of art history; articles on the Bauhaus, Mondrian, and Pollock; and a long study of the cloud in Italian Renaissance painting that would form the basis of his thesis and his 1972 book A 4. The two exceptions are “La lecture du monde,” which is available online, and “Le vrai Robinson,” a translation of which appeared previously in October. 5. Sophie Berrebi, ed., Hubert Damisch, Jean Dubuffet: Entrée en matière, Correspondance 1961– 1985, Textes 1961–2001 (Paris and Zurich: La Maison Rouge, Fondation Antoine de Galbert, and JRP Ringier, 2016). 6. I pointed out the importance of Damisch’s writings for Dubuffet scholarship in my earlier research: Sophie Berrebi, “The Outsider as Insider, Jean Dubuffet and the United States, 1945–1962,” Ph.D. diss., Courtauld Institute, London, 2002, introduction. Kent Minturn is one of the rare authors to have researched the role of Dubuffet in Damisch’s writings; see his “Contre-Histoire: The Postwar Art and Writings of Jean Dubuffet,” Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, New York, 2007, chapter 6, as well as “Dubuffet avec Damisch” in this issue. 4 Theory of /Cloud/.7 He had, in the years before, completed his philosophy studies with Merleau-Ponty and written a master’s thesis on Ernst Cassirer. A former jazz musician, he had a day job at UNESCO. He would resume his studies in 1967 at the École pratique des hautes études, after a semester spent at Yale in 1963–64 on a Focillon fellowship. It is probably wise not to overemphasize the fact that Damisch met Dubuffet only months after Merleau-Ponty’s untimely death in March 1961; yet this encounter, in the artist’s studio, doubtless contributed to his intellectual displacement from philosophy towards art history by means of a critical and per- sonal engagement with an artist of his own time. In contrast to others who wrote on Dubuffet—critics from the same generation and writers grouped around the Gallimard publishing house and its journals— Damisch never bowed to Dubuffet’s opinions. Yet neither would he voice—as André Chastel, who commissioned his first essay, had hoped—fierce criticism.8 Refusing from the start to give in to the romance of the artist as former wine dealer and critic of “cultural values,” Damisch meticulously read Dubuffet as well as looked at his works. Dubuffet perceived at once, it seems, the quality of this new interlocutor: In a letter from June 1962 he wrote to him: “What you write about your search for information on the springs and roots of human life makes you seem graced with strong curiosity, and I would even think that I am like you in this respect.”9 In the following years, Dubuffet would point out again and again the similarities he perceived between him- self and Damisch, even though the latter clearly worked against the grain of the artist’s rhetoric, notably by inserting Dubuffet within a history of art and a history of philosophy. In his first article, “La lecture du monde” (which is not included here), Damisch calls upon Goya, Courbet, Gauguin, and Géricault, as well as the Italian Renaissance, to locate Dubuffet’s practice conceptually.10 In the next articles, philoso- phy replaces art: Perception, doubt, the origin and ends of art, are, through references to Merleau-Ponty, Descartes, and Heidegger, called upon to analyze and deconstruct the artist’s arguments. Provocation and humor often trickle through his writing; in an essay from 1964, Damisch calls Dubuffet a “founding father” (a phrase he dropped when the text was reprinted in the 1976 book Ruptures/Cultures). Moreover, Damisch does not hesitate to confront Dubuffet with his contradictions, as when he writes to him, in the midst of a frosty period in their relationship, in 1967: “It is true that nothing is erased, that everything is indelible. You are the man to say so and to want it, you the champion of forgetting.”11 Yet there is nothing gratuitous in Nothing Is Erased: Hubert Damisch and Jean Dubuffet 7. “Conditions d’une histoire de l’art,” Les Lettres Nouvelles 48 (April 1957), pp. 583–88, and 49 (May 1957), pp. 742–53; “Walter Gropius et le Bauhaus,” L’Année Sociologique, 1956–1957; “L’éveil du regard,” Les Lettres Nouvelles 61 (June 1958), pp. 891–99, and 62 (July–Aug. 1958), pp. 109–14; “La fig- ure et l’entrelacs,” Les Lettres Nouvelles (nouvelle série) 33 (December 9, 1959), pp. 36–43, and 34 (December 16, 1959), pp. 34–38; and “Un outil plastique: Le nuage,” Revue d’Esthétique 1–2 (1958), pp. 104–48. Théorie du /nuage/ (Paris: Seuil, 1972); translated by Janet Lloyd in English as A Theory of /Cloud/: Toward a History of Painting (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002). 8. Conversation with Hubert Damisch, Paris, February 28, 2015. 9. Letter from Jean Dubuffet to Hubert Damisch, June 7, 1962. 10. “Dubuffet ou la lecture du monde,” Art de France, January 1962; English translation by Kent Minturn, “Dubuffet or the Reading of the World,” Art in Translation 6, no. 3 (2014), pp. 299–316. 11. Letter from Hubert Damisch to Jean Dubuffet, January 31, 1967(no. 38 in this issue). 5 these provocations: Ultimately, Dubuffet trusted a writer who, he probably realized, was one of the very few who were able to break free from the mimeticism that blinded so many of his exegetes. Unlike them, Damisch was not only a philosopher but also a scholar with a broader range of interests, who was aware, for example, of Dubuffet’s critical reception in the United States: He frequently cited Clement Greenberg’s reviews from the late 1940s, and was in particular struck by his coining of the phrase “lumpen art” to characterize Dubuffet’s painting. The last text included in this selection, “Entrée en matière” (Starting ground), dates from 1985.12 As noted above, it was written at the time of Dubuffet’s death, and in it Damisch considers the loss of his interlocutor (the essay, he announces, was des- tined for the artist) and the way in which his reading and writing are affected by the passage to posterity of the work. “Entrée en matière” is a matrix from which all of Damisch’s subsequent texts on the artist develop.13 His discussion of Dubuffet’s com- plicated search for an “entrance” into fine art, his difficulty in taking a position and finding a voice, mirrors Damisch’s own efforts to find a new entrance into the work, a new departure, after Dubuffet’s final exit. When, in 1961, Damisch wrote “La lecture du monde,” after completing two major articles on Pollock and Mondrian, he probably did not yet know that these three artists would form, two decades later, the triumvirate that opens his (still untranslated) book on modern art Fenêtre jaune cadmium (1984). He brings the artists together around a reading of Balzac’s Unknown Masterpiece in order to explore the question of the undersides of painting, a theme that enables him to write a phenome- nological and nonteleological interpretation of modernism.14 A sign of the importance of Dubuffet in this constellation is provided by the book’s subtitle, Les dessous de la peinture, which directly echoes the title of a 1950 illustrated book by Dubuffet and Jean Paulhan: La métromanie ou les dessous de la capitale.15 Damisch’s essays written between 1962 and 1985 show clearly the role played by Dubuffet as Damisch investigates art through philosophy and philosophy through art: Allusions to Merleau-Ponty in “La lecture du monde” give way to references to Descartes in “Méthode seconde” (1964), a text that reads as a posthumous dialogue with Merleau-Ponty, who discussed Descartes in the third chapter of The Eye and the Mind (1964). A couple of years earlier, the French publication of Heidegger’s essay “The Origin of the Work of Art” had prompted Damisch to reflect upon this reading OCTOBER 12. Hubert Damisch, “Entrée en matière” (Saint-Paul-de-Vence: Fondation Maeght, 1985), pp. 13–35. 13. In a plan for the republication of his essays on Dubuffet that he devised several years ago, Damisch interwove all the essays written after 1985 into “Entrée en matière.” See Sophie Berrebi, ed., Hubert Damisch, Jean Dubuffet: Entrée en matière, Correspondance 1961–1985, Textes 1961–2001, part I. 14. On Fenêtre jaune cadmium, see the review by Yve-Alain Bois, “Painting as Model,” October 37 (Summer 1986), pp. 125–37; reprinted in Painting as Model (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1990), pp. 245–57. 15. I discuss the connection between the two titles, and the theme of the undersides of painting and the underground of the city, in my “Metromania or the Undersides of Painting,” in Paris-Amsterdam Underground: Essays on Cultural Resistance, Subversion, and Diversion, ed. Christoph Lindner and Andrew Hussey (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2013), pp. 24–36. 6 in “The Work, the Art, the Work of Art.”16 Damisch invoked the issue of origin with regard to Dubuffet’s repeated returns to his beginnings in Paris Circus and later in L’Hourloupe, thereby developing his first thoughts on a subject he would return to twenty years later in a different context in The Origin of Perspective (1987). In his early essays, Damisch thus reveals the theoretical underpinnings of his reflections on art history, a discipline whose founding and methods he relentlessly questioned. Overall, Damisch’s approach focuses more on making sense of the dynamics and the internal logic of Dubuffet’s oeuvre than on close readings of specific paintings. This tactic enabled him to introduce themes that would later be explored elsewhere, themes of thickness (in Fenêtre jaune cadmium), of origin, and of culture (in Ruptures/Cultures). In these topics as in several others, Dubuffet is pre- sent as in a game-theory “subgame,” in which an underlying equilibrium exists between two players.17 When one reads Damisch’s The Judgment of Paris (1991), for example, it is impossible not to think of the notorious Corps de dames pictures from 1950–51 in which Dubuffet brought to the painting’s surface the genitalia that, so Freud argued, simultaneously trigger fear and desire. In the same way, I see the Terres radieuses as one of the starting points for Damisch’s reflections on drawing in Traité du trait, the exhibition he curated at the Louvre in 1995.18 In pointing out the way in which these drawings foreground a line that lets the background become a figure, rather than outline a figure that detaches it from a background, Damisch turns the Terres radieuses into an influential treatise on drawing. In his preface to Ruptures/Cultures, Damisch wrote, “A collection of texts is not a book in that it is first of all a ‘story,’ that is, an account in the plural form, discontinuous, woven by cultures and ruptures.”19 The collection of essays and let- ters in this issue conforms to this definition of an edited volume: It weaves together a personal exchange and an intellectual education. In 1983, detaching himself a little more from the man he had once called a “founding father” and whose writings he had compiled, Damisch wrote to his true Robinson: I will phone you then, in the first days of January, when I return from my island where I’m going to lock myself up for a few days. Do you know what for? To compile a few old texts and make my own little book. Among these, one that I hold particularly dear, and which was, long ago, it was yesterday, at the start of our friendship.20 Nothing Is Erased: Hubert Damisch and Jean Dubuffet 7 16. Martin Heidegger, “L’origine de l’œuvre d’art,” in Chemins qui ne mènent nulle part (Paris: Gallimard, 1962). 17. In game theory, “subgame” refers to the concept of “subgame perfect equilibrium,” which was theorized by the economist Richard Selten and has applications in chess. Damisch used it in a con- versation with the author to describe how balanced his relationship with Dubuffet ultimately was, despite appearances to the contrary. Chess has played an important role for Damisch. He refers to the game in several texts and famously in the exhibition Moves: Playing Chess and Cards with the Museum, which he curated in 1997 at Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen in Rotterdam and in the accompanying book L’amour m’expose (Yves Gevaert, Bruxelles 2000). 18. Traité du trait: Tractatus tractus, Paris, Musée du Louvre, April 26–July 24, 1995. 19. Hubert Damisch, Ruptures/Cultures (Paris: Éditions de minuit, 1976), p. 16. Translation by the author. 20. Letter from Hubert Damisch to Jean Dubuffet, December 6, 1983. The book Damisch alludes to in this letter is Fenêtre jaune cadmium. The island is Belle-Île, in Brittany, where Damisch has gone regularly since 1968. 
work_ehwi7qloo5h3vjbkgirnt54ghe	----	Finally, the author’s minute investigation of morphological correspondences between a Florentine and a French garden, as well as his insistence on the primacy of the plan and on a static interpretation of the latter at the expense of movement, so paramount at Versailles as at Pratolino, is reminiscent of a landscape historiographic tradition rooted in the first half of the twentieth century and responsible, in part, for the modernist ostra- cism of history and historical precedents from design education. Raffaella Fabiani Giannetto, Harvard University doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.142 Cut in Alabaster: A Material of Sculpture and Its European Traditions 1330– 1530. Kim W. Woods. Distinguished Contributions to the Study of the Arts in the Burgundian Netherlands 3. London: Harvey Miller Publishers, 2018. ii + 418 pp. €150. Alabaster sculpture is a highly engaging topic. The sculpted white semi-transparent stone is still as attractive today as it was centuries ago. Cut in Alabaster: A Material of Sculpture and Its European Traditions 1330–1530 focuses on the main regions where alabaster artworks were made from the fourteenth to the beginning of the sixteenth cen- tury in Western Europe. The author’s original approach consists in her attention to ala- baster sculpture made in England, France, the Low Countries, and Spain. In this way, she sheds a new light both on the influence of these different centers on one another and on their resemblances and differences. The heavily illustrated book is structured in nine chapters followed by an extensive bibliography. The first chapter deals with the geological aspects and the use of alabaster as a sculptural material. It pays attention to the late medieval confusion between alabas- ter and white marble, arguing that there was no difference in status between the two materials and that there was an interchangeability between them. Furthermore, the chapter deals with the challenging supply of good-quality blocks in Northern Europe. Some concise attention is dedicated to sculpting and polishing techniques, fol- lowed by a more elaborate part on polychromy, stressing the fact that late Gothic ala- baster sculptures were as a rule either minimally or partially painted at least until the mid-sixteenth century, with the arrival of Italian Renaissance ideas. In the second chapter, the author deals with the sculptors working in alabaster and the coinciding trade in their works of art. The court of France was a trendsetter in the taste for lustrous white materials. As the use of alabaster rose at the end of the fourteenth century in France, its application in the Low Countries from 1440 until the first decades of the sixteenth century remained rare. Woods proves, however, by means of various cases, the undeniable pioneering role of sculptors from both the Low Countries and the extreme north of France in using alabaster as a sculpting material in Paris as well as Spain. RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1022 VOLUME LXXIII, NO. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog?doi=10.1017/rqx.2020.143&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core Keeping in line with this theme, chapter 3 has as its subject the works of two artists— namely, Gil de Siloé and the Master of Rimini. Woods suggests that the latter artist, renowned but anonymous, lived in Bruges and might be linked to Gilles De Backere. The high status of the material is discussed in chapter 4, and the fame of the lustrous stone even had Van Eyck imitating it convincingly in his paintings. Woods goes into much detail when discussing numerous works of art in alabaster, which were almost all examined firsthand. Next to historic elements she pays great attention to material tech- nical elements, such as the type of alabaster and the presence of polychromy. In chapters 5 through 9, the selection of examples and case studies is very balanced, devoting attention to different regions. (In fact, this can be said about the entire book.) Chapter 6 deals with conventional alabaster tombs, and the following chapter talks about bespoke tombs. The court of France influenced other parts of Western Europe in the conventions regarding the use of white lustrous altarpieces in royal tombs, as described in chapter 8. It was England that popularized the alabaster altarpiece, leading to a large spreading of the artwork. On the Continent, altarpieces remained in general elite bespoke commissions. The last chapter gives an overview of different genres of ala- baster sculpture in the public and in the private environment. England was clearly most successful in the manufacturing of small-scale devotional work for private use. But dif- ferent genres, such as Saint John’s heads and the Virgin of Pity, were also being pro- duced on the Continent in the fifteenth century. Throughout the book Woods succeeds in showing us the bigger picture. She reclaims the importance of alabaster in the history of sculpture in Northern Europe between 1330 and 1530. This book is to be recognized as an important new benchmark for any further study on the topic. Judy De Roy, Royal Institute for Cultural Heritage (KIK-IRPA) doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.143 Nicholas Hilliard: Life of an Artist. Elizabeth Goldring. Paul Mellon Centre for Studies in British Art. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2019. xiv + 338 pp. $55. The exquisite miniatures, “little pictures to be held in the hand,” painted in watercolor on vellum by the English artist Nicholas Hilliard, are for many the quintessential images of the Elizabethan and Jacobean ages. On the four hundredth anniversary of his death, Elizabeth Goldring’s excellent and beautifully illustrated monograph brings together important new research on Hilliard’s life and work, adding considerably to our under- standing of the challenges and opportunities that existed for painters in sixteenth-cen- tury London. Hilliard was born in Exeter ca. 1547 into a staunchly Protestant family of gold- smiths. In 1555, during the reign of the Catholic Mary I, Hilliard and his family REVIEWS 1023 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_ejmqppxnunavharb2fwzbdiauu	----	KoMa ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 2012 Demetra Koukouzika and Io Manolessou There and back again: Callimachus Epigr. 31 and the (Greek) Renaissance Demetra Koukouzika and Io Manolessou HE PRESENT PAPER investigates the history of a famous Callimachean motif, with a view to examining the ways in which an Alexandrian theme returns to Greek poetry, almost unchanged, after seventeen centuries, through the medium of Roman poetry and Renaissance Italian lit- erature. A hitherto unnoticed intertextual relationship between Cretan Renaissance drama on the one hand and Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso (1532) on the other is identified, thus adding one more piece to the elaborate mosaic which is Italian influence on the literature of the Cretan Renaissance.1 Last but not least, the literary function of the motif in various contexts, literary genres, and historical periods is evaluated. The island of Crete became a Venetian colony in 1211 as a result of the Fourth Crusade, and remained in Venetian possession until 1669, when its capital city, Chandax/Candia, modern Herakleion, fell to the Ottoman Empire after a long 1 On the nature of this literature in general cf. esp. D. Holton (ed.), Literature and Society in Renaissance Crete (Cambridge 1991: henceforth ‘Hol- ton’); relevant material can be found through the index s.v. Ariosto. Basic information (dating, manuscripts, editions, authorship, etc.) on the works of Cretan literature is listed in A. van Gemert et al. (eds.), Οδηγός έρϱγων της Κρϱητικϰής Λογοτεχνίας (1370–1690) (Herakleion 2002), and an easily ac- cessible English-language overview is offered by S. Kaklamanis, “Cretan Literature,” in Greece: Books and Writers, published by the National Book Centre of Greece, Ministry of Culture, http://www.greece2001.gr/12.html, 39–55. T 138 THERE AND BACK AGAIN ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 drawn-out war. The four centuries of Venetian rule provided a unique cultural environment, allowing direct access to Italian culture, and the opportunity for the development of a local lit- erature in the spirit of the Renaissance.2 The ruling classes of the island were constituted by Venetian nobles, well-versed in Latin and Italian literature, but also bilingual in Greek.3 Out- side the Venetian-occupied lands (Crete, the Heptanese, and other islands) access to and knowledge of Latin and Italian lit- erary production was extremely limited. Fortounatos is a Cretan Renaissance comedy by a Venetian noble, Markos Antonios Foskolos, dated 1655. The plot is in the New Comedy style: a young woman is to be married off to an old but rich merchant, and her lover despairs, until it is revealed that he is the long-lost son of rich merchants, ab- ducted by pirates when a child, and so there is a happy ending with the marriage of the lovers.4 At one point in the story, the heroine complains to her lover about the fickleness of men (3.5.451–460):5 Οἱ ἄντρϱες πάσκϰου κϰαὶ κϰοπιοῦ, ξετρϱέχου νὰ µπερϱδέσου µιὰ κϰορϱασὰ στὰ βρϱόχια τως, κϰαὶ ὥστε νὰ τὴν κϰερϱδέσου τρϱέµουσι κϰαὶ λιγώνουνται, δείχνου πὼς τὴν ποθοῦσι, κϰαὶ ὡσὰν τήνε κϰερϱδέσουσι, ζιµιὸ τήνε µισοῦσι. 2 “The Cretan Renaissance is no more nor less than the reception and creative exploitation of aspects of Italian Renaissance culture from the fourteenth century to the Baroque on the island of Crete” (Holton viii). 3 On the ethnic constitution of the island during this period see S. McKee, Uncommon Dominion: Venetian Crete and the Myth of Ethnic Purity (Phila- delphia 2000). 4 On the Fortounatos see A. Vincent, “Comedy,” in Holton 109–128, and the edition itself, A. Vincent (ed.), Μάρϱκϰου Ἀντωνίου Φόσκϰολου Φορϱτουνά- τος, Κρϱιτικϰὴ ἔκϰδοση, σηµειώσεις, γλωσσάρϱιο (Herakleion 1980). 5 For further information on the linguistic form of this text, i.e. on the Medieval and Modern Cretan dialect, see G. Ν. Hatzidakis, “Περϱὶ τῆς γλώσσης κϰαὶ τῆς γρϱαµµατικϰῆς τοῦ Ἐρϱωτοκϰρϱίτου,” in Γλωσσολογικϰαὶ Ἔρϱευναι Β´ (Athens 1977) 197–207, and G. Anagnostopoulos, “Περϱὶ τῆς ἐν Κρϱήτῃ ὁµιλουµένης κϰαὶ ἰδίως περϱὶ τοῦ ἰδιώµατος Ἁγ. Βαρϱβάρϱας κϰαὶ περϱιχώρϱων,” Ἀθηνᾶ 38 (1926) 139–193. DEMETRA KOUKOUZIKA AND IO MANOLESSOU 139 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 ἴδια κϰαθὼς τὸ κϰάνουσι στὸν κϰόσµο οἱ κϰυνηγάρϱοι, ἁποὺ ζυγώνου τὸ λαγὸ εἰς τὰ βουνιὰ κϰαὶ εἰς τά ’ρϱη, στὴν κϰάψα κϰαὶ εἰς τὰ κϰρϱούσταλλα, κϰαὶ δὲ βαρϱιοῦνται κϰόπο, βάσανο µηδὲ κϰι ἔξοδο σκϰυλῶ κϰαὶ τῶν ἀθρϱώπω. Σὰν τόνε πιάσου, εἰς µιὰ µερϱὰ τὸ ρϱίχτου κϰαὶ ξαπλώνου, κϰι ἐκϰείνους ἁποὺ φεύγουσι πάλι ζιµιὸ ζυγώνου. Men work and toil, go to a lot of trouble in order to enmesh a girl in their nets, and until they have won her they tremble and faint, they pretend they desire her, and when they have won her, at once they hate her. Exactly as in this world hunters do, who stalk the hare in the mountains and in the heights, in the heat and in the ice, and they do not think it a great trouble, nor a toil, nor an expense of dogs and men. When they have caught it, they throw it aside and leave it lying, and they stalk again those that run off. The simile is in fact an almost verbatim quotation of Cal- limachus, Anth.Gr. 12.102 (= epigr. 31 Pf. = 1 Gow-Page): ὡγρϱευτής, Ἐπίκϰυδες, ἐν οὔρϱεσι πάντα λαγωόν διφᾷ κϰαὶ πάσης ἴχνια δορϱκϰαλίδος στείβῃ κϰαὶ νιφετῷ κϰεχρϱηµένος· ἢν δέ τις εἴπῃ “τῆ, τόδε βέβληται θηρϱίον,” οὐκϰ ἔλαβεν. χοὐµὸς ἔρϱως τοιόσδε· τὰ µὲν φεύγοντα διώκϰειν οἶδε, τὰ δ’ ἐν µέσσῳ κϰείµενα παρϱπέτεται. On the mountains, Epikydes, the hunter pursues every hare and the tracks of each deer, enduring frost and snow; but if someone says “Look! This animal’s been hit,” he does not take it. This is how my love is: it knows how to pursue what flees, but it flies past anything which lies ready and waiting.6 Could a poet of the Cretan Renaissance have read this epi- gram? It lay dormant in the Palatine Anthology, until the French scholar Salmasius discovered it in 1606. The poem 6 Transl. R. Hunter, The Shadow of Callimachus (Cambridge 2006) 109. 140 THERE AND BACK AGAIN ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 must have travelled a much longer indirect road to get back into Greek literature. Alfred Vincent, the editor of Fortounatos, identified the source of Foskolos’ verses7 as an earlier Cretan Renaissance play, the Panoria (a pastoral love story with a happy ending) written by Georgios Chortatzis,8 in all probability in the last decade of the sixteenth century. And indeed, the hare is to be found in Panoria Act 4, vv. 29–38, again in the mouth of a woman, this time advising the heroine to be cautious with her suitor: σαν το λαγό π’ οληµερϱνίς ο κϰυνηγός ζυγώνει στο περϱιβόλι, στα βουνιά, στην κϰάψα κϰι εις το χιόνι, κϰαι δε βαρϱιέται κϰούρϱαση, δε θέλει να σκϰολάσει, µα παρϱαδέρϱνει κϰαι κϰοπιά, ώστε να τόνε πιάσει, κϰι ωσάν τον πιάσει, ρϱίχνει τον κϰαι δεν τόνε χρϱειάζει, κϰι εις τσ’ άλλους απού φεύγουσι τα πόδια του σπουδάζει, έτσι το κϰάνουσι κϰι αυτοί: κϰοπιού κϰαι παρϱαδέρϱνου κϰι οληµερϱνίς για λόγου µας σε χίλια πάθη µπαίνου, ώστε να µας κϰοµπώσουσι. κϰαὶ τότε λησµονούσι τὸν πόθο µας κϰι εις άλλη νια γυρϱεύγουσι να µποῦσι. Like the hare that the hunter stalks all day long in the gardens, in the mountains, in the heat and in the snow, and he does not spare himself trouble, he does not want to stop, but he toils and tires, until he catches it, and when he has caught it he throws it aside and needs it no more, and to others, that run off, turns his feet, that's how they act too. They toil and trouble, and all day long for our sakes they get into a thousand tribulations, until they have fooled us. And then they forget their desire for us and try to take up with another young woman. Emm. Kriaras, in his edition of Panoria, does not comment on these verses, and is also silent about them in his extensive discussion of the Italian sources for the poem.9 He provides an 7 Vincent, Φορϱτουνάτος µε´. 8 Cf. R. Bancroft-Marcus, “The Pastoral Mode,” in Holton 84–89. 9 E. Kriaras (ed.), Γεωρϱγίου Χορϱτάτση, Πανώρϱια, κϰρϱιτικϰή έκϰδοση µε DEMETRA KOUKOUZIKA AND IO MANOLESSOU 141 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 exhaustive comparative table10 where direct verse equivalences between Panoria and Italian pastoral drama (Aminta by Tor- quato Tasso [1580], Pastor Fido by Giovanni Battista Guarini [1590], Alceo by Antonio Ongaro 1582], and Amorosa Fede by Antonio Pandimo [1620]) are identified and listed, but vv. 4.29–38 do not figure in it. Another source of the Panoria, iden- tified later, the pastoral La Calisto by Luigi Groto (1583) also does not contain the verses in question. However, it is quite probable that the hare motif was used by other (Italian?) poets in the intervening centuries between the Hellenistic poet from Cyrene and his late Renaissance Cretan imitators. The first extant re-use of the Callimachean motif is the direct imitation of Callimachus’ verses by Horace, as he mocks the pretensions of the choosy lover:11 leporem uenator ut alta in niue sectetur, positum sic tangere nolit, cantat et adponit “meus est amor huic similis; nam transuolat in medio posita et fugientia captat.” hiscine uersiculis speras tibi posse dolores atque aestus curasque grauis e pectore pelli? How the hunter pursues the hare through the deep snow and does not want to touch what lies ready is the subject of the lover’s song, and he adds “My love is like this, for it flies past what lies ready and waiting and goes after what flees’. Do you hope that with these little verses you will be able to drive grief and passions and deep anxieties from your heart? The image found further success in Roman literature, for ___ εισαγωγή, σχόλια κϰαι λεξιλόγιο, αναθεωρϱηµένη µε επιµέλεια Κ. Δ. Πη- δώνια (Thessaloniki 2007) 45–48. 10 The table figures in the first edition of Panoria, E. Kriaras (ed.), Γύπαρϱις, Κρϱητικϰὸν δρϱᾶµα, πηγαί-κϰείµενον (Athen 1940) 112–114. 11 Sat. 1.2.105–110, transl. Hunter. On Horace’s adaptation here see Hunter, Shadow of Callimachus 109–112, and J. Zetzel, “Dreaming about Quirinus. Horace’s Satires and the Development of Augustan Poetry,” in T. Woodman & D. Feeney (eds.), Traditions and Contexts in the Poetry of Horace (Cambridge 2002) 38–52, at 44–45. 142 THERE AND BACK AGAIN ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 example in Ovid and Petronius, but nowhere else as a direct word-for-word quotation.12 It seems however rather unlikely that a Cretan poet of the Renaissance would directly incor- porate Horatian verses in a comedy. A more normal course of events would have been to copy an Italian author who had copied Horace who had copied Callimachus. Out of the dozens of Italian poets’ names that appear in Horace’s Nach- leben in the Enciclopedia Oraziana, the one that crops up most often is Ariosto, and indeed the Callimachean hare appears in Orlando Furioso, Canto 10 strophe 7:13 Guardatevi da questi che sul fiore de’ lor begli anni il viso han sì polito; che presto nasce in loro e presto muore, quasi un foco di paglia, ogni appetito. Come segue la lepre il cacciatore al freddo, al caldo, alla montagna, al lito, né più l’estima poi che presa vede; e sol dietro a chi fugge affretta il piede. Be specially careful of those whose cheeks are still downy: in them, as in conflagrations of straw, the fires of appetite kindle quickly but will as quickly die out. Or think of a hunter who saw a hare and now chases it eagerly up a hill to the top and down again, through gully and draw. He catches it, then is indifferent, for the pursuit 12 Cf. F. Citti, “Come segue la lepre il cacciatore...: sulle tracce di una immagine da Callimaco a Petronio,” Aevum(ant) 9 (1996) 249–268, and J. A. Bellido Díaz, “Desde Calímaco a Cervantes: una imagen venatoria en contexto amatorio” Anales Cervantinos 40 (2008) 133–143. 13 Cf. K. O. Murtaugh, Ariosto and the Classical Simile (Harvard 1980) 104– 105, 166, who comments on the re-use by Ariosto of this specific Horatian passage. On the influence of Horace on Ariosto see in general S. Mariotti (ed.), Orazio: Enciclopedia oraziana III La fortuna, l’esegesi, l’attualità (Rome 1998) s.v. “Ariosto, Ludovico,” and M. McGann, “The Reception of Horace in the Renaissance” in S. Harrison (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Horace (Cambridge 2007) 305–317, where further references are provided. DEMETRA KOUKOUZIKA AND IO MANOLESSOU 143 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 itself is the prize: they are easy to confute.14 So the hare motif appears in five authors and three languages (or four, if Ancient and Modern Greek are to be treated as different languages, as Latin vs. Italian): Callimachus to Horace to Ariosto to Chortatzis to Foskolos. The shared details make it clear that we are here dealing with literary borrowings by one writer from one or more of their predecessors, rather than with the polygenesis of a motif, or with the kind of motif- transference possible in oral traditions.15 More than one sce- nario is of course possible: (a) that Chortatzis and Foskolos imitated Ariosto indepen- dently (b) that some other Italian poet imitated Ariosto and was in turn imitated by Chortatzis (c) that some other Italian poet imitated Horace indepen- dently of Ariosto and was in turn imitated by Chortatzis (d) a combination of the above: Chortatzis may have imitated Ariosto directly, whereas Foskolos may have imitated some other Italian poet who imitated Ariosto, or vice versa. Nevertheless, we can hardly take Ariosto out of the picture completely. Hare-hunting in Horace takes place only in the mountains, and in the snow. However, in Ariosto the hunt is going on both in the cold, in the mountains, and in the heat, by the shore. The two Cretan hunts are also double: in the heat and in the cold, in the gardens and the mountains (Chortatzis) or in the heat and in the cold, in the hills and in the mountains (στὰ ὄρϱη στὰ βουνιά Foskolos). It is unlikely that an unknown imitator of Horace would embellish his imitation with the same additional hunting grounds, independently of Ariosto. Also, the 14 Transl. D. R. Slavitt, Orlando Furioso (Cambridge [Mass.] 2009) 175. 15 For a helpful introduction to the whole subject see S. Hinds, Allusion and Intertext (Cambridge 1998). Recent scholarship has become particularly interested in motif transference within and between oral traditions: e.g. J. S. Burgess, The Death and Afterlife of Achilles (Baltimore 2009) 56–71, and “Neo- analysis, Orality, and Intertextuality: An Examination of Homeric Motif Transference,” Oral Tradition 21 (2006) 148–189. 144 THERE AND BACK AGAIN ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 context of the simile is identical in Ariosto and the two Cretan poets (the fickleness of men, of which women should be wary), whereas in Horace it is somewhat different (be satisfied, in mat- ters of love and sex, with what you can have easily: don’t try to reach for the unreachable). The original Callimachean context (cool and sophisticated pederastic love) is of course worlds apart from all the subsequent unconscious imitators of the motif. One further phraseological similarity between Chortatzis and Ariosto must be noted: the hunter’s turning to new victims is described by Ariosto as “a chi fugge affretta il piede” and by Chortatzis as ὁποὺ φεύγουσι, τὰ πόδια του σπουδάζει, a word- for-word correspondence. On the basis of these two similarities, then, we would be inclined to rule out alternative (c). There is something to be said for alternative (a), i.e. that Foskolos imitated Ariosto directly, independently of Panoria: in his poem there are at least two other intertextual references to Orlando Furioso, which Alfred Vincent (159, 185) notes and con- siders as evidence that Foskolos had read OF: Fortounatos 5.225 “Deh, ferma un poco il piede” = OF 1.32.3 “Ferma, Baiardo mio, ferma il piede,” and Fortounatos 2.58, where there is men- tion of the characters of Rodomonte and Nimrod from OF. But it is still impossible to assess the probability of al- ternatives (b) or (d), i.e. to know whether there was one more intermediate step, an unknown Italian poet intervening be- tween Ariosto and Cretan drama. James Hutton does not mention any imitators of Callimachus’ epigram 31,16 but of course one can never be sure: Horace, and Ariosto, had very many imitators. As the situation stands, however, the hare hunt has given some interesting results: We have seen a motif of Greek poetry returning, Odysseus- like, to the Greek language, almost unchanged, after about seventeen centuries. We have a new use, almost verbatim quotation, of Orlando 16 James Hutton, The Greek Anthology in Italy (Ithaca 1935). DEMETRA KOUKOUZIKA AND IO MANOLESSOU 145 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 Furioso in two works of the Cretan Renaissance; this is the longest one noted until now, and one which escaped, hare-like, the authors of the excellent modern commentaries on these works. We have a case where we can plot the transformations of a motif across genres and across languages.17 We have further confirmation of something well known in late Medieval Greek literature: the ancient Greek world is often forgotten, and returns to Greece only through the intermediary of the Western, Latin, tradition: cf. e.g. La Guerre de Troie by Benoit de St. Maure translated (14th cent.) as the huge vernacu- lar Medieval Greek romance Ὁ Πόλεµος τῆς Τρϱωάδος, and Boccaccio's Teseida translated (ca. 1500), again in vernacular Medieval Greek, as Θησέος κϰαὶ γάµοι τῆς Ἐµίλιας, known as the Greek Theseid.18 Finally, we may ask why the motif was so popular. Was this simply a matter of chance, or did this variation on the theme of pursuit and flight, the hunt of love, a theme which entered western literature at an early date (cf. particularly Sappho fr.1) and never left, capture something essential about the nature of 17 One could follow the fate of the hare simile through alternative routes as well, tracing hitherto unnoticed intertextual echoes between the Cretan Renaissance and major European Renaissance authors. A characteristic example is the repetition of the motif in Miguel de Cervantes’ La gitanilla, one of the Novelas ejemplares (1613), uttered, as in the case of Fortounatos, by a gypsy girl who demands faithfulness from her lover: “los ímpetus amorosos corren a rienda suelta, hasta que encuentran con la razón o con el de- sengaño, y no querría yo que fueses tú para conmigo como es el cazador, que en alcanzando la liebre que sigue, la coge, y la deja por correr tras otra que le huye” (Bellido Díaz, Anales Cervantinos 40 [2008] 138). Less interest- ing, as it is a direct quotation and not a literary adaptation, is Michel de Montaigne’s repetition of Ariosto’s lines in his Essays (1580), in order to con- trast friendship, “une chaleur generale et universelle” with love, “un desir forcené après ce qui nous fuit” (Essais 1.28). To the long list of genre trans- formations of the hare motif (epigram, satire, epic, pastoral drama, comedy) one may thus add prose novelistic and philosophical writing. 18 On these works see R. Beaton, The Medieval Greek Romance2 (London 1996), esp. ch. 9 “Translations and Adaptations of Western Romances.” 146 THERE AND BACK AGAIN ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 52 (2012) 137–146 erotic desire, which is ever renewed and never satisfied, and thus appeal across the centuries, even as the meaning of love and desire was reconfigured? Be that as it may, Callimachus would no doubt have appreciated the irony that his hunter and hare, figures for a very discriminating and élite poetic persona, became across the ages a very promiscuous simile indeed. November, 2011 Aristotle Univ. of Thessaloniki Thessaloniki, Greece 54124 dkoukouzika@lit.auth.gr Academy of Athens Athens, Greece 10671 manolessou@academyofathens.gr 
work_emm25ddpgvg2zb4zx4rvxhpfma	----	Rivista semestrale online / Biannual online journal http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 7 / Issue no. 7 Giugno 2013 / June 2013 Direttore / Editor Rinaldo Rinaldi (Università di Parma) Comitato scientifico / Research Committee Mariolina Bongiovanni Bertini (Università di Parma) Dominique Budor (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) Roberto Greci (Università di Parma) Heinz Hofmann (Universität Tübingen) Bert W. Meijer (Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Instituut Firenze / Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht) María de las Nieves Muñiz Muñiz (Universitat de Barcelona) Diego Saglia (Università di Parma) Francesco Spera (Università di Milano) Segreteria di redazione / Editorial Staff Maria Elena Capitani (Università di Parma) Nicola Catelli (Università di Parma) Chiara Rolli (Università di Parma) Esperti esterni (fascicolo n. 7) / External referees (issue no. 7) Simone Albonico (Université de Lausanne) Alfonso D’Agostino (Università Statale di Milano) Fabio Danelon (Università di Verona) Piero Floriani (Università di Pisa) Claudio Milanini (Università Statale di Milano) Progetto grafico / Graphic design Jelena Radojev (Università di Parma) Direttore responsabile: Rinaldo Rinaldi Autorizzazione Tribunale di Parma n. 14 del 27 maggio 2010 © Copyright 2013 – ISSN: 2039-0114 INDEX / CONTENTS Speciale Ariosto IL LABIRINTO DELLA CITAZIONE. L'“ORLANDO FURIOSO” DA ARIOSTO A CALVINO a cura di Anna Maria Cabrini Presentazione 3-11 Esibire o nascondere? Osservazioni sulla citazione nel “Furioso” MARIA CRISTINA CABANI (Università di Pisa) 13-25 Quale Virgilio? Note sul finale del “Furioso” CORRADO CONFALONIERI (Università di Padova) 27-38 “Il Diporto piacevole” di Giulio Cesare Croce. Strategie di citazione dal “Furioso”. GIUSEPPE ALONZO (Università Statale di Milano) 39-53 Angelica sul Bacchiglione. Gli affreschi di Tiepolo a Villa Valmarana CRISTINA ZAMPESE (Università Statale di Milano) 55-77 Ariosto e il Settecento. Un sondaggio pariniano MARIANNA VILLA (Università Statale di Milano) 79-95 Le citazioni del “Furioso” nei commenti danteschi del Settecento DAVIDE COLOMBO (Università Statale di Milano) 97-110 “C’è un furto con scasso in ogni vera lettura”. Calvino’s Thefts from Ariosto MARTIN MCLAUGHLIN (University of Oxford – Magdalen College) 111-135 RISCRITTURE / REWRITINGS da “La Nuova Spagna ovvero il Tempo della Rosa” FEDERICO LORENZO RAMAIOLI (Università Cattolica di Milano) 139-180 LIBRI DI LIBRI / BOOKS OF BOOKS [recensione/review] Janis Vanacker, Non al suo amante più Diana piacque. I miti venatori nella letteratura italiana, Roma, Carocci, 2009 DANIELA CODELUPPI 183-191 [recensione/review] Scarlett Baron, “Strandentwining cable”. Joyce, Flaubert and Intertextuality, Oxford – New York, Oxford University Press, 2012 ELOISA MORRA 193-198 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 7 / Issue no. 7 – Giugno 2013 / June 2013 CORRADO CONFALONIERI QUALE VIRGILIO? NOTE SUL FINALE DEL “FURIOSO” A fronte di una relativa facilità di identificazione, la valutazione del significato dei materiali virgiliani nell’impianto dell’Orlando furioso si distingue per una complessità specifica, essendo il tavolo su cui più alta è la posta in riferimento al problema del genere letterario, dibattuto con fervore dalla metà del Cinquecento e ancora attuale negli ultimi anni.1 Sebbene, infatti, del Furioso sia stato scritto che “solo chi non ha occhi per vedere e cervello per intendere potrebbe assimilarlo ai prodotti della letteratura classicistica”,2 critici di orientamenti ed epoche tra loro distanti hanno ripetutamente fatto ricorso all’Eneide, archetipo del poema epico 1 Si veda S. Jossa, La Fantasia e la Memoria. Intertestualità ariostesche, Napoli, Liguori, 1996; M. C. Cabani, Osservazioni su alcuni procedimenti di riscrittura delle fonti classiche nel Furioso, in Riscrittura intertestualità transcodificazione, Atti del seminario di studi, Pisa, gennaio-maggio 1991, a cura di E. Scarano e D. Diamanti, Pisa, TEP, 1992, pp. 81-112; Ead., Ovidio e Ariosto: leggerezza e disincanto, in “Italianistica”, XXXVII, 2008, pp. 13-42 (importante per la questione del genere anche se – o proprio perché – focalizzato sul rapporto tra il Furioso e Ovidio). 2 Cfr. E. Saccone, Cloridano e Medoro. Con alcuni argomenti per una lettura del primo “Furioso”, in Id., ll soggetto del “Furioso” e altri saggi tra Quattro e Cinquecento, Napoli, Liguori, 1974, p. 184. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 28 classico, per illuminarne la sempre imprendibile e “incerta natura”.3 Tanto le prime difese quanto i primi attacchi cinquecenteschi, come del resto le più recenti indagini teoriche, hanno trovato in Virgilio un asse portante delle loro multiformi strategie di lettura del testo, il termine di confronto in grado di fornire affidabili strumenti di misurazione per rilevare analogie e differenze, le novità e insieme le modalità attraverso cui tali innovazioni si manifestano.4 3 Cfr. T. Tasso, Apologia della “Gerusalemme liberata”, in Id., Prose, a cura di E. Mazzali, Milano-Napoli, Ricciardi, 1959, p. 418. 4 È doveroso, su questo argomento, segnalare i contributi fondamentali di K. W. Hempfer, Diskrepante Lektüren. Die Orlando Furioso-Rezeption im Cinquecento: historische Rezeptionsforschung als Heuristik der Interpretation, Stuttgart – Wiesbaden, Franz Steiner Verlag, 1987 e D. Javitch, Ariosto classico. La canonizzazione dell’“Orlando Furioso”, trad. ital. Milano, Bruno Mondadori, 1999. Del primo si veda anche Dekonstruktion sinnkostitutiver Systeme in Ariosts “Orlando Furioso”, in Ritterepik der Renaissance, Akten des deutsch-italienischen Kolloquiums Berlin 29.03 bis 03.04.1987, herausgegeben von K. W. Hempfer, Stuttgart – Wiesbaden, Franz Steiner Verlag, 1989, pp. 277-298. Del secondo si vedano numerosi altri contributi: The “Orlando Furioso” and Ovid’s Revision of “Aeneid”, in “Modern Language Notes”, XCIX, 1984, pp. 1023-1036; The Imitation of Imitations in “Orlando Furioso”, in “Renaissance Quarterly”, XXXVIII, 1985, pp. 215-239; Narrative Discontinuity in the “Orlando Furioso” and its Sixteenth Century Critics, in “Modern Language Notes”, CIII, 1988, pp. 50-74; Pioneer Genre Theory and the Opening of the Humanistic Canon, in “Common Knowledge”, III, 1994, pp. 52-67; La nascita della teoria dei generi poetici nel Cinquecento, in “Italianistica”, XXVII, 1998, pp. 177-197; The Assimilation of Aristotle’s Poetics in Sixteenth-Century Italy, in The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism, vol. 3: The Renaissance, edited by G. P. Norton, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999, pp. 53-65; Italian Epic Theory, ivi, pp. 205-215; The Grafting of Virgilian Epic in “Orlando Furioso”, in Renaissance Transactions. Ariosto and Tasso, Edited by V. Finucci, Durham, Duke University Press, 1999, pp. 56-76; Lo spettro del romanzo nella teoria sull’epica del sedicesimo secolo, in “Rinascimento”, XLIII, 2003, pp. 159-176; Reconsidering the Last Part of “Orlando Furioso”: Romance to the Bitter End, in “Modern Language Quarterly”, LXXI, 2010, pp. 385-405; e infine la recente raccolta di alcuni contributi tradotti in Saggi sull’Ariosto e la composizione dell’“Orlando furioso”, Lucca, Maria Pacini Fazzi, 2012. A questi titoli si possono aggiungere D. S. Carne-Ross, The One and the Many: a Reading of the “Orlando Furioso”, in “Arion”, n. s., III, 1976, pp. 146-219; P. Parker, Inescapable Romance. Studies in the Poetics of a Mode, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1979 e D. Quint, The Figure of Atlante: Ariosto and Boiardo’s Poem, in “Modern Language Notes”, XCIV, 1979, pp. 77-91. Sulla critica americana, largamente presupposta nell’impostazione del presente lavoro, è ancora prezioso il bilancio di J. A. Cavallo, L’“Orlando Furioso” nella critica anglo-americana (1986-1991), in “Lettere Italiane”, XLV, 1993, pp. 129-149. Per l’Italia occorre citare almeno l’importante Corrado Confalonieri, Quale Virgilio? 29 E tuttavia questa direzione di ricerca deve essere temperata separando le due diverse fasi della produzione e della ricezione del poema ariostesco, la seconda presto coinvolta in un orizzonte culturale che alla prima era rimasto sostanzialmente estraneo: per quanto non direttamente generato dalla piena riscoperta della Poetica di Aristotele, con quel recupero il dibattito sul genere letterario guadagna possibilità di articolazione in precedenza sconosciute (e quindi irrilevanti al momento della stesura);5 questa circostanza consiglia una certa cautela nell’interpretare il testo alla luce delle categorie di epica e romanzo, prodotte in larga misura proprio dalle spinte contrastanti dell’aristotelismo regolare da un lato e dell’ormai dilagante uso romanzesco dall’altro. Chiedersi come si comporti il Furioso rispetto a tali categorie, assenti nell’atto del suo farsi,6 rischia di apparire intempestivo. Più corretto, semmai, potrebbe risultare il tentativo di comprendere quali forme di resistenza esso offra a un’operazione che comunque gli viene imposta a posteriori, quando detrattori e sostenitori si trovano intenti a letture magari opposte, ma reciprocamente solidali perché animate da una logica simile: quella cioè che non esita a stendere il poema sul letto di Procuste della teoria, con lo scopo di rivelarne a seconda dei casi la conformità, la volume di S. Zatti, Il “Furioso” fra epos e romanzo, Lucca, Maria Pacini Fazzi, 1990 e il recente contributo di G. Sangirardi, Quanti sono i generi dell’“Orlando Furioso”?, in “Allegoria”, XXI, 2009, pp. 42-55 (si veda già Id., Ludovico Ariosto, Firenze, Le Monnier, 2006, pp. 118-129). 5 Si veda G. Sangirardi, Quanti sono i generi dell’“Orlando Furioso”?, cit., p. 44. Che si sostenga con Weinberg che la riscoperta della Poetica fu determinante nell’elaborazione teorica dei generi, o con Javitch (come si assume qui) che il trattatello aristotelico “non fu né la causa né l’origine delle speculazioni sulla codificazione” ma semplicemente “un aiuto”, il risultato cambia di poco: la teoria letteraria, dopo il Furioso ma con il Furioso, giunse a definire con modalità del tutto nuove la questione dei generi. Si veda B. Weinberg, A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance, Chicago, The University of Chicago Press, 1961, p. 349 e cfr. D. Javitch, La nascita della teoria dei generi poetici nel Cinquecento, cit., p. 194. 6 Si veda D. Javitch, Reconsidering the Last Part of “Orlando Furioso”: Romance to the Bitter End, cit., p. 389. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 30 difformità o l’alterità rispetto alla norma classica.7 Il meccanismo congiuntamente attivato dai difensori di una regola in verità tutta da costituire, e dai fautori dell’uso impegnati contro quella stessa regola, conduce necessariamente alla creazione della norma che abilita a distinguere ciò che vi si attiene da ciò che la trasgredisce: la codificazione epica tuttavia, ottenuta come è noto per estensione della disciplina aristotelica della tragedia e per contrasto rispetto al romanzo, procura uno schema interpretativo efficace ma non esente da controindicazioni, soprattutto se usato in via retroattiva. Isolare due diverse componenti, epica e romanzesca, è infatti un’operazione che allontana dalla prospettiva di un poeta del primissimo Cinquecento come Ariosto, non ancora alle prese con le doverose distinzioni con cui qualche decennio più tardi ogni autore sarebbe stato costretto a fare i conti: basta pensare all’esempio illustre del Tasso, la cui originalità risiederà proprio nel saper combinare ciò che (in teoria) non avrebbe più potuto stare insieme.8 Per rimanere ad Ariosto, Daniel Javitch, sviluppando alcune osservazioni di Patricia Parker,9 ha dimostrato come l’intertestualità del Furioso non possa essere indagata entro una dimensione diadica di rapporto uno-a-uno con un singolo testo, poiché essa prevede in realtà 7 Nella nostra prospettiva, che il Furioso risulti conforme o difforme nei confronti delle regole, risulta sostanzialmente indifferente: anzi, ciò che bisogna considerare è una particolare (e implicita) alleanza tra sostenitori di posizioni diverse a livello di presupposti in qualche misura comuni, come per esempio nel dare per scontata la validità di una norma classica che invece sarebbe opportuno ancor oggi ridiscutere a fondo. Nel corso del Cinquecento, in quest’ultimo senso, un tentativo di rilievo fu condotto da Leonardo Salviati, autore della cosiddetta Stacciata prima, sul quale si veda almeno D. Javitch, Ariosto classico. La canonizzazione dell’“Orlando Furioso”, cit., pp. 187-217. 8 Per uno studio del poema tassiano condotto su questa impostazione, si veda G. Baldassarri, “Inferno” e “Cielo”. Tipologia e funzione del “meraviglioso” nella “Liberata”, Roma, Bulzoni, 1977. 9 Si veda P. Parker, Inescapable Romance. Studies in the Poetics of a Mode, cit., p. 39. Corrado Confalonieri, Quale Virgilio? 31 l’ibridazione o il compromesso10 fra più fonti in un medesimo contesto: nel caso di Virgilio questa proposta di studio consente di uscire dall’angusto steccato di un’alternativa netta fra citazione autorizzante e citazione parodica, in termini di semplice fedeltà o semplice rovesciamento.11 Impostando la questione secondo un punto di vista logico e attenuando la portata del dualismo tra epica e romanzo, si tratta di abbandonare la disgiunzione (aut…aut) a favore della congiunzione (et…et) e di cogliere la complementarità tra fonti di tradizioni diverse sulle quali è strutturato il Furioso.12 Un risultato compatibile con questo, in riferimento a Virgilio e a ciò che il nome significa se inteso come metonimia del genere epico, si può raggiungere concentrandosi, invece, proprio sulla relazione diadica: in tal senso occorrerà mostrare come Ariosto potesse rivolgersi a Virgilio leggendolo in una versione ancora non del tutto assurta a rango di Modello- Codice, per dirla con Gian Biagio Conte.13 L’Eneide, per Ariosto, era senz’altro una fonte essenziale, ma non per questo già resa paradigma di un genere intero: essa costituiva piuttosto un importante Modello-Esemplare e 10 Si veda D. Looney, Compromising the Classics. Romance Epic Narrative in the Italian Renaissance, Detroit, Wayne State University Press, 1996. Sulla questione di una coesistenza di fonti diverse, si veda anche J. A. Cavallo, The Romance Epics of Boiardo, Ariosto, and Tasso. From Public Duty to Private Pleasure, Toronto-Buffalo- London, University of Toronto Press, 2004. 11 Si veda D. Javitch, The Grafting of Virgilian Epic in “Orlando Furioso”, cit., pp. 69-71. 12 Per una lista di opposizioni tutte riferibili alla dicotomia epica-romanzo si veda T. Greene, The Descent from Heaven. A Study in Epic Continuity, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1970, p. 203. Per un bilancio e un ripensamento dei concetti di epica e romanzo, si veda M. Fusillo, Fra epica e romanzo, in Il romanzo, a cura di F. Moretti, vol. II: Le forme, Torino, Einaudi, 2002, pp. 5-34. Ricordo inoltre che nell’intreccio di più fonti è stata vista la capacità di Ariosto di minare il primato di un singolo ipotesto: si veda P. Parker, Inescapable Romance. Studies in the Poetics of a Mode, cit., p. 29; D. Javitch, The Imitation of Imitations in “Orlando Furioso”, cit., p. 239; G. Sangirardi, Quanti sono i generi dell’“Orlando Furioso”, cit., p. 55. 13 Si veda G. B. Conte, Memoria dei poeti e sistema letterario, Torino, Einaudi, 19852, pp. 121-122. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 32 dunque un testo sì fondamentale, eppure non idealizzato come archetipo della forma-poema. Questo processo teorico e astrattivo, che avrebbe costruito in gran parte sull’Eneide l’idea di epica, era di là da venire: Virgilio, prima di quel processo, rappresentava una parole senza dubbio autorevole, ma comunque non più di una parole della langue epica che soltanto dopo qualche anno sarebbe stata ricavata dal suo testo. E come la parole realizza non tutte le possibilità della langue ma solo alcune e non altre, così l’Eneide, una volta che la si guardi attraverso il filtro del codice elaborato ex post, appare una attualizzazione (tra le tante possibili) del codice che su di essa si fonda. C’è di più: poiché per creare un codice da un singolo testo occorre agire per astrazione, risalendo dalla concretezza della realizzazione a un paradigma – astratto, appunto – dei possibili, il testo concreto è insieme qualcosa di meno e qualcosa di più di quel codice- paradigma. Qualcosa di meno, per il motivo che si è detto: l’attualizzazione sceglie tra le possibilità; e tuttavia qualcosa di più, perché, a rovescio, la codificazione seleziona alcuni tratti che vengono ritenuti distintivi per creare il modello, che appare così una rarefazione dell’opera a cui è ispirato. Da ciò deriva che le due opzioni di Modello-Codice e Modello- Esemplare, se risalgono allo stesso testo, possono essere in tensione reciproca, perché ciascuna delle due alternative è in grado di fornire versioni diverse del testo-matrice comune. Trattando l’Eneide come Modello-Esemplare, insomma, il Furioso non lascia leggere l’intertestualità virgiliana che lo contraddistingue nella prospettiva di Modello-Codice: anzi, proprio citando il testo di Virgilio prima che esso assuma carattere normativo, Ariosto può citarne e recuperarne aspetti destinati a cadere o a rimanere inespressi nella riduzione a modello. Può sembrare un paradosso, ma citare Virgilio prima che esso diventi il modello che solo la canonizzazione crea – quella che, ripetiamo, Ariosto non sperimentò in fase Corrado Confalonieri, Quale Virgilio? 33 di scrittura – fa apparire la citazione quasi anti-virgiliana nella prospettiva del lettore successivo, tanto cinquecentesco quanto moderno. Strettamente legata alla questione (già dibattuta nel Cinquecento) dell’unità e della varietà, la dimensione teleologica è stata considerata negli ultimi anni un elemento costitutivo dell’epica, funzionale alla sua struttura sia a livello narratologico che ideologico.14 Risulta evidente, lo ha notato Franco Moretti ragionando sul romanzo di formazione,15 che la teleologia comporta uno sbilanciamento del senso sul finale, perché è proprio il finale a compiere l’insieme, luogo verso cui ciascun evento converge trovando la sua giustificazione, ultima parola che sigilla l’opera sciogliendo ogni tensione. Su queste basi e in qualche occasione, la critica ha letto il finale del Furioso e il suo manifesto rapporto con quello dell’Eneide sottolineando una forte consonanza: se il genere epico, esemplarmente rappresentato dal poema virgiliano, è chiuso e teleologico, anche il finale del Furioso (che cita l’Eneide) è chiuso e teleologico.16 Una lettura simile ha però il difetto di considerare il testo di Virgilio, e l’epica nel suo complesso, come un oggetto chiuso e non interpretabile, usandolo come 14 Si veda M. Fusillo, Fra epica e romanzo, cit.; S. Zatti, Il modo epico, Roma- Bari, Laterza, 2000; Id., L’ombra del Tasso. Epica e romanzo nel Cinquecento, Milano, Bruno Mondadori, 1996. La discussione contemporanea è spesso influenzata dal classico contributo di M. Bachtin, Epos e romanzo. Sulla metodologia dello studio del romanzo, in Id., Estetica e romanzo, trad. ital. Torino, Einaudi, 1979, pp. 445-482: uno studio organizzato per contrasto e per giunta con dichiarato intento valutativo (il romanzo è superiore all’epica). L’epos, studiato da Bachtin sulla scorta di letture romantiche che non c’è modo di discutere qui, diventa l’opposto della modernità e dell’apertura e finisce per opporsi al novel oltre che al romance: si vedano in proposito due ulteriori lavori di Sergio Zatti, ‘Epos’, ‘novel’ e ‘romance’: conflitto di codici e trasformazioni di “genere”, in Le immagini della critica. Conversazioni di teoria letteraria, a cura di U. M. Olivieri, Torino, Bollati Boringhieri, 2003, pp. 135-159 e L’epica, in “Rassegna europea di letteratura italiana”, XXXVIII, 2011, pp. 19-43. 15 Si veda F. Moretti, Il romanzo di formazione, trad. ital. Torino, Einaudi, 1999, p. 8. 16 Si veda D. S. Carne-Ross, The One and the Many: a Reading of the “Orlando Furioso”, cit., p. 205. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 34 presupposto non problematico per leggere (misurandone le analogie e le differenze) il poema di Ariosto. Sull’argomento, Joseph Sitterson ha scritto qualche anno fa un saggio importante,17 riassumendo le quattro diverse posizioni circa la conclusione dell’Eneide e del Furioso: finale chiuso in entrambi i poemi, finale virgiliano chiuso e quello ariostesco aperto, finale dell’Eneide aperto e quello del Furioso chiuso, finali aperti in tutti e due i casi. Nel suo bilancio lo studioso individua dei precursori cinquecenteschi per ciascuna di queste interpretazioni, circostanza che mostra certamente la raffinatezza dei primi lettori, ma anche la difficoltà di articolare oggi in modo nuovo il problema dell’ipertestualità e con esso la questione dei generi letterari. Sitterson mostra in conclusione che l’ironia ariostesca, corrodendo ogni punto di riferimento e la stessa figura del narratore, fa entrare nel gioco del finale tutte e quattro le opzioni che abbiamo ricordato, suggerendo tuttavia (contemporaneamente) l’inadeguatezza di ognuna: questa mossa consentirebbe al Furioso di leggere l’Eneide recuperandone la dimensione di poema imperiale ma al tempo stesso misurando i limiti di questa aspirazione politica.18 L’analisi è condivisibile perché ha il merito di conservare all’Eneide la sua intrinseca ambiguità: come ha scritto Alessandro Barchiesi, il poema si conclude infatti su un episodio costruito per “generare un’interpretazione 17 Si veda J. C. Sitterson Jr., Allusive and Elusive Meanings: Reading Ariosto’s Vergilian Ending, in “Renaissance Quarterly”, XLV, 1992, pp. 1-19. Sul finale del Furioso si veda anche G. Baldassarri, Il sonno di Zeus. Sperimentazione narrativa del poema rinascimentale e tradizione omerica, Roma, Bulzoni, 1982, pp. 78-86; R. Bruscagli, Studi cavallereschi, Firenze, SEF, 2003, pp. 75-101; D. Delcorno Branca, La conclusione dell’“Orlando furioso”: qualche osservazione, in Boiardo, Ariosto e i libri di battaglia, a cura di A. Canova e P. Vecchi, Atti del Convegno di Scandiano-Reggio Emilia-Bologna 3-6 ottobre 2005, Novara, Interlinea, 2007, pp. 127-137. Sui mutamenti lungo le tre edizioni del poema si veda A. Casadei, Il percorso del “Furioso”. Ricerche intorno alle redazioni del 1516 e del 1521, Bologna, il Mulino, 1993, pp. 72-87. 18 Si veda J. C. Sitterson Jr., Allusive and Elusive Meanings: Reading Ariosto’s Vergilian Ending, cit., pp. 16-17. Corrado Confalonieri, Quale Virgilio? 35 problematica”, con le ultime parole di Turno e la scena eticamente contraddittoria dell’uccisione “di un guerriero supplice”.19 Quest’ultimo tratto è invece sconosciuto al Furioso, dove Rodomonte prima rifiuta senza “far motto” la proposta di resa del cavaliere cristiano e poi addirittura “tenta ferir Ruggier sotto le rene”20 quando ormai è spacciato; ed è proprio tale gesto che conduce Ruggiero a uccidere Rodomonte, correggendo così l’errore che avrebbe potuto commettere se avesse indugiato nel dubbio di risparmiare un nemico tutt’altro che disposto a desistere. A quest’altezza, probabilmente, Eneide e Furioso non sono nemmeno misurabili l’uno sull’altra; ma se si volesse tentare la comparazione, si dovrebbe sostenere che il carattere ambiguo del poema virgiliano non rivive nella scena ariostesca. Certo, entrambi i testi si chiudono con un duello, ma la differenza è tale che solo gli ultimi quattro versi del Furioso, recuperando immagine e lessico del distico conclusivo virgiliano, istituiscono una certa comparabilità.21 Se il Furioso ha un finale aperto, e dunque se il duello in sé ha un che di irrisolto, ciò non deriva dall’imitazione di Virgilio ma dalla struttura interna del poema ariostesco, articolata su tre azioni principali (amore di Orlando per Angelica, rapporto tra Ruggiero e Bradamante, guerra fra Agramante e Carlomagno), che a quel punto, anche se in tempi e modi diversi, sono già tutte concluse.22 Lo scontro tra Rodomonte e Ruggiero, più che perfezionare una Bildung oramai completa, sembra allora 19 Cfr. A. Barchiesi, La traccia del modello. Effetti omerici nella narrazione virgiliana, Pisa, Giardini, 1984, p. 106 e p. 109. 20 Cfr. L. Ariosto, Orlando furioso, a cura di C. Segre, Milano, Mondadori, 1976, p. 1241 (XLVI, 137, 8 e 139, 5). 21 Sull’analogia tra i due episodi condivido appieno la prudenza mostrata in D. Javitch, Reconsidering the Last Part of “Orlando Furioso”: Romance to the Bitter End, cit., pp. 388-389 e pp. 401-405. Per lo svolgersi del duello, come i commenti segnalano, il modello principale è costituito dal combattimento tra Tideo ed Enida nella Tebaide di Stazio (VI, 826-899). 22 Si veda C. P. Brand, L’entrelacement nell’“Orlando Furioso”, in “Giornale Storico della Letteratura Italiana”, CLIV, 1977, pp. 511-514. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 36 collegarsi a quelle fosche ombre che fin dall’avvio del poema gravavano sull’imminente futuro del cavaliere cristiano. È un finale oltre il finale, insomma, che chiudendo il testo due volte, finisce per riaprirlo ad “un altro giro della ruota”,23 a ciò che, nel testo prefigurato, al testo seguirà.24 La moderna critica ha rimproverato Ariosto per aver contraddetto la forma stessa del suo poema, costringendone la struttura romanzesca, quindi digressiva e aperta, entro un finale epico, dunque teleologico e chiuso.25 Questa tesi, alla luce di quanto osservato fino ad ora, può essere corretta.26 Innanzitutto il finale non collide con la struttura aperta dell’opera e contribuisce anzi alla sua stessa apertura, grazie alla forma internamente problematica del testo e a prescindere dai suoi rapporti esterni con altri testi: l’apertura, insomma, è più intratestuale che intertestuale. Inoltre, anche quello dell’Eneide non è un finale chiuso: la struttura teleologica del poema virgiliano non esclude il carattere problematico e ‘infinito’ della sua 23 Cfr. E. Saccone, Il “soggetto” del “Furioso”, in Id., Il soggetto del “Furioso” e altri saggi tra Quattro e Cinquecento, cit., p. 241. In questo saggio si sostiene che il Furioso resiste a farsi leggere in categorie date: in accordo con tale ipotesi, anticipo che la citazione virgiliana, lungi dall’essere una patente di genere, può contribuire a una messa in questione dello stesso Virgilio, in un gioco che accosta senza possibilità di arresto definitivo “uno e due: due superfici e una sola; l’una dentro e l’altra fuori, una che si oppone all’altra, ma anche l’una che continua l’altra: che la estende, che ne forma il sorprendente prolungamento” (cfr. ivi, p. 247). 24 Su questo meccanismo di prefigurazione della morte di Ruggiero si veda D. Quint, The Death of Brandimarte and the Ending of the “Orlando Furioso”, in “Annali d’Italianistica”, XII, 1994, pp. 75-85. Sulle ambiguità del finale del Furioso si veda anche A. R. Ascoli, Ariosto’s Bitter Harmony. Crisis and Evasion in the Italian Renaissance, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1987, pp. 361-393. 25 Si veda D. S. Carne-Ross, The One and the Many: a Reading of the “Orlando Furioso”, cit., p. 205. 26 Javitch, critico verso l’utilizzo della distinzione tra epica e romanzo a proposito del Furioso, contesta l’idea di Carne-Ross sostenendo che nella sezione finale Ariosto impiega materiali ancora romanzeschi con i quali gli elementi virgiliani vengono rifusi, senza cioè che questi ultimi provochino una torsione epica del romanzo: si veda D. Javitch, Reconsidering the Last Part of Orlando Furioso: Romance to the Bitter End, cit., pp. 394-405. L’idea è condivisibile e rafforza l’impressione che i concetti di epica e romanzo, per rimanere in vita nella teoria attuale, debbano essere in parte riformulati. Corrado Confalonieri, Quale Virgilio? 37 conclusione, che suggerisce anzi una contraddizione inestricabile. Considerare chiuso il finale dell’Eneide significa leggere Virgilio nella prospettiva modellizzante e unilaterale (come Modello-Codice, appunto) che ne è stato ricavata successivamente per fini polemici di teoria letteraria. Ariosto non commette questa imprecisione: il Furioso – che se misurato unicamente sul segmento conclusivo dell’Eneide ne apparirebbe come una variante più chiusa – non è chiuso né aperto a causa della citazione virgiliana. Esso trae da ragioni interne la sua ‘apertura’ ed è questa a consentirgli di poter replicare, nelle battute estreme, l’explicit del testo latino, con l’immagine dell’“alma sdegnosa” di Rodomonte che fugge “alle squalide ripe d’Acheronte”,27 rimodulando la “vita indignata” di Turno che “fugit […] sub umbras”.28 L’ombra verso cui corre l’anima di Rodomonte si allunga su Ruggiero ed è pronta, come sappiamo, ad accoglierlo; le “umbrae” dell’Eneide offuscano o quantomeno rendono problematica la vittoria di Enea. La citazione convoca nella prima ombra (intratestuale) la seconda (intertestuale), e con essa il carattere ambiguo e non completamente risolutivo del finale dell’Eneide: un accordo, come si vede, in nome dell’apertura, nel segno di un’epica non ancora necrotizzata29 dalla lettura che la vuole opposta al romanzo. Scrivendo prima di operazioni teoriche ingombranti, Ariosto riusciva a leggere l’Eneide come dopo, purtroppo, sarebbe stato difficile fare: come un testo non diversamente dal proprio, capace di cantare l’“incomponibilità delle contraddizioni” e “riprodurre le glorie del vincitore, ma insieme il suo 27 Cfr. L. Ariosto, Orlando furioso, cit., p. 1242 (XLVI, 140, 5 e 7). 28 Cfr. Virgilio, Aeneis, XII, 952. 29 Il termine, usato da Bachtin a proposito dell’epos in opposizione alla vitalità del romanzo, intende suggerire qui che l’esser-necrotizzato non è un carattere intrinseco al testo epico, quantomeno all’Eneide, ma, al contrario, l’esito di riletture critiche successive. Si veda M. Bachtin, Epos e romanzo. Sulla metodologia dello studio del romanzo, cit., p. 456 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 38 doloroso affermarsi”,30 di essere “esaltante, perché è la vittoria del valore ch’esso celebra” e “malinconico perché di questa non può, né vuole, celare il prezzo ch’è costata”.31 Anche quando è diadico, insomma, il rapporto fra due testi non è di necessità univoco poiché i termini della relazione, ipotesto e ipertesto, possono essere già doppi in se stessi. La citazione moltiplica le potenzialità che ha il testo citante di produrre significato, ma anche il testo citato contiene in sé molteplici percorsi di senso: suggerimenti che gli usi successivi possono cristallizzare e offuscare, ma anche rivitalizzare e arricchire, come avviene nel finale dell’Orlando furioso. 30 Cfr. G. B. Conte, Virgilio. Il genere e i suoi confini, Milano, Garzanti, 1984, p. 77 e p. 96. Una lettura dell’Eneide antiaugustea, o almeno problematicamente augustea, è frequente in area americana: si vedano almeno i lavori di A. Parry, The Two Voices of Virgil’s “Aeneid”, in “Arion”, II, 1963, pp. 66-80 e di J. H. Bishop, The Cost of Power. Studies in the Aeneid of Virgil, Armidale, University of New England Press, 1988. Da ultimo si veda M. C. J. Putnam, Anger, Blindness, and Insight in Virgil’s “Aeneid”, in Id., Virgil’s “Aeneid”. Interpretation and Influence, Chapel Hill and London, The University of North Carolina Press, 1995, pp. 172-200 e Id., The Humanness of Heroes. Studies in the Conclusion of Virgil’s “Aeneid”, Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press, 2011. 31 Cfr. E. Saccone, Cloridano e Medoro. Con alcuni argomenti per una lettura del primo “Furioso”, cit., p. 200. Copyright © 2013 Parole rubate. Rivista internazionale di studi sulla citazione / Purloined Letters. An International Journal of Quotation Studies indice_Fascicolo_7 3. CONFALONIERI - Quale Virgilio ultima pagina articoli indice_Fascicolo_7 1. CABRINI - Presentazione Template Copyright breve 
work_es5wgnmjdjemvobxhxrsjtdhyi	----	Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit: The Reception of the Classical Tradition in the Work of Josef Frank and Its Viennese Context Cardamone, C. 2020. Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit: The Reception of the Classical Tradition in the Work of Josef Frank and Its Viennese Context. Architectural Histories, 8(1): 5, pp. 1–21. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.424 RESEARCH ARTICLE Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit: The Reception of the Classical Tradition in the Work of Josef Frank and Its Viennese Context Caterina Cardamone The theoretical work of the Viennese architect Josef Frank (1885–1967) illustrates a continuous reflection on the Italian Renaissance tradition. This study seeks to gain new insights into Frank’s complex and optimistic 20th-century ‘classicism’ and to identify the Renaissance categories Frank used in his written, and to a lesser extent, in his built work as authoritative instruments in his search for a modern architecture. The starting point of this paper is an analysis of both the classical education Frank received in Vienna at the Technische Hochschule (TH) and his doctoral thesis on Leon Battista Alberti of 1910. The work of his closest colleagues and former students at the TH provided a Viennese context for Frank’s anthropocentrism, which is based on classical categories rather than a search for anthropometric norms. Frank’s attention to man leads rather to a sort of 20th-century humanism, a ‘humane’ architecture focusing on imperfection, agreableness, moderation, and variety, which he theorizes in his seminal essay Architektur als Symbol from 1931. Frank’s continuous reflection on the Renaissance tradition is part of the contemporary debate on mod- ern architecture in Vienna and in German-speaking countries. He developed, from his education about history, an alternative model for modern architecture. The aim of this article is to provide a more diverse reading of that debate and to shed light on the many facets of the reception of classical tradition in the 20th century. Introduction Josef Frank (1885–1967) is generally acknowledged as one of the most influential Austrian architects and theo- rists of the 20th century and one of the most acute crit- ics of Germanic modern architecture, a ‘dissenting voice’ (Long 2002: 103) from within its very institutions — the Austrian Werkbund and the first CIAM (Welzig 1998; Long 2002). With his theoretical work, Frank contributed to a specific Viennese vision of modern architecture, less dogmatic in formal prescription and less trenchant in its relationship with history than the writing of many of his German colleagues. Two aspects of Frank’s education — his study with Carl König (1841–1915) at the Technische Hochschule (TH) in Vienna and the writing of a doctoral thesis on the original form of Leon Battista Alberti’s religious build- ings (‘Ueber die urspruengliche Gestalt der kirchlichen Bauten des Leone Battista Alberti’) (Frank 1910) — provide evidence of a robust classical background. The relation- ship between Frank’s education in Renaissance architec- ture and his later work has rarely been tackled in studies about Frank (Welzig 1998: 15; Long 2002: 16–17). His early reading of Leon Battista Alberti’s De re aedificato- ria, I contend, proved crucial to his later theoretical work. In particular, three categories that depend on Alberti’s writings, varietas, mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit, substan- tially influenced Frank’s approach to modern architecture. The Viennese context provides further elements by which to understand the originality of Frank’s reception of the classical tradition. While Frank’s col- leagues and fellow TH students, such as Oskar Strnad (1879–1935), Viktor Lurje (1883–1944) and Walter Sobotka (1888–1972), frequently employ abstract and erudite quotes from the classical repertoire in their built work, Frank himself produced architecture that reveals no interest in a formal vocabulary. In this sense, he is not a ‘classicist’, as he acknowledges late in his career (Frank to Sobotka, Stockholm 22 January 1962, in Sobotka 1970: 398). Instead, his reception of the classical tradition is mostly conceptual. In his writing, he focuses on a tradi- tion of thought that is occasionally, unexpectedly and unconventionally translated into his built work. This tra- dition is also implicit in his writings, a circumstance that opens multiple historiographical questions concerning Frank’s reticence about his Renaissance sources. Frank’s reception of the classical tradition has therefore no affini- ties with his contemporaries’ reception and search for anthropometric ratios. Independent scholar, IT caterina.cardamone@gmail.com https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.424 mailto:caterina.cardamone@gmail.com Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and AnnehmlichkeitArt. 5, page 2 of 21 This study retraces elements in both Frank’s theoreti- cal work and, to some extent, his built architecture to argue and confirm this reading. Certain passages of his writings, as well as the multiplicity of formal solutions and the eclecticism of his early interiors, seem to echo the Antique and Renaissance category of varietas. His consistent theoretical search for moderation, a via media, a middle road free from the pathos of Moderne, could be also read as a 20th-century translation of the second key concept, mediocritas. His attention to Annehmlichkeit (agreeableness, comfort), the starting point of a non- dogmatic functionalism, also has deep classical roots. Even the ‘Bordel Frank’, as Paul Meller (1902–43) defined Frank’s interiors of the Weissenhofsiedlung in Stuttgart (Paul Meller to J.J. Pieter Oud, 31 August 1927, in Kirsch 1987: 96), in its vivid eclecticism, recalls non- conventional classical values: varietas and attachment to life — in Frank’s view, the profoundest essence of classical culture, which should be the basis of modern architecture (Frank 1931b: 49, 135). An Education in Classical Models Like many of his fellow Jewish colleagues working in Vienna during the 1920s, Frank studied architecture with Carl König at the TH (Kristan 1999: 20–21; Kristan 2007: 35; Long 2018: 129–30). The classical education at the TH in Vienna had a decisive influence after WWI on the gen- eration that reflected on the meaning and scope of mod- ern architecture, and their teacher, König, and his assis- tant, Max Fabiani (1865–1962), played an important role in their curriculum (on König, see Pozzetto 1984: 27–29; Long 2001: 24; on Fabiani, see Pozzetto 1983; Pozzetto 1998). As Mario Pozzetto points out, no other contempo- rary school of architecture proposed such a robust train- ing in architectural history, which added up to more than 420 hours in the four- or five-year course (Pozzetto 1984: 27). Less attention has been paid to the role played by the eclectic architect Karl Mayreder (1856–1935). Mayreder was König’s assistant between 1877 and 1885, and then professor and dean at the TH between 1904 and 1908.1 Frank seems to have shown a particular interest in May- reder’s classes, which he attended throughout his four- year course at the TH, from 1903 to 1908 (Cardamone 2002: 11–18). In 1910, Mayreder, along with the art historian Josef Neuwirth (1855–1934), supervised Frank’s doctoral thesis on Alberti. In his first year at the TH, 1903–4, Frank attended Mayreder’s Architektonische Formenlehre course, an over- view of ‘decorative forms derived from textile arts, in order to highlight eurythmy, symmetry, proportion and direc- tion’ in architecture (Lektionskatalog 1903–4: 37–38; Cardamone 2002: 11–12). The course appears to have followed Gottfried Semper’s Der Stil not only in its con- tents — the study of textile arts — but also in its structure, with a close reference to the formal principles discussed in Semper’s Prolegomena. The reference to Der Stil became explicit in a document dated 1915, from which we know that König, who taught Architektonische Formenlehre before Mayreder, had ‘repeatedly adapted and enlarged the train of thought [of Der Stil] to meet the needs of ex cathedra lessons’ (Mayreder 1915: 529), the lectures that, together with practical exercises, constituted the bulk of the curriculum at the TH. Different interpretations of Semper’s writings marked Viennese architecture at the turn of the century. His theoretical work not only formed the basis for the con- structed and written works of Otto Wagner (1841–1918) and his students, and for the oeuvre of Adolf Loos (1870– 1933), but it was also at the core of the education in Renaissance architecture at the TH (König 1901: 48–49; König 1904: 5–7; Moravánszky 1988: 67–86; Oechslin 2002a; Nerdinger and Oechslin 2003: 430–489; Franz and Nierhaus 2007). König’s students were aware that they belonged to a school (Kristan 1999: 23; Long 2001: 23–25). They perceived it as distinct from the Wagnerschule of the Akademie der bildenden Künste and described it as ‘basi- cally of a different nature’ (Sobotka 1970: 363). They were convinced, moreover, that it was their school, with its focus on the classical tradition, and not the Wagnerschule, that led to the particular Viennese understanding of mod- ern architecture as ‘a new evolutionary direction based on traditional models’ (Sobotka 1970: 363). For a contempo- rary observer, like Sobotka, modern architecture in Vienna could only be based on the knowledge of classical tradi- tion and not on Wagner’s presumed caesura with history. König’s writings confirm Sobotka’s statement. With its eclectic understanding of the classical tradition and toler- ant approach to formal questions, König’s teaching at the beginning of the century could in fact have set out in nuce the critical instruments of the generation working during the 1920s (Payne 2008; Cardamone 2018; Cardamone and Torello, forthcoming). In König’s writings, formal questions are not the focus of the discussion. This point emerges clearly in König’s inaugural speech as a rector for the academic year 1901–2: Observe the porches of the Karlskirche, when its stairs and atrium are filled with people, enter the space of the dome, where the devoted are gathered and you will feel the power of architectural forms which are essentially the same whether people are wearing clothes of the 18th- or of the 20th-century. (König 1901: 52–53) This passage exerted a profound influence on the young audience. With an implicit criticism of Wagner’s Moderne Architektur, König affirmed that modernity had noth- ing to do with the establishment of a new formal reper- toire. Precisely this position constituted the bulk of the Viennese attack on the German approach to modernity during the 1920s. In the same lecture, König interprets classical architec- ture — in this case the ancient Greek and Italian Renaissance — as the result of an eclectic process. Eclecticism had to be considered as a fundamental attitude of the classical tradi- tion and of each period that refers to it as a model (König 1901: 54–55). Antique and Renaissance architecture was the result of a process of eclectic assimilation, and it is the process itself that deserves attention as a model for contemporary practice (König 1901: 55; Cardamone and Torello, forthcoming). Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 3 of 21 In his lecture, König also confirms the role of Semper as a guide for modern architecture. In High Renaissance architecture, says König, Semper found a practical and theoretical model that can serve for contemporary archi- tecture — a model, indeed, that is not exclusively formal (König 1901: 48–49; Hvattum 2004: 87–113). The essence of classical art, in König’s reception of Semper’s writings, was in the ‘Princip der Stoffverneinung’, the negation of material, which was a contrast to Gothic art, whose form is determined by material and technical factors (König 1901: 49). Semper ‘indicates the example of nature, which conceals the skeleton of highly developed animals, with- out contradicting it in their external appearance’ (König 1901: 49; Oechslin 2003: 62–66). It is well known that this idea — the non-correspondence between construc- tion and cladding that constitute, in König’s opinion, the core of the classical tradition — featured prominently in the Viennese theoretical context of the time (Frank 1910; Oechslin 2002a). In December 1910, when Frank defended his thesis, the title of ‘Doktor der technischen Wissenschaften’ (doctor of technical sciences) had been instituted at the TH less than a decade earlier, in 1901. Among the 28 the- ses defended before 1919, more than half (16) treated a historical subject. It is interesting to note, however, that together with Hermann Egger’s dissertation on the architectural drawings of the k. k. Hofbibliothek (1903), only two theses dealt with the Italian Renaissance: Frank’s thesis and that of Max Theuer (1878–1949) (Abhandlungen 1955: 27). Both analysed the work of Alberti and both came from König’s milieu.2 Two of the students who wrote a doctoral thesis, Strnad and Oskar Wlach (1881–1963), had been part of Frank’s closest cir- cle since at least 1904 (Welzig 1998: 15, 31; Long 2002: 22–27; Prokop 2016). In their dissertations, both deal- ing with historical subjects, Semper’s influence is strong (Strnad 1904; Wlach 1906). Strnad presented his thesis, on the decorative principles of early Christian archi- tecture, in 1904 (Cardamone 2002: 35–43). His work applies Semper’s ‘Prinzip der Dekoration’ directly to the case study of early Christian art, in a biased reading of Semper’s writings (Quitsch 1962: 16; Van Eck 2004: 61–63; Hvattum 2004). In Wlach’s thesis, which he defended in June 1906, Semper is an indisputable refer- ence both in methodology — to comprehend historical laws in order to define a contemporary praxis — and in choice of subject matter: incrustation and the use of col- our in architecture (Cardamone 2002: 43–47; Hvattum 2004: 11; Hub 2015). The choice of the historical period, too — the Florentine proto-Renaissance — likely depends not only on Burckhardt but also on Semper, who had already introduced the notion of Vorrenaissance in Der Stil (Semper 1863: 331; Burckhardt 1868: 20–35, Tauber 2016: 80). Wlach’s dissertation concludes with a chapter in which he applies to contemporary Viennese architec- ture the norms for the use of colour that he identified through his analysis of historical architecture. He thus points out repeated errors in the contemporary use of colour, for instance in Otto Wagner’s well-known Majolikahaus (1898–99; Wlach 1906: 79–82; Hub 2015; Cardamone 2016). Annehmlichkeit, Ornament, Artifices and Cladding: Frank’s Reading of Alberti In this general context, Frank’s doctoral thesis deserves particular attention for different reasons (Frank 1910).3 The first is the unconventionality, among studies from the beginning of the 20th century, of his choice of topic — Alberti. In Renaissance studies in the department of art history at the Viennese university, in fact, Alberti was iden- tified as an amateur, ‘ein Dilettant’, and his work was dis- carded because it was seen as the principal model for the ‘worst neo-Renaissance architecture of the 19th-century’ (Dvořák 1927: 126–27; Strzygowski 1907: 47; Marchand 1994). The TH context was similar. Programmes, curricula and students’ drawings, as well as various issues of Wiener Bauhütte that allow a partial reconstruction of TH study trips to Italy, show that, with a few interesting excep- tions, Quattrocento architecture and Alberti’s buildings were generally ignored. Visits to Mantua were limited to the Palazzo Ducale and the Palazzo del Te; almost no building by Alberti in Florence drew the travellers’ atten- tion (Cardamone 2005: 103–4; Hub 2015). One note- worthy exception is a trip to Rimini in 1907 organised by Max Fabiani, in all likelihood to visit Alberti’s Tempio Malatestiano (Welzig 1998: 15).4 The interest that Fabiani had in Alberti, and particularly in the translation of De re aedificatoria, also emerges in an archival document dated 1918 (Fabiani 1918).5 Not only was the subject unusual at the time, but Frank’s thesis proposes an original understanding of Alberti’s work (Cardamone 2018: 84–93). Two aspects stand out: a profound reflection on the question of cladding and a particular reconstruction of Alberti’s triad. In his read- ing of De re aedificatoria, Frank focuses on Schönheit and Festigkeit, clearly the German translations for venustas and firmitas, and rather conventional categories for interpret- ing the work of Alberti; the originality of Frank’s recon- struction of the triad lies in the category he proposes as the third term — Annehmlichkeit (1910: 52). Frank’s choice requires some explanation. A comparison with Theuer’s German translation of De re aedificatoria, of 1912, could help define — or complicate — Frank’s understanding of Annehmlichkeit. In Theuer’s edition, the term occurs mainly in the plural form, Annehmlichkeiten, for example in the preface, in a passage about the architect as ‘omnium commoditatum inventor’ (Alberti 1541: f. 2v; Alberti 1912: 14: “Erfinder aller Annehmlichkeiten”). However, Theuer does not consistently or exclusively use Annehmlichkeit as a translation for commoditas. The term also occurs as a translation for amoenitas (pleasantness, Alberti 1541: 12r; Alberti 1912: 47), voluptas (pleasure, 1912: 145), gra- tia (grace, 1912: 345) and iocunditas (agreeableness, 1912: 478). The semantic contours of Annehmlichkeit are there- fore not neat; in the general context of Frank’s writings, the notion could correspond to a sort of joyful and pleas- ant commoditas (Cardamone 2018). Frank’s focus on Annehmlichkeit marks a critical junc- ture in the 20th-century reception of classical tradition that clearly emerges in further comparisons of Frank’s dis- sertation with Theuer’s translation of De re aedificatoria. Both Theuer and Frank consider Alberti as the first mod- ern architect, but they understand Alberti’s modernity Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and AnnehmlichkeitArt. 5, page 4 of 21 differently. Theuer’s idea appears to be more clearly influ- enced by the contemporary architectural discourse: The great scale of [Alberti’s] principles, his effort to analyse architecture … above all in terms of its func- tionality, his need of light and air, his request for a layout respecting hygienic needs, … his attention to the human being, … all these elements make him the first modern architect. (Alberti 1912: liii; Carda- mone 2018: 89) In Theuer’s reading, De re aedificatoria legitimises some of the formal principles proposed at the beginning of the 20th century: building from the inside out, zweckent- sprechend, or respecting the function, and composing volumes and masses according to proportional rules in a three-dimensional conception of space (Alberti 1912: l–li, quoting Burckhardt 1868: 166). In his thesis, Frank saw a different modernity at work in Alberti: For the first time, [Alberti] applied the classical Roman style to modern conditions and with this deed, he founded the modern style. And when, as was so often the case, architecture became to [sic] baroque in its style, new interpretations of classi- cal Roman principles were developed for the new circumstances; this marks the great steps forward in the evolution of architecture. (Frank 1910: 107) In Frank’s reading of Alberti’s modernity, it is a rebirth of classical tradition that implies the ‘evolution of architec- ture’. In this case, Frank’s position is remarkably close to that of Adolf Loos, for whom the cyclic revival of classical architecture is the only means of progress (Loos 1898: 66; Loos 1913: 65; Oechslin 2002b: 66; Trevisiol 1996). A divergence between Frank and Theuer also emerges in their attempts to reconstruct Alberti’s triad through appropriate translations. In addition to venustas and firmitas, Theuer focuses on utilitas, or Zweckmäßigkeit. confirming the astonishingly modern core of Alberti’s work (Alberti 1912: liii). Zweckmäßigkeit, functionality, is a term that echoes the contemporary German architec- tural debate and contrasts with the light pleasantness of Frank’s Annehmlichleit. The distance between Theuer and Frank is still more evident in the priorities they ascribe to these categories. Frank considers venustas as the most sali- ent element of the triad (Frank 1910: 53). In the introduc- tory pages of his dissertation, the question of beauty and ornament is at the core of his analysis (Cardamone 2002: 85–86; Cardamone 2018: 89–91). Beauty, he says, ‘is an inherent quality of such nobility, that all wisdom and arti- fice must be employed in order to bring it forth’ (Frank 1910: 55). In Frank’s reading, classical tradition requires the use of architectural artifice; Alberti did not adhere to the notion of structural honesty so appreciated at the beginning of the 20th century. Instead, Alberti apparently subordinated the structure to the aesthetic qualities of the architectural work. The same privileging of artifice over construction is at work in Frank’s twenty watercolour drawings of Alberti’s religious buildings that illustrate his dissertation, which he attempts to reconstruct according to his understand- ing of Alberti’s original intent. This is most evident in the case of the church of San Francesco in Rimini, also referred to as the Tempio Malatestiano, the only work that Frank affirms to be unanimously attributed to Alberti in 19th-century historiography (Frank 1910: 60). While Max Dvořák (1874–1921) had criticised its façade for not cor- responding, in its profile, with the section of the 13th-cen- tury Gothic church on the site that Alberti transformed (Dvořák 1927: 127), Frank is far more tolerant in discuss- ing the solution Alberti adopted for the Tempio. He appre- ciated the ‘self-determination’ of Alberti’s cladding that he described as being ‘liberated’ from the Gothic building (Frank 1910: 63–65). In the case of Florence’s Santa Maria Novella, Frank more explicitly identified the invention of a ‘new type of basilica façade … rebuff[ing] the previ- ously inviolable principle of the stone-clad façade form’ (Frank 1910: 91). Frank’s passage on ‘the dissonance of the applied façade’ marked the starting point of a reflection on permanent principles in architecture (Frank 1910: 89; Cardamone 2018). In his reconstructions, Frank reveals a predilection for heavy cladding. This is above all evident in his drawings of the façade of San Sebastiano in Mantua (Figure 1) and the interior of San Pancrazio, which also encompasses the Tempietto Rucellai, in Florence (Figure 2). In the pages where he writes about San Pancrazio, Frank con- veys a certain aesthetic bias against its plain plaster inte- riors when he says they are articulated only by pilasters of pietra serena, which he describes as cold (Frank 1910: 94). In his reconstruction drawing, he presents instead a richly decorated interior that is modelled, he explains, on contemporary Quattrocento architecture and has the advantage of making the sacello appear clearer and lighter (Frank 1910: 94). He presents marble cladding and frescoes in a vivid Viennese setting (Cardamone 2006: 186–87). In so doing, Frank blithely ignores a pas- sage in De re aedificatoria that recommends pure white plaster for the inside of religious buildings because it recalls the purity of life (VII, 10). This shows how Frank’s reconstructions are rooted in his particular aesthetic vision and how Semper’s Bekleidungsprinzip that was widely debated in Viennese circles possibly prevails over Alberti’s recommendations. Varietas: Frank’s Interiors around 1910 From Frank’s polychrome reconstructions of Alberti’s religious buildings, an underlying notion emerges that would exert a persisting influence on Frank’s built and written work: the Renaissance category of varietas. The notion is present throughout De re aedificatoria and De pictura, both quoted in Frank’s dissertation (Frank 1910: 114, with reference to Leoni 1726; Frank 1931b: 84). In Frank’s later writings the notion is fundamental for the definition of his ‘humane’ architecture (Frank to Sobotka, France [sic] 9 September 1961, in Sobotka 1970: 396; von Thun-Hohenstein, Czech and Hackenschmidt 2016: 40); it constitutes a basis for his anthropocentrism and it is charged with changing meanings throughout Frank’s career. At the end of the 1920s and at the beginning of the Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 5 of 21 Figure 1: Josef Frank, reconstruction of the facade of San Sebastiano in Mantua. The drawing’s caption reads, ‘Von der Kirche S. Sebastiano in Mantua Hauptansicht der Kirche im Masstab 1:72’. From Frank’s PhD dissertation (Frank 1910: plate 3). Figure 2: Josef Frank, reconstruction of the interior of San Pancrazio in Florence; the side of the Tempietto Rucellai is in the centre. The drawing’s caption reads, ‘Von der Kirche San Pancrazio in Florenz Laengsschnitt durch die Kapelle Rucellai und Ansicht des Heiligen Grabes im Masstab 1:30’. From Frank’s PhD dissertation (Frank 1910: plate 2). Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and AnnehmlichkeitArt. 5, page 6 of 21 1930s, in Frank’s focus on man, varietas corresponds to the multiplicity and diversity of psychological needs that imply, as a response, a variety of functions and architec- tonic solutions (the topos in book IV of De re aedificatoria, Leoni 1726: I, 60v). In Frank’s later writings, however, variety acquires new and more encompassing contours. It emerges as an experience of reality (Gosebruch 1957: 230– 31; Brinkmann 2003: 11–18) and it becomes a response to totalitarianism and its Weltanschauung, charged with strong ideological values such as pluralism and democracy (Cardamone 2016a; Frank post 1945?a: f. 26). In Frank’s dissertation, however, varietas still does not appear explicitly as a critical instrument but rather as an aesthetic leitmotiv in the watercolour plates that illustrate the text. Frank’s interiors from around 1910 recall these watercolour plates, not only in their formal references to the Quattrocento (Figure 3) (Ott-Wodni 2015: 33–34; von Thun-Hohenstein, Czech and Hackenschmidt 2016: 40–41), but above all because of their intrinsic varietas. This quality was already clear to contemporary review- ers, ‘der häufige Wechsel’, or continual variation, being a main character of Frank’s interiors in Wlach’s review (1912: 42). In the Tedesko apartment of 1910, designed for his sister and brother-in-law, Frank used a strong poly- chromy as a means of creating unity. In his view, poly- chromy could absorb every modification of the interior arising from the changing lives and needs of its inhabit- ants (Wlach 1912: 43; Czech 1986: 24; Ott-Wodni 2015: 181–82). The Schwedische Turnschule in Vienna, also of 1910 (Figure 4), could be read as a further transcription of this notion of unity, because of its principled use of dis- parate ornamental patterns (Witt-Dörring 1996: 103; Ott- Wodni 2015: 182–83). Here Frank also includes a painted strigilatum frieze, recalling the entablature frieze inside the church of San Pancrazio.6 In Vienna the critique of ‘stilvollen’ interiors and their uniformity began at the turn of the century, in 1898, with Loos’ contributions to the Neue Freie Presse (Loos 1921). Unity became one of the main topics in the Viennese debate of the 1910s and 1920s (Ottillinger 2009b: 18–22; Frank 1919). An article of 1921, in which ‘antique variety’ is proposed as a model for contemporary interiors, confirms that the historical context of the notion was evident at that time (Sobotka 1921: 176). The classical matrix of the category was also clear in the ‘small circle around Oskar Strnad and Viktor Lurje’, which included Frank and with which Sobotka, the author of the 1921 article, had inten- sive exchanges (Wlach 1912: 41; Prokop 2016; Cardamone 2002: 223). The most appropriate example of this reflection on vari- ety is a project by Frank, Strnad, Hugo Gorge (1883–1934) and Viktor Lurje — two rooms in the Jahresausstellung of 1911–12 in the Imperial Royal Austrian Museum for Art and Industry (the k.k. Österreichisches Museum für Kunst und Industrie, ÖMKI) (Figure 5). Contemporary review- ers appreciated the exhibition rooms for their ‘powerful atmosphere’ (Fischel 1911: 627), which resulted from a resolute use of colour, such as in the coffered ceiling that recalls the solution employed in the Tedesko apartment (Ott 2009: 18). Once again, this polychrome variety was understood as a clear reference to a living tradition: There are many artists today, with clear modern sensibilities and aspirations, who see themselves as followers of the past, possessing specific and essential knowledge of historical forms … They sink conspicuously into ancient and ever more ancient art, and they aspire to approach the art of the past through modern principles of composition. (Fischel 1911: 626–27; Ottillinger 2009b: 19) Some months later, in the Gartenhalle of the Frühjah- rausstellung of the ÖMKI, Strnad and Lurje proposed again a surprisingly eclectic composition that contempo- raries considered with ‘astonishment’ (Cardamone 2002: 138–39; Planer 1912–13: 180) (Figure 6). If the work of Figure 3: Josef Frank, detail of the ceiling in the hall of the Tedesko apartment in Vienna of 1910, and batik pattern for the same apartment (Welzig 1998: 26). The sun in the batik pattern (right) quotes Alberti’s facade of Santa Maria Novella in Florence. Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 7 of 21 Figure 4: Josef Frank, reception room of the Schwedische Turnschule, Vienna, 1910 (Welzig 1998: 24). Figure 5: Left: Josef Frank, Oskar Strnad, Hugo Gorge and Viktor Lurje, interior for the 1911–1912 exhibition at the Österreichisches Museum für Kunst und Industrie. Right: Josef Frank, painted cabinet presented at the exposition, designed for the Tedesko apartment, 1910 (Welzig 1998: 32). Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and AnnehmlichkeitArt. 5, page 8 of 21 the circle could be labelled traditionalist from a formal point of view, contemporary reviewers did not perceive their traditionalism as a contradiction to their quest for a different modernity. The ‘small circle’, in fact, made extensive use of abstracted elements from a classical repertoire — a refined abstraction in the classical repertoire being also, with dif- ferent facets, a constant feature of Viennese architecture around 1910 (Rukschcio-Schachel 1982; Trevisiol 1995). In the interiors of the gymnasium of the Schwedische Turnschule (Figure 7), Frank places painted pediments above windows, almost unrecognisable as classical fea- tures, that are similar to those used by Strnad in some of his buildings (Figures 8 and 9). The schematic pediments in the interior of the Hellmann apartment of 1914 (Figures 10 and 11) bear perhaps the greatest resemblance to the ones designed by Frank in the Turnschule (Ottillinger 2009a: 64–71). The inclusion of such elements in these interiors could be read as an erudite reference to Early Renaissance models, such as the Sala di Ercole e Iole in the Palazzo Ducale of Urbino. Other examples in Strnad’s work confirm his strong interest in abstracted motifs derived from a classical repertoire. For the exterior of Haus Hock (1912–13), an asymmetrical main entrance is marked by a Doric portico with a high pediment (Cardamone 2002: 151–82; Meder Fuks 2007: 136).7 The columns, without a base and with schematic capitals, were not fluted but facetted, a solu- tion similar to that of the Heilig-Geist-Kirche (1910–13) by Jože Plečnik (1872–1957). The entablature, reduced to the frieze, is also schematic. Because of the steep slope, the solution to enter the villa was a basis, following antique and Renaissance models (Figure 12). In the objects designed by Lurje for the Wiener Werkstätte, beginning in 1919, iconographically precise quotes from the Antiquity and the Italian Renaissance undergo a similar process of abstraction and reduc- tion (Figures 13–17).8 This is most evident in many of his intarsia works, documented through the pages of Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration, such as the venus pudica exhibited in the Kunstschau of 1920 (Steinmetz 1921: 187; Lexicon 1994: 202 and Lexicon 1984: 52; Cardamone 2002: 194–95) (Figure 14). Figure 6: Oskar Strnad, design for the Frühjahraussellung (spring exhibition) of the Österreichisches Museum für Kunst und Industrie, 1912 (MAK V.S. 430, K.I. 13.823/1). Photo: © MAK — Museum für angewandte Kunst, Vienna. Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 9 of 21 Figure 7: Josef Frank, Gymnasium in the Schwedische Turnschule, Vienna, 1910 (Welzig 1998: 25). Figure 8: Oskar Strnad, Gartenhalle in the Frühjahrausstellung of the Österreichisches Museum für Kunst und Industrie, 1912. Deutsche Kunst und Dekoration, Bd. 31 1912–13: 192 (MAK V.S. 430, K.I. KI 7835/27). Photo: © MAK — Museum für angewandte Kunst, Vienna. Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and AnnehmlichkeitArt. 5, page 10 of 21 Figure 9: Oskar Strnad, interiors of the Austrian Pavilion for the Werkbund Ausstellung, Cologne 1914 (MAK V.S. 431 K.I. 13.820/7). Photo: © MAK — Museum für angewandte Kunst, Vienna. Figure 10: Oskar Strnad, Apartment Hellmann, Vienna, 1914 (MAK V.S.430, K.I. 13. 826/11). Photo: © MAK — Museum für angewandte Kunst, Vienna. Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 11 of 21 Figure 11: Oskar Strnad, Hellmann Apartment, Vienna, 1914 (MAK V.S. 430 K.I. 13.826/8). Photo: © MAK — Museum für angewandte Kunst, Vienna. Figure 12: Oskar Strnad (Viktor Lurje, Oskar Wlach), Haus Hoch, Wien 19, 1912–14, Der Architekt, 29 (1913): tav. 131 (MAK V.S. 430 KI 13849/4). Photo: © MAK — Museum für angewandte Kunst, Vienna. Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and AnnehmlichkeitArt. 5, page 12 of 21 Figure 13: Viktor Lurje, bronze box for the Wiener Werkstätte. An inscription in Italian set within the labyrinth on the lid reads ‘forse che sì forse che no’, ‘maybe yes, maybe no’, a direct quote of the early 16th-century coffered ceiling of the Stanza del Labirinto in the Palazzo ducale of Mantua. From Steinmetz (1921: 192). Figure 14: Viktor Lurje, inlaid work for the Wiener Werkstätte. The figure is a venus pudica. From Steinmetz (1921: 187). Original at Universität für angewandte Kunst, Collection and Archive, Inv. No.1677/O. Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 13 of 21 Figure 15: Viktor Lurje, inlaid work for a Wiener Werkstätte cabinet. The figure is the personification of hope, spes. From Steinmetz (1921: 195). Original at Universität für angewandte Kunst Vienna, Collection and Archive, Inv. No.1677/O. Figure 16: Viktor Lurje, inlaid work for the Wiener Werkstätte. The figures are Harmodius and Aristogeiton. From Steinmetz (1921: 198). Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and AnnehmlichkeitArt. 5, page 14 of 21 In his works before WWI, Frank also appears to be inter- ested in the technique of intarsia and more specifically in tarsie prospettiche, Italian Quattrocento inlaid works after a perspective schema (Wlach 1912: 44). To attain a visual effect similar to that of the tarsie on a cabinet for the Tedesko apartment, Frank simulated an inlaid laby- rinth with painting (Wlach 1912: 42; Ott-Wodni 2015: M-WV 13) (Figure 5). In another cabinet for the same apartment, designed by Frank and realised by Leopold Spitzer, the doors show an inlaid schematic architectural structure — a chessboard floor represented in a strong accelerated perspective, with pilasters bearing a linear pediment — that directly recalls the tarsie prospettiche (Wlach 1912: 42 and 45; Ott-Wodni 2015: M-WV 5, 17, 20, 21, 22; Hackenschmidt 2016) (Figure 18). Architecture as Symbol: ‘Humane’ Architecture and Mediocritas In the 1920s, Lurje’s and Strnad’s affinity for highly intel- lectualised references to the classical world does not cor- respond to a similar search in Frank’s work (Figures 19 and 20). After WWI, in fact, vague hints to the classical world might be found only in a sort of Mediterranean atmosphere that characterises some unrealised projects between 1926 and 1928, such as a ‘Siedlung mit Patio- Häusern’, a ‘Wohnhaus für Salzburg’, a ‘Wohnhaus für Wien XIII’, and a series of US projects (Welzig 1998: 100, 121, 125, 191–97; Long 2002: 132, 136, 140–41). All these sketches are articulated around a central court that could be read as an impluvium. Without the richness of erudite classical quotes and without overt reference to a written tradition, Frank’s interest in classical imagery during the 1920s is appar- ently limited to these Mediterranean hints and to the use of proportional schemes, which indicate a more con- ventional reception of classical tradition (Payne 1994; Benelli 2015; Cohen 2014). Frank’s interest in propor- tional questions was documented during his years at the TH. The entire generation of architects working in the interwar period was in fact educated on texts such as Geschichte der Renaissance in Italien by Jakob Burckhardt and Renaissance und Barock by Heinrich Wölfflin, in which the clarity of Renaissance architec- ture relied on the use of crystalline proportional crite- ria (Payne 1994: 327). The study of proportional layouts in Frank’s academic curriculum was also covered in the winter semester of 1904 and for the three years thereaf- ter, in the course given by Hermann V. Heller, Die Lehre vom Bau und die Proportionen der menschlichen Figur, in which the teaching of architectural proportions was clearly linked with the study of the human body (Cardamone 2002: 17). In Frank’s writings after WWI, anthropometric pro- portioning constitutes a major theme. In Architektur als Symbol (1931), Frank describes Alberti’s concinnitas, ‘the requirement of total harmony between parts and whole’, as ‘one of our traditions that the laws of architecture derive from the human body’ (Frank 1931b: 91). In the same year, Frank published a proportional grid, the scheme for the façade of Haus Beer, to illustrate an article reflecting on Alberti’s architectural theories — namely the topos of the ‘House [as] a little City’ (Frank 1931a: 323; Leoni 1726: I, 11v and 79r; Cardamone 2016b: 30). Apart from the pro- portional schemes for Haus Beer and the illustrations for Figure 17: Viktor Lurje, stucco medals in the Antikensaal of Kassel Museum. From R (1923: 283). Figure 18: Josef Frank, cabinet with intarsia, realised by Leopold Spitzer. From Fischel (1911: 621). Photo: © MAK – Museum für angewandte Kunst, Vienna. Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 15 of 21 Figure 19: Josef Frank, Villa Scholl, Wien, 1913. From Frank (1919b: 418). Figure 20: Josef Frank, Villa Bunzl, Ortman (Niederösterreich), 1914. From Frank (1919a: 411). Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and AnnehmlichkeitArt. 5, page 16 of 21 ‘Rum och inredning’ (Frank 1934), however, not much is known about Frank’s effective use of proportional grids in his design process. The topic of Frank’s thorough use of proportional rules is controversial. While Sobotka is our principal source of information for Frank’s use of proportional schemes, his interpretation is not neutral, which complicates our read- ing of Frank’s intentions. Some well-known passages of the correspondence between Frank and Sobotka seem to emphasise the importance of proportional layout in Frank’s design. But in Frank’s writings, a proportional scheme is primarily a means to simply attain a standard result; no proportional system is presented as an actual model (Frank to Sobotka, 17 March 1963, Sobotka 1970: 279–80). Frank dealt with this topic earlier, in Architektur als Symbol, where in a passage about concinnitas he makes a controversial statement about the arbitrariness of Renaissance proportional norms (Frank 1931b: 91) and about the potential codification of concinnitas into rules to be applied in the ‘building trade in such a way that [its] products remain acceptable’ (Frank 1931b: 91). Although he frequently writes about proportion, his interest in the classical world goes well beyond that aspect. His writings show elements of originality in his adhesion to classical thought. For Frank, classical tradition means above all an anthropocentrism with multiple facets: mediocritas, varietas and Annehmlichkeit. In Architektur als Symbol, he reflects comprehensively, if not linearly, on these seminal Renaissance categories, which he had first approached in the writing of his doctoral dissertation. Frank’s anthropocentrism, his focus on man, is not to be exclusively understood as the search for a non-mutable ‘meter’, for norms or ratios of classical origin. This ‘meter’, which is man, is in fact one of the most complex catego- ries in Frank’s theoretical work. In Architektur als Symbol, this is most evident in a passage in which Frank quotes Homer. Achilles, in Hades, confesses to prefer one single day of life spent ‘to serve as the hireling of another … rather than to be the lord over all the dead that have perished’ (Frank 1931b: 49). The living man, with his imperfections, becomes the centre of Frank’s ‘humane architecture’. The ‘absolute standard’ of an ideal concept of man is in fact mitigated, in Frank’s writings, by the imperfections of a living man: But in addition to the concept of man we also have the concept of the beautiful man, which need not be — and indeed is not — universally valid, for the normal human type does not correspond to this concept. We see in all people — this is instinct or tradition — an imperfect intention of nature, an imperfect striving towards one or more forms that are not universal, an average of all people; the beautiful man is he who has not remained the same in all times, once the aim of life that we seek again today. (Frank 1931b: 51) Frank’s reflection on man is part of a rethinking of the classical category of mediocritas, as it emerges in Frank’s Architektur als Symbol. In his essay, the first meaning of the notion is obviously that of ‘middle ground’; the Greek ideal of beauty was a Mittelding, ‘a happy medium [between] two extremes’ (Frank 1931b: 51), and various passages of Architektur als Symbol emphasise Mittelwerte (Cardamone 2002: 287–303; Frank 1931b: 48–54, 70–72). In some passages, mediocritas can also be understood as an attitude, a consistent search for middle values in con- trast to the striving towards a single goal of the German Neues Bauen that Frank calls ‘pathos’: ‘the understand- able uncertainty of our time, coupled with the addiction to setting records, hardly permits the audacity to pursue such a middle ground to emerge, even though everyone knows that all our contentment can only move within an even middle ground’ (Frank 1931b: 51; also 165, 167). As an ‘imperfect intention of nature’ and a ‘medio- cre’ measure of the world, man with his middle values obstructs the attainment of the goals to which German modern architecture aspires: Alas, very few people accept that a pleasant life is always a via media [Mittelweg] between all kinds of ideals … and that shaping a pleasant life as a com- posite of all these ideals is a matter with goals just as consistent and absolute as the goals of those who strive for a single extreme. The fate of mod- ern architecture hinges on achieving this ambition. (Frank 1931b: 27–29) The symbolisation of this ‘mediocre’ life needs Sentimen- talität and Gschnass, sentimentality and frippery, of which Frank wrote in 1927 in the exhibition catalogue of the Weissenhofsiedlung (Frank 1927b). As mediocritas is the direct answer to the ambitious goals of the Neues Bauen, varietas is one of the potential answers to the stylistic unity of modernity. In Frank’s reading, every ambition of stylistic unity goes against the spirit of clas- sical thought and implies an estrangement from reality. Frank pointed out that ‘our tradition refers not to forms … but rather to the fundamental concepts and principles that made man the centre of all things. And only those who realize this are capable of seeing and cultivating anew the endless diversity [Mannigfaltigkeit] within this Willen’ (Frank 1931b: 61). Continuity of Thought ‘I do not think that I could renounce tradition, which does not mean that it consists in the imitation of the old’, wrote Frank to Sobotka from Stockholm on 5 May 1966 (Sobotka 1970: 426). This neat distinction between a cultural tradition and a tradition of forms removes the apparent discrepancy between Frank’s built work — which bears no trace of a conventional formal continuity — and his writings, which testify to a vivid reflection on history. This idea of continuity of thought, overtly expressed only late in his career, informs Frank’s entire theoretical pro- duction. Like his reflection on proportion, it is a rather conventional approach to classical tradition, grounded in both Viennese and 19th-century contexts (Loos 1913; Karge 2016). During the 1920s, Frank’s references to the unbroken continuity of classical tradition as a tradition of Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 17 of 21 thought are implicit but consistent. Classical architecture possesses all characteristics his radical colleagues look for in vain, he says: it is modern, international and revolution- ary (Brucculeri 2016: 26). This conviction constitutes the basis of his critique of contemporary tendencies. In his writings, Frank refers to a generic ‘classical’ tra- dition whose historical models vary. At the beginning of the 1920s, the reference to a living tradition of Italian Renaissance gives Frank the necessary detachment to observe and comment on the formal experiments of Hoffmann’s followers (Frank 1921–22: 167); some years later, in an excursus about Viennese modern architecture, it is Viennese Baroque, with its status of a universally com- prehensible tradition, that limits the formal research of the Werkbund. He writes that ‘in a supranational land made up of peoples with the most varied cultural backgrounds’ it is understandable that forms ‘that are universally com- prehensible, namely those of antiquity, were sought out time and again. This corresponds with the intentions of all modern architecture after 1918’ (Frank 1926: 269). From the last years of the 1920s to the beginning of the following decade, Frank examines the internationality and modernity of the classical tradition in depth. In 1927, he noted, ‘International architecture has always existed. It was the architecture of the most developed civilisation whose people were able to pass their architecture on to other cultures. … Since all people have adopted classical culture, classical culture has become international’ (Frank 1927a: 335). Written during the polemical climate fuelled by the Weissenhofsiedlung exhibition, this passage shows to what extent classical tradition informed Frank’s reading of modernity and was intended as a reaction to contem- porary architectural research. In Frank’s view, the classical is also the only ‘style’ of all revolutionary and mechanical eras because ‘Revolutionen führen zur Antike’ — revolu- tions lead cultures back to antiquity in their cyclic revival (Frank 1931b: 94). The many references to antiquity and its renaissances are based on a strong ideological approach in Frank’s writings. This is most evident in Architektur als Symbol (1931), in which the history of architecture is rewritten to intervene in contemporary discourse (Tafuri 1969; Scalvini Sandri 1984; Tournikiotis 1999; Van Eck 2004). Frank’s purpose is to affirm that Austria’s architectural culture belongs to an unbroken continuity of the classi- cal tradition, unlike German architecture — both histori- cal and modern — which is excluded from that tradition (Frank 1931b: 76–77 or 98–99). According to Frank, modern architecture was born either in the 8th century BC, when the first Doric column was erected, giving an anthropomorphic shape to the material (Frank 1931b: 34; Sobotka 1970: 243), or in 1420, ‘the first time an archi- tect declared: “from now on I shall build in the modern style”’ (Frank 1927a: 319). In this unbroken continuity, ‘machines are products and essential outcomes of the intellectual trajectory of the ancients, who made man the focus of all thought and the measure of all things’ (Frank 1931b: 137). The corollary of this continuity is that, even at the beginning of the 1930s, Frank saw no contradiction between the use of a historical architectural language and the comfort and functionality of modern needs (Museum of Modern Art 1932): It is entirely mistaken to believe that the machine age has created a new spirit, because this goal has always been sought, and to anyone who under- stands the full context, everything that has been created in Europe since the earliest days comes together wonderfully into a total image, without his sense for harmony compelling him to sit in a tubular steel chair because he has a bathtub. (Frank 1931b: 151–53) Conclusion It is only in the latest phase of his career, at the begin- ning of the 1960s, in the context of a considerably dif- ferent approach to modernity, that Frank admits the bio- graphical relevance of classical tradition: ‘lately I have ever more inclination towards classical culture, for I think that the abandonment of this tradition has caused much evil’ (Frank to Sobotka, Stockholm 18 November 1961, Sobotka 1970: 397). One could certainly argue that Frank was now simply joining the chorus of the prevailing critics of the modern movement. At the beginning of the 1960s, fur- thermore, in the prevailing historiographical approach, Frank stood on the margins of the architectural debate (Welzig 1998: 211–12). These late statements confirm a lifelong and to some extent contradictory search for the meaning of classi- cal tradition. Open to varietas and mediocritas, Frank’s ‘optimistic’ rethinking of classical tradition is a search for the basis of a true modern ‘humane’ architecture (Wlach 1912: 43; Frank post 1945?b: f. 28). Frank’s anthropocen- trism, based on man as the imperfect and relative meter of the world, constitutes his most original contribution to the interwar reception of classical tradition. The conclud- ing lines of Architektur als Symbol, using a literary classical topos, provide insight into this anthropocentrism: ‘Men are alike and yet all different from one another. The leaves of a tree are like each other, but we can never find two that are perfectly identical’ (Frank 1931b: 181). While the presence of Alberti is indisputable in Frank’s reference to varietas and concinnitas (Frank 1931b: 183), it is only implicit, having been strongly adapted to the contempo- rary discourse. Frank’s originality vis à vis his Viennese contempo- raries in his reception of antiquity and the Renaissance emerges on different levels. In his work, classical cat- egories are not separate objects of reflection but rather tightly linked to his thoughts on modernity. In the more general context of classical reception in Europe during the 1920s and the 1930s, Frank’s attention to varietas and mediocritas proved to be of the greatest originality. Frank’s path to antiquity and the Renaissance, inaugurated by his doctoral thesis, can lead researchers to examine the multiple facets of the reception of classical architecture in the 20th century, beyond searches for immutable norms, for Mediterranean purism or for authoritative references to antique monumentality with an ambiguous cultural background. Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and AnnehmlichkeitArt. 5, page 18 of 21 Notes 1 A first outline of Mayreder’s academic curriculum is in Cardamone (2002: 350–53), based on the Archiv Technische Universität (TU), Personalakt Mayreder Karl 797; further biographical elements are in Architekten- lexikon of the Architekturzentrum Wien, http://www. architektenlexikon.at/de/395.htm (accessed January 2019); on Mayreder as urban planner, see Jager (2018). 2 For Max Theuer thesis, see Rigorosen-Journal 2(4) (ex 1911/12), available in the Archiv TU. König, Theuer’s supervisor together with Josef Neuwirth, is explicitly mentioned in Alberti (1912: xxii–xxiii). 3 The original is in the Archiv TU Wien, 304 – 1909/10. 4 Archiv TU Wien, P.A. Fabiani, Diensttabelle No. 381, Blatt 2, curriculum Juli 1916. 5 Archiv TU Wien, P.A. Fabiani, ‘an das hochlöbliche Rektorat der k.k. Technischen Hochschule in Wien’, 16 March 1918, f. 1. 6 For the use of a strigilatum frieze in the Viennese con- text in which Frank operated, see the work of Oskar Strnad, above all a funerary monument dated 1908, photo MAK, V.S. 431, K.I. 13.841/7-8 or the Gartenhalle in the Frühjahrausstellung at the ÖMfKI 1912. 7 A Doric order is also used in Strnad’s villa for Dr Kranz in Raack, 1913, and in Strnad’s kleiner Vortragssaal of the Urania, 1915, in collaboration with Wlach and Frank (Meder and Fuks 2007: 141). 8 For biographical details on Lurje, see Cardamone (2002: 197–98) and now in Architektenlexikon of the Architekturzentrum Wien, http://www.architekten- lexikon.at/de/1437.htm (accessed February 2019) and Prokop (2016). An introduction to Lurje’s knowl- edge of antique and Renaissance iconography is in Cardamone (2002: 183–204). Competing Interests The author has no competing interests to declare. References Unpublished Sources Frank, J. post 1945?a. 2. 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In: Brucculeri, A and Frommel, S (eds.), Renaissance italienne et architecture au XIXe siècle. Interprétations et restitutions, 11–32. Rome: Campisano. Brucculeri, A and Frommel, S. (eds.). 2016. Renaissance italienne et architecture au XIXe siècle. Interprétations et restitutions. Rome: Campisano. Burckhardt, J. 1868. Geschichte der Renaissance in Italien. Stuttgart: Verlag von Ebner & Seubert. Cardamone, C. 2002. La tradizione classica negli scritti di architettura di Josef Frank. Unpublished thesis (PhD), Università degli Studi di Firenze. Cardamone, C. 2005. Gli architetti austriaci e l’Italia intorno al 1900. Storia dell’urbanistica. Toscana (Architetti in viaggio, suggestioni e immagini), 11: 93–114. Cardamone, C. 2006. Schede n° 65–67, 83, 94, 98. In: Morolli, G and Acidini, C (eds.), L’uomo del Rinascimento. Leon Battista Alberti e le arti a Firenze tra ragione e bellezza, 186–88, 214–15, 264, 269–270. Firenze: Mandragora. Cardamone, C. 2016a. 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Architectural Historiography in the Pedagogy of the Technische Hochschule in Vienna, 1875–1913. http://www.architektenlexikon.at/de/395.htm http://www.architektenlexikon.at/de/395.htm http://www.architektenlexikon.at/de/1437.htm http://www.architektenlexikon.at/de/1437.htm https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.ck https://arthistoriography.files.wordpress.com/2016/05/cardamone.pdf https://arthistoriography.files.wordpress.com/2016/05/cardamone.pdf https://arthistoriography.files.wordpress.com/2016/05/cardamone.pdf Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 19 of 21 Cohen, MA. 2014. Conclusion: Ten Principles for the Study of Proportional Systems in the History of Architecture. Architectural Histories, 2(1): 7. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.bw Czech, H. 1986. Ein Begriffsraster zur aktuellen Inter- pretation Josef Franks. Um Bau, 10 (August 1986): 105–20. In: Meder, I (ed.), Josef Frank. Eine Moderne der Unordnung. Salzburg — Wien — München: Verlag Anton Pustet, 2008. Dvořák, M. 1927. Geschichte der italienischen Kunst im Zeitalter der Renaissance. I. Das 14. und 15. Jahrhundert. München: Piper. Fischel, H. 1911. Die Ausstellung österreichischer Kunst- gewerbe im k. k. österreichischen Museum. Kunst und Kunsthandwerk, 14(12): 617–673. Frank, J. 1910. Ueber die urspruengliche Gestalt der kirchlichen Bauten des Leone Battista Alberti. Unpub- lished thesis (doctoral), Technische Hochschule Wien. Archiv TU, 304 — 1909/10. In: Bojankin, T, Long, C and Meder, I (eds.), Josef Frank. Schriften — Writings. Vol. 1. Veröffentliche Schriften, 47–119. Published Writings 1910–1930. Wien: Metroverlag, 2012. Frank, J. 1919a. Das neuzeitliche Landhaus. Innendekora- tion, 30(12): 410–15. Frank, J. 1919b. Die Einrichtung des Wohnzimmers. Innendekoration, 30(12): 416–19. Frank, J. 1926. Wiens moderne Architektur bis 1914. Der Aufbau, 1 (8–9): 162–68. In: Bojankin, T, Long, C and Meder, I (eds.), Josef Frank. Schriften — Writings. Vol. 1, Veröffentliche Schriften. 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Das Interieur, 13(6): 41–45. https://doi.org/10.2307/2505504 http://othes.univie.ac.at/8539/1/2009-12-16_0002375.pdf http://othes.univie.ac.at/8539/1/2009-12-16_0002375.pdf http:// https://doi.org/10.2307/990940 https://doi.org/10.2307/990940 https://doi.org/10.1086/RESvn1ms25608816 https://doi.org/10.1086/RESvn1ms25608816 https://doi.org/10.7551/mitpress/3527.001.0001 Cardamone: Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit Art. 5, page 21 of 21 How to cite this article: Cardamone, C. 2020. Varietas, Mediocritas and Annehmlichkeit: The Reception of the Classical Tradition in the Work of Josef Frank and Its Viennese Context. Architectural Histories, 8(1): 5, pp. 1–21. DOI: https://doi. org/10.5334/ah.424 Published: 15 May 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. OPEN ACCESS Architectural Histories is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.424 https://doi.org/10.5334/ah.424 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Introduction An Education in Classical Models Annehmlichkeit, Ornament, Artifices and Cladding: Frank’s Reading of Alberti Varietas: Frank’s Interiors around 1910 Architecture as Symbol: ‘Humane’ Architecture and Mediocritas Continuity of Thought Conclusion Notes Competing Interests References Unpublished Sources Published Sources Figure 1 Figure 2 Figure 3 Figure 4 Figure 5 Figure 6 Figure 7 Figure 8 Figure 9 Figure 10 Figure 11 Figure 12 Figure 13 Figure 14 Figure 15 Figure 16 Figure 17 Figure 18 Figure 19 Figure 20 
work_esyca52ph5f75dlhu4il5xlucm	----	c o n t r i b u t o r s João Pedro d’Alvarenga is Research Fellow of the CESEM- Centro de Estudos de Sociologia e Estética Musical (Centre for the Study of Sociology and Aesthetics of Music) at the Universidade Nova, Lisbon. He was Assistant Professor at the Universidade de Évora, where he taught from 1997 to 2010. He has published extensively on late medieval and sixteenth-, early seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Portuguese sacred vocal music and manuscript sources, and eighteenth-century keyboard music, especially that of Domenico Scarlatti and Carlos Seixas. Amanda Babington recently completed her PhD (‘Handel’s Messiah: The Creative Process’) and will shortly be complet- ing an edition of Handel’s Dettingen Te Deum and Dettingen Anthem for the Hallische Händel-Ausgabe. In addition to her academic work, Amanda directs the University of Manchester Baroque Orchestra and is a freelance violinist and recorder player with various period ensembles. Claudio Bacciagaluppi graduated in musicology from the Universität Zürich and completed his DPhil at the Univer- sité de Fribourg (Switzerland) with Luca Zoppelli. He is now Research Assistant at Fribourg and works for the Swiss branch of RISM. His field of research is sacred music in eighteenth-century Naples and in seventeenth-century Switzerland. His dissertation was published with the title Rom, Prag, Dresden: Pergolesi und die Neapolitanische Messe in Europa (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2010). Rogério Budasz is Associate Professor at the University of California, Riverside. He obtained his PhD from the Uni- versity of Southern California in 2001 and is interested in early instrumental and stage music in Portugal and Brazil. Emily I. Dolan is Assistant Professor of Music at the Uni- versity of Pennsylvania. Her research focuses on instru- ments, orchestration and the aesthetics of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, with particular emphasis on the intersections of music, science and technology. Angela Fiore has since 2004 been artistic coordinator of the Centro di Musica Antica Pietà de’ Turchini, Naples. She pursues research into the musical life of religious insti- tutions in Naples in the seventeenth and eighteenth centu- ries. In addition, she holds a diploma in violin from the Conservatorio D. Cimarosa, Avellino, and has specialized in baroque violin repertory on period instruments. She gives concerts in Italy and abroad, performing in orches- tras and chamber groups. Tony Gable read modern languages at Christ’s College, Cambridge and wrote his PhD on French renaissance drama, subsequently teaching at the University of East Anglia and at Queen Mary, University of London. His main musical interest is in the work of Mozart’s contemporaries. Emily H. Green has recently received an American Council of Learned Societies New Faculty Fellowship, and is spend- ing 2011–2013 as a Postdoctoral Fellow at Yale University. She was awarded her PhD by Cornell University in 2009 and is completing a book on the functions of dedications in the context of late eighteenth-century consumerism. She is also active as a pianist and fortepianist. Jane Schatkin Hettrick, Professor emeritus, Rider Univer- sity, has edited the masses, symphonies and organ concerto of Antonio Salieri (published by A-R Editions, Doblinger, Garland and Denkmäler der Tonkunst in Österreich) as well as music by Florian Gaßmann, Franz Schneider, Anna Bon, Pietro Sales and other eighteenth-century composers. A concert organist and practising church musician, her interests focus on the intersection of music and theology. She served on the final editorial board of the hymnal Lu- theran Worship (St Louis: Concordia, 1982) and has written extensively on liturgy and sacred music. A recent article, ‘A Cautionary Tale’ (The American Organist, June 2010), exposing corruption in the hiring practices of church or- ganists, generated considerable reaction in professional organist circles. Ludwig Holtmeier received his PhD from the Technische Universität Berlin and is currently Professor of Music Theory at the Hochschule für Musik Freiburg. He is one of the editors of the journal Musik & Ästhetik, former president of the Gesellschaft für Musik und Ästhetik and a co-founder of the Gesellschaft für Musiktheorie. His publications in- clude ‘From “Musiktheorie” to “Tonsatz”: National Social- ism and German Music Theory after 1945’ (Music Analysis 23/2–3 (2004)) and ‘Heinichen, Rameau, and the Italian Thoroughbass Tradition: Concepts of Tonality and Chord in the Rule of the Octave’ (Journal of Music Theory 51/1 (2007)). Christine Jeanneret is Assistant Professor at the Université de Genève. Her research focuses on the philology, codicol- ogy and making of critical editions of Italian renaissance and baroque music. She is currently working on several international projects in the fields of the late madrigal (The Marenzio Project, working to create a new dynamic digital edition of Marenzio’s works), Roman keyboard music, Venetian opera and Roman cantatas. David Wyn Jones is Professor of Music at Cardiff Univer- sity, where he is currently Head of the School of Music. He has published widely on music of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, specifically music of Haydn and Beethoven, and practices of music dissemination. His biog- raphy of Haydn in the Cambridge University Press Musical Lives series was published in 2009, and a major contextual study, The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna, appeared in 2006 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). He is cur- rently engaged on a cultural history of music in Vienna from 1600 to 1900. Jonathan Keates teaches at the City of London School. He is the author of Handel, The Man & His Music (revised edition, London: Bodley Head, 2008) and Purcell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995). He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. Martin Küster is currently completing his dissertation (‘Vocal and Instrumental Music Theory in Eighteenth- Eighteenth-Century Music 8/2, 173–174 © Cambridge University Press, 2011 doi:10.1017/S1478570611000029 173https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570611000029 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570611000029 https://www.cambridge.org/core Century Germany’) at Cornell University. His interests in- clude the intersections of music history and music theory, eighteenth-century song, historically informed perfor- mance and analysis. Ellen Lockhart has recently completed a PhD in music- ology at Cornell University. She is now begininning a three-year postdoctoral fellowship at Princeton Univer- sity’s Society of Fellows in the Liberal Arts. Justin London is Professor of Music at Carleton College in Northfield, MN, where he teaches courses in music theory, aesthetics, music psychology and the Delta Blues. He has written on a wide range of subjects, from humour in Haydn to the perception and cognition of complex metres. He served as President of the Society for Music Theory in 2007–2009. Barbara M. Reul is Associate Professor of Musicology at Luther College, University of Regina. Since 2008 she has served as president of the International Fasch Society, based in Zerbst/Anhalt in Germany. The volume Music at German Courts, 1715–1760: Changing Artistic Priorities, which she edited and translated with Samantha Owens and Janice B. Stockigt and to which she contributed, was recently published by Boydell & Brewer. David Sears is a doctoral student in music theory at McGill University. His current research compares notions of closure in the history of music theory with perceptual principles that define closure as a vehicle for arresting expectation. Yael Sela (DPhil, University of Oxford) is Postdoctoral Fellow in Musicology at the Hebrew University of Jerusa- lem. Her research focuses on domestic musical culture, patronage, gender and musical representation of identity in early modern England and eighteenth-century Germany. Steven Zohn is Associate Professor of Music History at Temple University. He is the author of Music for a Mixed Taste: Style, Genre, and Meaning in Telemann’s Instrumen- tal Works (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), which received the William H. Scheide Prize of the Ameri- can Bach Society, and has recently completed work on a critical edition of Telemann’s secular cantatas. In addition to his research on music of the German late baroque period, he is professionally active as a baroque flautist. � c o n t r i b u t o r s � 174https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570611000029 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570611000029 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_f3fuzpnijvc6nk5axrr6bsjkce	----	The Gravity of an Edge Applied Network ScienceHelander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 https://doi.org/10.1007/s41109-018-0063-6 RESEARCH Open Access The gravity of an edge Mary E. Helander1* and Sarah McAllister2 *Correspondence: meheland@syr.edu 1IBM T. J. Watson Research Center, Applied Data Science, P.O. Box 218, Yorktown Heights, NY 10598, USA Full list of author information is available at the end of the article Abstract We describe a methodology for characterizing the relative structural importance of an arbitrary network edge by exploiting the properties of a k-shortest path algorithm. We introduce the metric Edge Gravity, measuring how often an edge occurs in any possible network path, as well as k-Gravity, a lower bound based on paths enumerated while solving the k-shortest path problem. The methodology is demonstrated using Granovetter’s original strength of weak ties network examples as well as the well-known Florentine families of the Italian Renaissance and the Krebs 2001 terrorist networks. The relationship to edge betweenness is established. It is shown that important edges, i.e. ones with a high Edge Gravity, are not necessarily adjacent to nodes of importance as identified by standard centrality metrics, and that key nodes, i.e. ones with high centrality, often have their importance bolstered by being adjacent to bridges to nowhere–e.g. ones with low Edge Gravity. It is also demonstrated that Edge Gravity distinguishes critically important bridges or local bridges from those of lesser structural importance. Keywords: Bridges to nowhere, Edge betweenness, k-shortest path (KSP), Edge Gravity, k-Gravity, Node centrality, Path enumeration, Social network analysis, Strength of weak ties, Structural importance, Ties that bind Introduction Much attention has been given to assessing the importance of actors–i.e., the nodes–in a social network. This focus coincides with norms of contemporary Western culture, which place a higher value on individual achievement, competition, and personal prowess than on cooperative achievement, collaboration, and the forging of strong relationships. In this paper, we eschew node importance and instead consider the question, How important is an arbitrary network edge? Motivating our interest is the fact that relationships are the very essence of social networks; the interpretation of an edge as a relationship tie or link between people distinguishes social networks from the graphs used to model and analyze transportation systems, the Internet, scheduling and sequencing problems, and various other applications. The notion of social network edge importance has existed throughout history, although it has not always been studied algorithmically via network models and analytics. Consider, for example, cultures that practice arranged marriages, where matchmaking is a means of connecting families to ensure the passage of wealth, establish power, perpetuate fam- ily business interests, and so forth (Hussain 1999). In a social setting, structural changes typically occur when an existing relationship is severed (divorce, the end of a friendship, © The Author(s). 2018 Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s41109-018-0063-6&domain=pdf http://orcid.org/0000-0002-5185-6867 mailto: meheland@syr.edu http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 2 of 35 leaving an organization) or a new one created (marriage, making a new friend, profes- sional networking). Relationships are often easier to form or dissolve in groups where people remain fairly constant. On the other hand, adding or removing nodes–actors in the social network–is more difficult and often carries a higher cost, whether that be the hiring process in business or the loss of an individual in a personal network. Quantification of the importance of a relationship, either existing or proposed–independent of the impor- tance of the actors–appears to be useful for the maintenance of existing relationships and the cultivation of new ones. The edge importance problem This work was inspired by the research question, How important is an arbitrary individual edge in a network? After thoughtful consideration, we realized that first and foremost, meaningful quantification of edge importance, distinct and separate from node centrality, is essential. In social network theory, edge betweenness–a metric based on shortest paths–is the predominant metric for characterizing the importance of a relationship between actors. Other notable notions of edge importance to network structure are those of bridges and local bridges. The designation of a bridge is a form of edge structural importance, albeit a binary one. The mathematical concept of bridging was first introduced by Harary et al. (1965). For undirected graphs, an edge (i, j) is a bridge when (i, j) is the only path from i to j. The removal of a bridge disconnects a network. The concept of local bridging was explored in a sociological context by Granovetter in (1983) and (1973). Granovetter remarked that true bridges are unlikely in large social networks, where alternate paths are common. However, such alternate paths may be rather long and thus inefficient routes for information transmission. A local bridge is an edge whose removal would not necessar- ily disconnect the network but would still be significantly disruptive to information flow. More precisely, local bridges are edges (i, j) where the next shortest path from i to j has a length of at least three. Hence, local bridges facilitate information flow between parts of the network that would otherwise be distant and difficult to reach. Granovetter (1973) further noted that every local bridge is a “weak tie”, though not every weak tie is a local bridge. Hence, weak ties in a social network can play an important role in information diffusion when they serve as local bridges between more well-connected portions of the network. The key idea is that actors with strong ties are likely to have many mutual friends and to be privy to the same information flow, and hence do not bridge the gaps between disparate groups. On the other hand, weak ties are more likely to be effective paths for disseminating new information between groups of individuals that have strong ties to one another within, but not between, the groups. Today, the idea that weak ties are most significant in helping job seekers to successfully find employment is a well-accepted notion in social network theory. (See, for example, Jackson (2005) or Granovetter (1995)). Granovetter (1973) remarked that local bridges earn their significance by creating more paths. This is based on the idea put forward by Davies (1966) that information flow from one person to another is directly proportional to the quantity of all possible paths between those two actors–unlike with transportation, the Internet, scheduling and sequencing, and various other network applications where paths play an important role in route planning. The insights of Granovetter and Davies are consistent with the notion that information flow in a social network is rarely prescribed along a designated path in Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 3 of 35 advance–as might be the case in route planning, for example, when navigating a vehicle from a point of origin to a destination on a roadway network. Following the insights of Granovetter and Davies, the concept of Edge Gravity emerged as a natural metric that can be computed algorithmically as the number of paths in a net- work that rely on a particular edge. Edge Gravity extends the notion of edge betweenness while elevating appreciation for edges that are involved in alternate paths (of any length). Indeed, Edge Gravity provides a way of assessing the structural importance of an edge based on how often that edge appears in any path, rather than restricting attention only to shortest paths, as is the case with edge betweenness. Our methodology provides a systematic approach to identifying and ranking the most structurally important edges in a given network and is based on observing and quantifying the number of times a particular edge appears in any possible network path. For networks where all paths can be enumerated, Edge Gravity can be computed exactly in polynomial time by an adaptation of the k-shortest path algorithm. For networks where not all paths can be enumerated, a lower bound for Edge Gravity is found in polynomial time by the same algorithmic approach. In either case, the gravity of an edge, or its lower bound, is useful for ranking the importance of an edge, leading to an exact or estimated ranking respectively. We were motivated by the remark of Granovetter that local bridges earn their signifi- cance by creating more paths. We tested this hypothesis to see whether Edge Gravity could effectively identify and rank the local bridges of Granovetter’s examples. Our results were positive; in fact, they indicate that it is very practical to use path enumeration to quantify and rank relative edge importance. Due to the uncertain nature of information flow in a social network, more paths gener- ally mean more transmission efficiency–a notion that is mathematically consistent with established research in the field of network reliability and communications. See, for exam- ple, Ball (1980) and Colbourn (1987), who also note the NP– and �P–completeness of problems and computations where full-path enumeration is required for exactness. Here, we leverage Miaou and Chin’s observation (Miaou and Chin 1991) that a k-shortest path algorithm may find all paths for a large network. They observed that solving the k-shortest path problem can be used for generating alternate paths in large transportation net- works and showed that sometimes (depending on the selection of k), a polynomial time algorithm ends up enumerating all paths in the network. We exploit these properties of k-shortest path algorithms for computing the Edge Grav- ity metric exactly, or finding a lower bound (called, k-Gravity) to indicate the relative importance of a network edge. We infer from Eppstein’s work (Eppstein 1998) that solving the k-shortest path problem while enumerating all possible network paths is possible in, for example, O(m + n log n + kn) time. As is common in graph theoretical applications, we sidestep the computational issues posed by an underlying intractable problem (in our case, complete path enumeration) by noticing that most of the time, the worst case is rare. (See, for example, Chandrasekaran et al. (2008) and Liu et al. (2012)). General motivation and domain relevance Edge Gravity and its implications for structural importance of social network components is relevant to several application domains where finding and prioritizing edges may help to solve entrenched societal problems. For example, proposing new edges or isolating Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 4 of 35 existing ones could be a promising way to advance diplomacy or public policy when echo chambers may be responsible for perpetuating divisive attitudes. Conversely, finding important existing or potential edges between otherwise isolated populations is already known to be helpful in quarantining fast-spreading infectious diseases. In general, Edge Gravity offers a quantification and ranking approach that may be helpful for new socio- logical studies aimed at improving the deeper understanding of how relationships pertain to the effectiveness of human activities such as job-seeking, fund-raising, and more. Paper organization The rest of the paper is organized as follows. The next section details the methodology: an algorithm for quantifying the importance (gravity) of a network edge. We also show how the ranking of edges by gravity leads to straightforward ways to identify important local bridges (i.e., a subset of Granovetter’s weak ties), which we nickname ties that bind, as well as structurally unimportant bridges, which we nickname bridges to nowhere. We apply the algorithm to a small network in order to illustrate all the mechanical steps of the methodology, including path enumeration. The third section, Case Studies, applies the Edge Gravity Algorithm and associated methodology to four well-known social net- works: two of Granovetter’s examples (Granovetter 1973), the Florentine families network of the Italian Renaissance (Wasserman and Faust 1999), and the Krebs terrorist network (Krebs 2002). The fourth section revisits the case study examples from the perspective of comparing the Edge Gravity analysis to that of established edge metrics. In the final section, we compare and contrast our findings with those of other researchers, past and present, and offer a summary of the main points of this paper, general conclusions, and suggestions for future work. Methodology This section describes the methodology used to quantify edges, either exactly or as a lower bound, and then rank them, either exactly or approximately, by their importance as measured by gravity. The gravity labels are then used to isolate an edge set that we have nicknamed ties that bind. We also discuss how isolating the ties that bind helps to distinguish bridges of lesser importance, which we have nicknamed bridges to nowhere. We show that the algorithm produces its results very efficiently. Definitions and notation Noting that we can convert any undirected network to a digraph by replacing each undirected edge with a directed arc in each direction, we develop the more general methodology for digraphs. We begin with the following definitions: Edge Gravity is a non-negative integer value calculated for a specific edge, representing the number of times the edge occurs in any network path. For a digraph D (V , A) with vertex set V and arc set A, we denote � (a) as the gravity label for an arc a ∈ A. Edge Gravity Ranking is found by ordering the arc set A according to the descending value of � (a). Ties that Bind is the subset of edges that have a high gravity value. We call the most important edges, identified by the gravity edge metric, ties that bind because they are the edges that locally bridge portions of a network which might otherwise be disconnected or difficult to reach. Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 5 of 35 Bridges to Nowhere is the subset of edges that are bridges but have a low gravity value. Bridges are typically considered important because the removal of a bridge discon- nects the network. However, the disconnection caused by the removal of a bridge in this set is less important because the disconnection is only to a relatively small component (e.g., a single node or a small node subset). Miaou and Chin (1991) showed that it is possible to use a k-shortest path algorithm to generate alternate paths for large road transportation networks. A side result of Miaou and Chin (1991) was the discovery that given a sufficiently large value of k, the complete collection of all possible network paths can often be obtained in polynomial time. For the undirected case, edge labels are formed by summing the replacement arc labels. Let k∗ denote the smallest k for which implementing the k-shortest path algorithm may produce all possible network paths. When the k-shortest path algorithm terminates by finding at most the h-shortest paths, with h < k, for every origin-destination pair, then k∗ is observable. In fact, this termination condition indicates that all paths have been enumerated and that k∗ is equal to the value of h. The Edge Gravity Algorithm described in the next section determines all the gravity labels for edges while finding k∗ when k is adequately large. When k∗ is not found, the labels can be used to find lower bounds for Edge Gravity and an approximate edge ranking. The Edge Gravity algorithm Given digraph D (V , A) with node set V, arc set A, n = |V |, m = |A|, and positive integer k, the following algorithm creates a non-negative integer label � (a) for each a ∈ A and specifies the value of k∗ if found. Initialization Step: Set � (a) ←− 0 for all a ∈ A, and set k∗ ←− Undefined. For each r ∈ V , repeat the main steps: Main Steps: Step 1: Find the k-shortest paths from root node r to every other node i ∈ V . Step 2: For each path identified in Step 1, let P ⊆ A denote the set of arcs in the path. For each a ∈ P, set � (a) ←− � (a) + 1. Step 3: Let kr = maxi∈V [ kr,i], where kr,i is the number of paths found from root node r to node i, for all i ∈ V . Final Step: Let k̃ = maxr∈V [ kr]. If k̃ < k, then k∗ ←− k̃. (In other words, all paths have been enumerated.) Otherwise, we know that k∗ ≥ k must be true, but k∗ remains Undefined. Because the dominant step is finding the k-shortest paths (i.e., Step 1), the algorithm complexity follows from the k-shortest path algorithm applied–for example, O(m + n log n + kn) following Eppstein (1998). Furthermore, note that any algorithm for solv- ing the k-shortest path problem may be used for this step. In fact, since the earlier works in this area by Miaou and Chin (1991) and Eppstein (1998), the k-shortest path problem has received much attention, including more recently by Bhosle (2005), Hershberger et al. (2007), Feng (2014), Kurz and Mutzel (2016), and Wen et al. (2017). The set of bridges to nowhere is easily identified by recursively removing edges which have one endpoint node with degree one. The ties that bind, while not as precisely defined, are the collection of edges with the largest Edge Gravity. Like edge betweenness, Edge Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 6 of 35 Gravity favors edges that connect dense subgroups. The number to include in this group is similar in concept to that of the number of recalculations of edge betweenness and removal in Newman and Girvan’s (2004) approach for finding community structure in networks. Translation of Edge Gravity labels to undirected edges The algorithm can be applied to an undirected graph G (V , E), where V is the set of nodes and E is the set of undirected edges, in the following way. For each edge (i, j) ∈ E, we create two arcs, a ≡ (i, j) and à ≡ (j, i), in the set A. The output of the Edge Gravity Algorithm provides labels for arcs � (a) and � (à), which are the arc gravity metrics for each arc. The Edge Gravity label is the sum of the two replacement arcs � (a) and � (à). Interpreting Edge Gravity labels when k∗ is found Note that Miaou and Chin (1991) demonstrated that k-shortest path algorithms were capable of generating large sets of alternate paths, sometimes finding and enumerating all paths. Eppstein (1998) showed that the k-shortest path could be solved on a digraph D (V , A) in O (m + n log n + kn) time. The Edge Gravity Algorithm enumerates all paths in the digraph D (V , A) if it terminates with k∗ defined. In this case, the arc label � (a) indicates the number of times the arc is included over all possible paths in the network. Interpreting Edge Gravity labels when k∗ is not found For the examples and case studies of this paper, we are able to find k∗ when the Edge Gravity Algorithm terminates by successively increasing the value of k. For dense social networks that have large numbers of paths of equal length, it may be that k grows arbitrar- ily large or that computational resources are exhausted. Since path enumeration belongs to the class of �P–complete computation problems, it may be that the Edge Gravity Algo- rithm is unable to enumerate all paths or to terminate with a definite k∗ value. However, if k∗ remains undefined, then the gravity arc labels � (a) are useful for computing valid lower bounds on the true number of times the arc is included over all possible paths in the network. This is because at least a subset of all paths is revealed. Note that when k∗ is found, then for undirected networks, � (a) and � (à) measure the use of the edge by all paths, in one direction and then the other, and thus will be equal. If k∗ remains Undefined, then a greater lower bound on an edge’s gravity is given by 2 max{� (a), � (à)} instead of � (a) + � (à). This is due to the symmetry of path usage when k∗ is found. We call this lower bound the k-Gravity of a. It is interesting to note that � (a) > � (à) implies that � (a) is more frequently involved in shorter paths than � (à). For the undirected edge that was replaced by � (a) and � (à), this has implications for higher frequency of the edge’s use in one direction for shorter paths. This also suggests the need for exploration of the use of the algorithm for deeper insights into information transmission and efficiencies, which we leave for future work. Illustration of Edge Gravity concepts We begin by examining simple examples in order to illustrate the details of our method- ology and to develop intuition for analysis of the results. For reference, Table 1 pro- vides a list of network examples and case studies to be used in this section and the following. Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 7 of 35 Table 1 Network examples and case studies used in this paper–i.e., a summary of inputs with their sources when applicable Network example Nodes (n) Edges (m) Network visualization Data source Small example A 5 6 Fig. 1 a Small example B 8 10 Fig. 4 a Granovetter ’73 example A 10 21 Fig. 7 Granovetter (1973) Granovetter ’73 example B 25 41 Fig. 8 ibid. Florentine families 16 20 Fig. 13 Wasserman and Faust (1999) Florentine families–reduced 16 15 Fig. 13 ibid.b Krebs 19 27 Fig. 18 Krebs (2002) Krebs–augmented 19 33 Fig. 18 ibid. The indicator a denotes a network example created for this paper. The indicator b denotes a modification within this paper of the sourced network example Example illustrating path enumeration and the Edge Gravity labels To illustrate the Edge Gravity Algorithm, the value of the underlying path enumeration, and the related methodology, consider the simple five-node example in Fig. 1. The list of all possible paths in the network–from each node to all other nodes, enumerated while executing the k-shortest path solution (see Main Steps, Step 1) of the Edge Gravity Algorithm–are shown in Table 2. Note that 58 total paths were found and that k∗=4. In other words, we found that the Edge Gravity Algorithm terminated with a defined k∗, and that all 58 paths are enumerated for any evocation of the Edge Gravity Algorithm with k ≥ 4. The bar chart in Fig. 2 shows the edge labels and ranking after the Edge Gravity Algo- rithm terminates, evoked with any k ≥ 4. The only bridge in this network is edge (3, 5). That is, (3,5) is the only edge whose removal would increase the number of sub- components; this edge deletion would disconnect node 5 from the rest of the network. However, Fig. 2 shows that according to Edge Gravity, (3, 5) is a relatively unimportant Fig. 1 An example used to illustrate the Edge Gravity Algorithm Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 8 of 35 Table 2 Path enumeration for the small example in Fig. 1 From → To Paths From → To Paths From → To Paths 1 → 2 {(1, 2)}** 2 → 4 {(2, 4)} ** 4 → 2 {(4, 2)} ** 1 → 2 {(1, 3), (3, 2)} 2 → 4 {(2, 3), (3, 4)} 4 → 2 {(4, 3), (3, 2)} 1 → 2 {(1, 3), (3, 4), (4, 2)} 2 → 4 {(2, 1), (1, 3), (3, 4)} 4 → 2 {(4, 3), (3, 1), (1, 2)} 1 → 3 {(1, 3)}** 2 → 5 {(2, 3), (3, 5)} ** 4 → 3 {(4, 3)} ** 1 → 3 {(1, 2), (2, 3)} 2 → 5 {(2, 1), (1, 3), (3, 5)} 4 → 3 {(4, 2), (2, 3)} 1 → 3 {(1, 2), (2, 4), (4, 3)} 2 → 5 {(2, 4), (4, 3), (3, 5)} 4 → 3 {(4, 2), (2, 1), (1, 3)} 1 → 4 {(1, 2), (2, 4)} ** 3 → 1 {(3, 1)} ** 4 → 5 {(4, 3), (3, 5)} ** 1 → 4 {(1, 3), (3, 4)} ** 3 → 1 {(3, 2), (2, 1)} 4 → 5 {(4, 2), (2, 3), (3, 5)} 1 → 4 {(1, 3), (3, 2), (2, 4)} 3 → 1 {(3, 4), (4, 2), (2, 1)} 4 → 5 {(4, 2), (2, 1), (1, 3), (3, 5)} 1 → 4 {(1, 2), (2, 3), (3, 4)} 1 → 5 {(1, 3), (3, 5)} ** 3 → 2 {(3, 2)} ** 5 → 1 {(5, 3), (3, 1)} ** 1 → 5 {(1, 2), (2, 3), (3, 5)} 3 → 2 {(3, 1), (1, 2)} 5 → 1 {(5, 3), (3, 2), (2, 1)} 1 → 5 {(1, 2), (2, 4), (4, 3), (3, 5)} 3 → 2 {(3, 4), (4, 2)} 5 → 1 {(5, 3), (3, 4), (4, 2), (2, 1)} 2 → 1 {(2, 1)} ** 3 → 4 {(3, 4)} ** 5 → 2 {(5, 3), (3, 2)} ** 2 → 1 {(2, 3), (3, 1)} 3 → 4 {(3, 2), (2, 4)} 5 → 2 {(5, 3), (3, 1), (1, 2)} 2 → 1 {(2, 4), (4, 3), (3, 1)} 3 → 4 {(3, 1), (1, 2), (2, 4)} 5 → 2 {(5, 3), (3, 4), (4, 2)} 3 → 5 {(3, 5)}** 5 → 3 {(5, 3)} ** 2 → 3 {(2, 3)} ** 4 → 1 {(4, 2), (2, 1)} ** 5 → 4 {(5, 3), (3, 4)} ** 2 → 3 {(2, 1), (1, 3)} 4 → 1 {(4, 3), (3, 1)} ** 5 → 4 {(5, 3), (3, 2), (2, 4)} 2 → 3 {(2, 4), (4, 3)} 4 → 1 {(4, 3), (3, 2), (2, 1)} 5 → 4 {(5, 3), (3, 1), (1, 2), (2, 4)} 4 → 1 {(4, 2), (2, 3), (3, 1)} All 58 paths were found by executing the Edge Gravity Algorithm with any k ≥ 4 (k∗ = 4). The subset of shortest paths are indicated by ** edge. This reveals that although edge (3,5) is the most important (and only) relationship for node 5, other edges that rank more highly with respect to Edge Gravity contribute more to the totality of paths in the network and therefore represent relationships that are more structurally important to the potential for information dissemination. For this small example, we designate edge (3, 5) as a bridge to nowhere. Fig. 2 Edge Gravity (EG), Edge Betweenness (EB), and rankings for the network example in Fig. 1 Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 9 of 35 For this example, edges (1, 2) and (2, 4) have the greatest Edge Gravity (tied), followed by edges (1, 3) and (3, 4) (also tied). The most important edges may be formed by these four edges, and removing either sequential pair (1, 2) and (1, 3) or pair (2, 4) and (3, 4) would disconnect the network. Note that removing the top two edges, (1, 2) and (2, 4), would not disconnect the network–illustrating an important distinction between Edge Gravity and cut sets (see Colbourn (1987) for a definition of a network cut set). It is interesting to note that the edges with the highest Edge Gravity are also the edges farthest away from the bridge to node 5. To further illustrate the Edge Gravity Algorithm and related methodology, we applied the algorithm successively for k = 1, 2, 3, 4. Figure 3 shows the progress of the Edge Grav- ity labels for each edge in this series. In the special case when k = 1 and all shortest paths are unique, the k-shortest path solution is equivalent to the shortest path solution for the network. Shortest paths, used to compute edge betweenness, are indicated by ** in Table 2. It was easy to enumerate all network paths and thus find k∗ = 4. By successively solving the Edge Gravity Algorithm for k = 1, 2, 3, 4, we were able to illustrate the methodology points regarding the case where k∗ is not found. First, we observe from Fig. 3 that the Edge Gravity labels are, as expected, monotonically increasing in k, which emphasizes their utility as valid lower bound values for Edge Gravity. Next, we observe that the ranking of the edges by gravity score changes for k = 1, 2, 3 but is the same for k = 3 and k = 4, even though the Edge Gravity magnitudes are different. In this case, solving for k = 3 would have found the Edge Gravity ranking while not enumerating all network paths. Extending the example: ties that bind and bridges to nowhere The analysis of the small example in Fig. 1 suggests that a bridge such as (3, 5), which con- nects a network to only one additional node, is not a very interesting bridge. We observed that although the bridging edge is the most important (and only) relationship for node 5, it is the least beneficial to the rest of the network in terms of creating alternate path struc- ture and facilitating information flow. In this sense, we can view edge (3,5) as a bridge to Fig. 3 Edge Gravity solutions for the network example in Fig. 1, found by solving successively with k = 1, 2, 3, 4 (k∗ = 4) Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 10 of 35 nowhere, since the information passing over the bridge has no place farther to travel after reaching node 5. The analysis also raises the issue of how the importance of bridge (3,5) may be impacted by the discovery of additional nodes connected to the bridging node 5. We turn to this question next. To extend the small example, suppose we discover that the isolated node 5 is indeed connected to additional nodes. We investigate such a scenario in the network represented in Fig. 4. The gravity solutions, as well as the intermediate solutions found by successive iterations of the Edge Gravity Algorithm, converge with k∗ = 6 (180 total paths) and k∗ = 12 (296 total paths) respectively. In the extended example, we see that edge (3,5) suddenly becomes the most important edge when, as a more interesting bridge, it spans the gap between two groups of nodes that would not otherwise be connected to one another (see Figs. 5 and 6). In the extended example, edge (3, 5) may now be considered a tie that binds. Case studies Next, we apply the Edge Gravity Algorithm and methodology to several well-known examples from the social network literature. The examples under consideration are the hypothetical examples of Granovetter (1973), the Florentine families network of the Ital- ian Renaissance ((Wasserman and Faust 1999), and the Krebs terrorist network (Krebs 2002). We chose to examine these well-known small networks because doing so pro- vides an opportunity to develop insights about the types of structural features that can be revealed by Edge Gravity. Furthermore, the well-known case studies allow us to compare Edge Gravity to previous methodologies, in order to gain a better understanding of the fundamental differences in the way Edge Gravity works compared to existing metrics. In particular, the insights gained allow us to identify and address shortcomings of existing methods, such as edge betweenness. Fig. 4 Extension considered for the example of Fig. 1 Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 11 of 35 Fig. 5 Edge Gravity (EG) and Edge Betweenness (EB) solutions for the example extension in Fig. 4 Granovetter’s examples We examine the two network examples given by Granovetter (1973) when he introduced the concept of the strength of weak ties. These examples are given in Figure 7 and Figure 8. The dashed purple lines represent weak ties that are not local bridges, while the dashed orange represent weak ties that are local bridges. The Edge Gravity labels and ranking for the Granovetter examples can be seen in Figs. 9, 10, 11, and 12. For Example A (Fig. 7), we see that the edges with the highest Edge Gravity ranking are indeed the local bridges (A,B) and (E,I) discussed by Granovetter. Notice in Figs. 9 and 10 that the local bridges (A,B) and (E,I) are involved in significantly more paths than any other edges in the network. Indeed, edge (A,B) is included in 8,664 paths (59% of all paths) and edge (E,I) is included in 7,884 paths (53% of all paths). However, the edges ranked third and fourth in this example only appear in 5,174 paths each (35% of all paths). This observation supports the validity of Granovetter’s conjecture that local bridges are important because of their involvement in many network paths. Similarly, for Example B (Fig. 8), we observe that the Edge Gravity Algorithm identi- fies the local bridges (I,L), (A,B), (F,Y), (Q,R), and (R,T) of Granovetter; the local bridges enjoy the highest ranking and are included in a significantly larger number of total paths than the other edges, as evidenced by Figs. 11 and 12. The local bridges identified by Gra- novetter in each of these examples are indeed the ties that bind the networks together, as demonstrated by the Edge Gravity Algorithm. Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 12 of 35 Fig. 6 Edge Gravity solutions for the example extension in Fig. 4 when solving the Edge Gravity Algorithm successively for k = 1, 2, 3, . . . , 12. k∗ = 12 Fig. 7 Granovetter’s 1973 Example A network Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 13 of 35 Fig. 8 Granovetter’s 1973 Example B network Notice that the fourth- and fifth-ranking edges–(Q,R) and (R,T)–are both required to span the gap between node Q and node T. Node R therefore enjoys a high level of bro- kerage, since any information passing from node Q to node T must pass through node R. Indeed, according to the methods of Valente and Fujimoto (2010) and Everett and Valente (2016), node R ranks highest in terms of brokerage. However, each of these individual edges (Q,R) and (R,T) are ranked lower than the other three local bridges of this example. In other words, the relationships (I,L), (A,B), and (F,Y) are each more structurally impor- tant to the network because they are able to reduce distances on their own. Considered individually, the relationships (Q,R) and (R,T) are weaker in terms of their contribution to overall network structure because they must function together, with the help of node R acting as an intermediary broker, in order to transmit information. Observe that both of Granovetter’s examples include local bridges, but not true bridges. As such, these examples do not contain any bridges to nowhere, which can be easily veri- fied by visual inspection of Figs. 9, 10, 11, and 12. Indeed, while the top-ranked ties that bind separate themselves significantly from the other edges, no edges stand out at the bottom of the ranking as being included in significantly fewer paths. Instead, the decline in path inclusion among the edges in these examples is gradual, except for the decline following the top-ranked edges (ties that bind). Florentine families network We analyze the classic example of the Florentine families network, following the use of this example by Wasserman and Faust through several chapters of their book (Wasserman and Faust 1999). Illustrated in Fig. 13, the network represents marriage relationships among families with political, economic, and social power during the Italian Renaissance. The Edge Gravity Algorithm was applied, and successfully enumerated all paths (a total of 4,128) when executed for any k ≥ 33 (i.e., k∗ = 33 was found). Indeed, the bar chart of Fig. 14 shows the final labels and ranking for all edges in the net- work, as assigned by the Edge Gravity Algorithm. The highest-ranking edge with respect to Edge Gravity–i.e., the edge that appears in the most paths–is (4, 7), Bischeri-Guadagni Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 14 of 35 Fig. 9 Edge Gravity (EG) and Edge Betweenness (EB) solutions for Granovetter’s Example A (appearing in 2,102 paths, or 51% of all paths). The closest actor to Medici in this pair is Guadagni: The shortest path from Medici to Guadagni has length 2, and the shortest path from Medici to Bischeri has length 3. The second highest-ranking edge with respect to Edge Gravity is (13, 15), Ridolfi-Strozzi (appearing in 1,960 paths, or 47% of all paths). The edge ranked third is (3, 5), Barbadori-Castellan (appearing in 1,860, or 45% of all paths). The top three edges, while not individually bridges, can be considered ties that bind: Note that if all three are removed, they disconnect two subcomponents of families. Furthermore, in Fig. 13, note that the top three edges are each 4-local bridges. Figure 15 reveals that the top three edges (ties that bind) as well as the bottom five edges (bridges to nowhere) separate themselves in a significant way from the rest of the Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 15 of 35 Fig. 10 Edge Gravity solutions for Granovetter’s Example A when solving KSP for k = 1, 2, 3, . . . , 416 edges. That is, while “average” edges enjoy a gradual decline of path inclusion, the ties that bind stand out as being included in significantly more paths than a typical edge, while the bridges to nowhere stand out as being included in significantly fewer. The House of Medici, represented by node 9 in Fig. 13, is widely understood to be the most important node in this network. It is well-known that the Medici family ranks highest for several standard social network node centrality analytics. It is interesting to note that according to the Edge Gravity ranking, the top seven edges do not involve the Medici family. Indeed, the Medici family first appears in the edge ranked eighth (out of a total of 20 edges), which is edge (3, 9), Barbadori-Medici. Observe that although the Medici family enjoys high node degree and centrality measures, this importance derives in part from edges (10,14) and (1,9), which are bridges to nowhere, as well as edge (9,14), which becomes a bridge to nowhere after edge (10,14) is removed. These three edges, while important for the individual nodes reached by the bridges, have little impact on the relationship structure of the network as a whole. These edges, as well as edges (2,6) and (7,8), also bridges to nowhere, are indicated by blue lines in Fig. 13. We removed Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 16 of 35 Fig. 11 Edge Gravity (EG) and Edge Betweenness (EB) solutions for Granovetter’s Example B the bridges to nowhere and reanalyzed the resulting network structure to discover that edge (4,7) remains the highest-ranking edge, while the edges ranked second and third change places with each other. Edge (3,9), Barbadori-Medici, increases slightly in rela- tive Edge Gravity and is ranked fourth in the new network (out of a total of 15 edges). The Edge Gravity Algorithm solution for k∗ = 33, found by solving successively for k = 1, 2, 3, . . . , 33, is shown in Figs. 16 and 17. Notice that once the bridges to nowhere have been removed, no edges stand out as being involved in dramatically fewer paths than the rest. Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 17 of 35 Fig. 12 Edge Gravity solutions for Granovetter’s Example B when solving KSP for k = 1, 100, 200, 300, . . . , 17400, 17500 Krebs 2001 terrorist network Finally, we analyze the terrorist network data set assembled by Krebs (2002), which models the relationships between the 19 hijackers held responsible for the attacks on September 11, 2001. We considered two versions of the network: the original central network as collected by Krebs, and the augmented version in which Krebs introduced another six edges representing contacts that participated in crucial meetings such as the one that took place in Las Vegas. Figure 18 shows both networks, with the original edges in solid black lines and the augmented edges in dashed red lines. The Edge Gravity Algorithm labels and ranking for the original Krebs network are given in Figs. 19 and 20. A total of 15,114 paths were found with k∗ = 244. Analysis reveals that edge (9, 13)–i.e., the edge between Ahmed Al Haznawi and Ziad Jarrah–appears in the most paths. Notice that if the edge between node 9 and node 13 is removed, the next shortest path connecting nodes 9 and 13 has length 5. Thus, edge (9, 13) is very important Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 18 of 35 Fig. 13 Network model of the Florentine families of the Italian Renaissance for reducing distances in the network, and is what Granovetter would refer to as a 5- local bridge. The edge appearing in the second-highest number of paths is (16, 17)–i.e., the edge between Abdul Aziz Al-Omari and Waleed Alshehri. This edge is a true bridge, whose removal would disconnect the network. Notice that there is a stark difference in the importance level of these top two edges. Indeed, the highest-ranking edge, (9,13), appears in 65.6% of all paths, whereas the second highest-ranking edge, (16,17), appears in only 50% of all paths. Hence, edge (9,13) is a tie that binds and carries a significantly higher importance to the overall path structure than the second-highest-ranking edge, (16,17)–a true bridge whose absence would disconnect the network. Nodes 4 and 7 rank highly according to several standard node centrality metrics, includ- ing degree, closeness, betweenness, reach, and information centrality. However, nodes 4 and 7 are not adjacent to any top-ranking edges according to Edge Gravity. The three lowest-ranking edges in Fig. 19–i.e., edges (4,5), (7,10), and (1,2)–are clearly, from Fig. 18, bridges to nowhere. As with the Florentine families case, centrality for nodes 4 and 7 appears to be bolstered by bridges to nowhere (4,5) and (7,10). For the augmented version of the Krebs network, a total of 174,588 paths were found and k∗ = 1, 614, as shown in Figs. 21 and 22. The red bars in the bar chart in Fig. 21 represent the added edges for the augmented network. The introduction of the six aug- mented edges to the network greatly reduces the relative importance of edge (9, 13) with respect to Edge Gravity. Nevertheless, edge (9,13) remains the highest ranking, and edge (16, 17) remains the second highest ranking. However, while edge (9,13) appears in a total of 78,950 paths (45%), edge (16, 17) appears in nearly as many: a total of 78,700 paths Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 19 of 35 Fig. 14 Edge Gravity (EG) and Edge Betweenness (EB) solutions for Florentine families network (45%). In the original network, the difference between the number of paths for the top two edges accounts for 15.6% of the total network paths; this difference is reduced to only 0.14% in the augmented network. Hence, the additional edges in the augmented network changed the path structure significantly enough that both (9,13) and (16,17) serve as ties that bind. Inspection of Fig. 18 reveals that the augmented edges create new paths from nodes 17, 18, and 19 to the rest of the graph, many of which bypass edge (9, 13). Hence, in the augmented version of the network, the exceptional importance of edge (9,13) relative to edge (16,17) is greatly reduced. It is interesting to note that the new edges themselves do not carry high Edge Gravity rankings individually, yet their introduction to the network has a significant, measurable Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 20 of 35 Fig. 15 Edge Gravity solutions for the Florentine families network when solving successively for k = 1, 2, 3, . . . , 33 impact on the path structure as a whole. Notice that in the series representation in Fig. 20, edge (9,13) separates itself as the clear front-runner early on for small values of k. In the augmented version of the network, edge (16,17) ranks highest for edge betweenness based on shortest paths (see Fig. 21); every shortest path from node 17, 18, or 19 to the rest of the graph must include edge (16,17). However, edge (16,17) is middle-ranking for much of the first half of the solution series shown in Fig. 22. The ranking of edge (16,17) increases significantly in the latter portion of the time series. This suggests that many of the new paths including edge (16,17) that were introducted by the augmentation are fairly long. The augmentation also increased the Edge Gravity ranking of (4,5) to 19th (out of 33 edges), as it is no longer a bridge to nowhere after the addition of edges (13,5) and (14,5). Edges (7,10) and (1,2) remain bridges to nowhere and continue to exhibit exceptionally low rankings in Figs. 19 and 21. Indeed, observe that the ties that bind as well as the bridges to nowhere separate themselves in a significant way from the rest of the pack, and do so fairly early in the time series representation. Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 21 of 35 Fig. 16 Edge Gravity and Edge Betweenness solutions for the Florentine families network with bridges to nowhere removed Computational results Table 3 summarizes the computational results for examples and case studies in this paper. The solution was implemented in ANSI standard C, compiled with GCC (https://gcc.gnu.org/), Ubuntu operating system (16.04–64 Minimal for VSI), and exe- cuted on an Intel(R) Xeon(R) CPU E3-1270 v6 @ 3.80GHz; 64 GB RAM. Comparison to other edge metrics Edge betweenness Edge betweenness, first introduced by Girvan and Newman (2002), is an extension of Freeman’s node betweenness to measure edge centrality. Edge betweenness is currently Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 22 of 35 Fig. 17 Edge Gravity solutions for the Florentine families network, with bridges to nowhere removed, when solving the Edge Gravity Algorithm for k = 1, 2, 3, . . . , 33 (k∗ = 33) the predominant edge importance metric in social network analysis. The betweenness of an edge (i, j) is a function of the number of shortest paths that include (i, j). Multiple shortest paths between a particular pair of vertices are handled in the following way: If there are exactly m-many shortest paths between nodes r and s, then each shortest path is assigned a weight of 1/m. Edge Gravity extends the idea of edge betweenness to include the entire path structure of the network, rather than focusing only on shortest paths. The additional informa- tion uncovered by Edge Gravity provides deeper insight into potential communication path structures that may be overlooked by node centrality and edge betweenness metrics based on shortest paths alone. Figures 2, 5, 9, 11, 14, 16, 19, and 21 provide a com- plete comparison of edge betweenness and Edge Gravity for all of the examples and case studies examined in this paper. Both Edge Gravity and edge betweenness can be computed for disconnected networks–a condition that challenges other metrics, specif- ically any that rely on the existence of at least one path between every pair of nodes. Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 23 of 35 Fig. 18 Krebs 2001 terrorist network. To illustrate the augmented terrorist network–the result of additional meetings–red dashed lines were added This is demonstrated by the Florentine families case study (see Figs. 13, 14, and 15, and specifically node 12–the Pucci family). Analysis of Granovetter’s Example A (Fig. 7) reveals that the local bridges (A,B) and (E,I) of Example A rank highest for both edge betweenness and Edge Gravity metrics, although the order is reversed (see Fig. 9). This illustrates that the structural importance derived from inclusion in shortest paths can be consistent with the structural importance derived from inclusion in all paths quantified by Edge Gravity. On the other hand, Granovetter’s Example B (Fig. 8) contains five local bridges. Edge Gravity identifies all five local bridges: The top-ranked edges according to Edge Gravity are the local bridges (I,L), (A,B), (F,Y), (Q,R), and (R,T), in that order. On the other hand, edge betweenness fails to include local bridge (I,L) in its top five ranking, even though edge (I,L) appears in more paths than any other edge in the network. Instead, edge (B,F) Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 24 of 35 Fig. 19 Edge Gravity (EG) and Edge Betweenness (EB) solutions for the original Krebs network ranks fourth for edge betweenness yet, by contrast, ranks only 14th for Edge Gravity (see Fig. 11). A case-by-case analysis of the remaining examples reveals that edge betweenness and Edge Gravity metrics often provide significantly different results from each other. In par- ticular, edge betweenness rankings may be exaggerated by the presence of adjacent bridges to nowhere. On the other hand, Edge Gravity ranks the most essential edges without being unduly influenced by the presence of adjacent bridges to nowhere. For the small example described in the Methodology section of this paper, edge (3,5) is a bridge to nowhere and also ranks highest for edge betweenness (see Figs. 1 and 2). By contrast, the Edge Gravity metric reveals edge (3, 5) to be the least important edge to the Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 25 of 35 Fig. 20 Edge Gravity labels and ranking for the original Krebs network, when solving for k = 1, 2, 3, . . . , 244 network path structure as a whole. This is because as a bridge to nowhere, it does little to enhance the overall network structure since there is no place farther for information to travel after reaching node 5. Notice that edge (3,5) appears in every path from node 5 to any other node in the net- work, since it forms a bridge to the isolated node 5. Therefore, edge (3,5) appears in many shortest paths. However, if we shift our attention to include all paths (Edge Gravity) and not just shortest paths, then the abundance of potential information pathways between nodes 1, 2, 3, and 4 is revealed and the relative structural importance of edge (3,5) is greatly diminished. The low ranking of edge (3,5) according to Edge Gravity reveals its status as a bridge to nowhere rather than as a bridge of high structural importance. This example suggests that edge betweenness alone is not sufficient to distinguish structurally important bridges from bridges to nowhere; we observe similar results in the Florentine families and Krebs examples below. Indeed, for the Florentine families example, we see from Fig. 14 that edges (9, 14) and (2, 9) are the top two edges according to edge betweenness. However, edge (9,14) ranks Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 26 of 35 Fig. 21 Edge Gravity (EG) and Edge Betweenness (EB) solutions for the augmented Krebs network only 16th according to Edge Gravity, while edge (2,9) ranks 12th. Note also that the top three edges for Edge Gravity rank only fourth, seventh, and 14th for edge betweenness. Observe that edge (9,14) is a bridge between the main component of the network and a bridge to nowhere. It appears that this bridge to nowhere places undue importance on edge (9,14) with respect to edge betweenness. Similarly, the edge betweenness rank of edge (2,9) appears to be bolstered by the existence of several bridges adjacent to nodes 2 and 9: (1,9), (2,6), and (9,14). Once the bridges to nowhere are removed, as in the example of the reduced Florentine families network, edge betweenness and Edge Gravity both identify (4,7) as the most structurally important edge. In fact, the two metrics identify the same set of edges in their top four rankings, albeit ordered differently. For the augmented Krebs network, Fig. 21 shows that edge (16,17) ranks highest for edge betweenness and ranks second for Edge Gravity. On the other hand, edge (4,15) is the third-ranking edge according to edge betweenness but ranks only 25th according to Edge Gravity. Similarly, edge (4,7) ranks fourth for betweenness but ranks only 28th with respect to Edge Gravity. Observe that node 7 is adjacent to a bridge to nowhere, the presence of which appears to have a boosting effect on edge betweenness for (4,7). Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 27 of 35 Fig. 22 Edge Gravity when solving the k-shortest path (KSP) for the augmented Krebs network, when solving for k = 1, 25, 50, 75, 100, 125, 150, . . . , 1600, 1625 Table 3 Summary of computational results, executed on an Intel(R) Xeon(R) CPU E3-1270 v6 @ 3.80GHz Network case Edge betweenness Edge Gravity Maximum shortest paths CPU time (seconds) k∗ Total paths found Maximum path lenght CPU time (seconds) Small example A 2 0.000060 4 58 4 0.000082 Small example B 2 0.000162 12 296 7 0.000200 Granovetter ’73 example A 4 0.000567 416 14,796 9 0.031664 Granovetter ’73 example B 7 0.006522 17,480 2,130,510 24 124.306396 Florentine families 3 0.000633 33 4,128 12 0.004312 Florentine families–reduced 3 0.000269 33 2,048 9 0.001798 Krebs 5 0.001920 244 15,114 16 0.031513 Krebs–augmented 5 0.002096 1,614 174,588 17 1.152244 Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 28 of 35 It is interesting to note for the augmented network that although (9,13) is the highest- ranking edge according to Edge Gravity, edge (9,13) ranks only 11th according to edge betweenness. Recall from the case study in the previous section that (9,13) stood out in the original Krebs network as being included in significantly more paths than any other edge. Since (9,13) also enjoyed the highest ranking for edge betweenness, we know that the dramatic boost in path inclusion for (9,13) in the original version was due in part to its inclusion in many shortest paths. The proportion of total path inclusion for (9,13) was greatly diminished in the augmented network, although (9,13) remained the top-ranking edge according to Edge Gravity. This suggests that the introduction of new edges provided shorter alternatives to formerly shortest path structures that depended on edge (9,13). Indeed, the role of edge (9,13) was as a connector between two ser- pentine ends of the network. Figure 18 shows that the new edges in the augmented version provide shorter alternate routes from opposite ends of the network that bypass edge (9,13). The k-local bridge metric The k-local bridge metric of UCINET (Borgatti et al. 2002) provides a binary means of identifying bridges and local bridges but does not provide a means of ranking edges in terms of structural importance. The k-local bridge metric cannot distinguish a bridge to nowhere from a more critically important edge. Similarly, the k-local bridge metric cannot distinguish a critically important local bridge from local bridges of lesser importance. It will also overlook structurally important edges that are not bridges or local bridges. In the Florentine families example (Fig. 13), there are several true bridges, as well as 4-local bridges and 3-local bridges. There are four 4-local bridges in this example: (3,5), (3,9), (4,7), and (13,15). These edges happen to coincide with the top four ranking edges according to Edge Gravity in the reduced version of the example. In the original version of the example, Edge Gravity identifies the 4-local bridges (4,7), (13,15) and (3,5) as the top three ranking edges, while (3,9) ranks eighth. The original Krebs example (Fig. 18) contains several 5-local bridges: (9,13), (7,11), (11,12), and (12,14). However, only (9,13) emerges as a top-ranking edge for Edge Gravity; edges (12,14), (11,12), and (7,11) rank sixth, seventh, and eighth respectively. In the augmented version of Krebs, edge (9,13) becomes a 4-local bridge, while the other three remain 5-local bridges. However, edge (9,13) remains most structurally important with respect to Edge Gravity, while the 5-local bridges rank fifth, eighth, and 13th respec- tively. Instead of these 5-local bridges, Edge Gravity identifies the 4-local bridge (9,13) and the true bridge (16,17) as being the most essential to network path structure. It is interesting to note that edge (9,13) and the 5-local bridges (7,11), (11,12), and (12,14) are all members of a 6-cycle whose removal would disconnect two serpentine ends of the original network. The edges introduced in the augmented version provide new alternate shortcuts between extreme ends of the network. However, in order to tra- verse the middle section, information must pass either through edge (9,13) or through the entire edge sequence (7,11), (11,12), and (12,14). Nodes 9 and 13 are both connected to triads; once information leaves either node 9 or node 13, it has multiple paths available to traverse. However, if information begins traveling along the sequence (7,11), (11,12), and (12,14), it must complete this path of length 3 before reaching a node with multiple connections. While the k-local bridge metric cannot distinguish between the individual Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 29 of 35 structural importance of these local bridges, Edge Gravity reveals that local bridge (9,13) is more effective at shortening distances between opposite ends of the network than any of the individual local bridges (7,11), (11,12), and (12,14). Notice that in both versions of the Krebs example, the third- and fourth-ranking edges according to Edge Gravity are neither bridges nor local bridges. To the contrary, these edges are part of triads adjacent to top-ranking edges (9,13) and (16,17). These results indicate that the binary identification of local bridge status alone is not enough to assess or rank edges according to their importance to overall path structure. Indeed, the k-local bridge metric focuses on the effect of an edge’s removal on shortest paths but does not consider the larger network structure including all paths. The Edge Gravity metric, in addition to being aligned with Granovetter’s local bridges/weak ties conjecture, provides different and meaningful results because it exploits all network paths instead of just the shortest paths. Literature review, discussion and conclusions, and future work Literature review Some attention has been given in the literature to the general problem of edge impor- tance, albeit usually not in the context of social network analysis. One approach to edge importance is to study the impact of edge deletion on some network-level property, such as connectivity or diameter. Work in this area includes Barefoot et al. (1987), Bagga et al. (1992), Bollobás (1968), and Boesch et al. (1981), and is used in the study of network reliability and vulnerability. These types of methods seek the minimum number of edges whose deletion is required to disconnect the network or increase its diameter. This dif- fers from our approach in that we seek edges which are individually important to overall network path structure, yet whose individual removal may not necessarily disconnect the network or increase its diameter. Edge vitality identifies the edge whose removal from the network would have the max- imum impact on increasing the geodesic distance between a pair of fixed nodes. Papers on vitality include: Nardelli et al. (2001), Malik et al. (1989), Lubore and Scilia (1971), and Ball et al. (1989). Our method measures the impact an edge has on all network paths, rather than on a particular shortest path. The survey paper (Melançon and Sallaberry 2008) compares several edge importance metrics and seeks to organize them into a taxonomy. The focus, however, is on local met- rics that are based on network structure in a neighborhood around a particular edge. Our approach, by contrast, is a global edge metric that takes information about the entire network into account. Hershberger and Suri (2001) considered edge importance, but not in the context of a social network. In their paper, they examined a network model of the Internet, and con- sidered the importance of an edge with respect to pricing in a computer-implemented auctioning algorithm. Hershberger and Suri assumed that shortest paths are always unique–which is generally not a good assumption for social networks, where alternate paths of the same length are both common and desirable. Most well-known centrality analytics focus on the importance of actors–i.e., the nodes of the network rather than the edges. The canonical example is Freeman’s betweenness centrality (Freeman 1977; 1978), which measures node importance using the frequency in which a particular node appears in a geodesic. Girvan and Newman extended Freeman’s Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 30 of 35 betweenness centrality to define edge betweenness and used the iterative removal of edges to develop algorithmic methods for detecting community structure in Girvan and Newman (2002), Newman and Girvan (2003, 2004). Edge betweenness relies on shortest paths only, rather than considering the global network structure created by all network paths, and can lead to very different results, as explored in the case studies of this paper. Bonacich (1987) generalized the concept of node centrality by proposing a param- eterized family c(α, β) of node centrality metrics. The parameter β can be adjusted according to the context of the application: A zero value for β correlates to degree cen- trality, while β > 0 correlates to conventional centrality metrics such as closeness or betweenness. Negative values of β are appropriate for negative exchange scenarios such as bargaining. Each of these metrics is designed to measure the power of an individ- ual, appropriate to a specific context. Rather than focusing on context-specific individual (node) power/centrality, we sought the most important relationship for global network structure and information flow. We observed in the case studies that the most impor- tant edges with respect to path inclusion (Edge Gravity) may not be adjacent to the most central nodes. Holme and Ghoshal noted (Holme and Ghoshal 2008) that there is a cost associated with maintaining social ties. They assert that in contexts such as diplomacy, an actor will want to simultaneously maximize their power and influence (as measured by close- ness centrality, which is strongly correlated with degree) while minimizing the number of social ties necessary to maintain. Identifying which ties are the most important and which may be discarded is an interesting problem–and one which can be addressed using the Edge Gravity Algorithm. Valente and Fujimoto (2010) introduced a metric for node importance that is based on removing edges from a social network and calculating the impact of each edge removal on network cohesion. Every node is then assigned a brokerage metric, the value of which is determined by averaging the effect that each of its adjacent edges has on network cohe- sion. Everett and Valente modified this approach using betweenness centrality rather than average shortest path length in Everett and Valente (2016). Their approach differs from ours by focusing on node importance rather than on edge importance, and by determining edge relevance to network cohesion using only shortest paths rather than all paths. We note that social information (e.g., gossip or disease transmission) does not necessar- ily follow a geodesic route from one person to another. This emphasizes the significance of counting all possible paths instead of just finding the shortest paths. Most of the metrics described in the literature are based on shortest paths (geodesics). However, Stephenson and Zelen (1989) recognized that in a social network, information does not always travel a geodesic route. They proposed a node centrality measure based on the information contained in all paths rather than in just the shortest paths. In contrast to our method, Stephenson and Zelen did not enumerate all paths to quantify and rank important edges. Instead, they defined a special matrix to capture the information contained in all paths and used it to define a metric of node (rather than edge) importance. Recognizing the need to include all paths rather than just geodesics, Alahakoon et al. (2011) introduced a node centrality metric called κ-path centrality. This method defines node centrality based on the number of times a node appears in a self-avoiding ran- dom walk of length κ. De Meo et al. (2012) extended this idea to define a similar κ-path Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 31 of 35 centrality metric for edges. De Meo’s algorithm seeks to rank edges according to their potential for enabling information diffusion; the method depends on random walks and is applied to large networks. The Main Path Analysis method–introduced by Hummon and Dereian (1989)– identifies and ranks important edges in citation networks. Recognizing several limitations to the original method, Liu and Lu (2012) proposed several variations to enhance the methodology. These methods apply only to directed acyclic graphs. Discussion and conclusions Relationships between people are the essence of social networks. The ties between people are what bind a social network together and enable the effective dissemination of infor- mation and ideas without predetermined route planning. The social network literature reveals that important information is often transmitted over pathways between people who are not strongly connected to one another and whose personal contacts have little overlap. Much research has been done to identify important (well-connected, central) nodes in a network. Work has also been done to identify nodes whose removal (along with their ties) would maximally fragment a network or disrupt network cohesion; see Borgatti (2003, 2006). However, both of these approaches view networks through the lens of placing a higher value on individual nodes (people) than on the edges (relationships) between them. These approaches ignore the fact that a particular node’s importance may be drawn from the significance of one of its incident edges, and that the removal of that particular edge– not necessarily the node itself–is the essential action that disrupts the network. Indeed, when two actors have a relationship to each other that forms a bridge, disrupting the relationship between the two actors may be seen as the key to dis- rupting the network. Through this lens, the removal of relationships as a by-product of removing actors can be viewed as the essential act in disrupting a network via node removal. Furthermore, when the focus is on network fragmentation, deleting a particular actor might seem significant due to an increase in subcomponents. In contrast, an edge that serves as a local bridge may be more important to overall network communication efficiency, even though its deletion may not create any new subcomponents. Granovetter observed that local bridges serve as important information pathways by reducing overall distances, yet their removal does not necessarily fragment the network. Local bridges provide shorter, more effective routes for information to be exchanged between actors in different portions of the network, but they are not the only possi- ble way for information to travel. The Edge Gravity Algorithm quantifies Granovetter’s insight that local bridges earn their significance from their inclusion in many paths. The edge that appears most often in any path in the network can thus be viewed as the most structurally important for information diffusion. Edge Gravity identifies the edges that appear in the most paths, and hence have maximum impact on dis- semination in terms of reducing distances and enabling potential information flow along many possible alternate paths. Computing Edge Gravity systematically identifies and ranks the most structurally important edges in a social network, the removal of which maximally disrupts potential information flow without necessarily disconnecting the network. Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 32 of 35 We demonstrated the Edge Gravity Algorithm on a simple hypothetical network in order to better illustrate the concept in practice and to develop intuition for under- standing the results. We applied the algorithm to Granovetter’s hypothetical examples, as well as to well-known empirical examples. The algorithm successfully identified essen- tial network edges, and provided a ranking of their relative structural importance to the network. We found that the most important relationships are often between nodes or actors that do not carry the highest centrality metrics. That is, the most important relation- ship ties for overall network structure do not always involve the most important, most well-connected, or most central individual people or nodes. To the contrary, the most essential ties that bind a network together may be those between actors of average indi- vidual importance, as was revealed in the examples of the Florentine families and the Krebs 2001 terrorist networks. A comparison of Edge Gravity to edge betweenness revealed that although these two metrics may provide similar results under certain circumstances, they can also yield results that are strikingly different. In particular, edge betweenness rankings are suscep- tible to distortion by the influence of adjacent bridges to nowhere. Edge Gravity addresses this shortcoming of edge betweenness. Indeed, the case studies reveal that Edge Gravity identifies and ranks structurally important edges in a stable way that is not skewed by the presence of bridges to nowhere connecting to isolated nodes that do little to improve overall network structure and information flow. Additionally, Edge Gravity effectively identifies bridges to nowhere. In each case study, the bridges to nowhere were the lowest-ranking edges according to Edge Gravity. In fact, the Edge Gravity scores for bridges to nowhere were consistently significantly lower than the scores of other edges, as seen in Figs. 15, and 20. Moreover, the Granovetter B and Krebs examples reveal that Edge Gravity can distinguish structurally important local bridges (ones that reduce distances in the network on their own) from local bridges of lesser importance (ones that require the help of intermediary actors to span a particular gap). Following the insights of Granovetter (1973), Davies (1966), and also Stephenson and Zelen (1989), we note that social information does not always follow a prescribed route or travel over shortest paths. Granovetter noted that local bridges earn their significance from their inclusion in many paths. The Edge Gravity metric uses all paths rather than just shortest paths, thus providing an opportunity for deeper analysis of this insight. Future work We believe that numerous areas for future work are suggested by the findings in this paper. As with edge betweenness, Edge Gravity has high computational demands. In fact, since Edge Gravity seeks all paths (or many paths, for the bound version), as opposed to just the shortest paths sought by edge betweenness, both execution and memory requirements are naturally more demanding. That Edge Gravity relies on the implicit path enumeration action of k–shortest path solution algorithms suggests that focus on computation and memory efficiency in the lower bounding problem is most worthwhile and is likely to be necessary for exploration and study of large networks. From our examples and case studies, it appears that the Edge Gravity ranking may some- times be found before k∗ is determined. An approach such as Probably Approximately Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 33 of 35 Correct learning (PAC) may be useful when an accurate edge importance ranking really matters. PAC was first suggested as a computational theory by Valiant in the mid-1980s (Valiant 2013) and has become known in machine learning methodology as a statistical framework for finding polynomially bounded approximate conclusions when the under- lying problem is intractable in either memory or computational time; see Shalev-Shwartz and Ben-David (2014). In this paper, we used known networks to build the intuition of the Edge Gravity met- ric as well as to compare and contrast with edge betweenness–intuition building that necessitates examination of smaller networks. Preliminary exploration of large networks suggests that there is a trade-off between execution time and active memory, which is required for saving the path lists. Choice of a specific k–shortest path algorithm for enu- merating the paths appears to be a factor and presents an interesting set of extension studies. Examination and improvement in computation time for Edge Gravity is necessary to address larger static and single-layer networks, which necessarily prefaces complexity that includes time-evolving and multi-layer networks. The Edge Gravity metric favors edges that are between communities, and because–by design–it embraces alternate paths of all lengths, the importance metric defined by Edge Gravity appears to be better at disfavoring edges within densely connected subgroups. These observations indicate that Edge Gravity, and the Edge Gravity bounds, may be use- ful building blocks for identifying community structures, extending the work of Girvan and Newman (2002) and Newman and Girvan (2004). Another area for future work relates to one of the original hypotheses of this study: that there would be a low number of edges in a network that had a very high quantified impor- tance. We found evidence suggesting this phenomenon, which is analogous to the power law for node importance (see, for example, Adamic et al. (2001)). However, based on the size of the networks we examined, the evidence is not conclusive. The study of a power law effect for edge importance is left for future work, as it requires the examination of very large networks. For this paper, we chose to focus on well-known networks from the literature, with the intention of gaining insights to complement established understand- ing. Indeed, we discovered, not unexpectedly, that the Edge Gravity metric placed a high importance on edges that were not adjacent to central nodes. Finally, we return to a point from the Introduction to this paper: that motivating our research was the notion that in a network, the structural implications of relation- ships are important, and may in fact be more important than the stature of individual nodes. Having reflected upon our work as well as the research of others, we feel that more understanding is needed with respect to interaction patterns in social networks. By introducing Edge Gravity, we give a concrete and intuitively interpretable metric that quantifies the structural relevance of an edge without regard for how influential its endpoints are. Given the societal tendency to place undue emphasis on an indi- vidual’s prominence, we hope that this will seed more and deeper exploration of the significance of relationships and give these social network components the attention they deserve. Acknowledgments The authors are grateful for the professional copy editing of Marita Begley, and to Kate Ehrlich, Kush Varshney, and Robin Blankenship for technical discussions and comments on an early version of this paper. Many thanks to the three anonymous APNS reviewers for their comprehensive critique of our manuscript, and for many insightful technical comments and suggestions. This paper was significantly improved because of their diligence. Helander and McAllister Applied Network Science (2018) 3:7 Page 34 of 35 Availability of data and materials Network data for all case studies are from well-known examples noted by referenced citations. Authors’ contributions The authors are equal contributors. Competing interests The authors declare that they have no competing interests. Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Author details 1IBM T. J. Watson Research Center, Applied Data Science, P.O. Box 218, Yorktown Heights, NY 10598, USA. 2CUNY Borough of Manhattan Community College, Department of Mathematics, 199 Chambers Street, New York, NY 10007, USA. Received: 20 November 2017 Accepted: 23 April 2018 References Adamic LA, Lukose RM, Puniyani AR, Huberman BA (2001) Search in power-law networks. Phys Rev E 64:046135. https:// doi.org/10.1103/PhysRevE.64.046135 Alahakoon T, Tripathi R, Kourtellis N, Simha R, Iamnitchi A (2011) K-path centrality: A new centrality measure in social networks, SNS ’11. In: Proceedings of the 4th Workshop on Social Network Systems. ACM, New York. pp 1–116. https://doi.org/10.1145/1989656.1989657. http://doi.acm.org/10.1145/1989656.1989657 Bagga KS, Beineke LW, Goddard WD, Lipman MJ, Pippert RE (1992) A survey of integrity. Discret Appl Math 37:13–28. https://doi.org/10.1016/0166-218X(92)90122-Q Ball MO (1980) Complexity of network reliability computations. 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First Monday 7(4) Kurz D, Mutzel P (2016) A sidetrack-based algorithm for finding the k shortest simple paths in a directed graph. CoRR abs/1601.02867. 1601.02867 Liu Y, Chandrasekaran V, Anandkumar A, Willsky AS (2012) Feedback message passing for inference in gaussian graphical models. IEEE Trans Signal Process 60(8):4135–4150. https://doi.org/10.1109/TSP.2012.2195656 Liu JS, Lu LYY (2012) An integrated approach for main path analysis: Development of the hirsch index as an example. J Am Soc Inf Sci Technol 63(3):528–542. https://doi.org/10.1002/asi.21692 Lubore SH, Scilia GT (1971) Determining the most vital link in a flow network, Technical report. DTIC Document Malik K, Mittal AK, Gupta SK (1989) The k most vital arcs in the shortest path problem. Oper Res Lett 8(4):223–227. https:// doi.org/10.1016/0167-6377(89)90065-5 Melançon G, Sallaberry A (2008) Edge metrics for visual graph analytics: A comparative study. In: Information Visualisation, 2008. 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ACM, New York. pp 13–1136. https://doi.org/10.1145/3078447.3078460. http://doi.acm.org/10.1145/3078447.3078460 https://doi.org/10.1109/SFCS.2001.959899 https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-642-01284-6 https://doi.org/10.1016/0378-8733(89)90017-8 http://resolver.caltech.edu/CaltechAUTHORS:20110714-120443155 http://resolver.caltech.edu/CaltechAUTHORS:20110714-120443155 http://arxiv.org/abs/1601.02867 https://doi.org/10.1109/TSP.2012.2195656 https://doi.org/10.1002/asi.21692 https://doi.org/10.1016/0167-6377(89)90065-5 https://doi.org/10.1016/0167-6377(89)90065-5 https://doi.org/10.1016/0377-2217(91)90093-B https://doi.org/10.1016/S0020-0190(00)00175-7 https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-3-540-44943-0_5.cond-mat/0210146 https://doi.org/10.1103/PhysRevE.69.026113 https://doi.org/10.1103/PhysRevE.69.026113 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.socnet.2010.03.003 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.socnet.2010.03.003 https://doi.org/10.1145/3078447.3078460 http://doi.acm.org/10.1145/3078447.3078460 Abstract Keywords Introduction The edge importance problem General motivation and domain relevance Paper organization Methodology Definitions and notation The Edge Gravity algorithm Translation of Edge Gravity labels to undirected edges Interpreting Edge Gravity labels when k is found Interpreting Edge Gravity labels when k is not found Illustration of Edge Gravity concepts Example illustrating path enumeration and the Edge Gravity labels Extending the example: ties that bind and bridges to nowhere Case studies Granovetter's examples Florentine families network Krebs 2001 terrorist network Computational results Comparison to other edge metrics Edge betweenness The k-local bridge metric Literature review, discussion and conclusions, and future work Literature review Discussion and conclusions Future work Acknowledgments Availability of data and materials Authors' contributions Competing interests Publisher's Note Author details References 
work_fboytmjchfcs5hrhmundirdyz4	----	Immunofluorescence on proteinase XXIV-digested paraffin sections theless, in our fully adjusted model, the 95% CI for the hazard ratio associated with the administration of paricalcitol versus calcitriol included the point estimate reported by Teng et al.3 Paricalcitol appears to confer no survival advantage over doxercalciferol. The point estimates for hazard ratios for doxercalciferol versus paricalcitol ranged from 0.99 to 1.06 and each 95% CI included 1.0. However, we cannot exclude the possibility that doxercalciferol may be associated with a small benefit or disadvantage over paracalciferol. Our retrospective study reflects clinical practice. Since different vitamin D preparations became available at different times, the treatments were not simultaneous, and switching was the major cause of censoring. The vitamin D analogs were not dosed according to KDOQI guidelines, since most of the study occurred before these were published. 1. Sprague SM. Mortality risk among hemodialysis patients receiving different vitamin D analogs. Kidney Int 2006; in press. 2. Tentori F, Hunt WC, Stidley CA et al. Mortality risk among hemodialysis patients receiving different vitamin D analogs. Kidney Int 2006; 70: 1858–1865. 3. Teng M, Wolf M, Ofsthun MN et al. Activated injectable vitamin D and hemodialysis survival: a historical cohort study. J Am Soc Nephrol 2005; 16: 1115–1125. F Tentori1, WC Hunt1, CA Stidley1, MR Rohrscheib1, EJ Bedrick1, KB Meyer1, HK Johnson1 and PG Zager1 1Dialysis Clinic Inc. (DCI), Quality Management, Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA Correspondence: F Tentori, Dialysis Clinic Inc., Quality Management, 1500 Indian School Rd NE, Suite 200, Albuquerque, New Mexico 87102, USA. E-mail: francesca.tentori@dciinc.org Immunofluorescence on proteinase XXIV-digested paraffin sections Kidney International (2007) 72, 896; doi:10.1038/sj.ki.5002495 To the Editor: In their comparison of immunofluorescence (IF) on frozen sections with pronase-digested paraffin sections, Nasr et al.1 found that pronase digestion was a useful technique for IF on paraffin (IF-P) sections. However, the sensitivity of this technique was low for membranous glomerulopathy and anti-glomerular basement membrane disease (50 and 20%, respectively), which was mainly due to weak staining of IgG (immunoglobulin G). In our laboratory, we use bacterial proteinase XXIV (Sigma, St Louis, MO, USA), as described by Bancroft and Gamble, 2 instead of pronase. We compared IF-P on proteinase XXIV- and pronase-digested paraffin sections. We selected five cases of lupus nephritis that showed full- house fluorescence staining on frozen sections. In all cases, staining intensity was similar or better on proteinase XXIV- digested slides, and less background was observed. Impor- tantly, staining for IgG and C1q was more intense in sections digested with proteinase XXIV than in those digested with pronase. In addition, we tested five cases of anti-glomerular basement membrane disease. One of these was negative after pronase, as well as after proteinase XXIV digestion, one was positive with both techniques, whereas the remaining three were positive only after proteinase XXIV digestion. Finally, in nine cases of membranous glomerulopathy, diagnostic IF-P staining for IgG was obtained in six cases after pronase digestion and in five cases after proteinase XXIV digestion. In conclusion, we agree with Nasr et al. that IF-P is a valuable salvage technique for renal biopsies. To this, we would like to add that IF-P on sections digested with proteinase XXIV is generally more sensitive than IF-P on pronase-digested sections. 1. Nasr SH, Galgano SJ, Markowitz GS et al. Immunofluorescence on pronase-digested paraffin sections: a valuable salvage technique for renal biopsies. Kidney Int 2006; 70: 2148–2151. 2. Bancroft JD, Gamble M. Theory and Practice of Histological Techniques, 5th edn. Churchill Livingstone, London, 2002, pp 450–451. K van der Ven1, TQ Nguyen1 and R Goldschmeding1 1Department of Pathology, University Medical Center Utrecht, Utrecht, The Netherlands Correspondence: R Goldschmeding, Department of Pathology, University Medical Center Utrecht, Utrecht, The Netherlands. E-mail: R.Goldschmeding@umcutrecht.nl Machiavelli and urinalysis Kidney International (2007) 72, 896–897; doi:10.1038/sj.ki.5002496 To the Editor: I read with great interest the article on the history of urinalysis in Western culture by Armstrong.1 It gives a detailed outline of how uroscopy developed into a prominent medical diagnostic tool, and later was abandoned due to the poor scientific basis of such practice. In Dr Amrstrong’s article, however, it is not mentioned that uroscopy was so popular to be included in the most famous play by Niccolò Machiavelli, ‘La Mandragola (The Man- drake)’, 2,3 making fun of presumptuous physicians and credulous patients. In another important paper on uroscopy by Voswinckel,4 the contribution of Machiavelli is not mentioned as well. Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli (May 3, 1469 to June 21, 1527) was an Italian political philosopher. He is a central figure of the political component of the Italian Renaissance, most widely known for his treatises on realist political theory (The Prince). However, he also was a musician, poet, and romantic comedic playwright. The Mandragola has been widely performed and very popular since the sixteenth century. The title comes from the popular tale that a woman who drinks a potion made from the mandrake root is certain to conceive a child, the only drawback being that the man with whom she first has sex after taking the potion will die within 8 days. The story evolves around Callimaco, a lovesick Florentine who came form Paris to conquer the heart (and the graces) of Lucrezia, the beautiful young wife of Messer Nicia Calfucci, a 896 Kidney International (2007) 72, 895–898 l e t t e r t o t h e e d i t o r 
work_fd3cvpjtmbg3diaabq64drrwoy	----	S0364009414000233jer 201..202 CORRIGENDUM RENAISSANCE IN THE GRAVEYARD: THE HEBREW TOMBSTONES OF PADUA AND ASHKENAZIC ACCULTURATION IN SIXTEENTH- CENTURY ITALY – CORRIGENDUM David Malkiel doi: 10.1017/S0364009413000299, Published by Cambridge University Press, 19 December 2013 In AJS Review 37.2, the abstract to David Malkiel’s “Renaissance in the Grave- yard: The Hebrew Tombstones of Padua and Ashkenazic Acculturation in Sixteenth-Century Italy” (page 333) was published with errors. Here is the cor- rected version. Abstract: The acculturation of Ashkenazic Jews in Italy is the focus of the present discussion. By 1500 Jews had been living in Padua for cen- turies, but their cemeteries were destroyed in 1509. Four cemeteries remained with over 1200 inscriptions between 1530–1860. The literary features of the inscriptions indicate a shift from a preference for epi- taphs written in prose, like those of medieval Germany, to epitaphs in the form of Italian Jewry’s occasional poetry. The art and architecture of the tombstones are part and parcel of the Renaissance ambient, with the portals and heraldry characteristic of Palladian edifices. The letter- ing, too, presents a shift from the constituency’s medieval Ashkenazic origins to its Italian setting. These developments are situated in the broader context of Italian Jewish art and architecture, while the literary innovations are shown to reflect the revival of the epigram among poets of the Italian Renaissance. R E F E R E N C E David Malkiel, “Renaissance in the Graveyard: The Hebrew Tombstones of Padua and Ashkenazic Acculturation in Sixteenth-Century Italy,” The Journal of the Association for Jewish Studies 37 (2013), 333–370. AJS Review 38:1 (April 2014), 201 © Association for Jewish Studies 2014 doi:10.1017/S0364009414000233 201 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 64 00 94 14 00 02 33 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 11 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0364009414000233 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Outline placeholder In AJS Review 37.2, the abstract to David Malkiel's “Renaissance in the Graveyard: The Hebrew Tombstones of Padua and Ashkenazic Acculturation in Sixteenth-Century Italy” (page 333) was published with errors. Here is the corrected version.Abstract: The acculturation of Ashkenazic Jews in Italy is the focus of the present discussion. By 1500 Jews had been living in Padua for centuries, but their cemeteries were destroyed in 1509. Four cemeteries remained with over 1200 inscriptions between 1530–1860. The literary features of the inscriptions indicate a shift from a preference for epitaphs written in prose, like those of medieval Germany, to epitaphs in the form of Italian Jewry's occasional poetry. The art and architecture of the tombstones are part and parcel of the Renaissance ambient, with the portals and heraldry characteristic of Palladian edifices. The lettering, too, presents a shift from the constituency's medieval Ashkenazic origins to its Italian setting. These developments are situated in the broader context of Italian Jewish art and architecture, while the literary innovations are shown to reflect the revival of the epigram among poets of the Italian Renaissance. Reference 
work_femegcta6nabhnp5yylntpz3qm	----	The Artist as a Dantista: Francesco da Sangallo’s Dantism in Mid-Cinquecento Florence The Artist as a Dantista: Francesco da Sangallo’s Dantism in Mid-Cinquecento Florence Diletta Gamberini Dante Studies, Volume 135, 2017, pp. 169-191 (Article) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:06 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/das.2017.0006 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/686857 https://doi.org/10.1353/das.2017.0006 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/686857 Vol. 135:169–191 © 2017 Dante Society of America The Artist as a Dantista: Francesco da Sangallo’s Dantism in Mid-Cinquecento Florence Diletta Gamberini During the Italian Renaissance, a great many artists exhibited a remarkable devotion to Dante. Documentary evidence, such as inventories of the possessions of painters and sculptors, reveals the Commedia, or less frequently the Convivio or the Vita Nuova, to be a recurring presence in the personal libraries of the practitioners of the visual arts.1 And if the architect and amateur poet Donato Bramante from Urbino was known at the Milanese court of Ludovico il Moro as a “sviscerato partigiano di Dante,”2 it was above all the Florentine artistic milieu that was imbued with Dantean enthusiasms. Giorgio Vasari’s Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori (1550 and 1568) is an important source in this regard. Vasari’s biographies of Andrea and Bernardo Orcagna, Taddeo Bartoli, Filippo Brunelleschi, Sandro Botticelli, Michelangelo, and Bronzino provide details of how assid- uously these figures studied the Commedia.3 In many cases, the author stressed how the artists’ profound familiarity with the poem intersected with their figurative production. He devoted considerable attention, for instance, to Botticelli’s illustrations to the Commedia, and to the subjects in the Sistine Last Judgement that Buonarroti derived from the poet he loved so much. On the basis of Vasari’s testimony, numerous studies have investi- gated the ways in which major artistic personalities developed in their work a systematic dialogue with Dante.4 Far less consideration has been given to the forms Dantism could take in artists who were less well 170 Dante Studies 135, 2017 established than someone of the caliber of Botticelli or Michelangelo, even though such minor figures likely felt a greater need to proclaim their intellectual credentials. In fact, some of these practitioners of the visual arts set up a relationship with the auctoritas of Dante that was no less articulated, lasting, and fruitful than that of their more illustrious colleagues. An especially significant case, from this point of view, is that of the Florentine sculptor, architect, military engineer, medallist, and amateur rhymester Francesco Giamberti, known as da Sangallo (1494–1576). The son of Giuliano da Sangallo (1443 or 1445–1516) and scion of one of the leading artistic dynasties of Renaissance Italy, Francesco held a prominent place in the cultural world of Ducal Florence. In that setting he distinguished himself as a devoted cultivator of family memories, as a master of an architectural and sculptural language that combined experimentation with an appeal to local tradition, and as an artist who tenaciously pursued a strategy of intellectual self-promotion.5 And it is within the framework of such a strategy that we can best understand the nature, scope, and significance of Sangallo’s lengthy and multivalent engagement with Dantism. The most thorough study of Francesco’s multifaceted profile has taken the artist’s explicit references to Dante to argue that these should be understood within the general pattern of Dantean interests that characterize Florentine culture of the age.6 Yet so far there is no inves- tigation of the specific meanings and functions of Dantism in Sangallo’s intellectual and artistic persona. By analyzing, framing, and critically evaluating a series of documents and literary sources, based on new archival research and in part previously unknown texts, this article sets out to illuminate how the artist managed to exploit his familiar- ity with Dante as a decisive element in the construction of his own cultural identity, and how foremost literati of the age responded to his public persona as a Dantista. At the same time, the present contribution aims to provide the first sustained study of the manifold processes of cross-fertilization between Francesco’s exhibited Dantean cult and his professional activity. 171 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini Dantism as (Perhaps) a Family Question and the Relation with the Convivio The beginning of Sangallo’s career as a Dantista is connected with the mystery that surrounds the paternity of one of the most extraordi- nary sets of illustrations to the Commedia produced during the Italian Renaissance. In a long article from 1955, Bernhard Degenhart did in fact identify Giuliano and Francesco da Sangallo as the main authors of a series of almost 250 drawings in pencil or pen and ink which, together with numerous marginalia, we find in a copy of the 1481 editio princeps of Cristoforo Landino’s commentary of the Comedy, now in the Biblioteca Vallicelliana in Rome (incunable Z. 79. A, fig. 1 and 2).7 In his essay, Degenhart adopted a series of solid criteria in support of his proposed attribution, delineating at the same time the chrono- logical coordinates for the two distinct groups of drawings within the incunable.8 He ascribed the earlier group, evidently from the fifteenth century, to Giuliano, who would have made most of the illustrations between 1481 and the end of the following decade, a period in which there are examples of the artist’s work that show stylistic characteristics and ductus analogous to those of the Dante Vallicelliano. To reinforce his hypothesis, Degenhart drew attention to the monogram “GS” that appears like a signature on one of the architectural drawings of Tuscan villas, by the same author as most of the illustrations, added with other leaves to the end of the volume.9 According to Degenhart, a second series of drawings in the Dante Vallicelliano was the work of Francesco da Sangallo, who for the most part would have replicated (on a larger scale) the subjects already illus- trated by his father.10 The article also proposed that Francesco was the author of a part of the many marginalia of the incunable—a hypothesis Degenhart corroborated by calling attention to the note (on c. 106r) in which the annotator identifies himself with the words “Franc.o qui.”11 Intermingled with the interventions of two or three other readers, tentatively identified as other artists of the Sangallo family,12 the anno- tations of Francesco would have been added over a significant period, beginning early in his long life.13 Scholars have generally accepted Degenhart’s attribution. However, it is easy to see why recent studies have spoken of a hypothesis that still remains open.14 Although he discussed the question of the different 172 Dante Studies 135, 2017 Fig. 1. Draftsman A of the “Dante Vallicelliano”, The city of Dis. Rome, Bib- lioteca Vallicelliana, incunable Z. 79. A, c. 61v. Su concessione del Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali. 173 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini Fig. 2. Draftsman A of the “Dante Vallicelliano”, Dancing Puttos. Rome, Biblioteca Vallicelliana, incunable Z. 79. A, c. 313r. Su concessione del Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali. 174 Dante Studies 135, 2017 handwritings present in the Dante Vallicelliano,15 Degenhart did not proceed to a systematic paleographic examination of the annotations, nor did he investigate the complex stratification of written interven- tions among the pages of the volume. He did not for example solve the problem of how to identify securely the hand of Francesco, a somewhat large and regular chancellery italic, typical of Italian scribes trained in the early sixteenth century, from among the hands of other annotators, especially since the note “Franc.o qui” is too minimal to allow a reliable comparison with the artist’s known writings. The identification of the Vallicellian incunable as a sort of “family Dante” of the Sangallos16 therefore appears to be a very plausible hypoth- esis, albeit one awaiting verification in the form of stringent paleograph- ic proof. There does however exist one certain case in which Francesco left a trace of his Dantean interests in a codex formerly owned by his father. I refer to an autobiographical note (fig. 3) that the artist added to the pages of what today is the manuscript Barberiniano Latino 4424 in the Biblioteca Vaticana, a splendid folio volume that gathers together many architectural drawings by Giuliano da Sangallo. In this note, the artist described witnessing a prodigious astronomical event on June 11, 1540, when the skies of Florence were lit by fireworks for Duke Cosimo’s birthday. In Francesco’s eyes, the exceptional nature of the phenomenon was linked to the prestige of the two personages who had first described it: none other than Dante and Aristotle. The annotator thus reported what he saw: Parmi che non sia da mancare di non fare memoria di quello che io viddi la sera di santo Bernaba a ore 1 ½ di nocte che fu addì xi di Gugno mdxxxx la sera che si facevano li fuochi delo rinovale della criatione dello Illustrissimo Signore Duca Cosmo de’ Medici ii di Fiorenza, che sendo io Francesco di maestro Giuliano da Sangallo nello mio orto all’ora sopra decta viddi la Luna che era in quarterone pasare socto il segnio di Marte e rimanere Marte celato, e non si vidde epso Marte se non quando fu pasata della Luna quella parte che risprendeva e di poi imediata- mente si vidde Marte aparire che il corpo della Luna no∙llo ochupava, tanto che qui non pocha confusione in me rimase, connciosiache s’el corpo della Luna è corpo esperico, come si crede e si connfessa, ed esendo epso corpo lunare denso tucto e non raro, dicho che se ciò fussi non s’arebbe aùto a vedere Marte se non pasata tucta la ritondità della Luna, e per questa dimostratione ch’io viddi pare si possa pennsare o che ’l corpo della Luna non sia tucto denso o veramente non sia corpo esperico, unitamente trovandosi la Luna e Marte come qui è disegnato [. . .], tanto che a questa così facta dimostratione sarebbe quello che Dante dice che Aristotile 175 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini Fig. 3. Francesco da Sangallo, autograph note: Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms. Barberiniano Latino 4424, c. 18r. Image from the facsimi- le edition of the manuscript: Il libro di Giuliano da Sangallo: Codice Vaticano Barberiniano Latino 4424, con introduzione e note di Cristiano Huelsen, Leipzig, Harrassowitz, 1910, vol. 2. 176 Dante Studies 135, 2017 fa mentione che alli suoi tempi achadde e vidde epso Aristotile il medesimo caso apunnto e così lo recita.17 As Dario Donetti has demonstrated, the annotation is the result of an erroneous interpretation of a passage in the Convivio.18 Francesco was here referring to the third chapter of the second book, where Dante made reference to Aristotle’s De Caelo as the most important classical authority that had described the eclipse of the planet Mars caused by the interposition of the moon. More specifically, the passage in the Convivio illustrated how it is possible to observe this spectacle when the moon is in its first quarter, and therefore half of its surface is visible from the Earth. If, according to Sangallo, on that Florentine night in 1540, Mars—incredibly—could be seen as it passed behind the dark side of the moon, Dante had described an astronomical phenomenon that was rare and yet did not defy the laws of physics. Following Aristotle, he had emphasized that, on the occasion of an eclipse, the red planet comes back into sight only after it has passed behind the opaque body of the moon: sì come ne lo eclipsi del sole appare sensibilmente la luna essere sotto lo sole, e sì come per la testimonianza d’Aristotile, che vide con li occhi (secondo che dice nel secondo De Celo et Mundo) la luna, essendo nuova, entrare sotto a Marte da la parte non lucente, e Marte stare celato tanto che rapparve da l’altra parte lucente de la luna, ch’era verso occidente.19 Although based on a singular misunderstanding of the Trecento source, the note in the Vatican manuscript is of great importance for recon- structing the interests and inclinations with which the artist regarded the writings of Dante. In particular, the text reveals Francesco’s ambition to give proof of a Dantean expertise that was not limited to the Commedia, a work that was widely known even among the artisans and laboring men of renaissance Florence,20 but which extended also to the Convivio. While the Convivio was much less popular than the Comedy, it enjoyed a critical rediscovery in the period under consideration. After an early circulation in manuscripts in the central decades of the Quattrocento, and four published editions between 1490 and 1531, in the early 1540s the book was attracting the attention of leading commentators on Dan- te.21 Notably important from this point of view were the studies of the first public readers of the Commedia at the Accademia Fiorentina, the official and most prestigious literary institution of Ducal Florence. In 177 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini their academic lectures of 1541, for instance, Francesco Verino, Giovam- battista Gelli, and Pierfrancesco Giambullari illustrated the poem with systematic references to the treatise.22 In this light, it becomes clear that Sangallo’s annotation belongs to the renewed critical focus on the Convivio in mid-sixteenth-century Italy. At the same time, his note finds its background in an approach to Dante’s encyclopedic work that had long been typical of Florentine technical writers, including an artist of the caliber of Leonardo. Ever since the treatise had first begun to circulate, such writers had used it as a valuable repertory of scientific observations, especially with regards to matters cosmological, geographical, and astronomical.23 Dantism as a Strategy of Cultural Self-Legitimation The annotation left by Francesco in the pages of his father’s magnificent book was presumably intended for a public not much more extensive than his own family. However, the artist was by no means reluctant to display his Dantean knowledge in broader circles as well. For him these competencies must have represented an effective means of self- accreditation within the Accademia Fiorentina, into whose ranks San- gallo and other Florentine painters and sculptors were accepted in 1545. It is well known that the institution treated a devotion to Dante as a powerful factor in its inductees’ identify formation.24 Therefore it seems probable that the power of cultural legitimation ascribed to a Dantean expertise would have increased at a time when the academy entered a period of upheaval—a shake-up that came to affect Francesco himself. Along with many other practitioners of the visual arts, Sangallo was in fact expelled on the occasion of the academic reform of the spring 1547, purportedly for insufficient commitment to public lectures.25 In the crucial years before the expulsion, in order to promote his own intellectual credentials, the artist showed off his familiarity with Dante in his correspondence with literati who held prominent positions in the Accademia. In letters where the author rhetorically affirmed that he was not up to the level of his correspondent, the emphasis placed on their shared knowledge of the poet of the Commedia provided a way of overcoming his alleged cultural inferiority. In terms of Bourdiean sociology, he played the card of his own Dantean expertise in the game 178 Dante Studies 135, 2017 of that “dialectic of knowledge (connaissance) and recognition (reconnais- sance)” that constitutes the basis of cultural artefacts’ symbolic capital.26 He knew, in other words, how to exploit that familiarity for its capac- ity to confer, especially in the context of exchanges with exponents of high culture, “the acquisition of a reputation for competence and an image of respectability and honourability.”27 Such a strategy would seem to explain the Dante quotations that adorn the two letters, both intended for publication, that Sangallo addressed to Nicolò Martelli and Benedetto Varchi.28 In the first, dating from the autumn of 1546, Francesco alludes to a polemical passage in the fourth book of the Convivio. His mention of “nostro Divin Dante” was intended to exhort Martelli, a former consul of the Accademia Fiorentina, to regard as braying asses those envious fellow-citizens who were ready to calumniate him.29 In the second, composed some months later in response to Varchi’s poll among artists on the paragone between painting and sculpture, Sangallo inserted two verses from the sixth canto of Inferno to support his argument for the superiority of sculpture. The short passage, taken from the speech in which Virgil explains how as things become more perfect they more perfectly experience both joy and sorrow, is preceded by a new profes- sion of faith in “nostro Divin Dante.”30 Evidently, the quotation was intended as a means of associating the artist to the addressee, who during his consulship at the academy (1545) had given an important series of Dantean readings, and, in his lecture on the paragone, had exalted the poet of the Commedia as he who “seppe tutto e tutto scrisse.”31 Francesco’s Dantism at the Intersection with his Artistic Activity At this point, it is important to ask how far Francesco’s efforts to present himself as a competent Dantista to leading contemporary men of letters were rewarded by these humanists’ recognition. Even more pressing is another query: to what extent, apart from the problematic case of the Dante Vallicelliano, did such a strategy of intellectual self-advancement affect Francesco’s professional activity? Answering these questions will help situate his ambitions in the context of the Florentine artistic scene under Cosimo I. Because of the many exchanges among intellectuals, 179 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini painters, and sculptors that took place around the Accademia Fiorentina, this milieu enjoyed a flourishing of paintings and sculptures celebrating Dante, including such iconic works as Vasari’s portrait of the Six Tuscan Poets and Pierino da Vinci’s relief of the Death of Count Ugolino.32 Against this background, a poetic exchange between Sangallo and Benedetto Varchi is especially meaningful. Published in the second volume of Varchi’s Sonetti (1557), the lyrical dialogue almost certainly dates from the same years when the Florentine artist was concentrating his efforts on being regarded as a Dantista (internal evidence allows us to date these poems to a period slightly later than the spring of 1546).33 A careful reading of the sonnets sheds light on how Francesco’s claims to Dantean expertise were, among other things, functional to his career as a Medicean artist: M. Francesco Sangallo Quei tre spirti del ciel pregiati, e chiari, Che ’l mondo illuminâr con prose, e carmi, Par, che preghino ogn’hor, che ’n bronzi, o ’n marmi Mostrin, ch’a Flora sian graditi, e cari, Dunque, Varchi gentil, ch’adorni, e schiari Ad Arno l’onde, e c’hai troncato l’armi Dell’empia invidia, sì che voce parmi Sentir: pon questi a quei tre primi pari, Aiuta quanto puoi sì belle imprese, Che ’l tuo buon Cosmo invitto unico Duce Pe’ tuoi preghi a’ gran Toschi sia cortese Ei gloria eterna havrà, se ciò conduce, Per te fien sempre tai memorie intese, Io per quel viverò con maggior luce. 4 8 11 14 Risposta Francesco, se così pregiate, e chiari Fussero al mondo o mie prose, o miei carmi, Come i metalli vostri, e i vostri marmi Sono ad ogni gentil graditi, e cari, Ben porrìa tra gli spirti eletti, e rari A ricco seggio, et honorato alzarmi; Hor ghiaccio [sic] in terra, e mai quindi levarmi Non spero, non che gir coi primi a pari, Ma per ciò non fia già, che l’alte imprese Vostre non lodi, e non preghi il mio Duce, Che voglia ai tre gran Toschi esser cortese, Il cui valor, che gloria tanta adduce, In ogni tempo, e per ciascun paese, Via più risplenderà, ch’oro non luce.34 180 Dante Studies 135, 2017 With his sonnet, Sangallo was asking Varchi to help him obtain a prestigious ducal commission to create sculptures in honor of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio. The Three Crowns are in fact the figures concealed behind those Tuscan heavenly spirits who, having already given luster to the world with their exceptional productions in prose and verse, according to Sangallo now requested to be suitably honored in Florence with commemorative statues.35In his reply, Varchi agreed to praise Sangallo’s talents and his work to the Duke, and to promote a sculptural project that would finally express Florence’s devotion to its greatest literary glories.36 Despite this promise, it does not seem that the commission was ever realized. Among the works attributed to the artist there are no portraits, painted or sculpted, of these writ- ers. Further, there are no known documents that cast light on such a plan; it has thus been proposed that this was in truth a poetic fiction.37 However, a comparison with other verse exchanges between Varchi and the painters, sculptors, and medallists active in Ducal Florence suggests that the project might have indeed been discussed in Medici circles at that time. On several occasions Florentine artists addressed sonnets to the humanist in his capacity as cultural broker at Cosimo’s court, and thus as a personage capable of interceding with the Duke on their behalf to procure the desired commissions.38 Moreover, a new project to commemorate in sculpture the Three Crowns, once again destined to remain unfulfilled in the sixteenth century, was part of an artistic program for the Uffizi that is documented shortly after the period under consideration.39 Whatever the historical reality of the project discussed in the verse dialogue of Varchi’s Sonetti, this was not the only case of a major Flo- rentine writer expressing the hope that Francesco might create an art- work on a Dantean subject. The Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale in Flor- ence preserves a poetic text that provides fundamental, and practically unknown,40 testimony in this regard. The poem appears in a zibaldone of the still largely unpublished corpus of burlesque verse by Alfonso de’ Pazzi (1509–1555), one of the foremost poets of Ducal Florence.41 Insert- ed into the midst of numerous texts of great interest, which comment on many political and artistic events of the contemporary Florentine scene, we read the following sonettessa:42 181 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini 4 8 11 14 17 20 23 Se voi farete, San Ghallo, di Dante il magnio Inferno che già il Manetto ispeculò; e scrisse, et io l’ò letto, il Giamburlari ancor tanto prestante, Vo’ mostrerrete che da voi innante non s’è veduto se non imperfetto, et così, col disegnio e spirto eletto vostro, haren noi un sì bel lume innante; vo’ siate prior dell’achademïanza, fatel acciò che con tal nuovo raggio facciat’a morte e tempo oltraggio e scherno, date principio al mirabil Inferno † ché non men questa ch’ugni altr’oper’ vostra †43 vi farà lume et metteravvi in saggio, e se in ciò vi inghaggio la spalla mia è pronta quanto vale a darvi haiuto, ma più le vostr’ale; non d’altro so vi chale che di giovare altrui con chiaro lume— la gola e ’l son et l’ozzïose piume. Dunque con vostro acume mostrateci le bolgie, il cierchio, e ’l cientro, e come et chi son quei che vi son dentro. The fact that this document has remained virtually unknown, the dif- ficulty of its language and allusions to the circumstances of its compo- sition, and the special interest it has for the present investigation require careful analysis. First of all, two considerations remove any doubt about the identity of the addressee and help specify the dating of the poem. The unrealistic hope, expressed in line 9, that the interlocutor might soon become “prior dell’achademïanza,” that is to say consul of the Accademia Fiorentina, makes it certain that the “San Ghallo” whom Pazzi addresses is none other than Francesco di Giuliano. Francesco was the only member of his family to matriculate into the academy, where he was an ally of Pazzi, whose candidacy for the position of censor he publicly proposed on August 15, 1546.44 The poem should thus almost certainly be dated to the period when Francesco was a member of the institution, between January 1545 and the spring 1547.45 Once again, then, the document appears to have originated in the mid-1540s, when Francesco’s efforts to position himself as an expert on Dante were at their most intense. The sonettessa indicates that these 182 Dante Studies 135, 2017 efforts were successful, as Sangallo’s Dantism was favorably regarded not only by an intellectual such as Varchi but also by Pazzi, who was a deadly enemy of Varchi’s.46 Evidently, the appreciation for the artist’s Dantean skills was capable of overcoming even the sharpest divisions within the academy. The dating of the poem becomes particularly important in view of Pazzi’s invitation to Francesco to represent, making use of his own design and of his own noble spirit, Dante’s Hell. It is in the context of the contemporary Dantean debates at the Accademia that the invitation assumes a special relevance. According to Pazzi, Sangallo’s work would have been superior to the speculations of the Florentine mathematician and architect Antonio Manetti. It would even exceed what Pierfrance- sco Giambullari—whom the author declared to be intellectually gifted (“tanto prestante”), but whom he also ridiculed by distorting his sur- name—had written on the same topic.47 The objects of Pazzi’s allusions are among the works that, in mid-sixteenth-century Florence, most profoundly influenced discussions about the shape, spatial distribution, and dimensions of Dante’s Hell. His reference to Antonio Manetti conjures two texts that had illustrated, also by means of cartographic schemes or maps of the infernal regions, answers to these questions. First, there is the brief discussion of the site, topography, and size of the Inferno which Landino inserted, drawing on the observations of his friend Manetti, into the preface to his 1481 commentary to the Commedia. Second, there is Girolamo Benivieni’s Dialogo di Antonio Manetti cittadino fiorentino circa al sito, forma, et misure dello Inferno di Dante Alighieri poeta excellentissimo that, added as an appendix to the Giunti edition of the Commedia of 1506, explained in more detail the results of Manetti’s investigations.48 But Pazzi also made reference to a work that was hot off the press at the time of the sonettessa’s composition. Pierfrancesco Giambullari’s De ’l Sito, Forma, & Misure, dello Inferno di Dante, one of the most significant sixteenth-century attempts to resolve the principal mathematical and geometrical discrepancies in Manetti’s hypotheses, had been printed in Florence in 1544. Although it provided a generally more accurate account of the infernal topography than those of its predecessors, Giambullari’s system nonetheless retained certain unsolved problems, such as the exact locations of certain categories of the damned.49 183 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini These perennial areas of difficulty help explain the significance of Pazzi’s invitation to Sangallo. According to the author, a new figura- tive object by the addressee would have revealed the imperfection of all the systems that intellectuals had hitherto elaborated to illustrate the exact shape and measures of Dante’s Hell. Although the sonettessa referred explicitly only to Manetti and Giambullari, the poet’s argu- ment was meant to characterize as deficient all of the authors who had dealt with these questions. The allusion to erroneous treatments of the subject almost certainly extended to radical criticism of the infernal topographies of Manetti and of his Florentine acolytes as well—namely the Descritione dell’Inferno that the Lucchese Alessandro Vellutello had prefaced, accompanied by a series of woodcuts, to his Nova esposizione of the Commedia (1544).50 Considering the dating of the sonettessa and Pazzi’s hostility towards Varchi and his circle, it is possible that the accusation of inadequacy was also directed at the investigations that Varchi had carried out with his friend Luca Martini, a foremost Medi- ci courtier, academician, and Dante scholar.51 Having retired in the Florentine countryside, between 1546 and 1547 the pair tried to clear up the various unresolved questions concerning the actual measures of Dante’s Hell—problems that Martini attempted to solve by creating a relief model of the Inferno.52 According to Pazzi, Sangallo would finally have been able to answer, for the benefit of a community of people (“noi,” line 8), which appears to designate the academy, those questions that were so hotly debated at the time. By sharing with the intended audience his own innovative and illuminating understanding (“nuovo raggio”) of Dante, the poet argued, Francesco would have achieved such fame as to challenge the destructive power of time and the very shadow of death itself, and the resulting work would have marked its creator as a wise man (“metteravvi in saggio”). Furthermore, Pazzi explicitly proposed himself as the patron of the artwork (“in ciò vi ingaggio”), but while he put at Francesco’s disposition all his own strength and resources, he acknowledged that it would be the addressee’s genius that would best sustain the enterprise. According to the author, the artist’s generosity would make the project possible. Spurning every other-worldly care,53 Sangallo would benefit mankind through his well-known discernment (“chiaro lume”). Avail- ing himself of his own intellect, Pazzi concluded, the artist would be 184 Dante Studies 135, 2017 Fig. 4. Draftsman A of the “Dante Vallicelliano”, Map of Hell: Rome, Bi blioteca Vallicelliana, incunable Z. 79. A, c. 13r. Su concessione del Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali. 185 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini able to properly illustrate the infernal bolge, the exact circumference and center of the infernal regions, and the precise location of the reprobates who are punished there—all questions that Manetti, Giambullari, and other intellectuals had probed so extensively. But what kind of artwork did the poet mean to champion? It is pos- sible that the reference to “disegnio” in line 7 is a metonymy used to indicate an object made by means of one of the arts of design, not an actual drawing. Considering the professional profile of Francesco, Pazzi could have been exhorting his sculptor and engineer friend to make a detailed relief of Dante’s Hell. The virtual commission might have been for something comparable to the relief made by a certain Raggio Sensale—a personage of whom Vasari speaks in his life of Filippo Lip- pi54—or else akin to the model that Luca Martini was working on at this very time. But the most obvious answer is to interpret the reference to design as an indication of the artistic medium that Sangallo was being asked to use. And if Francesco and his father were indeed the owners and draftsmen of the Dante Vallicelliano, Alfonso de’ Pazzi might even have seen that incunable. He would therefore have been in the position to urge his addressee to replicate a drawing by his father: the detailed sec- tion of Dante’s Hell which, accompanied by many minute marginalia, we find on c. 13r of the volume (fig. 4).55 Until the questions concerning the paternity of the illustrations and annotations in the Dante Vallicelliano have been resolved, this hypothe- sis cannot be proved with certainty. Nevertheless, the sonettessa remains a document of remarkable importance, which helps shed light on an unknown aspect of the intense debates on the infernal topography that enlivened Dantean criticism in mid-Cinquecento Florence. More spe- cifically, the text reveals how a foremost literato from that milieu could nominate a practitioner of the visual arts, rather than a professional scholar, as the person with the necessary expertise and ability to settle such longstanding controversies. Ultimately, then, the poem testifies and confirms that a knowledge of Dante was indeed a most powerful means to legitimate the intellectual ambitions of a contemporary artist. Alexander von Humboldt postdoctoral fellow Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität München 186 Dante Studies 135, 2017 NOTES I had the pleasure to present part of this work in one of the panels on Dante’s Reception in Words and Images, at the 2017 RSA Annual Meeting in Chicago. I owe sincere thanks to the organiz- ers—Deborah Parker and Arielle Saiber—and participants of those sessions for their feedback on my paper. I want to express my gratitude to Dario Donetti, who kindly let me read some chapters of his dissertation on Francesco da Sangallo, and to Simon Gilson, for his valuable comments on an earlier draft of this essay. I am thankful to Samuel Vitali, for fundamental help in the transla- tions from German, and to Anna Fenton-Hathaway, for many stylistic improvements to my text. Many thanks go to Dr. Paola Paesano and Dr. Gabriella Romani, of the Biblioteca Vallicelliana in Rome, for quickly providing me with digital reproductions from the “Dante Vallicelliano”. 1. On the basis of such documentary evidence, we know that the sculptors Giovanni and Benedetto da Maiano and the engraver Francesco Rosselli had their own manuscript copies of a “Dante,” that is of the Commedia; that the painter Filippino Lippi listed the Convivio and “uno Damte in charta pechora” among the twelve books contained in his workshop; and that the sculptor Luca della Robbia owned a manuscript of the Vita Nuova. For these records, see Francis Ames-Lewis, The Intellectual Life of the Early Renaissance Artist (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), 21–22; Ulrich Pfisterer, Donatello und die Entdeckung der Stile, 1430–1445, Römische Studien der Bibliotheca Hertziana, Bd. 17 (Munich: Hirmer, 2002), 253–54; Patricia Lee Rubin, Images and Identity in Fifteenth-Century Florence (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2007), 140 and 288, n. 62; Introduction to the volume The Artist as Reader: On Education and Non- Education of Early Modern Artists (Leiden: Brill, 2013), ed. Heiko Damm, Michael Thimann, and Claus Zittel, 7 and 45, while Alessandro Parronchi, “Come gli artisti leggevano Dante,” Studi danteschi, 43 (1966), 97–134, remains a valuable and more general introduction to how Italian painters and sculptors were familiar with Dante. To the aforementioned artists we might add the name of Benvenuto Cellini, who, according to the notary inventory of his estate that was written upon his death (1571), in his own bedroom kept “un Dante in penna in asse” (Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms. Ricc. 2787, c. 81r). 2. The definition comes from Gasparo Visconti, a major poet who was active in that milieu: see Carlo Vecce, introduction to Donato Bramante, Sonetti e altri scritti (Rome: Salerno Editrice, 1995), 15. 3. See, in order, Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori (Florence: Giunti, 1568), 1:182, 184, 233, 304, 472, 474, 2:721, 748, and 776. 4. On Botticelli and Michelangelo see, among others, Corrado Ricci, La “Divina Commedia” di Dante Alighieri nell’arte del Cinquecento: Michelangelo, Raffaello, Zuccari (Milan: Fratelli Treves, 1908); Lamberto Donati, Il Botticelli e le prime illustrazioni della “Divina Commedia” (Florence: Olschki, 1962); Botticelli e Dante, ed. Corrado Gizzi (Milan: Electa, 1990); Sandro Botticelli: pittore della “Divina Commedia,” ed. Sebastiano Gentile (Milan: Skira, 2000); Michelangelo e Dante, ed. Corrado Gizzi (Milan: Electa, 1995), and Andrea Alessi, Dante, Sebastiano e Michelangelo: l’Inferno nella “Pietà” di Viterbo (Milan: Electa, 2007). 5. The best account of Francesco’s artistic profile, of his relation to the glories of the Sangallo family and to the architectural languages of Quattrocento and Cinquecento Florence, as well as of his cultural ambitions, comes from Dario Donetti’s unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Francesco da Sangallo e l’identità dell’architettura toscana (Pisa: Scuola Normale Superiore, 2016). 6. See ibid., 218–19. 7. See Bernhard Degenhart, “Dante, Leonardo und Sangallo (Dante-Illustrationen Giuliano da Sangallos in ihrem Verhältnis zu Leonardo da Vinci und zu den Figurenzeichnungen der Sangallo),” Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, 7 (1955): 101–287. Degenhart’s article remains the most systematic study of the visual apparatus of the “Dante Vallicelliano,” even though such an apparatus has for more than a century attracted the attention of art historians and literary scholars. The other key contributions on the incunable include: Ricci, La “Divina Commedia,” XI; Vittorio Cian, “Un Dante illustrato del Rinascimento,” Giornale Storico della Letteratura 187 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini Italiana, special issue 19/21, Miscellanea Dantesca (1921): 564–80; Donati, Il Botticelli, 102–44; André Chastel, Arte e umanesimo a Firenze al tempo di Lorenzo il Magnifico (Turin: Einaudi, 1964), 129; Parronchi, “Come gli artisti leggevano Dante,” 126–28; Stefano Borsi, Giuliano da Sangallo: i disegni di architettura e dell’antico (Rome: Officina, 1985), 514–16; Giovanni Morello’s entry in Sandro Botticelli: pittore della “Divina Commedia,” vol. 1, 255–56, and Henrik Engel, Dantes Inferno zur Geschichte der Höllenvermessung und des Höllentrichtermotivs (Munich: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 2006), 118–22. 8. On these two groups of illustrations, see also Cian, “Un Dante illustrato,” esp. 565–71. 9. See Degenhart, “Dante, Leonardo und Sangallo,” 193, with reference to c. 367r of the Dante Vallicelliano. The scholar (171) also observed that these leaves bear the same watermark as other works securely attributed to Giuliano, such as the architectural drawings in the Geymüller codex now in the Uffizi. 10. See, for instance, Degenhart, 119, plate 96. 11. Degenhart, 262. The author does not mention the adverb “qui,” which can be read in the original incunable. 12. Degenhart proposed the names of two cousins of Francesco: the architect and engineer Giovan Battista (1496–1548), and the architect, engineer, painter, and stage designer Aristotile (1481–1551). See esp. 210–11. 13. Among others, Degenhart attributed to Francesco the note where, having observed how Dante indicated in a periphrasis how many years Adam had waited in Limbo for the descent of Christ (Par. 26.118–23), the annotator dated his own note “1519”: see Degenhart, 104, with ref- erence to Dante Vallicelliano, c. 344v. Still, Degenhart made a mistake in reading as “1568,” and as a further possible dating of the artist’s intervention, the date beneath an illustration of a cavalry battle (104 and 163, pl. 191, with reference to the drawing at c. 142r of the incunable). A more careful reading of the numerals on the original drawing, and the subject of the scene itself, which is the battle of Tagliacozzo mentioned by Inf. 28.17–18, confirms that in fact the date is “1268,” the year of that crucial armed encounter. Such a correction, however, makes it impossible to say for how long the annotator identified with Francesco continued his interventions on the volume. 14. Borsi, Giuliano da Sangallo, discusses the drawings of the Dante Vallicelliano in his chapter on the works whose attribution to Giuliano remains dubious; Giovanni Morello’s entry in the catalogue in Sandro Botticelli: pittore della “Divina Commedia” is similarly cautious on the identity of the annotators and draftsmen of the volume. 15. Degenhart, 201–11. 16. Ibid., 104. 17. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Cod. Barb. Lat. 4424, c. 18r. The note has been tran- scribed from the facsimile of Il libro di Giuliano da Sangallo: Codice Vaticano Barberiniano Latino 4424, ed. Cristiano Huelsen (Leipzig: O. Harrassowitz, 1910), 18. Like subsequent transcriptions from sixteenth-century manuscript and printed sources, the text expands abbreviations without using round brackets, transcribes ʃ as s, j as i, x as ss, separates u and v, modernizes word divisions, and rationalizes punctuation. 18. Donetti, Francesco da Sangallo, 217–19. Stefano Borsi was the first scholar to identify the passage from the Convivio to which Francesco alludes in his note: see Borsi, Giuliano da Sangallo, 116. 19. Dante Alighieri, Convivio (2.3.6) in: idem, Opere minori, vol. 1. 2, ed. by Cesare Vasoli and Domenico de Robertis, (Milan: Ricciardi, 1979), 131–32. Compare the relevant passage in Aristotle’s De caelo, 2.12 (Aristotle, On the Heavens, transl. W. K. C. Guthrie [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1939], 205): “the moon has been observed, when half-full, to approach the planet Mars, which has then been blotted out behind the dark half of the moon, and come out again on the bright side.” 20. It is useful to recall here the elitist remark that Leonardo Bruni famously ascribed to his fellow humanist Niccolò Niccoli in his Dialogi ad Petrum Paulum Histrum (ca. 1406), that Dante was a poet suitable to the crowds of “wool-workers,” “bakers,” and other artisans of the same sort. On this and other humanistic polemics on the audience of Dante, see most recently 188 Dante Studies 135, 2017 Alison Cornish, Vernacular Translation in Dante’s Italy: Illiterate Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 164–66. 21. See Simon Gilson, “Reading the Convivio from Trecento Florence to Dante’s Cinquecen- to Commentators,” Italian Studies, 64, no. 2 (2009), 266–95, with further bibliography. 22. On references to the Convivio in Verino, Gelli, and Giambullari’s Florentine lectures, see ibid., 282–86. 23. Ibid., 275. On Leonardo’s knowledge of the Convivio, which is reflected in a number of his annotations, see Parronchi, “Come gli artisti,” 125, and Martin Kemp, Leonardo da Vinci: The Marvellous Works of Nature and Man (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981), 267. 24. Sangallo became an associate of the Accademia during the consulship of his friend Nicolò Martelli, on January 8, 1545: see Florence, Biblioteca Marucelliana, Fondo Principale, ms. B III 52, c. 22v. Later that year, the sculptors Baccio Bandinelli and Benvenuto Cellini were admitted in the institution, in which other artists, including Bronzino, were already enrolled. On the myth of Dante within the academy, see Michele Barbi, Della fortuna di Dante nel secolo XVI (Pisa: Nistri, 1890), 25–37; Armand De Gaetano, “Dante and the Florentine Academy: The Commentary of Giambattista Gelli as Work of Popularization and Textual Criticism,” Italica, 45, no. 2 ( Jun. 1968), 146–70; Aldo Vallone, L’interpretazione di Dante nel Cinquecento (Florence: Olschki, 1969), 139–244; Giancarlo Mazzacurati, Conflitti di culture nel Cinquecento (Naples: Liguori, 1977), 183–223; and Davide Dalmas, Dante nella crisi religiosa del Cinquecento Italiano: Da Trifon Gabriele a Lodovico Castelvetro (Manziana: Vecchiarelli, 2005), 33–152. For a number of earlier examples of the Florentine tendency towards an identitarian reading of Dante, see Deborah Parker, Commentary and Ideology: Dante in the Renaissance (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993). 25. On this, see the fundamental work of Michel Plaisance, L’Accademia e il suo Principe. Cultura e politica a Firenze al tempo di Cosimo I e Francesco de’ Medici (Manziana: Vecchiarelli, 2004), esp. 123–34. Also relevant are Massimo Firpo, Gli affreschi di Pontormo a San Lorenzo: Eresia, politica e cultura nella Firenze di Cosimo I (Turin: Einaudi, 1997), 205–6, and François Quiviger, “The Presence of Artists in Literary Academies,” in Italian Academies of the Sixteenth Century, ed. David Chambers and François Quiviger (London: Warburg Institute, 1995), 105–12. 26. See Randal Johnson, Introduction to Pierre Bourdieu, The Field of Cultural Production (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993), 7. 27. Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, transl. Richard Nice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984), 291. 28. Only the letter to Varchi was published during Francesco’s lifetime; see Due Lezzioni di M. Benedetto Varchi, nella prima delle quali si dichiara un Sonetto di M. Michelagnolo Buonarroti. Nella seconda si disputa quale sia più nobile arte la Scultura, o la Pittura, con una lettera d’esso Michelagnolo, & più altri Eccellentiss. Pittori, et Scultori, sopra la Quistione sopradetta (Florence: Torrentino, 1549 stile fiorentino), 139–49. Nicolò Martelli included his 1546 exchange with Sangallo in the manuscript of the second volume of his letters that he prepared for the press (now ms. Magl. VIII. 1447 of the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale of Florence), but the collection remained unpublished in the sixteenth century. See Renzo Rabboni, “Fra Aretino e Varchi: le lettere (e le rime) sull’arte di Nicolò Martelli,” Italianistica, 38, no. 2 (Summer 2009), 251–69: 251, and 265–67, for Martelli’s friendship with Sangallo. 29. Francesco da Sangallo, letter to Nicolò Martelli, November 20, 1546, in Detlef Heikamp, “Ein Madonnenrelief von Francesco da Sangallo,” Berlineer Museen, 8, no. 2 (November 1958), 34–40. “Et s’alchuni pure quella biasmassero [.  .  .], come usano pur molti della nostra città i quali sono li malvagi invidiosi, l’insolenti superbi et altri simili [. . .]. Et così voi, Messer Niccolò mio, alzate il capo e come dice il nostro Divin Dante, quando di tali men che huomini parla, che di loro si deve far conto come delle voci degli asini” (40). The passage refers to Convivio 4.15.6 (698–99), where Dante lampooned those who argued that two different forms of human generation existed: “sanza dubbio forte riderebbe Aristotile udendo fare spezie due de l’umana generazione, sì come de li cavalli e de li asini; che, perdonimi Aristotile, asini ben si possono dire coloro che così pensano.” 189 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini 30. Francesco da Sangallo, letter to Benedetto Varchi, sine data (but February / March 1547), in Benedetto Varchi and Vincenzio Borghini, Pittura e scultura nel Cinquecento, ed. Paola Barocchi (Livorno: Sillabe, 1998): “di modo che, essendoci tante difficultà a condurre tale opere e tante fatiche d’animo e di corpo, e se si sente poi la dolcezza di quella eternità, in pace comportare si deve molte fatiche, talché mi pare a proposito ci sia la sentenzia del nostro divin Dante, dove dice: ‘Che vuol, quanto la cosa è più perfetta, / Più senta il bene, e così la doglienza’ ” (78). The quo- tation, as noted by both Barocchi and Donetti (Francesco da Sangallo, 219), is from Inferno 6.107–8. 31. Varchi, Lezzione sulla maggioranza delle arti, in Varchi and Borghini, Pittura e scultura, 53. On Varchi’s academic lectures on Dante, see Annalisa Andreoni, La via della dottrina. Le lezioni accademiche di Benedetto Varchi, (Pisa: ETS, 2012), 15–238, as well as eadem, “Varchi letterato. Un’indagine su Dante, Petrarca e il classicismo,” La Rivista. Études culturelles italiennes Sorbonne Universités, 5 (2017): special issue Varchi e dintorni, 3–11. 32. Between 1532 and 1533, Agnolo Bronzino had painted his famous Allegorical portrait of Dante, the centerpiece of the decorative plan for the bedchamber of the banker and intellectual Bartolomeo Bettini (on the work see, most recently, Raffaele de Giorgi’s entry in the catalogue Bronzino. Pittore e poeta alla corte dei Medici, ed. Carlo Falciani and Antonio Natali [Florence: Man- dragora, 2010], 206). At about the same time as Sangallo’s Dantism reached its peak, Luca Martini commissioned from Giorgio Vasari the painting of the Six Tuscan Poets (1543–1544), in which the author of the Commedia figures as the fons et origo of the greatest poetry in the vernacular, and from Pierino da Vinci the bronze relief of the Death of Count Ugolino (1548), an intense visual meditation on Inferno 30. On Vasari’s portrait, see Deborah Parker, “Vasari’s Ritratto di sei poeti toscani: A Visible Literary History,” Modern Language Notes, 127 Supplement (2012), 204–15. On Pierino’s relief, see Britta Kusch-Arnhold, Pierino da Vinci (Münster: Rhema, 2008), 51-69, with further references. On Luca Martini’s Dantean interests, see infra, and for a general introduction to artistic representations of Dante in the contemporary Florentine scene, with special attention to the cultural context of the Accademia Fiorentina, see Jonathan Nelson, “Dante Portraits in Sixteenth Century Florence,” Gazette des beaux-arts, 6, no. 120 (1992), 59–77. 33. In March 1546, Varchi gave a polemical lecture on envy at the Accademia Fiorentina. The lecture marked the culmination of the literary war that had long pitted the humanist against other leading intellectuals of the academy such as Cosimo Bartoli, Carlo Lenzoni, and Giovambattista Gelli. (For a detailed reconstruction of the conflict, see Firpo, Gli affreschi di Pontormo, 266–84.) Slandered by his enemies for his literary and philosophical positions, Varchi in his lecture reacted by openly accusing his detractors of envy. Sangallo makes explicit reference to this, mentioning how the addressee had recently broken Envy’s arms off (lines 6–7). 34. See De’ sonetti di M. Benedetto Varchi colle risposte, e proposte di diversi, parte seconda (Flor- ence: Torrentino, 1557), 135. Only recently have scholars begun to pay attention to Varchi’s poetic production in the vernacular: see esp. Bernhard Huss, “ ‘Cantai colmo di gioia, e senza inganni.’ Benedetto Varchis Sonetti (parte prima) im Kontext des italienischen Cinquecento- Petrarkismus,” Romanistisches Jahrbuch, 52, no. 1 (2001), 133–57; Giuliano Tanturli, “Una gesta- zione e un parto gemellare: la prima e la seconda parte dei Sonetti di Benedetto Varchi,” Italique, 7 (2004), 43–100; and Laura Paolino, “Il ‘geminato ardore’ di Benedetto Varchi. Storia e costru- zione di un canzoniere ‘ellittico,’ ” Nuova Rivista di Letteratura Italiana, 7, no. 1/2 (2004), 233–314. 35. Another poem in the anthology of Varchi’s 1557 Sonetti designates the Three Crowns as the “tre gran Toschi”: see Diletta Gamberini, “I colloqui poetici degli artisti della corte medicea con Benedetto Varchi,” La Rivista. Études culturelles italiennes Sorbonne Universités, 5 (2017), special issue Varchi e dintorni, 61–69: 65, n. 23. 36. It is useful to recall here that a quickly aborted project of monumental commemoration of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, devised for the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, had already been discussed in late-Trecento Florence. On this, see Erminia Irace, “Il ritorno delle ceneri,” in Atlante della letteratura italiana, ed. Sergio Luzzatto and Gabriele Pedullà (Turin: Einaudi, 2010), vol. 1, Dalle origini al Rinascimento, 298–303. 37. See Donetti, Francesco da Sangallo, 221. 38. See Gamberini, “I colloqui poetici,” 65–68. 190 Dante Studies 135, 2017 39. In his funeral oration for the Grand Duke, the first physician at the Medici court wrote that in the 1560s Cosimo had planned to have the twenty-eight niches of the Loggiato of the Uffizi adorned with statues representing “tutti quei Fiorentini, che fussero stati chiari, & illustri nelle armi, nelle lettere, & ne i governi civili” (see Baccio Baldini, Orazione fatta nella Accademia Fiorentina, in lode del Serenissimo Sig. Cosimo Medici Gran Duca di Toscana, Gloriosa Memoria [Flor- ence: Sermartelli, 1574], unnumbered pages). It appears certain that such a plan, intended to be a proud celebration of the cultural and literary primacy of the city of Florence, would have entailed the completion of effigies in honor of Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio. On the project, see Stefania Iacopozzi, “Il ciclo scultoreo degli Uffizi: genesi e sviluppo di un progetto non solo celebrativo,” in Gli uomini illustri della Loggia degli Uffizi: Storia e Restauro, ed. Magnolia Scudieri (Florence: Edifir, 2001), 15–33: 17 and 29, n. 6. 40. The poem was only published, in utterly incorrect and unreliable form, in a nine- teenth-century anthology of verse devoted to Dante Alighieri: see Poesie di mille autori intorno a Dante Alighieri raccolte ed ordinate cronologicamente con note storiche, bibliografiche e biografiche, ed. Carlo del Balzo (Rome: Tipografia del Senato, 1897), vol. 5, 283. In the edition, the text goes under the title Contro il Sangallo, which has no justification in the manuscript and overturns the intended encomiastic sense of the poem. 41. On the author, see esp. Domenico Zanrè, Cultural Non-Conformity in Early Modern Florence (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2004), 111–39; Aldo Castellani, Nuovi canti carnascialeschi di Firenze. Le ‘canzone’ e mascherate di Alfonso de’ Pazzi (Florence: Olschki, 2006), and Giorgio Masi, “Politica, arte e religione nella poesia dell’Etrusco (Alfonso de’ Pazzi),” in Autorità, modelli e antimodelli nella cultura artistica e letteraria tra Riforma e Controriforma. Atti del seminario internazionale di studi, Urbino-Sassocorvaro, 9–11 novembre 2006, ed. Antonio Corsaro and Paolo Procaccioli (Manzia- na: Vecchiarelli, 2007), 301–58. The manuscript that preserves the text, on p. 440, is the cod. Capponi 134 (formerly Palatino 421) of the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale of Florence. Luigi de’ Pazzi compiled this anthology in the early 1570s, transcribing hundreds of compositions by his father. On this zibaldone, see Giorgio Masi, entry “Pazzi, Alfonso de’, detto l’Etru- sco,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, Rome: Istituto dell’Enciclopedia, 82 (2015), available in electronic format: http://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/pazzi-alfonso-de-detto-l -etrusco _(Dizionario- Biograf ico)/. This collection would seem to be the only surviving manuscript source for the poem under examination, as this text has not been preserved in the principal autograph collection of Alfonso de’ Pazzi’s literary works: see Archivio di Stato of Florence, Guardaroba Medicea, 221. Just like the Capponi zibaldone, this important manuscript collection of Pazzi’s verse and prose awaits a systematic analysis, which will be rendered all too difficult and excruciating by the author’s nearly illegible handwriting, as well as by his obscurely allusive language often lacking in apparent logical connections, in the manner of Burchiello. 42. It is useful to recall here that the sonettessa is a sonnet that is augmented by the addition of a series of extra final lines, arranged in several code of rhymed hendecasyllables and septenaries. In the Italian Cinquecento, the metrical structure was especially popular among comic poets. 43. The line appears to be corrupt, since it does not rhyme, as required by the metrical norms of the sonetto and of the sonettessa, with line 9 of the poem. It seems plausible that in this case, as in several other compositions of the Capponi manuscript, Luigi de’ Pazzi was not able to decipher a portion of his father’s handwritten poem, and filled the resulting gap within the text with a line of his own invention. 44. On this circumstance, see Masi, “Pazzi, Alfonso.” 45. It is most unlikely that the author would wish the consulate on somebody who had not yet joined the ranks of the academicians, and quite impossible that he would have wished it on one of the many who were expelled from the academy in 1547. 46. Alfonso de’ Pazzi was the author of the so-called “Varcheide,” a collection of over a hundred vituperative poems against Varchi. Many of these texts were published in the volume Il terzo libro dell’opere burlesche. Di M. Francesco Berni e di M. Gio. Della Casa, dell’Aretino, de’ Bronzini, del Franzesi, di Lorenzo de’ Medici, del Galileo, del Ruspoli, del Bertini, del Firenzuola, del Lasca, del 191 The Artist as a Dantista Gamberini Pazzi, e di altri autori, ed. Giovanni Bottari, (Naples, 1729, with the false print date and location of “Florence, 1723”), 273–350. 47. Pazzi repeatedly used the same form Giamburlari as a means to lampoon his fellow intel- lectual of the Accademia Fiorentina. Compare, for instance, the sonnet Giamburlari, se per giamba o burla ài, published in Masi, “Politica, arte e religione,” 350. 48. On these works, and on their visual paratext, see, most recently, John Kleiner, Mismapping the Underworld: Daring and Error in Dante’s “Comedy” (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1994), 24–56; Piero Scapecchi, “Cristoforo Landino, Niccolò di Lorenzo e la ‘Commedia,’ ” in Sandro Botticelli: pittore della ‘Divina Commedia,’ vol. 1, 44–47; Simona Foà, “Il Dialogo sul sito, forma, e misure dell’inferno di Girolamo Benivieni e un particolare aspetto dell’esegesi dantesca tra XV e XVI secolo,” in Dante e il locus inferni. Creazione letteraria e tradizione interpretativa, ed. Simona Foà and Sonia Gentili (Rome: Bulzoni, 2000), 179–90; Simon Gilson, “Science in and between Dante and His Commentators: The Case of Cristoforo Landino’s ‘Comento sopra la Comedia di Danthe Alighieri,’ ” Annali d’Italianistica, 23 (2005), 31–54: 37–38, and Engel, Dantes Inferno, 75–88. 49. See Kleiner, Mismapping the Underworld, 148, n. 8 and 154, n. 38; Floriana Calitti, Scrittori in cattedra: la forma della lezione dalle origini al Novecento (Rome: Bulzoni, 2002), esp. 92–96; Foà, “Il Dialogo,” 190, and Engel, Dantes Inferno, 135–44. 50. Kleiner, Mismapping the Underworld, 25–26; Calitti, Scrittori in cattedra, 91–92, and Engel, Dantes Inferno, 145–52. On the work, see also the introduction and notes to Alessandro Vellu- tello, La ‘Comedia’ di Dante Aligieri con la nova esposizione, ed. Donato Pirovano (Rome: Salerno, 2006), 3 vols. 51. On Martini, see Jonathan Nelson, “Creative Patronage: Luca Martini and the Renais- sance Portrait,” Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, 39, no. 2/3 (1995), 282–305. For a recent assessment of his dantismo, see Enrico Garavelli, “Riflessi polemici, difesa del fioren- tino e culto di Dante in una lettera inedita di Luca Martini a Vincenzio Borghini,” Neuphilolo- gische Mitteilungen, 108, no. 4 (2007), 709–27. 52. In his posthumous biography of Varchi, Baccio Valori, though mistakenly dating the event to 1555, wrote that the humanist stayed in San Gavino, “dove dimorò alcun tempo e fra gli studi suoi faticò molto insieme con Luca Martini, che andò da lui per questo, in ricercare le vere misure dell’inferno di Dante, così confuse per quel verso e più d’un terzo di traverso non ci ha. Al qual effetto fabbricò Luca certo modello del sito” (quoted from Salvatore Lo Re, “Biografie e biografi di Benedetto Varchi: Giambattista Busini e Baccio Valori,” Archivio Stori- co Italiano, 56, no. 4 [1998], 671–736: 733–34). For the dating of the event see also Garavelli, “Riflessi polemici,” 722–23. 53. The temptations to greed, idleness, and lust (line 20, “la gola e ’l son et l’ozzïose piume”) are evoked by the Petrarchan quotation from Canzoniere, 7.1. 54. See Vasari, Vite, vol. 1, 493 (with reference to Botticelli’s paintings in the Florentine church of Santa Maria del Carmine): “E nella storia che segue ritrasse Sandro Botticello suo maestro e molti altri amici e grand’uomini, e infra gli altri il Raggio sensale, persona d’ingegno e spiritosa molto, quello che in una conca condusse di rilievo tutto l’Inferno di Dante, con tutti i cerchi e partimenti delle bolgie e del pozzo misurati apunto, tutte le figure e minuzie che da quel gran poeta furono ingegnosissimamente immaginate e discritte, che fu tenuta in questi tempi cosa maravigliosa.” 55. As noted by Morello’s entry in Sandro Botticelli: pittore della “Divina Commedia” (vol. 1, 256), the section of Inferno in the Dante Vallicelliano closely follows the scheme that was first elaborated by Botticelli in his famous chart of Hell, now preserved in the Biblioteca Vaticana. See also Engel, Dantes Inferno, 121. 
work_fhbf5cez6veirdwino5xwyxh7e	----	172 bo ok reviews Succinctly stated, “Continuous redesign” entails the possibility for the build- ers to adapt designs according to changing needs during the long period of construction (incessant revisions); “myopic progression” signifies that the proj- ect remains incomplete and the architects (or capomaestri) provide detailed portions of the project in stages, delivering only as much as is needed at any particular moment of construction; “concatenation” describes linking and inte- grating each successive stage of construction to a preceding one; and “retrosys- thesis” involves harmonizing previous stages of the project in a coherent whole. This illuminating book, full of insightful interpretations, extensive new documentation, and rich examples, focuses the reader’s attention on the re- lationship between architecture and time. Trachtenberg puts emphasis on the understanding of Building-in-Time, and seeks to provide an answer as to why Alberti’s radical idea, which has dominated architecture from the sixteenth century, still appeals to us as a natural way to build, while Building-in-Time has been perceived as something irrational. It is in fact a deeply rational, or- dered, and efficient way of building. This book is a good point of departure for rethinking the pre-modern European world of architecture, as well as a starting point to see present architectural culture in a new way. It is dense and challeng- ing reading, intended for scholars and graduate-level students familiar with architecture, history, and philosophy. The text is accompanied by superb photographs, most of them by the author himself, which perfectly illustrate the points discussed and greatly en- hance the flow. ewa chwojko-srawley, Georgina Arts Centre and Gallery Wallace, William E. Michelangelo: The Artist, the Man, and His Times. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Pp. xvi, 401. ISBN 978-0-521- 11199-7 (hardcover) $30. William E. Wallace’s biography of Michelangelo is firmly based on the extensive collection of letters by or to Michelangelo and on a rich variety of primary comptes rendus 173 sources. The result is not only a very “human” insight into the artist’s life, but also a detailed depiction of the larger cultural context. While providing the reader with an overview of the times and the artist, Wallace focuses on some important aspects of Michelangelo’s life and personal- ity, such as his obsession with his alleged noble origins. He reveals the pivotal role played by the artist’s friendship with important figures such as Tommaso de’ Cavalieri and Vittoria Colonna. Cavalieri was not only Michelangelo’s “be- loved”; he was also, and above all, a powerful source of poetic and artistic in- spiration. Colonna, on the other hand, was a pious correspondent and faithful friend who served Michelangelo as a guide in his spiritual/religious growth. Wallace further examines Michelangelo’s crucial role as official artist at the pa- pal court and, last but not least, the abundance of artworks he produced during his long life. Wallace’s achievement in this biography is to highlight, often through the artist’s own words, the importance and prominence of Michelangelo’s works in his day as well as the sheer volume of work and the variety of difficulties he encountered while trying to complete some of the most iconic artworks of the Italian Renaissance. At the same time, Wallace refers to projects and works other writers tend to overlook or mention only in passing. For example, when discussing the large bronze statue of Pope Julius II in Bologna, Wallace provides the reader with many technical details that allow the reader to better understand what a colossal engineering challenge this project proved to be and the almost endless and intense work it involved. Wallace thus re-dimensions the myth that has grown up around Michelangelo. The artist is presented not as a “divine” genius, but as a man with both merits and shortcomings, an individual with a sense of humour and a wry wit, a likeable and generous man, often passionate and at times hot- tempered. Wallace’s depiction places Michelangelo at the centre of a vibrant milieu of friends, family, admirers, and patrons that, in turn, colours both his personal and public figure. Some of these individuals are lively figures—such as Pope Paul III Farnese, who appointed Michelangelo chief architect, painter, and sculptor at the Apostolic Palace and, in so doing, gave him the opportunity to create some of his best-known masterpieces. Wallace’s narrative style is easy to read and very enjoyable, thus reach- ing out to an audience of scholars and students, specialists and generalists. It brings Michelangelo to life in all his complexity and sets him and his art among 174 bo ok reviews the dynamics of the Italian Renaissance, providing the reader not only with a colourful image of the artist as a man, but also of the vibrant times in which he lived and worked. sebastiano bazzichetto, University of Toronto Walton, Michael T. Genesis and the Chemical Philosophy: True Christian Science in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. AMS Studies in the Renaissance 45. New York: AMS Press, 2011. Pp. xiii, 172. ISBN 978-0-404-62345-6 (hardback) $92.50. It is a well-known fact that during the Renaissance and early modern period alchemy was not just concerned with the making of elixirs or gold; the art also encompassed a spiritual approach towards nature; and it assumed a distinctly Christian guise. Walton’s study examines these developments in such “chemical philosophers” as Paracelsus, Gerhard Dorn, Oswald Croll, Heinrich Khunrath, Robert Fludd, and Jean Baptiste van Helmont. It is a formidably difficult terri- tory for historiographers, as Walton, himself an expert in the field, rightly em- phasizes. Although his chosen scholars were in one way or another adherents to the Paracelsian tradition, they developed very heterogeneous and individual ideas. For this reviewer, at least, the treatment of von Helmont’s connections between his discovery of “Gas” and the first verses of Genesis belong to the most interesting and well-documented pages of the book (89–97). Walton here convincingly demonstrates the extent to which Bible study closely interlocks with very innovative seventeenth-century laboratory practice. The reader might wonder, later, why the author does not tie the above section to Van Helmont’s remarks on fermentation (123–25); instead, Walton refers us to a previous publication of his own. Unfortunately, it is not the only abrupt transition: Genesis and the Chemical Philosophy, from its very start, is not very clearly structured. Both the general reader (at whom the book is aimed) and the specialist would benefit from a longer, general introduction that carefully outlines the content of chapters, and that explains why particular texts 
work_fhxmds6jbfbo7jsidd7ibey7sm	----	PII: 0315-0860(81)90062-8 HM8 Abstracts #1763-#1816 489 ABSTRACTS EDITED BY ALBERT C. LEWIS The purpose of this department is to give sufficient infor- mation about the subject matter of each publication to enable users to decide whether to read it. It is our intention to cover all books, articles, and other materials in the field. Books for abstracting and eventual review should be sent to -- ------ this department, with an extra copy sent directly to the editor --- ---- of the Book Reviews Department if the publisher wishes to ac- --- -- --- celerate the process. Materials should be sent to Dr. Albert C. Lewis, Humanities Research Centre, Box 7219, Austin, TX 78712. Readers are invited to send reprints, autoabstracts, correc- tions, additions, and notices of publications that have been overlooked. Be sure to include complete bibliographic informa- tion, as well as transliteration and translation for non-Euro- pean languages. We need volunteers willing to cover one or more journals for this department. The indexing terms (in captials) refer only to aspects of the publication of interest to historians of mathematics, includ- ing some topics in general history of science and historiography, but not other topics unless there is a fairly close link with mathematics or its history. MR 46 #3255 means that the item is numbered 3255 in volume 46 of Mathematical Reviews. RZ 1973 #3A14 means that the item is numbered 3414 in the third number of the 1973 volume of the Referativny Zhurnal. Z 50 4 means volume 50, page 4 of the Zentralblatt. Isis 102, 45 means item 45 in the 102nd Isis Critical Bibliography. In order to facilitate reference and indexing, entries are given serial numbers which appear at the end following the symbol #. The serial numbers of books are underlined. A name in parentheses at the end of an entry indicates the abstractor. In this issue there are abstracts by Albert C. Lewis, H. Mehrtens, L. F. Meyers, and C. J. Tee. 0315-0860/81/040489-05$02.00/O Copy@$u 0 1981 ~~Acad@~icPr~ss, Inc. AN rights of reproduction in any form reserved. 490 Abstracts #l-/63-#I816 HM 8 ACLOQUE PAUL 1981 OsCillations et stabilitP se1011 Foucault; Critique historique et exp&imcntale. PrBface de Pierre Costabel. Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. xiv + 149 pp. Illustrated. Paperbound. ISBN 2-222-02849-3. (Cd- leftiOn des Travaux de i'Acad&nle Internationale d'tiistoire &s Sciences, No. 28,) An aCCOUnt Of LEON FOUCAIJLT's work on oscillation and stability. J. M. BINET. J. V. PONCEZET. (ACL) #I763 ALEKSANDROV P S 1979 The GENEML TOPOLOGY school at M0SCOW UNIVERSITY. (Russian) Vestnik Moskovskogo Universiteta Ser. I. Matematika, Mehanika No. 6, 3-6. (ACL) #1764 ALEXANDROV P S et al. 1981 A. I. MARKUSHEVLCH as a historian of mathematics. HM 8, 125-132. (ACL) #1765 (ANONYMOUS) 1979. Academician Profesor Gheorghe VRANCEANU. Studii si Cercet&i Matematice 31, 385-386. (In Romanian.) OBITUARY. DIFFERENTIAL GEOMETRY. (L. T. MJZYERS) #1766 ~ANONYM0~S) 1980. List of works of Paul TU&.N. Acta Arithmetica 37, 21-34. BIBLI- OGRAPHY of 244 items. (L. F. MEYERS) %1767 (ANONYMOUS) 1980. Paul. TURiN (1910-1976). Acta Arithmetica 37, 1. (In English, with PORTRAIT in frontispiece.) Very brief biography. CL. F. mYERSI El768 (ANONYMOUS) 1981. BronisZ'aw KNASTER. Fundamenta Mathematicae lil, inserted before p. 1. (In French.) OBITUARY. PORTRAIT. (L. F. MEYERS) #1769 BECHER HARVEY W 1980 Woodhouse, Babbage, Peacock, and modern ALGEBRA. HM 7, 389- 400. GEORGE PEACOCK. CHARLES BABBAGE. ROBERT WOODHOUSE. (ACL) R1770 BH?&KAtiCHRRYA 1900 Bh&kar%hZry.Z's BijagaFita and Its English Translation. TX-SiS- lated by Professor S. K. Abhyankar. Paona, India: Bh&karlch;iryZ Pratishthana, :06/6 Erandawane. 59 PP. Rs. 5. Twelfth-century Indian ALGEBRA. Sanskrit with English translation. (ACL) #1771 BIALAS V 1980 Internationaler Kongress iiber Wissenschaftsentwicklunq 1848-1918. Budapest 16.-19. September 1980. Berichte zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte 3, 226-228. Theme : Matters of development of science and technology in Central Europe durinq.1848- 1918. H. Wussing spoke on the principal line of development in the period 1850-1920, wflectirig political. and social developments. L. Nov$ spoke on social and scientific matters relating to the development of scientific institutions. (I,. F. MEYERS) ti1772 BUCK R CREIGHTON 1980 Sherlock Holmes in Babylon. American Mathematical Monthly 87, 335-345. A description of the decipherment and interpretation of the BA~YbONI~N mathematical cuneiform tablet Plimpton 322. (Reprinted in Cryptologia 5 (19811.) (ACL) #1773 BiiHLER WALTER KAUFMANN 1981 Gauss: A Biographical Study. Berlin et al.: Sprinqer- Verlaq. viii l 208 pp. Illustrated. $16.80. C. F. GAUSS. According to the author this is "addressed to the confemporary mathematician and scientist, not to the histo- rian of science or the psycholagist collecting the scalps of qreat men." The numerous quotations are translated into English with the original usually given in the footnotes Appendixes are devoted to the organization of Gauss' collected works, a survey of the secondary Literature, and an index to Gauss' works. (ACL) #1774 BUTZER PAUL L 1981 An outline of the life and work of E. B. CHRISTOFFEL (182% 19001. HM 8, 243-276. (ACL) ii1775 BUTZER P 1; & FEHiiR F 1980. Bericht iiber das Internationale Christoffel-Symposium in Aachen und Monschau, 8,-11. November l.979. Berichte zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte 3, 193-201. Sesquicentennial observance. 8rief biography. (He was born in Monschau.) Section titles: Christoffel im Rahmen seiner Zeit; fhristoffels nicht geometrische Verijffentlichunqen; Christoffels Beitr;ige zur Differentialgeometrie und deren Anwendunqen. This is probably the first symposium on Christoffel. Festschrift in preparation. (L. F. MEYERS) #It776 HM 8 Abstracts #1763-#1816 491 CHARBONNEAU LOUIS 1981 Congrbs Annuel, Canadian Society for the History and Philos- ophy of Mathematics/Soci&B Canadienne d'histoire et de philosophie des math&atiques. HM 8, 191-192. (ACL) #1777 CLAGETT MARSHALL 1980 ARCHIMEDES in the Middle Ages. Volume 4: A Supplement on the Medieval Latin Traditions of Conic Sections (1150-1566). Part I: Texts and Anal- ysis. Part II: Bibliography, Diagrams, and Indexes. Philadelphia: The American Philosophical Society. 2 VOlS. Illustrated. $30.00. (Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society, Vol. 137, Parts A and 8.) ALHAZEN. WITELO. WILLIAM OF MOERBEKE. JOHANN WERNER. ALBRECHT D&R. ORONCE FINE. FRANCESCO MAUROLICO. (ALC) #1778 COHEN G L & SHANNON A G 1981 JOHN WARD's method for the calculation of pi. HM 8, 133-144. (ACL) #1779 D'AMORE BRUNO 1981 ETTORE CARRUCCIO--The man and the scientist. HM 8, 235-242. (ACL) #1780 DASTON LORRAINE J 1980 Probabilistic expectation and rationality in classical PROBABILITY THEORY. HM 7, 234-260. (ACL) #1781 DAUBEN JOSEPH W 1980 Mathematicians and World War I: The international diplomacy of G. H. HARDY and GijSTA MITTAG-LEFFLER as reflected in their personal correspondence. HM 7, 261-288. (ACL) #1782 DAVIS PHILIP J & HERSH REUBEN 1981 The Mathematical Experience. Boston et al.: Birkhauser. xix + 440 pp. Illustrated. $24.00, ISBN 3-7643-3018-X. An attempt "to capture the inexhaustible variety presented by the mathematical experience," making use of the history and philosophy of mathematics as well as of mathematical exposition. Treatment of general questions, such as "How much mathematics is now known?" and particular topics, such as "the stretched string," and "the Riemann Hypothesis." Bibliography of 18 pages. (ACL) #1783 DICK AUGUSTE 1981 EMMY NOETHER 1882-1935. Translated by H. I. Blocher. Boston/ Basel/Stuttgart: Brikhxuser. xiv + 193 pp. Illustrated. $12.95. ISBN 3-7643- 3019-8. A popular biography with list of publications by Noether. Also included are the complete obituaries by B. L. van der Waerden, H. Weyl, and P. S. Alexandrov. (ACL) #1784 DJEBBAR A 1981 Enseignement et recherche math&natiques dans le Maghreb des XIIIe- XI+ sibcles (Etude partielle). Orsay: Universit& de Paris-Sud, D&partement de Math- Gmatique, Bdt. 425. 147 pp. Reproduced typescript. (Publications Math&natiques d'orsay, No. 81-02.) Mathematical instruction and research in MAGHRIB (or Maghreb) of the 13th and 14th centuries. In this "partial study" several aspects of algebra, symbolism in algebra, and the theory of numbers and combinatorics are considered with reference to original manuscripts. ARABIC. (ACL) #1785 ECHEVERRIA JAVIER 1979 L'analyse g&m&rique de Grassmann et ses rapports avec la caract&istique g&&trique de LEIBNIZ. Studia Leibnitiana 11, 223-273. H. G. GRASSMANN "certainly created a new branch of mathematics . . . (but) what this results in is quite different, and at times even divergent, from the Leibnizian version" of the CHARACTERISTICA GEOMETRICA. (ACL) #1786 EGMOND WARREN VAN 1980 Practical Mathematics in the ITALIAN RENAISSANCE: A Catalog of Italian Abacus Manuscripts and Printed Books to 1600. Firenze: Istituto e Museo di Storia della Scienza. xliv + 442 pp. Paperbound. (Supplement to the Annali dell'Istituto e Museo di Storia della Scienza, 1980, Fascicolo 1.) Described in full bibliographical detail are 300 manuscripts and 153 abacus books printed between 1476 and 1600 plus 33 later editions of these works, located in nearly 100 libraries. (XL) #1787 ELFVING GUSTAV 1981 The History of Mathematics in FINLAND, 1828-1918. Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica. 195 pp. Illustrated. Paperbound. ISBN 951-653-098-Z. (The History of Learning and Science in Finland 1828-1918, 4a.) The author is Emeritus Professor of Mathematics at the University of Helsinki. Biographical accounts of about 492 Abstracts #1763-#1816 KM8 fifty mathematicians are given along with descriptions of their mathematical contribu- tions. Included are: N. G. AF SCHULT~N; LO~NZ LINDELijF; GijSTA MITTAG-~FFLER; HJALMAR MELLIN; E. R. NEOVIUS; ERNST LINDELEjF; 3. W. LINDEBERG; SEVERIN JORANSSON. Photographs of most of the subjects are reproduced. (ACL) #1788 ENGELBERG DON & GERTNER MICHAEL 1981 A marginal note of MERSENNE concerning the "Galileian Spiral." HM 8, l-14. (ACL) #1789 ENGELSMAN S B 1981 Tagung "Geschichte der Mathematik im Mathematischen Forschunqs- institut Oberwolfach. HM 8, 67-79. (ACL) #1790 ERD& P 1980 Some personal reminiscences of the mathematical work of Paul TURN. Acta Arithmetica 37, 3-8. Some interesting problems in NUMBER THEORY that Turdn worked on (often with ERD&). (L. F. MEYERS) #1793 FREISLEBEN HANS-CHRISTIAN 1978 Geschichte der Navigation. 2nd ed. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner. viii + 152 pp. (ACL) #1792 FRIBERG J&AN 1981 Methods and traditions of BABYLONIAN MATHEMATICS: Plimpton 322, Pythagorean triples, and the Babylonian triangle parameter equations. HM 8, 277-318. (ACL) #1793 FRISINGER H HOWARD 1981 The solution of a famous two-centuries-old problem. The LEONHARD ED‘LER-LATIN SQUARE conjecture. HM 8, 56-60. (ACL) #1794 GANI J 1981 The spread of epidemics. Mathematical Chronicle 10, l-11. Surveys of mathematical studies of epidemics, by JOHN GRAUNT, DANIEL BERNOULLI, W. FARR, .I. BROWNLFE, W. H. HAMER, and recent investigators. (G. J. Tee) #1795 GERKE KARL & HARBORTH HEIKO 1981 Zum Leben des Braunschweiger Mathematikers RICHARD DEDEKIND. Pp. 657-694 in G. Spies, ed., Brunswick 1031-Braunschweig 1981. Festsfhrift sur Ausstellung+ (Braunschweig: St;idtisches Museum). Brief biography with some new information, family tree, 24 paws of illustrations of homes. familv, manuscripts, and portraits of Dedekind at 1?+,-24 (color). 37, 55, and 72 y&s. - (H. Mehrtensf #1796 GHEORGHIEV GH 1981 ALBERT EINSTEIN and the development of differential geometry. Noesis: Travaux du Cornit Roumain d'Histoire et de Philosophie des Sciences, 7, 9-16. GEORG PICK. DAVID HILBERT. A. MYLLER. (ACL) #1797 GILLISPIE CHARLES C 1979 Memoirs inedits ou anonymes de LAPLACE sur la theorie des erreurs, les polyn&mes de LEGENDPE, et la philosophic des probabilities. Revue d'Histoire des Sciences et de leurs Applications 32, 223-279. (ACL) #179% GOLDSTEIN B R 1981 The Hebrew astronomical tradition: New sources. Isis 72, 237- 251. Appendix 3 contains a list of eight mathematical fragments from the Cairo Geniza (L. F. Meyers) _ #1799 GRABINER JUDITH V 1981 The Origins of Cauchy's rigorous CALCULUS. Cambridge, Mass. MIT Press. x + 252 pp. $30.00. ISBN O-262-07579-0. The 19th-century revolution in calculus created by A.-L. CAUCHY is studied in terms of his transformation of certain 18th-century notions into the modern concept of rigor. The key terms are: inequal- ities, limit, continuity, convergence, derivative, and integral. The origins of Cauchy's rigor "grew, not principally out of [the 18th-century's] discussions of foundations but from other, quite different parts of its work." J.-L. LAGRANGE was crucial as a transition figure. (ACL) #m GRATTAN-GUINNESS IVOR 1980 GEORG CANTOR's influence on BERTRAND RUSSELL. HiStOry and Philosophy of logic 1, 61-93. "In some respects the influence is positive . . . but in various ways negative influence is evident, for Russell adopted alternative views about the form and foundations of SET THEORY." (ACL) #1851 GRAY JEREMY 1980 A note on KARL M. PEARSON. HM 7, 444. IACL) #1802 m-48 Abstracts #1763-#1816 493 GUPTA R C 1981 Fourth Annual Conference of the Indian Society for History of Mathematics. HM 8, 351-355. (XL) #1803 HAHN R 1981 More light on Charles the Obscure. Isis 72, 83-86. Jacques Charles, mathematician, has been confused with Jacques Alexandre C&w Charles, of Charles' Law. This article supplements J. B. Gough, "Charles the Obscure," Isis (1979) 70, 576-579. (L. F. MEYERS) #1804 HALASZ G 1980 The number-theoretic work of Paul TU&. Acta Arithmetica 37, 9-19. NUMBER THEORY. POWER SUM METHOD. ZETA FUNCTION. PARTITIONS. UNIFORM DISTRIBUTION. (L. F. MEYERS) #1805 HAWKINS THOMAS 1980 Non-Euclidean geometry and Weierstrassian mathematics: The background to Killing's work on LIE ALGEBRAS. HM 7. 289-342. (ACL) #1806 HEIMS STEVE J 1980 JOHN VON NEUMANN and NORBERT WIENER: From Mathematics to the Technologies of Life and Death. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. $19.95. Traces a "philosophical/psychological" strain in the lives of van Neumann and Wiener that affected their work, style, and political and social concerns. (ACL) #1807 HONIC PETER SCOTT 1980 History and mathematical analysis of the FUSEE. Pp. 114-120 in K. Maurice and 0. Mayr, eds., The Clockwork Universe: German clocks and Automata, 1550-1650 (New York: Neale Watson Academic Publications). A history of the attempts to overcome the problem of the nonconstancy of the force provided by spiral springs in clocks. PIERRE VARIGNON. BENJAMIN MARTIN. (ACL) #1808 HUSTER LUDGER 1981 Dokumentation zur Entwicklung der Mathematik-Didaktik im 19. Jahrhundert Elementarschulbereich. Bielefeld, West Germany: UniversitHt Bielefeld, Institut fiir Didaktik der Mathematik. 145 pp. (Schriftenreihe des IDM, 26/1981.) Catalog of German 19th-century books and articles on the methodology of elementary school mathematics teaching; 297 entries with short descriptions of contents. (H. Mehrtens) #1809 JARN?K VOJTECH 1981 Bolzano and the Foundations of Mathematical Analysis. On the Occasion of the Bicentennial of BERNARD BOLZANO. Prague: Society of Czechoslovak Mathematicians and Physicists. 89 PP. Illustrated. A twenty-page introduction on the "life and scientific endeavour" by Jaroslav Folta is followed by an account of Bolzano's mathematical work by Jarnik, Professor of Mathematics at Charles University. Photographic reproductions of several images of Bolzano are given. (ACL) #1810 JONES CHARLES V 1981 Annual Meeting of the History of Science Society, 1980. HM 8, 192-194. (ACL) #1811 JORDAN STEVEN L 1981 American attempts to solve NEWTON'S PASTURAGE PROBLEM. HM 8, 145-160. (ACL) #1812 KAHN DAVID 1980 On the origin of polyalphabetic substitution. Isis 71, 122-127. CIPHER SYSTEM. (ACL) #1813 KAISER W 1980 Verdrlngte Wissenschaften. XVIII. Symposium der Gesellschaft fiir Wissenschaftsgeschichte. 15.-17. Mai 1980 in Marburg. Berichte zur Wissenschafts- geschichte 3, 203-206. Iatromathematics involved the influence of the stars on the body and human health, in particular "mathematical" methods of prognosis and treat- ment using a horoscope, mostly in the 15th and 16th centuries. Astrophysics has pushed positional astronomy into the background. Other, nonmathematical, cast-aside sciences were discussed. (L. F. Meyers) #1814 KATZ VICTOR J 1981 The history of DIFFERENTIAL FORMS from Clairaut to Paincar&. HM 8, 161-188. (ACL) #1815 KEPLER JOHANNES 1981 Mysterium Cosmographicum; the Secret of the Universe. T?XIW- l&ion by A. M. Duncan. Introduction and commentary by E. J. Aiton. New York: Abaris Books. 267 pp. Illustrated. First English translation of the first major astronom- ical work by Kepler (1596). (ACL) #1816 
work_fmx4anp74vfd7ps34dqgsropbm	----	Alessandro Nova: Einführung ins Hauptstudium 20 Journal of Art Historiography Number 20 June 2019 Raphael and the redefinition of art in Renaissance Italy In memoriam Robert Williams Review of: Robert Williams, Raphael and the Redefinition of Art in Renaissance Italy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017, 304 pp., 113 b. & w. illus., hdbk, ISBN 978-1-107-13150-7, £75.00 Alessandro Nova This handsomely produced volume is organised into three chapters of different length and importance. After a profound introduction on Raphael’s influential place in the entire history of art, Robert Williams addresses in chapter one the crucial issue of the theory of imitation in the early modern period in the context of cinquecento discussions on style. The second chapter offers the best analysis to date of the concept of decorum, introducing the reader to what the author has labelled as the ‘systematicity of representation’. Finally, the last chapter describes in depth the entrepreneurial functioning of Raphael’s workshop, highlighting the division of labour as a commercial strategy. A balanced conclusion wraps up all the themes of this ambitious - in a positive sense - book that intends to revise, reorient and redefine the study of Italian Renaissance art, ‘and, beyond that, the history of art as a whole’ (p. 2), a reorientation that may eventually have an impact on our aesthetic values as well. If the volume is obviously a fundamental contribution to the rich scholarship on Raphael, the introduction reveals that a second protagonist occupies centre stage: namely Giorgio Vasari, whose two Lives of the Artists (1550; 1568) have inevitably contributed to shaping the reception of Raphael’s work until the present day. Taking a slightly polemical stance, Williams rescues Vasari and his book from the critique of those art historians who have ignored his ‘modernity’ because they did not understand his project. Indeed, Williams is convinced that Vasari’s problematic concept of artistic progress was more complex and profound than generally acknowledged, and he chastises recent scholarship for not recognizing ‘the ways in which Renaissance art anticipates aspects of artistic modernism and postmodernism’ (p. 6). Vasari was not only an advocate of the ‘real’, as was to be expected for someone who lived in a period dominated by the ideology of naturalism, but he also assigned ‘as much importance […] to the expression of abstract ideas’ (p. 3). In this book, therefore, two different narratives cross their paths repeatedly and integrate perfectly: a theoretical, discursive structure of great sophistication buttresses the new interpretations of Raphael’s impressive artistic output. The first chapter begins with an in-depth analysis of the principle of stylistic eclecticism that Vasari was the first to notice and to describe accurately. As is well known, Raphael was particularly astute in borrowing and transforming the formal and structural inventions of older colleagues. Recent studies have justly contested Alessandro Nova Raphael and the redefinition of art in Renaissance Italy 2 some of Vasari’s assumptions: for example, it is unlikely that Raphael was ever a member of Perugino’s workshop. Yet it is undeniable that Raphael’s early works developed in the context of a critical appraisal of Perugino’s output. Later, after his move to Florence, Raphael creatively assimilated forms and themes originating in the workshops of Leonardo, Fra Bartolomeo and Michelangelo. Later still, he did not hesitate to change his style while frescoing the Stanza di Eliodoro, partly under the spell of Michelangelo’s monumental figures on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Furthermore, even his last work, the Transfiguration, shows points of contact with the theoretical research pursued by Leonardo, who was still in Rome when his younger colleague drew the first sketches for the composition of the gigantic altarpiece. Raphael’s contemporaries, like Pope Leo X, as well as Vasari, were well aware of these borrowings, but they certainly did not attribute them to lack of invention. On the contrary, Raphael’s mature style was the result of a creative method of assimilation and transformation. His practice of ‘synthetic’ or ‘critical’ imitation, to use Williams’ vocabulary (p. 73), was not dismissed as derivative, but became instead an authoritative model followed and disseminated by the most gifted members of his workshop, like Giulio Romano or Perino del Vaga. This model was so successful that Vasari himself and other artists of the younger generations adopted it as well. As Williams rightly observes: ‘The style he [Raphael] achieved was more than a personal style in the usual sense; it was something like a super-style or meta-style’ (p. 7) that in its turn should be and was imitated. These theoretical considerations frame the discussion of the working method developed by the artist in his daily praxis. In this first chapter, therefore, the author also examines Raphael’s intense study of the models he found in Florence, most notably Leonardo’s art of variation in his numerous sketches depicting the Madonna and Child. During the early period of his career, Raphael painted many pictures of this kind, and it is likely that some of his more sophisticated patrons were aware of his efforts to maximise the art of variation, developed to produce new compositions efficiently. After all, this working procedure found parallels in the poetry of his time, as the beautiful pages dedicated to Pietro Bembo and the theory of imitation in literature show (pp. 53-63). As Williams notes, Bembo’s ability to produce endless variations on a single theme was a demonstration of great originality, not of lacking invention. The same was true for Raphael. Vasari was fully aware of the problems that the young artist had to face when he moved to Florence. Exposed to many different stimuli, Raphael finally developed his own modo mezzano, a middle course, both in drawing and in colouring. Out of many styles, he made one, transforming it into a ‘mode’ or ‘method’. Interestingly, this fundamental passage about Raphael’s stylistic borrowings was added in the second edition of Vasari’s book. Williams believes that this addition was motivated by the desire to clarify the relationship between Raphael and Michelangelo, so that young artists would be discouraged from following only one of these two possible models. Perhaps, but the most important point the author makes here is that this passage documents how Vasari had understood that ‘Raphael had created a new idea of what style is, and thus of what art is’ (p. 29). The second chapter, entitled ‘The Systematicity of Representation’, is the longest and the most important of the book; it is indeed its core, as the author himself informs us (p. 9), and it deals with the fundamental issue of decorum. If in Alessandro Nova Raphael and the redefinition of art in Renaissance Italy 3 the first chapter Williams has investigated Raphael’s early altarpieces and above all his early Madonnas, the second offers a sustained analysis of the Stanze, the cartoons for the tapestries of the Sistine Chapel, the late altarpieces, the Loggia of Leo X, and the portraits. The pages on the Stanze and the cartoons are particularly innovative, since the author does not rehearse the heuristic knowledge accumulated by generations of scholars since the pioneering monograph written by Johann David Passavant (1839-1858), but looks afresh at the works themselves in order to clarify the amazing qualities of the artist as a storyteller. In this very original discussion of the principle of decorum, Williams argues that what for us may have negative connotations, since the term is inevitably associated with restrictive social norms and censorship, was perceived then, instead, as a positive, potentially liberating force. For the people of the Renaissance, decorum was not a synonym for repression, but an empowering concept that could be used in three different senses. Usually the term points to ‘the principle that governs the relation of things in a picture to the things in the world that they represent’ (p. 77). However, there is a second sense of the term: ‘A second way in which decorum works is in governing the relation of an image as a whole to its setting or purpose’ (p. 78). In this sense, this principle can govern stylistic choices. Therefore, it is a crucial term in sixteenth-century debates about style. ‘The third way in which decorum operates is as a principle governing the relation of the parts of a picture to one another’ (p. 79). If decorum is understood in this third sense, the term implies “notions of organic wholeness and functional integrity frequently evoked in ancient and Renaissance definitions of beauty” (p. 80). A short review cannot do justice to the complexity of the author’s theses. The reader, therefore, must see for herself or himself, whether the observations made above apply well to the actual works of art painted or planned by Raphael. What cannot be questioned is the great level of sophistication of Bob Williams’ argument. No other expert on the artist has ever reached this level of intellectual subtlety, which owes much to his deep knowledge of linguistics. This second chapter begins with a section entitled ‘Unpacking Decorum’. A few brilliant pages on the discursive potential of painting follow. They open with a quotation from Vasari’s Vita, which is taken from the end of his account of the Stanza dell’Incendio, that is from the very end of his detailed survey of the entire complex of the Stanze: ‘Everything in its silence seems to speak’ (‘Non si può scrivere le minuzie delle cose di questo artifice, che in vero ogni cosa nel suo silenzio par che favelli’). The same principle of the discursivity of the visual arts also shapes the three following sections devoted to the Loggia of Pope Leo X, the late Madonnas and altarpieces, and finally the portraits. This glorious chapter concludes with a section entitled ‘Repacking Decorum’ (pp. 168-172) which is the most innovative part of the book. It would deserve a long review in itself, but I hope that the reader will forgive me, if I limit myself to quoting what the author writes in his lucid introduction to the volume: A fundamental condition of representation is its systematicity. This insight anticipates the idea, more fully elaborated in twentieth-century linguistics, that the relation of signs to things is arbitrary and that their efficacy depends upon the way they work within a system of signs. […] Decorum [however] is much more than the correspondence between an individual sign and the Alessandro Nova Raphael and the redefinition of art in Renaissance Italy 4 object it signifies; it is the legibility in an individual representation of the systematicity of representation as a whole. Decorum is the principle that governs the relation of representation to the world; as such, it defines that relation as systematic. Beyond producing the effect of “rightness” that the viewer may sense between any particular image and the thing it depicts, or between any particular work of art and its function, decorum does a much deeper kind of discursive work: it grounds our experience of any individual sign in the ideal correspondence between all possible signs and all possible objects. Any decorous image is thus the image of an ideal knowledge of the world as a whole, an ideal subjective disposition toward the world, an ideal mode of being. [emphases in the original] (p. 11). Williams concedes that the term systematicity, borrowed from modern philosophy, is awkward-sounding, but he defends its simplicity, and concludes that it is indeed central to art as the hidden source of its psychological and social power. ‘It is specifically the systematicity of representation that art must be concerned to comprehend and instrumentalize, and it follows that the specifically artistic quality of any individual representation is indicated by the degree to which it exemplifies that systematicity, the degree to which the systematicity of representation as a whole is legible in it’ (p. 169). This sense of ‘the systematicity of representation’ is also present in the juxtaposition of different modes that was so characteristic of Raphael’s decorative schemes (p. 171). One last point needs to be made. This rather complex intellectual system created by the author to do justice to the figure and works of Raphael has developed partly as a response to other models of interpretation of the visual culture of the early modern period. The first four pages of the section dedicated to discursivity and devotion, for example, are a sustained critique of Belting’s arguments about devotional imagery as they are presented in his Bild und Kult. Eine Geschichte des Bildes vor dem Zeitalter der Kunst, published in 1990 and translated into English four years later with the title Likeness and Presence: A History of the Image before the Era of Art (pp. 127-130). Williams laments the dramatic shift of interest in recent scholarship on Renaissance art, which seems to have forgotten the value to the early modern period in the emergence of a secular mentality and in the development of the Albertian notion of istoria. He concedes that Belting reformulates with refreshing arguments the old assumption of an essential difference between devotional images and so-called ‘works of art’, but he criticizes the German art historian and his American followers for arguing, for example, that visual images are fundamentally different from language. Williams proposes a different approach: ‘rather than project some essential difference between narrative and devotional images, we should recognize discursivity as their common goal’ (p. 131). Belting is not the only target of Williams’ theoretical stance. The footnotes to his important introduction reveal other intellectual debts and revisions. He admits that his study is informed by the approach to ‘subjectivity effects’ characteristic of Greenblatt’s ‘new historicism’, but he also seeks to maintain a certain distance from it. More seriously, Williams distances himself from issues of self-reflexivity. As he writes: ‘Although it ought to become more obvious as the argument proceeds, the reader should note that the idea of systematicity as essential to the idea of art circumvents the concept of “self-reflexivity” now common in discussions of early Alessandro Nova Raphael and the redefinition of art in Renaissance Italy 5 modern art such as Stoichita 1995’ (p. 12, note 21). Williams is referring to the English edition of L’instauration du tableau : Métapeinture à l’aube des temps modernes (1993). After so much theory, it is beautiful to re-emerge in the world of Raphael’s artistic products. The third and last chapter is incredibly rich in new discoveries and aperçus. Interestingly, Williams does not refrain from addressing problems of connoisseurship, which, as is well known, are particularly intractable in the case of Raphael’s workshop. However, the author is more interested in the division of labour, in the artist’s use of assistants, including printmakers, who helped him in realizing and marketing his numerous late projects. If the first two chapters were dedicated to issues of Metatechne, the last one concentrates on the issue of work. A detailed study of how a well-organised workshop, like Raphael’s, functioned, can help us to place the practice of art in a larger context, like the emergence of capitalism, to see art, as Techne, as part of the history of labour. This is one of Bob Williams’ most important intellectual legacies. If his first book analysed artistic theory in Florence during the sixteenth century, from Techne to Metatechne, which culminated in the foundation of the Accademia del Disegno in 1563 under the guidance of Don Vincenzio Borghini, this volume on Raphael investigates his workshop as a form of proto-industrial organisation. If each part of the book addresses special theoretical issues (style, decorum, labour), it also deals with a particular phase of Raphael’s career. As we have seen, the first chapter dealt with the early altarpieces and his numerous variations on the theme of the Madonna and Child. The second chapter was devoted to the great narrative cycles, the late altarpieces, and the portraits. Finally, the third one analyses the prints and the late works, realized with considerable help from his assistants and collaborators. Raphael’s terrific output, quantitatively as well as qualitatively, has generated an overwhelming bibliography over the centuries, and the c. 900 items listed at the end of this splendid book are a humbling reminder of how much work the author had to deliver in order to develop his original theses and ideas. The bibliographical apparatus is indeed daunting, and I am particularly impressed by the fact that the German literature on the artist is given the same visibility usually reserved for publications written in English or in Italian. Having known the author well, and having read the book, it is obvious that these titles have actually been read and critically assimilated. This is not always the case, unfortunately. German titles are quoted in the bibliographies, but they are rarely read. Furthermore, we should also emphasise Williams’ profound knowledge of postmodern theoretical discourses, philosophy, sociology, linguistics, and literary theory. When he quotes the works of Agamben, Genette, Luhmann, Benjamin, Barthes, Adorno, etcetera, it is obvious that their texts are functional to his line of argument. 2020 is approaching, and it is easy to predict that the market will be flooded with more or less interesting exhibitions, almost useless catalogues, and many more or less successful coffee-table books produced rapidly to celebrate the 500th anniversary of Raphael’s death. It seems to me easy to predict that Bob William’s study will remain unchallenged. Nobody will be able to compete with a text that took almost twenty years to write. It has been a great joy to read it, and we are all grateful to the stars that the author lived long enough to see his monumental work in print. Bob passed away on 16 April 2018. He will be greatly missed by his friends: Alessandro Nova Raphael and the redefinition of art in Renaissance Italy 6 not only because he was a fantastic scholar, who was able to say something utterly new on one of the most important artists who ever lived, but above all because he was a luminous presence, a generous colleague, a stellar teacher. The two sessions in his honour organized at the last meeting of the Renaissance Society of America in Toronto (Sunday, 17 March 2019) were certainly just the beginning of more events to come. Lebe wohl, mein Freund. Alessandro Nova studied “Lettere e Filosofia” at the Università degli Studi di Milano and Art History at the Courtauld Institute of Art in London, where he received his Ph.D. with a thesis on the artistic patronage of Pope Julius III in 1982. In 1986 he earned his research doctorate from the Università degli Studi di Milano with a thesis on the Brescian artist Girolamo Romanino in the context of north Italian painting and sixteenth-century culture. His studies were funded by the Alexander von Humboldt-Stiftung (1985–86, 1989), J. Paul Getty Foundation (1986– 1987), and by the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton (1992–1994). From 1988 until 1994 he was Assistant Professor at Stanford University (California, USA), and from 1994 until 2006 Professor of Renaissance Art at Goethe-Universität in Frankfurt am Main. In 2006 and 2007 he was the managing director of the research centre on the Modern Age in Frankfurt (Zentrum zur Erforschung der Frühen Neuzeit, Renaissance Institut); in 2006 he was appointed Honorary Professor at the Goethe- Universität in Frankfurt. Since October 2006 he has been Director at the Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz – Max-Planck-Institut. Nova@khi.fi.it This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial 4.0 International License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ 
work_fq2a3cktdfcprfdssk3v3j4kgy	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
work_fq4x3rwngfgrnerdx7w7z6ul64	----	Architectural Research Quarterly http://journals.cambridge.org/ARQ Additional services for Architectural Research Quarterly: Email alerts: Click here Subscriptions: Click here Commercial reprints: Click here Terms of use : Click here Architecture of Regionalism in the Age of Globalization: Peaks and  Valleys in the Flat World By Liane Lefaivre and Alexander Tzonis  Routledge, London and New York, 2011 232 pp., many drawings and illus.  ISBN: 978­0­415­57579­9 £29.99 (pb) Michael Asselmeyer Architectural Research Quarterly / Volume 16 / Issue 02 / June 2012, pp 185 ­ 187 DOI: 10.1017/S1359135512000498, Published online: 27 November 2012 Link to this article: http://journals.cambridge.org/abstract_S1359135512000498 How to cite this article: Michael Asselmeyer (2012). Review of Liane Lefaivre, and Alexander Tzonis 'Architecture of Regionalism in the Age of  Globalization: Peaks and Valleys in the Flat World' Architectural Research Quarterly, 16, pp 185­187 doi:10.1017/ S1359135512000498 Request Permissions : Click here Downloaded from http://journals.cambridge.org/ARQ, IP address: 193.61.255.86 on 24 Jun 2013 reviews arq . vol 16 . no 2 . 2012 185 natural and built environment and their perception as well as the contribution of political and economic theory, philosophy and poetry. They describe the gradual adoption, if not usurpation, of regional phenomena for chauvinist purposes including the unholy alliances of the nineteenth century and first half of the twentieth century between regional architecture and racist theories. Chapter Nine (‘International Style versus Regionalism’), Chapter Ten (‘Regionalism Rising’) and Chapter Eleven (‘Regionalism Redefined’) tell the fascinating story of the rather passionate debate about Modernism from the 1920s to the 1950s. A rich spectrum of illustrations such as Goeritz’s diagrammatic sketches of his El Eco Experimental Museum in Mexico City, the first publication of Jean Prouvé’s prototype for a Maison Tropicale, a study model of Correa’s Hindustan Lever Pavilion in New Delhi and a perspective section of the Woh Hup Complex in Singapore make Chapter Ten not only the most diverse, but also by far the best-illustrated part of the book. Half of the final chapter (entitled ‘Regionalism Now’) has been dedicated to China, leaving the other half to cover the rest of the world. Here, the number of chosen precedents has reached a scale that leaves hardly enough space for the discussion of individual cases. In-depth study and analysis have been replaced by little more than an inventory of buildings, most of Architecture of Regionalism in the Age of Globalization: Peaks and Valleys in the Flat World By Liane Lefaivre and Alexander Tzonis Routledge, London and New York, 2011 232 pp., many drawings and illus. ISBN: 978-0-415-57579-9 £29.99 (pb) Reviewed by Michael Asselmeyer We are used to considering ourselves children of globalisation; sometimes protagonists, sometimes victims, but always witnesses to the current movement that appears to transform a plethora of regional economies into an overarching global economy. Readers therefore might be forgiven for assuming that Lefaivre’s and Tzonis’s new title refers to our present day and age in general and to contemporary architecture and recent regionalist debate in particular. But it does not. This book is a macro-historic investigation based on the presumption that regionalism and globalisation are antagonistic movements through time. It sets out to illuminate the ‘continuous process’ of regionalism and its ever- changing context by means of a chronological review of regionalist architecture and theory during the last four thousand years. The subtitle ‘Peaks and Valleys in the Flat World’ explains in a metaphoric way, how regionalism establishes boundaries (‘peaks’, ’valleys’) and how globalisation removes obstacles of interaction and communication (‘flattens the world’). Readers will notice the somewhat inconsistent format, depth and pace of the historical- critical investigation. The first of 12 chapters (‘The Regional and the Classical Imperial’) covers a period of 2000 years, considering Minoan and Mycenaean settlements and their increasing and decreasing horizons, the architectural representation of regional versus pan-Hellenic identity and the establishment of a ‘centralised global order’ under Augustus as it emerges in De Architectura by Vitruvius. The following brief chapter (‘The First Regionalist Building-Manifesto’) is dedicated to the next 1200 years, discussed almost exclusively in terms of a single building (the Casa dei Crescenzi in Rome). The very readable Chapters Three and Four (‘A Flat Archipelago of Garden- Villas’ and ‘Consult the Genius of the Place in All’) are more evidently based on theoretical texts and consider Italian and French precedent mainly from the Renaissance to the Age of Enlightenment and British precedent from the eighteenth century respectively. The increasing nationalisation of regionalist thinking after 1750 is well- documented and eruditely discussed in the following four chapters: (‘From the Decorated Farm to the Rise of Nationalist Regionalism’, ‘From Regions to Nation’, ‘Gothic Communalism and Nationalist Regionalism’ and ‘Homelands, World Fairs, Living- Spaces, and the Regional Cottage’) all of which rely equally on the 2 Regional – but regionalist? The Acropolis at Pylos arq . vol 16 . no2 . 2012 reviews186 which are neither described nor illustrated. Rather than being confronted with a catalogue of cases in the two post-war chapters, one would have liked to learn a few relevant details about one or two samples of regionalist architecture and urban design in the Western world as well as in the almost forgotten Eastern hemisphere during the decades of the Cold War. This might perhaps have included the East Berlin Stalinallee, often seen as Soviet-style architecture, but in fact a sample of manifest anti- Western, Neo-Classical and, more specifically, Prussian-inspired architecture with references to the buildings by Karl Friedrich Schinkel mirrored by ‘Hanseatic’ references in cities of the German Democratic Republic along the Baltic coast – a ‘regionalist’ approach par excellence. Even more puzzling is the relative silence about the long period between Vitruvius and the writers of the Renaissance. Apart from considering the Casa dei Crescenzi and literally mentioning Charlemagne’s Palace in Aachen and the Lateran Palace in Rome, there is no discussion about regionalism and globalism in Byzantine, Romanesque or Gothic architecture. This sits uncomfortably with the authors’ universalist approach and can hardly be explained by a lack of sources. As a matter of fact, one can find evidence for ‘globalist’ and ‘regionalist’ perception and articulation from late Roman to late Medieval periods: for example, the well-known mausoleum for the Ostrogothic King Theoderic in Ravenna (ad 526) is reminiscent of imperial structures in Constantinople but it combines the ‘globalist’ architectural language appropriate for the quasi-equal representative of the East-Roman Emperor with Barbarian decoration that marks the regional Ostrogothic-Arianist presence; Speyer Cathedral was erected from 1030 as a Romanesque monument with a westwork to advertise imperial presence and ‘globalist’ ambition of the Salian dynasty; Rosslyn Chapel in Lothian (founded in 1446) imitates the quire of Glasgow Cathedral as a prototype of regional (national) significance that embeds a new structure in a manufactured ‘regionalist’ tradition; Cologne Cathedral, whose completion was inspired by nationalist sentiment in the nineteenth century, had been 3 ‘Building like the French do’: Cologne Cathedral 4 Charles Correa, Hindustan Lever Pavilion, Delhi, 1961. Study model reviews arq . vol 16 . no 2 . 2012 187 founded at the height of the Rayonnant Gothic, a style that attracted regional and ethnic connotations, since it was referred to in contemporary written sources as opus francigenum (building like the French do) and Gerhard, the first master mason had indeed learned his ropes while working on French cathedrals. Competition between bishops, popes and emperors was one of the driving forces of building and building replacement throughout the Middle Ages. To characterise the relationship between Emperor and Pope with the constitutional term ‘condominium’ (p. 15) therefore appears unfortunate, since it neither takes into account the struggle between both powers – in particular over the investiture of bishops – nor the discrepancy, administrative as well as territorial, of their realm. Finally, with regards to the missing link between Antiquity and the Modern age, at least one regionalist comment from a writer of the Italian Renaissance about Medieval architecture would have been worth mentioning: in 1450 Filarete cursed Gothic architecture as foreign and inappropriate for Italy. In short, the coverage of the long period between Roman Antiquity and the Italian Renaissance appears less informed than the remainder of the book – in terms of absent, as well as presented, material. A more fundamental question concerns the alleged dichotomy between regionalism and globalism and whether this can or cannot explain diverse issues in different periods and cultures. One may be tempted to take the book itself as proof that the bipolar model alone does not suffice – the text resorts to adding intermediate terms such as ‘super-regional’ to the vocabulary, in order to cope with obvious complexities. Buildings are indeed ‘excellent devices to construct a fictional collective identity and encourage regionalist separatism’. Regionalism tends to have ethnic connotations since it involves communities of people who form an identity defined, at least partially, by regions and places. Differentiating the ‘regional’ and the ‘regionalist’ therefore poses a challenge. The Mycenaean site Pylos and, say, the simultaneous Bronze Age stilt house settlement in Lake Constance could not be more different in terms of materials, building techniques, structure, form and place-making and they respond to very different environments. Both sites are unquestionable expressions of their regional contexts, but would it be plausible to detect in their design indications of an inherent ‘regionalist’ consciousness? Did regional builders not simply replicate and modify what they were acquainted with or did they indeed consciously align themselves with the regional tradition rather than adopting ‘super-regional’ influences that would advertise their universal horizon? It is difficult to establish this without written evidence. Potentially, all ‘regional’ architecture could be ‘regionalist’ architecture, depending on the intention of the architect. Is the term ‘regionalist’, one might ask, just a synonym of ‘provincial’? Be that as it may, the significance of Lefaivre’s and Tzonis’s new book lies in its ambition to prove the universal applicability of the alleged dichotomy. It is nothing less than a coherent theory and deserves recommendation as a worthwhile introduction to the universal history and theory of regionalist architecture. It will certainly draw attention to the global phenomenon of localism and the balance between distinctiveness and standardisation. Any future edition would benefit from a complete index – currently only a selection of people and buildings have been entered and the page references are incomplete. A further improvement would be the introduction of colour: the inspirational image of the clash between slum and new housing by Alfonso Reidy in Pedregulho needs colour in order to come to life; as for Yu Kongjian’s powerful installation at Qinhuangdao, ‘Red Ribbon on a Garbage Dump’, the title makes its own argument. Michael Asselmeyer is an architect and historian. He studied in Münster, Bologna and Berlin and, among other posts, has been Site Architect at the Neues Museum, Berlin, with Julian Harrap Architects, and a Senior Urban Designer at the London Borough of Islington. He is a Senior Lecturer in Architecture at the University of Central Lancashire Georgian Architecture in the British Isles, 1714–1830 By James Stevens Curl English Heritage, Swindon, 2011 452 pp., 465 colour and mono illus. ISBN 978-1-84802-086-3 £50.00 (hb) Reviewed by Giovanna Costantini The Georgian period – from the ascendancy of George I of Great Britain and Ireland in 1714 to the end of the reign of George IV of the United Kingdom and Hanover in 1830 – was a time foundational to the modern British nation, when interest in the social cohesion of the British Isles was accompanied by prolific theoretical debate and an architectural expression often regarded as the most accomplished in British architectural history. English Heritage’s fine new edition of Curl’s book (originally published by David & Charles, Newton Abbott, 1993) does it full justice, examining both the architecture and the cultural history of the British Isles; the size of the original text is doubled (from 224 to 452 pages), the scope extended to many new areas, the research brought up-to- date, and the whole enhanced by the addition of numerous high quality illustrations. As a sweeping history of Georgian architecture, Curl’s study explores in depth the dominant stylistic categorisations of the period: Palladianism, based on Inigo Jones’ seventeenth-century interpretations of Renaissance Antiquity; the Second Palladian Revival of the eighteenth century, led by Lord Burlington, Colen Campbell’s publication of Vitruvius Britannicus (1715–25) and Giacomo Leoni’s The Architecture of A. Palladio (1715–20); contemporaneous eighteenth-century Romanticism, from the Castle Style and Gothic 
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work_frymu6uqqbg2lhypatlm3bqxee	----	Monuments of the Czech Republic on the UNESCO World Heritage Site List and their Significance for Geotourism Procedia Engineering 161 ( 2016 ) 2265 – 2270 Available online at www.sciencedirect.com 1877-7058 © 2016 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of the organizing committee of WMCAUS 2016 doi: 10.1016/j.proeng.2016.08.826 ScienceDirect World Multidisciplinary Civil Engineering-Architecture-Urban Planning Symposium 2016, WMCAUS 2016 Monuments of The Czech Republic On The UNESCO World Heritage Site List and Their Significance for Geotourism Miloš Duraja, Marian Marschalkoa, Dominik Niemieca,*, I ik Yilmazb a VŠB-Technical University of Ostrava, Faculty of Mining and Geology, 17 listopadu 15, 708 33, Ostrava, Czech Republic b Cumhuriyet University - Faculty of Engineering - Department of Geological Engineering - 58140 Sivas, Turkey Abstract The article presents the monuments from the Czech Republic enlisted on the UNESCO World Heritage Site List. Each country tries to choose representative sites and monuments that document the structural and architectural development in a given region. Therefore, the Czech Republic carried out an analysis of their monuments. As the Czech Republic has a very rich and expressive history in the very centre of Europe, its history has significantly affected its civil engineering and architecture. It is also a country with a varied geological structure and geomorphology. Today’s untraditional forms of tourism, among which we also find geotourism, may thus build on such knowledge and expand the current offer of destinations. Learning about the geological structure is also important in terms of future renovation and reconstruction work. The current list of UNESCO cultural sites will be expanded by further unique sites and buildings. For this reason, it is important to combine knowledge from more specialised disciplines, such as geology and mining science. © 2016 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Peer-review under responsibility of the organizing committee of WMCAUS 2016. Keywords: UNESCO cultural and natural heritage; architectural styles; monuments; geology; tourism; 1. Introduction UNESCO is an organisation that, inter alia, strives to protect the cultural monuments and sites world-wide. This issue has been globally paid all lot of attention in many scientific works [5, 8, 9, 10, 14, 16, 26, 27, 28]. Currently, the UNESCO World Heritage Site List includes more than 1000 items of a cultural, natural and mixed character. These monuments and sites are found in over 160 countries. About 800 of the monuments are of the cultural heritage character. Even if the the Convention concerning the Protection of World Cultural and Natural Heritage was signed in 1972, the former Czechoslovakia joined it towards the end of 1990 and it became binding in February 1991. The main task of the convention is the duty of each member country to ensure the maximum protection, conservation and presentation of the cultural and natural heritage to and for next generations. At present, the Czech Republic has 12 items of tangible cultural heritage and 4 of intangible cultural heritage on * Corresponding author: Tel.: +420 602 875 888. E-mail address: dominik.niemiec.st@vsb.cz © 2016 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of the organizing committee of WMCAUS 2016 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.proeng.2016.08.826&domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.proeng.2016.08.826&domain=pdf 2266 Miloš Duraj et al. / Procedia Engineering 161 ( 2016 ) 2265 – 2270 the list. The preserved monuments are buildings of different characters and purposes. They were also built in different architectural styles in towns with a long history, e.g. Prague. Apart from the individual monuments, attention is also paid to groups of buildings. Such monuments create interesting sceneries and may thus be used for diverse purposes. They are interesting not only from the tourism point of view, but they are useful in the film industry too. In the past, there were more such groups, but not all of them have been preserved. For the last century, the landscape has been subject to many changes. The country experienced many establishments and economic systems. There were wars, the extraction of mineral resources was boosted, industry boomed and there were other factors too. In the most affected areas only torsos of formerly rich built-up areas have remained. Even nowadays we witness the fact that many monuments perish due to insufficient protection or neglected maintenance on the part of their owners. Due to the circumvention of the law, the state loses valuable buildings throughout the republic and thus each effort to reverse this course is important in the general protection. 2. The geological structure of the Czech Republic and its monuments Unfortunately, we are witnessing the fact that many monumental works perish or are being damaged mainly because of military and religious conflicts. Widely, the issue of monuments and sites protected by UNESCO is discussed in many works, for example by [1, 3, 4, 11, 18, 21, 22, 29]. Another fundamental problem, both world-wide and in the Czech Republic, is the geological structure of a given locality, where the specific monuments are located. The Czech Republic has a very varied geological structure. Two large geological units meet there. In the west it is the Bohemian Massif and in the east it is the Western Carpathians. In some localities the geological structure is very complicated and unsuitable for construction without any preparatory measures. The list includes single monuments as well as groups of buildings. These date back to different eras and were built applying different building methods and materials. The current and future reconstruction work must count with many factors, which were often neglected in the past and thus had a negative impact on their overall conditions. The geological structure is one of the most important factors and neglecting this factor during construction or later works in the vicinity may lead to serious static disturbances in the monuments. This article describes the basic bedrock geology of selected monuments and groups of buildings. A detailed description of the overlying formations is also very important. The overlying formations formed by natural geological activities as well as there are anthropogenic deposits. As the data are being retrieved gradually, for example during more extensive reconstruction works in the localities (Villa Tugendhat), their list is not complete yet. In fact, such a detailed description contains a lot of information from different research projects and measurements. Therefore, the article works only with selected monuments. Combining the knowledge on the geological structure and history of important premises may significantly expand the less traditional forms of tourism, among which geotourism has recently developed [6, 12, 13, 15, 19, 20, 23, 24]. 3. Overview of listed monuments and groups of buildings The UNESCO World Heritage List gradually incorporates different monuments of a global significance. The scientific works, such as [2, 7, 25], greatly contribute to their promotion worldwide. To date, the Czech Republic has the following 12 monuments or groups of buildings on the list: eský Krumlov was the first on the list. Listed was the historical centre of the town with over 300 buildings dating back into Gothic and Renaissance. The overall scenery is topped by the Vltava River that meanders at this part of the course. On the inner part of one of the meanders there is a protected ‘jewel’ of South Bohemia, i.e. the preserved specimen of the building development and urbanisation structure from the 13th to 19th centuries. The dominants are the castle and chateau. With its area of 6 ha, it is the second largest castle complex in the Czech Republic, after Prague Castle. The main construction works took place from the 14th to 19th centuries. The dominant style is Renaissance with later Baroque reconstruction. The chateau garden spreading on 11 hectares is of the Baroque style. It is kept in the style of French and English landscaping with a cascade fountain and a lake. The Baroque theatre from the 18th century, with its unique equipment and furniture, is one of best preserved theatres in Europe. Other noted monuments are the Gothic Cathedral of St. Vitus, Jesuit school and many other interesting buildings. 2267 Miloš Duraj et al. / Procedia Engineering 161 ( 2016 ) 2265 – 2270 In 1992 Prague came second to be listed on the UNESCO list. Visitors may admire its long and rich history recorded in the different buildings. All-important architectural styles documenting the city history are represented there, including diverse materials used in the different periods. Romanesque style mainly used cretaceous marl as the building material, the Gothic used it for decorations, and apart other materials, there are also semiprecious stones. Interesting and valuable buildings are also more recent ones from the period of Art Nouveau, Cubism, Constructivism or Functionalism. It was the historical centre of the city that was enlisted. This locality is rightly classified among the most important architectural reserves in the country. This complex includes many buildings on an area of 866 hectares. The buildings are found in different groups of buildings or quarters, such as Hrad any, Malá Strana, Old Town, Josefov, New Town and Vyšehrad. Among the most popular are the Prague Castle with its St. Vitus Cathedral, Charles Bridge and the premises of the Jewish Town. The most dominant monument, and also the dominant of the Prague Castle, is the St. Vitus Cathedral. Its construction lasted from 1344 to 1929. For this reason, a part of the structure is Gothic and the later extensions are Neo-Gothic. It is the most important Catholic church in the Czech Republic. Tel with its historical town centre is a perfect example of Gothic-Renaissance urbanistic complex. This is a result of profound reconstruction from the 16th century. The historical core includes a large Renaissance chateau complex with its gardens and English-style park. The chateau was originally a Gothic castle. Thanks to Zacharias of Hradec the reconstruction was done in the style of Italian Renaissance. Out of many other monuments, there is an undisturbed complex of Gothic and Renaissance burgher houses on the Square of Zacharias of Hradec, Church of St James and Jesuit College. The conservation measures, which have been underway for several years, also emphasize the external sgraffito and other decorations on the buildings. Interesting are also smaller structures, such as the St Mary Column from 1716 – 1718. Ž ár nad Sázavou with its pilgrimage Church of St John of Nepomuk on Zelená hora was enlisted in 1994. It is one of the best and most original projects of the famous Baroque architect Jan Blažej Santini Aichel (1677 – 1723) from the beginning of the 18th century. The building is in the Baroque Gothic style. The church is a central building surrounded by an ambit. The symbol of number 5 is highly prominent there, for example in the pentagram layout of the complex, number of entries or apsides. Kutná Hora and its historical centre, the Cathedral of St Barbora and Cathedral of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary in Sedlec joined the list in 1995. Kutná Hora is one of the biggest medieval Czech towns and owes its development and riches to mining. The symbolism of mining may be found in the names of buildings and in their decorations. The landmarks are especially the Late Gothic Cathedral of St Barbora, the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary in Sedlec, the Church of St James, Jesuit College, Monastery of St Voršila Order, Vlašský dv r (Italian Court), and Kamenný d m (Stone House). The Cathedral of St Barbora is a five-nave Gothic cathedral. Its construction began in 1388 and was finished in 1558. It was founded by Jan Parlé , and his work was taken over by Mat j Rejsek. A sixty-year break in the construction was caused by Hussite unrest. Sandstone from the nearby quarries was used for the construction. Lednice-Valtice Complex is considered the most extensive (283 km2) cultural-natural landscape in Europe. This artificially made landscape and architectural piece of work was shaped by the family of Lichtenstein for centuries. The landmarks are the Valtice Chateau, built by means of reconstructing the original castle, and the Lednice Chateau, on whose place there used be a Gothic fortress. Both the chateaus were subject to Renaissance and Baroque reconstructions. The current look of the Lednice Chateau was also topped by Neo-Gothic reconstruction (Tudor Gothic) from the mid-19th century. The complex also includes many minor buildings, such as the Lovecký záme ek (Hunting Lodge), Rybni ní záme ek (Pond House), Jan v hrad (John’s Castle), Hrani ní záme ek (Border House), Chrám T í Grácií (Temple of Three Graces), Apollon v charm (Temple of Apollo), Minaret, Greenhouse, Obelisk and Rendez-vous. In 1997 Krom íž was pronounced the most beautiful historical town in the country. In 1998 its unique monuments, i.e. Archbishop’s Chateau and its adjoining gardens, joined the UNESCO World Heritage List. Apart from the two gardens, the architectural landmark is the Archbishop’s Chateau. Originally, it was a Gothic castle that underwent a fundamental reconstruction at the start of the 16th century. This turned it into a Renaissance chateau and a seat of Olomouc bishops. It gained its Baroque style around the mid-17th century. 2268 Miloš Duraj et al. / Procedia Engineering 161 ( 2016 ) 2265 – 2270 Holašovice is a small village near eské Bud jovice and it has an interesting architecture of rural buildings. The village is a locality with the best preserved architecture in the style of rural Baroque. This architectural style asserted itself mainly in South Bohemia. The village is characteristic for the almost preserved layout of a medieval village with its houses from the 18th and 19th centuries. The whole complex counts 23 farms with 120 buildings. The farms are situated around a rectangle village green and are inhabited. The houses have interesting gable fronts with preserved stucco decorations. Tab. 1: Dominant architectural styles of selected monuments and their bedrock geology. Number –Year of listing Locality Type of monument Dominant architectural style Bedrock geology 1 - 1992 eský Krumlov castle and chateau Renaissance, Baroque Moldanubicum (orthogneiss, granulites, crystalline limestone) 2 - 1992 Praha Cathedral of Saint Vitus Gothic, Gothic Revival Barrandien (sediments of earlier Paleo- zoic) 3 - 1992 Tel chateau Renaissance Moldanubicum (migmatites, gneisses) 4 - 1994 Ž ár nad Sázavou pilgrimage church Baroque Gothic Moldanubicum (paragneisses, migmatites) 5 - 1995 Kutná Hora Cathedral of Saint Bar- bora Late Gothic Kutná Hora Crysta- llinicum (gneisses, mica schists) + Mesozoic 6 - 1996 Lednice – Val- tice Lednice Chateau Gothic Revival Vienna Basin (clastic sedi- ments) 7 - 1998 Krom íž Archbishop’s chateau Early Baroque Brunovistulicum (granitoides) + Neogene-Quaternary 8 - 1998 Holašovice rural buildings Baroque (rural) Moldanubicum (granulites) 9 - 1999 Litomyšl chateau Renaissance Bohemian Cretaceous Basin (calcareous clastic sedi- ments) 10 - 2000 Olomouc Holy Trinity Column Baroque Drahany Culm (clastic sediments) 11 - 2001 Brno Villa Tugendhat Modern architecture, Functional- ism Carpathian Foredeep (Clastic sediments) 12 - 2003 T ebí basilica Romanesque-Gothic Moldanubicum – Pluton (granites, syenites) Litomyšl has a landmark in the form of its chateau, which was enlisted in 1999. It is an arcade Renaissance chateau in the Italian style from the second half of the 16th century. The reconstruction followed the plans of a renowned Renaissance architect, Giovanni Battista Aostalli. The chateau has a square ground plan, two floors and with basement in places. There are pronounced arcades and sgraffito. In the chateau premises there are also other preserved buildings, such as the chateau brewery and the riding school. The finishing touch is given by the chateau garden. Olomouc has been known for its monuments in the historical town centre. One of them, the Holy Trinity Column, was enlisted on the UNESCO World Heritage List in 2000. This 35-metre tall landmark of the city was built by the artists and craftsmen of the town between 1716 and 1754. On several floors there is the largest set of Baroque statues within one sculpture, which is a Central-European original work. The bottom part of the column includes a chapel. Brno has been enlisted thanks to the Villa Tugendhat. This Functionalistic building by the architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe was built between 1929 and 1930 for the Tugendhat Family. It is situated in the Brno quarter called 2269 Miloš Duraj et al. / Procedia Engineering 161 ( 2016 ) 2265 – 2270 erná Pole. It is the only modern architecture building in the Czech Republic listed on this UNESCO list. Recently, the interior, exterior and the garden underwent a complete renovation and restoration in the original sense. T ebí is enlisted thanks to its Jewish Quarter and the Basilica of St Prokop. The densely built-up Jewish Quarter is a remnant of several-century co-existence of Jews and Christians. There are 123 houses, two synagogues and a Jewish cemetery. The Basilica of St Prokop was originally dedicated to Virgin Mary. As almost derelict it was used for secular purposes for almost two centuries. Having been renovated and dedicated to St Prokop, it is again used by the Church. 4. Conclusion The architectural monuments in the Czech Republic listed on the UNESCO World Heritage List were built on different geological bedrocks (see Tab. 1). The dominant geological unit, on which the highest number of the stated monuments are situated, is Moldanubicum. Petrographically, the unit is made up by predominant metamorphic rocks. During centuries, many interesting buildings have been built on the unit, out which several more are likely to get on the list too. Out of the current list, there are five sites on Moldanubicum ( eský Krumlov, Tel , Ž ár nad Sázavou, Holašovice, and T ebí ). The dominant architectural styles are Baroque and Renaissance. The remaining seven localities have varied geological bedrocks that belong to different geological units. The bedrocks there are made up by magmatic, sedimentary and metamorphic rocks. The dominant rocks are clastic sedimentary rocks. Out of the architectural styles there are practically all of them, especially thanks to Prague. Still, the dominant styles in the listed buildings is Gothic, Baroque and Renaissance. We may also admire interesting buildings and extensions in the Neo- Gothic style. Prague is dominant as for the variety of the architectural styles. The construction works started in the 10th century and have left a number of architectural jewels, such as the Prague Castle and the Cathedral of St Vitus. In the course of the centuries, many Romanesque and Gothic churches, Baroque palaces and gardens, Art Nouveau and Cubist buildings, houses and other, also modern, buildings, were built there that all form a unique architectural whole. Therefore, it is ranked among the most beautiful historical cities in the world. This is reflected in its popularity with national and foreign tourists and Prague has the prime position as for Czech tourism being the most visited city in the Czech Republic. Still, in the Czech Republic there are many other interesting buildings that may become candidates for the UNESCO World Heritage List, such as churches on the undermined area of the Ostrava-Karviná Coal District. The research results appear in works by [17, 30]. In the future, the studied area may become a suitable locality for geoscience and mining tourism. References [1] Anania, L., Badalà, A., Barone, G., Belfiore, C. M., Calabrò, C., La Russa, M. F., Mazzoleni, P., Pezzino, A. (2012). The stones in monumental masonry buildings of the “Val di Noto” area: new data on the relationships between petrographic characters and physical–mechanical properties. Construction and Building Materials, 33, 122-132. [2] Aplenc, V. E. (2004). Authentically socialist: Czech heritage management at the former Liechtenstein estate of Lednice-Valtice. Focaal, 2004(44), 61-71. [3] Armaly, M., Blasi, C., Hannah, L. (2004). Stari Most: rebuilding more than a historic bridge in Mostar. Museum International, 56(4), 6-17. [4] Armesto, J., Arias, P., Roca, J., Lorenzo, H. (2008). Monitoring and assessing structural damage in historic buildings. The Photogrammetric Record, 23(121), 36-50. [5] Blanchfield, L., Browne, M. A. (2013). The United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural [6] Borghi, A., d’Atri, A., Martire, L., Castelli, D., Costa, E., Dino, G., Favero, S.E., Ferrando, S., Gallo, L.M., Giardino, M., Groppo, C., Piervittori R., Rolfo F., Rossetti P., Vaggelli G. (2014). Fragments of the Western Alpine chain as historic ornamental stones in Turin (Italy): enhancement of urban geological heritage through geotourism. Geoheritage, 6(1), 41-55. [7] Deichmann, J. I. (2002). International tourism and the sensitivities of Central Prague's residents. Journal of Tourism Studies, 13(2), 41. [8] Di Giovine, M. A. (2008). The heritage-scape: UNESCO, world heritage, and tourism. Lexington Books. [9] Forrest, C. J. (2002). Defining ‘underwater cultural heritage’. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology, 31(1), 3-11. [10] Graber, C. B. (2006). The new UNESCO Convention on Cultural Diversity: a counterbalance to the WTO? Journal of international economic law, 9(3), 553-574. [11] Harris, L. (2006). UNESCO reconstruction plan for Kosovo. The art newspaper, 15(165), 23. [12] Hose, T. A. (2008). Towards a history of geotourism: definitions, antecedents and the future. Geological Society, London, Special Publications, 300(1), 37-60. 2270 Miloš Duraj et al. / Procedia Engineering 161 ( 2016 ) 2265 – 2270 [13] Chen, A., Lu, Y., Ng, Y. C. (2015). The principles of geotourism. Springer Berlin Heidelberg. [14] Isar, Y. R. (2011). UNESCO and heritage: global doctrine, global practice. Heritage, Memory & Identity, Los Angeles: Sage, 39-52. [15] Joly, M. C., Verner, A., Côtéa, A. (2009). Urban geotourism: the case of Montreal. E-review of Tourism Research, 7(6). [16] Labadi, S. (2013). UNESCO, cultural heritage, and outstanding universal value: value-based analyses of the World Heritage and Intangible Cultural Heritage Conventions. Rowman & Littlefield. [17] Lamich, D., Marschalko, M., Yilmaz, I., Bedná ová, P., Niemiec, D., Dur ák, J., Kube ka, K., Duda, R. (2016). Utilization of engineering geology in geo-tourism: few case studies of subsidence influence on historical churches in Ostrava-Karvina District (Czech Republic). Environmental Earth Sciences, 75(2), 1-12. [18] Monteiro, L. D. (2011). The Mezquita of Córdoba is made of more than bricks: towards a broader definition of the “Heritage” protected at UNESCO world heritage sites. Archaeologies, 7(2), 312-328. [19] Newsome, D., Dowling, R., Leung, Y. F. (2012). The nature and management of geotourism: A case study of two established iconic geotourism destinations. Tourism management perspectives, 2, 19-27. [20] Orbasl , A., Woodward, S. (2009). Tourism and heritage conservation. The SAGE handbook of tourism studies, 314. [21] Palau-Saumell, R., Forgas-Coll, S., Sánchez-García, J., Prats-Planagumà, L. (2013). Tourist Behavior Intentions and the Moderator Effect of Knowledge of UNESCO World Heritage Sites The Case of La Sagrada Família. Journal of Travel Research, 52(3), 364-376. [22] Papageorgiou, M. (2015). Planning Practices for The Protection Of Cultural Heritage: Lessons Learnt From The Greek UNESCO Sites. European Spatial Research and Policy, 22(2), 111-125. [23] Pforr, C., Megerle, A. (2006). Geotourism: a perspective from southwest Germany. Geotourism, 118-139. [24] Rodrigues, M. L., Machado, C. R., Freire, E. (2011). Geotourism routes in urban areas: a preliminary approach to the Lisbon geoheritage survey. GeoJournal of tourism and geosites, 8(2), 281-294. [25] Simpson, F. (1999). Tourist impact in the historic centre of Prague: Resident and visitor perceptions of the historic built environment. Geographical Journal, 173-183. [26] Šimková, E. (2012). Cultural Tourism as an Important Tool of Sustainable Development in the Czech Republic. Urban Rehabilitation and Sustainability, 115-120. [27] Valderrama, F. (1995). A history of UNESCO. Unesco Publishing. [28] Vecco, M. (2010). A definition of cultural heritage: From the tangible to the intangible. Journal of Cultural Heritage, 11(3), 321-324. [29] Vlcko, J. (2004). Extremely slow slope movements influencing the stability of Spis Castle, UNESCO site. Landslides, 1(1), 67-71. [30] Yilmaz, I., Marschalko, M. (2012). A leaning historical monument formed by underground mining effect: An example from Czech Republic. Engineering geology, 133, 43-48. 
work_fstfhgvg6ve4tmxjs2xhbxq3ta	----	Part 3 The Materiality of Devotion ∵ Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access © Michael J. Brody, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004375871_010 This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing CC-BY-NC-ND License at the time of publication. chapter 8 Religious Subjects on Sixteenth-Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa Michael J. Brody The small Umbrian hill town of Deruta, about 19 km south of Perugia, is one of Italy’s most important centres for the production of sixteenth-century maiolica (tin-glazed earthenware). Among the wares for which Deruta is most famous are large, concave dishes with flat rims, painted at the centre with a wide variety of sacred and profane subjects. On most examples, the rim, which neatly frames the central image, is treated independently from the centre, and its decoration either circles the rim [Fig. 8.1] or consists of repeating radial segments of varying width and design [Fig. 8.2]. These works of art range from about 38 to 44 cm in diameter, and are commonly referred to in the specialist literature as piatti da pompa – ‘show’ or ‘display’ dishes.1 The majority of them were made between 1500 and 1560, and because they remained in fashion for such a long time, and changed little stylistically, they are particularly difficult to date with any precision. Of the two largest categories of decoration on these works, the first compris- es the so-called belle donne dishes that typically feature bust or waist-length images of graceful and idealised women in contemporary dress, often accom- panied by fluttering banderoles containing pithy aphorisms or moralising statements, or epithets extolling their virtue or beauty. The second category is religious images, most notably saints – like St Francis, the commonest saint de- picted [Figs 8.1 and 8.2] – the Virgin, angels, and the sacred trigram. The pres- ent essay focuses on this latter category, and it includes suggestions pertaining to the decorative and devotional use of these objects for a variety of clients. Two technical aspects regarding the dishes’ manufacture shed light on their intended use, as well as help identify who the potential consumers were for these attractive objects. All maiolica is kiln-fired twice – once to become terra- cotta (the biscuit firing), and a second time, after being glazed and decorated, to fuse the painting and glazes to the object – but a good proportion of Deruta 1 This term is not a Renaissance one. One of the earliest instances of the use of piatto da pompa is the catalogue of the Campana maiolica (now mostly at the Louvre): Cataloghi del Museo Campana. Classe X. Dipinture in majolica […] (Rome, n.d., but ca. 1858). Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 188 Brody piatti da pompa – I would estimate 65–75% of surviving examples – are deco- rated in golden lustre [Fig. 8.2] rather than in polychrome [Fig. 8.1]. Lustring, or the application of metallic oxides, requires a third firing in a kiln within a reducing atmosphere; once removed from the kiln, the dishes are burnished to reveal an iridescent lustre with a tone ranging from bright yellow to light brown.2 Lustred pottery was Deruta’s speciality, and only a few workshops in a few towns in Italy are known to have possessed the highly guarded secret of its production; consequently, this ware was in large part responsible for Deruta’s 2 Red lustre sometimes also appears on Deruta wares, but for reasons unknown potters aban- doned its use by the early 1520s. Figure 8.1 Deruta, “St Francis Receiving the Stigmata”, 1531. Maiolica, diam. 41.3 cm. Cleveland Museum of Art © The Cleveland Museum of Art Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 189Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa fame as a pottery centre. The additional time and labour (not to mention the risk) involved in producing lustred maiolica meant that it could fetch more – perhaps six times more – than the price of its polychromatic counterpart; and such a price disparity, if credible, would indicate different consumers for these products.3 Cipriano Piccolpasso, in his treatise of ca. 1557 on maiolica-making, estimated – perhaps with some exaggeration – that only 6% of lustred objects emerged from the third firing intact: ‘è arte fallace che, spesse volte, di 100 pezzi di lavori, a ffatiga ve ne sono 6 buoni. Vero è che l’arte in sé è bella e ingegniosa, e quando gli lavori son buoni paiono di oro’.4 The high esteem afforded to Deruta lustrewares was also expressed by the Bolognese friar Leandro Alberti, who wrote in his Descrittione di tutta Italia (1550): 3 Biganti T., “Documenti: La produzione di ceramica a lustro a Gubbio e a Deruta tra la fine del secolo XV e l’inizio del secolo XVI. Primi risultati di una ricerca documentaria”, Faenza 73 (1987) 214, 218. One hopes for documentary evidence of this presumed price disparity. Given the posited price difference, one might expect higher quality painting on lustreware, but that is not the case; Wilson T., Italian Maiolica of the Renaissance (Milan: 1996) 37, n. 8. 4 ‘The art [of lustring] is treacherous, for often of 100 pieces of ware tried in the fire, scarce six are good. True it is that the art itself is beautiful and ingenious, and when the wares are good they seem like gold’; Piccolpasso Cipriano, I tre libri dell’arte del vasaio: The Three Books of the Potter’sAart, a Facsimile of the Manuscript in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London (ca. 1557), ed. R. Lightbown – A. Caiger-Smith, 2 vols. (London: 1980) vol. I, folio 49 and vol. II, 90. Figure 8.2 Deruta, “St Francis Receiving the Stigmata”, ca. 1500–1530. Lustred maiolica, diam. 40.8. Pesaro, Museo delle Ceramiche © Musei Civici, Pesaro Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 190 Brody Sono molto nomati li Vasi di terra cotta quivi fatti, per esser talmente lavorati, che paiono dorati. Et anche tanto sottilmente sono condutti, che infino ad hora non si ritrova alcun artifice nell’Italia, che se li possa ag- guagliare, benché assai sovente habbiano isprimentato & tentato di far simili lavori.5 For these reasons lustreware might have been regarded a semi-luxurious prod- uct, and much of its appeal had to do with its iridescent glazes that mimic expensive metalware.6 A second technical aspect of the piatti da pompa germane to our discus- sion is the uniform presence of suspension holes through the footring on the underside [Fig. 8.3].7 Most dishes are pierced with two holes about three cm apart, but a minority of dishes have three piercings spread further apart. Because on most surviving examples the glaze coats the insides of the holes, these holes were created when the clay was still pliable, i.e. before the first kiln firing. Since this convenient hanging feature is built-in to the objects, histori- ans have concluded that the dishes’ primary function was as domestic, wall- hung devotional art. It is curious, and surprising, that in some cases – a significant but low minority – when the piatti da pompa are suspended by these holes, they do not hang in the proper orientation with respect to the painting on the front; possi- bly this is due to oversight by the painter, or the worker engaged in transferring a design. But it is also possible that the holes had a second purpose: to suspend, perhaps from a horizontal rod, the painted dishes inside the kiln during their second firing. Support for this derives from the observation that the fronts of the dishes lack scars from spurs or spacers – the devices that typically separate 5 ‘The earthenwares made here are renowned for being made to look as if they were gilded. And the technique is so subtle that up to now no other craftsman in Italy has been found to equal them, although experiments and attempts have often been made’; Alberti Leandro, Descrittione di tutta Italia; nella quale si contiene il sito di essa, l’origine, & le signorie delle città, & delle castella […] (Bologna, Anselmo Giaccarelli: 1550) folio 85v. 6 It is worth recalling that tin, the essential ingredient of the white glaze that coats the surface of maiolica objects before painting, was an imported ingredient, and the majority of the tin used by Italian potters was mined in Cornwall, England. With respect to the hierarchy of materials during the Renaissance, it is probably the case that most Italians ranked even high-quality maiolica below pewter (‘poor man’s silver’) in spite of the widespread encomia it received from patrician consumers. For the phenomenon of maiolica imitating metalware see Brody M.J., The Evolution, Function, and Social Significance of Italian Renaissance Maiolica Services, c. 1480 to c. 1600, DPhil thesis (University of Oxford: 2017) 39–43. 7 See also Wilson T., Italian Maiolica in the Collection of the National Gallery of Victoria (Melbourne: 2015) 56, where this detail is illustrated. Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 191Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa stacked plates and dishes in the kiln. That piatti da pompa footrings are often fully covered by glaze also suggests they were not laid flat in the kiln.8 Although it is plausible, and likely probable, that the dishes were regularly hung on a wall or from a shelf, there is nothing that would preclude their own- ers from placing them flat atop furniture or shelves, or even propping them up in the Renaissance equivalent of a plate stand. Given the popularity of these dishes (based on their survival rate), it is somewhat puzzling that they never appear in secular or religious Renaissance paintings. It is well established that houses were the locus for a wide assortment of pious objects and that the borders between domestic and public devotional spaces were consciously blurred in Renaissance Italy.9 Objects could take the form of small religious paintings, tabernacles, relief sculptures, statuettes, maiolica, or inexpensive prints, according to the economic means of their owners. A detail of a bedchamber from Carpaccio’s St Ursula cycle from the late 1490s shows, on the wall above the bed, a small devotional painting of 8 Piccolpasso states that large dishes were placed on their side, in a row, but his knowledge of techniques came primarily from observation and discussion with potters from and in Casteldurante (present day Urbania). Regarding lustre, he reveals that he was only able to observe the process in Gubbio (then part of the Duchy of Urbino) so it is almost certain that he had no direct knowledge of the methods used by Deruta potters for their specialty products. 9 E.g. Lydecker J.K., The Domestic Setting of the Arts in Renaissance Florence, Ph.D. disserta- tion (The Johns Hopkins University: 1987), particularly “Religious art in Florentine homes” (114–119), citing the domestic functions of images of saints, the Crucifix, Madonna and Child, and Jesus; and Cooper D., “Devotion”, in Ajmar-Wollheim M. – Dennis F. (eds.), At Home in Renaissance Italy (London: 2006) 190–203. Figure 8.3 Deruta, ca. 1540–1560. Lustred maiolica. Philadelphia, private collection. Detail of footring, underside of dish Photograph by the author Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 192 Brody the Madonna and Child framed like a tabernacle, a common item in wealthy and patrician households [Fig. 8.4]. A seated Madonna with the Christ Child was among the most ubiquitous domestic Marian images in any medium, and numerous surviving Deruta piatti da pompa featuring this iconography attest to its popularity on ceramics [Fig. 8.5].10 In several lustred versions of these dishes the figures are accompanied by banderoles with Latin inscriptions – perhaps prompts for the recitation of the rosary – such as ‘SANTA MARIA ORA PRO NOBIS’ (Holy Mary, pray for us) and ‘AVE SANTISSIMA MARIA MATER DEI REGINA CELI’ (Hail most holy Mary, Mother of God, Queen of Heaven).11 The Holy Virgin was the primary protector of all Catholics, and regardless of medium, these works served the same devotional, protective, and decorative functions. Designs on many Deruta piatti da pompa reflect the influence of local art- ists such as Pinturicchio (d. 1513) and Perugino (d. 1523). They and their work- shops executed a host of commissions throughout Umbria and beyond, and many bella donna profiles derive from the graceful female types pervasive in Pinturicchio’s frescos. Although it has been suggested, though never proven, that Pinturicchio was married to a Deruta potter’s daughter, it seems likely that he, Perugino, and their respective workshops collaborated with local pot- ters. Drawings, or drawings of drawings, must have existed for works beyond the potters’ reach, or for works located in what were then inaccessible places, such as the Vatican. The near identical pose and appearance of secular and religious figures on multiple Deruta dishes suggests that certain designs were serially produced from a workshop’s stock repertory of cartoons, and typically transferred to the dishes through a pounce technique that involved pricking a cartoon and tapping the holes with a porous bag filled with dark chalk or charcoal. A notable number of inscribed dishes are hybrids of a sort, since they pair religious subjects with secular mottos, or the opposite, secular images (usually 10 Fiocco C. – Gherardi G. – Sfeir-Fakhri L., Majoliques italiennes du Musée des Arts Décoratifs de Lyon. Collection Gillet (Dijon: 2001) cat. 85. The source for this and most of the Deruta Madonna and Child dishes is likely Perugino’s Madonna in Glory with Child and Saints (ca. 1496, Pinacoteca Nazionale, Bologna) or Enthroned Madonna and Child with Saints (1521, Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, Spello). At least six other Madonna and Child dishes that differ only in small details are known to me. 11 Respectively, Curnow C., Italian Maiolica in the National Museums of Scotland, National Museums of Scotland Information Series, no. 5. (Edinburgh: 1992) cat. 29 and Wilson T., “Renaissance ceramics”, in The Collections of the National Gallery of Art, Systematic Catalogue. Western Decorative Arts, Part I: Medieval, Renaissance, and Historicizing Styles Including Metalwork, Enamels, and Ceramics (Washington, DC and Cambridge, UK: 1993) 156–158. Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 193Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa Figure 8.4 Vittore Carpaccio, Legend of St Ursula polyptych, “Arrival of the Ambassadors”, ca. 1498. Oil on canvas, 378 cm × 589 cm. Venice, Gallerie dell’Accademia. Detail © Erich Lessing / Art Resource, NY Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 194 Brody belle donne) with pious inscriptions. The union of image and text that do not explicitly relate to one another could mean that potters were executing cus- tom orders, but more likely it speaks to workshop practices – what sources were available, what was deemed attractive or saleable, what afforded variety. The dish with a standard bella donna accompanied by the inscription ‘ORARE SEGRETO E MOLTO ACETTO A DIO’ (To pray in secret is most accept- able to God) reminds its owner, presumably a woman, to pray alone or in the private spaces of the home, such as the bedchamber [Fig. 8.6].12 In a similar 12 Wilson, Italian Maiolica of the Renaissance cat. 26. The same inscription appears on at least four dishes with a composition (based on a Raphael-school engraving) of a Figure 8.5 Deruta, “Madonna and Child”, ca. 1520–1530. Maiolica, diam. 40 cm. Musée des arts décoratifs de Lyon © Lyon, MTMAD – Pierre Verrier (1700) Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 195Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa mother reading to a child, sometimes referred to as the Virgin reading, with the infant Jesus: Catalogue d’une précieuse collection de faïences italiennes, Hispano-Moresques d’Alcora et de Nîmes [Duc de Dino], sale catalogue, Hôtel Drouot, Paris, 8 May 1894, lot 21; Rackham B., Islamic Pottery and Italian Maiolica. Illustrated Catalogue of a Private Collection (London: 1959) cat. 350; Busti G. – Cocchi F., “Umbria” maiolica entries in Ausenda R. (ed.), Musei e Gallerie di Milano. Museo d’Arti Applicate [del Castello Sforzesco]. Le ceramiche. Tomo primo (Milan: 2000) cat. 69; and Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY, inv. 65.6.13. For the same inscription (highly abbreviated at its ending) with a Roman em- peror in profile and the arms of Baglioni, lords of Perugia, see Chompret J., Répertoire de la majolique italienne, 2 vols. (Paris: 1949) vol. II, fig. 183. See Watson W.M., Italian Renaissance Maiolica from the William A. Clark Collection (London: 1986) cat. 32 for a dish in which a standard bella donna is transformed (through a halo and small prayer book in Figure 8.6 Deruta, Bella donna dish inscribed ORARE SEGRETO E MOLTO ACETTO A DIO (To pray in secret is most acceptable to God), ca. 1505–1520. Lustred maiolica, diam. 42.6 cm. Private collection Photograph by the author Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 196 Brody way, prayer is encouraged through another popular image repeated on piatti da pompa: an angel with clasped hands, which is a direct quote from interchange- able angel details in Perugino and Pinturicchio frescos.13 It is conceivable that the small building that almost always flanks the angel on these dishes, and which is found on a host of other religious-themed Deruta pottery, is a simpli- fied rendering of the St Francis or St Clare basilicas in Assisi; if so, its presence suggests these objects were souvenirs of a visit to a pilgrim centre. Prayer is again the obvious theme in an early Deruta narrative painting, Jesus praying in Gethsemane, made ca. 1500–10 [Fig. 8.7].14 The scene is adapted from a woodcut that appeared in the 1492 (or later) edition of Savonarola’s pious Tractato overo sermone della oratione, and the dish provides evidence of the invenzione of a skilled painter in adapting a simpler print source – the increased perspective, delicate colouring, and the addition of buildings and narrative details such as a string of minute soldiers carrying torches in the background, on their way to arrest Jesus [Fig. 8.8].15 While the religious sub- jects on piatti da pompa never reached the variety found in panel, canvas, and fresco painting – there is, for example, a dearth of Old Testament subjects – Christological and Marian subjects are particularly well represented: for ex- ample The Resurrection, Agnus Dei, The Lamentation, The Assumption of Mary, and The Annunciation [Fig. 8.9].16 Marian images in particular, ubiquitous in household inventories, were the most popular subject for domestic devotional her hand) into the Virgin; in what may be a unique subject on extant Deruta pottery, the Incarnation of Christ; see Glaser S., Majolika. Die Italienischen Fayencen im Germanischen Nationalmuseum Nürnberg. Bestandskatalog (Nuremberg: 2000) cat. 176 for a dish with the inscription ‘IN TE DOMINE SPERAVI’ (In you, Lord, I have placed my trust) and a female bust that may be an attempt at a portrait of an actual woman. 13 For the dishes, see Thornton D. – Wilson T., Italian Renaissance Ceramics. A Catalogue of the British Museum Collection, 2 vols. (London: 2009) cat. 280 (with references to nine others). The frescos are: Perugino, The Eternal Father above Prophets and Sibyls (ca. 1500, Collegio del Cambia, Sala delle Udienze, Perugia) and Pinturicchio, Enthroned Virgin and Child with Saints (ca. 1508, Church of Sant’Andrea, Spello). 14 Ravanelli Guidotti C., Museo Internazionale delle Ceramiche in Faenza. La donazione Angiolo Fanfani. Ceramiche dal Medioevo al XX secolo (Faenza: 1990) cat. 94. 15 For an equally impressive dish with Jesus Processing with the Cross amongst Soldiers, based on a late-Quattrocento engraving, see Klesse B., Majolika. Kataloge des Kunstgewerbemuseums Köln, II (Cologne: 1996) cat. 293. 16 Respectively: Poole J.E., Italian maiolica and Incised Slipware in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (Cambridge, UK: 1995) cat. 254; Rackham B., Victoria and Albert Museum. Catalogue of Italian Maiolica, 2 vols. (London: 1940) cat. 468 and 495 (also called a Pietà); Giacomotti J., Catalogue des majoliques des musées nationaux. Musées du Louvre et de Cluny, Musée National de Céramique à Sèvres, Musée Adrien-Dubouché à Limoges (Paris: 1974) cat. 479; and Cole B., Italian Maiolica from Midwestern Collections, exh. cat., Indiana University Art Museum (Bloomington: 1977) cat. 36. Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 197Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa art, and Mary receiving news that she was to bear a son would seem to be a suitable bedchamber image for a wife hoping to become pregnant.17 17 For Marian images see Musacchio J.M., Art, Marriage, & Family in the Florentine Renaissance Palace (New Haven and London: 2008) 211. A striking example invocating for the conception of a son is a maiolica plate (part of a childbirth set) prominently inscribed with the word ‘MASCHIO’ (male), ill. Musacchio, J.M., The Art and Ritual of Childbirth in Renaissance Italy (New Haven and London: 1999) 143, fig. 141. Fra Filippo Lippi’s Annunciation (ca. 1453) for the Palazzo Medici in Florence is thought to have hung over a door or bed, or to have been set into a bedhead, and its pendant panel, Seven Saints, depicts the protector-saints of male members of the Medici family, both National Gallery, London, ill. Motture P. – Syson, L., “Art in the casa”, in Ajmar-Wollheim – Dennis (eds.), At Home in Renaissance Italy 272–273, figs 19.4–19.5. Figure 8.7 Deruta, “Jesus praying in Gethsemane”, ca. 1500–1510. Maiolica, diam. 43 cm. Faenza, Museo Internazionale delle Ceramiche © Museo Internazionale delle Ceramiche, Faenza Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 198 Brody Figure 8.8 Anonymous, Florence, “Jesus praying in Gethsemane”, ca. 1492. Woodcut from Girolamo Savonarola, Tractato overo sermone della oratione (Florence, Lorenzo Morgiani: 1492) Photograph by the author An exceptionally ambitious Deruta dish is painted at the centre with the Crucifixion and on the rim with sixteen roundels containing scenes from the Passion, the short final period in the life of Jesus beginning with his entry into Jerusalem and culminating with his Resurrection [Fig. 8.10].18 The centre 18 Ballardini G., “Eine Deruta-Schüssel mit der Passion Christi”, Pantheon 6 (1930) 464– 468 (where the subjects of all sixteen roundels are identified), Liverani F. – Reggi G.L., Le maioliche del Museo Nazionale di Ravenna (Modena: 1976) cat. 54 (where the likely design source, a Florentine print of the 1460s, is illustrated), and Fiocco C. – Gherardi G., Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 199Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa consists of various vignettes disposed across a hilly landscape (such as sol- diers casting lots for Jesus’ clothing), and contains over forty-five figures in a variety of attitudes – on horseback, standing, sitting, or flying. The Virgin ap- pears twice: at the foot of the cross and, lower down, collapsed in grief. The scenes on this dish (as well as less grand renderings of the subject on maioli- ca) allowed viewers to make a spiritual pilgrimage through meditation of the Passion, while contemplating their own end. This type of object, which offers an abundance of images in a compact space, seems particularly well-suited for display on the wall of a small chapel in a private home or confraternity hall, La ceramica di Deruta dal XIII al XVIII secolo / Deruta Pottery from the 13th to the 18th Century (Perugia: 1994) cat. 30. Figure 8.9 Deruta, “The Annunciation”, ca. 1500–1520. Maiolica, diam. 40.1 cm. Kansas City, The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art © The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, MO Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 200 Brody or in front of a prie-dieu, or as an alternative to a tabernacle set on a portable household altar.19 Why did Deruta potters choose to paint religious and secular subjects on the curved surface of piatti da pompa so prodigiously when they also produced – in far lower quantities to gauge from the number of surviving examples – flat, rectangular plaques that were presumably easier to paint?20 Perhaps they 19 Compare with a plate, probably Tuscan, formerly in the Beit collection, decorated with the Crucifixion and, on the rim, only four scenes from the Passion; Rackham B. – Van de Put A., Catalogue of the Collection of Pottery and Porcelain in the Possession of Mr. Otto Beit (London: 1916) cat. 751, now Cleveland Museum of Art, inv. 1943.55. For the use of the Passion as an aid to prayer in lay confraternities see the sources cited in Cooper, “Devotion” 195, note 30; for domestic altars see Cooper, “Devotion” 198–201. 20 The broader question of why so few maiolica plaques in general, with sacred or profane subjects, were produced in sixteenth-century Italy is also puzzling. The relatively small Figure 8.10 Deruta, “The Passion of Jesus”, ca. 1500. Maiolica, diam. 47.5 cm. Ravenna, Museo Nazionale © Museo Nazionale di Ravenna Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 201Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa felt a professional impetus to fabricate three-dimensional objects that were primarily utilitarian, knowing full well that for some classes of objects their serviceability would be eclipsed by their decorative and/or devotional func- tions. To be sure, piatti da pompa were a Deruta trademark, and among the town’s most recognisable products, so perhaps it was with a sense of both pride and tradition that potters persisted in utilising the form. Occasionally, how- ever, a painter disregarded the dish’s morphology in order to position a design over the entire dish, effectively treating it as a flat, uninterrupted surface. A complex and accomplished example of this is a dish with the Crucifixion, IHS Christogram (or Sacred Trigram), and St Jerome and St Francis, all set against a characteristically Umbrian landscape [Fig. 8.11].21 The main portion of the composition was adapted, in reverse, from a late-fifteenth century Northern Italian print of the Crucifixion with St Jerome and St Francis, and the placement of the monogram below the crucifix may have been inspired by an illustra- tion from a sacred text, such as the Plenarium (Augsburg, 1478) – although the maiolica painter has artfully made the cross an extension of the beribboned central letter ‘h’.22 Saints had a special relationship with the divine and were seen as interces- sors between humans and God, as protectors for the living.23 In accordance with the dictates established at the Council of Nicaea in 787, saints were ex- emplars to be represented, venerated, and emulated. Maiolica display dishes depicting saints thus served as significant devotional tools in the service of such role models. The popularity of St Francis Receiving the Stigmata is easy to understand: not only was it the climactic event in the life of one of Italy’s most beloved saints, but Deruta is only 25 km from Assisi, the saint’s final resting place [Figs. 8.1 and 8.2]. Deruta potters were supplying wares to the Convent number of religious-themed plaques made in Deruta include lustred examples with St Jerome in relief (1520s–30s), for which see Busti – Cocchi, “Umbria”, cat. 78, and un- lustred plaques made in the Mancini workshop (1550s–60s), e.g. The Crucifixion and the Madonna and Child Enthroned, with St Anthony Abbot and St Sebastian, for which see, respectively, Poole, Italian Maiolica cat. 275, and Bojani G.C. – Ravanelli Guidotti C. – Fanfani A., Museo Internazionale delle Ceramiche in Faenza. La donazione Galeazzo Cora. Ceramiche dal Medioevo al XIX secolo (Milan: 1985) cat. 747. 21 Fiocco – Gherardi – Sfeir-Fakhri, Majoliques italiennes cat. 83, with illustrations of the probable print sources. 22 The monogram was popularised in the fifteenth-century by St Bernardino of Siena. To avoid suspicion of idolatry, Bernardino created a cross from the ascender of the ‘h’, although on the dish it appears as a full Crucifixion; see Thornton – Wilson, Italian Renaissance Ceramics cat. 282 for further remarks about the monogram. 23 See Goldthwaite R., Wealth and the Demand for Art in Italy 1300–1600 (Baltimore and London: 1993) 109–114 for the cult of saints, including their politicization and the demand for, and ascendancy of, saint images. Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 202 Brody of San Francesco as early as 1358.24 Most renditions of this scene are faith- ful to its design source, a late fifteenth-century engraving, with the exception that Brother Leo, Francis’s favourite disciple, is usually omitted.25 That when Francis received the stigmata he himself was gazing raptly at an image of the Saviour must have resonated with the pious owners of these dishes, whether lay or religious. 24 De Mauri L., Le maioliche di Deruta, Monografie di arti decorative, 6 (Milan: 1924) 21. 25 For the print, see Hind A.F., Early Italian Engraving (London: 1938–48) vol. VII, plate 886. Wilson, Italian Maiolica of the Renaissance cat. 31, note 1, lists 32 recorded dishes with the subject; the ratio of unlustred (9, or 28.1%) to lustred (23, or 71.9%) versions nicely ac- cords with the estimate I cite at the beginning of the present essay. Figure 8.11 Deruta, “The Crucifixion, with St Jerome and St Francis”, ca. 1540–1550. Lustred maiolica, diam. 42.2 cm. Musée des arts décoratifs de Lyon © Lyon, MTMAD – Sylvain Pretto (1947) Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 203Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa St Jerome was one of the four doctors of the early Church, and his Latin translation of the Bible was among his greatest works. On piatti da pompa he is depicted either kneeling in the wilderness (with or without his lion), or seen in close-up, gazing at the crucified Jesus.26 In both versions Jerome holds a stone with which he penitentially beats his bare chest in order to tame his sinful heart. In a unique rendering of the scene, a woman in contemporary dress, identified by name (VICENTIA), kneels in prayer in front of Jerome in the wilderness [Fig. 8.12]; as a sign of her humility she is depicted markedly smaller than the saint, a convention typical of some early Renaissance reli- gious paintings.27 This work is an unusual document, as it inserts the client into the work (via image and text), alludes to the devotional relationship be- tween the holy image and the viewer, and demonstrates that Deruta piatti da pompa could be personalised. The establishment of Hieronymite congregations in Tuscany and Umbria undoubtedly contributed to the saint’s popularity on Deruta wares, and the contrite Jerome must have struck a chord with those seized with a desire for a life of ascetic penance. His very image was thought to be apotropaic, and it was said that demons feared to enter the cells of nuns who kept his image on the wall.28 The notable prevalence in Deruta of St Jerome (d. 420) and St Francis (d. 1226) above other saints may stem from their shared devotion to prayer, asceticism, repetance, and virtuous obedience – their imitation of the life of Jesus himself. Through them, laypeople were able to participate more directly in religious life, an aspiration that was one of the most profound spiritual de- mands of the age. In the hagiography of Catherine of Alexandria, the princess-scholar with un- yielding Christian faith was condemned to death on a spiked breaking wheel, but miraculously, at her touch, the wheel shattered [Fig. 8.13].29 If her virginity made her an appropriate model for unwed girls, her mystical marriage to the 26 See Wilson T. – Sani E.P., Le maioliche rinascimentali nelle collezioni della Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio di Perugia, 2 vols. (Città di Castello: 2006–7) vol. I, cat. 14 (wilderness version) and Hausmann T., Fioritura. Blütezeiten der Majolika einer Berliner Sammlung (Berlin: 2002) cat. 33 (close-up version). 27 Sannipoli E. (ed.), La via della ceramica tra Umbria e Marche. Maioliche rinascimentali da collezioni private, exh. cat., Palazzo Ducale, Gubbio (Città di Castello: 2010) cat. 1–20 (entry by G. Busti and F. Cocchi). 28 Kalinke M.E., The Book of Reykjahólar: The Last of the Great Medieval Legendaries (Toronto: 1996) 161. 29 Rackham, Victoria and Albert Museum, cat. 484; for another example see Sotheby’s, London, 21 November 1978, lot 37. Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 204 Brody infant Christ made her an exemplar for wives and nuns.30 The popularity of Catherine on Deruta wares surely also relates to the fact that she is the protector of potters – her attribute of martyrdom parallels the potter’s wheel – and, be- cause pottery was Deruta’s main industry, she was also the town’s patron saint. Although the cult of St Roch as a protector against plague and pestilence developed slowly after his death around 1380, by the sixteenth century he had 30 Ajmar M. – Thornton D., “When Is a Portrait Not a Portrait? Belle Donne on Maiolica and the Renaissance Praise of Local Beauties”, in Mann N. – Syson L. (eds.), The Image of the Individual: Portraits in the Renaissance (London: 1998) 142, with reference to the Sermones (1487) of preacher Vincent Ferrer. Figure 8.12 Deruta, “St Jerome in the Wilderness”, ca. 1550–1560. Maiolica, diam. 41.5 cm. Private collection Photograph by the author Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 205Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa become a popular saint. Following the standard iconography, Roch is dressed as a pilgrim leaning on a staff and pointing to the plague sore on his thigh [Fig. 8.14].31 Despite the prevalence of plague, including local outbreaks in the 1520s, extant Deruta piatti da pompa decorated with St Roch are surprisingly uncommon.32 The three examples known to me appear to be based on the image of St Roch in a Perugino fresco made for the Church of S. Francesco 31 Poole, Italian Maiolica cat. 245. 32 Busti G – Cocchi F., Museo Regionale della Ceramica di Deruta. Ceramiche policrome, a lustro e terrecotte di Deruta dei secoli XV e XVI (Milan and Città di Castello: 1999) 37 refers to a plague outbreak in 1522, on the outskirts of Perugia; and Poole, Italian maiolica 174 refers to a particularly virulent outbreak in 1527. Figure 8.13 Deruta, “St Catherine” ca. 1510–1530. Lustred maiolica, diam. 40.5 cm. London, Victoria and Albert Museum © Victoria and Albert Museum, London Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 206 Brody in Deruta, a convenient design source for the town’s potters.33 St Roch’s cura- tive and protective image is found on other Deruta pottery, such as a drug jar (albarello), whose contents label reads ‘ELLE. CONTRA. PESTA’ (electuary against the plague), and a large (h. 75 cm) lustred figure of the saint.34 A popular subject on piatti da pompa is The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, the gospel account in which Christ shows the wound in his side to Thomas, who 33 In addition to Fig. 14 here, there is one in the Hermitage and one illustrated in Guaitini G. (ed.), Maioliche umbre decorate a lustro. Il Rinascimento e la ripresa ottocentesca: Deruta, Gualdo Tadino, Gubbio, exh. cat., Spoleto (Florence: 1982) 116, fig. 37. The Perugino fresco is now in Deruta’s Pinacoteca Comunale. 34 Respectively, Fiocco – Gherardi – Sfeir-Fakhri, Majoliques italiennes, cat. 59 and Thornton – Wilson, Italian Renaissance ceramics cat. 294. Figure 8.14 Deruta, “St Roch”, ca. 1500–1550. Lustred maiolica, diam. 41.8 cm. Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 207Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa is thereby convinced of his resurrection. This evocative image surely helped quell the doubts of those whose faith was weak or being called into question. Although the figures of Thomas and Jesus are nearly identical from dish to dish, there is considerable variation among the accompanying inscriptions, e.g.: ‘MITTE MANUM TUA IN LOCHO CLA[V]ORUM’ (Place your hand in the spot of the nails) [Fig. 8.15];35 ‘IESUS NAZERENUS REX IUDEORUM X’ ( Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, Christ);36 ‘TOMA QVI ME VEDISTI ET CREDISTI’ (Thomas, that he saw me and believed);37 and ‘BEATU CHI NON VIDERONT E CREDIDERONT IM ME’ (Blessed be those who do not see yet believe in me).38 The variety of identifiable saints on Deruta piatti da pompa is impressive, and most exist in lustred and unlustred versions; examples include: St Barbara;39 St Lucy;40 St Peter;41 St Paul;42 St Augustine;43 St John the Baptist;44 St Anthony of Padua;45 St Michael and St George (potent emblems of good over evil);46 St Anthony Abbot (for whom a Deruta potters’ confraternity was named);47 St Secundus (patron saint of Asti);48 St Ubaldo (patron saint of Gubbio);49 35 Gardiner Museum, Toronto, inv. G83.1.335; for another version with the same inscription (except that CLAORUM is written as CRAORUM), see Busti – Cocchi, Museo Regionale della Ceramica cat. 154. 36 Metropolitan Museum of Art, inv. 29.100.93 and (with minor letter changes) Giacomotti, Catalogue des majoliques cat. 567. 37 Rackham, Victoria and Albert Museum cat. 483. 38 Mancini Della Chiara M., Maioliche del Museo Civico di Pesaro. Catalogo (Bologna: 1979) cat. 115. 39 Giacomotti, Catalogue des majoliques cat. 503, 519, and 595; and Cole, Italian Maiolica cat. 38. 40 Giacomotti, Catalogue des majoliques cat. 521; Fuchs C.D., Maioliche istoriate rinasci- mentali del Museo Statale d’Arte Medioevale e Moderna di Arezzo (Arezzo: 1993) cat. 297; and Hausmann T., Majolika und Fayence. Vermächtnis Rolf Lahr. Kataloge des Kunstgewerbemuseums Berlin, Band XI (Berlin: 1986) cat. 10. 41 Busti – Cocchi, Museo Regionale della Ceramica cat. 68. 42 Fiocco – Gherardi – Sfeir-Fakhri, Majoliques italiennes cat. 73. 43 Chompret, Répertoire, vol. II, fig. 177. 44 Rackham, Islamic Pottery and Italian Maiolica cat. 355; Béalu C., 50 majoliques. Faïences italiennes de la Renaissance, dealer’s cat., JM Béalu & Fils (Paris: 2010) 28–29. 45 Béalu, 50 majoliques 22–23. 46 Respectively, Fiocco – Gherardi, La ceramic di Deruta cat. 180 and Rackham, Victoria and Albert Museum cat. 760 and 762. 47 Busti – Cocchi, Museo Regionale della Ceramica cat. 153, with the inscription ‘SANCTE ANTONIO ORA PRO NOBIS’ (St Anthony, pray for us). 48 Sold Christie’s, London, 23 November 1981, lot 212 (recorded as being a remarkable 63.5 cm in diameter); with respect to attribution, I cannot rule out Siena or another Tuscan centre. 49 Ravanelli Guidotti, Museo Internazionale delle Ceramiche cat. 100. Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 208 Brody St Geminianus (patron saint of San Gimignano);50 St Constance (first bishop of Perugia and one of that city’s saint-protectors);51 St John the Evangelist and St James;52 St Benedict with four saints from his order: Scholastica, Justina, Maurus, and Placidus;53 and Sts Cecilia, Magdalene, Augustine, John the Baptist, and Paul.54 Surprisingly, Clare of Assisi (d. 1253), best known for 50 Sold Christie’s, London, 26–27 November 2013, lot 14. 51 Thornton – Wilson, Italian Renaissance Ceramics cat. 279. 52 Giacomotti, Catalogue des majoliques cat. 480. 53 Thornton – Wilson, Italian Renaissance Ceramics, cat. 253; the footring is pierced four times. The figures closely follow their source, a ca. 1500 engraving, but the maiolica paint- er omits the names of the saints and the background landscape. 54 Fiocco – Gherardi, La ceramica di Deruta cat. 165; this object is actually a ewer stand/ basin, but as it closely reproduces a Marcantonio Raimondi engraving, it stands to reason the subject was painted on piatti da pompa was well. Figure 8.15 Deruta, “The Incredulity of St Thomas”, ca. 1500–1530. Lustred maiolica, diam. 40.5 cm. Toronto, Gardiner Museum © Gardiner Museum, Toronto Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 209Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa founding the Order of the Poor Clares, a monastic religious order for women in the Franciscan tradition, appears on only one dish that I am aware of.55 In gen- eral, even given this variety of saints, most likenesses are to be expected given Deruta’s location and its proximity or connection to particular religious sites or orders. This largely identifiable pool of saints also suggests that, contrary to what one might expect, consumers did not regularly personalise them with images of their own saint’s name. Historical religious figures make very rare appearances on piatti da pompa, and only two examples, both lustred, are known to me. One shows Judas Maccabeus, the Jewish priest who led the Maccabean Revolt against the Seleucids in the second century BCE, after their ruler issued decrees forbid- ding Jewish religious practices.56 The other depicts Constantine the Great, whose dramatic conversion and military victories made him the first Christian Emperor of Rome; he is shown on horseback, with hands clasped in prayer, an attitude echoed in the rim inscription ‘IO MA RE CHOMA[N]DO A DIIO’ (I commend myself to God).57 Identifying precisely who purchased or commissioned Deruta display dish- es is difficult at the current state of scholarship. I know of no documents (pot- ters’ records, commission contracts, or household inventories) in which these works can be definitively identified.58 Given the dishes’ size, cost, and – in the case of secular subjects – inclusion of moralising inscriptions (often in Latin), it seems likely that as souvenirs they were beyond the means of poor pilgrims and those of modest means.59 More likely, consumers included the fairly well off, what we call the ‘middle class’ today, or the reasonably wealthy – in partic- ular those who could display these works in houses that contained bedcham- bers, spaces designated for prayer, or even private chapels.60 55 Museo regionale della ceramica di Deruta, inv. 1100; I thank Dott.ssa Iolanda Cunto for confirming its location for me. 56 Fiocco – Gherardi, La ceramica di Deruta cat. 136. 57 Prentice von Erdberg J. – Ross M.C., Catalogue of the Italian Majolica in the Walters Art Gallery (Baltimore: 1952) cat. 21. 58 Maiolica references in the archives of pilgrim centres such as Assisi could add significant understanding to the dishes’ likely role as souvenirs. 59 Prints would have been among the cheapest available effigies of saints and pious subjects. 60 On an empirical note, in three decades of extensive travel throughout Italy I have never encountered sixteenth-century piatti da pompa inside churches. The medieval tradition of inserting large dishes (bacini) into the church facades, still visible in various cities in Lazio, Umbria, and Tuscany, had largely died out by 1500. With respect to devotional maiolica in the domestic sphere, the 1609 inventory of the Palazzo Ducale in Urbino lists several elaborate maiolica sculptures, all almost surely made in Urbino, including: ‘un eramo grando con un San Girolomo un Christo et un angelo et la Chiesa accima, di rilievo et dipinto’ (a large painted hermitage in relief with St Jerome, a crucifix, an angel, and a church above), for which see Sangiorgi F., Documenti urbinati. Inventari del Palazzo Ducale (1582–1631), Accademia Raffaello, Collana di Studi e Testi, n. 4 (Urbino: 1976) 189; Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 210 Brody Lay members of confraternities were likely key consumers of religious- themed Deruta maiolica. Present in every city and town, confraternities were the vehicles through which the laity could, in varying degrees, engage with the Church and act out their faith; for some, membership was a viable alter- native to committing to the strict behaviours of monastic or convent life.61 Confraternities had a critical role as custodians of civic cult images – including the supervision of shrines and organisation of processions – and it is likely their members owned, for private use, versions of those images in various me- dia.62 Because the social and economic status of confraternities differed so widely, one might posit that polychrome piatti da pompa appealed to mem- bers of moderate means, while lustred piatti da pompa (which appeared gilded and were at least marginally more expensive) were suitable objects for more prosperous confrères. As we saw above with the example of the St Jerome dish inscribed ‘VICENTIA’, in spite of an array of consistently repeated images, religious- themed Deruta dishes could be customised. This is likely the case with a dish depicting a woman in a Franciscan robe (presumably a nun) in a landscape holding a book, with ‘FRANCESCO SCRIVE / FAUSTINA LEGIE’ (Francis writes, Faustina reads) inscribed behind her, presumably a personal declara- tion of esteem for the writings of St Francis.63 The unique subject on a naïve- ly-painted dish of a tonsured Franciscan monk preaching from a pulpit to a segregated congregation, with a fervour reminiscent of the Dominican reform- er Savonarola (d. 1498), also suggests customisation [Fig. 8.16].64 No printed design source has been identified for this dish, and it would not surprise me if it had been commissioned by a monastic, as a reminder of his sacred calling.65 an extant object approximating this is the Urbino model of a wayside altar in the V&A, for which see Sani E.P., Italian Renaissance Maiolica (London: 2012) 184, fig. 213. 61 See Goldthwaite, Wealth and the Demand for Art 114–121 for confraternities and guilds as important consumers of religious artwork. Goldthwaite notes a revival of confraternities in the sixteenth century as an instrument by which the secular laity could participate in Church reform, and observes that even the small town of Spello, about 20 km from Deruta, had about a dozen confraternities. For confraternities as patrons of art and architecture, see Wisch B. – Cohl Ahl D. (eds.), Confraternities and the Visual Arts in Renaissance Italy: Ritual, Spectacle, Image (Cambridge, UK: 2000); sixteenth-century Rome had approxi- mately 112 confraternities, many with more than 500 members. 62 Wisch – Cole Ahl, Confraternities 11–12. 63 Rackham, Islamic Pottery and Italian Maiolica no. 360. 64 Gardelli G., Italika. Maiolica italiana del Rinascimento. Saggi e studi (Faenza: 1999) cat. 183. 65 The scene on the dish echoes (though was not based on) a woodcut of Savonarola preach- ing in his Compendio di revelatione […] (Florence, Francesco Bonaccorsi per Piero Pacini: 1496). Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 211Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa The message of yet another bespoke dish is not easily decipherable: at the centre is a female pilgrim saint with the flowing Latin inscription ‘IBIT AD GIEMINOS LUCIDA FAMA POLLOS FIAT ’ (roughly translated, He [or She] will go to the twins; the fame will be bright).66 It seems possible that this dish commemorates the safe birth of twins, accomplished through the intercession of the particular saint portrayed. The presence on Deruta maiolica of prelates’ coats-of-arms or symbols or insignia associated with religious orders or communities demonstrates that 66 Gardelli, Italika cat. 186 and Béalu, 50 majoliques 30–31. An alternative reading of the inscription is ‘He (or She) will go with bright fame to the twins; let it be done.’ Figure 8.16 Deruta, “A Franciscan Monk Preaching from a Pulpit”, ca. 1540–1560. Maiolica, diam. 46.5 cm. Private collection Photograph by the author Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 212 Brody clerics at every level were enthusiastic consumers of the wares. A lustred piatto da pompa with the arms of the Della Rovere pope Julius II (r. 1503–13) is one of many with papal armorials.67 While it cannot be ruled out that such dishes were made for direct use by pontiffs, it seems more likely that they were made for papal supporters. Rome was an important market for Deruta potters, and if armorial products were fashionable among clerics there and elsewhere in the Papal States, it stands to reason that religious-themed dishes were as well. At least a dozen pieces of extant Deruta maiolica are decorated with the arms of the Baglioni family, who ruled Deruta in the early sixteenth century.68 A piatto da pompa with the arms of a Baglioni bishop indicates ownership by a high-ranking prelate, probably Troilo Baglioni, Bishop of Perugia from 1501.69 Troilo commissioned frescos from Pinturicchio and perhaps even Raphael, and his death in 1506 is presumably the terminus ante quem for the dating of the dish. The griffon, a symbol of Perugia, flanks the arms, and in this context it probably alludes to the bishop’s civic and institutional duties. Patronage of Deruta display dishes thus extended to the uppermost echelons of secular and religious society, which included educated and cultured consumers capable of appreciating the allegorical or symbolic meanings behind some of its paint- ings and inscriptions. The Baglioni family’s dominance ended in 1540 when the Papal forces of Paul III ousted them from Perugia in the brief war over salt taxes. Deruta sided with the papacy against Perugia, and the region settled down to an uneventful history as part of the Papal States. These political events likely resulted in an increased market for religious-themed Deruta maiolica after 1540; but whatever the tangible effect, they surely created an expanded market for its wares in Rome. Turning to secular patronage, it is well recognised that women (and wives in particular) played a central role in maintaining the Renaissance household, including the choice and placement of decorative and devotional items such as piatti da pompa. The dishes can be seen in the context of the attention paid to the comportment and household obligations of women, for example as re- flected in contemporary manuals and dialogues regarding the ideal conduct of wives and daughters.70 The female saints and martyrs on these dishes (such as St Barbara, St Catherine of Alexandria, St Lucy) could be viewed as moral 67 Thornton – Wilson, Italian Renaissance Ceramics cat. 277. 68 Busti G. – Cocchi F. (eds.), La ceramica umbra al tempo di Perugino (Milan: 2004) 23–24 and cat. 7–12. 69 Busti – Cocchi, La ceramica umbra cat. 10. 70 For references to such manuals, the most well-known of which is probably Castiglione’s Il cortegiano (1528), see Clarke A.J., Prestige, Piety and Moral Perfection: Deruta Maiolica and the Social and Cultural Value of a Decorative Object, Ph.D. thesis (The University of Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 213Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa exemplars, with prayer to their images – it was hoped – having a salutary effect or facilitating spiritual goals; one of these goals could be assisting a husband’s work toward his own pious refinement. A wife was considered an ‘ornament of the family’: she contributed to her family’s reputation and was emblematic of its capacity for virtue.71 But more broadly, all family members were expected to demonstrate piety, a requisite element of social respectability and of public prestige.72 To the extent that Deruta display dishes with secular belle donne were suitable gifts from fiancés or husbands to women at any point during their courtship or marriage, more pious couples would have preferred the exchange of dishes with saintly and religious subjects, and the spiritual and protective values associated with those images.73 One suspects too that some individuals gave sacred-themed dishes as dowry or wedding gifts, but no archi- val evidence for this practice has yet come to light. The difficulties in assessing how far the movement towards reform leading up to and including the Council of Trent (1545–63) influenced religious art dis- played in sacred spaces is amplified when it comes to Deruta wares. What ef- fects, if any, were there to the market for religious-themed piatti da pompa, or on the popularity of specific subjects? Given the dishes’ generally sombre and standard depictions of saints, Jesus, and Mary, it is easy to see how there would be a long-standing and robust market for them. A significant figure at the Council, Cardinal-Bishop Gabriele Paleotti is best remembered for his Discorso intorno alle imagini sacre e profane (1582), which codified the Church’s views on the content and proper role of art.74 Although his text slightly post-dates the period of piatti da pompa under consideration here, his commentary on the value of sacred images in domestic and public spaces surely reflects lay and ecclesiastical attitudes prevalent throughout in the century. Paleotti wrote that the noblest Christian images serve the glory of God, and are testaments of our obligation, subjection, obedience and hope; they delight (sensually, rationally, and spiritually), ‘instruct the intellect, move the will, and refresh the memory of divine things’ and ‘in an instant […] cause in us a desire for virtue and horror of vice’.75 He further points out that pious images are British Columbia: 2006) 2, 283–285 and Ajmar – Thornton, “When Is a Portrait” 141–142, incl. note 11. 71 Clarke, Prestige, Piety and Moral Perfection 162. 72 Cooper, “Devotion” 190. 73 For a study, including taxonomy, of the broad class of belle donne maiolica, see Ajmar – Thornton, “When Is a Portrait”. 74 Paleotti Gabriele, Discourse on Sacred and Profane Images, trans. W. McCuaig (Bologna, Alessandro Benacci: 1582; reprint, Los Angeles: 2012). 75 Ibid., 110 (Book I, ch. 20). Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 214 Brody easily understood by everyone, and we obtain from them not only ‘the theory of all that we need for salvation’ but ‘the practice of all the virtues and the true institution of our lives, represented before us with the examples of holy per- sons who, to serve God, drove out their own vices, held iniquity in abhorrence, and overcame the difficulties of the world, embracing piety, charity, modesty, justice, and true obedience to the law of God’.76 In underlining the clear preference for viewing religious stories over hear- ing them, Paleotti states: ‘To hear the story told of the martyrdom of a saint, or the zeal and constancy of a virgin, or the Passion of Christ himself – those are things that really hit one inside. But when the saintly martyr practically ma- terializes in front of your eyes in vivid color, with the oppressed Virgin on one side and Christ pierced by nails on the other – one would have to be made of wood or stone not to feel how much more it intensifies devotion and wrench- es the gut.’77 As proof of the efficacy of pious and devout images in times of need – and, by extension, proof of heavenly power itself – Paleotti points out their supernatural ability to restore health, eliminate peril, and defend cities and sites threatened by enemies.78 In this framework, Deruta piatti da pompa are sacred images par excellence, and their placement in the home – whether in a private space, such as a camera, or less private one, such as a sala – made them accessible to owners at all times, to ‘instruct the intellect, move the will, and refresh the memory of divine things’.79 The display of the dishes in a re- ception space such as the sala communicated to invited guests (and indeed to anyone who entered the house) the religious affiliation of their owner, and, via the objects’ painted decorations or scenes, which aspects of their faith were most meaningful to them. Large maiolica dishes and plates are consistently listed in Renaissance household inventories, and while those that formed part of table or creden- za sets were used in food service, consumption, or related rituals, the one-off Deruta dishes under discussion here were very likely used exclusively for dis- play, following a tradition of hanging single large ceramic plates on walls that 76 Ibid., Discourse 116 (Book I, ch. 23). 77 Ibid., Discourse 119 (Book I, ch. 25). 78 Ibid., 120 (Book I, ch. 26). 79 The humanist Giovanni Pontano (De splendore, 1498) surely would have considered Deruta piatti da pompa among the ornamental household objects acquired ‘as much for use as for embellishment and splendour’ and whose sight ‘is pleasant and brings pres- tige to the owner of the house’; see Welch E., “Public Magnificence and Private Display: Giovanni Pontano’s ‘De splendore’ (1498) and the Domestic Arts”, Journal of Design History 15, 4 (2002) 211–221. Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 215Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa dates from at least the early Quattrocento.80 It is reasonable to assume that both their specific location in the house and the degree of piety of their own- ers determined the extent to which the dishes served as actual foci for prayer, intercession, and reflection. Earthenware plates or dishes described as large (grandi) appear in the inventories of various rooms, including the bedcham- ber, sala, guardaroba, and kitchen, but these cursory references rarely contain further details (such as place of manufacture), except perhaps to note which objects are armorial (con arme), and I know of no contemporary descriptions of stand-alone dishes that specify subjects, pious or otherwise. Because most maiolica is readily moveable, it can shift within a house according to the own- er’s needs, and the locations cited in postmortem inventories may represent the consolidation of some goods in certain areas of the house for the benefit of the inventory takers; consequently any discussion of use based on inventory location can only be speculative. In spite of such hurdles, one suspects that the placement and use of religious-themed Deruta piatti da pompa paralleled that of other pious images in the household, and it was a client’s means that largely guided the choice of medium (metalwork, textile, painting, ceramic, print, and so on) for such im- ages. In as much as one can speak of a general hierarchy of materials, maiolica ranked below precious metal and tempera and oil painting, and above prints.81 The relative cheapness of prints is highlighted by an episode involving Savonarola that simultaneously informs us about a suggested household use of pious images: in his sermon on the art of dying well, delivered in 1496, the friar describes three pictures that the public should display in their bedrooms and contemplate each morning, and to ensure their maximum dissemination, he urges that they be produced as woodcuts accompanying his text, which they ul- timately were. Two of the scenes show bedchambers with Death approaching sick or dying men confined to a bed; in both instances large, religious works – a crucifix above an altar, and a Madonna and Child tondo, (analogues of each of which can be found in Deruta maiolica) – decorate the wall.82 For Savonarola 80 Syson, L., “Italian Maiolica Painting: Composing for Context,” in Wilson T, Maiolica. Italian Renaissance Ceramics in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: 2016) 19–20; there Syson illustrates a late-sixteenth-century engraving that includes two large plates flanking a kitchen doorway, though it is impossible to know the plates’ medium or to discern what figures or scenes are represented on them. 81 On maiolica pricing, attitudes, and hierarchy see Brody, M.J., The Evolution, Function, and Social Context of Italian Renaissance Maiolica Services, c. 1480 to c. 1600, DPhil thesis (University of Oxford: 2017) 131–154. 82 Predica del arte del bene morire, various editions ca. 1497 to ca. 1502; see www.metmuseum .org/art/collection/search/356702 and www.christies.com/lotfinder/Lot/savonarola-giro lamo-1452-1498-predica-dellarte-del-5662543-details.aspx; the copy in the Library of Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/356702 http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/356702 http://www.christies.com/lotfinder/Lot/savonarola-girolamo-1452-1498-predica-dellarte-del-5662543-details.aspx http://www.christies.com/lotfinder/Lot/savonarola-girolamo-1452-1498-predica-dellarte-del-5662543-details.aspx 216 Brody ‘dying well’ consisted of dying in the comfort of one’s own bed, surrounded by religious images whose intercession presumably could minimise one’s suf- fering and thwart Death until God’s final calling; but for the majority of their owner’s life, these works, visible from the bed, served as reminders of Christian values and morality, and as catalysts for prayer and contemplation. To conclude, extant piatti da pompa number in the high hundreds, and they may even exceed 1,000 examples worldwide; the longevity of the dish’s form merits calling it a phenomenon. The high repetition of the same saints (particularly Francis and Jerome) suggests there was a thriving market fuelled by the desire to adorn one or more rooms of the house with these charming works of art, which were available in polychrome and (more costly) lustred versions. The regular appearance on the dishes of Italian and Latin inscrip- tions (especially humanist and moralising ones) suggests that at least a por- tion of the production was tailored to literate consumers, and to those of some means. Display dishes were but a single category of object in an overall produc- tion of religious-themed Deruta wares so varied (plates, cups, bowls, basins, bottles, ewers, vases, plaques, ex-votos, and pharmacy vessels) it could satisfy the needs of consumers at every economic level of image-hungry Italy and beyond – from pilgrim-tourists and the religious, to labourers and merchants, to patricians and other elites, many of whom belonged to confraternities and guilds that required their own devotional images for halls and private devo- tional spaces. Although piatti da pompa were naturally popular in and around the reli- gious centres and pilgrim sites of Umbria and central Italy, the fame of lust- red Deruta pottery was more widespread. Already by 1498 the Masci family of potters claimed in their tax return that their lustrewares were ‘beautiful and unprecedented and sold throughout the whole world, and because of this the city of Perugia takes pride and increases in fame, and everyone marvels to see these maiolica works’.83 By transporting these portable objects back to their home towns, pilgrims and other pious-minded visitors helped popularise the wares. Whether purchased as devotional souvenirs or domestic decoration, piatti da pompa were attractive, veritable art objects, available off-the-shelf in a broad array of religious subjects, or easily customisable, and they were one way by which different segments of Italian Renaissance society sacralised their domestic surroundings. Congress is digitally available at www.loc.gov/item/48036828/. In some editions of the Predica the Madonna and Child in the woodcut is rectangular and smaller. 83 Wilson, “Renaissance Ceramics” 138, incl. note 3, where the original Latin is transcribed. Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access http://www.loc.gov/item/48036828/ 217Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa Bibliography Pre-1800 books Alberti Leandro, Descrittione di tutta Italia; nella quale si contiene il sito di essa, l’origine, & le signorie delle città, & delle castella […] (Bologna, Anselmo Giaccarelli: 1550). Paleotti Gabriele, Discourse on sacred and profane images, trans. W. McCuaig (Bologna, Alessandro Benacci: 1582; reprint, Los Angeles: 2012). Piccolpasso Cipriano., I tre libri dell’arte del vasaio: The three books of the potter’s art, a facsimile of the manuscript in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London (ca. 1557), ed. R. Lightbown – A. Caiger-Smith, 2 vols. (London: 1980). Post-1800 books Ajmar M. – Thornton D., “When Is a Portrait Not a Portrait? Belle Donne on Maiolica and the Renaissance Praise of Local Beauties” in ed. Mann N. – Syson L., The Image of the Individual: Portraits in the Renaissance (London: 1998) 138–153. Ballardini G., “Eine Deruta-Schüssel mit der Passion Christi”, Pantheon 6 (1930) 464–468. Béalu C., 50 majoliques. Faïences italiennes de la Renaissance, dealer’s cat., JM Béalu & Fils (Paris: 2010). Biganti T., “Documenti: La produzione di ceramica a lustro a Gubbio e a Deruta tra la fine del secolo XV e l’inizio del secolo XVI. Primi risultati di una ricerca documen- taria”, Faenza 73 (1987) 209–225. Bojani G.C. – Ravanelli Guidotti C. – Fanfani A., Museo Internazionale delle Ceramiche in Faenza. La donazione Galeazzo Cora. Ceramiche dal Medioevo al XIX secolo (Milan: 1985). Brody M.J., The evolution, function, and social significance of Italian Renaissance maioli- ca services, c. 1480 to c. 1600, DPhil. thesis (University of Oxford: 2017). Busti G – Cocchi F., Museo Regionale della Ceramica di Deruta. Ceramiche policrome, a lustro e terrecotte di Deruta dei secoli XV e XVI (Milan and Città di Castello: 1999). Busti G – Cocchi F., “Umbria” maiolica entries in ed. R. Ausenda, Musei e Gallerie di Milano. Museo d’Arti Applicate [del Castello Sforzesco]. Le ceramiche. Tomo primo (Milan: 2000) 65–109. Busti G. – Cocchi F. (eds.), La ceramica umbra al tempo di Perugino (Milan: 2004). Chompret J., Répertoire de la majolique italienne, 2 vols. (Paris: 1949). Clarke A.J., Prestige, piety and moral perfection: Deruta maiolica and the social and cul- tural value of a decorative object, Ph.D. thesis (The University of British Columbia: 2006). Cole B., Italian maiolica from Midwestern collections, exhib. cat., Indiana University Art Museum (Bloomington: 1977). Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 218 Brody Cooper D., “Devotion”, in Ajmar-Wollheim M. – Dennis, F. (eds.), At home in Renaissance Italy (London: 2006) 190–203. Curnow C., Italian Maiolica in the National Museums of Scotland, National Museums of Scotland Information Series, no. 5. (Edinburgh: 1992). De Mauri L., Le maioliche di Deruta, Monografie di arti decorative, 6 (Milan: 1924). Fiocco C. – Gherardi G., La ceramica di Deruta dal XIII al XVIII secolo / Deruta Pottery from the 13th to the 18th Century (Perugia: 1994). Fiocco C. – Gherardi G. – Sfeir-Fakhri L., Majoliques italiennes du Musée des Arts Décoratifs de Lyon. Collection Gillet (Dijon: 2001). Fuchs C.D., Maioliche istoriate rinascimentali del Museo Statale d’Arte Medioevale e Moderna di Arezzo (Arezzo: 1993). Gardelli G., Italika. Maiolica italiana del Rinascimento. Saggi e studi (Faenza: 1999). Giacomotti J., Catalogue des majoliques des musées nationaux. Musées du Louvre et de Cluny, Musée National de Céramique à Sèvres, Musée Adrien-Dubouché à Limoges (Paris: 1974). Glaser S., Majolika. Die italienischen Fayencen im Germanischen Nationalmuseum Nürnberg. Bestandskatalog (Nuremberg: 2000). Goldthwaite R., Wealth and the demand for art in Italy 1300–1600 (Baltimore and London: 1993). Guaitini G. (ed.), Maioliche umbre decorate a lustro. Il Rinascimento e la ripresa ottocen- tesca: Deruta, Gualdo Tadino, Gubbio, exh. cat., Spoleto (Florence: 1982). Hausmann T., Fioritura. Blütezeiten der Majolika einer Berliner Sammlung (Berlin: 2002). Hausmann T., Majolika und Fayence. Vermächtnis Rolf Lahr. Kataloge des Kunstgewer- bemuseums Berlin, Band XI (Berlin: 1986). Hind A.F., Early Italian engraving (London: 1938–48). Kalinke M.E., The book of Reykjahólar: the last of the great Medieval legendaries (Toronto: 1996). Klesse B., Majolika. Kataloge des Kunstgewerbemuseums Köln, II (Cologne: 1996). Liverani F. – Reggi, G.L., Le maioliche del Museo Nazionale di Ravenna (Modena: 1976). Lydecker J.K., The domestic setting of the arts in Renaissance Florence, Ph, D. disserta- tion (The Johns Hopkins University: 1987). Mancini Della Chiara M., Maioliche del Museo Civico di Pesaro. Catalogo (Bologna: 1979). Motture P. – Syson, L., “Art in the casa”, in Ajmar-Wollheim, M. – Dennis, F. (eds.), At home in Renaissance Italy (London: 2006) 268–283. Musacchio, J.M., Art, marriage, & family in the Florentine renaissance palace (New Haven and London: 2008). Musacchio, J.M., The art and ritual of childbirth in renaissance Italy (New Haven and London: 1999). Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 219Religious Subjects on Sixteenth- Century Deruta Piatti da Pompa Poole J.E., Italian maiolica and incised slipware in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (Cambridge, UK: 1995). Prentice von Erdberg J. – Ross M.C., Catalogue of the Italian majolica in the Walters Art Gallery (Baltimore: 1952). Rackham B., Islamic pottery and Italian maiolica. Illustrated catalogue of a private col- lection (London: 1959). Rackham B., Victoria and Albert Museum. Catalogue of Italian maiolica, 2 vols. (London: 1940). Rackham B. – Van de Put A., Catalogue of the collection of pottery and porcelain in the possession of Mr. Otto Beit (London: 1916). Ravanelli Guidotti C., Museo Internazionale delle Ceramiche in Faenza. La donazione Angiolo Fanfani. Ceramiche dal Medioevo al XX secolo (Faenza: 1990). Sangiorgi F., Documenti urbinati. Inventari del Palazzo Ducale (1582–1631), Accademia Raffaello, Collana di Studi e Testi, n. 4 (Urbino: 1976). Sani E.P., Italian Renaissance maiolica, with preface by J.V.G. Mallet and contributions by R. Liefkes (London: 2012). Sannipoli E. (ed.), La via della ceramica tra Umbria e Marche. Maioliche rinascimentali da collezioni private, exh. cat., Palazzo Ducale, Gubbio (Città di Castello: 2010). Syson, L., “Italian maiolica painting: composing for context,” in Wilson T., Maiolica. Italian renaissance ceramics in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: 2016) 11–37. Thornton D. – Wilson T., Italian Renaissance ceramics. A catalogue of the British Museum collection, 2 vols. (London: 2009). Watson W.M., Italian Renaissance maiolica from the William A. Clark collection (London: 1986). Welch E., “Public magnificence and private display: Giovanni Pontano’s ‘De splendore’ (1498) and the domestic arts”, Journal of Design History 15, 4 (2002) 211–221. Wilson T., Italian maiolica of the Renaissance (Milan: 1996). Wilson T., Italian maiolica in the collection of the National Gallery of Victoria (Melbourne: 2015). Wilson T., “Renaissance ceramics”, in The collections of the National Gallery of Art, sys- tematic catalogue. Western decorative arts, part I: Medieval, Renaissance, and his- toricizing styles including metalwork, enamels, and ceramics (Washington, DC and Cambridge, UK: 1993) 119–263. Wilson T. – Sani E.P., Le maioliche rinascimentali nelle collezioni della Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio di Perugia, 2 vols. (Città di Castello: 2006–7). Wisch B. – Cohl Ahl D. (eds.), Confraternities and the visual arts in Renaissance Italy: ritual, spectacle, image (Cambridge, UK: 2000). Michael J. Brody - 9789004375871 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:08AM via free access 
work_ft6nlt5byvc4rnbctnhxpuv2fe	----	The University of Brighton Skip to main navigation Skip to search Skip to main content Welcome to The University of Brighton Explore profiles, expertise and research at The University of Brighton Search as: concept matching text Advanced search 1210 Profiles 69 Organisational Units 49 Equipment 189 Projects 19260 Research output 3162 Activities 878 Student theses The University of Brighton research portal Welcome to the University of Brighton's database of research and enterprise including researcher profiles, activities, outputs, projects and our groups and centres. Our research and enterprise activities tackle global challenges, solve practical problems and seek to improve people’s lives and environments. We foster a vibrant, agile research community; supporting our established experts and nurturing the next generation of talent from our thriving postgraduate and early career researchers. Collaborations and top research areas from the last five years Click dots and donuts to bring up details or Select a country from the list Dive into details Select a country to view shared publications and projects Close University (1) Centres (15) Groups (36) School (14) Department (2) 1 results Name (ascending) Name(descending) Export search results Search results University of Brighton Organisational unit: University Powered by Pure, Scopus & Elsevier Fingerprint Engine™ © 2021 Elsevier B.V. We use cookies to help provide and enhance our service and tailor content. By continuing you agree to the use of cookies Log in to Pure About web accessibility The University of Brighton contact form 
work_ftjj7sec7bhhbos7apltyvvtui	----	Book Reviews A paper by D. M. Krikler points out that when graphic techniques such as sphygmography were first introduced, they were not applied at once to cardiac irregularities. Of crucial importance was the invention ofa practical form ofelectrocardiogram. A major role was played by men at University College Hospital, e.g. Lewis, Cushny, and Starling. Arthur Hollman's history of bundle branch block appropriately recalls Harvey's naked-eye observations of the dying heart in experimental animals. Attention is called also to the suggestion ofvon Leyden (1868) that contraction might occur in one ventricle alone, and to early ECGs of experimental bundle branch block (1909, 1910). Necessary emphasis is placed on Thomas Lewis's incorrect localization and on clarifications by subsequent investigators. Burch's paper on vector cardiography, presented in Leiden in 1977, is the work of an acknowledged master. It recalls the basic work of Horatio Williams, Mann's monocardiogram, and the ultimate application of the cathode-ray oscilloscope. Proper emphasis is accorded to the difficulties, especially the lack of a universally accepted frame of reference and the even more vexatious problem of the real value of the vectorcardiogram. Burch describes an area of research that has been strongly attractive to theoreticians and remains in advance of practical usefulness. He says little about possible relation between VCG and recent advances in physics and mathematics. This deficiency is compensated in part by a series of twenty-one footnotes on pp. 128-129. An essay by Wray, Eisner, and Allen considers the foxglove and wisely includes the pre-Withering era. Withering's research is examined, but we are not told how his turkeys were used in experiments. Withering's principal contribution is seen to be his formulation of guidelines for the use of the drug. Much important information is given about later developments, especially the theory of inhibition of the sodium-potassium pump. An essay by Finlayson, 'Ischaemic heart disease, aortic aneurysms, and atheroscleorsis in the city of London, 1868-1982', can hardly receive adequate analysis in a brief review. A judicious and valuable consideration of autopsy statistics leads Finlayson to the surmise that "apart from the increasing age of the population. . . an additional factor has triggered off the epidemic of coronary heart disease, and possibly yet another factor has caused the more recent and more modest increase in abdominal aortic aneurysms." His suspicions point toward tobacco and hydrogenated margarines. Chronic medical historians will be interested to compare Finlayson's research with Lancisi's. Saul Jarcho New York KATHARINE PARK, Doctors andmedicine in early renaissance Florence, Princeton University Press, 1985, 8vo, pp. xii, 298, £33-40. Katharine Park has written an excellent book that contributes equally to medical history and to Italian renaissance studies. Florence was a good choice. For, if it was not the richest city in Italy, it did have highly-developed forms of civic organisation which structured the political, social and economic lives of its citizens. The city has left us a huge collection of records and they allow us to recreate its histories in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, its collectivities such as guilds and confraternities, and its individuals and their relationships, much more fully than is possible for most other cities. This rich treasure has attracted a stream of able historians such as Gene Brucker, David Herlihy, and Christiane Klapisch. Park has joined their ranks, and her elucidation of the profession of medicine in the city will add one more piece to the research programme on renaissance Florence. Her findings are novel and important for the history of medicine. In Florence, the medical marketplace was not made up solely of individual buyers-corporate demand was just as significant. The city and institutions such as hospitals, religious orders, and confraternities gave regular employment to doctors, and a salary from, say, the prison service or seasonal employment in the army could provide as much income as private practice. Florence, in other words, had a well-developed infrastructure of health care. This perhaps is not so surprising, for we have been prepared by Cipolla's work on plague and public health to view Italian cities as having much more sophisticated and comprehensive health systems than the rest of Europe. The 235 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002572730004669X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002572730004669X https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Reviews crucial point made by Park, however, is that it was not the professionalization of medicine that led to "a system ofmedical practice sophisticated enough to meet the needs of the population as a whole", but "At least in northern Italy, the institutional order of medical practice seems to have constituted itself more quickly than the profession and to have been less disrupted by the Black Death (p. 239). The Guild of Doctors, Apothecaries and Grocers is central to the book. Park perhaps relies too much on the model of modern professions (from old-fashioned functionalist sociology) but, nevertheless, she demonstrates how the Florentine doctor was organized within a group that had much looser boundaries and greater inclusiveness than later North European counterparts. Empirics, bone-setters, poultice doctors, surgeons, as well as apothecaries and physicians, were included in the Guild. The work of Webster, Pelling, Porter, and others has indicated that in Britain the majority of medical practice lay outside of the regulatory reach of bodies such as the Royal College of Physicians. Park's detailed and lucid account of the Guild shows that it incorporated in itself what British historians have described as "regular" and "irregular" practitioners. Clearly, some ofthe generalizations ofproto-professionalization based on English and French examples will have to be drastically modified. Park charts changes within the community of doctors. The Black Death and the perceived failure ofmedicine lowered its attraction as a career for the Florentine citizen. Immigrants from the Florentine countryside or from farther afield came to make up the numbers. This meant that fewer doctors had political influence within the Guild and the city. On the other hand, the apothecaries, who often employed doctors in their shops to prescribe their remedies, formed part of Florence's oligarchic elite. This book is much more than a history of an occupational group. Park brings constantly to her discussion of the employment, wealth, poverty, and geographical and social origins of doctors, a string of graphic examples drawn from the lives of individuals. She also looks for motivation and shows how references to utile and onore, denari and fama-money and reputation-were used by fathers to spur on sons and how, visions of today, a university career could bring in onore but seldom denari. The book has some weaknesses, Park was perhaps too tied in to the Florentine research enterprise to free herself from the oldish view of social structure that seems to be the norm amongst her fellow historians; there should have been more comparisons with the rest of Italy and Europe, and more attention could have been paid to empirics. However, these are minor points. The book is outstanding in throwing light on a hidden area of medical history. It is also important because it shows how many different types of history can be effortlessly integrated: social, political, economic, individual, and also intellectual. Park's account of the liveliness of scholastic medicine and of the intellectual and literary interests of Florentine doctors should be studied by some social and intellectual historians of medicine who see their respective approaches as having no common ground. Andrew Wear University of Aberdeen. OLIVER R. IMPEY and A. G. MACGREGOR, The origins ofmuseums, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1985, 4to, pp. xiii, illus., £60-00. Taking issue with Voltaire, Lynn White once concluded that history was a bag of tricks which the dead had played upon historians. White was appealing for more use to be made of non-literary sources-of so-called "material culture"-to avoid the writing of history only "as it was viewed by the small and specialized segments of our race who had the habit of scribbling". But the material culture that formed the subject of the Ashmolean Museum's tercentenary symposium in 1983-the curiosity cabinets, Kunstkammern, and studioli of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Europe-which were put together by small and specialized segments of our race who had the habit of collecting, scarcely provide us with a more egalitarian account of the past. And some of the cabinet collections would indeed seem to be veritable bags of tricks, defying the historian's efforts in the manner of the best practical jokes. 236 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002572730004669X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002572730004669X https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_ftqims6p5vectppgruh3db4hx4	----	Stephen Kolsky. The Ghost of Boccaccio: Writings on Famous Women in Renaissance Italy Stephen Kolsky. The Ghost of Boccaccio: Writings on Famous Women in Renaissance Italy The Ghost of Boccaccio: Writings on Famous Women in Renaissance Italy by Stephen Kolsky Review by: Jo Ann   Cavallo Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 59, No. 4 (Winter 2006), pp. 1173-1175 Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the Renaissance Society of America Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1353/ren.2008.0468 . Accessed: 24/04/2014 16:38 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . The University of Chicago Press and Renaissance Society of America are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Renaissance Quarterly. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 128.59.152.32 on Thu, 24 Apr 2014 16:38:49 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucpress http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=rsa http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1353/ren.2008.0468?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Stephen Kolsky. The Ghost of Boccaccio: Writings on Famous Women in Renaissance Italy. Late Medieval and Early Modern Studies 7. Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2005. x + 254 pp. index. append. illus. bibl. €60. ISBN: 2–503–52190–8. The Ghost of Boccaccio originated with Stephen Kolsky’s studies of Mario Equicola under the guidance of Conor Fahy, and follows in the wake of his recent R E V I E W S 1173 This content downloaded from 128.59.152.32 on Thu, 24 Apr 2014 16:38:49 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp books on Equicola, Boccaccio’s De mulieribus claris, and the north Italian courts. Put succinctly, this new book examines “the response of eight male writers to the legacy of the De mulieribus claris in Renaissance Italy” (2). Kolsky offers detailed readings of discourses on women written principally in Bologna, Ferrara, Mantua, and Milan between 1480 and 1530. Along with a close reading of the texts in question, Kolsky considers the relevance of each writer’s social context and in- tended audience. As Kolsky points out in the introduction, the De mulieribus claris alternated uneasily between a historical presentation of the deeds of famous women and a moralizing judgment of them according to traditional ideals of masculine and feminine. The writers examined in this study, in selectively appropriating different aspects of Boccaccio’s work, express a wide divergence of views on women’s rightful place in society. The Florentine Vespasiano da Bisticci and Jacopo Foresti da Bergamo represent the most conservative writers of the group. Reminiscent of collections of saints’ lives, Bisticci’s work “was structured according to the con- ventional categories of virgins, wives and widows” (26). Foresti, an Augustinian monk who lived mostly in Brescia, sought to reinforce “traditional female stereotypes and female subordination” that appeared to be losing ground in the Ferrarese court (7, 118–19). Giovanni Sabadino degli Arienti, Galeazzo Flavio Capra, and Agostino Strozzi, are authors of more transitional texts which combine conventional notions of female virtue with an openness toward the greater agency of women in the north Italian courts. Sabadino degli Arienti, a Bolognese intellectual also connected to the courts of Ferrara and Mantua, composed works that legitimized the exercise of political power by exceptional elite women, provided that they upheld traditional standards of modest female behavior. Capra, associated with the Sforza court in Milan, made an inconsistent and contradictory argument for the superiority of women, basing his claim on women’s greater adherence to Christian virtues. Strozzi, while proclaiming the natural equality between the sexes, likewise praised contemporary women for their adherence to Christian values while further en- trenching the idea of women’s subordination to men. In contrast, the most radical writers — Bartolomeo Goggio, Mario Equicola, and Henricus Cornelius Agrippa — rejected the old stereotypes and conventional models of female behavior. As early as 1487, Goggio dedicated a treatise to Duchess Eleonora d’Aragona of Ferrara criticizing the inferior social and legal status of women on the basis of the essential equality of the sexes. Equicola, writing for Eleonora’s daughter, Isabella d’Este, criticized convention and official institu- tions as artificial constructs stifling female activity, and he provided “examples of oppositional women who had broken free from the gendered restrictions of mar- riage or the convent, or who had widened the ordinary boundaries of such institutions” (7). The German scholar Agrippa, although residing outside Italy, was nevertheless cognizant of the Italian questione della donna and made extensive use of Equicola’s treatise, incorporating some material verbatim. By situating these works in their social context, Kolsky shows the extent to which the increased presence of high-ranking women in the public life of the court R E N A I S S A N C E Q U A R T E R L Y1174 This content downloaded from 128.59.152.32 on Thu, 24 Apr 2014 16:38:49 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp led to debate over women’s role in society. The Ferrara-Mantua court in particular, thanks to Eleonora d’Aragona and Isabella d’Este, was “a dynamic centre of writing that privileged notions of female worth and visibility, power and agency” (14). Goggio’s work lent support to Eleonora’s active role in the governing of the Ferrarese state, while the biographies subsequently devised by Equicola and Strozzi served as guarantors of Isabella’s aspirations to power. Indeed, evidence suggests that Isabella herself was behind the composition of Equicola’s treatise. In sum, Kolsky’s engaging study shows that writings on women that appeared in Italy between Boccaccio’s De mulieribus claris and Castigione’s Libro del Cortegiano, far from being simple rhetorical or encomiastic exercises, constituted a battle of ideas over the place of women in contemporary society. Although the war of words was waged by men, the most forward-looking ideas were presented in response to pressure from Italy’s most powerful female patrons and gained further currency through their appropriation and circulation beyond the peninsula. This book should appeal to a broad range of readers interested in the Italian Renaissance and women’s studies. JO ANN CAVALLO Columbia University R E V I E W S 1175 This content downloaded from 128.59.152.32 on Thu, 24 Apr 2014 16:38:49 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 
work_g2gxg745nbh5tg3xobf2gt46au	----	Microsoft Word - Special_Edition_PB_Ponterotto_&_Moncayo Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 1 of 12 ISSN (online) : 1445ISSN (online) : 1445ISSN (online) : 1445ISSN (online) : 1445----7377737773777377 ISSN (print) : 2079ISSN (print) : 2079ISSN (print) : 2079ISSN (print) : 2079----7222722272227222 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/20797222.2018.1511311 A Cautious Alliance: The Psychobiographer’s Relationship with Her/His Subject by Joseph G. Ponterotto and Kevin Moncayo Abstract Psychobiography has been a topical area and an applied research specialty in psychology since Freud’s (1910/1989) influential psychoanalytic psychobiography of Leonardo da Vinci. Throughout the last century, psychobiographers have emphasized the importance of anchoring interpretations of life histories in established psychological theories and rigorous historiographic research methods. One topical area receiving less attention in psychobiography is the critical relationship between the psychobiographer and her or his subject as it relates to the process of psychobiographical writing. The present article explores the phenomenology and challenges of this relationship in order to ultimately propose practical strategies for navigating countertransference issues throughout the subject selection, research and publication phases of psychobiography. Freud’s psychobiography of Leonardo da Vinci is used as a model of the stages of psychobiography, the evolution of the psychobiographer-subject relationship, and the challenges of countertransference. … a second edition of the Leonardo, the only truly beautiful thing I have ever written, is in preparation. (Sigmund Freud, 1919/1972, p. 90) The quotation above is taken from a letter written by Sigmund Freud to his friend and fellow psychoanalyst, Lou Andreas-Salome, on February 9, 1919, some nine years after the publication of the inaugural edition of Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of his Childhood (Freud, 1910/1989). In the letter excerpt, Freud mused that his psychoanalytic profile of the Italian Renaissance artist and inventor was the “only truly beautiful” work he had produced. This comment is quite surprising given the volume of ground-breaking works that Freud had produced by 1919, including The Interpretation of Dreams, The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality, and On the Sexual Theories of Children, among other significant works (see review in Gay, 1989). Such a reflection reveals Freud’s ongoing connection to Leonardo, and also how meaningful his work on the da Vinci project was to him personally, as well as to his career (Strachey, 1989). As did Freud (1910/1989) in his analysis of Leonardo, psychobiographers often spend many months, if not years, studying a single historic personality and learning the various intricacies of his or her life. During this time, they often develop a deep and personal connection to their research subjects. As such, Freud’s decade-long attachment to Leonardo is not unique in the field of psychobiography. Traditional literature in the field of psychobiography has emphasized three areas: selecting a subject of historical significance so as to appeal to a broad interdisciplinary audience; anchoring the interpre- tation of life experiences and behaviours in established theories of psychology; and using both proven and innovative historiographic and psychological research methods to ensure the rigour of the investigative process and final published product (Kasser, 2017; Ponterotto, 2014a; Schultz, 2005; 2014; Schultz & Lawrence, 2017). In the last decade, the importance of best ethical practice Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 2 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org throughout the research process has been highlighted as well, adding a fourth emphasis in the field of psycho- biography (Ponterotto, 2013; Ponterotto & Reynolds, 2017). Yet, a core component of the psychobiography research process that has not received sufficient attention in the literature is the relationship established between the psychobiographer and her or his research subject. Understanding this relationship and how the researcher navigates this experience may be fundamental to constructing a model for how psychobiographers can tackle the methodological and countertransference issues throughout the psychobiography process. The present article explores the psychobiographer- subject relationship and how it evolves throughout the planning, research, writing, publishing and marketing process. Using Freud’s (1910/1989) landmark psycho- analytic psychobiography of Leonardo da Vinci as a model for the development of a psychobiography, the authors trace Freud’s interest in and attitude toward Leonardo from roughly 1898 to 1919, relying primarily on his personal correspondence. According to the classification of document sources in psychobiography, personal letters would constitute first person documents (Allport, 1942). Altogether, this focus may serve to better illustrate the intricacies of a typical psychobiographer-subject rela- tionship, which can not only call attention to typical pitfalls, but also provide general guidance for future writing. Our discussion is thus organized along four major sections. First, the psychobiographer-to-subject relationship is characterized as unique relative to more established and popular research approaches. Then, three different stages of the psychobiography research and writing process are outlined: selecting one’s psycho- biographical subject; the research and writing process; and publishing the psychobiography and reflecting on the work after publication. In addition, each of the three phases is followed by suggestions and guidelines for psychobiographers in navigating the relationship to the historical subject, monitoring possible counter- transference issues, and maintaining objectivity through- out the process. Using this approach (depicted graphically in Figure 1 below), one can address thoughts and feelings at critical points in the research process, which can subsequently work to confront concerns and issues that arise during these periods. Figure 1: Navigating the Relationship between Psychobiographer and Research Subject Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 3 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org Psychobiographer �������� Subject: A Unique Relationship in Research In psychobiography, the evolving relationship between researchers and their subjects is rather unique relative to most forms of quantitative and qualitative research in psychology. Unlike the more conventional quantitative approaches to research that rely on large, anonymous, and preferably random samples of subjects, psycho- biography involves a singular subject that is named; purposely not anonymous. Popular qualitative research approaches often involve in-depth interviews with small samples of subjects with the goal of describing their collective phenomenology and erlebnis (lived experi- ence), with the subjects remaining anonymous in the final report. Even single case design and N = 1 research, which often utilizes quantitative methods, maintains the anonymity of the subject in the written report, as do clinical case studies of individual patients. Another important distinction between psychobiographical and other types of psychological research is that psycho- biographical subjects are often deceased, sometimes long-deceased. In fact, a recent content analysis of 65 psychobiographies found that 97% of the historic subjects studied were deceased (Ponterotto, Reynolds, Morel, & Cheung, 2015). As noted by Ponterotto (2014b), some parallels between psychobiographical research and individual psycho- therapy can be recognised. Both the psychobiographer and the psychotherapist work for long periods of time (sometimes years) to understand their subject or patient in a socio-cultural-historical context. Both strive to understand the inner psychology, drives and motiva- tions of the individual: the therapist for the benefit of the patient’s insight, health, and quality of life, and the psychobiographer for the benefit of advancing historical and psychological knowledge, and informing the public. However, a psychobiographer usually works with one subject at a time, whereas the psychotherapist may be working with 20 or more patients concurrently. A construct critical to the psychotherapist-patient relation- ship, particularly in more psychodynamic approaches, is countertransference, defined as the redirection of a psychotherapist’s unconscious feelings and attitudes toward a client; or, more generally, as a therapist’s emotional entanglement with a client (Arlow, 2005). Experienced psychobiographers emphasize that counter- transference is also a salient construct relative to psycho- biographers’ unconscious feelings toward their subjects (Anderson, 1981a, 1981b; Ponterotto, 2014a). In psycho- therapy training programmes and clinical supervision, the therapist is cautioned to be aware of possible countertransference issues that may emerge in the course of the therapeutic relationship. Being unaware of countertransference issues can impact the therapist’s objectivity and limit (or even damage) the therapy process. We maintain that issues of countertransference should be incorporated into the training of psychobiographers. Although the majority of psychobiographers conduct research on deceased historic personalities, they are nonetheless subject to feelings of countertransference given the length and intensity of their study of the subject. Like countertransference in psychotherapy relationships, countertransference in the researcher- subject relationship can interfere with developing an accurate understanding of the subject. Later in this article, the authors review likely countertransference issues that may have attenuated the balance and methodological rigour of Freud’s (1910/1989) profile of Leonardo. Evolution of a Psychobiography: From Intrigue to Obsession to Writing to Termination There is something a little mesmerizing about locating mysteries in people’s lives, then fleshing these mysteries out and, finally, shedding what intensity of light one can on them. (Schultz, 2011, p. viii) In this section, the authors review the evolution of a psychobiography from an initial peaked interest in the historic subject, to deep curiosity about the subject and unsolved questions about her or his life, to an almost obsession to understand and then share uncovered insights with others, to the actual writing of the psycho- biography, and, finally, to reflecting on the historic figure long after the psychobiography is completed and, hopefully, published. Using Freud’s (1910/1989) study of Leonardo da Vinci as a stimulus, we review the following three stages of the psychobiography research and writing process with particular attention to the relationship between psychobiographer and research subject: selecting one’s psychobiographical subject, the research and writing process, and publishing and marketing the psychobiography. Modern psychobiographers are called to follow best methodological and ethical practices as they engage in psychobiographical writing (Kasser, 2017; Schultz & Lawrence, 2017). Thus, along with an explanation of each stage, we provide practical suggestions to the psychobiographer for navigating her or his relationship to the psychobiographical subject throughout the research process. Like the historian and scientist, the psychologist in the role of psychobiographer must maintain some sense of objectivity and balance in profiling the inner psychological life of the research subject (Ponterotto & Reynolds, 2017). These suggestions are culled from the experiences of the present authors as well as other experienced psychobiographers (e.g., Anderson, 1981a, 1981b; Elms, 1994; Runyan, 1982; Schultz, 2005). To help guide the reader, Figure 1 summarizes many of Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 4 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org these suggestions situated along a timeline representing the Leonardo project (see Figure 1 above). Selecting one’s Psychobiographical Subject: Beginning the Relationship Psychobiographers have commented that they did not choose their research subject, but instead the subject chose them – as if reaching out and taking hold of the researcher and exclaiming: understand my life the way no one heretofore has, and share it with the world (see discussion in Elms, 1994; Ponterotto, 2012; Schultz, 2011). Psychobiographers often feel called to understand their subjects, solve the mysteries and complexities of their personality development, and then educate the public about this historic or famous individual (Schultz, 2005). Yet, admiration for and/or curiosity about the historic subject is most likely established long before the psychobiographer commits to formally writing the psychobiography. For example, Erik Erikson first deve- loped a strong interest in Mahatma Gandhi in 1962 during a visit to Ahmedabad, India, the initial site of Gandhi’s hunger strike and labour movement. And yet, Erikson (1969) would not publish his classic and Pulitzer Prize winning psychobiography, Gandhi’s Truth, until seven years later. Alan Elms (1994; Elms & Heller, 2005) discussed his decades-long fascination with the emotional components of Elvis Presley’s songs before beginning the formal study of his life and music. Similarly, William Todd Schultz (2011) had long been intrigued by the writing and life of Truman Capote before eventually penning his psychobiography of the novelist. Often, the psychobiographer is intrigued by her or his subject and may, consciously or unconsciously, in some ways identity with the historic figure (Elms, 1994). Sigmund Freud had been mulling over Leonardo da Vinci’s life – his childhood, his romantic and sexual life, and his artistic and scientific productions – for at least a decade before he penned his first words on Leonardo in early January 1910. In September of 1898, during a visit to Milan, Italy, Freud visited Leonardo’s Last Supper as well as his frescoed ceiling and upper walls in the Sala delle Asse (Simmons, 2006). Shortly thereafter, on October 9, 1898, in a letter written to his colleague Wilhelm Fliess, he stated: “Leonardo – no love affair of his is known – is perhaps the most famous left-handed person. Can you use him?” (Freud, 1898/ 1985, p. 331). One can sense that Freud is pondering Leonardo; a unique figure, left-handed, and never in love with another adult person? Clearly, Freud was intrigued with Leonardo and the mysteries of his life, and began learning more about him through reading biographies of the Italian Renaissance artist and inventor (Strachey, 1989). Furthermore, it appears that in a reply to a survey question sent to him in 1907 by the Vienna “Antiquary Hinterberger”, which asked Freud to list “ten good books”, Freud included Merezhkovski’s (1904) biographical novel of Leonardo da Vinci in his selection (E. Freud, 1992, pp. 268-269). Precisely when Freud committed to penning a psycho- analytic biography of Leonardo da Vinci is unknown. Certainly, however, during and soon after his trip to the United States (accompanied by Jung) to present a series of informal lectures at the 20th anniversary of the founding of Clark University in September, 1909, Freud decided to apply his psychoanalytic methods to the life of Leonardo. In a letter Freud wrote to Jung on October 17, 1909, he portends that a psychoanalytic psycho- biography is forthcoming: We must also take hold of biography. I have had an inspiration since my return. The riddle of Leonardo da Vinci’s character has suddenly become clear to me. That would be a first step in the realm of biography. But the material concerning L. is so sparse that I despair of demonstrating my conviction intelligibly to others. I have ordered an Italian work on his youth and am now waiting eagerly for it. (Freud, 1909/1974a, p. 255) In the same letter to Jung of October 17, 1909, Freud urges him to reread his short papers on the Sexual Theories of Children, which formed the basis for his developing interpretations of Leonardo. It also appears that a patient of Freud stimulated an association to Leonardo. In the meantime I will reveal the secret [of Leonardo da Vinci’s personality structure] to you. Do you remember my remarks in the “Sexual Theories of Children” (2nd Short Papers) to the effect that children’s first primitive researches in this sphere were bound to fail and that this first failure could have a paralyzing effect on them? Read the passages over; at the time I did not take it as seriously as I do now. Well, the great Leonardo was such a man; at an early age he converted his sexuality into an urge for knowledge and from then on the inability to finish anything he undertook became a pattern to which he had to conform in all his ventures: he was sexually inactive or homosexual. Not so long ago I came across his image and likeness (without his genius) in a neurotic. (Freud, 1909/1974a, p. 255) In this letter to Jung it is clear that Freud believed he had solved the riddle of Leonardo’s creative energy (sublimated sexuality) through the lens of his own theory. This “light bulb moment” for psychobiographers, when they feel they truly understand an aspect of their subject’s life, is akin to finding a secret treasure map. One needs now only to follow the map to its conclusion. Then, during November of 1909, Freud’s mind was very Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 5 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org occupied with questions regarding the psychogenesis of Leonardo da Vinci, as evidenced in the following series of letter excerpts. On November 10, 1909, with the North America trip still fresh in his mind, Freud wrote to his friend and fellow psychoanalyst, Sandor Ferenczi (who had also made the trip to the USA, he travelling from Hungary), stating that: I am scientifically fixated by the American lectures, the last of which has already sailed off [for publication]. Otherwise I have been lucky with two trivialities, with the antithetical meaning of primal words and with an analysis of – just marvel at the illustrious subject – Leonardo da Vinci. (Brabant, Falzender, & Giampieri-Deutsch, 1993, p. 98) The next day, November 11, 1909, writing to C. G. Jung, Freud stated: Since then, a noble spirit, Leonardo da Vinci, has been posing for me – I have been doing a little ΨA of him. Whether it will turn out to be a brief note or a number of papers, I don’t know yet. In any event I am setting it aside for the moment. (Freud, 1909/1974b, pp. 260-261) Freud is excited by his Leonardo project and wants to share his enthusiasm with his trusted colleagues and friends. In another letter to Jung written on November 21, 1909, Freud’s depth of enthusiasm for his evolving Leonardo analysis is clear: I do wish I could show you my analysis of Leonardo da Vinci. I am desperately sorry not to have you here. It would be too long in a letter and I haven’t the time. I am coming to attach more and more importance to the infantile theories of sexuality. (Freud, 1909/ 1974c, p. 266) And, on the same day, Freud writes to Ferenczi, indicating: I could also do better healthwise, America has cost me much. My thoughts, insofar as I can still make them perceptible, are with Leonardo da Vinci and Mythology (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 108). In this section on selecting one’s psychobiographical subject, we see that Freud was intrigued by Leonardo da Vinci and curious about various unanswered questions about his life. These included why Leonardo had never developed a love relationship in adulthood, why he moved from art and painting to engineering and science, and why he left so many initiated projects incomplete (see, e.g., Strachey, 1989). It is also evident that, in using Leonardo as a case study, he is further conceptualizing his theory of childhood sexuality and the route to a possible homosexual or asexual orientation to life. A reading of Freud’s personal letters at this point indicate a commitment to publishing his ideas and theory on Leonardo. Sometimes moving from ideas and hypotheses about one’s subject to the actual writing is a difficult process, and one that includes periods of slow progress followed by writing breakthroughs. The unfolding of such a process is evident in Freud’s subsequent profiling of Leonardo. Considerations and recommendations in selecting one’s psychobiographical subject Taking into account Freud’s thoughts during this stage, the authors caution that psychobiographers should have a stance of controlled empathy for their subjects, neither idolizing them nor demonizing them, lest the resultant psychobiography be riddled with bias. Ideally, according to Elms (1994, p. 21), the psychobiographer should choose a “subject about whom you feel considerable ambivalence.” A majority of psychobiographers are drawn to historic figures they have greatly admired on some level – although, of course, some researchers purposely focus on profiles of evil, hate, and aggression, as in Langer’s (1972) study of Hitler, to advance the study of abnormal and forensic psychology. In selecting the historic subject and committing to the psychobiographical endeavour, the researcher should preferably maintain a stance of objectivity and openness to learning about the subject, even if it is someone they have had previous interest in learning about. Objectivity and scholarship of a psychobiography can be placed on a continuum, from degradeography and simple pathography on the negative end, to idolography and hagiography on the positive end. In the middle of the continuum is appropriate psychobiography, which is characterized by a controlled empathy for the subject, and an openness to uncover, interpret, and report whatever information emerges that sheds light on the famous personality, even if it disappoints the researcher (Ponterotto, 2014a). Perhaps Freud was somewhat too positively disposed towards Leonardo and so lost some of his objective stance (see Elms, 1994, 2005). In selecting their research subjects, psychobiographers should reflect on and process why the particular public figure was chosen. Among the questions to consider are: Do I have some ambivalence regarding this individual, and can I maintain a stance of controlled empathy throughout the research process? Do I have positive or negative biases toward the subject that I need to bracket out and be aware of as I begin the research? Am I prepared to conduct this psychobiography in terms of having a wide breadth and depth of knowledge on the individual through my readings? How much do I need to learn about the historical period and socio-cultural context in which the subject lived? What are the Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 6 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org mysteries or unanswered questions in the subject’s life that I hope to unravel in the research? What potential psychological theories would you favour in analyzing this particular individual? Altogether, it may be especially useful to discuss these questions with colleagues who may be able to help you explore your connection, and thought process, regarding the potential subject from an outside perspective. The Research and Writing Process: Committing to and Building the Relationship As of January 1, 1910, Freud had not yet begun actually writing about Leonardo. In a letter to Ferenczi dated that day, Freud laments, “Otherwise I am lazy, gnawing at Leonardo, about whom not a line has been written” (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 119). However, by January 10, letters indicate that Freud had started putting some of his thoughts and research on Leonardo down on paper, as noted in Freud’s letter to Ferenczi dated that same day: Very occasionally I sometimes write a few lines about Leonardo, which is still proceeding with great difficulty. At home things are very well, in my practice lively. (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 124) Freud’s relationship, discussions and correspondence with friend and colleague Sandor Ferenczi motivated him in terms of finishing the Leonardo work. In a letter to Ferenczi dated February 8, 1910, Freud stated: Our talk has also invigorated me greatly. Every day after work I write on Leonardo and am already on page 10. My writer’s cramp is in full convalescence. As a consequence of your impressive exhortation to allow myself some rest, I have taken on a new patient from Odessa, a very rich Russian with compulsive feelings, but I am more capable of accomplishment than ever. (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 133) It is astonishing to consider how hard Freud was working during this time. He carried a full patient load, was organizing meetings and conferences, writing and publishing on various topics, and now fully engaged in the Leonardo psychoanalysis (Elms, 1994). Freud was now committed to finishing the Leonardo project, and in a letter to Ferenczi on March 3, 1910, he noted cutting down his overall workload to devote more time to the Leonardo writing: In consequence of an attack of writing frenzy which has advanced Leonardo to page thirty, I have postponed thanking you for the inte- resting mailings. I am now freer, work and earn less, and would like to be finished with Leonardo by the time of the Congress [which took place in March, 1910]. (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 147) March 1910 continued to be a productive writing period for Freud in respect of his work on Leonardo. In a letter of March 10 to Ferenczi he stated, “I (I want to lift the incognito) am writing every free hour, i.e., every third day, on Leonardo and have brought it up to p. 40” (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 150). Then, in another letter to Ferenczi (who was soon to visit and travel with Freud) dated March 17, 1910, Freud sees his project nearing completion, stating: I will be finished with Leonardo before Easter, will therefore await you at our house on Sunday evening, and on Monday evening at 8:30 we will travel through the night to Nuremburg. (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 152) In 1910, Easter Sunday fell on March 27. Thus, Freud wrote the entire Leonardo psychobiography in less than three months, beginning on January 10 and ending around March 27, 1910. Freud liked closure on projects, since this would allow him to feel accomplished and then move on to other projects. However, in his rush to publish Leonardo, and with the limited biographical data he had available in German, Freud’s final report on the great artist contained numerous methodological flaws, as will be summarized later in this article (Elms, 1994; Gay, 1989; Strachey, 1989). Considerations and recommendations in the research and writing process Psychobiography is most often a long-term research process, and psychobiographers must consider whether they will have the time and commitment necessary to see the project through to completion. Throughout the research process the psychobiographer accesses and integrates an extensive amount of information about the subject. Hopefully, the researcher is triangulating multiple sources of data, namely first person sources such as letters, diaries, recorded conversations or interviews, autobiographies, and artistic creations; second person sources such as recorded memories of friends and close associates of the historic subject; and more distanced third person sources such as biographies, newspapers, periodicals, government or institutional documents, police reports, and so forth. In collating and integrating the wide breadth of the information that may become available, the psycho- biographer should take care to look for not only evidence confirming her or his hunches or hypotheses, but also disconfirming evidence (Ponterotto, 2014a). And, in respect of particular events or behaviours in the subject’s life, the researcher should examine alternative explanations and perspectives (Runyan, 1981). Important to monitoring bias at this stage, the psychobiographer can expose her or his developing explanations to an interdisciplinary set of colleagues, inclusive of other Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 7 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org psychologists, historians who had studied the subject, and sociologists or political scientists familiar with the historical period of the subject’s life. In the United States, two helpful, small-group peer supervision venues are the San Francisco Bay Area Psychobiography group on the west coast (see Elms, 1994), and the Association for Psychohistory discussion groups on the east coast (see http://www.psychohistory.us). It is our view that Freud could have done a better job of seeking peer-supervision and constructive critique on his developing ideas about Leonardo da Vinci. Instead, he discussed his Leonardo project mainly with like- minded analysts who – at least as can be determined in the personal correspondence – praised his work rather than challenged aspects of it. He did eventually present his ideas on da Vinci to a group of analysts in Vienna, but it is not clear how open he was to criticism or suggestions on the work. For example, on December 1, 1910, Freud had talked about “A Fantasy of Leonardo da Vinci” at the weekly Wednesday meeting of the Viennese Psychoanalytic Society after returning from his visit to Ferenczi in Budapest. In a letter to Ferenczi dated two days later on December 3, he wrote: The lecture on Leonardo on the evening of the day which we began together was not very satisfactory to me. Stein was there. I didn’t get to hear any good response: even unusually uninspired and off-the-mark stuff from Adler. (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 110) Was Adler’s comment on the Leonardo project really uninspiring and off-the-mark? Or did he just proffer interpretations or comments that Freud was not open to hearing? Although Freud was opening his work up for peer supervision, was he absorbing it? It would be very enlightening if Adler’s specific comments and reactions to Freud’s talk that Wednesday night were known; unfortunately, they are not. As psychobiographers engage with the research and writing on their subjects, they should be attuned to their own intellectual and emotional reactions to their developing understanding of the subject. What informa- tion has been consistent with previous hunches about the subject, and what information has challenged early hypotheses? What feelings are emerging or changing about the subject as the research progresses? Is the psychobiographer flexible and objective enough to reconsider or shift positions or understanding of the individual? Here it is good to process current thoughts and feelings about the subject and the work with diverse colleagues. Furthermore, it is not at all uncommon for psycho- biographers to dream about their historic subject (see e.g., Elms, 1994). These dreams can be processed with colleagues, or the psychobiographer can seek her or his own therapy which might inform unconscious and conscious connections to the research subject. Even when in the thick of research on their historic subjects, it is suggested that psychobiographers maintain balance in their personal and work life, as it is easy to become somewhat obsessed with work on the project. This could also be discussed with colleagues, if not a therapist, or may simply be a sign that the psychobiographer needs to find balance with other potential projects and forms of self-care. The question is not only how much time can be dedicated to researching and writing about a subject, but how much time we should. If not properly managed, such feelings could adversely impact the work, whether leading to burnout, bias, or a general clouding of judgment. One possible strategy during the process, although not necessary, would be to consider writing a shorter piece, or concise and thorough outline, on the subject first. This would allow the researcher to flesh out potential ideas and theoretical psychological connections, and also to gauge possible bias or how one generally feels about working with this particular subject. Close colleagues can also be instrumental in this process, providing one with new possible avenues of research, affirmation of current routes of thinking, and constructive critiques of one’s work on all levels. In other words, this would provide a foundation for a potentially larger work, already accounting for some of the common issues that may come up during that process. Publishing and Marketing the Psychobiography: Terminating the Relationship? The reception of Leonardo and a Memory of his Childhood by the broader professional community was mixed, as was the case with much of what Freud published at that time (Gay, 1989). His close adherents, fellow psychoanalysts and friends, were very receptive to Freud’s study of Leonardo and the inherent theories of early childhood sexuality, origins of homosexuality, and so forth. For example, Sandor Ferenczi wrote to Freud on June 5, 1910 after Freud sent him a copy of the book: “Many thanks for Leonardo. I have already heard everything essential about it from you personally, and yet it is only now that I have gotten the complete impression of your idea” (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 178). In another letter to Freud from Ferenczi dated June 12, 1920, he wrote: Your Leonardo makes a deep impression even on those who already essentially knew its content – there are so many ideas distributed among the few pages that they give one something to think about for weeks. – This first psychoanalytic pathography (Sadger’s Lenau is too oversimplified) will serve as a Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 8 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org model for all time. (Brabant et al., 1993, p. 181) Although in some ways the publication of his book on Leonardo marked closure, or project completion, Freud would not forget this work and would continue to ponder about the life of da Vinci for decades to come. After all, how do psychobiographers process termination issues with a subject they have intensely studied but who is long dead? Whereas clinicians have been taught to begin discussing termination issues with clients many weeks before the final session, psychobiographers have been left to their own devices in navigating this process. Interestingly, some nine years after Leonardo was first published in 1910, Freud, while writing to his colleague and friend Lou Andreas-Salome (on February 9, 1919) about other projects, mentions something revelatory about his relationship to the Leonardo work: I did not send you the large volume of the Introductory Lectures, because it is an unaltered impression of the edition in three parts which you already possess. But a word from you that you would also like to have this one-volume edition and it shall be dispatched at once. Van Renterghem’s Dutch translation of the first half has recently arrived; a second edition of the Leonardo, the only truly beautiful thing I have ever written, is in preparation [italics added]. (Freud, 1919/1972, p. 90) Four days later, on February 13, in a letter to Ferenczi, Freud shares a similar sentiment: Leonardo, certainly the only pretty thing I have ever written, has already been corrected and handed over for the second edition. After nine years [italics added]. (Falzeder & Brabant, 1996, p. 332) In some ways, Freud was more attached to, or connected more closely with, the Leonardo project than his other significant and innovative works. Why was Leonardo so present in Freud’s consciousness? Freud historians (Jones, 1953-1957) and psychobiographers (Elms, 2005) make a strong case that Freud identified with Leonardo da Vinci and projected his own feelings and intrapsychic conflicts onto Leonardo; which suggests what is called countertransference. Considerations and recommendations in publishing and marketing the psychobiography As noted above, the psychobiographer eventually reaches some degree of closure with regard to understanding the historic subject, unravelling unsolved mysteries in the subject’s life, and reporting the research in an article or book format. Once the psychobiography is published, the researcher awaits reactions from scholars, other professionals and a lay public. Admiring or critical reviews of the work may appear, and the researcher will need to absorb the feedback and to be open to constructive criticism of the published work. As in Freud’s case with Leonardo da Vinci, the psycho- biographer usually maintains an attachment to, and strong interest in, her or his subject long after the study is published. The researcher can absorb the constructive criticism from scholars and lay readers and begin to chart ideas for a second, updated edition to the work. Very often, after the initial psychobiography has been published, people knowledgeable with regard to the historic subject may offer new information and insights. For example, after one of this article’s co-authors published initial psychobiographies on chess champion Bobby Fischer (Ponterotto, 2012) and George Magazine co-founder and editor, John F. Kennedy, Jr. (Ponterotto, 2017), numerous individuals, who had not initially been interviewed, reached out and were open to talking with the researcher. Furthermore, particularly in this age of internet resources, new information often becomes available on past public figures. Old letters or artistic works are uncovered, secret or classified reports (e.g., FBI documents) become available, or acquaintances of the historic subject finally reveal information on the subject. These expanded sources bode well for the psychobiographer writing an expanded and improved second edition. On the other hand, writing a psycho- biography can take a physical and emotional toll on the researcher, and she or he needs to decide if it is better to continue research on the subject or perhaps to move on to other topics and activities. But, even if one does decide to move on, the subject may still continue to hold some form of meaning for the psychobiographer. Limitations of Freud’s (1910) Leonardo da Vinci Elms (1994, 2005), a leading Freud psychobiographer, reviewed a number of limitations in Freud’s study of Leonardo da Vinci. Some of these are methodological, caused in part by the lack of extensive biographical information on Leonardo available in German in 1909- 1910, as well as by Freud’s rush to complete and publish his study. Other limitations were the result of Freud’s possible countertransference issues, thus limiting his objectivity in profiling Leonardo da Vinci. It is important to keep in mind that in 1909 there were few biographies on Leonardo da Vinci in the German language. Freud could not read Italian well (see Elms, 1994) and thus relied to a large degree on translated documents in his study of da Vinci’s early background. One major flaw in Freud’s analysis of Leonardo is that, in retelling an early childhood dream reported by da Vinci in which he remembered a bird of some type repeatedly thrusting its tail into his mouth, Freud relied on an erroneous German translation of the word “nibbio”, a European bird of prey (a “kite” in English), and instead interpreted it as “vulture”, an Egyptian bird of prey. This mis-translation would prove to be a marked Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 9 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org flaw in Freud’s subsequent analysis of Leonardo, given the symbolism of “vulture” in psychoanalytic thought. Other limitations in the Leonardo analysis, according to Elms (1994, 2005), resulted from Freud not having adequate knowledge of art history, Italian cultural life in the 15th and 16th centuries, Roman Catholic religious history and tradition, paint chemistry, and European Renaissance politics. Naturally, contemporary psycho- biographers equipped with internet resources and an array of translation tools have access to significantly more accurate biographical and historical data than a century ago. Yet, it remains the psychobiographer’s responsibility to seek the most accurate sources about their subjects and about the time period and culture in which they lived. Elms (1994, 2005) also identified a number of counter- transference issues that are likely to have limited Freud’s objectivity in the work. Firstly, Freud identified with Leonardo and endowed the artist/inventor with some of his own characteristics. Freud referred to Leonardo as a “universal genius”; was Freud also projecting his sense of self onto Leonardo (see Elms, 1994)? Freud highlighted that Leonardo had become isolated from his contemporaries because of his rejection of religious and traditional authority in favour of empirical observation. He also believed that Leonardo’s colleagues in art and science did not understand or credit Leonardo for his genius. Of course, Freud scholars note that many of these isolating and minimizing perceptions ascribed to Leonardo also applied to Freud’s feelings about his own contemporaries at the turn of the 20th century. Elms (1994, 2005) furthermore discussed how Freud’s description of Leonardo’s relationship with his mother and the oedipal conflict closely aligned with Freud’s early life history. Freud also described an early child- hood dream in which Egyptian bird-headed figures carry his mother into his room and lay her on the bed. Of course, the Egyptian vulture interpretation ascribed to Leonardo’s early childhood dream includes striking similarities to Freud’s early dream. Freud’s Contributions to Psychobiography Even though Freud’s profile of Leonardo was marked by significant methodological limitations and counter- transference issues, the work nonetheless constitutes a landmark contribution to the field of psychobiography. By deconstructing what went right and what went wrong in Freud’s profile of the Renaissance genius, subsequent psychobiographers have markedly both advanced and strengthened the field of psychobiography (e.g., Elms, 1994; Erikson, 1968; Kőváry, 2011; Runyan, 1982; Schultz, 2005). Freud’s psychoanalytic study of Leonardo was considered significantly stronger and more balanced than previous attempts at psychoanalytic profiling of historic figures, and particularly the more pathographic profiles written by psychoanalyst Isador Sadger on poets Konrad Ferdinand Meyer and Nicholaus Lenaus (see Elms, 1994, 2005). Among the insights and advances emerging from Freud’s Leonardo study were (see Elms, 1994, 2005): • Psychobiographers should maintain a balanced stance towards their subjects, neither idolizing nor hating them. • Freud believed that one should identify the intrapsychic (and therefore pathographic) conflicts played out in the subject’s adult behaviour, but one should also provide historical and cultural context and a fuller holistic profile. • Application of the psychological theory interpreting and explaining the life of the individual must be comprehensive and in-depth. • Consistent with the psychoanalytic view, childhood experiences of individuals and their early relation- ships with care-givers have a significant impact on the course of the developmental life cycle, and life work of the subject. • The psychobiographer should engage with peer supervisors to process her or his thinking about, and relationship with, the subject as she or he plans, conducts, and writes up the study. From Freud’s trove of personal letters to colleagues, it is evident that he talked about the Leonardo project, parti- cularly in the two-year period 1909-1910, although it is not clear how much objective feedback and peer supervision he actually received or accepted. It is fitting to close this article with a quotation from Russell Jacoby (2009) on the enduring contribution of Sigmund Freud. Jacoby was profiling Freud on the 100th anniversary of his visit to the United States in 1909, a trip during which when he was pondering the mind of Leonardo da Vinci: He dug to uncover the forces that make us not only loving, but also odd, hateful, and violent. Even when he was wrong, a boldness infused his thinking. He remains a tonic for a cautious age. (Jacoby, 2009, p. 1) Referencing Format Ponterotto, J. G., & Moncayo, K. (2018). A cautious alliance: The psychobiographer’s relationship with his/her subject. Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology, 18 (Special Edition: Psychobiography), 12 pp. doi: 10.1080/20797222.2017 Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 10 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org About the Authors Joseph G. Ponterotto Professor of Counselling Psychology Graduate School of Education Fordham University, Lincoln Center Campus New York City, USA E-mail address: ponterotto@fordham.edu Joseph G. Ponterotto, PhD., is a Professor of Counselling Psychology in the Graduate School of Education at Fordham University, Lincoln Center Campus, New York City. His research areas include multicultural counselling and psychology, psychobiography, qualitative research methods, and career development. He is the author of A Psychobiography of Bobby Fischer: Understanding the Genius, Mystery, and Psychological Decline of a World Chess Champion (2012), and has just completed A Psychobiography of John F. Kennedy, Jr.: Understanding His Inner Life, Achievements, Struggles, and Courage for publication in 2019. Dr. Ponterotto is both a licensed psychologist and a mental health counsellor in New York State, and maintains a small private practice in New York City. Kevin Moncayo Graduate Student Fordman University, Mental Health Counselling program New York City, USA E-mail address: kmoncayo@fordham.edu Kevin Moncayo is a Master’s-level graduate student in Fordham University’s Mental Health Counselling programme. Initially beginning his undergraduate experience as a history major at the College of New Jersey, Kevin added psychology during his sophomore year. This provided him with the opportunity to research the perceptions of romantic relationships in college, investigate the benefits of play for underprivileged children, and intern at the on-campus community-based clinic. Currently, Kevin is about halfway through his Master’s course work and set to begin his clinical internship at Fordham University’s Career Services. Additionally, with regard to research, he is currently collaborating with Dr Joseph Ponterotto in studying the integration of history and psychology, while also researching skills children can learn from video games with Dr Fran Blumberg, and the Chinese-American experience with doctoral candidate Christina Clemons. References Allport, G. W. (1942). The use of personal documents in psychological science. New York, NY: Social Science Research Council. Anderson, J. W. (1981a). Psychobiographical methodology: The case of William James. In L. Wheeler (Ed.), Review of personality and social psychology (Vol. 2, pp. 245-272). Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Anderson, J. W. (1981b). The methodology of psychological biography. Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 11(3), 455–475. doi: 10.2307/203628 Arlow, J. A. (2005). Psychoanalysis. In R. J. Corsini & D. Wedding (Eds.), Current psychotherapies (7th ed., pp. 15–51). Belmont, CA: Thomson Brooks/Cole. Brabant, E., Falzeder, E., & Giampieri-Deutsch, P. (Eds.). (1993). The correspondence of Sigmund Freud and Sandor Ferenczi, Volume I: 1908-1914. Boston, MA: Belknap Press. Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 11 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org Elms, A. C. (1994). Uncovering lives: The uneasy alliance of biography and psychology. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Elms, A. C. (2005). Freud as Leonardo: Why the first psychobiography went wrong. In W. T. Schultz (Ed.), Handbook of psychobiography (pp. 210–222). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Elms, A. C., & Heller, B. (2005). Twelve ways to say “lonesome”: Assessing error and control in the music of Elvis Presley. In W. T. Schultz (Ed.), Handbook of psychobiography (pp. 142–157). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Erikson, E. E. (1968). On the nature of psychohistorical evidence: In search of Gandhi. Daedalus, 97, 695–730. Erikson, E. H. (1969). Gandhi’s truth: On the origins of militant nonviolence. New York, NY: Norton. Falzeder, E., & Brabant, E. (Eds.). (1996). The correspondence of Sigmund Freud and Sandor Ferenczi, Vol. 2: 1914- 1919. Boston, MA: Belknap Press Freud, E. L. (Ed.). (1992). Letters of Sigmund Freud (selected and edited by E. L. Freud). New York, NY: Dover. Freud, S. (1972). Letter from Freud to Lou Andreas-Salome, February 9, 1919. In E. Pfeiffer (Ed.), Sigmund Freud and Lou Andreas-Salomé: Letters (W. & E. Robson-Scott, Trans.) (pp. 90–91). New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Co. Freud, S. (1974a). Letter from Sigmund Freud to C. G. Jung, November 11, 1909. In W. McGuire (Ed.), The Freud/ Jung letters: The correspondence between Sigmund Freud and C. G. Jung (R. Manheim & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.): Bollingen Series XCIV (pp. 259–262). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Freud, S. (1974b). Letter from Sigmund Freud to C. G. Jung, October 17, 1909. In W. McGuire (Ed.), The Freud/ Jung letters: The correspondence between Sigmund Freud and C. G. Jung (R. Manheim & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.): Bollingen Series XCIV (pp. 252–256). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Freud, S. (1974c). Letter from Sigmund Freud to C. G. Jung, November 21, 1909. In W. McGuire (Ed.), The Freud/ Jung letters: The correspondence between Sigmund Freud and C. G. Jung (R. Manheim & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.): Bollingen Series XCIV (pp. 265–267). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Freud, S. (1985). Letter from Freud to Fliess, October 9, 1898. In J. M. Masson (Ed. & Trans.), The complete letters of Sigmund Freud to Wilhelm Fliess, 1887-1904 (pp. 330-331). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Freud, S. (1989). Leonardo da Vinci and a memory of his childhood (A. Tyson, Trans. & J. Strachey, Ed.), The standard edition of the complete psychological works of Sigmund Freud (Vol. 11, pp. ix–xxiii). New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Co. (Original work published 1910) Gay, P. (1989). Sigmund Freud: A brief life (Introduction). In S. Freud, Leonardo da Vinci and a memory of his childhood (A. Tyson, Trans. & J. Strachey, Ed.), The standard edition of the complete psychological works of Sigmund Freud (Vol. 11, pp. ix–xxiii). New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Co. Jacoby, R. (2009, September 21). When Freud came to America. Chronicle of Higher Education. Retrieved from http://chronicle.com/article/Freuds-Visit-to-ClarkU/48424 Jones, E. (1953-1957). The life and work of Sigmund Freud (Vols. 1 – 3). New York, NY: Basic Books. Kasser, T. (2017). Integrating psychobiography into psychology’s mainstream: Introduction to the special section. American Psychologist, 72(5), 430–433. doi: 10.1037/amp0000157 Kőváry, Z. (2011). Psychobiography as a method. The revival of studying lives: New perspectives in personality and creativity research. Europe’s Journal of Psychology, 7(4), 739-777. doi: 10.5964/ejop.v7i4.162 Langer, W. C. (1972). The mind of Adolph Hitler. New York, NY: Basic Books. Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology Volume 18, Special Edition August 2018 Page 12 of 12 © The Author(s). This Open Access article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [CC BY-NC-ND 4.0]. The IPJP is published in association with NISC (Pty) Ltd and Routledge,Taylor & Francis Group. www.ipjp.org Merezhkovsky, D. S. (1904). The romance of Leonardo da Vinci. New York, NY: G. P. Putnam & Sons. Ponterotto, J. G. (2012). A psychobiography of Bobby Fischer: Understanding the genius, mystery, and psychological decline of a world chess champion. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas, Publisher. Ponterotto, J. G. (2013). Case study in psychobiographical ethics: Bobby Fischer, World Chess Champion. Journal of Empirical Research in Human Research Ethics, 8(4), 19–27. doi: 10.1525%2Fjer.2013.8.4.19 Ponterotto, J. G. (2014a). Best practices in psychobiographical research. Qualitative Psychology, 1(1), 77–90. doi: 10.1037/qup0000005. Ponterotto, J. G. (2014b, February 27). The art and craft of psychobiography. Counseling Today, 56(9), 54–62. Ponterotto, J. G. (2017). John F. Kennedy, Jr. and the torn self: A psychological portrait. The Journal of Psychohistory, 44(3), 221–241. Ponterotto, J. G., & Reynolds, J. D. (2017). Ethical and legal considerations in psychobiography. American Psychologist, 72(5), 446–458. doi: 10.1037/amp0000047 Ponterotto, J. G., Reynolds, J. D., Morel, S., & Cheung, L. (2015). Psychobiography training in psychology in North America: Mapping the field and charting a course. Europe’s Journal of Psychology, 11(3), 459–474. doi: 10.5964/ ejop.v11i3.938 Runyan, W. M. (1981). Why did Van Gogh cut off his ear? The problem of alternative explanations in psychobiography. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 40(6), 107–1077. doi: 10.1037//0022-3514.40.6.1070 Runyan, W. M. (1982). Life histories and psychobiography: Explorations in theory and method. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Schultz, W. T. (2005). Introducing psychobiography. In W. T. Schultz (Ed.), Handbook of psychobiography (pp. 3– 18). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Schultz, W. T. (2011). Tiny terror: Why Truman Capote (almost) wrote Answered Prayers. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Schultz, W. T., & Lawrence, S. (2017). Psychobiography: Theory and method. American Psychologist, 72(5), 434– 445. doi: 10.1037/amp0000130 Simmons, L. (2006). Freud’s Italian journey. Amsterdam, The Netherlands: Rodopi. Strachey, J. (1989). Editor’s note: Eine Kindheitserinnerung des Leonardo da Vinci. In S. Freud, Leonardo da Vinci and a memory of his childhood (A. Tyson, Trans. & J. Strachey, Ed.), The standard edition of the complete psychological works of Sigmund Freud (Vol. 11, pp. 3–7). New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Co. 
work_g3hwc2avtbgdhjlmfx2rxhevee	----	149Book Reviews Yasmin Haskell Prescribing Ovid: The Latin Works and Networks of the Enlightened Dr Heerkens. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013. Pp. 280. Hb, $110.00. The latest book by Yasmin Haskell, author of Loyola’s Bees: Ideology and Industry in Jesuit Latin Didactic Poetry (2003), deals with Latin culture in the Enlightenment and focuses on Dr. Gerard Nicolaas Heerkens (1726–1801). Dr. Heerkens, virtually unknown today, was a Dutch physician, poet, and fol- lower of Ovid. He was a cosmopolitan Catholic intellectual, as well as an ama- teur antiquarian and scholar, who could easily be dismissed as a prolific author of curiosities. Fortunately, Haskell moves beyond the literary quality of Heerkens’s poems and the criticism he received from his contemporaries: mat- ters that lie outside Haskell’s main area of interest. It required great courage to devote a sizeable monograph to a person who is unfamiliar even to neo-Latin scholars. The book therefore serves as a model to anyone who intends to study one of the hundreds of neglected writers who devoted themselves to Latin literature in the seventeenth and eighteenth cen- turies. Haskell writes the following at the end of her introduction: “The book is not intended as the intellectual biography of a figure who, even by the stan- dards of his day, was no first-order scientific thinker, natural historian or even classical scholar. Nor do we pretend to offer a comprehensive analysis of each and every Latin work by Heerkens. We present, rather, a study of the interac- tion of his Latin works and networks – the latter projected on multiple axes, to include, in addition to his contemporary correspondents, the various virtual networks of ancient and recentiores with whom he had daily commerce” (32). It should be added that the diversity of people within Heerkens’s intellectual network was impressive; it included Voltaire, among others. There are several important research problems covered by the book. First, what was the point of writing in Latin at a time when vernacular languages were sufficiently developed to become the tool of poetic expression and when French had become the new universal language of the educated? Heerkens himself was an advocate in the battle which had, in fact, been lost a dozen years before his birth (the battle of the ancients and the moderns). Despite this, he wrote many books in Latin and treated this language as a tool of self- expression. Second, what was the relationship of Latin to the new enlightened philosophy? Did the Latin Enlightenment exist at all or was it—as d’Alembert stated—a contradiction in terms? Third, was there a genuinely new paradigm of Latin writing or was it a continuation of the previous one? Haskell argues that Suetonius was the new model of prose. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���� | doi ��.����/��������-��������Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:18AM via free access 150 Book Reviews journal of jesuit studies � (����) ���-��� Haskell also explores the Ovidian autocreation of Heerkens, who modeled his own life on the Roman poet’s elegies and considered his native Groningen as a gloomy place of cultural and intellectual exile. Finally, Haskell looks at the Jesuit context of Heerkens’s writing. He was educated at the Meppen collegium in Westphalia. Throughout his life he maintained close relationships with its members (especially his former teacher Ignatius Beucker) and dedicated some of his poems to them. Among his Parisian contacts were Pierre-Joseph Thoulier d’Olivet, a former Jesuit and the editor of the anthology Poemata didascalica (1749), and Guillaume-Françoise Berthier, editor of the Journal de Trėvoux—a publication to which Heerkens contributed. During his travels Heerkens had the opportunity to use the Jesuit library in Cologne where he read poems by Maciej Kazimierz Sarbiewski— though perhaps not his unpublished manuscripts, as Haskell states, but rather the recently published (Dresden 1743) edition of Iter Romanum which Heerkens later used in the description of his own journey to Rome. All the Jesuit houses in Germany and Italy were open to Heerkens thanks to the letters of introduc- tion provided by the Elector Clement August. In Ulm, Heerkens met Joseph Grangier and Francis Xavier Schwartz, and in Munich he visited the Jesuit church and library. Among his friends from the Collegium Romanum were sev- eral scholars and Latin poets: Girolamo Lagomarsisni, Archangelo Contucio Contuccini, Giulio Cesare Cordara, and Bartolommeo Boscovich. Haskell’s conclusion is that “[p]robably the most important network of living Latin writers with which Heerkens engaged was that of the Society of Jesus. From the German-speaking lands through France and Italy, the marginal Dutch Catholic received encouragement and practical support from and was active within an extensive and largely still flourishing Jesuit Republic of Latin letters” (232). The book’s structure is as follows. It begins with a lengthy “Introduction: Cultivating the Two Apollos” which informs us about Heerkens’s biography and his numerous travels—including visits to France and Italy. Six subsequent chapters describe his various works (1. Finding His Feet: Six or Five; 2. Stepping Out: Healing the Republic of Letters; 3. Tomi Callings: Letters to/from Italy; 4. Writing Home: Lessons from Italy; 5. Patriots in Portraits: From National to Natural History; 6. Inscriptions and Prescriptions: The Art of Healing in Long and Short). The book’s conclusion offers a brilliant analysis of Heerkens’s place on the intellectual map of his time. There is not enough space here to charac- terize all his works but two facts showing the aporia of his intellect should be mentioned. The first was his discovery of an unknown Roman tragedy, which was in fact an early play by one of the Italian Renaissance humanists. The sec- ond was his annotated edition of Einhard’s Life of Charlemagne. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:18AM via free access 151Book Reviews journal of jesuit studies � (����) ���-��� This book is truly fascinating. It presents Heerkens as a man from the prov- inces who, thanks to his literary activity and travels, encountered many people from the mainstream Enlightenment movement and the cultural, intellectual, and religious life of his times. Piotr Urbański Adam Mickiewicz University urbanski@amu.edu.pl Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:18AM via free access 
work_g65xqir3knbavogwi7usd6j4ca	----	72 de arte no 82 2010 © Universit y of South Africa PressISSN 0004-3389 Views and (Re)Views Notes on how to win (the L’Atelier) and still be free Pieter Swanepoel* * Pieter Swanepoel is a lecturer in the Depar tment of Visual Ar ts at the Universit y of Pretoria. Perhaps we have become comfortably numb ever since Barthes’ (1977:146) distressing yet emancipating signal that all texts function on multidimensional levels at once, to disclose divergent and clashing opinions rather than a singular foregone conclusion professed by a godly author. Still, one would think that competitions (particularly as texts indicative of an apogee) would, within a traditional understanding of what the word ‘competition’ stands for, remain an exception to the rule. Do we not still find it hard to shake the (di)vision of dark clouds gathering, brought on by the mere idea of a competition; and however exciting such a gathering storm might at first appear, is the butting of heads not true to the nature of competitions; are acrid arguments not flung far and wide within this arena of dramatic conflict? And in the end, after all the struggle and strife, once the violent attacks and total onslaughts have ceased, when all thumbs of all in the audience – including the Caesar – have doomed all losers through vigorous downward gesticulations, yea, after the dust has finally settled, one heroic winner remains standing …. To talk of balance, then, from within such an understanding would seem like the epitome of hypocrisy and contradiction. And yet … contradiction and paradox might just be the binding agents needed to identify harmony within a framework otherwise exemplified by dissonance. This year the curatorial theme for the Absa L’Atelier, silver foiled in curly cursive text, consisted of three capitalised words: Creativity Takes Courage. Which might prompt the question: does courage mean winning in the face of competition? Or should the competitor have courage to break free from such nagging suspicions; perhaps even, would it be possible to be free within the confines of an institution so prominent for its contradictions? Over and above such lofty thoughts as courage and freedom within contradiction, we would do well to bear in mind that a certain aspiration towards balance (would it be between freedom and limitation?) remains an old ideal within the arts: hence we are reminded that in antiquity, the classical Greeks aimed at harmonising the polar oppositions of body and soul. And while this ideal was revived during the Italian Renaissance, the added premise of creative thinking, i.e. renewal, was propagated by Vasari, most notorious for being the founding father of theory of art. But there is the added understanding that such creative endeavours play out against a backdrop of tradition, and however much modernist avant- garde practices liked to proclaim the demise of such traditions, old habits remained in place for the establishment of a Western canon. Hence even Greenberg (Harrison and Wood 1996:760) would insist that Modernism was not a ‘rupture of continuity’ in terms of the past, but rather a penetrating investigation of the preceding traditions of art. In turn, Kuspit (1993:54) chooses to refer to the ‘modern traditionalist artist’ whom he believes walks a tightrope through testing the strengths and weaknesses of modernism. The modern traditionalist is someone who negates rather than affirms tradition as such. One way of doing this would be to employ the identity of tradition through the use of quotations. Seen in this light, it might seem as if the Absa L’Atelier competition has, until now, functioned in a rather modern traditionalist mode: existing norms and boundaries are tested and even negated, without radical wholesale rejection. In a way a lot of what has appeared within this competition (ever since its inception 25 years ago) could still be understood according to Baudrillard’s (1983) constitution of the concept of simulacra, with its emphasis on repetition and its denial of any originality whatsoever. We are hence confronted by a competition that is not formless at all. On the contrary, its form can be seen to be determined by the very tradition within which it functions. And one of these form-giving elements clearly remains the need for dynamic shifts within the form itself. Accordingly, the competition’s own tradition could be described as re-productive rather than productive. Even the winning work of this year’s competition can be examined according to this legend. No process of reading ever takes place against a blank backdrop; any search for understanding would, according to hermeneutics, be established by a-priori information, of existing horizons which give rise to prejudice (Gadamer 1986), according to which a text will then be read. In this sense, no reading of any text can ever be said to be an original reading; rather, it is always a re- reading. Moreover: that each reading hereafter pp 72–75 73de arte no 82 2010 will enter deeper into the text in its search for better insight. Allow me a short ekphrasic pause in order to note, rather than determine, a possible outlay of this year’s winning work – Ilka van Schalkwyk’s Reading Colour (2009), which clearly calls attention to a re-reading: on one level it is perhaps most obvious in its referencing of synesthesia, while at the same time it clearly points towards the work being a translation. The artist did, after all, make an artwork from translating an existing book. But instead of translating the words from one written language to another, she transcribed it from one medium to another. In this instance the letters of the words are converted to colours, which is plainly what happens in some cases of synesthesia. As visitor to this year’s Absa L’Atelier we are invited to not only literally read Van Schalkwyk’s translation of Rushdie’s book, Haroun and the sea of stories, but to also take note of and perhaps even read the book as metaphorical of the creative process of art making. The question that arises now is how we read and hence interpret Van Schalkwyk’s reading of Rushdie’s book, as filtered or mediated through or even contaminated by synesthesia. The artist moreover gives a further indication of the process of re-reading or then of re-appreciation. Exhibited in conjunction with the simulated book made up of pages of small colour patches literally determined by the Rushdie text are a number of enlarged pages extracted from the book, as well as a handful of protest texts of varying disposition. It seems as if the main purpose of the enlarged facsimiles extracted from the book would be for visual enticement – simply to draw the viewer’s attention to the content of the book. The other inter-disposed texts, however, clearly serve as a key to the translation or re-reading of Rushdie’s book. It asks of the viewer to investigate and apply the codification of colours that replaced certain letters. Only through reading all the ‘protest texts’, and thus gathering the transcribed letters, can the complete alphabet be gathered. These supplementary texts thus serve as a Rosetta stone according to which the book on the podium can be read back, or in a sense even be read backwards. In this way the viewer is compelled to share the world of someone who suffers from synesthesia, while experiencing how the making of such a work could serve as a catalyst for overcoming what is believed to be an affliction. We may come Ilka van Schalkwyk, Reading Colour (2009). Mixed media installation. Notes on how to win (the L’Atelier) and still be free 74 de arte no 82 2010 to realise, also, that despite its title, what we are doing is not to read colour, nor are we reading by means of colour. We rather share an experience: this is how it is to read when colours appear in the place of letters, when the normative tradition of reading is shifted from one format to another. And the question we may come away with is this: How does such a re-reading impact on our understanding of the reading of the text? We may also find that these shifts could move our attention to our canonical thoughts on art competitions, and then how the Absa L’Atelier, as the longest-surviving art competition in South Africa, may have experienced and weathered the many shifts and changes it has endured over the years. Cecile Loedolff (2010), curator of Absa’s visual arts, explains in an interview – eked on by my own curiosities and prejudices – that there are two elements to the Absa L’Atelier that might constitute a tradition: that young, lesser-known artists are afforded an opportunity of exposure, but that such artists at the same time should show a true willingness to shift boundaries. According to Loedolff, the competition itself survived in a similar manner – through constantly making the necessary shifts in as creative a manner as possible. She agrees that there are any number of limitations at any given time, which she believes is not only part of any competition, but part of life in general – limitations concerning practicalities like space, place, costs and the like. Thus, for example, it was decided some years ago that performance pieces would no longer be part of the competition. Excluding performances was prompted, firstly, by insurance difficulties and also by practical considerations, such as the availability of the artist as the competition stipulates that any work entered should be available for the duration of the exhibition – one could hardly expect of a performance artist to sit around in the gallery all day, waiting for an audience to arrive in order to give a performance. A way around this would be to enter a video of a particular performance. Loedolff is, moreover, of the opinion that distinctive limitations within the competition should not be seen as stumbling blocks, but rather as encouragement for creative and innovative thinking. She insists: ‘It is only by being able to overcome such limitations while working within the narrow boundaries of an institution that the artist will be truly free.’ This reminds me of Lyotard’s (quoted in Sarup 1988:120) assumption concerning Wittgenstein’s comments on language games: ‘The war is not without rules, but the rules allow and encourage the greatest possible flexibility of utterance.’ Other changes include the fact that what was initiated as the Volkskas Atelier 25 years ago by Roena Griesel (the then chair of the South African Arts Association) changed according to the status and amalgamations of the financial institution concerned, with its funding as well as the fact that the Absa L’Atelier exhibition was moved from pillar to post, until it eventually found a home in the current Absa Gallery in downtown Johannesburg, from where it still sends the work of its top ten artists to Potchefstroom’s Aardklop arts festival for greater exposure. The exhibition catalogue has also undergone major changes over the years, in order for it to appear in its current professional format. Over and above the images of artworks on exhibition, the catalogue now also includes artists’ statements – an internationally accepted standard, without which it might have been difficult to make much of this year’s winning work. But despite considerations of artistic intent by means of the artist’s statement, the viewer’s engagement with the work remains paramount. What is more, the engagement of the viewer remains a matter of personal predilection and understanding. Consider the view of Beeld newspaper’s art critic, Johan Myburg (2010), that the winning work is ‘singularly cerebral’, against the possibility that the work came into being in a rather intuitive manner and that is should hence be interpreted accordingly – particularly in light of Maholy- Nagy’s (1947:68) assertion that it remains almost impossible to verbalise the intuitive, and that intuition could best be expressed through a variety of senses in the arts. This would explain why someone who suffers from synesthesia would, almost in an instinctive or intuitive manner, want to express her experiences in an alternative visual format. And even if one would agree with Myburg on the work being cerebral, perhaps then its very own internal logic should be considered as a form of intentionality. It is, moreover, through exposing the process of the making in the work itself that Van Schalkwyk sets up another clue: the numbingly repetitive process of literally overlaying each and every letter in Rushdie’s book with a corresponding Pieter Swanepoel 75de arte no 82 2010 colour (as experienced purely subjectively by the artist) can furthermore be understood in light of Foucault’s (Norris 1991:87) argument that repetition causes the demise of existing systems that rely on ‘a logic of non- contradiction’. The shift from one to the other now appears effortly seamless: that which only for a moment appeared as the other has now become the same – the text the colour – so that we (barely) take any notice. Derrida would very easily have seen Van Schalkwyk’s shifts as contaminations, as ‘a sort of participation without belonging’ (in Foster 1985:90). From this we could now also realise how much freedom the competition allows the artist: the individual artist’s articulation with a broader (art) public could be seen to reside in the artist’s intervention between personal freedom and institutional design. Even if this means that the artist participates without ever belonging. References Barthes, R. 1977. Image, music, text. Trans. S. Heath. Glasgow: Fontana/Collins. Baudrillard, J. 1983. Simulations. New York: Semiot(e)xte. Foster, H, ed. 1985. Postmodern culture. London: Pluto Press. Gadamer, H. 1986. Truth and method. New York: Crossroad. Harrison, C. and P. Wood, eds. 1996. Art in theory: 1900–1990: An anthology of changing ideas. Oxford, UK and Cambridge, USA: Blackwell. Ludolff, C. 2010. Interview at the Absa Gallery, Johannesburg, 29 August. Maholy-Nagy, L. 1947. The new vision and abstract of an artist. New York: George Wittenborn. Myburg, J. 2010. Telephonic conversation with Johan Myburgh, from Pretoria, 22 July. Norris, C. 1991. Deconstruction: Theory and practice. London and New York: Routledge. Sarup, M. 1988. An introductory guide to post- structuralism and postmodernism. New York and London: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Notes on how to win (the L’Atelier) and still be free 
work_g6dfophsb5divdrzgi4w2osloi	----	PII: 0898-1221(89)90264-2 Computers Math. Applic. Vol. 17, No. 4 - 6 , pp. 837-885, 1989 0097-4943/89 $ 3 . 0 0 + 0 . 0 0 Printed in Great Britain. All rights reserved Copyright © 1989 Pergamon Press pie S Y M M E T R Y A S P E C T S O F B O O K B I N D I N G S M. ROZSONDAI Department o f Manuscripts and Rare Books, Library o f the Hungarian Academy o f Sciences, P.O. Box 7, Budapest, H-1361, Hungary B. R O Z S O m ) A I Structural Chemistry Research Group o f the Hungarian Academy o f Sciences, E6tv6s University, P.O. Box 117, Budapest, H-1431, Hungary Abstract--Geometric and other relations of decorated leather bookbindings are analysed. Symmetry properties o f the ornamentation, the symmetries o f motifs and o f the layout, and some correlations o f symbols and ideas, furthermore the occurrence o f one- and two-dimensional space groups and interlace designs are demonstrated by Romanesque and Gothic bindings, Hungarian, Italian, French and German Renaissance, as well as by Baroque and rococo bindings, and finally, by some pieces o f modern bookbinding art. I N T R O D U C T I O N "Numero pondere et mensura Deus omnia condidit"--"God created everything by number, weight and measure." Isaac Newton dedicated these words (Fig. 1), his "tessera", to a Hungarian student, Ferenc Pfiriz Pfipai Jr, the possessor o f the album held by the Department o f Manuscripts and Rare Books o f the Library o f the Hungarian Academy o f Sciences [1]. The Academy, now embracing all branches o f knowledge from arts and humanities through natural sciences to applied sciences, was Filg. 1. Isaac Newton's autograph in the Library o f the Hungarian Academy o f Sciences. [Shelf-number: T~rt. napl6k, kis 8 ° 6.] Reproduced by permission. The authors are grateful for the kind permission to reproduce material from the holdings o f the Library o f the Hungarian Academy o f Sciences (abbreviated hereafter in figure captions as Bibl. Acad. Budapest; no special mention of the permission will be made). CA~VA 17/,~--X 837 838 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI f o u n d e d in 1825 as a " L e a r n e d Society" to p r o m o t e a b o v e all H u n g a r i a n language an d literature. Thus, in addition to scientific b o o k s and periodicals, the L i b r a r y contains literary m o n u m e n t s and bequests, manuscripts and rare books. M o s t o f o u r examples o f b o o k b i n d i n g decorations will be taken f r o m there. Jan A m o s K o m e n s k ~ (Comenius), the Czech ed u cat o r, w h o f o u n d e d m o d e r n visual teaching by his most r e n o w n e d work, Orbis Sensualium Pictus (The Visible W o r m in Pictures, N u r e m b e r g 1658; L o n d o n 1659) [2], set up the ideal o f pansoph i a, a unified science reflecting the indivisibility o f nature. His b o o k , which he d r a f t e d during his stay (1648-1654) in Sfirospatak, H u n g a r y , is also a realization o f these ideas in teaching Latin and o t h e r foreign languages. It contains a passage on "Bibiliopegus, the B o o k - b i n d e r " , as well as others o n "P ri n t i n g , the Book-sellars Shop, a Book, an d a School". Recalling N e w t o n ' s maxim, one o f the striking manifestations o f measure = r6 p ~ p o v is s y m m e t r y as it appears in nature a n d in m a n ' s work. It m a y also be a bridge, as the present an d a previous special issue o f this j o u r n a l exemplify, between different fields o f artistic an d scientific h u m a n activities. In the following discussion we try to investigate geometric a n d a n a l o g o u s relations t h r o u g h o u t the history o f b o o k b i n d i n g decoration. N o a t t e m p t has been m a d e to give a complete representation o f all periods and styles; the selection o f examples was influenced by o u r personal interest and the accessibility o f material. One o f the conspicuous geometrical relations is symmetry. Point groups an d space g ro u p s will be used here to classify s y m m e t r y properties o f o r n a m e n t s b u t n o knowledge o f the t h e o r y is assumed. A point g r o u p (with the properties o f a m a t h e m a t i c a l g ro u p ) is a set o f s y m m e t r y operations, which leave at least one point o f the object fixed in space. F o r the p l an ar figures to be discussed, the s y m m e t r y o p e r a t i o n s include reflection t h r o u g h a plane (m i rro r plane, m ) a n d r o t a t i o n a b o u t an axis (two-, three-, f o u r - f o l d etc. axis, 2, 3, 4 . . . . or, in o t h e r n o t a t i o n , C2, C3, C4 . . . . ). M i r r o r planes and r o t a t i o n axes are p e r p e n d i c u l a r to the plane o f the figure. C o n v e n t i o n a l n o t a t i o n s o f s y m m e t r y groups indicate the basic s y m m e t r y o p erat i o n s o f the group. In the case o f space groups, additional s y m m e t r y o p e r a t i o n s are translation an d glide reflection, i.e. a reflection c o m b i n e d with a translation. A space g r o u p applies to an infinite lattice o r periodic p at t ern , a n d when we speak o f the one- o r two-dimensional space-group s y m m e t r y o f a decorative p at t ern , we regard it as a section o f an infinite structure. F o r t h at matter, imposing geometrical relations such as congruence, s y m m e t r y or similarity on real objects is m o r e o r less an a p p r o x i m a t i o n . Deviations f r o m exact relations are m o r e a p p a r e n t o n han d i craft p r o d u c t s - - h i s t o r i c a l b o o k b i n d i n g s typically belong to this c a t e g o r y - - a n d the extent o f deviations depends o n several factors such as technique, craftsmanship, tools and material used. Sometimes a deviation can be intentional. Stone, wood, clay tablets, p a r c h m e n t or p a p y r u s scrolls b o r e written records in ancient times before the b o o k in its present f o r m appeared. Its p r e c u r s o r was the diptych, a pair o f ivory tablets or w o o d e n boards, possibly decorated, p r o t e c t i n g the inscription in wax inside. Some folded p a r c h m e n t sheets were then placed, later also fastened, between the p a n e l s - - a n d thus the b o o k was born! All the essential elements t h a t constitute a b o o k t o d a y h ad been b r o u g h t together b y the d aw n o f the Middle Ages. A h a n d w r i t t e n a n d illuminated b o o k was itself a great asset; ivory o r precious metal covers a n d jewels a d d e d to its value and impressiveness [3]. Even in recent centuries jewelled or ivory bindings have been occasionally a p p l i e d to special o r ceremonial books. Yet the b o o k b i n d e r ' s c r a f t s m a n s h i p finds its p r o p e r expression in the p r e p a r a t i o n an d embellish- ment o f leather bookbindings. L e a t h e r h a d been a favourite material fo r covering b o o k s f r o m the early Coptic bindings until the age o f large-scale b o o k p r o d u c t i o n when the c h e a p e r binding materials o f cloth and p a p e r replaced it, at least partially. L e a t h e r bindings were most c o m m o n l y d e c o r a t e d by means o f finishing tools, each having an engraved design on its face and p r o d u c i n g a c o r r e s p o n d i n g blind or gold-tooled impression o n the leather. A pallet or fillet was used to impress a line o r parallel lines, a smaller stamp to have a unit motif. T h e roll, a tool with a brass wheel, with an engraved p a t t e r n o n its circumference, a n d the panel, a larger block o f metal, were in general use f r o m the fifteenth to the nineteenth century. T h e tool itself and its impression are d e n o t e d by the same words, viz. a stamp, a roll, a panel. A simple technique o f r e p r o d u c i n g an impressed m o t i f o r design o f a b o o k b i n d i n g is to p u t a piece o f p a p e r on it and r u b it with various soft lead pencils. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 839 Even after the invention o f printing in the 1450s, when hundreds and hundreds o f identical copies o f an edition were produced, hand bookbinding transformed each copy into a unique entity. The purchaser and user had the b o o k bound in most cases. Bookbinding research, which grew out of bibliophilic interests in the last century, goes into the details o f the "when, where, by whom, for w h o m " etc. o f a b o o k and its binding, and, relying on the exact identification o f tools used for decoration, on owners' notes in the book, on fragmental pages used as auxiliary material in binding, on archival sources etc., has become a complex field o f study. Decorated bookbindings reveal a lot about the books and the culture o f a given age. B O O K B I N D I N G IN THE M I D D L E AGES Some Coptic leather bindings from Egypt have come down to us [4] from the sixth to the eighth centuries but such bindings existed in earlier centuries. In Europe the earliest leather bindings date from the Carolingian age (ninth and tenth centuries). These are followed by the books bound in Romanesque style (twelfth and thirteenth centuries). 139 such bindings are recorded today [5], and they represent a fully developed art o f book decoration. It must be remembered that at the time o f the Romanesque bindings, Gothic art was flourishing and dominating in the architecture o f Europe [6], and the same intellectual trend, Scholasticism, influenced bookbindings and architecture alike. Applied arts--including bookbinding--are in general characterized by a certain delay in relation to fine arts. Romanesque bindings, i.e. their layout (Fig. 2), are related rather to Coptic or Islamic bindings than to those o f the Carolingian and Ottonian ages. The transition from Romanesque to Gothic bindings is, however, quite continuous. Motifs are similar, and even the recutting o f some Romanesque tools, especially palmetto and dragon stamps has been noted [7]. The most frequent Romanesque and Gothic stamps (Fig. 3) represent lily (fleur-de-lis), palmetto, foliation, rosette (four, five and sixpetalous), birds, a pair o f birds, deer, dragon, eagle, double- headed eagle, griffin, the Holy Lamb, mermaid, monkey, pelican (the Christ-symbol), unicorn, and the symbols o f the four Evangelists (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John: angel, lion, ox and eagle). On Romanesque bindings usually there are many stamps, certainly more than on Gothic bindings. Only eight kinds o f stamps (Fig. 5) but altogether more than 600 (!) impressions o f them figure on the upper and lower cover o f the early Gothic leather binding o f a parchment codex from the fourteenth century (Fig. 4). The proper Gothic binding shows a looser layout and a much smaller number o f repetitions o f the stamps. Bilateral symmetry of motifs (Fig. 3) (point group m or Cs) and rotations with mirror planes (point groups 3m, 4mm, 5mm and 6mm or C3v, C4v, Csv and C6~, subscript v for vertical) are common, but pure rotational symmetry (point groups 2, 3, 4, . . . or C2, (?3, Ca . . . . ) is rarely applied. A playful collection o f symmetries appears on a roll (Fig. 6), including point group C3 with Fig. 2. Layout of three Romanesque bindings after [5], Nos 1, 7, 13. 840 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI Fig. 3. Stamps from some Gothic bindings of the Bibl. Acad. Budapest. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 841 Fig. 4. Early Gothic leather binding, upper cover. National Sz6ch6nyi Library, Budapest: Clmae 79. Reproduced by permission. Fig. 5. Stamps on the binding in Fig. 4: pair of birds, doubleheaded eagle, the Holy Lamb, pelican, deer, dog, monkey, bird. Fig. 6. A roll from a Gothic binding made in Augsburg. The motifs have C4v, C4v, C3, C3v, C6v, C4v, C6v, C4v, C5~ and C4v point-group symmetry, respectively. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Rfith 1058. This roll is identical with that in Ref. [8, Plate 171, 6]. 842 M. ROZSOND~ and B. ROZSONDAI Fig. 7. Hatched motifs from Gothic bindings. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Inc. 192, Inc. 668. a three-fold rotation axis. Asymmetric motifs are often confined to a symmetric planar figure like a circle, a lozenge, or a square, and the encircling line is also shown. Hatched motifs (Fig. 7) can be considered to possess colour symmetry, which means a combina- tion o f a geometrical synunetry operation (reflection, rotation, translation etc.) with a simultaneous permutation of colours. The use of hatching to indicate colours in heraldry explains the name "fer azur6" (azured tool) o f the hatched stamps introduced in the sixteenth century on French Renaissance bindings. I J a b c d e f g h i j I n Fig. 8. Some Gothic headed outline stamps (a-k) and two blocks (1, m) derived from them. Bibl. Acad. Budapest. The complemental space between stamps k gives the popular "cloud" pattern [9]. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 843 Fig. 9. Gothic binding from a workshop in Herzogenburg (Ref. [8, Plate 27]). Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Inc. 534, The headed outline or cusped edge stamps (Kopfstempel in German) played an important role in the decoration of leather bindings (Fig. 8). The central field of the upper cover, within the borders, was decorated with curved branches, with a repeated vine-like tooling, especially in the southern parts of Germany (Fig. 9). This pattern became popular in Austria, Bohemia and Hungary, and it is a good example of technical progress as demanded by the increasing book production. In the 1470s a whole curved diamond-shaped compartment (Fig. 9) was circumscribed in twelve steps by impressing eight double-headed cusped edge stamps [Fig. 8(a)] and four stamps with two "heads" on the opposite sides [Fig. 8(b)]. A large number of operations was needed to fill the central panel. To accelerate the working process, a half curved branch was engraved in the tool [Fig. 8.(1)], and the bookbinder obtained a whole curved lozenge in two actions. Soon after the panel with all the details engraved was introduced [Fig. 8(m)]. The half curved branches began a new life on some Renaissance bindings in the early sixteenth century, and they appeared as ogee branches (Fig. 10). 844 M. R o z s o ~ a a n d B. Rozsol, n~^I Fig. 10. Early Renaissance binding with ogee pattern, lower cover, from a secular workshop in Buda [10]. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Inc. 877. The cuir cisel6, i.e. the cut-leather bindings make up a special group o f Gothic bindings [11]. The outline o f the pattern is cut into the dampened leather and is emphasized by punching (stippling) the background by a pointed tool (Fig. 11). This embellishmen t required skilful masters. A similar appearance could be reached more simply by the ingenious use o f the cusped edge stamp. The master had to choose the most suitable stamps to get an indented outline o f an oak leaf (Fig. 12), or he had to think over carefully the proportions and the distances between the headed outline tools (Fig. 13). Thus, he achieved a turnover of foreground and background, and a good appearance of the oak leaf or of a four-leaved fleuron. The impressed curved lines mark the nervure o f the leaf. The upper cover o f Gothic bindings shows a more abundant ornamentation than the lower cover (Fig. 14). One or two borders, marked out by fillets, surround a central field, which is then Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 845 Fig. 1 I. Cut-leather binding, Germany, fifteenth century [11, item 62]. National Szrehrnyi Library, Budapest: Clmae 74. Reproduced by permission. subdivided by oblique straight lines to form a diamond pattern (Fig. 15), or by an arched vine-like network into curvilinear compartments (Fig. 9). While rectangular or rather square, semicircular and quadrant subfields were preferred on Romanesque bindings (see Fig. 2), resembling structures o f Romanesque architecture, perpendicular crossings o f lines were avoided in the central field o f Gothic bindings. The central rectangle is subdivided only by its main diagonals (Fig. 12), or, more often, by additional lines parallel to them (Fig. 16). On the binding in Fig. 15, the short sides o f the rectangle are divided into two sections, the long sides into three sections by intersecting lines, while the main diagonals do not appear in the pattern. Using the latter and, consequently, an equal number o f divisions on the sides o f the rectangle, would have produced too slim diamonds. In all these cases, the original C2v point-group symmetry o f the rectangle, with two mirror planes and a two-fold rotation axis perpendicular to the plane o f the figure, is retained if we disregard the pattern within the subfields. An interesting skewly oriented quasi-diamond tiling is shown in Fig. 13. The minor discrepancy between the two sides o f the rhomboid is emphasized by the alignment o f one and two cusped edge stamps along them, respectively. The symmetries o f a field and o f the motifs which fill it often disagree. A pentamerous rosette can sit in the centre o f a diamond (Fig. 15). The half diamonds along the sides o f the central rectangle contain different motifs. The foliage on the binding in Fig. 14(b) breaks through the rigid frames o f the rectangle and has four-fold rotational symmetry, point group C4. Figure 17 shows a naturally simple arrangement o f alternating drop-shape figures, all pointing downwards in the central field with the antlers in this unnatural orientation, and outgrowing the corner boxes. Adjoining single stamps in the inner border take the shape o f a tracery so characteristic o f Gothic architecture and decorative art. David's six-pointed star (Solomon's seal) in the outer corners encloses a pentapetalous flower. Bearing in mind that a rosette is the Virgin Mary's symbol, is this a hint at her line o f descent? 846 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSOSDAI Fig. 12. German Gothic binding with leaf relief obtained by the headed outline tools in Fig. 8(h-j). Monastery bindery, Aldersbach, Bayern. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Inc. 746. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 847 Fig. 13. Gothic leaf-relief binding. Probably Ingolstadt. National Sz6ch6nyi Library, Budapest: Clmae 223. Reproduced by permission. 848 M. R o z s o ~ A I and B. Rozsom>xl a~ 0~ Z 8 t.. o Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 849 Fig. 15. Monastery binding from Vienna [12]. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Inc. 148. 850 M.R.OZSONDAI and B. ROZ.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'K)NDAI Fig. 16. Monastery binding from Weddern near Diilmen [13]. Pelbartus de Themeswar: Pomerium sermonum de sanctis. H. Gran, Hagenau (1520). Bibl. Aead. Budapest: RM III 93. A s y m m e t r y o f ideas a n d persons is represented on a simply decorated lower cover (Fig. 16) by the images o f Christ's suffering in the shields (two hands, two feet, three nails, a heart a n d spear), the names o f Jesus, his m o t h e r M a r y a n d her symbol the rosette beneath, a n d John, the disciple w h o m he loved and who stood with M a r y by his cross, a n d the symbols in the corners and h a l f d i a m o n d s o f the four Evangelists who told the story o f the Passion. A binding decorated with the same tools is kept in the British Library [14]. The edges o f a binding, and sometimes its central field too, are decorated by "frieze" patterns. The seven possible symmetries o f infinitely repeating patterns, the one-dimensional space groups have been nicely illustrated by H u n g a r i a n needlework [15]. Similarly, border patterns from book- bindings are shown in Fig. 18, and classified according to symmetry groups. (See e.g. Ref. [17] for n o t a t i o n and explanation.) Such patterns were produced either by repeated impressions o f single Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 851 Fig. 17. Gothic binding from Ulm [13]. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Rfith F 1065. stamps [as most o f the patterns in Fig. 18 and the " c l o u d " pattern in Fig. 8(k)] or, especially later, on Renaissance bindings, by a roll. The period o f the design, i.e. the shortest distance at which the m o t i f recurs, shows the dimensions, the perimeter o f the roll (Fig. 19), or, rather with geometric ornaments, the same m o t i f is repeatedly engraved in the' periphery, and it is difficult to find o u t the true dimensions o f the tool. The floral curls i n F i g . 18(b) fit roughly in space group lg, while there exist actually at least four variants o f flowers a n d birds, and translation remains the only symmetry operation. While searching for a n d selecting from examples o f space groups o f border designs occurring on bookbindings, one m a y reflect u p o n h o w and w h y symmetries o f o r n a m e n t s were chosen, preferred or neglected. The conventions o f the given style, its stock o f forms a n d motifs seem to be decisive. 852 M. ROZ$ONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI (o) 11 lg (c) 12 (d) ml Fig. 18(a)-(d) Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 853 lm rng ITIm Fig. 18. Border patterns from Gothic ((3) and Renaissance (R) bindings [16], and their one-dimensional space groups. ---, translation vector, - - reflection plane, ---- glide reflection plane, 0 two-fold rotation axis. (a) Monastery bindery Buda (G)-Dominican bindery Vienna (G); (b) both from Augsburg (G); (c) both from Vienna (G); (d) Vienna (G)-Vienna (R); (e) Buda (R)-Venice (R); (f) Florence (R)-Minden, Germany (G); (g) Bamberg (G)--Spanish (R). Bibl. Acad. Budapest. G o t h i c figures o f animals, birds etc. or a hunting scene (Fig. 19), all viewed f r o m the side, present n o s y m m e t r y at all, a n d the simple repetition o f these motifs in a strip leads to space g r o u p 11 [Figs 18(a) and 19]. O t h e r a r r a n g e m e n t s with f u r t h e r s y m m e t r y elements are n o t likely to occur, because it rarely ha ppe ns tha t an o r d i n a r y animal is represented upside down; a nice d r a g o n , however, m a y be an e xc e pti on (Fig. 20)! B o o k b i n d e r s o f the Renaissance, however, rejected such restrictions when they impressed a roll h o r i z o n t a l l y along the edges o f the c o v e r with p o r t r a i t s or m y t h o l o g i c a l a n d allegorical figures. W e have n o t met with a h e a d - t o - h e a d tail-to-tail alignment o f animals m a k i n g up s y m m e t r y g r o u p ml. A t a n y rate, a m i r r o r plane or a glide reflection plane in an a r r a n g e m e n t o f a symme t ri c motifs, when realized by single stamps, would require b o t h " e n a n t i o m e r s ' " ( m i r r o r image copies) o f the tool. Flowers, foliage, vine o r geometrical f or ms offer a wider variety o f symmetries o f either the m o t i f itself or the p a t t e r n it comprises. CAMWA 17/4-6--Y 854 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDA1 Fig. 19. Rolls with hunting scenes on late Gothic bindings from Augsburg (the upper three) and Memmingen (below) [16]. Bibl. Acad. Budapest. • a ' 8 o t , • • : o I • . Fig. 20. Dragon stamps forming a border design, space group 12. Drawing by Eva Kovfics-Rozsondai after Ref. [18]. Masters o f R o m a n e s q u e a n d G o t h i c b o o k b i n d i n g s obviously did n o t speculate a b o u t symmetry, they just applied it intuitively. T h e spirit o f their age, the object o f their artistic e n d e a v o u r , i.e. the b o o k cover, a n d the n a t u r e o f their materials and tools d e t e r m i n e d their work. T h e symmetries o f general layout, pa tt e rns covering fields a n d motifs m a k i n g up patter ns d o n o t necessarily har monize, and thus the resulting c omple t e d e c o r a t i o n m a y have a lower s y m m e t r y t h a n its c o m p o n e n t s , or even n o s y m m e t r y at all. R E N A I S S A N C E B O O K B I N D I N G S While the G o t h i c style is international a n d its general criteria are the same all o v e r E u r o p e , the Renaissance has n a t i o n a l ma rks, a n d these are characteristic o f the c o u n t r y whose " m a k e " the given binding is. T h e b o o k b i n d i n g s to the s outh o f the Alps differ considerably f r o m those o f the T r a n s a l p i n e area. E v e r y o n e w h o is f o n d o f beautiful b o o k s mus t have h e a r d o f the Cor vinus bindings. T h e once f a m o u s library o f the H u n g a r i a n king M atthias Cor vinus (1458-1490) held a b o u t 2000 codices [19]. A p p r o x i m a t e l y o n e - t e n t h o f the stock has survived, scattered t h r o u g h o u t 44 towns in 14 countries. T h e r e are 47 Corvi nus ma nusc ri pt s a nd 3 i n c u n a b u l a t t o d a y in H u n g a r y . S ome o f the b o o k s have their original silk, velvet o r c o l o u r e d gold-tooled leather bindings. T h e u p p e r a n d lower covers o f the d e c o r a t e d leather bindings are identical, a p a r t f r o m the title o r the a u t h o r ' s name, impressed at the t o p o f the lower cover. Italian Renaissance a n d oriental influences are mixed with local decorating t r a d i t i o n o n these typically H u n g a r i a n p r o d u c t s (Fig. 21). T h e floral motifs: rosette, calyx-flower, leaves, peltate, p a l m e t t o s a nd tulips are in general gilded, the cablework is blind, the tBooks printed in the fifteenth century. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 855 ¢D J ¢ N oh 856 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI (cJ) ) ) 0 Fig. 21. Gold-tooled Corvinus bindings. (a) Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek (ONB): Cod. Lat. 1037. (b) National Sz6ch6nyi Library, Budapest: Clmae 422. (c) ONB: Cod. Lat. 1391. Reproduced by permission. (d) Schemes of the central designs after Ref. [20]. punch dotting coloured. Either the royal coat o f arms or Matthias' raven (corvus in Latin, hence his epithet) is placed in the centre. A m o n g the extant copies one c a n n o t find two identically decorated bindings. The overall symmetry is quite simple, C2v, except for some details. An interesting feature o f the large n u m b e r o f emphasized central panels has been noted [20], a leap o f a form into its negative, an interconversion o f figure and its background. All these forms can be imagined as enclosures shaped by surrounding copies o f one and the same m o t i f [Fig. 21 (d)], which by itself also appears as a central piece. The figure/background effect is even more p r o n o u n c e d in the repeated pattern o f Fig. 22, which was obviously inspired by a certain type o f oriental carpet (Fig. 23). Some tools o f the Corvinus bindings, first o f all the flower-cup, were recut and used in other binderies in Buda in the first three decades o f the sixteenth century. In addition, new stamps and rolls were produced (Fig. 24), and a m o n g them the different interlaced k n o t w o r k motifs and the rolls combining palmettos with leaves o f the acanthus became extremely popular. A n u m b e r o f their variants existed [Fig. 25(a)] on H u n g a r i a n Renaissance bindings. The acanthus leaves were a c o m m o n o r n a m e n t a t i o n in Greek architecture in the fifth century B.C. and revived in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries all over Europe [Fig. 25(b), (c)]. The interlace or strapwork also occurs in architecture (Fig. 26). Italian Renaissance bindings are lightly decorated and pleasantly spaced out. A large scale o f k n o t w o r k stamps, arabesque centrepieces, linked arabesque circles as borders are their most prominent stylistic features (Figs 27, 28). Coptic and Islamic motifs as well as Persian elements like the peas-trailer or clasper can be recognized on them (Fig. 29). Different types o f Renaissance bindings developed in France in the sixteenth century. A n u m b e r o f the books b o u n d for Jean Grolier, the bibliophile, were decorated by complicated interlace work (Fig. 30). A n o t h e r trend o f b o o k o r n a m e n t a t i o n , which was connected with the French royal court and h a d remained in practice well into the seventeenth century, created elegant masterpieces by simpler geometrical means. These sem6 bindings (semer = to sow) provide an o p p o r t u n i t y to demonstrate two-dimensional space groups. Only some o f the 17 possible two-dimensional space groups occur on bookbindings. The continuity o f the pattern is broken n o t only by field boundaries but also by variant or extrinsic elements o f decoration, a n d the n u m b e r o f repetitions o f the basic m o t i f or tile is too small to speak o f an "infinitely repeating" pattern. On a sem6 binding, the lattice points, in which the motifs are placed, Fig. 22. Gold-tooled Corvinus binding with repeated pattern. Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek: Cod. Lat. 2271. Reproduced by permission. Fig. 23. Holbein-carpet. Anatolia, sixteenth century. 150 x 220 cm. Museum of Applied Arts, Budapest: Inv. 14785. Reproduced by permission. 858 M. ROZSO~rDAI and B. ROZaONDAI Fig. 24. Hungarian Renaissance binding [21] of the so-called Virginia Codex, a Hungarian linguistic record. Franciscan monastery, Buda, 1510-1522. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: K 40. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 859 (a) Fig. 25.(a) Rolls of palmettos and acanthus leaves from Hungarian Renaissance bindings. (b) Frieze from the Erechtheion, Acropolis, Athens. (c) Pilaster head from king Matthias' palace, Buda. 860 M. ROZSONOA~ and B. RO7_..qONDAI (b) (a) ~ 7 Fig, 26.(a) Knotwork border design composed of single stamps from the Hungarian Renaissance binding: Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Inc. 1018. (b) A five-strand knotwork frieze in the town-hall yard of Trogir, Yugoslavia. (o) (b) Fig. 27. Italian Renaissance bindings, sixteenth century, with different types ofknotwork (a), and arabesque circle border (b). Bibl. Acad. Budapest: K 394, Ant. 195. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 861 Fig. 28. Arabesque centre and corner pieces. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Ant. 899, RM IV F 164. Fig. 29. Gold-tooled Renaissance binding. Venice [22, 23]. National Sz6ch6nyi Library, Budapest: Clmae 313. Reproduced by permission. 862 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI Fig. 30. French Renaissance binding for Jean Grolier [23, Plate 116]. Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek: 73.E.20 (ES 191). Reproduced by permission. form a rectangular (space group pmm, see Ref. [17] for notation) or a diamond tiling (cmm) (Fig. 31). The symmetry o f the pattern is then determined by the symmetry o f the underlying motif and the lattice. The fleur-de-lis motifs in a lozenge-type arrangement (Fig. 32) form a pattern with symmetry cm (Fig. 31). A system o f alternating motifs is a superposition o f two or more lattices (Fig. 33). Although this array has a low geometrical symmetry, it possesses further symmetry elements that include permutations o f the motifs. This is then a case o f colour symmetry, with the motifs representing the different colours. The Gothic diamond tiling (Figs 15 and 16) and the analogous vine-like diaper (Fig. 9) also belong to space group cram (Fig. 31). The binding from the Corvinian Library (Fig. 22) has a higher tetragonal symmetry p4m (Fig. 34) if the details and the layering o f the interlace work are disregarded. A much wider variety o f space groups and colour groups occurs on decorated papers used as b o o k covers or lining [24] or as wallpaper. The symmetry o f an interlace pattern can be studied at different levels. First, we may regard the pattern as a composition o f lines and figures in the plane they decorate, exactly as it appears, disregarding its three-dimensional appearance. The two interlaced square frames in Fig. 35 thus possess only an eight-fold rotation axis but no mirror planes (point group Cs). This figure can also V v p m m c m m c m Fig. 31. Two-dimensional space groups o f the rectangular (pmm) and the lozenge (cram) lattice, and a lozenge-type array (cm) o f motifs with C, point-group symmetry. O and V motifs, - - reflection plane, . . . . glide reflection plane, | two-fold rotation axis. Symmetry aspects o f bookbindings 863 Fig. 32. Sem6 binding, first half o f the seventeenth century, probably from the Netherlands. Museum o f Applied Arts, Budapest: Inv. 51.86. Reproduced by permission. be regarded as an eight-pointed star, with "hidden" parts o f the strips added. N o w it has eight reflection planes in addition to the eight-fold axis (point group Csv). A third way o f looking at the figure is to consider its two or more layers and introduce symmetry operations such as a combination o f reflection with a permutation o f layers. Geometric and such combined symmetry operations make up the layer groups. The double-square m o t i f (Fig. 35) can be regarded as lying in a two-sided plane, or it can simply be characterized as a three-dimensional object o f point-group Fig. 33. Pattern, space group p l , composed o f double letters M and Y, tears and flames on a sem6 binding. Sketch after Ref. [4, Plate 93]. ~s' s Sj % i f .s p4m Fig. 34. Symmetry elements o f the two-dimensional space group p4m. See Fig. 31 for notation, and • four-fold rotation axis. 864 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI Fig. 35. Interlace m o t i f from a Renaissance binding. Venice. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: R M IV F 164. Fig. 36. Italian-type Renaissance binding, middle of the sixteenth century. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: Ant. 833. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 865 Fig. 37. Portraits of Luther a n d M e l a n c h t h o n o n the central panels of upper and lower cover, respectively, of the binding by Thomas Kruger, Wittenberg, 1571 [25]. Novum Testamentum. Interpreted by Th. Beza. H. Stephanus, Genevae (1567). Bibl. Acad. Budapest: 542.338. symmetry Ds, with an eight-fold axis and eight two-fold axes perpendicular to it. Further examples of layered motifs and patterns are shown in Figs 18(c), 27(a), 30, 36 and 54. On bookbindings, a braid of continuous strands or an interlace of loops and strands is often simulated by single stamps [Fig. 26(a)], and imperfections at the linkages may make an exact evaluation of the structure difficult. The four-strand knotwork in Fig. 18(c) (upper) is obtained by two single stamps: one straight, one curved. Note the different slopes of the ascending and descending branches, giving serrated rather than symmetric wave lines. In the countries north of the Alps panels and rolls dominate on Renaissance bookbindings. Both have mainly figural decorations, a portrait or a scene from the Holy Bible etc. The upper and lower covers are almost the same, except for the central panels, which, however, are related conceptually. Thus, if leaders of the Protestant Reformation are shown, Luther is accompanied by Melanchthon (Fig. 37), Calvin by B6ze, and if a "Reformer roll" is used we can nearly always see the following four portraits: Martin Luther, Johann Hus, Erasmus Rotterdamus and Philipp Melanchthon ( = M a r t i - I o h a n - E r a s R-Phi Me: Fig. 38). Personified virtues such as Justitia, Fortuna (Fig. 39), Fides (faith), Spes (hope), Caritas (Christian love), Patientia, Prudentia (prudence and providence), Fortitudo (strength of mind, courage) and Temperantia (moderation) are also favourite figures of the panels and rolls (Fig. 40) on Renaissance bindings of the German type. The counterpart of Justitia is Fortuna, sometimes Lucretia or Judith. The thematic symmetry of the panels on the upper and lower cover exists here, too. A classical element was revived with the Janus-faced Prudence on a leather binding (Fig. 38). The inscription of the panel: "Seek advice from m e - - I who am called Prudentia--if you wish for counsel in your affairs." Janus, the Roman god with two opposite faces looking forward and backward, gives good advice and is considerate and provident like Prudentia on our panel. Janus is the god of all beginnings, and it is advisable to begin everything with consideration and circumspection, i.e. prudence. The virtues as well as the Muses (Fig. 40) and the seven liberal arts (Fig. 41) are as a rule represented in every field of Renaissance art, hence also in book illustrations (Fig. 42) and on bookbindings. Note the analogous depiction of arts and virtues in Fig. 41. If we see the panel of the Judgement of Solomon (1 Kings 3:16-28) on the upper cover then we see another scene from the Old Testament, viz. Samson with the lion a n d - - i n the background--he 866 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI Fig. 38. G e r m a n Renaissance binding with a Reformer roll and a Prudentia panel. Bound by M W (meaning Melchior Wagner, Leipzig?) after 1567 [25]. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: RM IV 427. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 867 Fig. 39. Justitia and Fortuna on the upper and lower cover, respectively, of a German Renaissance binding by H W (meaning Hans Welcker, Nuremberg?) [25]. Daniel Wintzenberger: Warhafftige Geschichte und gedenckwirdiger Hiindel... Dresden (1583). The inscription under Justitia: "Suum cuique juste tribuo" is a saying attributed to the Roman jurist Ulpianus; under the "ambiguous" Fortuna: a variant from Tristia 5.8.15 by Ovid. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: RM IV 428. is taking away the gates o f the city o f G a z a (Judges 14:6; 16:3) (Fig. 43). O r on a n o t h e r binding: T h e m o s t o u t s t a n d i n g he roine in the Old T e s t a m e n t is Judith (the b o o k n a m e d af ter her is one o f the A p o c r y p h a ) , w h o b e h e a d e d Hol ofe rne s, the general o f the Assyrian t r o o p s o f N e b u c h a d n e z z a r , and thus saved Israel f r o m its enemies. Judi th inspired m a n y artists to depict her and her feat in paintings, in sculptures a n d in metal engravings. In topical s y m m e t r y parallel to Judith, we see either Justitia holding a sword a n d a pa ir o f scales o r - - m o r e o f t e n - - J a e l , w h o inflicted something very similar o n a n o t h e r enemy, Sisera (Judges 4:21) (Fig. 44). T h e strongest t e s t i m o n y o f faith is A b r a h a m ' s readiness to offer his only son Isaac (Genesis 22). " N o one is so great as A b r a h a m ! W h o is capable o f u n d e r s t a n d i n g h i m ? " - - a s k s S~ren K i e r k e g a a r d (1813-1855), whose influence is larger t o d a y t h a n it was in his own time, a n d f or w h o m the story o f A b r a h a m was the greatest p a r a d o x o f faith. A n d yet he included a " P a n e g y r i c u p o n A b r a h a m " , " t h e knight o f f a i th", in his b o o k [26]. T h e example o f A b r a h a m ' s faith also fascinated customers w h o had their b o o k s b o u n d in the sixteenth century. On a panel decor ating the u p p e r c o v e r o f a b o o k (Fig. 45) we see A b r a h a m with a sword in one hand, the o t h e r h a n d lying o n the head o f his son, w h o is bending f o r w a r d , a nd below, to the right, is the sacrificial fire in a pot, while in the centre o f the picture, in the b a c k g r o u n d , A b r a h a m is climbing M o u n t M o r i a h with Isaac and, finally, in the u p p e r right corner, is the angel o f the L o r d in the clouds, seizing A b r a h a m ' s sword. T h e inscription reads " A b r a h a m credidit d e o " - - A b r a h a m has believed in G o d . (Present perfect, as it has already been d e m o n s t r a t e d ! ) T h e middle panel o f the lower cover is d e c o r a t e d with the arms o f the D u k e s o f W i i r t t e m b e r g with the initials o f their m o t t o (Fig. 45): V D M I E - - V e r b u m D o m i n i m a n e t in [a]eternum (a va ri a nt o f Psalm 118 = 119: 89). T h e w o r d o f the L o r d remains f o r ever. We think that the panel o f A b r a h a m ' s sacrifice was chosen deliberately to emphasize the m o t t o and the arms, and this is again a case o f c o n c e p t u a l symmetry. Let us r e t u r n to K i e r k e g a a r d ' s vision a nd interpretation. H e sketches f o u r variants o f w h a t had h a p p e n e d and h o w the last act o f this sacrifice was reached [26]. Each o f them is fearful and shocking but what is m o r e a ma z i ng is t h a t he draws a parallel between the deed o f A b r a h a m and the weaning o f a child f r o m its m o t h e r . K i e r k e g a a r d comes to optimistic conclusions only in the cases o f the m o t h e r and child. F a t h e r a nd son, m o t h e r a n d child are presented in analogous s i t u a t i o n s - - a s regards a kind o f s e p a r a t i o n - - a n d in f o u r aspects. Intellectual s y m m e t r y is mostly indirect, hidden symmetry, w h a t is more , the symbolism itself is inherently symmetrical. T h e a u t h o r ' s life reveals a (o) (b) t } i i Fig. 40. Roils with representations o f the virtues (a), and the Muses (b). Bibl. Acad. Budapest: RM IV 177a, RM III F 175b, 542.169, RM III 92. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 869 Fig. 41. The seven arts and the virtues on panels. Inscriptions (above) Grammatica-Dialectica-Redorica [!]-Arithmetica -Musica (two figures~--1574 (digit 4 reversed!)--Geometria-Astronomia; (below) Justicia [!]-Prudencia [!]-Fortitudo-Temperanci [!]-Fides-Spes--Charitas-Paciencia [!] [25]. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: 542.495, Ant. 944. CAMWA 17/4-6~Z 870 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI Fig. 42. The nine Muses on the title page of Strabon: En tibi Strabonis geographicorum commentarios a C. Heresbachio recognitos. Valentenus Curio, Basileae (1523). Fig. 43. The Judgement o f Solomon and Samson with the lion on a binding by Caspar Kraft [25]. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: 542.150. Fig. 44. Judith with Holofernes and Jael with Sisera on a binding. Inscription under Judith from Psalm 144 = 145: 19; under Jael: Judges 5: 31. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: 542.496. Fig. 45. A b r a h a m ' s sacrifice and the coat o f arms o f the Dukes of Wiirttemberg on a'binding. Kurtze auszlegung iiber... Euangelia... in Crobatischer Sprach... (Ed. Primus Truber). Tiibingen (1562). Bibl. Acad. Budapest: R/tth 1772. 872 M. ROT_.~ONDAI and B. ROZSO~DAI ) ! i i i ;} I t i t! : i 2 ' ! i . . . . . . . . :ii Fig. 46. Biblical scenes on German Renaissance rolls. Metropolitan Szab6 Ervin Library, Budapest: Bq 0941/69; Bibl. Acad. Budapest: RM IV F 596, R~th 1069-70. Reproduced by permission. ( o ) Symmetry aspects of bookbindings ( b ) . . . . . . . . 873 Fig. 47. (a) A Justification panel. Pietro Martire Vermigli, In Epistolam S. Pauli Apostoli ad Romanos Commentarii. Perna, Basileae (1568). Bibl. Acad. Budapest: 543.024. (b) The Justification represented on two panels. Jean Calvin: lnstitutio Christianae religionis. Rebulius, G-enevae (1561). Bibl. Acad. Budapest: 542.080. further dimension of the structure. The retold story of Abraham and the parallel cases of mother and child are reflections of Kierkegaard's emotional crisis after his engagement and tragic rupture with Regina, subtle allusions to the waves in his soul of hope and despair, faith and final resignation. The scene of Abraham's sacrifice is often engraved on rolls, too, together with other scenes from the Bible. in general, such a roll consists of four little pictures. The Crucifixion and the Resurrection are represented on all three rolls shown (Fig. 46). These two scenes occur on panels in another connection [27]. The four scenes on the panel in Fig. 47(a) are divided by the tree of life: to the left the Fall (Adam and Eve under the tree o f knowledge of good and evil), underneath Damnation and Moses with the tablets o f stone; this side o f the tree is dead. The fight-hand side of it is in leaf, since this half o f the panel comprises the Crucifixion and the Resurrection. The complex theme and the method o f representation come from the paintings of the Allegory of the Fall and the Redemption or Justification by Lucas Cranach Sr and his workshop [28, 29]. These paintings and other similar ones, e.g. that in the Budapest Museum of Fine Arts (Fig. 48) reflect the idea--the exegesis o f Justification--of the great Reformer Martin Luther and his circle. In the painting in Budapest we can observe Mount Sinai, where the Lord God gave Moses the two tablets of stone, the Fall, the serpent o f brass and Death. In the middle Adam or Everyman is sitting between a Prophet and John the Baptist, both of them pointing to the Crucifix. Mary is kneeling on the top of a mount--opposite Moses--accepting a small child gliding down on golden rays; on the two sides of the Crucifix we see the Holy Lamb and the Bethlehem scene with the Angels, the shepherds, and the Holy Family in the stable; and at last Christ triumphant over Death. All this can hardly be accommodated on one panel [cf. Fig. 47(a)]. The picture of Justification, divided symmetrically into two parts along the tree, occurs commonly on two panels [Fig. 47(b)] on the upper and lower cover of the given leather binding. Sin and Justification, Law and Redemption, Death and Resurrection; grave-stone, skeleton, objects, persons, gestures and ideas are positioned in a wonderful antisymmetry, in other words implying less geometrical rigour, in a counterpoint. Even iffigural representations appear on a Gothic or Renaissance binding, no definite connection to the contents of the book can be recognized. (See the captions to the figures named here.) The book of sermons by Pelbartus de Tbemeswar is decorated by the insignia of the Passion (Fig. 16). The covers of a New Testament which was interpreted by B6ze and printed in Geneva were never- theless embellished by the portraits of Luther and Melanchthon (Fig. 37). It is of course thus, since the book was bound in Wittenberg, the stronghold of the Lutheran Reformation. Similarly, the Lutheran dogma of Justification is represented on Calvin's work [Fig. 47(b)]. Justitia appears on a 874 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROT.~NDAI Fig. 48. Fall and Redemption (Law and Grace). Painting, German master, middle of the sixteenth century [30]. 82 x 59.5 cm. Deposited at the Budapest Museum of Fine Arts. Reproduced by permission. book of historical events (Fig. 39), and Abraham's sacrifice on a collection of Gospel commentaries (Fig. 45). FROM BAROQUE TO MODERN B I N D I N G S Baroque leather bindings catch the eye by their rich gold tooling (Fig. 49). Their characteristic ornamental elements are the elongated leafy spiral, the curl, borrowed from late Renaissance "fanfare" style bindings, voluted C- and S-shaped figures, sprays and floral motifs (Fig. 50). The asymmetrical spirals are skilfully combined to give heart-shaped and other symmetrical constructions, which in turn form the diamond or marquise-shaped central panel and the enchantingly harmonizing corner pieces. These masters must have had therefore a pair of stamps to impress both mirror image forms of the asymmetrical spiral motifs. Two or three borders run along the edges. One of these rolls (Fig. 50) reminds us of an arabesque circle border pattern used 200 years before [Fig. 27(b)]. The brightest period o f Hungarian Baroque bindings in the eighteenth century is associated with the Jesuits in Nagyszombat (today Trnava, Czechoslovakia), who maintained their Academy and Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 875 printing house there (predecessors o f E r t v r s University and the University Press, Budapest). These bindings bear Jesus' monogram, IHS, the Jesuits' sign in the middle o f the upper cover, and correspondingly the letters M A R I A on the lower cover (Fig. 50). There is no remarkable borderline between Baroque and rococo bindings. The frequent occurrence o f shellwork gave the name to the style (rocaille = shell, shellwork in French). The central piece is often omitted, and only the borders o f the cover(s) are decorated (Fig. 51). Books were the essential ornaments o f the splendid library halls o f the Baroque and later periods, and, very often, only the spines o f these books were embellished. A distinct period o f Hungarian binding began in the first half o f the eighteenth century and lasted for about a hundred years. The overwhelming majority o f these popular coloured parchment bindings was produced in the town o f wealthy urbanized peasants, Debrecen (Fig. 52). Their layout follows the interlace outlines o f French Renaissance bindings, and the uncoloured strips surround brightly coloured fields with guilt or coloured fleurons and the curls known from Baroque bindings. The master o f the binding in Fig. 52(a) even turns the flower-pot upside down for the sake o f preserving the symmetry o f the rectangle (C2v). Colouring seems to have been applied instinctively to enhance brilliance but no conscious colour symmetry appears. A curiosity o f b o o k construction, and an example o f a three-dimensional point-group symmetry is the dos-fi-dos binding (Fig. 53). Two, sometimes more books, related by their contents and usage, are bound together "back to back" with one common board and their spines on opposite sides. (a) Fig. 49--continued overleaf 876 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI (b) Fig. 49. Hungarian Baroque bindings, eighlcenth century. (a) Bibl. Acad. Budapest: 542.987. (b) Metro- politan Szab6 Ervin Library, Budapest: Bf 0910/234 (MS). Reproduced by permission. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 877 Fig. 50. Ornamental elements of Baroque bindings. The upper roll is from the binding in Fig. 49(a); the second roll is from the binding in Fig. 27(b). 878 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI . . t 5 O e~ .=. O Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 879 ~ i i ~ i i ¸ ¸ ~ ! i i i i ! i i i i ! ! i ii~i!i~ !i~i ~i~i! i ~i!~ ~ ! ~ i ! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ , ~ i i i i ~ ! i! ii~iii~iiiiiii~i~i~!ii!i~i~i~!ii!~ilziiiii~!~i ¸~¸ '̧̧ ¸~¸¸¸~ ~ ¸¸¸ ~ , ~ i ~ i i i ~ i i . . . . . . i ̧ ̧ ~ i i i i ~ i - i i o~ o o ° . .o . . L~ o~o t ~ 0 880 M. ROZ,gONDAI and B. ROZ,SONDAI Fig. 53. Hungarian dos-~t-dos binding, eighteenth century. E6tv6s Lorfind University Library, Budapest: RMK I 423a, RMK I 435 I-II. Reproduced by permission. (Another example and references can be found in Ref. [4, item 91].) This structure possesses a two-fold rotation axis parallel to the spines and a reflection plane perpendicular to it (point group C2h). HOW practical this form proves to be for a two-way pocket travel dictionary! In some m o d e m pocket dictionaries the two integrated parts have rather one common spine and no board in the middle between the "running" and the "reversed" pages. The symmetry o f this b o o k is again trivial, point group C2v, with the two-fold axis perpendicular to the spine. It is left to the reader to meditate on combinations o f symmetry operations with an inversion of, say, a Hungarian-Italian dictionary to its Italian-Hungarian counterpart. Some m o d e m artists have created three-dimensional bookbindings [31] that resemble rather a sculpture or space construction, and which have lost their practical purpose o f protecting and decorating a b o o k in use. Though masters o f Baroque and rococo bindings retained much o f the elements o f preceding late Renaissance (curls, arabesque circles, interlace outlines, layout) or even late Gothic bindings [bird- in-vine [32], and of. Fig. 18(b)], they succeeded in creating a new type o f bookbinding decoration, distinguished by its appearance and effect. The wells o f innovative power seem, however, to have been exhausted by the nineteenth century. At the same time when in architecture the different " n e o " styles follow, bookbinders cannot but historicize, and the period is marked by phrases like Etruscan style, Cathedral style, and flourishing species o f neo-Renaissance. It is in such nostalgic works that the technical perfection o f hand bookbinding reaches a level unknown before (Fig. 54). Para- Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 881 Fig. 54. Neo-Renaissance binding by Marius Michel for Gy6rgy Rfith, bibliophile, director of the Museum of Applied Arts, Budapest. End of the nineteenth century. Bibl. Acad. Budapest: R6.th 1044. Fig. 55. Art nouveau binding by Evelyn Underhill, fec. op. 47, 1902, England. Museum of Applied Arts, Budapest: Inv. 6965. Reproduced by permission. 882 M. RO7_.SONDAI and B. ROZSONDA1 Fig. 56. Representation o f the labyrinth on the external wall of the Cathedral in Lucca, Italy. Photograph by and courtesy of Istvfin Orosz, Budapest. Fig. 57. Binding by J. A. Szirmai, 1983-84. Terra-cotta goatskin (Niger), on front cover blind impression by the use o f a linocut. 32 x 25 cm. Cat. No. 45 [35]. Andr6 Gide: Theseus. Otilcina Bodoni, Verona (1949). Photograph by J. A. Szirmai. Reproduced by permission. Fig. 58. Binding by J. A. Szirmai, 1975-77. Dark grey goatskin (oasis), on front cover onlays in black and light grey goatskin. 29 x 20cm. Cat. No. 25 [35]. Julien Green: Adrienne Mesurat. Soci6t6 Les Exemplaires, Paris (1929). Photograph by 3. A. Szirmai. Reproduced by permission. Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 883 Fig. 59. Binding by J. A. Szirmai, 1972. Terra-cotta goatskin (oasis); onlays on front and back cover, partly crumpled, in yellow ochre, dark brown and green. 23.5 x 31.5 cm. Cat. No. 3 [35]. Hans Erni: Israel. Ein Skizzenbuch. Scheidegger, Zurich (1971). Photograph by J. A. Szirmai. Reproduced by permission. doxically, at the same time, b o o k b i n d i n g as a handicraft loses ground and declines with the advent o f machine binding. The turn o f the century is a l a n d m a r k in the art o f bookbinding. The m o d e r n b o o k b i n d e r claims to be an artist who creates a work o f art and n o t simply a decorated product o f handicraft; he or she re-creates the contents o f the book, expresses his or her impression o f the work to be bound. Principles a n d forms, artistic endeavour a n d materials o f m o d e r n fine art are reincarnated in m o d e r n bookbindings. A few examples have been selected here to show how apparently simple structures imply in the most intricate and sophisticated m a n n e r the arsenal o f " s y m m e t r o l o g y " [33]. Elements are consciously composed into a unit, and parts o f the book, upper and lower cover, are often treated as a whole (Fig. 55). The Labyrinth, originally the M i n o a n palace in Crete, has always provided an exciting adventure for the h u m a n mind, a source o f secret, a many-folded symbol, a m o n g others, o f the nether world and, at the same time, o f redemption from death [34]. W h a t it m e a n t for Comenius is concisely expressed in the title o f his work Labyrinth o f the Worm and the Paradise o f the Heart. It was represented in architecture (Fig. 56), arts and literature, as with, for example, the maze in the splendid book, Three Men in a Boat, by J. K. Jerome. Professor Szirmai's bookbinding (Fig. 57) is based on a circular symmetry, which is modified by a pseudo-symmetry o f four-fold rotation and reflection. Similarity is expressed by the set o f concentric circles, and c a t a m o r p h y , the lowest category o f geometrical relationships [33], by the decreasing number o f radial passages a n d dead ends along the inner circles. On a n o t h e r binding by Szirmai (Fig. 58), the double figure is again a brilliant and ingenious superposition o f two-fold rotational symmetry and deviation from it, symmetry and a n t i s y m m e t r y (two-colour symmetry o f the figure on a " n e u t r a l " background), and, above all, the transfiguration o f a p h e n o m e n o n taken from the contents o f the book. We must apologize to the reader for disclosing the keyword: it is schizophrenia. Figure 59 represents symmetry in a broad sense, so to say, a "topological s y m m e t r y " . Design and generalized symmetry extends over f r o n t a n d back cover. P. L. M a r t i n and M. Jeagle use rotations and reflections on their bindings .(Figs 60 and 61) combined with affine transformation, reflection with "blowing u p " (homothetic reflection [33]), and colour transformation. C O N C L U S I O N S T h r o u g h o u t the history o f b o o k b i n d i n g decoration, the rectangular form o f the book cover has been decisive. The general layout o f decorated leather bindings most often conforms to the two 884 M. ROZSONDAI and B. ROZSONDAI Fig. 60. Binding by Pierre Lucien Martin, 1966. Black box-calf, onlays in various shades of gray calf, doublures red peau de su6de. Ren6 Crevel: Feuilles eparses. Original illustrations by Bellmer, Arp, Miro, Ernst. Paris (1965). Fig. 61. Binding -by~Mart~i'n ' Jaegl"e_1973.' Dark biue-6asis goatskin, onlays in white, red and dark red, line tooling in white. Voltaire: Candide. m i r r o r p l a n e s o f t h e rectangle. O n e o r m o r e b o r d e r d e s i g n s a l o n g t h e sides leave a smaller, a g a i n r e c t a n g u l a r ( d e c o r a t e d ) a r e a in t h e m i d d l e . D e t a i l s o f R o m a n e s q u e a n d G o t h i c figures, a n i m a l s , floral m o t i f s , religious s y m b o l s , o r s u b d i v i s i o n o f fields d i s t u r b this s y m m e t r y . T h e o r i e n t a t i o n o f s u c h m o t i f s is i n f l u e n c e d b y the c o n v e n t i o n a l d i r e c t i o n o f view, i.e. the d i s t i n c t i o n b e t w e e n t o p a n d b o t t o m o f t h e b o o k c o v e r . T h e s y m m e t r i e s o f b o r d e r p a t t e r n s d o n o t i n d i c a t e a p r e f e r e n c e o f their o u t e r o r i n n e r edges. A unified g l o b a l c o m p o s i t i o n , the e m p h a s i s o n the c e n t r a l design, h a r m o n i z i n g b o r d e r d e c o r a t i o n a n d c e n t r e a n d c o r n e r pieces, a n d t h e s y m m e t r y o f details begin w i t h R e n a i s s a n c e b i n d i n g s , e i t h e r w i t h g e o m e t r i c o r floral p a t t e r n s o r w i t h p o r t r a i t s a n d scenes. I n t e r l a c e m o t i f s a n d p a t t e r n s b e c o m e a g a i n p o p u l a r . C o l o u r s y m m e t r y o c c u r s o n l y sparsely. B o o k b i n d i n g d e c o r a t i o n in e a c h age r e t a i n s s o m e e l e m e n t s f r o m its p r e v i o u s p e r i o d s a n d f o l l o w s w i t h a c e r t a i n d e l a y t h e m a i n styles o f t h e arts. D e c o r a t i o n r e q u i r e s i m a g i n a t i v e p o w e r a n d skill, a b o v e all in t h e case o f c u t l e a t h e r b i n d i n g s . S o m e nice parallels o f g e o m e t r y a n d s y m b o l s , d e p i c t e d scenes, p e r s o n s a n d ideas c a n be r e c o g n i z e d , nevertheless, t h e r e p r e s e n t a t i o n h a s h a r d l y a n y r e l a t i o n t o t h e c o n t e n t s o f the b o o k . T h e m o d e r n a r t o f b o o k b i n d i n g b r e a k s w i t h t r a d i t i o n . I t t r e a t s o n e o r b o t h b o o k c o v e r s a n d even the c o m p l e t e b o o k as a w h o l e . T h e n e c e s s i t y o f b o r d e r designs is e l i m i n a t e d . S y m m e t r y a n d the d i f f e r e n t k i n d s a n d levels o f g e o m e t r i c r e l a t i o n s a r e c o n s c i o u s l y a p p l i e d o r j u s t a b a n d o n e d . A n a l l u s i o n , a l b e i t indirect, t o t h e m e s s a g e in t h e b o o k is i n t e n d e d . Acknowledgements---Our thanks are due to Professor and Mrs Aladar and l~va Sarbu, Ms l~va Pr6hle and Mr Bob Dent, who read the manuscript and made valuable suggestions to amend its English. We gratefully acknowledge the permission and photographs for illustrations from institutions and persons named in the figure captions. R E F E R E N C E S 1. P. Gergely, P@ai Pgtriz-album a Magyar Tudomdnyos Akadbmia K6nyvtdrdban (The P~pai Pfiriz Album in the Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences). Publicationes Bibliothecae Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 21, Budapest (1961). 2. J. A. Comenius, Orbis Sensualium Pictus. Facsimile of the third London edn (1672) (Introduction J. Bowen). Sydney University Press, Sydney (1967). 3. F. Steenbock, Der kirchliche Prachteinband im friihen Mittelalter yon den Anfdngen bis zum Beginn der Gotik. Deutscher Verlag fiir Kunstwissenschaft, Berlin (1965). 4. P. Needham, Twelve Centuries o f Bookbindings 400-1600. The Pierpont Morgan Library--OUP, Oxford (1979). 5. F. A. Schmidt-Kfinsemfiller, Die abendla'ndischen romanischen Blindstempeleinbiinde. Hiersemann, Stuttgart (1985). 6. E. Panofsky, Gothic Architecture and Scholasticism. Archabbey Press, Latrobe, Pa. (1956). 7. G.D. Hobson, Further notes on Romanesque bindings. Library 15, 161-211 (1934-35); Some early bindings and binders' tools. Library 19, 202-249 (1938-39). 8. E. Kyriss, Verzierte Gotische Einbginde On alten deutschen Sprachgebiet. Textbandl Tafelband 1-3. Max Hettler, Stuttgart (1951-58). 9. O. Mazal, Gotische Einb/inde mit Kopfstempeldekoration aus der Inkunabelsammlung der Osterreichischen National- bibliothek. Gutenberg Jb 473-481 (1962). 10. 1~. Sz. Koroknay, Magyar reneszansz k6nyvk6tbsek (Hungarian Renaissance Bookbindings). Plate 36. Cahiers d'histoire de l'art 6. Akad6miai Kiad6, Budapest (1973). 11. F. A. Schmidt-Kiinsemfiller, Corpus der gotischen Lederschnitteinbiinde On deutschen Sprachgebiet. Hiersemann, Stuttgart (1980). Symmetry aspects of bookbindings 885 12. M. Rozsondai, Wiener Dominikanereinb/inde in der Bibliothek der Ungarischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Gutenberg Jb 234-244 (1981). 13. M. Rozsondai, The popularity o f Pelbartus de Themeswar in Europe as demonstrated by bookbindings (in Hungarian). Magy. Ki~nyvszle 100, 300-319 (1984). 14. M. M. Foot, The Henry Davis Gift: A Collection o f Bookbindings. Vol, 2, item 327. The British Library, London (1983). 15. I. Hargittai and Gy. Lengyel, The seven one-dimensional space-group symmetries illustrated by Hungarian folk needlework. J. Chem Educ. 61, 1033-1034 (1984). 16. M. Rozsondai, Historical fine bindings in the Library o f the Hungarian Academy of Sciences and their connection to book history (in Hungarian). Thesis, Budapest (1985). 17. D. Schattschneider, In black and white: how to create perfectly colored symmetric patterns. Comput. Math. Applic. 12B, 673-695 (1986). Reprinted in Symmetry: Unifying Human Understanding (Ed. I. Hargittai). Pergamon Press, Oxford (1986). 18. M. M. Foot-Romme, Influences from the Netherlands on bookbinding in England during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. Act. Xle Congr. Int. Bibl. pp. 39-64, Bruxelles (1979). 19. Cs. Csapodi, The Corvinian Library: History and Stock. Akad6miai Kiad6, Budapest (1973). 20. 1~. Sz. Koroknay, Oriental influences in Hungarian Renaissance bookbinding (in Hungarian). May. tb'rt. Ertesitb'(1-2), 1-17 (1968). 21. 1~. Sz. Koroknay, Eine ungarische Renaissance-Einbandgruppe vom Anfang des 16. Jahrhunderts. Gutenberg Jb 361-371 (1966). 22. 1. Schunke, Venezianische Renaissanceeinb/inde: Ihre Entwicklung undihre Werkst/itten. Studidibibliographiaedistoria in onore di Tammaro de Marinis. Vol. IV, pp. 123-200, Plate XXV, Verona (1964). 23. O. Mazal, Europfiische Einbandkunst aus Mittelalter und Neuzeit: 270 Einbiinde der Osterreichischen Nationalbibliothek. Plate 99. Akad. Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt, Graz (1970). 24. M. M. Foot, The Olga Hirsch collection of decorated papers. Br. Libr. J. 7 (1), 12-38 (1981). 25. M. Rozsondai, Signierte Renaissance-Einb/inde deutschen Typs aus dem 16. Jahrhundert. Gutenberg Jb 290--339 (1988). 26. S. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling... (Translated, introduction and notes by W. Lowrie). Princeton Univ. Press, Princeton, N.J. (1968). 27. K. von Rabenau, Reformation und Humanismus im Spiegel der Wittenberger Bucheinb/inde des 16. Jahrhunderts. Von der Macht der Bilder. Beitrage des C.I.H.A.-Kolloquiums "Kunst und Reformation" (Ed. E. Ullmann) pp. 319-328. Leipzig (1983). 28. Luc~is Cranach d.~., Verdammnis und Erl6sung (1529). Oltempera auf Lindenholz. 80 x 115 cm. Gotha, Museen der Stadt, Schlossmuseum. Inv. 722/676. 29. Lucas Cranach d..~. (Werkstatt), Siindenfall und Erldsung. (Um 1530). Nicht bez. Oltempera auf Holz. 51 x 99cm. Weimar, Kunstsammlungen, Galerie im Schloss. 30. Zs. Urbach, The allegory of the Fall and Redemption (in Hungarian). Diak6nia: Evangdlikus Szemle 5(2), 19-29 (1983). 31. Modern British Bookbinding. Bibliotheca Wittockiana, Bruxelles, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 's Gravenhage 1985. Exhibition Catalogue. Designer Bookbinders, London (1985). 32. M. M. Foot, The Henry Davis Gift: A Collection o f Bookbindings. Vol. I, 2nd impression, Plate IV.19.A. The British Library, London (1982). 33. E. Makovicky, Symmetrology of art: coloured and generalized symmetries. Comput. Math. Applic. 12B, 949-980 (1986). Reprinted in Symmetry: Unifying Human Understanding (Ed. I. Hargittai). Pergamon Press, Oxford (1986). 34. K. Kerenyi, Labyrinth-Studien. Labyrinthos als Linienreflex einer mythologischen ldee. 2. erweiterte Aufl. Albae Vigiliae 10. Rhein, Ziirich (1950). 35. J. A. Szirmai, Boekbandkunst. Catalogus van boekbanden door J. A. S z i r m a i . . . i n de Universiteitsbibliotheek. Amsterdam (1984). CAMWA 17/4-~-AA 
work_g6rmv5gonzgrbo7b6caf5klbvm	----	Allan Pettersson: Symphony No. 9 Allan Pettersson: Symphony No. 9 Jürgen Lange∗† March 30, 2017 Dreieich, Germany Abstract Basis of an analysis of the 9th Symphony is a comparison with Smetana’s opus The Moldau. Followed by a postulate for the programmatic construction of the symphony: The River (illustrated with paintings by J.M.W. Turner). Concluding discussion topic is, that 9th Symphony portrays Sweden’s longest river Klarälven-Göta Älv. Analysis Pettersson 9th Symphony Citation found: Smetana’s The Moldau (Vltava) Example 1. The first bars q qqqq � � � � q q q � q qq q q qq q q q � � �q� � 86 Bar 1 q q q q q q qq� Figure 1: Beginning The Moldau �� � ��� � � � � �� � 333 � � �� �� � �� ��� � Bar 1 � �� � � �� �� �� ��� �� � � � �� ��� � � 4 � � �� �� � Figure 2: Beginning 9th Symphony ∗Initial release of this manuscript: May 4, 2012. †CC BY-SA 4.0 1 This example contains an accumulating ascent. The comparison of Figure 11 with Figure 22 provides following results: Table 1: Comparison of both Opuses (Beginning) Smetana The Moldau Pettersson 9th Symphony pitch treble bass to treble instruments Solo flute, flutes bassoons + violas + cellos, violins scale diatonic chromatic time signature 6/8 alla breve notes sixteenth eighth, eighth triplets, sixteenth mood cheerful, easy, prancing increasing, threatening, dark Example 2. Advanced Beginning qqq q q� q� � 86 Bar 4+6 q Figure 3: Small Wave The Moldau ����� 6 �� � � � Bar 6+7+8 �� � ��� Figure 4: Small Wave 9th Symphony This example contains a small wave. 1 All snippets of The Moldau from Score Ernst Eulenberg, London-Zürich No. 472. Public Domain. 2 All snippets of 9th Symphony from Score NMS 10649 Copyright © 1989 by AB Nordiska Musikförlaget, Stockholm and © Internationale Musikverlage Hans Sikorski. 2 Example 3. Advanced Beginning II qqqq �q��� � 86 Bar 4+6 qq Figure 5: Descent The Moldau � �� ��� �� � 3333 �� � � � �� �� � � � Bar 8+13+14+16+17 � �� �� Figure 6: Descent 9th Symphony This example contains a descent. The three elements shown in the examples are building later in a large wave, consisting of a synthesis of an ascent, a little wave and a descent. The components were also combined in several other sequences. Both opuses are musically describing a river source. In Pettersson’s symphony, the water rises in a hostile, surreal mountain scenery from the bottom of the rock and is making small but steadily its way, Smetana’s opus is carefree and naive. The landscape is different. The Moldau originates in the tranquil Bohemian Forest near the Czech border with Austria. Claim. Both opuses deal with a musical description of a river source. 3 Former Influences of The Moldau: Gigue Georg Philipp Telemann Hamburger Ebb’ und Fluth, Gigue aus Wassermusik TWV 55:C3 (Figure 7)3. Example. Cascading Ascent. qq q qq q q q q � �q q q�qq� q qq� � Bar 9 86�� q q qq qq qq Figure 7: Telemann Gigue from Water Music Analysis Accompaniment Viola qqqq qqqq Bar 28 8 6�� q qqq Figure 8: The Moldau Accompaniment Viola This Accompaniment is musically related to the Second Source of The Moldau (Figure 52). ���� 3 3 3 3 ��� Bar 6 �� � ��� � Figure 9: 9th Symphony Accompaniment Viola Exact citation except for the pitch shift by a second. 3 Arrangement for 2 Trumpets and Organ Michel Rondeau Creative Commons Attribution 3.0. 4 Variant Cascade The Moldau: Moonlight Dance of the Nymphs (Luna. Fej rusálek) Use of the Motive in Figure 8. Played by two flutes. Example. Cascading Ascent. q q qq q q q q q�q q qq� � ��� � Bar 185 q qqq Figure 10: The Moldau Moonlight Dance of the Nymphs 9th Symphony Example. Cascading Descent. � �� �� �� � � �� � � �� � �� �� � �� �� ��� � Bar 218 �� � � � �� �� � Figure 11: Cascading Descent 9th Symphony 5 Other Waves (Excerpt) The Moldau q�qq qqq Bar 49 86 �� sempre ondeggiante q qqq Figure 12: Wave I The Moldau qqq qq qqqBar 380 86 ����� q qqq Figure 13: Wave II The Moldau Smetana uses in The Moldau the musical instruction ondeggiante (»wave-like«, »wogend«). 6 9th Symphony � � �� � �� �� � �� ��� � Bar 122 � ��� �� Figure 14: Wave I 9th Symphony � ��� � �� � � � 33333 � �� � �� �� ��� � Bar 81 �� �� � ����� � Figure 15: Wave II 9th Symphony � �� � � � 6 � � ��� �� � � Bar 279 � � �� �� Figure 16: Wave III 9th Symphony � �� ���� � �� � 3 3 3 �� �� �� �� �� � ��� � Bar 1173 � �� �� �� �� Figure 17: Wave IV 9th Symphony Compare also to Carl Nielsen’s Symphonic Waves.[3] 7 Analysis Ack Värmeland Melody »Large Wave« Example 4. Main theme The Moldau Melody = Ack Värmeland 4 q��q� � q� � q � q q � q�� 86 �� q�q� q q q� q� q� �qq�qq � q �q� q�� 5 q� q� q Figure 18: The Moldau Melody »large wave« The Moldau Melody (Figure 18) has an ascending line (2 bars), followed by a slightly varied descending line (4 bars). In tone painting [6][2], one could describe this as »wide large wave«. Note the relationship to the small wave (Figure 3). The rondo-like repetitive main theme is a melody that was first used in the Italian Renaissance in the 17th Century song La Mantovana and was later used in the Swedish folksong Ack Värmeland and the Israeli national anthem Hatikva slightly modified.5 q �� � q � ��� � �� � q �� � �� �� 86 Bar 379 � q � � � q �� ����q�q q��� �9 � �� �� � q q� � ���q � Figure 19: The Moldau Vyšehrad Motive Vyšehrad6 Motive (Figure 19): In outlines ascent. Descent in 5 distinct steps. 4 Värmland is a historical province or landskap in the west of middle Sweden. (Wikipedia) 5 Wikipedia. 6 Vyšehrad is a castle located in the city of Prague, Czech Republic. It was probably built in the 10th century, on a hill over the Vltava River. (Wikipedia) 8 The reference of Smetana’s Czech opus to Sweden is given via the folksong Ack Värme- land. Smetana lived some time in Gothenburg7, Sweden. From 1856 to 1860 he was conductor of the Gothenburg Philharmonic Society8. The reason for the citation of the folksong by Smetana in The Moldau is probably that Ack Värmeland is in tone painting a »large wave«. Ack Värmeland Ack Värmland, du sköna, du härliga land, du krona bland Svea rikes länder! Och komme jag än mitt i det förlovade land, till Värmland jag ändå återvänder. Ja, där vill jag leva, ja, där vill jag dö. Om en gång ifrån Värmland jag tager mig en mö, så vet jag att aldrig jag mig ångrar. I Värmland är lustigt att leva och att bo, Det landet jag prisar så gärna Där klappar det hjärtan med heder och med tro Så fasta som bergenas kärna Och var och en svensk uti Svea rikes land Som kommer att gästa vid Klarälvens strand han finner blott bröder och systrar I Värmland – ja, där vill jag bygga och bo, med enklaste lycka förnöjder. Dess dalar och skog ge mig tystnadens ro, och luften är frisk på dess höjder. Och forsarna sjunga sin ljuvliga sång – vid den vill jag somna så stilla en gång och vila i värmländska jorden. ~ q q � �� q q � �� q �� � �� � � ���� � Part 1 � q q q� � �� �q�� � � �q �� �� � � 4 � q � � �q�� � qq ��q q q qq ��q q � �� q� q� � Part 2 q q qqq Figure 20: Ack Värmeland 7 In Swedish: Göteborg. 8 In Swedish: Harmoniska sällskapet. 9 9th Symphony The first ascending line and then in three (four) steps descending line (large wave) is also present in the finale of the 9th Symphony (Figure 21). The melodies of the finale (I + II) are variants of the Ack Värmeland melody. (Figure 20) � � �� �� � � � � 66 6 �� �� � � �� ��� 23 Bar 2035 � �� � �� � �� �� �� �� 3 � ��� � � �2 � �� � � �� � Figure 21: Melody I in the Finale of 9th Symphony Tune I of the Finale shows clear references to the folk song. The chromatic rising and the leaking down, accomplished in three (four) stages. A distinct wave is clearly visible. A strong, broad wave. The citation can be interpreted as commitment Pettersson’s to his native Sweden and a dedication to Smetana. q� �q�q� �q ���q�q Bar 2097 24� �q �q�q ��q å �å �å �å�å �å� � � å� �å �� � å� �å 3 � å� å� �å �å� �å � Figure 22: Finale of 9th Symphony Expanded Variation of Melody I. Descent in 4 steps and a turn9. 9 Ornament (music): A turn is a short figure consisting of the note above the one indicated, the note itself, the note below the one indicated, and the note itself again. (Wikipedia) 10 � �� ���� � �� ��� �� � �� �� ���� 24 Bar 2077 � �� � � Figure 23: Melody II in the Finale of 9th Symphony Melody II is more far away from the original material. A small leaking out wave. Reduced ascent. Relationship to the reduced ascent of the Vyšehrad Motive in The Moldau (Figure 19). Descent with 2 turns. Comparable to Bar 2097 of 9th Symphony (Figure 22). The amplitude is reduced to a diminished fourth (E/A[). Figure 21 - Figure 23 shows exemplary the evolution of thematic material in Pettersson’s 9th Symphony. The Moldau closes in freeing E major. The 9th Symphony in the »pastoral key«10 F major.[4] Continuous stream The Moldau and Pettersson’s 9th Symphony are organized in one part without breaks. This unbroken musical current represents the continuous flowing of a river. Claim. Both opuses deal with a musical description of a river or stream. 10 Symphony No. 6 in F major, Op. 68, also known as the Pastoral Symphony (German Pastoral-Sinfonie), is a symphony composed by Ludwig van Beethoven, and was completed in 1808. This symphony is a precursor of later program music. Beethoven describes the impressions of an (urban) people in a natural and pastoral (= rural) based environment. (Wikipedia) 11 Smetana’s The Moldau Bedřich Smetana composed in 1874 his symphonic poem The Moldau (Vltava) (Figure 2411). The composition is an example of program music with tone painting. The Moldau (Vltava) is part of the cycle My Country (Ma Vlast) and is in the Czech Republic a national shrine. The composition describes the course of the Vltava (Figure 2512 and Figure 2613), starting from the two small springs, the Cold and Warm Vltava, to the unification of both streams into a single current, the course of the Vltava through woods and meadows, through landscapes where a farmer’s wedding is celebrated, the round dance of the mermaids in the night’s moonshine: on the nearby rocks loom proud castles, palaces and ruins aloft. The Vltava swirls into the St John’s Rapids; then it widens and flows toward Prague, past the Vyšehrad, and then majestically vanishes into the distance, ending at the Labe (or Elbe, in German).14 Bedřich Smetana Construction The Moldau 1. The source of the Vltava (První pramen Vltavy) 2. Hunt in the woods (Lesni honba) 3. County wedding (Venkovska svatba) 4. Moonlight dance of the nymphs (Luna. Fej rusálek) 5. St John’s Rapids (Svatojánské proudy) 6. The broad flow of the Vltava (Široký tok Vltavy) (Duration: 12’) 11 Score Public Domain. 12 Pim van Tend, Creative Commons License Attribution 3.0 Unported. 13 Public Domain. 14 Wikipedia. 12 Figure 24: Score The Moldau (Beginning) 13 Figure 25: Studená Vltava (Cold Moldau) Figure 26: Vltava 14 Postulate Conjecture. Pettersson’s 9th Symphony describes similar to Smetana’s The Moldau the course of a river. The River – From Source to Mouth 15 At the Source Beginning to 102, mountain scenery, coming from the deep earth, dancing legs, small-scale motion, soloist, reduced staff (Figure 27)16 Figure 27: Joseph Mallord William Turner Gotthard (1804) 15 When listening to the symphony intuitively sensed impressions. 16 All Turner paintings Public Domain. 15 The Brook 102 to 572, first rhythmic elements, repetitive chromatic runs, moderate, slow running pace, but still fresh, still fragmented, low kinetic energy, but high potential energy Figure 28: Joseph Mallord William Turner Ivy Bridge (1813) Rapids, White Water 572-870, pronounced rhythm, drums, short concise signals, dynamic, powerful acceleration and compression, dramatic, fighting, high kinetic energy, turbulence, see also 10th Symphony center section Figure 29: Joseph Mallord William Turner The Devil’s Bridge St. Gotthard (1803/1804) 16 The River From 871, calming, widening, eventful, varied, narrative, sometimes lyrical and quiet moving, sometimes dramatic and pathetic parts in rapid succession Figure 30: Joseph Mallord William Turner Scene of the Loire (1826-30) Figure 31: Joseph Mallord William Turner Warkworth Castle, Northumberland (1799) 17 A broad, large River 1799, polyphonic, majestic, broad Figure 32: Joseph Mallord William Turner The Rotterdam to Dordrecht mobile packet boat in a downturn (1818) Estuary 2077, wide, wide spreading, quiet, low flow rate, powerful, stationary, delta, opening wide, either potential or kinetic energy, solemn. Figure 33 shows the Thames estuary. Figure 33: Joseph Mallord William Turner The Fighting Temeraire tugged to her last Berth to be broken up (1838) 18 Discussion Structure of both Compositions The Moldau (Vltava) and the 9th Symphony are conceptually very similar. The formal structures show strong parallels. This is because the topic is identical. In detail there are differences in the order of the sections. In Pettersson’s 9th Symphony the white water rapids are in the first half of the composition, while the St John Rapids (Svatojánské proudy) appear in Vltava near at the end. It is obvious that Pettersson describes in his opus another river. Since Pettersson cited the folksong Ack Värmeland it is likely that he portrayed a Swedish river, which flows through Värmland17. In question is the river system Rogen-Trysilelva-Klarälven-Göta älv. Göta älv flows into the Kattegat at Gothenburg. The Rogen (Swedish Röa, South Sami: Rovje) is a wild river in the Swedish- Norwegian border area. Rogen drains the lake of the same name. The lake itself is fed by several source streams. The river flows rapid and lonely through a mountainous region, there is no road access. Rogen breaks through the Femundsmarka and flows in the Femund lake. Trysilelva: The snow-fed river brings in clean and fresh water with mild rapids best suited for rafters, especially the beginners. The southern segments of the Trysilelva River, comprising of peaceful white waters set the dream conditions for family trips. Here, you will get rapids of Class II, along with the stunning scenic beauty of nature. As you pass along the Elgfossen rapids, the waters will certainly tickle your stomach and the foaming white waters are bound to drench you! The Klarälven (Figure 45)18 is in the upper reaches a wild river, through the lonely forest, mountain passes and hills. In the lower reaches, he is a tame river, only the last section flows through densely built-up areas. The Göta älv is a river that drains lake Vänern into the Kattegat at the city of Gothenburg on the western coast of Sweden. It is located in Götaland, with the river itself being a site of early Geatish settlement. The length is 93 km. Often the combination of Göta älv and Klarälven (a river ending at Vänern) is mentioned. This combination is the longest river in the Nordic countries, 750 km. The Bohus Fortress is located by the river at Kungälv. Here the river splits into two, with the northern part being the Nordre älv and the southern part keeping the name Göta älv.19 A masterpiece, that the city of Gothenburg has received at the 350th Anniversary. 17 Värmland is a historical province or landskap in the west of middle Sweden. (Wikipedia) 18 Public Domain. 19 All citations except no. 2 from Wikipedia, no. 2 from a rafting site. 19 Detailed Analysis White Water Rapids Smetana’s The Moldau St John’s Rapids (Svatojánské proudy) Example. Bar 271ff. Three basic dramaturgic elements beside main theme. Motives, Runs and Timpani at the same time. Motives Directed short signals. q � �q �q� ��� ��q�Flauti �� � 86 Bar 275 q�q � Figure 34: The Moldau Motive in St John’s Rapids qq � � qqqqBar 287 86 �� qCorni qqq Figure 35: The Moldau Rhythm Motive in St John’s Rapids Runs Endless dense runs of waves. Strings. q q qq� q q� q� q q q��q q q Viola q � � 8 6 Bar 271 �q q ��q q Figure 36: The Moldau Runs in St John’s Rapids 20 Timpani ��� �� Bar 271 8 6� � �� Figure 37: The Moldau Timpani in St John’s Rapids 21 Pettersson’s 9th Symphony Example. Bar 577ff. Three basic dramaturgic elements. Motives, Runs and Drums at the same time. Motives Directed short signals repeated in fast succession. � � � �� � � 33 � �� ��� � � �Tromboni � � � Bar 669 � �� ��� � Figure 38: 9th Symphony Motives in White Water Runs Endless dense, turbulent chromatic runs of expanded waves (Cascading ascent and descent). Clarinet, Viola. q q� qq� q� �q q qq q qq� � Bar 667 � q� q� q� q ~ � �� � �� � �~ ��~ � �668 � ~ � ~ � � �� � q� q� qq� q � q qq� q� q q� q669 � q � q� qq q�q �q�q� qq� qq �q�� q q q� 670 q q qq� Figure 39: 9th Symphony Runs in White Water Drums Intensive drum use. Tamburo militare (Military Drum). q q qq q q qq q qq�qq �q Bar 668 � �� Figure 40: 9th Symphony Drum Rhythm in White Water 22 Lakes in Pettersson’s 9th Symphony Lake Vänern The Swedish river Klarälven-Göta Älv flows through several lakes. The biggest is Lake Vänern. Klarälven flows in Vänern and Göta Älv drains the lake. How does Pettersson describe the lake? The occurrence of the lake must be near the end of the score. Since half of the lake belongs to Värmland, the musical description should be near the occurrence of Ack Värmeland Melody at Bar 2035. % �� � % � � �� � � � ��� �� � �H %� 23 �� 23 Bar 2035 � �� � � � % Figure 41: Musical description of Lake Vänern in 9th Symphony q� q� q�� � � �q q � q�q� q� q��� 2 3 Bar 2035 q� q� �q Figure 42: Underlying Rhythm in Finale of 9th Symphony It’s a kind of slow march music rhythm. The passage is from Bar 2035 to Bar 2060. The musical description of passing a lake seems to be repeating notes of same pitch or repeating alternation between two adjacent notes (small amplitude). 23 Final Cadence Smetana’s The Moldau ends in a perfect authentic cadence20. B major precedes E major [D7 (V)21 - T (I)22], two quarter notes in fortissimo. � �� �� �� � sf � � � � � ���� ��� �� � ff �� � H � ���� 86 � ���� 86 Bar 425 � � � � � Figure 43: Perfect Authentic Cadence The Moldau Pettersson’s 9th Symphony ends in a plagal cadence23. Here is in the highest voice an anticipated tonic (F) and the lower (bass) voice moving up a perfect fifth (B[/F). This is called a perfect plagal cadence. B[ major precedes F major [S (IV)24 - T (I)], two (lunga) fermata in piano. �� �� � � p Bar 2144 24� p� 24� � ��� � H � � Figure 44: Plagal Cadence 9th Symphony 20 The perfect authentic cadence is generally the strongest type of cadence and often found at structurally defining moments. »This strong cadence achieves complete harmonic and melodic closure.« (Wikipedia) 21 A dominant seventh chord (D7), or major minor seventh chord, is a chord composed of a root, major third, perfect fifth, and minor seventh. (Wikipedia) 22 The tonic (T) is the first scale degree of a diatonic scale and the tonal center or final resolution tone. (Wikipedia) 23 A plagal cadence is a falling cadence in which a subdominant chord precedes the tonic (Wiktionary) 24 The subdominant (S) is the technical name for the fourth tonal degree of the diatonic scale. (Wikipedia) 24 This was interpreted as a final Amen, because the cadence is often used at the end of hymns in Christian churches for the harmony of this word. Another interpretation is, that a plagal cadence is a weak closure [9, p.407] with a decrease of tension [10]. This suggests a partly open, gentle and unforced ending, corresponding to the estuary of the river Göta Älv. 25 Figure 45: Klarälven Context with other Pettersson-Symphonies The »river from source to mouth« topic is a variant of the topic of the 6th Symphony. Topic of this symphony is »life from birth to death«. Both symphonies are a pair. They build beginning and end of Pettersson’s major work period. Stylistic Classification One could be of the opinion that Pettersson’s 9th Symphony is an impressionist opus. This is partly correct. But there are also strong expressionist features. Not only subjective sensations are absorbed, the observer changes also into an active, commentating role. This two-way dialogue between human and environment, action and reaction, characterizes this symphony. The man collects in Pettersson’s musical cosmos a variety of impressions, but also shows a wide range of emotions, ranging from choleric, irascible outbursts to gentle, lyrical, introspective episodes. He describes not only the river, he drives on him as skipper. Pettersson succeeds the synthesis of impressionism and expressionism. 26 The Opus • Symphony No. 9 – Allan Pettersson * 19 September 1911 in Västra Ryds församling, Upplands-Bro † 20 June 1980 in Stockholm – Composition: 1970 – Premiere: 18. February 1971, Sergiu Comissiona, Gothenburg Symphony Orches- tra (350th Anniversary of the Founding of the City of Gothenburg) – Dedication: For the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra and its chief conductor Sergiu Comissiona – Staff: 3*/2/3*/3* 4/3/3/1 1/5/0 strings – Score: NMS – Duration: 65’-70’ Mayer Werkverzeichnis – One Movement, 2145 measures – Work group 5-9, major work 27 Discography [A] Sergiu Comissiona and Göteborgs Symphoniker. Sinfonie Nr. 9 (1970). Philips 6767951 (2LP), (1987), 1977-06-08 to 1977-06-10:Göteborg, Konserthuset, June 1977. 83’58. [B] Alun Francis and Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin. Sinfonie Nr. 9 (1970). cpo 999 231-2 (1994), 1993-08-09 to 1993-08-13:Berlin, Sender freies Berlin, August 1993. 69’52. [C] Christian Lindberg and Norrköping Symphony Orchestra. Symphony No. 9 (1970). BIS-SACD-2038 (2013-12-04), 2013-01-16 to 2013-01-21:Norrköping, Sweden, Louis de Geer Concert Hall, January 2013. 69’40. [A] 888 [B] 888 [C] 88888 28 Discography [1] Leif Aare. Allan Pettersson. Mysdker o främling i samhället [Symfoni Nr. 9, K teatern]. Program book, May 1976. Operans programböcker spelåret 1975/76, Nr. 10, 1976-05-25 and 1976-05-26. [2] Johann Jacob Engel. Über die musikalische Malerei. In Schriften (Reden. Ästhetische Versuche), volume IV. Berlin, 1802. 8 [3] Daniel Grimley. Nielsen’s Symphonic Waves. Energetics, the Sinfonia Espansiva, and German Music Theory. In Carl Nielsen Studies, volume IV, pages 43–54. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing, Copenhagen: The Royal Library, ISBN-13: 978-1-4094-0522-1, 2009. 190 pp. 7 [4] Peter Gülke. Protest, Vergeblichkeit, verweigerte Resignation: Gedanken beim Studium von Allan Petterssons Neunter Sinfonie. Das Orchester: Zeitschrift für Orchesterkultur und Rundfunk-Chorwesen, 43(1):7–11, January 1995. ISSN: 0030-4468, [5]. 11 [5] Peter Gülke. Protest, Vergeblichkeit, verweigerte Resignation: Gedanken beim Studium von Allan Petterssons Neunter Sinfonie. In Die Sprache der Musik. Essays zur Musik von Bach bis Holliger, pages 445–451. Kassel: Bärenreiter & Stuttgart: Metzler, September 2001. 456 pp., ISBN-10: 3-7618-2025-9, ISBN-13: 978-3-7618-2025-4. ISBN-10: 3-476- 01862-8, [4]. [6] Paul Mies. Über die Tonmalerei. Zeitschrift für Ästhetik und Allgemeine Kunst- wissenschaft, VII(3):397–450, 1912. Max Dessoir, Stuttgart: Verlag von Ferdinand Enke. 8 [7] Mechthild Nicolin, editor. Musik von Allan Pettersson: Konzerte 1994/95 und ein Symposion. Sekretariat für gemeinsame Kulturarbeit in Nordrhein-Westfalen, Wuppertal, 1994. 150 pp. [8] Paul Rapoport. First Performances, Symphony No. 9. Tempo (New Series), 118:42–50, September 1976. ISSN: 1478-2286. [9] Burton S. Rosner and Eugene Narmour. Closure: Music Theory and Perception. Music Perception, 9(4):383–411, 1992. 25 [10] Deborah Stein. The Expansion of the Subdominant in the Late Nineteenth Century. Journal of Music Theory, 27(2):153–180, 1983. 25 [11] Christopher A. Williams. Allan Pettersson and the post- Sibelian modernist alternative: the 9th Symphony’s maximalist minimalism. Paper read 14 October 1995 at the 16th Annual New Music and Art Festival (Bowling Green, OH) To be published in: Contemporary Music Forum, October 1995. [12] Marko Zdralek. Pettersson, Allan: Die verwirrende Logik der Natur, analytische Annäherungen an Allan Petterssons 9. Sinfonie (1970). Zulassungsarbeit, Hochschule für Musik, Würzburg, 2000. 155 pp. 29 Appendix Waveforms Figure 46: Waveform The Moldau (12’36) Figure 47: Waveform 9th Symphony (69’52) 30 Tempo Profile 0 20 40 60 80 100 0 500 1000 1500 2000 2500 h a lf n o te s p e r m in u te Bar Tempo profile Pettersson 9th Symphony Figure 48: Tempo profile 9th Symphony Bedřich Smetana in Gothenburg (1856-1861) In October 1856 Smetana left Prague, because of political reasons and moved to Gothen- burg in Sweden. He worked as a piano teacher and gave in the following month his first recital. In December 1856 Smetana opened a demanded and successful music school. He became conductor of an important choral society and performed orchestral concerts. Smetana appointed director of the Gothenburg Philharmonic (Philharmonic Society of Gothenburg) and was popular and respected for his conducting and piano playing. Since 1857 he composed symphonic poems and large-scale orchestral works. Smetana finished his tone poem Richard III in 1858, followed by Wallenstein’s Camp and Hakon Jarl. He made several journeys back to Bohemia. During a journey his wife Katarina died on April 19, 1859 in Dresden, because of tuberculosis.25 25 Summary of several internet sources. 31 Detailed Analysis Pettersson 9th Symphony Comparison with Smetana’s The Moldau (Vltava) Analysis of Bar 4 + 5 6 � ��� � � �� �6 ��� ��� � Bar 4+5 �� �� � Figure 49: 9th Symphony Bar 4 + 5 The 9th Symphony starts with an accumulating ascent containing three parts. The last part (Part 3, Bar 4 + 5) is shown in Figure 49. This section will be discussed in detail later. These two bars were played in 9th Symphony by the first violins. The ascent of 12 notes can be divided in 2 parts a 6 notes or in 4 parts each containing 3 notes. First Source The Czech river Moldau (Vltava) has two sources, the Cold and the Warm Moldau. Figure 50 represents the musical depiction of the First Source of Smetana’s The Moldau. qq q q � �q� � 86 Bar 1 qq Figure 50: The Moldau First Source The first part of the considered section of 9th Symphony (Figure 49) is emphasized in Figure 51. 6 q qq� q � �� q6 q�� ��� � Bar 4+5 �� �� � Figure 51: 9th Symphony Bar 4 (Part I emphasized) First part of Bar 4 in the 9th Symphony corresponds to the First Source of The Moldau. In detail there is a small variation (fis instead of expected f). 32 Second Source Bar 16 of The Moldau symbolizes the Second Source of the Czech river. qqq q q�q� � 86 Bar 16 q Figure 52: The Moldau Second Source The second part of the considered section of 9th Symphony (Figure 49) is emphasized in Figure 53. 6 � ��� � � �� �6 � q� q�� � Bar 4+5 q� qq q Figure 53: 9th Symphony Bar 4 (Part II emphasized) Figure 52 and Figure 53 can be divided in following basic subunits: Second Source (First Unit) qqq q q�q� � 86 Bar 16 q Figure 54: The Moldau Second Source (Elementary Unit I emphasized) 6 q �q� q � �� �6 � q� q�� � Bar 4+5 q� qq q Figure 55: 9th Symphony Bar 4 (Part II, Unit II emphasized) 33 Second Source (Second Unit) qqq q q�q� � 86 Bar 16 q Figure 56: The Moldau Second Source (Elementary Unit I emphasized) 6 � q�� � � �� q6 q q� q�� � Bar 4+5 q� qq q Figure 57: 9th Symphony Bar 4 (Part II, Unit I emphasized) In Pettersson’s 9th Symphony the sequence of the elementary units are reversed compared to Smetana’s Second Source. Both units have different pitch. Summary In overall all 4 subunits of the analyzed ascent in Pettersson’s 9th Symphony are different, in agreement with the fact, that the Swedish river Rogen-Klarälven has several sources. Further Usage Example. Further usage in 9th Symphony: ��� ��� �� 6 ���� Bar 1875 23� �� � ��� �� Figure 58: 9th Symphony Further Usage 34 Works about River • Ludwig van Beethoven Symphony No. 6 »Pastorale« in F Major, op. 68, Move- ment 2 »Scene by the brook« • Aaron Copland Old American Songs Set 2, At the River • Frederick Delius Summer Night on the River • Ferde Grofe Mississippi Suite • Darius Milhaud26 Symphony No. 8 »Rhodanienne«27, op. 362, 195728 1. Avec mystère et violence 2. Avec sérénité et nonchalance 3. Avec emportement 4. Rapide et majestueux • Bedřich Smetana The Moldau from Ma Vlast (My Country) • Johann Strauss II An der schönen blauen Donau • Virgil Thomson Suite from The River • Xian Xinghai The Yellow River Cantata29 26 1951-52 Pettersson studied composition in Paris with Milhaud. 27 The Rhone is one of the major rivers of Europe, rising in Switzerland and running from there through southeastern France. (Wikipedia) 28 This composition was initiated and influenced by Smetana’s The Moldau. 29 See also: Yellow River Piano Concerto. 35 Works around Water, Sea • Ludwig van Beethoven Symphony No. 6 »Pastorale« in F Major, op. 68, Move- ment 4 »The Thunderstorm« • Benjamin Britten Four Sea Interludes from Peter Grimes • Frederic Chopin Prelude, op. 28, no. 15, »The Raindrop« • Claude Debussy La cathédrale engloutie, La Mer, Reflets dans l’eau • Sir Edward Elgar Sea Slumber Song from Sea Pictures, Op. 37 • Georg Friedrich Händel Wassermusik • Jacques Ibert Escales • Jonathan Green Symphony No. 3, Movement 4 »Water« • Todd Levin Swirl • Maurice Ravel Jeux d’eau • Ottorino Respighi Fountains of Rome • Richard Rodgers Victory at Sea • Giacchino Rossini Overture to William Tell • Camille Saint-Saëns Aquarium from Carnival of the Animals • Franz Schubert Die Forelle op. 32, D550 • Georg Philipp Telemann Hamburger Ebb’ und Fluth • Ralph Vaughan Williams Sea Symphony • Antonio Vivaldi 2 Concerti, RV 253 and 433, La Tempesta di mare 36 Klarälven Map Figure 59: Map showing Klarälven Area 30 30 GNU Free Documentation License, Wikipedia, User: Obli. 37 
work_g74m2o2prrc23gagfihi3yusfu	----	www.hks.harvard.edu Risky Business: Commissioning Portraits in Renaissance Italy Faculty Research Working Paper Series Jonathan K. Nelson Syracuse University Florence and Harvard Kennedy School Richard Zeckhauser Harvard Kennedy School July 2019 RWP19-024 Visit the HKS Faculty Research Working Paper Series at: https://www.hks.harvard.edu/research-insights/publications?f%5B0%5D=publication_types%3A121 The views expressed in the HKS Faculty Research Working Paper Series are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect those of the John F. Kennedy School of Government or of Harvard University. Faculty Research Working Papers have not undergone formal review and approval. Such papers are included in this series to elicit feedback and to encourage debate on important public policy challenges. Copyright belongs to the author(s). Papers may be downloaded for personal use only. https://www.hks.harvard.edu/research-insights/publications?f%5B0%5D=publication_types%3A121 1 Risky Business: Commissioning Portraits in Renaissance Italy‡ Jonathan K. Nelson∗ and Richard Zeckhauser† Abstract Portraits served as a form of social media in the Renaissance. Prominent individuals commissioned portraits to convey their accomplishments and relationships, not merely their images. Political and church leaders, in particular, used the images to bolster their role, but these commissioned works entailed risks, importantly including risks to reputation. A portrait could be unflattering or unrecognizable. It could also be judged to be indecorous, especially if the portrait was perceived as an attempt to elevate an individual above his or her station. The artist-patron relationship was one between principal and agent. The time gap between commission and delivery brought risks. The work might be delayed, or simply not delivered. Both were significant risks with both Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo. Portraits by other artists might turn out to be of low quality or violate decorum. In either case, the reputation of both patron and artist would suffer. A number of salient examples of portraits gone wrong are analyzed in this essay. We mention two here. Elisabetta, mistress of Roberto Malatesta, the last of a long line of rulers of Rimini, became regent when Roberto died unexpectedly. She was guardian of their two minor sons and succeeded to power when Roberto’s brother’s plot to murder her and her elder son failed. Elisabetta then commissioned an altarpiece by Domenico Ghirlandaio for a famed local church. It was intended not only to show her devotion, but also, and strategically important, to publicly affirm her status as ruler, and her source of legitimacy as mother. She had herself depicted in the place of honor, in an outward gaze (unusual for a female patron) and nearly a head taller than her son. The deviations from the norm in the way she was portrayed, if widely accepted, would elevate Elisabetta, but such deviations elevated risks as well. Domenico died and his brother, hardly his equal in skill, took over. Elisabetta took another risk and demanded a price reduction, then accepted binding arbitration. The arbiter granted that quality had suffered and cut the price, but he also noted the departures from decorum in the composition. The reputation of the painting, artist, and presumably the patron, suffered. About twenty years later, when the Malatestas were driven from Rimini, the donors’ portraits were painted out. Francesco del Giocondo commissioned a portrait of his wife, (Mona) Lisa, which has become the most famous portrait of all time. But the story does not end happily for Francesco. Instead of delivering the painting to the original patron, Leonardo kept it and later described it to Cardinal ‡ In Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, thematic issue, “Bad Reception: Negative Reactions to Italian Renaissance Art,” ed. by Diletta Gamberini, Jonathan K. Nelson, and Alessandro Nova, forthcoming. ∗ Syracuse University Florence, and Harvard Kennedy School Research Fellow † Harvard Kennedy School 2 Luigi of Aragon as commissioned by Giuliano de’Medici. The portrait was criticized in its time for many of its highly innovative features that are prized today. Scandal also surrounded the portrait. It served as a prototype for the so-called Mona Vanna, a topless portrait, also due to Leonardo. A final unfortunate tale reemerged a few years ago, in a letter from 1515. Two prominent Florentines, including Duke Giuliano’s nephew Lorenzo, de facto ruler of Florence, made advances to Lisa del Giocondo. She refused. But the suggestion arises that the Mona Vanna was made for the erotic pleasure of Giuliano or Lorenzo de Medici. Commissioning a portrait, as a venture into social media, always brought risks in the Renaissance. Those risks were magnified then, as they are today, when sex and power mixed together with the social medium message. 3 The history of portraiture in the Italian Renaissance is usually presented as a happy sequence of successes. Prominent individuals would commission art that showcased their best qualities. The works would delight the patrons, the artists, and the viewers. The cultural patrimony of the world would be increased and, centuries later, fondly celebrated. But just as accounts of wars are disproportionately written by the victors, the successful fruits of Italian Renaissance patronage tended to be prominently displayed, approvingly admired, discussed by the patrons and artists, and written up favorably by their contemporaries and ours. Works that dissatisfied their patrons, by contrast, tended to get lost to history. Giorgio Vasari, in his Lives of the Artists, discussed far more successful commissions than he did failures. Though individual portraits that caused their subjects displeasure or shame are occasionally mentioned in studies of the patrons or artists, such unsuccessful works have never been studied systematically as a group. Consequently, standard assessments of Italian Renaissance commissions convey an unrealistically favorable picture. That is, the roster of familiar portraits (and other images) vastly exaggerates the ratio of successes to failures, because the failures of the patronage process tended to be hidden and forgotten. In response, the risks inherent in having one’s portrait rendered in Renaissance Italy have been woefully underestimated.1 Risk, which in common parlance refers to the possibility of losing something of value, includes two elements: an event’s probability, or likelihood of happening, and its consequences.2 For this reason, we identify a different conception of the term ‘risk’ than does Suzanne Blier, in her recent book on Art and Risk in Ancient Yoruba. Her central thesis is that, “Risk spurred […] artists (and patrons) into thinking about materials, techniques, and art forms in striking new 1 Informal tallies tend to ignore what decision theorists call selection bias. 2 Economists and decision theorists often employ ‘risk’ in a more technical fashion, referring to situations where the outcome is unknown but the probabilities of possible outcomes are known, such as flipping a coin. ‘Uncertainty’ applies when probabilities are unknown, such as whether a patron will approve a commissioned portrait. ‘Ignorance’ describes situations where even the possible outcomes are unknown, such as the fate of the Mona Lisa, discussed below. See Richard J. Zeckhauser, “Investing in the Unknown and Unknowable”, in: Capitalism and Society I (2006), pp. 1-39. 4 ways.” 3 We are familiar with risks that involve money, such as investments that go bad or losses that are readily compensable with money, such as wrecked cars. However, some losses, such as the loss of one’s good name, or what Pierre Bourdieu famously called ‘symbolic capital,’ are difficult to measure in monetary terms. For both patrons and artists in Renaissance Italy, the loss of reputation was a consequential risk associated with a portrait. A portrait that would be on public view, as in a palazzo, church, or town square, entailed a particularly heavy risk of reputational loss. To facilitate our comparison of highly heterogeneous examples in Italy, from the late fifteenth- through the late sixteenth-century, we establish three broad categories of possible risks to patrons: the quality of the representation, the timeliness of its completion, and the acceptability of its message. First, a prime goal of portraits was to present the individual in a manner both recognizable and favorable. A Renaissance term synonymous with “to portray” was contraffare, which implies an exact reproduction.4 Nevertheless, Renaissance patrons knew what Aristotle had written about good portrait painters in his Poetics (1454b. 9-11): “They, while reproducing the distinctive form of the original, make a likeness which is true to life and yet more beautiful.” The verisimilitude of a portrait was closely wrapped up with the question of quality, as noted in already ancient poems.5 The requirement that the sitter’s features be both accurate and flattering frequently created tension. The second category of risk to the patron involved the timeliness of the portrait’s completion. Many commissioned works of art were delivered late, and some not at all. Most documented criticisms of Italian Renaissance portraits that disappointed their patrons address the quality or the timeliness of the commission. 3 Suzanne Preston Blier, Art and Risk in Ancient Yoruba: Ife History, Power, and Identity, c.1300, Cambridge UK/New York, 2015, p.17. 4 Joost Keizer, “Portrait and Imprint in Fifteenth-Century Italy”, in: Art History XXXVIII (2015), pp. 10-37:31. He cites a 1493 letter of Isabella d’Este Isabella d’Este, who complained about the difficulty of finding portrait painters who “contrafaciano el vulto naturale”. 5 See anonymous for the Greek distich by Leonidas of Alexandria, and the Roman epigram by Lucillius. Also see discussion of an anonymous Greek epigram that criticized a portrait because it accurately depicted the unattractive features of the sitter. 5 The third type of patronal risk involved a somewhat different type of requirement: paintings and sculptures needed to convey an appropriate message. At times, however, portraits were deemed to be confusing, unpopular, or indecorous. Such failings often resulted from the selection, pose, placement, or attributes of the individuals portrayed. Patrons and their contemporaries who perceived failings in any of these perhaps subtle and subjective matters might express disapproval by criticizing, rejecting, damaging, or even destroying a portrait. An unacceptable message could be conveyed by an otherwise excellent portrait that honored a political leader who had fallen out of favor or even been deposed. To cite but two prominent examples, drawings alone survive of Leonardo da Vinci’s statue of Francesco Sforza, Duke of Milan; even less remains of Michelangelo’s bronze statue of Pope Julius II.6 On occasion, political upheavals could lead to a form of damnatio memoriae, the condemnation of memory. In 1330, a marble tomb in the cathedral of Arezzo celebrated events from the life of Guido Tarlati, Lord of Arezzo.7 A decade later, when popular sentiment turned against this ruler, his image was chipped away from the monument. Risks to Italian Renaissance artists were inextricably linked to those of their patrons. That interweaving is captured by the principal-agent model, which plays a prominent role in such fields as economics and political science.8 Modern lawyers and dressmakers, like Renaissance artists, are agents whose responsibility is to act on behalf of the principals. The difficulty in all three cases is that the agent, once engaged, has substantial latitude, and the work in preparation is difficult or impossible to monitor directly. The contracted product does not yet exist and can only be delivered later, often years after the commission. Quality and an agreed approach may suffer in the interim, due to what decision theorists call ‘moral hazard’. Moral hazard arises when the incentive for an agent to skimp on effort when his payoff does not depend on the outcome, such as when an insured individual drives too carelessly, or an artist with an agreed price for a 6 For the former, see Leonardo da Vinci’s Sforza Monument Horse: the Art and the Engineering, ed. by Diane Cole Ahl, Bethlehem 1995; for latter, see anonymous. 7 Georgina Pelham, “Reconstructing the programme of the tomb of Guido Tarlati, Bishop and Lord of Arezzo”, in: Art, Politics and Civic Religion in Central Italy, 1261 – 1352, ed. by Joanna Cannon and Beth Williamson, Aldershot 2000, pp. 71-115. 8 For discussion, in relation to artistic production, see Jonathan K. Nelson/Richard J. Zeckhauser, The Patron’s Payoff: Conspicuous Commissions in Italian Renaissance Art, Princeton 2008, pp. 17-28. 6 commission passes too much work to underlings. The principal-agent relationship of reliance is not part of traditional immediate beneficial exchange. Renaissance portrait artists faced further risks: mainly losses of compensation, reputation, or future work. A painter might have to choose between the Scylla and Charybdis of rendering a homely subject with accuracy or with flattery. Perhaps not surprisingly, many patrons claimed that an unflattering portrait was inaccurate, as we see in the letters of Isabella d’Este, discussed below. Thus, it is often difficult for us to evaluate the nature of an artist’s proclaimed shortcomings. When the quality of a Renaissance portrait, or any other work of art, was deemed unacceptable, the principal was likely to take action. Thus, dissatisfied patrons, at a minimum, might display the work in a less prominent location than originally planned. More significantly, they could withhold or reduce payment, adapt or destroy the oeuvre, besmirch the artist’s reputation, or take some combination of these actions. One the one hand, such actions might also undermine a patron’s reputation, and thus the ability to commission works from artists in great demand. Vasari, for example, recounts that Donatello destroyed a bronze head when his patron, a Genovese merchant, refused to pay the requested sum.9 On the other hand, the threats of such patronal actions could help to ensure quality, and their implementation could enhance the credibility of future threats. Surely, the potential for negative reactions by patrons helped to promote the quality, timeliness and appropriateness of commissions, and thereby dampened the risks of commissioning a portrait. By isolating and identifying those risk elements, we can better understand the strategies that patrons and artists employed to control them. This approach also casts new light on old favorites, such as the Mona Lisa, an example discussed below. To understand how the production of Italian Renaissance portraits imposed risks on both the patron and the artist, we can adapt the etic approach examined in a recent article that presented Pope Sixtus V’s Fontana dell’Acqua Felice as a “failed communication channel.”10 In 9 Giorgio Vasari, Le vite dei più eccellenti pittori, scultori, ed architettori nelle redazioni del 1550 e 1568, ed. by Paola Barocchi and Rosanna Bettarini, Florence 1966–1984, III, p. 212f. Similarly, Vasari’s account of Michelangelo’s Doni tondo illustrates the high cost to a patron for attempting to underpay a celebrated artist. 10 Tamar Cholcman/Dafna Maharshak, “Advertising Gone Wrong: Sixtus V in the Image of Moses: The Fontana dell’Acqua Felice as a Failed Communication Channel”, in: Studies in Visual Arts and Communication I (2014), URL: http://journalonarts.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/SVACij-Vol1_No1_2014-CHOLCMAN_T- MAHARSHAK_D-Advertising-gone-wrong.pdf (accessed on 11 July 2018). http://journalonarts.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/SVACij-Vol1_No1_2014-CHOLCMAN_T-MAHARSHAK_D-Advertising-gone-wrong.pdf http://journalonarts.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/SVACij-Vol1_No1_2014-CHOLCMAN_T-MAHARSHAK_D-Advertising-gone-wrong.pdf 7 Advertising Gone Wrong, the authors tweaked an analytic framework, initially used to evaluate advertisements, in order to explore how public art conveys a message and how such conveyance could go wrong. Those authors define three key advertising concepts, of image, headline, and text, and their three parallels in public art, namely visibility, central message, and elaboration. A prime source of risks for both advertising and public art is what the authors call noise, and which we call interference. Elements that interfere distract from, disrupt, or even counter the main message. Attention to disruptive elements allows us to reevaluate the donor portraits in the Malatesta Altarpiece (Rimini, Museo della Città, fig. 1), painted by Domenico Ghirlandaio and his subordinates in 1493–1496.11 Figure 1. Domenico Ghirlandaio and workshop, Malatesta Altarpiece, tempera on panel (Rimini, Museo della Città) 11 This account of the altarpiece, and the document quoted below, derives Jonathan K. Nelson, “Breaking Conventions: Donor Portraits in Ghirlandaio’s Malatesta Altarpiece”, in: The Art and Language of Power in Renaissance Florence: Essays for Alison Brown, ed. by Amy R. Bloch, Carolyn James, and Camilla Russel, Toronto 2019, pp. 221–249. That analysis, however, does not address the question of risk. 8 We start with the key concepts of visibility, central message, and elaboration. First, to reconstruct the conspicuousness of the Malatesta altarpiece to its intended audience, one must imagine the chapel of Elisabetta Aldobrandini, in the prominent church of San Cataldo in Rimini. Local visitors surely knew about the chapel of the de facto ruler of the city, where the altarpiece was prominently displayed. The only modern Florentine work in Rimini, the altarpiece was commissioned from Domenico Ghirlandaio, one of the most famous painters in central Italy. Second, the central message of the altarpiece is expressed by the three standing saints, Vincent Ferrer, posed between Sebastian and Roche; and by the four kneeling donors, from the left, Elisabetta Aldobrandini, her elder son Pandolfo Malatesta, his wife Violante Bentivoglio, and his younger brother Carlo. Third, the lunette above, the fictive bronze reliefs in the background, and the predella below further elaborate the main message. The message of the altarpiece would have been clear to the intended local audience, in light of recent political developments. When Roberto Malatesta, Lord of Rimini, had died unexpectedly in 1482, his mistress Elisabetta had become the guardian of their two sons, who were then minors and next in line to rule. She became regent after Roberto’s brother, her main rival for power, had sought but failed to murder Elisabetta and her sons. The altarpiece thus served as a public affirmation of her status as both ruler and mother. Unexpectedly, the female donor is depicted in the place of honor, to the right of the central holy figure, and thus on the viewers’ left. She faces outward, an unusual pose for a female patron. Most surprisingly, Elisabetta appears nearly a head taller than her son. A Renaissance artist would hardly have decided unilaterally to deviate from such norms in the position, angle, and height of a patron’s portrayal. Elisabetta surely had conveyed her desire to appear prominently in the painting, and the painter informed her that request did not follow the norm. Obvious deviations like these raised the stakes for all. Though patrons making such a request would surely have expected greater benefits if all went well, they amplified the risks of a dampened or negative reception. In this instance, the norm-breaking contributed to the negative comments about the Malatesta altarpiece portraits. 9 Domenico Ghirlandaio died in 1493. Soon after, the altarpiece was completed by his workshop, led by his brother Davide. Given the lesser artist, Elisabetta refused to pay nearly 20 percent of the stipulated price. In return, Davide refused to send the painting, and arbitration ensued. The surviving documents from 1496 provide one of the very rare legal records about a bad reception of an Italian portrait in the fifteenth century. After the arbiter had the altarpiece evaluated by several painting experts, Ghirlandaio’s heirs were granted less than half of the payment outstanding, for three reasons. First, the quality had been downgraded because of the great difference between Domenico Ghirlandaio and the artists who completed the altarpiece. Second, “certain figures of the illustrious lords of Rimini, who ought to have been drawn from nature, do not at all correspond to their persons or to their appearance.”12 The latter shortcoming presents no surprises; patrons wanted portraits to be recognizable. Third, and more unusual and interesting, the arbiter objected to the persons, that is the roles played by the donors. This is presumably a reference to the excessive elevation of Elisabetta, the former regent, in relation to the ruler Pandolfo, who had come of age in 1495. Three important lessons emerge from the analysis of this work for a more general study of the risks in Italian Renaissance portraiture. First, patrons who were portrayed in the works incurred significant risks, our principal thesis. Second, due to the principal-agent structure of their relationship with the patron, the artists incurred significant risks as well. Thus, Davide Ghirlandaio suffered a pay cut, even though we can assume that the patron herself had requested some of the major elements that led to the arbitrated price reduction. By the judgments of the painting experts, Davide also suffered a loss of reputation for having painted those elements. Third, even though the patron ended up paying a lesser price, this hardly made up for her losses. The inferior quality of the altarpiece, together with the lack of decorum and verisimilitude in the portraits, interfered with viewers’ ability to extract the work’s main message that Elisabetta ruled the city. Elisabetta’s reputation took another blow a few decades after her death in 1497. The donor portraits were all painted out, most probably as part of a damnatio memoriae following the expulsion of the Malatesta family from Rimini in 1528. 12 For translation and discussion of the awkward Latin phrase, see ibidem, p. 236f. 10 The concept of risk, as the potential loss of something of value, was already well-known in Medieval Italy.13 In this study, we thus aim to use what anthropologists would call an emic approach, one which reflects the point of view of the patrons and artists. Formal insurance mechanisms are thought to have originated in Genoa in the fourteenth century; by the fifteenth century, marine insurance was well established for trade in the Mediterranean. Economic historian Giovanni Ceccarelli, describing maritime commerce in Renaissance Florence, explained that insurers evaluated both structural and contingent risks.14 Wealthy merchants, who shipped their goods and worked with insurance brokers, were the same individuals who commissioned many portraits. The risks associated with maritime expeditions and the delivery of goods involved material items, items that if lost could be directly compensated with money. The most severe risks of portraiture, by contrast, involved reputational loss. Money cannot make one whole from such losses of symbolic capital, and not surprisingly, reputational losses were never insured against. Patrons were surely aware of the risks when they commissioned paintings and sculptures. Merchants in Renaissance Italy, like many of their counterparts today, were experts in prices and obsessed with calculations for the future. Especially in Florence, where the ruling class expressed the mercantile culture, an extraordinary number of record books survive which attest to a keen awareness of uncertain future outcomes and the need to take risks. Though some patrons, such as popes and nobles, might have had less helpful commercial experience, they too were surely aware of risks. That hardly implies that either group always made rational or well- informed decisions, but they were surely alert to possible dangers.15 Filippo Strozzi explained, in a letter to his brother, that commissions for family tombs should be done only if they induced 13 For discussions of risk in medieval and early modern Italy, see Giovanni Ceccarelli, Un mercato del rischio: assicurare e farsi assicurare nella Firenze rinascimentale, Venice 2013; and Giovanni Ceccarelli, Il gioco e il peccato: economia e rischio nel tardo Medioevo, Bologna 2003. 14 Giovanni Ceccarelli, “Stime senza probabilità. Assicurazione a rischio nella Firenze rinascimentale”, in: Quaderni storici CXXXV (2010), pp. 651-702. 15 The field of behavioral decision, which has received two Nobel Memorial Prizes in Economics Sciences, has a primary finding that individuals often make clearly non-rational decisions, even when dealing with monetary losses. See, for example, Decision Making: Descriptive, Normative, and Prescriptive Interactions, ed. by David E. Bell, Howard Raiffa, and Amos Tversky, New York 1988. 11 honor, otherwise they should be dropped because they led to shame.16 Certainly, Baccio Valori reaped more shame than honor when he decorated the façade of his home with a series of expensive marble portraits. To his dismay, they were ridiculed for having ugly visages, or visacci, thus giving his home its nickname of the Palazzo dei Visacci; this insult focused on the skill of the sculptor. More importantly, as Robert Williams observed, Valori’s learned contemporaries wrote sonnets indicating that “the very idea of herm portraits in such a setting is tasteless or inappropriate.”17 Period observers also objected to images of citizens publicly ‘impaled’ a violation of decorum. Any work of art ran the risk of showing a lack of skill or decorum, but reputational loss was a particular risk for the primary person depicted. Consider Tommaso Rangone, the wealthy physician who financed, at great cost, the reconstruction of the façade of the Venetian church of S. Giuliano. For this, he commissioned a bronze portrait of himself by a renowned artist, Alessandro Vittoria.18 (fig. 2) The bronze was festooned with depictions of various learned attributes and an inscription, Thomas Philologus Ravennas. This ostentatious presentation provoked an insult by a contemporary, who probably objected to the indecorous display by someone who was neither local nor noble. A portrait of the poet Bartolomeo Aragazzi met a similar fate. Leonardo Bruni, his learned contemporary, put his criticism of this commission in the mouth of a workman, who complained that Aragazzi, “well known to be stupid and puffed up with conceit, ordered a marble tomb to be made for himself.”19 This led Bruni himself to mischievously inquire “what actions, what deed will you have inscribed? That your father drove asses and goods around the fairs?” In these two examples, patronal choices merited 16 For discussion, see Eve Borsook, “Documents for Filippo Strozzi’s Chapel in Santa Maria Novella and Other Related Papers”, in: The Burlington Magazine CXII (1970), pp. 737-745: 738 n. 20. 17 Robert Williams, “The Facade of the Palazzo dei ‘Visacci’”, in: I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance V (1993), pp. 209-244: 225. 18 For discussion, see Martin Gaier, Facciate sacre a scopo profano: Venezia e la politica dei monumenti dal Quattrocento al Settecento, Venice 2002, p. 93. 19 For the Latin text and discussion, see Creighton E. Gilbert, L’arte del Quattrocento nelle testimonianze coeve, Florence 1988, p. 101. 12 disapprobation; they had commissioned portraits too lofty for their status in a highly class- conscious society. Figure 2. Alessandro Vittoria, Tommaso Rangone, bronze (Venice, church of S. Giuliano) Renaissance works were also at risk of censure for a lack of skill apparent in their execution. The poet Andrea Michièli, called Strazzola, ridiculed an unspecified painting on this score. His satirical piece has the painting itself say that since it is so poorly painted, no one can restrain himself from laughing.20 Criticism of a portraitist’s skill also came in much gentler forms, and at times from a patron. King Philip II was pleased to accept a splendid portrait by Titian. (Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado, fig. 3) In 1551, the king wrote a letter referring to several portraits, including a good likeness of himself in armor, but noted that it was made with excessive haste, and if time had permitted he would have asked the painter to redo the work. This criticism was presumably a reference to the loose brushstrokes, typical of late works by Titian but unusual in Spain at this time.21 20 For discussion, see ibidem, p. 78. 21 For discussion, see Miguel Falomir in: Tiziano, exh. cat., ed. by Miguel Falomir, Madrid 2003, p. 218f: and anonymous. 13 Figure 3. Titian Vecelli, King Philip II in armor, oil on canvas (Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado) An artist’s dissatisfaction with the commission process could also lead to insult, indeed creative mockery, of the patron. In his book on painters, Karl van Mander recounts a delightful example of an artist skewering his patron.22 A Flemish painter carried out a now-lost portrait of an English captain, who then refused to pay for the work. In response, the painter used watercolors to place jail bars in front of the captain and then threatened to put the portrait on public display! After the patron settled his debt, the artist washed out the bars to free the captain from debtor’s prison. On first reading, this story sounds like an invention, and perhaps it was. But given that the account was published as a truthful account, it must have captured elements of the reality of 22 For discussion and original text (from in Karl Van Mander’s 1604 Schilder-boeck) see Lorne Campbell, Renaissance Portraits: European Portrait-painting in the 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries, New Haven 1990, p. 142. 14 the risks that principals faced should they anger their agents.23 Moreover, patrons who read Vasari’s Life of Michelangelo knew how the artist avenged the insults on the Last Judgment, expressed by the Vatican master of ceremonies, Biagio da Cesena, whom Michelangelo placed in hell as Minòs. Biagio complained in vain to the pope, as both Vasari and Lodovico Domenichi recounted in the sixteenth century.24 Obviously, the offended church official wanted the portrait removed; but for that to happen, part of the fresco would have had to be repainted or otherwise destroyed. It survived, and Biagio remains on view in the Sistine Chapel. Certainly, some Renaissance portraits were destroyed. A letter from Ludovico Gonzaga, the marquis of Mantua, tells us that Galeazzo Maria Sforza, the duke of Milan, was so annoyed with a portrait drawing made by Andrea Mantegna that he had the sheet burned.25 Presumably, this lost work failed to flatter the sitter sufficiently. In the same letter, Ludovico faintly praised his court artist, saying that Mantegna was good in many things, but that his portraits could have more grace. Portraits of particular individuals were sometimes removed at a patron’s request from works that were still in the planning stage. When Giorgio Vasari presented the Duke Cosimo de Medici with a finished drawing for Cosimo Planning the War on Siena, intended to go on the ceiling of the Room of the 500, he included a number of counselors. However, Cosimo told Vasari that these figures were not necessary, because he had done the planning alone.26 Vasari then painted the scene without the unwanted advisors. In commissioning a painting, as in planning a banquet, a patron faced the difficult decision of whom to invite. Then the artist, in the spirit of an event organizer, needed to arrange the guests in 23Another example of ridicule, not related to portraits, appears in Franco Sacchetti’s Trecentonovelle, and is repeated Vasari (note 8), II. p. 120f. Giotto refused to paint a shield with the arms of a nouveau riche patron, and instead had his assistant depict pieces of armour. 24 For discussion and sources see Norman E. Land, “A Concise History of the Tale of Michelangelo and Biagio da Cesena”, in: Source: Notes in the History of Art XXXII (2013), pp. 15-19. For another example of artist painting an unflattering portrait to get revenge see Federico Zuccari (1539/40 - 1609) e le vendette d’artista, exh. cat., ed. by Cristina Acidini Luchinat and Elena Capretti, Florence 2009. 25 Rodolfo Signorini, “Federico III e Cristiano I nella Camera degli Sposi”, in: Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes XVIII (1974), pp. 227-250: 232. 26 Randolph Starn/Loren Partridge, Arts of Power: Three Halls of State in Italy, 1300-1600, Berkeley 1992, p. 183. 15 a manner that reflected their status. This process could result in bruised egos, as they did for some observers of Mantegna’s Camera picta (Mantua, Ducal Palace, fig. 4). A letter from the patron, Ludovico Gonzaga, noted that Galeazzo Maria Sforza had objected to the selection of figures.27 Specifically, the duke expressed disapproval because he had not been included in the Camera picta, although Mantegna had represented both the Holy Roman emperor and the king of Denmark. The marquis justified his decision, explaining that he had felt required to include the emperor, who was his superior, as well as the king, his brother-in-law. Most interestingly, he added that since these portraits had been seen by many people, it would be very awkward to remove them. Ludovico claimed to have entertained the possibility of demolishing the two portraits, in order to resolve a diplomatic incident, which suggests that he thought Sforza wanted such an action. Perhaps the duke of Milan just wanted his portrait to be added, but in the end, Mantegna left the fresco unchanged. Figure 4. Andrea Mantegna, Camera picta (detail), fresco (Mantua, Ducal Palace) 27 For the related letters see Rodolfo Signorini, Opus hoc tenue. La camera dipinta di Andrea Mantegna. Lettura storica iconografica iconologica. Mantua, 1985, p. 306f. nos. 23-24. 16 Almost all of the accounts above relate to portraits requested by their patron-subjects that were accepted and put on display, but which nevertheless brought embarrassment upon them. Surely the portraits that were refused, hidden, or destroyed were, on average, judged to be much less satisfactory. Unfortunately, very few of those images have been passed down for posterity, and even our knowledge of them is very limited. Some have suggested that Ludovico Gonzaga was less than sincere when he criticized Mantegna as a portraitist, positing that the marquis of Mantua only wanted to calm down Sforza, his powerful ally in Milan. But Ludovico appears in the Camera picta with rolls of fat on his thick neck, a large fleshy ear, and an inelegant pose, each of which departed strongly from Renaissance standards of male beauty. Moreover, about twenty years later, Isabella d’Este expressed disapproval of Mantegna, and seemingly for similar reasons. In 1493, the marchesa of Mantua decided to exchange portraits with another noblewoman. However, she was dissatisfied with Mantegna’s portrait of her because, she claimed, the portrait was done poorly and did not resemble her at all.28 She did accept a second painting, by Giovanni Santi, but once again claimed that the resemblance was poor. Of a third portrait, by yet a third artist, she complained that it exaggerated her weight. Surely, the artists could have created an accurate image of Isabella. Indeed, Ludovico il Moro, Duke of Milan, even told Isabella that the third portrait was a good likeness, recalling her appearance when they had last met. He noted that the portrait depicted Isabella as looking heavier than he recalled, but added that perhaps she had gained weight since he had last seen her. Isabella evidently disapproved of the portraits because their flattery fell short. Her goal, we can assume, was a portrait comparable to that of King Antigonus, who was blind in one eye, as described by Pliny (Nat. Hist. 35. 85-90). Apelles, the marchesa could have read, painted Antigonus in profile in order to portray the king without revealing any defects. Isabella wanted a portrait that would capture her appearance unflawed yet unmistakable. 28 For the portraits of Isabella by several artists, discussed below, see the discussions in Alessandro Luzio, La Galleria dei Gonzaga venduta al Inghilterra nel 1627-8, Milan 1913, pp. 183-123; and Sally Hickson, “‘To see ourselves as others see us’: Giovanni Francesco Zaninello of Ferrara and the Portrait of Isabella d’Este by Francesco Francia”, in: Renaissance Studies XXIII (2009), pp. 288-310. 17 One portrait of which Isabella did approve was painted several years later by Francia, who had never set eyes on the marchesa. The artist based this work on yet another portrait, together with a verbal description of the sitter. Isabella wrote to Francia that he had made her appear far more beautiful in his painting than nature ever had. But a still further enhancement was desired; she asked the painter to make her eyes a bit lighter. Twenty-five years later, she gave this improved painting by Francia as a model to Titian. Isabella observed that Titian’s portrait was so pleasing that the sitter herself doubted that she had appeared so beautiful at the age in which he depicted her. Titian enjoyed extraordinary success among European rulers. That success stemmed in part from his ability to create flattering images that nevertheless captured sufficient resemblance to be recognizable, a pleasing combination of expedience and skill. The Holy Roman emperor, Charles V, ordered a portrait from Titian of his late wife, the empress Isabel of Portugal.29 Because the subject was deceased, this work was based on an earlier painting, in this instance by a minor artist. In a fascinating letter, the patron asked Titian to retouch the nose, not because Titian had rendered it poorly, but rather because Titian had painted it accurately. Titian complied, and produced an ‘improvement’ on the earlier portrait, giving the empress a straight, idealized nose. Images of the empress made during her lifetime, by contrast, reveal her nose to be aquiline. Titian similarly idealized his representations of the emperor himself. Charles V suffered from an extremely pronounced version of the so-called Hapsburg jaw. Contemporary accounts relate that his chin jutted so far forward that fully closing his mouth was impossible.30 However, Titian’s many portraits of the ruler reveal not a trace of his royal line’s underbite problem. By contrast, Christoph Amberger created a portrait of Charles V closer to reality, to judge from a surviving drawing of the emperor’s skull. But Charles preferred a heroic image, one that sacrificed anatomical accuracy to patronal pride. Charles gave Titian, not Amberger, the extraordinary honor of being the only artist who was allowed to portray his image 29 Miguel Falomir in: Tiziano (note 21), p. 208f. 30 For this problem, and portraits of the emperor, see Diane H. Bodart, “Il mento ‘posticcio’ dell’imperatore Carlo V”, in: Estremità e escrescenze del corpo, ed. by Clelia Arcelli, Florence 2012, pp. 465-483. 18 On occasion, artists idealized to the extreme. In a letter of 1544 about the Medici portraits in the New Sacristy, Niccolò Martelli wrote that Michelangelo did not depict Duke Lorenzo and Giuliano from nature, but showed them with the proportions, decorum, and grace which he thought would bring them more praise.31 Seen against the background of Medieval writers’ expressed disapproval of Renaissance portraits and their abundant penned attacks on the lack of verisimilitude, Martelli’s praise, known from a volume published in 1546, sounds like an attempt to preempt potential criticism of Michelangelo’s sculptures. If so, his attempt was successful. Martelli’s letter seems to have inspired a similar observation by Vincenzo Borghini about Michelangelo’s statues. In his notes on Aristotle’s Poetics (9.1451b), this sixteenth-century scholar wrote that the historian differs from a poet in the same way that a portraitist who works from nature differs from one who makes stylized works. As an example, he cited the marble statues of Giuliano and Lorenzo in the New Sacristy. Borghini describes them as poetic because of their majesty, grandeur, and heroic beauty. Through such embellishments, Michelangelo created images of ideal rulers. We have no record of the Medici objecting to this lack of verisimilitude. A consideration of the motives for patronal disapproval of portraits enables us to surmise the probable reaction of Francesco del Giocondo to Leonardo’s portrait of his wife, (Mona) Lisa. At least three facts about this mysterious work are reasonably clear. 32 First, Vasari stated that it was begun in Florence. Second, Agostino Vespucci, discussed below, described the portrait of Lisa del Giocondo as unfinished in 1503. Third, it is almost certainly the work described as a completed portrait of a Florentine woman by Antonio de Beatis, secretary to Cardinal Luigi of Aragon, when the two visited Leonardo’s studio in France. De Beatis, presumably passing along information provided by the artist himself, reported that the painting had been made for Giuliano de’ Medici, Duke of Nemours, and brother of Pope Leo X. Most probably, but here scholars disagree, Leonardo put the final touches on the portrait in Rome, when he worked for Giuliano 31 For discussion of the sculptures, and the quotes by Martelli and Borghini discussed below, see Jonathan K. Nelson, “Poetry in Stone: Michelangelo’s Ducal Tombs in the New Sacristy”, in: San Lorenzo: A Florentine Church, ed. by Robert W. Gaston and Louis A. Waldman, Florence 2017, pp. 450-480. 32 For a recent summaries of the vast literature on this painting, see Josephine Rogers Mariotti, Monna Lisa: la Gioconda del magnifico Giuliano, Florence 2009 and Rab Hatfield, The Three Mona Lisas, Milan 2014. 19 from 1513 until the death of the Medici nobleman in 1516. The portrait remained with the artist, and Leonardo evidently described it to the Cardinal, who probably had known Giuliano, as a commission from this distinguished patron, not from the obscure Florentine merchant Francesco del Giocondo. Presumably, this would not have pleased the original patron, who remained very much alive.33 The Mona Lisa was criticized by Vespucci in the earliest known reference to the painting. In a volume of Cicero’s letters, where that ancient author had mentioned that Apelles often left his works incomplete, Vespucci wrote in the margin, dated 1503: “So does Leonardo da Vinci in all his pictures, such as, for instance, the head of Lisa del Giocondo.”34 One of the most cited risk factors for all artistic commissions was a failure to deliver on time or even deliver, as Francesco del Giocondo learned. In about 1525, the humanist Paolo Giovio observed that Leonardo completed very few of the many commissions he received, due both to his unstable character and to his tendency to lose interest in his works. Giovio also tells us that Michelangelo, as well, had a reputation for not completing commissions.35 Francesco could have avoided this risk by commissioning a portrait of his wife from a younger artist active in Florence, Raphael. For his most important patrons, at least, this reliable painter from Urbino presented work that earned great praise. Though Michelangelo, according to Giovio and other contemporaries, was often boorish, Raphael, like Leonardo, received praise for his charm. This quality was highly valued for portraits, given that patrons often complained about the boredom of sittings. Raphael, wrote Giovio, earned the respect of the powerful “through careful observance of civilized behavior, no less than the nobility of his works.”36 With Raphael, 33 For the improbable suggestion that Francesco del Giocondo “gave or sold it [the Mona Lisa] to the Magnificent Giuliano, no doubt for the sake of political advantage” see Hatfield (note 32), p. 123; for a similar view, see Rogers Mariotti (note 32), pp. 11f., 20-24. 34 For facsimile, transcription, translation, and discussion of the Latin text see Hatfield (note 32), pp. 106, 203 fig. 54. 35 Paolo Giovio, Scritti d’arte: Lessico ed ecfrasi, ed. by Sonia Maffei, Pisa 1999, pp. 234, 247. 36 For translation and original see John K. G. Shearman, Raphael in Early Modern Sources (1483-1602), New Haven/London 2003, I, p. 807, doc. 1525/15. 20 patrons knew that decorum would be adeptly displayed. He understood well the principal-agent aspect of the patronage tradition. Raphael deftly removed risk from his patrons; accordingly, he was paid more than his contemporaries for comparable works.37 We close our analysis of the risks of ordering portraits by returning to Francesco del Giocondo. If a commissioned painting became one of the most famous in the world, one might assume that the patron began with a high level of satisfaction. Actually, difficulties with his wife’s portrait continually worsened, and for three reasons. First, Leonardo produced a nude version of the Mona Lisa, known as the Mona Vanna; though the face is somewhat different, the pose and overall appearance remain the same. Recent analyses have demonstrated that the finished drawing in Chantilly, perhaps by the master’s hand, served as the prototype for the numerous painted versions.38 Making matters worse for Francesco del Giocondo and his wife, the clothed and unclothed versions were both known in Rome. Indeed, they inspired Raphael to paint not only La Velata, a female portrait clearly based on the Mona Lisa, but also La Fornarina, a version with her upper body unclothed.39 Second, the Mona Lisa and Mona Vanna entered the French royal collection in the sixteenth century, where both of the works were misidentified as a mistress of King Francis I. Presumably these comments responded to the very same features that are celebrated today: Leonardo’s revolutionary decision to show a woman in full face, smiling, and looking straight out at the viewers. The patron had tried to reduce his risk by hiring a highly respected artist, but the very quality and innovation of the Mona Lisa led to a significant reputational loss, at least in the eyes of the patron and his descendants. Some early modern viewers also found that these same features, combined with the lack of a wedding ring (and of clothes, in the Mona Vanna), showed a lack of decorum. 37 Jonathan K. Nelson/Richard J. Zeckhauser, “Raphael, Superstar, And His Extraordinary Prices”, in: Source: Notes in the History of Art XXXVIII (2018), pp. 15-23. 38 See the website of the current (2019) exhibition, la Joconde nue, at Le musée Condé de Chantilly. URL: http://www.domainedechantilly.com/fr/event/la-joconde-nue/ (accessed 5 June 2019). 39 David Alan Brown/Konrad Oberhuber, “Monna Vanna and Fornarina: Leonardo and Raphael in Rome”, in: Essays presented to Myron P. Gilmore, ed. by Sergio Bertelli and Gloria Ramakus, Florence 1978, II, pp. 25-86. http://www.domainedechantilly.com/fr/event/la-joconde-nue/ 21 Third, a recently published but little-known letter records a prurient scandal about Francesco’s wife.40 In 1515, Filippo di Filippo Strozzi wrote that he informed Lorenzo de’ Medici, Giuliano’s nephew in Florence, that Francesco del Giocondo had heard unsettling rumors that both Filippo and Lorenzo had made advances on the merchant’s wife, which Lisa had rebuffed. Evidently, Leonardo’s model was considered to be a vulnerable paragon of beauty. This leads to a new suggestion, namely that the Mona Vanna was painted for the erotic pleasure of Giuliano or his nephew Lorenzo. Francesco and his wife could not possibly have anticipated that the fame of the portrait he commissioned would inspire a topless version, or lead future scholars to pursue a salacious story about her. Such were the risks in commissioning a portrait in Renaissance Italy. 40 See Hatfield (note 32), pp. 129-131. wp_cover_19_024 30June_Risky_Business_final_draft 
work_gbma37pz4ndptjduyabnecbwua	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 18 June 2018 The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum Charlotte Drew Figure 1 John James Napier, Sir. John Charles Robinson, date unknown. Oil on canvas (71 x 56 cm). London: National Portrait Gallery. © National Portrait Gallery, London ‘it is to my having assumed personal responsibility [ … ] and to having risked my own pecuniary resources on occasions that the Nation owes a large proportion of the great monuments of art which form the pride and glory of the Museum. [ … ] the building of the South Kensington collection has been mainly my work.’1 John Charles Robinson (1824-1913) [fig.1], though apparently not a humble man, was indeed a vital protagonist in the story of the early South Kensington Museum. In 1853 he became the Museum’s first curator, gathering together the foundations of an internationally renowned permanent collection and publishing an important series of scholarly catalogues on the Museum’s decorative arts holdings. As part of 1 John Charles Robinson, letter to Earl Spenser, Jan 1882, Robinson Papers, London, NAL, in Jacqueline Yallop, Magpies, Squirrels and Thieves, London: Atlantic, 2011, 109. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 2 his curatorial role during the 1850s and 1860s he spent extensive periods on the Continent hunting up objects for the Museum. Being an erudite and enthusiastic student of art, Robinson made a name for himself throughout Britain and Europe as a respected connoisseur and collector, advising a wide variety of high-profile collector friends ranging from royalty, to politicians, artists, scholars and wealthy businessmen.2 Robinson’s long and diverse career, throughout which he worked in art practice, architectural practice, collecting, curating, connoisseurship, design teaching, art dealing, art criticism and many other related occupations, was intimately entwined with the ‘motley medley chaos’3 of the emerging South Kensington Museum in the mid-nineteenth century. The aims of the Museum to raise the status of the decorative arts and educate the visitor in correct taste suited Robinson’s expertise and interests. The various roles he performed as curator often collided in spectacular fashion, particularly if they confused the divide between public and private collecting. His diverse responsibilities at South Kensington arguably paved the way for modern museum practice, consolidating activities in the private sphere (such as art dealing and criticism) with his public roles as curator, conservator, researcher, archivist and manager at a government-funded museum. From his carefully thought out acquisitions polices, to his complex educational display schemes and scholarly promotional catalogues, Robinson’s work at South Kensington made him a key contributor to the professionalization of museum practice. This article analyses Robinson’s display schemes at the Museum, considering the private Parisian collections that inspired them, his attempt to teach good taste to the visitor and his influence on British collecting habits. It also highlights Robinson as a prominent figure at the centre of a vast network of important artistic names, whose infamous contribution to professional museum practice in Britain blurred the boundaries of the role of the private collector and public curator in the mid- to late-nineteenth century. Early influences: the Paris collections Robinson’s colourful career began in his hometown of Nottingham, where he trained as an architect in the early 1840s. In the middle of the decade he moved to Paris where he studied painting at the atelier of Michel-Martin Drölling, a professor at the École des Beaux Arts.4 It was here that the young Robinson developed a taste for collecting, spending his free time visiting public art collections and frequenting the dealers’ shops of the Latin Quarter. The collections that Robinson encountered in Paris had a profound effect upon his later curatorial choices at the South 2 For much of the biographical information on Robinson I am indebted to the work of Helen Davies, who provides the only comprehensive text on the life of the curator. See Helen Davies, ‘The Life and Works of Sir John Charles Robinson, 1824-1913,’ PhD. diss., University of Oxford, 1992. 3 Robinson, ‘Our Public Art Museums: A Retrospect,’ The Nineteenth Century, 42: 250, Dec 1897, 955. 4 See Yallop, Magpies, Squirrels and Thieves, 52. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 3 Kensington Museum. At the dealers’ shops of Monsieur Delange, Mister Evans and Monsieur Couvreur, Robinson could handle and inspect objects closely and even began forming his own private collection.5 At the Louvre (unlike any British museum at that date) he was able to wander through a comprehensive history of the arts thanks to the rigidly taxonomic, chronological arrangement of the collections. But a more intimate encounter with the art object could be experienced by appointment in the private homes of wealthy Parisian collectors, particularly those of Alexandre du Sommerard at Cluny and Charles Sauvageot at 56 rue de Faubourg-Poissonière. It was these collections that confused the boundaries between public and private collecting, amongst others in both France and Britain no doubt, that would truly inform Robinson’s future curatorial choices. Charles Sauvageot (1781-1860) was a violinist with the Paris Opera and his private apartments were filled with an extensive collection of decorative art objects that occupied every vertical and horizontal space. The fact that Robinson was invited to Sauvageot’s in the 1840s suggests that, even as an art student, he was already well connected within the Parisian art world: the collector only allowed recommended visitors to make an appointment. Once admitted, however, having ‘knocked loudly twice to show that he was a friend,’6 the privileged guest could inspect the many objects that adorned Sauvageot’s private domestic interior. Everything could be easily accessed, including Sauvageot’s extensive knowledge of the objects, and the collector seems to have been more than willing to share his expertise and to allow close inspections of individual works. One can imagine that such an intimate encounter with the objects in Sauvageot’s private rooms, alongside the privilege felt by being deemed worthy of admittance, appealed to the young Robinson. In addition to being able to interact closely with the collection, Robinson would have seen how the works functioned as decorative objects in the modern Parisian home. An 1858 description of Sauvageot’s apartments in L’Illustration demonstrated how striking the aesthetics of Sauvageot’s décor must have been: ‘Everything in his apartment was calculated to achieve harmony: he followed a law of gradation which, by imperceptible nuances of colour and inconspicuous variations of form, led the viewer’s attention from quite simple objects to the most delicate or brilliant marvels.’7 The careful juxtaposition of objects within the small rooms allowed an aesthetic dialogue to take place between the collected objects that led viewers back and forth between them, encouraging them to make comparisons, pinpoint the more valuable or significant objects, and assess the place of each object within the grand scheme of the room and its overall chromatic effect. Robinson would surely have noticed how the decorative objects in Sauvageot’s collection worked together in groups within the space, their prismatic arrangement offering up aesthetic, stylistic, geographical and historical comparisons that could not be 5 Yallop, Magpies, Squirrels and Thieves, 60. 6 Anthony Burton, Vision and Accident: The Story of the Victoria and Albert Museum, London: V&A Publications, 1999, 60. 7 Burton, Vision and Accident, 59. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 4 made in the spacious, chronologically arranged galleries of the Louvre but that he would later translate to the South Kensington collections. In the same period Robinson visited the very popular Hôtel de Cluny owned by the famed Parisian collector, Alexandre du Sommerard. In 1833, du Sommerard (1779–1842), who worked for the Audit Office, purchased the medieval town house at Cluny as his own private residence and filled it with his extensive collection of medieval and renaissance French art objects. Unlike Sauvageot, du Sommerard opened his home to the general public every Sunday, when he would be in attendance to share his expert knowledge of a collection that ‘was said to draw crowds as big as the Louvre.’8 The medieval style of the building provided the perfect backdrop for du Sommerard’s collection and, within these historic walls, he constructed historicizing displays, providing a romantic view of the past for his own personal living space, as well as for his Sunday visitors. As a devout Catholic and sentimental nationalist, du Sommerard longed to return to pre-Revolutionary France. At Cluny, he could immerse himself and his visitors in a historic France that celebrated the former art wealth of the nation and provided an escape from modern life. On visiting du Sommerard’s collection, Robinson would have encountered a series of rooms that, to varying extents, emulated (or, at least, fantasized) the domestic interiors of past ages. Unlike Sauvageot’s collection, at Cluny the original decorative functions of the collected medieval objects were reclaimed, integrating them with each other, the space in which they were exhibited, and the historic architecture that housed them to create a ‘period room’ effect. The Musée de Cluny, in its role as a public museum, sat on the fence between the accessible ‘populist’ public museum collection that reconstructed European history for the visitor (the Louvre) and the more elitist world of private collecting and the display of objects within the home. This middle ground would be the influence for Robinson’s own displays at South Kensington where collecting and displaying objects for the public museum and the private domestic interior collided. Curating the Museum of Ornamental Art at Marlborough House, 1853-1857 On his return to Britain in 1847, Robinson was employed as Headmaster of the Hanley School of Design in the Potteries where he remained until 1852. At Hanley he held a prominent position within the National Art Training School system that had been set up in the previous decade to support students of design and improve the quality of British manufacture. Robinson was a tireless self-promoter and made himself known to the director of the schools and superintendent of the government Department of Practical Art, Sir. Henry Cole, who invited the ambitious young man to London to oversee the training of teachers at the central School of Art. However, upon his arrival in London in 1852 it soon became clear to Robinson that the organization of collections in the Museum of Ornamental Art adjoining the London 8 Burton, Vision and Accident, 59. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 5 school was in need of his particular expertise and he turned his attention towards a career as a curator.9 When it first opened to the public in 1852, the Museum (and school) consisted of a number of rooms at Marlborough House, a royal residence that Prince Albert had loaned out to the Department. At the outset, Cole’s aims for the Museum were strictly educational – to improve British design by example and to teach, as actively as possible the principles behind good and bad design. The collection comprised a vast array of casts, drawings and original objects of various description including textiles, furniture, pottery, glassware and metal work – anything, in short, that came under the broad banner of Ornamental Art and would provide a useful example to the design student. In the spirit of straightforward pragmatism Cole wanted the displays to follow a fairly rigid structure and to group objects according to their material or industry. Thus, an embroidered silk scarf of Tunisian origin, an embroidered French shawl, a contemporary Axminster carpet and a piece of Renaissance Venetian embroidery all co-existed in the same space underneath the heading “Woven Fabrics,” demonstrating the very different effects of various types of weaving or needlework applied to different threads (embroidery, lacemaking, machine vs. handmade carpet weaving, in silk, wool, cotton etc.). Alongside these exemplary exhibits, Cole created a controversial display of objects that were considered to be of poor quality manufacture in an attempt to contrast items of good and bad design. However, his good intentions somewhat backfired as this so-called False Principles exhibit, or ‘Chamber of Horrors’ as it was nicknamed, became the most popular display of all, allowing the discerning visitor to compare their own possessions with those at the Museum. An account of its public reception was elegantly satirized in an article for Household Words, in which a fictional character, Mr. Crumpet, after visiting the Museum and being instructed on correct taste, descends into an ever-increasing state of ‘mental apoplexy’ at the poor quality objects that adorn his everyday life: I was ashamed of the pattern of my own trowsers [sic], for I saw a piece of them hung up [at the Museum] as a horror. I dared not pull out my pocket- handkerchief while anyone was by, lest I should be seen dabbing the perspiration from my forehead with a wreath of coral. I saw it all; when I went home I found that I had been living among horrors up to that hour. The paper in my parlour contains four kinds of birds of paradise, besides bridges and pagodas. 10 The reaction to Cole’s False Principles exhibit was not a positive one and those manufacturers represented within the ‘Chamber of Horrors’ were furious, demanding that the exhibit be dismantled. At the beginning of September in 1853 Robinson entered the museum as its first curator. In a retrospective account of his work at the Museum from 1880, we can see how he too opposed Cole’s exhibit: 9 Robinson’s role, which today we would recognize as that of a curator, was then described as Superintendent of the Art Collections. 10 ‘A House full of Horrors,’ Household Words, 6:141, Dec 1852, 266. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 6 ‘setting aside the angry reclamations of indignant manufacturers whose productions were thus gibbeted, the British public showed a most conservative leaning towards the old accustomed “horrors,” or at best treated the experiment as a somewhat incomprehensible joke.’11 Such a direct comparison of good and bad design, which he felt served only to ruin the reputations of the manufacturers represented therein, was not welcome in Robinson’s new display scheme. He wanted only objects of the highest quality to be represented and for the displays to speak for themselves as far as possible, suggesting in his 1854 introductory lecture that ‘active teaching is impracticable’12 and posing the question: ‘what is there to trust but the silent refining influence of the monuments of art themselves?’13 His first task was to immediately dismantle Cole’s exhibit and to set about forming a methodic system for the acquisition and arrangement of the Museum displays that focused solely on high quality objects, no doubt with the Paris collections in mind. The Museum at Marlborough House had the aesthetic, historical and geographical variety of Sauvageot’s collection, but the moral responsibility, like Cluny, of being an educational, popular institution, albeit with very different pedagogic motives. It was also housed in a historic building, designed by Sir. Christopher Wren in 1711, but the early-eighteenth-century interiors did not correspond directly with the Museum collection as a whole in the way that the medieval Hôtel de Cluny had provided the perfect backdrop for its medieval collection. The modest interiors of the first floor of Marlborough House (in comparison to the grander, elaborately decorated state rooms downstairs) instead provided a relatively blank and timeless canvas for the construction of equally timeless domestic displays. Having entered his curatorial role with the initial task of completely reorganizing and refitting the rooms, Robinson would make the display his own from the beginning, combining elements from Sauvageot’s modern, domestic eclecticism and du Sommerard’s romantic historicism to create a coherent and educational display. Unlike Cole’s categorization of object by material, Robinson’s curatorial approach embraced both the eclecticism of the collections and the intimacy of the space, exhibiting different materials, styles and periods together as aesthetic groups. It might at first seem that such an approach, taken out of the context of the private, inhabited interior might turn this public display into a cabinet of curiosities with no real educational value, something that Cole desperately wanted to avoid.14 However, this apparent jumble of objects could still provide the practical education that the Museum desired if Robinson re-contextualized the various decorative objects with their domestic use in mind. In each of the rooms loaned to the Museum, 11 Robinson, ‘Our National Art Collections and Provincial Art Museums,’ The Nineteenth Century, 7:40, June 1880, 987. 12 Robinson, An Introductory Lecture on the Museum of Ornamental Art of the Department (1854), 9. General Collection, 607.AA.0099. London, NAL. 13 Robinson, Introductory Lecture, 1854, 9. 14 It is clear that Robinson did not want this to be the fate of the Museum either, as he remarked in his lecture of 1854 that he did not want to create ‘a merely curious exhibition,’ or ‘another lion in the metropolis.’ Robinson, Introductory Lecture, 1854, 9. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 7 then, Robinson could create a decorated space that, like the Paris collections, would showcase the decorative and domestic uses and highlight the aesthetic merit of the objects on display. This would placate Cole’s express desire to emphasize the practical, decorative utility of manufactured objects whilst also allowing Robinson to encourage a more connoisseurial, aesthetic appreciation of the decorative arts within the visitor. There are few visual records of Robinson’s arrangements at Marlborough House, save for a series of watercolours made in 1856 and 1857 [figs.2-5]. From these images it appears that Robinson’s displays did, by this time, combine the traditional structures of a museum (glass cases, for example) whilst also emulating the heterogeneous decoration of a private domestic interior. Whilst certain sub- categories of objects (Italian maiolica, Sèvres etc.) were grouped together for comparison within cases or on shelves, maintaining some sense of Cole’s initial materials-based system, Robinson set up various displays within each room that juxtaposed objects of different materials and styles according to their decorative function, integrating them within the ready-made domestic interior of Marlborough House. Indeed, the original architectural features of the building itself – chimney- breasts, niches, fireplaces, windows and coloured wallpaper – were included in the display scheme. Wallpaper samples were hung in their proper place on the walls, showing how different designs could offset the objects placed directly in front of them (especially pictures).15 Stained glass covered the existing windows to give an impression of their brilliancy in situ, as had been the case at Sauvageot’s. Pictures were hung from the picture rails, though perhaps more sparingly than they had been in Paris. Original chandeliers were replaced with those in the collection and textiles were draped across furniture, or hung like curtains. Furthermore, whilst there were plates and vases out of reach behind glass, others appear to have been left unprotected on furniture to give an idea of their decorative potential in situ and to bring them closer to viewers and to the other objects in the room (the antique tables on which they were placed, for example). In one room [fig.2] we can see how a traditional decorative, domestic scheme, much like those that describe the Victorian parlour, was constructed by placing a temporary shelf (supported by brackets) on the chimney-breast to form a mantelpiece.16 Above this was positioned a Chippendale mirror posing as a traditional, if not rather ornate, chimney-glass. Various ornaments were arranged along the mantelpiece in height order, in harmony with the unusual shape of the mirror and protected by glass domes (as mantel ornaments would be in the home).17 A coal-scuttle on the hearth finished off 15 ‘[On the staircase] considerable space has been given to papers suitable for the display of pictures, some of which were manufactured and the colours arranged especially for the purpose, pictures of different kinds being hung upon them to show the effect.’ Robinson, First Report of the Department of Science and Art (1854), 226. General Collection, HC 1852-3. 1615. LIV.1, London, NAL. 16 The chimney-piece itself corresponds exactly to an existing one at Marlborough House but does not appear to have its own mantelpiece. 17 For more on the traditional decorative scheme of the chimney-breast in the Victorian parlour, see Thad Logan, The Victorian Parlour, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001, 115-21. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 8 the decorative, domestic ensemble. This chimney-breast was not just wall and shelf space within a public museum, then, but showed how the objects in the collection could be put together as an aesthetic group, despite their stylistic differences, to create a domestic fireplace with the potential for both beauty and use in the private home. Figure 2 John Sparkes, Marlborough House: Fourth Room, 1856. Watercolour (31 x 32 cm). London: Victoria and Albert Museum. © Victoria and Albert Museum Figure 3 William Linnaeus Casey, Marlborough House: Second Room, 1857. Watercolour (22 x 33 cm). London: Victoria and Albert Museum. © Victoria and Albert Museum Figure 4 Charles Armytage, Marlborough House: Sixth Room, 1857. Watercolour (30 x 40 cm). London: Victoria and Albert Museum. © Victoria and Albert Museum Figure 5 William Linnaeus Casey, Marlborough House: First Room, 1856. Watercolour (27 x 34 cm). London: Victoria and Albert Museum. © Victoria and Albert Museum But why construct this kind of display? How, exactly, did it foster aesthetic judgment and taste? Michael Conforti’s essay on the history of Museum considered the domestic-style arrangement as a reflection of Robinson’s ‘broadly conceived’ Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 9 approach to art education, suggesting that ‘during Robinson’s tenure, the educational function of the displays remained, but their interpretive direction and appearance moved from Cole’s perspectives favoring training and rules, to Robinson’s primary aim of fostering aesthetic judgment.’18 Christopher Whitehead’s essay on the place of sculpture within the Museum has since furthered this idea, suggesting that ‘objects were arranged not only in order to permit their careful examination by the connoisseur, but also to foster a taste for observing art works in domestic juxtaposition.’19 As far as Robinson was concerned, the display could be eclectic, emulate the domestic interior and still be educational. It was the sort of harmonious, aesthetic grouping of objects and architectural features described above that Robinson believed every student, manufacturer, and consumer should be taught to appreciate in order to improve the state of modern British design. Whitehead has also suggested that ‘the South Kensington interiors were not without didactic purpose – the focus of the display lay not only in the objects as single entities, but in the atmosphere they created in sets, allowing the cultivation of a specific form of aesthetic appreciation on the part of the visitor.’20 Robinson’s displays therefore seem to have tried to encourage visitors to consider the objects in aesthetic (rather than material) groups, juxtaposed as an overall decorative scheme, in order to directly and actively teach the art of comparative study and, subsequently, aesthetic appreciation and good taste. Robinson wanted the Museum to turn visitors, whoever they may be, into connoisseurs, believing that a connoisseurial understanding of decorative art would improve the taste of the nation. In his 1854 lecture at the Museum, Robinson emphasized the importance of this type of teaching, stating that: ‘the judicious arrangement and juxtaposition of specimens for comparison [will] facilitate the deduction of those abstract laws and principles, a proper acquaintance with which is the foundation of all true knowledge.’21 Rather than present the visitor with examples of good and bad design, Robinson desired to teach them how to make such comparisons themselves based on ‘those abstract laws and principles’ that led to an understanding of good taste. So, whilst different examples of various design or production techniques were arranged side-by-side for the more straightforward comparative study of students,22 an overall sense of harmony amongst the exhibited items, borrowing the kind of domestic, aesthetic groupings Robinson had seen in Paris, quite literally brought home to the visitor in this intimate, domestic setting a more connoisseurial, aesthetic form of comparative study. Visitors were to learn how to appreciate and compare beautiful objects, and beautiful sets of objects, a skill that was not merely aimed at 18 Michael Conforti, ‘The Idealist Enterprise and the Applied Arts,’ in Malcolm Baker and Brenda Richardson, eds., A Grand Design: The Art of the Victoria and Albert Museum, London: V&A Publications with The Baltimore Museum of Art, 1997, 31. 19 Christopher Whitehead, ‘Enjoyment for the Thousands,’ in Cinzia Sicca and Alison Yarrington, eds., The Lustrous Trade, New York: Bloomsbury, 2001, 227. 20 Whitehead, ‘Enjoyment for the Thousands,’ 225. 21 Robinson, Introductory Lecture, 23. 22 Robinson, Introductory Lecture, 23. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 10 consumers who might wish to recreate such tasteful displays within their own homes but one that Robinson felt was also particularly important for the manufacturer, not to mention the student of art, to appreciate: ‘the manufacturer should appreciate art and have a certain amount of artistic taste and not merely be interested in pecuniary gain.’23 Whitehead has also suggested that ‘the domestic tradition was transmuted at South Kensington’ in order to address many ‘forms of art appreciation.’24 The collector would be encouraged by the ‘attractive domestic- style displays,’ the working classes were provided with a civilizing glimpse of the ‘leisure privileges’ of the wealthy, and the design student was provided with historical models that functioned both aesthetically and practically within a domestic scheme.25 Relocation: The South Kensington Museum, 1857-1868 It soon became obvious that the growing collections would quickly overwhelm the modest space at Marlborough House and, in 1857, the Department of Practical Art, its School and Museum, moved to a larger site at Kensington Gore, becoming part of a new institution; the South Kensington Museum. At first, it might have seemed that the move to the South Kensington site in 1857 threatened to upset Robinson’s intimate, domestic display schemes that had been so easily accommodated within the ready-made domestic interior at Marlborough House. The acquisition of very large objects, such as the eighteen-foot tall cast of the David gifted by Queen Victoria, also threatened to disturb the intimate domestic arrangement of the ornamental art collections. Indeed, the new South Kensington Museum, housed in a cavernous glass and iron structure, nicknamed ‘The Brompton Boilers’ and described as a ‘huge lugubrious hospital for decayed railway carriages’ 26 by a reviewer from the Civil Engineer, provided a truly varied and confusing educational experience for visitors, incorporating a diverse range of scientific and artistic exhibits. Judging by his 1897 retrospective description of the early Museum, Robinson clearly saw the institution as incoherent and insufficient for the effectual display of the Museum of Ornamental Art’s collection, referring to it as a ‘motley medley chaos.’27 The Museum was split into several contrasting sections. Exhibits ranged from a collection of patented machinery at one end of the Boilers, through a display of Gothic architectural casts and raw materials, to an educational array of nutritional foodstuffs and an important collection of British fine art paintings. A two-storey, brick extension was built on to the Boilers to house and protect these paintings, as the Boilers themselves were not sufficiently fireproof or waterproof. The paintings were installed on the first floor of the new building, whilst part of Robinson’s Museum of Ornamental Art was housed in four small rooms downstairs, allowing 23 Robinson, Introductory Lecture, 25. 24 Whitehead, ‘Enjoyment for the Thousands,’ 223. 25 Whitehead, ‘Enjoyment for the Thousands,’ 223-4. 26 Anon, Civil Engineer and Architect’s Journal 19, 1856, 187 in Burton, Vision and Accident, 48. 27 Robinson, ‘Our Public Art Museums,’ 955. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 11 him to maintain some sense of the intimate domestic space that he had achieved at Marlborough House.28 Whilst it is impossible to know exactly how these rooms appeared, one can speculate that Robinson would have maintained his domestic displays as far as possible, given the similar size and layout of the rooms to those at Marlborough House. But the Museum of Ornamental Art was not just confined to the new, brick building – Robinson would somehow have to accommodate his display scheme within the Boilers themselves. Unlike the relatively open-plan exhibition halls associated with the international exhibitions of the period, the South Kensington Museum’s diverse collections were split into closed compartments separated by temporary walls allowing Robinson to maintain a sense of intimacy within a smaller space. In the centre was the ‘Art Museum,’ a court occupied by loans, large items of furniture and sculpture that was crowned by the plaster cast of Michelangelo’s David. This compartment arguably acted as a grand, central ‘showroom’ of large, impressive objects from Robinson’s collections. A photograph of the ‘Art Museum’ taken by the Museum’s photographer, Charles Thurston Thompson, in c.1857 shows the eclecticism of the display: it contained everything from Italian Renaissance wall decoration to German Baroque carved furniture and modern British ceramics [fig.6]. Figure 6 Charles Thurston Thompson, Interior of the Art Museum, c.1857-9. Albumen print from glass negative (dimensions unknown). London: Victoria and Albert Museum Archive. © Victoria and Albert Museum Although the portion of the room seen in the photograph may, at first glance, appear to contain a chaotic jumble of objects, they are, in fact, grouped together in 28 ‘[ … ] the effect must have been not unlike that of Marlborough House.’ Burton, Vision and Accident, 53. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 12 specific historicized, aesthetic and, ultimately, educational ways. But the eclectic scheme is a complex one. Robinson organized the domestic-style display in a way that maintained his ideas about the educational emphasis of the Marlborough House rooms, the ‘silent refining influence’ of the objects themselves that provided an aesthetic, comparative exercise for visitors (rather than a direct, authoritative display of good and bad design or the dry facts of material comparison). At the same time, of course, he had to focus on elevating the status of the decorative arts represented therein, maintaining the material, geographic, stylistic, historical and practical integrity (the notion of the object in situ) of each object. This might seem like a tall order for any curatorial display but Robinson’s careful juxtaposition of objects, their place in small groups and within the display as a whole, reflected a successful and complicated interweaving of all these apparent considerations. The photograph shows only a small section of the whole compartment before it was opened to the public and, whilst there is a certain amount of doubt concerning, for example, the unusual placement of the central jardinière (would it have been left so exposed to damage or is it purposefully placed to create a greater sense of unity between the walls and the central arrangement within the room?) it seems as though the rest of the collections have been carefully and definitively placed for public inspection. In front of the central David, one can make out a small glazed case where the Gherardini collection of Italian Renaissance sculptors’ models was displayed.29 Flanking the David are two Italian Baroque busts, which had previously been arranged at Marlborough House to elicit technical comparison with other metal objects.30 Now, however, in the shadow of the David, they became not only examples of Italian sculpture of a certain style and material, but also formed an aesthetic and decorative role within the domestic scheme created in the Art Museum. In the foreground of the photograph (left), also central within the room, is a large, brightly-coloured Minton majolica jardinière (1855, Potteries Museum, Stoke-on-Trent).31 The painting on the far wall, St John the Baptist (sixteenth-century, V&A, London), is by a follower of Raphael but was attributed to the great Italian artist at the time of the photograph. Alongside copies of the colourful arabesques designed by Raphael for the Vatican that decorate the walls of the compartment, the oil painting represents Raphael’s two-fold position as an artist-craftsman who applied his work to isolated examples of fine art as well as fresco decoration. To the right of the picture we can recognize two pieces from the Marlborough House watercolours: the ornate Chippendale mirror and a wood-carved Flemish Renaissance altarpiece. Above this is a Swiss Renaissance carved-limewood panel depicting The Adoration of the Magi by Augustin Henckel (c.1500-20, V&A, London). Below the Chippendale mirror is an eighteenth-century German secretary32 and a 29 For more information on the arrangement of the collections see Charlotte Drew, ‘Displaying Italian Sculpture: Exploring Hierarchies at the South Kensington Museum,’ PhD diss., University of York, 2014, 131-98. 30 Drew, ‘Displaying Italian Sculpture,’ 67. 31 The jardinière was gifted to the Potteries Museum by the V&A in 1934. 32 Conforti, ‘The Idealist Enterprise and the Applied Arts,’ 31. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 13 medieval, brass German chandelier (c.1480-1520, V&A, London) hangs from the ceiling. One can begin to see how the aesthetic groupings of these various objects would have led visitors’ gazes from one to the next: the visitor could notice similarities and differences within stylistic groups and be able to compare them within the eclectic collection as a whole. This is very much in keeping with the earlier description of Sauvageot’s display, which ‘led the viewer’s attention from quite simple objects to the most delicate or brilliant marvels.’33 The eye was encouraged to roam, as it had been at Marlborough House, Sauvageot’s and Cluny, to take in the objects as groups and to analyze not only their place within the domestic-style space as a whole, and to pinpoint the most significant exhibits, but also to compare them within their different historical and geographical groupings. This arrangement alone would have performed a variety of functions. Firstly, it provided an overall aesthetic effect, bringing grand domestic interiors to mind and demonstrating how stylistically, historically and geographically different, decorative yet functional objects could be placed together in symmetrical, aesthetic harmony. Secondly, it revealed those differences in style, design, technique, size, colouring etc. of Northern Renaissance and Baroque furniture and devotional objects in (predominantly) wood and metal and juxtaposed them for comparison. Thirdly, it placed the heavily carved, ornate, dark wood and glittering metals of the Northern examples within the confines of a selection of bright, colourful painted frescoes of the Italian High Renaissance – both Italian Renaissance painted decoration and Northern Baroque sculpted furniture were re-contextualized and united in situ within a new, shared architectural space. More Italian examples of different styles and periods that aesthetically and stylistically complemented the Raphael frescoes, of course, could then be found in the centre of the room where the white ‘marble’ and bright colours of Southern Europe stood in aesthetic contrast to their dark, heavy Northern counterparts along the wall. Scattered amongst them were modern, British manufactures – standing shoulder-to-shoulder with these harmonious, historical styles that had influenced their production. The visual dialogue between objects old and new, their associations and comparisons, is therefore exercised in all directions – along the walls, across the walkway, and from floor to ceiling. Robinson’s educational displays were more complex than a mere emulation of a domestic interior. They were a visual polylogue - a meeting of styles, materials, histories, geographies, sculpture, painting, architecture, ornament – that visitors could appreciate and students of the School of Art (or, maybe, curators of other museums) could learn from. Public and private collecting: a step too far? One particular visitor that Robinson was keen to inspire was the private collector. The encouragement of the collector, however, was somewhat of a contentious issue. Robinson made a point of encouraging this particular class of visitor, stating the importance of ‘the collector: whose pursuit it is [ … ] clearly a national duty to 33 Burton, Vision and Accident, 9. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 14 countenance and encourage.’34 Addressing the world of collectors, that elite group of wealthy individuals who already had a stake within other metropolitan museums, might seem antithetical to the aims of such a popular state museum as that at South Kensington. Involving private collectors, however, would in turn be beneficial for the Museum, whose collections were vastly dependent on private loans and estate sales. Robinson was frustrated by the many sanctions put in place that limited his purchases for the Museum: the public purse strings were tightened in the early years of the Museum, thanks to the conflict in the Crimea, and it had always been the Museum’s policy to exhibit objects on loan before committing to buy them. In letters to Cole, the Board of Trade, and even directly to the Chancellor, William Gladstone, Robinson consistently appealed for more ready money for Museum acquisitions, as well as for a rise in his own salary, which maintained not only his living costs but his private collecting habits. The money was often not forthcoming. As Robinson’s reputation grew and he was employed as an agent for various private collectors, including Matthew Uzielli, a partner in the merchant banking firm Devaux & Co. of London, he would sometimes use both their money, and his own, to purchase objects for the Museum, which he would later reimburse with government funds at cost price: a dangerous game to play for a public servant with the reputation of a government Department to preserve. As Yallop has suggested: the spheres of private and public collecting were intimately entangled during the Victorian period, more so than ever before or since: the collection being developed at South Kensington was so much a part of Robinson’s character and had his identity so clearly written into it that it was difficult to see any distinction between his personal choices and those he was making on behalf of the nation.35 But Robinson often defended his actions, taking advantage of the benefits of free trade and impressing the importance of the free movement of objects into Britain in any manner possible, as soon as they became available, by private or public means. It was down to Robinson’s complete disregard for the rules that many of the subsequent Italian sculpture acquisitions were swiftly purchased for the Museum and not lost to other, foreign collections. To further broaden his social connections within the art world, Robinson founded the Fine Arts Club in 1856, which connected eighty-two eminent and wealthy private collectors, connoisseurs, curators and art enthusiasts directly with the Museum.36 The club included names such as Gladstone, John Ruskin, Charles Eastlake, the director of the National Gallery, and the sculptor, Baron Carlo Marochetti. At first, Cole supported Robinson’s club, and even attended as a 34 Robinson, Catalogue of a Collection of Works of Decorative Art: Being a Selection from the Museum at Marlborough House, Circulated for Exhibition in Provincial Schools of Art, London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1855, 3. 35 Yallop, Magpies, Squirrels and Thieves, 81. 36 This number quickly rose and the club had to limit its membership to 200. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 15 member, clearly seeing the benefits such connections would have for the Museum. Indeed, the club would provide the Museum with the exhibits for one of the most successful exhibitions in its early history, Robinson’s Special Exhibition of Works of Art of the Mediæval and Renaissance Periods of 1862. From this point onwards, however, the club began to move further and further away from the public forum of the museum, meeting instead at members’ homes and, some might argue, Robinson’s populist sensibilities went with it, contributing to his estrangement with Cole and his demotion to art referee in 1863. However, Robinson’s connections in the collecting world did prove to be beneficial. His displays at the Museum and their allusion to the private domestic interior often provided a benchmark for the private collector that would influence fashions for collecting certain objects. For example, as Peter Trippi and Timothy Stevens have pointed out, a taste for collecting Italian maiolica, Palissy ware and della Robbia ware became increasingly popular over the course of the nineteenth century, having previously been neglected. 37 This was no surprise, considering the dazzling display of these colourful ceramics, brought in with the well-publicized and highly popular Soulages collection in 1856 [fig.3].38 Furthermore, following the loans exhibition of 1862 a taste for collecting medieval and renaissance objects also took off in Britain, fuelling the appreciation for the decorative arts of these periods. Despite his demotion, throughout the 1860s Robinson continued to hound the authorities for more money and more autonomy to improve the collections, making scathing remarks about Cole’s abilities as director when he was refused. He became such a nuisance that he was slowly managed out of the role completely, eventually leaving the Museum in 1868. But when Cole died in 1882 Robinson began loaning objects to the Museum from his now extensive private collection. It was through this connection that, for a short time, he re-entered into the role he had once enjoyed. Now that Cole was not around to argue with him, the latter part of Robinson’s life was spent publicly congratulating himself for almost single- handedly creating one of the world’s most important public collections, as the opening quotation to this article suggests. Robinson’s contribution to public collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum, to art history and criticism in his published scholarly catalogues, and to the increasing taste for private collecting in ever-widening circles, should not be forgotten or belittled. His collections and displays at South Kensington did foster various new tastes for certain types of objets d’art and he is responsible for selecting and acquiring the foundations of what is now a world-class institution. The many-faceted position that he took as public curator, private collector, critic, art historian, connoisseur, dealer, and artist, is key to understanding the indistinct nature of these roles in the mid-nineteenth century. Robinson was largely successful in consolidating these responsibilities, taking a diverse approach 37 Timothy Stevens and Peter Trippi, ‘An Encyclopedia of Treasures: The Idea of the Great Collection,’ in Baker and Richardson, A Grand Design, 155. 38 A collection of Italian maiolica could also be found at the British Museum, somewhat controversially in the eyes of the authorities at the Museum of Ornamental Art. The Soulages collection followed a similarly large acquisition in 1855 from the Bernal collections. Charlotte Drew The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum 16 to the formation of the collections at South Kensington; their acquisition, display and scholarly promotion for the benefit and education of the public at large. This makes him a vital contributor to the professionalization of museum practice in the nineteenth century and highlights the impact that one man with many talents had on the formation of nineteenth-century museum collections and Victorian taste. Charlotte Drew is the Henry Moore Post Doctoral Fellow at the University of Bristol (2017-19). Her research project, Invention and Industry: The Victorian Renaissance of Ceramic Sculpture explores Victorian responses to Quattrocento ceramic sculpture at the South Kensington Museum. She has recently been awarded a Paul Mellon Post Doctoral Fellowship (2019) for Displaying Italian Sculpture: South Kensington Reimagined, a virtual exhibition project that seeks to recreate historic displays at the Victorian museum. Her doctoral research contributed to the AHRC-funded Displaying Victorian Sculpture project at the Universities of York and Warwick and the Yale Center for British Art, which culminated in the Sculpture Victorious exhibition at the YCBA and Tate Britain in 2015. cd5235@bristol.ac.uk This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial 4.0 International License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ 
work_gcxyp6ur2jflbgb3hxhi72trs4	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
work_ggh44k3ypbadlnxwfwjc4huvbq	----	The Babinski sign in Renaissance paintings—a reappraisal of the toe phenomenon in representations of the Christ Child: observational analysis the bmj | BMJ 2020;371:m4556 | doi: 10.1136/bmj.m4556 1 R e s e a R c h The Babinski sign in Renaissance paintings—a reappraisal of the toe phenomenon in representations of the Christ Child: observational analysis François Sellal,1,2 Laurent Tatu3 AbstrAct Objective To investigate systematically the presence of the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child by the greatest painters of the Renaissance. Design Observational analysis. setting Large collection of paintings depicting the Christ Child from Flemish, Rhenish, and Italian schools between 1400 and 1550 CE, searched using published catalogues and Google. stuDy sample 302 Renaissance paintings (by 19 painters) depicting the Christ Child. main OutcOme measure Babinski sign, defined as a hallux extension with an amplitude greater than 30°. The presence of foot sole stimulation was also noted. results An unquestionable upgoing toe was apparent in 90 (30%) of the 302 paintings. The Babinski sign was present in more than 60% of Christ Child paintings by Rogier van der Weyden, Hans Memling, Martin Schongauer, and Matthias Grünewald. A bilateral Babinski sign was observed in three paintings. Stimulation of the sole was noted in 48/90 (53%) paintings and was always present in paintings by Andrea del Verrocchio, Leonardo da Vinci, and Giorgione. No association existed between the presence of the Babinski sign and the period during which the painter was active. cOnclusiOns Four main factors were noted in relation to the representation of the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child: the physiological toe phenomenon in infants, the representation of the nudity of the Christ by painters during the 15th century to demonstrate the incarnation, Renaissance painters’ need for precise observation of anatomy, and the desire of some Rhenish and Flemish painters to depict very realistic details. Italian Renaissance painters, whether Mannerist or not, tended to idealise the beauty of human body, and they often did not reproduce the Babinski sign. Introduction Since Babinski’s seminal description before the Biological Society of Paris on 22 February 1896, the phénomène des orteils (toe phenomenon) has been considered a strong sign of pyramidal tract dysfunction.1 The phenomenon consists of hallux extension during stimulation of the lateral plantar region of the foot. Less than a decade after its description, some neurologists noticed that eminent Renaissance painters had depicted this neuro­ logical phenomenon in representations of the Christ Child.2 3 A revolution in painting during the 15th century allowed this kind of representation, as artists demonstrated the incarnation of the Christ by presenting the nudity of the Christ Child, who now appeared in a very realistic form. The presence of the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child raises the question of the physiological plantar reflex in newborns and children. Because the pyramidal tract is not fully developed at birth, dorsiflexion of the big toe can be observed in neonates either spontaneously or on stimulation of the sole of the foot.3 4 This question, particularly the nature of the plantar reflex in children and the related terminology, was a matter of debate for decades and is still discussed.5 6 Previous attempts to assess the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child were made before the internet era.2 7 8 At that time, access to the catalogue raisonné of each painter was limited and references were strongly dependent on the author’s personal knowledge. Our aim in this study was to use a strict and specific method to systematically investigate the presence of the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child by the greatest painters who were active during the Renaissance, which we define here as between 1400 CE and 1550 CE. We hypothesised that the representation of a Babinski sign could be linked to the painter’s Mannerist tendency, to a copying effect, or to a greater knowledge of anatomy and physiology during the Renaissance, as the relations between art and medicine were very strong during this period. 1Neurology Department, Hôpitaux Civils de Colmar, Colmar, France 2INSERM U-1118, University of Strasbourg, Strasbourg, France 3Department of Anatomy and Department of Neuromuscular Diseases, CHRU Besançon, University of Franche-Comté, Besançon, France Correspondence to: F Sellal francois.sellal@ch-colmar.fr (ORCID 0000-0002-8581-7372) Additional material is published online only. To view please visit the journal online. cite this as: BMJ 2020;371:m4556 http://dx.doi.org/10.1136/bmj.m4556 Accepted: 16 November 2020 WhAt Is AlreAdy knoWn on thIs topIc Previous investigations of the depiction of the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child in the Renaissance were conducted before the Internet era and were therefore incomplete WhAt thIs study Adds The main factors in the representation of the sign in this period are the physiological toe phenomenon, a trend towards representing the nudity of the Christ Child, and a desire to represent anatomy precisely Rhenish and Flemish painters tended to depict realistic details, whereas Italian painters tended to idealise their subjects o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B M J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.m 4 5 5 6 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m mailto:francois.sellal@ch-colmar.fr https://orcid.org/0000-0002-8581-7372 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1136/bmj.m4556&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2020-12-03 http://www.bmj.com/ c h R i s t M a s 2 0 2 0 : G R e y ’ s a n at o M y 2 doi: 10.1136/bmj.m4556 | BMJ 2020;371:m4556 | the bmj Methods We did an extensive search to investigate the presence of the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child from the greatest artists of the period 1400­1550 CE. In addition to using the published catalogues, we did Google searches for the term “Christ Child paintings” in conjunction with each of the following terms: “Jesus Christ birth”, “Nativity”, “Presentation of Jesus in the Temple”, “Adoration of the Magi”, and “Madonna and Child”, to browse the larger collection of paintings depicting Jesus as a newborn. We limited our analysis to the most famous painters from the Flemish, Rhenish, and Italian schools: Jan van Eyck, Rogier van der Weyden, Fra Angelico, Masaccio, Hans Memling, Andrea del Verrocchio, Sandro Botticelli, Fra Filippo Lippi, Domenico Ghirlandaio, Martin Schongauer, Gérard David, Leonardo da Vinci, Albrecht Dürer, Lucas Cranach the Elder, Matthias Grünewald, Michelangelo, Giorgione, Raphael, Hans Baldung­Grien, Tiziano, Paolo Caliari Veronese, and Il Tintoretto. We considered that a hallux extension was indis­ putable, and represented a Babinski sign, when its amplitude was greater than 30° from the sole of the child’s foot. In each case, we also checked for the presence of stimulation of the infant’s foot sole by another person’s body part, contact of the foot with clothes, or self­stimulation by the child. patient and public involvement We did not involve patients and the public in this research. results We omitted three painters from the analysis: Il Tintoretto (c1518­94) and Michelangelo (1475­1594), who painted the Christ Child either not at all or very rarely, and Hans Baldung­Grien (c1484­1545), in whose paintings Christ’s feet were systematically not visible (either wrapped in swaddling clothes or hidden). For the 19 remaining painters, we found 302 paintings depicting a Christ Child whose feet were sufficiently visible to allow us to look for the Babinski sign. We found an unquestionable upgoing toe in 90 (30%) paintings. The Babinski sign was present in more than 60% of paintings of the Christ Child by Rogier van der Weyden, Hans Memling, Martin Schongauer, and Mathias Grünewald. Conversely, Fra Angelico, Masaccio, Tiziano, and Jan van Eyck did not depict the Christ Child with an upgoing toe at all (table 1). No simple relation existed between the presence of a Babinski sign and the period during which the painter was active (fig 1). In the 90 paintings, the earliest depictions of the Babinski sign were present in paintings by Rogier van der Weyden (Saint Luke Drawing the Virgin, c 1435­40, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (fig 2, A); Duran Virgin, c1430­35, Museo del Prado, Madrid). We observed stimulation of the sole of Christ’s foot in 48/90 (53%) of the paintings in which the Babinski sign was present. No paintings by Matthias Grünewald or Veronese depicted stimulation of the foot, but it was always present in paintings by Verrocchio, Leonardo da Vinci, and Giorgione. Stimulation was variably observed in other paintings (table 1). No association was apparent between the presence of the Babinski sign and the type of painting (Nativity, Presentation of Jesus in the Temple, Adoration of the Magi, or Madonna and Child). We observed a bilateral Babinski sign in three paintings, one of which was The Virgin and Child with Two Angels by Andrea del Verrochio (National Gallery, London) (fig 2, D), painted in around 1470 with his assistant Lorenzo di Credi (c1459­1537). Clear stimulation of the soles of the Christ Child’s feet by the angel’s elbow is visible in this painting. Two paintings by Leonardo da Vinci also showed a bilateral Babinski sign (Madonna of the Carnation, c1479, Alte Pinakothek, Munich; Madonna Benois, c1480, Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg). discussion The presence of the Babinski sign has already been reported for some Renaissance paintings, and the first observations date from the beginning of the 20th century.2 3 More recently, several articles have highlighted paintings by Botticelli containing the Babinski sign.7­9 However, some other paintings with the toe phenomenon have scarcely been written about,8 10 and, until now, no systematic study of the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child from the Renaissance period (1400­1550 CE) has been reported. We did such a study using a specific and strict method, and we observed that 30% (90/302) of the corpus of paintings portrayed the Babinski sign, with a stimulating factor in 53% (48/90) of cases. possible explanations This frequency mainly results from the artistic revolution of the 15th century. In the Middle Ages, when trying to illustrate Jesus Christ, painters often represented him as a small man, with a child’s height but the body and the face of an adult. Even though this way of depicting the Christ Child is still used in some Orthodox traditions, it might be regarded as an incongruity, as highlighted by Huysmans: “To make the inexpressible childhood of a God (…) they created a hybrid being, who is no longer a child, and who is not a God, some kind of monster.”11 During the Renaissance, artists began to represent the nudity of the Christ Child to demonstrate the incarnation of Christ, who was subsequently portrayed in a very realistic form. Modern art historians postulate that the imagery of the overtly sexed Christ was an affirmation of kinship with the human condition.12 As a consequence of a growing desire for realism, most Renaissance painters no longer depicted the Christ Child as a small man but as a real infant. If they had live infants as models, they were more likely to involuntarily reproduce the Babinski sign. This realism was not merely the consequence of the Italian o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B M J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.m 4 5 5 6 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ R e s e a R c h the bmj | BMJ 2020;371:m4556 | doi: 10.1136/bmj.m4556 3 Renaissance revolution, as it is much more the hallmark of Flemish and Rhenish painters (particularly van der Weyden, Memling, Schongauer, and Grünewald), known for their tendency to paint precise, sometimes trivial, realistic details from everyday life. This trend towards realistic depictions is also shown by the fact that in these paintings, the infants, clothes, and general surroundings belong to the Western world contemporary to the painters and are not representative of the Middle East in the first century CE. This tendency may also explain the painters’ frequent reproduction of the Babinski sign as soon as representation of the infant’s nudity became acceptable, examples of which are given in figure 2 (A­C and E). By contrast, Italian painters tended to depict idealised human bodies, with a quest for perfect beauty, as seen in the models of antiquity. Therefore, some painters, such as Fra Angelico, Masaccio, or Tiziano, failed to reproduce the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child. The stimulating atmosphere of the Renaissance period and the need for a scientific approach and precise observation of live infants to improve likenesses has been proposed as a possible explanation of the representation of the Babinski sign in paintings of the Christ Child. The particular influence of the Renaissance led to accurate depiction of natural phenomena, especially in painting. Botticelli was an example of this new focus; 40% (12/30) of his paintings in this study depict a Babinski sign. Nevertheless, many great painters such as Raphael, known to have an eye for the finest details of their subjects, almost never depicted the Christ Child with an upgoing toe. Many Renaissance painters were aware of medical and anatomical realities; neurological abnormalities such as ulnar claw or facial dystonia appear in Renaissance paintings,13 14 and some painters, such as Michelangelo and da Vinci, did anatomical dissections. However, this pursuit of anatomical knowledge seems not to have been a determining factor for the depiction table 1 | Overview of corpus of 302 paintings artist (dates) paintings (n=302) babinski sign (n=90) stimulation when babinski sign is present (n=48) Jan van Eyck (c1390-1441) 6 0 0 Fra Angelico (c1400-1455) 15 0 0 Rogier van der Weyden (c1400-1464) 13 8 2 Masaccio (1401-1428) 8 0 0 Fra Filippo Lippi (1406-1469) 26 1 1 Andrea del Verrocchio (c1435-1488) 8 4 4 Hans Memling (c1435-1494) 17 11 3 Sandro Botticelli (144-–1510) 30 12 9 Domenico Ghirlandaio (1448-1494) 12 1 1 Martin Schongauer (c1450-1491) 8 5 2 Gérard David (c1450-1523) 25 8 4 Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519) 9 2 2 Albrecht Dürer (1471-1528) 13 5 4 Lucas Cranach the Elder (1472-1553) 47 18 6 Matthias Grünewald (c1475-1528) 3 2 0 Giorgio Barbarelli (1477-1510) 5 2 2 Raphael (1483-1520) 33 9 8 Tiziano (c1488-1576) 12 0 0 Paolo Caliari Veronese (1528-1588) 12 2 0 Chronological list of Renaissance painters F re q u e n cy o f B ab in sk i s ig n (% ) 0 40 60 80 20 Va n Ey ck Va n de r W ey de n Fr a A ng el ico M as ac cio Lip pi Ve rro cc hi o M em lin g Bo tti ce lli Gh irl an da io Sc ho ng au er Da vid Da V in ci Dü re r Cr an ac h th e E ld er Gr ün ew ald Gi or gi on e Ra ph ae l Ti zia no Ve ro ne se Flemish/Rhenish Italian Fig 1 | chronological overview of 19 painters included in study. Frequency of babinski sign in paintings by artists o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B M J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.m 4 5 5 6 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ c h R i s t M a s 2 0 2 0 : G R e y ’ s a n at o M y 4 doi: 10.1136/bmj.m4556 | BMJ 2020;371:m4556 | the bmj of the Babinski sign in painting; da Vinci, who was an anatomist and contributed to the study of the nervous system,15 depicted the Babinski sign in only 22% (2/9) of his paintings of the Christ Child. Similarly, no Tiziano paintings portray the toe phenomenon. However, Tiziano, with his student Jan van Calcar (c1499­ 1545), certainly participated in the illustrations for the anatomical masterpiece De Corporis Fabrica by Andreas Vesalius (1514­64).16 To explain about 30% of the paintings displaying a Babinski sign in our study, two other mechanisms can be discussed: the “master­student effect,” and the copying effect. In our corpus, a master­student effect could be suspected regarding Leonardo da Vinci and his master Andrea del Verrochio. It is interesting to note that the three paintings of the Christ Child with a bilateral Babinski sign were produced by Andrea del Verrochio (The Virgin and Child with Two Angels, c1470) (fig 2, D) and Leonardo da Vinci (Madonna of the Carnation, c1479, and Madonna Benois, c1480). This hypothesis of artistic filiation is supported by the bilateral Babinski sign that was recently observed on a sculpture attributed to da Vinci (Virgin with the Laughing Child).17 The practice of copying works of art was frequent during the Renaissance, particularly for Virgin and Christ Child paintings. The painting Saint Luke Drawing the Virgin, of which many copies exist, is a clear example of this.18 However, examples of serial paintings, such as Madonna and Child with the Milk Soup by Gérard David, which was reproduced in at least three versions, are rare. The Babinski sign is not present in the version of this painting exhibited in the Palazzo Bianco in Genoa, whereas it is present in the other two versions. Cranach the Elder frequently produced serial paintings of the Madonna and Child, reproducing the Babinski sign each time, but this phenomenon cannot explain the occurrence of the sign in other paintings by the same artist, such as The Virgin and Child with a Bunch of Grapes (Fig 2, E). Fig 2 | Details from five paintings depicting a babinski sign. a: rogier van der Weyden, St Luke Drawing the Virgin (1435-40), boston Fine arts museum (usa). b: gérard David, Virgin Among the Virgins (c1509), musée des beaux-arts de rouen (France). c: martin schongauer, Orlier Altarpiece (1470-75), musée unterlinden, colmar (France). D: verrocchio, The Virgin and Child with Two Angels (1476), national gallery, london (uK). e: lucas cranach the elder, The Virgin and Child with a Bunch of Grapes (c1525), alte pinakothek, munich (germany) o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B M J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.m 4 5 5 6 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ R e s e a R c h the bmj | BMJ 2020;371:m4556 | doi: 10.1136/bmj.m4556 5 An alternative hypothesis is that the dorsiflexion of the toes in some of Botticelli’s or Cranach’s infants is a Mannerist stylistic choice, as shown also by the formalised placements of the fingers.9 However, this cannot be the correct explanation, as Mannerism is an artistic style that emerged only in the later years of the Italian High Renaissance (around 1520), breaking all the codes of anatomical accuracy, proportion, and balance.19 Mannerism is clearly absent in paintings by Flemish painters such as Rogier van der Weyden or Gérard David or Rhenish painters such as Martin Schongauer, who frequently depicted the Babinski sign. Examples of works containing the Babinski sign by these artists are in figure 2 (A, B, and C). Many studies of the plantar reflex in infants have been published. These have sometimes reported contradictory findings about the flexion or extension response (Babinski sign) of this reflex. One reason for these heterogeneous results may be the interference of the grasp reflex of the toes, which is generally present during the first year of life. Taking the grasp reflex into account, the physiological response of the plantar reflex until the age of 6 months is hallux extension. The main factor in eliciting the hallux extension in infants seems to be the intensity of the stimulus.4 20 In our corpus, we observed stimulation of the foot in 53% (48/90) of the paintings. We obviously could not evaluate the intensity of this stimulus. Nevertheless, as already noted, in some cases the stimulus was directly applied to the lateral part of the sole, the site known to elicit the Babinski sign.7 At the age of 6 months, hallux extension usually ceases to be the manifestation of the plantar reflex.4 20 Nativity, Adoration of the Magi, and Presentation at the Temple paintings are supposed to be set during the first week of Jesus’s life, and Madonna and Child paintings during the first year. Evidently, the age of the Christ Child as depicted in paintings does not correspond to the chronological reality of these events. We therefore cannot show a relation between the frequency of the Babinski sign and the subject matter of the paintings in our series. Even if a preoccupation with realism dominated in this artistic period, the painted Christ Child usually appears older than the reality. As determining the precise age of the model is difficult, we are not able to establish a correlation with the myelinisation of the nervous system. The use of older children as models might therefore explain the low frequency of the depiction of the Babinski sign by some painters. conclusions The Babinski sign is frequently depicted in the Renaissance paintings of the Christ Child that we analysed: 90/302 (30%). Several factors contributed to this phenomenon, including the physiological plantar reflex in newborns and children, a revolution in painting in the 15th century (the authorisation to portray the nudity of the Christ Child to demonstrate the incarnation), and the need the Renaissance painters felt to use a scientific approach and precise observation of anatomy. Finally, a taste for painting precise, sometimes trivial, and very realistic details from everyday life was a more common characteristic of Rhenish and Flemish painters and explains why they would be more likely to involuntarily depict the Babinski sign when painting live infants. As for Italian Renaissance painters, although some portrayed the toe phenomenon, their tendency to idealise the beauty of human body, whether Mannerist or not, may explain the fact that they often did not reproduce the Babinski sign. We thank Suzanne Braun for the fruitful discussions, Moana Jardin and Nathalie Naffzger for the graphic work, and Jennifer Dobson for proofreading the article. Contributors: FS and LT designed and conceptualized the study, acquired and interpreted the data, and drafted the manuscript. The corresponding author attests that all listed authors meet authorship criteria and that no others meeting the criteria have been omitted. FS is the guarantor. Funding: None. Competing interests: All authors have completed the ICMJE uniform disclosure form at www.icmje.org/coi_disclosure.pdf and declare: no support from any organisation for the submitted work; no financial relationships with any organisations that might have an interest in the submitted work in the previous three years; no other relationships or activities that could appear to have influenced the submitted work. Ethical approval: Not needed. Data sharing: No additional data available. The lead author (the manuscript’s guarantor) affirms that this manuscript is an honest, accurate, and transparent account of the study being reported; that no important aspects of the study have been omitted; and that any discrepancies from the study as planned (and, if relevant, registered) have been explained. Dissemination to participants and related patient and public communities: As the results of this study do not have any direct implications for patient care, we do not intend to disseminate the results to any patient or public communities. Provenance and peer review: Not commissioned; externally peer reviewed. This is an Open Access article distributed in accordance with the Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial (CC BY-NC 4.0) license, which permits others to distribute, remix, adapt, build upon this work non-commercially, and license their derivative works on different terms, provided the original work is properly cited and the use is non-commercial. See: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/ by-nc/4.0/. 1  Babinski J. Sur le réflexe cutané plantaire dans certaines affections organiques du système nerveux central. C R Séances. Soc Biol 1896;3:207-8. 2  Laignel-Lavastine M. L’extension des orteils dans l’art. Nouv. icon. Salpêtrière 1905;18:117-20. 3  Rosenblum S. Du développement du système nerveux au cours de la première enfance. Thesis. Le François, Paris, 1915. 4  Van Gijn J. The plantar reflex. An historical, clinical and electromyographic study. Thesis. The Netherlands Krips Repro, Meppel, 1977. 5  Ng YT, Bodensteiner JB. The extensor plantar response in neonates is not the same as the Babinski sign. Pediatr Neurol 2005;32:218, author reply 218-9. doi:10.1016/j.pediatrneurol.2004.10.006  6  Landau WM. The extensor plantar response in neonates is not the same as the Babinski sign. Pediatr Neurol 2005;33:223. doi:10.1016/j.pediatrneurol.2005.07.001  7  Cone TEJr, Khoshbin S. Botticelli demonstrates the Babinski reflex more than 400 years before Babinski; pediatrics in art. Am J Dis Child 1978;132:188. doi:10.1001/ archpedi.1978.02120270086018  8  Massey EW, Sanders L. Babinski’s sign in medieval, Renaissance, and baroque art. Arch Neurol 1989;46:85-8. doi:10.1001/ archneur.1989.00520370087025  9  Di Rocco C. Botticelli and the Babinski sign. Childs Nerv Syst 2006;22:1061-2. doi:10.1007/s00381-006-0144-1  10  Tatu L. A newly discovered Babinski sign in a Renaissance painting. Eur Neurol 2017;77:195. doi:10.1159/000455844  o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B M J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.m 4 5 5 6 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.icmje.org/coi_disclosure.pdf http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://www.bmj.com/ R e s e a R c h No commercial reuse: See rights and reprints http://www.bmj.com/permissions Subscribe: http://www.bmj.com/subscribe 11  Huysmans JK. De Tout. Chapter 10. Noëls au Louvre. Stock, 1902: 137-47. 12  Steinberg L. The sexuality of Christ in Renaissance art and in modern oblivion. 2nd ed. University of Chicago Press, 1996. doi:10.7208/ chicago/9780226226316.001.0001 13  Bono F, Morelli M, Quattrone A. Facial dystonia as depicted in art in the time of Leonardo da Vinci. Lancet Neurol 2015;14:351. doi:10.1016/S1474-4422(15)70012-8  14  Vein AA, Mouret A. Claw hand in a Renaissance portrait. Lancet Neurol 2018;17:742. doi:10.1016/S1474-4422(18)30282-5  15  Pevsner J. Leonardo da Vinci’s studies of the brain. Lancet 2019;393:1465-72. doi:10.1016/S0140-6736(19) 30302-2  16  Hazard J. [Jan Stephan Van Calcar, a valuable and unrecognized collaborator of Vesalius]. Hist Sci Med 1996;30:471-80. 17  Brigo F, Caglioti F. Babinski sign in the only existing sculpture by Leonardo. Childs Nerv Syst 2019. doi:10.1007/s00381-019- 04342-6  18  Ishikawa C. Rogier van der Weyden’s. Saint Luke drawing the Virgin reexamined. Journal of the Museum of Fine Arts Boston 1990;2:49-64. 19  Charlier P, Lippi D, Perciaccante A, Appenzeller O, Bianucci R. Neurological disorder? No, Mannerism. Lancet Neurol 2019;18:135. doi:10.1016/S1474-4422(18)30447-2  20  Gingold MK, Jaynes ME, Bodensteiner JB, Romano JT, Hammond MT. The rise and fall of the plantar response in infancy. J Pediatr 1998;133:568-70. doi:10.1016/S0022-3476(98)70071-X  o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B M J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.m 4 5 5 6 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_gkz7ucesfjhfriqrnx6s2bljby	----	RQX_73_4_BookReviews 1455..1456 time repeatedly postponed them, was particularly popular in the belated nation of Italy is therefore not really convincing. One would also have liked the book to have a sum- marizing chapter in which the complex argumentation would once again have been carefully presented; the short “Nachwort” cannot do this. Notwithstanding these objec- tions, Italien im Heiligen Land is an intelligent book, suitable not only for students of Renaissance literature but also historians of the late Middle Ages and the early modern period. Thomas Frank, Università di Pavia doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.298 The Enemy in Italian Renaissance Epic: Images of Hostility from Dante to Tasso. Andrea Moudarres. The Early Modern Exchange. Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2019. xii + 250 pp. $35. In this era of ever-narrower academic specialization, fewer young scholars of Italian are daring to take on wide-ranging research topics that involve more than one or two major works. The chief obstacle relates to the amount of bibliographic mastery required, for example, to be a Dante scholar or an expert in Ariosto. Either of those tasks can prove extremely daunting. Therefore, when it comes to researching the rich Italian medieval and Renaissance epic tradition, it is rare to encounter a graduate student, at least in the United States, who is desirous to follow in the footsteps of such legends of scholarship as Robert Durling and Barlett Giammati or, more recently, David Quint and Jo Ann Cavallo. Enter Andrea Moudarres, winner of the 2018 Modern Language Association Aldo and Jeanne Scaglione Publication Award for a Manuscript in Italian Literary Studies. Mentored by Piero Boitani at Rome’s “La Sapienza” and by Giuseppe Mazzotta at Yale, Mourdarres took on the task of writing authoritatively not only about four emi- nent Italian epic poets (Dante, Pulci, Ariosto, and Tasso) but also about the influence of Homer, Lucan, and Virgil on the Italian epic tradition as it relates to images of hostility. Begun as a doctoral dissertation, The Enemy in Italian Renaissance Epic has evolved into an introduction, four well-researched and well-argued chapters, and an epilogue. The endnotes comprise over fifty pages and contain a plethora of valuable information; a lengthy bibliography of primary and secondary sources and a helpful index close out the handsomely printed monograph. The introduction sets forth the book’s central argument, which is based on a form of cosmopolitanism: “all forms of hostility—even those conventionally considered exter- nal, such as the conflicts between Christian and Islamic forces in the Middle Ages and Renaissance—[are] predominantly internal” (2). In taking this position, Moudarres is arguing against Carl Schmitt’s long-accepted theory, adduced in the 1930s, that “the REVIEWS 1455 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog?doi=10.1017/rqx.2020.299&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core political enemy is ‘the other, the stranger’” (3). Chapter 1, “Between Fathers and Sons: Sowers of Enmity in Inferno 28,” illustrates Moudarres’s view by the way he interprets Dante’s depiction in the Inferno’s ninth bolgia of the sowers of discord. Muhammad, for example, is seen as an apostate Christian, a religious schismatic who broke with the Catholic Church by rejecting the doctrine of the Trinity, “the central source of doctrinal dissent between Islam and Christianity throughout the Middle Ages” (17). Likewise, other schismatics, such as Pier da Medicina, Curio, and Mosca de’ Lamberti, also illus- trate internal dissent because they “exemplify the dangers of enmity within kingdoms or cities” (18). In chapter 2, “The Enemy within the Walls: Treachery, Pride, and Civil Strife in Pulci’s Morgante,” Moudarres records that Pulci’s epic tells of “340 traitors and betray- als” (44), and that the poem “exposes the primary vulnerability that lies within every community: the internal rivalries that may eventually consume its political body” (45). The author draws a convincing parallel between the giant Morgante and the Greek hero Hercules, noting that both “are killed through treacherous acts of ven- geance” (54). The third chapter, “The Enemy as the Self: Madness and Tyranny in Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso,” argues that Orlando’s madness results from a bad case “of psychomachia, or battle within the soul” (75). Mourdarres also explores more intriguing interpretations, such as the possibility that the paladin’s madness is meant to suggest lycanthropy and that the parallels between Orlando and Hercules are not only in “rela- tion to Seneca’s tragedy Hercules Furens . . . but also in relation to Virgil’s Aeneid ” (77), where the theme of furor seems to be a “constant presence” (93). The final chapter, “The Geography of the Enemy: Christian and Islamic Empires from the Fall of Constantinople to Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata,” struck this reviewer as being the most provocative and speculative. The author posits that in relation to “Erminia’s and Armida’s alleged conversions . . . neither character actually embraces Christianity,” and that Tasso’s poem as a whole “does not unequivocally sustain a universalist ideology of Catholic imperialism” (108). Whether or not one agrees with such conclusions, an open- minded reader will find much to ponder in highly nuanced and close readings of the Ferrarese poet’s epic, not to mention the other three Italian epics under discussion. Madison U. Sowell, Brigham Young University, emeritus doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.299 Minding Animals in the Old and New Worlds: A Cognitive and Historical Analysis. Steven Wagschal. Toronto Iberic 36. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2018. x + 348 pp. $75. A specialist in literature, Wagschal explores how Spanish authors’ expectations, associ- ations, and modes of interaction with fauna shaped contemporary beliefs about animal RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1456 VOLUME LXXIII, NO. 4 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_go2e7wfqtvbtreivwepy2aa4fu	----	PII: 0315-0860(77)90050-7 106 Reviews HM4 century. It is the desire of Professor Collette to present later a second volume (of a projected series of four volumes) which will deal with the 17th century. At the end of this first book is a list of thirty-two sources of research and a bibliography classified under specific topics. This arrangement may incite the reader, whether he is a student, a professor or a simple layman, to have direct contact with these sources for his own research, There is an index to the principal names cited, a list of illustrations, and finally a general index. Each chapter ends with a brief r&ume’, followed by a bibliography of works or articles from scientific journals, giving the pages referring directly to the content of the chapter. Exercises are provided to facilitate the synthesis of the context or to complete cer- tain notions already presented in previous chapters. In this instructive and well-written book, the author se- lected the following periods: the prehistory of mathematics, the Babylonian civilization, the Egyptian civilization, the birth of Greek mathematics, the period from Plato to Euclid, Archimedes and the School of Alexandria, the Chinese and Hindu civilization, Islamic mathematics, the mathematics of Europe during the Middle Ages, 500-1400 A.D., the European Renaissance, and finally the beginning of the 17th century. The main mathe- matical topics discussed--numbers, fractions, geometry, elemen- tary algebra, infinite series, co-ordinate geometry and elemen- tary calculus--may lead both professors and teachers to a better understanding of the learning techniques of mathematics. Finally, although the author obtained his information from secondary sources, his book consists of an honest synthesis of the principal mathematical contribution of the great civiliza- tions that preceded us. This book is to be recommended to all lovers of mathematics and to teachers at all levels. Professor Collette has presented his manual admirably. Bravo! THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE OF MATHEMATICS. By Paul Lawrence Rose. Geneva (Librairie Droz) . 1975. xiii + 316 pp. Reviewed by Stillman make University of Toronto, Toronto M5.S 1Al European mathematics from the invention of printing with movable type to the close of the sixteenth century constitutes a topic of special interest socially as well as technically. The universities remained almost the sole repository of mathe- matics during the Middle Ages, and the chief text was Euclid. Printed books made it possible for talented persons outside the main stream of education to take part in the development of mathematics and to communicate their contributions on a scale HM4 Reviews 107 previously unmatched. At the same time, printing and other as- pects of Renaissance culture encouraged the translation and cir- culation of neglected mathematical works from classical antiquity. This book deals with the Italian and foreign mathematicians who drew primarily on Greek manuscript treasures in Italy, especially at Venice and Rome, to revive neglected sources, reopen lines of mathematical research, and begin new conquests in the domains of algebra and trigonometry. Unlike most historians of mathematics, Professor Rose has concerned himself with the patrons of mathematicians, individual and institutional, as well as the contributors to knowledge during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. A vast amount of information about mathematical source materials and their rela- tion to Renaissance books is presented, not previously brought together to my knowledge, and here woven in with biographical data concerning scores of writers, editors, and translators of mathematical works. Emphasis is placed on the social rather than the technical aspect of history of mathematics in the Italian Renaissance, providing us with a dimension of history lacking in older conventional accounts of particular theorems, problems, and notations that emerged in stated epochs. The notes accompanying each chapter are invaluable for their bibli- ographical references alone, the work having required study of a vast and scattered literature as well as of a great many still unpublished letters and manuscripts in Italian libraries. The book is attractively and accurately printed as volume 145 in the publisher’s series Travaux d'Humanisme et enaissance. The few misprints noted are unlikely to mislead anyone, as the date 1300 for 1400 on p. 84, the word “this” for “his” on p. 283, and “These” for “There” on p. 285. The same may be said of occasional infelicitous expressions such as “comet of 1604-05” on p. 229, in which a mistaken opinion of an early writer might be taken as a statement by the author about an astronomical event, Though it may be that some of the author’s evaluations and convictions will be modified as others pursue the rich field he has opened up, this monograph will, in the reviewer’s opinion, remain of permanent value to the history of the mathematical Renaissance. 
work_gwalsihpxbgzhcka34l4iovedy	----	ENGLISH SUMMARIES English summaries Piety and the Demandfor Art after the Black Death S. K. C O H N From over 500 artistic commissions found scattered through thousands of last wills and testaments in Tuscany and Umbria, this paper draws new conclusions about art production after the Black Death of 1348. The "notable disturbances" in painting magisterially discussed by Millard Meiss and other art historians, I argue, were not the results of new waves of pessimism spawned by the plague's unprecedented mortal- ities. Rather, the opposite was the case. With the récurrence of plague in the late Trecento patricians and plebeians alike broke from the grip of mendicant piety and sought out new ways to memorialize themselves and, more importantly, their maie lineages. This flood of new patrons to the art market conditioned new workshop practices, leading to that "strict uniformity and regimentation of figures" that Meiss and others hâve interpreted as "a return to the Dugento. " Love and History : the Renaissance Italian Connection L. M A R T I N Poetry was a capital means of communication in Italian Renaissance cities, thus its importance for historians. In the idéal of a perfect love, amatory verse made a sha- dowy critique of the troubled social world, and its religious trappings endorsed the cri- tique by pressing the poet-lover doser to the promise of salvation. Elevated in tone and employing a highly sélect diction, Renaissance love poetry had a variety of social uses. It served to define the upper-class maie; it was a distillation of the language of compliment and lament at the princely courts, hence an idiom for clients when address- ing patrons; it was a code of refinement for learned or socially-ambitious men, whether at the courts or in the republics; and with its noble stances, it was a ready means of finding temporary solace from distress and social frustration. But it was most at home in the narcissism of the princely courts, where ail its adjectival and metaphorical referents found their vital ground, terminating in the self-love of the maie lover. The refined love poetry of the Renaissance had nothing to do with marriage or "popular" love, a more "carnal" and practical sentiment. Misogyny was and is the secret darkly hidden in that well-wrought verse. Justice, Crime and Punishment in 16th-Century Marocco F . R O D R Î G U E Z M E D I A N O In this article, we hâve tried to analyze the punitive Systems in lôth-century Marocco as one élément in the political power strategy aimed at obtaining a monopoly over legitimate violence. From this particular point of view, we explore the sentences 707 Annales HSS, mai-juin 1996, n" 3, pp. 707-708. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 05 23 79 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 08 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900052379 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms ENGLISH SUMMARIES and the forms of exécution, their pedagogical and exemplary character, the symbolic meaning of the physical mark, the discourse on order and disorder, etc., ail the while emphasizing the fluidity of the frontier between the légal and marginal world. Seized Letters as Légal Evidence in the Paris Revolutionary Tribunal, 1793-1794 C. HESSE This article examines the workings of one central mechanism for the adjudication of political différences in modem European political culture: the Paris Revolutionary Tribunal of 1793-1794. The Révolution marked a transformation of the key political institution by which the nation drew the Une between citizen and traitor, replacing the confessional practices of the old régime courts with a trial procédure aimed at produc- ing objective material proof of subjective political allegiances. The "seized letter, " through its unintended révélation of private sentiment, became the most powerful means to arrive at proof of the authentic political intentions of suspects. Thèse letters still serve as the crucial historical évidence of revolutionary legitimacy to this day. The history of the political practices, rather the political discourses, of the French Révolution, suggest that the French Revolutionaries may hâve taken more from Rousseau's Nouvelle Héloïse than from his Social Contract in inventing the politics of republican transparency. Sexual Violence, Study of Archives and the Pratice of History J.-C. MARTIN The systematic reading of the files constituted by the Vendean "juge d'instruction" (investigating judge) in the 19th century concerning vice cases (exhibitionism, râpe...) serves as a pretext for studying how historians use archives. Thèse files reflect less a particular social reality that merits being brought to light, than they bear witness to légal customs peculiar to the Vendean men and women in the 19th century in their daily life, to actions by police and by priests, and to orientations put into effect by judges. The historian must respect the autonomy of individuals from the past, their sufferings, and he must understand the process by which a new collective conscious- ness is founded by refusing the facility of a manicheistic reading of the past. From this example, what is essential is to uncover and follow the progressive instrumental- ization of the law by the Vendean women. 708 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 05 23 79 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 08 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900052379 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms 
work_gy6fgu7wujb3raw3bi3fxueoxa	----	Plane Thermoelastic Waves in Infinite Half-Space Caused FACTA UNIVERSITATIS Series: Architecture and Civil Engineering Vol. 14, N o 1, 2016, pp. 123 - 139 DOI: 10.2298/FUACE1601123M THE ARCHITECTURE OF SUBJECT UDC 7.017.9 Jelena Mitrovic University of Belgrade, Faculty of Architecture, Serbia Abstract. This essay defines material and symbolic implications of linear perspective in modern architecture. First is seen as aesthetical method, which appears in architectural drawings since beginning of European Renaissance. It represents graphic system of creating illusion of spatial depth on flat surface. Second refers to perspective in figurative sense. It symbolizes perception of a subject: the capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance. In terms of vision, it characterizes a visible scene, a mental view or prospect. Modern culture is, accordingly, the culture of perspective. We can presuppose the connection between subject of architecture and linear perspective due to their consistent development in early modern period. The essay proposes that rising of designing subject is gained out from alienation from real space. In systematic representation, such as linear perspective, places are exhausted in defining their positions. Therefore it (representation) presents purely functional, not essential reality. Nonetheless, perspectival system raises arts to the status of sciences. It rationalizes individual performance to extent it becomes a basis of modern, empirical vision of space. Finally, it objectifies subjective viewpoint and, therefore, creates modern subject. Key words: position, projection, subject, perspective, space 1. CONSTRUCTION OF SPACE Linear perspective which appears in European Renaissance architectural drawings can be observed mainly as instrument of aesthetics. In that case, it introduces a graphical system for creating an illusion of spatial depth on flat surface. Essence of the word derives from the Latin verb perspicere, meaning: examine, observe and see thought. However, term to which Dürer assigns meaning of seeing through in last section of his Four Books on Measurement - ―perspectiva‖ - originates from Medieval Latin word, signifying optics, namely, a science of optics. [1] Therefore it allows us to refer to perspective in figurative sense. Moreover, it enables us to outline metaphorical implications of mathematical representation of space that overcomes analysis of early  Received February 13, 2016 / Accepted April 8, 2016 Corresponding author: Jelena Mitrovic, University of Belgrade, Faculty of Architecture, 11000 Belgrade, Bulevar Kralja Aleksandra 73/II, Serbia E-mail: jessicamitrovic@gmail.com 124 J. MITROVIC modern blueprints. It symbolizes perception of a subject: the capacity to view things in their true relations or in their relative importance. In terms of individual vision, it characterizes entirely visible scene, mental view or prospect. Modern culture is, accordingly, culture of perspective. Erwin Panofsky emphasizes this fact in his book Perspective as a Symbolic Form, when, by adopting Dürer‘s definition, he incites possibility of speaking of fully perspectival overview of things: ―(…) not when mere isolated objects, such as houses or furniture, are represented in shortening, but rather only when the entire picture plain has been transformed into a ''window,'' and when it is meant for us to believe to be looking through this window into a space.‖ [2] Dürer defines perspectival image as: (…) planar, transparent intersection of all those rays that fall from the eye onto the object it sees. [3] But, because of relative position of visual rays, in order to set correct size of each figure appearing on the intersecting surface, author of perspectival image has to previously develop entire system in plan and elevation. According to Panofsky, in the picture constructed this way, the following laws are valid: First, all perpendiculars meet at the so-called central vanishing point which is determined by the perpendicular drawn from the eye to the picture plane. Second, all parallels, in whatever direction they lie, have a common vanishing point. If they lie in a horizontal plane, then their vanishing point lies always on the so- called horizon, that is, on the horizontal line through the central vanishing point. If, moreover, they happen to form a 45-degree angle with the picture plane, then the distance between their vanishing point and the central vanishing point is equal to the distance between the eye and the picture plane. Finally, equal dimensions diminish progressively as they recede in space, so that any portion of the picture – assuming that the location of the eye is known – is calculable from the preceding or the following portion. (1991: 28) 1.1. Introduction: invention of vanishing point Invention of vanishing point was last accomplishment of Gothic painting, such as the invention of whole graphic system of linear perspective was the first achievement of Early Renaissance. From the point of view of architectural discipline of today, transitional period remains utterly vague. As one can perceive, there is a major difference in position regarding Gothic and Renaissance architect, although the notion of architecture was still firmly linked to art of painting and sculpture. We are still not deprived of optical tools for perceiving Gothic buildings as narratives rather than as forms. But we are not able of interpreting position of Gothic architect, as such is, since it is visible from our perspective only as the one of the anonymous master builder. Contemporary philosopher Peter Sloterdijk suggests that in Late Gothic period, the ontological framework of western art, namely painting, was radically shifted. He refers to this as ―substitution of its truth model‖ — from ''eidos'' (Greek: είδος; type, species, item, genre) into ''skini'' (Greek: ζκηνή; tabernacle, stage, scene, tent), or from the archetype into pre-scene — which was, according to Sloterdijk, carried out by artists themselves. As he cites: The Architecture of Subject 125 ―In a world historical act of sensualizing and dramatizing its truth relation, European west exchanged primal images for primal scenes. As a result of this fundamental semio-political decision, European artists regained sites of moving, lively world for representation as scenes capable of expressing the truth. (…) At the same time for the Eastern Platonist, monarchist and hierarch, the striving for truth could only ever be interpreted as a homeward journey from the image to the archetype.‖ [4] We are able to recognize this transition in arts. For example, Italian painting in- between periods of Late Gothic and Early Renaissance responses to multitude of Post- Scholastic and Neo-Platonic influences within altered truth model, from visual into pictorial. But, from point of view of architecture, no transitional examples can be found. Rather we can recognize separation of these two periods, although we can assume that ‗transitional‘ phase begins when personal name of author can be assigned to building. For example, former Masters of the Works of Florence Cathedral, one after the other — Arnolfo di Cambio (c. 1240-1300/1310), architect of old basilica of Santa Maria del Fiore, then Giotto di Bondone (1266/7-1337) who succeeded him by adding famous Campanile di Giotto, then his successor Andrea Pisano (1290-1348) and Francesco Talenti (c. 1300-aft. 1369) who succeeded Pisano in 1351, completing two middle levels of Giotto's Campanile, and two doorways, respectively in the north and south sides of the Florentine Duomo — are all recognized as Gothic masters, regardless of possible novelty in their style. Generation younger Filippo Brunelleschi (1377-1466), generally well known for developing technique for linear perspective and for building the dome of the Florence Cathedral, becomes a key figure in architecture, recognized to be the first modern engineer, planner and sole construction supervisor. Heavily depending on mirrors and geometry, his formulation of linear perspective governed pictorial depiction of space until the late 19th century, but also had the most profound and quite unanticipated influence on the rise of modern sciences. Therefore architecture, apart from painting, recognizes specific moment that consolidates beginning of early modern existence – moment that reveals first appearance of authenticity within both architectural structure (of Duomo) and person (of Brunelleschi). At most, it announces the authenticity of Quattrocento, which remains unique and truly Italian style, in contradiction with generic character of Late Gothic. Renaissance architecture implements visual symbolic order which is, in analogy, contradicted to pictorial. Furthermore, it (Early Renaissance architecture) reflects Neo Platonic cosmological model as opposite to Aristotle‘s vision of Cosmos that was, by means of Thomas Aquinas‘s Summa Theologica implemented into Gothic structural principles. Nevertheless, it first reflects capacity of modern architecture to embody and impersonate models of existence. It therefore distinguishes from other art forms that, according to Sloterdijk, became more of a ―spotlight on visualization of our views of the existent through the medium of elevated scenes.‖ Does this mean that modern architecture represents a Platonic kind of practice? This question relates to two of its features: one, of reproducing archetypes and transposing them within structural order, and other, of reflecting the image of order onto the whole of interior space, and vice versa. Even today, instead of making new ―semio-political decisions‖ in reverse, which would enable new practices to ‖regain sites of moving‖ and ―the places capable of telling the truth‖, the contemporary discipline of architecture is holding on abstract capacity of object and visual totality it rediscovers in its virtual graphic representation. (2001: 103) 126 J. MITROVIC Sienese school, as noted by Sloterdijk, originally carries out image-typological opposition: ―eidos vs. novella scene.‖ (2001: 104-105) It captures two opposing ideas of form and, accordingly, reflects two visions of heaven. Basic form of Gothic architecture is juxtaposition: form of open sequence, partial coordination and expansion. Its structure is atectonic and further characterized by mobility of scenes, immediate impressions, heterogeneous style, a-subjective viewpoint and thematic material in particular. Basic form of Quattrocento architecture is unity: closed geometric form of subordination and division. Renaissance architecture is tectonic and further characterized by vivid clear idiom, simple and homogenous shape, subjective viewpoint, uniformity, smoothness, limitation and order, totality of impression. The Sienese school stands in a way of prejudices that these two morphologies are mutually exclusive. Fig. 1 Duccio di Buoninsegna: Christ and the Samaritan Woman and Christ in Limbo (Google Art Project, www.google.com/culturalinstitute/project/art-project) Father of Sienese school, Duccio di Buoninsegna lives and creates in late 13 th and early 14 th centuries, that is, after time of Byzantine influence, in a progressive Scholastic period with spontaneous, personalizing tendencies. The spaces of his paintings result from what seems to be irregular construction of linear perspective. Presumably, he uses some linear extensions, but not in terms of fully systematical representation of space. Rather he chooses places of extension, that is to say, he selectively applies technique of perspective in order to exemplify interior spatial narratives. He literally extends spaces of holes, wells, doors, windows, fissures of caves in stone hill landscapes. Therefore he includes them as objects of interior shape and meaning within regularly paraphrased biblical scenes. With the anterior movement of horizontal plane he achieves that interior space, homogenous dark space unified behind scenes, overcome natural images of openings. (Fig.1) There is also a certain hierarchy of places, and certain geometry that adds new narratives to his scenes, but as well, there is unifying naturalness by which all the places together, with those extended places, are made equal under unique (namely, renaissance) sky-light. Duccio was certainly a master in perspective, as he drew it out of plane by non- systematical progression from vanishing axis to vanishing point. Within the next generation of artists in Sienese school, a curious division set place. Neo Platonic need for The Architecture of Subject 127 clarification and systematization of his perspective was keenly felt, but it grew from utterly different roots. There were those who developed it back to pure parallel construction. On other hand, others systematized the method Duccio had only applied to central section of the ceiling; they now subjected it floor as well. It was above all Lorenzetti brothers who took this important step. According to Erwin Panofsky, Ambroggio Lorenzetti‘s Annunciation of 1344 is one of the most important pictures of this period. The visible orthogonals of ground plane are for the first time oriented toward single point, undoubtedly with full mathematical knowledge. It is therefore the first representation of actual infinity at very dawn of perspectival revolution. Panofsky emphasizes how ―discovery of vanishing point is, in sense, discovery of infinite itself‖ — ―The picture is equally important for the completely new meaning it bestows upon the ground plane as such. This plane is no longer merely the lower surface of a ‗space box‘ closed on the right and left and terminating with the edges of the picture, but rather the ground surface of a strip of space, which, even if still bounded at the rear by the traditional gold ground and in front by the picture plane, can nevertheless be thought of as extending arbitrarily far to either side.‖ Ground plane now permits observer to read not only sizes but also distances of bodies arrayed on it. Checkerboard tile, although it appears as motif (and not exploited in this sense), in fact, runs under all the figures and thus becomes the index for spatial values. At this point, kind of representation which was blocked since antiquity – the conceptual view, namely, the vista of ―looking through‖ – once again becomes section of infinite space, only ―more solid and integrally organized‖ that its antique version. (1991: 58) Duccio and Giotto still represented figures as they were separated from background by spatial void, similar to niches which separated sculptures from unifying masses that embodied inner spaces of Gothic cathedrals. We will see this empty space soon gradually superseded with infinitely extended void: the homogenous, graphical abstraction from real space, centered in an arbitrary vanishing point. It is now time to introduce Filippo Brunelleschi from Florence, representing first authentic architectural figure at threshold of early modern era. Not only that he created most beautiful and, allegedly, most advanced structure of time, but he reinvented social and cultural position which was yet sleeping since antiquity, along with subjective conception space. Architect, referred to as subject of architecture, is one who deals with conceptions of space and, according to Vitruvius, materializes them at real site, turning ideas into reality. Modern architect, in analogy with modern construction of space, is ―more solid and integrally organized‖ feature comparing to the one from the ancient Roman period. It is of great symbolic significance that, before his other merits which include Duomo of Florence, Filippo Brunelleschi is acknowledged inventor of ''costruzione legittima'' of linear perspective. Unfortunately, both his original panels have been lost, so it has never actually turned out whether he used in his experiments famous drawing with model of plain and central point. Leon Battista Alberti has documented that horizontal shortenings of tile-floors were at his time still performed by reducing intervals for third. He was apparently first who, in his essays on architecture, had established regular geometric pattern, by using diagonal cross-sections of the floor-plain. Despite Alberti‘s effort to discredit him, Brunelleschi has remained known as official founder in the matters of perspective. On the other hand, Brunelleschi has performed his experiments at most crowded spot of Florence, Piazza San Giovanni. Therefore the whole 128 J. MITROVIC of city was there to witness, if not the success of initial drawing then, more importantly, its outcome - the drawing of Baptistery that had been identically matching to its real image from the spot. 1.2. Model of naturalness Architectural position that was achieved by efforts of Brunelleschi is much closer to position of architects of Modernist movement that we well know, than to position of Gothic Masters after whom he had actually succeeded. Why is this so? It always falls in the eye that, if Brunelleschi and Le Corbusier are such professional characters which correspond to each other, that this is owed to sudden revelation in rediscovery of antiquity. Anyway, paragon of naturalness that prevailed in Italian Renaissance, as Arnold Hauser interprets in his Social History of Art, is greater a legacy to years of Scholastic artistic inquest than we can possibly imagine. In transition into Renaissance, Ambroggio Lorenzetti‘s Annunciation obviously announces fundamental difference where nature is no more seen as phenomena to be reflected, nor is the art an only possibility of human being to give it unity and meaning. The remarkable thing about Renaissance, as Arnold Hauser puts it, is not the fact that artist became observer of nature, but that work of art became ―study of nature.‖ He also suggests that instant shift from mythical space to empirical reality is rather modernistic allusion concerning the attitude to scientific discoveries. As cited: ―(…) the Renaissance discovery of nature was an invention of nineteenth-century liberalism which played off the Renaissance delight in nature against the Middle Ages, in order to strike a blow at the romantic philosophy of history. The doctrine of the spontaneous naturalism of the Renaissance comes from the same source as the theory that the fight against the spirit of authority and hierarchy, the ideal of freedom of thought and freedom of conscience, the emancipation of the individual and the principle of democracy, are achievements of the fifteenth century.‖ [5] Coming into sight in Late Middle Ages, Italian city-states were generally associated with emergence of humanism, as paragon of naturalness in culture of thirteenth century. But, following Arnold Hauser‘s suggestion about Italian Renaissance, we might presuppose that humanism wasn't known in strength of its 19 th century form. Latin term humanitas, meaning humanity, predates this form, though it didn‘t have so precise a meaning. [6] Renaissance humanists mostly favored Aulus Gellius (c. 125– c. 180), Latin grammarian who supported old Roman usage of word, equivalent to Greek παιδεία (paideia), meaning education and training in liberal arts. He was radically opposing more common usage, equal to Greek φιλανθρωπία (philantrophia), which meant friendly spirit and good-feeling towards all men without distinction [7]. Cicero insisted on using both senses of the word, as so did his near contemporaries, suggesting that: ―(…) language allied with reason provided the most civilized social form - life together in concord and harmony under the rules of law.‖ [8] Both Latin usages of ―humanity‖ were known to thirteenth century scholar, but not in our naturalistic and scientific sense of world. Although Petrarch is identified as first humanist by 19 th century historians, what seems to be crucial for his (Petrarch) anticipation of antique humanity is not his conception of natural forms, but rather his representation of human figure which announces strengthening of human constitution. (Fig.3) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paideia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philanthropy The Architecture of Subject 129 It is common belief that antique civilizations used scientific knowledge of linear perspective which was either abolished or forgotten in Early Middle Ages, although this theory had never found proper stronghold in material sources. For example, regarding Roman fresco painting, historians relay on idea that ancient Romans had only imperfect or rudimentary usage of perspective which is often compared to that of Sienese school. During last decades of 20 th century, these assumptions were proven as wrong, moreover, dangerously superficial. There is no doubt that ancient Romans had only a precise knowledge of perspective, but the question is what form of perspective did they use? Art theory of 20 th century attempts to prove that visibility of things is different from view of things in perspective. According to Nietzsche: ―Mathematics would certainly have not come into existence if one had known from the beginning that there was in nature no exactly straight line, no actual circle and no absolute magnitude.‖ [9] 1.3. Grounding of ‘natural’ forms After ―costruzione legittima‖ was established, third decade of 15 th century enters the golden age of forming. Until this age, in Florence, antique influences were vague and indefinite, mediated by byzantine perspective. It was not before 1420-ties that any consolidated models took form around site of Florence Cathedral. Around that time, Brunelleschi was already famous because of linear perspective system he developed and used for purpose of study of ancient buildings during his stay in Rome. It is not known exactly how long Filippo remained in Rome or when precisely he had left, but his staying there was one of the first examples of new kind of quest, indispensible for the artists to come. As if he knew, soon enough, new pilgrims of all kinds would overwhelm sites of old Rome for either sketching artifacts or seeking relics, but in all, taking inspiration from ruins. Many architects have followed Brunelleschi‘s footsteps. We will remember famous Le Voyage d' Orient, from 1911, by Le Corbusier: voyage that helped him rediscover architecture as ―the magnificent play of forms and uniform system of the mind.‖ [10] Concerning Rome, since 1420-ties, unearthing pagan remains was no longer considered ―a bad luck‖. The city that was once haunted now opened her doors; in next hundred years we will see its image utterly transformed. Within this half of century, since completion of Brunelleschi‘s dome of Santa Maria del Fiore, Roman antiquity had abruptly become matter of thought and concern of Renaissance masters. Elements of buildings, their proportions, their compositions and articulations were reestablished within new frameworks – frameworks which had so little to do with antique that difference between two Worlds, antique and modern, would soon become a gap to be buried. This fissure was filled with new solidity with book printing development, which announced emergence of theory and knowledge in form of extension of everyday life. First precedent in theory of architecture was made by Leon Battista Alberti who also wrote poetry, literature and philosophy and investigated in languages and cryptography. He was first theorist to explore manuscript De architectura (On architecture) by ancient architect and engineer Marcus Vitruvius Polio. This work which was dedicated to Roman Emperor Augustus and which is known today as De architectura libri decem (The Ten Books on Architecture) is only book on architecture which survived from the classical antiquity. 130 J. MITROVIC The invention of the printing press effected Europe immediately: within only a few decades, from single shop in Mainz in 1453, it spread around 270 European cities out of which 77 locations were situated only in Italy. [11] Italy became center of early printing. Accordingly, the second known major book on architecture soon appears. It is De re aedificatoria (On the Art of Building), reformulation of Ten Books written by Alberti after 1452. It was also first printed book on architecture, published in Florence in 1485, only one year before original issue of Ten Books was published in Rome [12]. Generation younger Piero della Francesca by 1474 published De Prospectiva pingendi (On the Perspective of painting), first study written in 15 th century solely on matters of perspective. Development of joint space among people was starting point for all cultures. These forms of space are built into notion of architecture. First of them is representing earth before discoveries, before subject and before event - forming of great interior. It is formed like primal hut: shared domestic space around common hearthstone. Second refers to chaotic and external conditions of such interior, inflicted by natural flows. It represents first form of human self-provision constructed by group that found itself in estranged and impossible surrounding. Perfect metaphor of such container is Arca Noe from biblical Deluge. (Fig.2,3) Nave (from Latin: navis) represents safe, artificial home, with artificially selected natural content. City walls have identical symbolic purpose. They announce constructed and sealed from within, an independent world of human law and order. Fig. 2 Athanasius Kircher: The Deluge, Arca Noe, p. 126. [Godwin, J. (1979) Athanasius Kircher: A Renaissance Man and the Quest for Lost Knowledge. London: Themes and Hudson.] Alberti stresses this in Seventh book of his ―treatise,‖ De re aedificatoria: city walls have always been dedicated to gods whose protection was needed, because of the common belief that human powers could not protect assets of mortals. Either because of their-own negligence, or because of envy of their neighbors, cities are, ―like ships at sea,‖ always left to chance and exposed to various dangers. [13] In political sense, transitional Late Gothic, or so to say Post Scholastic period was nothing but theological adaptation to citizenship, by people transitioned from being subjects of monarch to being citizens of city (and later to nation). Early Renaissance begins when notion of citizenship The Architecture of Subject 131 is already idealized. Architecture of 15 th century Florence (as well as 16 th century Europe) corresponds with this abstract concept of citizenship which no longer signifies submissive relation to lord, but rather indicates bond between person and state, in fairly abstract sense of appropriating rights and duties. Alberti‘s description is reaching this sensitive place of cities' self-animation through architecture. Brunelleschi‘s dome for Florence Cathedral is admired as evidence of city‘s unique creative energy. Moreover, it follows metaphoric example of Pantheon, seen as single edifice symbolizing mutual success of civic politics, theology and architecture (hereby recognized as joint of arts and sciences). Therefore linear perspective raises arts to status of science, namely, to acknowledge the architecture of nature. At this point, it is important to understand that Scholastic vision of nature is already superseded by Neo Platonic conception of nature. In other words, from standpoint of Alberti, nature is understood as creative process, natura naturans, rather than nature understood from deductive observation, natura naturata. Linear perspective therefore emphasizes visualizing of what may not be visible. Philosophy of rationalism, as Arnold Hauser suggests, engages it (perspective) otherwise. Fig. 3 Athanasius Kircher: The Deluge, Arca Noe, p. 126. [Godwin, J. (1979) Athanasius Kircher: A Renaissance Man and the Quest for Lost Knowledge. London: Themes and Hudson.] 2. SUBJECT AND PERSPECTIVE Naturalness from this frame of reference was created at the beginning of the fifteenth century ― it was created and not given category, and it was followed by notion of visual independence of painting, sculpture and architecture. This is precisely where modern architecture identifies with objective notion of space. It represents space as ―archetype of our views‖ rather than seeing space as ―medium of elevated scenes.‖ High Renaissance architectures' ‗idea of space,‘ though rationalized by classicism and formalized by Neo Classicism, corresponds with functionalism of Modernist movement on basis of its internal authenticity. Brunelleschi realized himself as role model for architects in both structure and person, thus interconnected with unique, solid identity. What this figure proves to us is that new faith in power of individual, confident in capacities of his own, is 132 J. MITROVIC ever since in history of Modernity reflected in purified tectonics of space. Interiority of such form is not physical but phenomenal and symbolic, producing abstract identity alienated from real space. 2.1. Systematic abstraction Idea of authenticity of vision is unfolding within Panofsky‘s understanding of perspective as symbolic form. As he assumes: ―Linear perspective functions as systematic abstraction from the structure of our psycho-physiological space (…) due its intended purpose to realize, in the representation of space, precisely that homogeneity and boundlessness foreign to our direct spatial experience. In a sense, it transforms psycho-physiological space into mathematical. (…) It negates the differences between front and back, between right and left, between bodies and intervening (―empty‖) space, so that the sum of all the parts of space and all its contents are absorbed into a single ‗quantum continuum.‘‖ (1991: 31) In order to guarantee fully rational space, linear perspective assumes two bold abstractions from reality - if by reality we suppose ―our actual, subjective, optical impression.‖ The first is position of the eye, which is static; the second is a plane on which the image is projected, which is infinite and homogeneous. (1991: 28-29) According to Panofsky: ―(…) Perception does not know the concept of infinity; from the very outset it is confined within certain spatial limits imposed by our faculty of perception. And in connection with perceptual space we can no more speak of homogeneity than of infinity. The ultimate basis of the homogeneity of geometric space is that all its elements, the ‗points‘ which are joined in it, are mere determinations of position, processing no independent content of their own outside of this relation, this position they occupy in relation to each other. Their reality is exhausted in their reciprocal relation: it is a purely functional and not at all substantial reality. Because, fundamentally, these points are devoid of all content, because they have become mere expressions of ideal relations, they can raise no question of diversity in content. Their homogeneity signifies nothing other than its similarity of structure, grounded in their common, logical function, their common ideal purpose and meaning. Hence, homogeneous space is never given space, but space produced by construction; and indeed, the geometrical concept of homogeneity can be expressed by the postulate that from every point in space it must be possible to draw similar figures in all their directions and magnitudes. Nowhere in the space of immediate perception can this postulate be fulfilled. (1991: 30) Positions and directions are never equal, but each has their own modalities and values, which is why there is no homogeneity in visual space, as there cannot be one in tactical. 2.2. Retinal image The linear perspective neglects the fact that we do not see with the one fixed eye, but two mobile eyes determine our spheroid field of vision. Miraculous stabilizing tendency of our reason, which provides connection between senses of sight and touch, attributes The Architecture of Subject 133 unambiguous size and shape to objects and does not record distortion which they suffer on retina. Linear perspective ignores key factor that retinal image, quite independently from its later psychological interpretation and fact that eyes are moving, is not projection on plane, but on concave surface of a sphere. Basic difference between retinal image and its planar projection in linear perspective is that latter suffers substantial marginal distortions. This difference is of formal nature: where perspective develops straight lines, we actually see convex curves. Even verticals are, to smaller extent, subjected to this curvature. According to Panofsky: ―(…) If even today only a very few of us have perceived these curvatures, that too is surely in part due to our habitation – further recognized by looking at the photographs – to linear perspectival construction: a construction that is itself comprehensible only for a quite specific, indeed specially modern, sense of space, or if you will, sense of the world.‖ (1991: 33-34) In civilization governed by conception of space expressed by strict linear perspective if curvatures of our spheroid, optical world have to be discovered, it obviously happens in accordance with epoch which also seen perspectively, only not in linear perspective. We assume that antique architect was familiar with such curvatures and, moreover, that he took them for granted. In ancient Greek architecture we find all the time that straight lines are represented as curved and vice versa: in order not to bend, Doric columns are subjected to entasis; epistyle and stylobate are built as curved in order to avoid the impression of sagging. Curvatures of Doric temples attest to practical consequences of such findings. Optics which brought them to fruition must have been antithetical to linear perspective, and even more true to factual situation. 2.3. Euclid’s Eighth Theorem Because it had based its field of view on a sphere, the optic of antiquity had always, and without exception, expressed itself within the apparent magnitudes. Sizes of objects in perspective were determined not by relative distances from eye, but by latitudes of angle of vision. In fact, as cited by Panofsky: ―Euclid states that the apparent difference between two equal magnitudes perceived from unequal distances is determined not by the ratio of these distances, but rather by the far less discrepant ratio of the angles of vision.‖ (1991:38) On basis of its radical opposition to doctrine of Linear Perspective, Euclid‘s Eighth Theorem was amended in Renaissance until it lost its original meaning. Probably there was felt a substantial contradiction between Euclid‘s pespectiva naturalis (which sought to formulate mathematical laws of natural vision) and perspectiva artificialis (formulated later, requested to provide method for constructing three-dimensional images of two- dimensional surfaces) which could be resolved only by abandoning the angle axiom. Recognizing it would mean exposing perspectival system to impossible task, since sphere cannot obviously be unrolled on surface. For this reason, Vitruvius‘s definition of perspective had never been clarified. According to Vitruvius, there are three basic architectural layouts necessary to explain idea and character of project: ichnographia or plan, orthographia or frontal section and skinographia or representation in perspective. As Vitruvius defines it (perspective): 134 J. MITROVIC ―Stenography is the method of sketching a front with the sides withdrawing into the background, the lines all meeting in the centre of a circle.‖ [14] In Latin, ―Omnium linearum ad circini centrum responses‖ also means ―the meeting place for all directions toward the center of the compass.‖ (1960: 13) His ―meeting point‖ can‘t possibly be equal to vanishing point (as consolidated vanishing point never appears in antique representations). Therefore it is probably assigned to eye of beholder. Assuming that arc in projection probably represents line (in linear perspective, line indicates position of picture plain) we might conclude that instead of translating points onto plane, here spherical curvature of eye is taken into account. Therefore Vitruvius‘s system is representing simplified stereographic projection. As a result, parallel lines do not meet at single vanishing point but rather they converge on vertical axis, producing recognizable ―fish bone‖ pattern like. Therefore there is no absolute vertical position of horizon. Rather, it is defined with expansion of vertical angle. (Fig.4) Fig. 4 Stenography: the ―fish bone‖ pattern (interior wall at The Villa of P. F. Synistor at Boscoreale, Pompeii. www.deprisco.it/villasinistore/Alta) Hellenistic perspective, as seen in this image, emphasizes illusionism of space, while linear perspective emphasizes shape as clear geometric idiom. First obviously allows spontaneity of scenes that subject is never separated from. On the contrary, by naturalistic conception of space, modern subject is separated from intermediate spatial experience. According to this, the Hellenistic art had appreciated not only values of internally motivated bodies, but also graces of their outer surfaces. As Panofsky also notices, Hellenism considered worthy of displaying not only alive but also inanimate nature, not just plastic and nice but usual and ugly, not only solids but also uniting space: ―Yet even the Hellenistic artistic imagination remained attached to individual objects, to such an extent that space was still perceived, not as something that could embrace and dissolve the opposition between bodies and non-bodies, but only as that which remains, so to speak, ‗between‘ the bodies.‖ The Architecture of Subject 135 Even where Greco-Roman advanced to representation of real interiors or real landscape, this enriched and expanded world was still by no means perfectly unified world. Accordingly, representation is never systematic but aggregate form of space. We see that magnitudes of things diminish as they recede in perspective, but this diminution is never constant. Indeed, it is always being interrupted by mal-proportioned figures, figures not to scale. Distance is being represented by intervening upon form and color with such bold virtuosity that effect of these wall-paintings is parallel to modern impressionism. Yet they never achieve unifying lighting (Fig.5): ―Precisely here it becomes clear that antique impressionism was only a quasi impressionism. The modern movement always presupposes that higher unity, over and above empty space and bodies; as a result its observations automatically acquire direction and unity. This is how impressionism can so persistently devalue and dissolve solid forms without ever jeopardizing the stability of space and the solidity of the individual objects; on the contrary, it conceals that stability and solidity. Antiquity, on the other hand, lacking the domineering unity, must, so to speak, purchase every gain with a loss of corporeality, so that space really seems to consume objects. This explains the almost paradoxical phenomenon that so long as antique art makes no attempt to represent space between bodies, its world seems more solid and harmonious than the world represented by modern art; but as soon as space is included in the representation, above all in landscape painting, that world becomes curiously unreal and inconsistent, like a dream, or a mirage.‖ (1991: 43) Fig. 5 Wall decoration scenes from the The Villa of Livia, Rome. (Latin: Ad Gallinas Albas. Roma. http://www.villadrusilla.it/) Representation of real depths based on stereographic projection requires lot of simplifications for practical reasons. In accordance to factual situation, parallel lines partially meet correct angle, but partially are portrayed as parallel or even fractured. This way of representing spatial depths suffers from instability and internal inconsistency. On the other hand, system of linear perspective, with plain and vanishing point, transforms all actual depths into apparent shapes and sizes appropriating perspectival view as view in general. For this consistency of image, linear perspective was so stubbornly maintained 136 J. MITROVIC in modern methods of spatial representation. In Early Modern drawings, perspective thus breaks out as purely mathematical problem, but closely related to question of style, if not of artistic value. Fact that these two forms of representation, pespectiva naturalis and perspectiva artificialis, were distinct in antiquity only proves that systematicness was as incomprehensible to philosophers, as was unthinkable to artists. None of many ancient theories of space reduces it to relations of height, length and width. Otherwise, distinction between front and back, here and there, body and non-body would have spilled into some kind of extension of the actual body, into notion of body taken in general. (Fig.6) Fig. 6 Stereographic Map: The Tree of Life 1-2 3. ACTUAL INFINITY According to Alberty, perspective ―contains a divine force.‖ This sentence presupposes metaphorical and dialectical quality of linear perspective with single vanishing point. How does this composition work within visual narrative? For example, Leonardo da Vinci‘s Last Supper is evidently constructed in manner that all orthogonal lines converge at the head of Christ. This apparently rational, empirically evident space is easily experienced as continuation of viewer‘s space. Trouble sets in when one realizes that point of recession is defined by lines that recede almost to infinity. Are we meant to understand that what seems near is identified with infinity? Understanding of this is rather complicated, but here are the facts: according to Alberti, perspective is mirrored, transparent intersection of all those rays that fall from eye onto object it sees. Representational surface is, therefore, juncture between finite world of seeing which is characterized by pyramid of vision and the infinite world of seeing through (divine vision) implied by the pyramid of perspective. Abstract thought which turned aggregate to systematic space also broke off Aristotelian worldview and cosmic structure it presupposed: spherical celestial body with earth in its centre, wrapped cozily in concentric sky structure. This Cosmos was perfectly integrated whole: geocentric and geostatic, finite, qualitative and hierarchically differentiated. There was no space but only places. Matter and Form never separated from substantiated form. Being and Knowing always interflowed. All the Becoming had been explained by Great Chain of Being and Being itself (God, the Unmoved Mover). The Architecture of Subject 137 Result of this cosmic collapse was infinity as we know it: infinity not only prefigured in God, but actually embodied in empirical reality. Great logicians of fourteenth century managed to reinvent barrier, which they thought was solid and impenetrable, around Earth and Sky. Will see it declined, not all at once, rather little by little, in two centuries of European Renaissance. Panofsky writes: ―Actual infinity, which was for Aristotle completely inconceivable and for high Scholasticism only in the shape of divine omnipotence (…) has now become ―natura naturata.‖ The vision of the universe is, so to speak, de-theologized, and space now becomes a continuous quantity, consisting of three physical dimensions, existing by nature before all bodies and beyond all bodies, indifferently receiving everything. No wonder that man like Giordano Bruno now outfits this world of special and infinite, and thus of thoroughly measurable, this world which, so to speak, outgrew divine omnipotence, with an almost religious sublimity of its own; he invests it, along with the infinite extension of the Democritan kenon (void), with the infinite dynamic of the neo-platonic world-soul. And yet this view of space, even with its still-mystical coloring, is the same view that will later be rationalized by Cartesians and formalized by Kant.‖ (1991: 67-69) Dome of Pantheon symbolized architecture of globe: universe has acquired a form only after the mastery of building realized how to approach to the shape of the universe. Such mastery of building yet has nothing to do with contemporary metropolitan accumulation of facades. On the other hand, linear perspective so has. And so far only 19th century glass utopias have managed to open way to different architectural and philosophical forms in which oppositions between centralized and decentralized, inner and outer space finally lost their symbolic function. We only yet have to learn what it means to design free from ancient morphological models of heaven and nave. Modern people in general, as people who had de-constructed celestial dome, yet have to change their attitude towards safety of form. Fig. 7 Stereographic Map: The Stereographic Round (3M3, Gallery Kolektiv, 2015) 138 J. MITROVIC According to Michel Foucault: ―We are in an era of the simultaneous, of juxtaposition, of the near and the far, of the side-by-side, of the scattered. We exist at a moment when the world is experiencing, something less like a great life that would develop through time than like a network that connects points and weaves its skin. (…) In other words, we do not live in a kind of void, within which individuals and things might be located. We do not live in a void that would be tinged with shimmering colors, we live inside an ensemble of relations that define emplacements that are irreducible to each other and absolutely non superposable.‖ [15] Nonlinear forms are all around us. With further use of digital technology, elements of non-linear projections will open up new spaces for architectural design and design in general. Yet these formations belong to virtual space in which they were created. In real space, as images and items, merely as objects of desire, they encourage endless necessity of production, but remain closed into own structural arrangements. (Fig.7) REFERENCES 1. P. originates from Medieval Latin perspectiva (ars) (science of) optics). http://www.merriam-webster. com/dictionary/perspective. 2. Panofsky, E. (1991) Perspective as a Symbolic Form. Wood, C. S. (tr.) New York: Zone Books. 3. Koyre, A. (1964) The Exact Sciences. in Taton, R. (ed.) The Beginnings of Modern Science from 1450 to 1800. Pomerans, A., J. (tr.) New York: Basic Books. 4. Sloterdijk, P. (2011) Spheres Volume I: Bubbles Microspherology. Hoban, W. (tr.) Cambridge: MIT Press. 5. Hauser, A. (1992) The Social History of Art, Volume II: Renaissance, Mannerism, Baroque. London: Routledge. 6. Studia Humanitatis was the new curriculum founded in the Early Modern Era by humanists. In order to be able to move forward academically, a firm foundation in Studia Humanitatis starting from elementary school was necessary. Orme, N. (2006) Medieval Schools: From Roman Britain to Renaissance England. New Haven: Yale University Press. 7. Gellius, A., C. (1927) Attic Nights. Vol. II: Loeb Classical Library edition. 8. There was a time when men wandered about in the manner of wild beasts. They conducted their affairs without the least guidance of reason but instead relied on bodily strength. There was no divine religion and the understanding of social duty was in no way cultivated. No one recognized the value inherent in an equitable code of law. Cicero. (2002) De Inventione I. I: 2. Skinner, Q. (qu.) Visions of Politics, Volume 2: Renaissance Virtues. Cambridge: University Press. 9. Nietzsche, F. (1974) The Gay Science. New York: Random House, Inc. 10. Le Corbusier, Ch.-E.,J. (2002) English Edition: Voyage D'orient Carnets. New York: Phaidon Press. 11. During the Middle Ages De architectura lost a lot of its relevance, but manuscripts of it continued to be copied in monastic scriptoria. The oldest copy was produced at Jarrow in the ninth century. As classical architecture suddenly became a matter of concern to architects and humanists, Gian Francesco Poggio Bracciolini‘s rediscovery in 1414 of two manuscripts of De architectura was a major event, although original drawings were lost. The illustrations that accompanied the text had already been lost when the earliest surviving manuscripts were transcribed. Book was first printed in 1486 in Rome. 12. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Printing_press. 13. Alberti, L., B. (1991) On the Art of Building in Ten Books. Cambridge: MIT Press. 14. Perspective is the method of sketching a front with the sides withdrawing into the background, the lines all meeting in the centre of a circle. Vitruvius, M. P. (1960) The Ten Books on Architecture. Morgan, M. H. (tr.) New York: Dover Publications, INC. 15. Foucault, M. (1998) Aesthetics, Method And Epistemology – Essential Works of Foucault, Volume Two. Faubion, J. D. (ed.) Hurley, R. (tr.) New York: The New Press. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Early_Modern_Era https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Printing_press The Architecture of Subject 139 ARHITEKTURA SUBJEKTA Ovaj rad tumači pojavni i simbolički smisao linearne perspektive u modernoj arhitekturi. Ona se prvo javlja kao estetsko sredstvo, u arhitektonskim crtežima iz perioda evropske renesanse, predstavljajući precizan, geometrijski sistem konstukcije trodimenzionalnog prostora na dvodimenzionalnoj podlozi. U pogledu samog viđenja prostora perspektiva označava opštu ili pojmovnu vidljivost, odnosno transparentnost mentalnog prostora. Po tom osnovu moderna kultura predstavlja kulturu perspektive. Takođe se može pretpostaviti veza između subjekta arhitekture i linearne perspektive na osnovu simultanog razvoja ta dva pojma u periodu rane modernosti. Osnovna hipoteza ovog istraživanja odnosi se na slobodni razvoj projektantskog subjekta kroz njegovo otuđenje od neposrednog prostornog iskustva. U sistematskoj predstavi prostora putem linearne perspektive pojam mesta se iscrpljuje definicijom pozicija. Takvom predstavom se ispoljava čisto funkcionalna, ali nikako i suštinska stvarnost. Pored toga, perspektivni prikaz obezbeđuje naučni status umetnosti, ali i racionalizuje subjektivni postupak koji postaje osnova empirijskog viđenja prostora. Najzad, objektivizujući subjektivnu poziciju, perspektiva stvara modernog subjekta. Ključne reči: pozicija, projekcija, subjekat, perspektiva, prostor 
work_h23timofjrbf5btc2ozxc7pf7m	----	Renaissance and Reformation, 1970-72 the poetical structure as a result of the author's narrative and lyrical attitudes (De Robertis); the cultural significance in the humanistic context (Ponte, Ruggieri). The scope of this review does not allow for an adequate evaluation of all the essays in this volume. There is no doubt, however, that several of them are an extremely relevant and interesting addition to Boiardo criticism. All scholars, not only of the r^ount of Scandiano, but also of Italian Renaissance culture and literature will find the reading of this book a very stimulating and rewarding experience. ANTONIO FRANCESCHETTI, University of Toronto Michelangelo Buonarroti. The Complete Poems of Michelangelo. Tr. with notes and introduction by Joseph Tusiani. New York: Humanities Press, 1969. Pp. Ixiii, 145. The translation of poetry, under the most favourable conditions, is a literary and linguistic trial by fire in which even the few really competent in this discipline do not always come off perfectly safe. Michelangelo's poetry, moreover, as Professor Tusiani observes in the "Introduction" to the present English edition, poses a particular challenge. Lexical and syntactical difficulties have already created "pitiful traps" for many a seasoned translator's efforts to "capture the power" of Michelangelo's poetic inspiration, "and not the roughness of his dress." Professor Tusiani's own attempted solution has been twofold: to stress lexical connotation rather than denotation, and to preserve, as far as possible, the original rhythm and rime patterns. "Michelangelo's poetry . . .because of its structural difficulties, can baffle the ear of the keenest Italian reader." Ironically, this statement is also conversely true. Professor Tusiani's translations, syntactically and lexically, can, and often do, "baffle the ear" of the most ordinary English reader. Uncommon inversions, as in "some old holy man" (167), and awkward ellipses: "Forever in my unworthy ready arms" (47) are not infrequent. The metrical effects are often curiously Procrustean: the stretching out of smoothly accented but poetically insignificant ideas on the one hand, or, on the other, the forcing of ideas into a straitened mold: "Sweetness can stop even a serpent's mouth/ Just as sour grapes bind the teeth in my mouth'\ (36) Lexical substitutions sometimes lessen the emotional impact, as when the lover's quasi-religious "fede" is metamorphosized into a "trick" (36); or they create anew the obscurities that the translator is trying to avoid, as when the words of personified "Infelicità" "ben ama chi ben arde, ov'io dimoro" become "Love only grows together with your sore". (47). Professor Tusiani's silence about Creighton Gilbert's English translation of Michel- angelo's complete poems in 1963, and about Enzo Girardi's 1967 edition of the Rime must be attributed to the fact that his "Introduction", written in 1959, was not updated. A translator would hardly bypass either scholar's introductory notes, or Girardi's prose transliterations which, for the present edition in particular, could have clarified many of the suppositions and generalizations about themes and metaphorical allusions. At those moments when the English phrasing is simplest, and least self-conscious about its supposed obligation to recreate the poet's spirit in the original metrical 85 1 patterns, it approaches most closely to Michelangelo's transparent candour and fiery intensity. On occasion the reader is swept up into lyrical-or agonized- confrontation with the soul of the creator; one could only wish that such occasions were more numerous. CAROL LINDHOLM, University of Toronto Charles B. Schmitt. A Critical Survey and Bibliography of Studies on Renaissance Aristotelianism 1958-1969. Padova: Editrice Antenore, 1971. Pp. 196. L. 3000. Undoubtedly the most pervasive intellectual influence in the Renaissance period was Aristotelianism, or "the varieties of Aristotelianism" as the author of this study puts \\ it. In one way or another Aristotle and his commentators affected every area of European intellectual endeavor during c. 1400-c. 1650, the period under discussion in this bibliography. The author, at present a research fellow in the history and philosophy of science at the University of Leeds, has analysed the scholarship on Renaissance Aristotelianism for the period 1958-1969, surveying over 600 items, including a number of unpublished dissertations by Kristeller's students at Columbia. These studies, primar- ily in the periodical literature, cover the history of Renaissance Aristotelianism in Portugal, Spain, especially Italy, England, France, the Low Countries, Germany, and Poland. A quick review of the dominant general interpretations begins the book. Then after reviewing bibliographical works, editions, translations, and textual criticism, he moves on to the secondary literature. In each case he groups them into subject and geograph- ical categories, and systematically works his way from the general to the particular. Always the author keeps in mind the needs of scholars in a variety of fields. Schmitt's Survey also lives up to its title of "critical": he does not hesitate to evaluate, to point out inadequacies, and to take issue. All this is quite useful for, indeed, there is much mistaken information abroad on even such a key figure as Pomponazzi. And even when one disagrees with the author, his comments are intelligent and a good point of reference. In the last chapter he notes areas where future work needs to be done. Especially needed is basic research behind the walls of Renaissance universities: what was taught? who were the professors? what was their background? Schmitt also points out that the problem of what he aptly calls "the escape from the Aristotelian predicament" in the late Renaissance needs more study. Even while intellectuals sought to demolish the Aristotelian worldview, they sometimes used Aristotelian cudgels, a kind of intellectual cannibalism. Finally, the bibliography is simply organized and the index accurate, making the book easy to use. This reader was surprised at the amount of scholarship (including Schmitt's own contributions) done in the past dozen years. The author has performed a valuable service in providing this guide to it, and the publisher is to be congratulated for making it available for less than $5. PAUL F. GRENDLER, University of Toronto 86 
work_h4saf4x5hregjpgf7isw4aoerm	----	Editor’s Column T7 I ’ NDINGS do not automatically summon the sense of an M / ending, and they are not inevitably apocalyptic. As I leave the editorship of PMLA, I am inclined to echo neither the words of General Douglas MacArthur when he abandoned Corregidor nor those of Richard Nixon when he lost the race for the governorship of California. For a journal a transfer of editors is a bracing step forward, and this retiring editor takes heart from his predecessors, whose vigorous examples demonstrate that there is, indeed, life after PMLA. Beginnings invite new adventures but also tolerate a touch of nostalgia, so I may be insisting on the obvious when I say that my editorial role with PMLA has been a unique opportunity. My thirteen years of formal involvement with the journal and my service as its thirteenth editor add up in my mind to the best of fortune, even if in future tallies I may suffer the fate of the thirteenth floor in some hotels. The independence that I have enjoyed in tending to the edi- torial and intellectual dimensions of the journal while a capable col- league concerned herself with the governance of the association confirms the wisdom of the decision to separate those two functions. The volatility of both the academic scene and the journal over the past seven years has made my experience all the more challenging and exciting. Unlike those who guide other journals, PMLAA editor is constrained by a democratic structure, but to my satisfaction I discovered that the team’s collaborative force ensures the dynamism of the enterprise. At this juncture memories run by kaleidoscopically. Among the most piercing, I confess, is the anguish I felt on each of two dozen occasions like this one when I could see all thirty thousand of you staring back at me through the words on my computer screen, ab- sorbing their flicker and passing judgment from your sundry vantage points. The writer’s audience is not always a fiction, and I realized that my task of addressing such a vast and variegated readership was the challenge that faced the journal itself. As I return to communion with my cozy family of specialists in nineteenth-century Spanish nar- rative, I relish joining the portion of the world that only reads editors’ columns. I depart with a thicker skin, for I discovered that every initiative one takes, no matter how widespread its endorsement, is certain to elicit the censure of some. Even so, I treasure the substantive dialogue with those who took the time to express their reservations, while the fruitful response that came from the member in Florida who cheered our unprecedented publication of an article on the dis- course of culinary recipes remains in my fancy as the most memorable gesture of approval. On the day of the season’s first frost in northern New York and in the same mail with the October issue that carried her Forum letter, there arrived in my office a box of twenty key limes—real key limes. The meeting of the PMLA Editorial Board is surely one of the editor’s richest rewards. After twenty-seven successive gatherings and the close discussion of almost five hundred manuscripts, I suffer no surfeit of that always invigorating activity. Despite strong intellectual disagreements, the moments of tension were rare, and a spirit of conviviality marked the deliberations. The rigor of the board’s stan- dards, the breadth of the members’ expertise, their articulateness in expressing their judgments, and their scrupulousness in the dispatch of their responsibility were truly admirable. A jaw swollen from a painful tooth extraction did not deter one member from spirited participation in a meeting, and another came accompanied by her one-month-old daughter, who behaved fittingly for the solemn oc- casion. Even a telephone call announcing the editor’s initiation into grandfatherhood interrupted a January session only long enough for a round of huzzahs. The Editorial Board of course shapes the contents of PMLA, but the journal’s fresh dimensions and new features have also emerged from these councils. Board meetings as well as other PMLA duties have brought me into contact with colleagues in different areas whose paths I might otherwise not have crossed so easily. I have learned immeasurably from these scholars, and I have had the special privilege of bringing my discipline into dialogue with theirs. My continuing education has also been bolstered by the many manuscripts from other fields that pursued me even to Madrid and Middlebury, to Boulder and Berkeley. To have read every word that has appeared in PMLA over a long span of years—and considerably more that have not—has been an unexpected boon to my own work, and I recommend for your benefit (and for the good of your students) such forays into strange waters. In their valedictories, outgoing editors of the journal, reflecting the modesty typical of our discipline, have tended to bemoan their failures rather than to brandish their successes. William Schaefer, writing in 1978, lamented the inability of PMLA to attract essays that compelled the interest of the entire readership, and he reproached the profession for being so fragmented that it had nothing to say to its collective self. Perhaps he was expecting too much of the official organ of a hydra-headed monster like the MLA; perhaps the problem is that too few of us have or take the time to read as expansively as we might. In any event, while diversification and splintering continue to mark the academy and PMLA, I believe that Schaefer’s wishes have been answered at least insofar as each number brings some pages that address the journal’s entire readership. It may be precisely our dif- ferences in politics and ideology, our debates around theory and the canon, our disparate methods and languages, our undefined roles as humanists in the social order that, in an ironic twist, have drawn us into communion. The material in PMLA, including the Forum letters, traces patterns of productive tension, and the wages of our confron- tation are a lively collective dialogue. The very battles that have been joined in recent issues should come as reassurance to the board mem- ber who expressed the concern that the institutional protection of ideologies may be producing an exclusionary polarization that alien- ates some members of the profession: such biases as appear in the journal are not those of its editorial team but the voices of its con- tributors in legitimate contention. No one is excluded on ideological grounds; the parties draw their own lines. I share the view of another colleague on the Editorial Board, who said, “PMLA is remarkably fair. It’s the most honorable scholarly enterprise in the profession.” Joel Conarroe, in his farewell remarks, deplored what he called PM LA's “decidedly Anglo-Saxon cast” and the minimal represen- tation of non-English-language subjects. Two years later, English Showalter echoed the sentiment that PMLA did not represent all its constituencies. My predecessors’ complaints have been heeded, for that imbalance has been redressed at least in part. Certain absences do continue to gnaw at me—I count among my failures, for example, my inability to attract so important a segment as Chicano culture onto the roster—but the contents and backlog lists of most numbers now testify to the engagement of many different sectors, and I am heartened by the general spirit of involvement. It is important that this broadly based collaboration continue and that in some fashion the submissions add up to a potent, overarching statement. I hope that all who peruse this issue of PMLA will agree that it meets the aim of offering something interesting and readable to ev- eryone. This number opens its pages to a wide intercultural exchange and, building on the solid ground of PMLA's traditions, takes initi- atives in tracing fresh paths. Borges’s previously untranslated gem about the art of translation mischievously dramatizes the pleasures and pitfalls of intertextual dialogues across national and temporal boundaries. The coincidental arrival of three fine essays on Chaucer written by colleagues dramatically separated from one another by rank and methodology provided an opportunity for a cluster that Seth Lerer, on short notice, consented to introduce, and I thank him for his unselfish cooperation. His characterization of Chaucer studies as “willfully omnivorous” applies across the board to current criticism, and other fields, too, have taught us, as Lerer puts it, that there are many ways of understanding modernity. Several essays then transport us through the Italian Renaissance, German and British Romanti- cism, Chinese modernism, and contemporary Latin America and Africa in tandem. With neither at a disadvantage, the periphery and the center of traditional scholarly attention conjoin in a salubrious array of approaches that do justice to the text, to history, to language, to gender differences. Revisionary stands challenge the reader in each of these studies. The final two essays confront modern literary crit- icism in encompassing terms. The crossover between literature and science has become a pressing issue, and “This Is Not a Universe” examines physicists’ link to literary critics in their shared questioning of language, of the production of interpretation, and of the structures of representation. Some of the same concerns underlie the last essay’s examination of the state of deconstruction today, both as a system and as an institution. Readers of all persuasions can, finally, turn to the closing item in the Forum and delight in the deconstruction of deconstruction by a colleague who apparently has already reached certain conclusions. The articles listed in this issue as “forthcoming in PMLA” I be- queath with pride and pleasure to my successor and to our readers. The January number will carry the special-topic section on the idea of Europe, along with a short translation from Derrida, and I wish to take this opportunity to give thanks to Timothy J. Reiss for his work as coordinator of that topic and to Jacques Derrida for his long- standing interest in our journal. Three further special topics are in process, and March will bring a cluster of articles on gender. The variety and the quality of the essays in our backlog are a promise of delectables that readers have in store. Last year, for the first time since the William Riley Parker Prize for an outstanding article in PMLA was instituted in 1964, the selection committee saw fit to award the prize to two entries. That development is encouraging, and the forthcoming essays will make the committee members’ choices no easier. I relinquish my post with confidence in the system and with deep respect for the people that make it work. I could not have accom- plished my charge if the Executive Council’s high regard for the as- sociation’s journal had not translated, year after year, into full moral and material support of the Editorial Board’s initiatives. My debt to the council members and to the association officers rests in blue on your bookshelves. I am fortunate to have coincided throughout my term with Phyllis Franklin, without whose advice, backing, and friendship I would surely have foundered. I am also grateful to my colleagues and the administration at Cornell University for having not only tolerated but supported my investment of energies in PMLA. It is the steadfast policy of the editorial staff to delete from the journal any strands of acknowledgment extended in their direction. In a final appropriation of privilege, I shall fly in the face of that custom of modesty and sensitivity as I look in vain for adequate words of ap- preciation and admiration for those who run and produce PMLA'. Judy Goulding and her staff. A recent author made the point pic- turesquely: “I’ve never had a $ 100 massage, but the experience must be comparable to getting edited at PMLA.” Judy Goulding’s efficient and tranquil managerial style, her unfailingly sound judgment, her sense of order and fairness set the example for the entire operation. When a problem arose, I knew I could turn to her for the best solution. I shall also miss her staff, whom I respect boundlessly for their ex- pertise and their unparalleled dedication and to whom I owe a heavy debt for having made my tasks easy. Among those who have processed hundreds of manuscripts annually, copyedited and proofread accepted essays, corresponded with authors, prepared all the peripheral ma- terial, designed and set the pages, and contended with crises so as to deposit each issue punctually in your mailboxes, there are too many to name, but you will find them all listed on the mastheads of current and past issues. I want to repeat publicly my appreciation of my colleagues on the Editorial Board and on the Advisory Committee— also listed prominently in the front pages—for their assiduous service in evaluating manuscripts and in setting policy for the journal. We who make the editorial decisions could not function without the conscientious help of our many referees or, of course, without the interest and confidence of the authors who send us their work and of the readers who find between the covers of PMLA, whatever its shortcomings, a moment of insight, of stimulation, of pleasure. My thanks go out to all of you. By the time you see these lines, my successor will be signing letters, reading manuscripts, organizing a board meeting, implementing new ideas, and writing her first Editor’s Column. Domna Stanton is, for reasons that are obvious to those who know her and that will quickly become evident to those of you who don’t, an ideal choice for the editorship of PMLA. I have worked closely with Domna in the past, and my acquaintance with all her sterling qualities, her high standards, her efficiency and imagination gives me a sense of excitement about the future of the MLA’s journal. With a measure of relief and a mass of confidence, I watch the flow of manuscripts shift from one snowy college town in the East to another in the Midwest. Like the rest of you, I look forward to reading every word that is to appear in her PMLA. JOHN W. KRONIK 
work_h7gtylpmpfdfnmlpci7nonaiuq	----	RQX_72_3_bookreviews 1008..1010 different dialogues. These voices belong, as could be expected, to Socrates (chapter 3), Pythagoras and the Pythagoreans (chapter 4), and Plato himself (chapter 5). Plato’s Persona offers a global vision of Ficino’s hermeneutical work, which has the advantage of presenting a rigorous historical-philological method. In particular, I find three highlights that advance Ficino scholarship and open up new research directions. The first one is Robichaud’s study of the rhetorical features that Ficino implements in his philosophical work. Although the topic of the relations between rhetoric and phi- losophy in the Renaissance has been explored from various points of view (suffice to mention Pico’s famous letter De Genere Dicendi Philosophorum), Robichaud’s perspec- tive is unique because it shows how Ficino’s rhetorical tools, mainly prosopopoiea and enargeia (i.e., “the fabrication and presentation of vivid personae” [17]), serve specific philosophical or performative purposes. The second great contribution is the research of the “Iamblichean undercurrents” (212) in Ficino’s opera. The presence of these under- currents has been ignored by the literature probably because Ficino’s translations of Iamblichus were never published. While the book is not limited to exploration of this influence, the discoveries presented by Robichaud on the relations between Iamblichean elements and the Renaissance-Pythagorean conception of the dialogues certainly constitute its most innovative part. Without a doubt, this book will invite the publication of more studies on this topic. Finally, the textual work done by Robichaud on the different historical elements contained in manuscripts owned or annotated by Ficino is outstanding. His expertise allows him to clarify several new elements in Ficino’s exegetical practices—for example, the importance of scholia in his interpretations and their incorporation in his published commentaries. In sum, Robichaud has written a work that explores with great detail and originality Ficino’s relations with various traditions of Platonism. It definitely consti- tutes a very important contribution to Renaissance studies. Teresa Rodríguez, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México doi:10.1017/rqx.2019.265 The Intellectual World of the Italian Renaissance: Language, Philosophy, and the Search for Meaning. Christopher S. Celenza. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017. xvi + 438 pp. $120. This is a rich and engaging study. Not a history of Renaissance philosophy as such, it is, rather, an examination of the intellectual worlds of the fifteenth century and in partic- ular of the dominant role of Latin. Its purview certainly includes bona fide philosophers such as Lorenzo Valla and Marsilio Ficino, but it is equally concerned with poets such as Petrarch and Poliziano, with the classicists Nicolo Nicoli and Poggio Bracciolini, with the historian and statesman Leonardo Bruni, with Cardinal Bembo and literary RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1008 VOLUME LXXII, NO. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core criticism, and so on, all of whom receive careful analysis. Celenza emphasizes that these philosophizing figures often pursued nonphilosophical disciplinary and transdisciplin- ary paths in search of authentic wisdom. That is, their love of philosophy carried many of them beyond the formal Aristotle-based curricular philosophy of the schools, and beyond the Scholastic Latin that continued still to serve as its medium. And Celenza draws our attention to “the two great medieval genres” that constituted the teaching “bedrock”—namely, the commentary and the question, “intimately linked as they were to classroom practice” (11, 15). He is engaged, in other words, with late medieval and early modern education in theory and practice, and with the “ways of thinking” education imparted and preserved. The concern here is with seeing the age’s philosophy as the product of where and under what circumstances and by whom it was taught, and with the central texts selected in any curricular plan. The author urges us to bear in mind, however, that there was less variety in the later university curricula than one might initially suppose, given that they were increasingly standardized by the professo- riate, which controlled the teaching of philosophy in the universities, including the many new universities, until well into the last half of the seventeenth century. The study closes with a memorable citation from Galileo’s response in his 1625 Saggiatore to a Jesuit named Grassi, who had drawn upon some of Galileo’s work with- out attribution and had questioned his theories about comets. In the Saggiatore Galileo rearticulates the ancient trope that the universe is a book. But unlike the book of the Bible, the book of Nature is difficult, if not impossible, to read precisely because its philosophical (i.e., its natural) components can only be approached by way of geometry and arithmetic. And here we witness the emergence of the mathematical language of early modern natural philosophy running pari passu with the emergence of the new ver- naculars. As one of the first Latin-literate figures to elect to write scientifically in both Latin and Tuscan, Galileo was to publish his epoch-making Sidereus nuncius in 1610 in Latin, with the Saggiatore coming out just fifteen years later in Tuscan. The author argues arrestingly that it is only after the long and contentious debate regarding correct Latin usage both in antiquity and in contemporary Renaissance scholarship “had played itself out” and “the history behind it had been excavated by Italian scholars” that think- ers could turn to “canonizing” the Florentine vernacular (401–02). In this context we must recognize the pivotal role of the Accademia della Crusca; Celenza further suggests that Galileo had good political reasons to elect to write the Saggiatore in the vernacular—namely, that it must have targeted an important lay audience. In sum, Celenza’s Latin-centered narrative runs throughout this multifaceted volume, though subordinated at times to other concerns (401–02). Among these is a fascination with the conflicting authorities wielded by such insti- tutions as the church, the universities, the courts, and even particular philosophical schools against the inner imperatives of individuals, the authority that is of the self and its dissident voice. This obviously suggests a recognition of the “polarity” (402)— Celenza’s term—between the demands of conformity and the inner imperative of an REVIEWS 1009 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core outsider, however mediated, however clandestine. Again, Galileo is a signal example in that he was able to enjoy the anti-institutional patronage of the Medici and, later, the patronage afforded him by his induction into the Roman Accademia dei Lincei and by the Lincei’s embrace of the Saggiatore. It is interesting to think of the learned societies being in this way at the cutting edge and to witness their shaping role in Italy’s intel- lectual life at the close of what, from the perspective of Celenza’s thesis, is the long fifteenth century. I leave it to others to weigh the merits of the chapters on the individ- ual philosophers, all of which deserve close examination in their own right, and all of which speak variously to the linkage between language and philosophy, the core concern of this stimulating book. Michael J. B. Allen, University of California, Los Angeles doi:10.1017/rqx.2019.266 The Emancipation of Biblical Philology in the Dutch Republic, 1590–1670. Dirk Van Miert. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018. xxiv + 296 pp. $99. This wonderful study was written in the context of the research project Biblical Criticism in the Seventeenth Century, led by Henk Nellen and Piet Steenbakkers. The publications of this fruitful and inspiring project also include Scriptural Authority and Biblical Criticism in the Dutch Golden Age: God’s Word Questioned (2017) and Jetze Touber’s Spinoza and Biblical Philology in the Dutch Republic, 1660–1710 (2018). The Emancipation of Biblical Philology departs from the question of how the philo- logical methods of the Leiden-based French scholar Josephus Justus Scaliger cast their shadows on all biblical scholarship of the early modern Netherlands and England until Spinoza’s Tractatus Theologico-Politicus appeared, in 1670. Or, rather, “How . . . did the strong philological tradition of Leiden [University, JB] play out in the hands of different scholars who fostered conflicting agendas?” (21). Van Miert starts with an introduction on biblical philology in the sixteenth century, and then treats Joseph Scaliger’s biblical scholarship (chapter 1). That biblical philology had its societal impact is shown in chap- ter 2, “Biblical Philology: Nothing Radical (1609–1619),” which discusses the Twelve Years Truce controversies concerning the interpretation of divine providence, which involved far-ranging political consequences, and chapter 3, “Mobilizing Biblical Philology: The States’ Translation (1619–1637),” which discusses the political implica- tions of this influential Dutch translation of the Bible. At the core of the book are chap- ter 4, “The Biblical Philology of Daniel Heinsius (1619–1641),” and chapter 5, “Grotius’s Annotationes on the Bible (1619–1645).” The two following chapters treat their intellectual opponents “Claude Saumaise and the ‘Hairy War’ (1640–1650)” and RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1010 VOLUME LXXII, NO. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles false /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Dot Gain 20%) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (U.S. Web Coated \050SWOP\051 v2) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Error /CompatibilityLevel 1.3 /CompressObjects /Tags /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJDFFile false /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Default /DetectBlends true 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work_hav2puxacjev3dq63pemt7wt5q	----	Ceremonial Culture in Pre-Modern Europe (review) Ceremonial Culture in Pre-Modern Europe (review) Catherine L. Howey Journal of World History, Volume 21, Number 1, March 2010, pp. 138-140 (Review) Published by University of Hawai'i Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:06 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/jwh.0.0099 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/376798 https://doi.org/10.1353/jwh.0.0099 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/376798 138 journal of world history, march 2010 The strengths of The African City naturally stem from the strengths of its author, and his important contributions to the study of urban life in South Africa. For the nonspecialist the book offers an excellent and timely review of past and continuing debates. For the uninitiated stu- dent, it creates an accessible introduction to several views into urban Africa. For the reader in search of an exhaustive continental perspec- tive on histories of African cities, this is a great beginning. carolyn e. vieira-martinez Chapman University Ceremonial Culture in Pre-Modern Europe. Edited by nicholas howe. Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007. 168 pp. $25.00 (paper). Although the four essays in this collection cover a large geographi- cal and chronological expanse, they all incorporate similar themes in their exploration of the uses of ceremony and ritual in premodern Europe. Margot Fassler’s essay examines the various adventus ceremo- nies that were employed in the medieval French cathedral town of Chartes. Michael S. Flier analyzes the Palm Sunday procession to illus- trate how early Muscovite Rus’ political and religious authority were mutually constructed through a shared visual culture. Gordon Kipling’s piece on three civic triumphs in Antwerp staged over the course of the sixteenth century demonstrates how repeated ceremonies that invoke tradition to give the ceremony authority are still malleable enough to accommodate political change. The fi nal essay by Edward Muir focuses on Renaissance Italy and argues that the early modern semiotics used in rituals and ceremonies were ambiguous and unfi xed in their mean- ing, allowing the audience and its participants to negotiate the event’s meaning and ultimately fashion their own understanding of the cere- mony’s message. Although these four essays are separated by both time and place, and the ceremonies examined are very different, Nicholas Howe’s introduction does a wonderful job tying them tightly together. Accord- ing to Howe, all four essays explore common themes: the relationship between public and private space, how the ceremony/ritual being examined changed and developed over time, how the symbolism of the ceremony was transmitted to the audience, and the difference between the early modern audience’s sensibility and our own. All four essays employ a range of sources from archival material to surviving images Book Reviews 139 and architecture. However, as Howe reminds the reader, although many of these rituals and ceremonies have been preserved in the form of texts, they had a life that went far beyond the printed page because they were meant to be visually performed, often in front of an audience that was largely illiterate. One of the most important assertions made in the introduction was that premodern ceremony and ritual both constructed and perpetu- ated a sense of timelessness and universality of beliefs and practices both across generations and across geographical distances, and that those beliefs and practices often served to fashion and reaffi rm com- munal identity. Although this claim is not an original one, all four essays emphasize an important point that has received far less scholarly attention: these ceremonies often did not fashion the same communal identity for everyone; in fact, ceremony and ritual also had the power to identify certain groups as outsiders, such as the medieval Jews of Chartres, as presented by Fassler. Flier also shows how the religious/ political split between the Old Believers and the ruling elite shaped their interpretations of the traditional Palm Sunday procession, which often fed the tension between the two groups instead of creating a bridge to connect them. Whereas that same religious ceremony had once worked together to reaffi rm a common positive destiny, after a period of political and religious turmoil, it took on very negative mes- sages to those discontented with the new dynasty. Another important theme that was explored was the contradiction that the authority of a ritual or a ceremony rested upon its standardiza- tion and repetition, (and which in turn endowed its participants with legitimacy), was still fl exible enough to incorporate political and reli- gious changes so that they could transmit timely messages as opposed to reiterating out-of-date and out-of-touch ones, as demonstrated by Kipling’s analysis of three civic triumphs offered by sixteenth-century Antwerp. The fi rst two affi rmed the political legitimacy of the Spanish Hapsburgs, but the third one denounced them as tyrants. However, Muir’s reading of Italian Renaissance processions makes the important point that the people watching the procession and the people in the procession were simultaneously both object and subject and that their role in the procession in combination with their social status and gen- der dictated what they saw. Moreover, acknowledging that the people in the procession were watching the crowd that watched them blurs the lines between witness and participant, which in turn redefi nes the act of witnessing a ceremony. According to Muir, as long as the audi- ence is engaged by the procession, it is actively negotiating its mean- ing, keeping it relevant and important. 140 journal of world history, march 2010 In many ways these essays work well together and demonstrate some of the new understandings of premodern use and reception of ceremony and ritual. For example, Muir’s inclusion of Renaissance optical theory to try to explain how people saw the procession was both interesting and innovative. However, his claim that ceremony could never impose a single message or produce a single interpretation was not as original. There were no references to scholarship that had already demonstrated the ambiguity of early modern symbolism or that most of the common people did not comprehend the elaborate allegories staged by the civic elites and often only caught glimpses or heard snatches of the entire event.1 Although all four essays tried to explicitly evaluate the par- ticipation of the audience, they did not really take into account that the ceremony/ritual itself was not experienced in its totality. Whereas Muir’s bibliography may not have been as inclusive as I would have liked, he did include gender in his analysis, something that the other authors did not do, which does seem a striking omission, especially if one is trying to discern the possible messages received by the audience. In spite of each essay’s shortcomings, this erudite and comparative col- lection of scholarship on ritual and ceremony in premodern Europe, although probably too advanced for undergraduate students, does offer interesting insights to scholars who work on this subject. catherine l. howey Eastern Kentucky University Between the Middle Ages and Modernity: Individual and Community in the Early Modern World. Edited by charles h. parker and jerry h. bentley (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefi eld, 2007. 332 pp. $75.00 (cloth); $34.95 (paper). Individual and Community is a loose-fi tting title for studies combined under the guise of tribute to the eminent scholar James Tracy. Like a conference panel with too many participants, the three thematic 1 For example, see Stephen Orgel, “Gendering the Crown,” in Subject and Object in Renaissance Culture, ed. Margreta de Grazia, Maureen Quilligan, and Peter Stallybrass (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 133–165; and R. Malcolm Smuts, “Public Cer- emony and Royal Charisma: The English Royal Entry in London, 1485–1642,” in The First Modern Society: Essays in English History in Honour of Lawrence Stone, ed. A. L. Beier, David Cannadine, and James M. Rosenheim (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989), pp. 65–93. 
work_hb7b563idff4poltgemv2idvtu	----	Brueghel: his art and his syndrome | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1080/17571472.2017.1317405 Corpus ID: 5219594Brueghel: his art and his syndrome @article{Carelli2017BrueghelHA, title={Brueghel: his art and his syndrome}, author={F. Carelli}, journal={London Journal of Primary Care}, year={2017}, volume={9}, pages={43 - 44} } F. Carelli Published 2017 Medicine, Art London Journal of Primary Care The exhibition is a fascinating journey into the Golden Age of Flemish Paintings of the seventeenth century, in a search for the visionary genius of as many as five generations of artists. They are able to embody as one, like as nobody before or after them, the style and trends of more than a century of history of art. While the Italian Renaissance focuses attention on the human figure’s noble and virtuous ideal through the experiences of Michelangelo, Leonardo and Tiziano, in Flanders the… Expand View on Taylor & Francis tandfonline.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 1 Citations View All Topics from this paper Blepharospasm Dystonia Disorders Fatigue Personality Character Labor (Childbirth) Name Area striata structure Meige Syndrome Experience Exclusion Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome One Citation Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Epo-Nots: issues with non-traditional eponyms Conor O’Flynn History 2020 Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-2 OF 2 REFERENCES Meige syndrome: what's in a name? M. LeDoux Medicine Parkinsonism & related disorders 2009 49 Save Alert Research Feed Blepharospasm-oromandibular dystonia syndrome (Brueghel's syndrome). A variant of adult-onset torsion dystonia? C. Marsden Medicine Journal of neurology, neurosurgery, and psychiatry 1976 222 Highly Influential PDF View 3 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Related Papers Abstract Topics 1 Citations 2 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
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work_hfjkobcupjegravwuvlxxbegre	----	PII: 0315-0860(82)90129-X HM 9 Projects 343 PROJECTS This department welcomes brief notes and article-length manuscripts. The former may include announcements of contem- plated or ongoing projects, information on doctoral theses in progress or completed (writer, title, institution, supervisor, and available information on completion time), proposals and questions, and requests for assistance. Announcements of indi- vidual research projects, including theses, are very important to avoid awkward and wasteful duplication of effort. Articles will ordinarily describe projected, in progress, or completed large-scale projects involving one or several scholars and should follow the same standards as other articles. A MATHEMATICAL MANUSCRIPT OF THE XIV CENTURY Dr. B. Piochi (Institue of Mathematics of the University of Siena, Italy) is transcribing Paolo dell'Abbaco's "Trattato di tutta l'arte dell'abacho" from the copy in the National Library in Florence. Eight more copies of this treatise are known: six are in Italian libraries, one is in the United States (in the Plimpton Collection), and one is in France (in the National Library in Paris [Van Egmont 1981, Practical Mathematics in the Italian Renaissance, p. 365, Florence]). However, the copy in the Florentine Library seems to be the original, or at least the oldest, one. The manuscript consists of 188 charts; it contains arith- metical tables and operations; business, recreational, and geo- metrical problems; astronomical tables and a dissertation on astrology. Dr. Piochi, who expects to transcribe and edit the entire treatise, is preparing a paper containing a description of the treatise, a commentary, and a collation of its different copies. 0315-0860/82/030343-01$02.00/O Copyright 0 1982 by Academic Press, Inc. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved. 
work_hidxkhi2jbgx5off6oof7zhroi	----	nem107 9..12 eCAM 2007;4(S1)9–11 doi:10.1093/ecam/nem107 Original Article The Diseases of the Medici Family and the Use of Phytotherapy Donatella Lippi History of Medicine, University of Florence The Medici Project is a paleopathological and historico-medical research, based on the exhumation of corpses of the Medici Family buried in the Medici Chapels (Florence, San Lorenzo). The scientific research carried out on these remains permits us to reconstruct habits and causes of death of members of this famous family of Italian Renaissance. The comparison between the literary sources and the paleopathological evidence is also important to reconstruct different therapies. Physicians, who assisted the most important persons of the Medici Family, have left a rich literature about their patients: the treatments were based on the use of plants and natural substances. Analyzing these sources is of unique importance and throws light on the therapeutical choices of the time. Keywords: History of medicine – medici family – renaissance The Medici Project May 25, 2004: an international team of historians, paleopathologists, anthropologists and archaeologists descended upon the church of San Lorenzo, in Florence, officially starting the Medici Project, a paleo- pathological and historico-medical study, whose aim is to reconstruct the habits, diseases and causes of death of the Medici Family, who are buried in the Medici Chapels (D. Lippi. The Medici Project, Herald of Europe 3, 2006, pp. 122–5; D.Lippi, G. Fornaciari, GF Gensini. Evidence Based History of Medicine: The Experience of the Florence Medical School, Proceedings of the 40th International Congress on the History of Medicine, Budapest August 25–30, 2006, pp. 633–6; D. Lippi, Illacrimate sepolture. Curiosità e ricerca scientifica nella storia delle riesumazioni dei Medici, Firenze, FUP 2006). The paleopathological study of the bodies would increase considerably knowledge currently available about diseases and life habits of the Medici Family, which were till now based on iconographical and literary sources. In fact, from archive data we have an entire list of pathologies, which will be strengthened or weakened by paleopathological investigation: Infectious diseases: smallpox, typhus, tuberculosis, pneumonia, syphilis, plague, malaria, echinococcus cyst; Metabolic diseases: obesity, hyperlipoproteinemia, anemia, nephrolitiasis, bladder stone; Joint diseases: hereditary arthritis; Cardio-vascular diseases: atheriosclerosis, heart failure; Traumatic conditions: gunshot injuries, fractures; Toxic diseases: acute intoxications, mercury intoxication; Malignant tumors: breast carcinoma; Malformations: congenital malformations, dwarfism. The paleopathological investigation will find evidence of these diseases, throwing light on the nosographical definition of ancient physicians. Medici and Phytotherapy These pathologies were obviously treated with natural means, phytotherapy played a very important role and the Medici interest in plants contributed also to the development of Renaissance natural history. Florentine humanist scholars consulted and translated manuscripts of Pliny’s Natural History and Diocorides’ Materia Medica, acquired by Cosimo the Elder and Lorenzo the Magnificent: Cosimo I’s personal curiosity about medicinal plants made him the ideal sponsor for the first botany professorship and the first public botanical gardens in Europe. � 2007 The Author(s). This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial License (http://creativecommons.org/ licenses/by-nc/2.0/uk/) which permits unrestricted non-commercial use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. http://creativecommons.org/ In fact, medicine could rely only on these therapeutic strategies: medicinal plants in Florence were produced for the hospital’s patients as early as the 15th century in the garden of the Hospital of Santa Maria Nuova. The ‘simple garden’ was the primary supplier of the Apothecary’s shop, which was present at the Hospital already in the 15th century; its first catalog was compiled by the director Giuseppe Baldi in the mid-17th century. In 1545, Cosimo I. founded the Botanical Garden of San Marco, entrusting Luca Ghini of its arrangement. Ghini had studied at the University of Bologna, where he taught medicine and herbalism (1534). The leading Italian naturalists of the 16th century, from Aldrovandi to Cesalpino, were trained by Ghini. In 1555, he returned to Bologna as lecturer of medicine. The Botanical Garden of San Marco, also known as the ‘Giardino delle Stalle’ [the Stables Garden], was designed by Tribolo and acquired quite a reputation for its rare plants in the late 16th century, when it was under the direction of Giuseppe Casabona, who was engaged by Francesco I to introduce and cultivate rare plants. In 1626, for example, as per Luca Ghini’s request, Joseph Cincio, personal physician to Margherita d’Austria, sent rare plant samples for the Orto Botanico in Pisa (ASF, Mediceo del Principato 6108.440. 30 Giugno 1626). In the 17th century, Paolo Boccone and other botanists greatly enriched the garden, but the Botanical Garden of Santa Maria Nuova and the Botanical Garden of Pisa, founded by Luca Ghini, continued to play a more important scientific role. It was the great botanist Pier Antonio Micheli who, in the early 1700s, transformed the Garden into a botanical research center of international celebrity. Giovanni Targioni Tozzetti took over Micheli’s position in 1737, in the same year of Gian Gastone’s death; Gian Gastone was the last Grand-Duke and the Medici Family extinguished with him. The Therapies During the Renaissance, new political independence from the Church and a renewed interest in the classics fostered a flowering of scientific, medical and cultural achieve- ment. The literary sources provide a lot of information about the health conditions of the grand-dukes and about the therapies which were used to treat their diseases. Some cases are particularly interesting from this point of view. In 1875, it became necessary to restore Michelangelo’s statues in San Lorenzo, which decorate the tomb of Lorenzo Duke of Urbino and Alessandro Duke of Florence. The marble slabs covering the marble case were removed and the contents were examined. Lorenzo’s skull (1492–1519) showed a ‘deep wound, produced by a sharp instrument’ in the nape of the neck and it was interpreted as the scar of a wound; in reality Lorenzo had been hit in the head during a battle in 1516 and had been visited by the most important physicians of that time (L. Paganucci. Parere intorno all’individualità dei due scheletri trovati nel mausoleo scolpito da Michelangelo e che sta a sinistra di chi entra nella celebre cappella della Basilica di San Lorenzo in Firenze, Firenze 1875). Berengario da Carpi, the famous surgeon who was called to visit Lorenzo, dedicated him his treatise On Fracture of the Skull (De Fractura Calvae), which he published in 1518, where he described the different surgical operations remedies to put on the head and gives the description of the lotion used for Lorenzo: Recipe vini salvatici lib.4 rosarum rubrarum, betonicae, pimpinellae, matrisilvae, centaureae, staechados aromaticae ana m.�: aristolochiae longe, ireos, corticum thuris, ana 3: bulliant omnia simul, usque ad duarum partium consump- tionem: (sed rosae bulliant bullitione una tantum) & colentur. Colaturae adde mellis rosati optime cocti . . . Ista lotio est mirabilis in sanie exiccanda in ulceribus profundis capitis. Et haec est illa, Illustrissime Dux, quam ego ordinavi & feci manibus meis pro capite tuo: hoc liquore siringabam & interdum cum parva spongia embro- chabam fundum ulceris tui capitis, a quo prius non parva saniei [Sanies (Lat.) - A thin, fetid, greenish fluid consisting of serum and pus discharged from a wound, ulcer, or fistula]. Quantitas exibat. Et ab ista lozione fuit facta saniei exiccatio & carnis repletio, & una cum aliis auxiliis tandem consolidatio (Berengario da Carpi. Tractatus de Fractura Calve sive Cranei a Carpo editus, Bologna Hyeronymus de Benedictis 1518; Engl. Transl by L.R.Lind, Berengario da Carpi on Fracture of the Skull or Cranium, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, New Ser., Vol. 80, No. 4 (1990), pp. i–xxvi+ 1–164. XXXIX: Recipe four pounds of malmsey, a half handful each of red roses, betonica, anise, honey suckle, centaurea, stoechas, half an ounce of long aristolochia, iris, incense bark. Boil all together and reduce by a third part. Boil the roses only once and strain. To this add four ounces of well-cooked rose honey. This lotion is very effective in drying out pus in deep ulcers in the head. My most illustrious duke, this is the lotion I prepared ands made with my own hands for your head, using a syringe and sometimes an embrocation with a small sponge to reach the bottom of the wound from which earlier no small amount of pus and a repletion of flesh in the wound. Along with other aids it was finally consolidated (LIND L.R. op. cit). Private letters moreover provide a lot of information about the purchase and selling of many substances: in 1545, Andrea Pasquale gives Pier Francesco Riccio an account of the illness and treatment of Duchess Eleonora de Toledo, reporting that she needed olio di gherophani . . . cannella confetta . . . legno (clove oil . . . cinnamon . . . wood of life) (ASF, Mediceo del Principato, 1171. 374. 4 Maggio 1545). 10 Diseases of the Medici Family and use of phytotherapy A detailed description of the illness of Cosimo I and of the medicines requested from Florence for his treatment, included ‘chicken distillate’ (distillato di pollo), which was to contain plantago and borage (ASF, Mediceo del Principato, 1175.37. 5 Dicembre 1549). Lorenzo de’ Medici, who was the son of Ferdinand I, suffered of epilepsy (ASF, Mediceo del Principato 908. 365. 2 Aprile 1602). During the Renaissance, many different substances were used to treat the ‘falling sickness’. The most important of these were: copper (which had already been used by the Ancient Greeks), zinc oxide, silver nitrate, mercury, bismuth and tin, but plants played an important role from this point of view, too, in particular, castoreum, artemisia and rhubarb. As early as ancient Greek and Roman times, a resinous secretion from the scent glands of the beaver (castor sacks) was used as a remedy for the ‘holy disease’; up until well into the 19th century, this substance was widely used as a sedative and a remedy for convulsions and was to be found in every apothecary. Mugwort (Atrtemisia vulgaris) was commonly used as well. In earlier centuries, this was the magical cure-all. Even in orthodox medicine, mugwort was believed to be an effective remedy for epilepsy. Absinth, which has in it the amaroids from mugwort flowers, was also used to treat epilepsy. Conclusions The comparison between ancient literary sources, paleo- pathological evidence and nowadays research represents a very interesting perspective, in order to study in depth the medical use of plants in Renaissance Florence. The Medici Family fostered this research, investing many resources in arranging the botanical garden, and experi- menting the efficacy of different vegetal species. eCAM 2007;4(S1) 11 
work_horvale6ffhqxftvos5h6sbdcy	----	PHI volume 11 issue 41 Front matter PHILOSOPHY (THE JOURNAL OF THE BRITISH INSTITUTE OF PHILOSOPHY) Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core PHILOSOPHY (THE JOURNAL OF THE BRITISH INSTITUTE OF PHILOSOPHY) EDITED BY SYDNEY E. HOOPER S. ALEXANDER C. D. BROAD WILLIAM BROWN M. GINSBERG G. DAWES HICKS WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF JULIAN S. HUXLEY F. B. JEVONS HAROLD J. LASKI A. D. LINDSAY JOHN S. MACKENZIE CLEMENT C. J. WEBB J. H. MUIRHEAD BERTRAND RUSSELL L. S. STEBBING G. F. STOUT A. E. TAYLOR VOL. XI.—1936 LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED ST. MARTIN'S STREET, W.C. 1936 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS OF VOLUME XI ARTICLES PAGE A T L A S , S . — T h e P h i l o s o p h y of M a i m o n i d e s a n d i t s S y s t e m a t i c P l a c e i n t h e H i s t o r y of P h i l o s o p h y - - - - - - - - - - 6 0 B A R K E R , E . — T h e R o m a n t i c F a c t o r i n M o d e r n P o l i t i c s - 3 8 7 B R O O K S , I . W . — O n A b s t r a c t A r t . . . . . . . . I 9 g D E B U R G H , W . G . — G r e a t T h i n k e r s : ( V I I I ) S p i n o z a - - - - - 2 7 1 D I N G L E , H . — O n t h e P r i n c i p l e s u n d e r l y i n g P r o f e s s o r M i l n e ' s C o s m o l o g i c a l T h e o r y . - . - 4 8 F O S T E R , M . B . — S o m e I m p l i c a t i o n s of a P a s s a g e i n P l a t o ' s Republic - - 3 0 1 G A R N E T T , A . C . — T h e I n t e r e s t T h e o r y of V a l u e - - - - - - 1 6 3 H E N D E R S O N , K . — T h e M i n d ' s L o v e f o r G o d 3 0 9 H O P E , F . — S c h o l a s t i c i s m - 4 4 5 I N G E , W . R . — T h e P l a c e of M y t h i n P h i l o s o p h y - - - - - - 131 J E N S E N , O . C . — F o r m a l i s m a n d T e l e o l o g y - - - - - - - 4 6 6 K N O X , T . M . — T h e S t u d y of E c o n o m i c A c t i v i t y - - - - - - 146 L A I R D , J . — G r e a t T h i n k e r s : ( V I I ) M a l e b r a n c h e - - - - - - 32 L I S T O W E L , T H E E A R L O F . — T h e A e s t h e t i c a l S i g n i f i c a n c e of t h e T r a g i c - - 18 L E B O U T I L L I E R , C. G . — S p i r i t u a l L i f e : S a n t a y a n a ' s A p p r o a c h t o E s s e n c e - 4 3 3 M A C D O N A L D , M . — R u s s e l l a n d M c T a g g a r t - 3 2 2 M C D O U G A L L , W . — T h e P h i l o s o p h y of J . S. H a l d a n e - - - - - 4 1 9 M O R G A N , C. L L O Y D . — P h y s i c a l I n f l u e n c e a n d M e n t a l R e f e r e n c e - 176 M U I R H E A D , J . H . — T h e M i s s i n g L i n k i n P e a c e P l a n s 4 7 5 M U R R A Y , G . — V i c e a n d I l l u s i o n - - - - - - - - - 2 5 9 O A K E L E Y , H . D . — P h i l o s o p h i c H i s t o r y a n d P r o p h e c y : P r o f e s s o r A r n o l d T o y n b e e ' s O u t l o o k - - - . . - . - - - 1 8 6 R U S S E L L , L . J . — G r e a t T h i n k e r s : ( I X ) L e i b n i z - - - - - - 4 0 3 S A M U E L , S I R H . — N e w S c i e n c e a n d O l d P h i l o s o p h y - - - - - 3 S T O C K S , J . L . — R e a s o n a n d I n t u i t i o n - - 2 8 8 S T E D M A N , R . E . — S o v e r e i g n t y a n d t h e S t a t e - - - - - - 7 6 D I S C U S S I O N W O D E H O U S E , H.—Science and the Explanation of Phenomena - 84 P H I L O S O P H I C A L S U R V E Y S PHILOSOPHY I N F R A N C E . — ( S o m e R e c e n t Contributions on t h e Formation of Greek T h o u g h t ) — S . V. Keeling - - - - - - - - 86 PHILOSOPHY IN F R A N C E . — S . V. Keeling - - - - - - - 336 PHILOSOPHY I N G E R M A N Y . — H e l e n K n i g h t - - - - - - - 9 1 . 340 *-~ P H I L O S O P H Y I N I T A L Y . — G . de Ruggiero 203, 478 N E W B O O K S A B U B A K R A L - K A L A B A D H I (Tr. b y Arberry, A. J.).—The Doctrine of the Sufis ( K i t a b a l - T a ' a r r u f ) ( R . A . N i c h o l s o n ) - - - - - - - 3 7 7 ADAMS, H . P.—The Life and Writings of Giambattista Vico (T. E . Jessop) - 216 AIYER, S I R P . S. S.—Evolution of Hindu Moral Ideals (F. O. Schrader) - 491 AYER, A. J.—Language, Truth and Logic (J. D . Mabbott) - - - - 350 BAILEY, C.—Religion in Virgil (H. J . Rose) - - - - - - 224 BARRETT, C.—Philosophy: An Introductory Study of Fundamental Problems and Attitudes ( J . L a i r d ) - - - - - - - - - 1 0 3 B E R G S O N , H . ( T r . b y A u d r a , R . A . , a n d B r e r e t o n , C ) . — T h e Two Sources of Morality and Religion (C. A. Campbell)- - - 98 V Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS PAGE B E R N A R D , W . — T h e Philosophy of Spinoza and Brunner ( H . F . H a l l e t t ) - 1 0 8 B E S T E R M A N , T . — I n q u i r y into the Unknown ( G . N . M . T y r r e l l ) . . . 4 9 7 B E W S , J . W . — H u m a n Ecology ( O . d e S e l i n c o u r t ) - 3 7 7 BILLS, A. G.—General Experimental Psychology (M. Collins) - 493 BOHR, N.—Atomic Theory and the Description of Nature (G. B. Brown) - 366 BOODIN, J.—God: A Cosmic Philosophy of Religion (C. C. J. Webb) - - 212 BOODIN, J.—God and Creation. Three Interpretations of the Universe (L. J. Russell) . - - - . . - 3 5 9 B R A D L E Y , F . H.—Collected Essays (M. O a k e s h o t t ) - - - - - 114 BRANFORD, B.—Eros and Psyche: an Essay on the Constitution and Destiny of M a n ( A . E . G a r v i e ) - - - - - - - - - - 4 9 5 BROCK, W.—An Introduction to Contemporary German Philosophy (J. Laird) 368 BROWN, W.—Psychology and Psychotherapy (F. C. Bartlett) - 229 CAIRNS, H.—Law and the Social Sciences (O. de Selincourt) - - - - 229 CAMPBELL, C. MACFIE.—Human Personality and the Environment (H. C r i c h t o n - M i l l e r ) - - - - - - - - - - - 4 9 4 C A M P I O N , G . G . , a n d S M I T H , S I R G . E . — T h e Neural Basis of Thought ( C . S . M y e r s ) - - - - - - . 1 0 5 C A R N A P , R . — L o g i s c h e Syntax der Sprache ( M . B l a c k ) - - - - •- n o CLARK, R. E. D.—Conscious and Unconscious Sin: A Study in Practical C h r i s t i a n i t y ( A . E . G a r v i e ) - - - - - - - - - 5 0 2 COHEN, M. R,, and NAGEL, E.—An Introduction to Logic and Scientific Method (C. A . M a c e ) - - - - - - - - - - - 2 1 9 C O R N F O R D , F . M . — P l a t o ' s Theory of Knowledge ( G . C . F i e l d ) - - - 2 1 0 Cox, J. W.—Manual Skill: Its Organization and Development (T. H. Pear) - 500 CREED, J. M., and BOYS SMITH, J. S.—Religious Thought in the Eighteenth Century. Illustrated from Writers of the Period (A. E. Garvie) - - 499 DE BURGH, W. G.—The Relations of Morality to Religion (C. C. J. Webb) - 225 DELORME, F. M,, and STEELE, R.—Opera hactenus inedita Rogeri Baconi. Fasc. XIII. Questiones supra libras octo Physicorum Aristotelis (C. C. J. Webb) - - - 348 DE RUGGIERO, G.—Storia della filosofia. Parte prima . La filosofia greca ( T e r z a e d i z i o n e ) ( T . E . J e s s o p ) - - - - - - - - 3 6 4 D E S E L I N C O U R T , O . — A r t a n d M o r a l i t y ( L . A . R e i d ) - - - - - 2 1 5 DONDAINE, A.—Magistri Eckardi Opera Latina. Fasc. XIII. Quaestiones P a r i s i e n s e s ( C . C . J . W e b b ) - - - - - - - - - 3 6 3 E A S T W O O D , D . M . — T h e Revival of Pascal: A Study of his Relation to Modern French Thought ( E . J . T h o m a s ) - - 4 8 5 E M M E T , D . M . — P h i l o s o p h y and Faith ( E . S. W a t e r h o u s e ) - 4 8 7 F E N I C H E L , O . ( T r . b y L e w i n , B . D . , a n d T i l b o o r g , G . ) . — O u t l i n e of Clinical Psycho-analysis ( H . C r i c h t o n - M i l l e r ) - - - - - - - 4 9 3 F I E L D , G . C . — S t u d i e s in Philosophy ( F . M . C o r n f o r d ) - - - - - 2 4 9 FOSTER, M. B.—Political Philosophies of Plato and Hegel (R. H. S. Crossman) 489 F R I E N D , J . W . , a n d F E I B L E M A N , J . — T h e Unlimited Community: A Study of the Possibility of Social Science ( O . d e S e l i n c o u r t ) - - - - - 488 H A L D A N E , J . S.—The Philosophy of a Biologist ( J . W . H a r v e y ) - 2 2 7 H A R T S H O R N , C., a n d W E I S S , P . (Editors).—Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce: Vol. IV. The Simplest Mathematics; Vol. V. Pragmatism and Pragmaticism ( L . S . S t e b b i n g ) - - - - - - - - 1 1 6 H E A R D , G . — T h e Source of Civilization ( J . R . d e l a H . M a r e t t ) - 2 4 4 HENDERSON, L. J.—Pareto's General Sociology: A Physiologist's Interpreta- t i o n ( O . d e S e l i n c o u r t ) - - - - - - - - - - 4 9 I H E S S I N G , S . — S p i n o z a F e s t s c h r i f t ( A . W o l f ) - - - - - - - 2 1 1 H I R S T , E . W . — J e s u s a n d t h e M o r a l i s t s ( E . S . W a t e r h o u s e ) - - - - 2 4 7 HOWE, G.—Morality and Reality: An Essay on the Law of Life (H. Crichton- Miller) - - . - . . . - 5 O I H U I Z I N G A , J . (Tr. b y H u i z i n g a , J . H . ) . — I n the Shadow of To-morrow: A Diagnosis of the Spiritual Distempers of Our Time ( R . E . S t e d m a n ) - 4 8 3 J O A D , C. E . M.—Guide to Philosophy (C. A. C a m p b e l l ) - 2 3 9 J O A D , C. E . M . — R e t u r n to Philosophy ( R . E . S t e d m a n ) . . . - 9 7 JONES, L. WYNN.—An Introduction to Theory and Practice of Psychology ( A . W . W o l t e r s ) - - - - - - - - - - - 4 9 0 KABIT, H. (Tr.).—Immanuel Kant on Philosophy in General (W. A. Sinclair) 246 KARSTEN, R.—The Origins of Religion (R. R. Marett) 221 KATZ, D. (Tr. MacLeod, R. B., and Fox, C. W.).—The World of Colour ( A . W . W o l t e r s ) - - - - - - - - - - - 3 7 o vi Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS PAGE KAVEESHWAR, G. W.—The Metaphysics of Berkeley critically examined in the Light of Modern Philosophy (T. E. Jessop) 228 KOFFKA, K.—Principles of Gestalt Psychology (A. W. Wolters) - 502 KOURMOULIS, T. —The Hallucinations of Logocratia (C. A. F. Rhys-Davids) 376 KUMARAPPA, B.—The Hindu Conception of the Deity, as culminating in R a m a n u j a ( C . A . F . R h y s D a v i d s ) - - - - - - - 1 0 8 L A I R D , J . — A n Enquiry into Moral Notions ( B . M . L a i n g ) - 2 3 2 L A M B E R T , S I R H . — T h e Nature of History ( A . C o a t e s ) - - - - - 4 9 8 LASKI, H . J.—The Rise of European Liberalism (D. Thomson) - - - 371 L E V I N E , I.—Faithful Rebels: A Study in Jewish Speculative Thought (P. Leon) 375 LINDSAY, E.—Losing Religion to find It (J. Macmurray) - . . . 209 LOSSKY, N . O., a n d M A R S H A L L , J . S.—Value and Existence (J. H . Muirhead) 207 MACDONALD, D. B.—The Hebrew Philosophical Genius: A Vindication (E. S. Waterhouse) - - - - - - - - - . - 487 MACMURRAY, J.—Creative Society: A Study of the Relation of Christianity to C o m m u n i s m ( A . E . G a r v i e ) - - - - - - - - - 3 6 2 MCDOUGALL, W.—Psycho-analysis and Social Psychology (R. H . Thouless) - 369 MARETT, J . R. D E LA H.—Race, Sex, and Environment: A Study of Mineral Deficiency in Human Evolution (A. I. Richards) - - - - - 373 MATTHEWS, W . R.—The Purpose of God (C. C. J . W e b b ) 345 MAURON, C. (Tr. b y F r y , R., a n d J o h n , K.).—Aesthetic and Psychology (J. H . Muirhead) - - - - - - - 222 MEAD, G. H . (Ed. M. H . Moore).—Movements of Thought in the Nineteenth Century (T. M. Knox) 486 M E R R Y L E E S , W . A.—Descartes: An Examination of Some Features of his Metaphysics and Method (S. V. Keeling) - - - - - - 354 MILNS, E. A.—Relativity, Gravitation, and World-Structure (H. Dingle)- - 95 MOTWANI, K.—Manu: A Study in Hindu Social Theory (C. A. F. Rhys D a v i d s ) - - - - - - - - - - - - 4 9 4 M U K E R J I , A . C . — S e l f , Thought, and Reality ( F . O . S c h r a d e r ) - 1 0 3 N E E D H A M , J . — A History of Embryology ( J . H . W o o d g e r ) - . . . 4 9 2 NETTLESHIP, R. L.—The Theory of Education in Plato's Republic (F. A. C a v e n a g h ) - - - - - - - - - - - - 5 0 0 PARKER, J . W.—The Idea of Salvation in the World's Religions (A. E. Garvie) 498 PATRICK, G. T . W . (Revised b y C h a p m a n , F . M.).—Introduction to Philosophy (R. E . Stedman) - - - - - - - - - - - 245 PFANNENSTILL, B.—Bernard Bosanquet's Philosophy of the State: A Historical a n d S y s t e m a t i c a l S t u d y ( M . O a k e s h o t t ) - - - - - - - 4 8 2 PHILLIPS, R. P.—Modern Thomistid Philosophy. Vol. I. The Philosophy of Nature (L. J . Walker) - - - 367 PLANCK, M. (Tr. a n d E d . b y Murphy, J.).—Where is Science Going? (G. B . Brown) - - - - - - - - - - - - 366 POLLOCK, S I R F.—Spinoza ( W . G. de Burgh) - 368 QOTNE, W . v. O.—A System of Logistic (L. J . Russell) - 102 RAVEN, C. E.—Riddell Memorial Lectures. Eighth Series. Evolution and the Christian Conception of God (C. C. J . W e b b ) 360 REICHENBACH, H.—Wahrscheinlichheitslehre (A. G. D . W a t s o n ) - - - 230 ROBB, N . A.—Neoplatonism of the Italian Renaissance (W. R. Inge) - - 492 ROBSON, W . A.—Civilization and the Growth of Law (H. Slesser) - - - 218 Ross, W . D.—Aristotle's Physics (Revised t e x t ) (T. M. Knox) - 352 SANTAYANA, G.—The Last Puritan (J. Laird) - - - - - - 240 S C H U L T Z E R , B . — T r a n s c e n d e n c e and the Logical Difficulties of Transcendence: A Logical Analysis ( G . R y l e ) . . - 2 3 4 S C H R S D I N G E R , E . ( T r . b y M u r p h y , J . ) . — S c i e n c e and the Human Temperament ( G . B . B r o w n ) 3 6 6 S H I H , H U . — T h e Chinese Renaissance ( R . H . T a w n e y ) - - - - - 4 8 4 S H I V A P A D A S U N D A R A M , S . — T h e Saiva School of Hinduism (C. A . F . R h y s D a v i d s ) - - - - - - - - - - - - 1 0 7 SMITH, N. KEMP (Ed.).—Hume's Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion ( J . D . M a b b o t t ) - - - - - - - - - - - 2 0 8 STEELE, R., and DELORME, F. M.—Opera hactenus inedita Rogeri Baconi. Fasc. XII (A. E . Taylor) - - - - - - - - - 241 THOMAS, E . J . (Translator a n d Editor).—Early Buddhist Scriptures (F. O. Schrader) - - - - - - - 490 VARIOUS AUTHORS.—American Philosophy To-day and To-morrow (J. Laird) 365 vii Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS PAGE VARIOUS AUTHORS.—Possibility (Lectures delivered before the Philosophical Union of the University of California) (L. S. Stebbing) - 356 VARIOUS AUTHORS.—Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity (J. R. de la H. M a r e t t ) - - - - - - - 2 4 8 V A R I O U S A U T H O R S . — S e p t i m a n a Spinozana . , . (A. W o l f ) - - - - 2 1 1 V A R I O U S A U T H O R S ( E d . b y S c h a u b , E . L . ) . — S p i n o z a , the Man and his Thought (A. W o l f ) - 2 i r V A R I O U S A U T H O R S . — S t u d i e s in the History of Ideas, Vol. Ill (A. C. E w i n g ) 1 0 5 W E B B , C. C. J . — T h e Historical Element in Religion ( A . E . G a r v i e ) - - 109 W R I G H T , W . K . — A Student's Philosophy of Religion ( R e v i s e d e d i t i o n ) ( E . S. W a t e r h o u s e ) - - - - - - - - - - - 2 4 7 C O R R E S P O N D E N C E C A M B E L L , N . R . - - - - - - - - - - - - 2 5 3 H A L L E T T , H . F . - - - - - - - - - - - 3 8 2 , 5 0 7 R O B I N S O N , F . W . - - - - - - 122 R o s s , H . G . - - - - - - - - - - - - 122 WOLFSON, H . A . - - - - - - - - - - - 2 5 4 I N S T I T U T E N O T E S E V E N I N G M E E T I N G S : L e n t T e r m - - - - - - - - 1 2 5 , 2 5 5 M i c h a e l m a s T e r m - - - - - - - 5 0 9 L E C T U R E C O U R S E S : L e n t T e r m - - - - - - - - 1 2 5 , 2 5 5 M i c h a e l m a s T e r m - - - - - - - - 5 0 9 M I S C E L L A N E O U S C o n g r e s s of P h i l o s o p h y , N i n t h I n t e r n a t i o n a l - - - - - - 2 5 2 I n M e m o r i a m . W i l l i a m R i t c h i e S o r l e y ( J . H . M u i r h e a d ) - 1 2 0 S p i n o z a M e m o r i a l s i n H o l l a n d ( S i r H e r b e r t S a m u e l ) - - - - - 3 8 0 viu Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core r \ CONTENTS PAOS I. NEW SCIENCE AND OLD PHILOSOPHY: The Rt. Hon. Sir HERBERT SAMUEL, G.C.B., G.B.E., M.A., Hon. D.C.L 3 II. THE AESTHETICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TRAGIC: The Rt. Hon. The EARL OF LISTOWEL, Ph.D 18 III. GREAT THINKERS: (VII) MALEBRANCHE: Professor JOHN LAIRD 32 IV. ON THE PRINCIPLES UNDERLYING PROFESSOR MILNE'S COSMOLOGICAL THEORY: HERBERT DINGLE, D.SC., A.R.C.S. . 48 V. THE PHILOSOPHY OF MAIMONIDES AND ITS SYSTEMATIC PLACE IN THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY: Dozent Dr. Phil. S. ATLAS 60 VI. SOVEREIGNTY AND THE STATE: R. E. STEDMAN, M.A., Ph.D. . 76 VII. DISCUSSION: SCIENCE AND THE EXPLANATION OF PHE- NOMENA: HELEN WODEHOUSE, M.A., Ph.D 84 VIII. PHILOSOPHICAL SURVEY: PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE 86 PHILOSOPHY IN GERMANY 91 IX. NEW BOOKS 95 X. IN MEMORIAM: WILLIAM RITCHIE SORLEY . . . . 1 2 0 XI. CORRESPONDENCE 122 XII. INSTITUTE NOTES 125 THE BRITISH INSTITUTE OF PHILOSOPHY Appeal for New Members and Donations THE Council appeals to members to do all in their power to introduce new members in order to extend the benefits of the Institute and to increase its revenue. The Institute has no endowments, and its work, which includes lecture courses and meetings for discussion in the various Centres, as well as the conduct of the JOURNAL, cannot be carried on from revenue derived solely from subscriptions of £1 is. per annum. The Council therefore appeals for donations, small or large, from sympathizers with the Institute's aims. Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_hovjdokejfachpds22cfi7zocu	----	Postgraduate Medical Journal (1985) 61, 367-371 Book Reviews Advances in Nephrology from the Necker Hospital, Volume 13, 1984. Edited by Jean-Francois Bach, Jean Crosnier, Jean-Louis Funck-Brentano, Jean-Pierre Griinfeld, Morton H. Maxwell. Pp. xxiii + 383, illus- trated. Year Book Medical Publishers, Chicago, 1984. £55.50. This is the latest in a distinguished series of reviews based on the Necker Hospital's justifiably famous annual nephrology update. However, it is difficult to recommend this volume unreservedly as for a variety of reasons it fails to match many previous volumes in the series. It has fallen into the trap of many con- ference proceedings in committing every review to print, irrespective of content. Three chapters come into that category, relating to the strategies ofselecting various forms of renal replacement therapy and the results of renal replacement therapy in individual units. They add nothing to what has not been said elsewhere many times and will be familiar ground to all nephrologists. Of the remaining 15 chapters, seven are partly or wholly devoted to some aspect of anti- diuretic hormone physiology, and probably provide within a single volume the best state of the art review on this topic currently available. However, there is considerable overlap between these chapters and a stronger editorial hand in the final written manuscript would have been useful. That leaves a miscellany ofeight other topics for the remaining chapters. These include a comprehensive and readable review of thrombosis in nephrotic syn- drome and an interesting article about granulomatous interstitial nephritis. The remaining chapters unfor- tunately cover topics which have been adequately reviewed in other publications elsewhere and while eminently suitable for inclusion in a symposium, appear in print as thenow familiar review ofother reviews. A final infuriating aspect of the book is its organisa- tion. Several chapters would fit quite happily in sequence, but instead are scattered throughout the book, thechosen order being devoid of any discernible logic. At £55.50 for less than 400 pages this is an expensive way of buying perhaps half a dozen useful review articles. If this respected series is not to grind to a halt, radical change in editorial policy would seem to be necessary. Anthony Nicholls Royal Devon & Exeter Hospitals Exeter Devon From Neuron to Brain: A Cellular Approach to the Function of the Nervous System, Second edition. Stephen W. Kuffler, John G. Nicholls and A. Robert Martin. Pp. xix + 651, illustrated. Sinauer Associates, Sunderland, Massachusetts, 1984. £14.80. This excellent book, now deservedly in its second edition, achieves admirably its intentions ofdelivering the nuts and bolts of neurobiology palatably. It is dedicated to Steven Kuffler, the senior contributor to the first edition, who tragically died during the re- writing. A brief obituary is included, but the impor- tance of his wide ranging contribution to neuros- cience can be seen scattered throughout the pages of the book. The volume moves from the analysis of nerve signals through mechanisms for signal produc- tion and transformation of neural information to explanations of the higher integrative mechanisms of the nervous system, weaving a rich and vivid tapestry which befits a contemporary description of Sherring- ton's Enchanted Loom. The book has a first-rate glossary, a valuable bibliography and useful appen- dices dealing with electrical circuitary and points of neuro-anatomical difficulty. There is much of relevance for the clinician here, with new sections on neuro-peptides, demyelination and re-myelination mechanisms, the development of monoclonal antibodies to netual components and transplantation techniques in the central nervous system. This new edition uses more 'boxes' to highlight important concepts and there is a lavish supply of technical figures and daguerreotypes depicting the great men of neuro-biology. The book is set in Palatino, a face inspired by the typography of the Italian Renaissance which is pleasing to the eye and seems to aid the digestion of complicated concepts. I suspect this volume will sell best to enquiring undergradiuates, but it would also prov useful to all those nerologsts and neuroswgeos who would like to consider themselvs as c$mical scieN. A.J. Lees Nationat Hospital, London WCIN 3BG HWospital piatirs;, Aithy D. MiIner and David Hull. Pp. vini + 412, illustrated. Churchill Livingstone, Edinburgh, London, Melbourne, New York, 1984. £24.00. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p g m j.6 1 .7 1 4 .3 6 7 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 8 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ 
work_hpvsn7fok5dj7hi4w4puweoecy	----	03-09 19-00059.fm Episodes Vol. 44, No. 1 3Article by V. Cárdenes*, A. Rubio, and V. G. Ruiz de Argandoña Roofing slate from Bernardos, Spain: a potential candidate for global heritage stone Geology Department, Oviedo University, C/ Jesús Arias de Velasco s/n, 33005 Oviedo, Asturias, Spain; *Corresponding author, E-mail: carde- nesvictor@uniovi.es (Received: October 31, 2019; Revised accepted: July 15, 2020) https://doi.org/10.18814/epiiugs/2020/0200s07 Roofing slate from the town of Bernardos can be found in most buildings erected by the Spanish monarchy from the 16th to 19th centuries, making it a highly important compo- nent of Spain’s architectural heritage. The quarries are located outside Bernardos, 145 km north of Madrid, in the Precam- brian terrains of the Iberian Variscan Orogen. Although from a petrographic point of view this rock is in fact a phyllite, for the purposes of construction it is known as roofing slate. Bernardos phyllite has a set of specific characteristics that make it a unique rock which is clearly distinct from other roofing slates. These particular features, together with the history and singularity of the outcrops, make it an ideal candi- date for Global Heritage Stone Resource (GSHR) status. Today there is no longer any convenient replacement for this stone, which makes it very important to give it the best possible recognition in order to ensure the availability of this resource in the future. This paper reviews the historical meaning and petrophysical characteristics of this rock, and proposes it be designated as a GSHR. Introduction Slate has been used in the Iberian Peninsula since the end of the Neolithic-Chalcolithic age (4,500 BC). The first records correspond to tumuli (ancient grave mounds) in Galicia and Extremadura (Ponce de Leon, 2012), areas which have significant slate outcrops. Its first use in civil architecture as a covering material (i.e., roofing slate) is documented in the thermal baths of Espasante, Galicia, built during the 1st to 2nd century AD. This early use of roofing slate, however, was restricted to areas neighboring on the outcrops, which were mined by locals with the same tools that they used for agriculture, such that pro- duction was very limited. The first true roofing slate quarry in Spain was opened in Bernar- dos in 1559 by appointment of King Philip II, and so Bernardos played an essential role in the royal architectural styles from that time up through the 19th century. Some of the most important Spanish heritage buildings are covered with this type of roofing slate, the most representative structure being the Monastery of San Lorenzo de El Escorial. Historical Context “And so I ordered that eight apt skilled workers should be sought, two to extract the slate, four to cut, polish, and lay the pieces, and the last two to build the wooden frames for the roofs and assemble them.” These words (Bernardos-Sánz and López-Mesones, 2017; Iglesias Ponce de León, 1995) were written by King Philip II of Spain, Portu- gal and Naples in 1559. Philip II, son of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, brought the Spanish Empire into its so-called “Golden Age.” As a young prince, Philip had visited several European countries, and was fascinated by the European style of slate roofing, especially by how it shone as it reflected the sunlight (Ceballos-Escalera and Ceballos- Escalera, 2010). Shortly after he was crowned King Philip II, he ordered new royal buildings to be erected with slate roofs on them, and advised against the use of lead on roofs due to weathering issues. To this end, he had prospectors seek out slate in the vicinity of Madrid, and after several surveys they located the best outcrops in the town of Bernardos, in the province of Segovia (Fig. 1). Since there was little or no tradition of building with slate, slate masters were brought in from Flanders (Bel- gium) and Angers (France), along with their tools and even nails with which to attach the slate (Cano, 1991). As the quarries were the property of the Crown, their output was used exclusively in royal buildings, although some slate was occa- sionally smuggled out for local use. The work in the quarry was divided up according to the classic division of labor into two categories: extractors or miners, and manufacturers. This division is common in many other countries and at different times. Arguments and fights between these two groups were common, as the manufacturers often complained about the quality of the stone provided by the miners. The emergence of the slate industry boosted the local economy. The work was hard, usually from dawn till dusk, and the salaries were high by the standards of the time, especially for the foreign experts. Slate shingles were manufactured following a more or less standard dimension, known as the Royal Measure (42 × 15-18 cm), with a thickness of 5 mm. Each shingle weighted about 1 kg. Slate shingles were packed using ropes, and then loaded onto mules or carts. Mules carried less weight, but were pre- ferred over carts, since the clattering of the load during transportation caused more pieces to break than in the case of mules. If more than 3% of the pieces were broken on arrival the shipper would be fined, 4 March 2021 but since mules were most widely used the percentage of broken pieces tended to be well below this figure. In the beginning, the price of the slate was calculated taking into account the sum of the salaries of all the workers involved in the production and transportation pro- cess. Afterwards, the king set a standard price for each shingle at eight and a half maravedís (Bernardos-Sánz and López-Mesones, 2017). This price was maintained for more than a century and a half, but by 1711 the excess of supply caused the price to drop almost 50%. In any case, roofing slate was an expensive material, more than 8 times the price paid for a ceramic roof tile. This fact reflects the hierarchy of construction stones, in which roofing slate was considered to be the best material available. Installing a complete roof with slate was a very expensive endeavor, reserved only for royal buildings, churches or the palaces of the nobility, and in many cases the slate was only installed on the most salient parts, such as towers and spires. The first three royal buildings with slate roofs were the Palace of Valsaín in the forest of Segovia, the palace of El Pardo, and the Royal Alcázar of Madrid, although the most symbolic building is the Mon- astery of San Lorenzo de El Escorial, erected between 1563 and 1584. The design of this building was strongly influenced by the king’s own ideas. The Italian Renaissance style was revised and adapted, exclud- ing all elements considered embellished or ornamental. The result is a building of compact and austere grandeur, with a Flemish-style slate roof that ushered in a whole new architectural mode in Spain, the Habsburg style (Estilo Austria). The monastery has suffered several fires throughout its history, the most devastating one occurring in 1671. Over 400,000 new slate shingles were required to repair the roof, which gives an idea of the building’s dimensions. King Philip II’s enthusiasm for architecture left behind an important legacy of royal buildings, which were subsequently maintained by his successors. The use of roofing slate was established and maintained as a distinctive style for the Spanish monarchy until the 19th century, when the decline of Spain’s economic strength and the indifference of the new Bourbon monarchs led to the abandonment of many longstanding royal buildings (Lindoso Tato, 2015). In many cases, the slate roof was substituted with a cheaper material, and in others the building was simply abandoned. In 1909, an English company, The Bernardos Slate Quarries, Ltd., opened a new quarry in Bernardos after a long search for roofing slate outcrops all over the Iberian Peninsula. English mining companies revitalized the slate industry in Spain and Portugal, and opened new quarries at other sites as well, such as Valongo, in Portugal, and Valdeorras (Cárdenes et al., 2019a), in Spain. In Bernardos, English management lasted until 1928, when the company ceased operations. However, the remaining quarries and mills were purchased by Spanish businessmen, keeping the industry alive. In 1936, the Spanish Civil War swept the country, and after the war’s end in 1939, Spain had to face very difficult Figure 1. (1) Geological and geographical context of the Bernardos quarries, (2) Spanish Geological Survey (IGME), (3) Google Earth, (4) Aerial photo, courtesy of Naturpiedra S.L. Episodes Vol. 44, No. 1 5 times due to the isolation of Franco regime following the Allies’ victory in World War II. This isolation deeply affected the Spanish economy until the 1960s, when an incipient economic recovery was led by the emerging tourism industry. This decade also saw the birth of the Spanish roofing slate industry in Galicia (NW Spain), which in just a few years came to dominate the world’s roofing slate production. The Bernardos slate manufacturers also took advantage of this new situation, and the historic quarries were reborn once more. Today, Bernardos roofing slate is produced and exported all over the world, and enjoys a sound repu- tation in terms of durability and performance. Criteria for Global Heritage Stone Resource Designation The representativeness of Bernardos phyllite in Spanish architec- tural heritage cannot be overstated, as it is one of the characteristic elements that define Spanish royal architecture from the 16th to 19th centuries. The GHSR designation was established to recognize the value of unique rocks that are a necessary part of historic and heritage buildings and monuments. The designation is also intended to encour- age suitable management of the GHSR, assuring its availability for future generations (Cooper, 2015). The criteria for granting this desig- nation include the following; 1) the stone must have been used for a significant period of time; 2) the stone must have been used over a wide geographical area; 3) the stone must have been used in exceptional works; and 4) the stone can be recognized as a local or national sym- bol. Bernardos phyllite fulfills all of these requirements, being one of the most characteristic dimension stones in Spain. Required GHSR Information Formal name Filita de Bernardos / Bernardos phyllite Commercial designation Pizarras del Castillo, Pizarra de Bernardos, Filita de Bernardos, Fil- ita Gris Cordillera. Place of origin Bernardos (Segovia), Spain. Resource location The resources are located to the east of the municipalities of Ber- nardos and Carbonero el Mayor, and are the only quarries available for this rock. Quarries The quarries are located on the outskirts of Bernardos, Segovia, about 145 km northwest of Madrid, along the river Eresma. The river has exposed the slate deposits, and also provides water for the quarry operations. Nowadays, the quarries are worked by the company Naturpie- dra (www.naturpiedra.com), which maintains exclusive control over this stone. The working quarries are: - Engorduro, with a surface area of 74 ha and estimated resources of 2,000,000 tons. - El Castillo, with a surface area of 6 ha and estimated resources of 250,000 tons. - Los Ingleses and Valserrano, which are currently closed. Heritage Issues Geological investigations have revealed large reserves of resources, meaning the availability is assured. That said, the use of foreign mate- rials similar to Bernardos phyllite has been recognized in recent years in restoration works. While these foreign roofing slates may look sim- ilar, their petrography, mineralogy and especially weathering behavior are very different, and in some extreme cases could place the integrity of an entire roof at risk. It is therefore very important to make a clear distinction between this Bernardos phyllite and other stones which look similar but are in fact of inferior quality. Petrographic Description and Mineralogy Bernardos phyllite is a phyllite used as roofing slate. It is a black- grey phyllite, coded as B2 according to the International Roofing Slate Classification (Cárdenes et al., 2019b). “Roofing slate” is a con- struction term, and refers to a metamorphic rock that can be split into thin, regular shingles suitable for roofing. While most roofing slates are true slates, other lithologies are used as well, such as low-grade slates, phyllites and mica-schists (Cárdenes et al., 2014). A petrographic examination using transmitted-light optical micros- copy reveals a fine-grained metamorphic rock (Fig. 2), in which it is possible to observe relict sedimentary planes (S0) and a well-developed slaty cleavage (S1), which allows the rock to be split into the shingles. The mineralogical composition is quartz, mica and chlorite, as is nor- mally the case in roofing slates. The occurrence of biotite as one of the mica minerals indicates that the rock has crossed the biotite isograde, which is why it is classified as phyllite (Schmid et al., 2007). X-ray diffraction semi-quantitative analysis has detected the following min- eral proportions: quartz 33.8%; muscovite 25.2%; biotite 13.6%; cha- mosite 21.4%; and feldspar 6.0%. Other minerals can be found in minor proportions, such as carbonates and iron sulfides. The main elements, as defined by X-ray fluorescence, are also within the normal range for a roofing slate (Table 1). Color The color of this rock has been described as grey-greenish, and sometimes bluish in hand specimens. However, this color perception is determined by the observer and the lighting at the time of observa- tion. The CIELAB color coordinates and brightness for this rock are L*=42.2, a*=-0.3, b*=0.3, C*ab=0.5, hab=137, and brightness=16.5. In this sense, compared with other roofing slates from the Iberian Penin- sula, Bernardos slate is clearly different (Fig. 3). Natural Variability Color and texture are rather homogeneous for all outcrops of Ber- nardos phyllite. There are, however, some variations in carbonate content. These carbonates are secondary minerals, and were deposited through the action of meteoric water. Joints and fractures on the quarry front usually display multicolor patinas due to weathering. In some parts of the quarries there is also variation due to the occurrence of sandy levels and quartzites. These quartzites are currently exploited for walls, pav- ing and other masonry works. 6 March 2021 Suitability This stone has the optimal textural, physical and chemical char- acteristics for use in roofing, as proven by the many centuries of old roofs found throughout the region. Also, the exceptionality of the outcrops (lack of important tectonic deformation and/or joints) has preserved the rocky massif intact. There is no doubt that this stone fulfills the requirements (Cárdenes et al., 2014) for use as a roofing slate. Geological Setting and Stratigraphy The geology corresponds to the Massif of Santa María La Real, (Iberian Massif), an outcrop of Precambrian - Lower Cambrian materials, affected by the Hercynian Orogeny and surrounded by the Tertiary basin of eastern Spain. These materials correspond to the Schist-Greywacke Complex (Carrington da Costa, 1950), a series of pelitic and carbonate sediments of different grain sizes affected by metamorphism. Productive roofing slate levels are located in the upper zone of the Complex. Intercalated between these productive levels are sandy levels and some carbonate levels. Figure 2. Macro- and microphotographs of the Bernardos phyllite. [1] Recovered shingle from the El Escorial Monastery. This shingle is approximately 300 years old, and its dimensions follow the Royal Measure of 40 × 15 cm (Bernardos-Sánz and López-Mesones, 2017), [2] Appearance of Bernardos phyllite in a hand specimen. [3 and 4] Transmitted-light microphotographs. The slaty cleavage can be observed from left to right in 3. The white minerals correspond to chlorites (chamosite), quartz and feldspar, while the brown minerals are biotite and the opaque minerals are iron sulfides. Table 1. Main elements of Bernardos phyllite (as a percentage) SiO2 Al2O3 Fe2O3 (tot) MnO MgO CaO Na2O K2O TiO2 P2O5 CO2 SO4 52.84 23.50 8.83 0.10 2.95 0.29 1.04 4.31 1.33 0.16 0.46 0.00 Figure 3. Color diagram for Spanish roofing slates. Group 1 corre- sponds to Bernardos phyllite, Group 2 to green phyllites from Lugo, and Group 3 to roofing slates from Galicia. The size of the circles rep- resents the dispersion of the measurements. Most of Spanish roofing slates (up to 98%) correspond to Group 1. From a practical standpoint, Bernardos grey phyllites are lighter than those from Group 1, and have a more crystalline texture. Modified from Cárdenes et al. (2012). Episodes Vol. 44, No. 1 7 Physical/chemical Properties According to tests performed following EN 12326, the European Norm that standardizes the requirements for roofing slates, Bernardos phyllite presents normal values for physical and chemical properties compared to values from other roofing slates and phyllites averaged from technical sheets and data provided by companies (Table 2). Vulnerability and Maintenance of Supply As pointed out before, the occurrence of Bernardos phyllite is restricted to Bernardos, and there is only one company currently working these quarries. This makes its production especially vulner- able, since if the company were to fail, the supply of this stone would end immediately. Table 2. Technical values for Bernardos phyllite, compared with averaged values for slates strictu sensu and phyllites. The number of slates s.s. is much higher than that of phyllites, due to the fact that phyllite outcrops used as roofing slates are scarce. For bending strength, L is for longitudinal and T is for transversal. It is worth pointing out that the lower values detected for weatherable minerals in Bernardos phyllite offer insight into the rock’s high durability. Code T1 refers to (low) oxidation potential (T1-T2-T3) according to EN 12326, while code S1 refer to (low) reaction to sulfurous environment, also according to EN 12326. Please refer to EN 12326 for more information on test methods. The data are from technical sheets provided by the quarrying companies Test method Bernardos phyllite Mean for slates s.s. (n=143) Mean for phyllites (n=7) Bending strength (MPa) L: 52.0 / T: 35.0 L: 64.2 / T: 56.1 L: 52.7 / T: 41.5 Water Absorption 0.26% 0.28% 0.22% C content 0.08% 0.49% 0.30% CaCO3 content 0.13% 1.46% 0.95% Thermal cycle T1 T1 T1 Sulfur exposure S1 S1 S1 Table 3. Selection of historic buildings with Bernardos phyllite. A more detailed inventory can be seen in (Bernardos-Sánz and López-Mesones, 2017), and also at www.naturpiedra.com Year Place Denomination Element Pieces 1603 Uclés Monastery spires 26,000 1646 Salamanca Recoletos School cover 26,000 1669-1672 Madrid Royal Armory cover, repair 26,000 1703 Madrid Comendadoras de Santiago Church spires 24,000 1716 Madrid Royal wash places 30,000 1717 Madrid Royal Palace 30,000 1725 Rascafría Monastery of El Paular chapel 26,868 1729 La Aguilera Convent of Domus Dei chapel 25,000 1736 El Escorial Monastery of El Escorial 60,000 1738 El Escorial Monastery of El Escorial roof of the seminary 60,000 1738 El Pardo Palace roof 30,000 1741 El Pardo Palace four spires 40,000 Table 4. Selected modern buildings with Bernardos phyllite, and the architecture prizes obtained by some of them Year Place Denomination Prizes 2017 Jäder, Sweden Church 2017 Madrid, Spain Mutua Madrileña 2015 Haute Savoie, France Abbaye d'Abondance 2011 Madrid, Spain Telefonica City of Telecommunications 2011 La Rioja, Spain Winery La Grajera MosBuild Architecture and Design Awards, 2012 2006 Barcelona, Spain Media Complex TV headquarters Premi Ciutat de Barcelona, 2006 10th Spanish Architecture Biennale, 2009 2004 Madrid, Spain Chamber of Commerce 2003 Alzuza, Spain Jorge Oteiza Museum 1999 San Sebastian, Spain Kursaal Museum Mies van der Rohe, 2001 1995 Las Rozas, Spain Bank of Madrid offices College of Architects, 1995 Iberfad of Architecture, 1997 4th Spanish Architecture Biennale, 1997 8 March 2021 Historic Use and Geographic Area of Utilization Since the 16th century this stone has been used in the central area of Spain, mainly around Madrid and Segovia. In recent years, the company Naturpiedra has expanded the market, and today Bernar- dos phyllite is sold all over the world, especially in Europe and the USA. Selected Buildings As pointed before, this rock is widely used in Spanish architectural heritage buildings (Table 3), but is also present in contemporary archi- tecture (Table 4, Fig. 4). The use of slabs for walls and paving is also very popular in modern buildings. Conclusions Bernardos phyllite is one of Spain’s flagship dimension stones. Its long history and representativeness in some of the most important Spanish heritage buildings and monuments, together with other fea- tures, such as uniqueness and wide-ranging use, as detailed by Coo- per (2015), make it an ideal candidate for the Global Heritage Stone Resource designation. Today this rock is being quarried and exported to many countries around the world, and has become a point of reference for architects. However, it is important to raise awareness about its availability and status, since the continued well-being of many heritage buildings directly depends on it. Figure 4. (1) Abbaye d'Abondance, France, (2) Jäders Kirkra, Sweden, (3) Alcazar of Segovia, Spain, (4) Monastery of El Escorial, Spain, (5) Kursaal, Spain, (6). Episodes Vol. 44, No. 1 9 Acknowledgements Víctor Cárdenes holds a Clarín PA-18-ACB17-11 grant from the Government of Asturias (Spain). Authors are also grateful to roofing slate consultant Jeffrey S. Levine for his accurate comments. References Bernardos-Sánz, J.U., and López-Mesones, F., 2017, Historical and archi- tectural value of the slates of Bernardos. Naturpiedra. Cano, J.L., 1991, Las cubiertas de pizarra en las obras reales de Felipe II y su tránsito al siglo XVII: Antecedentes de la Arquitectura Barroca Española. Boletin del Seminario de Estudios de Arte y Arqueologia, v. 57, pp. 291−300. Cárdenes, V., Prieto, B., Sanmartín, P., Ferrer, P., Rubio, A., and Monter- roso, C., 2012, Influence of Chemical-Mineralogical Composition on the Color and Brightness of Iberian Roofing Slates. Journal of Materi- als in Civil Engineering, v. 24, pp. 460−467. Cárdenes, V., Rubio-Ordóñez, Á., Wichert, J., Cnudde, J.P., and Cnudde, V., 2014, Petrography of roofing slates. Earth-Science Reviews, v. 138, pp. 435−453. Cárdenes, V., Ponce de León, M., Rodríguez, X.A., and Rubio-Ordoñez, A., 2019a, Roofing Slate Industry in Spain: History, Geology, and Geo- heritage. Geoheritage, v. 11, pp. 19−34. Cárdenes, V., Rubio-Ordoñez, A., and Ruiz de Argandoña, V.G., 2019b (Accepted), Definition of Roofing Slate Lithotypes and their Physical and Petrographical Characteristics. Key Materials in Engineering. Carrington da Costa, J., 1950, Noticia sobre uma carta geologica do Buçaco, de Nery Delgado, Lisboa. Ceballos-Escalera, A., and Ceballos-Escalera, L., 2010, Influencias del arte flamenco en España: El empizarrado. Las reales minas de pizarra de Bernardos y de Carbonero el Mayor, en tierras de Segovia. Anales del Cincuentenario, v. 1, pp. 57−83. Cooper, B.J., 2015, The ‘Global Heritage Stone Resource’ designation: past, present and future. In: Pereira, D., Marker, B.R., Kramar, S., Cooper, B.J. & Schouenborg, B.E. (Editors) Global Heritage Stone: Towards Inter- national Recognition of Building and Ornamental Stones. Geological Society of London Special Publication v. 407, pp. 11−20. Iglesias Ponce de León, M., 1995, L'ardoise en Espagne: Histoire et econ- omie, Universite de Rennes 2, Rennes. Lindoso Tato, E., 2015, La industria de la pizarra española en perspectiva histórica. Investigaciones de Historia Económica - Economic History Research, v. 11, pp. 52−61. Ponce de Leon, M., 2012, L'ardoise en Espagne. De la Prehistoire aux His- pano-Romains. In: G. Marchand and G. Querre (Editors), Roches et sociétés de la Préhistoire. Presses universitaires de Rennes, 351−375 p. Schmid, R., Fettes, D., Harte, B., Davis, E., and Desmons, J., 2007, How to name a metamorphic rock. In: D. Fettes and J. Desmons (Editors), Met- amorphic Rocks. A Classification and Glossary terms. Cambridge Uni- versity Press. Víctor Cárdenes holds a PhD in Geology. He has published more than 30 papers and studies on roofing slates. Currently he is working at the Oviedo University, Spain, in the framework of a Clarín project granted by the Spanish Ministry of Science and the local government of Asturias. Vicente Gómez Ruiz de Argandoña is also Professor at the Department of Geology of Oviedo University specializing in Sedimen- tary Petrology, Soil Mechanics, and Petrophys- ics. He has also worked on CO2 sequestration and conservation of monumental heritage. Álvaro Rubio is Professor in the Department of Geology of Oviedo University, Spain. He has been teaching Petrology and Geochem- istry for the past 15 years. 
work_hteicaa3v5d6jomnlfdp3z26va	----	Cornelius Cardew (1936 – 1981) CORNELIUS CARDEW (1936 - 1981) C O R N E L I U S C A R D E W was killed in a road accident last December. Though he had translated several German articles JOT recent issues of T E M P O , he himself contributed only once, and that twenty years ago: his article 'Notation—Interpretation, Etc.'* remains an important document of its times and of the quality of extreme commitment which Cardew (who had recently been closely involved in the composition of Stockhausen s Carre) brought to everything he did. Through the various developments and differing ideological stances of his career, it was this quality of commitment which made him such an inspiring figure to so many people concerned with wholly different kinds of'New Music' throughout the 1960*5 and 1970'j. Susan Sradshaw, who had known Cardew as a fellow student at the R.A.M., gave the premiere, with John Tilbury, in March 1981 of his last work: Boolavogue^or two pianos, an example of the highly politicized music that had become his prime concern. Howard Skentpton was a pupil of Cardew in the 1960'j, and a representative of that generation of young English composer-performers who were involved with him in the extraordinary range of improvisational activities centred on the Scratch Orchestra. Kurt Schwertsik knew Cardew well, and was deeply influenced by him, during his early years in Cologne. W H E N I first met Cornelius he was 17: the most impressively single-minded person I'd come across, his ability to concentrate one hundred per cent on what- ever interested him at the moment was extraordinary. And this characteristic would seem to have persisted through the many apparently conflicting phases of his all-too-short life. The devotion to every one or his espoused causes was total to the point of blindness to all other considerations. Meeting him again last March, after a gap of some years, he seemed hardly to have changed. Yet he showed signs of an uncharacteristically mocking attitude towards the new seriousness of his latest work, which conveyed more than a little sadness at having suppressed his own talents (as pianist as well as composer) for so long. What a tragic pity that he should have been torn away just as he appeared to be on the verge of returning to the world of a more self-demanding kind of music- making. . . Susan Bradshaw * TEMPO $8 (Summer 1961) pp. 21-33. Copies of this issue are still available, price £i-oo. at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 https://www.cambridge.org/core CORNELIUS CARDEW (i936-1981) 23 A Tribute to Cornelius Cardew I have been re-reading Stockhausen Serves Imperialism.1 After seven years, I find it no less powerful, if less disturbing (the passage of time and the tragedy of Cardew's death have drawn its sting). The book contains contributions from Rod Eley and John Tilbury. Eley refers to Cardew as 'a focal point' for many people with similar interests and attitudes. It was this quality of leadership that drew me to London in 1967 to study with Cornelius. He was an associate, and principal advocate, of many of my favourite composers: Stockhausen, Cage, Feldman, and LaMonte Young. Of his own music, I knew Octet ' 6 1 , February Tieces, and Four Works. I recognized his intelligence, virtuosity, and practicality. Later, at first hand, I appreciated his humility and integrity—the humility and integrity of a great artist; a complete musician, reminding me in that respect of Britten, but of nobody else. I recall his devotion at that time to the music of Bach, Mahler, and Webern. And with Webern, I am reminded of the principle of necessity. In Stockhausen Serves Imperialism, Cardew quotes Engels: 'Freedom is the appreciation of nec- essity'.2 During the last ten years, he became increasingly aware of the need to abandon the role of the bourgeois composer. In 1972, he exhorted Cage to 'shuffle his feet over to the side of the people and learn to write music which will serve their struggles'. 3 It is now clear that Cornelius himself succeeded in this aim—no mean achievement. Unlike his critics, he realized that 'the business of changing one's class stand, remoulding one's world outlook, is no easy thing, no "lover's bed", but a long a complicated process of struggle'.4 Howard Skempton . . .for CORNELIUS CARDEW AT a concert in Vienna in the 1950's where I'd conducted some Cage, a quiet- spoken English composer played his 2-piano pieces. I remember him rehearsing them very beautifully. But for some reason we didn't get to meet. The very important part he played in my life began shortly after my arrival in Cologne in '^9. I was feeling somehow betrayed by the social graces of my musical heroes in that capital of New Music. I believed that an artist should live outside society altogether, or at least on its outermost fringes: as a hermit or clochard. I worked quite hard to achieve that. One day in the Hohestrasse I caught sight of someone who had succeeded without trying. His loping walk, his dress, his entire demeanour—all different! Un- mistakably, at whatever distance, Cornelius Cardew. He never needed to avoid normal patterns of behaviour; he simply never came within sight of them. For 1 1974, Latimer New Dimensions Ltd. 2 p . 1 1 3 . 3 'John Cage; Ghost or Monster', The Listener, 4 May 1972 ; reprinted in Stockhausen Serves Imperialism ( p . 4 0 ) . 4 Stockhausen Serves Imperialism, p . i o 2 , at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 https://www.cambridge.org/core 24 TEMPO instance: seeing a grubby old coat draped over a parked motorcycle to protect it from the Cologne weather, he took off his own coat, compared the two, medi- tated for a moment, and swapped them over. So much for appearances. More important: in Cornelius I found for the first time someone who felt as I did about the New Music, and helped me develop a critique of it. I was greatly impressed by the way he managed to make ideas workable by radical simplification rather than by compromises. He never tried—as I was still trying—to reconcile the demands of 'The New' with the desire to change them; he just wasn't concerned to please respected authorities as well as pleasing, and being, himself. He was free. Musical 'possibilities' that I was still nebulously pondering he had already realized according to a highly original and practical method (for instance, in Autumn '60). This went on for some time. (I grew up slowly). When eventually I recognized what it was that I myself had been driving at, the clarity of his own musical formulations still impressed me as outstanding—(e.g. Treatise, The Great Learning or Piano Album 1973). So much for his music. But most important for me to remember today: his serenity, and, humanly, his sense of the right time to do things. Long before anyone else, he understood the use of a juke-box. Already in ' ̂ 9 or '60 he knew how to cheer up a gloomy group simply by selecting the right song. From Presley to jazz, he knew it all. He once said to me that his real models were there, and not in 'serious' music at all. His serenity: simply to be with him always brought calm and reassurance. Easter '69 . . . sensing that I was hopelessly depressed and nervous he took me on a little picnic with his family; and there I sat, happy as a clam. We haven't seen each other for quite some time, but planned to get together soon. That will have to wait now. Kurt Schwertsik at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 https://www.cambridge.org/core Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Limited Nicholas M a w La Vita Nuova for soprano and chamber ensemble poems by Italian Renaissance Poets 1(=picc). 1(=cor A ad lib).1.1—1.0.0.0—harp—string quartet full score on sale (£1200); score and parts for hire The Voice of Love song cycle for mezzo-soprano and piano poems by Peter Porter These two works have just been issued on record (Chandos ABR1037) performed by Nan Christie and the Nash Ensemble (La Vita Nuova) and Sarah Walker and Roger Vigno/es (The Voice of Love) publication 13 May 1982 SHOSTAKOVICH: THE MAN AND HIS MUSIC CHRISTOPHER NORRIS (editor) Christopher Rowland and Alan George, Robert Dearling, Ronald Stevenson, Geoffrey Norris, Malcolm MacDonald, Bernard Stevens, Christopher Norris, Robert Stradling, Alan Bush (contributors) This volume of specially commissioned essays provides an approach to the work of one of the twentieth century's most eminent and widely admired composers. The essays cover the full range of Shostakovich's output—the symphonies, piano music and operas as well as his later work and songs—and a discussion on the problems involved in interpreting his chamber music by two musicians who have done more than any others to establish it in this country. 240 pages 44 music examples cloth £12-50 [M Lawrence & Wishart 39 Museum Street, London WC1A 1LQ at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 https://www.cambridge.org/core Alexander G O E H R . works performed in the London Sinfonietta's The Manchester School' Series The Deluge Op. 7 Full score Ed 10703 £4-40 Concerto for Eleven Op 32 Provisional study score available on request Lyric Pieces Op 35 Study score Ed 11279 £2-15 Behold the Sun Op 44 (Commissioned by the London Sinfpnietta for this series) Provisional study score available on request To be published shortly: String Quartet No. 3 Op 37 (Study score) Das Gesetz der Quadrille Op 41 for voice and piano Deux Etudes Op 43 for orchestra (Study score) Also available: The Music of Alexander Goehr: Interviews and Articles edited by Bayan Northcott £5-75 The music of ALEXANDER GOEHR is published exclusively by SCHOTT London Mainz New York Tokyo For further details and a complete list of works, please contact the Promotions Department 48 Great Marlborough Street, London W1V 2BN Telephone 01-437 1246 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0040298200035427 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_hzwke6umhrfxbocnluw4wwbmli	----	(5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 1 Cross- Cultural Exchange Between the Islamic World and Europethrough10 th -12 th centuries A.H/16 th - 18 th centuries A.D (Iznik ceramic and Italian maiolica as a case study) Dr.Boussy Muhammad Hussein Zidan  Abstract: This paper deals with themes of exchange in ceramic production, between the Islamic world, presented by Iznik in Turkey, and Italy in Europe. This exchange took shape in the emergence of a special form of ceramic plates of Italian tradition in Iznik. This type of ceramic plates known as ―Tondino‖ dishes was fashionable in Italy around 1500-1530 A.D. Iznik workshops had produced identical samples in the contemporary period as well. On the other hand, decorative elements of Iznik had greatly influenced Italian maiolica production. Of these spiral scrolls of the ―Golden Horn‖, this was applied on Italian maiolica Albarello vessels. Furthermore, decorative elements of Rhodian style with their characterized polychrome design are imitated in Paduan workshops of Italy. In addition, various plates of Iznik production had combined between traditional decorative elements together with European heraldry of Italian families. Thus, such samples specifying a true image of the cross- cultural exchange between the Near East and the West. This paper aims at: I. Shedding light on the role of Muslim artisan in ceramic industry and their effect on the Western civilization, Italy in particular. II. Emphasizing that Muslim artisans had been influenced by the civilization of the West and adapted what suits their tradition and religion as well.  Associate Professor of Islamic Arts & Archaeology-Faculty of Tourism and Hotels Suez Canal University dr.boussyzidan@tourism.suez.edu.eg mailto:dr.boussyzidan@tourism.suez.edu.eg (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 2 III. Illuminating the influence of political and economic status of the Ottoman Empire and Italy on all industries; and ceramics in particular. Key words: Tondino, Albarello, Iznik, Golden Horn, Italian maiolica. Research’s plan I- Introduction II- Iznik Ceramics III- Italian maiolica IV- Outlines of the cross-exchange between the Ottomans and the Italians in ceramic production accompanied with samples. V- Systematic Analysis for the paper’s discussed artifacts VI- Conclusion VII- Bibliography VIII- Plates (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 3 I. Introduction Several preceding studies had greatly presented enough information on the history of Ottoman pottery and divided it into three main phases; each with its origin and artistic features. On the other hand, other studies had minutely discussed the Italian maiolica and its link with Hispano Moresque of Spain, with conflict ideas about which one was the older? And which had impressed the other? Furthermore, these studies had gone into the cross exchange between the East and the West. Mainly, after the spread of Chinese influence in the Near East, which was a mediator for such traditions to reach the West. Despite the diverse studies that had dealt with pottery industry in the Ottoman Empire and Europe; further points still deserve much focus. Of these, the political status of the Ottoman Empire in its Golden age, which -undoubtedly- had led to the spread of influence to outside its boundaries. Moreover, there was no enough data on the origin of naming Italian ceramic as maiolica, and in other cases majolica, and whether there is any difference between them? Or both are the same? Another shortage in preceding studies is neglecting the definition of tughra style precisely. They merely described it as spiral ornaments. This introduction focuses briefly on both political and economic relations between the Ottoman Empire and Europe in general, and Venice-Italy in particular. Then, a brief report on the history of Pottery is discussed. Although the vast dominating Ottoman Empire once had multiple and diverse relations with the surrounding regions and several competitor forces. However, due to this paper‘s main topic, these lines only deal with Ottoman Empire relations with the Western Europe, particularly during the 10 th -12 th centuries (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 4 A.H/ 16 th -18 th centuries A.D. (1) Ottoman Empire since its rise formed a big trouble for Europe, since Ottomans took over the duty of repulsing crusaders who had threatened the Muslim world for a long time. Moreover, Ottoman Empire had succeeded in combating Europe, which had begun in the 15 th and 16 th centuries A.D to widening their boundaries and spread their dominance towards the East. (2) During this time, Hungary come into view in Eastern Europe as a traditional antagonist for the Ottomans after the Byzantine Empire had declined. ( 3 ) Thus, worked as a well-fortified wall against the Ottoman‘s progress in Europe. After Sultan Suliman I had ascended the throne in 927 A.H/ 1520 A.D; Ottomans again began to think about the West, this was the beginning of another stage of relations with Europe featured with the expansion in Al- Balkan and the Mediterranean Sea. Hungary had rapidly weakened due to internal distributions, besides an unusual behavior of the Hungarian king Louis II who killed the messenger of Sultan Suliman I. ( 4 ) This had enraged Sultan Suliman, so he declared the war , and continued in its preparations until 928 A.H/ 1521 A.D. Ottoman military forces had moved towards the North, aiming Belgrade the gate to regions beyond Danube river and the key for Central Europe. (5) Sultan Suliman I managed to access Belgrade after a continuous siege for about 75 days. (6) (1) Shams el-Dīn al-Kilāny, al-‗Uthmānīyn wa al-Urupyīn fi al-Qarn as-Sādis ‗Ashr, majalat al-Ijtihad, Vol. 11, issue 43, p. 111, 112 (2) Muḥammad Suhail Ṯaqoūsh, Tārikh al-‗Uthmānīyn mn qīām ad-Dawla ila al-Enqlāb ‗Ala al-Khilāfah, Dar An-Nafāīs, Beirut- Lebanon, 3 rd edition,1434A.H/ 2013 A.D, p.7, 10 (3) Gábor Ágoston and Bruce Masters, Encyclopedia of the Ottoman Empire, New York, 2009, p. 107-109 (4) Andrih Clo, Sūlimān al-Qānūnī, translated by al-Bashīr Ibn Salāmah, Dar al-jīl, Beirut, aṯ-Ṯab‘ah al-Ūlā, 1991, p. 77- 80 (5) Gábor Ágoston and Bruce Masters, Encyclopedia of the Ottoman Empire, p. 541, 542 (6) Muḥammad Farīd Bek, Tārikh ad-Dawla al-‗Aliya al-‗Uthmānīyah, taḥqīq Iḥsān Ḥīfnī, Dar An-Nafāīs, Beirut, aṯ-Ṯab‘ah al-Thānīyah, 1983, p. 202 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 5 The fall of Belgrade had put an end to a barrier which hindered the Ottomans‘ proceeding to regions beyond Danube river. After Ottoman victory in Europe, messengers from Venice, Russia, and Ragusa came to congratulate the Ottoman Sultan. Venice as a commercial city, its fortune based on maritime trading, thus it should keep its peaceful relations with the Ottoman Empire to ensure the freedom of movement in marine harbors. The only threat on their possessions may come from the Ottoman Empire, thus, accommodation was the appropriate choice. Foreign ambassadors arrived at Istanbul to renew all the advantages of old treaties held before. In addition, they were eager to hold a new treaty with the Ottoman Empire in 928 A.H/ 1521 A.D. Due to this new treaty, new clauses had been added according to political and economic circumstances. It is worth mentioning that Venice was ready to accept any conditions to protect their trade within the East of the Mediterranean Sea. (7) This new treaty included thirty clauses, of these; - Ensuring freedom of trading for Venetians all over the Ottoman Empire. - Ottoman Empire responsible for maintaining Venetian traders‘ safety. - Discharge all Venetian traders from poll tax - Removing any obstacles towards Venetian trade to North Africa. This treaty gave a glance on the basics that arranged the treaties between the Ottoman Empire and several European countries. (8) However, the death of Sultan Suliman I (al-Qānūnī) in973A.H/ 1566A.D was the end of the golden age of the Ottoman Empire. Due to a status of repose of both Ottoman (7) Muḥammad Suhail Ṯaqoūsh, Tārikh al-‗Uthmānyīn, p. 182 (8) Laīlā Sabāgh, al-Jālīyāt al-Urupīa fī Bilād al-shām fī al-‗Aṣr al-‗Uthmānī fī al-Qarnain as- Sādis ‗Ashr wa as-Sābi‘ ‗Ashr, mū‘asasat ar-Risālah, Beirut, aṯ-Ṯab‘ah al-Ūlā, 1989, p. 94, 95 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 6 society and the ruling institutions, besides the European bounce towards new improvements. As a result, Ottoman Empire had lost most of its dominance gradually along the three continents of ancient world. After the 1 st World War, Ottoman Empire had fallen due to the intervention of European and Zionism countries, besides the unplanned polices of militaries who took over control in Ottoman Empire, who expelled Sultan ‘Abd el-Hameed II in 1327 A.H/ 1909 A.D. This resulted in the emergence of Modern Turkey. (9) The other point in this introduction is a brief glance on history of ceramic. The word ceramic is a term taken directly from the western world and is used to define the pots crafted in tile technique. In the Ottoman records ―Evanî‖ was used instead of ceramics and ―Kaşî‖ for tiles. ( 10 ) Talking about Ottoman ceramic, it is a part of the technical schools of Islamic ceramic. It occupied the major position across the 10 th century A.H/ 16 th century A.D not only in the Islamic world, but in the European world as well. However, to understand its rise and development; it is important to deal briefly with schools of ceramic prior to the Ottomans. These are late Byzantine and Seljuk ceramics. Despite the later excavations; there is no sufficient information on Byzantine ceramics in early epochs between the 3 rd to the 9 th centuries A.D, only that Egypt and Baghdad were centers of Artistic radiance. However, Seljuk ceramic of the 6 th century A.H/ 12 th century A.D was a turning point in Islamic ceramic history. The center of artistic radiance had been twisted to the north east of Iran due to political circumstances. Turkish Seljuk became rulers of Baghdad, with the fall of the Fatimid state. (11) (9) Gábor Ágoston and Bruce Masters, Encyclopedia of the Ottoman Empire, p. 598 (10) Aslihan Erkmen, The Formal Analysis of Iznik Ceramics (15 th - 16 th centuries), SOMA 2007, Istanbul, 24-29 April 2007, p. 116- 123 ( 11 ) Sū‘ād Māhīr, al-khazaf at-TurkĪ, al-Jihāz al-Markazī li al-kūtūb al-Jāmī‘yah wa al- Madrāsīyah wa al-wasāil al-Ta‘līmīyah, 1397H./ 1977 A.D, p.9-13 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 7 The decorative style of the Seljuk ceramic is a development for decorative elements of the Islamic art. Floral ornaments became more dynamic and fuller of vitality. Kufic inscriptions with corners were applied on a background of floral ornaments, beside employing the curved naskhi script to fill spaces. In addition, living creatures were applied in a large scale as the main decorative topic. Later, such figures lost their priority, so became smaller. The fall of the Seljuk state in 1300 A.D in Anatolia resulted in the decline of ceramic production for about a century. This poor status of ceramic production continued until the Ottomans Turks took over control through the 9 th century A.H/ 15 th century A.D. (12) Production of Ottoman ceramic continued nearby for three centuries. This industry raised at Anatolia, via foreign proficient artisans. A gradual decline again affected the ceramic industry due to the termination of two generations of foreign artisans. Thus, it is difficult to define precisely the date of the emergence of original Ottoman ceramic production with a distinct style. The victories of Sultan Selim I in Iran in the 10 th century A.H/ 16 th century A.D and his occupation of Tabriz in 1514 A.D resulted in a positive transition in the history of Ottoman arts in general, and ceramic in particular. Sultan Selim I had brought to Constantinople more than 700 families of the proficient ceramists from Tabriz. ( 13 ) Since they had been settled in Iznik (ancient Nicaea), ( 14 ) those Iranian ceramists owns the favor of the (12) Sū‘ād Māhīr, al-khazaf at-TurkĪ, p.14,16 (13) Sū‘ād Māhīr, al-khazaf at-TurkĪ, p.20 (14) Iznik, historically Nicaea, town in the northwestern of Turkey. It lies on the eastern shore of Lake İznik. It was founded by the Macedonian king Antigonus I Monophthalmus in the 4th century BC. Nicaea was an important center in late Roman and Byzantine times— notably as the site of two councils of the early Christian church (325 and 787 CE) and as an independent principality in the 13 th century A.D. In 1331 A.D, Nicaea was besieged and conquered by the Ottoman Turks, who renamed it İznik. https://www.britannica.com/place/Iznik Accessed: 05-02-2019 1:02 UTC https://www.britannica.com/place/Roman-Empire https://www.britannica.com/place/Byzantine-Empire https://www.britannica.com/event/Council-of-Nicaea-Christianity-325 https://www.britannica.com/event/Council-of-Nicaea-Christianity-787 https://www.britannica.com/place/empire-of-Nicaea https://www.britannica.com/place/Ottoman-Empire https://www.britannica.com/place/Iznik%20Accessed:%2005-02-2019%201:02 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 8 emergence of distinct Ottoman ceramic in Iznik in the 10 th century A.H/ 16 th century A.D. (15) The 2 nd half of the 16 th century A.D was the beginning of independent personality of Ottoman Ceramic. Decorative elements became more naturalistic due to dual effects; the realistic art of Europe in the Renaissance age, and the falsified Persian style. Thus, composing the new form of the Ottoman ceramic style. ( 16 ) European influence in Ottoman arts resulted from the geographical location of Turkey, (17) which facilitated the commercial relations with eastern European states, and Italy in particular. Several centers of ceramic had emerged. Of these, Bursa, Edirne, Iznik, Damascus, Kütahya, Istanbul, Çanakkale and Morfit, each has its own style. (18) On the other hand, Italy was famous for producing earthenware a long time ago, named as maiolica. The term ‗maiolica‘ probably derived from the Balearic Island of Majorca (Majolica), which played the role of an entrepôt for Spanish- Moresque lusterwares to Italian markets during the 14 th and 15 th Iznik was an important center and consular city under the Byzantines, and for a short period it was the capital of the Seljuk after the battle of Malazgirt in 1071 A.D (when the Byzantines were defeated by the Seljuq Turks. As a result, the Seljuq conquered most of Anatolia and marked the beginning of the end for the Byzantine Empire. After the crusaders seized Istanbul in 1206 A.D, Iznik had flourished for half a century (1206-1261 A.D) under the rule of the Laskaris tribe (attributed to Theodore I Lascaris the first emperor of Nicaea). In 1331 A.D Iznik was reconquered by Orhan Gazi. Later, precisely in the 10 th century A.H/ 16 th century A.D, Iznik became center of tiles and ceramics. Oktay Aslanapa, Turkish pottery from the Iznik Excavations, Revue des Études Islamiques, No. 59, 1991, p. 187, 188 (15) Sū‘ād Māhīr, al-khazaf at-TurkĪ, p.20 ( 16 ) Gaston Migeon & A.B Sakisian, La Céramique D‘ Aishie- Mineure et de Constantinople, Paris, 1923, p. 18 (17) Turkey, country that occupies a unique geographic position, lying partly in Asia and partly in Europe. Throughout its history it has acted as both a barrier and a bridge between the two continents. https://www.britannica.com/place/Turkey Accessed: 05-02-2019 2:12 UTC (18) Sū‘ād Māhīr, al-khazaf at-TurkĪ, p.21, 22,31 https://www.britannica.com/place/Asia-ancient-Roman-province https://www.britannica.com/place/Europe https://www.britannica.com/place/Turkey%20Accessed:%2005-02-2019%202:12 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 9 centuries A.D, or to Spanish name for luster products as obra de málequa. (19) These earthenware artifacts were one of the distinct developments of the arts of the Renaissance age in Italy. (20) Due to Italy‘s location in the Mediterranean Sea, at the center of an area touched by several cultural influences – Byzantine, Islamic, and North African, this resulted in high beauty and variant techniques achieved in maiolica wares. In addition, the unstable circumstances in some areas in Spain in the 14 th century A.D, master Moorish ceramists forcibly moved to Valencia in the north and settled there. Thus, they transferred Islamic motifs and techniques. This was the mediator for these techniques to reach to Italy through trading movement and migration of artisans. By the 15 th century A.D Italian imports from Spain had diminished, when its Italian artisans reached a high degree of proficiency, besides the change of artistic taste. (21) Italian product reached its full stature and exceed the serving of basic needs to decorative purposes. (22) Towards the mid 15 th century A.D and along the 16 th century A.D, polychrome lustered ornaments of Spanish or Islamic origin became frequently embellishing much of the artifacts‘ surfaces. Through centuries, maiolica production had originated from several centers. From the Middle Ages to mid of the 15 th century, Tuscan workshops had been flourished. Since the dawn of the Renaissance epoch up to the 16 th century A.D, other centers had occupied the foremost part, of these Faentine, Cafaggiolo, Castel Durante, Deruta, Gubbio and venice, as well as Faenza and Florence. ( 23 ) Furthermore, Italian maiolica began to spread (19) Catherine Hess, Italian maiolica- Catalogue of the collection, the J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California, 1988, p. 1-3 (20) Bernard Rackham, Islamic Pottery and Italian Maiolica, illustrated catalogue of a private collection, Faber and Faber, London, 1 st edit., 1959, p. 64 (21) Catherine Hess, Italian maiolica- Catalogue of the collection, p. 1-3 (22) Bernard Rackham, Islamic Pottery and Italian Maiolica, p. 64,65 (23) Catherine Hess, Italian maiolica- Catalogue of the collection, p. 3,11 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 10 outside local boundaries and have new markets in several Europeans markets. (24) Conclusively, the encounters between Turkey and Europe, particularly Italy, was through Venetian traders who brought Turkish earthenware to their homeland Italy. As Venice was the headquarter of trade with the levant. As a result, since the 2 nd half of the 10 th century A.H/16 th century A.D imitations of the ‗Golden Horn‘ style were made probably at Venice. Furthermore, through the 11 th century A.H/ 17 th century A.D, Rhodian style was imitated in Italian Padua as well. Later Italian potters who fascinated with Ottoman ceramic and reproduced identical artifacts had in turn distributed these traditions in Europe. After 15oo A.D onwards, they had immigrated to various countries in Europe and set up ceramic workshops introducing Italian maiolica production with Near Eastern traditions. The following lines will present a detailed explanation for ceramic of both Iznik as exponent of the Islamic world ceramic, and Italian maiolica as representative of European ceramic. II. Iznik Ceramics Iznik was one of the first centers occupied by the Ottomans in the late 13 th century A.D. but achieved a real distinction at the beginning of the 16 th century A.D with the emergence of pottery industry there. Iznik had flourished due to its location on one of the main trade routes across Anatolia from the East. Pottery industry in Iznik represented a technical innovation in the history of Turkish pottery. In addition, it symbolizes the extraordinary combination of external influences from China, central Aisha, and Europe. These were the main elements formed the Ottoman pottery style. The effect of these diverse sources was creating unique artifacts. (24) Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, the tradition of 1000 years in maiolica, Faience& Delftware, 1973, p. 104,107 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 11 Pottery industry in Iznik passed by several phases. First, its production was confined in monochrome blue ceramics. Then, other colors were exploited, of these; turquoise and a whole collection of delicate colors. By the 2 nd half of the 10 th century A.H/ 16 th century A.D brilliant, impasted red color prevailed. By the 11 th century A.H/17 th century A.D, the whole industry had diminished and greatly weakened due to the weakening of Ottoman power and patronage. Both pottery vessels and tiles had been produced in the same town, even perhaps in the same workshops. This had resulted in highly interaction in designs of both categories. Concerning tiles, which were usually a decorative element in precisely dated buildings. Therefore, it worked as a valuable evidence for the evolution of the Iznik industry. ( 25 ) Thus Iznik pottery can be divided into three major periods, as follows; 1. The ―Kütahya‖ style This is the first phase of Iznik pottery industry, which dates between 1490 and 1525 A.D as securely documented limits. The period when Iznik vessels were painted only in blue and mainly copied Chinese blue and white porcelain. By Internal comparisons of style, most of the surviving pieces can be dated around 1505 and 1520 A.D. The body of the Abraham of Kütahya and later Iznik pottery is a rather loose-grained of white composition with pale buff touches, and not so hard than the 12 th - 13 th century A.D Persian pottery. Shapes of this style vessels were primarily derived from metallic vessels. (26) A thin wash of the main material was applied over the leather hard raw surface as a painting background. The glaze is thin, lustrous, and tightly fitted. As mentioned before, this type‘s vessels were mainly of blue color. Opaque blue is used, and the (25) John Carswell, Iznik pottery, London, 1998, p. 9, 10 (26) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, Ars Orientalis, Vol.2, 1957, p. 255, 256 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 12 dark effect is increased by heavy detailed and crowded drawings. Later, between 1510- 1515, a lighter blue was employed, and more of the white ground was allowed. This already hints at the delicacy of the ―Golden horn‖ style. latest pieces of the period 1520-1525 were in brilliant warm blue paint, with separating touches of turquoise and naturalistic serrated leaves. Flowers disintegrated into clusters of fleshy volutes or rounded forms. (27) 2. The ―Damascus‖ style This group of tiles and ceramic vessels was named so, due to its similarity with Iznik tiles applied on several monumental structures erected in Damascus when Syria had been subordinated to Ottoman rule since 922 A.H/ 1516 A.D. ( 28 ) It belongs to the blue and white group and considers a changeover to the coral red group. (29) The chronological range of this style is About 931 and 962 A.H/1525 and 1555 A.D, when other colors, such as green and purple were also used. These vessels and tiles show a richer manner of invention in Iznik pottery. Excluding emerald green and sealing wax red; all colors were exploited. On earlier pieces of this style; traces of ―Kütahya style‖ decorations are found. There is a continuous trend away from abstraction towards quite naturalistic designs. Colors expanded from blue and turquoise to include purple, gray, green or olive green, and black for outlines. These gradual changes were not attributed to Persian potters who were exiled from Tabriz in 1514 A.D. However, this style‘s colors schemes were developed at Iznik itself by a community of multicultural artisans, including Turks, Armenians, Persians, Greeks, and perhaps Syrians. They had Chinese porcelain vessels (27) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, p. 263, 264 (28) Rabi‘ Ḥāmid Khālifah, Al- Funūn Al-Islamīyyah fī al-‗Aṣr al-‗Uthmānī, al-Qahira, aṯ- Ṯab‘ah ath-Thālithah, 2005,p. 66 (29) Oktay Aslanapa, Turkish Pottery from the Iznik Excavations, p. 190 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 13 from more than a century, thus they produced identical artifacts. (30) In addition, they have had Italian maiolica vessels, from which they took ideas for new figures. Of these ―Tondino‖ dishes, (31) one of the basic elements of this paper. Earliest vessels of the ―Damascus ―style was of blue- and- turquoise color scheme. Potters seems to have been suddenly liberated from complicated decorations of ―Kütahya style‖ style. They began to select only simple elements in innovated forms. These evoke the archaic Italian maiolica rather than any pottery in the Near East. Reminiscences of the ―Kütahya style‖ are still in the background ornament of the panels‘ outline. Like this style, dishes‘ backgrounds occupied by floral patterns derived from Chinese porcelain. Moreover, tulips and carnations are initially employed, and became favorite elements on Iznik pottery of later periods. Almost Clusters were symbol of all samples of the ―Damascus‖ group. ( 32 ) Other decorative elements such as hyacinths, rose buds, full blown roses, and artichokes, were applied either. (33) A specific shape of dishes was fashionable in Italy during the period between 1500 and 1530 A.D, as a part of Italian maiolica, this is ―Tondino‖. These are small plates with a broad flattened rim and a deep well. Samples of this type began to be produced in Iznik. (34) A series of Iznik plates in this shape are painted with tulip clusters within oval panels, sometimes, alternating with cloud scrolls. Such ornaments were in both opaque and bright (30) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, p. 264-267 (31) Tondino is a small bowl with a rounded well and flat wide rim, it is among the main shapes of the late medieval Italian maiolica. However, it is originated from the Spanish Hispano-Moresque pottery. Nevertheless, it did not take the same shape. Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 84 (32) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman Pottery of Isnik, p. 264-267 (33) Oktay Aslanapa, Turkish Pottery from the Iznik Excavations, p. 190, 191 (34) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman Pottery of Isnik, p. 268 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 14 blue, with the occasional addition of distinct gray- blue. The inspiration of Chinese porcelain is more distinct in the ―Damascus‖ style than in the preceding ―Abraham of Kütahia‖ series. During the early 15 th century A.D, central lobed medallions with clusters of grapes were common patterns on Chinese vessels. Almost identical dishes were produced in Iznik in the blue and turquoise colors. (35) Colors of the ―Damascus‖ style is so attractive. Thus, it is not easy to understand why the potters should have ceased using soon after 1550 A.D. (36) Within the chronological range of ―Damascus‖ style, a subsidiary type called ―the Golden Horn‖ style covers the period about 1525- 1550. (37) The distinct form of decoration of this style is the spiral scrolls, resembling script. In addition, long delicate leaves and dark colored medallions of fine roumis were applied among the scrolls. Later- at the beginning of the 16 th century A.D, simpler designs of spiral scrolls, small leaves and flowers prevailed. (38) Several fragments had been found in that district, besides similar ones had been uncovered in Iznik, and other sites as well. Colors used in this style were only blue. Other pieces have spiral stems in greenish black. These colors are found in the (35) Raymond Koechlin et Paul Alfassa, L‘art de L‘Islam, La Céramique, Paris, Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Editions Albert Morancé, n.d, Pl. 21, No. 100 (36) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman Pottery of Isnik, p. 269 (37) The Golden Horn (Turkish: Haliç, meaning Gulf) or Altın Boynuz (literally "Golden Horn" in Turkish); is a historic inlet of the Bosphorus dividing the city of Istanbul and forming the natural harbor that has sheltered Ottoman and other ships for thousands of years. It is a scimitar-shaped estuary that joins the Bosphorus just at the point where that strait enters the Sea of Marmara, thus forming a peninsula the tip of which is "Old Istanbul". http://www.coastlearn.org/water_quality_management/case- studies/golden_horn_halic.pdf Accessed: 06-02- 2019 23:36 UTC The Golden Horn has always had an importance by virtue of its being a major natural port for economic, cultural, social and military development. Since the Byzantine period, the Golden Horn has been surrounded by shipyards, merchant houses and warehouses. - The Golden Horn: Heritage Industry vs. Industrial Heritage. Available from: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/287756393_The_Golden_Horn_Heritage_I ndustry_vs_Industrial_Heritage. Accessed: 06-02- 2019 23:18 UTC (38) Oktay Aslanapa, Turkish Pottery from the Iznik Excavations, p. 190 http://www.coastlearn.org/water_quality_management/case-studies/golden_horn_halic.pdf http://www.coastlearn.org/water_quality_management/case-studies/golden_horn_halic.pdf https://www.researchgate.net/publication/287756393_The_Golden_Horn_Heritage_Industry_vs_Industrial_Heritage https://www.researchgate.net/publication/287756393_The_Golden_Horn_Heritage_Industry_vs_Industrial_Heritage (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 15 contemporary wares painted in ―Damascus‖ style. Concerning shaping or techniques of the ―Golden Horn‖ style, they are indistinguishable from both ―Abraham of Kütahya‖, and ―Damascus‖ styles. It is exciting to notice that Iznik wares of spiral decorations that imitates the ―Golden Horn‖ style had been imitated in Italian maiolica during the 2 nd half of the 16 th century, at Genoa. (39) Iznik examples have a hard-white body because of the increase of using kaolin, the clay responsible for white wares. Decorations were painted on the surface under the glaze. The paste had a certain percent of glaze, which made the wares much harder, and even identical to porcelain. This phase of Iznik production extended from the 2 nd half of the 15 th century to the mid -17 th century A.D. (40) 3. The ―Rhodian‖ style This is the third phase of pottery industry in Iznik. It chronologically ranges between 1555 and 1700 A.D. ( 41 ) Although the ceramic of the previous ―Damascus‖ style was of supreme quality, there was a great aspiration to create a new decorative style for both tiles and ceramic vessels. ( 42 ) This aspiration is interpreted in a complete sudden change in the color scheme of Iznik pottery. (43) Pale turquoise is applied for details, cobalt blue for the ground, however, green is lacking. Broad zones are painted in thin blotchy tomato red, with deep black outlines. Among such color scheme, some of the ―hatayi‖ lotus (39) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman Pottery of Isnik, p. 270 (40) J. Raby and J Henderson, ―The Technology of Fifteenth century Turkish Tiles: An Interim Statement on the Origins of The Iznik Industry‖, World Archaeology, 21, 1989, p. 115-132 ( 41 ) Katharina Otto- Dorn, Das islamische Iznik, Archaologisches Institut des Deutschen Reiches, Istanbuler Forschungen, Vol. 13, Berlin, 1941, p. 120-122 (42) Oktay Aslanapa, Turkish pottery from the Iznik Excavations, p.191 (43) Katharina Otto- Dorn, Das islamische Iznik, p. 120-122 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 16 flowers were in black as well. However, the famous ―sealing – wax red‖ or ―Armenian bole‖ (44) being scarcely used. (45) Such decorations form a transition to a subsequent group of ceramics with brilliant underglaze thick coral red belonging to the last quarter of the 16 th century A.D. The real center of these items was Iznik, although Kütahya became a principal center either. (46) The designs of this type are less interesting than the earlier ―Damascus‖ style. Early ―Rhodian‖ dishes were typically with stylized wavy and rock borders, derived from the Chinese porcelain. Nevertheless, by the end of the 16 th century A.D, the edges became simple circles, the wavy pointed lobes were indicated by the painted lines enclosing the border. On Dishes of the 17 th century A.D; these lines became simple concentric loops, but the stylized rocks had disappeared. (47) At the end of the 17 th century A.D, Iznik workshops had entirely ceased, and the demand was met by tiles and pottery vessels produced in Kütahya. ( 48 ) Although Kütahya potteries were active since the beginning of the 16 th century A.D onwards. However, the 18 th century A.D was the rise of unique style in both tiles and pottery there. This was due to the Armenian elements in the ethnic background of potters. (49) Later, and due to (44) Armenian bole was valued in medieval and renaissance Europe for its medical properties as an astringent. Such composition had come from the East. In addition, this name was also used for a similar clay from deposits in France and probably elsewhere. Les oeuvres de Bernard Palissy, ed. Anatolia, France, Paris, 1880, p. 363-364, 426-427 (45) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, p. 275 (46) Oktay Aslanapa, Turkish pottery from the Iznik Excavations, p.191 (47) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, p. 277 (48) Oktay Aslanapa, Turkish pottery from the Iznik Excavations, p.193 (49) John Carswell, Iznik Pottery, p. 115, Rabi‘ Ḥāmid Khālifah, Al- Funūn Al-Islamīyyah fī al-‗Aṣr al-‗Uthmānī, p. 85 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 17 the falling-off for the demand for tiles; the whole industry of ceramic had completely declined. (50) Recently, the fashion in Turkey for Iznik as a collectable item and the increasing public awareness of virtues outside the limited circle of art historians, plus the impact of mass tourism, have led to a massive revival of the pottery industry, largely based on reverence for the 16 th century A.D style. However, this occurred in Kütahya not Iznik. (51) III.Italian maiolica Early Italian tin-glaze wares are much earlier than is usually supposed. They may actually have started in Italy earlier than in Spain. It was made in both the northern and the southern parts of Italy, but the wares were distinctly different. Tin-glaze pottery was being made in southern Italy by 1200 A.D. They were painted in brown, green, yellow, and soft blue. The outside of pottery objects was left unglazed. These wares were known as ―proto-maiolica‖. By the 13 th century A.D, tin-glaze pottery with green and brown colored paintings was made for local demand in several centers. This was typically known as ―archaic maiolica‖. From about 1300 A.D onwards; the ―archaic maiolica‖ tended towards line drawing rather than to the broader brushwork. The painters began to distinguish between major motifs and the secondary ones by cross-hatching the background. Both the ―proto-maiolica‖ of southern Italy, and the ―archaic maiolica‖ of the North had been the cornerstone for the ―Renaissance maiolica‖. However, the developments that occurred during the 15 th century A.D were mainly in the North. By the late 9 th century A.H/ 15 th century A.D, Italian tin-glaze wares had been developed, and ceramic artifacts were considered of high artistic value. Italian maiolica craftsmen were keen to (50) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, p. 277 (51) John Carswell, Iznik pottery, p. 119 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 18 develop their techniques. They explored several drawings, colors, and subject-matter on the white glaze. The shapes were secondary to the painted decoration, they were mostly adaptions of well-known metalwork shapes. However, Painting on maiolica became a new art shape, (52) and forms of decorative elements appeared. Plants‘ stems were turned into spirals and arabesques, circles and other figures, to which formalized leaves, flowers, and fruits were attached. The stems and some of the leaf patterns and garlands gave movement, while the flowers and fruits broke the harmony with their mass and color. The motifs varied from stylized daisy-like flowers and lines, and curling leaves reminiscent of some Persian decorations, to highly abstract forms. In the first three decades of the 10 th century A.H/ 16 th century A.D, the Gothic-floral style, ( 53 ) passed through continuous change, particularly when it was associated as a background or a border including figural-subjects or unusual scenes. (54) Since the 2 nd half of the 16 th century A.D, Italian workshops became technically very advanced. Most of their techniques were employed three hundred years later to supply a mass market. The capital behind Italian workshops opened the way to many new developments; it also subjected the pottery tradition to new and unsettling influences. (55) There are three main sources influenced Italian maiolica, these are: - Oriental blue and white porcelain, this was imported into Italy through Venice from the late 15 th century onwards, and the (52) Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 81-84 ( 53 ) Gothic is the term generally used to denote the style of architecture, sculpture, and painting that developed from the Romanesque during the 12 th century and became predominant in Europe by the middle of the 13 th century. https://www.britannica.com/art/Western-painting/Western-Dark-Ages-and-medieval- Christendom#ref582528 Accessed: 07-02-2019 1:24 UTC (54) Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 87, 88 (55) Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 83 https://www.britannica.com/art/Western-painting/Western-Dark-Ages-and-medieval-%20%20%20%20Christendom#ref582528 https://www.britannica.com/art/Western-painting/Western-Dark-Ages-and-medieval-%20%20%20%20Christendom#ref582528 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 19 Italian ceramists were fascinated by a treatment of flower and leaf patterns, which had much in common with their own. Venice and Faventine (56) potteries began to produce intricate flower and leaf patterns in a palette limited to tones of blue, a direct reflection of the Far Eastern convention, known as alla porcellana. ( 57 ) Some of these are amongst the most pleasing examples of all Italian maiolica. The Italians absorbed the Chinese manner and impressed it to their own tradition. (58) - Another influence came from Turkish Iznik wares, which had been imported into Italy in considerable quantity. They already shared a common ancestry with the Gothic floral style, and borrowings came naturally and easily. They are seen in Venetian and Paduan pottery (59) in the elongation and refinement of leaves, in abstract designs based on flowers and seed-bods and in the further development of strong color, which the Italians were already well able to follow. (60) - A third influence was of the grotesques, ( 61 ) which became a feature of many Italian decorative designs from 1500 A.D (56) Faventine, Latin faventinus, from Faventia (now Faenza, city in northern Italy) https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Faventine Accessed: 07-02-20191:39 UTC ( 57 ) Alla porcellana; is a type of pottery of the Middle and Far Eastern origins, with decorative elements based on flowers and foliage rather than on classical imagery, often on a glaze stained soft blue or mauve. Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 93, 94 (58) Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 87, 88 (59) Venetian pottery, refers to pottery produced in Venice (north eastern of Italy) from about 1500 onwards. Middle and Far Eastern influence shows in designs based on flowers and foliage rather than on classical imagery, notably in the patterns known as alla porcellana, often on a glaze stained soft blue or mauve. Paduan pottery, refers to pottery produced in Padua (north eastern of Italy) during the 15 th century, mostly common wares, sgraffiato slip ware, but probably also green and brown painted tin-glaze wares. Continued as a minor pottery center in the 16 th and 17 th centuries A.D, producing some istoriato ware and floral decoration derived from Iznik originals. Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 93,94 (60) Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 88 (61) The term ―Grotesque‖ is problematic, it first appeared in the mid-sixteenth century A.D to describe the fantastical figures decorating a Roman villa. Because the rooms were https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Faventine (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 20 onwards. Grotesques included exotic animals, masks, birds, mermaids, dolphins, canopies, cornucopias and garlands, and virtually any fantasy which came into mind. The motifs of Gothic- floral style were twisted in harmony with the rest of grotesque design. The following of grotesques feature had influenced the floral patterns, either when used alone, these patterns had finely elaborated. This became the standard mood of floral decorations of the late 16 th and 17 th centuries A.D. Despite the variant artistic trends that had an effect on the Italian maiolica; the early 10 th century A.H/16 th century A.D was the beginning of characteristic features of Italian maiolica production. This had resulted in a gradual change from simple imitated pieces to special elaborated ones. Thus, the Italians built up a method, a delicacy of composing and drawing, which never achieved even by the Hispano-Moresque potters, from whom Italians mainly inspired shapes and designs. (62) excavated below ground level, Renaissance observers misconceived them to be grottos. Moreover, the term was extended to imagery completely outside the cultural purview of the west. Over the last two hundred years, other terms proliferated to describe aspects of experience that attach in one or more ways to grotesque, among them arabesque, abject, and convulsive beauty. At the same time, the complex meaning of the word grotesque have lost their resonance and develop to describe horrible, or something horribly exaggerated. Frances s. Connelly, Modern Art and the Grotesque, Cambridge University Press, United Kingdom, 2003, p.5 Peter Ward-Jackson, ‗Some Main Streams and Tributaries in European Ornament from 1500-1750‘, Victoria and Albert Museum Bulletin, Vol. III, 1967, p. 58 (62) - Hispano-Moresque ware refers to tin-glazed earthenware made by Moorish potters in Spain, chiefly at Málaga in the 15 th centuryA.D, and near Valencia in the 16 th century A.D. The tin- glaze was applied over a design usually traced in cobalt blue. The earthenware objects were fired, and then a metallic pigment -lustre- was applied over the tin- glaze. Again, these objects were fired. The effect varies from a pale-yellow iridescence in early pieces to a coarser, copperish iridescence in later ones. Early designs are Islamic: the tree of life, palm motifs, and Arabic inscriptions, for example. Later designs combine Islamic and Italian Renaissance motifs. Misspelled or intentionally illegible Arabic inscriptions indicate that the work was taken over by Spanish Christian craftsmen. Imitation of this pottery in Italy led to the development of Italian maiolica ware. https://www.britannica.com/art/Hispano-Moresque-ware Accessed: 28-01-2019 23:39 UTC https://www.britannica.com/art/earthenware https://www.britannica.com/place/Spain https://www.britannica.com/place/Malaga-Spain https://www.britannica.com/plant/arborvitae https://www.britannica.com/art/pottery https://www.britannica.com/art/majolica https://www.britannica.com/art/Hispano-Moresque-ware (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 21 Until about 1500 Italian tin-glaze was dominated by Florence and Faenza. The workshops of Faenza invented the finest, whitest and most durable smooth and semi-matt tin-glazes ever known. Within few years, other workshops in several towns were in active production, using materials and artistic styles that had been virtually confined to Faenza and Florence. Hence, fine tin- glaze wares were in full production in Cafaggiolo, Siena, Pisa, Casteldurante, Deruta, Gubbio and venice, as well as in Faenza and Florence themselves. Because of such progress; Italian maiolica was traded to most of the European cities because it was differing from the conventional brown earthenware. The so- called Italian colors; cobalt blue, copper green, Naples yellow and orange-ochre, impressed Northern Europe as Islamic pottery had impressed Spain: maiolica was a new idea as well as a new kind of pottery. Just as the ceramists of Faenza had left their crowded workshops at the end of the 15 th century and spread all over most of Italian regions. As a result, in the next fifty years, the Italians dispersed into Europe. (63) Thus, until the late 16 th century A.D the making of tin-glazed earthenware was dominated by Italian styles, and in most places by Italian artisans. (64) Towards the end of the 16 th century A.D; regional styles had developed and emerged from a groundwork of Italian examples. From Italy, the new movement spread out in four principal directions: to Spain, France, Flanders, and to Switzerland. In each locality, the Italian conventions had been met with different conditions, and eventually developed in different ways. In Spain, Italian influence took a different course, probably because of the Hispano-Moresque pottery tradition, which was hard to displace. Not until after about 1565 A.D did (63) Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 88- 103 (64) Bernard Rackham, Early Netherlands Maiolica, London, 1926, p. 49 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 22 Spanish pottery itself begin to respond to the Italian conventions. (65) IV. Outlines of the cross-exchange between the Ottomans and the Italians in ceramic production Due to the layers of pottery that had been accumulated in the Mediterranean region through the ages, they became fundamental references for the intercourse between differ cultures. This illuminates on such relations; such as social schemes, trading relations, and the transmission of fashions. There are several motivations for this intercourse. Ceramic vessels as mobile utensils, they were easily transported from one region to another. Moreover, due to foreign occupations; artists were sometimes obliged to flee outdoors, or forcibly departed for new lands. In addition, artists sometimes were to wander from one place to another searching for higher revenues. Due to these reasons; similar forms, techniques, and ornamental motifs had appeared in variant geographical areas. This paper focuses on encounters between Europeans, particularly the Italians, and the Ottomans in tendency of ceramic production. In most cases, European responses to encounters with Ottoman ceramics start from the 14 th century A.D onwards. Through their relations; we can distinguish three periods of encounters in ceramic industry. These periods show different techniques of molding and decorative styles as well. The first period covers pottery production of the 14 th and 15 th centuries A.D. The second period ranges from the 15 th century to the 18 th century A.D. However, the 3rd period is the industrial age. This paper deals only with the 2 nd period. This actually refers to intercourse between European (Italian renaissance) and Anatolian (classical period of Ottoman art) ceramics, with the existence of Chinese porcelain as a mediator. Ottoman ceramists tried to (65) Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 104,107 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 23 imitate Chinese blue- and -white porcelain objects in Iznik. Much later than in Iznik, exactly between 1575 and 1587 A.D, Italian ceramicists succeeded to imitate Chinese porcelain. However, decorative items were of both Chinese and Middle Eastern origins. Sometimes European ceramics were just copies imitating the original ones. Other times, original features were recreated in different techniques. On the other Hand, European ceramics also had influenced the Ottoman ceramic industry, particularly in the 10 th century A.H/ 16 th century A.D. (66) This cross exchange had appeared in producing of special form of plates called ―Tondino‖ of Italian origins within Iznik workshops. These tondino dishes are mainly inspired from Spanish Hispano-Moresque pottery. (67) In the 1 st half of the 10 th century A.H/ 16 th century A.D, the (Tondino) dishes had widespread from Italy to the Islamic world, to the Near east, precisely Iznik in Turkey. (68) There are several samples of blue- and -white ―Tondino‖ dishes of Iznik production. Here is a sample of (tondino) dishes (Pl.1), it is of blue under glazed pottery, it is 26.5 cm in diameter, produced in Iznik about 1530- 1540 A.D. ( 69 ) Another sample of broad-rimmed dish (tondino) made of white earthenware painted in cobalt blue. It is of 26.6 cm in diameter and 4.9 cm in height, decorated with small sprays of flowers (Pl.2 A, B). It is produced in Iznik about 1530-1540 A.D. ( 66 ) Filiz Yenşehirlioğlu, Ottoman Ceramics in European Contexts, Muqarnas, Vol.21, Essays in Honor of J.M. Rogers (2004), pp.373-382 https://www.jstor.org/stable/1523369 Accessed: 19-2-2019 22:52 UTC (67) Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze pottery in Europe and the Islamic world, p. 84 ( 68 ) Cipriano Piccolpasso, Li tre libri dell‘arte del vasajo, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 1934, p. 71 (69) Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, Edite par Yanni Petsopoulos, Traduit de l‘Anglais par Azizeh Azodi et Christian Diebold, Chêne, 1990, p.118, pl. 326 https://www.jstor.org/stable/1523369%20Accessed:%2019-2-2019%2022:52 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 24 Referring to the respect of Italian art since the reign of Sultan Mehmed II. (70) Further influence appeared in producing plates in Iznik with Italian decorative elements. These probably had been produced by special Italian orders within Iznik workshops. Here is a tondino dish - 26.4 cm in diam.- of blue and touches of sage- green. It is the only known example of broad-rimmed dish (tondino) to be adorned with a representation of a Turkish youth wearing a feathered cap and fastened chemise with a collar over a landscape background of a series of hills and trees. This was suggested by undoubtedly similar portraits on contemporary Italian maiolica. It is made in Iznik about 1535-1540 A.D (Pl. 3). This artifact is a part of a new trend in decorative elements of Iznik production inspired by Italian maiolica. (71) A further step of the intercourse was the producing of plates in Iznik workshops with unique European heraldry in the same context with traditional decorative items of Ottoman origin. (72) A sample of this intercourse a polychrome glazed pottery plate (Pl. 4). It is of a shallow well with flat rim, it measures 2.8 cm height and 20.2 cm in diameter. This type shows the convert from monochrome to polychrome pottery. Several colors are exploited here; cobalt blue, green, and red, besides black for outlines. Although produced in Iznik (about 1575), the master decorative scene here is a European heraldry in shape of coat of arms, mostly attributed to the Venetian family of Morosini (73) or the (70) Arthur Lane, later Islamic pottery, London, Faber and Faber, 1971, 2 nd edit., p. 52, pl. 30A (71) Arthur Lane, later Islamic pottery, p. 52, pl. 31A (72) Filiz Yenşehirlioğlu, Ottoman Ceramics in European Contexts, pp.373-382 https://www.jstor.org/stable/1523369 Accessed: 19-2-2019 22:52 UTC (73) Morosini Family, noble Venetian family that gave four doges and several generals and admirals to the Republic. The most renowned member of the family, Francesco Morosini (1618–94), who rose along the 17 th century A.D wars with the Turks to become one of the greatest captains of his time. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Morosini-family Accessed: 23-03-2019 3:22 UTC https://www.jstor.org/stable/1523369%20Accessed:%2019-2-2019%2022:52 https://www.britannica.com/topic/Morosini-family%20Accessed:%2023-03-2019%203:22 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 25 Dalmatian family Spingarolli de Dessa (74) . Traditional Ottoman decorations mostly cover the dish‘s background. ( 75 ) These are sprays of prunus and campanulas with scattered cloud-scroll fragments. Another sample of this intercourse is a polychrome glazed pottery dish (Pl. 5). It is 5.7 cm height and 36.5 cm in diameter with a shallow cavetto and a broad flat rim. It is painted in cobalt blue, turquoise-green and bole red outlined in grayish black. The dish‘s backside is embellished by twinned tulip bouquets between single rosettes. This artifact had been produced in Iznik around 1570-1600 A.D. (76) The peak of the Ottoman ceramic had begun from the 10 th century AH/ 16 th century A.D. This progress continued until the 1 st quarter of the 11 th century A.H/ 17 th century A.D., and entitled ―the classical period‖ of Ottoman art. The ceramic of this period is of high technical standards, flourished under court patronage and developed according to a court style. (77) In a contemporary era, the consumption in the Renaissance era and the adoration of luxurious possessions had encouraged the production of majolica ceramics in Italy. Several centers in Italy, such as Derruta, Faenza, Florence and Doccia had produced samples identical to Ottoman ones. Ottoman ceramic artifacts of the 16 th century A.D. among the Italian collections were the source from which Italian samples were reproduced. Forms of Ottoman influence on Italian ceramic vessels appear in several samples, of these; (74) Dalmatian family Spingarolli de Dessa is a family of Dalmatia (northern Yugoslavia). The Dalmatian city of Ragusa (modern Dubrovnik) had a flourishing trade with the Levant in the 15 th and 16 th centuries A.D http://www.jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/collection/7/674/675/all/per_page/50/offset/0/sort_ by/seqn/object/10954 Accessed: 23-03-2019 3:57 UTC (75) Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, p. 264,266, pl.586 (76) Arthur Lane, later Islamic pottery, p.56-58, pl. 45 B. (77) Filiz Çağman, ―Mimar Sinan döneminde Saray’in ehl-I hiref teşkilati, in Mimar Sinan dönemi Türk mimarliği, Istanbul, 1988, p.73-77 http://www.jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/collection/7/674/675/all/per_page/50/offset/0/sort_by/seqn/object/10954%20Accessed:%2023-03-2019%203:57 http://www.jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/collection/7/674/675/all/per_page/50/offset/0/sort_by/seqn/object/10954%20Accessed:%2023-03-2019%203:57 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 26 Soon after 1500 A.D, remarkable oriental effects appeared in the paintings of the Italian Maiolica of Faenza, Siena, and Cafaggiolo; plates‘ both sides were decorated with spiral running foliage and flowers in blue- and – white. Such designs were entitled ―alla porcellana‖. ( 78 ) They almost derived both their forms and details from the Chinese blue- and-white porcelain. However, this derivation of designs was not happened mostly direct from China. Turkish earthenware of Iznik acted as a half- way stage through the Near East, for Chinese blue-and-white style, as the traders of Venice brought to Italy. (79) A sample of this form of influence is a (tondino)dish manufactured in Cafaggiolo in about 1500-1525 A.D. It measures 4.8 cm in height and 24.3 cm in diameter (Pl.6 A, B). The dish‘s deep well is occupied by a broad beamed merchant ship within interlocking ogival quatrefoils with fleurs-de-lis and foliage sprays. The dish‘s rim is decorated with four musical trophies divided by stylized foliage sprays and arabesques. The reverse is embellished with three sprays of scrolling foliage and marked in the center either J[acop]o chafagguolo or in chafagguolo referring to the workshop of manufacturing. All of the painted decoration is executed in blue pigment on a thin, creamy, yellowish white ground. The clay body itself is of a very bright yellowish buff color. This type of delicate foliage and blue colored floral embellishment on a white background, termed alla porcellana decoration because it imitates Chinese porcelain ware. This type was much ordered from Italy after the 15 th and 16 th centuries A.D. ( 80 ) Another Italian sample in alla porcellana design is on display in Victoria and Albert museum (Pl. 7). This is a tin-glazed earthenware tondino dish, possibly made in Faenza – which gained a supremacy in technique and design by (78) Cipriano Piccolpasso, Li tre libri dell‘arte del vasajo, p. 71 (79) Bernard Rackham, Italian Maiolica and china, OCST, vol. 19, London, 1942-43, p. 16 (80) Catherine Hess, Italian maiolica- catalogue of the collection, illustration no. 21, p.66-68 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 27 the mid of the 15 th century A.D. The dish‘s broad rim and the deep well are embellished with flowers, fruits, and small ivy leaves on wavy stems. A thick blue colored band encircles the dish‘s outer rim (Pl. 7 A). The dish‘s backside is adorned with groups of leafy sprays alternating with crossed lozenges (Pl. 7 B). (81) Italian maiolica did not stop on reproducing imitations of classical Ottoman ceramic but followed the tradition of Italian Renaissance painting included figural compositions as a decorative theme, mainly in the form of portraits of turbaned men or equestrian figures in Ottoman costumes. These were popular subjects on albarello produced in Sicily. ( 82 ) A sample of this influence is an albarello of tin glazed earthen ware, preserved in the metropolitan museum (Pl. 8). It is manufactured in Italy, particularly in Sicily in the 16 th century A.D., and its dimensions are 28.1 x 13.3x 13.3 cm. This object‘s master scene is a figural portrait of a turbaned man in Ottoman costumes. (83) Blue-and-white production in Iznik included another group of ceramics called ―Golden Horn‖, characterized by spirals and scrolls with no large-scale flowers. This style was also entitled as ―Tuğrakeş ( 84 ) style‖. A sample of this is the tughra (official (81) Bernard Rackham, Catalogue of Italian maiolica, London, H.M.S.O,1977, p. 65, 343-346 (82) Filiz Yenşehirlioğlu, Ottoman Ceramics in European Contexts, pp.373-382 (83) https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/188538 Accessed: 20-02-2019 UTC (84) ―Tuğrakeş style” is a recent nomination for the‖ Golden Horn‖ motifs. That is because it has been derived from the ornaments of the tughras of the same period. However, the design has been derived from the spiral scrolls used on royal documents as a background for the Sultan‘s imperial monogram known as ―tughra‖. Nurhan Atasoy &Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, p. 108-113 The word tughra comes from an Oghuz (a historical Turkish language) term for "seal." According to legend, the Ottoman form of the tughra originated with an illiterate sultan, who, unable to sign his name, dipped his three fingers in ink and impressed them on a page. While this account is probably not true. All Ottoman tughras include three vertical shafts and two concentric oval loops at left. These undulating forms are calligraphic insignias that include the name of the reigning sultan, the name of his father, and the phrase "the eternally https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/188538 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 28 signature) of Sultan Suliman the Magnificent dated back to 1555- 1560 Istanbul, Turkey. This tughra is applied of ink, opaque watercolor, and gold on paper. This tughra is translated as ―Suliman, son of Selim Khan, ever victorious‖ (Pl. 9). (85) Iznik production of ―Golden Horn‖ style appeared in several forms, e.g.; ―tondino‖ dishes, bottles, ewers, etc. Here is a great sample of the intercourse between Iznik and Italian maiolica. A ―tondino‖ dish (Italian origin) adorned with spiral scrolls of the Iznik ―Golden Horn‖ style, preserved in Ashmolean museum in Oxford (Pl. 10 A, B). It is of under glazed fritware, painted in blue over a white background, and measures 5 cm in height and 24.5 cm in diameter (Pl. 10 A). Its manufacturing date varies between 1535- 1545 A.D. The whole dish is embellished with leafy spirals in cobalt blue resembles the ‗Golden Horn style, which prevailed during the 1 st half of the 16 th century A.D. The dish‘s backside (Pl. 10 B) is almost plain except double lines surrounding the dish‘s outer rim and other double lines surrounding the central deep well. ( 86 ) Other samples - mostly identical- are on display in Victoria & Albert museum (Pl. 11), and in museum of fine arts in Houston (Pl. 12 A, B). Another sample of Iznik production in ‗Golden Horn‘ style is a pear-shaped vessel of white glazed pottery with a broadened foot preserved in the British museum (Pl. 13 A, B). It measures 22.2 cm in height, and its diameter varies between 11.3 -16.5 cm, adorned with a series of spiral scrolls in the lowest part of the vessel‘s body (Pl. 13 A). This is topped with double lines border that confined attached leaves and hooks in between. An upper victorious." All sultans, as well as princes, would have their own tughra, which court artists created a new with each ruler's succession. https://metmuseum.org/blogs/ruminations/2016/tughra-in-ottoman-art Accessed: 14-3-2019 15:06 UTC ( 85 ) https://metmuseum.org/blogs/ruminations/2016/tughra-in-ottoman-art Accessed: 14-3- 2019 15:06 UTC (86) Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, p. 120, pl.329 https://metmuseum.org/blogs/ruminations/2016/tughra-in-ottoman-art https://metmuseum.org/blogs/ruminations/2016/tughra-in-ottoman-art (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 29 part with a band of scrolling foliage with florets and trefoil terminals. The same details are repeated on the bottle‘s neck as well. The bottle‘s neck is cut down, however, there are rivet marks indicating that the bottle once had a metal mount. This bottle has inscriptions on both the moulded collar in Armenian with the a precise date 978/ 1529 A.D inscribed, and the other inscription is in shape of spirals on the bottle‘s base (Pl. 13 B). (87) Being painted in only blue suggests to be of the earliest samples of this style which is technically cannot be distinguished from both ―Abraham of Kütahia‖ and ―Damascus‖ groups of Iznik pottery. (88) A third sample of Iznik production in ‗Golden Horn‘ style is an ewer of the Goldman collection, preserved in Cincinnati art museum (Pl. 14). It is a cutdown pear-shaped bottle of 24.5 cm high, dated back to 1529 A.D. The main decorative scheme is spiral scrolls of the Iznik ―Golden Horn‖ style. It seems to have been ordered by the Armenian community of Kütahyafor dedication in a Christian monastery at Ankara. Blue alone is used in this artifact‘s painting. (89) Another ewer mostly identical to the previous (Pl. 14) is preserved in the Metropolitan museum of Arts. It is entitled Ewer with "Tughra style" decoration and produced almost in 1525- 1540 A.D (Pl. 15 A, B). It measures 24.6 cm high, 18.9 cm wide, 14 cm in diameter, the ewer‘s lid is 4 cm high and 8.7 cm in diameter. (90) (87) https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.asp x?assetId=146734001&objectId=236603&partId=1 Accessed: 14-3-2019 22:10 UTC (88) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman Pottery of Isnik, p. 270, figs. 33, 34 (89) Arthur Lane, Later Islamic Pottery, p. 50, pl. 29 A ( 90 ) https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/451834 Accessed: 15-3-2019 12:46 UTC Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, p. 110, pl. 136 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?assetId=146734001&objectId=236603&partId=1 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/451834%20Accessed:%2015-3-2019%2012:46 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 30 This decorative style of the Middle Eastern origin became popular in Italy as well. (91) A distinct group of Italian maiolica artifacts of the 16 th century, undoubtedly imitating the ―Golden Horn‖ wares of Iznik made around 1525- 1550 A.D. ( 92 ) Imitations of the ―Golden Horn‖ style were made, probably at Venice, almost in 1570 A.D. (93) Several Albarello (94) samples of Italian maiolica technique were decorated with the spiral scrolls of the ‗Golden Horn‘ style. ( 95 ) Here is an albarello of Italian maiolica, made precisely in Liguria – a coastal region of north western of Italy- in the ‗Golden Horn‘ style. It is composed of a tapering body of white earthenware, it is 22.3 cm in height in opaque pale blue glaze (Pl. 16 A, B). This artifact has been produced in about 1575 A.D. The whole body is decorated with lateral bands of crosses within concentric rings on both the rim and the base, with three large spiral stems with rosettes, leaves, and tendrils. (96) Another Italian maiolica sample of employing the ‗Golden Horn‘ style is another set of three albarello (drug jars) vessels of different shapes and sizes (Pl. 17). Each one bear the name of content or drug stored in. (97) (91) Nurhan Atasoy &Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, p. 267 (92) Bernard Rackham, Turkish Pottery, OCST, Vol. 12, London, 1934-35, p. 40 (93) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, p. 280, 281 (94) Albarello refers to pottery jar for apothecaries‘ ointments and dry drugs made in the Near East and in Spain. Such vessels were produced in Italy as well from the 15 th century A.D and onwards. Their basic form was cylindrical but incurved for grasping and wide-mouthed for access. A piece of paper or parchment tied around the rim served as a cover for the jar. Spanish and Islāmic influence is apparent in the colours used in the decoration of early 15 th century Italian albarellos, which are often blue on white. 08107pa59.1103.y.https.academic.eb.com.mplbci.ekb.eg/levels/collegiate/article/albarello/ 5407 Accessed: 23-02- 2019 11:30 UTC (95) Nurhan Atasoy &Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, p. 267 ( 96 ) https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.asp x?objectId=80207&partId=1&object=24317&page=1 Accessed: 15-3-2019 1:45 UTC Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, p. 266, pl. 589 (97) Filiz Yenşehirlioğlu, Ottoman Ceramics in European Contexts, pp.373-382 http://08107pa59.1103.y.https.academic.eb.com.mplbci.ekb.eg/levels/collegiate/article/albarello/5407 http://08107pa59.1103.y.https.academic.eb.com.mplbci.ekb.eg/levels/collegiate/article/albarello/5407 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=80207&partId=1&object=24317&page=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=80207&partId=1&object=24317&page=1 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 31 The Rhodian style, the third phase of Iznik ceramic was imitated at Italian Padua throughout the 17 th century A.D. A few first-class examples of the so- called ―Rhodian‖ ware can be identified as made to a special order for Italy around 1575 A.D. (98) It seems that maiolica had been influenced by this kind of Iznik pottery since the second decade of the 17 th century A.D mostly at Padua. This type of Paduan maiolica is also called ―Canadiana‖. First, this nomination had been interpreted to be originated from ‗Candia‘ referring to Crete, where similar wares were produced. However, after further researches, it is cleared that ‗Candiana‘ has originated from the manufacturing place called ‗Candiana‘; a small village in Italy, between Piove di Sacco and Conselve, near Padua. (99) This type‘s main form was special floral elements of tulips, carnations, beside other flowers of Ottoman origins of ‗Rhodian‘ style. A special difference between Paduan and Rhodian objects is the use of orange in Paduan objects instead of brownish color in Rhodian ones. (100) The popular decorative form of Ottoman artifacts of this type was flowers flanking a central leaf. (101) Here is an Ottoman dish in research collection in Ashmolean museum, produced in Iznik in the 2 nd half of the 16 th century A.D. It is 30.5 cm in diameter, of fritware with polychrome underglaze painting. The main scene is a serrated leaf overlaid with a row of blossoms. This serrated leaf is flanked by two blue colored tulips with other flowers as a ground of the whole plate in form of carnations and several (98) Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, p. 280, 281 (99) Andrea Moschetti, ―Delle maioliche dette 'Candiane'‘, Bolletino del Museo Civico di Padova, N.S., VII, 1931, p. 1-58 (100) Bernard Rackham, ‗Paduan Maiolica of the So- Called ―Canadiana‖ Type‘, Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs, Vol. 68, no.396 (Mar. 1936), p. 112-114 http://www.jstor.org/stable/866424 Accessed: 16-02-2019 01:35 UTC (101) Filiz Yenşehirlioğlu, Ottoman Ceramics in European Contexts, pp.373-382 http://www.jstor.org/stable/866424%20Accessed:%2016-02-2019%2001:35 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 32 vegetal leafs. The dish‘s outer rim is adorned with vermicular scrolls in addition to abstract motifs (Pl. 18). (102) Italian majolica reproductions of this type are later in date than the Ottoman originals which were dated from the 2 nd half of the 16 th century A.D. A wide plate of Delft majolica with decorations identical to Iznik ones (Pl. 19). (103) Further representatives for this type of decoration is a Rhodian dish attributed to Iznik from the 2 nd half of the 16 th century. It is 6.5 cm in height and 28 cm in diameter, made of fritware with polychrome -blue, green, reddish brown- underglaze painting. The dish‘s hollow is filled with a serrated leaf between several roses, tulips, and marigolds on thin stems. The central serrated leaf springing from a bundle of leaves. The dish‘s outer rim is decorated with vermicular scrolls, besides abstract spiral shapes (Pl. 20). (104) A paduan (Italian maiolica) dish with slightly concave sloping rim and a small curved well, of pale yellowish creamy earthenware, completely tin-glazed, probably mid of the 17 th century A.D (precisely 1610-1705). It is 8 cm in height and 48.8 cm in diameter (Pl. 21, A, B). It is a large dish of decorative elements that had prevailed in Iznik in about 1570-1600 A.D. Polychrome decorations are employed here. These are blue, green, yellow, and orange. The decorative elements, however, are sprays of foliage and several roses, hyacinths, carnations, tulips and lilies confining a large saz or serrated leaf, all springing from the same point at the dish‘s lower rim. The initials (G, D, B), probably of the owner, are inscribed on the upper rim (Pl. 21 A). The dish‘s back side is adorned with four elongated ‗S‘ separated (102) http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3250 Accessed: 16-12- 2018 22:30 UTC, Further details are described by the researcher (103) Filiz Yenşehirlioğlu, Ottoman Ceramics in European Contexts, pp.373-382 (104) http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3247 Accessed: 16-12-2019 12:00 UTC. Further description made by the researcher. http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3250 http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3247%20Accessed:%2016-12-2019%2012:00 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 33 with four wavy lines in form ‗3‘ with an extra backward stroke at the top (Pl. 21 B). (105) V. Systematic Analysis for the paper’s discussed artifacts The paper‘s artifacts are varied in types and forms. Of these; broad rimmed dishes known as tondino, an Italian form of dishes. However, Iznik workshops had produced numerous ones. Some pieces are finely embellished with traditional Ottoman ornaments, this is evident in plates nos. 1 and 2. Other tondino dishes produced in Iznik as well, but mostly by special Italian orders. Here is a sample, plate no. 3, which is adorned with an Italian style portrait. On the other hand, other artifacts are tondino dishes of Italian maiolica, with scrolling foliage sprays, resemble arabesque ornaments, such as plate no. 6. Besides another tondino dish with leafy sprays identical to Ottoman decorative elements plate no. 7. Other artifacts are dishes with shallow well and flat rimes, such as plates nos. 4 and 5. Both are produced in Iznik, however, the master scene is a European heraldry; with traditional Ottoman decorations dominate the dishes‘ background. Thus, with no doubt, presents a form of the meant cross exchange. In addition, a differ form of artifacts in this paper is drug jars known as albarello. An Italian maiolica sample here is plate no. 8, produced in Sicily, however, the master decoration is a turbaned man in Ottoman costumes. Official Ottoman signature known as ‗tughra style‘ has been widely employed as a decorative element on several artifacts produced in Iznik and in Italy as well. Iznik ceramic samples are tondino dishes plates nos. 10, 11, and 12, a bottle plate no. 13, and ewers plates nos. 14 and 15 all are adorned with spiral sprays known as ‗tughra style‘. On the other hand, tughra style had (105) Julia E., Poole, Italian Maiolica and Incised Slipware in the Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge.Cambridge (Cambs.): Cambridge University Press, 1995, pp. 424-426, pl. 49 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 34 been applied on Italian maiolica artifacts as well, such as Albarellos plates nos.16 and 17. Thus again proving the cross exchange between Eastern and Western cultures. As mentioned before, Italian maiolica of Padua had been influenced by Ottoman Rhodian style. Present Samples of Rhodian production are plates nos. 18 and 20, adorned with carnations beside variant vegetal leaves flanking a central serrated leaf, with abstract motifs occupying the dishes‘ outer rimes. Such decorative elements are identically imitated on Italian maiolica dishes, precisely attributed to Padua, samples are plates nos. 19 and 20. Finally, Ottoman ceramic of Iznik and Italian maiolica had passed by two distinct phases in coloring. The 1 st was yielding monochrome blue decorations on white ceramic called‖ Alla porcellana‖ style of Chinese origin. This began in Iznik, and later applied in Italy through Iznik as a mediator. Further phase was the turning to applying polychrome decorative elements, mostly in identical form. VI. Conclusion - In the 1 st half of the 16 th century A.D, Iznik pottery had been influenced by Chinese porcelain in colors (blue- and white), and by Italian maiolica in shapes, such as ―tondino‖ dishes. - ‖ Alla porcellana‖ style of Chinese ceramic had found an indirect way to Italian maiolica, through a mediator, this was Turkish earthenware of Iznik. - Although used not to employ figurative scenes; Italian figural portraits taken part in Iznik ceramic production. - Due to the supremacy the Ottomans achieved in Iznik by the 2 nd half of the 16 th century A.D onwards, Italian maiolica had responded to Iznik pottery since the 2 nd half of the 16 th century, by producing identical samples. (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 35 - Typical European heraldry of Italian families had existed in Iznik ceramic as part of their decorative elements. - A doubtless form of adulation to the Ottoman Empire in the 17 th century A.D; polychrome copies of Rhodian style in Iznik were made in the Italian maiolica in Padua, with free versions of the Iznik floral designs. - In the 19 th century A.D European potters - not only in Italy, but in France, Holland, Belgium, England, Hungary, and Isfahan- paid great interest in Iznik ceramic. They exploited Iznik designs to inspire their own hybrid inventions. (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 36 VII. Bibliography Arabic references - Laīlā Sabāgh, al-Jālīyāt al-Urupīa fī Bilād al-shām fī al-‗Aṣr al-‗Uthmānī fī al-Qarnain as-Sādis ‗Ashr wa as-Sābi‘ ‗Ashr, mū‘asasat ar-Risālah, Beirut, aṯ-Ṯab‘ah al-Ūlā, 1989 - Muḥammad Farīd Bek, Tārikh ad-Dawla al-‗Aliya al-‗Uthmānīyah, taḥqīq Iḥsān Ḥīfnī, Dar An-Nafāīs, Beirut, aṯ-Ṯab‘ah al-Thānīyah, 1983 - Muḥammad Suhail Ṯaqoūsh, Tārikh al-‗Uthmānīyn mn qīām ad-Dawla ila al-Enqlāb ‗Ala al-Khilāfah, Dar An-Nafāīs, Beirut - Lebanon, aṯ-Ṯab‘ah ath- Thālithah, 1434A.H/ 2013 A.D - Rabi‘ Ḥāmid Khālifah, Al- Funūn Al-Islamīyyah fī al-‗Aṣr al-‗Uthmānī, al-Qahira, aṯ-Ṯab‘ah ath-Thālithah, 2005 - Shams el-Dīn al-Kilāny, al-‗Uthmānīyn wa al-Urupyīn fi al-Qarn as-Sādis ‗Ashr, majalat al-Ijtihad, Vol. 11, issue 43. - Sū‘ād Māhīr, al-khazaf at-TurkĪ, al-Jihāz al-Markazī li al-kūtūb al- Jāmī‘yah wa al-Madrāsīyah wa al-wasāil al-Ta‘līmīyah, 1397H./ 1977 A.D Foreign references - Andrea Moschetti,"Delle maioliche dette 'Candiane'‘, Bolletino del Museo Civico di Padova, N.S., VII, 1931 - Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, Ars Orientalis, Vol. 2, 1957 - Arthur Lane, later Islamic pottery, London, Faber and Faber, 2 nd edit., 1971 - Aslihan Erkmen, The Formal Analysis of Iznik Ceramics (15 th - 16 th centuries), SOMA 2007, Istanbul, 24-29 April 2007 - Bernard Rackham, Early Netherlands Maiolica, London, 1926 - Bernard Rackham, Turkish Pottery, OCST, Vol. 12, London, 1934-35 - Bernard Rackham, ‗Paduan Maiolica of the So- Called ―Canadiana‖ Type‘, Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs, Vol. 68, no.396, Mar. 1936 - Bernard Rackham, Catalogue of Italian Maiolica, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 1940 - Bernard Rackham, Italian Maiolica and China, OCST, Vol. 19, London, 1942-43 - Bernard Rackham, Islamic Pottery and Italian Maiolica, Illustrated Catalogue of a Private Collection, Faber and Faber, London, 1 st edit., 1959 - BernardRackham, Catalogue of Italian maiolica, London, H.M.S.O,1977 - Cagier-Smith & Alan, Tin Glaze potteryin Europe and the Islamic world, the tradition of 1000 years in maiolica, Faience& Delftware, 1973 - Catherine Hess, Italian maiolica- catalogue of the collection, the J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California, 1988 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 37 - Cipriano Piccolpasso, Li tre libri dell‘arte del vasajo, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 1934 - Filiz Çağman, ―Mimar Sinan döneminde Saray’in ehl-I hiref teşkilati, in Mimar Sinan dönemi Türk mimarliği, Istanbul, 1988 - Filiz Yenşehirlioğlu, Ottoman Ceramics in European Contexts, Muqarnas, Vol.21, Essays in Honor of J.M. Rogers, 2004 - Frances s. Connelly, Modern art and the Grotesque, Cambridge University Press, United Kingdom, 2003 - Friedrich Sarre, Die Keramik der Islamischen Zeit Von Milet. Milet: Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen und untersuchungen seit dem Jahre, 1899, ed. By Th. Wiegand, Das islamische Milet, Vol. 3, Berlin, 1935 - Gábor Ágoston and Bruce Masters, Encyclopedia of the Ottoman Empire, New York, 2009 - Gaston Migeon & A.B Sakisian, La Céramique D‘ Aishie- Mineure et de Constantinople, Paris, 1923 - John Carswell, Iznik pottery, London, 1998 - J. Raby and J Henderson, ―The Technology of fifteenth century Turkish Tiles: An Interim Statement on the Origins of The Iznik Industry‖, World Archaeology, 21, 1989 - Julia E., Poole, Italian Maiolica and Incised Slipware in the Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge.Cambridge (Cambs.): Cambridge University Press, 1995 - Katharina Otto- Dorn, Das Islamische Iznik, Archaologisches Institut des Deutschen Reiches, Istanbuler Forschungen, Vol. 13, Berlin, 1941 - Les oeuvres de Bernard Palissy, ed. Anatolia, France, Paris, 1880 - Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, Edite par Yanni Petsopoulos, Traduit de l‘anglais par Azizeh Azodi et Christian Diebold, Chêne, 1990 - Oktay Aslanapa, Turkish pottery from the Iznik Excavations, Revue des Études Islamiques, No. 59, 1991 - Peter Ward-Jackson, ‗Some Main Streams and Tributaries in European Ornament from 1500-1750‘, Victoria and Albert Museum Bulletin, Vol. III, 1967 - Raymond Koechlin et Paul Alfassa, L‘art de L‘Islam, La Céramique, Paris, Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Editions Albert Morancé, n.d - The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Rogers Fund, 1938 References translated into Arabic - Andrih Clo, Sūlimān al-Qānūnĩ, translated by al-Bashĩr Ibn Salāmah, Dar al-jĩl, Beirut, aṯ-Ṯab‘ah al-Ūlā, 1991. - (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 38 Websites - https://www.britannica.com/place/Iznik Accessed: 05-02-2019 1:02 UTC - https://www.britannica.com/place/Turkey Accessed: 05-02-2019 2:12 UTC - http://www.coastlearn.org/water_quality_management/case- studies/golden_horn_halic.pdf Accessed: 06-02- 2019 23:36 UTC - https://www.researchgate.net/publication/287756393_The_Golden_Horn_Heritage_Indus try_vs_Industrial_Heritage. Accessed: 06-02- 2019 23:18 UTC - https://www.britannica.com/art/Western-painting/Western-Dark-Ages-and-medieval- Christendom#ref582528 Accessed: 07-02-2019 1:24 UTC - https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Faventine Accessed: 07-02-2019 1:39 UTC - https://www.britannica.com/art/Hispano-Moresque-ware Accessed: 28-01-2019 23:39 UTC - https://www.jstor.org/stable/1523369 Accessed: 19-2-2019 22:52 UTC - https://www.britannica.com/topic/Morosini-family Accessed: 23-03-2019 3:22 UTC - http://www.jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/collection/7/674/675/all/per_page/50/offset/0/sor t_by/seqn/object/10954 Accessed: 23-03-2019 3:57 UTC - https://metmuseum.org/blogs/ruminations/2016/tughra-in-ottoman-art Accessed: 14-3- 2019 15:06 UTC - https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx ?assetId=146734001&objectId=236603&partId=1 Accessed: 14-3-2019 22:10 UTC - https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/451834 Accessed: 15-3-2019 12:46 UTC - 08107pa59.1103.y.https.academic.eb.com.mplbci.ekb.eg/levels/collegiate/article/albarello /5407 Accessed: 23-02- 2019 11:30 UTC - https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx ?objectId=80207&partId=1&object=24317&page=1 Accessed: 15-3-2019 1:45 UTC - http://www.jstor.org/stable/866424 Accessed: 16-02-2019 01:35 UTC - http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3250 Accessed: 16-12- 2018 22:30 UTC - http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3247 Accessed: 16-12-2018 12:00 UTC https://www.britannica.com/place/Iznik%20Accessed:%2005-02-2019%201:02 https://www.britannica.com/place/Turkey%20Accessed:%2005-02-2019%202:12 http://www.coastlearn.org/water_quality_management/case-studies/golden_horn_halic.pdf http://www.coastlearn.org/water_quality_management/case-studies/golden_horn_halic.pdf https://www.researchgate.net/publication/287756393_The_Golden_Horn_Heritage_Industry_vs_Industrial_Heritage https://www.researchgate.net/publication/287756393_The_Golden_Horn_Heritage_Industry_vs_Industrial_Heritage https://www.britannica.com/art/Western-painting/Western-Dark-Ages-and-medieval-Christendom#ref582528 https://www.britannica.com/art/Western-painting/Western-Dark-Ages-and-medieval-Christendom#ref582528 https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Faventine https://www.britannica.com/art/Hispano-Moresque-ware https://www.jstor.org/stable/1523369%20Accessed:%2019-2-2019%2022:52 https://www.britannica.com/topic/Morosini-family%20Accessed:%2023-03-2019%203:22 http://www.jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/collection/7/674/675/all/per_page/50/offset/0/sort_by/seqn/object/10954%20Accessed:%2023-03-2019%203:57 http://www.jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/collection/7/674/675/all/per_page/50/offset/0/sort_by/seqn/object/10954%20Accessed:%2023-03-2019%203:57 https://metmuseum.org/blogs/ruminations/2016/tughra-in-ottoman-art https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?assetId=146734001&objectId=236603&partId=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?assetId=146734001&objectId=236603&partId=1 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/451834%20Accessed:%2015-3-2019%2012:46 http://08107pa59.1103.y.https.academic.eb.com.mplbci.ekb.eg/levels/collegiate/article/albarello/5407 http://08107pa59.1103.y.https.academic.eb.com.mplbci.ekb.eg/levels/collegiate/article/albarello/5407 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=80207&partId=1&object=24317&page=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=80207&partId=1&object=24317&page=1 http://www.jstor.org/stable/866424%20Accessed:%2016-02-2019%2001:35 http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3250 http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3247%20Accessed:%2016-12-2018%2012:00 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 39 VIII. Plates (Pl. 1) https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_detail s.aspx?assetId=322986001&objectId=239209&partId=1 Museum no. 1878,1230.523 Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, Pl. 326 A (front face) B (backside) (Pl. 2) http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O38959/dish-unknown/ Museum number: C.2011-1910 Arthur Lane, later Islamic pottery, pl. 30A (Pl. 3) http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O85931/plate-unknown/ Museum number: 5763-1859 Arthur Lane, later Islamic pottery, pl. 31A https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?assetId=322986001&objectId=239209&partId=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?assetId=322986001&objectId=239209&partId=1 http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O38959/dish-unknown/ http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O85931/plate-unknown/ (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 40 (Pl. 4) https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_detail s.aspx?searchText=%20European%20heraldry&ILINK%7C34484,%7CassetId=93 6695001&objectId=239240&partId=1 Museum no. 1878,1230.490 Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, pl.586 A (front face) B (Backside) (Pl. 5) https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_detail s.aspx?objectId=239241&partId=1&searchText=+European+heraldry&page=1 Museum number 1878,1230.489 Arthur Lane, later Islamic pottery, p.56-58, pl. 45 B. A (front face) B (Backside) (Pl. 6) Catherine Hess, Italian maiolica- catalogue of the collection, illustration no. 21 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?searchText=%2520European%2520heraldry&ILINK%257C34484,%257CassetId=936695001&objectId=239240&partId=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?searchText=%2520European%2520heraldry&ILINK%257C34484,%257CassetId=936695001&objectId=239240&partId=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?searchText=%2520European%2520heraldry&ILINK%257C34484,%257CassetId=936695001&objectId=239240&partId=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=239241&partId=1&searchText=+European+heraldry&page=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=239241&partId=1&searchText=+European+heraldry&page=1 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 41 A ( front side) B (backside) (Pl. 7) http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O161835/dish-unknown/ Museum number: C.2078-1910 BernardRackham, Catalogue of Italian maiolica, p. 65, 343-346 (Pl. 8) https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/188538 Accession rebmun . 02.5.20 (Pl. 9) https://metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/449533 Accession number: 38.149.1 The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Rogers Fund, 1938 (38.149.1) http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O161835/dish-unknown/ https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/188538 https://metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/449533 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 42 A (front side) B (Back side) (Pl. 10) http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3274 Accession number. EAX.3274 Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, pl. 329 (Pl. 11) http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O198601/plate-unknown/ Museum number: 6590-1860 A (full view) B (side view) (Pl. 12) https://www.mfah.org/art/detail/86590 Accession number: 2007.1304 http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3274 http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O198601/plate-unknown/ https://www.mfah.org/art/detail/86590 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 43 (base) B scene) (full A (Pl. 13) https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?a ssetId=146734001&objectId=236603&partId=1 Museum number: G.16 Arthur Lane, The Ottoman pottery of Isnik, p. 270, figs. 33, 34 ( P l . 1 4 ) Arthur Lane, Later Islamic pottery, p. 50, pl. 29 A Cincinnati Art museum, no. 1952.269 A (front side) B (Backside) (Pl. 15) https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/451834 Accession Number: 66.4.3 a,b Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, p. 110, pl. 136 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?assetId=146734001&objectId=236603&partId=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?assetId=146734001&objectId=236603&partId=1 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/451834 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 44 A (front) B (side view) (Pl. 16) https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?o bjectId=80207&partId=1&object=24317&page=1 Museum number: 1990.0502.1 Nurhan Atasoy and Julian Raby, Iznik: La poterie en Turquie Ottomane, p. 266, pl. 589 (Pl. 17) Filiz Yenşehirlioğlu, Ottoman Ceramics in European Contexts, Muqarnas, Vol.21, Essays in Honor of J.M.Rogers (2004), pp.373-382, fig.6 (Pl. 18) http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3250 Accession number. EAX.3250 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=80207&partId=1&object=24317&page=1 https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=80207&partId=1&object=24317&page=1 http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3250 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 45 (Pl. 19) Filiz Yenşehirlioğlu, Ottoman Ceramics in European Contexts, Muqarnas, Vol.21, Essays in Honor of J.M. Rogers (2004), pp.373-382 (Pl. 20) http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3247 Accession no. 3247 A (front side) B (backside) (Pl. 21) http://webapps.fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk/explorer/index.php?oid=73247 Museum Number: C.22-1932 Julia E.,Poole, Italian Maiolica and Incised Slipware in the Fitzwilliam Museum, pp. 424-426, pl. 4 http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/EAX.3247 http://webapps.fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk/explorer/index.php?oid=73247 (5) Archaeologists Arab OF Union General The OF JOURNAL ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ 46 بين العالم اإلسالمي وأوروبا التبادل الثقافي دراسة حالة( –اإليطالي قالميولي)خزف ازنيك و بوسي محمد حسين زيداند.  :ملخصال :يهدف هذا البحث إلى الكلمات الدالة:  السويس قناة جامعة -والفنادق السياحة كلية -المساعد اإلسالمية واآلثار الفنون أستاذ 
work_i2pmscqwgzchxiyyiprswog7oq	----	wp-p1m-39.ebi.ac.uk Params is empty 404 sys_1000 exception wp-p1m-39.ebi.ac.uk no 218042986 Params is empty 218042986 exception Params is empty 2021/04/06-02:06:16 if (typeof jQuery === "undefined") document.write('[script type="text/javascript" src="/corehtml/pmc/jig/1.14.8/js/jig.min.js"][/script]'.replace(/\[/g,String.fromCharCode(60)).replace(/\]/g,String.fromCharCode(62))); // // // window.name="mainwindow"; .pmc-wm {background:transparent repeat-y top left;background-image:url(/corehtml/pmc/pmcgifs/wm-nobrand.png);background-size: auto, contain} .print-view{display:block} Page not available Reason: The web page address (URL) that you used may be incorrect. Message ID: 218042986 (wp-p1m-39.ebi.ac.uk) Time: 2021/04/06 02:06:16 If you need further help, please send an email to PMC. Include the information from the box above in your message. Otherwise, click on one of the following links to continue using PMC: Search the complete PMC archive. Browse the contents of a specific journal in PMC. Find a specific article by its citation (journal, date, volume, first page, author or article title). http://europepmc.org/abstract/MED/ 
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work_i5nloprpffcgnfd4yvk42dc6qm	----	The Jesuit Series. Part 1: A-D (review) The Jesuit Series. Part 1: A-D (review) Peter Davidson University of Toronto Quarterly, Volume 74, Number 1, Winter 2004/2005, pp. 392-393 (Review) Published by University of Toronto Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:06 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0019 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180524 https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0019 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180524 392 letters in canada 2003 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 end, each numbered sentence is translated into grammatical English. The English translations of the Ubykh and Abaza sagas in the appendix are more literal than those in the main body in the text so that the reader can follow the original more easily. The book closes with a bibliography of around two hundred items. This work is an extraordinary achievement, and at the same time it is an invitation to future research. Kevin Tuite supplied Colarusso with many valuable comments on relevant material from Kartvelian, but I noticed a number of parallels with Russian themes that could also be pointed out. Having written my BA thesis on Russian magic tales almost thirty-five years ago, I found my old interests revived by reading this collection. There is something here for everyone. The linguist has an extraordinarily interesting data set, students of anthropology, literature, religion, Cau- casian and Near Eastern history, and other disciplines have rich source material, and the general reader has a chance to learn about a fascinating part of the world. (VICTOR FRIEDMAN) Peter M. Daly and G. Richard Dimler, SJ, Corpus Librorum Emblematum: The Jesuit Series. Part 1: A�D McGill-Queen�s University Press 2002. lix, 375. $110.00 This magisterial section of Daly and Dimler�s bibliography of Jesuit emblem-books, covering a mere seven (in the Latin alphabet, six) letters of the alphabet, contains as much matter for admiration and meditation as many completed monographs on the arts and cultures of the early modern world. This is genuinely an outstanding achievement, adding to the achievements which have gone before, increasing anticipation of what is to come. As well as being a wide-ranging collection of bibliographical specifics and encyclopedic information about the present locations of emblem books, considered in a splendidly wide sense (thus including festival decorations and books of iconographic theory), this book gives a real sense of the range of uses to which verbal and visual languages were put in the seventeenth century. It is of interest to all historians of early modern culture, not only to specialists in Counter-Reformation history and the history of the em- blem. As so often, the old Society of Jesus provides a particularly keen focus: so much of the Society�s mission involved the explanation of the theories of one social group to another that their writings are vital witnesses for the contemporary historian. In their activities as educators of urban adults, they taught the elite arts of emblematics and rhetoric, they taught oratory and emblematics in their colleges, they functioned as one of the primary points of contact between the Old World and the New. chf humanities 393 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 All these activities are represented in the careful descriptions included in this richly illustrated book. It is impossible in a review of this length to give any comprehensive idea of the sheer range of material which is covered, from emblematically-expressed doctoral theses (like the won- derfully titled Via Lactea candidus ad felicitatem trames), to laudations of bishops and dukes on their taking office, to emblematic celebrations of canonizations and ecclesiastical festivals (Francesco Intorcetta�s Emblems celebrating the intercession of St Rosalia at Palermo sound particularly attractive), to emblems displayed at the funerals or marriages of local magnates, to handbooks of rhetoric and poetics such as the widely disseminated Ratio discendi et docendi of Joseph de Jouvancy or the De l�Art des Devices of Pierre le Moyne. The letter H has inevitably brought one of the most challenging tasks of this whole project: the Pia Desideria of Herman Hugo, SJ was one of the most widely distributed, most widely translated and imitated religious books (not just emblem books) of the seventeenth century. The bibliogra- phers rise to it splendidly, in 143 dense pages which describe editions in all the major European languages, printed over the course of more than a century. Wisely, Daly and Dimler confine themselves to direct imitations of Hugo�s work. It would have been literally impossible to include all works which derive from it more remotely: there were in print in England as late as the 1880s versions of emblem books which have the Pia Desideria as their source, interestingly by that date printed especially for the Protestant Dissenting market. A true index of the spread of imagery from the Pia Desideria is that in so remote a place as the Viking cathedral of Kirkwall in the Orkney Isles, there are late seventeenth-century grave slabs, partly consisiting of grim, brusque Latin verses but bearing also relief carvings of the child-soul of Hugo�s emblem-pictures. When this series is complete, it promises to be very much more than a superbly accurate and comprehensive bibliography of Jesuit emblematics: it will be a guide to the activities of one of the crucial cultural forces not only in early modern Europe but in Asia and the Americas, it will be a history in epitome of early modern verbal and visual culture. (PETER DAVIDSON) Paul F. Grendler. The Universities of the Italian Renaissance Johns Hopkins University Press 2002. xx, 593. US $55.00 The early Italian university was a far cry from its modern counterpart. There was no library collection or, initially, any fixed university building; the faculty was relatively small; and its curriculum was narrowly focused. But as Paul Grendler�s authoritative study The Universities of the Italian xxxxxx 
work_i5x3h53suva4fbl447zliyfrae	----	76 Polar Record 52 (262): 76–81 (2016). c© Cambridge University Press 2015. doi:10.1017/S0032247415000248 Faces from the Franklin expedition? Craniofacial reconstructions of two members of the 1845 northwest passage expedition Douglas R. Stenton Department of Culture and Heritage, Government of Nunavut, P.O. Box 1000, Station 800, Iqaluit, Nunavut X0A 0H0, Canada (dstenton1@gov.nu.ca) Anne Keenleyside Department of Anthropology, Trent University, 2140 East Bank Drive, Peterborough, Ontario K9J 7B8, Canada Diana P. Trepkov Forensic Artist, 314 Harwood Ave South, P.O. Box 21064 RPO, Harwood Place, Ajax, Ontario L1S 7H2, Canada Robert W. Park Department of Anthropology, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Ontario N2L 3G1, Canada Received December 2014 ; first published online 28 May 2015 ABSTRACT. In 2013, partial skeletal remains from three members of the 1845 John Franklin expedition were recovered from an archaeological site at Erebus Bay, King William Island, Nunavut. The remains included three crania, two of which were sufficiently intact to allow craniofacial reconstructions. Identifications are not proposed for either reconstruction; however, tentative identifications are being explored through DNA analyses currently underway that include samples obtained from both crania. Introduction On 22 April 1848, the 105 surviving members of the 1845 northwest passage expedition led by Sir John Franklin abandoned HMS Erebus and HMS Terror, which had been beset in ice northwest of King William Island since September 1846. Over a three-day period they hauled an enormous quantity of supplies and equipment across 25 kilometres of ice in Victoria Strait to the northwest shore of King William Island. After establishing a temporary camp near Victory Point, on 26 April 1848, they com- menced what proved to be a disastrous march southward along hundreds of kilometres of coastline en route to the Back River and, hopefully, to their salvation. None of the men survived; over the subsequent 166 years the remains of approximately one-third of their number have been discovered but of these, very few have been identified. Of the remains discovered through search and rescue efforts between 1850 and 1880 (for example Cyriax 1939; Ross 2002) only six individuals have been positively or tentatively identified. Of these, three (John Torrington, William Braine and John Hartnell) died during the first winter of the expedition (between January and April 1846) and were buried on Beechey Island in 1846 (Beat- tie and Geiger 1987). Subsequently, as revealed in a cairn record discovered in 1859 at Victory Point on King William Island where the men had briefly encamped, an additional 21 men perished in the 24 months that preceded the abandonment of HMS Erebus and HMS Terror in 1848, including Sir John Franklin and Lieu- tenant Graham Gore (McClintock 1860: 258–259). The identities of the other nineteen fatalities are unknown as is the manner in which they were buried. The remaining 105 men died during the journey to the Back River, and some of their skeletal remains have been discovered at several points along the path of the southward retreat. The first to be found were the partial remains of two men in a ship’s boat at Erebus Bay in 1859 (McClintock 1860; Hobson 1859; Stenton 2014), and a few years later Inuit reported seeing a large number of human bones in a second ship’s boat located nearby, as well as at expedition camps at Terror Bay and at Starva- tion Cove (for example Hall 1869; Stackpole 1965). In other locations, smaller quantities of bones were found scattered over the surface of the ground and, in some cases, in or near disturbed stone graves (Klutschak 1987; Stackpole 1965: 87; Gilder 1881: 289). The exact number of bones of members of the Frank- lin expedition found by nineteenth-century searchers along the route of the retreat is unknown; however, in all but two cases, the remains were not collected. Instead, they were buried (or reburied) or simply left as they were found. Decisions to bury rather than to collect the remains appear to have been based on the low probability of their future identification. In some cases, the quality of remnants of clothing or other materials and objects associated with remains (for example watches, silverware engraved with family crests) suggested that they might have been those of officers, but there were very few clues that would otherwise aid the identification of any of the individuals. The ability to identify remains was evidently http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0032247415000248 mailto:dstenton1@gov.nu.ca CRANIOFACIAL RECONSTRUCTIONS OF TWO MEMBERS OF FRANKLIN’S 1845 EXPEDITION 77 the sole collection criterion used by Frederick Schwatka who, despite having received instructions to recover all Franklin expedition human remains that he might find, buried all of the bones that he found except for those of Lieutenant John Irving (Gilder 1881: 5). In other cases, such as the two discrete sets of skeletal remains found in a boat in Erebus Bay by the McClintock expedition, no explanation was given for apparently leaving the bones as and where they had been found (McClintock 1860: 271). Identifications have been made for just three sets of remains, of which only two were collected. In 1859, McClintock found near Cape Herschel, on the south coast of King William Island, a partial skeleton and some personal effects, including a pocketbook containing a seaman’s certificate that suggested the remains were those of Petty Officer Henry (‘Harry’) Peter Peglar of HMS Terror (McClintock 1860: 248). McClintock collected many of the personal effects found with the skeleton, but not the bones. In 1869, Charles Francis Hall collected and conveyed to England the remains of an individual discovered by Inuit east of the Pfeffer River (Hall 1869: Diary 31). These were later identified as the remains of Lieutenant Henry Le Vesconte of HMS Erebus. The third individual was identified as Lieutenant John Irving of HMS Terror, whose partial remains were found near Victory Point by Schwatka in 1879. The identification of Irving’s remains was based on the discovery in the grave of a medal awarded to him. Some doubts have been expressed about the identifications of both Peglar (for example Cyriax and Jones 1954) and Le Vesconte (Mays and others 2011). The potential for new identifications of Franklin ex- pedition sailors arose in August 2013, when remains from three members of the Franklin expedition were recovered from NgLj-3, an archaeological site on the southern shore of Erebus Bay, King William Island (Stenton and others 2015). An important element of the multiple analyses now in progress is the possibility of identifying some of the remains from NgLj-3, and from two nearby sites (NgLj-1 and NgLj-2). This is being undertaken prin- cipally through mtDNA analysis of 30 bone samples obtained from these sites, but the availability of two intact crania from NgLj-3 provided an opportunity to explore an additional method through which to possibly identify those remains since photographs of some of the expedition’s officers exist. Facial reconstruction is an investigative tool that is often used in forensic contexts as a means of jogging peoples’ memories in cases for which law enforcement personnel have no leads (see Prag and Neave 1997; Taylor 2001; and Wilkinson 2004 for general reviews). This method has also been applied to archaeological and historic remains with the goal of determining what an individual might have looked like in life, or sup- porting a tentative identification of an individual de- rived from other forms of other evidence (for example documents, skeletal features, associated artefacts). Ar- chaeological examples of facial reconstructions include Johann Sebastian Bach (His 1895), Kennewick Man (Chatters 2002), King Tut (National Geographic 2005) and a number of other Egyptian mummies (Cesarani and others 2004; Gill-Robinson and others 2006; Neave 1979; Wilkinson 2003, 2008), a young female from 5th century BCE Athens (Papagrigorakis and others 2011), the poet Dante (Benazzi and others 2009), Ferrante Gonzaga, an Italian Renaissance nobleman (Benazzi and others 2010), King Richard III (National Geographic 2013), and another crewmember of the 1845 Franklin expedition who in 1872 had been identified as Lieutenant Henry Le Vesconte. In the latter example, the facial reconstruction, when combined with the results of new analyses, sug- gested that the remains were not those of Le Vesconte but possibly those of Harry D. S. Goodsir, an assistant surgeon on the expedition (Mays and others 2011). NgLj-3 skeletal assemblage NgLj-3 is an archaeological site on the south shore Erebus Bay, on southwest King William Island, Nunavut. In 1993 human bones including two crania were found on the site’s surface in direct association with artefacts derived from the 1845 Franklin expedition. These are thought to be the remains of two individuals first dis- covered at the location in 1859 by McClintock (McClin- tock 1860: 265–266) and rediscovered and buried in 1879 by the Schwatka search expedition (Stackpole 1965: 88– 89). The disturbed condition of the burial feature in 1993 appeared to indicate that its contents had been scattered and, presumably, lost many years earlier. Included among the remains, however, was a third cranium found deeply embedded in the ground surface, suggesting that other bones might still be present below the surface. In 2013, the cranium was excavated and beneath it 76 additional human bones were found, representing a minimum of three individuals (Stenton and others 2015). Descriptions of the crania Of the three crania recovered from NgLj-3 two were suf- ficiently intact to allow craniofacial reconstruction. One (#80) was found on the surface of NgLj-3, and the second (#35) was found within the buried deposit. Cranium #80 was intact and exhibited bleaching, weathering, and lichen growth on its ectocranial surface, reflecting long- term exposure to the elements. Some postmortem damage had occurred to the right maxilla. The left second max- illary molar was present, the right first molar had been lost antemortem, and the remaining 14 maxillary teeth had been lost postmortem. Cranium #35 was remarkably well preserved, with all bones intact and in excellent condition. Seven teeth were present in the maxilla; the remaining teeth had been lost postmortem. A mandible found in the same deposit (#34), although similar in appearance to cranium #35, was found to articulate with cranium #80. It was in excellent condition and contained six teeth, the remainder having been lost postmortem. 78 STENTON, KEENLEYSIDE, TREPKOV AND PARK Fig. 1. Frontal views of Cranium #35 (left) and Cranium #80 (right) mounted for reconstruction. Both crania exhibited features characteristic of males, including large supraorbital ridges, blunt supraorbital margins, large mastoid processes, and, in the case of cranium #80, a moderately pronounced occipital pro- tuberance (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994). Discriminant function analysis using the discriminant functions de- veloped by Giles (1970) for Caucasians, confirmed both to be male. Application of the ectocranial suture closure method of age estimation (Meindl and Lovejoy 1985) yielded composite scores of 0 and 1 for the vault and lateral-anterior sutures of cranium #35 respectively, and 14 and 5 for the vault and lateral-anterior sutures of cra- nium #80 respectively. These scores indicate age estim- ates of 21 to 42 years (mean = 32) for the first individual, and 28 to 52 years (mean = 41.1) for the second. The majority of morphological features of cranium #35 indicate that this individual was of European ancestry (Byers 2011). Similarly, discriminant function analysis (Giles and Elliot 1962) revealed that it falls within the Caucasian range for both sets of functions. The majority of morphological features of cranium #80 also point to this individual being of European ancestry. Discriminant function analysis (Giles and Elliot 1962) revealed that it falls within the African-American range for the first set of functions and the Caucasian range for the second set. Facial reconstructions Complete two- and three-dimensional facial reconstruc- tions were conducted on the two crania by one of the authors (DT). The facial reconstructions followed the ‘American Method’ developed by Gatliff in 1967 (Taylor 2001), which involves the placement on anatomical land- marks of tissue depth markers cut for length for an average tissue depth (normal male who is neither slender nor obese) (Rhine and Moore 1984). Tissue was recon- structed using oil-based clay layered according to depth markers and then smoothed and sculpted. Both crania were mounted on a custom handmade stand that rested on a turntable (Fig. 1). In the case of cranium #80, removable tape was used to protect fragile areas and small gaps on the skull prior to the reconstruction. As only seven maxillary teeth remained in cranium #35 and only one in cranium #80, clay was used to fill in the missing teeth, and the mouth of each individual was reconstructed in a closed position. The crania and mandibles were connected in a nor- mal resting position. As cranium #35 was missing its mandible, a mandible from an individual of European descent was substituted. This mandible was carefully aligned with the skull using the teeth and landmarks on the cranium, and it was connected to the skull using oil- based clay and wooden sticks to ensure its stability. It is recognised that replacing a missing mandible with a substitute can lead to errors in a facial reconstruction. A study by Colledge (1996), for example, found that in cases where parts of a skull such as the frontal bone, maxilla, zygomatic bones, and mandible are missing, these areas can be remodelled with reasonable accuracy, with the exception of the mandible. Errors in the recon- struction of the chin height and jaw line, in particular, can have a detrimental effect on the accuracy of the facial reconstruction produced (Colledge 1996, cited in Wilkinson 2004: 162). Nevertheless, facial recognition has been found to be more successful when a face is viewed in its entirety (Taylor 2001), and the recon- struction of a mandible in cases where it is missing has been done utilising a variety of techniques, includ- ing taking frontal and lateral radiographs to reconstruct cranio-facial relationships (Sassouni 1957; Taylor 2001: 337), and using virtual modelling (Benazzi and others 2009). It is also important to stress that a facial recon- struction is meant to provide only an approximation of what an individual may have looked like in life, and is not a method of positive identification. Analyses of dental records, DNA, and/or other accepted methods CRANIOFACIAL RECONSTRUCTIONS OF TWO MEMBERS OF FRANKLIN’S 1845 EXPEDITION 79 Fig. 2. Two-dimensional lateral and frontal reconstructions of Cranium #35. Fig. 3. Two-dimensional lateral and frontal reconstructions of Cranium #80. are required to make such an identification in these cases. Two-dimensional lateral and frontal reconstructions of the crania are shown in Figs. 2 and 3. The vertical distance of the mouth was determined by measuring the distance from the cemento-enamel junction (CEJ) of the central maxillary incisors to the CEJ of the central mandibular incisors (Taylor 2001). The width of the mouth was established by measuring the width of the six anterior teeth as indicated by their sockets. The width of the nose was determined by measuring the maximum width of the nasal aperture. The anterior nasal spine was used as a guide for the angle of projection of the nose, and a line drawn from the anterior nasal spine to the nasal bones defined the shape of the nose. Generic ears were created and placed on the crania so that the ex- ternal auditory canal lines were aligned with the external acoustic meatus in each. To finish the face, the clay was smoothed to simulate the outer layer of skin, and dental and sculpting tools were used to add details. Eyebrows were sculpted following the brow ridges on the crania, and facial hair was added in the style common for the era. High quality medical grade acrylic prosthetic eyes were placed in the orbits, and both reconstructions were given clothing reflective of the temporal and cultural context of the specimens. Discussion Each cranium exhibited distinct features that are reflected in its reconstruction. Cranium #35 (Fig. 4) is marked by projecting nasal bones and a pronounced nose with a large, bulbous tip. Other features evident in the re- construction include deep-set eyes, a brow shape that follows the brow line, and high cheekbones. Cranium #80, in contrast, had an asymmetrical nasal aperture and very narrow and asymmetrical nasal bones (Fig. 5). Con- sequently, the bridge of the nose appears pinched in the 80 STENTON, KEENLEYSIDE, TREPKOV AND PARK Fig. 4. Three-dimensional reconstruction of Cranium #35. Fig. 5. Three-dimensional reconstruction of Cranium #80. reconstruction. This individual also had a broad jaw and high cheekbones, and a uniquely shaped forehead that was rounded at the sides and had a slanted appearance in the middle. Few images of the members of the Franklin expedi- tion are available for comparison, the best known being daguerreotype portraits taken of 14 of the 24 senior officers of HMS Erebus and HMS Terror on the eve of the expedition’s departure. Hobson conjectured that the skeleton of the individual he found in the stern of the boat at NgLj-3 was an officer (Stenton 2014: 518), which raises the possibility that one of the two crania belongs to one of those 14 senior officers. Comparisons with the daguerreotypes revealed similarities between the reconstructions and two of the officers. For example, the reconstruction of cranium #35 bears some resemblance to the photograph of Lieutenant Graham Gore, and the reconstruction of cranium #80 and mandible #34 bears a resemblance to James Reid, ice master on HMS Erebus. It is not suggested, however, that the remains from NgLj-3 are those of either man. As previously noted, it is known from the Victory Point cairn record that Lieutenant Gore had died prior to the start of the retreat to the Back River; thus his remains cannot plausibly have been re- covered from Erebus Bay, some 70 km south of Victory Point. Cranium #35 must, therefore belong to another crewmember. Similarly, the conclusive identification of cranium #80 and mandible #34 as belonging to James Reid is not possible because while facial reconstruction can be used to exclude individuals, it cannot confirm identification with 100% certainty. The eventual identification of these remains might, however, be determined through other sources of in- formation. A separate study of a suite of DNA samples obtained from NgLj-3 and other Franklin sites is under- way which includes samples from both crania and the mandible. Comparison of the DNA results with samples obtained from living descendants of members of the Franklin expedition could lead to the identification of one or more of the men who died at Erebus Bay which, in turn, might shed new light on the events that followed the abandonment of the HMS Erebus and HMS Terror on 22 April 1848. Acknowledgements We wish to thank the Inuit Heritage Trust for its support of the recovery and analysis of the human remains from NgLj-3. Thanks are also extended to three anonymous reviewers for their helpful comments on an earlier draft of the paper. This research was funded by the Government of Nunavut Department of Culture and Heritage, Nunavut Archaeology Program. 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Cambridge: Cambridge University Press: 162–180. http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2005/05/photogalleries/tut_mummy/photo8.html http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2005/05/photogalleries/tut_mummy/photo8.html http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2005/05/photogalleries/tut_mummy/photo8.html http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/13/130205-richardiii-english-king-3d-reconstruction-science-archaeology/ http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/13/130205-richardiii-english-king-3d-reconstruction-science-archaeology/ http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/13/130205-richardiii-english-king-3d-reconstruction-science-archaeology/ http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/13/130205-richardiii-english-king-3d-reconstruction-science-archaeology/ Introduction NgLj-3 skeletal assemblage Descriptions of the crania Facial reconstructions Discussion Acknowledgements References 
work_i76yt642ujezlfkcjljtu3dpeu	----	EDITIORIAL The scientists of today: revisiting Leonardo in a global environment Sylvia Daunert Published online: 21 November 2008 # Springer-Verlag 2008 Historically, scientists have come from all kinds of back- grounds, and beliefs. In all cultures and civilizations, from the early tribal times until today, scientists have occupied prominent or, at the very least, notorious positions within their communities. One could argue that scientists are as diverse as the innumerable “philosopher-scientists” in ancient Greece, to the alchemists from the Medieval ages, to the co-existing collaborating Jewish, Moorish, and Christian scientists from the “Golden Age” in Spain, and the incredibly productive inventors and scientists from the Italian Renaissance. A common thread that unites scientists of all times is their curiosity and quest for knowledge. By and large, this breed of human beings is tenacious, inquisitive, imaginative, and inventive. There is no doubt that scientists have been and are the cornerstones of human progress. Throughout history, scientists have been instru- mental in contributing to the advancement of human society by either discovering or understanding basic scientific dogmas, and by inventing new methods or instruments. Certain periods have been more productive than others with respect to the impact of scientific progress. For instance, take the Renaissance, perhaps one of the most productive and amazing periods with regard not only to science but also to the arts, the humanities, and society. Fantastic scientists and engineers roamed the lands and made such key discoveries as Galileo’s concept of inertia, establish- ment of modern astronomy, and implementing the scientific method. My favorite scientist of the time though has to be the incomparable Leonardo da Vinci. Leonardo embodied the spirit of the Renaissance at its fullest; he was the type of man who one day would invent a helicopter and another day would describe a type of surgery, while taking minimal time off from science to paint such icons as the “Last Supper” and “La Gioconda”. Leonardo was a man of broad scientific interests, which he demonstrated continuously by lecturing and writing about his different discoveries. He was a truly multidisciplinary scientist working across disciplines. For example, Leonardo, commissioned by Cesare Borgia, designed the clever and beautiful canal harbor of Cesenatico in the Adriatic Sea in 1502, a feat of engineering problem-solving and aesthetic beauty. Another interesting aspect of Leonardo is that in a sense he kept reinventing himself by periodically focusing his interests on different issues. In doing so, he was able to maintain the admiration of the Florentine society, and more importantly have the Duque di Medici as his benefactor during most of his life. It has taken us three centuries to embrace the concept of diversity in science. The 19th and the early 20th Centuries brought times of high specialization in science, and little diversity. The belief at the time was that unless a scientist was highly specialized he/she would not be able to make progress in a meaningful manner. The consequence is that we had a very split scientific community with chemists, physicists, biologists, engineers, and physicians, for example, working in their own corners and never crossing the street to converse with each other. Even within chemistry, there was sort of a “snobbish” sentiment that would result in little interaction between members of the traditional disciplines, namely, analytical, physical, organic, and inorganic chemistry. Despite this division, we cannot forget that the 20th Century had a myriad of incredible scientists who were able to think beyond a traditional discipline and discovered milestone after milestone. For example, the curiosity of Linus Pauling (Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 1954 and Nobel Peace Prize in 1962) allowed him to venture away from his first training in chemical engineering to physical/inorganic Anal Bioanal Chem (2009) 393:1–3 DOI 10.1007/s00216-008-2462-5 S. Daunert (*) Department of Chemistry, College of Arts and Sciences, University of Kentucky, Lexington, KY 40506-0055, USA e-mail: daunert@uky.edu chemistry and later on to make contributions in the fields of molecular biology and biochemistry. Likewise, William Lipscomb (Nobel Prize in Chemistry, 1976), who first studied chemistry, continued his education in physics, and returned to inorganic chemistry under the influence of Pauling, made his more important contributions in a field far from his rooted discipline, namely enzymology. In a sense, it is thus disappointing, that the conventional awards structure within the professional societies still recognizes divisional excel- lence rather than encourages multidisciplinary endeavors. Very few of the awards given by these professional societies, such as the American Chemical Society, recognize multi- disciplinarity. If anything, they tend to recognize sub- disciplines within traditional divisions. Nowadays, we are finally understanding that we are living in a diverse and global society, a fact that is ever true in science. Boundaries do not exist as they did five decades ago, and scientists rooted in a discipline are eager to learn from their colleagues trained in disciplines other than theirs, and to apply the gained knowledge to problems that otherwise could not be solved successfully. Moreover, a welcome trend in scientific education is to ensure that students at the undergraduate and graduate level get a “taste” of scientific diversity by exposing them through courses, seminars, workshops, and research to disciplines beyond their chosen field of study. The National Science Foundation of the United States (NSF) recognized the importance of multidisciplinary education, and to address the issue in 1997 created The Integrative Graduate Education and Research Traineeship (IGERT) program to meet the challenges of educating US PhD scientists, engineers, in interdisciplinary fields, capable of working effectively in a diverse, globally engaged science and engineering workforce (http://www.nsf.gov/crssprgm/igert/ intro.jsp). Currently there are 125 IGERT programs in such varied topics as stem cells, biological device interfaces, nano/micro-technology and life sciences, environmental ecology, etc. Moreover, similar programs are also in place in Europe. European counterparts to the NSF have similar programs in EU countries, e.g., the Graduiertenkollegs of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (http://www.dfg.de/ en/research_funding/coordinated_programmes/research_ training_groups/index.html). The result is the creation of a first wave of a new breed of scientists who are capable of thinking in many dimensions and outside the canons of “traditional” disciplines. The pay-off is still to be realized but, in my opinion, will be bountiful. Hand-in-hand with regard to importance, diversity in science shares the spotlight with globalization and the impact of science on society. Globalization of economic and social issues in some parts of the world is rapidly becoming a reality. The foremost example is the European Union with its common currency and laws. Undoubtedly a success, following in its steps, Argentina and Brazil just announced the future implementation of common currency for both countries with the aim of expanding it to the rest of the South American nations. It is the first step toward the creation of a real global socio-economic union in South America. The scientists of today and of tomorrow need to be able to function in such a global environment, and for that we need to prepare them adequately. Programs of mobility within the European Union for students at the graduate and postgraduate levels (e.g., the current Socrates and Leonardo da Vinci programs) have been very success- ful and are rapidly accomplishing their goal of training scientists who can work and collaborate in an efficient manner within the EU country boundaries. No doubt that the “free movement” of scientists across borders has con- tributed to the creation of new programs, and has impacted research and discovery in the EU in an astoundingly positive manner. Collaborations among Universities, re- search institutions, and even industry that twenty years ago seemed unlikely, nowadays are commonplace within the EU under the auspices of such programs as EUREKA, COST, etc. There is no question that scientists of the EU have set an example on how to be global and how to contribute to the advancement of science by working in a symbiotic manner. The NSF also has a series of interna- tional programs in place that foster collaboration between researchers in the USA and abroad. More notably, newer initiatives focusing on globalization have aimed at provid- ing international educational/research opportunities for undergraduate, graduate, and postgraduate students (e.g., the Developing Global Scientists and Engineers program, International Research Experiences for Students or IRES, and the Doctoral Dissertation Enhancement Projects or DDEP). In my opinion, the EU and NSF programs are models that should be followed. A recent example of international cooperation is the creation of the particle accelerator at The European Organization for Nuclear Research, CERN, where an estimated 10,000 people from 60 countries were involved in designing and building the accelerator and particle detectors. Along with scientists from the 20 European members of the CERN, scientists, engineers, students, and technicians from 94 US universi- ties and laboratories supported by the EU, US Department of Energy Office of Science, and the National Science Foundation are part of this project. Scientists not only need to take into account the impact of their discoveries on society, but also tailor their work to solve problems that society encounters now and anticipate the ones that will emerge. Climate change is an example of a problem affecting humankind and all aspects of society. Scientists, and chemists, in particular, need to take this issue to heart and work together to find multidisciplinary solutions. I, for one, have faith in our new generation of 2 S. Daunert http://www.nsf.gov/crssprgm/igert/intro.jsp http://www.nsf.gov/crssprgm/igert/intro.jsp http://www.dfg.de/en/research_funding/coordinated_programmes/research_training_groups/index.html http://www.dfg.de/en/research_funding/coordinated_programmes/research_training_groups/index.html http://www.dfg.de/en/research_funding/coordinated_programmes/research_training_groups/index.html chemists solving this and other problems of importance, such as human hunger, finding a cure for cancer and for genetic diseases, and the energy crisis. We cannot be passive about these issues; we need to be proactive and tackle them immediately in a concerted manner, both from the scientific viewpoint and the social-global one. As Johann Wolfgang von Goethe said “Es ist nicht genug, zu wissen, man muss auch anwenden; es ist nicht genug, zu wollen, man muss auch tun.”1. Nowadays, the human race certainly does not have the time or luxury to sit around and let things happen. We now need to address the scientific and the social-global concerns that humans face by working together globally and integrating current knowledge stem- ming from diverse areas of science and technology. Analytical and Bioanalytical Chemistry publishes articles from researchers from all corners of the globe on such diverse topics as nanotechnology, bionanotechnology, microfabrication, surface chemistry, art preservation, and genetically modified foods, just to name a few. We encourage young investigators to highlight their research in our journal by periodically dedicating special issues to them, and rewarding a young author of an outstanding research paper with the yearly “Best Paper Award”. The journal produces special issues concentrating on timely areas of research, and touches upon topics and news of interest to chemists in the editorials and special features. The “analytical challenge” provides a means of self-testing the knowledge of readers in an enjoyable manner, while the book reviews give practical reports on recently published specialty and textbooks relevant to our readership. The current issue of Analytical and Bioanalytical Chemistry features examples of both multidisciplinarity and globality. Celebrating the 7th Anniversary of the Journal, this issue showcases current research by the members of our International Advisory Board. We are grateful to our Board members for their truly excellent participation, making this issue the largest collection of invited papers ever published in this journal. We are also grateful for their most valuable input and sage advice. The diverse geographical and scientific background of the Board members is an asset to our journal. All of us, the members of the International Advisory Board, the editors in France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Spain, and the USA, the managing editor, and the members of the editorial office in Heidelberg, are committed to moving the journal forward and to increasing its reach and readership by selecting features and topics that are current and timely. As always, we warmly welcome input and suggestions from the readers and authors of Analytical and Bioanalytical Chemistry, whose contributions have helped our journal become a global modern multidisciplinary chemistry publication. 1 English Translation: “Knowing is not enough; we must apply it. Being willing is not enough, we must take action.” Sylvia Daunert is the Gill Eminent Professor of Analytical and Biological Chemis- try, the 2004–2005 Distinguished Professor from the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of Kentucky, and a 2005–2006 Uni- versity of Kentucky Research Pro- fessor. Dr Daunert’s research interests lie in the area of bioana- lytical chemistry, at the interface between analytical chemistry, molecular biology, and bioengi- neering. More specifically, her group employs recombinant DNA technology to design new molecular diagnostic tools and biosensors based on genetically engineered proteins and cells for applications in biomedical and environmental fields. Additionally, the research of her group focuses on the design of sensing arrays for the detection of molecules in small volumes and microfluidic platforms, and in the development of smart biomaterials for responsive drug delivery systems. Dr Daunert has served as Editor of Analytical and Bioanalytical Chemistry since its inception in 2001. 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work_ib4rdxhlmzebfmtcojbi66vzee	----	Parks Canada's Architectural Styles Series All Rights Reserved © Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine, 1985 Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 21:06 Urban History Review Revue d'histoire urbaine Parks Canada's Architectural Styles Series Natalie Luckyj Volume 14, numéro 1, june 1985 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1017883ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1017883ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine ISSN 0703-0428 (imprimé) 1918-5138 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer cette note Luckyj, N. (1985). Parks Canada's Architectural Styles Series. Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine, 14(1), 60–63. https://doi.org/10.7202/1017883ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/uhr/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1017883ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1017883ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/uhr/1985-v14-n1-uhr0775/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/uhr/ -rr i i _JOTL, j g r j U f F « Ç r | — 7 7 . - T •:,e ij-» n FRONT ELEVATION . ,.-.„■! , L - ^ a /.:'.« f L //. QHOUNO PLAN s™/™. -4't(;i'= ij- FIRST FLOOR PLAN L^ZL. Fred J. Alexander. Villa — Residence for Mrs. C.L. Gibbs, corner of Cartier & McLaren Streets, Ottawa, 1887. SOURCE: National Map Collection, Public Archives of Canada. NMC77803/8. o - 1 •~< 70 Parks Canada's Architectural Styles Series Natalie Luckyj Cameron, Christina and Janet Wright. Second Empire Style in Canadian Architecture. Canadian Historic Sites: Occa- sional Papers in Archeology and History, No. 24, 1980. Pp. 247.119 black and white plates; 1 colour cover plate. $10.00 (Can), $12.00 (US). Brosseau, Mathilde. Gothic Revival in Canadian Architec- ture. Canadian Historic Sites: Occasional Papers in Archeology and History No. 25, 1980. Pp. 208. 124 black and white plates; 1 colour cover plate. $10.00 (Can), $12.00 (US). Clerk, Nathalie. Palladian Style in Canadian Architecture. Parks Canada: Studies in Archeology, Architecture and History, 1984. Pp. 154. 101 black and white plates; 1 colour cover plate. $8.25 (Can), $9.90 (US). Maitland, Leslie. Neoclassical Architecture in Canada. Parks Canada: Studies in Archeology, Architecture and History, 1984. Pp. 150. 113 black and white plates; 1 colour cover plate. $7.95 (Can), $9.55 (US). Wright, Janet. Architecture of the Picturesque in Canada. Parks Canada: Studies in Archeology, Architecture and History, 1984. Pp. 183. 119 black and white plates; 1 colour cover plate. $9.95 (Can), $11.95 (US). In recent years active preservation and restoration of Canada's architectural heritage has moved beyond a con- centration on isolated buildings and led to such substantial and successful renewal and reconstruction projects as the Historic Properties in Halifax, the Warehouse District in Winnipeg, Granville Island in Vancouver, Louisbourg in Nova Scotia, Lowertown in Quebec City, and the mainstreet programs in Port Hope and Perth, Ontario. Indeed, as the desire to redevelop and reactivate heritage areas in both NOTE: Parks Canada has prepared sets of slides to accompany these publications. Both the slide sets and the publications are also available in French. Urban History Review/Revue d'histoire urbaine. Vol. XIV, No. 1 (June/juin 1985) urban and rural communities across Canada becomes more widespread, so too does the necessity to make a wider public more knowledgeable and sensitive to architectural forms of the past. These five volumes under review — and the antic- ipated ones on the Queen Anne and the Beaux-Arts Styles — not only provide a useful framework for heritage preser- vation and restoration projects, but also, significantly mark the first time that the vast resources of the Canadian Inven- tory of Historic Buiding (CIHB) — consisting of photographic and written documentation on some 200,000 heritage buildings across Canada — have been made acces- sible to a larger public. Researched and written by the staff of the CIHB, these publications are based upon internal manuscripts originally used as an aid for members of the National Historic Sites and Monuments Board in their des- ignation of heritage buildings. A basic knowledge of architectural terminology is presumed throughout the series. And since no glossary of terms is provided, the average edu- cated reader may well have to resort to his or her own pocket dictionary of architectural terms in order to fully compre- hend the text. The first volume in the series, featuring the Second Empire style, (popularized in Canada between 1870 and 1880), serves to establish the format for all succeeding vol- umes. The introduction discusses the origin of the term "Second Empire," with specific reference to the period of Napoleon III in France, pointing out that it did not come into general usage in architectural history writings until after World War II; contemporary writers drew upon a broad range of descriptive epithets such as "Renaissance," "Italian Renaissance," "free classic," and "in the modern French style of architecture." A brief survey of the style cites specific examples of Sec- ond Empire buildings in England, France and America. A short review of the political, social and economic factors in Canada in the 1870s and 1880s follows. Particular emphasis is given to the role of the Department of Public Works, whose designs for federal buildings, such as post offices, offered a real opportunity for a nationwide dissemination of the style. Buildings are categorized according to type (commercial, public, and domestic) and grouped according to geographic regions (Ontario, Quebec, the Atlantic Provinces and the West) in a systematic, logical manner. The mansard roof is selected as the single most identifiable feature of the style. The judicious selection of a singular example, the Mon- treal City Hall (1872-8) to illustrate additional features of 61 Urban History Review/Revue d'histoire urbaine the style, as seen in Canada, provides any reader with a standard against which other buildings in the same style can be measured. The decision to look beyond the basic CIHB collection data and to include drawings, watercolours and historical photographs, of demolished or destroyed buildings is a wise one. Such additional documentation allows the authors to bring into their discussion the earliest example of the style, William Hay's Toronto General Hospital (1854-78) illus- trated here by a print published in the Anglo-American Magazine of 1854. Discussions on the use of the mansard roof in Quebec in the 18th century and the "mansardiza- tion" of the new main building of Laval University in 1875- 76, the limited use (with the exception of Winnipeg) of the style on the Prairies, and the distinctive adaptation of the style in the Atlantic provinces provides a basis from which to consider the complex reasons behind the stylistic variants and the patterns of the dissemination of the style across Canada. The design of this volume clearly distinguishes the main text from the illustrations and from their accompanying leg- end texts. It provides a catalogue of images which, if carefully studied, could lead to still further independent discoveries by a reader. The design is a problem only when the reader wishes to locate specific illustrations cited in the main text. A list of illustrations and an extensive bibliography complete this first volume. Gothic Revival in Canadian Architecture follows a similar format. The discussion begins with the characterization of the Gothic Revival style under four major divisions: the Romantic, the Rationalistic-Ecclesiological, the High Vic- torian and the Beaux-Arts. The basic categories of religious, public and domestic are also maintained. Although no exemplary building of the style is featured throughout the text, comparisons are made between regional manifestations of the style and the national style represented by the Parlia- ment Buildings. Unlike the previous volume, the author states clearly that there will be an attempt to test the hypothesis of whether or not architectural style varies according to cli- mate, building materials, indigenous traditions, etc. And while one can certainly concur that the testing of such a hypothesis is fundamental to any real understanding of Canadian architecture, the author, because of the complex- ity of the issues and the limitations of any survey, necessarily falls short of her goal. However, the reader is provided with a series of provocative questions that undoubtedly will lead to further study of Gothic Revival architecture in Canada. The inclusion of numerous drawings, prints and 19th cen- tury photographs to illustrate no-longer-existing buildings continues the comprehensive approach introduced in the first volume. However, the presentation suffers from the lack of ground-plans and elevation drawings so necessary to a fuller understanding of buildings as architecture in the absence of direct experience of the building. Nevertheless, this is an ambitious volume which successfully presents the complex- ity and diversity of the Gothic-Revival style in Canada spanning the period from the 1830s to the early years of the twentieth century. The two subsequent volumes on Neoclassical Architec- ture in Canada, and Architecture of the Picturesque in Canada retain the basic approach of documenting individual buildings, but the modified format integrating the main text, illustrations and legend texts offers difficulties for the reader. And while the layout avoids sending the reader in search of the appropriate illustrations, it does not differentiate between the main text and the extended legend texts. All too often, especially notable in the Neoclassical volume, the result is an incomprehensible sequence of texts and illustrations that reflects negatively on both the coherence and the substance of the author's discussion. The main text includes discussion of neo-classical theory (for example, the writings of Abbé Laugier), a short introduction to the major classical monu- ments of both Greece and Rome, with diagrams of a classical entablature and the Greek and Roman orders, and a sum- mary of the impact of the neoclassical theories and neoclassical buildings of Andrea Palladio, Sir John Soane, William Chambers, and other European and American architects on the practice of architecture in Canada. The effective use of a comparison of the Parthenon (5th century BC) and Kingston City Hall (1843-44) to differentiate the classical source from the neoclassical is one feature of this ambitious volume, which succeeds despite the ineffective design. Architecture of the Picturesque in Canada is the only other volume to make use of the same unsatisfactory arrangement of texts and illustrations. It is the sole volume in the series, published thus far, to deal not with a specific style but rather with a broad aesthetic ideal. Derived from a concept of nature and landscape painting developed in 18th century Britain, the Picturesque uses architecture as only one of many com- ponents to create a built and natural environment. As well, it is the only volume limited solely to a discussion of domes- tic housing, although the published title gives no indication of this limitation. The original manuscript title Domestic Architecture of the Picturesque in Canada: Villas and Cot- tages for Persons of Genteel Life and Moderate Fortune is more descriptive of the content. This volume is written in clear, understandable prose. It offers a wealth of visual doc- umentation and extensive quotations from contemporary sources. The chronological survey concentrating on Upper Canada, Lower Canada and the Atlantic provinces, is enhanced by carefully selected illustrations that serve to reinforce the importance of the setting of "Picturesque" vil- las and cottages. The historical photographs of John Howard's Colborne Lodge (1836) in Toronto; the watercol- ours of no longer existant homes such as Stamford Park, Niagara Falls (1822-26); and a judicious choice of recent CIHB photographs of Hale's Cottages, in Kingston (1841), with suggestive glimpses of the garden setting, point clearly to the need to go beyond the limitations of the CIHB docu- mentation, rich as it is. The Palladian Style in Canadian Architecture is, in this reviewer's mind, the most accomplished of the series thus far. In format it follows the more successful design of the Second Empire and Gothic Revival volumes with the main text separated from the illustrations and assorted legend texts. And like the other volumes it incorporates diverse sources: watercolours, historical photographs, prints, plans and elevations from pattern books, as well as cogently- selected quotations from European and American architects and theorists. The style is discussed in the context of settlement pat- terns, accessibility of printed material and regional reference. The author achieves a higher degree of clarity and coher- ence by carefully defining her terminology and by rigorously adhering to it. For example, the inherent ambiguity of the term "Georgian" which describes both architectural style and historical period is avoided by the introduction of the term "British Classicism" to characterize the general archi- tectural style. "Palladianism" can now be limited to a Review Essays/Notes critiques particular and readily identifiable influence with British Classicism. By a skillful use of literary devices, such as rhetorical questions, the reader is thoughtfully engaged in the discov- ery of the manifestations of the Palladian style in Canada: not a single example exists west of Ontario; religious and public buildings show a predilection to conform more faith- fully to the canon of the style; domestic housing offers a more liberal and inventive interpretation and so forth. The selection of illustrations adds substantially to the systematic organization of the text by encouraging the reader to make comparisons not mentioned by the author. While the specific merits of individual volumes and the apparent lack of a consistent editorial philosophy may be debated, these publications mark a watershed in the research and writing of Canadian architectural history. Comprehen- sive, contextual, analytic, each study suggests numerous directions for future research. Ultimately the realization of this potential will depend not only on the response from architectural historians but also urban historians, town plan- ners, geographers, restoration architects and others who are concerned with the relationship between building, environ- ment and society. 
work_ibwu6wgcavaypov5zrsbdhkq7u	----	A R Q 9 4 98 U C C H I L E thE conquEst of naturE: alonso de ovalle’s architectural imaginary in the seventeenth century As other national imaginaries, the idea of Chile as a place with a wild and hostile nature has been constructed since the first records describing the country. This text argues that the engravings made by Alonso de Ovalle in the seventeenth century depict architecture not only as an image of man conquering nature, but also as one of the first modern imaginaries inside a territory in the process of being conquered. K e y w o r d s · representation, engraving, landscape, buildings, modernity Chronicles of Chile’s conquest and colonization – written in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries – were strongly defined by the subject of nature, inaugurating a national identity linked both to the geographic attributes and the vegetal and animal abundance of Chilean territory. In this context, what role does architecture – traditionally interpreted as an anthropic sign in opposition to nature – play in the founding national imaginary? We will assess modes of architectural representation in one of Chile’s first accounts, published in the mid-seventeenth century: Histórica relación del Reyno de Chile [Historical Relation of the Chilean Kingdom] by Alonso de Ovalle. n ature in the n ation a l im ag in a ry During the two centuries following the arrival of the first Spanish conquistadors in the mid-sixteenth century, Chilean landscape was depicted as wild and hostile. Linked to descrip- tions of the scarcity, poverty and remoteness of Chile, the recurrence of natural disasters (mostly earthquakes), and of the war between the Spanish and the Mapuche people, the inclem- ence of characterized the accounts during the first period of European settlements (Antei, 1989; Vega, 2005; Jocelyn-Holt, 2008). Since then, the presence and influence of natural forces I M A G I N A R I O S 99 I M A G I N A R I E S Amarí Peliowski Investigadora, Facultad de Arquitectura y Urbanismo Universidad de Chile, Santiago, Chile in the national imaginary have marked Chilean identity up to today (Peliowski and Valdés, 2014). Crónica y relación copiosa y verdadera de los Reinos de Chile [Chronicle and True Abundant Relation of the Kingdoms of Chile] was the first written account describing Chilean territory, completed by the writer and Spanish conquistador Gerónimo de Vivar circa 1558, only two decades after Diego de Almagro and his crew ventured south of Cuzco to conquer the territory now known as Chile. Powerful running rivers, snowy peaks, long rainy periods, frequent landslides, the Andes mountain range – tough and high as a massive wall –, large rainforests and dry deserts on both ends of the territory, salty seas and even fictitious cannibals are some of the images transmitted by Vivar in his text (Gaudin, 2014). Other stories on this first colonial period confirm this image of nature as an intimidating element, such as Pedro Mariño de Lobera’s late sixteenth-century Crónica del Reino de Chile [Chronicle of the Kingdom of Chile] and Histórica relación del Reyno de Chile [Historical Relation of the Chilean Kingdom] by the Jesuit monk Alonso de Ovalle (1646). In the latter – and unlike the chronicles preceding it – despite the fact that nature appears fierce and overwhelming it also acquires paradisiac, moving features. Nature’s threatening character is in fact tempered by a nostalgic idealistic filter, given that the monk wrote the text away from his homeland. Sent to Rome in 1640 to attract new missionaries and bring them back to the country with him, Ovalle – appointed attorney representing the Jesuit vice-province of Chile – wrote Histórica relación… to interest, as he declared in the first page of the text, European Jesuits in this distant territory (Ovalle, 1646:i). Illustrative of the words of admiration and shock resulting from the vision of Chilean landscape is Ovalle’s description of his experience crossing the Andes mountain range: The Chilean mountain range, which we could call a wonder of nature, and without equal, because I don’t know a thing in the world resembling it [...] We go through those mountains stepping on clouds, and maybe those who walking on earth see nothing preventing our view, and who looking up into the sky can’t see it because it’s covered by clouds; on the contrary finding ourselves at this height, the land is covered, without us being able to see it; and are shown the clear sky, and beautiful, the bright sun, and shining with no obstacle preventing us from seeing its light, and beauty. The rainbow, seen from the earth as traversing the sky; we see it from these summits lying on the ground, a footstool to our feet, when those who are on it con- template it from its head; nor is it less astonishing, that we tread A R Q 9 4 100 U C C H I L E those lean and dry rocks, while water clouds are torn off and flood the land, as I have seen many times.” (Ovalle, 1646:12,14) Nature’s exaltation can be understood as an effect of the ‘pro- pagandistic’ role of the text. With expressions of delight and excitement at the beauty of nature, the chronicler appeals to the senses to compose a geographical, botanical, climatic and espe- cially a landscape description of this country. His account consti- tutes, in fact, the first comprehensive and scientific-like portrait of the entire Chilean scenery, inventorying its geographic ele- ments by combining direct knowledge of the territory with other travelers’ stories and existing botanical information (Hanisch, 1976; Jocelyn-Holt, 2008). Histórica relación… was published in Rome, in Spanish and Italian simultaneously. The book included 53 engraved plates, carefully inventoried in an index inside the volume. These plates are diverse: religious and epic scenes; conquistadors’ portraits; illustrations of indigenous customs; maps of Chile, of its capital and a number of its ports; and facades of several Jesuit colleges erected along the Chilean territory, among other images. Of the 53 engravings, it has been claimed that nine – the conquistadors’ portraits – are copies of prints by the Italian engraver Antonio Tempesta (1555-1630), likely belonging to the editor, Francesco Cavallo. Other 32 were possibly drafted by Ovalle, including seven images of religious devotion that seem to have been entrusted to a professional engraver on the basis of sketches by the Jesuit, and five other describing indigenous customs, likely drawn by Ovalle and enhanced by the editor (Hanisch, 1976). Among the drawings attributed to Ovalle we also find a corpus of nineteen plates, which, apparently, were made by the chronicler without any outside intervention. They comprise eleven images showing facades of religious houses belonging to the Compañía de Jesús, a map of Chile, and seven plans of Chilean cities and islands. The latter are probably simplified versions of engravings by the German Théodore de Bry and the Dutch Joris Van Spilbergen who portrayed American customs, ports and cities in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century, respectively (Prieto, 2011; Cacheda Barreiro, 2013) (FiG. 1). It is believed that these nineteen engravings were drawn by Ovalle, as they have a rough outline, are woodcuts instead of copper chalcographies or lithographs as the rest of the plates, and are the only stamps that bear inscriptions in Spanish (Cruz, 1986). This last group of images is of particular interest because, in the context of a narrative characterized by the subject of nature, through them the author offers – for the first time in a Chilean chronicle – an image of the country related to its urban- ization and civilization. These are thus images of urban spaces and architecture that counteract with the wild imaginary associated with natural landscape. This image of civilization is also, as in the case of nature, an idealized one. In Santiago’s plan as drawn by Ovalle, for example, the scheme is extremely regular and outsized compared to what we know the capital was like in those years (Espinoza, 2008) (F i G . 2). Moreover, the perspective view shows a cityscape evocative of images belonging to Italian Renaissance cities, with their domes and classic buildings made of brick and stone. Also, throughout the text, Ovalle cannot help praising I M A G I N A R I O S 101 I M A G I N A R I E S the Chilean capital: he describes its streets, the materials used to build temples and houses, and speaks of the beauty of its facades (Ovalle, 1646). As the historian Walter Hanisch noted, if we analyze the descriptions the chronicler made of Rome – a city where he lived for six years – it appears as if the Jesuit considered Santiago had no reason to envy the European cultural capital of the seventeenth century (Hanisch, 1976). However, it would be difficult to imagine that the Chilean capital – a city mostly composed of small adobe and wood buildings and containing no more than a thousand inhabitants – could have had the presence Ovalle sought to promote. The eleven engraved facades of Jesuit schools are, at the same time, some of the earliest existing records of the architec- ture built in Chilean territory (Peliowski, 2015) (FiG. 3). According to art historian Isabel Cruz, the drawings depict an ‘archaic’ image of Chile because of their rough lines and the absence of an accurate and updated application of the perspective tech- nique in the representation of buildings. Thus, Cruz recognizes in these prints a link to a medieval graphic tradition, even sug- gesting that this relationship is based on the naive and primitive character of Ovalle’s strokes (Cruz, 1986). Indeed, traces of a medieval imagery can be noticed in them: on the one hand, the outline of columns, cupolas, ornaments, tiled roofs, iron gates and steeples arrange a sort of typological inventory that can be associated with Villard de Honnecourt’s thirteenth-century architectural cadaster. Furthermore, the perspective view is flattened – given the lack of a vanishing point –, recalling medieval horariums where the background tends to blend into the foreground. All buildings are represented in a vague and ambiguous projection, which mixes a conical perspective with an orthogonal view. The engravings of the Bucalemu (Fi G . 3 b) probation house and the Quillota (Fi G . 3 c) mission house, in particular, depict this kind of rudimentary perspective; in the first, the Aconcagua river is drawn as if it was a plan view, while the building and the FIG 1 Puerto de Valparaíso, Chile. / Port of Valparaíso, Chile. Fuente / Source: Alonso de Ovalle: Histórica relación del Reyno de Chile, Roma: F. Cavallo, 1646. FIG 2 Prospectiva y planta de la ciudad de Santiago, Chile. / Plan and perspective of Santiago, Chile. Fuente / Source: Alonso de Ovalle: Histórica relación del Reyno de Chile, Roma: F. Cavallo, 1646. A R Q 9 4 102 U C C H I L E FIG 3 Fuente / Source: Alonso de Ovalle: Histórica relación del Reyno de Chile, Roma: F. Cavallo, 1646. FIG 3a Collegio de Santiago FIG 3e Collegio de S. Iuan FIG 3b Casa de probación de Bucalemo FIG 3c Casa de misión de Quillota FIG 3d Collegio de Mendoça FIG 3f Collegio dela Concepcion FIG 3g Collegio postulado de Chillan FIG 3k Residencia de ChiloeFIG 3h Residencia de Buena esperança FIG 3i Casa de S. Christobal FIG 3j Residencia de Arauco I M A G I N A R I O S 103 I M A G I N A R I E S valley are shown through frontal views, and, in both plates, surrounding buildings are drawn disproportionately in relation to the main religious building. Meanwhile, the aerial view attempted in the drawing “Casa de San Cristóbal” (Fi G . 3 i ) illustrates spatial depth in a way that resembles building facades representation in late Middle Ages maps rather than the first perspective frontal views proper of military drawings made in America in the eighteenth century. The previous is enhanced by a context of architectural union tradition, in full existence in Chile since the mid-sixteenth century. Recipient of the Middle Ages, builders’ labor organization means in the form of craftsmanship corporations involved collective and anonymous work, where decisions were made empirically during construction. The Renaissance canon with regard to labor organization – one where project guidelines were preset by an architect or engineer, who embodied his ideas in a drawing prior to construction and only then transmitted them to builders – would not be established in Chile until much later, during the second half of the eighteenth century with the arrival of Toesca and a group of engineers sent by the Bourbon King Charles iii to modernize the country’s urban, military and territorial infrastructure (Peliowski, 2015). Despite the evidence of these medieval-origin elements, we propose here – in opposition to Isabel Cruz’s judgment – that the Jesuit’s engravings can be interpreted as expressions not of Chilean cultural delay – expressed in Ovalle’s graphic amateurism – but of a modern vision of architecture and of the equally modern project of man’s domination over nature. the mode rnit y of a nthrop o ce ntric re pre se ntation A first feature of ‘modernity’ in Ovalle’s facades lies precisely in a departure from the medieval representation canon. According to the medieval conception, buildings were an expression of divinity on earth. Its representation thus could not be detached from the act of construction, as it was through men’s work that temples were erected as an expression of divinity on earth. Architecture drawn in horariums usually existed as background for a narrative scene, and took a central part in the image only when the scene recounted the construction of a building – in such cases, usually accompanied by craftsmen builders working on site (Savignat, 1980) (Fi G . 4). The Renaissance brought, however, the possibility of giving architecture – now assumed as a human rather than divine work – a central role in paintings and drawings. The development of the perspective technique since the late fourteenth century was particularly connected to architectural representation, given its pure geometric and orthogonal forms – that allowed to verify optic rules – and according to an anthropocentric ideology originated in urban centers (Perez-Gomez and Pelletier, 2000). Moreover, as it can be observed in the three paintings corresponding to La Città Ideale of Urbino, Berlin and Baltimore – all three of anonymous authorship and painted in the last A R Q 9 4 104 U C C H I L E decades of the fifteenth century in Italy – architecture and the city not only featured as the background of a human scene, but could also be at the center of the picture (Fi G . 5). Likewise, according to the humanist logic, whose beauty and harmony standards were inspired by those of antiquity, architecture was considered as a monument with memory. In accordance with the retrieval of ancient values in the early fifteenth century, the notion of historical monuments – and since, the idea of heritage – was born in the Renaissance. Specifically, as Françoise Choay points out, this notion emerged in Rome around the year 1420, after Martin V reinstated the seat of the papacy on this dismantled city in order to restore its power and prestige. The action inaugurated a great interest in ancient ruins that “since then, speak of history and confirm Rome’s fabulous past, whose splendor is mourned by Gian Francesco Poggio Bracciolini and his humanist friends, and whose pillage they condemn” (Choay, 2007:25). Both, the application of a rational matrix to space representation as well as the historical and anthropic attributes of architecture are essential aspects of the transition into an artistic modernity that crystallized in the Renaissance, a starting point for a philosophical, political and artistic project whose main task was to assert the rational and scientific value of all human activity (Tafuri, 1981; Touraine, 1992). The building’s historical dependence, characterized by the granting of a cultural attribute to that which is built – in detriment of its mystical origin – reminds us of the place that Ovalle’s engravings of Jesuit colleges acquire within his natural history of Chile. The facades, cleansed from any human presence and inserted into a historical narrative, constitute a sort of inventory of Jesuit heritage in the province of Chile. Although developed with the rudimentary graphic conventions of an amateur drawer, they can be understood as heirs of a humanist conception of architecture. a rchitec ture a s s y mbol of n ature ’s conque s t The way architecture is placed in in contrast to a natural background in some of the engravings (on the plates depicting the religious buildings of Bucalemu, Quillota, San Cristóbal and Chiloé) can be added to the anthropocentric vocation of the images, constituting the facades’ second feature of modernity. For the Spanish, domination of the territory in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was materialized by founding cities and spreading fortifications across the land, seeking to protect conquerors from attacks while expanding the conquest towards the south of Chile (Guarda, 1978); for the religious, church architecture was also designed as a sign of conquest over the landscape. Indeed, since the introduction of the Society of Jesus in 1593 and until their expulsion in 1767, Jesuit churches and monasteries were used as centers from which the evangelizing mission radiated. In his chronicle, Ovalle describes this function of territorial occupation and doctrine expansion centralized in collegios and probation houses from where the clergymen departed on their missions to ranches and farms: FIG 4 Sin título / Untitled. Iluminación del Libro de Horas del Duque de Bedford, maestro anónimo. Primer tercio del s xv. / Horarium from the Book of Hours of the Duke of Bedford, anonymous master. First third of the 15th century. Fuente / Source: Manuscrito conservado en la British Library, Londres. I M A G I N A R I O S 105 I M A G I N A R I E S The area of these missions is great, because starting from the collegio de la Concepcion that runs from Chillán to Maule, the walking circuit would be of a hundred leagues. San Sevastian of Bucalemo probation house goes from Maule to Maypo, which is another large space and distance. The collegio de San Miguel in Santiago goes from Maypo to Coquimbo, which are over sixty leagues, and from there to Guasco and Copiapo another thirty, so as to have a circuit that will come to two hundred leagues [...] This is what concerns the circumference and place of these missions” (Ovalle, 1646:359). Another form of territorial conquest through architecture was the implementation of the circular mission system, a regime that in Chile was used in Chiloé. The temples of these missions were scattered over the territory in a scheme comprising regu- lar intervals of a distance corresponding to a one-day trip, and were built with similar materials following a regional style. They remained closed most of the year yet seasonally received visits from missionaries on tour through the territory, offering sporadic religious rituals (Montecinos, 1996). Although the church did not have enough priests at the time, it was important to install visual symbols of their evangelization through colonial possessions that were still sparsely inhabited (Modiano, 1993). For the Jesuits, the means of spiritual conquest were inti- mately linked to images, and therefore to art, including archi- tecture. In fact, the Society was a congregation particularly committed to the arts during the period extending between its founding in Rome in 1540 and the end of the eighteenth century. Their artistic work was considerably determinant for the sixteen, seventeen and eighteen-century art in Europe as well as in the American and Asian missions. Also, in addition to discussions about the existence of a Jesuit corporate identity, character- istics and scope of the so-called ‘Jesuit style,’ and its mode of penetration inside the missions, and the underlying aesthetic, political and philosophical criteria in the artistic production of the Ignatian during that period, are all still in force (Bailey, 1999; O’Malley et al., 1999 and 2004; Levy, 2014). Furthermore, not only were they art producers, but they also forged and dissemi- nated a visual culture of its own, one that entailed the creation and use of images in a broad sense, using painting, sculpture and FIG 5 La ciudad ideal, conocida como Panel de Urbino / The ideal city, also known as Panel Urbino. Atribuido a / Attributed to: Piero della Francesca, Luciano Laurana, Francesco di Giorgio Martini, o Melozzo da Forli, c. 1480-90. Fuente / Source: Galleria Nazionale delle Marche. A R Q 9 4 106 U C C H I L E architecture to spread their influence through the territories as well as their costumes, botanical illustrations, scientific volume covers and meditation pamphlets, which served as tools of indoc- trination of the population during the missions (Levy, 2014). We propose, therefore, that in the context of an advanced state of the colonial settlement process, architecture becomes not only a shelter against severe weather, earthquakes or war, but also a monument symbolizing a successful civilized, indoctrinated, and economically and culturally productive society. Thus, from the protective purpose of fortresses to the domesticating determination of religious buildings, the first colonial architectures can be understood as a configuration, an ordered structure amid the natural extension seeking to dominate the wilderness, but also to convert and civilize the ‘natural’ pagans. Besides, if we consider that the conquest and control of nature through technology has been one of the main principles of the modern era – as it has been traditionally understood in Western historiography (Touraine, 1992; Latour, 1993) – we can then attribute the buildings engraved by Ovalle the quality of a symbol of modern society. Architecture, in this context, represents the historical role of being a cultural emblem, and, consequently, an emblem of modernity (Nesbitt, 1996). me die va l im ag e a nd mode rn im ag in a ry The significant presence of building drawings in Ovalle’s descrip- tion of Chile seems to express the author’s concern to show that which man has built in a landscape previously characterized as savage and hostile. The historian Gauvin Alexander Bailey empha- sizes this interpretation of the Jesuit engravings by stating, in an analysis of the image of Castro’s college facade in Chiloé, that: [A]lthough the late Italian Renaissance building featured in this engraving is linked more to the artist’s fantasies than to the actual building in Castro, the engraving shows, however, the fundamental civic role that the Church had within the city, understood as the basis of a ministry which extended equally both to Spanish and to Amerindians” (Bailey, 2004:216). While the image of Castro’s church, as Santiago’s plan, is a graphic hyperbole created by Ovalle, the plates – as Bailey elaborates – can be interpreted as the expression of a contradiction between the shape depicted in the image and the ideology it implies. On the one hand, the engravings have the medieval appearance iden- tified by Isabel Cruz; on the other, as noted, they express Ovalle’s concern to show the kingdom’s cultural products: indigenous customs, cities, architectural monuments, and so on. Thus, they present a contrast between the provincialism expressed in the chronicler’s graphic technique and the image’s implicit modernity of establishing a cultural practice – in this case architecture – as a symbol of overcoming the wild and hostile conditions of Chilean territory and an emblem of a civilized society. Hence, in Ovalle’s images coexists a medieval appearance with the expression of a worldview centered on man and his ability both to build and to represent that which is built. These images are not, therefore, a reflection of Chilean cultural backwardness, but the manifestation of the modern imaginary of a contemporary man. ARQ I M A G I N A R I O S 107 I M A G I N A R I E S b i b l i o g r a f í a / B i B l i o g r a P h y a n t e i , Giorgio. La invención del Reino de Chile. Gerónimo de Vivar y los primeros cronistas chilenos. Bogotá: Instituto Caro y Cuervo, 1989. b a i L e y, Gauvin. «‘Le style Jésuite n’existe pas’: Jesuit corporate culture and the visual arts». En: o’M a L L e y et al., 1999:38-89. b a i L e y, Gauvin. «Cultural convergence at the ends of the earth: the unique art and architecture of the jesuit missions to the chiloe archipielago (1608-1767)». En: o’M a L L e y et al., 2004:211-239. b e c h M a n n , Roland. Villard de Honnecourt, la pensée technique au XIIIe siècle et sa communication. Paris: Picard, 1991. c a c h e da b a r r e i r o, Rosa. «El Reino de Chile y las imágenes de la Histórica relación de Alonso de Ovalle. Una aproximación a las crónicas de Indias». Boletín del Seminario de Estudios de Arte y Arqueología 79 (2013): 203-226. c h oa y, Françoise. Alegoría del patrimonio. Barcelona: Gustavo Gili, 2007. c r u z , Isabel. Arte y sociedad en Chile, 1550-1650. Santiago: Ediciones uc, 1986. d e o va L L e , Alonso. Histórica relación del Reyno de Chile y de las misiones y ministerios que exercita en la Compañía de Jesus. Roma: Francisco Cavallo, 1646. e s p i n o z a , Leonardo. «La cartografía histórica de Santiago, desde la colonia hasta Ansart, 1541-1875». a av v. El catastro urbano de Santiago, origen, desarrollo y aplicaciones. Santiago: Ilustre Municipalidad de Santiago, Dirección de Obras municipales, 2008. 56-71. g au d i n , Guillaume. «Los ‘limbos’ de Geónimo de Vivar: representaciones y apropiaciones de la naturaleza chilena durante la conquista». En: p e L i o w s k i y va L d é s , 2014:37-59. g u a r da , Gabriel. Historia urbana del reino de Chile. Santiago: Editorial Andrés Bello, 1978. h a n i s c h , Walter. El historiador Alonso de Ovalle. Caracas: Universidad Católica Andrés Bello, 1976. J o c e Ly n - h o Lt, Alfredo. Historia general de Chile, tomo i i i . Santiago: Sudamericana, 2008. L at o u r , Bruno. Nunca hemos sido modernos. Ensayo de antropología simétrica. Madrid: Editorial Debate, 1993. L e v y, Evonne. «Early Modern Jesuit arts and Jesuit Visual Culture. A View from the Twenty-First Century», Journal of Jesuit Studies 1 (2014): 66-87. M o d i a n o, Ignacio. Toesca: arquitecto itinerante de la tradición clásica del siglo x v i i i y otros ensayos. Santiago: Ediciones del Pirata, 1993. M o n t e c i n o s , Hernán. «Arquitectura de Chiloé». a av v. De Toesca a la arquitectura moderna. 1780-1950, la huella de Europa. Santiago: Centro de arquitectura, diseño y geografía, Universidad de Chile, 1996. 69-80. n e s b i t t, Kate. Theorizing a new agenda for architecture. An anthology of architectural theory, 1965-1995. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1996. o’M a L L e y, John; et al.,(eds.), The Jesuits. Cultures, sciences, and the arts, 1540-1773, vols. i y i i . Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999, 2004. p e L i o w s k i , Amarí; va L d é s , Catalina (eds.). Una geografía imaginada. Diez ensayos sobre arte y naturaleza. Santiago: Ediciones Metales Pesados - Ediciones de la Universidad Alberto Hurtado, 2014. p e L i o w s k i , Amarí. Traces de modernité: pratiques et fonctions du dessin d’architecture à l’époque des Lumières au Chili, 1762-1797. Paris: tesis doctoral Écoles des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, 2015. p é r e z - g ó M e z , Alberto; p e L L e t i e r , Louise. Architectural representation and the perspective hinge. Cambridge, Mass.: M i t Press, 2000. p r i e t o, Andrés. Missionary scientists: Jesuit science in Spanish South America, 1570-1810. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2011. s av i g n at, Jean-Michel. Dessin et architecture, du Moyen Âge au XVIIIe siècle. Paris: École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, 1980. t a F u r i , Manfredo. La arquitectura del humanismo. Madrid: Xarait, 1982. t o u r a i n e , Alain. Crítica de la modernidad. Madrid: Fondo de Cultura Económica de España, 2012. v e g a , Alejandra. Descripción geográfica e identidad territorial: representaciones hispánicas de la cordillera de los Andes del reino de Chile en el siglo x v i . Santiago: tesis doctoral, Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, 2005. a m a r í p e l i ow s k i <amari.peliowski@uchilefau.cl> Architect, Catholic University of Valparaiso, 2005, Chile. Master in Theory and History of Art, Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales (e h e s s ), 2008, France. Doctor in Theory and History of Art, e h e s s , 2015, France. She is currently a postdoctoral researcher in the history of architecture at the Faculty of Architecture and Urbanism at the Universidad de Chile, Fondecy t project 3160146. She is also editor of Bifurcaciones magazine (bifurcaciones.cl), and project manager at the Santiago Visual Archive (archivovisual.cl). 
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work_ig53zppym5cm5mpxazcugkm5za	----	ijna(09)_183.fm The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology (2008) 37 .2: 347–359 doi: 10.1111/j.1095-9270.2008.00183.x © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society. Published by Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford OX4 2DQ, UK and 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148, USA. Blackwell Publishing LtdF. CASTRO ET AL.: MEDITERRANEAN LATEEN- AND SQUARE-RIGGED SHIPS (PART 1)NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 37 .2 A Quantitative Look at Mediterranean Lateen- and Square-Rigged Ships (Part 1) F. Castro Nautical Archaeology Program, Department of Anthropology, Texas A&M University, College Station, TX 77843– 4352, USA N. Fonseca and T. Vacas Unit of Marine Technology and Engineering, Technical University of Lisbon, Instituto Superior Técnico, Av. Rovisco Pais, 1049–001 Lisboa, Portugal F. Ciciliot Società Savonese di Storia Patria, via Guidobono 38/3, 17100 Savona, Italy Modern-day engineering can be a useful tool to help understand the technological changes which led to the development of the three-masted ships of the modern age of sail, in the beginning of the 15th century. Recent finding and excavation of an increasing number of medieval shipwrecks offers the opportunity, and the authors propose to build a database with technical characteristics of late-medieval vessels in the hope of finding patterns that will help understand the relatively-quick techno- logical evolution of Mediterranean merchant craft of the 14th and 15th centuries. © 2008 The Authors Key words: Lateen rigging, square rigging, Mediterranean seafaring, sailing performance, technological change. I t is difficult to explain technological change in shipbuilding history. Any particular ship- design is the result of a number of human and natural factors. Ship-construction is governed by the shipbuilder’s knowledge, skills, tradition, and taste as well as the materials, tools, and technology available (Englert, 2000: 3). The purpose for which a ship is built must also be considered, and its means of propulsion incorporated in the design. Often so many social, political, economical, technological, and even symbolic factors play important roles in stimulating these changes, that it is difficult to weigh their importance as determinants of a particular technological shift at any particular time. Sometimes changes can be explained by the development or adoption of a new technology, but often the questions that arise are more complex. For instance, why were square sails replaced by lateen sails in the Mediterranean during the first half of the 6th century, at least in some types of craft? What were the main advantages of this new type of rig in each particular instance? The answers may lie in the reduction of the size of the average merchantman, and on a desire to improve the vessel’s speed, perhaps due to the depression in Western Europe that followed the barbarian invasions, which cause a sharp contraction in commerce and spread insecurity all over Europe. Jacques Le Goff wrote about the 6th century: ‘In this impoverished, underfed, weakened world a natural calamity succeeded in completing what the barbarians had begun. From AD 543 bubonic plague from the east ravaged Italy, Spain, and a great part of Gaul for more than half a century’ (2000: 32). Certain commerce routes endured through to the later middle ages, along both rivers and coasts. Since the Roman road system NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY 37 .2 348 © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society was one of the first victims of the fall of the empire, the new invaders established themselves by choice in cities located along rivers and coasts (Le Goff, 2000: 25–9). Salt, wine, oil, and a number of fine stuffs and spices were still sought by these invaders, and had to be transported over water in smaller merchant vessels. The reduction of the size of merchantmen fits well with the change in their rigging: lateen sails are easy to handle if the vessels are small. But the truth is that we don’t know much about this process of change. Information about which ship-types first adopted lateen sails and which kept square sails is not available. It would be useful to know which routes were first ploughed by the vessels that adopted the new lateen rig, and why. Considering the natural desire for security of all merchants, one may be tempted to think that ships carrying expensive cargoes may have led this technological innovation, rather than those transporting, for instance, salt in bulk. It is not known which shipwrights implemented the required constructional changes, how long and expensive were the introductory periods and, perhaps more important, how did shipwrights acquired the know- how needed to implement these changes. Where did the knowledge necessary to implement the new rigging reside, and how was it transferred, are interesting questions. And how easy was it for captains and sailors to adapt to this new technology? There are reasons to believe that both lateen and square rigs coexisted in the Mediterranean throughout the Middle Ages. It is unlikely that square sails—although almost completely absent from Mediterranean iconography from the first quarter of the 6th century to the mid-13th century— actually disappeared from the Mediterranean during this period (Bellabarba, 1999). For instance, one of the authors, Furio Ciciliot, recently found a published image showing a galley with a square sail dating to the 9th century (Cassagnes-Brouquet, 2003: 28–9). Moreover, the introduction of the lateen sail in the Mediterranean was gradual and spanned a very long period. The appearance of a lateen sail in Mediterranean iconography dates to the 2nd century AD, and the disappearance of the square rig to around AD 525 (Bass, 1972: 154; Casson, 1994: 118). Be that as it may, the main question remains: how was this new technology diffused among the Mediterranean world? Many of these questions are addressed in detail in the following article, by Mark Polzer, which deals with rigging arrangements in the Ancient Mediterranean Sea. Planks on frames Another shift in shipbuilding technology started around the time of the disappearance of square sails from Mediterranean iconography. Since the Bronze Age ships and boats had been built in the Mediterranean by joining the edges of the hull planks together, either aligned with wooden dowels and sewn together with vegetable fibres, or fastened with pegged mortise-and- tenon joints, or using hybrids of these two techniques (Basch, 1972: 1–58). Frames were generally inserted after the planking was assembled and tended to play a lesser structural role. Hull strength resided largely in the hull planking, and this type of construction is generally referred to as shell-first or shell-based construction. From the early-6th century onwards, however, the structural role of frames seems to have increased incrementally, and by the 11th century frames were the main structural elements of at least one ship’s hull. When the Serçe Limanı ship was built, at the beginning of the 11th century, a number of its frames were erected first, and planks were bent and nailed over them (Steffy, 1982; 1994: 89). This type of construction is known as skeleton-first or skeleton-based construction, and is less labour-intensive. It is generally assumed that demographic and economic factors played a major role in the adoption of this new, skeleton-first way of building ships. During the period of transition from shell- to skeleton-based hulls, Europe suffered a series of economic and demographic crises, following the fall of the Western Roman Empire (Le Goff, 2000: 3–36, 195–254). It is highly probable that related socio-economic factors led the shift both from shell- to skeleton- based hull construction and from large square- rigged ships to smaller and faster lateeners. Latten-rigged ships were probably faster, and achieved better sailing angles to the wind. Could speed and manoeuvrability be two of the main reasons that made lateen sails apparently so popular in the early-medieval Mediterranean? These questions do not have simple answers, but have been formulated here in order to frame the aim of this paper, which is to try to understand technological change; in this case, the transition from the two- (and three-) masted lateen-rigged Mediterranean traders of the 14th century to the square-rigged, ocean- going ship. F. CASTRO ET AL. : MEDITERRANEAN LATEEN- AND SQUARE-RIGGED SHIPS (PART 1) © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society 349 Square sails and central rudders Some time during the first decades of the 14th century a new type of ship appeared in the Mediterranean. It was called cocca , like the northern cog after which it was built. The name had already shown up in Liguria in 1190 ( cocius ), and became common throughout the 13th century (Ciciliot, 2005: 143). When they were first represented, in the early-14th century, cocche were characterized by a round hull, a round stempost, integrated castles, and a single mast mounting a square sail. Soon after, during the first half of the 14th century, most vessels adopted a central rudder. Needless to say, unlike the northern cogs, these ships were built with flush-laid planks fastened to pre-erected frames, in the skeleton-based manner of the Mediterranean ships of their time. If we are to trust Giovanni Villani, a Florentine merchant and chronicler who travelled extensively between 1300 and 1307, the adoption of this new type of vessel was a quick and generalized phenomenon. About the year 1304 he wrote: ‘ In questo medesimo tempo certi di Baiona in Guascogna con loro navi, le quali chiamano cocche, passarono per lo stretto di Sibilia, e vennero in questo mare corseggiando, e feciono danno assai; e d’allora innanzi i Genovesi e’ Vineziani e’ Catalani usaro di navicare con le cocche, e lasciarono il navicare delle navi grosse per più sicuro navicare, e che sono di meno spesa: e questo fu in queste nostre marine grande mutazione di navilio ’ (lib. VIII cap. LXXVII) (During this time, some people from Bayonne in Gascony passed the Straight of Seville with their ships, which they call cocche , and came into this sea, raiding and causing much damage; and from then onwards the Genoese, the Venetians and the Catalonians started sailing in cocche , which were much cheaper, and stopped sailing in large vessels because it was safer to sail in the smaller ships; and this was a great change of ships in our seas). Although Villani says that Genoese, Venetians and Catalonians adopted cocche because they were both safer and more economical than the traditional two-masted lateeners ( navi grosse ), he implicitly acknowledged that galleys, although expensive, were still the best watercraft for commerce and war (Bellabarba, 1999: 81–93). On the same page of his Cronica Villani describes a naval battle which occurred in Flanders between the Genoese Rinieri Grimaldi (with 16 galleys and some naves ) and Guido of Flanders. When the tide went down the Genoese galleys and naves went to the high sea, and Guido thought he was the winner. However, when the tide rose once again, Grimaldi and his rowing galleys defeated the very large cocca of Guido’s fleet, which could not move as easily. The merchant galleys from Genoa and Venice went on ploughing their traditional routes in the Mediterranean, into the Black Sea, and to the North Atlantic ports for many decades, but it seems that many of the larger two-masted lateeners, which carried most of the long-sea bulk trade around the Mediterranean, were replaced by the new cocche during the first decades of the 14th century. The principal motives behind this technological change are not completely clear. The economic argument is a plausible one: commerce expanded and the size of ships grew, making the square sails cheaper. It is known that square sails with bonnets were easier to handle than the traditional lateen sails, at least on medium and large ships. Lateen sails had to be changed according to the wind force and could require a certain amount of effort to change tack. This manoeuvre entailed bringing the yard in, and rotating it near the foot of the mast, together with the sail and sheet. In large ships the yards and sails could be heavy, and the number of sailors required to handle them could be much larger than the average crew of an equivalent square-rigged ship, measured in terms of the number of sailors per ton of cargo transported. Galleys had a large number of sailors by definition, and could use them to change tack. Round-ships’ captains, on the other hand, may have been tempted to look at this new rigging arrangement as a solution which allowed considerable savings in terms of crew per ton of cargo carried. Fewer sailors cost less money, and left more space for cargo. During the period of transition, the differences between cocche and naves can be seen in a manuscript in the Museo del Bargello of Florence, dated to c .1320 – 40, which shows an early representation of both the new cocche and the traditional naves lying side by side (Fabbri, 1999: 314 –20; Ciciliot, 2005: 144). Cocche with one square-rigged mast and a central rudder are shown next to naves , which display two lateen- rigged masts and two side-rudders. The naves are large and high on the sea while the cocche are smaller. These two types of vessels represent two different solutions for two different tasks, but converged during the 15th century towards the three-masted ship of the European expansion. NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY 37 .2 350 © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society These new three-masted ships incorporated and synthesized characteristics of both ship-types. The process of convergence is not clear and probably encompasses all the arguments expressed by scholars up to now (Bellabarba, 1999: 81–93). Evidence suggests that they may have evolved through two parallel lines, modifying both the cocche and the naves . The technology to build large frame-based ships existed in the Mediterranean by the time the use of cocche became general. Large two- masted lateen-rigged naves are well known from written sources of the 13th century, when the Genoese promised to build large ships for the king of France, Louis IX. The largest of these ships was c .37.5 m long overall ( lunghezza di ruota in ruota cubiti , or goe , 50), c .22.25 m long on the waterline ( lunghezza in carena cubiti 31), and c .10 m in beam ( larghezza a mezza nave palmi 40). It had two rudders, a mainmast 52 cubits high ( c .39 m), and a mizzen-mast 49 cubits high ( c .36.75 m) (Bonino, 1978: 9–28). Such a ship could carry about 1000 metric tons of cargo, and was as big as those of the 15th century. Perfection, however, would arrive only after the adoption of two new features brought by the northern cogs. These new technological solutions were adopted gradually and partially by the builders of the large merchantman: the square sail and the central rudder. Square sails were probably used on small craft between the 6th and 13th centuries, for despite the lack of published images of square sails in this period, when they are represented once again in Mediterranean iconography they have lifts, just like the sails of the Romans, and unlike the sails of the northern cogs. Central rudders are represented from the mid-13th century onwards in northern Europe, and have been found on shipwrecks from the mid-12th century onwards. The earliest evidence for the central rudder is the Kollerup cog, in southern Denmark, dated to the 1150s (Hocker and Dokkedal, 2001: 16 –17; Bill and Hocker, 2004: 43–54). In the Mediterranean we know of a 1264 contract for a Genoese galley with one single rudder (probably central), at a time when cogs, although certainly already present, were not yet a well- known type of craft in the area (Ciciliot, 2005: 174). Technology being available, c ocche grew in size during the 14th century. Early in that century there are mentions of cocche with more than one deck, and cocche loaded with 10,000 cantari of alum, the equivalent to around 500 tons burden (Ciciliot, 2005: 144). It is also probable that Genoese ships influenced the design of northern cogs. Seafaring involves constant change and a diversity of solutions, and this helps us to understand why 14th-century Genoese documents mention cocche with two rudders, with lateen sails, or with large dimensions (Ciciliot, 2005: 142–7). But the proliferation of square sails among merchant ships of the 14th century had yet another consequence. Some of the larger two- masted lateeners eventually adopted a different rigging arrangement, mounting a square sail on the foremast. The earliest representation of this square-lateen rigging dates to between 1336 and 1338 (Bellabarba, 1999: 85). Although the earliest representation of a three-masted square-rigged ship looks very much like a cocca , the adoption of the square-lateen rig by the naves created the conditions to shift both masts towards the stern and make space for a foremast. This would explain why the mezzo masto , lateen-rigged, became the mizzen mast (Mott, 1997: 139– 46; Bellabarba, 1999: 87). In this dynamic environment, the new quadra-latina rig was clearly a step towards the development of the three-masted ship. This was nevertheless a very long evolution: the first representation of a three-masted, ship-rigged nao dates to 1409, almost a century later (Mott, 1997: 146). Some scholars suggest that the development of the three-masted ship is also tied to the social and economic changes that followed the Black Death of the mid-14th century. The drastic reduction of the European population in only a few years generated a sudden concentration of wealth, as well as abrupt changes in labour and property prices. These changes must have impacted on European commerce networks, market sizes, and demand and supply equilibriums, as well as the overall quantities of goods exchanged. The 14th century was a time of change, and it is not easy to ascertain which changes of demographic, social, and economic factors played the most important roles in triggering the adoption of the cocche , which had replaced at least some of the larger two- and three-masted lateeners in some of the trade routes in the Mediterranean. In other words, the replacement of the traditional two- masted lateeners with lateral rudders by the new cocche is documented in harbour records and contemporary iconography, but its causes are not fully understood. F. CASTRO ET AL. : MEDITERRANEAN LATEEN- AND SQUARE-RIGGED SHIPS (PART 1) © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society 351 Modern engineering as an analytical tool We believe that one useful contribution to a better understanding of this process lies in modern engineering, which allows us to look at ship’s sturdiness, durability, stability and performance in a fairly objective way. Were cocche a revolutionary response to new challenges in the traditional network of trade routes? Were they assigned to the transport of new types of merchandises, along new trade routes? Or, on the contrary, did they replace the traditional lateeners on well- established routes, carrying the same cargoes? If so, what were the main advantages of these new ships in relation to the ones they replaced, besides the number of crew per ton transported? Were they much slower? How different were the characteristics of these new ships in terms of price, durability, cargo-capacity, cost per ton transported, intact stability, or performance under sail? We must look at the differences between these two types of merchantmen and try to understand their advantages and disadvantages. The first step, which is the purpose of this paper, is to have a closer look at lateen-rigged merchantmen in the Mediterranean, for which we have a small but rather well-studied sample of shipwrecks (Table 1). We must keep in mind that lateeners did not disappear after the adoption of the cocche . One- and two-masted lateen-rigged ships were a common sight in the Mediterranean, both long before and long after the proliferation of the cocche . It is important to note that the cocche referred to by Villani were small- and medium-sized ships which nevertheless did not replace all the small lateeners, which probably transported most of the short-sea trade in the Mediterranean at the time. In fact, small and medium-size lateeners, the caravels, would be the vessels of choice of the Portuguese explorers in the 15th century (Pires, 1980; 1985). Caravels probably have Arab origins and were already mentioned in mid-12th century Genoa as tenders of larger ships (Ciciliot, 2005: 139). They seem to have made their appearance on the shores of the Atlantic during the following century. During the 14th century caravels disappeared from Portuguese documents, reappearing in the following two centuries as the vehicles of choice for voyages of exploration, fishing and piracy, in both Portugal and Spain (Pico, 1964: 73–83). The designation lasted until the 18th century, although it must be noted that caravels were not always lateen-rigged ships (Domingues, 2004: 259–65). As mentioned above, lateen-rigged ships had been sailing on Mediterranean trade-routes since at least the 2nd century AD, and would sail on that sea and along the coasts of the Atlantic Ocean until after the end of the Second World War (Iria, 1971: 152; Casson, 1994: 118). For instance, Portuguese two-masted caíques —thought to be related to the caravels of the 15th century— carried small cargoes of fruits and other cheap commodities along the coast of Portugal until the 1960s (Iria, 1963). Moreover, we know of one- masted leudi (built in Liguria c .1920–30) which carried cheese and wine until the same decade (1960) and are now used for local tourist cruises. One of them ( c .15 m long) was built in Sardinia in 2005, the first for about 60 years. All of them have dimensions similar to those of the wrecks that will be described below. Lateeners Lateeners were cheap, versatile, and sturdy vessels. Their most obvious advantage over square-rigged vessels is that they can sail better into the wind. Their most obvious disadvantage is the relative complexity of the tacking manoeuvre, which generally requires more human power than the equivalent square-rigged vessels, and may have dictated the necessity of larger crews, which took up space and cost money. But this is only a general rule, for which there were exceptions. The Portuguese caíque did not actually change the yard when tacking, and could be handled by a small crew. This study intends to look at a number of medieval lateen-rigged ships with a number of engineering tools, and to assess their quality as merchantmen in order to compare them with the square-riggers which eventually replace them. In the first phase the authors intend to look at five vessels, all believed to have been lateen-rigged. The quantitative analysis will focus on hydrostatic and stability calculations, resistance to advance, hull shape and performance: Yassıada I The Yassıada I shipwreck was found in 1958 by Peter Throckmorton, near the small coastal island of Yassıada, Turkey, and excavated between 1961 and 1964 by the University Museum of the University of Pennsylvania, under the direction of George Bass (Bass and van Doorninck, 1982: 9). It was dated to AD 625 or 626 based on its coin collection. The hull was reconstructed by J. Richard Steffy (Fig. 1). NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY 37 .2 352 © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society T ab le 1 . B a si c c h a ra c te ri st ic s o f a rc h a e o lo g ic a ll y -e x c a va te d l a te e n -r ig g e d s h ip s S h ip P er io d (A D ) E st im at ed ov er al l le n gt h E st im at ed d is p la ce m en t C o n st ru ct io n F ra m in g p at te rn H u ll S h ap e R ef er en ce Y as si A d a II c .4 00 20 m — M o rt is e- an d -t en o n j o in ts F ra m es a n d h al f- fr am es W in e- gl as s va n D o o rn in ck , 19 76 D o r 20 01 /1 c .5 00 16 m P la n k s o n f ra m es * F lo o r ti m b er s an d h al f fr am es F la t b o tt o m , h ar d c h in e M o r an d K ah an ov , 20 06 T an tu ra A c .5 00 12 –1 5 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es * — F la t b o tt o m , h ar d c h in e K ah an ov a n d R oy al , 19 96 ; W ac h sm an n a n d K ah an ov , 19 97 ; K ah an ov , 20 01 S ai n t G er va is I I c .6 00 18 –2 0 m — M o rt is e- an d -t en o n j o in ts in l o w er h u ll , p la n k s o n fr am es i n u p p er w o rk s F ra m es a n d h al f- fr am es W in e- gl as s Jé zé go u , 19 85 a; 1 98 5b Y as si A d a I c .6 25 20 –2 1 m c .7 3 to n s M o rt is e- an d -t en o n j o in ts in t h e lo w er h u ll S h o rt fl o o r / lo n g fl o o r / h al f- fr am e W in e- gl as s B as s an d v an D o o rn in ck , 19 82 ; S te ff y, 1 99 4 T an tu ra F c .7 00 12 –1 6 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es * F lo o rs a n d f u tt o ck s F la t b o tt o m W ac h sm an n a n d K ah an ov , 19 97 ; B ar k ai a n d K ah an ov , 20 07 T an tu ra B c .8 00 20 –2 6 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es * F ra m es a n d h al f- fr am es W in e- gl as s W ac h sm an n a n d K ah an ov , 19 97 ; R oy al a n d K ah an ov , 20 00 B o zb u ru n c .8 74 14 –1 5 m c .5 5 to n s P la n k s o n f ra m es (w o o d en d o w el s o n e d ge s, co n n ec ti n g p la n k s) L -s h ap ed fl o o rs , al te rn at ed W in e- gl as s H ar p st er , 20 05 a; 2 00 5b Il le P la n e C c .9 00 — — P la n k s o n f ra m es ? — — X im en es , 19 76 A ga y A c .9 00 20 –2 5 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es * F lo o r ti m b er s an d h al f fr am es F la t b o tt o m V is q u is , 19 73 ; Jo n ch er ay , 19 76 ; D ar m o u l, 1 98 5; J éz ég o u e t a l ., 1 99 7 A ga y B c .9 00 9 –1 0 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es * F lo o rs a n d f u tt o ck s F la t b o tt o m V is q u is , 19 73 ; Jo n ch er ay , 19 76 ; D ar m o u l, 1 98 5; J éz ég o u e t a l ., 1 99 7 B at ég u ie r c .9 00 20 –2 5 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es * L -s h ap ed fl o o rs , al te rn at ed F la t b o tt o m V is q u is , 19 73 ; Jo n ch er ay , 19 76 ; D ar m o u l, 1 98 5; J éz ég o u e t a l ., 1 99 7 S er çe L im an ı c .1 02 5 14 –1 5 m c .5 7 to n s P la n k s o n f ra m es L -s h ap ed fl o o rs , al te rn at ed F la t b o tt o m B as s e t a l. , 20 06 N o rm an W re ck A c .1 15 0 18 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es ? F lo o rs a n d f u tt o ck s F la t b o tt o m P u rp u ra , 19 85 ; F er ro n i an d M eu cc i, 1 99 6 N o rm an W re ck B c .1 15 0 8 –9 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es ? — F la t b o tt o m P u rp u ra , 19 85 ; F er ro n i an d M eu cc i, 1 99 6 C u li p V I c .1 30 0 16 –1 7 m c .5 6 to n s P la n k s o n f ra m es F lo o rs a n d f u tt o ck s F la t fl o o r, ro u n d c h in e P ri et o a n d R au ri ch , 19 89 C o n ta ri n a I (1 4) c .1 30 0 20 –2 1 m c .9 4 to n s P la n k s o n f ra m es F lo o rs a n d f u tt o ck s R o u n d b o tt o m B o n in o, 1 97 8 L es S o rr es ( 15 ) c .1 35 0 10 –1 1 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es F lo o rs a n d f u tt o ck s R o u n d b o tt o m R au ri ch e t a l ., 1 99 2 L o go n ov o ( 14 ) c .1 40 0 c .1 0 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es F lo o rs a n d f u tt o ck s R o u n d b o tt o m B o n in o, 1 97 8 C o n ta ri n a II ( 14 ) c .1 55 0 20 –2 1 m — P la n k s o n f ra m es F lo o rs a n d f u tt o ck s R o u n d b o tt o m B o n in o, 1 97 8 * T h e fi n al s tu d y o f th e B o zb u ru n h u ll ( H ar p st er , 20 05 a; 2 00 5b ) sh o w ed t h at o n ly f u ll d is as se m b ly a n d d et ai le d a n al ys is w o u ld a ll o w a fi n al j u d gm en t o n t h es e sh ip w re ck s. F. CASTRO ET AL.: MEDITERRANEAN LATEEN- AND SQUARE-RIGGED SHIPS (PART 1) © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society 353 Bozburun The ship from Bozburun was shown to George Bass by sponge divers in 1973, and excavated by Texas A&M University’s Institute of Nautical Archaeology, under the direction of Fred Hocker, between 1995 and 1998 (Hocker, 1995; Hocker and Scafuri, 1996; Hocker, 1998a; 1998b; Harpster, 2002; 2005a; 2005b). It was dated to AD 874 by dendrochronology (Harpster, 2005a: 7), and yielded a cargo of around 900 amphoras, together with a small collection of personal artefacts. Around 35% of its hull was preserved and a reconstruction has been proposed by Matthew Harpster (Fig. 2). Serçe Limanı This shipwreck was shown to George Bass by sponge divers at Serçe Limanı, Turkey, in 1973, and was excavated by the Institute of Nautical Archaeology and Texas A&M University, under George Bass’ direction, between 1977 and 1979 (Bass et al., 2006: 52). It was dated to around AD 1025 based on the artefact collection and known chronologies (Bass et al., 2006: 290). The hull was reconstructed by J. Richard Steffy (Fig. 3). It was a small, flat-bottomed lateener 14.55 m long, with a beam of 5.2 m and a depth of hold of 1.6 m. With an estimated weight of the hull and gear at around 21 tons, the Serçe Limanı ship was probably rated a 35-tonner and displaced 57.27 tons at the load waterline (Bass et al., 2006: 167, 169). The weight of the hull alone was estimated by Tomás Vacas at 15.95 tons (Vacas, 2006: 34). Culip VI Found in 1987 at Cala Culip, Catalonia, this shipwreck was excavated by the Centre d’Arqueologia Subaquàtica de Catalunya (CASC) between 1988 and 1990, under the direction of Figure 1. Yassıada 7th-century hull remains and reconstruction. (Steffy, in Bass and van Doorninck, 1982: 45, 76, repro- duced with permission) NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY 37.2 354 © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society Xavier Nieto Prieto (Prieto and Raurich, 1989). Situated in shallow waters, its cargo was probably salvaged soon after the ship’s loss and did not yield many clues to the reconstruction of its route. It was dated to around AD 1300 based on the artefact collection (Prieto and Raurich, 1989: 235–6). The hull was reconstructed by Eric Rieth, based on the measure of the flat midships and the distance between the mast-step and one of the ship’s extremities, thought to be the bow (Prieto and Raurich, 1989: 191–201). Based on the proportions of the contemporary vessel Contarina 1, it was reconstructed as a small short- sea trader of 16.35 m length overall, a beam of 4.11 m and a depth of hold of 2.06 m. The hull weight was estimated at c.16 tons, and the cargo capacity at c.40 tons. When fully loaded it displaced 56 tons (Fig. 4). Contarina I Found in 1898 at Contarina, near Rovigo, north- east Italy, during the excavation of a canal, this ship was dated to around AD 1300 (Bonino, 1978: 9–28). It was preserved along an area measuring 19.62 m by 5.20 m, and to a height of 3.4 m. Although the timbers were not preserved after its recording, a replica of this ship has been made. As reconstructed it measured 20.98 m overall, had a beam of 5.20 m and a depth of hold of 2.46 m, making it similar to but slightly smaller than the vessel described in the Venetian manuscript known as Libro di marineria, or Fabrica di galere, whose original (the Michael of Rhodes manuscript) dates to 1436 (Fig. 5). In a second phase the authors will try to extend this analysis to a larger number of lateeners. The third and last phase of this project will deal with Figure 2. Bozburun hull remains and reconstruction. (Harpster, 2005a: 220, 464, 465, 466, reproduced with permission) F. CASTRO ET AL.: MEDITERRANEAN LATEEN- AND SQUARE-RIGGED SHIPS (PART 1) © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society 355 early square-rigged vessels, mainly from the north of Europe. The size of this sample will ultimately depend on the availability of data regarding both lateen- and square-rigged vessels. Conclusions The ships presented above are a very small sample of the enormous diversity of merchant craft which must have sailed the Mediterranean between the early-7th and the 14th century, the period in which lateeners seem to have been the most common watercraft (Fig. 6). During the millennium that followed the sack of Rome by the army of Alaric in AD 410, Europe saw enormous changes, invasions and movements of populations, the slow decline of the Byzantine Empire, the rise and fall of the Islamic Umayyad and Abbasid empires, the political reorganization of Western Europe, the Carolingian Renaissance, the Viking invasions, and the beginning of the Italian Renaissance. However, it was not until the beginning of the Italian Renaissance that Europe experienced a real intellectual revolution. As Bertrand Russell wrote, although turbulent in practice, the Middle Ages were marked by a passion for legality and a precise theory of political power. There were no great inventions, nor were there far-reaching technological changes (Russell, 1945: xiii–xxiii, 491–503). As far as shipbuilding techniques go, however, things were quite different. Although we have a small sample of shipwrecks from this period— especially small when we only consider those Figure 3. Serçe Limanı hull remains and reconstruction. (Steffy, in Bass et al., 2006: 82–3, 166, reproduced with permission) NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY 37.2 356 © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society which have been fully excavated, disassembled and studied—we know that the way in which ship’s hulls were assembled changed drastically during this period, both in their structural philosophy and in their construction sequence (Steffy, 1994: 84). It is therefore interesting to take a closer look at a small sample, and to lay the basis of what hopefully will be a wider work of analysis of the transition from lateen to square rigging. As reconstructed, all these ships have in common their rigging arrangement and their small to medium size. This approach—tentatively quantitative, even considering a small sample of conjectural reconstructions—seems to the authors especially interesting considering the number of recent finds of ships from this period: at least 25 shipwrecks in Istanbul between 2005 and 2007 (pers. comm. Cemal Pulac, 2007), 25 shipwrecks at Tantura and Dor, Israel (Wachsmann and Kahanov, 1997; pers. comm. Kahanov, 2006), and at least 16 shipwrecks at Olbia, Sardinia, Italy (Riccardi, 2006: 312–15). Figure 4. Culip VI hull remains and reconstruction. (Rieth, in Prieto and Raurich, 1989: 140, 197–8, reproduced with permission) F. CASTRO ET AL.: MEDITERRANEAN LATEEN- AND SQUARE-RIGGED SHIPS (PART 1) © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society 357 One possible outcome of this study is a look at the relationships of deadweight to capacity, and of displacement to crew numbers. Shipwrights and ship-owners certainly thought of these things because they determined the profitability, or even the sustainability of their business: how many tons in capacity could one increase in each particular type of craft, for example, before needing two more hands on deck? All resistance calculations presented in a forthcoming paper will neglect the action of the side-rudders. We know next to nothing about the shape and suspension arrangements of these ships’ rudders, but we are sure that their efficiency implied some added drag. It will also be interesting to understand the relationship between length-to- beam ratios and the routes sailed and cargoes carried. For the time being the authors can only compare these hulls in terms of tonnage, midship, block, prismatic and waterplane coefficients, as well as wet surface and possible sail areas. Future analysis should include estimations of crew sizes, autonomy (for instance, how much water could they carry?), and speed. It is likely that a systematic study such as this one, extended over time to the increasing number of shipwrecks being found and recorded to good archaeological standards, will allow us to build a database of medieval vessels from which better conclusions can be extracted. It is difficult to understand why the cocche were adopted so fast and so widely (if we are to believe Villani). One future avenue of research will be archival research in harbour records in order to inventory and organize chronologically the niches filled by this new type of craft, as well as to understand, at any stage, which were the perceived advantages of cocche over two-masted lateeners with similar tonnages. Figure 5. Contarina I hull remains and reconstruction. (Bonino, 1978: 14, reproduced with permission) NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY 37.2 358 © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society References Barkai, O. and Kahanov, Y., 2007, The Tantura F Shipwreck, Israel, IJNA 36.1, 21–31. Basch, L., 1972, Ancient wrecks and archaeology of ships, IJNA 1, 1–58. Bass, G. (ed.), 1972, A History of Seafaring based on Underwater Archaeology. London. Bass, G. F. and van Doorninck, F. H. Jr, 1982, Yassi Ada 1: A Seventh-Century Byzantine Shipwreck. College Station, TX. Bass, G. F., Matthews, S., Steffy, J. R., and van Doorninck, F. H. Jr., 2006, Serçe Limanı An Eleventh-Century Shipwreck. Vol. 1, The Ship and Its Anchorage, Crew, and Passengers. College Station, TX. Bellabarba, S., 1999, Note Sull’Origine della Nave a Tre Alberi, Archeologia delle Acque, Nucleo Archaeologia Subacquea del Veneto, 1.2, 81–93. Bill, J. and Hocker, F. M., 2004, Haithabu 4 seen in the context of contemporary shipbuilding in Sourthern Scandinavia, in K. Brandt and H. J. Kühn (eds), Der Prahm aus dem Hafen von Haithabu. Beiträge zu antiken und mittelalterlichen Flachbodenschiffen. Schriften des Archäologischen Landesmuseums. Ergänzungsreihe 2, 43–54. Neumünster. Bonino, M., 1978, Lateen-rigged medieval ships. New evidence from wrecks in the Po Delta (Italy) and notes on pictorial and other documents, IJNA 7.1, 9–28. Cassagnes-Brouquet, S., 2003, La passion du livre au Moyen Age. Rennes. Casson, L., 1994, Ships and seafaring in ancient times. Austin, TX. Castanheira, E., 1986, Manual de Construção do Navio de Madeira. Lisbon. Ciciliot, F., 2005, Le superbe navi. Cantieri e tipologie navali liguri medievali. Savona. Darmoul, A., 1985, Les épaves sarrasines, in M. Galley and L. Ladjini Sebai (eds), L’homme et la mer, 152– 65. Tunis. Domingues, F. C., 2004, Os navios do mar oceano. Lisbon. Englert, A., 2000, Large Cargo Vessels AD 1000 –1250, Dissertation zur Erlangung des Doktorgrades der Philosophischen Fakultät der Christian–Albrechts–Universität zu Kiel. Roskilde and Kiel. Fabbri, F., 1999, Il ‘Cocharelli’:osservazione i ipotesi per un manoscritto genovese del XIV secolo, in A. R. C. Masetti, C. Di Fabio, and M. Marcenaro (eds), Tessuti, oreficerie, miniature in Liguria, XIII–XV secolo. Bordighera, Italy. Figure 6. The five hulls under analusis. (Tomás Vacas) F. CASTRO ET AL.: MEDITERRANEAN LATEEN- AND SQUARE-RIGGED SHIPS (PART 1) © 2008 The Authors. Journal Compilation © 2008 The Nautical Archaeology Society 359 Ferroni, A. M. and Meucci, C., 1996, I due relitti Arabo-Normanni de Marsala, Bollettino Archeologia Subacquea 1.2, 283 – 350. Harpster, M., 2002, A Preliminary Report on the 9th Century AD Hull found near Bozburun, Turkey, in Tzalas (ed.), Tropis VII, Proceedings of the 7th International Symposium on Ship Construction in Antiquity, Pylos 1999, 409–18. Athens. Harpster, M., 2005a, A Re-assembly and Reconstruction of the 9th-Century AD Vessel wrecked off the coast of Bozburun, Turkey. Unpublished PhD Dissertation, Texas A&M University. Harpster, M., 2005b, Dowels as a means of edge-to-edge joinery in the 9th-century AD vessel from Bozburun, Turkey, IJNA 34.1, 88–94. Hocker, F., 1995, A Ninth-Century Shipwreck near Bozburun, Turkey, INA Quarterly 22.1, 12–14. Hocker, F., 1998a, The Byzantine Shipwreck at Bozburun, Turkey: The 1997 Field Season, INA Quarterly 25.2, 12–17. Hocker, F., 1998b, Bozburun Byzantine Shipwreck Excavation: The Final Campaign 1998, INA Quarterly 25.4, 3 –13. Hocker, F., and Dokkedal, L., 2001, News from the Kolding cog, Maritime Archaeology Newsletter from Roskilde, Denmark 16, 16 –17. Hocker, F., and Scafuri, M., 1996, The Bozburun Byzantine Shipwreck Excavation: 1996 Campaign, INA Quarterly 23.4, 3 –9. Iria, A., 1963, As Caravelas do Infante e os Caíques do Algarve—Subsídios para o Estudo da Arqueologia Naval Portuguesa, Lisboa: Associação dos Arqueólogos Portugueses. Iria, A., 1971, Caíques do Algarve no sul de Angola, Memórias do grupo de estudos de história marítima, Lisboa, Instituto Hidrográfico, 129–227. Jézégou, M-P., 1985a, L’épave II de l’anse Saint-Gervais à Fos-sur-Mer (Bouches-du-Rhône): un navire du haut Moyen Âge construit sur squelette, in H. Tzalas (ed.), 1st International Symposium on Ship Construction in Antiquity, Tropis 1, 139–46. Pireus. Jézégou, M-P., 1985b, Éléments de construction sur couples sur une épave du haut Moyen Âge découverte à Fos-sur-Mer (Bouches-du-Rhône), in Actas del VI Congreso Internacional de Arqueologia Submarina, 351–6. Madrid. Jézégou, M-P., Joncheray, A., and Joncheray, J. P., 1997, Les épaves sarrasines d’Agay et de Cannes, Archeologia 337, 32–9. Joncheray, J. P., 1976, 1974 Excavations at the Wrecks of Bataiguier (Early Middle Ages) and Bon Porté, IJNA 5.1, 87–8. Kahanov, Y., 2001, A Byzantine Shipwreck (‘Tantura A’) in Tantura Lagoon, Israel, its Hull Construction, in H. Tzalas (ed.), Tropis VI, Proceedings of the 6th International Symposium on Ship Construction in Antiquity Lamia, 1996, 265–71. Athens. Kahanov, Y. and Royal, J. G., 1996, The 1995 INA/CMS Tantura A Byzantine Shipwreck Excavation—Hull construction Report, C.M.S. News 23, 21–3. Le Goff, J., 2000, Medieval Civilization 400–1500. New York. Mor, H. and Y. Kahanov, 2006, The Dor 2001/1 Shipwreck, Israel—a Summary of the Excavation, IJNA 35.2, 274–89. Mott, L. V., 1997, The Development of the Rudder: A Technological Tale. College Station, TX. Pico, M. A. T. C., 1964, A terminologia naval portuguesa anterior a 1460. Lisbon. Pires, A. T., 1980, Caravelas dos Descobrimentos. Lisbon. Pires, A. T., 1985, As caravelas dos descobrimento–II (A–Mareação de bolina). Lisbon. Prieto, J. Nieto, and Raurich, X. (eds), 1989, Excavacions arqueològiques subaquàtiques a Cala Culip, I. Girona. Purpura, G., 1985, Un relitto di età Normanna a Marsala, Archeologia subacquea 2, suppl. 29, 129–36. Raurich, X., Pujol, M., Martin, A., Jover, A., Izquierdo, P., and Garrido, E., 1992, Les Sorres X. Un vaixell medieval al Canal Olímpic de Rem, Castelldefels, Baix Llobregat, Barcelona, Memòries d’Intervencions Arqueològiques a Catalunya 1. Riccardi, E., 2006, Medieval Boats from the port of Olbia, Sardinia, Italy, in L. Blue, F. Hocker and A. Englert (eds), Connected by the Sea, Proceedings of the 10th International Symposium on Boat and Ship Archaeology, 187–94. Oxford. Royal, J. G. and Kahanov, Y., 2000, An Arab Period merchant vessel at Tantura Lagoon, Israel, IJNA 29.1, 151–3. Russell, B., 1945, The History of Western Philosophy. London. Steffy, J. R., 1982, The Reconstruction of the 11th Century Serçe Limanı Vessel. A Preliminary Report, IJNA 11.1, 13 –34. Steffy, J. R., 1994, Wooden Shipbuilding and the Interpretation of Shipwrecks, College Station, TX. Vacas, T., 2006, Análise das Características Náuticas de Embarcações Latinas Antigas, unpublished report. where is it lodged? van Doorninck, Frederick H. Jr., 1976, The 4th Century Wreck at Yassi Ada: An Interim Report on the Hull, IJNA 5, 115 –31. Villani, G., 1980, Cronica di Giovanni Villani a migliore lezione ridotta con l’aiuto de’ testi a penna. Florence (1823), reprinted Rome. Visquis, A., 1973, Premier inventaire du mobilier de l’épave dite “des Jarres” a Agay, Cahiers de Archéologie Subaquatique 2, 157–66. Wachsmann, S. and Kahanov, Y., 1997, The 1995 INA/CMS Joint Expedition to Tantura Lagoon, Israel, INA Quarterly 24.1, 3–18. Ximenes, S., 1976, Etude préliminaire de l’épave sarrasine du rocher de l’Estéou, Cahiers de Archéologie Subaquatique 5, 139 – 50. 
work_igeachsmibcsnje2ktd7bswoci	----	Interweaving mathematics with reality and beauty: the valuable legacy of Emma Castelnuovo Franco Lorenzoni Published online: 19 August 2014 � Centro P.RI.ST.EM, Università Commerciale Luigi Bocconi 2014 Abstract The great lesson about education that Emma Castelnuovo left us lies in imagining a living mathematics in which youngsters can recognise themselves, because it is tied to reality and beauty. The interweaving of mathematics and art, between mathematics, architecture and life, toge- ther with a constant reference to history, makes it possible for students to think of mathematics as a body of knowl- edge that is dynamic and open to the future. Emma Cas- telnuovo was a master at using educational materials to facilitate the approach to complex mathematical and geo- metrical concepts, manipulating figures in transformation and creating active, effective relationships between hands, eyes and brain. To do this it is necessary to dedicate a great amount of time to talk with and listen to the students’ hypotheses, allowing them ‘time to lose time’. Finally, offering important topics, such as the infinite and infini- tesimal, allows youngsters to engage in a healthy head-to- head struggle for knowledge. Keywords Emma Castelnuovo � Mathematics teaching � Mathematics learning � Educational materials � History of mathematics Shortly after her one-hundredth birthday, Emma Castel- nuovo passed away, in April 2014. A tireless innovator, I have never saw her sit down for a single instant during the 3 years of middle school when I had the good fortune to have her as a teacher (Fig. 1). Agile in body and in thought, while still very young she found herself teaching in the teacher training courses of the Jewish school in Rome because, just after she had won the competitive examination, she was barred from teaching in Italian schools because she was Jewish. This was in 1938, and the Roman Jews reacted to that abuse of power with great determination, establishing in a few short months a Jewish school where Emma, daughter of the mathematician Guido Castelnuovo, was called to teach the teacher training classes. Becoming aware that the program for mathematics did not respond to the needs of the students, she partici- pated—at the height of the war—in the intense research work of a small group that met regularly at the home of Federigo Enriques, her uncle, who was a mathematician and a historian of science of high calibre. Founder of the Italian Philosophical Society, Enriques was violently opposed by Benedetto Croce who, in 1911, spoke arro- gantly about ‘this professor of mathematics who dabbles in philosophy’. We Italians know quite well how that cultural conflict ended, because Italian schools are still today per- meated with a culture that takes a very simplistic view of the role of science and mathematics, which are generally kept far removed and distinct from philosophy, art and letters. Negating the best traditions of the Italian Renaissance, which saw an extraordinary interweaving between anatomy and sculpture, and between painting, architecture and geometry, idealism imposed on the school that rigid hier- archy of knowledge that even today permits many intel- lectuals to claim to not understand anything about mathematics, as if this branch of knowledge were not rich in creativity, speculative daring, and the capacity to understand and interpret the world. The outcome of that battle contradicted what Guido Castelnuovo, with farsightedness, had stated years earlier, in Genoa in 1912, in a lecture given to third congress of the F. Lorenzoni (&) Cenci casa-laboratorio, Strada di Luchiano 10, 05022 Amelia, Terni, Italy e-mail: cencicasalab@gmail.com 123 Lett Mat Int (2014) 2:99–102 DOI 10.1007/s40329-014-0057-x Mathesis Association, an association for mathematics teachers: … this is the chief wrong of the doctrinaire spirit that invades our schools. There we teach [students] to be wary of the approximate, which is reality, to worship the idol of a perfection that is illusory. There we represent the universe as an edifice, whose lines have a geometric perfection and appear to us as defaced and clouded because of the coarse nature of our senses, while we should make it understood that the uncertain forms revealed to us by the senses consti- tute the only accessible reality, which we substitute, to respond to certain needs of our spirit, with an ideal precision [5, p. 18 (our trans.)]. Many years later, following in the footsteps of her father, she reprised his words, adding: They will say that it is impossible to give a child a certain idea of function, that it is dangerous to speak of the concept of limit in vague terms, they will say that when you teach it must be perfect in order not to give rise to wrong ideas, which will then be difficult to eradicate in order to replace them with appropriate definitions. When I hear these objections I am reminded of what Guido Castelnuovo wrote about this: ‘That which we know by the professor or by the student–I was told –, limited though it be, must still must be known perfectly. Now, I am a mild and tolerant spirit, but every time someone objects to me with this phrase, an evil thought flashes across my mind. Oh, if I could take my interlocutor at his word, and with a magical power switch off for a moment in his brain all the vague knowledge, allowing to persist only what he knows! You can’t imagine what a miserable spectacle I would present to you! Even admitting that after such a cruel mutilation there might still remain some glimmer in his intellect, which I strongly doubt, it would look like a flickering flame lost in deep and boundless darkness. The truth is that we know nothing perfectly [2, p. 157 (our trans.)]. Strongly marked by the profound convictions of her father, and critical of any doctrinaire spirit, Emma Cas- telnuovo found the programs and textbooks in use in middle schools, where she was rehired and began to teach as soon as the war was over, to be absurd. In fact after just 4 years, she gathered her courage and wrote La geometria intuitiva per la Scuola Media (Intuitive Geometry for Middle School) [1], a book that turned mathematics teaching inside out like a sock. The point of departure was no longer the postulates and abstract definitions of points, lines and figures, but the observation of reality and of a geometry that Emma Castelnuovo had the brilliant idea of putting immediately into action. That ‘crazy book’, as she called it in her later days, led to an invitation to become a member, beginning in 1951, of the Commission Internationale pour l’Etude et l’Amélio- ration de l’Enseignement des Mathématiques (CIEAEM, the International Commission for the Study and Improve- ment of Mathematics Teaching), founded by mathemati- cian Gustave Choquet, psychologist Jean Piaget, and mathematician, psychologist and pedagogue Caleb Gattegno. Using string, rubber bands and pieces from Meccano sets, we students, in the classroom, were invited to con- struct geometric figures that we could manipulate with our hands. Those constructions generated questions, led us to formulate hypotheses for experimentation, and began to move, along with our hands, our thoughts and reasoning. Emma Castelnuovo always maintained that hands are the most democratic tools, because from constructing in a group you learn to reason together, working with concrete figures whose shapes change in front of our eyes. In that way many mathematic passages, irksome for those who are less skilful in abstraction, could be understood by everyone. Yes, because what was most important to Emma Cas- telnuovo was not only to enliven and render fascinating the pathways of mathematical knowledge, but also to devise tools that could make it accessible to all. A curious world traveller, always on the lookout for new ideas to work with, on her return from one of the many international congresses that she was invited to take part in, the young Emma decided to stop over in Geneva to try to meet Jean Piaget, who was engaged in those years in his research on the development of thought in children. ‘Speak to him about angles and he is sure to receive you’, she was told by his assistant over the phone. In fact, the next day she found herself with the great Swiss psychologist, talking Fig. 1 Emma Castelnuovo 100 Lett Mat Int (2014) 2:99–102 123 about angles, which are not so easy for youngsters to understand, because ‘they contain the infinite’. Today the most discerning teachers know quite well that the body in motion, open eyes, and the use of materials are an enor- mous aid to the acquisitions of mathematical knowledge, but in the 1950s all of this was just at the beginning, except for some intuitive ideas of Ovide Decroly, Maria Montes- sori, and earlier, Friedrich Fröbel. Indeed, it wasn’t until 1957 that the first international congress for mathematics teaching was held in Madrid, dedicated entirely to the use of materials in teaching. Archimedes versus Euclid we might say, playing with our predecessors, also because Emma Castelnuovo always had a particular love for the mathematician from Syracuse, who had an extraordinarily effective way of uniting phys- ical observations with mathematical considerations, as did Galileo later. This leads us to another of Emma Castel- nuovo’s warhorses: always making a connection between discoveries and theorems and their history, so that young- sters could understand that mathematics is a living subject, where it is still possible to make discoveries. Still today, when I see the rays of sunlight come in through a window and fall on the floor, I cannot help but thinking of what Emma had us observe in class, that is, that those parallelograms of light in constant motion tell about the properties of affinity better than any book can. Yes, because Emma, even before she had us study geometry, had us look at and touch with our own hands the figures in motion and their transformation. Manipulating the famous string with her fingers, for example, she asked us if the different rectangles with the same perimeter that we saw her make all had the same area. And thus two key concepts of her teaching arrived to us: the limit case, and reductio ad absurdum reasoning. In fact, if I lengthen the base while shortening the sides until they arrive at zero, I will have a rectangle of area zero, and it is precisely this ‘non-rect- angle’ that that helps me to understand the transformations of the areas in isoperimetric rectangles. Ad absurdum reasoning thus leads to concrete results. On the other hand, wasn’t it by a kind of reductio ad absurdum that Gandhi imagined defeating the British Empire with his non-violence, and that Mandela built a nation and made peace with his former persecutors? Mathematics is much closer to us than you might believe, even in the possibility to conceive a logic capable of imagining what can’t yet be seen. This is always done, however, beginning with the reality with which mathe- matics is interwoven and by a discerning use of materials. It is necessary in any case, ‘to give youngsters the time to lose time’, that is, the possibility to dwell on things: In mathematical discovery imagination is united with logic [and I want] to solicit the reader to ask himself questions, to fall into error and then become aware of the error, in short, to take an active part in the reading almost as though he were a researcher [3, Prefazione]. It is important to note and spread the word that La matematica [4], her six-volume textbook for the first years of secondary school, is now available in a new edition containing the computer supports that are required today. At the age of ninety, she personally revised this very rich and pertinent educational tool, so that her extraordinary research would not be dispersed. However, it should be added that even though it appears in the catalogue of the publisher Nuova Italia, it is almost an interloper in schools today, perhaps because it is believed to be ‘difficult’ to use in the classroom, and because it requires teachers to put themselves on the line, radically modifying teaching. This was one of the reasons that, in 2002, Emma founded her ‘Officina matematica’, a mathematics workshop where each year teachers from all over Italy come together in Umbria to actively experience her materials and method. ‘Officina matematica’ takes place in the ‘‘Casa-laboratorio di Cenci’’ in Amelia, a place for educational and artistic research on themes of ecology, science, intercultural rela- tions, and inclusion (Fig. 2). Everyone knows how important a broad cultural back- ground is for schools, and yet how little is invested in teacher training. In the face of the disappointing results regarding the quality of mathematical learning in our schools, going back to read the books by Emma Castel- nuovo might help youngsters find anew that connection with nature, art, architecture and beauty that could con- tribute so much to their falling in love with mathematics, a discipline that, unfortunately, is often taught in a way that is cold, keeping it far removed from reality. A few years ago I asked Emma what topics she liked best to present to youngsters, who were often accused of superficiality. She thought for a moment and then Fig. 2 Emma Castelnuovo, in Cenci during the activities of ‘Officina matematica’ Lett Mat Int (2014) 2:99–102 101 123 answered, the infinite and infinitesimal. Might it be that we as teachers are afraid to offer youngsters topics that are important and full of meaning, with which to engage in a healthy head-to-head struggle for knowledge? It will be very difficult indeed for someone to carry on the legacy of this extraordinary woman, who was capable of radically overturning mathematics teaching. But if we truly care about the development of the minds of our youngsters, it is necessary to go back to studying her books, which like the great classics, never cease to pose questions for us. Translated from the Italian by Kim Williams. References 1. Castelnouvo, E.: La geometria intuitiva per la Scuola Media. La Nuova Italia Editrice, Florence (1949) 2. Castelnouvo, E.: Didattica della Matematica. La Nuova Italia Editrice, Florence (1963) 3. Castelnouvo, E.: Pentole, ombre, formiche. La Nuova Italia Editrice, Florence (1993) 4. Castelnuovo, E.: La Matematica. 6 vols. with a teacher’s guide: Figure piane A, Figure piane B, Figure Solide, Numeri A, Numeri B, Leggi Matematiche. Firenze: La Nuova Italia. (1998) 5. Castelnuovo, G.: La scuola nei rapporti con la vita e la scienza moderna. Atti del III Congresso della Mathesis, Genoa, 21–24 Oct 1912, pp. 15–21. Cooperativa Tipografica Manuzio, Rome (1913) Franco Lorenzoni teaches in the elementary school in Giove, in Umbria, Italy. In 1980, together with others, he founded the ‘‘Casa-laboratorio di Cenci’’ in Amelia, a place for educational and artistic research on themes of ecology, science, intercultural relations, and inclusion. In 2011 this activity earned him the Pre- mio Lo Straniero awarded during the Santarcangelo International Festival of Theatre. Active in the Movement of Educational Coop- eration, he has participated in projects for international coopera- tion in Guatemala, Colombia and Brazil. He is that author of several books, the most recent of which is I bambini pensano grande (Sellerio 2014). He is a member of the editorial boards for several magazines and journals. In 2013 he was named to the National Scientific Committee for the ‘Nuove Indicaz- ioni’, the guidelines for the curriculum of pre-schools and primary schools in Italy. 102 Lett Mat Int (2014) 2:99–102 123 Interweaving mathematics with reality and beauty: the valuable legacy of Emma Castelnuovo Abstract References 
work_ijxgqcknlrecvak7usubdtibt4	----	Technical Means of Preservation of Renewable Human Energy's Procedia Economics and Finance 3 ( 2012 ) 463 – 468 2212-6716 © 2012 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and peer review under responsibility of Emerging Markets Queries in Finance and Business local organization. doi: 10.1016/S2212-5671(12)00181-5 Emerging Markets Queries in Finance and Business Technical Means of Preservation of Renewable Emilian M. Dobrescua, Edith Mihaela Dobreb, Gavrila-Paven Ionelac,* aRomanian Academy, Department of Economics, Law and Sociology of the Romanian Academy, Calea Victoriei Street no 125, Bucharest, Romania b Romanian Academy, National Economic Research Institute of the Romanian Academy, 13 September Street no.13, Bucharest, Romania c -13, Alba Iulia, Romania Abstract Along its millenary history, man imagined, built and implemented a set of technical means whose operating principle is based on human renewable storing this energy, given average power renewable source of man. These technical means can have miraculous effects related to human renewable energy storage. A medium force and renewable energy lifetime of the person concerned, that can be quantified as the average power sources of human-specific human and can be taken into account when making studies and research on human. Renewable energy characterizes the medium human renewable and average power renewable sources of man. After solar power, emanating from our planet with water geysers and thermal energy from biomass that after, the vital energy of man can be considered a strong form of renewable for on our planet, still insufficiently known, quantified and evaluated. The study has several models to showcase, respectively, to preserve renewable human sources. © 2012 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of the Emerging Markets Queries in Finance and Business local organization Keywords: energy of arm, energy of legs, medium man and his renewable energy. * Corresponding author. Tel.: +4-0745-927-639; fax: +4-0258-806-329. E-mail address: ionelapaven@yahoo.com. Available online at www.sciencedirect.com © 2012 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and peer review under responsibility of Emerging Markets Queries in Finance and Business local organization. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ 464 Emilian M. Dobrescu et al. / Procedia Economics and Finance 3 ( 2012 ) 463 – 468 1. Introduction and a brief history In ancient Greek myth was the real architect and sculptor Daedalus, who built legendary wings to fly his son Icarus, who is the first human known as renewable energy use of his arms, imitating the flight of birds. The two together have built the labyrinth of Crete, the Cretan king, Minos imprisoned the Minotaur. Suspected to have contributed to the escape of Theseus, who came to kill the Minotaur, after work, were imprisoned in the labyrinth of Minos. To escape, have built wings of feathers and wax and flew from maze. Fascinated by the beauty of heights, Icarus was too close to the Sun, despite his father's advice. Jealous people fly, Helios melted with heat to wax wings, and Icarus fell into the Aegean Sea, near the island, hitting the rocks and died. Since that part of the sea and the island named after him. Of the Italian Renaissance, Leonardo da Vinci is probably the most studied scholar of all time. Its concerns not only excels in painting (where he made masterpieces like Mona Lisa and Last Supper), but also in engineering, flight and water, music, theater of military equipment, of anatomy and botany , which have attracted the attention of scientists and enthusiasts of all disciplines. First bike, first tank, the first helicopter, a total of 30 machines were made today based on sketches by Leonardo da Vinci, who thought so in the first half of the sixteenth century how to use renewable energy for propulsion of all human these devices. Modern aviation is based therefore all attempts, should not forget that the Wright brothers are considered pioneers of flight with a heavier than air, which originally was powered, renewable energy still human. 2. Renewable human energy human recovers in the body due to the specific workings of the human body and brain and that man consciously incorporates, but mainly semi and unconscious to meet all their needs. Renewable human power is each specific power of man, that regenerates his energy through human sources. Sum of the energies of a number N people, N is reported to average power sources of man. Renewable energy's human is made up primarily of power arms, legs energy, specific energy of each human internal organ, including the brain - the highest example of human organization of matter and energy sources. Medium man and his renewable energy made the subject of our first study. 3. Renewable human energy can be stocked After solar power, emanating from our planet with water geysers and thermal energy from biomass that after, the vital energy of man can be considered a strong form of renewable energy on our planet, still insufficiently known, quantified and evaluated. Gives vital life force energy of a man, that that amount of features specific man who made it to occupy its place, well established in society. Imagine that this vital energy would be measured, quantified and used, aware of every citizen of the planet - and there are over 7 billion people on this Earth. What value would result in huge ... May imagine that the complex process of rest and sleep every day, every man shall restore the life force, continually, better or less well, throughout his life. However, this fact is of great value to the economy, where every citizen has an intake, especially during its active life (usually between 25-65 years, after school and before leaving the employment, retirement). Emerging economies - Brazil, Russia, India and especially China have managed to beat the different chapters, the economies of developed countries of the world, like USA, Japan and Germany, first by adding force their citizens first and last state emerging quote is actually the most populous on the planet. There is, as our knowledge of an index or other economic means of quantifying the influence of education on vital force of a man. We can consider that every day, through specific recovery processes, rebuild their man, the physiological needs and the vital force of needs. Like the Sun, like Earth's internal forces (evidenced by its thermal energy), energy from the combustion of plants, plant or animal waste, human vital energy force are unsuspected by their physical, mental, creative or subliminal, they contain. Except for man's physical strength, 465 Emilian M. Dobrescu et al. / Procedia Economics and Finance 3 ( 2012 ) 463 – 468 social and human sciences today take little account of studying these types of psychological forces, parapsychology, social, subliminal, that people have, each in a specific form and feature, unique to each individual and period of life of the individual forces strongly conditioned by education, tradition, culture, religion etc. All these forces are actually generating the respective forces of similar energy, renewable energy daily during the life of a man. For electronic systems to store energy, says Dr. Loreto Mateu M. Saez is required near the source location (a source of ambient radiation, a vibrating source, a solar energy source, etc.). Tools available to supply electricity generated from the conversion of the human can be mobile or portable computer (laptop). The human body can be considered in this case as an energy storage, renewable obvious. There are two ways of converting human energy into electricity: power can be gained from the daily actions of the user or can be created intentionally by the user. Arjen J. Jansen uses the term "human power" as shorthand for "human energy system that supplies various consumer products". Various researches have been made to highlight the different ways to provide electricity resulting from the conversion of human energy: a) the force exerted by body parts in the regular work; b) temperature variation of the human body; c) the resulting energy various chemical reactions of the human body. For example, the main objective of the research group Energy System Staff (PES) from Delft University of Technology (Netherlands) was the conversion of muscle power exercised by people at work in electricity. Researchers have observed that the PES group activity exerted by human muscle power becomes active instead of passive power in most of the investigations. Starner has also the power of man as a possible power source for portable computers. He examines the production of energy from respiration, body heat, blood transport, arm movement, typing or walking. The option to harvest energy resulting from daily human activity involves the development of techniques and discrete devices, depending on the type of human energy to be converted. Here are some examples of such techniques and devices. 4. Preservation models of In his dissertation, "Storing energy from human power passive", presented in January 2004, under the direction of Francesco Moll Echeto, Loreto Mateu Saez makes a review of renewable energy conservation patterns that allow the human being, models used, depending on the technological power and the ability of human knowledge that age, from antiquity to the present. Here are some contemporary designs that allow the use, storage, renewable energy storage and conservation of man: 4.1. Energy obtained by cycling Bicycles - to name the most popular technical means of human travel - was invented in the nineteenth century in Europe. The world population currently exists, especially in China, the world's most populous country, about one billion bicycles, which provides in many regions of these countries, sometimes in the heart of heavily populated cities, the main means of transport. The bike is also a very popular way of leisure, being adapted for use in many other areas of human activity, such as that of toys for children, fitness, military applications, courier services, and sports called cycling. Today, cycling is becoming increasingly used as a means of transport and, therefore becomes a means of protecting the environment, the lack of any polluting effects on it. Form and basic configuration of the frame, wheels, pedals, seat and handlebars have suffered only minor changes in 1885, when it was built the first model of bicycle chain. Since then, many important details of construction of a bicycle was improved, particularly with the advent of modern materials and manufacturing computer-aided design. They have allowed the spread of special models for those who practice a particular type of cycling. Bike considerably influenced history, both cultural and in industry. 466 Emilian M. Dobrescu et al. / Procedia Economics and Finance 3 ( 2012 ) 463 – 468 In the early years, bicycle construction drew on existing technologies, but lately bike to turn helped to develop the technologies, both old fields and in new ones. For example, there were various studies and research to reveal how it can be converted into electrical energy manpower, submitted for our ride just by pedaling. Thus, by pedaling a bicycle, in a village in Laos, lack of energy, there was electricity running a personal computer. A Linux PC also send signals via a wireless connection to a relay station powered by solar energy. Power PC is via a car battery charged by a person riding a bicycle fixed, 1 minute of pedaling power generated to operate about 5 minutes of your PC. For about three decades, the company Windstream Power Systems Incorporated has designed and manufactured independent power systems, renewable energy using human! Windstream offers over 30 years so-called "human power generation." For example, human power generator, MKII can be cycled or turned by hand resulting in a current of about 125 watts to rot in cycling and 50 watts, enough to power neon lights more today, economic, if current product by turning by hand. It was created and a special bicycle, Bike Power, which is equipped with a generator, wheel bearings and friction, all mounted on a steel base, in order to generate an output of 100-300 watts. The company produced the devices named Nissho Aladdin power (Aladdin's power) or Stepcharger (Charger feet), which are powered by simple movements of the legs while walking a man, devices that can generate power up to 6 watts. Freeplay company developed also a similar product called Freecharge Portable Power Marine, who can work with solar and wind. Fitness clubs are already imagined, machines that convert mechanical energy into electrical energy handled by people and which people could recharge while portable devices are moving. Was measured as 10 minutes of pedaling on a bicycle could generate 2 watts and could reload, therefore, a mobile phone. A special idea is charging a mobile phone via a device fitted to a bicycle, where with a click, the energy generated by the dynamo bicycle can charge the mobile phone of the cyclist. These bikes, equipped with dynamo used to charge a mobile phone are already commonplace. 4.2. Power stored in walking Walking is considered one of ordinary human activities, which are associated with more energy. Piezoelectric materials, dielectric elastomers and rotation generators have been used to store energy resulting from walking by the MIT Media Laboratory. Piezoelectric effect was discovered by Jacques and Pierre Curie in 1880. Curie brothers discovered that certain materials subjected to mechanical forces, undergoes electric polarization, proportional to the force applied. Curie brothers have also found that these materials when exposed to an electric field undergo a mechanical deformation. This effect is known as inverse piezoelectric effect. Experts have already examined the electronic circuits to convert the electricity to the piezoelectric element in a stable output voltage. The first consists of a bridge circuit composed of diodes connected to the piezoelectric element to rectify the output voltage. Load is transferred to a tank capacitor charging once the voltage exceeds a certain value. At the time of the reservoir capacitor is connected to a linear regulator that provides a stable output voltage. The second circuit replaces the high-frequency switching regulator line to a point on another controller, in order to improve device efficiency. Piezoelectric energy source human walking has resulted in low frequency (approximately one cycle per second), high voltage (hundreds of volts produced), low current (in the order of 7-10 amps) and low-current pulse duty cycle. Piezoelectric inserts have been imagined in ordinary shoes, which contain a power conditioning system from walking with these shoes. Controlling and regulating circuit is not activated until the tank capacitor voltage does not exceed a certain amount of tension. There is a power circuit in order to gather input voltage - a voltage sufficient to activate the circuit switches. Once the control circuit is activated, a switch working fine detector is detected input voltage when the input signal reaches the maximum voltage and switch off when a low voltage change. Electric converter efficiency is about 18%, and the system is able to continuously supply electricity while walking occurs the person concerned. English researcher, Trevor Baylis already upgrade the electric shoe 467 Emilian M. Dobrescu et al. / Procedia Economics and Finance 3 ( 2012 ) 463 – 468 capable of charging batteries of mobile phones to operate an MP3 or any portable device power supply stored in energy than walking. The prototype is described as a pair of desert boots, fitted with two small solar panels located in the toes, the sun still falling while walking during the day. A "sock" piezoelectric crystal is placed in the heel boots. Since January 2000, Trevor Baylis Americans John Barry James Monteith and filed a patent for their idea of recognition of electric shoe. Then, they founded the Electric Shoe Company (ESC), in partnership with Texon, producing annually more than 11 billion parts and accessories for footwear. Two electric prototypes Baylis shoes were tested in an experiment conducted in Namibia in 2000. One of the prototypes was a pair of boots supplied piezoelectric. After several hours of walking boots are partially charged battery of a piezoelectric cell phone and he could have made phone calls with this energy. ESC is now working to create an electricity generator mounted in a shoe, but John Trevor Baylis is confident that the piezoelectric solution is best for lower costs and higher profitability. Currently, ESC is developing a new piezoelectric substance, in order to improve the piezoelectric material that generates very high voltages and currents of low intensity. 4.3. Energy resulting from the power of arm movement From 1990 to present, the number of devices that use human energy resulting from arm movement is growing. Swiss watches, Maestro brand is a valid example in this respect. In 1992, Japanese company Seiko Kinetic product has launched, a wrist watch powered by a micro generator that converts the movement mechanism inside the clock electricity stored in a capacitor, while the hour hand that is worn by the user . As mentioned, the idea was not new, but improved technology Seiko. Average output power generated when the watch is worn on hand is 5 microwatts. After Seiko, Swatch Group launched another watch that is Self-energy mechanical force resulting from the processing of the human arm, the clock ETA Autoquartz Self. Trevor Baylis, inventor of the English that I mentioned above, has prepared a Freeplay radio BayGen cheap that works with the energy obtained by turning a crank. BayGen Freeplay requires only a few calories mechanical human consumption to operate. If the user rotates the crank for 30 seconds, the energy store 30 minutes to listen to the radio. Free play radio continued to grow by adding a capacitor and then, of some tiny rechargeable batteries from solar panels. Another portable radio, powered by alternative energy system is Dynamo & Solar radio (D & S), produced in China. It can be powered by batteries charged from a micro-solar panel or a dynamo hand loaded. Turning the handle to a moderate speed to produce a current of 25 mill amperes intensity and time of 11 hours can fully charge the battery device, while micro-solar panel can charge 0-5 mill amperes battery with a cloudy day or a maximum of 48 milliamps on a sunny day. Freeplay, the company that created the radio BayGen, created and marketed, and other devices powered by the human arm movement: the new Freeplay radios with rechargeable batteries from solar panels. Freeplay has also produced three different models of radios Ashlight, arm movement that transforms energy into electrical energy via a rotation mechanism. 30 seconds of rotation of the hand produces an 8-minute radio operation Ashlights. A mobile phone charger that uses the energy of regular human arm is also available to consumers, it allows mobile phone users to make emergency calls and by using spinning mechanism that provides energy to produce 2-3 minutes of talk and several hours of "heightened energy independence" for each 45 seconds of spinning. All these products are composed of an alternator and a crank type high capacity rechargeable battery. Alternator efficiency is very high - about 75%. Another company that offers products that are supplied with the power of human energy is Atkin Design and Development (AD & D). Their prototype is a Sony radio, which provides 1.5 hours of listening as a result of stored energy by spinning for 60 seconds. Another prototype of the company is a Motorola phone charger, which provides for 2 hours of "energy independence" and 10 minutes of talk time, obtained by turning the device for 60 seconds. AD & D work lamp provides 15 minutes of light spins following a mechanical device for 60 seconds, which can be used as fitting the radio and phone charger. 468 Emilian M. Dobrescu et al. / Procedia Economics and Finance 3 ( 2012 ) 463 – 468 Nissho Allandinpower hand is a device that works on a mechanism by turning a crank power. It produces 1.6 watts of power when the handle is turned 90 times per minute. The device is able to provide energy for general applications such as a phone or lighting a lamp, 1 minute drive of the device gives a minute, when a phone is a device powered by spin. 4.4. Energy resulting from pressing the power key J.M. Paradiso and his team presented a piezoelectric button that can transmit wireless digital identification code, using mechanical energy given by pressing a button, without the need for batteries. The generated code is broadcast through a transmitter. The transmitter converts mechanical energy action to send a signal to the receiver. MIT Media Laboratory has developed a piezoelectric generator with a yield of 7%.Mechanical energy conversion into electricity is through a device called piezoelectric skylight, which was developed by NASA and cosmonauts on the International Space Station. Thus, the energy generated by typing on a laptop is not enough to continuously power a laptop, but can be used to recharge its secondary. A device with such properties has been patented by U.S. company Compaq in 1999, the device was invented by Adrian Crisan, an engineer by Romanian origin from Compaq, which reduces the size batteries, making them last longer. Compaq has not yet commercial laptop to use this device. The resulting mechanical energy recovery system consists of pressing each key attached magnet and coil around each magnet, each keystroke is triggering the recovery of energy, moving the magnet coil and causes a current that is stored in a pump the accumulated tension and thus provides energy to recharge the battery. 5. Results and conclusions power renewable source of man, energy of arm, energy of legs, medium man and his renewable energy are important issues whose uses have been imagined in all ages present human civilization on Earth. The presented devices are - most of them - in commercial use, confirm the numerous scientific and practical concerns of human renewable energy recovery. We deem it necessary to increase these concerns - and practical study - quantification, registration and storage of renewable human energy, an amount of potential forces, still insufficiently known and used, encompassing renewable energy of each of the people living on the planet Terra. We appreciate also that in Romania, Romanian Academy research institutes and research institutes of the Ministry of Research and Development can and should do more in renewable energy recovery human and applied field known enough of our country. References Dobrescu,M.,Emilian, Dobre, M. Edith and Paven Gavrila, Ionela Medium man and his regenerate energy, EUBSR 2012,Intrnational Conference, 3-5 may 2012 Drake, J., The greatest shoe on Earth, in Wired, Issue 9.02, February 2001; Kuipers, R. J., Engineering a human powered mp3 player, Graduation report, Delft University of Technology, Delft, 2003 T. Kazazian and AJ Jansen, Eco-desing and human-powered products, in Proceedings of the Electronics Goes Green 2004, 6-10 September 2004. A compact, wireless, self-powered pushbutton controller, în Proceedings of Ubicomp 2001: Ubiquitous computing, September 2001 Saez, Loreto Mateu, Energy Harvesting from Passive Human Power, PhD Thesis Project Electronic Engineering, Thesis Advisor: Francesco Moll Echeto, January 2004; Human generated power for mobile electronics, in Low-Power Electronics, CRC Press, chapter 45. * * * Windstream Power Systems Inc.., Http://www.windstreampower.com website, visited on June 17, 2011, at 8.23. * * * Atkin Design and Development Ltd., on the web-site http://www.windup-powerup.co.uk, visit on 17 June 2011, time 8.56 
work_iki2vvxpqfal5efjldyadko75e	----	Letters to the Editor Victoria Memorial, Calcutta, India To the Editor: Kevin J. Anderson's article "Granite and Marble" in Historical Note (MRS Bulletin, May 1993) was very interesting. Since he touched on the use of marble for the construction of a famous historical monument in India (the Taj Mahal), I would like to illustrate another Indian example—the Victoria Memorial—a landmark structure in the heart of Calcutta. The marble used to build its exterior is from the same source (from Makrana) as that used for the Taj Mahal. The interior of the Victoria Memorial, however, is made of sandstone blocks. This impressive piece of Italian Ren- aissance architecture (see Figure 1), fea- turing curved colonnades, was designed by the well-known British architect Sir William Emerson. Its construction, which began in 1901, was completed in 1924. This magnificent edifice was built to commemorate the reign of Queen Vic- toria, which ended with her death in 1901. The deterioration of the Victoria Memorial over the past decade has been alarming, and has become a cause of major concern (Figure 2). Having had the privilege of carrying out an investigation to determine the cause of its deterioration (UNDP TOKTEN Program1), I fully con- cur with Anderson's view that the wide- spread use of fossil fuels is, to a large extent, responsible for gypsum recrystal- lization in stone (Figure 3). This type of secondary gypsum is expansive in nature, and can cause severe damage to the stone. In addition, the city of Calcutta supports one of the highest urban popu- lations (exceeding 10 million) in the world today. In this respect, reference is made to Fassina's report,2 which posits that in industrial or urban areas, human activity results in the constant emission of sulfur-bearing compounds, which also contribute to the degradation process (Figure 3). Vehicular traffic in the city of Calcutta today totals nearly half a mil- lion. The Memorial complex used to be dot- ted with large evergreen trees that in a very definitive way formed a green belt, and a protective cushion against environ- mental pollution. The indiscriminate chopping down of these trees during the Figure 1. A view of Victoria Memorial, completed in 1924, a fine example of Italian Renaissance architecture undergoing dete- rioration due mainly to environmental pollution. Figure 2. A scanning electron micrograph of a deteriorated calcite crystal (in marble), split open along its cleavage planes. Figure 3. Recrystallized gypsum crystals in sandstone, viewed under a scanning elec- tron microscope (SEM). past decade, to introduce a "son et lumiere" show on the memorial, has aggravated the problem still further. Also of significant interest is the fact that parts of the sandstone blocks inside Figure 4. An affected quartz crystal in the sandstone. Its edges have been corroded, and part of it has decomposed. the building have been even more sev- erely affected. Large efflorescent patches due to the recrystallization of expansive salts, gypsum in particular, have resulted in spalling and exfoliation. The host min- erals in the rock have also been damaged (Figures 3 and 4). Absorption of salts by natural rocks depends on their porosity. Mercury porosimetry tests show that sandstone is porous, compared to marble. It is there- fore more prone to chemical attack. Calcutta is close to the Bay of Bengal, so the salt-laden sea breeze combines with the atmospheric sulfur dioxide, which penetrates the sandstone to pre- cipitate as gypsum, thenardite (Na2SO4), and its decahydrate form, mirabelite (Na2SO4»10 H2O). The high humidity (RH ranging from 90 to 98%) and warm temperature (15 to 35°C) promote the sal- ification process. Let us hope that the authorities will take note of the rapid deterioration now in progress, and act before it is too late. Shondeep L. Sarkar Research Professor Civil Engineering Department Universite de Sherbrook Sherbrooke (Quebec) J1K 2R1 Canada References 1. S.L. Sarkar, A.K. Bhadra, and P.K. Mandal, "Microstructural investigation of mortar and stone deterioration in Victoria Memorial, Calcutta," submitted to Materials and Structures (RILEM, 1993). 2. V. Fassina, "Environmental pollution in relation to stone decay," in Durability of Building Materials 5 (1988) p. 317. • 1993 MRS FALL MEETING - See pages 6 6 - 6 8 for information. MRS BULLETIN/AUGUST 1993 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1557/S0883769400037672 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1557/S0883769400037672 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_iosapayacvbyndmxnl5pvznway	----	101L X / 2 0 1 2 Dvořák’s Pupil Johannes Wilde (1891–1970) Ingrid Ciulisová — i n s t i t u t e o f a r t h i s t o r y , s l o v a k a c a d e m y o f s c i e n c e s I N 19 0 3 T H E YO U N G Bohemian art historian Max Dvořák (1874–1921) wrote to his first teacher, a respect- ed professor of history at the Czech-language universi- ty in Prague, Jaroslav Goll: ‘… My work on the Van Eyck Brothers and the beginning of Netherlandish painting will be published during this summer. I am curious about the final product since I am raising my voice sharply against prevailing views on questions already long the subject of discusssion…’1 The final text, entitled ‘Das Rätsel der Kunst der Brüder van Eyck’ (The Enigma of the Art of the Van Eyck Brothers), is the first complex attempt to resolve art-historical questions related to the Ghent Altarpiece and the prehistory of Netherlandish painting.2 In this extensive article Dvořák applied the methods developed by two early protagonists of the so-called Vienna school of art history: the evolutionist paradigm developed by Alois Riegl, and the connois- seurship method of Giovanni Morelli, as adapted and advanced in Vienna by Franz Wickhoff, to whom Max Dvořák was an assistant. He then essayed a division of hands and attempted to identify the Van Eyck brothers’ individual contributions to the Ghent Altarpiece. More- over, reconsidering the work within the long evolution- ary progress of stylistic form, he investigated in detail the contribution of late fourteenth- and early fifteenth- century French and Franco-Flemish artists to the new ‘naturalistic’ form of pictorial representation.3 In his later writings Dvořák reconsidered what he had learned from his Vienna teachers and abandoned stylistic analysis as well as the evolutionary model in favour of a more speculative approach. His 1918–1921 university lectures on the Italian Renaissance already fully display Dvořák’s turn from a formal interpretation of the work of art to art history as ‘Geistesgeschichte’.4 Despite the fact that in his introductory lecture Dvořák once again revealed scepticism about the normative status of the Italian Renaissance in the history of art (as he had in his text on the Van Eyck brothers), the lecture remains an impressive apotheosis of Italian Renaissance art as well as the role of Italy as a reser- voir of spiritual concentration, artistic inspiration and knowledge.5 Dvořák wrote: ‘These lectures concern the history of Italian art from Giotto until the death of Michelangelo, in other words, those 250 years of Italian art history that have long counted as the high point of the entire development of art since antiquity – a high point that could only be followed by a deviation from this line of development, by decline. Today we are far removed from such a theory of ascent and decline, and one can quickly demonstrate that both the succeeding period – the Baroque era – and the art outside of Italy were no less creative or advanced, and that in terms of their significance for the present they were equal to Italian art between the fourteenth and the sixteenth centuries. Yet perhaps precisely because this dogmatic attachment to the Italian Renaissance belongs to the past, it is the object of a new kind of interest, not only as a particularly striking historical phenomenon, but also as the source of artistic opinions and innovations that continued to exercise influence on the entire succeed- ing period, even into the present… This concentration of spiritual force, this cultural competition … transformed the country, as it was already said by Dante, into the Garden of Europe, in which many centuries continued to find enjoyment and experience.’6 Dvořák delivered his lectures on the Italian Ren- aissance in the turbulent era at the end of the First World War, which left Europe and the Austro-Hungar- 1/ Max Dvořák 1903 Reproduction: Max Dvořák, Listy o životě a umění (Letters about Life and Art), ed. Jaromír Pečírka, Praha 1943 102 L X / 2 0 1 2 I n g r i d C i u l i s o v á . D V O Ř Á K ’ S P U P I L J O H A N N E S W I L D E ( 1 8 9 1 – 1 9 7 0 ) ian Monarchy devastated and in a state of profound economic and moral crisis. Dvořák believed that in such periods of political instability and human vulner- ability art historians could benefit from knowledge of the past as a source of courage and strength to face the future. His lectures on Renaissance heroes, from Giotto to Michelangelo, carefully written and prepared, might have been formulated as personal comments on the stormy present. Thus, these lectures justified the importance of the Italian Renaissance and, as we will see, powerfully impressed a younger generation of Viennese art historians encumbered by the collapse of the old multinational Habsburg Empire. In 1921 Max Dvořák died unexpectedly, shortly before his forty-seventh birthday. Karl Maria Swoboda and Johannes Wilde, two of his students, both with ties to Bohemia,7 prepared his writings, including the lectures on the Italian Renaissance, for posthumous publication. Two volumes of Geschichte der Italienischen Kunst im Zeitalter der Renaissance appeared in 1927– 1928.8 Johannes Wilde (1891–1970) remains well-known as an illustrious scholar of Italian Renaissance art, and especially of Michelangelo and the Venetian school. Wilde began his studies with the Hungarian art historian Gyula Pasteiner (1846–1924) at the Univer- sity in Budapest in 1909.9 A year later he translated into Hungarian the book Das Probleme der Form in der bildenden Kunst by the German sculptor Adolf von Hildebrand, who was a passionate admirer of Michelangelo. Wilde spent the summer term of 1911 at the University in Freiburg im Breisgau with Wil- helm Vöge (1908–1952), best known for his writings on medieval art. Vöge also devoted time and effort to the study of Italian Renaissance artists, particularly Rap- hael, Donatello and Michelangelo.10 He became an influ- ential teacher and during his short tenure at Freiburg in 1909–1916 his teachings stimulated an illustrious group of scholars, including Erwin Panofsky, Friedrich Winkler, Kurt Badt, Theodor Hetzer, Frederick Antal, and Wolfgang Stechow.11 At the beginning of 1914 Wilde worked briefly as a volunteer at the Museum of Fine Arts in Buda- pest, where he met Simon Meller (1875–1949), who perhaps directed his interests towards Michelangelo.12 From the autumn of 1915, with a scholarship from the Hungarian Ministry of Education, Wilde continued his studies of art history and classical archaeology under Max Dvořák, Julius von Schlosser, Josef Strzygowski, and Emil Reisch at the University in Vienna. In 1918 2/ Jan and Hubert van Eyck and Workshop The Ghent Altarpiece 1432 (open) oil, oak wood, ca. 350 × 460 cm, Ghent, St Bavo’s Cathedral Photo: Courtesy of Saint Bavo Cathedral Ghent © Lukas – Art in Flanders, photo Hugo Maerten 103L X / 2 0 1 2 he completed his studies with Max Dvořák and was awarded a doctorate summa cum laude for his thesis on the origins of etching in Italy. During this period, Wilde and his fellow students, Frigyes (Frederick) Antal, Arnold Hauser and Charles de Tolnay, became part of the Budapest Sunday Circle (Budapester Son- ntagkreis). This brought together a small group of art- ists and intellectuals, of which the philosopher György Lukács was the most prominent figure. After the end of the war, Wilde was involved in the brief but tem- pestuous Hungarian Soviet Republic13 and returned to Vienna in 1920. In 1923, shortly after the death of Dvořák, Wilde joined the staff of the Kunsthistorisches Museum, a move quite in tune with the tradition of the Vienna school since the time of Joseph Daniel Böhm and Rudolf von Eitelberger. As a curator of the Gemäldegalerie, Wilde was concerned primarily with Italian paintings, which he wrote on for the catalogue of Gemäldegalerie.14 Daily contact with the original works of art offered him the opportunity to study fundamental problems related to artistic materials and techniques. Wilde devoted spe- cial attention to problems of connoisseurship and con- servation. In collaboration with Sebastian Issep, from 1925 a restorer of old masters at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, he developed exceptional knowledge in what today we call technical art history, an enhanced and more rigorous connoisseurship. Gifted with a wonderful eye and an intense feeling for the visual, Wilde quickly recognised the potential of X-radiography for connois- seurship. From 1928 both Wilde and Issep made sys- tematic use of X-radiography to study the condition of painting at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, and in 1938 they established in Vienna one of the first museum laboratories created for this purpose in Europe.15 Wilde’s article of 1932 on Giorgione’s Three Philosophers and Titian’s Gypsy Madonna, based on the first X-rays of both paintings, made a significant contribution to the understanding of the working methods and creative processes of the two painters.16 Wilde’s pioneering work at the Kunsthistorisches Museum coincided with simi- lar investigations conducted by A. Martin De Wild in Holland, Walter Gräff in Munich, Kurt Wehlte in Berlin, and namely with the work done by Alan Burroughs at the Fogg Museum, with whom Wilde exchanged techni- cal information and findings.17 Wilde became familiar with the ancestral collec- tions of the Lichtensteins, Czernins, Harrachs, Wilc- zeks, and Lanckorońskis. In 1918 Dvořák contributed the introductory essay on Count Karl Lanckoroński to a publication on this outstanding Polish archaeologist, writer, collector, and patron, whose work Wilde reflected back on in 1933.18 The art historian and collector Count Karl Wilczek recommended Wilde to the young Vien- nese aristocrat Count Antoine Seilern (1901–1978).19 The two became lifelong friends and Wilde’s taste and knowledge informed celebrated Seilern’s art collection, later bequeathed to the Courtauld Institute of Art. In 1928, the second volume of Dvořák’s Italian lectures was published and Wilde and Karl Maria Swoboda expressed their gratitude to Dvořák’s stu- dent Hans Sedlmayr, who was then helping to edit for publication the writings of the eminent Viennese art historian Alois Riegl. In his introductory essay ‘The Quintessence of Riegl’s Thought’, Sedlmayr thanked Wilde for formulating the central ideas of that book.20 Sedlmayr’s influence on the upcoming generation of Viennese art historians during the 1920s and 1930s is well known and was continued by Ernst Gombrich.21 Even Wilde’s article on the reconstruction of Antonello da Messina’s San Cassiano Altarpiece published in 1929 tends to confirm this.22 Wilde’s primary aim in the Antonello article was to verify an established concept of the stylistic evolution of Venetian Renaissance painting. He focused his inves- tigations on a single work, the San Cassiano Altarpiece, a work of decisive importance for the history of Vene- tian painting of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. This remarkable work was well documented, but had been dismantled and had disappeared. Wilde once again benefited from his close cooperation with Sebastian Issep and conducted X-radiography on what he believed to be the surviving fragments of the altar- piece in the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Following Ber- nard Berenson’s suggestions he reconstructed the origi- nal conception of the work. The method employed by Wilde incorporated some of Sedlmayr’s innovative ideas, expressed in his controversial ‘Towards a Rigorous Sci- ence of Art’, which was published as the introduction to the first volume of the Kunstwissenschaftliche Forschun- gen in 1931. The method Wilde developed demonstrates I n g r i d C i u l i s o v á . D V O Ř Á K ’ S P U P I L J O H A N N E S W I L D E ( 1 8 9 1 – 1 9 7 0 ) 3/ Johannes Wilde ca. 1954 The personal archive of Eve Borsook Photo: Michael Hirst 104 L X / 2 0 1 2 the intellectual authority of several Viennese scholars whom he knew or had studied with. Max Dvořák’s lectures on Michelangelo and Titian and Julius von Schlosser’s philological and historical study of primary textual sources are both introduced in his writings. In 1939, after the Nazi annexation of Austria, Wilde and his wife, art historian Júlia Gyarfás, left the coun- try, as did many other museum professionals, includ- ing Otto Benesch (1896–1964), Ernst Kris (1900–1957), Ernst H. Buschek (1889–1963), and Sebastian Issep (1884–1954).23 In 1939 Count Seilern, who possessed British citizenship, went to England with his art col- lection. He became a constant supporter of Wilde, who had also moved to England, where he soon resumed his research. In London Wilde was able to study one of the best collections of Michelangelo drawings in the world at the British Museum. His catalogue, begun in 1940 but published only in 1953, is one of his greatest scholarly achievements.24 In comparison with Bernard Beren- son, Wilde benefited also from the critical formalism developed by the founding fathers of the Vienna school. In the ensuing years he produced several essays on Michelangelo’s drawings. The last was devoted to Michelangelo’s elaborate small-scale drawings, which Wilde believed were made for fellow artists.25 Although Wilde adopted the approach of a critical formalist in this essay, six years earlier he had already declared: ‘… My objective is limited: to discuss a few cases in which some kind of connection appears to exist …. In other words, in the old-fashioned art historian’s way, I shall look for influences, though influences in the wider sense of the term, including conscious criticism and opposition.’26 This approach varied widely from those of two fellow- art historians, Frederick Antal and Charles de Tolnay, whom Wilde had become acquainted with back dur- ing his student days in Budapest. Antal, who had also studied under Dvořák and following his emigration to England also occasionally lectured at the Courtauld Institute, emphasised the social context of art. Charles de Tolnay, who wrote his dissertation under the super- vision of Julius von Schlosser and spent much of his life in the United States and Italy, was principally engaged with the metaphysical world of symbols and cultural forms. It seems likely that Wilde’s personal experiences of Béla Kun’s Soviet Hungarian republic and Nazism led him, like many other art historians after the Second World War, to prefer formalism as the basis for his research. This offered clear benefits in his museum work, but also implied an apolitical aestheti- cism linked to the formalist approach to which Eng- lish writers and scholars were inclined.27 Thus, Wilde’s formal analysis of works of art allied with a precise and subtle evaluation of historical sources might be considered to be a humanist celebration of canonical art which consciously sought to eliminate ideology and its consequences from art history. Wilde’s work was concurrent with that of other Central European exiles in England. Earlier Vienna school graduates who arrived in London before the Sec- ond World War and developed close contacts or were directly associated with the Warburg and the Cour- tauld Institutes were Frederick Antal (1887–1954), Fritz Saxl (1890–1948), Otto Pächt (1902–1988), Otto Kurz (1908–1975), and Ernst Gombrich (1909–2001). They contributed hugely to the soaring reputation of continental professional art history and its interaction with the English antiquarian and critical traditions rep- resented by John Ruskin, Roger Fry, and Adrian Stokes. Some of the exiles had also studied under Dvořák and never completely abandoned his intellectual legacy. For instance, although Fritz Saxl dedicated years of his life to Aby Warburg and his institute, he had retained close ties with Dvořák until the latter’s death in 1921, as did I n g r i d C i u l i s o v á . D V O Ř Á K ’ S P U P I L J O H A N N E S W I L D E ( 1 8 9 1 – 1 9 7 0 ) 4/ Antonello da Messina, Madonna with the Saints Nicolas of Bari, Anastasia (?), Ursula and Dominic (San Cassiano Altarpiece) 1475–1476 wood, 56/115 × 133.6 cm Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien Photo: Courtesy of Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien 105L X / 2 0 1 2 Antal. When the question of editing Dvořák’s literary estate was raised for discussion, Saxl even expressed his interest in collaborating on the work.28 Wilde’s contribution to art history in England extended far beyond his museum catalogues and schol- arly papers. He was also an influential teacher and mentor, appointed as Reader in the History of Art at the Courtauld Institute in 1947. He became Profes- sor of History of Art in 1950, lecturing mostly on Michelangelo, early sixteenth-century Venetian paint- ing, painting in Parma and Ferrara, and Florentine art. Wilde’s old friend from Vienna, Count Antoine Seil- ern allowed young adepts of art history to study his growing collection at 56 Princes Gate, a large house near the Victoria and Albert Museum. Thus, Seilern’s exceptional collection which nucleus was build up in Vienna and which followed in many ways the collection of the Kunsthistorisches Museum served also teaching purposes.29 Wilde taught generations of Courtauld stu- dents, several of whom became outstanding scholars and went on to play an important role in art historical studies in Britain and in the United States. His ver- sion of Viennese art history was a crucial inspiration for many students including John Shearman, Michael Hirst, John White, Andrew Martindale, and Michael Kitson, all of whom became influential scholars and teachers.30 Through Wilde the legacy of Max Dvořák and Julius von Schlosser not only survived, but through the process of cultural confluence with the English art critical and antiquary traditions was transmuted into its own distinctive mode, which came to be widely and internationally recognised. Wilde always spoke heavily accented English, and like Dvořák, whose Bohemian German had been simi- larly criticised in his time, he meticulously wrote out his lectures in their entirety. Thus, after his death in 1971, his reputation was confirmed by the appearance of posthumous publications. Wilde’s pupils edited his manuscripts and the first volume of lectures on Vene- tian painting was published in 1974. Four years later his lectures on Michelangelo appeared precisely fifty years after Dvořák’s own lectures on sixteenth-century Italian art, in which late Michelangelo occupied a sig- nificant role.31 I n g r i d C i u l i s o v á . D V O Ř Á K ’ S P U P I L J O H A N N E S W I L D E ( 1 8 9 1 – 1 9 7 0 ) 5/ Michelangelo Buonarroti The Dream (Il Sogno) ca. 1533 black chalk on paper The Courtauld Gallery, London Photo: Courtesy of the Conway Library, Courtauld Institute of Art 106 L X / 2 0 1 2 Wilde established his reputation in the field of Italian art as a scholar who applied technical analy- sis, first-rate connoisseurship and imagination to problem solving.32 He continued Dvořák’s research on Michelangelo and Venetian Renaissance painting as well as his precise connoisseurship. In this Wilde faithfully followed the tradition of the Vienna school of art history since Moriz Thausing and his student Franz Wickhoff, who had conceived of connoisseur- ship as a specific scientific method. However, while Wilde’s teacher fused art history with the history of ideas, Wilde sought to integrate questions about ways of seeing with technical analysis. His study of paint- ing techniques brought connoisseurship to a new, more analytical level. By adding to his intellectual agenda a range of well-established methods from the world of the natural sciences Wilde was among the first Viennese art historians to transcend what has long been a difficult area – the boundary between the humanities and sciences. He modestly shared his experience with his students at the Courtauld Institute. I n g r i d C i u l i s o v á . D V O Ř Á K ’ S P U P I L J O H A N N E S W I L D E ( 1 8 9 1 – 1 9 7 0 ) N o t e s 1. In writing this article, I have benefited from the help of many individuals whom I wish to thank. First of all, I am enormously grateful to Eve Borsook, who encouraged me to write this paper, for her essential remarks and suggestions on the first draft of the manuscript and generally for her constructive criticism. I am indebted to Christopher White who, as a former pupil of Wilde, kindly commented on the text. I am thankful to Charles Hope for the valuable time made available to me during my work on this paper and for his willingness to discuss things related to the topic with me. Mark Evans and Bram Kempers patiently com- mented on the first version of the present text and generously shared information. Also, I am deeply indebted to Kathryn Brush, who read the text and responded with many valuable sugges- tions. Marcella Marongiu from Casa Buonarroti and Louisa Wood Ruby from the Frick Collection generously helped me in various ways. My sincere thanks go to Johannes Weiss from the Archive of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna and Martin G. Enne from the Archive of the Universität Wien. Finally I wish to thank Ernst Vegelin for allowing me to consult the Seilern archive pre- served at the Courtauld Gallery’ s archive and Helen Braham for her knowledgeable comment on Johannes Wilde memorabilia. It should also be mentioned that in 2009 I was able to consult ma- terials in the London archives and libraries concerning Johannes Wilde and Count Antoine Seilern, in part thanks to a grant from the Paul Mellon Centre for Studies in British Art. – Dvořák wrote: ‘… Má práce o bratřích z Eycku a počátcích nizozemského malířství vyjde během léta. Jsem zvědav na výsledek, poněvadž se stavím velmi ostře proti dosavadním názorům v otázkách, tak dlouho již diskutovaných…’ Dvořák’s letter to Jaroslav Goll dated 22 June 1903, in: Max Dvořák, Listy o životě a umění (Letters about Life and Art), ed. Jaromír Pečírka, Praha 1943, p. 119. Translation from the Czech is by the author. 2. Max Dvořák, Das Rätsel der Kunst der Brüder van Eyck, Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien XXIV, 1903, pp. 161–318. Dvořák undertook his work on the Van Eyck brothers in 1901 and the original title of his large paper was ‘Die Grundlagen des Stiles des Jan van Eyck’. Dvořák’s letters to Jaroslav Goll dated 6 November 1901 and 24 June 1902, in: Dvořák (see note 1), pp. 88, 102. It was also the subject of Max Dvořák’s habilitation lecture entitled ‘Über die Grundlagen des Stiles des Jan van Eyck’ delivered at Vienna University on 15 May 1902. See Max Dvořák, Umění jako projev ducha (Kunstgeschichte als Geistesgeschichte, Eng. transl. Art History as the History of Ideas), ed. Jaromír Pečírka, Prague 1936, p. XXIX. It was a Czech art historian, Vincenc Kramář, who wrote the first serious evaluation of Max Dvořák’s contribution to the Ghent Altarpiece in 1910. Vincenc Kramář, O vídeňské škole dějin umění (On the Vienna School of Art History), Volné Směry XIV, 1910, No. 1, pp. 41–43, No. 2, pp. 75–77. 3. For more on Dvořák’s text about the Ghent Altarpiece and the Van Eyck brothers, see Artur Rosenauer, ‘Das Rätsel der Kunst der Brüder van Eyck – Max Dvořák und seine Stellung zu Wickhoff und Riegl’, in: Akten des 25. Internationalen Kongresses für Kunstges- chichte, Österreichisches Nationalkomitee des Comité Internation- al d’Histoire de l’Art (C.I.H.A.), edited by Hermann Fillitz – Martina Pippal, Wien 1984, Vol. 1, Wien und die Entwicklung der kunsthis- torischen Methode: Sektion 1, pp. 45–52. Lech Kalinowski rightly noted that in his paper Max Dvořák radically broke with methodo- logical dogmatism and demonstrated the organic relationships of the Van Eyck brothers’ art with the art of their Gothic predecessors. Lech Kalinowski, Max Dvořák i jego metoda badań nad sztuka (Max Dvořák and His Method of Research on Art), Warsaw 1974, p. 19. Kalinowski’s publication is still the most detailed analysis of the work of Max Dvořák and his pupils. Michael Ann Holly emphasised the significance of Dvořák´s methodological achievements for Er- win Panofsky and his fundamental book on Early Netherlandish Painting published forty-nine years later; see Michael Ann Holly, Panofsky and the Foundations of Art History, New York 1985, p. 103. For more thoughts on Dvořák and Panofsky, see Otto Pächt, ‘Pan- ofsky’s Early Netherlandish Painting II’, The Burlington Magazine XCVIII, August 1956, No. 641, p. 267. For the most comprehensive discussion of Max Dvořák’s research on medieval art, see Hans H. Aurenhammer, ‘Max Dvořák and the History of Medieval Art’, Journal of Art Historiography, June 2010, No. 2, http://arthistori- ography.wordpress.com/ 5 September 2011. 4.. Max Dvořák, Idealismus und Naturalismus in der gotischen Skulptur und Malerei, München – Berlin 1918. – H. H. Aurenham- mer, Max Dvořák (1874–1921), in: Ulrich Pfisterer (ed.), Klassiker der Kunstgeschichte 1. Von Winckelmann bis Warburg, Munich 2007, pp. 214–226, esp. pp. 218–219. 5. Two of the most comprehensive recent treatments on Max Dvořák are Matthew Rampley’s ‘Max Dvořák: Art History and the Crisis of Modernity’, Art History XXVI, 2003, No. 2, p. 224, and Ján Bakoš’s paper Max Dvořák, ‘A Neglected Re-visionist’, Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte LIII, 2004, pp. 55–71. 6. I quote Rampley’s English translation of Dvořák’s article. Rampley (see note 5), p. 226. 7. Johannes Wilde’s father Richard was born in 1840 in Teplice (Teplitz) in Bohemia, while his mother Rosalie Somjaky came from Tolcsva in Hungary. Personal file of Johannes Wilde, Archive of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna III, 1937. On Karl Maria Swoboda, see Sigrid Canz, Karl Maria Swoboda (1889–1977) Kunst- historiker. Wissenschaftler zwischen Wien und Prag, in: Monika Gettler – Alena Míšková (eds), Prager Professoren 1938–1948, Es- sen 2001, pp. 186–188. 8. Johannes Wilde – Karl M. Swoboda (eds), Geschichte der italienischen Kunst im Zeitalter der Renaissance: akademische Vor- 107L X / 2 0 1 2 lesungen I–II, München 1927–1928. The book was compiled on the basis of Dvořák’s manuscripts and surviving stenographs of his lectures. Ibidem, Vol. I, p. VIII. Dvořák’s Gesammelte Schriften was published in five volumes, the last of which appeared in 1929. 9. The most reliable source for Wilde’s professional life until the end of his university studies in Vienna remains his curricu- lum vitae submitted as a part of his ‘Rigorosenakt’ in 1918 (Phil. Rigorosenakt, No. 4523, 4 June 1918, Archive of the Universität Wien). To obtain more information on his life and career, I con- sulted archive materials housed in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna (Archive of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, I 14, 15, III 13) and papers which Wilde left to the Courtauld Institute in London (Fonds of Johannes Wilde, ref. code GB 1518 CI/JW). Notable literature on Wilde includes Kenneth Clark, Jo- hannes Wilde, The Burlington Magazine CIII, June 1961, No. 699, p. 205. – Michael Hirst, Johannes Wilde: 1891–1970, The Burling- ton Magazine CXIII, March 1971, No. 816, pp. 155–157. – Anthony Blunt, Johannes Wilde, Master Drawings IX, 1971, pp. 173–174. – John K. G. Shearman, Johannes Wilde (1891–1970), in: Akten (see note 3), pp. 91–98. – Denis Farr, Johannes Wilde (1891–1970), in: e-Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford 2004. – The text of Károly Kókay, Briefe von Johannes Wilde aus Wien, Juni 1920 bis Februar 1921, Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte LIX, 2010 (2011), pp. 219–233, came out when this paper was already completed and in press. 10. Owing to the groundbreaking research of Kathryn Brush we know that, besides the book on Raphael and Donatello Vöge called Raffael und Donatello: Ein Beitrag zur Entwicklungsgeschichte der italienischen Kunst (Strasburg 1896), Vöge completed also two essays on Michelangelo. However, his manuscripts ‘Michelangelo’s Madonna mit dem Buche und Ihr Vorbild’ and ‘Michelangelo und die Pisani’, assigned to the period between late 1894 and 1896, have never been published. Kathryn Brush, The Shaping of Art His- tory: Wilhelm Vöge, Adolph Goldschmidt, and the Study of Medieval Art, New York – Cambridge 1996, pp. 101–102. 11. Wilhelm Schlink, Wilhelm Vöge (1868–1952), Freiburger Universitätsblätter, December 2009, No. 186, pp. 9–26, esp. p. 17. See also Erwin Panofsky, Wilhelm Wöge: A Biographical Memoir, Art Journal XXVIII, Autum 1968, No. 1, pp. 27–37, esp. pp. 33–35. 12. Simon Meller’s book on Michelangelo was published in 1903. Simon Meller, Michelangelo, Budapest 1903. See Júlia Szabó, Simon Meller, in: Ernő Marosi (ed.), Die ungarische Kunstgeschich- te und die Wiener Schule: 1846–1930, Vienna – Budapest 1983, p. 71. 13. During the period of the Hungarian Commune in 1919 Georg (György) Lukács was the People’s Commissar for Education and Culture and appointed several of his friends and associates to important political and cultural positions. Young Wilde became a member of the Art and Museum Directorate together with the painter Róbert Berényi, the sculptor Béni Ferenczy, the architect Manó Lessner and his fellow art historian Frederick Antal. One of the best sources for the discourse on art in the Budapest Sunday Circle still remains the paper by Anna Wessely, Der Diskurs über die Kunst im Sonntagskreis, in: H. Gaßner (ed.), Wechselwirkun- gen: Ungarische Avantgarde in der Weimarer Republik (exh. cat.), Kassel – Bochum – Marburg 1986, pp. 541–550. See also Júlia Szabó, Kunstgeschichte während der Revolutionen und in den Nachkriegszeit, in: Die ungarische Kunstgeschichte (see note 12), p. 78. – Anna Wessely, Antal Frigyes 1887–1945, Ars Hungarica VI, 1978, p. 372. – Robert Born, Budapest und die Entwicklung des Sozialgeschichtlichen Ansatzes in der Kunstgeschichte, in: Dietlind Hüchtker – Alfrun Kliems (eds), Überbringen – Überformen – Über- blenden. Theorietransfer im 20. Jahrhundert, Cologne – Vienna – Weimar 2010, pp. 93–123, esp. pp. 104–106. I n g r i d C i u l i s o v á . D V O Ř Á K ’ S P U P I L J O H A N N E S W I L D E ( 1 8 9 1 – 1 9 7 0 ) 14. Gustav Glück – Ludwig Baldass – Ernst H. Buschek – Jo- hannes Wilde (eds), Katalog der Gemäldegalerie. Führer durch die kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien, Vienna 1928. 15. The Archive of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna III, 1937. 16. Johannes Wilde, Röntgenaufnahmen der ‘Drei Philosophen’ Giorgiones und der ‘Zigeunermadonna’ Tizians, Jahrbuch der Kun- sthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien VI, 1932, pp. 141–154. For the recent evaluation of Wilde’s text, see Elke Oberthaler – Elizabeth Walmsley, ‘Technical Studies of Painting Methods’, in: Bellini, Gior- gione, Titian, and the Renaissance of Venetian Painting (exh. cat.), National Gallery of Art, Washington, edited by David Alan Brown – Sylvia Ferino-Pagden, New Haven 2006, esp. p. 286. 17. Alan Burroughs, ‘Art Criticism from a Laboratory’, in: David Bomford – Mark Leonard (eds.), Issues in the Conservation of Paint- ings, Los Angeles 2004, p. 173. For the broader context see Maria C. Galassi, ‘Technical Studies in the Field of the Fine Arts’ (1932– 1942). Per la storia della rivista del Fogg Museum di Harvard, Annali di critica d’arte V, 2009, pp. 277–307, esp. pp. 282–283. In the early 1930s also Vincenc Kramář and Bohuslav Slánský experi- mented with X-radiography to study the condition of paintings and the artists’ creative process at the Picture Gallery of the Society of Patriotic Friends of the Arts (Obrazárna vlasteneckých přátel umění) in Prague. See Ivo Hlobil, ‘Vincenc Kramář a vědecká teorie restaurování’ (Vincenc Kramář and a Scientific Theory of Restora- tion), in: Zborník II (OPPS OP), Rožňava 1982, p. 120. 18. Ausgewählte Kunstwerke der Sammlung Lanckoroński, Wien 1918, pp. 1–4. – Johannes Wilde, Der letzte Humanist, Neuer Wiener Tagblatt, 18. July 1933. 19. James Byam Shaw, Count Antoine Seilern (1901–1978), The Burlington Magazine CXX, November 1978, No. 908, p. 760. 20. Sedlmayr wrote: ‘Die Idee und der im wesentlichen einge- haltene Plan zu dieser Veröffentlichung stammen von Dr. Johannes Wilde in Wien. Ihm sind die Herausgeber in mehr als einer Hinsicht zu grossem Dank verpflichtet.’ See Hans Sedlmayr, Die Quintes- senz der Lehren Riegls, in: Alois Riegl, Gesammelte Aufsätze, ed. Karl M. Swoboda, introduction by Hans Sedlmayr, Augsburg 1929, p. XXXIV. The close intellectual connection of the two Viennese scholars in the late 1920s can also be illustrated by the fact that Wilde was expected to be one of the contributors to the second volume of Kunstwissenschaftliche Forschungen published by Hans Sedlmayr and his fellow student Otto Pächt. See Ian Verstegen, ‘John White’s and John Shearman’s Viennese Art Historical Method’, Journal of Art Historiography, December 2009, No. 1, p. 4, http:// arthistoriography.wordpress.com/ 5 September 2011, p. 229. 21. Ernst Gombrich, ‘Art History and Psychology in Vienna Fifty Years Ago’, Art Journal XLIV, 1984, p. 163. Christopher Wood noted that all young Viennese art historians in the 1920s and 1930s dedicated to Sedlmayr programme. Those who were a bit older and in some cases had completed their dissertations under Dvořák, including Ludwig von Baldass, Fritz Saxl, Friederick Antal, Ernst Garger, and Johannes Wilde, maintained a clear methodological distance. Christopher Wood, The Vienna School Reader. Politics and Art Historical Method in the 1930s, New York 2000, pp. 42, 72. 22. Johannes Wilde, Die ‘Pala di San Cassiano’ von Antonello da Messina: ein Rekonstruktionsversuch, Jahrbuch der Kunsthistor- ischen Sammlungen in Wien III, 1929, pp. 57–72. 23. Johannes Wilde, a Roman Catholic, married Júlia Gyarfás- Guttmann (1895–1970), who was of Jewish origin, in 1930. The Archive of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, III, 1937. For the émigré scholars I consulted Michael Podro, ‘Art History and the Émigré Scholars’, in: Adolf M. Birke – Kurt Kluxen (eds), Die Europäische Herausforderung: England und Deutschland in Europa. The European Challenge: Britain and Germany in Europe (Prinz- 108 L X / 2 0 1 2 I n g r i d C i u l i s o v á . D V O Ř Á K ’ S P U P I L J O H A N N E S W I L D E ( 1 8 9 1 – 1 9 7 0 ) Albert-Studien V), Munich – New York 1987, pp. 81–91. – Her- bert Haupt, Jahre der Gefährdung: das Kunsthistorische Museum 1938–1945. Vienna 1995, p. 10. – Johannes Feichtinger, ‘The Sig- nificance of Austrian Émigré Art Historians for English Art Scholar- ship’, in: Edward Timms – Jon Hughes (eds), Intellectual Migration and Cultural Transformation: Refugees from National Socialism in the English-speaking World, Vienna – New York 2003, pp. 51–69, esp. p. 63. – Peter Burke, ‘Translatio studii: The Contribution of Exiles to the Establishment of Sociology and Art History in Britain, 1933–1960, Arbor-ciencia Pensamiento Y Cultura CLXXXV, 2009, No. 739, pp. 903–908. 24. Johannes Wilde, Italian Drawings in the Department of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum: Michelangelo and His Studio, London 1953. In the preface of the book Arthur E. Popham wrote: ‘The Trustees have been fortunate in securing the services of Pro- fessor Johannes Wilde, who voluntarily undertook this arduous and difficult task in 1940 at a time when the contents of the Print Room were evacuated to the National Library of Wales, Aberystwyth. In spite of numerous difficulties and interruptions the catalogue was completed by 1945.’ Four years later J. Wilde and A. E. Popham published their book on the Italian drawings of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in the collection of His Majesty the King at Windsor. Arthur E. Popham – J. Wilde, The Italian Drawings of the XV and XVI Centuries in the Collection of His Majesty the King at Windsor Castle, London 1949. Wilde redirected his scholarly atten- tion to Michelangelo in the 1920s. See Johannes Wilde, ‘Zur Kritik der Haarlemer Michelangelo-Zeichnungen’, Belvedere XI, 1927, pp. 142–147. – Idem, ‘Zwei Modelle Michelangelos für das Julius- Grabmal’, Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien II, 1928, pp. 199–218. – Idem, ‘Eine Studie Michelangelos nach der Antike’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz IV, 1932–1934, No. 1, pp. 41–64. – Idem, ‘Der ursprüngliche Plan Michelangelos zum Jüngsten Gericht’, Die graphischen Kunste I, 1936, No. 1, pp. 7–11. In 1940 Wilde, as a non-Jewish Austrian, was considered a suspect by British officials and as a result of this he was placed in a concentration camp and subsequently deported to Canada. In 1941 he was freed and allowed to live in England. See Kenneth Clark, ‘Johannes Wilde’, The Burlington Magazine CIII, June 1961, No. 699, p. 205. 25. Johannes Wilde, ‘Cartonetti by Michelangelo’, The Burling- ton Magazine CI, November 1959, No. 680, pp. 370–381. 26. Johannes Wilde, ‘Michelangelo and Leonardo’, The Burling- ton Magazine XCV, March 1953, No. 600, p. 65. 27. Podro (see note 23), p. 85. 28. See Dorothea McEvan, Aby Warburg’s and Fritz Saxl’s Assessment of the Wiener Schule, Journal of Art Historiography, December 2009, No 1, http://arthistoriography.wordpress.com/ 22 February 2012. Wilde wrote his paper on Michelangelo’s Leda for the posthumous publication devoted to Fritz Saxl. Johannes Wilde, ‘Notes on the Genesis of Michelangelo’s “Leda”’, in: Donald J. Gordon (ed.), Fritz Saxl: 1890–1948. A Volume of Memorial Essays from His Friends in England, London 1957, pp. 270–280. 29. Count Antoine Seilern who strongly opposed the Nazi re- gime bequeathed a part of his collection, formed also through Wilde’s astute advice, to the Home House Trustees for the Cour- tauld Institute of Art, London University in 1978. The Courtauld acquired this huge bequest, comprising chiefly paintings, drawings, prints, and a large art library, including rare books, under Seilern’s last will. The donation, called the Princes Gate Collection, is gen- erally considered to be one of the single greatest gifts received by a British gallery. The Princes Gate Collection (exh. cat.), intro- duction by Helen Braham, Courtauld Institute Galleries, London c. 1981, p. VII. 30. John Onians wrote: ‘Les compétences qu’il mettait en avant furent bien assimilées par tous les étudiants du Courtauld, mais son influence fut spécialement importante sur les spécialistes de l’art de la Renaissance, particulièrement John White (1924–), John Shearman (1931–2003) et Michael Hirst, qui tous, suivant son exam- ple, devinrent des figures internationals dans leur domaine…’ John Onians, Wilde, Pevsner, Gombrich…: la ‘Kunstgeschichte’ en Grand- Bretagne, Perspective, 2007, No. 2, p. 195. One of Wilde’s notable pupils, Eve Borsook, assisted Max Dvořák’s graduate Richard Off- ner on his life-project ‘A Critical and Historical Corpus of Florentine Painting’. A special issue of The Burlington Magazine was devoted to Wilde on the occasion of his seventieth birthday (June 1961). Sir Kenneth Clark wrote the laudatio and Wilde’s pupils Eve Borsook, Andrew Martindale, John Shearman, John White, Michael Hirst, and Michael Kitson, among others, contributed papers. Earlier Ernst Gombrich wrote his paper on Hypnerotomachiana for Johannes Wilde’s sixtieth birthday. Ernst Gombrich, Hypnerotomachiana (for Johannes Wilde’s sixtieth birthday), Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes XIV, 1951, pp. 119–125. 31. Johannes Wilde, Venetian Art from Bellini to Titian, Oxford 1974. – Michael Hirst – John Shearman (edd.), Michelangelo. 6 Lec- tures by Johannes Wilde, Oxford 1978. 32. Meyer Shapiro wrote: ‘His papers on Italian painting are extraordinarily fine works, models of exactness and full of surpris- ing insights. He is internationally known for his results with modern physical methods, especially X-rays. He is admired by connoisseurs as well as by scholars in the field of Italian art for his expertness and sensibility. There is no one here who combines, like Dr Wilde, technical laboratory skill, first rate connoisseurship and imagination in solving problems.’ Ulrike Wendland, Biographisches Handbuch deutschsprachiger Kunsthistoriker im Exil: Leben und Werk der un- ter dem Nationalsozialismus verfolgten und vertriebenen Wissen- schaftler, Munich 1999, Vol. 2, p. 771. Journal of Art Historiography Number 15 December 2016 Ingrid Ciulisová is Research Professor at the Slovak Academy of Sciences, Institute of Art History in Bratislava. Recently she has been awarded fellowships at the Centre for Advanced Studies of the Royal Flemish Academy of Belgium for Sciences and the Arts, Brussels, and at I Tatti, The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies, Florence. She has published extensively on art in the Low Countries, history of art collecting, history of art history and preservations of monuments. In addition to numerous articles, she is the author of Historicism and Modernism in the Protection of Medieval Ecclesiastical Architecture in Slovakia (Bratislava 2000), Paintings of the 16th Century Netherlandish Masters: Slovak Art Collections (Bratislava 2006), Men of Taste: Essays on Art Collecting in East-Central Europe (Bratislava 2014). She has edited and co-edited the following publications: The Habsburgs and their Courts in Europe, 1400–1700: Between Cosmopolitism and Regionalism. Ed. by Herbert Karner, Ingrid Ciulisová and Bernardo J. García García. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2014, Palatium e-Publication, and Artistic Innovations and Cultural Zones. Ed. by Ingrid Ciulisová (VEDA: Bratislava-Peter Lang: Frankfurt am Main 2014). This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ Ciulisova autobiograpy 
work_iv3nildxajhhlmp3vzsw7hf3xq	----	http://www.komunikacija.org.y...show_download?stdlang=ser_lat ��������� � �� Symbolism and Theatre of Masques... �� ����������susova SYMBOLISM AND THEATRE OF MASQUES: THE DEATHLY CARNIVAL OF LA BELLE ÉPOQUE Abstract: The junction of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries in Europe sharpened the clash of artistic novelties in the Western and Slavonic worlds, caused by developed Symbolism and Expressionism. As an output of the former reappeared in the “Jahrhundertwende” the transformed characters of the Comme- dia dell’arte, flourished in art, literature and music in Italy, France, Austria and Russia. Exponents of Italian Renaissance theatre, Stravinsky’s Petrushka (1911) and Schönberg’s Pierrot lunaire (1912) turned soon to be main works of the Russian and Austrian expressionistic music style, inaugurated by Strauss’s Salo- me, which won opera stages from the 1905 on. Influences of the latter were wide- spread and unexpected, reaching later the “remote” areas of the Austro-Hun- garian Empire, as well as the Balkans (in 1907 the Canadian dancer Maud Allan performed The Vision of Salome in Belgrade – music Marcel Remy – making her debut in Vienna 1903). Compositions of Strauss and Schönberg (Erwartung included) reflected also the strong cult of death present in Vienna’s Fin-de-siècle Symbolism, concerning among other works plays by Wedekind and Schnitzler (Veil of Pierrette was staged successfully in Russia, too), with prototypes in Schumann’s Carnival and Masquerade by Lermontov (both works written in 1834!). It was not by chance that Schumann’s piano suite became one of the first ballets of Diaghilev’s Saisons Russes (1910) and Masquerade, performed with the incidental music by Alexander Glazunov, the last pre-revolutionary piece of Vsevolod Meyerhold (1917). Key-words: Commedia dell’arte, Symbolism, Expressionism, street theatre, Fin- de-siècle. According to what the historian Zalevsky said in his book on the Russian Tsar Nicholas I, Nikolai Berdiayev (1874–1948) thought (as stated in his work Smysl istorii, 1923 – The Meaning of History) that with World War I and the Russian Revolution mankind entered a disastrous period in its development at a catastrophic pace that had not been known before1. Indeed, not only does World War I rank among the most atrocious world wars that have ever been waged on this planet, but it had also marked a substantial turn in history that subsequently gave rise to unpredictable consequences. Anyway, is it possible to foresee the consequences of a cataclysm at all? On the other hand, Zalevsky believes (and is probably not alone in such ������������������������������������������������������� 1 M. N. Zalevsky, Nikolai I, Imperator Nikolai Pavlovich i ego epokha (po vospomina- niam sovremennikov) – Imperator Nikolai Pavlovich and his epoch (after the me- moirs of contemporaries), ed. by the author, printed in Germany by Polyglott Druck GmbH, Frankfurt a. M., 1981, 206. ����� ��� �������� Musicology �� deliberations) that the beginning of calamitous historical developments was actually marked by the year 1848. The number of artists, who were affected by the 1848 Revolution, where not few- Richard Wagner (1813–1883) being the first, and Franz Liszt (1811–1889) also – as well as by that from the 1830 when the Polish emigration with Frédéric Chopin (1810–1849) found its domicile in Paris. This means that the whole Romantic Movement became an omen in its climax of the apocalyptic events Europe was to be thrown into by World War I and the October Revolution. The box of Pandora was already open – maybe with the French Revolution (or it had never been really shut?). In the second half of the 19th century Wagner certainly heralded “Weltuntergang” by his �etralogy, to unite (mostly posthumously) by his complete work the literary symbolists, first in France and then in other countries worldwide. Shattering the leading minds in music of his time, he forced his contemporaries – after he had shaken tonality by the Tristan chord – to change their views on music, whether they liked his work or not. Fiodor Dostoievsky (1821–1881) wrote his novels – prophecies prognosticating the October overturn with Besy (The Devils – 1870), that was to cause agony to the Russian people and subsequently to others as well. What preceded the doomsday, the fall of the East and West? It was surely the splendour and the feast during the time of plague. Art flourished all over, in France, Austria, Germany, Italy, the swan song, “The Silver Era” in Russia, the development and synthesization of arts, as well as the rea- lization of the spiritualization of culture, emphasized by Vasily Kandinsky (1866–1944), not only as a result of the emerging of gifted individuals or groups but also of the free exchange of artistic ideas and experiences on the Paris-Vienna-Munich-Moscow-St. Petersburg route. The intellectual Europe was solidary much more than ever. However, the Fin-de-siècle was in fact the Fin-du-monde, following numerous climaxes, particularly in Russia. The junction of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries in Europe intensified the already existing clash between artistic novelties in the Western and Slavonic worlds, caused by developed Impressionism, Symbolism and Expressionism. In a brilliant moment, the “silver” or “golden” era of the last and first decade at the “Jahrhundertwende” concentrated in Symbolism – a short living but splendid manifestation of arts, which summoned the impressionistic craving for trans- parent beauty and expressionistic perverse exaltation. The Impressionism was moved by “the mystery of love” and “the mystery of death” was the moving spirit of Expressionism. The French painting and music and the harsh tone of German new tonal investigation promoting hysteria and ugliness, both rooted in Richard Wagner’s art, stood side by side with the occurrence of Symbolism in lite- rature. Soon, Symbolism found itself on the very top of the all-inclusive ��������� � �� Symbolism and Theatre of Masques... �� pyramid. Its radiations were felt most intensely in the fields of painting and music in France and Austria (Paris and Vienna), and in Russia as well (St. Petersburg and Moscow) in performing arts, painting and music. Surrounded today by an abundance of experiments in the sphere of theatrical pursuits one may fail to recognize the amount of contribution the Italian Renaissance theatres have made to the fundaments of the Western and, up to a degree, Eastern European theatrical arts, and how extensively that form of the theatre of masques has been present in many branches of the European art. At the turn of the ninet�enth to the twentieth centuries, in particular, either the genuine or transformed characters of Commedia dell’arte virtually blossomed in art, literature and music. It is noteworthy that various sop- histicated transpositions of the popular theatrical personalities found their place in the intellectually appealing forms of performing theatres during the seemingly short reign of symbolist aesthetics, which certainly persisted longer at all the different European spots, than it might appear at first sight. Symbolist “clowneries” filled up theatres in the interwar period, too, and exerted a far-reaching influence, the effects of which are felt even today. In the original form of the popular Italian theatre, servants, like the witty Harlequin (Trufaldino, Pulcinella), the frivolous Colombina and the non-adaptable, clumsy Pedrolino (Pierrot), used to help the young couple (let us take the example of Beaumarchais/Rossini’s Il Barbiere di Siviglia, 1816, or Maskarade by Carl Nielsen, 1865–1931) to felicity, in spite of the opposing parents or tutors (Pantalone and Cassander). Beginning in the sixteenth century, Italian personalities who originated from common people were being shaped by a pleiade of actors, even the generations of families. Soon, the Italian theatre was making its appearance in France and England, renewed in the nineteenth century, thanks to sop- histicated literary forms presenting the former servants as newly established gentlemen and ladies. From the last century on, Commedia’s personalities gradually turned into haunted lovers in different interpretations. Sometimes they would make a comic triangle, but in a majority of cases the outcome was tragical. In the operatic world Ruggiero Leoncavallo (1857–1919) with his Pagliacci in 1892 inaugurated also the deathly harlequinade. The rebirth of the theatre of masques (or the success of the Leoncavallo’s opera) inspired Pietro Mascagni (1863–1945), the already celebrated author of Cavalleria Rusticana (premiered 1890), to turn to more funny versions of Commedia and compose Le maschere, commedia lirica e giocosa in 3 atti, which received great publicity in 1901, when it was simultaneously performed in 7 Italian cities, namely in Venice, Verona, Genova, Milan, Rome and Turin in January 17, Neaples January 19. The immediate successor to the two operas was the piece Die neugierigen Frauen (Le donne curiose) by Ermanno ����� ��� �������� Musicology �� Wolf-Ferrari (1867–1948), also performed in several cities (Berlin, Vienna, Prague, Antwerp, Riga, Warsaw) in 1905, after the première in Munich in 1903. The Dane Nielsen gave a similar tone to his comic opera in three acts (Maskarade, 1907), but the elements of the refined Italian theatre were pre- dominantly characterized by morbidity. The end of the nineteenth-century dancing repertoire in Europe, espe- cially in Russia, was represented by the same kind of subjects, exploited in Nutcracker (1892) by Peter Tchaikovsky (1840–1893) or Die Puppenfee (Fairy Doll, 1888) by Josef Bayer (1852–1913). Touched with melancholy was the well-known ballet Harlequinade by Riccardo Drigo (1846–1030), one of the many Italians who spent (almost) their whole lives in Russia. The ballet was produced in St. Petersburg and Moscow in 1900, to achieve afterwards fame beyond Russia under the title Les Millions d’Arlequin. The ballet Colombine (Berlin 1904) by Oscar Straus (1870–1954) was com- peting to that of Drigo’s whose interpretation of the drama of Colombina, Pierrot, and Harlequin was a donation to the current fashion for the Commedia dell’arte in Russia. All kinds of exclusive small cabarets in St. Petersburg at the Fin-de- siècle were full of Colombinas and their two indispensable companions, ready for self-destruction. There, the transformed Italian theatre of masques was coloured by gloomy Romanticism and the grotesque, as was the case with the symbolist plays by Alexander Blok (1880–1921), Balaganchik, The Small Showbox, 1906, Leonid Andreyev (1871–1919), Chornye maski, Black Masks, 1907/8, and others. Let us add to the list the Schumann’s Carnival, first choreographed by Mikhail Fokine (1880–1942) for the ball audience of St.Petersburg in 1910 in a private club and subsequently seized by Sergei Diaghilev (1872–1929) for his Seasons in Paris. One may be inclined to believe that the Symbolism represented by the Italian Renaissance theatre was imported into Russia and the Slavonic world, but Russia, too, had its own Pierrot – Petrushka, the folk-hero of fairground booths, who turned in the Belle Époque to be the protagonist of the most unhappy love story in the ballet and the puppet-world. In the Russian Symbolism the romantic irony was followed by the cynicism of the Belle Époque, not entirely unknown from before, which gave rise to gro- tesque situations and an atmosphere that became a predecessor to the avant- garde of new theatrical trends. Anyhow, the artistic climate in Europe was feverish at that time and the strong cult of death, cherished in Vienna, broke through to the Russian stages via Schnitzler’s and Wedekind’s plays, also inspiring musicians. A great swing was given by Der Schleier der Pierrette, The Veil of Pierrette, Schnitzler’s and Dohnányi’s musical pantomime (with its 1910 première in Dresden) performed several times in Russia very successfully. Vsevolod Meyerhold (1866–1942) staged the piece (under his own title The Scarf of Colombine) in St. Petersburg’s theatre Interlude House in 1910. Alexander ��������� � �� Symbolism and Theatre of Masques... �� Tairov (1885–1950) mounted The Veil of Pierrette twice in Moscow, in the Free Theatre of Konstantin Mardjanov (1872–1933) in1913, and in his own Chamber Theatre in 1916.2 Schnitzler’s play Die Frau mit dem Dolch, The Woman with a Dagger was composed and published as an opera in 1912 by the “symbolist” author Vladimir Rebikov (1864–1920). At the beginning of the twentieth century The “Wiener Zeitgeist” was felt inevitable in the Balkan regions within Austria-Hungary as well as in the Kingdom of Serbia, and in Bulgaria. The influence of Schnitzler’s “Einak- ter” can be traced in the writings of the Serbian author Miloš Crnjanski (1893–1977). During World War I, he wrote, among other works, a drama, entitled The Mask, the action of which took place in Vienna in the 1850s. Along with the main characters, restless lovers, there also appeared some authentic personalities on the scene who played important role in the develo- pment of the Serbian culture of that time. Let us point out that quite a num- ber of Serbs lived in Austrian capital in the nineteenth century. ��������� � ���������� ��� ���� ����� ��� � ����� ����� ����� � ��������� (1824–1853) ������ �� �����! ��������"���� ����(1831–1865), the composer, the followers of new roads originally paved by Vuk Karad�i��(1787–1864), whose accomplishments in the field of linguistics brought him the fame of the founder of the modern Serbian and Croatian language. The new wave coincided with the awakening of the national conscience at the beginning of the nineteenth century among the Slavonic people who lived within the Austro-Hungarian borders, however in the first place among those oppressed by the Turks. A certain carnival note of tragicomedy of the time (The Mask was first published in Zagreb in 1918) reflected the spirit of the Fin-de-siècle that was, in effect, retrospectively transferred into a drawing-room piece with subjects from the beginning and the middle of the nineteenth century. The spirit of the modern Commedia del’arte had an impact, likewise, on the authentic characters of the drama (the poet Radi�evi� and the composer- ����� �� "���� ���� � ��� ����� � ���� #� �����$�� � ), their role being also to contribute to the genuine presentation of the Serbian bourgeois milieu that dwelled in Vienna, mainly in the Pan Slavonic circles. But the first traces of the Serbian literary Symbolism (which may freely be regarded as a direct product of Romanticism) can be found in the pseudo- historical drama �� ��� ��������� ��� %�&�� ! ����(1841–1910), a Serbian ������������������������������������������������������� 2 See Jurij Elagin, Temnyj genij (Vsevolod Meierhold) Dark Genius(Vsevolod Meyer- hold), Frankfurt am Main: Polyglott-Druck, Overseas Publications Interchange Ltd., 1982, 160–162 (first published, also in Russian, by Chekhov Publishing House of the '� ��'�� �����(����)�$* �+,-- �����. ��/�����0��1������2��� � �Le Theatre libéré, Traduction, préface et notes de Claudine Amiard-Chevrel, Lausanne, 1974, La Cité – L’Age d’Homme, 30, 31, 39, 201 (Theatre Années Vingt, Collection dirigée par De- nis Bablet, Série “Ecrits Théoriques”). ����� ��� �������� Musicology �� writer who like Crnjanski lived in Vojvodina. The drama was written in the early 1860s by the young author who was fascinated by Shakespeare’s works, but also had his own original ideas stemming from the Serbian national epic poetry that had survived, thanks to the already mentioned language reformer, Vuk Karad���*3 The tragic denouement of the play Maxim took place at a wedding party – carnival, in the style of the romantic knightly tragedies. The unusual, but yet recognizable, triangle in the drama, rooted in the epic poem of the same name – the prototype of the drama, suggests that the idea of tragic lovers of Commedia dell’arte had been employed long before the Italian theatre took roots on a wide scale in a retransformed shape on the European stages. In that sense, the novel Idiot by Dostoievsky contains the same arche- typal triangle with its Colombina accompanied by Harlequin and Pierrot (or even two Pierrots) before the Belle Époque. Maybe, the spectators had a presentiment of it when they exclaimed, at the premiere of Stravinsky’s Petrushka in Paris, 1911, that “C’est très à la Dostoievsky!”4 In the like manner both Maxim Crnojevi� and The Idiot (although extremely remote works) are the genuine carnivals of death within the overall cosmos of art and philosophy of the Romanticism and Belle Époque. Perhaps Dostoievsky’s Idiot of the 1860s reappeared in the 1880s and 1890s in some distant transformed shape in the numberless French Pierrots of Paul Margueritte (1860–1918), Théodore de Banville (1823–1891) and Edmond Rostand (1868–1918, Les deux Pierrots, a one-act poem in verse, performed also in Russia). Let us add to the list some others, nowadays also forgotten pieces as the musical pantomime (one of predecessors of The Veil of Pierrette) – L’histoire d’un Pierrot in three acts by Fernand Bessier, with the score by Pasqual Mario Costa (1858–1933), played in Paris in 1893 and also in Prague in 1904 and Zagreb in 1909 (In Prague and Zagreb the title ������������������������������������������������������� 3 Let us also recall that Kosti�, the author of the drama, gave a brilliant lecture in Ger- man on the female characters in the Serbian national epic poetry at the Wissenschaft- licher Club in Vienna 1876, which assembled the cream of the scientific and artistic intelligentsia. 1876 was the year of the Serbian-Russian liberation war against Turks, the event accounting for the enormous interest the Viennese audience took in the subject. The lecture Über die weiblichen Charactere in der serbischen Volkspoesie appeared first (in German) in St. Petersburg (St. Petersburger Zeitung No 104–106, 20–22 April, 2–4 Mai, 1877). The Serbian version O ��� ��� ��� ��������� �� �� narodnoj poeziji (About the Female Characters in the Serbian National Poetry) was printed in the monthly journal Srpska Zora (Serbian Dawn), Vienna, May, 1877, vol.5, 113–116, and June, vol.6, 134–138. See: ����� �� ���� �� �������� ��� �� ���� � �������� ���������������������������������/ �������������3�������!������� �����$� "�� �� � � ��� "�� � +,,4 � +456+78� ���� 75-6944 � ���$�� �� #� %�&�� ! ���� � : �� ed. by Mladen Leskovac. 4 Vera Krassovskaia, Russkij bal’etnyj teatr nachala XX veka, 1. Choreografy (Russian Ballet Theatre of the Beginning of the Twentieth Century, 1. Choreographers), Le- ningrad, Iskusstvo, 1971, 376. ��������� � �� Symbolism and Theatre of Masques... �� � ��� �� � ���# �;��� ��� ���� � ������ �$� �� )� � ���� � +55+–1931). König Harlequin, masquerade in four acts by Rudolf Lothar, was equally interest- ing, premiered in Vienna in 1900 and in Zagreb in 1902, in Moscow 1917. Viennese cabarets and clubs were full of “decadent” clown-pieces of the epoch, in the fashion of the Jugendstil and the Sezession. At the turn of the centuries, everything was dream and reality in Vienna and Budapest, two cities of brilliant operettas. It was difficult to separate daily events from phantasmagoria. The dream was Gustav Klimt (1862–1918), the early Schönberg, with the hypertrophied sound of Gurrelieder (1911), not in the least weaker than that in Mahler’s or Scriabine’s orchestra, the latter being heard in Paris at the time. Reality was the other side of the coin on the road to the cataclysm. While “Congress was having fun”, the underground kept itself busy with the presence of the powers of darkness. Adolf Hitler (1889– 1945) and Leon Trotzki (1879–1940) were residing in Vienna in 1908, and the revolutionary Bolshevik school was set up at Lenin’s directives in the Paris suburb Longjumeau in 1911, when the Ballets Russes were at their glorious pinnacle. The feeling of death was often replaced by a high cult of beauty, unquestionably apparent in the World of Art (Mir iskusstva) – Ballets Russes movement that owed so much to the Russian Impressionism of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844–1908) and Igor Stravinsky (1882–1971). Let us evoke the magnificent music of Stravinsky’s Firebird (1910) which supports the idea of reunited or mingled musical styles at the beginning of the twentieth century. The romantic idea of Chèf-d’œuvre, the idea of transcen- dental beauty was symbolised by the never-to-be-reached bird of fire. This symbol of unreachable beauty had its origin in Swan Lake (1877), Sleeping Beauty (1890) and Nutcracker, as well as Raymonda (1897), the typical products of the Fin-de-siècle,5 among which also ranks the opera The Queen of Spades (1892) along with the Fifth (1888) and Sixth Symphony (1893) by Tchaikovsky, the most theatralized musical pieces of the kind. Tchaikovsky’s last works were inspired by the Russian and hoffmannesque literary phantasy and thoroughly Russian mysticism. Tchaikovsky’s The Queen of Spades, a contemporary of Mascagni’s Cavalleria (here we forget the story-prototype by Giovanni Verga, 1840–1922, but do not lose from sight the verbal basis of the opera from the pen of Alexander Pushkin, 1799– 1837), brings by its libretto and music that carnivalesque turmoil where the innamorati pay by their lives, each in his or her own way. As expressed by Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), every sujet is a mask on the face of the drama, and the specific fabula is given, in this case by symbolists and before them (or at the same time) by romanticists, only a ������������������������������������������������������� 5 For Raymonda see Detlef Gojowy, Alexander Glasunov, Sein Leben in Bildern und Dokumenten, unter Einbeziehung des biographischen Fragments von Glasunows Schwiegersohn Herbert Günther, München, List Verlag, 1986, 84. ����� ��� �������� Musicology �� new dimension in expressing the human tragedy. Thus the musical inter- pretation of the Pushkin’s story by Tchaikovskys, with Modest as librettist and Peter as composer has given to the work of the Russian writer an entirely different meaning where the romantic opera aesthetics with its postulates about love and death underlies the concept of the main roles. Of course, the style and meaning of the musical prototype may be changed not only by the musical but also by directing interpretation. However, it has not been the intention to discuss at this point the staging of the opera The Queen of Spades or, to be more precise, its two stagings, by Konstantin Sta- nislavsky (1930) and Vsevolod Meyerhold respectively (1935), even though the topic is worthy of attention. On the other side, it could be of interest to review the director’s approach which Meyerhold employed in Masquerade, a four-act drama in verse, written by Mikhail Lermontov (1814–1841) in 1834, at the time when Robert Schumann (1810–1856) composed his “masquerade”, a piano suite named Carnival and at the same time when Pushkin wrote The Queen of Spades. The play by Lermontov begins where the story by Pushkin ends or, more specifically, at the gambling table, the actual conflict developing after a masked ball in the high society of St. Petersburg. As in Shakespeare’s Othello (1604), the innocent heroine falls as the victim of her husband’s unfounded jealousy. At first, Lermontov’s Masquerade was not looked at with a benevolent eye by the Russian censorship, because of the alleged cynicism and nihilism that were pronounced by the author. After Lermontov’s premature death (dying younger than Pushkin, also in a duel) the play got to the theatre in the nineteenth century. However, the première on 28 February 1917 was given with an extraordinary glamour in the interpretation of Meyerhold. It was the swan song of the controversial Romanticist, the future chief doer of the Thea- trical October and subsequently a victim of the doctrine of socialist realism. In the hands of a phantast as Meyerhold was, the Lermontov’s drama gained a brilliant Belle Époque flair, with paintings by Alexander Golovin (1863–1930) that added to the competitiveness of the stage set of the new Commedia dell’arte, in contrast to the splendour of the applied arts of Art Nouveau. It was the last “imperial” staging by the director who was merito- rious for the spreading of Symbolism in Russian theatres. This performance of Lermontov’s Masquerade was unjustifiably signified as a symbol of the “decadent theatre of the overthrown dynasty” which was later accepted by the Soviet theatrics, too. However, it would be interesting to note that the performance, which was qualified by Alexander Benois (1870–1960) as “futile beauty” and the preparation of which took six years, did not receive adequate recognition.6 ������������������������������������������������������� 6 Jurij Elagin, Temnyj genij (Vsevolod Meierhold) Dark Genius (Vsevolod Meyerhold), Frankfurt a. M., 1982, 198–200, 203–206, 210. ��������� � �� Symbolism and Theatre of Masques... �� This is the ambiance that was so picturesquely described in the Poème sans héros by Anna Akhmatova (1889–1966), the “plot” of which deve- loped in St. Petersburg in 1913. In a dreamlike vision, as in a masked ball of ghosts, by the sound of Chopin’s Marche funèbre, through the poem are marching the personalities from the literary and artistic world of the nineteenth century and the St. Petersburg Belle Époque. The masks of death, nightmare carnivals, besiege the imagination of the Europeans and espe- cially Russians before World War I and the Revolution. The Russians have the premonition of the catastrophe and they anticipate it nonambiguously. The text of Akhmatova’s highly theatralized Poema bez geroia (The Poem without the Hero) is impregnated with the features of the Russian folkloric theatre and sketches of the exclusive artistic theatrical clubs of St. Petersburg. It resembles a modern operatic libretto, even more an avant- garde ballet scenario (which is indicated by the author herself in the commentaries on the poem), by quotations from dramatic literature (Faust, Don Juan), replicas from the opera texts and the stage directions from ballets, namely from Petrushka. In this way, the author evoked the deathly triangle of the Russian Commedia dell’ arte presented in this stage work of Stravinsky’s. In reality it was the young poet Vsevolod Kniazev (1883– 1913), who committed suicide, being unhappily in love with the actress Olga Glebova (1885–1945), future wife of Sergei Sudeikine (1882–1946).7 A certain role or rather the role of the hero of the poem has been preserved for the Russian capital, St. Petersburg, featured by the poetess as a mythical town. In the last decade preceding World War I, the St. Petersbur- gian culture offered to the artists – writers and painters infinite inspiration in respect to themes and modes of expression and a chance to enhance the city in their works in a theatrical-like manner.8 It goes without saying that the architecture of the city favoured such tendencies – a phenomenon very much resembling the theatre-like structure of Viennese architecture – the Ringstra- �����������$���� �����$ �$���� #����$���� �<��/����$������#����$��������$���� Wagner.9 The multinationality and cosmopolitism of St. Petersburg, at the same time a very typical Russian town, imparted the atmosphere of a “museum- city” or a “book-city”. Therefore, it was no wonder that the spirit of The World of Art, originating from the Russian Symbolism, developed on such an ������������������������������������������������������� 7 Anna Akhmatova, Poème sans héros (1940–1962) Triptyque, présenté et traduit par Jean Rude, Édition bilingue (translated by Jean Rude – bilingual edition, Russian and French), Paris, Seghers, 1970, 13. 8 Boris Kats, “Scrytye muzyki” v Akhmatovskoj “Poeme bez geroia” (“Hidden musics” in Akhmatova’s “Poem without Hero”, Sov’etskaia muzyka, Moscow, February 1989, No. 2, 75. 9 Karl E. Schorske, Fin-de-Siècle Vienna, Politics and Culture, II, the Ringstra���� �� Critics, and the Birth of Urban Modernism, New York, Vintage Books, 1981, 70. ����� ��� �������� Musicology �� unusual ground. The World of Art contributed to the rising of the St. Petersburg cult that reached its climax also in Anna Akhmatova’s Poem. The inspirer, or rather the woof of it was Tchaikovsky’s opera The Queen of Spades – “the ideal embodiment of the St. Petersburgian myth” through the music of the great Russian composer and, perhaps, through the mentioned directing of the opera by Meyerhold, for which he had commissioned a new libretto.10 It must have additionally inspired Akhmatova along with the Meyerhold’s production of Masquerade by Lermontov in 1917. The no- stalgia of the poetess who at the time when the Poem was written had by far outlived many of her contemporaries – close friends, artists and writers, and the ex-husband who had been executed by the communists – gave to her an aureole of the protectress of a time that was gone for ever. The poem, an outstanding specimen of universality, Gesamtkunstwerk sui generis, takes us back to the times when few houses in the towns of Russia could be imagined without a reproduction of the paintings by Arnold Böcklin (1827–1901), the Isle of Dead in particular (1880), made and known in many versions, of which the black-and-white copy inspired Sergei Rakhma- ninov (1873–1943) to compose a symphonic poem of the same name, Ostrov mjortvyh (1909).11 The spirit of that music as well as the music by Alexander Skriabine (1872–1914) illuminates the Akhamatova’s Poem without the Hero. It seems as if the synaesthetic characteristics of her work concentrated in themselves the aspirations and accomplishments of the Russian artists of the first decade of the twentieth century. Nikolai Roerih (1874–1946) could “see” music and Nikolai Rimsky- Korsakov was able to “hear” colours. Their research was equally important in the creation of the composer’s last works, the operas The Tale of the Invisible City of Kitej and the Maiden Fevronia (1904), a Christian-ortho- dox-pantheistic mystery, and Golden Cockerel (1907) whose symbolism is not merely to be regarded as a satire of the Tsarist’s regime. The spirit of the Russian “Silver era” reflects itself in the enigmatic “personalities” – those of Golden Cockerel and the Firebird, which like Sirin and Alkonost, the Birds of Paradise from Russian folklore and Kitej symbolizes the unattainable happiness the human being can only aspire to. The Golden Cockerel caused destruction of Dodon’s realm, and death to Tsar Dodon himself. Kitej, too, is death, the afterlife, life in Paradise, and, as such, different from the one expressed by Tchaikovsky in his Sixth. In any case the Belle Époque gave its share to a better understanding and appreciation of Tchaikovsky’s output both at home and abroad, through the World of Art and Diaghilev’s Ballets ������������������������������������������������������� 10 Boris Kats, Op. cit., Sov’etskaia muzyka, June 1989, No. 6, 102. 11 Tamara Levaia, Russkaia muzyka nachala XX veka v hudozhestvennom kontekste epohi (Russian Music in the Artistic Context of the Epoch), Moscow, Muzyka, 1991, 18, 19. About “Museum-City” see p. 102. ��������� � �� Symbolism and Theatre of Masques... �� Russess that brought the fame of stage works by Tchaikovsky on their touring all over the globe. In the same way in which the hoffmannesque phantasy obsessed artists throughout the nineteenth century, including the Russian writers from Push- kin to Gogol, and composers to a considerable extent (Schumann’s influence not to be lost from sight) –, the romanticised horror of the Fin-de-siècle introduced in the theatre apparently new themes as Salome (Wilde) and the Greek myth (Hofmannsthal). The spirit of “Ewiges Weibliches”, embodied by the end of the century – interpreted by the German and Austrian philosophers – in awesome fe- minine domination, became associated in the male subconsciousness with claims for female acknowledgment, of which the women’s right to study at universities represented an important advance. The image of fatal woman, in effect, regarded as “evil woman”, was connected with man’s destruction and death. Coming from the classical myth (Medusa, Clytemnestra) and the Bible (Herodias, Salome), it found a fertile soil in literature, and through it in music. Colombina disguised as “vamp” made appearance first in Wilde’s Salome (1892) and then in literature of Frank Wedekind (1864–1918). The indifferent and insensitive lady, who may also be recognized in fairy tales throughout the world as the wicked stepmother, entered Wedekind’s pieces, or rather two dramas, known as “Lulu-plays”, titled Der Erdgeist, Spirit of the Earth (1895) and Die Büchse der Pandora, Pandora’s Box, 1904 (jointly serving as the basis for the future opera by Alban Berg, 1885–1935). At the beginning of the play and opera, Columbine-Lulu is portrayed by her lover in the costume of Pierrot, representing here the very symbol of death. Eros and Tanatos never walked so closely arm-in-arm as in the Belle Époque, addressing the crucial questions of human existence, revealing something that was otherwise kept in privacy – the problem of dual moral, on account of which those works were quite often banned, like plays by Arthur Schnitzler (1862–1931). The Wilde’s Salome and the “Lulu-plays” were initially treated by the censors in almost the same way, at least in the German-speaking world. In Berlin, in November and December 1902, one could attend the premières of both, the Wilde’s controversial play (produced by Max Reinhardt, 1873– 1943) and Wedekind’s Spirit of the Earth. It seemed as if they had been brought together by fate, since Wedekind put once that Lulu was Salome12, but also because of something else they had in common: both characters were played by the illustrious Gertrud Eysoldt (1870–1955). Another part of ������������������������������������������������������� 12 “Was ich mir dabei dachte (kurzer Kommentar zu den Werken Franz Wedekinds von ihm selbst. Niedergeschrieben 1911, mit – deutlich erkennbar – eingefügten Ergän- zungen aus den Notizen anderer Jahre)” in Frank Wedekind, Prosa, Dramen, Verse, edited and selected by Hansgeorg Maier, München, Langen und Müller, s. a., 957. ����� ��� �������� Musicology �� Wedekind’s diptych, Pandora’s Box, could only be shown in Vienna as a private performance in the Trianon Theater, whereas, there existed no way for Totentanz (subsequently titled The Death and the Devil) to get access to any of the Vienna stages of the time.13 The dreadful femininity, breaking its way through censorship on the operatic scene, too, first in Samson and Delilah (1877) by Camille Saint- Saëns (1935–1921), culminated in Wilde’s and Strauss’s Salome. But for them, there was not much place in Vienna, even not much for the Canadian Maud Allan (1873–1956), who appeared in the Austrian capital in 1903 in her “hit”, called The Vision of Salome. Actually, Wilde’s Salome and, to no ;������ ������ � "������ � ����� ����� ������ � � ����-veiled performances in the dancing world, independently of the play, representing attractive numbers on concert podiums of different night-clubs in European metropolises. Accom- panied by the music of Marcel Remy, Allan caused a scandal in Vienna by dancing in Vision of Salome without tights. On the contrary, her perfor- mance in Paris in 1907 was received with admiration and was also well- accepted in Belgrade, the capital of the Serbian Kingdom, in the same year. Nobody in the patriarchal milieu of the Serbian state was frustrated with Allan’s barefooted and barelegged dancing, not yet having seen Wilde’s play, first performed in Belgrade in the Royal National Theatre in 1909, when no one felt offended. But in Russia, in St. Petersburg, the drama, actually two parallel stagings in 1908, one directed by Meyerhold with Ida Rubinstein (1885–1966) in the title role and incidental music by Alexander Glazunov (1864–1936), and the other by Nikolai Evreinov (1879–1953), were banned after the dress rehearsals.14 The opera Salome was not to be seen in Wiener Hofoper until after the end of World War I. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Vienna still held the dominating role in music, not strictly confined to Central Europe, thanks to the glamour of Hofoper in particular, and of many other stages, where the spirit of new music was still fighting conservative ideas – thus accounting for Gustav Mahler’s statement – “Tradition ist Schlamperei”. The Hofoper hosted the hysterical Elektra (1909), and the frivolous Rosen- kavalier (19l1), but not Salome (première in Graz in 1906, and in Wiener Volksoper in 1907). To some extent, the reaction must be understood, because of what the audience could be capable of sympathizing in a “would- be-perverted love” of a remote Judean princess. In Russia, where Symbolism, falling on a yielding soil, bore a distin- guished aura, it was not only the question of the deathly carnival, which spread over large and small theatrical scenes in St. Petersburg and Moscow. ������������������������������������������������������� 13 Günter Seehaus, Frank Wedekind in Selbstzeugnissen und Bilddokumenten, Vol. 213 of Rowohlts Monographien, ed. by Kurt Kusenberg, Reinbek bei Hamburg, 1974, 146. 14 Vera Krassovskaia, Op. Cit., 226. ��������� � �� Symbolism and Theatre of Masques... �� Nor was it the question of the femme fatale, who, in the guise of Salome, was haunting the artistic world. It was a shade of pornography that some- times accompanied the performances of this kind. In Paris, where “vice in nice garments” was welcome, the audience was shocked at some gestures of Vaclav Nijinsky (1890–1950) in the finale of L’après midi d’un faun by Ballets Russes in 1912, but was enthusiastic when orgies and crime, crowned by the spectacular and glamorous massacre, triumphed in Fokine’s Schéhérazade two years earlier. Richard Strauss’s Salome won the German and the rest of the world audience (although not without obstacles) after the première in Dresden in 1905, thanks to the novelties in its music inaugurating Expressionism before the New Viennese School. On the other hand, this operatic “Einakter” was a typical product of Belle Époque, synthesizing lust, splendour and misogyny. It also prepared the way to Arnold Schönberg’s stage work. Theatralized verses of Albert Giraud (1860–1929) in the provoking German translation served Schönberg to make a concert piece out of Pierrot’s extravagant life, but the composer could not avoid being theatrical himself, at the same time not allowing the choreographers to make ballet of his Pierrot lunaire (1912). The composer must have thought that Stravinsky’s Petrushka, which in many ways was also an output of Sezession or Art Nouveau, would throw a dark shadow on his Pierrot. Another typical Fin-de-siècle phenomenon was Richard Strauss’s ballet Josephslegende (La Légende de Joseph), commissioned in 1912 by Sergei Diaghilev for his Ballets Russes.15 The new “Einakter” brought lavishly to the stage once again the virtues of the Strauss symphonist in the choreo- graphy of Fokine. Here, the tragedy of the femme fatale and her victims was repeated, Potiphar’s wife being evidently the “spiritual” sister of Salome, Armida, Turandot or Thais. The luxurious set design by Jose Maria Sert (1876–1945) and exquisite costumes by Leon Bakst (1860–1924) provided for a great gala in the Paris Opéra in May 1914.16 The ballet was scheduled for another German tour of the Russian artists in October of 1914, but the event never occurred, because the War smashed so many lives, not only the ballet plans of Diaghilev. Was Josephslegende another omen and “futile beauty” performed for the last time in London in June of 1914? As for the Russian ballet, the events of the kind were made known to the peripheral parts of the Austro-Hungarian state through newspaper artic- les. Serbian and other South-Slav artists who could see the performances in Paris were only few. However, theatrical novelties from Vienna and Bu- ������������������������������������������������������� 15 Hans Hollander puts Salome, Pierrot lunaire and Josephslegende in different cate- gories of Art Nouveau in his Musik and Jugendstil, Zürich, Atlantis Verlag, 1975, 51, 57, 115. 16 See Joseph Gregor, Kulturgeschichte des Ballets, seine Gestaltung und Wirksamkeit in der Geschichte und unter den Künsten, Wien, Gallus Verlag, 1944, 317, 325. ����� ��� �������� Musicology �� dapest, also from Germany, kept reaching the Slavonic population in the Austria-Hungary, Serbia and Bulgaria, through quite a number of students, who came from “distant” regions to Germany (Munich), Austria-Hungary (Vienna, Budapest, Prague) to learn musical and other art disciplines. While the Serbian art was somehow trying to keep the pace in literature and painting with developed European centres, it was too early to think of more advanced forms in music, the local output being still based on choral traditions established by Kornelije Stankovi�. However, only a few people were capable to surrender to the new tendencies. Among them were Petar Konjovi�� <+5596+,=4/, a student of music in Prague, who began making sketches for his opera Maksim Crnojevi�� (Prince of Zeta) in 1906, and Stevan Hristi�� <+55-6+,-5/, a student in Leipzig, who composed the ora- torio Resurrection in 1912, inspired by his research in Italy, France and Russia, also having in mind Debussy’s The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian (1911), known for the interpretation by Ida Rubinstein. Miloje Milojevi��<+55>6+,>8/, a Munich student, obsessed by the Stra- ��� � Salome composed incidental music for the symbolist drama Kraljeva jesen, The King’s Autumn, written by the very promising young poet Milutin Boji� (1892–1917, the first to introduce the character of Salome into Serbian poetry), and performed in Belgrade in 1913.17 It is noteworthy that Stevan Markovi�� <+5,96+,+8/, a student of Max Reger (1873–1916), strongly ��#����$������"������ �;� �$ �$ ;� ���Also sprach Zarathustra. There are no close information about it, the facts were sporadically announced in Serbian newspapers, but the whole output of Markovi� is lost because of his early death. Boji� also died prematurely during the War. The deathly carnival could not bypass anyone, especially in Russia, struck by a horrendous fate during and after the Revolution, when thousands of people left their land, during and after the World War I, to save their lives. Among refugees, artists brought to the South-East of Europe the spirit of the Belle Époque of the Russian style, which was for this area a novelty ranked as avant-garde act. So Serbia, now in a newly founded Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes, was flooded with entirely new artistic concepts ������������������������������������������������������� 17 Before the war Serbia had in its capital the National Theatre, but no full opera with ������������ �$ ;������ �;�� ��$� �$�� ��� � ������"������ � ������ �� ��#�� ������� abroad, were to be seen much later in Belgrade Salome in 1931 (with the ever best protagonist Bahria Nuri Had��� the first Berg’s Lulu in Zürich), and Josephslegende in 1934; see Mirka Pavlovi�, “Veli�ina iz Beograda” (“Eine Grö����� ��� ����!"�# Bahrija Nuri Had�i�� (The Greatness from Belgrade – Bahrija Nuri Had���"� in 125 godina Narodnog pozorišta (125 years of the National Theatre of Belgrade), Coll. of papers from the congress organized 16–19. Nov, 1994, ed. by Stanojlo Raji��� Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Belgrade, 1997, 418, 419, 421, and Nade�da Mosusova, “Josif” i “Till” u Beogradu, Kreacije Pie i Pina Mlakar (“Joseph” and “Till” in Belgrade, Creations of Pia and Pino Mlakar), Orchestra, Dance journal ed. by Ivana Milovanovi�, Belgrade, No 5, Fall 1996, 16,17. ��������� � �� Symbolism and Theatre of Masques... �� which had been brought over by the Russian emigration, the members of Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, and the stage and costume designers of World of Art, the part of the glory of the Imperial Russia, to enrich the theatrical and musical life of the later Kingdom of Yugoslavia. Was such a flourishing of artistic life of the Twenties and Thirties a new overture for the Second World War Danse Macabre? 2��� ��������� �'���� �����"�������? �����* This paper, read at the international conference “Austria 996 – 1996: Music in a Changing Society” in Ottawa, Canada, 2–7 January 1996, is here presented as it was prepared for print. The publishing of the collection did not come to realization. ��������� � �� �������������� ���!����"�# ��!��$��$��"�!$ %���"!�&��% "� ������� ��'( �� '� � ��� �)� � *+ ,� � )+- ./�)� �)'0)� �� ( /,�� �1�2)+3 /,�4 / �� -/,+ ���'����)���- �5 (0�� 5�����6�5 �. 7),� �8-+ ��/+),/� ��- , 4�5 +) ��) 5 � . 3 +3 �� �� .- 9�-)3 �� :+), 1 � ,) ,- � ' /��� ,- 3/. 3 + 3 �� �� / ;�/,�� :�- 3 '�+�5���� �,)- ,�-����'���7�)� ( ��)�. /+)<)3)�/:)3�6��� �/+)� �/, �� - ' 3,�� :�� � �� /,� �� :�� � /�2) � 3)� 5 91�*� � �73�*� � ( + � �� �, ���� �� +-)')3 �!)3)/ 3/)���/ 5-2 � �/-)51)+)� +3 ��3 - 53 �� �,� -/� ��. � -�9, �� !�/���4�� � ��)�.-)� ��)7 �� ��8 -�� �. /-)53 ��- 7� ���3 �/ +)3/�)��- �)+)�3 � � 3�6 UDC 782.9:792.22.035.7/.93(4) 793.386(4) 
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work_iwxodlrvbjegvehziimm75fofy	----	Clinical Thyroidology / Original Paper Eur Thyroid J 2018;7:272–278 Thyroid Swelling: A Common Phenomenon in Art? Remo Accorona a Inge Huskens b Jeroen Meulemans c Carlo Cappelli d Piero Nicolai a Davide Lombardi a a Department of Otorhinolaryngology – Head and Neck Surgery, University of Brescia, Brescia, Italy; b Department Collections and Research, Netherlands Institute for Art History, The Hague, The Netherlands; c Department of Otorhinolaryngology – Head and Neck Surgery, and Department of Oncology – Head and Neck Oncology, University Hospitals of Leuven, KU Leuven, Leuven, Belgium; d Department of Medical and Surgical Sciences, Endocrine and Metabolic Unit, University of Brescia, Brescia, Italy Received: August 3, 2017 Accepted: March 6, 2018 Published online: May 3, 2018 Remo Accorona, MD University of Brescia Piazza Spedali, Civili 1 IT–25100 Brescia (Italy) E-Mail accorona_remo @ hotmail.com © 2018 European Thyroid Association Published by S. Karger AG, Basel E-Mail karger@karger.com www.karger.com/etj DOI: 10.1159/000488315 Keywords Thyroid swelling · Endemic goiter · Art · History Abstract Representations of thyroid swelling, intended as an enlarged anterior neck region, in the artworks of various periods are sporadically reported in the scientific literature, and differ- ent intents may be hypothesized. A comprehensive review of the international literature was performed on PubMed, Embase, and ResearchGate with the aim to analyze the mo- dalities of representation of thyroid swelling through the ages by different artistic movements. Thyroid swelling is fre- quently represented in the artworks of many stylistic periods and seems to be a known condition even by the earliest cul- tures. Thyroid swelling may be considered a common find- ing among forms of art distant in time and style. It is not al- ways possible to define whether thyroid swelling is a realistic representation or a detail added by the author. Although the function of the gland was discovered only at the end of the 19th century, thanks to the artworks of authors in many cul- tures, it is nowadays possible to formulate hypotheses about the distribution of thyroid diseases over the centuries. © 2018 European Thyroid Association Published by S. Karger AG, Basel Introduction It is noteworthy that in some artworks of various sty- listic periods and areas, the neck of figures is particularly large in relation to the rest of the face and/or body. We examine if this phenomenon can be linked to the pres- ence of thyroid pathologies leading to increased dimen- sions of the gland. It would appear that this feature is present primarily in paintings and sculptures of the Re- naissance and Baroque eras [1, 2]. Different authors have considered the incidence of thyroid swelling in the popu- lation to be almost constant over the centuries, especially in iodine-deficient areas [2–5]. The representation of thyroid swelling in art is a debated issue and has found considerable attention in the medical literature. Materials and Methods A review of the relevant international literature was carried out using different databases (PubMed, Embase, and ResearchGate) with the following search terms: “art” OR “iconography” [All Fields] AND (thyroid, swelling [MeSH Terms], OR thyroid, en- largement [MeSH Terms], OR neck, enlargement [MeSH Terms], OR goiter [MeSH Term]). Articles and book chapters published in English, French, German, and Italian were included. Abstracts of all articles and book chapters published up to May 2017 were http://dx.doi.org/10.1159%2F000488315 Thyroid Swelling in Art 273Eur Thyroid J 2018;7:272–278 DOI: 10.1159/000488315 screened and selected according to relevance, followed by full reading of the papers. Moreover, we discuss additional artworks that have not been previously described from this point of view to the best of our knowledge. Results According to the above-mentioned inclusion criteria, we identified 131 papers published from 1964 to May 2017. Of these, 69 analyzed how thyroid enlargement was depicted in art, also trying to correlate, whenever possi- ble, the different representation modalities with specific pathological conditions. It is impossible to quote in a single study all artworks representing personages with thyroid swelling as well as scientific papers dealing with this topic. Considering this, our aim was to highlight the historical continuity of rep- resentation of thyroid enlargement regardless of differ- ences in ages, populations, and artistic movements. Discussion Hypothesis on the Main Causes of Thyroid Swelling Written history testifies that thyroid swelling (nodular or diffuse) has existed for thousands of years. If the high prevalence of thyroid swelling in contemporary times is as- sessed, it can be assumed that, over the centuries, it was also common in the European populations, especially in iodine- deficient areas located far from the seashore. Moreover, several authors and anthropological studies formulated various hypotheses about the main causes of goiter as iden- tified in personages represented in artworks [1, 2, 4–7]. Endemic Goiter due to Iodine Deficiency Usually, iodine deficiency results in a large goiter (multinodular) in middle-aged subjects. According to Ferriss [2], it may be a sign of poverty and low social class, or could also stigmatize personages as executioners or tormentors [8]. Chronic Hashimoto Thyroiditis In most of cases, Hashimoto thyroiditis, usually affect- ing young women, is characterized by a gland with nor- mal or even reduced dimensions, but in some cases the thyroid may be uniformly enlarged. In the literature, it is universally accepted that several artists considered this feature to be part of beautiful physical appearance in young women [5, 9]. Autoimmune Postpartum Thyroiditis Several authors have speculated that postpartum thy- roiditis is a possible cause of thyroid enlargement in per- sonages representing the Madonna with Holy Child, a popular subject of many artists, especially in the Renais- sance [2, 9]. Hyperthyroidism and Graves-Basedow Disease Hyperthyroidism is generally due to toxic multinodu- lar goiter, which is generally associated with the presence of a globally enlarged thyroid gland; more rarely, the hy- perthyroidism is caused by Graves-Basedow disease, an autoimmune condition that does not necessarily imply the existence of a gland with increased dimensions. In ad- dition, the subject can show some peculiar signs, such as exophthalmos and restlessness. Several artists have ex- ploited this physical appearance, linking it to particular significance in the scene (i.e., madness). Congenital Hypothyroidism and Dyshormonogenesis The goiters in very young personages can be attributed to congenital hypothyroidism or dyshormonogenesis; in- deed, it would be unusual to present a large goiter due to iodine deficiency in childhood, as represented in few art- works. Pseudogoiter and False Goiter Merke [6], in his pivotal work on the iconography of endemic goiter, observed that several artists probably did not have any intention to illustrate the pathological con- dition, and what has been identified by various observers as goiter, could have been a simple prominent neck, de- fined as “pseudogoiter” [6, 8]. Therefore, it is a common opinion of several authors that some artists considered a female enlarged neck as a sign of prosperity and probably added this feature even to normal subjects in artworks [5]. Thyroid Swelling Prior to Anatomical Knowledge Representations of goiter in visual arts, numismatic material, and reports in medical and nonmedical writ- ten works date to ancient times [6–8, 10, 11]. Julius Cae- sar, for example, noted that among the Gauls living in the Alpine valleys, an “enlarged neck” was a common feature [12]. Laios et al. [13] reported representations of thyroid swelling in figures belonging to ancient Greek art. Józsa [14] focused attention on Byzantine art on the assumption that endemic goiter was common in the land- http://dx.doi.org/10.1159%2F000488315 Accorona/Huskens/Meulemans/Cappelli/ Nicolai/Lombardi Eur Thyroid J 2018;7:272–278274 DOI: 10.1159/000488315 locked mountain regions of the Byzantine Empire. After review of 500 artworks, he identified 42 cases of thyroid enlargement. One example is the Christ Pantocrator as icon from the 6th century (Fig.  1a), depicting a case of nodular goiter. The aim of Byzantine art was not to rep- resent pathological conditions but rather, especially in sacral art, to aspire to individual sanctity. For this reason, Józsa [14] concluded that only a small number and as- pects of the population’s prevailing diseases are visible in artworks from this period. Thyroid Swelling in the Renaissance and Baroque The Renaissance was a period of great cultural achievements: it started in the middle of the 14th cen- tury and lasted until the end of the 16th century. Note- worthy, the thyroid gland, from an anatomical point of view, was discovered and described during the Renais- sance although its physiological role was only identified at the end of the 19th century [4]. Leonardo da Vinci (Anchiano 1452 – Amboise 1519) was the first to draw the gland in 1510 (see online suppl. Fig.  1; see www. karger.com/doi/10.1159/000488315 for all online sup- pl. material). Subsequently, in 1543, Andreas Vesalius (Brussels 1514 – Zante 1564) made a new representa- tion of the gland in his magnum opus De humani cor- poris fabrica (see online suppl. Fig.  2). Following the publication of this atlas of human anatomy, the thyroid gland became known to physicians [1], but effective surgical treatment of the gland was described in the sec- ond half of the 19th century, especially thanks to the work of Theodor Kocher (Bern 1841–1917). In the literature, numerous reports of paintings and sculptures of the Renaissance possibly showing subjects with thyroid swelling are mentioned [1, 5, 7, 15, 16], and the issue is discussed in significant depth in a sem- inal work by Clark and Clark [15]. Several authors have questioned the reasons why many artists of the Renais- sance and Baroque seemed to represent the goiter [1, 2, 5]; indeed, many favored beautiful features and ignored or minimized physical defects. Vescia and Basso [1] claimed to have discovered 56 goiter representations in artworks from the Renaissance. Sterpetti et al. [5] claimed to have identified 70 paintings and 10 sculp- tures depicting subjects with thyroid swelling after re- view of 600 paintings and sculptures from the Italian Renaissance. The authors concluded that thyroid swell- ing must have been common in the historic population, and that the models included in the scenario were a part of daily life. In the Renaissance, 3 main artistic trends can be iden- tified: 1 The art of Raffaello Sanzio (Urbino 1483 – Rome 1520) epitomized the High Renaissance qualities of harmony and ideal beauty, so it can be supposed that he consid- ered an enlarged neck at least a normal physical ap- pearance in models, or that he exaggerated this feature, considering it as a part of ideal beauty. In the painting entitled Borghese Deposition (see online suppl. Fig. 3A), one of the pious women in the right part of the picture is depicted with a large goiter (see online suppl. Fig. 3B) [17]. In The Transfiguration of Christ (see online suppl. Fig.  4), a boy with an enlarged neck associated with signs of toxic goiter (exophthalmos, weight loss, and agitation) is depicted in the lower part at the right- hand side (Fig. 1b). In the common interpretation of the artwork, the boy is “possessed by Satan” and is waiting for a miracle, and thus a correlation between the signs of hyperthyroidism and the situation repre- sented can be hypothesized. 2 Leonardo da Vinci was pushed by a great curiosity for discovering human anatomy and probably fascinated by strange physiognomies: a consistent example of this is the drawing of Scaramuccia (see online suppl. Fig. 5). In Leonardo’s drawings, we often capture the intent to analyze an altered physical property rather than to cancel it. 3 Other authors such as Michelangelo Merisi (Caravag- gio) (Milan 1571 – Porto d’Ercole 1610) wanted to cre- ate paintings with large emotional effects for the view- er and avoided the idealization of personages included, who were preferentially common low-class people. Ev- ery physical characteristic, goiter included, was pre- (For figure see next page.) Fig. 1. a Christ Pantocrator icon (6th century), St. Catherine’s Monastery, Mount Sinai, Egypt. b The Transfiguration of Christ (detail) (Raffaello Sanzio, 1516–1520), tempera on panel, © Museo Nacional del Prado / © Photographic Archive Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid, Spain. c The Crucifixion of Saint Andrew (detail) (Caravaggio, 1607), oil on canvas, © Cleveland Museum of Art / © Photographic Archive Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, OH, USA. d The Mad Lovers (Bartolomeo Passerotti, 1570), oil on can- vas, private collection, Paris, France. e Judith and Her Maidservant (Artemisia Gentileschi, 1613), oil on canvas, © Museo Pitti, © Pho- tographic Archive Museo Pitti, Florence, Italy. f The Madonna in Red (Rogier van der Weyden, 1435–1438), oil on oak, © Museo Nacional del Prado / © Photographic Archive Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid, Spain. g Monstrous Craws, at a New Coalition Feast (James Gillray, 1787), etching with aquatint, © The British Museum, London, UK. h The Seducer II (Edvard Munch, 1913), oil on canvas, 80 × 99 cm, Munch Museum, Oslo, Norway. http://dx.doi.org/10.1159%2F000488315 Thyroid Swelling in Art 275Eur Thyroid J 2018;7:272–278 DOI: 10.1159/000488315 a b c d e f g h1 http://dx.doi.org/10.1159%2F000488315 Accorona/Huskens/Meulemans/Cappelli/ Nicolai/Lombardi Eur Thyroid J 2018;7:272–278276 DOI: 10.1159/000488315 cisely depicted. An outstanding and well-known ex- ample is The Crucifixion of Saint Andrew (1607) (see online suppl. Fig. 6) [5, 18]. Although it should be kept in mind that Caravaggio used clair-obscur in his paint- ings – contrasts to create more emotional effects, in the left lower part of the picture an old lady with an obvi- ous goiter is represented (Fig.  1c). As underlined by Sterpetti et al. [5], the woman probably came from a low-class group. In the first of the 3 above-mentioned Renaissance trends, thyroid swelling was included in artwork as part of ideal human beauty; in the second, goiter physiognomy was depicted as an attempt to represent a not well-known human anatomy; in the third, the artistic innovations of the Renaissance (perspective and study of human anato- my) led to realism. In this group, 2 subgroups can be iden- tified: first, a group of artists in which the trend was to exaggerate and cross the edge of realism, up to grotesque and artificial qualities classified as mannerism style, and second, a group of artists classified as Caravaggists, con- textualized in the Baroque and no longer part of the Re- naissance. An interesting example of the first group is painting The Mad Lovers (1570) by Bartolomeo Passe- rotti (Bologna 1529–1592) (Fig. 1d). The male and female figures, the gods Bacco and Cerere, respectively, are only distinguishable due to the presence of the breast in Cere- re; the goiter of the female subject, probably an artificial composition, contributes to her masculine appearance. A very good example of the second group is the paint- ing Judith and Her Maidservant (1613) (Fig. 1e) by Arte- misia Gentileschi (Rome 1593 – Naples 1653). Judith and Oloferne is a recurrent theme in Caravaggio and in Cara- vaggist artists, and at least 2 representations are attributed to Gentileschi. According to Lazzeri et al. [19] and Tri- marchi [20], the legendary heroine Judith was very often represented with a goitrous thyroid gland by several art- ists of the Baroque as a symbol of powerful masculine body and courage. In Judith and Her Maidservant, the figure of Judith is probably a self-portrait of the artist who did not hide her large goiter [5]. Representation of thyroid swelling also seems to be present in the artworks of other major artists of the Re- naissance and Baroque periods, i.e., Michelangelo Buo- narroti, Pinturicchio, Piero della Francesca, Gaudenzio Ferrari, and Jusepe de Ribera. Unfortunately, it is impos- sible to include all these artworks in a single paper: a de- tailed report on this topic is presented in the article by Sterpetti et al. [5]. In Belgium and the Netherlands, the goiter was not en- demic as in other European regions; however, thanks to the work by Lazzeri et al. [9], representations of goiters in Flemish Renaissance became more noticeable. Although Peter Paul Rubens and Albrecht Dürer only occasionally depicted personages with thyroid enlargement [1, 7, 21], Lazzeri et al. [9] found several paintings by Rogier van der Weyden (Tournai 1399 – Brussels 1464) in which the sub- jects revealed mild grades of thyroid enlargement. A com- plete analysis is very well presented in the aforementioned article; in the present work, we report as an example an important female-figure portrait by van der Weyden in which the goiter is much more evident: The Madonna in Red (Fig. 1f). The artist had the possibility to travel across Italy, where he was exposed to the Italian Renaissance, and where he consequently observed artworks in which the enlarged neck was included. The most accepted hypoth- esis is that van der Weyden included the stylistic element of an enlarged neck in his work inspired by the aforemen- tioned ideals of the Renaissance [22]. Thyroid Swelling in Caricatures at the End of 18th Century In the 18th century, the caricature, strongly influenced by the theme of grotesque belonging to Middle Age, Re- naissance, and Baroque traditions, spread though the new social conditions of the Illuminist movement. An anoma- lous physical property was widely exploited or deliberately added by the authors to deplore the subject(s) of the cari- cature. James Gillray (Chelsea 1757 – London 1815) is con- sidered one of the father of the modern caricature. The car- icature Monstrous Craws, at a New Coalition Feast (1787) (Fig. 1g) is an example of goiter deliberately added for sa- tiric purposes. It shows King George III, dressed like a woman, Queen Charlotte, and the Prince of Wales eating gold coins: goiters are represented as “pelican pouches” and hanging from their neck. Gillray used the imagery of glut- tony to criticize the exorbitant demands on the public purse by the British royal family. The Prince of Wales is repre- sented with a goiter not large enough to pay off debts; on the other hand, the King and the Queen are criticized for the greed with which they fill their distended pouches. Thyroid Swelling in the Neoclassicism The Neoclassicism marked by rationalism arose in the late 18th century as an opposition to the artistic “extrava- gance” of the late Baroque and Rococo and in contrast to the emerging Romantic art. This movement was inspired by the ideals of Grecian and Roman classic art: the neo- classic artists considered that it was important to extract the essence and the mental attitude of the artists of the classic age in artworks. Jean-Auguste Dominique Ingres http://dx.doi.org/10.1159%2F000488315 Thyroid Swelling in Art 277Eur Thyroid J 2018;7:272–278 DOI: 10.1159/000488315 (Montauban 1780 – Paris 1867) was one of the most influ- ential painters of this movement. Ingres was an artist who combined classical inspiration and realism and who was responsible for one of the most interesting representations of the goiter painted in that period. In Roger Freeing An- gelica (1819) (see online suppl. Fig. 7), the young woman is depicted with a large goiter in order to increase, accord- ing to Ferriss [2], her erotic appearance. When the paint- ing was exhibited, the features of Angelica were criticized, and she was nicknamed the “triple-breasted Angelica.” In a period in which the highest expression of art was repro- duction of “ancient perfection,” an obvious physical de- fect such as a large goiter was not widely tolerated. Thyroid Swelling in 20th Century Artworks In the 20th century, examples of personages depicted with an enlarged neck can be found, although, as already mentioned, the most numerous examples in painting and sculptures are from other periods. This also happened be- cause the art movements of the second part of the 19th century and the 20th century reduced the attention to de- tails of the human figure, evolving towards abstraction, starting from Impressionism, going through Expression- ism, Surrealism, and so on. The Seducer (1913) (Fig. 1h) by Edvard Munch (Løten 1863 – Oslo 1944) is one such example. The picture, which was painted 20 years after The Scream (1891) dur- ing the mature phase of the author and in a happy period in Munch’s life, is characterized by a light touch and vi- brant colors. The painting represents a couple in an inti- mate pose: the female figure is depicted with an enlarged neck; however, as noticed before, the aim of Munch was not to depict reality, but to express deeper emotions by using expressive colors and forms. Another example, focused on by Pozzilli and Lazzeri [23], is The Crucifixion (1924), by the futuristic Italian au- thor Primo Conti (Florence 1900 – Fiesole 1988) (see on- line suppl. Fig. 8). The figure of Christ is depicted with a thick neck, but in this case it is probably not a real goiter. Firstly, it is an artwork in a futuristic style in which the hu- man body, and therefore the neck, is slightly deformed in the direction of the mechanical; secondly, Pozzilli and La- zzeri [23] underlined that a crucified Christ with thyroid swelling is an extremely uncommon representation in art. We also want to mention a clear example of a self-por- trait with goiter by the Italian painter Antonio Ligabue (Zurich 1899 – Gualtieri 1965), who was not contextual- ized in any movement and whose work is generally framed as “naïf.” Suffering from rickets which compromised his normal physical development, the author lived a life dominated by depressive episodes. Ligabue is the only case in which we can be sure of depiction of goiter, be- cause it is known from photographs that the artist suf- fered from it. The best known and appreciated parts of his work are the paintings of animals, but he also made nu- merous self-portraits. In these self-portraits, the artist paid attention to expressiveness in the eyes and to physi- ognomic details: indeed, the goiter is very often not hid- den, but rather underlined, becoming a focal point in the work, as in the self-portrait (see online suppl. Fig. 9). Conclusion In the examples reviewed, thyroid swelling may be considered a common finding among forms of art distant in time and artistic style. In every period during human history, art and medicine deal with the same topic accord- ing to different perspectives; thanks to the work of artists who used thyroid swelling for formal or symbolic rea- sons, and, of course, observers and descriptors of nature in the past, it is possible to have hints about the spread and extent of thyroid diseases over the centuries. Disclosure Statement All authors have no conflict of interest to disclose. References 1 Vescia FG, Basso L: Goiters in the Renais- sance. Vesalius 1997; 3: 23–32. 2 Ferriss JB: The many reasons why goiter is seen in old paintings. Thyroid 2008; 18: 387– 393. 3 Gutekunst R, Sciba PC: Goiter and iodine de- ficiency in Europe. The European Thyroid Association report as updated in 1988. J En- docrinol Invest 1989; 12: 209–220. 4 Chigot JP: The thyroid one and goiter through the ages. Hist Sci Med 2008; 42: 393–402. 5 Sterpetti AV, De Toma G, De Cesare A: Thy- roid swellings in the art of the Italian Renais- sance. Am J Surg 2015; 210: 591–596. 6 Merke F: History and iconography of endem- ic goiter and cretinism. Berne, Huber, 1984. 7 Droin G: Endemic goiter and cretinism in Alps: evolution of science and treatments, transformation of the pathology and its rep- resentations. Int J Anthropol 2005; 20: 307– 324. http://dx.doi.org/10.1159%2F000488315 Accorona/Huskens/Meulemans/Cappelli/ Nicolai/Lombardi Eur Thyroid J 2018;7:272–278278 DOI: 10.1159/000488315 8 Dionigi G, Dionigi R: Iconography of goiter: four refined examples in the Sacred Mountain of Varese, Italy. Thyroid 2013; 23: 1301–1304. 9 Lazzeri D, Pozzilli P, Zhang YX, Persichetti P: Goiter in paintings by Rogier van der Weyden (1399–1464). Thyroid 2015; 25: 559–562. 10 Martino E, Del Tacca M: Endocrinology and art. Queen Ankhesenammon with goiter. 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work_iym3pjsemzdphla4lfngvq4efu	----	CENTRO DI MASSA This article is published under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License 4.0 Author(s) retain the copyright of this article. Publication rights with Alkhaer Publications. Published at: http://www.ijsciences.com/pub/issue/2015-07/ Article Number: V4201507786; Online ISSN: 2305-3925; Print ISSN: 2410-4477  Amelia Carolina Sparavigna (Correspondence)  d002040@polito.it  +39-011-564-7360 A Historical Discussion of Angular Momentum and its Euler Equation Amelia Carolina Sparavigna1 1Department of Applied Science and Technology, Politecnico di Torino, Italy Abstract: We propose a discussion of angular momentum and its Euler equation, with the aim of giving a short outline of their history. This outline can be useful for teaching purposes too, to amend some problems that students can have in learning this important physical quantity. Keywords: History of Physics, History of Science, Physics Classroom, Euler’s Laws 1. Introduction When we are teaching the laws concerning angular momentum to the students of a physics classroom, we are usually proposing them as the angular version of Newton’s Laws, in particular when we are discussing the rotational motion. To illustrate it we need several concepts and physics quantities: angular velocity and acceleration, cross product of vectors, torques and moments of inertia. Therefore, the discussion of angular momentum is rather complex, and requiring a large number of examples in order to have the student confident with this important physical quantity. Besides examples and exercises, a short history of this concept can help the students to highlight the links between celestial mechanics of planets and rigid body mechanics. In this paper then, we propose a discussion of angular momentum and its Euler’s equation in the framework of a short outline of their history. Let us start from the concept of angular momentum and from an object well known from the ancient past, the spinning top. 2. Angular momentum and spinning tops In physics, angular momentum is important because it is a conserved quantity. In fact, this physical quantity remains constant unless acted on by an external torque. Before given in its modern form by means of Noether’s theorem [1], the conservation of the angular momentum was discussed in two manners, linked to the rotational inertia of bodies and to the motion of revolution of planets. For what concerned rotational motion, an object was quite attractive in the past, the top and its endless spin. Isaac Newton wrote about it in the following passage of his Principia: “Projectiles persevere in their motions, so far as they are retarded by the resistance of the air, or impelled downwards by the force of the gravity. A top, whose parts, by their cohesion, are perpetually drawn aside from rectilinear motions, does not cease its rotation otherwise than it is retarded by the air”. He also linked spinning tops and planets, telling that the “greater bodies of the planets and comets, meeting with less resistance in more free spaces, preserve their motions both progressive and circular for a much longer time” [2]. Of course, spinning tops had been mentioned in literature quite before Newton [3]. Plato talks of them in his Republic (360 BC) when he is discussing of rest and motion. He tells that when we see a man standing still but moving his hands and head, we can tell that this man is at the same time at rest and in motion. We observe the same in spinning tops. Tops, in a certain manner, stand still as a whole and, at the same time are in motion when, with the peg fixed in one point, they revolve. “The same is true of any other case of circular motion about the same spot” (of course we are not considering repose and movement in relation to the same parts of the objects). “We would say that there was a straight line and a circumference in them and that, in respect of the straight line, they are standing still since they do not incline to either side, but in respect of the circumference they move in a circle”. When, during their revolution, tops “incline the perpendicular to right or left or forward or back, then they are in no wise at rest” [4]. A spinning top is therefore having an “equilibrium mobile” [4], which disappears when we have the precession, that is, when the axis of the top is moving. http://www.ijsciences.com/pub/issue/2015-07/ A Historical Discussion of Angular Momentum and its Euler Equation http://www.ijSciences.com Volume 4 – July 2015 (07) 35 Spinning top is appearing also in a Saint Basil’s Hexaemeron (Homily 5) [3]. “Let the earth bring forth”. It is this command (of God) “which, still at this day, is imposed on the earth, and in the course of each year displays all the strength of its power to produce herbs, seeds and trees. Like tops, which after the first impulse, continue their evolutions, turning upon themselves when once fixed in their centre; thus nature, receiving the impulse of this first command, follows without interruption the course of ages, until the consummation of all things” [5]. In fact, Basil’s discussion seems a conservation law of nature. During the Medieval period, we find spinning top mentioned by Jean Buridan (1295-1358) as a counterexample to Aristotelian “doctrine of antiperistasis” [6]. Then, the puzzling verticality of this rotating body appeared in the books of Italian Renaissance writers. Giovanni Battista Benedetti (1530-1590), for instance, is arguing that the reason for the spinning top to remain for some time erect over its tips is in the natural rectilinear tendency of it parts, which increasing with the speed of rotation, overwhelms the natural tendency downwards [6]. However, this tendency is never wholly obliterated by the tangential tendency, and then Benedetti argued that a body becomes lighter the more swiftly it is spinning [6]. After Newton, the angular momentum was considered in terms of the conservation of areal velocity, a result of the analysis of Kepler's Second Law of planetary motion [7]. During the motion of a planet, the line between the Sun and the planet sweeps out equal areas in equal intervals of time. Newton derived a proof of this law, using geometry and demonstrated that the attractive force of the Sun was the origin of all of Kepler's Laws. As told in [7], many scientists and philosopher considered the conservation of the angular momentum mainly viewed like a conservation of areal velocity. In 1746, both Daniel Bernoulli (1700-1782) and Leonhard Euler (1707-1783) gave the proof of the conservation of the angular momentum (conservation of the momentum of rotational motion [8]) for a point-like mass sliding along a smooth tube in a horizontal plane [9]. As we will see in the following, Euler considered also the angular momentum of rigid bodies and proposed an equation for it in his works on mechanics [10,11]. We have to wait until 1803, to see a representation of the angular momentum similar to that we are using today with a cross product of vectors. In fact, that year, Louis Poinsot proposed representing the rotations as a line segment perpendicular to them. He also elaborated some discussions on the "conservation of moments" [7]. It was in 1858, in the William Rankine's Manual of Applied Mechanics, that we can find the angular momentum defined in the modern sense for the first time [7]. “A line whose length is proportional to the magnitude of the angular momentum, and whose direction is perpendicular to the plane of motion of the body and of the fixed point, and such that, when the motion of the body is viewed from the extremity of the line, the radius-vector of the body seems to have right- handed rotation”. In 1872 edition of the same book, Rankine stated that the term “angular momentum” was introduced by R.B. Hayward [7]. Rankine was probably referring to Hayward's article “On a direct method of estimating velocities, accelerations, and all similar quantities with respect to axes moveable in any manner in space with applications” [7]. Hayward's article apparently was the first use of the term “angular momentum”; previously, angular momentum was typically referred to as "momentum of rotation" in English. As previously told, Euler linked the idea of angular momentum to the rotation of the bodies. Before talking about Euler and his laws concerning rigid bodies, let us consider an important fact. We are used to define the angular momentum of a particle as a cross product of its position vector and its linear momentum. However, Euler, like Newton, did not use vectors in physics. They, of course, considered vectorial quantities but never the concept of a vector. The systematic study and use of vectors were a 19th and early 20th century phenomenon [12]. 3. Straight motion and angular momentum Sometimes, students are surprised that a particle moving on a straight line can have an “angular momentum”. To help them, it is possible to use the polar coordinates to show that an “angular” variation exists and that, consequently, we have to observe an angular momentum also in this case. In fact, we can use a historical approach too, telling them that the position vector of the particle sweeps out equal areas in equal intervals of time, when the particle is moving on a straight line with a constant speed. Let us give a fixed origin O of position vectors in a plane containing the particle trajectory, as shown in the Figure 1; the position vector of the particle sweeps out equal area in equal time intervals. Figure 1: A particle is moving on a straight line with constant speed. The position vector of the particle sweeps out equal area in equal time intervals. The three triangle A, B and C, have the same base, given by speed times the interval of time, and the same altitude, therefore their areas are the same. http://www.ijsciences.com/ A Historical Discussion of Angular Momentum and its Euler Equation http://www.ijSciences.com Volume 4 – July 2015 (07) 36 Another students’ difficulty is the explicit calculation of the value of angular momentum, with respect to a given point in the space. Let us consider a Cartesian frame (x,y,z), and a mass m moving along the x-axis, with constant speed. Let us find the angular momentum of the particle with respect to a fixed point having coordinates (a,b,c) for instance. In a Poinsot or Rankine approach, the momentum is a line segment perpendicular to the plane of rotation, determined by position vector r  and by x-axis, as shown in Figure 2. The position vector changes with time as the particle is moving, but, to evaluate the angular momentum, it is important its projection in the plane perpendicular to the axis of motion. Figure 2: The angular momentum is perpendicular to the plane given by position and velocity vectors. Figure 3: In the angular momentum, the position vector has its origin from a given point O. In the figure, this point has coordinates (a,b,c) in the space having the frame of reference with origin O”. O’ is the projection of O on the plane (y,z). In the Figure 3 we can see O, its projection O’ on the plane (y,z) and the origin O” of the frame of reference. The position vector, having its origin in O, gives the position of a particle, which, in our example, is moving on the x-axis with a constant speed. We have the angular momentum: vmrLO   (1) However, we can write the position vector as the sum of three vectors: POOOOOOPr ""''   (2) Vectors 'OO and PO" are parallel to the velocity vector. Therefore, the only vector contributing to the cross product is "'OO :  kbjcmv v cb kji m vmOOvmrL O ˆˆ 00 0 ˆˆˆ "'    (3) This is the same result shown in the Figure 2. 4. Euler’s equation The laws concerning the motion of a rigid body are the Euler's Laws. Usually seen as the angular version of Newton’s Laws, they were proposed by Euler in 1736, in his book entitled “Mechanica, sive motus scientia analytice exposita”, about 50 years after Isaac Newton formulated his laws [11]. Euler was the first to discuss the general motion of a rigid body, showing that we can see it as motion of its “center of inertia” (center of mass), and rotation about an axis passing through it [8,10]. In fact, Euler started the development of his laws from the recognition that any infinitesimal motion of a body can be decomposed into a translation and a rotation [10]. One of the Euler’s Laws tells that the angular momentum of a system of particles or of a rigid body changes because of the torques applied on it. The rate of change of the angular momentum depends only on the torques of external forces, because the sum of internal torques is zero. This law, governing the rate of change of angular momentum, is also known as “Balance Equation” [13]. In Italian Academy, we usually call it the “Second Cardinal Equation” [14]. The “First Cardinal Equation” is concerning the acceleration of the center of mass (see Appendix). Using a Google search among books, we can see that the Euler’s law is defined as “Second Cardinal Equation” in an Italian book of 1912 [15], and used for determining the equilibrium of bodies: “Per la seconda equazione cardinale dell'equilibrio, il momento del sistema delle forze motrici esterne rispetto ad ogni punto, come polo, deve essere nullo” [15]. It seems that this is the first book in which the Euler’s law is called in this manner. Of course, the Euler’s law appear in older Italian book. For example, we have it in a book printed in 1828 [16], where it is discussed the problem of a balance. Being S the moment of inertia of the balance, about its rotation axis, the time derivative of the angular velocity  is given by the torque divided by S. It is therefore clear the fact that this balance equation is connected to the http://www.ijsciences.com/ A Historical Discussion of Angular Momentum and its Euler Equation http://www.ijSciences.com Volume 4 – July 2015 (07) 37 ancient problem of equilibrium of torques. In [17], we have at Page 133, the Euler’s equation given in a Corollary; we are reproducing it in the following. “Coroll.2. But if the action of the force F is continual, the rotatory motion will be accelerated, and we shall have S Fa dt d   . (4) For, let d be the increment which the angular velocity receives, in the instant of time dt . The increment of velocity, which the element dM receives, will be dr ; whence its accelerating force will be dtrd / , and its moving force will be dtdMdr /..  . Now, all these forces, acting in a contrary direction, must counterbalance the force F, and, therefore the sum of their momentums aF . Hence . 2 aF dt dS dMr dt d   ” [17]. 5. Moment of inertia The physical quantity S is the moment of inertia. In fact, in the Corollary we find the letter S to tell that it is a sum on the element of mass dM . We can find the moment of inertia in determining the motion of a boat [18], because Euler was involved in nautical engineering problems too (let us note that he called S the “momentum of inertia” [19]). In the book of Venturoli [17] we can find also a discussion on the principal axes of inertia. In fact, Euler demonstrated that each body has three mutually orthogonal axes, the directions of which are defining the so-called principal axes of rotation. These axes are special because, when the body rotates about one of them, the angular momentum vector becomes parallel to the angular velocity vector. Moreover, a rigid body admits a stationary rotation about any one of the principal axes (a motion of a body, under which its angular velocity remains constant, is called a stationary rotation) [20]. Let us stress that, as told in [8], the theorem of the three principal axes had been already proposed and demonstrated, before Euler, by János András Segner (1704-1777). Actually, it was the study of Segner on the gyroscopic motion, which led Euler to the formulation of the laws of rigid bodies [21]. Moreover, besides introducing the moment of inertia, Segner also demonstrated that if the axis of rotation of a rigid body in rotary and translational motion, goes across its centre of mass, then the rotary and translational motions are independent from one another [21]. Besides these fundamental results, Segner invented a horizontal waterwheel, of which he discussed in some letter with Euler [22]. Euler was not to first to invent the moment or “momentum” of inertia then, but it seems he was the first to call it, in Latin, “momentum inertiae” [23]. Euler used this term in his book entitled “Theoria Motus Corporum Solidorum” [23]. “Ratio hujus denominationis ex similitudine motus progressive est desumta: quemadmodum enim in motu progressivo, si a vi secundum suam directionem sollicitante acceleretur, est incrementum celeritatis ut vis sollictitans divisa per massam seu inertiem; ita in motu gyratorio, quoniam loco ipsius vis sollicitantis ejus momentum considerari oportet, eam expressionem  dMr 2 , quae loco inertiae in calculum ingreditur, momentum inertiae appellemus, ut incrementum celeritatis angularis simili modo proportionale fiat momento vis sollicitantis diviso per momentum inertiae.” Euler also demonstrated that the moment of inertia of a rod, L long, turning about a perpendicular axis passing through one of its ends is equal to 3/ 2 ML , in a letter from Berlin, 20 May 1755 [24]. 6. Conclusion Let us conclude this discussion on the history of Euler equation, remembering that Euler and Segner were among those scientists that, working on theoretical and technological problems of the rotatory motion, paved the way for inventions and developments of the Industrial Revolution. Therefore, after discussing with students the Euler’s Laws of motion, it would be interesting to illustrate them the use of the flywheels [25] in machines and steam engines of Industrial Revolution, to have a stronger link between the physics of fluids and thermodynamics to the Eulerian mechanics. Appendix The Second Cardinal Equation has a general form: CMA e A A vMv dt Ld    )(  (A1) A is the origin of position vectors (pivot), not necessarily at rest in the inertial frame of reference. CMv  is the velocity of the centre of mass. M is the mass of the system of particles or of the rigid body. The torques relevant in this equation are only those of the external forces. Usually, the pivot is chosen so that the term CMA vMv   is zero. This happens when 0Av  or when 0CMv  . Moreover, it happened when pivot A and the centre of mass are coincident. The term is also null when the pivot and the centre of mass have the same velocity: CMA vv   . This term exists: let us illustrate the role of CMA vMv   in a specific example. Let us have a disk rolling without slipping on a horizontal surface. http://www.ijsciences.com/ A Historical Discussion of Angular Momentum and its Euler Equation http://www.ijSciences.com Volume 4 – July 2015 (07) 38 We could write the Cardinal Equation for three pivots for instance: a point A which is fixed on the horizontal surface, the point C of contact between disk and surface, and the center of mass CM of the disk. Figure 4: A disk is rolling without slipping on a horizontal surface. We can use three pivots for instance: A, C and CM. Let us note that the contact point C is usually considered like a point “momentarily at rest”, because there is no relative motion between disk and horizontal surface. In this manner, the disk is seen as “rotating” about an axis passing through C. However, C is changing its position with time at a speed equal to that of the center of mass. Then C has the same velocity of CM: CMC vv   . Therefore 0 CMC vMv  . Another Euler’s Law, the Law that in Italian Academy we define as the First Cardinal Equation, is determining the motion of the center of mass. It is giving the acceleration of it in the following form: )(e CM FaM   (A2) In this equation, only the external forces are relevant. Usually, to solve the problem of the motion of a rigid body, the First Equation (A1) is considered with the Second Equation (A1) given for pivot coincident with the center of mass. References 1) Kleinert, H. (2009). Path Integrals in Quantum Mechanics, Statistics, Polymer Physics, and Financial Markets, World Scientific. ISBN: 978-981-4273-56-5 2) Newton, I. (1803). Axioms; or Laws of Motion, Law I. in The Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy. Andrew Motte translator. H. D. Symonds, London. 3) Oliver, V. (2002). History of the Top. Web page available at www.spintastics.com/ SSThisttop.html 4) Plato (1969). Plato in Twelve Volumes, Vols. 5 & 6. Paul Shorey translator. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press; London, William Heinemann Ltd. See Chapter 4, 436. 5) Saint Basil (1895). Hexaemeron, Jackson Blomfield translator; revised and edited by Kevin Knight. In From Nicene and Post- Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 8, Philip Schaff and Henry Wace Editors. Buffalo, NY, Christian Literature Publishing Co. 6) Gabbey, A. (1990). The Case of Mechanics: One Revolution or Many? In Reappraisals of the Scientific Revolution, David C. Lindberg and Robert S. Westman Editors, Cambridge University Press, pp. 493-528. ISBN: 9780521348041 7) Vv. Aa. (2015). Angular Momentum, in Wikipedia and references therein. 8) Andrés, G. (1790). Dell'Origine, Progressi e Stato Attuale d'Ogni Letteratura: Della Meccanica, Volume 4, Stamperia Reale. Google e-book. 9) Caparrini, S.; Fraser, C. (2013). Mechanics in the Eighteenth Century. In The Oxford Handbook of the History of Physics, Jed Z. Buchwald and Robert Fox Editors, OUP, Oxford, pp. 358-405. ISBN: 9780199696253 10) Borrelli, A. (2011). Angular Momentum Between Physics and Mathematics. In Mathematics Meets Physics, Karl-Heinz Schlote and Martina Schneider Editors, Verlag Harri Deutsch, Frankfurt a.M., pp. 395-440. ISBN: 978-3-8171-1844-1 11) McGill, D.J.; King, W.W. (1995). Engineering Mechanics, An Introduction to Dynamics, PWS Publishing Company. ISBN: 0- 534-93399-8 12) Crowe, M.J. (1967). A History of Vector Analysis: The Evolution of the Idea of a Vectorial System, Courier Corporation. ISBN: 9780486679105 13) Hutter, K. (2014). Continuum Mechanics in Environmental Sciences and Geophysics, Springer. ISBN: 978-3-7091-2600-4, DOI: 10.1007/978-3-7091-2600-4 14) Romano, A. (2012). Classical Mechanics with Mathematica®, Springer Science & Business Media, Birkhäuser Basel. ISBN: 978-0-8176-8352-8, DOI: 10.1007/978-0-8176-8352-8 15) Maggi, G.A. (1912). Dinamica Fisica: Lezioni sulle Leggi Generali del Movimento dei Corpi Naturali, E. Spoerri, Pisa. 16) Masetti, G.B. (1827). Note ed Aggiunte agli Elementi di Meccanica e d'Idraulica del Professore Giuseppe Venturoli, Volume 2, Tipografia Cardinali e Frulli, Bologna. Google e- book. 17) Venturoli, G. (1822). Elements of the Theory of Mechanics, Translated from the Italian by D. Cresswell, J. Nicholson & Son, Cambridge. Google e-book. 18) Vv. Aa. (1784). Memorie di Matematica e Fisica della Società Italiana, Volume 2, 1784, Dionigi Ramanzini, Bologna. See Cap.3, p. 467. Google e-book. 19) Wildbore, C. (1790). On Spherical Motion, communicated by Earl Stanhope, on 24 June 1790 to the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, Volume 80, W. Bowyer and J. Nichols for Lockyer Davis, printer to the Royal Society. Google e-book. http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstl.1790.0028 20) Arnol'd, V.I. (1989). Mathematical Methods of Classical Mechanics, Springer Science & Business Media. ISBN: 978-1- 4757-2063-1, DOI: 10.1007/978-1-4757-2063-1 21) Youschkevitch, A.P.; Grigorian, A.T. (2008). Segner, János - András (Johann Andreas von), in Complete Dictionary of Scientific Biography, Charles Scribner's Sons. ISBN: 0-684- 31559-9 22) Reynolds, T.S. (2002). Stronger Than a Hundred Men: A History of the Vertical Water Wheel, JHU Press. ISBN: 9780801872488 23) Walton, W. (1842). A Collection of Problems in Illustration of the Principles of Theoretical Mechanics, Cambridge, W.P. Grant. 24) Vv. Aa. (1779). Vita Admodvm Reverendi Ac Magnifici Viri Iosephi Stepling, Sumptibus Caes. Reg. Scholae Normalis. Typis, per Ioannem Adamum Hagen. 25) Vv. Aa. (2015). Flywheel, in Wikipedia and references therein. http://www.ijsciences.com/ 
work_j4by5m2dlrdufe7zxvdyra3gs4	----	Zograf 37.indd 77 The article deals with the issue of physical appearance of the saintly images in Byzantine painting and the manners of its conception. In that regard, the paper offers categorization of the portraiture in which different saints receive distinctive aes- thetic code appropriate to their type of “attractiveness”. Key words: Beauty, Saintly images, Categories of saints, War- riors, Bishops, Holy Healers, Martyrs, Female saints Beauty, as a visual determinant of all earthly virtues, has always been a substantial element, as well as a great creative challenge in the painterly artistic expression. The art of the Antiquity gave beauty a divine dimension,1 while the Renaissance raised it on the pedestal of the su- perb qualities of humanity, labeling the attractive physical appearance as the most recognizable feature of the visual arts of the era.2 In the Middle Ages, on the other hand, the profound spirituality of the Christian beholders, both Orthodox and Roman Catholic, gave attention to other is- sues within the concept of artistic creativity, the domina- tion of which, placed beauty in the spheres of almost con- firmative neglect. In that regard, set on the margins of the more significant artistic ideas elaborated in the works of medieval art, beauty has been approached by the painters as a spiritual feature of the saintly images that does not go beyond the ideological matrix of their visual exposition.3 Thus, it seems that this feature of human representation gained no significant place in the creative efforts of the medieval artists, and, accordingly, no noticeable attention in the papers of the people devoted to examination of me- dieval painterly heritage. However, although not in the focus of Byzantine scholars, the depiction of physical beauty of the saintly images was not entirely excluded from the investigation * elizabeta@fzf.ukim.edu.mk 1 On the representation of beauty as a visual category in classi- cal artistic production cf. R. Hawley, The dynamics of beauty in classical Greece, in: Changing bodies, changing meanings. Studies on the human body in antiquity, ed. D. Montserrat, London – New York 1998, 37–54. 2 For some aspects of depiction of physical beauty in ren- aissance art cf. F. Hartt, D. Wilkins, History of Italian Renaissance art. Painting, sculpture, architecture, Upper Saddle River 20117; G. K. Fiero, The Humanistic tradition III: The European Renaissance, the Reforma- tion and global encounter, New York 20106; S. J. Campbell, M. W. Cole, Italian Renaissance art, New York 2012. 3 J. Saward, The beauty and holiness and the holiness of beau- ty. Art, sanctity and the truth of Catholicism, San Francisco 1997. of aesthetic categories of the medieval painting in the Orthodox East.4 Since the visual presentation of the holy portraiture in Byzantium was highly dependent on the re- ligious dogma and church canons, the wise bishops, the self-denying martyrs, the devote hermits, the courageous warriors, the modest female saints etc., were always repre- sented within the manner which predominantly expressed their specific spiritual role in the holy mission of Christian salvation.5 Thus, in accordance to the corresponding im- pression that a member of a certain saintly category was expected to provoke in the eyes of the beholder, Byzantine artists configured diverse painterly manners to represent the most appropriate corporeal outlook for the optimal ideological dimension of the saints. In that regard and according to the main purpose of our paper – to give an initial background for typological classification of the depiction of physical beauty in Byzan- tine painting, we are making an attempt to specify several distinctive categories, all of which bear discernible and highly recognizable features of the visual appearance of the saintly portraits in the context of their painterly pres- entation to the beholder. Based on the canonically verified concepts of design of the sacred portraiture in relation to the role the saintly figures played for the believers,6 the depiction of different categories of saints had to express the highest possible degree of visual recognition in order to meet the emotional and spiritual needs and expecta- tions of the congregation. Therefore, a catalogue of saintly representations was invented in the structure of which the diverse groups of saints were given their aesthetical- ly verified visual exposition funded upon their historical role, social background and religious function. In order to serve as active and beneficent interlocutors that reveal their true-to-life appearance to the believers,7 the saints’ 4 Most recent study of this issue is: M. Hatzaki, Beauty and the male body in Byzantium. Perception and representations in art and text, New York 2009. 5 On the depiction of saintly portraits in the course of the Byz- antine era cf. E. Kitzinger, Some reflections on portraiture in Byzantine art, ZRVI 8 (1963) 185–193; H. Belting, Likeness and presence. A his- tory of the image before the era of art, Chicago 1994; G. Dagron, Holy images and likeness, DOP 45 (1991) 23–33. 6 H. Maguire, Disembodiment and corporality in Byzantine im- ages of the saints, in: Iconography at the crossroads. Papers from the col- loquium sponsored by the Index of Christian art, ed. B. Cassidy, Princ- eton 1993, 75–93. 7 H. Maguire, The icons of their bodies. Saints and their im- ages in Byzantium, Princeton 1996, 5. Colourful sparkles of imaginary vistas: saintly beauty in the eyes of the beholder Elizabeta Dimitrova* Faculty of Philosophy, Ss. Cyril and Methodius University in Skopje UDC 77.033.2:111.85 75.041.5:271.2-36 DOI 10.2298/ZOG1337077D Оригиналан научни рад ЗОГРАФ 37 (2013) [77–86] 78 images had to be visually defined in regard to their facial exposition, posture, costume and corporal expression. In that manner, the spiritual aura of the saints built upon their deeds for the religious ideas and the purity of the faith was given an appropriate aesthetical imagery en- cased in the structural elements of painterly expression. Each saintly category was determined by a set of func- tional displays that addressed the spiritual necessities of the faithful and thus managed to accomplish the precisely designated function by the means of their iconographi- cal configuration. In this system of “sustainable display”,8 the facial exposition, posture, costume and corporal ex- pression of the saintly images became the main features of their physical appearance and accordingly of their aesthetical impact over the beholder. In that regard and in order to accomplish the goal of drafting a classifying catalogue of physical beauty of religious portraits within Byzantine painterly culture, we will analyze the images of those represented as members of the gallery of saints in the first zone of the painterly ensembles, which, by their position, were located closest to the eyes of the “watching” congregation. Hence, our classification of physical beau- ty of the saints is based on the aesthetic resonant of the above mentioned elements in their interaction with the religious consciousness of the faithful during the process of visual receptiveness of theological messages. In our attempt to configure the typological structure of their aesthetic exposure to the faithful, we have chosen the representatives of the most exponential categories of saints, almost inevitably exhibited in the gallery of full- figure depictions within Byzantine fresco ensembles in the period from the second half of the twelfth until the end of the fourteenth century.9 Since each category of saints is marked by its own aesthetic code which reflects the inner psychical status, i.e. the personality, as well as the outer physical appearance, i.e. the visual attractiveness of the saintly images, our chosen categories of holy per- sonages (warriors, martyrs, physician saints, bishops, her- mits, female saints) generate several distinctive typologi- cal determinants of sacral looks in the sphere of physical beauty. Their classification in aesthetic units marked by the decisive features of the physiognomy, stance, attitude and temper is based on the utilizable resources of pain- terly approach towards the canonical depiction of saintly images. Intended to serve as an index of aesthetic labels within Byzantine iconography of portraiture, the categori- zation of saintly beauty based on the visual inter-dialogue of physical features and psychological chemistry, should reveal the ways of exposition of the holy personages in their virtuous, fleshy, true-to-life appearance to the faith- ful. Resulting from the functional instrumentation of me- dieval religious dogma, as well as the magnitude of im- aginative expression of Byzantine artists, it discloses the manners of painterly creation of “physical reality” to those dependent on its spiritual impact. The first category of our classification encompasses the images of the holy warriors, who, due to their brav- 8 On the pictorial and narrative structure in the illustration of the lives of the saints v. C. Hahn, Picturing the text. Narrative in the life of the saints, Art History 13 (1990) 1–33; eadem, Portrayed on the heart. Narrative effect in pictorial lives of saints from the tenth through thirteenth century, Berkeley 2001. 9 A time span determined by the number of existent fresco ensembles with well-preserved full-figure representations of the saints in the first zone of the decoration. ery and uncompromising nature, received the painterly features of masculine and vigorous outlook as a match to the fierce battles they have fought, to the many victories they have won, as well as to the courageous victims they have become in honor of the Christian faith.10 Therefore, their anatomy is elaborated boldly and in details, depict- ed with firm muscular plasticity and a playful silhouette of the drawing.11 The enforced corporeality, accentu- ated through the swaying poses or swaggering mobility of the figure,12 is the dominant element in conception of the warrior representations, which radiates with power and passion of their evident youth, obvious strength and verified courage. In that sense, the holy warriors are rep- resented in characteristic “ready-for-action” poses, mani- fested through various gestures, while their images are round and juicy, conceived by soft modellation of the chicks, bright complexion of the face and energetic gaze of the eyes. The suggestive energy of the facial expression of the images of Saint Demetrius, Saint Procopius and Saint Eustatios in the south conch of the church of the Monas- tery of Chilandar (ca. 1321),13 as well as the sophisticated dynamics of the facial mimicry of the two military saints painted in Panagia Olimpiotissa in Elason (ca. 1345)14 10 On the iconography of the holy warriors cf. M. Marković, O ikonografiji svetih ratnika u istočnohrišćanskoj umetnosti i o predstavama ovih svetitelja u Dečanima, in: Zidno slikarstvo manastira Dečana. Gradja i studije, ed. V. J. Djurić, Beograd 1995, 567–626; Ch. Walter, The warrior saints in Byzantine art and tradition, Aldershot 2003, 41–135. 11 Hatzaki, Beauty and the male body in Byzantium, 116–134. 12 Maguire, The icons of their bodies, 20–24, 74–80. 13 M. Marković, Prvobitni živopis glavne manastirske crkve, in: Manastir Hilandar, ed. G. Subotić, Beograd 1998, fig. on p. 226. 14 E. C. Constantinides, The wall paintings of the Panagia Ol- ympiotissa at Elasson in northern Thessaly, Athens 1992, 246–249; G. Fig. 1. Panagia Olimpiotissa in Elasson, St. Procope and St. Nestor Dimitrova E.: Colourful sparkles of imaginary vistas: saintly beauty in the eyes of the beholder 79 (Fig. 1) are the most prominent features of these quintes- sential examples of painterly display of power and passion in the visual definition of the images of warrior saints. The golden ochre for the tan, the icy rosy for the chicks, the silver grey for the shades and the rich ebony brown for the hair are the colors that comprise the most suitable palette to depict the images of the young and en- ergetic warriors. The light beige with brusque accents ap- plied on the image, the pearl cream nuance of his chicks and the auburn shade of the curly hair of Theodore Strate- lates from the painted ensemble of Protaton15 radiate with decisive energy of his facial expression. Similarly, the face of Saint Mercurios from the naos of the Virgin Peribleptos in Ohrid (1295)16 glows with the warm shade of wheat for the tan, icy pink for the chicks and russet brown for the exuberant hairdo supplementing the apparent inner dyna- mism of his psychological personality. Ready to confront and eager to conflict, the holy warriors stand responsive to any challenge with the accelerated rhythm of their bodies, a pulsating energy of their faces and an energetic outburst of dynamic performance of their postures. The powerful chivalrous elegance of the postures of the mili- tary saints depicted in the church of Saint Panteleimon at Nerezi (ca. 1166),17 the imposing corporeal dynamics of the figures of the holy warriors in the church of Christ Chora in Constantinople (ca. 1320),18 as well as the no- ble energetic charge of Saint George and Saint Demetrios in the Monastery of Andreaš near Skopje (1389)19 are but a few examples of the aesthetic manner in configuration of the vigorous outlook of the military saints. Adorned in shiny armours that reflect the plastic shapes of their powerfully playful corporeality, as well as equipped with weaponry appropriate to their energetic anatomy and dy- namic motion, as depicted in the northern conch of the Monastery of Kalenić (ca. 1420),20 the military saints stand out by their firm attitude, bold stature and relentless enthusiasm. In that regard and due to their sharp move- ment and uncompromising bravery, the holy warriors can be marked as a category of saintly beauty named energy and resolution. The second group of our typological classification, the martyrs, who have proudly sacrificed themselves for the common religious cause, gained the physical characteristics of dignified and elegant pillars of the faith.21 Usually suffering the courageous death at a young age, they are represented in the full outburst of their ideological determination, manifested through a Velenis, L’ église Panagia Olympiotissa et la chapelle de Pammacaristos, Zograf 27 (1998–1999) 103–112. 15 M. Acheimastou-Potamianou, Byzantine wall-paintings, Athens 1994, Fig. 107. 16 P. Kuzman, E. Dimitrova, M. Tutkovski, Ohrid sub specie aeternitatis, Ohrid 2010, fig. on p. 176. 17 I. Sinkević, The Church of St. Panteleimon at Nerezi. Archi- tecture, programme, patronage, Wiesbaden 2000, 59–60. 18 P. A. Underwood, The Kariye Djami III. The Frescoes, New York 1966, Figs. 253–257, 261, 264. 19 J. Prolović, Die Kirche des Heiligen Andreas an der Treska. Geschichte, Architektur und Malerei, Wien 1997, 192, 193; E. Dimitro- va, V. Lilčić, K. Antevska, A. Vasilevski, Matka. Kulturno nasledstvo, Ohrid 2011, 150. 20 D. Simić-Lazar, Kalenić. Slikarstvo, istorija, Kragujevac 2000, Figs. XXIX, XXX, XXXI 21 On the establishment of the cult of the martyrs cf. V. Lim- beris, The cult of the martyrs and the Cappadocian fathers, in: Byzan- tine Christianity, ed. D. Krueger, Minneapolis 2006, 39–50. distinctive range of remarkable stances and accentuated figural gestures.22 The anatomy of their bodies is elaborated nicely with underlined elegance of the postures that are frontal in the projection, but scenic due to the lively rhythm of the corporeal motion. The mobility of the figure, although not very diversified in the types of action, is portrayed through elastic movements of the bodies and resolute gestures of the upper extremities. With hands in a gesture of blessing and/or with their figures in a stance of a devoted prayer, they stand prepared for their ever- perpetuate sacrifice to be given at the altar of gallantry. Marked by the features of their social distinction through a palette of different costumes, the martyrs display a variety of interesting clothing, from modest robes to remarkably designed garments. From the humbly tailored “day wear” of Saint Andrianos depicted on the western wall of the naos in Saint George in Staro Nagoričino (1316–1318),23 through the lavishly ornamented cloak of Saint Jacob the Persian executed in the naos of the same church (Fig. 2), to the luxuriously embroidered costumes 22 As in: Arilje, cf. D. Vojvodić, Zidno slikarstvo crkve Svetog Ahilija u Arilju, Beograd 2005, 90, schemes on p. 294–297; Protaton, cf. V. J. Djurić, Svetogorske ideje u slikarstvu Protatona, Hilandarski zbornik 8 (1991) 85; Staro Nagoričino, cf. B. Todić, Staro Nagoričino, Beograd 1993, 77; Prohor of Pčinja, cf. G. Subotić, D. Todorović, Sli- kar Mihailo u manastiru Svetog Prohora Pčinjskog, ZRVI 34 (1975) 133; Gračanica, cf. B. Todić, Gračanica. Slikarstvo, Beograd–Priština 1988, Figs. 72, 73; Konče, cf. S. Gabelić, Manastir Konče, Beograd 2008, Figs. 47, 49, 53, 54. 23 Todić, Staro Nagoričino, Fig. IV. Fig. 2. St. George in Staro Nagoričino, St. Jacob the Persian ЗОГРАФ 37 (2013) [77–86] 80 and stylishly designed “fashion” jewelry of Saint Sozon and Saint Tryphon in the naos of Taxiarches Metropoleos in Kastoria (1359/1360),24 the catalogue of martyr attires exhibits a remarkable diversity of inventively conceived clothes and accessories. The images of the martyr saints are shaped with mild curvatures, yet ennobled with decisive expression, appropriate to the consistence of their religious determination. The sophisticated elaboration of the facial lines in the depiction of the portrait of Saint Victor and the refined scale of tonal modellation in the presentation of the facial anatomy of Saint Vicentius in the church of Saint Andreas at Matka,25 both permeated with delicate spectrum of modular shades are the true specimens of the painterly code for exposition of the specific personal articulation of the martyr saints. The pale ochre for the tan, the mother of pearl rosy for the chicks and the light green for the shades are the characteristic colors of their facial appearance. These chromatic values refer to the already mentioned fair and pasty image of Saint Andrianos in the Staro Nagoričino church,26 to the chromatically saturated portraits of the martyrs depicted in the mid-zone on the western wall in Andreaš,27 as well as to the translucent martyr characters executed on the south wall of the fresco program in the church of the Holy Mother of God in Mateič.28 Given the features of persons with firm attitudes, portrayed through their sturdy stances and substantial gestures, the martyrs gained a suitable place in our category of saintly beauty named resolution and distinction. The next category – the one of the holy physicians, appear as a symbol of corporeal and spiritual health.29 Engaging themselves in the noble activities of assistance to the ill and underprivileged, committing to the beneficial tasks of medication and dedicating their lives to mastering the curative skills, the holy physicians gained the respect of distinctive members of the Christian society on the ground of their professional devotion, as well as their humane determination. Equipped with the appropriate instruments,30 as features of the many successful medical treatments they have performed, the physician saints appear as the most representative characters of the charitable Christian virtues. In that regard, they are represented in stable and dignified poses, depicted with careful and tender movements, appropriate to their responsible and reliable occupation. The noble stature of the church patron Saint Panteleimon represented on the eastern wall of the naos in Nerezi (ca. 1166),31 his graceful corporal dynamic depicted by the elegant movement of the hand, as well as his tender, almost feminine like 24 S. M. Pelekanidis, M. Chatzidakis, Kastoria, Athens 1985, Figs. 16, 17 25 Prolović, Die Kirche des Heiligen Andreas an der Treska, Figs. 89, 90 26 Todić, Staro Nagoričino, Fig. IV. 27 Prolović, Die Kirche des Heiligen Andreas an der Treska, Figs. 83–86. 28 E. Dimitrova, Manastir Matejče, Skopje 2002, 192. 29 A. Kazhdan, N. Patterson Ševčenko, Kosmas and Damianos, in: The Oxford dictionary of Byzantium II, ed. A. Kazhdan, Oxford 1991, 1151; A. Kazhdan, N. Patterson Ševčenko, Panteleemon, in: ODB III, 1572–1573. 30 Maguire, The icons of their bodies, 44–46. 31 Sinkević, The Church of St. Panteleimon at Nerezi, Fig. XLIX. facial appearance is one of the earliest examples of the highly distinctive saintly portrait of the most prominent physician in the iconography of the Byzantine world. Always pictured in frontal positions, the holy physicians display the dignity of their noble profession and the alert of their humanistic dedication. Their generous characters are portrayed through the gentle composure of the faces, softly modeled with mild curvatures and toned anatomic components. Besides the adorable image of Saint Panteleimon in the Nerezi church (Fig. 3), depicted with fair complexion and luscious facial anatomy, the portraits of the physician saints in the ensembles from the twelfth century display the elegant muscular lines of the facial architecture and its generous expression as represented in the naos of Saint George in Kurbinovo (1191),32 while in later painting, the medical threesome (Panteleimon, Cosma and Damianos) glow with suggestive facial energy and resolute locomotion, particularly in the example of Saint Nicetas in Banjani (1323/1324).33 Fawn ochre for the tan, bright rosy for the lips, light brown for the shades and white optical accents to underline the vigilance of the images, are the colors that illuminate the portraits of the physician saints. The pale shades of crystal ecru for the complexion of young Panteleimon and somewhat darker valeur of light beige for the tan of the slightly older Cosma and Damianos34 32 C. Grozdanov, L. Haderman-Misgviš, Kurbinovo, Skopje 1992, Figs. 23, 24. 33 E. Dimitrova, The Church of Saint Niketas, village of Ban- jani, in: Skopje: seven monuments of art and architecture, Skopje 2010, fig. on the p. 31. 34 C. Grozdanov, Ohridskoto zidno slikarstvo od XIV vek, Ohrid 1980, 48. Fig. 3. St. Panteleimon at Nerezi, St. Panteleimon Dimitrova E.: Colourful sparkles of imaginary vistas: saintly beauty in the eyes of the beholder 81 reflect the delicate psychological scope of warm cordiality in the chromatic resonance of their portraiture. Acting as benevolent healers of the poor and miss-fortuned, the holy physicians, due to their attentive outlook and considerate characters, belong to our category of saintly beauty marked by the features of distinction and generosity. In our categorization of physical beauty in Byzantine art, the bishops, as members of the most respected church entourage, were represented as noble and erudite leaders of the faithful.35 Wise and well educated, experienced and highly respected, the great church fathers of Eastern Christianity gained the visual features of passionate preachers, enduring teachers and honorable advisers of the believers. In that regard, they are represented in strictly festal stances, full frontal when depicted as portraits, or in three-quarter processional poses, when members of the Officiating liturgical service.36 In both cases, the statures of their figures are imposingly ceremonial and ennobled with the dynamic energy of the motion, determined by the harmonious and well balanced rhythm of their movements. Depicted with the noble glow of their sophisticated spirituality, the images of the Episcopal authorities are given the suggestive gaze of the eyes as a primary facial feature to match the ever-watchful nature of their religious devotion. The distinguished portrait anatomy of the image of Saint Clement depicted in the church of Saint Virgin Peribleptios in Ohrid (1295)37 35 H. Buchthal, Some notes on Byzantine hagiographical por- traiture, Gazzete des Beaux-Arts 62 (1963) 81–90. 36 Maguire, The icons of their bodies, 53–57, 78–80. 37 Kuzman, Dimitrova, Tutkovski, Ohrid sub specie aeternitatis, fig. on p. 130. designed with playful plastic configuration of the facial components, as well as the fiercely energized portrait dynamic in the presentation of the image of Saint Blasios in the sanctuary of Marko’s monastery (1376/1377)38 stand on the pedestal of the most convincing executions of bishops’ characters in the painterly production of the Byzantine epoch. This persuasive facial outlook, displayed by the mentioned portraits from Peribleptos (Fig. 4) and Marko’s monastery, appropriate to their authoritative role for the faithful, is also achieved through the accentuated plastic configuration of the facial anatomy, which wrinkles and ridges to display the golden age of their sophisticated spiritual wisdom. Delicately nuanced with the warm hues of golden ochre for the toned muscular shapes, as well as soft green shades for the linear “stripes” of their facial patina, both images of the church fathers display the noble :iconographic” accords of their mature countenance. Rich in the plastic shapes of the facial masses and saturated in the colors applied, the bishops’ images are permeated with the energetic expression of deep emotional suggestibility. Gray ochre for the tan, olive green for the shades and snowy white for the hairs and beards are the colors that commonly picture the respectable leaders of the church institution. The dramatically pale chromatic resonance of the facial configuration of Saint Spyridon from the painted ensemble of the church of Saint Nicholas in Psača, synchronized with the calm spiritual tonality of his psychological portrait (Fig. 5) is but an example of the specific manner of depiction of serene generosity of the holy fathers. The same features of bishops’ portraiture refer to the images of the archpriests in the Officiating Church Fathers composition in the altar 38 V. J. Djurić, Vizantijske freske u Jugoslaviji, Beograd 1974, Fig. 89. Fig. 4. Virgin Peribleptos in Ohrid, St. Clement Fig. 5. St. Nicholas in Psača, St. Spyridon ЗОГРАФ 37 (2013) [77–86] 82 of the church of the Holy Trinity in Sopoćani,39 where the solemn postures of their figures, the festive stances of their ceremonial bow, the delicate composure of their facial mimicry, as well as the harmonious coloristic spectrum of their chromatic definition are united in a picture that celebrates the remarkable painterly standards in the depiction of attentiveness, prudence and devotion. Marked by the suggestive visual patina of their wisdom large-heartedly given to the faithful, the bishops receive their place in our category of saintly beauty determined as generosity and maturity. The members of our next beauty class, the representatives of the hermitic category were given the look of ascetic tribunes in “silent” combat for the purity of faith.40 Slender and exhausted by the outlook of their figures and mature and well experienced by the looks of the images, the eremites are one of the most impressive group of saints, due to the nearly “exhibitionistic” appearance of their self-tortured bodies. Anorexic in the contours and stiff in the gestures, rigid in the modellation and static in the postures, the hermits glow expressively with their ever-fearful determination of the most dedicated followers of Christ.41 Rude in nature, yet ennobled with supreme inner tranquility, they occupy one of the most interesting places when physical beauty of the saints is in question. Namely, the wrinkled anatomy of the images, the pale complexion of the faces, the extensive hairiness of the figures, the slackness of the bodily muscles and the dehydration of the loose skin, can hardly belong to any category of attractive physical appearance. The saturated ecru with warm auburn shades applied to accentuate their sunburned tan, the deep wrinkles that configure the ascetic facial anatomy, the rigid pose of devoted prayer, as well as the fixed gaze of their deep-set eyes are the main features of the hermits’ “aesthetically imposing” outlook when represented in half-length figures, as in the case of the image of Saint Euphrosinos depicted in the church of Saint George in Kurbinovo (1191).42 However, the sophisticated ascetism of their long- term excruciated figures and the expressively shaped anatomy of their aged faces, that display their ever- lasting restraint of all earthly pleasures, deserve human admiration, or even divine reverence. Extra skinny in the shape of the figural exposition and dressed in garments made of rough fabrics tailored to a minimum extent or overgrown with thick hair which covers the entire bodily anatomy, the hermits display the remarkable humility of their appearance, as well as of their inexhaustible religious devotion. The composition of Saint Paul of Thebes dressed in a loose garment roughly woven of cheap linen and Saint Makarios of Egypt covered in bodily hair that waves as an animal fur, depicted in the Bačkovo monastery (turn of the twelfth century), is a quintessential example of specific representation of hermitic twosome in the history of Byzantine painting.43 In the cases of foursome, painted in the later period, the “dress code” abandons the modest 39 Idem, Sopoćani, Beograd 1991, Figs. 38–43. 40 On the depiction of the hermits in medieval art cf. P. H. Ditchfield, The Arts of the Church: Symbolism of the saints, London 20042, 121–125. 41 On the role of hermitic devotion cf. J. E. Cooper, M. J. Decker, Life and society in Byzantine Cappadocia, Basingstoke 2012, 113–115. 42 Grozdanov, Haderman-Misgviš, Kurbinovo, Fig. 29. 43 E. Bakalova, V. Karageorghis, L. Leventis, The ossuary of the Bachkovo Monastery, Plovdiv 2003, Fig. 68. garments in favour of simple perisomae, yet keeps the characteristic bodily hair as the most “fashionable” way of clothing of the hermitic cause devotees. The four anorexic figures depicted on the northern wall on the second floor of the narthex in the cathedral church of Saint Sophia in Ohrid (ca. 1346),44 as well as the matching characters painted on the western wall of the temple dedicated to the Holy Mother of God in Mateič (1348–1352)45 display not only the specific carnal traits, but the common spectrum of chromatic values characteristic of hermitic images, as well. In that regard, the pale and translucent ochre for the tan, the light brown for the shades, the row white for the hairs and beards, as well as the sun-bath grey for the bodily anatomy, are the colors that match the ecstatic spirituality of the ones devoted to eremitic life. In some cases, as in the image of Saint Makarios from the church of Panagia Olim- piotissa in Elasson (ca. 1345), the reddish hair and beard of the hermit is combined with the heavy grey nuance of the bodily “cover” of hairs in the chromatic diapason of the representation (Fig. 6), while in others the hairiness of the figure is completely matched with the tonality of the bushy hair and impressively long beard, as in the portrait of Saint Onuphrios from Saint Archangel Michael church in Prilep (ca. 1275) (Fig. 7). Depicted in their noble and, through great temptations, reached adulthood and represented as 44 E. Dimitrova, S. Korunovski, S. Grandakovska, Srednove- kovna Makedonija. Kultura i umetnost in: Makedonija. Mileniumski kulturno-istoriski fakti, Skopje 2013, fig. on the p. 1723. 45 Dimitrova, Manastir Matejče, Fig. LV. Fig. 6. Panagia Olimpiotissa in Elasson, St. Makarios Dimitrova E.: Colourful sparkles of imaginary vistas: saintly beauty in the eyes of the beholder 83 human symbols of the ultimate religious innocence, the eremites belong to our category of saintly beauty marked by the features of maturity and purity. On the other hand, the female saints, according to their hagiographies, were depicted in two different manners: as nuns and as wealthy and glamorous lady aristocrats.46 In the first case, they embody the humble and god-fearing female gender, represented in subservient stances and modest monastic clothing.47 Due to their status of convent inhabitants and, accordingly, of persons renounced of all laymen benefits, the holy nuns are depicted with a minimum of elements in regard to their physical appearance and social features.48 In that sense, the anatomy of their figures is purposely hidden beneath the loose robes, while their gestures are reduced to the obedient motion of a prayer. The calmness of the serene faces and the graceful movements of the elongated fingers are the only features that display feminine attitudes, which can be determined as physically attractive and visually likable. Liberated from any emotional residue of their 46 On some biographies of female saints in Byzantium cf. Holy women of Byzantium. Ten saints’ lives in English translation, ed. A. M. Talbot, Washington 1996. On the sociological aspect of female saints in Byzantium v. P. Halsall, Women’s bodies, men’s souls. Sanctity and gender in Byzantium, Ph.D. Fordham University 1999. 47 Maguire, The icons of their bodies, 28. 48 On the role of the depicted female saints in the painted en- sembles v. Sh. E. J. Gerstel, Painted sources for female piety in Medieval Byzantium, DOP 52 (1998) 89–111. earthly life that could distort the peaceful architecture of the facial tranquility, the holy nuns reflect only the inner beauty of their souls, manifested through the calm silhouettes of their facial, as well as corporeal appearance. Dressed in dark garments and represented in static postures or in poses with minimum elements of corporal motion, the three nuns depicted on the south portion of the western wall in the church of Saint George in Kurbinovo49 display less attention given to the design of their images in comparison to all other saintly categories mentioned above. The same refers to the portraits of the female monastics executed in the church of Saint George in Pološko (1344/1345), whose calm countenances and rigidly configured ceremonial gestures do not reveal anything beyond the formal stature of a modestly structured female saint (Fig. 8). The standard approach to the construction of their “visual image”, as well as the commonly exposed manner in the presentation of the portrait traits of Saint Sosana, depicted in the paraklession of the church of Saint Constantine and Helena in Ohrid (ca. 1400),50 are some of the specific elements of embodiment of monastic beauty within the category of female saints. With the application of pale ochre for the tan, light brown for the shades and non- striking, darker colours for the robes, the holy nuns appear as symbols of a non-imposing spiritual elegance dedicated to the ideals of complete devotion to Christian virtues, thus fitting in our classification of saintly beauty defined by the features of purity and grace. In the case of representation of the saintly figures of the lady aristocrats, the images radiate with feminine graciousness and tender physical attractiveness.51 Toll and slender, elegant and graceful, beautiful and charming, they comprise all characteristics of desirable outlook in terms of facial, figural and fashionable appearance. Fair in the exhibition of the images, thin in the presentation of the bodies and modern in the display of the couture, the pictures of the female saints belonging to the category of nobility, radiate with facial charisma, figural energy and accentuated social potency. The luxurious garments ornamented with embroidery and decorated with precious stones, the elegant 49 Grozdanov, Haderman-Misgviš, Kurbinovo, Fig. 27. 50 G. Subotić, Sveti Konstantin i Jelena u Ohridu, Beograd 1971, 52. 51 On the role of ladies in the Orthodox Church cf. E. Gan- ouri, The lives of women saints in the Orthodox Church, Athens 2009. Fig. 7. St. Archangel Michael in Prilep, St. Onuphrios Fig. 8. St. George in Pološko, St. Paraskeve and St. Barbara ЗОГРАФ 37 (2013) [77–86] 84 silhouettes of the figures and the lively “demeanor” of Saint Barbara, Saint Kiryake and Saint Catherine depicted on the north portion of the western wall in the church of Saint George in Kurbinovo,52 are the basic features of one of the earliest examples of creation of a group of attractive characters within the gallery of female saints. The mild modellation of the images, the gracious contours of the bodies and the luxuriously designed costumes, altogether with the elegant motion as well as gentle facial expression, result in the most desirable form of a human beauty in the esthetic horizon of Byzantine painting, as displayed in the irresistibly beautiful portrait of Saint Catherine in the church of Saints Constantine and Helena in Ohrid (ca. 1400) (Fig. 9). Glowing ochre for the tan, silky pink nuances for the chicks, pale rose tones for the lips and a great palette of colours for the glamorous clothing, are the features of the chromatic diapason for the depiction of the sophisticated beauties of Christian religion. The refined complexion of the aristocratic ladies depicted in the church of Saint George in Pološko (1344/1345),53 the noble facial expression of the feminine characters represented in the temple dedicated to Saints Peter and Paul in Berende (mid-fourteenth century) (Fig. 10), as well as the luxuriously adorned female saints executed in the fresco painting of the Holy Mother of God in Mateič church (1348–1352),54 are some of the representative references for the creation of some of the 52 Grozdanov, Haderman-Misgviš, Kurbinovo, Fig. 28. 53 D. Ćornakov, Pološki manastir Sveti Georgi, Skopje 2006, 75. 54 Dimitrova, Manastir Matejče, Fig. LVII. most beautiful appearances in Byzantine painterly culture. Ennobled with the features of tenderness and kindness, dressed in colourful clothing and adorned with precious jewelry, they stand proud in the fresco ensembles of Byzantine churches as representatives of our last class of saintly beauty named grace and fashion. In sum, although far from being a dominant or most perceptible component of the painterly concepts of Byzantine art, physical beauty has gained a significant role in the ideological determination of the saintly categories, appropriate to the social rank and religious mission of the depicted personages. In that regard, the exuberant youth and untamed triumphant temper of the holy warriors, the resolute determination and distinctively dignified char- acter of the martyrs, the attentive vigilance and human- istic determination of the physician saints, the suggestive temper and sophisticated charisma of the bishops, the uncompromising corporeal aescetism of the eremites, the tender and graceful modesty of the nuns, as well as the fashionable and extravagant styling of the lady aristocrats, become features of their distinctive physical appearance. Radiating with charm and passion, glowing with energy and distinction or impressing with courtesy and gracious manners, the saints have not only dedicated their lives to the belief, but have also given their most presentable ap- pearance to the magnificent vision of Christianity. Fig. 10. Sts. Peter and Paul in Berende, St.Kiryake Fig. 9. Sts. Constantine and Helena in Ohrid, St. Catherine Dimitrova E.: Colourful sparkles of imaginary vistas: saintly beauty in the eyes of the beholder 85 Acheimastou-Potamianou M., Byzantine wall-paintings, Athens 1994. Bakalova E., Karageorghis V., Leventis L., The ossuary of the Bachkovo Monastery, Plovdiv 2003. Belting H., Likeness and presence. A history of the image before the era of art, Chicago 1994. Buchthal H., Some notes on Byzantine hagiographical portraiture, Gazzete des Beaux-Arts 62 (1963). Campbell S. J., Cole M. W., Italian Renaissance art, New York 2012. Constantinides E. C., The wall paintings of the Panagia Olympiotissa at Elasson in northern Thessaly, Athens 1992. Cooper J. E., Decker M. J., Life and society in Byzantine Cappadocia, Basingstoke 2012. Dagron G., Holy images and likeness, DOP 45 (1991). Dimitrova E., Manastir Matejče, Skopje 2002. Dimitrova E., The Church of Saint Niketas, village of Banjani, in: Skopje: seven monuments of art and architecture, Skopje 2010. Dimitrova E., Lilčić V., Antevska K., Vasilevski A., Matka. Kulturno nasledstvo, Ohrid 2011. Dimitrova E., Korunovski S., Grandakovska S., Srednovekovna Make- donija. Kultura i umetnost, in: Makedonija. Mileniumski kulturno- istoriski fakti, Skopje 2013. Ditchfield P. H., The Arts of the Church: Symbolism of the saints, Lon- don 20042. Fiero G. K., The Humanistic tradition III: European Renaissance, the Reformation and global encounter, New York 20106. Gabelić S., Manastir Konče, Beograd 2008. Ganouri E., The lives of women saints in the Orthodox Church, Athens 2009. Gerstel Sh. E. J., Painted sources for female piety in Medieval Byzantium, DOP 52 (1998). Grozdanov C., Ohridskoto zidno slikarstvo od XIV vek, Ohrid 1980. Grozdanov C., Haderman-Misgviš L., Kurbinovo, Skopje 1992 Djurić V. J., Vizantijske freske u Jugoslaviji, Beograd 1974. Djurić V. J., Sopoćani, Beograd 1991. Djurić V. J., Svetogorske ideje u slikarstvu Protatona, Hilandarski zbornik 8 (1991). Hahn C., Picturing the text. Narrative in the life of the saints, Art His- tory 13 (1990). Hahn C., Portrayed on the heart. Narrative effect in pictorial lives of saints from the tenth through thirteenth century, Berkeley 2001. Halsal P., Women’s bodies, men’s souls. Sanctity and gender in Byzanti- um, Fordham University 1999 (unpublished doctoral dissertation). Hartt F., Wilkins D., History of Italian Renaissance art. Painting, sculp- ture, architecture, Upper Saddle River 20117. Hatzaki M., Beauty and the male body in Byzantium. Perception and representations in art and text, New York 2009. Hawley R., The dynamics of beauty in classical Greece, in: Changing bodies, changing meanings. Studies on the human body in antiquity, ed. D. Montserrat, London – New York 1998. Holy women of Byzantium. Ten saints’ lives in English translation, ed. A. M. Talbot, Washington 1996. Kazhdan A., Patterson Ševčenko N., Kosmas and Damianos, in: The Oxford dictionary of Byzantium II, ed. A. Kazhdan, Oxford 1991. Kazhdan A., Patterson Ševčenko N., Panteleimon, in: The Oxford dic- tionary of Byzantium III, Oxford 1991. Kitzinger E., Some reflections on portraiture in Byzantine art, ZRVI 8 (1963). Kuzman P., Dimitrova E., Tutkovski M., Ohrid sub specie aeternitatis, Ohrid 2010. Ćornakov D., Pološki manastir Sveti Georgi, Skopje 2006. Limberis V., The cult of the martyrs and the Cappadocian fathers, in: Byzantine Christianity, ed. D. Krueger, Minneapolis 2006. Maguire H., Disembodiment and corporality in Byzantine images of the saints, in: Iconography at the crossroads. Papers from the colloquium sponsored by the Index of Christian art, ed. B. Cassidy, Princeton 1993. Maguire H., The icons of their bodies. Saints and their images in Byzan- tium, Princeton 1996. Marković M., O ikonografiji svetih ratnika u istočnohrišćanskoj umet- nosti i o predstavama ovih svetitelja u Dečanima, in: Zidno slikarstvo manastira Dečana. Gradja i studije, ed. V. J. Djurić, Beograd 1995. Marković M., Prvobitni živopis glavne manastirske crkve, in: Manastir Hilandar, ed. G. Subotić, Beograd 1998, 226. Pelekanidis S. M., Chatzidakis M., Kastoria, Athens 1985. Prolović J., Die Kirche des Heiligen Andreas an der Treska. Geschichte, Architektur und Malerei, Wien 1997. Saward J., The beauty and holiness and the holiness of beauty. Art, sanc- tity and the truth of Catholicism, San Francisco 1997. Simić-Lazar D., Kalenić. Slikarstvo, istorija, Kragujevac 2000. Sinkević I., The Church of St. Panteleimon at Nerezi. Architecture, pro- gramme, patronage, Wiesbaden 2000. Subotić G., Sveti Konstantin i Jelena u Ohridu, Beograd 1971. Subotić G., Todorović D., Slikar Mihailo u manastiru Svetog Prohora Pčinjskog, ZRVI 34 (1975). Todić B., Gračanica. Slikarstvo, Beograd–Priština 1988. Todić B., Staro Nagoričino, Beograd 1993. Underwood P. A., The Kariye Djami III. The Frescoes, New York 1966. Velenis G. , L’église Panagia Olympiotissa et la chapelle de Pammacaris- tos, Zograf 27 (1998–1999) 103–112. Vojvodić D., Zidno slikarstvo crkve Svetog Ahilija u Arilju, Beograd 2005. Walter Ch., The warrior saints in Byzantine art and tradition, Aldershot 2003. ЛИСТА РЕФЕРЕНЦИ – REFERENCE LIST ЗОГРАФ 37 (2013) [77–86] 86 Физичка лепота приказаних светитеља, то јест лепота њиховог лица и тела, никада није имала сре- дишње место у истраживањима водећих византолога, иако је анализа визуелних одлика ликова и фигура у средњовековном сликарству православног Истока била део многобројних научних студија и радова. У том контексту одавно је прихваћено да је начин идео- лошког конципирања и визуелног представљања све- титељских ликова у Византији био у потпуности за- висан од религиозне догме, као и од црквених канона утемељених још у ранохришћанском периоду. Ипак, захваљујући деликатном приступу византијских сли- кара особеном и веома сложеном естетскoм поретку различитих светитељских категорија, остварено је значајно сведочанство о начинима успостављања ка- рактеристичног сликарског кода за приказивање њи- ховог „атрактивног“ физичког изгледа. У раду је дата схема категоризације типолошких одлика у приказ- ивању физичких елемената светитељских представа, која одражава њихову појавну привлачност у очима верника, посматрача. Према тој схеми, свети ратни- ци се, због своје храбрости и бескомпромисног јунаш- тва, одликују мужевношћу и енергичним изгледом и припадају категорији коју обележавају енергичност и пожртвованост; мученици, који су се поносно жртво- вали за хришћанство, добили су изглед поносних и елегантних стубова вере и сврстани су у категорију повезану с пожртвованошћу и одважношћу; свети врачи се у византијском сликарству појављују као симболи телесног и духовног здравља, те су на основу тога припали категорији утемељеној на одважности и великодушности; архијереји, чланови најпоштова- нијих црквених кругова, приказивани су у сликаним програмима као племенити и учени предводници верника, а красе их, у складу с тим, особине велико- душности и зрелости, док су пустиножитељи добили изглед аскетских трибуна у „тихој“ борби за чистоту вере, обележеној зрелошћу и чистоћом. Када је реч о светитељкама, оне су – на основу података из житија – приказиване на два начина: као монахиње и као богате и гламурозне даме племкиње. Оне из прве групе, повезане са чистотом и блажен- ством, показују скрушен богобојажљив темперамент жена предатих вери. Ликови припадница друге групе зраче женственом грациозношћу и деликатном фи- зичком привлачношћу, што им даје обележја блажен- ства, али и стила. Обојене искре замишљених изгледа: светитељска лепота у очима посматрача Елизабета Димитрова 
work_j6bb3dhd7fdphpdl3we6mi7eg4	----	Latin and Vernacular in Quattrocento Florence and Beyond: An Introduction Latin and Vernacular in Quattrocento Florence and Beyond: An Introduction Author(s): Andrea Rizzi and Eva Del Soldato Source: I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance , Vol. 16, No. 1/2 (September 2013), pp. 231-242 Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of Villa I Tatti, The Harvard Center for Italian Renaissance Studies Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/673422 JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at https://about.jstor.org/terms The University of Chicago Press and Villa I Tatti, The Harvard Center for Italian Renaissance Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/673422 L A T I N A N D V E R N A C U L AR I N Q UAT T R OC E N T O F L O R E N C E A ND BE YO N D Latin and Vernacular in Quattrocento Florence and Beyond: An Introduction Andrea Rizzi, University of Melbourne Eva Del Soldato, University of Pennsylvania THIS CLUSTER EXPLORES the interaction between language and its sociocul- tural use in quattrocento Florence. This has entailed a bottom-up view of the use and understanding of Latin and the volgare at a time when humanists were refashioning classical Latin into a powerful cultural and political tool.1 All con- tributions take a close look at what quattrocento authors, translators, and speak- ers say about their choices to perform their texts in Latin or vernacular and how they perceived and represented these languages. Clearly, these early modern mul- tilingual communicators appreciated the power of language and its inherently so- cial dimension. More important, they understood the social meaning and value of their plurilingualism.2 The humanists’ effort to transform Ciceronian Latin into a highly prestigious and influential language captivated several quattrocento rul- ers (most notably Federico da Montefeltro, Leonello d’Este, and Filippo Maria Vis- conti) and high-ranking members of courtly and mercantile societies, who followed their studia humanitatis.3 This impression has overshadowed in many aspects the Contact Andrea Rizzi at the School of Languages and Linguistics, Babel Building 504, University of Melbourne, Parkville VIC 3055, Australia (arizzi@unimelb.edu.au). Contact Eva Del Soldato at the Uni- versity of Pennsylvania, Center for Italian Studies, 534 Williams Hall, 255 South 36th Street, Philadelphia, PA 19104 (evadel@sas.upenn.edu). 1. A similar approach has been taken by Pietro Trifone, Rinascimento dal basso: Il nuovo spazio del volgare tra Quattro e Cinquecento (Rome, 2006). 2. See Peter Burke and Roy Porter, eds., The Social History of Language (Cambridge, 1987). 3. See Coluccio Salutati in his De Fato (ca. 1396): “Nam cum sicut difficillimum sit latinitatis ele- gantiam in vulgare quoppiam transferendo servare, sic etiam et e contra vulgare quamvis mediocriter cultum nunquam vertatur in latinum servando parem ornatum” (As it is extremely difficult to retain the elegance of Latin in a translation into whatever vernacular, even a moderately elegant form of vernacular will not retain equal beauty when translated into Latin). Coluccio Salutati, De fato et fortuna, ed. Concetta Bianca (Florence, 1985), 193. English translation by Andrea Rizzi. I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance, volume 16, number 1/2. © 2013 by Villa I Tatti: The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies. All rights reserved. 0393-5949/2013/1612-0005$10.00 231 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms vernacular works of first-rank humanists, sometimes leading to the simple but mistaken conclusion that the quattrocento was not the century of the vernacular.4 As a result, it is generally believed that the first age of vernacularization ended at the turn of the fifteenth century, when scholars turned to the original Latin and Greek texts in order to acquire a greater understanding of classical and medieval culture. Instead, this volume demonstrates that scholarship in the quattrocento was not divided between Latin and vernacular humanism but thrived precisely because of its linguistic versatility and interaction. Furthermore, the following essays aim to reveal the role given in quattrocento Florence and Venice to Latin and the vernacular, exploring the place these lan- guages occupied in the literary and social spaces of the fifteenth century as well as the cultural and political motivations informing linguistic choices. The picture that will emerge from the contributions to this cluster is one in which Latin and vernacular were not seen as in conflict but were given different and complemen- tary roles and spaces. As Brian Maxson and Andrea Rizzi demonstrate in this volume, the enduring understanding that a divide existed in quattrocento Italy between vernacular and “low” or popular literature, on the one hand, and Latin and texts of elevated discourse, on the other, needs to be reassessed: quattrocento humanists such as Bruni read, wrote, and supported the production of vernacu- lar texts. The suitability of the vernacular for the translation and dissemination of tech- nical subjects in both oral and written contexts represents another important fo- cus of the current volume. As Elizabeth Mellyn reveals, the dialectic between Latin and vernacular is enriched in scientific texts, such as physiognomy and philoso- phy, by the unavoidable shifting of meaning occurring in the translation process. As a result, the study of prefaces and similar paratextual material presents schol- ars with compelling evidence of how quattrocento authors and translators en- gaged with Latin and vernacular texts and audiences. Translation is the key locus 4. See, e.g., Vittorio Formentin, “La ‘crisi’ linguistica del Quattrocento,” in Storia della Letteratura Italiana, ed. Enrico Malato (Rome, 1996), 3:159–210, 169: “Quanto alle traduzioni dal latino, ben si capisce che la pratica dei volgarizzamenti sia stata estranea alla cultura umanistica: più esplicitamente, il volgarizzamento di un testo classico non era un’operazione umanisticamente giustificabile.” A similar view is expressed in Ronald G. Witt, In the Footsteps of the Ancients: The Origins of Humanism from Lovato to Bruni (Leiden, 2000), 229. For a critique of this oppositional understanding of the relation- ship between Latin and vernacular cultures during the quattrocento, see Giancarlo Mazzacurati, Il Ri- nascimento dei moderni: La crisi culturale del XVI secolo e la negazione delle origini (Bologna, 1985); Rossella Bessi, Umanesimo volgare: Studi di letteratura fra Tre e Quattrocento (Florence, 2004); and James Hankins, “Humanism in the Vernacular: The Case of Leonardo Bruni,” in Humanism and Cre- ativity in the Renaissance: Essays in Honor of Ronald G. Witt, ed. Christopher S. Celenza and Kenneth Gouwens (Leiden, 2006), 11–29. 232 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms of exchange between vernacular and Latin ideas and practices and, as Eugenio Refini demonstrates, offered an extraordinarily productive platform for the inter- action of scholastic and humanistic trends in both Latin and vernacular philo- sophical texts. Further, Eva Del Soldato shows how an influential Platonist such as Cattani da Diacceto believed that Latin was not superior to the vernacular but that the elegant use of either language could befit writing on highly specialized disciplines such as philosophy. Latin is not superior to the vernacular. Instead, both languages can express the most complex concepts when they are used by highly trained and learned authors. Written texts, in both Latin and vernacular, were also translated into perme- able and ubiquitous oral texts. The oral environment of quattrocento Florence was a complex space in which the city’s ideas, values, and attitudes were ex- pressed through mostly vernacular performances by preachers, poets, storytellers, musicians, and singers. Blake Wilson’s essay reveals how the oral and live perfor- mances in the Florentine piazza of San Martino constantly reinvented the rela- tionship between writing and orality, Latin and vernacular, different textual genres and the varied ranks of society. These performances, as Wilson demonstrates, were enjoyed not only by the illiterate but also by Latin scholars such as Michele Verino. By way of introducing the following essays, we will briefly explore how the humanists of early quattrocento Italy debated, perceived, and performed the interactions between these languages. We will also engage with recent literature on quattrocento humanism and call for a stronger focus on orality and the varied reception and transmission of Greek and Latin by merchants, low-rank politi- cians and officers, and non-Latinate scholars. T H E 1 4 3 5 D E B A T E : F LOR E N C E AN D B E Y O N D The relationship between the vernacular languages and Latin was debated ar- dently by early quattrocento humanists such as Biondo Flavio, Leonardo Bruni, Poggio Bracciolini, and Lorenzo Valla.5 Set in early 1435 Florence, at the center 5. There is an extensive bibliography on the 1435 debate on Latin and its relationship with the vernaculars, which will be discussed below. The works that have been most relevant to the current study are Donatella Coppini, “Il cielo della luna: Alcune considerazioni su grammatica e latino in età medievale e umanistica,” Rinascimento 27 (1987): 179–214; Mirko Tavoni, Latino, grammatica, vol- gare: Storia di una questione umanistica (Padua, 1984); Silvia Rizzo, “Il Latino nell’umanesimo,” in Letteratura Italiana, ed. Asor Rosa (Turin, 1986), 5:379–408, and Ricerche sul latino umanistico (Rome, 2002); Witt, In the Footsteps; Christopher Celenza, “End Game: Humanist Latin in the Fif- teenth Century,” in Latinitas Perennis II: Appropriation and Latin Literature, ed. Y. Maes, J. Papy, and W. Verbaal (Leiden, 2009), 201–42; Hankins, “Humanism,” 19–20; Angelo Mazzocco, Linguistic Introduction | 233 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms of the debate was classical Latin and its perceived prestige and importance in the cultural milieus of the Italian and European Renaissance centers of learning. In general terms, the main concern shared by humanists was the nature of the Latin language. Most agreed that Latin was a medium created artificially and therefore best suited to intellectually sophisticated communication and exchange. The use of the word gramatica to describe Latin and its normative nature—an ars, with a clearly and intricately built morphology and syntax—reveals an understanding of Latin and the other artificial languages (Greek, Hebrew, but also Arabic and Chal- daic) radically different from that of the vernacular languages. By stressing the grammaticality of Latin, the humanists noted the perceived lack of stability and structure in the vernacular tongues. Some of these scholars saw the vernaculars as having existed before Latin was literally invented (see Dante’s three phases of the creation of Latin in his De Vulgari Eloquentia).6 Others believed the ver- naculars to have developed after the demise of the Roman empire and its linguis- tic hegemony. What almost all humanists of early quattrocento Italy agreed on was the conviction that Latin was the most suitable medium for written and learned culture because of its stability and artificiality. Latin had been created by ancient auctores who offered scholars clearly defined models and examples that could be studied and practiced through the trivium (grammar, logic, and rheto- ric).7 It was firmly believed that the philological study of these ancient models allowed the restoration of classical Latin and the heightening of the Latin culture that had been “silent, maimed and weak” for centuries.8 The humanists of early quattrocento Italy agreed on the nature, role, and identity of the Latin language. At the same time, they had very different views on Theories in Dante and the Humanists: Studies of Language and Intellectual History in Late Medieval and Early Renaissance Italy (Leiden, 1993); Simon A. Gilson, Dante and Renaissance Florence, pt. 2 (Cambridge, 2005); Riccardo Fubini, Umanesimo e secolarizzazione da Petrarca a Valla (Rome, 1990), 1–75; Christopher Celenza, The Lost Italian Renaissance: Humanists, Historians, and Latin’s Legacy (Baltimore, 2004); and Stephen Milner, “‘Le sottili cose non si possono bene aprire in volgare’: Vernacular Oratory and the Transmission of Classical Rhetorical Theory in the Late Medieval Italian Communes,” Italian Studies 64 (2009): 221–44. 6. See Mazzocco, Linguistic Theories, chap. 2; the recent Mirko Tavoni, “Volgare e latino nella storia di Dante,” in Dante’s Plurilingualism: Authority, Knowledge, Subjectivity, ed. Sara Fortuna, Manuele Grignolati, and Jürgen Trabant (Leeds, 2010), 52–68; and Jürgen Trabant, “Millena Variatio: Overcoming the Horror of Variation,” in ibid., 24–33. 7. On humanistic pedagogy and the formation of the humanist, see Robert Black, Humanism and Education in Medieval and Renaissance Italy: Tradition and Innovation in Latin Schools from the Twelfth to the Fifteenth Century (Cambridge, 2001); Paul F. Grendler, Schooling in Renaissance Italy: Literacy and Learning, 1300–1600 (Baltimore, 1989); James M. Murphy, Latin Rhetoric and Education in the Middle Ages and Renaissance (Hampshire, 2005); Craig Kallendorf, Humanist Educational Treatises (Cambridge, MA, 2002); and Witt, In the Footsteps. 8. This is how Poggio Bracciolini describes the period before the humanistic discovery of and interest in Greek letters as a way to reform the Latin language and culture. See Witt, In the Footsteps, 342. 234 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms the relationship between Latin and the vernaculars and, most important, on the value and use of the latter. Biondo Flavio’s relatively new understanding of the vernaculars as “rising from the ashes” of the Roman empire gave way to a cam- paign—mostly a Florentine effort—to promote the equality if not the superiority of modern languages over Latin.9 T H E S P A C E O F L A N G U A G E S IN EA R L Y Q U A T T R O C E N T O F L O R E N C E These different humanistic views of the nature and function of Latin and the ver- nacular of early Renaissance Florence have been closely discussed and analyzed by recent scholarship.10 Less frequently studied are the spaces in which Latin and the vernacular were used. In early modern Europe, “space” signified several different dimensions (public, quasi-public, private, and familial). Lefebvre’s under- standing of space is useful when thinking about what Bruni would have consid- ered as the spaces occupied by Latin and vernacular: “the space of social practice, the space occupied by sensory phenomena, including products of the imagina- tion such as projects and projections, symbols and utopias.”11 Bruni and his fellow humanists knew that the vernacular was the main language for communication in the “public space,” which is meant here as areas that are open and accessible to the crowd, including sacred, civic, and semiprivate spaces such as courtyards and gardens.12 Instead, Latin occupied only a small portion of public spaces (official speeches, lectures, and formal political and cultural exchanges between international partners) and private spaces (published and manuscript texts).13 Bruni examined not solely the literary and textual interactions between the past and his present but also the way in which the oral and written modes of communication affected one another. This is because he necessarily would have been thinking of how to adapt Ciceronian treatises on oratory with practices of oral harangue of the 1400s. The 9. There is little room here for a summary of the differing views taken by humanists on the role of the vernacular across the quattrocento. See Rizzi’s essay in this volume for more details on the 1435 debate. For a broader perspective, cf. Tavoni, Latino; Mazzocco, Linguistic Theories; and Coppini, “Il cielo.” On the development of the vernaculars in early modern Europe, see Ann Moyer, “Vernacular Languages and Dialects,” in Oxford Bibliographies, Renaissance and Reformation, http://www.oxford bibliographies.com/view/document/obo-9780195399301/obo-9780195399301-0010.xml. 10. See n. 6. 11. See Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space (Oxford, 1991), 11–12. See also Roger J. Crum and John T. Paoletti, Renaissance Florence: A Social History (New York, 2006), intro. and chaps. 1, 3, and 11; and Virginia Chieffo Raguin and Sarah Stanbury, Women’s Space: Patronage, Place, and Gen- der in the Medieval Church (Albany, NY, 2005), 3–5. 12. Adam Jaworski and Crispin Thurlow, Semiotic Landscapes: Language, Image, Space; Advances in Sociolinguistics (London, 2010). 13. Lauro Martines, Power and Imagination: City-States in Renaissance Italy (London, 2002; 1st ed., 1979), 72–78. Introduction | 235 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 1435 debate over the languages spoken in ancient Rome was spurred, it is argued here, by the recent discoveries of Cicero’s treaties on oratory and rhetoric and by the attempt to adapt quattrocento oratorical practices—in both Latin and the ver- nacular—to the classical models that were being studied and restored. ORALIT Y AND R H ETOR ICAL EDUC ATION Oratory was an indispensable tool for Renaissance intellectuals, politicians, and leaders. Because rhetorical training provided proficiency in writing and speaking, beginning in the late Middle Ages the production of manuals and commentaries on oratory grew immensely, to the extent that these texts rapidly became the best- sellers of Renaissance Italy.14 Rhetoric interested different classes of society and, inevitably, served different purposes: lawyers-in-training, scholars interested in classical Latin literature, and budding politicians all had reason to study treatises and commentaries on the art of oratory and epistolography (ars dictaminis). The verbal ceremonies of the urban communes of the Italian peninsula such as Flor- ence (late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries) distinguished Italian cities from other European communities and showed a deeply rooted awareness of the power of speech.15 Manuals on rhetoric offered active members of the Italian com- munes a set of skills indispensable for their political careers. The rapidly changing communities of late medieval Italy needed rhetoric in order to engage in the highly litigious and factious political arena. Furthermore, rhetoric needed to be made ac- cessible to a society that was becoming more and more oriented toward the ver- nacular and the local as opposed to Latin and the supraregional. These two needs were met by Cicero’s dialogic and dialectic art of speaking and writing and by vernacular adaptations by Brunetto Latini and Bono Giamboni of Cicero’s De Inventione and the Rhetorica ad Herennium.16 14. For a survey of the reception and production of treaties of and manuals on rhetoric, see John Monfasani, “Humanism and Rhetoric,” in Renaissance Humanism: Foundation, Forms, and Legacy, ed. Albert Rabil Jr. (Philadelphia, 1988), 171–235. On the tradition and reception of Ciceronian rhetoric, see Virginia Cox and John O. Ward, eds., The Rhetoric of Cicero in Its Medieval and Early Renaissance Commentary Tradition (Leiden, 2006). See Peter Mack, A History of Renaissance Rheto- ric, 1380–1620 (Oxford, 2011), for a brief history of Renaissance rhetoric, and Stephen J. Milner, “Communication, Consensus and Conflict: Rhetorical Precepts, the Ars Concionandi, and Social Or- dering in Late Medieval Italy,” in Cox and Ward, Rhetoric, 365–408, for public speaking in communal Italy and the influence of Ciceronian texts. 15. See Witt, In the Footsteps; Craig Kallendorf, In Praise of Aeneas: Virgil and Epideictic Rhetoric in the Early Italian Renaissance (Hanover, NH, 1989); and James Hankins, ed., Renaissance Civic Humanism: Reappraisals and Reflections (Cambridge, 2000). 16. On the reception of Cicero’s theories in late medieval Italy, see Cox and Ward, Rhetoric; Virginia Cox, “Ciceronian Rhetorical Theory in the Volgare: A Fourteenth-Century Text and Its Fifteenth-Century Readers,” in Rhetoric and Renewal in the Latin West, 1100–1540: Essays in Honour 236 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms The strong interest among humanists in the imitation and restoration of clas- sical Latin instigated a separation between the study of rhetoric in Latin and the learning of vernacular oratory for political debate.17 Rather than trying to develop a more learned public harangue, humanism abandoned that arena. As a result, the use of Latin became for humanists a written and mostly semiprivate prac- tice—with the exception of encomiastic speeches delivered before important guests and audiences. In other words, the humanists’ emulation of classical texts took precedence over the modernization of ancient Latin rhetoric for sociopolit- ical purposes. Oratorical humanism took over the medieval ars dictaminis to the extent that the “restored” classical Latin became the lingua franca for literature, historiography, diplomacy, and political ritual. Meanwhile, localized and delib- erative speaking was firmly in the hands of vernacular oratory, as discussed by Witt.18 Another important change in the study and practice of rhetoric at the turn of the fifteenth century was the stronger focus on the moral and intellectual forma- tion of students, rather than the vocational training on public speaking offered by the medieval curriculum. This abstraction from the highly localized political and cultural contexts made it possible for Pierpaolo Vergerio the Elder and Leonardo Bruni to share ideas beyond the functional realm of rhetoric. The shift from the pragmatic use of rhetoric for political and forensic contexts in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries to mostly epideictic rhetoric through the study and rewriting of ancient history can be seen from the following passage in Vergerio’s De ingenuis moribus (1402): “Per philosophiam quidem possumus recte sentire quod est in omni re primum: per eloquentiam graviter ornateque dicere qua una re maxime conciliantur multitudinis animi; per historiam in utrumque iuvamur” (Through philosophy we can acquire correct views, which is of first importance in everything; through eloquence we can speak with weight and polish, which is the one skill that most effectively wins over the minds of the masses; but history helps us with both).19 Although he seems to indicate that public debate was possible, the limited free- dom in Vergerio’s Padua after the 1392 restoration of the Carrara rule meant that the only role oral eloquence could fill was celebratory: the arrival of an impor- of John O. Ward, ed. Constant Mews, Cary J. Nederman, and Rodney M. Thomson (Turnhout, 2003), 201–26; and Milner, “Communication.” See also Bono Giamboni, Fiore di rettorica, ed. Gian Battista Speroni (Pavia, 1994). 17. See Cox and Ward, Rhetoric, 125–33. 18. See Witt, In the Footsteps, chap. 8. 19. Kallendorf, Humanist, 48–49. Introduction | 237 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms tant ruler, festivities, university speeches, panegyrics, or invectives against the enemy become the most topical, morally charged, and highly emotive genres of quattrocento oratorical humanism. Even if Florentine humanists enjoyed more freedom than their fellow scholars in Padova, public speaking in Latin was eu- logistic and self-promotional rather than republican and civic. This has been sug- gested recently by several scholars in their critique of Hans Baron’s interpreta- tion of Florentine civic humanism.20 In his essay on the linguistic debate of 1435, Andrea Rizzi argues that the real focus was the status and origin of the written Latin of fifteenth-century Italy. Yet behind Bruni’s argument in the debate there was also an attempt to come to terms with the growing dominance of the vernacular in the oral realm—not just in everyday life but also in official and political communication. Humanistic debates about languages are thus perhaps best understood by considering literacy and oral- ity as interacting and interrelated realms.21 Such interaction is shown eloquently and bilingually by the Florentine Agostino Vespucci in his 1501 letter to Niccolò Machiavelli, in which he describes the powerful performance of an unknown Ro- man orator: Et veramente, Nicolò mio, qui è l’arte de l’oratore, perché costui è uno ignobile, et non più visto, né udito circulare o poco; et nondimeno per esser romano è piaciuto più che o il Fedra o il Marso o il Sabellico o el Lappo, che habentur optimi; et ha dimonstro havere auto in primis memoria grande, sapere bene distinguere et aperte narrare; monstrò quantum valeat pronun- tiatio, quantum verborum copia et gestus, qui et ipsi voci consentit et animo, cum ea simul paret; ut equidem affirmare ausim, che spessissimo, non solum manus sed notus ipsius harìa dimonstro alli auditori la sua volontà.22 20. See Hankins, Renaissance, for a survey of recent criticism of Baron’s interpretation of Floren- tine quattrocento humanism. 21. See Mark Chinca and Christopher Young, Orality and Literacy in the Middle Ages: Essays on a Conjunction and Its Consequences in Honour of D. H. Green (Turnhout, 2005), 2–8. By “literacy” and “orality” is meant here the complex interplay between aural and written texts—such as speeches— that were destined for more than one audience or readership and were delivered in more than one format (i.e., read, spoken, and performed). 22. Niccolò Machiavelli, Opere, ed. Sergio Bertelli (Milan, 1982), 5:42. Incidentally, the Latin sentences are taken almost literally from Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria (XI, 65–66): “Quid autem quisque in dicendo postulet locus paulum differam, ut de gestu prius dicam, qui et ipse voci consentit et animo cum ea simul paret. Is quantum habeat in oratore momenti satis vel ex eo patet, quod pleraque etiam citra verba significat. Quippe non manus solum sed nutus etiam declarant nostram voluntatem.” 238 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms [And in truth, Niccolò, my friend, this was the art of the orator, because he is base-born and has never been seen before or heard about around here, or very little; and nevertheless, because he was a Roman, he gave more pleasure than Phaedra or Marso or Sabellico or Lippi, who are considered excellent. He showed, first of all, that he had a great memory, that he knows how to embellish well and to narrate clearly; he showed how good his pro- nunciation was, how good his vocabulary and gestures, which harmonized together with both his voice itself and his thoughts, since the former served the latter at the same time; so that truly I venture to affirm that, very often, not only with his hands but also with his very nods he would manifest his will to the audience.]23 Vespucci’s claims about the theatrical power of Latin in the oratorical perfor- mance were already recognized by Bruni in his writings about the relationship between Latin and the Florentine vernacular. In short, Latin and vernacular were not in opposition or competition, they were “differently shimmering facets of the same unique jewel,” as Celenza puts it.24 Such a revised understanding of the relationship between Latin and vernac- ular destabilizes the assumption that Latin humanism is an affair of elites.25 It also undoes the notion that vernacular and oral communication is culturally in- ferior or “low.” Arguably, in the course of the 1435 debate, Latin humanists were attempting to come to terms with the dominance of the vernacular in the oral realm—especially in the context of official and political communication. LA TIN AND VE RNAC ULA R: THE DIALE CTIC OF TRAN S LA TION Relatively unknown for his work on the interaction between Latin and vernacular right at the beginning of the fifteenth century is Antonio Loschi (1361–1441). A first-rate humanist, he produced a vernacular version of the pseudo-Quintilian Declamationes (1392), a rhetorical commentary of eleven orations by Cicero and several other essays and poetry in Latin.26 Loschi’s vernacular text is a manifesto of the importance of volgarizzamenti at the turn of the fifteenth century: 23. Translation taken from James B. Atkinson and David Sices, eds., Machiavelli and His Friends: Their Personal Correspondence (DeKalb, IL, 1996), 41–42. Italics have been added. 24. Celenza, The Lost Renaissance, 144. 25. See Hankins, “Humanism,” 24. 26. See Concetto Marchesi, “Il volgarizzamento italico delle ‘Declamationes’ pseudo-quintilianee [1907],” in Scritti minori di filologia e di letteratura (Florence, 1978), 2:447–72. On Loschi, see Paolo Viti, s.v. “Antonio Loschi,” in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani (Rome, 1960–). Introduction | 239 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ma tra l’altre cose di che mi duole e increscie massimamente e cche a questo dire mi chiama si e che spessissimamente gli uomini del nostro tempo libri utilissimi e bellissimi di gramaticha anno tracti in volghare solo per la fama di quegli libri e dietro non molti anni non chonosciuto e non saputo chog- liere il fructo d’essi i quali non sanza faticha e spesa e gratia avuti in tale lingua o sono serrati in tenebre o per fastidio d’ignoranza gienerato gittati come fangho tra vilissimi piedi. [But I especially regret, amongst other things, that several men of our time very often translated the most useful and wonderful books from Latin into vernacular only because of the reputation of these works. A few years later, despite the hard work and costs and skills of the translators, these texts are—out of spite fuelled by ignorance—either hidden away or thrown out like mud on which the vilest feet have trampled.]27 Loschi’s translation and its preface show that a scholar of Latin did not shy away from the dissemination of classical knowledge in the volgare. Loschi lived and worked across two centuries and did not see the vernacular as inferior: his worry was that his translation would be “received poorly and despised as a lowly piece of work.”28 As the current collection of essays demonstrates, major quat- trocento humanists such as Bruni and Francesco Cattani da Diacceto as well as lesser-known scholars such as Antonio Colombella and Antonio di Lorenzo Rid- olfi promoted and produced vernacular translation of a vast range of Latin texts. Nevertheless, translating into the vernacular was sometimes opposed by schol- ars, especially when this practice involved technical texts. According to these critics, the vernacularization of philosophical or physiognomic texts required a proper vocabulary, which the vernacular language was allegedly not able to pro- vide. What was seen as more troublesome was that translation could reveal truths that were meant to be kept secret and preserved from popular consumption. An interesting and paradoxical example of this hostility toward vernacularization is found in the Novellino, a collection of Tuscan short tales composed around 1280. Novella 78 describes a philosopher who most courteously undertook the transla- tion of the sciences, “as a kindness to the gentry and other people.” One night a vision came to him, where the goddesses of the sciences, in the guise of beautiful 27. Biblioteca Mediceo Laurenziana, Florence, ms. Martelli 4, 1r–v. For a list of testimonies of this work, see Marchesi, “Il volgarizzamento.” 28. Marchesi, “Il volgarizzamento,” (458): “ma perche sara auilito e comaltra bassissima cosa spregiato.” 240 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms women, were living in a brothel. He immediately woke up and realized that trans- lating the sciences implied belittling the gods. For this reason he did not continue translating. Although expressing a strong view against the vernacularization of the sciences, the tale itself is paradoxically a vernacularization of a philosophical text since it is based on a passage from Macrobius’s fifth-century commentary on the Dream of Scipio (I, 2, 17–19). The same passage was also adopted by Gio- vanni Boccaccio in his Genealogia deorum gentilium (III, preface, 3).29 As this ex- ample shows—as does Mellyn’s essay on the translations of the Secretum—con- taminations between “low” and “high” were common and encompassed a wide range of disciplines, including medicine, grammar, and philosophy. Throughout the Middle Ages and early Renaissance, texts from these dis- ciplines had been translated into the vernacular, selections that were based pre- dominantly on the perceived needs of the readers. Ethical texts such as Boethius’s De consolatione Philosophiae had wide circulation throughout the Middle Ages, as did medical texts or other philosophical works that offered concrete matters of interest. A cultivated if not professional reader would have been more interested in learning about civic virtue (to better participate in public life) and the pattern of the winds (in order to know whether his ships would safely cross the Mediter- ranean) rather than prime matter and generation, and Aristotelian treatises like Ethics and Meteorology were the first to be vernacularized.30 Although the translation into the volgare of technical texts raised anxieties and perplexities about the inadequacy of the unstable vernacular to express time- less truths, suitable rhetorical and philosophical strategies were elaborated to jus- tify their vernacularizations. The opportunity of making knowledge available to a broader audience was the more usual justification. Translators of philosophical texts took advantage of Platonic and Aristotelian doctrines to defend their work: for instance, translators often refer to the doctrine of conventionality of lan- guages, as Del Soldato shows in her essay on Diacceto. Between the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, this became another powerful theoretical tool in the hands of the advocates of a noble use of the volgare.31 As Eugenio Refini argues in his 29. Henri Hauvette, Boccace: Étude biographique et littéraire (Paris 1914), 456; Roberto Crespo, “Da Macrobio al Novellino,” Studi medievali 18 (1977): 227–30. 30. Noel H. Kaylor and Philip E. Phillips, eds., Companion to Boethius in the Middle Ages (Leiden, 2012); Chiara Crisciani, Michele Savonarola medico: Tra università e corte, tra latino e volgare, in Filosofia in volgare nel Medioevo; Atti del convegno, Lecce, 27–29 settembre 2002, ed. N. Bray and L. Sturlese (Leuvain la Neuve, 2003), 433–49, 436; S. Gentili, L’uomo aristotelico alle origini della let- teratura italiana (Rome, 2005), 29–30. 31. Cesare Vasoli, “Su alcuni problemi e discussioni logiche del Cinquecento italiano,” in Studi sulla cultura del Rinascimento (Manduria, 1968), 257–344; Eva Del Soldato, “An Aristotelian at the Introduction | 241 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms essay, by the end of the fifteenth century scholars legitimized their translations of technical texts not only through their paratexts but also in practice. A century of transitions, interactions, and contaminations, the quattrocento paved the way for the official sanctioning of the volgare as a language of elevated discourse. With the triumph of the vernacular in the course of the next century, this legacy of the quattrocento was quickly forgotten. The following essays return our attention to the moment when, thanks to treatises, translations, and lively debates, the Latin language and the vernacular were first placed side by side and assessed both for what they could offer and for their limitations.32 Academy: Simone Porzio and the Problem of Philosophical Vulgarisation,” in Bilingual Europe: Latin and Vernacular Cultures ca. 1300–1800, ed. Jan Bloemendal (Leiden, forthcoming). See also Del Sol- dato’s article on Cattani da Diacceto in the current volume. 32. Mazzacurati, Il Rinascimento dei moderni. 242 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE FALL 2013 This content downloaded from ������������128.250.144.144 on Sun, 17 Feb 2019 04:01:55 UTC������������ All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Minerva Access is the Institutional Repository of The University of Melbourne Author/s: Rizzi, A; Del Soldato, E Title: Latin and Vernacular in Quattrocento Florence and Beyond: An Introduction Date: 2013-09 Citation: Rizzi, A. & Del Soldato, E. (2013). Latin and Vernacular in Quattrocento Florence and Beyond: An Introduction. I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance, 16 (1/2), pp.231-242. https://doi.org/10.1086/673422. Persistent Link: http://hdl.handle.net/11343/221816 File Description: Published version 
work_j7xz7rcedvaftmunuytqe5a2ya	----	Boyd McCulloch Berry, Virginia Commonwealth University, 25 March 2014 Phillip Boxer, Metropolitan State University, 13 January 2014 Raymonde Albertine Bulger, Graceland University, 3 February 2014 Brian J. Dendle, University of Kentucky, 3 September 2013 Henry James Donaghy, Mississippi State University, 14 January 2014 Carol Downey, University of California, Riverside, 18 March 2014 Seymour Eichel, New Jersey City University, 13 October 2013 Gabriel García Márquez, Mexico City, Mexico, 17 April 2014 Joseph John Kelly, Pennsylvania Humanities Council, 26 April 2013 Merritt Eugene Lawlis, Indiana University, Bloomington, 9 March 2014 Henry A. Lea, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, 4 April 2013 Doris Lessing, London, England, 17 November 2013 Edward Nagy, Rutgers University, New Brunswick, 13 January 2014 José Emilio Pacheco, Mexico City, Mexico, 26 January 2014 Donald A. Ringe, University of Kentucky, 7 March 2014 Martin de Riquer, Barcelona, Spain, 17 September 2013 David Scott Sanders, Harvey Mudd College, 23 February 2014 Chae-Pyong Song, Marygrove College, 12 February 2013 Arvid F. Sponberg, Valparaiso University, 7 August 2013 Johnye Cannon Sturcken, Texas A&M University, Commerce, 24 April 2014 Daniel Philip Testa, Syracuse University, 3 February 2014 John M. Wasson, Washington State University, Pullman, 20 October 2013 This listing contains names received by the membership office since the March 2014 issue. A cumulative list for the aca- demic year 2013–14 appears at the MLA Web site (www .mla .org/in_memoriam). 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work_jb74g4gaeze7tlooskzdbav4x4	----	iau1101267a “Oxford IX” International Symposium on Archaeoastronomy Proceedings IAU Symposium No. 278, 2011 Clive L. N. Ruggles, ed. c© International Astronomical Union 2011 doi:10.1017/S1743921311012671 The 2012 Mayan calendar prophecies in the context of the western millenarian tradition Nicholas Campion Sophia Centre for the Study of Cosmology in Culture, School of Archaeology, History and Anthropology, University of Wales Trinity Saint David, Lampeter, Ceredigion, Wales, SA48 7ED, UK email: ncampion@tsd.ac.uk Abstract. The 2012 Mayan calendar prophecies have attracted considerable popular interest, thought little academic attention. Following the papers presented in the 2012 Session at the conference, I suggest that the ‘2012 phenomenon’ is the latest in a historic series of millenarian movements that form an established part of Christian culture. The 2012 prophecies, while Chris- tian in neither tone nor affiliation, may be contextualised within secularised versions of western millenarianism as a whole. My purpose is to create a framework for analysis, placing the 2012 phenomenon within a wider cultural milieu and analysing its texts. I suggest that Karl Popper’s paradoxical theory of historicism and activism, and the model of pre- versus post-millenarianism, may both provide means of analysing competing forms of 2012 prophecy. Keywords. 2012 Maya prophecy, millenarianism, New Age, historicism 1. Introduction The papers presented at this session have demonstrated that the apocalyptic prophecies associated with the supposed end of the Maya long-count in December 2012 may be based on an exaggerated reading of the relevant Maya inscriptions and misunderstandings of Maya calendar calculations (van Stone), together with an inflation of the apocalyptic content of Maya thought in the scholarly literature (Hoopes), both of which have in turn encouraged the wider counter-cultural Maya Prophecy Movement (MPM). We may call the MPM counter-cultural in the sense that its view of the future posits a challenge to the survival of human culture as a whole. It is also, I argue, millenarian. 2. Millenarianism in the western tradition The word millenarianism, first used in the fifth century CE by St. Augustine (1972: XX.7), is derived from the Latin millennium, a thousand, and refers to the Persian (Boyce 1987) and, subsequently, Christian belief that world history is divided into periods of a thousand years (Cohn 1957; Campion 1994). Christian millenarianism has roots in Mesopotamian, classical Greek and Jewish thought, but the most powerful works are those within the Christian milieu. The classic text of Christian millenarianism is the Revelation of St. John, which sets out a historical template in which moral collapse climaxes in political and military strife, accompanied by the parousia (literally ‘arrival’ or ‘presence’), that is Christ’s return. In the first century CE this event was believed to be imminent (Mark 13.30, Revelation 22.12). There is an additional terminology associated with millenarianism. From apocalypse, the Greek for revelation, is derived the word ‘apocalyptic’ to describe the vision of the end of the world that was revealed to St. John. The terms millenarian and apocalyptic 249 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 https://www.cambridge.org/core 250 N. Campion tend to be used interchangeably. Although the term millenarian has strictly Christian connotations, it may be applied to all beliefs that the world is about to enter a major new phase. In its looser definition, therefore, any political or religious movement or ideology that expects, prophesies, or fights for, an imminent historical crisis and return to, or inauguration of, a golden age or state of purity, may be described as both millenarian (Robbins & Palmer 1997; Hall et al. 2000; Stone 2000) and apocalyptic. I suggest that the MPM is apocalyptic both in the colloquial sense that in many (but not all forms) it predicts a violent upheaval, and in the strict sense that its knowledge of the future is gleaned from revelation, even if primarily as revealed to the Maya. The main features of millenarian thought may be summarised as follows (Campion 2004: 33–38): catastrophism, a preoccupation with moral collapse, alienation from nature or the divine, nostalgia for a lost golden-age, a belief in historical time as cyclical or, in its broad themes, repetitive, and the application of astrological/astronomical factors to the timing of prophetic events. We should also bring modern New Age culture into consid- eration as a species of millenarian thought (Hanegraaff 1996: 96, 98–103), based as it is on the prophecy of an imminent age of enhanced spirituality, which is due to begin when the vernal point enters the constellation or zodiac sign (the definitions vary) of Aquarius: that the prophecy is linked to a measurable astronomical event is seen as evidence of its veracity. In addition, New Age culture possesses the following characteristics (Campion 2004: 76–78): an emphasis on education, personal transformation and spiritual growth. Both Christian millenarianism and New Age prophecy draw their legitimacy from astronomical/astrological timing, and a form of cultural astronomy in which celestial motions are seen either as divinely-inspired omens, or as evidence of the unfolding of a mathematically-ordered cosmos, in which historical crises coincide with powerful planet- ary aspects. The use of celestial omens in order to predict the coming crisis was encour- aged by texts such as Mark 13.24–26 (“in those days, after that tribulation, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven”) while, in medieval and Renaissance Europe, the notion of a mathematically regulated universe prompting historical upheaval was tied to the cycle of Jupiter-Saturn conjunc- tions, following the Persian model, recorded in the eighth century by Abu Ma`shar (Abu Ma`shar 2000: I.16; Campion 1994: 354–359). The MPM follows the following characteristics, established in Jose Argüelles’ semi- nal text, The Mayan Factor (1987): it envisages physical upheaval coinciding with an exact astronomical and calendrical alignment, followed by an era of enhanced spiritual awareness. So successfully did Argüelles’ work capture the New Age imagination that the previous astronomical basis for forecasting the coming of the future age, based on precession of the equinoxes and the beginning of the Age of Aquarius, has now been largely superseded. The favoured application of precession in the MPM is the coming conjunction between the December solstice sun and the Galactic equator (Jenkins 1998). 3. The nature of the MPM The MPM is clearly of cultural significance as a contemporary form of a two-millennia- old tradition of millenarian thought in western culture: a simple Google search for ‘Mayan Prophecy 2012’ yields 2.8 million results, with thousands of protagonists eager to make their views heard. There are many questions one can ask about the MPM’s nature, whether of its religious content, political ideologies or sociological context. I am concerned with its statements about the nature of history and would like to ask the following questions about it, adapted from previous discussions concerning millenarianism and New Age culture. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 https://www.cambridge.org/core The 2012 Mayan calendar prophecies 251 3.1. Does the MPM constitute a philosophy of history? In that it makes an astrologically-based prophecy about the future direction of history, the MPM may confirm what Eugenio Garin, writing of Renaissance astrology, considered to be “a precise philosophy of history based on a conception of the universe, and char- acterised by a consistent naturalism and a rigid determinism” (Garin 1976: 16). Keith Thomas also considered whether astrology had a function in the development of histor- ical thought. He concluded that it did, adding that the sociological world view has at least partial roots in the astrological, and writing that during the Italian Renaissance astrological doctrines about the recurrence of planetary conjunctions had helped both to form the concept of a historical period and offer a model of social development (Thomas 1980: 386–387). The historical models identified by Garin and Thomas in Renaissance historiography can be traced back to Plato’s statement in the Timaeus concerning the role of planetary and stellar motion in world history (Plato 1931: 39D): “The complete number of Time fulfils the Complete year when all the eight circuits with their relative speeds, finish together and come to a head, when measured by the revolution of the Same and the Similarly-moving.” MPM historiography, in that it postulates an unfold- ing order in which celestial and terrestrial events are inextricably linked, is therefore identifiably Platonic. 3.2. Are there parallels with other modern forms of millenarian thought? It has been persuasively argued that there is a direct continuity between ancient and mod- ern eschatology. Cohn (1970: 108–109) argued for a close relationship between ancient, medieval and modern millenarianism and hence that Marxism and Nazism, the most powerful political ideologies of twentieth-century Europe, were secular forms of millenar- ianism: both assumed that history follows patterns that are broadly predetermined and punctuated by major upheavals or cataclysms that, in turn, result in a new golden-age. For Schwartz (1980) and Godwin (1994), the revolutionary and esoteric millenarianism of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries provided the link between the me- dieval Christian world on the one hand, and the modern, secular, world on the other. The most pervasive form of secular millenarianism in the modern world, though, according to Baillie (1951: 64–65), is belief in progress, which was first set out by the Marquis de Condorcet in 1795 in his optimistic view that the condition of the world must necessarily improve as time passes and that any future age must, in principle, be qualitatively an improvement on any past age (Condorcet 1955). Such progressive philosophy is central to the core New Age belief that the coming era will inevitably be preferably to the present. Baillie argued that progress theory evolved directly out of Jewish and Christian mil- lenarianism’s message of hope that a new world will be born. Bury (1932: 1–36) made a similar argument, but proposed Platonic apocalyptic thought as the basis of progress theory. 3.3. Does the MPM encourage wider cultural activity? Karl Popper’s theory of historicism and activism (Popper 1957), which was directed at an understanding of the millenarian components of Platonic and Marxist historical theory, provides a framework for understanding millenarianism’s political and social functions. Historicism, for Popper, was the belief that the events of history were arranged into pat- terns and regulated by laws according to a deeper, unfolding purpose. Popper’s theory of historicism was at odds with the conventional theory associated with the anthropolo- gist Franz Boas, in which historicism was considered to be the belief that history should be understood through local and complex processes, rather than universal causes (Boas 1904: 522; Stocking 1966: 871). Popper argued that historicist theories have two central characteristics. Firstly, they take it for granted that historical change develops according https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 https://www.cambridge.org/core 252 N. Campion to underlying laws, which suggests in turn a broadly predetermined pattern and a pur- poseful goal. Secondly, while history is predetermined, human beings paradoxically pos- sess the capacity to make free choices. The only free choice to be made in relation to history, though, is to help it on its way and serve its greater purpose. This active par- ticipation, Popper termed activism. Thus, Christian activism demands that the faithful evangelise the gospels to prepare for the second coming, while twentieth-century Marx- ism required the politically aware to form a revolutionary vanguard and prepare for the revolution. The New Age movement, it may be argued, exhibits the same paradox: while, in the form of the Age of Aquarius, the New Age is inevitable, just as the movement of the vernal point into Aquarius must happen, still it is necessary to prepare for the Age. As Louis Le Roy wrote, in relation to Platonic millenarianism, “The best thing is to wisely help destiny run its course” (Le Roy 1594: 11). The seminal activist event in the MPM was the so-called Harmonic Convergence of 16th–17th August 1987 which was intended, through a mass, ritual meditation to avert any dangerous implications of the coming calendrical event. Calls for participatory engagement in order to encourage the coming historical shift are widespread within the MPM. Calleman (2011: 105), for example, calls for a ‘massive participation’ in a public programme that encourages the ‘shift to consciousness of the ninth wave’, in order to take advantage of ‘the last chance that human beings will have to truly align themselves with the cosmic plan’, and will require involvement in social media, funding initiatives and mass events. 3.4. Is the MPM violent or peaceful? One framework for understanding whether millenarian prophecies are peaceful or vio- lent was suggested by Desroche (1979: 93–94), who identified two forms of Christian millenarianism. The first, ‘premillenarianism’, or ‘premillenialism’ (Wessinger 1997: 48– 49), argues that Christ will come before the millennium, typically accompanied by the violent upheavals prophesied in Revelation. This may also be commonly referred to as catastrophic millenarianism. The second form, postmillennialism, or ‘progressive’ mil- lenarianism (Wessinger 1997: 50–51) assumes that the “kingdom of God is progressively installed by an evolutive process” (Desroche 1979: 93), which therefore removes any need for a violent transition. We see both forms of millenarianism in MPM literature. For example, Patrick Geryl (2011) is pre-millennial, predicting that “In 2012 the next polar reversal will take place on earth. This means that the North Pole will be changed into the South Pole. Scientifically this can only be explained by the fact that the earth will start rotating in the opposite direction, together with a huge disaster of unknown proportions. In my books I reveal the immense cataclysm that is going to torment the earth in the near future.” Eden Sky (2011), though, is post-millennial, and appropriates the transformational language and Popperian activism of so much New Age discourse: “First things first—rather than preparing for the future event down the road, let’s notice how we are participating in the moment. Rather than focusing on an imaginary disaster, we need to realise that we are already in the midst of the planetary transformation.” 3.5. What is the role of astrology? Hilary Carey posed two questions in her study of medieval astrology (1992); firstly what motivates and sustains belief in astrology and, secondly, what intellectual function does it serve? A possible answer was suggested by Karl Popper who noted that astrology’s practice is based around the activist paradox that, although the future is predetermined, knowledge of what is to come enables human beings to amend it. He argued that “Astrology, it should be realised, shares with historicism the belief in a predeterminate destiny which can be predicted: and it shares with some important versions of historicism https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 https://www.cambridge.org/core The 2012 Mayan calendar prophecies 253 (especially with Platonism and Marxism) the belief that, notwithstanding the possibility of predicting the future, we have some influence upon it, especially if we know what is coming. . . All astrology, for instance, involves the apparently somewhat contradictory conception that the knowledge of our fate may help us to influence this fate.” (Popper 1986: I.210, 244) In Popper’s scheme, astrology is sustained by the need for security and order in a world beset by potentially threatening change and instability, a fact on which academics and critics agree with astrologers working within the theosophical tradition, although the latter would add the quest for personal meaning as an important additional motive. In the astrological milieu, security is to be obtained through the manipulation of a future which, once forecast, can be turned to human advantage. The fundamental political-astrological belief that the futures of heavenly cosmos and terrestrial state are equally fated on the one hand, can be contrasted with astrology’s attempt, via the detailed examination of horoscopes to manipulate the future, on the other. It is therefore the astrologer’s task to enhance human freedom of choice as much as possible within the limits set by historical and cosmic law. Carey (1992: 3–5) suggested a similar conclusion. Citing Malinowski’s theory (1954: 25–36) that one of magic’s primary functions is to provide a means of influencing forces and events normally outside human control, she raises the question as to whether astrological forecasting, combined with the rituals which often accompanied it, may be seen as ways of intervening in historical order. Astrology’s function, as a particular application of activist divination to the cosmic state, may therefore be understood within the differing frameworks of competing historicist narratives. If the underlying purpose of historicism is to control change then astrology, within the terms set by Karl Popper, may be seen, within the millenarian framework, as a principal activist discipline. In this sense the astronomical features of the MPM drive its activist programme, the assurance that the astronomical patterns ‘will’ happen, providing validation for the wider prophecy. 4. Conclusion Given that no millennial movement necessarily includes the same combination of beliefs in the same balance as any other, it is often impossible to define such movements, except by acknowledging the paradoxes they contain and the tensions these generate. In addi- tion, like any other cultural, social or political force, millenarianism constantly adapts to changing circumstances. As Schwartz (1980: 6) puts it, “millenarian moods and per- ceptions change as believers battle to keep their footing”. Moreover, as Desroche (1979: 99) argues, “the millenarian tradition is cumulative”, with later forms both arising out of earlier ones and looking back to them for authority. As a millenarian phenomenon, the MPM may therefore be seen to conform to a long- standing strand of ideas in western culture that emerges from roots in classical Platonism and Judaism, is fundamental to Christianity, and has secular forms in Marxism, Nazism and the theory of Progress, as well as New Age culture. I suggest that a potentially useful path to examining the MPM is in terms of an established cosmological philosophy of history, justified by Plato, identified in the Renaissance by Garin and defined by Popper as historicist and activist. Having confirmed that the prophecies have no basis in Maya calendrics, the next step, following Popper, is to pose such questions as ‘what forms of political or social action do the prophecies encourage?’, applying methodologies from history, sociology and anthropology. In addition, as a contemporary ‘cultural astronomy’, the MPM’s existence in the modern west is a vivid demonstration that cosmologies that flourish in the modern west may not be substantially different from those normally categorised as ‘non-western’ and ‘pre-modern’. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 https://www.cambridge.org/core 254 N. Campion References Abu Ma`shar 2000, On Historical Astrology: the Book of Religions and Dynasties (On the Great Conjunctions) (2 vols), ed. & transl. K. Yamamoto & C. Burnett, E. J. Brill, Leiden. Argüelles, J. 1987, The Mayan Factor: Path Beyond Technology, Bear & Co., Santa Fe. Augustine 1972, City of God, transl. H. Bettenson, Penguin, Harmondsworth. 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M. 1998, Maya Cosmogenesis 2012, Bear & Co., Santa Fe. LeRoy, L. 1594, Of the Interchangeable Course, or Variety of Things in the Whole World, London. Malinowski, B. 1954, Magic, Science and Religion, Doubleday, New York. Plato 1931, Timaeus, transl. R. G. Bury, Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA. Popper, K. 1957, The Poverty of Historicism, Routledge, London. Popper, K. 1986, The Open Society and its Enemies (2 vols), revised edn, Routledge, London & New York. Robbins, T. & Palmer, S. 1999, Millennium, Messiahs and Mayhem: Contemporary Apocalyptic Movements, Routledge, London. Schwartz, H. 1980, The French Prophets: the History of a Millenarian Group in Eighteenth- Century England, University of California Press, Berkeley. Sky, E. 2011, How can we prepare for 2012? http://www.13moon.com/prophecy%20page.htm#19 (accessed 4 January 2011). Stocking, G. W. 1966, Franz Boas and the culture concept in historical perspective. American Anthropologist New Series 68(4), 867–882. Stone, J. 2000, Expecting Armageddon: Essential Readings in Failed Prophecy, Routledge, London. Thomas, K. 1980, Religion and the Decline of Magic, Peregrine Books, Harmondsworth. Wessinger, C. 1997, Millenialism with and without the mayhem. In Robbins, T. & Palmer, S. (eds), Millennium, Messiahs and Mayhem: Contemporary Apocalyptic Movements, Rout- ledge, London, pp. 47–59. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311012671 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_jhnc4rbhtvd3jbi6y72ne6lqtm	----	The long history of lost wax casting The Long History of Lost Wax Casting OVER FIVE THOUSAND YEARS OF ART AND CRAFTSMANSHIP L.B. Hunt Johnson Matthey & Co. Limited, London, U.K. The origins of lost wax or investment casting, often known as cire per- due, and still the most accurate and reliable means of reproducing com- plex shapes in gold or other metals with all the fine detail of an original pattern, go back to the very first civilisations in the Near East and to a combination of primitive art, religion and metallurgy. The historical development of the process and its several variations are reviewed here as well as its transmission to other parts of the world. The discovery that metals could be melted and cast to shape in moulds was one of the major strides towards civilisation made by early man. Some time before 4 000 B.C., almost certainly independently in several different regions, and after long experiment with coloured minerals like malachite and azurite that had attracted his attention, man began the smelting of copper. There is no certainty about the dates of this first step in metallurgy nor about the exact locations, but in Anatolia, in the highlands of Iran, in Syria and Palestine, and even in Thailand, there is evidence of smelting around this time. The next stage was of course the casting of copper in simple open moulds made of stone or less often in clay to produce simple tools, to be followed by the use of two-part moulds in which both faces of the object could be fashioned. These first smelting and casting operations were undoubtedly carried out in a crude type of kiln or furnace with some forced draught developed for the making of pottery, and the early metal worker would have needed the cooperation of the potter not only for this purpose but also for the production of his crucibles. Potters in these times were well accustomed to the making of small human and animal figures, representations either naturalistic or symbolic used as votive objects to please the numerous gods associated with early religions in the Among the very earliest lost wax castings known are small figures of animals mounted on pins and dowelled into the centre of cylinder seals, devices used before the invention of writing to form a characteristic impression on moist clay as an indication of ownership or agreement to a transac- tion. This seal, carved with figures of cattle, carries a recumbent ram cast in copper and comes from the Uruk period in Mesopotamia, around 3 500 B.G. Photograph by courtesy of the Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford Near East and elsewhere. Such statuettes had for many centuries also been carved in various types of stone, while small human figures were often made in beeswax either as religious symbols or, when thrown on to a fire, as a means of removing or avoiding a curse from an enemy. At an unknown date somewhere in the middle of the fourth millenium B.C. — again possibly indepen- dently in more than one region — either a potter 63 or a metal worker, or more probably the two working together, conceived the brilliant idea of taking a model carved in beeswax, coating this with clay, heating the composite structure both to harden the clay and to melt out the wax, and then using the mould so formed to produce a more complex casting with every detail carved or built up in the wax. This innovation must have been greeted with great en- thusiasm; at once much more elaborate objects could be produced, of almost any shape and with several ad- vantages over earlier techniques. Compared with stone, by modelling rather than carving, human limbs and the legs, horns and tails of animal figures could be represented much more readily, while compared with clay a great improvement in strength was achiev- ed. Wax was available from wild bees, and was in fact already a commodity in use for several other pur- poses, while the keeping of bees was introduced at an early time in most parts of western Asia. This was the beginning of lost wax casting, often referred to by archaeologists in its French form, eire perdue. The earliest castings were made in relatively Although by no means the earliest lost wax casting to have been found, this copper model of a chariot drawn by four wild asses and driven by it bearded Sumerian king is the most elaborate from an early period. Dated to about 2 850 B.C., it was excavated near the high altar in a temple at Tell Agrab, north east of modern Baghdad, and is now in the Iraq Museum there. Although heavily corroded, it shows great skill in both modelling and casting. It is 7 cen- timetres in height Photograph by Hirmer Verlag, Munich Sonne of the most astonishingly complex lost wax castings, made in arsenical copper, were found in 1 961 hidden in an aluwst inaccessible cave at Nahal Mislunar overlooking the western shore of the Dead Sea in Israel. Among a hoard of more than four hundred castings were several elaborate sceptres or standards such as this, terminating in ibex heads and showing an exceptionally high standard of workinauship for such a period — around 3 200 B.C. — when Syria and Palestine appear to have been an indepeu- den t centre of early metallurgy Photograph by courtesy of the Israel Museum, Jerusalem pure copper but very soon an arsenical copper was in- troduced, to be followed by tin bronze, and a little later by gold. Some of the earliest examples of lost wax castings in copper include the figures of recumbent animals mounted on cylinder seals carved from limestone or magnesite — a device in use in Mesopotamia and elsewhere before the invention of writing that could be rolled across a piece of moist clay as a mark of ownership or of assent to an agreement — and dated to about 3 500 B.C. From the same period, but from Elam in south western Iran, a number of large dress pins, now in the Louvre, have representations of crouching ibex and other animals (1), while from only a few centuries later, similar castings have been found at Troy and at Poliochni, a settlement on the Greek island of Lemos closely associated with Troy (2). One or two small bronze figures and the spouts and fittings for some bronze vessels that could have been cast only by the lost wax process, as well as gold dress pins with decorative heads, come from the early cities of Troy, where the accumulation of wealth attracted skilled goldsmiths from western Asia. Even more complicated specimens were discovered among a spectacular hoard in a cave at Nahal Mishmar close to the western shore of the Dead Sea, 64 From the royal cemetery at Ur in Mesopotamia, excavated by Sir Leonard Woolley and ascribed to around 2 600 B.C., there emerged among many other objects of gold this fer- ret or rein ring from the sledge-chariot of Queen Pu-Abi. Soldered to the top of the silver base is the queen's mascot, an onager or wild ass, lost wax cast in electrum, the natural alloy of gold and silver. Woolley described it as `an asto- nishingly fine piece of realistic sculpture and one of the most charming objects that the cemetery has produced' Photograph by courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum all these being attributed to the early Bronze Age, around 3 200 B.C., but all revealing a lengthy ex- perience in the technique and displaying a perfection of detail (3). Early Progress in Mesopotamia It was, however, in the land of Sumer, the southern part of Mesopotamia between the Tigris and the Euphrates, that metallurgy in general and lost wax casting in particular developed most effectively. This was a region devoid of minerals and metals, and sup- plies of copper had to be imported either from Oman to the south or from Anatolia to the north. Indications of this trade remain in the earlier name of the Euphrates — Urudu, the copper river — while sup- plies of gold were secured either from Elam, from Anatolia, or from Bactria in modern Afghanistan. The earliest example of a lost wax casting in gold is the little onager or wild ass on the rein-ring from Queen Pu -Abi's chariot, excavated in the royal cemetery at Ur and dated about 2 600 B.C. (4). Again, the skilful design and execution of this casting show that considerable experience with the technique must have been built up over a fairly long period, a view supported by the elaborate nature of the miniature copper casting of a Sumerian king driving a chariot drawn by four wild asses found at Tell Agrab and attributed to a rather earlier date, around 2 850 B.C. (5). Human figures, bulls' heads and 'offering stands' (complex figures made to support plates of of- ferings to the gods or bowls of incense) made in almost pure copper have been found in temples of the same period excavated at Khafaje, east of modern Baghdad, these showing great skills in modelling in the wax though rather imperfect casting techniques, but considering the difficulty of casting straight copper the workmanship is still astonishing (6). Contemporary with these finds in Mesopotamia, a number of human statuettes in bronze was found some 400 kilometres away near Antioch, showing that the technique was understood in ancient Syria. In the latter half of the third millenium B.C., metallurgy advanced more rapidly throughout the Near East and the Aegean, and processes including lost wax casting spread across a wide area although Sumerian influences remain to be seen in both technical and artistic fields. Goldsmiths and cop- persmiths rose in importance and were increasingly patronised by local rulers and aristocracies, while astonishingly extensive trade routes were established, many of them by prospectors and miners searching for sources of metal, although some such routes had been in use for many centuries for the trade in obsi- dian, the glassy volcanic substance from Anatolia and elsewhere that was so valuable in making cutting tools in Stone Age times. Anatolia and Greece In Anatolia itself, a hoard from another so-called royal cemetery at Alaca Hüyuk, east of Ankara, ex- cavated by Turkish archaeologists, included a number of bulls and the large copper casting of a stag — also a sacred animal of the time — most skilfully in- laid with gold and dated around 2 400 B.C. (7). At another site, Horortepe, some 150 kilometres further north east, similar finds included a larger figure of a bull solid cast in copper with muzzle, horns and ears coated with gold foil, as well as a more massive but rather more crude figure of a stag and a statuette of a woman nursing a child (8). These are thought to be a little later in date than the finds from Alaca Hüyuk, but both hoards show that the metal technology of the Pontic area in northern Turkey was highly developed, while it appears that the technique crossed 65 the Black Sea into Caucasia. Here again, the excava- tion of a great chieftain's tomb at Maikop yielded lost wax castings of bulls in both gold and silver, ascribed to around 2 300 B.C. (9). Trade, and with it the transmission of technological ideas, extended in practically all directions from Mesopotamia; eastwards, for example, as far as the Indus valley in modern Pakistan where a beautiful and well known copper casting of a dancing girl was found at Mohenjo-daro, while charming little lost wax castings of carts or chariots only 5 centimetres in height were excavated at Harappa and at Chanhu- daro, other cities of the Jr dus civilisation which flourished from about 2 400 to 1 700 B.C. (10). Excavation of the royal tombs of Alaca Hüyuk in Anatolia, east of Ankara, revealed a number of copper and gold objects, including this large lost wax casting of a stag, one of the sacred animals of the local culture and dating fromm about 2 400 B.C. It is some 50 centimetres in overall height. The sprues were not removed and show clearly the method of casting, the animal head downwards. The inlaid zig zags and concentric rings of gold also show a highly developed technique of metal working Photograph by Josephine Powell Westwards the knowledge of metallurgy reached the Cyclades islands and Crete early in the third millenium with settlers arriving probably from Anatolia. Modest resources of copper, silver and gold existed and the simple casting and working of these metals became established. Lost wax castings of dress pins in arsenical copper, with heads in the form of flowers, jugs and double spirals have been found on the islands of Syros and Naxos and dated to around 2 300 B.C. (11). In Crete, ornamental daggers in gold, as well as votive human figures in bronze, have been found at Mochlos and at.Tylissos dated to about 1 600 B.C. (12). At much the same time there is some evidence from mainland Greece of lost wax casting, the technique having travelled from the Cyclades. The Aegean Sea was by this time a highway for both men and ideas, and Cyprus too developed metallurgy based upon its native copper ores while statuettes of human figures lost wax cast in copper have also been found there, including a most impressive figure of an `Ingot God', standing holding a spear, with his head raised, on an oxhide-shaped copper ingot (13). Similarly, Egypt received some aspects of culture and technology from Mesopotamia, but was rather slow in their adoption. Most Egyptian metal working in the third millenium consisted of the hammering of gold nuggets and of copper vessels, but by about 2 200 B.C. copper statuettes were being cast by the lost wax process and a number of them can be seen in museums. So far most of the cast objects mentioned have been associated with royal tombs and their treasures or with temples and the practice of religion. The ex- change of expensive gifts of this type was a feature among the rulers of the ancient world and it was a long time before increasing population, greater sup- plies of food and then the greater specialisation of craftsmen led to a wider production of metal objects. This beautifully modelled figure of a bull, cast in gold by the lost wax process, is one of a pair — with two other similar figures in silver — from the framework of a canopy set up over the body of a chieftain in a tomb at Maikop in the northern Caucasus, dating from around 2 300 B.C. The bull, only 6 centimetres in height, is much smaller than the Alaca Hüyuk stag, but shows a greater skill in modelling Photograph by courtesy of the State Hermitage, Leningrad 66 The First Recorded Use of Lost Wax Casting The earliest known written reference to lost wax casting comes from the, Babylonian city of Sippar and is dated 1789 B.C., during the reign of the great King Hammerabi. Written In cuneiformn on a clay lablet, this is a receipt for a small quantity of wax issued to a metal worker and is composed in the typically bureaucratic manner of the period. Two thirds of a mina of wax tja ma'ke a hronze key for the Temple of Shamash received by the metal worker from the temple treasury *('i4,11 '} In the presence öl Silli-u9u-lcarrak and of the storekeeper, his ^ r colleagues J 4' ' Ak On the nineteenth day of the month of Ara.bsammu in the year of ^i TM' building the temple wall' The closing years of the third millenium and the first centuries of the second were times of great disruption and violence among all the peoples of the Near East and of widespread movements of less cultivated races. In Mesopotamia the Third Dynasty of Ur achieved stability from about 2 100 until 1 950, and it is from this period that we have some of the first written records on clay tablets of the work of sculptors and goldsmiths attached to the temple organisations (14), as well as of the long and dangerous journeys under- taken by donkey caravan to seek supplies of copper and gold in Anatolia, Syria and elsewhere. Merchants from Mesopotamia established settlements in a number of Anatolian centres; the best known of these, from clay tablets describing their transactions, was at Kanesh, now Kültepe, where a market colony existed from about 2 000 B.C. until 1 850 for the exchange of Sumerian cereals and woven cloths for supplies of copper, gold and silver (15). This culture did not survive, however, and it was succeeded by the Babylonian dynasty, the political centre of gravity having moved northwards up river. This lasted for three centuries, and it was the sixth of the line, Hammurabi, who reigned from 1 792 until 1 750 B.C., who presided over a particularly rich and productive phase of Mesopotamian history. He is himself shown in a delightful little casting, now in the Louvre, in an attitude of worship, but the great in- terest from his time arises from the first known writ- ten reference to the lost wax casting process. A clay tablet inscribed in Old Babylonian cuneiform from the holy city of Sippar records the issue, in the fourth year of Hammurabi's reign, of a quantity of wax to a metalsmith — described as a ququrrim, the first recorded name for a metal worker — for the casting of a bronze key. A transcription of the tablet and its translation are shown here (16). Under Hammurabi's great Code of Law, a closed guild system was established for each craft, including of course goldsmithing, and a member had to be born into the guild and learn his trade from his father. Such guilds were also an important means of transmission of techniques and throughout the Near East itinerant metal workers travelled immense distances carrying with them, as we shall see later, small stone moulds in which they could fashion wax models for casting as well as supplies of metal. Throughout the Aegean area, lost wax casting became more prevalent in the middle centuries of the second millenium. In mainland Greece, Crete and 67 The Hittites, one of the great powers in Asia Minor from about 1 800 until 1 200 B.C. also developed the art of lost wax casting. This small figure of a Hittite god or king is solid cast in gold and is dated to the fourteenth century B.C. Photograph by courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum Cyprus, many examples of the technique have been found, mostly human and animal figures, including the inevitable bulls in Crete and a little chariot group from Cyprus, most of course cast in bronze but a number in gold. The little statuette of a Hittite king or god illustrated here dates from the fourteenth cen- tury B.C. and was solid cast in gold. A rather similar figurine in gilt bronze comes from Megiddo in Palestine, while excavations at Alalakh, west of Alep- po, have revealed the lost wax casting of gold jewellery in the fifteenth century (17). Before this period, however, the process had made its appearance in central Europe, where a native cop- per metallurgy had existed since about 4 000 B.C. and where ample supplies of gold were available from Transylvania. The idea of lost wax casting may possibly have arisen independently, but it may more The technique of lost wax casting began to be practised in central Europe, probably about 2 000 B.C. Earlier, in the Near East, many hundreds of dress pins with animal, spiral or other decorated heads have been found cast in bronze and in gold. This is the head of a large gold pin, 15 centimetres in length, found at Trassern in the Rhineland and dating from 1 600 B.C. The multi-spiral motif, ex- ecuted by rolling wax into the form of wire, can be traced back before 2 500 B.C. in Mesopotamia Photograph by courtesy of the Rheinisches Landesntuseum, Trier probably have been carried, along with the artistic motifs, by the established trade route up the river Danube. Gold jewellery such as brooches, fibulae, and massive torcs as well as ceremonial or symbolic weapons decorated with geometric designs carved in the wax were produced in this way in Romania, for example, and further afield in the areas that are now Hungary, Czechoslovakia and Germany. An in- teresting survival of the ancient multiple spiral motif, once a religious or fertility symbol in Mesopotamia, is shown in the large gold dress pin from Trassem, near Trier, dated to around 1 600 B.C. The technique travelled still further north, reaching Denmark and southern Sweden. Here pro- sperity had been achieved by export of amber to the Mediterranean and return trade in gold. The well known sun chariot found in a peat bog at Trundholm in Denmark and considered to have been made locally in the fourteenth century B.C., comprises a large gold disc mounted on a four-wheeled chariot drawn by a bronze horse that was hollow cast over a clay core — a variation of the lost wax technique that will be refer- red to again. Egypt To return to Egypt, where metal technology was for long more conservative than in Mesopotamia and elsewhere in the Near East, there is every indication of a remarkable burst of inventive skills in the New Kingdom period, beginning in 1 559 B.C. Lost wax casting, possibly re-introduced by immigrant crafts- men, became much more evident for the making of massive gold signet rings, parts of great gold pectorals and statuettes. The little figure of Amenophis III (1 405-1 367 B.C.) illustrated here was cast in solid gold. It was suspended by a chain for use as a pen- 68 dant, and shows a further development in the process, the attaching of items made from wire or strip to the basic casting. Probably the best known, and certainly the most photographed, lost wax castings from this period must be the solid gold figures of the vulture goddess Nekhbet and the uraeus or cobra of Buto that decorate the forehead of the great funerary mask of Tutankhamun. In the twelfth century B.C., another period of crises and upheavals set in across the whole of the Near East and Aegean, similar in many respects to that of a thousand years earlier. Egypt was invaded, the Hittite empire collapsed, as did the Mycenaean civilisation, and nomadic peoples overran large areas of the an- cient world. Several centuries of `Dark Ages' followed, during which patronage for metal workers would have been minimal although it is likely that their skills survived from generation to generation. Probably such craftsmen migrated westwards through the Greek islands and even to Etruria. The Phoenicians Recovery eventually came in the ninth century. By this time, the Phoenicians had assumed the maritime power of the Myceneans and had developed their trading and colonising activities throughout the Mediterranean. Their craftsmen produced great numbers of figurines in bronze by lost wax casting, many of them however of indifferent quality, and also items of gold jewellery by the same technique. Phoenician colonies established in Sardinia, Sicily and in the Balearic islands have yielded many finds of Egypt was slow in adopting the lost wax process, and very little evidence is to be found of its use before about 2 200 B.C. However, by the fourteenth century great progress was made and the idea had developed of attaching decorative pieces to the basic casting. This small figurine of Amenophis III, only 5 centimetres in height, is solid cast in gold Photograph by F.L. Kenett bronze statuettes of warriors and chieftains. In Sar- dinia in particular, these show a highly developed skill in modelling the wax, with every figure slightly different in design. Greece, by 800 B.C., had also re-established itself and resumed contacts with its eastern neighbours. The casting of gold is in evidence, possibly under- taken by Phoenician craftsmen who settled in Greek cities and engaged local workmen, while in Corinth in particular, excavations have disclosed a considerable centre of lost wax casting, more devoted to bronze statuettes (18). In Asia Minor, the Hittites were succeeded by Phrygians and by the kingdom of Urartu in the area around lake Van and in this latter region a high quali- ty of metal working developed during the seventh century. One characteristic feature consisted of cast bronzes in the form of animal heads, many of them gilt, for attachment to cauldrons and other vessels, a development that spread widely into European styles. Both bronze workers and goldsmiths in this rather remote region displayed great skill and workmanship, and when their religious centre Musasir was sacked by the Assyrians in 714 B.C., immense quantities of gold jewellery including cast earrings were removed, as well as many bronze figures including one of a bull and another of a cow with its calf, all said to have been cast in the temple foundry. At the same time, many of these metal workers and goldsmiths were taken back to Assyria — a calculated procedure often adopted by the Assyrians who habitually removed craftsmen from conquered areas to their own cities of Assur, Nimrud and Nineveh, where they forced them to exercise their skills. The Animal Art of the Scythians Urartu was later invaded, however, by Cimmerians from the Caucasus and then by the Scythians from the steppes of southern Russia. These nomadic peoples had already developed a metal working and artistic culture in their homeland, and many of their creations, lost wax cast in gold and most of them associated with the horse and its trappings, have been found in Siberia and are now displayed in the Her- mitage Museum in Leningrad. The example il -lustrated here, typical of their so-called `animal art', is a belt plaque in the form of a tiger or leopard coiled into a semi-circle (19). This distinctive style, together with its means of representation by lost wax casting, 69 Many large lost wax castings in gold have been found in Siberia made by the Scythians, a nomadic people ranging over the steppes be- tween the seventh and the third centuries B.C. Most of these were for harness decoration or belt buckles and they usually depict a distinctive animal style of art. This elegant piece, measuring 11 by 9 ceu- timetres, from the collection formed by Peter the Great and now in the Hermitage Museum in Leningrad, dates frone the fourth century and shows a coiled tiger, a motif that probably originated fur- ther to the east in the Altai Mountains. The wax model was most probably made in a mould of wood, in the use of which these people were also highly skilled seems to have originated in the Altai mountains of central Asia in the seventh or sixth century B.C. and to have been transmitted both westwards to the Scythians and eastwards via the Ordos region to China by the Hsiung-Nu, a nomadic people of the eastern steppes of Inner Mongolia. Lost wax casting was thus introduced rather belatedly to China in the fourth century B.C., the bronzes of earlier periods having been cast in highly complex piece moulds (20). Animal art, and particularly the making of horse bits and other pieces of harness, played an important role in several areas of western Asia. During the ninth to the seventh century B.C., an exceptionally varied and unique range of castings in bronze was produced in the Luristan province of western Iran along the mountain frontier with Iraq. Some of the less decorated objects were cast in two-piece moulds, but the more characteristic and elaborate items were made by the lost wax process; these included cheek pieces for horse bits representing animals such as bulls, lions and boars as well as mythological beasts like the sphinx, the chimaera and the griffin, and a range of finials or cult symbols with heraldic groups of rampant animals (21). Heavy dress pins and decorated bracelets with animal heads were also cast in gold by these people. Although there had been a This large gold beaker, found in an Etruscan tomb and dated about 670 B.C., is made from sheet gold but the rim is decorated with four small lost wax castings of sphinxes. It is now in the Etruscan Museum in the Villa Guilia in Rome. This technique of decoration is also found in later centuries in the Celtic regions of Europe Photograph by Michael Elolford simple copper industry in Luristan for many cen- turies, it seems that this particularly splendid phase of lost wax casting was a local enterprise to serve a war- rior aristocracy in a style suited to its needs. It de- clined by the end of the seventh century, probably because of the increasing power of the Medes and Persians who severed the links with sources of metal. 70 The Skill of the Etruscans At about the same time as Luristan had shown such vigorous activity another spectacular development oc- curred in Europe — that of the extraordinary skill in metal working of the Etruscans. The origins of these people are still somewhat obscure, but it is generally considered that their ancestors arrived from Anatolia over a period during the eighth century B.C. or even earlier, settling in the west central region of Italy now known as Tuscany and mixing with local inhabitants, and bringing with them expertise in both mining and metal working. City-states were established, and extensive trading with the Greeks and Phoenicians brought in many bronze and gold luxury objects which the Etruscans began to copy and later to improve or modify in their own characteristic style. Copper was readily available and gold could be obtained from Anatolia or closer to hand from Ischia. Excavation of their tombs has disclosed great riches of utensils, votive figures and jewellery of outstanding workmanship. Among these are large bowls and massive cauldrons beaten from sheet but with feet, handles and animal and human figures attached to them that were solid cast by the lost wax process. By about 600 B.C., the Etruscans had solved the problem of hollow casting, using wax modelled over a clay core. A delightful little bronze statuette of a girl and the head of a young man, both showing the remains of the clay core through cracks in the castings, and a pair of griffins' heads from Perugia, also for mounting on a cauldron, reveal the use of this method of manufacture (22). A remarkable gold beaker found at Palestrina — ancient Praeneste — in a tomb dated about 670 B.C., has four small animal figures, solid cast in gold, soldered around the rim (23), a style of decoration much employed by the Etruscans and one that spread northwards into central Europe first by importation of this type of vessel across the Alps and then by local production. The Celtic Tribes In this latter region a considerable increase in population was taking place in the first millenium B.C. with great movements of people along the main rivers. Celtic speaking tribes expanded fairly rapidly, came into contact with the Mediterranean world and with the Scythians from southern Russia who migrated into eastern Europe and both were to have an influence on Celtic art and craftsmanship in metal. A gold stag, found at Zöldhalompuszta in Hungary and now in the National Museum in Budapest, is but one example of Scythian penetration westwards (24). The making of bridle-bits and other horse harness had for long played an important part in the history of lost wax casting, and from about 800 B.C. many new designs began to appear throughout Europe. These, and artifacts discovered in excavations, show the Scythian influence from the east, while the establish- ment of the Greek colony of Massalia — modern Marseilles — in 600 B.C., greatly increased contacts with the Greek world. Celtic metal working achieved a very high standard and was much encouraged by local chieftains. Ar -chaeologists distinguish between two stages of development: the Hallstatt phase, named after a cemetery in Austria and extending from around 750 to 500 B.C., followed by the La Tene culture, named after a lake dwelling in Switzerland, lasting from then until the time of the Roman conquests. From the earlier period, some exciting examples of lost wax castings have been found in elaborate burials. They include a detailed bronze model of a ritual vehicle with figures representing immolated warriors, horses and sacred beasts surrounding a goddess holding up the bowl of the sky, excavated near Graz in Austria and dated to the sixth century. But another major in- fluence on metal working arose from the trade in wine developing up the Rhone valley which brought about the importation of Greek and Etruscan vessels for its storage, serving and drinking. The Celts, in fact, developed a great love for the wines of the south and soon began to produce copies of these vessels in their own distinctive style; large bronze flagons and cups were decorated, like the Etruscan beaker mentioned above, with beautifully modelled animal or equestrian figures made by lost wax casting and attached to the vessel either in the form of handles or simply as decoration. One distinguished archaeologist, writing of this period, recorded his opinion that `the La Tene art may largely have owed its existence to Celtic thirst' (25). The most interesting articles of gold from Celtic times are, however, the great torts or neck rings that have been found in many parts of Europe, including Britain. These were made of twisted bar or heavy wire, but their decorated terminals were very often cast directly onto the ends by a modification of the lost wax process. The tort illustrated here, one of six found near Ipswich in England and dated to the first century B.C., was the object of an investigation and reconstruction some years ago and was clearly demonstrated to have been made in this way, the decoration having been tooled in the wax model (26). Variations on the Basic Method The time has come to interrupt the historical account of lost wax casting in order to review the technique itself and the several variations that were developed over the centuries. The earliest craftsmen no doubt learnt by trial and error the need to provide adequate runners or sprues, also made of wax, to allow the molten metal to flow 71 Both the wealth and the craflstnanship of the Celtic tribes in England prior to the Roman conquest were displayed in the massive gold torts or neck rings worn by their chieftains or possibly used as large items of currency. This is one of six similar torts found at Ipswich in East Anglia, formed from twisted wire lint with the decorated terminals cast onto the ends by the lost wax process. Undoubtedly this was the type of neck ring worn by Boadicea, the queen of the Iceni who led the revolt against the Romans in 60 A.D. The Roman historian Cassium Dio described her formidable appearance: She was huge of frame, terrifying of aspect, and with a harsh voice. A great [nass of bright red hair fell to her knees: she wore a great twisted gold necklace and a tunic of many colours.' Photograph by courtesy of the Trustees of the British J Museum readily into the mould. These were usually attached to the bottom of the model to be cast. The metal smith would also have had to make suitable risers for the escape of air when the metal was poured in, although by choosing a mixture of fresh clay with sand, charcoal or ground up pieces of fired clay he was soon able to construct a mould sufficiently porous to allow for this. Naturally, all these runners and risers were cut off and put back into the melting pot, although in a few cases they have been left in position, as is shown on the stag from Alaca Hüyuk illustrated on page 66. Hollow Casting The early objects made in this way were cast solid, and if cast in gold would be expensive, but by about the middle of the second millenium B.C. a technique for hollow casting had been developed in the Near East, which spread slowly to Greece, Etruria and elsewhere. A clay core was first made and fired; this was then covered with a layer of wax as thick as the desired wall thickness of the casting and all the detail was carved or modelled on this layer. After coating with clay and firing to harden the mould and to melt out the wax, molten metal was poured into the cavity as before. In order to retain the core in its correct position, small nails or pieces of wire were first driven through the layer of wax, protruding into the outer coating of clay. Generally, the core was removed from the finished casting, but as mentioned above in describing the sun chariot from Denmark, in many cases remnants of it are still in position. Sometimes the heads of the pins or chaplets can also be seen on the surface of the castings. Indirect Casting These two methods are known as direct lost wax casting. A different technique, known as indirect casting, was to take a model in any material such as stone or wood, to form a mould, probably in several pieces, made of clay or some other plastic material, and then to coat the inner surfaces with a thick layer of wax by painting or brushing in several applica- tions. This method had the advantage that much larger castings could be produced, and it is in fact the procedure still used today in producing bronze or gold statuettes. Moulds for Wax Models The many advantages of lost wax casting as a means of making fairly elaborate objects were accompanied, however, by one major disadvantage — it was a one- off process. Obviously the carefully shaped wax model was destroyed by melting, while the clay mould had to be broken up to release the casting. It must have occurred to early metal smiths that a great increase in productivity could be achieved if wax models could be readily made in quantity and this is confirmed by the finding of a number of small and easily portable moulds made in steatite or mica schist. At one time archaeologists believed that these were used for the actual casting of gold or bronze, but several such moulds examined by the writer show no trace whatever of their having been in contact with molten metal. The two stone moulds illustrated here, one from ancient Sippar in Babylonia, dated about 1 700 B.C. and the other from Nimrud, with an eighth century B.C. dating, show clearly how molten wax could be poured into the cavities and could then easily be trimmed to final shape. Almost identical moulds for gold jewellery were found, for instance, by Heinrich Schliemann during his famous excavation of Troy (27) and by Sir Leonard Woolley at Alalakh (28), while others were described by Canby as having been carried by an itinerant goldsmith travelling the trade routes linking Anatolia with Mesopotamia (29). 72 In several regions of the Near East small por- table moulds rttade of steatite or other types of stone have been found with nuutcrous designs of jewellery carved into litern, occa- sionally on more than one side. These have sometimes been ascribed to the actual casting of trinkets, but they seldom show signs of having been in contact with molten metal and they were more probably carved by itinerant smiths for pouring beeswax to make their models for lost wax casting. These two examples from a number in the possession of the British Museum show, on the left, a mould from ancient Sippar in Babylonia dated to about 1 700 B.C. and, on the right, one from Niiurud in Assyria dated to the eighth century B.C. Photograph by courtesy of the Trustees of the British \4useum Bronze moulds have also been found and ascribed to the direct casting of metal, but again more recent views lean towards their use for the casting of wax models or sometimes for lead patterns — the `lost lead' variation of the process (30). The use of wooden moulds for the preparation of wax models also seems to have been likely. An exam- ple is the Scythian gold tiger or leopard illustrated on page 70. (A bronze counterpart of this, identical in design, but almost twice the size, is in a private collec- tion in America (31)). Scythian animal art was also ex- pressed in wooden carvings, and it is probable that the original patterns for casting were produced in wood. Casting-On Another development of the basic lost wax casting was the `casting-on' of parts of an object. By the time that the Iron Age had arrived and when iron daggers and swords were being produced it was apparently the custom to provide a bronze — or sometimes a silver or a gold — hilt to these weapons. This was achieved by making a wax model to surround the tang, covering this with clay in the usual manner, and then pouring the molten metal into the cavity left by the melted wax. If this was carried out with care and if the iron blade had been well cleaned, a metallic bond would be obtained between blade and hilt, but in a number of cases there is evidence of a thin oxidised layer between the two (32). The large Celtic gold tort illustrated on page 72 gives another ex- cellent example of this casting-on technique. Cloth Impressions The presence on the backs of some objects of clear impressions of woven cloth has puzzled ar- chaeologists for a long time, but one reasonable expla- nation has been put forward by Joseph Ternbach, of the University of Pennsylvania Museum, with particular reference to the Scythian gold plaques (33). Some, but not all, of these show a positive impres- sion of coarse fabric such as canvas or linen and the conclusion is that, because of their design containing so much openwork, the wax model would have been fragile and difficult to remove from a mould and therefore a cloth support, cut to the same design, was placed on the layer of wax and united with it by pressure. With this re-enforcement the wax model could then be more readily removed from the mould and the finishing touches and details applied. Then, in the course of melting out the wax and firing the mould, the fabric would have burnt away, leaving its impression on the back of the casting. An alternative explanation, related to much later castings of the Viking period, found in Scandanavia and in Scotland, was offered by Oldeberg (34). This supposes that a wax model was built on a layer of clay upon which a piece of cloth had first been laid, this piece of clay forming part of the final mould. These cloth impressions are positive on the casting. Cloth impressions on moulds are very much more rare, as very few mould fragments have ever been identified. However, an Iron Age bronze foundry of about the first century B.C. excavated at Gussage All Saints in the west of England yielded many thousands of mould fragments (35). All the moulds were used to cast bronze harness pieces or chariot fittings by the lost wax process, most of them elaborately decorated. A detailed study of these mould fragments recently undertaken at the British Museum (36) has revealed not only finger marks on the outer surfaces where hand finishing of the mould had been carried out and the impressions of wood grain from a master mould for the wax model, but also the impressions in relief of loosely woven cloth of rather poor quality such as hessian or sacking. These were apparent only on the centre link castings of three-piece articulated bridle bits, and it is considered that after the side links had been cast, the centre link was modelled in wax, but in order to keep the pieces apart, cloth was then wound around the side links before investing the three pieces with clay, so creating a positive impression of fabric on the inner surface of the mould. 73 So, by the beginning of the Christian era, lost wax casting in its several variations had become well known and established throughout the earlier civilisa- tions of the world. It was to spread, of course, both by transmission of the idea and by independent inven- tion, to many other regions. The Roman conquest of Greece brought an end to the invaders' disapproval of gold jewellery and open- ed the way for their exploitation of Greek craftsmen, particularly those working in Antioch and Alexan- dria, although Rome itself also became a centre of operation for immigrant Greek craftsmen. Earrings with cast pendants of small figures of gods such as Eros were very popular as also were massive gold fibulae cast by the lost wax process. Lost Wax Casting in India Greek designs and craftsmanship also had a major influence in India, arising from the settlement in Bac- tria after the conquest by Alexander the Great. Gold jewellery found in the city of Taxilia and dating from the first century A.D., shows the use of both solid and hollow casting, while stone moulds similar to those described earlier were also found (37). In the course of time, Indian craftsmen adopted the lost wax pro- cess most extensively in the production of statuettes of the Buddha, a practice that has continued down to the present day. This reached its height, however, in the Gupta period beginning in the fourth century A.D. when many exquisitely designed castings were produced for the adornment of the temples. There are several references to lost wax casting in some of the ancient manuscripts. In the Manasara Silpasastra, for example, a practical manual on architecture and sculpture compiled in about 500 A.D., there is a reasonably detailed description of the process (38): `The craftsman should first prepare the image, complete with all the limbs, yellowish in colour, beautiful to look at and with weapons and arms as prescribed. After placing the wax tubes on the back, on the shoulders and on the neck or the crown he should besmear the image with fine clay.... The first layer should be transparent and thin and should be dried in shade. After two days a second layer should again be ap- plied....The craftsman should first measure the wax of the image, which has to be made either in brass or cop- per or silver or gold. Brass and copper should be taken ten times that of wax, silver twelve times and gold six- teen.... Next one should melt away the wax by heating in the fire and should afterwards heat the crucible in cinders.... After carefully tilting the crucible, held tight- ly by the tongs, one should pour molten metal into the mouth of the tube in a continuous stream and stop when it is full to the brim of the tube.... When the image gets naturally cool the craftsman should break up the clay mould very carefully. Then the metal image verily resembles that in wax, en- dowed with similar limbs and other details.' The Early Middle Ages Returning to the European scene, there is ample evidence that despite the repressive influence of the Romans, Celtic art and metal work persisted for many centuries, particularly in Ireland where there were plentiful resources of gold. The more primitive pro- cess of making brooches by hammering sheet gold was replaced by lost wax casting well before the Christian era, giving much more substantial pieces of jewellery, while torts, dress fasteners and pins were made by this method. Steatite moulds have also been found, similar to those already illustrated, with provi- sion for making a number of different wax models on several sides. Later, in the earlier centuries A.D., two variants of the process appeared (39). One consisted of pressing a sheet of wax into a mould made of bone prior to in- vesting with clay and casting. Many such pieces of bone have been discovered in Ireland, with small panels of decoration carved in relief, that were almost certainly used in this way. One characteristic example is illustrated here. The other device, also found in Anglo-Saxon England and later in the Viking period both there and in Scandinavia, consisted of cutting deep depressions of inverted pyramid shape into the wax model so that Intricately carved designs in relief on pieces of bone have been found in both royal households and monastic sites, particularly in Ireland, dating from the early centuries of the Christian era. The perfection of detail on many of them suggests their use for impressing designs on wax models before these were invested with clay. This example comes from Lagore, a royal residence in County Meath, in Ireland, occupied frone the seventh to the tenth century Photograph by courtesy of the National Museum of Ireland 74 the eventual casting would glitter in the light. This technique, deriving initially from wood working and described by archaeologists as `chip carving', appears to have originated in the eastern Mediterranean area, to have been adopted for military fittings by the Romans and then to have spread from Gaul. and elsewhere in central Europe to Britain and Ireland. It was used down to the eighth century A.D. (40). The widespread use of large and elaborate brooches of both bronze and gold, often worn in pairs, throughout northern Gaul, among the Germanic tribes and in Scandinavia and Britain in the early medieval period, led to the establishment of a number of workshops in political centres in addition to the ac- tivities of itinerant craftsmen. These highly decorated pieces of jewellery were made either by the traditional method of lost wax casting or by a modification that consisted of impressing the wax — or sometimes possibly lead — models into a piece of soft clay that was to form the upper half of a two-piece mould. Then the clay to form the lower half of the mould would be applied, the wax or lead model melted out and the complete mould fired ready for casting (41). Both the Viking and the Anglo-Saxon craftsmen, closely allied in their designs, achieved an extremely high standard of workmanship, the brooches and other forms of jewellery being decorated with animal designs and `chip carving'. The Influence of the Monasteries Other than these objects of secular jewellery, much ornamental metal work such as chalices and reli- quaries was produced in workshops attached to the monasteries established throughout Europe in the early Middle Ages. In these communities, skilled metal workers could readily find employment. One of the earliest to be founded was at Nendrum in County Down in Ireland and here excavation of the ruins — it was destroyed by Viking raiders in the late tenth cen- tury — has produced crucibles, moulds and carved pieces of bone such as those already described for the application of decorative motifs to wax models. By the twelfth century a rich style of ornamental metal work had developed in the monasteries, which had become increasingly wealthy, and from one Benedictine house in Germany comes the first really detailed description of the whole process of lost wax casting. This was written by a monk using the Byzan- tine nom-de-plume of Theophilus, who has been almost certainly identified as a metal worker named Roger of Helmarshausen whose skilful craftsmanship is represented by two portable altars preserved in Paderborn and a heavily jewelled book cover in Nürn- berg (42). His manuscript was written between the years 1 110 and 1 140 and leaves no doubt that he was himself a practical metal smith who thoroughly en- 4 hjuu lots t1cn v*ipi4r.1cs +otnrul f i. PaGat'rnocsS In at)rä us►Cd^ + eoa .aaur li u 1LI ss sltwtrs so eat„arssee r:r W-. ^sar 1ssj*Fcu+ ful<V^aie'tuaf 01* Awv* e! k 'C osnni ynrt 1üt^:•Q^ eta ±i o.^a+sm ►usn *i tflu ci sa . rr4n* aatosV. ä fiaitptenw äua a peso lac tYa pltii41••i*v. IJQ {r1sess Lsf n -"11%1M :i^T ;Ytm+r+Y t^•. rs«4isax`ti.su `c'4hCL Afl+oetefsno T,v, ineo. ä>^a Acec ca c Vft Fiwiui iJ te4' ' [culp^ +z a{ra caneU W Gel' 1aA;^tstR► We w s wev Ana^tf ^wtse f-21taasl 1ttEe'^retifwisii c SM. rain_ t'uxnsr, . Cst' ^t^q>nv^atwgtr'rw^..que^r.uorai.tn^w . t'r:d. rol.4ilnrcml4o fgrtti, lLi►,S' .aup 'ati ,dtG fC *UV nUWe**W ks. RC caa The earliest detailed and workmanlike description of lost wax casting is that given by the German monk writing under the pseudonym of Theophilus in the early part of the twelfth century. In his De Diversis Artibus, Book III, Chapter 30, lie describes the casting of the handles for a large silver chalice. The account could have been written only by a practising craftsman. This page, from an early thirteenth century manuscript in the British Library, shows the early part of Chapter 30, beginning half way down with the heading in red, De fundendis auriculis calicis', and reads: `If you want to fix handles on the chalice, as soon as you have beaten and scraped it and before doing any other work on it, take some wax and form handles from it and carve on them snakes, animals, birds or foliage in any way you wish. On the top of each handle put a small piece of wax, rounded like a slender candle as long as your little finger but rather thicker at the top. This is called the sprue and you should join it with a hot iron. Then take some well kneaded clay and carefully cover each handle separately so that all the hollows of the modelling are filled.' The following page gives instructions for drying the moulds, melting out the wax, taking them from the fire and pouring the metal into the holes from which the wax has been melted out Photograph front Harley M.S. 3915, folio 49A, by courtesy of the British Library joyed producing beautiful objects. The illustration here shows the first part of his instructions for casting the handles for a silver chalice by the lost wax pro- cess, while a later chapter goes into the details of the 75 hollow casting of a large censer, and the preparation of a sheet of wax to be applied to the clay core. In this same century, the requirements from monasteries, abbeys and cathedrals for ecclesiastical metal work increased considerably and examples of altar candlesticks appeared in Germany, France, Belgium and England, cast in parts by the lost wax process and assembled by means of iron rods. One of the most famous of these is the Gloucester candlestick in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. Over 50 centimetres in height, it is one of a pair, its fellow having been lost many centuries ago. It is made in richly gilt bronze in three parts, the bottom and middle sections being marked with crosses to indicate the correct method of assembly. The upper end of the iron rod that holds them together serves as the pricket for the candle, and the prolific decoration shows animal and human figures clambering among foliage, with the three feet in the form of dragons. It was presented to Gloucester cathedral soon after the Nor- man conquest, as an inscription records, by Abbot Peter who was elected to his office in 1 104 and died in 1 113 (43). The Renaissance Goldsmiths The beginning of the Italian Renaissance in Florence in the late fourteenth century — and its spreading northwards — revived the classical concept of rendering the human form in stone, marble or metal. A goldsmith, Lorenzo Ghiberti, followed by Donatello, led the change by the making of small free- standing statuettes in bronze in about 1 425 and these very soon became treasured items for collectors and later under the Medici's became much used as diplomatic gifts. There were, of course, many other skilled metal workers and sculptors in this great period, among them Andrea Briosco Riccio who prac- tised first as a goldsmith, Bertoldo, a pupil of Donatello to whom Michelangelo was later appren- ticed, and Andrea del Verocchio, the goldsmith who became the teacher of Leonardo da Vinci. Derived mainly from the full scale sculpture of Greece and Rome, Renaissance figures, whether displaying the human form, grotesque monsters or equestrians, mostly in bronze but occasionally in gold, were all produced by the lost wax process. In the early years of the period they were cast solid, the most satisfactory means of securing an accurate reproduction of the wax model, but one of course that destroys the original. From about the third quarter of the fifteenth century, the indirect method was ap- plied: a multi-piece plaster mould was made around the artist's wax model, taken apart and then employed to make a second wax for casting, leaving the plaster mould for use over and over again. Later still, a layer of wax was applied to a clay model of the statuette of the thickness required in the finished casting and the details modelled on this layer. In each case, considerable finishing work was needed, first to remove the `cage' of runners and risers and then to complete the detail by filing and chiselling and to give a final polish (44). In the later Renaissance, the name of Benvenuto Cellini is of course pre-eminent and in the pages of his `Treatise on Goldsmithing and Sculpture', first published in Florence in 1 568, he gives several references to the various modifications of the lost wax process. In Chapter XXII, `How to Fashion Vessels of Gold and Silver, Likewise Figurines and Vases', for instance, he writes: `You may proceed to fashion in wax whatever graces may have place at lip or handle, improving on the model or design with which you started. These finished you can make them in all sorts of different ways, so many that they were wearisome to recount.' He also mentions the `lost lead' variant of the process in Chapter XXIV: `When the moulds are made, with due observance to the undercutting (I say this advisedly), lead castings are made from them, and these as well cleaned and worked up as the master may be minded; then they are cast in silver as I told you before. This is a particularly good way, because when the master has his lead model and has finished it up to suit his purpose, it can serve ever so many more times than a single casting.' (45) Cellini also employed the lost wax process in mak- ing his life size masterpieces and gave a detailed and dramatic account in his autobiography of the casting of his famous statue of Perseus — holding the head of Medusa high in his outstretched left arm — when the workshop caught fire. Another concept born during the Italian Renaissance was the large portrait medal in gold, silver or bronze depicting the head or bust of princes or ecclesiastical dignitaries. Inspired by antique coins, but developed as commemorative pieces of personal jewellery in the earlier years before the method of striking from dies had been adopted, these were made by casting from a wax model (46). The earliest known medal from this period is that depicting the Byzantine Emperor John VIII who had attended a papal council in Florence in 1 439, in a last minute effort to re- establish the union of the Greek and Roman churches when his empire was threatened by the Turks. This was cast in the same year by the greatest expert in this field, Antonio Pisanello (47). The Italian Renaissance culture spread eventually to the other countries of Europe during the sixteenth century, first of all to Germany. Here the goldsmiths of Augsburg, Nürnberg and elsewhere did not 76 necessarily make their own wax models, these sometimes being produced by specialist pattern carvers or Fornschneider-, and the possession of a good collection of such models was an essential part of a goldsmith's equipment. Alternatively, the original model might be carved in wood for use in the indirect process of casting. One of the leading goldsmiths in the late sixteenth century was Wenzel Jamnitzer of Nürnberg, who was followed by his grandson Christoph. An interesting painting by Lorenz Strauch, dated 1 597, shows Christoph holding a modelling tool in his right hand and a wax model in his left, indicating his wish to emphasise that he could produce his own models (48). The New World The creative energy characteristic of the Italian Renaissance took a rather different direction in Spain. Only a decade after the first voyage to the Americas made by Christopher Columbus, the Spanish monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella were preparing to establish settlements along the coast of the mainland with the object of searching for gold. By 1 534, a suc- cessful expedition had reached the Sinü region in north western Colombia and other exploratory bands were to follow. Here the Spaniards were astonished to find not only great quantities of gold worn as personal ornaments or in the form of votive figures, just as in the Near East many centuries earlier, for intercession with the gods, but a highly developed technique of lost wax casting. These objects were traded over long distances, some communities supporting full time metal workers, but others relying upon itinerant smiths, and many of the spectacular products were customarily buried with the dead. Robbing of the burial mounds immediately became a major occupation with the Spaniards, and as is well known vast quantities of beautiful gold objects were melted down and the bullion sent home to Spain. For- tunately, many more have been unearthed in more re- cent years to disclose the extraordinarily skills of the natives and the whole subject has been well reviewed by Warwick Bray in 1 971, and later in this journal (49). An enormous collection has been assembled in the Musen del Oro in Bogota, and a selection from this has recently been exhibited in London and Hanover, as well as in Australia, giving many opportunities to appreciate the technical abilities of their makers, while the catalogues of these exhibitions provide in- valuable sources of information on these superb castings and their methods of production (50). There is a slight possibility that the concept of lost wax casting reached the South American continent by sea from the Far East, but it seems more likely that it was a matter of independent invention, coin- plicated though it is. In arty case the process seems to One of a pair of ear ornaments from the Sinfi area of Colombia made by the lost wax process in the gold- copper alloy tumbaga. The delicate modelling of the wax original is only one example of the highly skilled technique developed by the Indians of South America man) years prior to the Spanish conquest Photograph by courtesy of the Museo del Oro, Bogota This unsuccessful casting of a similar ornament, also made in tumbaga in the Sinn region, still has its spree in position and clearly shows the method of casting. In preparing the mould the pre-Columbian Indians mixed clay with coarse- I) ground charcoal, giving a porosity for the escape of air and gases so that there was no need for risers Photograph by courtesy of the Musco del Oro, Bogota i itr 1 NOQ ^,t • L, I. si 77 The modern technique of investment casting with im- proved waxes, mould materials and machines, makes it possible to produce numerous small castings in one opera- tion. This `tree', sonne 20 centimetres in height, first built imp iu the wax by attaching individually produced models to the three central runners, yields over three hundred castings in carat gold Photograph by courtesy of Johnson Matthey Metals Limited have become fully developed in its sundry variations many centuries before the Spanish conquest. The method appears to have been adopted further south in Peru in the seventh or eighth centuries A.D. and to have spread slowly northwards via Colombia into the Panama area, reaching Mexico by about the year 900. Both solid and hollow casting over a clay core were practised as well as the production of wax models from stone moulds. The Indians also developed a copper-rich gold alloy called tumbaga both to economise in gold and to lower the melting point for ease of casting. Another technique developed to a high standard was the making of `false filigree' by working the wax into relatively fine wire. One such example — space forbids the illustration of more of their splendid objects — is shown here, as is an example of a failed casting to show the method of pouring (51). This was made in tumbaga, hence its darker colour; generally, objects made in this alloy were treated with an acidic juice to restore the gold colour. Lost Wax Casting in West Africa Rather less of a surprise awaited the Portuguese mariners who began to explore and settle the western coasts of Africa under the inspiration of Henry the Navigator from the middle of the fifteenth century. A tradition in the lost wax casting of both bronze and gold was found among the natives there but, unlike the situation in South America, it seems clear that European craftsmen later helped to introduce technical improvements. How the concept of lost wax casting reached this part of the African continent is most difficult to envisage. It is possible that the Car- thaginians who voyaged in these waters searching for gold may have introduced the idea, or that Arabs from North Africa, also seeking gold in present day Ghana and Nigeria from the eighth century onwards, prompted the technique, but it is more likely that it was not in use until the thirteenth century. Gold figurines from these areas travelled widely and have been found as far north as Tripoli (52). The tradi- tional craft remains alive to this day, represented by the well known bronzes from Benin and Ife, while among the Tuareg and Inadan remote tribesmen of the Sahara the technique is still practised. The Later Centuries in Europe Throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth cen- turies, lost wax casting was used mainly for small bronzes and their reproduction, particularly in France, although of course its employment for in- dividual pieces of gold jewellery continued. In England, the great Matthew Boulton was responsible for a large output of ormolu decorative mounts and fittings produced in this way at his Soho works in Birmingham between the years 1 768 and 1 782. The demand for small sculpture had grown con- siderably by the early nineteenth century and to meet this, some degree of mechanisation began to be adopted. One of the leading exponents was Antoine Louis Barye, the son of a Paris goldsmith, who pro- duced his own wax models and who later acquired a reducing machine by means of which he could rapid- ly make •miniatures of life size statues. This activity was severely curtailed however, when by 1 850 the electroforming process was introduced by the Elkingtons, a method that could yield statuettes quickly and cheaply. Individual artists still employed the lost wax pro- cess none the less and such disparate masters as Degas in France and Faberge in Russia made use of the method. Modern Mechanisation of the Process The real transformation from a one-off hand operated process to a mechanised system did not begin, however, until early in the present century, and then it was not in the goldsmithing or jewellery manufacturing industry but in dentistry. In 1 907, a Chicago dentist named W. H. Taggart succeeded in introducing a casting method for gold inlays together with a compressed gas device for forcing the molten gold into the cavity left by the melted-out wax (53). 78 The major development in the gold industry began to take effect only in 1 936 when a Danish engineer, Thoger Gronborg Jungersen, employed by a firm of jewellery manufacturers in Toronto, filed a patent for `methods of casting metal to enable the production by moulding in a commercially economical manner of rings and other articles of jewellery having intricate patterns or designs which have hitherto been cut or shaped by hand.' (54) The great advance introduced by Jungersen was the flexible rubber mould from which any required number of wax models could be produced, and this innovation was adopted throughout the industry. In more recent years, highly ingenious casting machines have been developed to facilitate the rapid production in quantity of small gold castings. These were described in detail by Gainsbury in a recent issue of this journal (55). As well as improved machines, new types of both waxes and investment materials have been introduced to improve still further the efficiency of the process and the quality of the products. Acknowledgements In the preparation of this necessarily brief review of an immense subject extending over more than five thousand years and four continents - the examples and illustrations could have been multiplied many times - the writer has benefitted greatly from discussions with a number of archaeologists who have all been most generous with their time and considered opinions. They in- clude Mr. T. C. Mitchell, Mr. T. G. H. James, Dr. Ian Stead, Mrs. Leslie Webster, Mrs. Jessica Rawson, Miss Judith Swadd- ling, Mr. W. A. Oddy and Dr. Paul Craddock, all of the British Museum; Professor Stuart Piggott, Professor Colin Renfrew, Dr. P. R. S. Moorey, Dr. Warwick Bray, and Dr. Lloyd Laing. His thanks also go to Professor Boris Piatrovsky, Dr. Pessah Bar-Adon and Mr. Raghnall O'Floinn for the provision of photographs. References 1 P. Amiet, `Elam', Auvers-sur-Oise, 1966, pp. 88-89 2 L. Bernabo-Brea, 'Poliochni, Citta Prehistorica Nell 'Isola di Lemnos', Rome, 1964, p. 67 and p. 591; K. Branigan, 'Aegean Metalwork of the Early and Middle Bronze Age', Oxford, 1974, pp. 77-83 3 P. Bar-Adon, Isr. Explor. 1., 1962, 12, 215; Archaeology, 1963, 16, 251 4 Sir Leonard Woolley, 'Ur Excavations', Vol. II, London, 1934, p. 78 5 S. Lloyd, `The Archaeology of Mesopotamia', London, 1978, p. 128 6 H. Frankfort, Oriental Inst. Pub. 44, Chicago, pp. 39-42 7 H. Z. Kosay, `Alacahiiyuk', Ankara, 1957; E. Akurgal and M. Hirmcr, `The Art of the Hittites', London, 1962 8 T, Ozgüc and T. Akok, 'Horortepe; An Early Bronze Age Settlement and Cemetery', Ankara, 1958, p. 47 9 'The Dawn of Art', edited by M. Artamonov, Leningrad, 1974, p. 156 10 Sir Mortimer Wheeler, `The Indus Civilisation', London, 1968, pp. 90-92; M. S. Vats, `Excavations at Harappa', Vol. I, Delhi, 1940, p. 99; E. J. H. Mackay, 'Chanhu-daro Excava- tions', New Haven, CT., 1943, p. 164 11 R. A. Higgins, 'Greek and Roman Jewellery', London, 1961, pp. 52-53 12 H. G. Buchholz and V. Karageorghis, `Prehistoric Greece and Cyprus', London, 1973, pp. 101-102 13 `Cyprus B.C.', British Museum, London, 1979, p. 42 14 H. Limet, `Le Travail du Metal au Pays de Sumer au Temps de la III' Dynastie d'Ur', Paris, 1960 15 M. T. Larsen, `The Old Assyrian City-State and its Colonies', Copenhagen, 1976 16 M. Schorr, `Urkunden des altbabylonischen Zivil und Pro- zessrechts', Leipzig, 1913, p. 221; A. Ungnad, `Altba- bylonische Urkunden', Leipzig, 1909, p. 103 The writer is indebted to Mr. T. C. Mitchell of the British Museum and to Mr. P. S. Salinger of the School of Oriental and African Studies for these references 17 Sir Leonard Woolley, 'Alalakh (Tell Atchana)', London, 1955 18 C. C. Mattusch, Hesperia, 1977, 46, 380-389 19 S. I. Rudenko, `Frozen Tombs of Siberia', London, 1970 20 W. Watson, 'Cultural Frontiers in Ancient East Asia', Edin- burgh, 1971, pp. 76-77; `Arts of the Eurasian Steppelands', edited by P. Denwood, Percival David Foundation of Chinese Art, London, 1977 21 P. R. S. Moorey, 'Catalogue of Ancient Persian Bronzes in the Ashmolean Museum', Oxford, 1971, pp. 292-295 22 S. Haynes, `Etruscan Sculpture', 'Etruscan Bronze Utensils', British Museum, London, 1971 and 1974 23 W. Schurmeyer, Dtsch. Goldschmiede Z., 1931, 13, 128-132 24 Professor S. Piggott, private communication 25 J. M. de Navarro, Antiquity, 1928, 2, 423 26 J. Brailsford and J. E. Stapley, Proc. Prehist. Soc., 1972, 38, 219-234 27 H. Schliemann, `Troy and its Remains', New York, 1875, p. 173 28 Sir Leonard Woolley, op. cit., ref. 17, p. 273 29 J. V. Canby, Iraq, 1965, 27, 1 30 R. F. Tylecote, `Metallurgy in Archaeology', London, 1962, pp. 125-128 31 Professor S. Piggott, private communication 32 K. R. Maxwell-Hyslop and W. H. M. Hodges, Iraq, 1964, 26, 50-53 33 J. Ternbach, Expedition, 1970, 12, (3), 41-42 34 A. Oldeberg, 'Metallteknik under Vikingatio och Medelted', Stockholm, 1966, pp. 256-260 35 G. Wainwright and M. Spratling, Antiquity, 1973, 47, 109-130 36 J. Foster, British Museum Occasional Papers No. 12, London, 1980 I am grateful to Miss Foster for allowing me access to this paper before its publication. 37 Sir John Marshall, 'Taxilia', Vol. II, Cambridge, 1951, pp, 616-621 38 M. V. Krishnan, 'Cire Perdue Casting in India', New Delhi, 1976; S. K. Saraswati, J. Indian Soc. Orient. Art, 1936, IV, (2), 139 39 J. Rafters, `Prehistoric Ireland', London, 1951; F. Henry, `Irish Art in the Early Christian Period', London, 1947; A. Mahr, `Christian Art in Ancient Ireland', Vol. II, Dublin, 1941, p. 41 40 L. Laing, `The Archaeology of Late Celtic Britain and Ireland', London, 1975, p. 253 41 B. Arrhenius, in `Gold Age and Viking Art in Sweden', Stockholm, 1965 42 J. G. Hawthorne and C. S. Smith, 'On Divers Arts, The Treatise of Theophilus', Chicago, 1963; C. R. Dodwell, Gold Bull., 1971, 4, (3), 51-55 43 C. Oman, `The Gloucester Candlestick', Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 1958 44 A. Ratcliffe, `European Bronze Statuettes', London, 1966 45 C. R. Ashbee (transl.), `The Treatises of Benvenuto Cellini on Goldsmithing and Sculpture', London, 1888 46 G. F. Hill, 'Medals of the Renaissance', Oxford, 1920, pp. 19-30 47 R. Weiss, 'Pisanello's Medallion of the Emperor John VIII Palaeologus', British Museum, London, 1966 48 J. F. Hayward, `Virtuoso Goldsmiths and the Triumph of Mannerism', London, 1976 49 W. Bray, Proc. R. Anthropol. Inst. 1971, 1972, 25-43; Gold Bull., 1978, 11, (4), 136-143 50 `The Gold of El Dorado', Royal Academy of Arts, London, 1978; `El Dorado Colombian Gold', Australian Art Exhibi- tions Corp., Sydney, 1978; 'El Dorado - Der Traum vom Gold', Hanover, 1979 51 A.-M. Falchetti, 'The Goldwork of the Sinü Region, Northern Colombia', M. Phil. Dissertation, University of London In- stitute of Archaeology, 1976 52 D. Williams, 'Icon and Image', London, 1974 53 W. H. Taggart, Dent. Cosmos, 1907, 49, 1117-1121 54 T. G. Jungersen, British Patent 449 062 (1936) 55 P. E. Gainsbury, Gold Bull., 1979, 12, (1), 2-8 79 
work_jhwmsqjpbjgb7f7ad7ajywv3fe	----	Book Notices R. H. CAMPBELL and ANDREW S. SKINNER (editors), The origins and nature of the Scottish Enlightenment, Edinburgh, John Donald, 1982, 8vo, pp. vii, 231, £15.00. With one or two exceptions, the essays in this book are neither about the origins of the Scottish Enlightenment nor its nature. Indeed, as Andrew Skinner admits in the introduction, the volume does not contain any piece which addresses itself to the work of T. C. Smout, Nicholas Phillipson, George Davie, or any other historian, including Buckle, who has attempted to give a synthetic account of eighteenth-century Scottish life. The one paper that should stimulate historians to refocus their picture of the Scottish Enlightenment is T. M. Devine's 'The Scottish merchant community 1680-1740'. Devine's extremely detailed research has shown first how vigorous Scottish commerce was early in the century. Second, and more important, he shows that the successful merchants were not, as is usually asserted, a separate tribe, but interacted significantly with the landowning classes and literati and were active purveyors of Enlightenment ideas. The essay on Edinburgh medicine by Anand Chitnis begins with the extraordinary statement "The Edinburgh Medical School comprised two Royal Colleges of Surgeons and Physicians and the University's Faculty of Medicine" (p. 86). For the rest it seems to have appropriated the work of J. B. Morrell, and used it to support a theory about medical progress and the impediments to it. This volume also contains an accomplished piece by Arthur L. Donovan on 'William Cullen and the research tradition of eighteenth- century Scottish chemistry'. However, his insistence that the Scottish preoccupation with heat "cannot be traced to contextual or practical activities" (p. 101) sounds more like the beginning of a very good debate than a conclusion. The remainder of the essays, including the usual masterly piece by now expected of Duncan Forbes, address questions such as the institutional and intellectual preconditions of the Enlightenment, or explicate the thought of particular thinkers such as Francis Hutcheson. WILLIAM R. BROCK, Scotus Americanus. A survey of the sources for links between Scotland and America in the eighteenth century, Edinburgh University Press, 1982, 8vo, pp. viii, 293, £10.00. In view of some of the tired essays that appear on eighteenth-century Scotland these days, this book comes as a delight. Whereas Andrew Hook's Scotland and America was a study of Scottish culture across the Atlantic, Scotus Americanus is about Scottish people. The author documents the voyages to America, the experiences of the Highlanders, religion, and the tobacco trade. Finally, he handles the question of the War and the peculiarly loyalist allegiance of many Scots. The chapters are full of people, writing home, buying tobacco, building churches, and, in the case of Highlanders, preserving the old ways. "The Gallic language is still prevalent amongst them, their negroes speak it, and they have a clergyman who preaches it" (p. 84). There is a separate, and equally good, chapter on medicine by Helen Brock, who has docu- mented the subject in detail. Oddly, however, she seems to have overlooked Jane Rendall's important paper.' Besides being a good read, Scotus Americanus is a superbly organized collec- tion of sources. ' Jane Rendall. 'The influence of the Edinburgh medical school in America in the eighteenth century' in R. G. W. Anderson and A. D. C. Simpson (editors). The early years of the Edinburgh medical school, Edinburgh, The Royal Scottish Museum, 1976. CHARLES G. ROLAND (editor), Sir William Osler 1849-1919. A selection for medical students, Toronto, Hannah Institute for the History of Medicine, 1982, 8vo, pp. xi, 1 14, illus., $Cdn. 12.00. Anthologizing Osler is not a new practice. A selection chosen by a committee of the Osler Club of London appeared as A way oflife in 195 1. Richard Verney produced The student life in 1957. Both of these volumes were reprinted. Verney's volume is a curious piece comprising 340 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Notices essays put together by rearranging disparate bits from Osler's works. Verney also saw fit to edit Osler's words in order to make them "up to date". For example, Osler's "a mortgage or two on neighbouring farms", cited as the reward for the diligent practitioner, were omitted from Verney's text. This volume, edited by Charles Roland, contains eight Oslerian reflections, thankfully intact. Two of these it shares with A way of life. The modern medical student, for whom these pieces were chosen, may find the prose somewhat long-winded and the sentiments rather archaic. Nevertheless, Osler repays attention, if not always for the reasons he intended. AMBROISE PARE, On monsters and marvels, trans. by Janis L. Pallister, Chicago and London, University of Chicago Press, 1982, 8vo, pp. xxii, 224, illus., £14.00. As well as being a great surgeon, Pare was a splendid story-teller, and his book on monsters and marvels displays his gifts to a high degree. Very little of his information was new, but he transmuted it into a lively and informative account. Professor Pallister's translation keeps the vigour of the original, and is generally accurate - Andrew and Pamphile (p. 103) are isolated mistakes for the Greeks Andreas and Pamphilus. The introduction offers a lucid account of Pare's life and times, and the notes offer generally sound guidance to Pare's sources and to con- temporary medical ideas. This book offers the reader without French an excellent and entertaining survey of Renaissance teratology. Scholars will, however, still need to consult the magnificant annotated edition of the text by Jean Ceard, Geneva, 1971. But even he failed to identify the quotation from Pliny on p. 102, which tells how one can be cured of a scorpion bite by whispering in the ear of an ass: the reference should be to Natural History 28.155. GERHARD BAADER and GUNDOLF KEIL (editors), Medizin im Mittelalterlichen Abendland, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1982, (Wege der Forschung, Bd.363), 8vo, pp. vii, 516, DM. I 10.00. This collection of twenty-four articles on western medieval medicine is everything such an anthology should be. The editors have provided a substantial and scholarly introduction, sum- marizing the subject and providing an overview of the writers who have made the most important contributions to our understanding of it. There is also an index to both people and subjects. The articles date from 1882 to 1974 and represent the work of such famous historians as Wickersheimer, Sudhoff, Eis, Schipperges, and Kristeller, in addition to that of the editors themselves. This book should be well suited for history of medicine students with a knowledge of German, and for the more advanced scholar. The history of medieval medicine has long been presented poorly, if at all, to both the specialist and non-specialist reader. The editors are much to be commended for their contribution to remedying this situation. W. STANLEY SYKES, Essays on the first hundred years ofanaesthesia, edited by Richard H. Ellis, Edinburgh and London, Churchill Livingstone, 1982, 8vo, pp. xviii, 272, illus., £16.00. The first two volumes of William Sykes's Essays on the first hundred years of anaesthesia appeared in 1960 and 1961. The final volume has been prepared from Sykes's notes by Richard Ellis. First, Clive Loewe, and then K. Bryn Thomas were to have performed this task, but both died whilst doing so. Ellis has produced an excellent edition worthy of the idiosyncratic style of Sykes himself. None of these essays approximates to anything like a serious contextual elucida- tion of anaesthetic history. Nevertheless, they are so full of extensive research and enthusiasm that their study brings rewards. Nearly all in some way or other benefit from Sykes's professional anaesthetic knowledge, whether in his investigation into the history of the use of bichloride of methylene as an anaesthetic or the findings of the Hyderabad chloroform commis- sion. LIAM HUDSON, Bodies of knowledge. The psychological significance of the nude in art, London, Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1982, 8vo, pp. xii, 163, illus., £12.95. Professor Hudson offers a series of essays examining the nude as a cultural form in art, paying special attention to Italian Renaissance and Northern Gothic traditions, the distinctions 341 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Notices between photography and painting, and Lord Clark's distinction between nudity and naked- ness. The value of his approach for the medical historian lies in his concern to show the artificiality of the divide between aesthetic and scientific approaches to the interpretation of the human body and such matters as gender. In these illuminating essays, the interconnexions between physiology and psychology, biology and psychoanalysis, metabolism and perception are clearly demonstrated time and again. J. CAIN et al., Psychoanalyse et musique, Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 1982, 8vo, pp. 272, Fr. 80.00 (paperback). Six essays explore the psychoanalytical meaning of music, two of which are of historical interest. One, 'Absolument pas musicien', by Jacques and Anne CaYn, takes up the paradox of how Freud could have declared himself "ganz unmusikalisch" at the same time as having an ear uniquely attuned to the tonalities of so many different tongues, and resolves it in terms of Freud having developed "un systeme de defense phobique du meme type que la claustrophobie". The other, 'Moulins a musique' by Jacqueline Rousseau-Dujardin and Jacques-Gabriel Trilling, offers some psychoanalytic insight into compositions by Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, etc., by analogy with the verbal analysis of the talking cure. DANIEL N. ROBINSON, Toward a science of human nature, New York, Columbia University Press, 1982, 8vo, pp. xiii, 258, $20.50 (paperback). Professor Robinson's book, presumably aimed for psychology students taking courses on the history of psychology, comprises substantial, lucid expository essays on the psychology of John Stuart Mill, Hegel, Wilhelm Wundt, and William James. Its value is diminished through being in two minds about its purpose. On the one hand, as its title suggests, it is interested in the "contributions" these thinkers made to the edifice of modern psychology, analysing their ideas frequently in presentist terms. On the other hand, Robinson recognizes that their psychological systems can be understood only within the "paradigms" of contemporary thought - e.g. in Mill's case, libertarian, individualist politics; in Hegel's case, grasping the unfolding of Spirit as World Consciousness. The mix is sometimes an uneasy one. JOHN LOURIE, Medical eponyms: who was Coude?, London, Pitman Books, 1982, 8vo, pp. xii, 207, £4.95. Eponyms are here to stay, and this little book might well become a valuable companion of the medical student wishing to excel in "roundsmanship". Lourie provides not only lists of many obscure and well-known eponyms (diseases, syndromes, signs, tests, instruments, etc.) but also potted biographies of their discoverers or inventors, plus the frequent information that the eponymous individual had no claim to priority. While the volume is based on a pleasant idea, its execution sometimes is careless. Darwin, for instance, did not spend twenty years writing The origin of species (and H.M.S. Beagle returned in 1836, not 1835); Harvey's first public statement of the circulation of the blood was almost certainly not made in 1616; the neurologist Gowers did not write Gowers' plain words (his son did). To find out about Coude, one must consult the book, or a French dictionary. RICHARD M. ZANER, The context of self. A phenomenological inquiry using medicine as a clue, Athens, Ohio, and London, Ohio University Press, 1981, 8vo, pp. xiii, 282, £1 1.40 (£5.40 paperback). Professor Zaner works within a philosophical tradition - phenomenology - with which relatively few anglophonic readers will be familiar or sympathetic. His acknowledged masters are Aron Gurwitsch, Alfred Schutz, and Hans Jonas; behind them all stands Edmund Husserl. Zaner's principal theme is an old one: the mind-body relationship, or as he would express it, the embodiment of self within the organism. The writing is dense and hardly likely to convert the uninitiated. The books and papers of Jonas himself provide a more engaging entree into the phenomenological way of thinking. 342 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Notices STUART F. SPICKER, JOSEPH M. HEALEY jr, and H. TRISTRAM ENGELHARDTjr (editors), The law-medicine relation: a philosophical exploration [Proceedings of the Eighth Trans-Disciplinary Symposium on Philosophy and Medicine held at Farmington, Connecticut, 9-11 November, 1978], Dordrecht, Boston, and London, D. Reidel, 1981, 8vo, pp. xxx, 292, $39.50. In America, they sell bumper stickers that read "Support a lawyer: Send your child to medical school". Behind the irony lies the fact that medicine and law presently have a particularly complex relationship that goes far beyond the frequency of malpractice suits in the United States. The present volume - the ninth in the Reidel series on philosophy and medicine - seeks to open up a number of medico-legal issues. The essays, written by physicians, lawyers, and philosophers, explore such themes as compulsory hospitalization of patients in psychiatric hospitals, the ethics of medical research in developing countries, and the legal implications of treating (or withholding treatment from) infants with serious congenital defects. A couple of the contributions attempt historical analyses, but the primary focus is the present American scene. T. P. MORLEY (editor), Moral, ethical, and legal issues in the neurosciences, Springfield, Ill., Charles C Thomas, 1981, 8vo, pp. ix, 71, $14.50. This slim volume contains some of the papers and an edited version of the discussion of a symposium held as part of a Canadian Congress of Neurological Sciences. The papers are much too brief for anything but raising issues, but they do articulate some of the difficulties surround- ing definitions of brain death, decisions concerning prolonging of life, and experimentation on the terminally ill. Most of the authors and discussants are practising neurosurgeons or neurologists, and, while the volume displays no great philosophical subtlety, concern with the intricacy of the issues is evident. Unusually, the discussion is of as high a standard as the papers themselves. SHEILA McLEAN and GERRY MAHER, Medicine, morals and the law, Aldershot, Hants., Gower Publishing Company, 1983, pp. x, 214, [no price stated]. This is a useful synthetic survey of all the major issues of medicine creating problems for the current legal framework. Special attention is paid to the questions of the sanctity of life, abor- tion, euthanasia, terminating treatment, consent, experimentation, sterilization and contracep- tion, negligence and confidentiality, and a historical perspective is offered to explain vagaries and obstacles in moral and legal thinking on these subjects. A final chapter on decision-making in medicine examines certain broader issues in the light of the criticisms of Ian Kennedy. WARDELL B. POMEROY, Dr Kinsey and the Institute for Sex Research, New Haven and London, Yale University Press, 1982, 8vo, pp. xvi, 479, £23.00. A first-hand narrative biography, by Kinsey's chief collaborator, which concentrates almost exclusively upon a near-focus chronicle of what Kinsey did to the exclusion of wider social and scientific context, and also of any deep assessment of the presuppositions and implications of Kinsey's sexological investigations. Pomeroy stresses that Kinsey approached human sexual behaviour, just as he did his first love, insects, with the detachment of a laboratory scientist and the ardour of an obsessive collector. Kinsey had no sexual axe to grind and, according to Pomeroy, was merely interested in cataloguing the facts of American sexual practice. CHARLES C. LEMERT and GARTH GILLAN, Michel Foucault: social theory as trans- gression, New York, Columbia University Press, 1982, 8vo, pp. xv, 169, $19.50. A thematic exegesis of the doctrines of Foucault, arranged topically under such heads as 'Historical archaeology', 'Power-knowledge and discourse', and 'Limits and social theory', and pitched at the American college student readership. The book lacks the intellectual penetration, detail, and energy of Alan Sheridan's comparable work, but might prove useful as an introduc- tion for a beginner. It has little to say about Foucault's specifically medical and psychiatric interpretations, and, where it does, it appears shaky (Syndenham and Broussait turn up in one sentence). 343 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Notices JOSEPH MENDITTO and DEBBIE KIRSCH, Genetic engineering, DNA and cloning: a bibliography in the future of genetics, Troy, N.Y., Whitston Publishing Company, 1983, 8vo, pp. xiii, 783, $50.00. The bibliography of recent work on genetic engineering will be of use to all who are concer- ned with the genetic, medical, molecular biological, social, and ethical dimensions of "the gene business". It lists about 8,000 items from 1970, divided by subject. An author index enhances the value of this volume. JOHN L. THORNTON and CAROLE REEVES, Medical book illustration: a short history, Cambridge and New York, Oleander Press, 1983, 4to, pp. xiv, 142, illus., £15.00. An elementary introduction to the most notable illustrated medical books from ancient papyri to Frank H. Netter. This will be a valuable source of orientation for beginners in the field; indeed, it is probably the only general book on the subject currently in print. Experts will continue to rely on Sudhoff, Choulant, Herrlinger, Putscher, et al., and (mostly) their own wits, but they also will find here a few little-known or forgotten items, such as the intriguing anatomical illustration of S. C. a Zeidlern (Prague 1686, p. 76). On the debit side there are, of course, some errors (Richard Hooper for Robert, Cruveilhier mis-spelled, the Vesalian woodcuts attributed firmly to Marcolini), and the murkiness of the plates bears out the authors' final lament of the commercial difficulties in producing today, at least in Britain, books as finely illustrated as most of those studied in this one. DALE PETERSON (editor), A mad people's history of madness, Pittsburgh, Pa., University of Pittsburgh Press, 1982, 8vo, pp. xiv, 368, $19.95 ($11.95 paperback). The history of medicine from below has only recently begun to be written. "Below" includes not only the ordinary and marginal practitioners (apothecaries, quacks, wise-women, her- balists), but also those whom they and their more elite colleagues saw: the patients. The historical record is often silent for this majority, although the fact that almost everyone is at some point a patient means that the historical silence is largely because historians have chosen not to look for the information, scattered as it is in diaries, journals, letters, and other out-of- the-way places. For this reason, Peterson's collection of readings is to be welcomed. He has assembled twenty-six patients' accounts (more than half from the twentieth century) of their breakdowns and experiences of psychiatrists and mental institutions. The selections range from Margery Kemp's fifteenth-century spiritual autobiography to modern works of fiction such as I never promised you a rose garden. Obvious stopping-points in between include John Perceval, Daniel Schreber, and Clifford Beers. A common theme is the indignity and distress generated by both the "breakdown" and its "treatment". It would be naive to believe that a properly balanced history of psychiatry and psychopathy could be written on the testimony of those who survived to tell the tale, but their voices are part of that history, and neglected at the historian's (and psychiatrist's) peril. Short biographical sections introduce each selection. SHOSHANA FELMAN (editor), Literature and psychoanalysis, Baltimore, Md., and London, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982, 8vo, pp. 508, £20.00 (£7.20 paperback). The twelve essays in this collection represent, on the whole, a new angle on what the psy- choanalytic study of literature should be all about. There is little attempt here to put individual characters out of plays and novels on the couch, or to explain works of art as "sublimations" of their authors' lives. Rather, it is the act of writing itself which comes under the gaze, sometimes illuminatingly, as in Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak's analysis of Coleridge's strategies in the Biographia literaria, sometimes tiresomely and narcissistically, as in Barbara Johnson's reading of Derrida's reading of Lacan's reading of Poe's The purloined letter. As a curtain-raiser to the volume there is Lacan on Hamlet, obsessional in its equation of the phallus with Ophelia (0- Phallus), but welcome in its refreshing avoidance of the question, was Hamlet really mad? CLELIA DUEL MOSHER, The Mosher Survey: sexual attitudes of 45 Victorian women, edited by James MaHood and Kristine Wenburg, New York, Arno Press, 1980, 8vo, pp. xix, 469, $25.00. Historical fascination with sex, sexuality, and reproduction continues unabated; hence the 344 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Notices publication of this survey will be welcomed. Clelia Mosher (1863-1940) was an early American woman physician with a particular interest in the reproductive and marital problems of women. She began her survey in 1892 (while still a student at the University of Wisconsin) and con- tinued it intermittently for more than two decades. The questions were explicit (including infor- mation on menstruation, pre-marital knowledge of sex, contraception, and frequency and enjoyment of sexual intercourse), and most of her forty-five subjects answered explicitly. Although the sample is relatively small, and the women were uniformly from well-educated, upper middle-class strata, their answers make fascinating reading and should go a long way in dispelling some stereotypes about frigid Victorian women. They also reveal extensive anxieties about the physical cost of sexual intercourse if indulged in too often; one common solution was separate beds, thus reducing the temptation and making self-control easier. Dr Mosher never published her survey, although she wrote several books and articles on aspects of the "woman question". Consequently, the present publication makes available for the first time an interesting archival cache held by Stanford University. The editing is sensible and conscientious, and students of the history of gynaecology, women, the family, demography, and mentalite' have cause to be grateful. ROSALIN BARKER (editor), The plague in Essex. Study materials from local sources [teaching portfolio], Chelmsford, Essex Record Office publication No. 85, 1982, £1.70 + 70p postage. Five years ago, in a review of writings on plague for the general reader, Derek Turner encountered a disheartening medley of "stale myths and half-baked theories", "glib generaliza- tions", and "watered down Oxford history" (Local Population Studies, The plague reconsidered, Matlock, 1977, pp. 133-141). Materials for schools came off better, though much remained to be done to bring into the classroom the fruit of extensive recent research. Rosalin Barker's teaching portfolio takes up the challenge, with good introductory booklets on epidemiology ('How plague happens') and historical demography ('Tracing the plague'). Investigations of plagues in Colchester and Great Oakley, and further evidence from Borough records and a contemporary diary, illuminate plague precautions, poor relief, and much else, and show how history in the classroom can be transformed from a recital of facts to a research activity. This material relates to Essex in the seventeenth century, but lessons learned here can well be applied to other periods and places. H. B. GIBSON, Pain and its conquest, London, Peter Owen, 1983, 8vo, pp. 221, £10.95. H. B. Gibson's latest book is about what C. S. Lewis called "the problem of pain". Gibson examines its medical management (and mis-management) and contemporary psychological and neurophysiological research on its causation. This pleasantly written volume is up-to-date scientifically, with a good discussion of the Melzack-Wall "gate theory" of pain, and a brief consideration of the endorphins and enkephalins. Much weaker are the historical sections on anaesthesia and earlier attitudes towards pain and suffering, which are mostly culled from secondary sources and perpetuate various historical stereotypes, such as widespread theological and medical opposition to anaesthesia in childbirth. Davy appears as "Humphrey" and Charles Meigs becomes "Meegs". BRIGITTE and HELMUT HEINTEL, Historische Statten der Neurologie in Baden- Wiurttemberg, Stuttgart and New York, Gustav Fischer, 1982, 4to, [unpaginated], DM. 28.00 (paperback). The German Society for the History of Medicine, Science, and Technology encourages the preparation of historical topographies of parts of West Germany, and this elegant, pictorial monograph is one of them. It deals with academic establishments at Heidelberg, Tubingen, Freiburg-im-Breisgau, and Stuttgart in particular, and the photographs are of buildings associated with eminent neurologists and neuroscientists, and of their birthplaces and graves. The number of household neurological names is a remarkable tribute to the contribution of this district to neurology, mainly in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Amongst those 345 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Notices included are Erb, Friedreich, Westphal, the Vogts, Gall (born at Tiefenbronn), Nissl, Helmholtz, Hitzig, and Oppenheim, together with Paracelsus, Kepler, Haller, and Goethe, who likewise had connexions with the area. The captions deal chiefly with the achievements of these and other individuals, and they pose the question whether any other part of the world has provided such a galaxy of neurological talent. This miniature medical and scientific Baedeker should accompany all neurologists and medical historians touring Baden-Wurttemberg. DANIEL L. O'KEEFE, Stolen lightning, The social theory of magic, Oxford, Martin Robertson, 1982, 8vo, pp. xxii, 581, £17.50. This remarkable, erudite, argumentative, and often witty book surveys the seven great categories of magic - medical magic, black magic, ceremonial magic, religious magic, the occult sciences, the paranormal, and magical cults and sects - drawing them together within a general and historical theory. O'Keefe views magic as a set of opportunistic borrowings from religion. Whereas religion is, in a Durkheimian way, a celebration of social order, magic is the protection of the individual against the pressures and threats of society. This thesis has important ramifications for medicine, which are, unfortunately, short-circuited by O'Keefe's tendency to regard all forms of knowledge and action as ultimately "magical". BOOKS ALSO RECEIVED (The inclusion of a title in this list does not preclude the possibility of subsequent review. Items received, other than those assigned for review, are ultimately incorporated into the collection of the Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine.) Annali dell'Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, 1981, vol. 7, Bologna, II Mulino, 1982, 8vo, pp. 452, L. 40.000. Bibliography of the history of medicine, No. 17, 1981, Bethesda, Md., National Library of Medicine, 1982, 4to, pp. 240, [no price stated], (paperback). Charite'-Annalen, Neue Folge, Band 1, 1981, Berlin DDR, Akademie-Verlag, 1982, 8vo, pp. 273, illus., M. 58.00 (paperback). KENNETH HAMBLY, Overcoming tension, London, Sheldon Press, 1983, 8vo, pp. 81, £1.95 (paperback). M. J. VAN LIEBURG, A. N. Nolst Trenite en zijn 'Handboek der Ziekenverpleging' (1894), Amsterdam, Rodopi, 1983, 8vo, pp. 65, illus., Dfl. 20.00 (paperback). C. DAVID TOLLISON, Managing chronic pain: a patient's guide, New York, Sterling Press; Poole, Dorset, Blandford Press, 1982, 8vo, pp. 144, illus., £7.95. 346 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300043349 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_jirzlkcuwfadfpag73tdsojqxe	----	renq65305 864..1020 University of Groningen Review of: Alexander Nagel. The Controversy of Renaissance Art. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2011 de Jong, Jan Published in: Renaissance Quarterly DOI: 10.1086/668315 IMPORTANT NOTE: You are advised to consult the publisher's version (publisher's PDF) if you wish to cite from it. Please check the document version below. Document Version Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Publication date: 2012 Link to publication in University of Groningen/UMCG research database Citation for published version (APA): de Jong, J. (2012). Review of: Alexander Nagel. The Controversy of Renaissance Art. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2011. Renaissance Quarterly, 65(3), 884 - 885. https://doi.org/10.1086/668315 Copyright Other than for strictly personal use, it is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Take-down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please contact us providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Downloaded from the University of Groningen/UMCG research database (Pure): http://www.rug.nl/research/portal. For technical reasons the number of authors shown on this cover page is limited to 10 maximum. Download date: 06-04-2021 https://doi.org/10.1086/668315 https://research.rug.nl/en/publications/review-of-alexander-nagel-the-controversy-of-renaissance-art-chicago-the-university-of-chicago-press-2011(2ebde178-7067-4fd2-be15-31561284d79b).html https://doi.org/10.1086/668315 Alexander Nagel. The Controversy of Renaissance Art. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2011. xi + 358 pp. $60. ISBN: 978–0– 226–56772–3. This lucidly written and well-argued book ‘‘disregards the High Renaissance/ Mannerism distinction, presenting instead the first half of the sixteenth century as an experimental period in the spheres of both art and religion’’ (2). While the Reformation debate on images in Northern Europe led to outbursts of iconoclasm, the arts in Italy were ‘‘in a state of controversy,’’ meaning that ‘‘unresolved impulses were at work inside them’’ and artists tried to respond to such ‘‘Reformation questions’’ as: ‘‘What is an image? What role, if any, should images play in religion? Does Christian art merely present pagan figures in new guise?’’ (2–3). The author traces this controversy in three parts. In the first part, ‘‘Excavations in Christian Art,’’ he discusses contemporary examples of criticism of late fifteenth- and sixteenth-century religious art, cases of artists experimenting with new solutions, and the importance of early Christian art as point of reverification. The second part contains a study of images of Christ, in which the author explores the boundaries between statues and idols. Again, early Christian examples come out as an important point of reference. In the third part, ‘‘Soft Iconoclasm,’’ the author studies the emergence of sacrament tabernacles with the Eucharist ‘‘as an alternative to images, and as a key to a compromise between extreme reformist positions and ecclesiastical traditions’’ (204–05). The connecting thread to emerge from the various phenomena discussed in these three parts is ‘‘a repeated preoccupation with restoring a Christocentric focus in Christian art’’ (206). Dealing with debates and controversy, the author considers the Renaissance as a period that is different from ‘‘the triumphant epoch imagined both by its earlier champions and by its disciplinary foes’’ (2). Unfortunately, it is hard to get an idea of how typical the individual cases studied in the book are for the epoch of the Renaissance. Focusing on individual artists and patrons struggling with Reformation questions, Nagel ignores the broader picture of the Italian Renaissance, which also comprises works that by their very nature did not offer room for debate or experiments, such as large propagandistic projects (secular and religious) and official, Church-commissioned artworks meant to teach the orthodox view. Moreover, the author focuses on reconstructing the intentions of the artists and their patrons, but gives hardly any indication if these intentions were indeed understood and shared by contemporary observers (which would, admittedly, be difficult to demonstrate). But if we are to believe Vasari, for example, Fra Bartolommeo’s lost St Sebastian in S. Marco, Florence (still known through RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY884 This content downloaded from 129.125.148.244 on July 02, 2018 00:03:43 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). a copy in S. Francesco, Fiesole) evoked reactions from the local women that are worlds apart from such intentions as reconstructed by Nagel in the case of the Fra’s comparable Salvator Mundi (89–94). Similarly, Nagel’s discussion of Filippino Lippi’s Miracle of St Philip in the Strozzi chapel (S. Maria Novella, Florence) has ingenious observations on the (possible) implications of the fact that the Mars statue in the painting is rendered as a multicolored and therefore seemingly living person. Although Nagel asserts that ‘‘it can be assumed’’ that its patron and ‘‘any Florentine at the time’’ (118) would have been aware of its many allusions, especially to the relic of St Philip’s arm, I seriously doubt if contemporary observers would see the painting through such typical modern iconographer’s eyes. Would informed visitors not rather have seen it as a Strozzi attempt to outdo Filippino’s Laocoön painting in the Medici villa at Poggio a Caiano? The paintings show obvious similarities in both form and content. To me, part 3 of the book seems the most convincing. On page 206, the author lists a number of cases, spread over Italy, where sacrament tabernacles with the Eucharist were put on the high altar, demonstrating that soft iconoclasm was not an incidental phenomenon. In the case of Gianmatteo Giberti, he is able to show how this bishop of Verona tried to introduce sacrament tabernacles in all the churches of his diocese (239), but also that his ‘‘interventions were largely misunderstood at their time’’ (254). The final chapter, on the marble altar in Vicenza cathedral, is a fascinating demonstration of how current ideas about the Eucharist as an alternative to images were put into practice. One may not always agree with Nagel’s suggestions, but one cannot deny that his beautifully produced book is full of thought-provoking views that will stimulate its readers to rethink their ideas about Reformation questions in Italian Renaissance art. JAN L. DE JONG University of Groningen 885REVIEWS This content downloaded from 129.125.148.244 on July 02, 2018 00:03:43 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 
work_jjiq6vojrnaijn52ajdibn6jbu	----	The Antiquaries Journal Being the Journal of the Society of Antiquaries of London VOLUME XXVI JANUARY-APRIL 1 9 4 6 NUMBERS I , 2 CONTENTS PART OF THE STEM OF A ROMAN MONUMENTAL CANDELABRUM OF STONE, FROM YORK, by I. A. Richmond, V.-P.S.A. . . . 1 A N ANGLO-SAXON CEMETERY AT WESTBERE, KENT, by R. F. Jessup, F.S.A. 11 DENMARK AND EARLY ENGLAND, by E. Thurlow Leeds, M.A., F.S.A. . 22 T H E DIFFUSION AND DISTRIBUTION PATTERN OF THE MEGALITHIC MONU- MENTS OF THE IRISH SEA AND NORTH CHANNEL COASTLANDS, by Margaret Davies, F.S.A. . . . . . . . 3 8 T H E CONGRESS OF ARCHAEOLOGICAL SOCIETIES, by B. H. St. J. O'Neil, M.A., V.-P.S.A 61 NOTES (see list on next page) . . . . . - 6 7 REVIEWS (see list on next page) . . . . - 7 9 PERIODICAL LITERATURE; BIBLIOGRAPHY; PROCEEDINGS . . 87 Published by GEOFFREY CUMBERLEGE. OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE CAPE TOWN BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS Quarterly: Price Five Shillings net. Annual Subscription, iSs. 6d. post free https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 https://www.cambridge.org/core NOTES FIVE Bronze Age Beakers from North-east Essex, 67—An Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Ruskington, Lincolnshire, 69—Bronze Spearhead found at Shapwick, Somerset, 70—An Inlaid Knife from Winchester, 70—A Medieval Rock-Dwelling at Les Eyzies-dc-Tayac (Dordogne), 72—Chancery Seal of Tobias Matthew, Bishop of Durham, 1595-1606, 74—Coats of Arms from 'Doctors Commons', 74—Animal Bones from Archaeological Sites in Britain, 77. REVIEWS Fox, A Find of the Early Iron Age from Llyn Ceirig Bach, Anglesey: Interim Report . . . . . . - 7 9 Cedcrstrom and Steneberg, Skokloster Skolden . . . . 8 0 Coon and Andrews IV, Studies in the Anthropology of Oceania and Asia 81 Berghman, Dynastien Bemadottes Vapen och det Svcnska Riksvapnet . 83 Haury, The Excavation of Los Muertos and Neighbouring Ruins in the Salt River Valley, Southern Arizona . . . . . 8 4 Rowe, An Introduction to the Archaeology of Cuzco . • . 8 4 Longyear III, Archaeological Investigations in El Salvador . . 84 Harvey, Henry Yevele, c. 1320-1400, the Life of an English Architect . 85 communications on Editorial mutters ami books lor review should be addressed to the Assistant Secretary, Society of Antiquaries, Burlington House, London, W. 1 PRINTED IN' GRHAT BRITAIN https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Antiquaries Journal Being the Journal of The Society of Antiquaries of London VOLUME XXVI OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE CAPE TOWN BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS GEOFFREY CUMBERLEGE 1946 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 https://www.cambridge.org/core PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, OXFORD BY CHARLES BATEY, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS OF VOL. XXVI Part of the Stem of a Roman Monumental Candelabrum of Stone, from York, by I. A. Richmond, V.-P.S.A. i An Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Westbere, Kent, by R. F. Jessup, F.S.A. . 11 Denmark and Early England, by E. Thurlow Leeds, M.A., F.S.A. . 22 The Diffusion and Distribution Pattern of the Megalithic Monuments of the Irish Sea and North Channel Coastlands, by Margaret Davies, F.S.A. . . . . . . . . 38 The Congress of Archaeological Societies, by B. H. St. J. O'Neil, M.A., V.-P.S.A • 61 Anniversary Address, by Sir Cyril Fox, President . . . 1 0 9 Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and the Gardens of Adonis, by T. D. Kendrick, Secretary . . . . . . . 1 1 8 Some Italian Renaissance Caskets with Pastiglia Decoration, by W . L. Hildburgh, F.S.A. . . . . . . - 1 2 3 A Homestead Moat at Nuthampstead, Hertfordshire, by Audrey Williams, F.S.A. . . . . . . . . 138 'Bastard Feudalism' and the Later Castles, by W . Douglas Simpson, F.S.A. 145 Differencing in English Medieval Heraldry, by the late S. M . Collins, F.S.A. 172 Linear Earthworks: Methods of Field Survey, by Sir Cyril Fox, President, B. H . St. J. O'Neil, V.-P.S.A., and W . F. Grimes, F.S.A. . 175 Notes . . . . . . . . 67, 180 Reviews . . . . . . . . 79, 193 Periodical Literature . . . . . 87, 207 Bibliography . . . . . . . . 101, 221 Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries . . . 106,225 Obituaries . . . . . . . . 228 Index . . . . . . . . . 234 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 https://www.cambridge.org/core LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Part of the Stem of a Roman Monumental Candelabrum of Stone, from York: Stem of a Roman candelabrum in stone, from York . . . Plate facing 2 A n Anglo-Saxon C e m e t e r y a t W e s t b e r e , K e n t : T h e neighbourhood of W e s t b e r e . . . . . . . . . 1 2 J e w e l l e r y . . . . . . . . . . Plate facing 16 G l a s s - w a r e . . . . . . . . . . Plate facing 17 Inscription and o r n a m e n t o n base of glass bowl . . . . . . . 1 7 Fas Diatretum; inscribed goblet; round-bottomed cup . . . . . . 18 P o t t e r y . . . . . . . . . . . Plate facing 20 J e w e l l e r y , w e a p o n s , a n d p o t t e r y . . . . . . Plate facing 21 Denmark and Early England: Gold coin-pendants and northern bracteates from English sites: A, B, and C types Plate facing 24 Gold bracteates from a hoard, Nebenstedt, Dannenberg, Hanover, 1859 Plate facing 25 Northern gold bracteates from English sites: D type . . . Plate facing 26 T h e D i f f u s i o n a n d D i s t r i b u t i o n P a t t e r n o f t h e M e g a l i t h i c M o n u m e n t s o f t h e I r i s h S e a a n d N o r t h C h a n n e l C o a s t l a n d s : D i r e c t i o n a n d m a x i m u m s p e e d s o f S p r i n g t i d e s . . . . . . . 4 1 R o u t e w a y s . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 3 D i s t r i b u t i o n o f m e g a l i t h s a c c o r d i n g t o t y p e . . . . . . . 4 5 S u p e r f i c i a l d e p o s i t s o f t h e I r i s h S e a c o a s t l a n d s . . . . . . . 4 7 T h e s i t e o f t h e N e w G r a n g e g r o u p . . . . . . . . . 4 9 T h e s i t e s o f t h e m e g a l i t h s o f t h e D u b l i n h i l l s . . . . . . . 5 1 T h e m e g a l i t h s o f t h e C r i n a n i s t h m u s . . . . . . . . 5 2 T h e m e g a l i t h s o f A r r a n . . . . . . . . . . . 5 5 D i s t r i b u t i o n o f M a n x m e g a l i t h s i n r e l a t i o n t o s u p e r f i c i a l d e p o s i t s . . . - 5 7 T h e m e g a l i t h s o f t h e S h a p l i m e s t o n e s a n d a d j o i n i n g a r e a s . . . • - 5 9 B r o n z e A g e B e a k e r s f r o m N o r t h - E a s t E s s e x . . . . . Plate facing 68 Finds from an Anglo-Saxon Cemetery at Ruskington, Lincolnshire . Plate facing 69 B r o n z e S p e a r h e a d f r o m S h a p w i c k , S o m e r s e t . . . . . . . . 7 0 I n l a i d K n i v e s f r o m a, W i n c h e s t e r ; b, M a i n z . C o a t o f a r m s o f c, D r . H e n r y H a r v e y ; d, D r . A n d r e w C o l t e e D u c a r e l , f o r m e r l y i n t h e D i n i n g - r o o m o f D o c t o r s ' C o m m o n s . . . . . . . . . . Plate facing 72 a. Rock-platform above L e s E y z i e s - d e - T a y a c . b. Basins c u t in rock a t L e s E y z i e s - d e - T a y a c . . . . . . . . . . Plate facing 73 Chancery Seal of Tobias Matthew, Bishop of Durham, 1595-1606 . Plate facing 74 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 https://www.cambridge.org/core vi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and the Gardens of Adonis: Tomb of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, in St. Albans Abbey . Plate facing 118 a. College of Arms 'Garter Stalls' MS., f. i (detail), b. Vase in Karlsruhe (after Deubner). c. College of Arms MS. L. 14, p. 105 b (detail). . Plate facing 120 a. A n t o n e l l o d a M e s s i n a , ' S t . J e r o m e i n h i s S t u d y ' ( d e t a i l ) , b. C a r l o C r i v e l l i , ' T h e A n n u n c i a t i o n ' ( d e t a i l ) . . . . . . . . Plate facing 121 S o m e I t a l i a n R e n a i s s a n c e C a s k e t s w i t h Pastiglia D e c o r a t i o n : C a s k e t o f w o o d o r n a m e n t e d w i t h pastiglia . . . . . Plate facing 128 a. Casket of wood in the Wallace Collection, b. Casket of wood in private possession Plate facing 129 Plates of wafering-irons . : . . . . . . \ Casket of wood ornamented with pastiglia . . . . . 1 e een l-~_l~~ . I Paies D e t a i l s o f c a s k e t s o f w o o d o r n a m e n t e d w i t h pastiglia . . .) A H o m e s t e a d M o a t a t N u t h a m p s t e a d , H e r t f o r d s h i r e : S k e t c h - m a p o f S c a l e s P a r k , n e a r N u t h a m p s t e a d , H e r t f o r d s h i r e . . . . 1 3 8 P l a n a n d s e c t i o n o f t h e W a r r e n , N u t h a m p s t e a d . . . . . . . 1 4 0 T h e W a r r e n , N u t h a m p s t e a d . a. T h e i v o r y p e n d a n t , b. T h e s o u t h m o u n d f r o m t h e e a s t . . . . . . . . . . . Plate facing 140 T h e ivory pendant . . . . . . . . . . . . 141 Pottery from the Warren, Nuthampstead . . . . . . . . 1 4 3 'Bastard Feudalism' and the later Castles: Plan of Kildrummy Castle . . . . . . . . . . 146 Plan of Doune Castle . . . . . . . . . . . 147 Chateau de Pierrefonds: Main floor plan . . . . . . . . 1 4 9 Ground plan of Neidenburg . . . . . . . . . . 1 5 1 Plan of Tantallon Castle . . . . . . . . . . 153 Plan of Bodiam Castle . . . . . . . . . . 160 General plan of Thombury Castle . . . . . . . . . 1 6 6 Diagrammatic Section of Hollow at Risby Warren, Lines. . . . . . 1 8 0 Flint Implement from Risby Warren, Lines. . . . . . . . . 1 8 1 Flint Implement from near Winteringham, Lines. . . . . . . 1 8 2 Flint Implement from Risby Warren, Lines. . . . . . . . . 1 8 2 Flint Implement from Stoke Charity, Hants . . . . . . . . 1 8 3 Flint Implement from near Scunthorpe, Lines. . . . . . . . 184 Flint Implement from Whetstone, Middlesex . . . . . . . 184 Site Plan of Long Barrow at South Wonston, Hants . . . . . . 1 8 5 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 https://www.cambridge.org/core LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS vii F l i n t Scraper from L o n g B a r r o w , S o u t h W o n s t o n , H a n t s . . . . . . 1 8 6 a. L o n g B a r r o w a t S o u t h W o n s t o n , H a n t s . A i r V i e w from t h e s o u t h - e a s t , b. B o n e I m p l e - m e n t from t h e G r a v e l at S o m e r s h a m , H u n t s . . . . . Plate facing 186 A Celtic Brooch from Danes' Graves, Kilham, Yorks. . . . Plate facing 187 Decorated Bronze Brooch, Danes' Graves, Kilham, Yorks. . . . . . 1 8 7 Silver Brooch from Colchester . . . . . . . . . . 1 9 1 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500018461 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 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work_jlsoxwmetrdhfp53qdl25t3xui	----	uhy1000056a Urban History, 37, 3 (2010) C© Cambridge University Press 2010 doi:10.1017/S0963926810000568 Parading in public: patrician women and sumptuary law in Renaissance Siena P H I L I P PA J A C K S O N 6 Northampton Park, London N1 2PJ abstract: In Renaissance Italy clothing, particularly of women, was strictly regulated; individuals were regularly denounced when walking through the city. Modesty was a virtue in a republican state and dress played a major part in urban identity, reflecting social values and those of the political regime. Sumptuary laws were a major mode of control, particularly of patrician women, whose dress reflected both their own and their family’s wealth and status. Despite increased availability of luxurious fabrics encouraged by urban policies, legislation was used to prohibit new forms of dress and raise money for state coffers. At the end of the fifteenth century Pandolfo Petrucci (1452–1512) took control of Siena. The inner elite of his regime, particularly its female members, were given exemptions from the strict legislation and were able to flaunt their elevated status and the new social order. Le Gentildonne Sanesi dovevano far pompa dalla sola modestia.1 In February 1452, during the visit of Emperor Frederick III to Siena, Onorata Saracini made a case for simple clothing when reproved by her female companions for her unsuitably plain dress. As the wife of a leading citizen, and member of the wealthy Orsini family, she could have afforded much grander attire but deliberately chose not to make such a public display. Today, clothing in Western European cultures is an individual choice, a mode of self-expression, one in which inappropriate attire may induce at most a raised eyebrow and whispered condemnation. It certainly would not result in court action, a substantial fine and possible damage to the social fabric as occurred in Renaissance Italy. Clothes in early modern Italian cities, both in terms of material and of style, were used to express and reinforce identities, to mark out elites and the differentiation within them. The way in which dress articulated relationships was greatly affected by political circumstances; clothing was a major signifier of both disjunction and change. During the fifteenth century, despite family 1 ‘Sienese ladies ought to display only their modesty’: the words of Onorata Saracini: G. Gigli, Diario Sanese, 2 vols. (Lucca, 1723), vol. I, 51. B. Lapini, Vita di Madonna Onorata scritta da Bernardo Ilicino publicata per la prima volta sopra un codice del secolo XV, ed. G. Vallardi (Milan, 1843). terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core Patrician women and sumptuary law in Renaissance Siena 453 competition over religious patronage and the building of chapels in Siena, individuals within the elite supported social cohesion by maintaining control over attire. As the century progressed, however, one community in particular, patrician women, sought to celebrate their exalted status by increasingly grand dress which not only delineated the differences to be found between them and other urban groups but allowed the most important of them to flaunt their social pre-eminence on the urban stage in a way contrary to traditional republican values. Medieval Siena was a city of fervent religious faith and, like many other Italian states, subject to legislation regulating the display of wealth in public.2 Parading in fancy frocks, grand parties, excessive jewellery and the use of gold and silver in clothing were officially discouraged by many statutes which were continually promulgated to deal with changes in fashion and attempts to evade the law. The obsession with regulating clothing in the public arena was common to most Renaissance city-states since dress was the primary means of evoking self-presentation and power; it signalled social and professional standing, political allegiance and wealth. Government time devoted to such legislation in Siena outweighed other provisions on important urban concerns such as hygiene, water supplies, fire precautions and refuse.3 The government, in the preambles of sumptuary laws, emphasized a desire to curb wasteful expenditure particularly on ‘the superfluous ornamentation of women and their sumptuous dress’;4 this was seen as damaging the city and the primary cause of a lack of funds for the payment of dowries.5 A woman could not marry without the provision of a dowry, a necessity to promote marriage and maintain population levels, but the need to fund this while ensuring the maintenance of family wealth was a constant social problem. Ecclesiastical condemnation of excess and the sermons of prominent preachers such as St Bernardino of Siena (1380–1444) and Blessed Bernardino of Feltre (1439–94), who both created bonfires of the 2 E. Casanova, La donna senese del quattrocento nella vita privata (Siena, 1901); C. Bonelli- Gandolfo, ‘La legislazione suntuaria negli ultimi anni della Repubblica’, Studi senesi, 35 (1920), fasc. 3–4, 243–75, fasc. 5, 334–98; M. Ciatti (ed.), ‘Drappi, velluti, taffetà et altre cose’: antichi tessuti a Siena e nel suo territorio (Siena, 1994); M.A. Ceppari Ridolfi and P. Turrini, Il mulino delle vanità: lusso e ceremonie nella Siena medievale: con l’edizione dello Statuto del Donnaio (1343) (Siena, 1993); M.A. Ceppari Rifolfi, ‘Un caso toscano: Siena’, in M.G. Muzzarelli and A. Campanini (eds.), Disciplinare il lusso: la legislazione suntuaria in Italia e in Europa tra Medioevo ed età moderna (Rome, 2003), 59–73. 3 On urbanism in Siena see F. Nevola, Siena: Constructing the Renaissance City (New Haven and London, 2007); P. Pertici, La città magnificata: interventi edilizi a Siena nel Rinascimento: l’Ufficio dell’ornato (1428–1480) (Siena, 1995). 4 See the preamble to the law of 22 Jun. 1498 referring to the ‘superfluo ornamento delle donne et il loro sumptuoso vestire’: Archivio di Stato di Siena (ASS), Balia 253, fols. 45r–47r. 5 ASS, Balia 253, fol. 45r: the expenditure on clothing was the ‘precipua causa che nella vostra città non si fa alchuno matrimonio perché le dote che si danno si metteno nel vestire delle donne’. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core 454 Urban History vanities in Siena, also criticized female apparel and raised concerns over extravagance and the moral dangers of the pursuit of luxury.6 Renaissance dress and display have been the focus of much anthropological and sociological analysis seeking to examine how clothes fashioned an individual and society, and the manner in which component groups articulated their distinctions.7 In Siena the most personal way of emphasizing one’s social identity was through clothing and patrician women were the most assiduous group within the community to do so, displaying both their own and their family’s status.8 Although there seems to have been an acceptance of a degree of difference in attire for social classes, excessive extravagance attracted resentment and censure in nominally republican states where corporate values prevailed over individual ones. During the Petrucci domination of the city (1487–1524) the political and social framework of the city altered from a democratic to a more aristocratic model. The chasm between the Petrucci family (with a small band of elite followers) who dominated every aspect of city life and the rest of the population can particularly be charted in the attire of Sienese patrician women.9 Politically, there was a constant balancing act between the desire to portray the magnificence expected of leading members of society and traditional republican mores. Government leaders, and by extension their wives, were expected to maintain the honour of their position through their dress, enhancing the republic’s status without displaying personal ambition; the dignity of the state was often expressed in ambassadors’ outfits revealing that although modesty was the rule at home, grandeur was expected abroad.10 On the economic front, the citizens were also involved in the production, importation and exportation of materials: the source of much Renaissance Italian urban wealth was linked to mercantile trade and Siena was no different. The complex relationship of clothing and sumptuary laws to other urban concerns led 6 On the moral concerns of the church see D.O. Hughes, ‘Sumptuary law and social relations’, in J. Bossy (ed.), Disputes and Settlements: Law and Human Relations in the West (Cambridge, 1983), 69–99, 79–84; and on Franciscan preaching against luxury M.G. Muzzarelli, ‘“Contra mundanas vanitates et pompas”: aspetti della lotta contra i lussi nell’Italia del XV secolo’, Rivista di storia della chiesa in Italia, 40 (1986), 371–90. 7 For the Italian Renaissance see works such as A.R. Jones and P. Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing and the Materials of Memory (Cambridge, 2000); C. Richardson (ed.), Clothing Culture, 1350–1650 (Aldershot and Burlington, VT, 2004). There is also extensive literature on fabrics and paintings: L. Monnas, Merchants, Princes and Painters. Silk Fabrics in Italian and Northern Paintings 1300–1500 (New Haven and London, 2008); R. Duits, ‘Figured riches: the value of gold brocades in fifteenth-century Florentine painting’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 62 (1999), 60–92. 8 Much research still needs to be done on Sienese Renaissance women: E. Brizio, ‘In the shadow of the Campo: Sienese women and their families, c. 1400–1600’, in J.G. Sperling and S.K. Wray (eds.), Across the Religious Divide: Women, Property and Law in the Wider Mediterranean ca. 1300–1800 (New York and London, 2010), 122–36. 9 On Florence see C. Collier Frick, Dressing Renaissance Florence: Families, Fortunes and Fine Clothing (Baltimore and London, 2002). 10 See the government’s payment of £481 for the gold brocade clothing of Giovanni Antonio Saracini, ambassador to the pope, on 4 Jun. 1513: ASS, Balia 61, fol. 32r. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core Patrician women and sumptuary law in Renaissance Siena 455 to the government simultaneously restricting the use of fabrics through sumptuary laws while passing measures to increase trade and commerce in luxury materials. By the end of the fifteenth century Siena experienced a period of relative political stability and rising wealth from alum, banking and other economic activities. After the return of the Nove faction in 1487, and the rise of Pandolfo Petrucci (1452–1512) and his allies, the political elite formed a tight-knit group with a greater share of city power and wealth allowing them to indulge in their love of material splendour in clothes and public celebrations. The alteration of the political and social landscape of the republic and the increased social differentiation during 1487–1524 can be charted in various ways; in dress this can be seen in government measures over both sumptuary laws and the silk trade and in records of the clothing of Sienese patrician women. Patrician women and luxury materials The city was not always subject to the strict regulation of sumptuary legislation; the laws were completely suspended in Siena for certain celebrations such as the visits of important foreigners whom the city wished to honour with public festivities.11 This occurred, for example, during the duke of Calabria’s visit in August 1468 but other events might also lead to freedom from the rigid rules. The city magistrates were so delighted to hear of the election of Rodrigo Borgia as Pope Alexander VI (since the Sienese Spannocchi acted as his bankers) that, on 11 August 1492, they declared all sumptuary law restrictions were lifted during that month in celebration.12 Sienese patrician women, in particular, were keen to display their wealth and social standing in their attire.13 As early as December 1291 some of them petitioned the new podestà, Count Robert of Arras, to ask the government to lift the restrictions on crowns and silver and gold garlands set with pearls and jewels.14 By the fifteenth century any woman who possessed a silk dress had to present it for marking and approval to the authorities who made detailed notes of the colour, types of sleeves, linings and other decorative details which were all subject to various degrees of regulation. The taste for elegant apparel can be seen by the descriptions of 11 For a summary of the visits of foreign royalty of the latter half of the fifteenth century: P. Piccolomini, Dalla vita e dalla poesia curiale di Siena nel Rinascimento. Nozze Piccolomini-Ciacci (Siena, 1904), and on public festivities: A. Provedi, Relazione delle pubbliche feste negli ultimi cinque secoli (Siena, 1791). 12 ASS, Balia 37, fol. 47r–v. 13 Italian women were considered to be the prime exhibitors of their husbands’ and fathers’ status: M.G. Muzzarelli, ‘Una società nello specchio della legislazione suntuaria: il caso dell’Emilia-Romagna’, in Muzzarelli and Campanini (eds.). Disciplinare il lusso, 17–31 (24). 14 C. Kovesi Killerby, Sumptuary Law in Italy 1200–1500 (Oxford, 2002), 121. For early jewellery ownership see L. Zdekauer, ‘I gioelli d’una gentildonna senese del dugento (1272)’, Bullettino Senese di Storia Patria, 6 (1899), 520–3. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core 456 Urban History various gowns presented to the authorities for marking in 1413 and others, which included outfits of velvet and brocade made with silver and gold, which were recorded following the luxury tax of February 1422.15 The cost of these materials could be immense and a severe drain on family resources, however, particularly by the early sixteenth century when grander clothes were increasingly worn. Camillo Petrucci, Pandolfo Petrucci’s brother, was a successful silk merchant whose son Francesco married into the eminent Piccolomini family. He made a special proviso in a testament of 1511 that all the materials removed from his shop to make his daughter-in-law’s dresses be fully charged to Francesco, implying that the cost was so great that it should not be borne by his other heirs.16 The question of both the application of Sienese sumptuary laws and prosecutions for breach is difficult to assess due to the destruction of many relevant records yet the laws themselves, inventories and court cases do indicate contemporary attitudes. Sumptuary legislation often did not apply to a number of the leading members of society who included knights, men with particularly high incomes (and their wives) and foreigners attending the university.17 There were also specific exemptions for citizens acting on official business as a member of the government or as an ambassador since such finery was equated to the city’s honour.18 The laws were so many and so complex, however, that inadvertent breaches could occur. Giorgio Sensi was condemned for wearing a silver brocade doublet, for the entrance to Siena of the duchess of Ferrara on 18 June 1473. His father-in-law gave evidence that Giorgio was chosen as an official to accompany the duchess and so believed he was exempt from regular sumptuary law provisions.19 A specific licence to wear what one wished was the simplest way to avoid such prosecutions but this was very rare in Siena. One notable case was that of Battista Berti, wife of Achille Petrucci, the most famous of the educated young women who traditionally made Latin orations to welcome 15 For the 1413 records see Casanova, La donna senese, 74–6: the name and residence of the owner was noted together with details of the gowns e.g. ‘Uxor Antonii Bartolomei Vannis Cini, populi Sancti Martini habet unum vestire velluti nigri figurati cum manicis apertis cum frappis argentatis.’ For 1422 see S. Paghi and C. Palazzuoli, ‘Cittadini e preziosi vestimenti 1422’, in M. Ascheri and D. Ciampoli (ed.), Siena e il suo territorio nel Rinascimento (Siena, 1990), 99–119. 16 The will of Camillo Petrucci of 16 Apr. 1511 contains the provision: ‘Tucti li drappi che dicto Francesco ha levato dala buttiga dell’arte dela seta per vestire la moglie s’intendino essere a debito di dicto Francesco’: ASS, Notarile Ante-Cosimiano 1001, doc. 2944. 17 See, for example, the law on funeral attire of corpses, ‘de vestibus defunctorum’, in the statute of 1343 which declared that counts, soldiers, judges, doctors (both medical and of other faculties) and their wives were not subject to its provisions: ‘exceptis tamen comitibus, militibus, iudicibus, medicis fisicis et doctoribus cuiuscunque facultatis et eorum et cuiusque eorum uxoribus’: Casanova, La donna senese, 55. 18 The 16 Mar. 1502 law against silk clothing for men under the age of 30 was not to apply to: ‘cavalieri, doctori o chi fusse in magistrato de Magnifici Signori Gonfalonieri Maestri o chi fusse mandato o Ambasciadore o Commissario’: ASS, Balia 253, fol. 152v. 19 Casanova, La donna senese, 45. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core Patrician women and sumptuary law in Renaissance Siena 457 important visitors to the city. Her eloquence before Emperor Frederick III in February 1452 was such that the emperor offered her anything she wished; Battista chose exemption from sumptuary laws as her reward, a visual testament to her intellectual gifts.20 A woman flaunted her status by parading through the city’s streets. This was where she was seen by her fellow citizens and where she also risked being denounced for her clothing; the most likely time for a woman to be so observed was when walking to attend mass.21 Under a law of 28 August 1433, a woman stopped in public for breach of sumptuary legislation was obliged not only to give her own name but those of her father and husband and place of residence so that further disciplinary action could be taken.22 Denunciations by members of the public were encouraged and could be made verbally, or in writing. In the early sixteenth century there was a small box set out near the door entering into the magistracy of the Regolatori into which written complaints could be placed and also another box for reports in the cathedral.23 The surveillance of fellow citizens and reporting of those who stepped out of line was an integral part of the way in which fifteenth-century Sienese society sought to maintain social cohesion. On 10 April 1476, Messer Lorenzo di Messer Antonio Lanti had to justify to the Tre Segreti, the magistrates in charge of the implementation of sumptuary law, why his wife had twice during the previous month paraded in a dress of silk velvet in public.24 In Siena, certain luxury clothes could only be worn by citizens and their wives who were recorded in the state tax records, the Lira, as being over a specified tax rating. Lorenzo’s defence was that although he did not have the required rating under Sienese law for his wife to wear such apparel, he knew that knights and their wives were specifically exempt from sumptuary law legislation: he explained that his father Antonio, councillor to Francesco Sforza, duke of Milan, and an ambassador to the king of Cyprus, had received knighthoods for himself and his two sons. Although Lorenzo Lanti was convicted for his wife’s behaviour at the first instance he won his case on appeal as the court found that he was a knight and so not subject to the law. Thus although the jealousy of other Sienese citizens may have led to Lorenzo’s wife being denounced, the courts recognized that both he and his spouse were legally entitled to dress as they wished. 20 Gigli, Diario Sanese, vol. I, 51–2; O. Malavolti, Historia del Sig. Orlando Malavolti, de’ fatti, e guerre de’ Sanesi, cosi esterne, come civili (Venice, 1599), Book 2, Part 3, 38. 21 Minoccia di Ranierio was prosecuted for wearing a dress with an over lengthy train when she attended mass at San Francesco in 1473: Casanova, La donna senese, 40 (n. 4). 22 Casanova, La donna senese, doc. VII, 84–8, at 86. 23 ASS, Balia 253, fol. 47r, 22 Jun. 1498: ‘alla porta delli Regolatori stia una cassetta a dicto effecto ed un’altra in Domo alla colonna riscontra al’altare del Crocefisso nelle quali si mettino le politie e petitioni . . . le quali cassette si debbino aprire ogni mese per il notaro di Balia’. 24 Casanova, La donna senese, 50 (n. 1); Kovesi Killerby, Sumptuary Law, 157. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core 458 Urban History Although there was wider acceptance of luxury materials during the early sixteenth century there were also detailed provisions on enforcement of breaches of the law with renewed registrations of silk dresses in 1498 and restrictions on the use of gold and silver in fabrics.25 During the fifteenth century if someone was seen in public wearing a particular outfit the alleged culprit could not be condemned unless at least two trustworthy witnesses were willing to attest to this. Due to the problems of prosecuting effectively, a law of 1502 provided that the denouncer’s name should remain secret, and the officials in charge of sumptuary law petitioned the government to be allowed to make decisions on breach without calling any witnesses, stating that it was hard to find people willing to give evidence.26 The Petrucci control of the state led to a climate of fear and certain eminent citizens behaved as if they were above the law. Sumptuary legislation became stricter for all except the leading members of society and there were even detailed regulations on children’s clothing so that, for example, boys under the age of 15 years could wear silk doublets only if they had a tax rating of 1,000 lire or more.27 Promotion of the silk trade In the early sixteenth century extensive measures protected the producers and merchants of luxury goods, who were members of the governing elite; an oration in praise of the silk trade named a long list of distinguished Sienese families, 40 in number, including the Piccolomini, Petrucci, Chigi, Borghesi and Spannocchi.28 These businessmen were highly successful and silk shops were found primarily in the smartest areas of the city, particularly along the Strada Romana.29 The business interests of the city’s clothiers were a hallmark of urban policy during this period. In 1489, the government wrote to Sultan Bajazet II to request permission to establish a permanent Sienese consulate in Constantinople, which would place their merchants on the same basis as those of Venice, Florence, Ragusa and Ancona.30 The attempt appears to have failed and the government 25 See the 1498 law: ASS, Balia 253, fols. 45r–47v. 26 For the 1502 law see ASS Balia 253, fols. 152r–154v, and for the undated petition: ASS, Concistoro 2193. 27 ASS, Balia 253, fols. 360v–361r, ‘Item li maschi da anni xv in giù se non sonno allirati £1000 o da inde in su non possino portare giubbone di seta di alcuna sorte.’ 28 The undated oration is to be found in ASS, Notarile Ante-Cosimiano 1447; other important Sienese families named include the Pecci, Ugurgieri, Agazzari, Tolomei and Boninsegni. 29 On the Strada Romana see F.J.D. Nevola, ‘“Ornato della città”: Siena’s Strada Romana and fifteenth-century urban renewal’, Art Bulletin, 82 (2000), 25–50; idem, ‘“Più honorati et suntuosi ala Republica”: Botteghe and luxury retail along Siena’s Strada Romana’, in B. Blondé et al. (eds.), Buyers and Sellers: Retail Circuits and Practices in Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Turnhout, 2006), 65–78. 30 ASS, Concistoro 1701, fols. 65v–66r, 11 Aug. 1489. The letter recommended Niccolò of Montepiscali, a Sienese resident of Constantinople, as consul. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core Patrician women and sumptuary law in Renaissance Siena 459 later asked the Florentines for help; Andrea Carnesecchi, the Florentine representative in Constantinople, was requested to take Sienese merchants under his protection in 1501.31 In March 1497, the government gave tax exemptions in relation to the cloth trade in the Levant and continued to encourage the export of fabrics.32 It appointed, on 25 June 1506, Pandolfo Petrucci and two colleagues, to oversee the silk trade and in July gave them power to grant privileges and immunities.33 In September, they gave local merchants a twelve-year immunity from payment of the gabelle tax for exporting material and a five-year exemption for importing unboiled silk.34 The encouragement of international trade ran in tandem with local protectionism whereby the government sought to prevent foreign fabrics entering the city.35 The Petrucci regime’s most important action in this area, however, was the reform of the statute governing the silk industry in 1513, which primarily covered questions of management, taxation and punishment for contravention of its rules.36 Siena under the Petrucci: magnificent clothing and public display By the early sixteenth century there was far tighter legislation over breaches of sumptuary law along with a greater availability of luxury fabrics. The greater restrictions on the majority of citizens, who were penalized heavily for contraventions, went hand in hand with far more magnificent dress for the inner elite of the Petrucci regime, who gained increasing exemptions from the harsh new laws and publicly flaunted their wealth. This created social tension and resentment. The number of sumptuary laws passed also reveal details of the fast-changing nature of Renaissance fashions and their timing shows the close correlation in Siena between the financial state of the government and the use of such legislation as a tax-raising measure.37 The law of 22 June 1498 directed mainly at patrician women was passed when 31 On the protection of Sienese merchants in the Orient by the Florentines see the letter of 27 Dec. 1501 in G. Müller, Documenti sulle relazioni delle città toscane coll’oriente cristiano e coi Turchi fino all’anno MDXXXI (Florence, 1879), 250–1, at 251, reporting that the Sienese ambassador had said certain of their merchants wanted ‘accompagnare con la natione nostra, acciò che vivino costà et travaglino le loro mercantie con tucte quelle sicurtà et privilegii che havete voi’. 32 ASS Balia 253, fol. 18v, ‘considerato di quanta utilità commodo et honore sia alla nostra ciptà questo traffico di vendere panni in Levante’. 33 ASS, Balia 52, fols. 60v and 69r. The three appointed were Pandolfo Petrucci, Agnolo Palmieri and Iacobo Venturi. See G.A. Pecci. Memorie storico-critiche della città di Siena, 2 vols. (Siena, 1755, repr. Siena, 1988), vol. I, part 1, 221. 34 ASS, Balia 253, fol. 229r–v, 7 Sep. 1506. 35 ASS, Balia 47, fols. 138v–139r. 36 On the silk industry in Siena see L. Banchi (ed.), L’arte della seta in Siena nei secoli XV e XVI: statuti e documenti (Siena, 1881); L. Molà, The Silk Industry of Renaissance Venice (Baltimore and London, 2000), 9–10, 33, 45 and 180–1; S. Borghesi and L. Banchi, Nuovi documenti per la storia dell’arte senese (Siena, 1898), 120–1, 122–3, 126–7, 128–30, 146–7, 152–3. 37 The Sienese evidence backs the thesis of Jane Bridgeman who argues that the wealthy paid for the privilege of indulging in fine clothing: J. Bridgeman, ‘“Pagare le pompe”: terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core 460 Urban History the government needed funds for the state bank; it dealt with jewellery, silk and the use of metal decorative details on clothing.38 One provision specified that the production of materials containing gold and silver was banned, except of those used for religious purposes, and the clause was specifically applied at home as well as in public.39 On 16 March 1502, proposals were put forward for restrictions on the types of clothes, sleeves and trains women could wear, the number and value of jewels (whether false or not), and the wearing of silk by boys and young men under the age of 30.40 The provisions were passed with certain modifications such as allowing women a number of hair ornaments.41 In January 1506, when the regime was more secure, the laws were relaxed to a certain extent with a provision allowing women to wear two silk garments simultaneously.42 The stronger oligarchical control in the city can be seen in specific exemptions from sumptuary legislation for leading members of society. This had been rare in republican Siena although certain Piccolomini were given special privileges during the fifteenth century due to their relationship with Pope Pius II.43 Pandolfo Petrucci, Siena’s leading figure, was modest in his dress and demeanour, wearing black and maintaining the fiction of being a simple citizen. The government allowed minor exemptions in the early sixteenth century to certain female members of his family, which led to a much wider freedom of dress for the Petrucci following Pandolfo’s death. The first example of this favouritism occurred on 11 July 1505 when two of his daughters, Sulpitia and Girolama, were given exemptions, and a similar licence was granted to Camilla, daughter of another leading government figure, Agnolo Palmieri, the following week.44 Privileges often seem to be related to foreign brides and to the celebration of marriages when families wished to display their social pre- eminence, as in the case of Violante Farnese who was given a special 20-day exemption following her arrival in Siena to marry Gaspare Petrucci why quattrocento sumptuary laws did not work’, in L. Panizza (ed.), Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society (Oxford, 2000), 209–26. 38 ASS, Balia 253, fols. 45r–47v. 39 ASS, Balia 253, fols. 45v–46r: ‘non si possi mettere in alchuno lavoro di panni lini oro, o argento filato, o tirato fino, o falso excepto pero quelle cose che si facessero per operare al culto divino et paramenti et ornamenti di chiesa’. 40 ASS, Balia 253, fols. 152r–154v. 41 ASS, Balia 253, fols. 154v–155r, 10 Apr. 1502. 42 ASS, Balia 253, fol. 215r, 16 Jan. 1505 (modern dating 1506), ‘due vestes siricee uno et eodem tempore possint ferri’. 43 The sumptuary laws of 11–26 Oct. 1460 did not apply to the nieces, nephews and cousins of Pius II, nor to certain members of his household: Casanova, La donna senese, doc. IX, 91–5 ‘et tali provisioni non s’intendino per le nipoti carnali et cugine carnali et per le donne de’ nipoti carnali et per le donne de thesaurieri, depositarii et secretarii di papa Pio secondo senese che fussero continui commensali in casa del Papa’. 44 They were allowed to wear ‘vestes muffati’ ASS, Balia 51, fol. 42r; ASS, Balia 253, fol. 47r, contains the punishment for derogation of the sumptuary law to try to prevent future suspension or exemption; for Camilla’s licence see ASS, Balia 51, fol. 45r. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core Patrician women and sumptuary law in Renaissance Siena 461 in 1499.45 Pandolfo’s eldest daughter, Sulpitia, was specifically permitted to wear pearls and diamonds, on 25 February 1508, for her wedding to the banker, Sigismondo Chigi, which took place in Lent, a period in which modesty and restraint was required by religious custom.46 It was not only Petrucci women who were granted such special status since sumptuary law exemption was granted to the wives of Pierfrancesco and of Alessandro Piccolomini in May 1509 and to all daughters and daughters-in-law of Pandolfo on 14 September 1509.47 The reason for the latter was that the Petrucci family wished to hold a particularly grand ceremony for that month’s wedding of Pandolfo’s son and main heir, Borghese, to Vittoria Piccolomini, niece of Pope Pius III.48 The special status of these two families was confirmed after the death of Pandolfo when, in a new sumptuary law of 22 January 1513, the provisions were specifically declared not to apply to the sons, daughters and daughters- in-law of Pandolfo Petrucci, nor to the wives of Pierfrancesco, Silvio and Alessandro Piccolomini.49 It was not only patrician women whose clothes attested to the elite’s control of the city, although they were the most prominent group. During the first decades of the sixteenth century, government leaders used clothing as one of the most public ways in which to emphasize their position, relaxing republican conventions to demonstrate their superiority over a local audience. The importance of wearing grand clothes in public can be seen in Sienese letters and in the correspondence of a Florentine ambassador, Andrea da Foiano, who sought a new cloak with velvet edging while residing in Siena in 1490.50 Antonio Bibbiena in a letter to the ambassador implied that such clothing would not be acceptable in Florence. Literature also attests to extravagant tastes in Siena, particularly a 1506 poem about the Assumption celebrations in the city which refers to the elaborate materials worn by the participants and the oriental fabrics for sale in the city’s streets.51 The period 1487–1524 was also one of sumptuous wedding celebrations and public display such as the triumphal arches at the Spannocchi marriages of 1494, and on 23 January 1509, the laws relating to restrictive numbers at wedding receptions were relaxed so that spouses 45 ASS, Balia 45, fol. 25r. 46 For Sulpitia’s exemption, specifically referring to precious diamonds and pearls ‘pretiosas margaritas et perlas’: ASS, Balia 53, fol. 154r, 25 Feb. 1507 (1508 in modern dating). 47 ASS, Balia 55, fols. 24v and 57r. 48 The private ceremony in front of the notary took place on 9 Sep.1509 but the religious (and public) one occurred on 23 Sep.: S. Tizio, Historiarum Senensium, Biblioteca Comunale di Siena, Ms.B.III.12, 152. 49 See ASS, Balia 59, fol. 58v, when the new laws were declared not to apply to the ‘filii filie et nuris olim felice recordo magnifici Pandolfi de Petrucciis et uxores D. Petri Francesci D. Silvii et Domini Alexandri de Piccolhominibus praesertim quia sunt forenses’. 50 See A. Brown, ‘Lorenzo de’Medici’s new men and their mores: the changing lifestyle of quattrocento Florence’, Renaissance Studies, 16/2 (2002), 113–42, 125–6. 51 G. Catoni and A. Leoncini, Cacce e tatuaggi. Nuovi ragguagli sulle contrade di Siena (Siena, 1993). terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core 462 Urban History could invite more relatives and friends to the festivities.52 This was another move away from the modest restraint traditionally required of republican citizens. The number of luxury materials owned is also reflected in the domestic inventories of the elite which contain many items of a costly nature, whether for personal wear or in bedhangings.53 Female garments were exceedingly elaborate and expensive particularly those made of silk, velvet or brocade: Ippolito Bellarmati left 70 florins to pay for his niece’s wedding dress in a testament of 10 September 1498.54 Cristofora di Camillo Petrucci, widow of Iacobo Bichi and daughter of a silk merchant, listed the value of certain possessions which included three silk dresses worth 100 ducats in 1529.55 Francesca Turamini, wife of Giovanfrancesco Petrucci, owned a large number of grand outfits in 1509 including two gowns, one of green velvet and one of yellow taffeta, both with silver fastenings, and a cloak of black velvet lined with green silk damask.56 Public parading in such attire by these women indicated the social and political transformation of Sienese society to the city’s residents and foreign visitors. Fine clothing and ceremonial display had long been a vital aspect of city life in Renaissance Siena which helped confer honour on the state: luxury materials were traditionally used to create a corporate identity and constituted an essential element of ritual urban events. There were strict rules on personal attire, however, particularly of patrician women; a republic ideally comprised a community of modest citizens. As Sienese society became less equal at the end of the fifteenth century, the change was particularly reflected in clothing paraded through the city’s streets. Dress increasingly became a signifier of individual rather than corporate status and that of patrician women attested to the power of the ruling elite who gained special exemptions from the law and ignored republican mores. This community represented a social identity to match the new Renaissance taste in palace construction, decoration and public celebrations. The Sienese desire for luxury clothing was such that it was even lampooned by Niccolò Machiavelli in his poem De Ambitione referring to the 1509 duel of Pandolfo Petrucci’s sons over the wedding 52 ASS, Balia 253, fol. 270v. 53 Many of these remain unpublished but see C. Mazzi, La casa di maestro Bartolo di Tura (Siena, 1900); L.G. Pélissier, ‘Le trousseau d’un siennois’, Bullettino Senese di Storia Patria, 6 (1899), 147–50. The bed of Raimondo Tolomei, specifically bequested to his wife in his will of 13 Jan. 1523 was valued at 50 florins: ‘una lectiera alla chuccia con uno lecto di piuma et fornimenti convenienti’: ASS, Notarile Ante-Cosimiano 817, doc. 437. 54 ASS, Notarile Ante-Cosimiano 569, 41. 55 ASS Rota, 113, 26 Jan. 1528(9). 56 ASS, Notarile Ante-Cosimiano, 1290, 21 Dec. 1509: ‘una cotta di velluto verde con affibiatura d’argento grande’, ‘una cotta di taffeta giallo con affibiatura d’argento’, ‘una sbernia di velluto nero foderata di damascho verde’. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core Patrician women and sumptuary law in Renaissance Siena 463 gifts of clothes presented by their brother-in-law, Chiappino Vitelli.57 When the last Petrucci government fell in 1524 a new political regime tending towards sobriety took power which passed the severe sumptuary law in February 1526 marking the return to stricter modesty.58 The Petrucci period of conspicuous consumption, grand outfits, public ostentation and the flaunting of wealth by patrician women in the city’s squares and streets was over. 57 O. Tommasini, La vita e gli scritti di Niccolò Machiavelli nella loro relazione col Machiavellismo, 3 vols. (Turin 1883–1911; repr. Bologna 1994–2003), vol. I, 536; Tizio, Historiarum Senensium, 57; Pecci, Memorie storico-critiche, vol. I, part 1, 242. 58 ASS, Consiglio Generale 242, fols. 78v–82r. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926810000568 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_jqesykhuijdedaerzwsztrji4m	----	02Bartoli copy George McClure. Parlour Games and the Public Life of Women in Renaissance Italy. Toronto-Buffalo-London: University of Toronto  Press, 2013. Pp. 319. ISBN 9781442646599 (Hardcover). $75. Questo libro accenna ad un argomento spesso tralasciato dagli studiosi: l’attività erudita e/o culturale delle donne nel Rinascimento italiano. L’autore, tramite la contestualizzazione e lo studio di vari giochi, apre infatti una nuova porta sulla vita senese: un caso singolare ma più che rilevante per la storia delle donne nella scia della tradizione boccacciana (si pensi ovviamente innanzitutto alle figure femmi- nili nella cornice del Decameron) e nell’ambito della cultura prima, durante e dopo l’Arcadia di Roma. Partendo dal presupposto sociale delle restrizioni comportamentali e profes- sionali delle donne patrizie nel Rinascimento, egli fa più ipotesi sul ruolo dei gio- chi di spirito e di altra natura nella loro esperienza culturale, nel loro atteggia- mento e nel loro intento fuori dall’ambito cortigiano senese. La distinzione fra realtà, giochi e letteratura, chiamato da lui “ludic triangle” (p. XIV) è tuttavia ben chiara nel testo e viene spesso ricordata, insistendo di conseguenza sulla legittimità delle donne nei parlour games senesi. Nella prima parte del suo lavoro, l’autore ricorda l’interesse per la teoria del gioco nel Rinascimento e pone le basi dell’argomento: non si tratta però di un capitolo in sé poiché riprende in modo efficace le caratteristiche essenziali svilup- pate dai saggisti (dal Tasso tra l’altro) per servire il proprio discorso, ossia per defi- nire il contesto ludico e per identificare le donne senesi che vi sono propense o coinvolte. Non vengono pertanto dimenticate le figure maschili che hanno con- tribuito a far emergere delle donne in quel nuovo spazio socio-culturale. L’autore evidenzia infatti sempre, mediante le dichiarazioni e i saggi degli eruditi cinque- centeschi, l’interazione tra uomini e donne senesi in quell’interesse per i parlour games, e i loro incoraggiamenti nel creare la prima accademia femminile italiana. Contestualizza poi i giochi senesi evidenziando il legame ovvio con strutture cul- turali come le accademie e insiste sul ruolo degli Intronati per aver dato l’oppor- tunità alle donne di partecipare sia ai giochi (come al Carnevale ad esempio) che alla difesa di Siena durante l’assedio del 1550 anche se la valenza del loro impegno cambia. E comprova ciò nel capitolo successivo in cui viene analizzato il rapporto della seconda generazione degli Intronati con le donne senesi. L’evidenziare il posto delle donne senesi nella cultura teatrale, accademica o no, permette quindi anche di andare avanti nella conoscenza che abbiamo degli accademici Intronati di Siena, dei suoi protagonisti che spesso sono stati trattatisti: la padronanza sia del contesto femminile del Cinque-Seicento che dei testi-chiave come quelli dei Piccolomini e dei Bargagli dà molto credito e peso alle teorie dell’autore su quel “silent and invisible group” (p. 11). Un altro pregio del libro è così di andar oltre l’aspetto strutturale in cui si sono svolti questi giochi, in una società in cui l’isolamento dell’erudito, di chi vuol fare cultura dipende dalle autorità, dai potenti: illustrando lo scopo sociale di questo nuovo spazio in cui cultura erudita e cultura popolare si incontrano, l’autore dimostra quanto la sfera culturale abbia allargato quella strutturale e quindi quel- RECENSIONI — 173 — 12- recensioni _02Bartoli copy 2/10/14 10:38 AM Page 173 la restrittiva e sociale. Il quarto capitolo funge allora bene da tramite con il seguen- te perché, oltre ad andare avanti nella storia senese (dopo la chiusura delle accade- mie senesi nel 1568), sempre in modo molto critico e legato all’argomento princi- pale, allude mediante le imprese accademiche alla promiscuità strutturale dalla quale fuggivano le donne nel Cinquecento: l’autore accenna ad una tematica tanto difficile perché rinvia a simboli e perché rimane a volte interpretativa, ma quanto necessaria per la comprensione dei motivi di quelle donne, per l’affermazione della loro identità in un momento in cui i dibattiti a riguardo sono molto accesi. L’autore dedica poi gran parte alla fondazione dell’Accademia delle Assicurate: risulta fondamentale visto che ricostruisce la storia e l’identità della prima accade- mia femminile della storia italiana e che quindi aggiorna il paragrafo di Michele Maylender a tal riguardo nella sua enciclopedia. Le bellissime illustrazioni dei manoscritti consultati dimostrano l’accuratezza con la quale le protagoniste del- l’accademia desideravano affermarsi mediante statuti, incisioni di imprese, ecc., quindi mantenere un certo status rispetto alle strutture maschili omologhe. Illustra per finire l’eredità dei giochi senesi e dell’impegno femminile nel Settecento dimo- strandone la legittimità in quanto genere socio-culturale duraturo dal Cinquecento, anzi dal Trecento se riteniamo la preminenza boccacciana. L’autore allargando l’arco temporale dal Cinquecento ai primi del Settecento dà rilevanza alle origini, allo sviluppo e al lascito dei parlour games nella vita delle donne sene- si confrontate a vari contesti, maschili innanzittutto, cortigiani, teatrali, bellici, ecc. Non si tratta infatti di uno studio chiuso: l’autore pone le domande giuste rispetto ad un contesto storico che non riguarda solo Siena ma anche Firenze. Inoltre, il suo avvertimento sul femminismo nella prefazione, se è utile nella defi- nizione di un concetto e nel prendere distanza da esso, viene illustrato lungo il libro in cui un’intera società erudita promosse la cultura femminile. L’equilibrio del libro mediante capitoli cronologici, con illustrazioni perti- nenti tratte da documenti autentici di ottima qualità, dimostra sia la rilevanza del “fenomeno” studiato dall’autore, sia la chiarezza del suo ragionamento in un ingle- se d’altronde molto fluido. Non si tratta quindi di un ennesimo studio ridondan- te sulle donne nel Rinascimento: partendo dagli studi già pubblicati, l’autore sin dalla prefazione intende andare oltre e vince quella sfida. DELPHINE MoNToLIU Il Laboratorio-Université Toulouse II Kenneth R Bartlett. The Civilization of the Italian Renaissance: A Sourcebook. Second Edition. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2011. Pp. 312. ISBN 97814426 0485 8. $ 59.95 CAD. Kenneth Bartlett’s second edition titled The Civilization of the Italian Renaissance offers a comprehensive approach for anyone interested in the study of the Italian Renaissance. He touches on a myriad of subjects essential to the understanding of this time period. RECENSIONI — 174 — 12- recensioni _02Bartoli copy 2/10/14 10:38 AM Page 174 
work_j7nmsf55djdspckwocsp3zum5e	----	Wilhelm Waiblinger in Italy From 1949 to 2004, UNC Press and the UNC Department of Germanic & Slavic Languages and Literatures published the UNC Studies in the Germanic Languages and Literatures series. Monographs, anthologies, and critical editions in the series covered an array of topics including medieval and modern literature, theater, linguistics, philology, onomastics, and the history of ideas. Through the generous support of the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, books in the series have been reissued in new paperback and open access digital editions. For a complete list of books visit www.uncpress.org. ImUNCI COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES Germanic and Slavic Languages and Literatures http://www.uncpress.org Wilhelm Waiblinger in Italy lawrence s. thompson UNC Studies in the Germanic Languages and Literatures Number 9 Copyright © 1953 This work is licensed under a Creative Commons cc by-nc-nd license. To view a copy of the license, visit http://creativecommons. org/licenses. Suggested citation: Thompson, Lawrence S. Wilhelm Waiblinger in Ita- ly. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1953. doi: https:// doi.org/10.5149/9781469658544_Thompson Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Thompson, Lawrence S. Title: Wilhelm Waiblinger in Italy / by Lawrence S. Thompson. Other titles: University of North Carolina Studies in the Germanic Languages and Literatures ; no. 9. Description: Chapel Hill : University of North Carolina Press, [1953] Series: University of North Carolina Studies in the Germanic Languages and Literatures. | Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: lccn 53062851 | isbn 978-1-4696-5853-7 (pbk: alk. paper) | isbn 978-1-4696-5854-4 (ebook) Subjects: Waiblinger, Wilhelm Friedrich, 1804-1830. Classification: lcc pd25 .n6 no. 9 http://creativecommons.org/licenses https://doi.org/10.5149/9781469658544_Thompson https://doi.org/10.5149/9781469658544_Thompson http://creativecommons.org/licenses To KENT J. BROWN (1880-1944) and RICHARD JENTE (1888-1952) PREFACE This study of Wilhelm Waiblinger attempts to give him a definitive position as a German author and to examine the im- portance of Italy as a source of literary inspiration during the early nineteenth century. The most fruitful years of Waib- linger's short life were spent in Italy, and consequently this phase of his career is the most important one. Nevertheless, it is given little attention in the published critical works on Waiblinger. Over and above the significance of Waiblinger's personal experience in Italy, his work is characteristic of many ideas that were current in his day. Waiblinger left Germany in 1826 and remained in Italy until his death in 1830. During this time he had ample opportunity to travel throughout the peninsula and to become thoroughly ac- quainted with Italian arts, life, and cultural traditions. There was hardly any aspect of Italy that he did not know and love, for the scope of his interests was as broad as that of any previous German writer in Italy. Waiblinger saw so much in Italy that a detailed classification of his interests has been rather difficult. The chapters dealing with art, literature, and music cover his interest in the humanistic tradition in Italy; those dealing with Italian landscape and people, his interest in Italian life; and those dealing with antiquity, Renaissance, and the Roman Cath- olic Church, his interest in the great intellectual currents in Italy. The present study is not an attempt to make a stylistic analysis of Waiblinger's works. Hagenmeyer has already provided a sensitive and elaborate appreciation of Waiblinger's Italian poems. My purpose has been to analyse and classify Waibling- er's comments on various aspects of Italy in the light of literary tradition and of his own creative writing, introducing observa- tions on his style only as a secondary matter. The advice and constant guidance of the late Richard J ente and the late Kent J. Brown were invaluable to me at the time the investigation was conducted. I am also indebted to A. E. Zucker, who helped to formulate the original plan of the study. Lexington, Kentucky January, 1953 TABLE OF CONTENTS Page Preface .. ............................................ ix Chapter I. Biographical Introduction 1 II. W aiblinger and Italian Art .................... . .... ......................... 13 I III. Waiblinger and Italian Literature and Music ...................... 28 IV. Waiblinger and the Italian Landscape.................................. .. 41 V. Waiblinger and the Italian People ................................................ 54 VI. Waiblinger and Antiquity ........................ 71 VII. Waiblinger and the Renaissance . ............... 81 VIII. Waiblinger and Catholicism . .. ....................................... ..... . .... 87 IX. Conclusion Bibliography Indices I. Names of Persons ............................... . ................................... . I. Names of Places, Buildings, and Worh of Art 94 ·····•·········· 99 101 104 Wilhelm Waiblinger in Italy CHAPTER I BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION Wilhelm Waiblinger has been the subject of relatively few critical works, and most of the interest in him has come from patriotic Swabians and a few bibliophiles who have collected him. There is no good edition of his collected works, and no competent modern editor attempted to establish a definitive text until 1893 when the noted collector Eduard Grisebach edited the poems. Since Grisebach's edition Waiblinger has attracted the attention of only one other scholarly editor, Andre Fauconnet, who published Waiblinger's Liebe und Hass, an early drama, with an introduction as a Paris "these complementaire" in 1913. Waiblinger's other editors have not been as meticulous as Grise- bach and Fauconnet. In 1839 a certain "H. v. Canitz" published Waiblinger's works in nine volumes, an edition full of misprints and including among Waiblinger's poems three passages from the first part of Faust as well as a long excerpt from Lessing's Laokoon.1 Moreover, this edition is incomplete. Its errors, ex- cept for the passages from Goethe and Lessing, also appear in the editions of 1842 and 1859. In the case of one edition we find an interesting literary problem. In 1844 E·duard Morike attempted an "edition" of Waiblinger's poems, and he altered the poems to suit his own tastes,. by no means parallel with Waiblinger's. He excused himself with the comment, "Gleichwohl ist nichts gewisser, als dass der Verfasser sie bei einer spa.tern Sammlung ... vielfach verbessert haben wiirde."2 A good example of Morike's editorial efforts may be seen in the first poem, "Lied der Weihe.'· W aiblinger wrote : Drum hofft der Sanger, auch willkommen Mit seinem Herzensgruss zu sein: Denn ob ihm schon das Gliick genommen Was wild und zart, was gross und klein Das heisse Herz ihm einst erfreute, Der Heimat wie der Liebe Lust; Ach, W onnen, die er nie bereute, Die Sehnsucht jeder Menschenbrust ... 3 1. For information about "H. v. Canitz" see Frankel, p. 90-95. 2. Gedichte, p. v. 3. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 8. 2 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY Morike changed it to read : Drum hofft willkommen auch der Sanger Mit seinem Herzensgruss zu sein: Es mische nun sich auch nicht !anger Verlorner Tage Gram darein; Schiichtern verhiiUt er selbst der Freude Erinn'rung sich und Lieb' und Lust-- Ach W onnen, die er nie bereute, Die Sehnsucht jeder Menschenbrust.4 There is an edition of the Bilder aus N eapel und Sicilien ci.nd another of Die Britten in Rom, but both are out of print. In both, however, the texts are accurate. Less valuable are two editions by Paul Friedrich, one of Waiblinger's essay on Holder- Jin and another in the form of a Waiblinger vademecum. In the former Friedrich prints an accurate text; but there is a questionable introduction. The latter is a respectable piece of work, but the cover title, Waiblinger, der Sanger Jtaliens, is mis- leading, since a good deal of the book is devoted to Waiblinger's essay entitled "Aus der Kindheit". The "Nachwort" is valuable for a hitherto unpublished letter to Morike. Phaethon was re- printed in 1920, but the text is inaccurate. Critics and biographers have not done full justice to Waib-- linger. Seventeen years after Waiblinger's death Moritz Rapp published a 'Useful study in the Tubinger Jahrbuch der Gegen- wart for 1847. Karl Frey recognized the value of this essay in his biography and quoted practically everything of any signifi- cance that Rapp had to say. Rapp had known Waiblinger in Tiibingen, and-he was well acquainted with his friend's writings from the Italian period. His essay consists mainly of personal reminiscences and sensitive critical comment on Waiblinger's early work; but, unfortunately, it is devoted almost exclusively to Waiblinger's German period, and we find relatively little that is pertinent for this study. A half century after Rapp's article appeared Hermann Fischer published an article on Waiblinger in the Allgemeine deutsche Biographie; and while this essay is characterized by Fischer's proverbial erudition in matter.~ Swabian, it is factual rather than critical. In 1904 Karl Frey published the definitive biography of Waiblinger in which he exploited all known material on Waiblinger, including letters and the unpublished diary from the Stuttgart period. His work is tedious and has been aptly described by Fauconnet as "detaille 4. Gedichte, p. 4. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 3 mais touffu." 5 The next study of any importance is a Tiibingen dissertation by Friedrich Gluck, Byronismus bei Waiblinger, presented in 1920. It is a comparison of the sources, subject matter, and style of Childe Harold and the Vier Erzahlungen aus der Geschichte des jetzigen Griechenlands. Two years later Ilse Ruland presented her dissertation, Wilhelm Waiblinger in seinen Prosawerken, at Tiibingen. This work gives important background material on Waiblinger's prose works, but there are no structural or stylistic analyses. In 1930 Gerhard Hagen- meyer published his Wilhelm Waiblinger's Gedichte aus Italien, the most important study that has appeared to date. It is an exhaustive critique of all aspects of Waiblinger's Italian poetry. In the first part Hagenmeyer examines the literary and social background of the period with special reference to Italy; but the major portion of the work is a detailed mechanical analysis of the poems from the standpoints of form, language, rhythm, and structure. He is concerned neither with the picture of Italian life and culture found in these poems nor with the prose writings dealing with Italy. In addition to the critical material in these editions and studies there have been a number of articles on Waiblinger in minor Swabian journals and newspapers; for the reading of the works of the colorful enf ant terrible of Swabian letters has pro- vided many a vicarious thrill for Stuttgarters and Tiibingers. This sort of biography and criticism has perpetuated many doubtful legends about Waiblinger, for example, the tale that he died of syphilis, which may be traced back through Gliick, Goedeke, and Rapp to a letter by Platen. 6 Of the some half- dozen newspaper articles on W aiblinger that have been in- spected, all speak of his "ziigelloses Leben in Italien" and of his death resulting from the "italienische Krankheit". The popular mind entertains a conception of W aiblinger as a second-rate Byron with all the Englishman's vices and none of his virtues.1 With the exception of the work of Grisebach, Hagenmeyer, Frey, and possibly Ruland, the critical studies on Waiblinger are of slight value. The editions are scattered and often in- 5. Liebe und Hass (1913). The reprint of the text published in 1914 as no. 148 in the series "Deutsche Literaturdenkmale des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts" does not contain the formidable introduction that appears in the French edition. 6. Gedichte aus ltalien, II, 203. 7. E. g., Ubell. 4 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY accurate. No one has given any considerable attention to the most important phase of W:aiblinger's life, the experience in Ita- ly, and to the significance of Italy for him as a German poet. Hagenmeyer has suggested this problem, but neither he nor anyone else has studied Waiblinger's ideas on Italian culture, ancient and modern, on the people, and on the country itself. Most of Waiblinger's published writings on Italy appeared in periodicals and Taschenbilcher, thus giving him an audience that makes his role as the interpreter of Italy for early nine- teenth century Germany all the more important. While we can find only a few isolated examples of direct influence on later writers, it is reasonable to assume that his semi-journalistic work must have made some impression on the popular thinking of his contemporaries. A knowledge of Waiblinger's early life in Germany is per- tinent for the proper understanding of his Italian experience. His childhood and youth 1up to his sixteenth year are of no im- portance here, since that period of his life contains no more in- dications of his future career than the childhood of any other precocious youngster. Heilbronn, Reutlingen, and Urach meant relatively little to him in comparison with Stuttgart, where he began attending the Obergymnasium in 1820 at the age of six- teen. There he pursued his studies with reasonable diligence; but a more important factor in the life of the young man was his association with the intellectual elite of the city, such men as Gustav Schwab, the Boisserees, Dannecker, and other writers and artists. Schwab must have meant a great deal to Waiblinger to judge from entries in his diary, for the young man speaks con- tinually of the fatherly advice in matters relating to both life and art that he received from the older poet.8 At the same time, however, the spirited young man did not hesitate to speak of Schwab as "brav" or even "bieder". In any event, however, W aiblinger was intrigued by the provincial literary society to which Schwab introduced him in Stuttgart. At this time he planned several dramas, Theoderich, Die Maler, Franz von Sickingen, and Liebe und Hass, but we have only the last. Liebe und Hass is immature and cannot compare in literary merit with the work of a more talented seventeen-year-old such as Hugo von Hofmannsthal. However, it is important for our 8. Werke, IV, 340 et seq. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 5 purpose in that it is set in Italy and represents the young author's early conception of his future home. At this time Waiblinger was infected with an even wilder idea of Italian life than that reflected in Fiesco or Vulpius' Rinaldo Rinaldini. The Italy of Liebe und Hass is more similar to the land depicted by Monk Lewis in his most extravagant moments. Beautiful countesses, dashing marchesi, intrigue, lust, and murder a.re the background of a poor treatment of the Romeo and Juliet theme. In 1822 Waiblinger entered the Protestant seminary at Tu.bingen, a classmate of Eduard Morike, whom he had known in Stuttgart, and Ludwig Bauer. More important, however, was his association with the mad Holderlin, whose works in- spired him to look again to southern lands for settings. In Tu.bingen Waiblinger produced two books with a Greek back- ground, the novel Phaethon and the very short cycle of poems, the Lieder der Griechen. The Greece of Phaethon is no more realistic than the Italy of Liebe und Hass; but, under the in- fluence of Hyperion, it is not quite so exaggerated. In it we find the same pantheistic longing for ancient Greece that charac- terizes Holderlin's novel, and the contrast with Germany is brought out sharply. On the other hand, the Lieder der Griechen were inspired chiefly by the Greek wars for independence. In 1823 two important events occurred in Waiblinger's life. In the spring he received a letter from his Stuttgart friend, Theodor Wagner, who was in Rome, and Waiblinger wrote in his diary that he read the letter "mit einem unsaglichen Gefilhl".!J He was so enchanted with Wagner's account of Italy that he started south in the early fall. He travelled over St. Gotthard down to Bellinzona, then to Locarno and over Lago Como to his destination, Milan. All of his hopes were fulfilled here. He was thrilled by the great cathedral, the life of the metropolis, and the art collection of the Brera. It is thoroughly consistent with this experience t};iat he referred to "meine sildliche Natur" when he returned to Tilbingen. 10 Toward the end of this year and on through the summer of 1824 Waiblinger went through a moving personal experience, the ultimate outcome of which may have been a primary factor in driving him from Germany to Italy. He met in Tu.bingen a 9. Frey, p. 106. 10. Ibi.d., p. 114. Note 11 6 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY beautiful Jewess, Julie Michaelis, whose father was a local attor- ney, and whose brother was a professor in the legal faculty at Tiibingen. Despite her frail physical condition, she became his mistress. Waiblinger describes in his diary long hours with her; and it is difficult to agree with Otto Giintter, editor of the Hausbuch schwiibischer Erziihler, that Waiblinger's relation- ship with Julie did not go beyond the platonic stage.11 In August 1824, they were discovered by her father, and the old man made Waiblinger swear never to see his daughter again. To forget his troubles Waiblinger set out once more for Italy, this time not with a heart full of hope and expectation, but deeply embittered. Again he went over St. Gotthard to Verona, Venice, and back home through Tirol. While this trip did not make the same powerful impression on him as the first journey, it seems to have crystallized his love for Italy and her culture. Upon his return to Tiibingen in November he discovered that his affair had become common gossip. Professor Michaelis' home burned twice, and his secretary and factotum, a deformed servant named Domeier, was arrested for arson. In an attempt to save himself, Domeier said that he was God's instrument to punish the wicked Jews, alleging that Professor Michaelis lived in incest with Julie, who had already borne him one child and was about to give birth to another, and that Waiblinger had simply been a scape-goat. Domeier's story was clearly a false- hood, but the case dragged through the courts until the end of May, 1825. By that time Waiblinger had become a sort of a pariah. Morike wrote him a letter chiding him for the affair and declaring that the circumstances made it necessary for him to put an end to their friendship, but the letter was never mailed.12 Waiblinger was wild with anger about the whole affair, but he continued to write. He completed Vier Erziihlungen aus der Geschichte des jetzigen Griechenlands and a novel, Lord Lilly, of which, however, nothing is known except that he mentions its composition in his diary and later its total destruction. Neither the Vier Erziihlungen nor any of Waiblinger's other works had met with any success, but the ambition to win literary fame spurred him on. Completion of his work at the seminary 11. P. 501. 12. Morike, p. 24-26. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 7 was impossible not only because of the affair with Julie but also because of his state of mind. He turned to his literary friends in Stuttgart to help him find a patron or some respect- 'able sinecure such as that of attache under Wiirttemberg's minister in London. All such attempts failed, and even less ambitious hopes for a position as a tutor vanished. Finally, in the spring of 1826, through Johann Christoph Haug, editor of the Schwiibisches Magazin, Waiblinger secured a verbal agreement from Baron Cotta to finance a trip to Italy in re- turn for contributions to Cotta's various serials. Cotta agreed to pay Waiblinger 2,000 florins at once, but when the latter requested a written contract, Cotta pretended to be insulted and finally gave him only one-tenth of the original amount. Waiblinger felt that even this pittance was enough to start him on his way, and in October 1826 he left his native land forever. From October 1825 until his departure for Italy he paid little attention to his studies. Indeed, he took every opportunity to get away from Tiibingen and visit Stuttgart. Even before his trip to Italy he had written in his diary: "Mein Reich ist nicht von diesem Stift. Darum such' ich auch nicht meinen Lohn in ihm. Die Welt ist mein Reich." 13 In his sp.are time, when he was not looking for a position, he composed several works, a tragedy, Anna Boleyn, which was never performed, and two satires, Drei Tage in der Unterwelt and Olura der Vampyr. The latter has never been published in full, but the former came out anonymously and enjoyed a considerable degree of success. In it Waiblinger attacks certain pseudo-romantic authors such as Clauren (Karl Gottlieb Samuel Heun), Fouque, Van der Velde, Karolina Pichler, and Johanna Schopenhauer, who, he argued, lost any claim to art as a result of their "poetische Onanie". As the title indicates, Drei Tage in der Unterwelt is fashioned after Dante's Divine Comedy. Adolf Mullner has the role of Cerberus at the gate of Hades, and Franz Horn is Waiblinger's Virgil. The work shows Waiblinger's intense interest in con- temporary literature and a rather good critical sense. Most important is the influence of Dante, which shows that Italy was foremost in Waiblinger's mind during these troubled days. From the standpoint of intellectual stimulation, Waiblinger's two trips to Italy had been highly satisfactory, and his diary 13. Apud Frey, p. 132. 8 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY contains frequent entries indicating his desire to return as soon as possible.14 Perhaps the source of his yearning lay even deeper, for Rapp tells us that Waiblinger often referred to himself as "eine nach Norden verirrte sildliche Natur." This notion came out in the open when Waiblinger was inspired by reading Holderlin to describe an idealized Greece in the Lieder der Griechen, Vier Erzahlungen, and PluLethon. There was also the influence of the age in which Waiblinger lived. The most important names of the day were Schopen- hauer, Grabbe, Heine, Platen, Rilckert, and Lenau. It is diffi- cult, indeed, practically impossible, to find a formula that describes all of them, but the famous quotation on epigoni from Karl Immermann seems to be the best available common de- nominator: Wir sin<l, um in einem Wort das gauze Elend auszusprechen, Epigonen und tragen an der Last, die jeder Erb- und Nach- geborenschaft anzukleben pflegt. Die grosse Bewegung im Reiche des Geistes, welche unsere Viiter von ihren Hutten und Hiittchen aus unternahmen, hat uns eine Menge von Schiitzen zugefiihrt, welche nun auf allen Markttischen ausliegen.16 Neither Waiblinger nor any other contemporary fits this description exactly, but his works do show the influences of his literary ancestors from both classical and romantic genera- tions. Certainly he has all the earmarks of the zerrissener U ebergangsmensch. On the other hand, he gradually attained a certain literary perfection in Italy; and, while Immermann's theory may be considered satisfactory for much of his early work, we begin to find in his last years a new synthesis of the classic and the romantic such as Strich describes in the last chapter of his Klassik und Romantik. Another factor in Waiblinger's migration to Italy was the interest shown in that country by earlier German literary men during the preceding half century. In the latter part of the eighteenth century such authors as Goethe, Heine, Karl Philipp Moritz, and Maler Muller had visited Italy and written widely read accounts of the country; and in the early nineteenth cen- tury the Schlegels, Madame de Stael, and Chateaubriand trav- elled in Italy and wrote about the country. Waiblinger knew and read the famous author of De l' Allemagne, and he was un- doubtedly impressed by Corinne. 16 He was acquainted not 14. Ibid., p. 117. 15. Cited apud Hagenmeyer, p. 21. 16. Werke, IV, 218. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 9 only with the numerous translations from the Italian that were produced by the romanticist<!, but he also had a good knowledge of the literature in the original. It might be said that the ultimate cause for Waiblinger's trip to Italy was the somewhat fortuitous agreement with Baron Cotta, made at a time when he was willing to accept almost any position; but in the last analysis he could hardly have been expect- ed to have accepted the offer so enthusiastically, especially when it was reduced to a tithe, unless he was spiritually prepared to go to Italy. After his first two trips to Italy the country almost became an obsession with him, and he felt toward it much as Holderlin did toward his imaginary Greece or as Lenau towarrl the backwoods of North America before his disappointing visit. Hardly any document is as convincing for Waiblinger's en- thusiasm for Italy as the account of his journey. Hastening through Switzerland with a light heart by way of Zurich, Bern, and Geneva, he passed over Mont Cenis and descended at once into Piedmont. At Susa, the first Italian city on his route, he enjoyed the figs and grapes ripening in the Italian sun; and then, passing through Genoa, whose magnificent color contrasts delighted him, he went on into Tuscany. In Pisa he began to understand why Lord Byron could have tarried here so long, for he cried out, "Das ist eine siidliche Jugend und Zartheit in diesem Toskana !"17 Leaving Pisa for "la bella Firenze" he found there the most pleasing city he had seen. In spite of physical discomforts and financial difficulties which had already begun to afflict him, he found that the great galleries of Pitti and Uffizi fully repaid any pains he had taken to come to Italy; and he said that in the Palace of the Uffizi, he, poor boy from Swabia, felt like Thucydides when he first listened to the histories of Herodotus. In Siena he made a pilgrimage to the shrine of some of Raphael's works, and in Montefiascone he sampled the famous "Est, Est" and was as enchanted with it as the legendary German prelate. After passing through Hora- tian country, Soracte and the Sabine hills, he arrived in Rome ; and one would like to add that he might well have passed through the Porta del Popolo with its hospitable inscription, "SAL US INTRANTIBUS !" In Rome he entered at once into the life of the city, not only 17. Apud Frey, p. 163. 10 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY visiting the show places but also mixing with the people and participating in the carnivals and other celebrations. Cotta, however, failed to send funds, and the poet usually found him- self financially embarrassed ; but he bore his misfortunes with a good humor, as we see in Das Abentheuer von der Sohle, in which he pokes fun at his miserable existence. The Eternal City offered too many attractions for him to allow such a trivial consideration as money to stand in the way. He was determined to make a thorough and profound acquaintance with the city that would transcend the superficial knowledge gained by the young Englishman on his "Grand Tour"; and in his well known satire, Die Britten in Rom, he tells how not to enjoy the glories of Rome. During 1827 Waiblinger eked out a miserable existence by his contributions to newspapers in Germany. This material, which is gathered in the last two volumes of the collected works along with similar work from the years 1828 and 1829, deals with his excursions into the Sabine hills. These little trips meant much to W aiblinger, for here among the simple country folk he was able to gain real insight into the national character and forget his troubles. Early in 1828 his fortunes took a turn for the better when the Berlin publisher Georg Reimer re- quested him to edit an Italian Taschenbuch for the year 1829. Waiblinger was to be rewarded handsomely, and he turned to his task with a full pocket-book and renewed enthusiasm. He completed it in March, 1828. It contained Die Britten in Rom, Lieder des romischen Carnevals, and two inferior stories, Das Blumenf est and Die heilige Woche. The work was published in a large edition toward the end of 1828. On his feet financially, Waiblinger acquired a mistress in the summer of 1828, a woman whom he called Cornacchia and who seemed to be quite satisfied to live with him without the benefit of the sacrament. He loved the woman dearly, but she could not hold him at home, for in September of the same year he took a strenuous trip to the vicinity of Naples and back. He enjoyed the winter of 1828-29 in Rome with Cornacchia, who provided him with a happy domestic life while he pursued his work. In the spring of 1829 Reimer published a collection of poems, Bliiten der Muse aus Rom, and his tragedy written some four years earlier, Anna Boleyn, and gave him a commission to edit WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 11 another Taschenbuch. The full title of this almanac was Taschenbuch aus Jtalien und Griechenland auf das Jahr 1830, but it contained nothing about Greece. It was solely the work of the editor except for a romance by August Kopisch, Konig Jakob vor Belvedere. Waiblinger's contributions were Frances- co Spina and Das Miirchen von der blauen Grotte, both long narrative works, and Bilder aus Neapel, a series of impressions of that city from his journey during the previous fall. Among his other work of this year is an autobiographical sketch drawn from his diary, Erinnerungen aus der Kindheit, which his friend Winkler published in his Dresdner Abendzeitung. Another work drawn from the diary of his Tilbingen years is Friedrich Holderlins Leben, Dichtung und Wahnsinn, an evaluation of the great poet both in sanity and in insanity. This latter was pub- lished by Brockhaus in his Zeitgenoss'en. Throughout his stay in Italy Waiblinger sent travel sketches regularly to Cotta's Stuttgart newspapers. With his literary work for the year complete, Waiblinger left Rome immediately after the installation of Pius VIII in May for an extended southern tour which took him down through Naples and Sicily. Upon his return to Rome in October 1829 he took sick as a result of hardships endured on the trip and died after a lingering illness on 15 January 1830. One of his last acts was to entrust the diary covering the last five years to his friend, Wilhelm Schluttig, a young Saxon philologist; but Schluttig died soon thereafter, and the valuable document was lost. Both Waiblinger and Schluttig are buried in the Cimitero de' Protestanti near the Pyramid of Cestius. Waiblinger's Italian experience was rich and fruitful. Italy was the fulfillment of his dreams, for here he found the broadest field for his literary activity. He was prolific, but at the same time his work shows constant improvement and promise of future achievement. Italy was in no way a strictly personal matter with him, for he had his task to perform. He had gone to Italy under specific instructions from Cotta to write accounts of his travels for German newspapers, and while he soon broke with Cotta, he did not forget this mission. He wrote for many different papers, contributing travel sketches, tales from Italian life, and poetry inspired by Italian scenes, manners, and customs. From the style of his travel essays it is evident that 12 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY he wrote for a wide public, and his work is distinguished by clarity and objectivity. In identifying the most important aspects of Italy for Waiblinger one finds that he has covered nearly all the subject matter contained in the works of other writers who deal with Italy. He chose that which seemed to have the broadest appeal, and under the next seven chapters his broad interests will be examined in detail. CHAPTER II W AIBLINGER AND ITALIAN ART In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Italian art failed to receive the same attention from travellers that it enjoys today. Spon, a minor travel writer in the late seventeenth century, said, "C'est seulement !'amour de l'antiquite qui m'a fait entreprendre le voyage d'Italie et de Grece," 1 and he defined antiquity as the literature and history of Greece and Rome. In the eighteenth century up to the time of Rousseau the aristocratic tastes of the age of Louis XIV prevailed, and admiration of the Italian masters was restricted to such painters as the Raphael of the later manner and the Bolognesi, especially Guido Reni. The remains of antiquity which travellers found attracted them principally because of possible associations with Latin author::'!. During the middle of the eighteenth century there was a European-wide revolution in art criticism. Winckelmann broke with prevailing tastes in painting and sculpture when he sought to return to the basic principles of great art which he found in the masterpieces of the ancient Greeks; and from the date of the publication of his famous Gedanken ilber die Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in der Malerei und Bildhauerkunst (1754), pseudo-classicism and rococo were on the wane. Exactly ten years later came his monumental Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums, and his work not only caught the attention of such leading writers in Germany as Lessing, Herder, and Goethe, but also became known in France and England. From this time on the art of antiquity was examined with a pro- fundity of insight that Renaissance travellers had never dis- played, and appreciation of the art of more recent times also reflected changing tastes. The generation following Winckelmann began to inspect once more the neglected works of modern Italian artists. Such trav- ellers as Adler,2 Karl Philipp Moritz, and Wilhelm Heinse began to look for something new and distinctive-"romantic" was the word used by the next generation-in Italian art of the early and high Renaissance. In a similar spirit Elector August III 1. Apud Von Klenze, p. 8. 2. Ibid., p. 46-53. 14 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY of Saxony fostered the collection of Italian Renaissance art for the Staatsgalerie in Dresden. When Goethe went to Italy he sought that which was representative in the realm of classic beauty, but his universal interests did not allow him to over- look other possibilities. One passage from the Italienische Tagebiicher on the legend of the Holy Virgin reads like the work of Wackenroder or Ruskin: Es ist ein Gegenstand, vor dem einem die Sinne so schon still stehn, der eine gewisse innerliche Grazie der Dichtung hat, iiber den man sich so freut und bey dem man so ganz und gar nichts dencken kann; dass er so recht zu einem religiosen Gegen- stande die Geissel der Mahler gewesen und Schuld dass die Kunst gesuncken ist, nach dem sie sich kaum erhoben hatte. 3 With Romanticism there was a rehabilitation of the neglected aspects of Italian art. Wackenroder insisted on the charm and beauty of the simple and unlearned artists like Fra Angelico, and Mme. de Stael had Corinne to plead in favor of the religious masters like Perugino. Many of these critics at the turn of the century even argued that the primitives were superior to the Bolognesi and the Raphael of the second manner ( e. g., Friedrich Schlegel) . In the next generation Waiblinger was the foremost in- terpreter of Italian art. Men like Platen and Heine who had travelled extensively in Italy had hardly touched on the subject. Waiblinger was too late to be included among the first roman- ticists, yet he was early enough to feel the full impact of both classicism and romanticism. 4 Accordingly, we should expect some kind of a synthesis between the classic and the romantic viewpoints which had saturated the aesthetics of the immediate- ly preceding periods. We may expect no startling new con- cepts from Waiblinger, but rather a broad and liberal recapitula- tion of previous ideas. That Italy is a land peculiarly conducive to the development of talent in plastic art and music has been a prevalent idea since Mme. de Stael and Eichendorff presented to the world the 3. Ibid., p. 68-69. 4. Strich defines an absolute polarity between the two sty;Jes. It is a natural corollary that the following generation, characterized by fmmer- mann as epigoni, should establish some kind of middle-of-the-road pro- gram in the realm of style and thought. Intimately connected with this problem is the well-known Generationsprinzip of Wilhelm Dilthey (cf. Schumann). W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 15 possibilities of romanticism in the southern European countries. 5 Even if Waiblinger was primarily interested in Italian life and the Italian landscape, as Hermann Fischer maintained,6 he could not avoid a consideration of Italian art, not merely because of the force of tradition, but also because of the intimate relation of art with those two aspects of Italy which, according to Fischer, interested Waiblinger above all else. It will be noted later that Waiblinger ordinarily revealed good taste in his discussions of the arts ; and this we may set to the credit of two groups of Waiblinger's associates, each deriving ultimately from the same school. Toward the beginning of the last century plastic art in Europe was dominated by Antonio Canova, an Italian who sought (rather unsuccessfully) to revive classic Greek sculpture along the lines of the current literary idealism. His principal disciples were three northern artists, the Englishman Flaxman, the Dane Thorwaldsen, and the German Dannecker, and Waiblinger was closely associated with the latter two. While it is true that the product of these artists verges on false elegance and insipidity, Waiblinger learned much from them about the history and theory of art. Waib- linger knew Dannecker in Stuttgart, where the two were thrown together in the salons of a little group of poets, artists, and critics, among whom were Matthisson, Haug, the Boisserees, Schwab, and Ludwig Bauer. 7 He visited Dannecker's studio regularly during his first semester at the Stuttgart gymnasium," and he gained considerable insight into the practice of the sculptor's craft there. Moreover, he was a good friend of the Boisserees. Sulpiz even wrote to Goethe recommending Phaethon. 9 Armed with this early training, Waiblinger's knowledge of art was further strengthened in Rome by his frequent contacts with Albert von Thorwaldsen and his school. Although he learned much about art from this group at gather- 5. J. P. F. Baldensperger pointed out in his lectures on European ;omanticism at Harvard in 1935-36 that late eighteenth century exoticism 1s _n~t to be confused with the romanticism of the next generation. When Wilham Beckford wrote about Portuguese monasteries and Mrs. Rad- cliffe about Italian castles, they were merely fooking for a colorful back- ground; but Taugenichts and Corinne are efforts to reveal the living spirit of Italy. 6. P. 64. 7. For a discussion of Waiblinger's relations with these men especially Schwab and Dannecker, see Uebe und Hass (1913), p. xxxi-lx.' · 8. Frey, p. 48. 9. Schultz, p. 10-21. 16 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY ings in the Cafe Greco on the Via de' Condotti,10 his panegyrics on his friends are hyperbolic and lacking in taste. For example, Waiblinger's "Ode an Albert von Thorwaldsen"11 contains little more than a series of brilliant metaphors on the work of his friend. Nevertheless, we will see that Waiblinger maintained an objective attitude toward the art of other periods, and his enthusiasm for his contemporaries is a fa ult in the same sense as Goethe's bad taste with respect to the music of his day. It is to Waiblinger's credit that he maintained a consistent modesty in advancing his own opinions. The truth is that Waiblinger's artist friends were better versed in theory than in practice; and if Waiblinger profited from their knowledge, it is excusable that he failed to appreciate their work correctly. With this background Waiblinger set out to review the art of Italy in his poetry, Taschenbucher, and Reiseskizzen. Since he discussed in one place or another nearly all the major monu- ments of Italian art from Roman times down to Canova, and since he showed no great prejudice for or against a particulat' school or period,12 it is best to study Waiblinger's criticism of Italian art chronologically. Waiblinger went to Italy still enthused to some extent by the neo-hellenism acquired from Holderlin and Byron; and while he gradually lost his interest in the cause of Greek freedom, he never became indifferent to Greek antiquity. Once in Rome he continually visited museums containing the masterpieces of Greek sculpture, and he recorded his reactions i~ a series of epigrams. One of the most interesting is on the colossi falsely attributed to Phidias and Praxiteles and which had been set up against a Roman background on Monte Cavallo (Piazza del Quirinale) : Quirinalischer Stolz, Colossen des Monte Cavallo, Wie ihr mir tiiglich ersteigt, seid mir im Liede gegriisst ! Ewiger Jugend Bilder, der Kraft erhabne Gestalten, Blieb euch die Jugend, und blieb's mitten im alternden Rom. Ja, ich glaub's, eure Viiter sind nicht die griechischen Bildner, Sterbliche nicht, doch der Gott hat euch, der Donnerer, gezeugt,13 10. Frey, p. 168 et seq. 11. Gedickte aus Italien, II, 92. 12. Cf. Werke, II, 242-246, for an example of Waiblinger's objectivity. Here he satirizes an Englishman who has read about Raphael's "Trans- figurazione" but fails to understand how the simple piety of a madonna by Fra Giovanni da Fiesole may represent beauty in another style. 13. Gedichte aus Italien, If, 49-50. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 17 Here W aiblinger touches upon several of the most characteristic points of Greek sculpture, the youth and strength of the figures and the sublimity of their conception. Likewise he character- ized aptly the Venus de Milo, a work discovered barely a half dozen years previously: So zum vollendetern Bild <lurch ein machtiges Wunder verwandelt, Lenkest den irdischen Sinn du auf das Himmlische hin.14 In the Apollo de Belvedere he read into the expression of the figure a contrast between classic Greek ideals and the inferiority of modern times : Gottlicher Sieger, du ziirnst, dein Angesicht flammet von Unmuth? Ist's, weil die bessere Welt, weil der Olymp dir entflohn? Ach dir nahen die Musen nicht mehr, du ziirnst zu gewaltig, Ach das verdorbene Geschlecht schirmet Apollo nicht mehr.16 In a longer poem of considerable beauty he recalled the Niobe legend while standing before the ancient statue. A passage from it indicates how Waiblinger was inspired by a piece of this sort: 0 so Jang' eine Mutter noch heilig ist, und nur Eine Mutterbrust noch furs Kind ihrer Umarmungen gliiht; Eine Seele noch leidet, und Eine den Schmerz noch der Liebe Den unsaglichen fiihlt, Eine fiir andre noch seufzt, Eine mit menschlicher Kraft noch gefiillt ist, Eine mit Treue, Eine das klopfende Herz liebend dem Tode noch weiht, Bleibst du das heiligste riihrende Biild; denn es schuf dich die Liebe, Sanft wie ein Muttergemiith, stark wie Olympische sind. Reiche dem Tod nur den Busen, empfange den Pfeil nur und driicke Sterbend dein furchtsames Kind schirmend und zartlich an dich. Dein erbarmen die Gotter sich schon, ja die himmlische Schonheit Zaubert ihr siissestes Licht schon auf die Stirne dir hin. Kaum noch gewahr' ich den menschlichen Schmerz, dein erhabenes Antlitz Ist mir verklart, und du sinkst eben dem Himmel in Arm.16 In addition to Greek statuary in Italian museums, Waiblinger displayeJ much interest in the Greek traditions in Sicily. On this island where Carthaginian, Greek, Roman, Moslem, and Norman ruled successively, the German poet found the country- side studded with the gems of Grecian art. Here he was able to transpose himself perfectly into the spirit of an art conceived in a style completely different from the austerity of the Roman 14. Ibid., p. 48. 15. Ibid., p. 50. 16. Ibid., p. 49. It is impossible to tell from the context whether W aiblinger refers to the famous group by Scopas, now in Florence or to another of the several surviving representations. ' 18 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY forum. In his ode on "Die Tempel von Agrigent" there is a profound understanding for the beauty of the Greek temple: Glanzreichste Tochter, dor'sche, des Ruhmes voll Und Goldes, stolz am Ufer des Akragas, Am Heerd, dem nahrenden der W affen Blut'gen Triumph mit der Lust vertauschend, Die aus olymp'schem Gottergelage nur Dem Sterblichen hehlen'scher Geburt des Zeus Huldgottinnen ins schone Leben Hauchten, Persephones heil'ger Wohnsitz, Noch sinn' ich, ob Ortygias Fall, ob nicht Dein Sturz ein schicksalsschwereres Loos dem Gott In zweifelhafter Hand geschwanket, Konigin, holde, der blum'gen Hugel.17 Not merely did the actual structure express a supreme beauty for Waiblinger, but also the Sicilian background offered an incomparable setting: Dem Berg entsprosst grossblattrig lndiens Frucht Voll Purpurfeigen, auch die Cypresse ragt, Es reift die Goldorang' und lieblich Birgt sich im ewigen Grun die Muhle. 1s When Waiblinger looked on these noble ruins so strongly remi- niscent of the luxury of life and art among the ancients, he was affected with a sadness and pessimism rather unusual for his Italian period : Giganten trugen, machtigen Arms, die Last Des Riesenhauses, dass es der Ewigkeit Den Dienst des Donnerers bewahre; Selbst die Giganten zertrummert sind sie.19 But Agrigentum had made an indelible impression on him with its magnificence, and when he left he wrote, "Girgenti ... ist mir mit goldener Schrift ins Herz geschrieben." 20 When we turn to Waiblinger's comments on the remains of ancient Rome, a definite contrast to his attitude towards Greek antiquity becomes apparent. Greek art inspired in him the spirit of individual strength and serenity that are its chief characteristics. In Rome, however, Waiblinger was overwhelm- ed by a spirit of intense reverence. In the presence of the Pantheon he was awestruck by the grandeur that had survived nearly two thousand years: 0 wie mit namenlosem Schauer Hangt Herz und Auge da an dir, Und wie voll schwermuthsvoller Trauer, 17. Ibid., p. 143. 18. Ibid., p. 141. 19. Ibid., p. 145. 20. W erke, IX, 208. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY Voll hei<l'gem Ernst erscheinst du mir, Du Stolz der Vorwelt und der Ahnen, Du Riesenkind voll Majestat, Von Volkerstiirmen und Orkanen Fast zwei J ahrtausende umweht ... 21 19 The men who left these majestic remains are no less imposing from the historical perspective. The poet felt that the empire- building Romans were as great in their own way as the more intellectual Greeks. In "Das Grab der Scipionen" Waiblinger wrote: In diesem Sarge ruht der Eroberer Lukania's: die Seele begrub der Leib In dem Gestein, und seine Inschrift Trugen die Gotter ins ew'ge Buch ein. Denn Mannerkraft stirbt nie: und wenn Helden auch Geboren sind vom Weibe, sie sterben nicht ... 22 Moreover, Waiblinger emphasized, the ancient Romans left a tradition of noble character as well as of great deeds ("Nicht Lorbeer, aber Tugend erstrebte sie."23 ). Thus Waiblinger saw in the visible remains of the ancient Italian peoples all of their most admirable qualities. Waiblinger, who came to feel that he was born an Italian in spirit, was always angered by ignorant foreigners who came to Italy to find a playground and were unaware of the beauty of antique ruins. Nothing illustrates this attitude better than the engraving that appears at the beginning of the second volume of the collected works. Waiblinger had ordered it to illustrate the Taschenbuch aus Italien und Griechenland fur 1829.24 A young woman and a young man, obviously Anglo- Saxon by their features, dress, and haughty bearing, dash through the Forum for a cursory glance at the ruins of ancient Rome before they return to the whist table. They are too busy gathering material for a superficial description of the Forum for friends at home to notice that they have run down two un- fortunate Italian hucksters. Waiblinger, on the other hand, . tried to appreciate the ancient ruins in any setting; and at the same time he viewed the modern surroundings, whether they 21. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 91. 22. Ibid., II, 17. 23. Ibid., p. 18. 24. A copy of this rare Taschenbuch is in the University of Chicago Library. It contains all the engravings used by "H. v. Canitz" in the collected works except the engraving in the first volume, a bust of Waib- linger from a bas-relief by Theodor Wagner. 20 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY were man, beast, or thing, with a sympathetic eye. In a letter to Morike dated 21 January 1826 Waiblinger exclaimed: Welch' einen Christentag hab' ich auf dem Palatin des Romuilus gelebt ! Von den Triimmern der Kaiserpalaste aus und dem gold- enen Haus des Nero starrt' ich den halben Tag iiber das Limonien- und Myrtengriin und seine unsaglich goudenen Friichte hinab aufs romische Forum .. ,25 The poet, in contrast with the English tourist, spent long days enjoying the remains of ancient Rome, and modern changes only enhanced their beauty for him. Unlike Frau Buchholz and the Englishmen in Rome, Waiblinger looked at everything in the old city with intelligence and understanding. Like the preceding generation of romanticists, Waiblinger attempted to strengthen the effect of the ruins by visiting them in the moonlight. In the same letter to Morike he says: Im alten Rom ist mir das Colosseum und das Pantheon das Hochste, ersteres als riesenhafte, und dieses als durch vollendete reine Architektur. Beyde aber !assen sich erst im Mondschein am herrlichsten geniessen. Ich mein' ich konne nicht leben, wenn ich vor Bettegehn nicht noch einmal <las Pantheon ansehe, ich bin sogar etwas aberglaubisch damit. Seine Schonheit iibersteigt aber auch alJe Vorstellung ... 26 Karl Philipp Moritz had been among the first to attempt to make the reminiscences of past glory more colorful by the addition of modern scenes. Take for example, his account of a nocturnal visit to the Forum : Nun warder Platz ganz leer; die Geschichte der Vorwelt stieg vor meiner Seele empor; aber der Schleier der Nacht verbreitete sich iiber die glanzende Erscheinung; und in der Ferne ertonte die Sterbeglocke der Vergangenheit aus dem dumpfen Kloster.27 In the first decade of the nineteenth century the cult of M ondro- mantik flourished with such men as N ovalis and Fouque, and Eichendorff was able to exploit it effectively in Italy. In this connection it is interesting to point out Waiblinger's concept of Ruinenromantik. In most poetry of this genre we find the poet conjuring up an image of mediaeval grandeur, often with a nostalgic longing, and usually ending with some reflection on the transitory nature of earthly things.28 Waib- linger did not write about Rhenish castles, but he did use this same technique in describing the ruins of Greek and Roman antiquity in verse and in prose. Such a poem is "Die Tempel 25. Friedrich, p. 399. 26. Ibid., p. 400. 27. Apud Von Klenze, p. 47-48. 28. E. g., Eichendorff's "Da steht eine Burg iiberm Tale" and Heine's "Steiget auf, ihr alten Traume !" W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 21 von Agrigent". The poet envisioned a pagan ceremony and procession : Und priesterlicher Teppiche Pracht be<leckt Und hold verschleiert wandelt in Schiichternheit Der Jungfraun aufgebliihte Jugend Rosen urns Antlitz und Rosen ahnlich ... 2 9 But all that has disappeared, even the mightiest have fallen: Seitdem mich solche Triimmer umstarrt, seitdem Zernichtet mich ein ganzer Olymp um,graust, Der Yater und die Kinder alle; Glaub' ich, dass bald von gedriickter Schulter Die Welt dem grossen Trager entsinkt, und ba,ld AU unsres Lebens Mutter Natur der Macht, Der dunkeln, unterliegt, die endlich Selbst sich zerstort im zerstorten Weltall.30 The eternally compelling beauty of Greek and Roman architec- ture, even in a state of decay, had the same effect on Waiblinger as mediaeval ruins had on his contemporaries in Germany. Waiblinger also inherited the respect of the previous genera- tion for mediaeval culture. One couplet from a series of epi- grams on Fra Giovanni da Fiesole might serve to illustrate Waiblinger's attitude toward mediaeval Italian art: Dir ist <lie Kunst ein Gebet, worin du die liebende Seele Immer nach Gottes Thron, immer zum Himmel erhebst.31 In his restless life Waiblinger missed that feeling of piety and devotion to God which is so characteristic of the simple beauty of Italian painting before Raphael. In a poem on Syracuse he stopped for a moment in the midst of his enthusiasm for Greek ruins to refresh himself with a quiet walk in "Des Klosters stiller Garten und Blumenweg", 32 and he expressed himself in language contrasting sharply with that of the preceding stanzas on the violent deeds of the Greek tyrants and Roman conquerors. Waiblinger has found some kind of a retreat here from the blinding majesty of ancient ruins and the brilliance of the Italian Renaissance. Other aspects of mediaeval culture were equally intriguing to Waiblinger. He was especially interested in Sicily, virtually a terra incognita until the end of the eighteenth century,33 and its mediaeval monuments were still little known even in the early 29. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 143. 30. Ibid., p. 145. 31. Ibid., p. 50. 32. Ibid., p. 140. 33. Von Klenze, Chap. IV ("Sicily"). 22 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY nineteenth century. In a poem on Palermo Waiblinger lists the great monuments of mediaeval architecture in Sicily: Aber warum von Palermo du schweigst? Normannischer Baukunst, Gothischer Kirchen ist dort, maur'scher Palaste so vieil. Denke des Domes nur in Monreale, des alten, Frommer Mosaik, des Styls der nur gerecht ist vor Gott. 34 Before Waiblinger's day Sicily had been explored by Winckel- mann in his quest for Greek art and for the same purpose by Goethe. The latter explored everything that Sicily had to offer the traveller, whether geology, history, architecture, or folklore. Goethe noted evidence of mediaeval civilization wherever he found it; but his classical orientation during his Italian period kept him from enjoying the full extent of the beauty of the cathedral of Monreale or the Islamic monuments. 35 Again the romanticists were so preoccupied with their search for southern color that they sometimes failed to do full justice to the imposing remains of Greek and Roman civilization. It remained for Waiblinger and his generation to consider both antiquity and the middle ages in all their ramifications through the long span of Sicilian history. As a good Swabian Waiblinger could not fail to include some notes on the Hohenstaufen emperors in Italy. The subject had fascinated Waiblinger, and in his early youth he had planned to compose a series of fifteen dramas, almost as extensive as Ernst Raupach's work. 36 This dream never materialized, but when Waiblinger arrived in Sicily we find him composing an ode in the form of a panegyric entitled "Kaiser Friedrichs des Zweiten Sarg." 37 Here, with a background as mediaeval as Walther's "Ich saz ftf eime steine," Waiblinger apotheosized the emperor for his heroic struggles against Innocent III, Gregory IX, and Innocent IV; and some of the stanzas in this poem are so im- passioned that they might have been written by one of Waib- linger's own Ghibelline ancestors. What interests us particular- ly in this poem is that Waiblinger was stirred to patriotism by visible evidence of the rule of a German emperor in Sicily. The poet presented a motley array of figures adapted to the Sicilian scene in which he pointed out how Gothic art is an essential 84. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 159. 35. Von Klenze, p. 114, note 1. 86. Frey, p. 130, 132, et passim. 87. Gedichte aus ltalien, II, 146-148. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 23 part of the Sicilian mosaic. For example, the ode opens with a line recalling the Greeks in Sicily, "So je im Tempel Ernstes und Heiliges ... ," but we soon hear of Friedrich, " ... des Domes Saulen stiirzend ... " Waiblinger's greatest enthusiasm was reserved for the masters of the Italian Renaissance, the period in which, he believed, the finest aspects of Italian genius were expressed. In a discussion in Francesco Spina Waiblinger set up Michelangelo as the representative Italian genius alongside Aeschylus and Shakespeare in their respective nations.38 In a series of epigrams on Michelangelo39 . the poet used figurative language that expressed for him the collective genius of the Renaissance: "Sttirmest, Titanen gleich, du in den Himmel empor," "die gigantische Wahrheit," "ein anatomischer New- ton," "dem eigenen Herzen Tyrann." Waiblinger found the tradition of the Renaissance every- where in Italy, and he wrote more about the art of this period than about that of any other. Among Waiblinger's most in- teresting poems are the short epigrams to which reference has just been made, "Kunst und Antike," verses on the most famous artists and works of ancient Greece and the Italian Renaissance. The enthusiasm of these lines expresses the· spirit of the age which Waiblinger wanted to describe, and yet Waiblinger was sufficiently discriminating to discover what is characteristic in the work of each artist. Frequently he was able to define the essence of an artist in a couple of lines. Of Titian he wrote : Ware nur sinnliche Wahrheit, und keine hohere, geist'ge, Kame Coreggio dir nicht, Raffael selbst dir nicht gileich.40 Andrea del Sarto, a long and patient sufferer in matrimonial duress, comes in for two appropriate lines : Weil du die Hcille nur fand'st im Weibe, so hat die Madonna Dir den Himmel dafiir in ihrem Antlitz gezeigt.41 Waiblinger found that the artists of the fifteenth and six- teenth centuries gave him precisely what he was looking for in Italy, a joie de vivre, but at the same time pride and respect for the worth of the individual. The former characteristic seemed to the poet to be something deeply rooted in Italian character : Was fur ein Unterschied ist zwischen Romer und Deutscher? Jener schafft nicht und lebt, dieser, er lebt nicht und schafft.42 38. Werke, II, 150. 39. Gedichte aus ltalien, II, p. 54-56. 40. Ibid., p. 56. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid., p. 89. 24 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY On the other hand, Waiblinger felt that there was something peculiar to the Renaissance that other periods of Italian history have not known. In the case of Filippo Bruneleschi, the re- former of architecture around the middle of the fifteenth century, Waiblinger stated that the artist lived in "herrliche Zeiten, da einst in geselligem Bunde die Kiinste ... " 43 Choice men lived in those days, men whose greatness could not be matched by the products of the next century when the age of genius had spent itself in Guido Reni and the other Bolognesi. In a couplet on Guido's famous "Aurora" Waiblinger wrote: Abendrothe der Kunst ist deine Aurora geworden, Warum brachte sie nicht neuen unsterblichen Tag? 44 Waiblinger admired Benvenuto Cellini as one of the finest products of the Italian Renaissance, a man who was a synthesis of the most characteristic features of the age. In a short poem we see how Cellini combined a strong sense of Diesseitigkeit with high aesthetic ideals : Gerne bekenn' ich, du hist der Ulyss der Kiinste, so vielfach Trug dich dein guter Humor, Kraft und Genie durch die Welt. Langst schon sperrte die Zeit, die schwarze Zauberin Circe Deine Genossen im Stall ew'ger Vergessenheit ein, Aber <lurch manche Charybdis erreichtest du endlich die Heimath, Deine Penelope schloss dich in die Arme--die Kunst.4 5 Waiblinger's point of view in his discussion of ancient art was determined chiefly by the extent to which a particular object reflects the spirit of its age. When we come to the middle ages there is a romantic longing for the simple life of that period and for the culture that it represents. Accordingly, when Waib- linger wrote a poetical or a prose description of some masterpiece from a particular period, we do not find a detailed stylistic analysis but rather Waiblinger's own reactions to what he con- ceived to be the spirit of the work. Thus we find him putting the following words into the mouth of the young artist Eduard in Die heilige Woche when he reflects on the art of the Renais- eiance: Es ist in der That ein schwieriges Unternehmen, in heutigen Tagen noch eine heilige Familie zu malen. Es gab eine Zeit, wo derlei heilige Stoffe frisch und lebendig aus dem Geist des Volks, des a1lgemeinen Glaubens, der gesammten Religion, aus den Wiin- schen des Einzelnen, so wie aus den Bediirfnissen des Ganzen hervorgingen. So entstanden die ersten Versuche von Cimabue und Giotto, so die frommen, gemiithlichen Bilder des wohlmeinenden 43. Ibid., p. 51. 44. Ibid., p. 56. 45. Ibid., p. 51. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY Fiesole. Es war eine Welt fiir den tiefen, reinen Sinn Perugino's, fiir die himmlische Schopferseele Raffaels, fiir den hohen Andrea del Sarto ... 46 25 Waiblinger's Renaissance was neither that of Heinse nor that of Goethe, although he had many of the main ideas of both. Heinse, who found in Italy something to stimulate and to satisfy his yearning for titantic emotions,47 was related to Waiblinger in his extreme enthusiasm and his attempt to incorporate the Italian spirit into his own thinking, but he lacked the philosophic insight of Goethe, whose interest was almost purely historical in many instances.48 Waiblinger resembles Goethe in trying to interpret the Renaissance without giving himself over completely to the age which inspired him. Today Goethe's intellectual atti- tude has proven its strength by dominating the thought of most travellers in Italy during the nineteenth and twentieth cen- turies49; but the fusion of this viewpoint with the enthusiasm of Heinse, as we observe it in Waiblinger, has also borne fruit. Among the distinguished travellers in Italy during the latter part of the nineteenth century are Ferdinand Gregorovius, Guy de Maupassant, and Paul Bourget. Each of these men set up cri- teria by which the Renaissance may be judged, and yet their final concept was always modified by the subjective. Goethe's method of intellectual apprehension was used by all, but in addition we find an active imagination in Gregorovius, a keen and subtle Stimmung in Maupassant, and an idea of "feeling" in Bourget. Waiblinger had a notion that the Renaissance was so rich in treasures of art that these masterpieces were well-nigh infinite in scope, thus precluding a strictly intellectual method of per- ception. His lines on Raphael have a ring of modernity: Es giebt Seelen, <loch wen'ge, die reiner, als andre vom Urquell Sich, vom unendlichen Grund alles Lebend'gen, gelost.50 If the Italian Renaissance was the most glorious period of that country's aesthetic history, then we may properly expect Waiblinger to be less interested in the relatively less important art of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. On the other hand, the same urgent need that drove him to seek the anima of Renaissance Italy led him to a more tolerant attitude toward the following period. Yet he showed sufficiently good taste to 46. Werke, V, 21. 47. Cf. von Klenze, p. 43. 48. Ibid., p. 81 et seq. 49. Ibid., Chap. VIII. 50. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 51. 26 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY distinguish that which is bad or displeasing. He was far more tolerant toward Guido than the critics of the preceding gen- eration, 51 but he saw Guido's faults clearly. Waiblinger had little use for Caravaggio, who deliberately renounced idealism and sought to return to nature, not beautiful, but brutal and ugly.52 He praised Guercino in lukewarm terms.ti3 Indeed, of all the Bolognesi, only Guido and Guercino attract any attention from Waiblinger; and his attitude reflects the ideas of the ro- manticists, for whom this group of painters was little more than a nightmare. We have already observed in another connection that Waib- linger showed poor taste in his high praise of Canova and his school. Otherwise he was silent concerning Italian art in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Waiblinger saw clearly that the Renaissance had set a mark which was unequaled in the following two centuries, but he realized that there was a con- tinuing tradition of artistic accomplishment in Italy following the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries just as there had been previous to the Renaissance. All of this he has summarized in a sort of an eclectic canon for the painter and sculptor.54 This _survey of Waiblinger's attitude toward the art of Italy through eighteen hundred years has revealed much about the man and his generation. He is far removed from those early travellers in Italy such as Montaigne, who looked only for the remains of Roman antiquity, or even from the age of Louis XIV, when men could see no further than Horace's villa or Raphael's Transfigura- zione. Waiblinger represents the culmination of the gradual process of uncovering the treasures of Italy which had been going on for some two centuries. To be sure, Goethe had been exposed to nearly everything Italy had to offer; but he cherished a bias against the middle ages, and his classical restraint did .not permit him to give fiull expression to the exuberance of the Renaissance, two periods that had to be discovered by the ro- manticists. Waiblinger effected a synthesis of these different attitudes, and this is the fundamental characteristic of his work. Waiblinger went to Italy with the firm resolution to explore 51. Werke, IV, 24. 52. Werke, V, 220. 53. Werke, IV, 24. 54. Ibid. This is a passage in which he appraises all important painters and sculptors in Italy from the primitives to the Bolognesi. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 27 every corner of the land and to delve deeply into its history and culture. Frey has put together from Waiblinger's letters a good account of his first trip to Rome in which we note clearly the young man's enthusiasm for the country he was to make his home. 55 Waiblinger greeted mediaeval Pisa and Florence with no less eagerness than he greeted the Rome of antiquity and Renais- sance. The ideal of his youth always hovered before him: Staubbedeckte Biicherbande, Moge mancher gern drin blattern, Aber ohne Mass und Ende Will ich, Leben, dich vergottern.56 Waiblinger visited every corner of the land, and he observed the work of all great artists from the unknown architect of the mausoleum of the Scipios down to Canova, all of whom repre- sented and interpreted for him the culture of Italy, uninterrupted for two thousand years. Ordinarily he revealed himself as a fairly well informed critic, but occasionally he tended to exag- geration as the result of excitement or enthusiasm. He always went behind the work to immerse himself in the cultural back- ground of the age that produced it and tried to find some sig- . nificance for the modern world. His sins of commission outweigh those of omission, for his zeal to see everything sometimes went beyond his ability to comprehend. 55. Frey, p. 162-164. 56. W erke, VI, 28-29. CHAPTER III WAIBLINGER AND ITALIAN LITERATURE AND MUSIC It is quite natural that Waiblinger's comments on the litera- ture and music of Italy are not as extensive as his treatment of her great works of art. In point of time the twenty-five hun- dred years of art in Italy represent a much longer period than the relatively brief history of her modern literature and music. Moreover, serious attention was given to the theory and history of art as early as the day of Vitruvius and Pliny, whereas nothing of corresponding significance on music has survived, and the modern literary tradition is quite different from the ancient. On the other hand, the romantic generation had done much to reveal the qualities of Italian poets and musicians just as it had lent a new interpretation to the primitives in art and the re-. ligious masters such as Perugino. The Italian literature of the Renaissance was a fountainhead for the revival of letters in Europe; but, outside of Italy, early Italian literature was almost unknown, and even the literature of the High Renaissance suffered an eclipse in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. An eighteenth century traveller like Lalande gave us a quite inadequate picture of Italian literature,1 and Casanova de Seingalt was totally unappreciative of Dante. 2 Even a man of such fine sensibility as Winckelmann could see no beauty in the Florentine literary tradition.3 The interest in Italian literature in England has been traced by Marshall, and his results bear out in detail the rather general remarks made by von Klenze with regard to European literature as a whole. Italian literature only gradually secured a firm hold on the minds of English men of letters; and it was not until the time of William Roscoe, who wrote lives of Lorenzo de' Medici ( 1795) and Leo X (1805), that the appreciation of Italian literature was an accomplished fact in England.4 Essentially the same chronological development holds for Germany, where, in 1796, Goethe translated Benvenuto Cellini's autobiography for Schill- 1. Von Klenze, p. 27-28. 2. Memoires, II, 142 et seq. 3. Von Klenze, p. 38. 4. Marsha.U, p. 271 et seq. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 29 er's Horen, the first notable example of German interest in Italian literature since the sixteenth century. Likewise, Goethe showed considerable interest in recent Italian literature with such essays as "Klassiker und Romantiker in Italien, sich heftig bekampfend" (1818) and "Manzonis II Conte Carmagnola" (1820). Early in the nineteenth century August Wilhelm Schlegel had translated Dante, and Lord Byron had translated the Fran- cesca and Paolo episode from the Inferno and the first canto of Pulci's Morgante Maggiore. The new respect for national culture born in the early years of the nineteenth century opened the way for a genuine appreciation of all periods of Italian literature. Like Italian literature of the High Renaissance, Italian music of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is the foundation of much that we call modern in musical technique and taste. Italian operas and Italian prima donnas have remained in fashion all over the world for three hundred years, but it was primarily the writers of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries who gave a distinctive interpretation to Italy as the land of music par excellence. In the eighteenth century the English poet Thomas Gray had been the first traveller in Italy to show an apprecia- tion of Italian music as an integral element in the national cul- ture. 5 Some fifty years later in 1795-96 we find an entire novel in which Italian music is a major theme, Heinse's Hildegard von Hohental. Madame de Stael's Corinne (1807) is especially im- portant for interpreting the Italian attitude toward music in a new light, emphasizing natural ability to compose and sing al- most as a national characteristic. From the time he learned to read Italian, W aiblinger had a broad interest in Italian literature, especially the standard class- ics. He read Dante and Petrarch daily, and he ranked the former with Shakespeare and Goethe. 6 In an epigram on Dante W aib- linger epitomized his approach to Italian literature: Alle beten dich an, und keiner versteht <lich, die Frage Ist es nun einzig, was sie thaten, verstiind€n sie dich.7 Waiblinger saw in a nation's literature the master-key to the understanding of its cultural life in the broadest sense. He read not only Dante and Petrarch, but all representative Italian poets, from the middle ages and the Renaissance up to the nineteenth 5. Von Klenze, p. 18, note 2. 6. Friedrich, p. 398 (letter to Morike). 7. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 61. 30 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY century, for almost every one of any importance is mentioned and often evaluated by Waiblinger. In literature as in art Waib- linger tried to look at each period impartially rather than to glorify one at the expense of another. Casanova scarcely knew any writers in his own language other than Boccaccio, Machia- velli, and Castiglione, but Waiblinger did full justice to these along with the others. Another important characteristic of Waib- linger's consideration of Italian literature was his interest in mediaeval authors and in the romantic epics, an interest in- herited from the preceding generation. The works of Pulci, Boiardo, and Ariosto took on a new charm for the nineteenth century after the revival of interest in the mediaeval themes they treat. Waiblinger knew and loved the literature of Italy before he visited the country. Before his trip in 1826 he had spent many hours with Dante8 and had written a satire on pseudo-romanti- cism in the style of the Inferno.9 Throughout Waiblinger's life Dante was his favorite poet. Sometimes Waiblinger expressed misgivings and fear that he was merely indulging in a temporary enthusiasm for an unduly resurrected poet: Sage mir redlich, mein Freund, wie gefiillt dir Dante's Comedia ?- "Ei, ich bin orthodox, halt' an der Mode mich fest."- Aber wie so? "Nun ja, <las Centrum aller Romantik Ist es nach Schlegel, und ich Iese die Dichter nach ihm."10 However, Waiblinger was quite happy to follow the current fashion after he read the poet and convinced himself of his greatness: Hier gilt nur <las Commando, man stosst in die stolze Trompete, Und als gemeiner Mann folg' ich den andern getrost.1 1 On the other hand, Waiblinger contributed some sound criti~ism of the great Italian poet. In one passage he described Dante as a good antidote for German sentimentality: Mochtest du reine poetische Form, so :find' im Homer sie, Sophokles zeigt sich, es zeigt selbst sich Anakreon dir. Warest du sentimental nach deutscher Mode, so giebt dir Dante nicht viel fiir dein Herz, aber fiir deinen Verstand.12 In another epigram this contrast between Homer's hellenic clarity and Dante's mediaevalism is expressed in a cosmic figure: Bist du gewohnt, mit Homer <lurch Himmel und Erde zu wandern, 8. Frey, p. 113. 9. Drei Tage in der Unterwelt (Werke, IV, 115-193). 10. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 60. 11. Ibid., p. 61. 12. Ibid., p. 62. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY Suchst du die KJarheit und gern sicheren Boden und Tritt, So erscheint dir der Geist Alighieri's, fantastische Wolken Tragen im dusteren Sturm dich ins Unendliche hin. 13 31 Waiblinger lent intimacy to his remarks on Dante by occasional bits of local color such as a reference to the Sasso di Dante in front of the cathedral at Florence.14 Petrarch, the other great poet of mediaeval Italy, also found an appreciative reader in Waiblinger. In one charming little poem devoted to Petrarch, the German poet contrasted the ether- eal world of love with the prosaic life of those who would see in the Laura sonnets only a glorification of sensual passion. He who is in love with love finds a favorite in Petrarch: 1st dir die Liebe der Faden, woraus <las Weltall gesponnen, Der alles W esen und selbst Griischen und Sterne verknupft, Dann in Francesco vielleicht hast du den Dichter gefunden, Der <las geheime Gespinnst bis an <las Ende verfolgt. . . .15 But if the reader cannot conceive of this idealized concept of love, then Petrarch's sonnets seem little more than vulgar rimes: Oder es langweilt dich: er leiht dir die magische Brille, Aber dein kiilterer Sinn siehet zuletzt nur ein W eib,16 In connection with Petrarch, Waiblinger made satirical com- ments on the degeneracy of the sonnet as a literary form in his own day. He felt that the purity of the sonnet had been impaired by literary dilettanti, that the genre had seen its best days in the age of Petrarch : Tausende liest man vor in den Akademien am Tiber, Professoren sind es, Monsignori dazu, Cavalieri, Grafen, Abbati, Barone, Doktoren, Alle Staude, <loch fehlt einzig der Dichter dabei.1 7 Like Dante and Petrarch, Boccaccio had enjoyed a wave of popularity toward the beginning of the nineteenth century, and Waiblinger caught this sentiment with more than the ordinary enthusiasm: "Immer hab' ich ja gern lustige Schwanke ge- hort ... " 18 Waiblinger, like Heine, rejoiced in the thought that intellectuals belonged to a higher sphere than Philistines, and on this weak premise he based his appreciation of the great mediaeval story teller : ... Doch uber den Alpen versteht man die Spasse Nicht mehr, in Deutschland ist man allzu gebildet und fein. Man erriithet, man spricht von Mora:l, und sie im Munde, 13. Ibid., p. 61. 14. Ibid. 15. Ibid., p. 62. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid., p. 66. 18. Ibid., p. 63. 32 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY Aber im Herzen ist man, aber im Leben ihr Feind. Doch so ist's immer. Man trieb in Eden Alles in Unschuld, Und nach dem Siindenfall kam erst der Teufel in Ruf.19 Waiblinger greeted the romantic fantasies of Ariosto with an enthusiasm equal to that which he had for the mediaeval authors. In the first line of an epigram on Orlando Furioso we are introduced to the magical atmosphere of romance in Ariost.o: "Schwing' auf den Hippogryphen dich auf ... " 20 And it is this world of fancy that Waiblinger liked to conjure up for his German readers: Still, mit der alten Mama, der Natur, ihr Gesetz ist voriiber, Und von Magiern und Feen, zaubernden Todten und Frau'n, Fliegenden Rossen, krystallnen Kastellen und Wundern des Meeres, Lanzen und Hornern und Schild ist sie verlacht und geneckt.21 Nor is it this one quality of romance that distinguishes Ariosto, for Waiblinger felt that he could sing of love as tenderly as Petrarch: Suchst du die brennendste Gluth der Liebe, die Schi:inheit der Treue, Hat Beatrice dir nur Andacht und Schwindel erweckt, Ist dir auch Laura's Bild im unendlichen Aether verschwunden, Ach, so hast du gewiss mit Bradamanten geweint!22 In a few prettily turned verses Waiblinger described the dis- tinguishing quality of Ariosto, the humor that sets him apart from the naive poets of the middle ages whose unqualified apo- theosis of their heroes betrays lack of sophistication: Dante'n fiihrte Virgil und die iiberschwiingliche Freundin, In den Tiefen und Hohn droht dir der Athem zu fliehn, Aber der heitre Humor, der begeisterte, wohnte der holden Grazie bei, und es kam so Lodovico zur Welt.23 Unfortunately, the great tradition of Italian literature in the late middle ages and in the Renaissance was soon to fade, and Waiblinger saw clearly how the literature from the latter part of the sixteenth century on was below the standard set by the Renaissance. Even the romantic appeal of Torquato Tasso meant little to Waiblinger.24 Minor seventeenth century poets are not mentioned in Waiblinger's works. However he viewed the rebirth of Italian drama and opera in the eighteenth cen- tury in the works of Alfieri, Goldoni, and Metastasio as char- acteristic of Italian genius. 19. Ibid. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid., p. 64. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 33 Waiblinger was less enthusiastic for Alfieri than for Goldoni and Metastasio. Alfieri's severity of form groups him with the wave of neo-classical trends in the latter part of the eighteenth century, and Waiblinger felt that this trait set him apart from the more characteristic Italian poets. Thus he tried to imagine a literary synthesis of Shakespeare and Alfieri, 25 and he believed that Alfieri's basic modernity was ill-suited to his classic models: Mannlich sprichst du, ja selbst der Kothurn ist dir nicht erhaben, Noch genug und du streckst gar mit Gewalt noch dich aus. Das ist traurig, den Griechen allein nur ware die Roheit Tragischer Sprache Natur, aber der Nachwelt nicht mehr? 26 On the other hand, Metastasio represents everything that is typically Italian. Waiblinger thought that this poet had the truest and most profound understanding of his native country,27 and he pointed out that his exquisite use of the Italian language was not only charming in itself but also well suited to the libretto: Lieblich hist du, ich Iese dich gern, ich hore dich lieber, Wenn dich ein romischer Mund, wenn der Gesang dich beseelt.2 8 In connection with Metastasio he contrasted the Italian and German languages : Deine Sprach' ist entziickend, ich lausche dem zartlichen Dichter, Aber sprachest du deutsch, fand' ich den Dichter nicht mehr. 29 Strangely enough, Waiblinger's enthusiasm did not extend to Apostolo Zeno, the master and the superior of Metastasio. Goldoni, who revived and remodeled the old commedia dell' arte, was highly praised by Waiblinger as a poet who elevated a type of literature as· indigenous to modern Italy as the satire was to ancient Rome. 30 His lively Venetian sketches in the local vernacular delighted Waiblinger quite as much as they did th~ native Venetian Casanova.31 However, Waiblinger also saw faults irr Goldoni, recognizing him as abundantly freudvoll but neither leidvoll nor gedankenvoll: So auch ware Goldoni mir viel, doch Talent und Gedanken Seh' ich nun leider im Meer seiner Komodien verschwemmt.32 Waiblinger was particularly pleased with the popular theater of Italy. He was always excited by the burratini (marionettes), and in a note to one verse he spoke of the large crowds that were likely to watch the ingenious operator put Cassandro and Pul- 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. Werke, VIIf, 233. 28. Gedichte aus ltalien, IT, 64. 29. Ibid. 30. Werke, IX, 213. 31. Ibid. and Casanova, Memoires, II, 79. 32. Gedichte aus Italien, If, 65. 34 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY cinella through their paces.33 He was equally intrigued by the San Carlino theater in Naples, a very popular and typically Neapolitan institution. While this group produced nothing of permanent value, Waiblinger's essay on it indicates that here he found something which, in his opinion, was perpetuating a genuine dramatic tradition in Italy. He wrote that the spectator should not expect "lauter Stiicke von poetischem Werth,"34 but . he did praise the "Eigenthiimlichkeit, Derbheit und Original- itat der Stucke." The theater poet and manager was a certain Filippo Cammarano, a man well versed in the tastes of Neapoli- tan audiences. His plays seem to have been characterized largely by stock characters from the traditional drama, loose plots with all manner of intrigue, considerable local color based on an appeal to local sensibility, and the Neapolitan dialect. Here one might see Pulcinella, the Buffo Biscogliese, the Buffo Scarola, and the attrice caratterista carry on in the Neapolitan dialect and revel in local humor. Waiblinger thought that here in the San Carlino he had found an indigenous, characteristic drama illustrating the very essence of Italian life and that this circumstance com- pensated for the lack of any literary merit in the works of Filippo Cammarano. Waiblinger wanted to drive home two points about Italian literature to his German readers. First, he emphasized that Italy had a national, characteristic, romantic literature that was com- parable to anything that the early romanticists had excavated for Germany. The Schlegels and their group had pointed out that Dante and Boccaccio were mediaeval authors without rivals; and Waiblinger, writing directly from Italy, furnished his read- ers with the intimate notes that a native critic might have offer- ed. He pronounced Petrarch the greatest of all the love poets, a poet who sang with an inspiration as compelling as any in the whole lyrical tradition. After Waiblinger wrote, Ariosto ceased to be merely a name in the German romantic periodicals and be- came a poet who added a peculiar quality of genial Italian humor to his romantic themes. In the second place, Waiblinger sought everything in Italian literature that sprang from the people. He was especially pleased to hear a native Roman singing the verses of Metastasio, and from the extensive works of Goldoni he 33. Ibid., p. 89 and 171. 34. Werke, IX, 205. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 35 selected the folk pieces as his favorites. In the folk theater he found something that recalled the great tradition of the commedia dell' arte. He was coldly distant toward Alfieri's classic tragedies without any native background. Both tendencies were implied in the search for an Universal- poesie by the early romanticists. Waiblinger applied these no- tions to Italy just as the Grimms had applied them in Germany. Waiblinger was one of the first travellers in Italy to delve into her literature as a means of illuminating her culture and tra- ditions; and in so doing he treated his subject without prejudice and fulfilled his mission of interpreting Italy to Germany .. His criticism does not add a great deal to the interpretation of the literature, but his comments are an integral aspect of his efforts to interpret Italy to Germany * * * * * * * * * Closely allied with Italian letters, at least for Waiblinger, was the music that he found in Italy. It was neither the delight- fully graceful music of the eighteenth century nor even the Italian opera of the period that attracted him. Rather it was the remarkable quality of the Italian language and the talent of the Italian people that allows free improvisation of verse and melody. Of all the great contemporary Italian composers Waiblinger mentioned only Rossini, and his remarks about him were none too complimentary.35 We have noted that Heinse and Mme. de Stael, together with the long tradition of itinerant Italian maestros and prima don- nas, had given Europe the impression of Italy as the Urheimat o:f music. Waiblinger's special interest lay in the imp1·ovisatori, and an important factor in directing his attention to these poets and singers was Corinne. While there is no statement in his works that he had read Mme. de Stael's novel, he speaks of Rosa Taddei, a well known improvisatorice, as "Italiens neue Corinna."36 Two points in particular connected literature and this form of art for Waiblinger. In the first place, the improvisatori repre- sent a semi-sophisticated folk art; and, as we have noted in con- nection with Goldoni, Metastasio, and the popular theater, Waiblinger carefully sought in literature whatever bore the mark of the people. He found improvisation cultivated not only in the 35. Gedichte aus ltalien, II, 85. 36. Werke, rv, 218. 36 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY fashionable salons of Rome but also in the Sabine hills and in the country around Olevano. Secondly, improvisation consists of verses not only composed by the individual but also sung by him; and therefore Waiblinger saw in the work of the improvisatori a genre halfway between literature and music, a conception simi- lar to Wagner's famous ideas on opera and drama. Not only straight lyrical songs but also more complicated types such as sonnets and even tragedies were composed by these talented artists. Waiblinger marvelled especially at the Cavaliere Sgricci, who, at the Roman carnival of 1827, improvised two tragedies on consecutive evenings: Sicherlich ist's zum Erstaunen, er improvisirt mir im Fluge Wie der Wind so ein Ding, wie 'ne Tragotlie, her. J ahre studieren andre daran, ein Abend geniigt ihm, Wie sie an Einem entsteht, so auch vergeht sie an ihm.37 Of all the improvisatori that Waiblinger met, he was im- pressed most deeply by Rosa Taddei. One of his most enthusias- tic epigrams is dedicated to her: Traumt' ich die Muse zu sehn, so lass mir den Wahn! auf Papier nur, Doch auf lebendigem Mund sah ich noch nie ein Gedicht.as There are extended remarks about her in an essay entitled "Rosa Taddei" from the year 1828. Waiblinger described her per- formance in an "academy" of improvisatori: Es hat jeder, der eine Akademie besucht, das Recht, ein Thema abzugeben. Sind alle beisammen, so werden sie zuerst von einem Geistlichen ( !) untersucht, ob ja kein unerlaubtes darunter sey, und unter solche zahlte man auch: il Pellegrino. Sodann werden sammtliche Themen von der Dichterin vorgelesen, und man hat Ge- legenheit, zu bemerken, <lass mancher im Theater ist, der eben nicht den feinsten Sinn fiir Poesie hat; gewohnlich sind es Themen aus der Mythologie, aus der Geschichte, die sich unzahligemal wiederholen, und Dante, Petrarca und Tasso fehlen niemals. Je nach Ton und Inhalt werden sie fiir dieses oder jenes Versmaass bestimmt, und in eine Kapsel geworfen, sie wird dem Publikum zur Ziehung prasentirt, und gleich nachdem die Themen gezogen wer- den, beginnet die lmprovisatrice die Ausfiihrung ... das heftigste Mimenspiel beg,leitet den Gesang und seinen oft dramatischen In- halt, und wenn sie zuweilen-doch ist's hochst selten-fehlt und den Vers wiederholen muss, so erinnert uns <las nur daran, dass sie thatig, dass sie Dichterin, Schopferin ist, und nicht bloss vortragt, was nicht mehr lebendig ist.39 It is interesting to observe that Waiblinger emphasized the genius and originality of the poetess as primary qualities. This 37. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 67. 38. Ibid., p. 66. 39. Werke, IV, 199-201. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 37 idea goes back to some of his earliest notions of poetic genius. An entry from his diary reads : Dem Dichter, welcher <las Wesen seiner Kunst im Mittelpunkt ergriffen hat, erscheint nichts widersprechend und fremd, ihm sind die Rathsel der Natur gelost, durch die Magie der Phantasie kann er alle Zeitalter und Welten verkniipfen, die Wunder verschwinden und doch verwandelt sich alles in Wunder.40 Waiblinger felt that the extemporaneous recitations of this poetess were endowed with "eine hiibsche reine Sprache, eine lebendige Phantasie, ein richtiges, edles 'Gef iihl,"41 and these qualities elevated the simple improvisations of Rosa Taddei to lyrical heights. Waiblinger constantly brought out the great difference be- tween the Italian and the German. The latter could not possibly perform the feat of a Sgricci in composing a tragedy. Compar- ing Schiller with Sgricci, he observed: Eine Tragi.idie zu improvisi:ren, worin gegenwartig Sgricci von Arezzo der beriihmteste ist, das scheint fiir uns Deutsche anfangs eine Unmi.iglichkeit. Wir wissen, wie lange Geburtsschmerzen unsere ersten dramatischen Autoren gelitten, wissen, wie lange Schiller seinen Wallenstein in sich trug, wir wissen, welch reifes Studium, welch anhaltende Uberlegung die Struktur einer Tragi.idie ni.ithig macht, und sprechen darum einem Improvisatore jede MogJichkeit ab, auch nur ein mittelmassiges Werk aus dem Stegreif zu liefern. Aber wir bedenken dabei nicht, wie verschieden eine italienische Tragodie von einer deutschen ist. Nehmen wir den grossten Dram- atiker Italiens, Alfieri, zur Hand, so werden wir bald unsere Mein- ung andern. Seine Tragodie ist so einfach in der Intrike und in der Anlage, in Akten und Personen, dass es uns denselben Genuss verschafft, ob wir sie vorlesen, oder auffiihren hi.iren. Das Person- aJ.e beschrankt sich auf vier oder fiinf Individuen, jeder Aufwand und Pomp der Scenerie ist verbannt, die drei Einheiten sind hier in derHeimath, es fallt nicht einmal der Vorhang, und die ganze Tra- gi.idie ist kaum so Jang, als ein Akt des Don Carlos. Lesen wir oder sehen wir die Werke Alfieris auf der Biihne, und Iangweilen uns die unablassigen Declamationen, und die hochtragenden Darstellungen von Affekten, so finden wir's wohl mi.iglich, <lass ein Werk der Art an einem Abend entstehen konnte, wenn wir einmal von der Vir- tuositat des Dichters iiberzeugt sind; wie wir denn in der That im Jahr 1827 den gefeierten Sgricci auch eine Tragi.idie hier haben im- provisiren horen, die sich noch iiberdies durch die reine toskanische Sprache auszeichnete.42 Even if it is out of the question to conceive of a German im•• provisation of a tragedy, it is equally difficult to imagine even a German improvisation of verses: Aber sie sind mir lieber, denn ihresgleichen in Deutschland Die man zwar nirgends Hest, aber zu Tausenden druckt.43 40. Ibid., p. 232. 41. Ibid., p. 201. 42. Ibid., p. 197-189 43. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 67. 38 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY Just as Mme. de Stael found the improvisatore a useful fictional character, so also Waiblinger used improvisatori as characters in two of his novels, Francesco Spina and Das Blumenf est. Francesco Spina, hero of the novel by the same name, and Oda, a quondam bandit chieftain, carry on an im- provised conversation in verse at one of the most dramatic points in the story. Waiblinger forgot his own statement about the possibility of improvisation in German and "reproduced" about three pages of this material in German "translation".44 Elsewhere, he passed over the improvisations of Spina with two sentences merely describing the effect of his song. Waiblinger was equally inconsistent in Das Blumenf est, but in one passage he was able to represent in German fairly successfully the manner in which one would imagine that the improvisatore Cecco might sing: Viel oder wenig Was kiimmert's mich? Bettler und Konig Plagen sich. W em ohne Sorgen Fur heut und morgen Lustig das Leben verstrich, Nennt man am End~ noch liederlich.45 Very interesting to Waiblinger was his observation that even the most humble social groups in Italy could produce men of high poetic talent, e.g., Cecco, the poor shepherd. Waiblinge:r wrote: Wie sie singen, wie sie die Muse befeuert, wie wiithend Sich im entziindeten Kampf wechselnd beginnen ein Lied: Bauern sind es zwar nur, Sacktrager und Pizzicarole, Stiefelputzer und solch Lumpengesindel der Stadt.46 In a note to these verses W aiblinger wrote : Wer hat nicht schon von dem Dichtertalent des gemeinen Yolks in Italien gehort? Ich habe anderswo dariiber manches mitgetheilt. Im verflossenen Winter brachte ich halbe Nachte im beriichtigten Caffe degli Specchi auf der Piazza Colonna unter der niedrigsten Volksklasse zu, welche sich mit Improvisiren unterhielt, bis man drei oder vier Stunden nach Mitternacht sie forttrieb. Ein Pizzi- carol, oder Wurst- und Kasehandler, hatte vor einigen Jahren in Rom einen besonderen Ruf. Scharen von Menschen liefen ihm oft nach, wenn er <lurch die Stadt ging, und er sang auf alien PJatzen, an allen Ecken.47 Waiblinger found the common people improvising in the country 44. Werke, II, 141-143. 45. Werke, III, 106. 46. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 67. 47. Ibid., p. 168. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 39 even more than in the city. In Olevano he found a confirmed alcoholic, ironically enough by the name of Michel Angelo, who was especially adept when he had been drinking heavily. 48 The German poet, incidentally, was put to shame by this born poet, whose every sentence could be perfectly scanned.49 In the summer of 1828, a year after his first visit to 'Olevano, Waib- linger fell sick there. After exhausting himself with the dull biographies of Nepos and some saints' lives, he turned in des- peration to his notes on the folk-song and improvisatori. Even the folk-song failed to interest him, but finally he rallied his enthusiasm by copying improvisations for his readers.50 He included a few stornelli (folk epigrams) in these notes, but h-9 turned to the improvisatori after preserving this information. He was compelled to satisfy the curiosity of readers whose in- terest in popular poetry had been excited by Des Knaben Wun- derhorn and Alte hock- und niederdeutsche Volkslieder; but once this service was dutifully performed, he immediately returned to his favorite theme of the elements of genuine lyricism as re- vealed by the improvisatori. Waiblinger also found another form of folk music that appealed to him in the piferari, pious hill priests who came into the market towns to play their bagpipes and collect alms for needy parishioners. The observant traveller may still find them today in Italian provincial capitals, if he seeks out the shrines devoted to the cult of the Virgin. The engraving at the be- ginning of the ninth volume of Waiblinger's collected works, originally selected for the Italienisches Taschenbuch fiir 1829, represents a group of piferari. Waiblinger's explanatory note is valuable for the insight it gives into his conception of folk- religion and its musical manifestations: ... Niemals fiihlte ich mich tiefer in die Marchenwelt versetzt als dann, wenn jene Musik vereint mit den Glocken des nahen Ka- puzinerklosters, erweckend in meine Morgentraume tonte, die ver- hiillten Kapuziner vor meinem Fenster voriiber aus der Kirche zog- en und die heroischen Spielleute mit ihren scharfen, aber gutmiithig- en Gesicht~rn, . ihren funkelnden Augen, den schlanken, kraftigen Gestalten, m Z1egenfellen gehiillt, von farbigen, malerisch iiber die Schulter geworfenen Manteln umfaltet, mir ihren Morgengruss entgegenriefen ... Die Piferari bringen ihre Andacht der Mutter Gottes dar, <lurch Aufbietung aller lieblichen Tone, die ihr gliiubiges Gemiith und 48. W erke, VIII, 243 et seq. 49. Ibid., p. 245. 50. Ibid:, :p. 275-276. 40 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY ihre Geschicklichkeit nur zu geben vermag und neu gekriiftigt ziehen sie dann mit heiterem Muthe vom Morgen bis zum Abend <lurch die ewige Stadt, um das Herz der Menschen, das leicht beweg- liche und doch oft so harte, zu erfreuen und zur Spende fur den Genuss zu veranlassen. W o sie auch weilen, sie konnen sicher seyn, stets einen Kreis Horlustiger um sich zu bilden, und wenn auch nicht alle zahlen, iirndten sie <loch genug fur ihre leicht befriedig- ten Wunsche, um ohne Sorgen hinzuleben, ja nicht selten mit einem ersparten Siimmchen ihren heimathlichen Bergen wieder entgegen zu ziehen.51 For Waiblinger the music of the piferari was parallel to the paintings of Perugino and Fra Angelico, and this peculiar Italian religiosity among the common people was something he admired alongside the great masters of primitive painting. Waiblinger went a step beyond the romanticists in his study of folk poetry. True, the Germans of his day were well ac- quainted with the unsophisticated reciter, but to create ex- temporaneously was an art that excelled even the skilled recita- tion of traditional songs. Repeatedly Waiblinger drew the con- trast between the German and the Italian with a didactic in- sistence. He told his German readers that in the south they could find genuine poetry, genuine music, "den Dichter, welcher das Wesen seiner Kunst im Mittelpunkt ergriffen hat." The careful cultivation of some fortuitous gift of nature distin- guished Italian folk music, and the living spirit was present. 51. Werke, IX, i-ii. CHAPTER IV WAIBLINGER AND THE ITALIAN LANDSCAPE Italia! oh Italia! thou who hast The fatail gift of beauty,1 Such was Byron's enthusiasm for Italy as he passed from the rolling plains of Lombardy across the rugged Apennines and down to the sunny fields of Campania. During the middle ages, however, and up to a half century before his time, trav- ellers in Italy displayed no more of a feeling for the color of the land "wo die Zitronen bliihn, im dunklen Laub die Gold- orangen gliihn" than they could imitate from the epitheta ornantia of the classical poets. Typical of this e/il,rly attitude and in strange contrast to his famous son, Johann Caspar Goethe was completely obtuse to the natural beauties of Italy in the 900 pages of his tedious Viaggio per l'Italia fatto nel anno MDCCXL. 2 Joseph Addison's sensitiveness to the beauty of the Alps and the hills of Latium was unusual for his period.3 Other travellers showed an occasional appreciation of the land- scape, but the first to strike a new note was Georg Christian Adler, whose Reisebemerkungen auf einer Reise nach Rom appeared in Altona in 1784. He enjoyed the effects of moon- light on natural scenes, spoke of the "Pracht der Verwiistung," and described the waterfalls of Tibur as "die romantischste Aussicht, die man sich vorstellen kann." 4 Still, the tradition of Watteau's fetes chamP,etres and the age that produced them con- tinued to influence travellers in their estimation of nature as she manifests herself in Italy up to the age of romanticism. Charles Dupaty, whom von Klenze calls the "Rousseau of Italian travellers," shows Rousseauistic enthusiasm but no real appre- ciation. Baron J. H. Riedesel, a disciple of Winckelmann, was likewise quite unable to interpret for his German readers the natural beauties of Sicily.5 Here, as elsewhere, it was Goethe who fashioned the new 1. Childe Harold, IV, xlii. 2. See von Klenze. op. cit., p. 20, note 1; the elder Goethe's manuscript is in the Goethe-Schiller Archiv in Weimar. 3. Ibid., p. 22. 4. Ibid., p. 40 et seq. 5. Ibid., p. 60. 42 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY style. His Tagebilcher und Brief e aus ltalien and his Italien- ische Reise were internationally famous. Biese speaks in glow- ing terms of Goethe's development in Italy, of the influence of the country on his conception of nature : . . . sein N aturgefiihl wandelt sich von anakreonth,chem Ge- tiindel, von Sentimentalitiit, die in Sturm und Drang heisser Lyrik sich austobt, zu gesunder Mannlichkeit und Geistesklarheit, die den Denker und den Dichter auf die Hohen der Menschilichkeit empor- trug und ihn zum Begriinder moderner Kultur und zum lebens- wahrsten Deuter der Natur nach ihren Weiten und Tiefen machte.6 Speaking more specifically of Goethe's Italian experience, Biese writes: In dem Mignon-Liede "Kennst du das Land?", dem hohen Liede der Sehnsucht, hatte sich schon 1784 die Liebe zum farbenreichen Siiden und die Plastik der Zeichnung mit einschmeichelndster Musik der Worte verbunden. Und als die Erfiillung nahte, als er iiber den Brenner fuhr, da iiberstrahlte ein langentbehrtes, se!iges Behagen auch die schonen Landschaften. Aber er legt nicht mehr seine Empfindungen in sie hinein-"ich sehe-sagt er- neuerdings nur die Sachen und nicht wie sonst bei und mit den Sachen."7 Goethe's important new ideas about Italy meant much to the world of literature, and after 1783 we can find very few accounts of trips to Italy that ignore nature completely. Even if the next generation did dilute Goethe's plastic imagery with the subjective, the fact remains that it was highly sensitive to line and color in Italy. Chateaubriand looked for the effects of light and shadow in Italy,8 and Lamartine was enchanted by the Gulf of Naples.0 The opening lines of N ovalis' hymn, Welcher Lebendige, Sinnbegabte, :liebt nicht vor allen Wunder- erscheinungen des verbreiteten Raums um ihn <las allerfreuliche Licht mit seinen Farben, seinen Strahlen und Wogen, seiner milden Allgegenwart, als weekender Tag?lO were transposed into reality by Karl Blechen (1798-1840), whose Landschaft bei Benevent and Golf von Spezia have been called "kleine Wunder an Licht und Farbe."11 In German literature Eichendorff capitalized on the M ond- und Ruinen- romantik of Italy in Taugenichts, and Platen has given us un- forgettable descriptions of Venice in his sonnets. While these 6. Biese, p. 135. 7. Ibid., p. 148. 8. Von Klenze, p. 90. 9. Ibid., p. 92. 10. "Hymnen an die Nacht," I. 11. Brinckmann, p. 16. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 43 poets and painters were typical of the new feeling for Italian landscape that captured the fancy of the romanticists, the most important figure of the generation for Waiblinger was Byron, The Englishman not only supplied Waiblinger abundantly with ideas and stylistic devices, but he also gave him an abiding feeling for the Italian landscape, as Gluck indicates. According- ly, the two most important influences on Waiblinger in his appreciation of Italy's natural beauty were Goethe and Lord Byron; but much of what Waiblinger wrote about the Italian landscape is original and individualistic, the product of his boundless enthusiasm for the country. Waiblinger's constantly developing sensitivity to the Italian landscape is reflected in his style. His earliest writing is marked by all the e~uberance and exaggerated pantheism of the Sturm und Drang. 12 In Italy, however, this ethereal roman- ticism that turns nature into a sort of Aeolian harp is gradually changed into an objectivity similar to that cultivated by an Augenmensch of the Goethean variety. 13 While Waiblinger's life was cut short before he was able to perfect his style and thought, it is significant that he was able to show rapid progress in descriptive techniques. He was able to describe Italy's natural beauties in a lucid and effective style, an essential for successful interpretation of Italy to German readers. But how, precisely, did the Italian landscape affect Waib- linger? It did inspire a stylistic improvement, but this sprang ultimately from the change he underwent as an individual. The revealing letter to Morike tells us something about Waib- linger's first impression of Rome: ... Es sind nun 7 W ochen, dass ich hier bin, und ich fiihle mfoh auf dem Campo Vaccino zu Hause, wie Du Dich im Garten von Beinhausen. Dennoch aber hab' ich noch nichts weiter als Ein- dri.icke erhalten, und getraue mir nur i.iber Weniges ein Urteil zu: denn das glaube mir, Du magst auch denken und lesen und fiihlen iiber Rom, was Du willst, <las ist alil' nichts. lch habe mich seit den friihesten Knabenjahren an nach den sieben Hiigeln gesehnt, und ich habe dort keine Vorstellung von all' der Herrlickeit gehabt. Man wundert sich aber auch, <lass ich jetzt schon in den ersten Wochen mich so einheimisch fi.ihle.14 Waiblinger developed an immediate affinity for Rome and the whole peninsula. He sought at once the joyous side of Italy. 12. See Phaethon, p. 213-214, for an example of an immature and un- disciplined description of a classica,l landscape. 13. A passage describing Lago Albano in Werke VIII 33-34 reveals this change quite clearly. ' ' ' 14. Friedrich, p. 397-398, 44 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY He wrote in the spirit of a native, and Rapp described him accurately as "eine nach Norden verirrte siidliche Natur."15 In general Italy had a softening effect on Waiblinger. His satire lost much of its bitterness. Drei Tage in der Unterwelt, an acrid literary polemic from the Tiibingen period, is character- ized by strong feelings and a bad temper; but Die Britten in Rom, much like Julius Stinde's Buchholzens in Italien, relies for its effectiveness on a genial humor. The process is obvious in Waiblinger's descriptions of nature when we observe the contrast between the undisciplined imitator of Holderlin iu Phaethon and the careful but delighted traveller in Italy. This whole process is brought out clearly in the first stanza of the "Lied der Weihe," one of Waiblinger's first attempts to compose poetry under the inspiration of Italy: Ein Sanger, der in weiter Ferne Vom deutschen Vaterlande lebt, In <lessen Geist und Herz so gerne Der Heimat Bild heriiberschwebt, Singt unter FriihlingsJ.aub und Blute Zurn ersten Mal voll stiller Ruh Im tiefbesiinftigten Gemiithe Sein Lied euch in den Norden zu,16 Waiblinger used imagery from Italian landscape in both prose and poetry. Many of his poems from the Italian period deal with themes taken from the inspiration of historic or picturesque localities in the Italian countryside : "An die Veil- chen des Albanersees," "Quelle der Nymphe Egeria in Nemi," "Die Grotte der Diana am Albanersee," "Der Tiber,'' "Die Felsen der Cyklopen,'' "Der Berg von Trapani,'' etc. Waib- linger sings of all the most colorful and famous spots from the Abruzzi on down to Sicily, Tibur, the mountains of Latium, Sorrento, and Capri. The characteristic element in all these poems is a profound and loving appreciation of the Italian landscape, enthusiastic in the Byronic sense and yet tempered with a Horatian strain of refined pleasure. One group of tliese poems, the "Lieder aus Capri,'' is of considerable importance, since it is one of the few products of Waiblinger's pen that had a direct effect on other writers. Johannes Prolss has shown in the introduction to his little chrestomathy of Deutsch- Capri in Kunst, Dichtung und Leben that Waiblinger's poems on Capri were known and admired by such well known writers 15. Rapp, p. 256. 16. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 7. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 45 as August Kopisch, Joseph Viktor von Scheffel, Julius Grosse, and Paul Heyse.17 Waiblinger generally selected well known localities as the setting of his poems on the Italian landscape. The opening lines of the first of the "Lieder aus Capri" take a typical scene that many a traveller has known on the famous island and suffuse it with an appropriate poetic atmosphere: Dem Horizonte nahert sich die Sonne, Versinke sie im Meer, in goldnen Bergen, Ich fiihle stets die reinste Herzenswonne. Doch welche Lust, wie alle Liifte schweigen, Und die Natur zur Ruhe sich bereitet, Den jahen Pfad zum Fels hinanzusteigen.1s The image of the setting sun is carried out through five more stanzas, and in the final three lines there is the interpretatio: So g,leich dem holden Wunderspiel der Sonne Verharrt nur kurz in ungetriibter Schone Und schwindet bald des Lebens hochste Wonne. 19 A further illustration of this technique may be seen in the poem "An die Veilchen des Albanersees." The poem opens with a fine expression of the delicate beauty of the humble flower: Euch die Friihlingserde: zum erstenmale !hr verborgnes Schmachten bekennend, lachelt Sie aus blauen Augen zum Himmel, ihrem Ewig Geliebten.20 Then, after several stanzas, the distinctly romantic thought of the transiency of life leads to a consideration of the fall of Rome: Und wie selbst die riichende Hand des Schicksals Rom auch traf, und furchtbar die Tempel stiirzten, Wo Triumphatoren den nun gefallnen Gottern die Schatze Der besiegten Ertle zum Opfer brachten. . .21 Waiblinger composed similar odes and elegies dedicated to other famous sites such as the spring of Egeria in N emi, the sepulcher of the Scipios, Sorrento, and the mountains of Latium. After a description of the scene often characterized by striking poetic 17. Pro:l_ss, p. 12 et seq., and Ruland, p. 91. 18. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 114. Waiblinger frequently showed a pref- erence for Italian verse forms (e. g., terza rima, siciliano the sonnet the epigram _a la Martial) whenever he was not using the Greek meter~ (mostly alca1c and sapphic, but occasionally asclepiadic) inherited from Holderlin. 19. Ibid. 20. Ibid., p. 12. 21. Ibid., p. 12-13. 46 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY imagery, there is usually a reflective element. An epigram on Tivoli illustrates this method: Haine gliinzen, es donnern die Stiirze des Anio, es stiiuben Kaskatellen, es grau'n Tempel und Villen umber. Wunder bietet die Vorwelt dir an, und Wunder die Mitwelt, U eber die schiiumende Kluft herrscht die Sibylle noch heut.22 In this short poem the first two lines together with the last are strictly descriptive, but the third line contains recollection and reflection. Frequent among the elements that enter into Waiblinger's nature descriptions are references to the glory of antiquity. In an epigram on Ariccia 23 W aiblinger was pleased with the cool and healthy atmosphere of the ancient city in contrast with the late unlamented Pontine Marshes, and he recalled the adven- turous Sicilians under Archilochus who chose this favored spot as a settlement. After a charming little note on the Bandusian Fountain and its environs, he added a cleve.r turn referring to Horace: "Trink ! noch sprudelt der Quell, aber der Genius fehlt." 24 The naked mountains and the scrubby pine near Palestrina caused the German poet to utter a sympathetic word about its present sad estate: "Stolzes Praneste, und so schmach- test in Armuth du denn !"25 Antiquity is not the only setting for Waiblinger's poems on the Italian landscape. As he said in the little epigram on Tivoli, "Wunder bietet die Vorwelt dir an, und Wunder die Mitwelt," we find scenes from modern Italy and the life of modern Italians as well as from the ancients. There is no suggestion of ancient Tusculum in an epigram entitled "Frascati": Lorbeer griint und Cypresse, die Myrthe bliiht, die Fontaine Pliitschert und rauscht, aus dem Haine glanzet der stolze Palast. Alles that die Natur, ein Paradies zu erschaffen ... 26 In addition to natural beauty Waiblinger found that the creations of man and even man himself constituted further elements of scenic beauty: Gerne bliebst du im Kloster, im Rosengiirtchen, das lieblich Wi!l ein Miirchen so hoch iiber dem Anio hiingt. Aber em Frauengeschlecht von vollendeter iippiger Schonheit Zieht aus dem Himmel, es zieht dich auf die Ertle zuriick.27 22. Ibid., p. 47. 23. Ibid., p. 45. Cf. Horace, Serm., I, v, 1. 24. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 47. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid., p. 46. 27. Ibid., p. 47. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 47 He summarized his formula for the program of an ideal tourist in a few lines on his beloved Tivoli. Significantly, it is entitled "Classisches in Tibur," and the content explains the title: J agst du dem Classischen nach, und ist's dem Barbaren Entziicken, Nun so sieh, wie mich hier Vorwelt und Mitwelt erfreut ! Ueber der Grotte Neptun's wird gezeeht, im purpurnen Becher Spiegelt sich Tempel und Berg, Hain und Villa Lukulls.28 Waiblinger's nature poetry illustrates the traditions of the ancients as well as the moderns. His tribute to Lago Fucino23 recalls Catullus' tender words dedicated to Sirmio on the Lago di Garda (Carm. XXXI), and his ode to the spring of Egeria in N emi30 the deep attachment of Horace to his Bandusian Fountain ( Carm. III, 13) . Waiblinger knew the Roman poets well; but, on the other hand, it may have been a common inspira- tion and a common atmosphere that brought about this simi- larity. Geikie speaks of this type of affinity in The Love of Nature among the Romans : A land so varied in its scenery, so benign in its climate, so fer- tile in its soil, so exuberant in its vegetation, so prolific therefore, in its ministration to the well-being of man, has been feelingly claimed by one of its modern poets_ to have been dowered with the gifts of beauty. Two thousand years ago the same natural charms existed, and it would have been strange had the Romans proved insensible to them.31 Whether Waiblinger imitated the ancients or unconsciously wrote in their manner would require detailed stylistic com- parisons, but it is safe to make the generalization that Waib- linger observed Italian scenery in the same calm and compre- hensive manner that distinguishes Horace and Goethe's Italian poems. On the other hand, Waiblinger never freed himself completely from the spell of romanticism, as we may see in the following passage from the "Erstes Lied aus Olevano": Deine Felsen, die zeitgetrofl'nen, aber, Mein Olevano, sind's, wo sich der hohe Diistre Geist der Natur mit ernsten Schauern Seiner Einsamkeit gerne mir befreundet. Finstre Walder des Apennins, in deren Melancholischen Schluchten ii.her Triimmer Blitzgespailtenen Wipfeln oft der Wind ein Lied hinhaucht, das, verwandt mit meinen Leiden, Meinen Schmerzen, wie wilde Geisterliebe Mit ertonet, das ich versteh' und kenne. . .s2 28. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 41. 29. Ibid. 30. Gedichte aus ltalien, II, 15. 31. Geikie, p. 17. 32. Gedichte aus ltalien, 1, 44. 48 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY But this mood is not permanent, for we hear in "Zweites Lied": ... an Quelle Treuer beil'ger Natur sass' icb, in ibrer Unerschopflichen Flut mich taglich badend, J eden Flecken vertilgend .. ,33 The next two songs from Olevano are glorious tributes to Italian sunshine and joy, and an occasional fit of northern melancholy is merely a painful memory of the night before in dark Swabia. Waiblinger's successful use of Italian landscape in his poems is paralleled in his prose. All of his stories set in Italy and the travel sketches are saturated with pictures of Italian mountains, lakes, forests, and rivers. In the travel sketches a successful description of nature was essential above all else to fulfill the purpose of giving to Germany a complete picture of Italy, for the physical aspects of a country are one of the greatest forces in the formation of national character. In the tales, Das Blumen- fest, Die heilige Woche, Das Marchen van der Blauen Grotte, and Francesco Spina, all of which are set against an Italian background, the role of nature is equally important. In Die heilige Woche there is a strange mixture of biograph- ical material taken from Waiblinger's experiences in both Italy and Germany. For example, the German Graf Eduard, the central figure, is modelled on himself and Morike, and his friend LO'uis is Ludwig Bauer, the literary friend of both Morike and Waiblinger at the University of Tiibingen.34 On the other hand, Vighi, the Italian painter, has many characteristics ascribed by Waiblinger in Das Abenteuer van der Sohle to the typical Grub Street artist in Rome. The melancholy Graf Eduard is enter- tained by Vighi's lady friends with a lively tarantella, and there is a colorful background for these festivities: ... Ein entziickender B:lick ist von bier aus das Bild des iippi- gen, reichen Gianicolo, aus <lessen immer griinen, siissen Luftbainen die lieblichsten Kliister, Kirchen und Villen berausscbauen, und dessen sanft gezogene Linie ein Paradies von schlanken Pinien kront. Sodann das alte Rom, iiber das man frei hinwegblickt, er- offnet iiber der Fiille der angranzenden Haine, der lichtgriinen Garten, der schwarzen Cypressen, der reizendsten Lorbeergange vo11 Nachtigallen, voll weisser Bilder seine melancholischen, nun in einem Meer von Sonnengold und Duft gliihenden Wunder! Dort ersteht die furchtbare Wand des Colosseums, dort liegen die Triimmer von den Thermen des Titus wild umber, dort ragen die Kaiserpalaste grausig aus dem lieblichen Grun vor Evanders Berg hervur; den Friedenstempel bedeckt der Orangengarten der an ihm binaufblickt, und bier ganz in der Nahe, in der man~igfaltigsten 33. Ibid., p. 47. 34. Ruland, p. 40. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY Gartennatur, neben den dunkeln Hainen der Villa Giustiniani graut der runde Tempel der Minerva medica! 35 49 Waiblinger had a highly developed sense for line and color, and the application of these qualities to his narrative is an unusual note in early nineteenth century German fiction, for so many other romanticists depend solely on fantasy for their color. Das Miirchen von der Blauen Grotte is resplendent with na- ture imagery, since the setting throughout the tale is the pic- turesque Bay of Na pies. One of the most successful passages in this story is the description of the Blue Grotto itself: ... Schon ist eine Mondnacht im S"liden, und die Blaue der Liifte, so wie des Wassers ist bezaubernd, aber was sind solche Farben gegen <las brennende Blau, das diese hohe Felsenhohle wie mit der Kraft einer optischen Magie durchschimmerte, gegen die Klarheit des Meeres, <las sie mit dem Kristall einer bis auf den tiefsten Grund durchsichtigen Fluth anfiillte, gegen die unbeschreihliche Helle, die sich wie ein susses Feuer von ihrem Spiegel aus iiber die seltsam gebildeten Felswande verbreitete, <lass auch sie in phosphorischen Flammen zu gliihen schienen, gegen die Wirkung von Nahe und Ferne, von Licht und Schatten, gegen die Lieblichkeit des Bildes, <las die ,lautern Wasser von den mannichfaltigen Fels- gestalten zuriickspiegelten, ja gegen die Schwimmenden selbst, die mit entziickender Lichthelle aus dem blauen Zauberbad hervor- leuchteten.36 Francesco Spina and Das Blumenfest are hack-work, and both stories reflect hasty and thoughtless composition. However, Waiblinger did not lose his sense for the background of Italian landscape, and many of the nature descriptions in these stories are equal to those in the rest of his work. Still, the inspiration that we find elsewhere is not present here. In Waiblinger's two most successful pieces of fiction set in Italy, there are many good nature descriptions. He knew and loved the country so well that he could paint its natural beauties in glowing colors. Except for Heine and Goethe, few other writers about Italy prior to Waiblinger have been able to give northern European readers an equally vivid picture of the coun- try. Goethe surpassed Waiblinger in the field of geological observations, and Winckelmann was a more learned student of the arts ; but these closet diversions are not dependent upon a thorough and loving acquaintance with the whole country that is so characteristic of Waiblinger. The Swabian's ability to incorporate this material into his fiction is a step forward in the appreciation of Italy as a physical entity. 35. Werke, IV, 104. 36. W erke, III, 25. 50 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY Of all Waiblinger's works the stories and the travel sketches were perhaps the most widely read, and the latter were even better known than the former. 37 The travel sketches, printed in the Taschenbucher and collected in the eighth and ninth volumes of the works, cover almost all of the best known localities and many of the lesser known ones from the Abruzzi south. Waib- linger travelled in historic territory, but the most important ele- ment in these travel essays is his appreciation of the landscape. Some of the titles are even suggestive of this element: "Der Fruhling in den Gebirgen Latiums," "Wanderung ins Sabiner-. land," "Sommerausflug nach Olevano." He travelled on foot and with a donkey constantly from his arrival in Italy up until the time of his death; and according to Frey and Grisebach, Waib- linger died as the result of consumption contracted after the hardships of his journeys.38 Some samples of the descriptions in the Reiseschilderungen will show the literary quality of this work. Waiblinger rarely indulged in the satire and pleasant small talk that are character- istic of Heine's Italienische Reise, for he took the title of his work more seriously and attempted to give his readers a com- prehensive picture of Italy. To be sure, he was interested in the people, as we shali see in another connection, but this in- terest was of quite another type from Heine's, who found company among the fashionable travellers. An account of Civitella's site demonstrates Waiblinger's approach fairly: Civitella lag lange schon vor uns auf seinem rippigen, grauen, nackten, wiisten, furchtbaren Berge, und schien kein Dorf, sondern nur ein Haufen iibereinandergeworfener Steine. So aber beinahe alle Oerter in diesen wilden Gebirgen; wenn sie nicht gerade auf der Spitze einer Anhohe hiingen und <lurch einen Thurm sich aus- zeichnen, so kann man sie oft kaum nach Farbe und Form vom Berge unterscheiden, an den sie angeklebt sind. Auf der andern Seite lachten uns die frischen elisischen Kastanienwiilder zu, unter denen der W eg nach Civitella hinauffiihrt, und bald hatten wir einen Standpunkt oben auf der Rohe der Serpentara gewonnen, wo wir, umgeben von uralten herrlichen Eichen, eine entziickende Aus- sicht vor uns hatten. Nordlich <las grauenweckende Civitella in den Liiften, nordwestlich die vielfachen Abstufungen und Formen des Aequergebirgs, nun, da die Sonne ziemlich hinter ihnen stand, in einem herrlichen Schattentone, iiber den vielen Olivenhiigeln und Wiildern an der Stirne eines Berges St. Vito, oben auf windiger Hohe Kapranica und Tocca di Cavi, ein Oertchen, das kaum ein Adler erschwingen zu konnen scheint.39 37. Ruland, p. 4. 38. Frey, p. 238, and Gedichte aus Italien, II, 203-206 (Grisebach's appendix). 39. Werke, VIII, 185-186. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 51 In this SBlection Waiblinger did not attempt to spare the barren, forbidding Apennines, but he was not blind to the natural beauty of the spot. Just as we have seen in other instances, his land- scapes in prose are filled with the contrast between north and south, Germany and Italy. In Sorrento he ran into bad weather and made the following comment: Wenn uns der Anblick des Piano di Sorrento, diese ungeheuren Orangengiirtchen, dieser eigentliche Pomeranzenwald, aus dessen Dunkelgriin hundert lustige Hauser und Hofe hervorschauen, aller- dings einige W orte der V erwunderung abnothigte, so war es doch natiirlich, dass wir uns sogleich wieder iiber das nordische Un- wetter beklagten, das diese gliickseligen Strecken umnachtete und verwiistete. 40 In connection with this passage it is important to note that Waiblinger always looked for characteristic scenery in the "Land der Citronen und Goldorangen," places that brought out all the brilliance and sunlight traditionally associated with the peninsula. Such is his description of sunset at Olevano: Welch ein gottlicher unvergesslicher Tag! Meine Freunde bese- hen sich die N atur, und ich babe meine besondern Freuden. Wir sa- hen endlich die Sonne hinter den Aequerbergen in blendendem Golde untergehen. Alle unaussprecbliche Schone, Fiille, Klarheit und Siissigkeit Hesperiens liichelte aus den Bergen von Anagni und Segni, wie aus dem Aufenthalte der Seligen, heriiber. Daran reichen Worte nicht, und wenn ich Ihnen auch jene tausend und aber taus- end Farbentone angeben konnte, die in der Landschaft in einander spielten, so gabe es doch kein Bild von alle dem iiberschwang.lichen Glanze.41 He haunted the footsteps of the anci~nts as we have seen in his poems on the ancient villas at Tivoli, the site of ancient Lavinium where he conjured up visions of Aeneas' landing on Italian soil, and Girgenti where he imagined that he saw a coy nymph hiding behind the pillars of an ancient temple. His passage on Lavinium is representative: Unmittelbar unter dem elysischen Gartchen gruppirt sich das niedere Cora zum Theil hinab, ihm gegeniiber wolbt sich ein wollii- stig rundlicher Berg in sanfter W ellenlinie, und <las Silbergriin seiner Oliven bildet einen erquickenden Contrast mit Feigen, Kas- tanien und Vignen. Durch zwei junge Cypressen, welche am Rande des Giirtchens ihr schlankes, dunkles Gewiicbs emporheben, entfaltet sich, wie in einen Rahmen zusammengezogen, die Ferne, gleich schon durch den Reiz ihrer Farbe, <lurch die unendliche Weite ihres Raumes, als durch die Mythe, <lurch die Geschichte, die sie vorzugsweise geheiligt. Denn hier spielt die altest'e Fabel Italiens, die sich an die griechische ankniipft, bier ein Stuck aus der Odys- see, und die vaterliindische Dichtung der Aeneide, bier bebt sieh <las wundersame blauduftige Vorgebirge der Circe wie ein Zauber- drache aus dem Meere, bier ist der Boden, wo Ulysses gelandet, 40. W erke, IX, 149. 41. Ibid., p. 103. 52 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY hier wo Aeneas, nach der Zerstorung Troja's, vor drei Jahrtau- senden Lavinium gegriindet. Hier ist die Wiege Roms! Als eine weite heitere Flache voll saftigen Griins breiten sich die pontin- ischen Siimpfe aus, und man gewahrt die Appische Strasse, die nach Parthenope fiihrt: hoch und herrlich erstreckt sich dariiber bin die Riesenlinie des Tyrrhenischen Meeres, und die drei Ponzain- seln duften mit ihren dammernden Felsen wie neptunische Wunder aus ihm heriil>er ... 42 In Waiblinger's travel sketches, better than in any other part of his work, his devotion to the physical and the human aspects of Italy is unmistakable. He was able to incorporate this feel- ing for Italy's scenery into prose essays, poems, and tales. Everywhere some image from Italian landscape appears, for Italy is the fundamental theme of all his mature work. A few previous travellers in Italy had observed and appreciated her natural beauty in parts of their works, but all of Waiblinger's writings are filled with it. Antiquity and modern times are revealed alike in Waib- linger's work. In Subiaco he faced the dilemma of choosing between a visit to the ancient monastery and enjoying the com- pany of a charming young girl; and, much to the disgust of the latter, he gave up neither and tried to make love to her in the garden of the monastery.43 This eagerness to see and do every- thing is typical of his attitude. At times he may describe the pleasing sight of orange groves and vineyards bathed in warm sunshine, and then he falls at once into reveries on the glories of ancient times. 44 • · Waiblinger maintained a critical attitude in general, but he rarely failed to exhibit his boundless enthusiasm for everything Italian. He could see little beauty in the rocky and barren slopes of the Apennines, and his displeasure at the filth he saw in Benevento caused him to rechristen the town with the ancient name of Maleventmm.45 On the other hand, a shady nook beside the Lago Albano or a pleasing view from Monte Cavo called forth an appropriate tribute. It is not unusual that Waiblinger wrote nothing about Italy north of the Abruzzi and Rome, for the most important historic and scenic localities are in the southern part of the peninsula. The rocky coast of Liguria and Lombardy offer entirely differ- ent opportunities from the Bay of Naples, Rome and her environs, 42. Ibid., p. 112-113. 43. Ibid., p. 87. 44. Ibid., p. 199-200. 45. Ibid., p. 234. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 53 Syracuse, or Girgenti. Waiblinger, who was liable to go to ex- cess at times even in his later period, did not attempt the im- possible task of surveying Italy as a totality; rather, he selected the most characteristic scenes and tried to omit nothing of im- portance. At the beginning of this chapter we noticed the development in Waiblinger's ability to record his appreciation of nature. While these comments are still valid, we are now in a position to expand them. None of the excerpts quoted in this chapter show absolute stylistic perfection. Indeed, there are some rather shabby spots in them. Still the improvement over the early writings is obvious, and even more important, Waiblinger at last found a central theme for his creative work. CHAPTER V WAIBLINGER AND THE ITALIAN PEOPLE In this chapter we come to one of the most productive aspects of Waiblinger's Italian experience. Whether or not he exer- cised any direct influence in orienting the modern tourist toward the Italian people, we find that von Klenze records no previous traveller who made such extensive tours through the cities and the country and who delved into the life and customs of indi- viduals and groups as thoroughly as Waiblinger. The German poet would tarry on the Molo in Naples to hear a public reading of Ariosto by a disabled sailor, he would haunt the lowest and rowdiest taverns of Rome to follow some locally famous im- provisatore, he would pause in Genzano to take a second look at the pretty face and buxom figure of a village beauty, and, like Horace, lost sleep when she failed to keep a rendezvous (Serm. I, v, 82-85). Earlier travellers in Italy had paid little attention to the people. Indeed, we find not merely indifference, but indignant commentaries on the lack of sanitation.1 Montaigne, to be sure. had shown a strong interest in people during his Italian sojourn; but he was a Renaissance philosopher who sought universal human traits rather than peculiar national or local characteris- tics. In short, Italians were scorned by visitors as the unworthy and degenerate heirs of the great traditions of antiquity and Renaissance. Goethe was far more tolerant of the people than earlier trav- ellers. His essays on "Das romische Carneval" and "Die Taran- tella" show a genuine interest in the festive aspects of the lane! he learned to love, and the little article entitled "Frauenrollen auf dem romischen Theater durch Manner gespielt" illustrates his preoccupation with indigenous art. Still, Goethe was too much of a classicist, too much a lover of antiquity, too aristo- cratic to seek out friends among the people and acquaint him- self with their daily life and customs. Even his Faustine was hardly representative of Italian womanhood, for she was rather the incarnation of southern life in general that Goethe was so 1. English travellers on the "grand tour" were especially guilty. (Stein- itzer, p. 25). WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 55 eager to know. Waiblinger, on the contrary, would see in a village girl of Olevano the characteristic Italian beauty. It remained for the romanticists to exploit popular color and tradition, and this task was nobly executed in Italy. Arnim, Brentano, Philipp Otto Runge, Gorres, and, above all, the Grimms, discovered and described the German people and _their folkways. This movement occurred primarily before the politi- cal reaction of 1815. After that date Gorres and Brentano retired to a quiet, unproductive life of mystical speculation; and those who remained in active life such as the Grimms and Uhland had unending trouble with academic authorities. Others emigrated. Heine and Borne went to Paris; Alexander von Humboldt trav- elled through South America, Mexico, Java, and other exotic lands; Chamisso took a trip around the world. Except in the first two cases, this tendency to expatriation cannot be attri- buted directly to political circumstance; but there does seem to have been a definite trend for the German intellectual to expand his perspective by more travel abroad. Such is Waiblinger's case, and we have already seen that the reasons for his trip to Italy were numerous. When he went to Italy, he carried with him all that he had learned from Schwab and Uhland; and he was prepared to meet the people and to interpret them to Germany as the romanticists had dis- covered Germans for Germany. In addition, he was not merely a tool for the romanticists in the execution of their program, but he was also a member of the new generation that fostered a new type of internationalism and discouraged cheap chauvinism, although reserving a healthy respect for the dignity of national traditions. Waiblinger's interest in the Italian people is not to be considered in the light of any school of literature or thought, but strictly as an individual matter, the efforts of one man to find and interpret another culture. In Italy Waiblinger found a land that, in many respects, had been changeless through the centuries. Whether in Rome or in the country, he was delighted to find a people little different from those of two thousand years ago, and he constantly cited the ancient authors to support this point. His sly comment on Roman women: · Alte Sitt' ist heilig: die Frau gab dem Manne den Schlachthelm, 56 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY Einst auf <las Haupt, und noch jetzt reicht sie den Kopfputz ihm dar.2 is remarkably similar to the more serious complaint of Juvenal in his "Vision of Foul Women:" Tarpeium limen adora pronus et auratam Iunoni caede iuvencam, si tibi contigerit capitis matrona pudici.3 When he travelled in Latium he was constantly reminded of the simple life portrayed by Livy in the early books of his history and the parallels that he found in the Italian countryside. En route to Naples he described wayside companions who might have had a role in Horace's "Trip to Brindisi". In addition to the eternal Italy, there was further inspiration for his lively interest in the people. One of his favorite literary exercises was to draw a contrast between Italians and Germans with didactic intent. For example: Italiiiner und Deutscher sind nie vereinbare Pole, Jener ist ein Kind, dieser dagegen nie.4 With a wry smile he commented on the easy morals of Italian women and at the same time satirized the excessive prudery of the middle class German: Zucht und Sittlichkeit wohnt in Deutschland, aber Italien 1st der Freude, der Lust, iippiger Sinnlichkeit Land. 0 welch ein Unterschied, ein moralischer ! Dort sind die H .... Jungfern und Miidchen, in Rom haben sie gar einen Mann.5 Waiblinger learned to appreciate the Italian people as per- sonalities and to initiate himself into their habits and traditions. He was impressed by the phrase "dolce far niente" as the most beautiful sounds in the language. Once he heard of a baker who dwelt all his life on the Piazza Rusticucci and never took the trouble to cross the square and visit St. Peter's. Waiblinger commemorated the anecdote with an epigram on "Romische Faulheit :" Zwanzig J ahre wohn' ich nun schon auf dem Platze St. Peters, Doch in die Kirche hinein kam ich per bacco noch nicht.6 The poet enjoyed a little fun over the deadly feud of the Trasteverini and the Montigiani, although many a foreigner might have condemned it as a barbarian custom of a degenerate 2. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 86. 3. Sat. VI, 42-44. 4. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 89. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid., p. 91. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 57 people. He wrote about the Trasteverini with a well developed sense of humor: Wir sind die einzigen Romer, dem Montigianer Verachtung! Wir sind noch frei, im Moment stosst man ihm's Messer im Leib.7 Roman diversions offered him as much pleasure as any native might have derived from them : Corse, Theater und Akademie, Oktober und Giostra, Essen und Trinken, man lebt einzig, damit man's geniesst.8 At the festival of October he joined the people at the Villa Bor- ghese outside of the city to eat and drink and watch the saltarello, the national dance of the Romans : Weg mit der Arbeit! Man fahrt an den Monte Testaccio, man jubelt, Tanzet und spielet und trinkt, bis der Oktober vergeht.9 Waiblinger even preferred to go hungry than to miss the festiv- ities: Lieber drei W ochen gehungert, und dann mit waJlender Feder, Tamburin und Gesang nur zum Testaccio hinaus.1° Waiblinger's observations on Italian women are more ex- tensive than on any other group or class of Italians. He had several liaisons with Italian women,11 and during the last two years of his life he lived with a widow whom he called "Cornac- chia" (the crow) and who bore two of his children. Frey, who had access to unpublished letters to Eser, has described the ideal relationship of the couple with special emphasis on Waiblinger's appreciation of her typical Italian characteristics: Wenn je, so hat Waiblinger dem ganzen Zauber ehelichen und hiiuslichen Gliickes in den ersten Sommermonaten des Jahres 1828 empfunden. Er hatte sich wieder, wie im vorhergehenden Jahre, von den Deutsch en · zuriickgezogen und lebte in verborgener Stille ganz nur seiner Freundin, die er scherzweise Cornacchia, zuweilen auch Carlenza nennt. Als junge Frau, deren Mann seinerzeit mit einer Engliinderin durchgebrannt war, hatte sie sich Waiblinger bald mit a,ll der Aufopferung und Anhiinglichkeit eines getiiusch- ten Herzens hingegeben, das in der zweiten Leidenschaft die Schmach der ersten auszuloschen versucht. Aus ihr schaute die echte Romerin mit iippigem, kohlrabenschwarzem Haar und feu- rigen Augen, nur wurde sie leicht etwas zu hitzig, so <lass sie zehn- mal des Tags sich streiten und wieder versohnen konnte. Aber dafiir war ihr auch jene natiirliche Frische der Italienerinnen, grosse Giite des Herzens und iiberhaupt eine gesunde, kraftige W eiblichkeit eigens. Sie liebte, und die Liebe fiillte ihr stolzes Herz so aus, dass sie an eine formedle Heirat weiter gar nicht dachte, sondern unbesorgt nur ihrem Gliicke lebte. Trefflich verstand sie 7. Ibid., p. 90. 8. Ibid., p. 89. 9. Ibid., p. 90. 10. Ibid. 11. Frey, p. 98, refers to Waiblinger's pride in his amatory prowess. 58 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY es, den Geliebten an sich zu gewohnen, ohne ihm li.istig zu fallen. Sie machte ihn geordnet, nahm ihm die Sorgen fiir kleinliche Ausserlichkeiten ab, ja, sie hatte ihn am liebsten bestandig um sich behalten ... Der Brief vom 8. Juli 1828 an Eser beginnt mit einem wahren Jubelschrei: "Si! mio cuore! io sono felicel La prima volta lo posse dire senza paura d'ingannarmi ! Perche questa mia felicita none fondata nel cieco calore d'una sfrenata passione, or in un sogno piuttosta poetico che essenziale, ma nell' armonia interna, la quale mi restituisce a me ed a tutto il mondo, volesse l':Iddio, per sempre!" ... Nicht ohne Grund schreibt Waiblinger seinem Eser iiber dieses ihr tagliches Leben: "Cosi mio cuore, posse dire, che benche mi manchi il genio di Goethe, non mi manchi lo sua felicita romana !"I2 Waiblinger saw in Cornacchia his ideal of the Italian woman, hot-tempered and yet capable of the tenderest emotions. He took his spedal pleasure in the Italian atmosphere of life with Cornacchia; and in this respect he differed from Goethe, who saw in Faustine the incarnation of southern life, but did not look upon her as distinctly Italian. Waiblinger always sought in other women the same things that appealed to him in Cornacchia. His "Lieder der Nazar- ena"18 give the bare descriptive details of an idyllic affair amid a flood of tender lyricism in which the emotions of an Italian village maiden are quite obvious. His travel sketches are fiull of amusing little affairs (probably not too serious after his affection for Cornacchia ripened). His stories are full of Italian women whom he treats in quite realistic fashion. There are two canons for the beauty of Italian women which Waiblinger composed to accompany engravings he selected for his published writings. Both are reproduced in the collected works. The first engraving, entitled "Die Romerin''' is at the beginning of the fourth volume of the collected works and was originally an illustration for Die heilige Woche (in the Taschen- buch aus Italian und Griechenland auf das Jahr 1829); and Waiblinger has given us an effective appraisal of her charms: ... wem ist das romische Profil nicht bekannt? Und dennoch kom- men so viele belesene und gebildete Fremde, kommen sogar viele Kiinstler nach Rom, und treffen ein ganz anderes Frauengeschlecht, als sie sich's entweder mit der Wililkiir ihrer Einbildungskraft · oder nach falschen Darstellungen vor's Auge gebracht. Besonders, wer die .Reise nach Rom Uber Paris gemacht, wer die Reize eines koketten Anzugs und franzosischen Benehmens, wer die schlanke Taille der Englanderin, wer die weisse Gesichtsfarbe, den senti- mentalen Ausdruck unserer schonen Landsmanninnen als Richt- schnur in der Beurtheilung weiblicher Schonheit annimmt, der sucht vergebens auf der Strasse, im Theater, im Festino, in der Akademie, 12. Ibid., p. 208-209. 13. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 53-67. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY in den Feuerwerken des Mausoleums eine Rchnerin, welche seinen Erwartungen geniigen konnte. Sie ist ihm zu derb, zu kraftig, selbst zu unzart, ja unweiblich, ihr Wuchs zu ungefallig, zu grandios, ihr Angesicht zeigt weder Milch und Blut, noch die Emp- findung einer Deutschen, ihr Anzug weder den Geschmack, den er im Palais royal bewundert, noch den Reichthum, welcher die Brittin auszeichnet, ja wir haben schon von Deutschen und Fran- zosen, besonders aber von Engliindern sagen horen, dass die Romerinnen geradezu das plumpste Weibergeschlecht auf Erden seyen. 14 59 Waiblinger had little sympathy with hypercritical travellers who failed to appreciate the better points of Italian women and contrasted them with their own countrywomen in respect to artificial decorations and material wealth. Waiblinger saw in the Roman woman a natural simplicity that did not occur in a. sophisticated salon of Paris, and yet he understood that this type of beauty might not have a universal appeal. He closed his little sketch with a remark on the shapely figures of Italian women, not for bidden by any northern prudery to clothe them- selves lightly. In many of Waiblinger's works in which there is art criticism, he frequently revealed the influence of the neo-classicism of Canova and his school. Such is the case with the introductory statement on another engraving of an Italian woman, "Die Genzaneserin," which appears at the beginning of the eighth volume of his collected works.15 His characterization of her beauty was in line with the efforts of contemporary artists to revive the spirit of antiquity: ... und so sind wir im Stancle, dir, lieber Leser, ein zieml'ich getreues Abbild eines Kopfes zu iibergeben, <lessen grandioser Geist, <lessen ideale Formen die schonen Frauen des Albanergebirges im Allgemeinen auf's wiirdigste charakterisiren kann. Suchst du Formen, wie sie die alten Kiinstler aus der reichen siidlichen Natur auslasen, um daraus jene vollkommenen Ideale zu erschaffen, welche wir noch in den unsterblichen Denkmalern der Vorzeit bewun- dern und nachahmen, ohne ihnen nur gleichkommen, geschweige sie iibertreffen zu konnen; liegt es dir daran,, den Charakterkopf einer Frau kennen zu lernen, wie wir sie in iippiger, frischer Ge- sundheit, in seltener Kraft und Starke in den Gegenden von Albano, Genzano, Frascati, oder auch in den Gebirgen der Sabiner, in jenen himmelhohen Felsennestern in den Umgebungen von Subiaco und Olevano finden. . _16 14. Werke, IV, i. 15. This illustration was originally printed in the "Supplementblatt" of the Stuttgarter Abendzeitung, nos. 52-58, 1-6 March 1827. The original was an oil painting by the German artist Grahl, who prepared it for an exposition of the works of German artists in Rome in honor of King Ludwig of Bavaria in 1827. Waiblinger states that much life and color was lost in the engraving. 16. Werke, VHI, i. 60 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY Despite his desire to find a reincarnation of the classic type, the poet realized that after all such women might actually be found in modern Italy. He felt that they displayed their beauty to best advantage against native scenery rather than in lifeless marble. Waiblinger entertained liberal ideas about the easy morals of Italian women, but he was not able to adapt himself to every situation. On one occasion in Frascati he was strongly attracted by a young woman who repulsed him with the stock, "Dopo che io sono sposata, ma non primo."17 Still he praised the Italian woman who insisted on protecting her honor.18 While Waib-- linger, like Catullus, could sing high admiration for the virtuous woman, he was equally capable of writing bitterly satirical verses on the woman of few moral scruples : or: Immer spricht man vom Joch des Ehstands, wann denn vertauscht man Endlich das Bild und setzt Horner des Ehstands dafiir?l9 Eingezogen und sittsam verfHesst die Zeit mir als Jungfrau, Ist die Hochzeit vorbei, fangt das Commercium erst an.20 Waiblinger, whose youth was filled with excesses, had matured and learned to know the Italian people so well that he is able to give an objective account of the vices as well as the virtues of Italian women. Waiblinger found Italian men, in general, a merry lot, think- ing more about panem et circenses than about the weightier problems of life, but he did not view them as the effeminate characters we know in cheap fiction. His Italian is a colorful individual, and the poet often forced this point with a contrast between the German and the Italian, for example, in a humorous sally on Roman gluttony and German drunkenness: Was ein Romer isst, und ein Deutscher trinket, das diinkt mir, War' am Ende sogar Gullivers Riesen genug.21 He described these gentlemen as the lords of heaven and earth in their contentment with life : Wir sind die Herrn, wir haben den Schlussel zu Himmel und Erde, Keine Schatulle, der er, wenn sie nur voll ist, nicht passt.22 <. 17. Ibid., p. 2. 18. E.g., Gedichte aus Italien, I, 60. 19. Gedichte aus ltalien, II, 91. 20. Ibid., p. 90. 21. Ibid., II, 85. 22. Ibid. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 61 A long parade of Italian men pass in review in Waiblinger's works. There are peasants, artists, Roman street rabble, gentle- men of leisure, entertainers, and tradesmen. Perhaps the most striking are his peasants, who appear all through the travel sketches. He found in them many of the same general char- acteristics that are attributed to the northern European peasant: sly trickery, good-natured fun making, suspicious attitudes toward strangers, and a confirmed belief in the goodness of their own life. On the other hand, they are hardly models of thrift, or, to piut the idea more broadly, of the old Roman frugalitas. Their extravagance is typified in the improvisatore Michel Angelo, who went out every night after he had earned a little money and spent it on strong drink to loosen his tongue and thereby enhance his poetic gifts.23 Typical of the limited out- look of the Italian peasant are the verses that Waiblinger copied from a peasant's door: Jo <levo morire, e non so dove, Jo <levo morire, e non so quan<lo. Jo devo morire, e non so come.24 Naturally there follows the unexpressed although quite logical thought of carpe diem in the commentary on these fatalistic lines, a peasant trait which Waiblinger also portrayed in his vivid scenes from the nightly festivities in the local osteria. Along with the peasant Waiblinger always found the village priest to be a man who shared the basic characteristics of his parishioners. Typical is the abbot of Palestrina: Der Abbate von Palestrina, der eine besondere Passion fiir mich gewonnen, wol,Ite mich heute mit einem Besuch beehren: ich sass aber auf meinem Felsen aussen im Ospidale und vergegen- wartigte mir noch einmal meinen ganzen Aufenthalt in diesen Hernikerbergen, mit allen Freuden und Leiden, mit Furcht und Hoffnung, und allen seinen guten oder schlimmen Folgen. Den Abend aber erwischte er mich im Caffe. Ich schaute einer lustigen Scene hier zu. Einige Kapuziner von St. Francesco in Civitelila kamen, und zogen dem Caffeewirth einen Zahn heraus. Der Abbate war erfreut, und bat mich, mit ihm einen kleinen Spaziergang zu machen. Er schien mir ein wenig Libertin zu seyn. Endlich aber drang er auf's heftigste in mich, meine Abreise auf tl'bermorgen zu verschieben, und den kommenden Tag ihm zu widmen. Ich ent- schuldigte mich mit <ler Unmoglichkeit, allein er Iiess keine Griinde gelten. Als wir in der Dammerung nach Hause kamen, rief uns Domenico, <ler Vater, einen lustigen Gruss zu, und verrieth Wein- hitze. Ich bat den Abbate, mit mir zu kommen, und Angelo besorgte eine Bocchia Wein; auf der Loggia wurde er getrunken. Der Abbate erwies mir aLle moglichen Hoflichkeiten und drang immer 23. W erke, VIII, 224 et seq. 24. Ibid., p. 212. 62 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY gewaltsamer in mich, zu bleiben. Zuletzt verrieth er sich und ich merkte, dass der Grund seiner eminenten Passion fiir mich, Liebe zur Poesie war, die auch er, wie er sagte, zuweilen nur bei Gelegen- heit treibe.25 Waiblinger was particularly fond of participating in rural fiestas, for here he found the true spirit of dolce far niente. During the last days of his summer visit to Olevano in 1828 he was present at such a festival and described it with sympathy and enthusiasm.26 Waiblinger's interest in the men of the cities was related to his attitude toward the peasant. He observed the evil traits of the Italian city dweller such as meanness and untrustworthi- ness, but he found one redeeming feature, his zest for Iif e so typical of his nationality. Night life in Rome appealed strongly to Waiblinger, particularly when he was able to participate personally. He took the greatest pleasure in following a certain sausage dealer who enjoyed a local reputation as an improvisa- tore, often until three or four in the morning.27 Again, he liked to indulge in the carefree Bohemian atmosphere of Rome, a city of freedom and romantic adventures at that time without the modern bustle. At the Cafe Greco he felt perfectly at home among the German and Italian artists who frequented the place: Dutzende sitzen beisammen in uralt' romischer Hohle, Kaum durch ein diisteres Loch stiehlt hier der Tag sich herein, Unser Mahl ist frugal, doch trinken wir gern und im Dampfe Derben Tabakes vergisst leicht man den heimlichen Feind.28 Still he took .special delight in his association with Italian men by mixing with the lowest groups. We have an intimate picture of the so-called minenti29 on a hot summer day gathered in the Temple of Peace to pass the time: Um Vergebung, der Tag ist zu heiss, und ein Haufen Minenti Findet's im Heiligthum selber zum Mora bequem.so Little details like this appear constantly in the poet's works, and it is clear that he not only appreciated the life of the average 25. Ibid., p. 241-142. 26. Ibid., p. 279-280. 27. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 169. 28. Ibid., p. 44. 29. The minenti were from the lowest social groups and were dis- tinguished by a special costume, viz., a round hat, a Manchester jacket hung carelessly over one shoulder, and a sash around the middle. They were frequently contrasted with the baine, who dressed in French style. See Gedichte aus Italien, If, 169. 30. Ibid., p. 80. Mora is a kind of finger play of the Italians with which they amuse themselves hours at a time. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 63 Italian but that he had also participated in the daily round of activity. Waiblinger was no less interested in the customs and tradi- tions of the Italian people. To be sure, he executed for them no such monumental works as the Grimm brothers did in the field of German folklore and antiquities, but he did display broad interest in the customs of the people. He made no great collec- tion of folksongs, but he frequently noted catchy verses and good improvisations with such care that any careful investiga- tion of the Italian folksong should take. his work into account. Nor did he collect proverbs, tales, and local traditions in any scientific manner, but this material is found everywhere in his work. We have already noted Waiblinger's interest in such folk artists as the improvisatori. He was no less interested in the drunken Michel Angelo improvising atop a rocky crag in the Alban hills than he was in the more sophisticated performances of Rosa Taddei and the Cavaliere Sgricci. If he lacked the money to travel or the necessary prestige for admission to an academy, he would stand on the street corner to watch for any fortuitous item of interest.31 Even here he never failed to find some folk artist. It might be the lowly sausage dealer whose improvisations were locally famous, or it might be a puppet show, where the improvisatori combined their poetic gifts with dramatic talent. 32 The burratini or marionettes were set up in Waiblinger's day in vacant lots and unfrequented alleys through- out Rome. There were usually six or seven characters support- ing Cassandro and Pulcinella in all manner of slapstick, and they always had large audiences. Waiblinger paid due attention to Italian legends. We have noted his tendency to give the ancient Roman legends a modern background to show their full significance for modern Italy. The legends of mediaeval and Renaissance Italy do not figure as prominently in his work as do the legends of antiquity. Occasionally Waiblinger may introduce a miracle of St. Francis,33 or he will repeat the pretty story that Tasso died under a great oak on the 'Gianicolo where he had climbed for 31. "Mein Vergnugen ist . . . Hab' ich kein Geld mehr, so pflanz' ich an die Ecke mich auf." Ibid., p. 89. 32. Ibid. 33. Werke, VIII, 9. 64 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY a final panorama of his country.34 Again we have the story that the Romans insist that the beauty of Andrea del Sarto's madonnas was simply an escape complex acquired from life with a nagging wife ; or we read a prank of Bartoldo, the Italian N esreddin Hoca.35 The aspect of Italian life that appealed to Waiblinger above all else was the continual atmosphere of fiesta. Goethe appre- ciated the carnivals, but even in his indulgences he revealed a restraint that Waiblinger never knew. Goethe saw in the Roman carnival the brilliance of a southern land as contrasted with the gloom of melancholy Germany, whereas Waiblinger expanded this idea to a conception of the carnival as an absolute virtue of the Roman people. The best evidence for Waiblinger's love of Italian festivities is his "Lieder des Romischen Carnevals," which he composed in 1828. Here he described all the color and the merry-making of the carnival season in a highly exuberant tone. At the very beginning of the collection he offered his reasons for choosing the carnival as a poetic theme: Und warum nicht, heitere Muse, Lied und Lob dem Carnevale? Bienen konntest du besingen, Konntest schone Frauen ehren, Selbst den Duft der Blumen preisen- U nd warum nicht all die Schwiirme Lust'ger, honigsiisser Feen, Rom in Kriinzen un<l in Blumen ?aG He provided all the necessary orientation for a full appreciation of the carnival : Nur ein fliichtiger Bewohner Dieser Welt, zum Scherz geboren, Zurn Moment, will er sein Dasein, Gleich dem Schmetterling geniessen, Und dem dumpfen Haus der Puppe In vollendeter Entfaltung Nun entnommen, flattert er Buhlend unter seinen BJumen.37 This festival was unlike the procession of distinguished prelates in a church celebration or the exdusive atmosphere of a brilliant society ball, for here democracy reigned sup\reme. Aristocrats rubbed shoulders with plebeians, and all social classes were completely obsessed by the carnival spirit: 34. Gedichte aus ltalien, l, 93. 35. Werke, IX, 17. 36. Gedichte au.a Italien, I, 13. 37. Ibid., p. 15. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY Armuth gibt's nicht mehr und Reichthum. Eine Maske deckt sie beide, U nd geduldig nimmst du j eden, Wie er scheint; Gesicht und Hiille, Wort und die Geberde tauschen. Die Geschlechter selbst, das Alter Lachelt dich in Locken an, Und die Jugend geht an Kriicken.ss 65 The poet was attracted by the different costumes and the numer- ous amusing incidents at carnival time. He saw attractive young women who assumed unusual liberties sanctioned by the season, but allowed no extraordinary freedom to men: Holde, junge Gartnerinnen Reichen Veilchen aus den Korben, Und die breite Arlecchina Fliegt mit Schelilenklang voriiber ! Wie das weisse Hemdchen jene, Wie die Busenscharpe kleidet ! Bleibe Fern! Nimm dich in Acht, Ihre Scheeren sind gefahrlich !39 Waiblinger described the carnival with well chosen metaphors such as the one involving the butterfly, and his jocular, half- serious expressions were consistent with the spirit of the carni- val. He wrote with such ease that he left the impression of a genuine experience in the record of his participation in the crowning event of Roman life. Another festival of which Waiblinger was unusually fond was the floral celebration in Genzano, an annual affair at the summer solstice, and he has provided a compact description of the pageantry in a note to one of his poems : Am 21sten Juni lockt das Blumenfest in Genzano die Bewohner der ganzen Umgebung, ja sogar von Terracina und von den See- stadten, besonders auch <lie Fremden in Rom an diesem Wohnsitz des ewigen Friihlings zusammen. Dieses Fest ist einer begeister- ten Dichterschilderung an anderm Ort wert. Fiir uns Nordlander scheint es eine Fabel, ein Marchen zu sein. Die Strassen sind von den schonsten Blumen iibersaet, mit welchen alle moglichen Zeichnungen, Tempel, Garten, Altare, Wappen, Arabesken und Ornamente auf der Flache ausgefiihrt sind. Auf ihnen wandeln die Schonheiten Albano's und dieses ganzen gliicklichen Land- striches, Profile, deren Hoheit und Charakter an Niobe erinnern, die iiberaus reiche und reizende Tracht dieser antiken Frauen, die vielen andern Kostiime vom Meer her, welche orientalischen Ge- schmack haben, die Gesundheit, Fiille, Kraft und Frische in diesem weiblichen Heldengeschlecht, der Jubel den ganzen Tag iiber, die angefiillten Strassen, die tumultuarischen Osterien, die Bekannten die man find et, der kostliche Wein, nahezu der beste im ganzen Kirchenstaat, und vorziiglich <lie elysaische Natur, die immer- griinen Eichenhaine, die Pappelufer des Sees von Nemi, die herr- 38. Ibid., p. 17. 39. Ibid., p. 20. 66 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY liche Meeraussicht--das a11es kommt zusammen, um einen solchen Tag unvergesslich zu machen.4° Das Blumenfest is a weak story in most respects, but a con- temporary critic praised Waiblinger's successful use of local color against a plausible sixteenth century background with the statement that " ... sie zu den italienischen Novellen der deut- schen Erzahler sich verhalte wie wirkliche Blumen zu italien- ischen."41 The plot of the story is quite fantastic, and the one redeeming feature is Waiblinger's intimate and realistic picture of the carnival. At the beginning of the fifth volume of the collected works there is a copper engraving illustrating the flower festival in Genzano. Like the others, it first appeared with the author's explanation in the Taschenbuch auf das Jahr 1829. The picture is entitled "Landliches ·Fest im Kirchenstaat", and it shows a large number of country people gathered in a courtyard where there is about to be a dramatic representation of some religious interest. The inevitable Arlequino is outside dressed in a clown's costume and going through his repertory to attract a crowd while the spieler is pointing to some important episode in the drama shown on a large picture hung up against the side of a building. The original, a painting by Mlle. Lescot, appears to have been done with all the graphic realism of the Hogarth tradition; and it must have left a strong impression on Waib- linger in his constant search for incidents from the life of the people. Another significant engraving heads the seventh volume of the collected works. It is entitled "Der Vorleser in Neapel," and, appropriately enough, it is at the beginning of the volume containing Waiblinger's poetry. A motley group has gathered around an old sailor who has taken his stand on an open wharf to declaim poetry for whatever pittance his audience may be willing to contribute. We are told that the old fellow is reading or reciting from Ariosto, and a special point is made of the Italian's natural appreciation of poetry.42 This enthusiasm for a popular literature was completely in harmony with the ideas that had been presented in northern Europe by the pre- 40. Ibid., p. 108. The second sentence refers to Das Blumenf est, in W erke, III, 79-219. 41. Apud Ruland, p. 51. 42. W erke, VII, i-ii. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 67 ceding generation, but in addition we have here the conception of natural poetic genius innate in the Italian people. Even if the old sailor were an exception to the ordinary run of humanity, his remarkable audience would seem to prove for Waiblinger that even those Italians who did not possess the gift of declama- tion were capable of appreciating the best in poetry: Hochst anmuthig diinkt uns die Gruppe der drei Lazzaronen zu seyn, welche wir oben als die regelmlissigsten Skolaren be- zeichnet. Jener mit dem Strohhut raucht sein Pfeifchen in voller Behaglichkeit, fiir einen halben Gran so kostliche Dinge von Heiden und Schlachten; Konigen und Mohren, Zauberern und Kastellen zu horen; die beiden andern gaffen den Votleser mit offenem Mund an, nicht ohne Respekt vor dem trefflichen Manne, der so vollkommen zu lesen versteht. 43 Waiblinger has accentuated this picture of everyday Neapolitan life by bringing out not only the carefree nature of an audience none too hospitable to work but also the natural feeling for poetry which he assumed to be .inherent in every Italian. Other scenes reflecting the Italian bent for indulgence in play rather than in serious work are numerous in Waiblinger's works. The scenes that have already been mentioned are representative of what may be found in the tales, poems, and travel sketches. Six of the eight engravings chosen by Waiblinger to accompany his Italienisches Taschenbuch fur 1829 represent scenes from Italian life or interesting individuals whom he encountered in Italy, and three of them depict the atmosphere of the carnival.44 Somewhat less important than the material on the Italian peo- ple contained in Waiblinger's lyrical and journalistic works are the Italian characters in the tales. None of Waiblinger's fiction is of great significance in the history of the German Novelle, but in certain details some pieces show how Waiblinger was gradually approaching literary maturity. He was a lyric poet at his best; and, like many other Swabian poets, his dramas and tales suffer in comparison. Accordingly we must not expect the realism and careful detail in scenes from Italian life that we have found elsewhere. Many isolated points such as Waiblinger's use of the improvisatori and the carnival atmosphere in his tales 43. Ibid., p. iii-iv. 44. An engraving of a scene from Das Miirchen von der blauen Grotte is in vol. III, and a picture of Tenerani's statue of Cupid and Venus is in vol. VI. Vol. IV contains "Die Romerin," and vol. VIII contains "Die Gen- zaneserin." Vol. If has an engraving illustrating the contemptuous at- titude of Englishmen toward Italians. The three illustrating Italians at play are "Llindliches Fest im Kirchenstaat" (vol. V), "Der Vorleser in Neapel" (vol. VII), and "Die Piferari" (vol. IX). 68 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY have been discussed in other connections, and here we will ex- amine only those typically Italian traits and situations which the poet used in the delineation of his characters. Moreover, this material is interesting in comparison with two of Waiblinger's earliest works, Phaethon and Liebe und Hass, both of which are set in the south, one in Greece and the other in Italy. The latter is a motley combination of characters and episodes that Waib- linger found in such works as Rom.ea and Juliet, Em.ilia Galotti, and the Riiuberrom.ane dealing with life in wildest Italy. The later tales, however lacking in psychological motivation, are af- flicted with no such unrealistic ideas about Italy. Die heilige Woche presents a Roman painter and his family as typical Italians, and, significantly enough, it bears the sub-title, "Charactergemalde aus Rom." The characters, especially the women, are drawn clearly and objectively in contrast with sever- al Germans who are in the story. The wife of the painter is a hot- blooded, impetuous woman who is infatuated with Eduard and for gets all marital responsibilities in her efforts to win his love. One lively scene depicts her in the midst of the tarantella cal- culated to excite Eduard to return her advances. A pretty ser- vant girl and the children reflect the older woman's fiery Italian personality in minor details. Das Blumenf est is a historical tale, and the characters are fictitious, but still they display certain traditional Italian traits. Vittoria, the peasant sweetheart of Prince Giulio, is perhaps the outstanding character. She is proud and emotional, yet her magnanimous behavior toward her lover and her boldness in af- fairs of the heart set her off as a typical Italian woman similar to the wife of the painter in Die heilige Woche. Her mother is also an Italian type. She shows considerable apprehension for the good name of her daughter, and her conduct on the occasion of the visit of Prince Giulio's father is marked by feelings of fear and respect. Finally we have the impoverished shepherd• Cecco who has gambled and drunk away his patrimony until he is re- duced to a bottle of bad wine and a couple of volumes of his favor- ite poet. Yet he is happy with these poor belongings, for even when they are gone he can still amuse himself with his impro- visations. It is interesting to note in this tale that Waiblinger was at his best in his portrayal of folk characters rather than aristocrats. Of the three serious stories with an Italian background, WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 69 Francesco Spina is probably the weakest, since it was composed quickly as hack work. None of the main characters are from the humbler classes. An aristocratic lady, a Spaniard, a German, and an Italian painter are the chief characters, and even the last is weak. Still, we have an earthy figure of a bandit chieftain and a sly rustic who earns a double fee for guiding Emil and Francesco to the Villa of Horace. Oda, the Spaniard, is a somewhat inappro- priate individual to be endowed with the gift of improvisation, · while the bandit fits the same role quite naturally. The humorous stories, Das Abenteuer von der Sohle and Die Britten in Rom, introduce Italians as subordinate figures. In the former the artist Scaramuzza is a typical figure from the bo- hemian life in Rome that Waiblinger knew so well. Die Britten in Rom is quite interesting as a satire on the Englishman on the grand tour. The Englishmen, among whom Waiblinger himself figures as Ironius, take unfair advantage of the poverty-stricken Romans and show no respect for human values. Waiblinger's tales are not as effective in illustrating Italian character as his other writings are, but we find much that is valuable in them, especially such unusual figures as improvisa- tori, artists, and bandits. Frequently he shows lack of discipline in letting his imagination run riot in these characterizations; and the essential lack of merit in his tales is responsible for many of his shoddy characters. His characters drawn from the aristo- cracy are the poorest of all, and, unfortunately, most of the ch1ef figures in his tales come from this source. Most of his interesting Italian characters are subordinate. On the whole, however, Waiblinger was original, constructive, enthusiastic, and well acquainted with the people among whom he spent his last years and who figure so largely in his works. In his fairness to the Italian people he was able to pick out both vices and virtues of Italian character, and he defended Italians as a loyal friend against the scorn of other foreigners. In dis- cussing their vices he rarely spoke with too sharp a tongue, and he disguised his criticism with a veil of good humor. Waiblinger's consistent effort to interpret Italy to his Ger- man readers and his natural love of the Italian people are per- haps his most important characteristics as an author. He liked to contrast German dullness with Italian vivacity, German phil- istinism with Italian bohemianism, German pedantry with Ital- ian originality. He found in Italy his lost horizon of escape from 70 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY all that he disliked in Germany just as Goethe and Zacharias Werner had before him; and like Goethe, but unlike Werner, he never forgot his native land and his task of bringing to her what- ever good Italy could offer. He would not attempt to graft any unnatural custom or tradition on the German stem, for he had learned the great lesson of his age, recognition of the legitimacy of all national cultures. He showed that Italy had a folklore comparable to anything excavated from German tradition by the romantic folklorists. He referred constantly to the legends of antiquity, he gave encyclopaedic information on Italian women, and he described Italian festivals with tireless enthusiasm. Every- where he sought traces of folk art and folk artists. Waiblinger found his Schlaraffenland in Italy. His case has few parallels as a man who found a second home in Italy and lived intimately with the people as one of them. He was not only in a better position to interpret the Italian people for Germany, but he also found a haven and sympathetic friends for his own sildliche Natur. Holderlin never got beyond Provence in the search for his idealized Greece, Byron was disappointed in what he actually found, and Lenau's gypsy blood drove him to seek the noble savage in America, where he too was disillusioned. Wai- blinger expressed most poignantly his spiritual satisfaction and his happiness among the Italian people in the "Oden an seinen Eser." 45 Here we feel that the happiness he found with his Cor- nacchia could not have been attained in life with the prudish Philippine Heim or with the unstable Julie Michaelis. Italy did not prove a false illusion to him, nor was he untrue to her once he had established congenial relationships with her people. 45. Gedichte aus ltalien, II, 108-113. CHAPTER VI W AIBLINGER AND ANTIQUITY Although Waiblinger may have explored some new facets of Italian life and culture unknown in northern Europe, no travel- ler in Italy since the Renaissance failed to give due attention to the remains of classical times. Above all, it was Roman antiquity that attracted men of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, for the old lands of Magna Graecia were not properly described by moderns until the age of Winckelmann. Although Waiblinger frequently grouped Greek and Roman antiquity together as a part of the general dichotomy of north and south so popular in his day, his interests in Greece and in Rome spring from dif- ferent sources and, accordingly, will be handled differently here. Von Klenze gives a typical reaction to Italy in his summary of Montaigne's visit: "Only ancient Rome inspires him to a burst of enthusiasm worthy of so great a stylist."1 Even narrower was Joseph Addison's approach to Italy and Roman antiquity, for the worthy author of Coins and Medals found inspiration only in places mentioned by the Latin poets,· ignoring almost completely the prose authors. Horace Walpole and Lalande, the French traveller, found every step of the way between Rome and Naples -sacred primarily because of associations with Horace, Virgil, and Silius Italicus. In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries the con- ~eption of Italy was broadened considerably, but there still re- mained the eternal attraction of ancient Rome. Chateaubriand could dream of how "Rome sommeille au milieu de ses ruines," 2 for the romanticists were still spellbound by Rome. Waiblinger fell heir not only to the romantic tradition, but also to the ideas of travellers of nearly three centuries about Rome. Waiblinger was well prepared to understand the ancient world, for he had acquired unusual proficiency in Latin. He is able to quote extensively from Horace. The well known "Possis nihil urbe Roma visere maius" ( Carm. saec., lines 11-12) serves as the motto for "Oden und Elegien aus Rom." At Lake N emi Waiblinger remembered how the Romans, despairing of victory 1. Von Klenze, p. 2. 2. Ibid., p. 89. 72 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY over the Veii, sent to Delphi, where the oracle told the emissaries to drain off part of the lake by a subterranean tunnel.3 Waiblin- ger must have known Roman topography well, for in the letter to Morike dated only a few weeks after his arrival in Rome he showed a comprehensive knowledge of the ruins and their loca- tions. Even though Waiblinger went to Italy with a classical back- ground comparable to that of any of his predecessors, he did not follow beaten paths in his ideas on antiquity. Indeed, the preced- ing generation had received from Goethe an original and stimula- ting treatment of Italian antiquities as symbols of a glorious classicism rather than as museum pieces; and with Waiblinger we may expect similar originality, although as widely variant from Goethe's work as Goethe himself was from the travellers of the Renaissance. Quite early Waiblinger had realized that the poet might select the most banal themes and the oldest material for new and original interpretation.4 One of the most striking aspects of Waiblinger's treatment of classicial antiquity is his ability to revive scenes from ancient Rome against a modern Italian background. We have noted the little couplet on "Classisches in Tibur" 5 where he found his plea- sure in both "Vorwelt und Mitwelt." He saw - or imagined that he saw - classic profiles in modern Italians, the same landscape that inspired Horace and Virgil, the same places and temples that the ancient poets knew, all a part of eternal Italy: Da sich die Zukunft eint mit Vergangenheit, Beid' aber unverglingliche Gegenwart; Ohn' Anfang beid' und ohne Ende, Beide die gottliche Ewigkeit sind.6 Waiblinger's idea about the reflection of ancient Rome in modern Italy appears in his treatment of Italian women. In one of the ''Lieder des Romischen Carnevals" there is a description of a young woman who might have been a worthy consort of great Zeus: Blumen liicheln aus der Haare Rabendunkel, und des Schleiers Weisse Masse sen kt sich iippig Auf ein Schulternpaar, wie Marmor, Und aus hochgeschwelltem Tuche Tritt ein N acken, des sen Reize 3. W erke, VIII, 32. 4. Werke, IV, 232. 5. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 41. 6. Gedichte aus ltalien, II, 109. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY Nur des grossen Donn'rers Arm Zu umschlingen wiirdig scheinet.7 73 When the gaily clad mob began to indulge in all the joys of the carnival, the poet envisioned the women as modern maenads: Weisse freudentrunkne Madchen, Arlecchine und Doctoren, Gartnerinnen und Bajacci, Und der plumpe Pulcinella, Leichte Schafer, farb'ge Tiirken, Schwarzvermummte, schlanke Feen, Ahles in Manadenwuth, Saturnalischem Vergniigen.s The southern beauty of Italian women so strongly reminiscent of antiquity appealed to Waiblinger. The longer he looked at Roman women, the more he believed "eine Lucretia, eine Clolia, eine Cornelia, eine Porzia aus ihnen heraus zu finden," 9 and in Gen- zano he saw figures "wie sie die alten Kiinstler aus der reichen siidlichen Natur auslasen." 10 The whole natural environment recalled antiquity for him. Even one of his early poems such as "Das Pantheon" expressing melancholy and nostalgia shows how an ancient monument could stir him emotionally to the extent of referring to the structure as the "Opf erschaale meiner Thran en" .11 Later, when Waiblinger enjoyed a more stable life in Italy and some degree of financial security, he gave up this early Byron- ism, and there is nothing but pure joy in his references to an- tiquity. In Sicily he passed by the Villa of Timoleon and sketched an idyllic scene in which he imagined that he was suddenly trans- ported to the ancient world: War's eine Nymphe, die in der Einsamkeit Dem Wandrer sich verrath? Im Gebiisch vielleicht Verborgen lauscht das holde W esen Und dem Erschopften ertont die Stimme: Komm, labe, Wandrer, dich und Epipoli Gestarkt besteigst du 112 Ancient Rome stamped Italy with a national tradition that can- not be effaced by time. The villages of the Alban hills were not mere hamlets for Waiblinger, but "dreitausendjahrige Stadte"13 ; and the grotto of Diana on Lago Albano more than simply 7. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 19. 8. Ibid., p. 30. 9. W erke, IV, ii. 10. W erke, VIII ,i. 11. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 91-92. 12. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 141. 13. Ibid., p. 29. 74 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY one of nature's beauty spots, it was "heiliger Boden der Fabel- welt."14 Whether Waiblinger was visiting some ancient monu- ment or even enjoying the unadorned aspects of the countryside, his images from the ancient world are an important element in his poetry and prose. When Waiblinger visited the villa of Horace in the spring of 1823, he composed a delightful account of the ancient Sabine farm as a traditional aspect of the Italian landscape. After an amusing experience with a rascally guide he was relieved to rest beside the Bandusian Fountain and repeat the famous ode ( Carm, III, 13). As he made his arduous way to the villa he re- membered the words of Horace in Epod. I, 7: Mihi jam non regia Roma Sed vacuum Tibur placet! At any time we may find some reminiscence of antiquity, re- gardless of present surroundings. W aiblinger showed both the enthusiasm of a Renaissance traveller discovering some vestigial remnant of ancient Rome and the dreamy speculation of his romantic contemporaries. He enjoyed his classical oackground because it helped him to understand the same eternal Italy that Horace knew. Waiblinger believed that he could appreciate Italy as well as any poet of antiquity. Most characteristic of this attitude is an account of his visit to Pompeii in 1829. Waiblinger felt at home in the ancient city,· and he showed not only the scientific interest of the archaeologist but also the sensitivity of the romanticist for the ancient ruins. The first of the Briefe uber Pompeji 15 describes the natural set- ting of the old city with an unusually realistic account of Vesuvi- us, all calculated to acclimate the reader to the world of the first century of our era. When he arrived in the ancient city, he was overjoyed by scenes of two thousand years ago that revealed all the intimacies of daily life from that period. He felt that he had found the true key to the beauties of antiquity, that here was .a summary of all the scattered information about ancient life that he had picked up from his reading of the classics. He showed a background of sound scholarship to temper this enthusiasm, for he carefully inspected inscriptions for whatever explanatory material they offered for the surroundings. When he described a dwelling house, he gave exact details such as we might expect 14. Ibid., p. 19. 15. Werke, IX, 246-277. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 75 from a modern investigator. He felt that meticulous examination of the ancient ruins would open the way for a broader under- standing of ancient civilization. In the fifth letter, for example, there is a description of a Pompeiian house that brings out essen- tial principles of domestic architecture of the ancients. 16 Waiblinger probably appreciated his trip to Pompeii as fully as any other single event during his four years in Italy. Ancient culture came to life for him with a vividness that rivals the verses of Martial and Horace, and the German poet acquired a new sense for "der unerschopfliche Kunstsinn der Alten" that served him well in his study of ancient art. This experience com- pletely reformed his conception of antiquity and gave him a far more substantial classical background than that which appears in the rather unsatisfactory Phaethon. After his visit to Pompeii he gave more attention to detail, to fine technical points that form the basis of true understanding. While Pompeii was more significant to W aiblinger than any other Roman ruin, there were other monuments of ancient Italy that were of importance for him. Usually he created some image illustrating the meaning and importance of the particular ruin. At the sarcophagus of the Scipios we catch a glimpse of the life that surrounded this ancient family which contributed so much to the building of Rome's empire: Jubelnder Heere Zug, Festtrunkene Volker folgten dem Rossgespann, Der Aar vom Donnrer in den Himmeln U eber den Hiiuptern der Herrn der Erde Ragt' er, ein Kampfgespiele von stolzer Art, Der iiber Asia, iiber Brittania, Der Korsen Eiland und Lukania, Afrika's Reiche den Fittig wolbte.17 He rarely composed a strictly descriptive poem, although he did several capable pieces of this sort, notably an epigram on a temple in Cori : Bist du des Helden Tempel, der bier dem blumigen Felsen, Ein~m Elysium hier, Myrthen und Rosen entragt, Wahrhch dann bauten die Grazien dich, zum Jieblichsten Denkmal, Dass dir die Gottin den Trank ewiger Jugend gereicht.18 More often he had a motive for such descriptions, perhaps to con- jure up a for gotten scene or for a satirical purpose. His admira- tion for the ancient Romans and his dislike for the Trasteverini 16. Ibid., p. 261-262. 17. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 16-17. 18. Gedichte aus Italien, I, 39. 76 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY is brought out in an epigram on the stone bridge of M. Fulvius the Censor: Eine zerbrochene Briicke, was ist's kein Wunder am Ende! Alles vergeht, und der Welt wird's nicht viel besser geschehn. Dererlei merkt man sich nicht, auch wenn die Briicke sich weigert, Mit dem gefallnen Geschlecht iiber <lie Tiber zu gehn.1 9 As we have seen, much of Waiblinger's early work reflected a Byronic Weltschmerz, for example, his description of the crum- bling glory of the Campo Vaccino and the Pantheon standing as a solitary symbol of ancient Rome at her height. As he matured he was less concerned about the sad state of the ancient Roman monuments in modern times. In a few short verses on the temple of Jupiter Stator he tells of triumphant Rome ruling the world with Augustus at the helm: Dir erbaute das siegende Rom, o Jupiter Stator, Dankbar ein Saulenhaus, wei,l du es siegen gelehrt. Herrscher, <lurch deine Macht triumphirte der Romer und beugte Seinem Scepter die Welt, die du fur deinen bestimmt. Freilich warst du ein heidnisher Gott, und glichest den Menschen, Doch die Menschen dafiir glichen dem Gottergeschlecht.20 Here is a poet not merely dreaming among the ruins but writing with life and energy that rivals that of a contemporary of the great events such as Horace. Waiblinger, as nearly every traveller before him, found at once that the most obvious characteristic of Italy was the re- mains of ancient Rome; but he sought to give to his German readers an original and individualistic impression of Roman antiquity. He neither annotated his works with dry citations from Lucan and Silius Italicus in the fashion of Addison nor bored his readers with melancholy laments on the fallen glory of Rome in the manner of the romanticists. Breaking with these worn-out conventions, he made his material as realistic as pos- sible. His explorations of Pompeii and the descriptions of the ancient city are scientifically accurate and yet done with an ef- fectiveness that would do credit to a trained archaeologist. Else- where when he described ancient monuments he tried to give us a picture of them in their greatest magnificence. His lines on the temple of Jupiter Stator contain no obscure urge to be a "pagan suckled on a creed outworn" but rather a beautiful tribute to the spirit that motivated the Peace of Augustus. Waiblinger occas- 19. Gedichte aus ltalien, II, 81. 20. Ibid., p. 82. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 77 ionally fell into the tiresome style of gloomy romanticists pining among the ruins, but the work of his last years shows none of this and is characterized by a new orientation toward a person- alized style and care in executing his purpose of untangling the remaining threads of antiquity that he found in Italy for his German readers. * * * * * * * * * * * For several reasons we must consider Waiblinger's treatment of Greek and of Roman antiquity under different headings. In the first place, ancient Italy saw the two nations flourish side by side, and Magna Graecia was as distinct from central Italy and Rome as Rome herself was from the Celtic north. In the second place, since the middle of the eighteenth century modern scholar- ship has carefully distinguished Greek and Roman cultural tradi- tions, a distinction to be found in Waiblinger's own works even before he went to Italy. 21 The young author of Phaethon compos- ed works with such suggestive titles as Lieder der Griechen and Vier Erzahlungen aus der Geschichte des jetzigen Griechenlands under the influence of his master, Holderlin; and Gustav Schwab spurred him on to read Xenophon, Homer, the Batrachomyoma- chia, Lysias, Isocrates, Plutarch, Sophocles, Euripides, and An- acreon. 22 In the poet's early diaries the pages are filled with quotations from Greek authors, and his phrase "die Alten" was practically synonymous with "die Griechen". When he went to Italy, he could not help but observe the distinctive qualities of Greek art in the museums. Waiblinger was almost as well versed in Greek literature as he was in Latin. The diaries show numerous comments on Greek authors, quotations from them, and discussions of ideas taken immediately from Greek classics. Among other things, we have a short summary of Plato's Symposium, and accompanying this entry are his own "Aphorismen iiber die Liebe" in which he pre- sents such concepts as that of "eine edlere und eine unedlere Liebe." 23 In other passages he speaks of favorite philosophical ideas and literary works adopted from Greek literature. Although Rome was the material fulfillment of Waiblinger's ideal of the south, the most important formative influence on 21. For a careful distinction between Greek and Roman influence on Germany see the introduction to Butler. 22. Frey, p. 46 et seq. 23. Werke, IV, 240. ,78 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY him in creating this ideal was not so much the ideology ot mod- ern writers as Waiblinger's own study of Greek literature and art. Waiblinger's early work, for example, the Erziihlungen aus der Geschichte des jetzigen Griechenlands, like Goethe's "Land der Citronen und Goldorangen," is basically the product of an indefinite yearning for the south. It was only after Waiblinger arrived in Italy and saw the splendid remains of the lands of Magna Graecia that he was able to formulate his ideas on Greek culture. In exploring the remains of ancient Greece in Italy Waibling- er followed Winckelmann's methods. Just as Winckelmann had worked quietly in the Roman museums and made occasional trips to southern Italy to visit Greek ruins, so Waiblinger or- ganized his program. Most of Waiblinger's comments on Greek art are based almost exclusively on his experiences in Sicily and in Roman museums. Among Waiblinger's earliest exercises were essays on Greek art. It is difficult to estimate the degree of originality he attain- ed, since he undoubtedly adopted uncritically many ideas that were current in the Stuttgart group surrounding the Boisserees and Dannecker. Nevertheless, many entries in his diary from this period show a fine appreciation of what little he had gleaned about the masterpieces of Greek art without ever having seen them.24 He had a broad knowledge of Greek sculpture, and in Rome he increased it by haunting the museums. However, in Italy there was a change. He was no longer so interested in aes- thetic theory as in the interpretation of the art of the ancients as a part of his entire picture of Italy. His lines on the Venus di Milo give us his conception of the idealism of Greek art: Menschen steigen zum Himmel: zur schonen olympischen Blume Schliesset der irdische Keim driiben im Lichte sich auf. Geist verschmilzt sich mit Geist, und im freier entfalteten Leben Wird die sterbliche Form schoner und heil'ger verkJii.rt.25 The Venus of the Capitol appears in a quite different light as the representative of all the sensual tendencies of antiquity, a sensualism that Waiblinger felt was closely related to the nature of the southern peoples : Gotter steigen herab in menschliche Hiille sich bergend, Und dem Sterblichen mischt gern sich das Himmlische bei. Sinnlicher Fu.He hast du, uranische geistige Schonheit, 24. E.g., Werke, IV, 224-226. 25. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 48. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 79 All' dein Wesen und Sein, all' dein Geheimniss vertraut. Weib ist die Gi:ittin, vergiingliche Form hat das Ew'ge gewiihlet, Aber <las Sinnliche wirkt auch auf das Sinnliche nur.26 However, the clarity and beauty of the Greek spirit transcended everything else for Waiblinger. The Venus who rose from the blue Mediterranean and shed her radiant beauty over all anti- quity resembled the Venus di Milo in her highest qualities. He wrote of the Venus dei Medici : Nie ist die Gottin geworden, von Anfang ist sie, vollkommen Stieg sie der Welt aus des Meers rauschenden Wassern empor. In der fliichtigen Natur ist sie die dauernde Seele, Und im Wechseil der Form ist sie <las ew'ge Gesetz, Unter sichtbar Gemischtem die tief unsichtbare Einheit, Unter dem Einzelnen ruht bleibend als Ganzes sie fest. Und also vollkommne !dee gereifter dauernder Schonheit Zeigt sie dem Sinn nicht, dem Geist nur die olympische Macht. 27 An age of fable surrounded these remarkable works of art for Waiblinger, and he felt that the fable giving the theme to many pieces was as pure and beautiful in its conception as the repre- sentation in stone, for example, the Niobe legend as conceived by Scopas in his group now in Florence.28 Roman antiquity could off er W aiblinger no such outstanding monuments of art which interpreted the soul of a highly gifted people. The remains of ancient Rome had given him an idea of the private life and character of the conquerors of the world. In Sicily Waiblinger learned about Greek history and Greek daily life, for on that island the culture of ancient Greece had trans- planted itself completely. Waiblinger's "Oden und Elegien aus Sicilien" consist of a series of poems on Sicilian antiquities and Sicilian landscape, and there are pieces on such suggestive themes as Syracuse, Timoleon, and Girgenti as well as on the na- tural beauties of Sicily. When Waiblinger first sailed into Syracuse, he must have thought of the chaotic political history of the island, plagued by tyrants and the Athenian wars and Roman conquerors. He open- ed this series of odes with a fearful picture of the raging Mar- cellus destroying Syracuse, but at the same time he recalled that the Greeks had given Sicily a tradition that continues to reflect the bright genius of the Hellenistic peoples. 29 The poet gave an account of the positive accomplishments of the Greeks in Sicily 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid., p. 49. 28. Ibid., p. 139. 29. Ibid., p. 139-141. 80 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY and did not repeat the turbulent political history of the island. He tarried at the villa of Timoleon and composed verses to glori- fy the political idealism of the liberator of Sicily; and at Girgenti the ruins of the ancient temple baking in the hot Sicilian sun brought to his mind's eye an image of the colorful religious cere- mony of the ancients, of all the beauty of formal Greek relig- ion.30 These brilliant pictures of Greek life and legend show a re- markable imagination able to create brilliant pictures of a dead civilization from modern ruins. Just as Waiblinger felt that he saw classic faces and figures in modern Italian women and Vir- gilian landscape in the valleys and hills of Latium, so also he found the magic of Greek life enduring in the atmosphere of Sicily. Indeed, he almost carried this notion to an unreasonable extreme, for he never mentioned Sicilian squalor so repulsive to most northern Europeans. Like Washington Irving, who ignored the industrial revolution in England to hunt down every trace of old English life, Waiblinger, undisturbed by the pitiful aspect of the modern Sicilian, thought in terms of the wealthy, luxmr- iant granary of the ancient world. Waiblinger's neo-hellenism did not come to full flower as Byron's did, but in Italy his Greek studies never flagged, and he was able to put them to good use. If Rome failed to bring forth the ideal of beauty that W aiblinger and most other travellers have felt to be native to southern lands, it was not lacking in other parts of Italy, for Greek culture had penetrated thorough- ly the life of the peninsula. Thus Waiblinger was able to show that Italy preserved relics of Greek as well as Roman culture and that Italy alone could fulfill the thirst of the northerner for the glories of ancient civilization. 30. Ibi.d., p. 144. CHAPTER VII WAIBLINGER AND THE RENAISSANCE Of all the ages when Italy has been a vital cultural factor in the evolution of western Europe, the period of the Renaissance stands out above all others. Not only is the Italian Renaissance the age which left the most pronounced effects on the national character of Italy herself, but it is also the one great movement without which our modern age would never have come into ex- istence. Waiblinger's works dealing with Italy are filled with reminiscences of the Italy of the fourteenth, fifteenth, and six- teenth centuries; but during the sixteenth and seventeenth cen- turies, writers on Italy and travellers in the country had been too interested in their decadent Italian contemporaries to pay ctue tribute to the masters of literature and the arts in the Ren- aissance ;1 and it was only in the latter half of the eighteenth century that there was some genuine appreciation of the best in the Italian Renaissance. It is not surprising that the first im- portant estimates of the Renaissance came from the incipient romanticism of Germany, the country where romanticism signified universality. Karl Philipp Moritz, best known as the author of Anton Reiser, was in Italy at the time Goethe was there, and he had earnestly tried to enter into the spirit of the Renaissance, although he was somewhat deficient in historical perspective. A half a dozen years earlier Wilhelm Heinse's Ar- dinghello with its emphasis on "aesthetic immoralism" had been widely read. Heinse, like his hero, had been an enthusiastic admirer of the ideal of the "Renaissance gentleman," and actual- ly he was able to understand the Renaissance considerably more effectively than the modest and often purblind plodder Moritz. Even more important was Goethe with his fine evaluation of the Renaissance in . the diaries and his Italienische Reise, in which he shows an appreciation of the masters of Renaissance art that can only come from a kindred spirit. His translation of Benvenuto Cellini's Autobiography (1803) is especially signifi- cant, for he gave to the German people through this translation a characteristic work of the period. The note struck by this work 1. Von Klenze, p. 10. 82 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY was taken up at once by the early romanticists, who demanded universality in life and art; and during the first years of the nineteenth century there was a flood of critical and historical material on all periods of the Italian Renaissance from the Schlegels, Tieck, and others. While the immediate background of Waiblinger's interest in the Renaissance comes from the German literary tradition and from his own environment during his sojourn in Italy, it is in- teresting to observe the growth of English interest in the Italian Renaissance during the eighteenth and early nineteenth centur- ies. Waiblinger read English well, and he was undoubtedly im- pressed by many of Byron's glowing descriptions of Renaissance Italy. Marshall's study of Anglo-Italian literary relations just before the flowering of English romanticism traces the interest in the Italian Renaissance in England from 1755 to 1815. During the eighties, at the time when Heinse, Moritz, and Goethe began to intensify German interest in Italy, a similar rehabilitation of Italy took place in England, particularly evident in Sir Joshua Reynolds' interest in Italian Renaissance painters and in Hester Lynch Thrale Piozzi's encouragement of the study of Italian literature. By the beginning of the second decade of the nine- teenth century Leigh Hunt, Walter Savage Landor, Byron and others had paved the way for a new tradition of Anglo-Italian literary relations that was to last through D. G. Rosetti and J. A. Symonds down to our own day. The German poet may well have been influenced by English writers other than Byron in the course of his wide reading. This parallelism between developments in England and Wai- blinger's interests is even more obvious in Liebe und Hass, writ- ten when he was seventeen years old. Fauconnet has pointed out the similarity with such works as Emilia Galotti and Fiesco in the treatment of the Renaissance background.2 This use of a Renaissance setting is also characteristic of some of the sensa- tional books by Horace Walpole, Ann Radcliffe, and "Monk" Lewis. Neither the Englishmen nor Waiblinger made any contri- bution to a proper understanding of the Renaissance in these works. Waiblinger was destined to have a true concept of the Renaissance only after he extended his reading beyond the 2. Liebe und Hass (1914), p. iv-v. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 83 Gothic novels and actually saw the heritage of the Renaissance in Italy. Undoubtedly the greatest and most important accomplish- ments of the Renaissance in Italy lie in the field of the arts. In this respect Italy was particularly important for Waiblinger, for he (like John Addington Symonds) realized that art was the "spiritual oxygen" on which the Renaissance man flourished. Every vestige of Renaissance art was important for him. An al- tar in a monastery in the hills pleased him as much as the great masterpieces of the Vatican. On the whole, however, he limits his comment on the art of the Renaissance to the more important masters, to those representative spirits who have come to be identified with the age. Most of Waiblinger's criticism is sur- prisingly close to standard modern opinions, and unquestionably he made his contribution toward the crystallization of modern ideas on Italian Renaissance art . Waiblinger's comment on Raphael's Stanzi reveals that he was able to perceive clearly the truism of modern art histories that Raphael is the harmonist of classical and Christian tradi- tions in the arts. A splendid characterization of Raphael's art is in the little epigram on the "Madonna del Gran Duca," an /Un- usually fine portrayal of the spiritual and human values in the same piece: Wie voU Unschuld du bist, du suss jungfrauliches Antlitz, So befangen, so sanft, kaum noch der Kindheit entbliiht. Schiichtern noch thust du, obwohil schon Mutter geworden, so bist du Dir's nicht bewusst, und weisst selbst noch nicht, wie dir geschah.3 Likewise Waiblinger perceived clearly the point of distinction between the two great painters of the Renaissance when he spoke of "sanfter Raffael und harter Michelangelo."4 And just as we have seen the expansion of the adjective applied to the for- mer, also we have a fine insight into the essential nature of the genius of Michelangelo: Deiner Brust hat die gut'ge Natur nicht den Frieden gegeben, Der, wie der Fruhling so zart, alles erheiternd verjiingt. Du verschmahest den sanften Verkehr mit dem Genius, ziirnend Stiirmest, Titanen gleich, du in den Himmel empor.5 To what extent such observations as these two on Raphael and Michelangelo were original with Waiblinger cannot easily be 3. Gedickte aus Italien, II, 54. 4. Werke, II, 149. 5. Gedichte aU8 ltalien, II, 54. 84 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY determined. Frequently he mentioned Giorgio Vasari's Lives of the Painters, but this work is chiefly valuable as a contemporary record rather than as advanced criticism. To be sure, many of Waiblinger' s comments on Renaissance art were not entirely new, as, for example, his epigram on Titian's Venus: Das ist Venus, die Gottin, die hohe olympische Schonheit? Nicht die Venus ist das, aber der Venus Geschopf.6 This comment is almost exactly the idea expressed some fifty years previously by Heinse in one of his travel essays,7 but we have no proof that Waiblinger took it from Heinse or even knew it at all. The important evidence for Waiblinger's originality is that his observations on the art of the Renaissance showed a re- markable degree of consistency and accuracy in an age when the history of art had not yet fully developed as a scholarly disci- . pline. Even more important is the ease with which Waiblinger seems to have entered into the spirit of the Renaissance. His lines on Benvenuto Cellini, quoted in Chapter II,8 show a re- markable insight into the man's personality and art. Similar understanding is revealed in the first two lines of the epigram on Filippo Bruneleschi, the reformer of architecture in the first half of the fifteenth century: Herrliche Zeiten, da einst in geselligem Bunde die Kiinste Sich in Einem zum Werk Aller so thiitig vereint!9 Waiblinger found in Renaissance art the typical expression of the genius of the age; and whether or not his own thoughts on the subject were original, they represented a sympathetic ap- proach and an effective interpretation for his German readers. No less significant is Waiblinger's feeling for the literature of the Renaissance, but his remarks here are not as extensive as we might expect. He was strongly attracted to Ariosto, who re- presented for him at once a zest for life so typical of his age and an imaginative quality that surpassed that of his contemporaries. Waiblinger displayed much of the same enthusiasm for Ariosto that we find in that curious eighteenth century Englishman, Wil- liam Huggins, who sought to acclimate the Italian poet to the north. Huggins, and later Waiblinger, found "satirical strokes of the sharpest poignancy, or poetical images of the sublimest in- 6. Ibid. 7. Heinse, Werke, VIII, 143. 8. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 54. 9. Ibid. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 85 vention."10 In Torquato Tasso Waiblinger found the beginning of a baroque tradition under which original genius had little chance: Du wirst bleiben, so lange Musik und melodischer Wohllaut Dein entziickendes Welsch noch sich zur Wiege bestimmt, Und so lange die Lieb' in zlirtlichem Feuer die Sprache Der Musik, und des Reichs lieblicher Tone sich wahlt. Aber Homer, er gefallt mir schon nicht im Virgi;l, wie gefiele Darum in deinem Gedicht, Tasso, mir gar nun Virgil ?11 In addition to Ariosto, Waiblinger also admired Petrarch and Boccaccio as representatives of the Italian Renaissance.12 He saw in Petrarch the archipoeta of love interpreted in a new manner,13 and in Boccaccio he saw the prime example of the great artist who maintained a healthy realism as an integral element of his art. 14 It is unfortunate that Waiblinger did not have more to say about the literature of the Italian Renaissance; but, just as in the case of art, he was more interested in catching the spirit of the age than in the details of scholarship. Waiblinger's interest in the Italian Renaissance comes into sharp focus in Das Blumenf est. It is an inferior tale composed mainly to fill space in the Alm.anach auf das Jahr 1829, but the sixteenth century setting lends it some value as a historical romance. Waiblinger attempted to create the atmosphere of the Renaissance through typical scenes, characters, and situations of the period; but sometimes these characters seem to be closer to the pulp literature of Waiblinger's day than to accurate his- torical portrayal. The endless series of intrigues, treachery, and counter-plots might be characteristic of the Italian Renaissance, but they were even more characteristic of cheap novels of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. The same holds true for the stock characters of the proud, aristocratic old prince and his dashing son, the young Prince Chigi, and all the voluptu- ous I tali an women who appear in the story. Of more abiding in- terest are the scenes which attempt to give a picture of manners and daily life in the sixteenth century. For example, the descrip- tion of the religious procession during the festival of flowers at Genzano illustrates how Waiblinger visualized the worldly re- 10. Apud Marshall, p. 33. 11. Gedichte aus /talien, II, 64. 12. However, neither author ever attained the importance of Ariosto for him. Cf. Friedrich, p. 328. 13. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 62. 14. Ibid., p. 63. 86 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY ligion of the period.15 Again we find a colorful account of Gen- zano decorated for a Renaissance festival: Unterdessen hatte man schon die Strasse, die zum Altar und zur Kirche hinauffiihrte, iiber und iiber mit Blumen bedeckt. In die verschiedenartigsten Bilder hatte man die Flora geformt; hier bemerkte man einen Tempel von weissen Blumen auf griinem Myrtengrunde, auf dessen Aftar eine Flamme von Purpurrosen brannte; dort schoben sich liebliche Arabesken durcheinander, architektonische Zierrathen, so niedlich, als man es nur mit der leicht verwehenden Fiille von so zarten Bliittern zu Stande bringen konnte. An manchen Orten sah man die W appen des Ha uses auf die Laubfl.iiche gezeichnet und mit Blumen gemalt; dann gewahrte man wieder Siiulen und kleine Obelisken mit lnschriften, Garten mit artigen Lusthiiusern, Aftare, Kirchen, menschliche Figuren, Amorinen, Engelchen, phantastische gefl.iigelte Thiere, Tauben und anderes hiibsches Gefl.iigel, das Alles die Lange der Strasse hin mit der sinnreichen Auswahl von Farben und Blattern geziert war, und das Bild der heiligen Mutter der allgemeinen Verehrung darbot. 16 Thus Waiblinger envisaged the genius of the age of Renaissance with its tradition of display and pageantry, inherited in part from the middle ages, but arranging the whole with a fine artis- tic sense. Waiblinger did not make a thorough investigation of the Re- naissance comparable to the great works of Symonds and Burck- hardt, but everywhere in his writings there are traces of his ap- preciation of this greatest period in Italian history. None of Wai- blinger's works is devoted to a special consideration of the Renaissance, but the poet felt the inescapable infliuence of the Renaissance, and his work is replete with notes and observa- tions on the period. Waiblinger wanted to enter into the spirit of the age so that he might look at it as a high water mark of history. In considering the arts and the literature of the period he sought characteristic figures such as Benvenuto Cellini and Ariosto, men who might not have lived and created so success- fully in any other age. In addition, Waiblinger portrayed in broad outline the life of the Renaissance as a background of one of his stories, and here he followed the tradition of the romantic novelists such as Arnim and Hauff. Thus we not only have in Waiblinger's works a sympathetic interpretation of the Renais- sance, but in one case an effort to recreate the life and manners of the Renaissance. However inexact some of Waiblinger's work may be by modern criteria, he showed much insight into the age and was generally objective. 15. W erke, III, 98. 16. lbul., p. 97. GHAPTER VIII W AIBLINGER AND CATHOLICISM The predominance of the Roman ,catholic religion in Italy is one of the hallmarks of the country. Not only in Rome but also all over Italy the externals of the Church are as much in evidence as in any other country of the world. Some prominent figures, for example Zacharias Werner and Friedrich (Maler) Muller, were even converted to the Italian variety of Catholicism in Waib- linger's own day. A classic expression of the attraction of Rome for men of the age is the famous speech of Mortimer Paulet in Schiller's Maria Stuart (lines 409-450). Driven by similar im- pulses, other northern Europeans accepted the Catholic faith dur- ing the reorientation toward Rome at the beginning of the last century. Much of the success of the Church might be attributed to the violent reaction against the Voltairean motto of "Ecrasez l'infame" and against other vestiges of rationalism; but when Waiblinger began to write, this movement had practical1y spent itself in Germany. Ultramontanism had retreated to the studles of Brentano and Gorres, and in literature there was a movement toward a new synthesis of rationalism and romanticism and thereby a more objective attitude toward the Church of Rome. Although Waiblinger never renounced his Protestant faith there is strong evidence of a passion for Catholicism not unlike that which attracted Novalis. 1 Waiblinger's own religious back- ground had been strictly Protestant, and he had at one time even been a seminary student. At Tiibingen, however, he gradually moved away from the fundamentalist variety of Protestantism under the influence of such men as Morike and Ludwig Bauer. He fell in with the spirit of the times and began to entertain a healthy tolerance for all religions. Phaethon reveals a neo- paganism reminiscent of Holderlin and Andre Chenier; and the diaries from this period are full of excerpts from Novalis and Gorres. 2 When Waiblinger went to Italy, he was prepared to view Catholicism objectively as a national religion of a country where he was a guest. In Italy Waiblinger sensed a distinctly religious atmosphere that is obvious to any observant tourist. Where else but Rome 1. Cf. Frie<lrich, p. 66, 78. 2. Frey, p. 64. 88 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY could one hear "der Abendglocken tausendstimmig Gelaut,3 and where else but in the calm peace of a monastery in the Italian hills could one speak so feelingly of "Des Klosters stiller Garten und Blumenweg"?4 No other Catholic country, not even Spain, can show the pontifical glory of Rome flourishing side by side with a simple folk religion that pervades the entire country. In Rome Waiblinger became acquainted with all the public and private functions of the Roman See; and during his travels through the Sabine country, Latium, and the south he came into contact with the religion of the peasants. Waiblinger saw all as- pects of the religious life of the country - the princes of the Church in Rome, the humble but sometimes worldly country priest, the riotous celebration of the carnival; and he properly concluded that in Italy the national religion had permeated every part of the life of the people, seven days a week, for better or for worse.5 Waiblinger saw that the Catholic religion reflected not only the manners and daily life of the people, but also a thousand years of Italian history. He felt strongly about the political domination of Italy by the pope, especially in connection with the mediaeval struggles between the popes and the German emper- ors. Of Friedrich II he wrote : Dein Feind, o Friedrich? Grossern bekampfte nie Ein Held, sei's denn der Engel des Schwerts vielleicht, Der Belial schlug. 0 Staub des Herrschers, Betet' ich Irdisches an, du warst es.6 In the nineteenth century the German imperial dream of dom- inating Italy lay peacefully with the ashes of the Hohenstaufen and remained a mere historical memory. Still Waiblinger had the most profound respect for the enduring contribution of the Church as an inspiration to artists, and he wrote of the great work of Michelangelo in the Vatican in glowing terms: Also thiirmt' er die Kuppel der Basilik' in die Liifte, Schuf er den Moses, und so selber den Reiland der Welt. Also malt' er das jiingst Gericht und die grossen Propheten, Um, wie kein Sterhlicher je, dreifach unsterblich zu sein.7 Even if the Church had lost its political power, its powerful ap- peal to the people and its importance as a social force was no less 3. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 27. 4. Ibid., p. 146. 5. Cf. Werke, VIIf, 231. 6. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 147. 7. Ibid., p. 55-56. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 89 significant, a point that Waiblinger made in the opening lines of his fragment, "Die Nacht in St. Peter."8 Of all the material manifestations of the Church, the person- nel of the Church impressed Waiblinger most. He was attracted by the hordes of priests and monks who seemed to him to make up a fourth of the total population of Italy9 and by the quiet and persistent manner in which they pursued their calling. He wrote of no scheming cardinals and inordinately ambitious princes of the church but rather of humble priests with no ambitions for secular or ecclesiastical distinction. Waiblinger sought in Italy the type of priest that he had known in the simple pastorates of his Swabian home, unassuming and yet eager to fulfill their mission on earth, for example, the pif erari. In Olevano Waiblinger stayed at the home of a typical coun- try priest. He was a poor but sincere man and quite proud of his little bit of learning, which Waiblinger gently satirized.10 Again at Albano he stayed with a priest and reproached himself for having chosen the career of a wanderer and sacrificed similar happiness that he might have known in a German parsonage.11 In Palestrina he appreciated the human qualities of the local ab- bot, who seemed to Waiblinger to be "ein wenig Libertin" ;12 and the two men got along famously when Waiblinger became aware of the soundness of the man's learning and his modesty in con- cealing it. Waiblinger's fundamentally genial personality came out in his description of an insane Capuchin monk who peddled crosses over the countryside and would have his customers kiss his own cross which he claimed to be from the original. The poet did his bidding and replied to his speech with a jovial but faintly ironical answer. 13 Waiblinger found the Italian clerics to be a familiar group in Italian society, and he treated them with the same broad tolerance with which he dealt with other classes of Italians. Although Waiblinger always maintained a feeling of superi- ority over the average man, he thought of his own educational advantages merely as an accident of birth and environment.14 8. Ibid., p. 94. 9. Werke, VIII, 149. 10. Ibid., p. 147. 11. Ibid., p. 182-183. 12. Ibid., p. 241. 13. Ibid., p. 157. 14 .. Rapp, p. 257. 90 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY Accordingly Waiblinger was able to retain a generous but criti- cal attitude toward his fellow men. Such was the case with religi- ous ceremony and art, which Waiblinger recognized as exter- nals but at the same time essential for the continuity of the in- stitution. He was fully aware of the Church's policy of promot- ing pomp and ceremony as a device to encourage solidarity, for he observed on more than one occasion how a religious festival attracted crowds from far and near, regardless of whether all were communicants. He admitted simply, "So kam auch ich mit ihnen," for, like a simple hill priest, he too was overawed by the magificent ritual at St. Peter's. He appreciated fully a work of art inspired by pure religious sentiment, but at the same time he denounced bad taste in religious art without reservation. He de- scribed the Madonna di Foligno with utmost admiration: In den Himmel erhaben, zur Konigin herrlich verkliiret, Blieb dir <las Herz, wie es war, aber es wuchs dir der Geist. Denn man betet <lich an, du umgiebst dich mit strahlender Hoheit, Und <ler Vater hat dir liingst dein Geheimniss enthiillt.15 But contrasting with these verses of admiration, he summoned all the venom of an irascible critic in condemning the tasteless version of the crucifixion by Guido Reni and the monstrous scene of the tortures of the saints by Nicolas Poussin: Nein, <lass nenn' ich Tortur, <las ist eine Strafe, so schrecklich, Dass sie der Maler al1lein, der sie gebildet, verdient.16 Waiblinger's criticism is subjective, but it is to the point and ef- fective. Waiblinger's description of the Roman holidays occasioned by church ceremonies echo plainly the panem et circenses charac- teristic of Juvenal's pictures of pagan festivities, for he saw how the Roman mob congregated as eagerly to see the pope and all his splendor as they did to greet a conqueror returning to distribute grain and stage great public circuses. In the passages of Das Blumenfest describing the baptism of the Turkish lady Zuleika we have a cross-section of the mob gathered for the solemnity and brilliance of the papal ceremonies.17 Waiblinger described the entire ceremony, with the exception of certain passages inti- mately connected with the plot, with the straightforward man- ner of a Sabine peasant who had come to town for the brilliant occasion. 15. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 54. 16. Ibid., p. 74. 17. Werke, III, 125-127. W AlBLINGER IN ITALY 91 In more refined language and avoiding the garish tone of his descriptions of great papal holidays, Waiblinger often portrayed the lesser functions of the Church as a medium of communica- tion between God and the individual. In the short elegy "Ora pro nobis" he could reveal the purest religious sentiment : Heil'ge Dammrung waltet durch der Rotunda Tausendjahr'ge Wolbung, der Geist des Abends Mahnt zum Beten, mahnet zur letzten Andacht, Ora pro nobis. Auf den Knieen umher in des Tempels hoher Rundung liegt das glaubige Volk, und Alles Tont einstimmig, Jungfrau, dein Lob und flehet: Ora pro nobis.18 Waiblinger appreciated this aspect of the Church more than any other, for here he found a genuineness of emotion that is miss- ing in the great spectacles. Nevertheless, Waiblinger felt that the sensational processions and celebrations were more characteristic of the Church than the unassuming worship of individuals. In the middle of his fragmentary "Die Nacht in St. Peter," a poem intended to illus- trate his personal religion, he broke out with a colorful descrip- tion of celestial courtiers, baroque in the brilliance of external::J and Swedenborgian in expanse of imagination. Quickly, how- ever, he recalled the tone of his poem, waved aside the heirs of St. Peter with a scornful, "Sie alle sitzen stumm in ihrem Gold," and described the contrasting qualities of Christ in a simpler note. 19 Yet in spite of this feeling for the simple religion that Waiblinger always cherished, we know that his chief pleasures came from carousals at carnival time, the most worldly of all the secular functions of the Church. Here, as usual, we find Wai- blinger projecting himself into the character of the Italian peo- ple who knew nothing of the stern admonitions of Protestant ministers about a "Sunday religion." If religious ceremony appealed to Waiblinger as an outlet for the emotions of the people, then religious art appealed to him all the more as the highest expression of the creative artist. In the greatest works of religious art he found the purest and most beautiful sentiment transposed into enduring form by gifted men, from the primitives whose na'ive madonnas impart a feel- ing of absolute trust in God to the artists of the Renaissance who 18. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 33. 19. Ibid., p. 102-103. 92 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY glorified the power and the pomp of the papacy. He had the high- est praise for Raphael's work in the Vatican;20 but Fra Giovanni da Fiesole did not suffer by comparison, for his expression of his convictions have their own beauty. 21 Waiblinger admired any art that revealed purity of thought and sincerity of purpose. Nor did Waiblinger confine his comments on ecclesiastical art to the Roman scene, for he found that every village chapel might offer something of interest. A monastery at Licenza, not far from the villa of Horace, revealed a distinguished structure combined with a landscape impossible at Rome. 22 At Civitella Waiblinger marvelled at the "wunderbare Einfaltigkeit" of the local Franciscan monastery,23 and at Torre dell 'Annunziata near Vesuvius he discovered a wayside chapel distinguished by a "herr- liche Saulenreihe in kleinem Maasse." 24 In the country churches and homes of religious communities Waiblinger found a simple architectural style whose homely beauty was greatly enhanced by the landscape, and this he found to be a pleasing contrast to the brilliance of Rome. But this aspect of religious art, like the simpler religious cere- monies, did not excite his interest to the degree which he reser- ved for the great palaces of the Church in Rome. He was properly impressed with the colossal, the spectacular, and the famous. Eduard, the young German in Die heilige Woche, possibly a par- tial self-portrait of the writer, stood in awe of the enormous art treasures amassed in the Vatican and reacted appropriately.25 Waiblinger was not the man to take his religion too seriously, but he maintained the utmost tolerance toward Catholic Italy and tact in dealing with clerics and the more devout communi- cants. He showed a deep respect for religious sincerity, even if he himself had no profound convictions. For this reason he was able to maintain a certain objectivity in describing the functions and achievements of the Church in Italy. He realized that the Catholic faith was more deeply rooted in Italy than in any other European country, and therefore he felt that it was necessary to give due attention to its most obvious characteristics in order to give a complete picture of Italy to his German readers. Natural- 20. Ibid., p. 53. 21. Ibid., p. 51. 22. Werke, VIII, 114. 23. W erke, IX, 99. 24. Ibul., p. 213. 25. Werke, IV, 64-65. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 93 ly, he dwelt for the most part on ecclesiastical ceremony and art, the two aspects of the Church in Italy that impress the traveller most; and he discussed the most colorful and grandiose cere- monies and the most famous works of art. He wove these notes into his work with such skill that he has given us the proper com- prehension of the omnipresence of the Church in Italian life. CHAPTER IX CONCLUSION Our investigation of Waiblinger's Italian experience has led us through nearly all the salient features of Italy, both as he saw it in the early nineteenth century and as he interpreted its bril- liant history. At this point it is appropriate to recapitulate and coordinate the evidence in order to show at a glance the signifi- cance of Italy for W aiblinger and in turn the significance of his work in the general literary tradition of Germany and Europe. In the first chapter we noted how Italy represented for Wai- blinger a kind of a promised land; and, when he was casting about as a young man who had suffered several misfortunes, not the least of which was his failure to become well-known in liter- ary circles at home, the opportunity to go to Italy came as a happy wind-fall for him. After the first few months in Italy he realized that he had discovered his true mission in life. He began to look upon Italy as his real home, the country of his heart's desire; and he envisioned his life's task as revealing the glories of Italy to his less fortunate countrymen. Waiblinger's Italian work shows superiority over his earlier publications in style and in content; but we are mainly interested in content, since he was more of an interpreter than a strictly creative artist. The early drama Liebe und Hass, although set in Italy, leaves us with an extremely vague conception of tlie char- acters and their environment due to the faulty style and construc- tion of the play. In contrast with the Italian travel sketches this early drama appears in an even more unfavorable light. The early work is all built on themes with which the poet was un- familiar and was shaped in the form of purely imaginative work, but in Italy Waiblinger was able to observe life and record his reactions objectively. His major work in Italy was poetry on Italian themes, travel sketches, and short stories, the latter being of inferior quality because he tended to lose sight of the reality with which he was familiar. Receptive to everything that he saw, Waiblinger's fairness to all aspects of Italy, past and pres- ent, is characteristic of his work. An unprejudiced attitude was a necessary prerequisite to an accurate account of Italy, and WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 95 Waiblinger discovered it as an automatic virtue, a by-product of his enthusiastic approach. He was interested not merely in the cultural life of Italy, but also in her people, popular traditions, and natural beauties. Winckelmann had been exclusively interested in art. Goethe's in- terests in Italy were intimately associated with the spiritual re- juvenation that he underwent, and he did not go into the great detail that Waiblinger did in writing about Italy. Waiblinger en- joyed the advantage of understanding the concept of a nation as the product of a totality of forces. To Mme. de Stael Germany was the land of Weimar classicism, but her friend August Wil- helm Schlegel looked upon his native land as the product of cen- turies of traditions, both literary and popular, of a people with distinct racial characteristics, of a landscape familiar as home, of a distinct religion. Waiblinger had a similar attitude toward Italy as a part of his romantic heritage; and his unsystematk presentation makes it none the less valuable, for his work is read- able and may well have made at least as great an impression on the popular mind of Germany as the work of more scholarly romanticists. It matters little whether Waiblinger was a thoroughly sound critic in matters requiring taste and artistic perception, although he ordinarily displayed a fine sense of values. The importance of his work lies rather in his general orientation. Just as travellers of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries had been inspired with the love of antiquity by the Renaissance and sought nothing else in Italy, so we may expect a new and different orientation toward Italy following the romantic upheaval. In Waiblinger's work we have a body of writings dealing exclusive- ly with Italy and written by a man who spent the most fruitful years of his life there. Here is not only a compendium of what the age thought and wrote about Italy but also the ideas of a man who was eminently qualified for the position of Italy's inter- preter to Germany. In the field of the arts we find that Waiblinger did not have a blind admiration of Raphael and his followers to the disad- vantage of other Italian artists. Winckelmann had prepared the way for a thorough appreciation of the art of antiquity, and W aiblinger wandered through the villas and museums of Rome armed with the monumental Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums 96 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY and had as comprehensive an understanding as possible in his day for the art of the ancients. Greek art was no longer simply an- other aspect of classical civilization but rather the work of art- ists comparable in their own right to the great figures of the Italian Renaissance. Similarly, the art of the middle ages, almost completely ignored up to the end of the eighteenth century, of- fered to Waiblinger works that are thoroughly justifiable as ex- pressing the spirit of the age that produced them. Perhaps the best evidence for Waiblinger's understanding in the fields of painting, sculpture, and architecture is the record of his exper- ience in Sicily, where ancient, Islamic, mediaeval Christian, and Renaissance styles occur in motley confusion. Each is significant for him in the light of the civilization that produced it. Italian literature had undergone a wholesale re-evaluation in the hands of the German romanticists ; and W aiblinger, al- ready acquainted with Italian literature during his German period as we note in Drei Tage in der Unterwelt, was able to add local color to his appreciation of Italian literature from his vant- age point in the place of its origin. His remarks on the Italian drama are particularly noteworthy. He contrasted the stiff pseudo-classicism of Alfieri unfavorably with the merry operas and folk plays of Metastasio and Goldoni, which seemed to him to be more expressive of the national temperament. He found that Mme. de Stael's Corinne was not a mere fiction but typical of living people in Italy such as Rosa Taddei and the Cavaliere Sgricci, whose improvisations represented a popular poetry of equal merit with the folksongs rediscovered by the romanticists. Of utmost importance is W aiblinger's appreciation of the Italian landscape. To be sure, there were the same hills, :valleys, plains, and rivers that were described adequately enough by Virgil and Horace; but most earlier travellers seem to have been content with quoting the classics for any effect of Italian scen- ery that they wished to convey. Waiblinger, well schooled in an- cient literatures, might have done the same; but his personal affection for a scene such as the Bandusian Fountain was so pro- found that he described it in his own words, quoting Horace only for the sake of comparison. In addition, he saw a landscape dif- ferent from the one that the ancients knew because of the rise and fall of the works of man. The Campo Vaccino was hardly the busy Forum of antiquity, and the Appian Way certainly pre- W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 97 sented a different scene from the festive thoroughfare of Roman conquerors. Ostia was but a shadow of its former self: Einsam graut das Kasten in weiter schweigender Wildniss, Triimmer der machtigen Stadt liegen wie Graber umher. Einst umspiilte sie Meer, nun zog sich's zuriick, und die Erde Mussen wir jegliches Jahr feuchter und trockener sehn. 1 Thus Waiblinger described Italy as the modern traveller would see it, still possessing the charm of antiquity, but modified by the hand of time. His experience among the people has no parallel in the writ- ings of other travellers in Italy. Before Waiblinger many visitors in Italy had considered the modern inhabitants to be degenerate heirs of the ancient Romans. The people were dirty, dishonest, illiterate, and completely unworthy of their ancestors. Waibling- er was not affected by these conventional attitudes, and he wrote about any Italian who was colorful or otherwise interest- ing. On the whole he found that the Italian people consisted of beautiful, sensuous women and extremely lazy men. Our modern popular conception of Italy as the land of dolce far niente checks closely with the idea 'that Waiblinger wanted to convey. How- ever, Waiblinger did not dwell on this single superficial notion. He finds many individuals typical of the country and yet highly individualistic. Thus we are introduced to the bohemian painter in Rome, the kindly but ignorant country priest, the intoxicated improvisatore, the ex-bandit captain, and many others. Wai- blinger found Italy rich not only in cultural traditions but also in the life of her people. Ancillary to Waiblinger's love for the people was the fascina- tion that the Catholic Church, dominant in Italy for over fifteen hiundred years, had for him. He did not succumb to the spell of the Church as had certain German compatriots such as Friedrich (Maler) Muller, Zacharias Werner, Friedrich Schlegel, and Joseph Gorres; but he did feel the attraction of ecclesiastical ceremony and art, a factor that impresses travellers from Pro- testant countries even today. He saw in the great cathedrals and religious paintings a genuine expression of the spirit of the peo- ple, and in this way he portrayed to his German readers one of the most striking aspects of Italy. While Waiblinger understood quite well the cultural traditions of Italy, it was another matter to be able to identify the basic 1. Gedichte aus Italien, II, 48. 98 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY characteristics of the two great periods in her history, namely, classical antiquity and the Renaissance. Older travellers had, indeed, exploited classical antiquity, but they did not view it as one period in the development of a nation. Waiblinger was not only interested in ancient Rome for her own virtues but also for her influence on the life and civilization of modern Italy. Ac- cordingly, he was able to make ancient Rome and Greece live as they never had in the works of earlier authors. He treated the Renaissance in much the same way, as a period that endowed modern Italy with a vitality and importance recognized by al! Europe. Waiblinger knew and loved antiquity and Renaissance so well that he re-lived them, and it was his very enthusiasm that gave his work historical perspective. These main points in this study represent a summary of Wai- blinger's most important achievement in life. Other problems in his life and work are of minor importance in relation to the Italian experience and the content of his writings dealing with Italy. The problem of Waiblinger's subsequent influence is a dif- ficult one. To what extent he influenced such men as Paul Heyse and Jacob Burckhardt would be difficult to ascertain without a careful analysis of the reading of these men. Beyond a few sur- mises the most that one can say is that Waiblinger's Italy is es- sentially the Italy that one finds in modern travel books, that no earlier writer presented his material with the same effective- ness, and that the similarity between Waiblinger's attitudes and the notions of other travellers and historians suggests that his writings entered into the mainstream of European thought. BIBLIOGRAPHY1 I. Editions of Waiblinger's Works Gesammelte Werke, mit des Dichters Leben von H. v. Canitz. Hamburg, Georg Heubel, 1839-1840. 9 v. Heubel published the second edition in nine volumes in 1842, and it has been used as the source for cita- tions in this study. The second edition is identicail with the first with the following exceptions: ( 1) The first edition contained only one engraving, the bust of Waiblinger by Wagner in the first volume; (2) two early poems and three passages from Faust, erroneously at- tributed to Waiblinger in the first edition, have been deleted and three new poems inserted in their place; (3) p. 241-276 of v. VI, which con- tained the "Lieder der Griechen," have been deleted from the second edition; and (4) the excerpt from Laokoon attributed to Waiblinger in v. IV has been removed. A third edition from the same plates as the 1842 edition was issued in Pforzheim by Flammer in 1859. Werke. Gedichte von Wilhelm Waiblinger, hrsg. von Eduard Morike. Hamburg, Georg Heubel, 1844. Gedichte. Bilder aus Neapel und Sicilien, hrsg. von .Eduard Grisebach. Leipzig, Richard Eckstein, 1879. Bilder. Die Britten in Rom, hrsg. von Edmund Zoller. Leipzig, Reclam, 1880. Die Britten in Rom. Wilhelm Waiblingers Gedichte aus Italien, hrsg. von Eduard Grisebach. Leipzig, Reclam, 1881-1893. 2 v. Gedichte aus Italien. Liebe und Hass, tragedie inedite de Wilhelm Waiblinger. Berlin, B. Behr, [1913?] (Paris "these compiementaire" of Andre Fauconnet.) Liebe und Hass (1913). Liebe und Hass, hrsg. von Andre Fauconnet. Berlin, B. Behr, 1914. ("Deutsche Literaturdenkmale des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts," no. 148.) Liebe und Hass (1914). Der kranke Holderlin, hrsg. von Paul Friedrich. Leipzig, Xenien-Verlag, n.d. Der kranke Holderlin. Phaethon, hrsg. von Arthur Schurig. Dresden, Lehmannsche Vedags- buchhandlung, 1920. Phaethon. Werke, ausgewahlt und hrsg. von Paul Friedrich. Berlin, Dom-Verlag, 1922. Friedrich. II. Other Works Consulted Benda, Otto. Wilhelm Waiblinger. Prag, Calve, 1905. (Lese- und Re- dehalle der deutschen Studenten in Prag, Bericht, no. 58; "Beilage" I.) Biese, Alfred. Das Naturgefilhl im Wandel der Zeiten. Leipzig, Quelle und Meyer, 1926. Brinckmann, Albert Erich. Landschaf ten der deutschen Romantiker. Ber- lin, W oldemar Kilein, 1935. Butler, E. M. The Tyranny of Greece over Germany. Cambridge, Uni- versity Press, 1936. Casanova de Seingalt, Giacomo Girolamo. Memoires. Brussels, J. Rozez, 1876. 6 v. Fischer, Hermann. Die schwiibische Literatur im achtzehnten und neun- zehnten Jahrhundert. Tiibingen, H. Laupp, 1911. Frankel, Ludwig. "Wilhelm Hauff, Wilhelm Waiblinger und H. v. Canitz." Schwabischer Schillerverein, Rechenschaftsbericht, XIX (1915), 90-95. Frey, Karl. Wilhelm Waiblinger, sein Leben und seine Werke. Aarau, Sauerlii.nder, 1904. Geikie, Archibald. The Love of Nature among the Romans. London, Murray, 1912. 1. Immediately after each entry in the first part of the bibliography there is the abbreviated title by which the edition concerned is cited in the text. Works in the second part are cited in the text only by the last name of the author. 100 BIBLIOGRAPHY Gliick, Friedrich. Byronismus bei Waiblinger. Tiibingen diss. Tiibingen, H. Laupp, 1920. Goedecke, Karl. Grundriss zur Geschichte der deutschen Dichtung. Dres- den, L. EMermann, 1884-1951. 13 v. 2nd ed. Groner, Otto. Waiblingers lyrische Gedichte. Leipzig diss., 1925. Type- written. Giintter, Otto, ed. Hausbuch schwiibischer Erziihler. Stuttgart, Schwa- bischer Schillerverein, 1911. Hagenmeyer, Gerhard. Wilhelm Waiblingers Gediehte aus Italien. Ber- lin, Emil Ebering, 1930. ("Germanische Studien," no. 92.) Heinse, Johann Jakob Wilhelm. Sammtliche Werke. Leipzig, Insel Verlag-, 1902-1925. 10 v. in 13. Klenze, Camillo von. The Interpretation of Italy during the Last Two Centuries. Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1907. Mangere, V. L'Italie et la romantique. Paris, Klincksieck, 1902. Marshall, Roderick. Italy in English Literature, 1755-1815. New York, Columbia University Press, 1934. Meyer, R. M. Die deutsche Litteratur des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts. Ber- lin, Bondi, 1900. Morike, Eduard. Briefe, hrsg. von Will Vesper. Berlin, Deutsche Biblio- thek, n.d. Porta, G. Madame de Stael et l'ltalie. Florence, Lapelli, 1902. Prolss, Johannes. Deutsch~Capri in Kunst, Leben und Dichtung. Olden- burg, Schu[ze, 1901. Ranke, Leopold von. Zur eignen Lebensgeschichte, hrsg. von A. Dore. Leipzig, Reclam, 1890. Rapp, Moritz. "Wilhelm Waiblinger." Tiibinger Jahrbucher der Gegen- wart, 1847, p. 254-287. Ruland, Ilse. Waiblinger in seinen Prosawerken. Tiibingen diss. Stutt- gart, Kohlhammer, 1922. Schultz, Franz. "Goethe und Waiblinger." Goethe-Jahrbuch, XXIX ( 1908), 10-21. Schumann, Detlev. "The Problem of Generations." PMLA, LI (1936), 1180-1208. Steinitzer, A,lfred. Aus dem unbekannten Italien. Munich, Piper Verlag, n.d. Stinde, Julius. Buchholzens in Italien. Berlin, Freund und Jaeckel, 1884. Strich. Klassik und Romantik oder Vollendung und Unendlichkeit, ein Vergleich. 3rd ed. Munich, Meyer und Jessen, 1926. Symonds, John Addington. The Renaissance in Italy. New York, Modern Library, 1935. 2 v. Ubell, H. "Deutsche Graber in Rom." Wiener Abendpost, 1903, no. 43. Indices I. Names of Personsl A. Addison, Joseph, 41, 71, 76. Adler, Georg Christian, 13, 41. Aeneas, 51, 52. Aeschylus, 23. Alfieri, Vittorio, 32, 33, 35, 37, 96. Allegri, Antonio, see Coreggio. Anacreon, 30, 77. Angelico, Fra Giovanni, da Fiesole, 14, 16, 21, 25, 40, 92. Archilochus 46. Ariosto, Lodovico, 14, 30, 32, 34, 40, 54, 66, 84, 85, 86 Arnim, Achim v., 55, 86 August III ( elector of Saxony) , 13-14 Augustus (Roman emperor), 76. B. Baldensperger, J. P. F., 15. Barbieri, Giovanni Francesco, see Guercino. Bartoldo, 64. Bauer, Ludwig, 5, 15, 48, 87. Beckford, William, 15. Biese, Alfred, 42. Blechen, Karl, 42. Boccaccio, Giovanni, 30, 31, 34, 85. Borne, Ludwig, 55. Boiardo, Matteo Maria, 30. Boisseree Brothers (Sulpice and Melchior), 4, 15, 78. Bolognesi (painters), 13, 14, 24, 26. Bourget, Paul, 25. Brentano, Clemens, 55, 87. Brinckmann, Albert Erich, 42. Brockhaus, F. A., 11. Bruneleschi, Filippo, 24, 84. Burckhardt, Jakob, 86, 98. Butler, E. M., 77. Byron, George Gordon Byron, 3, 9, 16, 29, 41, 43, 44, 70, 73, 76, 80, 82. C. Cammarano, Filippo, 34. Canitz, H. v., 1, 19. Canova, Antonio, 15, 16, 26, 27, 59. Caravaggio, Michelangelo Amerighi da, 26. Casanova de Seingalt,. Giacomo Girolamo, 28, 30, 33. Castiglione, Baldassare, 30. Catullus, 47, 60. Cellini, Benvenuto, 24, 28, 81, 84, 86. Chamisso, Adelbert v., 55. Chateaubriand, Rene de, 8, 42, 71. Chenier, Andre, 87. Cimabue, Giovanni, 24. Clauren, see Heun, Karl Gottlieb Samuel. Coreggio (i. e., Antonio Allegri), 23. Cotta, Johann Friedrich, Baron v., 7, 9, 10, 11. D. Dannecker, Johann Heinrich v., 4, 15, 78. Dante, Alighieri, 7, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 34, 36. Dupaty, Charles, 41. E. Eichendorff, Joseph v., 14, 15, 20, 42. Eser, Friedrich, 57, 58, 70. Euripides, 77. F. Fauconnet, Andre, 1, 2, 82. Fischer, Hermann, 2, 15. Flaxman, John, 15. Fouque, Friedrich de la Motte-, 7, 20. Frey, Karl, 2, 16, 22, 27, 30, 50, 57, 77, 87. Friedrich II (Holy Roman em- peror), 22, 23, 88. Friedrich, Paul, 2, 20, 29, 43, 85, 87. Fulvius Nobilior, Marcus (Cen- sor), 75. G. Geikie, Archibald, 47. Giotto di Bondone, 24. Gluck, Friedrich, 3, 43. Goedeke, Karl, 3. Gorres, Joseph, 55, 87, 97. Goethe, Johann Caspar, 41. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang v., 1, 8, 14, 15, 16, 22, 25, 26, 28, 29, 41, 1 According to standard rules of library cataloging, entries are under the name by which the indi- vidual is best known, with cross references from other names, whether real names or pseudonyms. 102 W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 42, 43, 47, 49, 54, 58, 64, 70, 72, 78, 81, 82, 95. Goldoni, Carlo, 32, 33, 34, 35, 96. Grabbe, Christian Dietrich, 8. Grahl, August, 59. Gray, Thomas, 29. Gregorovius, Ferdinand, 25. Gregory IX (Pope), 22. Grimm Brothers, (Jakob and Wil- helm), 35, 55, 63. Grisebach, Eduard, 1, 50. Grosse, Julius, 45. Giintter, Otto, 6. Guercino, ( i.e., Giovanni Francesco Barbieri), 26. H. Hagenmeyer, Gerhard, 3, 4. Hardenberg, Friedrich v., see Novalis. Haudebourt-Lescot, Aintoinette Ce- cile Hortense, 66. Hauff, Wilhelm, 86. Haug, Johann Christoph, 7, 15. Heim, Philippine, 70. Heine, Heinrich, 8, 14, 31, 49, 50, 55. Heinse, Wilhelm, 13, 25, 29, 35, 81, 82, 84. Herder, Johann Gottfried, 13. Herodotus, 9. Heun, Karl Gottlieb Samuel (Clau- ren), 7. Heyse, Paul, 45, 98. Holderlin, Friedrich, 2, 5, 8, 9, 11, 16, 44, 45, 70, 77. Hofmannsthal Hugo v., 4. Hogarth, William, 66. Hohenstaufen emperors, 22, 88. Homer, 30, 77, 85. Horace, 9, 26, 44, 46, 47, 54, 69, 71, 72, 74, 75, 76, 92, 96. Horn, Franz, 7. Huggins, William, 84. Humboldt, Alexander v., 55. Hunt, Leigh, 82. I. Immermann, Karl, 8. Innocent III (Pope), 22. Innocent IV (Pope), 22. Irving, Washington, 80. Isocrates, 77. J. Juvenal, 56, 90. K. Klenze, Camillo v., 20, 21, 22, 25, 28, 29, 41, 42, 54, 71, 81. Kopisch, August, 11, 45. L. Lalande, Joseph Jerome Lefran1:ais de, 28, 71. Lamartine, Alphonse Marie Louis de, 42. Landor, Walter Savage, 82. Lenau, Nikolaus (i.e., Nikolaus Niembsch, Edler von Strehle- nau), 8, 9, 70. Leo X (Pope), 28. Lescot, Mlle., see Haudebourt-Les- cot, Antoinette Cecile Hortense. Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 1, 13, 82. Lewis, Mathew Gregory ("Monk"), 5, 82. Livy, 56. Louis XIV (king of France), 13, 26. Lucan, 76. Lucullus, Lucius Licenius, 47. Ludwig I (king of Bavaria), 59. Lysias, 77. M. Machiavelli, Niccolo, 30. Manzoni, Alessandro, 29. Marcellus, M. Claudius, 79. Marshall, Roderick, 28, 82, 85. Martial, 45, 75. Matthisson, Friedrich v., 15. Maupassant, Guy de, 25. Medici, Lorenzo de', 28. Metastasio, Pietro Antonio Domen- ico, 32, 33, 34, 35. Michaelis, Julie, 6, 70. Michelangelo Buonarroti, 23, 83, 88. Morike, Eduard, 1, 2, 5, 6, 20, 29, 43, 48, 72, 87. Montaigne, Michel Eyquem, 26, 54, 71. Moritz, Karl Philipp, 8, 13, 20, 81, 82. Miiller, Friedrich (Maler Miiller), 8, 87, 97. Miillner, Adolf, 7. N. Nepos, Cornelius, 39. Nero, 20. N esreddin Hoca, 64. Newton, Isaac, 23. Novalis (i.e., Friedrich v. Harden- berg), 20, 42, 87. Penelope, 24. Persephone, 18. P. W AIBLINGER IN ITALY 103 Perugino, Pietro, 14, 25, 28, 40. Petrarch, Francesco, 29, 31, 32, 34, 36, 85. Phidias, 16. Pichler, Karoline, 7. Piozzi, Hester Lynch Thrale, 82. Pius VIII (Pope), 11. Platen, August, Graf v., 3, 8, 14, 42. Plato, 77. Pliny, 28. Plutarch, 77. Poussin, Nicolas, 90. Praxiteles, 16. Prolss, Johannes, 44. Pulci, Luigi, 30. R. Radcliffe, Anne Ward, 15, 82. Raphael, 9, 13, 14, 16, 21, 23, 25, 26, 83, 92, 95. Rapp, Moritz, 2, 8, 44, 89. Raupach, Ernst, 22. Reimer, Georg, 10. Reni, Guido, 13, 24, 26, 90. Reynolds, Joshua, 82. Riedesel, J. H., 41. Romulus, 20. Roscoe, William, 28. Rosetti, D. G., 82. Rossini, Gioachino Antonio, 35. Rousseau, J .• J., 13, 41. Riickert, Friedrich, 8. Ruland, Ilse, 3, 45, 48, 66. Runge, Philipp Otto, 55. Ruskin, John, 14. s. Saint Francis, 63. Sarto, Andrea del, 23, 64. Scheffel, Joseph Viktor v., 45. Schiller, Friedrich v., 28-29, 37, 82, 87. Schlegel, August Wilhelm, 8, 29, 30, 34, 82, 95. Schlegel, Friedrich, 8, 14, 34, 82, 97. Schluttig, Wilhelm, 11. Schopenhauer, Arthur, 8. Schopenhauer, Johanna, 7. Schultz, Franz, 15. Schwab, Gustav, 4, 15, 55, 77. Scopas, 17, 79. Sgricci, Tommaso, 36, 37, 63, 96. Shakespeare, William, 23, 29, 33. Silius Italicus, 71, 76. Sophocles, 30, 77. Spina, Francesco, 23, 38, 48, 49. Spon, Jacob, 13. Stael-Holstein, Anne Louise Ger- maine (Necker), baronne de, 8, 14, 29, 35, 38, 95, 96. Steinitzer, Alfred, 54. Stinde, Julius, 44. Strich, Fritz, 8. Symonds, J. A., 82, 83, 86. T. Taddei, Rosa, 35-37, 63, 96. Tasso, Torquato, 32, 36, 63, 85. Tenerani, Pietro, 67. Thorwaldsen, Albert v., 15, 16. Thucydides, 9. Tieck, Ludwig, 82. Timoleon, 73, 79, 80. Titian, 23, 84. u. Uhland, Ludwig, 55. v. Van der Velde, 7. Vasari, Giorgio, 84. Virgil, 7, 32, 71, 72, 80, 85, 96. Vitruvius, 28. Vogelweide, Walther von der, see Walther von der Vogelweide. Voltaire, F. M. A. de, 87. Vulpius, Christian August, 5. w. Wackenroder, Wilhelm Heinrich, 14. Wagner, Richard, 36. Wagner, Theodor, 5, 19. Walpole, Horace, 71, 82. Walther von der Vogelweide, 22. Watteau, Jean Antoine, 41. Werner, Zacharias, 70, 87, 97. Winckelmann, Johann Joachim, 13, 22, 28, 41, 49, 71, 78, 95. Winkler, Karl Gottfried Theodor, 11. X. Xenophon, 77. z. Zeno, Apostolo, 33. 104 WAIBLINGER IN ITALY II. Names of Places, Buildings, and Works of Art.I A. Abruzzi, 44, 50, 52. Aequa Mountains, 50, 51. Agrigentum, see Girgenti. Alban Hills, 59, 63, 73. Albano, 59, 65, 89. Albano, Lago, see Lago Albano. A.nagni, 51. Anio (river), 46. Apennines, 41, 47, 51, 52. Apollo de Belvedere, 17. Appian Way, 52, 96. Arezzo, 37. Ariccia, 46. B. Bandusian Fountain, 46, 47, 74, 96. Bellinzona, 6. Benevento, 42, 52. Bern, 9. Blue Grotto, 49. Borghese, Villa, see Villa Borghese. Brera (art collection, Milan), 5. Brindisi, 56. C. Cafe Greco (Rome), 62. Caffe degli Specchi (Rome), 38. Campania, 41. Campo Vaccino (Forum Roman- um), 20, 43, 96. Capranica, 50. Capri, 44, 45. Cavallo, Monte, see Monte Cavallo. Cavo, Monte, see Monte Cavo. Cenis, Mont, see Mont Cenis. Cestius, Pyramid of, see Pyramid of Cestius. Civitella, 50, 61, 92. Colonna, PiazzaJ see Piazza Colon- na. Colosseum, 20, 48. Como, Lago, see Lago Como. Cori, 75. D. Delphi, 72. Dresden Staatsgalerie, 14. E. Egeria, spring of (Nemi), 45. F. Florence, 9, 17, 27, 28, 31, 79. Forum Romanum, see Campo Vac- cino. Frascati (and ancient Tusculum), 46, 59, 60. Fuc~no, Lago, see Lago Fucino. G. Garda, Lago di, see Lago di Garda. Geneva, 9. Genoa, 9. Genzano, 54, 59, 65, 66, 73, 85, 86. Gianicolo, 63. Girgenti, (ancient Agrigentum), 18, 21, 51, 53, 79, 80. H. Heilbronn, 4. J. Jupiter Stator (temple of), 76. L. Lago Albano, 43, 44, 45, 52, 73. Lago Como, 5. Lago di Garda, 47. Lago Fucino, 47. Lago Nemi, 65, 71. Latium, 44, 45, 50, 56, 80, 88. Lavinium, 51, 52. Licenza, 92. Liguria, 52. Lombardy, 41, 52. London, 7. M. Maleventum, see Benevento. Milan, 5. Minerva Medica (temple of), 49 •. Monreale, 22. Mont Cenis, 9. Monte Cavallo, 16. Monte Cavo, 52. Monte San Vito, 50:. Locarno, 5. Montefiascone, 9. Monte Testaccio (Rome), 57. N. Naples, 10, 11, 34, 42, 49, 52, 54, 56, 67, 71. Nemi, 44, 45, 47. Nemi, Lago, see Lago Nemi. Neptune, grotto of (Tivoli), 47. 0. Olevano, 36, 39, 47, 48, 50, 51,. 55, 59, 62, 89. Ortygia (Delos), 18. Ostia, 97. 1 Classical localities are entered under modern names (if any), with cross references from the ancient names. WAIBLINGER IN ITALY 105 P. Palermo, 22. Palestrina ( ancient Praeneste), 46, 61, 89. Paris, 58. Parthenope, 52. Piazza Colonna (Rome), 38. Piazza del Quirinale (Rome), 16. Piazza Rusticucci (Rome), 56. Piedmont, 9. Pisa, 9, 27. Pitti Gallery (Florence), 9. Pompeii, 74-75, 76. Pontine Marshes, 46, 52. Ponza Islands, 52. Praeneste, see Palestrina. Pyramid of Cestius, 11. Q. Quirinale, Piazza del, see Piazza del Quirinale. R. Reutlingen, 4. Rome, 5, 9, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, 18, 20, 27, 33, 36, 38, 43, 44, 45, 48, 52, 54, 55, 58, 62, 63, 65, 68, 69, 71, 72, 74, 76, 77, 79, 80, 87, 88, 92, 95, 97, 98. Rusticucci, Piazza, see Piazza Rusticucci. s. Sabine Hills, 9, 10, 36, 50, 59, 88. Saint Gotthard, 5, 6. Saint Peter's Cathedral (Rome), 56, 89, 90, 91. San Carlino Theatre (Naples), 34. San Vito, Monte, see Monte San Vito. Sasso di Dante (Florence), 31. Scipios (Mausoleum of the), 19, 27, 45, 75. Segni, 51. Sicily, 11, 17, 21, 22, 23, 41, 44, 46, 73, 78, 79, 96. Siena, 9. Sirmio, 47. Soracte, 9. Sorrento, 44, 45, 51. Spezia, 42. Stuttgart, 2, 3, 4, 7, 11, 15, 78. Subiaco, 52, 59. Susa, 9. Syracuse, 21, 52, 79. T. Terracina, 65. Testaccio, Monte, see Monte Testac- cio. Thermae of Titus, 48. Timoleon (Villa of), 73, 80. Tivoli (ancient Tibur), 41, 44, 46, 47, 51, 72. Tocca di Cavi, 50. Torre dell' Annunziata, 92. Trapani, 44. Troy, 52. Tiibingen, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 11, 44, 87. Tuscany, 9. Tusculum, see Frascati. Tyrrhenian Sea, 52. u. Uffizi Gallery (Florence), 9. Drach, 4. v. Venice, 6, 33, 42. Venus of Milo, 17, 78. Venus of the Capitol, 78. Venus of the Medici, 79. Verona, 6. Vesuvius, 92. Villa Borghese (Rome), 57. Villa Giustiniani, 49. Vito, Monte San, see Monte San Vito. z. Zurich, 9. ,!7IB4G9-gfifdh! Cover Wilhelm Waiblinger in Italy Title Copyright Dedication Preface TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter I. Biographical Introduction II. Waiblinger and Italian Art III. Waiblinger and Italian Literature and Music IV. Waiblinger and the Italian Landscape V. Waiblinger and the Italian People VI. Waiblinger and Antiquity VII. Waiblinger and the Renaissance VIII. Waiblinger and Catholicism IX. Conclusion Bibliography Indices I. Names of Persons I. Names of Places, Buildings, and Works of Art 
work_jst3decocjecpclg65do63kaqq	----	Editors' Notes COMMITTEE ON RESEARCH IN ECONOMIC HISTORY The Committee on Research in Economic History of the Economic History Association has awarded Arthur H. Cole Grants-in-Aid for 1981 to the following scholars: James C. Riley, Indiana University, "Reforming French Finances: The Debate of 1763." Martin C. Spechler, Tel-Aviv University, for a study of prices and wages in the prov- inces of Russia, 1870-1916. Lawrence Herbst, Vassar College, "The Structure of the Agricultural Economy in Penn- sylvania in 1850 in the Mercantile-Agrarian (R)Evolution." Jean-Francois Briere, State University of New York, Albany, research on the financial organization of the eighteenth century St. Malo-Newfoundland fishing industry. Peter Coclanis, Columbia University, "Economy and Society in Colonial Charleston: The Early Years 1670-1732." The Committee (formerly Council) on Research in Economic History supports research regardless of time or geographic area. Preference is given to recent Ph.D. recipients. Tradi- tionally, stipends do not exceed $1,200 and seldom reach that figure. Applications are due by April 1 of each year. Notification is normally made not later than June 15. Applicants should supply seven copies of a presentation of not more than five pages which includes: (1) a description of the project; (2) a curriculum vitae; and (3) a brief bud- get for the project. Applications longer than five pages will be returned for editing. C.R.E.H. Grants-in-Aid are designed to be supplemental to other grants and income. Members of the Committee for 1981 are: Chairman, Michael Edelstein, Queen's Col- lege; Russell Menard, University of Minnesota; Pamela J. Nickless, University of Ken- tucky; John A. James, University of Virginia; Diane Lindstrom, University of Wisconsin; Robert Higgs, University of Washington; and Secretary, ex officio, Richmond D. Wil- liams. Direct inquiries to the Secretary, Richmond D. Williams, at Eleutherian Mills Histori- cal Library, Wilmington, Delaware 19807. EIGHTH INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS OF ECONOMIC HISTORY Professor Peter Mathias, All Souls College, Oxford, U.K., is organizing a group flight from London to Budapest in connection with the Eighth International Congress of Eco- nomic History to be held in Budapest, August 16-20, 1982. Anyone who is interested in taking advantage of this opportunity should write to Professor Mathias at once. CONFERENCES AND CALLS FOR PAPERS Hofstra University is sponsoring a conference, "Franklin D. Roosevelt: The Man, the Myth, the Era, 1882-1945." The Conference Committee welcomes papers dealing with the life, career, and Presidency of FDR from the perspective of such fields as history, econom- ics, political science, international affairs, business, law, and public administration. The deadline for completed papers is November 1, 1981. For further information, contact Na- talie Datlof and Alexej Ugrinsky, Conference Coordinators, University Center for Cul- tural & Intercultural Studies, Hofstra University, Hempstead, NY 11550. 664 Editors' Notes 665 The Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission is planning a symposium on "Ethnicity and Labor in the Anthracite Region" to be held at the Anthracite Museum of Scranton in Fall 1982. The papers will be published. Suggestions for topics and papers are requested. Write Director, Anthracite Museum Complex, R.D. # 1 , Bald Mountain Road, Scranton, PA 18504. FELLOWSHIP OPPORTUNITIES TTie National Humanities Center is an institute for advanced study in history, literature, philosophy, and other fields of the humanities. It is designed to foster individual research and intellectual exchange within a community of scholars. Fellowships at the Center are awarded on the basis of an open competition. The Center welcomes applications from scholars in the United States and abroad. In addition to scholars from fields traditionally associated with the humanities, representatives of the natural sciences, the social sciences, and professional life may apply for fellowships. For the academic year 1982-1983 fellowships are available for: (1) Young Scholars—Men and women near the beginning of their scholarly careers. These Fellows are normally three to ten years beyond the doctorate. (2) Senior Fellows—Men and women of substantial scholarly experience, normally more than ten years beyond the doctorate, are regarded as Senior Fellows. (3) Special Seminars—The Center anticipates funding for the following special semi- nars: (a) The Charles Frankel Seminar on Citizenship—historical and philosophical inquiries on the idea, practice, and theory of citizenship from antiquity to the pres- ent, (b) Commerce and Culture—the relations between commercial life and in- tellectual, moral, or aesthetic concerns in art, literature, history, religion, philoso- phy, and other fields of inquiry. The deadline for 1982-83 fellowship applications is January 10, 1982. All interested scholars may obtain information and application material from the National Humanities Center, P. O. Box 12256, Research Triangle Park, North Carolina 27709. Villa I Tatti: The Harvard Center for Italian Renaissance Studies at Villa I Tatti will award upward of seven stipendiary fellowships for independent study on any aspect of the Italian Renaissance for the academic year 1982-1983. Fellows must be free to devote full time to study. Fellowships run from July 1, 1982, to June 30,1983. Applicants should send their curriculum vitae and a description of their project to the Director, Villa I Tatti, Via di Vincigliata, 50135 Florence, Italy before November 1, 1981, and duplicates to Professor Walter Kaiser, 401 Boylston Hall, Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138, U.S.A. Candidates should ask three senior scholars familiar with their work to send con- fidential letters of recommendation to the Director by the same date with duplicates to Professor Kaiser. I Tatti also offers a limited number of non-stipendiary fellowships for scholars working in Florence on Renaissance subjects with support from other sources. Scholars interested in these fellowships should apply as described above by November 1, 1981. Columbia University Society of Fellows in the Humanities, with grants from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation and the William R. Kenan Trust, will appoint a number of post- doctoral fellows in the humanities for the academic year 1982-1983. Fellows newly ap- pointed for 1982-1983 must have received the Ph.D. between January 1, 1980 and July 1, 1982. Stipend $17,500, one half for independent research and one half for teaching in the undergraduate program in general education. Application forms can be obtained by writ- ing to the Director, Society of Fellows in the Humanities, Heyman Humanities Center, 666 Editors'Notes Columbia University, 70-74 Morningside Drive, New York, New York 10027. Deadline for receipt of completed application forms is November 1, 1981. The Columbia Society of Fellows in the Humanities, with a grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, also will appoint two Senior Fellows in the humanities for the aca- demic year 1982-1983. Awards will be made to scholars of particular accomplishment and promise who have held the doctorate and who have been teaching as full-time faculty for at least five years but have not yet received tenure, and who have at least one significant publication to their credit. Preference will be given to candidates qualified for promotion to tenure but for whom a tenured position does not currently exist. Senior Fellows for 1982-1983 will receive a stipend of $22,500 plus regular faculty benefits. Senior Fellows will teach half time in courses determined in consultation with the appropriate depart- ments at Columbia. Appointments as Senior Fellows in the Society will normally be re- newed for a second year, with the possibility of a third year in particular cases. Candidates must be nominated by the chairmen of their departments or of an appropri- ate interdepartmental committee, either at Columbia or at their present institution. Appli- cations from individuals will not be considered. Nominations must be accompanied by a complete curriculum vitae, including a list of publications, papers read, as well as work in progress, and a statement from the candidate of his/her scholarly project and goals. It should also indicate the number of years of full-time instruction. In addition to the letter of nomination, the candidate should request at least two further letters of support from senior colleagues in his/her field who are familiar with his/her scholarly work. The nomi- nating chairman's letter of endorsement should assess the candidate's qualities as a scholar and teacher; it should also describe his/her actual situation in the department, addressing such issues as: the prospects of a tenure opening for which the candidate would be eligible; whether or not the department has voted for promotion to tenure; the basis for the depart- ment's nomination of the candidate to the Society of Fellows (i.e., vote of the executive or other committee, chairman's or dean's decision). The chairman's letter of endorsement and all supporting material should be sent to: The Director, Society of Fellows in the Hu- manities, Heyman Humanities Center, Columbia University, 70-74 Morningside Drive, New York, New York 10027. Deadline: Nominations and supporting materials must be received no later than November 1, 1981. The History Department of Temple University announces a new training program in Comparative History for Ph.D. and M.A. candidates in history. The program seeks (1) to offer thorough training in the comparative approaches for students wishing to emphasize these in their graduate work, and (2) to enable students in all fields of history and related disciplines to strengthen their more specialized work with a comparative dimension ap- propriate to their interests. The History Department has available a limited number of fel- lowships, teaching assistantships, and research assistantships for qualified students. For further information, write to The Comparative History Program, 917 Gladfelter Hall, Temple University, Philadelphia, PA 19122. OTHER ANNOUNCEMENTS The History Graduate Students Association of the University of California, Los Angeles, has launched a new publication, the UCLA Historical Journal. The journal is one of the few periodicals catering exclusively to the needs of graduate students, as a forum for the publication of graduate student papers and of professional news of particular interest to them. For further information, write to UCLA Historical Journal, Department of History, UCLA, Los Angeles, CA 90024. The Conference Board, a business research organization, now makes its proprietary eco- Editors'Notes 667 nomic data available on line through The Conference Board Data Base (CBDB). CBDB contains over 800 macroeconomic historical and forecast time series. The historical data cover such topics as capital spending, help-wanted advertising and business and consumer sentiment. The forecasts include highlights from major forecasting services plus a detailed U.S. forecast from the Board's chief economist, Albert T. Sommers. In addition to provid- ing a speedy way to receive this data, CBDB allows users the capability to manipulate the data and produce graphs, tables and statistical analysis. Currently, CBDB is available through 5 time-sharing vendors. For more information, write to Linette Stein, The Con- ference Board, 845 Third Avenue, New York NY 10022. Economisch-Historische Bibliotheek announces the following publication: Handel in the- orie an praktijk. Katalogus van weken gepubliceerd voor 1830, aanwezig in de Economisch- Historische Bibliotheek Amsterdam, [Commerce in theory and practice. Catalogue covering material published through 1830, available in the Economisch-Historische Bibliotheek Amsterdam], Amsterdam, 1981. This catalogue has 180 pages with 2324 titles, classified in subjects concerning commerce in the broadest sense. For further information, write to Economisch-Historische Bibliotheek, Herengracht 220, 1016 BT Amsterdam, The Nether- lands. 
work_jxmhfl25avcu5faka2kxpzbf3a	----	The Trattato as Textbook: Francesco di Giorgio’s Vision for the Renaissance Architect Merrill, E 2013 The Trattato as Textbook: Francesco di Giorgio’s Vision for the Renaissance Architect. Architectural Histories, 1(1): 20, pp. 1-19, DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.5334/ah.at In fifteenth-century Italy, the architect’s role lacked defi- nition. The classical conception of the architect — the distinguished professional lauded by Vitruvius and Cic- ero, as theoretically versed as he was technically skilled — had faded in the medieval period. Even the term ‘archi- tectus’, with its powerful connotations of creation and authorship, had fallen out of use (Kostof 1977: 60–61). Furthermore, there was no standard of training or appren- ticeship for the architect. Depending on the context, the engineer, carpenter, patron, or building administrator might be considered the building’s architect (Hollings- worth 1984: 385–410). On the role of the architect in the Italian Renaissance and the development of an architec- tural profession, see Ackerman 1991, Ettlinger 1977, and Wilkinson 1977. But beginning around 1400, numerous artists, scholars, and patrons began to express the need for an established architectural profession. Multiple con- temporary accounts — architectural treatises, biographies, municipal archives, and building patents — give voice to the mounting dissatisfaction with current building pro- cesses and the role of the architect. Jacopo Mariano Tac- cola recorded Filippo Brunelleschi’s complaints about the lowly status of the architect-inventor, whose ideas were commonly stolen or misattributed (Prager and Scaglia 1970: 125–130). The Florentine goldsmith Lorenzo Ghi- berti vowed to write a tract which would explicate the principles of superior all’antica architecture, but never did (Krautheimer 1956: 256, 311). And while Ghiberti never completed his treatise, Leon Battista Alberti and Antonio Averlino Filarete each wrote one. Although distinct from one another in form and content, Alberti’s and Filarete’s treatises both address the architect’s lack of authority, and the consequential delay or failure to complete building projects. Similarly, Federico da Montefeltro and Antonio Manetti left records that espoused the eminence of the architect, and expressed the need to restore the profes- sion according to the ancient model (Manetti 1970; Mon- tefeltro 1978: 19–22). The Trattato di architettura of Francesco di Giorgio Mar- tini (1439–1501) was one of the many voices within this debate, and as the first Italian, fully illustrated tract to pro- vide a proscriptive approach to architecture, it was revolu- tionary. Francesco conceived of the treatise as a manual for the aspiring architect, and because there was no ade- quate model for this type, he had to create a new format. His project for the Trattato, which he drafted, wrote, and re-wrote between 1475 and 1495, became a career-long endeavor. Filled with practical guidance and theoretical exempla, the Trattato defined architecture as a scientific discipline, rooted in arithmetic and geometry, and real- ized through drawing (disegno), creativity (ingegno) and invention (invenzione). The architect, according to Franc- esco, is an artist, inventor, and technician, and only earns his title after years of study and on-site training. This article uses Francesco di Giorgio’s conception of the architect, as outlined in his Trattato di architettura, as a lens through which to examine the emergence of the Renaissance professional architect. I do not claim that Francesco’s vision for the architect was absolute. On the contrary, his was only one, albeit highly influential, model in this period of burgeoning art and architectural theory. Leon Battista Alberti’s De re aedifactoria was regarded by many of Francesco’s contemporaries as the preeminent architectural theory. Francesco was certainly familiar with Alberti’s eloquent tract, and I argue that the final version of the Trattato was composed as a rebuttal to the then newly printed De re aedificatoria (1485). For Francesco, Alberti’s impractical theory of architecture — which focused on beauty and the building concept, and barely touched upon the practical aspects of construction — did little to help define the profession’s already ambiguous contours. Francesco’s concern with the processes of building design and construction found great resonance with prac- ticing architects. Reproduced in hundreds of manuscript copies, the Trattato was a standard reference manual in late-fifteenth-century Italy, and as debates on the archi- tectural profession continued into the sixteenth century, Francesco’s treatise served as a model for a handful of new, practically oriented treatises. This is exemplified in the tracts of Baldassare Peruzzi and Pietro Cataneo, both of whom, like their distinguished Sienese predecessor, invested in architectural education and sought to com- pose tracts for the working architect. Although Francesco’s vision for the architect never became the undisputed norm, his prescription for the architect-technician was formative. The Trattato di architettura was a practitioner’s * University of Virginia, United States emm2z@virginia.edu ARTICLE The Trattato as Textbook: Francesco di Giorgio’s Vision for the Renaissance Architect Elizabeth M. Merrill* Cover: Francesco di Giorgio, Trattato di Architettura, Codex Magliabechiana II.I.141, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence (Folio 17v) http://dx.doi.org/10.5334/ah.at mailto:emm2z@virginia.edu Merrill: The Trattato as TextbookArt. 20, page 2 of 19 treatise, and by its widespread dissemination and use, came to define an entire generation of working architects. The genesis of Francesco’s Trattato di architettura The Trattato di architettura was born out of Francesco’s early years of architectural training in Siena. His pocket- sized notebook of mechanical copy-drawings and design prototypes, the so-called Vatican Codicetto, reflects his early proclivity to compile exempla.1 As Francesco matured as an architect, and continued to expand his knowledge of building practice and theory, he became increasingly aware of the need to systematize what amounted to an overwhelming amount of information. But he did not want to limit architecture to a set of rules. Instead, he saw his role as a ‘motivator’ (motore), providing a theoretical frame- work for other ‘more sublime and virtuous minds’ (Martini 1967: 298).2 On several occasions in the treatise he refers to those ‘ignorant’ (ignoranti) individuals who falsely call themselves architects without knowing the principles of the discipline (Martini 1967: 298, 373, 412, 493). Franc- esco recognized that for architecture to progress, and to be considered among the artes liberales, it needed theory. Between 1475 and 1495 he pursued this end, continu- ally editing and modifying his Trattato di architettura. He wanted to produce not merely a reference guide, filled with facts and exempla, but a tract that would define architec- ture and teach architects how to think more critically about their discipline. For a comprehensive review of Francesco di Giorgio’s architectural theories, see Betts 1971. In total, Francesco completed at least four distinct drafts of the Trattato di architettura, which scholars today recognize in two principal versions.3 The first version (c. 1478–1481, hereafter Trattato I), is exemplified in the codex Ashburnham 361 (Biblioteca Medicea-Laurenzi- ana) and the slightly later codex Saluzziano 148 (Bibli- oteca Reale, Turin). The second version (Trattato II) dates between 1487 and 1500 and is known in the codex S.IV.4 (Biblioteca Comunale, Siena) and the codex Magliabe- chiana II.I.141 (Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence). Trattato I is organized as an eighteen-book survey of architecture, covering a range of building types and topics relevant to construction. Drawing heavily from Vitruvius’ De architectura and Taccola’s De ingeneis, texts Francesco had studied during his formative years in Siena, Trattato I reads like an objective synopsis of the individual com- ponents of architecture (Scaglia 1991: 61–66). Francesco’s prose is succinct. He gives only a handful of examples and makes few references to his own experiences. In parts, the text proceeds almost like a catalog, with a disproportion- ate number of sentences beginning with ‘and’ or ‘also’.4 The great strength of Trattato I, however, lies in its draw- ings. On nearly every folio lucid images are paired with the text, illustrating each of the tract’s core concepts. The unschooled architect could gain as much from the fig- ures as he could from the commentary. For instance, for his discussion on façade compositions Francesco offers elevations with overlaid ruled lines, which clearly demon- strate the proportional relationships between the aper- tures and moldings.5 Francesco composed, and then systematically edited, the second version of the treatise (Trattato II) following fruitful tenure as court architect in Urbino. In addition to his continued work as court architect, he had designed the church of Sta. Maria delle Grazie al Calcinaio in Cortona and the Palazzo della Signoria in Jesi. He had also traveled south, possibly consulting with the Duke of Calabria Alfonso II on the fortifications in the kingdom of Naples, and had examined the ancient ruins in Rome and Cam- pagna.6 Francesco also experienced considerable intellec- tual growth in this period. Utilizing the resources of the Urbino court library, he read medieval and ancient philos- ophy, and with the aid of a humanist advisor, returned to his study of De architectura.7 Although not without errors, Francesco’s translation of De architectura — the first ver- nacular version of the notoriously difficult text — was pro- gressive. The project required not only a strong grasp of Latin, but also an astute knowledge of technical terminol- ogy and the history of ancient architecture and mechanics (Martini 2002: xx–xxi).8 The second version of the Trattato, although similar to the first in terms of content, is substantially different in organization and tone, and here Francesco’s didactic intent becomes more evident. Francesco presents him- self as a scholar and upmost authority, incorporating his updated translation of Vitruvius, as well as extracts from the writings of Aristotle, Cicero, Plato, and Pliny the Elder, among others. In contrast to the eighteen disjointed and, at times, repetitive books of the first version, Trattato II consists of seven books, and follows an Aristotelian model of ‘causes’ or ‘first principles’. Each book begins with the general — man’s need for communal urban structure, for example — and proceeds to the particular — how the streets should be arranged, where the shops are to be located, and how the city plan should respond to its natu- ral environment. Francesco’s presence is also more dominant in Trattato II. Writing as if speaking directly to his pupil, Francesco routinely supplements his arguments with his own expe- riences and expertise, assuring the reader that his princi- ples, although grounded in classical theory, hold true in modern practice. For example, whereas in Trattato I he spoke only in general terms, in the second version, he uses the fortresses he built in the duchy of Urbino as models (Martini 1967: 459–464). Similarly, in the latter version, Francesco shares his experiences as hydraulic engineer, his study of antiquities, and his extensive knowledge of natural resources. In tone, Trattato II is more command- ing and insistent, as manifest in Francesco’s repeated use of the imperative ‘must’ (dovere). In contrast to the ear- lier version, where his principles read like suggestions, in the final treatise, Francesco resolutely asserts what the architect must do: he must understand materials, he must use drawing, he must design the fortress according to the appropriate specifications. Francesco’s systematic editing process of Trattato II is evident in the comparison of the two principal copies. The Siena codex, a small, roughly executed copy, is an early draft of the second version. The manuscript has few illus- trations, but contains marginal annotations that refer to S.IV Merrill: The Trattato as Textbook Art. 20, page 3 of 19 Francesco’s canonical images — presumably recorded in another manuscript — and indicate where they were to be placed in the final copies. The Siena codex was then further modified, serving as the basis for the final ver- sion of the Trattato, as exemplified in the codex Maglia- bechiana. The fully illustrated Magliabechiana Trattato is bound together with Francesco’s autograph translation of Vitruvius and a copy of his Raccolta of machine designs, suggesting its provenance within the architect’s work- shop. This manuscript served as a prototype for numerous secondary copies, and because of its polish and clarity, it has been suggested that the codex was assembled with the intention of publishing a comprehensive, three-part exposition on architecture (Fiore 1978: 76).9 Although it is unclear where or how the copies were produced — in a scriptorium, by independent copyists, or within Francesco’s workshop — Francesco undoubt- edly initiated the copy and diffusion of the Trattato.10 The quantity of copies in circulation, and the systematic process by which they were produced, makes it unlikely the tract was released without the author’s permission. Yet because the tract was never printed, the contents remained subject to the copyist’s discretion. Reproduc- tions of the treatise range from complete, fully illustrated manuscripts, to partial copies with limited text, to vari- ously modified versions with substitutions and additions. Each copy, between approximately fifty and one hundred folios in length, was composed by two or more hands and produced according to demand.11 A scribe would first transcribe the text, leaving spaces where an artist or illu- minator would later add the images. As is evident in the codex Beinecke 491 (Beinecke Library, New Haven) and the codex Ital. IV 3–4 (5541) (Biblioteca Marciana, Venice), it was also not uncommon for the scribe to paste images into the margins. Drawings of this type, true stock illustra- tions, suggest the larger-scale production of Trattato man- uscripts. An artist would trace the original illustrations en masse onto full sheets of paper, cut them into strips, and then insert them into the manuscripts (Scaglia 1992: 180). The unused images, which came to be intermixed with the workshop drawings, were occasionally added to miscellaneous copybooks, such as the codex Ashburnham 1828 (Biblioteca Medicea-Laurenziana, Florence) and the Album codex 10.935 (Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna) (Fig. 1).12 Francesco’s model architect Francesco presents his vision for the Renaissance archi- tect in his Trattato II. Opening the tract with an invocation of the mathematician Eupompus of Macedonia, a figure highlighted in Pliny the Elder’s Natural History, Francesco characterizes architecture as a scientific discipline, rooted in arithmetic and geometry, and realized with drawing (disegno), creativity (ingegno) and invention (invenzione) (Martini 1967: 293–294). Citing Aristotle, he explains that art follows nature, and accordingly, the architect bases his designs on the underlying order of the natural world (Martini 1967: 294). To truly understand building, the architect must examine its essential causes, which are revealed only through direct experience. By using Aristote- Fig. 1: Anonymous, copy-drawings from Francesco di Giorgio’s Trattato di Architettura Codex 10935, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna (c. 1530). Folio 135r: Cut-out illustrations of camini. Pen and ink on paper. Merrill: The Trattato as TextbookArt. 20, page 4 of 19 lian philosophy as a framework for his discussion on archi- tecture, Francesco presents the discipline as an objective, empirical science, a ‘final cause’ created for the ‘utility or glory of man’ (alcuna utilità o gloria all’uomo) (Martini 1967: 301).13 A complete understanding of architecture, he teaches, involves knowledge of its physical compo- nents (the material causes), the construction processes and building forms (formal causes), and the work of the architect (the efficient cause), and it is to these subjects that Francesco devotes most of his attention. The Trattato concerns the fundamental qualities of architecture —the different types of stone, defensive schemes, commodious house plans, and building machinery — and tellingly, says little about ornament. Francesco’s conception of architecture was greatly colored by Vitruvius’ De architectura — the definitive source on ancient architecture — and Jacopo Mariano Taccola’s treatise on engineering, De Ingeneis. Following Vitruvius, Francesco adopted a liberal definition of archi- tecture. Francesco’s theory, like that given in De archi- tectura, develops around the core concepts of ordinatio (order), dispositio (arrangement), eurythmia (proportion), décor (decorum), and symmetria (symmetry). As Francesco aptly demonstrates in the Trattato, these broad principles are applicable to a range of building types — civic, resi- dential, ecclesiastical, and mechanical. In this, Francesco’s adherence to the Vitruvian conception of the primacy of machine design is particularly remarkable (Pagliara 1986: 24–25). Rather than scornfully dismissing mechanics, as was common in the fifteenth century, he appeals to an ancient model of mechanical excellence. Distinguishing the theoretically and geometrically rigorous work of the mechanical engineer from that of the common laborer, Francesco echoes Vitruvius in his assertion that without machines, great building is impossible (Rowland 2002: 245–259; Wilkinson 1988: 467–474).14 Francesco’s understanding of architecture as a disci- pline, a mode of practice grounded in theory and realized through continuous education and manual practice, also derived from Vitruvius. On the education of the architect in Book I of De architectura, a passage Francesco ingeniously parrots in Trattato I, the ancient author speaks of architec- ture as a lifelong commitment. The practitioner, he states, must start young, climbing step by step to reach the pin- nacle of architectural excellence (Book I.1; Vitruvius 1999: 23). Although Francesco does not quote Vitruvius on the architect’s education in Trattato II, he remains emphatic that the architect’s success derives from on-site experi- ence. This is perhaps most evident in Book V, on ‘The Form of Castles and Fortresses’, in which Francesco discloses the degree of technical dexterity and practical judgment (iudi- cio) he expects of the architect. Throughout the lengthy explication, Francesco repeatedly assigns his reader — the practicing architect — the task of selecting the fortifica- tion site, determining the plan, and working out the com- ponent details. At the end of his discussion on boundary walls, for example, he states: ‘And now, enough has been said, because the prudent and expert architect, who has knowledge of many parts of the rules and examples, may adapt and apply these according to the site, adding, sub- tracting and composing’ (Martini 1967: 456).15 Similarly, on the subject of fortified bridges, he asserts: ‘These may be made in infinite and various inventions according to the intelligence of those who are practiced (sono eserciati) in such exercises (tali esercizi)’ (Martini 1967: 444).16 His repeated use of esercitare — to exercise, operate, conduct, or practice — further underscores his belief that the archi- tect must learn through doing, training himself on the site, to gain the ability to invent and design on his own. But Francesco did not accept Vitruvius’ theory in full. Whereas Trattato I paraphrases long passages from De architectura, the second version is more judicious in its citations. Francesco recognized that Vitruvius wrote in a different age, and that on certain points his commentary was overly idealistic, if not entirely obsolete. Trattato II does not repeat Vitruvius’ extreme notion of the architect as encyclopedic polymath, nor does it promote the Vitru- vian image of the architect as a figure of exemplary moral- ity, who never petitions for commissions, cares little about his pay, and works solely for his love of the profession. Rather, Francesco acknowledges the commercial aspects of building, and speaks frankly about the architect’s desire for fame. Finally, Francesco’s approach to building proportions and the columnar orders is far less dogmatic than that of the ancient author. Although Francesco, like Vitruvius, advocates for a geometric, modular approach to architecture and believes that building proportions should refer to those of the human body, unlike Vitruvius he does not prioritize the architect’s use of exact propor- tions (Book VI.2; Vitruvius 1999: 78). On the contrary, Francesco’s theory emphasizes flexibil- ity and invention. The Trattato does not espouse a fixed canon of columnar orders, nor does it present a codified system of building. Rather, the tract teaches that as long as the architect adheres to the essential geometrical forms and balanced proportions, he may adopt and modify his plans as he sees fit. Architecture, Francesco notes, ‘like all the other sciences, is being continuously formed, with each [discovery] adding to the next’. The final design is not to be determined by rigid guidelines, but rather ‘accord- ing to the infinite invention that occurs in the mind of the architect’ (Martini 1967: 372–373).17 Francesco’s con- ception of the architect-as-inventor derived from Mariano Taccola (1382–1453), the fabled ‘Archimedes of Siena’, whose treatise De Ingeneis (1428–1441) he scrupulously studied. A distinguished artist, engineer and scholar, Tac- cola sought to devise machines of greater speed, power, and efficiency, and believed that without experimenta- tion, progress was impossible. To this end, he assembled his De ingeneis as the ultimate idea-book of mechanical designs, overflowing with thousands of study drawings of hydraulic structures, gear-shafts, construction machin- ery, and military devices. Here, one sees how in practice, Taccola equated invention with drawing and variation. Folio 60r of Book I, for example, shows Taccola repeat- edly returning to the same concept, each time modifying and reinventing his original design (Fig. 2). These stud- ies — too cursory to serve as definitive models — were the inventor’s ideas, suggestions for further investigation, and inspiration for new designs. As Taccola notes, ‘many things occur in the course of work that the architect or worker never planned’. Thus, the architect, a man gifted with ‘per- Merrill: The Trattato as Textbook Art. 20, page 5 of 19 spicacious ingenuity’ (prespicaci ingienio), must have the preparation and experience to adopt the designs accord- ing to his own project (Prager and Scaglia 1972: 98–99). In developing the Trattato, Francesco took much from Taccola. He used De ingeneis as a source of mechani- cal designs and copied long sections of Taccola’s textual Fig. 2: Jacopo Mariano Taccola, De ingeneis, Book I. Codex Latinus 197, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (c. 1427– 1440). Folio 60r: Mixed sheet with studies for vessels for marine warfare. Pen and ink on paper, 30 x 22 cm. Merrill: The Trattato as TextbookArt. 20, page 6 of 19 commentary (Scaglia 1991: 64–66). From Taccola, he also adopted a theoretical approach to architecture that privileged technical innovation. Like his Sienese prede- cessor, Francesco understood the architect to be a techni- cian, responsible for the building’s overall form, as well as its stability, and the processes of its construction. By this view, the design of complex, mechanical structures, such as devices for lifting great weights, water pumps, and urban defenses, were among the architect’s pinnacle achievements.18 But perhaps the most important thing Francesco learned from Taccola was the paramouncy of disegno — a term he used to designate both the processes of composition and the expression of ideas through drawings. Expanding on the thin commentary offered in De ingeneis, Francesco’s theory offers a more methodical, philosophically astute analysis of architectural disegno, sagaciously linking it to the concepts of ingegno and invenzione in a conceptual framework unparalleled in quattrocento theory (Kemp 1977: 350–353). According to Francesco, disegno is not only a mechanical practice, but also a rational process of imagination and invention, closely tied to cognition (cog- nitatio). The architect who works with drawing, Francesco tells his reader, develops creative dexterity, and by means of invention, cleverly arrives at an original and effective design solution (Martini 1967: 483–484).19 Paraphras- ing Aristotle, he explains that the efficacy of disegno as a means of expression is directly related to the primacy of vision among the senses. Images are more easily com- prehended by the intellect and are more memorable than text (Martini 1967: 444–445).20 Francesco’s theory of architecture, therefore, philosoph- ically framed in terms of first causes, is essentially prac- tical, and he wrote the Trattato with the practitioner in mind. Notably, the text makes no distinction between the- ory and practice. In Francesco’s view, the practicing archi- tect requires theory, as the discipline itself is grounded in a set of theoretical principles. In defining these principles, and by extension, the role of the architect, the Trattato provides a new schema for the discipline. Francesco vs. Alberti Francesco’s dissatisfaction with the existing practice of architecture was the driving force that pushed him to write, and re-write, his Trattato di architettura. The trea- tise, he recognized, might not only give contours to the diffuse discipline, but also help elevate the status of the working architect. However, Francesco’s work as a theorist was by no means selfless, nor was his dominant presence in Trattato II incidental. As discussed previously, by fea- turing his experiences so deliberately in the final version, Francesco emphasized his own authority and expertise. In this, he also sought to distinguish his theory from those of his predecessors and peers. Most of all, Francesco wanted to differentiate himself from Leon Battista Alberti. Francesco was undoubtedly familiar with Alberti’s De re aedificatoria, if not before its 1485 printing, certainly after, and his decision to re-write the Trattato in the late 1480s was arguably motivated by the publication of the Florentine’s treatise.21 Reading Alberti’s eloquent text, possibly with the assistance of one of the many human- ists in residence at the Urbino court, Francesco must have recognized the inadequacy of his Trattato I. Among the cultural elite, De re aedificatoria was hailed as a mas- terful rhetorical piece, a seamless textual composition, which combined Alberti’s extensive knowledge and erudite observations with dozens of literary exempla. Moreover, following its publication, it was now more readily available, well positioned to become the defini- tive treatise on all’antica architecture. Humanists like Cristoforo Landino and Angelo Poliziano lauded Alberti as the consummate Renaissance architect, and powerful patrons, including Borso d’Este, Matthias Corvinus, and Lorenzo de’ Medici treasured De re aedificatoria as the modern bible on all’antica architecture (Alberti 1972: 143; Alberti 1988: xviii–xix). Architects also fell under the sway of Alberti’s celebrity. In his Libro architetton- ico, Filarete repeatedly cites Alberti as a known author- ity on matters of art and architecture (Filarete: 640– 642). Similarly, in his Vita of Brunelleschi, completed shortly after the publication of De re aedificatoria, Anto- nio Manetti hails Alberti as the new Vitruvius (Manetti 1970: 55).22 Francesco, however, recognized the limitations of Alber- ti’s text. Although befitting the patron, De re aedificato- ria was of little value for the practitioner. Not only was it inaccessible on account of its difficult Latin, but Alberti’s elitist vision of the architect, Francesco believed, posed serious consequences for the future of the profession. In the Prologue of the codex Magliabechiana, Francesco makes two thinly veiled references to Alberti. He appears to have the Florentine in mind when he speaks of ‘learned men’ who write about painting and architecture without images, leaving abstruse books of ‘little invention’ (Mar- tini 1967: 294).23 Alberti is again implicitly evoked when Francesco comments upon the insufficiency of previous treatises on architecture: Although I am not unaware that some modern [writers] have written and commented on this art, yet in the end I find that they have touched lightly on useful and difficult passages. Whence, it hap- pens that for some it seems that in a brief time this art of architecture has been rediscovered, and understood in its principles, rules and conclusions, [yet] without arrogance and bias of due reproof, one can say that all modern buildings are full of errors and that their parts lack proper proportion or symmetry (Martini 1967: 297).24 The Trattato then was intended to fill the void left open by these modern theorists, and by De re aedificatoria. Not only was Alberti’s Latin text unillustrated, but it brushed over many of the difficult and useful aspects of architec- ture. By not explicitly naming Alberti, Francesco avoided the risk of directly challenging one of the period’s most revered authorities, while also affirming the autonomy of his own theory. Merrill: The Trattato as Textbook Art. 20, page 7 of 19 Although Alberti’s precedent provided Francesco with the impetus to develop Trattato II, Francesco’s theory is completely different from that put forth in De re aedifica- toria. Unlike Alberti, Francesco was not a humanist, and in prose and erudition, he did not compete with the learned Florentine. The emboldened tone he adopts in Trattato II, and his expanded catalogue of classical literary sources, was part of his program to assimilate the Albertian model. The success of De re aedificatoria, he recognized, was in large part due to the authoritative status of its humanist author. To rival this text, Francesco had at the very least to demonstrate his knowledge of the classical tradition. Nevertheless, Francesco’s primary aim in writing the Trat- tato differed from Alberti’s; he sought to provide an acces- sible, practical theory of architecture, and to this end, his credentials were far superior. Underscoring the distinc- tions between his theory and that of Alberti, Francesco consciously emphasizes those aspects of the Trattato that are absent from and antithetical to the Albertian model. It is no coincidence that he highlights the most glaring flaw of De re aedificatoria — the absence of illustrations — as the counter point from which to frame the Trattato. The architect without disegno, Francesco repeatedly reminds his reader, ‘is nothing and often also lacks many other abilities’ (Martini 1967: 506).25 Moreover, in terms of his actual practice, Francesco’s model architect — the technician who learns through experimentation and on-site training — could not be more incongruous with Alberti’s ideal. As presented in De re aed- ificatoria, the architect is a gentleman, a man of letters who distances himself from the physical processes of construc- tion, and deals only with the ‘most beautifully fitted out’ structures suitable for the ‘noble needs of man’ (Alberti 1988: 3). The scope of architecture covered in De re aed- ificatoria — prominent residences, civic buildings, public spaces, and grand urban plans — accords with this defini- tion of the architect. Mechanical and utilitarian construc- tions, which in the Trattato are presented as foundational to good architecture, are of little concern to the Albertian architect, who is required only to know painting and math- ematics (Book IX.10; Alberti 1988: 317).26 For knowledge on matters related to construction, Alberti advises the architect look to ancient texts rather than rely upon the ‘artifice of invention’ (Book II.4; Alberti 1988: 38).27 In stark contrast to Alberti, Francesco’s theory privileges utility, focusing on the commodity (comodità) and con- venience of the building. Francesco’s exposition on the ‘Parts of Houses and Palaces’, for example, concerns those things that are ‘useful’ and ‘necessary’ (utile e necessario) for the human habitation — kitchens, chimneys, staircases, storerooms, stables, and bathrooms — subjects that De re aedificatoria glosses over or ignores entirely. And whereas Alberti dedicates an entire book to the ornamentation of private spaces, Francesco is quite succinct on the subject: ‘Consequently, one should know that the unnecessary ornaments can take many forms — such as semi-columns, attached or independent, cornices, stuccos, figures, paint- ings and other modes which are developed in disegno, and which for me are superfluous to elaborate upon’ (Martini 1967: 355).28 This is to say that the real architect, who utilizes disegno and thus obtains perspicacious ingenu- ity, will have no trouble devising ornaments on his own. Finally, Francesco differentiates himself from Alberti by prioritizing experience over book learning. Facts and rules (dottrina), which many ‘speculative’ authors falsely believe constitute the core of architectural education, are in themselves far from sufficient. The architect, Francesco stresses, must combine dottrina with ingegno and disegno, abilities he hones through long practice (Martini 1967: 489–490).29 This emphasis on the architect’s practice, and his physical experience with materials and places, distin- guishes Francesco’s vision for the architect from Alberti’s ideal. This emphasis was also what made the Trattato so popular among Renaissance architects. Trattato as textbook In content and organization, the Trattato di architettura is structured as a kind of architectural textbook. As the first illustrated, vernacular treatise to provide a prescriptive approach to all aspects of architecture — from materials to site conditions, methods of design, and the construc- tion of aqueducts, churches, palaces, fortresses, and war engines — Francesco’s tract was unprecedented. In the second half of the fifteenth century there was no single, immediate model for a book of this type. Illustrated tech- nical treatises, such as those of Frontius, Giovanni Fon- tana, Taccola, and Roberto Valturius, provided contextual references, but as texts written for patrons, not practition- ers, they served a very different function. Not only were these treatises in Latin, but the flat, undetailed illustra- tions gave little information about how the machines they depicted actually operated (Galluzzi 1991: 16–25). Stand- ard primers used in artistic and commercial education, the trattati d’abaco, were not quite appropriate models either. Although written in the vernacular and partially illustrated, these were essentially rule-books without any foundational theory. Nor did the architectural trea- tises of Alberti and Filarete provide suitable precedents for Francesco’s project. Alberti’s and Filarete’s tracts were essentially literary pieces, and failed to provide a cohesive theory, or even a standard vocabulary, for the working architect. Thus, the format Francesco developed for the Trattato was a hybrid — combining features of the illus- trated technical treatise with the abaco manual and the humanist commentary. The result, a legible, straightfor- ward tract on building, became a standard reference for generations of architects, and in the continual reproduc- tion of its text and images, provided a new model for the working architect. In the Italian Renaissance, the trattato d’abaco consti- tuted the basic curriculum of the scuola dell’abbaco, an elementary commercial school where boys learned basic arithmetic, algebra, and geometry (Goldthwaite 1972: 420). Abaco schools, although primarily founded for the purpose of mercantile education, also provided the basic primary schooling of artists and craftsmen. Moreover, by the fifteenth century it was not uncommon to find artists and mathematicians working in collaboration, and a hand- Merrill: The Trattato as TextbookArt. 20, page 8 of 19 ful of treatises, such as Lorenzo Ghiberti’s Commentari, Alberti’s De’ ludi mathematici and Della pittura, and Piero della Francesca’s Prospectiva pingendi, demonstrate the growing attention given by artists to mathematics (Davis 1977: 1–20). Francesco, who defined architecture as a mathematically based science and formulated a design approach using geometry and quadrature, was undoubt- edly familiar with abaco methods. In Trattato I, his chap- ter on geometry and measures is analogous to that of an abaco text.30 Similarly, Francesco utilizes an abaco method in his lesson on quadrature and temple design in Trattato II. Relying heavily upon linear diagrams, his explication is given in terms of coordinate points, chords, and mod- ules. This mathematical approach to building design and instruction complemented Francesco’s desire to formu- late a lucid, scientific theory of architecture. The abaco manual was an established, proven mode of instruction, the language and forms of which were already recognized by the practitioners whom Francesco addressed. In contrast to Francesco’s succinct, abaco-style expli- cations on geometry and quadrature, other passages of Trattato II read more like learned commentaries on the theoretical foundations of architecture, with dozens of citations to the authoritative texts of Aristotle, Vitruvius, Plato, Cicero, Pliny the Elder, Averroes, Avicenna, Veget- ius, St. Augustine, Diogenes, and Petrarch. Francesco, pro- ficient in Latin but having no Greek, likely studied these texts through commentaries. Literary commentaries of this sort were ubiquitous in the Renaissance, and served as the principal tool in humanist study and university edu- cation (Annecchino 2005: 310–311). Commentaries and annotated manuscripts were also plentiful in the Urbino court library, which notably held a total of seventy-one copies, translations, and commentaries of Francesco’s favored Aristotelian texts (Peruzzi 2004: 40). It was in this environment that the studious architect completed his translation of Vitruvius, a project he tellingly structured as a humanist commentary, glossing the Greek and Latin terms directly in the text (Martini 2002: xxiii). Thus, it was somewhat natural that when he rewrote the Trattato, he decided to follow more closely the commentary model. Still, Trattato II is not a traditional humanist commentary. Francesco did not write in Latin, nor did he limit his canon of references to literary sources. In its final form, the Trat- tato combines a breadth of mediated evidence: Italian summaries of classical philosophies, historical exempla, anecdotes from the field, and hundreds of expository illustrations.31 While the references to ancient authorities provide an authoritative conceptual basis, for the Renais- sance practitioner, the true utility of the Trattato lay in the advice of the seasoned architect. Francesco served as the model for his ideal architect and did not hesitate to remind his reader of this. Address- ing his students directly, Francesco routinely draws upon examples from his own practice as a means to corroborate his theoretical principles. These anecdotes not only glorify Francesco’s achievements, but also underscore his convic- tion that the architect learns best by doing. On the ‘ways to find water’, for example, Francesco confidently asserts that ‘many peculiarities [of this work] I have found in many authors, and from my own great labor and diligence, and with more and more experience, I have learned them myself’ (Martini 1967: 355).32 Similarly, on the subject of ancient fireplace design (camini), he emphasizes that his on-site investigations were necessitated by the lack of lit- erary evidence. ‘Neither Vitruvius nor any author on archi- tecture’ discussed these difficult constructions, he notes, which are ‘more difficult to comprehend from the ruins of ancient buildings’ (Martini 1967: 331–333).33 By empha- sizing his own practice, Francesco indirectly defines the basic skill set he expects of his reader. The Trattato was for the young practitioner with a basic knowledge in design and construction processes, and thus Francesco does not hesitate to task him with the modification of a fortifica- tion plan or the development of an ornamental scheme. In addition to long practice, the architect had to be an able draftsman. According to Francesco, only those profi- cient in disegno have the creative and conceptual facility to approach the manifold design problems posed by archi- tecture, and to demonstrate this, he composed the Trat- tato as the consummate explication on architectural dis- egno. In layout, the tract privileges images over text. The drawings function as illustrative commentaries, framing the main body of text to elucidate the author’s core prin- ciples (Cellauro 2011: 190) (Fig. 3). Using verbs such as demonstrate, show, signify, or manifest (dimostrare, mos- trare, dichiarare, manifestare, segnare, disegnare), Franc- esco repeatedly instructs the reader to consult the illus- trations, affirming that his concepts ‘best appear in the drawing’ (come meglio appare nel disegno). On the didactic function of the treatise, and the fundamental importance of its images, Francesco states: This work is ultimately not a set of instructions […] but rather it is for those who think and have some intelligence in disegno, without which, one could not understand compositions and parts of architecture […]; of each part I have given ample ex- amples, and because the complete architect must invent in many unforeseen circumstances, it would be impossible to achieve that without disegno; and because I cannot clarify everything, these parts are left to the discretion of the architect (Martini 1967: 505–506).34 By granting the image such authority, Francesco also dem- onstrates disegno as an expression of ingegno and means of invenzione. On almost every subject, he provides mul- tiple examples of each design type. The section on case e palazzi, for example, features sixty-eight plans for four types of houses and palaces (Fig. 4). This exaggerated dis- play emphasizes the infinite number of possible design solutions, and shows how, through drawing, the archi- tect might experiment with different forms and develop new ideas. The Trattato images, however, are conceptual illustrations, not definitive plans. Francesco’s illustra- tions do not include dimensions, have few labels, and are not consistent in scale. Developed with an eye toward reproduction, the clear, unequivocal models were ideal for workshop study and reference. Francesco’s oft-repro- Merrill: The Trattato as Textbook Art. 20, page 9 of 19 Fig. 3: Francesco di Giorgio, Trattato di Architettura, version II. Codex Magliabechiana II.I.141, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence (1497–1500). Folio 29r: Plan variations for cities. Pen and ink on paper, 43.6 x 29.2 cm. Merrill: The Trattato as TextbookArt. 20, page 10 of 19 Fig. 4: Francesco di Giorgio, Trattato di Architettura, version II. Codex Magliabechiana II.I.141, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence (1497–1500). Folio 18v: Plan variations for houses. Pen and ink on paper, 43.6 x 29.2 cm. Merrill: The Trattato as Textbook Art. 20, page 11 of 19 duced image of the man inscribed within a church plan, for example, illustrates the analogy between human and architectural proportions. The design does not intend to literally equate the human form with the physical build- ing. Likewise, the perfect geometries of Francesco’s for- tification plans constitute ideal types that the architect would have to modify in practice. The Trattato di architettura, therefore, was a didactic text, a manual for the working architect to refer to as his training progressed. Its efficacy as such may be traced in its great popularity among architects. In the sixteenth century, copies of the Trattato were ubiquitous. Preemi- nent artist-architects, including Leonardo da Vinci, Fra Giocondo, Baldassare Peruzzi, Jacopo da Vignola, Vin- cenzo Scamozzi, and Philibert del’Orme, carefully studied the Trattato and incorporated Francesco’s ideas into their built and written works (Wolf 1998: 146–185). Count- less other artists and architects produced compendia of its canonical illustrations, inserting Francesco-derived copy-drawings into their personal reference manuals and model-books. Yet, by this point, Francesco’s designs were so well known, and so widely reproduced, that they were no longer associated with his name or the Trattato, and instead belonged to a universal canon of common imagery. It was as standard, generic models that Francesco’s images were reproduced in the sixteenth century, refashioned in the printed engineering treatises of Jacopo di Strada, Bernardo Puccini, Vittorio Zonca, Agostino Ramelli, and others, and appropriated for new, illustrated editions of Vitruvius’ De architectura and Alberti’s De re aedificatoria (Reti 1963: 287–298). The popularity of the Trattato images is also suggestive of the tract’s widespread diffusion. Not only were there hundreds, possibly even thousands, of manuscript cop- ies of the Trattato, but these were constantly circulating between artists and workshops. Quite often, it seems, apprentices were tasked with executing copies of Franc- esco images, either for their own reference or as part of their standard course of training (Ames-Lewis 1981: 16). The design copybook was an essential tool of the Renais- sance architect and it was not uncommon for architects of the same workshop to compile nearly identical model- books. Thus, within the Sangallo family workshop, for example, the Trattato illustrations were reproduced by Giuliano, Antonio the Younger, Giovanfrancesco, and Giovanbattista da Sangallo.35 Similarly, a handful of pages with Trattato images appears in Bartolomeo Ammannati’s well-worn copybook of architectural prototypes (Uffizi A7659–A7746). As exemplified in an extraordinary seventeenth-century manuscript on technical design, the Trattato drawings continued to feature in architectural education through the end of the Renaissance. The codex in question, con- served in the Staats-und-Universistat Bibliothek in Ham- burg, contains numerous tracts on engineering and military architecture, including Galileo’s Delle macchine (1592–1593) as well as thirteen folios with copy-drawings of Francesco’s machine designs (Figs 5, 6).36 Although it is impossible to know if Francesco’s illustrations were used in Galileo’s private courses on practical mechanics, the close association between his didactic tract and the Trat- tato images in the Hamburg volume indicates that these figures were at the very least part of the same corpus of technical education. Thus, knowingly or not, a substantial school of Italian Renaissance architects was brought up using the Trattato di Architettura. The copies may have differed substantially in length and quality, but unmistak- ably, the images and ideas they featured were Francesco’s. Legacy of the Trattato While a complete analysis of the Trattato’s impact on the evolution of Renaissance architecture is beyond the scope of this article, this final section draws attention to two well-known students of the Trattato and how they assimi- lated Francesco’s theory into their own architectural trea- tises. Baldassare Peruzzi (1481–1536) and Pietro Cataneo (1510–1569) were both natives of Siena and succeeded Francesco as Sienese communal architects. Peruzzi likely trained under the master in the late fifteenth century, and although Cataneo never personally knew Francesco, he closely followed the celebrated Sienese architect in both his theory and practice. Like Francesco, Peruzzi and Cataneo were both generalists, experienced in military and civic architecture. Also like Francesco, both men were teachers, and sought to write didactic treatises for the emerging professional architect. But whereas Francesco confronted only one rival in his Trattato (Alberti), a half- century later Peruzzi and Cataneo had to contend with an ever-expanding community of architectural theorists and commentary writers. It was within this greater dialogue that Francesco’s ideas on architecture were mediated. Some of these came to be incorporated as canonical prin- ciples of the discipline, while others were dismissed and gradually forgotten. Peruzzi’s treatise on architecture is among the many unfinished, and thus often forgotten, artistic tracts of the Italian Renaissance. Begun in 1527, the treatise was to serve as a course-book for Peruzzi’s students in the Studio of Siena, where, in addition to his duties as com- munal architect, he was charged with teaching architec- ture and perspective to those who were ‘interested and wanted to learn’ (Annecchino 2005: 312).37 Although the commune had long supported a ‘school’ of art and archi- tecture within the Opera del Duomo, Peruzzi’s contract is the first record of a formal program of architectural edu- cation (Mussolin 2009: 67). While the specific parameters of Peruzzi’s course — the number of students, the format of instruction, the classroom environment, and mode of examination — are unknown, ample evidence suggests that he planned to assemble an instructional tract for his students. From the accounts of Giorgio Vasari, Egnazio Danti, Sallustio Peruzzi and Pirro Ligorio, we know that the projected treatise was to include an illustrated com- mentary on Vitruvius, writings on the orders and perspec- tive, and an exposition on ancient building (Burns 1988: 207–212). In addition to Peruzzi’s preparatory drawings (c. 1527–1531), held today in the Uffizi and the Siena Bib- lioteca Comunale, a preliminary copy of the incomplete manual also exists, in the Österreichische Nationalbiblio- thek (Vienna) (Annecchino 2005: 313; Toca 1971).38 Merrill: The Trattato as TextbookArt. 20, page 12 of 19 The Vienna codex opens with a statement of purpose in which Peruzzi relates that upon the request of friends, he has decided to write a tract on architecture. The trea- tise, he vows, will be different from previous ones, which, ‘filled with many long problems, and written in such pro- lix language seem, more like the work of a historian or Fig. 5: Francesco di Giorgio, Opusculum de architectura. Ms. Lat. 197b 21, British Museum, London (c. 1475). Folio 24v: Windlass worked by treadmill; shears. Pen, brown ink and brown wash on velum, 27.4 x 22.9 cm. © The Trustees of the British Museum. Merrill: The Trattato as Textbook Art. 20, page 13 of 19 Fig. 6: Anonymous, copy-drawings from Francesco di Giorgio’s Opusculum de architectura. Codex Math 200, Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, Hamburg (c. 1590–1600). Folio 27r: Windlass worked by treadmill and shears. Pen and ink on paper. Merrill: The Trattato as TextbookArt. 20, page 14 of 19 chronicler than a master.’ Rather, as communal instruc- tor, Peruzzi promises ‘to speak tersely, discussing [the material] generally and positively in such a manner that I hope that it will be useful and understandable to all its readers.’39 Following these introductory statements, he includes a four-page summary outlining the contents of his proposed thirty-two-book treatise. But it is here that the discerning reader begins to recognize that, contrary to Peruzzi’s claims of originality, his treatise is not actually so different from previous ones, as in fact much of his trea- tise derives directly from Francesco’s Trattato.40 Peruzzi’s thirty-two-book tract, it appears, was intended to revise and expand upon Francesco’s original seven books. As in the Trattato, Peruzzi opens with an exposi- tion on materials and site conditions, and leaves ample space for the discussion of ‘utilitarian’ constructions — for- tifications, mills, artillery, chimneys, and bathrooms. But Peruzzi’s manual differs from the Trattato in its organiza- tion. The concise books, each no longer than a page or two in length, focus on basic information and examples, providing material in a manner that is accessible and easy to reference. For example, whereas the Trattato covers quadrature, temple design, and the columnar orders in one book, Peruzzi’s divides this material into seven sec- tions, dedicating three chapters to the orders, and four chapters to temples, their forms, proportions, and orna- ments. Still, the fact that Peruzzi used the Trattato as the basis for his architectural textbook speaks to the authori- tative status of Francesco’s treatise. For Peruzzi and his six- teenth-century contemporaries, Francesco’s Trattato was the definitive manual on practical architecture, and just like any popular text, it had a decisive impact on how its users thought about their work. In his role as Communal instructor, Peruzzi set out to teach a modified version of Francesco’s ‘first principles’, focusing on disegno, techni- cal acumen, and on-site experience. In this, he prepared an entirely new generation with the ideal of the practically minded architect-technician. Pietro Cataneo was likely among the students who attended Peruzzi’s course at the Studio of Siena, and was possibly also active within the Peruzzi workshop (Cataneo 1985: 165). The son of a stationer and book dealer, Cata- neo was first introduced to architecture through his work within the Studio scriptorium, where he copied treatises, commentaries, and course manuals, including the differ- ent versions of Francesco’s Trattato di architettura. After completing a course in advanced mathematics, he pub- lished a treatise on Le pratiche delle due prime matematiche (1546) (Binaghi 2000: 44). An elaboration on the stand- ard abaco manual, Le pratiche is a mathematical treatise written for architects, filled with concrete examples and calculations related to construction costs, material quanti- ties, and the measurement of areas and volumes (Binaghi 2000: 44–46).41 Cataneo’s conception of architecture as a practical, mathematical discipline also stands at the heart of his second treatise, L’architettura di Pietro Cataneo Senese (1567).42 Focused more specifically on architecture, the seven-book tract provides a pragmatic schema for the profession. Although Cataneo never cites Francesco, the authoritative precedent of the Trattato is readily appar- ent throughout. Not only does the L’architettura follow the Trattato in format, integrating text and illustrations and even reusing some of the same figures, but its essen- tial theory is also analogous to that provided by Franc- esco. Cataneo opens his treatise with a strikingly familiar proclamation, in which he defines architecture as a sci- ence and characterizes the architect as a man of natural ingegno, skilled in drawing, geometry, perspective, and arithmetic and learned in history and medicine (Cataneo 1985: 185).43 The ensuing books expound on the same core concepts highlighted in the Trattato, albeit in a more systematic and condensed manner. For example, in Book One, on site conditions and city planning, Cataneo speci- fies that the expert architect must have ‘good experience’ in all aspects of the building environment, and follow- ing the Trattato model, he provides concrete examples, many of which concern Siena or Tuscany (Cataneo 1985: 267).44 Cataneo’s geometrical approach to building design (Book Three) is also comparable to Francesco’s. Just as in the Trattato, Cataneo utilizes abstract, geometrical plans, which he refers to directly in the text — ‘come per la pre- senta pianta si dimostr’ — and echoing Francesco, reminds the reader that his plans are only prototypes, a mere sam- pling of the infinite number of possible inventions the architect might devise (Cataneo: 1985: 343).45 Of particular significance are Cataneo’s references to the ‘Architect’, a title he capitalized, and the architec- tural profession — ‘professione di buono Architetto’ (Cata- neo 1985: 185). As a state-employed architect in mid- sixteenth-century Italy, Cataneo witnessed first-hand the continual technological advancements that demanded designers with ever more mechanical know-how. States and republics required practically minded professionals, technicians proficient in hydrologic and civil engineer- ing, metallurgy, and machine design; more than ever, the Albertian architect — the knowledgeable humanist with general skills in draftsmanship but little on-site experi- ence — was an unacceptable and dangerous model (Val- leriani 2010: 196–197).46 Cataneo’s treatise, dedicated to the popular Sienese ruler Aeneas Piccolomini, was thus both a natural extension of Francesco’s Trattato and a revisionist proposal for sixteenth-century architecture. Pushing back against increasingly prevalent humanist- architect, Cataneo extolled the Vitruvian model of the polymath architect-technician. This conception of archi- tecture was consistent with the deeply engrained Sienese tradition, exemplified in the tracts of Taccola, Francesco di Giorgio, and Peruzzi. But Cataneo was among the last to promote the train- ing of a generalist-architect. By the close of the sixteenth century, architecture had split into two distinct speciali- zations — civil and military — and Francesco’s concep- tion of the architect-technician, dexterous in both fields of practice, was all but obsolete. While the Trattato was still consulted by the period’s leading military engineers — individuals like Galeazzo Alessi, Giovan Battista Bel- luzzi and Buonaiuto Lorini — by the mid-1500s civilian Merrill: The Trattato as Textbook Art. 20, page 15 of 19 architects had at their disposal an entirely new canon of practical treatises.47 In this century, more architectural treatises, manuals, commentaries, and pattern books were published than ever before. In addition to the tracts of Vitruvius and Alberti, which were reprinted in multi- ple editions, Sebastiano Serlio, Jacopo Vignola, Philibert del’Orme, and Andrea Palladio also published new trea- tises on architecture. Yet there was still no consensus on the architect’s role or even on the definition of architec- ture. Just like Francesco, Serlio, Vignola, Philibert, and Palladio composed treatises in an effort to structure the discipline. Their varying proposals for the professional architect — the building designer (Serlio), the gentleman- specialist (Philibert), and the humanist-antiquarian (Pal- ladio) — demonstrate the lingering dissatisfaction with the way architecture was practiced, codified, and taught. Francesco’s Trattato was among the most resonant theo- ries in this period of continual inquiry and progression, and aspects of his theory, such as the primacy of disegno and the necessity ofarchitectural invention, came to be widely accepted as intrinsic to the discipline. But Franc- esco did not define the professional architect —arguably, no one ever would. Rather, his Trattato provided a highly influential paradigm for the profession in a pivotal period of architectural history, offering models and methods for innovative design. Notes This paper was researched and written during a pre- doctoral exchange fellowship at Humboldt Universität in Berlin (2012–2013). I am grateful to those who have discussed Francesco di Giorgio’s Trattato di architettu- ra with me, in particular Paul Barolsky, Cammy Broth- ers, David Summers, and Matteo Valleriani. 1 Codicetto Vaticano Ms. Lat. Urbinate 1757. 2 ‘Ma io, non avendo di questo molestia, solo questo merito delle fatighe mie aspetto, che da qualche intel- ligente da alcuna parte mi serà rendute grazie se non come determinatore, almeno come motore delli altri ingegni più sublimi e virtuosi.’ 3 In sequential order, the four versions of the Trattato in- clude (1) the “proto-Trattato” or antecedent to Trattato I, c. 1476 (conserved in the Zichy-codex, Erwin Szabo Public Library, Budapest); (2) Trattato I, c. 1478–1481 (codex Ashburnham 361, Biblioteca Medicea-Lauren- ziana and codex Saluzziano 148, Biblioteca Reale, Tu- rin); (3) the Opera di architectura, c. 1487–1488 (codex Spencer 129, New York Public Library); and (4) Trattato II, c. 1487–1500 (codex S.IV.4, Biblioteca Comunale, Siena and the codex Magliabechiana II.I.141, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence). One might also recog- nize at least two distinct stages of development for both Trattato I and Trattato II, as reflected in the prin- cipal surviving copies. The dating of the Trattato has received critical attention from Betts (1977), Maltese (Martini 1967), Mussini (1993 and 2003), and Scaglia (1991). The chronology given here is that provided by Mussini (1993, 2003). My reading of the Trattato uses the transcriptions provided by Corrado Maltese in his two-volume critical edition (Martini 1967). The trans- lations are my own. 4 For example, in book three, on ‘Cities’, Francesco be- gins well over half of the sentences with either ‘Anco’ or ‘E.’ Of the total seventy-three sentences, forty-six be- gin with ‘and’ or ‘also.’ See Martini 1967: 20–25. 5 Here I am referring to folio 20v of the codex Saluzzi- ano. See Martini 1967: table 36. 6 For discussion of Francesco's possible activity in Na- ples in the mid-1480s see Martorano 2004: 173–185. On Francesco’s studies of antiquities, known through the so-called Taccuino dei viaggi (Uffizi A318–337) see Burns 1994: 330–357. 7 Although Maltese (Martini 1967) and Scaglia (1985) have suggested that Francesco relied upon Sulpicio Verolano’s 1486 Latin edition of De architectura in completing his translation, Mussini (2003) confirms that there is no concrete evidence for this claim. 8 It is possible that Piero della Francesca assisted Franc- esco with his translation of Vitruvius. In the 1480s, Pie- ro was also in Urbino, and between 1482 and 1492 he composed his Libellus de quinque corporibus regulari- bus, the dedication to which demonstrates his famili- arity with De architectura. On the Vitruvian dedication to Libellus, see Davis 1977: 44–45. 9 At least twenty-nine surviving copies of the Trattato have been linked to the Magliabechiana prototype. See Scaglia 1992: 25, 34–37. 10 Scaglia (1992) has argued that copies of the Trattato were executed in the scriptorium of Monte Oliveto Maggiore, but as Mussini (2003) emphasizes, there is no definitive proof of this. The copies might have been executed in smaller scriptoria, or by individuals within Francesco’s workshop. On the copy and distribution of manuscripts in the Italian Renaissance, see Richard- son 2009. 11 Fra Giocondo was one of the many artists paid to ex- ecute copy drawings of Francesco’s original designs. For the document, see Weller 1943: 382. 12 In addition, the Uffizi, Gabinetto dei Disegni e delle Stampe, holds several loose pages of Francesco di Gior- gio stock illustrations prepared by an anonymous six- teenth-century copyist (U520A–U522A). The figures on these sheets are numbered, presumably according to the position they would take within the assembled Trattato copies. 13 For a synopsis of Francesco’s use of Aristotle in the Trattato, see Lowic 1982: 153–160. 14 For a history on the negative associations of the me- chanical arts, see Biagi 1965. 15 ‘Parmi assai sufficientemente sia ditto delli cinti delle mura, peroché el prudente e perito architetto, di più parti che per le regule et esempli ha conusciuto et inteso, porrà quelle adattare et applicate che si con- verrà alla natura del sito, aggiugnendo e diminuendo e componendo.’ 16 ‘[…] et a questi si può fare infinite e varie invenzioni sicondo la intelligenzia di quelli che in tali esercizi sono esercitati.’ S.IV Merrill: The Trattato as TextbookArt. 20, page 16 of 19 17 ‘Tre sono le principali spezie di templi, quanto alla sua forma e figura, alle quali infinite particulari figure si possono redurre, secondo infinite invenzioni che nella mente dell’architetto possono occorrere. […] Dico adonque che la architettura essendosi trovata succes- sivamente, siccome tutte le altre scienzie, l’uno agiog- nendo all’altro.’ 18 In De ingeneis, Taccola explicitly assigns the design of mills, bridges, and other ‘utilitarian’ mechanisms to the architect, whose ability to realize these struc- tures distinguished him from the common craftsman. For transcriptions and translations of De Ingeneis, see Prager and Scaglia 1972. 19 ‘…senza quello [disegno] non si può bene intendere le composizioni delle parti dell’architettura, et oltre a questo perché questa arte, oltre a la scienzia et in- telligenzia acquisita da libri e disegni, ha di bisogno di invenzione, senza la quale non è possibile essere bono architetto, perché molte cose, non potendosi descrivere né insegnare, bisogna restino nella discrezi- one e giudizio dell’artefice. […] Ultimamente, perché come ho ditto la invenzione è necessaria a perfezione dell’arte, molti, avendo in la mento fabbricato uno edi- ficio con le sue convenienti proporzioni, non possono poi mettarlo in opera, non sapendolo né a sé né ad altri col disegno dimostrare.’ 20 ‘Perché ogni nostra [cognizione e] notizia dello in- telletto ha origine dal senso, come testifica Aristo- tele nel primo della Posteriora, e nel secondo e terzo dell’Anima, et in fra [tutti] li altri sensi [esteriori] el vedere è più spirituale, puro e perfetto, e più cose e dif- ferenzie ci demostra, non pare che lo intelletto nostro così possi [perfettamente] comprendere alcuna cosa né longo tempo tenere, se quella col senso del vedere non ha conosc‹i›uto, o almeno cosa simile a quella, per cui cognizione l’intelletto si eleva a conoscere la prima.’ 21 Francesco’s relationship with Alberti is often consid- ered by scholars. Fiore and Tafuri (1994) highlight the differences between the two, characterizing Francesco di Giorgio as ‘albertianamente antialbertiano’. Canali (2002) has speculated upon Francesco’s possible con- tact with Alberti as a young man in Siena. Mussini (2003) makes numerous comparisons between Alber- ti’s theory and that of Francesco di Giorgio. 22 The extent of Antonio di Tuccio Manetti’s architectural career is uncertain, although he was widely recognized as an expert in mathematics, geometry, and astrono- my. In a document of 1491, he is named ‘civis et archi- tectus’ in regards to his role on the advisory committee of Santa Maria del Fiore. See Manetti 1970: 17–18. 23 ‘[Onde] per questo non senza ragione nelle menti delli vertuosi nasce meraviglia: qual sia la cagione che tan- to tempo sia stata ascosa e totalmente persa; e pari- mente ignote le forze delli vocabuli usati per li autori che della pittura et architettura, parte dell’antigrafica, hanno a noi lassati i libri, massime essendo in questo tempo stati più omini da la natura dotati di suttilis- simi ingegni.’ 24 ‘[… ] benché a me non sia ignoto alcuni moderni in questa arte avere commentato e scritto, peroché infine nelli utili e difficili passi legermente quelli trovo es- ser passati. Onde, avvenga che a molti paia da qualche breve tempo in qua si sia ritrovata la architettura, in- tesi li fondamenti, regule e conclusione d’essa, senza arroganzia e suspizione di debita reprensione si può dire che tutti li edifici moderni sieno pieni di errori e di parti senza la debita proporzione o simmetria.’ 25 ‘[L’architetto], la quale senza antigrafice è nulla e molte volte manca in quello ancora dove si estende.’ 26 Alberti comments: ‘Let it be enough that he has a grasp of those elements of painting of which we have written; that he had sufficient knowledge of math- ematics for the practical and considered application of angles, numbers, and lines, such as that discussed under the topic of weights and the measurements of surfaces and bodies […] If he combines enthusiasm and diligence with a knowledge of these arts, the ar- chitect will achieve favor, wealth, fame for posterity, and glory.’ 27 On the ‘Ornament of Private Buildings’ Alberti is ex- plicit: ‘[T]o make something that appears convenient for use, and without doubt be afforded and built as projected, is the job not of the architect so much as the workman. But to preconceive and to determine in the mind and with judgment something that will be per- fect and complete in its every part is the achievement of such a mind as we seek [as architects]’ (Book IX.10, Alberti 1988: 315). 28 ‘Consequentemente è da sapere che li ornamenti non necessari possono essere di più spezie, come [di] col- onne morte e vive overo integre, di cornice, ricinti, stucchi, figure, riquadrati in palchi et altri modi li quali [io] per lo disegno dichiararò al quale mi referisco per resecare ogni superfluo parlare.’ Francesco’s concep- tion of ornament bears a debt to Vitruvius. As given in the Trattato, ornament is an artistic display and a product of the architect’s creativity and invention. Alberti also understood ornament as artistic display, and like Francesco defined ornament as an auxiliary component of building. However, Alberti placed much greater value on ornament than Francesco. In De re ae- dificatoria, he pairs beauty with ornament and teaches that the architect’s greatest concern is to make a beau- tiful building. See Payne 1999: 93–97; Alberti 1988: 154–157. 29 ‘Ma sono molti speculativi ingegni che per loro soler- zia hanno molte cose invente e dell’altre antiche come di nuovo ritrovate quelle descrivendo, e per non avere el disegno sono difficilissime ad intendare, perché sic- come noi vediamo sono molti che hanno la dottrina e non hanno l’ingegno, e molti dotati d’ingegno e non di dottrina, e molti hanno la dottrina e lo ingegno e non hanno el disegno.’ 30 Maltese reproduces the folios of the codex Saluzziano 148 in his critical edition. For the chapter on geometry and measures see Martini 1967: tav. 50–61. Presum- ably because of their utility, few abaco books remain extant. The Biblioteca Marciana, Venice holds a well- preserved, fifteenth-century abaco text (codex Italiani IV, 35, 5570). Merrill: The Trattato as Textbook Art. 20, page 17 of 19 31 In the prologue, Francesco states that his purpose in writing the Trattato was to explain good architecture in a clear and comprehensible manner, and that he resolved to avoid no fatigue to achieve this end: ‘E desiderando in l’arte del disegno e dell’architettura, parte dell’antigraficie, venire a qualche cognizione, feci fermo proposito di non perdonare a fatiga alcuna la quale io vedevo necessaria per pervenire a questo fine.’ In Book V, Francesco notes that examples are superior for learning, because they are easier judged and remembered by those who are not very expert or learned: ‘però che li esempli più movino l’intelletto che le parole generali, massime quelli che non sono molto esperti et eruditi.’ Martini 1967: 295; 445. 32 This is a liberal translation of a somewhat awkward sentence: ‘quali modi curiosamente ho tratti di più au- tori, e con fatiga e di‹li›genzia facendo più e più espe- rienzie ho trovato da me.’ 33 ‘Non è parte alcuna delle case che per le ruine e reli- quie delli edifizi antiqui meno si possi comprendare e la forma sua descrivare che li camini […] e non ho mai trovato omo che di notare simili antiquità si sia diletta- to che ne abbi avuto notizia di alcuno; e meravigliomi che né Vetruvio né altro autore di architettura in le loro opare non abbi mai fatto alcuna menzione di camini.’ 34 ‘Uno documento ultimatamente non è da pretermet- tare al quale dieno avere avvertenzia quelli che di questa mia operetta desiderano consequire alcuno frutto, e questo è che questi tali s’ingeg‹n›ino avere qualche intelligenzia del disegno, perché senza quello non si può bene intendare le composizioni e parti dell’architettura perché le superficie esteriori compra- no le interiori e d’ogni parte longo saria dare esempli, e perché il completo architetto richiede la invenzione per molti casi occurrenti indescritti che senza disegno è impossibile consequire, e perché non possendo ogni minima parte dichiarare, quelle che restano ‹sono› nel- la discrezione dell’architetto.’ 35 Giuliano included copy-drawings after Francesco in his Taccuino (Codex S.IV.8, Biblioteca Comunale, Siena) and his codex Barberini (Vat. Lat. 4424). Antonio da Sangallo the Younger meticulously reproduced the im- ages on folios (now conserved in the Uffizi) which ap- pear to have been prepared for binding. The Uffizi also holds Trattato copy-drawings by Giovanfrancesco and Giovanbattista. See Scaglia 1992. 36 Codex. Math. 200. On the Hamburg version of Gali- leo’s De Macchine and the Francesco di Giorgio copy- drawings, see Valleriani 2010: 71–112. 37 Peruzzi’s contract stipulated that he ‘sit obligatus eius artem [si tratta dell’architettura] docere omnes querentes et volentes discere.’ 38 The so-called Taccuino Senese, (codex S.IV.7, Biblioteca Comunale Siena) is attributed to Baldassare Peruzzi and his circle. The Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, holds two codices related to Peruzzi’s treatise project: one dedicated primarily to text (codex 10873) and one with illustrations (codex 10935). 39 The introduction is given on folio 2r and reads: ‘Molse adlo anxilio dellattissimo Iddio, senza el quale alcuna cosa ne celeste ne terena si move, presi animo adescri- vere e figurare [?] opera pertinente ad architecture per lassare ali posteri le fatigue estudi che in decta arte oesperimentato e etia per honesti stima per suasione factami da moltissimi amici amatori dele virtù. E de diserosi di vedere a luce cosa che sia acomune utilita di ciascuno virtuoso edifiblime ingegno possi per per- sumptione per avere visto piu opere scripte, di desta arte da alcuni maderm. architetti e chi in un modo chi in uno altro la descrive chi avoluto tradurre evul- garizare le scellentissimo testo di Vitruvio, chi se a usurpate le sue fatighe del atri vi usando el premio de in gratitudine procedendo in tanti longsi problemati e tanta perlixita che in piu sip o dice isto via a che magisterio fastidisce el lettore e lo auditore facendo piu narrationi di cose aliene che di quelle et allarte se aperengono; ne io prometto in questa opera exquisite ne terso parlare discrivendo trivalmente e positiva- mente in tal modo ch’ io spero che saria questa opera utile e da tutti li lettore intesa.’ 40 On several folios, such as 42r, the copyist even includ- ed the source of the material. This folio bears the title, ‘Incipit poemiu Francisi Georgii Senesis architecttis liber primo Capitolo I.’ 41 In content and sophistication, Le pratiche delle due prime matematiche (1546, reprinted in 1559) was comparable in to a mathematical treatise of a univer- sity professor. 42 In 1554 Cataneo published a partial version of this treatise with the title I Quattro primi libri di archittura. 43 ‘As architecture is a science of many doctrines and various complicated teachings, & [which requires] the judgment of those approving all the works that this art is complete; it will also be necessary for he who wishes to make the profession of the good archi- tect, to be scientific, and of with natural ingegno, as he who is clever without science, or scientific with- out ingegno, cannot be the perfect architect. Before one can be well instructed in this art, or science, it is necessary that he be a good drawer, excellent in geometry, most able in perspective, optimal in arith- metic, learned in history, and have an understanding of medicine, as such sciences are necessary.’ (‘Per es- sere l’Architettura scienza di più dottrine e vari am- maestramenti ornata, col giudizio de la quale appro- vandosi tutte l’opere, che dall’altre arti si finiscono, serà di bisogno ancora a chi vorrà far professione di buono Architetto essere scientifico, e di naturale in- gegno dotato. Però che essendo ingegnoso senza sci- enza, overo scientifico senza ingegno, non potrà farsi perfetto Architettore. Dove gli sera necessario, prima che si possa render bene istrutto di questa arte o sci- enza, esser bono disegnatore, eccellente geometra et aritmetico, bonissimo prospettivo, dotto istoriografo, et abbia tal cognizione di medicina, quale a tale sci- enza si conviene.’) 44 ‘Quando adunque si fabricherà in luoghi che dei loro domini si sieno per più anni messe in opera le loro pie- tre, si conoscerà facilmente per la loro stessa sperienza la natura di quelle. Ma se di nuovo si fabricherà città, S.IV S.IV Merrill: The Trattato as TextbookArt. 20, page 18 of 19 castello, o villa dove non fusse vestigio di abitazione o muraglia alcuna, serà allora necessario, per fare di buona sperienza, cavare la state di tale paese di ogni sorte petrina.’ 45 On variation and invention in regards to palace plans, Cataneo writes: ‘Bella cosa è veramente il variare dagli edifizi ordinari: di che molte volte con lode universale se ne acquista la grazia della republica, o del suo si- gnore. Sforzerommi pertanto di più inventioni, che mi vengono in mente, darne alcune esempio, che più mi paia da dover essere messo in opera, quantunque i me- desimi si potessero diversamente mostrare.’ 46 Cataneo references Alberti twice in his treatise – in regards to larch wood and the Doric capital. On the latter topic, he is particularly dismissive of the Floren- tine architect, commenting that his proposal for the Doric capital ‘per mio avviso è molto mal proporzionato, e però mostruoso’. See Cataneo 1985: 274, 355. 47 On Belluzzi’s familiarity with Francesco’s Trattato di Ar- chitettura and his built works, see Lamberini 2007: 292. For Galeazzo Alessi’s debt to Francesco, see Coppa 1999: 31–32. Lorini’s treatise Delle Fortificationi also bears many parallels to the Trattato and certain passages, in- cluding that on disegno, derive directly from the earlier text. See Lorini 1597. References Ackerman, J 1991 Architectural Practice in the Italian Renaissance. In: Distance Points. Essays in Theory and Renaissance Art and Architecture. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. pp. 361–384. Alberti, L B 1972 On Painting and On Sculpture. Grayson, C. (ed. and trans.) London: Phaidon. Alberti, L B 1988 On the Art of Building in Ten Books. Rykwert, J, Leach, N and Tavernor, R (ed. and trans.) Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Ames-Lewis, F 1981 Drawings in Early Renaissance Italy. New Haven: Yale University Press. Annecchino, V 2005 Baldassare Peruzzi e la didattica dell’architettura a Siena. In: Frommel, C et al. Baldas- sare Peruzzi 1481–1536. Venice: Marsilio Editori. pp. 309–318. Betts, R 1977 On the Chronology of Francesco di Gior- gio’s Treatises: New Evidence from an Unpublished Manuscript. Journal of the Society of Architectural His- torians 36: 3–14. Betts, R 1971 The Architectural Theories of Francesco di Giorgio. Unpublished thesis (PhD), Princeton University. Biagi, M L A 1965 Vile Meccanico. Lingua Nostra 26: 1–12. Binaghi, R 2000 Pietro Cataneo Architettore nostro dil- etto ad Orbetello. In: Beltramini G and Giavarina A G (ed.) Studi in onore di Renato Cevese. Vicenza: Centro internazionale di studi di architettura Andrea Palladio. pp. 41–59. Burns, H 1988 Baldassare Peruzzi and Sixteenth-Century Architectural Theory. In: Chastel, A and Guillaume, J (eds.) Les Traites d’Architecture de la Renaissance. Actes du colloque tenu à Tours du 1st au 11 juillet 1981. Paris: Picard. pp. 207–218. Burns, H 1994 I disegni di Francesco di Giorgio agli Uffizi di Firenze. In: Fiore, F P and Tafuri, M (eds.) Francesco di Giorgio Architetto. Milan: Electa. pp. 330–357. Canali, F 2002 Francesco di Giorgio Martini. Leon Battista Alberti, Firenze e Lorenzo il Magnifico. Bollettino della Società di Studi Fiorentini 11: 11–35. Cataneo, P 1985 L’Architecttura. In: Bassi, E et al. (eds). Trattati di Pietro Cataneo 2 Giacomo Barozzi da Vigno- la: con l’aggiunta degli scritti di architettura di Alvise Cornaro, Francesco Giorgi, Claudio Tolomei, Giangior- gio Trissino, Giorgio Vasari. Milan: Edizioni il Polifilo. pp. 165–498. Cellauro, L 2011 Francesco di Giorgio and the Renais- sance Tradition of the Illustrated Architectural Treatise. In: Hub, B and Pollali, A (eds) Reconstructing Francesco di Giorgio. Frankfurt: Peter Lang. pp. 185–203. Coppa, A 1999 Galeazzo Alessi. Trattato di Fortificazione. Milan: Edizioni Angelo Guerini. Davis, M D 1977 Piero della Francesca’s Mathematical Treatises. Ravenna: Longo Editore. Ettlinger, L 1977 The Emergence of the Italian Architect During the Fifteenth Century. In: Kostof, S (ed.) The Ar- chitect: Chapters in the History of the Profession. New York: Oxford University Press. pp. 96–123. Filarete, A A 1972 Trattato di architetettura. Finoli, A M and Grassi, L (eds.) 2 vols. Milan: Il Polifilo. Fiore, F P and Tafuri, M 1994 Introduzione. In: Fiore, F P and Tafuri, M (eds.) Francesco di Giorgio architetto. Milan: Electa. pp. 19–20. Galluzzi, P 1991 Le macchine senesi. Ricerca antiquaria, spirito di innovazione e cultura del territorio. In: Gal- luzzi, P (ed.) Prima di Leonardo. Cultura delle macchine a Siena del Rinascimento. Milan: Electa. pp. 15–46. Goldthwaite, R 1972 Schools and Teachers of Commer- cial Arithmetic in Renaissance Florence. The Journal of European Economic History 1: 418–434. Hollingsworth, M 1984 The Architect in Sixteenth-Cen- tury Florence. Art History 7: 385–410. Kemp, M 1977 From ‘Mimesis’ to ‘Fantasia’: The Quattro- cento Vocabulary of Creation, Inspiration and Genius in the Visual Arts. Viator 8: 347–398. Kostof, S 1977 The Architect in the Middle Ages, East and West. In: Kostof, S (ed.) The Architect: Chapters in the History of the Profession. New York: Oxford University Press. pp. 59–93. Krautheimer, R 1956 Lorenzo Ghiberti. 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Pagliara, P N 1986 Vitruvio da testo a canone. In: Memo- ria dell’antico nell’arte italiana. Settis, S (ed.) Vol. III. Turin: Giulio Einaudi editore. pp. 7–82. Payne, A 1999 The Architectural Treatise in the Italian Re- naissance: Architectural Invention, Ornament, and Lit- erary Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Peruzzi, M 2004 Cultura Potere Immagine: La Biblioteca di Federico di Montefeltro. Urbino: Accademia Raffaello. Prager, F and Scaglia, G 1970 Brunelleschi: Studies of His Technology and Inventions. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Prager, F and Scaglia, G 1972 Mariano Taccola and His Book “De Ingeneis”. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Reti, L 1963 Francesco di Giorgio Martini’s Treatise on En- gineering and Its Plagiarists. Technology and Culture 4: 287–298. Richardson, B 2009 Manuscript Culture in Renaissance Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rowland, I 2002 Vitruvius and Technology. In: Confor- ti, C and Hopkins A Architettura e tecnologia. Acque, tecniche,e cantieri nell’architettura rinascimentale e ba- rocca. Rome: Nuova Argos. pp. 245–259. Scaglia, G 1992 Francesco di Giorgio. Checklist and His- tory of Manuscripts and Drawings. Cranbury, NJ: Asso- ciated University Press. Scaglia, G 1991 Francesco di Giorgio, autore. In: Prima di Leonardo. Cultura delle macchine a Siena del Rinasci- mento. Galluzzi, P (ed.) Milan: Electa. pp. 59–79. Scaglia, G 1985 Il “Vitruvio Magliabechiano” di Francesco di Giorgio Martini. Florence: Edizioni Gonelli. Toca, M 1971 I disegni di Baldassare Peruzzi per i trattati d’architettura. Necropoli 13–14: 54–72. Valleriani, M 2010 Galileo Engineer. Boston: Springer Sci- ence and Business Media. Vitruvius 1999 Ten Books on Architecture. Rowland, I (ed. and trans.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Weller, A S 1943 Francesco di Giorgio 1439–1501. Chi- cago: University of Chicago Press. Wilkinson, C 1977 The New Professionalism in the Re- naissance. In: Kostof, S (ed.) The Architect: Chapters in the History the Profession. New York: Oxford University Press. pp. 124–160. Wilkinson, C 1988 Renaissance Treatises on Military Ar- chitecture and the Science of Mechanics. In: Chastel, A and Guillaume, J (eds.) Les Traites d’Architecture de la Renaissance. Actes du colloque tenu à Tours du 1st au 11 juillet 1981. Paris: Picard. pp. 467–474. Wolf, E 1998 The Ecclesiastical Architecture of Francesco di Giorgio Martini: A Study of Theory and Practice. Un- published thesis (PhD), Harvard University. How to cite this article: Merrill, E 2013 The Trattato as Textbook: Francesco di Giorgio’s Vision for the Renaissance Architect. Architectural Histories, 1(1): 20, pp. 1-19, DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.5334/ah.at Published: 29 October 2013 Copyright: © 2013 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License (CC-BY 3.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/. OPEN ACCESS Architectural Histories is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.5334/ah.at http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ 
work_jxpvgnxzprbnbh4dr66wadqs7m	----	REPORT AND PAPERS OF THE FIFTH ANNUAL MEETING OF THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF CHURCH HISTORY HELD IN WASHINGTON, DEC. 27 AND 28, 1892 https://doi.org/10.1017/S1079902800000528 Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the https://doi.org/10.1017/S1079902800000528 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://www.cambridge.org/core PAPERS AMERICAN SOCIETY OF CHURCH HISTORY VOLUME V. REPORT AND PAPERS OF THE FIFTH ANNUAL MEETING, HELD IN THE CITY OF WASHINGTON, DEC. 27 AND 2 8 , 1892 EDITED BY REV. SAMUEL MACAULEY JACKSON, M.A. SECRETARY " ' ''' ' '" IC NEW YORK & LONDON G. P. P U T N A M ' S S O N S Sjjt Jmufetrbothcr |ltE6S 1893 https://doi.org/10.1017/S1079902800000528 Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the https://doi.org/10.1017/S1079902800000528 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://www.cambridge.org/core COPYRIGHT, 1893 BY SAMUEL MACAULEY JACKSON Ube lUnicfecrbocfect: p r e s s (G. T. PUTNAM'S SONS) NEW YORK https://doi.org/10.1017/S1079902800000528 Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the https://doi.org/10.1017/S1079902800000528 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://www.cambridge.org/core CONTENTS. PAGE CONSTITUTION OF T H E SOCIETY vii F I F T H ANNUAL M E E T I N G xiii W O R K S OF INTEREST TO T H E STUDENT OF C H U R C H H I S T O R Y W H I C H HAVE APPEARED IN 1892. A Bibliography compiled by the SECRETARY xxv S T . THOMAS OF CANTERBURY. By P H I L I P S C H A F F , D . D . , L L . D . , Professor of Church History, Union Theological Seminary, New York City 3 T H E ABSOLUTION FORMULA OF T H E TEMPLARS. By H E N R Y CHARLES L E A , L L . D . , Philadelphia, Pennsylvania . . . . 37 T H E SERVICES OF T H E M A T H E R S IN N E W ENGLAND R E L I G I O U S DEVELOPMENT. By W I L L I S T O N W A L K E R , P h . D . , Waldo Pro- fessor of Germanic and Western Church History, Theological Seminary, Hartford, Conn. . . . . . . . 61 HOLLAND AND RELIGIOUS F R E E D O M . By Rev. T A L B O T W I L S O N CHAMBERS, D . D . , L L . D . One of the Pastors of the Collegiate Dutch Church, New York City 89 T H E ITALIAN RENAISSANCE OF T O - D A Y . By Rev. GEORGE R O B E R T W H I T E SCOTT, D . D . , Brookline, Mass 101 LIST OF MEMBERS, HONORARY AND A C T I V E 131 INDEX 139 https://doi.org/10.1017/S1079902800000528 Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the https://doi.org/10.1017/S1079902800000528 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_k4atpxw6z5chxkkwgiu4btdlje	----	Editors' Notes 1989 ANNUAL MEETING OF THE ECONOMIC HISTORY ASSOCIATION The 1989 Annual Meeting of the Economic History Association will be held in Washington, D.C. on September 22-24, 1989. The 1989 Program Committee calls for papers emphasizing historical perspectives on current economic problems. The problems can include those we recognize (such as fiscal responsibility, international migration of people, third-world debt) as well as ones to which you would like to bring increased attention. The Committee also will consider papers on other topics and proposals for complete sessions on (almost) any topic. Session proposals should include potential authors, paper abstracts, and discussants. Abstracts of papers and session proposals should be sent to Professor Peter H. Lindert, Chair, EHA Program Committee, Department of Economics, University of California, Davis, CA 95616, by February 1, 1989. Notice of acceptance to the program will be mailed during March 1989. Graduate students expecting to receive their Ph.D. in the academic year 1988-1989 should consider applying to make a presentation at the dissertation session at the annual meeting. Completed dissertations must be received no later than May 31, 1989; notification will be made by July 31, 1989. Conveners of the dissertation session are Professor Roger L. Ransom, Department of Economics, University of California, Riverside, CA 92521 and Professor Philip T. Hoffman, HSS 228-77, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA 91125. Dissertations on North American economic history should be sent to Professor Ransom; those covering the rest of the world should be sent to Professor Hoffman. Dissertations on American economic history will be eligible for the Allan Nevins prize; those on topics in the rest of the world are eligible for the Alexander Gerschenkron prize. The preliminary program will appear in the June issue of the JOURNAL. AWARDS AT THE 1988 E. H. A. MEETING At the 1988 Annual Meeting of the Economic History Association, held in Ann Arbor-Dearborn, on September 23-25, the following prizes were awarded: The Arthur H. Cole Prize for the outstanding article published in the JOURNAL in the September 1987 through June 1988 issues, to Robert A. Margo of Colgate University and Georgia C. Villaflor of San Diego State University for their article, "The Growth of Wages in Antebellum America: New Evidence," which appeared in the December 1987 issue. The Cole Prize recipient is selected each year by the JOURNAL'S editorial board. The Allen Nevins Prize for the outstanding dissertation in United States or Canadian economic history completed during 1987/88, to David C. Wheelock, of the University of Texas, for his "The Strategy and Consistency of Federal Reserve Monetary Policy, 1919-1933," completed at the University of Illinois under the guidance of Larry Neal. The Alexander Gerschenkron Prize for the outstanding dissertation in non-United States or Canadian economic history completed during 1987/88, to Timothy Guinnane, who is currently at the Population Studies Center of the University of Pennsylvania, for 908 Editors' Notes 909 his "Migration, Marriage, and Household Formation: The Irish at the Turn of the Century," completed at Stanford University under the guidance of Paul David. The recipients of the Nevins Prize and Gerschenkron Prize are selected each year by the conveners of the dissertation session at the annual meeting. INTERNATIONAL ECONOMIC HISTORY ASSOCIATION CONGRESS The Tenth World Congress of the International Economic History Association will be held in Leuven, Belgium on 20-24 August 1990. To obtain a brochure, please write to: Tenth International Economic History Congress, Postbox 74, B-3000 Leuven 3, Belgium. At the present time the list of C-Sessions is as follows. "Archeological Contributions to Pre- and Protohistoric Economy with Special Respect to Early Recycling Processes." Organizer: W. Janssen (FRG). "Medieval South Indian Trade." Organizer: M. Abraham (India). "The Economic Depression of the Renaissance Revisited: Paradox of Italian Renais- sance." Organizers: B. Kedar (Israel) and H. Miskimin (USA). "L'Antimercantilisme en Europe aux XVIe et XVIIe siecles." Organizer: M Echevarria Bacigalupe (Spain). "Peasant Production and Social Division of Labour in Sixteenth-Century Europe: Rival Models." Organizers: J. Soderberg (Sweden) and J. Myrdal (Sweden). "New Ways to Think about the Industrial Revolution." Organizer: J. Komlos (USA). "Economic Policy of the Habsburgs in the 17th and 18th Centuries." Organizers: G. Heskenast (Hungary) and A. De Maddalena (Italy). "Salt and Capitalism." Organizer: S. A. M. Adshead (New Zealand). "Financial Crises from the late Middle Ages to the 18th Century." Organizer: M. Steele (UK). "New Research on the History of Taxation since the Late Middle Ages." Organizer: E. Brownlee (USA). "Metrologie et histoire 6conomique." Organizers: J.-Cl. Hocquet (France) and [ ] Withoft (FRG). "Ecological History." Organizers: K. Blaschke (GDR) and C. Pfister (Switzerland). "Sectoral Changes in Industry after World War II." Organizer: W. Falk (GDR). "Methodology of Quantitative Studies on Large Sea Ports." Organizers: J. Heffer (France) and K. Veraghtert (Belgium). "Comparative Study of Economic Development of Russia and Japan." Organizers: A. Fursenko (USSR) and T. Nakamura (Japan). "Life Cycle of Firms in the 19th and 20th Centuries." Organizer: Ph. Jobert (France). "Landarbeit unter dem Einfluss moderner Landtechnik 19-20. Jahrhundert." Orga- nizer: H. Winkel (FRG). "The Structure and Meaning of Work in Industrial Society: Japan, the U.K. and the U.S." Organizers: W. M. Fruin (USA), R. Okayama (Japan), P. Fridenson (France). "Health Economies and Demography: Health, Sickness and Death." Organizer: J. Riley (USA). "Economy of Private Households: Household Accounts as a Source." Organizers: T. Pierenkemper (FRG) and R. Spree (FRG). "L'Integration e'conomique de l'Afrique du XVe siecle a nos jours: Bilan et perspectives." Organizers: T. Olela (Zaire), G. Metinhoue (Benin), E. Pangeti (Zim- babwe). "Regions of New Development." Organizer: V. Aleksejew (USSR). "Industrialization of the Ruhr, in the Area of the Lower Rhineland." Organizer: K. Hardach (FRG). "Persistence of Old Technologies." Organizer: K. Inwood (Canada). 910 Editors' Notes "Education and Careers of Business Managers, 19th-20th Centuries." Organizer: E. P. Duggan (USA). "Problems of Business Archives." Organizer: O. Dascher (FRG). "Contemporary Monetary History." Organizer: F. Capie (UK). "History of Tourism." Organizer: F. Welvaart (Belgium). "The Role of Banks in the Interwar Economy." Organizers: H. James (USA), A. Teichova (UK), H. Lindgren (Sweden). "Agrarian Reforms and Economic Growth in Developing Countries." Organizer: K. K. N. Kurup (India). "Banks as Multinationals." Organizer: G. Jones (UK) and K. Ullenhag (Sweden). "The Dynamics of the Intra-Asian Market Economy and the Japanese Industrializa- tion." Organizer: A. J. H. Latham (UK). "The Economic Implications of Technical Transfer as an Agent of Development in Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries." Organizer: O. Checkland (UK). "The Social Expression of Urban and Rural Space." Organizers: G. Granasztoi (Hungary) and F. Walter (Switzerland). "Protective Labour Legislation for Women." Organizers: G. Hagemann (Norway), J. Lewis (UK), U. Wikander (Sweden). "Factory Work and Workers in Textiles: A Cross-National Comparison." Organiz- ers: L. Carlson (USA) and T. Terrill (USA). "Business Managers' and Owners' Behaviour in Expansive and Contractive Phases." Organizer: P. Schybergson (Finland). "The Metamorphases of the Heavenly City of the Economic Historian: The Role and Function of Economic Theories in the Rationalization of the Courses of Economy." Organizers: A. Madarasz (Austria) and L. Fekete (Hungary). "Emigration from Northern, Central and Southern Europe, 1900-1939." Organizers: A. Brozek (Poland) and J. Puskas (Hungary). "Ocean Resources Industries and Rivalries since 1880." Organizer: H. N. Scheiber (USA). "Urbanisation and Public Health in Historical Perspective." Organizers: C. Nelson (Sweden) and W. R. Lee (UK). "La Crise e'conomique 1873-1879." Organizer: J. Purs (Czechoslovakia) will furnish organizer. "L'Effet de Industrialisation sur la transmission et la repartition des fortunes." Organizer: P. Janssens (Belgium). "Charity, the Poor and the Life-Cycle: The Rowntree Hypothesis Reassessed." Organizers: J. Henderson (UK) and R. Wall (UK). "L'Office comme source des revenus aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siecles." Organizers: A. Maczak (Poland) and A. Wyczanski (Poland). "The Political Economy of Regional Inequalities in Developing Economies: A Comparison of Nineteenth and Twentieth-Century Cases." Organizer: D. K. Good (USA). Possible session: "Industrialization of Latin America." SECOND WORLD CONGRESS OF CLIOMETRICS The Second World Congress of Cliometrics will be held in Santander, Spain, on June 24-28, 1989. For further information, write The Cliometric Society, c/o Department of Economics, Miami University, Oxford, OH 45056; telephone 513-529-2850. Editors' Notes 911 HISTORY OF ECONOMICS SOCIETY MEETING The History of Economics Society will hold its 1989 meeting on June 10-14, at the University of Richmond, Richmond, Virginia. A selection of papers presented at the conference will be published in the series on Perspectives on the History of Economic Thought. For further information, write Professor William J. Barber, Department of Economics, Wesleyan University, Middletown, CT 06457. CALLS FOR PAPERS The Economic and Business Historical Society, which encourages interdisciplinary scholarship in economic history, will hold its 14th annual meeting at the Radisson Francis Marion Hotel in Charleston, SC, April 27-29, 1989. Members and nonmembers are invited to submit papers, to offer their services as session chairs and discussants, and to make program suggestions. Please send a two-page abstract with proposals for papers to: Professor Jack Blicksilver, President and Program Chair, EBHS, Department of Economics, Georgia State University, University Plaza, Atlanta, GA 30303. The Gulf Coast History and Humanities Conference will hold a conference in Mobile, AL March 9-11, 1989, on "The Maritime History of the Gulf Coast." Scholars are invited to submit papers and suggestions for individual sessions to Dr. George Daniels or Dr. Michael Thomason, Department of History, University of South Alabama, Mobile, AL 36688. The Social Science History Association is scheduled to hold its 1989 meeting on November 16-19 at the Omni Shoreham Hotel in Washington, D.C. Those interested in participating should send a short description of their proposed papers to Joel Mokyr, Department of Economics, Northwestern University, Evanston, IL 60208 if it is on an economic history topic. Proposals in other fields of history can be sent to Carole Shammas, Department of History, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Milwaukee, WI 53201. Deadline is February 15, 1989. FELLOWSHIPS The Hagley Museum and Library announces the availability of fellowships for 1989/ 90. Advanced research fellowships, funded by the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, support independent study in Hagley's fields of interest at its Center for the History of Business, Technology, and Society. Scholars working in the humanities or in those aspects of the social sciences that employ historical or philosophical approaches are encouraged to apply. Fellow- ships are offered for six to twelve months' work, with a maximum stipend of $27,500. These fellowships are restricted to individuals pursuing advanced research; awards will not be made to degree candidates or to persons seeking support for work leading to a degree. Endowment guidelines specify that applicants must be American citizens or have been resident in the United States for three years immediately preceding the term of fellowship. Completed applications must be received by February 15, 1989; awards will be announced by April 1, 1989. Short-term grants-in-aid are also offered for the calendar year 1989. These support two to eight weeks' research in Hagley's imprint, manuscript, pictorial, and artifact collections. They are available to both degree candidates and advanced scholars. Applications will be accepted throughout the year; awards in 1989 will not exceed $750 per month of study. For additional information, please write Executive Administrator, Center for the History of Business, Technology, and Society, Hagley Museum and Library, P. O. Box 3630, Wilmington, DE 19807. 912 Editors' Notes The National Research Council offers postdoctoral fellowships and grants for doctoral studies to minority scholars. For information regarding the 1989 competition and applications, please write: Fellowship Office, National Research Council, 2101 Constitution Avenue, N. W., Washington, D. C. 20418. LABOR ARCHIVES TRAVEL FUNDS AVAILABLE The Walter P. Reuther Archives of Labor and Urban Affairs at Wayne State University offers up to $700 to cover travel and expenses related to research for scholars using the Archives. The Archives' holdings include the papers of nine major unions, worker and social reform organizations, and individuals active in these groups, as well as extensive material relating to urban and international affairs, social welfare organi- zations, women's and black history, radical movements, and civil rights. The grants are intended primarily to aid graduate students working on their doctoral dissertations and junior faculty needing financial assistance to pursue research projects. For further information and application forms, please contact: Philip P. Mason, Director, Archives of Labor and Urban Affairs, Walter P. Reuther Library, Wayne State University, Detroit, MI 48202, telephone (313) 577-4024. BERKSHIRE CONFERENCE BOOK AND ARTICLE COMPETITION The Berkshire Conference of Women Historians will award its annual prizes for the best book and the best article on any historical subject written by an American woman and published during 1988. Three copies of the book or two copies of the article are required. Final deadline for submission is February 1, 1989. Send book award submissions to: Jean Christie, 34 Bellingham Lane, Great Neck, NY 11023. Send article award submissions to: Toby L. Ditz, Department of History, The Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, MD 21218. HISTORICAL DICTIONARY A Historical Dictionary of American Industrial Language edited by William H. Mulligan, Jr., is now available from Greenwood Press, Box 5007, Westport, CT 06881. The dictionary is designed to make the specialized industrial vocabulary of earlier eras understandable and accessible. IN MEMORIAM The untimely loss of Gyorgy Ranki (1930-1988) follows closely the equally shocking deaths of Franklin Mendels and of Eduard Marz, the American-educated Austrian historian of the Creditanstalt. The Hungarian economic historian died after a brief illness earlier this year, at the apex of his career. Born in the twilight of that cultural milieu of Budapest which produced such prominent thinkers as Gyorgy Lukacs and John von Neumann, Rinki accommodated himself to many academic cultures on several continents. He wrote over a dozen books on the economic development of Hungary and the European periphery, many of which are translated into all the major languages. At the time of his death he served as director of the Historical Institute of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Educated during what were, for Hungary, the worst years of the Stalin era, Ranki transcended the limitations of this world view. In the 1960s he was among the handful of historians who brought western ideas and social-science methods to a "socialist" country. That he published in this JOURNAL as early as 1964 demonstrates his ability to measure up to standards established outside his native land and its ruling paradigm. Editors' Notes 913 Eschewing dogmatism, he believed deeply in a scholarly community bridging national boundaries and political systems, and, above all, in the value of positive actions. R&nki had boundless energy. Active in international organizations, he hosted the 1982 meeting of the International Economic History Association (8th Congress). He wrote hundreds of articles, directed research, gave television interviews, taught in Blooming- ton, Indiana, as well as in Hungary. A month before- his death he led an official delegation to Jerusalem. He will certainly be missed by us all. 
work_k4f33zbszfhzxpqcawutk5hvvm	----	Fink ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 2011 Jakob Leth Fink Pletho’s Criticism of Aristotle’s Virtues: A Note on De differentiis 12 Jakob Leth Fink πῶς οὖν ἂν κϰαὶ ἀντιλέγοις ὀρϱθῶς περϱὶ ὧν γε οὐ συνίης; Pletho, C. Schol. pro Arist. Obiect. 29.26–27 HIS PAPER undertakes a critical examination of Pletho’s arguments, in his De differentiis, against Aristotle’s doc- trine of the mean. These arguments are, so I shall argue, based on a misunderstanding of Aristotle. From reading the concluding remarks of a recent account of Aristotelian ethics in Byzantium, one could come under the impression that Pletho offers a well-informed interpretation of Aristotle’s ethics.1 The following remarks will question this contention at least as far as Pletho’s interpretation of Aristotle’s doctrine of virtue is concerned. Pletho’s On the Differences between Plato and Aristotle appeared in 1439 and caused within a few years a considerable upheaval among Greek intellectuals.2 The text provoked a long debate in which many prominent Greeks took part, not least Gennadios Scholarios. His Against Pletho’s Objections to Aristotle appeared in 1 L. Benakis, “Aristotelian Ethics in Byzantium,” in C. Barber and D. Jenkins (eds.), Medieval Greek Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics (Leiden 2009) 69: “the Mystran philosopher’s knowledge of the Aristotelian corpus is in any case well-known from his entire body of work (for Nicomachean Ethics, see, for example, De differentiis, V, 1–2 and elsewhere).” 2 See C. M. Woodhouse, Gemistos Plethon. The Last of the Hellenes (Oxford 1986) 191–307, and P. Schulz, “Georgios Gemistos Plethon, Georgios Tra- pezuntios, Kardinal Bessarion. Die Kontroverse zwischen Platonikern und Aristotelikern im 15. Jahrhundert,” in P. R. Blum (ed.), Philosophen der Renais- sance (Darmstadt 1999) 22–32. T 484 PLETHO’S CRITICISM OF ARISTOTLE’S VIRTUES ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 1443. Pletho responded to Scholarios between 1443 and 1449 with Against the Counterarguments of Scholarios concerning Aristotle, which provided some justifications for the claims propounded in De differentiis (and a good deal of personal attacks on Scholarios).3 In De differentiis, Pletho attacks a wide range of Aristotelian doctrines. As to ethics, he engages two central Aristotelian positions, his doctrine of the mean and his claim that pleasure plays a part in eudaimonia. I shall focus on the first point only and pay attention to the value of Pletho’s arguments but only minimally concern myself with the question of his sources. As the scholarly work on Byzantine approaches to Aristotle’s ethics is still in important respects in its initial stages, it is reasonable to focus on a limited issue and examine a few arguments in some detail.4 Pletho’s text deserves more atten- tion than it has hitherto received, and even if my approach is mainly critical I hope nevertheless that this paper will contribute to the study of this extraordinary philosopher—if in no other way, then perhaps as a worthy candidate of refutation. The criticism of Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean should be assessed with a view to Pletho’s overall motivation for reinterpreting Plato and Aristotle. The aim of De differentiis is twofold: Pletho wants to vindicate Plato against Aristotle, and he wants to correct those of his western contemporaries who maintain the superiority of Aristotle (321.17–22). This ap- proach was bold, given the overwhelming prestige of Aristotle among westerners, and it earns Pletho an important position in the history of philosophy for two main reasons. First, he denies what Neoplatonic interpreters of Plato and Aristotle had main- tained for centuries, that the two philosophers were in all 3 De differentiis was edited by Bernadette Lagarde in 1973 from Pletho’s autograph; references will be to page and line numbers in this edition: B. Lagarde, “Le ‘De Differentiis’ de Pléthon d’après l’autographe de la Mar- cienne,” Byzantion 43 (1973) 312–343. 4 See Benakis, in Medieval Greek Commentaries 63–69, for the status of this area of research. JAKOB LETH FINK 485 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 important respects in harmony.5 This was a decisive step in the history of Platonism and the interpretation of Plato’s philos- ophy. Second, his interpretation of Aristotle was probably in- tended to liberate Aristotle’s philosophy from the dominant Scholastic and theological tradition forcefully present in the Latin west and also making itself felt in Byzantine circles (not least in the work of his antagonist Scholarios). In the history of the Aristotelian tradition, then, Pletho is important because of his attempt to breach the unity of Christianity and Aristotelian- ism as found in both east and west.6 What Pletho wants with his De differentiis is to set down new standards for the inter- pretation of Plato and Aristotle. He was more successful in vin- dicating Plato7 than in establishing new rules of engagement for the approach to Aristotle, even though it seems generally agreed today that De differentiis had no tangible effect on the Latin west until twenty years after its publication.8 Never- theless, it would be absurd to deny Pletho’s impact on the approach to both philosophers and his importance in the history of philosophy. In what follows, I want to take seriously the idea that Pletho sought new standards for the interpretation of Aristotle, by raising two questions: what is the intrinsic value of his arguments against Aristotle’s doctrine of virtue, and what is useful in his criticism of Aristotle? We are in the fortunate position that Pletho quite clearly indicates by what standards he wants his arguments against Aristotle to be judged. At the end of his criticism of Aristotelian ethics, he says that he has not sought to give a full account of the flaws in Aristotle’s ethical doctrines. Rather, he has focused 5 See L. P. Gerson, Aristotle and Other Platonists (Ithaca/London 2005), for a general account of the harmonizing approach of the Neoplatonic commen- tators and ch. 8 for ethics specifically. 6 Cf. B. Tambrun, Pléthon. Le retour de Platon (Paris 2006) 57–58. 7 See J. Hankins, Plato in the Italian Renaissance I (Leiden 1991) 197. Tam- brun, Pléthon 241–259, shows to what extent Ficino used Pletho in several of his writings (without explicitly acknowledging his debt). 8 Hankins, Plato in the Italian Renaissance I 207–208. 486 PLETHO’S CRITICISM OF ARISTOTLE’S VIRTUES ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 on the major deficiencies and those that make clear where Aristotle differs from Plato and how much he is inferior to a Platonic position on ethics (329.40–330.6). This focus on a few major doctrines probably explains why Pletho does not develop further some remarks scattered about the De differentiis that would be relevant to moral philosophy.9 At any rate, he does not claim to be exhaustive in his criticism, which should be kept in mind in examining his arguments. The attack on the doctrine of the mean is conducted through two main argu- ments, followed by some elucidation and brief remarks about the Platonic position of Pletho himself: (1) The definition of the mean is unclear. Aristotle seems to define the mean quantitatively (328.7–31). (2) A morally wicked agent might, on Aristotle’s account of virtue, be half-wicked (or half-good) and the absolutely wicked agent will be in a mean position just like the morally good agent (328.31–329.8). The following examination of Pletho’s arguments faces the difficulty of formulating standards of interpretation which are not entirely anachronistic. In my own criticism, I have sought a balance between Pletho’s motivation for writing De differentiis and the quality of his specific arguments against Aristotle. My claim will not be that Pletho is a worse interpreter of Aristotle than his contemporaries. Quite to the contrary, Scholarios is also selective in his reading and occasionally advances bad ar- guments (see below). However, Pletho seems to endorse one general rule of interpretation and criticism which we would acknowledge today as well. He states it in the passage quoted at the heading of this paper: it could be paraphrased to the effect that the interpreter must understand what he is criticizing in order to criticize it in the right way. I have sought to apply this standard to Pletho’s arguments and to my own examination of them. 9 E.g. remarks concerning the immortality of the soul (327.28–33) or de- terminism (333.19–31). JAKOB LETH FINK 487 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 Pletho’s first criticism. The doctrine of the mean is unclear ac- cording to Pletho, because the mean could be defined in a number of ways (qualitatively or quantitatively). Aristotle, he thinks, is not clear on this issue. But his position can be made clear by considering some remarks in Nicomachean Ethics 3.7. The passage to which Pletho refers at 328.7–14 (with some insignificant misquotation) is this:10 τῶν δ᾽᾿ ὑπερϱβαλλόντων ὁ µὲν τῇ ἀφοβίᾳ ἀνώνυµος … εἴη δ᾽᾿ ἄν τις µαινόµενος ἢ ἀνάλγητος, εἰ µηδὲν φοβοῖτο, µήτε σεισµὸν µήτε κϰύµατα, κϰαθάπερϱ φασὶ τοὺς Κελτούς· The man who is in an excessive state by lacking fear has no name … but would be a sort of mad or insensate person, if he didn’t fear anything, neither earthquake nor the rough sea, as they say the Celts do not. Pletho claims that Aristotle here seems to distinguish between “the tolerable” (τὰ θαρϱρϱαλέα) and “the intolerable” (τὰ δεινά) not qualitatively but by greater and lesser degree and thus quantitatively: φαίνεται γὰρϱ ἐκϰ τούτου οὐ τῷ ποιῷ τά τε θαρϱ- ρϱαλέα κϰαὶ δεινὰ διαιρϱῶν, ἀλλὰ µέγεθει τὲ κϰαὶ σµικϰρϱότητι, κϰαὶ ὅλως τῷ ποσῷ (328.14–16). So his charge against Aristotle is that he fails to define morally good or bad objects qualitatively, which is how “the Platonists” would define moral objects. What matters, so Pletho (328.16–20), is whether something is wicked (αἰσχρϱός) or not (οὐκϰ αἰσχρϱός). This is the basis for his further attacks on Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean. When Pletho charges Aristotle with quantifying the mean, it is possible that he levels an objection against the Aristotelian position which was well known among Byzantine philosophers, some of whom discussed whether there could be degrees of virtue (perfect and imperfect virtue).11 This discussion might 10 Eth.Nic. 3.7, 1115b24–28. All translations from Greek are my own. 11 The question of degrees of virtue was discussed by Aspasius in his commentary to the Nicomachean Ethics. The Peripatetic view was that the virtues in themselves allow no degrees, whereas those participating in them, i.e. individual agents, might be said to be more or less virtuous: see K. 488 PLETHO’S CRITICISM OF ARISTOTLE’S VIRTUES ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 well suggest that the mean is determined quantitatively. How- ever, it is difficult to see how Pletho can justify this charge on the basis of the passage quoted. On the face of it, Aristotle seems to be talking about exceptional cases, cases where no degrees of fear are relevant, for no fear at all is experienced (so the quantity of fear is irrelevant). Of course there is something wrong with a moral agent who does not respond to very threat- ening situations. He or she would either be vicious owing to an extreme lack of fear or would simply hold a position beyond good and evil (like the heroically virtuous), and in this respect be similar to a beast or perhaps to some very barbaric or ut- terly insane person.12 But Pletho’s charge assumes that Aristotle is talking about some individual who is perpetually afraid that an earthquake will occur at some point in his life. This thought is obviously ridiculous and Pletho has no problem showing that it would be nonsense to entertain this sort of fear (328.22–28). But this is not what Aristotle claims in the passage. The Celts or the madmen are brought in as exceptional cases; perhaps this is also why their “vice” has no name in ordinary language. What Aristotle points out here is merely that an agent who ex- periences no fear when exposed to an earthquake or a tsunami would be more or less inhuman and in this respect beyond ethical consideration. Pletho can only level the charge of quantifying the mean, in my view, if he has misunderstood Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean or if he consciously ignores what Aristotle actually says. For in one of Aristotle’s most famous accounts of virtue as a mean disposition, it is entirely clear that virtue can have no degrees (Eth.Nic. 2.6, 1106b36–1107a8): ἔστιν ἄρϱα ἡ ἀρϱετὴ ἕξις πρϱοαιρϱετικϰή, ἐν µεσότητι οὖσα τῇ πρϱὸς ἡµᾶς, ὡρϱισµένῃ λόγῳ κϰαὶ ᾧ ἂν ὁ φρϱόνιµος ὁρϱίσειεν. µεσότης δὲ ___ Ierodiakonou, “Aspasius on Perfect and Imperfect Virtues,” in A. Alberti and R. Sharples (eds.), Aspasius: The Earliest Extant Commentary on Aristotle’s Ethics (Berlin 1999) 160–161. 12 See Eth.Nic. 7.1, 1145a15–33. JAKOB LETH FINK 489 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 δύο κϰακϰιῶν, τῆς µὲν κϰαθ᾽᾿ ὑπερϱβολὴν τῆς δὲ κϰατ᾽᾿ ἔλλειψιν· κϰαὶ ἔτι τῷ τὰς µὲν ἐλλείπειν τὰς δ᾽᾿ ὑπερϱβάλλειν τοῦ δέοντος ἔν τε τοῖς πάθεσι κϰαὶ ἐν ταῖς πρϱάξεσι, τὴν δ᾽᾿ ἀρϱετὴν τὸ µέσον κϰαὶ εὑρϱίσκϰειν κϰαὶ αἱρϱεῖσθαι. διὸ κϰατὰ µὲν τὴν οὐσίαν κϰαὶ τὸν λόγον τὸν τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι λέγοντα µεσότης ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρϱετή, κϰατὰ δὲ τὸ ἄρϱιστον κϰαὶ τὸ εὖ ἀκϰρϱότης. Virtue, then, is a state concerned with choice, being in a mean position which is a mean relative to us, and has been determined by reason and by how the phronimos would determine it. It is a mean between two vices, the one as regards excess the other as regards deficiency. Further, it is a mean because in affections and actions some [vices] fall short and others exceed what ought [sc. to be experienced or done], whereas virtue both finds and chooses the mean. For this reason virtue is a mean according to its essence, that is, according to the definition that states what it is to be virtue, whereas virtue is an extreme in terms of the best, that is, the good. There are certainly many obscure points in this passage and I shall not venture to go into them in detail here.13 Obviously the quantity of the passion in question here cannot be irrelevant to the doctrine of the mean. Aristotle refers to excess and de- ficiency, and so Pletho is right to the extent that quantity must play some role in Aristotelian ethics. However, it is quite clear from the concluding remarks that virtue does not come in degrees and thus that the mean should not be defined quanti- tatively. Definitionally virtue is a mean, but in terms of value it is an extreme, and thus there is only one way to hit the mean, but indefinitely many ways to fall short of it (so 1106b27–34). Even though Pletho does not refer to this passage, it is highly unlikely that he did not know it. After all, the passage contains the classic and most direct formulation of the doctrine he is here objecting to. Furthermore, the passage is discussed (in more or less detail) by a number of Byzantine commentators 13 For brief discussion and references to the more recent literature see C. C. W. Taylor, Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Books II–IV (Oxford 2006) 107– 112. 490 PLETHO’S CRITICISM OF ARISTOTLE’S VIRTUES ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 whom he must have read.14 Admittedly, their discussions are superficial and do not really address the problem Pletho wants to answer (what defines the mean in Aristotle’s doctrine of virtue). But at least one of them, the anonymous compilation probably from the twelfth century, discusses different ways of interpreting the mean.15 Pletho either misrepresents, ignores, or misunderstands Aristotle here. If Pletho’s first criticism of Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean is somewhat lacking in fairness, the reply to it by Scholarios is not particularly clearheaded either. Scholarios points out that not all affections or actions allow a mean—there is no mean way to commit adultery, for example—and thus, he continues, virtue does not in every case represent a mean.16 This is not only a non sequitur (it does not follow from the assertion “not all actions and affections allow a mean” that not all virtues are constituted as a mean), it also, and this is more serious, questions Aristotle’s doctrine of virtue. On the whole, the impression one gets from witnessing this part of the controversy is that none of the par- tisans were particularly interested in a careful interpretation of Aristotle. In keeping with Pletho’s own demand, that the critic must understand the position he refutes, the reply to this first criticism would be, I think, that the quantity of, say, fear is not morally irrelevant in Aristotle’s account of virtue. But the intensity of the feeling involved is only one aspect of a very complex situation. The most important, by far, is the way an agent responds to the feeling in question. The response involves 14 Aspasius In Eth.Nic., CAG XIX.1 48.12–26; Anon. In Eth.Nic., CAG XX 133.7–134.21; Pachymeres Philosophia. Liber XI Ethica Nicomachea (Comm.Arist. Byz. 3 [Athens 2005]) 25.15–23. The commentary by Constantine Paleo- kappa (?) formerly ascribed to Heliodorus (CAG XIX.2) does not discuss the passage directly. 15 Anon. In Eth.Nic., CAG XX.134.4–21. J. Barnes, “An Introduction to Aspasius,” in Aspasius 13–14, gives a brief survey of this commentary. 16 Scholarios Contra Plethonem ed. Petit IV 87.10–15. Cf. Eth.Nic. 2.6, 1107a8–17. JAKOB LETH FINK 491 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 right reason and it involves the individual character and cir- cumstances of the agent (the mean is a mean in relation to us, that is, it differs from person to person). So even if the quantity of the feeling or passion in question is not morally irrelevant, it is certainly not morally decisive in Aristotle’s account of virtue as Pletho assumes. In conclusion of his first criticism, Pletho argues in detail that earthquakes are morally indifferent and so fall outside morally relevant categories such as “the wicked” (τὸ αἰσχρϱόν). Thus, what matters is that the soul respond appropriately to the right kinds of objects, and as an earthquake is not morally wicked, it should have no bearing on a doctrine of virtue (328.20–31). The implied conclusion here seems to be that Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean is irrelevant with respect to judging someone’s character.17 However, for his argument to carry this devastating consequence, Pletho should establish that Aristotle actually believes that earthquakes and similar phenomena are morally important. In this Pletho is not successful. The reason for his failure is, as stated already, that Aristotle brings in the agent who lacks fear solely as an exception and a phenomenon which is marginal to the doctrine of the mean. After all, such an agent would have to be a madman or a Celt. Further, he is perfectly aware that moral philosophy concerns itself with things that are in our power to do something about (τὰ ἐφ᾽᾿ ἡµῖν).18 What Pletho does in his first criticism is to seize on a point of minor importance as if it were of major consequence. Pletho’s second criticism. The second charge against Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean, that there will be half-wicked agents and that the absolutely wicked will be in a mean position, appears to be Pletho’s own invention.19 17 I wish to thank Börje Bydén for pointing this out to me. 18 Eth.Nic. 3.8, 1114b26–31; cf. 3.4, 1111b29–30. Today, obviously, it is possible to do something about earthquakes; but this is beside the point here. 19 See G. Karamanolis, “Plethon and Scholarios on Aristotle,” in K. Iero- diakonou (ed.), Byzantine Philosophy and its Ancient Sources (Oxford 2002) 267. 492 PLETHO’S CRITICISM OF ARISTOTLE’S VIRTUES ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 Pletho levels two arguments against Aristotle in this second criticism. The first is concerned with half-wicked agents. He reasons as follows: Aristotle claims that κϰακϰία is an extreme, but the agent who desires everything, both what he ought to desire and what he ought not to desire, will not be wicked in desiring what he ought (but in desiring what he ought not). On the other hand, the agent who rejects everything (both what he ought to reject and what he ought not to reject) will not be wicked when he rejects what ought to be rejected. These agents, rather, will be half-wicked (De diff. 328.37–329.3). This argument is supposed to embarrass the doctrine of the mean, since the half-wicked will be both in a mean and in an extreme position at the same time. Scholarios replies by asking how it should be possible to desire, for example, what is temperate and intemperate at the same time?20 Thus, he seems to point out that Pletho’s argument presupposes that it is possible to de- sire everything (which, if it were possible, would seem to lead to complete passivity, since there would be no reason or other motivation for preferring X over Y). But in his reply to Scholarios Pletho clarifies his position: what Pletho meant was that it is indeed possible to desire what ought to be desired and desire what ought not to be desired given that these are not at the same time mutually exclusive, which will be the case when they are direct opposites (as in Scholarios’ objection). Pletho also adduces an example: Scholarios himself might at the same time love arguments or reasoning (which is a feature of the temperate man) and love empty fame (which is in no way fitting for temperance).21 In this case, Pletho seems to think, 20 Scholarios C. Pleth. 87.23–29. 21 C. Schol. 29.27–33 ed. Maltese: ἡµεῖς γὰρϱ πάντων, ὧν τὲ χρϱὴ κϰαὶ ὧν οὐ χρϱὴ, ἐπιθυµητικϰόν τινα ὑποτιθέµεθα, ἀλλ᾽᾿ οὐχ ἅµα ὧν οὐκϰ ἐγχωρϱεῖ· οὐκϰ ἐγχωρϱεῖ δὲ τῶν ἄντικϰρϱυς ἐναντίων ἅµα ἐπιθυµεῖν· ἐπεὶ τῶν γε ἐναντίαις ἕξεσι πρϱοσηκϰόντων ἔσθ᾽᾿ ὅτε κϰαὶ ἐγχωρϱεῖ, οὐκϰ αὐτῶν ἀλλήλοις ἐναντίων ὄντων. ὥσπερϱ που κϰαὶ σὺ ἅµα µὲν λόγων ἴσως ἐρϱᾷς, σωφρϱονικϰοῦ πρϱάγµατος, ἅµα δὲ δόξης κϰενῆς, ὑβρϱιστικϰοῦ τε κϰαὶ ἀπειρϱοκϰάλου χρϱήµατος, σωφρϱοσύνῃ JAKOB LETH FINK 493 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 Scholarios would be half-wicked because he would hold a mean and an extreme position at the same time. The response to this reformulation of the charge would be that temperate acts or feelings must result from a firm char- acter, i.e. from temperance, if they are to count as virtuous (Eth.Nic. 2.4, 1105a28–33). If an agent desires at the same time what is temperate and what is intemperate he or she will not be virtuous (temperate) and not be semi-virtuous or half-wicked but non-virtuous (note that “non-virtuous” does not mean “absolutely wicked” in Aristotle’s ethics, as will be brought out more clearly below). The reason is that such desires reveal the actions and passions of this agent to result from an unsettled state of character (moral unreliability). So even in its second formulation, Pletho’s argument about half-wicked agents has no bearing on Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean. Pletho’s second argument introduces the absolutely wicked and the absolutely good moral agents. He wants to establish the claim that the absolutely wicked agent will occupy a mean position no less than the absolutely good agent (apparently because he is the opposite of “good,” and the opposite of what is in a middle position must itself be in a middle position?). This would mean that the absolutely wicked would hold both a mean and an extreme position. Such an outcome would, of course, be devastating to the doctrine of the mean according to which only virtue is in a mean position and the vices are always excessive or deficient in relation to a mean. Indeed, it would make the doctrine of the mean irrelevant for a theory of virtue. If I understand Pletho’s argument correctly, he makes two claims: (a) the absolutely wicked is in a mean and an extreme position because he the opposite of the good; (b) the absolutely wicked is in a mean position between what ought to be desired and what ought to be rejected (so he is both in a mean and in ___ τὲ ἥκϰιστα πρϱοσήκϰοντος. I follow the somewhat unusual diacritics of the text found in Maltese’s edition. 494 PLETHO’S CRITICISM OF ARISTOTLE’S VIRTUES ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 an extreme position).22 His argument could be given as the following figure. The vertical line of opposition represents (a), the horizontal line of opposition represents (b): κϰαλὸς κϰἀγαθός Desires what he ought Rejects what he ought not παµµόχθηρϱος Desires what he ought not Rejects what he ought The vertical line brings the absolutely wicked into a mean position in relation to the absolutely good (but he actually should hold an extreme position on Aristotle’s account of virtue), the horizontal line brings him into a mean position in relation to his own desires and rejections (but he should be, again, in an extreme position). However, even if the vertical line of opposition (a) is logically conceivable, though it is hard to think of good instances of the claim that the opposite of something in a mean position must itself be in a mean position, this line of opposition has no rel- evance for Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean. If the opposite of the courageous was to be in a mean position between too much and too little fear, the absurd consequence would follow that the opposite of the courageous was the courageous or the op- posite of the good was the good. But, first, this is not the con- clusion that Pletho wants to establish and, second, this result simply does not follow from Aristotle’s doctrine. Thus, on the 22 329.3–8; see also 328.31–37. JAKOB LETH FINK 495 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 first point (a) I have to admit that it is not entirely clear what Pletho’s argument really is. In the horizontal line of oppostion (b), on the other hand, Pletho establishes a clearly false relation of opposition between desire and rejection. If, like the absolutely wicked agent, I de- sire what I ought not, say to flee in battle and desert my friends in order to save myself, and I reject what I ought, namely to stand firm and fight, then there is no opposition between my desires and rejections. Nothing in this situation implies that my fleeing brings me into a mean position: this action would be excessive, and thus morally reproachable given the circum- stances. In the end, I, like the παµµόχθηρϱος, would occupy an opposite position to the κϰαλὸς κϰἀγαθός not by being in a mean position but by holding an extreme position. Note also that there is also no real oppposition in the desires and rejections of the absolutely good. Finally, as noted by Scholarios (C. Pleth. 87.38–88.6), the ab- solutely good or the absolutely wicked are, if not impossible, then very rare phenomena. This questions the relevance of bringing them into the argument here as Pletho does. The second criticism, then, has no relevance for Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean. Conclusion. The arguments briefly sketched and criticized above constitute Pletho’s attacks on the Aristolelian doctrine of the mean. It would be fair to ask whether Pletho has met the standards that guided this attack on Aristotle. What he wanted was to show (1) the difference between Plato and Aristotle, to do so by considering (2) the major Aristotelian positions, and (3) to show that Aristotle falls rather short of Plato in these. Since Pletho’s criticism operates on the supposition that Aristo- telian virtues are defined quantitatively (and not as they should be qualitatively) and since this is not Aristotle’s position, Pletho can hardly be said to have established succesfully the difference between Plato and Aristotle in ethical matters (1). But it is un- deniable that he has placed his finger on a very central Aristotelian doctrine (similarly his criticism of pleasure and eudaimonia, which concludes his treatment of ethics, marks a 496 PLETHO’S CRITICISM OF ARISTOTLE’S VIRTUES ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 major disputed issue in Aristotle). So he is succesful in meeting this specific aim (2). Has he shown Aristotle’s inferiority to Plato (3)? A full answer to this question would demand giving some standards for “inferiority” and “compatibility” between two philosophers. But this aside, it would be curious to claim that Pletho succeeds in his last intention, if, as I have argued, he misunderstands Aristotle and so attacks a position which is unaristotelian. So what is useful in Pletho’s criticism of Aristotle’s virtues? First of all, Pletho’s attack on Aristotle is useful for the student of the history of philosophy because it reveals his motivation, viz. to destroy the unholy alliance of Christian orthodoxy and Aristotelianism. His arguments actually introduce the possibil- ity of a non-theological interpretation of Aristotle. This makes him unique in the cultural context of the late Byzantine realm. But furthermore Pletho raises at least one important issue concerning Aristotelian ethics. This is the question whether, if a moral agent is not virtuous, he or she should be considered morally wicked and thus whether on Aristotle’s view a moral agent is either absolutely virtuous or absolutely wicked? This sort of moral dualism is forcefully opposed by Pletho (C. Schol. 30.8–11). An account of virtue with room for only two types of agents would seem to be extremely rigid and to be unable to account for most agents, unless, of course, we should simply declare all non-virtuous agents absolutely morally wicked. But Aristotle’s doctrine of virtue is fully equipped to meet such a position of moral dualism (see Nic.Eth. 7.1–4). “Non-virtuous” covers more ground than simply “absolutely wicked”—for example, “continent” or “incontinent.” So, to sum up on a note which is dissonant with Pletho’s intentions in (but perhaps rather in keeping with the spirit of) his own De differentiis, I suggest that his criticism of Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean is useful because it recommends this doctrine as an attractive model of virtue. Pletho’s arguments invite a consideration of this piece of Aristotelian moral philosophy, and such a consideration makes clear, first, that Aristotle can answer all the objections raised against his doctrine by Pletho and, JAKOB LETH FINK 497 ————— Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 51 (2011) 483–497 second, that Aristotle’s position is an attractive and well-argued model for how to account for virtue without falling prey to moral dualism.23 June, 2011 Univ. of Copenhagen SAXO-Instituttet Njalsgade 80 DK-2300 Copenhagen S Denmark jlfink@hum.ku.dk 23 This paper is a revised version of a contribution to a seminar on Pletho’s De differentiis (Copenhagen, December 2010) held at the Centre for the Aristotelian Tradition and sponsored by the VELUX Foundation and the Swedish National Bank’s Tercentenary Foundation. I wish to thank the participants at the seminar: David Bloch, Börje Bydén, Sten Ebbesen, Heine Hansen, Katerina Ierodiakonou, Ana Maria Mora, and Miira Tuominen for their criticism and suggestions. Thanks also to the anon- ymous referee for GRBS whose comments made me rethink and, I hope, im- prove my argument. Remaining shortcomings are my responsibility alone. 
work_kb344nfbxbey5cc5vgl7ncuewe	----	Editors' Notes The Editors and the Association wish to thank the following individuals who were chairs or discussants at the 1989 Economic History Association meetings. Their comments helped the authors prepare their final drafts and provided invaluable advice to the Editors. Lee J. Alston, University of Illinois Lance Davis, California Institute of Technology Barry Eichengreen, University of California, Berkeley David Felix, Washington University Price V. Fishback, University of Georgia Robert W. Fogel, University of Chicago Nancy Folbre, University of Massachusetts, Amherst Jack Goldstone, University of California, Davis James D. Hamilton, University of Virginia Joan U. Hannon, St. Mary's College of California Paul M. Hohenberg, Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute Thomas P. Hughes, University of Pennsylvania Erika Jorgensen, World Bank Frank Lewis, Queen's University Harry A. Miskimin, Yale University Pamela J. Nickless, University of North Carolina, Asheville Anthony P. O'Brien, Lehigh University Kerry Odell, Scripps College Martha Olney, University of Massachusetts, Amherst Gilles Postel-Vinay, Institut National de la Recherche Agronomique, Paris Wayne Rasmussen, U.S. Department of Agriculture James C. Riley, Indiana University Anna J. Schwartz, National Bureau of Economic Research John Joseph Wallis, University of Maryland, College Park Steven B. Webb, World Bank Lawrence J. White, New York University Arthur G. Woolf, University of Vermont ECONOMIC HISTORY ASSOCIATION MEETING The fiftieth annual meeting of the Economic History Association will be held in Montreal, Canada, from Thursday, September 13 to Sunday, September 16, 1990. The membership should note that the meeting is both a day longer and a week earlier than in the past. The preliminary program follows: The Structure and Organization of Agriculture Loren Brandt, University of Toronto, "Contract Choice in Chinese Agriculture: 1930s." Jon Cohen, University of Toronto, and Francesco Galassi, Nipissing College, "Agriculture and Institutions: Fact and Myth in Southern Italy, 1911." Paul Thomassin, McGill University, "Impact on the Agricultural Economy of the Abolition of Seigneurial Tenure in Lower Canada: An Institutional Analysis." Donghyu Yang, University of Seoul, "Farm Tenancy in the Antebellum North." 450 Editors' Notes 451 Trade and Tariffs Colleen Callahan and Patrick O'Brien, Lehigh University, "The Smoot-Hawley Tariff Revisited." John Nye, Washington University, "The Myth of Free-Trade Britain and Fortress France." Susan Wolcott, St. Louis University, "British Culpability and the Collapse of Indian Textile Demand." Institutions and Agricultural Innovation Gregory Clark, University of Michigan, "The Postan Thesis Revisited: Was There an Ecological Crisis in Medieval Europe?" William Darity, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, "Technical Change in Agriculture, Population Growth, and Theories of Economic History." Donald McCloskey, University of Iowa, "Risk on the Ground: New Findings on the Institution of Open Fields." Labor Market Dynamics David Eltis, Queen's University, and Stanley Engerman, University of Rochester, "Gender and Age in the Transatlantic Slave Trade, 1672-1864: A Comparative Perspective." Timothy Hatton, University of Essex, and Jeffrey Williamson, Harvard University, "Unemployment, Wage Differentials, and Labor Asymmetries: Thinking in Two Sectors." Joshua Rosenbloom, University of Kansas, "Occupational Differences in Labor Market Integration: The United States in 1900." Charles Roberts, Western Kentucky University, "Apparent Real Wage Rate Differ- entials and Convergence: Agricultural Laborers, 1870-1940." To Market, To Market, or Not? Anne Mayhew, University of Tennessee, and E. Friberg, General Accounting Office, "Measuring the Commercialization of Agriculture." Hilton Root, University of Pennsylvania, "Markets and the 'Deterioration' of Peasant Norms." Barbara Sands, University of Arizona, "Market and Extra-Market Institutions Supporting Observed Village Income Distributions in the 1930s in Rural China." Lorena Walsh, Colonial Williamsburg, "Chesapeake Planter Response to Market Incentives, 1770-1820: Capitalist Transformation or Historical Accident?" Agriculture and the American West Sean Hartnett, University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire, "Land Transfers in Rock County, Wisconsin: 1840-1880." Barbara Leibhardt, University of California, Berkeley, "Land Allotments in an Incongruous Legal System: The Yakima Indians, 1887-1934." Donald Pisani, Texas A&M University, "The Economics of Land and Water in Nineteenth Century California." 452 Editors' Notes Productivity Change and Differences Morris Altman, University of Saskatchewan, "The Relative Prosperity of English and French Farms in Lower Canada, 1850: A Cross-Sectional Analysis of Structure, Extent, and Determinants." James Irwin, Central Michigan University, "The Economic Consequences of Eman- cipation Across the South." Nancy Virts, California State University, Northridge, "The Efficiency of Southern Tenant Plantations, 1900-1945." Thomas Weiss, University of Kansas, "Productivity Change in Nineteenth-Century American Agriculture." Progress Report on Recent Research on the Great Depression Timothy Bresnahan, Stanford University, and Daniel Raff, Harvard Business School, "Understanding the Industrial Dynamics of the Great Depression: Establishment Characteristics and Compositional Effects." Robert Margo, Vanderbilt University, "The Microeconomics of Depression Unem- ployment." John J. Wallis, University of Maryland, "The Political Economy of New Deal Relief Programs." Agricultural Institutions and the Government Lee Alston, University of Illinois, and Joseph Ferrie, University of Chicago, "Plowing Up Paternalism in U.S. Southern Agriculture." Elizabeth Hoffman and Gary Libecap, University of Arizona, "The History and Functioning of a Government-Sponsored Cartel: Agricultural Marketing Orders for Citrus." Shawn Kantor, California Institute of Technology, "Razorbacks, Ticky Cows, and the Closing of the Georgia Open Range: The Dynamics of Institutional Change Uncovered." Reputation, Money, and Financial Institutions Michael Bordo and Eugene White, Rutgers University, "A Tale of Two Currencies: British and French Finances During the Napoleonic Wars." Michael Haupert, University of Wisconsin, La Crosse, "The Role of Reputations in a Competitive Banking Regime." Akira Motomura, Albion College, "Reputation and Currency Depreciation Policy in Early Seventeenth-Century Spain." Nathan Sussman, University of California, Berkeley, "Debasements, Royal Reve- nues, and Inflation in France During the Second Stage of the Hundred Years War, 1415-1422." Aspects of Agricultural Development in Land-Abundant Economies: The Case of Latin America Samuel Armand, Stanford University, "Patterns of Rural Investment in Argentina, 1800-1850." Stephen Haber, Stanford University, "Capital Markets and Industrial Concentration: A Comparative Study of Mexico, Brazil, and the United States, 1850-1930." Editors' Notes 453 Mario Pastore, Washington University, "Foreign Trade Blockades, Public Finances, and Property Rights: The Rise of Statism in Paraguayan Agriculture, 1810-1840." Ricardo Salvatore, University of Minnesota, "Modes of Labor Control in Open Cattle Economies: Argentina, Brazil, and Venezuela, 1780-1880." Mechanization and Southern Agriculture Louis Ferleger, University of Massachusetts, Boston, "Sharecropping in the Late Nineteenth-Century South." Craig Heinicke, College of William and Mary, "Black Migration from the Rural South and Mechanization, 1940-60." Warren Whatley, University of Michigan, "Mechanizing America's Cotton Harvest: The Impact of Institutions, Markets, and Environment." Before and After the Famine: The Economy, The Land, and Institutions Timothy Guinnane, Princeton University, "Land and Credit in Late Nineteenth- Century Ireland." Kevin O'Rourke, Columbia University, " 'Burn Everything British But Their Coal!' Aspects of the British-Irish Trade War." Peter Solar, University of Leuven, "Rent, Land Values, and the Distribution of Income in Ireland, 1780-1830." Additional sessions in celebration of the Fiftieth Anniversary will also be held. The order of sessions in this preliminary program is subject to change. The dissertation session will be chaired by David Weir, Yale University, and by Susan Carter, Smith College. CONFERENCES The International Economic History Association will hold its eleventh world congress in Milan, Italy, in August 1994 and invites proposals from scholars wishing to organize sessions. Proposals for sessions must be submitted by the following dates: A-sessions (Debates and Controversies) by March 1, 1991, B-sessions (Themes of Current Research) by March 1, 1991, and C-sessions (Workshops) by February 1, 1992. Send proposals with names of organizers and a description of the aims of the session to: Joseph Goy, General Secretary, International Economic History Association, Centre de Recherches Historiques, EHESS, 54 Boulevard Raspail, 75270 Paris CEDEX 06, France. Decisions on proposals will be taken by the Executive Committee of the International Association. Preference will be given in the selection of A and B sessions to persons who have not organized one of these sessions at the Leuven congress. Further details may be obtained from the Editors of this JOURNAL. The Social Science History Association will hold its 15th annual conference in Minneapolis, MN, on October 18-21, 1990. Historians, economists, sociologists, anthropologists, demographers, political scientists, or others interested in participating in the program should contact Steve Rappaport, Department of History, New York University, 19 University Place, New York, NY 10003 or Laurel Cornell, Department of Sociology, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN 47405. The Oral History Association will hold its 1990 annual meeting in Cambridge, MA, on November 8-11, 1990. For program information, contact Richard C. Smith, OHA Executive Secretary, 1093 Broxton Avenue, No. 720, Los Angeles, CA 90024. 454 Editors' Notes CALL FOR PAPERS The Oral History Association is calling for proposals for papers, panels, and speakers for its 1991 annual meeting, which will be held at Snowbird, near Salt Lake City, UT, on October 10-13, 1991. This meeting will focus particularly on women, ethnic topics, and the region of the American West. Submissions should be sent by December 1, 1990, to either of the Program Co-Chairs: Jay M. Haymond, Utah State Historical Society, 300 Rio Grande, Salt Lake City, UT 84101; or Rebecca Sharpless, c/o Institute for Oral History, Baylor University, Waco, TX 76798-7271. GRANTS-IN-AID The Museum of American Textile History is offering grants-in-aid for 1991 to doctoral students who are writing dissertations and to young historians who are preparing their first books. Topics of special interest include but are not limited to the following: the history of clothmaking techniques in the United States; the role of the corporation in community development; the impact of the industry on the regional economy; archi- tecture; engineering; and labor systems. Biographies and institutional histories are also of interest. Application should be made by August 31 for projects to begin not earlier than the following January 1. To apply, write the Director, Museum of American Textile History, 800 Massachusetts Avenue, North Andover, MA 01845; telephone (508) 686-0191. FELLOWSHIPS The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies at Villa I Tatti will award fellowships for independent study on any aspect of the Italian Renaissance for the academic year to run from July 1,1991 to June 30, 1992. The fellowships are for scholars of any nationality, normally postdoctoral and in the earlier stages of their careers. Applications are due October 15, 1990; forms can be obtained from Professor Walter Kaiser, Villa I Tatti, Via de Vincigliata 26, 50135 Florence, Italy, or from Professor Dante Delia Terza, Department of Romance Languages and Literatures, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA 02138, USA. 
work_kjzx5iye6vcinl5hc6tznnyonu	----	on a sophisticated yet accessible review session among some of the field’s seminal fig- ures, including Claire Farago and Thomas Kaufmann. The verdict is mixed: while thriving within its own walls, the global Renaissance is hemmed in by hostile forces in the surrounding territory, for reasons that will resonate with anyone struggling through contemporary academia. Despite the obvious relevance of inclusive pedagogy to an increasingly diverse student body, informal survey data suggest that global approaches and examples still appear only intermittently in textbooks, syllabi, course offerings, and faculty support. Small wonder, alas, when fewer students seek art his- tory, fewer care about art before World War I, opportunities for new hires are shrink- ing, and administrators prioritize marketing over innovation. A bit of anecdotal corroboration: one author graduated from my own program at the City University of New York. While she was there, the faculty developed and approved a new curric- ulum track in global early modern, but due to lowered enrollment and presentism, no students have chosen this major. The minor key dominating these essays aptly recalls the biblical prophet Isaiah, the inspired “voice crying out in the wilderness” to whom no one listened. James M. Saslow, Queens College and The Graduate Center, CUNY, emeritus doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.137 Thresholds and Boundaries: Liminality in Netherlandish Art (1385–1520). Lynn F. Jacobs. Visual Culture in Early Modernity. London: Routledge, 2018. xiv + 232 pp. + 12 color pls. $150. Jacobs’s stirring text analyzes representations of the limen (threshold) as a signifier for sharp divisions, hazy borders, and dramatic transitions within religious, socioeco- nomic, and political spheres in the Northern Renaissance. Building on her remarkable study of spatial logistics in triptychs (Opening Doors: The Early Netherlandish Triptych Reinterpreted [2012]), Jacobs’s new book offers a theoretical paradigm for appreciating the complexity and nuance of an artistic tradition that has often found itself at odds with the “simplicity of unified, infinite space, [the] spatial ideal of Italian Renaissance painting” (108). Jacobs situates her arguments in past literature, and her accessible prose—occasionally punctuated with modern-day analogies—will appeal to a wide readership. Although limi- nality is a multifaceted topic with nearly endless permutations, Jacobs demonstrates its presence in early modern art with just four case studies and a coda. These case studies represent a diversity of media, and their multiple ancillary examples only make liminality’s relevance more ubiquitous. Indeed, one of the book’s most important contributions is a methodological toolbox for a multidisciplinary spectrum of scholars. RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1014 VOLUME LXXIII, NO. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog?doi=10.1017/rqx.2020.138&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core Chapter 1 situates the limen in the anthropological investigations of Arnold van Gennep and Victor Turner, introducing key concepts, such as the transitory “betwixt and between” state (4). Although Netherlandish liminality is unique to its time and place, Jacobs indicates the far-reaching relevance of liminal studies with examples from literature, television, Gothic choir screens, and the Virgin Mary’s threshold theo- logical position as porta clausa (closed door) and porta paradisi (door of paradise). Chapter 2 is a case study in stone, featuring Claus Sluter’s portal that literally formed the threshold to the Carthusian church where the Valois duke, Philip the Bold, was interred. This highly charged space engaged transitions from life to death, purgatory to paradise, and sin to redemption through sculpted figures that are “betwixt and between” in their twisting postures and disparate gazes. Left unpainted, the grisaille stat- ues mediate the brilliant color of Philip’s tomb inside, and Jacobs notes that the “rosette” of cloth over the Virgin Mary’s breast evokes Maria lactans (the nursing Madonna) (32). This motif becomes one of several elements linking the portal to Sluter’s Well of Moses in the monastery cloister, where the dying Christ “nurses” the faithful with his brilliantly painted blood. Chapters 3 and 4 deal with manuscript miniatures. In the Très Riches Heures, the Limbourg brothers reinforced boundaries of class by depicting peasants “imprisoned” in the land by blockades of rivers, fields, plowed ridges, and even an armed scarecrow. The aristocrats, by contrast, overpower the land with their size and color and move unfet- tered through it. Chapter 4 further articulates a Netherlandish view of space that is “mul- tiplex” in its “formal and iconographical richness . . . achieved through . . . multiple zones of space” (108). The manuscripts included here exhibit a dizzying variety of transitions— between center and sides, front and back, the world of the viewer and the world of the page—images on the borders of other images, disjunctures of perspective, and paradoxes of continuous landscape. These complex boundaries are often keyed to the metaphysical limina of prophecy, meditation, and prayer. In chapter 5, Jacobs posits that the grisaille shutters of Netherlandish altarpieces— functional doors in and of themselves—served as colorless limina between the real world and the world of polychrome glory on the altarpiece interior. The development of demi- grisaille shutters, where the figures seem to transition from stone to flesh, further under- scores an altar’s liminal significance, for transubstantiation is itself “betwixt and between,” with the real presence of Christ veiled beneath accidentals of bread and wine. Similarly, the painted shutters often give way to a different medium, opening to reveal three-dimensional sculpted figures. The final chapter discusses the liminality of socioeconomic boundaries, chastity, cleanliness, and privacy in the oil paintings of the Dutch Golden Age and thus nods to the potential for further application of Jacobs’s methodology. My only criticism of any consequence lies in the book’s illustrations. Many have been reproduced too small to do justice to Jacobs’s intricate analysis. Moreover, although Jacobs cites far more works than could be illustrated, there are times when REVIEWS 1015 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core the reader may feel frustration that no picture accompanies a particularly vivid descrip- tion. These are minor criticisms, however, for a formative work on Netherlandish art with promising extrapolations to other disciplines as well. Elliott D. Wise, Brigham Young University doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.138 Insect Artifice: Nature and Art in the Dutch Revolt. Marisa Anne Bass. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2019. xii + 300 pp. $65. Joris Hoefnagel’s life and career (1542–1601) hinges on the paradox that warfare in late sixteenth-century Europe occasioned widespread dislocation and destruction and at the same time fostered the growth of vibrant international networks of merchants, scholars, and artists, who creatively adapted to the tumultuous circumstances of their lives. Hoefnagel both benefited and suffered from Europe’s political turmoil. In the 1560s he traveled through France, Spain, and England to escape Spanish oppression in Antwerp. When he returned, in 1570, he joined a circle of artists and humanists in the ambit of the geographer Abraham Ortelius (1527–98). Following the “Spanish Fury” in Antwerp, in 1576, Hoefnagel and Ortelius traveled to Germany and Italy, where they explored and recorded sites of historical and geographic interest, and where Hoefnagel made his way into elite circles of collectors, including the Wittelsbach dukes of Bavaria and the Habsburg emperor Rudolph II. One can think of Hoefnagel as a wily navigator of patronage networks, through which he constructed a remarkably successful career. But this is not the narrative arc of Marisa Anne Bass’s splendid book, Insect Artifice. Building upon prior studies by Marjorie Lee Hendrix and Thea Vignau-Wilber, Bass focuses on selected works by Hoefnagel as the private expression of an individual preoccupied with his identity as an artist and with his travails as a refugee. Two chapters are devoted to Hoefnagel’s mot- toes, insignias, and inscriptions in friendship albums, by which Hoefnagel insisted upon his originality as an artist, beholden only to nature and to his own genius. Other chap- ters are devoted to Hoefnagel’s plaintive emblem manuscript Patientia (1569), the land- scape and city views he designed for Braun and Hogenberg’s six-volume Civitates Orbum Terrarum (Cologne, 1572–1612), and his four volumes of natural-history min- iatures (National Gallery, Washington, DC), grouped according to the elements earth, air, water, and fire (ca. 1575–92). Bass’s three chapters on the Four Elements and the accompanying color plates form the centerpiece of this beautifully designed book. Whereas some scholars have discussed these volumes as a turning point in the history of scientific illustration, Bass maintains that “despite the project’s long-standing association with treatises of natural history— and Hoefnagel’s indisputable debt to their content—this protoscientific category of RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1016 VOLUME LXXIII, NO. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_kluflpspqba5vhzpwkigej3ioe	----	Editors' Notes JAMES J. HILL PAPERS The James Jerome Hill Reference Library in St. Paul, Minnesota, has opened the papers of James J. Hill (1838-1916), architect of the Great Northern Railroad. The Hill Papers chronicle his interests in transportation, colonization and settlement, agricul- ture, mining, lumber, general business and economic trends, the use of natural resources, immigration, Indian-White relations, art, philanthropy, and other topics of interest to scholars concerned with the historical experience of the Upper Midwest, the Pacific Northwest, the New York financial community, and Western Canada. The collection spans the years 1856-1916 and includes his involvement in the construction and operation of the Great Northern and the Canadian Pacific railroads, the Northern Securities Case, and detailed documentation of his domestic finances. Hill's letterpress books currently are closed, but will be available when they have been microfilmed. A three-roll, microfilmed index to the James J. Hill Papers is available through Interlibrary Loan. For further information, write to the Library, Fourth and Market Streets, St. Paul, Minnesota 55102. NEW PUBLICATIONS AND SERIES New York State Archives announces a new publication, Guide to Records in the New York State Archives. This volume is the first systematic guide to the historical records of New York State government and it represents the commitment of the State Archives to preserve and describe the State's historically valuable records and to make them available to government officials, scholars, and the general public. For more information on this publication, please contact: Larry J. Hackman, State Archivist, State Education Department, Room 10A46, Cultural Education Center, Albany, New York 12230. The Center for the Study of Southern Culture at the University of Mississippi has assumed editorial responsibilities for Perspectives on the American South: An Annual Review of Society, Politics, and Culture. Volumes 1 and 2 of the annual were co-edited by John Shelton Reed and Merle Black at the University of North Carolina. Scheduled for publication in the summer of 1983, Volume 3 will be co-edited by James C. Cobb and Charles R. Wilson. The editors are soliciting papers from scholars in the social sciences and the humanities. Perspectives on the American South is an interdisciplinary effort to produce articles that are scholarly and at the same time intelligible to a lay audience. Its focus is upon the social-cultural study of the South. The editors hope to explore the distinctiveness and the diversity of southern life, particularly in the twentieth century. They welcome all submissions, but are especially interested in comparative studies of the South and other societies, examinations of southern ethnic and cultural groups, and studies of the relationship of the region's culture to its social setting. Articles should deal with the substantive content of regional culture, rather than with methodology. Send inquiries and manuscripts to the editors, Center for the Study of Southern Culture, University of Mississippi, University, Mississippi 38677. State University of New York Press announces a new publication series, "Interna- tional Political Economy and Development," to deal with the changing political economic character of the world and especially the place and prospects of the Third World. It is hoped that the series will help define the field by: (1) redefining the terms in which such traditional fields as trade, aid, international capital flows, industrialization, 700 Editors' Notes 701 rural development, and state policy have been studied; (2) contributing to scholarship on questions that have only recently begun to receive the attention they deserve. This second category includes topics such as: women as active subjects in the Third World; the use of comparative history for development studies; the possibility of a theory of Third-World social formation, with particular emphasis on the state; technology, social relations, and productivity, in rural and urban settings; rural-urban relations, including terms of trade and worker-peasant politics. Inquiries about the series should be submitted to Dr. Robert A. Mandel, Editor, SUNY Press, State University Plaza, Albany, New York 12246. FELLOWSHIP OPPORTUNITIES The Columbia University Society of Fellows in the Humanities, with grants from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation and the William R. Kenan Trust, will appoint a number of post-doctoral fellows in the humanities for the academic year 1983-1984. Fellows newly appointed for 1983-1984 must have received the Ph.D. between January 1, 1981 and July 1, 1983. Stipend is $19,000, one half for independent research and one half for teaching in the undergraduate program in general education. Additional funds are available in support of such needs as research materials and typing. Application forms can be obtained by writing to the Director, Society of Fellows in the Humanities, Heyman Center for the Humanities, Columbia University, 70-74 Morningside Drive, New York, New York 10027. Deadline for receipt of completed application forms is November 5, 1982. The Columbia Society of Fellows in the Humanities, with a grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, also will appoint two Senior Fellows in the Humanities for the academic year 1983-1984. Awards will be made to scholars of particular accomplish- ment and promise who have held the doctorate and who have been teaching as full-time faculty for at least five years but have not yet received tenure, and who have at least one significant publication to their credit. Preference will be given to candidates qualified for promotion to tenure but for whom a tenured position does not currently exist. Senior Fellows for 1983-1984 will receive a stipend of $23,500 plus regular faculty benefits. Additional funds are available in support of such needs as research materials and typing. Senior Fellows will teach half time in courses determined in consultation with the appropriate departments at Columbia. Appointments as Senior Fellows in the Society will normally be renewed for a second year, with the possibility of a third year in particular cases. Candidates must be nominated by the chairmen of their departments or of an appropriate interdepartmental committee, either at Columbia or at their present institution. Applications from individuals will not be considered. Nominations must be accompanied by a complete curriculum vitae, including a list of publications, papers read, as well as work in progress, and a statement from the candidate of his/her scholarly project and goals. It should also indicate the number of years of full-time instruction. In addition to the letter of nomination, the candidate must request at least two further letters of support from senior colleagues in his/her field who are familiar with his/her scholarly work. The nominating chairman's letter of endorsement should assess the candidate's qualities as a scholar and teacher; it should also describe his/her actual situation in the department, addressing such issues as: the prospects of a tenure opening for which the candidate would be eligible; whether or not the department has voted for promotion to tenure; the basis for the department's nomination of the candidate to the Society of Fellows (i.e., vote of the executive or other committee, chairman's or dean's decision). The chairman's letter of endorsement and all supporting materials should be sent to: The Director, Society of Fellows in the Humanities, 702 Editors' Notes Heyman Center for the Humanities, Columbia University, 70-74 Morningside Drive, New York, New York 10027. Deadline: Nominations and supporting materials must be received no later than November 5, 1982. The Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, located in Washington, D.C., seeks outstanding project proposals representing diverse scholarly interests and approaches from individuals throughout the world. The Center's residential fellowships are awarded in two rather broad programs—History, Culture, and Society and Ameri- can Society and Politics—and four more focused international categories: the Kennan Institute for Advanced Russian Studies, the Latin American Program, the East Asia Program, and the International Security Studies Program. For academic participants, eligibility is limited to the postdoctoral level; for participants from other backgrounds, equivalent maturity and professional maturity are expected. Fellows devote their full time to research and writing. The length of a fellowship can vary from four months to a year. Within certain limits, the Center seeks to enable each fellow to meet his or her earned income during the preceding year. Deadline for receipt of applications is October 1, with decisions by mid-February. Appointments normally cannot begin before the following September. For information and application materials contact The Wilson Center, Smithsonian Institution Building, Room 321, Washington, D.C. 20560. Tele- phone (202) 357-2841. Villa I Tatti: The Harvard Center for Italian Renaissance Studies at Villa I Tatti will award upward often stipendiary fellowships for independent study on any aspect of the Italian Renaissance for the academic year 1983-1984. I Tatti offers fellowships for scholars of any nationality, normally post-doctoral and in the earlier stages of their careers. Fellows must be free to devote full time to study. Fellowships run from July 1, 1983 to June 30, 1984. Applicants should send their curriculum vitae and a description of their projects to the Director, Villa I Tatti, The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies, Via di Vincigliata 26, 50135 Florence, Italy, before November 1, 1982, and duplicates to Professor Walter Kaiser, 401 Boylston Hall, Harvard Universi- ty, Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138, U.S.A. Candidates should ask three senior scholars familiar with their work to send confidential letters of recommendation to the Director by the same date with duplicates to Professor Kaiser. I Tatti also offers a limited number of non-stipendiary fellowships for scholars working in Florence on Renaissance subjects with support from other sources. Non- stipendiary Fellows should have the same qualifications and will have the same privileges as those whose stipends are derived from I Tatti funds. Scholars interested in these fellowships should apply as described above by November 1, 1982. CALL FOR PAPERS "History Today: The State of the Discipline" is the theme for the Thirteenth Biennial History Conference to be held on April 15, 1983, at Kutztown State College, Kutztown, Pennsylvania. The conference committee invites proposals for papers on a wide range of relevant topics, including historiography, methodology, public history, and innovative teaching techniques, from any specialized field within the discipline. Please submit titles and abstracts for proposed papers by November 1, 1982, to Professor Allida S. McKinley, Department of History, Kutztown State College, Kutztown, Pennsylvania 19530. ETHNICITY AND LABOR SYMPOSIUM The Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission has announced a symposium on "Ethnicity and Labor in the Anthracite Region" to be held on October 1 and 2, 1982 Editors' Notes 703 in the Scranton Anthracite Museum. The program includes papers on "Family, Class and Ethnicity in a Mining Town," "Immigrant Fraternal Life," "The Entrepreneur and Ethnicity," "Corporate Attitudes toward Labor Organization," "Sociology of the Coal and Iron Police," "Role of Women in Anthracite Strikes," "Coal in the Post World War II Era," "Family, Culture and Labor Protest," "Responses to the Lattimer Massacre," and the "Responses to the 1902 Anthracite Strike." The symposium will feature a special evening program of anthracite ballads and early mining films. The symposium is funded in part by the Pennsylvania Humanities Council and the National Endowment for the Humanities. For information on the program and a registration form, write Director, Anthracite Museum Complex, R.D. # 1 , Bald Mountain Road, Scranton, Pennsylvania 18504. 
work_km2th7e2irc4lnwpymp4sg4tc4	----	R-001186_JKDelaney_session1_P08_formatted Application of Visible and Infrared Imaging Spectroscopy To The Study of Paintings John K. Delaney 1 1. National Gallery of Art, Scientific Research Department, Washington, DC, USA Imaging spectroscopy, the collection of hundreds of contiguous narrow-band images, offers an improvement over site-specific fiber optic reflectance measurements by combining both spatial and spectral information. We have focused on developing portable high sensitivity hyperspectral cameras capable to operate at low light levels, which is necessary for the examination of paintings, drawings, illuminated manuscripts. The cameras operate from the visible (380 to 750 nm) and Near-infrared (750 to 2500 nm) and have both high spectral (2.4 to 4 nm) sampling and high spatial sampling (0.2 to 0.1 mm per pixel at the artwork). The cameras utilize transmission-grating spectrometers and state-of-the-art infrared detectors, such as InGaAs and InSb arrays. Use of a whiskbroom-scanning mirror allows for a portable system as it eliminates the need to translate the camera across the painted surface. In this talk, we present findings on the use of visible and infrared reflectance imaging spectroscopy to identify and map artist materials in situ as well as improve the visualization of preparatory sketches and paint changes. Visible and Near-infrared reflectance imaging spectroscopy has been shown to be a useful tool to map and identify various artists‟ pigments [1]. This approach has utilized both electronic transitions (color) and vibrational overtones from hydroxyl (-OH) and carbonate groups (-CO3). Utilizing analysis methods developed for remote sensing we have been able to identify and map the pigments used in Picasso‟s “Harlequin Musician” (1924) as well those in early Italian Renaissance Paintings such as Cosimo Tura‟s „The Annunciation with Saint Francis and Saint Louis of Toulouse‟ (c. 1475; Figure 1). Recently we have been investigating the potential of this method to map and identify non-pigment artist materials such as paint binders and textile fibers in situ. Identification and mapping of these organic materials is done using the higher harmonics of the vibrational features found in the mid-IR which are routinely used to identity these materials in situ. These chemical signatures include overtone and combination vibrational features associated with amide bonds, -CH2 -OH, and -CO3 groups. The instrument‟s performance is being verified using test panels and paintings in the National Gallery‟s collection whose composition is known by GC-MS and FTIR analysis. To date we have demonstrated (i) mapped regions of the use of egg yolk binder in illuminated manuscript attributed to Lorenzo Monaco “Praying Prophet” and (ii) selective use of animal skin glue and egg yolk in Cosimo Tura‟s „The Annunciation with Saint Francis and Saint Louis of Toulouse‟ (c. 1475.) [2]. Traditional infrared reflectography (IRR) allows conservators to visualize preparatory underdrawing and compositional paint changes. The technique employs near infrared cameras in single broad spectral band, typically from 800 to ~1400 nm. Research by several groups has resulted in improved visualization, achieved by using low noise detectors, interference filters to isolate the spectral region of maximum content. While significant progress has been made, there remains an interest in extending IRR to works of art on paper, and on paintings to determine the type of drawing materials used in preparatory sketches (e.g. dry versus liquid), and for separating out features in complex over-painted compositions. 1998 doi:10.1017/S1431927614011726 Microsc. Microanal. 20 (Suppl 3), 2014 © Microscopy Society of America 2014 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1431927614011726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1431927614011726 https://www.cambridge.org/core The NIR hyperspectral cameras have provided increased visibility and better understanding of preparatory sketches and compositional paint changes over the prior monochromatic and even multi-spectral methods. The narrow spectral sampling can provide increased visibility and improved separation of painted compositions, such as being painted one on another in Picasso‟s “The Tragedy” (1903). Using the hyperspectral NIR cameras, in several blue period paintings by Picasso improved visualization of the prior portraits that have been painted over has been achieved. These have included Picasso‟s “Old Woman Ironing” at the Guggenheim, the “Le Gourmet” (1901) at the National Gallery of Art and “The Blue Room” (1901) at The Phillips Collection, DC. The ability to obtain reflectance spectra not only allows for distinguishing among artist materials that only appear as „varying gray levels‟ in broadband IRR images, but also provides a basis for determining requirements of imaging systems. This has closed the loop in system design, by establishing the spectral radiance differences associated with various combinations of grounds, drawing materials, and paints. The knowledge gleaned from these instruments about pigments, such as where they are found and information related to the initial drawings and compositional paint changes have the potential for art historians to better understand, and conservators better preserve, important works of art. References: [1] Delaney et al, Applied Spectroscopy 64 (2010), p. 584. [2] Dooley et al, Analyst, 138 (2013), p. 4838. Figure 1. Reflectance Imaging Spectroscopy used to map the pigments in panel containing the painting of Mary from Cosimo Tura‟s „The Annunciation with Saint Francis and Saint Louis of Toulouse‟ (c. 1475), National Gallery of Art, DC. 1999Microsc. Microanal. 20 (Suppl 3), 2014 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1431927614011726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1431927614011726 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_kpaiksyv3fb2ze4iziq6bam7mu	----	1. Mario Biagioli, “Etiquette, Interdependence, and Sociability in Seventeenth-Century Science,” Critical Inquiry 22 (1996): 193–238; see also William Eamon, “Court, Acad- emy, and Printing House: Patronage and Scientific Careers in Late Renaissance Italy,” in Patronage and Institutions: Science, Technology, and Medicine at the European Court, 1500–1750, ed. Bruce T. Moran (Rochester, NY: Boydell Press, 1991), pp. 25–50. Abstract The scientific academies of early modern Europe have long been recognized for their critical role in incubating and legitimating the Scientific Revolution. So also, academies dedicated to vernacular lit- erature and language, opera and ballet, art and design, and specula- tive philosophy all contributed greatly to the emergence of new hu- manistic art forms. Rarely, though, have scholars asked whether a common institutional culture united the scientific and humanistic academies across disciplinary divides that “Renaissance men” fa- mously refused to acknowledge. This essay, an interdisciplinary syn- thesis of existing scholarship, attempts just that, discerning a move toward practices of “objectivity” across the entire academy movement. Introduction Today, “the academy” is virtually synonymous with “the ivory tower,” a bastion of the scholarly establishment that is out of touch with common experience and, perhaps, common sense. To call a question “academic” is to dismiss its relevance to the real world. Nothing, however, could be further from the profile of the acade- mies blanketing late Renaissance Italy. 227 The Renaissance Academies between Science and the Humanities Ian F. McNeely University of Oregon Configurations, 2009, 17:227–258 © 2010 by The Johns Hopkins University Press and the Society for Literature and Science. Taking shape in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, academies provided an alternative to the sometimes pedantic university world, one that was open to new people, new ideas, and new modes of in- tellectual expression. Academies might offer public lectures, stage plays, produce court festivals, experiment with new music, or spon- sor poetry contests. Princes, merchants, professionals, and artisans gathered in them alongside poets and scholars. Academies used ver- nacular languages like Italian and French instead of the erudite Latin of the Church and of the professoriate. Rather than imparting text- book knowledge to callow students, they engaged the imaginations of mature men and, if rarely, women. Ranging widely over litera- ture, music, art, and natural science, they burst the confines of the traditional university curriculum. Some aimed explicitly to rekindle a Platonic spirit, making all-encompassing knowledge the road to virtue. A few even channeled the Neoplatonic hunger for knowledge of nature’s mysteries into organized “natural philosophy,” the pre- cursor to modern science. Giving the lonely Renaissance occultist a socially respectable outlet, academies made early science less prone to individual eccentricity and more inclined toward the collective, disciplined investigation of natural phenomena. Propagating and validating the discoveries of the Scientific Revo- lution still assumes pride of place among the academy movement’s collective achievements. In the seventeenth century, the Accademia dei Lincei published some of Galileo Galilei’s most important work and openly defended his Copernicanism, and the Accademia del Ci- mento began conducting organized experiments to test the revolu- tionary implications of the “new science.” North of the Alps, the London Royal Society, the Paris Académie des Sciences, and subse- quently the Berlin Akademie der Wissenschaften acquired royal charters and international renown between 1660 and 1700, count- ing in their ranks such luminaries as Newton, Hooke, Boyle, Huygh- ens, Fontenelle, Leibniz, and Maupertuis. Boyle’s famous air-pump experiments were conducted under the auspices of the Royal Society. But academicians in Renaissance Italy began as humanists and only later folded in what we now know as science. Before that time, they compiled Europe’s first dictionary of any modern language, the Tuscan Vocabolario of 1612. Its publisher, the Florentine Accademia della Crusca, is active to this day. European opera, too, arose at about the same time in the quasi-academic “Florentine Camerata.” This group of musicians and music theorists included Galileo’s father Vincenzo. Even natural science began as “natural magic” in aca- demic practice, more a form of edifying, spectacular theater than empirical, experimental investigation. 228 Configurations In recent years, a deeper understanding of the specifically scien- tific academies has emerged in the work of Mario Biagioli, Steven Shapin, and Lorraine Daston. Biagioli anchors the emerging prac- tices of modern science in the court culture of European absolutism, showing how protocols of courtly etiquette enabled early scientists to cope with profound disagreements on the interpretation of ex- perimental results threatening to divide the early scientific world. As academies coalesced into durable corporate bodies, they emancipated themselves, institutionally and epistemologically, from princely pa- tronage and the competition for princely favor.1 Shapin anatomizes the new codes of civility prevailing among the now-independent gentlemen who conducted experimental natural philosophy. Writ- ing on the Royal Society, he explains how face-to-face demonstra- tions were indispensable to the legitimation of new discoveries pro- duced by experiments like the air pump. No one, in demonstrations of “facts” divorced from contentious “theories,” could gainsay the word of a gentleman, nor, by extension, doubt the collective testi- mony of gentlemen gathered to witness scientific experiments.2 Daston identifies the stakes of this enterprise. In collaboration with Katharine Park, she paints a world filled with wondrous phe- nomena that strained credulity. Amidst reports of two-headed goats and multiple moons in the skies over France, observers of nature had to cull the genuine breakthroughs and explore their implica- tions. Academies functioned, in her account, to sift truth from error in the flood of “marvels,” “curiosities,” and outright deceptions populating the woolly imagination of the early modern world. They provided sites where fact was distinguished from fiction in the Re- public of Letters—a task that printed and handwritten communica- tion could not perform and universities were not ready to under- take. Ultimately, Daston concludes, the ideology of “objectivity” was first practiced in the European academy, not so much as a philo- sophical doctrine, but as a form of dispassionate investigation insti- tutionalizing the detachment between academicians and the “na- ture” they collectively observed.3 McNeely / Renaissance Academies 229 2. Steven Shapin, “The House of Experiment in Seventeenth-Century England,” Isis 79:298 (1988): 373–404; idem, A Social History of Truth: Civility and Science in Seven- teenth-Century England, Science and Its Conceptual Foundations series (Chicago: Uni- versity of Chicago Press, 1994). 3. Lorraine Daston, “Baconian Facts, Academic Civility, and the Prehistory of Objectiv- ity,” Annals of Scholarship 8 (1991): 337–363; idem, “The Academies and the Unity of Knowledge: The Disciplining of the Disciplines,” Differences 10:2 (1999): 67–86; idem and Katharine Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, 1150–1750 (New York: Zone Books, 1998), pp. 215–254. None of this scholarship takes into account the precedent of the pre-scientific academies of the late Renaissance. Nor, with the signal exception of Frances Yates, does the literature on the humanistic academy engage the origins of modern science.4 Despite numerous overlaps between the humanistic and scientific worlds—the Galileis being the most striking example—the historiography on the early modern academy remains riven between the “two cultures” of mod- ern academia. Such a division is one that Renaissance academicians themselves would have never acknowledged. This prompts a series of questions: Did the humanistic academies bear any more than a nominal relationship to their scientific succes- sors? Did a practical, engaged, worldly, or even proto-scientific im- pulse arise from within the academic movement or infect it from without? Did academies contribute to the early modern reorganiza- tion of knowledge, in other words, or just provide an institutional vessel for its realization? In particular, did the humanistic academies somehow anticipate the practice of “objectivity,” if not toward nat- ural phenomena, then perhaps toward texts, artworks, and antiqui- ties? Or did the rise of objectivity, with its emphasis on the sober, prosaic, disciplined accumulation of facts, extinguish the poetic, spiritual, pan-sophistic traditions of the earlier academies? If so, where did these “subjectivist” traditions take refuge institutionally? What follows is an interdisciplinary, synthetic essay of existing scholarship. It offers provisional answers to these questions and aims to rehabilitate an institution as ambitious in its scope as the university itself. The Platonic Academy The history of the Platonic Academy at Florence—the notional fount of the entire academy movement—has all the makings of a scholarly myth: the recovery of lost knowledge from the East; the gathering of Renaissance polymaths under the tutelage of enlight- ened princes; an interdisciplinarity embracing music, magic, and philosophy; and the quest for a syncretic faith combining knowl- edge with love and virtue. For all its limitations as myth, the story nonetheless illustrates a fascination with esoteric learning that would recur among academicians throughout the early modern period. Marsilio Ficino (1433–99), the Florentine priest and physician, stood at the center of the Platonic Academy. His Platonic Theology 230 Configurations 4. See Frances Yates, “The Italian Academies,” in Renaissance and Reform: The Italian Contribution (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1983 [1949]), pp. 6–29, together with her other works cited below. reintroduced European Christendom to antiquity’s richest transcen- dental philosophy. Another work, the Three Books on Life, described how magic, music, and astrology could help scholars improve their health and extend their lives. And it was Ficino who developed the concept of Platonic love and practiced it with his male associates. (Only later did sixteenth-century academicians, with their love son- nets and prose treatises, give it the connotations of chaste hetero- sexuality it has had ever since.5) All this suggests that Ficino aimed not merely to study, but also to revive in practice the spirit animat- ing Plato’s original Academy.6 Pico della Mirandola, whose “On the Dignity of Man” is the manifesto of Renaissance humanism, be- longed to Ficino’s circle. So also did a diverse group of lawyers, po- ets, musicians, and clergymen. The Medicis, Cosimo and Lorenzo, were his patrons. Cosimo himself gave Ficino his most important mission: to rescue Neoplatonism, together with other esoteric phi- losophies of the ancient world, from a decaying Byzantine Empire. Cosimo had been impressed by the émigré scholars who in 1439 arrived at the Council of Florence to discuss a reconciliation between the Roman Catholic and the Eastern Orthodox churches. He thus commissioned Ficino to translate Plato’s complete works into Latin from the Greek manuscripts the Byzantines had provided. Ficino also translated several Neoplatonists, notably Plotinus, who in the third century c.e. had elaborated Plato’s original philosophy into a mystical, arcane system. First, however, acting at Cosimo’s behest, Ficino set to work on the Corpus Hermeticum, the body of Egyptian wisdom attributed to the legendary Hermes Trismegistus. Revealed in 1614 as a fabrication of late antiquity, the Hermetic texts were regarded in Ficino’s time as unfathomably ancient and therefore more authentic than Plato’s own philosophy. Hermes (sometimes equated with the Egyptian god Thoth) counted as the first in a line of ancient sages, including Orpheus, Pythagoras, and Plato himself, all of them sacred adepts vouchsafed with divine wisdom centuries before Christ. Next to Hermes and Plato, Orpheus commanded the McNeely / Renaissance Academies 231 5. Jill Kraye, “The Transformation of Platonic Love in the Italian Renaissance,” in Pla- tonism and the English Imagination, ed. Anna P. Baldwin and Sarah Hutton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 76–85; on the trattato d’amore, see Nesca Robb, Neoplatonism of the Italian Renaissance (London: G. Allen & Unwin, 1935), pp. 176–211; and on the questions of love as topics of interest for sixteenth-century academies, see Thomas Crane, Italian Social Customs of the Sixteenth Century, and Their Influence on the Literatures of Europe (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1920), pp. 141–158. 6. D. P. Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic from Ficino to Campanella, Studies of the Warburg Institute, vol. 22 (London: Warburg Institute, 1958), pp. 3ff.; Yates, “Italian Academies” (above, n. 4), pp. 10, 20. most importance for Ficino, himself an amateur musician who per- formed the Orphic hymns and wrote of their inspirational powers. To him, as to the inventors of opera much later, Orpheus was a semi- divine being who channeled the harmonies of the celestial spheres— the source of musical “effects” that quite literally soothed the savage beast.7 Ficino and his followers sincerely regarded their rehabilitation of pagan spirituality as compatible with devout Christianity. Yet cer- tain elements of their thought marked a profound departure both from the Christian belief in a remote, transcendent God and from the cut-and-dried categorizations of the scholastic, Aristotelian mind: namely, the pagan belief that nature is suffused with divinity; the Neoplatonic doctrine that imperfect humans can ascend out of the material world toward the perfection of divine One; the Pythag- orean insight that all celestial and mundane phenomena are inter- connected through relations of number, harmony, and music; and the Hermetic conviction that individuals could master and manipu- late these connections through study and discipline. All these be- came core components of the Renaissance esotericism of which Ficino was but the most influential exponent. His Neoplatonism, along with Hermetic lore, Orphic music, the Jewish Kabbalah, Ara- bic astrology, Paracelsian medicine, practical alchemy, and European folk magic awakened in generations of scholars a penchant for the occult that only intensified as what we now call the Scientific Revo- lution gained momentum. This impulse peaked with the European Romantics and still reverberates in the practices of freemasonry, the- osophy, and New Age spirituality.8 Scholarly disputes rage to this day about how best to characterize the academy that gathered around Ficino, his students, his patrons, and his followers during the 1460s. It would be convenient to claim that the Neoplatonic impulse found immediate and direct expres- sion in an institution named after Plato’s original following and was destined, in turn, to seed the ground for all subsequent European academies. It seems, though, that when Ficino used the word “acad- emy,” he meant something like an informal group of private stu- 232 Configurations 7. Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic, pp. 3–59; Arthur M. Field, The Origins of the Platonic Academy of Florence (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988), pp. 175– 201; Manfred Lentzen, “Die Humanistische Akademiebewegung Des Quattrocento Und Die ‘Accademia Platonica’ in Florenz,” Wolfenbütteler Renaissancemitteilungen 19:2 (1995): 58–78. 8. Frances Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (Chicago: University of Chi- cago Press, 1964); M. H. Abrams, Natural Supernaturalism: Tradition and Revolution in Romantic Literature (New York: Norton, 1973), pp. 141–196. dents overlapping only partly with the scholars in Ficino’s circle. For contemporaries, the term evoked Cicero’s villa and the arts of hu- manist rhetoric as often as Plato’s ancient grove and the arcana of metaphysics. James Hankins, in a series of painstaking philological researches, enumerates no fewer than seven distinct meanings of the word accademia.9 The notion of a specifically Platonic academy under Medici patronage and gathered around Ficino is an artifact of the last quarter of the sixteenth century, the very moment the Ital- ian academic movement acquired a critical mass and began invent- ing its own historical traditions.10 Up to this time and beyond, Neoplatonism and its related cur- rents remained pervasive yet weakly institutionalized, a form of “tacit knowledge” as common to Renaissance Europeans as Freudian psychology is to us today.11 Its core ideas and fascinations were in- stead transmitted by learned treatises, by the theater, and by wan- dering philosophers like Giordano Bruno, the self-styled “academi- cian of no academy” burned at the stake for heresy in 1600.12 Wherever it resurfaced, though, it would inspire some of the acade- mies’ greatest breakthroughs in science and the arts. Origins of the Literary Academies When academies, ultimately nearly 400 of them, finally emerged en masse in the towns of sixteenth-century Italy, they bore only ten- uous connections to Ficino’s circle or to the handful of other fif- teenth-century precedents at Venice, Naples, and Rome.13 Defined McNeely / Renaissance Academies 233 9. James Hankins, “The Myth of the Platonic Academy of Florence,” Renaissance Quar- terly 44:3 (1991): 429–475; idem, “The Invention of the Platonic Academy of Florence,” Rinascimento 41 (2001): 3–38. 10. Hankins, “Invention of the Platonic Academy,” pp. 24–26. 11. Gary Tomlinson, “Pastoral and Musical Magic in the Birth of Opera,” in Opera and the Enlightenment, ed. Thomas Bauman and Marita P. McClymonds (Cambridge: Cam- bridge University Press, 1995), pp. 13–17. 12. The quotation comes from the frontispiece of Bruno’s comedy Il candelaio (1582); see Ingrid Rowland, Giordano Bruno: Philosopher / Heretic (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2008). 13. David Chambers, “The Earlier ‘Academies’ in Italy,” in Italian Academies of the Six- teenth Century, ed. David Chambers and François Quiviger (London: Warburg Institute, 1995), pp. 1–14; Eric W. Cochrane, “The Renaissance Academies in Their Italian and European Setting,” in The Fairest Flower: The Emergence of Linguistic National Conscious- ness in Renaissance Europe, ed. Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies at the Uni- versity of California at Los Angeles (Florence: Presso l’Accademia della Crusca, 1985), pp. 21–40; Eric W. Cochrane, Tradition and Enlightenment in the Tuscan Academies, 1690– 1800 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961), pp. 1–34; Amedeo Quondam, “L’accademia,” in Letteratura Italiana I: Il Letterato E Le Istituzioni, ed. Alberto Asor Rosa by the desire to bring enthusiasts of knowledge together in a struc- tured alternative to the university, academies proved hospitable to many intellectual orientations of which the Platonic variety was only the most notable. Not philosophical speculation, but literary cultivation stood at the core of their program, whether classical or modern writers, poetic performance or prose discourse, elite enter- tainment or serious scholarship was the order of the day. Their liter- ary exercises were chock-full of “rescrambled Petrarchan conceits [and] boxfuls of refried Lucretian stanzas,” all generously larded with citations from scholarly authorities. These written composi- tions—dialogues, treatises, or sonnets, usually delivered orally— strike the modern observer as a blend of pedantry and frivolity. Six- teenth-century critics and twentieth-century scholars alike accused academicians of retreating from civic engagement into pomposity and irrelevance.14 The academies, though, undeniably gave litera- ture a new mission after the collapse of Italy’s urban communes un- der French invasion, the subjugation of the war-ravaged peninsula to Spanish hegemony, and the displacement of republican citizenship by a more emasculated ethos of courtly etiquette between 1494 and 1530. Renaissance humanism, centered on reviving Ciceronian rheto- ric, had in the previous century associated literary eloquence with ac- tive political leadership, and the academy emerged at just the moment that the study of literature seemingly lost this civic function.15 The first of the new academies was the Academy of the Dazed (Accademia degli Intronati) in Siena, founded in 1525 to practice Italian, Latin, and Greek poetry. With the crosstown Rustics (Rozzi), they staged comedies to impress local noblewomen. Through the migration of individual scholars and friendly competition among the principal northern Italian cities, the Dazed gave rise to the En- flamed (Infiammati) at Padua in 1540, whose ardor was immediately 234 Configurations (Turin: Einaudi, 1982), pp. 823–898, a digest and typology of the encyclopedic stan- dard work by Michele Maylender, Storia Delle Accademie D’italia, 5 vols. (Bologna: Cap- pelli, 1926–30). 14. See Cochrane, “Renaissance Academies,” pp. 23–25 (quote on p. 26), on twentieth- century scholarship; Paul F. Grendler, “The Rejection of Learning in Mid-Cinquecento Italy,” Studies in the Renaissance 13 (1966): 230–249, on the objections to academic humanism as practiced by the Sienese Intronato Alessandro Piccolomini and others. For examples of literary exercises in sonnet form, see Robert Nosow, “The Debate on Song in the Accademia Fiorentina,” Early Music History 21 (2002): 175–221, esp. 196–204. 15. Eric W. Cochrane, Florence in the Forgotten Centuries, 1527–1800: A History of Florence and the Florentines in the Age of the Grand Dukes (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1973), pp. 116–139, evokes this condition especially well; see also Cochrane, Tradition and Enlightenment (above, n. 13), pp. 29–32. dampened by the rival Academy of the Humid (Accademia degli Umidi) at Florence that same year.16 The fondness for comic names, whether self-mocking or mock-heroic—the Idle, the Olympian, the Somnolent, the Extravagant, the Confused, the Infatuated, the Fro- zen, the Transformed—is a hallmark of the Italian academies. Self- mocking names drew attention to the particular vices and defects academicians sought to remedy through their literary exercises, but that also contained the seeds of collective renewal. Thus the Dazed, beset by barbarian armies and civil strife, felt that their academy would provide refuge and refinement for their sensitive souls.17 The specifically elemental names (Enflamed, Humid, Frozen) hearkened back to Hermetic–Neoplatonic associations between (al)chemical transformation and moral perfection.18 The more grandiose moni- kers may have sprung from the desire to poke fun at the chivalric ethic already tamed in the courtly venues from which many acade- micians were implicitly seceding. In such cases, a canny political instinct may have dictated the adoption of ostentatiously unthreat- ening names.19 McNeely / Renaissance Academies 235 16. Richard S. Samuels, “Benedetto Varchi, the Accademia Degli Infiammati, and the Origins of the Italian Academic Movement,” Renaissance Quarterly 29:4 (1976): 599– 634. For an alternative set of linkages to the fifteenth-century Aldine academy, with Varchi again playing a key role, see Martin Lowry, “The Proving Ground: Venetian Academies of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries,” in The Fairest Flower (above, n. 13), pp. 41–52, revising an earlier stance against the Venetian academy’s importance. On the Intronati, see Louise George Clubb and Robert Black, Romance and Aretine Hu- manism in Sienese Comedy, 1516: Pollastra’s Parthenio at the Studio Di Siena (Siena: Uni- versità degli studi di Siena, 1993), pp. 11–15, 31–37, 163–69. 17. Yates, “Italian Academies” (above, n. 4), p. 13; cf. Conor Fahy, “Women and Italian Cinquecento Literary Academies,” in Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society, ed. Letizia Panizza (Oxford: European Humanities Research Centre, 2000), pp. 438–452, p. 440 on the origins of the Intronati. Individual academicians often used pseudonyms as well. 18. Leatrice Mendelsohn, Paragoni: Benedetto Varchi’s Due Lezzioni and Cinquecento Art Theory (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1982), pp. 19–23, also treating the Neopla- tonic and mythological aspects of academic imprese. 19. Suggestive though inconclusive in this regard are Yates, “Italian Academies” (above, n. 4); Lowry, “Proving Ground” (above, n. 16), pp. 43–44, on the aristocratic compagnie della calza; Bodo Guthmüller, “Die Akademiebewegung Im Cinquecento,” in Europäis- che Sozietätsbewegung Und Demokratische Tradition: Die Europäischen Akademien Der Frühen Neuzeit Zwischen Frührenaissance Und Spätaufklärung, ed. Klaus Garber and Heinz Wismann (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 1996), pp. 238–270, on this same theme (p. 244) and on the dissatisfaction with court culture (p. 241); and Clubb and Black, Romance and Aretine Humanism (above, n. 16), pp. 12, 32, 164–169, on the playful, feminine, aristocratic culture of the Intronati. Without more synthetic social history on the Ital- ian academies—sorely lacking in any language—it is hard to generalize about the mo- tives of their founders or the origins of their appellations. Formal statutes, a second innovation of the sixteenth-century academy, arose from the need to give motley memberships longev- ity and discipline outside court and university settings. The disinte- gration of earlier academies after the death or persecution of their charismatic founders illustrated the need to fix a corporate iden- tity.20 Statutes provided meeting schedules and elaborate procedures for electing officers and inducting members. Most prescribed pun- ishments for nonattendance or, in the case of the Aldine Academy at Venice, mispronunciation of Greek. They often emphasized the depravity of man in his pre-academic state. Together with annual banquets, eulogies for retiring and deceased members, and the re- cruitment of members from different occupations and localities, statutes reveal the academy as the institutional descendant of Italy’s lay confraternities. These religious mutual-aid societies contrasted, structurally, with the local intra-occupational guilds (università), of which the university was one example.21 Unlike confraternities, however, with their active charitable efforts, academies generally held themselves aloof from common society. Their use of formal written constitutions, outside of a political context, with neither economic nor charitable aims at heart, made them, as much as the guilds or the communes, the true progenitors of the European civil- society movement that came to fruition in the eighteenth and nine- teenth centuries.22 Later, freemasonic lodges in particular accentu- ated and institutionalized a division already implicit in the Italian academy: that between the profanity of the outer world and the need to withdraw to a quasi-sacred space where knowledge and vir- tue could thrive.23 236 Configurations 20. Aldo Manuzio’s Academy at Venice exemplifies the former and Pomponius Leto’s Roman Academy, persecuted by the pope in 1468, the latter; see, respectively, Lowry, “Proving Ground” (above, n. 16) and Ingrid D. Rowland, The Culture of the High Renais- sance: Ancients and Moderns in Sixteenth-Century Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer- sity Press, 1998), pp. 10–25. The Aldine is the oldest with surviving statutes and is in- timately linked to Manuzio’s publishing operations. 21. Lowry, “Proving Ground” (above, n. 16), pp. 42–43; Armand L. De Gaetano, “The Florentine Academy and the Advancement of Learning through the Vernacular: The Orti Oricellari and the Sacra Accademia,” Bibliotheque d’humanisme et de renaissance 30:1 (1968): 19–52, esp. p. 28; Judith Bryce, “The Oral World of the Early Accademia Fioren- tina,” Renaissance Studies 9:1 (1995): 77–103, esp. pp. 89–90 and the notes found there; on confraternities generally, see Christopher F. Black, Italian Confraternities in the Six- teenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). 22. Cf., for example, Antony Black, Guilds and Civil Society in European Political Thought from the Twelfth Century to the Present (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1984). 23. See Margaret C. Jacob, Living the Enlightenment: Freemasonry and Politics in Eigh- teenth-Century Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991) on constitutions One final peculiarity distinguishing the sixteenth-century acade- mies from their predecessors was the adoption of emblems, or im- prese, and the extreme philosophical importance assigned to their proper design. Imprese betokened an openness to the visual arts in an institution otherwise dominated by the written and spoken word. Academies employed artists to help in their design; academicians, in turn, offered their expertise in art history, mythology, and (in the case of Galileo) astronomy in designing emblems for festivals, tour- naments, and other court functions.24 An impresa resembles a knightly or aristocratic coat of arms, a heraldic device. Framed in a rectangle, it usually contains an image in the middle, with the acad- emy motto on top and its name along the bottom, both beribboned. The impresa of the Florentine Accademia della Crusca (Bran) (fig. 1) features a sieve, signaling its members’ intent to separate the wheat from the literary chaff. Its motto, “To pick the fairest flower,” alludes to Petrarch, indicating the academy’s program of preserving the best of Italy’s vernacular literature. The words, then, were intended to disambiguate the image. To contemporary theorists of imprese, words also retained priority over images in opening avenues to the mind and not just the senses. Im- ages remained indispensable, however, in sparking imaginative ac- cess to the esoteric meanings veiled by the device. The cryptic ico- nography of imprese evokes the Platonic theory of forms: rough material objects, they gestured at a transcendental realm of ideas where hidden interconnections were clarified. Hung like “votive tablets” in meeting spaces, they reminded initiates of the gulf sepa- rating them from true knowledge and virtue.25 Platonic or not, such McNeely / Renaissance Academies 237 (pp. 41–51) and the sacred/profane distinction (pp. 120–128). The unabashed elitism of the sixteenth-century academies becomes more intelligible in this respect, in con- trast to interpretations that see in the return of aristocracy and hierarchy merely a conservative reaction against the social openness of the early cinquecento; see Bryce, “Oral World” (above, n. 21), pp. 99–102, for amplification of this point. 24. Roberto Paolo Ciardi, “ ‘A Knot of Words and Things’: Some Clues for Interpreting the Imprese of Academies and Academicians,” in Italian Academies of the Sixteenth Cen- tury (above, n. 13), pp. 37–60, esp. pp. 37–38; François Quiviger, “The Presence of Art- ists in Literary Academies,” in ibid., pp. 104–112; Mario Biagioli, “Galileo the Emblem Maker,” Isis 81 (1990): 230–258. 25. Ciardi, “A Knot of Words and Things”; Quiviger, “Presence of Artists,” p. 105, on the physical locations of imprese. See Yates, “Italian Academies” (above, n. 4), pp. 10– 12, 14–15, 17–18, and p. 12 for the comparison to votive tablets, apparently a contem- porary reference. Whereas Ciardi emphasizes the multivalence of the impresa, Yates argues for its Neoplatonic significance, following E. H. Gombrich, “Icones Symbolicae: Philosophies of Symbolism and Their Bearing on Art,” in Symbolic Images: Studies in the Art of the Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985), pp. 123–196. devices functioned as symbolic condensations of an academy’s mis- sion. Like national flags or brand logos, they provided foci for col- lective identity, though they could always be interpreted in different ways by different people. Imprese, in short, introduced flexibility into academies’ collective culture in the same measure that statutes took it away.26 The move to name, codify, and symbolize sociability as a vehicle of self-improvement is a familiar part of the European voluntary as- sociation, one pioneered by the Italian literary academy. Names, statutes, and imprese each in a different way accentuated worldly imperfection, but equally the capacity to develop virtue through the collective discipline that academic life provided. Secular yet spiri- tual, engaged yet contemplative, academic culture could easily be assimilated to Ficino’s Neoplatonic striving for perfection through reunion with the divine One. But it comported equally well with traditional Christian humility, the burlesque traditions of popular and elite entertainment, the aristocratic tenor of court life, and the local patriotism of times past. Like a stem cell, the academy was pluripotent, susceptible of many developmental paths depending on various external impulses. 238 Configurations 26. See William B. Ashworth, “Natural History and the Emblematic World View,” in Reappraisals of the Scientific Revolution, ed. David C. Lindberg and Robert S. Westman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), pp. 303–332, on multiple interpreta- tions of emblems. Figure 1. Impresa for the Accademia della Crusca. Three such impulses—treated in succession below—caused the academy movement to splinter in the late sixteenth century, spawn- ing new experiments in the study and performance of language, of music, and of natural philosophy. In all these guises, however, acad- emies continued to provide ordinary gentlemen a forum to rehearse erudition, to imitate greatness, and to temper their characters. By learning to sort objective facts from subjective emotions whatever their specific interests, such groupings secured the academy’s insti- tutional legacy to later centuries. The Vernacular Impulse The academy is arguably Europe’s first vernacular institution. It existed to transmit knowledge to a wider society than that encom- passed by the Latin-speaking scholarly world. Comparisons to mod- ern adult-education miss the mark only in overlooking the acade- my’s specifically gentlemanly constituency. Here is a list of topics for public lectures offered in Italian at the Accademia Fiorentina during the sixteenth century: The color of the eyes, anatomy and physiology, love, dreams, grammar, the soul, law and justice, free will, fortune, fate, the elements (earth, water, air, fire), friendship, envy and jealousy, Providence, beauty, honor, the spots on the moon, monsters, medicine (for and against), peace and concord, how the earth was inhabited, human and divine happiness, infinity, eternity, the senti- ments and senses, ideas, divine and human intelligence, fame, eloquence, sculpture and painting, the Bible, nature, comets, predestination, nobility, size of the heavens, size of the earth, size of the planets, arms vs. law, arms vs. let- ters, the sea, rain, the tides, perfection of the universe, time, laughter, meta- phors, cause and effect, affectations (attributes), the qualities of Hell, money.27 Such a roster must have appealed especially to the secretaries, law- yers, ambassadors, and notaries who looked to the academies for serious—but not too serious—edification outside their professional lives. These were men for whom linguistic precision was a way of life in the increasingly bureaucratic world of Medicean absolutism, and herein lies a clue to understanding the evolution of the early literary academies into defenders of vernacular language. The Accademia Fiorentina The Accademia Fiorentina was the staid and more blandly de- scriptive name given to the Academy of the Humid by Cosimo I de’ McNeely / Renaissance Academies 239 27. Quoted from De Gaetano, “Florentine Academy” (above, n. 21), p. 44. Medici just months after its founding in 1540. Cosimo’s diverse mo- tives in co-opting the institution under his patronage all centered on consolidating control over Florentine politics: he wanted to re- call the magnanimity of his ancestor and namesake, Cosimo the El- der, Ficino’s first patron; to restrict academicians from venturing into political topics; and to secure the Tuscan dialect’s place as the leading language of Italy. Cosimo instituted the Fiorentina’s public lectures to supplement its private meetings, allotted stipends to members and kept dossiers on them, and enjoined the academy to render “every science from every other language into our own.”28 Within ten years, this campaign to promote scholarly outreach had borne fruit—in a committee to codify Tuscan grammar. Establishing and regulating an Italian canon overtook the translation effort, soon becoming the official program of the Fiorentina and of its rival, the Crusca, famous for its lexicon.29 Not only did their vigilance estab- lish a model for other European language academies, but the evolu- tion from vulgarizing knowledge to standardizing meanings pro- duced a specifically gentlemanly objectivity later adopted by the scientific academies also. Opening the floodgates of knowledge had raised questions of boundary maintenance, not just toward politics, but also toward women and the popular classes. Women stood to profit the most, intellectually, from the vernacular academies’ intent to breach the male stronghold of Latin university learning. Although academies admitted only a few women, mainly poetesses and princesses, no woman received a university degree before the 1670s in Italy, nor elsewhere in Europe for a long time thereafter.30 Women featured more prominently as objects of literary exercises, in the beginning at least. The Dazed in Siena addressed all their collectively authored 240 Configurations 28. Ibid., pp. 29–34; Michael Sherberg, “The Accademia Fiorentina and the Question of the Language: The Politics of Theory in Ducal Florence,” Renaissance Quarterly 56:1 (2003): 26–55, esp. pp. 27–28, 45, 50; Michel Plaisance, “Une Première Affirmation De La Politique Culturelle De Côme Ier: La Transformation De L’académie Des ‘Humidi’ En Académie Florentine (1540–1542),” in Les Ecrivains Et Le Pouvoir En Italie a L’époque De La Renaissance, ed. André Rochon (Paris, 1973), pp. 361–438; Robert J. Rodini, Anton- francesco Grazzini, Poet, Dramatist, and Novelliere, 1503–1584 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1970), pp. 3–27. 29. De Gaetano, “Florentine Academy” (above, n. 21), p. 45, on issuing a grammar. This continued the precedent set by the Paduan Infiammati, whose campaign to bring knowl- edge to the vernacular foundered when foreign university members began demanding instruction in Latin; see Samuels, “Benedetto Varchi” (above, n. 16), p. 630. Florence differed in having a larger population of interested laypeople and no real university. 30. Fahy, “Women and Italian Cinquecento Literary Academies” (above, n. 17), revises an earlier image of the academies as quite hospitable to women. comedies to noblewomen; devotées of the burlesque, they also con- ducted sacrifici d’amore in which members cast into flames tokens of their unrequiting lovers—gloves, books, or flowers, for example— and then performed sonnets or madrigals in their honor.31 Such was not the culture of the Fiorentina. The division between public lectures (open to women) and private business meetings (closed) established it as an all-male preserve as far as the body’s leadership and official direction were concerned.32 Serenaded son- nets yielded to dry declamations as Platonic love became an ideal debated rather than practiced in academic exercises.33 The marginal- ization of women both fueled and reflected the vernacular acade- my’s transformation from bohemian irreverence at Siena to serious scholarship at Florence. The gentle graces and genuine affections of mixed company receded, and academic life developed an agonistic, disputatious spirit redolent of other male scholarly venues.34 Heated quarrels soon erupted on whether, say, to banish the let- ters k and y from the Italian alphabet, or whether Tuscan descended via Etruscan from Aramaic, the language of Jesus Christ. Establish- ing literary standards ultimately devolved, though, on issues of class. On one side stood those who upheld fourteenth-century written Italian as the basis of a canon built around Boccaccio, Petrarch, and (after his rehabilitation) Dante;35 on the other was a camp extolling McNeely / Renaissance Academies 241 31. On these antics, see ibid., pp. 441–442; Richard Andrews, Scripts and Scenarios: The Performance of Comedy in Renaissance Italy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 91–108. 32. Only one woman is known to have belonged to any Florentine academy, the Alte- rati: Eleonora of Toledo, Cosimo’s wife and the subject, with her son, of Agnolo Bronzi- no’s famous painting; see Michel Plaisance, “L’académie Florentine De 1541 À 1583: Permanence Et Changement,” in Italian Academies of the Sixteenth Century (above, n. 13), pp. 127–135. 33. Claude V. Palisca, “The Alterati of Florence, Pioneers in the Theory of Dramatic Music,” in Studies in the History of Italian Music and Music Theory (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), pp. 408–431, 412–413. 34. Here and elsewhere, there is little evidence that academicians succeeded in deliber- ately cultivating civilità in the same measure as their seventeenth-century successors; see Bryce, “Oral World” (above, n. 21), pp. 94–95, echoing the work of Walter J. Ong. On seventeenth-century academic civility, see Biagioli, “Etiquette, Interdependence, and Sociability” (above, n. 1). 35. Rita Belladonna, “Some Linguistic Theories of the Accademia Senese and of the Ac- cademia Degli Intronati of Siena: An Essay on Continuity,” Rinascimento 18 (1978): 229– 236; Robert Anderson Hall, The Italian Questione Della Lingua: An Interpretative Essay (Cha- pel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1942); De Gaetano, “Florentine Academy” (above, n. 21). Dante had been “denigrated” by Bembo, but was reinstated to the canon by the Florentine academics; see Sherberg, “Accademia Fiorentina” (above, n. 28), p. 28. the virtues of modern spoken Tuscan, which immediately raised the issue of who, to be exact, spoke for the Florentines. Giambattista Gelli, the hosier’s son who rose to become president of the Fioren- tina, emerged as the leading polemicist on behalf of the latter view. Gelli envisaged Florence as a great open-air academy constituted by fine speech, a much better place for non-Florentines to learn Italy’s purest tongue than in the pages of the Decameron, whatever its own merits. Gelli explained, however, that such purity—such urbanità, as he called it—was to be only found among the city’s “noble and qual- ified,” and not among its “plebs” on the city streets.36 Here, he be- trayed the arriviste’s characteristic snobbery toward those more re- cently embarked upon the social ladder than he. To realize their program in the face of the Latinate Establishment, the Gellists traded one form of elitism for another: the intellectual authority of Church and university for the social cultivation of court and palazzo. In this way, the Fiorentina could become an Establishment of its own.37 The Accademia della Crusca Canon formation had epistemological and not just social mo- mentum, however. Even the rambunctious nonconformists who se- ceded to form the Crusca in 1582 succumbed to the rigidification of literary life. The Cruscans, sick of the Fiorentina’s pomp and ped- antry, strained to revive the jocosity of the first academies. Dissent reigned among the dissenters, though, until the new group rallied around a project more monumentally painstaking than anything the mother academy had attempted: the compilation of the Vocabo- lario, whose first edition took from 1591 to 1612 to complete.38 Programmatically, the Crusca reversed the position of the Gellists in taking an unambiguous stance in favor of classical written Italian. But in a bow to spoken usage, it adopted phonetic rather than ety- mological spellings. This accentuated the distance between the Flo- 242 Configurations 36. Sherberg, “Accademia Fiorentina” (above, n. 28), pp. 40–46; Armand L. De Gaetano, Giambattista Gelli and the Florentine Academy: The Rebellion against Latin (Florence: L. S. Olschki, 1976), pp. 137–160, 291–316. This attitude was shared by the Crusca’s greatest critic, Beni; see Paul B. Diffley, “ ‘Uncouth Words in Disarray’: A Reassessment of Paolo Beni’s Critique of the Vocabolario Della Crusca,” Studi Secenteschi 40 (1999): 31–56, quote on p. 53. 37. Cochrane, Florence in the Forgotten Centuries (above, n. 15), pp. 117–118. 38. J. R. Woodhouse, “Borghini and the Foundation of the Accademia Della Crusca,” in Italian Academies of the Sixteenth Century (above, n. 13), pp. 165–174; Robert Devereux, “The Crusca Academy and Its Vocabolario,” Italian Quarterly 11:44 (1968): 67–86, 70–71; among these nonconformists were Lionardo Salviati and Antonfrancesco Grazzini, as well as the more aloof Vincenzio Borghini. rentine vernacular and its Latin roots. Indeed, the Crusca’s leading theorist, Lionardo Salviati, held the fourteenth century as a vernacu- lar golden age from which his own century had lapsed in backslid- ing into Latinisms. His aim was thus modernist rather than archaiz- ing: to restore Italian to a pristine condition from which it could resume an organic development unfettered by ancient authority.39 This was impossible, though, without expanding the canon of “three crowns” (Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio) to encompass the past’s fullest possible range of verbal expression. Hence the amateur lexi- cographers who carried on Salviati’s legacy canvassed some 230 ex- emplary works, still mainly from the fourteenth century, for its dic- tionary entries. This effort made an entire milieu of literary greatness, and not merely the hallowed works of a few individual geniuses, available for future imitation. Rather than offering a mere concor- dance of literary models, the Cruscans reconstructed a purified, ide- alized language around its smallest constituent parts, the words themselves. The Vocabolario could never lay debate to rest—Paolo Beni’s Anti- crusca appeared already in 1613—but it did establish an objective standard around which all subsequent debate would form.40 The single-minded fixation on the meanings of words to the exclusion of grammar, syntax, rhetoric, orthography, pronunciation, and other aspects of language further constricted the wide-ranging schemes to legitimize vernacular learning entertained by the Crus- ca’s predecessors.41 But it also focused the Cruscans on standardizing the meanings of words by establishing a fixed range of their accept- able usages in context (see figure 2, entry for “grembo,” or womb). In this way, the Vocabolario incorporated a century of academic give- and-take on literary merit, entry by meticulous entry, and codified the Cruscans’ own hard-won consensus. Acrimony among men had now been banished from academic culture, just as love toward McNeely / Renaissance Academies 243 39. Peter Melville Brown, Lionardo Salviati: A Critical Biography (Oxford: Oxford Univer- sity Press, 1974), pp. 188–195, 239–241. 40. Diffley, “Uncouth Words in Disarray” (above, n. 36); and Paul B. Diffley, Paolo Beni: A Biographical and Critical Study (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), pp. 98–103, 136–163; see also Bruno Migliorini and T. Gwynfor Griffith, The Italian Language (Boston: Faber & Faber, 1984), pp. 270–273, for a concise summary of debates subsequent to the Vo- cabolario’s publication. 41. Yakov Malkiel, “Spontaneous Speech versus Academic Constraints in Medieval and Renaissance Europe,” in The Fairest Flower (above, n. 13), pp. 9–20, esp. p. 11. By omit- ting grammar and syntax, the Vocabolario’s lexical approach also avoided the danger of constructing an artificial language; the vitality and flexibility of the spoken language thus remained unthreatened, as the Gellists would have wished. women had been previously. What was left was an emotionless com- pendium of verbal facts to stand for the ages: the very repository of objectivity in prose. The dictionary was a runaway success by the standards of 960- page tomes. Germans and Spaniards copied the Crusca, the London Royal Society flirted seriously with following its precedent, and its most famous offspring, Richelieu’s Academie Française, crusades in our own day against Anglicisms like le weekend and le hot-dog.42 As despised as “academism” has become, the evolution of vernacular academies from popular to scholarly institutions established them as a bulwark against the shifting sands of spoken dialect. Later scien- tific academicians—foremost among them Galileo, himself made a Cruscan in 1605—built their claims to communicate with objective meaning on their efforts. 244 Configurations 42. On England, see J. R. Woodhouse, “The Reluctant Academicals: Linguistic Indi- vidualism in England after the Crusca,” in The Fairest Flower (above, n. 13), pp. 175– 184; on the Académie Française and the Crusca, see Frances Yates, The French Academies of the Sixteenth Century (London: Warburg Institute, 1947), pp. 290–297. Other imita- tors included the German Fruchtbringende Gesellschaft (1617–1680) and the Spanish Real Academia Española (1713–present). Figure 2. Vocabolario della Accademia della Crusca (1612). Note the references to Bocc[acio], Dan[te’s] Purg[atorio], and so on. The Orphic Impulse In 1607, the Academy of the Infatuated (Invaghiti) in Mantua produced and premiered Orfeo, about the ancient musician who re- claims his beloved Eurydice from Hell, only to lose her again when he turns back to look at her. Monteverdi’s opera, the first in the stan- dard European repertory, marked the pinnacle of Renaissance musi- cal humanism, two of whose epicenters were Paris and Florence. During the very decades that the official Florentine academies evolved to fix the objective meanings of words in dictionaries, this movement arose to unleash their subjective, emotional effects in song. In Paris, a chartered academy labored to reconcile a hothouse court amidst the strains of the French religious wars; in Florence, musical humanists straddled the academic world and the theater- going public in a by-then comfortably sensuous Catholic Italy. Both groups sought to revive ancient Greek music—a synthesis of word and melody believed by Plato and others to exert a magical, soothing influence over both body and soul. Following Ficino, they viewed musical speech as the conduit of an ethereal spiritus (“breath” in Latin), the physical embodiment of sense (lexical meaning) as sensuousness (sound and rhythm).43 That which the Cruscans would put asunder around 1600 in their dictionary, in other words, the musical humanists of the previous quarter-century sought to appre- hend in its original supernatural potency. But no one in the six- teenth century knew exactly what ancient music sounded like; the absence of any reliable exemplars required academicians to seek out the most accomplished practitioners of modern music to innovate, and not just to imitate. Experiments with new ways to set words to music engaged the diverse talents of poets, philologists, instrument- makers, and mathematicians with a knowledge of harmony; in this way, an Orphic impulse ultimately derived from Ficino’s Platonic Academy steered academicians’ traditional literary skills into cre- ative musical efforts. The Académie de poésie et de musique Founded in 1570 in Paris, the Académie de poésie et de musique came closer to resurrecting Ficino’s Neoplatonism than any other Renaissance institution. It thrived under yet another de’ Medici, Catherine, wife to one Valois king and mother to three more. The McNeely / Renaissance Academies 245 43. See Gary Tomlinson, Music in Renaissance Magic: Toward a Historiography of Others (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), pp. 101–145, on Ficino’s magical songs; see also Dean T. Mace, “Pietro Bembo and the Literary Origins of the Italian Madrigal,” The Musical Quarterly 55 (1969): 65–86. Académie’s Letters Patent enjoined it to reproduce the music of an- tiquity for its profound moralizing effect on civic life. This promoted Catherine’s quest to harmonize Protestants and Catholics in the months and years surrounding the infamous St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre of 1572.44 The “measured” music produced by the Aca- démie conformed to a rigid, even mathematical poetics requiring that short syllables be assigned quarter-notes and long syllables half- notes in a phonetically rewritten French. Catherine and her circle sincerely believed that the performance of such verse at Valois fêtes drew on unfailing correspondences between mundane music and cosmic harmony.45 Together with the geometrically choreographed court dances anticipating modern ballet, musical poetry conferred the power not simply to overawe tense courtiers, but literally to or- chestrate their heartfelt reconciliation.46 An objective science of emotion realized in perfect music—the Pythagorean vision. A sub- jective language of feeling conveyed through dramatic song—the Orphic impulse. For France’s first vernacular academy, as for others in Neoplatonism’s thrall, the two were hardly distinguishable.47 The Florentine Camerata The informal group known as the Florentine Camerata provided a second point of contact between Neoplatonism and the academy during the 1570s and ’80s. Its patron was Giovanni de’ Bardi—aris- tocrat, polymath, devoted Platonist, and eminent Cruscan. As im- presario for the Florentine de’ Medici wedding celebrations of 1589, Bardi staged a series of lushly engineered intermedi as Platonic alle- gories, complete with figures of Doric Harmony and a presiding Ju- piter, plus cosmological symbolism derived from the Republic and 246 Configurations 44. Yates, French Academies (above, n. 42). See Yvonne Roberts, Jean-Antoine De Baïf and the Valois Court (Bern: Peter Lang, 2000), on the Académie’s leader, and Roy C. Strong, Art and Power: Renaissance Festivals, 1450–1650 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), pp. 98–125, on the Medici–Valois court spectacles. 45. D. P. Walker, Music, Spirit, and Language in the Renaissance, ed. Penelope Gouk (Lon- don: Variorum Reprints, 1985), article 2: “The Aims of Baïf’s Académie de Poésie et de Musique”; on the role of mathematicians, see Natalie Zemon Davis, “Mathematicians in the Sixteenth-Century French Academies: Some Further Evidence,” Renaissance News 11:1 (1958): 3–10. 46. See Carol Lee, Ballet in Western Culture: A History of Its Origins and Evolution (New York: Routledge, 2002), pp. 37–48; Mark Franko, Dance as Text: Ideologies of the Baroque Body (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 32–51, esp. p. 35 on the rela- tion of court ballet to the Académie and to Platonism. 47. See, in addition to the examples below, the treatment of the Venetian Accademia degli Uranici and Fabio Paolini in Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic (above, n. 6), pp. 130–144. the Laws.48 Intermedi, as the name implies, interspersed conventional spoken theater with musical interludes, whereas the Renaissance understanding of ancient music increasingly demanded a synthesis of the two. Dafne (1597) and Euridice (1600), the musical dramas emerging from the Camerata, solved this problem innovatively in recitative, the distinctively operatic form of musical speech that makes continuously sung theater possible.49 Their dramatis personae included legendary musicians—Apollo and Orpheus—who did not strain credulity in being seen to sing all their lines; instead, they fit neatly within the conventions of the Renaissance pastoral, a genre whose popularity helps explain the remarkable efflorescence of pa- gan mythology in an age of Counter-Reformation. In depicting a prelapsarian Arcadia of singing shepherds and dancing nymphs—an ideal world to which our own degraded one may re-ascend—pasto- ral drama acted as the principal legitimate conduit of vernacular Neoplatonism in sixteenth-century Italy.50 Such experiments also revived a Ficinian tradition of Orphic sing- ing that the official academies in Florence had failed to nurture. Ficino had held that a Platonic “divine furor” spontaneously pos- sessed musicians in moments of rhapsody.51 Pietro Bembo, a fol- lower of Ficino and an oft-cited authority in the Florentine acade- mies, likewise spoke suggestively of an “occult power dwelling in every word” in his treatise on the vernacular. But debates on song held in the early days of the Accademia Fiorentina had marginalized the practice of oral performance by focusing instead on Bembo’s rules for written composition.52 McNeely / Renaissance Academies 247 48. Strong, Art and Power (above, n. 44), pp. 133–141, esp. pp. 137–138; Nino Pirrotta, “Temperaments and Tendencies in the Florentine Camerata,” in Music and Culture in Italy from the Middle Ages to the Baroque: A Collection of Essays (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984), pp. 217–234, esp. p. 222; Howard Mayer Brown, “Music—How Opera Began: An Introduction to Jacopo Peri’s Euridice (1600),” in The Late Italian Re- naissance, 1525–1630, ed. Eric W. Cochrane (New York: Harper & Row, 1970), pp. 401– 443, esp. pp. 414–415. 49. Brown, “Music—How Opera Began,” pp. 420–421; Claude V. Palisca, “The ‘Cam- erata Fiorentina’: A Reappraisal,” Studi musicali 1 (1972): 203–236, esp. pp. 221–222. 50. Richard Cody, The Landscape of the Mind: Pastoralism and Platonic Theory in Tasso’s Aminta and Shakespeare’s Early Comedies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), pp. 1–80. 51. Tomlinson, Music in Renaissance Magic (above, n. 43), pp. 189–228; David Kimbell, Italian Opera, National Traditions of Opera series (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 50, 65–66. See also Palisca, “Alterati of Florence” (above, n. 33), pp. 418–419, on the academic discussion of divine furor. 52. Nosow, “Debate on Song” (above, n. 14); see Mace, “Pietro Bembo” (above, n. 43), pp. 72-73, for the quotation from Bembo. The Camerata’s principal theorist, Vincenzo Galilei, explained how musical performance could reacquire the power to stir the emo- tions. In a famous 1581 Dialogue, Galilei argued that the ancient Greeks had practiced a much purer form of accompanied song, called monody, than the unaccompanied polyphony of the contem- porary Italian madrigal. He denigrated polyphony for sacrificing emotional directness and immediacy beneath multiple, competing vocal lines. A lutenist, singer, and experimental acoustician, Galilei well understood instrumental music in its technical and especially mathematical dimensions.53 Despite (or rather because of) this, he wished to detach it from the mathematical disciplines housed along- side music within the medieval quadrivium. Only in being realigned with the Renaissance arts of rhetoric and poetry could music be made subservient to words without submerging the human “affects” traditionally linked to the harmonies of the cosmic spheres. Only in being liberated from Platonic metaphysics could music become the imaginative, communicative art the Renaissance Neoplatonists had envisioned. Opera Inside and Outside the Academies The valorization of rhetoric and literary performance in the Ital- ian literary academies had provided the crucial ingredient, lacking in France, catalyzing this artistic emancipation. Galilei’s work segre- gated music as expressive art from music as exact science, hiving off the Orphic impulse from the Pythagorean vision. This cleared a space for musical drama to develop independently of the political and philosophical aims to which the Valois experiment in Paris had been subservient. In Italy, by contrast, the Orphic impulse, while it took root in the academies, only took flight outside of them, culmi- nating in the entirely new institution of opera. Bardi’s Camerata, in fact, acted merely as the coordinating center of a network spanning formal academies on the one side and even more informal clusters on the other. For example, the Accademia degli Alterati (Altered), another challenger to the Fiorentina’s mo- nopoly on pedantry, overlapped in both personnel and program 248 Configurations 53. Claude V. Palisca, “Was Galileo’s Father an Experimental Scientist?” in Number to Sound: The Musical Way to the Scientific Revolution, ed. Paolo Gozza (Boston: Kluwer Academic, 2000), pp. 191–200. 54. Cochrane, Florence in the Forgotten Centuries (above, n. 15), pp. 116–139, offers an impressionistic but amusing account of the Alterati’s pedantic culture. The Accademia Florentina was another source of Aristotelianism, especially through Girolamo Mei; see Barbara Russano Hanning, Of Poetry and Music’s Power: Humanism and the Creation of Opera (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1980), pp. 28–37. with the Camerata. While the Camerata channeled Neoplatonic im- pulses into musical humanism, the Alterati followed Aristotle in ar- guing for the role of passion, purgation, and catharsis in drama.54 As an antidote to Plato’s palliative ethics of cosmic harmony, this en- dowed opera with its characteristic range of emotional highs and lows. Among informal groups, while the Camerata revolved around aristocratic amateurs with ties to court culture—all of its known members except for Galilei contributed to the 1589 de’ Medici festi- vals—the palazzo of Jacopo Corsi (a rival of Bardi’s) provided a venue for instrumental and vocal experimentation free from the demands of courtly pomp and spectacle. Dafne was first performed there in 1597, and musicologist Claude Palisca credits Corsi’s workshop of practicing musicians with introducing pastoral drama into opera’s development.55 Academies and academicians beyond Florence played key roles as well. Galilei’s mentor Giuseffo Zarlino, associated with the Venetian academies, drew on the Pythagorean system to develop the mathe- matics of harmony.56 The Roman philologist Girolamo Mei, Galilei’s principal informant on Greek music, had been a charter member of the Accademia Fiorentina. The Florentine Academy of the Elevated (Elevati) helped transmit musical humanism to Mantua, home of the Infatuated and to Monteverdi’s premiere of Orfeo. Starting with this performance, opera began increasingly to serve upper-class taste more than the theorists’ designs. It soon spread to Venice, where it finally emerged from the domain of all-male experimentation and flourished in the mixed company of the commercial concert house.57 The membership, aims, ideology, and contribution of the Floren- tine Camerata are today as hotly disputed as the status of Ficino’s Platonic Academy.58 The “greater” Camerata sketched above is best regarded not as an academy at all, but as the germ of a new institution: McNeely / Renaissance Academies 249 55. Palisca, “Alterati of Florence” (above, n. 33), p. 422. 56. Gozza, Number to Sound (above, n. 53), p. 26; Iain Fenlon, “Zarlino and the Accademia Venetiana,” in Italian Academies of the Sixteenth Century (above, n. 13), pp. 79–90. 57. See Iain Fenlon, “The Mantuan Orfeo,” in Claudio Monteverdi, Orfeo, ed. John When- ham (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), pp. 1–19, esp. pp. 3, 8, 11–12, 186n11, 187nn23–24 on the Elevati and the Invaghiti, and Kimbell, Italian Opera (above, n. 51), pp. 63–120, for an overview. 58. Touchstones of the debate include Palisca, “Camerata Fiorentina” (above, n. 49), and Pirrotta, “Temperaments and Tendencies” (above, n. 48); my interpretation derives in part from the innovative sociological perspective adopted by Ruth Katz, “Collective ‘Problem-Solving’ in the History of Music: The Case of the Camerata,” Journal of the History of Ideas 45:3 (1984): 361–377. it was an opera company without an audience. What it gave to op- era—and here it again built on the traditions of the literary acad- emy—was aesthetic independence, a new form of subjectivity. Of all European art forms, opera demands most to be judged on its own terms; unlike painting, sculpture, architecture, or even conventional theater—each mimetic in its own way—opera builds on the appar- ent absurdity of a drama sung from start to finish. The Camerata identified this as a theoretical challenge, provided its practical solu- tion in recitative, and elaborated a philosophical vision to underpin it all: what Louise Clubb terms “mimesis of invisible reality” and Gary Tomlinson, “supersensual verisimilitude.”59 Imitation of the supernatural, the expansion of Aristotelian mimesis to encompass the transcendental realm of Platonic ideas, the use of familiar dra- matic conventions to make musical mysticism accessible: this was the ultimate realization of the Orphic impulse in opera. That such an art form should so tidily reflect an academic synthesis of Plato and Aristotle mattered little, of course, to its devotees. But that is precisely the point: the “Ficinian subjectivity” that Tomlinson iden- tifies as Renaissance opera’s greatest achievement was realized only outside of formal academic culture.60 The Hermetic Impulse Subjective experience, as in opera, varies in emotional content from person to person; objective meaning, as in dictionaries, rests on dispassionate consensus about what constitutes knowledge. Be- tween the Crusca’s literary research and the Camerata’s musical ex- periments, academicians forged a working distinction between the two by focusing, as they always had, on words. All around them, meanwhile, the Italian Renaissance was moving beyond the text: men of learning, with mounting enthusiasm, collected material ob- jects, from Roman coins to Mexican plants, and refined their obser- vations of the natural world in microscopes and telescopes;61 inves- tigations of marvels and wonders, cabinets of curiosities, treasuries of plant and animal specimens, museums of artworks and antiqui- 250 Configurations 59. Tomlinson, “Pastoral and Musical Magic” (above, n. 11), p. 16, also citing Louise Clubb, “La mimesi della realtà invisibile nel dramma pastorale italiano e inglese del tardo rinascimento,” Misure critiche 4 (1974): 65–92. 60. Gary Tomlinson, Metaphysical Song: An Essay on Opera, Princeton Studies in Opera series (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), pp. 7, 8, 14, 25–26, 35–38. 61. Paula Findlen, Possessing Nature: Museums, Collecting, and Scientific Culture in Early Modern Italy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994); idem, “Possessing the Past: The Material World of the Italian Renaissance,” American Historical Review 103:1 (1998): 83–114; Ashworth, “Natural History” (above, n. 26). ties, and the apparatus of the new science all proliferated under courtly and mercantile patronage, but almost completely outside the ambit of the sixteenth-century academies. Most of the latter re- mained bound by their literary traditions. When Galileo Galilei went to the de’ Medicis, it was because he needed their muscle to continue scrutinizing the night sky; when he went to the Accademia Fiorentina, it was to lecture on geometry in Dante.62 The one specifically academic current sparking an engagement with the new science was Hermeticism. Hermetics recognized no distinction between subject and object, knowledge of self and knowledge of nature, the microcosmic individual and the macrocos- mic universe; its brand of Neoplatonic spirituality all but propelled it into investigations of the material world.63 For Ficino and others of an astrological bent, this had taken the form of stargazing: the physician-priest looked to the planets for clues of their influence over the scholar’s body and soul. Others probed the secrets of ter- restrial nature, especially through alchemy, whose search for the philosopher’s stone posited occult linkages between human moral– medical states and the natural elements. Both an operative disci- pline of metallic transmutation and a speculative system of spiritual regeneration, alchemy bridged artisanal practice and scholarly dis- course. It was, in Pamela Smith’s words, “one of the few disciplines in which people worked both with texts and with their hands.”64 But in Florence, during the same decades that Ficino’s Corpus Herme- ticum lost its grip on the academic imagination, alchemy devolved within a few generations into a humble art: metallurgy. In 1544, the Florentine arch-academician Benedetto Varchi defended its use, but dismissed both its spiritual pretensions and grandiose claims to turn base metals into gold.65 Were such a fragmented tradition to congeal into a Hermetic impulse, it would have to come from outside Florence. McNeely / Renaissance Academies 251 62. See Mario Biagioli, Galileo, Courtier: The Practice of Science in the Culture of Absolutism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), pp. 117–118, on this and on his even more literarily conformist presentations for the Crusca, probably in the 1590s. Galileo became consul of the Fiorentina in 1620. 63. This view is known as the “Yates thesis” when it is more specifically (and contro- versially) articulated as a contribution to the history of the Scientific Revolution; see Yates, Giordano Bruno (above, n. 8), pp. 144–156, and, more directly, Frances Yates, “The Hermetic Tradition in Renaissance Science,” in Ideas and Ideals in the North European Renaissance (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1967), pp. 227–246. 64. Pamela H. Smith, The Body of the Artisan: Art and Experience in the Scientific Revolution (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), p. 142. 65. On Varchi’s Questiones sull’Alchimia (1544), see William Eamon, Science and the Se- crets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Culture (Princeton, NJ: Princ- The Accademia del Disegno Contacts in Florence between the material world and the acad- emy instead arose from the fine arts, with the movement to objec- tivize aesthetic judgments. The Accademia del Disegno (Design), founded in the 1560s, has been called the prototype of the modern state-sponsored arts academy. A hybrid academy, guild, confrater- nity, studio, and de’ Medici culture ministry, it embraced architec- ture, painting, and sculpture under the interdisciplinary rubric of “design.” Varchi, in two famous lectures at the Fiorentina, put these arts on a level with literature; and Giorgio Vasari, the great art histo- rian and the academy’s founder, followed him in articulating the principles of disegno.66 Together, they identified draftsmanship as the geometric, abstracting, rational core of all the design arts, what- ever the medium. Color, texture, and other surface attributes be- came, in this Aristotelian view, accidental qualities of matter next to the pure line bestowing form. The masterpieces stocking the Uffizi galleries gave this theory canonical exemplars ready at hand. This meant that, whereas the Camerata had no specimens of an- cient music to go by, the Disegno had no need to innovate; its cre- ativity stymied at birth, it produced such aesthetically derivative, assembly-line “academic” art that Vasari himself disavowed it.67 In- novators like Caravaggio, indifferent to draftsmanship though an unflinching realist, flouted academic style in producing the macabre history scenes that made him the great Baroque painter of emotional extremity. Disegno fit the demands, not of subjectivist, but of objec- tivist representation, building its stylization of visual reality on a canon of time-tested and academically sanctioned works, just as the Crusca would. Galileo was steeped in this tradition (he joined the Disegno in 1613) and famously used it to depict the craters of the moon. While others had equally powerful telescopes, only Galileo 252 Configurations eton University Press, 1994), p. 159, and Mendelsohn, Paragoni (above, n. 18), p. 23; see also Antonio Clericuzio and de Renzi, “Medicine, Alchemy, and Natural Philoso- phy,” in Italian Academies of the Sixteenth Century (above, n. 13), pp. 175–194, at p. 187. On Varchi’s influence, see Samuels, “Benedetto Varchi,” and Lowry, “Proving Ground” (both above, n. 16). 66. Karen-edis Barzman, The Florentine Academy and the Early Modern State: The Disci- pline of Disegno (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 23–33 (on Vasari) and pp. 146–151 (on Varchi and disegno), as well as Mendelsohn, Paragoni (above, n. 18), passim. 67. Indeed, the academy soon reverted to the hidebound ways of the guilds it was in- tended to supplant, ultimately becoming little more than a sophisticated instrument of the de’ Medicis’ cultural program; see Cochrane, The Late Italian Renaissance (above, n. 48), pp. 66–67, on Vasari’s disavowal of the Disegno. had acquired from Florentine disegno the knowledge of shadow and perspective needed to show, in defiance of ancient wisdom, that the moon is not flat.68 His lunar sketches have since become canonical in themselves. Still, his research would never have been conducted under the suffocating auspices of the design academy itself. The “Secret” Scientific Academies The earliest academies devoted specifically to study of the natural world were found in southern Italy as early as the 1540s. The Acca- demia Segreta, so called both because it studied nature’s secrets and because it operated furtively (probably in Salerno), practiced a wide- ranging, medically tinged alchemy.69 This it conceived in typical Hermetic fashion as a vehicle of natural knowledge, knowledge of self, and wider socio-religious reform. Giambattista Della Porta’s similarly named Accademia dei Segreti carried on its traditions until the Inquisition shut it down in 1578, but his bestseller Natural Magic spread its secrets to a pan-European audience. Natural Magic aimed not to reform, but to delight and astonish, mingling chapters on changing metals and counterfeiting precious stones with discussions of monstrous births, women’s beauty secrets, and the pinhole cam- era (camera obscura, famous in art history, which he invented). Other works showcased the ever-popular techniques of physiognomy, palm-reading, and other “sciences of surface” that granted access to the occult processes leaving “signatures” in the sensory realm.70 Della Porta was not only Italy’s most respected magus, but—sig- nificantly—its most famous comic playwright. He likened marvel- ous phenomena—the prodigies of a “joking, subtle, ingenious, and prodigious nature”—to the comedic poetry of antiquity and the vir- tuoso spectacles of contemporary court life. His own plays revolved around “meraviglia”: outrageous plots, linguistic hyperbole, con- trived complications, identity confusion, and other dramatic devices refined from the popular commedia dell’arte into learned meditations McNeely / Renaissance Academies 253 68. Samuel Y. Edgerton, The Heritage of Giotto’s Geometry: Art and Science on the Eve of the Scientific Revolution (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991), pp. 223–253. 69. Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature (above, n. 65), pp. 147–161; William Eamon and Françoise Paheau, “The Accademia Segreta of Girolamo Ruscelli: A Sixteenth-Cen- tury Italian Scientific Society,” Isis 75:277 (1984): 327–342. 70. On signatures and Neoplatonic correspondences, see Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature (above, n. 65), pp. 213–215; see also David Freedberg, The Eye of the Lynx: Galileo, His Friends, and the Beginnings of Modern Natural History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002), p. 402, on “sciences of surface.” 254 Configurations 71. Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature (above, n. 65), pp. 225–229, quote on p. 217; Louise Clubb, Giambattista Della Porta, Dramatist (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1965), pp. 144–148. 72. See Mario Biagioli, “Knowledge, Freedom, and Brotherly Love: Homosociality and the Accademia Dei Lincei,” Configurations 3:2 (1995): 139–166, esp. pp. 141–142, 157– 158 on Ficino’s Platonic Academy; Clericuzio and de Renzi, “Medicine, Alchemy, and Natural Philosophy” (above, n. 65), p. 193n97. on social order.71 The link in Della Porta’s work between theatrical legerdemain and the production of scientific marvels recalls Shake- speare’s Prospero, for whom Della Porta may have provided a model. Renaissance occultists conflated science and art, magic and theater, object and subject; they operated in a Neoplatonic world of univer- sal correspondences and hidden interconnections, whether probing natural phenomena as practiced alchemists or orchestrating specta- tors’ emotions as ingenious dramaturges. The Accademia dei Lincei The first Renaissance academy to practice natural investigations approximating the standards of modern objectivity was the Acad- emy of the Lynxes (Lincei). First active in Rome from 1603 to 1630, it serves today in revived form as Italy’s national academy of sci- ence. The Lincei at once embraced the new science with, literally, Jesuitical fervor—the Society of Jesus was both an institutional model and local rival—and returned to the full-blown traditions of the sixteenth-century academy. Its cryptic name and impresa refer to the lynx’s preternaturally keen eyesight, its Hermetic ability to pen- etrate and not merely observe the secrets of nature. Its statutes, a perpetual work-in-progress ultimately filling 242 manuscript pages, reverted to a Ficinian, all-male concept of Platonic love to segregate its membership from all carnal and profane distractions.72 In other ways, however, the Lincei finally stripped Ficinian meta- physics from the Hermetic impulse and gave expression to a wide- ranging and proto-scientific empiricism. Federico Cesi, the Roman aristocrat who founded the academy at age 18, may have been an avid follower of horoscopes, but his ideal of academic conduct pre- supposed no avenues of occult insight. What he called “lincealità” was a purely subjective attitude, a passionate open-mindedness to- ward nature; only by being unclouded by metaphysical dogma could the lynx-eyed attain objective knowledge. The same mindset gov- erned the first initiates to the Lincei, many of them émigrés from northern Europe. There, Hermetic alchemy still flourished though McNeely / Renaissance Academies 255 in the form of Paracelsian medicine, thus standing much closer to artisanal practices and empirical therapies.73 In its objectification of the natural world, the Lincei reached its symbolic turning point between 1610, when it inducted Della Porta, and 1611, when Galileo joined. Florentine disegno intertwined with Neapolitan Hermeticism in the Lincei’s dedication to natural his- tory, which far overshadowed their engagement with astronomy. Their greatest collective achievement was the Tesoro Messicano, the vast collection of New World plants, animals, and minerals that the academicians subjected to microscopic scrutiny. David Freedberg’s copiously illustrated analysis of the Lincei chronicles its failed strug- gle to depict the generic traits of these specimens without sacrificing a whit of each one’s details.74 Picture warred with diagram, maximal realism with schematic simplification, color and detail with the pure line, surface signatures with essential characteristics, and, ultimately, all that emerged was a vast trove of lavish drawings with little taxo- nomic value. If Galileo’s renditions of moon craters represent the triumph of disegno as a paradigm of mimetic representation, the Lin- cei’s natural history pictures depict the birth pains of a Hermeticism made more rigorously empirical: only an empiricist could muster the patience and discipline to observe nature’s details uncontami- nated by occultist presuppositions, but only a Hermetic could be- lieve that the accumulation of sensory facts, when pursued so dog- gedly, would open the book of nature to deeper human understanding. The Lincei’s successor academies, starting with the Florentine Ac- cademia del Cimento (Experiment), abandoned the passivity of mere observation, both celestial and terrestrial; instead, they upheld the contrivance of marvels as the royal road to objectivity—the “testing and retesting” of anomalous phenomena, in the Cimento’s motto—that made them commonplace by repetition. Biagioli, Shapin, Daston, and others have shown how this new emphasis on experiment marked a great mid-seventeenth-century epistemologi- 73. Anna Maria Partini, “I Primi Lincei E L’ermetismo,” Rendiconti dell’Accademia Nazi- onale dei Lincei. Classe di Scienze morali, stoiche e filologische 8:41 (1986): 59–83; Cleri- cuzio and de Renzi, “Medicine, Alchemy, and Natural Philosophy” (above, n. 65), pp. 181, 186–187, 192; Pietro Redondi, Galileo Heretic (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987), pp. 86–87. On Paracelsianism as a practical, artisanal strain of alchemy, see Smith, Body of the Artisan (above, n. 64), pp. 155–182. 74. See Freedberg, Eye of the Lynx (above, n. 70), pp. 245–274, on the Mexican Treasury, and also pp. 5–9, 349–351, 388–390, 397–416 for general conclusions. Freedberg does not explicitly link the Lincei’s pictorial epistemology to disegno, but his treatment of diagram, geometry, and, especially, color implicitly invoke it. 256 Configurations cal divide.75 But only the prior supposition of observers’ objectivity could relieve their experimental theater from suspicions of Hermetic magic: by disciplining members to adhere to dispassionate standards enshrined in their statutes, mottoes, and mission, the Renaissance academy made a lasting institutional contribution to modern sci- ence. Conclusion By the seventeenth century, academicians had acquired the Mi- das touch: they bestowed upon everything within their purview the gold standard of objectivity, simultaneously depriving their subject matter of the life, spirit, and mystery with which Ficino’s metaphys- ical quests had imbued it. Thus the Crusca drained sound, magic, and feeling from words and objectified them quite literally in the form of a dictionary; the Disegno managed to produce a sterile aes- thetics in the very capital of Italian Renaissance art; the Lincei sepa- rated the human passion for knowledge from its expression in the disciplined, empirical study of natural objects; and the Camerata was the exception proving the rule: opera, though it originated as an academic experiment, only gained the ability to convey emotion as an independent, nonacademic art form. In none of these cases was the court patronage emphasized by the historiography necessary for what amounted to self-sustaining aca- demic endeavors, nor was it anywhere sufficient. Courtiers are, at worst, craven flatterers and, at best, credulous, enthusiastic dilet- tantes. In Catherine de’ Medici’s circle and in Ficino’s gatherings, but most especially in the courts of Rudolf II’s Prague and Elizabe- than England, they were as likely to fan the flames of occultist spec- ulation as to tamp them down. Adopting courtly etiquette may have helped academicians become the arbiters of the new science—later on, but it could also make them the custodians of a stultifying offi- cial taste that, in literature and the arts, often smothered creativity. Such was all too clearly the case with both the Fiorentina and Dis- egno. These official academies traded on the putative objectivity of “gentlemen,” but did little to emancipate them from courtly depen- dence; the Fiorentina rose to influence by marginalizing women and commoners, the Disegno by co-opting artisans, but both ultimately served the de’ Medicis. Academies, like courts, were composed largely of second-tier in- tellects, men like Varchi, Salviati, Bardi, and Cesi—some of them earnest, others egotistical; some conformist, others eccentric. But as 75. See especially Daston, “Baconian Facts” (above, n. 3), p. 338. McNeely / Renaissance Academies 257 an institution, the academy produced few, if any, geniuses. Monte- verdi and Ficino each in different ways hovered on the edges of the academy movement. Galileo joined the Fiorentina, the Crusca, the Disegno, and the Lincei, but was not a “joiner” defined by his mem- berships; instead, he used academies as vehicles for other, greater purposes—they were indispensable to him as autonomous forums. The ability to sway an assemblage of mediocre though fiercely inde- pendent minds is one barometer of objective success, perhaps the best approximation of metaphysical certitude available to inher- ently subjective human witnesses. This was an ability that Della Porta, for all his popularity in the wider culture, evidently lacked, but that Galileo, steeped in the humanist rhetoric institutionalized by the literary academies, evidently possessed in abundance. Neoplatonism, like genius, was a wild card, an antidote to ossifi- cation even among the mediocre. As Orphic impulse, it kept the performative, poetic, experimental culture of the early literary acad- emies alive; as Hermetic impulse, it mediated a shift from words to things as privileged objects of knowledge. But Neoplatonism gave the academic movement its ideology from a position largely outside its institutions. Traditional humanist rhetoric could thus retain its supe- riority at the very moment the orchestration of emotion and the ob- servation of nature became academic pursuits. Crucially to the dis- semination of modern science, words triumphed over things by enveloping experimental findings in the Saggi of the Cimento and the Transactions of the Royal Society. In these and other published academic reports, verbal objectivity reigned supreme at the moment modern prose facticity itself displaced Renaissance rhetorical flourish. Outside of science, those devoted to the pleasures and mysteries of the word began to look elsewhere. The culture of subjectivity, of Platonic love, of poetry and spirituality, of sacred mystery and pro- fane enjoyment, survived in at least two places besides opera: Italy’s Arcadian academies, dedicated to improvisational poetry, with cells all over the peninsula, reintroduced women into academic culture starting in the 1690s;76 and during the same epoch, English freema- sonry, whose statutes, Hermetic emblems and symbols, and “Mason Word” were exclusive to gentlemen, overlapped strikingly in its membership with the founders of the Royal Society.77 If the Arcadia 76. Paola Giuli, “Women Poets and Improvisers: Cultural Assumptions and Literary Values in Arcadia,” Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture 32 (2003): 69–92. 77. Jacob, Living the Enlightenment (above, n. 23); David Stevenson, The Origins of Free- masonry: Scotland’s Century 1590–1710 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 77–189. 258 Configurations was the humanistic mirror image of the new science, freemasonry was its spiritual alter ego. Meanwhile, in Bourbon France, royal academies completed the reorganization of knowledge prefigured in the Medicean establish- ments. After the Académie Française imitated the Crusca in 1635, painting and sculpture came next, in 1648, united as in the Disegno. Dance followed in 1661, the descendant of the ballets pioneered at the Valois courts. The Académie Royale de Musique, founded in 1669, was, significantly, none other than an official opera company. The most creative of the state academies, the Académie des Inscrip- tions et Belles Lettres, was its clearest throwback; founded in 1663 to unearth classical and mythological allusions appropriate for royal occasions, it channeled the still-vital humanism of the Italian liter- ary academy into the study of antiquities, numismatics, epigraphs, and non-European languages and cultures. By contrast, the famed Académie des Sciences (1666) merely embraced disciplines still lack- ing institutional homes elsewhere, notably the mathematical science of music. As influential as it became as a patron of natural philoso- phy, it began as a residual institution, a mere shadow of the encyclo- pedic academy envisioned by its first promoters.78 If the French academies were thus largely unoriginal, one does find in them, for the first time, an institutional separation between science and the humanities. The privilege science enjoys in our own time, both inside and outside academia, has long prevented the academies from being properly appreciated, not merely as precursors to modern objectiv- ity, but as the Western tradition’s most impressive alternative to the research university, with its equally all-encompassing brief. Already, by the time the academies first flourished, the “Renaissance man” was an ideal hopelessly outmoded by the accumulation of special- ized knowledge; but in them, at least, the fusion of scholarly disci- pline and real-world engagement thrived in ways worth excavating now. 78. Yates, French Academies (above, n. 42), pp. 290–311; Albert Cohen, Music in the French Royal Academy of Sciences: A Study in the Evolution of Musical Thought (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1981). An academy for architecture was established last, in 1671. 
work_ko7ngfvi3vckflkhlbzvsavuxq	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 18 June 2018 Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston Deborah Hartry Stein In previous scholarship on the origins of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (‘Boston Museum’) — incorporated in February, 1870 as one of the nation’s first public art museums — art historians have frequently pointed to its similarity with London’s South Kensington Museum (‘South Kensington’), particularly as regards its mission to elevate the educational level of the public and the industrial design of everyday objects.1 While scholars have attributed this shared mission to the influence of the pioneering art historian and fine arts museum expert Charles Callahan Perkins (1823–1886), there has been no systematic and in-depth probing of the specific South Kensington museum practices adopted by Perkins, nor of the precise form that they took under his all-encompassing direction.2 This article undertakes to fill this lacuna in the belief that such a detailed exploration sheds much light on the particular Acknowledgements: I would like to express my appreciation to Elizabeth Heath for inviting my contribution to this edition of the Journal of Art Historiography, for her very helpful editorial comments on my article, and for her generous sharing of archival documentation of George Scharf’s relationship with Charles Callahan Perkins from her own doctoral research. I would also like to thank Keith Morgan, Professor Emeritus, History of Art & Architecture and American & New England Studies at Boston University, for his incisive comments from which this article has considerably benefitted. Sincere thanks are also due to Corina Meyer and Susanna Avery-Quash for their careful reviews and most helpful commentaries. 1 See, for example, Walter Muir Whitehill, Museum of Fine Arts Boston: A Centennial History, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1970, 8–10 and 26–27; Michael Conforti, ‘The Idealist Enterprise and the Applied Arts’, in: Malcolm Baker and Brenda Richardson, eds, A Grand Design: The Art of the Victoria and Albert Museum, New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1997, 40–44; and Hina Hirayama, With Éclat, The Boston Athenaeum and the Origin of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Boston: Boston Athenaeum, 2013, 83–88. I am indebted to Hina Hirayama for her unflagging support and enthusiasm for my research into Charles Callahan Perkins. 2 For the history of the South Kensington Museum see Baker and Richardson, eds., A Grand Design; Anthony Burton, Vision & Accident: The Story of the Victoria and Albert Museum, London: V&A Publications, 1999; Elizabeth Bonython and Anthony Burton, The Great Exhibitor: The Life and Work of Henry Cole, London: V&A Publications, 2003; and Susanna Avery-Quash and Julie Sheldon, Art for the Nation: The Eastlakes and the Victorian Art World, London: The National Gallery Company, 2011. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 2 character of the Boston Museum’s foundational years.3 It asserts, in particular, that the privileging of early Italian Renaissance art at the South Kensington had its distinct echo in Boston under Perkins’ management.4 In this regard, the article posits, as a second important institutional model for Perkins, the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition of 1857 (‘Art Treasures Exhibition’), one of the earliest exhibitions to showcase fourteenth and fifteenth-century art in a public exhibition in England.5 Moreover, the article highlights Perkins’ professional and personal relationships with, not only the individuals responsible for this emphasis at Manchester and South Kensington, Sir George Scharf, Jr. (1820–1895) and Sir John 3 The article builds on my recently completed dissertation — the first modern monograph on Perkins’ life and work — in which I claim that Perkins’ scholarship, illustrations, collections, and museum directorship shared the philosophical premise that the visual language of the fine arts, independent of the literary references that had so long been cherished by an elite heavily invested in classicism, could have an equal if not greater salutary impact on the citizenry. As such, he dramatically expanded the conception of exhibition-worthy art to include the early Italian Renaissance among other periods and genres previously undervalued, and he led the way to a museum of fine arts whose comprehensive collections were visually accessible to a much broader public. See Deborah Hartry Stein, ‘The Visual Rhetoric of Charles Callahan Perkins: Early Italian Renaissance Art and a new Fine Arts Paradigm for Boston’, PhD diss., 2017, Boston University. 4 By ‘early Italian Renaissance art’, I refer to works of the fourteenth, fifteenth, and early sixteenth centuries. For the role of early Italian Renaissance art in the formation of the South Kensington Museum see Helen Davies, ‘John Charles Robinson’s Work at the South Kensington Museum’, Parts I and II, Journal of the History of Collections, vol. 10, no. 2, 1998, 169–188 and vol. 11, no. 1, 1999, 111–114; and Charlotte Drew, ‘Displaying Italian Sculpture: Exploring Hierarchies at the South Kensington Museum 1852–1862’, PhD diss., University of York, 2014. 5 I am indebted to Susanna Avery-Quash for pointing out that the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition built upon an even earlier ground-breaking public display of fourteenth and fifteenth-century painting. This exhibit, entitled ‘a series of Pictures from the times of Giotto and Van Eyck’, was held at the British Institution in London in 1848. E-mail correspondence between Susanna Avery-Quash and Deborah Stein, 27 March, 2018. For the role of early Italian Renaissance art at the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition, see Elizabeth A. Pergam, The Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition of 1857: Entrepreneurs, Connoisseurs, and the Public, Farnham, England: Ashgate, 2011; Melva Croal, ‘“The spirit, the flesh, and the milliner”: hanging the Ancient Masters at the Manchester Art-Treasures Exhibition’, in: Helen Rees Leahy, ed. ‘Art, City, Spectacle: The 1857 Manchester Art- Treasures Exhibition Revisited’, Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester, vol. 87, 2005, 53-62; and Francis Haskell, The Ephemeral Museum: Old Master paintings and the rise of the art exhibition, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000, 82–97. For an analysis of the same issue at the London National Gallery, see Susanna Avery-Quash, ‘The Growth of Interest in Early Italian Painting in Britain with particular reference to pictures in the National Gallery’, in: Dillian Gordon, The Fifteenth Century Italian Paintings, vol. 1, London: National Gallery Company, 2003. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 3 Charles Robinson (1824–1913), respectively, but also the leading adviser to the British Government on the fine arts at this time, Gustav Friedrich Waagen (1794– 1868), who strongly influenced Scharf and Robinson. Insofar as Scharf and Robinson’s strategies at Manchester and South Kensington were designed in part to overcome resistance from a number of worthies in the English art world to the public display of early Italian Renaissance art, a challenge that Perkins himself faced in establishing a fine arts museum in Boston, his close relationship with these individuals adds much substance to this article’s focus.6 After a brief introduction to Perkins’ youthful milieu, the article details his extensive and first-hand involvement with northern European art historical and museological developments, connects the key elements of his programme for American fine arts museums to these developments, and concludes with a demonstration of the close ties between Perkins’ specific strategies at the Boston Museum and those inaugurated at the South Kensington. Figure 1 Charles Callahan Perkins, c. 1875. Photograph, 19.7 x 14 cm (mount). Boston: Boston Athenaeum. Gift of the Estate of Miss Eliza Callahan Cleveland, 1914. Photograph © Boston Athenaeum. 6 Biases against early Italian Renaissance art on both sides of the Atlantic had complex histories. Common to both were anti-papist sentiments as well as views on artistic merit that privileged the naturalism and polish of the High Renaissance and beyond over the less advanced technical virtuosity of the trecento and quattrocento. For a broad treatment of the phenomenon, see John Hale, England and the Italian Renaissance: The Growth of Interest in its History and Art, 3rd ed., London: Fontana Press, 1996. See also Robyn Cooper ‘The Growth of Interest in Early Italian Painting in Britain: George Darley and the Athenaeum, 1834-1846’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol. 43, 1980 and Avery-Quash, ‘Pictures in the National Gallery’, for a discussion of British views on early Italian art. See Stein, ‘A New Fine Arts Paradigm’, 2 and 331-332 on similar views in Boston. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 4 Charles Callahan Perkins (1823–1886) was born on Pearl Street in the Old South End of Boston.7 (Fig. 1) As the scion of a major Boston family, Perkins was part of an extraordinarily tight-knit community of elites, a community which shaped his cultural consciousness in a profound manner.8 In 1829, at the age of six, Perkins lost his father, a tragedy which naturally imposed a great emotional toll, but did have the salutary effect of exposing him in his youth to certain members of the cultural avant-garde of Boston who, as his guardians or close associates of the same, were a significant presence in his life.9 Furthermore, leadership in the fine arts was in Perkins’ blood. In 1822, Perkins’ grandfather, James Perkins (1761–1822), donated his residence on Pearl Street to the Athenaeum, Boston’s premier cultural organization founded in 1807, so that they might have the space needed for their growing book collections and at the same time deliver on their promise to support the fine arts. In 1827, Perkins’ great uncle, Thomas Handasyd Perkins (1764–1854), inspired and then executed the first annual fine arts exhibition, a tradition that continued until 1873, when the Athenaeum ceded its authority therein to the new 7 Perkins was the fourth of five children of James Perkins, Jr. (1791–1828) and Eliza Greene Callahan (1789–1860). Unless otherwise noted, biographical details cited in this article are gleaned from Samuel Eliot, Memoir of Charles Callahan Perkins, reprinted from the Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Cambridge: John Wilson and Son, 1887; Martin Brimmer, ‘Charles Callahan Perkins, A. M.’, Proceedings of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, vol. 22, May–December 1886, 534–539; and Hirayama, With Éclat, 53–64. 8 This elite community was related by birth, marriage, and political, economic, and social values. For further treatment of the close-knit nature of the so-called ‘Brahmin’ elites, a sobriquet given to them by the esteemed physician, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (1809–1894), see Ronald Story, The Forging of an Aristocracy: Harvard and the Boston Upper Class, 1800–1870, Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1980; Frederic Cople Jaher, ‘Nineteenth- Century Elites in Boston and New York’, Journal of Social History, vol. 6, no. 1, Autumn, 1972, 32–37; Paul Goodman, ‘Ethics and Enterprise: The Values of a Boston Elite, 1800–1860’, American Quarterly, vol. 18, no. 3, Autumn, 1966, 437–451; and T. A. Milford, ‘J. S. J. Gardiner, Early National Letters, and the Perseverance of British-American Culture’, Anglican and Episcopal History, vol. 70, no. 4, December 2001, 407–437. 9 These men included Charles Follen (1796–1840), Harvard’s first professor of German Language and Literature and an outspoken Unitarian minister and abolitionist; Henry R. Cleveland (1808–1843), classical scholar and fine arts commentator; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882), esteemed poet and professor of modern languages at Harvard; and Cornelius Conway Felton (1807–1862), Eliot Professor of Greek Literature at Harvard as well as its 19th President. They were key players in Boston’s development as the so-called ‘Athens of America’, an appellation that has its origins in an 1819 comment made by William Tudor (1779–1830), one of the Boston Athenaeum’s founders. For a discussion of the influence that these and other cultural elites had on Perkins’ childhood, see Stein, ‘A New Fine Arts Paradigm’, Chapter Two. For a recent treatment of Boston’s cultural history in this period, see Thomas H. O’Connor, The Athens of America: Boston, 1825–1845, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2006. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 5 Boston Museum.10 Together, these two Perkins brothers, James and Thomas, literally launched the institutionalisation of the fine arts in Boston. Charles Perkins went abroad a few months after graduation from Harvard College in 1843 with the explicit goal of garnering the expertise to build an academy of the fine arts in his native city. In this Perkins differed significantly from the preponderance of his fellow Bostonians who saw travel to Europe as civilising preparation for a gentleman who would return to a career in the law, medicine, commerce, or the church. Studying and working in Rome, Paris, Leipzig, Florence, and London for close to a quarter-century — albeit broken up by several lengthy returns home to Boston — Perkins came into contact, either directly or by association, with a complex web of early to mid-nineteenth century northern European painters, art historians, collectors and critics who, under the influence of late eighteenth and early nineteenth-century German Romantic philosophy and literature had rediscovered the early Italian masters, Raphael (1483–1520) in particular.11 For example, Perkins spent the year of 1846–1847 in the studio of the Dutch Romantic painter, Ary Scheffer (1795–1858), who, inspired in part by Raphael’s Madonnas, used large areas of pale and flat color and sharply outlined figures that stood out against stark backgrounds in a sculpturesque way to 10 For the history of the fine arts at the Boston Athenaeum, see especially Hirayama, With Éclat. See also Richard Wendorf, ed. The Boston Athenaeum Bicentennial Essays, Boston: Boston Athenaeum, 2009; Stanley Ellis Cushing and David B. Dearinger, eds, Acquired Tastes: 200 Years of Collecting for the Boston Athenaeum, Boston: Boston Athenaeum, 2006; Pamela Hoyle, Jonathan P. Harding, and Rosemary Booth, A Climate for Art: The History of the Boston Athenaeum Gallery 1827–1873, Boston: Boston Athenaeum, 1980; Robert F. Perkins Jr. and William J. Gavin III, The Boston Athenaeum Art Exhibition Index, 1827–1874, Boston: Library of the Boston Athenaeum, 1980; Jean Gordon, ‘The Fine Arts in Boston, 1815–1879’, PhD diss., University of Wisconsin, 1965 and Mabel Swanson Swan, The Athenaeum Gallery, 1827–1873: The Boston Athenaeum as an Early Patron of Art, Boston: Boston Athenaeum, 1940. 11 Leading figures in the German Romantic movement included Wilhelm Wackenrode (1773– 1798), Friedrich Schlegel (1772–1829), and Ludwig Tieck (1773–1853). In 1797, Wackenroder published the highly influential Herzensergiessungen eines kunstliebenden Klosterbruders (translated as ‘The Heartfelt Outpourings of an Art-Loving Monk’), in which he asserted that the most evocative art was religious art. Schlegel shared this belief in the power of religious art, claiming that the deeply-felt Christian faith of the early Renaissance masters shone forth with a purity as yet untainted by the revival of antique paganism. See Hale, England and the Italian Renaissance, 153–155 and and David J. DeLaura, “The Context of Browning’s Painter Poems: Aesthetics, Polemics, Historics,” PMLA, vol. 95, no. 3 (May 1980): 367–388. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 6 emphasize the spirituality of his subjects.12 In addition to this exposure to the early Renaissance revival in paint, Perkins was exposed to literary members of Scheffer’s circle, either in his studio or at one of his salons, who believed that the pure religiosity of Raphael and the early Italian masters was an essential curative in the ‘hurly burly’ of the industrial age.13 In 1857, Perkins and his wife Frances Davenport Bruen (1825–1909) — whom he had met in the late 1840s while they were both living in Rome as part of that city’s culturally rich Anglo-American community — and their baby daughter established residence in Florence. This was to be the lengthiest, final, and probably also most productive of Perkins’ European sojourns, only concluding in 1869 upon the family’s permanent return to Boston. They lived at the Villa Capponi, a storied estate in the hills above Florence that had been converted from mediaeval castle to Renaissance villa in the late sixteenth century by the Capponi family. Soon after arriving in Florence, Perkins determined to turn his talents and researches to the discipline of art history, focusing on early Italian Renaissance sculpture as his specialty and publishing two major texts on the subject, Tuscan Sculptors and Italian Sculptors in 1864 and 1868, respectively.14 Perkins spent a year during this time period (precise date unknown) studying engraving in Paris with Félix Bracquemond (1833–1914) and Maxime Lalanne (1827–1886), both leaders of the mid-century etching revival in France, so that he might ultimately engrave his own textual illustrations.15 We also know from Perkins’ ‘Preface’ to Tuscan Sculptors that he 12 See Patrick Noon, ‘New Discoveries: A Reduced Version of Ary Scheffer’s Christ Consolator’, Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide (August 2009): 1–10; accessed on-line 15/12/15 and 30/2/18 at http://www.19thc-artworldwide.org/ Noon also connects Scheffer to the Nazarenes, a school of German painters who, in the first quarter of the nineteenth century had pioneered the mission to bring back religious content to art, and whose philosophies also had their roots in German Romanticism. For Scheffer and the Nazarenes, see also Lionel Gossman, ‘Unwilling Moderns: The Nazarene Painters of the Nineteenth Century’, Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide, Vol. 2, No. 2, Autumn 2003, 4–5, accessed on 27/12/15 at http://www.19thc-artworldwide.org. 13 Such literary figures included the critic, George Darley (1795–1846), and the novelist turned art historian, Anna Jameson (1794–1860). For Scheffer, his circle, and his Parisian salons, some of the most vibrant such gatherings in Paris at the time, see Edward Morris, ‘Ary Scheffer and his English Circle’, Oud Holland, Jaarg. 99, no. 4, 1985, 294-304. 14 The full bibliographic details of Perkins’ texts are: Tuscan Sculptors: Their Lives, Works, and Times with Illustrations from Original Drawings and Photographs, London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts & Green, 1864, 2 vols; and Italian Sculptors: Being a History of Sculpture in Northern, Southern, and Eastern Italy, London: Longmans, Green and Company, 1868. 15 See Cosmo Monkhouse, Exhibition Illustrative of the French Revival of Etching, London: Burlington Fine Arts Club, 1891, 5–10 and Eric Denker, ‘Félix Bracquemond: Impressionist Innovator – Selections from the Frank Raysor Collection’, Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide, vol. 14, no. 3, Autumn, 2015, 1–10, accessed on 11/1/16 at http://www.19thc- artworldwide.org/. http://www.19thc-artworldwide.org/ http://www.19thc-artworldwide.org/autumn15/denker-reviews-felix-bracquemond-impressionist-innovator http://www.19thc-artworldwide.org/autumn15/denker-reviews-felix-bracquemond-impressionist-innovator Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 7 travelled extensively throughout Italy in this period to make ‘drawings and collect photographs’ as the basis for his illustrations and that he examined ‘all MSS., books, and pamphlets connected with the subject’, presumably also accomplished during these travels.16 The fairly small but significant collection of Italian Renaissance quattrocento sculpture in marble, terracotta, and bronze that Perkins brought home in 1869 was undoubtedly the product of these travels as well. Based on the following circumstantial information, it is clear that Perkins made several trips across the English Channel to London during this last sojourn abroad. First, his publisher, Longmans, Green and Company, was located in London, thus undoubtedly necessitating many visits to this venerable commercial establishment.17 Second, Perkins’ article, ‘American Art Museums,’ published in 1870 reviewed the strategies and operating practices of the South Kensington at a level of detail that could only have been personally observed.18 Third, in addition to his acquaintanceship with Scharf and Robinson, Perkins had developed a strong enough relationship with Henry Cole (1808–1882), Secretary of the South Kensington Museum and a formidable public servant in his own right, to call upon him for assistance in appointing Walter Smith (1836–1886), Headmaster at the Leeds School of Art in Britain, to direct Boston’s new drawing initiatives of the 1870s.19 Taken together, this stretch of time, 1857–1869, was an immensely fertile one during which Perkins soaked up the mix of intellectual, cultural, and institutional currents that proved to most powerfully influence his transformative leadership once home in Boston. In his art historical scholarship, Perkins was profoundly influenced by his friend, the French historian Alexis-François Rio (1797–1874), whose support he acknowledged with gratitude in the dedication to his first major work, Tuscan Sculptors (1864). Inspired, like the members of the Scheffer circle, by German Romanticism, Rio glorified the Christian poetry of religious art of the late mediaeval and early Renaissance periods and celebrated its rejection of the ‘debasing element of scientific or pagan interest’.20 Rio’s seminal treatise of 1836, De la poésie chrétienne, 16 Perkins, Tuscan Sculptors, vol. 1, viii–ix. 17 For a history of Longmans, see Asa Briggs, A History of Longmans and their Books, 1724– 1990: Longevity in Publishing, London: The British Library and Oak Knoll Press, 2008. 18 ‘American Art Museums,’ was published in the North American Review, vol. 111, no. 228, July 1870, 1–29. It will be more fully explicated later in this article. 19 Prior to his leadership post at the South Kensington, Cole (1808–1882) had served for 20 years as head of the Department of Science and Art and had been appointed by Prince Albert to mastermind the Great Exhibition of 1851. For Perkins’ relationship with Henry Cole, see Katrina L, Billings, “Sophisticated Proselytizing: Charles Callahan Perkins and the Boston School Committee.” Master’s thesis, Massachusetts College of Art, 1987. 20 Hale, England and the Italian Renaissance, 153–154. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 8 was highly influential in England.21 Amongst Rio’s devotées there was no less a luminary than the art critic John Ruskin (1819–1900). Also indebted to Rio for their introduction to the early Italian masters were Anna Jameson (1794–1860), novelist turned art historian, and Alexander William Crawford, Lord Lindsay (1812–1880), who, along with Jameson, was one of the first British authors to publish on these painters, and who also assembled an impressive collection of their works.22 Having been immersed in Scheffer’s circle and introduced to the field of art history by Rio, Perkins was strongly persuaded in his own scholarship of not only the merits of early Italian Renaissance art, but also of the self-absorption and paganism — in other words, decadence — of the artists who followed Raphael in the sixteenth century.23 At the same time, Perkins shared a great deal with the more neutral — that is the less polemic and romantic and more research-based, historicising, and encyclopaedic — art historical methods pioneered by the German art historians, Carl Friedrich von Rumohr (1785–1843), Gustav Friedrich Waagen — previously mentioned as the leading adviser to the British government and a personal friend of Perkins’ — and Franz Theodor Kugler (1808–1858).24 For example, Gustav Waagen’s On Hubert and Johann van Eyck (1822), which appreciated mediaeval art as a product of its environment rather than just evidence of a dark period in art, reflected the German’s staunch belief that to represent an artist one must ‘discuss political history, the constitution, the character of a people, conditions 21 Rio had married a Welsh woman in 1834, spoke English fluently, and from 1836 forward made many trips across the Channel, where he was well known and respected by such prominent figures as Prime Minister William Gladstone, the Romantic poet William Wordsworth, the Victorian poet Robert Browning, and the essayist Thomas Carlyle. For treatment of Rio’s influence in England, see especially Delaura, ‘The Context of Browning’s Painter Poems’, 367–374 and Camillo von Klenze, ‘The Growth of Interest in the Early Italian Masters: From Tischbein to Ruskin’, Modern Philology, vol. 4, no. 2, October 1906, 48–62. See also J. B. Bullen, Continental Crosscurrents: British Criticism and European Art, 1810-1910, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005, 93; Hale, England and the Italian Renaissance, 153–154; and Wallace K. Ferguson, The Renaissance in Historical Thought: Five Centuries of Interpretation, Cambridge, MA: The Riverside Press, 1948, 141–143. 22 Lindsay’s work, Sketches of the History of Christian Art (1847), focused on German and Italian sculpture and painting through the fifteenth century. For Lindsay, see Hugh Brigstocke, ‘Lord Lindsay and the Sketches of the History of Christian Art’, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, vol. 64, no. 1, 1981, 27–60 and ‘Lord Lindsay as a Collector’, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, vol. 64, no. 2, 1982, 287–333. 23 Rio, for example, believed that Raphael’s Disputà, of the Stanze della Segnatura of the Vatican, had ‘fixed the limits, beyond which Christian art…has never since been able to advance’. See discussion of Raphael’s decline in Alexis-François Rio, The Poetry of Christian Art, Trans. Miss Wall, London: T. Bosworth, 1854, 85–94. 24 See Mitchell Schwarzer, ‘Origins of the Art History Text’, Art Journal, vol. 54, no. 3, Autumn 1995, 24–25. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 9 of the church, customs, literature, and the nature of the land’.25 However, as testament to the often fuzzy line at the time between romantic and polemical art history on the one hand and historicist art history on the other, Waagen’s scholarship also bore the imprint of the German Romantics in his condemnation of artists after Raphael as well as in his adoption of the philosopher Friedrich Schlegel’s almost mystical notion that artworks were ‘carriers of historical meaning much like texts’.26 A voracious reader of classical and modern texts who read Latin and Greek and was fluent in German, Perkins readily incorporated into his own scholarship the historicism, more neutral writing style, and meticulous research of these German historians and philosophers. While Perkins was earning his place as a highly respected scholar of early Italian Renaissance sculpture, he could not help but become intimately familiar with the institutional developments that ran parallel to the art historical trends of both Rio and the German scholars — those of the new public fine arts museum. In fact, scholars and museum directors were often one and the same person, thus embodying the symbiotic relationship whereby the former needed the latter to illustrate his histories and the latter needed the former to guide his acquisition and exhibition practices.27 Despite its short-term duration, the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition — His Royal Highness Prince Albert, an ardent backer of the Exhibition, opened it on 5 May 1857, and it closed on 17 October of that same year — stands tall as an example of commitment to the evocative nature of early Italian Renaissance art shared by art historians and museum founders and directors. As the scholar Elizabeth Pergam so thoroughly brings to light, this under-studied exhibition ‘was a blockbuster avant la lettre, with over 16,000 works of art’, comprising paintings, portraits, works on paper, decorative art, and sculptures visited by over 1,300,000 people.28 Among the many contributions of the Art Treasures Exhibition to the future of art museums highlighted by Pergam, several point most markedly to the importance of early Italian Renaissance art as a tool in the exhibition organiser’s kit. The first such contribution was the legitimisation of the early Italian Renaissance as an aesthetic category worthy of display, as illustrated by the sheer number of works in that category — roughly ninety-five paintings hung on the walls of the Gallery of Ancient Pictures — as well as the expansion of early artists considered noteworthy.29 Previous to the Art Treasures Exhibition there were many in arts leadership in England who believed that such 25 Schwarzer, ‘Origins’, 24–25. 26 Schwarzer, ‘Origins’, 28, f.n. 11. 27 Donald Preziosi, ‘The Question of Art History’, Critical Inquiry, vol. 18, no. 2, Winter, 1992, 7–11. 28 Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 1–2. 29 Examples of artists now considered worthy of inclusion were Ugolino da Siena (1280– 1349), Taddeo Gaddi (1290–1366), and Taddeo di Bartolo (1362–1422). See Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 137–144. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 10 primitivism was only appropriate for a university gallery whose natural province — in their opinions — was the historical progression of art.30 Closely related to this first contribution and emerging in tandem with its corollary in art historical studies, was the privileging of a comprehensive, chronological display that would teach the history of art ‘as a modern day biblia- pauperum…whose visual nature made those lessons more accessible’.31 In order to achieve this kind of didactic display, clearly the early Italian Renaissance had to be strongly and unapologetically represented. The third contribution highlighted by Pergam was the conceptualisation of the exhibition as the ‘resolution of the traditional tension between exhibitions of modern and ancient art and between the fine and decorative arts’.32 In this case, early Italian Renaissance art was particularly apt for two reasons: it created the necessary bridge to an understanding of modern art and its production often existed at the boundary of fine art and craft.33 At the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition, Gustav Friedrich Waagen and Sir George Scharf were crucially important in bringing about the unprecedented numbers, range, and didactic bent of early Italian Renaissance art.34 As mentioned above, Waagen was a highly respected art historical scholar of the Northern Renaissance, who, along with Von Rumohr and Kugler pioneered a more historicist approach to the discipline. He was also passionate about the subject of early Italian Renaissance art. In 1821, when the massive collection of the British merchant, Edward Solly, comprised primarily of trecento and quattrocento art, became part of the royal art collection, the Prussian government engaged Waagen to catalogue it.35 In the 1830s, 1840s, and 1850s he further solidified his knowledge and appreciation of the early Italian Renaissance period as he engaged in a comprehensive research 30 Testimony to the prevalence of this view was that, despite protests from enthusiasts of the earlier styles, in 1853 the dearth of such works at the National Gallery occasioned the establishment of a Select Committee of Parliament to investigate. See Avery-Quash, ‘The Growth of Interest in Early Italian Painting in Britain’, xxvi–xxix. 31 Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 22. 32 Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 16. 33 The porous boundary between fine and decorative art is particularly well explicated in Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 133–203. 34 Francis Haskell, The Ephemeral Museum: Old Master Paintings and the Rise of the Art Exhibition, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000, 83–89. Haskell went so far as to call the Art Treasures Exhibition, ‘a German exhibition’ by virtue of the fact that it was ‘the first Old Master exhibition to have been directed by qualified experts open to the influence of German erudition and connoisseurship’. (83–85) Throughout her discussion of the exhibition in Manchester Art Treasures, Pergam makes clear that Waagen and Scharf were tremendously influential. For Waagen and the Art Treasures Exhibition, see also Giles Waterfield and Florian Illies, ‘Waagen in England’, Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen, vol. 37, 1995, 47–59. 35 The collection came into the hands of the Prussian government as payment of Solly’s debt to them. Carmen Stonge, ‘Making Private Collections Public: Gustav Friedrich Waagen and the Royal Museum in Berlin’, Journal of the History of Collections, vol. 10, no. 1, 1998, 63–64. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 11 project in which he catalogued most, if not all, of the important early Italian Renaissance works in both public and private settings in England.36 As the Solly collection figured prominently in the royal one, early efforts to form the Royal Museum in Berlin (later renamed the Altes Museum) in the 1820s brought Waagen to the attention of the museum’s architect, Karl Friedrich Schinkel (1781–1841), especially with regard to the layout of the painting galleries.37 Given his art historical predilections, Waagen advocated for a comprehensive display that systematically chronicled each successive art historical school from ancient to modern and that was ordered chronologically within each school, a practice that had been gaining traction since the latter part of the previous century in Northern European sites for art display, such as the Düsseldorf Gallery and the Imperial Picture Gallery at the Belvedere in Vienna.38 By definition, this meant that a dutiful curator had to represent works of the early Italian and Northern Renaissance periods which were generally slighted for their primitivism.39 In 1830 when the Royal Museum opened in Berlin, Waagen was named Director and in 1844 King Friedrich Wilhelm IV of Prussia named Waagen the University of Berlin’s inaugural Professor of Modern Art.40 Waagen’s popularity in England as an art expert dated to the mid-to-late 1830s when he was asked to appear as a witness before a select committee of Parliament investigating the quality of design in manufacturing and when his treatise Art and Artists in England (1838) was translated into English. He went on to counsel the Ashmolean Museum of Oxford regarding lighting in its galleries in 1840, to testify at the Select Committee of 1850 on the reorganisation of the National 36 As early as 1835, Waagen catalogued the collection of William Young Ottley, one of the pioneering English collectors of early Italian Renaissance art, which included such masterworks of the period as the predella panels of Ugolino da Siena’s High Altar for Santa Croce in Florence — now of the Metropolitan Museum of New York. See Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 139–141. 37 Stonge, ‘Waagen and the Royal Museum’, 64. 38 See Andrew McClellan, Inventing the Louvre: Art, poliics and the origins of the modern museum in eighteenth-century Paris (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1994), 3-4, accessed 31/3/18 online at https://books.google.com/; Stonge, ‘Waagen and the Royal Museum’, 65–66; and Susanna Avery-Quash and Corina Meyer in their article in this journal edition, ‘“Substituting an approach to historical evidence for the vagueness of speculation”: Charles Lock Eastlake and Johann David Passavant’s Contribution to the Professionalization of Art- historical Study through Source-based Research’. 39 Waagen was far from perfunctory in his approach to the period, acquiring record numbers of early Italian and Flemish works and ensuring that they were displayed and labelled in such a way as to promote their didactic and aesthetic value. See Francis Haskell, ‘Museums and their Enemies’, Journal of Aesthetic Education, vol. 19, no. 2, Summer 1985, 18. 40 The University of Berlin was the first university in Europe to establish an Art History department. See Stonge, ‘Waagen and the Royal Museum’, 66-69. https://books.google.com/ Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 12 Gallery, and to serve as a juror for the Crystal Palace Exposition of 1851 in London.41 In the 1850s, his reputation took on even more lustre with his catalogue of Prince Albert’s collection of Byzantine and early German and Flemish paintings and with Lady Elizabeth Eastlake’s translation of his three-volume authoritative opus entitled Treasures of Art in Great Britain.42 Add to this his arts journal article of 1853 on best practices for the National Gallery in London, in which he highlighted his own pioneering curatorship of the collections at the Royal Museum, and it becomes clear that Waagen loomed large in the English art world of collecting and display.43 As such, it is not surprising that Waagen would have considerable impact on the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition. In fact, Francis Haskell, one of the foremost scholars on British artistic taste in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, credited Waagen’s Treasures of Art in Great Britain as the ‘foundation stone on which the Manchester exhibition was raised’. This view was shared by Pergam, who noted that the Exhibition’s ‘very title’ connected it closely to Waagen’s opus.44 Thus, Waagen’s precedents for display at the Royal Museum as well as his well-known expertise on early Italian Renaissance art were indelibly impressed on the minds of the Manchester organisers as they began to source and select art work and determine methods of display.45 Turning to Sir George Scharf, Jr., it was in his role as Secretary for the Department of Ancient Masters at the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition that he made his mark as an innovative force with regard to early Italian Renaissance 41 Waterfield, ‘Waagen in England’, 49. 42 Prince Albert had acquired the collection from Prince Ludwig-Kraft-Ernst von Oetingen Wallerstein in 1847. Lady Eastlake was the wife of Sir Charles Lock Eastlake, director of the National Gallery. All in all, Waagen’s ‘energy and imagination, as well as his ability to gain acceptance among the ruling classes of a foreign country’ were almost single-handedly responsible for ‘the flowering of museums and exhibitions, national and local in Britain in the 1850s and 1860s’. See Waterfield, ‘Waagen in England’, 47. 43 Gustav F. Waagen, ‘Thoughts on the New Building to be Erected for the National Gallery of England and on the Arrangement, Preservation, and Enlargement of the Collection’, The Art Journal, vol. 5, 1853. 44 Haskell, Ephemeral Museum, 83 and Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 33. 45 Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 22–24 and Waterfield, ‘Waagen in England’, 58. Waagen was also more directly impactful in a number of ways. For example, he provided the Executive Committee with supplemental lists of artworks and collectors from his soon-to-be published addendum, Galleries and Cabinets of Art in Great Britain. Waagen also counselled the Committee on how to most strategically approach prospective lenders, and the Committee often used Waagen’s name in their independent entreaties of same. Those collectors, in turn, consulted with Waagen on occasion as to whether they should, in fact, accede to the Committee’s requests of them. See Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 33–35. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 13 works.46 The son of a Bavarian artist and a prolific illustrator, notably of archaeological excavations in Italy and Asia Minor as well as of the English edition of Franz Kugler’s Handbook of Painting: the Italian School (1851), Scharf had assisted with the ancient pavilions at the re-assembled Crystal Palace in Sydenham in southeast London.47 As Secretary in Manchester, Scharf shared responsibility for sourcing and selection of artworks with the Executive Committee.48 Through their combined efforts they brought in numerous works not yet represented at the National Gallery, which, in many cases, meant early Italian and Netherlandish paintings, making a high-profile emphasis on this period of art.49 In terms of arrangement of the artworks, Scharf chose not only to embrace Waagen’s didacticism in hanging the pictures according to art historical school, but also to augment the installation’s educational impact by positioning the different schools of a similar time period across from one another to stimulate visitors’ comparisons of styles with similar dates of production.50 In this, Scharf was aided by the architectural plan of the Exhibition’s huge purpose-built structure that was based on the basilican form with a wide central corridor that travelled the entire length of its east-west axis and was flanked by three galleries each to the north and south. Thus, Scharf was able to use the length of the southern wall of the southern galleries to feature Italian art from Cimabue (1240–1302) to the Mannerists of the sixteenth century, and to place the corresponding German, Netherlandish, Dutch, and French 46 For biographical details on Scharf, see: Haskell, Ephemeral Museum, 84–85; Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 61-62; Helena Michie and Robyn Warhol, ‘Adventures in the Archives: Two Literary Critics in Pursuit of a Victorian Subject’, Victorian Studies, vol. 52, no. 3, Spring 2010, 413–439; Michie and Warhol, Love among the Archives: Writing the Lives of Sir George Scharf, Victorian Bachelor, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015; and Philip Cottrell, ‘Art Treasures of the United Kingdom and the United States: The George Scharf Papers’, The Art Bulletin, vol. 94, no. 4, December, 2012, 618–640. The Ancient Masters section comprised the Italian, German, and Netherlandish works of the Renaissance (fourteenth through sixteenth centuries) and Baroque works of France, Spain, Flanders, and Holland. See Croal, ‘Ancient Masters’, 57. 47 Scharf also applied for the position of Secretary of the National Gallery in London in 1854 but did not win the post despite widespread support from the cognoscenti of the British art world, including a letter from Gustav Waagen, who waxed most enthusiastic not only on Scharf’s knowledge of the history of art, his successful lecture series, and his impeccable character, but also on his illustrations. However, this setback for Scharf was soon forgotten with the huge critical and popular success of the Exhibition, and in 1857 he was appointed Secretary and Director of the recently inaugurated National Portrait Gallery in London, serving in this position with distinction until the year of his death, 1895. Introduced to these letters by Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 61–62. 48 Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 24–25. 49 Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 65. 50 Haskell, Ephemeral Museum, 86; Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 62. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 14 masterworks on the northern wall of the same galleries.51 The didactic impulse served by this arrangement was not lost, as Pergam highlights, on members of the press who commented, for example, that it facilitated ‘the eye to take in at a glance the broad distinguishing characteristics of successive periods and schools of art’.52 Furthermore, given the plethora of collateral materials chosen by the Art Treasure’s Exhibition organisers and aimed at varying audiences, Scharf’s emphasis on these early works further augmented the knowledge and appreciation for them occasioned by the Exhibition.53 At the South Kensington Museum in London, Sir John Charles Robinson, the Museum’s first curator, also looked to early Italian Renaissance art, in particular sculpture, as a crucial tool. Resulting from the same impulse as motivated the Art Treasures Exhibition — that of improving industrial design and elevating public taste — but established on a permanent basis, the South Kensington Museum was founded by the British Government in 1857. In her recent dissertation, ‘Displaying Italian Sculpture: Exploring Hierarchies at the South Kensington Museum, 1852- 1862,’ (2014), art historian Charlotte Drew has provided an illuminating portrait of Robinson’s significant curatorial and scholarly contributions — despite considerable opposition — to foregrounding the early Italian Renaissance at the young South Kensington.54 As characterised by Drew, Robinson’s primary challenge was to negotiate the line between the museum’s stated commitment to improving industrial design through reproductions and his own view that original quattrocento sculptures had much to offer by not only modelling high quality designs, but also by demonstrating that the fine and the decorative arts were two sides of the same coin. Challenges notwithstanding, Robinson built the holdings of original quattrocento sculpture so that by 1862 they formed the largest part of the decorative arts collection at the Museum.55 He also documented the size and importance of the sculpture collection in his catalogue, The Italian Sculpture Collection, South Kensington Museum (1862), virtually reintroducing such quattrocento sculptural giants as Lorenzo Ghiberti (1378–1455), Luca della Robbia 51 See Helen Rees Leahy, ‘Introduction’, in: ‘Art, City, Spectacle’; Croal, ‘Ancient Masters’, 58–62; and Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 61–67 and 139–176. 52 ‘Exhibition of Art Treasures at Manchester’, The Times, 15 May 1857, 12 as quoted in Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 62. Scharf would have extended the Italian line even further if it had not been for the quantity of Spanish and Flemish paintings that he needed to accommodate and his desire to increase the drama of Van Dyck’s Charles I at the furthermost easterly end of the Ancient Masters’ galleries. (Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 85, f.n. 55) 53 Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 93–135. 54 Drew also explores Robinson’s professional practices at the South Kensington Museum in her article, ‘The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating the early South Kensington Museum’, in this journal edition. 55 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 122–132. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 15 (1399–1482), and Andrea del Verrocchio (1435–1488) into art historical discussions of the day.56 Thus it was that Waagen, Scharf and Robinson and their respective emphases on early Italian Renaissance art dominated the art historical and museum world which Perkins chose to inhabit while building his professional dossier in Europe. That he knew these three pioneers of the arts personally had to have deepened the impressions that their scholarship and museum practices had on him. We do not know exactly how and when Perkins made Waagen’s acquaintance, but no doubt his good friend and fellow Boston elite, the historian, diplomat, and statesman, George Bancroft (1800–1891), had played a role as he had long-standing ties to the foremost intellectual centres in Germany, particularly ones made at the University of Göttingen, where he earned his PhD in 1820.57 Furthermore, Perkins himself spent considerable time in Germany during his second European sojourn of 1851 through 1854, by which time he was already a devotée of both the polemically and historically-inflected art historical movements.58 Fluent in German, and eager to learn from the best, it is likely that Perkins sought Waagen out at that time. Whatever the circumstances of their first meeting, Waagen and Perkins clearly shared a great deal of mutual respect and affection, as was patently evident in correspondence between Perkins and Bancroft, in which Bancroft played the epistolary go-between. Bancroft asserted in a letter to Perkins of 28 November 1867 that Waagen ‘overflows in his serene praise of you’. For his part, Perkins requested of Bancroft in his letter of 1 December 1867 to ‘pray remember us all most warmly to Dr. Waagen when you see him.’59 It is also not known when or how Perkins first made Scharf’s acquaintance, although the latter’s closeness to Waagen may well have occasioned the initial point of contact, perhaps even at the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition. Perkins returned to Europe in the fall of 1857 to make his home in Florence, having just delivered what was likely the first art history course in America at Trinity College in 56 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 123–132 and 214–227. 57 Bancroft was one of the first Americans to receive the PhD degree in any discipline. For further biographical details, see A. McFarland Davis, ‘George Bancroft’, Proceedings of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 26, 1890, 355–70. 58 This second sojourn was dedicated to exploring his other major career interest, music. In this pursuit, he studied under the tutelage of the classical cum romantic composer Ignaz Moscheles (1794–1870) in Leipzig. 59 George Bancroft to Charles Callahan Perkins, 28 November 1867, Ward-Perkins Family Papers, Box 2, Folder 2; Charles Callahan Perkins to George Bancroft, 1 December 1867, Ward-Perkins Family Papers, Box 2, Folder 2. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 16 Hartford, Connecticut.60 This experience, in combination with the wealth of influences he had absorbed in Rome, Paris, Leipzig and London to that point, made it inconceivable that Perkins would not have visited the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition before turning south to Florence.61 That he did, in fact, ultimately make Scharf’s acquaintance has been confirmed by Elizabeth Heath, author of ‘A man of ‘unflagging zeal and industry’: Sir George Scharf as emerging professional within the nineteenth-century museum world’ in this journal, who not only brought Scharf’s scholarship, illustrations, and museum leadership to my attention, but also generously shared evidence of his close relationship with Perkins from her own doctoral research. As per Heath’s notes, on 20 August 1883, Scharf sent Perkins a copy of his essay published by the Arundel Society in 1882 entitled, ‘A description of the Wilton House Diptych, containing a contemporary portrait of King Richard the Second’.62 A letter of thanks from Perkins dated 6 September 1883 was tucked in the back of Scharf’s bound volume in which the American wrote of his own essay on Italian sepulchral monuments about to be published by the Arundel Society and his fond memories of time spent with Scharf in London.63 Heath also shared dated entries from Scharf’s diaries regarding meetings in London with Perkins in 1862 and 1881. These entries list the other Victorian cultural elites present, thus testifying to 60 In the summer of 1857, Samuel Eliot, then President of Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut, invited his cousin and close friend, Perkins, whom he appointed a Lecturer on Art (without pay), to give a ‘short course of lectures’ on the ‘Rise and Progress of Painting to the Beginning of the Sixteenth Century’. According to Eliot’s memorial to Perkins, these lectures were ‘a turning point’ in the latter’s career in that ‘from the time of their delivery through all the years that lay before him, he was neither painter nor musician by profession, but a writer and a speaker upon Art.’ See Eliot, Memoir, 8–9. 61 Research into the Trinity College Archives has yielded no records of Perkins’ course materials, a disappointment as this early instance of teaching art history on Perkins’ part was pioneering, preceding not only Charles Eliot Norton’s first art history courses at Harvard (1876) but also the famed British art critic, John Ruskin, who became the first Slade Professor of Fine Art at Oxford University in 1869. 62 Elizabeth Heath to Deborah Stein, e-mail correspondence, 22 January 2015. The Arundel Society was founded in London in 1848 to circulate art historical monographs and engravings after iconic art works to subscribers for the purpose of promoting knowledge of art in Britain, with a particular bias toward the burgeoning interest in quattrocento works. See Tanya Ledger Harrod, ‘A Study of the Arundel Society, 1848-1897’, PhD diss., Oxford University, 1979, 1. 63 Charles Callahan Perkins to George Scharf, 6 September 1883, Scharf Library, National Portrait Gallery, uncatalogued, as transcribed by Elizabeth Heath in e-mail correspondence to Deborah Stein, 22 January 2015. Published by the Arundel Society in 1883, Sepulchral monuments of Italy; mediæval and renaissance was a photographic book (photographed and described by Stephen Thompson, a British artist active in fine art photography in the 1870s) in which Perkins wrote the preface and introduction containing full extracts from the manuscript notes of the recently deceased architect, George Edmund Street, RA (1824–1881). Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 17 Perkins having made the acquaintance of several members of Scharf’s business and social circle of antiquaries, scholars, and museum leaders. Two names stand out, that of Sir Augustus Wollaston Franks (1826–1897), a major collector and benefactor of the British Museum, and that of Sir Richard Wallace (1818–1890) of Hertford House, collector of mediaeval and Renaissance art and founder of the Wallace Collection.64 Scharf and Perkins were both instrumental in bringing early Italian Renaissance art to the attention of the public – Scharf with respect to painting, Perkins in terms of sculpture — and they were both skilled illustrators and musicians who enjoyed an active social life, shared qualities that suggest a warm personal as well as professional relationship. While we cannot state unequivocally that Perkins knew John Robinson personally, it is almost certainly the case given the American’s closeness to other British museum leaders, as just described. Further, Perkins acknowledged his debt to Robinson’s curatorial prowess and scholarly catalogue in his own work, Tuscan Sculptors: ‘The admirable collection of Italian sculpture at the South Kensington Museum, for which the public is chiefly indebted to J. C. Robinson Esq…makes it possible for a student to learn more about it in England than anywhere else out of Italy.’65 As a masterful scholar cum museum curator, particularly as related to early Italian Renaissance sculpture, whose landmark catalogue on the collection of these works at the South Kensington Museum was illustrated with outline drawings, and who was an expert on and collector of Raphael’s drawings, Robinson’s life and works stood out as a model to which Perkins would frequently look once back in Boston.66 64 George Scharf, diary entries dated 15 June 1862; 11 July 1862; and 31 May 1881, Scharf Library, National Portrait Gallery, XXIX-E-9, as transcribed by Elizabeth Heath in e-mail correspondence to Deborah Stein, 22 January 2015. 65 Perkins, Tuscan Sculptors, vol. 1, vii. 66 J. A. Gere and Nicholas Turner, Drawings by Raphael from the Royal Library, the Ashmolean, the British Museum, Chatsworth, and other English Collections, London: Trustees of the British Museum, 1983, 11–12. While uncredited as such, it is not inconceivable that Robinson was himself the illustrator of the 1862 catalogue as he had been a painter and teacher of design earlier in his career. As described by Gere and Turner, Robinson was also a collector of Old Master drawings, including at least one Raphael. Robinson was particularly familiar with Sir Thomas Lawrence’s collection of Raphael’s drawings housed in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford University, which he catalogued as part of a study of Raphael and Michelangelo’s drawings in 1870. In using the term ‘outline drawing’ I am referring to an early nineteenth-century style of illustration that had its roots in the neo-classical tradition of the eighteenth-century sculptor John Flaxman whose spare, clean, and linear minimalist drawings of scenes of Greek mythology and early Renaissance literature evoked the ancients’ nobility and clarity of expression. For an illuminating discussion of this neo-classical drive to reach an ever more minimalist expression, see Robert Rosenblum, Transformations in Late-Eighteenth Century Art, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967, 146–191. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 18 Figure 2 Charles Callahan Perkins, Roundel from the High Altar of the Certosa, by Omodeo, 1868. From Italian Sculptors, A History of Sculpture in Northern, Southern, and Eastern Italy, London: Longmans Green and Co., 133: Plate XV. Photograph of author. When Perkins returned permanently to Boston in 1869, he had published Tuscan Sculptors and Italian Sculptors to great acclaim in both Europe and in America and engraved his own ‘outline drawings’ as illustrations for these texts. (Fig. 2) He also had one more arrow in his quiver, that of his collection of early Italian Renaissance sculpture, briefly alluded to earlier. The collection comprised ten small- scale statuettes, plaques, and bas-reliefs sculpted from terracotta and marble, eight of which were devotional pieces and two of which were emblematic of civic life. In addition, there were eight bronze Renaissance medals of Italian nobles and religious dignitaries crafted in the style of Roman medallions.67 While small, the collection’s 67 This record of Perkins’ collections has been reconstructed from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston’s website and the Art of Europe’s curatorial files. Sincere thanks are owed to Marietta Cambareri, Curator of Decorative Arts and Sculpture at the Museum, for her generous sharing of these files. Dates of acquisition by the Museum also provide meaningful information, as at least half of the objects were donated by Perkins by the time that the Museum opened its doors to the public in July 1876. The remaining half of the collection came to the Museum from Perkins’ wife and children between 1889 and 1923. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 19 intense reflection of both devotional and civic life in quattrocento Florence, certainly speaks to the kind of object evocative of its time and place that Waagen, Scharf, and Robinson believed would, if displayed in a museum, educate and elevate the taste of the public and the design capabilities of industrial workers. Mindful of the prevailing taste for the classical in Boston and the corresponding lack of familiarity and appreciation for the religious art of the early Renaissance, Perkins appeared very strategic in his choice of devotional works, choosing ones that were as humanistic as they were pious. For example, the white glazed terracotta Virgin and Child of c. 1500 by a member of Andrea della Robbia’s workshop, which measures 20 by 14 inches, stresses the earthly love shared by mother and child. 68 (Fig. 3). The Virgin embraces Jesus, here the picture of baby chubbiness, in precisely the way an earthbound mother would do, that is firmly and lovingly under his arm and his 68 Perkins actually attributed the work to Luca della Robbia in the 1876 catalogue. See Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Second Catalogue of the Collection of Ancient and Modern Works of Art Given or Loaned to the Trustees, Boston: Alfred Mudge, 1876, 54. Figure 3 Workshop of Andrea della Robbia, Virgin and Child, c. 1500. Glazed terracotta sculpture, 52.1 x 36.2 x 12.7 cm. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Gift of Charles C. Perkins. Photograph © Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 20 buttocks. The Child in turn nestles up against her cheek and grasps her around the neck, again a very natural gesture for a baby. His left foot even extends slightly beyond the framing ledge, suggesting that he might squirm his way out of his mother’s arms at any moment. The positioning of the left foot also serves to engage the viewer more closely, a feature that emphasises the work’s intended use as a devotional aide, as do the holes near the necks of the figures which would have been used to attach pieces of real jewellery as further gestures of reverence to the Madonna and Child.69 Perkins was also nothing if not strategic in timing his permanent return to Boston.70 His close ties to the Boston Athenaeum — in particular to his brother, Edward Newton Perkins (1820–1899), who was Chair of its Fine Arts Committee — meant that he would have been aware of the challenges to the fine arts there.71 Specifically, Perkins would have known of the pressure placed on the Committee by the Athenaeum Trustees since the mid-1850s to divest the institution of its fine arts functions, and that Harvard University and the Massachusetts Institute of 69 See http://www.mfa.org/collections/object/virgin-and-child-57552 (Accession #76.700). Accessed 12/3/13. 70 Family considerations also played a role in Perkins’ determination to return home in the fall of 1869 and settle his family permanently at 2 Walnut Street on Beacon Hill. Perkins and his wife had determined that their three children, Mary Eleanor (1856–1907), Edward Clifford (1858–1902), and Charles Bruen (1860–1929), between nine and thirteen years of age at the time, should be educated in the United States. See Perkins’ sister Eliza Perkins Cleveland to an unknown recipient (summer 1869), Cleveland-Perkins Papers, Manuscripts and Archives Division, New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations, Box 6, Folder 12, as quoted by Hirayama, With Éclat, 73, f.n. 93. Walnut Street is an extant residence on Beacon Hill in Boston, still seemingly well maintained. Perkins found Boston greatly changed in terms of population, physical landscape, and demographics since he had last made it his permanent home, even since he had last seen it in 1857. See Paul Dimaggio, ‘Cultural Entrepreneurship in Nineteenth-Century Boston: The Creation of an Organizational Base for High Culture in America’, Media Culture and Society, vol. 4, 1982, 39– 40. 71 While the successful launching in 1827 of the first annual art exhibit under the direction of Thomas Handasyd Perkins had unleased great enthusiasm, not to mention exhibition fees, and acquisitions and exhibitions continued apace throughout the 1830s, the arts had been in something of a slump for the two decades preceding the Civil War. The limitations imposed at the institution’s founding in 1807, that the fine arts were to be encouraged as long as they did not impinge on the literary functions of the institution, was at the heart of the situation. Acquisitions had dwindled, exhibitions incorporated the same works —American portraits, copies of Old Masters, neo-classical sculptures, and casts of ancient statues — year in and year out, artworks were regularly banished to musty storage areas, and ever-increasing holdings of books pushed the limits of the facilities on Pearl Street. See especially Hirayama, With Éclat, 17–49. http://www.mfa.org/collections/object/virgin-and-child-57552 Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 21 Figure 4 Stephen Fellow Adams, Statuary Gallery, Boston Athenaeum, c. 1865. Stereograph, 8.6 x 17.3 cm. Boston: Boston Athenaeum. Photograph © Boston Athenaeum. Technology were seeking new homes for their art collections.72 As the brothers were close, the art historian would not have missed the fact that the time was particularly ripe for realising his long-held dream to build an academy of the fine arts in his hometown. Perkins was also well acquainted with the traditional appreciation amongst Bostonians for the visual language of classical statuary, neo-classical statuary and portraiture, and Old Master paintings of the High Renaissance and the Baroque, featuring literary and historical subjects as well as ones from the New Testament and lives of the saints. (Fig. 4) He was equally well acquainted with the long-standing distaste for early Italian Renaissance paintings and sculpture, as evidenced by the fact that elite Bostonians were not bringing such works home from European travels or seeking to exhibit them, despite the fact that they had been in 72 The pressures on the Fine Arts Committee to cede space to the literary side of the Athenaeum’s functions reached a head in the 1860s when the Civil War brought the Fine Art’s Committee’s efforts virtually to a standstill. In March, 1866, the Athenaeum’s Standing Committee ruled that the art collection should be removed. Hirayama, With Éclat, 42–49. Harvard College was in possession of the Francis Calley Gray (1790–1856) collection of prints, which later formed the nucleus of the Fogg Art Museum collection, but at the time, apparently, was peripheral to their mission. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology owned a significant collection of architectural casts it was seeking to relocate. See Marjorie Cohn, Francis Calley Gray and Art Collecting for America, Cambridge: Harvard University Art Museums, 1986, 257–268 and Hirayama, With Éclat, 129. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 22 Figure 5 Descent of Christ into Limbo. Left wing: Transfiguration, Right Wing: Seven Scenes from the History of Moses, second half sixteenth century. Tempera on wood, central panel: 25 x 16.8 cm, left wing: 22 x 16.7 cm, right wing: 20.6 x 15 cm. New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Art Gallery. Photograph © Yale University Art Gallery. vogue amongst private collectors across the Atlantic for half a century. The Bostonian James Jackson Jarves’ failure in 1859 to sell his large and impressive collection of early Italian Renaissance paintings to the Boston Athenaeum provides a compelling example of this distaste.73 Scholarly speculation aside as to personal factors impacting Jarves’ failure, there does seem to be consensus that the ‘primitive’ nature of the works overwhelmed their educational potential, which when 73 Following the rejection in Boston, Jarves exhibited the collection at the Düsseldorf Gallery in New York City in 1860, but was equally unsuccessful in arranging a sale there. Jarves returned to Europe in May of 1861, storing thirty of his pictures in his family home in Boston and the remaining 100 or so at the New York Historical Society, allowing him to exhibit in each city in 1862 and 1863 respectively. In 1867, a transatlantic shipboard acquaintance of Jarves’, Lewis R. Packard, Hillhouse Professor of Greek at Yale University, was so intrigued by what he learned of the collection that when he returned to Yale he brought the matter to the attention of his colleagues. After a thorough vetting process, the University offered to loan Jarves $20,000 with his entire collection as collateral. In 1871, when Jarves defaulted on the loan his collection, which had been exhibited at Yale in the intervening years, became the property of Yale University and is now considered one of the most significant of its kind outside Europe. See Francis Steegmuller, The Two Lives of James Jackson Jarves, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1951, 177–184 and Jarves to Norton, August 1859, in: Charles Eliot Norton, Letters Relating to a Collection of Pictures Made by Mr. J. J. Jarves, Cambridge, Massachusetts: private printing, 1859, 7–10. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 23 combined with their particularly Roman-Catholic form and contents made them quite foreign to most elite Bostonians.74 (Fig. 5) These entrenched views, notwithstanding, Perkins undertook a highly strategic and unrelenting campaign to achieve his goals. That the museum practices that comprised this campaign were, as his scholarship had been, significantly inflected by Waagen, Scharf and Robinson, becomes very clear — despite the absence of explicit documentary evidence to this effect — upon close examination of the practices themselves. To begin with, within a year of his return he had transformed plans for the new Boston museum from ‘preliminary’ to ‘incorporated’ (February, 1870) and had firmly established the museum’s mission as ‘Art, Education, and Industry’ — a trio of values prominently featured on its original seal and certainly bearing the imprint of his European models.75 (Fig. 6) By opening day of 1876, he had also moved the members of the Board of Trustees from a concept of exhibition-worthy art that included largely classical or neoclassical works of sculpture and painting to one that encompassed the fine and the decorative arts and represented not only the early Italian Renaissance, but also ancient Cyprus, Egypt, and the Far East.76 Such remarkable shifts spoke to Perkins’ unequivocal embrace of the philosophical underpinnings of the formation of the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition and the South Kensington Museum. 74 A rather curious, and certainly ironic, postscript to the tale of Jarves’ collection in Boston is that in 1859, when Jarves first offered his collection to the Athenaeum, Edward Perkins consulted his brother Charles, who was in Florence at the time, on the advisability of buying the collection. Charles Perkins advised against the purchase. As a fellow Bostonian and partisan of early Italian Renaissance art, it would seem that Perkins would have been thrilled to see the collection come to Boston. Perhaps professional jealousy was at fault, as Perkins of course had dreamed of establishing a gallery of the arts in Boston for some time. However, all other indications of Perkins’ professional persona are contra-indicative of such an attitude on his part. More likely, as a member of the tightly knit expatriate community in Florence he would have known, at the least, that Jarves had of late experienced financial and marital troubles. See Hirayama, With Éclat, 71–72. In terms of anti-Catholicism, Bostonians had harbored a deep-seated antipathy toward those who practised the faith since the time of the Puritans. Bringing with them to the New World their suspicions of Roman Catholics as heretics and subversives, the Puritans had taken pains to see that none were granted entrance to the Bay Colony. Fears that Catholics would undermine, if not destroy, American Protestantism continued to drive public policy and civil unrest throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, a situation that only worsened in the nineteenth century, when the substantial immigrant waves from Ireland began in the 1820s. For further discussion of anti-Catholicism in Boston, see O’Connor, The Athens of America, especially chapter six, ‘Progress and Popery’, 127–148. 75 The seal was designed in 1871. See Hirayama, With Éclat, 95. 76 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Proceedings at the Opening of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston: Alfred Mudge and Sons, 1876, 5–11 and Hirayama, With Éclat, 131–134. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 24 Figure 6 Original seal of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1871. Boston: Boston Athenaeum. Photograph © Boston Athenaeum. What specifically did Perkins do once back in his native city in order to achieve this result? 77 Perkins’ first move in the late summer of 1869, even before settling into Walnut Street, had been to join the American Social Science Association, headed by his cousin, close friend, and memorialist Samuel Eliot.78 By October, the Association’s Committee on Art in Education had made Perkins chair, from which position he orchestrated the incorporation of the Boston Museum in February 1870 and set the stage for his leadership of virtually every aspect of its first decade of operations. When he joined the Committee on Art in Education, the members were working to bring to fruition a plan proposed the year before to place casts of classical Greek sculpture in public high schools in order to produce ‘a 77 As the scion of the Perkins family who had played such a critical role philanthropically in Boston’s arts development earlier in the century, Charles Callahan Perkins was a well- known quantity in Boston, which certainly gave his speedy involvement and active leadership in cultural activities a boost. 78 The Association, typical of the immodest aims of mid-century social reform efforts on both sides of the Atlantic, had been formed in Boston in 1865 ‘to collect all facts, diffuse all knowledge, and stimulate all inquiry, which have a bearing on social welfare’. See ‘Officers and members of the Association’, Journal of Social Science: Containing the Transactions of the American Association, no. 1, June 1869, 195 and William B. Rogers, ‘Address of the Executive Committee of the American Social Science Association’, 22 November 1865, as quoted in Hirayama, With Éclat, 73, f.n. 96. Emphasis mine. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 25 favourable effect upon the mental and moral training of the young’.79 Given such a clear commitment on the part of Boston’s elites to broadening the impact of ancient art’s educational potential, it must have seemed to Perkins a natural bridge to what he intended to do at the Museum, albeit on a smaller scale. Thus, he selected, sourced, purchased, and transported twenty-two casts for this purpose.80 Ensuing difficulties in finding public school space actually played into his hands as Committee discussions in the fall turned to constructing a new purpose-built structure for the casts and then in late November to ‘the feasibility of establishing a regular Museum of Art’.81 From this point on, Perkins brooked no obstacles, even forming new committees every few weeks as needed, to keep the flame alive until on 4 February 1870, the Massachusetts legislature voted to incorporate the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.82 At the same time that he was pressing forward toward museum incorporation, Perkins was campaigning on several related fronts that underscored the importance of art to education. Very familiar with the central role of drawing instruction at the South Kensington Museum, Perkins joined the effort to implement the Massachusetts Drawing Act of 1870.83 This initiative, just like that of the South Kensington’s, was based on the view that improved draftsmanship was crucial to improvements in the quality of manufactured goods in America.84 Perkins’ employment of his own sketches of early Italian artworks as not only invaluable 79‘Collection of Casts’, Journal of Social Science: Containing the Transactions of the American Association, vol. 3, 1871, 202. 80‘Collection of Casts’, 202. 81 Charles Callahan Perkins, ‘Art in Education’, Reprint, vol. 2, Journal of the American Social Science Association, New York: Nation Press, 1870, 1-2. 82 Hirayama, With Éclat, 74–76. 83 The South Kensington system was described by Perkins in full in his 1870 article, ‘American Art Museums’, in the North American Review. He stated that in response to a poor showing of British industrial strength at the 1851 Crystal Palace Exhibition the government had stepped in to fund instruction in mechanical, architectural, and figure drawing within the South Kensington Museum itself. Further, support in the form of ambulatory collections of drawings, prints, photographs, and books was offered to cities, towns, and villages throughout the United Kingdom so that they might set up their own schools of art. Finally, instruction in elementary drawing was subsidised for poor children and working artisans. (15–17) 84 The Act, the first of its kind in the nation, mandated that instruction in drawing be made part of the required curriculum. It was the result of a petition organised by fourteen prominent members of Boston’s cultural elite in 1869. The petition organisers were: Jacob Bigelow; J. Thomas Stevenson; William A. Burke; James Lawrence; Edward E. Hale; Theodore Lyman; Jordan, Marsh & Co.; John Amory Lowell; John H. Clifford; William Gray; F. H. Peabody; and A. A. Lawrence & Co. See Katrina L. Billings, ‘Sophisticated Proselytising: Charles Callahan Perkins and the Boston School Committee’, Master’s thesis, Massachusetts College of Art, 1987, 44, 45, and f.n. 55. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 26 documentation, but also as the basis for the illustrations of his scholarship, was testament to his belief in the centrality of draftsmanship to the educational enterprise.85 Speculatively, it could have been Scharf’s commitment in this regard, as manifest in his archaeological drawings from Italy and Asia Minor, and in his inveterate sketching in service of the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition and the National Portrait Gallery, that inspired Perkins.86 Perkins also continued his teaching career, which he had begun in 1857 at Trinity College in Hartford. For example in 1871, Perkins lectured on Greek art at the Girls’ High and Normal School in Boston.87 Between 1871 and 1878, he also delivered three courses, twelve lectures each, at the Lowell Institute in Boston, on Greek Art, Italian Art and the History of the Art of Engraving.88 In all of these lectures, consistent with his unflagging commitment to the role of illustration, Perkins employed a stereopticon.89 Finally, in 1869, well before Harvard University appointed Charles Eliot Norton (1827–1908), the highly respected mediaeval scholar and frequent commentator on arts issues, to the newly created faculty chair in the History of Art (1875), they made Perkins University Lecturer in the History of Ancient Art and continued to employ him to teach the history of art for several years.90 Of Perkins’ initiatives that put art to work for the benefit of educating the public and improving industrial design, certainly one of the most important was his 85 Perkins’ commitment to drawing was also demonstrated in a lecture entitled ‘On Drawing as a Branch of General Education’, delivered in Fitchburg, Massachusetts on 27 July 1871. He claimed drawing was ‘the language of form’, and like words, ‘the slightest outline traced by a master hand speaks the thought which dictated it, with unmistakable clearness, to people of every nation and of every clime.’ This lecture was printed as part of a publication entitled, The Papers Read before the American Institute of Instruction at Fitchburg, Mass., July 26, 1871 with the Journal of Proceedings, Boston: American Institute of Instruction, 1872, 81, 85, and 86. 86 See for examples of Scharf’s Manchester sketches, Pergam, Manchester Art Treasures, 140– 143 and for his other sketches, https://www.npg.org.uk/research/archive/archive- journeys/sir-george-scharf/, accessed on 3/11/2017. 87 This was the school that was ultimately able to receive the antique casts secured by Perkins under the auspices of the American Association of Social Science. See ‘Collection of Casts’, 202. 88 The Lowell Institute was founded by John Lowell, Jr. in 1837 to support free lectures to the public. See the Lowell Institute website accessed 25/6/16 at www.lowellinstitute.org. 89 Eliot, Memoir, 13. Even in 1876 when Charles Eliot Norton was appointed the first Professor of Art History at Harvard, he did not use any imagery in the classroom to illustrate his lectures. 90 UA II.10.6.6 President and Fellows OV Reports; UA II. 10.7.2 President and Fellows II OV Reports. Archival details on the curricula for these courses are not available. Nor has documentation been found that would elucidate Harvard’s decision to appoint Norton — in lieu of Perkins who was already teaching the subject — although there is also no evidence that Perkins would have been interested given the heavy load of commitments, especially to the Boston Museum, that he was already carrying. https://www.npg.org.uk/research/archive/archive-journeys/sir-george-scharf/ https://www.npg.org.uk/research/archive/archive-journeys/sir-george-scharf/ http://www.lowellinstitute.org/ Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 27 article published in July, 1870, ‘American Art Museums’.91 In a move that reflected Waagen’s core museological values as further implemented by his British devotées, Scharf and Robinson, Perkins laid out his new visual paradigm in the foremost literary magazine of the city, The North American Review. In itself, this reflected another strategic choice on Perkins’ part as the magazine had been founded and edited by the same elites who founded the Athenaeum and who taught classical rhetoric at Harvard.92 Stressing that the arts of temples and cathedrals had served as ‘active agents in cultivating public taste’ in antiquity and in the mediaeval period, Perkins made the point that in today’s world it was up to museums to play that role.93 That the museum’s function was to promote an understanding of the work’s original setting, aesthetics, and purpose, was certainly a concept that could be traced back to Waagen’s historicism in general and his article (1853) on the proper disposition of the new London National Gallery building in particular.94 There the German scholar stated that a museum had responsibility to ‘realise in some degree the impression produced by a temple, a church, a palace, or a cabinet, for which 91 Charles Callahan Perkins, ‘American Art Museums’, The North American Review, vol. 111, no. 228, July 1870, 1–29. Somehow, Perkins also found time to edit the American editions of two important works in applied art history, Charles Locke Eastlake’s Hints on Household Taste in Furniture, Upholstery, and other Details (1874) and Jacob von Falke’s Art in the House: Historical, Critical, and Aesthetical Studies on the Decoration and Furnishing of the Dwelling (1879). Leading texts in the ‘household art’ movement of the second half of the nineteenth century, a movement motivated by the same concern for industrial design and belief in the moral influences of art that prompted the South Kensington Museum system, these volumes were intended to improve middle class taste. Eastlake (1836–1906), nephew of Sir Charles Lock Eastlake, was among the first to publish on household art, and the tenets of his interior design theories betrayed a strong Ruskinian bias for ‘truth’ and the Gothic style. As such, Perkins’ editorial work on these particular texts, which comprised in both cases lengthy prefatory remarks, formed a natural adjunct to his efforts at the public school and museum levels. See Martha Crabill McClaugherty, ‘Household Art: Creating the Artistic Home, 1868– 1893’, Winterthur Portfolio, vol. 18, no. 1, Spring 1983, 1–2. N. B. Charles Locke Eastlake is often confused, understandably so, with his uncle, Charles Lock Eastlake. The younger Eastlake spelled his middle name with an ‘e’ at the end, which to the extent that his full middle name is spelled out by authors, helps to ameliorate the confusion. 92 The Review was founded by William Tudor, Jr. in 1815 as a periodical ‘which should be distinctively American in character’. In 1819, Edward Everett, distinguished classicist and orator, became editor. He was followed by Edward Tyrrel Channing and the Reverend Jared Sparks, both classical rhetoricians, and in 1864 Charles Eliot Norton and James Russell Lowell, ‘men who at that time had taken a foremost place in American letters’, took over as co-editors. See Julius H. Ward, ‘The North American Review’, The North American Review, vol. 201, no. 710, January 1915, 123–134. The Review is still in publication today. 93 Perkins, ‘Museums’, 2. 94 Waagen, ‘National Gallery’, 101–103, 121–125. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 28 those works were originally intended’.95 Waagen reiterated this basic principle in his testimony before Parliament’s Select Committee on Accommodation of National Gallery (1850) when he stated that ‘in the ancient times of the Greeks, and during the middle ages, the monuments contributed a good deal towards the education of the lower class, and…in our modern times it might be done a great deal as well.’96 Following in Waagen’s footsteps, Robinson also acknowledged this as the ideal in a lecture on the Museum of Ornamental Art, as the previous home of the South Kensington Museum was called when it was housed at Marlborough House. Referring to ‘sculptures, arabesques, frescoes, and mosaics, in their original adaptations’, Robinson opined that ‘we [in London] must content ourselves with gathering such things into museums.’97 Perkins further drew a parallel in his article between the salutary impact that masterworks of music performed regularly by well-trained musicians had on Boston’s citizens and the kind of beneficial impact that the visual arts would make in his city.98 ‘Art is a unit…acting upon a unit, the spirit of man’, Perkins asserted. His statement betrayed not only the training in classical rhetoric that he had received at the hands of Harvard professors, but also the romantic premise that underlay virtually all of Waagen, Scharf, and Robinson’s museum practices, that an art object created a window into the history of the period in which it had been produced. In this regard, Perkins went on to say, Music, architecture, poetry, sculpture, and painting are but palpable modes of transmitting the thoughts of one mind to other minds, and whether these be conveyed through sounds or stones, verse, marble, or colour, the object of art is to move, raise, and instruct us, to take us out of ourselves, and thus make us share for a time in the lofty dreams of the privileged few who are called sons of genius.99 Such a transformative change could only be effected, in Perkins’ estimation, ‘by the organization of comprehensive museums’ whose mandate must be ‘before all else educational’ and must, owing to a dearth of resources — both in expertise and funds — make ‘reproductions of statues, architectural fragments, monuments, 95 Waagen, ‘National Gallery’, 101. 96 Gustav F. Waagen, Report from Select Committee on Accommodation of National Gallery, no. 606-607, as quoted by Waterfield, ‘Waagen in England’, 53. 97 John Charles Robinson, An Introductory Lecture on the Museum of Ornamental Art of the Department, London: Chapman and Hall, 1854, as quoted by Drew in ‘Italian Sculpture’, 133. 98 Perkins, ‘Museums’, 4. This state of affairs, not surprisingly, owed a great deal to Perkins himself, who, during his intermittent ‘home leaves’ in Boston, had involved himself actively with music. 99 Perkins, ‘Museums’, 4. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 29 gems, coins, inscriptions, etc., etc.’ a priority of their acquisition policies. Summarising all of these principles, Perkins stated: …a representative collection which shall illustrate the rise and progress of the arts and their gradual decadence. For this purpose the examples in each department must be arranged chronologically, so that the professor of art and archaeology may use them to point out the broad differences between the sculpture of Egypt and Assyria, may demonstrate in what measure each influenced early Greek sculpture…pointing out as he proceeds how and why sculpture steadily progressed until it culminated in the age of Pericles, and as steadily declined until it almost died out in the Dark Ages, then rose again in the Middle Ages from Niccola Pisano to Donatello, and fell away through the splendid extravagances of Michel Angelo and the corrupt principles of his successors.100 Here Perkins is certainly demonstrating his adherence to the teleological framework for historical analysis that characterised the scholarship and museum practices of Waagen, Scharf, and Robinson. In terms of his points regarding comprehensiveness and chronological ordering, Perkins’ debt to Waagen and Scharf is also indisputable. With respect to reproductions, Perkins’ North American Review article provided a series of detailed specifications for ancient cast collections and a review of the strengths of such collections at the various European museums.101 In this, his thinking was very much in line with Robinson, who, despite his proclivity for original quattrocento sculpture, was under no illusions regarding the necessity for reproductions. In the Introduction to his 1862 catalogue, for example, Robinson stated, ‘A systematic collection of mediaeval and renaissance sculpture, therefore, should comprise more than the actual marbles and terra-cottas; besides the original specimens, it should embrace a well-ordered series of auxiliary illustrations, especially of plaster casts.’102 Perkins concluded his extraordinarily comprehensive and prescriptive rationale for American art museums by noting that the South Kensington was ‘the prototype of the Continental museums, and the model upon which most of them have been formed’, and by providing a detailed verbal map of the collections and operating strategies of museums in Austria, Russia, and 100 Perkins, ‘Museums’, 9. 101 Perkins, ‘Museums’, 16. 102 John C. Robinson, Italian Sculpture of the Middle Ages and Period of the Revival of Art, London: Chapman and Hall, 1862, x. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 30 Germany that had followed in the South Kensington’s footsteps.103 His final recommendation for American art museums was to embrace the motto, ‘festina lente’, to make haste slowly, being sure not to sacrifice quality to quantity.104 As soon as was humanly possible after the February 1870 incorporation, Perkins set about bringing the precepts laid out in ‘American Art Museums’ to life at the Boston Museum with a programme of acquisitions and exhibitions that broke free of the old restrictions on exhibition-worthy fine art.105 In this, the Boston Athenaeum was his generous partner, lending space for collections and exhibitions on its third floor, and funding acquisitions with the intention of donating them to the Museum.106 The management of this process was handled jointly by the Committee of the Museum and the Fine Arts Committee of the Athenaeum. The committees were headed by Charles Callahan Perkins at the Museum and Edward Newton Perkins at the Athenaeum, certainly making for a close-knit collaboration. While the two committees were never officially joined, and thus had no appointed 103 Perkins discusses the formation, collections, and display of the Museum of Industrial Art in Vienna, the Museum at Moscow, the National Bavarian Museum (Munich), and the German Museum in Nuremberg. The following excerpt exemplifies his detailed descriptions. ‘Beginning with Roman antiquities, such as a mosaic pavement…, the visitor [to the National Bavarian Museum] passes on to the Celtic and Carlovingian remains, weapons…gold and silver ornaments found in tombs, ivory caskets, fragments of glass, and figures of saints and symbolic animals in wood and stone. He then visits the Romanesque department, where reliquaries…ecclesiastical vestments…illuminated manuscripts, and some Byzantine paintings of the twelfth or thirteenth century… are collected. In the Gothic division…stained glass windows…carved ceilings…and an immense collection of suits of armor, pieces of furniture, weapons, portraits of celebrated personages, besides divers objects of artistic and historical interest belonging to the Renaissance epoch.’ Perkins, ‘Museums’, 16–24. 104 Perkins, ‘Museums’, 28–29. 105 The discussion which follows is indebted to the thorough accounting of this transitional period in Hirayama’s text. See especially Chapter 4 (97–135). 106 The Museum, led by the Building Committee of which Perkins was a member, began immediately in 1870 to erect its own structure — including raising funds to build it — a complicated task as no sooner had this effort begun and the architects been chosen — Sturgis and Brigham of London and Boston — than the country suffered the economic panic of 1873 and the Boston and Chicago fires of 1871 and 1872, respectively, all of which siphoned off pledged and potentially pledged funds. When the building opened in 1876, only the northwest portion of the Sturgis and Brigham design was completed. Two expansions occurred subsequently in 1878–1879 and in 1888–1889, and even with these the total structure remained just over half of the original design. Within several years of the second expansion it became clear that the Museum would need to relocate, which it ultimately did in 1909 to its present location on Huntington Avenue. See Hirayama, With Éclat, 105–113. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 31 Chair, Charles Perkins was unquestionably in charge.107 On opening day, 4 July 1876, the several thousand works on display at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston formed the visual corollary — albeit on a much smaller scale — to Perkins’ textual prescription, as outlined in his 1870 article. That the Boston Museum was able to accomplish this level of comprehensiveness was certainly owing to Perkins’ acquisitive hand — during the period between incorporation and opening he had acquired three major collections of ancient and Renaissance decorative arts objects, the Cesnola (1870), the Way (1873), and the Castellani (1876) — but also to the Athenaeum’s institutional loan of more than eight hundred objects.108 The large majority of the loan comprised five-hundred photographs of Old Master works, but it also included approximately fifty original paintings, fifty Arundel Society chromolithographs, and twenty plaster casts.109 How then does the presence of trecento and quattrocento sculpture at the MFA function in comparison to art of the same period at the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition and the South Kensington Museum? To the extent that the early Renaissance works added to the comprehensiveness of the MFA’s opening exhibit, that they spoke eloquently to their time and place, and that they embodied the potential to ameliorate contemporary industrial design, Perkins was certainly heavily influenced by all three distinguished predecessors across the Atlantic. That said, given the emphasis on early Italian Renaissance sculpture that he shared especially with Robinson, it will be to Robinson’s textual and display strategies that we will look most particularly in this concluding section of the article. The most notable of Robinson’s strategies, as delineated by Drew, concerned the use of highly adroit language in his catalogues and equally skilful display practices. For example, Luca della Robbia, an artist whom Robinson considered critical to the progress of 107 When the Museum incorporated in 1870, Perkins was made Honorary Director, a title which totally understated the centrality of his functions and suggests, for today’s interpreter, a ceremonial role only. Nothing could have been further from the truth. As Chairman of the Committee on the Museum, Perkins’ scope was that of a Head Curator, in today’s museum parlance. In contrast, General Charles Loring was given the title, ‘Curator,’ but his role appeared to be more of an administrative one. Perkins also served on the Building Committee until it was disbanded in 1879. See Annual Reports of the Museum of Fine Arts, 1876 through 1886. 108 The Cesnola collection was purchased by Perkins for the Museum in June 1870. It comprised in excess of five hundred archaeological objects from Cyprus. The Way collection of close to 5,000 ancient Egyptian objects was donated to the Museum in June 1872. Following the lead of the South Kensington Museum, in 1876 Perkins persuaded the Athenaeum’s Fine Arts Committee to purchase, for the ultimate benefit of the Museum, thirty objects in metals, wood, and textiles from the Castellani collection. Dating from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century, these objects ranged from the secular to the sacred, and were, in the main, of fine design and craftsmanship. Hirayama, With Éclat, 99–103, 122–128. 109 Hirayama, With Éclat, 132. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 32 sculpture and whose work he acquired in significant numbers for the South Kensington, made heavy use of terracotta, a material that did not comport with the Victorian public’s bias for white marble sculpture.110 This bias was fostered by the highly influential British critic John Ruskin.111 Ruskin believed that the use of colour in a sculpture compromised the contrast of light and dark needed for the all- important creation of form, in accordance with the dictates of nature.112 In his 1862 catalogue, Italian Sculpture of the Middle Ages and Period of the Revival of Art, Robinson countered this barrier to the appreciation of Luca by making his first catalogue entry for the sculptor not one of Luca’s better known polychromatic works, but rather a sketch for the white marble Cantoria in the Duomo in Florence.113 Furthermore, Robinson incorporated Ruskin’s ideas into his own descriptive language in the catalogue by claiming for the sculpture that it was superior to Donatello’s similar frieze because of its ‘truthful rendering of Nature, and general elevation of conception’, thus reflecting Ruskin’s famed requirement that art be true to nature.114 Robinson’s second challenge — an ironic one, in light of the first challenge above — arose because his acquisitions policies privileged original historic sculpture, ‘fine’ art, over well-designed and decorated utilitarian objects, ‘applied’ or ‘decorative’ art. In this he was perceived by management, specifically Henry Cole, as working at cross-purposes with the museum’s mission to enhance British manufacturing through the study of applied art.115 This prompted Robinson’s use of language to blur the line between fine and applied art. Looking to Luca della Robbia’s work again as an example, in his 1856 catalogue of the newly acquired Jules Soulages collection of 200 works of majolica pottery, Robinson linked the 110 The details and interpretation of Robinson’s strategies at the South Kensington Museum are indebted to Drew, ‘Displaying Italian Sculpture: Exploring Hierarchies at the South Kensington Museum, 1852–1862’. 111 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 203–214. Drew cites the second volume of Ruskin’s Modern Painters (1846) as his first public declaration regarding the adverse impact of colour. She notes that Ruskin used Luca della Robbia’s works as examples of such an adverse impact. (206–207) 112 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 207–208. 113 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 219–220. 114 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 220. 115 The friction between Cole and Robinson over the interpretation of the Museum’s mission has been addressed frequently in scholarship. See for example, Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 79– 81; Bonython and Burton, The Great Exhibitor, 190 and 211–214; Davies, ‘Robinson’s Work’ Part I, 172 and 181 and ‘Robinson’s Work’, Part II, 111–114. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 33 majolica with the Museum’s holdings of — then only two — della Robbia reliefs by freely interchanging the use of the words ‘sculpture’ and ‘ware’.116 Robinson’s displays were perhaps the most important to his strategy of blurring the lines between the fine and decorative arts. For example, he sought to emulate the marriage of painting, sculpture, architecture and decorative objects found in situ all over Italy, a context that by definition did not discriminate between ‘high’ and ‘low’ arts.117 To achieve this goal, Robinson had to employ both originals and reproductions. For example, in the central court of the South Kensington Museum, Robinson anchored his display around two iconic masterworks of the Renaissance, the first a life-size (eighteen-foot) cast of Michelangelo’s David (1504) and the second, copies of Raphael’s arabesques from the Vatican loggia (1508– 1510).118 Strategically placed in the spaces between the David and the arabesques were a variety of decorative objects representing a range of materials — terracotta, bronze, and wood; a range of periods of art — the early Renaissance to the Baroque; and even a geographic range — that of northern and southern Europe.119 In this way, as Drew’s discussion highlights, Robinson made two points that were crucial to the success of his strategy for a museum intended to support industrial design. First, he demonstrated the degree to which the great masters were an inspiration to artisans of their day. Second, he demonstrated the fine line between artist and artisan — this was especially the case with these particular Raphael copies as they were, in their original location, strictly architectural ornament — and suggested that this porous model was particularly apt for the present day. Perkins, like Robinson, set the stage for easing the Boston elite into his new visual arts paradigm with language, beginning with the catalogues produced in the transitional period of 1870 to 1876. His preface to the 1873 catalogue, for example, was as extensive an introduction to the historical context of the art on exhibit as had been published in the entire run of exhibitions hosted by the Athenaeum since 1827.120 116 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 107–108. Jules Soulages (1803–1857) began collecting Italian and French Renaissance decorative art in 1825. The South Kensington Museum purchased his collection over the period of 1859 to 1865. See ‘Soulages at the V&A’, accessed 30 August 2016 at http://www.vam.ac.uk. 117 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 134–135. 118 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 175–201. 119 See Drew’s article in this journal edition, ‘The colourful career of Sir John Charles Robinson: collecting and curating at the early South Kensington Museum’, for an illustration of this skillful arrangement. 120 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Second Catalogue of the Collection of Ancient and Modern Works of Art given or loaned to the Trustees of the Museum of Fine Arts, at Boston, Boston: Alfred Mudge & Son, 1873, 3–19. http://www.vam.ac.uk/ Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 34 The collection herein catalogued…contains a series of objects which illustrate a wide range of artistic activity in point of time and use of material, including a very valuable collection of Egyptian antiquities, and many specimens of ancient and modern glass, bronze and pottery, Graeco-Italian vases, Italian Majolica, Venetian glass, illuminated manuscripts, tapestry, and pictures; and form an artistic microcosm, well calculated to teach the visitor something of the character and quality of the art-industry of many nations during a long period of the world’s history.121 In this introductory statement, Perkins made crystal clear his aims for displaying art in Boston, highlighting both the encyclopaedic and artisanal nature of the works on display, and tipping his hand to the chronological scope, mix of high and low art, and educational aims of the museum models that he had come to know and value so well in Europe. Additionally, the education of visitors was a clear goal of his catalogue. His preface provided the visitor with a map not only to the location of the objects in the exhibition, but also to the historical and aesthetical context in which each category of objects belonged. Moreover, for virtually every specific catalogue entry he included a title, a description, dates and artists and, in a number of instances, additional historical references.122 Throughout the catalogue, Perkins referred to relevant scholarship and museum exhibits and employed his matter-of- fact, descriptive, and easily-read style. With respect to the early Italian Renaissance, Perkins’ catalogue entries were even more carefully orchestrated to maximise the viewer’s comfort level with this previously disconcerting art. In this regard, he began the acclimatization process in his 1872 catalogue to the exhibition held in the Museum Room on the third floor of the Boston Athenaeum. In the catalogue preface, after establishing the importance of the ancient ceramic arts through a formal analysis of the Cypriote pottery and the Etruscan and Greek — of the Archaic and Classical eras — vases, he transitioned immediately to the collection of majolica plates and bottles, beginning his discussion by focusing on Moorish ware. ‘[It] is what is called Hispano-Moorish ware, [and] brings us to the origin of this beautiful art manufacture. The Moorish potters 121 Perkins, Collection of Ancient and Modern Works, 1873, 3. 122 In support of the ancient works, Perkins addressed the three main divisions of Egyptian history and the related art production; the antique and decorative nature of the Cyprus terracotta pottery and figurative statuettes as well as the Greek glass from Cypriot tombs; and the varying influences and techniques with a bearing on Italo-Greek painted vases, including a glossary of terms for earthenware vessels. In support of the modern works, Perkins discussed the history of majolica wares, bringing the reader up to the fine and more decorative contributions of della Robbia; the aesthetic beauty, advanced modelling technique, and material quality of the early Renaissance bronze medals; and the production challenges encountered with the Gobelin tapestries that had come into the collection. See Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Collection of Ancient and Modern Works, 1873, 3–19. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 35 were…distinguished for the beauty of their metallic oxide glaze.’ He then traced the history of the glazing process through the first half of the sixteenth century, attributing its perfection to the patronage of such enlightened rulers as the Dukes of Urbino and Ferrara who, he pointed out, may have owed their interest in part to the mistaken notion that certain of the designs were Raphael’s.123 Perkins concluded his discussion of the majolica by introducing the creative genius of Luca della Robbia, both technically in terms of the glazing process, as well as aesthetically. Copying Robinson’s strategic employment of Luca’s Cantoria, as just discussed, he transitioned artlessly to the sculptor’s great masterpiece in marble, but also to the fact that this masterpiece was represented in the Boston Museum’s collection in a sculptural cast and that its expressiveness could be linked to that which Dante experienced in the Purgatorio. For excellence of composition and simple, unpretending truth to nature, this group of choristers is worthy of the highest praise. So earnestly do they sing, and so perfectly is the character of each voice conveyed by the facial expression, that like Dante when he looked upon those celestial bas-reliefs, which surpassed the works of Polyclete (Purgatorio, X.Canto), we are in doubt whether we do not hear as well as see...The other casts on either side of this relief are of works by celebrated Tuscan sculptors of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, from Orcagna to Benvenuto Cellini.124 Thus, in one masterstroke, Perkins linked the majolica to the glories of Greek art, the beauty of Raphael, and the enlightenment of the Italian nobility, while at the same time positioning the sculptural casts as being read by the viewer as original artworks encountered by Dante, the mediaeval poet much-beloved in Boston.125 Turning finally to Perkins’ display practices, as may be seen in the Museum floor plans published in 1876, on opening day the visitor progressed from the vestibule to the end of the entrance hall to begin his exploration with Egyptian 123 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Catalogue of the Collection of Ancient and Modern Works of Art, given or loaned to the Trustees of the Museum of Fine Arts, at Boston, Boston: Alfred Mudge, 1872, 11–14. 124 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Collection of Ancient and Modern Works, 1872, 14. 125 The Harvard language scholars George Ticknor and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow as well as the mediaevalist and art historian Charles Eliot Norton were largely responsible for the strength of the Dante phenomenon in mid to late nineteenth-century Boston. George Ticknor had corresponded with European Dantists and taught a Harvard course on Dante in the early 1830s, Longfellow started a Dante Club at his home in Cambridge, and Norton had known of Dante since his early childhood when his mother translated the poet and his uncle Ticknor, whose library he frequented, had introduced him. See James Turner, The Liberal Education of Charles Eliot Norton, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999, 33 and 198. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 36 Figure 7 Floor plans of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, First Floor. From: Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Second Catalogue of the Collection of Ancient and Modern Works of Art Given or Loaned to the Trustees, Boston: Alfred Mudge, 1876, n.p. Photograph of author. antiquities (the Way collection), then on to the ancient Cypriote works (the Cesnola collection) and to three galleries filled with eighty-one sculptural casts.126 (Fig. 7) Of these three galleries, the first two were entirely devoted to Grecian sculptures, while the third and last was split between Greco-Roman and Renaissance ones. As such, the latter, prominently positioned on the first floor with the ancient sculpture of Egypt and Greece, emphasised the continuity of the ancient and Renaissance periods. Even the room’s label on the floor plan, the ‘Greco-Roman and Renaissance Room,’ reinforced this continuity, especially as the number of objects that it contained was evenly split between the two. The Renaissance objects, numbering approximately forty, were almost all quattrocento sculptural casts. Sculptors represented included Ghiberti, Luca della Robbia, Donatello, Mino da Fiesole, and Michelangelo. The subjects of the works were primarily sacred ones from the New Testament, and included even a bust of Savonarola, whose uncompromising stance on the pagan nature of classicism would just two decades earlier have sent off the same anti-popery alarm bells for Bostonians as did the ritualistic works of the Jarves 126 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Collection of Ancient and Modern Works, 1876, 131. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 37 collection.127 However, presented within the context of an historical progression of the arts on the first floor and emphasising as they did the greater naturalism of the quattrocento, these works apparently passed muster with the elite members of the Museum Committee. Thus, between the name of the gallery and the close proximity to ancient objects familiar to and well accepted by the Boston public, the layout on the first floor served to greet the visitor with a comfortable continuity with the sculpture exhibitions of years past. Figure 8 Floor plans of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Second Floor. From: Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Second Catalogue of the Collection of Ancient and Modern Works of Art Given or Loaned to the Trustees, Boston: Alfred Mudge, 1876, n.p. Photograph of author. On the second floor, medium took over from chronology as organising principle. (Fig. 8) The visitor was greeted by a paintings gallery of 34 Old Masters and copies thereof, where, again, continuity with exhibitions of the past eased the visitor on his way to the so-called Loan and Lawrence Rooms. Between these two galleries, they housed the Castellani and Lawrence collections of embroideries, textiles, carved wood, and metalwork as well as majolica and Robbia ware, dating to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.128 It was here that Perkins recreated the marriage of the fine and decorative arts, already convincingly established in his catalogue language, by placing the majolica together with the original pieces from his own collection, the Virgin and Child from the Andrea della Robbia workshop and 127 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Collection of Ancient and Modern Works, 1876, 39–40. 128 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Collection of Ancient and Modern Works, 1876, 53–72. Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 38 the Nativity of c. 1520 from the lesser-known workshop of Benedetto Buglioni. The Virgin and Child, in particular, served Perkins’ purpose because, as a sculpture covered in a white glaze, it more closely resembled the marble statuary to which Bostonians were so closely attached. Furthermore, its lack of gilding or celestial references — for example, it had no niche to represent the heavens as some other comparable della Robbia works did — made it more compatible with Bostonian taste. Finally, its humanity, as was previously explored, distanced it from the Byzantine-like works that Bostonians had rejected in Jarves’ collection. While the Buglioni was polychromatic and not nearly as classically or skillfully rendered, it too avoided gilded references to divinity.129 Thus, as in his catalogue discussion, Perkins manipulated the objects’ placement to transfer the lustre of the ‘fine art’ by known artists onto the far less prominent and unattributed pieces of maiolica and to demonstrate that the differences between the two categories were not that great. In fact, Perkins used the heading ‘Robbia Ware,’ as versus ‘Robbia Sculpture,’ in his 1876 catalogue to denote his original works, perhaps reinforcing the same fine line, or perhaps simply acknowledging that the listing included one ‘modern imitation,’ presented by the Reverend Mr. Washburn.130 Either way, Perkins had once again followed an example set by Robinson, who conflated Robbia ware and sculpture in his 1856 catalogue of the Soulages Collection, among other examples of such linguistic conflation.131 One final example of Perkins’ bravura display practices involved the collection of eight panels from the Hôtel Montmorency in Paris. Seen through the doorway as affixed to the western wall of the Loan Room in an Enrico Meneghelli (1853–1912) painting of the Lawrence Room, these narrow twelve-foot tall painted and gilded oak panels were designed by Claude-Nicholas Ledoux (1736–1806), a leading French neo-classical architect, for his client Monsieur Bouvet de Vezelay in circa 1770.132 (Fig. 9) The panels were festooned with interlaced floral, figural, and armorial designs, which were highly reminiscent of Raphael’s arabesques in the 129 Furthermore, at the time of the 1876 opening the Buglioni Nativity had not been identified as such for Perkins lists the work as being by Andrea della Robbia, thus elevating its status for the viewer. See Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Collection of Ancient and Modern Works, 1876, 54. 130 Perkins, Collection of Ancient and Modern Works, 1876, 54. 131 Drew, ‘Italian Sculpture’, 108. 132 These panels were purchased at the time of the demolition of the Hôtel in 1848. The identity of the purchaser is disputed, but by 1876 they were in the hands of the Bostonian, Harleston Parker, who loaned them to the Museum at the time of its opening. At a subsequent point, the Boston Athenaeum and the Museum each bought four of the eight panels. The Athenaeum loaned their four panels to the MFA from 1876 until 1976 when the Museum purchased them back leaving them the owner of the full set, which they remain today. See these panels described on the MFA website as accessed 28/8/16 at http://www.mfa.org/ (Accession #79.326–79.329 and 1975.801–804). Journal of Art Historiography Number 18 June 2018 Figure 9 Enrico Meneghelli, The Lawrence Room, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1876. Oil on canvas, mounted on Masonite, 40.96 x 50.8 cm. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Photograph © Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Figure 10 Claude Ledoux (designer) and Joseph Méthivier (carver), Carved Panel, c. 1770. Painted and gilded oak, 365 x 81.3 cm. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Photograph © Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Vatican loggie. (Fig. 10) Just as Robinson used the Vatican arabesque copies in the South Kensington’s central court in the expectation that visitors would see the close link between the fine and the decorative arts, so too did the Ledoux panels with their distinct Raphaelesque designs have the potential to remind viewers that Raphael, the unquestioned master of Renaissance painting, was not only a genius of history painting, but also a flawless executor of decorative design. The net effect of Perkins’ textual and display strategies was to demonstrate to his fellow elites and to the public that the Early Italian Renaissance formed a bridge between the classically-inspired sculpture that Bostonians had seen for decades at the Athenaeum’s exhibitions and the High Renaissance and Baroque paintings that had also been favoured there in significant numbers. Furthermore, through linking the fine and decorative arts in the Renaissance period and insisting upon — and securing — a comprehensive and representative display of the history of western art, whether through originals or reproductions, Perkins demonstrated that he had indeed been inspired by Waagen, Scharf, and Robinson. For Perkins, as for his distinguished predecessors, these strategies were essential to delivering on the promise of public fine arts museums, that of improving taste and elevating industrial design. While Perkins was the first to admit that his acquisition and display strategies were not entirely ideologically driven but rather were also Deborah Hartry Stein Charles Callahan Perkins: early Italian Renaissance art and British museum practice in Boston 40 impacted by funding constraints, he nonetheless believed wholeheartedly — in fact, he dedicated his entire career to the notion — that all of the arts, high and low, polished and rough-hewn, had the potential to enrich the citizens of Boston, and ultimately of the nation. Deb Stein received her PhD in the History of Art & Architecture in January, 2017 at Boston University. Her dissertation is entitled “The Visual Rhetoric of Charles Callahan Perkins: Early Italian Renaissance Art and a new Fine Arts Paradigm for Boston.” The first critical book-length study on this nineteenth-century cultural polymath (1823–1886), the dissertation goes beyond an accounting of Perkins’ role in founding and directing the new Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. It frames Perkins’ contributions as creating a paradigm shift in institutional display of the arts from one which privileged classical and neoclassical sculpture and paintings and thus limited viewership to those with literary knowledge. The new paradigm focused on a comprehensive history of art where viewers could apprehend a work’s meaning through their eyes alone, making for an unparalleled democratization of the arts in Boston. Deb has taught both American and Italian Renaissance art and cultural history at Boston University and has presented her scholarship to a variety of academic audiences. Since 2006, she has served as Gallery Instructor in the American and European galleries at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, where she also coordinated adult education programs. Prior to her career in art history, Deb founded and led a consulting firm serving major banks and has held management positions in the fields of corporate training, commercial banking, and university administration. She earned an MBA from Northeastern University, an MA in Educational Administration from Harvard University, and a BA in History from Carleton College in Minnesota. dhs@bu.edu This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial 4.0 International License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ 
work_kqoxlcruifhrvfinqrik6d6dp4	----	The Colonial Spanish-American City. Urban Life in the Age of Atlantic Capitalism (review) The Colonial Spanish-American City. Urban Life in the Age of Atlantic Capitalism (review) Mariselle Meléndez Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies, Volume 10, 2006, pp. 284-286 (Review) Published by University of Arizona DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/hcs.2007.0032 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/214574 https://doi.org/10.1353/hcs.2007.0032 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/214574 284 Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies El estudio se divide en cuatro capítulos, pre- cedidos de una breve introducción y un sugerente epílogo, y toma en cuenta diversas formulaciones teóricas para explicar el modo en que cada uno de los textos considerados establece un diálogo con el quehacer histórico. Específicamente se evalúa de qué modo estos escritos intervienen en lo social desde preocupaciones éticas que convergen en “… llamar la atención hacia planteamientos más humanos y más solidarios” (23). El primer capí- tulo, “Modernidad inacabada, postmodernidad complaciente,” ofrece una detallada y rigurosa presentación de las premisas epistemológicas que enmarcan la discusión del autor y que se emble- matizan, respectivamente, en las propuestas de Jürgen Habermas y Jean-François Lyotard. Uno de los aspectos más sugerentes del capítulo, y del libro en general, es la cuidadosa discusión de los apartados 1.3 a 1.3.3 donde se examinan los ensayos “Planfetos desde el planeta de los simios” de Vázquez Montalbán y “El bosque de las letras” de Goytisolo. Ambos publicados en 1995: buscan una reformulación de legitim- idades, de sujetos, […] de procederes éticos y morales, de identidades, de proyectos de futuro, de nociones finalistas de la historia, etc., acordes con sus posicionamientos personales, sus críticas y alternativas al momento y modelo actuales. (63) En el capítulo II, “El sujeto y el Otro: Elec- ciones éticas y políticas,” enfocado en las novelas El estrangulador (1994) de Vázquez Montalbán y Netchaïev est de Retour (1988) de Jorge Semprún se examinan las confusas y complejas relaciones que se plantean cuando entran en conflicto la autonomía individual y la autonomía pública. Se echa de menos que en un capítulo dedicado a la autonomía de elegir y al “Otro” no se discutan ambos aspectos en relación a la “otredad” que caracteriza la narrativa de Semprún: hasta el 2003 todas sus obras de ficción se escriben en francés. En el contexto de lo argumentado por Aguado, no se pueden dejar de evaluar las impli- caciones de esta elección por parte de Semprún. Este aspecto también se encuentra ausente en la discusión del capítulo III, “Negociaciones con el pasado y el presente: Hacia lo postnacional,” cuando se evalúa L’écriture ou la vie (1994) de Semprún a la luz de la “solidarité avec les hu- miliés et les opprimés” (203). En este apartado también se considera la novela Autobiografía del general Franco de Vázquez Montalbán y es aquí, en el mejor capítulo de La tarea política, donde se establece que “mediante el artificio literario [ambas narrativas] construyen el armazón para pensar en […] un mañana mejor” (203). Enfocado, principalmente, en El sitio de los sitios de Juan Goytisolo y en Temblor de Rosa Montero, el capítulo IV, “Desnegociaciones,” ex- pone cómo ambos textos “recuperan experiencias extremas para lograr una mejor compresión tanto de lo real inaccesible como de la realidad inmediata que nos rodea” (207). En el “Epílogo” se resalta la vigencia actual, para el siglo XXI, de unas produc- ciones que, aunque se ajustan a unos años determi- nados, adelantan visiones críticas, “de resistencia” (289), que se contraponen a las interpretaciones cerradas y reduccionistas de la realidad. Riguroso y bien documentado, el libro de Aguado es, sin duda, un aporte valioso a los estudios culturales españoles pues no sólo enriquece la discusión sobre la amnesia histórica contribuyendo al campo como lo han hecho Jo Labanyi y otros, sino que aporta sugestivas lectu- ras para las obras analizadas. Lo que lamento es la excesiva cantidad de subdivisiones que se ofrecen en cada capítulo pues interrumpen la fluidez de los argumentos y lecturas que se presentan. Pare- cen ser los rastros que permanecen de lo que es probablemente una tesis doctoral. Sin embargo, por las aportaciones ya destacadas, considero que La tarea política cumple, con creces, su propósito y ha de servir de estímulo a críticos y estudiosos del período contemporáneo. Silvia Bermúdez University of California, Santa Barbara ================================================= The Colonial Spanish-American City. Urban Life in the Age of Atlantic Capitalism University of Texas Press, 2005 By Jay Kinsbruner Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies 285 In The Colonial Spanish-American City. Urban Life in the Age of Atlantic Capitalism, Jay Kinsbruner offers both a history and interpreta- tion of the colonial Spanish American city from Pre-Columbian times to the early nineteenth century. His synthesis focuses on the city as an urban phenomenon and a product of Atlantic commercial capitalism. Kinsbruner defines this type of capitalism as characteristic of the pre- industrial era and as a system which allowed individuals to participate in the market economy for profit. According to Kinsbruner, within this system one finds agricultural, mining and merchant capitalists as well as owners of large landed-states which produced “grain, wool, meat, and other products for nearby and distance markets” (64). As participants in this economy their main goal was the pursuit of profit. The historian suggests that what distinguishes the city as an urban settlement is the fact that “the economy is centered in nonagricultural activi- ties” (3). Proximity to good water, availability of land transportation routes and the existence of a productive hinterland, which enabled supply food and materials for manufacturing, were also important components of an urban city. Accord- ing to Kinsbruner, the social and commercial negotiations, which took place on a daily basis, made the Spanish American city a fluid and productive space of interaction. The book is divided into eleven chapters, including the conclusion. Each chapter examines a particular dimension of what constituted the set of relationships which took place in colonial cities. The first chapter is devoted to a helpful definition and origins of the colonial city as it was related in function and form to what con- stituted an urban aggregation. In the following chapter, the author discusses the constitution of pre-Columbian cities as they were envisioned as ceremonial centers and agricultural communi- ties. The author also discusses the importance of the plazas as the center of pre-Columbian urban life. Chapter three discusses the structure and organization of the colonial city as the Crown in their royal decrees had delineated it. Accord- ing to Kinsbruner, Vitruvius, De Architectura, represented the most important source for the establishment and building of the towns and was the base for the Ordinances for the Discovery, New Settlement, and Pacification of the Indies of 1573. The following chapter (chapter four) centers on the administrative nature of the colonial city, as colonial cities such as Mexico City and Lima be- came centers of jurisdiction in which municipal councils came to represent “corporate bodies of local prestige and power” (39). A section of this chapter briefly discusses the constitution of Indian and free colored towns; the former were founded by colonial authorities following the same regulation that applied to the Spanish towns to facilitate the control of agricultural and mining labor. The latter were created to protect frontier and costal regions. Chapter five studies the manner in which colonial architecture in Spanish America was influenced by the aesthetics of the Italian Re- naissance, the Baroque and the Moorish legacy. Kinsbruner contends that Spanish authorities used architecture to convey messages pertain- ing to the power and status of government and church. A section of this chapter briefly discusses what according to the author constituted one “of the most vexatious aspects of Spanish American urban life: the streets and cities in general were fetid” (58). Kinsbruner adds that the city was also affected by natural disasters which further deteriorates sanitary conditions and contributed to many diseases and epidemics. Chapter six centers on the urban economy as related to com- mercial capitalism. This economy, according to the author, was hierarchical, allowing the large import-export merchants to be at the apex and itinerant traders at the bottom of the economic scale. In the chapter entitled “Urban Society,” Kinsbruner studies the relationship between racism, social status and the marketplace by focusing on the relevance of the caste system to determine the role of individuals within the colonial economy. A historical examination of the concept of race was needed in this chapter in order to understand how the word racism applies to this discussion. Chapter eight con- tinues this discussion by emphasizing how “the 286 Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies dynamic of the economy sometimes breached the restrictive caste system, especially where the economy flourished and employment was widely available” (103). In chapter nine, Kinsbruner discusses the urban family in order to understand its place within colonial Spanish American society. He touches briefly on issues of patriarchy, racial infi- delity, expected age to enter the labor force, male and female ratio, women’s legal rights, nuclear and extended family, and marriage as related to racial prejudice. Chapter ten offers an interesting discussion about the daily and perpetual contes- tation which took place in colonial cities, espe- cially in their streets, alamedas, plazas and parks. For Kinsbruner, “status in urban colonial Span- ish America’s social architecture was proclaimed and reinforced by the space that one occupied” (125). “Conclusion: The Paradox” constitutes the last chapter of the book in which the author contends that “the city as metaphor for all urban habitats represented hope and opportunity” due to the daily negotiations of one’s place in society which were so ubiquitous in urban environments (130). The book concludes with an Appendix which includes several excerpts and documents from the Spanish codification of 1573 for town layout and the statements of Vitrivius from which they were taken. The Colonial Spanish-American City represents a great contribution to the study of the spatial imaginary of colonial cities as it brings forth relevant aspects associated with the creation and foundation of the colonial city in Spanish America such as its architecture, administration, and economy, the manner in which the city was visualized from its inception, the various social interactions which took place, its central spatial components such as the plaza and the streets, and the gender relations that transformed the nature of the city itself. The selected bibliography is a helpful resource for anyone interested in issues of space and urban development in colonial Spanish America. De- spite the fact that some of the chapters do not include in depth examination of the many issues mentioned above, Jay Kinsbruner offers scholars a historical background from which one can depart to engage in additional critical analysis and examination of the complex and fluid nature which characterized the development of the city in colonial Spanish America. Undergraduate and graduate students alike would find this book very helpful as it offers a synthesis of the historical developments of the urban city since pre-Columbian times. Mariselle Meléndez University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign ================================================= Gabriel Miró and Catalan Culture: The Forging of Literary Culture in the Context of his Poetics University Press of the South, 2004 By Frederic Barberà Este excelente estudio sobre Gabriel Miró está construido en torno a dos tesis que resul- tan un tanto paradójicas. Las dos tesis buscan documentar, primero, una suerte de progresiva reconciliación por parte de Miró con la lengua vernácula de su paisaje levantino (el catalán valenciano); esta reconciliación iría paralela a la también progresiva clarificación de su prosa de abusos retóricos. Parte de este trabajo tiene como fin salvar una vez más la literatura de Miró del cliché del estilismo, a la vez que explicar sus relaciones con la “cultura catalana” o con el valenciano. Pero el minucioso análisis a que Frederic Barberà somete la prosa mironiana da por resultado la imagen de una escritura desvinculada de todo contenido, atomizada en multitud de ejemplos y citas, y desvinculada de toda lógica narrativa o intencional, con lo que la destrucción del cliché estilista sólo llega a sa- tisfacerse muy indirectamente. Sin embargo, es indudable que el prolijo rastreo de catalanismos (o mejor: valencianismos) en la prosa de Miró ilumina algo que podría considerarse un cierto malentendido en su prosa. La observación de Jorge Guillén, en su ensayo dedicado a Gabriel Miró en Lenguaje y poesía, de que “es inmenso el vocabulario de Miró, y hasta los españoles más cultos hallan términos desconocidos en esta 
work_kxlawefyl5ggpm45a4jgbnu75m	----	The Political Science Oral History Program scribed, or the transcriptions are being corrected, at the present time. The following is a list of these inter- views, which should be available by January, 1991: Vincent R. Browne, James M. Burns, Gwendolyn Carter, Robert A. Dahl, David Easton, Leon Epstein, Heinz Eulau, Marian Irish, Robert Martin, Warren Miller, Louise Overaker, William Riker, John Turner, Vernon Van Dyke, and John Wahlke. When additional interviews have been completed and transcribed, information about their availability will be released, approximately once a year, in PS. NEH Projects Dealing with Women and Politics Themes* Kenneth Kolson, Deputy to the Director, Division of Education Programs, National Endowment for the Humanities I. Overview of the NEH** In order to "promote progress and scholarship in the humanities and the arts in the United States," Congress passed the National foundation on the Arts and Humanities Act of 1965. This act established the National Endowment for the Humanities as an independent grant- making agency of the federal govern- ment to support research, education, and public programs in the humanities. Grants are made through five divisions—Education Programs, Fellowships and Seminars, General Programs, Research Programs, and State Programs, and two offices, the Office of Challenge Grants and the Office of Preservation. The staff of these divisions and offices guide applications through a peer review process to recommend projects for funding. The final responsibility for awards rests by law with the Chairman of the Endow- ment, who is appointed for a four- year term by the President of the United States, with the advice and consent of the Senate. The Chairman is advised by the National Council on the Humanities, twenty-six distin- guished private citizens who are also nominated by the President and confirmed by the Senate. The Humanities In the act that established the National Endowment for the Humanities, the term humanities includes, but is not limited to, the study of the following disciplines: history; philosophy; languages; linguistics; literature; archaeology; jurisprudence; the history, theory, and criticism of the arts; ethics; comparative religion; and those aspects of the social sciences that employ historical or philosophical approaches. What the Endowment Supports The National Endowment for the Humanities supports exemplary work to advance and disseminate knowl- edge in all the disciplines of the humanities. Endowment support is intended to complement and assist private and local efforts and to serve as a catalyst to increase nonfederal support for projects of high quality. Although the activities funded by the Endowment vary greatly in cost, in the numbers of people involved, and in their specific intents and benefits, they all have in common two requirements for funding: significance to learning in the humanities and excellence in conception. How Applications Are Evaluated Generally, each application sub- mitted to Endowment programs is assessed by knowledgeable persons outside the Endowment who are asked for their judgments about the quality of the proposed project. Nearly 1,000 scholars and profession- als in the humanities serve on approximately 150 panels throughout the course of a year. The judgment of panelists is often supplemented by individual reviews solicited from specialists who have extensive knowl- edge of the specific subject area dealt with in the application. The Endow- ment receives approximately 8,000 applications each year, of which about 2,800 are funded. Our annual budget is in the neighborhood of $150 million, of which only about 15% is spent on administration. Special Initiatives The Foundations of American Society. Within its existing programs, the Endowment has encouraged study, research, and discussion about the history, culture, and principles of the foundation period, an emphasis that began with the NEH initiative on the bicentennial of the U.S. Con- stitution. Proposals may deal directly with the events and achievements of the founding period, including the ratification of the Constitution, the establishment of the federal govern- ment, and the works of philosophy, politics, literature, and art that were produced during the founding period. They may also treat later events, achievements, and works that have resulted or developed from the founding period or that reflect or respond to its concerns and principles. The Columbian Quincentenary. As part of the international observance of the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus's voyage of discovery to the New World, NEH invites proposals for original scholar- ship on related topics and for the dissemination of both new and exist- ing scholarship. Topics may include the expansion of European civiliza- tion through the efforts of the Spanish and Portuguese crowns and the establishment of new societies and new forms of cultural expression through encounters among native American, European, and African June 1990 199 The Profession peoples. Proposals may also explore the ideas—political, religious, philo- sophical, scientific, technological, and aesthetic—that shaped the processes of exploration, settlement, and cultural conflict and transforma- tion set into motion by Columbus's momentous voyage. It is important to note that appli- cations responding to special initia- tives are not sequestered for review, that is, they are not reviewed sepa- rately or against special criteria. Nor are these applications privileged in any way. Thus, applicants are well advised not to turn their projects inside out in order to relate them to an NEH initiative. II. The NEH and Political Science Because the NEH (unlike, for example, NSF) organizes its work according to purpose and audience— rather than by discipline—prospective applicants should be guided by the nature of their project when request- ing guidelines and application materials. For example, a political scientist seeking time off from teach- ing to prepare a scholarly manuscript for publication should probably look to the Division of Fellowships and Seminars for support. Political scien- tists wishing to hold a conference on some aspect of women and politics research would approach the Division of Research Programs. Any kind of auricular project or, say, a summer institute on the Bill of Rights for high school social studies teachers would be brought to the Division of Education Programs. Any member of the Endowment staff can help prospective applicants match their projects with the appropriate program officer. Political scientists should proceed with caution, however. While the Endowment's purview extends to the social sciences, our activities are con- fined to those projects that are essen- tially historical or philosophical. Political philosophy has always received generous support from the Endowment. Illustrative grants might include those awarded to Wilson Carey McWilliams of Rutgers Uni- versity in support of various projects on the U.S. Constitution and the topic of religion and politics. Richard Flathman of The Johns Hopkins University has led a summer seminar on "Political Freedom," and David L. Schaefer of Holy Cross has directed several summer institutes for schoolteachers on "Polis and Res Publica." Arlene Saxonhouse of the University of Michigan received funding for a fellowship project entitled "Unity and Diversity in Greek Political Thought." Michael Gillespie of Duke University received support for "The Origins and Mean- ing of Nihilism." That the National Endowment for the Humanities should put a premium on political philosophy reflects the origins of our discipline as well as legislative intent, but one might argue that there is also some rough justice in it, considering that political philosophers are less likely to be supported by other sources to which political scientists naturally turn—the National Science Foundation, for example—for funding. In addition to political philosophy, jurisprudence, which is specifically mentioned in our enabling legisla- tion, has also served as a gate through which many political scien- tists (e.g., Joel Grossman of the Uni- versity of Wisconsin, Walter Murphy of Princeton University, or Henry Abraham of the University of Virginia) pass. Even in this area, however, explicit efforts by appli- cants to connect proposal topics to enduring humanities themes or texts are to be encouraged. Proposals on public law and jurisprudence topics sometimes are less persuasive than they need to be because their narra- tives immerse the reader in case law prematurely—that is, without first showing that the topic at hand— namely, the meaning of justice—has concerned humanities scholars continuously since the time of Socrates. Many political scientists, including those whose professional reputations have been based on empirical, analytical scholarship, have found that they can best render their proj- ects competitive at the NEH by adopting the approach of political history. In recent summers, for instance, college teacher seminars have been offered by Sidney Tarrow of Cornell University ("Historical Studies of Collective Action and Political Change") and by Stephen T. Holmes of the University of Chicago ("Origins and Development of European Liberalism"). In 1989, Bernard Brown of the City Univer- sity of New York offered a summer seminar, in situ, on "Modern French Politics." Daniel Elazar of Temple University has offered summer insti- tutes designed for elementary and secondary school teachers on the subject of federalism. For some of the political scientists participating in these projects, the appeal of these topics might well have lain primarily in their contemporary significance. But ahistorical grant proposals from political scientists are not ordinarily competitive at the NEH. Each of the projects listed above was successful as an NEH grant proposal in large part because the historical dimen- sions of the topic under considera- tion were fully explicated in the proposal narrative. Many other "mainstream" politi- cal scientists have had their work supported by the Endowment. For example, the Endowment has sup- ported some of the research that Fred I. Greenstein of Princeton Uni- versity has conducted on leadership in the modern American presidency. Russell Hardin of the University of Chicago is heading a collaborative research project that compares demo- cratic institutions throughout the world. Aaron Wildavsky of the Uni- versity of California, Berkeley, has offered a summer seminar on "Polit- ical Cultures." The Endowment is not even allergic to numbers per se. As a political scientist, I have taken particular pleasure in encouraging my more empirically-oriented colleagues to cast their scholarship in terms that relate to enduring humanities texts and themes, and to express their ideas in language that transcends the merely technical or methodological. All applicants, not just political scientists, should bear in mind that the Endowment will not fund "proj- ects that advocate or promote a particular political, ideological, reli- gious, or partisan point of view." This proscription does not require that political scientists feign value neutrality when they seek funding from NEH. It does mean that proj- ects must not be tendentious. Appli- cants whose projects have direct im- plications for public policy need to take special pains to show that they aim to advance learning, rather than 200 PS: Political Science & Politics NEH Projects merely raise consciousness. Political scientists should under- stand that their proposals will not necessarily be reviewed by scholars in their own discipline, let alone in their particular area of sub-disciplinary expertise. In general, the "discipli- nariness" of the review will be deter- mined by the number of proposals that a grant program receives at a particular deadline. For example, in a high-volume program such as Summer Stipends, it is easy (because the number of applications is suffi- ciently large) to justify convening a separate panel to review proposals in a particular discipline. Where the number of applications is more modest, several categories will some- times be collapsed, resulting in hybrid panels (e.g., political science, jurisprudence, and economics). Sometimes political science applica- tions are reviewed with history proposals. In the Division of Educa- tion Programs, which receives a fairly small number of applications, many of which (e.g., a proposal to reform the honors program at a small liberal arts college, or a proposal for a summer institute for school teachers on the Italian Renaissance) are intrinsically interdis- ciplinary, applications always receive a generalist review. Supplemental review by specialists is sought when needed, but there is no guarantee that a political scientist's proposal to the Education division will be read by even one colleague in the field. This need not be a disadvantage so long as applicants understand that they should cast their projects in terms that colleagues in other disci- plines can understand. In many of the Endowment's funding programs—the low-volume programs, by and large—members of the Endowment's professional staff become deeply involved in the devel- opment of applications. In those pro- grams that offer such services staff members are charged with helping applicants make their proposals as competitive as possible. Every review process has its vagaries, of course, and staff approbation is no guaran- tee of success. But our records indi- cate that those applications receiving extensive staff work are more likely to be funded. Pertinent here is the testimony of Kathleen B. Jones, San Diego State University, who has offered two NEH summer seminars for school teachers on "Authority, Democracy, and the Citizenship of Women": In my own experience, submitting a preliminary proposal and having an experienced member of the staff review it makes all the difference between a successful proposal and one that will be disregarded. When I initially submitted my 1988 summer seminar proposal I was told that I had the germ of a good idea, but that it was inappropriately presented. The criticisms offered were extensive, pre- cise, encouraging and supportive. I went through at least two more revi- sions (also reviewed), and then sub- mitted a final proposal. This process, which few are aware of or exploit, should be emphasized. III. Recent NEH Support for Women and Politics Research Projects on the general topic of women and politics are eligible in all of the Endowment's divisions. The purpose of the project and the audi- ence to which it appeals will deter- mine the program in which to make application. Whether it receives a disciplinary review or a generalist review, a pro- posal on women and politics will be read against program criteria, which will vary according to the nature of the project (a conference, a seminar, a curriculum project, a film, a trans- lation, or whatever), but panelists will in any event ask whether the project is likely to yield a significant contribution to learning in the humanities. Because it will be com- peting with worthy proposals from other disciplines, a women and politics proposal will have to appear every bit as central to the humanities as projects on, say, Buddhism or Plutarch or Emily Dickenson. There is no reason, of course, why this should pose a problem. But it is an argument for explicitness. Do not assume that reviewers will automati- cally concede the importance of your topic for learning in the humanities. Scholars working in the field will be heartened to know that the Endowment has made a substantial investment in women and politics scholarship. The titles listed below, drawn from several divisions of the NEH, reflect the range and breadth of projects undertaken in this area. All grants listed were made in fiscal 1988 or 1989. Fellowships for University Teachers Grants provide support for mem- bers of the faculty of Ph.D.-granting universities to undertake full-time independent study and research in the humanities. Rachel G. Fuchs, Arizona State University, "Charity and Welfare for Mothers in 19th-century Paris." Joan G. Zimmerman, Howard University, "Instrumentalism versus Conceptualism in Drafting the Equal Rights Amendments, 1905-23." Fellowships for College Teachers and Independent Scholars Grants provide support for teachers in two-year, four-year, and five-year colleges and universities that do not grant the Ph.D., and also for independent scholars and writers, to undertake full-time inde- pendent study and research in the humanities. Robert C. Bannister, Swarthmore College, "Women and the Social Sciences in America, 1920-60." Dolores E. Janiewski, Mount Holyoke College, "The Politics of Suffrage in the New South." Mary Kelley, Dartmouth College, "Achieving Authority: Women's Entrance into Public Life in Early America." Carol Farley Kessler, Pennsylvania State University, Delaware Campus, "New Lives, New Worlds: Utopian Novels by American Women, 1836 to the Present." Alice S. Klak, Eastern Oregon State College, "Graphics of the Women's Suffrage Campaign." Cheryl E. Martin, University of Texas at El Paso, "Popular Atti- tudes and Ideology in Northern Mexico, 1650-1850." Elaine M. Smith, Alabama State University, "A Biography of June 1990 201 The Profession Mary McLeod Bethune." Margaret Ann Strobel, University of Illinois, Chicago, "Socialist Feminism and Women's Unions in the 1970s." Summer Stipends Grants in this category provide support for college and university teachers and others to undertake full- time independent study and research in the humanities for two consecutive summer months. College and univer- sity teachers must be nominated by their institutions. Lisa E. Emmerich, Kenyon College, "Promoting Civilized Motherhood: The Case of the 'Save the Babies' Campaign." James Henderson, Valparaiso University, "Equal Pay to Men and Women for Equal Work: The Early Debate, 1891-1923." Mark E. Kann, University of Southern California, "The Other Liberal Tradition in Early America: Civic Virtue and Gender." Susan E. Marshall, University of Texas, Austin, "The American Antisuffrage Movement, 1890-1930." Thomas A. J. McGinn, Vanderbilt University, "Prostitution and the Law: The Formation of Social Policy in Early Imperial Rome." Robyn L. Muncy, Le Moyne Col- lege, "Female Reformers and Policymakers in the Progressive Era, 1890-1930." Kristen B. Neuschel, Duke Univer- sity, "Gender Roles in the French Aristocracy, 1550-1650." Carolyn J. Stefanco, Wheaton College, "Divided Loyalties: Nelly Kinzie Gordon's Civil War." Travel to Collections These $750 grants help defray travel costs, thereby enabling scholars to study humanities materials in libraries, archives, museums, or other repositories. Nancy Fix Anderson, Loyola Uni- versity, New Orleans, "Annie Besant and the Status of Women in India: Anti-Imperialism versus Human Rights." Terry D. Bilhartz, Sam Houston State University, "Anna Howard Shaw and the Crusade for Women's Rights." Janet Farrell Brodie, California State Polytechnic University, "Women and Freethought in the United States, 1820-1860." Dorothy Sue Cobble, Rutgers Uni- versity, "Waitresses: Their Work, Culture, and Unions in the Twentieth Century." Susan P. Conner, Central Michi- gan University, "Poverty and Marginality: The Role of Prostitu- tion in French Revolutionary Social Control." Esther S. Cope, University of Nebraska, "A Woman Prophet's Critique of English Politics and Religion." RaGena C. DeAragon, Gonzaga University, "Aristocratic Widows and the English Crown, 1066-1215." Suzanne K. Engler, University of Southern California, "Power and Dependence: The Women of Flowerdew Hundred Plantation." J. Wayne Flynt, Auburn Univer- sity, "Pattie R. Jacobs, Woman Suffrage, and Southern Sectional- ism." Diana Greene, Alliance of Inde- pendent Scholars, "Karolina Pavlova and the Position of Women in the 1840s." Lisbeth M. Haas, University of California, Santa Cruz, "Gender and Political Identity in the Barrios of Southwest, 1860- 1940." June E. Hahner, SUNY at Al- bany, "Women's Rights and Poli- tics in Brazil, 1850-1940." Claire Hirshfield, Pennsylvania State University, Ogontz Campus, "Women's Political Auxiliaries in Late Victorian and Edwardian England." Carolyn C. Jones, Saint Louis University, "The Price of Citizen- ship: Women and Federal Taxa- tion in 20th-century America." Susan Lynn, University of Missouri, Saint Louis, "Women and Progressive Politics, 1945-65." Martha H. Swain, Texas Woman's University, "Ellen S. Woodward: Southern Gentle- woman and New Deal Official." Gayle T. Tate, Indiana University, "The Kin Keepers: Political Philosophies of African-American Women." Carolyn E. Wedin, University of Wisconsin, Whitewater, "Mary White Ovington, Cofounder of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People." Younger Scholars Grants provide support for high school and college students to con- duct research and writing projects in the humanities for nine weeks during the summer under the supervision of a humanities scholar. Sarah K. Flotten, Kenyon College, "The Women's Suffrage Move- ment in Minnesota, 1894-1923." Mark W. Sabel, Swarthmore Col- lege, "The Southern White Woman as Activist in the Black Civil Rights Movement." Brande M. Stellings, Yale Univer- sity, "Republican Ideology and the Language of Early 19th- century Working Women's Protests." Joan D. Wellman, University of Kansas, "A Feminist Critique of Plato's Republic." Summer Seminars for College Teachers Grants provide support for schol- ars of the humanities to direct summer seminars at institutions with collections suitable for advanced study. Karen Offen, Stanford University, "The Woman Question in an Age of Revolutions: Europe and America, 1750-1880." Summer Seminars for School Teachers Grants provide support for accom- plished teachers and scholars to 202 PS: Political Science & Politics NEH Projects direct summer seminars at colleges, universities, museums, libraries, and similar institutions. Seminars are usually organized around a close reading of significant humanities texts. Kathleen B. Jones, San Diego State University, "Authority, Democracy, and the Citizenship of Women: Hobbes, Locke, Rous- seau, and Wollstonecraft." Elisabeth I. Perry, Vanderbilt University, "Feminist Classics in American Culture, 1850-1930." Research Editions Grants support various stages in the preparation of authoritative and annotated editions of works and documents of value to humanities scholars and general readers. Arlie R. Hochschild, University of California, Berkeley, "The Emma Goldman Papers." Patricia G. Holland, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, "The Papers of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony." Research Conferences Grants support conferences de- signed to advance the state of re- search in a field or topic of major importance in the humanities. Noralee Frankel, American Historical Association, "Confer- ence on Women in the Progressive Era, 1890-1925." Humanities Projects in Libraries and Archives Grants assist museums, historical organizations, and other similar cul- tural institutions in the planning and implementation of interpretive pro- grams that use cultural and artistic artifacts to convey and interpret the humanities to the general public. Eileen Dubin, Stockton State College, "Women, War, and Peace: The American Experience in the 20th Century." Barbara Matz, West Virginia Women's Federation, "West Virginia Women's Cultural History Project." Diantha Schull, The New York Public Library, "Women as a Force in United States History." Public Humanities Projects Grants support projects designed to increase public understanding of the humanities. Through this pro- gram, the Endowment recognizes exemplary public programs and pro- motes model humanities projects of potential national significance. Proj- ect formats may include public symposia, community fora, debates, interpretive pamphlets, or audio- visual materials. Robert Maniquis, University of California, Los Angeles, "Humanities Program for the Bi- centennial of the French Revolu- tion." Donald M. Rogers, University of Hartford, "Extension of the Right to Vote." Gene Ruoff, University of Illinois at Chicago, "Jane Addams' Hull- House: Humanities Programs for the Centennial. Elementary and Secondary Education in the Humanities Cathryn Adamsky, University of New Hampshire, "Women in Nineteenth-Century American Culture." IV. Conclusion NEH reviewers do not take it for granted that the research interests of political scientists lie at the heart of the heart of the humanities. They must be persuaded. But political scientists focusing on questions of enduring interest to humanities scholars—questions about the mean- ing of justice, the tension between liberty and equality, the requirements of citizenship, the political status of women, etc.—will find that they are preaching to the choir. Such projects, and those that adopt an essentially historical approach to their subjects, will continue to attract support from the Endowment. Without doubt, future funding patterns will also reflect changing scholarly interests and the develop- ment of new topics, conceptual frameworks, and methods of analy- sis. As the project titles listed and referred to in this essay reveal, the humanities are vital and capacious- capacious enough to extend from Plato to NATO (or perhaps, given my topic, from doting to voting, or from Becky Thatcher to Margaret Thatcher). We invite you to discuss your ideas with us. V. NEH Directory Division of Education Programs, Room 302 202/786-0373 Division of Fellowships and Seminars, Room 316 202/786-0458 Division of General Programs, Room 426 202/786-0267 Division of Research Programs, Room 318 202/786-0200 Division of State Programs, Room 411 202/786-0254 Office of Challenge Grants, Room 429 202/786-0361 Office of Preservation, Room 802 202/786-0570 Office of Public Affairs, Room 406 202/786-0438 National Endowment for the Humanities 1100 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, DC 20506 Notes T h i s manuscript was originally prepared for delivery at the meeting of the APSA Com- mittee on the Status of Women Roundtable in Atlanta, Georgia, September 1, 1989. **This section consists of prose liberally appropriated from Overview of Endowment Programs, a general information booklet pre- pared by the NEH Office of Publications and Public Affairs. June 1990 203 
work_l3giqgsspvdh7g73i2vdyftajq	----	renq65205 485..652 University of Groningen Review of: Luba Freedman, Classical Myths in Italian Renaissance Painting. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011 de Jong, Jan Published in: Renaissance Quarterly DOI: 10.1086/667278 IMPORTANT NOTE: You are advised to consult the publisher's version (publisher's PDF) if you wish to cite from it. Please check the document version below. Document Version Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Publication date: 2012 Link to publication in University of Groningen/UMCG research database Citation for published version (APA): de Jong, J. (2012). Review of: Luba Freedman, Classical Myths in Italian Renaissance Painting. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Renaissance Quarterly, 65(2), 519 - 521. https://doi.org/10.1086/667278 Copyright Other than for strictly personal use, it is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Take-down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please contact us providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Downloaded from the University of Groningen/UMCG research database (Pure): http://www.rug.nl/research/portal. For technical reasons the number of authors shown on this cover page is limited to 10 maximum. Download date: 06-04-2021 https://doi.org/10.1086/667278 https://research.rug.nl/en/publications/review-of-luba-freedman-classical-myths-in-italian-renaissance-painting-cambridge-cambridge-university-press-2011(abd3ebc9-9b5d-40e2-83f6-a8e36afb2dde).html https://doi.org/10.1086/667278 Luba Freedman. Classical Myths in Italian Renaissance Painting. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. xvi + 292 pp. $95. ISBN: 978–1–107– 00119–0. The central argument of this study is that ‘‘the pictorial depiction of classical myths in the all’antica style began at the end of the quattrocento and flourished in the cinquecento’’ (14). This means that ‘‘For the first time in the history of postclassical art, mythological narratives were represented as belonging to a specific cultural setting, one with its own particular mode of expression’’ (125). According to the author, this constituted a ‘‘revolutionary approach to the classical heritage’’ (8). In pursuing this argument, Freedman focuses on artistic interpretations of mythological narratives and does not propose ‘‘far-reaching conclusions as to the real desires and intentions behind the commissioning of all’antica paintings of classical myths’’ (8–9). In addition, she tries to stay within strict limits. Thus, she concentrates on (representations of ) selected mythological narratives (4) within the time limits of 1482 and 1550 (11). It is questionable, however, if Renaissance artists and their patrons would have made similar strict distinctions between ‘‘selected 519R E V I E W S This content downloaded from 129.125.148.244 on July 02, 2018 00:01:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). mythological narratives’’ and ‘‘just mythological imagery’’ (4), and one may wonder, therefore, how useful they are. In the case of the time limits, however, the author is flexible and does not always firmly respect them. Thus, we find a discussion of Titian’s poesie for Philips II, from 1553 and later, elucidated by observations from Giorgio Vasari’s Lives from 1568. The time limit of 1482, on the other hand, may have made the author miss the series of Hercules scenes in Palazzo Venezia, Rome, from ca. 1467–71. Perhaps this Hercules series has not really been overlooked but deliberately ignored, as Freedman does not consider its style (sufficiently) all’antica. For the same reason, she spends only a few words on the Cupid and Psyche murals in the Villa Belriguardo (Voghiera near Ferrara), from 1493. Even though these frescoes have been lost for centuries, Freedman appears to know that they were not painted all’antica (240, n. 26). This makes it seem as if all’antica is a clear and undisputable criterion, but her definition ‘‘in the style of the ancients’’ (2) leaves plenty of room for debate. Consequently, her selection of works that (supposedly) have been painted all’antica looks rather subjective, just as the ensuing, bombastically presented claim that Raphael’s Galatea and Sebastiano’s Polyphemus in the Villa Farnesina, Rome, from around 1514, are ‘‘the earliest Renaissance murals to depict a familiar tale all’antica’’ (81). Just as essential as the definition of all’antica, is the characterization of mythology versus history. In chapter 7, Freedman studies the terms used in the Renaissance: fabula or favola, poesia and (hi)storia, concluding that the former were used ‘‘to refer to the contents of paintings on mythological subjects,’’ and that by the time of Vasari, ‘‘the paintings themselves were referred to as poesie.’’ (201) Although the author obviously includes Vasari’s writings from 1568, she ignores Gilio da Fabriano’s Dialogo degli errori della pittura from 1564. This treatise holds an important discussion on a painter as storico and/or poeta, from which it appears that (hi)storia deals with facts and that, therefore, a history painter should render the truth. Poesia, on the other hand, is the field of imagination, where poets enjoy freedom to deal creatively with the truth. Accordingly, painters have the license (and were perhaps even expected) not to stick closely to the texts they illustrate, but re-create them imaginatively in visual terms. This means, once more, that the author’s restriction to ‘‘selected mythological narratives’’ painted in a style all’antica leads to a vision that twists the viewpoint from which the images were originally meant to be seen. Freedman’s study contains interesting discussions on such issues as classical myths in the educational program and artists’ familiarity with them, and a useful survey of ekphrases. There are occasional slips, for instance the Renaissance’s familiarity with the Cena Trimalchionis (32). This fragment of Petronius’s work was not printed until 1664 and only very sporadically known before that date. A serious gaffe is the assertion that, ‘‘over the course of the sixteenth century, no . . . cardinal . . . ever commissioned paintings of classical myths.’’ (28) To the contrary, the palaces of Cardinals Ricci and Capodiferro in Rome could easily be extended with more examples. R E N A I S S A N C E Q U A R T E R L Y520 This content downloaded from 129.125.148.244 on July 02, 2018 00:01:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). All together, this book contains interesting material, which should be read, however, carefully. The same is true for the central argument. Its starting points are questionable and many observations flowing from them are certainly open to discussion. JAN L. DE JONG University of Groningen 521R E V I E W S This content downloaded from 129.125.148.244 on July 02, 2018 00:01:13 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 
work_l6mafgyxrzcqbgqynnfwl22fx4	----	Postgraduate Medical Journal (1985) 61, 367-371 Book Reviews Advances in Nephrology from the Necker Hospital, Volume 13, 1984. Edited by Jean-Francois Bach, Jean Crosnier, Jean-Louis Funck-Brentano, Jean-Pierre Griinfeld, Morton H. Maxwell. Pp. xxiii + 383, illus- trated. Year Book Medical Publishers, Chicago, 1984. £55.50. This is the latest in a distinguished series of reviews based on the Necker Hospital's justifiably famous annual nephrology update. However, it is difficult to recommend this volume unreservedly as for a variety of reasons it fails to match many previous volumes in the series. It has fallen into the trap of many con- ference proceedings in committing every review to print, irrespective of content. Three chapters come into that category, relating to the strategies ofselecting various forms of renal replacement therapy and the results of renal replacement therapy in individual units. They add nothing to what has not been said elsewhere many times and will be familiar ground to all nephrologists. Of the remaining 15 chapters, seven are partly or wholly devoted to some aspect of anti- diuretic hormone physiology, and probably provide within a single volume the best state of the art review on this topic currently available. However, there is considerable overlap between these chapters and a stronger editorial hand in the final written manuscript would have been useful. That leaves a miscellany ofeight other topics for the remaining chapters. These include a comprehensive and readable review of thrombosis in nephrotic syn- drome and an interesting article about granulomatous interstitial nephritis. The remaining chapters unfor- tunately cover topics which have been adequately reviewed in other publications elsewhere and while eminently suitable for inclusion in a symposium, appear in print as thenow familiar review ofother reviews. A final infuriating aspect of the book is its organisa- tion. Several chapters would fit quite happily in sequence, but instead are scattered throughout the book, thechosen order being devoid of any discernible logic. At £55.50 for less than 400 pages this is an expensive way of buying perhaps half a dozen useful review articles. If this respected series is not to grind to a halt, radical change in editorial policy would seem to be necessary. Anthony Nicholls Royal Devon & Exeter Hospitals Exeter Devon From Neuron to Brain: A Cellular Approach to the Function of the Nervous System, Second edition. Stephen W. Kuffler, John G. Nicholls and A. Robert Martin. Pp. xix + 651, illustrated. Sinauer Associates, Sunderland, Massachusetts, 1984. £14.80. This excellent book, now deservedly in its second edition, achieves admirably its intentions ofdelivering the nuts and bolts of neurobiology palatably. It is dedicated to Steven Kuffler, the senior contributor to the first edition, who tragically died during the re- writing. A brief obituary is included, but the impor- tance of his wide ranging contribution to neuros- cience can be seen scattered throughout the pages of the book. The volume moves from the analysis of nerve signals through mechanisms for signal produc- tion and transformation of neural information to explanations of the higher integrative mechanisms of the nervous system, weaving a rich and vivid tapestry which befits a contemporary description of Sherring- ton's Enchanted Loom. The book has a first-rate glossary, a valuable bibliography and useful appen- dices dealing with electrical circuitary and points of neuro-anatomical difficulty. There is much of relevance for the clinician here, with new sections on neuro-peptides, demyelination and re-myelination mechanisms, the development of monoclonal antibodies to netual components and transplantation techniques in the central nervous system. This new edition uses more 'boxes' to highlight important concepts and there is a lavish supply of technical figures and daguerreotypes depicting the great men of neuro-biology. The book is set in Palatino, a face inspired by the typography of the Italian Renaissance which is pleasing to the eye and seems to aid the digestion of complicated concepts. I suspect this volume will sell best to enquiring undergradiuates, but it would also prov useful to all those nerologsts and neuroswgeos who would like to consider themselvs as c$mical scieN. A.J. Lees Nationat Hospital, London WCIN 3BG HWospital piatirs;, Aithy D. MiIner and David Hull. Pp. vini + 412, illustrated. Churchill Livingstone, Edinburgh, London, Melbourne, New York, 1984. £24.00. co p yrig h t. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p g m j.6 1 .7 1 4 .3 6 7 -b o n 1 A p ril 1 9 8 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ 368 BOOK REVIEWS This book, written almost exclusively by members of the local department, is the second major paediatric text book to come out ofProfessor Hull's Nottingham stable, and is designed as the 'blurb' says to 'help residents manage the problems they are likely to meet in hospital.' To help fulfil this aim the authors, while splitting the book up into system-orientated chapters, have adop- ted a problem-orientated approach, so that a topic is covered in a way that is logical for a resident confron- ted with a wheezy febrile coughing child or a child having funny turns. To be concise, the authors have been extremely successful; the book is clear, well written with exten- sive and skilful use of diagrams and tables, though I found the miniaturised X-rays, even with explanatory line diagrams, rather unhelpful. There are deficiencies. I thought the section on infectious diseases was poor and confusing. The resident would not know how to diagnose meningitis on the CSF, the descriptions of the exanthems are muddled up and the table on immunisations is just plonked down in the middle of the chapter without any explanation. The authors have presumably made an arbitrary decision about what does not constitute hospital paediatrics, hence the absence of what to do with a baby with a cold, colic, fissure-in-ano or worms, yet it was just these conditions that I desperately needed help with as a paediatric S.H.O. when they cropped up in much more fascinating conditions (covered in the text) such as ataxia, telangiectasia or Zollinger-Ellison syndrome. Hypertension in childhood is not covered. It is sad to see the authors recommend the useless technique for cardiac massage in the neonate, the dose of bicarbon- ate recommended on p. 360 is only just above homeopathic, and lowering incubator temperatures in babies with apnoeic attacks may be safe in Notting- ham where they understand heat balance in neonates, but elsewhere it could be lethal. There are many spelling mistakes, some diagrams are incorrectly labelled - dangerously on p. 24, and the child on p. 127 being examined to exclude pyloric stenosis presuma- bly has situs inversus! These criticism are, however, little more than nit picking. The book could be improved by inclusion ofa short pharmacopoeia and the telephone numbers of the Poison Centres in the UK, but it is, without doubt, the best short text book of paediatrics available. No paediatric ward or resident should be without a copy. N.R.C. Roberton Addenbrooke's Hospital, Cambridge CB2 2QQ. Key Facts in Embryology, M.W. Rana. Pp. 245, illus- trated. Churchill Livingstone, New York, Edinburgh, London, Melbourne, 1984. £14.75. An interesting information packed book, a mixture of the excellent, up to date, and pure schoolboy howlers. The aorta does not arise from the left atrium neither does the pulmonary artery come from the right atrium (Figure 12-9, 12-10). Many of the diagrams show an irritating lack of elementary drawing techniques. The legends show a lack of the most elementary Greek and Latin grammar and spelling. Mixing up of the legends and labelling for example Figure 12-15 or leaving out letters as in Figure 16-6 illustrates the poor level of proof reading. The editor has been thanked in the preface, but things have gone wrong in the supervision of the book. These things having been said it is a good book, useful as a rapid reference for salient points. Anyone knowing its contents will have a sound and fundamen- tal knowledge of classical human embryology. P.N. Dilly Department of Anatomy, St George's Hospital Medical School, London SW17 ORE Respiratory Disorders, John Fry, Roger White & Michael Whitfield. Library of General Practice. Vol. 8. Pp. 186, illustrated. Churchill Livingstone, Edinburgh, London, Melbourne, New York, 1984. £12.00. This clearly written but somewhat sparse volume is the 8th book in a well established series covering topics ranging from hypertension to sexual medicine. There are three authors, two general practitioners and a consultant physician specialising in general medicine and respiratory disease. It begins with a description of the functions and structure of the respiratory tract following this with a brief account ofthe epidemiology and investigation of respiratory diseases in the community. The individual conditions are then described in more detail, and I particularly enjoyed the chapter on asthma. The authors advocate the sensible approach of educating the patient to understand more about the natural history of acute respiratory infections and the limitations of therapeutic intervention. For example they state: 'antibiotics should play a very small part in the management of URTIs.' This theme and the co p yrig h t. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p g m j.6 1 .7 1 4 .3 6 7 -b o n 1 A p ril 1 9 8 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ 
work_l73lgheqbrbzllroydqigqeavm	----	Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings: a case study in Florence This article was downloaded by: [Universita Degli Studi di Firenze], [Paola Gallo] On: 29 August 2012, At: 01:54 Publisher: Taylor & Francis Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number: 1072954 Registered office: Mortimer House, 37-41 Mortimer Street, London W1T 3JH, UK International Journal of Sustainable Energy Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/gsol20 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings: a case study in Florence Marco Sala a & Paola Gallo a a Centro Interuniversitario ABITA, Dep. TA&D Tecnologie dell’Architettura e Design, University of Florence via san Niccolò 89/a, 50125, Florence, Italy Version of record first published: 28 Aug 2007 To cite this article: Marco Sala & Paola Gallo (2007): Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings: a case study in Florence, International Journal of Sustainable Energy, 26:2, 61-78 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14786450600921405 PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTICLE Full terms and conditions of use: http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and- conditions This article may be used for research, teaching, and private study purposes. Any substantial or systematic reproduction, redistribution, reselling, loan, sub-licensing, systematic supply, or distribution in any form to anyone is expressly forbidden. The publisher does not give any warranty express or implied or make any representation that the contents will be complete or accurate or up to date. The accuracy of any instructions, formulae, and drug doses should be independently verified with primary sources. The publisher shall not be liable for any loss, actions, claims, proceedings, demand, or costs or damages whatsoever or howsoever caused arising directly or indirectly in connection with or arising out of the use of this material. http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/gsol20 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14786450600921405 http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions International Journal of Sustainable Energy Vol. 26, No. 2, June 2007, 61–78 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings: a case study in Florence MARCO SALA* and PAOLA GALLO Centro Interuniversitario ABITA, Dep. TA&D Tecnologie dell’Architettura e Design, University of Florence via san Niccolò 89/a, 50125 Florence, Italy The Historical Bardini Museum in Florence is a representative paradigm of the Italian Museum Build- ing, and it is very suitable to serve as an exemplary pilot project for the restoration of historical museums. This article presents results of the architectural and energy retrofitting carried out apply- ing appropriate and strategic low-energy and sustainable techniques and of the monitoring campaign (IAQ, thermal comfort, light, acoustic) performed first to evaluate the existing situation and then to verify comfort parameters and the energy consumption after works. The Bardini Museum participates, as Italian case study, to the European MUSEUMS project, financed by EU Commission in the Fifth Framework Programme. The result of this project is to provide also with a direct guidance, complete with architectural and engineering examples, for design professionals and museum authorities, setting a new standard for energy consumption in museum buildings. In parallel, it has aimed to dissemi- nate effective information for designers and local authorities and to demonstrate the efficiency of the measures in order to promote them in efficient market promotion, penetration and utilization. Keywords: Museum; Energy efficiency sustainable design 1. Project’s objectives The MUSEUMS project (NNE5/1999/20), started in 2000 and financed by EU for more than 3 million euros, looks at nine different retrofitting, conversions and new museum projects (including one arts centre) that have been carried out to produce showcases of energy efficient and sustainable museum design. The first intention was to demonstrate that an energy efficient and sustainable museum building design can fully meet the architectural, functional, comfort, control and safety requirements, but the main objective was to apply and test new and innovative technologies in museums in order to achieve total energy savings of over 35% (for retrofit) and 40% (for new buildings) and reduce CO2 emissions over 50%, directly contributing to the preservation of European cultural heritage and to the acceptance of innovative and renewable technologies in public buildings. *Corresponding author. Email: abita@taed.unifi.it International Journal of Sustainable Energy ISSN 1478-6451 print/ISSN 1478-646X online © 2007 Taylor & Francis http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals DOI: 10.1080/14786450600921405 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 62 M. Sala et al. 2. Background The Municipality of Florence, Italian Partner of the project, selected the Bardini Museum as case study and paradigm of the Italian Museum Building. This historical museum is also one of the most important buildings of the Italian Renaissance; therefore, the intervention of retrofitting has taken account of these architectonic and artistic values. The building is located in the centre of Florence, Italy, near the Old Bridge in a densely built residential area (as shown in figure 1). The building is free on all sides, except on the East part and its only entrance is from the West. This building represents one of the most important buildings of the Eclectic period, and it was projected and realized in 1883 by the Italian architect Bardini restructuring an old church with monastery in order to contain and show his art collection. Figure 1. Aerial plan of the Bardini Museum area. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings 63 3. The building before the interventions This historical museum is a representative paradigm of the Italian Museum Building and is also one of the most important buildings of the Italian Renaissance; therefore, the intervention of retrofitting has taken account of these architectonic and artistic values (figure 2). The exhibition space is 3200 m2, with 6.00 m ceiling height and the total volume is 15,000 m3. All the storeys are occupied for work art exposition, with an operating schedule for visiting starting from 09:30 to 19:00 on a daily basis except during the summer period. Except for the administration area, there is no heating, cooling, mechanical ventilation and environmental control systems (no surveys for thermo-hygrometric, CO2 and illumination evaluation). In fact, the building, north–south oriented, is naturally ventilated and has no air conditioning system installed. The building has a very heavy structure: in fact, the traditional stone construction is characterized by a massive wall but the older shell has many problems of structural and functional obsolescence as follows: • obsolete environmental conditions for visitors and staff related to air quality, thermal and visual quality; • no environmental monitoring and control; i.e. no controlled ventilation: unfavourable and changeable conditions for object and visitors; • excessive energy consumption; i.e. lighting represents 70% of the total energy consumption due to insufficient and obsolete devices in the exhibition spaces, absence of detectors, absence of day lighting compensation system; • inefficient use of energy due to bad building maintenance and obsolete equipment; • damaged windows and windows frames; • high air infiltration rates; • inadequate exhibit handling and display; • inadequate spatial organization of exhibition space. Figure 2. Historical photograph of the Bardini Museum. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 64 M. Sala et al. 4. Innovative design strategies The task project was primarily to modulate spaces and services to users’ and workers’ demand in order to correspond to technological and serviceable requirements, also according to leg- islative regulations because when design works started, the building was not fully used and in a very bad state of maintenance. Three main purviews have been individualized: 1. Improvement of the building envelope (insulation, glazing, natural ventilation and daylighting techniques) to reduce the thermal losses of the building. 2. Improvement of energy systems used for heating, cooling, ventilation and artificial lighting to decrease the specific energy requirements in each sector. 3. Improvement of control strategies (BEMS, distribution/demand control strategies, intelli- gent control, etc.) to optimize the performance of the various systems and properly adjust their operation. 4. According to these strategies, the retrofitting measures adopted can be schematized as follows, ramified in four main actions: a. Building improvements: i. improved U -value of windows; ii. reduced infiltration: weather stripping of windows and doors; iii. replacement of window frames in bad condition; iv. ventilated roof and roof insulation; v. additional shading devices for the third floor. b. Use of passive cooling techniques: i. modulation of heat gains. Night ventilation. c. Electric lighting improvement: i. change the type of features to improve their efficiency; ii. replacement of existing skylights. d. HVAC system improvements: i. use of automatic controlled natural ventilation; ii. installation of a new energy efficient heating system. 5. Monitoring In order to integrate detailed retrofitting actions regarding energy aspects, to calibrate sim- ulations tools and to carry out the study on the retrofitting actions, a monitoring campaign was performed to evaluate at first the existing situation and to verify indoor climate, visual, acoustic and thermal comfort and the energy consumption after works. Referring to Common Monitoring Protocol, reported from the responsible in charge for Museums project (Univer- sity of Athens), the monitoring activity for the Bardini Museum was planned to start before intervention and after the commissioning phase. 5.1 Methodology and actions The monitoring was programmed for the following representative seasons: winter and sum- mer, to test the efficiency in the characteristic unfavourable period. In order to assess a real performance of the implemented strategies and features for the Bardini Museum, a detailed monitoring methodology was defined as follows: D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings 65 • Long-term monitoring (monthly measurements): this monitoring campaign was performed in the summer and winter periods; • Short-term monitoring (hourly measurements): this monitoring campaign was performed in the summer and winter periods; • Spot monitoring: a spot monitoring period was carried out during the short monitoring period (in winter and in summer). The local measurements (in order to evaluate microclimatic conditions) were continuously verified with the nearest meteorological station in the centre of Florence, particularly the outdoor air temperature and humidity, sky radiant temperature, global and diffused solar radiation on horizontal and vertical planes and wind speed and direction. 6. Building improvements 6.1 Energy features It is important to notice that existing facades cannot be altered, particularly the main facade (figure 3). Related to the retrofitting measure proposed, the materials used can be schematized in table 1. 6.1.1 Improved U -value of windows using double glazing. Reduction of heat losses through the transparent components is a major problem to solve in this case study. In fact, all existing windows of the building are single-glazed, causing excess heat losses in winter, unavailable leakage. However, double-glazing will permit us to reduce heat flow through all openings. Figure 3. The existing main facade. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 66 M. Sala et al. Table 1. The construction materials. Type of material Thickness (cm) U -value (W/m2 K) Interior partitions Brick partition 30 n/a Roof Caly tiles 40 – Roof insulation Granulated cork 10 0.36 Ground floor Baked tile – – Ground floor insulation Ground floor loose stone foundation – – Intermediate floor – – – Window glazing Double-glazing 0.02 2.80 Window frames Wood/steel – n/a 6.1.2 Reduced infiltration: weather stripping of windows and doors. This retrofitting measure leads to the reduction of outside air infiltrating into the building through cracks and opening gaps around windows and doors. As is well known, the infiltration of the external cold air into the building replenishes the warm air leaking out. 6.1.3 Replacement of window frames in bad condition. Losses through the envelope are mainly caused by infiltration due to the bad condition of windows, so appropriate levels of insulation and decrease in air leakage were required in order to achieve a reduction in convective and irradiative losses. The retrofitting actions were proposed in order to reduce heat losses by changing all windows in bad condition. This action assures air tightness as well as double-glazing for all openings and increases insulation levels of the roof. Replacement of old window frames in bad condition drastically reduces infiltration rates. The reduction concerning the energy demand for heating and cooling will be more or less 2% and 5%, respectively, greater than the previous measure. Figure 4. The new shading system. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings 67 Figure 5. The new shading system, part 2. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 68 M. Sala et al. Figure 6. The ventilated roof structure. Figures 4–5 show the new windows installed have a thermal insulated frame and are also equipped with light curtains that assure light crossing, avoiding overheating and glare and also protecting exhibits from direct sunlight. 6.1.4 Ventilated roof and roof insulation. The building’s roof was not insulated, and the preliminary analysis has shown that the top floors have higher thermal losses. Reduction in the heating losses through the envelope has been achieved mainly by using a good insulation: it was proposed to increase the insulation of the roof, and a 10 cm thick insulation has been added. The insulating panels are made of natural cork installed without artificial additives and adhesives. Besides the insulation, a ventilated roof system has been designed (see the new roof in figure 6) in order to carry out two different kinds of ‘air circulation’ into the roof: • a first micro-ventilation under tiles, essential to prevent humidity stagnation; • a second macro-ventilation under the roof, activated between the tile and the insulating layer. 7. Building performance 7.1 Simulation In order to complete the energy and environmental design phase, several simulations were performed using validated simulation tools (Esp-r and Radiance) to optimize the design of each specific measure applied in the museum (Bartolo, 2003). To evaluate the internal comfort of visitors and exhibited materials, particularly to calculate the distribution of the indoor temperatures, as well as the energy required for heating and cooling purposes, Esp_r software has been used. The model has been divided into six thermal zones at the ground and first floor of the building. These zones represent the main exhibition halls and service spaces. In particular, a detailed thermal analysis was done of the thermal behaviour of the building. To do this, a number of energy simulations were performed that D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings 69 estimated the indoor temperature in each zone as well as the heating and cooling loads for the winter and summer periods. In the following images, five thermal zones used for the simulation are shown (figures 7 and 8). • Zone 1 represents the spaces of great expositive interest. It includes four rooms on the first floor, with west-north/west orientation. • Zone 2 includes only an exhibition room at the intermediate floor facing double volume of the atrium. • Zone 3 is related to the volume of the principal staircase and two rooms of the first floor; one is oriented to east-south/east, whereas the other is oriented to the double volume of the atrium, without a direct external opening. • Zone 4 is the reception on the ground floor, with corridors and open spaces used to connect rooms. • Zone 5 includes the big expositive room with the skylight on the ground floor, the atrium and the adjacent room. A second simulation was performed to optimize the day lighting design phase. For the eval- uation of visual performance, the Radiance tool has been used for the calculation of daylight in interior spaces, the analysis of glare problems, luminance and so on. Radiance simulations were used to compare results related to luminance and illuminance values between the actual state and the project of the following areas of the museum: • Ground floor, entrance hall, atrium; • First floor, Sala del Terrazzo, Sala dei Quadri. Simulations have been done in the rooms that are considered interesting from the point of view of works exposed and in days and hours that have the maximum and minimum insulation values in order to measure luminance and luminance values. These simulations have shown a significant reduction in transmittance using high diffuser in place of the existing glass (figure 9). 7.2 Acoustics Acoustic measurements carried out in the Bardini Museum concerned the following two parameters particularly significant for the case study: normalized sound insulation of façades Figure 7. Location of thermal zones 1-2-3 of first floor. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 70 M. Sala et al. Figure 8. Location of thermal zones 3-4-5 of ground floor. Figure 9. Examples of Radiance simulation. (D2 m,nT,w) and reverberation time (TR ). Measurements have been carried out using a two chan- nel sound analyser (01 dB Symphonie) equipped with half-inch microphones and preamplifiers (Gross). The instrumentation used is of class 1, according to the international standards. For the measurements, the procedure defined by ISO 140-5 was strictly followed. The results of measurements, comparison with limiting values, demonstrate that both façade sound insulation and reverberation time require to be improved. In particular, the correction of the façade sound insulation requires a doubling of the window or at least of the glass pane. 8. Exhibits Ancient historical buildings, converted into museums, offer a great occasion to show col- lections in an impressive context, but in the meantime, this implies limited possibility for intervention because these buildings were not originally conceived for exhibition purposes and many compromises need to be made also because the installation of the HVAC system may not be compatible with the architectural characteristics. In fact, from a exhibit point of view, the Bardini art collection does not require an extreme control of indoor conditions because the exhibit materials are mainly metals (weapons, armours, silver, copper, bronze, brass, lead, D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings 71 coins) and minerals (terracotta, maiolica, stones, marble), which do not need particular care because they are not much affected by light and temperature/humidity parameters. On the first floor, where more delicate objects such as paintings – watercolour, drawings, pastel, oil paint, tempera – and tapestries, strategies are adopted to avoid deteriorations due to direct lighting: double glazing windows have been installed, changing the old frames, and equipped with internal shading systems to reduce light entry. Temperature and humidity are set and controlled by the HVAC system. 9. Elements of the environmental design and innovations 9.1 Daylight and artificial lighting The specific consumption for lighting of the Bardini Museum is high because it has high lighting loads installed unnecessarily, with poor control and low efficiency of the system; priority has been given to actions aiming to reduce the installed power and improve the lighting efficiency, avoiding high heat gains from the old lighting system. In fact, good lighting design means not only lower energy consumption but also, as recent research has shown, increasing exhibition condition and comfort. 9.1.1 Use of improved luminaries: change the type of features to improve their effi- ciency. The improvement of the old luminaries without efficient reflector is a very important measure because the surface inside the luminaries should be more reflective so that more light is now directed onto the exhibition space. The use of efficient luminaries with a special reflec- tor can reduce glare and increase illumination levels. This retrofitting measure has provided the required lighting levels with half the number of fixtures, has reduced glare, and increased the illumination levels. The day lighting level has been optimized by the replacement of existing skylights with new ones (see the skylight project in figures 10 and 11). The first step was to change the skylight roofing structure in the main room near the entrance. The improvement of the old luminaries with efficient reflector is a very important measure because the surface inside the luminaries should be more reflective so that more light can be directed onto the exhibition space. In place of the heavy glazed roofing, we have used luminaries that are transparent 30 mm twin-welled polycarbonate panel with a special reflector which can reduce glare and increases illumination levels (see figures 12–14). Skylight roofing structure with glazing light transmittance τ = 80% High transmittance diffuser for false ceiling with light transmittance τ = 70% A second measure regards the existing wooden false ceiling: all the bulletproof glasses will be replaced with special high-transmittance diffuser components (see figures 15 and 16) made of a high-grade flexible plastic in a position to assure a uniform luminance distribution at the ceiling in the room, apart from a good acoustic. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 72 M. Sala et al. Figure 10. Project section of one of the skylights. 9.2 Heating 9.2.1 Installation of a new energy efficient heating system. The museum building was lacking in a heating system. The use of a heating system will contribute to indoor com- fort improvement in the winter season. The typical heating control system incorporates thermostatic valves on the distribution system and an outdoor air temperature sensor for the system control. Figure 11. Detailed section of the external structure of the main skylight. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings 73 Figure 12. The existing skylight: external view. Figure 13. The old skylight: external view. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 74 M. Sala et al. Figure 14. The new skylight: external view. 9.3 Indoor climate: cooling and ventilation 9.3.1 Use of night ventilation. It is well known that night ventilation is one of the more efficient passive cooling techniques for reducing the cooling load during summer. In fact, Figure 15. The existing skylight: internal view. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings 75 Figure 16. The diffuser panels installed on the old wood ceiling. night ventilation can reduce peak indoor temperature during the day (∼1–2 ◦C), resulting in significant energy savings. Heat stored in the thermal mass is dissipated to the indoor air and can be removed during the night by opening special grids, when outdoor air temperature is lower. On the basis of this principle and in conjunction with the high thermal mass of the building, a retrofitting action has been considered, assuming an exchange rate of an ACH during night time from 10:00 pm to 8:00 am. Windows will be provided with special grids, which can be easily kept open in the summer to improve stack effect ventilation (figure 17). Besides, this system can allow us: 1. to reduce the energy wastes due to uncontrollable openings of windows during the heating and cooling period of the building; 2. to prevent the damage due to the high internal damp: deterioration of the frames, the corrosion, the condensation and mould problems; 3. to assure the visitors, in the cold season, homogeneous thermal comfort without high differences in temperature and without fastidious draughts; 4. to regulate a ‘secure’ airflow rate even when the building is closed and also prevent the admittance to unauthorized personnel and to rain, dust and insects. Besides, this system can allow night ventilation during the warm season to cool the museum space; 5. to reduce significantly the cooling load; to allow a constant ventilation rate in noisy urban areas, without leaving the windows open. It is important to note that the Italian museum building is located in the centre of Florence near a major road with heavy traffic throughout the day. This system can solve problems of noise, dust and pollution without using a mechanical and air-conditioning system; 6. to ensure the health of the occupants, avoiding high humidity levels and CO/CO2 concentration and improving air distribution. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 76 M. Sala et al. Figure 17. The special grids integrated in the windows frame. 9.4 BMS In a museum, is difficult to preserve constant indoor conditions without the use of additional artificial systems. Hence, to have a microclimate without variations, these artificial systems are supported by advanced control systems. In addition to integrated building automation control systems (for lighting, ventilation, overall energy consumption, etc.) or special components such as the Intelligent Windows, controls systems for optimized building energy management are essentially oriented in three fields: thermal control systems; artificial lighting control systems and solar radiation control systems; ventilation and air quality control systems. Moreover, today there are sophisticated intelligent systems, such as the building manage- ment systems, that integrate a larger number of sensors for fire alarm, smoke ventilation, control security systems, the HVAC system according to the internal requirement and so on. The basic elements of an intelligent control system are as follows: one or more sensors to measure the parameters required for the implementation of any required control strategy. Once a controller has processed this information, appropriate commands can be sent to the actuators. The controller will instruct the actuators based on programmed algorithms and in response to the measurements. In the specific project of the Bardini Museum, BMS will be used to regulate thermo-hygrometric conditions and daylighting control also. The control system for optimized indoor climate for exhibit preventive conservation and people comfort will include: • temperature and humidity sensors, which combine previous operational responses and cur- rent conditions to determine the optimum time for turning on the heating system in order to reach the desirable indoor temperature at a specific period; • ventilation control system, which can be used to control passive measures to promote natural ventilation, including the opening and closing of the grid installed under windows; D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 Energy efficient and sustainable ancient museum buildings 77 • occupancy sensor, which can be used to turn the lights off when the space is unoccupied or periodically occupied. We will use the most efficient one, which turns the lights off when the room is unoccupied and leaves the occupant to turn the lights on if required, eliminating the possibility of the lights coming on by small movements such as wind; • lighting sensor, which makes it possible to keep the level of illumination in the room at the design level as daylight varies. It also permits a considerable saving of electricity, longer life for the lighting equipment and simple management of reserve lights. An advanced energy management system, including a smart control for the ventilation system, will be installed. The system will contribute to obtain a low-energy consumption and will ensure that this saving will be maintained; in particular, the installation of this system will allow full control and monitoring for the function of all the components of ventilation systems. We plan to use this control system in order to assure the quality of indoor air, especially in relation to the measured CO2 contents, which should be kept below a fixed level by ventilation. 9.5 Assessment This demonstration project aims to contribute to significant decrease in energy consumption and peak electricity demand for lighting of this museum building, as well as to obtain a considerable improvement of comfort and indoor conditions through the application of high- energy measures. In parallel, it aims to disseminate effective information for designers and local authorities and to demonstrate the efficiency of the measures in order to promote them in efficient market promotion, penetration and utilization. A preliminary analysis has highlighted the following problems: • obsolete environmental conditions for visitors and staff related to air quality, thermal and visual quality; • no environmental monitoring and control; i.e. no controlled ventilation: unfavourable and chargeable conditions for objects and visitors; • excessive energy consumption; i.e. lighting represent 70% of the total energy consumption due to insufficient and obsolete devices in the exhibition solaces, no presence detectors, no day lighting compensation system; • no efficient use of energy due to bad building maintenance and obsolete equipments; • inadequate exhibit handling and display; • adequate spatial organisation of exhibition space. The qualitative impacts expected are as follows: Environmental impacts. Important indirect environmental benefits are expected with the reduction of CO2, CFC and the reduction of pollution caused by the use of electricity and ther- mal energy. Furthermore, the application of retrofitting measures will result in the improvement of indoor air quality, allowing the correct level of thermal comfort and avoiding the health hazards resulting from inadequate indoor conditions. Health impact. Application of retrofitting actions will contribute to improve indoor air quality and to avoid health hazards. Social impacts. Application of retrofitting actions will have a significant impact by creat- ing healthy and comfortable indoor environment and increasing the diffusion of sustainable consciousness in users and owners. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 78 M. Sala et al. Increased comfort. The present proposal contributes to achieve a substantial improvement in the indoor conditions. The creation of a comfortable and healthy indoor environment will seriously contribute to the quality of museum spaces and will contribute to increase the present value of the museum building’s stock. 10. Conclusions/results The proposed demonstration building is a representative example of a common type of museum in Italy and therefore is very suitable to serve as an exemplary pilot project for an historical museum retrofitting. The aim of the project was to apply appropriate and strategic low-energy and sustainable techniques for a better energy retrofitting, without altering historical characters. This project had intended to demonstrate that this type of historical building suits very well the application of sustainable design and energy conservation systems. Particularly, the objectives of this demonstration were: • to set a new standard for energy consumption as this type of museum through energy efficient retrofitting; • to enhance indoor environmental conditions and to improve working conditions for staff and visitors; • to minimize the environmental impact of the building; • to reduce total energy consumption; • to reduce CO2 emissions; • simple payback of eligible installation and design cost in less than 15 years. The final products of this project involve: • an application of new developed, tested and fully documented measures for retrofitting, combining the scientific and technical knowledge in order to improve the energy perfor- mance and the indoor environment of museum buildings; • a complete analysis with a specific monitoring of the energy, environmental and economic benefits connected to a direct application of high-energy efficiency measures; the production of complete data utilizable through appropriate dissemination activities suitable to provide specific guidance to designers who wish to reduce energy use in existing museums or to refurbish a museum with latest energy saving and environmentally friendly techniques. The importance of this proposal is to transfer recent E.U. research achievements in practical applications: in fact, the real scale basis application contributes to the integration of new pro- ducts and will assist efforts of the European industry in order to commercialize these products and will permit a better penetration of solar and energy efficiency systems and products into the building sector. Moreover, this application of retrofitting actions foresees some radical interventions in order to ameliorate the building functionality and its energy performance. The application of an innovative retrofitting design in a real scale basis, linked to the recent scientific and practical achievements, has a good effect because comfort conditions will be greatly improved, energy use for heating as well as for cooling will be largely reduced and, at the same time, the required investment is acceptable. Reference Bartolo, R., Verifiche illuminotecniche degli ambienti con Radiance. Luce & Design n◦7, Tecniche Nuove, Milano, 2003. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it a D eg li S tu di d i F ir en ze ], [ P ao la G al lo ] at 0 1: 54 2 9 A ug us t 20 12 
work_l7po3cmgjrdnbgqgas65xaq7du	----	147 Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. UDK: 376.1-056.263(4)”13/15” ID: 189872140 Pregledni rad Marina RADIĆ ŠESTIĆ1* Nadežda DIMIĆ* Mia ŠEŠUM** University of Belgrade Faculty of Special Education and Rehabilitation* Ministry of Interior RS** THE BEGINNINGS OF EDUCATION OF THE DEAF PERSONS: RENAISSANCE EUROPE (XIV-XVI CENTURY) The aim of this paper is to indicate a turnover of the society towards deaf persons which was brought by the historic Renaissance period, from the XIV to XVI century. It is well known fact that handicapped persons were marginalized in the Middle Ages by the broader social community and that charitable care within churches and monasteries was considered to be the only legitimate form of help to those who were designated by God to expiate the sins of their ancestors. The weakening of the church authority and the improvement of science in the XV century lead to increased interest in medicine, that has also reflected on the attitudes of experts towards deaf people who started to be more actively interested in them. The Renaissance has begotten the first teachers of the deaf, as well as the first deaf artists who have been recognized and revered by society, and that had a crucial impact on the change of comprehension of deafness and attitudes towards the possibilities of the deaf. All this contributed to laying the foundations for more organized work with the deaf, which has occurred in Europe in the XVIII century. Key words: society, renaissance, education, deaf pupil, deafness, sign language 1 E-mail: marina.r-s@hotmail.com Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. 148 INTRODUCTION The Renaissance is a cultural and historical concept which primarily denoted the period of predominantly Italian art, culture and science from the middle of the XIV to the beginning of the XVI century. It was conceived in the XIV century in the town-states of Northern Italy, who became rich and powerful owing to the development of trade during the Middle Ages. It caused the awakening of science and overcoming of laicism, as well as strong opposition of intellectuals and progressive people towards instances of restriction of human rights and development of science. Self-confidence and human intellect prevailed over submissive behavior characteristic of medieval uncompromising respect for God and God’s word (Krleža, 1967: 439). Although Renaissance men in no way have rejected Christianity, they valued the earthly life to much greater extent than men in the Middle Ages, who have mainly been directed to the beyond world. Only in Renaissance man again became the actuator, nucleus, purpose and participant of intellectual events and general progress. Thus Italy became the center of global historical turnover and for centuries remains a role model for the entire Europe owing to special renewal of Antique period in all domains of human creativity. At the same time, the Renaissance is a period of scientific development of all sciences, medicine as well, which has favorably influenced the study of problems of persons with disabilities and creation of advantageous conditions for practical work with them. In the XV and XVI century, the ideas of the Renaissance have spread to Germany, France, Spain and England owing to numerous books which were available after the invention of the printing press, which has enabled their faster distribution, not only among the elite, as was previously the case, but among the „common folks” as well. Such increased interest for mass education of population had also a positive influence on the education of the deaf children (Van Cleve, 1993:240). Radić Šestić, M. i dr.: The beginnings of education of the deaf persons: Renaissance Europe (XIV-XVI Century) 149 Relation to Deafness in Pre-modern Period Until the Renaissance, the deaf were treated as less worthy persons. Under the influence of the views of Aristotle and St. Augustine, who have considered that the deaf could not be educated, their training has not been acceded for a long time. Deafness as a medical and social problem was discussed only in various state legal acts and in medical documents. Speech was considered a gift of God, and a deaf child was deprived of speech by God’s will. Only the Church was the intermediary between God and men. Thus was clearly defined the position of deafness, as well as the issue of rehabilitation of deafness as a disability. Deafness was then considered as such a severe disability that there is no chance to help or alleviate such condition. Only a miracle could help in case of deafness (Dimić, 1996:15). Mediaeval philosophers and teachers considered the deaf people as a part of God’s plan which they have no right to influence. Change of situation and status of the deaf was possible only with the God’s intervention. There was a belief that the souls of the deaf can’t find salvation, because they are not able to hear the priest’s sermon (Branson, Miller, 2002:67). Since they were often misunderstood, the fear of expulsion and elimination followed the deaf through the considerable part of their history (Padden, 2005:161). The deaf in the period of the Middle Ages, as well as at the beginning of the Renaissance have often served their landlords as a cheap labor. However, that was related only to the poor deaf, the children of aristocrats were accommodated in the monasteries where they were entrusted to the custody of monks. Considering that on the one hand the Church proclaimed mercy and on the other hand the existence of „predestination”- intention of the almighty that certain persons (the deaf, blind, physically disabled…) expiate the punishment for the sins of their parents, any effort for the purpose of educating the deaf, except for charitable care has not been tolerated. If by any chance someone would oppose this official standing that had existed in the Middle Ages, one could have been accused for heresy and burned at the stake. Only the high clergy had the right to interfere in predestination, because it was considered that its members have received a special gift from the almighty so that they can perform their duties. Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. 150 It was in this period that a great historical paradox occurred: in the period of the most severe Inquisition, when all those who were considered to be opposed to the Church standings and had connection with the devil were burned at the stake, when even the blind were burned at the stake, the education of the deaf by the clergy commenced in the monasteries (Savić, Maslić, 1974:7). Some monks considered writing and gesturing to be the manners of achieving knowledge and salvation, because these forms of communication were represented in the monasteries in which many internal sign systems have been developed. These sign systems were not created because of the deaf, nor they have used it; they were developed by various monk orders for the purpose of their communication during the period of silence, when speaking wasn’t allowed (Branson, Miller, 2002:68). The sign systems of the deaf grew out of the need of the biological imperative for the first, maternal language, and were independent from the sign systems which were used by hearing people (Bragg, 1997:15). The monasteries also produced the first teachers who have taught by means of sign language. These teachers were dedicated not only to teaching reading and writing, but taught their students to talk as well, thus denying the centuries old notion that the deaf need a miracle to begin talking. In addition to the monks, physicians and teachers soon have begun teaching the deaf. The overall philosophical view of the world has changed in the Renaissance period; the goals of education have changed, as well as the expectations of individuals and society who after a thousand years long absolute reign of the Church wanted to take over the responsibility for their own prosperity. People no longer accepted the world itself, as a God-given, but they have started looking for a way to change it. As expected, that has affected the attitudes towards deafness as well. Teaching the deaf children how to talk has become one of the new philosophical achievements, and it was a domain where the experts from all over Europe could prove that it is possible to change the course of human destiny. Although there were some isolated attempts of training the deaf in the past, only since the Renaissance begun systematic work of teachers and physicians with the deaf. New page in history and treatment of the deaf was opened, because in this historical period we have started with initial tolerance and, through Radić Šestić, M. i dr.: The beginnings of education of the deaf persons: Renaissance Europe (XIV-XVI Century) 151 sheltering, crossed to the concrete practice of rehabilitation (Branson, Miller, 2002:68). Abandonment of the Mediaeval Notion of Deafness Ancient medical science treated deafness as the influence of supernatural forces on the individual, so the physicians came to the conclusion that the deaf could not be rehabilitated. Later they have discovered that there is some kind of connection between deafness and muteness, but the clinical picture of deafness was not yet known. The renowned antique physician and philosopher Aelius Galenus (129- 199 AD), whose theories had a significant influence on the Western medicine for more than one millennium, concluded that deafness is a disease in which function of organism was impaired. The low level of science in the mediaeval period, and especially the anatomy and physiology, did not allow consideration of the causes and consequences of hearing impairment (Kovačević, 2003:9). However, the interest in the anatomy of men has increased at the beginning of the Renaissance; many autopsies that were performed in that time support that fact. Among the first matters that have significantly influenced the new medical concept of the Renaissance period are the texts of Paracelsus (1493-1541) who was interested in reconsiderations of Galenus’s dogma, as well as the two anatomy texts of Andreas Versalius, who have corrected some of Galenus’s anatomical beliefs and laid the foundation for modern scientific studies of the brain. A physician Hieronymus Mercurialis was among those who were influenced by Versalius. He certainly considered that brain injuries, as well as other traumas, could be the causes of underdevelopment of speech and problems in articulation, to a lesser or greater degree. In his work Mercurialis unified the cognitions from the classical sources and his own practical experience. He thought that the congenital deafness is the major cause of underdevelopment of speech, and that the child who wasn’t ever able to hear anything will be missing stimuli necessary for the brain to perform activation of articulatory organs. The connection between muteness and deafness was a subject of great interest of physicians in the age of the Renaissance. Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. 152 The treatment of muteness was possible if a person didn’t have impaired hearing, but the deaf were often considered incurable. A German physician Salomon Alberti (1540-1600) thought that hearing and speech impairment need not be necessarily connected and that Aristotle and Hippocrates were mistaken when they claimed that a hearing loss inevitably conditions loss of speech as well. Alberti pointed out that the physicians have for centuries relied on the conclusions from the ancient times and that this has affected the accumulation of wrong concepts and evaluations. He, on the other hand, relied solely upon his own practical experience. The autopsies which he has performed enabled him to become familiar with speech and hearing apparatus and to study the nerves and muscles necessary for mobilization of speech organs. Alberti claimed that the speech is a skill that it is adopted, and not a gift meant for people. Thereby he wanted to emphasize that the deaf and mute persons are completely rational, as well as everyone else. As a Renaissance man, Alberti believed in the soul, as well as that the man is a creation of God in his own model, but he didn’t believe that hearing and speech impairment are the consequence of damage to the soul. He considered that congenital deafness is a consequence of fault of the period of embryonic development and that in no way it could be regarded as a punishment from God and influence the humanism of an individual. Starting from the assertions of Versalius and Alberti, many scientists from various scientific disciplines commenced studying problems of deafness. It was no longer the question of whether the deaf could be taught to speak, but which is the best way to do it. Various methods that could help to solve this problem were taken into consideration (Albrecht, 2006:864). Rudolphus Agricolae (1444-1485) had an enormous impact on the spread of humanism in the late XV century (Tervoort, 2005:354). In his book „De Inventione Dialectica”, he described the encounter with a man who was deaf from birth and consequently mute, but nevertheless he managed to learn to understand everything written and express his thoughts, desires and intentions in writing (Van Cleve, 1993:241). In 1575 a Spanish lawyer Lasso wrote that the deaf who were taught to speak are no longer stupid, and that they have the right to inheritance (Cagle, 2010). A French physician Laurent Joubert noted Radić Šestić, M. i dr.: The beginnings of education of the deaf persons: Renaissance Europe (XIV-XVI Century) 153 in 1587 that the teacher had to be very patient when it comes to teaching the deaf pupils to imitate characteristic facial expressions and movement of speech organs, but that the effort will show results because in that manner the deaf will succeed in developing speech despite hearing impairment (Van Cleve, 1987:42). In 1603, Fabricius Aquapendente, a professor of anatomy at the University of Padua, published two papers that were in many aspects ahead of his time. They emphasized the existence of differences between so called pantomime, which has been used in Italy since ancient times, and natural gesture expression of the deaf. Aquapendente claimed that the training is necessary for understanding sign language of the deaf, and that language is much more complex than a mere imitation of reality by means of movements of arms and hands, as it was believed. He was the first person who denied the iconicity of the sign language. Also, he argued that the muteness of the deaf is solely a consequence of their inability of hearing. He believed that there is no possibility of curing congenital and postnatal deafness, but he advocated that the deaf children should be educated in the best possible way. He warned that no one should attempt to cure deafness by some problematic means, as it had previously been the custom, and that providing the best possible education to the child is the only way to overcome it (Savić, Maslić, 1974:62) The First Teachers of the Deaf A physician Girolamo Cardano (1501-1576) was considered to be the first representative of the scientific thought and the founder of theoretical concept of education of the deaf. Cardano was the first who publicly asserted that the muteness occurred as a consequence of deafness, which was a heavy blow to then religious dogmas of deafness as a divine punishment, which is why he was imprisoned by the Inquisition in 1573 and a lot of his books were burned. A well known is Cardano’s notion that deafness could be neutralized by means of transmission of sound through the skull bones, if a deaf person and his collocutor during conversation hold a small stick in their mouths that will allow them to hear each other. Also, he was the first who gave a definition of hearing impairment according to the time of the Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. 154 occurrence of that impairment and the degree of development of speech and the remainder of hearing. Cardano’s greatest accomplishment is that he established that deafness is not a pathological phenomenon which causes inability of intellectual development and that the deaf, with proper training, can achieve a high intellectual level. He denied that the development of thinking is impossible without the ability to speak, pointing out that the deaf can „hear” by means of reading and „speak” by writing. Thereby he became the first physician who established the theory that the deaf can be educated. This thought, although lonely, because the tradition of the past is opposed to new notions, was a herald of the new views on deafness and possibilities for the rehabilitation of the deaf (Dimić, 1996:17). He defied the ancient notion that persons who have not mastered the speech are without language, and therefore without a soul and reason as well (Van Cleve, 1987:246). The ideas presented in Cardano’s professional works represent the foundations of the contemporary approach to education of the deaf and abandonment of generalized preconceptions about what the deaf can do, and what is unattainable to them (Marschark, Lang, Albertini, 2002:19).. Instead of the earlier caritative approach to deafness, he demanded, together with his contemporary, a physician Fabricius Aquapendante, the education of the deaf, because they considered that a deaf person cannot achieve mastering of speech alone, in a natural way, but a special organized training is necessary for that. The ideas of Cardano about the possibility of intellectual development and education of the deaf found their confirmation and further expansion of individual education of the deaf in practice which was created in Spain, one of the largest, wealthiest and the most developed countries of Europe in the XV and XVI century, and then transferred to the Netherlands, England, France and Germany, soon to be extended to the entire Europe (Savić, Ivanović, 1994:14,15). The Benedictine monk Pedro Ponce de León (1508-1584) is believed to be the first teacher of the deaf. Shaken by the handicap of two boys who stayed in the same monastery as he, Ponce tried to find a way that would allow him to train them. It is considered that the method that he used in his work was based on writing, with finger pointing to the objects that are named, than inducing movement Radić Šestić, M. i dr.: The beginnings of education of the deaf persons: Renaissance Europe (XIV-XVI Century) 155 of the tongue and lips which correspond to the pronunciation of written sounds, usage of the finger alphabet, and then writing them down by the deaf pupils. He was the first who in his work with the deaf persons used finger alphabet, which had appeared for the first time in that context in historical documents in the XVI century, in the notes of Melchor de Yebra (1526-1586) (Plann, 1997). Ponce also communicated with his pupils by means of gestures, considering that the monks of his monastic order were under the strict vow of silence. Since his method proved to be effective, he also started to teach the other deaf persons, who were predominantly from the wealthy and respectable families (Van Cleve, 1987:295-297). In order to escape the conviction of the Inquisition, he claimed that he had received a special gift from St. Ignatius Loyola, so that he could train the deaf. The other early teachers of the deaf resorted to that as well, because there was a danger that they could be accused in front of the Inquisition for quackery and witchcraft (Savić. Maslić, 1974:7). Through his work he has proved that even the deaf can read, write, think and speak (Plann, 1997). It is considered that Bonet and Carrion, who were after Ponse also engaged in teaching the deaf to speak, relied a great deal exactly upon his work methods. Manuel Ramirez de Carrion (1579-1652) was a teacher and one of the pioneers of education of the deaf, who is considered as a direct successor of Pedro Ponce de León. Carrion started with the training of the deaf in his native Spain, where he published a book „Miracles of Nature” (Maravillas de naturaleza, 1629), some kind of Encyclopedia, where he partially described his vocal method with which he trained the deaf to read and write, and also he presented his reflections on possibilities of their education. In 1636 he went to Italy and stayed there till 1645, when he returned to Spain, where after 1652 every trace of him was lost (Bojanin, Blagojević, Buljančević i sar., 1999:164). Carrion, as well as the majority of teachers of those times, tried to keep his method secret, in an attempt to avoid the appearance of competition, and also to maintain the privileged position which he enjoyed among the nobility that was interested in his services. He noticed that the underdevelopment of speech among the deaf is a consequence of the lack of auditory stimulation, and considering that their speech organs are completely functional, it is possible to Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. 156 teach them to speak. Carrion’s method was most probably based on learning the letters according to the sounds they represent, and not according to their regular names. This method was called the reduction of letters. The reduction of the names of letters and their connection solely with the sounds they represent was likely practiced by both Ponce and Bonet in their training of the deaf. In his communication with the deaf pupils Carrion also used the finger alphabet that he most probably took over from Bonet, with minimal modifications (Van Cleve, 1987:179-180). In order to give medical character to his work in the period of Inquisition, respectively that his treatments would not resemble the miraculous returning of the ability of speech to the deaf, because of which he could be convicted and burned at the stake, he was giving his pupils laxatives and other various potions, shaved their heads and smeared various ointments on shaven places, and then articulated sounds, syllables and words in the crowns of their heads, which were then repeated by their pupils. This was the first attempt of learning to speak by means of transfer of sound through bones caused by vibration of the head (Bojanin, Blagojević, Buljančević i sar., 1999:164). Owing to large number of the deaf that he has successfully educated, Carrion is considered to be the most significant successor of Pedro Ponce de León in the history of education of the deaf. Nevertheless, his method became well known only when it was described and published by Bonet in 1620. Juan Pablo Bonet (1579-1623) was a Spanish teacher and author of the first book completely dedicated to education of the deaf. Bonet was able to observe Carrion teaching the deaf children, so he adopted his method and got into education of the deaf himself. He hasn’t invented any new method of work, yet he only applied what he had learned from Carrion. In 1620 he published a book „Simplification of the Alphabet, and the Art of Teaching Mutes to Speak“ (Van Cleve, 1987:263, 264). This book has two parts: the first one is a descriptive phonetics of Spanish language, and the second part is the methodology of working with the deaf, where he laid out numerous principles of education of the deaf, by which he set the foundations of the articulative teaching. The descriptions of the articulative positions in this book were extraordinary, and helped contemporary phoneticians to comprehend articulation of Spanish language of the seventeenth century. Radić Šestić, M. i dr.: The beginnings of education of the deaf persons: Renaissance Europe (XIV-XVI Century) 157 Also, Bonet was the first who insisted on the difference between audible and inaudible sounds. He believed that studying reading and spelling is completely justifiable, and that, if a child knows how to articulate every letter and how to attach it to the expiration of the sound, it could accomplish to read out loud in a very short time, although this does not mean that it would necessarily understand everything it reads. Juan Pablo Bonet died in 1623, in Madrid. Although he wasn’t the author of the method of teaching the deaf, the book he had written was very significant for the expansion of the idea that the deaf can be taught oral speech. His work with the deaf served as an inspiration also to the other European teachers interested for this type of education as well. The Deaf Artists The deaf people who were involved in the literary arts have always used various literary forms in their expression, and traditionally the most frequent theme they were writing about was experience of deafness. A Spanish nun Teresa de Cartagena, as well as French Renaissance poets Pierre de Ronsard and Joachim du Bellay had especially significant influence of the literature of the deaf. The figure of Teresa de Cartagena was exhibited at the oldest known portrait of the deaf person, dated from 1453. In her youth Teresa fell deaf, after which she became a nun and devoted her life to writing. Although she suffered because of her handicap, she perceived it as a temptation, and in her texts tried to share her own experience of deafness with her readers, as well as to advise and provide comfort to other deaf people. The significance of her works is reflected in a revolutionary idea of acceptance of the handicap not as a punishment, but as a blessing, as well as in the fact that in the XV century it was uncommon to write about bodily suffering, especially when the woman is in question. Teresa believed that the deafness is a gift from God, which was given to her so that she could be closer to him, and she wanted to share that belief with other persons with disabilities as well (Abel, 1980:187). Her texts were often considered controversial, because she wrote about the gender equality and birth roles, and her text „ Admiraçión operum Dey” („Wonder at the Works of God”) is considered by many Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. 158 historians to be the first Spanish feminist tractate (Seidenspinner- Núñez, 2004:15-20) The Renaissance artists used religious themes, but at the same time they have shifted attention from the sky to the nature and man, thus questioning the superiority of faith over art. Extraordinary Renaissance artists effortlessly portrayed characteristics of people and celebrated corporal form of men. Renaissance art developed also a new concept of visual space, which was defined from the standpoint of individual observer. Cultural goods of the ancient world were revived and accepted together with the new values in an attempt of faithful representation of reality. An insight into the interest of artists of these times can easily be achieved on the basis of the work „The Notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci”. Besides anatomy, proportions, perspective, light and shadows, painters of those times were also interested in questions such as: how to accurately portray the posture of the model, his gestures, emotions, body in movement…(Davies, 1961). In addition to accurately portrayed the physiognomy of painted people, the Renaissance painters have tried to show their feelings as well. The Italians believed in wisdom and beauty, and idealization of human body and face was one of the fundamental characteristics of the Renaissance art, which it inherited from the ancient world. In the period of the Middle Ages and Renaissance it was hard to find a deaf person that knew how to read and write, but nevertheless many deaf people lived productive lives. The proof for that were numerous deaf painters who in the XVI century created exceptional works and through their work left significant mark in the history of art. The ability of artistic expression of the deaf has been noted a long time ago; famous Leonardo da Vinci and Girolamo Cardano also wrote about the artistic talents of the deaf. They have believed that painting was an exceptional domain in which the deaf could express themselves, because one does not need to have components of speech and hearing for that. Cardano considered that great artists do not need to bother painting large areas in churches when that could be done by the deaf, and masters can only finalize their works by instilling a soul in them. The first mention of the deaf painters date as early as the Roman period, and the first deaf painter was Quintus Pedius, a grandson of Radić Šestić, M. i dr.: The beginnings of education of the deaf persons: Renaissance Europe (XIV-XVI Century) 159 the Roman consul, who entered all encyclopedias of painting. The Spaniard Juan Fernandez de Navarrete (1526-1579), called El Mudo (The Mute) was the first court painter of the King Philip II, the most prominent one in a group of Spanish and Italian painters who worked at Escorial. The majority of his artistic opus consists of portraits of distinguished religious figures. Characteristic for El Mudo’s style is his endeavor to depict human feelings. In the history of art he was remembered as an educated artist, freethinker and innovator, as well as the first painter in Spain who virtuously used the contrasts of dynamic light and darkness in the tradition of Tintoretto, which he has modified and adapted to the Spanish realism. El Mudo suddenly fell deaf in his early childhood, at the age of 3 and a half. He compensated his inability to speak with drawing, and thus developed his own way of communication with the environment. Navarette learned history and studied the Bible in the monastery, more than a decade before Ponce de León started to train the deaf (Marschark, Lang, Albertini, 2002:20). He acquired artistic education in Spain and Italy, after which he spent several years working on the restoration of Escorial, and from 1568 he gained the title of court painter. His paintings exuded energy and preciseness, with very free usage of contrasts of light and darkness. His evolution as an artist, although not rapid and radical, was under the influence of the continuous search for new manners to enrich of his own style (Van Cleve, 1987:236). Bernardino di Beto di Biaggio „Pinturicchio“ (1454-1513) was a deaf Italian Renaissance painter, known as an extraordinary master of the fresco technique. In his compositions he portrayed a variety of Biblical themes with a large number of characters in landscape and architectural ambiances, in vivacious coloring and gilding. In Rome he painted cycles of frescoes in the churches Santa Maria del Popolo and Santa Maria in Aracoeli, as well as in the apartments of Pope Alexander VI at the Vatican. He collaborated with Pietro Perugino painting the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel. Outside Rome he painted frescoes in the hall of the Cathedral of Orvieto and in the library of the Cathedral of Siena (Krleža, 1967:134). Ercole Sarti (1593 -1639) was an Italian painter, known by his nickname Il muto de Ficarola (The Mute from Ficarola), because of the underdeveloped speech, which was most probably a consequence Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. 160 of congenital deafness. He painted in Felonica and in Salara as well. In the Ficarolo’s St. Valentine Church he painted a well known work „Crucifixion with Donor and Saints Valentine and Carlo Borromeo” (Laderchi, 1856:157). The work of Jaime López, a deaf Spanish painter, known for his nickname El Muño was also noticed in the XV century in the period of the early Renaissance. „St. John the Baptist in the Church of Toledo” was his famous painting. He was also known for his decorating the Hermitage of our Lady of Prado (Bryan, 2007:75). Hendrick Barentsz Avercamp (1585-1634) was a well known Dutch painter, who became famous for painting winter landscapes in oil painting technique. He was the author of numerous works which were even to this day preserved in various galleries or private collections. Jean le Muet and Berend Dircksz were distinguished Flemish painters, who, as well as many other renowned artists of that period, fell deaf in their childhood. Cristiforo de Predis (1440-1486) was yet another Italian Renaissance painter, who was deaf from birth. In his work he has combined an elegant and refined artist’s style with the Renaissance motifs that have thus obtained the reality. He was known for illustrating the „Borromeo Book of Hours”, where, although there is a signature of the author, creation date has not been specified (Clarke, Clarke, 2002). However, his most famous work is artistic illustrations in the book „De Sphaera d’Erste” (around 1470), which is even today considered as the most beautifully illustrated astrology book from the Renaissance period. All illustrated scenes are in the context of the leading theme of the book, the planet. The astronomical motifs were illustrated in the manner similar to the contemporary astrological maps. The book contains a total of 15 luxurious miniatures, each painted across the entire page. The illustrations exhibit planets, which, according to the conceptions of that period, were turning around the Earth and that were: Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Sun, Venus, Mercury and the Moon. These astronomical maps also showed the position of Earth in relation to the celestial bodies and provided explanations for the Moon phases and climate coordinates as well. Every planet is associated with a specific Zodiac sign, as well as with two marvelous presentations of landscape, town or interior each, painted in a very realistic manner. These miniatures precede and follow astronomical Radić Šestić, M. i dr.: The beginnings of education of the deaf persons: Renaissance Europe (XIV-XVI Century) 161 drawings which illustrate astronomical situations on visible parts of the sky and represent fantastic accomplishments of the Renaissance. The accomplishments of talented deaf persons in the Renaissance period are the proof that the deaf people even without organized training found the way to communicate with their environment. Their results represent the first indications of the possibilities of successful training of the deaf through education (Marschark, Lang, Albertini, 2002:20). By creating artistic works the deaf persons demonstrate their intellectual capacities and contradict the popular belief that they are the „primitive” and non-productive members of society (Mirzoeff, 1995:3). The role of art in the Renaissance period could not be underestimated at all. It is not only the means for the deaf persons to prove their values and abilities, but it is also an „activism which helps the deaf persons to express their identity.” (Mirzoeff, 1995:12) Instead of the Conclusion Regardless of the enormous progress in the education of the deaf which was brought by the Renaissance, all the attempts of their education from this period were individual, isolated and sporadic efforts of the philanthropists or physicians who have trained one or more deaf children and left direct or incidental record of their method. Since pupils were mostly children from the families that belong to the ruling class, the ideology of that class determined the goal of upbringing and education of the deaf, and it was mastering speech for the purpose of communication with the environment which consisted of hearing people. Through the entire Renaissance period no overall educational system was developed, nor has the broader final goal of the education of the deaf been established. Everything amounted to mastering oral speech within the boundaries of individual possibilities. Every author considered his method the best and unique, by which one could achieve the best results (Savić, 1966: 64). Nevertheless, the general social change which was brought by the Renaissance, thanks to the scientific approach to the problem of deafness, as well as to the extraordinary deaf individuals who made humanity their debtor for their work and Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. 162 thus proved that they are capable for productive life and work, made possible to lay the foundations for the organized educational work with the deaf which has appeared in Europe in the XVIII century. Also, the Renaissance exploitation of visually-kinesthetic communication systems represents the beginning of their acceptance and is essential for their modern history, as well as the position they have in the contemporary world (Bragg, 1997:24). Two courses have developed during the period which followed the Renaissance, whose representatives were the physicians that tried to merge medicine with pedagogical procedures in their work with the deaf children. The representatives of the English course developed the teaching of the Spanish school, so that they, besides speech also used writing, finger alphabet and gesture in their work, while the representatives of the Dutch course developed their own system of training the deaf based on the application of oral speech exclusively. However, in terms of individual training of the deaf no one felt the need to organize special institutions for their training, considering that all children that have been trained by then were from the aristocratic families, who didn’t care for the overall education of the deaf. LITERATURA 1. Abel, E. (1980). On Female Identity and Writing in Women, University of Chicago Press. 2. Albrecht, L.G. (2006): Encyclopedia of Disability, University of Illinois, Chicago. 3. Bojanin, S., Blagojević, D., Buljančević, M. i sar. (1999). De- fektoloski leksikon, Zavod za udžbenike i nastavna sredstva, Beograd. 4. Bragg, L. (1997). Visual-Kinetic Communication in Europe before 1600: A Survey of Sign Lexicons and Finger Alphabets Prior to the Rise of Deaf Education, Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education 2 (1) 15-24.  5. Branson, J., Miller, D. (2002). Damned for their Difference: The Cultural Construction of Deaf People as Disabled A Sociological History, Washington, D.C. Radić Šestić, M. i dr.: The beginnings of education of the deaf persons: Renaissance Europe (XIV-XVI Century) 163 6. Bryan, M. (2007). Dictionary of Painters and Engravers, Biographical and Critical (Volume II L-Z) (London, 1889); Original from Fogg Library, Digitized May 18, 2007: George Bell and Sons. 7. Cagle, K., M. (2010). Exploring the Ancestral Roots of American Sign Language: Lexical Borrowing from Cistercian Sign Language and French Sign Language, The University of New Mexico Albuquerque, New Mexico, dissertation. 8. Clarke, M., Clarke, D. (2002). The Concise Grove Dictionary of Art Terms, Oxform University Press. 9. Davies, M. (1961). National Gallery Catalogues: Catalogue of the Earlier Italian Schools, National Gallery Catalogues, London. 10. Dimić, N. (1996). Metodika artikulacije, Defektološki fakultet, Beograd. 11. Kovačević, J. (2003). Didaktički sistemi u školovanju gluvih, DDJ, Beograd. 12. Krleža, M. (1967). Enciklopedija leksikografskog zavoda, vol 5, Zagreb. 13. Laderchi, C. (1856). La pittura ferrarese, memorie, Ferrara, Italy. 14. Marschark, M., Lang, H. G., Albertini, J., A. (2002). Educating Deaf Students from Research to Practice, Oxford University Press, New York. 15. Mirzoeff, N. (1995). Silent Poetry: Deafness, Sign, and Visual Culture in Modern France. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. 16. Padden, Carol A., Tom, L. Humphries (2005). Inside Deaf Culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 17. Plann, S. (1997). A Silent Minority: Deaf Education in Spain, 1550-1835. University of California Press, Berkeley. 18. Savić, Lj., Maslić, F. (1974). Pregled opšte istorije surdopedagogije, Defektološki fakultet, Beograd. 19. Savić, Lj., Ivanović, P. (1994). Surdopedagogija, Defektološki fakultet, Beograd. Specijalna edukacija i rehabilitacija (Beograd), Vol. 11, br. 1. 147-165, 2012. 164 20. Savić, Lj. (1996). Teorija i praksa specijalnog školstva u Srbiji do drugog svetskog rata, Savezni odbor Saveza gluvih Jugoslavije, Beograd. 21. Tervoort, A. (2005). The Iter Italicum and the Northern Netherlands: Dutch Students at Italian Universities and their Role in the Netherlands’ Society (1426-1575), Leiden and Boston: Brill Academic Publisher. 22. Van Cleve, J. V. (1987). Gallaudet Encyclopedia of Deaf People and Deafness, vol 1, vol 2, New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company. 23. Van Cleve, J. V. (1993). Deaf History Unveiled: Interpretations from the New Scholarship, Washington, D.C .Gallaudet University Press. Radić Šestić, M. i dr.: The beginnings of education of the deaf persons: Renaissance Europe (XIV-XVI Century) 165 POČECI OBRAZOVANJA GLUVIH OSOBA: RENESANSNA EVROPA (XIV-XVI VEK) Marina Radić Šestić*, Nadežda Dimić*, Mia Šešum** Univerzitet u Beogradu Fakultet za specijalnu edukaciju i rehabilitaciju* Ministarstvo unutrašnjih poslova RS** Sažetak Cilj ovog rada je da ukaže na preokret u odnosu društva prema gluvim osobama koji je doneo istorijski period renesanse, od XIV do XVI veka. Poznato je da su u srednjem veku hendikepirane osobe bile marginalizovane od strane šire društvene zajednice i da se smatralo da je milosrdno zbrinjavanje pri crkvama i manastirima jedini legiti- man oblik pomoći onima koje je Bog odredio da ispaštaju grehe preda- ka. Slabljenje autoriteta crkve i napredak nauke u XV veku dovode do pojačanog interesovanja za medicinu, što se odražava i na stavove stručnjaka prema gluvim osobama, za koje počinju aktivnije da se zanimaju. Renesansa je iznedrila prve učitelje gluvih, kao i prve gluve umetnike koji su bili priznati i cenjeni od strane društva, što je presud- no uticalo na promenu shvatanja gluvoće i stava prema mogućnostima gluvih. Sve ovo je doprinelo postavljanju temelja za organizovani edu- kativni rad sa gluvima, koji se u Evropi javlja u XVIII veku. Ključne reči: društvo, renesansa, obrazovanje, gluve i nagluve sobe, znakovni jezik Primljeno: 9.01.2012. Prihvaćeno: 20.2.2012. 
work_lask4pvip5fixdb6uf4extrktm	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 9 December 2013 Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper1 Henrik Karge Figure 1 Franz Kugler, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel at the lectern, 1828. Frankfurt am Main, Goethe-Haus – Freies Deutsches Hochstift. Diathek TU Dresden Hegel’s provocative concept of the end of art – or, more precisely, of the retrospective character of art – has generated much reflection and controversy since the early nineteenth century. Most discussions of art’s end take Hegel’s philosophy as a starting point, but the context in which Hegel developed his theories about art was quite different from that of today. The main source for this famous concept comes from a passage in Heinrich Gustav Hotho’s introduction to Hegel’s Lectures on Aesthetics, which Hotho edited and published in 1835, after Hegel’s death: Art, considered in its highest vocation, is and remains for us a thing of the past. Thereby it has lost for us genuine truth and life, and has instead been transferred into our ideas instead of maintaining its earlier necessity in reality and occupying its higher place.2 1 For the English correction of this article, I would like to express my deep gratitude to Jeanne-Marie Musto. 2 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Hegel’s Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art, trans. T. M. Knox, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975, 11. Original text: ‘In allen diesen Beziehungen ist und bleibt die Kunst nach der Seite ihrer höchsten Bestimmung für uns ein Vergangenes. Damit hat sie für uns auch die echte Wahrheit und Lebendigkeit verloren und ist mehr in unsere Vorstellung verlegt, als daß sie in der Wirklichkeit ihre frühere Notwendigkeit behauptete und ihren höheren Platz einnähme.’ Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Werke, xiii: Vorlesungen über die Ästhetik, I, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1986, 25. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 2 This formulation doesn’t appear in Hegel’s own publications, but its general authenticity is guaranteed by the responses of a number of contemporaries. The composer Felix Mendelssohn-Bartoldy, for instance, was surprised by the philosopher’s opinion that the art of his time was ‘mausetot’ (‘stone dead’) – given his simultaneous passion for the living theatre.3 The German philosopher (fig. 1) didn’t really assume, of course, that the art of his time would come to an end, but he noted a decisive break between the natural presence of the art of older times and the reflexive character of contemporaneous art: ‘Art invites us to intellectual consideration, and that not for the purpose of creating art again, but for knowing philosophically what art is.’4 This is the starting point for the modern discussions of the ‘end of art’ promoted by the philosopher Arthur C. Danto, who has been publishing on the subject since 1984.5 In his book After the End of Art: Contemporary Art and the Pale of History (1997), he tied the artistic epoch of modernism, beginning with Van Gogh and Gauguin, to Hegel’s concept of modern reflexiveness. Danto emphasized ‘that mimetic representation had become less important than some kind of reflection on the means and methods of representation. […] In effect, modernism sets itself at a distance from the previous history of art.’6 Whereas this conception may be applied – in a somewhat simplified manner – to the leading currents of twentieth-century modernism, it doesn’t go well with the complexity of contemporary art. In her book The Past is the Present; It’s the Future, Too (2012), Christine Ross demonstrates how deeply the art of the present is concerned with archives and the relics of the past, with memory practices and re- enactments, with history and archaeology, detecting a ‘temporal turn’ in 3 Günter Nicolin, ed., Hegel in Berichten seiner Zeitgenossen, Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1970, 480, nr. 669. More sources in: Annemarie Gethmann-Siefert, Ist die Kunst tot und zu Ende? Überlegungen zu Hegels Ästhetik, Erlangen and Jena: Verlag Palm & Enke, 1993, 4-7. The preserved records of Hegel’s lectures are less specific on this point. See esp. the record of Hegel’s lecture in the summer semester of 1823, written by his pupil Heinrich Gustav Hotho: Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Vorlesungen über die Philosophie der Kunst, ed. Annemarie Gethmann-Siefert, Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 2003, 6. 4 Hegel, Aesthetics, 11. ‘Die Kunst lädt uns zur denkenden Betrachtung ein, und zwar nicht zu dem Zwecke, Kunst wieder hervorzurufen, sondern, was die Kunst sei, wissenschaftlich zu erkennen.’ Hegel, Vorlesungen, 26. This thought was inspired by German writings of the late eighteenth century, especially Friedrich Schiller’s paper On naïve and sentimental poetry (1795). 5 Arthur C. Danto, ‘The end of art’, in: Berel Lang, ed., The Death of Art, New York: Haven Publishers, 1984, 5-38. 6 Arthur C. Danto, After the End of Art. Contemporary Art and the Pale of History, Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997, 8. See page 17, note 1, for a history of modern writings on the subject. Compare also: Heinz Friedrich and others, Ende der Kunst – Zukunft der Kunst, Munich: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 1985; Hans Belting, The End of the History of Art, trans. Christopher S. Wood, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987; Arthur C. Danto and others, Estética después del fin del arte. Ensayos sobre Arthur Danto, Boadilla del Monte (Madrid): A. Machado Libros, 2005. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 3 Figure 2 Hanne Darboven, Kulturgeschichte 1880 – 1983 (Cultural history 1880 – 1983), 1983. New York, Dia Center for the Arts. Photo: Florian Holzherr. Submitted by Magenta on Sun, 09/06/2009 – 02:15 contemporary art (fig. 2).7 ‘It is the case that artists today have adopted a more historiographical outlook on time and conversely a more temporal outlook on history […].’8 Referring to Dieter Roelstraete’s essay on the ‘archaeological imaginary in art’, Ross points out the problems of this artistic trend: ‘The current historiographic preoccupation in art has in fact become an aesthetics of compensation for art’s “inability to grasp or even look at the present, much less to excavate the future.”’9 All questions of time are experiencing a renaissance in contemporary thought. Aspects of the present are being combined with those of the past in imagining the future. In leaving behind the historical amnesia of twentieth-century modernism, the art and architecture of today recall strongly the complexity of historicism in the nineteenth century. *** The topicality of history among twenty-first-century scholars and artists adds fresh weight to the question of how those of the century before last conceived interrelations between past, present and future. The starting point shall be again Hegel’s idea of the end of art, precisely speaking: of the past-time character of contemporary art. 7 An early example is Hanne Darboven’s monumental installation Kulturgeschichte 1880-1983 from 1983 in the Dia Art Foundation, New York. Cf. Dan Adler, Hanne Darboven. Cultural History 1880-1983, London: Afterall Books, 2009. 8 Christine Ross, The Past is the Present; It’s the Future, Too. The Temporal Turn in Contemporary Art, New York and London: Continuum International Publishing Group, 2012, 39. 9 Ross, Past is the Present, 44; included citation: Dieter Roelstraete, ‘The way of the shovel: on the archaeological imaginary in art’, e-flux journal 4, March 2009, http://www.e-flux.com/journal/view/51. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 4 The core of this concept is the assumption of a fundamental difference between former epochs and the present regarding the importance of art in society. In Hegel’s view, the sculptures of ancient Greece had been the embodiments of mythical deities and moral laws – in his Phänomenologie des Geistes (Phenomenology of the Spirit) of 1807 he had already named this phenomenon ‘Kunstreligion’ – ‘religion of art’.10 Even Christian artworks of the Middle Ages that had been venerated as representations of saints stood for a transcendental truth. This extraordinary status of art within society could not be conserved in the modern, secularized society that followed the Reformation and Enlightenment. According to Hegel, the loss of transcendental truth was nevertheless balanced by the emancipation of art from religion. Modern artists could freely portray the complexity of nineteenth-century life. It cannot be ignored that Hegel held a neoclassical opinion of art and connected the ideal of beauty with the sculptures of ancient Greece.11 Thus he was sceptical of the subjectivity expressed by painters of the German Romantic movement and their followers in the Düsseldorf School of painting.12 This scepticism dimmed his expectations concerning future developments in the arts. Hegel’s understanding of the essence of art as inherently historical granted art history a new and prominent position. It is tempting to connect this understanding with the rise of art history as an academic discipline, which occurred more or less around the same time.13 In actuality, however, Hegel was not central to the formation of the discipline. The five lectures on aesthetics that he held at the universities of Heidelberg and Berlin between 1818 and 1829 were only known within a relatively small circle of students, and their late publication by Hotho between 1835 and 1838 didn’t deeply influence the development of contemporary art history. All the same, it is remarkable that both art historians who laid the foundations of modern art historiography in Germany – Karl Schnaase (1798-1875) and Franz Kugler (1808-1858) (figs. 3-4) – heard Hegel lecture in their early years (fig. 1).14 What is more, Kugler’s drawing of Hegel at the lectern from 1828 is the 10 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Werke, iii: Phänomenologie des Geistes, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1986, 512-544. Original title: System der Wissenschaft. Erster Theil, die Phänomenologie des Geistes, Bamberg and Würzburg: Joseph Anton Goebhardt, 1807. Compare Vittorio Hösle, Hegels System. Der Idealismus der Subjektivität und das Problem der Intersubjektivität, vol. 2, Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1988, 589-638; Regine Prange, Die Geburt der Kunstgeschichte. Philosophische Ästhetik und empirische Wissenschaft, Köln: Deubner Verlag für Kunst, Theorie & Praxis, 2004, 72-78. 11 Cf. Hösle, Hegels System, vol. 2, 598-599. 12 Cf. Annemarie Gethmann-Siefert, ‘Die Kritik an der Düsseldorfer Malerschule bei Hegel und den Hegelianern’. In: Gerhard Kurz, ed., Düsseldorf in der deutschen Geistesgeschichte (1750-1850), Düsseldorf: Verlag Schwann, 1984, 263-288. See in general: Bettina Baumgärtel, ed., Die Düsseldorfer Malerschule und ihre internationale Ausstrahlung 1819-1918, 2 vols., Petersberg: Michael Imhof Verlag, 2011. 13 Cf. Prange, Geburt der Kunstgeschichte, 71-93. 14 Schnaase came under Hegel’s sway during his law studies in Heidelberg in 1817 and followed the philosopher one year later to Berlin; Kugler attended at least some of Hegel’s lectures in 1828 and 1829 and was a close friend of Karl Rosenkranz, one of Hegel’s most important pupils and author of a Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 5 only existing authentic portrait of the philosopher at work.15 Neither Kugler nor Schnaase, however, were Hegelians. Their conceptions of art were formed by Romantic sources as well as by the empirical turn of Germany’s intellectual culture around 1830. For these reasons, they approached the question of the future of art in a completely different manner than had Hegel. Kugler’s nearly total abstention from philosophical questions and his concentration on facts about artists and artifacts enabled him to address, for the first time ever, art history as a whole, comprising all epochs, cultures and nations according to the knowledge of his time (including, for instance, the Pre-Columbian cultures of America) (fig. 5). All this was achieved in a single book of nearly a handbook of literary history (Handbuch einer allgemeinen Geschichte der Poesie, 1832-33) which clearly served as a model for Kugler’s handbooks. Cf. Henrik Karge, ‘Franz Kugler und Karl Schnaase – zwei Projekte zur Etablierung der “Allgemeinen Kunstgeschichte“’, in: Michel Espagne, Bénédicte Savoy and Céline Trautmann-Waller, eds., Franz Theodor Kugler. Deutscher Kunsthistoriker und Berliner Dichter, Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2010, 83-104, esp. 89-91. 15 Cf. Heinrich Dilly, ‘Kunsthistorische Studien, “weniger mit der Schreibfeder als mit dem Zeichenstifte gemacht“. Franz Kuglers Zeichenkunst’, in: Espagne, Savoy and Trautmann-Waller, Franz Theodor Kugler, 45-68, esp. 49-53. Figure 3 Joseph von Kopf, Portrait bust of Karl Schnaase, 1875. Berlin, Neues Museum. Photo: Andreas Kilger. Author’s archive. Figure 4 Bernhard Afinger, Portrait bust of Franz Kugler, around 1870. Berlin, Neues Museum. Photo: Andreas Kilger. Author’s archive. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 6 thousand pages, entitled Handbuch der Kunstgeschichte (‘Handbook of art history’), published in 1842.16 Figure 5 Denkmäler der Kunst zur Übersicht ihres Entwickelungs-Ganges […], edited by Ernst Guhl and Joseph Caspar, begun by August Voit (containing plates to illustrate Franz Kugler’s Handbuch der Kunstgeschichte), vol. 1, fascicle 1, 1845, plate A II: Baudenkmäler aus Südamerika und Mexiko (Monuments from South America and Mexico). Author’s archive 16 Franz Kugler, Handbuch der Kunstgeschichte, Stuttgart: Verlag Ebner & Seubert, 1842. The only recent book about Franz Kugler is the above mentioned: Espagne, Savoy and Trautmann-Waller, Franz Theodor Kugler. Cf. also: Dan Karlholm, Handböckernas konsthistoria. Om skapandet av ‘allmän konsthistoria’ i Tyskland under 1800-talet, Stockholm: Brutus Östlings Bokförlag Symposion, 1996; Prange, Geburt der Kunstgeschichte, 144-147; Henrik Karge, ‘Welt-Kunstgeschichte. Franz Kugler und die geographische Fundierung der Kunsthistoriographie in der Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in: Kunsttopographie. Theorie und Methode in der Kunstwissenschaft und Archäologie seit Winckelmann, Stendal: Winckelmann- Gesellschaft, 2003, 19-31; Henrik Karge‚ ‘El arte americano antiguo y el canon de la antigüedad clásica. El “Nuevo Continente“ en la historiografía del arte de la primera mitad del siglo XIX / Die altamerikanische Kunst und der Kanon der klassischen Antike. Der “neue Kontinent“ in der Kunsthistoriographie der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in: Helga von Kügelgen, ed., Herencias indígenas, tradiciones europeas y la mirada europea / Indigenes Erbe, europäische Traditionen und der europäische Blick, Madrid and Frankfurt am Main: Verlag Vervuert, 2002, 315-374, on Kugler: 331-334, 351-354; Henrik Karge, ‘Zwischen Naturwissenschaft und Kulturgeschichte. Die Entfaltung des Systems der Epochenstile im 19. Jahrhundert’, in: Bruno Klein and Bruno Boerner, eds., Stilfragen zur Kunst des Mittelalters. Eine Einführung, Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 2006, 47-50; Heinrich Dilly, ‘Franz Theodor Kugler (1808-1858) ’, in: Michel Espagne and Bénédicte Savoy, eds., Dictionnaire des historiens d’art allemands, Paris: CNRS éditions, 2010, 117-130; Timo Niegsch, ‘Franz Theodor Kugler, Handbuch der Kunstgeschichte’, in: Paul von Naredi-Rainer, ed., Hauptwerke der Kunstgeschichtsschreibung, Stuttgart: Alfred Kröner Verlag, 2010, 261-265. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 7 Characteristic is the following passage in Kugler’s preface: ‘The whole of our discipline (Kunstgeschichte, art history) is still very young; it is an empire that we are still busy conquering, […] so it is difficult, often nearly impracticable to lay a geographical net upon that new empire and to separate provinces, districts and communities from each other.’17 Kugler presents the self-image of an intellectual conquistador, but his methodology consists of interweaving empirical facts into a coherent stylistic history of art. It is remarkable that Kugler concluded his book with a short chapter on the art of his own day: ‘Blick auf die Kunstbestrebungen der Gegenwart’.18 On these eight pages he revealed a distinctly Prussian, even specifically Berlin-centred perspective on contemporary art. But his exposition is nonetheless interesting because he interprets the complex situation of architecture and fine arts of his day as the consequence of the long and chequered history of art since the fifteenth century. More precisely, he sees contemporary art as resulting from three artistic developments in play since the mid-eighteenth century: a tendency towards naturalness, the Greek revival, and the Gothic (which Kugler calls ‘Germanic’) revival.19 Kugler also offered his own recommendations concerning future artistic developments. On the one hand, artists should free themselves from a narrow relationship with historical models – classical or medieval – in order to create monumental works that demonstrated their personal talents. On the other hand, he warned about excesses of individuality. Kugler summed up the future potential of the arts in the last sentences of his epoch-making handbook: The art of our time is extraordinarily rich in means and forces. If these means and these forces, each in their own measure, will be guided to one common goal; if they will once again conform to their common root, true monumental art; if, above all, architecture will regain an independent and lively shape – if all this will be the case, we can expect that the things that have begun in our days will develop in the future to their highest peaks. May the significance of architecture, nearly forgotten for four centuries, be again appreciated, and may architecture itself begin again to lead the way!20 17 ‘das Ganze unsrer Wissenschaft ist noch gar jung, es ist ein Reich, mit dessen Eroberung wir noch eben erst beschäftigt sind, […] da ist es schwer, oft fast unausführbar, ein behagliches geographisches Netz darüber zu legen und Provinzen, Bezirke, Kreise und Weichbilder mit saubern Farbenlinien von einander zu sondern.’ Kugler, Handbuch, x. 18 Kugler, Handbuch, 853-860. 19 Kugler, Handbuch, 855-857. 20 ‘Die Kunst unsrer Zeit ist überaus reich an Mitteln und an Kräften. Wenn diese Mittel und diese Kräfte, ein jedes nach seinem Maasse, einem gemeinsamen Ziele entgegengeführt werden; wenn sie sich dem gemeinsamen Stamme, der eigentlich monumentalen Kunst, wiederum anreihen; wenn vor Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 8 Kugler wished architecture to be the guiding artistic discipline of the future. This idea might be inspired by the model of Gothic cathedrals as the greatest artistic achievements of the Middle Ages – produced through the coordinated efforts of artists and artisans working in diverse media to realize an architectural plan. For Kugler, the highest ranking of all Gothic cathedrals was that of Cologne, built from 1248 according to French models, but surpassing them in architectural perfection, even though it remained largely incomplete at the end of the Middle Ages.21 It is a peculiar coincidence that the Prussian king Frederick William IV laid the cornerstone for the completion of this cathedral in 1842 (figs. 6-7), the same year in which Kugler’s Handbuch der Kunstgeschichte was published. The Gothic cathedral as a model for the arts headed by architecture would have a great future: it was still the guiding idea of the Bauhaus manifesto of 1919 as is shown by Lyonel Feininger’s title woodcut (fig. 8).22 In 1842, it manifested the desire to reorganize the arts so as to overcome the chaotic complexity of contemporary artistic production. Allem die Architektur wiederum eine selbständig lebenvolle Gestalt gewinnt, so haben wir von dem, was in unsern Tagen begonnen, das Höchste zu erwarten. Möge man die Bedeutung der Architektur, die seit Jahrhunderten fast vergessen ist, wiederum erkennen, und möge die Architektur selbst sich aufmachen, der Zeit wiederum voranzuschreiten!’ Kugler, Handbuch, 860. 21 Kugler, Handbuch, 550-552. 22 There were many other modernist adaptations of the myth of the Gothic cathedral: cf. Regine Prange, Das Kristalline als Kunstsymbol – Bruno Taut und Paul Klee. Zur Reflexion des Abstrakten in Kunst und Kunsttheorie der Moderne, Hildesheim, Zurich and New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 1991, 127-140; Figure 6 King Frederick William IV at the cornerstone ceremony of the completion of Cologne Cathedral in 1842, contemporary illustration. Diathek TU Dresden Figure 7 Cologne Cathedral nearing completion in 1880, contemporary photograph. Prometheus Bildarchiv, Cologne. Diathek TU Dresden Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 9 Figure 8 Lyonel Feininger, woodcut: Gothic cathedral, Bauhaus-Manifest, 1919. Prometheus Bildarchiv, Cologne. Diathek TU Dresden Kugler was vacillating between, on the one hand, enthusiasm for the variety of artistic achievements and new techniques so characteristic of the nineteenth century,23 and, on the other hand, the conviction that the arts needed to submit to a new artistic order under the guidance of architecture. Kugler was not the only pioneer in producing handbooks that attempted to cover the history of art of all epochs and cultures. Karl Schnaase (fig. 9),24 ten years older than Kugler,25 published the first volume of his monumental work Geschichte Florens Deuchler, ‘Le passé présent dans les arts: à propos du mythe moderne de la cathédrale’, Zeitschrift für schweizerische Archäologie und Kunstgeschichte 54, 1997, 169-174. 23 Franz Kugler, a friend of important poets like Theodor Fontane and Theodor Storm, was intensely involved into the literary and artistic life in Berlin. Cf. Leonore Koschnick, ‘Franz Kugler (1808-1858) als Kunstkritiker und Kulturpolitiker’, Ph. D. thesis, Freie Universität, Berlin, 1985; Roland Berbig, ‘Ein glückliches Maklertalent. Franz Kugler als literarischer Förderer’, in: Espagne, Savoy and Trautmann- Waller, Franz Theodor Kugler, 231-244. 24 Some of the author’s articles on Schnaase: Henrik Karge, ‘“Die Kunst ist nicht das Maaß der Geschichte“. Karl Schnaases Einfluß auf Jacob Burckhardt’, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 78, 1996, 393-431; ‘Das Frühwerk Karl Schnaases. Zum Verhältnis von Ästhetik und Kunstgeschichte im 19. Jahrhundert’, in: Antje Middeldorf-Kosegarten, ed., Johann Dominicus Fiorillo. Kunstgeschichte und die romantische Bewegung um 1800, Göttingen: Wallstein Verlag, 1997, 402-419; ‘Vom Konzert der Künste zum Kanon der Kunstgeschichte: Karl Schnaase’, in: Christian Scholl, Sandra Richter and Oliver Huck, eds., Konzert und Konkurrenz. Die Künste und ihre Wissenschaften im 19. Jahrhundert, Göttingen: Universitätsverlag, 2010, 93-105; ‘Karl Schnaase (1798-1875)’, in: Espagne and Savoy, Dictionnaire, 265-276; ‘Stil und Epoche. Karl Schnaases dialektisches Modell der Kunstgeschichte’, in: Sabine Frommel and Antonio Brucculeri, eds., L’idée du style dans l’historiographie artistique. Variantes nationales et transmissions, Rome: Campisano Editore, 2012 (actually 2013), 35-48. 25 For more about the interrelations of both art historians see: Karge, ‘Franz Kugler und Karl Schnaase’. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 10 Figure 9 Eduard Steinbrück, Portrait of Karl Schnaase, oil painting, 1836. Düsseldorf, Stadtmuseum. Author’s archive der bildenden Künste (‘History of the fine arts’) one year after Kugler’s handbook, in 1843; the final volume of the first edition would be published in 1864.26 Instead of Kugler’s terse arrangement of facts and monuments, Schnaase went into greater detail and considered the cultural conditions of art historical processes. On this account, the eight volumes of his compendium only reach the early Renaissance, and never touch on questions of contemporary or future art.27 Schnaase was, however, in contact with contemporary artists. After his university studies in Heidelberg and Berlin, he worked as a Prussian public procurator in Düsseldorf between 1829 and 1848. During this time he made a name for himself not only as an art historian but also as an intellectual mentor of the Düsseldorf School of Painting, at the side of the poet Karl Immermann.28 Already in 26 Karl (Carl) Schnaase, Geschichte der bildenden Künste, 7 vols., Düsseldorf: Verlag Buddeus, 1843-1864; second revised edition: 7 vols., Stuttgart: Ebner & Seubert, 1866-1876; vol. 8, Stuttgart: Ebner & Seubert, 1879. 27 Cf. Henrik Karge, ‘Karl (auch Carl) Schnaase, Geschichte der bildenden Künste’, in: Naredi-Rainer, ed., Hauptwerke, 394-399; Karge, ‘Zwischen Naturwissenschaft und Kulturgeschichte’, 51-54; Karge, ‘Stil und Epoche’; Karlholm, Handböckernas konsthistoria, esp. 110-116; Prange, Die Geburt der Kunstgeschichte, 137-144; Katharina Krause, Klaus Niehr and Eva-Maria Hanebutt-Benz, eds., Bilderlust und Lesefrüchte. Das illustrierte Kunstbuch von 1750 bis 1920, Leipzig: Seemann 2005, 110-112. 28 Cf. Henrik Karge, ‘“Denn die Kunst ist selbst nichts Absolutes…“ Karl Immermann, Karl Schnaase und die Theorie der Düsseldorfer Malerschule’, in: Peter Hasubek, ed., Epigonentum und Originalität. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 11 Figure 10 Andreas Achenbach, View of the Academy of Arts in Düsseldorf, 1831. Düsseldorf, Museum Kunstpalast. Diathek TU Dresden 1831, Schnaase gave a programmatic lecture ‘Ueber die Richtung der Malerei unserer Zeit’ (‘On the tendency of painting in our time’) at the Arts Society of Rhineland and Westphalia.29 He integrated German painting of his time into the broader narrative of European art since Raphael, emphasizing, in contrast to Hegel, the blossoming – and the historical depth – of the Düsseldorf school. In Schnaase’s opinion, the importance of contemporary painting derived from its dissociation from the antique canon of the neo-classicists as well as from the medieval models of the Nazarenes. Painting at the Düsseldorf Academy (fig. 10) presented a new synthesis arising from the struggle between the neoclassical and the romantic schools of art – a ‘third school of thought, that of our present time’, founded on the belief ‘that both the [abstract] ideal and the [spiritually] meaningful are fateful for the arts, that they have to be independent from all one-sided pretensions. This free exercise of art has tended to integrate all achievements of former schools: studies of Immermann und seine Zeit – Immermann und die Folgen. Frankfurt am Main etc.: Peter Lang, 1997, 111- 140; Henrik Karge, ‘“… erhielt die Praxis der Kunst hier ihr Komplement, die Theorie.“ Karl Immermann, Karl Schnaase und Friedrich von Uechtritz als Mentoren der Düsseldorfer Malerschule’, in: Baumgärtel, Düsseldorfer Malerschule, vol. 1, 62-75. 29 Karl Schnaase, ‘Ueber die Richtung der Malerei unserer Zeit. Vorgetragen in der General- Versammlung des Kunstvereins für die Rheinlande und Westphalen 1831’, Kunstblatt 12, 1831, 325-336, 340, no. 82-85. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 12 antiquity and of nature, striving for beauty and valuing content, cheerfulness and earnestness, all is demanded and permitted.’30 Schnaase turned against the traditional hierarchy of art forms in favour of an intermingling of history and genre painting. His goal: to overcome the divide between spirit and nature in the representation of man. Some paintings made by the Düsseldorf artist Karl Friedrich Lessing, such as Die Hussitenpredigt (‘The Hussites’ prayer’) from 1836 (fig. 11),31 can be considered as realizations of Schnaase’s demand for such a fusion of genres. Figure 11 Karl Friedrich Lessing, Die Hussitenpredigt (The Hussites‘ Prayer), 1836. Berlin, Nationalgalerie. Reproduction from: Die Düsseldorfer Malerschule und ihre internationale Ausstrahlung 1819-1918, ed. Baumgärtel, vol. 2, 267 Four years before the publication of Hegel’s lectures on aesthetics, Schnaase’s lecture breathes a more optimistic, almost enthusiastic spirit into discussions of contemporary art. The art of the present was also the benchmark of the extensive reflections on the philosophy and history of art embedded in 30 ‘So entstand denn aus ihr die dritte Richtung, die unsrer gegenwärtigen Zeit, welche, ohne den Anspruch auf die höhere Bedeutung aufzugeben, von der Ansicht ausgieng, daß sowohl das Ideal als auch das Bedeutsame der Kunst verderblich sey, daß sie vor Allem unbefangen von allen einseitigen Ansprüchen seyn müsse. Diese freie Kunstübung hat alle Verdienste der frühern Richtungen sich anzueignen gestrebt: Studium der Antike und der Natur, Streben nach Schönheit und nach der Bedeutung des Inhalts, Heiterkeit und Ernst, alles ist gefordert und gestattet.’ Schnaase, ‘Ueber die Richtung’, 325. 31 Cf. Baumgärtel, Düsseldorfer Malerschule, vol. 2, 265-268; Martina Sitt, Duell an der Wand. Carl Friedrich Lessing. Die Hussitengemälde, Düsseldorf: Parerga, 2000. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 13 Schnaase’s first great work: Niederländische Briefe (‘Netherlandish letters’) from 1834, according to Karl Immermann a ‘Haupt- und Grundbuch’ (‘main and fundamental book’) of the new discipline of art history.32 Both Schnaase and Kugler shared the essential concept of a continuous evolution of modern art from Renaissance times to the present, with ups and downs but without interruption. Figure 12 Ludwig Persius, Friedenskirche, 1845-48, Potsdam, interior. Diathek TU Dresden Schnaase cultivated a highly nuanced position concerning the development of contemporary architecture. He articulated this in two articles in Deutsches Kunstblatt and Christliches Kunstblatt in 1858 and 1860. In the first article, Schnaase turned against the orientation of present-day church architecture, and towards Gothic models. At the time, Gothic models were being promoted in a militant manner by the ultramontane faction of the Catholic Church and their review Organ für christliche Kunst.33 The second article goes into the stylistic options of contemporary architects. According to Schnaase, architecture should correspond to the needs and reflect the fundamental spirit of its own time, but such an architecture 32 Karl Schnaase, Niederländische Briefe, Stuttgart and Tübingen: Verlag J. G. Cotta, 1834. New edition: Karl Schnaase, Niederländische Briefe. Mit einer Einleitung und einem Themenverzeichnis, ed. Henrik Karge, Hildesheim, Zurich and New York: Olms-Weidmann, 2010. See page lvii for the context of Immermann’s words. Cf. also: Michael Podro, The Critical Historians of Art, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1982, 31-43. 33 Karl (Carl) Schnaase, ‘Archäologischer Rückblick auf das Jahr 1857’, Deutsches Kunstblatt 9, 1858, 144- 148, 170-175, esp. 147-148. Schnaase defends his friend Wilhelm Lübke against the attacks of the ultramontane Organ. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 14 could not be created ex nihilo, without connection to the past. For this reason, Schnaase conceded, medieval models were still important for religious architecture Figure 13 Ernst Zwirner, Apollinariskirche, 1839-43, Remagen. Diathek TU Dresden in the 19th century, but these models needed to be chosen with care. He deplored, for instance, the Prussian government’s propagation of the so-called ‘Basilikenstil’ (fig. 12), based on early Christian models, because it had no roots in Germany. The system of Gothic architecture was more suitable for modern adaptations in Schnaase’s opinion, but he saw the disadvantage that it was too elaborated to permit further developments in the present (fig. 13). The Romanesque style was, however, on account of its simplicity and openness to new developments, the most appropriate for use by contemporary architects. As an example, Schnaase cited the new village church of Callenberg in Saxony: the architect used Romanesque forms Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 15 to create a new spatial solution which was not typical for a Romanesque church (fig. 14).34 Figure 14 St. Katherine’s church, 1845-48, Callenbach (Saxony), contemporary engraving. Diathek TU Dresden Thus Schnaase supported – like Kugler in a short remark in his handbook35– the application of the Rundbogenstil (Round-arched style).36 This style represented the most important attempt to create an autochthonous architecture of the nineteenth century in Germany. It was only loosely connected with historical styles such as the Romanesque and the early Italian Renaissance. The conception of Rundbogenstil had been established by Heinrich Hübsch, architect in Karlsruhe (fig. 15), who published a book in 1828 with the famous title: In welchem Style sollen wir bauen? (‘In which style shall we build?’).37 Today, this title is usually seen as an 34 Karl Schnaase, ‘Die neue Kirche zu Callenberg im Königreich Sachsen. Nebst einer Vergleichung der Stilarten des christlichen Kirchenbaues’, Christliches Kunstblatt 1860, 1-12. 35 Kugler, Handbuch, 857-858. 36 There are relatively few studies on the conception of Rundbogenstil: Dieter Dolgner, ‚Der Rundbogenstil – Ein Versuch der architektonischen Erneuerung im 19. Jahrhundert’, Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift der Hochschule für Architektur und Bauwesen Weimar 27, 1980, no. 4, 199-210; Kathleen Curran, ‘The German Rundbogenstil and reflections on the American round-arched style’, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 47, 1988, 351-373; Wolfgang Herrmann, ed., In what style should we build? The German debate on architectural style, Santa Monica: The Getty Center for the History of Art and the Humanities, 1992 (Texts & documents); Ulrich Maximilian Schumann, ‘A Renaissance consciously unconscious? Heinrich Hübsch and the round-arch style (“Rundbogenstil”)’. In: Frédérique Lemerle, ed., Le XIXe siècle et l’architecture de la Renaissance, Paris : Picard, 2010, 153-163. 37 Heinrich Hübsch, In welchem Style sollen wir bauen?, Karlsruhe: Verlag Chr. Fr. Müller, 1828. Cf. Silke Walther, ‘In welchem Style sollen wir bauen? Studien zu den Schriften und Bauten des Architekten Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 16 Figure 15 Heinrich Hübsch, Façade plan for Polytechnical School in Karlsruhe, 1832. Diathek TU Dresden expression of the supposed arbitrariness of the choice of architectural styles in nineteenth-century historicism, but actually it stands for a program of modern building. A main advocate of this new system was Schnaase’s friend Rudolph Wiegmann, an architect in Düsseldorf. Wiegmann articulated his wish for greater innovation in architecture and art in an article about the ‘development of a modern national building style’, published in 1841: In the realm of spirit there is no circulation; in the realm of spirit there is only a steady flow of occurrences – no beginning, no end and no return – only progress. And for that reason, our present and all future art won’t ever take on a former shape. And in the cases where it attempts to do so, it remains beyond the fertile soil of the present and is hovering in the air, a fading art.38 Wiegmann’s opinion was shared by Schnaase, who not only ruled out the end of art and its return to former states and conditions, but also the possibility of directing the trend of future art. In that respect, a dossier about the development of contemporary architecture written for King Maximilian II of Bavaria in 1860 is of particular interest. In 1850, this king had announced a competition for the invention Heinrich Hübsch (1795-1863)’, PhD thesis, University of Stuttgart, 2004, http://elib.uni- stuttgart.de/opus/volltexte/2004/1936/. 38 ‘Im Reiche des Geistes giebt es keinen Kreislauf, im Reiche des Geistes giebt es nur einen stetigen Fluß der Erscheinungen – keinen Anfang, kein Ende und keine Wiederkehr – nur Fortschritt. Und deshalb kann unsere und alle zukünftige Kunst eine schon einmal dagewesene Gestalt nie wieder annehmen. Und wo sie es versucht, steht sie außerhalb des fruchtbaren Bodens der Gegenwart und schwebt verwelkend in der Luft.’ Rudolph Wiegmann, ‚Gedanken über die Entwicklung eines zeitgemäßen nazionalen Baustyls’, Allgemeine Bauzeitung 1841, 207-214, esp. 210. Similar ideas may be found in: Rudolph Wiegmann, Der Ritter Leo von Klenze und unsere Kunst, Düsseldorf: J. H. C. Schreiner, 1839, esp. 49-56. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 17 Figure 16 August Voit, Project of a place in Munich, example of “Maximilianstil”, 1850. Diathek TU Dresden of a new building style, the so-called ‘Maximilianstil’, with deceiving results.39 According to the plans of the architect August Voit, a new district of Munich, including some government buildings, was erected (fig. 16), but the highly ornamental hybrid system of Gothic and Renaissance elements found no success as a new building style. Ten years later, Voit asked some prominent persons, mainly architects, for dossiers about the tendencies of contemporary architecture. Schnaase, the only art historian, advised the king in his paper from November 1860 against all attempts to influence the development of architecture because it could only follow the fundamental structures of its time. Thus he wrote that even Greek and Gothic revival buildings reflected the character of the nineteenth century.40 As could be demonstrated, in the decades around 1850 various art historians and architects shared common views concerning the development of art and architecture from past to future times. So it may be justified to take a closer view of an architect who was one of the most original historians of culture and art. Gottfried Semper (1803-1879) (fig. 17) was born five years after Schnaase and five before Kugler, his adversary in the heated question of polychromy in ancient architecture. Semper was one of the few architects in history who excelled in the same degree as 39 Cf. Eberhard Drüeke, Der Maximilianstil. Zum Stilbegriff der Architektur im 19. Jahrhundert, Mittenwald: Mäander Verlag, 1981; August Hahn, Der Maximilianstil in München. Programm und Verwirklichung, Munich: Heinz Moos Verlag, ca. 1982. 40 Unpublished dossier: Munich, Geheimes Hausarchiv München, Nachlass Max II., 77-6-90. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 18 Figure 17 Portrait of Gottfried Semper, anonymous pencil drawing, 1834. Zurich, gta Archiv / ETH Zürich, Nachlass Gottfried Semper: A.IV.a.I. Author’s archive both builder and theoretician.41 Strangely enough, he wrote little about architecture, and still less about his own buildings. He dedicated most of his studies to the 41 There is an abundant bibliography on Gottfried Semper; some of the most important works of the last decades: Heidrun Laudel, Gottfried Semper. Architektur und Stil, Dresden: Verlag der Kunst, 1991; Harry Francis Mallgrave, Gottfried Semper. Architect of the Nineteenth Century, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996; Winfried Nerdinger and Werner Oechslin, eds., Gottfried Semper 1803-1879. Architektur und Wissenschaft, Munich: Prestel Verlag and Zurich: gta-Verlag, 2003; Mari Hvattum, Gottfried Semper and the Problem of Historicism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004; Michael Gnehm, Stumme Poesie. Architektur und Sprache bei Gottfried Semper, Zurich: gta-Verlag, 2004; Henrik Karge, ed., Gottfried Semper – Dresden und Europa. Die moderne Renaissance der Künste. Akten des Internationalen Kolloquiums der Technischen Universität Dresden aus Anlass des 200. Geburtstags von Gottfried Semper, Munich and Berlin: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 2007; Rainald Franz and Andreas Nierhaus, eds., Gottfried Semper und Wien. Die Wirkung des Architekten auf ‘Wissenschaft, Industrie und Kunst’, Vienna, Cologne and Weimar: Böhlau Verlag, 2007; Sonja Hildebrand, ‘Gottfried Semper’, in: Ulrich Pfisterer, ed., Klassiker der Kunstgeschichte, vol. 1: Von Winckelmann bis Warburg, Munich: C. H. Beck Verlag, 2007, 62-75; Hans-Georg von Arburg, Alles Fassade. ‘Oberfläche‘ in der deutschsprachigen Architektur- und Literaturästhetik 1770-1870, Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag, 2008, 264-344. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 19 analysis of applied arts and ornament in his own day, and to theories concerning the earliest stages of human artistic creativity.42 His most productive years as royal architect in Dresden (fig. 18) came to an end in 1848, when he had to leave Saxony on account of his revolutionary activities. London, his place of refuge, didn’t offer him work, but it did inspire him, thanks to innovations in industrial arts and design initiated by the Great Exhibition of 1851. Figure 18 Gottfried Semper, Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Zwinger façade, 1847-55. Dresden. Photo: Henrik Karge As a result, Semper published in 1860 and 1863 the two monumental volumes of Der Stil in den technischen und tektonischen Künsten (‘Style in the technical and tectonic arts’), which are exclusively dedicated to the archaeology of such applied arts as ceramics and textiles, which he saw as the basis of all human artistic creation.43 In contrast to the art historians Kugler and Schnaase, Semper didn’t try to 42 The first complete reprint edition of Semper’s works is now appearing: Henrik Karge, ed., Gottfried Semper, Gesammelte Schriften, 4 vols., Hildesheim, Zurich and New York: Olms-Weidmann, 2008-2013. Vols. 2-4 have already been published; vol. 1, which contains the smaller writings in chronological order and a general introduction of the editor, is about to appear. 43 Gottfried Semper, Der Stil in den technischen und tektonischen Künsten, oder praktische Ästhetik. Ein Handbuch für Techniker, Künstler und Kunstfreunde, vol. 1, Frankfurt am Main: Verlag für Kunst und Wissenschaft, 1860, vol. 2, Munich: Friedrich Bruckmann’s Verlag, 1863. Reprint edition: Semper, Gesammelte Schriften, ed. Karge, vols. 2-3, 2008. English translation: Gottfried Semper, Style in the Technical and Tectonic Arts; or, Practical Aesthetics, introduction by Harry Francis Mallgrave, trans. Harry Francis Mallgrave and Michael Robinson, Los Angeles: The Getty Research Institute, 2004. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 20 write a coherent history of the (applied) arts. He looked instead for archetypes and fundamental conditions of the creation of artistic objects in early cultures, presuming their continuous effectiveness through all epochs of civilization until the present time. Figure 19 Gottfried Semper, Palais Oppenheim, 1845-48, Dresden (destroyed). Historical photograph. Author’s archive In his architectural practice, Semper looked to the Italian Renaissance, and especially to the palazzi of cinquecento Rome and Venice, as a reference for his own buildings (fig. 19). In so doing, he adhered to the same evolutionary model of artistic development from the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries as did Schnaase and Kugler.44 On the other hand, Renaissance architecture played a surprisingly 44 About the ‘invention’ of the Renaissance style in the nineteenth century and its inclusion in the wider concept of ‘modern’ architecture: Henrik Karge, ‘Renaissance. Aufkommen und Entfaltung des Stilbegriffs in Deutschland im Zuge der Neorenaissance-Bewegung um 1840’, in: Walter Krause, Heidrun Laudel and Winfried Nerdinger, eds., Neorenaissance – Ansprüche an einen Stil. Zweites Historismus-Symposium Bad Muskau, Dresden: Verlag der Kunst, 2001, 39-66. Semper’s adaptation of Italian Renaissance models has been analysed by Gisela Moeller, ‘“Solange Steine reden können.“ – Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 21 small role in Semper’s writings. It was the Rundbogenstil and its Romanesque and Byzantine roots that were of major importance for his ideas about the future development of architecture. Figure 10 Gottfried Semper, Project for Nikolaikirche (St. Nicholas) in Hamburg, 1844. Diathek TU Dresden These ideas were first formulated in Semper’s polemical publication Ueber den Bau evangelischer Kirchen (‘About the construction of Protestant churches’) from 1845. He wrote this essay to defend his position in the vehement debate about the reconstruction of the church of St. Nicholas in Hamburg after the great fire of 1842, which had become a central battlefield in the ‘war of styles’.45 Semper’s project of a domed church on a centralized plan followed the principles of the round-arched style and was accentuated by Renaissance and Byzantine elements. Although it had won first prize in the competition (fig. 20), in the end George Gilbert Scott’s project Zur Formsynthese von Antike und Renaissance bei Gottfried Sempers Bauten der Dresdner Jahre’, in: Karge, Gottfried Semper – Dresden und Europa, 161-174. 45 Gottfried Semper, Ueber den Bau evangelischer Kirchen. Mit besonderer Beziehung auf die gegenwärtige Frage über die Art des Neubaues der Nikolaikirche in Hamburg und ein dafür entworfenes Project, Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1845; new edition: Gottfried Semper, Kleine Schriften, ed. Manfred and Hans Semper, Berlin and Stuttgart: Verlag W. Spemann, 1884, 443-467. (Reprint: Semper, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 4, 2008, ed. Karge; reprint of original version in preparation for vol. 1). Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 22 Figure 11 George Gilbert Scott, Nikolaikirche, 1845-63, Hamburg (partly destroyed). Historical photograph. Diathek TU Dresden of a church in Gothic form, which was supported by the radical Protestant faction, was chosen and built (fig. 21). The experience of this competition intensified Semper’s aversion towards the fundamentalist currents in the Catholic as well as the Protestant Churches of that time – and towards all attempts at a Gothic revival. In his book on Protestant church building, Semper rejected both the architecture of early Christian times, the so-called basilica style – Schnaase, too, would later adopt this position – and the Gothic architecture as starting-points for conceptions of present-day buildings. He recommended instead the round-arched Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 23 Figure 12 Katholikon of monastery, around 1080, Daphni near Athens, interior with dome. Diathek TU Dresden style with its Romanesque and Byzantine roots46 – the Renaissance elements of his church project didn’t play a role in his theory. Semper had become interested in the churches of the Byzantine Empire since journeying through Greece. Later he would develop a detailed analysis of Byzantine cross-dome-churches (fig. 22) in his travel account ‘Reise-Erinnerungen aus Griechenland’ (‘Travel memories from Greece’), which was published in 1858.47 In Ueber den Bau evangelischer Kirchen, Semper saw these Greek-Byzantine churches as models for the gallery constructions in Protestant churches. German Romanesque architecture appeared to him a multifaceted system of national character which had not evolved organically because of the adoption of the pointed arch from the French Gothic system. Present- day architects had the opportunity, therefore, to develop the still-unrealized potential of Romanesque architecture – an architecture characterized, according to Semper, by a ‘greater simplicity and variety in the building masses’; in Semper’s 46 Cf. Dieter Dolgner, ‘Gottfried Semper und der Rundbogenstil’, Architectura 11, 1981, 157-182. 47 Gottfried Semper, ‘Reise-Erinnerungen aus Griechenland’, Frankfurter Museum. Süddeutsche Wochenschrift für Kunst, Literatur und öffentliches Leben 4, 1858, 153-159, 335-338, 734-739, 984-989, 1005- 1007, 1064-1068, 1088-1093, esp. 734-739 (‘Byzantinische Bauten und Anwendung ihres Styls auf die Neuzeit’); new edition of the first passages, without the analysis of Byzantine churches: Semper, Kleine Schriften, 429-442. (Reprint: Semper, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 4, 2008, ed. Karge; reprint of complete original version in preparation for vol. 1). Cf. for the cultural and political implications of the concept ‘Byzantine style’: Jeanne-Marie Musto, ‘Byzantium in Bavaria: Art, Architecture and History Between Empiricism and Invention in the Post-Napoleonic Era’, PhD thesis, Bryn Mawr College, 2007. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 24 opinion, the beauty of Byzantine and Romanesque churches had a special effect on the human mind comparable to music or poetry48 – an idea similar to that which Karl Schnaase had expressed in his early work Niederländische Briefe from 1834.49 Some of Semper’s arguments concerning Protestant church building, such as his polemics against the Gothic revival, would recur in his lecture Ueber Baustyle (‘About architectural styles’), which he gave in Zurich in 1869.50 At the same time, the architect denied the possibility of inventing a new style. In Semper’s opinion, societal change and a new world view were the prerequisites for the emergence of new building styles. At this point, Semper’s and Schnaase’s lines of thought were actually converging. Schnaase published in 1870 a favourable review Semper’s lecture Ueber Baustyle in an article which was dedicated to the perspectives of the present and future of the art: ‘Gegenwart und Zukunft der Kunst’.51 In the second review of this article, Schnaase criticized – very much like Semper in similar cases – the negative attitude of a religious author towards the reality of modern life. Schnaase pointed out that the empirical and ‘atomistic’ structure of the natural sciences, just like the naturalistic approach of contemporary art, could not revert back into a religious culture of organic uniformity.52 By contrast, in the short first review Schnaase showed deference to the ‘famous, ingenious master of architecture’ and recognized Semper’s approach to the future of art and architecture as being much like his own. Especially Semper’s opinion that a new building style could only evolve on the basis of profound cultural innovations, of a new universal idea, found special favour with Schnaase.53 In the introduction to his article, Schnaase emphasized in a highly concentrated sentence that the formation and interpretation of contemporary art required a vision of the future as well as continuity with the past: The appreciation of the art of our time and, to this end, of the art of the previous era is no useless game; it will always arouse ideas about the 48 ‘Die eigentlich architectonischen Schönheiten der byzantinisch-romanischen Kirche lassen sich in ihrer Wirkung auf das Gemüth mehr mit der Musik oder der Poesie vergleichen. […] Es gehört dazu eine größere Einfachheit und Abwechselung in den Massen […]“ Semper, Ueber den Bau evangelischer Kirchen, 21. 49 Schnaase, Niederländische Briefe, ed. Karge, 409-410. In a general way, the similarities between Schnaase’s and Semper’s lines of thought have already been detected by Michael Podro: Podro, Critical Historians, 44. 50 Gottfried Semper, Ueber Baustyle. Ein Vortrag gehalten auf dem Rathhaus in Zürich am 4. März 1869, Zurich: Verlag Friedrich Schulthess, 1869; new edition: Semper, Kleine Schriften, 395-426. (Reprint: Semper, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 4, 2008, ed. Karge; reprint of original version in preparation for vol. 1). 51 Karl Schnaase, ‘Gegenwart und Zukunft der Kunst’, Christliches Kunstblatt 1870, no. 3, 33-41, 52-59, including reviews of works by Gottfried Semper, Karl Christian Planck and H. Holtzmann. 52 Review of Karl Christian Planck, Gesetz und Ziel der neueren Kunstentwickelung im Vergleiche mit der antiken, Stuttgart: Ebner & Seubert, 1879, in: Schnaase, ‘Gegenwart und Zukunft der Kunst’, 34-41. 53 Schnaase, ‘Gegenwart und Zukunft der Kunst’, 34. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 25 Figure 13 Gottfried Semper, Caribbean hut from Trinidad, engraving in: Der Stil in den technischen und tektonischen Künsten, vol. 2, 1863, 276 desired future, about the aims to which contemporary art must turn and, in such a way, gain influence over its destiny.54 Schnaase’s vision of a fundamental coherence of past, present and future art was nearly identical with Semper’s, but this sense of temporal continuity didn’t determine the architect’s fortuna critica. Semper’s writings have had lasting impact on the self-image of architects in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries not because of his evolutionary theory of contemporary style, but on account of his archaeological investigations into creativity. The archetypes of the design process which Semper detected in the early cultural stages of mankind and in remote parts of the present world (fig. 23) offered creative patterns which seemed independent from the cultural contingencies of the succeeding epochs. These ‘eternal’ patterns 54 ‘Die Würdigung der gegenwärtigen Kunst und zu diesem Zwecke der ihr vorhergegangenen, ist kein müßiges Spiel; sie wird immer Vorstellungen über die zu erstrebende Zukunft, über die Ziele, denen jene sich zuwenden muß, erwecken, und dergestalt Einfluß auf ihre Schicksale erlangen.’ Schnaase, ‘Gegenwart und Zukunft der Kunst’, 33. Henrik Karge Projecting the future in German art historiography of the nineteenth century: Franz Kugler, Karl Schnaase, and Gottfried Semper 26 had the advantage of freeing architects from the relativity of history; they seemed to offer objective laws of creation. As distinct from Hegel’s integration of art into history and Schnaase’s and Kugler’s balance between art and history, Semper tried to release the process of artistic creation from its immediate historical models by referring to fundamental archetypes. These archetypes, presented as valid for all time, including the future, left no place for an end of art. Rather, they stood for a vision of a distant past which tends to reduce the perspectives of history. At the same time, Semper always emphasized the importance of the continuity of cultural epochs. His oeuvre thus offers models both for the modernist negation of history and for the present recovery of historical consciousness in the arts. Henrik Karge received his doctorate in art history at the University of Mainz in 1986; his thesis addressed the cathedral of Burgos. From 1987 he served as Assistant Professor of Art History at the University of Kiel; in 1994 he received his habilitation from this university for work about Karl Schnaase. Since 1997 he has served as Professor of Art History at the University of Technology of Dresden. henrik.karge@tu-dresden.de 
work_ldgg3kgxcrew7lmyost4mrsnzi	----	The Antiquaries Journal Being the Journal of the Society of Antiquaries of London VOLUME XXVI JULY-OCTOBER 1 9 4 6 NUMBERS 3 , 4 CONTENTS ANNIVERSARY ADDRESS, by Sir Cyril Fox, Ph.D., F.B.A., President . 109 HUMPHREY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, AND THE GARDENS OF ADONIS, by T . D . Kendrick, Secretary . . . . . . 1 1 8 O N SOME ITALIAN RENAISSANCE CASKETS WITH PASTIGLIA DECORATION, by W. L. Hildburgh, F.S.A. . . . . 123 A HOMESTEAD M O A T AT NUTHAMPSTEAD, HERTFORDSHIRE, by Audrey Williams, F.S.A. . . . . . . . 1 3 8 'BASTARD FEUDALISM' AND THE LATER CASTLES, by W. Douglas Simpson, M.A., D . L i t t , F.S.A. . . . . . 145 DIFFERENCING I N ENGLISH MEDIEVAL HERALDRY, by the late S. M . Collins, F.S.A. . . . . . . . . 172 LINEAR EARTHWORKS : METHODS OF F I E L D SURVEY, by Sir Cyril Fox, President, B. H . St. J. O'Neil, V.-P.S.A., and W. F . Grimes, F.S.A. 175 NOTES (see list on next page) . . . . . . 1 8 0 REVIEWS (see list on next page) . . . . 193 PERIODICAL LITERATURE; BIBLIOGRAPHY; PROCEEDINGS . . 207 INDEX TO V O L . XXVI . . . . . . 234 Published by GEOFFREY CUMBERLEGE. OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE CAPE TOWN BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS Quarterly: Price Five Shillings net. Annual Subscription, i%s. 6d. post fret https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500049854 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:21, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500049854 https://www.cambridge.org/core NOTES Some Flint Implements of special interest from Lincolnshire, Hampshire, and Middlesex, 180—A new Long Barrow in Hampshire, 185—A Bone Implement from the gravel at Somersham, Huntingdonshire, 186—An unpublished Celtic brooch from Danes' Graves, Kilham, Yorks., 187—A Silver Fibula from Colchester, 191—Capitals from the Cloister of Hyde Abbey, 192. REVIEWS Ancient India: Bulletin of the Archaeological Survey of India, N o . 1, January 1946 . . . . . . . 1 9 3 A r n e , E x c a v a t i o n s at S h a h T e p e , I r a n . . . . . 1 9 5 R i c h t e r , A r c h a i c A t t i c G r a v e s t o n e s . . . . . 1 9 7 Hamberg, Studies in Roman Imperial Art, with special reference to the state reliefs of the second century . . . . . 1 9 8 Marien, La Sculpture a Vepoque romaine (L'Art en Belgique) . . 200 Macalister, Corpus Inscriptionum Celticarum, Vol. I . . 200 Douglas, The Domesday Monachorum of Christ Church, Canterbury . 202 The Victoria History of the County of Warwick, Vol. III. Barlichway H u n d r e d . . . . . . . . 2 0 3 C r u i c k s h a n k , E l i z a b e t h ' s A r m y . . . . . 2 0 4 London Museum Catalogues, No. 7. Medieval Catalogue . . 205 City of Leicester Museum and Art Gallery: Anglo-Saxon Leicestershire a n d R u t l a n d . . . . . . . 2 0 6 The Parish Chest W. E. TATE A guide for the student oj local history [and equally for the amateur) to the wealth of material available in parochial records, with many examples and much practical advice on their interpretation. 21s. net. From Imperium to Auctoritas MICHAEL GRANT An examination of all the bronze and copper coins struck between the time of fulius Caesar and the death of Augustus, ami an attempt at their correct attribution. Certain problems of Roman government are reconsidered in the light of this new evidence. 12 pages oj plates. ^ 3 . 35. net. Cambridge University Press AU communications on Editorial matters and books for review should be addressed to the Assistant Secretary, Society of Antiquaries, Burlington House, London, W. 1 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500049854 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:21, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500049854 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_lcs2cdrzrbexvmveharbjoitoy	----	THE ROLE OF CONSUMERS IN COMPETITION http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/ Original citation: Pascali, Luigi (2013) Banks and development : Jewish communities in the Italian Renaissance and current economic performance. Working Paper. Coventry, UK: Department of Economics, University of Warwick. (Warwick economics research papers series (TWERPS)). Permanent WRAP url: http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/59361 Copyright and reuse: The Warwick Research Archive Portal (WRAP) makes this work of researchers of the University of Warwick available open access under the following conditions. Copyright © and all moral rights to the version of the paper presented here belong to the individual author(s) and/or other copyright owners. To the extent reasonable and practicable the material made available in WRAP has been checked for eligibility before being made available. 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For more information, please contact the WRAP Team at: publicatons@warwick.ac.uk http://go.warwick.ac.uk/ http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/59361 mailto:publicatons@warwick.ac.uk http://www2.warwick.ac.uk/ Banks and Development: Jewish Communities in the Italian Renaissance and Current Economic Performance Luigi Pascali No 1026 WARWICK ECONOMIC RESEARCH PAPERS DEPARTMENT OF ECONOMICS Banks and Development: Jewish Communities in the Italian Renaissance and Current Economic Performance∗ Luigi Pascali† University of Warwick September 16, 2013 Abstract Are differences in local banking development long-lasting? Do they affect long-term economic performance? I answer these questions by relying on an historical development that occurred in Italian cities during the 15th century. A sudden change in the Catholic doctrine had driven the Jews toward money lending. Cities that were hosting Jewish communities developed complex banking institutions for two reasons: first, the Jews were the only people in Italy who were allowed to lend for a profit and, second, the Franciscan reaction to Jewish usury led to the creation of charity lending institutions, the Monti di Pietà, that have survived until today and have become the basis of the Italian banking system. Using Jewish demography in 1500 as an instrument, I provide evidence of (1) an extraordinary persistence in the level of banking development across Italian cities (2) large effects of current local banking development on per-capita income. Additional firm-level analyses suggest that well-functioning local banks exert large effects on aggregate productivity by reallocating resources toward more effi cient firms. I exploit the expulsion of the Jews from the Spanish territories in Italy in 1541 to argue that my results are not driven by omitted institutional, cultural and geographical characteristics. In particular, I show that, in Central Italy, the difference in current income between cities that hosted Jewish communities and cities that did not exists only in those regions that were not Spanish territories in the 16th century. JEL: O43, G21, O10 Keywords: Banks, Economic development, Persistence, Jewish demography. 1 Introduction In recentyears, anexcitingeconomic literaturehasemergedthatviewshistoryasoneof themaindeterminantsof current economic development. Beginning with the seminal contributions of Acemoglu et al. (2001), Engerman and Sokoloff (1994) and La-Porta et al. (1997), a significant body of empirical literature has argued that ∗I would like to thank Alberto Alesina, James Anderson, Benjamin Braude, Susanto Basu, Matteo Cacciatore, Antonio Ciccone, Donald Cox, Scott Fulford, Fabio Ghironi, Francesco Giavazzi, Matteo Iacoviello, Arthur Lewbel, Stelios Michalopoulos, Daniele Paserman, Fabio Schiantarelli, Shannon Seitz, Philip Strahan, Michael Toch, David Weil, Ivo Welch and the partecipants in seminars at Brown University, Boston College, Boston University, Clemson College, UC-Berkeley, Haas Business School, Harvard Business School, EIEF, INSPER, Santa Clara University, Simon Fraser University, Università di Napoli -Federico II, Bank of Italy, Collegio Carlo Alberto, London Business School, Pompeu Fabra University, Getulio Vargas Foundation- Sao Paulo for very helpful comments. Finally, I thank CREMed for generous support, Elisa Giannone for excellent research assistance and Fondazione del Monte for the warm hospitality in their archives. †Department of Economics, University of Warwick, Coventry, CV4 7AL, UK; L.Pascali@warwick.ac.uk. 1 historical events, and primarily colonization patterns, have had long-lasting effects on institutions1, culture2, human capital3 and technology4 and, through those channels, ultimately on current domestic living conditions. In this paper, I will document another unexplored channel through which history affects current economic development: the creation and evolution of banks. The first question that this paper attempts to answer is whether local banking development is enduring. This question is central to understanding the remarkable persistence in differences in economic development across countries and regions. Guiso et al. (2008) notes that, among European countries, there is a correlation of 0.56 in per-capita income between the beginning and the end of the last century. Italy is a typical example of persistent regional economic disparities: the literature on the so-called “questione meridionale”, the social and economic backwardness of Southern Italy, dates to the end of the nineteenth century. More generally, among Italian regions, there is a correlation of 0.62 in per-capita income between 1891 and 20015. In this paper, I will argue that this fact can be partially explained by longevous local banks. In particular, I document an extraordinary persistence in the disparities of local banking development across Italian municipal- ities in the last four centuries. For instance, those cities that were hosting Catholic money-lending institutions in the second half of the sixteenth century continue, in modern times, to display a significantly higher number of banks per capita and a greater availability of credit to the private sector. To isolate a causality channel, I first plumb the history of Italian banks and argue that Jewish demography in the early Renaissance exerted a large influence on the development of local credit markets. My argument rests on the following premises: (1) Jews arrived in Rome at the time of the Roman Empire as a result of a mass deportation following the defeat of rebels in Judea by the Roman Empire. For commercial reasons, because of temporary expulsions from Rome and especially because they were deported as slaves, the Jewish residents spread from Rome to the rest of Italy. For centuries, they lived primarily in the proletarian sectors, and their religion prevented them from acquiring economic and social prominence in Italy. However, at the end of the fourteenth century, a sudden change in the Catholic doctrine prohibited the Catholics from lending for a profit while still allowing the Jews to do so. 1Studies on the effects of history on long-lasting institutions are built on an even earlier literature dating back to North and Thomas (1973), North (1981) and North (1990). For a complete review see Nunn (2009). 2See for instance, the studies of Alesina and Ferrara (2005) on the effects of cultural and religious fragmentation on long-run growth; Alesina et al. (2011) on the effects of the use of the plough on contemporaneous gender roles; Nunn and Wantchekon (2009) on the effects of slave trade on trust and contemporaneous growth. For Italy, extensive research has studied the origin of social trust and its effect on economic development (see for instance, Banfield (1958), Putnam (1993) , Guiso et al. (2008) and Durante (2009)). 3See Botticini and Eckstein (2007) on the effects of changing religious norms on literacy. 4Spolaore and Wacziarg (2009) documents the effects of genetic distance on technology diffusion and development. Comin et al. (2010) documents the importance of early technology adoption on current economic performance. 5This result is based on the estimates of Felice (2005) on the value added produced in Italian regions in 1891. 2 (2) Cities that hosted a Jewish community developed complex credit markets. This happened for two reasons. The first was that Jewish communities specialized in the money-lending business. The second was that the Franciscan propaganda against usury, which was particularly ferocious during the fifteenth century, led to the creation of charitable loan banks, called "Monti di Pietà", that were intended to drive the Jews out of the local financial market. The "Monti di Pietà" were created in those cities were the Jewish minority was most influential. (3) While Jewish pawnshops disappeared, the Monti survived to the present day and gave rise to a significant portion of the current Italian banks. Consider, for example, the cities of Ivrea and Chivasso. These two cities have a similar demographic history6 and shared the same rulers for at least eight centuries7. Today, they share the same legislators and the same courts because they both belong to the province of Turin. However, Ivrea hosted a Jewish community in 1500 (tourists can still visit an ancient Jewish cemetery and a synagogue), while Chivasso did not. In 1591, a Monte di Pietà was created in Ivrea; its constitution act was motivated by the need to protect the Catholic masses from Jewish usury. Although the Jewish community disappeared at least a century ago, the Monte operated until 1984 as the primary lending institution in the city. Still today Ivrea dominates Chivasso in terms of private credit-to-GDP ratio (98 percent versus 42 percent) and number of bank branches per resident (0.001 versus 0.0006). To conduct the analysis in a more systematic manner, I identify the Italian cities that had at least five thousand citizens before the Italian unification in 1861 (excluding the islands). For those cities, I reconstruct the approximate size of the Jewish population in 1500 and I collect data on the local banks that they hosted beginning in 1470 (the year of incorporation of the first Monte) until 1670. Then, I document the persistence of these local banks until the present day using the Jewish demography in 1500 as an exogenous source of variation. The exclusion restriction implied by my instrumental variable regression is that: (1) conditional on the controls included in the regression, the Jewish demography of five centuries ago has had no effect on banks today other than through its effect on the local credit markets in the Renaissance; (2) there are no unobservables systematically correlated with Jewish demography of five centuries ago and current local banks. As we will see more in details in the next section, the Jews in Italy were a very small minority, segregated from the rest of the Italian population and living almost exclusively from the revenues of the money-lending activities. Still, if there is a location advantage (not captured by eventual controls) that led the Jews to settle in a particular city and 6According to Malanima, they had less than 5 thousands residents until the early 19th century. According to the first Italian census, in 1861 Ivrea had around 6 thousands residents and Chivasso few hundreds less. Today, Ivrea has 23,714 residents while Chivasso 23,649 residents. 7In the 13th century they are both under the domain of the emperor Frederick II who assigned them to the marques of Monferrato. In the 14th century, they passed under the House of Savoy where they remain until the unification of Italy. 3 that, at the same time, affects current local banking development, then my instrument will be inappropriate. In fact, it is very likely that some particular geographic, cultural, institutional and economic characteristics may have attracted the Jews to select certain cities rather than others in 1500. To exclude the possibility that these characteristics may have any direct effect on current local banks, I use a difference-in-difference approach based on an historical counterfactual. Between 1503 and 1541, Jews were fully expelled from the Italian areas under the Spanish crown, to which they would not be allowed to return for three centuries. This event is exogenous with respect to the Italian social and economic situation of that period. It was, in fact, the result of the attitude of the Spanish crown toward the Jews: the edict was promulgated in Spain in 1493; in 1503 a large part of Italy fell for dynastic reasons under the Spanish crown and the edict of expulsion was applied here as well. I limit my analysis to Central Italy and I document that, once controlling for a set of observed geographical characteristics, in the once-Spanish areas there is no within-province difference in the level of current financial and economic development between those municipalities that previously hosted Jewish communities and those that did not. There are large differences within a province, instead, in those areas where Jews were not banned from: here cities that formerly hosted Jewish communities currently have larger credit-to-GDP ratios and GDP per capita. I interpret this result as an indication that there are no unobservables that affect both the presence of Jewish communities in 1500 and the current local banking and economic development. Having established the validity of my instrument, I can use it to estimate the persistence of credit institu- tions. The results are surprising: for instance, having hosted a Monte di Pietà in the Renaissance gives rise today to an increase in credit availability to the private sector (in percentage of GDP) in the order of at least 80 percent and an increase in branch density of 24 percent. The second central question that this paper attempts to answer is whether banks affect long-term economic performance. On this topic, the economic theory is divided. A large body of literature dating back to Schum- peter emphasizes the positive influence of the development of a country’s financial sector on the level and the rate of growth of its per-capita income. The main argument is that financial intermediaries reduce the cost of acquiring information and allow for the better assessment, selection and monitoring of investment projects. For example, in Greenwood and Jovanovic (1989), the ability of financial intermediaries to improve information collection results in an increase in the effi ciency of resource allocation and, hence, in economic performance8. However, according to certain theoretical contributions (for example, Bencivenga and Smith (1991); King and Levine (1993b)), an improvement in the reallocation of resources that results in an increase in the return to savings may actually depress saving rates and compromise future economic growth. Because the theoretical literature is divided, it remains the task of the empirical literature to shed light on the effect of finance on 8See also Diamond (1996). 4 development. In the 1990s, beginning with studies by King and Levine (1993a, 1993b), a new body of empirical evidence began to indicate a positive relationship between the level of development achieved by the banking system and economic performance, both at the national and the regional level. Italy represents a favorable "laboratory" for these empirical studies9 for two reasons. First, focusing on Italy allows researchers to isolate the role of banks in fostering economic performance. The Italian financial system can be characterized as bank- based. The capitalization of the Italian stock market is low compared to that of most of the other developed countries, and Italian firms have traditionally used debt rather than equity to finance their activities. There- fore, banking development is likely to be particularly important for Italian firms. Second, there is considerable spatial diversity in the degree of banking development. Until 1999, the competition among Italian banks was dampened by restrictions on lending and branching across geographical areas. This led to the development of fundamental differences between the local credit markets of Italian cities. A possible objection could be that the local conditions of the credit market become irrelevant as long as individuals and firms can tap markets other than the local one. There is a growing body of literature, however, documenting that distance affects the provision of funds, especially for small firms (Petersen and Rajan (2002); Bofondi and Gobbi (2004); Lerner (1995)). Moreover, the fact that distance is an important barrier to lending is consistent with the views of bankers. Guiso et al. (2004) report that "the president of the Italian Association of Bankers (ABI) declared in a conference that the banker’s rule of thumb is to never lend to a client located more than three miles from his offi ce." Although a large amount of empirical literature has documented a strong correlation between banks and development, assessing the direction of causality has proven to be a diffi cult task10. There is little agreement on 9Lucchetti et al. (2001) examine how the effi ciency of local banks affects regional economic development. Angelini and Cetorelli (2003) study the effects of regulatory reforms on bank mark-ups. Bonaccorsi di Patti and Dell’Ariccia (2004) focus on firm creation. Guiso et al. (2004) present evidence of the effect of local financial development on a wide set of outcomes, such as business formation, firm entry and growth. Guiso et al. (2006) study the effect of banking regulation on the cost and access to credit. Alessandrini et al. (2006) present evidence that higher branch density reduces the probability of firms of being financially constrained. Benfratello et al. (2008) concentrate on the effects of branch density on the probability that firms engage in R&D. 10Four different approaches have been utilized in this literature. In a successful contribution, King and Levine (1993a) show that on a cross-country basis, the predetermined component of financial development is a good predictor of growth over the following 10 to 30 years. However, skeptics offer two arguments against this methodology for analyzing causality. First, there may be some omitted variable, such as the propensity of households to save, driving both financial development and economic development. Second, there may be a reverse-causality problem because the usual measures of financial development (capitalization of the stock market and availability of credit to the private sector) may respond to expectation of future growth. The second approach aims to rule out omitted country-level factors by focusing on interaction effects rather than on the primary effects of financial development. On a cross-country basis, using industry-level data, Rajan and Zingales (1998) test the idea that financial development should disproportionately assist industries that are relatively more dependent on external finance for their growth. As a proxy for a certain industry’s external need for financing, the authors use data on the difference between investments and cash flow in the analogous industry in the US. The main problem with this approach is that the results are hard to interpret without making the following assumptions: all countries share the same technologies and perform the same tasks within each industry and capital markets in the US are perfect. The third approach focuses on the time-series dimension and studies the effect of one-time exogenous financial liberalization. For example, at the US state level, Jayaratne and Strahan (1996) find that economic growth increases in states that relax intrastate bank branching restrictions. However, according Fry (1995), the simultaneity of reforms appears binding for this type of study: "Most clear-cut cases of financial liberalization were accompanied by other economic reforms (such as fiscal, international trade 5 what determines banking institutions, making it diffi cult to isolate exogenous sources of variation and estimate their effects on performance. Using Jewish demography in 1500 as an instrument, I find that an increase in the current credit availability of 1 percent increases GDP per capita in Italian municipalities by at least 0.18 percent. The effect of branch density is even stronger: an increase in the ratio of bank branches to total residents of 1 percent increases per-capita GDP by at least 0.7 percent. In other words, if a bank "fell from the sky" in a city characterized by the average branch density and one hundred thousand residents, we expect local GDP per capita to increase by 2.8 percent. These estimates support the view that credit institutions have strong positive effects on economic development. Interestingly, according to my estimates, at least one-third of the gap in the current credit availability between Northern and Southern Italy can be attributed to the expulsion of the Jews from the Aragon kingdom. This finding implies that at least 12 percent of the north-south gap in per-capita GDP is attributable to the current lower credit availability for which the expulsion was responsible. In the last part of the paper, I illuminate a particular channel through which the improvement of credit institutions affects economic development. The so-called "Shumpeterian view" in the literature on finance and growth is based on the idea that banking institutions affect economic performance through their ability to foster aggregate productivity (e.g., the total output produced by the economy for a given set of inputs) rather than capital accumulation. My results validate this view. An increase in credit availability of 1 percent increases aggregate productivity by at least 0.03 percent (0.2 percent for branch density). Moreover, I show that the effects of banks on aggregate productivity are realized through the reallocation of resources towards more productive firms rather than through a boost in the average productivity of firms. This finding appears to validate theories that emphasize the importance of the role of the banks in exploiting ex-ante information on investment opportunities to select the most promising ones. This paper is organized as follows. Section 2 presents historical background information on the Italian Jewish communities and the origin of Italian banks. Section 3 documents the persistence of the relative levels and foreign exchange reforms). In such cases it is virtually impossible to isolate the effects of financial components of the reform package". The final approach that has been widely used in the literature is the instrumental variable approach. Many authors have used GMM estimators developed for panel data where the instruments come from lagged values of a financial development proxy. Levine et al. (2000) use data on a panel of 77 countries over the period 1960-1995. The primary advantage of this methodology is that it controls for cross-sectional fixed effects. However, the procedure is data-intensive, and researchers cannot normally count on long time series. As Levine (2005) notes: "Levine et al. (2000) employ data averaged over a five-year period, yet models we are using to interpret data are typically models of steady state growth. To the extent that five years do not adequately proxy for long-run relationship, the panel methods may imprecisely asses the finance growth link". In order to overcome this problem, researchers have searched for “external”instruments that can explain cross-sectional differences in financial development without requiring long time series of data. Levine (1998), Levine (1999) and Levine et al. (2000) use the La-Porta et al. (1998) measures of the legal origin of the country as instruments for current financial development. This type of analysis has three important drawbacks. First, it is diffi cult to exclude the possibility that these instruments have affected not only financial institutions but also other institutions. For example, the legal origin of the country affects the local contractual institutions (see La Porta et al, 2001). Second, it is diffi cult to rule out missing geomorphological variables that could drive both instrumental and instrumented variables. Third, these studies are usually based on a small number of observations. 6 of local banking development across Italian municipalities in the last five centuries. Sections 4 and 5 examine the effects of current banks on per-capita GDP and aggregate productivity in Italian municipalities. Some concluding remarks close the paper. 2 The Jews in Italy and the Rise of the Monti di Pietà Jews were already present in Italy in the second century B.C.E.11 The first large communities were the result of mass deportations following the Jewish struggle and defeat in Judea at the hand of the Roman Empire12. Bonfil (1991) describes the Jewish communities’role in the Roman society accordingly: “The fact that the Jews in Italy were of petty bourgeois or even servile origin and that they were not infrequently suspected of opposing Roman policy abroad prevented individual Jews from attaining prominence in economic or social life. [..] They engaged in humble occupations and lived in the proletarian sections. Cultural standards were not high, although there were painters, actors, and poets.” It has been estimated that approximately fifty thousand Jews were living in Italy during the first century. For commercial reasons, because of temporary expulsions from Rome and especially because they were deported as slaves, the Jews spread from Rome to the rest of Italy. Whenever possible, they established themselves in more cosmopolitan cities where the local population was more tolerant of their religious convictions and customs. For these reasons, we find Jewish communities concentrated in cities with important ports or where commerce was a prominent activity (Milano (1963), p. 29). Even after the fall of the Roman Empire, the strong opposition of the Christian Church confined the Jews to the margins of Italian society. According to Bonfil, until the end of the 13th century, Jews remained a group of petty bourgeoisie, primarily artisans (especially dyers and silk weavers) and small merchants. Typically, they owned houses in towns, but occasionally, some Jews also engaged in farming13. This situation dramatically changed in the 14th century. During this period, Jews in Italy engaged in a new sphere of economic activity as money-lenders. There were three main motives that drove the Jews towards 11The first evidence of Jewish presence in Italy dates back to 168 B.C.E. A Jewish general, Maccabees was leading the struggle to free Palestine from the Syrian domination and sent an embassy to Rome asking for military support. 12The first large wave of Jewish prisoners arrived in Italy in 61 B.C.E. after Pompey and the Roman legions had submitted Judea under the Roman Empire and conquered Jerusalem. In 66 C.E., Judea rebelled against the invaders: the war lasted four years and ended up with the complete defeat of the Jews. Again, a large portion of the Jewish prisoners was brought to Italy. According to later sources, 1500 arrived in Rome alone and 5000 in Apulia. The last mass deportation of Jewish prisoners in Italy dates back to 134, when the Jewish struggle against the Romans ended up with the wholesale destruction of Jerusalem and more than one thousand of other Jewish towns. 13In the middle of the thirteenth century, Saint Thomas Aquinas wrote that, unlike in other countries, Jews in Italy earned their livelihood through their own work and not through money-lending. 7 lending. First, during the Middle Ages, the Catholic Church, through several Ecclesiastical Councils, had banned the practice of lending to earn a profit14. This prohibition, which had previously been limited to the Catholic clergy, was extended to the Catholic laity. On the other hand, the Lateran Council in 1215, having forbidden Jews from lending for high and immoderate interest rates, silently allowed them to lend in exchange for normal interest. Second, between 1260 and 1340, the Italian peninsula experienced a strong expansion of merchant and craft guilds (Morelli (2008)). These organizations acquired full control of the primary economic activities in the largest Italian cities. Because membership required adherence to Catholicism, a large number of Jews were forced to leave their traditional occupations. Moreover, Jews could not continue their farming activities because they were not allowed to own land in a majority of the Italian states. Third, some Jews in Central Italy who had engaged in trade during the Middle Ages had accumulated sizable wealth and had both the capital and the expertise to become money-lenders. These three factors drove the Jews en masse toward money-lending. By the beginning of the 15th century, the geographic expansion of the loan business by the Jews was complete and had become a general economic phenomenon in all parts of Italy. According to Shulvass (1973), Italian Jews in this period primarily derived their livelihood from usury, pawnshops and lending15. This led to the accumulation of small fortunes for several Jewish bankers. A large number of Jews adopted the manners of the gentile upper class, with a taste for the letters and the arts; indeed, this period is remembered as one of unprecedented prosperity of the Italian Jewry. These achievements, however, were undermined by two factors. The first was the attitude of the Spanish Aragon crown toward its Jewish subjects. In March 1492, the Aragon crown promulgated an edict of expulsion of the Jews from its territories. At that time, Sicily and Sardinia were under the Aragon rule, and thus the edict applied there as well. Then, in 1503 the Kingdom of Naples (which included all of Southern Italy, the region of Abruzzi and some cities close to Rome) came under the Aragon crown, and the expulsion of the Jews from these territories was ordered. The opposition to the edict by both the Christian masses and the local aristocracy led to certain exceptions. In particular, approximately 200 wealthy families were formally permitted to remain. However, in 1541, these exceptions were abrogated, 14The Christian prohibition to lend for a profit tracks its origin in the ancient times and is inspired by two principles. First, the Aristotelian maxim “Pecunia pecuniam parere non potest (money cannot beget money)”excluded the possibility that investing for future profits could be beneficial for the society. Second, lending for a profit was considered at odds with the principle “Mutuum date nihil inde sperantes (give without hoping to receive anything in return)”, enunciated in the Gospel according to Saint Lucas. 15In 1320, Kalonymos ben Kalonymos (1286-1328 A.D.), a Spanish Jewish philosopher, wrote in his Maseket Purim: “no usurious loans are to take place on Purim that is in the land of Israel, but it is permitted in Babylonia and in Greek Italy [..]. Jews of Babylonia and Italy have nothing else but usury upon which to rely [for their support]”. Two centuries later, Jehiel Nisim da Pisa (1507-1574 A.D.), a rich Italian Jewish banker, also attested that “in these lands [Italy] more than everywhere else in the entire Diaspora has the custom of lending to non-Jew become widespread”. Famous rabbis were also moneylenders and, according to Sonne (1948), most of the North Italian rabbis were bankers even at a time when they functioned as heads of rabbinical schools. Leon da Modena (1638) charged that “in our generation all interest lenders are regarded honorable and not only are they not ineligible to testify and to judge, it is quite the reverse, namely, their word is as reliable as a hundred of witnesses, they are our leaders and judges”. 8 and the law excluding Jews from the kingdom remained in force for over three centuries. Meanwhile, other Italian states experienced increasing opposition towards Jewish loan-banking from the Christian population. According to Shulvass, “The economic depression of the masses caused by endless wars waged throughout all of Italy, contrasted with a rise in the living standard of Jewish pawnbrokers, aroused strong anti-Jewish feelings. The movement was led by the Franciscans, who during this period had a number of outstanding itinerant preachers with tremendous influence upon the masses. [..] They believed that the abolition of the Jewish loan business would heal all social ills. The masses also believed that the loan business was ruining the country.” With the explicit intention of keeping Christians in need of loans away from Jewish money-lenders, Fran- ciscan leaders such as Bernardino da Siena, Giacomo della Marca, Giovanni da Capistrano, and Bernardino da Feltre laid the foundations for the “Monti di Pietà”, lending institutions sponsored by wealthy Christians that would extend credit on a non-profit basis. The creation of a Monte di Pietà followed a usual scheme, which is well-described by Attilio Milano (1963, pp. 74). A Franciscan preacher would arrive in town and offer several sermons to the largest audience possible, proclaiming that the current misfortune of the place was a divine retribution against the persistence of Jewish usury; in order to appease God’s wrath, usury should be overcome16. An expiatory procession would follow, during which each member of the community was supposed to contribute to the formation of the initial capital of the Monte, normally in exchange for the plenary indulgence. Finally, the Franciscan preacher would assist the local authorities in writing the statute of the Monte17. Several anecdotal stories regarding the creation of the Monti have survived to the present day. For example, according to his biographer, in 1470 Bernardino da Feltre arrived in L’Aquila, a town in Abruzzi, and offered 82 sermons instigating the inhabitants to create a Monte and to kill the Jewish minority18. Two weeks later, several processions and turbulent manifestations of the population led the city council to authorize the creation 16One of the main Franciscan preacher of that time, Bernardino da Siena, used to depict Jewish lenders as bloodsuckers. In his sermon 43 on usury he says: "It is usually the case that when wealth and money are concentrated into fewer and fewer hands and purses, it is a sign of the deteriorating state of the city and the land. This is similar to when the natural warmth of the body abandons the extremities and concentrates only in the heart and the internal organs; this is seen as the clearest indication that life is slipping way and that the person is soon to die. And if this concentration of wealth in the hands of the few is dangerous to the health of the city, it is even more dangerous when this wealth and money is concentrated and gathered into the hands of the Jews. For in that case, the natural warmth of the city– for this is what its wealth represents– is not flowing back to the heart to give it assistance but instead rushes to an abscess in a deadly hemorrhage, since all Jews, especially those who are moneylenders, are the chief enemies of all Christians." 17Figure 3 reproduces a painting of Sebald Popp, “The sermon of the pious Giovanni da Capestrano in Norimberga”. The painting dates 1493 and it describes a typical Franciscan predication. You can distinguish a Franciscan preacher giving a sermon, the women piling up their best clothes and jewels in front of the preacher (the mount of piety was originally referred to a pile of objects collected for being redistributed to the poor people) and, on the upper left of the representation, you can distinguish a Jew being arrested by the local authorities. 18“fin che gl’ebrei non fosser da gl’Aquilani tagliati a pezzi”(until the Jews would have been cut in pieces by the inhabitants). 9 of a Monte di Pietà. In its statute, we can still read that the Monte was created with the with the mandate to “refrenare la insatiabele voragine della usura de Judey, la quale devora et consume li beni temporali dell’omini et persone de essa magnifica cita dell’Aquila e so contato”(to stop the insatiable bottomless chasm of Jewish usury, which devours and consumes all the goods owned by the people of the magnificent city of L’Aquila and its county). Several days after the establishment of the Monte, the Jews were expelled from the city (although they would be invited to come back two years later). The connection between the creation of the Monte di Pietà and the anti-Jewish propaganda left traces in the statute of the great majority of the Monti di Pietà that were created before the beginning of the 18th century19. Many papers have beenwrittenbyhistoriansand economistson the relationshipbetweenJewish demography and the rise of the Monti di Pietà in the Italian Renaissance 20. The mainstream historical perspective can be summed up by the words of Segre (1978): “The mounts rise where there are Jewish bankers and their reason of being and their fuel is the opposition to the Jewish bankers and, sometimes their destruction under an overwhelming public pressure”. In the words of Menning (1993): "As brokers of small loans against pawns, Italian Monti di Pietà were expected not only to replace Jewish moneylenders but also to set up the conditions in which all Jews could be expelled." Between 1470 and 1570, the Franciscan preachers created more than two hundred Monti di Pietà in Central and Northern Italy. However, the lack of a firm business base undermined their stability. They were continuously dependent on charity to finance their operations, and the lack of any profit motive made them particularly ineffi cient. The presence of a Jewish community in the city provided three different means of solving the problem. First, the Franciscans continued to use the specter of Jewish usury to promote frequent processions, where the forgiveness of multiple sins was exchanged for donations to the Monte. Second, the Jews were frequently forced to pay a tax to the local Monte or to deposit some of the revenues of their money-lending activities. Finally, in other cases, they provided the initial expertise to set up the Monti. 19For example, you can find references to the Jewish usury in the constitution statutes of the following lending institutions: Monte di Pietà di Viterbo (1472): ”una losca nidiata di ebrei”(sinister brood of Jews); Monte di Pietà di Parma (1491): “ad evitare le voragine de le usure de zudei per subventione dei poveri christiani”(to avoid the bottomless chasm of Jewish usury by subsidizing the poor people); Monte di Pietà di Parma (1491): “alla iattatura delle usure et massime delli zudi”(to the damnation of usury and, especially, the Jewish one); Monte di Pietà di Rieti (1489): “succatori del sangue de li cristiani”(suckers of Christian blood); Monte di Pietà di Cuneo (1557): “voragine dell’usura di ebrei”; Monte di Pietà di Casale (1557):”ai giudei che devorano il sangue de poveri”(to the Jews that devour the poor’s blood); Monte di Pietà di Savigliano (1602):”ingorda tirannia degli usurai ebrei” (gluttonous tyranny of Jewish usurers). 20An excellent collection of studies on the relationship between Jewish demography and the rise of the Monti di Pieta’is offered by Montanari (1999). See also Angiolini (1978). 10 This led Attilio Milano (1963, pp. 165) to conclude that “the co-existence of Monti di Pietà and Jewish pawn banks was not only possible but also necessary”and, for this reason, the Jewish money-lenders who had been expelled after the creation of the Monti were, in most cases, invited to come back. The Monti di Pietà, which were founded as charity institutions, evolved particular features typical of modern banks in the late sixteenth century. In fact, in 1515, Pope Leone X, allowed them to charge interest on their loans; in 1560, Pope Pius IV authorized them to accept deposits from privates; and finally, in 1569, Pope Pius V allowed them to remunerate these deposits. However, until the late seventeenth century, the Monti continued to primarily rely on charity and donations to finance their growth, and their endowment remained relatively low compared to Jewish pawnshops. The Monti were allowed to receive deposits and make loans only to residents; these loans were limited in size (they would not exceed the average monthly wage of a peasant) and duration (6 months or 1 year), and their use was bound by rigid moral rules. Moreover, in periods of general hardship, it was diffi cult for the Monti to raise suffi cient funds given that all of their donors and depositors lived in the same town. On the other hand, Jewish pawnshops could lend much larger sums for longer periods. Furthermore, through a network of family ties, social relationships and economic partnerships, they were able to provide access to external sources of credit 21. It was only between the 17th and the 18th century that the Monti di Pietà were able to expand their range of activities from consumption credit to production credit (Montanari (1999), De Maddalena (1975)). While the Italian Jewish money-lending industry experienced a steady decline and eventually disappeared, the Monti were surprisingly resistant over time. By the end of the 19th century, approximately 300 Monti were operating in Italy (Pagliazzi and Nicosia (1968)). One obvious question is whether those cities that could not count on Jewish pawnshops or Monti di Pietà developed alternative ways to provide credit that could avoid the interest ban. The answer is yes. First of all, inter-household credit was very popular. Since no credit contract could make references to an associated interest, the actual payment of the interest was dependent on the good faith of the parties. The legal risk involved with these types of transactions led to the development of more complex contractual form where the loan component was hidden or not easily identifiable. The most popular by far was the so-called “Contratto alla Voce”. Practically, during the planting season a creditor would purchase and pay in advance the current price for part of the upcoming harvest that the debtor had the obligation to re-purchase immediately after the harvest at the new current price. The interest was hidden in the price-difference of farm products between the planting season and the harvest (Placanica (1982)). 21An interesting discussion on the complementarity between Jewish money lenders and Monti di Pietà can be found in Botticini (2000). See also Montanari (1999) (p. 10). 11 So, this was the situation of the Italian credit institutions in 1860, immediately after a myriads of little states and independent cities were unified in the Italian Kingdom: local Monti di Pietà, with centuries of banking experience in those cities that used to host Jewish communities in the early Renaissance, and a mix of ancient complex contracts aiming at hiding the interest payments in the other cities. Immediately, after the Italian unification the Italian banking system was deeply re-organized. The Monti lost some of their banking prerogatives, while a new type of banks, the Casse di Risparmio began to dominate the local credit markets. The great majority of the Casse born either as a commercial appendix of the local Monte or as aggregation of several of them (Zamagni (2005); Racine (2004)), they shared with the Monti the non-profit nature and the institutional mission to fight against usury but they could benefit from more relaxed regulatory legislation. In particular, the Casse di Risparmio were allowed to collect deposits indiscriminately from the private sector and to invest them on economic basis rather than on charity ones. Some decades later, with the banking reform in 1929, the regulatory legislation for the largest Monti di Pietà was assimilated into the legislation governing the Casse di Risparmio and the Monti forfeited their original charitable mission. The last relevant legislative reform occurred in 1992 (but was implemented only in 1999). Both the Monti di Pietà and the Casse di Risparmio lost their non-profit status, and they were transformed into joint-stock companies; meanwhile their ownership was transferred to the Fondazioni which have continued to operate as non-profit organizations until today. 3 Data Description This paper employs three sets of data: the first two include historical and current data, respectively, on Italian municipalities, while the third one includes detailed characteristics of Italian firms. The first set of data contains information on demography and local credit markets in the Renaissance in Italy (islands excluded). Data on historical Jewish demography come from the work of an Italian scholar, Attilio Milano. His book, "Storia degli Ebrei in Italia" (e.g. History of the Jews in Italy, 1963), includes a map of the Jewish communities in Italy in 1500 A.D. (the map is reproduced in Figure 1). In particular, he distinguishes among three types of communities: small (a dozen families), medium (a few dozen families) and large (several dozen families)22. These data were collected from several historiographical studies conducted at the regional and municipality level. The historical urban population data come from Malanima (1998). Federico Malanima compiled a dataset with urban population estimates for over 500 Italian cities on a centennial basis over the period 1300-1861, relying heavily on the seminal work on Italian population history by Beloch (1963). The sample comprises all of the Italian cities with an estimated average population of at least five thousand people in the year of the Italian unification (1861). Data on the location of the Monte di Pietà in the first century of their 22The same map is reported by Bonfil (1991). 12 existence (1470-1570) are provided by Vittorino Meneghin (1986), while data on Jewish pawnshops operating in the same period were collected by Daniele Montanari (1991). Table 1a reports the summary statistics for this set of historical data. The sample comprises 360 cities, of which nearly half previously hosted a Jewish community. Of the 173 Jewish communities in 1500, more than half were small (101), approximately a third were medium-sized (47) and the rest were large (25). Nearly a third of the Italian cities in the sample had a Monte di Pietà or a Jewish pawnshop operating in their territory. Regarding the data on urban population, it is interesting to notice the extraordinary drop in urban population between 1300 and 1400 caused by the epidemics of the plague. The second set of data contains current information on Italian municipalities (the data refer to the years 2002-2003). The geomorphological data come from the Italian Geographical Institute De Agostini. Statistics on population and levels of education come from the Italian National Statistical Institute (ISTAT). The same source provides value-added data. These are available not at the city level but rather at the level of the "local labor system" (LLS). This unit is defined on the basis of the Population Census data and is composed of a set of contiguous municipalities with a high degree of self-containment of daily commuter traffi c and similar economic and geographic characteristics. There are a total of 854 LLSs in Italy, and all cities in my sample are located in distinct LLSs. In the rest of my analysis, I will assume that the per-capita GDP of each city is the same as that of the LLS where the city is located. Financial data on branch density and private credit come from the Bank of Italy. Table 1b reports summary statistics for these city-level data. It is interesting to notice the large variation in the level of economic development across Italian cities. The richest city has a GDP per capita that is more than eight times that of the poorest city. Looking at financial data, the private credit to GDP ratio has a surprisingly large mean (0.71) and standard deviation (0.57). For example, using a sample of 75 countries and a similarly constructed measure of private credit to GDP ratio, Levine, Loayza and Beck (2000) report a mean of 0.4 and a standard deviation of 0.29. This reinforces the idea that Italy has a bank-based financial system and features a significant degree of variation in the level of financial development across cities. The third dataset contains current information about Italian firms. The main source of information is Amadeus, a comprehensive firm-level pan-European database developed by Bureau Van Dijk. For every firm, it provides data on the industry in which the firm operates (at the 4-digit NACE level), the location, the year of incorporation, the ownership structure and the number of employees, in addition to the complete balance sheets and the profit and loss accounts. The data set includes both publicly traded and non-traded companies and accounts for nearly 90 percent of the sales reported in the national accounting data. In order to deflate firms’sales, materials, intermediates and capital, I have merged this dataset with an industry-level dataset that 13 comprises output and input prices for industries at roughly the 2-digit level of aggregation coming from the EU-KLEMS project. Table 1c reports summary statistics for firms’deflated quantities. 4 Long-Term Persistency The evolution of the Italian banking system can be documented by the following system of equations: JFi = α1J 1500 i + X ′ iβ1 + υ1,i (1) MPi = α2JFi + X ′ iβ2 + υ2,i (2) log Fi = α3MPi + X ′ iβ3 + υ3,i (3) where J1500i is a dummy variable that identifies cities that previously hosted a Jewish community in 1500, while JFi and MPi identify those cities that were hosting respectively Jewish pawnshops and Catholic Monti di Pietà in the following century; Fi measures the current level of local banking development and X′ is a vector of covariates that affect all variables. The first equation captures the fact that, during the Renaissance, the Jews were the only people in Italy allowed to charge interest, and that they derived their livelihood almost exclusively from the revenues of their moneylending activities. Thus, the presence of a Jewish community was generally associated with the presence of several Jewish pawnshops in the local credit markets. The second equation reflects the mainstream historical perspective on the rise of the Monti di Pietà. They were created with the explicit scope of counteracting the influence of Jewish money-lending. The presence of a Jewish community not only spurred the creation of the Monte di Pietà, but it was also necessary for the survival of the Monte. The Monti were continuously dependent on charity and donations: waving the specter of the Jewish usury was an effective way of raising funds. In the first century of their activity, 229 Monti di Pietà opened in Italy, and the great majority of them were located in cities that hosted Jewish communities; only 17 opened in the Spanish territories from which the Jewish population had been expelled (where nearly 40 percent of the Italian urban population was concentrated). Finally, the third equation captures the fact that, where the expansion of the Monti di Pietà could benefit from the Jewish presence, the Monti were able to survive until the present day, thus forming the foundation of the contemporary Italian banking system. In 1995, the largest Italian banks by number of branches in Southern, 14 Central and Northern Italy were Banco di Napoli, Banca di Roma and San Paolo, respectively. Banco di Napoli was funded through the merger of eight Catholic institutions that were established in Naples between 1539 and 164023, while Banca di Roma and San Paolo originate from the Monte di Pietà of Rome 24 and the Monte di Pietà of Turin25, respectively. More generally, the great majority of modern Italian banks trace their origin to the Monte di Pietà that were created during the Renaissance26. Rather than separately estimating the three relationships identified above, I first estimate by ordinary least squares (OLS) the following reduced form, log Fi = αJ 1500 i + X ′ iβ + υi (4) using both the ratio of private credit to GDP and branch density as proxies for local banking development. Xi includes a set of geographic controls (e.g., elevation, seismicity, proximity to the sea or to a river) and of province dummies. The first two columns of Table 3 report the results. Having had a Jewish community in the city in 1500 is associated with an increase of 28 percent in the current ratio of private credit to GDP and of 16 percent in the branch density of the municipality. Thus, cities that were hosting Jewish communities in 1500 are characterized by a higher level of banking development today. This positive correlation, however, does not necessarily indicate a causal effect. In particular, it could be that the same local advantage that led the Jews to settle in a particular city is also responsible for a higher level of current credit availability. 23In 1539, the Monte di Pietà of Napoli was founded with the philanthropic purpose of providing interest-free pawn loans. Later, the Monte di Pietà opened a depository bank that was recognized with a viceregal proclamation in 1584. In the next 50 years other seven Catholic institutions were founded in Naples: the Sacro Monte e Banco dei Poveri (1600); the Banco Ave Gratia Plena or Banco della Santissima Annunziata (1587); the Banco di Santa Maria del Popolo (1589); the Banco dello Spirito Santo (1590); the Banco di Sant’Eligio (1592); the Banco di San Giacomo e Vittoria (1597); and the Banco del Santissimo Salvatore (1640). These eight banks prospered for over two hundred years until they were merged to create the "Banco Nazionale di Napoli" in 1794 by Ferdinand IV of Bourbon. 24Banca di Roma regrouped the histories of several notable Rome-based financial houses. The oldest of these was the Monte di Pietà di Roma, founded by a papal bull in 1539 in the aftermath of the sack of Rome in 1527 and the famine of 1538. The rebuilding effort drained the city of credit capital and increases the interest rates placed by the Jewish moneylenders. In response, Pope Paul III issued a bull establishing the Monte di Pietà di Roma, which was placed under the protection of the Franciscan Order . Another Italian bank that participated in the development of what became Banca di Roma is the Banco di Santo Spirito created in 1605 in order to raise funding for the charitable operations of the Arch-hospital Santo Spirito. 25The "Campagnia della Fede Cattolica di San Paolo" was created in 1563 after Piedmont had countered the invasion of Phillip II of Spain. The long war had aggravated an already diffi cult economic situation, increasing famine and poverty in the city of Torino, and the initial aim of the Compagnia was to centralize the collection and distribution of alms. Also in this case, with the formal intent of fighting Jewish moneylenders, the Compagnia created a Monte di Pietà in 1579 that has operated uninterrupted (with an exception of less than 10 years during the Napoleonic domination of Piedmont) to the present day. 26For example, Banca Monte dei Paschi di Siena was founded in 1473 as a Monte di Pietà and is today the third Italian bank by capitalization. Banca Carige is the descendant of the Monte di Pietà di Genova. Banca Carimonte, that has recently joined the Unicredit group, is the result of aggregating four ancient Monti (Ravenna, 1491; Bologna, 1473; Savignano, 1579; Cesena, 1487) with the Cassa di Risparmio di Cesena. Unibanca, was created by the subsequent merging of several Monti (Lugo, 1546; Massa Lombarda, 1572; Faenza, 1491) with the Cassa di Risparmio di Faenza, which was part of the Monte di Faenza before becoming a separate entity in 1891. Other examples of modern Italian banks that track their origins in the experience of the Monti di Pietà are: Banca del Monte di Lucca (1516), Banca Monte Parma (1488), Banca del Monte di Lombardia (from the merging of the Monti of Milano, 1483; Mantova, 1484; Cremona, 1490; Monza, 1492; Pavia, 1493 and Bergamo, 1557). Figure 4 is a picture of the main bank branch in the city of Bologna today. The ancient building still reports on the main facade the denomination "Monte di Pietà di Bologna" and the its funding year, 1473. 15 Jewish demography in 1500 was certainly influenced by the economic, institutional, cultural and geographical environment. Controlling for all of these factors is practically impossible, and the regression above cannot reject the alternative that these factors are the ultimate source of persistence. To address this issue, I use a difference-in-difference approach based on an historical event: the expulsion of the Jews from the lands subject to the Spanish crown between 1503 and 1541. I make two assumptions. The first assumption is that the expulsion was exogenous, meaning that there are no unobservables that are responsible for the expulsion and that have effects on current economic outcomes. This assumption may be violated if this event reflected, for example, a more intolerant local attitude towards diversity or usury. But this is not the case. The expulsion originated from the fact that, in 1503, the king of Naples, Federico II, had died without leaving any heir to the throne. The territories of the Kingdom of Naples were therefore divided between the two strongest European monarchies: the French and the Spanish. One year later, they all fell to the Spanish crown, which had conquered two other large municipalities in Central Italy. At that point, the edict of expulsion of the Jews, that had been promulgated in Spain in 1492, was extended to these new Spanish possessions in Italy. The edict was strongly opposed by the local aristocracy27 and resulted in riots and protests in several cities. It is reasonable to conclude that the edict solely reflected the attitude of the Spanish crown toward the Jews, rather than local sentiments. The second assumption is that those unobservables that systematically drove the Jewish communities toward certain cities and that affect local current economic development are the same between those territories that fell under the Spanish crown and those territories that did not. While Jewish communities in Central and Southern Italy trace their origin to the first century CE the Jews settled in Northern Italy much later. Therefore, it may be that the locational advantage that led the Jews to settle in some locations in the North was very different from the locational advantage that led them to settle in the South. For this reason, I will focus my analysis on Central Italy, and I will only exploit variation within provinces. Given the two assumptions above, a useful framework for studying the effect of Jewish communities during the Italian Renaissance on actual financial development is provided by the matrix described in Table 1, which divides Italian cities along two dimensions: whether they hosted a Jewish community in 1500 or not, and whether they belonged to the Spanish territories in 1503 or not. F measures the current average level of local banking development in each cell. A simple test for the magnitude of the long-term effect of hosting a Jewish community can therefore be conducted by documenting whether the difference in the current local banking development of cities that hosted 27For example Lagumina and Lagumina (1992) reports two petitions, one drawn up and signed by high ranking offi cials and members of the nobility, and the other from the jurats of Palermo (elective representatives) that were addressed to the king protesting against the expulsion. See also Simonsohn (2006, p. 4739-4744) and Ingram (2009). 16 Table 1: Difference in difference Jewish community in 1500 No Yes Spanish territories in 1503 Yes F00 F01 No F10 F11 Jewish communities in 1500 versus cities that did not is higher in regions where the Jews were not expelled as a consequence of the Spanish domination compared to regions where they were, or: (F11 − F10) − (F01 − F00) As is customary in the literature, I express the difference-in-difference results in a regression format: log Fi = γ1Si + γ2J 1500 i + γ3J 1500 i ∗ Si + X ′ iγ + �1i (5) where Si is a dummy that identifies those territories that were not under the Spanish crown (and where Jews were allowed to Stay). Columns 3-9 of Table 3 report the results. In column 3, the only controls are the usual set of geographical characteristics and the province dummies. There are two striking results. The first is that having a Jewish community in 1500 does not have any effect on current banking development per se (the coeffi cient on J1500i is negative but not significant). In the once Spanish dominated territories, where Jews were expelled, there is no current difference in local banks between cities that used to host Jewish communities and cities that did not. So, whatever unobservable led the Jews to establish in some particular cities in 1500, that does not seem to affect the level of local banking development in these cities today. A possible concern is that Spanish domination may have prevented the development of banks altogether. However, the fact that the coeffi cient on Si is negative is suggestive that the Spanish domination did not have any persistent negative effect on local banks if not through the expulsion of the Jews. In fact, cities that were under the Spanish crown display higher credit availability today compared with cities that were not under the Spanish crown and did not host a Jewish community. So, once controlling for the Jewish expulsion, the Spanish domination had positive effects on the development of banks. The second striking result is that the coeffi cient of the interaction term is statistically significant at 1 percent and is very large. Having had a Jewish community in 1500 in a municipality located outside of the Spanish territories in 1503 increases current private credit-to-GDP by 57 percent. Thus, the presence of a Jewish community in 1500, in those areas where Jews had not been expelled, has surprisingly significant long-term 17 effects on the current local banking development of Italian municipalities. In column 4, I run a simple placebo test to confirm that the effect of Jewish demography on current credit availability comes from the fact that the Jewish community spurred the creation of the Monti di Pietà. Practically, I add among the regressors a triple interaction between a dummy that identifies those cities that developed a Monte di Pietà in the first century of their activity and the variables J1500i and Si. This triple interaction is positive and significant while, in this specification, the interaction J1500i ∗ Si becomes five times smaller and statistically insignificant. Thus, the presence of a Jewish community in territories that were not under the Spanish crown had effects on current credit availability only in those cities that developed a Monte. The following columns report some robustness checks on the benchmark specification. In particular, the results are robust to the inclusion of a measure of the area of the municipality (column 5) and a dummy that identifies the regional administrative capitals (column 6). In column 7, I rerun the regression, controlling for the size of the urban population in 1300 and 1400. Cities that were larger in the Renaissance could today be more economically developed as a result of having inherited a higher level of human and social capital (see Guiso et al. (2008); Percoco (2009)). This could bias my results if the Jewish communities in the Spanish territories were concentrated in smaller or larger cities compared to the other Jewish communities. The ancient urban population is clearly an endogenous regressor in equation 5: there may be certain omitted features that affected the urban population five centuries ago and that drive credit today. However, the fact that the coeffi cient of the interaction term is affected very marginally by its inclusion suggests that my results are not driven by the distribution of the urban population during the Renaissance. Another possible concern is that, despite the fact that this analysis focuses on Central Italy, the factors that led to the creation of a Jewish community were different between those territories that later fell under the Spanish crown and the other. For this reason, in column 8, I limit my analysis to the border of the Spanish possessions in 1503 (more precisely, I concentrate on the three contemporaneous regions that were divided by this border: Lazio, Abruzzi and Molise). The estimate of the coeffi cient on the interaction term decreases slightly while the negative effect of the presence of a Jewish community becomes significative. Thus, if anything, those features that led the Jews to choose certain cities over others are associated today with a lower level of local banking development. Finally, in the last column, I use branch density as a measure of local banking development and, also in this case, the long-term effect of Jewish demography is practically unchanged. In sum, the presence of a Jewish community in 1500 is associated with better current credit conditions only in those territories where Jews where not expelled as a consequence of the Spanish edict. This finding suggests that what affects current banks are not the characteristics of the cities where the Jews chose to live in 1500 18 but rather their continuous presence in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. More specifically, according to the most conservative estimates, this continuous presence is currently responsible for an increase of 48 percent in the local ratio of private credit to GDP and of 44 percent in the branch density. These estimates allow us to evaluate the consequences of the expulsion of the Jews from the Spanish territories on the current local banking system. In particular, how much of the current North-South gap in credit availability can be explained by this event? The answer is surprisingly high for an event that occurred over five centuries ago: 12 percent for the credit-to-GDP gap and 13.4 percent for the branch-density gap. I do not have reasonable theories to explain the remaining gap. However, it is possible (in fact, likely) that these numbers underestimate the effect of the expulsion. Probably, through temporary migration (due to the mechanism of the condotta) in the sixteenth century, the Jewish communities’positive effects spilled over into the neighboring towns, further contributing to the development of financial institutions in the Center-North. The next step to clarify the channels through which Jewish demography has affected the current local credit markets is to estimate equation 3. This would give us an estimate of the persistence of local banking institutions. To identify the causal effect, it is necessary to isolate a variation in the local credit markets in the Renaissance that is exogenous with respect to current local credit markets. A natural candidate for an instrument in this context is Jewish demography in 1500. I have already argued that there are historical reasons to believe that Jewish communities in 1500 fostered the development of local credit markets in the early Renaissance. It remains to be argued that Jewish demography in 1500 is uncorrelated with the error term in equation 3 (i.e. Cov(J1500i ,υ3,i) = 0). To do this, I decompose the residual υ3,i into three parts: ζ[−∞;1500],i, ζ[1500;2000],i and εi so that: υ3,i = εi + ζ[1500;2000],i + ζ[−∞;1500],i where εi represents exogenous shocks and measurement errors in the measure of the current local credit market development of city i; ζ[−∞;1500],i is the set of unobserved features of city i that affects current credit markets and that were already in place before 1500; and ζ[1500;2000],i is the set of unobserved features of city i that affect current credit markets and that arose after 1500. The three suffi cient conditions for the exclusion restriction to be valid are: Cov(J1500i ,εi) = 0, Cov(J 1500 i ,ζ[1500;2000],i) = 0 and Cov(J 1500 i ,ζ[−∞;1500],i) = 0. Although the first condition is valid by construction, the other two require further discussion. As a first step, let me argue that Cov(J1500i ,ζ[1500;2000],i) = 0. This assumption would be invalidated if Jewish demography in the early Renaissance has an effect on current banks that is not a consequence of its direct effect on local money-lending activities in the Renaissance. As a matter of fact, Jews have traditionally displayed a high 19 level of literacy; moreover, historically, Jews used be employed in occupations that were particularly skill- intensive (Botticini and Eckstein (2005)). It could be that either Jewish communities have persisted until now and still affect the level of human capital in their cities or that they did eventually disappear but not before transmitting their knowledge to the rest of the population, thereby contributing to the present level of human capital. However, both cases seem implausible. First, it is well documented that the distribution of the Jewish population in Italy in the last two centuries has completely changed and, with three notable exceptions (Rome, Florence, Venice), most of the ancient Jewish communities have disappeared or are insignificant in size28. Second, it is unlikely that Jewish communities in the Renaissance could have contributed to the cultural, institutional and economic development of their cities (if not through their effects on financial development). In fact, from the beginning of the sixteenth century through the end of the nineteenth century, Jews lived segregated from the rest of the population and derived their livelihood almost exclusively from money-lending activities. The Lateran Council forbade the Catholics from interacting with the Jews for any purpose aside from business. The Jews were forced to live in a dedicated section of the city, the ghetto, that they were not allowed to leave during the night; during the day, they were obliged to wear a distinguish badge in order to be easily recognizable by the Catholics. They were excluded from all professions (with the exception of medicine), from academia and from all public offi ces. The restrictions became even stronger in 1555 when the Papal Bull “Cum nimis absurdum29”, which forbade the Jews to own any real estate, reaffi rmed the necessity to segregate Jews from the Catholic population and forbade Catholics to work for the Jews or to receive treatment from Jewish doctors. The bull remained effective until 1848 in Piedmont and 1870 in the rest of Italy. The final step in defending the exclusion restriction is arguing that Cov(J1500i ,ζ[−∞;1500],i) = 0. This condi- tion would be violated if there were omitted variables driving both Jewish demography in the Renaissance and current local credit markets. But we have already seen that, if there is any unobservable that is systematically correlated with the cities where the Jews lived, it seems to have had negative rather than positive effects on current local credit development. Thus, the 2SLS results may undervalue the persistence of local banks. Having discussed the validity of my instruments, I can move to the two-stage least-squares estimates of equation 3. I limit the analysis to cities in regions that were not subject to the Spanish crown in 1503. The results are presented in Table 4. 28Bonfil writes that “[Between 1815 and 1938], the structure of the Jewish community changed radically. In 1840 there existed about 70 organized communities, in 1938 only 23. [..] The distribution of the Jewish population also changed. Many small rural communities disappeared, while medium-sized urban ones suffered through migration to the large centers.”. Some years later the Nazi persecutions in Italy during the Second Word War decimated the Italian Jewry. Through deportations, conversion to other religions and emigration, Italy lost in less than 5 years, almost half of its Jewish population. 29The first two lines of the bull: “Cum nimis absurdum et inconveniens existat ut iudaei, quos propria culpa perpetuae servituti submisit, sub praetextu quod pietas christiana illos receptet et eorum cohabitationem sustineat [..].” can be translated in the following manner: “Since it is completely senseless and inappropriate to be in a situation where Christian piety allows the Jews (whose guilt - all of their own doing - has condemned them to eternal slavery) access to our society and even to live among us [..]. 20 In column 1, the only covariates are the set of geographical characteristics and the province dummies. There are two striking results. First, there is an extraordinary persistence in the level of local banking development. The presence of a Monte di Pietà in the sixteenth century increases the current availability of credit to the private sector (in terms of GDP) by more than one hundred percent. Second, in line with equations (1) and (2) the presence of a Jewish community in 1500 is a strong predictor of the location of the Monti two centuries later. Having a Jewish community is associated with an increase in the probability of hosting a Monte di Pietà by nearly 40 percent. The qualitative results are confirmed in column 2, where I add the estimated population in 1300 and 1400 to the regressors, even though the estimate of the persistence parameter, α3, drops by one third. In the third column, I used the presence of a Jewish pawnshop in the sixteenth century as an alternative proxy for the development of the local ancient credit markets. The estimates for α3 increases slightly. In columns 4-6, I repeat the analysis using current branch density as dependent variable. The estimates for α3 are approximately one fifth compared to the previous columns. This seems to suggest that the presence of a Monte di Pietà increases not only the number of local banks but also their average size (as measured by the credit that they provide). Finally, in the columns 7 and 8, I limit the analysis to Central Italy. From a qualitative perspective, the results are unchanged. In sum, there is robust empirical evidence for the long-term persistence of local banking institutions. The data analysis in this paragraph confirms that the presence of a Jewish community five centuries ago fostered current local banking development through its effect on the development of the Monti di Pietà. 5 Effects of Local Banks on Development Local banking development is ultimately important insofar as it can affect economic outcomes. The objective of this paragraph is to estimate the impact of local banks on local economic development in Italian municipalities. More specifically, I intend to estimate the following equation: log Yi = α4 log Fi + X ′ iβY + υ4,i (6) where Yi is income per capita in city i and Xi is a set of covariates that affect economic performance. The coeffi cient of interest is α4, which captures the effect of increasing the availability of local credit on per capita income. To identify the causal effect, also in this case I will use Jewish demography in 1500 as an instrument. From the previous paragraph, we know that Jewish demography had large long-term effects on Italian banks. To argue that Jewish demography in 1500 is uncorrelated with the residual in the equation above, I proceed as 21 before and decompose υ4,i into three parts: ζ ′ [−∞;1500],i, ζ ′ [1500;2000],i and ε ′ i so that: υ4,i = ε ′ i + ζ ′ [1500;2000],i + ζ ′ [−∞;1500],i where ε′i represents exogenous shocks and measurement errors in the current economic development of city i; ζ′[−∞;1500],i is the set of unobserved features of city i that affect current economic development and that were already in place before 1500; and ζ′[1500;2000],i is the set of unobserved features of city i that affect current economic development and that arose after 1500. For the exclusion restriction to be valid, we need to assume that: Cov(J1500i ,ζ ′ [1500;2000],i) = 0 and Cov(J 1500 i ,ζ ′ [−∞;1500],i) = 0. The first condition is reasonable because, as we have already seen, Jewish communities in 1500 could hardly have any effect on local economic development if not through the credit markets. In order to defend the second condition, I will use an analogous difference in difference strategy as in the previous paragraph. More specifically, I run a regression similar to equation 5 but using per-capita GDP as a dependent variable rather than credit availability: log Yi = δ0Si + δ1J 1500 i + δ2J 1500 i ∗ Si + X ′ iδ + �2i (7) The estimates are reported in Table 5. In column 1, the only covariates are the set of geographical charac- teristics and province fixed effects. The coeffi cient on the interaction term is significant at 1 percent and very large: having a Jewish community in 1500, in a region where it was not later expelled, implies a higher income today by nearly 11 percent. Instead, the presence of a Jewish community in 1500 in a Spanish territory has an impact on per-capita income that is not significative, either economically or statistically. This evidence is robust when I include, among the controls, a measure of the area of the municipality (column 2), a dummy that identifies the regional administrative capitals (column 3) and the estimated urban population of the munici- pality in 1300 and 1400 (column 4). This suggests that after the inclusion of some observed geomorphological characteristics as well as a set of province fixed effects there are no other omitted variables correlated both with current per-capita GDP and with the presence of a Jewish community in the early Renaissance. Most of the Jews were able to read and write during the Renaissance, while most other Italians were not. In order to exclude the possibility that the effects of Jewish communities on current local development are driven by human capital factors (in particular if Jews in a region from which they were expelled were less educated than Jews in a region from which they were not), in column 5, I add several proxies of human capital endowment among the controls30. These variables are clearly endogenous, but it is reassuring that their inclusion does not 30I add a polynomial function of the percentage of residents that is illiterate or that completed primary, secondary, upper secondary or tertiary education. 22 significantly affect the results. In column 6, I limit the analysis to Central Italy. Surprisingly, the estimate of the coeffi cient of the interaction term increases threefold. This finding is likely due to the fact that the expansion of the "Monti di Pietà" started in Central Italy and it was in these regions that the Franciscan preachers focused their efforts against Jewish usury. In the last column, I only consider those Italian regions crossed by the old border of the Spanish territories. Also in this case the estimates on the interaction terms are larger compared to the benchmark case. The expulsion of the Jews from the regions under the Spanish crown can be read as an exogenous negative shock on the local banking development of these regions. One commonly made allegation is that the expulsion of the Jews was responsible for the long-term decline of the European territories under the Spanish crown31 and the beginning of the economic divergence between Northern and Southern Italy. The results above allow me to infer the extent to which the current North-South gap in economic development is explained by this shock. According to the most conservative estimates, if Jews had not been expelled by the Spanish territories, GDP would have been 7 percent higher in Southern Italy. Overall, the expulsion explains nearly 10 percent of the income gap between Northern and Southern Italy. Having discussed the validity of my instruments, I move on to the two-stage least-squares (2SLS) estimates of equation 6. I limit the analysis to cities in regions that were not under the Spanish crown in 1503. The results are presented in Table 6. When simply regressing log income per capita on the log credit availability to the private sector, the estimates of α4 are positive and strongly significant: an increase in credit availability by 1 percent generates an increase in local GDP by 0.22 percent. As expected, the first-stage regression (reported in Panel B) indicates that the presence of a Jewish community in 1500 has a positive and significant effect on current credit availability. In column 2, I add province fixed effects. Surprisingly, their impact on the elasticity of interest is very low (it increases from 0.22 to 025). Column 3 reports the benchmark specifications: the controls comprise the set of geographical characteristics together with the province dummies. The estimates for α4 are unchanged, and the F-test for the excluded instrument is 41.3, suggesting that these estimates do not suffer of a weak instrument problem. In the following three columns, I repeat the exercise, using as an instrument not only the presence of a Jewish community in 1500 but also its size. More specifically, the availability of credit is treated as endogenous and modeled as follows: log Fi = ξ1J S i + ξ2J M i + ξ3J L i + X ′ iξ + νi (8) 31See for example Peri (1988, chp13) and Epstein (1992, p.337) for Sicily, Kamen (1988) for Spain and Martin (1949) for Southern Italy. 23 where JSi , J M i and J L i indicate, respectively, the presence of a small, medium or large community in 1500. Interesting, the first-stage regressions in Panel B shows that it is not only the presence of the Jewish community that affects on the current credit-to-GDP ratio but also its size: the larger the Jewish community, the larger the current credit availability. Notice that the results of the second stage are practically unaffected, even though this specification raises a possible concern. It could be that the size of the Jewish community in 1500 reflects a locational advantage that continues to affect income today (I was only able to argue that the presence of the community does not). Finally, in the last three columns, I use branch density instead of the credit-to-GDP ratio as a measure of local banking development. The results are surprising. The effect of banks on income appears much larger than in any other previous result: a 1 percent increase in branch density increases per-capita GDP by 0.7-1.2 percent, depending upon the econometric specification. This finding seems to validate the view that banks affect economic performance not only through the provision of credit but also by supplying a greater variety of services. Table 7 reports a set of robustness checks. The previous results are unchanged when controlling for the size of the municipality (columns 1 and 5) and for whether the city is capital of its region (columns 2 and 6). In columns 3 and 7, I add the populations of the city in 1300 and 1400 among the covariates. The main concern that motivates this robustness check is that the presence of a Jewish community during the Renaissance could serve as a proxy for the size of the city in this period. The estimates of the elasticities of per-capita income with respect to local banking development drop by a fourth (from 0.25 to 0.19 when using credit availability and from 1.2 to 0.9 when using branch density). Finally, in the columns 4 and 8, I limit the analysis to Central Italy: in these regions the effect of credit availability on GDP per capita is stronger. The coeffi cient of interest nearly doubles. Overall, the 2SLS results indicate a significant effect of local banking development on economic performance. This effect is robust to different measures of banking development, different samples and different econometric specifications, although is greater when limiting the analysis to Central Italy. 6 Financial Development and Technology The most successful explanation of the mechanisms through which well-functioning banks affect economic development has been suggested by the Shumpeterian growth literature, which stresses the importance of banks for aggregate productivity. According to this literature, financial intermediaries are able to identify the more innovative entrepreneurs and the more productive production processes and provide them with the necessary purchasing power by diverting the means of production from their previous uses. By selecting the 24 more promising investments within a firm and across different firms, well-functioning banks are able to foster aggregate productivity, and, through this channel, economic development. To test the Shumpeterian hypothesis, I use a detailed dataset for Italian firms in the manufacturing sector. First, I infer the productivity of each firm in the sample as the residual of an estimated production function. Then, I compute a measure of the aggregate productivity in Italian cities aggregating the productivity of the local firms. Finally, I study how local banks affect it. Assume that the (gross) production function in industry j is a Cobb-Douglas: log Yfit = ε j L log Lfit + ε j K log Kfit + ε j M log Mfit + δit + ηjt + αf + ωfit (9) where Yfit denotes the total sales of firm f in city i, Lfit, Kfit and Mfit are the firm’s production factors, δit is a city-specific component of productivity, ηjt an industry-specific common component of productivity, αf a time-invariant firm level component and ωfit an idiosyncratic component. I have estimated equation 9 (at the 3-digit industry level) using several methodologies: OLS, Difference OLS, Olley and Pakes, Difference GMM and System GMM. The advantages and disadvantages of each choice are well known, although there is no agreement on which estimator should be used32. The results in this section are robust to these different methodologies. Having obtained the estimates of the output elasticity to each production factor, I recover the total factor productivity of firm f, tfi, as follows: log tfi ≡ log Yfi − ε̂ j L log Lfi − ε̂ j K log Kfi − ε̂ j M log Mfi (10) Finally, I compute a measure of the aggregate productivity of city i as a weighted average of the productivity of the firms operating within the city: log Ti ≡ ∑ f∈i wfi log tfi (11) where the weights are wfi ≡ V Af/ ∑ f∈i V Af and V Af is the value added produced by firm f. Aggregate productivity is then regressed on the two measures of local banking development according to the following 32One fundamental estimation problem is the endogeneity of the input variables, which are likely to be correlated both with αf and ωfit. Correlation with ωfit may reflect both simultaneity of input choices or measurement errors. Given the shortness of the panel, elimination of αf through a within transformation is not the appropriate strategy. Differencing of (9) and application of the difference GMM estimator (Arellano and Bond (1991)) is a possibility, but appropriately lagged values of the regressors may be poor instruments if inputs are very persistent. Application of the GMM System estimator (Blundell and Bond (1998) and Blundell and Bond (2000)) is probably a better option. An alternative approach is the one proposed by Olley and Pakes (1996). This estimator addresses the simultaneity (and selection) problem by using firm investment as a proxy for unobserved productivity and requires the presence of only one unobserved state variable at the firm level and monotonicity of the investment function. A recent survey of different methodologies to estimate the production function is provided by Van-Beveren (2010). 25 equation: log Ti = αT log Fi + X ′ iβT + ν1,i (12) using Jewish demography in 1500 as an instrument. The results are reported in the first two columns of Table 8. The only controls are the usual province fixed effects and the geomorphological characteristics. Local credit availability and branch density have a positive and significant effect on the aggregate productivity in Italian municipalities. Specifically, an increase in the credit-to-GDP ratio by 1 percent increases local aggregate productivity by 0.03 percent, while the same increase in branch density has a much larger effect, in the order or 0.2 percent. Most of the theoretical literature focuses on two channels through which banks could affect firm productivity. First, banks produce ex ante information about possible investments; this implies a reallocation of capital towards more productive firms. Second, banks monitor investments ex post and exert corporate governance; this implies an average increase in firm productivity. In order to distinguish between these two channels, it is helpful to decompose productivity figures in Italian cities into two parts as suggested by Olley and Pakes (1996): log Ti,t = ∑ f∈i ∆ log tfit∆wfit + log tit (13) where: ∆ log tfit ≡ log tfit − log tfit and ∆wfit ≡ wfit − wit and: log tit ≡ ∑ f∈i log tfit and wit ≡ ∑ f∈i wfit The first term in equation 13 represents the sample covariance between productivity and value added. The larger this covariance, the higher the share of value added that goes to more productive firms and the higher city i’s productivity. The second term is the un-weighted average of firm-level productivity figures. Generally, the first term is interpreted as a measure of how effi cient the economy is in reallocating the inputs towards more productive firms, while the second term is considered a valid measure of aggregate technology. Columns 3 and 4 in Table 8 presents 2SLS estimates for the following equation: Re alli = αR log Fi + X ′ iβR + ν2,i (14) 26 where Re alli ≡ ∑ f∈i ∆ log tfit∆wfit and Xi is the usual set of covariates. Local banking development has a positive and statistically significant effect on the variations in aggregate productivity that are due to the reallocation of resources towards more effi cient firms. This finding seems to validate the original Shumpeterian view that banks exert their effects on growth by identifying the best entrepreneurs and diverting resources to finance their innovations. Ceteris paribus, a 1 percent increase in credit availability increases the reallocation term by 0.026 percent. Again, the effect of branch density is much larger given that a 1 percent increase in the latter increases the reallocation term by 0.16 percent. While the effect of local banking development on the reallocation of resources toward more productive firms is sizeable from an economic point of view and is significant, I do not find any evidence of an effect on the un-weighted average of firm productivity figures. The last two columns in Table 8 present 2SLS estimates for the following equation: log ti = αU log Fi + X ′ iβU + ν3,i (15) Credit availability has a small and statistically insignificant effect on the un-weighted average firm-level productivity. The effect of branch density is roughly five times larger but still statistically insignificant. In conclusion, local banking development has strong positive effects on the city-level aggregate productivity. Moreover, the effects of banks on aggregate productivity appear to operate by reallocating resources towards more productive firms rather than by boosting the average productivity of firms. This seems to validate theories that stress the importance of the role of the banks in exploiting ex ante information on investment opportunities to select the more promising ones. 7 Conclusion A significant historiography has conjectured that the Jewish communities in Italy had an important role in fostering the origin of local banks, and through this channel, the economic development of a large number of Italian cities. In particular, a fascinating hypothesis that has been presented by this literature is that the same decline of Southern Italy began with the expulsion of the Jews by the Spanish crown and its subsequent effects on the local credit markets. This conjecture, which has not been formally tested, is interesting for two reasons: it presupposes an extraordinary persistence in the level of local banking development, and it imputes to local banks a pivotal role in the development of local economies. My results confirm that the level of local banking development during the Renaissance (proxied by the presence of a Monte di Pietà or a Jewish pawnshop) had strong causal effects on the current availability of credit in Italian municipalities. Moreover, there is evidence that local banks have had an important effect on 27 current income. In particular, well-functioning banks are better able to reallocate resources toward the most productive firms and, in this way, boost aggregate productivity and income. Finally, my empirical estimates suggest that the Jewish expulsion from the Spanish territories in Italy is responsible for a significant portion of the income gap between Northern and Southern Italy. What this work lacks is a rigorous analysis of the mechanisms that are responsible for such persistence in the level of local banking development. I can speculate that one of the primary reasons is that a bank’s major asset is its reputation, which usually appreciates over time but further research is needed in this direction. Also, although I provide evidence of a particular channel through which local banks may affect income, the Shumpeterian one, other channels may be working at the same time. In particular, in two parallel works, I examine the effects of the local banking system on innovation and organized crime, again exploiting Jewish demography as an exogenous source of variation. My findings do not imply that banking institutions today are predetermined by local historical events and cannot be changed. This paper belongs to a large empirical literature that examines the long-lasting effects of historical events and that has sometimes been criticized for being defeatist33. This is not my point of view. 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Marsilio Editori. 32 Table 2: Summary Statistics for the Samples Used in Estimation PANEL A City level data (historical) Standard Mean Median Deviation Min Max N Small Jewish Community 0.28 0.00 0.45 0.00 1.00 360 Medium Jewish Community 0.13 0.00 0.34 0.00 1.00 360 Large Jewish Community 0.07 0.00 0.25 0.00 1.00 360 Monte di Pietà (1470-1570) 0.29 0.00 0.45 0.00 1.00 360 Jewish Pawnshop 0.33 0.00 0.47 0.00 1.00 360 Population 1300 6.06 0.00 13.98 0.00 150.00 360 Population 1400 2.72 0.00 8.99 0.00 100.00 360 PANEL B City level data Standard Mean Median Deviation Min Max N GDP per Capita 17.47 17.48 6.01 5.58 36.75 720 Credit /GDP 0.71 0.57 0.61 0.02 4.85 720 Branches /Population 0.00051 0.00048 0.00025 0.00008 0.00128 720 Altimetry Min 95.49 43.50 119.97 -3.00 584.00 720 Altimetry Max 644.55 485.50 559.35 3.00 2,635.00 720 Altimetry Average 218.37 144.50 207.67 0.00 1,049.00 720 Seismicity 2.61 2.00 0.96 1.00 4.00 720 Sea 0.14 0.00 0.34 0.00 1.00 720 Close to Sea 0.10 0.00 0.30 0.00 1.00 720 river 0.47 0.00 0.50 0.00 1.00 720 Region Capital 0.05 0.00 0.22 0.00 1.00 720 City Area 126.66 93.00 128.79 2.00 1,499.00 720 Illiterate 0.02 0.02 0.02 0.00 0.09 720 Primary Education 0.25 0.24 0.03 0.17 0.34 720 Secondary Education 0.29 0.29 0.03 0.19 0.39 720 Upper-Secondary Education 0.26 0.26 0.04 0.15 0.37 720 Tertiary Education 0.08 0.07 0.03 0.03 0.18 720 PANEL C Firm level data: Amadeus database Standard Mean Median Deviation Min Max N Sales 15900 3530 99700 13 6400000 92316 Net Value of Capital 3120 495 22500 1 2010000 92316 Wages 2230 585 11400 1 619000 92316 Cost of Intermediates 12200 2570 83000 11 6000000 92316 Employees 71.03 24.00 310.94 1 18100 76301 Note:Panel A reports statistics on historical data. The sample is limited to the towns in Italy (excluding the islands) that had a population of at least 5000 people in 1861. Historical data on urban populations are in thousands (source: Malanima (1998)). Data on the size of Jewish demography refer to 1500 A.D. (source: Milano (1963)). Data on the presence in the municipality of a Monte di Pietà or a Jewish pawnshops refer to the years 1470-1570 A.D. (source:Montanari (1991) and Meneghin (1986)). In Panel B, "GDP per Capita" is the per capita value added in the "local labor system" to which the municipality belongs, expressed in thousands of euros (source: INSTAT). "credit/GDP" is the ratio of claims on nonfinancial private sector to GDP in the municipality (source: Bank of Italy). "Branches/Population" is the ratio of the number of bank branches to residents (source: Bank of Italy). Altimetry is expressed in meters (source: ISTAT). "Sea" is a dummy that identifies cities on the sea; "Close to Sea" is a dummy that identifies cities that are less than 5 miles from the sea; "River" is a dummy that identifies cities that are crossed by a major river. "Region Capital" is a dummy variable equal to one if the city is the capital of its region (year 2002). "City Area" is the extension of the municipality in square meters (year 1991). Panel C reports statistics for the Amadeus firm-level data in the year 2005. "Sales", "Net value of capital", "Wages" are expressed in thousands of euros. 33 Table 3: Jewish communities in the Renaissance and current banks (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) Credit/GDP Branch Dens. Credit/GDP Branch Dens. JEW 0.276** 0.159** -0.199 -0.305 -0.215 -0.225 -0.250 -0.472** -0.124 (0.104) (0.0509) (0.229) (0.209) (0.223) (0.224) (0.225) (0.143) (0.0806) JEW*STAY 0.576** 0.139 0.533** 0.554** 0.481* 0.494* 0.442** (0.275) (0.260) (0.265) (0.269) (0.268) (0.264) (0.101) JEW*STAY*M 0.689*** (0.0882) STAY -0.436* -0.142 -0.452* -0.427* -0.362 -0.118 -0.332** (0.242) (0.216) (0.236) (0.243) (0.241) (0.237) (0.109) AREA 0.0009** (0.0002) CAPITAL 0.609** (0.066) POP1300 -0.0001 (0.005) POP1400 0.0305** (0.008) GEOGRAPHY YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YEAR DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES PROV. DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES r2 0.322 0.241 0.347 0.490 0.418 0.406 0.449 0.468 0.557 N 154 160 154 154 154 154 154 80 84 Sample Central Italy Lazio, Abruzzo, Molise The table reports OLS estimates for the years 2002-2003. The unit of observation is the municipality. The left hand side variables are Credit/GDP, the log ratio of claims on nonfinancial private sector to GDP in the municipality and Branch Density, the log ratio of the number of bank branches over total residents in the municipality. JEW is a dummy variable equal to one if the municipality hosted a Jewish community in 1500 A.D. STAY is a dummy equal to one if the municipality was not under the Spanish crown in 1500 AD. M is a dummy variable equal to one if the municipality hosted a Monte di Pietà in the years 1470-1570 AD. AREA is the extension of the municipality in square meters (data refers to 1991). CAPITAL is a dummy variable equal to one if the city is the capital of the region. POP1300 and POP1400 are the estimated urban population in the municipality in 1300 AD and 1400 AD. The set of PROVINCE DUMMIES refers to the Italian provinces in 1992. Geographical variables are elevation of the municipality (minimum, maximum, average), seismicity (as reported by the Italian national statistical institute) and three dummies for whether the city is located on the coast or close to the cost (less than 5 miles distant) or on a river. Standard errors (reported in parentheses) are two-way clustered (municipality and year). *** significant at less than 1 percent; ** significant at 5 percent; * significant at 10 percent. 34 Table 4: Long-term persistency of local financial institutions PANEL A (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) Credit/GDP Branch Density Credit/GDP Branch Density Monte di Pietà 1.250*** 0.828*** 0.281*** 0.240*** 1.480*** 0.489*** (0.199) (0.187) (0.0755) (0.0834) (0.438) (0.179) Jewish Pawnshop 1.460*** 0.343*** (0.282) (0.101) POP1300 -0.00534 -0.00128 (0.00566) (0.00263) POP1400 0.0191** 0.00302 (0.00769) (0.00360) GEOGRAPHY YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES PROV. DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YEAR DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES archi2p 4.13e-13 5.18e-6 4.13e-13 1.54e-5 8.81e-6 8.81e-6 2.73e-3 1.35e-3 F 42.39 38.07 34.88 48.70 43.55 36.65 10.59 14.90 N 336 336 340 340 340 340 138 142 SAMPLE All Italian cities not under Cities in Central Italy not under the Spanish crown in 1500AD the Spanish crown in 1500AD PANEL B JEW 0.362** 0.354** 0.296** 0.362** 0.354** 0.296** 0.334** 0.334** (0.0460) (0.0475) (0.0434) (0.0460) (0.0475) (0.0434) (0.0771) (0.0771) r2 0.176 0.285 0.203 0.176 0.285 0.203 0.214 0.214 The table 2SLS estimates for the years 2002-2003. The unit of observation is the municipality. The sample is limited to municipalities that were not under the Spanish crown in 1503 A.D. Panel A reports the second stage estimates. The left hand side variables are Credit/GDP, the log ratio of claims on nonfinancial private sector to GDP in the municipality, and Branch Density, the log ratio of the number of bank branches over total residents in the municipality. Monte di Pietà is a dummy variable equal to one if the municipality hosted a Monte di Pietà between in the years 1470-1570 A.D. The set of PROVINCE DUMMIES refers to the Italian provinces in 1992. Geographical variables are elevation of the municipality (minimum, maximum, average), seismicity (as reported by the Italian national statistical institute) and three dummies for whether the city is located on the coast or close to the cost (less than 5 miles distant) or on a river. Archi2p reports the p-value of the Anderson-Rubin test (the null hypothesis is that the coeffi cients of the excluded instruments are jointly equal to zero). F is the F statistics for weak identification. Panel B reports the first stage estimates. To save space only the coeffi cients on excluded instruments are reported. JEW is a dummy that identifies those municipalities that hosted any kind of Jewish community in 1500 AD. Standard errors are reported in parentheses. *** significant at less than 1 percent; ** significant at 5 percent; * significant at 10 percent. 35 Table 5: Jewish communities in the Renaissance and current economic development (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP JEW 0.0271 0.0267 0.00476 0.00992 0.0104 0.00830 0.0238 0.0448 (0.0302) (0.0302) (0.0299) (0.0294) (0.0297) (0.0269) (0.0312) (0.0679) JEW*STAY 0.106** 0.0526 0.112** 0.0836** 0.0651* 0.0846** 0.170** 0.463** (0.0395) (0.05) (0.0381) (0.0372) (0.0385) (0.0372) (0.0533) (0.109) JEW*STAY*M 0.0789*** (0.0402) STAY 0.0931** 0.129*** 0.0846* 0.121** 0.111** 0.138** 0.100** -0.0616 (0.0418) (0.0498) (0.0448) (0.0409) (0.0446) (0.0616) (0.0485) (0.102) AREA 0.000307** (0.0000834) CAPITAL 0.298** (0.0326) POP1300 0.00384** (0.00156) POP1400 -0.000414 (0.00263) GEO. CHARACT. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES PROVINCE DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YEAR DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES EDUCATION NO NO NO NO NO YES NO NO r2 0.115 0.119 0.132 0.168 0.142 0.287 0.391 0.470 N 720 720 720 720 720 720 160 84 Sample Italy Central Italy Lazio, Abruzzo, Molise The table reports OLS estimates for the years 2002-2003. The unit of observation is the municipality. The left hand side variable, LGDP is the log of GDP per capita in the "local labor system" to which the municipality belongs.. JEW is a dummy variable equal to one if the municipality hosted a Jewish community in 1500 A.D. STAY is a dummy equal to one if the municipality was not under the Spanish crown in 1503 AD. M is a dummy variable equal to one if the municipality hosted a Monte di Pietà between in the years 1470-1570 AD. AREA is the extension of the municipality in square meters (data refers to 1991). CAPITAL is a dummy variable equal to one if the city is the capital of the region. POP1300 and POP1400 are the estimated urban population in the municipality in 1300 A.D. and 1400 A.D. The set of PROVINCE DUMMIES refers to the Italian provinces in 1992. Geographical variables are elevation of the municipality (minimum, maximum, average), seismicity (as reported by the Italian national statistical institute) and three dummies for whether the city is located on the coast or close to the cost (less than 5 miles distant) or on a river. Controls for education are the illiteracy rate, the percentage of residents that completed primary, secondary and undergraduate education. Standard errors (reported in parentheses) are two-way clustered (municipality and year). *** significant at less than 1 percent; ** significant at 5 percent; * significant at 10 percent. 36 Table 6: Banks and local economic development PANEL A (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGPD Credit/GDP 0.223*** 0.256*** 0.251*** 0.256*** 0.259*** 0.262*** (0.0782) (0.0698) (0.0616) (0.0546) (0.0537) (0.0518) Branch Density 0.680*** 1.254*** 1.236*** (0.251) (0.431) (0.381) GEOGRAPHY NO NO YES NO NO YES NO NO YES PROV. DUM. NO YES YES NO YES YES NO YES YES YEAR DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES archi2p 3.19e-3 4.41e-6 2.48e-7 6.07e-7 2.03e-9 3.19e-10 1.39e-3 6.47e-7 2.90e-9 sarganp 0.161 0.258 0.519 F 18.16 33.16 41.31 14.32 20.40 21.53 8.990 9.354 12.12 N 336 336 336 336 336 336 340 340 340 SAMPLE All Italian cities not under Spanish crown in 1500AD PANEL B JEW 0.292*** 0.385*** 0.437*** 0.109*** 0.0889*** 0.102*** (0.0682) (0.0600) (0.0603) (0.0363) (0.0261) (0.0259) JEWsmall 0.143* 0.244*** 0.286*** (0.0736) (0.0631) (0.0662) JEWmedium 0.435*** 0.549*** 0.566*** (0.0952) (0.0798) (0.0782) JEWlarge 0.686*** 0.729*** 0.729*** (0.122) (0.104) (0.101) r2 0.0517 0.109 0.199 0.115 0.185 0.257 0.0260 0.0329 0.126 The table 2SLS estimates for the years 2002-2003. The unit of observation is the municipality. The sample is limited to municipalities that were not under the Spanish crown in 1503 A.D. Panel A reports the second stage estimates. The left hand side variable, LGDP is the log of GDP per capita in the "local labor system" to which the municipality belongs. Credit/GDP is the log ratio of claims on nonfinancial private sector to GDP in the municipality while Branch Density is the log ratio of the number of bank branches over total residents in the municipality. The set of PROVINCE DUMMIES refers to the Italian provinces in 1992. Geographical variables are elevation of the municipality (minimum, maximum, average), seismicity (as reported by the Italian national statistical institute) and three dummies for whether the city is located on the coast or close to the cost (less than 5 miles distant) or on a river. Sarganp reports the p-value of the Hansen-Sargan overidentification test. Archi2p reports the p-value of the Anderson-Rubin test (the null hypothesis is that the coeffi cients of the excluded instruments are jointly equal to zero). F is the F statistics for weak identification. Panel B reports the first stage estimates. To save space only the coeffi cients on excluded instruments are reported. JEW is a dummy that identifies those municipalities that hosted any kind of Jewish community in 1500 A.D. JEWsmall, JEWmedium and JEWlarge are dummy variables equal to one if the municipality hosted respectively a small, a medium or a large Jewish community in 1500 A.D. Standard errors are reported in parentheses. *** significant at less than 1 percent; ** significant at 5 percent; * significant at 10 percent. 37 Table 7: Banks and local economic development (Robustness checks) (1) (2) (3) (5) (6) (7) (4) (8) LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP LGDP Credit/GDP 0.244*** 0.211*** 0.188** 0.366*** (0.0719) (0.0730) (0.0957) (0.118) Branch Density 1.158*** 1.050** 0.860** 1.194*** (0.435) (0.409) (0.400) (0.411) AREA 0.0000466 0.000104 (0.000121) (0.000160) CAPITAL 0.124* 0.134 (0.0690) (0.0855) POP1300 0.000940 0.000204 (0.00209) (0.00272) POP1400 0.000876 0.00287 (0.00271) (0.00363) GEOGRAPHY YES YES YES YES YES YES YES NO PROV. DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YEAR DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES N 336 336 336 340 340 340 138 142 SAMPLE All Italian Cities not under Cities in Central Italy not under the Spanish crown in 1500AD the Spanish crown in 1500AD The table 2SLS estimates for the years 2002-2003. The unit of observation is the municipality. The sample is limited to municipalities that were not under the Spanish crown in 1503 A.D. Panel A reports the second stage estimates. The left hand side variable, LGDP is the log of GDP per capita in the "local labor system" to which the municipality belongs. Credit/GDP is the log ratio of claims on nonfinancial private sector to GDP in the municipality while Branch Density is the log ratio of the number of bank branches over total residents in the municipality. AREA is the extension of the municipality in square meters (data refers to 1991). CAPITAL is a dummy variable equal to one if the city is the capital of the region. POP1300 and POP1400 are the estimated urban population in the municipality in 1300 A.D. and 1400 A.D. The set of PROVINCE DUMMIES refers to the Italian provinces in 1992. Geographical variables are elevation of the municipality (minimum, maximum, average), seismicity (as reported by the Italian national statistical institute) and three dummies for whether the city is located on the coast or close to the cost (less than 5 miles distant) or on a river. Sarganp reports the p-value of the Hansen-Sargan overidentification test. Archi2p reports the p-value of the Anderson-Rubin test (the null hypothesis is that the coeffi cients of the excluded instruments are jointly equal to zero). F is the F statistics for weak identification. Panel B reports the first stage estimates. To save space only the coeffi cients on excluded instruments are reported. JEW is a dummy that identifies those municipalities that hosted any kind of Jewish community in 1500 A.D. Standard errors are reported in parentheses. *** significant at less than 1 percent; ** significant at 5 percent; * significant at 10 percent. Table 8: Banks and local aggregate productivity (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) LTFP LTFP REALLOC REALLOC TECHNL TECHNL Credit/GDP 0.0319** 0.0258** 0.00610 (0.0133) (0.0108) (0.00710) Branch Density 0.200** 0.162** 0.0383 (0.100) (0.0776) (0.0474) GEO. CHARACT. YES YES YES YES YES YES PROVINCE DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES YEAR DUM. YES YES YES YES YES YES N 202 202 202 202 202 202 SAMPLE Italian cities not under Spanish crown in 1500AD The table reports 2SLS estimates for the years 2000-2001. The unit of observation is the municipality. The sample is limited to municipalities that were not under tthe Spanish crown in 1503 A.D. LTFP is a measure of aggregate productivity in the Local Labor System (LLS) to which the municipality belongs. It is computed as the weighted average productivity of the firms operating in the LLS, using as weights their shares of total value added. TECHN is the unweighted average of the productivities of the the firms operating in the Local Labor System (LLS) to which the munipality belongs. REALLOC is the difference between LTFP and REALLOC. Credit/GDP, the log ratio of claims on nonfinancial private sector to GDP in the municipality and Branch Density, the log ratio of the number of bank branches over total residents in the municipality.The set of PROVINCE DUMMIES refers to the Italian provinces in 1992. Geographical variables are elevation of the municipality (minimum, maximum, average), seismicity (as reported by the Italian national statistical institute) and three dummies for whether the city is located on the coast or close to the cost (less than 5 miles distant) or on a river. The excluded instrument is a dummy variable that identifies those municipalities that were hosting respectively a Jewish community in 1500 A.D. Standard errors (reported in parentheses) are two-way clustered (municipality and year). *** significant at less than 1 percent; ** significant at 5 percent; * significant at 10 percent. 38 Figure 1: Jewish Communities in 1500 A.D. (excluding the islands) Figure 2: Italian Provinces and Macro-Regions (excluding the islands) 39 Figure 3: The sermon of Saint Giovanni da Capestrano, Historisches Museum. Figure 4: Monte di Pietà di Bologna 40 
work_lo7n23kgfzbqnfrem6d762spwm	----	CHH volume 28 issue 2 Cover and Back matter 1 BEACON PRESS 25 Beacon Street Boston 8, Mass. Of Particular Interest to Readers of Church History Two Important Studies on the Left Wing of the Reformation THE FREE CHURCH $6.00 THE ANABAPTIST VIEW OF THE CHURCH Revised and Enlarged Second Edition $6.00 by FRANKLIN H A M L I N LITTELL Professor of Church History at Emory University "Franklin Littell . . . has done a great service to church leaders by his deep insight and his help- ful analysis of what the free church is and its importance to the American religious tradition." —Mennonite Life. A classic in its field, winner of the Brewer Prize of the American Society of Church History. "Perhaps the most important single volume in print for both the specialist and the general reader." —George Huntston Williams, Professor of Ecclesi- astical History, Harvard Divinity School. Emperor Michael Palaeologus and the West, 1258-1282 A STUDY IN BYZANTINE-LATIN RELATIONS By DENO JOHN GEANAKOPLOSf A fully documented account of the life and career of Emperor Michael VIII provides the brilliant foreground for this first book-length treatment of underlying prob- lems in the relations of Byzantium and the Latins, Eastern and Western Christendom, during the later Middle Ages. Illustrations. Maps. $7.50 Through your bookseller, or from HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS 79 Garden Street, Cambridge 38, Massachusetts available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700012683 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700012683 https://www.cambridge.org/core CHURCH AND PARLIAMENT T h e Reshaping of the Church of England, 1 8 2 8 - 1 8 6 0 Olive J. Brose This is the first modern, objective study of the Church of Eng­ land's struggle against disestablishment in the nineteenth century, a struggle that resulted in a Church-State relationship that has remained substantially the same up to the present day. Emphasis is placed upon the political context in which the reshaping of the Establishment took place, and on the roles of Sir Robert Peel and Bishop Blomfield as creators and shapers of the policy. The pro­ longed struggle over education strikingly illustrates the essential ambiguity of a national church in a society that was no longer church-centered. $5.00 SAINTS IN ARMS Puritanism and Democracy in Cromwell's Army- Leo F. Solt The widely held view that sees in Puritanism the fountainhead of democratic thought is challenged in this investigation of the ideology of the chaplains in Cromwell's New Model Army. Ex­ amining the relationship of the chaplains' religious views to politi­ cal concepts of freedom and authoritarian government, the author concludes that "authority took precedence over liberty, power over law, millenarianism over separatism, sainthood over equality, grace over covenant, and anarchy over elective polity." The eloquence of the Leveller ideas set forth around army campfires at Putney in 1647 has led to a tendency to regard them as characteristic of the whole Puritan movement. The author re-examines this contention in an effort to put the theme of Puritanism and democracy in a more proper historical perspective than has prevailed in the past. $4.00 S T A N F O R D U N I V E R S I T Y PRESS Stanford, California available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700012683 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700012683 https://www.cambridge.org/core Jacopo Sadoleto, 1 4 7 7 - 1 5 4 7 HUMANIST AND REFORMER By RICHARD M. DOUGLAS. Poet and reformer, Sadoleto was a vital figure in the Italian Renaissance as well as in the Catholic Reform Move­ ment. During a lifetime which parallelled that of Martin Luther's, he was directly involved in almost every major turn of papal policy from the St. Peter's Indulgence of 1515 to the convocation of the Council of Trent. As a Bishop and Cardinal his letters and his life story illuminate the turbulent years when the Reformation was growing strong. $5.00 Through your bookseller, or from HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS 79 Garden Street, Cambridge 38, Massachusetts PHILEMON AMONG THE LETTERS OF PAUL (Revised) In this revised version of a well-received earlier edition, Dr. Knox sorts out evidence which indicates that the slave Onesimus later became the Bishop of Ephesus. Every scholar will want to be aware of this position. $2 T H E DEATH OF CHRIST "This book cannot and must not be ignored by any who are concerned with biblical thought."—Interpretation $2.75 The Integrity of Preaching, §1.75 • Chapters in a Life of Paul, $2.50 • Criticism and Faith, $1.75 • The Early Church and the Coming Great Church, $2.50 • The Fourth Gospel and the Later Epistles, $1.50 D R . K N O X , a well-known lecturer and author, is Baldwin Professor of Sa­ cred Literature at Union Theological Seminary in New York. He has also taught at Emory and Fisk universities, the Univer­ sity of Chicago, and H a r t f o r d Theological Seminary. Order from your bookstore today! A B I N G D O N P R E S S Publishers ol T H E I N T E R P R E T E R ' S B I B L E available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700012683 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700012683 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_ls3eci5rsrbrve3efbykcxuqly	----	Nicholas Terpstra 'Republics by Contract': Civil Society, Social Capital, and the 'Putnam Thesis' in the Papal State Home Chi siamo Contatti Peer review Sommario Archivio Studi e ricerche Nicholas Terpstra ‘Republics by Contract’: Civil Society, Social Capital, and the ‘Putnam Thesis’ in the Papal Stat PDF Among the work much debated by Anglo-American historians in recent years, some of the most unlikely is certainly that of the sociologist Robert Putnam. At first glance it has little historical substance, and little to offer either in its methods or it insights. Yet it reveals much about American thinking about history and about America itself. Putnam is one of the key modern commentators in modern America on social capital and civil society. Some of his concepts – one thinks immediately of Social Capital itself – were also developed by Pierre Bourdieu. Yet while Bourdieu articulated them to a considerable level of abstraction, Putnam remains a very determined empiricist in the Anglo-American intellectual tradition, and builds his work on a formidable array of surveys, polls, and statistical measures. Yet he also uses history, and in one of his studies, Making Democracy Work (1993), Putnam seeks to identify the most “successful” regions in modern Italy, and the historical causes for their success. The book has been much debated by Anglo-American historians of Renaissance Florence and Venice, reflecting both the orientation of modern English-language Renaissance historiography, and Putnam’s own emphasis on those two city states. Apart from other methodological problems in the work, this emphasis obscures a deeper flaw in Putnam’s historical analysis: for the regions he judges most ‘successful’ in modern Italy are not in fact Florence and Venice, but Emilia Romagna and Umbria, both parts of the former Papal State. This is simply one paradox at the heart of the study, but it highlights a larger problem. Even when he focuses on another country – eg., Italy in Making Democracy Work – Putnam implicitly addresses what Americans like to think of as their project of building democracy. His analysis works implicitly with an American model as the standard of reference – it is teleological and functional. Similarly, much of the critical discussion surrounding his work has been introspectively American. A later book, Bowling Alone (2000), which has as its subtitle, “America’s Declining Social Capital” triggered enough alarm in the US that it generated conferences at the White House and many universities, academic books, and articles in the popular press. Yet few of these reviews examined the state of civil society or social capital in other Western democracies. We are dealing again with the legacy of American Exceptionalism. Americans’ first concern has been the possible loss of their own Social Capital and Civil Society, but even for this exceptionally isolationist people, the triggers for and the implications of this concern has been global. Making Democracy Work came out 4 years after collapse of the Eastern Block, and clearly had an eye aimed in that direction. Diagnoses of the economic and political failures in Russia and its former republics now routinely cite their lack of social capital and civil society. The diagnosis has become more acute in the violence and bloodshed of Afghanistan and Iraq. George W. Bush early on identified Middle East freedom and democracy as key reasons for America’s mission to Iraq. In the continuing violence, commentators have cited Iraq’s lack of civil society and social capital as reasons for the failure of peace, freedom, and democracy to take root. In both cases, conservative American commentators had expected that when totalitarian dictatorship fell, these societies would naturally develop on American lines and models, and there has been some perplexity over their failure to do so. Both the expectation and the perplexity have betrayed a widespread conviction that their own society offered the best model for others. The failure of these others to follow the American model has increased the urgency of those who fear that America itself may be loosing those characteristics – chiefly social capital and civil society – which allowed it to succeed politically and economically. I do not wish to get into a discussion of American foreign policy here, but it seems to me that we cannot avoid bringing American dreams, definitions, and ideologies into a discussion of Putnam’s ideas of civil society and social capital, since they have been the standard against which Putnam has measured (and described) the success or failure of societies. In particular, we need to probe how the societies he holds up as models have truly functioned, and to ask whether civil society and social capital are best generated in democracies of the kind he assumes. This in turn leads to exploring the boundaries between civil and uncivil society, and to looking at how social capital may be generated not in one or the other, but precisely through their agitated rubbing together. This paper will briefly recapitulate some of Putnam’s main points and review his methology before moving to a discussion of how he uses or misuses history. It will ask whether the dynamics peculiar to the leading communes of the Papal State may have generated forms of social capital and civil society better adapted to ‘surviving’ absolutism than Florentine and Venetian republicanism were. * The two key points to consider are civil society & social capital. Civil society represents a civic community marked by active public-spirited citizenry, egalitarian political relations, social fabric of trust and co-operation, and a range of vibrant institutions and associations breeding habits of co-operation. Social capital represents the features of social organization, such as trust, norms, and networks, that can improve the efficiency of society by facilitating co-ordinated actions between individuals and groups. It is, then an internalized discipline or orientation that people exercise freely, and not under legal compulsion. To the extent that it facilitates collaboration and co-operation, it reduces the need for physical capital investments, and so is more efficient and productive.[1] There are some key collateral elements. Moral resources are critical to generating social capital, since they increase with use and decrease without use. The more we exercise and experience trust, collaboration, and mutual aid, the more these are generated in a kind of virtuous circle. Key terms here include: ‘Trust’ (an essential primary component that lubricates co-operation); ‘Norms of reciprocity’ (the implicit acceptance that you help me as I help you); and ‘Networks of civic engagement’ (vertical or horizontal, formal or informal). Vertical networks are like classic patron/client relations. They do not foster trust and co-operation, and can undermine horizontal networks (often deliberately so, since the patron wants to ensure that the client relies on him or her rather than on peers). Horizontal networks, on the other hand, connect peers in voluntary ties of mutual obligation. Formal networks are built around legal obligations and blood kinship; they may fill in the gap where free or internalized discipline doesn’t exist. But informal networks (weak ties of acquaintance like shared membership in an organization or friendship) suggest a greater pool of social capital. When measuring social capital, the weak ties of acquaintance are a more important guage than the strong ties of blood [2]. As Putnam frames it, these concepts are pretty clearly dependent on each other, and represent almost a circular form of reasoning. No civil society can function without a large store of social capital, and a functioning civil society is a primary guage of that store of social capital. Putnam discusses both concepts in a number of books, but we could simplify this by noting that Making Democracy Work (1993) is more about civil society, while Bowling Alone (2000) is more about social capital. In the balance of this paper, I will work primarily with Making Democracy Work because its central argument is more historical and the history is rooted in the Italian Renaissance. It also brings into sharper focus both the problematic and suggestive elements of his analysis. Putnam chose an Italian setting because of the constitutional changes in 1970 by which Italy redrew its political map and reallocated political powers. Fifteen new regional governments emerged, joining 5 special regional governments that had been created earlier for distinct (and potentially separatist) border regions. Beyond boundaries, there was a redistribution of political powers. New regions gained responsibility for wide and growing range of services: urban affairs, health, housing, agriculture, public works, economic development, vocational education. The central questions for Putnam as a young social scientist were: What are the conditions for creating strong, responsive, effective representative institutions? What creates successful societies? He decided to measure and track the success of all 20 regions, with a sharper focus on six, over an extended period of two decades from 1970-1989. He relied on a team of Italian co-researchers, among whom his chief collaborators were Robert Leonardi and Raffaella Y. Nanetti. The method chosen emphasized empirical research with a combination of both attitudinal surveys and statistical measures. There were 4 sets of personal interviews with councilors & 3 with regional leaders, 6 nationwide surveys, detailed statistical measures of performance (economic, demographic, educational), experiments in government responsiveness (where identical questions for help were sent to regional governments and the timing and effectiveness of their response was compared), and extensive studies of institutional politics, regional planning, and legislative records [3]. The 6 regions chosen for closer analysis were both northern and southern, and Putnam’s analysis confirmed the familiar distinction between a progressive north and backward south. Having built this analysis on empirical data, he then reached into history, specifically into medieval and renaissance history, for a causal argument. Briefly, Northern cities had developed vaguely republican civil societies where power and authority were diffused horizontally through a host of groups like guilds, confraternities, and councils. Among these there were many overlapping ties of voluntary mutual obligation. Southern regions, by contrast, had weaker cities and stronger nobilities who exercised power vertically. Here family and patron were paramount. As Putnam saw it, this historic distinction made northerners expect and demand better government, made them participate in it, and made their politicians deliver it. Southerners expected less of government, frequently circumvented it through clientage, and got weak institutions and poor performance as a result. Northern Italians made democracy work, while Southern Italians got the Mafia. [4] His conclusion: “Social context and history profoundly condition the effectiveness of institutions.” Effective and responsive institutions depend on civic/republican virtues and practices. “Tocqueville was right: Democratic government is strengthened, not weakened, when it faces a vigorous civil society.” Writing as he did in 1993, he made explicit links to Third World & Eastern European countries which were then emerging from communist rule. His forecast: “Building social capital will not be easy, but it is the key to making democracy work.” [5] * Putnam’s evocation of the medieval and renaissance commune has not been well received among American historians of the period. Two leading American Renaissance scholars, Gene Brucker and Edward Muir, were among those who contributed to an assessment of ‘the Putnam thesis’ that was published first in two volumes of the Journal of Interdisciplinary History, and subsequently as R. I. Rotberg, Patterns of Social Capital: Stability and Change in Historical Perspective (Cambridge, 2001). The journal and volume also brought together critiques by historians of modern Europe, America, and Asia, and while many of the other historians were frequently – if not entirely – appreciative, but Brucker and Muir were more dismissive. Gene Brucker, a scholar whose studies of medieval and renaissance Florence have generated numerous publications, was the most critical [6]. He argued that Putnam had underestimated Renaissance factionalism and overestimated co-operation. Florence was a deeply divided and distrustful society. Its political system aimed to control factionalism, but was spectacularly unsuccessful. Whatever social capital may have been saved by industrious Florentines up to the fifteenth century was confiscated by the Medici after they gained power from the 1430s-1490s, and then regained it in the 1510s, and again in the 1530s when they finally became Dukes of Florence. The Medici in fact confiscated pretty much anything they could get their hands on, and destroyed Florentine civil society as they built Tuscany into one of the most successful absolutist states in early modern Europe. In Bruker’s assessment, there was in early modern Tuscany no investment in social capital, and no return in civil society; what civil society Italy possesses now was generated in the nineteenth century. Edward Muir, a historian of Venice and the Veneto, was less dismissive of Putnam, but did find him to be an Amero-centric Romantic Whig (there reference here being to Herbert Butterfield’s The Whig Interpretation of History [1931]) of the kind who is only interested in other cultures or histories if they can be seen to be leading towards that great beacon of liberty, toleration, and prosperity that is the modern American Republic [7]. This, of course, imposes a selective vision and profoundly warps observation and interpretation of the phenomena. In contrast to Brucker, Muir thought that civil society did emerge from the medieval and renaissance republics, and did weather the capital-draining early modern period of uncivil absolutism, but not by the kind of vague cultural memory of past fortune that Putnam suggested. It survived and grew, Muir believed, because Italians invested in religion, lawyers, and books of etiquette – but most of all in lawyers. According to Muir, Putnam had asked the wrong question. It was not so much “how did Italians collaborate to build civic society?”, but “how did they collaborate to reduce factional violence and curb noble powers?” To this question, Muir posited three answers: First, civic religion bolstered the power of local oligarchies of lay and common people, particularly through their confraternities and local cults. Second, lawyers oversaw the disputes by which rural Italians chipped away at the feudal rights of their nobles and gained some power and agency. Third, books of etiquette – really the rise of Manners in the ways described by Norbert Elias -- persuaded the nobles to find less socially and politically disruptive ways of conducting their disputes (eg., duels) and convinced everyone that the best way to handle a serious problem is not to talk about it publicly in the hope that it will go away. This last was perhaps the most idiosyncratic of Muir’s views, and was tied to what he saw as a continuing disinclination in Italian political life to deal with immediate problems of social justice. There is wisdom in both these critiques. Muir at least makes a greater effort to account for the phenomena that Putnam observes, rather than just deny the history that he offers, as Brucker tends to do. Yet there is a signal gap in both their analyses – and indeed in Putnam’s – that begs addressing. As we saw, Putnam’s analysis works with the 20 regions that currently comprise the Italian state. His extensive interviews, analyses of economic and sociological data are distilled into a series of tables, scattergrams, and graphs. In all them, one region of the 20 consistently comes out on or near the top. It is not Becker’s Tuscany or Muir’s Veneto, but Emilia Romagna. A close second is Umbria. In Putnam’s empirical and attitudinal studies, Emilia Romagna and Umbria rank top in Institutional Performance, in Economic Modernity, in Voter Turnout, in Civic Community, in citizen satisfaction, and a host of other measures. Their top-ranking performance, if not absolute, is nonetheless quite consistent. What strikes us immediately is that these two regions and their main cities of Bologna and Perugia respectively share a history that diverges considerably both from Putnam’s idealized model and also from Becker’s and Muir’s critiques. Bologna and Perugia did have a history of medieval communal government, but both were also technically parts of the Papal State, which was hardly a model of secular civil society. To survey very briefly, in the fourteenth century both experienced a series of political upheavals culminating in the rise of local tyrants. In the fifteenth, power was held in both by small oligarchies that engaged in bloody factional battles; the Papal State was sidelined, and both cities became virtually independent of it. In the sixteenth century the tables turned, as Julius II effected the restoration of direct and effective Papal Rule. He neutralized Perugia’s tyrants of the Baglioni family and scared Bologna’s Bentivoglio tyrants out of town. This brief historical overview highlights an odd disjunction in the historical component of what is frequently described as the Putnam Debate: that is, the debate is never truly focused on what it is ostensibly about. It is a means of addressing other questions by proxy. As I noted earlier, despite the Italian example, what Putnam is ultimately addressing in Making Democracy Work, is the fate and potential of American society and of its globalizing evangelical mission. And indeed, most of the debate, particularly after his follow-up book, Bowling Alone, focused obsessively on America. [8] So in this instance, Italy is a proxy for America (something that Muir names directly in his critique). Second, despite Putnam’s conclusion that the societies of the former Papal State are the most successful in modern Italy, the debates by English speaking historians (who have been, it must be admitted, the only ones truly interested in it) have almost uniformly ignored this awkward fact, and have spoken almost exclusively about the societies and legacies of Florence and to a lesser extent Venice. As a result, the so-called ‘Putnam debate’ has been characterized by an odd dovetailing of Florentine and American exceptionalism which, like all exceptionalisms, misses the point and creates a slightly surreal discussion, particularly for those who are neither Americans nor Florentinists. Hence the balance of my paper will engage in what we might term a friendly experiment. Let us leave aside for the moment our critiques of Putnam’s history and methodology and concede for sake of argument that he may have a point in his assertion that medieval and renaissance roots shape modern civil society. Let us then follow that assertion more consistently by reconsidering the historical part of the argument. We can leave aside Florence and Venice (and in the interests of space, we will also leave aside Umbria), and consider instead what aspects of Emilia Romagna’s particular history may have shaped its modern success and, by extension, the success of modern Italian society. What follows is more a suggestive than a sustained analysis, and will focus on Bologna as a kind of counter – vailing exceptionalism of my own. As you will see, it relies very heavily on the work of Bolognese and Italian scholars. I have focused on three factors as the most critical – politics, economics, and religion – and would argue that what is most critical is an oppositional dynamic of negotiation between what we could describe (adapting Putnam) as civil and uncivil society. Certainly there are elements of civil society rooted in the medieval commune, but it is partly in the adaptation and resistance to the uncivil society represented by the Papal State, that Bologna develops its characteristic political sociology. We can begin with the local oligarchy because it takes an odd (and almost paradoxical) intermediary position as the defender of the former and the agent of the latter. * The Papal State was described by Paolo Prodi as the model Absolutist State, governed as it was by a ruler who was at once the spiritual and the secular head, having no representative bodies, possessing perhaps the most advanced diplomatic corps of the period, and backed up with an army. [9] We know now that early modern absolutism always had a fanciful quality perhaps best exemplified (if we continue with American cultural references) by the old film, The Wizard of Oz: impressive smoke and mirrors in the throne room, but lots of frantic pulling of levers and negotiation behind the curtains. I would argue that in Bologna this provisional character was even greater. Its relations with the papacy through the early modern period were built on the 1447 concordat under which Pope Nicholas V had conceded significant local powers and privileges to the city if it would acknowledge the papacy’s over-arching sovereignty. Every time a new pope was elected, Bolognese ambassadors hurried to Rome for confirmation of this 1447 agreement and, depending on who had the upper hand at the moment, it was either confirmed as is, or slightly modified. This was what Angela De Benedictis precisely described and memorably termed a “Republic by Contract”. [10] The relationship carried on through the ancien regime, when Bologna was the only subject city to have an embassy and an Ambassador in Rome. [11] This character as a ‘Republic by Contract” is the key to a dynamic between civil and uncivil society that develops in Bologna through this period. It creates the political conditions for a negotiated absolutism and a political dynamic characterized by an aggressive localism and a high level of uncertainty [12]. Locally, the oligarchy is large but has only delegated authority; it’s always a bit uncertain, and is continually negotiated at the individual, the familial, and the civic level. Centrally, popes change frequently, and their legates change even more frequently, so there is very little opportunity to create an effective dynasty. The local political oligarchy that developed early in the ancien regime had to negotiate two ways: with the pope on one side, and with the citizens on the other. Following Putnam, what we can describe as their social capital was maximized by keeping as many of the informal forms, institutions, and networks of civil society functioning as possible, and by ensuring that what benefits there were to their own governance were: 1. kept within the community but 2. shared broadly within that community. This awareness shaped their efforts at institutional consolidation. These efforts drew on concrete historical lessons, and particularly the failed efforts of the Bentivoglio through the fifteenth century to turn the city into a signory with themselves as the dynastic rulers. While Julius II evicted the Bentivoglio in 1506 and again in 1512, they remained a threat. They launched formal efforts after Leo’s death in 1522, and again during the Sack of Rome in 1527, but were repulsed both times. Their spectre took decades to dissipate: as Julius III lay dying in March 1555, the chief subject in letters between the Papal governor and Rome was the fear that the Bentivoglio would attempt a restoration with French help during the upheaval of the Sede Vacante [13]. The local patricians were not the only ones learning from earlier failed lessons. Beginning more with Leo than with Julius, popes soon realized that they could only rule Bologna if they accommodated its local elites – past experience taught them that the attempt to rule directly would galvanize opposition and result in revolution. These local elites in their turn realized that they needed to work together in order to protect local authority, and to keep one of their own number from dominating all the others as the Bentivoglio had in the fifteenth century. After 1513, we have the emergence of the ‘governo misto’ under which a local Senate ruled co-operatively with a Papal Governor or Legate, each, in rough terms, approving the other’s actions (though the Governor/Legate held greater abstract power, the Senate exercised greater practical power). At forty seats, the Senate was twice the size of the executive body which had emerged in the late 14th century and had come to dominate government through the 15th , the Riformatori or Reggimento (though it initially uses that same name). Critically here, it was large enough to encompass the whole governing oligarchy which, at least initially, resisted papal efforts to give the Bentivoglio a seat. Under Gregory XIII, it looked as though factionalism would re-emerge around the Pepoli and Malvezzi as older families were marginalized. Sixtus V restored equilibrium in 1590 by increasing the Senate to 50 seats, largely by increasing number of seats for older lineages. Over the roughly 300 years from Julius to Napoleon, these families intermarried, creating a Senatorial oligarchy that was stable, albeit increasingly rigid. When a Senate seat fell vacant, the Senate sent 3 nominations to the Pope, who picked the replacement. From 1513 through 1605, 13 popes made 248 appointments from 72 families. As Mauro Carboni describes it, there was no formal serrata, but the dovetailing politics of (inter-)marriage and appointment ensured an ever-tightening oligarchy. By the end of the sixteenth century the Bolognese ruling class had consolidated its ranks and had acquired the distinct features of a stable regime like that found in Venice. Carboni’s extensive statistical analysis shows that the maximum degree of mobility came between 1506 and 1590, with the presence on the 40 senatorial seats of representatives from 68 different lineages, 41 of which were admitted for the first time (thanks initially to the purge of Bentivoglio party). The mobility ratio – i.e. the likelihood of seat turnover – was a moderately high 41.2%. In the subsequent 66 years, while the number of seats increased by a quarter, the senatorial mobility ratio more than halved, dropping to just 19.4%. As a result, from the mid-16th to the mid-17th century a senatorial family’s chances of retaining its seat increased from about 60% to over 80%. Likewise the number of active families decreased. While it was still at 40 seats (ie., from 1506-89), members of 68 families had access to the Senate. From 1590 to 1655 the number of active senatorial families dropped to 62, and the admission of new families declined even more sharply from 41 to 12. [14] Yet the mutual embrace of intensifying inter-marriage meant that there were fewer ‘new families’ around. From 1506-1655, over 80% of Senatorial marriages were ‘within the walls’ – i.e., between local families. As Carboni notes, “the matrimonial market remained municipal and rarely crossed the medieval city walls,” with 5 families emerging at the top as the most inter-connected (Malvezzi, Pepoli, Orsi, Bentivoglio, Fantuzzi). [15] The rate of class endogamy in Bologna was 66%, compared to 55% in Florence and 50% in 17th century England. What is perhaps more interesting is that when marrying outside of Bologna, these families did not lean appreciably towards Rome or the Papal State, but focused on long-standing links in the Po valley, Florence, and Naples. As Caroline Murphy has shown, these same intramural marriage dynamics, combined with advantageous dowy arrangements similar to those in Venice, created a space in which patrician women of leading families could exercise greater agency than, for instance, in Florence. [16] And in the same context, a review of the correspondence between local legates and the Cardinal heading the Bolognese Legation in Rome shows that the papacy was immensely interested in local family dynamics, including marriages, and all manner of feuds, tensions, and alliances. [17] While the patriciate was consolidating its hold on the Senate, it was also consolidating the Senate’s hold on the city, both through the refinement of its own organs of administration, and through the usurping of older bodies which could compete for authority. In the 1550s, the Senate appointed 8 congregations (Assunterie) to handle local administration. Regular rotating memberships ensured power sharing, although the apparent lack of membership lists means we have difficulty tracking this. While the Senate’s administrative organs were expanding, older bodies were contracting. These were gradually stripped of real power, though they were often retained as both a form of political apprenticeship (essentially a lower rung on the cursus honorum) and also as a consolation prize for those not in the Senate. Angela de Benedictis has edited a volume on one of these, the Tribuni della plebe. [18] Another body more deeply rooted in the medieval commune, when it had real power, was the Anziani. In the Trecento, the 9 member Anziani (2 members per quarter + the gonfaloniere) had enjoyed considerable power as the centre of local government. Rotating its members every 2 months, the Anziani demonstrated the suspicion and power-sharing characteristic of the medieval commune and its administrative organs. Yet some believe that this brought instability, and the Anziani’s powers were effectively curbed with the emergence of the Riformatori in 1394 and then the Senate. In the 16th century members were appointed directly by the Senate in a process of nomination, scrutiny, and extraction, but in the 17th century this is taken over by the Assunteria di Magistrati. Yet by that point, its purpose had changed. The Anziani remained active for decades, and in the 1540s and 1550s they and other traditional magistracies began taking the lead in expanding social charity. The Anziani attempted a census of the poor and expulsion of ‘foreign’ indigent in 1544, they began consolidating poor relief in the Ospedale di S. Gregorio in 1550s, and they organized systematic almsgiving in the famines of the early 1550s and early 1560s. [19] The Anziani’s real work seemed to decline soon after the Bolognese Ugo Buoncompagni became Pope Gregory XIII in 1572. The contrast is quite literally graphic. From that point, notes of their decisions drop from their elaborate illuminated record, the Insignia, to be replaced with paintings of members’ coats of arms and of major events that happened in Bologna in their term. Their discussions have increasingly to do with disputes of precedence vis à vis other bodies in Bologna. From the 1580s and 90s we find nothing on arranging food for paupers but much relating to the trumpeters who attend their public processions. This becomes the pattern moving forward through the 17th and 18th centuries. While real power evaporates, the Anziani remain a locally-significant marker of prestige in the local court society. Beyond political and familial convergence, we also find local economic convergence, continuing a longer tradition, and demonstrating how the local oligarchy cemented its power through co-operation with Papal State. In the 15th century, a small core of families had formed a syndicate which controlled the city’s funded debt; they were seen by Paul II as threats to Papal rule, though he was not able successfully to counter them. [20] That debt expanded exponentially after absorption into the Papal State. Debt capital fed Rome’s needs, debt shares secured investment income for local elites, and debt redemption came through consumption taxes levied on the populace at large. While direct Roman taxation would have undermined local autonomy, debt secured the same financial ends while actually increasing the power of those local individuals, boards, and bodies charged with its administration. [21] Hence, looking at local government, marriage politics, and economics, we see the coalescence of a strong oligarchy which manoevered to keep power and resources within the local community. Yet what about the broader distribution of benefits to members of that community? This brings us to a consideration of charity and social welfare in Bologna. In the decades after 1506, and building largely on pre-existing institutions, Bologna developed what was arguably the most extensive network of social service institutions in Italy. Some of its benefits were similar to what we find emerging elsewhere in 15th and 16th century Europe, and have been described in studies by Maria Giuseppina Muzzarelli, Gianna Pomata, Lucia Ferrante, Luisa Ciammitti, Massimo Fornasari, Gabriela Zarri, myself and others: extensive organized food distribution to poor on the basis of a preliminary census of need; a large foundling home; 7 orphanages for girls and boys that work actively to educate, train, and return orphaned and abandoned children to society as workers and parents; shelters for battered women and for prostitutes seeking to leave the profession; 2 major hospitals; a shelter for the mentally ill, a syphilitics hospital; a large centralized shelter and workhouse for the poor; a large public pawn bank, the Monte della Pietà, giving low cost loans to the poor; and a system of city doctors who are paid only upon completion of a course of treatment, and then only if there is a cure. [22] These institutions are not all unique, though I would argue that the level of benefits seems higher here than elsewhere in Italy. Beyond these institutions, there are other elements as well, particularly services for the working poor who constituted such a large part of the urban community. A key area of need for this group was dowries, and here we see that Bologna developed an innovative dowry fund from 1583 that was unlike any other in Italy. It was open only to small investors and gradually developed into something like a credit union or savings bank; deposits doubled in about 10 years. Here again, Mauro Carboni’s work provides relevant statistics and analysis. [23] Whereas Florence's Monte delle Dote was a public enterprise, run by its oligarchy and offering an attractive investment to wealthy families, Bologna's Monte was privately operated by the investors themselves, and attracted mostly small deposits. Families of modest and moderate means accounted for about 1/3rd of all deposits. The remaining 2/3rds were employers, private benefactors, and institutions that offered dowries to servants, or to needy girls out of charity. Bologna’s Monte actively discouraged investments by wealthy families by imposing a relatively low ceiling on deposits. Only Bolognese residents could own Monte credits. The minimum amount to open an account was set at 25 lire, a sum equal to about two-month’s salary of a menial worker, and the maximum deposit was 500 lire, raised to 800 lire in 1627. From 1583 and 1620, 847 accounts were opened on behalf of young girls belonging to 649 families. We know the father’s profession for 182 of those families. None represented leading aristocratic families, 21 were urban professionals (notaries, doctors); 157 represented modest mechanical trades (hemp weavers, silk weavers, carpenters, tailors, porters, bricklayers and so on); 4 were sharecroppers. [24] Beyond the scope and level of benefits, what was significant about Bologna’s system of civic charity was how it balanced broad administration with close ties to the civic government to create an interconnected network that focused deliberately on the urban population. [25] All of the charitable institutions were run by large confraternities or companies who cycled scores of volunteers through administrative positions for limited terms. Moreover, some of the key charitable institutions deliberately aimed to recruit their boards across representative categories, ensuring that these include nobles, gentlemen, merchants, and superior artisans. The senatorial oligarchy promoted this. It kept its finger on charitable institutions in a period of reforms of the 1550s, when most of the key institutions wrote or rewrote their statutes along a roughly uniform model that other charitable institutions subsequently adopted in the decades that follow. A key feature in the new statutes is that these charitable confraternities all chose their governing Rector from the Senate. There emerged a core of Senators who rotated from one institution to another, giving it an informal co-ordination. This was precisely the period when the Senate was establishing its assunterie to expand its administrative capacities, and when it was bleeding power from the Anziani. At the same time, the Monte della Pietà became the financial administrator of a number of the key charitable institutions. These two factors – Senatorial rectors and centralized financial administration – took the plethora of individual charitable institutions and consolidated them into a working civic network of charity: Bologna deliberately chose not to follow other cities like Florence that entrusted these social charities to smaller and often hand-picked administrative boards serving life terms. Power was shared and decentralized though a broader mass of the citizens who rotated through appointments, increasing the level of civil engagement. A further key characteristic is that benefits were largely for citizens only – not for transients or visitors. This was commonly found in statutes elsewhere, but seems to have been policed more rigorously here. [26] Moving from charity to employment, we find that Bologna’s guilds retained more authority in regulating professional behaviour and directing the local economy. An earlier economic historiography saw guilds as brakes on early modern economy, but this is being revised by the current generation of Italian economic historians. Alberto Guenzi finds that guilds certainly defend their interests, but also often push innovation in methods and production techniques. Raffaella Sarti has shown that the guild model was so strong locally that it moved beyond productive industries into the service sector: in the 17th century, servants formed a guild to defend their interests, and managed to keep it operative into the 18th century. [27] This suggests that the model of collective organization and a regulated economy was still compelling locally. I have suggested that a certain dynamic tension was characteristic of Bologna, and nowhere do we find this more clearly than in the area of religious life, where there were ongoing tensions between laity and clergy. There is certainly a convergence of interests in the elite, as Prodi has very effectively shown, but as one example, clergy were more effectively kept out of administration of welfare institutions here than elsewhere. The Monte del Matrimonio, for example, fought repeatedly and successfully into the eighteenth century to keep out of archbishop’s oversight – arguing that it was not a so-called ‘luogho pio’/pious work (which would open it to visitations and episcopal supervision), but a secular service. [28] Similarly, civic religion retained its strong lay orientation. Local confraternities controlled many local shrines and processions, and here too we find lay/clerical fights over control of images and processions. The Madonna di San Luca, Bologna’s key civic shrine and procession, provides one telling example, as it was controlled through our period by the Confraternity of S. Maria della Morte in spite of efforts by the Cathedral Canons to take it over. [29] As Prodi has shown, Bologna had one of the leading bishops of Catholic Reform in Gabriele Paleotti, but he found that his efforts to curb and control local religion were often stymied by papal officials who did not want to offend the local oligarchs. I cannot pose as a modern historian or social commentator, but in these social, economic and religious contexts, I find it telling that in the 19th and 20th centuries, Bologna and Emilia Romagna emerged as the centres of the Italian co-operative movement, and as strongholds of the Italian communist party, particularly at municipal level. Closer to the present, can we find a continuation of the anti-clericalism that was a characteristic of Bologna’s medieval and renaissance civic religion in the 2005 referendum on the proposed changes to laws governing reproductive technologies and possible use of fetal tissue in medical research? Whereas the Catholic Church aimed to undermine the referendum by counselling voters to stay away from the polls in order to render the whole result void, the city with the highest turn out in all of Italy was Bologna. This is the historical and social setting for the region that Robert Putnam’s own analysis shows to be the most effective in Italy. It latches on to democracy, and makes democracy work on its own terms. It is important to recognize that its civil society emerges in a framework that is quite distinct from the liberal capitalism that undergirds American democracy. Bologna embraces both democracy and capitalism, but does not idealize the American model – it holds up as its model socialist, co-operativist, and communist polities. * We can pull back now and consider the success of our experiment in testing the Putnam thesis. At a certain level, Bologna’s history supports Putnam’s thesis about the medieval and renaissance roots of effective modern government in Italy, although there remains the problem of continuity. Many of the elements that I’ve mentioned here don’t survive the 18th century. Yet we can nonetheless single out at least 4 related characteristics that define Bologna’s civil society in the Renaissance and Early modern period, and carry on into the modern period. 1. Importance of an oppositional dynamic – local vs. central, lay vs. clerical, ultimately civil vs. uncivil – that is brokered by an oligarchy with great, though only delegated power. This oligarchy alternately opposes and co-operates with the sovereign overlords in the Papal State and is to some extent must curry local favour to continue in power. I think that this is the key characteristic, and the one that helps explain how civil society survives absolutism in Bologna whereas it declines in sovereign states like Grand Ducal Florence and Venice. 2. Importance of this local oligarchy steering social and economic benefits to the locality & to citizens; its own self-interest lies in maintaining its base. 3. A co-operativist and regulated economy as one of the key means of sharing benefits. 4. Organized care for local poor and working poor that engages the local government but that is channelled primarily through semi-independent bodies like confraternities or guilds that have an active membership, a rotating administration drawn from and responsible to the membership, and a degree of ideological/religious motivation and legitimation. These characteristics do, to some extent, validate Putnam’s thesis that medieval and renaissance models of civil society generate the social capital that in turn creates a ‘successful’ society. Yet even in its ‘success’, Bologna shows further problems with Putnam’s model as these are rooted in American exceptionalism. Some features of Emilia Romagnan history match Putnam’s over all analysis, but never without qualification. Putnam makes a modern socialist reality fit into an idealized American model, without adequately recognizing that it marches to the beat of a very different political drum. In particular, it is the dynamic between civil and uncivil society that seems to maintain it, and liberal democratic capitalism is a possible but not a necessary context. In fact, Bolognan society rejected both the individualism and the laissez-faire capitalism that Putnam takes to be the necessary ideological and economic supports of civil society. This was a society whose elites and citizens cohered and maintained medieval forms in order to defend against an outside overlord. The paradox then is that it was precisely Bologna’s subordinate political status as a Republic by Contract that preserved the structures and involvement of civil society, while its more co-operativist orientation gave it a successful and adaptable economy. The further paradox then is that what really made Democracy Work in Italy was not some Renaissance Italian foreshadowing of American liberal capitalism, but the communitarian ethos, regulated economy, and oppositional dynamic that came to fuller expression in Italian communism. * Our ‘friendly experiment’ has shifted Putnam’s analysis of historical causes away from Florence and Venice so that it better reflects the results of his empirical studies showing that Emilia Romagna is the region of Italy that has the highest stock of social capital and the most effectively functioning civil society. But this exercise highlights deeper problems in Putnam’s analysis that are not so easily remedied. His historical error was not co-incidental, but connects directly to the purpose of the study, to the dovetailing of American and Florentinist exceptionalism that I referred to earlier, and to the deeper cultural project to which Anthony Molho alluded in an insightful essay entitled, “The Italian Renaissance: Made in America”. The very title of the second book, Bowling Alone, creates a chill in Americans, and when Putnam subtitled it, America’s Declining Social Capital, he named that fear that Americans have, and feeds into a cultural pessimism about ‘the world we have lost’. But this cultural pessimism – how far we have fallen from our past health and glory – almost always is rooted in romantic, nostalgic, and fundamentally self-deceptive views of the past. Americans are in the grip of a dream that runs counter both to their own history and to their own practice. Whatever their abstract analysis, Putnam and many of his American critics and commentators share implicitly a particular model of what a healthy, functioning society looks like. It’s a largely romanticized model based on the ideals in their own civil religion, and their curiously exceptionalist self-image of being a beacon of freedom and democracy that can offer lessons but never needs to take them. It is reinforced by their embrace of the French commentator Alexis de Tocqueville, who described a society of individualists who reflexively gathered in small groups and practiced an egalitarian politics. The Bologna example suggests that this model is not necessary; there are other routes to civil society. But beyond that, is it realistic? Certainly American politics both in the Tocquevillian period and also in the 1950s, which Putnam identifies as the time when civil society and social capital began to decline, fell far short of the healthy and egalitarian image. They were highly racist, sexist, and deeply class-ridden; real political power was exercised by party machines. Of course, all western societies were like this to some extent. What is troubling about Putnam’s analysis is that he does not explore the implications of his next analytical step. That is, the period when he describes civil society and social capital as starting to decline seriously – the 1960s and 1970s – is precisely the period when America started to come to terms with its institutional racism, sexism, and brokered political oligarchy, and when it started to deliberately break these down with legislation, court actions, and progressive social policies. The result was a more open and just society. This is the type of paradox that an analysis based on nostalgia for a lost golden world seldom recognizes. Take this a step further. Putnam does not come to terms with the fact that many of the voluntary institutions of civil society that he lauds acted in the first instance to meet very practical needs. People did not join them simply for sociability, but also to meet their needs for shelter, for insurance, for health, for job protection, or for advancement. The socialization offered through groups like bowling clubs was a partial motivation; a far bigger element was practical need, both individually and socially. The rise of the welfare state in the 1960s and 1970s met many of these same needs. It offered these kinds of protections and benefits more broadly as a right to citizens. This marked substantial progress in social justice. The voluntary institutions of civil society had been based largely in the middle class, and benefited largely the middle class. The programs of the welfare state benefited a much broader social range, particularly those marginal groups left behind by the older voluntary institutions of civil society. Moreover, it benefited them more comprehensively, and it gave benefits as a right rather than as a gift. So as we unpack Putnam’s combination of romantic nostalgia and cultural pessimism, we’re left with an implicit central paradox that he never addresses: civil society seems to decline as social justice expands. More troublingly, we increasingly see that this paradox is not just an intellectual abstraction. In various countries since the 1980s, conservative governments have sought to reverse the equation. If civil society declined as social justice expanded through the 60’s and 70’s, these governments are aiming to expand civil society in part to facilitate and justify their dismantling of the welfare state: cutting benefits and legal protections, privatizing social programs, and employing voluntary bodies to meet social needs. The evocation by academics and politicians of a lost golden age of civil society, then, becomes more than just nostalgia, but part of a decidedly regressive political movement. This is certainly an issue in political debates in America and the European Community, and also in countries beyond such as Canada and Australia. It cautions us to be wary when politicians and social commentators wax nostalgic about a lost age of civil society, or a spent store of social capital. And it compels us to explore more comparatively the genesis, the definitions, the adaptations, and the socio-political frameworks of social capital and civil society. Friendly exercises aside, our purpose should not be primarily to refute or support Robert Putnam’s work on social capital and civil society, but to see whether these concepts can be adapted, refined, or adjusted to allow us better to face the challenges faced by our societies at the beginning of the 21st century. We can ask, ‘What makes democracy work?’ My own preference – and I think the question that drove those who have shaped the ‘successful’ society of Bologna and Emilia Romagna generally – is ‘What makes society just?’ [1] Relazione svolta al Meeting della Renaissance Society of America (San Francisco, 23-25 marzo 2006) nell’ambito del Panel Social Capital and Civil Society in Italy and the Netherlands IV: Political Order and the Varieties of Social Capital. Note [1] R. Putnam, Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1993, 167. [2] Putnam, Making Democracy Work, cit., 163-186. [3] Putnam, Making Democracy Work, cit., 63-83, 187-204. [4] Putnam, Making Democracy Work, cit., 83-120. [5] Putnam, Making Democracy Work, cit., 185. [6] G. Brucker, Civic Traditions in Premodern Italy, in: R.I. Rotberg, Patterns of Social Capital, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2001, 19-39. [7] E. Muir, The Sources of Civil Society in Italy, in Rotberg, Patterns of Social Capital, cit., 41-67. [8] See, for example, S.L. McLean, et al. (eds.), Social Capital: Critical Perspectives on Community and ‘Bowling Alone’, New York, New York University Press, 2002. [9] P. Prodi, Il sovrano pontifice: un corpo e due anime, Bologna, il Mulino, 1982. [10] A. De Benedictis, Repubblica per contratto. Bologna: una città europea nello Stato della Chiesa, Bologna, il Mulino, 1995. [11] ASB Ambasciata Bolognese a Roma, Repertorio e Registri Diversi, regg. 4, “Compendio di Affari Trattati in Roma dall’Ambasceria di Bologna”; regg. 5, “Rubricella delli Tomi Primo, e Secondo del Compendio d’Affari trattati in Roma dall’Ambascieria di Bologna; dall’anno 1569 fino al 1650”. [12] For the local sensibility: A. De Benedictis, Una Guerra d’Italia, una resistenza di popolo, Bologna, il Mulino, 2004. [13] See the letters from the Vice Legate Girolamo Sauli to the Legate, Cardinal Innocenzo del Monte: Archivio Segreto del Vaticano, Segreteria dello Stato, Legazione di Bologna, ms. 1A, fol. 290, 306, 309, 316, 318, 324, 326. [14] Mauro Carboni, La formazione di una elite di governo: le alleanze matrimoniali dei senatori bolognesi (1506-1796), « Studi storici Luigi Simeoni», 52 (2002), 9-46. [15] Ibid., 8. [16] C. Murphy, ‘In praise of the ladies of Bologna’: the image and identity of the sixteenth century Bolognee female patriciate, «Renaissance Studies», 13 (1999), 440-454. [17] For letters of the 16th century: ASV, Segr. Stato, Legaz. Bologna , 1°, 2-4, 177-84, 268-69. [18] A. De Benedictis (ed.), Diritti in memoria, carità di patria. Tribuni della plebe e governo popolare a Bologna (XIV-XVIII secolo), Bologna, CLUEB, 1999. [19] G.N.P. Alidosi I signori Anziani consoli e Gonfalonieri di Giustizia della città di Bologna, Bologna, li Manolesi, 1670: 97, 105, 110-11, 114-117. The range of activites undertaken by the Anziani can be found in: ASB, Anziani Consoli, Insignia 1 (1530-1580): cc. 45v-48r, 51r, 87r-89r, 100v, 109r-110, 114r-115v. ASB Anziani Consoli, Insignia 1I (1580-1599): cc. 112v-115r, 170v, 188r-v. See also: ASB Anziani Consoli, Libri Rossi 1 (Provisiones et decreta, 1530-92) & 2 (1565-1598), although the records from Insignia 1 & 2 and Libri Rossi 1 & 2 do not overlap. [20] I. Robertson, Tyranny under the Mantle of St. Peter: Pope Paul II and Bologna, Turnhout, Brepols, 2002. [21] M. Carboni, Il debito della città Mercato del credito fisco e società a Bologna fra Cinque e Seicento, Bologna, il Mulino, 1995. [22] M.G. Muzzarelli, Il denaro e la salvezza. L’invenzione del Monte di Pietà, Bologna, il Mulino, 2001; G. Pomata, La promessa di guarigione: Malati e curatori in antico regime, Torino, Gius Laterza, 1994; M. Fornasari, Il ‘Thesoro’ della città: Il Monte di Pietà e l’economia bolognese nei secoli XV e XVI, Bologna, il Mulino, 1993. N. Terpstra, Abandoned Children of the Italian Renaissance: Orphan Care in Florence and Bologna, Baltimore, Johns Hopkins, 2005. [23] M. Carboni, Le doti della ‘povertà’: Famiglia, risparmio, previdenza: il Monte del Matrimonio di Bologna (1583-1796), Bologna , il Mulino, 1999. [24] Ibid., 117-149. [25] I describe this network of charity more thoroughly in Abandoned Children, Chapters 1 & 5. [26] Terpstra, Abandoned Children, cit., 187-244, 280-88. [27] R. Sarti, L’Università dei Servitori di Bologna, secc. XVII-XIX, in A. Guenzi et al. (eds.), Corporazioni e Gruppi Professionali nell’Italia Moderna, Milano, FrancoAngeli, 1999, 717-754. [28] Carboni, Doti della povertà, cit., 69-70. [29] N. Terpstra, Lay Confraternities and Civic Religion in Renaissance Bologna, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1995. Dossier Studi e ricerche Comunicare storia Fonti e documenti Dibattiti Biblioteca Indice 2006 Indice Studi e ricerche 2006 Iscriviti alla newsletter Informazioni sull'articolo Document type: Article Come citare questo articolo: Nicholas Terpstra, ‘Republics by Contract’: Civil Society, Social Capital, and the ‘Putnam Thesis’ in the Papal Stat, "Storicamente", 2 (2006), no. 29. DOI: 10.1473/stor361 Data pubblicazione 2006-12-31 Rivista / Volume / Anno Storicamente / 2 / 2006 ISSN ISSN:1825-411X Esporta citazioni plainText endNote BiBTeX RefMan Dipartimento di Storia Culture Civiltà Università di Bologna I contenuti di questa rivista, se non diversamente specificato, sono rilasciati con licenza: Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License 2004- 2021 Storicamente è una rivista pubblicata da BraDypUS. Communicating Cultural Heritage bradypus.net / info@bradypus.net Bologna 
work_lwkwu57qd5ahfnovbpdhkw5vhq	----	Microsoft Word - HDE187BF Further Section Hum. Dev. 1987;30:187-188 Critical Acclaim Skinner, Q. (ed.) The Return of Grand Theory in the Human Sciences Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1985 VIII+ 215 pp. ISBN 0-521-31808-4 It has become socially obligatory among my students to protest that they are not positivists. Yet few are able to articulate any recognizable post-positivist position, much less identify that standpoint from which they are so critical of positivism. John Brough-ton [this journal, vol. 24, No. 6] first brought to my attention that such protests, without being grounded in some way, are likely ideological and may even derive from the same ideology they are intended to criticize. Thus, confident in the abilities of my students, I have been recommending that they become hcquainted with Quentin Skinner’s grand tour of the grand hermeneutic, structuralist, post- empiricist, de-constructionist, and otherwise post-positivist theories. Skinner identifies two major concerns underlying much that may be characterized as post- positivist. The first of these is an extension of Dilthey’s arguments that the natural sciences, as traditionally conceived, do not provide an appropriate or exclusive methodological model for the social sciences. This concern is reflected and transcended in the writings of Wittgenstein, Gadamer, Feyerabend, Derrida, Haber-mas, and others. Chapters on Gadamer, Derrida, and Habermas are included in this volume. The second major concern is with the moral implications of constructing a theory of society based on the positivist program. Kuhn’s skepticism regarding the rationality of science is an important foundation for this concern, a skepticism I understood better after reading Barry Barnes’ chapter on Kuhn than after reading Kuhn’s major text many years ago. Habermas, Laing, Foucault, Rorty, Rawls, and others have more directly challenged the possibility of a social philosophy constructed upon facts known for certain and un-shaped by particular historical conditions. Skinner has included chapters on Foucault and Rawls. The volume concludes with four exemplars of grand theories: Habermas’s grounding of rationality in the ideal speech situation (Anthony Giddens provides one of the best introductions to this difficult writer); Althusser’s emphasis upon the deterministic features of Marx’s work; Levi-Strauss’s revelation of the determining influence of social and linguistic structures; and Braudel’s descriptions of the significance for history not only of economies and institutions but also of climate and geography. Skinner avoids the problems of a single-authored survey of grand theories, which would be open to the charges of omission and bias, and an edited volume of the theorists’ own writings, which would fail to provide the context, distance, and comparisons needed for understanding. The present volume provides informed and readable accounts of each grand theory in appropriate contexts, as well as raising reasonable concerns and criticisms along the way. This is the sort of grand tour one looks forward to embarking upon. Smith, L. Piaget Mistranslated Bull. Br. psychol. Soc. 4: 1-3 (1981) Bruno Bettelheim (1982) has written eloquently on how the understanding and acceptance of Freud has been impaired through the reading of Freud only in translations that at best give misleading impressions and that at worst are seriously inaccurate. The same can be said for Piaget, although there may be somewhat greater recognition of this potential problem and so some corrective efforts have been made. One such effort is Smith’s brief comments on translations into English of Piaget’s La Prise de Conscience/The Grasp oj Understanding (197’4) and Réus-sir et Comprendre•/Success and Understanding (1974). Smith focuses on the concepts of consciousness, understanding, and knowledge as these are presented by Piaget and as they have been translated. In the latter case, important distinctions between these concepts have on occasion been blurred, affecting the compre- 188 Critical Acclaim hensibility of certain passages. Smith has been diligent in comparing the French and English texts page by page, and so this article might be used as a guide in annotating the texts. More than this, Smith’s presentation of Piaget’s usage of these three terms is helpful towards understanding Piaget’s theory in general. Rosenthal, B.G. Images of Man Basic Books, New York 1971 XII + 244 pp. ISBN 465-03200-1 This book is based in the thesis that implicit images of human nature and associated psychological theories and research will reflect the ideology and spirit of each historical period, as well as the interests of dominant groups and classes within it. What makes the book remarkable is Rosenthal’s illustration of this familiar thesis through consideration of how a hypothetical psychologist, living in Classical Greece, the Middle Ages, or during the Italian Renaissance, might have conceived of and investigated intelligence, perception, group behavior, and the ego. Rosenthal characterizes the Greek image in terms of striving for balance between logic and emotion and between intelligence and physical skills, so that overdevelopment of any one area at the expense of another was to be avoided. Rosenthal speculates that a psychologist of the time, asked to assess intelligence, might ask people to find emotional aspects of logical material or analyze emotional experiences in a logical fashion. In contrast, the Middle Ages were a time of concern with the symbolic and ritual aspects of daily life. A key intellectual ability was discerning symbolic or hidden meanings, through interpretation of miracles, omens, revelations, etc. A medieval psychologist might be interested in the extent to which people could recognize implicit moral issues, cosmic meaning, or spiritual significance in simple stories. A Renaissance psychologist, concerned with uninhibited individualism and in the covert circumvention of moral conventions, would value craftiness, aggressiveness, cunning, and so forth. An intelligence test might thus call for persons to devise ways to deceive or discredit an enemy or to artfully counter arguments during a debate. These few examples do not begin to convey the richness of this imaginative, delightful book. The value of the book, of course, lies in its ability to stimulate reflection on the extent to which contemporary concepts in psychology are embedded within our particular cultural and historical circumstances as well as the issue of what might be done in response to this embeddedness. Rosenthal calls for a ‘cultural psychoanalysis’, involving increased recognition of contemporary cultural values and ideologies and a review of the history of ideas. J.A. Meacham, Buffalo, N.Y. 
work_lxjpyn2kz5cstgbzqotozaaybu	----	World Literature Tomorrow World Literature Tomorrow E. S. Shaffer Comparative Critical Studies, Volume 3, Issue 1-2, 2006, pp. 77-82 (Article) Published by Edinburgh University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/ccs.2006.0015 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/199725 https://doi.org/10.1353/ccs.2006.0015 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/199725 World Literature Tomorrow e l i n o r s h a f f e r Comparative Critical Studies 3, 1–2, pp. 77–82 © BCLA 2006 77 I met a very competent ex-student the other day, now a lecturer in a well respected ‘new’ university, who said that he and his cohort were very excited by the new idea of teaching not national literature, nor comparative literature, but World Literature! I was obliged to laugh, however sympathetically, at this déja-vu experience. As comparatists know, the term Weltliteratur is hardly ‘new’; it was of course coined by Goethe in the early nineteenth century and referred then, as it still refers today, to literature that has survived the ordeal of translation and is hence able to speak to audiences across the barriers of language and even culture. Like such illuminating rediscoveries, the ‘crisis in comp lit’ is endemic and recurrent. It may be a sign of health as much as of threatened decay; for whatever its successes, because of its inability (by its very nature) to achieve complete independence, any successes are claimed or siphoned off by its own constituent parts. It could only achieve independence at the cost of its essential parts, the national and regional languages and literatures. To attain independence – by, for example, becoming the translated substance of a series of abandoned local habitations and names – would spell disaster. The ‘natural’ hegemony of English and English departments today poses a powerful threat; yet as it becomes more all-encompassing, abandons its own sacred nooks and crannies, and embraces ‘world’ literature, it at the same time reopens the door to enterprising explorers of the actual languages and cultures behind the translated pabulum. An Indian student from Calcutta came to see me recently; she was a specialist in Canadian aboriginal languages. Soon the once familiar European languages may become as rare and enticing. If the verities, and the endemic crises, of comparative literary studies have merely shifted gear into ‘world’ mode, what has become of the intellectual structures known as ‘theory’ that dominated all literary studies for a time? These were hardly unique to comparative EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM77 chf muse_logo elinor shaffer78 literature, though because of their various national sources it was much more natural to comparatists to seek out the originals, grasp the movements of thought that had brought them to the fore, and disentangle their historical meshing. Although they arrived approxi- mately at the same time in English (and American), in the late 1950’s and 1960’s (and thereafter), owing to the false historical perspective imposed by translation in fact we were simply receiving the succession of theoretical moments of European literary thought since 1900 all at once and in no particular order, so giving the appearance of a bewildering variety of demanding options: Russian formalism and narrative theory; linguistic structuralism (Prague and Vienna styles); German phenomenology and the aesthetics built upon it; Austrian and Swiss psychoanalysis of art and artists; French versions of all of these, often associated with particular critics (Sartre, Derrida, Lacan, Foucault), reaching Britain via translated anthologies and Continental or global immigrants to the U.S. None of these approaches is a thing of the past only, despite the now ubiquitous slogan ‘the end of theory’; for all such systems, modes, and models, as well as a range of discourses from neighbouring disciplines, remain available to scholars in the humanities, which, unlike the ‘hard-core’ natural sciences, tend not to replace one theory with another but rather allow multiple paradigms to exist simultaneously. (See Wolfgang Iser’s recent How to Do Theory1 for an instructive and immensely readable conspectus of the productive diversity of theory as it stands now in the humanities.) My own practical answer to the question of what we think is vital to comparative literature today is and must be, of course, our Research Project on reading and reception studies, and specifically the resulting series of volumes on The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe. Ten volumes have so far been published (Continuum 2002– ), including Woolf, Joyce, Sterne, Byron, and Hume,2 and the projected series represents a wide range of figures (including literary, political, philosophical and scientific writers) who have been influential on the cultural life of Europe. The project is based on the urgency of recognizing and analyzing the intellectual history of the UK as part of the wider European cultural heritage. Still perhaps the most fruitful theoretical approach to literature developed over the past thirty years (in our view) is the reception studies – both reception aesthetics and reception history – of the Constance School, in particular as encapsulated in the seminal works of Hans Robert Jauss and Wolfgang Iser, which succeeded in combining EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM78 World Literature Tomorrow 79 the reading of texts with an active awareness of the role of readers in the context of their times in bringing texts to life in successive interpretations or concretizations. The narrow national literary history of Britain (as of every other nation), which so often has stopped at the Channel, must be extended to the unfamiliar, often unexpected and illuminating responses abroad to the works of British writers. A nation’s knowledge of its writers – its own literary, intellectual and cultural history – is simply incomplete and inadequate without these kinds of studies.3 Moreover, it needs to be underpinned by the developing study of the History of the Book on the production, publication and distribution of manuscripts and printed books throughout Europe. Copyright law, new technologies, changing publishing and distribution modalities, and censorship play a role not always fully recognized and appreciated, often cutting across period designations which are all too frequently based on purely political designations or later literary considerations (see William St Clair’s engaging and challenging book, The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period).4 As part of the project, we have established a British Academy ‘network’ group across Europe that is inquiring into the state of the theory and practice of reception studies today. Some may look with suspicion on our Project, taking the view that ‘Europe’ is somehow out of bounds because now we must do ‘world literature’. But it is precisely as part of doing ‘world literature’ that we must grasp the scope and the complexity of the interactions of European literature, which have formed at the very least a major paradigm for the development of contemporary literary history – and maybe our series can serve as a blueprint for future regional and even inter-regional reception projects. But there are also other projects that are equally comparative in nature and might also serve as prototypes for future research in this area. There is Franco Moretti’s Atlas of the European Novel 1800–1900, studying the impact and circulation of European novels across Europe in the nineteenth century (which, however, is rejected by historians of the book as merely impressionistic).5 There is Pascale Casanova’s excellent The World Republic of Letters,6 in which the formation of a literary sphere of value and influence is examined through the model of France, itself built upon Roman and Italian Renaissance fore- runners, as it was challenged in the late eighteenth-century by the Herderian model of a variety of ‘folk’ cultures, which in their European forms nevertheless required validation as national literary EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM79 elinor shaffer80 cultures during the nineteenth century, and now by post-colonial nations still enacting the struggle for cosmopolitan recognition at the ‘centre’ while seeking to gain or regain an independent indigenous culture. These and related considerations were at the foundations of comparative literature in the immediate postwar period; many of the founding works of comparative literature had a similar scope and mission: Ernst Robert Curtius wrote his powerful study of a common tradition, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages,7 Erich Auerbach returned to the Bible, Greeks and Romans as a starting point in Mimesis and the Representation of Reality in Western Literature,8 René Wellek’s multi-volume work on the history of critical theory rebuilt the structures of twentieth-century thinking.9 The recent reappearance of ‘universalism’ and ‘cosmopolitanism’ as positive terms of analysis is also noted by Amanda Anderson in her interesting essay ‘Cosmopolitanism, Universalism, and the Divided Legacies of Modernity’.10 It is important for us that, in Britain, there was little of the US conflict between ‘comparative literature’ and ‘cultural studies’; rather they reinforced each other, suggesting new modes of organization of studies and of teaching that combined them, thereby in part stretching and shifting the old departmental alliances and divisions. The shared heritage (and the history of conflict) we are only now fully realizing in our current period of post-imperial devolution of European nations is helping to deflate nationalist aspirations. At the same time as the face of Europe is changing, with its countries and populations drawing ever closer geographically, economically, demo- graphically, educationally, and institutionally, we are seeing an opening of archives and the emergence of new fields of study. As the United States has become the dominant imperialist power in the world, Europe must look to the preservation of its own interests and attend to its common culture. The history of Europe and the European Union has shown that the stress on the shared background of Europeans also brings forward the individual, the regional, the small nation, and the minority language or dialect. This has been one of the most vivifying and perhaps unexpected effects of the EU. In our volume on the European reception of Ossian (the most extensive British literary reception apart from Shakespeare’s), Great Britain’s evolution, and indeed its devolution, had to be brought into play, for the English, Welsh, Irish Gaelic, and Scots Gaelic factions were in active controversy over Macpherson’s Ossianic writings; with contributions EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM80 World Literature Tomorrow 81 from Brittany, France, Germany and a variety of Eastern European nations past and present, a local discussion of ‘Celticism’ later plays into the rediscovery and invention of national epic and folk poetry across Europe. The spread of a work or an author or a language (and the presses that print its texts, in the original or in translation) is often the work of a group of emigrés or exiles (the British Jacobites, the French Huguenots, the Spanish exiles from Franco). It is thus only through the detailed examination of the process of dissemination of writings across Europe over time that we can determine the exact contours of this complex and changing entity. Establishing this record is all the more urgent in the face of the possibility that we already have ‘world literature’ in a very different sense, an easily circulating, crudely commercial product whose concern is not at all with literary value. The ‘republic of letters’ by contrast is explicitly opposed to globalization.11 Despite its historical identification with certain cities as ideas (Rome, Florence, Paris) it is a moveable banquet. London and New York may be hosting it for now, but a variety of smaller feasts or at least box lunches are going on in multiple centres around the globe. The creation of literary value is in analogy with economic competition in that city-states or nations compete for authority, and indeed literary value, however established, creates economic value. As Paul Valéry asked in ‘La liberté de l’ésprit’ (1939), ‘What is this capital called culture?’12 Nevertheless, literary and artistic authority and value have not coincided fully with economic power and constitute a realm with their own history and trajectory. It is these realms, histories, and trajectories that comparative literature needs to explore more fully than we have done in the past. But while the exploration of the interactions of writerly value in Europe in our current research project is one possible model for future larger-scale comparative research dealing with such issues as value and the transfer not just of economic but also intellectual capital, it is only a beginning. As has always been clear to the founders of comparative literature, many of whom were also pioneers of Oriental literary studies, world literature requires extending beyond the confines of European literature, not as ‘post-colonial’, but as setting forth from a different set of originating ‘centres’ and shifting ‘peripheries’. Yet it is part of our aim that the methods of research applied to European literature and world literature may be comparable. EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM81 elinor shaffer82 NOTES 1 Oxford: Blackwell, 2005. 2 The Reception of Virginia Woolf in Europe, edited by Mary Ann Caws and Nicola Luckhurst (London and New York: Continuum 2002); The Reception of James Joyce in Europe, 2 vols., edited by Geert Lernout and Wim van Mierlo (London and New York: Continuum 2004); The Reception of Ossian in Europe, edited by Howard Gaskill (London and New York: Continuum 2004); The Reception of Laurence Sterne in Europe, edited by John Neubauer and Peter de Voogd (London and New York: Continuum 2004); The Reception of Byron in Europe, edited by Richard Cardwell (London and New York: Continuum 2005). 3 See the Series Editor’s Prefaces to The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe volumes (especially Swift (2005), Yeats (2006)). 4 Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. 5 London and New York: Verso, 1998 (originally Atlante del romanzo europeo, 1800–1900, Torino: G. Einaudi, 1997). 6 Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2004 (originally La république mondiale des lettres, Paris: Seuil, 1999). 7 London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979 (originally Europäische Literatur und lateinisches Mittelalter, Bern: Francke, 1948). 8 Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1953 (originally Mimesis. Dargestellte Wirklichkeit in der abendländischen Literatur, Bern: Francke Verlag, 1946). 9 A History of Modern Criticism 1750–1950, 8 vols. (London: Jonathan Cape, 1955– 1992). 10 In The Way We Argue Now (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2006, pp. 69–92). 11 See also Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Death of a Discipline, New York: Columbia University Press, 2003. This catchy title is, of course, a misnomer. 12 In Regards sur le monde actuel (Paris: Librarie Stock, 1934); this theme was carried out by Ferdinand Braudel, Civilisation and Capitalism 15th-18th Centuries, 3 vols, trans. S. Reynolds (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM82 
work_lxsnmjwgzjgtxhxat4rgp7jpua	----	Evolution of “State Ruling” Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 190 ( 2015 ) 314 – 322 Available online at www.sciencedirect.com 1877-0428 © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of Academic World Research and Education Center. doi: 10.1016/j.sbspro.2015.05.005 ScienceDirect 2nd GLOBAL CONFERENCE on PSYCHOLOGY RESEARCHES, 28-29, November 2014 Evolution of “State Ruling” Sinan Cayaa* aDr., Marmara University, Faculty of Engineering, Instructor of Social Electives Abstract The concept of ruling a state was investigated by Machiavelli as early as in the sixteenth century. The concept gradually developed throughout centuries and finally achieved a certain level of maturity in today’s politics. © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Peer-review under responsibility of Academic World Research and Education Center. Keywords: Ruling, government, politics, power, state, sovereignty. 1. Introduction This is essentially a review article based on a work of Michel Foucault (1979) about governmentality. The difficult article, a translation from Italian, was transformed into plain language without jeopardizing the meaning and commented on by notes. When possible, comparisons from Turkish history were provided among those notes. The state is a fanciful topic. Everybody does some thinking (1) about it. Young, passionately committed revolutionaries crave for it. Few are known to be indifferent (2) to it. From the sixteenth century onwards, the art of governing came to be an important topic for whose sake it was proper to consecrate many thoughts. These are the times when feudalism was collapsing, giving way to big nation-states and even colonial states. The Reformation movement had its impact on minds, questioning the former eternal bliss (3) understandings (paraphrased from Foucault 1979). Up to the Middle Ages it was common to associate the right to rule with divine causes. But during the Italian Renaissance, in Florence, Machiavelli (1469-1527) wrote the Prince, advising a sovereign how to rule. The book * Sinan Caya. Tel.: 0216 348 0292. E-mail address: sinan.caya@gmail.com © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of Academic World Research and Education Center. http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.sbspro.2015.05.005&domain=pdf 315 Sinan Caya / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 190 ( 2015 ) 314 – 322 isolates the ruling authority from its spiritual and ethical connotations, founding it on sheer human reasoning. It advocates an omnipotent monarch for whom everything is permissible to maintain and increase (4) his power. The book drew much attention and praise, obviously because it favored the vested interests of rulers (ibid.). 2. The Book Reappears In late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries the book made surface again. The political conjecture was in search of guidelines about state, authority, power, absolutism, delegation or limiting of the power etc. New movements and counter-movements were constantly going on: on one side Napoleon was instigating emperorship (5) (and thus in a way retrieving kingdom) and rendering the revolutionary ideas ineffective for a time. On the other hand, American colonies (6) were revolting against the British Empire and so forth (ibid.). The Prince was a book particularly favorised by the nineteenth century Germany and Italy (ibid.). [This is no wonder. Both were militaristic structures craving for power. Garibaldi can be considered the Italian equivalent of ferocious Bismarc. “German fascism is now interpreted increasingly as the positive completion of Prussian-German (7) national power politics. The ‘national community’ now rehabilitated socially, politically and historically, is associated with the ‘powerful state’ concept and employed at home and abroad as legitimation for a new departure in politics” (Roth 1994: 453). As Wit (1953: 271) puts it, “the fundamental ideological disunity of the German people” later gives way to “the autocratic imposition of Bismarc’s unity by blood and iron”]. All criticisms of Machiavelli are not favoring him. Both Catholic and Protestant Christian circles did indeed vehemently condemn (8) him (ibid.). In Machiavelli’s conceiving, the prince himself is not an innate part of the principality. He is an outsider despite being the possessor. Moreover, how he owned the principality (inheritance, conquest, appropriation etc.) does not matter, either (ibid.). Besides, his possession does not pertain to his subjects or territory; rather, it is his domineering behavior over his possessions which is important. The ruler’s main concern is to prolong for as long as possible the enjoyment of his rule by defending it against any menace whatsoever which could deprive him of this enjoyment (9) (ibid.). 3. New Ideas Emerge This idea of clinging to power was to be challenged by the concept of the art of government, whose earliest thinker is Guillaume de la Perriere (ibid.). Here the word “govern” takes on a broad scope like governing any institution large or small. Moreover, this sort of governor is an innate, internal part of the governed entity. Now; the concept includes morality, proper handling of the administration / management of all sources including the human element (oeconomy) and politics (10) (ibid.). La Mothe le Vayer provides these ideas in his didactic work addressed to the heir of the ruler. One essential factor is the ruler’s worth and deserving for the position; that is, his formation (11) which enables him for the post. Another closely related factor is the control mechanism over the governed to make sure that they “behave themselves” (ibid.). In the eighteenth century, Rousseau, in an article on political economy, emphasized that wise governing would lead to the betterment of all beings (human and material) within the ruler’s domain (ibid.). Rousseau’s contemporary thinker Quesnay coined the phrase “economic government”. In this text the former oeconomy now qualifies a far more complicated and on-going process, whereby all efforts must lead to convenience as the end-product (ibid.). For Machiavelli, the exertion of power was realized simply on the territory and the inhabitants living on that territory, in a very concrete manner, regardless of the high or low quality of those “assets” (ibid.). la Perriere, however, furthers the exertion of this power ―borrowing Foucault’s exact expression― to the “the complex unit constituted by men and things”. Here, Foucault likens the ruler to the all-responsible captain of a ship sailing on the sea. He must take into account all possible happenings, strong winds and storms included. One might as well call this role the highest form of serving the ship. Size and quantity considerations are thus replaced by 316 Sinan Caya / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 190 ( 2015 ) 314 – 322 quality considerations (Frederick the Second’s comparison of a big but inert land, tsarist Russia, with a small but firm and effective one, Holland, is very meaningful in that respect). 4. Ideas Get Further Elaborated Governing a unit thus is distinguishable from being sovereign over it. Sovereignty now involves “attaining and conserving public utility” (ibid.). As Puffendorf of the seventeenth century puts it, mutual respect, role division and order come into account. But, interestingly, order is established by obedience to law and this brings us back to Machiavelli at that particular point! here is n unavoidable tautology, a circulatory notion [like the well-known chicken and egg issue] (ibid.). As a state of law, absolute monarchy too may dictate the primacy of written laws, regardless of their nature (12) (ibid.). In government rather than a fidelity for the written law per se, tactics (13) is what really counts as a perfection of the governing process (ibid.). Phsiocrats of the of the seventeenth century openly said that laws alone (14) do not suffice to attain the aims of governments (ibid.). What we now know as democratic leadership, was proposed by la Perriere as a “patient ruler”, one who is not eager to kill or crush (like the queen-bee of a hive). He also mentions about “wisdom” (in the sense of efficiency, without divine associations (15) involved) and “diligence” (in the sense of a fatherly commitment and affection, inducing a role-model-behavior on the part of the ruler) (ibid.). Finally Foucault (Autumn, 1979) notes that the new but rough notion of the art of government did find actual applications even in the sixteenth century. Its component were administrative apparatus of monarchies; quantified knowledge, i.e. statistics and mercantilism and police force. However the concretization of the state came to a halt in the troublesome seventeenth century with wars, rebellions and financial crises; so, the contract (16) theory came into being as a compromise between the art of government and sovereignty. 5. The Importance of Population What brought up the art of government was the population expansion and the transformation of mercantilism into a fully grown capitalism in the eighteenth century. It is only then that the science of government shifted to an economical structure in the current meaning of the word “economy”. Former mercantilist statistics were now employed for demographic (17) considerations (ibid.). Statistical knowledge on population behavior clarify the fact that government affairs can not be reduced to the level of an exemplary family since a family is a minute subset of the big population and can hardly represent it as a model (ibid.). This perception speeded up the dynamics of the art of government, leading all efforts to the betterment of population quality. The population gained priority over the ruler and tactics became accordingly more sophisticated (ibid.). The new science of political economy focusing on the population-territory-wealth interaction furthered the art of government up to the level of political science (ibid.). The matter of sovereignty is still there to reckon, as grounds for the form of governing. Rousseau’s social contract deals with that subject thoroughly. Neither is discipline omitted; it is a necessity for the management of even the pacifist masses (ibid.). Thus; sovereignty, discipline and government are like the vertices of a triangle, all working on population on a background of security concern. Government, population and political economy are similarly interrelated (ibid.). 317 Sinan Caya / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 190 ( 2015 ) 314 – 322 6. Conclusion The state of justice of the Middle Ages incrementally made its way to a state of management ever since the sixteenth century. Nowadays, the state; with all its complicated techniques and tools of dealing with problems (which could be briefly called “savoir-faire”) is becoming more and more a topic of political science (ibid.). Notes 1) The typical Turkish peasant regards that awesome entity as the “Government Father” and accordingly holds it responsible for all facets of his life, including his miserable plight in a natural drought! If anything goes wrong in his dealings with any official institution, he angrily sends out a mouthful of swearing words aimed at that very state. Nevertheless, he cunningly avoids a deep meditation over a complicated social problem, passing it on to those who are at the head. Let them worry about, he would say. 2) In ancient Egypt, state was so precious that the government-elite diverted political attentions of the masses by forcefully employing them in endless pyramid construction works. The Albanian writer Ismail Kadare provides an insight to ancient Egypt in his historical novel, the Pyramid. Those works were deliberately started in periods of prosperity. Leisure time leads to free thought, which in turn, to politics. A man who stayed away from political might is the maverick, vagabond-spirited poet (and mathematician) Omar Khayyam. He rejected the vizierate offer of the Seljukid sultan Malikshah. The post went to Nizam al-Mulk. Khayyam had been right. Nizam would pay for it with his life under the dagger strikes of a Hashashin envoy sent out from the stronghold of Alamut. “On the night of Friday, the twelvth of Ramadan of the year 485, in Nihavand. the fida’I came in the guise of a Sufi the the litter of Nizam, who was being born to the tent of his women, and struck him with a knife, and by that blow he suffered martyrdom” (Lewis 1967: 47) 3) From the struggle between Papacy and empires, from the dissolving of feudalism, came into being in Europe a plurality of states with no linkages among them. They all had new characteristics. In the new sense of the word, state becomes a big political and social entity, which is stronger than the ancient states (Alvarez, 1959:71). 4) The intent of Machiavelli was not being scientific alone. He meant to gain the favor of the new political potency. Italy should unify. Who can achieve this? A prince in whose opinion all ways are legitimate to attain the goal. Machiavelli defined antic thoughts as well as the Middle Ages’ thoughts. For Aristo, for the Stoics and for the Christians the goal of the state is ethical. For Machiavelli power, aggressiveness, cunning and hypocrisy are means of obtaining desired goals (Sarıca, 1987: 51-53). 5) During his crowning ceremony Napoleon addressed to the audience in the following manner: ‘Ladies, gentlemen, what is this fuss and uproar about? Some of you might think: who is this Corsican to deserve the title of emperor. But each nobility does have its beginning and my nobility is commencing right here!” (Versan, 1976) 6) “Revolutions often spawn permanent presidents, emperors and kings. But the American Revolution did not end that way. Contrary to many historical examples, George Washington rejected personal power. He had no desire to become an American Caesar or Cromwell. Liberty, he said, was the basis for the American independence and the national character, ‘and whoever would dare to sap the foundation, or overturn the structure under whatever specious pretexts he may attempt it, will merit the bitterest execration and the severest punishment’ ” (Maslowski, April 1990: 23). 7) The military might of Prussians was admired by the Ottomans. The superstitious sultan, Mustapha III (1757- 1774) once asked Frederic II to send him three astrologers (fortune-tellers) as military advisors. The emperor replied that his astrologers were his staff officers and gave the following advice: “The sultan should study history, evaluate the former experiences and possess a good army” (Renkli Osmanlı Padisahları Albumu w.date). (This should not seem so horrifyingly a case of ignorance for the times. Though not totally relying on fortune-telling, many kings were known to touch the concept. In a historical novel Barbara Cartland depicts Napoleon himself as a superstitious man in need of the advice of his astrologer). The relationships of the Ottomans with the German military steadily grew stronger. Cetin Altan, in his autobiographical novel (the French version’s title is etroite surveillance) narrates his memories about his pasha grand father, who speaks German fluently with his guests. He had been trained in Germany as a young Ottoman officer. While preparing his pavillon for the reception of the German guests, the pasha engages in a frantic search for the missing small bust of Wilhelm II, a former souvenir of his days in Germany. The 318 Sinan Caya / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 190 ( 2015 ) 314 – 322 entire household get to work and finally they discover the tiny statue in one of the toilets. The pious grand mother had dumped “that profane idol” there once and forgotten all about it. 8) This reaction is expected not only because of the moral nature of the religion but also because of the religion’s vested interest itself is at stake on such cases. Strong ideologies come like substitutes and are accordingly menacing for true religions. I remember a class discussion in my senior high school class between an enthusiastic leftist student and the American literature teacher. At one point the teacher referred to communism as his new religion and the student stopped arguing as if struck by thunder all of a sudden. The modern world, for its part, makes us see that traditional religious beliefs are replaced by new systems like Nazism and Communism. These movements are often called pseudo-religions. I would rather claim that they are primitive specimens of religions of a new type, based not on supernatural foundations but instead on social foundations. [Thus] they are inspired by a marked hostility toward the previous creeds (Huxley, 1955: 62). 9) Nearly two decades ago a Turkish full general, a man reputed to be a harsh commander and “the last representative of the Prussian style” in the words of a journalist, could not obtain one higher position, even though the khaki color tradition would have favored it. Upon his obligatory retirement, his wife made a comment instead of the general himself. She said their rightful morsel was taken away not even from their mouths but from their very stomachs! At a time where almost all lips claim a post to be on opportunity to serve, this statement is at least free from possible hypocrisy in the sense that it dares define an official post as a personal privilege, in a rather straightforward manner. 10) The definition of politics is rather difficult: “There is no correct definition of politics. It seems to us best to retain an open mind and to accept the possibility of labeling as ‘political’ a wide range of activities, institutional arrangements and ideas than might seem immediately appropriate (Ponton & Gill, 1988: 9). 11) The Ottoman dynasty seems to have accepted this preparation and formation of future rulers from its earliest times onwards. Possible heirs to the throne were assigned to provinces (sancak) in Anatolia as governors at tender age. Selim the Grim (Selim the First) had ruled Trabzon; Magnificent Suleiman had ruled Manisa in their puberty years. The side-effect of able shehzades (princes) was a dispute over the throne after the deceased father, which lead to fratricides. Later, to avoid fratricide, a tradition developed whereby the princes were reared in a special spacious “cage” within the harem section of the Seraglio. The losers of the throne usually kept living in the cage. The ascender of the throne, a cultural product of the cage himself, was accordingly broken off from the real world and devoid of experience / Erlebnis with respect to earlier young sultans. 12) Again looking at the Ottoman History, when Mehmet the Conqueror favored and put into written code fratricide ―whereby he who first gets the throne may put his rivaling brothers to death― he did this for the sake of the survival of the state with a governmental outlook. On the other hand, when Magnificent Suleiman ordered the death of his son Mustapha, personal vested interest was the motive. Mustapha had been an able burgeoning statesman, a far better candidate than Selim the Sot (Selim the Second), who were to ascend the throne later. Mustapha could have revolted and replaced his father successfully, moral aspect put aside.“[During the Persian campaign Mustapha, governor of Amasia, was urgently summoned to the camp of his father].Before he entered, he put off the dagger sheathed at his side. He awaited his father in a gorgeous tent chamber. Suleiman never came. Instead, closed in the executioners. The giant Negroes stealthily crept on. [To insure discretion in such a deed as this the tongues of the castrated blacks were torn out and their ears pierced for deafness] (Downey, 1929: 248-249). Suleiman’s father Selim the Grim had taken the throne from his father Bayazid the Second by force, previously. (Selim’s army had beaten Bayazid’s army and Selim had accorded a forced retirement to his father). Suleiman probably took lesson in that event and chose to be too cautious and merciless against Mustapha in an even slightly similar probable development. 13) Here too the Ottomans had parallel pragmatic applications. One such practice was confiscation of the assets from private and persons or institutions, until the Reformation (Tanzimat) Era in 1839. Fotic (1994: 33, 39) gives an example of confiscation over an institution: “[During the reign of Selim II (1566-1574)] the central Ottoman authorities decided to confiscate all the church and monastery estates [in the Balkans] and sell them, giving them the possibility of buying everything back. With this measure the state exerted strong financial pressure on the already quite impoverished church. Most of the monasteries somehow managed to buy back the largest part of their estates. 319 Sinan Caya / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 190 ( 2015 ) 314 – 322 [The aim was] to standardize, define and coordinate with the Sharia one of the key parts of the legal system: land relations”. 14) As Versan (1976) put it, the more written laws there are, the more violations occur in practice. England, “the cradle of democracy” does not even possess a written constitution. A long state tradition constitutes the best remedy as a constitution. 15) The word “wisdom” may otherwise, have religious connotations. In fact, the equivalent of the word in Sufi Islam tradition is “hikmet”. It is a great virtue and represents a combination of pure intuition (irfan), on one hand and pure science (ilim) on the other hand. An open-hearted but thoroughly ignorant-of-positive-sciences person may attain the former alone through spiritual love and commitment. Even an atheist scholar may obtain the latter alone through ingenuity and hard toil. 16) The first contract in the Ottoman history about a century afterwards in 1808 between the provincial notables (ayan) and Mahmud the Second at Kagıthane: “According to this Document of Agreement (ened-I İttifak) the provincial governors confirmed their loyalty to the sultan and in return the sultan promised to levy taxes justly and fairly” (Shaw and Shaw 1992: 2). In the opinion of Ucok (1978: 57) some Turkish Law scholars accept this document as the first (primitive) constitutional text. 17) Perhaps the earliest attempts of what comes close to a crude census were used for military purposes. Bertolt Brecht refers to that in a satirical manner in his play Mother Courage and her Children from the mouth of one of his characters. A sergeant enumerates the benefits of war and says that in war time you keep record of all goods, of all men and everything is calculated. In fact the first census in Ottomans was realized during the reign of Mahmud the Second with military purposes and only the male population was counted. Visual Supplement The following pictures (Fig. 1, Fig. 2 & Fig. 3) were re-drawn with some adaptations from French comic-strips; by the author himself (S.C.); while studying that language intensively, in previous years. 320 Sinan Caya / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 190 ( 2015 ) 314 – 322 Fig. 1. Political history involves armed rebellions to authority, like the big French revolution. 321 Sinan Caya / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 190 ( 2015 ) 314 – 322 Fig. 2. Some nations had gone through unfortunate civil wars, like the United States. Fig. 3. The War of Roses in Britain represents another armed conflict between dynasties competing for the Throne. 322 Sinan Caya / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 190 ( 2015 ) 314 – 322 References Alvarez, A. (1959). Le droit international nouveau. Paris: Editions Pedone. Downey, F. (1929). The Grande Turke: Suleyman the Magnificent, Sultan of the Ottomans, New York: Minton, Balch & Company. Fotic, A. (1994). The Official Explanation for the Confiscation and Sale of Monasteries (Churches) and Their Estate at the Time of Selim II in Turcica, Revue d’ Etudes Turques, tome XXVI, Paris : Editions Peeters. Foucault, M. (Autumn 1979). Governmentality (Pasquale Pasquino, Trans. from Italian). Short Courses Unit, London: Polytechnic of Central London. Huxley, J. (1955). Splendeur et Misere de l’Oriente [From an Antique Land] (traduite par Josette Hesse), Paris : Arthaud. Lewis, B. (1967). The Assassins, a Radical Sect in Islam, London: Oxford University Press. Maslowski, P. (April 1990). “Army Values and American Values” in Military Review. Ponton, G. & Gill, P. (1988). Introduction to Politics, Worcester: Billing & Sons Ltd. Renkli Osmanlı Padisahları AlbUmU [The Colored Album of the Ottoman Sultans] (n.d.). Ankara: Kurtulus Yayınları. Roth, K. H. (December 1994). “Revisionist Tendencies in Historical Research into German Fascism”, (B. McLoughlin, Trans.) in International Review of Social History, Volume 39, Part 3. Sarıca, M. (1987). “YUz Soruda Siyasî DUsUnce Tarihi” [History of Political Thinking as Comprised within a Hundred Questions],Cagaloglu- İstanbul: Gercek Yayınevi. Shaw, S. J & Shaw, E. K. (1992). History of the Ottoman Empire and Modern Turkey, Volume II, Cambridge University Press. Ucok, C. (1987). Siyasal Tarih (1789-1960) [Political History], Ankara: Sevinc Matbaası. Versan, V. (1976). Unpublished Class Notes on Constitutional Law [of the Repuplic of Turkey], Istanbul: Bosphorous University. Wit, D. (1953). Comparative Political Institutions, New York: Henry Holt & Company. 
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The author investigates the original three parts of the authority: the Education Department, the Science and Art Department, and the Charity Commission. $13.50 PUBLIC EXAMINATIONS IN ENGLAND 1850-1900 JOHN R O A C H A detailed historical account of the origins of the modern examination system in England. Professor Roach discusses the assumptions and intentions behind the introduction of examinations, shows how far the aspirations of the reformers were achieved, and considers the results of their policies. $13.50 m*m Cambridge University Press ^ J R p ! ^ 32 East 57th Street, New York, N . Y . 10022 244 H I S T O R Y O F EDUCATION Q U A R T E R L Y h ttp s://d o i.o rg /10.1017/S0018268000020598 D o w n lo ad ed fro m h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re . C arn eg ie M ello n U n iversity , o n 06 A p r 2021 at 01:06:16 , su b ject to th e C am b rid g e C o re term s o f u se, availab le at h ttp s://w w w .cam b rid g e.o rg /co re/term s . https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018268000020598 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms C O M I N G I N T H E F A L L I S S U E O F T H E Q U A R T E R L Y S P E C I A L I S S U E Education and Social Change in English-speaking Canada Contents I N T R O D U C T I O N by Michael B . Katz T H E C H I L D , T H E F A M I L Y , AND T H E S T A T E Victorian Origins of Juvenile Delinquency: A Canadian Experience by Susan E . 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work_m2f36fqj7bam3iaw2e7t7hydgq	----	Liliane Louvel interview EJES_A_1369268.1.1 NEJE 1369268 19 September 2017 Initial CE: ER QA: XX Coll:XX QC:XX EuropEan Journal of English studiEs, 2017 Vol. 21, no. 3, 222–226 https://doi.org/10.1080/13825577.2017.1369268 Interview with Liliane Louvel Anna Kérchy and Catriona McAra Anna Kérchy and Catriona McAra: As Karen Jacobs points out in her introduction to your Poetics of the Iconotext (2011), your analytical take is worthy of the attention of scholars of illuminated medieval manuscripts and hypertext enhanced digital e-books alike. Yours is certainly a kaleidoscopic methodology that fuses insights from art criticism with those of phenomenological philosophy, the psychology of perception and the physiology of vision to explain the reading/viewing experience in terms of Greco-Roman myths of representation that are applicable to both old and new literary and visual media. Yet are there any major differences in the iconotextual poetics of old and new media? Liliane Louvel: I think new virtual digitally produced documents or screen shots will have a strong influence on people and as a consequence on literary works, as people will become used to looking at screens on which a poly/intermedial ‘spectacle’ will increasingly be pre- sented to them. ‘Ekphrasis in Our Digital Age’ was the subject of a workshop in Berlin. And under the aegis of Renate Brosch (University of Stuttgart), we are preparing a special issue for Poetics Today which will be dedicated to this subject. In the special issue I try to define types of ekphrasis and see to what extent iconotextual poetics has to adapt to new media, although the main features of the former theory are still valid. Inter/polymediality and using non-physically present documents, i.e. a compound of text and image, is now at everyone’s fingertips. This is in addition to its being used to create swiftly changing images that are even synchronised with sound, music, which makes inter- medial productions out of them. Likewise, in the phenomenology (Merleau-Ponty) of reader/ spectator’s response, perception remains crucial to analysing new types of visually oriented works. I also think that cognition and the new paths it offers may come in handy to explain the brains and the impact of IT-oriented works and the IT era. Anna Kérchy and Catriona McAra: Your theoretical argumentation willingly embraces metaphors that are connected to female embodiment. These include ‘the pregnant moment’, ‘the maternal model of metapictoriality’, ‘the maternal mode of generating images’. Can you expand on the place of the (represented/representing) body throughout the iconotextual interpretation process? Could corporeal narratology and text/image theory mutually com- plement one another’s methodological apparatuses? Liliane Louvel: I do think that the role of the body has been ignored too much by literary poetics at large. The dynamics of reading must take into account the reader’s response: the reader has to be attentive to her [sic] own reaction while reading/seeing a literary text in her mind, what I call the ‘pictorial third’ in my latest book Le tiers pictural (PUR, 2010) and © 2017 informa uK limited, trading as taylor & francis group CONTACT anna Kérchy akerchy@gmail.com AQ1 AQ2 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 mailto: akerchy@gmail.com http://www.tandfonline.com http://essenglish.org http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/13825577.2017.1369268&domain=pdf NEJE 1369268 19 September 2017 Initial CE: ER QA: XX Coll:XX QC:XX EUROPEAN JOURNAL OF ENGLISH STUDIES 223 develop at large there. [This volume has just been translated by Angeliki Tseti as The Pictorial Third and submitted for publication.] I do think that corporeal narratology is essential in text/ image theory and is part of the apparatus. The notion of apparatuses has been developed strongly in Toulouse by French scholars, and in particular by Philippe Ortel, working on the basis of Michel Foucault and Giorgio Agamben. Bernard Vouilloux was also invited to share in this series of conferences. The ‘pictorial third’ is the emergence on the reader/voyeur’s inner screen of an image. This is neither the one contrived by the narrator nor the one the reader holds in book form in his or her hand but an image developed out of the ekphrasis that hovers in between the two other images. I construct this idea on the basis of Jacques Derrida’s concept of the ‘third book’, which he elaborated on when writing about Edmond Jabès in L’écriture et la différence. It is also the result of what Louis Marin identifies as un événement de lecture, a ‘reading event’: when reading some manuscripts of Stendhal’s, he came across sketches that the author had drawn on the handwritten pages. They came as a shock to him and stopped him in his reading tracks. They then lingered on in his mind’s eye, as a visual memory of the reading event/ advent. Marin recognised that the event his body had alerted him to was significant, and constructed a theoretical tool on the basis of it. Jeanette Winterson also evoked the call launched by art in her essay on art objects. She plays on the grammatical possibilities offered by the word ‘object’ in her ‘when art objects’, meaning that art calls for our attention by means of our body’s stirrings which then alert us to art when it ‘objects’. Anna Kérchy and Catriona McAra: In your analytical dialogues with experimental writers like Virginia Woolf you systematically explore pictorial descriptions that are at the heart of the novelistic narrative as symptomatic manifestations of the way language is intricately intertwined with its visual discontents at an intermedial crossroad that elicits ‘ineffable pleasure’. How much has your ‘iconotextual poetics’ been informed by the feminist agenda to destabilise established boundaries and binaries? How does your work relate to feminist iconographers like Wendy Steiner who emphatically situate text/image relationships within the context of the hegemonic domination that is perpetuated by the sacrificial rhetoric of patriarchy, colonialism, imperialism and their efforts to maintaining cultural domination? Is there a political potential to the ‘ineffable pleasure’ emerging from our recognition of the ‘pluriform, oxymoronic fusion’ of verbal and visual registers? In The Poetics of the Iconotext you write about the ethical function of images as well as ‘the pictorial as the return of the repressed of the poetic text’, and call ekphrasis a gendered concept. Could you elaborate on these ideas, and would it be perhaps possible to relate them to each other? Liliane Louvel: Yes, this is exactly what I argued in the first chapter of Le tiers pictural. I insisted on the hegemony and what has been called by some critics the patriarchal domi- nation and the imperialism of language over image. I see this former paragonal or agonistic view of the word/image relationship as an age-old inheritance and a perspective that frames the relationship in agonistic terms, whereas my vision is much more irenic. I see the word/ image relationship in terms of a transaction, or better, a dialogue between the two media. David Kennedy evokes an ekphrastic encounter in his book (2012), and Stephen Cheeke writes about Writing for Art (2008). I also stress the fact that language and image have long been envisaged in gendered terms. Lessing, for instance, suggested that language is more on the virile side, whereas image is much more supple (even treacherous) and feminine. The Burkean dichotomy between the sublime and the beautiful still has its followers. 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 NEJE 1369268 19 September 2017 Initial CE: ER QA: XX Coll:XX QC:XX 224 A. KÉRCHY AND C. MCARA Anna Kérchy and Catriona McAra: In his 1980 collection The Language of Images, W. J. T. Mitchell greeted the emerging collaboration between ‘practitioners of the words’ (liter- ary critics) and practitioners of the image (art historians) that facilitated ‘the no man’s land between the realms of word and image’ as a research field on its own right. In their editorial introduction to Picturing the Language of Images (2013), Nancy Pedri and Laurence Petit, more than three decades later, acknowledge the mediating role of critics like Mitchell, Mieke Bal or yourself in increasingly intense collaborations between image and word scholars as well as in the development of ‘text and image’ studies into a well-established discipline within the humanities. How do you see the evolution of text/image theory? What are the most fruitful current areas of investigation? Has a genuine dialogue been established between the English- and the French-speaking communities of text/image specialists? Are there any dangers of this fundamentally vanguardist, nomadic and dynamic research field (interdis- ciplinary applied iconology) becoming fossilised/homogenised concomitant with its insti- tutional canonisation? Liliane Louvel: I do think word/image theory and studies still have a lot to offer. There is now ISIS, the International Society for Intermedial Studies. In France SAIT, Society for the Study of Arts, Images and Texts in the English-Speaking World, is another society that is devoted to intermedial studies, which shows that sister associations keep developing and prospering. The success of the triennial IAWIS/IAERTI (International Association of Word and Image Studies) conferences and the number of workshops held during various European association conferences, ESSE [European Society for the Study of English] conferences, as well as the success of this area of studies in North America (Canada and the USA) demon- strate word/image studies’ vitality. Books and journals keep on being published in traditional printed or online format (see textimage, edited by Olivier Leplatre). French-speaking commu- nities in France but also in Canada (in the research projects of Bertrand Gervais in Montreal, and Julie Leblanc in Toronto), in Portugal (at the Institute of Comparative Literature in Porto in the work of Rui Carvalho Homem and Rosa Martelo) and other French-speaking countries testify to the will to open dialogues between the two scholarly communities. I think that word/image theory will have to take into account what was the subject of your first question that is the quickly changing modalities of the visible, the impact of the new forms of Information Technology but also the works of contemporary artists who often resort to many types of dialogue between word and image; conceptual art often has to resort to long explanations. (See the path-breaking work of ‘Art and Language’ in Britain during the seventies.) This is also the inheritance of Duchamp’s ‘nominalism’, when he threw out to the public that the gesture constituted the work of art. Everyone then had to explain the gesture and the artist’s standpoint. Language took over the role of the image, and once more the latter had to recede into the background. See the impact of explanatory plaques in art galleries, where people spend more time deciphering them than properly looking at the images. Even paintings by the Old Masters... I don’t think a fossilisation of this nomadic research will occur, for it is both dynamic and nomadic. For instance, we are beginning to see the emergence of the description of instal- lations and performances in literary works that has replaced an earlier taste for the tamer pictures of the Italian Renaissance, Dutch masters and the Impressionists. This opens up new ways of writing ekphrasis and creative ways of rethinking the relationship between evolving art (moving, changing, not fixed), such as in Siri Hustvedt’s work, when the narrator describes boxes, conceptual art and performances. Reminiscent of Bill Viola’s videos, perhaps, Will Self 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 NEJE 1369268 19 September 2017 Initial CE: ER QA: XX Coll:XX QC:XX EUROPEAN JOURNAL OF ENGLISH STUDIES 225 has also staged and described an apparatus that is constituted by six screens showing a video in his Dorian. Montage is a wonderful technique used by Barbara Hodgson in The Sensualist where she integrated pictures of anatomy, boxes, books and Vesalius woodcuts in her book. Once it has liberated itself from the canonical ekphrastic habits and dared to mix all kinds of objects in complex apparatuses, the inventory of possibilities offered by word and image is amazing and full of vitality. Anna Kérchy and Catriona McAra: In Le tiers pictural you introduce the concept of the ‘pictorial third’ to avoid the pitfalls of dualistic thinking. You describe an intimate negotia- tion of sense, a ‘moment of in-betweenness when the text stretches towards the image and the image takes flight towards the text, and in the mind of the re-cognisant reader the text trembles, vibrating a visual syncope as a counterpoint to the fugue of the text’ (translation by A. K.). Was the use of a remarkably poetic style to formulate an important theoretical point here a strategic choice on your part? How do you relate to French post-structuralist feminists such as Kristeva’s or Cixous’ attempts to reinvent symbolical language in search of an écriture/ vision féminine that is motivated by transverbal psychic energies of the semiotic realm? Your writing abounds with neologisms, like ‘voyure’– a portmanteau combining contemplative la lecture (reading) and rebellious la vision (seeing). Do you consider language games (e.g. visual puns) important instruments in iconotextual investigations? The motto you chose for Le tiers pictural is a line from Bernard Noël: ‘Art is the outside where the inside exiles to make itself visible as a return with no return.’ Can you explain what this bon mot means for you? Liliane Louvel: I think the French have a very special relationship to language. We have seen over the years how Barthes became ever more ‘poetic’ while writing, going as far as to write Fragments du discours amoureux, which is often considered to be a novel. Hélène Cixous (who taught us Moll Flanders during our university studies, by the way) is also an apt representative of someone who performs this French style of writing. It often verges on the creative, because we as writers pay attention to words, and words often lead to/contain further ideas. Of course, Derrida took this possibility to an extreme when his deconstructive method led to words being so deconstructed words that they became almost unintelligible or turned into a system which was not very productive. But still he was so path-breaking in his fruitful manner of writing-as-thinking and thinking-as-writing that a lot of French scholars employ his method in often more subdued and perhaps less inspired ways. Once more, I do think that we have to pay more attention to our bodies and our... uncon- scious, is that the right word? When a word demands our attention, or even when one word comes out of our pen or keyboard rather than another. I used the term ‘voyure’ because I had no other word to pinpoint what I wanted to say; this is that we are standing in a hybridic sort of position when we read the description of an image, that of a particular work of art. We are then both a reader and a seer or voyeur. I think language ‘games’ are indeed important for they are the very stuff our thoughts are made of. I would not call them ‘games’, because this makes them sound too light but linguistic poetic resources that we have to tap into. As for Bernard Noël, his work is very well suited to demonstrating what I try to do meth- odologically as he is both a poet and a literary thinker/critic. In the poetic sentence I chose from Les yeux dans la couleur (Eyes in Colour), he expresses what I was trying to do. This is to say that ‘the pictorial third’ is very much inside us, being a very private phenomenon for the poet, too, who makes it visible by giving it a shape for the reader to experience her own 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 NEJE 1369268 19 September 2017 Initial CE: ER QA: XX Coll:XX QC:XX 226 A. KÉRCHY AND C. MCARA ‘pictorial third’ with, thus returning the image to the outside where it first belonged without being able to return it to the inside, for once this has been experienced it has already changed. I hope this is comprehensible. Notes on contributor Liliane Louvel is Emeritus Professor of British Literature at the University of Poitiers and specialises in contemporary British literature and word/image relationships. She has written numerous articles on the subject and she has also edited several collections of essays. With Leena Leilitta and Sabine Kim, she edited Intermedial Arts: Disrupting Remembering and Transforming Media (Cambridge Scholars, 2012), and with Laurence Petit and Karen Brown, she edited Musing in the Museum, a special issue of Word & Image (2014). She has published five books on the relationship between word and image: L’œil du texte (Toulouse PUM, 1998), The Picture of Dorian Gray, Le double miroir de l’art (Ellipses, 2000), Texte/ image, images à lire et textes à voir (PUR, 2002), Le tiers pictural (PUR, 2010) and Poetics of the Iconotext, translated by Laurence Petit and edited by Karen Jacobs (Ashgate, 2011). Le tiers pictural has just been translated by Angeliki Tseti and will be published next year by Routledge. Liliane Louvel is the president of ESSE and IAWIS/IAERTI, and has been made Chevalier dans l’ordre de la Légion d’Honneur (2011). E-mail: liliane.louvel@wanadoo.fr 5 10 15 mailto:liliane.louvel@wanadoo.fr Notes on contributor 
work_m3i3hil7izdihmzeqeyi4patpy	----	Microsoft Word - OppyOnLevinson.doc 1 Penultimate version of: (1992) The British Journal of Aesthetics, 32, 153-161 On Defining Art Historically Graham Oppy In “Defining Art Historically” (BJA, 1979, pp.232-250), Jerrold Levinson defends the following definition: (R) X is a work of art at time t iff X is an object of which it is true at t that some person or persons having the appropriate proprietary right over X, non- passingly intends (or intended) X for regard-as-a-work-of-art, i.e. regard in any way (or ways) in which objects in the extension of “art work” prior to t are or were correctly (or standardly) regarded. (p.240) Moreover, he suggests that this definition can form the generative component of a recursive definition of art, in harness with the initial condition: (I) Objects of the ur-arts are art works at t0 (and thereafter). It seems to me that there are numerous difficulties which confront this definition. In particular, there are difficulties involving: (1) the inclusion of a condition involving “appropriate proprietary rights”; (2) the reliance upon the intentions of independent individuals; (3) Levinson’s account of the notion of “regard-as-a-work-of-art”; (4) the implicit insistence that art is necessarily backward-looking; Since Levinson’s paper has recently received some favourable press (e.g. see Noel Carroll, “Art, Practice, And Narrative”, Monist, pp.140-156, at p.155n.9), I think that some discussion of these problems is in order. I shall consider them in turn. (1) Levinson explains his inclusion of the proprietary-right condition as follows: What this amounts to is basically ownership -- you can’t “artify” what you do not own and thus have no right to dispose of. All your intentions will not avail in such a case, because another person’s intention, that of the owner, has priority over yours. (Of course, if he is not opposed to your intention, he can grant you permission to make his possession into a work of art.) (p.237) I find this view counter-intuitive, not least because it requires that many of our ordinary judgements about the artiness of architecture are -- or at least might be -- unfounded. Surely a building which has been owned by none but philistines may nonetheless be a work of art! Moreover, there are questions about some kinds of grafitti (“subway art”), pavement art, etc. And there are also puzzles about how exactly an owner can grant someone else permission to turn a possession into a work of art. 2 The proprietary-right condition is hardly an essential part of Levinson’s definition; and the simplest way to meet the difficulties which it creates for Levinson’s definition is simply to drop it. Henceforth, I shall suppose that the definition has been modified in this way. (2) One idea which is crucial to Levinson’s definition is that a work of art must be a thing which is intended for regard as a work of art. According to Levinson, there are three likely ways in which a connection between current works of art and earlier ones might logically be demanded of an art-aware art-maker, viz: (a) via the making of something which is externally similar to previous art works; (b) via the making of something which is intended to afford the same kind of pleasure or experience which has been afforded by previous art works; and (c) via the making of something which is intended for regard or treatment as previous art works have been regarded or treated. (Levinson discounts the thought that there are special aesthetic attitudes and/or special artistic purposes as “doomed to failure”.) However, there are some fairly obvious problems which Levinson finds for (a) and (b) -- and so he is led to the conclusion that (c) must be correct. There are two problems which I see for Levinson’s position here. First, there is the problem that, in the absence of further constraints, intentions are cheap. Consider any old thing which I’ve made -- e.g. that mess of broken crockery in the kitchen which resulted from my last temper tantrum, and which has not yet been cleared up. Suppose that I form the intention that -- until I clean up the mess -- I am, and any visitors to my house are, to regard this mess in the way in which works of art have hitherto been regarded. Surely it can’t be this easy to make a work of art! (Moreover, surely it is the case that the mess in my kitchen just isn’t the sort of thing which can be a work of art.) If there are no further constraints on my intentions, then it seems that, with respect to anything at all, I can form the intention that it is to be regarded or treated as previous works of art have been regarded or treated. But I do not think that just anything at all can be a work of art. (Suppose I form the general intention that every single thing is to be regarded or treated as previous works of art have been regarded or treated. Does that make every single thing a work of art?) Moreover, if further constraints are to be supplied, from where could these constraints come, if not from the objects under consideration? But, if we accept this, then we shall have given up the project of providing a historical definition of art. A second problem for Levinson’s suggestion that a work of art must be a thing which is intended for regard as works of art have hitherto been regarded is that it seems quite dubious that such intentions are necessary for the production of art. Levinson (correctly) accuses institutional accounts of art of “coming close to conflating art and self-declared art, art and socially situated art, art and declared art” (p.233); here, however, it seems that the same sort of accusation can be directed at his own view. Indeed, the very examples which he uses to discredit institutional accounts of art seems to undermine his own account as well: Consider the farmer’s wife at a country fair in Nebraska, who sets an assembly of egg shells and white glue down on the corner of a table for folks to look at. Isn’t it 3 possible she created art? Consider a solitary Indian along the Amazon who steals off from his non-artistic tribe to arrange coloured stones in a clearing, not outwardly investing them with special position in the world. Might not this also be art (and, note, before any future curator decides that it is)? (p.233) Levinson tries to get around this objection by introducing the notion of an art- unconscious intention: intending for regard in some specific way @ characterised in terms of intrinsic features, where @ is in fact a way in which some past art works have been correctly regarded, though this fact is not known to the intender. But this won’t do. How could it matter whether the solitary Indian in Levinson’s story belongs to an earlier age which predates the rise of art in the world, rather than on a current, geographically isolated primitive culture in which there is no art? Yet Levinson is committed to the view that, in the latter case, the Indian’s product is art (because it is the product of an “art-unconscious intentions”) but, in the former case, the Indian’s product is not art (since it cannot then be the product of an “art-unconscious intention”). On the basis of these arguments, I think that it is reasonable to conclude that position (c) cannot be defended. Furthermore, I would suggest that there is a fourth way in which a connection between current works of art and earlier ones might be demanded of an art-aware art-maker, viz: (d) via the making of something which is internally similar to previous artworks (where this internal similarity is not to be spelled out in terms of aesthetic attitudes or artistic purposes). However, I will not here pause to consider whether a proposal which conforms to (d) could be used to save Levinson’s definition. (One obvious potential problem is that a proposal which conforms to (d) will surely have the makings of a non-historical definition of art. Hence, the price of finding a satisfactory account of the connection between present and past art may be to give up the project on which Levinson has embarked.) (3) Another important difficulty for Levinson’s definition involves his explication of the notion of regard-as-a-work--of-art. According to Levinson, this notion is to be taken to mean regard in any of the ways works of art existing prior to now have been correctly regarded. In defence of this view, Levinson quite plausibly argues that it is hopeless to try to describe this regard by specifying fixed characteristics -- e.g. “with full attention”, “contemplating”, “giving special notice to appearance”, “with emotional openness”, etc. -- because it is impossible to locate a unitary aesthetic attitude or regard common to all of the ways we approach, have approached, and will approach works of art. However, the important question is whether he has provided a satisfactory alternative. I do not think that he has. The problem is simple: There is no doubt that art has been, and is still, properly regarded as a hedge against inflation -- but it is not true that everything which is properly regarded as a hedge against inflation is art. (This example can be multiplied in obvious ways -- art is also quite properly regarded as “something of great value”, “one of the highest pinnacles of human achievement”, “an important ingredient in the education of the young”, etc.) 4 Levinson almost sees the possibility of this sort of objection. He considers a case in which Italian Renaissance portraits come to be used for thermal insulation, and are found to be quite suitable for this task. In order to rule out the conclusion that it would then be the case that anything subsequently intended by its maker to be used for thermal insulation is art, Levinson claims that can appeal to a notion of correct regard for works of art. But it is hard to see how anything short of an appeal to the notion of aesthetic regard -- i.e. to the sort of notion which Levinson explicitly disavows -- can provide an answer in the case of hedges against inflation. Moreover, it is debatable whether Levinson really has an answer in the case of thermal insulation. After all, in the imagined case in which there is an unparalled need for insulation, there would be nothing incorrect in one’s regarding Italian Renaissance portraits to be suitable for use as thermal insulation. Of course, one is tempted to say that this would not be to treat the portraits as art. But, equally plainly, this line is not available to Levinson. In “Refining Art Historically”, Levinson attempts to meet this objection. He suggests that what is needed is the notion of “relatively complete ways of regard”. I do not think that this response is adequate. In particular, I do not see that there is any way of understanding the notion of a “relatively complete way of regard” on which Levinson’s suggestion is plausible. On one construal, a “relatively complete way of regard” would be a way of regard which includes enough of the individual ways in which works of art have hitherto been regarded (e.g. “with attention to brilliance of colour”, “with attention to tonal contrast”, “with attention to nuances of hue”, “with attention to the interrelationships of shapes”, etc.). Even if we ignore the delicate question of how to determine what is enough, there is an obvious difficulty for this suggestion -- namely, that there are many things which have been given relatively complete ways of regard (in this sense), and yet which are not works of art. Consider clouds, for example. There are numerous aesthetic predicates which are properly applied to clouds -- and so there are numerous individual ways of regard which are proper for clouds. If we collect these individual ways of regard together, we shall have a “relatively complete way of regard”. But there can be no purely quantitative test which disqualifies this “way of regard” and yet which does not also disqualify “ways of regard” which are appropriate to works of art. On a different construal, a “relatively complete way of regard” would be a way of regard which fails to omit certain crucial individual ways in which works of art have hitherto been regarded. This suggestion seems more obviously hopeless than the first -- for, given the recent history of art, it is hard to think that there are any such “crucial individual ways”. Given that readymades, found objects, and the “objects” of conceptual art are all genuinely art, it seems very doubtful that there must be “crucial individual ways of regard” to which artists at any given time must attend. (Perhaps it might be suggested that what is needed is the inclusion of “crucial individual ways” which rely directly on the concept of art -- e.g. “with attention to its location in the history of art”, “with attention to its status as a work of art“, etc. However, this would rule out any art produced with “art-unconscious intentions”.) Finally, it might be suggested that “relatively complete ways of regard” are structured ways of regarding works of art (and not merely mereological sums of individual ways of regarding works of art). That is, it might be said that there are certain constellations of individual ways of regarding works of art which serve as the touchstone for the future production of art. But, again, this suggestion seems to run counter to the revolutionary nature of modern art. Duchamp’s “Fountain” was not 5 intended for regard in any relatively complete way in which contemporary sculpture had been regarded. (Duchamp did not intend that people should look at his urinal in the way that they looked at a Rodin. Perhaps he may have hoped that some people would be stupid enough to do so -- that would have been an even better joke. But “Fountain” was clearly intended to be “cerebral” in a way that no previous sculpture had been.) Perhaps there is another way in which the notion of “relatively complete ways of regard” can be construed. However, I do not see that there is any way that Levinson can use it to rescue his theory: for either the notion is given no precise interpretation (in which case the definition of “work of art” may be extensionally correct, but in which case the definition of “work of art” will also be unilluminating); or else the notion is given a precise interpretation (in which case the definition of “work of art” is not even extensionally adequate). (4) The final difficulty for Levinson’s definition which I wish to discuss concerns his insistence that art is necessarily backward-looking. We have already seen that there seem to be intuitively acceptable counter-examples to this claim. However, I now wish to argue that Levinson’s definition requires that the concept of art developed in a way which is almost certainly contrary to the facts. Levinson’s view seems to be that there must be parallel development of art and the concept of art. Since an art-aware art-maker is one who forms the intention that certain objects are to be regarded in ways that works of art have hitherto been correctly regarded, it seems that an art-aware art-maker must have the concept of a work of art. However, there is a widely accepted story which holds that nothing at all like our conception of art and the arts developed until about the seventeenth century. Of course, this conception of art and the arts had antecedents in earlier ideas -- e.g. in the Greek conception of an art. Nonetheless, “art as understood in Western culture” -- i.e. the notion which Levinson claims to be investigating -- did not have a gradual develop in the way that Levinson’s theory suggests. (I do not see how Levinson can account for the fact that the painting of the fourteenth century was art at that time even though nothing like our concept of art had yet been developed.) (5) There may be further difficulties which face Levinson’s definition. In particular, I think it could well be disputed that the primary notion to be defined is that of “work of art at time t” rather than simply “work of art”. However, I shall close my criticism by describing a case which -- given suitable modifications -- I think provides severe difficulties for any definition of art which seeks to characterise works of art exclusively in terms of relations between those objects and intentions or actions involving other entities (such as “the art world” or “prior works of art”). Consider an artist X who makes several attempts at a painting. Suppose that X is a marvel at execution, but not very good at composition. Each time that he starts out to make the painting, he has a very clear idea of what the final product will look like -- but, each time, after he has performed only a few brush strokes, he realises that the clear idea which he has is a clear idea of a dreadful painting! (By hypothesis, the realisation is independent of the brush strokes which he makes -- it is the 6 contemplation of his clear idea which leads to the realisation of the worthlessness of the intended product.) Nonetheless, out of sheer bloody-mindedness, X forces himself to finish each canvas, as a punishment for his compositional failure -- and then he destroys the canvas in a fit of rage. Up until the time at which X realises that the idea upon which he is working will lead to a terrible painting, he does intend to produce a work which will be regarded in the ways in which works of art have hitherto correctly been regarded. However, it does not seem to be correct to say that, at that time, he has already created a work of art. (Otherwise, it seems that we would quickly be forced to the absurd conclusion that, at the moment at which a bare canvas is created in a factory, it is already a work of art -- since it is produced with the intention that, at some later time, and after it has undergone certain modifications, it will be regarded in the ways in which works of art have hitherto correctly been regarded.) However, after the time at which X realises that his idea is an idea of a terrible painting, there is no sense in which X has the intention to produce a work which will be regarded in the ways in which works of art have hitherto correctly been regarded -- for, thereafter, it is X's intention that no-one shall regard the work in any way at all and, moreover, it is also his intention that he shall soon destroy it. So it seems that -- contrary to my intuition -- Levinson’s definition must lead to the conclusion that X is not producing works of art. One intuition which underlies this case is that definitions of art which seeks to characterise works of art in terms of relations between those objects and intentions and actions involving other entities will have great difficulties in giving a proper account of bad works of art. I do not see that there is any way that Levinson’s account can be modified to explain how, in the case described, X has managed to produce a bad work of art. Levinson discusses an example due to Sartwell. This example is intended to make the same point as the example I have just given. However, I do not think that this example is convincing. The difficulty is that the success of this objection depends upon the assumption that a “fake” is not a work of art. I doubt that this assumption should be granted. (Certainly, it should not be granted without some further argument.) It might be thought that ordinary usage supports the view that “fakes” are not works of art. Surely, if something is a “fake X” then it is not an “X”! Well, certainly, a fake Rembrandt is not a Rembrandt. But a fake Persian carpet is a carpet; it’s just not a Persian carpet. Equally, a fake Rembrandt painting is a painting; it’s just not a Rembrandt painting. So far, then, we don’t have any reason to say that a “fake” is not a work of art. (Note that we don’t use the expression “fake work of art”. This suggests that, if anything, ordinary usage is on the side of the view which says that “fakes” are works of art.) Moreover, there are theoretical reasons for holding that “fakes” are works of art. In particular, there is the point that it really would be odd to say that a fake Rembrandt painting is not a painting. Yet surely anything which is a painting is a work of art. (In general, it seems odd to suppose that the ontological status of entities should depend upon the intentions of their creators. A really inept copy of a Rembrandt performed with no intention to deceive, but done rather as a painterly exercise, surely counts as a (bad) work of art. Why, then, should a much better copy performed with intention to deceive, not count as a work of art?) No doubt this issue needs to be discussed further. However, I think that enough has been said to show that it would be unwise to rely on an objection to 7 historical definitions of art which supposes that fakes are not works of art. Other cases can be invoked to make the same point, but without the controversial assumption. (6) I mentioned earlier that one might think that Levinson’s definition can be rescued by framing it solely in terms of connections between present objects and prior works of art (rather than in terms of connections between intentions involving present objects and prior works of art). Moreover, I also noted that a likely problem for this proposal is that it will provide material for a non-historical definition of art (in terms of whatever it is that specifies what kinds of connections which obtain between present objects and prior works of art can serve to bring it about that those present objects are also works of art). I think that now it might be useful to explore this proposal a little more. There certainly seems to be something correct in the suggestion that art feeds on its past. Much art can quite properly be understood as a modification to, or as a reaction against, earlier art. However, this is not to say that art can be defined in historical terms -- i.e. that the content of the notion work of art can be captured in some sort of recursive definition which recapitulates the history of art. Moreover, there are a priori reasons for thinking that it is unlikely that the concept work of art can be given a recursive definition of the sort which Levinson proposes. In particular, there is the difficulty that we need to be able to account for the fact that we can make modal and counterfactual judgements which involve the notion of a work of art, e.g. that Duchamp’s urinal might not have been a work of art (if, say, he had chosen a different urinal to exhibit). If something is a work of art just in case it occupies the right niche in the actual history of art, then it is hard to see how we can make theoretical sense of what appears to be a perfectly reasonable judgement. Now, to this, it might be replied that what Levinson has given is merely a definition of the concept work of art in the actual world -- i.e. that Levinson has told us how the actual extension of the concept work of art is determined. But, in that case, it is clear that we have not been given a definition of the concept work of art. Moreover, it is not clear how Levinson’s account of the determination of the actual extension of the concept work of art can be extended to a complete account of that concept. Perhaps it might be said that something is a work of art in a world just in case it occupies the right niche in the history of art in that world. But now we have a problem: for how do we identify “the history of art” in a given world? It seems that we need some non-historical criteria which will tell us that a world has (or does not have) a history of art. Yet, if we have such criteria, it seems that we shall be well on the way to a non-historical definition of art. In sum: it seems to me that, if the concept work of art can be defined, it is highly unlikely that it can be defined in historical terms. Of course, this conclusion immediately raises a host of new questions; however, I cannot hope to pursue them here. 
work_m4l7coqfy5evrp3dvr3i7awr34	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 11 December 2014 Towards a Latin Europe Review of: Vers une Europe Latine: Acteurs et enjeux des échanges culturels entre la France et l’Italie fasciste, Catherine Fraixe and Christophe Poupault, eds., Brussels: P.I.E. Lang, 2014, 330 pp., €42.80, ISBN-10: 2875740474 ISBN-13: 978- 2875740472 Romy Golan In the years between the wars, Republican France and Fascist Italy vied for international regard as the foremost ‘Latin’ nation. The fourteen essays in this book examine a network of people whose activities were characterized by the various declensions of a few key terms: Latinité/Latinità, Romanité/Romanità, and Méditerranéanisme/Mediterraneità—concepts that combined a European transnationalism with enhanced nationalism. In their opening essays, Catherine Fraixe and Christophe Poupault, the volume editors, examine the ebb and flow of these concepts back to the nineteenth century. In 1831, the French historian Jules Michelet proposed a union — as much cultural as political — of people of Latin language, or pan-Latinism, as a counterpart to the emerging theories of pan-Slavism. In the 1870s, Latinité found a new voice among the champions of regionalism when Frédéric Mistral penned his Ode to the Latin Race (1878) to promote Occitan, the original Provencal dialect; soon thereafter, the Latin fraternity was injected with a new dose of nationalism by Charles Maurras in defence of a Union Latine. In the wake of World War I, France and Italy portrayed themselves as ‘Latin sisters’, common heirs to the classical tradition who had stood together against a ‘barbaric’ German foe. This union was sealed during the years of the ‘call to order’ that followed the Allies’ victory over Germany, at a time when modernist and anti-modernist artists alike made pilgrimages to view the Old Masters in the Louvre and in Italian museums. Latinité then receded as France witnessed with some trepidation the rapid rise and violent military takeover of Italy by the Fascists in the early 1920s, engendering reciprocal mistrust and tension between the two nations. Soon enough, Latinité returned to service as a bulwark against the rearmament of Germany and an antidote to the spectre of National Socialism after 1933. The temporary rapprochement between Italy and France culminated in 1935 with the Treaty of Rome signed by Benito Mussolini and French foreign affairs minister Pierre Laval. Just months later, however, France broke off diplomatic relations with Italy in response to the latter’s invasion of Ethiopia and the declaration of Empire. While the victory of the French Socialist Popular Front in June 1936 distanced the two nations even further, relations between the two were Romy Golan Towards a Latin Europe 2 not totally severed until June 10, 1940, when Italy, siding with Germany, declared war to France. There is a difficulty, however, in reviewing the various arguments developed by the authors in this book, which is that the people who evoked Latinité held very different views of what it meant. One thing is clear, however, and that is that, throughout these turbulent years, the idea of Latinité imbricated culture with politics. Most interesting, then, is the way this book buttresses an argument made a few years back by two French art historians, Jean-Claude Lebensztejn and Eric Michaud: that the not-so-subliminal way in which Latinité and its proxy terms fuelled a North/South dichotomy was predicated on a mythic notion of two types of thought. This notion was far from new to art history, whose foundation as an autonomous discipline in the early nineteenth century took place in a Europe that was profoundly divided politically and increasingly entrenched by the consolidation of nation-states. Art history was thus eager to establish stable, if spurious, concepts of national character. The essays included in this book function on two levels. As different as their political regimes might have been, France and Italy were nations where culture was first and foremost an affair of State. For those French diplomats and cultural officials on the Right who mistrusted the messiness of the democratic parliamentary system and were haunted by a fear of their nation’s cultural decadence and its alleged subjugation to the North, ‘Latin’ fascism became a beacon. Among the key protagonists on the French side were the Minister of Education and Fine Arts, Anatole de Monzie, and Senator Henri de Jouvenel; museum curators such as Raymond Escholier and Louis Hautecoeur; and, as one might expect, a cluster of figures who hovered around the art academies, many of which had had, already for centuries, strongholds in Rome. Ex-Prix-de-Rome recipients, such as the painter Albert Besnard and the sculptor Paul Landowski, became major players. For Italians officials, even though Fascism was far from monolithic, the question was how best to export their culture when, having been perceived for over a century as a decadent player on the European map, their nation’s classical heritage was being invigorated by the rhetoric of fascism. Many of the essays are concerned with the crucial role that exhibitions played at a time when cultural officials were particularly alert to the impact of mass media and spectacle. In 1935, two exhibitions—L’art Italien de Cimabue à Tiepolo and L’art italien des XIXe et XXe siècles — opened simultaneously at, respectively, the Petit Palais, a space associated with the yearly Parisian Salons, and at the Jeu de Paume, the museum devoted to foreign artists. The first, organized by Ugo Ojetti, the top cultural official of the Fascist regime, included an array of superlative Old Master works drawn from Italian museums. The second, which filled both floors of the Jeu de Paume, featured works by Futurist artists such as Umberto Boccioni and Enrico Prampolini, alongside those of Giorgio Morandi, Fausto Pirandello, and Carlo Levi. While few of the contemporary works on show were overtly political in content, visitors to the Jeu de Paume were ushered through an entrance where busts Romy Golan Towards a Latin Europe 3 of the king of Italy and of Mussolini—both by the official party sculptor, Adolfo Wildt—flanked a painting by an artist named Primo Conti depicting the March on Rome. The inauguration of these exhibitions, attended by top French dignitaries, included a lavish banquet at the Hôtel de Ville, Paris’s city hall. In a special issue on these exhibitions, the editors of L’Amour de l’art expressed their gratitude to Il Duce for having willed such an event into existence. Reviewers for other publications such as L’Art Vivant, Beaux-Arts, Comoedia, and the popular weekly L’Illustration, were equally smitten. This welcoming stance toward exhibitions that were part and parcel of Fascist propaganda on the part of the mainstream Parisian art magazines is striking indeed. As Fraixe reveals in one of her essays, a series of seduction operations had prepared the ground for this lavish hospitality. Three important collections of paintings had been gifted to Parisian and provincial French museums: the Frua de Angeli collection in 1932; the Borletti collection in 1933 (some of whose works were borrowed for L’art italien des XIXe et XXe siècles); and the Samiento collection donated to the Musée de Grenoble in two batches in 1933 and 1936. A rather ambitious publication aimed at a foreign readership made its appearance in 1935, the annus mirabilis of Italian-French relations: Italiani e stranieri alla Mostra della Rivoluzione Fascista. This large-format illustrated volume reprinted the international reviews of the blockbuster Mostra, held in Rome in 1932 to celebrate the tenth anniversary of Mussolini’s March on Rome. In her essay, Maddalena Carli recaptures the awe expressed by French art critic Louis Gillet in La Revue des Deux Mondes at how the Italians communicated the epic drama of the Fascist takeover via attention-grabbing photomurals deployed over twenty-four rooms of Rome’s monumental Palazzo delle Esposizioni. In the Mostra, the retroactive concept of Romanità was reformatted, as it were, into a Futurist ‘media-spectacle’. Carli reveals how, in an ambitious campaign to attract the largest possible number of visitors from across the peninsula and beyond, complimentary tickets were distributed on condition that visitors would hand in their stamped (validated) entry tickets upon their return home. This is how a cast of unexpected visitors, including the Surrealist Georges Bataille (already predisposed to the seductions of fascism by 1932), Jean- Paul Sartre, and Simone de Beauvoir, came to visit the infamous Mostra, taking advantage of a free, if partly mandatory, Italian Grand Tour. Roughly half of the essays in the book retrace the fortunes of individual Francophile Italians living in Paris whose activities contributed to promoting and thus legitimizing the art and literature produced under the Fascist regime, and their French admirers. The luminary among these is the Polish-born French art critic, curator, and magazine editor Waldemar George (Jerzy Waldemar Jarocinski), who is mentioned in almost every essay in the book. His trajectory involved a sudden and still unexplained volte-face from standard-bearer of modernism to one of France’s foremost modernist apostates and its strongest advocate of Italian Fascism. In 1928, less than two years after praising the works of recently emigrated Jewish artists of the ‘École de Paris’, George suddenly found the remedy for the Eastern barbarian invasion of Paris in works of the ‘Italian School of Painting’ made by a group of Romy Golan Towards a Latin Europe 4 Italians also living in Paris, ‘purveyors of the Latin spirit’. George was fortunate in being able to use the Venice Biennale of 1930 as a platform for his ideas, writing the text for an exhibition called Appels d’Italie. He spearheaded these ideas by founding his own magazine, Formes, publishing a special issue entitled Ex Roma Lux in which the aura of the Italian capital looms as a quasi-mystical entity. Other essays turn their attention to lesser-known figures who similarly functioned as cultural mediators in Paris. Marie Frétigny zeroes in on Jacques Bonjean, whose gallery on a posh Right Bank street became, thanks to its owner’s connection with the powerful Italian gallerist and editor Carlo Maria Bardi, a crucible for Italian artists working in Paris. Here again the works included in Exposition des Peintres Romains in 1933 were presented as an antidote to the ‘Northern’ expressionism of painters like the Belarusian (and Jewish) Chaim Soutine. Barbara Musetti and Amotz Giladi narrate the career and failed ambitions of an Italian sculptor, Alfredo Pina, whose unfulfilled dream was to erect on a Paris square a colossal public monument to Dante on his six-hundredth anniversary; and of a poet, Lionello Fiumi, whose verses glorifying Il Duce were published in the Paris-based literary review Dante. Roberta Proserpio traces the activities of Gualtieri di San Lazzaro, the Italian editor of a French review called Chroniques du jour. Of all the individuals that populate this book, San Lazzaro appears to have been the most innocuous and the most ecumenical in the art he chose to promote. In the late 1920s, he edited Les Maitres Nouveaux, a wonderful series of pocket-sized monographs on contemporary artists. Cameo portraits of Italian painters working in Paris were published alongside ones on other foreign artists, among them painters of the École de Paris. But in 1933, San Lazzaro embraced the opportunity to publish a photo-book survey of the ten-year achievements of the Fascist regime: its restoration campaigns, its archaeological digs, the construction of the Foro Mussolini, the 1932 Mostra, and so on. In the late 1930s, San Lazzaro was again busily promoting a wide range of foreign artists in Paris. Lucia Piccioni, Beatrice Sica, and Emanuel Mattiato turn to a subject of fascination for certain Italian artists and writers: Surrealism, a movement imported only belatedly to Italy. Their argument revolves around the concept of ‘Magical Realism’, an oxymoron of sorts coined by a German critic, Franz Roh, to describe works that endowed realism with an uncanny effect. Magical Realism allowed Italians a way of connecting with a figure like André Breton, even though that writer could be counted among the most vigilant in avoiding flirtation with Fascism. Breton’s infatuation with Giorgio de Chirico and ‘Pittura Metafisica’, and Max Ernst’s repeated references to Italian Renaissance painting, allowed the ‘Italiens de Paris’—the artists Massimo Campigli, Alberto Savinio, Mario Tozzi, and Gino Severini—to fancy themselves as not-too-distant brothers to the Parisian Surrealists as practitioners of a ‘réalisme magique méditerranéen’. ln 1937, the Italian novelist Curzio Malaparte devoted a special issue of his journal Prospettive to ‘Surrealism and Italy’, for which he translated a number of Surrealist texts. Considering that most of his compatriots viewed Surrealism as both subversive and decadent, this Romy Golan Towards a Latin Europe 5 was a bold move for Malaparte, as Mattiato explains. Malaparte contrasted what he called a ‘temporal’ Parisian Surrealism with a ‘timeless’ one nourished by Italy’s alleged unique connection with the divinatory arts. He was thus able to draw a lineage from the ancient Greeks to Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, all the way to the contemporary poet Massimo Bontempelli, constructing a pantheon of French surrealist forebears. Vers une Europe Latine ends, quite movingly, with the sole essay in the book devoted to an anti-fascist. For it is indeed an important fact the French capital remained a rallying point for the fuorusciti (runaways), a derogatory term used by the Fascists for those who left Italy to engage in anti-regime activity abroad. This essay, by Laura Iamurri, follows the overt and covert activities of the art historian and critic Lionello Venturi, whose book The History of Art Criticism (1936) — today recognized as essentially the first history of art history — and his two-volume compilation of the critical reception of Impressionism (1939) rank among the most important scholarly projects undertaken in Paris during those years. As Iamurri shows, Venturi remained in constant touch with anti-fascists back home: with the Turinese writers Leone Ginzburg and Cesare Pavese, who gravitated around the publishing house of Luigi Einaudi, and with the novelist Elio Vittorini, a fascist sympathizer who wanted nevertheless to prevent at all cost an alignment between Italy and Germany in the late 1930s. After reading this volume, one is left wondering about what appears to have been a migration of Italy toward France rather than the other way round. Was it the increasing autarchy upheld by the Fascist regime that allowed so little French art, or any foreign art for that matter, to enter Italian collections? Italian museums remain to this day shamefully lacking in both academic and modernist art from other European nations. Were there no French gallerists, writers, or critics active in Italy at the time? Also, while many French intellectuals continued to look at Italy as a minor cultural player, Italians could charge France with producing quantity over quality: Mario Sironi, the most vocal artist in Fascist Italy, publicly berated Paris for churning out thousands of easel paintings in its salons and gallery exhibitions destined for the apartments of an ‘effeminate’ bourgeoisie, a phenomenon that Italy would counter with the monumental and ‘masculine’ mural art produced by his co- nationals. This said, the authors of Vers une Europe Latine offer a model of interdisciplinary research in rewriting the historiography of a particularly troubled period. Romy Golan is Professor of 20th century art at the Graduate Center, CUNY. She is the author of Modernity and Nostalgia: Art and Politics in France Between the Wars and Muralnomad: The Paradox of Wall Painting, Europe 1927-1957 (Yale University Press, 1995 and 2009). Among recent publications are ‘Flashbacks and Eclipses in Italian Art in the 1960s’, Grey Room 49 (Fall 2012); ‘The Scene of a Disappearance’ in Giosetta Fioroni: L’Argento (The Drawing Center, New York, 2013); ‘Slow Time: The Futurist Mural’ in Italian Futurism: 1909-1944 (Solomon Guggenheim Museum, 2014); and Romy Golan Towards a Latin Europe 6 ‘Campo Urbano’ in Exhibiting Architecture: A Paradox? (Yale School of Architecture, 2014). RGolan@gc.cuny.edu 
work_makljxq2yzajtaprkqnxxn3jhi	----	Science Journals — AAAS Gabrieli et al., Sci. Adv. 2019; 5 : eaaw7794 23 August 2019 S C I E N C E A D V A N C E S | R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E 1 of 10 A P P L I E D P H Y S I C S Near-UV to mid-IR reflectance imaging spectroscopy of paintings on the macroscale F. Gabrieli1*, K. A. Dooley1, M. Facini2, J. K. Delaney1† Broad spectral range reflectance imaging spectroscopy (BR-RIS) from the near UV through the mid–infrared (IR) (350 to 25,000 nm or 28,571 to 400 cm−1) was investigated as an imaging modality to provide maps of organic and inorganic artists’ materials in paintings. While visible–to–near-IR (NIR) reflectance and elemental x-ray fluorescence (XRF) imaging spectroscopies have been used for in situ mapping, each method alone is insufficient for robust identification. Combining the two improves results but requires complex data processing. To test BR-RIS, image cubes from early Italian Renaissance illuminated manuscripts were acquired using two spectrometers. Maps of pigments, including trace minerals associated with mined azurite, and their associated binding media were made. BR-RIS has a more straightforward analysis approach as implemented here than visible-to-NIR, mid-IR, or XRF imaging spectroscopy alone and offers the largest amount of macroscale information for mapping artists’ materials by comparison. INTRODUCTION The use of diffuse reflectance spectroscopy from the near ultraviolet (UV) through the visible and into the near-infrared (NIR) spectral range (350 to 2500 nm or 28,571 to 4000 cm−1) is becoming a routine technique for the in situ characterization of artists’ materials either by point analysis (1–3) or by imaging techniques (4–6). This spec- tral range encompasses electronic transitions that give rise to the color of pigments, in addition to overtones and combination bands arising from vibrational modes of chemical bonds mainly involving hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen, including functional groups such as OH, NH, CH, and CO3. In particular, using high spatial and spectral resolution imaging spectrometers, these characteristic spec- tral features have been used to identify and map many, but not all, artists’ materials including pigments and paint binding media. To date, mid-IR spectroscopy (mid-IR, 4000 to 400 cm−1 or 2500 to 25,000 nm) has been widely used for the successful analysis of microsamples in transmission or reflection mode, as the mid-IR re- gion is rich in spectral features that allow the specific identification of many chemical functional groups contained in artists’ materials such as pigments, binders, fillers, and degradation products (7). Mid-IR imaging spectroscopy on the microscale has been achieved using attenuated total reflection (ATR) accessories, but this method requires direct contact with a sample from the material under study (8, 9). A limitation to applying mid-IR techniques on the macro- scale is that no contact can be made with the artwork. Using non- contact reflectance spectrometers in the mid-IR is fairly challenging for two reasons. First, the no-contact requirement ensures only re- flectance mode can be used, and the resulting spectra are more difficult to interpret because they are affected by distortions caused by specular reflections and diffuse reflections within the volume of the material (10). In contrast, ATR has very limited penetration into the paint layer, and the measured ATR signal is not distorted by volume scattering. Thus, ATR spectra can be interpreted in a similar way to a transmission spectrum of a thin layer. Second, to acquire sufficient-quality mid-IR reflectance spectra, an IR active source at a temperature much higher than the ambient background is routinely used. These high-temperature sources can heat the painting, which is discouraged for T > 5°C (11). Another drawback for doing macroscale mid-IR reflectance imaging spectroscopy is that mid-IR hyperspectral cameras are an order of magnitude more expensive than their visible and NIR counterparts, owing to the higher cost of mid-IR focal plane arrays and imaging spectrometers. For these reasons, macroscale mid-IR reflectance imaging spectroscopy has progressed more slowly than reflectance imaging spectroscopy in the visible and NIR spectral regions. However, progress has been made in addressing these challenges. Extensive analysis of the distortions in mid-IR spectra has led to an improved capability to assign spectral features to specific vibra- tional transitions (10, 12). Second, macroscale emissive mode mid-IR imaging spectroscopy has been shown to provide mid-IR spectra that are as good as what can be obtained with mid-IR reflectance mode point spectroscopy without the use of a hot thermal source that risks heating the painting (13). While the mid-IR spectral region is rich in spectral content, the combination of another imaging modality is required for robust identification of artists’ materials. Several studies have shown that combining x-ray fluorescence (XRF) elemental mapping with either visible-to-NIR reflectance imaging spectroscopy or mid-IR reflectance or emissive mode imaging spectroscopy yields more robust results (14, 15). However, this requires the combination of two distinctly different image processing methods and algorithms (to handle the elemental and molecular spectroscopic imaging results), which can be challenging and time-consuming. Current methodologies first involve the image registration of the data. Second, molecular maps from the reflectance imaging spectroscopy data that relate to specific pigment or functional groups are made. Element maps are made by fitting the XRF imaging spectroscopic data. The comparison of the maps is often done by visual inspection, but in at least one case, an expert user model was used to automatically refine the material maps by incorporating information derived from the two imaging modalities (16), but this is an exception and not the norm. Instead of performing two modality imaging spectroscopy as discussed above, here we explore the potential of broad spectral 1Scientific Research Department, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC 20565, USA. 2Paper Conservation Department, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC 20565, USA. *Present address: Rijksmuseum, Scientific Research, Hobbemastraat 22, 1071 ZC Amsterdam, Netherlands. †Corresponding author. Email: j-delaney@nga.gov Copyright © 2019 The Authors, some rights reserved; exclusive licensee American Association for the Advancement of Science. No claim to original U.S. Government Works. Distributed under a Creative Commons Attribution NonCommercial License 4.0 (CC BY-NC). o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://a d va n ce s.scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Gabrieli et al., Sci. Adv. 2019; 5 : eaaw7794 23 August 2019 S C I E N C E A D V A N C E S | R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E 2 of 10 range reflectance imaging spectroscopy (BR-RIS) spanning the near-UV to the mid-IR spectral regions (350 to 28,000 nm or 28,571 to 400 cm−1) and a single processing protocol to identify and map a wide range of artists’ materials in situ. The approach relies on the rich molecular content that can be obtained from spectral analysis in the visible, NIR, and mid-IR regions related to electronic and vibrational transitions of inorganic and organic functional groups. To test the potential of BR-RIS, we collected three-dimensional (3D) image cubes (2D spatial and 1D spectral) using a simple single- pixel scanner consisting of two point spectrometers and a computer- controlled easel that moved the artwork. One spectrometer covered the spectral range from 28,571 to 4000 cm−1 (350 to 2500 nm), and the mid-IR spectrometer covered the spectral range from 5500 to 400 cm−1 (1818 to 25,000 nm), providing spectral overlap that was used to scale differences between the spectra. The two image cubes were concatenated and subsequently processed with a convex geometry–based algorithm. Three paintings were analyzed, includ- ing a mock-up painting created using modern tube paints, and paintings from illuminated manuscripts, one by Lorenzo Monaco, the Praying Prophet (ca. 1410/1413), and another titled Christ and the Virgin Enthroned with Forty Saints (ca. 1340) by the Master of the Dominican Effigies. RESULTS To test the feasibility of BR-RIS for the identification and mapping of pigments, fillers, and paint binders, we first examined an un- varnished mock-up painting. The mock-up (Fig.  1A) has been previously described and analyzed (13). In brief, it was prepared using three sets of commercial tube paints. Each set contained the same primary pigments [phthalocyanine blue, quinacridone red, Hansa yellow, brown earth, cadmium (Cd) red, and zinc (Zn) white] but in a different paint binder (drying oil, acrylic, and alkyd). Paint tubes with the same primary pigment often contained different fillers. The use of each paint, applied in a single layer on the prepared ground, ensured that the mock-up painting contained every pigment/binder combination despite regions with the same primary pigment having a similar visual appearance. A 21 by 11 cm2 section of the unvarnished mock-up painting was scanned with both spectrometers, and the broad spectral range image cube was constructed as described in Materials and Methods. First, the ability to map a specific pigment and filler combination was tested. To map the pigment phthalocyanine blue (phthalo blue) (Fig.  1B), we used the spectral range from 700 to 1200 nm, as it contains a broad absorption edge and the narrow absorption feature at 1100 nm (Fig. 1C). As expected, the map shows that all the blue Fig. 1. Mock-up painting: Mapping pigments and fillers. (A) Color detail of the mock-up painting. (B) Map obtained with the portion of the spectral endmember (C) containing the 1100-nm band of phthalo blue. (D) Map of the filler CaCO3 obtained from the portion of the mid-IR spectral endmember (E). (F) Map obtained using the combined spectral portions of the spectral endmember (C and E) used to map the pigment, phthalo blue, and the filler, CaCO3. (G) Map obtained with the first deriva- tive of the spectral endmember of the cadmium red pigment (H). (I) Map of the filler BaSO4 obtained from the first derivative portion of the mid-IR spectral endmember (J). (K) Map obtained using the combined spectral portions of the endmember used to map the pigment and the filler. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://a d va n ce s.scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Gabrieli et al., Sci. Adv. 2019; 5 : eaaw7794 23 August 2019 S C I E N C E A D V A N C E S | R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E 3 of 10 paint contains the pigment phthalo blue. To determine where calcium carbonate (CaCO3) is present, we also mapped the out-of-plane car- bonate bending mode at 875  cm−1 (11,428 nm) in the mid-IR reflectance spectra, showing a derivative-like distortion (Fig. 1E), using the spectral angle mapper (SAM) algorithm. The CaCO3 map (Fig.  1D) shows that this material is found in some of the blue, white, red, and brown areas. Visually comparing the maps in Fig. 1 (B and D) shows that only the two top arcs of blue paint contain both phthalo blue and CaCO3, likely added as a filler to the tube paint. By combining the reflectance features found in two separate spectral regions (NIR and mid-IR in this case), a single map of phthalo blue and CaCO3 (Fig. 1F) can be made from the BR-RIS image cube using the SAM algorithm. In a similar way, a map of the red pigment and a filler can be made, although the first derivative of the reflectance image cube with re- spect to wavelength was used. The first derivative demonstrates the quality of the spectral data acquired and also allows more accurate maps to be obtained as the first derivative spectra accentuate signals of simple transition edges and enhance narrow spectral features present on a broadly varying background (17). The reflectance end- member of the red areas (Fig. 1H) shows a steep inflection, and its first derivative spectrum shows a sharp symmetric peak about 40 nm wide (full width at half maximum). This spectral feature is charac- teristic of an electronic transition from a valence band to a conduction band. The spectra of semiconductor pigments such as vermilion (HgS) or cadmium red (CdSxSe1−x) display these transitions at 590 nm, since the bandgap of Cd red can be tuned by the amount of Se sub- stituted in for S in the crystal lattice. Here, additional information would be required to distinguish between these two pigments, such as identification of the chemical elements present or the detection of molecular fluorescence from the trap emissions of Cd pigments (18). In this case, since this is a mock-up painting, the pigment is known to be Cd red, and the associated map (Fig. 1G) shows all of the red regions to be painted with this pigment, distinct from the deep pink–purple–painted areas. Barium sulfate (BaSO4), which has a triply degenerate asymmetric stretching mode that gives rise to three distinctive features in the mid-IR fingerprint region and three peaks in the first derivative spectrum (Fig.  1J), was mapped. The associated SAM map of BaSO4, when compared with the Cd red map, shows that it is present in only two regions of the Cd red paint (Fig. 1I). Using the com- bined reflectance spectra of the Cd red pigment and BaSO4, a SAM-derived map confirms this observation (Fig. 1K). Comparing this joint map with that of the CaCO3 map in Fig. 1D shows that the Cd red pigment with BaSO4 also contains CaCO3. These examples demonstrate the use of BR-RIS for the identification and mapping of pigments, fillers, and paint binders on a mock-up painting with a simple layer structure. To test the capability of BR-RIS to map the three paint binders in the mock-up painting, the same analysis procedure was performed on discrete spectral ranges in the NIR [6250 to 4000 cm−1 (1600 to 2500 nm)] and mid-IR [1800 to 1100  cm−1 (5555 to 9009 nm)]. These regions are rich with vibrational transitions associated with C═O, C─C, C─O, C─O─C, and C─H functional groups that are useful for the identification of historic paint binders such as drying oils, gums, and egg tempera, and modern binders such as alkyds and acrylics (2, 10, 12). In separate studies, the use of each spectral region to map these binders was demonstrated (11, 17). While the mid-IR region encompasses many distinct vibrations due to the presence of binding media, the region also suffers from spectral interference from vibrations of some common inorganic pigments, such as those containing carbonate groups. The absorption bands present in the NIR region are narrower and suffer less from pigment interference but are weaker. Thus, processing both spectral regions can help remedy this problem. Because mapping oil and alkyd paint binders has been demon- strated using NIR spectral features (17), the example here focuses on the added use of the mid-IR portion of the reflectance image cube (Fig. 2E) to identify and map the three binders used for the mock-up painting (drying oil, alkyd, and acrylic). The key features for the identification of drying oil were the carbonyl stretch (C═O) at ~1740 cm−1 (~5747 nm) and the C─H bending at ~1450 cm−1 (~6896 nm). An alkyd binder, which is a polyester modified by the addition of fatty acids, shares spectral features with an oil binder, but the alkyd was identified and mapped using the additional C─O─C stretching present at ~1270 cm−1 (~7874 nm). Last, the acrylic binder was identified by C─C stretching at ~1175 cm−1 (8510 nm) and the sharp shape of the C═O feature at ~1740 cm−1 Fig. 2. Mock-up painting: Mapping binders. (A) Color detail of the mock-up painting. (B to D) Maps of drying oil (green), alkyd (blue), and acrylic (red) binders obtained from using the spectral endmembers shown in the graph (E) obtained from the BR-RIS spectral image cube. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://a d va n ce s.scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Gabrieli et al., Sci. Adv. 2019; 5 : eaaw7794 23 August 2019 S C I E N C E A D V A N C E S | R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E 4 of 10 (~5747 nm). The binder distributions in the resulting maps are con- sistent with where the binders were known to be used. As shown in Fig. 2 (B to D), drying oil was used for some of the brown, white, blue, and red paints for the detail of the mock-up painting shown. Alkyd was used for portions of the white and yellow paints, and acrylic was used for some of the brown, blue, red, yellow, and deep pink–purple paints, in addition to the white ground. Comparison of the binder maps with those of the pigments and fillers (Fig.  1) allows some observations about the compositions of the commercial paints to be made. Two different paint formulations were used for the blue areas shown. The phthalo blue– and CaCO3- containing paint (Fig. 1F) was associated with drying oil, whereas the phthalo blue paint in which no CaCO3 was detected was painted in an acrylic binder. For the red areas containing Cd red, BaSO4, and CaCO3, a drying oil was used. The rest of the red areas were painted with Cd red pigment in an acrylic binder. While these are only a subset of the results obtained, they demonstrate the potential of BR-RIS to successfully identify and map many key artists’ materials with the SAM algorithm. To test the suitability of BR-RIS on actual historical artworks, we analyzed two illuminated manuscript paintings on parchment from large choir books made during the 14th and 15th centuries of the Italian Renaissance. Illuminated manuscripts were chosen as test cases because they are unvarnished and contain artist materials typi- cally found in paintings from this time period. While illuminated manuscript paintings often have a simple paint layer structure compared to a painting, the artworks chosen here contain complex stratigraphy similar to that found in panel paintings by the same artists. For example, the layering of red lake glazes on top of vermilion was used to create shading and the illusion of depth. Another key advantage is that the pigments used in these works have already been identi- fied and mapped. The Praying Prophet (ca. 1410/1413) (Fig. 3A) is from the choir book known as codex H74 that was painted by Lorenzo Monaco and his workshop for the church of S. Egidio in the Hospital of Santa Maria Nuova. This choir book is one in a series commissioned by the Camaldolese monks of Santa Maria degli Angeli in Florence. The painting shows a hooded prophet in prayer inside the initial E with surrounding foliage marginalia. The Praying Prophet painting has been studied previously, and a map of the pigments was made (19). Of particular interest was the finding that the figure of the prophet was painted with an egg yolk tempera paint binder (20). The identification and mapping of the egg yolk tempera were done with NIR reflectance imaging spectroscopy using the CH2 combi- nation band in the region of 4350 to 4325 cm−1 (2300 to 2313 nm), which is associated with lipid. The wavelength position of this lipidic band can be used to discriminate between a drying oil (2304 nm), egg yolk (2309 nm), or wax (2312 nm). While spectral features asso- ciated with protein [4902 and 4598 cm−1 (2040 and 2175 nm) related to the C═O, N─H, and C─N functional groups] can be seen in the NIR, they cannot be solely attributed to the binder as the NIR light penetrates through the paint layers to the protein-rich parchment. Thus, the NIR spectral region could not be used to confirm the pro- tein component of egg yolk. Studies of the other paintings in codex Fig. 3. Praying Prophet by Lorenzo Monaco: Mapping binders. (A) Color image of Lorenzo Monaco’s Praying Prophet (ca. 1410/1413), Rosenwald Collection, National Gallery of Art. (B) Map of the C─H lipidic spectral feature associated with egg yolk (C). (D) Map of carbonyl group (C═O) spectral features (E) associated with the proteic (amide I) and lipidic component (5797 nm or 1725 cm−1) in egg yolk. (F) Map of ultramarine and polysaccharide spectral features (G) associated with the blue portions of the initial E and blue areas of the marginalia. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://a d va n ce s.scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Gabrieli et al., Sci. Adv. 2019; 5 : eaaw7794 23 August 2019 S C I E N C E A D V A N C E S | R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E 5 of 10 H74 also had their central figures painted in egg yolk tempera (21). This was an unexpected find because the most widely used paint binding media for miniature paintings on parchment were reported not to be egg yolk tempera but rather protein-based media (animal skin glue and egg white) or polysaccharide-based media (such as gums). In this time period, master painters trained in the guild of doctors and apothecaries normally used egg tempera as a binding medium when painting on panels and murals, and Lorenzo Monaco was trained as a panel painter, so the finding that Monaco likely used egg tempera paint on parchment is perhaps logical. The BR-RIS data were collected in this study on the same manuscript because the limited penetration depth of the mid-IR, compared with the NIR, can enable detection of the binding media without contribu- tion of the parchment. The mid-IR portion of the spectra can be used to confirm the presence of egg yolk tempera in the central figure and also help determine the binders used for the initial E and the foliage marginalia that were not able to be identified with the NIR spectra. With the BR-RIS data, the same CH2 combination band near 4331 cm−1 (2309 nm) mapped in the prior study was used to make a new map, again showing this lipidic spectral feature maps to the central figure of the prophet (Fig. 3, B and C). To confirm the presence of egg yolk, the mid-IR fingerprint region was examined where protein and lipid have two distinguishable C═O stretching vibrations, one related to the lipid component around 1740 cm−1 and one included in the amide I of the protein component around 1650 cm−1. The spectral endmember in Fig. 3E shows the presence of C═O stretching associated with lipid content that appears as a shoulder on the protein amide I band. The location of the shoulder at ~1725 cm−1 (~5797 nm) and the presence of amide I (showing derivative-like distortion) at ~1660 cm−1 (~6024 nm) are consistent with the presence of a lipidic and proteic component as expected for egg yolk. These spectral features map to the figure of the prophet including his white cloak and hood, red robe, head, and arms (Fig. 3D) and confirm the prior study’s finding that egg yolk tempera was used to paint the central figure of the prophet. Further examination of the mid-IR spectral region of the image cube provided evidence of the use of a polysaccharide binder (likely gum) in the blue areas of the initial and marginalia. The blue areas of the marginalia and letter had previously been identified as ultra- marine (19). The map (Fig. 3F) obtained from the BR-RIS spectral endmember (Fig. 3G) has a strong absorption at 600 nm, typical of ultramarine in the visible, and two features in the mid-IR consistent with vibrational modes of a polysaccharide. For example, in gum arabic, the C═O stretch and intramolecular water feature occurs at 1665 cm−1, which is observed here at ~1680 cm−1 (~5952 nm), and the CH, C─O, and COH bands observed at 1445 cm−1 in gum arabic are found here as derivative bands at ~1450 cm−1 (~6896 nm) (22). No amide features (gray trace in graph Fig. 3G) are observed, thus ruling out the presence of a protein binder. The mid-IR spectral features indicate that a polysaccharide, possibly gum arabic, was used as a binder for the ultramarine. The BR-RIS was also used to confirm that the ultramarine was from a natural mineral source. Natural ultramarine (ideal chemical formula Na7.5[Al6Si6O24]S4.5) is a mineral structurally organized in B-sodalite cages, in which carbon dioxide (CO2) may be encapsulated (23). Studies of various sources of natural ultramarine, including those likely to be used here, have observed the presence of asymmetric stretching at 2340 cm−1, which is indica- tive of CO2 (23, 24). Using the BR-RIS cube, it was possible to map the ultramarine absorbance in the visible range together with the asymmetrical stretching of the CO2, confirming that all the blue areas consist of natural ultramarine. In the artwork from the early Italian Renaissance, calcium car- bonate was used as a substrate to create insoluble pigments referred to as “lakes,” rather than being added as extenders or fillers, as is common in modern paints. Lake pigments are typically valued for their transparent quality and are often mixed or applied as a glaze on top of more opaque colors. From the previous study (19), an organic lake pigment was identified in several areas. A pinkish-colored lake was found in the marginalia (with some gypsum present) along with a deep red–colored lake in the dark lowlights on the vermilion robe of the prophet. A yellow lake was found as the pigment used in the yellow leaf of the marginalia, as well as with blue azurite in the initial to create the dark and light green colors. Studies have found that, in general, alkali solutions often made from lime or calcium carbonate were used to make lake yellow and pinkish colorants, whereas alumina salts, such as potassium alum, were used as the substrate to make red lakes (25). From the BR-RIS data, a map of where the calcium carbonate spectral feature at 875  cm−1 (11,428 nm) is present is shown in Fig.  4B. These areas map to the pink, yellow, and green in the marginalia. The rest of the maps and endmember spectra in Fig. 4 (C to H) represent the separate lake pigments associated with CaCO3. The pinkish lake of the marginalia (Fig. 4C) has spectra from the BR-RIS cube with two absorption bands near 525 and 560 nm, characteristic of the →* electronic transition seen in reference visible reflectance spectra of insect-based red lake pigments (26, 27) and appearing as peaks in the first derivative spectra at 540 and 589 nm (Fig. 4D). The spectrum in Fig. 4D also shows that the area of the pink lake marginalia contains CaCO3, as evidenced from the 875 cm−1 (11,428 nm) feature. The colocalization of the pink lake and CaCO3 suggests that CaCO3 was used as a substrate for the pink lake. Prior analysis of the pink lakes by point XRF had found Ca and, from NIR diffuse reflectance spectra, gypsum, a hydrated calcium sulfate, had been identified from small absorption features near ~6890 to 6450 cm−1 (~1450 to 1550 nm) due to the first overtone of OH stretching. The mid-IR spectra were important in determining that gypsum was not the only source of Ca present in the pink lakes. The prior XRF point analysis also found K and trace Al in addition to the Ca. While this finding is still consistent with CaCO3 being used as the substrate for the pink lake, given the prior research noted above (25), the detection of trace Al means the use of an aluminum substrate cannot be ruled out. The first derivative reflectance spectral endmember shown in Fig. 4F represents yellow lake and also CaCO3 (875 cm −1 or 11,438 nm). This endmember maps to the yellow marginalia (Fig.  4E). The endmember shown in Fig. 4H represents the pigment azurite and CaCO3. The pigment azurite, a blue hydrated copper-based carbonate Cu3(CO3)2(OH)2, can be determined with certainty from the reflec- tance spectrum. Specifically, the broad absorbance from ~525 to 900 nm in the visible, an absorbance feature at 6684 cm−1 (1496 nm) associated with the first overtone of OH stretching, and additional features at 4376 and 4251 cm−1 (2285 and 2352 nm) associated with OH and carbonate group overtone and combination bands are characteristic of the pigment. The CO3 2− bending in azurite occurs at 837 and 817 cm−1, which is shifted relative to CO3 2− bending in CaCO3 at 875 cm −1. This endmember maps to the green marginalia (Fig. 4G), suggesting that azurite was used in conjunction with a yellow lake to create the green color. The colocalization of CaCO3 in o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://a d va n ce s.scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Gabrieli et al., Sci. Adv. 2019; 5 : eaaw7794 23 August 2019 S C I E N C E A D V A N C E S | R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E 6 of 10 the green marginalia also suggests that CaCO3 was used as a sub- strate for the yellow lake. These findings are consistent with the less definitive prior observations by XRF point analysis, which found a small amount of Ca in the yellow and green areas. Thus, there is strong evidence to support that the yellow colorant was laked onto CaCO3. In the case of the red lake found on the dark folds of the red vermilion robe of the prophet, no spectral evidence in the BR-RIS cube for CaCO3 was found. This is as expected considering that Kirby et al. (25) found that it was more common for alumina salts, such as potassium alum, to be used as substrates for red lakes. Prior XRF point analysis of the dark red folds in the robe found no Ca but did find K and trace Al, consistent with the hypothesis that the substrate for the red lake is likely potassium alum. Unfortunately, no evidence of potassium alum (potassium aluminum sulfate) was found in the BR-RIS spectrum, either through the presence of sulfate stretches or Al─O vibrations. While in the micro–FTIR (Fourier transform IR) spectroscopy of the samples, the Al─O vibration and sulfate stretch have been observed on an isolated layer or particles (25), in the re- flectance mode, these vibrations are hard to observe because of the interference with components in the paint layers. The manuscript painting of Christ and the Virgin Enthroned with Forty Saints (ca. 1340) is from the famed Laudario of Sant’Agnese, a choir book commissioned sometime around 1340 by a Laudesi con- fraternity of local men and women who gathered regularly to sing hymns to the Virgin Mary and her fellow saints in the Celestial Para- dise. The book commemorates temporal feasts in the liturgical year and consists of paintings and songs written by these lay singers in the Italian vernacular, rather than Latin. The book was of very high quality, representing the wealth of this confraternity that met in the Carmelite church of Santa Maria del Carmine in Florence. The book was illuminated by two master painters, Pacino di Bonaguida and an unknown artist identified only as the Master of the Dominican Effigies. The painting examined here is attributed to the latter artist. This illumination has been previously studied, and the pigments were identified and mapped (23). The areas of the blue sky and the robes of Christ and Mary appear darker in tone than the lighter blue areas such as the saints’ robes. All of these regions were found in the prior study to have been painted with the blue mineral azurite by using reflectance imaging spectroscopy and near-UV–to–NIR point reflectance spectroscopy (28). Prior point XRF analysis discovered differences in the types of trace elements found between the darker and lighter blue areas. The darker areas of azurite contained traces of arsenic (As) and bismuth (Bi) and a small amount of zinc (Zn), whereas the lighter blue areas contained only Zn but in a relatively larger amount. The identification and characterization of elemental impurities are important, as this gives additional information about the mineral source. Azurite and malachite, both copper carbonate hydroxides, are the most common Cu-based minerals used as pigments, but in nature, many other Cu-based hydrated carbonates coexist in minor quantities, such as rosasite (Cu,Zn)2(CO3)(OH)2, in which Zn sub- stitutes for Cu in the crystal lattice, resulting in a light green color. The presence of rosasite has been previously inferred from elemental information in azurite paint layers of Italian Renaissance paintings (29, 30). Other impurities in azurite and malachite can include smithsonite, which is a white zinc carbonate (ZnCO3), or mixite, which is a green bismuth (Bi)– and arsenic (As)–containing copper mineral [BiCu6(AsO4)3(OH)6·3(H2O)] identified and confirmed by Berrie et al. (31) in the azurite paint layer of the robe of the Madonna in Giotto’s panel painting Madonna and Child (ca. 1310/1315). Smieska et al. (32) showed that maps of trace elements in paint- ings and marginalia of illuminated manuscripts could be obtained with a bright synchrotron x-ray source and a high-speed detector. Thus, XRF imaging spectroscopy could confirm the point analysis hypothesis that two different sources of azurite were used as inferred from the differences in the trace elements. Using the Gallery’s in-house Fig. 4. Praying Prophet by Lorenzo Monaco: Mapping lake pigments and asso- ciated substrate. (A) Color image of the Praying Prophet. (B) CaCO3 map. (C) Overlay of the map obtained from the spectral features of the pink lake and CaCO3 (D). (E) Overlay of the map obtained from the spectral features of the yellow lake and CaCO3 (F). (G) Overlay of the map obtained from the spectral features of the yellow lake, azurite, and CaCO3 (H). o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://a d va n ce s.scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Gabrieli et al., Sci. Adv. 2019; 5 : eaaw7794 23 August 2019 S C I E N C E A D V A N C E S | R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E 7 of 10 XRF scanner, a 5.6 by 2.4 cm2 detail of Christ and the Virgin Enthroned with Forty Saints was scanned, and the resulting elemental maps for Zn (Fig. 5D) and As (Fig. 5E) confirm the results from the XRF point analysis. Zn is found in the light blue robe of the saint and is also found in lesser quantity in the dark blue sky. As and Bi (map not shown) occur only in the dark blue azurite sky. The detection of As and Bi suggests the presence of mixite, but to confirm this assignment requires chemical structure information either from x-ray diffraction (XRD) or vibrational spectroscopy. Since sampling was prohibited for this work on parchment, in situ methods were required. An in situ method has been recently adapted for making XRD maps of works of art (33), but given the low abundance of the mineral in the concentrated field of azurite, XRD mapping was expected to be challenging. Instead, we sought to determine whether BR-RIS could be used for the identification and mapping of functional groups characteristic of trace minerals. The mid-IR reflectance spectrum of azurite is well known and highly specific of the mineral due to the CO3 2− asymmetric and symmetric stretching at 1490 to 1415 cm−1 and 1091 cm−1, CO3 2− bending at 837 and 817 cm−1 (and their combination bands in the region 2450 to 2600 cm−1), and OH stretching at 3425 cm−1 (Fig. 5G, “Azurite std”) (10,  34). The mid-IR spectrum of rosasite shows vibrational modes related to the asymmetric and symmetric stretching of the carbonate group (1488, 1388, and 1096 cm−1), bending of the carbonate group (870 and 818  cm−1), a strong bending of the OH group (1047 cm−1), and two characteristic OH stretches at ~3250 and 3500 cm−1 (35). The smithsonite (ZnCO3) mid-IR spectrum shows vibrational modes at 1408, 1085, 876, and 743 cm−1 for asymmetric stretching, symmetric stretching, in-plane bending, and out-of-plane bending, respectively (36), that are slightly shifted with respect to azurite or calcium carbonate absorption bands. Because of this near overlap, the detection of smithsonite in the presence of azurite is challenging when reflectance mid-IR spectroscopy is used. Arsenate- based minerals have characteristic mid-IR absorptions related to asymmetric stretching of the arsenate group (AsO4 3−) at ~820 cm−1 and As─OH in-plane and out-of-plane bending, clearly visible in the mid-IR reflectance spectrum of a mixite reference sample at 1165 and 550 cm−1 (Fig. 5G, “Mixite std”) (37). BR-RIS was completed in the same region previously analyzed with XRF imaging spectroscopy. As expected, azurite was detected in both the dark and lighter blue areas using the visible and NIR spectral features (Fig. 5H) of the reflectance spectra associated with azurite. Examination of the mid-IR portion of the BR-RIS cube in the spectral range where features of zinc-containing rosasite or smithsonite occur provided no evidence for either mineral, although the presence of smithsonite cannot be ruled out because of its spectral overlap with azurite. The examination did reveal spectral features characteristic of the arsenate bending and stretching characteristic of mixite, specifically the As─OH bending mode at 1165  cm−1 (8584 nm). When the Fig. 5. Christ and the Virgin Enthroned with Forty Saints: Identification and mapping of azurite and mixite in blue areas. (A) Color image of the Master of the Dominican Effigies’ Christ and the Virgin Enthroned with Forty Saints (ca. 1340), Rosenwald Collection, National Gallery of Art. (B) Color detail studied. (C) Map of azurite obtained from the reflectance spectrum (H). (D) Elemental map of zinc (K). (E) Elemental map of As (K). (F) Map of the As─OH reflectance feature attributed to mixite and the spectral features of azurite in visible and NIR (I). (G) Mid-IR reflectance spectra of the dark blue and light blue areas, in addition to mixite and azurite standards. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://a d va n ce s.scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Gabrieli et al., Sci. Adv. 2019; 5 : eaaw7794 23 August 2019 S C I E N C E A D V A N C E S | R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E 8 of 10 As─OH spectral feature and that for azurite is used to make a map, only the areas of dark azurite are highlighted (Fig. 5F). Thus, mixite is present throughout the entirety of the sky background. DISCUSSION The object of the research was to explore the suitability of BR-RIS as an in situ tool for the identification and mapping of many organic and inorganic materials used in fine art paintings. Of particular in- terest was the desire to use the same set of image processing tools to merge the spectral information contained in the visible, NIR, and mid-IR spectral regions, which includes electronic transitions, fun- damental vibrational transitions, and their associated overtone and combination bands. The case studies of a reference mock-up painting and two historic illuminated manuscripts show the potential of this data collection and analysis methodology to identify and map pig- ments, paint binders, fillers, and substrates used for lake pigments. The success of the proposed methodology comes, in part, because of the rich literature within the cultural heritage community as well as the geophysical community about the identification of a wide variety of pigments, many of which are natural minerals. Of special importance are the studies that have interpreted the mid-IR reflec- tance spectra, which contain distortions by the specular reflections within the sample volume that are not seen in transmitted mid-IR spectra due to the thin sample layer required. Last, while more advanced analysis tools exist than those used here, the SAM and matched filter algorithms used proved suitable for the analysis of the datasets. That said, the collection of broad spectral range image cubes on a large number of artworks would be ripe for new machine learning algorithms. Despite the successes here, there is one key aspect that limits a wider adoption of the proposed approach: the scan rate (area scanned per unit time). In the system demonstrated here, the scan rates were 0.2 to 1 mm/s for a spatial sampling of 1 to 2 mm2. Scanning a 1-m2 painting at 1-mm2 sampling at 0.2 mm/s would take several months. Two methods could be used to increase the scan rate, either by decreasing the integration time for single-pixel scanners or multiplexing by increasing the number of spatial pixels collected at the same time from 1 pixel to hundreds. Getting to scan rates of 10 mm/s for 1-mm2 sampling is achievable in the near-UV–NIR, but more work needs to be done to achieve these rates in the mid- IR, perhaps by using broadband mid-IR laser sources. This would result in ~30 hours to scan a 1-m2 painting, which is comparable to XRF scanners having high-quality spectra (15, 38). Multiplexing the number of pixels across the spectrometer slit is also possible and would require using imaging spectrometers rather than point scanners. Imaging spectrometers from the visible to the mid-IR exist, with scan rates of 1 m2/hour or less at a spatial sampling of 1 mm2 at illumination conditions suitable for paintings. Commer- cial imaging systems operating at these rates in the visible to NIR now exist. Hyperspectral cameras also exist for portions of the mid-IR, and we have used a high-throughput low-noise mid-IR camera operating from 1240 to 760 cm−1 to collect image cubes of paintings at room temperature in emissive mode at scan rates of 0.5 m2/min at 1-mm2 spatial sampling (13). However, the draw- backs of commercial mid-IR imaging systems include the much higher costs due to increased complexity of the spectrometer and the mid-IR focal planes. They also do not currently provide the needed sensitivity. The other challenge is the paint system itself, which consists of either pure or intimately mixed pigments in thin layers of paint typi- cally a few to tens of micrometers thick over a ground preparation. The paint layers can be as few in number as one to tens of layers; however, typically, only a few layers are present. Given that the pig- ment particles vary from submicrometers to ~5 micrometers in size, effects of light scattering in these thin layers play a role. The implications are that the penetration depth of the light changes from the visible (limited penetration) to the NIR (penetration often to the ground layer of the painting) to the mid-IR (limited penetra- tion). The effect of this needs to be considered in the interpretation of the spectral features observed in each portion of the spectra. Other practical limitations need to be considered such as the impact of the varnish layer; however, this is not an issue for illuminated manu- scripts since they are unvarnished. While varnish layers are mostly transparent in the visible and NIR and contribute negligibly to the reflectance spectra in these regions, it can dominate the spectral fea- tures present in mid-IR spectra. Thus, the proposed methodology is best suited for unvarnished paintings or for use when paintings are undergoing treatment to remove aged and discolored varnish. It is during this time that paintings typically are studied in great detail, making this possible drawback less of a problem. Last, while BR-RIS provides a large amount of information on organic and inorganic materials, not all materials can be conclusively identified with these spectral regions. Elemental information will continue to aid in the robust identification and mapping of artists’ materials. Specific questions of interest in cultural heritage science that BR-RIS could address given the results here include identifying and mapping the distribution of pigments and associated extenders in commercial tube paints. This could be useful in cases where specific brands of tube paint were known to have been used by particular artists. For example, a rich correspondence between Vincent van Gogh and his brother Theo is well documented and has been related to compositional analysis of paint tubes contemporary to van Gogh. BR-RIS image cubes appear to offer the largest amount of macro- scale information for mapping artists’ materials with a more straightforward analysis approach than visible-to-NIR, mid-IR, or XRF imaging spectroscopy alone. MATERIALS AND METHODS The broad spectral range image cubes were collected using a computer-controlled easel to move the artwork (SatScan System, LG Motion, UK) (39) and two separate, stationary spectrophoto- meters, each covering a different portion of the total spectral range. The UV to NIR spectral range (28,571 to 4000 cm−1 or 350 to 2500 nm) was collected using an optical fiber spectrometer, and the mid-IR range (5500 to 400 cm−1 or 1818 to 25,000 nm) was covered using an FTIR spectrometer. The data from each spectrometer were con- verted to apparent reflectance using known reflectance standards. The positional information from the easel controller was used in concatenating the two spectral image cubes together. The same spa- tial collection step size was used for both spectrometers. A spatial sampling of 1 mm was used for the mock-up painting and the detail of the illuminated manuscript by the Master of the Dominican Effigies, and 2 mm for the manuscript by Lorenzo Monaco. Since different integration times were needed for each spectrometer to ensure high-quality spectra, the image cube collections with each spectro- meter were not collected concurrently. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://a d va n ce s.scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Gabrieli et al., Sci. Adv. 2019; 5 : eaaw7794 23 August 2019 S C I E N C E A D V A N C E S | R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E 9 of 10 Near-UV to NIR scanning The experimental details for single-pixel scanning of paintings using a fiber spectrometer (ASD FS3; Malvern Panalytical) were described before (34). A scan rate of 1.3 mm/s was used to collect the data with a spatial response function of 2 mm2. A fiber optic halogen lamp (30-W fiber optic illuminator, Malvern Panalytical) was used to illuminate a ~3-mm-diameter spot at 3000 lux. To improve the quality of the reflectance spectra in the 7692 to 4000 cm−1 (1300 to 2500 nm) spectral region, a supplemental halogen light source (Leaf probe, Malvern Panalytical) with a 1350-nm cut-on long-pass filter (Edmund Optics) was used. The fiber probe was normal to the painting surface, and both illumination sources, although offset from each other, were at ~45° from the painting normal. The inte- gration time used during the scan was 68 ms with four averages for each acquisition. The spectral sampling was 1.4 nm from 350 to 1000 nm and 1.1 nm from 1000 to 2500 nm. Mid-IR scanning A point FTIR spectrometer (ALPHA, Bruker) operating in standoff reflectance mode was used to collect reflectance spectra from ~5500 to 400 cm−1 (1818 to 25,000 nm), thus providing overlap with the spectra from the UV to NIR spectrometer. The measured spatial response function of the spectrometer in this mode is 1.5 mm2, and the area illuminated is 4 by 5 mm. The spectral sampling was 4 cm−1, which matches the NIR portion of the other spectrometer. The effective integration time required to obtain good-quality spectra was the time to collect three spectra, about 5 s. Given this long collection time, the scanning easel was operated in a stop and stare mode, that is, it moved to a predetermined position using the easel linear encoders, and the spectrum was collected before moving to the next position. Using the positional information from the easel, the reflectance spectra collected from each spectrometer were assembled into an image cube. The UV-NIR image cube had 2151 spectral bands, and the mid-IR cube had 3468 bands. Given that the solid angles are different between the two spectrometers, the mid-IR reflectance spectra were scaled to match the spectral offset of the corresponding UV-NIR reflectance spectra using the common NIR region (5500 to 4000 cm−1 or 1818 to 2500 nm) shared by the two spectrometers. The two cubes were then concatenated to form a single image cube for further processing given that they were acquired with the same spatial sampling as noted above. The exploitation of the resulting single image cube was done using the spectral analysis tools contained in the ENVI (Harris Corp.) remote sensing software package. Spectral endmembers, reflectance spectra representing specific materials, were identified by manually looking for known spectral features of the chemical compounds of interest in the image cube. The SAM or the mixture tuned matched filter algorithms were used to make maps of the materials of interest. To enhance the quality of the maps, only portions of the reflectance spectral endmembers with characteristic spectral features were used in the image processing. An internal spectral library and published spectral information about the artists’ materials of interest were used in the spectral assignments. XRF scanning XRF data were collected using a self-constructed XRF imaging spectro- meter in which the easel was used to scan a detail of the painting titled Christ and the Virgin Enthroned with Forty Saints. The x-ray source consisted of a rhodium 50-W tube, operated at 50 kV and 0.75 mA, with a converging capillary optic that gave a spot size of 0.5-mm diameter at the work of art. A solid-state XRF detector was used (Vortex, Hitachi) with a 50-mm2 detector area with a 1-μs peaking time and an integration time of 2 s. The positional information from the easel was used to reconstruct the XRF cube, and elemental maps were made using an in-house software tool that fits Gaussians to the detected peaks (16). The integrated area from the peak-fitting proce- dure is displayed in the specified maps for each element’s emission line. REFERENCES AND NOTES 1. M. Picollo, M. Bacci, A. Casini, F. Lotti, S. Porcinai, B. Radicati, L. Stefani, Fiber optics reflectance spectroscopy: A non-destructive technique for the analysis of works of art, in Optical Sensors and Microsystems (Springer, 2002), pp. 259–265. 2. M. Vagnini, C. Miliani, L. Cartechini, P. Rocchi, B. G. Brunetti, A. 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Loew, Integrated x-ray fluorescence and diffuse visible-to-near-infrared reflectance scanner for standoff elemental and molecular spectroscopic imaging of paints and works on paper. Herit. Sci. 6, 31 (2018). Acknowledgments: We thank J. E. Post, National Gem and Mineral Collection, Smithsonian Institution, for the use of the mixite samples. We thank painting conservators D. Anchin, K. Raynor, and J. Hickey for making the mock-up painting and G. Bent, Washington and Lee University, for the art historical comments. We also thank F. Rosi and C. Miliani for sharing knowledge on the interpretation of the mid-IR spectra. Funding: This research was supported by the Samuel H. Kress Foundation, the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, and the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. Author contributions: F.G., M.F., and J.K.D. collected the data. F.G. processed the data, and F.G., J.K.D., and K.A.D. interpreted the results and wrote the paper. Competing interests: The authors declare they have no competing interest. Data and materials availability: All data needed to evaluate the conclusions in the paper are present in the paper. Additional data related to this paper may be requested from the authors. Submitted 23 January 2019 Accepted 16 July 2019 Published 23 August 2019 10.1126/sciadv.aaw7794 Citation: F. Gabrieli, K. A. Dooley, M. Facini, J. K. Delaney, Near-UV to mid-IR reflectance imaging spectroscopy of paintings on the macroscale. Sci. Adv. 5, eaaw7794 (2019). o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://a d va n ce s.scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Near-UV to mid-IR reflectance imaging spectroscopy of paintings on the macroscale F. Gabrieli, K. A. Dooley, M. Facini and J. K. 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work_me7apg3jtvcn7m64klo5u5u7rm	----	Evandro de Oliveira: From Anatomy to Science and the Art of Microneurosurgery Sebastião Gusmão1 1Neurosurgery Service, Hospital das Clínicas, Universidade federal de Minas Gerais, MG, Brazil Arq Bras Neurocir 2019;38:254–256. Address for correspondence Sebastião Gusmão, PhD, Serviço de Neurocirurgia, Hospital das Clínicas, Universidade federal de Minas Gerais, MG, Brazil It is classic to state: medicine is science and art. Medicine and art go hand in hand. Hippocrates’s medicine (460–378 BC) was born during Pericles century (495–429 BC), at the nadir of Greek art of Fidias (490–430 BC). Both submerged during the middle ages and reburned during the Italian renaissance. Science can be defined like organized knowledge and be confirmedthroughobservationandexperimentation.However, it isdifficult to define art becausethe term could mean multiple things in different places and time. The greek term tékhné, translated to latin as technique and also as art.The later mean- ing, whatever is well done by the man. For the greeks artwork was to perform a technique with excellence. Hence, in the first Hippocrates’ s aphorism, “The life is short, the art last long.”(ÓBiosbrakhysÉdétékhnémakhré),thetermtéknérefers to art meaning technique acquisition, practical knowledge the execution of work in the medical field. In all branches of knowledge, including medicine and surgery, there archaic civilizations referred to medicine as art, or better as technique based in mythical explanation. The “Greek miracle” exclude the mythical explanation and sub- mitted the technical knowledge to the sieve of rationality, creating Science as we know. Therefore, medicine and sur- gery are old as art but new as science. In reality, way before the emergence of science in Greece at the 6th century B.C., the Neolithic man already had practiced the art of surgery as documented in several trephined skulls found in several different archeological sites. The intimate relation between technique and science in the pre-Socratic Greece was ruptured by Plato is(428–348 B.C.) philosophy, which was disputed by the intellectual capacity of the technicians. This fact determined the discredit of the manual labor, including plastic artists, during the medieval and classic period, being one of the main reasons for the dichotomy between theory and practice, science and technic, medicine (scientific knowledge) and surgery (technical knowledge). This dichotomy increased with the medieval scholars. Only during the Renaissance the artist and handcrafters recuper- ated their dignity and prestige. The Vesalius”s (1514–1564) dissections depicted in De Humani Corpori Fabrica (1543), inaugurate the modern medicine. In his work, still considered the most outstanding in medicine, the narrow relation between science and art takes place. The Vesalius’ text is as important as the exquisite illus- trations of Calcar (1499–1546), Tiziano’s disciple. Therefore we can say that modern medicine was born in an anatomy laboratory and in the workshop of a renaissance painter. The word surgery came from the Greek kheir, hand, and ergon, “work” .Until the XVI century, surgery was only manual labor, without scientific bases, and wasn’t performed by doctors but by barber surgeons. Ambroise Paré (1510–1590) saw the new Vesalius’s anatomy as the foundation of surgery. He transformed the barber-surgery art into the medieval art and science ofsurgery, giving the dignityand respect toward to the surgeon’s work. In the Seventeenth century, the knowledge acquired in the two previous renaissance centuries increased even more, leading to the birth of the modern science. In this context neurosciences was born in 1664, with the work named Cerebri Anatome from Willis (1621–1675), in which medieval concepts regarding cerebral function were repealed. The pillars of modern neurosciences and neurology were established. As a matter of fact, in this work the word neurology was coined. Again, one more time we witnessed the narrow association between art and science, the out- standing text written by Willis was impeccably illustrated by Christopher Wren (1632–1723), the greatest british artist from all times. Sir Wren, himself, was responsible for the London’s reconstruction after the devastating 1666 fire. The Saint Paul cathedral being his masterpiece. Wren’s superb drawings revealed great elegance and precision, showing the brain in such detailed and realistic fashion never seen before in any publication. Subsequently in the Nineteenth century, John Hunter ap- plied experimental scientific method to surgery, creating modern surgery. At the end of the Nineteenth century, advan- ces in general surgery and the better understanding of DOI https://doi.org/ 10.1055/s-0039-3399498. ISSN 0103-5355. Copyright © 2019 by Thieme Revinter Publicações Ltda, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil Special Article | Artigo Especial THIEME 254 Published online: 2019-12-20 https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-3399498 https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-3399498 anatomy and physiology of the nervous system, made possible the creation of neurosurgery as a modern medical specialty. The modern neurosurgery was born from the hands of an artist-scientist, Harvey Cushing (1869–1939). The artistic talent from this neuro- surgery pioneer was well portraited in his landscape draw- ings and pictures in his own monumental neurosurgical publications. On the late half of the last century another scalpel genius, Yasargil, took neurosurgery to another level. Using his exten- sive and intensive laboratory work he created Microneurosur- gery, allowing us to perform miniature art, under microscopic visualization. Indeed, that represented a true revolution in the field, debuting new surgical approaches and better treatment options. Yasargil established several steps. First, the profound and thorough knowledge in central nervous system anatomy. Second, the need of relentless laboratory training and last, but not least, to approach the pathology in thebrain in as harmless way as possible through its natural pathways: the sulci and cisterns. Another essentialmaster toestablishedmicroneurosurgery was Rhoton. He taught us, using his own exquisite anatomical preparations, to understand better tridimensional brain anat- omy and microanatomy and its variations. Rhoton created a legion of microneuroanatomists that preached their knowledge in all continents. His personal as well as his collaborators endless work constitute the unique preliminary requirement to enter into the science and art of the microneurosurgery world. His most dear and brilliant pupil was Evandro de Oliveira (►Fig. 1). After training and conclusionofseveralprojectswith his mentor, Evandro returned to Brazil in the earlier eighties. Even before the adventof the internet, he disseminated moc- rosurgical knowledge applied to neurosurgery among the Brazilian neurosurgeons. Actually, he initiated a new era of microneurosurgery in his country. To perform microneurosur- gery is not just limited to the use of the microscope(which by the way was already present in ours operative rooms. Not too long after that he created the magnificent anatomy laboratory at Beneficência Portuguesa Hospital. For almost four consecu- tive decades this laboratory has been the main center for microsurgical training for residents and young neurosurgeons. It is for sure a sacred temple for science and art in micro- neurosurgery. The work of Evandro de Oliveira was without any doubt one of the main factors in the process to raise the Brazilian neurosurgery to the top of the latin-america neuro- surgery and to be considered one of the best of the world. Beyond this essential work in training the last generations of Brazilian neurosurgeons, Evandro de Oliveira developed and improved new microsurgical approaches, shown to our neurosurgery in all four corners of the world and abroad and subsequently opened the doors for many young Brazilian neurosurgeons. With his skillful hands like a Chinese artist in porcelain from the Ming dynasty, he touched the brain like a priest touches a sacred icon, more so, with his restless brain that kept persuing the brain’s misteries, he restored and gave life to thousands of brains. Without passion, life is meaningless. With passion, Evandro took his work to the edges of perfec- tion, turning into pure art. His happiness is to find pleasure in this unique form of art. It will never be redundant to state how important is the laboratory work in the learning process of microanatomy and surgicaltechnique.Evandrohadafundamentalroleinimprove- ment in the many generations from Brazil and other countries. Actually, the modern medicine originated in a laboratory, when Vesalius in1543, performed magnificent dissections to better understand the human body and to illustrate his Fabrica. At the end of the nineteenth century the neurosur- gery had its beginning with Horsley. He was summoned to initiate surgical treatment in the neurological patients of the famous Queen Square, due to his notorious skill to open monkey skulls in a laboratory installed in his own house. Yasargil also created microneurosurgery in a laboratory. The Italian renaissance master painters were in fact the first anatomists. To place in canvas the enigmatic face of Monalisa and to carve in pure marble the harmonious lines of David, Leonardo Da Vinci e Michelangelo, they had to dissect cadavers and be aware of the representation object, the human body. In the same fashion, the similar requirements are recommended to the microneurosurgeon. Extreme ded- ication in studying the anatomy in the laboratory to repair the most complex organic matter ever existent in the uni- verse, the human brain. Only by that way is possible to acquire the mastery in science and art of microneurosurgery. Five centuries passed by and Vesalius’s statement is still true: “ the anatomy has to be considered the most solid pilar of the art of medicine, its preliminary essential. The central nervous system anatomy is our preliminary essential in the work field where we practice our job. The brain is the most complex and elaborated matter in our known universe. The brain named itself and creates the universe in which we realized the origin ofall formsofarts. Significant art is required from someone that desires to enter in the temple of all arts. The art has the power to emphasize and refine our senses and to stimulate our awareness in search of occult essence of life’s phenomena. The antagonism between art, the daughter of inspiration, and science, originated from methodic observa- tion of facts is only apparent. Art in the Hellenic sense of what is well done and that embroiders all mankind’s achievements, including science, because the beauty is everywhere, from a mathematical equation to a Rembrandt (1606–1669) canvas. Medicine and art complement each other. It is very superficial to imagine a conflict existent between a practical art such as surgery, that depends of judgement, intuition and skill, and the precision of science that requires elimination of all human elements. Patient care and treatment of diseases are problems to science, but the excellence in both depends on the art that the doctor applies with scientific knowledge. In Neurosurgery, the complex central nervous system anatomy, its low threshold for manipulation and the rigidity of the cranium osseous compartment make the challenges even worse, thus requiring refined science and art. The surgeon in action is no longer a handcrafter that cuts, ligates, detaches or sutures. However, he is not a technician either, but a physician that carries deep knowledge in the Arquivos Brasileiros de Neurocirurgia Vol. 38 No. 4/2019 Evandro de Oliveira Gusmão 255 human being and his emotional problems and precise domain regarding diseases mechanisms, its diagnostics, pathological manifestations and treatment. Such knowledge, associated with the wisdom originated with experience, it is at the fundaments of abilities in surgical judgement, which is the most difficult requirement to be acquired in the art of surgery. Our art reflects our life, because nothing can come out from the artist if it is not in the man. Be a good neurosurgeon depends on first in being a good doctor. And what defines a good doctor? Kindness, empathy, conscience, ethics, and the ability to make sensible decisions and make proper judge- ments, as well as the desire in doing the best for the patient. In the nervous systems there are islands of knowledge, where science can be applied, and a vast ocean where we can only offer hope and comfort. The latter is, a major part of the art of neurosurgery, where we feel and intuit, but cannot prove. Like knowledge doesn’t resume life, science does not limit medicine. The art is necessary. The accurate surgical technique, like any other ability, requires repetitive training associated with passion. We can build nothing big without passion. The passion leads to pleasure in our work and that perfects the technique until it meets the art. Therefore excellence in microneurosurgery is a matter of technique, because this originates in the brain of the technician. It is a matter of personality, attitude and character. Those qualities are present in the masters Yasargil and Rhoton. After several years of coexistence and working alongside, I could notice them well in Evandro de Oliveira. His precise microsurgical technique, reached the state of the art, and is nothing more than his character almost paranoid in chase of the truth, the essence of things, the perfect technical detail. On the foundation of all that is the respect to the brain’s complexity and the love toward the human being that suffers, generating passion for his duty. According to van Gogh (1853–1890), “The essence of art is the love to the human being.” The essence of medicine is the love for the human being that suffers. Only love and art can make existence tolerable, and there is the place that the art of medicine acts. A lot of dignity and humility is necessary from someone whose duty involves love, art and life. As mentioned above, the master Yasargil, Rhoton and Evandro de Oliveira extensively contributed to the establish- ment of the art and science of microneurosurgery. The same way Hippocrates removed medicine from the gods temple giving to it mankind, those masters revealed upon us the safe pathways to get in all hidden compartments of the sacred temple of the human brain. Human knowledge will continue flowing implacably, gen- erating new technologies that probably will reinvent our specialty, that will require from us more science to dominate them and more art to apply them with wisdom in favor of our patient’s life and fulfillment of our own. At last, there is only one art undebatable important: to live; everything else is secondary. To our master Evandro de Oliveira, that has helped many in the difficult and dangerous art of living, we can only to thank using the words of the genius of the Portuguese language (Camões): “E mais vos pagamos e mais vos devemos” (The more we pay you, the more we owe you). Fig. 1 Doctor Evandro de Oliveira. Arquivos Brasileiros de Neurocirurgia Vol. 38 No. 4/2019 Evandro de Oliveira Gusmão256 
work_mj6gddx2gvahljmx7zncknrfty	----	1218 CENTENNIAL: FOURTH SCIENTIFIC SESSION PROC. N. A. S. should distract us from setting goals for human use of such quality as to absorb constructively and beneficially any and all of the scientific findings to come. On the other hand, we see the culture of science itself gaining from this endeavor, because the way of seeking these goals will demand an ever-increasing combination and even a fusion of scientific skills, from what have been called, up to now, "dif- ferent" sciences. While the endless variety of approach to science must be zealously preserved, these differences between sciences will grow less and less. Many of us believe that this change itself will aid emergence of great unifying principles. (Think, for instance, of information theory, of the coding of electrical signals, of the coding of nerve impulses, of the coding of bases in nucleic acids and of their influence on protein configuration.) For those in science and engineering who seek to solve a worthy problem, and to reach an end which is important, broad, meaning- ful, are finding ways more and more to bring all kinds of minds and skills to work together. SCIENCE AND THE SATISFACTION OF HUMAN ASPIRATIONS BY I. I. RABI COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY Ladies and gentlemen, here we are at the end of a long day after almost a week of much talk. Our next appointment is not till 7:30 this evening. I therefore have plenty of time to devote to my topic; however, my audience would decay exponentially. I hope not to detain you for long, for it is well known that only very few souls can be saved after half past three in the afternoon. In this conference we have heard from some of the most eminent men of science in the land. Day after day the mysteries of life were laid bare, and antecedent to life the structure of matter and, indeed, of the universe were presented in dra- matic and fascinating clarity. Although no attempt was made to make a real interdisciplinary connection between the various disciplines, nevertheless, the juxtaposition of topics did a very great deal to show us the essential unity of the scientific disciplines, however different their techniques. The very first day we went in progressive steps from the origin of the elements to the origins of life. In the second day we went from the almost philosophical consideration of the organization of the laws of nature to the organization of living matter. This afternoon, turning to less immediate questions, we have had a general overview of science from the aspects of communication and application both to industry and to public policy and welfare. We listened to great wisdom. It is now my turn. The task assigned to me was to address myself to science in its more intimate relation to the individual: science and the satisfaction of human aspirations. The drives which cause men to become interested in science are almost as various as human personality. Science could not happen without a range of personalities and cultures. We see the interplay now of cultures in the successive contributions of Egypt, Babylon, Greece, Alexandria, Rome, Arabian-Italian Renaissance, and in the modern era Japan, America, and China, which should D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 VOL. 50, 1963 CENTENNIAL: FOURTH SCIENTIFIC SESSION 1219 perhaps be all by itself. There is the collector and classifier who may interest him- self in stamps, books, pictures, or, on the other hand, in phases of botany, geology, astronomy, or even in parts of physics such as spectroscopy. We should not use the term "mere" with respect to these activities. High talents of intellect and insight can be devoted to these aspects of sciences. The hunt for a new species of plant or animal, a new spectral sequence, a new collection or system of galaxies can be both exciting and demanding. Ingenuity, persistence, and what may be called luck are necessary for success in these endeavors. The born hunter and alert ob- server will find success and satisfaction in this phase of science. We would be no- where without this type of individual. Basically, this element of science satisfies more immediately the desire to discover and to know the facts of nature. Nature with tremendous variety and charm captures the fancy and the spirit. To one person a fact is just a fact and of no further interest. Such a person may become a mathematician or a logician, but he will never be a true poet or scientist. The scientist, the experimental scientist at least, shares with the poet and artist a feeling for the value for the immediate and the empirical face of nature. The geologist loves his bright and shiny stone, his curious fossils, just as the physicist can never cease to be charmed by a spectro- gram or the delightful paradoxes of the motion of a spinning top. This aspect of the pursuit of science satisfies a basic desire or aspiration just to know, to find out, or perhaps make order out of the otherwise chaotic jumble of immediate experience. It is an aspiration shared with all mankind but more with youth and childhood than with adults. In this sense scientists are just children who never grew up, who never lost the nagging urge to ask how, why, and what. Like children, who in all innocence and high excitement bring a dangerous spider into the house and frighten the wits out of their elders, the scientist emerges with a smallpox vaccine or an atomic bomb. There is another facet of human aspiration which contributes to the various faces of science. This is man in his aspect of the maker or doer. Again this aspect is strongest in childhood but persists longer into adulthood since its immediate use is obvious. The use of tools, the arts and crafts, are the hallmarks by which we rank prehistoric and primitive civilizations. Of course, arts and crafts are not yet science, but share with science the manipulation of nature. The one is to satisfy the desire for material needs of food, shelter, decoration, and of course armament. This is the usual, the normal-the sort of thing which is immediately understood by men of maturity and judgment such as we find in Congress. The other, the less practical but in the end more powerful, is to manipulate nature not for immediate or material ends but for the purpose of providing new knowledge or the tools which could pro- vide new knowledge. This is the method of science. It is rare that this aspiration for discovery is sufficiently understood by any community to the degree of actually providing funds for this purpose. Either the curiosity of childhood is soon lost (perhaps this change may have an actual survival value for the race) or somehow those who possess the gift lack the ability to com- municate the deep meaning, the excitement, and the satisfactions of scientific dis- covery. This question should be of the greatest concern to our scientific community. Unless the public shares in our aspirations and our satisfactions in the scientific D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 1220 CENTENNIAL: FOURTH SCIENTIFIC SESSION PROC. N. A. S. enterprise, the pure scientific impulse will always have to be diluted and even dis- torted with immediate ends, which in the last two decades have been primarily military. I see nothing ignoble or degrading in the application of science to the defense of one's country-quite the contrary. On the other hand, when the support of science is tied both administratively and by public interest directly to military and other purely practical uses, one begins to feel that somehow we as scientists have failed to arouse either interest or understanding in the public mind. We have failed to satisfy the aspirations which they share with the scientist by taking them with us as we go further along the road of scientific accomplishment. This community of interest which we have with the youth of the country in considerable measure does not extend to the adult population. Surely, science is not only for children young and old. I will not infringe further on what I have hoped would be Dr. Oppenheimer's domain of science and communication, but go on to still another facet, perhaps the most significant of the scientific adventure, or scientific movement, or, as I prefer to call it, the scientific culture. In this, we share with the poet and artist the delight in immediate empirical experience with its aesthetic, emotional, and intel- lectual values, but we go further, not to express this experience in the language of the heart, but in the prose of the catalogue, finding similarities in differences and presenting the results as an intellectual structure which can inspire pleasure and interest. We share with the practical world the manipulation of nature but not principally directed to useful ends or ends which are said to be useful. Our ends go further, but we do share with the artisan and the engineer the pleasure of invention of novel combinations to achieve what had hitherto been difficult or impossible. Our goal is a sort of bootstrap operation to utilize the tools of present knowledge to gain new knowledge, knowledge which we could hardly have foreseen or imagined. In these two illustrations I hoped to show that in our interaction with the world outside ourselves the scientific aspirations and satisfactions are basically aspira- tions which are shared by all. The scientists' satisfactions come in a special form which expresses itself in the desire to broaden and deepen our knowledge and under- standing of all phenomena, but whereas the rest of mankind concentrates on man, his feelings and desires, the scientist tries to see the world as it really is or might be shorn of man's perhaps excessive preoccupation with himself. Clearly this is a quest which can never come to an end. Scientific curiosity will never be satisfied because it will never reach its goal to know all and understand all. Such a goal and such an adventure will hardly satisfy the more prosaic and limited aspects of our human nature, but it nevertheless has a nobility of a kind which in other fields has called forth some of the greatest manifestations of the human spirit. The third aspect of science which I wish to explore with you, and which may be as I suggested the most significant, is one which we share with the humanities and with religion. Except for some periods of uneasy truce, science and religion have always been in conflict. Since the time of Galileo this conflict has sharpened. Mlany able men, both from the side of science and of religion, have assured us that there is no conflict between the two. On closer examination, it is apparent that the synthesis D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 VOL. 50, 1963 CENTENNIAL: FOURTH SCIENTIFIC SESSION 1221 or bridge which they try to establish results only in a devaluation of both aspects of a powerful urge of the human spirit. The urge to comprehend the visible and invisible universe and to find man's place within it is common to both science and religion. The conflict between science and religion is, therefore, more in the nature of a civil war between two parties with the same ultimate aims of comprehension and of submission to a higher order of knowledge and of insight. In these matters religion has always taken the lead. Questions about man's place in the universe and his origins had to be given answers in each generation. The ancient Hebrews could not wait for the discovery of the neutron and the de- velopment of the theory of stellar evolution, or for Darwin, Morgan, Crick, and Watson to explain the variety of life and the origins of man and of the universe. The noble opening lines of Genesis cannot fail to move the most prosaic scientist even today. By means of dramatic imagery and lofty poetic insight, religions have provided world systems more or less complete which gave immediate satisfaction to the yearnings of man for order in the world and guidance in his life. They gave a release from certain fears, although they sometimes substituted others for those displaced. The great human quality of faith was always a basic prop to these religious structures. Religion and religious systems to be fully effective had to become established in law and custom, and in a certain sense their statements had to come to be regarded as self-evident. Compared to the eagle flight of religious thought, science is more like the humdrum earthbound bulldozer. Where it has passed anyone can follow. Whereas religion is aristocratic and hierarchical, science is democratic and leveling. After the bull- dozer has passed, a tangled jungle or many beautiful gardens and buildings enshrined in history and sentiment may be destroyed, but the ground is ready for newer and perhaps even more beautiful interesting cultivation, or perhaps not. In any event, a newer generation gets a new start. It has often been said that science gives man knowledge but does not tell him what to do with it. These prescriptions and values he is supposed to get from religion or from the so-called humanities. To borrow a phrase from a great scien- tist, Enrico Fermi, "This is not very true." The great writings of the humanist and holy religious writ can do much to incite men to noble and charitable action as well as to acts of folly and cruelty. Science can make no such claim. What science seeks to do in its limited way is to delineate the results of action through psychology on the individual himself, through the behavioral sciences on the others, and, above all, to present a choice of means, leaving the decision to an informed act of "free will" insofar as the term still has a meaning. Only those who do not care to make their actions their own will say that science does not contribute to values. The conflict between science and religion, between science and the humanities, therefore remains. The latter must always claim more than it knows and, there- fore, must always retreat and qualify as science advances. "Don't insult me with facts" is the hurt expression of punctured pretensions. The true humanist and religionist welcomes scientific advance because it also allows him to advance his cause with deeper understanding. The Holy Fathers of the Roman Catholic Church have made this point very clear. D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 1222 CENTENNIAL: FOURTH SCIENTIFIC SESSION PROC. N. A. S. In contrasting science with the humanities and religion, the more pedestrian elements of the relentless march of scientific discovery have been emphasized. Actually science does not march in battle order toward a predetermined goal. This would be a contradiction in terms. Scientists traditionally are free, untrammeled, and individualistic. Each sets his own goals following his interests. Such co-ordination as there is comes out of the nature of the subject matter and out of the tradition of the discipline; attempts to interfere, direct, or guide this freedom, as in some countries with overplanned societies, result in inefficiency and frustration of the creative urge. Scientists are well aware that they are prone to error. The observer in his laboratory knows full well that he can easily misinterpret his observation or miss the essential fact. The bold speculator can become so enamored of the beauty and sweep of his hy- pothesis that he may take it as an end in itself. It must be true, he feels, because it is so elegant. However, the court of highest appeal, which is nature itself, is relentless, and error cannot long survive. Therein lies one of the greatest appeals of science, an appeal which makes it capable of satisfying one of the greatest of human aspirations-to be a member of a community which is free but not anarchical. Science possesses an infinite variety of limited goals but in the end marches toward a limitless horizon. It consolidates its gains but does not rest on its laurels. Members of this community possess an inner solidity which comes from a sense of achievement and an inner conviction that the advance of science is important and worthy of their greatest effort. This solidity comes in a context of fierce competition, strongly held conviction, and dif- fering assessments as to the value of one achievement or another. Over and above all this too-human confusion is the assurance that with further study will come order and beauty and a deeper understanding. One cannot close a discussion like this without bringing out one of the greatest rewards of the pursuit of scientific discovery. It comes accidentally and is often a matter of luck rather than the result of planning. It may come in an illuminating flash of insight or in the course of an experiment such as Rutherford's when he saw his alpha particles scattered through large angles, or Anderson's when he saw an electron track moving the wrong way and realized he had a positive electron, or Yukawa's when he saw that a supposed particle could account for nuclear forces. Although scientists don't write about these moments of exultation and ecstasy so different from the everyday routine of research, these fleeting visions can in one flash reward one for years of patient and exhausting work. At these times the scientist is filled with profound awe and humility that such wonders should be revealed through him. There is a quality about science, or rather about nature, which is always miraculous in its originality. To obtain a glimpse of this wonder can be the reward of a lifetime. This itself can be the sufficient satisfaction of the aspiration which makes scientists scientists. At this point, at the end of my presentation and the end of this program, I can only wish the Academy and all mankind a century of achievement as great as the century which has passed in the life of our beloved Academy. D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 
work_mjpp5mayqrdhrezz5rgdde775e	----	banjević .indd Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, N.° 30, 2019 / 13-20 / ISSN: 1659-1933 Recepción: 26-06-18 Aceptación: 01-10-18 Abstract Language contacts can be studied in three directions: a) language ac- quisition; b) language borrowing; c) translation. In this project all of the three directions are investigated. The process of language borrowing is analysed on four levels: phonological, morphological, semantic, and syn- tactic. During the borrowing process, language model adaptation takes place. The adaptation of a model (a foreign word) shows two kinds of changes: primary and secondary changes, which take place on all four levels. The adaptation on the quoted levels is carried out according to the three types of transphonemisation (zero, compromise and free), three types of transmorphemisation (zero, compromise and complete) and ac- cording to the degree of change of meaning on a semantic level. In terms of impact languages have on one another, one has to assert that lexis and phonetics are the language branches most subject to changes. Syn- tax comes next, followed by morphology, which resists outer impacts the longest. People borrow not only words as such, but also full syntactic constructions. Today’s linguistics terms the phenomena as calques (or loan translations), derived from the French word calquer (“to copy”). It is a term used in comparative and historical linguistics to indicate the type of borrowing in which the morphemic constituents of borrowed words or phrases are translated into the equivalent morphemes of another lan- guage item by item. This division is essentially methodological due to inseparability of three linguistic realms within the linguistic sign, which, even when it comes to integration of lexical loans, stand in a link of mu- tual dependence and interaction. Lexicological Influence through Language Contacts AleksAndrA BAnjević University of Montenegro, Montenegro Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, n.° 30, 2019 / 13-20 / issn: 1659-193314 Keywords: languages in contact, linguistic borrowing, primary and secondary adapta- tion, indirect borrowing, direct borrowing, foreign word, foreign loan, loanword Resumen Los contactos entre lenguas se pueden estudiar en tres direcciones: a) adquisición del lengua- je; b) préstamos de idiomas; c) traducción. En este proyecto, se investigan las tres direccio- nes. El proceso de préstamo de idiomas se analiza en cuatro niveles: fonológico, morfológico, semántico y sintáctico. Durante el proceso de préstamo, se lleva a cabo la adaptación del modelo de lenguaje. La adaptación de un modelo (una palabra extranjera) muestra dos tipos de cambios: primarios y secundarios, que tienen lugar en los cuatro niveles. La adaptación en los niveles citados se lleva a cabo de acuerdo con los tres tipos de transfonemización (cero, compromiso y libre), tres tipos de transmorfemización (cero, compromiso y completo) y de acuerdo con el grado de cambio de significado en un nivel semántico. En términos del impacto que los lenguajes tienen entre sí, uno tiene que afirmar que el léxico y la fonética son las ramas del lenguaje más sujetas a cambios. La sintaxis viene después, seguida por la morfología, que resiste los impactos externos por más tiempo. La gente toma prestadas no solo palabras como tal, sino también construcciones sintácticas completas. La lingüística de hoy denomina los fenómenos como calcos (o traducciones de préstamos), derivados de la palabra francesa "calquer" (copiar-calcar). Es un término usado en lingüística comparativa e histórica para indicar el tipo de préstamo en el que los constituyentes morfémicos de pala- bras o frases prestadas se traducen elemento por elemento a los morfemas equivalentes de otro idioma. Esta división es esencialmente metodológica debido a la inseparabilidad de tres dominios lingüísticos dentro del signo lingüístico, que, incluso cuando se trata de integración de préstamos léxicos, se encuentran en un vínculo de dependencia e interacción mutuas. Palabras clave: idiomas en contacto, préstamos lingüísticos, adaptación primaria y se- cundaria, préstamos indirectos, préstamos directos, palabras extranjeras, préstamos ex- tranjeros, palabras prestadas Language contacts are always a result of histori-cal and cultural bonds, and Montenegrin Roman influence and permeation lasted from the very begin- nings of Montenegrin history, opening ways to Mediterranean culture, being one of the important constituents of Montenegrin cultural identity. In order to indicate full significance of these effects, both synchronic and diachronic aspects need to be consid- ered. Regardless of the moment of its development, language is always a re- sult of historical processes that deter- mine its structure and properties. Linguistic diversity of the world is relevant in the overall ethnological and cultural diversity among human com- munities. There is no common opin- ion among scientists on the subject, as to when the human species devel- oped language skills, or even whether it happened abruptly, as a result of a genetic mutation, or due to a long- term process that could have lasted for BANJEVIĆ. LExIcoLogIcAL INfLuENcE through LANguAgE coNtActs 15 hundreds of thousands of years. Lan- guage changes occur unevenly in time and space; if a group of people migrates far enough, the language of that group will evolve in a different manner in re- lation to the language of the group that did not migrate. We can rest assured that languages emerged and disap- peared in the past as well as today. In essence, each language classi- fication is similar: some group mem- bers are joined to certain subgroups with respect to elements shared by all members of respective subgroups. Sci- entific classification is differentiated from day-to-day classification by cer- tain elements according to which are performed and are relevant in terms of identity of the classified items. Two languages are genetically re- lated provided that they have sprung from the same primordial language. It follows that, for the genetic related- ness of languages, what happened with them during their history is of vital im- portance. Language family is the name we use to identify a set of languages that have probably evolved from the identical primordial language. Indo- European languages belong to the same language family, since it has been proved that their common primordial language, Indo-European, was in fact their language ancestor. One should emphasize that within a language family we place all languages shown to originate from the same primor- dial language, because, otherwise, we would have to regard Slavic languages, Romance, Celtic, etc., as language fam- ilies, being that they share a common primordial language, as proven before. Complexity of language issues and their relation to other human activi- ties is reflected through existence of a number of scientific disciplines that were founded precisely on the verge of linguistics and other sciences. Those are sociolinguistics, psycholinguistics, neurolinguistics, philosophy of lan- guage, applied linguistics and those related thereof. Human language history shows that there is no such language that has not been exposed to contact with other languages during its historical develop- ment. These contacts could have been made by various means – migrations, military assaults, colonisation, within ethno-linguistic enclaves, through edu- cation or expansions of international languages. The results were different – from borrowing solely a few words to the creation of brand new languages. This was substantially influenced by internal factors (types of relationships between languages, particularly typo- logical relatedness), but also by social and psychological factors (intensity and duration of contact between language communities, and by their size and pres- tige of relationship). It is well known that the languages within the Balkan Peninsula (particularly Romanian, Bul- garian, Albanian and Modern Greek), belonging to different branches of Indo- European, exhibit many similarities, not only in lexis, but also in morphol- ogy, syntax, idioms, even in phonetics, which is attempted to be explained by the action of mutual substratum. Romance lexical influence on many European languages and dialects, among which stand the Montenegrin dialects, comes as a result of their cen- turies old presence in these regions, and their huge impact in various epochs. At its zenith, the Roman Empire stretched from the east to the west along a territory of five thousand Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, n.° 30, 2019 / 13-20 / issn: 1659-193316 kilometres, and from the north to the south three thousand two hundred kilometres. The entire Romania, i.e. the totality of Roman countries from a linguistic point of view, is divided into two: the east and the west. The east encompasses the Balkan region, including Romania and rem- nants of Romanian dialects, whereas the west encompasses Roman lands of today’s southern and western Europe: Italy (save the Slovenian and Croatian part of Istria, Gorički kraj, Slovenian parts of province Venezia Giulia and Lastovo), cantons Grisons, Vaud, Neu- chatel in Switzerland, (namely, Ital- ian, French, and a so-called Romansh, a part of Switzerland), France (save the land of Baska) and Portugal. Both Romanias today are geo- graphically disconnected. South-Slavic countries were squeezed in between. In terms of linguistics, Roman dialects, that used to connect both Romanias, were employed in medieval Dalmatian and Istrian cities. They used to form a connection with dialects in the Friuli region and with the Venetians. The rise of the Venetian Republic in Istria and Dalmatia disrupted the con- nection as reflected in the cities where the Venetian dialect suppressed the primarily older Romance language in the province that had developed there in the Byzantine age. South-Slavic vil- lages boosted the breaking of the link by introducing a new, non-Roman pop- ulation, which surged into the cities and their surroundings. This group includes Romanian, and the now-vanished (Old) Dalmatian language. Latin loanwords in the Albanian lan- guage are of great importance for mak- ing a comparison. The Balkan Peninsula was, with the exception of Dacia, super- ficially romanised; much of it remained entirely Greek. The connection with the Roman centre was broken in the fifth century, at the latest. Dane Kristian Sandfeld, in his work titled Linguistique balkanique, summarised the observa- tions nineteenth century linguistics al- ready tackled, in particular, by the Slo- venian linguist Franc Miklošič. In the Balkan Peninsula, languages that coexist are genetically related: three Slavic, Greek, one Romance, and one Al- banian, probably the last relic of the Illyr- ian language group. The listed languages exhibit significant common features. According to Skok, pre-Slavic lan- guages in the Balkans are as follows: the Vulgar Latin, from which Romanian has been preserved to this day Illyrian- Thracian, resulting in today’s Albanian (Arnautic), and the Old Greek, which in the present phase of its name is called New Hellenic, or Modern Greek, or Ru- manian. The last name originates from the Byzantine age. Slavic borrowings from Latin have a certain value for Romanists, in par- ticular for the reconstruction of, the so- called Balkan identity, which Latin el- ements of Albanian and Modern Greek stem from, and from which today’s Ro- manian and Old Dalmatian Romance language evolved. These loanwords are not a signifi- cant issue for Romanists, as they are for Germanists. Their importance de- creases, since for many Slavic Lati- nisms (as for cesarь, vrt, ocat, kotao, kuhinja, tresnja, kupovati, etc.) it is claimed, by more or less right, that they had not entered Slavic languages directly via the Romans, but the Ger- mans, especially the Goths, who ar- rived at the Danube frontier and came BANJEVIĆ. LExIcoLogIcAL INfLuENcE through LANguAgE coNtActs 17 into contact with the Romans first rather than the Slavs. This fact indicates the very name the Slavs give to the Romans. The general Slavic term for them is not of Roman, but of Germanic origin. Vlach (Vlah) is derived from Germanic walhoz, the lat- ter from the name of the Celtic people Volcae, who at the time of first contacts between Romans and Germans, were their closest neighbours. According to these data, the Slavs learnt about the Romans via the Ger- mans. However, according to Skok, when things are considered up close, this is true only to some extent. There- fore, according to Skok (1940): [...] it is possible, that in the Slavic languages, especially those of the northwest and south, there are words of Vulgar Latin origin of late period, say from sixth and seventh century, according to the theory before the arrival of Hungarians in Pannonia, before the founding of the first Romanian principali- ties and before the colonising of the Bavarian Alpine countries, and that the northern Slavdom was not separated from the southern as it is today, hence, before the individ- ual establishment of Romance lan- guages” (p. 130). Indeed, Vulgar Latin castellu(m), a diminutive form of castrum, is to be found in South-Slavic’s kostel in its original meaning, and in the Czech and Polish meaning of “church”. There are other words, such as: vi- num > vino (wine), oleum > ulje (oil), lactuka > loćika, rapa (croat.) > repa (tur- nip), graecus > grk (Greek), paganus > pogan (pagan,peasant), casulla > košulja (shirt), etc., words mainly found in northern Slavic languages. The first penetration period of Latin words into Slavic languages encom- passes South-Slavic words stemming from the Balkan Latin provenance, as listed above, but which have not en- tered the northern Slavic languages: ra- tione > račun (reason, count), calendae > koleda (carol), rosalia > rusalje (rose fes- tivity), altare > oltar (altar), radicem > rotkva (radish), menta > metvica (mint), molinum > mlin (mill), calce > klak (clack), camara > komora (chamber), fo- catia (or–cea) > pogača (type of bread), laurum > lovor (laurel), pavone > paun (peacock), sapone > sapun (soap), per- sica > breskva, praskva (peach). This, as a result, raises the ques- tion of whether the South-Slavic dia- lects preserved something of the Bal- kan Vulgar Latin. The following words are used everyday, as exemplified in: račun, košulja, etc, derived from the purely Latin ratio, accusative case rationem, casulla. This brings us to believe that our ancestors, who were great tradesmen, acquired a great deal of cultural and culture-related words from the Balkan Romans. Culture- related words did not stem solely from the Balkan-Latin provenance, but from those with regard to folklore as well. These are koleda, carol, followed by the Bulgarian rusalje, etc. Koleda was derived from the Latin calendae, and beyond a calendar-related meaning, the word denoted a song or carol, sung in cycles. Rusalje comes from the Latin rosalia, marking a beginning of rose festivities. These examples give viable evidence about the source, as they play an important role in the folklore of the nations of Roman descent (Caraman, 1933, p. 146). Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, n.° 30, 2019 / 13-20 / issn: 1659-193318 The relations between the Slavs and Romans existed not only during the first settlings in the Balkans; they remained vibrant to this day. It is not just the question of strong influence, as the Venetian influ- ence was, which was intensively exercised from the fourteenth cen- tury until the fall of the Republic under Napoleon. The reason this influence was intensive within our Adriatic belt is due to prestige (Skok, 1940: 6). Romance study is not just a mat- ter of Roman impact resulting from prestigious law, but one coming to ex- istence under the law of symbiosis. In the nineteenth century, Romance loan- words penetrated into our language in two ways: directly via Romance-Slavic linguistic symbiosis on the east coast of the Adriatic, and indirectly through the German language, i.e. through the influence of Vienna and Austria in the west. This occurred because the cultur- al centres of the Adriatic coast shifted towards inland, consequently forming brand new areas of influence of Ro- mance loanwords (Jernej 1998:60-61). The influence of Romanisms, pass- ing on the east coast of the Adriatic, i.e. via direct contact between two lan- guage groups, primarily appertained to “non-technical” terms, such as (as listed by Jernej), ćàr (it.chiaro) “jasan” (clear), kòntenat (it. contento) “zado- voljan” (conten(ed)), ečèlenat (it. eccel- lente) “izvrstan” (excellent), kàntat (it. cantare) “pjevati” (sing), etc., for which there are authentic terms in the stan- dard language of ancient origin. For that reason, such Romance loanwords could not penetrate further inland, or enter the standard language, and, thus, were compressed inside a narrow area along the coast, doomed to die out (Jernej, 1998, pp. 65-66). The fate of “Austro-Italian” words (so called by Jernej) is different, how- ever, exhibiting a greater degree of expansion and tending to suppress the Dalmatian-Italian forms in all ar- eas of standard language, and even in those cases where both variants, the “northern” and the “southern” entered the standard language. As an example, Jernej is the name of the famous mask from the Italian comedia dell’arte, en- tering the south directly via the Italian term arlecchino>Arlekin (Harlequin), whilst on the north it entered via the German form Harlekin>Harlekin. According to Jernej, the latter sup- presses the former (Jernej himself is, nonetheless, somewhat reserved about this observation). As for the other types he mentions, Jernej is undoubtedly right in his assertion that the northern form of maska suppresses the southern maškara, the form menza suppresses mensa, gitara-kitara, violina-violin, etc. (Jernej, 1998, p. 67). Italianisms, which for the last hundred years penetrated into the standard language, and in this way reached the dialects in Montenegro, are for the most part related to the re- gions where the Italian language domi- nated Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth century and expanded to all European languages. Most numer- ous are the commercial and banking terms (banka, konto, bilans, kredit, bankrotirati, etc.), as the territory of present-day Italy was the first country in the Middle Ages which introduced a sort of money-commodity exchange relation, in a country where the first BANJEVIĆ. LExIcoLogIcAL INfLuENcE through LANguAgE coNtActs 19 European banks and credit institutes were established. Music-related terms are also included (tenor, bas, bariton, viola, violončelo, kantata, sonata, sere- nada, duet, kvartet, etc.), theatre relat- ed terminology (in Italy, by the end of the fifteenth century, classical theatre was restored), terms in architecture (Italian Renaissance architecture was a model for Europe at the time), mili- tary terms (alarm, bataljon, kaplar, citadela, major, kapetan, general, etc.), and many more that spread from Italy to all European countries and, thus, via major European languages, especially German, penetrated our own Montene- grin dialects (Jernej, 1998, pp. 70-80). Sudden extinction of urban popula- tion provided opportunity to the Slavic, predominantly rural populace, to increas- ingly occupy positions in Roman cities. By the end of the nineteenth centu- ry, such bilingualism acquired new fea- tures before it had completely vanished. The fact that we can reach out only as far as language permits, leads us to tackle research processes of the word even more, its origin, and possible changes that may have occurred dur- ing its usage. The importance we attach to lan- guage as a tool, which helps us under- stand ourselves and the society we be- long to, is reflected in the notion of two basic objectives of language, that of thought and communication. Precisely that the “mission” of language permits a number of subjective paths towards human enlightenment that, within their wholes, constitute something of the objective, many paths “not only to show the known truths, but to reveal some of those of the unknown” (Hum- boldt, 1820, Bd.IV). Conclusion The study of language contacts rep- resents one of the most exciting fields of sociolinguistic research. R. Filipović lists seven ways in which loanwords are classified within a language: classifica- tion by alphabetical order, by subject, type of words, grammatical level, degree and means of integration, by how desir- able and needed certain loanwords are, and according to speakers who import them and their personal standpoints. The most common and the most evident changes are those in terms of pronun- ciation and vocabulary, and, therefore, they are the most studied. The most important reason with regard to word borrowing is in filling lexical gaps. In most cases, words are borrowed in order to accentuate par- ticular lexical differences local words do not reflect. The harmonious co-existence of many languages in Europe is a pow- erful symbol of the aspiration to be united in diversity.Languages define personal identities, but are also part of a shared inheritance. They can serve as a bridge to other people and open access to other countries and cultures, promoting mutual understanding. Ap- proached in this spirit, linguistic diver- sity can become a precious asset. Lan- guage is always changing. In spite of an impressive amount of work on language by linguists, liter- ary critics, psychologists, and philoso- phers, language still remains a marvel and a mystery. It remains wonderful that mere puffs of wind should allow men to discover what they think and feel, to share their attitudes and plans, to anticipate the future and learn from the past, and to create lasting works Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, n.° 30, 2019 / 13-20 / issn: 1659-193320 of art. One need only imagine the con- sequences of an onslaught of seman- tic amnesia, with progressive loss of meaning of the words we employ so casually, to be reminded of the impor- tance of language in human affairs. Without words, we would be dumb in more senses than one. Yet we un- derstand very little, after centuries of investigation, about how this infinitely fine web of communication is estab- lished, improved, and preserved. We can be sure, however, that the old defi- nition of language as a vehicle serving primarily for the expression and trans- mission of thought is too narrow to be helpful (Black, 1962, p. 47). Bibliography Black, Max. (1962). The Importance of Language. New Jersey: Prentice Hall. Caraman, Piotr. (1993). ‘‘Obrzęd kolędo wa nia u Słowian i u Ru- munów: studjum porównawcze, W Krakowie. Nakł. Polskiej Akademji Umiejętnoś ci. http://www.world- cat.org/title/ obrzed-koledowania-u- sowian-i-u-rumunow-studjum-po- rownawcze/ oclc/716923477&referer= brief_results Jernej, J. (1998). Sugli italianismi pe- netrati nel serbo-croato negli ultimi cento anni. Studia romanica 1/1, Zagreb, pp. 54-82. R. Literarum studia. MH. Skok, Petar (1940). Osnovi romans- ke lingvistike, Zagreb, 1940,Vol. I, pp. 6-130. Skok, Petar (1971–1974). Etimologij- ski rječnik hrvatskoga ili srpskoga jezika. Band 1-4, Zagreb. Humboldt, Wilhelm von. (1820). Über das vergleichende Studium. In: Bd.IV. 
work_mkjybojltndxtgkgvsb6stmhiq	----	Manuel Chrysoloras and the Early Italian Renaissance Thomson, Ian Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies; Spring 1966; 7, 1; ProQuest pg. 63 Manuel Chrysoloras and the Early Italian Renaissance Ian Thomson FROM AT LEAST the eighteenth century, when scholars first began to discuss the "Italian Renaissance" as a cultural phenomenon, the importance of Manuel Chrysoloras, the first notable pro- fessor of Greek in Western Europe, has been widely recognized. Writers such as Carlo Rosmini, Jacob Burckhardt, John Addington Symonds, and Remigio Sabbadini have given him deservedly honor- able mention as the teacher of a number of influential humanists, whose interest in classical studies did much to bring about the Renais- sance as a whole. It was not until 1941, however, that Professor G. Cammelli produced a full-length study of Chrysoloras' career and its effect upon the early Renaissance.1 This excellent work has made information on the external events of Chrysoloras' life, especially for the period 1397-1415, readily accessible. The purpose of this article is two-fold: first, to assess the extent of Chrysoloras' influence on his pupils and the nature of their admiration for him, with particular reference to Guarino da Verona; second, to suggest a possible motive for his coming to Italy which has received little or no attention from historians. Chrysoloras was not without honor in his own lifetime, as is well attested in the letters and orations of his pupils and friends. 2 Indeed, during the eighteen years between his arrival in Florence in 1397 and his death at or near Constance on April 15, 1415, his consider- able intellectual gifts and excellence as a teacher won him almost universal respect and inspired in some of his pupils a sense of gratitude that survived him for almost half a century. 1 G. Cammelli, I dotti bizantini e Ie origini dell'umanesimo, I: Manuele erisolora (Florence 1941). Before 1941, the most important work was R. Sabbadini: "L'ultimo ventennio della vita di Manuele Crisolora," Giornale ligustico 17 (1890) 321ff, which established the main chronology of Chrysoloras' life from 1395-1415. 2 See Carlo Rosmini. La vita e disciplina di Guarino Veronese (Brescia 1805) I 3-8; II 29ff; R. Sabbadini. La scuola e gli studi di Guarino Veronese (Catania 1896) 14-16, 213-20. 63 64 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY ITALIAN RENAISSANCE His most direct contribution to the Revival of Learning was made in the years 1397-1400, during which he taught Greek to a small number of humanists in Florence.3 These men not only set the cultural tone of their own city but were able eventually to make their influence felt all over Italy. It should be noted that since Petrarch and Boccaccio there had existed among the more intellectually radical scholars in Florence and throughout northern Italy at least a theoretical desire to learn Greek, but few of them did much about it.4 Guarino, we are told by the so-called Anonymous Veronese,5 was "urged by the wise men whose company he often sought" to learn Greek, but he was the first important scholar intrepid enough to visit Constantinople for that specific purpose. 6 Many scholars paid lip service to Greek as an in- teresting and harmless bagatelle, but the majority of professors and students were simply not interested or were actively averse. At the end of the fourteenth century only Coluccio Salutati, Palla Strozzi, Niccolo Niccoli and a few others-probably no more than ten in number-were really enthusiastic about learning Greek. Mere num- bers, however, are unimportant; what matters in cultural history is breadth of influence and contribution ultimately recognized. Leonardo Bruni, for instance, contributed to the spread of Greek culture by a series of important translations.7 He had cut his teeth as a translator of Greek with Latin versions of Basilius' Homilia and Xenophon's Hieron. By 1403 or 1404 he had produced a translation of Plato's Phaedon. The list continued to grow over the next three dec- 8 R. R. Bolgar, The Classical Heritage and its BenefiCiaries (Cambridge [Eng.] 1954) 403, gives the following list of Chrysoloras' pupils: "Guarino, Giacopo di Scarperia (sic), Roberto Rossi, Niccolo Niccoli, Leonardo Bruni, Carlo Marsuppini, Ambrogio Traversari 0), Vergerio, Uberto Decembrio, Poggio." (On p. 269 he notes that Poggio "had not been pro- perly speaking his pupil"). All but Guarino and Decembrio were pupils at Florence. 4 For the lack of response to Greek in Italy, see Denys Hay, The Italian Renaissance in its Historical Background (Cambridge [Eng.] 1961) 86-88. As for Petrarch, there is no doubt that he could have progressed beyond the Greek alphabet if he had really wanted to; see D. J. Geanakoplos, Greek Scholars in Venice (Cambridge [Mass.] 1962) 21 n.27. 5 A pupil of Guarino, otherwise unknown, who delivered a spirited defense of the latter in 1424. The speech was published by Sabbadini, "Documenti Guariniani," Atti dell'Acca- demia di agricoltura di Verona 18 (1916) 232-242. 6 Other Italians before Guarino went to Constantinople to learn Greek. In Guarino. Epistolario ed. R. Sabbadini, I (Venice 1915-1919) 1, of ca. 1405, we hear of two-Carlo Lottino and "Marcellus, a man long versed in Greek"-who were resident aliens. Lottino and Guarino exchanged letters in Greek to improve each other's grasp of the language. After Guarino, a fair number of other scholars, such as Filelfo (1420-27), visited Constanti- nople but did so only after the advantages of knOWing Greek had become obvious through the success of such men as Bruni and Guarino. 7 Cf H. Baron, Humanistic and Political Literature in Florence and Venice (Cambridge [Mass.] 1955) 114-125, "Bruni's development as a translator from the Greek." IAN THOMSON 65 ades, and embraced versions of Aeschines, Plutarch, Demosthenes, and Aristotle. Already by 1418 he was able to boast in a letter: Tam multa etiam ex Platone, Demosthene, Plutarcho, Xenophonte in latinum traduximus. 8 His most important translations were those of the Ethica (before 1416), foliUca (1438), and Oeconomica of Aristotle, Book 1 of the (pseudo-) Aristotelian Oeconomica being completed on March 3, 1420, and Book II being added between March 25,1420 and March 24, 1421.9 Roberto Rossi also translated Aristotle, although his work was not as influential as Bruni's. The only extant version by Rossi is that of the Analytica Posteriora. 10 It is worth noting, however, that in 1411 Guarino praised Rossi's translations of Aristotle and spoke of them as being in use throughout the "gymnasia" of Italy (Guarino, Epistolario 1.6.12-24). Rossi may also have turned his hand to other Greek authors, for in the dedication to the Analytica Posteriora he says: Nec quod restet Platonis, com (sic) transtulerimus quaedam et alii alia, si vita olim dabitur et transferendi facultas, negligemus. Tum etiam Thucy- didem ... atque dignissimos alios aggrediemur. Rossi may therefore have been somewhat more influential in his own time than has been sup- posed, but his real Significance in cultural history rests upon his collection of Greek manuscripts.ll In 1404 Pier Paolo Vergerio wrote his famous essay De ingenuis moribus et liberalibus studiis adolescentiae,12 the very title of which sug- gested a break with the traditions of mediaeval education. Vergerio proposed a return to the balanced, liberal curriculum of later Greek education-in effect, to the so-called enkyklios paideia, although he does not use that term-in which the individual's physical and mental aptitudes were to be equally developed. By giving physical education such prominence and by insisting that the cultivation of good morals 8 Leonardi Bruni Arretini Epistolarum Libri VIII, ed. L. Mehus, vol. II (Florence 1741) 231 (Ep. X.26). 9 For the date of the Oeconomica see Baron, op.cit. 120, 167-8. Other translations by Bruni were: Aeschines' Pro Diopithe (1406), In Ctesiphontem (1412), De falsa legatione (before 1421); Demosthenes' De Chersoneso (1405), De corona (1407), Olynthiacs I-III, De pace, De falsa lega- tione (last three before 1421) and two Philippics (before 1444); Plato's Gorgias (1409), Crito (1423/7), Apology (1424/8), Phaedrus (part, 1424), Epistulae (1427) and Symposium (part, 1435); Xenophon's Hellenica and Apologia Socratis (both paraphrased before 1440). See Bolgar, Classical Heritage 434-5. 10 Sabbadini reports that this translation is extant in the Marcian Library at Venice (codex Marcianus latinus 2.231) and dates it posterior to 1406 (Guarino Epistolario III.13). 11 See R. Sabbadini, Le scoperte dei codici latini e greci ne' secoli XIV e XV, I (Florence 1905) 15,63. 12 Translated by W. H. Woodward in Vittorino da Fe1tre and Other Humanist Educators (Cambridge [Eng.] 1905). S+G.R.B.S. 66 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY ITALIAN RENAISSANCE was the sovereign aim of education, Vergerio pointed the way that Barzizza, Guarino and Vittorino were to follow. Admittedly so far as intellectual training was concerned, his "revised" curriculum, con- sisting of syntax, dialectic, rhetoric, poetry, music, mathematics, astronomy, natural history, drawing, medicine, law, ethics, and theology, is little more than a rehashed list of the subjects of the mediaeval trivium and quadrivium; nor does Vergerio add any recom- mendations as to how these subjects should be taught, or for how long, or in what order. But he did show that a balanced education de- signed to produce a whole man was desirable; and the inspirational effect of this upon the great humanistic educators cannot be doubted. What was implicit in Petrarch was explicit in Vergerio. It is possible to argue, as Bolgar does (Classical Heritage 258) that V ergerio' s treatise owes nothing to the teaching of Manuel Chryso- loras and that "we may reasonably assume that he was putting on paper the principles that had guided him throughout his career," but there is no evidence to support such an assumption, except for a dis- puted dating of the De ingenuis moribus,13 Vergerio spent most of his life teaching logic, and never opened an independent school in which he could have implemented his ideas. It is more reasonable to regard the De ingenuis moribus as Vergerio's reaction to the teaching of Chrysoloras, especially since he is able to cite Greek authorities directly. It is hard not to sense an echo of Chrysoloras in Vergerio's citation of Aristotle, Politica 8.3: erant autem quattuor quae pueros suos Graeci docere consueverunt: litteras, luctativam, musicam et designativam, for these words contain in essence the Greek concept of education as mousike and gymnastike. Through Vergerio, then, Chrysoloras may be said to have given educationalists in the West a new and clearer in- spiration to implement the ideals of Greek education, which led to the translation by Guarino in 1411 of Plutarch's De liberis educandis and the remarkable experiments by Barzizza at Padua (1408-1420), Vittorino at Mantua (1423-1446), and Guarino at Venice (1414-1419), Verona (1420--1429), and Ferrara (1430--1460).14 13 C. A. Combi, Epistole di Pier Paolo Vergerio Seniore (Misc. Pub!. della R. Deputazione Veneta di Storia Patria, SER. IV, V [Venice 1931] p. xix, dates it 1392. W. H. Woodward, op.cit. 113, dates it 1404, and this is generally accepted. 14 These educators each interpreted Vergerio's general recommendations in his own way. Barzizza and Guarino lectured on ancient texts from a linguistic and literary standpoint. Vittorino attempted to cover all the subjects in Vergerio's list but did not teach all the sub- jects himself. Barzizza neglected physical education. but all three sought to inculcate good morals. IAN THOMSON 67 There can be no dispute, moreover, about the effect of Chrysoloras' teaching methods upon Bruni, for the latter's De studiis et litteris (ca. 1425)15 addressed to Battista Malatesta, daughter of the count of Urbino, was the first detailed exposition of the new pedagogic tech- nique that Chrysoloras had brought from Constantinople. This tech- nique stressed accurate pronunciation, the use of mnemonics, constant and regular revision of subject matter and the preparation of copious notes under the headings of method ice (grammar, syntax and vocabu- lary) and historice (what we should call "background material"). Bruni recommended minute attention to linguistic detail and imita- tion of classical models through the use of these techniques. Chryso- loras left no account of his methods, the culmination of centuries of Byzantine experience, but we know what they were from Bruni's treatise, and in even finer detail from Battista Guarino's De modo et ordine docendi et discendi,16 which was read and approved by his father Guarino in 1459. Guarino himself wrote nothing on educational method save for sundry recommendations scattered throughout his letters; the honor must go to Bruni for having been the first humanist to summarize Chrysoloras' ideas in a convenient form. Chrysoloras' work at Florence had yielded excellent fruit in Bruni, Rossi and Verge rio, not to mention such minor contributions to learn- ing as Jacopo Angeli da Scarperia's translations of Plutarch's lives of Brutus (1400) and Cicero (1410) and Ptolemy's ChorographiaP But his influence cannot be measured only in tangibles. Such men as Poggio, Traversari, Salutati, Marsuppini, Niccoli and Palla Strozzi acquired, in addition to some knowledge of Greek, a deeper understanding of antiquity and an increased confidence in themselves. It would be mis- taken to underestimate the force of this self-confidence in shaping the political and humanistic literature that glorified Florence as true heir of republican Rome and the champion of popular liberty in Italy. Those pupils who benefited from Chrysoloras' instruction at Florence naturally expressed their gratitude. One indication of the value they attached to him was the fact that his salary was raised on two occasions, the final sum in 1400 standing at 250 gold florins. More important, however, was the devotion they expressed in letters, the 15 Leonardus Aretinus, De studiis et liUeris ed. H. Baron, in Leonardo Aretinos humanistische und philosophische Schriften [Quellen zur Geistesgeschichte der Mittelalter und der Renais- sance] I (Leipzig 1928) 7-10. 16 Translated by W. H. Woodward, op.cit. 17 See Guarino, Epistolario III pp. 18, 30. 68 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY IT ALlAN RENAISSANCE literary form most favored by the humanists. Vergerio, for instance, in a letter of 1406,18 deplores the possibly permanent loss of Chryso- loras to students in Italy and refers to him as "the best and most learned man whom your city (Florence) had called from the heart of Greece to disseminate Greek studies in Italy" (Vergerio, Epistolario p. 244). Poggio, too, was conscious of a deep personal debt to Chryso- lor as and expressed as much in letters to other scholars. The same is true of the other Florentine pupils, with the possible exception of Niccoli.19 On the whole, however, the Florentines' praise of Chryso- loras did not run to luxuriance. They were grateful for his willingness to answer their call for a good teacher of Greek, and aware of the benefits they had reaped from his instruction, but they did not make a cult of him, as did Guarino. This may have been because they were a proud breed of men, over-partial to their own achievements and given to intellectual pretensions that often irritated the citizens of other states. But more probably their political pre-occupations had something to do with it. As Baron has pointed out, the dramatic struggle in the war against Giangaleazzo Visconti produced a series of humanistic works glorifying Florence and her political and cultural heritage. The Florentine attitude to great men varied with the politi- cal climate. For example, Salutati's treatise De Tyranno, written in 1400, was a defense of Julius Caesar and the rule of a single man, but the Invectiva in Antonium Luscum Vicentinum shows that within the next few years he had radically altered his opinions. 2o Again, in Bruni's Dialogus ad Petrum Paulum Histrum I Niccoli is depicted as a militant classicist with little time for Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio, and Bruni himself seems ranged on Niccoli's side, whereas in the Dialogus II, com- posed about three years later, in 1403 or 1404, Bruni, Niccoli, and Salutati join in defending the Trecento tradition.21 As is well known, Bruni later produced lives of Dante and Petrarch in Italian. The im- mense pride felt by the Florentines in their cultural tradition may 18 Ep. 86 in Vergerio, Epistclario ed. L. Smith, in Fonti per la stcria d'Italia 74 (Rome 1934) 243-246. For the date, see Baron, Humanistic and Political Literature 107-113. 19 Niccoli seems to have been an ungracious man, who offended many of his contem- poraries (see Sesto Prete, "Leonardi Bruni Aretini Carmen," CW 56 [1963] 280-83). It is difficult to assess Niccoli, however, since he wrote very little. His only extant letter is one to Cosimo dei Medici of March 20, 1426 (published in Le Carte Strozziane del R. Archivio di Stato in Firenze SERIE PRIMA I [Florence 1884] 590). It was said that his jealousy drove Chrysoloras out of Florence, but G. Zippel, Niccolo Niccoli (Florence 1890) 75-91, maintains that Niccoli's malice was aimed at John Chrysoloras. 20 See E. Emerton, Humanism and Tyranny (Cambridge [Mass.] 1925) 25-70. 21 Cf Baron, Humanistic and Political Literature 124. IAN THOMSON 69 have detracted somewhat from their appreciation of Chrysoloras. It certainly saved them from the excesses of Guarino da Verona. Guarino did not begin his study of Greek until after Chrysoloras had ceased to be active as a teacher in Italy. In March or April of 1403, the latter had returned with the Emperor Manuel II Palaeologus to Constantinople.zz Guarino followed him shortly afterwards,z3 and studied under Manuel and his nephew John until about 1406.z4 Manuel was absent for part of the time,z5 but one cannot doubt that his was the guiding spirit of the school,z6 and that he made an overwhelming impression upon his young Italian student. By the end of 1407, Manuel moved permanently to the West 27 and Guarino returned to Italy in 1408. Thereafter, the two men seem to have remained in touch, al- though at probably sporadic intervals. The extant correspondence between them is limited to three letters,28 one in Latin from Guarino and two in Greek from Chrysoloras. It is known, however, that they met in Italy on at least two occasions.29 In the first of Manuel's Greek letters, dated January, 1412, he con- gratulates Guarino on his success in disseminating in Italy what he had learned in Greece, and refers to the EVYKptUtS rijs 7TaAauxs Kat vEas ·pw/LTJs30 which Guarino had received from him in October of the 33 Cammelli, 123. 23 Sabbadini, La sCHola e gli studi di Guarino 10-11, maintained that Guarino sailed with Chrysoloras and that he accompanied the imperial flotilla. But this view, still frequently repeated, was disposed of in Guarino, Epistolario III p. 5, where Sabbadini pointed out that a "magister Guarinus de Guarinis" appears in a list of witnesses to a Venetian document dated August 21, 1403 (E. Bertanza and G. della Santa, Maestri, smole e scolari in Venezia fino al 1500 [Venice 1907] 245, in Documenti per la storia della cultura in Venezia I); and Guarino himself says that he went to Constantinople at the expense and under the guidance of Paolo Zane (Epistolario II.758.25-33; 873.14-19). . 24 Except where otherwise noted, I rely for events in Guarino's life on Sabbadini, "Vita di Guarino da Verona," Giornale ligustico 18 (1891). 25 He was in Venice in December, 1404, spent most of 1405 in Constantinople, returned to Italy before January, 1406, and was home again by the end of that year (Cammelli, 140-142). 26 It is difficult to determine if it was a school in the regular sense. F. Fuchs, Die hoheren Schulen von Konstantinopel im Mitrelalter (Leipzig-Berlin 1926, repro Amsterdam 1964) sheds no light on the question. The school may, after all, have been only a coterie of scholars who gathered at the house of the Chrysolorae, and Guarino need not have been a pupil in the regular sense. 37 Cammelli, 140-145. 28 Guarino, Epistolario I, Ep. 7, 9 and 11, of October, 1411; January, 1412; and July, 1412, respectively. Ep. 7 opens: Quod si rariores Jortasse quam velles a me litteras acdpis ... 29 In Ep. 11, Chrysoloras talks of a meeting with Guarino, which Sabbadini guesses took place at Florence in April, 1411 (Epistolario III p. 18). The other meeting occurred when Guarino accompanied Chrysoloras on a journey from Bologna to Venice in July, 1414, re- ferred to in one of Guarino's commentarioli published by Sabbadini in La smola e gli studi 173. 30 Published in Scriptores historiae bizantinae (Paris 1655) 107. Actually a Greek work, it is sometimes referred to by the Latin title Epistulae III de comparatione veteris et novae Romae. 70 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY ITALIAN RENAISSANCE previous year (Guarino, Epistolario 1.7). It appears that Guarino had been distributing copies of this work-a comparison between Rome and Constantinople, designed in essence to foster good relations be- tween the East and West-throughout Northern Italy. Chrysoloras was signally grateful for this service, but Guarino probably felt that he was only fulfilling the demands of pietas. Most humanists felt obliged to spread the fame of their friends and teachers as widely as possible.3! For that reason, Guarino rarely missed an opportunity, both during and after Chrysoloras' lifetime, of reminding his fellow scholars in letters, conversation, orations, and lectures of their debt to Chrysoloras.32 It is noteworthy, however, that in his correspondence, in which the bulk of these tributes appears, Guarino seldom refers to Chrysoloras specifically as a teacher of Greek, but rather as the one man most re- sponsible for the restoration of the "best studies" to Italy. By "best studies" (optima studia), the "rebirth of letters" (renata humanitas) and other such expressions the humanists-and Guarino was no exception -generally meant that critical approach to the content of ancient literature and the close, prescriptive study of classical Latin 33 which we associate with the Revival of Learning. At first sight, then, Guari- no's praise seems paradoxical, for Chrysoloras' reputation in cultural history rests upon his success as a teacher of Greek. It is known that he never mastered Latin as well as did some of the Greek emigres later in the fifteenth century,34 and certainly could never have taught it at a professorial level to Italians. Guarino must have been thinking more 31 Cf Guarino, Epistolario 1.7.68-70: Est vero benignum et plenum ingenui pudoris fateri per quos proftceris, ut conterraneus meus Plinius ait, an echo of Pliny, NH Praefatio 21. Examples of this sentiment in humanistic literature could be multiplied. 32 See in particular Guarino, Epistolario I, Ep. 7, 25, 27, 47, 49, 54; II. Ep. 861,862,863,864, 865, 866, 867, 892, 893. 33 Among the humanists the prescriptive study of classical models was more marked in Latin scholarship than in Greek, pOSSibly because there was no dominant model for Attic prose, such as Cicero was bound to be for classical Latin. It is true, as Geanakoplos points out in Greek Scholars in Venice 292, that the Greeks in Italy" emphasized reading, memoriza- tion and imitation of the style of the original texts" and that Plato, Aristotle and Plutarch emerged as the authors most generally imitated; but the Atticizing movement did not appear in Italy until the Greeks had established themselves there by the middle and latter part of the fifteenth century. With the exception of Guarino and Filelfo, the early humanists confined their writing of Greek to a few safe snippets-usually direct quotations-with which to decorate their Latin letters; and even the few samples of Original Greek com- position by Guarino and Filelfo strike one as influenced by the habits of Latin syntax and markedly un-Attic. 34 The one extant Latin letter by Chrysoloras is poorly composed (Sabbadini, "L'ultimo ventennio della vita di M. c." 330). In Lombardy he produced a Latin version of Plato's IAN THOMSON 71 of the good effect that Chrysoloras had exerted upon classical studies in general. He believed, undoubtedly, that Chrysoloras had given the Italians much more than a narrow specialty. Further, he believed that a proper understanding of Latin could not be achieved without a knowledge of Greek. To illustrate both of these points, three quota- tions will perhaps suffice. The first is from a letter written by Guarino in 1452: Quae illius (Chrysoloras) cura et diligentia latas adeo sparsit per Italiae regna radices grandesque et uberes fructus disseminavit, ut Italorum studia immo vero Latinitatis disciplina cuncta quae dudum per inextricabiles vagabantur um- bras et errores, Chrysolorae ductu et luminis accensione illustrata et directa perdurent (Guarino, Epistolario 11.861.45-49). The second occurs in a letter to his son, Niccolo: Longa itaque desuetudine infuscatus ante latinus sermo et inquinata dictio Chrysolorinis fuerat pharmacis expurganda et ad- moto lumine illustranda (Guarino, Epistolario 11.862.68-70). The third quotation is from a letter of Guarino's youngest son, Battista, and it shows, incidentally, how thoroughly he had absorbed his father's veneration for Chrysoloras: Nam cum graecas ipse (Chrysoloras) doceret, a qUibus nostrae, ut Quintilianus ait, e.1Jluxere tunc demum nostri veram latinarum cognitionem habere easque cognoscendo exercere et in lucem re- vocare coeperunt (Guarino, Epistolario 1I.863.134-137). It seems that both Guarino and his son thought that the Latin and Greek languages, not merely their literatures (which is certainly what Quintilian meant in De Institutione Oratoria I.1.12), are more intimately related than modern philologists would concede; but this does not invalidate the point that to them Chrysoloras appeared to have made possible a fuller under- standing of the Latin tongue itself. It was natural for Guarino to see the spread of Greek as marking the dawn of a new era in Latin studies and to invest Chrysoloras with a special significance, as not merely having supplied a knowledge of Greek, but also the humanizing spirit and sovereign stimulus needed to rouse Italian scholarship out of its long sleep. Republic, but the style had ro be improved by Uberro Decembrio and later by Pier Candido Decembrio (Cammelli, 16, 123). The later Greeks Theodorus Gaza, Musurus, Bessarion, Lascaris, and Georgius Trapezuntius were excellent Latin scholars (Geanakoplos, Greek Scholars in Venice 299). The latter, for example, had only primorum elementorum confusa cog- nitio in 1418 (Guarino, Epistolario II.707.36-37) but by 1434 knew enough Latin to produce his impressive Rhetoricorum libri V (publ. Basle 1522). 72 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY ITALIAN RENAISSANCE Guarino's insistence that Chrysoloras had been the harbinger of a new age did not go without notice. In the first place, his prestige as a scholar enabled him to command the attention of the educated public. Although his letters were not collected and edited for publication in his own century, they were nevertheless passed around as models of style and collectors' items.35 Any praise of Chrysoloras contained in them was thereby assured of a fairly wide circulation. This helped to keep the name of Chrysoloras alive in the later fifteenth century and brought it again to the fore in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries when Guarino's letters began to be collected and published in small batches.36 Second, and perhaps more important, is the fact that from 1436 at least, Guarino was the most influential teacher in Italy, if not in Europe.37 He was in a unique position to pass on his reminiscences to large numbers of young students who could never have seen or met Chrysoloras. Some of these pupils were inevitably affected by Guarino's admiration for Chrysoloras and referred to him in their own writings. For example, Janus Pannonius describes him thus in his Sylva Panegyrica ad Guarinum 135-139: Vir fuit hic patrio Chrysoloras nomine dictus, candida Mercurio quem Calliopaea crearat, nutrierat Pallas, nec solis ille parentum clarus erat studiis, sed rerum protinus omnem naturam magna complexus mente tenebat. These lines, written in 1454 when the poet was still a young man, seem remarkably like an echo of Guarino's words in the lecture room or around the supper table. Examples of such tralatitious praise of Chrysoloras are not uncommon in the writings of Guarino's pupils. 35 Guarino, Bpistolaria III pp. vii-x. 36 Ibid. pp. i-iii. 37 For the popularity of his teaching at Ferrara, see Janus Pannonius, Sylva Panegyrica ad Guarinum (Venice 1553) 320-321: and 339-341 : Curritur ad bifidi suavissima jlumina fontis, atria nec capiunt studiasas ampla catervas Omnis conditio, sexus simul omnis et aetas accelerant, plebi stipatur curia, mixti primaevis cani, maribus sedere puellae. Lodovico Carbone says much the same in his funeral speech on Guarino published by E. Garin in La letteratura italiana: Storia e testi, XIII: Prosatori latini del quattrocento (Milan 1952) 382-416 (see especially pp. 392, 394). IAN THOMSON 73 Shortly after Chrysoloras' death, Vergerio suggested to the Venetian Niccolo Leonardi, a physician with humanistic leanings, that their common friend, Guarino, ought to write a formal commemoratio of the great Byzantine. Guarino, however, claimed that his own powers were unequal to such an undertaking, and referred it to Verge rio himself (Guarino, Epistolario 1.25). Verge rio composed a very fine epitaph,38 and the Venetian Andrea Zulian wrote a funeral speech which had a wide circulation and is extant in many manuscripts.39 The lack of some worthwhile memorial to Chrysoloras, however, weighed upon the consciences of his pupils and friends for many years. Guarino, for example, wrote in July, 1416, to Giacomo dei Fabbri: "Many a time I have set myself to write a splendid work in praise of this man ... for I think it unfair and a mark of ingratitude that he whose industry helped us not merely to speak but to speak with eloquence, should be immersed in silence ... but I am overwhelmed by the amount there is to say and the importance of the subject, and I give up." He goes on to praise the funeral speech by Zulian, and concludes: "After Zulian, silence would seem the better course, unless one had a mind to unfold in detail the life of the aforesaid Manuel from the cradle up" (Guarino, Epistolario 1.54). No one, however, wrote the projected biography, perhaps because details of Chrysoloras' earlier life were lacking,40 but more likely because most scholars did not consider him important enough to warrant a detailed biography. It is perhaps surprising that Guarino never fulfilled his own suggestion. Poggio shared something of Guarino's hero worship of Chrysoloras, and as late as June, 1455, was still sufficiently disturbed by his own failure to write at length in praise of Chrysoloras that he confessed to Guarino: "As to your writ- ing of a rumor that I had composed a laudation of the late brilliant and learned gentleman, Manuel Chrysoloras-I wish it were true !"41 38 Guarino, Ep. 1.54, 77-84: Ante aram situs est dominus Manuel Chrysoloras, eques Constantino- politanus ex vetusto genere Romanorum qui cum Constantino imperatore migrarunt : vir doctissimus prudentissimus optimus, qui tempore generalis concilii Constantiensis diem obiit ea existimatione ut ab omnibus summa sacerdotio dignus haberetur. XVI Kalendas maias conditus est anno Incarnati Verbi MCCCCXV. Sabbadini notes in his apparatus criticus that the actual inscription reads Chrissolora miles for Chrysoloras eques and die XV aprilis conditus est MCCCCXV for XVI Kalendas maias conditus est anna Incarnati Verbi MCCCCXV. Poggio also wrote an epitaph for Chrysoloras (lovii Elogia [Venice 1546] p. 16). 39 It was published by Don A. Calogera. Raccolta d'opuscoli XXV (Venice 1728-57) 325ff. &0 Perhaps for the same reason. Cammelli concentrates on the period after 1397, in which year Chrysoloras was in his mid-forties. The Vita Chrysolorae by Pontico Virunio in Chryso- loras' Erotemata (Venice 1502) is so short as scarcely to merit consideration. &l Poggii Epistulae ed. T. Tonelli, III (Florence 1832) 178. In the same letter, Poggio says: Laudas-sem ilium (Chrysoloras) cum defunctus esset Constantie; ego autem otiosus essem, si licuisset 5* 74 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY ITALIAN RENAISSANCE Guarino did, however, make some reparation by collecting a series of works about Chrysoloras, which he edited and disseminated in 1452 under the title of Chrysolorina. 42 This collection helped to preserve the fame of Chrysoloras, as did the fact that his Erotemata, a Greek gram- mar that followed the usual method of question and answer, con- tinued to be widely used until well into the sixteenth century. Its first printing was at Venice in 1484, but it had been used in manuscript long before that; in fact, until the publication of Constantine Lascaris' Erotemata at Milan in 1476, it had been the sole Greek grammar in general use in Italy.43 In a letter to Verge rio in 1415 Guarino remarks that Chrysoloras had provided the perfect example to follow in leading "the good and blessed life," and even advances the extravagant notion that if Homer had been fortunate enough to have had Chrysoloras as his hero in the Iliad instead of the bloodthirsty and uncouth Achilles, he would have been inspired to write a better poem (Guarino, Epistolario I.27.28-29 and 45) ! Ludicrous as this may seem to us, Guarino probably meant it seriously, for he subscribed to the ancient and mediaeval notion that the aim of literature is moral edification and for that reason inter- preted the Aeneid and the Homeric epics allegorically. Thirty-eight years later, Guarino's devotion had not been diminished, for in com- plimenting his son Battista on a literary sketch of Chrysoloras he says: "You set him before my eyes in such a way that as I behold Manuel's stature, expression, beard, complexion, mannerisms, and the whole set of his body, I almost shout for joy, <even such his eyes and hands, and such the face he showed'."44 It is not perhaps surprising that a man capable of such loyalty should have exaggerated his master's true importance. It is interesting to note that in the entire epistolary of Guarino, which runs to over 700 letters from him and about 200 from others to him, there is no mention of Dante or Boccaccio, and only one passing ref- per Cincium romanum eiusdem discipulum, qui eius laudandi munus sibi desumpsit-sed et ipse nihil edidit et mihi scribendi sustulit facultatem. U It comprised the letters listed in n.32, two other letters now lost, the funeral speech by Zulian, and two of Guarino's Commentarioli about Chrysoloras (Guarino, Epistolario III. 460). '3 Geanakoplos, Greek Scholars in Venice 286. u Epistolario II.864.24-27. There is no detailed description of Chrysoloras' appearance in humanistic literature, but one gathers that it was majestic. Girolamo Guarino refers to him thus: veneranda corporis dignitate qua praestitit ... veste pretiosa qua fuit usus . .. opibus amp lis qui bus floruit (Guarino, Epistolario 11.865.26-27). Battista Guarino says that Chrysoloras was of medium height, had a red beard, fresh compleXion, and a cheerful, yet serious expression (Ibid. II.863.55-70). IAN THOMSON 75 erence to Petrarch (Guarino, Epistolario 11.826.19-20). Any reader of Guarino's letters must be struck by the fact that he was either blind to or willfully ignorant of the achievements of scholars in the fifteenth century. Presumably he had read some at least ofPetrarch's works, but his silence prompts one to conclude that he did not consider them important. Nor does he ever mention that other great precursor of the Renaissance, the celebrated Giovanni Conversino da Ravenna, to whom he probably owed a great dea1. 45 Typical of Guarino's patroniz- ing attitude to scholars of the previous century is the sneer he casts at the Latin style ofSalutati's mentor, Pietro da MugHo: Adeo enim inepte, obscure et inusitate dicit, ut non tam loqui quam mugire videatur.46 There is here a play upon "Muglio" and mugire. The fact is that to Guarino and many of those he influenced, their predecessors seemed little better than cattle lowing in the darkness. The figure of Chrysoloras, by con- trast, assumed the proportions of a colossus ushering in a new and better age. Historical perspective has enabled us to assess Chrysoloras' con- tribution to learning more accurate! y. His instruction in Greek certainly led to the translations made by the Florentine pupils and by Guarino,47 and in a less direct way helped to stimulate the recovery of lost manuscripts 48 and the study of Latin; but it could be argued that these advances would have been made in any case. Further, there was a demand for Greek in Florence and if the Florentines had not secured Chrysoloras they would probably have found some other teacher of Greek. If Chrysoloras made a unique contribution to the humanistic movement, it surely lay in the protreptic force of his per- sonality and the educational methods to which he introduced the 45 He definitely seems to have taught a notarial course to Guarino at Padua in the early 1390'S. He is frequently confused with Giovanni dei Malpaghini da Ravenna, the teacher at Florence and one-time amanuensis ofPetrarch, since both men are commonly called "John of Ravenna" in English, or "Giovanni da Ravenna" in Italian. This confusion would not arise ifhe were referred to as "John of Bud a," after the place of his birth. See E. M. Cosenza, Biographical and Bibliographical Dictionary of the Italian Humanists V (Boston 1962) col. 934. 46 Epistolario 1.34.57-59. For Pietro da Muglio see E. Wilkins, Life of Petrarch (Chicago 1962) 188, 193, 250. 47 Up to 1416, Guarino had translated Lucian's Calumnia, Plutarch's De pueris educandis and lives of Flaminius, Marcellus, Alexander, Caesar, Coriolanus, Dion and Brutus (Episto- lario 1.47.88-93); Isocrates' In Nicoclem (Epistolario III p. 6) and (pseudo-) Isocrates' Ad Demonicum (Epistolario 1.2). 48 All the important discoveries were made by 1430 and the best of them, with the ex- ception of the codex Ursinianus of Plaut us and Tacitus' Agricola, Germania, and Dialogus, by 1422. For a convenient list of the discoveries, see Raoul Morc;ay, La Renaissance I (Paris 1933) 18-19. 76 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY ITALIAN RENAISSANCE Italians. He obviously used those methods in his teaching at Florence, because Bruni refers to them, but none of his pupils there, except for Vergerio, was a practising teacher, and if Guarino had not passed on the methods to Vittorin0 49 and others they might not have become widespread; but as it was, thousands of students in the Renaissance were enabled to absorb massive amounts of grammar, syntax and cultural background. The fountain-head of all this activity was Chrysoloras. Bolgar is surely right when he says that in the last anal- ysis the difference between the age of Petrarch and that of Guarino was "the appearance and widespread adoption of a pedagogic tech- nique" (Classical Heritage 268). It remains to ask why Chrysoloras came as a teacher to Italy. The answer seems obvious: he came because the Florentines wanted a teacher of Greek. But this explanation may be altogether too facile. In what follows, I hope to indicate that Chrysoloras may have had a political motive aside from his teaching activities. Chrysoloras first came to Italy in 1394 to implore aid for the Eastern Empire in its struggle against the Turks. The diplomatic mission failed, but his intellectual verve and interest in education attracted favorable notice in Florence. In 1395, Coluccio Salutati sent Jacopo Angeli da Scarperia to Constantinople to contact Chrysoloras.5o On March 28, 1396, Salutati wrote Chrysoloras with a definite offer of employment. Chrysoloras accepted, and arrived at Venice in August, 1396, and at Florence on February 2, 1397. He remained in Florence for almost three years. So much for the external circumstances of his visit. We should, however, examine what his real inducements were, or could have been. Did he come out of an altruistic desire to intro- duce the Greek alphabet to Florentine bankers, or did he have some deeper purpose in mind? To find the answer, we must examine first the political situation at Constantinople and second Chrysoloras' own position there. The political scene in 1395 was dark indeed.51 Osman's victory over the Empire in 1301 at Baphaion had secured vast areas of its Asian territories for the Turks. His successor, Orhan (1326-1362), had by 1340 advanced the banners ofIslam right up to the Empire in Europe. "Vittorino was Guarino's pupil at Venice from 1418-1419. 50 See Roberto Weiss, "Jacopo Angeli da Scarperia c. 1360-1410," Medioevo e RilU1Scimento, studi in onore di Bruno Nardi II (Florence 1955) 803-837. 51 See Bernard Lewis, Istanbul and the Civili{ation of the Ottoman Empire (Norman 1963) dt.1. IAN THOMSON 77 In 1345, John VI Cantacuzenus fought a civil war with John Palaeo- logus, in which he used Turkish mercenaries, who went home with tales of the riches to be had by further conquest. Murad I (1362-1389) took the hint and attacked the Balkans. Following a victory at Kosovo Polje, by 1389 the Turks had control of Serbia. By 1394, Bayezid I ruled practically all of what had been the Eastern Roman Empire, except for Constantinople itself. He declared himself "Sultan of Rum," thus laying claim to the throne of the Caesars; and in 1395 he began to blockade Constantinople. The ruling classes of Constantinople knew that the empire must find armed support or perish. The only aid they could hope to get lay in the West. But East and West in the old Roman Empire had been politically divorced since A.D. 476, and now the Holy Roman Emperor of the West had too many problems of his own to be concerned with what probably seemed to him and the other great powers of Europe a meaningless, sentimental appeal for rescue. Much more serious than the political division was the Great Schism between Rome and the Eastern Church, which had existed since 1054. The Papacy was obdu- rate in its claim for spiritual supremacy and would neither end the schism nor do much in the way of inciting political assistance except at its own price, which was total submission. To those who were genuinely of the Eastern persuasion, this was repugnant. There were men in the West far-sighted enough to realize that the safety of Constantinople was strategically important to the West, but they were unable to make their voices heard with enough authority. It was therefore left to the East to take the initiative. The obvious move was to send embassies, such as the one in which Chrysoloras partici- pated in 1394, to ask for troops or money. The situation was desperate enough for the Emperor himself to come in 1400, and he spent two years touring the courts of Europe in a vain attempt to drum up sup- port. The West had proved notoriously laggard in responding to straight appeals for help. Something more than arguments and appeals was needed, and I believe that Salutati's invitation to Chryso- loras may have suggested a secondary approach to him and his friend the Emperor. It would encourage them to find a spark of interest in things Greek in Florence, for in general the Western Europeans were ignorant of or indifferent to Greek culture. But would they not also be quick to see in Salutati's invitation an opportunity to promote Eastern interests? 78 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY ITALIAN RENAISSANCE If someone, somehow, could convince the right people in the West that the East had something worth saving-the entire heritage of Greek learning-then perhaps help would be forthcoming. Florence was a major power and virtually the financial capital of Europe, with an influence out of all proportion to her size. Further, some of the financial magnates, such as Palla Strozzi, were the very men who were showing an interest in Greek. Strozzi and Salutati him- self, the chancellor of the republic, were Chrysoloras' chief sponsors. Chrysoloras was a diplomat, a patriot and a scholar; he could not have failed to appreciate the possible advantages of conciliating such men. Admittedly, one is here in the realm of speculation-there is no evidence that Chrysoloras ever discussed the matter with Manuel Palaeologus but it would seem so obvious a move that one must suppose that such a conference took place. The suggestion that Chrysoloras' visit was politically inspired seems even more plausible when one considers his social position in Con- stantinople. He was of noble rank and had access to court; he was the acknowledged head of a coterie of scholars who met in his beautiful house with its cypresses and hanging garden; he was neither poor nor unsuccessful. All this we know from the reminiscences of his pupil, Guarino.52 The financial inducement of 150 gold florins could hardly have been enought to tempt a man in middle age to leave a comfortable home, a flourishing school, high social standing and the company of kindred spirits in the most civilized city in Europe, and commit himself to a teaching post he did not require in a foreign land whose manners and religion were alien to his whole background. There is no indication that he knew Italian, although he had taught himself Latin as an aid to diplomacy. Anyone who expected to deal with the West would naturally learn Latin.53 The original terms offered in February, 1396, were a salary of 100 gold florins and a ten-year contract. Chrysoloras stipulated 150 gold florins and a five-year contract. 54 The raise of salary can be ex- plained as a "prestige" increase, but why a five-year contract? The tendency with emigres is to provide long-term security for themselves. 52 See in particular Epistolario 1.25: also Girolamo Guarino's words (n.46 above). 53 Geanakoplos, Greek Scholars in Venice 47 n.48: "We know that Planudes was sent to Venice because he knew Latin." 54 See Cammelli, 40-41. IAN THOMSON 79 Could it have been that he had no wish to commit himself for ten years to what might prove an abortive undertaking? Another condi- tion imposed by Chrysoloras was the right to teach students in his own home rather than from a public platform in the university. Does this not suggest that he wanted a more intimate relationship with small groups of leading citizens? To convert them was to convert the effective power of Florence to the Greek cause; and how better to proselytize than in the congenial atmosphere of a home? Chrysoloras does not seem to have been much interested in uninfluential students. In coming to Florence, moreover, he must have realized the risk of lowering his social status-a risk one would scarcely take whose motives were not strong. Patriotism and loyalty to his emperor, I believe, were his motives. Manuel Palaeologus could not have chosen a better emissary to win over the West on the cultural front, for Chrysoloras united in himself the best of Greek scholarship with the sharpest of Byzantine diplomacy. His three years in Florence led to a stir of interest in Greek but not in the Greek cause. It seems to me, indeed, that he left Florence when he finally realized his failure to arouse the kind of support his country needed. Before his five-year contract had expired he left Florence on March 10, 1400, despite every effort on the part of the citizens to keep him, and virtually defected to the court of Giangaleazzo Visconti, the bitterest enemy of Florence. Why did he leave? It used to be said that Niccoli's jealousy drove him out; but this reason is derived from invectives against Niccoli by other humanists,55 and evidence drawn from invectives is always questionable. Besides, the carpings of one malcontent would hardly have been enough to drive Chrysoloras into the arms of Giangaleazzo Visconti, who had a reputation for being himself a ferocious individual. Vergerio attributed Chrysoloras' departure to <Cfear of the onrushing wars," but Cammelli (pp. 100-101) dismisses this. Nor could plague have been to blame. Admittedly, one occurred in Florence at the end of 1399, from which Chrysoloras took shelter in the villa of Palla Strozzi. But he then went on to Pavia, which at that time was also stricken. 56 Guarino tells us that Chrysoloras went to Pavia because 55 See n.19 above. 56 The studio had moved to Piacenza in 1398 because of plague at Pavia and did not return until 1403 (Magenta, I Visconti e gli Sforza nel castello di Pavia I [Milan 1883] 252; II 85, 87; also R. Maiocchi, Cod ice diplomatico nell' universitd di Pavia I [1905] 392, 408). 80 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY ITALIAN RENAISSANCE "the duke himself was unbelievably desirous of glory" (Epistolario II.862.78-79), a rather vague reason which can only be half the story. Giangaleazzo was the rising power in Italy in 1400 and seemed poised to wrest power and prestige from Florence. Perhaps Chryso- loras reasoned that where he had failed in Tuscany he might succeed in Lombardy; and this accords with CammelIi's statement (p. 128) that the real reason for Chrysoloras' departure was the arrival of the Greek emperor in Italy. If Chrysoloras' primary purpose had been to teach the Florentines Greek, his loyalty would have been to his pupils. Instead, he broke his contract and placed himself under the protection of their worst foe. His subsequent career was almost entirely that of a diplomat. He did not remain constantly in Pavia from 1400-1402 but moved around in Lombardy trying to raise support for the emperor, for whose re- turn he was paving the way. Cammelli points out (p. 117) that he re- mained in constant touch with the emperor, and also states: "Possia- mo d'altra parte stabilire per mezzo di prove sicure che ... 1'impera- tore 10 avera chiamato con uno scopo ben diverso, quello cioe di trovare in lui un efficace cooperatore alIa missione per cui egli stesso si era deciso ad intraprendere il viaggio, e venuto in Italia, suI punto di partime per la Francia, gli aveva affidato il preciso incarico di racco- gliere denaro e procurare aiuti di ogni genere alIa patria per la lotta contro il Turco."57 When Giangaleazzo Visconti died unexpectedly in September, 1402, Chrysoloras seems to have lost interest in remaining in Lombardy. The Florentines would have welcomed him back, but he had no de- sire to continue as a teacher in Italy. Manuel Palaeologus arrived in Venice about March 21, 1403, and was joined by Chrysoloras. Dis- appointed in their hopes, they returned to their capital. In the next twelve years, Chrysoloras travelled extensively in Europe on diplomatic missions. From 1407-10 he visited Venice, Genoa, Paris, London, Salisbury, Spain and Bologna; from 1411-13 he was based in Rome but visited Florence with Pope John XXIII; in 1413 he was sent to the Emperor Sigismund to select a place for the Church Council, rejoined the Pope at Florence in 1414 and arrived in Constance as representative of the Greek Church on October 28 of that year. 57 See also Guarino, Epistolario III p. 462, where Sabbadini comments that Chrysoloras went to Lombardy to win sympathy for the Greeks against the Turks. IAN THOMSON 81 Andrea Zulian tells us in the funeral speech that Chrysoloras in- variably refused the offers of European princes to live with them; after visiting almost all the courts of Europe he returned to Greece "preferring to fulfill his true task, which was to save his country from danger rather than give delight to Italy."58 It seems that his true pur- poses in Italy were an open secret to the discerning. It might also be added that Vergerio's phrase "fear of the onrushing wars" could easily refer to Chrysoloras' growing anxiety over the imminent threat from the Turks to Constantinople. One cannot leave this matter without dealing with his conversion to the Latin rite at the end of 1405. Dr. Baron (p. 111) cites a letter of Vergerio of 1406 in which Chrysoloras is mentioned as wanting to become a Latin: cum cupiat esse Latinus. It seems better to interpret this not as a desire to become a permanent resident of Italy but as a willingness to celebrate mass according to the Latin rite. At the end of 1405, Chrysoloras applied from Constantinople-his location is per- haps significant-for permission of Pope Innocent VII to take holy orders in the Western Church. His conversion was perhaps sincere, but it is also possible to see it as yet another conciliatory move to win favor in the West. If so, it was well-timed, for in 1406 Gregory XII took his famous oath to end the Great Schism. Chrysoloras was, after all, a famous man in Italy and a servant of the Eastern Crown, so that his submission could have been expected to oil the wheels of diplomacy. It need not surprise one that Chrysoloras could have indulged in an act of political expediency. Friedrich Heer has discussed political ex- pediency on the part of the East and lists a number of political con- versions to Rome. 59 Could Chrysoloras have been encouraged by the Eastern Emperor to gain the confidence of the Western Church? It is perhaps rash to speculate whether his eventual aim was the Papacy itself;60 but anything could have happened in the melting pot at Constance, and in this connection it is worth pondering Vergerio's words in the epitaph for Chrysoloras: "He died at the time of the General Council of Constance in such esteem that he was considered by all fit for the supreme office of priesthood." This may have been merely a pretty compliment, or it may reflect a genuine feeling at Constance that Chrysoloras would have made a good pope. It is 58 Cited by Rosmini, La vita e disdplina di Guarino I 67. 59 The Mediaeval World (Eng. trans. Mentor Books, 1962) 128-130. 60 A Greek Cretan, Alexander V, had been elected pope in 1409 at the Council of Pisa. 82 CHRYSOLORAS AND THE EARLY IT ALlAN RENAISSANCE interesting to wonder what might have happened had Chrysoloras been elected. The evidence, though largely circumstantial, is enough to make us consider a political motivation for Chrysoloras' visit, which we should view against the wider background of international affairs. No doubt Chrysoloras derived some satisfaction from his teaching activities in Italy, but his chief purpose may well have been, as Andrea Zulian says, "to save his country from danger rather than give delight to Italy." UNIVERSITY OF OKLAHOMA January, 1966 
work_mn66we6evrddvbeem6q4rc56i4	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
work_mpcoxu4nvzbyjmzjtr5wvilklu	----	Latin American and Latinx Futurities: Publishing Visual Culture in the Twenty-First Century | Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 1, Issue 1 January 2019 Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Editorial| January 01 2019 Latin American and Latinx Futurities: Publishing Visual Culture in the Twenty-First Century Charlene Villaseñor Black—is a professor of art history and Chicana/o studies at the University of California, Los Angeles. She authored Creating the Cult of St. Joseph: Art and Gender in the Spanish Empire (Princeton University Press, 2006) and edited Tradition and Transformation: Chicana/o Art from the 1970s through the 1990s (University of Washington Press, 2015). Emily A. Engel—is an independent scholar based in Southern California who has published on visual culture in early modern South America. She coedited Manuscript Cultures of Colonial Mexico and Peru: New Questions and Approaches (Getty Publications, 2015) and A Companion to Early Modern Lima (Brill, 2019). Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture (2019) 1 (1): 3–6. https://doi.org/10.1525/lavc.2019.000002 Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Charlene Villaseñor Black, Emily A. Engel; Latin American and Latinx Futurities: Publishing Visual Culture in the Twenty-First Century. Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture 1 January 2019; 1 (1): 3–6. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/lavc.2019.000002 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture Search Welcome to Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture, the first peer-reviewed academic journal dedicated to visual and material cultures in Mexico, Central America, South America, the Caribbean, the United States, and those in diaspora, published by the University of California Press. Its geographical scope and chronological span are wide-ranging and encompassing. LALVC publishes scholarship from the ancient Americas to the contemporary moment. For the first time, scholars working in these areas have a venue for publishing the latest research in art history, design, material culture, architecture, film, media, performance art, museum studies, popular culture, fashion, public art, and artivism. With the recent spectacular growth in research and exhibitions on Latin... © 2019 by The Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Please direct all requests for permission to photocopy or reproduce article content through the University of California Press’s Reprints and Permissions web page, http://www.ucpress.edu/journals.php?p=reprints. 2019 You do not currently have access to this content. Sign in Don't already have an account? Register Client Account You could not be signed in. Please check your email address / username and password and try again. Email address / Username ? 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work_mso2mklylrcy3alvqwwc7zxkvy	----	Constructing Hellenism: Studies on the History of Greek Learning in Early Modern Europe EDITORIAL Constructing Hellenism: Studies on the History of Greek Learning in Early Modern Europe Introduction Han Lamers1 Published online: 10 July 2018 © Springer Science+Business Media B.V., part of Springer Nature 2018 The five papers collected in this special issue of the International Journal of the Classical Tradition show some of the ways in which scholars in early modern Europe shaped, used and gave meaning to Greek learning. Instead of starting from one single perspective or discipline, the articles approach early modern Hellenism from diverse viewpoints, such as the history of classical scholarship (Gerald Sandy), book history (Natasha Constantinidou), philology and literary history (Filippomaria Pontani) and Oriental and Jewish studies (Asaph Ben-Tov and Bernd Roling). The title of the collection, Constructing Hellenism, has a double meaning: it not only denotes the various ways in which scholars in early modern Europe shaped and used Greek learning, but also refers to how we, as modern scholars, build and articulate our own perceptions of Hellenism in this period. Before presenting the individual articles, I shall first introduce the general theme of the collection, briefly discussing the early modern notion of Hellenismus, how ‘Hellenism’ has been treated in recent scholarship on the early modern history of Greek learning and the way in which the term is used in this collection and may be used beyond it. *** In Antoine Birr’s revised edition of Robert Estienne’s Thesaurus linguae Latinae (1740–1743), the word Hellenismus was defined as ‘litterarum Graecarum notitia’: & Han Lamers han.lamers@ifikk.uio.no 1 Department of Philosophy, Classics, History of Art and Ideas, University of Oslo, PO Box 1020, 0315 Oslo, Norway 123 Int class trad (2018) 25(3):201–215 https://doi.org/10.1007/s12138-018-0467-9 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s12138-018-0467-9&amp;domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s12138-018-0467-9&amp;domain=pdf knowledge of, or familiarity with, Greek letters, or Greek learning. 1 In current scholarship, too, ‘Hellenism’ is often used to refer to Greek erudition, with shifting emphases according to the context, whether Byzantium, Classical Islam or German Romanticism. In Renaissance and early modern studies, the term has been used casually, and in a mostly unreflective manner, to denote the increasing knowledge of ancient Greek and Greek literature in humanist circles. 2 While Petrarch (1304– 1374) was still ‘deaf to Homer’ (Epistolae familiares XVIII.2), two centuries after his death, most of the major Greek authors had been rediscovered and had become more widely available in translations and editions. From the end of the fourteenth century onwards, Greek studies spread from Florence to other Italian cities, mainly Venice and Rome; from there, Greek learning was carried beyond the Alps, not only by travelling Greek scholars such as George Hermonymus (fl. 1475–1508) and Janus Lascaris (c. 1449–1535), but also by Northern European scholars such as Johann Reuchlin (1455–1522) in the German-speaking lands and Guillaume Budé (1467–1540) in France. This period also saw pioneering work in the critical study of the ancient Greek sources themselves and in making this study productive for so many domains of art and knowledge, from literature and history to medicine and geography. Whereas early students of Greek concentrated mainly on ‘classical’ literature and (to a lesser extent) patristics, two centuries after Petrarch’s death, the improved knowledge of Greek in learned circles, and the renewed interest in the Greek New Testament, had even stimulated a serious critique of the Latin Vulgate. 3 1 Robert Estienne, Thesaurus linguae Latinae in IV. tomos divisus, cui post novissimam Londinensem editionem, complurium eruditorum virorum collectis curis insigniter auctam, ed. Antonius Birrius, 4 vols, Basel, 1740–1743, II, p. 496, s.v. ‘Hellenismus’: ‘Graeci sermonis proprietas, vel litterarum Graecarum notitia’. The word is not in the first two editions of Estienne’s dictionary (Paris, 1531 and 1543). 2 See, e.g., from the more recent literature, P. Botley, Learning Greek in Western Europe, 1396–1529: Grammars, Lexica, and Classroom Texts’, Philadelphia, 2010, p. 117; M. Cadafaz de Matos, ‘Helenismo, filosofia e cultura no Renascimento italiano, de Giovanni Argyropoulos a Constantio e Janus Lascaris’, Revista Portuguesa de História do Livro e da Edição, Ano 12, no. 24, 2009, pp. 169–241; C. Celenza, ‘Hellenism in the Renaissance’, in The Oxford Handbook of Hellenic Studies, ed. G. Boys-Stones, B. Graziosi and P. Vasunia, Oxford, 2009, pp. 150–66; L. Dorez, ‘L’hellénisme d’Ange Politien’, Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire, 15, 1985, pp. 3–32. Italian scholarship also uses the general term umanesimo greco to denote the Greek learning of the humanists; see esp. M. Cortesi, ‘Umanesimo greco’, in Lo spazio letterario del medioevo, 5 vols, Rome, 1992–1998, III, pp. 457–507. 3 Selective bibliography in notes 23–28 below. Concise discussions of the return of Greek learning to the Latin West in English are e.g. Celenza, ‘Hellenism in the Renaissance’ (n. 2 above); J. Hankins, ‘Greek Studies in the Latin West’, in Humanism and Platonism in the Italian Renaissance, 2 vols, Rome, 2003-2004, I, pp. 273–91; J. Kraye, ‘The Revival of Greek Studies in the West’, in The New Cambridge History of the Bible: Volume 3, From 1450 to 1750, ed. E. Cameron, Cambridge, 2016, pp. 37–60; F. Pontani, ‘Greek, Ancient’, in The Classical Tradition, ed. E. Grafton, G. W. Most and S. Settis, Cambridge MA and London, 2014, pp. 405–9. An essential overview in Italian is Cortesi, ‘Umanesimo greco’ (n. 2 above). In the Middle Ages, Greek learning was not entirely absent, but it was limited in many ways. For this ill-understood subject, W. Berschin, Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: From Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa, transl. J. C. Frakes, Washington DC, 1988, is still essential, but also see the papers collected in The Sacred Nectar of the Greeks: The Study of Greek in the West in the Early Middle Ages, ed. M. W. Herren, London, 1988. More recently, see, importantly, P. Boulhol, “Grec langaige n’est pas doulz au françois.” L’étude et l’enseignement du grec dans la France ancienne (IVe siècle–1530), Aix-en-Provence, 2014, pp. 13–148, with rich bibliography. 202 H. Lamers 123 In this context, modern scholars sometimes use expressions such as ‘Venetian Hellenism’ or ‘Florentine Hellenism’ to indicate local varieties of the study of ancient Greek literature. 4 The term Hellenism also refers to a particular school of medical thought (‘medical Hellenism’) which was fuelled by the publication of Galen and Hippocrates in Greek (by Aldo Manuzio in 1525 and 1526 respectively) and which promoted a return to the ancient Greek sources in the original instead of relying on the medieval medical tradition, which was heavily indebted to Arabic translations, summaries and commentaries. 5 What Greek learning, or Hellenismus, meant to early modern scholars becomes apparent if we take a quick look at some of the ways the word was used in the Republic of Letters. The Renaissance borrowing of the Greek term Ἑλληνισμός and its Latin rendering encapsulate the ancient linguistic meaning of Hellenism, while also adapting it and adding a wider, cultural dimension to the ancient notion. 6 In ancient Greek, Ἑλληνισμός had denoted the use, and especially the correct use, of the language, and several works entitled On Hellenism (Περὶ Ἑλληνισμοῦ) reportedly circulated in antiquity. 7 When the term was adopted by Latin authors, it denoted the imitation of Greek constructions in Latin poetry, mainly Virgil. 8 The humanists took over this ‘linguistic’ meaning of the term, and Ἑλληνισμός/Hellenismus for them 4 For Venetian Hellenism, see most extensively the collection of L’eredità greca e l’ellenismo veneziano, ed. G. Benzoni, Florence, 2002. A. Singer, Aesthetic Reason: Artworks and the Deliberative Ethos, University Park PA, 2010, p. 49, used ‘Florentine Hellenism’ specifically to denote ‘the importation of Neoplatonic philosophy from the east’. Particularly in the Italian scholarship, expressions such as ellenismo filelfiano are sometimes employed to denote individual scholars’ Greek learning, e.g. in S. Fiaschi, ‘Filelfo e “i diritti” del traduttore. L’auctoritas dell’interprete e il problema delle attribuzioni’, in Tradurre dal greco in età umanistica: Metodi e strumenti, ed. M. Cortesi, Florence, 2007, pp. 79–95 (81– 82 n. 5). 5 V. Nutton, ‘Hellenism Postponed: Some Aspects of Renaissance Medicine, 1490–1530’, Sudhoffs Archiv, 81, 1997, pp. 158–70. See also N. G. Siraisi, ‘Vesalius and the Reading of Galen’s Teleology’, Renaissance Quarterly, 50, 1997, pp. 1–37 (3); M. Azzolini, ‘Anatomy of a Dispute: Leonardo, Pacioli and Scientific Courtly Entertainment in Renaissance Milan’, Early Science and Medicine, 9, 2004, pp. 115–35 (132: ‘medical Hellenism’); C. Martin, ‘Humanism and the Assessment of Averroes in the Renaissance’, Renaissance Averroism and Its Aftermath: Arabic Philosophy in Early Modern Europe, ed. A. Akasoy and G. Giglioni, Dordrecht and New York, 2012, pp. 65–79 (71: ‘Renaissance Hellenism’). D. Campbell, Arabian Medicine and Its Influence on the Middle Ages, 2 vols, London, 1926, I, p. 187, speaks of a ‘struggle between Hellenism and Arabism’ in this context, for which see, more recently, P. E. Pormann, ‘La querelle des médecins arabistes et hellénistes et l’heritage oublie’, in Lire les medecins grecs à la Renaissance, ed. V. Boudon-Millot and G. Cobolet, Paris, 2004, pp. 113–41. 6 See R. Hoven, Lexique de la prose latine de la Renaissance, Leiden and Boston, 2006, p. 242 s.v. ‘Hellenismus’, which partially records the word’s usage in the work of Guillaume Budé and Theodore de Bèze. Johann Ramminger’s Neulateinische Wortliste (\neulatein.de[) as yet has no lemma for Hellenism. For the lexicography of the term, see also A. C. Dionisotti, ‘Hellenismus’, in Vocabulary of Teaching and Research Between Middle Ages and Renaissance: Proceedings of the Colloquium, London, Warburg Institute, 11–12 March 1994, ed. O. Weijers, Turnhout, 1995, pp. 45–58. For a discussion of the term in the scholarship before J. G. Droysen, see R. Bichler, ‘Hellenismus’. Geschichte und Problematik eines Epochenbegriffs, Darmstadt, 1983, pp. 33–54, concentrating on the later early modern period. 7 On the concept of Hellenism and its criteria, see now L. Pagani, ‘Language Correctness (Hellenismos) and Its Criteria’, in Brill’s Companion to Ancient Greek Scholarship, ed. F. Montanari et al., 2 vols., Leiden and Boston, 2015, II, pp. 798–849, with references to the relevant ancient sources. 8 See on this usage Dionisotti, ‘Hellenismus’ (n. 6 above), pp. 45–53. Constructing Hellenism 203 123 referred to the Greek language, 9 in particular to the use of a good Greek style and idiom, following the example of approved ancient Greek authors. 10 As such, the term represented a Greek counterpart to the humanist ideal of Latinitas, or a set of normative criteria for language correctness. 11 Additionally, and more specifically, the Latin word and its vernacular cognates came to mean what we would now call a Graecism: an (allegedly) Greek idiom or grammatical feature, or the imitation of Greek constructions, in Latin or any other language. 12 This kind of Hellenism had a special cultural significance, especially for humanists who tried to demonstrate the affinity of their native languages to ancient Greek, as did Andreas Althamer (d. c. 1539) for German and Henri II Estienne (1531–1598) for French. 13 By demonstrating the affinity between ancient Greek and their own languages, they tried to lend dignity to their native tongues: Hellenism becomes a cultural Kampfbegriff of sorts directed against Italian claims to ‘Latin’ and ‘Roman’ cultural primacy. 14 Beyond the linguistic level, Ἑλληνισμός/Hellenismus in humanist discourse also referred to the worldview of the ancient Hellenes in both its philosophical and religious aspects. This wider usage of the term, too, at least partly had roots in Greek 9 E.g., Joseph Justus Scaliger, Epistolae omnes quae reperiri potuerunt, nunc primum collectae ac editae, Leiden, 1627, p. 700, and Thomas Reinesius, Ad viros clariss[imos] D[ominos] Casp[arum] Hoffmannum, Christ[ophorum] Ad[amem] Rupertum, Profess[ores] Noricos epistolae …, Leipzig, 1660, p. 90. 10 For some examples of Hellenismus meaning ‘good Greek’, see Scaliger, Epistolae (n. 9 above), pp. 362 and 635. Isaac Casaubon, Epistolae, insertis ad easdem responsionibus, quotquot hactenus reperiri potuerunt secundum seriem temporis accurate digestae, Rotterdam, 1709, p. 295, similarly speaks of ‘Hellenismi leges’ in a letter to Scaliger of 1607. Earlier examples include a letter of 1501 by Johann Reuchlin, in Heinrich Bebel, Clarorum virorum epistolae Latinae Graecae & Hebraicae variis temporibus missae ad Ioannem Reuchlin Phorcensem LL. Doctorem, [s.l.], 1514, sig. Cvir, in which he complains that κύριε ἐλέησον is generally pronounced kyrieleison (i.e., with five instead of seven syllables) ‘ob ignorantiam Hellenismi’. 11 E.g., Scaliger, Epistolae (n. 9 above), p. 490. 12 E.g., Thomas Reinesius, Epistolae ad Cl[arissimum] V[irum] Christianum Daumium …, Hamburg, 1670, p. 3, and Z. C. von Uffenbach, Commercii epistolaris Vffenbachiani selecta variis observationibus illustravit Io. Ge. Schelhornius, Ulm and Memmingen, 1756, p. 154. 13 See Andreas Althamer, Commentaria Germaniae in P. Cornelii Taciti Equitis Rom[ani] libellum de situ, moribus, et populis Germanorum, Nuremberg, 1536, and Henri Estienne, Traicté de la conformité du langage françois avec le grec, Paris, 1569. After Léon Trippault, Celt’-Hellenisme ou etymologic des mots francois tirez du graec. Plus. Preuves en general de la descente de la nostre langue, Orléans, 1580, French Hellenism of this kind is sometimes referred to as celt’hellénisme. 14 There is a scattered and disparate literature on this subject. See, e.g., P. U. Dini, ‘Baltic Palaeocomparativism and the Idea that Prussian Derives from Greek’, in Studies in Baltic and Indo- European Linguistics, ed. P. Baldi and P. U. Dini, Amsterdam and Philadelphia, 2004, pp. 37–50; J. F. Eros, ‘A 17th-Century Demonstration of Language Relationship: Meric Casaubon on English and Greek’, Historiographia Linguistica, 3, 1976, pp. 1–15; M. Tavoni, ‘Renaissance Linguistics’, in History of Linguistics, III: Renaissance and Early Modern Linguistics, ed. G. Lepschy, London, 1998, pp. 1–108; J. B. Trapp, ‘The Conformity of Greek with Vernacular: The History of a Renaissance Theory of Languages’, in his Essays on the Renaissance and the Classical Tradition, Aldershot, 1990, §I; T. Van Hal, ‘Bevoorrechte betrekkingen tussen Germaans en Grieks: Wilhelm Otto Reitz’ Belga graecissans (1730)’, Leuvense Bijdragen: Tijdschrift voor Germaanse Filologie, 99–100, 2016, pp. 427–43. For a first attempt at synthesis, see H. Lamers, ‘Wil de echte Griek opstaan? Verwantschap en vereenzelviging met de oude Grieken in vroegmodern Europa’, Tetradio: Tijdschrift van het Griekenlandcentrum, 26, 2017, pp. 101–29. 204 H. Lamers 123 sources, where Ἑλληνισμός could refer to the philosophy or the religion of the ancient Hellenes. With this meaning, it was normally used polemically in religious contexts to denote the opposite of what was seen as ‘orthodoxy’ (from either Jewish or Christian perspectives) and thus came to mean paganism or heresy. 15 This usage of the word survived in humanist discourse, but not without modification. We see this happening in Guillaume Budé’s treatise De transitu Hellenismi ad Christianismum (1535), which is perhaps the first time the word was used in a wider cultural meaning in a manner not attested previously. In this work, the term Hellenismus refers to ancient pagan Greek culture or ancient civilization generally. As such, Budé understood Hellenism as sometimes being in discord with Christianity, and sometimes as foreshadowing or anticipating it, depending on context. Moreover, in Budé’s hands, the term seems to have gained, for the first time, a more generalized meaning, not linked to a specific historical culture or period, but expressive of a worldview oriented towards ‘the world’, rather than towards God, in the word’s biblical sense and carrying negative overtones. 16 A much more profound exploration of the history of the notion of Hellenism, and how it eventually reached us in the twenty-first century, is a desideratum of Begriffsgeschichte and the history of scholarship. Even a brief glance at its early modern usage, however, reveals the principal awareness of scholars of this period that ancient Hellas was not confined to the remote past but stood in a meaningful relationship to their own languages, literatures and cultures – a relationship which some perceived as constructive and formative, while others regarded it as inherently problematic and even dangerous. 17 *** In order to capture something of the complexity of Greek learning in early modern Europe, the term ‘Renaissance Hellenism’ has sometimes been used in recent Anglophone scholarship as a retrospective label which yokes together, for analytical 15 The locus classicus in the Old Testament is II Maccabees 4:13. In the Christian context, the word was used to refer to paganism or heresy in the work of, among others, Gregory of Nyssa, Eusebius of Caesarea, Epiphanius of Salamis, Philostorgius, John Chrysostom, Theodoret of Cyrus, Sozomenus and John of Damascus, all with their own nuances. It was also used in this sense at the Council of Chalcedon, where Hellenism was mentioned in one breath with Judaism as a form of heresy; it was discussed as well at the Council of Ferrara-Florence (1438–1439). 16 On Budé’s notion of Hellenism, see the insightful discussion in the introduction to Guillaume Budé, Le passage de l’hellénisme au christianisme, transl. M.-M. de La Garanderie, Paris, 1993, pp. xxv–lvi (xxxv– xxxviii). It is interesting to compare it with Budé’s usage of similar terms such as italismus and medismus: ‘Italismus sic dici potest ut medismus. Morum Italiae et verborum et cultus imitatio’, cited by L. Delaruelle, Guillaume Budé: Les origines, les débuts, les idées maîtresses, Paris, 1907, p. 270. Note that Budé also used the term simply to refer to Greek as distinct from celticismus, meaning French; see L.-A. Sanchi, Les Commentaires de la langue grecque de Guillaume Budé. L’œuvre, ses sources, sa préparation, Geneva, 2006, p. 112. 17 In the Renaissance, the word Hellenism was thus not restricted to indicating the Greek language of the Jews – if, indeed, it was used in that way at all. Compare the discussion of Bichler, ‘Hellenismus’ (n. 6 above). Hellenistica (lingua or dialectus) was sometimes used, however, to denote Semitized or Judaized Greek, most notably by Daniel Heinsius and Claude de Saumaise; see also R. Van Rooy, ‘Through the Vast Labyrinth of Languages and Dialects: The Emergence and Transformations of a Conceptual Pair in the Early Modern Period (c. 1478–1782)’, PhD dissertation, KU Leuven, 2017, p. 217, with references cited there. Constructing Hellenism 205 123 convenience, a whole range of early modern engagements with the Hellenic tradition. 18 As such, the term is used to mean not just knowledge of ancient Hellas but also refers more broadly to the ways in which this learning was built up, used and valued in new contexts. This is also how the word is used in the title of this small collection of papers. Thus, importantly, it does not represent a unified view of Greek civilization; it is not the culture of the historical period which is known, with different emphases, from the work of Johann Gustav Droysen (1808–1884) and Arnold J. Toynbee (1889–1975), nor the philosophical notion which is found in the work of Matthew Arnold (1822–1888). 19 As indicated above, the term ‘Hellenism’ tends to be used rather unreflectively in Renaissance and early modern studies. Although it is commonly recognized that the notion of ‘transmission’ captures the cultural dynamism involved only very imperfectly, 20 there is hardly any methodical reflection on how we can understand the manifold aspects of early modern Hellenismus, or Greek learning, in a more systematic and comprehensive manner. This silence contrasts with discussions of the reception of the Greco-Roman heritage within classical reception studies and scholarship on the classical tradition generally. 21 It also contrasts with discussions in adjoining areas of scholarship where Hellenism has been studied intensively (for example, in imperial Rome and late antiquity) and in which scholars have developed a rich – even if sometimes bewildering – vocabulary for discussing the various cultural processes which lurk behind the tidy façade of the word ‘Hellenism’, such 18 It was perhaps first used as a programmatic phrase in an academic setting in English in the title of a conference at Princeton University (12–14 April, 2007), where it was also the title of the paper delivered by Christopher Celenza. The proceedings of this conference have not been published, but the programme is still available online (\princeton.edu/hellenic/renaissanceconferenceabstracts.html[). 19 On Droysen’s concept of Hellenism, see, apart from his own works, Geschichte Alexanders des Grossen, Berlin, 1833, and Geschichte des Hellenismus, Hamburg, 1836–1843, with a fully revised edition in 1877–1878, esp. A. Momigliano, ‘J. G. Droysen between Greeks and Jews’, History and Theory, 9, 1970, pp. 139–53, who emphasizes that Droysen’s own definition of Hellenism was not at all clear-cut. See also Bichler, ‘Hellenismus’ (n. 6 above), pp. 55–109. On Toynbee’s concept of Hellenism, see A. J. Toynbee, Hellenism: The History of a Civilization, Oxford, 1959 and V. Ehrenberg, ‘Toynbee’s Hellenism’, Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte, 8, 1959, pp. 491–6. For Arnold’s view, see M. Arnold, Culture and Anarchy: An Essay in Political and Social Criticism, London, 1869, pp. 142–66 (160), with D. D. Stone, ‘Matthew Arnold and the Pragmatics of Hebraism and Hellenism’, Poetics Today, 19, 1998, pp. 179–98. 20 Criticism of the transmission paradigm was already apparent in the fundamental studies of D. J. Geanakoplos, stressing the transformative agency of individual scholars and discussing the complex relationship between Greek-Palaeologan and Latin-humanist cultures in terms of ‘fusion’; see his Constantinople and the West: Essays on the Late Byzantine (Palaeologan) and Italian Renaissances and the Byzantine and Roman Churches, Madison WI, 1989; Interaction of the “Sibling” Byzantine and Western Cultures in the Middle Ages and Italian Renaissance, 330–1600, New Haven CT, 1976; Byzantine East and Latin West: Two Worlds of Christendom in Middle Ages and Renaissance. Studies in Ecclesiastical and Cultural History, New York and Evanston, 1966; and Greek Scholars in Venice: Studies in the Dissemination of Greek Learning from Byzantium to Western Europe, Cambridge MA, 1962. 21 M. Silk, I. Gildenhard and R. Barrow, The Classical Tradition: Art, Literature, Thought, Malden MA, 2014, pp. 166–172 and passim. See also the discussions in Deep Classics: Rethinking Classical Reception, ed. S. Butler, London, 2016; Classics and the Uses of Reception, ed. C. Martindale and R. F. Thomas, Malden MA, 2006; and L. Hardwick, Reception Studies, Oxford, 2003, to cite only four prominent examples from the Anglosphere. 206 H. Lamers 123 as Hellenization, cultural fusion, appropriation and so forth. 22 Scholars of early modern Hellenism are, by contrast, at the beginning of the discussion. To define early modern Hellenism more precisely, we can start by looking at the ways in which Greek learning has so far been studied. Roughly distinguished, there are three main objects of research: the various ways of transmission and dissemination of ancient Greek, as well as Greek texts, objects and ideas; the ways in which they were interpreted and studied; and the many different ways in which they were used in new contexts. As previously mentioned, early modern Europe was a key period in all these respects. The different aspects of early modern Hellenism – the transmission and dissemination, the study and interpretation, and the use of ancient Greek sources – have for the most part been discussed in different branches of a rich body of scholarship, ranging from traditional reception history or Überlieferungsgeschichte via the history of scholarship and education, and of printing and reading, to the study of the classical tradition or, in more recent decades, classical reception studies. The reception history of individual manuscripts and the fortunae of specific authors have been traced, the activities of individual scribes charted and the role of editors, translators and printers in the dissemination of Greek texts explained. 23 There is an ever-growing interest among scholars in the teaching and learning of Greek in the early modern period as, for instance, the recent volume edited by 22 Scholarship is extensive. Here I mention only A. Wallace-Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution, Cambridge, 2008, pp. 4–37, and T. Whitmarsh, ‘Greece and Rome’, in The Oxford Handbook of Hellenic Studies, ed. G. Boys-Stones, B. Graziosi and P. Vasunia, Oxford, 2009, pp. 114–28, with further references. See also the discussion of scholarship on Hellenism in late antiquity in Pontani’s article in this collection, with references cited there. 23 The literature is extensive. On the transmission and dissemination of Greek literature generally, see the third edition of the classic study by L. D. Reynolds and N. G. Wilson, Scribes and Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature, Oxford, 2013. On scribes involved in the reproduction of Greek manuscripts, see mainly M. Vogel and V. E. Gardthausen, Die griechischen Schreiber des Mittelalters und der Renaissance, Leipzig, 1909, with several later supplements, and H. Hunger and E. Gamillscheg, Repertorium der Griechischen Kopisten: 800–1600, 3 vols., Vienna, 1981–1997. For the role of the Byzantine scholars in the dissemination of Greek learning, see esp. Geanakoplos, Greek Scholars in Venice (n. 20 above) and N. G. Wilson, From Byzantium to Italy: Greek Studies in the Italian Renaissance, London, 2017. For Greek printing, R. Proctor, The Printing of Greek in the Fifteenth Century, Oxford, 1900, is still fundamental, even if it is now obviously out-dated in many respects. For more recent work, see, e.g., N. Barker, Aldus Manutius and the Development of Greek Script and Type in the Fifteenth Century, 2nd edition, New York, 1992, H. Jones, Printing the Classical Text, ‘t Goy-Houten, 2004, pp. 130–94, and K. Staı̈kos, Charta of Greek Printing: The Contribution of Greek Editors, Printers and Publishers to the Renaissance in Italy and the West, Cologne, 1998 (to be consulted with caution: see Davies’ review in The Library, 7th series, no. 1, 2008, pp. 454–5). For the incunabular editions of individual Greek authors, see esp. O. Mazal, Die Überlieferung der antiken Literatur im Buchdruck des 15. Jahrhunderts, 4 vols, Stuttgart, 2003, I, pp. 85–334. The fortunae of individual authors (up to 600) are examined in the Catalogus translationum et commentariorum: Mediaeval and Renaissance Latin Translations and Commentaries. Annotated Lists and Guides, ed. P. O. Kristeller et al., Washington DC, 1960–, covering the period from antiquity itself to 1600. The reception of Byzantine Greek literature is not entirely understudied but the attention is scarce and distributed unevenly. For Byzantine historiography, for example, see A. Pertusi, Storiografia umanistica e mondo bizantino, Palermo, 1967 and, more recently, D. R. Reinsch, ‘The History of Editing Byzantine Historiographical Texts’, in The Byzantine World, ed. P. Stephenson, London and New York, 2010, pp. 435–44. Constructing Hellenism 207 123 Federica Ciccolella and Luigi Silvano shows. 24 Studies have moreover been devoted to how scholars expanded their knowledge of ancient Greek literature and history, including Greek antiquities such as inscriptions, coins and monuments, as well as of various branches of Greek thought, both pagan and Christian: the Greek philosophers, grammarians and philologists, the Church Fathers and theologians. 25 The early modern study, interpretation and edition of the ‘rediscovered’ Greek New Testament and its implications have also been studied intensively. 26 The ways in which writers, thinkers and artists used their knowledge of Greek letters beyond Greek studies strictly speaking have been explored from many different perspec- tives and in various fields of scholarship including the history of science and political thought, art history and literary studies, among numerous others. 27 Generally speaking, however, the uses of Greek learning have been studied less systematically than the transmission and dissemination of Greek learning, probably because these uses were so manifold that it is difficult to systematize them. 24 Teachers, Students, and Schools of Greek in Renaissance Europe, ed. F. Ciccolella and L. Silvano, Leiden, 2017, mainly focusing on Italy. On the study of Greek in the early modern period, see also Botley, Learning Greek (n. 2 above); F. Ciccolella, Donati Graeci: Learning Greek in the Renaissance, Leiden, 2008; J.-C. Saladin, La bataille du grec à la Renaissance, Paris, 2000 and 2004 (2nd revised edition), to be consulted in conjunction with the review of A. Pontani in Aevum, 76, no. 3, 2002, pp. 852– 67 (also relevant to the revised edition). For monographic treatments of two major geographical areas in the history of Greek studies, France and Germany, see recently, e.g., Boulhol, “Grec langaige n’est pas doulz au françois” (n. 3 above) and W. Ludwig, Hellas in Deutschland. Darstellungen der Gräzistik im deutschsprachigen Raum aus dem 16. und 17. Jahrhundert, Hamburg, 1998. 25 To get an idea of how early modern scholars working in diverse contexts studied Greek history, and how their work has been studied in the scholarship, see, e.g., M. Chatzidakis, Ciriaco d’Ancona und die Wiederentdeckung Griechenlands im 15. Jahrhundert, Petersberg, 2017; A. Ben-Tov, Lutheran Humanists and Greek Antiquity: Melanchthonian Scholarship between Universal History and Pedagogy, Leiden, 2009; W. Stenhouse, Reading Inscriptions and Writing Ancient History: Historical Scholarship in the Late Renaissance, London, 2005; and R. Weiss, The Renaissance Discovery of Classical Antiquity, Oxford, 1969. On Greek philosophy and philology, see the work of James Hankins (e.g., Plato in the Italian Renaissance, 2 vols, Leiden, 1991), Jill Kraye (e.g., Classical Traditions in Renaissance Philosophy, Aldershot, 2002) and John Monfasani (e.g., Greeks and Latins in Renaissance Italy: Studies on Humanism and Philosophy in the 15th Century, Aldershot, 2004). For the reception of the Church Fathers see, most comprehensively, The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West: From the Carolingians to the Maurists, ed. I. D. Backus, 2 vols, Leiden, 1997. The incunabular editions and translations of Greek patristics are recorded in O. Mazal, Die Überlieferung (n. 23 above), IV, pp. 900–925. 26 Literature on early modern biblical scholarship is extensive. For an overview, see e.g. the relevant chapters in A History of Biblical Interpretation, II: The Medieval Though the Reformation Periods, ed. A. J. Hauser and D. F. Watson, Michigan and Cambridge, 2009; Biblical Humanism and Scholasticism in the Age of Erasmus, ed. E. Rummel, Leiden and Boston, 2008; and The New Cambridge History of the Bible, III: From 1450 to 1750, ed. E. Cameron, Cambridge, 2016, with the bibliographies there. The impact of the humanists’ return to Greek on biblical scholarship is also concisely discussed in A. Hamilton, ‘Humanists and the Bible’, in The Cambridge Companion to Renaissance Humanism, ed. J. Kraye, Cambridge, 1996, pp. 100–117. 27 Literary scholars have recently returned to the use of ancient Greek as a literary language in the early modern Republic of Letters, among other fascinating research areas enjoying renewed interest. For a first Europe-wide discussion, see Hellenisti! Altgriechisch als Literatursprache im neuzeitlichen Europa. Internationales Symposium an der Bergischen Universität Wuppertal vom 20. bis 21. November 2015, ed. S. Weise, Stuttgart, 2017. For a recent discussion of the German context, see mainly S. Weise, Ἑλληνίδ’ αı’ ̃αν εỉσδεῖν ἱμείρομαι – Neualtgriechische Literatur in Deutschland (Versuch eines Überblicks)’, Antike und Abendland, 62, 2016, pp. 114–81. See also Pontani’s article in this collection, with the references there. 208 H. Lamers 123 Scholarly attention has been distributed unevenly over the different areas of early modern Europe, with Italy attracting most interest, followed by France and Germany, although the situation is gradually changing in favour of a more inclusive picture also covering, for instance, Eastern and Central Europe as well as Scandinavia and the Baltics. 28 Apart from the aspects of Hellenism mentioned so far, another, less intensively studied, question is: how did scholars themselves reflect upon Greek leaning? The different, sometimes conflicting, viewpoints scholars have expressed about the role and value, as well as the scope and limits, of Greek studies can bring interesting perspectives to our understanding of early modern Hellenism. Dissenting voices are particularly relevant in this respect: from the earliest critics and ‘Hellenophobes’ of Quattrocento Italy to Counter-Reformation reservations about Greek and, towards the end of the period, the ‘Quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns’. 29 Such contested views shed light on the social and political struggles in which Greek learning was implicated as well as the cultural tensions involved. In the scholarship, this perspective has sometimes been eclipsed by the humanist enthusiasm for Greek – or even ‘Grecomania’ – and triumphalist discussions of the subject explaining how, from Manuel Chrysoloras (d. 1415) onwards, Greek learning flourished and expanded in the Latin West. 30 The various perspectives early modern writers took on Greek learning also shed light on another important question which is, perhaps surprisingly, seldom posed rigorously: what exactly was Greek learning in the early modern period? Modern scholars have been inclined to concentrate, often tacitly, on the reception of what they regarded as ‘classical’ literature. The transmission, interpretation and use of, for instance, Hellenistic, late antique and especially Byzantine Greek texts have been studied less intensively and often in more or less unrelated branches of scholarship. Early modern readers and writers were, however, differently selective and presumably made connections different from ours. This sparks the question of how they saw the relationships between the various ‘Greek archives’ – not only between pagan and Christian Greek literatures but also, for example, between ‘Hellenistic’ and ‘Byzantine’ materials. And perhaps even more importantly: what are the implications of their views about the scope and limits of Greek learning for 28 For the Eastern European context, see, e.g., the relevant chapters in A Handbook to Classical Reception in Eastern and Central Europe, ed. Z. Martirosova Torlone et al., Chichester, 2017, with the references there. For some aspects of Greek in the Scandinavian (Swedish) and Baltic (Estonian and Livonian) areas, see, e.g., T. Korhonen, ‘The Dissertations in Greek Supervised by Henrik Ausius in Uppsala in the Middle of the Seventeenth Century’, in Classical Tradition from the 16th Century to Nietzsche, ed. J. Päll, M. Steinrück and I. Volt, Tartu, 2010, pp. 89–113, and J. Päll, ‘Humanistengriechisch im alten Estland und Nord-Livland’, ibid., pp. 114–47. There is also interest in areas traditionally less central to classical learning, e.g., C. Joby, ‘The Reception of Ancient Latin and Greek Authors in Early Modern Norwich’, International Journal of the Classical Tradition, 28, 2018, pp. 1–35. 29 Some of the early quarrels involving Greek studies are discussed, e.g., in F. Ferri, Una contesa di tre umanisti: Basinio, Porcelio e Seneca. Contributo alla storia degli studi greci nel Quattrocento in Italia, Pavia, 1920, and Saladin, La bataille (n. 24 above), pp. 177–202 and 257–300. On the polemics about Greek studies surrounding Erasmus, see also S. Goldhill, Who Needs Greek? Contests in the Cultural History of Hellenism, Cambridge, 2002, pp. 14–59. 30 Similar criticism in Goldhill, Who Needs Greek? (n. 29 above), pp. 4–5. Constructing Hellenism 209 123 the ways in which we, modern scholars, understand early modern Hellenism as well as the range of our field of study? These questions cannot be pursued here, but they deserve a more serious treatment elsewhere. The different facets of Hellenism discussed so far can seldom be treated in complete isolation from one another. Whoever examines the study and use of, say, Ptolemy’s Geography can hardly ignore the ways in which the work reached the Latin West and how it was transmitted and disseminated there. 31 Beyond the level of such specific case studies, concerted attempts in recent scholarship to produce a more integrative overview of early modern Hellenism, of its multiple channels of transmission and diffusion as well as its diverse uses and meanings, are few and far between. 32 Perhaps it is simply too early to arrive at such an understanding of the phenomenon given the state of research in the field. Indeed, a good deal of work still needs to be done to smooth out the imbalances and fill lacunae in our knowledge of the subject. 33 The relative lack of general, more integral accounts probably has to do with the fact that researchers in this field have generally worked in relative isolation from each other. To bring together scholars from different backgrounds who study early modern Hellenism in workshops and conferences (of which we have seen many in the last couple of years) is an important step to identify the main lacunae and imbalances and to find common perspectives on both the subject and the field of study. The articles collected here were presented at such a meeting. 34 The authors of the papers presented here do identify some lacunae and imbalances in the current scholarship, as they themselves make clear. They also invite scholars to explore the less trodden paths of this field of study and to connect various strands of scholarship to arrive at a more balanced understanding of early modern Hellenism. On the premise that the story of Greek learning in early modern Europe cannot be written exclusively in terms of textual transmission, in their own ways, these articles address how it was shaped, used and given meaning at various important moments in European history, from the fifteenth to the early eighteenth century, and in diverse areas, including Italy, France, Germany and England. They do not focus exclusively on the philological minutiae of intellectual history, but consistently connect detailed analyses of sources with a consideration of the specific social, cultural or political settings of Greek learning. Thus, they present an attempt 31 See P. Gautier Dalché, ‘The Reception of Ptolemy’s Geography (End of the Fourteenth to Beginning of the Sixteenth Century)’, in The History of Cartography, III: Cartography in the European Renaissance, ed. D. Woodward, Chicago, 2007, pp. 285–364. 32 Transcending regional boundaries, the 2007 conference at Princeton University (n. 18 above), covered various aspects of early modern Hellenism. For specific regions there are some more integrative overviews: for Venice, e.g., L’eredità greca (n. 4 above); for France, E. Egger, L’Hellénisme en France, 2 vols, Paris, 1869, to mention only two examples. 33 E.g., the absence of the perspective of the Greek world is a striking lacuna. Sometimes this is a matter of lacking evidence from visual culture, literature and scholarship, as is the case for the Gattilusio lordships in the Aegean; see C. Wright, The Gattilusio Lordships and the Aegean World, 1355–1462, Leiden, 2014, pp. 9 and 13–14. For other places such as Cyprus and Crete, however, there is plenty of material awaiting further study: for the context of Greek studies, see Ciccolella and Silvano, Teachers, Students, and Schools (n. 24 above), p. x. 34 ‘Constructing Hellenism in Renaissance Europe and Classical Islam’, Humboldt University in Berlin on 21 and 22 November 2014. See also n. 37 below. 210 H. Lamers 123 to give historical substance to the premise that ‘the story of Hellenism’s transformation in Europe … is a story of acquisition, appropriation and domesti- cation’. 35 Together they illustrate that, if we want to arrive at a fuller understanding of early modern Hellenism, the transmission and dissemination of Greek texts, their interpretation and study, and their use in entirely new contexts should not always be treated as separate fields of interest but must be ‘thought together’ as communi- cating vessels. While the first paper in this collection concentrates on how Italian humanists used ancient Greek to create a Hellenic literature of their own, the second and third papers discuss, from different perspectives, how scholars in the sixteenth century helped to build up Greek learning in France and tried to integrate it into French and European intellectual culture. The two final papers then explore some of the ways in which knowledge about Greek history was used beyond the limits of Greek language and literature studies, focusing on two illuminating early modern episodes, one from England, the other from Germany. In the next section, I shall briefly lay out the main arguments of each paper and relate them to the general theme of the collection. *** In terms of how humanist scholars used Greek learning, one of the more astonishing effects of the renewed interest in ancient Greek in the Latin West was the emergence of a Greek literature outside the Greek world, which, starting from Italy in the fifteenth century, spread all over Europe. Writing Greek letters, poems and speeches became a characteristic of the more sophisticated branches of European humanism, not only in Italy but also in France, Germany and even as far north as the Baltic and Scandinavian lands. In ‘Hellenic Verse and Christian Humanism’, Filippomaria Pontani sheds light on this (understudied) aspect of Renaissance Hellenism, showing how Greek learning was exploited to ‘construct a plausible Hellenic poetry in a learned Christian world’. Discussing the production of ancient style Greek poetry from late antiquity via Byzantium to the Italian Renaissance, Pontani focuses on the perceived conflict between Hellenic forms and Christian content. How can Christian notions be expressed in ancient forms? Do Hellenic forms eclipse the tenets of Christian thought, or does an allusive Hellenic style, by contrast, ‘ennoble’ Christianity? Concentrating on a selection of Greek poems by Francesco Filelfo (1398–1481), Angelo Poliziano (1454–1494), Marcus Musurus (c. 1475–1517) and Janus Lascaris (c. 1445–1534), Pontani demonstrates how, and explains why, these Renaissance poets used Greek poetic models to express Christian ideas. His analyses go beyond tracing textual affinities and draw our attention to structural analogies between the culture of late antiquity and the Middle Ages, on the one hand, and the Italian Renaissance, on the other: ‘two changing worlds, where the tension between Hellenism as form and Hellenism as content is a paramount element for the shaping of a new poetic texture’. Accordingly, Pontani argues, any future exploration of humanist Greek literature will benefit from a comparison with late ancient and medieval literatures, in which we find similarly controversial appropriations of Hellenic sources in Christian milieus. By inviting 35 Celenza, ‘Hellenism in the Renaissance’ (n. 2 above), p. 151. Constructing Hellenism 211 123 scholars of Renaissance Hellenism, more generally, to explore new ways to relate their findings to previous and other ‘Hellenisms’, this article also contributes an important methodological point of its own to the discussion. The various ways in which Greek learning was shaped and given meaning beyond the Alps is the topic of ‘Guillaume Budé and the Uses of Greek’, in which Gerald Sandy discusses the key role of the famous French philologist in the establishment of Greek studies in sixteenth-century France. He illustrates Budé’s contributions by following the career of Jacques Amyot (1513–1593): an early student of the Collège de France (established in 1530), whose translations of Heliodorus and Plutarch, among others, helped to reorient Europe’s literary history and emancipate European literature from Neo-Latin. After outlining the state of Greek studies in France before Budé, Sandy discusses how the French philologist helped to overcome the three main obstacles to studying Greek: (1) the absence of competent teachers of Greek, (2) the absence of Greek manuscripts and printed editions and (3) the lack of reference works such as reliable dictionaries. Budé’s contributions, Sandy argues, transformed France into a centre of Hellenic studies, in which a scholar such as Amyot could flourish. Thus, the article shows the construction of Hellenism in its most fundamental form: the implementation of Greek studies in French scholarly culture by teaching, editing and translating activities. At the same time, it also shows how learning Greek became implicated in wider cultural discourses, beyond scholarship: French Hellenism, this article reminds us, was also regarded as the principal way to snatch cultural superiority away from the Italians, so that, by 1517, as Sandy reminds us, Erasmus could write that he did ‘not believe that there is any Italian at this time who is so perverse or arrogant that he would be foolhardy enough to join arms and do battle with Budé for recognition of this field of accomplishment’. The establishment of Greek studies not only involved producing language study tools such as grammars and dictionaries but also relied on editing and publishing Greek works. This obviously involved processes of selection, and the choices made in the process reflected, as well as well as helped to shape, specific understandings of what Greek learning meant. In ‘Constructions of Hellenism through Printing and Editorial Choices’, Natasha Constantinidou discusses how the French scholar Adrien de Turnèbe (1512–1565) constructed his view of Hellenism through the Greek works he edited and published during the short period in which he served as royal printer in Greek (1551–1555). Unlike members of his circle such as J. J. Scaliger, Montaigne and Ronsard, Turnèbe’s work has generally remained understudied, so Constantinidou’s article fills a conspicuous lacuna in the history of French Hellenism. During his time as royal printer, Turnèbe published about twenty Greek volumes, covering literature and philology, natural philosophy and medicine, as well as religious syncretism and Neoplatonism. Distinguishing between publications for students, editions intended for Turnèbe’s own classes and books mainly serving his own philosophical interests, Constantinidou reveals that there was an intellectual programme behind the printer’s selections. Drawing on the paratexts to his editions such as prefaces and dedicatory epistles, she maintains that Turnèbe’s publications often served the purpose of promoting ancient Greek philosophy as a handmaid of the Christian faith. For instance, she shows that Turnèbe coupled his study of Theophrastus’s De odoribus – which he translated into 212 H. Lamers 123 Latin – with thoughts about the role of perfumes in the contemplation of God and religious worship. In particular, the editions centred on Plato’s Timaeus reflect Turnèbe’s profound interest in Christian Platonism, prisca theologia and Christian apologetics. Constantinidou interprets his editions of works by Hermes Trismegis- tus, Plato, Plutarch, Philo of Alexandria, Synesius of Cyrene, Apollinaris of Laodicea and Gregory Palamas, as well as his edition of the pseudo-Clementine Homilies, as part of the printer’s attempt to project an interpretation of Greek philosophy as ‘prefiguring’ Christianity. According to her, Turnèbe attempted to harmonize Greek thought and Christian doctrine along the lines set out by Italian humanists, most famously Marsilio Ficino (1433–1499), as well as French colleagues such as Guillaume Budé. In order to bring out the specificities of Turnèbe’s use of Greek learning, Constantinidou finally compares his editorial activities with the intellectual programmes of Rutgerus Rescius (Rutger Ressen, c. 1495–1545) and the French scholars Robert Estienne (1503–1559) and Jacques Toussain (1490–1547). While some humanists addressed the tension between Hellenism and Christianity by revealing affinities between Greek philosophy and Christian doctrine, or by showing that Christian ideas could be expressed in ancient Hellenic forms without ‘disintegrating’, others had recourse to other means of aligning Hellenism and Scripture. With the flourishing of the studia orientalia in the seventeenth century, some scholars insisted on the cultural primacy of the Near East – especially Hebrew writings – and regarded the civilization of ancient Greece as having freely adopted and adapted elements from the East. 36 In a work called Homerus ἑβραίζων, Zachary Bogdan (1625–1659), for example, ‘revealed’ manifold Homeric and Hesiodic borrowings from the Old Testament in an attempt to show that the founding father of ancient literature had been familiar with Scripture. Such dazzlingly learned arguments entailed a profound revaluation – and not, as one might suspect, a devaluation – of Greek antiquity. In ‘Joshua Apollo: Edmund Dickinson’s Delphi phoenizantes and the Biblical Origins of Greece in Seventeenth-Century England’, Bernd Roling shows how one of Bogdan’s contemporaries, the English physician, alchemist and antiquarian Edmund Dickinson (1624–1707), attempted to demonstrate that ancient Greek culture had been built on Phoenician foundations and on the soil of Israel. In his demonstration, he ‘de-Hellenized’ one of the hallmarks of ancient Greek paganism: the famous oracle at Delphi as well as its mythic founder, Apollo, whom he identified with Joshua. Anticipating one of the central arguments of Pierre-Daniel Huet’s Demonstratio evangelica (1694), Dickinson argued from the assumption that the mysteries of Scripture were echoed in the myths of the Greeks and Romans. Roling offers a detailed account of how Dickinson expanded this general idea by using, among other things, comparative etymology and mythological archaeology as his principal tools. Whereas Turnèbe, as Constantinidou reminds us, still found that the Hebrews had ‘inherited the Platonic Muse and admitted her to their innermost 36 As Asaph Ben-Tov explains in his article in this volume, the early modern studia orientalia are not equivalent to modern ‘Near Eastern studies’ since they usually also included North Africa and could even extend into South-East Asia. Constructing Hellenism 213 123 sanctuary’, Roling explains how Dickinson changed this picture by making Hellenism look thoroughly Semitic. From today’s viewpoint, this might seem a deconstruction of what we now commonly see as typically Hellenic, yet Dickinson’s ‘de-Hellenization’ of Delphi constitutes a shrewd and erudite attempt to construct Hellenism alternatively on Semitic foundations in order to re-evaluate ancient Greece as a venerable branch of the Elect Nation. ‘Delphi revealed’, Roling writes, ‘that the events of the history of salvation had been burned into the memory of the Hellenes and that this knowledge, which saved the honour of the “pagan” Greeks, had simply been waiting to be freed once again from obscurity.’ Throughout the early modern period, the use of Greek learning was not necessarily oriented towards the scholarly ‘reconstruction’ of Greek antiquity. From Pontani’s article, for instance, we learn that some Italian humanists used their Greek learning to create a Greek literature of their own. The concern for ancient Greek texts, as expressed by Italian humanists, was multifaceted and, at the same time, often mainly Latin-oriented. They took special interest in the Greek historians, above all, for what they had to say about Roman history; they studied Greek grammar, style and rhetoric in order to improve their competence in Latin, from matters of orthography to rhetorical issues of textual organization; they worked their way through Greek literature and Byzantine commentaries to emend corrupt passages in Latin authors (so that Greek learning appears as the handmaid of Latin textual criticism); and they mined the ancient Greek philosophers and theologians for solutions to the more theoretical problems which haunted their minds, for example, the need to bring pagan ideas into harmony with Christian doctrine. The use of Greek learning outside the direct context of Greek philology was not restricted to Italian or Latin humanism, nor to the fifteenth century, though the Italian context of Greek studies has been researched much more intensively than have the Northern European uses of Greek learning. Especially for the study of Oriental history, Greek authors such as Herodotus and Plutarch were indispensable sources. As Roling’s article already showed, the increasing awareness of Oriental cultures and languages also catalysed new questions about the cultural and historical connections between ancient Greece and the Near East. In the final paper of the collection, ‘Hellenism in the Context of Oriental Studies’, Asaph Ben-Tov demonstrates how Greek learning was used in this way by Johann Gottfried Lakemacher (1695–1736), professor of Greek (from 1724) and Oriental languages (from 1727) in German Helmstedt. Ben-Tov shows how Lakemacher broke with the notion of Oriental or Hebrew primacy exemplified by Dickinson’s Delphi phoenizantes, discussed by Roling. Placing Lakemacher’s ideas on ancient Greece and its role in Oriental history against the background of the controversial ideas of his colleague Hermann von der Hardt (1660–1746), Ben-Tov argues that Lakemacher ‘desacralized’ the ancient past by tracing biblical antiquity to ancient Greece instead of vice versa. Specifically, he argues, Lakemacher attempted to demonstrate that the Jews were not the origin of other religions, cultures and languages but rather ‘were part of a network of ancient cultures, and were often the imitators rather than the source of inspiration’. Although Lakemacher kept his distance from the provocative ideas about the Greek origins of the Oriental languages, voiced by von der Hardt, he did trace various other cultural phenomena 214 H. Lamers 123 to ancient Greece and Greek literature. Ben-Tov demonstrates, for example, how Lakemacher interpreted the traditional carrying of the lulav during Sukkot, against the authority of Daniel Heinsius (1580–1655), in terms of Josephus’s θυρσοφορία (‘carrying of the thyrsus’). For Lakemacher, the carrying of the lulav was just one example of how Bacchic rituals had entered post-biblical Jewish ceremonies. By uncovering and contextualizing the specificities of Lakemacher’s argument, Ben- Tov shows how he transferred his Greek learning beyond the limits of Greek philology stricto sensu and merged traditional textual antiquarianism with his own observations of a neighbouring Jewish community. 37 37 The papers published here resulted from the workshop ‘Constructing Hellenism in Renaissance Europe and Classical Islam’, which took place at Humboldt University in Berlin on 21 and 22 November 2014. The initial idea was worked out by Damien Janos and myself; the event was co-moderated by Lukas Mülethaler. I am grateful to both for their help and also to Philip van der Eijk, as well as to the Berlin Centre for the History of Knowledge, the Department of Classics of Humboldt University, for their financial support and practical assistance. Thanks also to all participants in the workshop and especially to the speakers. Apart from the contributors to this issue, speakers included Dimitri Gutas, Olga Lizzini, Maria Mavroudi and Philippe Vallat. I am thankful to the contributors for their insightful comments on an earlier draft of this text. Steven Bockhardt kindly assisted with the preparation of the complete manuscript, and Jill Kraye meticulously went through the final text; I am indebted to both. Constructing Hellenism 215 123 Constructing Hellenism: Studies on the History of Greek Learning in Early Modern Europe Introduction 
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work_myk5ygq5zzdhdcfxpeengep4x4	----	PTS volume 28 Cover and Front matter PROSPECTS An Annual of American Cultural Studies Volume 28 Edited by Jack Salzman Cambridge University Pressof use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 https://www.cambridge.org/core PROSPECTS An Annual of American Cultural Studies of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 https://www.cambridge.org/core PROSPECTS An Annual of American Cultural Studies Volume 28 Edited by Jack Salzman CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 https://www.cambridge.org/core Cover Illustration "Wall Street, 1850" by A. Kollner Courtesy of the New York Library Eno Collection; Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations. Editorial Office: Jack Salzman, Editor, Prospects, 180 West End Ave., New York, NY 10023, U.S.A. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 https://www.cambridge.org/core Contents Aliens in the Academy: A Paradisciplinary Discourse Bridget Roussell Cowlishaw 1 "One of the Most Gifted Women of the Age": Zenobia, Margaret Fuller, and de Stael's Corinne in The Blithedale Romance Jonathan A. Cook 35 Naturalism from Forest to Village in William Gilmore Simms's "The Arm-chair of Tustenuggee" Peter Murphy 73 "Departments of human feeling": Roderick Hudson, Love, and Friendship in the Gilded Age Axel Nissen 101 No Room of One's Own: Mary Fairchild MacMonnies Low, Berthe Morisot, and The Awakening Kirstin Ringelberg 127 Paint for the Many? Rereading William Sidney Mount's The Painter's Triumph Elisabeth L. Roark 155 In Pursuit of an American Image: A History of the Italian Renaissance for Harvard Architecture Students at the Turn of the Twentieth Century Maureen Meister 185 Pauline Hopkins and Psychologies of Race Caroline Levander 203 v of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 https://www.cambridge.org/core vi C O N T E N T S Collecting: The Work of Learning, Following Botanists Frieda Knobloch 221 A Modern Dilemma: Changing Notions of Truth and Expertise in 20th-century American Medical Science Hamilton Cravens 245 Worker-Writers on the WPA: The Case of New Bedford, Massachusetts Christine Bold 281 Escape from Marseille: An American Story? Writing Victor Serge's, Laurette Sejourne's, Dwight and Nancy Macdonald's Balzacian Book Clive Bush 311 On His Way Greg Robinson 341 On the Brink of Evacuation: The Diary of an Issei Woman, by Fuki Endow Kawaguchi Translated from the Japanese and edited by Sanae Kawaguchi Moorehead, with historical notes and introduction by Greg Robinson 359 The Unpublished Diaries of Charles Kikuchi: "Black and Yellow" through the Eyes of a Progressive Nisei Intellectual Matthew M. Briones 383 The Home Front's Cartoony Face: World War Two Through Orphan Annie's Eyes Maria Mazzenga 429 Locating the Global South: Faulkner and Wright in Postwar Asia Harilaos Stecopoulos 465 The Time of the Crime: Cold Case Squads and American Social Memory Christopher Wilson 497 Dying to Be Black: White-to-Black Racial Passing in Chesnutt's "Mars Jeems's Nightmare," Griffin's Black Like Me, and Van Peebles's Watermelon Man Baz Dreisinger 519 The Unusual Case of Leslie Lapidus: The Purposes of the Remarkably Long Joke in William Styron's Sophie's Choice Frank Katz 543 of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 https://www.cambridge.org/core Contents vii Come Fly with Me: Frank Sinatra, the Old Left, and the Pax Americana Christopher Breu 577 Instant History and the Legacy of Scandal: The Tangled Memory of Warren G. Harding, Richard Nixon, and William Jefferson Clinton Phillip Payne 597 MacSong: Karaoke and the Academy Jeffrey Gray 627 Notes on Contributors 639 of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0361233300001393 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_n2l3ffedhnc2pkzcw34llihdqi	----	Writing Under Pressure: Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph Writing under pressure: Maud Cruttwell and the old master  monograph Article (Published Version) http://sro.sussex.ac.uk Ventrella, Francesco (2019) Writing under pressure: Maud Cruttwell and the old master monograph. 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28. pp. 1-27. ISSN 1755-1560 This version is available from Sussex Research Online: http://sro.sussex.ac.uk/id/eprint/83103/ This document is made available in accordance with publisher policies and may differ from the published version or from the version of record. If you wish to cite this item you are advised to consult the publisher’s version. Please see the URL above for details on accessing the published version. Copyright and reuse: Sussex Research Online is a digital repository of the research output of the University. Copyright and all moral rights to the version of the paper presented here belong to the individual author(s) and/or other copyright owners. To the extent reasonable and practicable, the material made available in SRO has been checked for eligibility before being made available. Copies of full text items generally can be reproduced, displayed or performed and given to third parties in any format or medium for personal research or study, educational, or not-for-profit purposes without prior permission or charge, provided that the authors, title and full bibliographic details are credited, a hyperlink and/or URL is given for the original metadata page and the content is not changed in any way. http://sro.sussex.ac.uk/ Writing Under Pressure: Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph Francesco Ventrella Connoisseurship and the old master monograph Writing about Florence around 1900, the painter William Rothenstein (1872–1945) described the city as a scholarly combat ground in which the Guelphs and the Ghibellines had been replaced by international ‘cognoscenti’: There were armed camps and fierce rivalries in Florence then, as in past times; but the fighting was far less bloody, concerned as it was with attributions rather than with Ducal thrones. Berenson, Horne, Loeser, Vernon Lee, Maud Cruttwell, all had their mercenaries — and their artillery.1 While this passage delivers an amusing anecdote about competing groups of art historians abroad, it also poses a historiographical question, which should be considered more carefully. Unlike many art historiographers of our time, Rothenstein naturally includes both men and women to illustrate the feuds of scholarship in the foreign colony of Florence. The inclusion of Vernon Lee (1856–1935) and Maud Cruttwell (1860–1939) among Bernard Berenson (1865–1959), Herbert Horne (1864–1916), and Charles Loeser (1864–1928) demonstrates that, in spite of there being an internal rivalry, these individuals belonged to the same professional network. The story of how women art historians have fallen off the map of art historiography is a complicated one, which many feminist scholars have recently started to disentangle. The professionalization of art his- tory at the end of the nineteenth century was a project that has been told mostly through the universalizing narrative of modernity, which canonizes the history of the discipline through national and institutional networks 1 Men and Memories: Recollections of William Rothenstein 1900–1922 (New York: Coward-McCann, 1932), p.  122. I would like to thank Ilaria Della Monica and Giovanni Pagliarulo at the Biblioteca Berenson Archive, Villa I Tatti. My special gratitude goes to the anonymous reviewers for their insightful comments and generous recommendations. 2 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> traditionally associated with men.2 However, as Rothenstein reveals, the historical representation reproduced by mainstream accounts of modern art historiography does not correspond to the heterogeneity of the past. Reflecting on the inclusion of Lee and Cruttwell on his list should also beg the question of how women’s scholarship was received at the time, and what difference women brought to these networks. Yet the writing of the history of women’s contribution to art history requires some historiographical adjustments. Pamela Gerrish Nunn has suggested that, in order to redress the gender imbalance within the dis- cipline, the ‘additive’ project of feminist art history should be expanded to include a deconstruction of art historiography as well: ‘to expose the true worth of women’s work we must rethink the definitions and categories of patriarchal history.’3 Maud Cruttwell’s writings respond usefully to this desire to reassess the definitions and categories of traditional art history, for her list of writings on art and cultural history includes the publication of original documents, which had considerable importance for professional scholarship, alongside city guides, instead intended for use by the general traveller.4 In order to expose ‘the true worth of women’s work’, as Gerrish Nunn invites us to do, we must observe women art historians at work and evaluate how the practice of art history is gendered. A Jewish woman in a city that had become a haven for many stranieri invertiti in the intellectual colony,5 Cruttwell was openly lesbian and belonged to a community of art writers that had turned aesthetics into a religion and sexual openness into a liberal politics.6 Her scholarship was 2 Andreas Huyssen, After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture, Postmodernism (London: Macmillan, 1986), p. 56. For a response to Huyssen’s argument with spe- cific reference to women connoisseurs, see Meaghan Clarke and Francesco Ventrel- la, ‘Introduction: Women’s Expertise and the Culture of Connoisseurship’, Visual Resources, 33 (2017), 1–10. 3 Pamela Gerrish Nunn, ‘Critically Speaking’, in Women in the Victorian Art World, ed. by Clarissa Campbell Orr (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), pp. 107–24 (p. 123). 4 Maud Cruttwell, A Guide to the Paintings in the Florentine Galleries (London: Dent, 1907); and Maud Cruttwell, Venice and her Treasures (London: Methuen, 1909). 5 ‘The most singular thing about her is that while she has the most Anglo-Saxon look imaginable her mother was a full blooded Jewess.’ Bernard Berenson to Senda Berenson, Florence, Villa I Tatti, The Harvard University Center for Italian Re- naissance Studies, Biblioteca Berenson, The Bernard and Mary Berenson Papers (BMBP). Leo Stein, instead, described Cruttwell as ‘one of those frowsy-headed red-faced English women of uncertain age, whom you could put on the stage as a type of Britisher without any further make-up’. Quoted in Ernest Samuels, Bernard Berenson: The Making of a Connoisseur (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1979), p. 354. 6 For a discussion of the queer capacities of Renaissance historiography during the long nineteenth century, see Yvonne Ivory, The Homosexual Revival of Renaissance Style, 1850–1930 (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2009); and Will Fisher, ‘The Sexual Politics https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 3 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> instrumental in redefining the boundaries of the old master monograph. In this article I would like to consider her specialization in this scholarly genre in light of her eccentric, but not marginal, position within the profes- sionalization of art history at the fin de siècle.7 What difference did Cruttwell make to art history? And what difference does she bring to a feminist revi- sion of modern art historiography? The association of the old masters with painting is a convention con- nected to the securing of pictures for the supply of public and private col- lections during the nineteenth century. Still, when we turn to art historical writing in the same period, the life and work of the old masters appear entangled with the modern format of the monograph, obviously inspired by the Renaissance model of Vasari’s Lives (1550/68), which included paint- ers, but also sculptors and architects.8 In continuity with this tradition, Cruttwell’s interest in the old masters therefore exceeded the singular association with painting. Indeed, the catalogue of her monographs seems to suggest that she privileged those artists from the Italian Renaissance that transgressed the medium specificity of painting, like Verrocchio and Pollaiuolo, or those whose painting could be studied as an emanation from sculpture, like Mantegna with the antique, or Signorelli with Donatello.9 Towards the end of the century, the old master monograph came to coincide with an increasing interest in life writing among the reading public and the development of connoisseurship in art history.10 Thus, the Renaissance cult of the individual found in the old master monograph its modern historical and aesthetic manifestation, which satisfied the move towards individualism in Victorian aesthetics as well as economics.11 As Gabriele Guercio has convincingly argued in his study of the origins of the monograph in art historiography, the modernity of this format lies in its of Victorian Historiographical Writing about the “Renaissance”’, GLQ, 14 (2007), 41–67. 7 Here I use this adjective with specific reference to Teresa de Lauretis’s feminist theorization of historical consciousness: Teresa de Lauretis, ‘Eccentric Subjects: Feminist Theory and Historical Consciousness’, Feminist Studies, 16 (1990), 115–50. 8 For a discussion of the influence of Vasari on Victorian life writing and historiography, see Hilary Fraser, ‘Vasari’s Lives and the Victorians’, in The Ashgate Research Companion to Giorgio Vasari, ed. by David J. Cast (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014), pp. 277–94; and Patricia Rubin, ‘“Not […] what I would fain offer, but […] what I am able to present”: Mrs. Jonathan Foster’s translation of Vasari’s Lives’, in Le vite del Vasari: genesi, topoi, ricezione, ed. by Katja Burzer and others (Venice: Marsilio, 2010), pp. 317–31. 9 For an analysis of women writing on sculpture in the nineteenth century, see Hilary Fraser, ‘Women and the Modelling of Victorian Sculptural Discourse’, Visual Resources, 33 (2017), 74–93. 10 Karen Junod, ‘The Lives of the Old Masters: Reading, Writing, and Reviewing the Renaissance’, Nineteenth‐Century Contexts, 30 (2008), 67–82. 11 Regenia Gagnier, The Insatiability of Human Wants: Economics and Aesthetics in Market Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), pp. 90–114. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 4 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> capacity to engender a representation of selfhood as endlessly becoming: the monograph ‘sustained the belief in the artwork as a dialectical object, if not a living entity’.12 Such definitions are highly apt when introducing Cruttwell’s approach to the genre. All of Cruttwell’s monographs open with a chapter on the ‘character- istics’ of the old master in question, a procedure that discloses her allegiance to the ‘scientific method’ of connoisseurship, or new art criticism, associ- ated with Giovanni Morelli’s (1816–1891) visual approach. This involved making attributions in painting through the identification of characteristic patterns (Grundformen) by which connoisseurs were able to determine the ‘hand’ and, therefore, the individuality of an old master.13 Cruttwell’s prac- tice of connoisseurship was also coloured by the influence of contempo- rary psychological aesthetics, as clearly delineated in 1894 in an article by her friend and mentor Mary Costelloe (later Berenson), who avowed that the new art criticism had to rest on the merging of the Morellian method with Pater’s aestheticism.14 In articulating the opinions of her romantic and intellectual partner Bernard Berenson, Mary writes that, in order to become modern, connoisseurship should regard the individual character- istics of an old master as the expression of his ‘artistic personality’.15 The aesthetic literature of Walter Pater (1839–1894), professor of Classics at Oxford, had a huge influence on the young Berenson and his life partner. Pater’s definition of personality as ‘outline’ in Marius the Epicurean (1885) resonated with Berenson’s psychological rethinking of the ‘quality’ of the line to attribute authorship in painting.16 Berenson’s first and only artist 12 Gabriele Guercio, Art as Existence: The Artist’s Monograph and its Project (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2006), p. 19. 13 Cruttwell announces herself in her writings as ‘a student of the much-abused new school of art criticism’ in Maud Cruttwell, ‘The Recent Changes in the Florentine Galleries’, Athenaeum, 13 April 1907, p. 449. 14 After an introduction made by Vernon Lee, in 1894 Cruttwell started to work as housekeeper and secretary for Mary Costelloe before the latter married Bernard Berenson in 1900. In the first stages of her career, Cruttwell could rely on Mary for some feedback on her work: ‘Maud Cruttwell came here and read me the Signorelli, which will, I think, be very decent’ (Mary Berenson’s diary, 7 May 1899, BMBP); ‘Miss Cruttwell to lunch and read her Signorelli Orvieto chapter’ (diary, 31 May 1899). For an assessment of the relationship between the two women, see Hilary Fraser, Women Writing Art History in the Nineteenth Century: Looking Like a Woman, Cambridge Studies in Nineteenth-Century Literature and Culture, 95 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), p. 34. 15 Mary Whitall Costelloe, ‘The New and the Old Art Criticism’, Nineteenth Century, May 1894, pp.  828–37; Mary Logan [Mary Costelloe], ‘The New Art Criticism’, Atlantic Monthly, August 1895, pp. 263–70. 16 Francesco Ventrella, ‘Befriending Botticelli: Psychology and Connoisseurship at the Fin de Siècle’, in Botticelli Past and Present, ed. by Ana Debenedetti and Caroline Elam (London: UCL Press, 2019), pp.  116–47 <https://doi. org/10.14324/111.9781787354593> (pp.  120–28). For a discussion of Pater’s pro- https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 https://doi.org/10.14324/111.9781787354593 https://doi.org/10.14324/111.9781787354593 5 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> monograph, Lorenzo Lotto: An Essay in Constructive Art Criticism (1895) was written primarily to illustrate his concept of ‘artistic personality’ and was innovative within the genre. The corpus of Lotto (1480–1556), which did not represent particularly complex problems of attribution at the time, served for Berenson to demonstrate how the ‘character’ of an artist can be identified in certain ‘habits of execution’.17 Indeed, it was amid this intel- lectual network of people and ideas that Cruttwell, originally trained as a painter of eighteenth-century inspired domestic scenes, was to have her apprenticeship in Florence on both connoisseurship and aesthetics.18 In this article I focus on two major monographs signed by Cruttwell at the very beginning of the twentieth century, Luca and Andrea della Robbia and their Successors (1902) and Antonio Pollaiuolo (1907), and explain why she harnessed Berenson’s lesson about ‘artistic personality’ in order to create continuities between old masters that moved freely across media, from painting to sculpture, from ceramics to embroidery.19 Very different in scholarly scope and readership, these two monographs are useful to exam- ine a split that occurred at the end of the nineteenth century between a curatorial approach to the old masters and the aesthetic appreciation of their work concerned with the psychology of the artist and its effects on the beholder. Yet, while her monographs followed a philosophical and aes- thetic project, which unequivocally showed her professional allegiance to the Berensons, they also registered the specificity of her position as a new woman in a mostly male professional field. Cruttwell worked freelance during a period of exceptional growth for the art press, which provided women with novel opportunities to write about the Renaissance while earning an income, as well as with critical authority in the fast-developing professional field of art history.20 Yet the to-psychological ruminations on historical personalities, see Stephen Cheeke, ‘Pateresque: The Person, the Prose Style’, Cambridge Quarterly, 46 (2017), 251–69. 17 Bernard Berenson, Lorenzo Lotto: An Essay in Constructive Art Criticism (New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1895), pp. xiii–xviii. Many recent scholars have drawn attention to the connection between Berenson and William James with regard to the psychology of habit. See Jeremy Melius, ‘Connoisseurship, Painting, and Personhood’, Art History, 34 (2011), 288–309. 18 Maud Cruttwell worked in Kensington at 25 Bolton Studios on Redcliffe Road. Her works, usually of small scale and modest quality, often depicted genteel pas- times. In 1891 she exhibited a picture at the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition bearing a title reminiscent of the contemporary vogue for collecting and connois- seurship, A Doubtful Bargain (cat. no. 944). See Christopher Wood, Dictionary of Victorian Painters (Woodbridge: Antique Collector’s Club, 1995), p. 125. 19 Maud Cruttwell, Luca and Andrea della Robbia and their Successors (London: Dent; New York: Dutton, 1902); Maud Cruttwell, Antonio Pollaiuolo (London: Duckworth, 1907). 20 Meaghan Clarke, ‘Turn-of-the-Century Women Writing about Art, 1880–1920’, in The History of British Women’s Writing, ed. by Cora Kaplan and Jennie Batchelor, 10 vols (London: Macmillan, 2010–18), vii: 1880–1920, ed. by Holly Laird (2016), pp.  258–72; Amy M. Von Lintel, ‘“Excessive industry”: Female Art Historians, https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 6 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> pressures she had to negotiate as a professional writer whose sole income, unlike some of her male counterparts, was derived from commercial pub- lishing, had a considerable impact upon her working methods.21 In her insightful analysis of Cruttwell’s career path, Hilary Fraser has already made some important comments on the struggle for professional recogni- tion of a woman who was as determined, driven, and motivated ‘as any of her male contemporaries’.22 Here, by examining a number of unpublished letters that enlighten us on the networks and methods of this overlooked art historian, I also want to consider Cruttwell’s position in art historiog- raphy and assess how her work was received by fellow art historians work- ing in the same fields: Bernard Berenson, Wilhelm von Bode, and Allan Marquand. ‘I see no way before me except the path cleared by my own hatchet’: the hunt for della Robbias In his proto-psychological ruminations on Renaissance artists, Walter Pater imagined an interesting aesthetic configuration by means of which the temperament of one artist or school working in one medium could influence the expression of another artist or school working in another. His creative criticism was the product of a historical fiction, which conveyed the promise for modern audiences of being influenced by the ‘impress’ of an artist’s soul.23 The chapter on Luca della Robbia, included in his best- selling volume Studies in the History of the Renaissance (1873), accordingly argued that fifteenth-century sculpture shared with painting the same ‘pro- found expressiveness, that intimate impress of an indwelling soul’.24 As Lene Østermark-Johansen has pointed out, Luca della Robbia ‘was chosen Popular Publishing and Professional Access’, in Women, Femininity and Public Space in European Visual Culture, 1789–1914, ed. by Temma Balducci and Heather Belnap Jensen (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2014), pp. 115–29. 21 The title of my article takes inspiration from Michelle O’Malley, Painting under Pressure: Fame, Reputation and Demand in Renaissance Florence (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013). Her acute considerations about the impact of social pres- sures upon the determination of the quality and price of the works produced within Renaissance workshops resonate strongly with my investigation of the role that both the publishing market and professional competition played in the construc- tion of women’s critical authority. 22 Women Writing Art History, p. 37. Fraser rightly stresses Cruttwell’s social skills for keeping both Vernon Lee and the Berensons on her side. 23 Jonah Siegel has intriguingly defined this chain of influence in terms of an ‘erot- ics of learning’. See Jonah Siegel, ‘Leonardo, Pater, and the Challenge of Attribu- tion’, in Walter Pater: Transparencies of Desire, ed. by Laurel Brake, Lesley Higgins, and Carolyn Williams (Greensboro: ELT Press, 2002), pp. 159–87 (p. 176). 24 Walter Pater, The Renaissance: Studies in Art and Poetry, ed. by Adam Phillips (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 40. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 7 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> as the titular hero of Pater’s essay because he would provide a welcome pretext for just such a theoretical discussion of the boundaries between sculpture and painting’.25 It is on this path that Cruttwell crafted her syn- chronic system of influences which allowed an artist’s character to contract and expand across media. Her interest in the old masters cannot be dissoci- ated from the opportunities that the format of the monograph offered, as a form of life writing, to systematize an organic relationship between the art- ist and his work, while bridging the gap between attribution and aesthetic appreciation. The commission to write a book on the della Robbias presented Cruttwell with the welcome opportunity to expand Pater’s aesthetic pro- ject, whose lesson she had absorbed from the Berensons, and also from Vernon Lee.26 As we learn from letters to her friend, the Bloomsbury host- ess Ottoline Morrell (1873–1938), on whom she was to develop a strong infatuation, Cruttwell saw this new project in an aesthetic as well as ethical continuity with the monograph on Andrea Mantegna she had just finished in 1901: I could not have had anything offered me that would have pleased me more than the study of Luca and Andrea della Robbia. It’s the same grand nature expressing itself in them, that has been such a deep tow in Mantegna — purity of the soul and high ideals and energy — It’s turning from one great school to another — it is very lucky for I feel I could never study with any real love artists who had not got this genius.27 The emphatic tone of this passage should not distract us from the philo- sophical principles behind her reasoning. The transhistorical resonance between the personality of the artist and that of the scholar becomes mean- ingful in the light of an ethical project intellectually related to the Hegelian conception of Bildung, which she was to transmogrify from Pater.28 The link between the painter Mantegna and the sculptors della Robbia is obviously not based on medium, but on a common ‘nature’. It is because Cruttwell 25 Lene Østermark-Johansen, ‘Relieving the Limitations of Sculpture and Text: Walter Pater’s Della Robbia Essay’, Word & Image, 22 (2006), 27–38 (p. 28). 26 Although I am aware that Vernon Lee, too, was extremely important to Cruttwell’s aesthetic ideas, in this article I will focus only on her Berensonian network. 27 Maud Cruttwell to Ottoline Morrell, 24 April 1901, Maud Cruttwell’s letters to Lady Ottoline Morrell, BMBP, BER22. Subsequent references for letters from Cruttwell to Morrell are all from this archive and will be noted by date after quota- tions in the text. 28 For a critical analysis of Pater’s Hegelian influences, see Kate Hext, ‘The Limita- tions of Schilleresque Self-Culture in Pater’s Individualist Aesthetics’, in Victorian Aesthetic Conditions: Pater across the Arts, ed. by Elicia Clements and Lesley J. Higgins (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), pp. 205–19. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 8 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> was already familiar with Mantegna’s artistic personality that she felt equipped to embark on the study of the della Robbias who, she suggests, shared a similar temperament. Cruttwell thus felt that she had the adequate art historical, aesthetic, but also ethical preparation to move from painting to sculpture workshop. It is in this line of thought that she conceived art historical research as a transformative process that shapes, moulds, and carves the monograph’s attempts to reconfigure the forms of life it reads by means of an imagined relation to an old master. During the second half of the nineteenth century, della Robbia glazed terracottas had become a very popular item in Britain, thanks to strategic acquisitions at the South Kensington Museum and later with the commercialization of ‘della Robbia’ pottery from Birkenhead.29 But while ceramic enthusiasts in Britain were disputing the quality of contemporary majolica production, art historians had to sieve through the output of one of the most intricate problems in modern connoisseurship, for the ques- tion of influence and attribution within the della Robbia workshop was complicated by the fact that this was a family business: Luca della Robbia (1399/1400–1482), unmarried, worked with his nephew Andrea (1435–1525) who had two sons, Girolamo (1488–1566) and Giovanni (1469–1529). Each one of these artists produced a tin-glazed majolica that was easily recogniz- able as a type, but how could contemporary art historians and connoisseurs tell apart the different ‘hands’ from among the serial production of ceramic work, hands traditionally noted for their secret technique rather than indi- vidual styles? It was indeed at the end of the nineteenth century that art historians started to disentangle these problems of attribution. Cruttwell’s initial research relied on three extensive but incom- plete recent works. Sculptor Jacopo Cavallucci and Louvre curator Émile Molinier jointly authored Les della Robbia (1884), complete with unpub- lished documents largely used by Marcel Reymond in his 1897 monograph, which first discussed a method to identify the works by Luca, Andrea, and Giovanni, based on the ample use of Alinari photographic reproductions.30 The less ambitious monograph by the Marchesa Burlamacchi on Luca della Robbia (1900) instead focused mostly on the works still on site around central Italy.31 In 1901 Cruttwell was already at work on the overlooked 29 Charlotte Drew, ‘Luca della Robbia: South Kensington and the Victorian Revival of a Florentine Sculptor’, Sculpture Journal, 23 (2014), 171–83; and Julie Sheldon, ‘“Inspired by the Florentine originals”: Rathbone and the della Robbia’, in The Della Robbia Pottery: From Renaissance to Regent Street, ed. by Julie Sheldon (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2015), pp. 55–72 (p. 69). 30 Jacopo Cavallucci and Émile Molinier, Les della Robbia: leur vie et leur oeuvre d’après des documents inédits (Paris: Librairie de l’art, 1884); Marcel Reymond, Les della Robbia (Florence: Alinari, 1897). See also, Gustavo Frizzoni, review of Marcel Reymond, Les della Robbia, Archivio storico dell’arte, 2nd ser., 3 (1897), 315–20. 31 Marchesa Burlamacchi, Luca della Robbia (London: Bell, 1900). Lucy Baxter also https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 9 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> contribution of Girolamo in the colourful frieze of the Spedale del Ceppo in Pistoia for an article for the Gazette des beaux-arts, which she wanted to use as a watershed to solve some of the vexed problems in attribution, which had remained unresolved by other scholars.32 When the publisher John Dent identified a gap in the English pub- lishing market, he originally asked the renowned art critic Julia Cartwright (1851–1924) to write a monograph on the della Robbias.33 But, when the English writer Janet Ross (1842–1927) and her niece Lina Duff Gordon (1874–1964) introduced him to Cruttwell, he immediately realized that she had the knowledge and the capacity to produce a very different book, not without incurring Cartwright’s disappointment.34 Cruttwell was obviously extremely pleased by this commission and the letters to Ottoline Morrell are an exceptional source of information to gauge the development of her project and her feelings towards it: Dent — the publisher of the temple classics and of the Med. Town series — has given me a splendid bit of work — a large book on the Della Robbias, to be illustrated completely — that is no restrictions and an edition de luxe — which (if I do it properly) will at once bring me all I want of fame and future work. (BMBP, 24 April 1901, emphasis in original) published a monograph under the pseudonym Leader Scott on the della Robbias in this period: Luca della Robbia with Other Italian Sculptors (New York: Scribner & Welford; London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle, & Rivington, 1883). 32 The article in question, however, would not be published until 1904, partly be- cause of Mary Berenson’s interference. Cruttwell was very anxious about delays in publication; she explained to Mary that Allan Marquand was preparing an article on the same subject. ‘It was quite arranged and then on the last day of the month again he [Ephrussi] put me off with some feeble excuses of printer’s failure, upon which I wrote what I intended to be an ultimatum’ (BMBP, [January 1902]). For a discussion of the vicissitudes around this article, see Fraser, Women Writing Art History, pp. 35–36. 33 ‘Very long talk with Dent […]. His two dreams are to bring out a Luca della Robbia and a Fra Angelico book, both at five shillings if possible, so as to sell by the thousands, and to be an introduction to Italian art for children.’ See the entry for 16 February 1899, in A Bright Remembrance: The Diaries of Julia Cartwright 1851–1924, ed. by Angela Emanuel (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1989), pp. 236–37. The final detail about the target readership suggests that the project he had in mind for Cartwright was very different from the one he later developed with Cruttwell. 34 ‘Dent came out to Florence this spring and engaged Miss Cruttwell to write on Luca (very shabby of him after going so far with me) and all sorts of people who know nothing about their subject’ (17 July 1901, A Bright Remembrance, ed. by Emanuel, p. 258). An examination of the relationship between the two critics still awaits a serious study. It was apparently Cartwright who convinced Cruttwell to take up the study of art. See Meaghan Clarke, Critical Voices: Women and Art Criticism in Britain, 1880–1905 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), p. 29. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 10 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> The production standards of the book (Fig.  1) were of particular concern to Cruttwell as she was still recovering from the bad sales of her previous monograph on Mantegna, which she attributed to poor manufacture: ‘If we can both do decently — he [Dent] with the advertising and illustra- tions and I with the writing, it may give me a real chance.’35 But she also attached a special significance to this book, which conveyed a distinctive understanding of herself as a woman and a scholar: ‘People congratulate their friends when they marry and have children to rear and a new and happy vista of usefulness opens to them. This is my chance and in my life takes all that place’ (BMBP, [May 1901(?)], emphasis in original). A single, unmarried woman, and a sexual dissident, Cruttwell had different things to be congratulated for, and the family devotion that was expected of a woman of her time here is replaced by a professional achievement that is worthy of recognition by another woman. The only ‘little flaw in this joy’, she tells Morrell, was the fact that Dent, out of concern that another publisher would bring out a similar book, expected the final manuscript to be submitted in around twelve months: ‘On that he was inflexible, so I had to submit’ (BMBP, [May 35 ‘My Mantegna has had a hard week overshadowed by the big book and that ignominious edition, and I have a real chance with Dent, who wants to bring out Della Robbia in what he calls “fine style”’ (Cruttwell to Morrell, BMBP, [May 1901(?)]). Fig. 1: Frontispiece of Maud Cruttwell, Luca and Andrea Della Robbia and their Suc- cessors (London: Dent; New York: Dutton, 1902). Photo: National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 11 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> 1901(?)]). Cruttwell was to learn quickly how to manage the demands of the publishing industry and strike a balance with her scholarly aspirations. In the following months, she travelled around Tuscany and Lazio on the hunt for della Robbia works still in situ; she also visited the Paris, Munich, and Berlin collections. During her expeditions, Cruttwell started to come across unattributed works, which suggested to her that previous scholars had not seen some of the works first-hand: It is practically untrodden ground and the only reason I can think of for such obvious things having passed unnoticed is that of all these writers of any note on the Della Robbia Bode lives in Berlin, Raymond in Paris, and Marquand in N[ew] York and only pay occasional visits to Florence where all Luca’s work is. (Cruttwell to Morrell, BMBP, 7 November 1902) Within the culture of connoisseurship, access to the object represented a guarantee of critical authority, especially for women. As Caroline Palmer has explained in her study of women’s travel writing, ‘the increasingly scien- tific approach to art criticism that emerged in the early 19th century offered women an advantage, as it valued individual knowledge acquired through empirical experience above innate taste.’36 By the end of the century, the Morellian method was perceived as a further advancement in empirical scholarship, and many women art historians started to embrace it in order to validate their expertise.37 During the summer of 1901, Cruttwell spent some time at the Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum in Berlin, where the director Wilhelm von Bode (1845–1929) had accumulated a considerable collection of della Robbia sculpture and a library. An account of her working day suggests a very intense schedule: 10–1 at the library reading Bode and all the German writings on Della Robbia and after lunch copying my notes and trying to write at last. Then at 4.30 walking and shopping etc. takes up the rest of the time till after dinner […]. They are so nice at the library, every care is taken of one and no introduction is needed and all tips are forbidden. It’s a perfectly managed place and the reading room is the best of its kind I know. (Cruttwell to Morrell, BMBP, 18 August 1901) 36 Caroline Palmer, ‘“I will tell nothing that I did not see”: British Women’s Travel Writing, Art and the Science of Connoisseurship, 1776–1860’, Forum for Modern Language Studies, 51 (2015), 248–68 (p. 249). 37 On the advantages offered by the Morellian method for the development of women’s connoisseurial authority, see Francesco Ventrella, ‘Constance Jocelyn Ffoulkes and the Modernization of Scientific Connoisseurship’, Visual Resources, 33 (2017), 117–39. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 12 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> In those years, the museum was being rebuilt and refurbished according to new principles of contextual display, which aspired to the creation of a harmonious totality between painting, sculpture, and decorative arts (Fig. 2).38 This period of intensive study in Berlin became instrumental for Cruttwell not only to find her own working methods, but also to develop the conviction to carry them out. When she finally met with Bode, she understood a flaw in his approach to connoisseurship, which she discussed with Morrell in writing: Bode is interesting. He is very learned and knows so much about the history of Renaissance sculpture and writes delightfully, clearly and concisely, but he seems without any sense of what is good in art. If he finds the same kind of fold or the same motive or some school likeness, it is enough for 38 The new museum was inaugurated in 1904. See Alexis Joachimides, ‘Die Schule des Geshmacks: Das Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum als Reformprojekt’, in Museumsinszenierungen: zur Geschichte der Institution des Kunstmuseums, die Ber- liner Museumlandschaft 1830–1990, ed. by Alexis Joachimides (Dresden: Verlag der Kunst, 1995), pp.  142–56; and Malcolm Baker, ‘Bode and Museum Display: The Arrangement of the Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum and the South Kensington Response’, Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen, 38 (1996), 143–53. Fig. 2: The Donatello Room at the Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum, 1904. © Zentralarchiv, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Berlin. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 13 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> him and the quality of work he is quite blind to. This accounts for his extraordinary attributions in the Museum, but the mere history he gives so well, and has a delightful general apprecia- tion of the work he deals with. Only masters and schools are inextricably mixed. (BMBP, 18 August 1901) Cruttwell was very conscious of the importance of both scholarly writing and museum display in creating plausible connections for the practice of connoisseurship, and the Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum was the very embodi- ment of the methodology of its director. However, Bode’s typological approach to attribution was faulty, according to Cruttwell, because he was incapable of appreciating the ‘quality’ of an old master. The term ‘quality’ has a very specific meaning in this context because it resonates with the ideas that Berenson was formalizing in the same years in his methodologi- cal essay ‘Rudiments of Connoisseurship’, in which he defined the quality of an old master as relating to the ‘characteristics affording an intimate revelation of personality’ in an artwork.39 While Berenson conceived the category of ‘quality’ only in relation to painting, Cruttwell was proposing an expansion to sculpture that was elaborated on Pater’s aesthetic example, an initiative that proved fatal in the eyes of specialist curators like Bode, as I explain below. From Berlin, Cruttwell made contact with another eminent della Robbia scholar, Allan Marquand (1853–1924) at Princeton, who was also engaged in a catalogue of Luca’s works.40 Although she could use the name of the Berensons to introduce herself to Marquand, apparently Bernard did not seem to support her project: ‘Berenson has thwarted me in every way by telling people I am not fit for the work and I have no right with my small experience to attempt such untrodden ground.’ Cruttwell found Berenson’s behaviour ‘surly’ but, at the same time, she knew that she had to be careful not to act ‘contrary to the counsels of a man who has the power to help or hinder’. Yet the letters to Morrell also convey the strong sense of commitment and determination that would be the success of her work: I see no way before me except the path cleared by my own hatchet. Berenson’s path I would rather avoid as companion or disciple, much as I honour his genius, for I could never follow the lead of a mind so unsteady and ill balanced. (BMBP, [May 1902(?)]) 39 Bernard Berenson, The Study and Criticism of Italian Art, 2nd ser. (London: Bell, 1902), p. 123. For a discussion of the genealogies of Berenson’s definition of ‘qual- ity’, see Ventrella, ‘Befriending Botticelli’, pp. 128–33. 40 Maud Cruttwell to Allan Marquand, 13 August 1901, Princeton University Li- brary, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Allan Marquand Papers (AMP). Subsequent references for letters from Cruttwell to Marquand are all from this archive and will be noted by date after quotations in the text. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 14 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> Schooled in Berenson’s line of suspicion, the first letters to Marquand have a cautious and obsequious tone. Slowly, her letters become a conduit to impart information to the Princeton professor, which displayed, sometimes ostentatiously, that her findings were based on the direct study of the works she had seen in small Italian towns. Cruttwell indulges in the discussion of technicalities that only autopsy could have afforded, almost as if she wanted to expose the limits of Marquand’s expertise. In one letter, she even illustrates with a sketch some of the fourteen roundels in the Spedale degli Innocenti of Florence, to demonstrate for him that Andrea’s originals can be identified by the segments that radiate from the figures in the blue- glazed background, which instead follows the outline of the baby in the replicas produced by Ginori much later (Fig. 3). Fig. 3: Maud Cruttwell to Allan Marquand, 25 November 1902. © Princeton University Library, Allan Marquand Papers. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 15 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> More than once in these letters to Marquand she intimates that it is impossible to make sound attributions based on hearsay or simply by judg- ing from photographs.41 At the same time, she earned Marquand’s trust by sharing with him the photographs of works that she thought might be com- pared with similar specimens on the other side of the Atlantic.42 When she finally sent over a list of works for him to check what was in the American collections she had not seen, she flattered him by asking ‘whether you would allow me to mention your name as having helped me, which would give authority to the statement’. By this point, Cruttwell had only a few months left until her deadline to submit the manuscript, and she was not ashamed to ask Marquand if he could get her an answer as soon as possible (AMP, [May 1902], emphasis in original). Yet the self-assurance that she maintained before Marquand turned into stress and anxiety with Morrell, as she was forced to decline her invitation to spend some time together in England: Any prospect of change is absolutely out of question for me and if I am to finish this work by June. I have calculated that I must work at least 6 hours a day to get it done at all — well or ill — and the larger I work the better it will be. And it’s worth the effort. (BMBP, [May 1902]) Cruttwell’s epistolary exchanges with Morrell and Marquand represent two different but intertwined facets of the life of an art historian at work at the turn of the century, but also display the social skills required in the field of connoisseurship to sustain the professional trust necessary to develop an expertise. Access to objects and recognition from fellow art historians working in the same field were necessary instruments to validate one’s scholarship. Unlike Marquand, Cruttwell did not have an academic posi- tion which could afford her the prolonged time required for research. As she was bound by contract to a publisher, she was writing under pressure. A note received by Marquand in October 1902 to accompany her freshly 41 ‘The search has made me feel that not a single work, even of the school, ought to be taken on hearsay, or even from photographs, but studied carefully from the originals, and I should like to have as many years as I have months to give to the study alone’ (AMP, 8 October 1901). Cruttwell is particularly dismissive of Mar- chesa Burlamacchi. 42 ‘The photograph has come (of Miss Gilbert’s Della Robbia) but at present only one very bad copy, enough to judge by however. It is a most lovely head that goes exactly with the Annunciation of La Verna and the Osservanza Coronation. One would like to know what has been of the rest of the Altarpiece. It must have been large for the head is heavily life size. The truly genuine one of this date which has lost its head in an Assumption in the Met. Museum New York, but this is evidently meant to be looked at side face and the Assumptions are always full face. Still I shall send it to Prof. Marquand to see if it fits’ (Cruttwell to Morrell, BMBP, [1902]). https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 16 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> printed book reads like a regretful reflection on precisely the conditions of her work: ‘If I had been able at the last to withhold it for another year’s study I should have done so, but it was impossible’ (AMP, 24 October 1902). Indeed, that remained an impossibility until the end of her career. For even if Cruttwell’s monographs made her an expert in old masters, she would never be able to rely on institutional support, nor on the profits from art dealing enjoyed by some of her male colleagues. The della Robbia monograph received positive reviews from the art press. Only Bode got in touch with her by letter to express some unsolic- ited criticism, which she quickly reported to Morrell: Dr Bode is furious with me about my attributions. He was so kind and courteous before and now he has written me a bitter letter full of abuse of Raymond — which is quite gratuitous as I have followed Raymond no more than him. I suppose it was to be expected and that I ought to take it as a compliment that he is roused by it, even to wrath.43 As I discuss in the following section, Bode’s disagreement was levelled at Cruttwell’s methodology, but it also targeted the professional allegiances that it implied. Her monograph on the della Robbias remained the first comprehensive study of that family workshop until Marquand published his volume on Luca in 1914.44 Yet at a time of increasing specialization, her aesthetic approach to the study of the old masters embodied a difference that some curators and art historians struggled to keep within the ever nar- rowing borders of the discipline. ‘The strength and energy of his work and the simple austerity of his life’: Antonio Pollaiuolo and the reworking of tactile values Research for the della Robbia monograph had inaugurated for Cruttwell a novel approach to archival materials. Her subsequent books on Andrea del Verrocchio (1435–1488) and Antonio Pollaiuolo (1431–1498), pub- lished by Gerald Duckworth, only reiterated her commitment to histori- cal documents, which corresponded with the beginning of a collaboration with L’Arte, the prestigious Italian art history journal associated with documentary scholarship and the European circles of Kunstwissenschaft.45 43 ‘Yes, my Robbia book has been a great pleasure to me especially the notice I had in the Daily Chronicle which pleased me most because it was written by a student and because he gave me the praise I most care of being correct and thorough. I had also a very good one in the Standard’ (BMBP, 4 December 1902). 44 Allan Marquand, Luca della Robbia (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1914). 45 Maud Cruttwell, Verrocchio (London: Duckworth, 1904). On the origins of the scuola storica in art historiography and the influence of L’Arte (formerly L’Archivio https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 17 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> Initially, Cruttwell’s letters suggest that she seemed to worry about losing the Berensons’ trust by taking up two new monographs.46 Indeed, she was able to sustain Berenson’s favour at the same time as she was becom- ing closer to the circles of the German Kunsthistorische Gesellschaft in Florence, more interested in documentary evidence.47 As demonstrated by her article on three unpublished documents regarding Verrocchio, Cruttwell had become quite familiar with local archives.48 Her friendship with the influential Georg Gronau (1868–1937), an expert in Venetian art and later director of the Kassel Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, must have further facilitated her access to a wealth of unstudied repositories around Tuscany.49 When, in 1905, she stumbled upon a trail of cadastral records submitted at the end of the fifteenth century by Antonio, Giovanni, and Jacopo Pollaiuolo, the path was open to move from Verrocchio to Antonio Pollaiuolo and to claim the necessary expertise to confront again the prob- lem of distinguishing from among artists’ hands those who were blood relatives. Like Verrocchio, Antonio Pollaiuolo had strong ties with sculp- ture, but also with embroidery and goldsmith work.50 New interest in Antonio Pollaiuolo had arisen in 1897 after the discov- ery of an impressive fresco cycle at Villa La Gallina in Arcetri near Florence (Fig.  4), which was first attributed to Antonio by Mary Costelloe in an article for La Chronique des arts (a supplement of the Gazette des beaux-arts).51 Cruttwell had therefore been able to see the frescoes before restoration took away much of their original character, and her description of them is dependent upon Mary’s proposed comparison with Botticelli’s Flora.52 storico dell’arte), see L’‘Archivio Storico dell’Arte’ e le origini della ‘Kunstwissenschaft’ in Italia, ed. by Gianni Carlo Sciolla and Franca Varallo (Alessandria: Edizioni dell’orso, 1999). 46 ‘I am worrying rather over my Duckworth-Strong work, you aren’t vexed with me for accepting it are you?’ (BMBP, [1902]). This long letter to Mary Berenson is concerned with the assumption that Charles Strong was the editor of the series. 47 ‘Oh I get every day to have less faith in other Kunstforschers, and more and more in Mr Berenson. I shall end by writing a sonnet to him and appending it to one of any many monographs “To the onlie begetter of any wisdom in Kunstforschung Mr B.B. all happiness and that eternitie &c, &c.” Shall I do it in my Verrocchio and stiffen the hair of Mr Strong’ (BMBP, [1902]). 48 Maud Cruttwell, ‘Tre documenti del Verrocchio’, L’Arte, 7 (1904), 167–68. 49 Cruttwell explicitly acknowledges Gronau’s support in another article on Ver- rocchio, ‘Un disegno del Verrocchio per la “Fede” nella Mercatanzia di Firenze’, Rassegna d’arte, 6 (1906), 8–11. On Gronau’s influence on Italian scholarship, see Giovanna Perini Folesani’s essay, in Georg Gronau, Documenti artistici urbinati, ed. by Giovanna Perini Folesani (Urbino: Accademia Raffaello, 2011), pp. 5–73. 50 Maud Cruttwell, ‘Quattro portate del catasto e della decima fatte da Antonio Pollaiolo, dal fratello Giovanni e da Jacopo loro padre’, L’Arte, 8 (1905), 381–85. 51 Mary Logan [Mary Costelloe], ‘Découverte d’une fresque de Pollaiuolo’, La Chronique des arts, 20 November 1897, pp. 343–44. 52 Maud Cruttwell, Antonio Pollaiuolo (London: Duckworth; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1907), p. 118. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 18 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> Indeed, while her monograph aspired to make a substantial historical con- tribution to scholarship on the Pollaiuoli by including a copious appendix of documents, its aesthetic principles show the strong influence of Bernard. In order to propose sound attributions for Antonio’s work, Cruttwell decided to structure her argument by stressing a comparison with his brother Piero (1441–before 1496). Only four years earlier, Bernard Berenson had already posed the Pollaiuolo case in The Drawings of the Florentine Painters, where he clearly set himself the task of distinguishing the hands of the two brothers, on the assumption that Antonio had been a painter all his life.53 53 Bernard Berenson, The Drawings of the Florentine Painters, 2 vols (London: Murray, 1903), i, 17–31. This position has recently been challenged by many scholars. See, for Fig. 4: Antonio Pollaiuolo, Fresco showing the ‘Dancing Nudes’, c. 1465, Villa La Gallina, Arcetri (Florence), Villa I Tatti, The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies, Fototeca Berenson. © President and Fellows of Harvard College. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 19 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> Thus, Berenson turns to ‘general discussions of artistic personality and character’ to create an opposition between the nervous energy of Antonio and the feebleness of Piero (Drawings, i, 19). As Aldo Galli has recently pointed out, this opposition was a crea- tive interpretation of the history of the Pollaiuolo brothers inaugurated by Vasari.54 Cruttwell is therefore in agreement with this tradition when she makes Antonio the emblematic titular figure of her monograph, and like Vasari she believed that the Pucci altarpiece at the National Gallery, London was a turning point in his accomplishment as a painter (Fig.  5). Focusing on one single painting proved an especially convenient method for Cruttwell to show how to distinguish the personalities of the two broth- ers. The altarpiece had already been the object of considerable discussion in the history of nineteenth-century connoisseurship, and still is.55 Morelli had attributed the cartoon to Antonio and the execution to Piero, while Berenson thought both to be the work of Antonio.56 Cruttwell, instead, identified in the four archers forming a trapeze the feeble style of Piero and proposed that the whole composition be attributed to him, except the two archers loading their bows in the foreground who, she writes, show the concentrated energy which, associated with physical force and strength, is ‘the essential characteristic of Antonio’.57 Interestingly, in order to support her attributions based on the com- parison of characteristic details in the treatment of the body, Cruttwell continuously slips into an evaluation of Antonio’s aesthetic quality in the representation of physical movement, which immediately brings to mind the lesson of Berenson. Galli writes that Cruttwell accepted Berenson’s teaching ‘completely’ (p.  45). Yet it was mainly his aesthetic philosophy that she would rework in order to reach different results in terms of attribu- tion. If, as Galli rightly suggests, the Pollaiuolo case presents itself ‘at the level of the study of sources and, more in general, of the “history of art his- tory”’, one also needs to examine more carefully what difference Cruttwell brought to the lesson of her teacher (p. 46). instance, Miklós Boskovits, ‘Studi sul ritratto fiorentino quattrocentesco II’, Arte cristiana, 85 (1997), 335–42; and Angelo Tartuferi, I Pollaiuolo: La pittura (Florence: Giunti, 2010). 54 Also Aldo Galli, ‘The Fortune of the Pollaiuolo Brothers’, in Antonio and Piero del Pollaiuolo: ‘Silver and Gold, Painting and Bronze…’, ed. by Andrea Di Lorenzo and Aldo Galli (Milan: Skira, 2014), pp. 25–77 (pp. 36–41). I would like to thank the anonymous reviewer for suggesting I consider this Vasarian genealogy. 55 More recently, the Pucci altarpiece has been widely attributed to Piero alone. Interestingly, Galli argues that ‘the long shadow of Berenson’ has had a huge influ- ence in the Anglo-Saxon opinion against Piero (pp. 43–50). 56 Cruttwell, Pollaiuolo, p. 153; Berenson, Drawings, i, 24. 57 Pollaiuolo, p.  187. In another passage, Cruttwell writes that the true idea of Antonio’s appearance corresponded with ‘the strength and energy of his work and the simple austerity of his life’ (p. 20). https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 20 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> While the Morellian method prescribed the study of static physi- ological forms that bear the trace of an artist’s individuality, Cruttwell’s writing followed Berenson in the attempt to set forms into motion in order to create a description of the psychology of the artist as well. Particularly interesting is the language that she uses in the passages where she describes the movement of the archers she attributes to Antonio, and the effects these bodies have on the beholder: Muscular force and effort have never been better presented than in those of Antonio’s archer. The toes grip the ground with a tenacity our own muscles involuntarily imitate, while Fig. 5: Antonio and Piero del Pollaiuolo, The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, 1475, oil on wood, 291.5 × 202.6 cm. © National Gallery, London. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 21 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> the legs of Piero’s Saint, alike in outline, dangle as feebly as a puppet’s. Perhaps never has human energy been so concen- trated as in the two archers of Antonio. The bodies vibrate with effort and strain, and even beneath the velvet of the doublet the swell of the muscles is evident. Every sinew in our own body responds more readily than before the antique Hercules, or even than before the athletes of Michelangelo. The two figures represent the climax of physical force and energy. (Pollaiuolo, pp. 155–56) Her emphasis on the spectator’s bodily responses follows the German theo- ries of Einfühlung (empathy) that were widely discussed in the aesthetic community of expatriates in Florence.58 But while Cruttwell’s interest in psycho-physiological aesthetics may reflect particularly the experiments that Vernon Lee and her partner Clementina Anstruther-Thomson were conducting in the art galleries — to ascertain to what extent our imitation of the movement we see in paintings is internalized or enacted by our bod- ies — the very phrasing of this passage explicitly echoes the words that Berenson uses in The Florentine Painters to expunge his theory of ‘tactile values’, that is, the qualities in a painting stimulating the sense of touch.59 Nevertheless, Berenson insisted that stimulation is imagined rather than physically enacted by the beholder; he clearly speaks of ‘ideated sensa- tions’. Cruttwell’s ekphrasis, instead, creates a dynamic scene in which the tonic effects of art have become tangible for our bodies, a possibility that must have resonated vividly with modernist readers of Berenson’s theories as well.60 When Cruttwell turns to the description of Antonio’s famous paint- ing of Hercules and Antaeus in the Uffizi, she is again probing the language of tactile values on the very artwork that Berenson used as a case study 58 For a sample of Cruttwell’s exposure to psycho-physiological theories in Flor- ence, see The Selected Letters of Bernard Berenson, ed. by A. K. McComb (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1964), pp. 31–34, 37–38. In May 1895 Mary Costelloe writes in her diary that Cruttwell was with them when Berenson ‘discovered’ the theory of tactile values while looking at a ballerina by Degas. See Alison Brown, ‘Bernard Berenson and “Tactile Values” in Florence’, in Bernard Berenson: Formation and Heritage, ed. by Joseph Connors and Louis A. Waldman, Villa I Tatti Series, 31 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014), pp. 101–20 (p. 110). The letters to Morrell also mention that Cruttwell discussed empathy theories with Vernon Lee in the Florentine galleries. 59 Carolyn Burdett, ‘“The subjective inside us can turn into the objective out- side”: Vernon Lee’s Psychological Aesthetics’, 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 12 (2011) <http://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.610>; Bernard Berenson, The Florentine Painters of the Renaissance (New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1896), pp. 50–53. 60 For the popularity of Berenson’s theories among modernist artists and critics and a discussion of his anti-modernism, see Ian Verstegen, ‘Bernard Berenson and the Science of Anti-Modernism’, Art Criticism, 15.2 (2001), 9–22. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 http://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.610 22 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> to illustrate the theory to his readers: ‘Each muscle is strained to its limit of tension, and as we look, we feel our pulse quicken and our muscles tighten in unconscious imitation.’61 Interestingly, Berenson’s name is nei- ther footnoted nor mentioned in these topical passages, but Cruttwell was fully aware that she was reworking ideas that originated elsewhere. A few years earlier, in a letter to Mary Berenson, she had already conceded the possibility that she ‘had unconsciously just stolen from Mr Berenson’s Florentine Painters to an extent that would merit imprisonment on the score of plagiarism’: I am fed on his ideas, they are bred in the bone & I can’t put at the end — ‘All this I owe to the first Father of criticism — the only begetter ie B. B.’ Really I begin to wonder whether Miss Thomson certainly plagiarised or was only like me saturated with his ideas!62 Cruttwell was indeed one of the witnesses at that nerve-racking meeting of 1897 in which Lee and Anstruther-Thomson showed Mary and her witnesses a series of notes and documents to prove that their psycho-physiological experiments had been developed independently of Berenson’s ideas, and that his accusation of plagiarism levelled at their jointly authored article ‘Beauty and Ugliness’ did not stand.63 Now, with characteristic self-assur- ance but not without impertinence, and looking for a generous response, Cruttwell candidly admits that she has absorbed Berenson’s ideas so deeply, in a fashion that seemingly mirrors the mechanics of artistic influence she had been researching in her old masters. If, on matters of aesthetics, Cruttwell was to follow Berenson very closely, on matters of attribution she was not afraid of stirring up a disa- greement. Indeed, in these foundational years for the settling of old master corpuses and lists, the number of attributions represented the quantitative merit upon which a new monograph would be rated by fellow art histori- ans and connoisseurs, generally not impressed by aesthetic speculations. The stakes were high in Cruttwell’s reattributions in the Pollaiuolo mono- graph as she was targeting highly reputed institutions and professionals. For instance, she argues that the drawing of a male head in the Santarelli Collection at the Uffizi (Cat. 58) had been wrongly attributed to Antonio 61 Cruttwell, Pollaiuolo, p.  70. The reference to the quickening of the pulse also shows a connection to Vernon Lee’s work on Einfühlung and its impact on heart- beat and breathing, which she elaborated from Giuseppe Sergi. See Susan Lanzoni, ‘Practicing Psychology in the Art Gallery: Vernon Lee’s Aesthetics of Empathy’, Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 45 (2009), 330–54. 62 BMBP, [1901(?)], quoted in Fraser, Women Writing Art History, p. 37. 63 Mandy Gagel, ‘1897, a Discussion of Plagiarism: Letters between Vernon Lee, Bernard Berenson, and Mary Costelloe’, Literary Imagination, 12 (2010), 154–79. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 23 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> when it was, in fact, a copy (Pollaiuolo, p. 80). But Cruttwell was also pre- pared to acknowledge her own blunders. In her previous monograph she had in fact attributed to Verrocchio a stucco relief representing a battle scene, then identified as the Genius of Discord, now possibly the murder of the Maenads by Lycurgus that the Victoria and Albert Museum catalogue instead gave to Leonardo.64 Already then, she was able to see the influ- ence of Antonio in the construction of the nude, which reminded her of his popular engraving depicting ten naked men wrestling in a battle. Still, in reconsidering Pollaiuolo’s influence, she now pleads guilty as she explains that it is in fact by Antonio, another attribution that does not seem to stick today (Pollaiuolo, p. 125). When Bode reviewed Cruttwell’s monograph for the Burlington Magazine, he found it accurate and thorough, but not without critical dependence on Berenson’s own ideas on Florentine artists.65 Bode was not wrong. As we have seen, Cruttwell had made ample use of Berenson’s connoisseurship, but also of his theory of tactile values in order to remain relevant to her reading public. However, the review quickly takes a scath- ing turn that seemingly goes beyond mere questions of attributions when Bode openly claims that ‘Miss Cruttwell shows a deplorably deficient critical sense and a defective eye’ (p.  181). Bode had more than one rea- son to undermine Cruttwell’s expertise in the old masters. First, by posi- tioning Antonio Pollaiuolo’s characteristics along a sculptural lineage of influences, Cruttwell was entering a field with which Bode had come to be associated within the international networks of connoisseurship. Indeed, his main point of criticism is levelled at her method of approach- ing the plastic arts, which, he writes, was already faulty in her monograph on the della Robbias: ‘Here she had no master whom she could implic- itly follow, for the Morelli school ignored plastic art’ (p. 181). Bode picks on Cruttwell for doubting the authenticity of the bust of Charles VIII of France in the Bargello Museum by proposing that this may be a fake by the famous forger Giovanni Bastianini, and he also claims that her assess- ments are completely derivative of secondary literature.66 His reasons to 64 Verrocchio, pp.  62–63. Compare with the List of Objects in the Art Division, South Kensington, Acquired During the Year 1876, Arranged According to the Dates of Acquisition (London: H.M.S.O., 1877), p. 20. The stucco relief (V&A, 251-1876) is now attributed to Francesco di Giorgio Martini. 65 Wilhelm Bode, ‘A New Book on the Pollaiuoli’, Burlington Magazine, 11 (1907), 181–82. See also Tiffany Johnston’s article in this issue of 19 which refers to this review. 66 Cruttwell, Donatello (London: Methuen, 1911), p. 164. We owe an early analysis of Bastianini’s forgeries to Nina Barstow, ‘The Romance of Art: The Forgeries of Bastianini’, Magazine of Art, 9 (1886), 503–08. See also Carol Helstosky, ‘Giovanni Bastianini, Art Forgery, and the Market in Nineteenth‐Century Italy’, Journal of Modern History, 81 (2009), 793–823. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 24 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> mar Cruttwell’s procedure were not simply driven by sexism implied in the assumption that a woman’s scholarship is devoid of originality, but were specifically levelled at the professional and methodological allegiances that she intentionally made legible in her work. As a follower of the Morellian method rebooted by Berenson, Cruttwell, for Bode, lacked the necessary preparation to assess Pollaiuolo’s use of colour, which, he suggests, by fol- lowing Crowe and Cavalcaselle instead, is an essential element with which to appreciate the work of this master. Finally, Bode identified a rhetorical strategy that allegedly recurs in her writing: ‘she decries first one author and then his adversary, always with an air of infallible assurance and great scientific pretension. So it is here, where lack of authority leaves authentic- ity a matter for dispute’ (pp. 181–82). These comments point at the way in which attributions were dependent on the craft of writing, but also explain how connoisseurial authority needed to be socially validated. Second, and closer to Cruttwell’s personal anxieties, perhaps, Bode was attacking the demand for old master monographs, books, and pamphlets ‘written by dilettanti of both sexes who wish to demonstrate their love of art’, and sneeringly asks if such works ‘were not better left unwritten’ (p. 182). He saw that Cruttwell’s scholarship had the potential to reach far and wide because she was working for successful commercial publishers with a large distribution that went beyond a professional read- ership. And this concerned Bode particularly: ‘The circulation of such books, which are regarded by the public as the results of the latest scientific research, only impedes the progress of art history, since all their theories are enounced with an air of absolute infallibility’ (p. 181). Therefore, Bode lamented a saturation of the English art press with works whose biograph- ical approach — which he compared to the best-selling monographs by German art historian Richard Muther (1860–1909), translated into many languages — was successful with the general public, but which represented a hindrance to serious scholarship. While Bode was correct in associating Cruttwell with the biographical model, he nevertheless failed to recognize that her monographs were driven by an aesthetic project that had nothing to do with Muther’s editorial style. Posing as the champion of the modern specialized and curatorial approach to art history, Bode failed to understand that Cruttwell’s alle- giance to Morelli and Berenson responded also to her desire to use life writing to examine the personality of an old master. It is in this direction that the old master monograph afforded her the opportunity to elaborate on the relationship between life and work in the wake of Pater’s aesthetics of style and personality. This was for her a scholarly endeavour, as well as a practice of self-discovery, personal realization, and Bildung. As Guercio has explained, the old master monograph provided modern readers with the opportunity to witness the experience of an artist’s self-development and project their own (p.  15). Therefore, what to Bode appeared as an https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 25 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> amateurish versatility was, instead, the result of a modern aesthetic project that justified the dissemination of an artistic personality across painting and sculpture, irrespective of the curatorial patrolling of the boundaries of artistic media. Bode’s defence of the rigorous study of art against the frivolity of the commercial art press was not placed in the Burlington without good reason; the British magazine was renowned for reaching both the profes- sional and the general audience. Bode did not have to wait long for the British art world to respond to his provocation. In the following issue of the magazine, Sidney Colvin (1845–1927) and Claude Phillips (1846–1924), curators at the British Museum and the Wallace Collection respectively, wrote a joint letter of protest in which they condemned the tone of Bode’s attack that was ‘not one customary on this side of the North Sea’.67 Bode’s stance must have reminded them of the other caustic quarrel he had lev- elled at Morelli on the eve of his death in 1891: ‘Why must Berlin criticism continue to exhibit so morbid a sensibility in all controversies wherein it discerns or suspects the influence either of the later Senatore Morelli or of Mr. Berenson?’.68 Bode’s response only increased the dose of vitriol by mocking their act of ‘excessive chivalry’ against him for having ‘found fault against the book of an English lady’.69 Bode insisted that he did not intend to make a personal attack, but only wanted to remind their follow- ers that even Morelli and Berenson stood on the foundations laid by the other camp of connoisseurship, represented by the early work of Joseph Crowe (1825–1896) and Giovan Battista Cavalcaselle (1819–1897), which he was well known to support. While Cruttwell’s name disappeared from the impassioned pages of the Burlington, it becomes obvious that this diatribe had turned into a gentlemen’s affair on the paternity of competing schools of connoisseurship. The review of Cruttwell’s scholarship thus developed into another battlefield over which different camps could reignite old feuds. Although Cruttwell’s own voice remained silent in the public arena of the Burlington, she made her position known directly to Ottoline Morrell. She obviously found Bode’s attack odious: ‘It was so stupid too, 67 Sidney Colvin and Claude Phillips, ‘A New Book on the Pollaiuoli: To the Editor of The Burlington Magazine’, Burlington Magazine, 11 (1907), p. 249. On this acerbic diatribe, see also Michael Levey, ‘The Earliest Years of the Burlington Magazine: A Brief Retrospect’, Burlington Magazine, 128 (1986), 474–77 (p. 475). 68 Colvin and Phillips, p. 249. For an interpretation of Bode’s attack on Morelli as being addressed to the circles of connoisseurship in England, see Francesco Ven- trella, ‘Feminine Inscriptions in the Morellian Method: Constance Jocelyn Ffoulkes and the Translation of Connoisseurship’, in Migrating Histories of Art: Self-Translations of a Discipline, ed. by Maria Teresa Costa and Hans Christian Hönes, Studien aus dem Warburg-Haus, 19 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), pp. 37–57 (p. 51). 69 Wilhelm Bode, ‘A New Book on the Pollaiuoli: To the Editor of The Burlington Magazine’, Burlington Magazine, 12 (1907), 106–07 (p. 106). https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 26 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> it disgusted me’, and she was pleased that Colvin and Phillips ‘gave him a good snub’. Then, with her characteristic strength of character, she con- cluded: ‘When I finish my Donatello I mean to write only for journals and try to make some money.’70 Published in 1911, her work on Donatello was also her last old master monograph. Instead of abandoning the connois- seurship of sculpture after Bode’s criticism, she decided to make an inter- vention straight into his scholarly domain, as she reported him for wrongly attributing to Donatello two busts from the Bargello (the bust of a youth, also known as Roman emperor, and the ‘Vecchio Barbuto’).71 After this publication, Cruttwell seemingly abandoned art history and in 1913 published a semi-autobiographical novel, Fire and Frost, which dramatized the lofty personalities that populated the foreign colony of Florence.72 In an insightful analysis of the novel, Hilary Fraser has suggested that fiction must have offered Cruttwell an alternative medium of expression to the more ideologically circumscribed discourse of art history, one that enabled women to rehearse with greater freedom issues relating not only to the gender politics of their profession and the writing of art’s his- tories, but to sexuality, visuality, and intersubjectivity. (Women Writing, p. 42) Nevertheless, Cruttwell never abandoned her interest in historical per- sonalities, as the aesthetic project of the old master monograph seems to have transformed into two biographies, The Princess des Ursins (1927) and Madame de Maintenon (1930), which tell the interconnected history of two women who achieved considerable power in the courts of Philip V and Louis XIV. Giving up the old masters did not entail quitting the old mis- tresses. Speaking about these biographies in a letter addressed to Vernon Lee in 1929, Cruttwell commented on the importance that the past lives of others had had for her own life and, now as an old scholar, she had very little patience with the anxieties derived from the world of the connoisseurs that had very little to do with her aesthetic and ethical project: What a pity one can’t live only with people who bring light and beauty into one’s life. That hideous Berenson element, pretentious, & false even to the art they pretend to care for, 70 BMBP, [June 1907]. Cruttwell also intimates that Eugénie Sellers Strong was behind the whole business. 71 Donatello, pp.  121, 145. Contemporary scholars seem to confirm Cruttwell’s cau- tion. See Omaggio a Donatello, 1386–1986: Donatello e la storia del Museo, ed. by Paola Barocchi and others (Florence: Museo Nazionale del Bargello, 1985), pp. 280, 336; and Artur Rosenauer, Donatello (Milan: Electa, 1993), p. 315. 72 Maud Cruttwell, Fire and Frost (London: John Lane, 1913). For an analysis of the novel, see Fraser, Women Writing Art History, pp. 40–43. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 27 Francesco Ventrella, Maud Cruttwell and the Old Master Monograph 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 28 (2019) <https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831> spoil my memories of Florence & I regret all the time I wasted over Morellian rubbish & pouring over folds and drapery & who first discovered this and thieved the idea from that, which has made me detest all those studies. If I have only formed out Mme de Maintenon at that age I would have done something good. As it is (at my age of 70) I have done the best bit of work of my life.73 Cruttwell’s career as an old masters scholar represents one illuminating example of the complex strategies by which women were able to create and maintain their professional networks in the art world of connoisseurship. During her lifetime, she found herself involved in many disputes and every time she seems to have reacted with the strength, energy, and independ- ence that she so much admired in her old masters. Although Cruttwell had to negotiate the pressures imposed by commercial publishing, her embrace of the monograph genre represented both a specific historiographical pro- gramme about life writing and a philosophical project of self-cultivation. Her endeavours to write about the lives of artistic personalities in the past has also left us a lasting impression of the personality of one art historian at work. 73 Cruttwell to Vernon Lee, 3 December 1929, Waterville, ME, Colby College, Vernon Lee Archive. https://doi.org/10.16995/ntn.831 Connoisseurship and the old master monograph ‘I see no way before me except the path cleared by my own hatchet’: the hunt for della Robbias ‘The strength and energy of his work and the simple austerity of his life’: Antonio Pollaiuolo and t Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Fig. 3 Fig. 4 Fig. 5 
work_n2rggds445cs3hi4lowp2n7tte	----	The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 233 aarc-82-01-10 Page 233 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews Note 1 See especially, “Achieving the Right Balance: Recordkeeping Informatics—Part 1,” Informaa Quarterly 25, no. 1 (2009): 18–21; “Achieving the Right Balance: Recordkeeping Informatics—Part 2,” Informaa Quarterly 26, no. 1 (2010): 42–52; “Recordkeeping Informatics: Re-figuring a Discipline in Crisis with a Single-minded Approach,” Records Management Journal 23, no. 1 (2013): 37–50; “A Background Paper for a Conversation on a Single-Minded Approach to Recordkeeping Informatics,” International Council on Archives Congress, Brisbane, August 20–24, 2012, http://ica2012.ica.org/ files/pdf/Full papers upload/ica12Final00200.pdf; and “Recordkeeping Informatics: Building a Discipline Base,” Triennial Conference of the DLM Forum 7, Lisboa, 2014, http://purl.pt/26107/1/ DLM2014_PDF/02%20-%20Recordkeeping%20Informatics%20Building%20the%20Discipline%20 Base.pdf. 17 Albrecht Dürer: Documentary Biography Edited by Jeffrey Ashcroft. New Haven, CT.: Yale University Press, 2017. 1,216 pp. Hardcover, 2 vols. $125.00. ISBN 978-0-300-21084-1 and 978-0-300-21084-2. The Renaissance of Northern Europe, in tandem with the Italian Renaissance, ushered in a renewed interest in the secular aspects of human existence and the interactions relating human experiences to art, architecture, poetry, and lit- erature. Those who pursued such studies referred to themselves as “humanists.” Artist Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528) was one of the most inspired and influential humanists; and he seems to have been an inveterate hoarder, who was eager to document his life for posterity. Albrecht Dürer: Documentary Biography brings together all known documents linked to Dürer’s life and work, arranged, translated, and annotated by Jeffrey Ashcroft, a research fellow at the University of St. Andrews, who devoted ten years to the project. Dürer, an accomplished painter, but most renowned for his graphic works, revolutionized the art of printmaking. Artists from across Europe admired and copied his prints, which ranged from portraits of famous people to biblical and mythological scenes to exotic animals. He was also the first artist outside Italy to leave behind a voluminous quantity of writing. Documents in this two-volume work include correspondence concerning the aesthetics of art as well as its business side; family papers; account books; notes on ancient archi- tecture and the proportions of the human body; plans for fortifications; sundry references to Dürer gleaned from official records; and passages pertaining to him found among the papers of his acquaintances. Documents are assembled chronologically in the volumes, translated into modern English, and annotated. The compilation is intended as a type of archival resource upon which historians, biographers, and others can build. Ashcroft calls this approach a “documentary biography.” His intention was to D o w n l o a d e d f r o m h t t p : / / m e r i d i a n . a l l e n p r e s s . c o m / d o i / p d f / 1 0 . 1 7 7 2 3 / 0 3 6 0 - 9 0 8 1 - 8 2 . 1 . 2 3 3 b y C a r n e g i e M e l l o n U n i v e r s i t y u s e r o n 0 6 A p r i l 2 0 2 1 http://ica2012.ica.org/files/pdf/Full papers upload/ica12Final00200.pdf http://ica2012.ica.org/files/pdf/Full papers upload/ica12Final00200.pdf http://purl.pt/26107/1/DLM2014_PDF/02%20-%20Recordkeeping%20Informatics%20Building%20the%20Discipline%20Base.pdf http://purl.pt/26107/1/DLM2014_PDF/02%20-%20Recordkeeping%20Informatics%20Building%20the%20Discipline%20Base.pdf http://purl.pt/26107/1/DLM2014_PDF/02%20-%20Recordkeeping%20Informatics%20Building%20the%20Discipline%20Base.pdf 234 The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 aarc-82-01-10 Page 234 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews put the events of Dürer’s life, as well as his manner of linguistic expression, into a convenient chronological scheme that could be aligned with and compared to historical and artistic developments in Europe. Dürer wrote differently as he aged and as the German language itself evolved, influenced largely by Martin Luther’s vigorous vernacular prose. It is not essential for published documents to be presented in any semblance of original order if other arrangement schemes are more revealing for an editor’s intended purpose and if the provenance of materials is clearly delineated.1 Humanist intellectuals in the Renaissance engaged in a pattern of clas- sical epistolary exchange modeled on Cicero’s letters to his friend Atticus. Such correspondence highlights the importance of networks connecting northern Renaissance writers and artists, and provides telling insights into how such rela- tionships catalyzed and supported artistic creativity. Dürer wanted his paintings and prints to be judged as liberal art rather than as (in the more traditional view of the time) mechanical art, requiring manual skills but little or no intellect (p. 940). Several topics of discussion in the documents foreshadow the emergence of artistic copyright, for example, when the Nuremberg City Council forbade publication of material “purloined from Albrecht Dürer’s prints and writings . . . until the true work is published” (p. 919) and when Dürer himself confronted Italian plagiarists who had used his distinctive monogram on counterfeit prints. The distribution of sixteenth-century prints was a harbinger of the impact of later technologies in disseminating knowledge as well as of the emergence of intellectual property law. Art is not, as has sometimes been averred, a universal language requiring no commentary. For example, the life cycle of a work of art is not typically apparent in finished pieces. Documents pertaining to Dürer’s artistic produc- tion and struggles over time leave trails that allow researchers to trace ideas, accomplishments, missteps, and other contingencies, adding valuable perspec- tives. Nothing biographical or historical can be adequately comprehended in isolation. The intimate details of human experience throughout history are often perceived only by means of paper traces of ordinary matters. The very routineness of mundane documentation affords a more intimate connection between researcher and subject.2 Historiographers point to the importance of untapped sources in raising previously unasked questions and advancing new interpretations.3 Making seem- ingly minor documents available for scholarly evaluation serves as a corrective to the all-too-frequent tendency of biographers and historians to pass over the less-ordered aspects of a person’s life or neglect the less-heralded incidents of history. In that respect, a symbiotic relationship connects documentary editors to the archivists who locate, appraise, and arrange and describe original mate- rials. Whenever possible, Ashcroft compares specimens of paper to understand where an orphaned document belongs in a larger scheme—for example, if a D o w n l o a d e d f r o m h t t p : / / m e r i d i a n . a l l e n p r e s s . c o m / d o i / p d f / 1 0 . 1 7 7 2 3 / 0 3 6 0 - 9 0 8 1 - 8 2 . 1 . 2 3 3 b y C a r n e g i e M e l l o n U n i v e r s i t y u s e r o n 0 6 A p r i l 2 0 2 1 The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 235 aarc-82-01-10 Page 235 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews drawing had been torn from a particular sketchbook. He also traces the prove- nance of all papers, even scraps, for which such information can be discerned. Separate indexes of places; personal names; texts; and “themes, topics, and concepts” buttress the work’s main contents. A timeline of events anchors the documents in a panorama of European cultural and historical developments. Annotation of various kinds and degrees, if rooted in sufficient subject expertise, brings dry, obscure, or inscrutable written records to life. Dürer opined regarding the appreciation of art that “to the untrained, beauty is like a foreign language” (p. 253). The guidance provided by scholarly intervention has much the same effect in opening doors to the often scintillating and evocative appeal of documentary evidence. In that regard, however, Ashcroft’s thorough overlay of interpretive notes belies his assertion that his documentary biography is not a biographical narrative. There is no clear-cut distinction, in my opinion, between the ways in which narratives are constructed by the users of archives and the ways in which archival functions such as accessioning, and arranging and describing, or the functions of documentary editing, contribute to those narratives.4 The records continuum model in archival studies suggests that archives are not immutable reserves of factual resources, but rather evolving processes of context and recontextualization whereby time and circumstance transform documents into records that are relevant for a variety of purposes.5 Writings that once factored as vehicles for friendship, creative exchange, or the secure- ment of rights have, for example, morphed into evidence for art history, reli- gious upheaval, legal studies, and linguistics. Printed documentary editions and digitization projects provide expanded access to materials that are dispersed, or restricted because of fragility. The utility of each format is a function of user needs and preference, although nothing truly replaces the tactile sensation of handling original documents.6 Readers seeking a catalogue raisonné of Dürer’s art should look elsewhere— works not directly associated with written records are not reproduced in Albrecht Dürer. Those seeking a more thorough assessment of Dürer’s oeuvre would be well advised to consult titles listed in the extensive bibliography.7 The amount of detail in this documentary biography is likely to be daunting for the casual reader, but scholars of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century art have reason to be grateful for the publication’s abundance; and anyone curious about how people lived, thought, and reacted to change five hundred years ago will also find much of interest. Authentic historical traces, no matter where found or how voluminous, are replete with possibilities for linking historical documents to historical insight. A recent trend in bibliographical scholarship, the “biography of the book,” traces the “life cycle” of famous books from authorship, through published editions, to reception by different reading publics over time.8 Manuscripts and manuscript collections, I suggest, have their own biography and life cycles, that include who D o w n l o a d e d f r o m h t t p : / / m e r i d i a n . a l l e n p r e s s . c o m / d o i / p d f / 1 0 . 1 7 7 2 3 / 0 3 6 0 - 9 0 8 1 - 8 2 . 1 . 2 3 3 b y C a r n e g i e M e l l o n U n i v e r s i t y u s e r o n 0 6 A p r i l 2 0 2 1 236 The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 aarc-82-01-10 Page 236 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews created them; who owned and preserved them; who acquired them and how they were valued; how they were processed; who did or did not use them; and how their formats may have changed. Dürer-related documents have been scattered and reassembled in various combinations; transcribed and translated; mined for books and articles; and sometimes lost or destroyed, known thereafter only from copies. Previous compilations are marked by varying degrees of utility. Hans Rupprich’s edition,9 for example, retaining original fifteenth and sixteenth-century linguistic forms, is hard to understand, even for readers fluent in modern German. As to the future: Ashcroft plans to expand his documentary biography in electronic format whenever other materials come to light (p. 6). “The life of every manuscript, like that of every person, is different, and all have stories to divulge.”10 These comprehensive and accessible volumes are a welcome addition to the biography of the primary sources constituting the extant written record of one of the most engrossing figures of the northern Renaissance. © Jeffrey Mifflin Boston, Massachusetts Notes 1 The difficulty of presenting all materials related to Dürer in any semblance of original order can be illustrated as follows: Dürer died in 1528, and his friend Willibald Pirckheimer took custody of various papers, which passed to the Imhoff family upon Pirckheimer’s death in 1530. During the widespread chaos of the Thirty Years War, Amsterdam merchants obtained the papers, or at least some of them, cheaply by purchase. Five bound volumes of manuscripts were sold to the Earl of Arundel, an English collector, in the mid-seventeenth century. Sir Hans Sloane acquired the volumes in 1724 for the Royal Society. They were later transferred to the British Museum and are now in the joint custody of the British Museum and the British Library. Myriad other repositories contributed materials, including, most notably, the Herzog August Bibliotek in Wolfenbüttel; the Germanisches Nationalmuseum in Nuremberg; the Warburg Institute in London; and the univer- sities of Edinburgh, Cambridge, and St. Andrews. Some originals were destroyed by the ravages of war, but their contents were preserved in handwritten copies. Much of the work consists of references to Dürer found in documents that he did not create. 2 “Biography [is] a tracking of the physical trail of someone’s path through the past, a following of footsteps. You . . . never catch them. . . . But maybe, if you [are] lucky, you might write about the pursuit of that fleeting figure in such a way as to bring it alive in the present.” Richard Holmes, Footsteps: Adventures of a Romantic Biographer (New York: Viking, 1985), xvii. 3 Marc Bloch, cofounder of the French journal, Annales, suggests that “Whenever [a historian] smells human flesh, he knows [that] therein is his prey.” Quoted in André Burguière, The Annales School: An Intellectual History (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2009), 17. 4 Wendy Duff and Verne Harris, “Stories and Names: Archival Description as Narrating Records and Constructing Meanings,” Archival Science 2, nos. 3–4 (2002): 276. 5 Sue McKemmish, “Placing Records Continuum Theory and Practice,” Archival Science 1, no. 4 (2001): 336. 6 “Facsimiles are rootless and untied to any place. No one can properly know or write about a manuscript without having seen it and held it in the hands.” Christopher De Hamel, Meetings with Remarkable Manuscripts (New York: Penguin Press, 2017), 2. See also Arlette Farge, The Allure of the Archives (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2013), 8: “The material is so vivid that it calls both for emotional engagement and for reflection. It is a rare and precious feeling to suddenly come upon so many forgotten lives . . . juxtaposing and entangling . . . the departed.” D o w n l o a d e d f r o m h t t p : / / m e r i d i a n . a l l e n p r e s s . c o m / d o i / p d f / 1 0 . 1 7 7 2 3 / 0 3 6 0 - 9 0 8 1 - 8 2 . 1 . 2 3 3 b y C a r n e g i e M e l l o n U n i v e r s i t y u s e r o n 0 6 A p r i l 2 0 2 1 The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 237 aarc-82-01-10 Page 237 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews 7 Especially enlightening is Erwin Panofsky’s Life and Art of Albrecht Dürer (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006), originally published in 1948, but still unsurpassed. 8 Noteworthy examples include Owen Gingrich, The Book Nobody Read: Chasing the Revolutions of Nicolaus Copernicus (New York: Walker and Co., 2004) on Copernicus’s De revolutionibus; Kevin Birmingham, The Most Dangerous Book: The Battle for James Joyce’s Ulysses (New York: Penguin, 2015); and Emma Smith’s The Making of Shakespeare’s First Folio (Oxford: Bodleian Library, 2015) and its companion volume, Shakespeare’s First Folio: Four Centuries of an Iconic Book (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). 9 Hans Rupprich, Dürer. Schriftlicher. Nachlass (Berlin: Deutscher Verein für Kunstwissenschaft, 1956–69). 10 De Hamel, Meetings with Remarkable Manuscripts, 3. 18Science in the Archives: Pasts, Presents, Futures Edited by Lorraine Daston. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2017. 392 pp. Softcover and EPUB. $37.50. Softcover ISBN 978-0-22643-236-6; EPUB ISBN 978- 0-22643-253-3. Science depends on archives. From astronomers, to climate scientists, to epi-demiologists, records of observations acquired, arranged and described, and made available for use are essential sources of evidence for interpreting and understanding the natural world. Science in the Archives: Pasts, Presents, Futures, edited by Lorraine Daston, provides a wide-ranging, nuanced, and challenging set of explorations of relationships between scientists’ data and records of sci- ence, and the practices that make these into a usable past. Lorraine Daston, director of the Max Planck Institute for the History of Science, is well known for extensive scholarship on topics such as the history of objectivity and observation in science. This particular volume grew out of a working group at the Max Planck Institute that convened in summers of 2013 and 2014. This work connects to a broader initiative of the institute focused on exploring “The Sciences of the Archive” which has also resulted in publications on data histories, biodiversity, and the history of photography and film in the production of the scientific record.1 Daston anchors the book in the concept of “third nature.” In this context, first nature is of the physical world as experienced. Second nature is the processed result of scientists’ interactions with the world through observation and experi- ment. The results of that work—records of observation and experiment—are then curated, organized, processed, edited, and transmitted to become an essential source of scientific knowledge for scientists now and in the future as third nature. In the context of this book, “the archive” is understood as “the physical expression of how present science creates a usable past for future science” (p. 329). D o w n l o a d e d f r o m h t t p : / / m e r i d i a n . a l l e n p r e s s . c o m / d o i / p d f / 1 0 . 1 7 7 2 3 / 0 3 6 0 - 9 0 8 1 - 8 2 . 1 . 2 3 3 b y C a r n e g i e M e l l o n U n i v e r s i t y u s e r o n 0 6 A p r i l 2 0 2 1 
work_n654sm7ypfftrcrv3imi3fimji	----	S0018246X19000608jra 162..184 A GLOBAL HISTORY OF THE ‘MULTIPLE RENAISSANCES’* P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N Centre de recherches historiques, École des hautes études en sciences sociales, Paris A B S T R A C T . Many scholars claim that the world has had many ‘renaissances’ in its long history: they advocate what we could call the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis. In this article, I will focus on the history of this idea. Where and when did the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis emerge? What intellectual exchanges and historical conditions made it possible? To answer these questions, I will first draw up a short genealogy of the idea that the European/Italian Renaissance is a ‘culture’ or a ‘social type’; then, I will show that such typological use of the renaissance made it possible to apply this concept to different historical and social configurations, not only within, but also outside Europe; finally, through an ana- lysis of the relation between Arnold Toynbee and Hu Shi, I will show that the uses of the renaissance category in the non-European world, especially in East Asia, contributed to shaping the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis and, through it, to redefining the perception of the renaissance in Europe proper. Scholars from different institutions and academic backgrounds, from Japan to the United States, from Germany to India, claim that Europe has long ceased to be the exclusive owner of the Renaissance. They claim that China, Bengal, and the Islamicate world have had renaissances of their own, in some cases even before the European one. They say that these renaissances are not just ‘renascences’ or ‘revivals’ of ancient traditions, but renaissances in the same sense as in modern European historiography, and that they are characterized by some of the same basic features that gave rise to the modern West. This is how these scho- lars intend to challenge European exceptionalism. But when we take a closer look, * I would like to thank Lorenzo Andolfatto, Jon Chappell, Martin Dusinberre, Taciana Fisac, Leigh Jenco, Joan Judge, Joachim Kurtz, Lee Kyong-hee, David Mervart, Barbara Mittler, Daniel Sastre, Stefan Tanaka, Birgit Tremml-Werner, and two anonymous reviewers for their very helpful suggestions. École des hautes études en sciences sociales (Centre de recherches historiques),  boulevard Raspail,  Paris, France pablo.blitstein@ehess.fr The Historical Journal, ,  (), pp. – © The Author(s), . This is an Open Access article, distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives licence (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/.), which permits non-commercial re-use, distri- bution, and reproduction in any medium, provided that no alterations are made and the original article is properly cited. The written permission of Cambridge University Press must be obtained prior to any com- mercial use and/or adaptation of the article. doi:./SX  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1560-474X mailto:pablo.blitstein@ehess.fr http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog?doi=10.1017/S0018246X19000608&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core we have the impression that their ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis has brought back through the door what it had thrown out through the window. By taking western Europe as their implicit model, particularly the Italian Renaissance, these scholars unconsciously hold that western Europe is the standard of every ‘modernity’; in so doing, they make us think that China, Bengal, or the Islamicate world are worth studying purely because they may have followed a ‘quasi-European’ historical path. Such are the intrinsic contradictions of this thesis. In this article, I do not propose a critical assessment of the ‘multiple renais- sances’ thesis; I will neither praise the research possibilities it opened, nor attack its heuristic limitations. I will rather focus on the history of this idea. Where and when did the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis emerge? What intellec- tual exchanges and historical conditions made it possible and shaped it? To answer these questions, I will not attempt to find the ‘inventor’ of the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis, but I will study the interconnections that contributed to its emergence. I will concentrate on one of its major proponents, Arnold Toynbee (–), and will identify some of the European and non-European ‘renaissance bearers’ who, for their own purposes, suggested that the renais- sance existed beyond early modern Europe. More specifically, I will show that Toynbee partly owed his ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis to Hu Shi 胡適 (– ), a well-known Chinese intellectual, and more generally to the uses of the concept of ‘renaissance’ in the non-European world. As I will argue, Arnold Toynbee and Hu Shi contributed to a more general transformation of the ‘renaissance’ concept: by the first decades of the twenti- eth century, ‘renaissance’ had ceased to be just the name of a period, and had gradually become the ideal type of a human phenomenon. Indeed, before the nineteenth century, the Renaissance had been a purely operative historiograph- ical concept; that is, it simply referred to a historical event or to its period, and not to a social or cultural type. But after going through a process of ‘typification’ during the nineteenth century, the ‘renaissance’ became the ideal type of a ‘cul- tural form’ and came to be applied to different societies all over the world. This process involved shared uses of ‘renaissance’ between the European and non- European world, and followed a general endeavour in human and social sciences to turn temporal concepts into ideal types for sociological or anthropo- logical analysis. The ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis, as I will show, resulted from the transcontinental dimensions of this process. In this sense, the history of the ‘multiple renaissances’ – at least the historical thread I follow in this article – is a sign of the fundamental intercon- nectedness between different groups from East and South Asia to America and western Europe. The ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis may or may not challenge European exceptionalism. Its history surely does.  Following contemporary conventions within the field of Chinese history, I use the pinyin transcription of Hu Shi’s name throughout the article. Some quotations, following the Wade–Giles transcription, spell his name ‘Hu Shih’. M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core I At the beginning of the twenty-first century, Jack Goody (–) was one of the most important advocates of the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis. In his Renaissance: the one or the many? (), as in some chapters of The theft of history (), Goody set out to demonstrate that features of the European Renaissance have also characterized analogous processes in the Islamicate, Indian, and Chinese worlds. He was not alone in this endeavour. Since the s, as a survey of book titles shows, there has been an increasing interest in the different ‘renaissances’ that took place outside Europe; this process has par- alleled a slightly more successful scholarly enterprise, the ‘multiple modernities’ thesis, which the sociologist Shmuel Eisenstadt (–) formulated at the beginning of the twenty-first century. These academic trends gave a boost to the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis, and Goody – whose status in the social sciences is at least equivalent to Eisenstadt’s – undoubtedly contributed to push it forward. For Goody, the ‘renaissance’ was essentially a phenomenon of literate cul- tures. It was not an event that took place in western Europe, but rather a sort of event, not necessarily confined to a single time and place: Beginning with the ‘first lights’ (primi lumi) of the fourteenth century, the Italian Renaissance has often been seen as the critical moment in the development of ‘mod- ernity’ …. That this was certainly an important moment in history, even in world history, there can be no doubt. But how unique was it in a general way? This rhetorical question on the uniqueness of the Italian Renaissance led him to distinguish between the ‘sociological’ and the ‘historical’: There is a specific historical problem as well as a general sociological one. All soci- eties in stasis require some kind of rebirth to get them moving again, and that may involve a looking back at a previous era (Antiquity in the European case) or it may involve another type of efflorescence. The opposition between the ‘historical’ and the ‘sociological’ had a particular role in Goody’s argument: it distinguished the event from the type. The event called ‘the Renaissance’ happened in a particular setting, and in this sense it conveys the singular features that the historical moment instilled into it. The type called ‘renaissance’ is something different. It is a set of characteristics  Shmuel Eisenstadt, ‘Multiple modernities’, Daedalus,  (), pp. –. The ‘many’ thesis is a reaction against what could be called ‘negative questions’ about the non-European world. Unlike Max Weber’s studies on the relation between religion and the origins of capital- ism (‘why didn’t other places in the world produce capitalism?’) or the famous ‘Needham ques- tion’ (‘why did modern science emerge only in the West and not in China?’), which are based on the negative assumption that the rest of the world ‘does not have X’ (or has not produced X on its own terms), the different ‘many X’ theses (many renaissances, modernities, enlighten- ments …) have suggested that the non-European world ‘has X too’. For a general review and critical assessment of the ‘multiple renaissances’ approach, see Mark Gamsa, ‘Uses and misuses of a Chinese renaissance’, Modern Intellectual History,  (), pp. –.  Jack Goody, Renaissances: the one or the many? (Cambridge, ), p. .  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core which do not have a time and space of their own and which, to a certain extent, transcend the historical event; it is a social type, a configuration of social beha- viours that the analyst may find in the most unexpected places and times. This double dimension of the renaissance was particularly important for Goody’s argumentation. If the renaissance was only attached to a singular event – for example, the primi lumi – and therefore to a single place and a single time, then it could never repeat itself: things never happen in the same way. As a sociological category, however, and more precisely as an ideal type, the renais- sance ceases to be attached to a singular event: it is a sort of event, not the event itself; it analytically discards the singular and brings forward the general features that make the socio-historical phenomenon similar to others. This ‘sociological’ renaissance (or ‘renascence’, as Goody preferred to call it) served as the central pillar of his arguments about the ‘multiple renaissances’ in human history. Such an idea, as Goody himself acknowledged, was not his own. He took it from different sources. One of them, a fundamental one, was the area specialists. Many historians of China, India, or the Islamicate world claim to have found a ‘renais- sance’ in their own areas of expertise; they have therefore used, before Goody, the category of ‘renaissance’ in the ideal typical way I have just described. But for Goody’s world historical perspective, especially for his comparative approach, there was another key inspiration: Arnold Toynbee’s A study of history, and espe- cially his volume on the ‘renaissances’, published in . Goody explained: In his multivolumed A Study of History, Toynbee looked upon a renaissance as ‘one particular instance of a recurrent phenomenon’. The essential feature of this genus was ‘[t]he evocation of a dead culture by the living representative of a civilization that is still a going concern’. Here we are not only concerned with the looking back but also with a burst forward, a flowering. Toynbee does indeed argue that there were such renaissances in other parts of the world, especially in China. Goody was not completely satisfied with Toynbee’s approach, but he still consid- ered him a major predecessor in his endeavour to ‘pluralize’ the renaissances: The idea of a burst forward remains implicit and he does not link the event to liter- acy nor yet to the secularization of knowledge. In this extraordinary work, however, he does offer a more comparative approach to the Renaissance but one which is also more fragmented in that he treats separately ‘renaissances of political ideas, ideals and institutions’, ‘renaissances of systems of law’, ‘renaissances of philosophies’, ‘renaissances of language and literature’ and ‘renaissances of the visual arts’. My own study accepts the breadth of Toynbee’s approach but tries to deal with the problem more holistically. So, beyond his critiques, Toynbee remained for Goody a major source of inspir- ation. Goody thereby acknowledged a historical debt: Toynbee was indeed a major proponent of the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis.  Ibid., p. .  Ibid. M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core From the s, Toynbee was an important figure among European histor- ians, especially in the field of world history; although he was often criticized, to a certain extent he shaped the scholarly agenda of the field, and he also had a very important role in British diplomacy and was constantly present in the media. Toynbee’s theory of the ‘multiple renaissances’ was intended, as he explicitly claimed, to ‘provincialize’ the European/Italian renaissance. This resonance with Dipesh Chakrabarty’s much later book Provincializing Europe, and more generally with postcolonial studies, should not be surprising: Toynbee was as suspicious of the centrality of ‘the West’ in world history as scho- lars of postcolonial studies have been in recent decades. In the ninth volume of A study of history, Toynbee denounced as ‘provincial’ the customary use of the word ‘renaissance’ to refer to a singular event in world history: In ordinary Modern Western parlance the singular expression ‘The Renaissance’ was used to denote something that had happened in one local province of one civ- ilization in one age of its history on two planes of its activity. The particular civiliza- tion in question was Western Christendom, the particular province was Northern and Central Italy, the particular age was the Late Medieval period of Western history (circa A.D. –). In other words, the idea that ‘the Renaissance’ was exclusively a European phenomenon resulted from the provincial self-representation of ‘Western civil- ization’ as the epicentre of global civilization. Toynbee claimed that, if the Western historian were to take a look at universal history, he would find that this ‘Western renaissance’ was not at all unique. He explained with an astro- nomical analogy: when a ‘twentieth-century’ terricola was reminded, by the spectacle of ‘the Milky Way’, that suns were as common as dirt, and when he went on to reflect that any of these innumerable suns might have numerous planets revolving round it, he was forced to realize that his habitual phrase ‘the Planets’ was as provincial an expression as ‘the Moon’, and ‘the Sun’ as crass a provincialism as ‘the Earth’. Toynbee therefore proposed changing the focus, and gave a broader defini- tion of what a ‘renaissance’ is: As soon as we have thus brought all the relevant phenomena into view, we become aware that, in using the word renaissance as a proper name, we have been allowing ourselves to fall into the error of seeing a unique occurrence in an event which in reality was no more than one particular instance of a recurrent historical phenom- enon. The evocation of a dead culture by the living representatives of a civilization that is still a going concern proves to be a species of historical event for which the proper label is, not ‘the Renaissance’, but ‘renaissances’.  Arnold J. Toynbee, A study of history, vol. IX (London, New York, NY, and Toronto, ), p. .  Ibid., p. .  Ibid., p. .  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core In other words, ‘renaissances’ take place every time the ‘living representatives’ of a civilization evoke a ‘dead culture’ of their past. When Westerners are only acquainted with their own renaissance, they call that event ‘the’ renaissance, as if it did not exist anywhere else than in the history of their own province. However, when they discover that ‘renaissances’ are ‘as common as dirt’ in human history, they have the same feeling as Toynbee’s terricola who discovers the Milky Way: the sun he sees every day is not ‘his’ sun, but just one instance of what is actually a ‘universal’ phenomenon. Here we see how Toynbee’s concept of the renaissance as a ‘species of event’ could prefigure Goody’s ‘sociological’ renaissance: it was intended as a non-Eurocentric concept of a trans-historical phenomenon, and more generally as a tool of historical anthropology. I I How did this idea come to Toynbee’s mind? At least two intellectual threads seem to converge in his particular concept of what a ‘renaissance’ was. The first thread goes back to Jules Michelet’s (–) and Jacob Burckhardt’s (–) ground-breaking definitions of the renaissance in Renaissance () and Die Cultur der Renaissance in Italien () respectively, and, perhaps, to Walter Pater’s (–) The Renaissance (). The three books shared the same idea: the renaissance was a ‘culture’ or a type of society which could be defined. Before them, in early nineteenth-century European literature and history, the ‘Renaissance’ had roughly referred to the ‘re-birth of arts and sciences’ and to the ‘revival of antiquity’ in Italy between the fourteenth and six- teenth centuries; later on, it became the name of the period which conveyed those historical phenomena. Michelet, Burckhardt, and Pater turned this period into a substance: especially in the case of Burckhardt, the renaissance was the concept of a well-defined ‘culture’. This ‘culture’ could be described in terms of the typified patterns of a whole society; ‘its outer entire form’ (ihre äusserliche Gesamtform) – as Burckhardt claimed in his Weltgeschichtliche Betrachtungen – ‘is society in its broadest sense’. Once Burckhardt defined this ‘renaissance culture’, it was possible to detach it from the actual place where it supposedly emerged. If the typical features of the Renaissance could be found somewhere else, why not claim that there were other ‘renaissances’? Since at least the s, many European historians have ques- tioned the uniqueness of the Renaissance within European history. Charles Homer Haskins’s (–) book The Renaissance of the twelfth century (),  For a larger history of the concept of Renaissance, see Thomas Maissen, ‘The view from Europe: the Renaissance’, in Thomas Maissen and Barbara Mittler, Why China did not have a renaissance – and why that matters: an interdisciplinary dialogue (Berlin and Boston, MA, ), pp. –.  Jacob Burckhardt, Weltgeschichtliche Betrachtungen (Berlin, Darmstadt, and Vienna, ), p. . M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core supposed the existence of at least two renaissances: one in the twelfth century, the other in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In the s, Johan Huizinga (–) also pointed out the ‘problem of the Renaissance’; and from the s, Erwin Panofsky (–) tried to solve this problem by distinguishing between the ‘renascences’ and ‘the Renaissance’. We can say that, to a certain extent, especially in the case of Haskins, the Renaissance had already been turned into a trans-historical ‘type of society’ or, to use Toynbee’s terms, a ‘recurrent phe- nomenon’ in human history. It is true that Toynbee’s conceptualization of the renaissance took a bolder step. While for scholars like Haskins the ‘renaissance’ ceased to have a time of its own, for Toynbee it also ceased to have a space of its own: as a type, and not just an event, the ‘renaissance’ could happen in many dif- ferent spatial settings of the Earth. But even in this regard Toynbee already had some predecessors in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, such as Maurice Hauriou (–). In a way, Toynbee’s ‘multiple renaissances’ owed their existence to a century- long tendency to use chronological concepts – originally designed to name a period or an event within a period – to describe what could be called, in Max Weber’s (–) terms, ‘ideal types’ of societies. ‘Modernity’ has been one of the most successful of those typological concepts. It used to mean just the ‘present’ – that is, anything that happened in the present time – but in the nineteenth century it started being used as the ideal type of a particular form of society, adopted a more or less explicit evolutionist framework, and was used to inscribe human societies within a standard historical path. According to this teleological use of ‘modern’, two coeval groups could be syn- chronic from the point of view of physical time, but live in different ages from the point of view of historical time: if a group had certain characteristics, it was ‘modern’; if it did not, it was ‘traditional’ (that is, ‘pre-modern’). The terms ‘Enlightenment’, ‘Renaissance’, and ‘Reformation’ followed a similar pattern:  Charles Haskins, The Renaissance of the twelfth century (Cambridge, ). Toynbee quotes this book in Toynbee, Study of history, IX, p. .  Johan Huizinga, Das Problem der Renaissance. Renaissance und Realismus (Berlin, ; orig. edn ); Erwin Panofsky, ‘Renaissance and renascences’, Kenyon Review,  (), pp. – .  Indeed, Toynbee’s ‘multiple renaissances’ seem to share some elements with Hauriou’s historical theory of cyclical ‘renaissances’ and ‘middle ages’, the former being periods under state domination and the latter periods without state domination. According to Hauriou, these cycles had been part of ‘Mediterranean history’, but he also claimed that, if these cycles came to be discovered in other ‘civilizations’, their ‘alternation’ might turn out to be a ‘law of progress’ of world historical significance. However, despite these common ideas, Toynbee’s volume about the ‘renaissances’ in his Study of history does not seem take Hauriou’s work into account. See Maurice Hauriou, ‘L’alternance des moyen-ages et des renaissances et ses conséquences sociales’, Revue de Métaphysique et de Morale,  (), pp. –.  For the semantic history of this term, see Raymond Williams, Keywords: a vocabulary of culture and society (New York, NY, ), pp. –, s.v. ‘Modern’; and Hans-Ulrich Gumbrecht, ‘Modernität, Moderne’, in Otto Brunner, Werner Conze, and Reinhart  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core they were seen as necessary ‘stages’ in the West’s march towards ‘modernity’, and in this sense they contained the ‘ideal typical’ features of ‘modern’ societies. The ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis was certainly part of this longer history of chronological typification. But it also followed its own historical path. On the one hand, Toynbee’s renaissance as a ‘species of event’ resulted from the endeavour to create typological concepts of time: in order to conceive the idea of ‘multiple renaissances’, the renaissance could no longer be taken as an event, a period, or a purely operative term for the chronological description of Western history, but as an ideal type which could be used to analyse ‘recurrent phenomena’ in human societies. On the other hand, this thesis was intended to reduce, or even get rid of, the teleological implications of previous uses of the term ‘renaissance’, for it did not take the ‘renaissance’ as a historical step within an imaginary historical line towards a preconceived end. In Toynbee’s book, his ‘renaissances’ had some teleological implications – in the sense that all civilizations could go through them – but the fact that they were embedded in different historical paths made it impossible to know the end of the story. A second intellectual source of Toynbee’s thought was probably supplied by the different ‘revivalist’ renaissances of the late nineteenth century and the first decades of the twentieth. In those decades, there were groups of people both within and outside Europe who shared a similar claim: they argued that their ‘culture’, ‘civilization’, ‘nation’, or ‘race’ had experienced or was experien- cing a sort of revival or a rejuvenation which – with a more or less explicit hint at early modern Italian/European history – deserved the label of ‘renaissance’. Intellectuals, politicians, journalists, professors, poets, and religious leaders from Europe to Asia, from Africa to America, made such claims. The ‘Irish Renaissance’ (or ‘Celtic Renaissance’) and the ‘Harlem Renaissance’ are two of the most well-known examples in Europe and North America; they both referred to the revival of a nation or a culture. In the non-European world, there were many examples too. I will focus here on the ‘Indian Renaissance’. The ‘Indian Renaissance’ deserves particular attention. Since many propo- nents of the Indian Renaissance wrote in English, and were in contact with the other ‘renaissance bearers’ at the metropole, the different versions of the Indian Renaissance were almost immediately available to English-speaking readers. And precisely because this renaissance was not European, it may have inspired Toynbee’s ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis. Aurobindo Ghose (or Sri Aurobindo, –) – an important nationalist activist and, after the s, a spiritual leader – is a good example. During his early years at King’s College London, where he studied for a career in the imperial civil service, Aurobindo established close relations with Irish nationalists and poets. Some Koselleck, eds., Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe. Historisches Lexikon zur politisch-sozialen Sprache in Deutschland, vol. IV (Stuttgart, ), pp. –.  Cornelius Weygandt, Irish plays and playwrights (Boston, MA, and New York, NY, ), pp. –. M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core of them, like James Cousins (–), belonged to the so-called Irish Renaissance and even helped to spread Aurobindo’s ideas and writings: for example, Cousins’s New ways in English literature – which pays as much attention to Irish as to Indian writers – has a whole chapter on Aurobindo. Cousins was very important for Aurobindo’s conception of the renaissance. Immediately after the publication of New ways, in , Cousins published in Madras a book called The Indian Renaissance, in which he said: Some people regard the recurrence of a thing as a proof of its existence …. Therefore I have suspected the Renaissance in India. … I have suspected the Indian Renaissance because it is the fourth or fifth of the species that I have come across; and I have wondered if, after all, I have only brought with me a renais- sance-habit that would find signs of birth in a graveyard. … In spite of my suspicion, I have to accept the Renaissance in India. I have to declare that India is awake. Aurobindo seems to have been deeply inspired by this book. In a famous essay called ‘The Renaissance in India’, which was also published in , he responded to Cousins’s book with the following observations: There has been recently some talk of a Renaissance in India. A number of illumin- ating essays with that general title and subject have been given to us by a poet and subtle critic and thinker, Mr. James H. Cousins, and others have touched suggestively various sides of the growing movement towards a new life and a new thought that may well seem to justify the description … But after this positive assessment of Cousin’s book, Aurobindo felt the need to be conceptually more precise about the ‘Indian Renaissance’: There is a first question, whether at all there is really a Renaissance in India. … The word carries the mind back to the turning point of European culture to which it was first applied …; that is certainly not a type of renaissance that is at all possible in India. There is a closer resemblance to the recent Celtic movement in Ireland, the attempt of a reawakened national spirit to find a new impulse of self-expression which shall give the spiritual force for a great reshaping and building: in Ireland this was discovered by a return to the Celtic spirit and culture after a long period of eclipsing English influences, and in India something of the same kind of movement is appearing and has especially taken a pronounced turn since the political outburst of . But even here the analogy does not give the whole truth. This paragraph is very telling for a number of different reasons. First, it shows that Aurobindo was part of a larger group of ‘renaissance bearers’ in India. Since the beginning of the twentieth century, there had indeed been books pub- lished in India, especially in Bengal, which bore the title ‘Indian Renaissance’ or ‘Bengal Renaissance’. Although Ram Mohan Roy (–) had already  James Cousins, New ways in English literature (Madras, ).  James Cousins, The Renaissance in India (Madras, ), pp. –.  Sri Aurobindo, The Renaissance in India and other essays in Indian culture (Pondicherry, ), pp. –.  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core made an explicit comparison between Bengal and Renaissance Italy, this dis- course seems to have become particularly important within the nationalist movement that developed in Calcutta in the first decade of the twentieth century. Aurobindo, like Cousins himself, probably owed his concept of ‘Indian Renaissance’ to this group. Second, the paragraph makes explicit both the Irish and the early modern European inspirations for Aurobindo’s idea of the Indian Renaissance. For him, neither the ‘turning point of European culture’ nor the ‘Celtic movement in Ireland’ – another expression for the Irish Renaissance – have the same features as the Indian Renaissance; but, at the same time, he acknowledges that he cannot talk about the ‘renais- sance’ without thinking of these two models. Finally, this paragraph is symptom- atic of the increasing typification of the ‘renaissance’ concept in the s. Aurobindo explicitly describes the Irish, European, and Indian renaissances as ‘types’: the European renaissance is not ‘the type of renaissance’ which is pos- sible in India; India is experiencing ‘something of the same kind of movement’ that exists in Ireland; and he later writes that the ‘type of the Indian renascence’ consists of an ‘awakening’ after a long period of European oppression. In other words, Aurobindo sees all these renaissances (which are renascences, re-births, awakenings, or rejuvenations) as different types of a single concept. Such uses of the renaissance were certainly not just an English-speaking phe- nomenon. As we have seen, since the nineteenth century, civilizational, cultural, and national renaissances have been a recurrent topic well beyond the English- speaking world, and they converged with the vocabularies of ‘revival’ which had long semantic histories of their own in each of the places where the renaissance was evoked. The ‘Nahda’ concept in the Arab-speaking countries, especially in places like Cairo and Beirut, was not very far from Aurobindo’s renaissance: sometimes translated as ‘renaissance’, sometimes as ‘enlightenment’, some- times even as ‘risorgimento’, the word nahda – whose root means ‘to rise’ – referred to a literary, cultural, and, in some versions, civilizational revival which, for some of the actors, recalled the European renaissance. The idea was that the Arab or Muslim nations had to go through a ‘renaissance’ before reaching ‘modernity’ (hadatha). In China (as we will see below) and Japan there was a similar historical juncture: a ‘renaissance’ – in the sense of a revival or rejuvenation, and sometimes with an explicit reference to the European renaissance and to the Enlightenment – seemed to be necessary for national self-assertion. Such ‘renaissance’ rhetoric seems to have been a  See Tatiana Skorokhodova, ‘The Bengal renaissance: the idea, term and system of symbol- ical description’, Modern Research Studies,  (), pp. –.  Anne-Laure Dupont, ‘Introduction’, in Giorgi Zaydan (–), écrivain réformiste et témoin de la renaissance arabe (Beirut, ), pp. –, open access edition https://books.open- edition.org/ifpo/.  Nada Tomiche, ‘Nahda’, in C. O. Bosworth et al., eds., Encyclopedia of Islam, vol. VII (Leiden, ), pp. –; and Leyla Dakhli, ‘La Nahda (notice pour le dictionnaire de l’Humanisme arabe), , https://halshs.archives-ouvertes.fr/halshs-/document. M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://books.openedition.org/ifpo/5467 https://books.openedition.org/ifpo/5467 https://books.openedition.org/ifpo/5467 https://halshs.archives-ouvertes.fr/halshs-00747086/document https://halshs.archives-ouvertes.fr/halshs-00747086/document https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core widespread phenomenon among different groups (mostly elites) either in the colonized world or in those parts of the world which had suffered colonial aggressions. More generally, it was common in nationalist and reform-oriented movements everywhere, especially when the former admiration towards Europe was turned into suspicion after the First World War. In many respects, Arnold Toynbee’s ‘renaissances’ were just one more contri- bution to this widespread discourse. Decades before he published the ninth volume of A study of history, this discourse had been re-enacted again and again in books, translations, and by travellers – and probably also in oral exchanges that were never recorded. It was mobilized in universities, political organizations, colonial administrations, and literary societies within and beyond Europe. And the Irish Renaissance and the Indian Renaissance were indubitably part of Toynbee’s world, because they travelled through the English language. How could Toynbee ignore these different ‘renaissances’ and the typological language often used to describe them? However, Toynbee did not share the positive perception of the renaissance which characterized so many nationalist and modernist discourses in the European and non-European world. He seems to have been fed by another trend: he was one of those European intellectuals who were disappointed by the world order of the belle époque – with its self-assertive attitude and its faith in progress and liberalism – and who had seen in the First World War the sign of the ‘civilizational’ decline of the West. In this respect, Oswald Spengler (–), through his Der Untergang des Abendlandes (–), became a central reference in the s and ’s, and to a large extent set the intellectual agenda of this approach. Toynbee, who himself contributed to the consolidation of this perspective, shared many of Spengler’s ideas. But he had a position of his own. While Spengler was a fervent nationalist, Toynbee considered the nation-state to be one of the major evils of Western civ- ilization and thought that even the millets of the Ottoman empire were a better political formation than nation-states. He considered the nation-state a paro- chial form of polity, and he thought that the world was inexorably marching towards a complete political unification – either through a larger consensus in international relations (the path he believed in) or through war. He thought that each civilization went through a process of rise and decline; in that process, civilizations experienced a ‘time of troubles’ which only a revived ‘cre- ativity’ could overcome. The West, like many other civilizations, had gone  Arnold Toynbee, A study of history, vol. VIII (London, New York, NY, and Toronto, ), p. : ‘the institutional future seemed likely to lie far less with the Western institution of the national state than with the Syriac institution of the millet; and, while the architects of consti- tution for the World might find useful ideas for the construction of their basement in the works of the fathers of the Constitution of the United States, the classic organization of the Millet system in the Ottoman Empire by the genius of Mehemet the Conqueror might prove to be a more fruitful source of inspiration for the design of the living rooms in this promised house of many mansions’.  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core through such a ‘time of trouble’ in the First World War and might not survive. It had abandoned its humanistic and Christian traditions and turned to the worship of an ‘unregenerate Human Nature’. Such a state of mind led in some cases to the sort of optimistic ‘renaissance’ rhetoric that we saw in Aurobindo and, more generally, in other ‘cultural’ or ‘national’ renaissances; Italian fascist rhetoric was one such instance. In Toynbee’s case, it led to a more pessimistic attitude: he not only despised the European renaissance (like Spengler), but also made a negative assessment of any sort of ‘revival of the dead’, no matter where it took place. Although Toynbee admitted that new creative forces might emerge from the ‘renais- sances’, as had happened in different civilizations, he saw in these ‘recurring events’ of world history a ‘necromancy’, the useless invocation of the dead in a desperate endeavour for self-preservation. I I I As we have seen, Toynbee’s project of decentring and multiplying the ‘renais- sances’ was by no means unique. In fact, it was a late contribution to more general discussions about the uniqueness of the Renaissance within European history and about the different renaissances in both European and non- European contexts. It is difficult to say which of these discussions inspired Toynbee, and to what extent. But when we take a look at the ninth volume of A study of history, we find that a particular referent played a key role: the discus- sions among early twentieth-century Chinese scholars on the ‘Chinese Renaissance’. These Chinese debates – themselves connected with worldwide discussions on the renaissance – were for Toynbee’s Study of history far more important than Aurobindo’s reflections. The key connection in this regard was Hu Shi, a well-known Chinese scholar and Toynbee’s colleague and friend. Although Hu Shi, like Aurobindo, may have been partially inspired by the Irish Renaissance, his ‘Chinese Renaissance’ harks back both to the English-speaking historiography on the Italian and European Renaissance and to a century-long use of the notion of ‘renaissance’ in the Chinese-speaking world. Toynbee and Hu Shi appear to have met in the s. At that time, Toynbee was already a professor at the London School of Economics (LSE) and, after , director of studies at the Royal Institute of International Affairs (RIIA), again in London. He was present at Hu Shi’s lecture on ‘The Renaissance in China’ in , at the RIIA; some days earlier, he had attended Hu Shi’s lecture at the LSE and had had dinner with him. In , Hu Shi gave the  Ian Hall, ‘“Time of troubles”: Arnold J. Toynbee’s twentieth century’, International Affairs,  (), pp. –, at p. .  Gamsa, ‘Uses and misuses’, p. .  Susan Chan Egan and Chou Chih P’ing, eds., A pragmatist and his free spirit: the half-century romance between Hu Shi and Edith Clifford Williams (Hong Kong, ), p. . M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core Haskell lectures on the ‘The Chinese Renaissance’ at the University of Chicago, and his lectures were published with the same title the following year; The Chinese Renaissance was to become a well-known book in the English-speaking world. By then, both Toynbee and Hu Shi were members of the Institute of Pacific Relations, and Hu Shi was chair of its International Research Committee. In China, Hu Shi was a major figure. He had been a protagonist of the so-called New Culture Movement of the s and the May Fourth move- ment in . He had been a radical advocate of a ‘literary revolution’ against classical Chinese and during the s claimed to be a ‘pragmatist’ in philoso- phy and a ‘liberal’ (or ‘liberal socialist’) in politics. His articles and public interventions largely shaped the Chinese intellectual agenda of the s and ’s; he was well connected to university and political circles and had been very active abroad, especially in the United States and Great Britain. By the time that he delivered his Haskell lectures in Chicago, he was not only a major intellectual figure in China, but had also ‘made his mark internationally as a scholar, philosopher, critic and educator’. Toynbee had great respect for Hu Shi. In the ninth volume of A study of history, published twenty years after Hu Shi’s lectures in Chicago, Toynbee praised his colleague and friend as the man who made possible in China the ‘tardy cultural enfranchisement’ of the ‘Sinic classical incubus’: that is, of classical Chinese and its literary traditions. In the section ‘renaissances of literatures and languages’, he refers to Hu Shi’s ‘literary revolution’ and says: In a feat of cultural iconoclasm which was as salutary as it was sacrilegious, the bull who led the way into the china shop was the eminent scholar, man of letters, and philosopher who has been so largely quoted in the last few pages of the present chapter [i.e. Hu Shi]; and anyone who is curious to know the details of this fascinat- ing episode of cultural history should read Hu Shih’s own authoritative account of the events of which he himself was magna pars. More than any other author, Hu Shi was the most important inspiration for Toynbee’s hypotheses on Chinese ‘renaissances’. For Hu Shi, ‘the Chinese Renaissance’ was the ‘literary revolution’ he had started in the s; it deserved this name because, just like the European Renaissance, it relied on  This is what Hyman Kublin claims in his preface to the  reprint of Hu Shi’s lectures. He says that The Chinese Renaissance is ‘the book by which he is best known in this country [the USA]’. The preface is reproduced in Maissen and Mittler, Why China did not have a renaissance, pp. –.  Pacific Affairs,  (Sept. ), p. .  Jerome Grieder, Hu Shih and the Chinese Renaissance (Cambridge, ), p. . Hu Shi was actually reluctant to use ‘-isms’ and ideological labels to describe his positions, as he had famously claimed in his  article ‘Duo yanjiu xie wenti, shao tan xie “zhuyi”’ 多研究些問 題, 少談些 ‘主義 (‘Study more about problems, talk less about “isms”’), published in Meizhou pinglun 每周評論,  ().  Maissen and Mittler, Why China did not have a renaissance, p. .  Toynbee, Study of history, IX, p. .  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core a revival of the vernacular language, on a movement of ‘reason against trad- ition’, and on ‘humanist’ methods and approaches. In A study of history, Toynbee used Hu Shi’s ideas to describe the fight between the constantly resus- citated classical Chinese traditions and a living vernacular language. We can see this in the following quote from Hu Shi’s The Chinese Renaissance, which Toynbee uses to organize the sections he dedicates to the ‘renaissances of literatures and languages’. Hu Shi’s quote begins: I found that the history of Chinese literature consisted of two parallel movements: there was the classical literature of the scholars, the men of letters, the poets of the imperial courts, and of the élite; but there was in every age an undercurrent of literary development among the common people which produced the folk songs of love and heroism, the songs of the dancer, the epic stories of the street reciter, the drama of the village theater and, most important of all, the novels. I found that it was always these new forms and patterns of the common people that, from time to time, furnished the new blood and fresh vigour to the literature of the liter- ati, and rescued it from the perpetual danger of fossilization. He goes on to discuss why the living language of the common people was con- stantly oppressed: Why did it take so long for this living language of such wide currency and with such a rich output in literature to receive due recognition as the most fitting instrumentality for education and for literary composition? … The explanation is simple. The authority of the language of the classics was truly too great to be easily overcome in the days of the empire. This authority became almost invincible when it was enforced by the power of a long united empire and reinforced by the universal system of state examinations, under which the only channel of civil advancement for any man was through the mastery of classical language and literature. The rise of the national languages in modern Europe was greatly facilitated by the absence of a united empire and of a universal system of classical examination …. It is there- fore no mere accident that the revolution in Chinese Literature came ten years after the abolition of the civil examinations in A.D. , and several years after the polit- ical revolution of A.D. –. Toynbee quoted this long paragraph to illustrate a major point: the fight between the living and the dead, and more generally why any ‘necromancy’ of the dead goes against the living forces of a civilization. Hu Shi’s influence actually went even further. If we take a look at his Chinese Renaissance, and more particularly at the source chapter of this long quote, we will find Hu Shi had already applied the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis to Chinese history. He claimed that China had experienced other ‘minor’ renaissances in the past; the ‘Chinese renaissance’ of the s was certainly the most radical one, a ‘fully conscious and studied’ one, but these previous renaissances had ‘contrib- uted to the periodic renewals of vitality in an old civilization’:  Hu Shi, The Chinese Renaissance: the Haskell Lectures  (Chicago, IL, ), p. .  Toynbee, Study of history, IX, pp. –, citing Hu Shi, Chinese Renaissance, pp. –. M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core Historically, there had been many periods of Chinese Renaissance. The rise of the great poets in the T’ang Dynasty, the simultaneous movement for a new prose literature modelled after the style of the Classical period, and the development of Zen Buddhism as a Chinese reformation of an Indian religion – these represented the First Chinese Renaissance. The great reform movements in the eleventh century, the subsequent development of a powerful secular neoconfucianist philosophy … – all these important developments of the Sung Dynasty may be regarded as the Second Renaissance. The rise of the dramas in the thirteenth century, and the rise of the great novels in a later period … may be called the Third Renaissance. And lastly, the revolt in the seventeenth century against the rational philosophy of the Sung and Ming dynasties, and the development of a new technique in classical scholarship in the last three hundred years with its philological and historical approach and its strict emphasis on the importance of documentary evidence – these, too, may be called the Fourth Renaissance. However, Hu Shi thought that these renaissances were merely frustrated endeavours to impose the vernacular language and empirical methods of scholarship. The real renaissance was the literary revolution that had been going on since the s. Unlike the previous ‘renaissances’, which were not conscious of their ‘historical mission’, his literary revolution produced what the other renaissances could not: ‘a new language, a new literature, a new outlook on life and society, a new scholarship’. This conception of the renais- sance relied on Hu Shi’s perception of what the ‘Western Renaissance’ had been: not only a revival of the letters and arts of high antiquity, but also, and especially, the development of vernacular languages and a reaction against tradition. Since the early twentieth century, China had been going through a process of vernacularization of its written language in all the different domains of human activity, from literary production to administrative docu- ments. Instead of keeping the traditional classical language, universities and political institutions took as a model the oral language of imperial officials; in this way, less prestigious forms of vernacular texts, especially novels, were placed at the centre of the debates about the ‘Chinese Renaissance’. Since the vernacularization of language and the emergence of such a new way of life had been, in Hu Shi’s opinion, an intrinsic feature of the ‘Western Renaissance’, he considered that the ‘epochal change’ of his ‘literary revolu- tion’ was not a renaissance, but the renaissance in China. Toynbee did not agree with Hu Shi on every topic. He followed Hu Shi’s description of the Chinese literary revolution, and especially his general con- ception of Chinese literary history; but precisely because he respected Hu Shi, he thought that his ‘revolt’ against tradition should not be reduced to a simple ‘renaissance’. In a footnote, Toynbee claimed:  Hu Shi, Chinese Renaissance, p. .  Ibid., pp. –.  Ibid., p. .  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core This latter-day Chinese revolt against the incubus of a classical Sinic language and literature is itself ‘the Chinese Renaissance’ according to Hu Shih’s terminology, whereas, according to the usage followed in this Study [A study of history], it would figure as the ‘Chinese Anti-Renaissance’ in reaction against a previous resuscitation of the language and literature of an antecedent civilization which would rank as ‘the Chinese Renaissance’ according to our usage of the term. In other words, Toynbee thought that the actual ‘Chinese renaissances’ were all the previous revivals of the vernacular language and literature that Hu Shi described, and not what Hu Shi called ‘the Chinese Renaissance’ – that is, what China was experiencing since the s. For Hu Shi, these previous renais- sances were merely frustrated projects. For Toynbee, in contrast, they were proper representatives of the ‘renaissance’ species, and for that reason they deserved a negative assessment; they had been attempts to revive an ancient ‘Sinic imperial régime’ and, in this sense, they could not produce anything new. Toynbee saw the real ‘epochal change’ as occurring when a civilization managed to produce something new and go against the necromancy of the renaissances. He claimed that, in the Chinese case, this transformation was the result of Hu Shi’s literary revolution and, through it, of the ‘impact of an alien Western culture’. He was thus both contradicting and honouring Hu Shi. By claiming that Hu Shi’s literary revolution was not a renaissance but an anti-renaissance, he distinguished Hu Shi from the ‘necromancers’ he despised and raised him to the role of a cultural hero. Hu Shi’s revolution was not a revival of the past, but a civilizational transformation oriented towards the future. Hu Shi was certainly not the only source for Toynbee’s description of Chinese history; Toynbee also quoted the works of Otto Franke (–), Luther Carrington Goodrich (–), and Henri Maspero (–) to support the different points he made on this subject. But for him Hu Shi was much more than an information provider: he was both an interlocutor and the source of a conceptual framework, as demonstrated by the structure of the ninth volume of Toynbee’s Study of history. It is true that, before quoting Hu Shi for the first time, Toynbee had already made his point about multiple renaissances; some pages before, he discussed Oswald Spengler’s and Robin George Collingwood’s (–) conceptions of the Western Renaissance, and used J. B. Bury’s (–) The idea of progress to support Spengler’s pos- ition that the Renaissance was nothing more than an ‘unsuccessful revolt’. But in those pages he only used these authors to discuss the European renaissance, and not his ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis. When he gets to Hu Shi, it is the first time in the volume that Toynbee quotes and discusses a scholar who shares with him the assumption that the renaissance can be found outside Europe and that  Toynbee, Study of history, IX, p. .  Ibid., p. .  Ibid., pp. –. M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core it is, in this sense, a ‘recurrent phenomenon’ which happens in different times and places. This is indeed what Hu Shi suggested in his lectures. Without expli- citly turning it into a general framework of historical analysis, as in Toynbee’s work, Hu Shi had already claimed the validity of the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis by applying it to the analysis of Chinese history. I V When we consider these two ‘renaissance’ versions, one in England and one in China, we may get the feeling that they are like twin brothers who parted from each other when they were young, who lived for a long time on the two extremes of the Eurasian continent, and who found each other transformed when they met again. This feeling would not be totally misleading. Indeed, Hu Shi’s ‘renais- sance’, though partially taken from the ‘dormitories in the American univer- sities’ (as Hu Shi acknowledged), resulted from a long tradition of uses and debates about the ‘renaissance’ in China. This tradition had loaded the multiple and halting equivalents of ‘renaissance’ – sometimes neologisms, sometimes old expressions – with the connotations that an evolving Chinese language made available for its users. The historical experiences of innumerable speakers of Chinese, in China and abroad, brought these equivalents into different scenarios and engaged them with different imaginaries; and thus every time this ‘Chinese’ renaissance met its twin ‘English’ brother, who had also experienced an eventful life, they both had new tales to tell each other. In this sense, when Toynbee redis- covered the ‘renaissance’ in Hu Shi’s text, he became acquainted with the latest results of a decades-long discussion on the ‘Chinese Renaissance’. What, then, were the ‘Chinese’ experiences which lay behind Hu Shi’s uses of ‘renaissance’? To answer this question, I will analyse how the ‘renaissance’, in the Chinese- speaking context, followed its own path and produced ready-made ‘ideal types’ to reinterpret the Chinese past. When the idea of ‘the renaissance’ became known in China, it was not neces- sarily strange to a Chinese reader: this ‘re-birth’ had a family resemblance to many concepts of the centuries-old Chinese historiographical tradition. Indeed, there were in imperial Chinese historiography a number of archetyp- ical conceptions of historical time which – though expressed through specific concepts in classical Chinese – could act as common semantic ground for ‘revi- vals’, ‘re-births’, ‘awakenings’, ‘renaissances’, and other analogous concepts. These archetypical perceptions of historical time – ‘chronotypes’, as they have been called by Bender and Wellbery – made it easier to welcome the renais- sance into the Chinese-speaking world. And once the renaissance was reframed in new discourses, especially the one associated with Italy and Europe, it gained  John B. Bender and David D. Wellbery, eds., Chronotypes: the construction of time (Stanford, CA, ).  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core a life of its own and became part of the justification of different political projects and historical narratives. During its Chinese life between the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the renaissance followed different patterns: first, it was taken as the concept of a European event which looked like many other Chinese ‘revivals’; second, it was differentiated from other Chinese ‘revivals’ and became the name of a presti- gious and completely exceptional event in European history; third, the European-inspired renaissance was ‘discovered’ in the Chinese past itself; fourth and finally, the renaissance proved to be a trans-historical concept which could be located in both the present and the future of China. These pat- terns did not necessarily follow a chronological order. Although some of them became more prominent in one period and not in another, one effect of the rapid conceptual changes of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries in the East Asian region was that they all coexisted for some time. The history of the renaissance in the East Asian region has been thoroughly studied. I will limit myself here to pointing out its most salient features. The interaction between the word ‘renaissance’ and one of its more successful equivalents in Chinese, wenyi fuxing 文藝復興 (‘revival of letters and arts’), started around the s. This happened before the ‘renaissance’ became in Europe the name of a particular ‘culture’, as in Jacob Burckhardt’s work. It hap- pened even before ‘renaissance’ became the name of a period, because before the Bourbon restoration in France the word ‘renaissance’ was just one expres- sion among others to describe the early modern revival of antiquity. It was pre- cisely in this casual way that the The East–West Examiner and Monthly Magazine (Dong xi yang kao meiyue tongji zhuan 東西洋考每月統記傳), a magazine edited in China by the Prussian missionary Karl Gützlaff (–), used the expres- sion wenyi fuxing to characterize the Italian Renaissance. We cannot know whether fuxing 復興 (‘revival’, ‘rejuvenation’) evoked in the author’s mind merely a ‘revival’ or the ‘Renaissance’ in the strong sense, and it does not really matter for our purpose: wenyi fuxing seemed as good as any European concept to describe what had happened in Italy during the quattrocento and the cinquecento. In Chinese imperial historiographical discourse, the word fuxing had a long tradition: it was used to describe dynastic revivals, poetic reju- venations, and especially ‘restorations’ of different sorts. The expression wenyi  For an overview, see Chen Jianshou 陳建守, ‘Jindai Zhongguo gainian cihui zhi yanjiu yu zhanwang: yi “wenyi fuxing” he “qimeng yundong” weili’ 近代中國概念詞彙之研究與展望: 以 ‘文藝復興’ 和 ‘啟蒙運動’ 為例 (‘Research and prospects of the modern Chinese conceptual vocabulary: taking “renaissance” and “enlightenment” as examples’), Dongya guannian shi jikan 東亞觀念史集刊,  (), pp. –; Zhang Ke 章可, ‘Hanyu shixue gainian ruhe xingcheng: yi wenyi fuxing zai jindai Zhongguo weili’ 漢語史學概念如何形成: 以 ‘文藝復興’ 在近代中國為例 (‘How historiographical concepts in Chinese took shape: taking the example of the “renaissance” in modern China’), Zhongguo lishi pinglun 中國歷史評論 (), issue , pp. –; Barbara Mittler, ‘The view from China: r/Renaissances’, in Maissen and Mittler, Why China did not have a renaissance, pp. –.  Zhang Ke, ‘Hanyu shixue’, p. . M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core (‘letters and arts’) was a standard term as well. But once put together and asso- ciated with European early modernity, the combined expression became a means for a semantic interconnection between Chinese and European dis- courses on the ‘renaissance’. Wenyi fuxing was now available to absorb the semantic contingencies of the words that, in Europe, were used to describe the Italian quattrocento and cinquecento, and in this way it became entangled with European discourses about the renaissance. At this early stage, availability did not mean success. Later on, during the nine- teenth and early twentieth centuries, other expressions were more frequently used to refer to the Italian or European Renaissance; and, like a large part of the modern Chinese vocabulary, the association between the Chinese concepts of revival and the post-Burckhardtian ‘renaissance’ happened through the translation of Japanese works. During the first decades of the twentieth century, in essays, historical works, and journal titles, we find expressions that mean ‘revival of knowledge’ (xuewen fuxing 學問復興), ‘revival of antiquity’ (fugu 復古, which in the Chinese tradition had traditionally been used to describe the revival of ancient learning), ‘resuscitation of the movement of letters’ (wenyun fuhuo 文運復活), or ‘time of a new birth’ (or just ‘re-birth’, zaisheng shidai 再生時代). Wenyi fuxing was just one of these expressions. These hesitant translations reflected the particular situation of the ‘renaissance’ in this period of Chinese history: when these words were not used in the same casual way, they only referred to a particular period of European history. However, in a few years, the association between these translations and the European referent became stronger and tended to transform some Chinese words – especially wenyi fuxing, but also the other terms – into the ideal type of a historical process: it was the sort of process that had led the West along the path of ‘wealth and strength’. Once this normative ideal type of renaissance took shape in China, someone eventually came up with the questions: had China already had a renaissance itself? Did it need one? In the s, these questions became implicated in two larger debates. The first, which was similar to many others taking place in the non-European world, concerned the question of a ‘national revival’; the second, more specific to Chinese nationalism, was the attitude towards Confucianism and, more generally, towards the imperial past. From the radical rejection of Confucianism in the s to its recovery as a state ideology in the s under the form of the New Life movement, Confucianism represented for mod- ernists and nationalists a paradoxical object: for some, the Confucian or imper- ial tradition embodied national identity itself; for others, it signified an obstacle to ‘modernization’ and hindered national survival. The ‘renaissance’ discourse was involved in these discussions and its meaning changed according to each position. From narodnik-style populists to cultural conservatives, from socialists to liberals, the rhetoric of the ‘renaissance’ – and more precisely of a  Ibid., pp. –; Mittler, ‘The view from China’, pp. –.  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core renaissance which was inspired by the early modern Italian or European Renaissance – played a fundamental role in articulating discourses of national rejuvenation or national salvation. From these debates, I will choose two examples within the ‘neo-traditionalist’ and ‘the radical-liberal’ spectrum: Liang Qichao for the former and Hu Shi himself for the latter. As is well known, Liang Qichao (–) had been a leading reform-minded scholar-official in the s. He belonged to a gener- ation of nationalist activists who had intended to turn the Qing empire into a constitutional monarchy. He had also supported the creation of a ‘Confucian religion’ to become the pillar of a ‘New China’, and after the Qing fell in , he supported the Republic both against Yuan Shikai’s (–) monarchic restoration in  and against the Qing restoration in . However, despite these earlier political positions, Liang Qichao became increas- ingly sensitive to the ‘failures’ of the West. Like Toynbee, he was shocked by the First World War, and in the late s and early ’s he reappraised the Confucian tradition and saw in it the remedies for the evil things of the West. It is therefore no accident that he thought that the ‘Chinese renaissance’ had taken place in the imperial past. In his Outline of the scholarship of the Qing dynasty (Qingdai xueshu gailun 清代學術概論), which he wrote in , he said: What did ‘Qing thought’ consist of? To put it in simple words: it was a great reaction against the ‘study of principle’ during the Song and Ming periods and it took the ‘recovery of antiquity’ as its vocation and ambition. Its motives and content were totally analogous to those of the European Renaissance (Ouzhou zhi wenyi fuxing 歐洲之文藝復興, ‘European revival of letters and arts’). Liang Qichao’s intention was clear: he wanted to show that the imperial trad- ition had been ‘modern’ in its own way. Although he admitted that the ‘Chinese renaissance’ or ‘recovery of antiquity’ had already declined, the impli- cit conclusion, very significant at the time, was that the Qing tradition was com- patible with modernity and therefore deserved to be in some way preserved in Republican China. This claim was not his alone; other scholars and intellectuals, especially among the cultural conservatives involved in the National Essence Journal (Guocui xuebao 國粹學報), shared a similar idea. A second form of ‘renaissance’ was represented by Hu Shi, who explicitly cri- ticized such claims. Like Sri Aurobindo, Hu Shi may have been inspired by the Irish Renaissance while he studied at Cornell and Columbia in the s; but by his own admission, his actual inspiration in this regard was Edith Sichel’s  Mittler, ‘The view from China’, pp. –.  Liang Qichao, Qingdai xueshu gailun (), in Yinbing shi heji 飲冰室合集 (Collected works of the Ice-Drinking Studio), Zhuanji 專集,  (Beijing, ), p. .  For the debate between Hu Shi and Liang Qichao, see Joseph Levenson, Liang Ch’i-ch’ao and the mind of modern China (Cambridge, MA, ), pp. –.  Gamsa, ‘Uses and misuses’, p. . M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core (–) The Renaissance, which had been published in . As a major figure of the New Culture and May Fourth movements, Hu Shi shared with many of his colleagues at Peking University the conviction that China needed to get rid of the remnants of the imperial and Confucian tradition. He later became slightly more lenient towards Confucianism and developed an even more hostile attitude against Buddhism and what he called the ‘Indianization’ of China: while Confucianism had developed some ‘rational’ and ‘scientific’ insights, Buddhism and the Indian tradition were the roots of Chinese obscurantism. His main target was his colleague Liang Shuming (–). Liang claimed that ‘Indian philosophy’, especially Buddhism, was superior to both Western and Chinese philosophy. This was also the time that Liang started his project of ‘rural reconstruction’, believing, as the ‘last Confucian’, that he could revive the traditional peasant community to reinvig- orate Chinese economy and society. Hu Shi rejected these ideas and thought that the Chinese revival – which, as we have seen, he called ‘renaissance’ – would come from the scientific spirit that the West inherited from its own Renaissance. In his  lectures at the RIIA, he said: It was [in ] that the new movement began which forms the title and the topic of my address to-night [i.e. ‘The Renaissance in China’]. In the years  and  groups of Chinese students in the American Universities were carrying on a contro- versy on problems of literature. The controversy began on a question of poetic diction and it gradually extended to the larger problem of Chinese literature. The results of the controversy were published in the early days of , and formed the first declarations of a movement which has created a revolution in Chinese literature. This literary revolution marks the first stage in the Chinese Renaissance, for there will be found a spirit essentially different from the early stages of modernization. This new type of renaissance did not encompass the imperial tradition; as Hu Shi claimed again later on in his Haskell lectures, this renaissance was supposed to recover the literary traditions of the vernacular language that the imperial elites had oppressed across the ages. The present ‘renaissance’ was involved in the wider Chinese fight for ‘modernity’ against ‘tradition’:  Edith Sichel, The Renaissance (London, ), is a short presentation of the Renaissance in different parts of Europe; for Sichel, the Renaissance was not only an Italian phenomenon, but a European one. In her ‘books recommended’, she mentions Jacob Burckhardt, Jules Michelet, and Walter Pater. The three of them seem to have played an important role in shaping her narrative.  See Irene Eber, ‘Hu Shih and Chinese history: the problem of Cheng-Li Kuo-Ku’, Monumenta Serica,  (), pp. –, esp. pp.  ff.  Hu Shi, ‘The Renaissance in China’, Journal of the Royal Institute of International Affairs,  (), pp. –, at pp. –.  Gang Zhou, ‘The Chinese Renaissance: a transcultural reading’, in Brenda Deen Schildgen, Gang Zhou, and Sander L. Gilman, eds., Other renaissances: a new approach to world literature (New York, NY, ), pp. –.  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core In the early days we wanted to be modern, but we were afraid of losing the other things which we were told were good. … There is little wonder that the Chinese have continued to live in comfortable dreams of compromise …. But a new age has dawned. We have realized at last that certain things have to be given up if China is to live. We have already seen similar ideas being propounded in the Haskell lectures. What is important in this earlier lecture is that Hu Shi already ‘typified’ the renaissance in two different ways. First, just like Liang Qichao, and anticipating Toynbee, he treated the renaissance as a ‘species of historical event’ which could take place in China. Second, he disembedded the renaissance from any place and time of its own, because it not only happened in the past and in the West, but could also be started in the present and achieved in the future – if the conditions allowed it and if the actors were willing. These ideas explain why, in his Chinese-language debates during the s and ’s, Hu Shi hesitated about the Chinese translation of the word ‘renais- sance’. He was afraid to suggest some sort of ‘revival’ (as implied by the transla- tions of ‘renaissance’ using the terms fuxing and fugu) and to thereby give a distorted picture of his position regarding the vernacular language. He did not want to look like Liang Qichao, because what he called in English ‘the Chinese Renaissance’ pointed towards the future, not towards the past. This might explain why, as early as , he said in his personal diary: ‘Time of a new (or re-)birth’ (zaisheng 再生) is the general term for the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in European history; its old translation is ‘revival of letters and arts’ (wenyi fuxing 文藝復興). I consider that ‘revival of letters and arts’ does not reach its meaning, and it is not as good as directly translating its original meaning. In contrast to the ‘revival of letters and arts’, and also to any renaissance concept that conveyed both a ‘progressive’ and a ‘conservative’ meaning, Hu Shi wanted to separate these two meanings into two different words. It is as if he wanted to distinguish the ‘Whig’ versions of the Renaissance, which considered this period as a step forward in Western history, from the ‘revivalist’ versions, both pessimistic (as in Toynbee) and enthusiastic (as in Aurobindo). He seems to have failed in this endeavour, because the ‘revival of letters and arts’ became the standard translation of the renaissance in contemporary Chinese. But Hu Shi’s conceptual struggles were not in vain. His general conception of the ‘renaissance’, and especially his own formulation of the ‘multiple renais- sances’ thesis, reverberated in Toynbee’s work; and, through Toynbee, they have inadvertently reached the twenty-first-century advocates of the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis.  Hu Shi, ‘Renaissance in China’, p. .  Quoted in Chen Jianshou, ‘Jindai Zhongguo gainian cihui’, pp. –. M U L T I P L E R E N A I S S A N C E S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core V To sum up: the ‘multiple renaissances’ thesis was part of a transcontinental con- versation and represented a convergence between non-European nationalist modernisms and interwar European pessimism. As we have seen, this conver- gence was part of a more general process. From the nineteenth century onwards, the renaissance was constantly re-enacted in different contexts, from East to South Asia, from Europe to the Americas, and at each occurrence it increasingly tended towards the ideal type of a process or a culture. From one place to another, different groups gave the ‘renaissance’ a new meaning, and sometimes even divorced it from its former European reference. As time went by, when they spoke or wrote about the ‘renaissance’, the new versions of this concept often met each other – sometimes across continents and across oceans – and these encounters in turn produced new versions of the renaissance. Our short genealogy of the ‘multiple renaissances’, and more particularly the exchanges between Arnold Toynbee and Hu Shi, tells part of this history. All this leads us to a major conclusion: it is no longer possible to recount the history of the renaissance category as a purely European history. We should cer- tainly not forget asymmetries; we should not neglect the fact that Hu Shi, like Aurobindo and many others in the non-European world, felt that the renais- sance – in Aurobindo’s words – ‘carries the mind back to that turning point of European culture to which it was first applied’. But we should also bear in mind that Hu Shi gave a new life to this concept, and that to a certain extent he shaped, through his connections in America and England, the development of this concept in Europe proper. In this sense, the ‘renaissance’ category, with or without the European referent, long ago ceased to be a European category. Whether it still has any descriptive or heuristic value is for contemporary and future historians to decide.  Aurobindo, Renaissance in India, p. .  P A B L O A R I E L B L I T S T E I N terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0018246X19000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core A GLOBAL HISTORY OF THE ‘MULTIPLE RENAISSANCES * I II III IV V 
work_n7aqni2sybbwfgfs7q3coipra4	----	Amanda-Josephine M ROGIER VAN DER WEYDEN: A NETHERLANDISH ARTIST AND THE FERRARESE COURT A Thesis Submitted to the Temple University Graduate Board In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree MASTER OF ARTS by Amanda-Josephine M. Pesce December 2016 Thesis Approvals: Dr. Marcia B. Hall, Advisory Chair, Department of Art History Dr. Ashley West, Department of Art History ABSTRACT Northern European and Italian Renaissance art have tended to be treated art historically as two opposing styles. Rooted in statements by artists such as Michelangelo and Leon Battista Alberti, it has become a common misconception that Italians did not hold Northern European art in high regard during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. This thesis seeks to complicate and critique this conventional understanding by looking at the similarities and transalpine exchanges between the artistic styles and practices of Rogier van der Weyden (c. 1400-1464) of Brussels and Cosmè Tura (c. 1430-1495) of Ferrara. By looking at the writings of contemporary humanists at the Ferrarese court and technical analysis of select paintings, it is evident that Cosmè Tura strove to emulate and incorporate aspects of Rogier van der Weyden’s northern manner, especially in his handling of oil paint, use of underdrawings, and emotive effects. In reconsidering this cross-cultural relationship, this thesis demonstrates that the traditionally constructed animosity between Northern and Southern Renaissance art is a common misperception and an oversight in art history. i Dedicated to My Family For Always Reminding Me that the Key to Happiness is Sharing what You Love with the World. ii TABLE OF CONTENTS Page ABSTRACT…………………………………………………………………..i DEDICATION…..………………………………………………………..….ii LIST OF FIGURES.………………………………………………………....iv CHAPTERS 1. AN INTRODUCTION………….………………..………..…………..….1 2. ROGIER VAN DER WEYDEN AND THE COURT OF FERRARA …….…………………………………..…...…...5 On Rogier van der Weyden and His Presence in Italy…..………… 5 3. CONNECTING ROGIER VAN DER WEYDEN AND COSMÈ TURA ………………………………………..………….20 Cosmè Tura as Court Artist ……………………..……………...…..20 Cosmè Tura’s Re-Appropriation of Rogier van der Weyden’s Netherlandish Oil Painting Techniques..……………………..….....28 4. ROGIER VAN DER WEYDEN AND COSMÈ TURA - THE BIGGER PICTURE.……………………………………….……....43 FIGURES…………………………………………………………..….…....47 WORKS CITED.……………………………………………………...…….57 iii LIST OF FIGURES Figure Page 1. Rogier van der Weyden, Descent From the Cross, oil on oak panel, 1435…………………………………………………………………………47 2. Rogier van der Weyden, Entombment: Lamentation of Christ’s Body, oil on panel, 1463-4…..……………………………….………………..…..48 3. Fra Angelico, Entombment, tempera on panel, 1463- 4…..……………………………………………………………........………49 4. Rogier van der Weyden, Saint Luke Drawing the Virgin, oil on panel, 1435-1440…………………………..…………….…………...50 5. Rogier van der Weyden, Triptych of the Seven Sacraments, oil on panel, 1445-1450………..…………………………..……….….……50 6. Rogier van der Weyden, Portrait of Francesco d’Este, oil on panel, 1460………….................................................................................................51 7. Cosmè Tura, An Allegorical Figure (Muse?)(Calliope?), oil and tempera on panel, 1447-1457………………………..…..………….52 8. a) Cosmè Tura, The Lamentation of Christ’s Body, a part of The Roverella Altarpiece, oil on panel, mid1470s..….………….53 b) The Roverella Altarpiece, oil on panel, mid-1470s..………………….....54 c) Side Panel of the Roverella Altarpiece oil on panel, mid-1470……....…55 9. Cosmè Tura, Saint Jerome, oil on panel, 1470……………..........………….56 iv CHAPTER 1: AN INTRODUCTION Northern and Southern European Renaissance Art has traditionally been considered as two distinct artistic styles. In contradiction to familiar scholarship, which traditionally presents Netherlandish and Italian Renaissance art and artistic practices at odds with one another, we know that there were instances when Italians embraced certain aspects of Netherlandish art. Through exploring the contemporary reception of Rogier van der Weyden (c. 1400-1464) of Brussels within the Northern Italian court of Ferrara during the Quattrocento, we can gain a more complete understanding of the reception and appreciation of the Northern Netherlandish style - the ars nova - in Renaissance Italy. Marcia Hall, in Color and Meaning, described the Northern Renaissance ars nova as displaying a sense of a fleeting moment that is captured eternally, with reality being recorded in a thousand minutely observed details comprised of glinting textures and surfaces. The Northern European style, she argued, embodied a use of light, color and perspective operating through a system different from those demonstrated by Filippo Brunelleschi and Leon Battista Alberti in the Italian peninsula.1 Both regions had strong economic, political, social and educational opinions that have been traditionally constructed as confrontational towards one another. The differentiation between the styles of Northern and Southern Europe has perpetuated this common misconception of disdainful conflict. Paula Nuttall’s book, From Flanders to Florence, is one of the first 1 Marcia Hall, Color and Meaning: Practice and Theory in Renaissance Painting (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 70-71. 1 full acknowledgements that the perceived marginalization of Netherlandish painting by Italian Renaissance culture may not have been an accurate construction of contemporary views on artistic style and value.2 Considered by scholars as one of the most prominent artists of the Northern Renaissance, Rogier van der Weyden is given merit on par with that of the renowned Northern Renaissance artists Jan van Eyck and Robert Campin. Born in Tournai in 1400 under the name Rogelet de la Pasture, documents show him as having trained within the workshop of the prominently established artist Robert Campin.3 Apart from basic biographical information, the history of scholarship pertaining specifically to the life and artistic practices of Rogier van der Weyden is quite limited. Despite this limitation, this thesis will briefly discuss the history of scholarship concerning Rogier and focus on particular oversights made when looking specifically at his connection to the Ferrarese court artist Cosmè Tura (c. 1430-1495). To look beyond the traditional debate concerning the plausibility of Rogier’s physical presence in Ferrara and to interrogate the ways in which his work may have been received is to initiate a break with previous scholarship on the artist’s physical presence as superfluous when there is documented proof of his work present in Italy. At variance with traditional scholarship, which regularly refers to Rogier’s painting entitled The Descent from the Cross, this thesis will investigate further Rogier’s Entombment (c. 1463-4), which was owned by the Medici 2 Paula Nuttall, From Flanders to Florence: The Impact of Netherlandish Paintings, 1400-1500 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), 3. Also see Bernard Aikema and Beverly Louise Brown, Renaissance Venice and the North: Crosscurrents in the Time of Dürer, Bellini, and Titian (New York: Rizzoli, 2000). 3 Martin Davies, Rogier van der Weyden: An Essay with a Critical Catalogue of Paintings (London: Phaidon, 1972), 7. 2 and is now in the Uffizi museum. As evidenced by the ways in which Rogier’s style fit within and incorporated the values of the Ferrarese court humanists, his work can clearly be seen as present in and greatly appreciated by the Ferrarese court. The Uffizi Entombment is a prime example of a work created by a northern artist that was commissioned by a southern patron. This work operates, in reference to the topic of this thesis, as the quintessential example of what the works that Rogier van der Weyden had made for the d’Este collection in Ferrara might have looked like. Looking more closely at this work might yield insight into the artistic process and technique Rogier would have employed in the lost works of Ferrara. Creating an idea of what Rogier’s artistic technique might have been at this time for an Italian patron will allow us to begin to understand what key aspects Italian artists, like Cosmè Tura, would have drawn from his work and enveloped into their own. Through the context of Rogier van der Weyden’s life, style, and reception, a contemporary understanding of concepts on painting within the fifteenth-century court of Ferrara can be gained. By looking at the way in which Cosmè Tura emulates stylistic qualities and techniques of Rogier, which parallel values utilized by key figures within Ferrarese court, a true appreciation and emulation of the Netherlandish tradition can be seen. Placing Rogier van der Weyden’s work into the context of the Ferrarese court in conjunction with viewing the re-appropriation of certain stylistic qualities by Cosmè Tura, who follows chronologically, I hope to contribute to modern scholarship through displaying an appreciation of the Northern Renaissance style in Southern Europe. 3 The second chapter seeks to relay a detailed account of Rogier van der Weyden’s life leading up to his probable journey to Italy in 1450. Parting with modern scholars, who briefly acknowledge Rogier’s pilgrimage to Rome, I will fully investigate the probability of the artist’s travels. After establishing Rogier’s journey as fact, we will turn our attention toward what influence his journey or, at the very least his works of art might have had on a particular artist named Cosmè Tura. Chapter Three seeks to provide evidence that sheer presence of Rogier van der Weyden’s work in Ferrara affected the work of the young court artist. Through looking at similarities in their emotive style and material techniques, a clear cross-cultural artistic relationship becomes evident. The fourth and final chapter utilizes all the information given in Chapter Two and Three to create a synthesized understanding of the artistic relationship between Rogier van der Weyden and Cosmè Tura, which complicates the traditionally-perceived animus between Northern and Southern Renaissance art. 4 CHAPTER 2: ROGIER VAN DER WEYDEN AND THE COURT OF FERRARA On Rogier Van Der Weyden and His Presence in Italy Scholarship pertaining specifically to the life of Rogier van der Weyden is quite limited. Many archival sources on Rogier from Tournai were destroyed during World War II, and the limited information that remains is from partly transcribed documents from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Early notable writings that are devoted to the life and work of Rogier written before de Vos’ text were contributions made by Max J. Friedländer, Erwin Panofsky and Otto Pächt.4 A vast amount of historical, iconographical, typological, stylistic and technical information had been carried forward to the late 1990’s, which led Dirk de Vos to create a comprehensive catalogue of Rogier van der Weyden.5 It is the most widely accepted scholarship surrounding Rogier’s life, reception and work. Other recent contributions, such as the previously mentioned texts by Paula Nuttall and Marcia Hall, as well as Michael Baxandall, Stephen Campbell and Maryan Ainsworth, help construct an overall period perception of literature, techniques, materials, and humanistic ideas during the fifteenth century that can aid in developing an understanding of how Rogier van der Weyden and his work may have been valued. 4 Max J. Friedländer. From Van Eyck to Bruegel: Early Netherlandish Painting (New York: Praeger, 1967). Erwin Panofsky, Early Netherlandish Painting. (Madrid: Cätedra, 1998). Otto Pächt, Altniederländische Malerei. Von Rogier van der Weyden bis Gerard David (Munich: Prestel, 1994). 5 Dirk De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden: The Complete Works, (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2000) 8. 5 Through pushing past certain concerns that have occupied many scholars discussing Rogier van der Weyden, such as lack of evidence of his physical presence in Italy, modern scholarship can be furthered through investigation of the reception of Rogier’s work, which traveled throughout Italy and into Italian private collections during the fifteenth century. Rogier trained for five years within Campin’s workshop before obtaining the title of “Master” painter on the 1st of August in 1432. Rogier remained in Tournai for the next four years, during which time some scholars suggest that he may have begun to develop a workshop of his own.6 Rogier van der Weyden’s Descent from the Cross (fig. 1) is dated through stylistic evaluation and the production of copies to 1435, the year before he moved to Brussels. This work’s creation is a primary factor in acquiring for Rogier some wealth and prestige, not only in Northern Europe but in Italy as well.7 The Prado Descent from the Cross has been considered historically as the perfect exemplification of Rogier van der Weyden’s style and is one of his most well-known works. It is important to stress that this work could be considered an iconic example of Netherlandish painting, even in its own time, which may explain why scholars seem to focus on the Prado Descent from the Cross when discussing Rogier’s Northern cross-cultural connection with Italy in general, and in Ferrara and Florence specifically. This paper seeks to diverge from traditional scholarship and look specifically at a less well-known work by Rogier entitled the Entombment (fig. 2), which was created in 1463, possibly for Cosimo de Medici’s collection and resides to this day in the Uffizi Gallery. However, before 6 De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 47-52. 7 Ibid., 21. 6 looking more closely at the Entombment, it is important to look at what little is known about Rogier’s life leading up to the Entombment’s creation. Rogier van der Weyden moved to Brussels in 1436, the year after his completion of the Prado Descent of the Cross. The post that he took in Brussels had not existed before, nor was it replaced after his term as ‘nostre bourgeois et manant,’ which translates to “our citizen and resident.”8 Between the years of 1435 and 1450, Rogier’s works consisted principally of civic works, several portraits and primarily religious subjects.9 His first commission within the city of Brussels was a series of four Scenes of Justice for the Gold Chamber of the Town Hall. After completing this civic series, which was destroyed in the bombardment of Brussels in 1695, Rogier’s corpus leading up to 1450 is comprised mostly of sacred, occasionally biblical, imagery. These religious scenes include Saint Luke Drawing the Virgin (c. 1435 - 1440), Triptych of the Seven Sacraments (c. 1445 - 1450), and Magdalen Reading (c. 1438), which is a fragment from a lost Sacra Conversazione scene thought to have been completed in 1438.9 All of these images place biblical themes within spaces that reflect the world of the contemporary fifteenth-century viewer. Rogier achieves his convincingly articulated interior spaces through implementation of similar colors and tones, figures, stylization through outlining, perspective and extensive detailing. Triptych of the Seven Sacraments utilizes the 8 De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 56. Most municipal accounts from Brussels between the 1435 and 1464 have since been lost, and guild records have not survived. However, a document drafted by the town council in 1441 refers to Rogier using these terms. 9 Davies, 13. 9 Anthony Blunt, et al. “The Materials and Techniques of Five Paintings by Rogier van der Weyden and his Workshop,” in The London National Gallery Bulletin, vol. 18. (London: National Gallery Publications, 1997), 68. Anthony Blunt investigates the process utilized by Rogier van der Weyden and his workshop through the use of technical research in this article. Through Blunt’s research insight is given into the common practices, such as the utilization of underdrawings and preparatory grounds that may not be easily seen to the naked eye. 7 “swooning Madonna,” and emotional women were employed also in the Prado Descent from the Cross. The similarity in stylization and compositional construction suggests that Rogier had established a productive workshop within the city of Brussels and had developed a recognizable ‘brand’ for himself. This ‘brand’ is one that Rogier van der Weyden constructed for himself, developed, and disseminated throughout Europe from 1440 to the late sixteenth century, long after his death in 1464.10 The year 1450 was declared a Holy Year by Pope Nicholas V. The jubilee year was introduced in the Trecento by the papacy as a year of remission or universal pardon from sin, as a political ploy to restore the papal reputation and stimulate piety. During this period, religious pilgrimages were extremely popular; people from throughout Europe would make their way to Rome, stopping at churches with prominent relics while on their journey. The 1450 jubilee is marked by an incident in which over two hundred persons were trampled on the Ponte Sant’Angelo due to the city being overpopulated by people from foreign lands. Nearly two thousand pilgrims occupied Rome regularly through the jubilee year, which aids in understanding the large volume of commerce, trade and religious activity that took place during 1450. For an artist like Rogier, who was rising in popularity at the time, the jubilee year offered an opportunity to visit other strong artistic centers and experience other styles of art, while also promoting his own. The sheer volume of people within Rome would have appealed to an artist seeking out commissions. It also would have given Rogier the possibility of stopping in Ferrara to see 10 De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 60. 8 Leonello d’Este, whom documents show had already been an active patron of his. Dirk de Vos proposes that it is possible that Rogier may have made the journey by ship from Bruges to Pisa.11 If Rogier had visited Italy, it would have been likely that he would have gone to Rome first and then possibly traveled through Ferrara before returning to Brussels.12 Dirk de Vos suggests that this would have enabled him to visit the court in Ferrara briefly between February and June of that year, possibly waiting out the winter so that he would have passed through the Alps more safely.13 Italian humanist Bartolomeo Fazio of the court of Naples wrote a book in 1455 entitled On Famous Men, in which he identified the greatest modern painters as Jan van Eyck, Rogier van der Weyden, Gentile da Fabriano and Pisanello. Presumably obtaining his knowledge through various reports and correspondences, Fazio’s book is a valuable record of not only lost works but the most extensive account of Netherlandish painting written by an Italian during the Fifteenth century. On Famous Men documents Jan van Eyck’s Women Bathing traveling to Genoa, Rogier van der Weyden’s Passion on view in Naples, and most importantly for this thesis’ purposes, a triptych depicting the Descent by Rogier in Leonello d’Este’s collection in Ferrara.14 It is important to note at this point that Fazio’s document most likely was not referring to Rogier’s most famous Prado Descent from the Cross, which causes scholars to question to which work might Fazio be referring. Lorne Campbell references two occasions in the d’Este archive that note two separate payments of twenty ducats having been paid to Rogier van der Weyden. 11 De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 60-61. 12 Davies, 20. 13 De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 61. 14 Ibid., 61. 9 Furthermore, Campbell uses both Fazio and Cyriacus of Ancona’s writings to reconstruct an idea of what the missing triptych might have looked like. Campbell proposes that the triptych’s central panel would have depicted a Descent from the Cross scene quite different from the one in the Prado Museum. This scene would have included the Virgin, Magdalen, Joseph of Arimathea and cluster of various other men and women placed within a landscape decorated with porticos and gateways. Drastically different from the Prado Descent from the Cross, the triptych’s left wing showed an Expulsion from Eden scene with fully rendered nude figures of Adam and Eve. The right wing depicted “a certain prince as suppliant” which Campbell suggests might have been an Old Testament Patriarch rather than a depiction of the donor. 15 It is important to note that Lorne Campbell is the only scholar to make an attempt to reconstruct an idea of what Rogier’s lost triptych in Ferrara may have looked like, and his reconstruction is heavily dependent upon the writings of Fazio. Following his book, in 1456 Fazio documents Rogier van der Weyden as an honored guest in Rome and specifically notes him being shown Gentile de Fabriano’s frescos in San Giovanni in Laterano in Rome.16 Fazio describes several paintings by Rogier Van der Weyden, as well as Jan van Eyck in his De Viris Illustribus.17 To these descriptions, Fazio adds stylistic descriptions based on his viewing of Rogier’s Madonna and Saints18 and the Entombment,19 and expresses a few sentiments on Rogier’s Justice 15 Lorne Campbell, Tura and Netherlandish Art (London: National Gallery Catalogues Ltd., 1998), 75. 16 Nuttall, 34-35. 17 Bartolomeo Fazio, De Viris Illustribus in Documentary History of Art, trans. Elizabeth G. Holt (New York: Princeton University Press, 1947), 199. 18 Within a collection in Frankfurt at the Stadelsches Kunstinsitut. 10 series, which he would have known only through hearsay. He also comments on two Crucifixion scenes in the collection of the King of Naples and, most importantly to this scholarship, documents a now lost Descent triptych by Rogier within the collection of Leonello d’Este, Duke of Ferrara.20 Through Fazio’s documentation, we can see Italian interest in and knowledge of Netherlandish work traveling through their country. Though there is ample evidence for the presence of Rogier van der Weyden’s work in Italy, scholars still debate the plausibility of his own physical presence in Italy. Speculation concerning his presence in Italy first arose in 1920, when Max J. Friedländer falsely identified a portrait by Rogier as depicting Leonello d’Este. (fig. 6) Scholars did not question whether or not portrait was by the hand of Rogier, but rather questioned the identification of the sitter as Leonello d’Este. Documentation has been able to place the portrait as having been created around 1460, which brought Ernst Kantorowicz to question Friedländer’s identification of the sitter twenty years later. Kantorowicz used the meticulous records on Rogier van der Weyden transcribed by A. V. Wurzbach in Niederländisches Künstler-Lexikon to correct Friedländer, identifying the sitter as Francesco d’Este (c. 1430 – after 1475), the illegitimate son of Leonello. Francesco bore a strong resemblance to his father and was sent to be educated and raised at the Burgundian Court in 1444.21 Kantorowicz’s identification is more logical, due to Rogier’s close proximity to the Burgundian court from his home in Brussels. 19 Within a collection in Florence at the Uffizi Museum. 20 Theodore H. Feder, “A Reexamination through documents of the First Fifty Years of Roger Van der Weyden’s Life,” The Art Bulletin 48 (1996): [full page range of entire article when first mentioned], esp. 420. 21 Ernst Kantorowicz, “The Este Portrait by Roger van der Weyden” The Journal of the Warburg Institute 3 (1940): 165-180, esp, 165. 11 Many scholars question whether Rogier van der Weyden actually made the pilgrimage described by Fazio and only briefly discuss it within their writings, due to a lack of archival records about Rogier or any other prominent figure within the court of Ferrara. It is logical to presume that someone who clearly valued the Netherlandish mode—whether Leonello d’Este, Cosmè Tura, or any of Ferrara’s humanists or artists— would have explicitly documented the presence of Rogier at the Ferrarese court, had he been there. The lack of documentary evidence is what has caused most scholars, like Kantorowicz and Martin Davies, to doubt the feasibility of Rogier’s presence in Italy. It stands to reason, however, that Rogier’s physical presence in Italy is not essential for his work to have created an impact within the Florentine and Ferrarese court. One must look beyond the traditional debate surrounding the plausibility of Rogier’s physical presence in Ferrara and examine the ways in which his work may have been received. Cosimo de Medici and Leonello d’Este knew Rogier’s skill initially through the Prado Descent from the Cross, which represented his artistry in the medium of oil and the ability to achieve a superb sense of sincere piety, gracefulness and emotion in his composition, postures and gestures. It is not surprising that these prominent figureheads would seek out commission for their own collections, especially after Rogier’s probable journey to both courts. Rogier van der Weyden’s physical presence is superfluous when there is documented proof of his work being present, whether physically or through copies and prints. The Uffizi Entombment (fig. 2) is widely acknowledged by scholars as being 12 commissioned by Cosimo de Medici around 1450.22 It represents Italian interest and appreciation of Rogier’s style and the Netherlandish mode. Its subject matter, Christ being presented in the moment before being placed within the tomb, is quite unusual for a Northern work and most likely would have been commissioned during Rogier’s pilgrimage during the Holy Year as previously discussed. Dirk de Vos strongly accredits this painting to one that was commissioned by Cosimo de Medici at the end of his life for a chapel in the Villa Careggi. The villa’s inventory from 1482 states, “Nella chapella, 1a. tavola d’altare quando san Cosimo/medica Christo colla picture della resurrection/quando Christo risuscita.” 23 This loosely translates to “In the Chapel, 1a. an Altarpiece of St. Cosimo/medical Christ in a picture of the resurrection/when Christ resurrects.” As the inventory suggests, it has long been debated by scholars whether the Uffizi image is an Entombment scene or a Resurrection scene.25 The image depicts a Netherlandish hillside with Christ, whose wounds are still bleeding, stretched out and supported by Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, displayed before the Virgin Mary (to his right) and St. John (to his left), with Mary Magdalene kneeling in total abandonment before the mystical scene. Mary Magdalene mirrors the position of Christ’s outstretched arms, symbolically reminding the pious viewer to perform comparable deeds or deeds inspired by Christ’s sacrifice. However, is this, as the inventory suggests, a Resurrection scene or is it, as its more commonly used title suggests, an Entombment scene? Many scholars, including de Vos, Friedländer and Panofsky connect this to the painting at the 22 De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 330. 23 Ibid., 330. 25 Ibid., 330. 13 Villa Careggi due to the inclusion of the sepulcher, which does not appear traditionally in the repertoire of Northern painters, but commonly occurs in Italian paintings, specifically in Florence. Furthermore, the inclusion of the sepulcher and the construction of the subject matter suggests Rogier’s own likely personal viewing of Italian work during his time. De Vos, Davies, Panofsky and Friedländer all note the similarities between the Uffizi Entombment and a section of a predella by Fra Angelico on the high altarpiece of San Marco in Florence.24 Both images present Christ’s dead body with open arms, before an opened rectangular shaped tomb. Rogier seems to imitate the way in which Fra Angelico splayed Christ’s garments from his body down to the floor by his feet. This compositional tool draws the viewer’s eye to the most important figure in the scene. Both images include the surrounding figures of Joseph of Arimathea and the Virgin Mary mourning on either side of Christ’s body within Northern looking landscapes. Attempts have been made by Friedrich Winkler in 1913 to connect this piece to a Deposition scene identified in 1449 by Cyriacus of Ancona, a renowned Renaissance merchant and humanist who travelled the world in search of inscriptions and relics of Classical antiquity. Cyriacus documented the time when Leonello d’Este showed him Rogier van der Weyden’s Descent triptych on July 8, 1449.25 He remarked that, “after the famous Jan of Bruges [Jan van Eyck], the pride of painting, Rogier of Brussels is considered the most distinguished painter of our time.”26 Cyriacus made this statement 24 Nuttall, 35. 25 Nuttall, 35. Also De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 61. 26 Michael Baxandall, “Bartholomaeus Facius on Painting: A 15th Century Manuscript of the ‘De Viris Illustribus,’” Journal of the Warburg and Courtland Institutes XXVII (1964): 90-109. 14 before Rogier’s hypothesized pilgrimage, suggesting that his works of art and reputation in Italy as a foremost master of oil paint technique rivaling even Jan van Eyck preceded any possible direct voyage there. A trip, in other words, was not necessary to demonstrate Rogier’s centrality in Italian collections and the Italian imagination. Rogier’s use of the medium of oil, which was at that time a technique in limited use in Italy, could have created a sensation within the Ferrarese court, which may have never seen the medium in use before. Cosmè Tura, Leonardo da Vinci and Piero della Francesca are considered to be the first artists in Italy to use the medium, but not until after 1450.27 Records from the Ferrara court show Leonello d’Este ordering his agent to pay a sum of twenty gold ducats on August 15, 1450. This sum was payment for pieces to be made by Rogier van der Weyden for Leonello’s studiolo.28 Dirk de Vos feels that such a commission would have at the very least warranted a visit or a submission of a small modello of work as a sort of application.29 Leonello died just two months later, and the commission was never completed. Leonello’s intention to add works by Rogier into his studiolo speaks to the appreciation he must have had of the Netherlandish style. A prominent duke like Leonello d’Este would have chosen impressive and intellectual work for his studiolo. These works would have been viewed by visitors and would have been the topic of conversation within the domestic setting of the Duke’s home. Therefore, Rogier’s style must have been seen as representing the humanistic artistic qualities valued by the Ferrarese court, which Leonello would have wanted to showcase to his guests. 27 In 1464, Florentine Architect, Filarete, wrote expressing admiration for the Netherlandish technique. 28 Stephen J. Campbell, Cosmè Tura: Painting and Design in Renaissance Ferrara (Boston: Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum Publications, 2002), 75. 29 De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 61. Also Nuttall, 10-11. 15 For this thesis’ purposes, the location of the work within either Florence or Ferrara is of the utmost importance. This piece would have been known to local and aspiring artists and would have been a point of interest due to its medium and the nationality of its creator. At this time, access to Flemish art was fairly limited in the Italian peninsula and would have captured the attention of prominent collectors such as Leonello d’Este and Cosimo de Medici. As we will later see, this piece may have acted as a particular source of reference for Ferrara court artist Cosmè Tura, whose style embodies similar characteristics to that of Rogier van der Weyden. Re-evaluation of Rogier van der Weyden’s style, epitomized in the Uffizi Entombment, within the context of the court of Ferrara and in relation to the work by Cosmè Tura creates a new understanding of both artists’ styles and the valuing of Netherlandish artistic modes in the south. Rogier’s work can clearly be seen as present in and appreciatively received by the Ferrarese court because his style fit within and incorporated the humanist values of the Ferrarese court. His Entombment displayed artistic qualities that paralleled the ideals invoked by contemporaries at the court of Ferrara, which can be seen later being emulated and appropriated by its most prominent court artist Cosmè Tura. Tura’s work should be considered outside of traditional anachronistic models of classification of the Italian Renaissance, such as the ones established by Giorgio Vasari, who marginalized Tura as quirky or of lesser quality in comparison with classical antiquity. By placing his work within a new context of crosscultural stylistic and material correspondence with Netherlandish art, there are stylistic characteristics that Tura attempts to incorporate into his own style. Aspects of 16 Tura’s work that are considered obscure can be seen, in fact, as embodying aspects that were valued in the Ferrarese court and in the Netherlands. Position at court in fifteenth-century Italy was not sustained through birth but through strategies of self-representation. The court of Ferrara had a strong community of humanist philologists, pedagogues, orators and poets. It is these humanists and figures of the court that would have been the most prominent patrons and stimuli for the work that Tura, as the court artist, would have produced during the time that the artist held the position. The d’Estes had an irregular salary for the court artist.30 Even though the largest amount of Cosmè Tura’s commission were under d’Este patronage, he had a considerable amount of patrons beyond the court including clergy, urban nobility, middle-class patrons and the Sforza’s in Milan. Stephen Campbell’s book on Cosmè Tura displays how humanist commentary influenced the visual characteristics of painting in Ferrara during the fifteenth century, which is manifested in the social ambition and artistic practice of Tura. Tura’s work differentiates itself from the traditional Italian Renaissance ‘norm’ as a direct reflection of regional humanistic interests and embodies a local appreciation of the Northern Netherlandish style.31 Knowing the artistic characteristics these figures valued most in their art theoretical writings, such as emotion, perspective, and decoration that incorporated elements of nature, as well as being able to identify where Tura’s and Rogier’s styles embody these values and participate within the contemporary art scene, allows us to see certain similarities. Furthermore, through the wide appreciation of Rogier’s work within the Ferrarese court and the emotive, stylistic 30 Eberhard Ruhmer, Tura: Paintings and Drawings (London: Phaidon Press, 1958), 3-5. 31 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 24-27. 17 and material qualities Tura reinterprets in his own style, it is evident that Tura’s eccentricities can be understood as a blend of Netherlandish style with Italian humanist interests on art. Much smaller than the main Italian centers of Rome, Florence, or Venice, or even the city of Brussels, Ferrara was home to what could be described as a unique eclectic style that had an appreciation for the Netherlandish tradition. Ferrarese interest in the Netherlands, and specifically Brussels, came originally from an appreciation of their tapestries. By 1450, about eighty-five percent of the city’s tapestry artisans were from the Netherlands.32 Although the tapestries may have stimulated Ferrara’s initial Netherlandish interests, as time progressed, these interests and tastes expanded to incorporate paintings, as well. Stephen Campbell references two explicit instances in which Paolo di Poggio, art buyer for Leonello d’Este in Brussels, made another twenty ducat payments to Rogier van der Weyden as a “part of the price of ‘several paintings.’”33 In conjunction to these two payments, the aforementioned painting of Francesco d’Este is also attributed to Rogier van der Weyden. These instances demonstrate an apparent valuing of Netherlandish modes; however, as previously stated, there is not explicit documentation of any Netherlandish artist’s physical presence in Ferrara. Lorne Campbell notes Cosmè Tura’s close relationship to Angelo Maccagnino with whom Tura worked at the studiolo of Belfiore. What is known about Maccagnino comes from the writings of Cyriacus of Ancona. In 1449 he wrote that Maccagnino was 32 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 75. 33 Ibid., 75. 18 “the distinguished imitator of the renowned art of Rogier and of the extraordinary genius of northern artists.”34 From this connection, it is apparent that Tura had access to the Netherlandish works of art and perhaps would have gained knowledge of techniques they employed from Angelo Maccagnino and through intensive study of Rogier’s works that were available in Ferrara. These paintings by Rogier for Ferrara have been lost to the ages, so the only logical way to understand what they may have looked like is to look at something of similar subject matter painted by Rogier for a patron in Italy around the time the lost paintings were made. Therefore, it is important to consider further how Cosmè Tura interpreted and attempted to replicate the methods utilized by Rogier in his Entombment for Cosimo de Medici. I seek to stress that the experimental nature of Tura’s replication of the Netherlandish mode in his own works directly points to his inevitable artistic interactions with his coworker Angelo Maccagnino and intense study of Rogier’s accessible work in Ferrara. I will demonstrate that Tura was able to achieve similarity to Netherlandish work through interactions with other artists at the court, contemporary writings, and his own experimentation with the oil medium. 34 Ibid., 85. 19 CHAPTER 3: CONNECTING ROGIER VAN DER WEYDEN AND COSMÈ TURA Cosmè Tura As Court Artist Cosmè Tura was appointed court artist in 1450, at the same time Borso d’Este was appointed the new Duke of Ferrara by Pope Paul II and quite possibly, Rogier van der Weyden could have been present at the court as well.35 Borso was a very different ruler than his brother Leonello. He centered his court on the “so-called” Ferrarese school of painting, of which Cosmè Tura is considered one of the leaders. Borso was, like Leonello, interested in the arts, but had a different preference in style. Though less educated, he was very aware of art’s ability to operate as a tool of propaganda and favored work that promoted his political image through articulating his personal magnificence.36 He was known for his love of elaborate and rich works of art. His personal decorated Bible is considered one of the most magnificent illuminated manuscripts of Renaissance Italy. Borso’s taste for works of art that displayed power and luxury gives insight as to why he would have prized the work of Cosmè Tura, which was otherwise considered obscure.37 Italian art handbooks give us an understanding of artistic 35 Guido Guerzoni, “Between Rome and Ferrara: The Courtiers of the Este Cardinals in the Cinquecento,” in Art and Identity in Early Modern Rome, eds. Jill Burke and Michael Bury (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2008), 59-81, esp. 63. 36 Lubomyra Lesychyn, “The Magnificence of Borso and Ercole d’Este: Princes of Ferrara (1450-1505),” PhD. diss. (McMaster University, Sept. 1981), 57. 37 Joseph Manca, Cosmè Tura: The Life and Art of a Painter in Estense Ferrara (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000), 47. 20 ideals and common artistic practice during the Quattrocento. Michael Baxandall has shown in modern scholarship how the Ferrara court humanist Angelo Decembrio’s (c. 1415-1567) De Politia Litteraria (1540) urged the artist to create original works of art that reflected the qualities of nature through both color and design.38 Decembrio encouraged the use of perspective and carefully articulated details such as reflections of light and expression within the faces of figures to create works that accurately reflected the world in which the viewer resided.39 Luidovico Carbone (c. 1430 - 1485), another key humanist in the court of Ferrara during the fifteenth century, wrote his text Oratio pro nipote Galeotti Assassini in 1460.40 His comments on pictura encourage artists to consider painting as a form of poetry, as the ancient scholars of antiquity had done. To Carbone, painting was able to express “princely magnificence” through the inclusion of lavish decoration and rich materials. Cosmè Tura’s corpus as a court artist covers a range of genres including mythological Muses, portraiture and secular works.41 However, his early utilization of oil paint as compared with other leading Italian artists, such as Leonardo da Vinci and Andrea Mantegna, has always perplexed art historians. As previously discussed, the reason for this early implementation of the oil medium may have come from interactions with his co-worker Angelo Maccagnino, who moved from Siena to Ferrara in 1439.42 38 Baxandall, “A Dialogue on Art from the Court of Leonello d’Este: Angelo Decembrio’s De Politia Litteraria Pars LXVIII,” in Journal of the Warburg and Courtland Institutes, 26.3 (1963): 304-326. 39 Ibid., 304. 40 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 10-11. 41 Ibid., 3. 42 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara: Style, Politics and the Renaissance City, 1450-1495, 85. 21 Both Maccagnino and Tura worked closely while painting the studiolo of Belfiore, during which time they may have discovered a shared interest in the Netherlandish mode. The one thing that is known for certain about Maccagnino is his stylistic imitation of Rogier van der Weyden’s work. Lorne Campbell notes that in the same year that Maccagnino moved to Ferrara, so did a tapestry weaver originally from Brussels. This tapestry weaver, Boteram, had also previously been living in Siena and could be the source of Maccagnino’s interest in imitating Rogier van der Weyden’s style. It is conceivable that Boteram would have known enough about northern oil painting techniques to instruct Maccagnino who, as Campbell references, was painting figures in oil in the studiolo of Belfiore in 1448. Rather than seen as a possible source for Maccagnino’s actual oil technique, it is more likely that Boteram, as a tapestry weaver, would have shared with painters a common knowledge and familiarity with cartoons from which tapestry weavers made their work. Cartoons were almost always designed by a painter and then used by the weaver to produce the design. Boteram could have brought with him that same kind of collective taste in the luxurious and decorative, highly detailed northern aesthetic, which Decembrio talked about, and which both tapestries and oil painting shared to some extent. It is evident that Boteram, Maccagnino and Decembrio favored aesthetic and preference for detail and ornament, rather than knowledge of a technique or actual artistic practice. This connection is crucial to understanding and embracing how Tura was turning away from traditional Italian painting methods in order to mimic Netherlandish techniques and aesthetics. 22 Cosmè Tura’s work clearly does not fit within the traditionally told history of painting mediums during the Italian Renaissance. In order to be able to differentiate the techniques Tura was utilizing, we must first establish a rudimentary understanding of traditional painting mediums being employed in Italy at that time. During the Quattrocento in Italy, the most commonly used mediums within the field of painting were the traditional technique of fresco and egg tempera on panel. Tempera paint was the preferred medium in Italy during the Quattrocento for panel paintings. Tempera uses egg as a binding medium, which causes the paint to dry quickly and have a viscous nature. Due to tempera's inability to be blended, artists utilizing tempera paint would have had to work within an aesthetic that relied upon calculated decisions regarding color placement before the actual physical application. Artists worked in an aesthetic that emphasized delineated color fields and contour lines when producing their work, which lent itself to the use of tempera paint. Tempera as a medium requires an artist to quickly place areas of flat color and use small brushes to create hatchings and cross-hatchings to produce darks and lights. The attributes of tempera paint and its laborious process caused panel paintings during the early Italian Renaissance to be moderate in size and identifiable by clear, pure, flat color and fine details. The interest in materials and their capabilities developed as the Quattrocento progressed. The artist Cennino Cennini's records of Giotto’s practices in the Libro dell' Arte from 1390 give a broad understanding of the way materials were handled in Italy, predating the introduction of oil paint as a medium. Focusing heavily on vigilant preparation and good technique, Cennini clearly describes the preparation of the wood 23 panel, the gesso ground and pigments for the creation of an altarpiece.43 Placing importance on the preparation of the material led Cennini to a greater investigation of the capabilities of oil and tempera paints. Cennini later devised a catalogue that defined a color system applicable to the tempera medium, as noted in Hall’s Color and Meaning. He presented a color system that is most basically described as a method of up-modeling colors through the addition of lead white. It placed an importance on a pure pigment as the most intense hue and allowed for only white to be added to extend the color palette. Lead white is the most opaque pigment within a palette, and produces higher values when mixed with other pigments. However Marcia Hall states in Color and Meaning, its incorporation prevents the penetration of light and renders surfaces opaque and matte. Cennini’s method of modeling is directly reflected in the nontransparent, high value colors of early Quattrocento Italian work. Cennini's catalogue, identified in his The Craftsman’s Handbook, also stresses the use of techniques such as cangiantismo isochromatism and decoration such as gilded surfaces. Conversely, Northern artists, as well as Cosmè Tura, strove to paint in a manner that simulated gilding rather than utilizing the real thing. Several methods developed after Cennini's writings that 43 Cennino d'Andrea Cennini. Cennini, Cennino d'Andrea. The Craftsman’s Handbook: The Italian "Il Libro dell'Arte". trans. D.V. Thompson, Jr. Dover (New York: Yale University Press, 1933), 57. Cennini writes in his technical manual, Libro dell’arte, from 1400, “I want to teach you to work with oil on wall or panel, as the Germans are much given to do.” These sentiments, Paula Nuttall notes on page 34 of her book From Flanders to Florence, were reiterated by Filarete, who stated, “In Germany they work well in this method, especially Master Giovanni of Bruges [Jan van Eyck] and Master Rogier [van der Weyden], who employed these oil colors excellently.” Antonio Averlino Filarete, Trattato d’architettura, ed A.M. Finoli and L. Grassi, 2 vols, Milan, 1972, 668. 24 encompassed his system and pushed further in pursuit of a more realistic palette, with Leon Battista Alberti’s writings being a forerunner. Alberti's De Pictura from 1435 acknowledges Cennini's concepts on color optics and develops these concepts further. Agreeing with the necessity for up-modeling in lead white to extend the palette, Alberti argued that upon viewing an object, darks as well as lights can be observed. Based upon this observation, he created a system that encompasses the up-modeling in white and introduces down-modeling through the addition of black to a pure color. Alberti instructed the artist to make a clear distinction between actively placed dark hues opposite to the light hues within an object and to let pure color act as a midtone.44 This technique of up- and down-modeling worked in conjunction with Alberti's theory on surface decoration, in which he felt that artists should strive to use the medium to render objects "to look like gold," in contrast to the importance of gilding that was a center of Cennini's focus. The addition of black in tandem with white to the color palette expanded the value system and created a relief technique that allowed for a closer approximation to nature, something that Cennini's technique did not do.45 This interest in a closer approximation or imitation of nature was driven by society’s interest in humanism that also was developing during the late Quattrocento. Alberti’s concepts may very well be an attempt to understand how Flemish painters to the north, such as Jan van Eyck and Rogier van der Weyden, were able to 44 Leon Battista Alberti and Cecil Grayson. On Painting and On Sculpture. The Latin Texts of De Pictura and De Statua (London: Phaidon, 1972). On the use of gilding, see p. 65; on the importance of using good colors, see p. 60. 45 Hall, Color and Meaning, 47-91. 25 achieve higher values and translucency in the medium of oil. However, Alberti’s technique of up- and down-modeling was not the way that Northern artists operated. Instead of adding black or white to their colors, Northern artists laid layer after layer of transparent glazes to build up rich deep hues. Artists in Italy had been primarily using tempera and fresco up to this point in time, while Flemish artists to the north were working within a technique of painting comprised of oil, often linseed oil, and ground pigments. The visual effects and possibilities with using oil paint were vastly different from that of tempera or fresco. Very little is known about how, when and where oil painting as a technique was transferred to Italy. Marcia Hall notes that oil was by no means a new medium introduced, as commonly thought, by Jan van Eyck during the early Quattrocento in the Netherlands.46 Oil has been found being implicated in various parts of Europe during the Middle Ages. Laboratories have discovered evidence of oil being utilized as a binding medium for green pigments in some Italian painting from the Trecento. Oil paint as a medium had been used in Italy from the 1460's until the 1480's in conjunction with other mediums such as tempera, but not as the primary material. However, the precise moment in which oil was first implemented as the sole primary medium remains a mystery to scholars. This history speaks to the uniqueness of Cosmè Tura’s work, which is painted primarily in oil from 1450 onward. Oil paint was so dissimilar from tempera paint that it 46 Ibid., 47. 26 took many years of experimentation for artists to truly understand all of its abilities. In contrast to tempera paint, oil paint dries slowly. This aspect of oil painting allowed the artist to have softer transitions through blending, instead of the sharply delineated color fields of tempera paint. The oil within oil paint has stronger refractive qualities than the egg used in tempera paint and allowed the artist to have multiple layers of glazing. This quality of translucent, refracting glazing is extremely important. Artists could apply multiple layers of a color in their work, and in doing so they could control the value by varying their thickness and transparency. In other words, the thicker the layers, the deeper the color; this eradicated the murkiness that resulted in using tempera paint mixed with black. Furthermore, artists were able to layer glazes of contrasting colors without them mixing together and thus causing the hue to diminish. This layering capability of the oil paint medium further expanded the palette and allowed for an infinite number of shades within a singular color and enhanced the ability to render forms reflective of the natural world. Oil paint possessed a number of advantages over tempera, especially in terms of naturalism; this caused a switch in the medium in the northern and southern traditions. However, this was a gradual process through many years of experimentation amongst various artists.47 47 Hall, Color and Meaning, 47-91. 27 Cosmè Tura’s Re-Appropriation of Rogier Van Der Weyden’s Netherlandish Oil Painting Techniques In order to develop an understanding of how Cosmè Tura utilized these attributes of oil in the manner of the Netherlandish technique, we must first take a deeper look at the Entombment (c. 1463-4) painting by Rogier van der Weyden (fig.1) which, as previously stated, is the closest example of something similar to the paintings he would have made for the d’Este collection in Ferrara. The painting depicts a Lamentation scene set within a rocky hillside. Christ’s body is displayed in the center of the panel, drawing the focus of the viewer and centering their contemplation, devotion and meditation on the Passion of Christ. Christ’s body is supported by Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus with the Virgin and St. John supporting either arm. Mary Magdalen kneels before the body looking up at the mystical image. All of the surrounding figures direct their gaze at the Corpus Christi, except for Nicodemus who stares directly out at us with realistic tears streaming down his face. It is important to note all of the figures’ sizes in comparison with the tomb and decorated landscape behind them. They are larger than they should be if, for instance, Christ’s body was to be placed inside the tomb. This proportional discrepancy is revealed through the slab of stone upon which St. John stands. This stone projects out into the viewer’s space, and it is apparent that Rogier is playing with the rules of perspective, something he may have seen and studied whilst visiting Italy, especially Florence. 28 Technical analysis of this image yields a few notable points. First, Rogier utilized a thin preparatory layer through which the grain of wood can be seen.48 Upon this preparatory layer he executed a highly detailed underdrawing in brush, which reveals much about the painting’s construction. Dirk de Vos notes Rogier’s use of fluid long strokes with precise detailing and the utilization of parallel hatching on obliques, lengthwise and curves. There is fluidity to Rogier’s underdrawing that suggests confidence with no hesitations or repeats. The underdrawing is extremely elaborate and includes complex details, such as each of the faces of his figures and agrostology of the landscape. This could point to the images being copied from a cartoon or study drawings that have since been lost.49 The utilization of highly detailed underdrawings is a notable characteristic of the Netherlandish mode. During the second stage of painting, it is apparent that modifications to the head of the Virgin and to virtually all the hands and feet of the figures were made. These changes include the Virgin’s head, which was originally more bowed and downcast; Christ’s head, which was originally positioned lower; and the stone slab upon which St. John stands, which was not originally planned and was inserted during the final stage. Of all these modifications, the most intriguing is the last-minute inclusion of the stone slab, which seems to suggest a certain importance to the artist. Christ’s bleeding feet rest upon the stone and an ointment pot rests to the right. On the other side of Mary Magdalen sits Joseph of Arimathea’s hat amongst the greenery, which balances out the scene. De Vos suggests that the stone slab acts as a direct parallel to the altar that the painting was intended to rest above. Furthermore, de Vos shows 48 De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 330. 49 Ibid., 330. 29 similarities between this image and a predella painted by Fra Angelico that adorned the high altar of San Marco in Florence (c. 1438-1440) (fig. 2).50 There is no stylistic link, but there is a sense that Rogier may have borrowed motifs from Fra Angelico’s predella, specifically the rectangular opening of the tomb, the way in which St. John bows inward towards the body of Christ, and the way Christ’s draperies create a highlighting carpet to and from his body.51 Looking at this image, there are key aspects to highlight that will later be used to demonstrate the similarities of Cosmè Tura’s work to that of Rogier. First, note the intensely articulated and detailed style Rogier employs. Consider how he carefully renders the small village in the distance accessible through winding roads on either side. Rogier took the time to paint each tiny window into each of the buildings and even places folds in the drapery of the two women walking up the path to the left. Another aspect to consider is, as previously mentioned, the proportion and articulation of the figures. The figures in the foreground quite clearly are larger than what could feasibly fit within the tomb behind them. Rogier uses this proportion as a tool to influence his viewer into the proper mindset or meditation that was appropriate for the immediate setting and function of the painting as the high altar of a church. His execution of large figures within believable spaces evoked emotional responses that impressed his Italian audience. Rogier’s process, as seen through technical analysis, his utilization of underdrawings, preparatory layers and washes, is not a technique that would have been visible to the 50 De Vos, Rogier van der Weyden, 330. 51 Ibid., 330. 30 naked eye of the contemporary viewer.52 Furthermore, Rogier van der Weyden is using oil paint, which allows him to layer glazes of pigments suspended in oil, creating deep and rich modulations between dark and light hues. In fact, not one color is repeated within the composition of the six elaborately detailed figures within the scene. Later, these techniques made possible with oil paint will be seen being used by Cosmè Tura in some of his more important works in Ferrara. To see the similarities of Cosmè Tura’s work to that of Rogier van der Weyden, this thesis focuses on three of Tura’s images, Calliope, from a cycle of The Muses (c. 1447-1457) (fig. 7), The Roverella Altarpiece (c. mid-1470s) (fig. 8) and Saint Jerome (c. 1470) (fig. 9), and considers them in relation to Rogier’s style and techniques to display similarities, both compositionally and materially. The attention to detail, interaction amongst figures, line quality, the depiction of space and ‘princely magnificence’ described by Decembrio and Carbone can be seen in both Rogier’s and Tura’s styles. 53 Furthermore, through the use of the technical analysis of Tura’s work by conservator, Jill Dunkerton, the clear material and technical links between both artists become apparent. Cosmè Tura’s painted allegorical figure, usually identified as one of the Muses (likely Calliope), is considered to be one of the earliest works painted by the artist during his professional career. The panel, which now resides with the London National 52 Jill Dunkerton, Cosmè Tura’s Painting Technique, 122-123. Dunkerton also notes areas of forceful hatching in Tura’s work which are also scene in Netherlandish painting. Furthermore, she notes that the she sees similarities in the breadth and fluidity of the outlines of Rogier’s and Tura’s work. 53 Jill Dunkerton, “Cosmè Tura as Painter and Draughtsman: The Cleaning and Examination of His ‘Saint Jerome,’” London National Gallery Technical Bulletin 15 (1994): 42-53, esp, 43. 31 Gallery’s Collection, was one of nine panels created for a studiolo in the d’Este castle of Belfiore outside of the city of Ferrara. The series of Muses, though primarily painted by the hand of Cosmè Tura, was started in 1447 by Angelo da Siena. Da Siena managed to complete two panels, as well as begin a number of others before his death. In 1456, the young Cosmè Tura, who had recently become the favored court artist to the d’Este family, took up the task of completing the series that Angelo da Siena had begun. The Muse in question, widely accepted as Calliope, the chief of all Muses, presents a strong, imposing figure (fig. 7). She is opulent and sits enthroned within a structure composed of golden dolphins with sharp teeth and jewel inlayed eyes and a shell canopy. Calliope presided over eloquence and epic poetry due to the ecstatic harmony of her voice. Her drapery is most impressive, painted in rich deep-layered glazes of red and green in oil. The background is constructed similarly in layers of expensive ultramarine blue. Conservators from the London National Gallery suggest that this painting was created to be positioned high above normal human height within the studiolo. This position of looking up at the panel not only accounts of the figure’s gaze downward, but also heightens the richness of the colors used in the draperies and the background.54 Even the dolphins become more fantastical and frightening; their sharp teeth becoming intensified from the viewers’ upward perspective. Technical research through infrared and x-radiology reveals that beneath the image is a fully developed underdrawing that is placed on top of an image painted in 54 Jill Dunkerton, “The Unmasking of Tura’s ‘Allegorical Figure’: A Painting and its Concealed Image,” National Gallery Technical Bulletin 11, London (1987), esp, 5. 32 tempera by Angelo da Siena. The incredibly detailed underdrawing speaks to Tura’s extraordinary draftsmanship skills, which Dunkerton considers him, in voice recording the National Gallery website, to be “one of the greatest draftsmen of all time.”55 When looking closely at the red drapery of the Muse’s dress, there are areas of degradation, in which the cross-hatching of the underdrawing can be seen.56 This detailed underdrawing of hatching and cross-hatching tells us that Tura knew oil’s ability to achieve deep rich tones. When viewing paint samples in conjunction to the radiology previously mentioned, Dunkerton was able to assess how the uppermost painted layer—that is, the layer painted primarily in oil—was executed. Dunkerton found that the color areas are systematically undermodeled with opaque pigment mixtures and then completed with applications of transparent and semi-transparent glazes. This was essentially the technique being used by early Netherlandish artists. The level of great skill and sophistication that Tura utilized in this panel shows that he had a full understanding of the Netherlandish mode. As previously mentioned, at the very least works by Rogier van der Weyden were present in Ferrara during Tura’s time. Stylistic similarities to Rogier’s style, such as the Muse’s brocaded sleeves, the shape of the figure’s face and the method of depicting clouds, can clearly be seen. However, possibly the strongest and most important connection that is seen in this early work is that of the novel technique in which the London National Gallery’s Muse was painted.57 55 Jill Dunkerton, “Art in the Making: A Muse (Calliope?).” London National Gallery Website. 56 Dunkerton, “The Unmasking,” 8-9. 57 Dunkerton, “The Unmasking,” 31. 33 When looking at the Roverella Altarpiece (fig. 8) by Cosmè Tura, the aspects of detail, poetics, ‘princely magnificence,’ color and design as valued by Decembrio, Alberti, Carbone, Borso and Leonello can be seen within the work of Rogier van der Weyden. The crowning semicircular pediment (fig. 8a), central (fig. 8b) and right hand side panels (fig. 8c) are accessible to the modern viewer and should be looked at together. It is important first to look at the section of Tura’s altarpiece that bears the most resemblance to Rogier’s work, the surmounting semicircular pediment. This piece entitled The Lamentation of the Dead Christ (Fig. 8a) displays the moment in which Christ had been taken from the cross and placed in the Virgin Mary’s arms. Although Tura took artistic liberty and places his figures into a nonspecific architectural setting, there are many similarities between his treatment of the Lamentation scene and Rogier’s Entombment. Both artists paint their figures large within the given space of the panel. This technique impresses a dominating and emotive feeling on the viewer. Both artists choose to contrast the nakedness of Christ’s body through dressing the other figures in rich elaborate draperies. It is also evident that both artists share an interest in relaying emotion through gesture. Just as St. John bows forward and the Magdalen spreads her hands as she kneels to invoke emotion in Rogier’s Entombment, Tura’s characters look as though they are captured in a fleeting moment in time.58 The central panel (fig. 8b) depicts the Virgin and Child enthroned within a marble niche that is posed upon an architecturally implausible stone block tier. Together, the pair is surrounded by horned tablets inscribed with Hebrew scripture, cherubs with 58 Campbell, Cosmè Tura, 219. 34 golden vines and dangling red and white grapes indigenous to the Northern Italian countryside. A gigantic seashell that is incorporated into the dome of the niche supports a cornice decorated with the four creatures of Ezekiel’s vision in the Jewish bible. Four musical Angels in contemporary dress flank the ornate niche-throne. Each musical angel is dressed in alternating high-toned pink and green garments, a color scheme that is repeated in the architectural temple-like structure that comprises the heavenly court.59 At the base of the blocks directly in the foreground, two figures, whom most scholars consider to be “wingless angels,” press the keys to operate a contemporary organ with pipes organized in a chiocciola.60 This peculiarly shaped object has been identified by scholars as possibly documenting the design of an organ that was made for Leonello d’Este and noted by Cyriacus of Ancona during his visit in 1449.61 Cyriacus is the same humanist scholar previously mentioned to have noted seeing Rogier’s now lost Descent triptych in the collection of Leonello d’Este. The instrument would have had a twittering sound known very well to the ears of the contemporary viewer and would have brought an auditory dimension to the stridency of color in the heavenly realm. Both artists incorporate lavish details throughout their work. The decorative element of putti and floral designs are painted in the Netherlandish mode to look as though they are made of copper or brass. The highly decorative and detailed nature of this work is very similar to the level of detail we have previously seen in Rogier van der Weyden’s Entombment. 59 Ibid., 123. 60 Ibid., 101. Campbell defines a chiocciola as an organ whose pipes are arranged in a spiral form as if fashioned to look like a spiral seashell. 61 Ibid., 101. 35 However, when looking from the circular pediment’s dark tonality to the pastel nature of the central Madonna and Child panel, a striking difference is apparent. In the central panel, there is an interesting combination of the traditional opaque coloring found in the early Italian style being used in conjunction with the lavish detail that is traditionally found in Northern works. This combination contrasts with the dark and deep hues that Tura employs in the overall composition of the semicircular pediment. There is little to no continuity between the two panels stylistically and it leads one to think that Tura may have been experimenting with different painting techniques. Tura painted the central and most important panel using a traditional Italian palette that would have been both inherent to his training and familiar to his patron. The semicircular pediment would have been placed above the central panel, closer to the natural light that may have come through clerestory windows. Tura may have considered that natural light and known that it would enrich and brighten the deep pigmented glazes he utilized. Furthermore, I would like to suggest that when looking at the Roverella Altarpiece, we see a moment in which Tura is experimenting with different oil painting modes and their visual effects. There is an apparent transition from the traditional opaque painting method he utilized in the central panel to the multitude of glazed layers he uses in the crowning pediment. Returning to the central panel and visual focus, Mary cradles the sleeping child with one arm, which Tura artfully and exaggeratedly dangles with an effortless weightiness that is reminiscent of the ‘swooning Madonna’ prototype constructed by Rogier van der Weyden in his figures from The Entombment scene that was examined 36 earlier.62 Tura’s Virgin has a youthfulness that is evoked through the doughy softness of her skin, which the artist is able to achieve through the use of oil. The fleshy tactile quality of all of Tura’s figures portrays a realism that directly contrasts with the overly opulent extravagance of details and comprehensively patterned color scheme. The physicality of the figures and the thoroughly implemented color scheme are attributes that are also embodied by Rogier’s style. Tura’s Virgin lowers her eyes, which have a glassy sadness to them, as she gazes down to her right. The way in which she holds her limp sleeping child seems to foreshadow Rogier’s Crucifixion scene. Tura’s attempt to portray to his viewers an emotive quality can be seen through the way in which he renders sadness in the Virgin’s expression. The musicality of the angels with their aural dimensionality and the physically detailed nature of the saints with the patron in right side panel all contribute to poetic majesty and lavishness that was extoled by Cordone in his Oratio pro nipote Galeotti Assassini. The carefully considered composition that has been established displays the incorporation of humanistic theory within art during the fifteenth century. Furthermore, the inclusion of the specific chiocciola shaped organ is a direct reference to the Duke of the Ferrarese court whom was recently deceased. The foregrounding of the instrument cannot be coincidental and pays respect to the court in which Tura held the position as leading artist. Utilizing late twentieth- and early twenty-first century technology, technical analysis of art today has been able to yield greater information about the studio techniques of artists from the past. Joseph Manca in his catalogue on Tura looks to 62 Rubin, Mother of God: A History of Mary, 67. 37 extensive technical analysis of Tura’s work and cites aspects of the Netherlandish tradition within Tura’s techniques.63 Manca’s scholarship was elaborated upon by the London National Gallery through their technical analysis of another panel by Tura, Saint Jerome, (c. 1470) (fig. 8). This geographically detailed, mountainous setting is one that seems reminiscent of German Renaissance landscapes, and expresses a moment from Saint Jerome’s life captured and frozen in time. Saint Jerome’s face expresses sincere emotion via Tura’s descriptive articulation of light, shadow and detailed wrinkles. As Saint Jerome raises a rock with his right hand, blood trickles down his chest, signifying that he is in the act of self-flagellation. Each drop of blood is articulated believably through detailed highlights within each individual drop. The blood droplets seem almost directly re-appropriated from the realistic tears that are associated with Rogier van der Weyden’s scenes of intense emotion and piety. Tura’s Saint Jerome, as well as the Roverella Altarpiece, utilizes drapery and excessive decorative elements that embody an International Gothic character, which are elements that are also present within Rogier’s compositions. It is clear that Tura had, at the very minimum, access to Rogier’s work and found value in emulating techniques such as underdrawings, washes, minute detailing, structured sweeping draperies and Netherlandish compositions and exaggerated gestures within his work.64 Cosmè Tura’s utilization of the red lake and brown imprimatura extends the earthy color scheme in his Saint Jerome. The panel displays the artist’s technical and 63 Manca, Cosmè Tura, 61. 64 Dunkerton, “Cosmè Tura as Painter and Draughtsman,” 53. 70 38 stylistic practices well, most notably his use of underdrawings, oil and distemper, realistic detailing and the compositional formulae of northern art represented in Rogier’s religious scenes.65 This artistic mode was not uncommon in northern Italy during this time, and many artists, including Mantegna, Piero della Francesca, Jacopo Bellini and Pisanello, can all be seen embodying some of these aspects of the northern tradition. Manca, however, notes that of all of the artists in the region Tura was the only artist utilizing the Netherlandish practice of extensive underdrawings together with the oil medium to achieve his compositions, as seen through the Roverella Altarpiece. Dunkerton also has identified Tura’s use of brownish and red-brown washed layers over the preparatory ground and underdrawings in his work of St. Jerome (fig. 9).66 Similarly, to Rogier and Van Eyck, Tura’s underdrawings were elaborate. All three artists would carefully lay out in great detail their compositions, even going as far as to use areas of hatching and cross-hatching to delineate lights and darks. After the underdrawing was completed, Tura would then lay down a wash layer of red lake and brown. This wash, often referred to as imprimatura, is the initial thin layer of stain placed upon the preparatory ground when a painting is first commenced. The imprimatura is not directly visible to the eye of the viewer, though it does affect the tones, value and light of the final product. Tura would not have been able to recognize the implementation of this technique when viewing Rogier’s work with his naked eye. Through toning the stark whiteness of the preparatory ground, the imprimatura fractures 65 Ibid., 43. 66 Ibid., 43. 39 the light that penetrates the layers of oil glazes as it reflects back into the eyes of the viewer. The use of monochrome underdrawings and washes to define volume and lighting is a technique that has been traditionally associated, when referencing Italy specifically, with Leonardo da Vinci after 1480. Scholars have noted Piero della Francesca utilizing brown washes to model the flesh of his figure; however, no artist used it as extensively as Cosmè Tura did.67 This technique of using complex washes, Dunkerton notes, is seen more commonly in Netherlandish works, more specifically the work of Rogier and his workshop.68 The very presence of the brownish pigments indicates that Tura was not adhering to the models prescribed by Cennini and Alberti. It also explains why Tura’s finished works look vastly different relative to finished works of other Italian artists who used the oil medium. It is more likely that knowledge of this technique might have come, as previously mentioned, from Tura’s peer Angelo Maccagnino. To summarize, there are two key attributes in Cosmè Tura’s work that point through technical analysis to similarities to Netherlandish paintings techniques, especially those of Rogier van der Weyden. The first is the most basic; the fact that Tura is using the oil medium at all. Although other artists, specifically in the Veneto, such as Antonello da Messina and Andrea Mantegna, were using oil, Tura is the only artist known to use the medium in Ferrara. Tura’s style is close to the Netherlandish mode in that he is utilizing the same medium in the same manner. Tura layered pure pigment 67 Manca, Cosmè Tura, 61. 68 Dunkerton, “Cosmè Tura as Painter and Draughtsman,” 46-48. 40 glazes to achieve dark, deep hues as seen in the construction of the Muse and the semicircular pediment of the Roverella Altarpiece. Tura likely learned through his peer Angelo Maccagnino and by directly observing Rogier’s work the Netherlandish oil method of layering translucent oil glazes to achieve rich and deep hues. No matter how hard an artist using tempera tries, he or she will never be able to achieve the visual effects that oil has. The second attribute that technical analysis of Tura’s works reveals is the extensive use of underdrawings and the application of red lakes as a base wash. These are attributes most clearly seen in Tura’s Saint Jerome and are two major techniques employed in work by Rogier van der Weyden. Dunkerton considers Tura to be a tremendous draughtsman, emphasizing Tura’s strong dependence on drawings and, more specifically, underdrawings within his artistic practice. Tura’s use of oil in the techniques he employed from the peripheral court of Ferrara has perplexed scholars and caused them to seek out connections to northern artists. Though we might never be able to determine exactly how Tura gained knowledge of these techniques, it is apparent that he knew more about Netherlandish artistic techniques than has traditionally been acknowledged. Through looking at Tura’s work stylistically and materially in comparison to Rogier van der Weyden’s in conjunction with the information that technical analysis gives us, we are able to clearly identify Tura as an important outlier in comparison with other Renaissance artists at this time, and certainly with Vasari’s characterization of him as peripheral and unworthy of inclusion in his narrative of Italian Renaissance art. His reliance on underdrawings and layering of multiple glazes to achieve deep rich hues align his artistic process more closely to the 41 Netherlandish mode than to traditional Italian artistic practices. Tura, who has been traditionally viewed as idiosyncratic in comparison with his artistic peers, is an early, albeit perhaps quirky, example of an artist who was able successfully to incorporate Netherlandish painting techniques into his already established Italian style and training. 42 CHAPTER 4: ROGIER VAN DER WEYDEN AND COSMÈ TURA - THE BIGGER PICTURE Vittoria Colonna: I much wish to know, since we are on the subject, what Flemish painting may be, and whom it pleases, for it seems to me more devout than that in the Italian manner. Michelangelo: Flemish painting…. will, generally speaking…. please the devout better than any painting of Italy, which will never cause him to shed a tear, whereas that of Flanders will cause him to shed many; and that not through the vigor and goodness of the devout person. It will appeal to women, especially to the very old and the very young, and also to monks and nuns and to certain noblemen who have no sense of true harmony. In Flanders they paint, with a view to deceiving the eye, such things may cheer you and of which you cannot speak ill, as for example saints and prophets. They paint draperies and masonry, the green grass of the fields, the shadow of trees, and rivers and bridges, which they call landscapes, with many figures on this side and many on that. And all this, though it pleases some persons, is done without reason or art…69 This quotation was taken originally from Roman Dialogues, which was a text written by the Portuguese painter Francisco de Hollanda and claims to contain conversations between the Marchesa Vittoria Colonna and Michelangelo at the S. Silvestro al Quirinale in 1538. It is important to note that this text cannot be understood as a recording Michelangelo’s views specifically and should be seen more clearly as an anecdote concocted by Hollanda better to reflect his own views, or his own interpretation of what Michelangelo’s views should be on the matter. Despite the mythologizing aspect of Hollanda’s fictive portrayal of Michelangelo’s views on Netherlandish art, this document has long set the tone for the way in which Netherlandish art has been viewed in 69 Cited in Nuttall, 1. 43 relation to Italy. This quotation is the perfect example of why scholars have traditionally portrayed animus in the relationship between Italian and Netherlandish Renaissance art. Although Hollanda’s Michelangelo is critical of the emotional and fussy nature of Netherlandish art and its appeal to women, monks and the elderly, he acknowledges the North’s exploitation of optical illusions to create very believable, expressive images.70 Hollanda’s text is crucial in understanding why cross-cultural artistic interactions throughout history need to be re-evaluated. It is evident that misconceptions such as this, coupled with the monocular force of Vasari’s lens of Italian Renaissance art, have determined how the history of art has traditionally been taught. In addition to calling into question this common misconception of rancor between Northern and Southern Renaissance art, this thesis has displayed the cross-cultural exchange, or at least shared practices, between Rogier van der Weyden and Cosmè Tura through a look at other valuable art historical models defined by the approach of Enrico Castelnuovo and Carlo Ginzburg with centers versus peripheries.71 Brussels, the home of Rogier van der Weyden, was an active artistic center during the fifteenth century. It was a large, established city that was a bustling center for trade, and Rogier’s extensive workshop enabled his style to be disseminated widely through numerous trained followers and other imitators of his appealing manner. His Descent from the Cross is the 70 Ibid. Nuttall goes on to display that Michelangelo had works in his corpus that emulated the Netherlandish mode. She cites Michelangelo’s copy of Martin Schongauer’s Temptation of Saint Anthony engraving and the similarities between Michelangelo’s youthful Entombment and Rogier van der Weyden’s Lamentation. 71 Enrico Castelnuovo and Carlo Ginzburg, “Centre and Periphery,” in History of Italian Art, eds. Ellen Bianchini and Claire Dorey (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 1994), [page #s needed} 44 quintessential embodiment of the Netherlandish style and displays the emotive qualities of which Michelangelo was apparently critical, according to Hollanda. Due to the city’s strong interest in artistic commerce and its cultural pride, Rogier’s Descent from the Cross became a canonic image that was copied and circulated throughout Europe.72 The almost immediate fame and dissemination of image presented in the Descent from the Cross gained Rogier prestige throughout Europe, catching the attention particularly of Italian patrons of arts, such as Borso and Leonello d’Este, as well as Cosmo de Medici. In today’s terms, Rogier was an artistic superstar in comparison to Cosmè Tura, who was not as famous but whose art had achieved a localized appreciation, in no small part due to his emulation of Rogier’s own style. Through moving from the flourishing cosmopolitan city of Brussels to looking at the style of Cosmè Tura in the peripheral court of Ferrara, this thesis demonstrates the appreciation and incorporation of Netherlandish style and techniques not so cherished in the Italian centers of Florence or Rome. Tura’s localized style has conventionally been considered obscure, unorthodox and at some points distasteful within Italian Renaissance scholarship, for not abiding by the contemporary preferences established by artist such as Alberti and later Vasari. His style blended art theoretical ideals encouraged in the humanist key figures of the court of Ferrara with a re-appropriation of characteristics taken from Netherlandish oil painting. The similarities in process and design between Rogier van der Weyden and Cosmè Tura point directly to localized reasons for Italian 72 Amy Powell, “The Errant Image: Rogier van der Weyden’s Deposition from the Cross and Its Copies,” Art History 29.4 (2006): 540-562. 45 appreciation and positive reception of the Northern Netherlandish process. Through this re-evaluation of Tura’s work we gain a better and more historically accurate understanding of a range of Italian Renaissance practices, as well as a greater knowledge of the stylistic and technical values embodied in the work of Rogier van der Weyden. Considering Rogier van der Weyden’s style within the context of contemporary texts of the Ferrarese court invites further investigation regarding how Tura may have learned of such techniques, if not from observing Rogier himself at work. A juxtaposition of these two artists’ careers creates a clearer understanding of Tura’s idiosyncratic style. This thesis nuances modern scholarship on Rogier van der Weyden and Cosmè Tura through investigating what the relationship between the two artists might have been, despite the uncertainty of Rogier’s physical presence in the Ferrarese court. Most scholarship deals briefly with aspects of this possibility, but does not extend further to probe the value given to northern work through Rogier and Cosmè’s other mediated connections. Northern and Southern Renaissance connections have been investigated through other artists, such as Jan van Eyck and Albrecht Dürer. The attention given to Rogier van der Weyden in this paper shows yet another instance in which the Italians emulated and valued the northern tradition, seized upon certain desirable qualities of the oil painting techniques, and emulated the highly detailed surfaces and emotive gestures that were more attributable to Rogier. The result is that we find a much more complex dialogue between artists and patrons on both sides of the Alps—materially, compositionally and technically—notably seen through the works of Rogier van der Weyden and Cosmè Tura. 46 FIGURES Fig. 1 Rogier van der Weyden, Descent From the Cross, oil on oak panel, 1435. 47 Fig. 2 Rogier van der Weyden, Entombment: Lamentation of Christ’s Body, oil on panel, 1463-4. 48 Fig. 3 Fra Angelico, Entombment, tempera on panel, 1463-4. 49 Fig. 4 Rogier van der Weyden, Saint Luke Drawing the Virgin, oil on panel, 1435- 1440. Fig. 5 Rogier van der Weyden, Triptych of the Seven Sacraments, oil on panel, 1445-1450. 50 Fig. 6 Rogier van der Weyden, Portrait of Francesco d’Este, oil on panel, 1460. 51 Fig. 7 Cosmè Tura, An Allegorical Figure (Muse?)(Calliope?), oil and tempera on panel, 1447-1457. 52 8.a) 53 8.b) 54 8.c) Fig. 8. a) Cosmè Tura, The Lamentation of Christ’s Body a part of The Roverella Altarpiece, oil on panel, mid-1470s, b) The Roverella Altarpiece, oil on panel, mid-1470s, and c) Side Panel of the Roverella Altarpiece, oil on panel, mid-1470s. 55 Fig. 9 Cosmè Tura, Saint Jerome, oil on panel, 1470. 56 WORKS CITED Aikema, Bernard and Beverly Louise Brown. Renaissance Venice and the North: Crosscurrents in the Time of Dürer, Bellini, and Titian. London: Rizzoli, 2000. Ainsworth, Maryan W. Early Netherlandish Painting at the Crossroads: A Critical Look at Current Methodologies. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art in association with Yale University Press, 2001. ----. “Illuminators and Painters: Artistic Exchanges and Interrelationships.” In Illuminating the Renaissance: The Triumph of Flemish Manuscript Painting in Europe, 99142. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2003. ---- and Joshua P. Waterman. German Paintings: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1350 – 1600. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art in association with Yale University Press, 2013. Alberti, Leon Battista and Cecil Grayson. On Painting and On Sculpture. The Latin Texts of De Pictura and De Statua. London: Phaidon, 1972. Baxandall, Michael. “Bartholomaeus Facius on Painting: A Fifteenth Century Manuscript of the De Viris Illustribus”, Journal of the Warburg and Courtland Institutes, vol. XXVII, (1963): 90-109. ----. “A Dialogue on Art from the Court of Leonello d’Este: Angelo Decembrio’s De Politia Litteraria Pars LXVIII,” in Journal of the Warburg and Courtland Institutes, vol. 26.3 (1963): 304-326. ----. Giotto and the Orators: Humanist Observers of Painting in Italy and the Discovery of Pictorial Composition: 1350-1450. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971. Bestor, Jane. “Marriage and Succession in the House of Este: A Literary Perspective.” In Phaethon’s Children: The Este Court and Its Culture in Early Modern Ferrara. Eds. Dennis Looney and Deanna Shemek. Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies at Arizona State University, 2005. 25-49. Billinge, Rachel, Lorne Campbell, Jill Dunkerton, Susan Foister, et al. “The Materials and Techniques of Five Paintings by Rogier van der Weyden and His Workshop.” National Gallery Technical Bulletin, vol. 18, 68-86. London: London National Gallery Publications Ltd., 1997. 57 Blunt, Anthony. Artistic Theory in Italy, 1450-1660, New York: Oxford University Press, 1964. Borchert, Till-Holger. Van Eyck to Durer. London: Thames & Hudson, 2011. Bruscagli, Riccardo. “Ferrara: Arts and Ideologies in a Renaissance State.” In Phaethon’s Children: The Este Court and Its Culture in Early Modern Ferrara. Eds. Dennis Looney and Deanna Shemek. Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval Renaissance Studies at Arizona State University, 2005. 25- 49. Campbell, Lorne. The Fifteenth Century Netherlandish Paintings. London: National Gallery Catalogues Ltd., 1998. ----. Van der Weyden. London: Chaucer Press, 2004. ----, D. Bomford, A. Roy, and R. White. “The Virgin and Child before a Fire Screen: History, Examination and Treatment.” National Gallery Technical Bulletin. Vol. 15. London: London National Gallery Publications Ltd., 1994. 20-35. ---, and Jan van der Stock. Rogier van der Weyden: 1400- 1464. Master of Passions. Leuven: Davidsfonds, 2009. Campbell, Stephen J. Artist at Court: Image-Making and Identity 1300-1550. Boston: Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in association with University of Chicago Press, 2004. ----. Cosmè Tura of Ferrara: Style, Politics and the Renaissance City, 1450-1495. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002. Castelnuovo, Enrico and Carlo Ginzburg. “Centre and Periphery.” In History of Italian Art edited by Ellen Bianchini and Claire Dorey. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 1994. Cennini, Cennino d'Andrea. The Craftsman’s Handbook: The Italian "Il Libro dell'Arte." Trans. D.V. Thompson, Jr. New York: Yale University Press, 1933. Clark, Kenneth. Looking at Pictures. New York: Hold Rinehart and Winston, 1960. Davies, Martin. Rogier van der Weyden: An Essay with a Critical Catalogue of Paintings Assigned to Him and to Robert Campin. London: Phaidon, 1972. 58 De Vos, Dirk. The Flemish Primitives. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2002. ----. Rogier van der Weyden: The Complete Works. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2000. Dhanens, Elizabeth. Rogier van der Weyden: Revisie van de Documenten. Brussels: Royal Academy of Belgium, 1995. Duby, Georges. Art and Society in the Middle Ages. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2000. Dunkerton, Jill. “Cosmè Tura as Painter and Draughtsman: The Cleaning and Examination of His ‘Saint Jerome’.” National Gallery Technical Bulletin. Vol.15 (1994): 42-53. ----. Art In The Making: A Muse (Calliope?). London National Gallery Website, 2016. http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-indepth/art-in-the- making?viewPage=2. ----. Giotto to Dürer: Early Renaissance Painting in the National Gallery. New Haven: London National Gallery Publications Ltd. in association with Yale University Press, 1991. ----. “The Unmasking of Tura’s ‘Allegorical Figure’: A Painting and its Concealed Image.” National Gallery Technical Bulletin. Vol.11 (1987): 1-31. Dunbar, Barton L. The Collections of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art: Netherlandish Paintings 1450-1600. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005. Fazio, Bartolomeo. “De Viris Illustribus.” An English translation by Elizabeth G. Holt in Documentary History of Art, New York: Princeton University Press, 1947. Feder, Theodore H. “A Re-Examination through Documents of the First Fifty Years of Rogier van der Weyden’s Life.” The Art Bulletin, vol. 48, 416-431. New York: The College Art Association, 1996. Friedlander, Max J. From Van Eyck to Bruegel: Early Netherlandish Painting. New York: Praeger, 1967. Guerzoni, Guido. “Between Rome and Ferrara: The Courtiers of the Este Cardinals in the Cinquecento.” In Art and Identity in Early Modern Rome. Eds. Jill Burke and Michael Bury.. Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2008. 59- 81. 59 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/art-in-the-making?viewPage=2 Hall, Marcia. Color and Meaning: Practice and Theory in Renaissance Painting. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Harbison, Craig. The Art of the Northern Renaissance. London: Laurence King Publishing, 1995. Heffernan, James. “Alberti on Apelles: Word and Image in De Pictura,” in International Journal of the Classical Tradition. Vol. 2, No. 3. New York: Springer (Winter, 1996): 345-359. Hollingsworth, Mary. Patronage in Renaissance Italy: From 1400 to the Early 16th Century. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 1994. Jolly, Penny H. "Jan Van Eyck's Italian Pilgrimage: A Miraculous Florentine Annunciation and the Ghent Altarpiece." Zeitschrift Für Kunstgeschichte 61.3 (1998): 369-394. Kantorowicz, Ernst. “The d’Este Portrait by Roger van der Weyden.” Journal of the Warburg Institute. Vol. 3. London: Journal of the Warburg and Courtland Institutes, 1940. 165-180. Law, John E. “Cosmè Tura e Francesco del Cossa. L’Art a Ferrara nell’Eta di Borso d’Este.” Renaissance Studies 23 (2009): 735-738. Lesychyn, Lubomyra. “The Magnificence of Borso and Ercole d’Este: Princes of Ferrara (1450-1505).” PhD. diss., McMaster University, Sept. 1981. Manca, Joseph. Cosmè Tura: The Life and Art of a Painter in Estense Ferrara. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000. Millard Meiss. "'Nicholas Albergati' and the Chronology of Jan Van Eyck's Portraits." The Burlington Magazine 94 (1952): 137-146. Nuttall, Paula. From Flanders to Florence: The Impact of Netherlandish Paintings, 14001500. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006. Panofsky, Erwin. Early Netherlandish Painting. Madrid: Cátedra, 1998. Pächt, Otto. Altniederländische Malerei. Von Rogier van der Weyden bis Gerard David. Munich: Prestel, 1994. 60 Powell, Amy Knight. Depositions: Scenes from the Late Medieval Church and the Modern Museum. New York: Zone Books, 2012. ----. “The Errant Image: Rogier van der Weyden’s Deposition from the Cross and Its Copies.” Art History 29.4 (2006): 540-562. Rubin, Miri. Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009. Ruhmer, Eberhard. Tura: Paintings and Drawings. London: Phaidon Press, 1958. Van Asperen de Boer, J.R.J. Underdrawing in Paintings of The Rogier van der Weyden and Master of Flemalle Groups. Zwolle: L Waanders Publishers, 1990. Von, Simson Otto G. “Compassio and Co Redemptio in Rogier van der Weyden’s ‘Descent from the Cross’.” The Art Bulletin 35 (1953): 9-16. Washington National Gallery. Museum Label for Cosmè Tura and his Biography, Samuel H. Kress Collection. Washington, D.C. October 23, 2015. 61 ABSTRACT TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER 1: AN INTRODUCTION FERRARA CHAPTER 3: CONNECTING ROGIER VAN DER WEYDEN FIGURES WORKS CITED 
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work_nggycmuqmbhlbhprs5axbkyp44	----	Miranda, 4 | 2011 Miranda Revue pluridisciplinaire du monde anglophone / Multidisciplinary peer-reviewed journal on the English- speaking world  4 | 2011 Samuel Beckett : Drama as philosophical endgame ? Selene Scarsi, Translating Women in Early Modern England: Gender in the Elizabethan Versions of Boiardo, Ariosto and Tasso Nathalie Rivère de Carles Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/2603 DOI: 10.4000/miranda.2603 ISSN: 2108-6559 Publisher Université Toulouse - Jean Jaurès Electronic reference Nathalie Rivère de Carles, “Selene Scarsi, Translating Women in Early Modern England: Gender in the Elizabethan Versions of Boiardo, Ariosto and Tasso”, Miranda [Online], 4 | 2011, Online since 24 June 2011, connection on 16 February 2021. URL: http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/2603 ; DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/miranda.2603 This text was automatically generated on 16 February 2021. Miranda is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/2603 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Selene Scarsi, Translating Women in Early Modern England: Gender in the Elizabethan Versions of Boiardo, Ariosto and Tasso Nathalie Rivère de Carles REFERENCES Selene Scarsi, Translating Women in Early Modern England: Gender in the Elizabethan Versions of Boiardo, Ariosto and Tasso (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010), 207 p., ISBN 9780754666202 1 The last opus in Ashgate’s collection on Anglo-Italian Renaissance Studies (dir. Michele Marrapodi), Selene Scarsi’s monograph on Translating Women in Early Modern England, is a successful double endeavour: it reveals deliberate early modern male misreading and mistranslation of feminine figures and explores English Renaissance ‘translatorship’ (3) through the perspective of female characterisation. Scarsi’s book revisits Anglo- Italian literary exchanges during the Renaissance by offering both a varied critical analysis of Renaissance translation based on the major and most recent Anglo- American and European critiques on the subject, and new analytical explorations of three major works of Italian epic poetry and their English translations. 2 Scarsi’s chosen corpus comprises Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata and Boiardo’s Orlando Inamorato for all make female characters essential elements of their poetics. However she also points out that the English translators of these three works altered the specific types of feminine figures found in the Italian texts and analyses their translation method as deliberate misogyny (20–23; 187–90). In her introduction, Scarsi starts arguing the “methodical silencing and denigration of Ariosto’s positive heroines” in Harington’s translation. She uses such indictment as a Selene Scarsi, Translating Women in Early Modern England: Gender in the Eliza... Miranda, 4 | 2011 1 starting point for her analysis of the erasure of female exemplary figures from English translations, or rather of the English translation of women into elliptical or male figures. 3 The first part of Scarsi’s book is dedicated to the largely previously ignored Sir John Harington’s “(Mis)translating Women” in his 1591 version of Orlando Furioso. Scarsi reworks the study of Harrington’s translating methods and offers an enriching comparative view of the typology of female characters Harrington mangled and rebuilt to his own misogynistic purpose. She stresses the “proto-feminist” nature of Ariosto’s poem by relying on Anglo-American as well as European criticism (almost systematically translated or glossed into English), and shows how “in Harington the women only manage to complete the journey when they find an easier, alternative option” (27). She reveals how women are denied any peripatetic success and ontological density and development in Harrington’s translation. Their strength, their wit and even their sensuality is toned down almost to the point of complete ellipsis in this English translation (45–9). Interestingly, she adds another layer to the study of fictional and historical feminine figures and raises the question of literary patronesses and women poets in both Ariosto and Harrington. Thus she traces back Harrington’s methodical “silencing of the accomplishments” of literary women to the well- disseminated cliché in early modern England of the problematic speaking woman and of “the traditional Renaissance association between ‘unbridled speech’ and female unchastity” (70). 4 Scarsi decides in her second part to confront the somehow problematic translation of the feminine to Renaissance translation theory. Leaving Harrington’s misogynistic method aside, she is now comparing the rendering of feminine figures contained in Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata in two types of English translations. Relying on translation theory and recalling Carew’s use of transliteration (76–7) and Fairfax’s choice of a moralised paraphrase (77–8), she sheds a new light on Harrington’s sometimes misinterpreted moralising intentions. She shows through the choice of Tasso, whose style she defines as “unjudgemental” (109), that translators could sometimes opt for another type of recreation of female characters through the poetic filter of their own English contemporaries. 5 Drawing parallels between certain choices made by Carew and Fairfax and Edmund Spenser’s The Fairie Queene and Samuel Daniel’s Complaint of Rosamond, Scarsi reveals another form of “mediating influence” (111). The only reproach we could make in these truly enlightening chapters is the loss of the initial argument on feminine figures that become suddenly ancillary to the debate on Renaissance translation theory. One could just regret that the specificity of strong feminine figures such as the Amazons (37–40) is mainly confined to the first part, and that Scarsi tones down this really interesting part of her study so as to move to translating and aesthetic issues in the last section of the book. 6 The second part is the touchstone for the third part of the opus dealing more specifically with the core of early modern aesthetics: “adaptations and imitations”. Reducing the corpus to significant partial translations of the two previously explored poems, Scarsi adds another significant instance of translating negotiations with Tofte’s rendering of Boiardo’s Orlando Enamorato as well as Spenser’s specific partial translation of Ariosto in The Fairie Queene. Scarsi distances her argument from her initial study of Selene Scarsi, Translating Women in Early Modern England: Gender in the Eliza... Miranda, 4 | 2011 2 the specificity of feminine characters so as to show “the attempt to emulate or imitate creatively as the primary aim form most of these partial or casual translators” (187). 7 Scarsi’s monograph offers both a clear and comprehensive overview of translation theory applied to early modern texts and enlightening analyses of major Italian poems of the period. The choice of a bilingual presentation of the primary sources, and the clear to-and-fro movements between older and new research on Anglo-Italian relations make this opus also available to readers not specialising in early modern Italian poetry or in Renaissance translation. Extending her comparative study to Scottish and French renditions of Italian epic poems, this monograph constitutes a strongly recommended companion for students and researchers in Renaissance translation, comparative literature and early modern gender representations. INDEX Keywords: Early Modern translation, Early Modern poetry and prose, gender, Elizabethan era, Italian poetry, translations Mots-clés: traduction à la Renaissance, période élisabéthaine, prose et poésie des xvie et xviie siècles, poésie italienne, traduction AUTHORS NATHALIE RIVÈRE DE CARLES Maître de conférences Université Toulouse 2 – Le Mirail nrivere@club-internet.fr Selene Scarsi, Translating Women in Early Modern England: Gender in the Eliza... Miranda, 4 | 2011 3 mailto:nrivere@club-internet.fr Selene Scarsi, Translating Women in Early Modern England: Gender in the Elizabethan Versions of Boiardo, Ariosto and Tasso 
work_nhyyb6vjnbfwnge73z46gdpjca	----	51065_ARLIS_VOL_34_4 UvA-DARE is a service provided by the library of the University of Amsterdam (https://dare.uva.nl) UvA-DARE (Digital Academic Repository) Two decades of change in Dutch university art libraries Versteeg, M. Publication date 2009 Document Version Final published version Published in Art Libraries Journal Link to publication Citation for published version (APA): Versteeg, M. (2009). Two decades of change in Dutch university art libraries. Art Libraries Journal, 34(4), 24-28. General rights It is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), other than for strictly personal, individual use, unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Disclaimer/Complaints regulations If you believe that digital publication of certain material infringes any of your rights or (privacy) interests, please let the Library know, stating your reasons. In case of a legitimate complaint, the Library will make the material inaccessible and/or remove it from the website. Please Ask the Library: https://uba.uva.nl/en/contact, or a letter to: Library of the University of Amsterdam, Secretariat, Singel 425, 1012 WP Amsterdam, The Netherlands. You will be contacted as soon as possible. Download date:06 Apr 2021 https://dare.uva.nl/personal/pure/en/publications/two-decades-of-change-in-dutch-university-art-libraries(c03ec77b-c105-4045-9032-7bbcaac97a84).html Introduction In the Netherlands, several universities – Leiden University, Utrecht University, the University of Groningen, Radboud University Nijmegen, the University of Amsterdam and VU University Amsterdam – all offer an art history course. In addition to these six universities Delft University of Technology and Eindhoven University of Technology offer courses in architecture. The Royal Library, which co-operates on many levels with the university libraries, can also be considered as an important academic library with a large art historical collection and, since it is the Dutch national library, with a large but still voluntary national deposit system. The other Dutch universities do not offer art history as a subject.2 The libraries which form part of the Dutch institutes abroad are significant for their support of Dutch art history courses, but are not dealt with in this overview. Moving to one central library A critical feature of these last 22 years has been the move towards the centralised organisation of academic libraries. As a result there are now no autonomous institute libraries at all. This development was often initiated by the faculty itself during the 1990s. Now all faculty libraries, in their turn, are or are being incorporated into the organisation of the main library. As a result their management has become the business first of the Faculty of Arts and Humanities and subsequently of the directorate of the main library. For reasons of efficiency this new management decided to move libraries, change job specifications, and critically evaluate collection policy. At the same time public services have become more and more important. Locations and buildings Where it was possible the previously independent libraries, until then housed in the same building as the academic staff, moved to new and larger locations with other libraries within the faculty. This physical centralisation demands a great deal of the building. Therefore plans have been made in many cases to build a new library (as in the University of Amsterdam), to make existing buildings suitable for housing a faculty library (the Humanities Library in Utrecht will soon be moving to its second shared location) or to transform the main library into a Two decades of change in Dutch university art libraries Martien Versteeg I n 1987 Chris Smeenk wrote in this journal about the libraries of the Dutch art historical institutes.1 In the 22 years that have since passed many changes have occurred, perhaps most notably the merging of the many autonomous institute libraries into larger ones. Has this led to a more professional approach or was it caused by a search for more efficiency? Does this really matter? The fact is that Smeenk, or any other library user familiar with Dutch art history libraries, would hardly recognise the situation at the end of the first decade of the 21st century. Maybe he would complain about the disappearance of the traditional academic institute librarian, but on the other hand he might be cheered by many other developments, such as the more central role of services for the public. Let’s take a look…. 34 / 4 2009 24 journal art libraries 34 / 4 2009 25 combined main and faculty library (as at Leiden University). In anticipation of a new campus on the Amsterdam business centre ZuidAs, VU University is planning to centralise all arts and humanities libraries in a new location within the main VU building. The TU Delft was forced to move its architecture library into another building because of a devastating fire on 13 May 2008, which ruined the building but left the library collection almost undamaged.3 Since open-access shelving continued to be used in the new or adapted premises, the art history section has remained recognisable; until the present all collections, except those at Utrecht University, are still arranged according to the shelving systems of their original institution’s libraries. Jobs The management of the faculty and of the main library has certainly had a professional approach to library work. In 1987 it was not uncommon for the institute librarian to combine academic and management tasks. This had to come to an end when libraries merged physically, which meant the streamlining of academic and technical work. Soon the former library staffs were divided into subject, technical (e.g. cataloguing) and public (e.g. lending desk) categories, each organised within their own section. Leiden University was the last to implement this segregation of staff members, in 2009. Once merged, the university libraries minimised the number of subject librarians working for a particular discipline, for instance by dispensing with the librarian who had worked at the original library. Later on, two or more disciplines became the responsibility of one single subject librarian. Combinations of art history and archaeology, cultural or heritage studies, and museology are not uncommon. Unfortunately this has often been combined with a reduction in the number of hours assigned to these disciplines. Merging the collections has also brought a back-office position for the subject librarian, as well as a spatial separation of the academic staff and the library. While the library was part of an institute, the librarian used often to get his information on an informal basis and more or less automatically. In the new structure, it is formal contacts with academic staff that are becoming increasingly important. Almost all kinds of non-book documentation, such as cuttings collections, have been abolished. This becomes clear when looking at developments in visual resource departments where now in fact only the Radboud University Nijmegen still plays an active collecting role.4 At almost all other universities collecting, archiving and describing visual material has become the responsibility of the individual members of the academic staff. In some cases the university helps them by offering software for registering the material, and image databases such as ArtSTOR and Prometheus. The old collections of slides and reproductions are sometimes moved to the closed stacks or are donated to a new owner. Since the beginning of the century faculty liaison – informing and supporting the staff and pointing them to the services and products of the library in a proactive way – has become an important part of the subject librarian’s job. Faculty liaison had been intensively discussed from the mid-1990s onwards and it has since then been implemented in the universities. Academic staff have been involved in library matters, such as the selection of electronic resources, library instruction and sometimes even the preparation of the collection profile needed for an approval plan. Thus the institute librarian has evolved into a mediator for all aspects of the library’s content, whether in paper or electronic format. A description of this new job was established at the beginning of this century on a national level, although names for the position may differ, as remuneration clearly does. What about our collections? Naturally collection policies are still aligned with the research and education programs of the academic staff. For almost all art historical collections this means that much attention is paid to Western European, especially Dutch and Flemish, painting of journal art libraries Artist’s impression of the new Humanities Library at Utrecht University. Photo: Website Utrecht University, architects Grosfeld van der Velde. the 17th century, the art of the Italian Renaissance, and modern art and architecture. But currently it is no longer possible to collect exhaustively in specialised subject areas such as applied arts and non- western art at Leiden University, iconography at Utrecht University or the theory of art at the University of Amsterdam. Even the Royal Library has had to focus less broadly: since the year 2000 its collection policy has narrowed to Dutch culture and history and related subjects. Several years ago the project Literature supply for the humanities was initiated.5 Its aim was to improve the national collection through the acquisition of relevant older academic publications that were not available anywhere in the Netherlands. A large part of the funding was spent on electronic collections, such as JSTOR, Project Muse and the journal archives of Proquest.6 For art history the funds were divided between the Royal Library (Germanic art), Utrecht University (Roman art) and Leiden University (non- western and Asiatic art). This project ended in 2008 but currently, looking at the budgets of the art history libraries, it seems likely that within a few years a similar scheme will be needed. Problems arising from the shortage of space for the collection of printed material are no longer deferred. At the University of Amsterdam and at Utrecht University projects aiming to reduce the volume of the art historical (and other) collections by more than 30% have been realised by moving less- used, older, vulnerable, rare or duplicate publications to the closed stacks of the main library. The availability of electronic databases and journals has made this task less difficult. For all collections any increase in the space needed for open-access shelving is out of the question. More than they did in the 1980s and 1990s, the subject librarians have always to bear in mind the consequences their decisions may have for the scarce manpower within the organisation. Acquiring duplicates as a result of not gearing acquisition to that of other in-house departments such as the Special Collections (for drawing, illumination and printing), or the automatic acceptance of gifts, can no longer be standard practice. At some libraries selection and acquisition rely partly on approval plans, but because art historical publishing is still very much paper-based, it has now been realised that receiving books on approval is not as simple and cheap as managers like to believe. Even within the boundaries of the approval profile too many publications would be sent for too short a time, and Dutch acquisition budgets would run out after a few months. Large international vendors that proved to be cheap and reliable have taken over the work of local suppliers and approval plans. Use of the collections in our libraries is still intense, not only by art history, whose student numbers have been constant for several decades, but more and more by students in disciplines like media, heritage and cultural studies, and by language students whose studies have been transformed into language and culture studies. All these students need to use the art historical collections once in a while. And anyone registered as a staff member or student at another university can check out art history books, by contrast with 1987 when only an institution’s own students could borrow books. These changes not only mean a great deal of work at the counters, but also raise questions such as: Why are open-access publications not available for lending? Why doesn’t this library buy more copies of books? Collecting is very clearly more Anglo-American than 22 years ago as a result of the international exchange of students, forcing libraries to collect books in English, a language these students share. This raises the question of whether we should buy English-language editions instead of those in their original languages. Titles written in Dutch, French and German continue to be collected, but Italian 34 / 4 2009 26 journal art libraries Overview of the reading room of the Royal Library. To attract more visitors, in 2007 the Royal Library opened a large reading room concentrating on Dutch culture and history and related subjects. Photo: OKBN. 34 / 4 2009 27 titles needed for the curriculum will often be bought in an English translation. And of course the growing variety of publication formats is another challenge. Apart from books and electronic publications, libraries also buy DVDs, CDs and other less traditional media. Even more changes Access to the collections listed earlier is generally provided through the catalogue of each university’s library. Because of large projects that started in the 1990s these catalogues also record the earlier material in the collections and all kinds of other materials, such as electronic journals and unique items. From a Web 2.0 point of view, most of the catalogues are rather unattractive, and much thought is being given to improvements. On the other hand the catalogue is becoming less obvious as the starting point in a search for publications because SFX services within databases, on the internet or within combined catalogues are pointing the user to publications or to the full text available at their own libraries. Separately from the catalogue, at each university, there has been a proliferation of image and other databases, digital repositories and information about archives holding material of interest to art historians. University libraries and the Royal Library catalogue all the publications they acquire in the Shared Cataloguing System (GGC, the Dutch national central catalogue).7 Since the mid-1990s new art historical publications have been given shared subject headings and a classification code. For several years Dutch subject librarians have met regularly to share their thoughts about the implementation and the utilisation of this method of subject retrieval. Not all universities use this service of the GGC, but fortunately many other art history libraries that joined the GGC, such as art academies, do. Each university offers its own selection of art historical databases in its digital library. The ongoing development of IT techniques has made it possible to consult more than one catalogue at the same time, and a spinoff from this development is AdamNet. Through AdamNet the catalogues of the Research Library of the Rijksmuseum, the library of the Stedelijk Museum, the Van Gogh Museum and other art historical collections located in Amsterdam, including both universities, can be consulted in a single search.8 The future now Chris Smeenk foresaw a few of these developments but he can’t be blamed for missing the most important of them all: the development of the digital world which brought academic library work into a constant state of flux. So, only part of the future can be predicted. The requirements for academic art libraries at the beginning of the second decade of the 21st century differ greatly from those of 22 years ago. To meet these demands subject librarians need constantly to anticipate innovations in electronic services, the digital library and the Web. For monographic publications, art history is still a paper-based discipline. Maybe this will continue to be the case until the information technology available meets the requirements of the discipline: being able to consult and compare various materials at the same time. However, during the last two decades even the art history library has become hybrid, owing to the growing number of electronic databases and journals. The walls of the library building are no longer boundaries that need to be crossed by someone looking for art historical information. The development of digital libraries will continue to stimulate off-site consultation of the library’s treasures. This development is taking place on both a national and an international level and is supported by the concept that library users, given the appropriate tools, are able to find the information they need – even if this means much trial and error. More than ever subject librarians need to build and maintain a journal art libraries Screenshot of the AdamNet Digital Library. Overview of the art libraries that are part of AdamNet. Photo: Website AdamNet. network of relevant relationships; and they also need to acquire educational and writing skills for teaching, for giving workshops and for serving the public. They have to co-operate in very different projects, to join the boards of organisations in their field, but most of all they need to be professionally educated and to act accordingly. One can imagine how much more difficult it must be for a subject librarian to meet these demands if the discipline(s) are unfamiliar. Therefore the exchange of experience with colleagues is vital. The consultation of subject librarians on a national level, which was initiated this spring after a gap of ten years, will without any doubt be one of the appropriate platforms. It is very likely that the physical art historical collection will diminish, maybe to the size of a reading room. University library buildings will continue to exist, but in the first place will be a social phenomenon, a meeting point for students and staff with well-designed furniture. But what remains must be both a library and a learning and research centre at the same time. The great challenge for the subject librarian is to make sure that he retains a place in this future library. Marketing his services to both academic staff and students will become even more important. And for the students he needs constantly to adapt the way he communicates, because in 22 years they probably won’t be communicating through podcasts, vodcasts, social networks and mobile text services any more! I would like to thank my colleagues at the universities and the Royal Library for their suggestions, corrections and editorial changes. Without A. Bercht, R. ter Hofstede, A. Ouwerkerk, R. Schumacher, M. Wishaupt and M. Wolffe this article wouldn’t have been the same. References 1. Chris Smeenk, ‘Art libraries of educational and research institutions,’ Art libraries journal 12, no.1 (1987): 5-7. 2. These universities sometimes maintain a number of specialised collections, for example at Erasmus University Rotterdam, where publications on the commercial aspects of culture including art are being collected. 3. In its new location the library has been organised according to criteria that were formulated shortly before the fire, and which appear to be rather traditional but are strongly advocated by the academic staff in the faculty. 4. This is the Centrum voor Kunsthistorische Documentatie, http://www.ru.nl/ckd/. 5. In Dutch this is ‘Bibliotheekvoorziening Geesteswetenschappen’. Between 1998 and 2008 seven Dutch academic libraries co-operated to fight the impoverishment of humanities collections. On three separate occasions a financial contribution was received from the Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research (1998-2006) and between 1998 and 2008 the institutions themselves invested heavily in literature for the humanities. 6. An important role was played here by the SURF Licentiebureau, the UKB, the Dutch consortium of university libraries and the Royal Library. See http://www.kb.nl/bst/bgw/intro-bgw.html. 7. In Dutch ‘Gemeenschappelijk Geautomatiseerd Catalogiseersysteem’. 8. AdamNet libraries hold millions of books, thousands of periodicals, all sorts of multimedia and more. Access to the AdamNet libraries is free; however borrowers, and in some libraries those wishing to have access to reference material, will need a card. See http://www.adamnet.nl/. Martien Versteeg Information and collection specialist University of Amsterdam Herengracht 286 1016 BX Amsterdam The Netherlands Email: m.g.versteeg@uva.nl 34 / 4 2009 28 journal art libraries Information centre of the library of Leiden University. The information centre opened in April 2009. Part of the centre is a consulting room for visitors and subject librarians. Photo: OKBN. 
work_nhz5ecipg5bvvm2ba4w3drfocy	----	CHH volume 59 issue 4 Back matter Tractates and Sermons Ways of Lying Richard Hooker Dissimulation, Persecution, and The Folger Library Edition of the Conformity in Early Modern Europe Works of Richard Hooker, Volume 5 Perez Zoaorin W S p e e d Hill G e n e r a l Editor The religious persecution and intellectual intoler- Although Richard Hooker, sixteenthtentury Eng- a n c e ° ' the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries land's most provocative theologian, is known prin- compelled the resort to secrecy and deceit by cipalry as the author of the lows of Ecclesiastical many heterodox groups and thinkers. In this Polity, in his lifetime, the Tractates and Sermons strikingly original book, Perez Zogorin traces the brought him greater notoriety. His views on justi- origin, theory and practice of these dissimula- ficolion, ihejpersevefence of faith and the relation- tions and surveys chief sources of dissimulation ship of the Church of Rome to the reformed Church doctrines in the Bible and in the works of such of England were extensively circulated. With this theologians as Jerome, Augustine, Erasmus, full-scale edition, the contemporary impact of these Luther, and Calvin, debates and the unique perspective they provide "Zagorin's efforts to compare and contrast on late Elizabethian theology can be appreciated Catholic and Protestant styles of dissimulation for the first time. a ( X j |\|jCodemism a r e important, casting a new "Volumes worthy to stand next to the other great perspective and focus on the religious and monuments of modern editing of English Renois- intellectual dissent of the era." sance literature." —Queen's Quarterly —lacey Baldwin Smith, Northwestern University The Belknap Press $100.00 cloth $35.00 doth Harvard University Press Cambridge, MA 02138 |617f495-2480 Abingdon FVess Christian thought and the history of the church Gender, Doctrine, and God • The Shakers and Contemporary Theology by Linda A. Mercadante By exploring the challenges, contributions, and problems inherent in the Shaker understanding of God, Mercadante encourages us to reflect upon current ways of resolving issues of language, gender, and theology. " . . . demonstrates both the innovative aspects and the limitations of this 19th century experiment in inclusive God-imagery." —Rosemary Radford Ruether, Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary $19.95, paper, ISBN 0-687-14041-2 Readings in Christian Thought • Second Edition Edited by Hugh T. Kerr This widely used collection of original source materials now includes substantial excerpts from notable women theologians as well as representatives of black and liberation perspectives. In addition, a new section on recently deceased theologians such as Thomas Merton, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Karl Rahner has been added. $26.95, paper, ISBN 0-687-35547-8 Order from your bookstore, which may call toll free 1-800-251-3320. Individual customers call toll free 1-800-672-1789 or write Cokesbury Service Center 201 Eighth Ave. S./ P.O. Box 801 / Nashville, TN 37202 Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700077453 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700077453 https://www.cambridge.org/core I PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS REDEEMING POLITICS PKTI-R IVHR KAL'IMAN Revised edition, with a new preface by the author Furta Sacra Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages Patrick J. Geary To obtain sacred relics, medieval monks plundered tombs, avaricious merchants raided churches, and relic-mongers scoured the Roman catacombs. In a revised edition of Furta Sacra, Patrick Geary considers the social and cultural context for these acts, asking how the relics were perceived and why the thefts met with the approval of medieval Christians. "This is a fascinating study of a medieval way of thinking which in certain circum- stances countenanced thefts of sacred relics from tombs, churches, and Roman cata- combs. . . . Furta Sacra is truly impressive history shedding much light on a difficult dimension of popular Christian piety in another age."—Michael Connors, Church History Now in paper: $12.95 ISBN 0-691-00862-0 ® AT YOUR BOOKSTORE OR Princeton University Press 41 WILLIAM ST. • PRINCETON, NJ 08540 • (609) 258-4900 ORDERS: 800-PRS-ISBN (777-4726) "From the time of Constantine's conversion to that of Oliver Cromwell's civil war," writes Peter Iver Kaufman, "Christianity and politics were often so closely joined that it is difficult now to tell whether we are looking back at religious or political convictions." With the purpose of enriching our understanding of the often strained relationship between religion and poli- tics, Kaufman explores major efforts throughout history to associate religious salvation with the perpetuation or reforms of various governments. His study begins with Paul's perplexing words to the persecuted Christians in Rome: "Let every person be subject to the governing authorities for there is no authority except from God," then exam- ines how later Christians used various forms of "political theology" to merge the romance of conquest and empire with hopes for political and religious redemption. Studies in Church and State; John F. Wilson, Editor Cloth: $22.50 ISBN 0-691-07372-4 Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700077453 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700077453 https://www.cambridge.org/core CANE RIDGE America's Pentecost Paul K. Conkin 'Cane Ridge is mentioned far more often than it is understood. ThanVs to this book, a richer understanding is now ours. We learn of the Scottish Presbyterian sacramental tradition, of the pervasive revivalism in America, of the climactic event in Kentucky, and finally of the far-reaching consequences for American religion as a whole." —Edwin S. Gaustad, University of California, Irvine Cloth $32.50 Paper $10.95 GOD'S EMPIRE William Bell Riley and Midwestern Fundamentalism William Vance Trollinger, Jr. "God's Empire makes a fine contribution to our understanding of fundamentalism. 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Murray St., Madison, W'l 33715, MC & VISA ord Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700077453 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700077453 https://www.cambridge.org/core =Oxford=i The Rude Hand of Innovation Religion and Social Order in Albany, New York 1652-1836 DAVID G. HACKETT, University of Florida, Gainesville This landmark study provides a sweeping analysis of the social and religious transformation of Albany, New York, from its colonial origins to the early nineteenth century. (Religion in America) January 1991 256 pp.; 21inecuts $32.50 The Presbyterian Controversy Fundamentalists, Modernists, and Moderates BRADLEY J. LONGFIELD, Duke Divinity School "Longfield's scholarship is superb. 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Martin Paul and other early Christians frequently referred to themselves as slaves of Christ or of God—a metaphor most biblical scholars have felt would have been distasteful to potential converts in the Greco-Roman world. Dale B. Martin argues, however, that metaphorical slavery to a deity was not an unlikely construction for its day, and shows how the idea in fact represented salvation to Greco-Roman converts. "[An] impressive piece of scholarship." —Wilhelm Wuellner $25.00 Paul the Convert The Apostolate and Apostasy of Saul the Pharisee Alan F. Segal In this revisionist account of Paul's work, Alan Segal argues that Paul's life can be better understood by taking his Jewishness seriously, and tViat Jewish history can be illuminated greatly by examining Paul's writings. "An important book that should attract a wide readership. Segal's interpretation of Paul's writings is revisionist, forceful, and deserves to be studied carefully."—Wayne A. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700077453 https://www.cambridge.org/core PRIZES OF THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF CHURCH HISTORY The Frank S. and Elizabeth D. Brewer Prize The Brewer Prize is a subsidy of $2000 to assist the author in publishing a booklength manuscript in church history. The winning manuscript shall be published in a manner acceptable to the Society. Manuscripts accepted for publication may be submitted for this award, but the winning manuscript must have printed on its title-page, "The Frank S. and Elizabeth D. Brewer Prize Essay of the American Society of Church History." If competing works are otherwise of equal quality, preference will be given to topics relating to the history of Congregationalism. Complete manuscripts in final form must be received by William B. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:07, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700077453 https://www.cambridge.org/core THE ALBERT C. OUTLER PRIZE IN ECUMENICAL CHURCH HISTORY The Outler Prize was established to encourage the critical study of ecumenical church history, broadly conceived, and to facilitate the publication of such studies. "Ecumenical" is to be construed as chiefly concerned with the problems of Christian unity-and-disunity (doctrinal, cultural, institutional) in any period of church history; or with interactions between Christianity and other religious movements. Works of a partisan nature are excluded. The following categories are eligible: a. Studies, chiefly narrative and critical, of ecumenical church history dealing with historical controversies and divisions, or with notable instances of reconciliation and consensus. b. 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work_nlueipbdffbjjbtg6nadsgu2bm	----	doi:10.1016/j.jmedhist.2006.07.006 ‘The revolt of the medievalists’. Directions in recent research on the twelfth-century renaissance Leidulf Melve Centre for Medieval Studies, University of Bergen, Villaveien1a, 5007 Bergen, Norway Abstract This historiographical article contains two basic parts. First, it discusses recent approaches to the twelfth-century renaissance in the last two decades by focusing on some selected themes. These themes basically derive from Charles Homer Haskins’ notion of the renaissance and include individualism, ratio- nality, secularisation, and the question of the emergence of a ‘critical mentality.’ From this point of de- parture, the article addresses the question of thematic innovation with regard to the twelfth-century renaissance. The second part of the article discusses the effect of the so-called linguistic turn on renais- sance studies in general and on the twelfth-century renaissance in particular. In conclusion, some sugges- tions for further research are singled out. � 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. Keywords: Historiography; Twelfth-century renaissance; Linguistic turn Ever since Wallace K. Ferguson contributed to making ‘the revolt of the medievalists’ 1 a slo- gan for the medievalists’ attack on the modernity of Jacob Burckhardt’s Italian renaissance,2 the E-mail address: leidulf.melve@hi.uib.no 1 Wallace K. Ferguson, The renaissance in historical thought: five centuries of interpretation (Boston 1948). The au- thor extends thanks to Lars Boje Mortensen and Sverre Bagge for comments on this present article. 2 Jacob Burckhardt, The civilization of the renaissance in Italy, vols 1 and 2 (New York, 1958). 0304-4181/$ - see front matter � 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.jmedhist.2006.07.006 Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 www.elsevier.com/locate/jmedhist This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. The moral rights of the named author(s) have been asserted. 2013 The Author(s). Published by Routledge D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 CORE Metadata, citation and similar papers at core.ac.uk Provided by NORA - Norwegian Open Research Archives https://core.ac.uk/display/30810541?utm_source=pdf&utm_medium=banner&utm_campaign=pdf-decoration-v1 mailto:leidulf.melve@hi.uib.no http://www.elsevier.com/locate/jmedhist question of ‘renaissance’ or ‘renaissances’ has been much discussed.3 Needless to say, Charles Homer Haskins and his The renaissance of the twelfth century played a leading part in Fergu- son’s presentation of the revolt.4 Between Ferguson’s historiographical outline of ‘five centuries of interpretation’ from 1948 and the present stress on ‘alterity’ in medieval research, approaches to the twelfth-century renaissance have developed immensely.5 The half century which has passed since Ferguson’s much-quoted characterisation has not only seen a virtual explosion of research into the twelfth-century renaissance, but also felt the methodological implications of the so-called ‘linguistic turn’. These two aspects are from one perspective two sides to the same coin; the liberation of medieval studies from the methodological and thematic straight jacket imposed by the heritage of Ranke has led to a stress on ‘alterity’. If the ideological concern of Haskins and his fol- lowers was to ‘modernise’ the middle ages, much of the present concern with the twelfth cen- tury can be called ‘de-modernisation’.6 According to R. I. Moore, ‘the first European revolution’ e including the cultural developments of the twelfth-century renaissance e also witnessed the ‘formation of a persecuting society’, creating a less tolerant and more hostile society.7 The same story can be told for post-war renaissance studies.8 As for the middle ages, new themes and approaches have emerged next to the ‘old’, creating a middle ages more diverse and pluralistic. Needless to say, the once central question e ‘the middle 3 For general descriptions of the different ‘renaissances’, see R.R. Bolgar, The classical heritage and its beneficiaries (Cambridge, 1954); Marcia L. Colish, Medieval foundations of the western intellectual tradition, 400-1400 (New Haven and London, 1998). Bolgar presents a balanced view, stressing both the strength and weaknesses of the Carolingian and the twelfth-century renaissance as compared with the later Italian renaissance. Colish, however, is overtly positive as to the contribution of the middle ages in general and the twelfth century in particular and in terms of laying the foundation for the Italian renaissance. See also Frederick B. Artz, The mind of the middle ages. An historical survey A. D. 200-1500 (Chicago and London, 1980); Jacques Le Goff, Medieval civilization 400-1500 (Oxford, 1988 (first pub. 1964)). For a bibliography, see Chris D. Ferguson, Europe in transition. A select, annotated bibliography of the twelfth-century re- naissance (New York, 1989). 4 Charles H. Haskins, The renaissance of the twelfth century (Cleveland and New York, 1957 (first pub. 1927)). 5 P. Freedman and G. Spiegel, ‘Medievalisms old and new: the rediscovery of alterity in North American medieval studies’, The American Historical Review, 103 (1998), 677: ‘Thus we are especially interested in the shift over the last 20 years from a middle ages represented as being in tune with modernity.to a more vivid and disturbing image of medieval civilization as the west’s quintessential ‘other’, in which the salient traits of the middle ages derive from its marginal and unsettling character, its ‘hard-edged alterity’ in the words of one scholar, a view radically different for the confident foundationalism in the vogue during most of the twentieth century.’ 6 Freedman and Spiegel, ‘Medievalisms old and new’, 693. 7 R.I. Moore, The formation of a persecuting society. Power and deviance in western Europe, 950-1250 (Oxford 1987). R.I. Moore, The first European revolution, c. 970-1215 (Oxford, 2000). 8 The alleged modernity of the ‘renaissance’ both in its medieval and early medieval form has been considered largely an American invention. The civic and humanistic sides to the renaissance were a meta-theoretical guiding line underlying the conception of Haskins and his followers, as well as prominent American ‘renaissanists’ such as Hans Baron and Erwin Panofsky, see Freedman and Spiegel, ‘Medievalisms old and new’, 682: ‘The progressive middle ages in its American guise is essentially the creation of Haskins.’; Carl Landauer, ‘Erwin Panofsky and the renascence of the renaissance’, Renaissance Quarterly, 47 (1994), 267: ‘Panofsky’s American writings, I would ar- gue, form part of the American discourse on the renaissance, a discourse which idealized the renaissance for its clas- sical erudition and its celebration of the human.’; See also Edward Muir, ‘The Italian renaissance in America’, American Historical Review, 100 (1995), 105-118. However, there are not many, if any, that subscribe to the Baron thesis today, particularly after the devastating critique of James Hankins, Plato in the Italian renaissance (Leiden 1991). 232 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 ages e romantic or rationalistic?’9 e is no longer a viable point of departure for medieval stud- ies. Likewise, renaissance studies have also questioned the viability of taking the ‘modernity’ of the renaissance as a guiding line.10 The following sketch will not deal with the ‘alterity’ of the twelfth-century renaissance, but rather provide an overview of directions in research over the past two decades that more or less continues the ‘revolt of the medievalists’ and thus also Haskins’ approach to the renaissance. I will start by briefly sketching the most important aspects of the early treatments of the twelfth- century renaissance.11 Thereafter, I will focus on the revisions of Haskins’ understanding at the fiftieth anniversary of his book in 1977.12 In the first main part of this article, I will discuss research undertaken in the last 30 years with regard to important aspects of the twelfth-century renaissance, namely individualism, the question of rationality, secularisation, and the extent to which the period witnessed a new critical mentality.13 From this point of departure, I will briefly address some thematic innovations in recent research into the twelfth-century renais- sance,14 before discussing the question of new methodical insight.15 Although this last section touches upon general problems in medieval studies e periodisation and categorisation e and I will relate these problems to the relationship between the different medieval renaissances on the one hand and to the much-discussed connection between the twelfth-century renaissance and the Italian renaissance on the other. In conclusion, I will offer some suggestions for further research.16 The ‘renaissance’ in the historical consciousness Burckhard’s renaissance takes place in northern Italy. It starts in the fourteenth century and reaches its culmination a hundred years later. This event is presented as the real cul- tural bloom in western history, marking the birth of several traits characteristic of early- modern Europe: individualism, a secularised worldview, and the creation of the ‘state as a work of art’.17 Burckhard’s understanding of the renaissance is also the story of an emerging critical historical approach. Basically, a new secular and rational understanding of the historical past was a direct result of how the past ceased to be regarded as a static God-given order. According to Burckhardt, the past was conceptualised and contextualised in terms of its individual properties. The renaissance’s grasp of the past was thus no uncrit- ical imitation of the ancient way of life, but a conscious adaptation of some traits of the historical past.18 9 J.S. Tatlock, ‘The middle ages e romantic or rationalistic?’, Speculum, 8 (1933), 295-304. 10 See for instance, William J. Bouwsma, ‘The renaissance and the drama of western History’, American Historical Review, 84 (1979), 1-15. 11 See section, The ‘renaissance’ in the historical consciousness. 12 See section, Beyond Haskins? 13 See section, Thematic continuity? 14 See section, Thematic innovation? 15 See section, New methodological insight? 16 See section, Concluding remarks: suggestions for further research. 17 Burckhardt, The civilization of the renaissance in Italy. 18 Erwin Panofsky, Renaissance and renascences in western art (Stockholm, 1960), 108. 233L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 Long before Haskins, medievalists encountered Burckhardt’s interpretation,19 using terms such as ‘a period of new life’20 and ‘an open society’21 to characterise the twelfth century. This revisionism reached a preliminary climax in 1928 as Haskins published The renaissance of the twelfth century. Haskins presents the renaissance as the period in which several of the traits which Burckhardt assigned to the fifteenth century originated. By focusing mainly on the classical literary revival, Haskins maintained that it was not the Italian cities, but rather the medieval monasteries and cathedral schools that laid the groundwork for rationalisation as well secularisation.22 Haskins, then, made the renaissance the cultural hallmark of the middle ages, only to be replaced by scholasticism around 1250.23 In the post-war period, several facets of Haskins’ renaissance were further elaborated. In his remarkable book, The making of the middle ages (1953), Richard W. Southern describes this making as a quiet revolution. He stresses the historical problem in portraying such a develop- ment, namely that its profound depth is only manifested through a diffusion of social structures and processes. Still, the twelfth century witnessed, according to Southern, nothing less than an emerging ‘civilisation’.24 Research in the 1960s continued to regard this predominantly Latin renaissance and its concomitant humanism as the culmination of the Latin high culture’s self- aggrandizement and as a hallmark of the cultural life of the period.25 However, variations on Haskins’ renaissance did occur.26 Jean Leclercq, for instance, underlined the continuity be- tween the ancient culture and the culture of the twelfth century, thus questioning the singularity 19 We should distinguish between Burckhardt’s original conception and its later elaboration. Burckhardt himself ad- mired several facets of the medieval period, and there has been a tendency to interpret certain passages as indicating an antithesis between the two periods on the part of Burckhardt. See for instance the highly acclaimed analysis of Thomas M. Greene, The light in Troy: imitation and discovery in renaissance poetry (New Haven, 1982), 8-12, 36 and 143. Greene applauds the renaissance for its ‘humanistist piety’ and attributes to the middle ages only a certain charm and distinction. See also Roberta Garner, ‘Jacob Burckhardt as a theorist of modernity: reading the civilization in Italy’, Sociological Theory, 8 (1990), 48-57. 20 Dana C. Munro, ‘A period of new life’, in: The twelfth-century renaissance, ed. C.R. Young (New York, 1969), esp. 7-9. 21 Friedrich Heer, ‘An open society’, in: The twelfth-century renaissance, ed. Young, 16. 22 Haskins, The renaissance of the twelfth century. See also Charles H. Haskins, ‘The Greek element in the renaissance of the twelfth century’, The American Historical Review, 25 (1920), 603-15; Studies in the history of mediaeval science (Cambridge, 1929); Studies in mediaeval culture (Oxford, 1929). 23 Charles Young, ‘Introduction’, in: The Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed. Young, 1-2: ‘Haskins places the origins of his renaissance before 1100 and holds that it ended about 1250, when it was replaced by the scholasticism of the later thirteenth century. In so doing, he emphasizes only cultural trends, omitting all mention of the other changes and de- velopments that characterized the age.’ 24 Richard W. Southern, The making of the middle ages (New Haven, 1953); See also Christopher Brooke, The twelfth- century renaissance (London, 1969). 25 For different perspectives on twelfth-century humanism, see R.W. Southern, Medieval humanism and other studies (Oxford, 1970); John D. Baldwin, The scholastic culture of the middle ages, 1000-1300 (Massachusetts, 1971); Rodney Thompson, ‘John of Salisbury and William of Malmesbury: currents in twelfth-century humanism’, in: The World of John of Salisbury, ed. M. Wilks (Oxford, 1984), 117-27; R.W. Southern, Scholastic humanism and the unification of Europe. Vol. 2, Foundations (Oxford, 1995) and Scholastic humanism and the unification of Europe. Vol. 2, The heroic age (Oxford, 2001). For a dated, but still valuable sketch of the debate, see Denys Hay, The renaissance debate (New York, 1965). 26 For analyses that stress clear lines of continuation between the twelfth-century renaissance and the Italian renais- sance, see for instance Paul Renucci, ‘The Italian renaissance an outgrowth of the twelfth-century renaissance’, in: The twelfth-century renaissance, ed. Young 107; Walter Ullmann, Medieval foundations of renaissance humanism (London, 1977). For a more negative view upon the elements of continuation, see Eva M. Sanford, ‘The twelfth century renaissance or proto-renaissance’, in: The twelfth-century renaissance, ed. C.W. Hollister (New York, 1969), 38, 43. 234 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 and innovatory character of the renaissance.27 Étienne Gilson as well as David Knowles stressed that the scholastic culture underwent a humanisation too. Hence, they thereby ques- tioned Haskins’ sharp termination of the renaissance in the middle of the thirteenth century as a result of the dominance of a sterile and ‘inhuman’ scholasticism.28 Beyond Haskins? The arguably most forceful reflection of Haskins’ understanding of the renaissance, how- ever, appeared in 1977 at a conference organised to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the appearance of Haskins’ book. The conference aimed at constructing a ‘conceptual frame- work for reflection’ based on modifications of Haskins’ scheme.29 First, rather than offering a definition of the renaissance, the contributors attempted a more contextualised understanding of the renaissance as a historical process.30 Second, where Haskins presented secularisation as the most distinct trait of the renaissance, the focus in 1977 was on a ‘new approach to the sacred’. The religious worldview in itself did not alter significantly; rather it was approached in a more critical fashion. Differentiation into several theologies e a monastic, a scholastic, and a speculative theology e was a vital side to this new religious worldview.31 Third, several contributors considered the more extensive use of reason to be the key for grasping the new critical approach. Reason in this case denoted a capacity to perform a critical evaluation as well as to draw conclusions from a past which earlier had been regarded as the immutable source of truth. This use of reason took many forms, one being the increasing use of interpre- tation in theology,32 in jurisprudence,33 and in logic.34 Another use of reason was manifested in new approaches to dialectical reasoning.35 Fourth, this new critical approach, in its turn, was considered as paving the way for a new conception of historical time on the one hand,36 and an awareness of the specific historical periods’ defining traits on the other.37 Fifth, the 27 Jean Leclercq, The love of learning and the desire for God. A study in monastic culture (London, 1978). 28 Étienne Gilson, History of Christian philosophy in the middle ages (London, 1955); David Knowles, The evolution of medieval thought (London, 1962). 29 Renaissance and renewal in the twelfth century, ed. Robert L. Benson and Giles Constable (Toronto, 1991), xvii-xxx. 30 See the discussion of methodical issues regarding terms of renewal: Gerhard B. Ladner, ‘Terms and ideas of re- newal’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 1-33. 31 Jean Leclercq, ‘The renewal of theology’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 68-87. 32 Nikolaus M. Häring, ‘Commentary and hermeneutics’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 173-200; Richard H. Rouse and Mary A. Rouse, ‘Statim invenire: schools, preachers, and new attitudes to the page’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 201-25. 33 Stephan Kuttner, ‘The revival of jurisprudence’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 299-323. 34 Normann Kretzmann, ‘The culmination of the old logic in Peter Abelard’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 488-511. 35 Leclerq, ‘The renewal of theology’, 68-88. 36 John F. Benton, ‘Consciousness of self and perceptions of individuality’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 284: ‘A heightened sense of history is a form of self-consciousness, and in both theology and in the study of res gestae the twelfth century was a great age of historical awareness.’ 37 Robert L. Benson, ‘Political renovatio: two models from Roman antiquity’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Ben- son and Constable, 383: ‘In short, political struggle and legal thought e not least, disputes over the legacy of ancient Rome’s governing authority e led the twelfth century to an intensified consciousness of historical period. For the twelfth century was cultivating a new and sharpened sense of ‘modernity’ (one encounters the term modernitas late in the century), of the distance between past and present, as well as between a more remote and a more recent past, or, as we would say, of the break between antiquity and middle ages.’ See also Peter Classen, ‘Res gestae, universal history, apocalypse: visions of past and future’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 387-417. 235L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 modification of Haskins’ scheme resulted in the fact that the process of individualisation was extended also to affect theological38 and artistic39 as well as political conceptions.40 In conclusion, the conference also recommended three points for further research. A first suggestion was to look towards the reform movement and the Investiture Contest, and search for possible links between this struggle and aspects of the renaissance.41 A second guideline was to investigate the connection between the ecclesiastical development and the wider social and cultural evolution.42 The final suggestion was in fact a reiteration of Haskins’ own advice e to push the research back to the ‘dark period of origin in the eleventh century’.43 Thematic continuity? To what extent have these modifications of Haskins’ renaissance been elaborated? What about new approaches to the cultural history of the twelfth century since the late 1970s? And finally, have the recommendations for further research proposed at the 1977 conference been followed up? In the following section, the main trends in recent research into the twelfth-century renaissance are discussed from a thematic as well as from a methodological point of view. a. Individualism Individualism constitutes one area of interest over the last 20 years. Earlier contributions by Walter Ullmann,44 Peter Dronke,45 and Karl J. Weintraub46 all found a dynamic and developing ‘individualism’ in the middle ages. Ullmann’s ‘political individualism’ was a direct result of the reception of the Aristotelian corpus of political writings in the middle of the thirteenth century and the concomitant political vocabulary available for describing the ‘individual’ as a source of political power. Dronke, on the other hand, traced the emergence of a poetic individualism starting in France around 1050 and reaching a culmination in the twelfth century. As for Weintraub’s search for the individual in biographies from the antiquity to the modern times, writers in the high middle ages composed autobiographies of greater complexity than those few from the early middle ages. However, it is only with Petrarch (1303-74) in the early Italian 38 Chrysogonus Waddell, ‘The reform of the liturgy from a renaissance perspective’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 91, 95: ‘What commanded the perspectives of our twelfth-century humanist was not only the fact that man had been created in the image and likeness of God, but that God himself had become man e no slight source of dignity for the thinking believer.The twelfth century is characterized by a tendency toward individuation of groups, with a concomitant sensitivity in those areas which render each group distinct.’ 39 See the contributions on literature and the arts in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 537-727. 40 Benton, ‘Consciousness of self and perceptions of individuality’, 263-93. 41 See for instance, Giles Constable, ‘Renewal and reform in religious life: concepts and realities’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 37-67; Waddell, ‘The reform of the liturgy’, 88-109; Robert L. Benson, ‘Political renovatio’, 339-86. 42 See for instance Duby’s analysis of the intellectualisation of the courtly culture in the eleventh and twelfth centuries: Georges Duby, ‘The culture of the knightly class. Audience and patronage’, in: Renaissance and renewal, ed. Benson and Constable, 248-62. 43 Benson and Constable, Renaissance and renewal, xvii-xxx. 44 Walter Ullmann, The individual and society in the middle ages (London, 1966). 45 Peter Dronke, Poetic individuality in the middle ages. New departures in poetry 1000-1150 (Oxford, 1970). 46 Karl J. Weintraub, The value of the individual. Self and circumstance in autobiography (Chicago, 1978). 236 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 renaissance that a modern biography emerges. These approaches e concerned with ‘political’, ‘poetic’, and ‘literary’ individualism respectively e underline continuity rather than a break between the medieval ‘individualism’ and Burckhardt’s ‘new man’ of the renaissance. Colin Morris set the terms for much of the more recent discussion through his The discovery of the individual (1973),47 arguing for the origin of the individual and individualism in the pe- riod 1050-1200. Summing up the preliminary results of this discussion, the different facets of the particular medieval individualism have been further stressed. These include ‘political’,48 ‘poetic’,49 ‘literary’50 and ‘intellectual individualism’,51 as well as efforts to come to terms with the different mentalities of medieval Europe.52 Another manifestation of this individual- ism is the new view of love in the twelfth century. Accompanied by an extensive literature on the subject, love became a form of aristocratic self-presentation. It also started to include women in a public discourse on love, immortalized by the love letters of Abelard and Heloise.53 From a communicative point of view, the letter emerged as the prime means for expressing inner thoughts, either in form of letter-poems54 or love letters.55 The twelfth century also experienced a reassessment of Latin verse and poetry56 e providing one point of departure for the culture of courtly love, a feature of the lay culture of the twelfth century and beyond.57 This recent focus on numerous variants of individualism notwithstanding, several warnings against such an approach to twelfth-century individualism have been put forward. First, and from a methodological perspective, recent research has pointed to terminological difficulties in the use ‘individualism’, ‘individual’, and ‘individuality’ on the medieval period,58 47 Colin Morris, The discovery of the individual 1050-1200 (Toronto, 1987). 48 Janet Coleman, ‘The individual and the medieval state’, in: The individual in political theory and practice, ed. J. Coleman (Oxford, 1996), 1-33. 49 Haijo Westra, ‘Individuality, originality and the literary criticism of medieval Latin texts’, in: Poetry and philosophy in the middle ages. A festschrift for Peter Dronke, ed. J. Marenbon (Leiden, 2001), 281-93. 50 Sverre Bagge, ‘The individual in medieval historiography’, in: The individual in political theory and practice, ed. Coleman, 35-57. 51 Sverre Bagge, ‘The ‘autobiography’ of Abelard and medieval individualism’, Journal of Medieval History, 19 (1993), 327-50; Peter Dinzelbach, ‘‘‘Ego non legi..’’ Bernhard von Clairvaux zwischen modernem Individualism und traditoneller Autoritätsgebundenheit’, in: Individum und Individualität im Mittelalter, ed. J.A. Aertsen and A. Speer (Berlin, 1996), 722-47. 52 John F. Benton, ‘Consciousness of self and perceptions of individuality’, in: J.F. Benton, Culture, power and per- sonality in medieval France (London, 1992), 327-56 and, ‘Individualism and conformity in medieval western Europe’, in: Culture, power and personality, Benton, 313-26. 53 For recent analyses, see C. Stephen Jaeger, Ennobling love. In search of a lost sensibility (Philadelphia, 1999); Listening to Heloise. The voice of a twelfth-century woman, ed. B. Wheeler (Basingstoke, 2000). 54 Gerald A. Bond, ‘‘‘Iocus amoris’’: the poetry of Baudri of Bourgueil and the formation of the Ovidian subculture’, Traditio, 42 (1986), 143-93 and The loving subject: desire, eloquence, and power in Romanesque France (Philadelphia, 1995). 55 Brian Patrick McGuire, Friendship and community: the monastic experience 350-1250 (Kalamazoo, 1988); C. Stephen Jaeger, ‘Ironie und Subtext in lateinischen Briefen des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts’, in: Gespräche, Boten, Briefe: Köpergedächtnis und Schriftgedächtnis im Mittelalter, ed. H. Wenzel (Berlin, 1997), 177-92. 56 See T.M.S. Lehtonen, Fortuna, money, and the sublunar world. Twelfth-century ethical poetics and the satirical po- etry of the Carmina Burana (Helsinki, 1995); P. Methonen, Old concepts and new poetics. Historia, argumentum, and fabula in the twelfth- and early thirteenth-century Latin poetics of fiction (Helsinki, 1996). 57 See C. Stephen Jaeger, The origins of courtliness. Civilizing trends and the formation of courtly ideals 939-1210 (Philadelphia, 1985). 58 Christian Strub, ‘Singularität des Individuums? Eine begriffgeschichtliche Problemskizze’, in: Individuum und Individualität im Mittelalter, ed. Aersten and Speer (Berlin, 1996), 37-56. 237L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 particularly with regard to the anachronistic implications of applying a modern notion of the individual as comparative point of departure.59 Second, Caroline Walker Bynum has criticized Colin Morris’ approach to individualism for neglecting the ‘community-context’ of twelfth- century individualism. According to Bynum, twelfth-century religion was characterised by the discovery of the group and the ‘outer man’ as well as by the discovery of the interior land- scape and of the self.60 Bynum’s contribution to the discussion is important because she not only criticises the anachronistic use of terms such as ‘individualism’, but also puts forward al- ternative definitions that seem to fit better the characteristics of the religious life of the period.61 Fortunately, these timid warnings seem to have been followed by recent research.62 b. ‘Rationality’ in science, law, theology, and philosophy Recent research has discussed ‘reason’ or ‘rationality’ in relation to medieval science on the one hand, and in connection with developments in canon law, Roman law, theology, and phi- losophy on the other. Already Lynn White’s pioneering efforts to understand medieval science came to the conclusion that the twelfth century witnessed numerous technical innovations that in turn affected the mental fabric.63 The continuous interest in the theme is reflected in works by M. D. Chenu,64 Alexander Murray,65 Brian Stock,66 Robert Bartlett,67 Tina Stiefel,68 and Andreas Speer,69 in addition to several collections of essays dealing with the subject.70 All the investigations underline the extent to which the twelfth century experienced an intellectual renaissance in terms of the conception of the relationship ‘nature’-‘man’; rather than taking the divinely instituted nature for granted, contemporary intellectuals began to ask questions as to possible laws of nature. However, medieval science did not suddenly become modern; Christianity imposed restrictions on the dominating Platonic worldview. Consequently, several 59 Jan A. Aertsen, ‘Einleitung: Die Entdeckung des Individuums’, in: Individum und Individualität im Mittelalter, Aersten and Speer (Berlin, 1996), xiv-xvii. 60 See C.W. Bynum, ‘Did the twelfth century discover the individual?’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 31 (1980), 1-17. 61 Consequently, Walter suggests that the phrase ‘the discovery of the individual’ should be replaced by the phrase ‘the discovery of the self’ in which the latter phrase should be given two precise meanings: first, the twelfth century ‘discovers the self’ in the sense that interest in the inner landscape of the human being increases after 1050; second, the twelfth century ‘discovers the self’ in the sense that knowing the inner core of human nature within one’s own self is an explicitly theme and preoccupation in literature of the period: Bynum, ‘Did the twelfth century discover the individual?’, 4. 62 See for instance C.W. Hollister, ‘Introduction’, in: Anglo-Norman political culture and the twelfth-century renais- sance. Proceedings of the Borchard conference on Anglo-Norman history, 1995, ed. C.W. Hollister (Woodbridge, 1997), ix. Hollister mentions that the ‘birth of individualism’ was considered a misleading characterisation of the twelfth century (as well as of the Italian renaissance) by the participants at the conference. 63 Lynn T. White, Medieval technology and social change (New York, 1964). 64 M.D. Chenu, Nature, man, and society in the twelfth century. Essays on new theological perspectives in the Latin west (Chicago and London, 1979 (first pub. 1968)). 65 Alexander Murray, Reason and society in the middle ages (Oxford, 1978). 66 Brian Stock, Myth and science in the twelfth century. A study of Bernard Silvester (Princeton, 1972). 67 Robert Bartlett, Gerald of Wales 1146-1223 (Oxford, 1982). 68 Tina Stiefel, The intellectual revolution in twelfth-century Europe (New York, 1985). 69 Andreas Speer, Die entdeckte Natur. Untersuchungen zu Begründungsversuchen einer ‘scientia naturalis’ im 12. Jahrhundert (Leiden, 1995). 70 Die Renaissance der Wissenschaften im 12. Jahrhundert, ed. Peter Weimar (Zürich, 1981); Adelard of Bath. An English scientist and Arabist in the early twelfth century, ed. Charles Burnett (London, 1987). 238 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 of the studies maintain that a new and more scientific approach only appeared in the thirteenth century, largely as a consequence of the rediscovery of the Aristotelian corpus. This corpus pro- vided contemporaries with an approach more oriented toward empirical analysis. The general impression gathered from recent research is that twelfth-century science was characterised by an uneasy relationship between a wide array of methodologies e inductive, deductive, empir- ical, and mathematical. The result was relatively isolated intellectual innovations that achieved institutional form only with the university in the later middle ages. While the new initiatives in relation to canon and Roman law will be treated below in relation to the conference’s suggestions for further research,71 our knowledge of scholastic the- ology has been enlarged by a number of works dealing with prominent intellectual figures. These include Abelard,72 Berengar of Tours,73 Anselm of Canterbury,74 Lanfranc of Bec,75 Rupert of Deutz,76 Allan of Lille,77 Gilbert Porreta,78 Gerhoh of Reichesbach,79 Peter Lombard,80 and Bernard of Clairvaux.81 This research has broadened our understanding of mainly three aspects of the renaissance’s approach to theology. First, not only has the differen- tiation into several strands of theology been confirmed. In addition, the studies have also specified these ‘new approaches to religion’, particular in relation to their influence upon later medieval schools of thought.82 Moreover, the studies have shown the extent to which these intellectuals worked within loosely defined intellectual communities, borrowing, elaborating, and criticising each others work. Finally, this research has underlined the fact that the notion of ‘systematic theology’ hardly can be considered unitary; during the twelfth century, several interpretative approaches competed for hegemony. As such, there seems to be agreement on the fact that the intellectual innovations, in science as well as in theology, were the result of individual efforts rather than the outcome of a collective effort on the part of an institutionalised environment. Consequently, the innovations in the renaissance cannot be said to function in ac- cordance with the paradigmatic characteristics of modern science. The intellectual heritage of Anselm can serve as an example. From one side, the innovative elements of his method have been hailed by modern research, predominantly by referring to the pioneering effort to apply a rational method to scripture. But Anselm was scarcely read in the 71 See section, New thematic approaches? Thematic innovations. 72 Michael T. Clanchy, Abelard. A medieval life (Oxford, 1997); Constant J. Mews, ‘Peter Abelard on dialectic, rhet- oric, and the principles of argument’, in: Rhetoric and renewal in the Latin west 1100-1540. Essays in honour of John O. Ward, ed. C.J. Mews, C.J. Nederman and R.M. Thompson (Turnhout, 2003). 73 Toivo J. Holopainen, Dialectic and theology in the eleventh century (Helsinki, 1995). 74 G.R. Evans, Anselm and a new generation (Oxford, 1980); R.W. Southern, Saint Anselm: a portrait in a landscape (Cambridge, 1990); Giles E.M. Gasper, Anselm of Canterbury and his theological inheritance (Aldershot, 2004). 75 Margaret Gibson, Lanfranc of Bec (Oxford, 1978); H.E.J. Cowdrey, Lanfranc. Scholar, monk, and archbishop (Oxford, 2003). 76 John H. Van Engen, Rupert of Deutz (Berkeley, 1983); Maria Lodovica Arduini, Rupert von Deutz (1076-1129) und der ‘Status Christianitatis’ seiner Zeit. Symbolisch-prophetische Deutung der Geschichte (Köln, 1987). 77 G.R. Evans, Alan of Lille. The frontiers of theology in the later twelfth century (Cambridge, 1983). 78 Olaf Nielsen Lauge, Theology and philosophy in the twelfth century. A study of Gilbert Porreta’s thinking and the theological expositions of the doctrine of the Incarnation during the period 1130-1180 (Leiden, 1982). 79 Erich Meuthen, Kirche und Heilsgeschichte bei Gerhoh von Reichersberg (Leiden, 1959); Peter Classen, Gerhoch von Reichersberg: eine Bibliographie mit einem Anhang über die Quellen, ihre handschriftliche Überlieferung und ihre Chronologie (Wiesbaden, 1960). 80 Marcia L. Colish, Peter Lombard, vols 1 and 2 (Köln, 1994). 81 G.R. Evans, Bernard of Clairvaux (New York, 2000). 82 See section, Beyond Haskins? Thematic continuity. 239L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 twelfth century, and it is only with the scholasticism of the thirteenth century that Anselm seems to exert influence. The reason for this is mainly institutional; those whom Anselm influ- enced in his own day worked within monastic environments and not in the schools.83 In addi- tion to attest to the difficulties in measuring influence in a context where the institutions of learning were rudimentary, the example also contains a methodological reminder. From a twelfth-century point of view, Anselm hardly deserves to figure among the leading theolo- gians of the age. It is only when a receptionist approach is replaced by one focusing on the his- tory of ideas or intellectual history that the theological innovations of the monk of Bec become visible. Both approaches are necessary, but they ought to be distinguished in order to differen- tiate between the ‘contemporary renaissance’ on the one hand, and the ‘renaissance in the his- torical consciousness’ on the other.84 The research into the philosophical side to the twelfth-century renaissance has lagged be- hind, largely as a consequence of its ambivalent relationship to theology.85 In fact, it has been questioned whether it makes much sense to distinguish not only between philosophy and theology in this period, but also between philosophy on the one hand and other types of thought, including logical, grammatical, or scientific on the other.86 The overlap between the disciplines is reflected in the fact that several of the prominent intellectuals of the period e An- selm of Canterbury, Abelard, Alan of Lille, and Gilbert Porreta e also wrote philosophy. The great philosophical movement of the twelfth century was the Neo-Platonism initially associated with the school of Chartres.87 By adding religious motifs to the Platonic heritage, the philosophical heritage achieved a particular complexion,88 seen for instance in the works of Thierry of Chartres89 and William of Conches.90 The influence of Stoicism, another important ancient philosophical school, was restricted.91 This is also the case with the Aristotelian 83 Evans, Anselm and a new generation, 7. 84 For an elaboration of this theoretical point, See Leidulf Melve, ‘Intentions, concepts, and reception. An attempt to come to terms with the materialistic and diachronic aspects of the history of ideas’, History of Political Thought (forthcoming). 85 Peter Dronke, ‘Introduction’, in: A history of twelfth-century western philosophy, ed. P. Dronke (Cambridge, 1988), 1, 13, 17: ‘Till now, the histories of philosophy have lagged behind. . There are a number of anonymous philosophical texts of which, in our present state of knowledge, we cannot even say with confidence that they originated in a secular or a monastic milieu. . What we can offer, however, is something for circulation, not for hoarding; not a fixed corpus of information that will somehow encapsulate twelfth-century philosophy, but above all an opening-up of problems, and an invitation to take them further.’ 86 John Marenbon, Early medieval philosophy (480-1150). An introduction (London, 1983), vii. 87 Winthrop Wetherbee, Platonism and poetry in the twelfth century. The literary influence of the school of Chartres (Princeton, 1972). 88 Tullio Gregory, ‘The Platonic inheritance’, in: A history of twelfth-century western philosophy, ed. Dronke (Cambridge, 1988), 56-80. 89 Peter Dronke, ‘Thierry of Chartres’, in: A history of twelfth-century western philosophy, ed. Dronke (Cambridge, 1988), 384: ‘Thierry’s originality lay in combining an extreme Platonism.with a far-reaching naturalism.’ 90 Dorothy Elford, ‘William of Conches’, in: A history of twelfth-century western philosophy, ed. Dronke (Cambridge, 1988), 308-27. 91 Michael Lapidge, ‘Stoic inheritance’, in: A history of twelfth-century western philosophy, ed. Dronke (Cambridge, 1988), 112: ‘It is fair to say in general, however, that these twelfth-century thinkers treated the question of fate as a cos- mological notion only; they did not go on to explore the role of man’s free will in a universe so strictly ordered. That exploration was left to theologians of a later period: Albertus Magnus, Ulrich of Strasbourg, Duns Scotus and Thomas Aquinas.’ See also Marcia L. Colish, The Stoic tradition from antiquity to the early middle ages. II. Stoicism in Christian Latin thought through the sixth century (Leiden, 1990). 240 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 corpus: reception of Aristotle is mainly found in the political philosophy of John of Salisbury92 and in medical thought.93 The problem of distinguishing between philosophy and theology in the twelfth century is put into perspective when it is remembered that only in the late middle ages did intellectuals become guided by a philosophical system. Not even the scholastics of the thirteenth century succeeded in placing philosophy safely among the artes.94 However, it is wrong to say that the twelfth century failed to contribute to the development of medieval philosophy. In particular two figures have been considered as offering philosophical solutions to Christological problems. One is Anselm whose main contribution was a rational approach to the questions of the existence of God, Trinity, divine omnipotence and free will, and the origin of the soul. Abelard is the second twelfth-century intellectual that made significant philosophical contributions, particularly in the fields of ethics and logic. Although logic experienced a short upsurge in the Carolingian period, the twelfth cen- tury witnessed a great leap forward in terms of complexity and consistency.95 John Marenbon has recently offered a convincing argument for regarding Abelard not only as mainly a critical thinker, using the methods of logic in treating Christian doctrine. Abelard was also a constructive and systematic philosopher both in ontology, epistemology and ethics. Consequently, Marenbon suggests that earlier research’s concern with two disparate profiles e Abelard the logician and Abelard the humanist e should be turned into a fuller portrait of Abelard the philosopher.96 How, then, are we to summarise the findings of recent research in this respect? First, the nu- merous works on individual twelfth-century scholars have underlined the variations between the different scholars, in spite of their working in a common discursive framework. Second, these detailed investigations of individual scholars have contributed to a vastly greater knowl- edge as to the textual culture of the twelfth century. In other words, the arguably most important aspect of Haskins’ renaissance e the new reception of the ancient Latin culture e has been underlined by showing the details and variation in twelfth-century intellectuals’ approach to the textual past. Third, there seems to be agreement on the fact that the period witnesses the development of a systematic, argumentative method of theology as well as more sophisticated logical techniques for semantic analysis and for the study of argument. c. Secularisation and a new critical mentality? Whereas the rational surge of the twelfth century has been confirmed by recent research, this is hardly the case in regard to secularisation and to the question whether the period witnessed 92 Cary J. Nederman, ‘Aristotelianism and the origins of ‘political science’ in the twelfth century’, Journal of the His- tory of Ideas, 52 (1991). 93 See Danielle Jacquart, ‘Aristotelian thought in Salerno’, in: A history of twelfth-century western philosophy, ed. Dronke (Cambridge, 1988), 427: ‘True, the teachers in the famous school directed medicine decisively towards philos- ophy, but their recourse to Aristotle appears more as a consequence of this trend than as a determinant impulse.’ See also Enzo Maccagnolo, ‘David of Dinant and the beginnings of Aristotelianism in Paris’, in: A history of twelfth-century western philosophy, ed. Dronke (Cambridge, 1988), 429-42. For a recent historiographical overview, see Christoph Flüeler, ‘Politischer Aristotelismus im Mittelalter. Einleitung’, Vivarium, 40 (2002), 1-13. 94 G.R. Evans, Philosophy and theology in the middle ages (London, 1994), 7. 95 John Marenbon, ‘The twelfth century’, in: Medieval philosophy, ed. J. Marenbon (London, 1998), 180: ‘The great writers of the first half of the century e Abelard, Gilbert of Poitiers (and some would wish to add William of Conches and Thierry of Chartres) e posed and tackled philosophical questions with an originality which makes the model of assimilation inappropriate. The second half of the century did not produce any philosophers of the same stature. .’ 96 John Marenbon, The philosophy of Peter Abelard (Cambridge, 1997). 241L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 a new critical mentality. As for secularisation, an extensive discussion would go beyond the scope of this article, and only a few reflections will be offered. At the outset, parts of the dis- cussion have been based on wrong premises; in terms of the previous discussion of rationality, it should be evident that secularisation cannot be treated as separate from other intellectual currents in the period.97 Instead of framing the discussion in terms of mutually exclusive cat- egories, ‘authority’e‘reason’, ‘revelation’e‘authority’, the intellectual pluralism of the period should be taken as a point of departure.98 Second, there is a danger in deriving general intel- lectual currents from a particular historical incidence. For instance, J. R. Strayer’s much-quoted claim that the Investiture Contest demanded the creation of the secular state and his concom- itant advocacy for the secularisation thesis should not be taken prima facie as evidence for a general secularisation.99 Similar, P. E. Schramm’s secularisation thesis that still provides interesting reading should be considered a thesis more than a statement of a fact.100 Rather, if secularisation is a valid description of the period, it should be regarded as only one of several factors that together gave the period its characteristic ring. Those arguing for the emergence of a new critical mentality have found both defenders and critics. Perhaps the boldest claim for a change of mentality is put forward by Charles M. Radding. According to Radding, western Europe experienced a profound change of mentality around 1050, the result of which lasted until the mechanical revolution of the seventeenth century. The main reason for its long duration was its intellectual sophistication: critical appre- hendingof the textual past, abstract reasoning, logical deduction, and argumentative sophistica- tion.101 Few, if any, seem to follow Radding’s bold claims. Instead, recent research has, as we have seen, largely traced intellectual innovation within particular fields and subjects such as science and law on the one hand and with individual scholars on the other. What can be said with regard to the critical impetus of the historical writing of the twelfth century? As in most cases, opinions are divided. Beryl Smalley, for instance, argues that twelfth-century his- torians were too concerned with authorities and lacked a proper scheme of periodisation in or- der to approach history in a relatively objective manner.102 Smalley wrote her book in 1974, and it is indicative of more recent approaches to twelfth-century historiography that modern criteria only rarely are used as points of comparison. Partly as a result of an effort to understand 97 Thomas N. Bisson, ‘Conclusion’, in: Cultures of power. Lordship, status, and process in twelfth-century Europe, ed. T.N. Bisson (Philadelphia, 1995), 330: ‘It has often been suggested that the religious peace was secularized in the twelfth century, yet it may prove instructive to think of pacification as a persistently clerical and cultural influence on the remodelling of justice in the twelfth century. . What happened in the twelfth century was that ways of inter- acting and of thinking about power were juxtaposed or run together more easily than in societies with well developed and specialized institutions and discourses.’ See also Giles Constable, The reformation of the twelfth century (Cambridge, 1996). 98 The problem of categorisation is treated in the section, New methodological insight? Categorisation. 99 J.R. Strayer, On the medieval origins of the modern state (New Jersey, 1970). See also J.R. Strayer, Medieval state- craft and the perspectives of history (New Jersey, 1971). 100 P.E. Schramm, Kaiser, Rom, Renovatio. Studien zur Geschichte des römischen Erneuerungsgedankens vom Ende des karolingischen Reiches bis zum Investiturstreit (Leipzig, 1929). 101 Charles M. Radding, A world made by men: cognition and society, 400-1200 (Chapel Hill, 1985). See also Radding, ‘Evolution of medieval mentalities: a cognitive-structural approach’, American Historical Review, 83 (1978), 597: ‘In general then, focusing on logical structure helps us to realize the dimensions of the break that began in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. ‘Renaissance’ is too weak a word to characterize this shift, which comprised much more than a return to antique canons of style or the recovery of classical texts.’ See also Harald Kleinschmidt, Understanding the middle ages. The transformation of ideas and attitudes in the medieval world (Woodbridge, 2000). 102 Beryl Smalley, Historians in the middle ages (London, 1974). 242 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 medieval writers on their own terms, the historiography of the period has been appreciated anew. While some have spoken of a new conception of historical time,103 others have focused on the source-critical method of William of Malmesbury104 or Otto of Freising’s sophisticated treatment of historical schemes.105 Aware of the great variety of historical writing appearing in the twelfth century,106 several studies have also looked critically at old categorisations, for in- stance that distinguishing between a ‘secular’ and a ‘monastic’ historiography. John O. Ward, although admitting that it still makes sense to talk about a new critical methodology in the monastic historiography of the twelfth century, underlines the innovative contributions from archdeacons and others on the fringes of the Church. Basically, it was the tension between arch- deacons and monks that paved the way for a new critical historical methodology.107 C. Warren Hollister has similarly argued that the burgeoning of history in the Anglo-Norman world should be considered as a result of a number of factors, not only Benedictine strength.108 The thematic continuity with Haskins’ renaissance, then, is hard to overlook. As such, the book certainly has aged well, still providing a framework for research. This being said, the cultural achievements of the period have been found to be much less unitary than Haskins imagined; the period was not strictly ‘rational’ or ‘secular’, and neither did a full-blown indi- vidualism emerge. Instead, the period is characterised by the uneasy coexistence between tra- ditional themes and a plurality of new approaches. The lasting achievement of the renaissance varied markedly from subject to subject. This last point is nicely illustrated by the discussion as to whether the historiography of the twelfth century can be deemed ‘critical’. Not only is there a lack of agreement as to what should be used as criteria when measuring the critical impetus, in addition, even if agreed-upon criteria for measurement were established, recent research has only started to come to terms with a diversity that rarely admits general characterisations such as ‘critical’. Thematic innovations? The three suggestions for further research mentioned at the 1977 conference e looking at the Investiture Contest, investigating the relationship between the ecclesiastical and the secular culture, and searching for the origin of the renaissance in the eleventh century e have all been followed up. Not surprisingly, the relatively few thematic innovations in 103 For a general positive view upon the historical writing of the twelfth century, see Franz-Josef Schmale, Funktionen und Formen mittelalterlicher Geschichtsschreibung. Eine Einführung (Darmstadt, 1985); Lars Boje Mortensen, ‘Work- ing with ancient Roman history: a comparison of Carolingian and twelfth-century scholarly endeavours’, in: Gli uma- nesimi medievali, ed. C. Leonardi (Firenze, 1998), 411-20; Hans-Werner Goetz, Geschichtsschreibung und Geschichtsbewußtsein im hohen Mittelalter (Berlin, 1999). More negative views are those of Smalley, Historians of the middle ages. 104 Rodney Thompson, William of Malmesbury (Woodbridge, 1987). 105 Hans-Werner Goetz, Das Geschichtsbild Ottos von Freising: Ein Beitrag zur historischen Vorstellungswelt und zur Geschichte des 12. Jahrhunderts (Köln, 1984); Sverre Bagge, ‘Ideas and narrative in Otto of Freising’s Gesta Frederici’, Journal of Medieval History, 22 (1996), 345-77. 106 Paul Magdalino, ‘Introduction’, in: The perception of the past in twelfth-century Europe, ed. P. Magdalino (London, 1992), xiv: ‘The overall impression that emerges, at least from ‘old Europe’ is one of great variety.’ 107 John O. Ward, ‘The monastic historiographical impulse c. 1000-1260. A re-assessment’, in: Historia. The concept and genres in the Middle Ages ed. T.S. Lehtonen and P. Mehtonen (Helskinki, 2000), 71-100. 108 C. Warren Hollister, ‘Anglo-Norman political culture and the twelfth-century renaissance’, in: Anglo-Norman polit- ical culture and the twelfth-century renaissance, ed. Hollister, 1-16. 243L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 recent research are found within the confines of these recommendations. Three in particular deserve a mention: a new interest in medieval communications, the Investiture Contest seen as the ‘dark period of origin’, and a focus on the ‘non-Latin culture’ of the twelfth century. a. Medieval communication A concern with the communicative framework is strictly speaking not a new theme: the re- lationship between the so-called high culture in form of the Latin Christian culture and the low vernacular culture has long been seen as problematic.109 It is only recently, however, that the communicative interrelationship between these ‘two cultures’ has been investigated, providing for new thematic approaches to the twelfth-century renaissance. The most important work in this respect is Brian Stock’s monumental The implications of literacy (1983), presenting the the- ory of the ‘textual community’: according to Stock, in order to understand the intellectual con- figuration of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, it is necessary to acknowledge the extent to which the more literate Latin culture of the period laid the premises for intellectual innovations in law, philosophy, and theology. The increased use of the written word triggered a more critical approach to the textual past e seen for instance in Berengar of Tours’ divergent interpretation of the Eucharist. This new interest in interpretation was not reserved for a tiny intellectual elite commanding the ability to read and write. In certain cases e the early heretical movement is the prime example e literate interpreters presented the message to groups of semi- or illiterates by aural or oral means. Oral and written forms of communication in combination thus bridge the gap between the high and the low culture, providing for what Stock calls a ‘textual community’. The characteristic trait of this entity is the extent to which the interpretation of a text provides for the social identity and cohesion of the entire community.110 Stock traces a number of such communities in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, all displaying an interpretive and critical approach to the textual past. Stock’s insight has been applied to numerous contexts, such as antiquity,111 the early middle ages,112 the late middle ages,113 and even to Old Norse culture.114 However, there is, to my knowledge at least, no other study that deals specifically with the twelfth-century renaissance in terms of the relationship between oral and written communication. 115 This 109 For a recent discussion mainly dealing with the early middle ages, see Michel Banniard, ‘Language and communi- cation in Carolingian Europe’, in: The New Cambridge Medieval History, Vol. 2 c. 700-c.900, ed. R. McKitterick (Cambridge, 1995), 695-708. 110 Brian Stock, The Implications of literacy. Written language and models of interpretation in the eleventh and twelfth centuries (New Jersey, 1983), See also Brian Stock, Listening for the text: on the uses of the past (Philadelphia, 1996). 111 Thomas F.X. Noble, ‘Literacy and the papal government in late antiquity and the early middle ages’, in: The Uses of Literacy in Early Mediaeval Europe, ed. R. McKitterick (Cambridge, 1990), 82-108; Peter Heather, ‘Literacy and power in the migration eriod’, in: Literacy and Power in the Ancient World, ed. A. Bowman and G. Woolf (Cambridge, 1994), 177-97. 112 S. Lerer, Literacy and power in Anglo-Saxon literature (Lincoln, 1991); Martin Irvine, The making of textual culture: ‘grammatica’ and literary theory, 350-1100 (Cambridge, 1994). 113 Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: the Eucharist in late medieval culture (Cambridge, 1991). 114 Guðrún Nordahl, Tools of literacy. The role of Skaldic verse in Icelandic textual culture of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (Toronto, 2001). 115 Janet Coleman touches the subject in her Ancient and medieval memories, but from a different point of view. See section, Concluding remarks: suggestions for further research. 244 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 is a bit strange, not only in terms of the wide reception of Stock’s work, but also because the last 20 years have seen a growing interest in medieval patterns of communication.116 b. The Investiture Contest The revolutionary sides to the Investiture Contest have long been recognised.117 Still, it is only recently that this struggle has been analysed in relation to the twelfth-century renaissance, resulting in a stress on the German contribution to the renaissance.118 New approaches to legal- ity have been the main focus of interest. In this period, canon law emerged from its previous unsystematic and customary state by way of systematic attempts at ‘harmonising discordant canons’. Several studies have thus shown the extent to which the canon law activity in the wake of the Investiture Contest prepared for the later canon law science associated with the canon law collection of Gratian from about 1140.119 For instance, the works of several of the canonists writing during the Contest e Ivo of Chartres and Anselm of Lucca in particular e were included in Gratian’s collection. But canon law was not the only legal tradition that developed considerably during the In- vestiture Contest.120 Also the secular law tradition in the form of Roman law was rediscov- ered. From one perspective, the subsequent Roman law renaissance of the twelfth century has been seen as a continuation of the pioneering efforts of the eleventh century.121 Although the sketchy use of Roman law during the Investiture Contest hardly warrants the label renais- sance, it nevertheless showed progress over the few Roman law references found in the early middle ages. In one case at least e Peter Crassus’ defence of King Henry IV from 1080 or 116 For an overview of recent research, see Leidulf Melve, ‘Literacy, aurality, and orality. A survey of recent research into the orality/literacy complex of the Latin middle ages’, Symbolae Osloenses, 78 (2003), 143-98. 117 See for instance, Karl Leyser, ‘On the eve of the first European revolution’, in: Communications and power in me- dieval Europe. The Gregorian revolution and beyond, K. Leyser (London, 1994), 1-21. 118 The literature on the Investiture Contest is enormous. A selection includes Uta-Renate Blumenthal, Der Investitur- streit (Stuttgart, 1982); Gerd Tellenbach, Die westliche Kirche vom 10. bis zum frühen 12. Jahrhundert (Göttingen, 1988); Wilfried Hartmann, Der Investiturstreit (München, 1993). 119 Recent entries include John Gilchrist, Canon law in the age of reform, 11th-12th centuries (Aldershot, 1993); Bruce C. Brasington, ‘Prologues to canonical collections as a source for jurisprudential change to the eve of the Investiture Contest’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien, 28 (1994), 242: ‘The compilers reveal the development of canonical jurispru- dence from its foundations in late-antique rhetoric and theology to the investiture contest, which ushered in the so-called renaissance of the twelfth century.’; Kathleen G. Cushing, Papacy and law in the Gregorian revolution. The canonistic work of Anselm of Lucca (Oxford, 1998). For recent investigations on Gratian, see Anders Winroth, The making of Gratian’s Decretum (Cambridge, 2000) and the discussion in Revue de droit canonique, 51:2 (2001). 120 For an attempt to push the rediscovery of Roman law back to the late tenth and early eleventh century, see Charles M. Radding, The origins of medieval jurisprudence: Pavia and Bologna 850-1150 (New Haven, 1988). The attempt has been met with mixed reception, from total rejections to appraisals for extending the confines of the study of the recep- tion of Roman law. All in all, however, it is probably too early to conclude as to the implications of this revisionist attempt in relation to the study of medieval Roman law. 121 The arguably most far-reaching claim is that of Harold J. Berman: the Contest led to revolutionary legal changes in western Europe. The effort of Pope Gregory VII to change practical behaviour through reliance on the written word, paved the way for legal codification of the whole social fabric, see Harold J. Berman, Law and revolution. The formation of the western legal tradition (Harvard, 1983). See also Manlio Bellomo, The common legal past of Europe 1000-1800 (Washington, 1995); Maurizio Lupoi, The origins of the legal order (Cambridge, 2000). 245L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 1084 e there are signs of a more profound reception of the legal corpus.122 In general, we are miles away from the more elaborate reception of the corpus in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.123 As for theology, it is indicative that several of the prominent theologians of the twelfth century e Rupert of Deutz, Anselm of Canterbury, and Gerhoh of Reichersberg e were involved in the Contest. Is it also indicative that the disciplines that most forcefully have been seen as manifestations of the twelfth-century renaissance e canon and Roman law, theology, and political theory e were addressed in the intellectual debate during the In- vestiture Contest. Philosophy, however, was only rudimentarily dealt with during the Contest, although the contribution of Peter Damian and Manegold of Lautenbach are two notable exceptions.124 c. The non-Latin renaissance The contributions to the third thematic innovation are in fact a mixed bag, the common el- ement being a focus on the non-Latin culture. As such, it not only goes beyond Haskins’ renais- sance, but also the modifications at the 1977 conference. One such approach has been called the ‘vernacular renaissance’ and treats the vernacularisation of written discourse in the twelfth century.125 Four contributions illustrate different facets of this renaissance: Peter Damian-Grint, in analysing the English translation literature of the twelfth century, argues that this process of vernacularisation was one of the most lasting legacies of the twelfth-century renaissance. 126 Suzanne Reynolds, in dealing with vernacular reading practices and the uneasy relationship between vernacular texts, finds that this led to the discovery of intention as one of the central categories of twelfth-century thought.127 Sarah Spence, in focusing on the function of the vernacular in forging new conceptualisations of self and reality, maintains that the use of the vernacular enabled identification between the text and the body which in turn resulted in a def- inition of the self through the process of identity and difference.128 Finally, Rita Copeland discusses vernacular translations of Latin texts within an academic environment and the way the ideas of translation were shaped in the ‘actual strategies of academic practice’. 129 Common to these entries is a concern with the cultural diffusion between the Latin and the vernacular cultures, the social context of the use of the text, and the social implications of the emergence of a vernacular culture. A second new thematic approach addressing ‘non-Latin’ refers to cross-cultural interaction between Christians on the one hand and Jews and Arabs on the other. The main emphasis has been on how these cross-cultural currents offer a means to explain the Latin renaissance. In the 122 For an analysis of the Roman law reception in the Investiture Contest, See Leidulf Melve, The medieval public sphere. Continuity and innovation in the polemical literature of the Investiture Contest (Ph.D. thesis, Bergen 2004). 123 See Johannes Fried, Die Entstehung des Juristenstandes im 12. Jahrhundert. Zur sozialen Stellung und politischen Bedeutung gelehrter Juristen in Bologna und Modena (Köln, 1974); Hermann Lange, Römisches Recht im Mittelalter. Band I. Die Glossatoren (München, 1997). 124 See Melve, The medieval public sphere. See also section, New thematic approaches? Thematic continuity. 125 In her treatment of the twelfth-century renaissance, Colish has drawn attention to the increasing two-way traffic be- tween Latin and vernacular literature, see Colish, Medieval foundations of the western intellectual tradition, 176 126 Peter Damian-Grint, The new historians of the twelfth-century renaissance (Woodbridge, 1999). 127 Suzanne Reynolds, Medieval reading. Grammar, rhetoric and the classical text (Cambridge, 1996). 128 Sarah Spence, Texts and the self in the twelfth century (Cambridge, 1989). 129 Rita Copeland, Rhetoric, hermeneutics, and translation in the middle ages. Academic traditions and vernacular texts (Cambridge 1995), 6. 246 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 case of the Jews, the pioneering work of Anna Sapir Abulafia has shown the extent to which the twelfth-century renaissance as a European Latin renaissance defined itself by excluding Jewish intellectual currents. In fact, recent research has suggested that in several areas e ver- nacular literature, biblical exegesis, and piety and religious life e there were parallel develop- ments in the Christian and the Jewish cultures. Both cultures went through a transformation in the twelfth century from a monastic or synagogue- and chapel based practice to a more school- based, grounded with reason and logic.130 The questions of influence and of how to explain the twelfth-century renaissance have also been a focus of attention with regard to the Arabic in- fluence. In one such reading, an important part of the renaissance e the scholasticism e has been considered dependent on cultural loans from Islam.131 A different type of approach to the question of explanation, has attempted to explain the more lasting contribution of the twelfth-century renaissance in Europe, compared to its results in Islam and China. Following Toby E. Huff, the scientific revolution of the seventeenth century was as much a product of the twelfth century as of the early modern period. The renaissance in the west was able to exert such an influence largely because it early on became institutionalised in the form of the uni- versity, thereby providing an environment for the accumulation and scrutinising of knowledge.132 In sum, recent research into the twelfth-century renaissance does not abound in new approaches. Those that exist have, together with the further elaboration of the themes of Haskins’ renaissance, made the renaissance more elusive. If one trait stands out from the numerous works over the last 20 years or so, it can perhaps be called ‘innovation within continuity’; the renaissance was prepared by the spread of literacy in the preceding century as well as by the new approaches to law evident from the Investiture Contest. The ‘insti- tutionalisation’ of these beginnings, however, started in the twelfth century by the establish- ment of environments of learning either in the form of a specific work e Gratian’s Decretum or the Roman law corpus e or a place of learning e Bologna, Paris, or Salerno.133 New methodological insight? The recent discussions of methodological approaches to the twelfth century have focused on ‘categorisation’ and ‘periodisation’. These discussions are partly a result of the impact of the so-called ‘linguistic turn’ and partly a consequence of the truce reached with the renaissance specialists concerning the role of the twelfth-century renaissance. Rather than 130 See the contributions in: Jews and Christians in twelfth-century Europe, ed. Michael A. Signer and John Van Engen (Notre Dame, 2001). 131 This controversial thesis is put forward by George Makdisi, The rise of humanism in classical Islam and the Chris- tian West: with special reference to scholasticism (Edinburgh, 1990). 132 Toby E. Huff, The rise of early modern science. Islam, China, and the west (Cambridge, 1993). 133 For recent studies on the development of the university, see Rebirth, reform and resilience. Universities in transition, 1300-1700, ed. J. M. Kittelson and P. J. Transue (Columbia, 1984); Hilde de Ridder-Symoens, Universities in the middle ages (Cambridge, 1992). See also C. Stephen Jaeger, The envy of angels. Cathedral schools and social ideas in medieval Europe, 950-1200 (Philadelphia 1994). 247L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 addressing the discussion of the ‘linguistic turn’ in its many disguises e the ‘new philol- ogy’,134 the ‘new cultural history’,135 and the ‘cultural turn’136 e it should suffice to note that one result of the discussions has been to stimulate an already existing interest in the relationship between the ‘text’ and the ‘social reality’ within medieval studies.137 Beyond this, the influence of the ‘linguistic turn’ can also be found in sub-disciplines concerned with book history,138 rhetoric,139 literary theory,140 and the visual or aesthetic dimension to the text.141 a. Periodisation Basically, the neat temporal frame to which Haskins assigned the name the twelfth-century renaissance, 1050-1250, has been questioned. This questioning, moreover, indicates an aware- ness of the artificial dividing lines between the medieval and renaissance periods. Perhaps par- adoxically, the questioning is a result of the new knowledge about its pre-history, leading to an awareness of the extent to which the twelfth-century renaissance only institutionalised develop- ments of past centuries. In addition, the replacement of Haskins’ use of the Latin culture as criterion with one which includes the vernacular cultures has also contributed forcefully to the fragmentation of the unitary view of the renaissance. Similarly, the introduction of ‘non-Latin’ elements in addition to the vernacular cultures e the Hebrew and the Islamic tra- dition for instance e has shattered the geographical placement of the renaissance in western Europe. As to the abrupt termination of the renaissance in 1250, Haskins’ notion relied on an erroneous view of scholastic culture: the vitality of the renaissance was replaced with a sterile and pedantic scholasticism. Few today talk about scholasticism as an impediment to the devel- opment of medieval thought. Rather, the scholastic theology is now considered a vital and last- ing element of the intellectual climate of the middle ages. Scholastic theology, in turn, has been linked to several of the defining traits of Haskins’ renaissance: it was, along with canon law, the prime site for fostering critical thought levelled against authorities on the one hand, and stim- ulated a new interest in the subjective experience of the faith and intentionalism on the other.142 134 See the discussion by Suzanne Fleichman, ‘Philology, linguistics, and the discourse of the medieval text’, Speculum, 65 (1990), 19-37; Siegfried Wenzel, ‘Reflections on the (new) philology’, Speculum, 65 (1990), 11-8; R. Howard Bloch, ‘New philology and Old French’, Speculum, 65 (1990), 38-58. 135 See The new cultural history: essays, ed. Lynn Hunt (Berkeley, 1989). 136 See Beyond the cultural turn: new directions in the study of society and culture, ed. Victoria E. Bonnell (Berkeley, 1999). 137 See for instance the work of Gabrielle Spiegel, Romancing the past. The rise of vernacular prose historiography in thirteenth-century France (Berkeley, 1993). 138 Jesse M. Gellrich, The idea of the book in the middle ages. Language theory, mythology, and fiction (Ithaca, 1985). 139 Milada Buda, Medieval history and discourse. Toward a topography of textuality (New York, 1990); Ruth Morse, Truth and convention in the middle ages. Rhetoric, representation, and reality (Cambridge, 1991). 140 Irvine, The making of textual culture; Dennis H. Green, The beginnings of medieval romance: fact and fiction, 1150-1220 (Cambridge, 2002). 141 Karl F. Morrison, History as visual art in the twelfth-century renaissance (London, 1992); Mary Carruthers, The craft of thought: meditation, rhetoric, and the making of images, 400-1200 (Cambridge, 1998), 5: ‘Specifically, the twelfth century in Europe marks the development of a much larger, much more disparate, more urban audience with a large contingent of vernacular-speaking, uncloistered, married laypeople. Such a citizenry makes for very different rhetorical dynamics than does the relatively small, relatively homogenous citizenry of a monastery.’ 142 Marcia L. Colish, ‘Haskins’s renaissance seventy years later: beyond anti-Burchardtianism’, The Haskins Society Journal, 11 (1998), 1-17. 248 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 These and other contributions to the evolution of medieval thought, then, have fragmented the temporal and geographical confines of the once unitary renaissance. Problems of categorisation are perhaps most severe in relation to the term ‘renaissance’. In general, the term is used in two senses. First, it has been used to refer to a certain kind of civilisation considered superior to the preceding. Second, renaissance has also denoted devel- opments within the cultural sphere such as innovations in art, science, or literature.143 It goes without saying that these two senses do not necessarily have the same reference, and they can therefore not be used indiscriminately. On a terminological level, the term has to be precisely defined. If not, it becomes useless for comparative purposes and at worst, meaningless.144 But, even if the term is defined in either of these two senses, it can legitimately be questioned whether it makes sense to use renaissance as a periodic description at all. The huge regional differences in medieval Europe coupled with the restricted amount of sources renders such pe- riodic generalisations reductionist at best. In relation to the above sketch of recent research into the renaissance, there is a good case for dispensing entirely with the general use of the term.145 However, this might be to go too far as we need a conceptual apparatus, in spite of the post- modernist claims to the contrary. If the conceptual apparatus is properly defined it can still function as a valuable heuristic device.146 A related set of problems have to do with the anachronistic and sometimes tautological at- tempts at understanding the twelfth-century notion of ‘individualism’, ‘rationality’, and ‘secu- larisation’ based on a transhistorical comparison with the modern terms. The heuristic value of such terms is obvious. However, the appropriate unit of analysis for studying renaissance soci- ety should neither be the individual nor the group, but rather the social relationship that links individuals to each other and to other groups.147 Adding to these two criticisms, a third criti- cism deals with the inherent evolutionary idealism of the categories used to characterise the twelfth-century renaissance. This criticism has been concerned with the question of power; Haskins’ modernism has been criticised for neglecting to deal with the ‘disciplinary and forc- ing’ aspects of the long twelfth century, and also for failing to reflect upon the all-embracing effect of what has been called a proto-statist manifestation of power.148 From a similar perspec- tive, the modernist-idealistic approach of Haskins can legitimately be accused of excluding the contribution of women both in the production and patronage of religious literature and art.149 143 G.W. Trompf, ‘The concept of the Carolingian renaissance’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 34 (1973), 3-26. 144 Southern claims that the term ‘renaissance’ has no clearly defined meaning, and characterises the semantics of the term to be ‘sublime and meaningless’, see Richard W. Southern, ‘Medieval humanism’, in: Medieval humanism and other studies, R.W. Southern, 29. Hollister, ‘Introduction’, ix maintains that although the term ‘twelfth-century renais- sance’ is a useful term, it should be used with caution. See also Christopher Brooke, The twelfth century renaissance (London, 1969). 145 See C. Stephen Jaeger, ‘Pessimism in the twelfth-century ‘renaissance’’, Speculum, 78 (2003), 1183: ‘‘Renaissance’ was in the past century a useful term. It served the purpose of calling attention to the energy and productivity of the twelfth century.but it is time to scrap it. It is now more trouble than it is worth; it obscures more than it illuminates.’ 146 R.N. Swanson, The twelfth-century renaissance (Manchester, 1999), 1-7 discusses the question of the definition and finds that although the ‘great Renaissance has itself fragmented’, it is impossible not to search for a definition: ‘The unitary phenomenon may need to be replaced by a series of more closely defined movements which more accurately reflect the way in which understanding of the twelfth-century has changed since 1927.’ 147 Ronald F.E. Weissman, ‘Reconstructing renaissance sociology: the ‘Chicago School’ and the study of renaissance society’, in: Persons in groups. Social behavior as identity formation in medieval and renaissance Europe, ed. R.C. Trexler (New York, 1985), 40-52. 148 Thomas N. Bisson, ‘Introduction’, in: Cultures of Power, ed. Bisson (Philadelphia, 1995), 2-7. 149 For a short discussion, see Colish, ‘Haskins’s renaissance seventy years later’, 11. 249L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 Fortunately, recent research into the twelfth-century renaissance has become increasingly aware of at least some of the methodological problems inherent in a comparative framework which has the Italian renaissance as its polemical counterpart. As such, the prejudice inherent in the label dark ages has often erected a misunderstood polemical front between the protag- onists of the two camps. Partly as a consequence of the linguistic turn and the concomitant focus on ‘alterity’ also within renaissance studies, Burckhardt’s paradigm has been replaced by a more plural notion of the heritage of the renaissance.150 Burckhardt’s sense of individ- ualism is still a dominating theme, but the approach has altered, now focusing more on cul- tural factors.151 Amongst medievalists, direct comparisons between the twelfth-century renaissance and its Italian counterpart are now few and far between. In this respect, the Ital- ian renaissance has been replaced by the Carolingian renaissance as a point of comparison.152 In relation to the renaissance debate, Randolph Starn has reminded us of the fact that the old battles of pre-eminence are out of fashion, and suggests the time is ripe for the liberation from old conventions of periodisation.153 To name only two, Peter Burke154 and Paul Oskar Kristeller155 have for long shown a willingness to take the practical consequence of such an advice. In conclusion, the methodological discussions focusing on periodisation and categorisation are not only intertwined. They are also linked to the search for origins, and thereby attached to one of the main concerns of Haskins’ renaissance. Scepticism towards periodisation is, in turn, linked to an awareness of origins that often transcends the narrow and inflexible lines of demar- cation frequently used in periodisations. Furthermore, a discursive network of power neither knows nor respects any externally imposed demarcation lines, for example, periodisation. Fi- nally, the search for modalities of power has often taken the form of genealogical approaches to the cultural origin of the given modality. Concluding remarks: Suggestions for further research Before summing up this sketch of directions of recent research into the twelfth-century re- naissance in terms of suggestions for further research, there is one vital side to this research that has not yet been mentioned: the increasing interdisciplinary orientation of recent investigations. Resulting partly from the acknowledgement of a set of common methodological problems, and partly as a consequence of the felt need to supplement the traditional source-critical approach with theoretical frameworks borrowed from sociology, anthropology, archaeology, and commu- nication-studies, the orientation has contributed to knowledge of the necessity of 150 See the papers from the American Historical Review Forum ‘The persistence of the renaissance’ 103 (1998), which underline the extent to which renaissance studies e or early modern studies as a less value-ridden term e have been enriched by the new focus on ‘alterity’. Whereas the discipline still clings to a notion of the ‘modernity’ of the renais- sance, the notion is more plural and is less tautological and anachronistic. 151 See for instance, John Martin, ‘Inventing sincerity, refashioning prudence: the discovery of the individual in renais- sance Europe’, American Historical Review, 102 (1997), 1309-42. 152 See for instance, Carolingian culture: emulation and innovation, ed. Rosamond Mckitterick (Cambridge, 1994). 153 Randolph Starn, ‘Who’s afraid of the renaissance’, in: The past and future of medieval studies, ed. J.H. Van Engen (Notre Dame, 1994), 132: ‘For surely one of the most compelling reasons for the relatively peaceful relations between medievalists and renaissianists is a more or less acknowledged fear that none of us matter very much these days.’ 154 Peter Burke, The Italian renaissance. Culture and society in Italy (Cambridge, 1987). 155 Paul Oskar Kristeller, Renaissance thought and its sources (New York, 1979). 250 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 a ‘contextualised understanding of a plurality of value e as well as systems of meaning’.156 One example of an interdisciplinary approach to the twelfth century has combined history on the one hand with architecture and art history on the other in an effort to establish the link between theory and practice.157 The above sketch has shown that innovations primarily have surfaced in terms of method- ological elaboration, in spite of certain thematic innovations. This being said, these new meth- odological departures are probably less radical than they might appear, since some of the allegedly new insights of the ‘linguistic turn’ were hardly new to medievalists. For instance, the knowledge of linguistic particularities and discursive patterns has had, and still has a prom- inent position within medieval cultural studies.158 The so-called ‘new medievalism’ is perhaps not so new after all.159 In short, the explicit thematisation of questions pertaining to ‘periodisa- tion’ and ‘categorisation’ are the real departures from the discussion preceding the 1977 conference. The following three suggestions for further research are partly based on the above sketch, but also conditioned on a general need for investigating ‘the social function of literary theory and interpretation at various cultural moments’.160 First, there is a need for systematic compar- ison between the cultural blooms of the Carolingian161 and Ottonian periods and the twelfth- century renaissance. From a methodological point of view, this suggestion implies a partial ac- knowledgement of the artificiality of historical periodisation, but for heuristic reasons, it stops short of discarding all use of periodisation. Second, an effort to come to terms with the ‘dark period of origin’ of the eleventh century could look to Jacques Le Goff’s now old, but still valuable outline of the emergence of a new type of ‘free intellectuals’ from the urban centres from about 1100; intellectuals characterised by a relative independence from the secular and the sacerdotal hierarchies, whose later person- ification is Abelard.162 These intellectuals are important not only as forerunners for the learned men of the twelfth century, but also because they served as mediators between the early and the high middle ages. The relationship between the characteristic traits of the twelfth-century re- naissance as emerging in recent research could then be properly contextualised, providing for a fuller understanding of these traits. 156 Marcia L. Colish: ‘Intellectual history’, in: The past and future of medieval studies, ed. Van Engen, 190-8, claims that recent approaches to medieval intellectual history reflects an interdisciplinary trend. 157 Charles M. Radding and William W. Clark, Medieval architecture, medieval learning: builders and masters in the age of Romanesque and Gothic (New Haven, 1992). 158 John H. Van Engen, ‘Agenda paper: the future of medieval studies’, in: The past and future of medieval studies, ed. Van Engen, 4-5. 159 Stephen G. Nichols, ‘The new medievalism: tradition and discontinuity in medieval culture’, in: The new medieval- ism, ed. M.S. Brownlee, K. Brownlee and S.G. Nichols (Baltimore, 1991), 8: ‘new medievalism tries to contextualize the concept of modernity as a process of cultural change, and thus to profit from the decline of modernism’s hegemony both as the dominant period and the arbiter of methodological orthodoxy.’ 160 This point is formulated by Irvine, Making of textual culture, 15-6: ‘What is most needed now is a series of inves- tigations into the social function of literary theory and interpretation at various cultural moments, that is, the function of literary texts in historical periods defined not by simple chronology and nationality but by shared cultural practices, methodologies, and texts held in common across national and linguistic boundaries.’ 161 See Richard E. Sullivan, ‘The Carolingian age: reflections on its place in the history of the middle ages’, Speculum, 64 (1989), 304: ‘There are compelling reasons to accept a periodisation paradigm which enfolds the Carolingian age into a longer period extending from late antiquity to the tenth century. .’ 162 Jacques Le Goff, Les intellectuels au moyen age (Paris, 1957). 251L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 Third, the thematic innovations of the last two decades e concern with the communicative framework, the ‘origin’ in the Investiture Contest, and the focus on the non-Latin sides to the Latin renaissance e are each promising. Nevertheless, the advantages of conceptualising the relationship between these new departures should be stressed. For, as John Gilchrist suggested over a decade ago, the possible relationship between the reform movement, the legal renais- sance of the twelfth century and the emergence of ‘textual communities’ in Stock’s sense of the term is one promising place to start.163 Hence, an awareness of the communicative frame- work of the period can contextualise the specific aspects of the twelfth-century renaissance. In addition, such awareness enables a more comprehensive understanding of the non-Latin sides to the Latin renaissance. For instance, knowledge of the particular interrelationship between Latin and the vernacular in terms of the written, aural and oral communication can contribute to a more comprehensive delineation of the dynamics between these ‘two cultures’. In the last in- stance, such a communicative awareness also prepares for an increased understanding of the peripheral parts of Europe and particularly the extent to which the periphery e Scandinavia and eastern Europe e adapted and modified the contents of the twelfth-century renaissance. Leidulf Melve is a post-doctoral fellow at Centre for Medieval Studies, University of Bergen. Earlier research interests include literacy theory and the relationship between oral and written forms of communication. His publications include ‘Literacy-aurality-orality: a survey of recent research into the orality/literacy complex of the Latin middle ages’ in Sym- bolae Osloenses, 78, (2003) and ‘Intentions, concepts, and reception. An attempt to come to terms with the materialistic and diachronic aspects of the history of ideas’, in History of Political Thought (forthcoming). He is currently preparing a book arising out of his doctorate entitled The medieval public sphere. Continuity and innovation in the polemical lit- erature of the Investiture Contest. 163 John Gilchrist, ‘Introduction’, in: J. Gilchrist, Canon Law in the Age of Reform, 11th e 12th centuries (Hampshire, 1993), xi-xvi. 252 L. Melve / Journal of Medieval History 32 (2006) 231e252 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it et sb ib li ot ek et i B er ge n] a t 03 :3 3 04 M ar ch 2 01 5 ‘The revolt of the medievalists’. Directions in recent research on the twelfth-century renaissance The ‘renaissance’ in the historical consciousness Beyond Haskins? Thematic continuity? a. Individualism b. ‘Rationality’ in science, law, theology, and philosophy c. Secularisation and a new critical mentality? Thematic innovations? a. Medieval communication b. The Investiture Contest c. The non-Latin renaissance New methodological insight? a. Periodisation Concluding remarks: Suggestions for further research 
work_nm6cbsskwfaapajiladh2a5qva	----	Angelo Poliziano’s De poesi et poetis (BNCF Naz. II.I.99) and the Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism Angelo Poliziano’s De poesi et poetis (BNCF Naz. II.I.99) and the Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism Giulia Torello-Hill, Griffith University MANUSCRIPT NAZ. II.I.99 from the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale in Florence is a collection of a wide array of Greek and Latin classical and late antique sources. Carlo Strozzi (1587–1670) originally attributed it to Marcello VirgilioAdriani (1464– 1521), who took over the chair of Greek and Latin eloquence at the Studio Fioren- tino upon the death of Angelo Poliziano in 1494. In 1982, Lucia Cesarini Martinelli cogently argued that the manuscript was in fact the work of Poliziano and his col- laborators.1 With customary accuracy, she identified all the primary sources quoted or paraphrased in this large collection. Cesarini Martinelli also noted the chrono- logical proximity and thematic correspondences between folios 1r–44v and folios 110r–112r that deal with poetics and poets of antiquity and appropriately titled these sections De poesi et poetis.2 In the concluding remarks to her catalog of 105 Contact Giulia Torello-Hill at Villa I Tatti, Via di Vincigliata 26, Florence 50135, Italy (g.torellohill @griffith.edu.au). This essay was written during my year of otium as a Hanna Kiel Fellow at Villa I Tatti, the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies in 2015–16. I am very grateful to my fellow tattiani Jessie Ann Owens and Elsa Filosa, who have generously shared their expertise with me, to Davide Baldi and Diletta Gamberini, and to the library staff at Villa I Tatti. I also owe thanks to the anonymous referee who made me reconsider various points of this work, to Andrew Turner, and to the editors of this jour- nal, Jane Tylus and Jessica Goethals, for their thorough reading of this essay and their helpful comments. A Discovery Project grant from the Australian Research Council funded my trip to the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek in Munich. Finally, I wish to thank the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale in Florence (BNCF) for granting me rights to reproduce fols. 27r and 40v of Naz. II.I.99. Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own. 1. Lucia Cesarini Martinelli, “Un ritrovamento polizianesco: Il fascicolo perduto del commento alle Selve di Stazio,” Rinascimento 22 (1982): 183–212. 2. Lucia Cesarini Martinelli, “‘De poesi et poetis’: Uno schedario sconosciuto di Angelo Poliziano,” in Tradizione classica e letteratura umanistica per Alessandro Perosa, ed. Roberto Cardini et al. (Rome, 1985), 455–86. See also the catalog of sources listed in the appendix. I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance, volume 20, number 1. © 2017 by Villa I Tatti: The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies. All rights reserved. 0393-5949/2017/2001-0004$10.00 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 106 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2017 sources, Cesarini Martinelli expressed the hope that others would reexamine this manuscript in the light of Poliziano’s literary output and with particular consider- ation of his Silvae. Yet De poesi et poetis has only received passing mention by the scholarship on Poliziano.3 This article revisits this collection of primary sources to discuss the systematic approach of its compilation and its importance as an early testimony of Polizi- ano’s interest in ancient dramatic forms. Poliziano investigates the very essence of poesis, which he traces back to the distant times of the mythical poet-musicians: Linus, Museus, and, above all, Orpheus. This process not only serves to dignify po- etry but also establishes a continuum between epic and melic poetry and drama itself. De poesi et poetis is a source of primary importance for understanding both Poliziano’s approach to the study of ancient drama and his own contribution to humanist development of dramatic criticism. THE D AT IN G O F D E P O ES I E T PO E TI S The BNCF Naz. II.I.99 can be classed as a zibaldone, a miscellaneous collection of texts. Their use is a widespread phenomenon in the early Italian Renaissance.4 Zi- baldoni are essentially working notes and were conceived exclusively for personal use as repositories of materials that could be accessed at different stages for ped- agogical purposes or for the composition of original works. Their exclusion from public circulation, at least in the initial intention of their authors, does not pre- clude a systematic approach in their compilation. To the contrary, the materials they contain are carefully selected and often thematically organized. A large group of zibaldoni, mostly autographs of Poliziano, were collected by his pupil Pietro Crinito, who complemented them occasionally with his own writ- ings. These large repositories were later located and used by Pier Vettori and sub- sequently acquired by the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek (BSB) in Munich as part of the Vettori fund.5 Of particular interest for the scope of this research are folios 3. See, e.g., Angelo Poliziano, Silvae, ed. and trans. Charles Fantazzi (Cambridge, MA, 2004), xvii–xviii; and Francesco Lupi, “Prime ricognizioni sul corpus dei deperdita sofoclei nell’opera di Angelo Poliziano,” Acta Classica 56 (2013): 114–35. 4. Mariarosa Cortesi and Silvia Fiaschi note in “Aggregare le parti: Note, letture e documenti nella miscellanea umanistica,” Filologia mediolatina 19 (2012): 193–245, 193–95, that there is no clear-cut def- inition of this kind of manuscript, for which different terms such as miscellanea, zibaldoni, pandette, and anthologieshave been usedto discriminate among different levels of sophistication.In thiscontext,I willbe using the term zibaldone in reference to both Poliziano’s working notes and his more elaborated lecture notes. The term miscellanea will only be used to refer to Poliziano’s own Miscellaneorum centuriae. 5. These are Latin Manuscripts Clm. 748, 754, 755, 756, and 807 as documented by Carmine Di Pierro, “Zibaldoni autografi di Angelo Poliziano inediti e sconosciuti nella Reale Biblioteca di Monaco,” Giornale storico della letteratura italiana 55 (1910): 1–32. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism | 107 203v–212v of Ms Clm. 754, which contain a brief but impressively well-honed in- troduction to comedy that prefaces a commentary on the first two hundred lines of Terence’s Andria. The introduction and the commentary were written as part of a course on Terence that Poliziano delivered at the Studio Fiorentino, most likely in 1484–85.6 Poliziano’s interest in ancient drama also extended to Greek theater, as docu- mented by the BSB Ms Cgm. 812 (fols. 90v–106v), which contains the scholia to Aristophanes’s Acharnians and Knights. Finally, the large Parisian zibaldone, Bib- liothèque nationale de France gr. 3069, is once again an autograph of Poliziano and preserves select scholia to several plays by Aristophanes, to Aeschylus’s Aga- memnon and Eumenides, and to Euripides’s Hippolytus (fols. 12r–49r). Like other zibaldoni, the Florentine manuscript contains numerous notabilia in red ink, and passages of particular interest are singled out by semeiosai, manicula, and vertical lines. In quoting ancient sources, Poliziano always draws on the orig- inal Greek text even when a particular work is widely available in Latin translation. For instance, he quotes passages from Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of Eminent Philos- ophers (fols. 4r–8r) entirely in the original Greek and disregards completely the translation of Ambrogio Traversari.7 As for the dating of the manuscript, an autograph colophon that follows the excerpts from Pausanias’s Description of Greece (fol. 40v; fig. 1) reads as follows: “e̓ pεkεnάlgm sοtsοmì sὸm Patramίam ἤsεi a̓pὸ Χqirsοt̃ cεmέrεxς ax̃ͅtx̃ͅςx̃ͅhx̃ͅ dεjεlbqίοt pqόsgͅ g̔lέqaͅ. e̓ m Fkxqεmsίaͅ lόciς pοsè sg̃ς e̓ pihtlglέmgς e̓ kεthεqίaς stvx̀m jἂm s᾽a̓cίοt Paύkοt max̃ οi̓ jx̃m. Ἄccεkος ὁ Pοkisίamος.” (I excerpted this Pausanias in the year 14?9 from the birth of Christ, on the first day of December in Florence, having found a much longed-for freedom and while I was living in the 6. The Andria Terentii was edited by Rosetta Lattanzi Roselli, La commedia antica e l’Andria di Terenzio (Florence, 1973). For a convincing discussion of the dating of the course on Terence, see xi–xii. The introduction to comedy that served as a preface to a commentary on Terence’s Andria takes up fols. 203v–209r of BSB Clm. 754. It treats the generic features of comedy, the periodization of com- edy, its origin, the parts of comedy, the development of tragedy, comic stock characters on the basis of the classification provided in Pollux, Onomastikon IV.143–54, music and comedy, and the role of the chorus in classical comedy. Poliziano drew on the Latin late antique works on comedy of Evanthius and Donatus, as well as a broad range of Greek sources, including Aristotle, Pollux, and the anonymous Byzantine tract On Comedy. For an overview of the courses delivered by Poliziano at the Studio Fiorentino, see Lucia Cesarini Martinelli, “Poliziano professore allo studio Fiorentino,” in La Toscana al tempo di Lorenzo il Magnifico: Politica, economia, cultura e arte; Convegno internazionale di studi: Firenze, Pisa, Siena 5–8 novembre 1992 (Pisa, 1996), 2:463–81. 7. On Traversari’s translation of Diogenes’s Lives and more generally on its popularity throughout the Renaissance, see Ilario Tolomio, “Editions of Diogenes Laertius in the Fifteenth to Seventeenth Cen- turies,” in Models of the History of Philosophy: From Its Origins in the Renaissance to the “Historia phil- osophica,” ed. C. W. T. Blackwell and Philip Weller (Dordrecht, 2011), 1:154–60. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Figure 1. Colophon autograph of Poliziano. Ms Naz. II.I.99 (ca. 1479), folio 40v, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence. With the permission of the Ministero dei beni e delle attività culturali e del turismo/Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Firenze; no further reproductions permitted. Color ver- sion available as an online enhancement. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism | 109 small Church of San Paolo. Angelo Poliziano.) The year of the compilation is uncer- tain since ς (stigma) is used in ancient Greek and Byzantine numerical systems for units—it corresponds to the number 6—and not for tens. Cesarini Martinelli was forced to admit Poliziano’s error. Among the three possible emendations that the lifespan of Poliziano allows, 1469, 1479, and 1489, she opted for the middle date. Her main argument for preferring 1479 over the earlier or later date was Poli- ziano’s extensive use of these materials for the composition of his commentary to Statius’s Sylvae, which was written in 1480–81.8 The colophon provides us with an- other chronological pointer that corroborates the dating of 1479. Poliziano states that he compiled the first forty folios of the zibaldone during a period of quiet study at the church of San Paolo. This church, which is better known as the Church of San Paolino since it was built in the fourth century as a smaller church,9 is located a short distance from both the church of Santa Maria Novella and Florence’s Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. Documentary evidence confirms that Poli- ziano was the prior of San Paolino between 1477 and 1486, when he was appointed canon of Santa Maria del Fiore.10 Since he specifically states that he was dwelling (οi̓ jx̃m) in the church, the compilation of at least the first forty folios of De poesi et poetis can be firmly set within this chronological span and most likely in 1479 if the final digit of the date is correct. P O ETR Y VER S US P H I L OS O P H Y Folios 1r–44v of the zibaldone collect a wide range of excerpted sources, including the Chronicon of Eusebius-St. Jerome, a synopsis of book 14 of Boccaccio’s Gene- alogy of the Pagan Gods (Genealogie deorum gentilium), Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of Eminent Philosophers (4r–8r), a large body of quotations from Plutarch’s Mor- alia (8r–26r), and lemmas from the Byzantine lexicon of the Suda. Excerpts from Diogenes Laertius and Plutarch are of particular interest, as they contain repeated references to the ancient quarrel between poetry and philosophy. Poliziano quotes 8. Cesarini Martinelli, “De poesi et poetis,” 474. Discussed in detail in Lucia Cesarini Martinelli, “In margine al commento di Angelo Poliziano alle Selve di Stazio,” Interpres 1 (1978): 96–145. 9. On the church of San Paolino, see Ettore Puccioni, La chiesa di San Paolo Apostolo a Firenze (Flor- ence, 1976); and Bernardo di Santa Teresa, La chiesa di San Paolo Apostolo a Firenze: Storia, illustrazioni e documenti (Florence, 1976). The church was rebuilt almost entirely in the seventeenth century. It under- went complete restoration in the 1970s, as detailed in Lia Pescatori, La chiesa di San Paolo Apostolo a Fi- renze detta di San Paolino: Restauri recenti (Florence, 2008). 10. Gian Battista Picotti, “Tra il poeta ed il lauro,” Giornale storico della letteratura italiana 65 (1915): 297–303; on Poliziano’s involvement with San Paolino, see Alexander Röstel, “‘Una Pieta chon molte figure’: Sandro Botticelli’s Altarpiece for the Florentine Church of S. Paolino,” Burlington Mag- azine 157 (2015): 521–29. I thank Alexander very much for discussing this matter with me. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 110 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2017 passages that discuss the ban of dramatic performances. Solon’s forbidding Thes- pis from staging tragic performances, as referenced in Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers 1.59, appears at folio 4v accompanied by manicula. Epicu- rean and Stoic criticism of poetry are recorded in the excerpts from Plutarch’s Moralia.11 Plutarch maintains a polemical stance against these philosophical doc- trines. In the treatise It Is Not Possible to Live Happily Following Epicurus, he con- tends that Epicurean theories make it impossible to gain the pleasure that should be the ultimate goal of Epicurean teachings. In section 1093b, which Poliziano transcribes in folio 8r, Plutarch reflects on the Epicurean stance against poetry, and he concedes that the emotional response elicited by tragedy could be poten- tially devastating. He illustrates this by quoting the lines of Oedipus Rex (1169–70) in which Oedipus solicits the unveiling of the truth and meets his doom. Plutarch suggests that even greater pleasure could be gained in hearing stories, such as the historical accounts of Herodotus and Xenophon, which are also affectively safe. As for Plutarch’s polemical stance against Stoicism, Poliziano selects a brief passage from the Summary of The Stoics Talk More Paradoxically than the Poets. In this quote (1058c), it is said that poetic fictions may lack plausibility, but unlike Stoic paradoxes, they are coherent. Poliziano also reports Plato’s censorious attitude toward performing arts, as de- scribed in Plutarch’s Glory of the Athenians 348b (fol. 9r). Plato’s accusation of the falsehood of myth is highlighted through manicula. Poliziano also transcribes Pla- to’s prohibition against writing comedy, which he depicts as an undignified form of art, and his intimation that tragedy is essentially deceptive (348c). The rejection of poetry as a vehicle of lies (mendacia) forms a large part of Poliziano’s summary of the fourteenth book of Boccaccio’s The Genealogy of the Pagan Gods.12 The inclusion of these passages is notable for two reasons. First of all, Boccaccio is the only modern author that makes his way into this collection of classical and late antique sources. Second, this is the only case in which Polizi- ano relinquishes verbatim quotations for a well-honed synopsis of his source. Else- where in the manuscript, Poliziano provides short summaries in Latin of sections of works alongside quotations. But his summary of Boccaccio’s book 14 is a far more sophisticated intervention. Poliziano includes ancient sources that detail the detri- mental effects of dramatic arts over personal morality and the institutionalized cen- 11. For a discussion of Plutarch’s conspicuous references to Epicurean philosophy and his anti- Epicurean sentiments, see Eleni Kechagia-Ovseiko, “Plutarch and Epicureanism,” in A Companion to Plutarch, ed. Mark Beck (Chichester, 2014), 104–20. For his anti-Stoic works, see Jan Opsomer, “Plu- tarch and the Stoics,” in Beck, Companion to Plutarch, 88–103. 12. De poesi et poetis, fols. 2v–4r. Poliziano’s synopsis of the fourteenth book of the Genealogy is fully transcribed in Cesarini Martinelli, “De poesi et poetis,” 458–61. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism | 111 sorship of the performing arts. The paraphrase of Cicero’s On the Republic 4.10 tes- tifies how in ancient times those who engaged in theatrical practice were removed from their tribes (Boccaccio, Genealogy 14.14, fol. 3v). Boethius’s reference to dra- matic plays as “theatrical courtesans” (scenicas meretriculas) who further weaken the precariously healthy condition of Philosophy is also included in Poliziano’s selec- tive summary of chapters 7–22.13 Poliziano paraphrases the passage of Boccaccio’s Genealogy that addresses the accusations leveled against poetry. Boccaccio argues that the greatest poets lived a frugal and contemplative life, and their writing has been a continuous source of inspiration for Christian authors such as Fulgentius, Saint Augustine, and Saint Paul. Poliziano also includes the remarks about the familiaritas that both ancient and Christian authors enjoyed with rulers and patrons. Once again, Euripides, Ennius, and Vergil feature alongside Dante and Petrarch.14 The obscurity (obscuri- tas) of their poetry is another correspondence that Boccaccio draws between ancient poets and Christian authors. This adheres to the principle that theological truth is wrapped up with the veil of poetry and often couched in the language of allegory (allegoria).15 Christian poets’ stylistic imitation (imitatio) of ancient poetry is a further ar- gument against the charges of immorality leveled at ancient authors. Poliziano paraphrases Boccaccio’s examples of poetic imitation, stating that Saint Jerome’s prologue to his Hebrew Questions on Genesis is “entirely Terentian” (totum Teren- tianum) and that Saint Paul resorted to a line from Menander in his Letters to the Athenians. The defense of poetry’s value is one of the core topics of book 14 of the Gene- alogy, one that Boccaccio revisits in the second redaction of his work.16 Boccaccio upholds the medieval tenet of the poet as a theologian and the carrier of divine truth.17 This idea, which rests on an imprecise interpretation of Aristotle’s Meta- 13. Boethius, De consolatione I.1.28. 14. Boccaccio, Genealogy 14.11, fol. 3r. 15. It paraphrases Genealogy 14.13, fol. 3v. Boccaccio uses the periphrasis artificio et velamento poetico. 16. The second redaction began to circulate around the early to mid-1370s and incorporated the suggestions of Neapolitan intellectuals such as Pietro Piccolo da Monteforte. See Jon Solomon, “Gods, Greeks and Poetry,” in Boccaccio: A Critical Guide to the Complete Works, ed. Victoria Kirkham et al. (Chicago, 2013), 235–44, 237. 17. See Giorgio Ronconi, Le origini delle dispute umanistiche sulla poesia (Rome, 1976); Michael Papio, “Boccaccio: Mythographer, Philosopher, Theologian,” in Boccaccio in America: Proceedings of the 2010 International Boccaccio Conference at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, ed. Michael Papio and Elsa Filosa (Ravenna, 2012), 123–42, 128–29, and “Boccaccio between Mussato and the Neoplatonists,” in Boccaccio, 1313–2013, ed. Francesco Ciabattoni, Elsa Filosa, and Kristina Olson (Ra- venna, 2015), 275–86, esp. 279; Solomon, “Gods, Greeks and Poetry,” 237. For the interpretation of pagan All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 112 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2017 physics, was revived by Albertino Mussato and widely spread among Paduan hu- manists, including Petrarch. In chapters 8 and 13 of the Genealogy, ancient poetry is also further exonerated from charges of immorality. Since it was written before the advent of Christianity, it cannot contain theological truth.18 In the Geneal- ogy 14.10, Boccaccio finds the compatibility between poetry and theology in the poetry of Dante, as he had exemplified in the early Trattatello in laude di Dante. In his rehabilitation of Dante’s poetry, Boccaccio not only presents him as the poeta theologus but also depicts him as a novel Vergil.19 In so doing, he successfully es- tablishes a connection between Dante’s vernacular works and classical poetry. In his synthesis of Boccaccio’s Genealogy 14.10, Poliziano steers away from the par- adigm of the poeta theologus. He briefly summarizes chapter 10, stating simply that Boccaccio argues against those who deny that poets veiled the deep mean- ing of their fabulae in allegory and invokes the authority of Vergil, Dante, and Pe- trarch. The fact that Poliziano deliberately eschews considerations over the analogy between poetry and theology does not preclude him from believing poetic divine inspiration. Significantly, Poliziano opens his synopsis of book 14 of the Genealogy with a verbatim quote from the opening of chapter 7. In this passage Boccaccio de- fines poetry as “a fervor of exquisite invention and of expression, in speech or in writing, of what has been discovered” (Gen. 14.7). This quote is immediately fol- lowed by another one, this time from Cicero, which echoes the Platonic concept of divine frenzy: a poet “is stirred by the force of his mind and is inspired, as it were, by a sort of heaven-sent afflatus.”20 ORPHEUS AS THE EMBODIM ENT OF POETRY A pervasive theme of the excerpts collected in De poesi et poetis is that of the characterization of mythical poets. In the mythical past, poet-musicians such as Musaeus, Linus, and Orpheus were classed among the seven savants. Poetry car- ried divine truth insofar as it was the language of oracles. Poetry and philosophy 18. See, esp., Boccaccio, Genealogy 14.8 and 13, which are omitted altogether in Poliziano’s synop- sis. See Papio, “Boccaccio: Mythographer,” and “Boccaccio between Mussato and the Neoplatonists,” 279. 19. In the abridged version of the Trattatello known as Compendio (1360), Boccaccio curtails this statement and defines poetry only as “similar” to theology (“simigliante di quella”; 2.91). See Elsa Filosa, “To Praise Dante, to Please Petrarch,” in Kirkham et al., Boccaccio: A Critical Guide, 213–20, 218. 20. Cicero, Pro Archia 18, quoted in Boccaccio, Genealogy 14.7; Cicero, Pro Archia, trans. Arthur H. Allcroft and Francis G. Plaistowe (London, 1892), 8. Poliziano treats more extensively the concept of divine frenzy in his Rusticus. See Fantazzi, Sylvae, xvii. poetry as a theologia poetica particularly in reference to the reception of Vergilian poetry in the Renais- sance, see Craig Kallendorf, “From Virgil to Vida: The Poeta Theologus in Italian Renaissance Commen- tary,” Journal of the History of Ideas 56 (1995): 41–62. A wider overview is provided in Charles Trinkaus, In Our Image and Likeness: Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought (Chicago, 1970). All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism | 113 were closely intertwined, as stated in a passage that Poliziano quotes from Strabo’s Geography, 1.2.3, folio 43r: sοt̓mamsίοm d᾽ οi̔ pakaiοì uikοrοuίam simà kέcοtri pqώsgm sg̀m pοigsijήm, εi̓ rάcοtram εi̓ ς sὸm bίοm g̔lãς e̓ j mέxm jaì didάrjοtram ἤhg jaì pάhg jaì pqάnεiς lεh᾽ g̔dοmg̃ς: οi̔ d᾽ g̔lέsεqοi jaì lόmοm pοigsg̀m ἔuaram εἶmai sὸm rοuόm. [The ancients assert, on the contrary, that poetry is a kind of elementary philosophy, which, taking us in our very boyhood, introduces us to the art of life and instructs us, with pleasure to ourselves, in character, emotions, and actions. And our School goes still further and contends that the wise man alone is a poet.]21 Orpheus plays a fundamental role in fifteenth-century thought; he is the source of all esoteric religion, and his doctrines are believed to have influenced the Pythag- oreans and, indirectly, Plato. Renaissance intellectuals such as Marsilio Ficino and Giovanni Pico della Mirandola viewed Orphic Hymns as a form of pre-Christian revelation, veiled by allegorical myths. The identification of Orpheus as the first theologian allows Ficinian philosophy to reconcile Platonism with Christianity and emancipate ancient poets from the stigma of immorality.22 In De poesi et poetis, however, Poliziano focuses mainly on the ancient narra- tives of the myth of Orpheus.23 His tragic death caused by women is referenced twice in the manuscript: in the accounts of Diogenes Laertius and Pausanias.24 Di- ogenes Laertius (1.5) presents two different versions of Orpheus’s death: in one version his death was perpetrated by women, and in the other it occurred as the result of divine retribution. Pausanias’s account of the myth of Orpheus is far more extensive and includes details of his descent to the underworld to retrieve Eurydice (9.30.4, 9.30.6), the two contrasting versions of his demise (9.30.5), the place of his death (9.30.7), and the place of his burial, which according to a different ver- sion of the myth is in the city of Libethra in Thrace (9.30.9). All these references to Orpheus most likely were fundamental background materials for Poliziano’s characterization of Orpheus in both the Fabula de Orfeo and his Sylvae. 21. Strabo, Geography, bks. 1 and 2, trans. Horace Leonard Jones (Cambridge, MA, 1969), 55. 22. D. P. Walker, “Orpheus the Theologian and Renaissance Platonists,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 16 (1953): 100–120. See Michael J. B. Allen, Synoptic Art: Marsilio Ficino on the History of Platonic Interpretation (Florence, 1998), esp. 93–123. 23. For an insightful discussion of Orpheus’s prominence among Renaissance intellectual circles and the perception of him as a “theological writer,” see Walker, “Orpheus the Theologian.” 24. Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers 1.5 (fol. 4v); and Pausanias, Description of Greece 9.30.4–11 (fol. 28v). All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.2307%2F750229 http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.2307%2F750229 114 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2017 Orpheus is the embodiment of poesis, a term that encompasses verse and music. This is very clearly emphasized by Poliziano when he quotes in extenso a passage from the Pseudo-Plutarchean On Music 1132b–f that details the birth of music in myth: “ὁ d᾽ Ὀquεt̀ς οt̓dέma uaίmεsai lεlilglέmος: οt̓dεìς cάq px cεcέmgsο, εi̓ lg̀ οi̔ sx̃m at̓kxͅdijx̃m pοigsaί” (Orpheus does not seem to have imitated anyone; indeed before him no one was a musician, except the aulodic poets; Plutarch, On Music 1132f, fol. 11v). The verbatim quotation ends with this appraisal of Orpheus before Poliziano switches once again to Latin to provide a summary of subsequent sections of On Music. P O E T R Y A N D MU S I C Musical accompaniment is the natural complement to any poetic verse. Arguably, both ancient and humanist poets regarded poetry as music.25 In his collection of sources, Poliziano includes extensive excerpts from the Pseudo-Plutarchean dia- logue On Music. At least two manuscripts of this text were part of the large col- lection of the Medici library, Florence Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Plut. 58, 29 (q) and the current Paris Bibliothèque nationale de France gr. 2451 (s) (former Mediceus Regius 2717). Before its inclusion in the Aldine edition of Moralia (1509), On Music was published individually in a Latin translation in 1507. The author of this translation, Carlo Valgulio, had developed a bond of friendship and mutual respect with Medicean circles.26 Poliziano quotes almost entirely sections 1132b–f that detail the “birth” of mu- sic through a brief account of mythical poets from the past, from Linus, Anthes of Boeotia, and Pierus of Pieria, to focus on Terpander, who is credited with being the first poet to set musical accompaniment to his nomic compositions in hexam- eter. He also records the musical developments of fifth-century Athens, when musical accompaniment became more sophisticated and more prominent than poetic composition itself (1141b–d).27 This passage, along with the account of Athenaeus, is the only systematic treatment of the “musical revolution” that would otherwise be known only through the humorous attacks of Athenian fifth-century 25. Nino Pirrotta, Li due Orfei: Da Poliziano a Monteverdi (Turin, 1969), 22. 26. On Valgulio’s translation of Plutarch’s On Music, see Angelo Meriani, “Carlo Valgulio e il testo del De musica,” Quaderni urbinati di cultura classica 99 (2011): 229–58. A letter addressed by Valgulio to Poliziano in 1485 is transcribed by Ida Maïer, Ange Politien: La formation d’un poète humaniste, 1469–1480 (Geneva, 1965), 391–93. 27. Andrew Barker, Greek Musical Writings, vol. 1: The Musician and His Art (Cambridge, 1984), 99ff. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism | 115 comic playwrights.28 Musical innovations were not simply introduced in the con- text of comic and tragic plays but extended to other forms of musical composition such as solo pieces with the accompaniment of a kithara (kitharodic nomoi) and choral compositions (dithyrambs). In On Music, the brief introduction to musical changes is exemplified by the citation of a passage from comic playwright Phe- recrates, in which Poesis is personified and laments having been harassed by a string of abusive new musicians.29 Poliziano does not quote the Pherecretean lines, but the introductory statement on musical innovations and the short synopsis of the play is highlighted by a marginal vertical line. Poliziano’s interest in ancient music was not limited to De poesi et poetis. An- other zibaldone, also uncovered by Cesarini Martinelli, Munich BSB Ms Clm. 798, contains excerpts from Sextus Empiricus’s Against the Musicians, a work that was virtually unknown to humanists.30 The interest in Sextus Empiricus lies in the in- terrelation between philosophy and music, which both aim to regulate human pas- sions and are fundamental educational tools. With the carefully selected excerpts from the Pseudo-Plutarchean On Music, however, Poliziano’s aim is to trace a suc- cinct history of ancient music that culminates with the musical innovations intro- duced into the dramatic arts. N U M E R U S AND V E R S U S : D EFIN IN G THE FEA TURES OF POETRY Folios 109r–12r of BNCF Naz. II.I.99 contain another set of excerpts from various sources, which are mostly written by the hand of Poliziano. This section of the 28. Aristophanes, Clouds 635–67, 961–72; Knights 985–95; Wasps 1208–50; Women at the Thes- mophoria 95–174; Birds 903–57, 1373–1409; Frogs 202–68, 1296–1318. See Barker, Greek Musical Writ- ings, 99–116. A polemical stance against musical innovations is likely to be a theme of Eupolis’s Demes. An Apulian bell-krater that illustrates an altercation between the comic hero Pyronides and the musi- cian Phrynis has long been associated with a lost scene from this play. See Oliver Taplin, Comic Angels: And Other Approaches to Greek Drama through Vase-Paintings (Oxford, 1993). Athenaeus’s account of the musical innovations is at Deipnosophistae 14.616e–617f. Pauline A. LeVen, “New Music and Its Myths: Athenaeus’ Reading of the Aulos Revolution (Deipnosophistae 14.616e–617f),” Journal of Hel- lenic Studies 130 (2010): 35–47, contends that Athenaeus’s view does not reflect the sentiments of fifth- century Athens but represents an elaboration of Aristotelian doctrines. 29. On this passage, see Gregory Dobrov and Eduardo Urios-Aparisi, “The Maculate Music: Gen- der, Genre, and the Chiron of Pherecrates,” in Beyond Aristophanes: Transition and Diversity in Greek Comedy, ed. Gregory Dobrov (Atlanta, 1995), 139–74; Barker, Greek Musical Writings, 236–38. 30. Lucia Cesarini Martinelli, “Sesto empirico e una dispersa enciclopedia delle arti e delle scienze di Angelo Poliziano,” Rinascimento 20 (1980): 327–58. On the classical sources on music that can be traced in Poliziano’s work, see Fiorella Brancacci, “Le fonti musicali classiche nell’opera di Poliziano,” Interpres 12 (1992): 135–49. A separate zibaldone, BSB 748, fols. 112r–116v, which is mostly written by Crinito, preserves Saint Augustine’s On Music by the hand of Poliziano as attested by the colophon at fol. 117v. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.1017%2FS0075426910000030 http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.1017%2FS0075426910000030 116 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2017 zibaldone cannot be firmly dated but was probably written shortly after folios 1r– 44v.31 While the choice of secondary sources is quite wide-ranging, the core of this miscellaneous collection is arguably the discussion of verse and prose and the sim- ilarities between poetry and rhetoric, as exemplified by Cicero in the Orator. Cic- ero discusses the notion of numerus (the Greek rhythmos), commonly considered to be the distinguishing feature of verse and prose. Greek and Latin ancient verse was based on a combination of quantitative syllables that gave birth to a wide va- riety of meters.32 In the quoted passages from De Oratore 66–67, Cicero remarks that poets used to set themselves apart from orators on the basis of rhythm (numerus) and verse (versus), although rhythm is no longer a distinguishing fea- ture since it has become common in orators. Poliziano highlights the importance of this short passage, which follows three short quotations on Greek and Latin po- ets, with semeiosai and manicula. The comparison between poetry and oratory ex- tends to the quotation of Tacitus’s Dialogue on Oratory 12–13 (fol. 111v). In this passage, Tacitus views poetry as the original and purest form of human utterance, the language of oracle. Unlike oratory, it is free from any constraint insofar as it is not produced for material or personal gain. Poliziano includes Cicero’s further consideration on the distinguishing features of prose and poetry. In De Oratore 174 (fol. 110r), Cicero contends that the dif- ference between prose and verse is not clear-cut. For instance, Isocrates uses poetic meters in his oratorical speeches in order to elicit pleasure (voluptas) in his audi- ences.33 On the other hand, as he remarks at De Oratore 183–84 (fol. 110v), once one takes away the musical accompaniment, Greek lyric poems are similar to bare prose (nuda oratio). This sometimes happens in Latin poetry and at least once in tragedy with the Thyestes of Ennius. THE F EA TURES O F D RAMA TIC GEN RES Defining the features of poetry inevitably leads Poliziano to a categorization of po- etic genres and, in particular, of dramatic genres. His interest in generic features is apparent in his references at folios 2v–3r to Boccaccio’s definition of fabulae as it appears in the The Genealogy of the Pagan Gods 14.9 (fols. 2v–3r). I quote the text in extenso: 31. Compare Cesarini Martinelli, “Un ritrovamento polizianesco,” 189, who reached this conclu- sion on the grounds of codicological and paleographical analysis. 32. Timothy J. Moore, Music in Roman Comedy (Cambridge, 2014). 33. See also Cicero, De Oratore 191, which is quoted by Poliziano at fol. 110v. Cicero infers that iambic meters are particularly suited to oratory, as they resemble everyday speech, while the dactyl is more appropriate for loftier styles. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism | 117 “fabula est exemplaris seu demonstrativa sub figmento locutio, cuius amoto cortice, patet intentio fabulantis.”34 Ibi quattuor enumerat fabularum gen- era: quae verisimiles non sunt, ut Aesopicae; quae partim verisimiles sunt, partim contra, quales Ovidii sunt fabellae; quae historiae sunt similes, ut heroum gesta, ut comoediae; quarta est speties earum, quae nihil omnino veritatis nec intus nec in cute habeant, quales sunt anicularum fabellae. [“A narrative is a form of discourse under the veil of fiction that exem- plifies or proves a point; once the superficial layer is removed, the intention of the narrator is apparent.” Here, he [i.e., Boccaccio] lists four narrative genres: those that lack verisimilitude, such as Aesop’s fables; those which are partly verisimilar and partly not, like Ovid’s tales; those which are sim- ilar to historical accounts, like heroic deeds and comic plays; and the fourth type of these narratives are those in which no truth whatsoever inheres, nei- ther on their surface nor in their deeper meaning, like old wives’ tales.] An element of great interest in Poliziano’s paraphrase of Boccaccio’s Genealogy is the categorization of the different subgenres of the fabula: in particular, the defi- nition of comedy as being very similar to history and thus as being by definition very close to truth itself.35 De poesi et poetis clearly reflects Poliziano’s in-depth analysis of classical drama, whose features will be discussed extensively in Andria Terentii. This ap- proach is evident right at the outset of the zibaldone, which contains excerpts from the Chronicon of Eusebius-Saint Jerome.36 Poliziano eschews the historical details that abound in the Chronicon to annotate only biographical details of classical poets. This careful selection results in a short but enthralling history of Roman literature during the Republican and imperial eras, from Naevius to Claudian dramatists. Particularly notable are the references to Roman dramatists who are virtually un- known, such as the comic playwright Turpilius or the mimograph Philistio, who are accurately recorded in the manuscript.37 Poliziano aims at gathering a wide- 34. Isidore of Seville, Etymologies 1.40.6. For Boccaccio’s reliance on materials drawn from late an- tique sources such as Isidore, Servius, Lactantius, Macrobius, Fulgentius, and Augustine, see Giovanni Boccaccio, Genealogy of the Pagan Gods, ed. and trans. Jon Solomon (Cambridge, MA, 2011), xiii–xvii. 35. In a passage that Poliziano does not include in his synopsis, Boccaccio specifies the events of comedy in this way: “since they are common, if they have not taken place, they could have happened or they might happen” (Gen. 15.9). His categorization of fabulae does not encompass tragedy or any dramatic form other than comedy. 36. BCNF II.I.99 fols. 1r–2v. 37. According to Pietro Crinito, Turpilius was a contemporary of Terence. For the scholarly dis- agreement over Turpilius’s chronology, see Evangelos Karakis, Terence and the Language of Roman Comedy (Cambridge, 2005), 150. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.1017%2FCBO9780511482267 http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?crossref=10.1017%2FCBO9780511482267 118 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2017 ranging array of sources by the inclusion of dramatists whose works survive only in fragments. The entries from the Byzantine lexicon of the Suda, which takes up folios 26r– 28v and includes a selection of entries of ancient poets from Acas to Archippus, are once again representative of Poliziano’s systematic approach.38 The lemmas are autographs of Poliziano, and the shorter entries are usually written in Latin.39 Longer entries are sometimes a literal translation of the Greek original, whereas other times Latin and Greek alternate. As happens throughout the zibaldone, there are fre- quent notabilia written in the margins in red ink. The distinctive feature of the mar- ginal notabilia of the excerpts from the Suda is that they identify the dramatic genre of the listed authors through abbreviations for tragedy (tr.), comedy (co.), dithyramb (dyth.), and lyric (lyr.; fig. 2). While the majority of authors are tragedians and come- dians, the inclusion of some exponents of other genres is notable. In listing Archi- lochus (fol. 28v), Poliziano skips the first two sentences from the Suda and starts from the point where the iambographer is credited for his use of obscene (aischro- epes) and abusive language (kakoremon).40 The musicians Amphion and Antige- nides and lyric poets Alcman and Arion are also included in this selection. Alcman is credited by the Suda as the inventor of erotic poetry and for his metrical innova- tions, Arion of Methymna with inventing the “tragic style” and with introducing choruses and dithyrambs.41 The comic playwright Anaxandrides is also remem- bered as “the first to introduce love-affairs and rapes of girls,” two themes that are certainly crucial to the plots of New Comedy.42 Poliziano’s interest in the generic features of ancient drama is also testified by his inclusion in De poesi et poetis of the Summary of a Comparison between Aris- tophanes and Menander (Comparationis Aristophani et Menandri compendium), attributed to Plutarch. This abridged version of a more extensive treatise is the only ancient work that Poliziano has transcribed entirely in the zibaldone. In the compendium, the “coarseness” (sὸ uοqsijόm) of Aristophanic plays is contrasted with Menander’s polished and “well blended” style. The periodization of Greek 38. Ada Adler, Suidae Lexicon (Munich, 2001), 76–376 passim. Poliziano transcribes excerpts from the Suda also in zibaldoni Florence BNCF Ms Magl. VIII 1420 and Munich BSB Ms Clm. 798. Man- uscript BSB Cgm. 182 (fols. 1r–58r) contains a compendium of the whole lexicon and is dated 1472. See Luigi Silvano, “New Readings and Glosses to Suidas from an Autograph of Angelo Poliziano,” Erytheia 30 (2009): 215–29, 218–19 n. 12 with full bibliography. 39. For example, “Acas poeta tragicus” at fol. 28r (Suda 808). 40. Ralph M. Rosen, Old Comedy and the Iambographic Tradition (Atlanta, 1983). 41. Suda 3886, fol. 17v. 42. Suda 1982, fol. 26v. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Figure 2. Suidae Lexicon from Anaxippus (1991) to Apollodorus (3406) passim. Ms Naz. II.I.99 (ca. 1479), folio [27r], Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence. With the permission of the Ministero dei beni e delle attività culturali e del turismo/Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Firenze; no further repro- ductions permitted. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 120 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2017 comedy into Old, Middle, and New will form part of Poliziano’s introduction in Andria Terentii.43 CON TEXTUALI ZIN G D E P O E S I ET PO E T I S De poesi et poetis illustrates Poliziano’s early interest in ancient drama and reflects the inclusion of Latin dramatic texts in the Florentine school curriculum in the last quarter of the fifteenth century. It is at this time that the revival of Latin in school settings goes well beyond “the technicalities of language.”44 Classical drama, among other secular Latin texts, offered very suitable materials to train pupils in rhetoric. In a city whose wealth largely depended on commercial and financial enterprises, the ability to communicate clearly and effectively was paramount. Thus, from the early fifteenth century pupils in Florentine schools were trained in rhetorical skills through drama. Such rhetorical exercises were based initially on religious drama (sacre rappresentazioni) that were often written ad hoc by the teachers themselves.45 Performances of classical plays entered school settings only in the last quarter of the century. The staging of Terence’s Andria by the pupils of Giorgio Antonio Vespucci in 1476 inaugurates the revival of classical drama not only in Florence but in Italy. The play was staged at school as well as in the Medici palace and Palazzo Vecchio. Much less is known about the performances of other Latin plays staged by the pu- pils of Pietro Domizi in the church of Ognissanti and the Medici palace in 1478– 79 and the performance of a play of Plautus by the pupils of Luca Bernardi da San Gimignano.46 43. Lattanzi Roselli, La commedia antica, 8–9. 44. Robert Black, Education and Society in Florentine Tuscany: Teachers, Pupils and Schools, c. 1250–1500 (Boston, 2007), 164. For an overview of classical texts that formed part of the school cur- riculum in Florence, see 121–64. 46. Black, Education and Society, 164. On Domizi, see Paola Ventrone, “La pedagogia teatrale di Pietro Domizi,” in Atti del VII centenario del Duomo di Firenze: La cattedrale e la città; Saggi sul Duomo di Firenze: Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi (Firenze, 16–21 giugno 1997), ed. Timothy Verdon and Annalisa Innocenti (Florence, 2001), 1, pt. 2:525–37. An autograph note in BML Ms Plut. 90 sup. 27, fol. 161r, documents the performance of a play of Plautus by the pupils of Luca Bernardi da San Gimignano. 45. Sacre rappresentazioni composed by the Domenican Friar Antonino Pierozzi were performed by his pupils at the Convent of San Marco as early as 1448 under the patronage of Cosimo de’ Medici. See Paola Ventrone, La sacra rappresentazione fiorentina, ovvero la predicazione in forma di teatro (Florence, 2003), 17, and, more recently, Teatro civile e sacra rappresentazione a Firenze nel Rinascimento (Florence, 2016), esp. chaps. 5 and 6. Ventrone, La sacra rappresentazione fiorentina, 5, remarked how the meter of the sacra rappresentazione, the octave, is typical of medieval forms of oral poetry and, as such, “caratterizzato da una forte memorabilità.” For rich documentary evidence on the staging of sacre rappresentazioni in Florence in the quattrocento, see the fundamental work of Nerida Newbigin, Nuovo corpus di sacre rappresentazioni fiorentine del Quattrocento: Edite e inedite tratte da manoscritti coevi o ricontrollate su di essi (Bologna, 1983). All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism | 121 Poliziano’s intellectual interest in ancient drama seems to bloom precisely in this period. De poesi et poetis could then represent the very early stage of his approach to ancient theater. A few years later, probably in 1484–85, Poliziano delivered a course on Terence at the Studio Fiorentino, as documented by the incomplete lecture notes of the already mentioned Andria Terentii. On the occasion of the performance of Plautus’s Menaechmi in 1488, Poliziano wrote a prologue at the invitation of Paolo Comparini.47 The prologue is stylistically very Plautinian but Terentian in its polem- ical stance. After customarily exhorting the audience to pay attention to the upcom- ing performance, Poliziano praises Plautus’s Menaechmi for being “witty, humor- ous and elegant” (lepidam, iocosam, elegantem). Unfortunately, as he remarks, his age must be blamed if secular drama is stigmatized as false (mendosa). Against this accusation, Poliziano argues for the usefulness (utilitas) of ancient drama as an edu- cational tool for the young. At lines 38–46 Poliziano harshly presents the opponents of secular drama who advocate sobriety but live a profligate existence. These malev- olent ecclesiastics are depicted with a string of colorful adjectives. They are charac- terized as “bawling” (clamosi), “fickle” (leves), “hooded” (cucullati), “wearing wooden clogs” (lignipedes), “girded with rope” (cincti funibus), “censorious” (superciliosum), and “sheep with a crooked neck” (incurvicervicum pecus). Mario Martelli identified these detractors as Franciscan preachers active in Florence, specifically Domenico da Ponzo and Bernardino da Feltre.48 Da Ponzo and da Feltre, who harshly opposed Lorenzo’s cultural program, were winning over popular favor, thanks also to the maneuvers of the anti-Medicean party. Their destabilizing influence put Lorenzo il Magnifico’s political authority in danger, and in fact Bernardino da Feltre was exiled in 1488. The staging of Plau- tus’s Menaechmi by Paolo Comparini, who was the canon of the church of San Lo- renzo, was a deliberately political move concocted to vindicate Lorenzo’s cultural program.49 In his extensive discussion of poetics in book 14 of the Genealogy, paraphrased in De poesi et poetis, Boccaccio resolved the debasement of secular poetry by ec- clesiastical authorities with the construction of the figure of the poet-theologian, who presents divine truth veiled in the allegorical language of poetry. Poliziano does not embrace the paradigm of the poet-theologian. It seems apparent that 47. Giovanna Bombieri, “Osservazioni sul Prologo ai Menecmi di Angelo Poliziano,” in Cardini et al., Tradizione classica e letteratura umanistica, 489–506; Francesco Bausi, “Note sul Prologo ai ‘Menecmi’ del Poliziano,” Interpres 11 (1991): 357–64; and Mario Martelli, “Il prologo di Poliziano ai Menaechmi di Plauto,” in Le tradizioni del testo: Studi di letteratura italiana offerti a Domenico de Robertis, ed. Franco Gavazzeni and Guglielmo Gorni (Milan, 1993), 69–83. 48. Mario Martelli, “Il ‘Giacoppo’ di Lorenzo,” Interpres 7 (1987): 103–24. 49. F. W. Kent, Lorenzo de’ Medici and the Art of Magnificence (Baltimore, 2007). All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 122 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2017 he aims to solve this conundrum with the aid of ancient sources. In De poesi et poetis the only direct quotation from Plato’s dialogues comes from Phaedrus 243a–b. The passage details how Stesichorus was punished with blindness for giving a false mythological account but regained his sight when he retracted the story of Helen in his Palinode. In this passage from Phaedrus, Plato expresses a mitigated judgment on poetry. Poetry can be acceptable insofar as it does not sub- vert the truth. At Andria Terentii folio 205r, before setting out to define the subgenres and fea- tures of comedy, Poliziano attempts a definition of comedy that I quote in its en- tirety: Definitur autem varie et a Graecis quidem nonnullis ita: jxlxͅdίa e̓ rsìm i̓ dixsijx̃m jaì pοkisijx̃m pqaclάsxm a̓jίmdtmος pεqiοvή, hoc est: “com- oedia est privatae civilisque fortunae sine periculo vitae comprensio”; ab aliis sic: lίlgriς pqάnεxς jahaqxsέqxm pahglάsxm rtrsasijg̀ sοt̃ bίοt, dià cέkxsος jaì g̔dοmg̃ς stpοtlέmg, hoc est: “imitatio rerum, quae affectibus constant mollioribus, representativa vitae, risu et voluptate figurata.” Quidam ita descripserunt: “Comoediaest fabula versibusconstituta,continens affectum civilium ac privatorum, qua discitur quid sit in vita utile, quid contra evitan- dum.” Cicero comoediam esse ait imitationem vitae, speculum consuetudinis, imaginem veritatis. Livius Andronicus ait comoediam esse cottidianae vitae speculum, nec iniuria. Nam ut intenti speculo veritatis liniamenta facile per imagines colligimus, ita lectione comoediae imitationem vitae consuetudinis- que non egerrime animadvertimus. Euantius in commentario Terentii de fa- bula, hoc est comoedia, sic dicit: “Concinna argumento, consuetudine congrua, utilis sententiis, grata salibus, apta metro.” [Comedy is defined by drawing on several Greek authors in various ways: jxlxͅdίa e̓ rsìm i̓ dixsijx̃m jaì pοkisijx̃m pqaclάsxm a̓jίmdtmος pεqiοvή, that is “comedy is a treatment of private and public events where there is no risk of life danger” and from others thus lίlgriς pqάnεxς jahaqxsέqxm pahglάsxm rtrsasijg̀ sοt̃ bίοt, dià cέkxsος jaì g̔dοmg̃ς stpοtlέmg, “an imitation of deeds that arise from more tempered passions, representa- tive of life, molded from laughter and pleasure.” Some described it like this: “comedy is a fictitious narrative in verse that treats private and civil passions and through which one can learn what in life is useful and what, to the con- trary, should be avoided.” Cicero says that comedy is an imitation of life, a mirror of custom, an image of truth. Livius Andronicus says that comedy is the mirror of everyday life, and not wrongly. Indeed, just as while intently All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Development of Ancient Dramatic Criticism | 123 looking at a mirror we can easily make out the features of truth in the reflec- tion, so too without much difficulty we perceive the imitation of life and cus- toms from the example of comedy. Evanthius in his commentary on Terence’s play thus defines comedy: “Well-honed in the plot, congruent with customs, useful in its precepts, pleasing in its wit, appropriate in meter.”] In this passage, Poliziano draws heavily on Donatus’s treatise On Tragedy and Com- edy, which prefaced his commentary on the plays of Terence. Echoing a passage in Donatus that allegedly recalled Cicero, Poliziano describes comedy as “an imi- tation of life, a mirror of custom, an image of truth” (imitatio vitae, speculum con- suetudinis, imago veritatis).50 It is precisely in virtue of its ability to mirror real life that comedy can “teach what may be useful in life and what should be avoided” (quid sit in vita utile, quid contra evitandum). Furthermore, comedy, with its char- acteristically happy ending, is “risk-free” (sine periculo), the passions of its charac- ters are “more tempered” (molliores), and its language is “molded from laughter and pleasure” (risu et voluptate figurata). For these reasons it is less likely to elicit a potentially devastating emotional response in an audience. Poliziano resorts to Donatus to legitimize comedy as a genre that, because it mirrors life in a nonthreat- ening manner, can become a useful educational tool for the community. This no- tion, which enjoyed great popularity throughout the fifteenth century and beyond, allows Poliziano to negotiate a balance between Christian and secular authors and find an authoritative voice to silence the opposition of the ecclesiastics to the re- vival of classical drama. Poliziano’s interest in classical drama is generally ascribed to the mid-1480s at the time when he was preparing his course on Terence at the Studio Fiorentino and composing his prologue to Plautus’s Menaechmi. But to fully understand his approach to ancient theater and appreciate his contribution to the development of dramatic criticism, we must consider his painstaking study of ancient theater and its vast commentary tradition as it transpires in the apparently disjointed compilation of his zibaldoni. De poesi et poetis, in particular, attests to his deep understanding of ancient drama and of the intrinsically performative nature of poetry. 50. Donatus, De comoedia et tragoedia, 5.1, in Aeli Donati Commentum Terenti: Accedunt Eugraphi commentum et Scholia Bembina, ed. Paul Wessner (Leipzig, 1902), 1:22. All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 124 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2017 APPENDIX Table A1. Record of BNFC Naz. II.I.99 Description Author Various (see table A2) Date Circa 1479 (colophon of uncertain reading written by Poliziano in Greek at fol. 40v) Language Greek and Latin Script Humanistic cursive, with marginal notabilia in red ink, semeiosai, and manicula Scribe Angelo Poliziano and two other hands (manus A and manus B after Cesarini Martinelli, “Un ritrovamento polizianesco”) Dimensions 295 � 225 (but the first quire is 30 � 23) Foliation Folios v1154 Collation 1 (fols. 1–50), 2–4 and 8 senions, 5 ternion, 6–7 and 11 quaternions, 9 quinion, 10 binion, 12 quires of seven bifolia Form Paper codex Binding Eighteenth century in paper and parchment Attribution Attributed to Marcello Virgilio Adriani by Carlo Strozzi, who noted “Marcelli Virgilii” (on the top margin of fol. 141r) and “m. Marcello Virgilio Adriani” (fol. 154v). Cesarini Martinelli, “Un ritrovamento polizianesco,” cogently argued that the manuscript was written by Poliziano and his collaborators. Bibliography Lucia Cesarini Martinelli, “Un ritrovamento polizianesco: Il fascicolo perduto del commento alle Selve di Stazio,” Rinascimento 22 (1982): 183–212, and “‘De poesi et poetis’: Uno schedario sconosciuto di Angelo Poliziano,” in Tradizione classica e letteratura umanistica per Alessandro Perosa, ed. Roberto Cardini et al. (Rome, 1985), 455–86. All use subject to Univers Table A2. De poesi et poetis: A Catalog of Sources Folio Source 1r–2v Eusebius-St. Jerome, Chronicon 7–2188 passim. Written by a copyist (manus A) with autograph notabilia 2v–4r Giovanni Boccaccio, Genealogy of the Pagan Gods, bk. 14. Paraphrase of chaps. 7, 9–14, 18–20, and 22. Written by a copyist with autograph notabilia 4r–8r Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, bks. 1–10 passim (partly autograph) 8r–26r Plutarch, Moralia (all autograph): It Is Not Possible to Live Happily Following Epicurus 1087a–f, 1092f–1096c, 1103a–b; Consolation to Apollonius 104a–106c, 109a, 115b; On Exile 602d, 604f, 605c; On the Glory of the Athenians 346f, 347e–348d, 348f, 349a; That a Philoso- pher Ought to Converse Especially with Men in Power 777d, 778c; ity of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Table A2. (Continued) Folio Source Whether Old Men Should Engage in Public Affairs 785a, 786b, 791e, 795d; The Dinner of the Seven Wise Men 153e, 156d, 157d, 161a, 162c–f, 164b; On Isis and Osiris 351d, 353d, 354c, 358f, 364c–d, 365a, 367c, 369f, 374c–e, 378b; On the Bravery of Women 243a–b, 245c–f, 248a; On the Eating of Flesh 996c; On Music 1131f, 1132a–f, 1133a, 1136c, 1141c–d, 1142a, 1144f, 1145d; summary of The Stoics Talk More Paradoxically than the Poets 1058c; summary of A Comparison between Aristophanes and Menander (integral text); On the Opinions of the Philosophers 875e, 879f, 881a, 894b; Greek and Roman Parallel Stories 306c, 307e, 310f, 312a, 314c; Lives of the Ten Orators 833b–d, 836c, 837c–d, 839b–f, 841f, 845b; On the E at Delphi 384d, 387b; On Stoic Self-Contradictions 1033e, 1045a; On the Principles of Cold 948f, 950e–f; Life of Homer (Pseudo-Plutarch) paraphrased almost entirely with the exception of 2.10–70; That We Ought Not to Borrow 830f, 831f; Consolation to His Wife 608c; On Fate 568d–e 26r–28v Suidae Lexicon, 808–4115 passim: Athenaeus (731), Acas (808), Acron (1026), Alexander Aetolus (1127), Alexis Thurius (1138), Alcaeus (1273–74), Alcimenes (1284), Alcman (1289), alcmanicos eidos (1290), Alcyonides hemerai (1298), Alphiton (1451), Amyclai (1671), amphinactizein (1700), Amphion (1751), Amphis (1760), anabionai (1806), Anagyrasius (1842), Anacreon (1916), Anaxandrides (1982), Anaxilas (1985), Anaximenes (1989), Anaxippus (1991), Anacharsis (2130), Antigenides (2657), Antimachus (2681–83), Antiphanes (2734–35), apage (2762), Apollinarius (3387), Apollodorus (3404– 7), Apollonius (3419, 3422, 3423), Apollophanes (3409), Araros (3737), Aratus (3745), Arrianus (3867), Aryballus (3870), Arion (3886), Aristarchus Theagetes (3893), Aristeas (3900), Aristocles (3916), Aristomenes (3922), Aristonicus (3924), Aristophanes (3932), Arisonymus (3936), Aristylus (3938), archadas mimoumenoi (3946), Arctinus (3960), Archedicus (4082), Archibius (4105), Archilochus (4112), Archimedes (4113), Archippus (4115) 28v–40v Pausanias, Description of Greece 9.30.4–11 40v–41r List of poets from the Anthology of Planudes 41r–v Eustathius, Commentaries on Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey (excerpts from the preface and bk. 1) 41v–42r Biographies of Pindar: Vita metrica and Vita thomana (entirely auto- graph) 42r Livy 24.4.2; Apuleius, Florida 7; Plato, Phaedrus 243a–b 42v Seneca, Letters to Lucilius 108.8–12 43r–44v Strabo, Geography 1.2.3–10 passim, 1.2.9 109r Flavius Josephus, Jewish Antiquities 12.2.13; Seneca, Letters to Lucilius 8.9–10, 9.21; Cicero, On the Orator 1.11 All use subject to Univers ity of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Table A2. (Continued) Folio Source 109v Quintilian, Institutes of Oratory 1.1.15, 1.1.36; paraphrasis of the life of Theocritus; Suda, Theocritus, h 166; Quintilian, Institutes of Oratory, 10.1.55, 1.3.13, 1.4.3–4 109v–110v Cicero, Orator 4, 29, 35, 67–68, 109, 149, 152–53, 171, 174, 178–91, 201–2 110v–111v Cicero, On the Ends of Good and Evil 1.4–5, 1.7–9, 1.72, 2.15, 2.24–25, 2.41, 4.56, 5.3, 5.31–32, 5.48–49 111v Seneca, Letters to Lucilius 49.5 111v–112r Tacitus, Dialogue on Oratory 12–13, 5.9, 10.20 112r Aristotle, Politics 1311b All use subject to Univers ity of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Gray Gamma 2.2) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (U.S. Web Coated \050SWOP\051 v2) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Warning /CompatibilityLevel 1.3 /CompressObjects /Off 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work_npormd7kbzcmxhkxpufdqjc2re	----	CLOUD GIS AND 3D MODELLING TO ENHANCE SARDINIAN LATE GOTHIC ARCHITECTURAL HERITAGE C.Pisu a* , P. Casu a a D.I.C.A.A.R., Department of Civil, Environmental Engineering and Architecture, Cagliari University, 09124 Cagliari, Italy – (cpisu, pcasu)@unica.it KEY WORDS: Cloud Computing, 3D Modelling, Photo-Modelling, Web GIS, Late Gothic Architecture, Sardinia. ABSTRACT: This work proposes the documentation, virtual reconstruction and spreading of architectural heritage through the use of software packages that operate in cloud computing. Cloud computing makes available a variety of applications and tools which can be effective both for the preparation and for the publication of different kinds of data. We tested the versatil ity and ease of use of such documentation tools in order to study a particular architectural phenomenon. The ultimate aim is to develop a multi -scale and multi-layer information system, oriented to the divulgation of Sardinian late gothic architecture. We tested the applications on portals of late Gothic architecture in Sardinia. The actions of conservation, protection and enhancement of cultural heritage are all founded on the social function that can be reached only through the widest possible fruition by the community. The applications of digital technologies on cultural heritage can contribute to the construction of effective communication models that, relying on sensory and emotional involvement of th e viewer, can attract a wider audience to cultural content. 1. INTRODUCTION The cultural landscape describes the evolution of the relationship between people and nature through the generations. Carefully analyzed, it is a living archive from which you can learn and be inspired, in order to maintain harmony and balance of those living there. The study and preservation of historical-architectural heritage, alongside a proper promotion of the territory, could be a starting point for the development, in a perspective of sustainability and conservation of specific local diversity. (Jones, 2003) The research is carried out within the international scientific debate on the use of innovative ICT (Information and Communication Technology) in the field of Cultural Heritage The ICT Program of the European commission has a section called Creativity that "explores the potential of information and communication technologies to enhance creative processes in general and in cultural and educational contexts in particular." (CORDIS, 2012) This topic is very current and many scholars are interested in approaching it. “The main objective is to provide an international focal point for efforts in the improvement of all methods for surveying of cultural monuments and sites. The combination of all aspects of photogrammetry with other surveying methods is regarded as an important contribution to recording and monitoring cultural heritage, to the preservation and restoration of any valuable architectural or other cultural monument, object or site, and to provide support to architectural, archaeological and other art-historical research.” (Patias, Santana 2011). The application of these concepts on a specific field will allow us to determine and to deal with a methodology for the knowledge and the representation of architectural heritage. The methodology explicits the process of virtual reconstruction, data processing and dissemination. The paper proposes a study of an important but not very well known Sardinian architectural heritage. We choose to document the portals of the late Gothic churches (15th- 17th century), through modern survey technologies and architectural photogrammetry, obtaining virtual models for dissemination on the web. The studied object is well suited to test the IBM (Image Based Modeling) (Fratus De Balestrini, Guerra, 2011), a tool that has recently proven to be extremely valuable in creating virtual 3D models derived directly from the photographic images of architectural elements. (Filippucci, M., 2010) At the same time we generate a geo-referenced database containing all the information (historical documents, bibliographic references, photographs, drawings, etc.) related to the objects of study. The models, simplified and associated with georeferenced data, make up the Web GIS. It shows thematic maps and 3D models in a complex system developed with simple application available on the Cloud. In fact, the different types of data were organized in a shared system, using the tools offered by Google and some of its applications such as Google Earth and Google Fusion Tables. The ultimate goal is to get a system for dissemination of information about historical architecture on the Web. If the purpose is cataloguing, GIS system is a good instrument because it brings useful reading elements. "It becomes an essential instrument if your aim includes preservation/management and fruition. If this is the starting point it is easy to figure out the right dimension between two prologs and up to now very different scientific methods; the history through cultural heritage and geographical and territory description locate" (Consorti, Di Renzo, Matani, 2008). Web GIS and 3D modelling are valid instruments to document built heritage. We can cite some example applied to different cases of historic architecture. In particular: Apollonio, Gaiani, Corsi (2010) present an innovative semantic and parametric International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W2, 2013 XXIV International CIPA Symposium, 2 – 6 September 2013, Strasbourg, France This contribution has been peer-reviewed. The peer-review was conducted on the basis of the abstract. 489 method to build 3D models to be used in cognitive-information systems, in particular they created a 3D Geodatabase of Palladio's works; (Ippoliti, Rossi, Meschini, Moscati, 2012) created a digital atlas for the documentation of cloisters and courtyards in Ascoli Piceno. The digitization of cultural heritage is now at the center of an intense debate. It is one of the objectives of the European Commission. The attention on this topic is focused primarily on digitization of collections and objects preserved in libraries and museums, but also Architectural Heritage have his great cultural value. The digitization of data, that includes not only textual information, but also 3D models of these objects, is crucial. In fact, various causes, related to simple degradation or to more destructive events, can cause the loss of present assets. A work of this kind can help to raise awareness on historic architecture and at the same time to preserve the memory to bring them to future users. (Ikeuchi, Miyazaki,2008). 2. OBJECT OF THE STUDY Sardinia, from the 14th to the 18th century, was part of the crown of Spain, and also on its territory developed the gothic building culture. The Mediterranean regions exhibit many specific achievements in Gothic architecture (Mira, Zaragoza Catalàn, 2003), but the study of this style was developed mainly for buildings situated in the Central European region, as France, Germany and Great Britain (Frankl, 2000). The architectures of Sardinia built between the 15th and the first half of the 17th centuries belong to the Mediterranean Gothic, and can be placed in the vein of the Spanish late Gothic. In this context, there are some other studies carried out in southern Italy (Cundari, 2007), particularly in Sicily (Inzerillo, 2008) (Santagati 2007). During this period, this architectural style had reached the maximum spread in Sardinia, and were encoded particular forms which affected both the civil and religious architecture. Gothic style come together with the Italian Renaissance and create a vocabulary of original shapes. Portals, along with the vaults and the rose windows, are certainly among the strongest characteristic features of late gothic religious buildings. Notable examples of these elements are found throughout the island (Casu, Pisu, 2012). This study aims to deepen the knowledge about some particular features in the Sardinia late-gothic buildings. We choose portals because they combine all the typical forms developed by picapedres (catalan stonemasons) (Segni Pulvirenti, Sari, 1994). The portal is sometimes the only element still intact inside a façade maybe rebuild at later dates. The Sardinian late Gothic church has a very simple scheme. It is set on a rectangular plan with a single nave. The presbytery is cross vaulted (simple or stellar vault) and cross vaulted chapels are open along the nave sides (Serra, 1966). Access to the church is in most cases done through a single opening, a portal. In the oldest system, the portal with the rose window was the only element that gave light to the nave, since small round windows of the side chapels were not always present. The portal is located into a façade which generally has these characteristics: flat, rectangular shape bounded by buttresses (which actually do not have a static function, because usually the roof of the hall is gabled), bell tower on the right side. Many of the late-gothic churches we found in Sardinia, have been modified and expanded over the centuries, so the still preserved original features are reduced to a few parts. The portals are certainly among the strongest characteristic that these buildings still retain. They were unknown, especially those located in minor contexts, but after several years of study in this area, we carried out a database containing information about many buildings located throughout the region and that contain such features. 3. METHOD The research is carried out within the international scientific debate on the use of ICT (Information and Communication Technology) in the field of Cultural Heritage and it is structured according to the principles of the London Charter (Denard, 2009). During the research development, the application and the verification of these principles have allowed us to work out a methodology for knowledge, representation and divulgation of architecture. The research has been organized into several phases: ● identification of buildings with significant features based on analysis of census data; ● collection of historical documents in the archives (bibliographic sources, photographs, drawings, etc.); ● cataloging, digitization, organization of collected materials in a database; ● collection of metric data and photos in order to make 3D models of the buildings; ● image processing using IBM (Image Based Modeling) software in order to create detailed models of portals; ● processing of the obtained mesh and simplification of the 3D models; ● creating of Web GIS combining georeferenced data and 3D models. The whole process of modeling is already designed for the future dissemination on the web, so we chose to work with cloud computing and free applications, that allowed us to achieve this goal in a short time and low cost. In this way we were able to encode a methodology applicable in other similar contexts. 4. APPS, SOFTWARE AND CLOUD COMPUTING “The actions of conservation, protection and enhancement of cultural heritage are all founded on the social function that can be reached only through the widest possible fruition by the community. The applications of digital technologies on cultural heritage can contribute to the construction of effective communication models that, relying on sensory and emotional involvement of the viewer, can attract a wider audience to cultural content” (Ippoliti, 2011). Today, possibilities offered by cloud computing (Mell, Grance, 2011) makes available a variety of applications and tools which can be effective both for the preparation and for the publication of all kinds of data. The service models of cloud are three: Software as a Service (SaaS), Platform as a Service (PaaS), Infrastructure as a Service (IaaS). The applications used in this specific research are systems SaaS (Software as a Service) in which the user can use the applications running on a cloud International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W2, 2013 XXIV International CIPA Symposium, 2 – 6 September 2013, Strasbourg, France This contribution has been peer-reviewed. The peer-review was conducted on the basis of the abstract. 490 infrastructure. These applications are in fact accessible through a Web browser, or the interface of a program. In this study we used SaaS applications for the construction of the geo-referenced data and for the creation of 3D detailed models of the portals, obtained from a set of unordered photos. Other processes were conducted offline, such as 3D models of the buildings, using Sketch Up. We designed the entire data system to be spread on the web by systems of maps sharing based on Google Maps or Google Earth.. 5. DATABASE AND WEB GIS Here we propose the first results of the investigations that led to the creation of a regional database in which the buildings have been identified and divided by type of portal. We recorded 73 entrance portals. They belong to buildings that often, in addition to the portal, retain other characteristic elements of Sardinian late Gothic: the vaults, the bell tower, the rose window. We divided portals into several distinct types, mainly according to the geometric shape of the opening: pointed arch, round arch, arch with three centers, lintel or other types not related to previous ones, characterized by a multi- linear geometry, which, in some cases, it resolves over a “flame arch” (Pisu, 2010). Type of portal Number of documented cases total towns pointed arch 29 26 round arch 26 26 lintel 9 9 arch with three centers 5 5 other 4 4 Table 1. Portals distinct according to the geometric shape. Figure 1. Location of the portals, distinct according to the geometric shape. a) b) Figure 2. Example of portals: a) pointed arch, San Pietro Assemini, Ca; b) round arch, Beata Vergine Immacolata, Barumini (VS). a) b) Figure 3. Example of portals: a) lintel (influenced by Italian Renaissance), San Mauro, Sorgono (Nu); b) arch with three centers and “flame arch”, San Vincenzo, Orroli (Ca). The database contains all the information we founded for each portal, in particular: - The location (divided into geographic coordinates and address); - The name of the building to which they belong; - The exact date, if known, or alternatively, the century of edification; - The building materials; - The conservation status; - The geometric classification; - Links to external resources, ie. images, 3D model of the building, 3D model of the portal. In this phase we proceeded to a first sieve of information collected in order to prepare the geo-referenced database and external data linked to it. In the second phase we worked on the technical aspects related to the organization of tables and the definition of feature classes. The result is the creation of layers of information that would be available for the production of thematic maps. To create the database we used Google Fusion Tables, an application created for sharing data organized in tables. It allows to enter the geographic coordinates for each inserted record. In this way the geocoded data included in Fusion Tables can be exported in a static or dynamic way to be viewed in Google Earth. In the first case we can create a .KMZ file that can be uploaded in Google Earth and customized according to the graphic styles functions of the application. In International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W2, 2013 XXIV International CIPA Symposium, 2 – 6 September 2013, Strasbourg, France This contribution has been peer-reviewed. The peer-review was conducted on the basis of the abstract. 491 the second case we can create a .KML file that is a link to the table. In this way, unlike the static situation, if the data in the table are changed, they are automatically updated even in the Google Earth view. Fusion Tables allows the creation of complex tables (see fig. 4) in which you can add not only text data but also images, geographic coordinates, symbols for displaying data on a map and links to external data. For each field into the table, you can apply filters to search for records inserted both in the table view and in map view. The filters thus allows easy interrogation of the database and the consequent creation of thematic maps. Figure 4. Screenshot of the table created by Google Fusion Tables. Figure 5. Screenshot of the map created by Google Fusion Tables. 6. 3D MODELLING For the documentation of the buildings we combined different methodologies of drawing. At first, we developed the model of the entire building through the use of software Trimble Sketch up that would allow the creation of a lightweight model for dissemination on the web. We created the 3D model starting from existing drawings. We verified the accuracy of the dimensions shown in the drawings. Then we modeled only the outer casing, in order to obtain a lightweight file. The 3D models are saved in KMZ format to be displayed in Google Earth and published in the 3D Warehouse. To get to the publication of the models on the 3D Buildings layer in Google Earth, we made the operations of optimization models. The 3D model, intended for publication on this level, requires at the same time light weight and accuracy. The specifications to be met can be summarized as follows: geometric simplicity (few surfaces), completeness and accuracy of photorealistic textures, correct georeferencing. So, we opted for a high simplification of the model without, however, neglecting those specific characters and geometric relationship between the parties, which characterize the real object. At this stage we have chosen to omit the modeling of details such as cornices, projecting elements and decorations. They have been implemented through a careful choice of textures. This choice has allowed to reduce to a minimum the surfaces constituting the models so as to achieve the standard of sharing dictated by 3D Warehouse. The rules for accepting state that the model complete with photorealistic textures should not exceed 10 Mb. For this reason, the texture must have a maximum resolution of 1024x1024 pixels. In the second phase of the work, a more detailed model of the portals was instead created with 123D Catch by Autodesk, an Image Based Modeling (IBM) system available free, that operates on the cloud. By using the computing power of the cloud the software finds the correspondence between pictures of an object bringing back the 3D model in the form of mesh. It combines an app and a web-service. It is a web-based application that requires a few simple steps to produce a mesh from a set of not oriented photos. The Autodesk 123D Catch software operates in cloud computing for the computation of correspondences between the images and the creation of triangulated mesh. The software also creates the texture of the mesh using the referenced photos. The app also permit to scale the model and the definition of a coordinate system to orient the mesh. Then, we processed the obtained mesh with a 3D modeling software in order to simplify the geometry. Finally we obtained a model that meets the standards for sharing on the web. Figure 6. Example of one of the studied buildings: model of the church of San Pietro in Assemini, obtained with Trimble Sketchup. Figure 7. Model of the portal of San Pietro in Assemini, obtained with Autodesk 123D Catch. International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W2, 2013 XXIV International CIPA Symposium, 2 – 6 September 2013, Strasbourg, France This contribution has been peer-reviewed. The peer-review was conducted on the basis of the abstract. 492 7. DATA SHARING In the last phase of sharing the work, we analyzed the relationships between the different components of the system. Through the layering and using query filters we were able to highlight the expected results. As mentioned above, we have entered the data directly in Google Fusion Tables, providing a field for entering the coordinates of the points associated with that data. For each row in the table we determined the style of the point that will appear on the map and other formatting information. Each point on the map that locates a portal is associated with a text box, which is visible if you click on the placeholder. Within this table we have included the dating, the description of the portal and links to external resources such as 3D models and more complex and detailed documentation. In fact the purpose is to create a light map that allows the access to different resources that deepen the argument in a dynamic way. From the web GIS the user can choose paths according to different selected parameters. The user can display the custom map according to his search criteria, simply by setting the query to the system. For example, applying some filters, it is possible to see portals with pointed arch in the Cagliari area. They are the most common and most representative of late Gothic architecture in Sardinia. Albeit in different state of preservation, they appear similar in many aspects: the rectangular opening is framed by pilasters with cylindrical capitals, and surmounted by a pointed arch with eyebrow. Ashlars of the lintel are always processed to form a protruding molding that emphasizes the rectangular aperture, separating it from the decorative pointed arch. They are also made of the same stone typical of the area: the limestone of Cagliari. The variety of data entered into the database, allows us to select information in different ways. The application therefore allow different uses by a various audience: the architect that needs specific technical information relating to the type, date, material, state of conservation, etc.; the student that makes a specific search in architectural field; the tourist who wants to find a cultural path in an area that he doesn’t know. Future development could occur in the tourism sector also determining travel time in relation to the places to visit. Although the products of this work are very different in nature, they are connected following the rules of link sharing on the web. In fact, the end user could get to display all of the work in different ways. One way would be to access the system from the models in the 3D buildings layer in Google Earth, after they have been accepted and validated. In fact, in the descriptive text associated with such models is provided a link to the entire database. This is the easiest route but less structured. In addition, it has a limit, because if other users create higher quality models, these will replace the existing ones on the 3D Buildings layer of Google. The other path, which corresponds to the final way of the data dissemination is currently in development. It consists of the prior creation of a dedicated website where, starting from the database, you get to all specialized contents. In this case the starting point is the map with geo-referenced points. Each point is connected to a text box that contains the links to 3D models. At this stage, part of the work can be found on the following link to Google 3D Warehouse: http://sketchup.google.com/3dwarehouse/details?mid=f807a17 926f220f1bbbe66f8f79d0879&prevstart=0. Soon the models will also be available on the 3D layer of Google Earth. Figure 8. The church of San Pietro in Assemini, in the 3D layer of Google Earth. 8. RESULTS AND CONCLUSIONS This research provides a method to study architectural heritage by using cloud computing and user friendly applications. The speed of this method has enabled the accurate documentation of some buildings and portals. The results obtained are objectively comparable and the method could be applied in any context. We tested the applications on the specific case at different detail scale and we performed a comparison between various architectural elements, in particular between portals, highlighting similarities and differences that with other systems would be long and laborious to obtain. Moreover, using Fusion Tables we could share not only the database tables, but the map associated with it, created on the Google Maps interface and also viewable on Google Earth, in order to reach a wide audience. Using these applications we have agreed to make available for free the objects created. However, both the database and the model cannot be modified prior permission of the author. The aim of this research is to give back an historical and social value to some architectures situated in the cities but especially in the small villages of the island. This intrinsic value of cultural heritage should be first of all felt by people who live there. Today ICT, if well implemented, allows the dissemination and the communication of digital content in a simple, straightforward way. Therefore, the knowledge of the history of some buildings becomes a common cultural heritage, and not an exclusive prerogative of scholars or experts. We tried to achieve this goal through the use of the tools provided for free in the cloud where anyone can access. The information system has made it possible to achieve some important results related to localization and visualization of portals, allowing us to connect various data on a single platform that can be used in a simple and immediate way. These data will be made freely available by entering the final link .KMZ file on a website, currently under construction. In this way this work will be viewed by any web user who has any interest in this field. In addition, using the Google API, we can greatly improve the display and customization of the maps in order to make more immediate and easier the use of the data. We designed the system so that it would became a tool for immediate display of many different data. It can serve as a basis from which to formulate planning hypotheses, establishing a bottom-up dialogue involving all actors that can contribute to the enhancement of cultural heritage. The spread of the studies to a wide audience could have an impact on the increase in cultural tourism, but also in sustainable land International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W2, 2013 XXIV International CIPA Symposium, 2 – 6 September 2013, Strasbourg, France This contribution has been peer-reviewed. The peer-review was conducted on the basis of the abstract. 493 management. Such a system could also foster closeness of young people, the major users of new technologies, to cultural heritage and will be encouraged them to take an interest in their culture in a spontaneous way, rediscovering their villages and their cities. References Apollonio F.I., Gaiani M., Corsi C., 2010. A semantic and parametric method for 3D models used in 3D cognitiveinformation system. In: Future cities. 28th eCAADe 2010 Conference, ZURICH, ECAADE – ETH Zurich, pp. 863 – 872. Casu P., Pisu C., 2012, Le volte nervate del tardogotico sardo. Disegnarecon 5(9) Jun. 2012, pp. 65-72 (2012). <http://disegnarecon.unibo.it/article/view/ 3154/2549> (15 June 2013) Consorti V., Di Renzo F., Matani L., 2008, Sistemi per la documentazione e gestione dei beni culturali in ambito WEB- GIS, atti 12° Conferenza Nazionale ASITA, l’Aquila 21-24 ottobre 2008, p. 833. CORDIS http://cordis.europa.eu/fp7/ict/creativity/creativity_en.html (01 July 2013) Cundari, C., (editor), 2007, L’architettura di età aragonese nell’Italia centro-meridionale. Rapporto conclusivo. Vol. 9, Kappa Edizioni, Roma. Denard H. (editor), 2009, London Charter, http://www.londoncharter.org/fileadmin/templates/main/docs/l ondon_charter_2_1_en.pdf, (19 June 2013). Filippucci, M., 2010, Nuvole di pixel. La fotomodellazione con software liberi per il rilievo d’architettura. Pixel clouds. Free photomodelling software for architectural survey, Disegnarecon Vol. 3, n. 6 (2010) - http://disegnarecon.unibo.it/article/view/2081/1468 (01 July 2013) Frankl, P., 2000, Gothic Architecture, Yale University Press. Fratus de Balestrini, E., Guerra, F.: New instruments for survey: on line software for 3d reconstruction from images. The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, XXXVIII-5/W16, pp. 545- 552. (2011) Jones, M., 2003, The concept of cultural landscape: disclosure and narratives. Palang, H., Fry, G. (editors): Landscape Interfaces: Cultural Heritage in Changing Landscapes, Vol. 1, Springer, pp.21-52. Inzerillo, L., 2008, Il Gotico Chiaramontano, Aragonese e Catalano nella Sicilia occidentale. Monofore, bifore, trifore e cappelle interne. Palermo. Edizioni Caracol. Ippoliti,, E., Rossi, D., Meschini, A., and Moscati, A., (2011) An approach towards the construction of a digital atlas for the documentation of cloister and courtyards in Ascoli Piceno, Int. Arch. Photogramm. Remote Sens. Spatial Inf. Sci., XXXVIII- 5/W16, 231-238, Ippoliti E., 2011, Media digitali per il godimento dei beni culturali. Disegnarecon, 4(8), Dec. 2011. pp. 2-13. http://disegnarecon.unibo.it/article/view/2564 (25 June 2013) Ikeuchi, K.; Miyazaki, D., 2008, Digitally Archiving Cultural Objects. Springer. Mell P., Grance T., 2011, The NIST definition of Cloud Computing, NIST Special Publication 800-145 http://csrc.nist.gov/publications/nistpubs/800-145/SP800- 145.pdf (19 June 2013). Mira, E., Zaragoza Catalàn, A. 2003, Una Arquitectura gotica mediterranea. Comunidad valenciana, Catalogo de la Exposiciò. 2 vols. Valencia, Conselleria de Cultura y Educaciò. Patias P., Santana M., 2011, Introduction to Heritage Documentation, in Stylianidis E., Patias P., Santana M. (editors), CIPA heritage documentation. Best practices and applications, UNESCO – ICOMOS Documentation Centre, Paris, p. 9. Pisu C, 2010, Geometric analysis of gothic openings with ogee arch, Proceedings of The 14th International Conference on Geometry and Graphics, Edited by Inter-national Society for Geometry and Graphics, Kyoto, p.352. Santagati, C., 2007, Gli ultimi bagliori del gotico di influenza ispanica in Sicilia: la torre del Carmine e il campanile del Duomo a Piazza Armerina, in Luigi Andreozzi (a cura di), L’architettura di età aragonese nell’Italia centro-meridionale, Verso la costituzione di un sistema informativo territoriale documentario iconografico, L’architettura di età aragonese nel Val Demone, vol 5, Aracne editrice, Roma, p. 43-52. Segni Pulvirenti F. Sari A., 1994, Architettura tardogotica e d’influsso rinascimentale, Ilisso, Nuoro. Serra R., 1966, Le parrocchiali di Assemini, Sestu e Settimo San Pietro. Note per una storia dell’architettura tardogotica in Sardegna. Atti del XIII Congresso di Storia dell’Architettura. Soc. A.B.E.T.E. Roma. International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XL-5/W2, 2013 XXIV International CIPA Symposium, 2 – 6 September 2013, Strasbourg, France This contribution has been peer-reviewed. The peer-review was conducted on the basis of the abstract. 494 
work_nry7ffsmqrcqdjwz5mt3dh3olu	----	Investigation ofperipheral neuropathy 1987;110:1617-30. 102 Lewis RA, Sumner AJ. The electrodiagnostic distinctions between chronic familial and acquired demyelinative neuropathies. Neurology 1982;32:592-6. 103 Pollard JD. Chronic inflammatory demyelinating polyradiculoneuropathy. In: McLeod JG, ed. Inflammatory Neuropathy. Bailliere's clinical neurology 1:1. London: Bailliere Tindall, 1994:107-27. 104 Kyle 1978. Monoclonal gammopathy of undetermined significance-natural history of 241 cases. Am J Med 1978;64:814-26. 105 Kahn SN, Riches PG, Kohn J. Paraproteinaemia in neu- rological disease: incidence, association, and classifica- tion of monoclonal immunoglobulins. J Clin Pathol 1980;33:617-21. 106 Bleasel AF, Hawke SHB, Pollard JD, McLeod JG. IgG monoclonal paraproteinaemia and peripheral neuropa- thy. Jf Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry 1993;56:52-7. 107 Thomas PK, Willison HJ. Paraproteinaemic neuropathy. In: McLeod JG, ed. Inflammatory neuropathies. BalliJre's clinical neurology 3:1. London: Bailliere Tindall, 1994:129-47. 108 Pestronk A, Comblath DR, Ilyas AA, Baba H, Quarles RH, Griffin JW, et al. A treatable multifocal motor neuropathy with antibodies to GM1 ganglioside. Ann Neurol 1988;24:73-8. 109 Pestronk A, Chaudhry V, Feldman EL, Griffin JW, Comblath DR, Denys EH, et al. Lower motor neuron syndromes defined by pattems of weakness, nerve con- duction abnormalities and high titres of antiglycolipid antibodies. Ann Neurol 1990;27:315-26. 110 Krarup C, Stewart MB, Sumner AJ, Pestronk A, Lipton SA. A syndrome of asymmetric limb weakness with motor conduction block. Neurology 1990;40:118-27. 111 Lange DJ, Trojaborg W, Latov N, Hays AP, Younger DS, Uncini A, et al. Multifocal motor neuropathy with conduction block: Is it a distinct clinical entity? Neurology 1992;42:497-505. 112 Prineas JW. Pathology of inflammatory demyelinating neuropathies. In: McLeod JG, ed. Inflammatory neu- ropathies. Bailliere's clinical neurology 3:1. London: Bailliere Tindall, 1994:1-24. 113 Kaji R, Oka N, Tsuji T, Mezaki T, Nishio T, Akiguchi I, Kimura J. Pathological findings at the site of conduc- tion block in multifocal motor neuropathy. Ann Neurol 1993;33:152-8. 114 Mellgren S, Conn DL, Stevens JC, Dyck PJ. Peripheral neuropathy in primary Sjogren's syndrome. Neurology 1989;39:390-4. 115 Gemignani F, Marbini A, Pavesi G, Di Vittorio S, Managelli P, Cenacchi G, Mancia D. Peripheral neu- ropathy associated with primary Sjogren's syndrome. J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry 1994;57:983-6. 116 Griffin JW, Comblath DR, Alexander E. Ataxic sensory neuropathy and dorsal root ganglionitis associated with Sjogren's syndrome. Ann Neurol 1990;27:304-15. 117 Said G. Inflammatory neuropathies associated with known infections (HIV, leprosy, Chagas' disease, Lyme disease). In: McLeod JG, ed. Inflammatory neu- ropathies. Bailliire's clinical neurology 3:1. London: Bailliere Tindall, 1994:149-72. 118 So YT, Olney RK. Acute lumbosacral polyradiculoneu- ropathy in acquired immunodeficiency syndrome: Experience in 23 patients. Ann Neurol 1994;35:53-8. 119 Sabin TD, Swift TR, Jacobson RR. Leprosy. In: Dyck PJ, Thomas PK, Griffin JW, Low PA, Poduslo AN, eds. Peripheral neuropathy. 3rd ed. Philadelphia: WB Saunders, 1993:1354-79. NEUROLOGICAL STAMP Atropa belladonna (deadly nightshade) Atropa belladonna is a member of the nightshade family solanaceae. Its botanical name is derived from Atropos who, in Greek mythology, cut the thread of life. The red sap enlarges the pupils of the eye. The plant was named at the time of the Italian Renaissance in the days of the infamous Borgia family, when the ready availability of poison was popular. The ladies of the court used one of these poisons, belladonna, not to kill their rivals but to beautify and enlarge their pupils. The solanaceous alkaloids are among the earliest effec- tive treatments for parkinsonism. Belladonna contains atropine, scopolamine, and hyoscyamine. The ripe berries are sweet tasting and poisonous and attractive to children. A medicinal plant series published and produced by Yugoslavia in 1965 shows the belladonna flower (Stanley Gibbons 1161, Scott 775). L F HAAS 283 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 8 .3 .2 8 3 o n 1 M a rch 1 9 9 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ 
work_nsikzubac5dvdi4f67cir6urhm	----	09 2953 Loehr chapter 8 with illustrations[1].pdf Max Loehr AND THE Study OF Ch i n e S e BronzeS Style and Classification in the History of Art RobeRt bagley volUME 141 TO PLACE YOUR ORDER NORTH AMERICA & CANADA REST OF WORLD by phone 1-800-666-2211 (USA/Canada) by phone 1-808-956-8255 or fax 1-800-688-2877 (USA/Canada) or fax 1-808-988-6052 or email orderbook@cupserv.org or email uhpbooks@hawaii.edu or mail Cornell University Press Svcs or mail University of Hawaii Press 750 Cascadilla Street 2840 Kolowalu Street Ithaca, New York 14851 Honolulu, Hawaii 96822 or online www.einaudi.cornell.edu/eastasia/publications or online www.uhpress.hawaii.edu 140 Uris Hall, Ithaca, New York 14853, USA tel 607 255 507 ~ fax 607 255 1388 email ceas@cornell.edu www. einaudi.cornell.edu/eastasia/publications Max loehr (1903–1988), the most distinguished historian of Chinese art of his generation, is celebrated above all for a 1953 art historical study of Chinese bronzes that effectively predicted discoveries Chinese archaeologists were about to make. those discoveries overthrew the theories of loehr’s great rival bernhard Karlgren (1889–1978), a Swedish sinologue whose apparently scientific use of classification and statistics had long dominated Western studies of the bronzes. Revisiting a controversy that was ended by archaeology before the issues at stake were fully understood, Robert bagley shows its methodological implications to be profound. Starting with a close reading of the work of Karlgren, he uses an analogy with biological taxonomy to clarify questions of method and to distinguish between science and the appearance of science. then, turning to loehr, he provides the rationale for an art history that is concerned above all with constructing a meaningful history of creative events, one that sees the intentionality of designers and patrons as the driving force behind stylistic change. In a concluding chapter he analyzes the concept of style, arguing that many classic confusions in art historical theorizing arise from a failure to recognize that style is not a property of objects. addressed not just to historians of Chinese art, this book uses loehr’s work on bronzes as a case study for exploring central issues of art history. It will be of interest to anyone concerned with the analysis of visual materials. MaX loeHR aND tHe StUDy oF CHINeSe bRoNZeS Style and Classification in the History of Art RobeRt bagley CeaS Vol 141 2008 200 pp ~ ISbN hardcover 978-1-933947-11-2 hc $85 ~ ISbN paperback 978-1-933947-41-9 pb $55 CoNteNtS 8 Preface 10 1. introduCtion: CLaSSifiCation and StyLe Karlgren and loehr taxonomy Classifying bronzes 17 2. KarLgren’S firSt PaPer: “yin and Chou in ChineSe BronzeS” (1936) 22 3. KarLgren’S SeCond PaPer: “new StudieS on ChineSe BronzeS” (1937) Sorting Vessels by Motif Interpreting the a and b groups Choosing Characters 32 4. KarLgren’S Later writingS “Some early Chinese bronze Masters” (1944) “once again the a and b Styles in yin ornamentation” (1946) “bronzes in the Hellström Collection” (1948) “Notes on the grammar of early bronze Décor” (1951) “Marginalia on Some bronze albums” (1959) “Marginalia on Some bronze albums II” (1960) “Some Characteristics of the yin art” (1962) 49 5. Loehr’S firSt PaPer: “BeitrÄge zur ChronoLogie der ÄLteren ChineSiSChen Bronzen” (1936) 64 6. Loehr'S “the Bronze StyLeS of the anyang Period” (1953) loehr’s Paper archaeology and loehr’s bronze Styles “another way of overcoming certain limitations of Style III” the Invention of animal Images Imaginary animals the Meaning of the bronze ornament 98 7. CLaSSifiCation a Warehouse Full of bronzes Science More Classifiers: Thorp, Zhang, Elisseeff, von Erdberg “Casting bronze the Complicated Way” 121 8. StyLe 130 list of tables and Figures 137 a Note on Dates 138 tables and Figures 185 Works Cited 194 Index Such expressions as that famous one of linnaeus, and which we often meet with in a more or less concealed form, that the characters do not make the genus, but that the genus gives the characters, seem to imply that something more is included in our classification, than mere resemblance. —Charles Darwin, On the Origin of Species (1859), chapter 13 the logicality of innovations . . . can be understood, I believe, as a matter-of-course symptom of the essentially rational natura of art. Innovations do not automatically come into being. they are hard-won achievements in which the individual position of an artist in his rational, critical discourse with tradition or previous achievements asserts itself —Max loehr, “Some Fundamental Issues in the History of Chinese Painting” (1964) For how could one give an idea of the pace of artistic life in periods of great inventiveness, if not by placing the stress firmly on the dynamics of change and on the unpredictability of stylistic invention? —Jean bony, French Gothic Architecture of the 12th and 13th Centuries (1983) [121] 8 style In a critique published in 1981, Audrey Spiro sought to identify some of the assumptions behind Loehr’s 1953 paper. The assumptions she singled out for attention all involve the concept of style—“a concept largely undefined, but usu- ally referring to the changing forms of different types of vessels and to their orna- mentation.”402 In trying to decide what style meant to Loehr she examined not only his work but also, expecting them to share the same assumptions,403 that of his teacher Ludwig Bachhofer and his student Virginia Kane: The first [assumption] is that at any one time and place, objects of any one class have in common certain properties that, in sum, may be termed, their style. None of the three art historians, in fact, specifies these prop- erties entirely, although we may make some reasonable inferences on the basis of their articles adumbrated in this paper. For both Loehr and Bachhofer, although they write of style as a separate property, analyses of this property for any one vessel include the shape of the vessel, its qualities of production—e.g., thin-walled, thick-walled; the decor; the technique for producing the decor—incised, modeled, etc.; and the types of forms used in that decor—geometric, “naturalistic,” etc. There are others, of course, and these are but some of the obvious ones. For Kane [who studied the calligraphy of bronze inscriptions], the prop- erty of greatest importance appears to be the shape of the character, whether lines are straight or curved, whether they bisect or touch, etc. Style appears, in fact, to be an ensemble of characteristics which are described, as above, and about which judgments are made.404 It does not speak well for the state of our discipline that Spiro had to guess what style meant to her three authors (nor does the fact that all three of them thought differently about it). Art history has still reached no consensus about the meaning of its most basic concept, in part at least because the concept is deeply entangled with unresolved problems in historiography.405 I would like to sug- gest that Loehr’s idea of style (but not Bachhofer’s) was a simple one, and that style meant to him what it means in practice, if not in theory, to most art histo- rians today. In the passage just quoted Spiro suggests that when Loehr and the others speak of an object’s style they are referring to a certain ensemble of its physical proper- ties. What puzzles her is how they selected those properties. Why, for instance, is incised/modelled décor taken to be a part of the object’s style while square /round leiwen is not? It is important to her to know how they arrived at their selection because of two assumptions she believes them to make about style. The first is that “styles evolve from previous styles, and that this evolution takes place almost inevitably regardless of conditions external to the manufacture of the vessels.” The second is that “at any one time and place, the entire population of vessels of any one type has one style only.”406 The second assumption is certainly false, and Spiro is right to reject it, but nei- ther Loehr nor Bachhofer actually made it, though Bachhofer came close.407 As for the first, in the absence of a definition of style Spiro’s sentence has no very 402. Spiro 1981, p. 110. 403. Spiro 1981, pp. 108–9. 404. Spiro 1981, pp. 123–4. 405. See e.g. Elkins 1996. 406. Spiro 1981, pp. 124–5. 407. Bachhofer (1944, p. 111) did declare that “one style reigned supreme at one time,” but under pressure he was willing to allow that “reigned supreme” does not mean “reigned alone” (Bachhofer 1945, pp. 243–4). As for Loehr, he never took such a position. He believed in a main line of development; he did not believe that all the bronzes made at a given moment belonged to the main line. When Spiro takes his 1953 paper to be proposing a sequence of five period styles, each the only style of its time, her conflation of the views of Bachhofer and Loehr has misled her. (At the one point where she sees disagreement between the two—she suggests on pp. 117 and 127 that Bachhofer believes the coherent taotie to precede the dissolved taotie while Loehr believes the dissolved to come first —they are speaking of different periods. The dissolved taotie Bachhofer is referring to is the same late Western Zhou motif whose dissolution Loehr traced in his 1936 paper. Loehr and Bach- hofer are describing particular historical events. Spiro perhaps believes them to be championing different laws of artistic evolution, Loehr favor- ing “dissolved to coherent,” Bachhofer “coher- ent to dissolved.”) [122] max loehr and the study of chinese bronzes clear meaning, but such meaning as it does have is dependent on the belief that style is a property of objects. This is a belief shared by most art historians. Most of us think and speak of style as though it belonged to the objects we study and as though it were an entity capable of evolving. But we cannot define an entity that behaves in this way, and what emerges from our daily practice is something quite different. Operationally style is a simple and unproblematic concept. It becomes problematic only when it is detached from practice and pressed into the service of problematic historical conceptions. To explain the point, let me take a celebrated work of European architecture, Claude Perrault’s east front of the Louvre (Fig. 81), and ask: What is its style? The question has no answer. Considered in isolation, the Louvre has no style, it only has physical properties. But of course no architectural historian ever dis- cusses the Louvre in isolation. Explicitly or implicitly it is always being compared with other buildings, and it then has any number of styles, according to the com- parison being made or assumed. In other words, the comparison the historian has in mind determines which of the building’s physical properties are relevant to a characterization of its style. This will be clear if we consider a few of the answers that might in practice be given to the question, “What is the style of the east front of the Louvre?” It belongs to the classical style. If we call the Louvre a classical building, we are contrasting it with buildings we consider non-classical, such as Gothic cathedrals, and we are grouping it together with such build- ings as the Parthenon and the Colosseum and the U.S. Capitol. In this context the features that constitute its style are features that it shares with the Parthenon and the Capitol but that we would not find in a Gothic building or a Chinese building. If we wanted to list them we would begin with the classical orders, that is, with columns and capitals and entablatures designed and used in accordance with cer- tain rules. Its style is French. An architectural historian who calls the east front of the Louvre a French building is likely to be contrasting it with con- temporary Italian buildings, and probably also with the designs by Bernini (Fig. 82) that Louis XIV rejected in favor of Perrault’s. To this characterization the classical orders are irrelevant; there is nothing dis- tinctively French about Corinthian columns (Bernini used them too). Summerson tells us, “The division of the composition by centre and end blocks is specifically French, and so is the sculptural decoration.”408 These are, in other words, features that we could find in other French buildings but not in buildings in Italy or elsewhere. A national or period style is made up of features and qualities that we encounter often in the nation or period in question but seldom elsewhere. If we find that a certain kind of sculptural decoration appears regularly on French build- ings but seldom in other countries, then we regard it as characteristi- cally French. It is something that a French architect invented or adopted and that French architects of later generations retained because they and their patrons liked it. 408. Summerson 1963, caption to plate 47. style [123] The Louvre is a Baroque building. The terms Renaissance and Baroque are in the first instance names for period styles in Italian art. The historian who applies the label Baroque to the east front of the Louvre is saying that it has borrowed from seventeenth-century Italian buildings some of the qualities that distinguish them from sixteenth-century Italian build- ings. To call the building French is to direct attention to qualities that distinguish it from Bernini’s designs; to call it Baroque is to say that Bernini and Perrault have something in common. Since seventeenth- century France did not adopt Italian styles wholesale (witness the rejec- tion of Bernini’s designs), finding anything Baroque about Perrault’s design may be difficult. But the features that attach it to the Baroque style will, if they exist, be no different in principle from the features that attach it to any other style: they will be features shared with other build- ings we call Baroque and absent from buildings we call Renaissance. Anthony Blunt points to the great size of the columns, their pairing, and the recession of the wall behind them; Summerson detects an element of Baroque rhetoric.409 The Louvre belongs to the style of Perrault. When we speak of an artist’s per- sonal style, we are speaking of traits that recur in his work but that are not seen in the work of other artists—the distinctive features, or a dis- tinctive constellation of features, that enable us to recognize his hand in an unsigned work. A historian who wished to find elements in the Louvre’s design personal to Perrault would compare it with the work of other architects in the service of Louis XIV. He would be looking for traits special to Perrault, features not found in buildings designed by Le Vau or Le Brun. Those features, whatever they might happen to be, would have no significance apart from the comparisons that isolated them. They would be entirely different from the features that make the build- ing classical and the ones that make it French, since those are shared by Le Vau and Le Brun; and they would differ also from the features that make it Baroque, since those are shared by Italian buildings.410 It is early Perrault. If Perrault had had a long and productive career (he did not), with the Louvre’s design coming at an early stage, we might discover systematic differences between it and his later works. Per- haps we would find the Louvre more sumptuous, the later buildings more restrained, chaste, bare of ornament. “Early Perrault” would then mean sumptuous and richly ornamented. But “sumptuous and richly ornamented” is not an objective fact about the Louvre. It is not a physi- cal property of the building. By comparison with the Bernini drawing shown in Figure 82, Perrault’s design is not sumptuous, it is downright austere. In sum, we cannot produce one definitive characterization of the style of the east front of the Louvre. Not even the most exhaustive inventory of its physical prop- erties would meet that description. A complete inventory of physical properties would not be the building’s style, it would be the building itself. 409. Blunt (1973, p. 332): “In certain respects it is Baroque: the scale of the Order, the depth given by the free-standing colonnade, the variety of rhythm due to the coupling of the columns.” Summerson (1963, p. 33): it uses “the classical language of architecture with force and drama in order to overcome our resistance and persuade us into the truth [of what it has to tell us about] the paramount magnificence of Louis XIV.” 410. In fact Perrault, Le Vau, and Le Brun were all members of the committee Louis XIV appointed to design the east front of the Louvre, and how much of the design should be credited to Perrault remains in dispute. If we had earlier buildings by him that we could use to define a “Perrault style,” we might be in a better position to detect his hand in this building. [124] max loehr and the study of chinese bronzes Style is not a property of single objects considered in isolation. It is a way of talking about one object’s relationships with other objects. It comes to be thought of as a property of the object only because the comparisons we make are so often unconscious and automatic. Recall for a moment the Pillsbury yu described in Loehr’s catalogue entry (Fig. 77). By explicitly comparing the Pillsbury bronze with another Style V vessel of the same shape (Fig. 76), Loehr was able to give a precise and subtle characterization of its qualities. Suppose we were to settle for a much looser characterization and just labeled the vessel “Style V.” We would still be making comparisons—we would be announcing the result of comparing the Pillsbury bronze with five large subgroups of the bronze corpus—but we would be leaving our comparisons unspoken. To ascribe a style to an object is to state the result of a comparison. To suppose the style to be a property of the object is only to be unaware of one’s comparisons.411 Loehr’s use of the concept of style throughout his writing can, I believe, be understood in these very concrete and straightforward terms, as nothing more than a way of talking about comparisons. Comparisons were essential to every aspect of his enterprise, the only possible approach to the questions that inter- ested him. They made it possible to talk about qualities. They were necessary for talking about change, hence about history. And they were necessary to the study of artistic creativity because they are intrinsic to the artist’s creative process: what the artist creates is his reaction to what he knows. Style is inseparable from the practice of art history because without comparison there can be no connected history of artistic invention.412 The problem Loehr set himself was to construct a history of the bronzes. For simplicity let us visualize the history he arrived at as a single typological sequence. This he created by arranging a selection of vessels into a linear ordering in which each was separated from its predecessor by small differences. For the arrange- ment to constitute a history the differences had to be of a particular kind. He could have arranged the vessels according to size; or he could have arranged them by color, putting them into a sequence in which the shade of green varied smoothly from one to the next; but historical information would not have emerged from such orderings. His purposes required him to choose differences likely to have chronological significance. The features he settled on as likely to be chronologi- cally sensitive included one or two that are technical, such as wall thickness (thin walls probably reflect the early bronze industry’s parsimonious use of metal). But the most revealing differences by far, the ones richest in chronological informa- tion, were the ones that resulted from artistic decisions made by designers. Loehr sought to arrange vessels in a sequence in which each vessel differed from its immediate predecessor by conscious and purposive changes, changes made by a designer for reasons of design. To do this, of course, he had to assume that the changes were rational decisions that he could understand and intuit: he had to believe that he could enter into the thinking of the bronze caster who was looking at one vessel and designing the next. But notice also what he did not assume about the changes he charted. He did not suppose that they were anything but free inventions of designers. Though they might seem in hindsight to fall into a logical pattern, they were not foreordained. They did not follow an inexorable sequence that recurs in the arts of other times 411. In an essay on style by Gombrich (1968) the repeated occurrence of the word “distinctive”— the essay begins “Style is any distinctive, and therefore recognizable, way in which . . . an artifact [is] made”—might be taken to betray an awareness that comparison is intrinsic to the notion of style, but Gombrich never actually says so. The point that styles are entirely a function of the comparisons historians choose to make applies even to the largest and most familiar of the categories we operate with. If we do not nor- mally think of the classical style as a national or period style, while we do think of, for example, Gothic as the style of a particular place and time—western Europe in the late Middle Ages— this is only a consequence of the way in which we have chosen to define and use the two. We define “the classical style” in terms of the clas- sical orders and certain ideas about proportion because we want to focus attention on features that Greek temples share with Roman amphi- theaters, French palaces, and American govern- ment buildings. We do not think of it as the style of a particular place and time because the build- ings we wish to compare are scattered over the world and over a period of 2,500 years. When we wish to pursue different questions we group the same buildings differently and define other styles (e.g. “Greek Revival”). That we do often think of Gothic as a period style despite the fact that buildings we describe using the word “Gothic” have been constructed continuously over the last 800 years is entirely a matter of choice (or habit). In a sense, of course, the classical style is a historical reality codified in the textbooks of architecture schools. But rules and schooling are merely mechanisms by which the architects of a given moment derive ideas from the buildings of the past. Buildings and decisions about design- ing them are the reality that we (and architects) invent styles to help us talk about. If we lose sight of this and suppose that classical or Gothic or any other style has an existence independent of our definitions—if for example we forget that Romanesque, Gothic, and the boundary between them are our own inventions—we risk entangling ourselves in imaginary problems. 412. Because he wanted to talk about style, Hein- rich Wölfflin (1864–1945) introduced a second lantern-slide projector to the art history lecture room, a position from which it has never been dislodged. There is nothing accidental about the fact that we cannot do without the second projector. Only style “makes it possible to get beyond a history of artists or a descriptive cata- logue of works toward a meaningfully ordered whole” (Loehr 1964, p. 186). style [125] and places, and they could not have been reliably predicted by an ancient observer. The bronze caster looking at a vessel with heavy flanges might design a new one with still heavier flanges; or he might design one with no flanges at all (and, if his patrons approved, might thereby trigger a reversal of taste that radically shifted the course of the bronze industry). In retrospect we can see either decision as a rational reaction to an existing state of affairs, but we could not have predicted the decision. As in other branches of history, the historian of art can find a retrospec- tive logic in what did happen without in any way implying that it had to happen. It is here that Loehr parts company with many other art historians, including his teacher, and it is here that the concept of “style” becomes problematic. Impressed by the retrospective logic of their own stretches of art history (usually the Italian Renaissance), many art historians would like to believe that long-term patterns of stylistic change are governed and hence explained by laws.413 For writers of this turn of mind, style becomes a metaphysical entity with a life of its own, a life that unfolds independent of individual caprice. It is not a way of talking about comparisons between objects, it is a phenomenon that precedes and shapes the objects. Artists are the instruments through which it acts. Period style, instead of being the shared inheritance of the artists of a given time, is a mysterious force that determines what they do. For art historians who think in this way, the history of art is explained by whatever power is imagined to direct the movement of style. For some it is the spirit of the age, or a world view, or a national character or racial essence. For others it is a law internal to art itself: a style, like a plant, is imagined to have a life history, and its growth to unfold according to an immanent law— hence talk of the birth, maturity, and death of styles.414 But whatever is imagined to rule the movement of style, style rules artists.415 This is emphatically not a part of Loehr’s understanding of style or of history. Style as something that is born, matures, and dies is conspicuously absent from his work. He never suggests that Style III is in any way incomplete, or that it is an immature stage on the road to Style V perfection. He would instead agree with Jean Bony that “each work of art (or group of closely related works) is meant as a final statement for its moment in time and each moment has its right to be considered ultimate.”416 In his 1964 article “Fundamental Issues in the History of Chinese Painting” he firmly distanced himself from all conceptions of history that regard style as something that moves independently of the will of artists. Observing that “a new style is a new idea, a conscious change and creative event, something that marks off one period from all other periods,” he asks: If the sequence of the styles that were new in their time is properly rec- ognized as the first concern and true substance of the history of painting, a question is likely sooner or later to trouble those who study it: Was that sequence inevitable, as if determined by immanent forces? He answers that it was not: At a given time, the artists share in the same tradition and stand at the same frontier between the realities of the past and the unknown of a present. If there is a measure of inevitability in the sequence of styles, it must be due to that ineluctable frontier condition. . . . Yet, while they 413. Art history began as the study of classical Greek and Italian Renaissance art, and the grand theoretical systems that still linger in its collec- tive unconscious mostly originated as attempts to fit the art of other times and places to pat- terns abstracted from Greek and Italian devel- opments (see e.g. Schapiro 1961, pp. 92–6). The urge felt by architectural historians to find something Baroque about the east front of the Louvre may owe less to a wish to trace influences from seventeenth-century Italy than to a vague sense that Renaissance and Baroque are not mere period styles but stages in the life cycle of all styles. 414. The teleology implicit in this biological meta- phor, firmly embedded in art history by Vasari, is given short shrift in some eloquent remarks by Jean Bony (1983, pp. 1–3). 415. Ideas of the kind just sketched are sum- marized and apparently taken seriously in an oft-cited essay by Schapiro (1961), the flavor of which can be suggested by a few sentences (pp. 81–2): “The historical study of individual and group styles . . . discloses typical stages and processes in the development of forms.” “For the synthesizing historian of culture or the philoso- pher of history, the style is a manifestation of the culture as a whole, the visible sign of its unity. The style reflects or projects the ‘inner form’ of collective thinking and feeling. What is impor- tant here is not the style of an individual or of a single art, but forms and qualities shared by all the arts of a culture during a significant span of time. In this sense one speaks of Classical or Medieval or Renaissance Man.” “Common to all these approaches are the assumptions that every style is peculiar to a period of a culture and that, in a given culture or epoch of culture, there is only one style or a limited range of styles.” Hauser (1959, pp. 119–39), in a discussion of Wölfflin, gives a decisive critique of such ideas. Some remarks by Brody (2004, pp. xix–xx) are also pertinent. 416. Bony 1983, p. 1. The biological metaphor was by contrast very active in the thinking of Loehr’s student Virginia Kane. When she writes (Kane 1974, pp. 79–83) that a vessel type “attained its climactic development . . . and thereafter became extinct” or speaks of its “definitive form,” “the correct combination of all of its elements,” “this rapid progress toward perfection,” “mature perfection,” “the final stage of unimprovable typological perfection,” she is assuming—to quote Bony—that “a long sustained movement of civilization could be condensed into one short phase of supposed perfection and the whole movement then defined in terms of that moment alone.” But Loehr does not think in this way. The biological metaphor is sometimes casually invoked in his 1936 paper, e.g. on p. 33, but not in his later writings. [126] max loehr and the study of chinese bronzes are thus tied to a given point of departure, innovations do not thereby seem either predetermined or rendered predictable. In hindsight they may, however, appear to be logical—in the sense of a logical “next step” suggested by some property of the preceding style. . . . The logicality of innovations . . . can be understood, I believe, as a matter-of-course symptom of the essentially rational nature of art. Innovations do not automatically come into being. They are hard-won achievements in which the individual position of an artist in his rational, critical dis- course with tradition or previous achievements asserts itself. . . . Logi- cality stems from the rational and conscious act of innovation achieved by an individual artist; and . . . without the creative individual’s mind there would be no change, no sequence, no logicality, and no inevitabil- ity to speculate upon.417 Loehr continues by rejecting “the arcane concept of an inner unity of all creative thought in a given period, something that would somehow determine or explain a new style . . . and thus bring its autonomy to grief.” “It is a widely held belief that art expresses its time, and that meaningful parallels between the art and the cul- ture of the same period can be found.” In fact, he says, the style of a work “corre- sponds to no given objective reality supplied by the time or its character or spirit.” On the contrary, the work “is a constitutive feature in a pattern which comes to be accepted as representative of a time. The Zeitgeist is nothing but a hypostasis of the pattern engendered by a group of works. The latter are the only reality.”418 There is nothing mystical or deterministic about this conception of history. When in his 1936 paper Loehr spoke of sensing “the inner logic of development,” he used a phrase that is regularly employed by art historians who do see style as a mysterious force transcending artists and evolving according to immanent laws. Bachhofer would have understood the phrase in some such way. But there is little in the 1936 article to suggest that Loehr shared his teacher’s belief in immanent laws, and in his later writings, as in the passage just quoted, it is clear that “logic” had no such meaning for him. On the contrary, it refers only to that retrospective pattern that the historian finds in events that were not predictable at the time of the actors. Thomas Kuhn, in an essay critical of efforts to find laws of history, describes historical explanation in terms that Loehr would surely have approved: The final product of most historical research is a narrative, a story, about particulars of the past. In part it is a description of what occurred (philosophers and scientists often say, a mere description). Its success, however, depends not only on accuracy but also on structure. The his- torical narrative must render plausible and comprehensible the events it describes. In a sense to which I shall later return, history is an explana- tory enterprise; yet its explanatory functions are achieved with almost no recourse to explicit generalizations.419 No one, I think, still believes that history is mere chronicle, a collection of facts arranged in the order of their occurrence. It is, most would con- cede, an explanatory enterprise, one that induces understanding, and it must thus display not only facts but also connections between them.420 417. Loehr 1964, pp. 188–9; cf. Loehr 1967 (unnumbered page, paragraph at n. 23). In the same vein Bony (1983, pp. 1–2) writes: “The driving force of human inventiveness [is] a criti- cal dissatisfaction with the immediate past. . . . The past must be relived as what it was when it was happening: as a sequence of distinct and unforeseeable presents.” Compare also Gom- brich (1968, p. 357): “By placing an oeuvre into a continuous chain of developments, we become alerted to what its creator had learned from pre- decessors, what he transformed, and how he was used, in turn, by later generations. We must only guard against the temptation of hindsight to regard this outcome as inevitable. For every one of the masters concerned, the future was open.” 418. Loehr 1964, p. 190; cf. Loehr 1961, p. 149. Compare also Loehr 1962, p. 231: “The term, spirit of an epoch, connotes an inner unity which in historical retrospect is recognizable, a deter- mining force which sets that epoch apart from others. It can be argued, however, that the only kind of unity of a given period is the past, the sum of tradition and memories, while there is no unity in its most distinctive aspect, namely, its new creations; and that there can be no epochs except in the course of each particular intellec- tual discipline because the creations—which are personal, unpredictable, and causeless—merely happen to be synchronous with other events. The reviewer’s contention is that there are no mean- ingful ‘epochs’ comprising the totality of life and thought.” 419. Kuhn 1977, p. 5. 420. Kuhn 1977, p. 15. style [127] [The explanatory force of a historical narrative] is carried, in the first instance, by the facts the historian presents and the manner in which he juxtaposes them.421 An ability to predict the future is no part of the historian’s arsenal. He is neither a social scientist nor a seer. It is no mere accident that he knows the end of his narrative as well as the start before he begins to write. History cannot be written without that information.422 The basic criterion for having done the job right is the primitive recogni- tion that the pieces fit to form a familiar, if previously unseen, [pattern of behavior]. . . . I am suggesting that in history that obscure global relationship carries virtually the entire burden of connecting fact. If history is explanatory, that is not because its narratives are covered by general laws. Rather it is because the reader who says, “Now I know what happened,” is simultaneously saying, “Now it makes sense; now I understand; what was for me previously a mere list of facts has fallen into a recognizable pattern.”423 None of this requires any adjustment to fit the historical territory in which Loehr worked, a territory concerned with works of art. What is distinctive to Loehr’s area of study is only that Kuhn’s “facts” are material objects, and what brings them into a “recognizable pattern” is a guess at the artistic decisions that led from one to the next. When Jean Bony asked “For how could one give an idea of the pace of artistic life in periods of great inventiveness, if not by placing the stress firmly on the dynamics of change and on the unpredictability of stylistic invention?”424 he was speaking of French Gothic architecture, but Loehr obviously felt that in study- ing Shang bronzes he too was concerned with artistic life in a period of great inventiveness. His conviction on this point has not always been shared, however, and I should like to close with a comment on the status of the bronzes as art and on the possibility of understanding art that is not explained to us by documents contemporary with it. It is sometimes asserted that art is a modern concept, one invented by the Renaissance, or by Kant, and that nothing we can properly call art existed in ear- lier periods. In effect this is an attempt to withdraw the word from common use. The attempt is unlikely to succeed, nor should we want it to. We cannot doubt that objects were consciously designed with their visual effect in mind long before Kant and the Renaissance. The existence of such objects in ancient times is no more uncertain than the existence of ancient music. Neither Shang bronzes nor Egyptian wall paintings nor Assyrian reliefs acquired their appearance by accident. The bronzes were designed, and to the kings and princes who commanded their manufacture it mattered that this should be so. Ancient patrons were less con- fused than we are about the uses of art. A slightly different position holds that, though the objects may be art, we can- not know how ancient viewers reacted to them. We have no access to Shang minds, we are told; unable ever to know the intentions of casters or the standards by which ancient viewers judged, we frivolously impose our own taste on works that 421. Kuhn 1977, p. 16. Compare Loehr (1971, p. 294): “If there is any arbitrariness in the selec- tion of what is regarded as historically signifi- cant, we have to admit that there is no other way. Every historian is arbitrary to some extent. . . . The decisive criterion is the meaning that springs from the act of selecting.” 422. Kuhn 1977, p. 16. 423. Kuhn 1977, pp. 17–18. 424. Bony 1983, p. 3. [128] max loehr and the study of chinese bronzes we have no way of understanding as they were originally understood. To this a variety of answers can be given. Few students of ancient literature would maintain that we have no access to the emotions of ancient readers. We are confident that those readers, like us, were touched by Euryclea’s recognition of Odysseus. Why then should we believe that we are cut off from the emotions of ancient viewers of Assyrian lion-hunt reliefs? Obviously we cannot assume that all our responses to the material culture of the past are authentically ancient (we do not assume this about our responses to ancient literature). But to assume that all our responses are wrong and historically irrelevant would be equally unsafe. That is a logic that leads to solipsism. The foregoing discussion of Loehr’s work has already given another, more spe- cific answer to the claim of inaccessibility. In order to construct the typological sequences from which he deduced his history of the bronzes, Loehr had to believe, at each step in each sequence, that he could see the artist’s reason for taking the step and that he could experience the reaction that persuaded the patron to ratify the step. If he had been wrong to think that he could understand the reasoning of successive artists; if the reactions of Shang patrons had been totally different from his own; if his immersion in his material had not given him some feeling for the taste of Shang viewers; how could he have arrived at a sequence that effectively predicted the sort of bronze that archaeologists would find at Zhengzhou? If his confidence had been misplaced, none of his typological sequences would be any- thing but a random ordering of objects. Art history today has many interests besides those that engaged Loehr and many methods besides those he employed, but most of its favorite lines of investigation depend on written evidence and thrive only in periods abundantly furnished with documents. When our subject is the art of periods or cultures that lacked writing or that have left us no documents bearing on their art, art history as practiced by Loehr is our only means of access. We will never know anything about Neolithic or Palaeolithic art beyond what we can read from objects, but surely we would not want to deny prehistoric people an aesthetic sense merely because they did not tell us in writing that they possessed one. Nor does the arrival of documents on the scene render irrelevant a concern with the visual. To the extent that an artist’s thinking is nonverbal, it is unlikely to be recorded in texts. Beethoven’s thinking is embodied in his music. It never existed in words because he did not compose in words. The recovery of visual thinking will always depend in large part on the kind of immersion and sym- pathetic engagement that Loehr practiced so well. If the Shang period were as profusely documented as the Italian Renaissance, our understanding of Shang bronzes would no doubt be immeasurably enriched, but our understanding of why they look the way they do might not be too dramatically changed. No matter what Shang authors might happen to tell us, our questions about artistic inven- tion, about the invention of imaginary animals for example, would by and large remain visual problems. Such problems are not necessarily of much interest to scholars in neighbor- ing fields (though archaeologists and anthropologists do at times make state- ments about imaginary animals). In art history, however, they are central concerns. Unless we take them seriously, our effort to understand Shang bronzes, Assyrian style [129] reliefs, and countless other things of high importance to the ancient societies that made and used them cannot succeed. The approaches criticized in this book have in common a refusal to treat the bronzes as objects consciously designed and redesigned, over generations, to serve functions that were in large part visual. It is a failure to grasp that visual power can be a functional attribute, perhaps even a refusal to believe that ancient people cared about or were capable of design. 
work_ntn6bge3mrf4rkk2dgjgre5wz4	----	Coronary Heart Disease: From Mummies to 21st Century | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.4103/HEARTVIEWS.HEARTVIEWS_57_17 Corpus ID: 32679963Coronary Heart Disease: From Mummies to 21st Century @article{Hajar2017CoronaryHD, title={Coronary Heart Disease: From Mummies to 21st Century}, author={R. Hajar}, journal={Heart Views : The Official Journal of the Gulf Heart Association}, year={2017}, volume={18}, pages={68 - 74} } R. Hajar Published 2017 Medicine Heart Views : The Official Journal of the Gulf Heart Association Ischemic heart disease and stroke have remained the world’s leading cause of death over the past 15 years. Our understanding of the pathogenesis of coronary heart disease has been slow and was not elucidated until the beginning of the 20th century. This article will review how the diagnosis and treatment of coronary heart disease was viewed from ancient times to the present day. MUMMIES AND ANCIENT EGYPT  View on Wolters Kluwer doi.org Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 1 Citations View All Topics from this paper Heart Diseases Coronary heart disease Amiodarone Heart valve disease Coronary Artery Disease Myocardial Ischemia Cerebrovascular accident Cessation of life Plaque, Atherosclerotic Mummies Obstruction Conflict (Psychology) Rupture Coronary Artery Vasospasm One Citation Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Serum Level of Interleukin-33, C-Reactive Protein, and Troponin in Iraqi Coronary Artery Disease Patients Athraa Z. Al-Obaidi, Jinan M. Al-saffar Medicine 2020 PDF View 1 excerpt Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 25 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency A tale of coronary artery disease and myocardial infarction. E. Nabel, E. Braunwald Medicine The New England journal of medicine 2012 720 Highly Influential PDF View 5 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed A historical perspective towards a non-invasive treatment for patients with atherosclerosis W. Slijkhuis, W. Mali, Y. Appelman Medicine Netherlands heart journal : monthly journal of the Netherlands Society of Cardiology and the Netherlands Heart Foundation 2009 13 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Evolution of Myocardial Infarction and its Biomarkers: A Historical Perspective R. Hajar Medicine Heart views : the official journal of the Gulf Heart Association 2016 11 Save Alert Research Feed The Coronary Angiogram and Its Seminal Contributions to Cardiovascular Medicine Over Five Decades T. Ryan Medicine Circulation 2002 67 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ATHEROSCLEROSIS, THE IMPORTANT FORM OF ARTERIOSCLEROSIS, A METABOLIC DISEASE: ELEVENTH LUDVIG HEKTOEN LECTURE OF THE FRANK BILLINGS FOUNDATION OF THE INSTITUTE OF MEDICINE OF CHICAGO T. Leary Medicine 1935 41 Save Alert Research Feed Atherosclerosis across 4000 years of human history: the Horus study of four ancient populations R. Thompson, A. Allam, G. Lombardi, L. S. Wann, G. Thomas Medicine The Lancet 2013 272 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed History of Angina M. A. Leach Medicine 2014 2 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed The coronary angiogram and its seminal contributions to cardiovascular medicine over five decades. T. Ryan Medicine Transactions of the American Clinical and Climatological Association 2002 29 Highly Influential View 5 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Res Medica, April 1967, Special Issue – Lauder Brunton Centenary Symposium on Angina Pectoris M. Kaufman, R. B. L. Ewart, +13 authors D. Julian Medicine 2014 2 Save Alert Research Feed Chest pain and angina pectoris - or the ugly swan and the beautiful duckling. C. van Tellingen Medicine Netherlands heart journal : monthly journal of the Netherlands Society of Cardiology and the Netherlands Heart Foundation 2010 3 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 ... Related Papers Abstract Topics 1 Citations 25 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. 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work_nxmwb5nqgvfp7k6dzf4wioefeq	----	• abstracts With this issue CM embarks on abstracting dissertations which are written in languages not generally accessible to English-speaking readers. That is, CM will not print abstracts of dissertations in French, German, Italian, Spanish, or English. Authors of dissertations in languages other than those cited are invited to contribute abstracts of their work . For dissertations written in Yugoslavia, our readers should consult the Muzikoloski Zbornik (Musicological Annual), edited by the Department of Musicology, University of Ljubljana. This Annual, of which there are two volumes now available, prints abstracts of Yugoslav dissertations along with an English summary. Primol:, Kuret Musical Instruments in the Medieval Frescoes of Slovenia Defended April 6, 1965 Cniversity of Ljubljana In their depiction of musical scenes the visual arts have provided the music historian with priceless information concerning those periods for which other sources arc either rare or non-existent. Since medieval texts on instruments arc especially few, the specialist in this field is particularly dependent on paintings and on manuscripts with representational art. Slovene church frescoes picture instruments played in the same manner as elsewhere in Europe from the 16th century to the mid-17th century. Impor- tant subjects of the era are portrayed, such as, the Last Judgment and proces- sional Epiphany scenes. Of greatest interest is the painted Carniolan choir, a motif which flourished particularly in Carniola, Littoral, and Carinthia, and which usually included angels playing musical instruments. These frescoes reveal developments in form and technique of the full range of instruments: trombones, trumpets and wind instruments of all kinds, lutes, shawms, porta- tive organs, harps, bagpipes, fiddles, and horns, among others. The musical instruments in these medieval frescoes bear out the evidence of written sources that instrumental music was perpetrated by traveling art- ists from whose ranks permanently employed musicians descended. Written documents include the first printed handbook of musical instruments wri tten and published in 1511 by Sebastian Virdung, and the Itinerario of Paolo Santonino, secretary to the Visiting Bishop Pietro Carlo da Caorla, com- posed during the latter's journeys through Slovenia between 1485 and J 4B7 and amply describing musical practices in the regions visited. Andrej Rijavec Music in Slovenia in the Protestant Era Defl>ndcdJune 22,1964 LJ niversity of Ljubljana The Protestant Era, that is, the middle and latter part of the 16th century, is of special importance for Slovene culture and in particular ICJr its music. 195 The religious movement had the powerful dfect of weakening the stylistic continuity vvhich Slovene music had achieved \\,ith vVestem European musical de\Tlopment since the acceptance of Christianity, Rijavec's dissertation seeks to e\"aluate the chief musical achievements of the period and to examine style \\,ithin both Catholic and Protestant music. Ample attention is given Slo\'ene Catholic music. particularly as found in the institutions of Ljubljana. ;\fone- thekss, the main conccm of the work is thc actiyity of the Protestants. Primo:!' Trubar and others incorporated Luther's vie\\'s on music into the framcwork of Slm"Cne Protestantism. The musical ideas of the former are set forth in his Cerkovna Ordninga (Church Order) and in his introductions to hymnbooks which playcd vital roles in the spreading and consolidation of the faith. The acti\'ity of the Ljubljana Protestant circlc, especially of its gymnasium, is seen to be of great importance. Rijavec describes the functions of rectors, cantors and their assistants, two sun'iving school curricula, choral and instrumental instruction, and the connection between the musical duties of the school and the Ljubljana Protestant Church. Discussion of town and prmincial musicians, and of domt'stic music-making, completes the picture of Ljubljana. Rijavec then proceeds to im"Cstigate associations of the Cami- olan nobility with musicians such as Annibale de Perini, Giacomo Gorzanis, and Phillip Duc. as well as Protcstant musical acti\'ity in other parts ofSloYenia. The author's analysis of musical compositions and performance rC\Tals stylistic influences from Protestant Germany, alongside persistent connections \I,ith the Italian Renaissance. Ht' concludes that the Reformation had both bmdicial and detrimental eff('Cts on Slovene music, and that after the triumph of the Counter-Reformation at the beginning of the 17th century, Slo\"ene music took a considerably different course from what was the case in regions where Protestantism took permanent root. Levre Zupanovic Achievements and Characteristics of the J1lork Tatroslav Lisinski Ddc:nded February 25, 1965 Cni\Trsity of Ljubljana . [he Croatian composer Vatroslav Lisinski (1819-1854) has been the subjcct of a substantial literature, in which tne monograph by Franjo Ksaver Kuhai' ( 1887; 2d ed. 1904) is ou tstanding. Nevertheless, his biography has remained incomplete, and a thorough analysis and evaluation of his music has been left untouched. ZupanoviC's study is an important supplement to present bio- graphical knowledge. Furthermore, his bibliography of Lisinski's works in- cludes four hitherto unknown picces and discloses that two compositions, formerly attributed to Lisinski, are works of other composcrs. ZupanoyiCs analyse'S shO\\, Lisinski to haH' bccn schooled in tht' carl, Romantic stde. His compositions can be di\,idcd roughly into three' period;: the carl\' years, the sojourn in Prague from 1847 to 1850, the later years in 196 Zagreb. It was during the Prague years that Lisinski was exposed to the activities of his Gnman contemporaries and the new concepts of Berlioz. His harmonic idiom is characteristic of the early romantics, especially in its treatment of dissonance and syncopation. Id('!1tical or slightly modifIed melodic formulas often appear in his music; in the opera Porin one finds an anticipation of the usc of leitmotif. A substantial number of compositions draw their inspiration from fillk music and from nature (e.g .. the idyll ncr Abend). Included in Lisinski's output arc S('\Tn OYlTtures. S('\'(']1 chamber works, thirty-three piano pieces, sixty-eight songs. Lisinski was the founder ora nationally-oriented school of Croatian music; however, he far surpassed his fCllO\\- Croatians in the integration of diverse inOuences. The just balance of structure and expression of several late works place him on a level with his European contemporaries, such as, ;\,;lendclssohn, Schumann, Chopin, Liszt, Glinka, and Verdi. 197 
work_o2zix4tlabgyhibawqpcte3lca	----	The planets and our culture a history and a legacy Galileo’s Medicean Moons: their impact on 400 years of discovery Proceedings IAU Symposium No. 269, 2010 C. Barbieri, S. Chakrabarti, M. Coradini & M. Lazzarin, eds. c© International Astronomical Union 2010 doi:10.1017/S1743921310007428 The planets and our culture a history and a legacy Theodore C. Clarke1 and Scott J. Bolton2 1 New Renaissance Productions, Altadena, CA 91001 email: tcclarke@earthlink.net 2 Artistic Sciences, Inc., San Antonio, Texas 78257 email: sbolton@swri.edu Abstract. This manuscript relates the great literature, great art and the vast starry vault of heaven. It relates the myths of gods and heroes for whom the planets and the Medicean moons of Jupiter are named. The myths are illustrated by great art works of the Renaissance, Baroque and Rococo periods which reveal poignant moments in the myths. The manuscript identifies constellations spun off of these myths. In addition to the images of great art are associated images of the moons and planets brought to us by spacecraft in our new age of exploration, the New Renaissance, in which we find ourselves deeply immersed. Keywords. mythology; paintings; constellations; planets; moons; space exploration 1. Introduction Since the beginning of human history man has sought in the vastness of infinite space a reflection and an understanding of the vastness of his own inner being. He has always identified with the celestial spheres. It was surely so for our ancestors in the Euphrates Valley over 5,000 years ago. There, at that time, thought that would shape our civilization was present about the land. To the east, near the meeting of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers was the site of biblical Eden and the biblical origins of man. To the north was Akkad, site of the origins of the star worship and mythology that would reach its zenith with the Greeks. To the west was Babylonia, site of the origins of astronomy. To the south was Ur, birthplace of Abraham, spiritual father of the Judeo, Christian, and Islamic religions. The same collective mind that was planting the seeds of these three great monotheistic religions was contemplating the nature of the universe and life, and was seeking answers in the heavens above. That same mind populated the firmament with gods, in a zodiac still used today in modern charts of the heavens, and invented great stories and myths of the deeds of those gods. The planets and many of their moons are named for the Greek and Roman gods. 2. Origins Among the classical Greeks the most accepted account of the beginning of things was that given by the poet Hesiod, a near contemporary of Homer. Hesiod tells us in the “Theogony” that Chaos preceded all things (see Figure 1). Next came into being Earth personified as Gaea, and Love. From Mother Earth proceeded the starry vault of Heaven, personified as Uranus, where the gods would take up their abode. Then, in the heart of creation Love stirred making of things male and female, and bringing them 199 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core 200 T. C. Clarke & S. J. Bolton together by natural affinity. We know today that this notion of opposites brought together by natural affinity is the basis for the subatomic structure of all matter. Uranus took Gaea to wife, and from their union were born the Titans, the Hecatonchires or hundred handed monsters, and the Cyclopes, all manifestations of violent upheavals on Earth. When Uranus tried to destroy the hundred handed monsters and the Cyclopes, whom he dreaded, Gaea, their mother, plotted with the Titans to strike down the tyranny of Uranus. Saturn, god of Time, stepped forward to take up his mother’s cause. Figure 1. Geneology of the Gods. Armed with an iron sickle provided him by his mother Gaea, Saturn lay in wait for his sire to come in for the night to overlay Earth. At the right time Saturn fell upon Uranus and grievously wounded him. Saturn thus seized power in Olympus in a bloody cosmic coup. From the bloody member cast into the sea arose Venus (Aphrodite - foam born) and from the blood that fell on Earth arose the Giants. Saturn and the Titans reigned during the golden age of Greek mythology. Figure 2. Earth, Galileo 1990. The Saturn moon Titan was discovered by Christian Huygens in 1655. Huygens was convinced no more celestial bodies would be found orbiting the sun, because Titan (which he named Luna Saturni) was the 12th such body. 12 was such a perfect number, he https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Planets and our culture 201 Figure 3. The Mutilation of Uranus, Georgio Vasari and Christofano Gherardi, 16th cent. Italian Renaissance. Figure 4. Saturn, Voyager 1 1980. reasoned, it could only be the result of divine intent. Were there not 12 tribes of Israel, 12 Disciples of Christ, and 12 signs of the Zodiac? When Giovanni Cassini discovered two more moons of Saturn 16 years later, however, he hastened to point out to his patron Louis XIV that perhaps 14 was more divine than 12. John Herschel in 1858 named the 8 known Saturn moons for the Titans and for the Giants born of the blood that fell to Earth when Saturn castrated Uranus in the cosmic coup. Saturn, having learned from an oracle that he would be overthrown by one of his own offspring, as he had overthrown his own sire, devoured his children as they were born to prevent this from occurring. Time, the ancients noted, destroyed that which it had cre- ated. Rhea, Saturn’s sister-goddess-wife and mother of the children, was understandably distressed. Figure 5. The Birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli, 16t h cent. Italian Renaissance. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core 202 T. C. Clarke & S. J. Bolton 3. The Reign of Jupiter When her 6th child Jupiter was born Rhea passed off a rock wrapped in swaddling clothes in place of Jupiter to the god Saturn and spirited the infant Jupiter off to the island of Crete, where he was cared for by the nymphs Ida and Adrastea, and fed from the milk of the goat Amalthea. Jupiter quickly grew to manhood (or godhood) and with the help of Gaea fed Saturn an emetic, which caused him to regurgitate his brothers and sisters. They then joined forces in an epic battle with Saturn and the Titans for supremacy of Heaven and Earth. The Jovian gods were triumphant and the defeated Titans were cast into Tartarus, the profound abyss beneath Earth. Figure 6. Saturn Devouring His Children, Georgio Vasari, 16t h Cent. Italian Renaissance. Figure 7. The Nurture of Jupiter, Nicolas Poussin, 17t h cent. French Baroque. After the defeat of the Titans, Jupiter (Zeus) was chosen by all the gods of Olympus to be the supreme ruler of the Heavens, the Earth, and the gods. The Statue of Zeus by Pheidias is one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. The image here is recon- structed from rare coins struck by the Roman Emperor Hadrian in the 2nd cent. A.D. The Stoic Dio Chrysostom, in a speech in 90 A.D., called Pheidias’ Zeus “The most beautiful and the dearest to God of all works on Earth, the mere sight of which stills all sorrows.” https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Planets and our culture 203 Figure 8. Statue of Zeus, Pheidias, c. 430 B.C. In time, the Giants, born by Earth from the blood of the mutilated Uranus, rose to challenge the Jovian gods for dominion over Olympus. With the help of Hercules the Jovian gods defeated the Giants. According to legend, in celebration of the victory of the Jovian gods over the Giants, Hercules instituted the first Olympic Games in 776 B.C. Figure 9. Jupiter, Voyager 1, 1979. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core 204 T. C. Clarke & S. J. Bolton 4. Myths of Jupiter and those Lovers for Whom the Medicean Moons Are Named The link between myths of the ancient past, art of the Renaissance, Baroque and Rococo periods, and space exploration of the present are here represented by the myths of Jupiter and those lovers for whom the Medicean moons are named. Three of the Jovian playmates, Io, Europa, and Callisto were descended from the river god Inachus, son of the Titans Oceanus and Tethys, as seen in the genealogy chart below. Figure 10. Genealogies of Io, Europa, and Callisto. 5. The Myth of Jupiter and Io Io was a river nymph, daughter of the river god Inachus. One day Jupiter spotted the sweet and innocent Io on the banks of the Inachus River, near where it flows into the Argolic Gulf. As was his want, Jupiter fell in love with the beautiful Io. He came down from Olympus to be with her and spread a cloud over the land to conceal his dalliance from his jealous wife Juno. In the painting Jupiter and Io Jupiter plants an immortal kiss on the ecstatic cheek of the river nymph Io. Jupiter had visited Io in her dreams and whispered to her as she slept: https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Planets and our culture 205 Figure 11. Jupiter and Io, Antonio Allegri da Correggio, 16t h cent. Italian Renaissance. “Now to the meadow land of Lerna, where thy father’s pastures lie, And the sleek cattle browse, do thou steal forth Alone, and happly there thy yielding grace May sooth the passion in the Sovereign’s eye” Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound Figure 12. Juno Discovering Jupiter with Io, Pieter Lastman, 17t h cent. Dutch artist. Juno noted the cloud covering all of the Peloponnesus, and noted too that her husband Jupiter was not on his throne on Mt. Olympus. She became suspicious and decided to investigate. In the painting Juno Discovering Jupiter with Io we see Juno mounted on her peacock drawn chariot penetrating the clouds just as Jupiter, sensing her coming, changes Io into a heifer. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core 206 T. C. Clarke & S. J. Bolton This tale is the basis for the name Juno given to the NASA space mission, which will Figure 13. The Medicean Moon Io, Voyager 1, 1979. be launched to Jupiter in 2011, will penetrate Jupiter’s clouds with its instruments, and will learn Jupiter’s secrets. The names of the Ionian Sea and the Bosporus (fording of the ox) also derive from this myth. Note the prominent volcanic feature Loki in the Voyager image of Io, which looks amazingly like the hoof print of a heifer. 6. The Myth of Jupiter and Europa From the myth of Jupiter and Europa comes the names of a major constellation and of a continent. Jupiter caught sight of Europa, the legendary princess of Phoenicia, as she picked flowers by the sea, and was instantly overwhelmed with love for her. Jupiter took the shape of a bull, meandered over to where Europa played, and knelt by the princess. Europa was enthralled and climbed upon the bull’s back and spread garlands of flowers about its neck. At that instant Jupiter the bull leapt into the sea with Europa clinging frantically to his horns, and carried her across the sea to the island of Crete. There he cast off his shape of a bull and tossed it into the heavens as the constellation Taurus. Figure 14. Europa Picking Flowers, Fresco found in the ruins of Pompeii, 40 A.D., copy after Apelles, c. 430 B.C.. Legend has it that the continent of Europe was named for this event. Charlemagne, who conquered most of what we know today as Europe, was familiar with this legend, and some say it was he who officially gave the continent its name. According to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Planets and our culture 207 Figure 15. The Abduction of Europa, Titian, 16t h cent. Italian Renaissance. myth Europa bore Jupiter 3 sons, among them Minos, legendary ancestor of the Minoan civilization, first of the great Greek civilizations. Figure 16. The Medicean Moon Europa, Voyager 1, 1979. 7. The Myth of Jupiter and Ganymede According to the myth, one day as Jupiter was surveying his domain he spotted the boy Ganymede tending a flock of sheep on the slopes of Mt. Ida near Troy. Jupiter suddenly felt a profound passion for the boy, changed his shape into that of an eagle, swooped down and snatched the boy up and carried him off to Mt. Olympus to serve as cup bearer of the gods. However, cup bearer, or water bearer, was a position already held by the young goddess Hebe, daughter of Juno and Jupiter. In the painting Ganymede and Hebe Vying to Serve Jupiter we see Ganymede, with boyish facial hair, and Hebe, with adolescent breasts, vying to serve Jupiter while Juno stands nearby. Also shown, at the feet of Jupiter, is the goat Amalthea, whose milk nourished him as an infant. In the background is a scene depicting the abduction of Europa. Jupiter, in the shape of https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core 208 T. C. Clarke & S. J. Bolton Figure 17. Genealogy of Ganymede. Figure 18. The Abduction of Ganymede, Correggio, 16t h cent. Italian Renaissance. a bull, is plunging through the sea, with the pink clad Europa in much distress. Two constellations celebrate the myth of Jupiter and Ganymede: Aquarius the Water Bearer and Aquila the Eagle. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Planets and our culture 209 Figure 19. Ganymede and Hebe Vying to Serve Jupiter, Cristofano Gherardi, c. 1565. Figure 20. The Medicean Moon Ganymede, Voyager 1, 1979. 8. The Myth of Jupiter and Callisto Callisto was the favored companion of the virgin goddess Diana. Diana had warned her companions that if they wished to remain in her company, they must remain chaste. Callisto had accordingly vowed chastity. One day Jupiter saw the beautiful and chaste Callisto lying in the woods, waiting for Diana. He was aware of Diana’s cautionary words to her companions, and was aware too of the special relationship Callisto had with Diana. Figure 21. Jupiter in the Guise of Diana and the Nymph Callisto, Francois Boucher, 18t h Cent. Rococo. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core 210 T. C. Clarke & S. J. Bolton Figure 22. The Medicean Moon Callisto, Voyager 1, 1979. So, in an inspired stratagem, Jupiter changed his shape into that of Diana, and went into the woods to where Callisto lay. In Boucher’s painting above, we see Jupiter as Diana, embracing the innocent Callisto. He whispers words of love to her: “You are Callisto! I behold in your eyes The dawn of creation; I behold in your smile The innocence of surrender; I behold the joy that you are, And love is born in my breast As stars are born in the arms of the galaxies, And galaxies in the bosom of the Universe. Fair Callisto, I love you.” Callisto succumbs to Jupiter’s words of love, and in their passionate embrace she conceives a child. Soon enough Callisto’s condition becomes obvious and Diana forces her out of her company for having violated her strict rules of behavior. In time Callisto gives birth to a child, whom she names Arcas. Juno is outraged at this evidence of Jupiter’s infidelity and changes Callisto into a bear. Callisto the bear is frightened and runs away into the woods, not to see her son for many years. One day, when Arcas is a handsome and sturdy young man, he goes into these very woods to hunt, not realizing that his mother the bear resides there. Callisto sees her son Arcas, whom she hasn’t seen for many years, and, forgetting she is a bear, rushes to embrace him. Arcas sees only a bear rushing down on him. He pulls out his bow and https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Planets and our culture 211 arrow and lets fly an arrow to the mark. At the last moment, just before the arrow strikes, Jupiter snatches up Callisto and her son Arcas and casts them into the heavens as the constellations Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, the big and little bears, the most recognizable parts of these constellations being the big and little dippers. 9. Conclusion We have related myths of the great classics of Greek literature, illustrated them with masterworks of Renaissance, Baroque and Rococo art, identified the constellations, bodies of water and the continent that spun off these myths, and leapt into the present with images taken by our mighty spacecraft of the planets and Medicean moons named for the mythological characters of the myths related. 10. Epilogue Epilogue is prologue. The history and legacy of one era becomes the starting point for the next. In this paper we have linked the past to the present and ride the crest of the New Renaissance into the future. From the dawn of time we have asked: Who am I? Where do I come from? We asked in the marshy Edens of Sumer, again in the glory that was Greece, again in the grandeur of the Renaissance, and again today. Today we are immersed in a New Renaissance and once again communications, the arts, mathematics and science are exploding in unison. The binary code, the internet, and space exploration are the masterworks of this new age. Figures: Fig. 1 : Genealogy of the Gods, adapted from Table A, The Great Gods of Olympus, in Gayley’s Mythology Fig. 2 : Planet Earth, image by Galileo taken during the first Earth encounter, 1990 Fig. 3 : The Mutilation of Uranus, Georgio Vasari and Christofano Gherardi, 1560, Palazzo Vecchio, Florence, Italy Fig. 4 : Planet Saturn, image by Voyager 1 taken during the Saturn encounter, 1980 Fig. 5 : The Birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli, 1600, Uffizi Gallery, Florence, Italy Fig. 6 : Saturn Devouring His Children, Georgio Vasari, c. 1560, Palazzo Vecchio, Flo- rence, Italy Fig. 7 : The Nurture of Jupiter, Nicolas Poussin, 1640, Dahlen State Museum, Berlin, Germany Fig. 8 : The Statue of Zeus, picture in Mythology, by Lady Hestia Evans, edited by Dugald Asteer, Candlewick Press, Doverville, MA, 2007 Fig. 9 : Planet Jupiter, image by Voyager 1 taken during the Jupiter encounter, 1979 Fig. 10 : Genealogies of Io, Europa, and Callisto, adapted from Table D, The Race of Inachus and its Branches, in Gayley’s Mythology Fig. 11 : Jupiter and Io, Antonio Allegri da Correggio, c. 1530, Kunsthistorisches Mu- seum, Vienna, Austria Fig. 12 : Juno Discovering Jupiter and Io, Pieter Lastman, 1618, The National Gallery, London, England Fig. 13 : The Medicean Moon Io, image by Voyager 1 taken during the Jupiter encounter, 1979 Fig. 14 : Europa Picking Flowers, fresco found in the ruins of Pompeii, c 40 A.D., copy after Apelles, c. 430 B.C. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core 212 T. C. Clarke & S. J. Bolton Fig. 15 : The Abduction of Europa, Titian, 1562, Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston, MA Fig. 16 : The Medicean Moon Europa, image by Voyager 1 taken during the Jupiter en- counter, 1979 Fig. 17 : Genealogy of Ganymede, adapted from Table O(5), The Royal Family of Troy, in Gayley’s Mythology Fig. 18 : The Abduction of Ganymede, Correggio, 1532, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vi- enna, Austria Fig. 19 : Ganymede and Hebe Vying to Serve Jupiter, Cristofano Gherardi, c. 1565, Palazzo Vecchio, Florence, Italy Fig. 20 : The Medicean Moon Ganymede, image by Voyager 1 taken during the Jupiter encounter, 1979 Fig. 21 : Jupiter in the Guise of Diana and the Nymph Callisto, Francois Boucher, 1759, Nelson Gallery - Atkins Museum, Kansas, MO Fig. 22 : The Medicean Moon Callisto, image by Voyager 1 taken during the Jupiter encounter, 1979 References Aeschylus 1938, Prometheus Bound The Complete Greek Drama, edited by Whitney J. Oates and Eugene O’Neill, Jr., Random House, New York Gayley, C. M. 1939, The Classic Myths in English Literature and in Art, Ginn and Company, Boston 1893, The Iliad of Homer, tr. by Andrew Lang, Walter Leaf, and Ernest Myers, MacMillan and Co., New York 1955, The Metamorphoses of Ovid, tr. by Mary M. Innes, Penguin Books, Baltimore 1950, The Odyssey of Homer, tr. by S. H. Butcher and A. Lang, Random House, The Modern Library, New York 1977, The Theogony of Hesiod, Hesiod, The Homeric Hymns and Homerica, tr. by Hugh G. Evelyn-White, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA Clarke, T. C., 1979, A Love Poem from Jupiter to Callisto Science of Mind Magazine, August 1979 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:18, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921310007428 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_o44x43bfbjdufccy5dmzkaatsy	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 21 December 2019 The Italian Renaissance in the nineteenth century: revision, revival and return Review of: The Italian Renaissance in the Nineteenth Century. Revision, Revival and Return, edited by Lina Bolzoni and Alina Payne, I Tatti Research Series, 1, Harvard University Press-Officina Libraria, Milan 2018, 554 pp., paperback, 17 x 24 cm (6-3/4 x 9-1/2 inches), 105 colour illus., 29 photos, 39,00 € (texts in Italian and English), ISBN 9780674981027 Daniela del Pesco This book, entitled The Italian Renaissance in the Nineteenth Century and edited by Lina Bolzoni and Alina Payne, is part of a broader project for a series that aims to reframe the impact of the Italian Renaissance on different disciplines, promoted by the Villa I Tatti, the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance. This first volume collects twenty-two essays based on reports presented in 2013 at a conference organised by the Villa I Tatti in Florence. The research aims to look at how the Italian Renaissance was repurposed in the nineteenth century ‘not so much as a revival, but as a pan-European phenomenon of critique, commentary and re- shaping’, and to analyse the Renaissance as ‘lived’ in that century. The method pursued, carefully defined by the editors, focuses on an opening of perspectives that impinge on several fields: from literature to visual arts, and ornament, interior design, architecture and urban planning, with politics and economics underpinning it all. The volume also proposes an opening out at the territorial level, since the resumption of the Italian Renaissance in the nineteenth century is considered as a phenomenon which had influence well beyond Italy’s national borders. Bolzoni and Payne's project proposes a highly critical approach to the statement of Jacob Burckhardt who, in 1858-59, defined the Italian Renaissance as the ‘mother and homeland of modern man’, in thought as well as in the construction of forms. The editors’ desired approach also develops the perspective opened by Jules Michelet in 1855, when he defined the Renaissance as a complex totality, and considered its rediscovery as an almost prophetic openness towards the future, a future that concerned not only the individual but ‘the people’; this was also the approach followed by Karl Marx in the first volume of Capital, where he considered the Italian Renaissance from the point of view of economic history. The proposed interconnections are amplified by the involvement of scholars from different backgrounds and countries, in a planned exchange between Renaissance specialists and scholars of the Renaissance reception in the nineteenth century. The historian is thus entrusted with the role of mediator in the dialogue between the two epochs, without which, as Michelet states, ‘past and present would have no sense’. In the nineteenth century, the negative, or in any case contradictory, view of the period emerged together with an image of the Italian Renaissance as a golden age and a Daniela del Pesco The Italian Renaissance in the nineteenth century: revision, revival and return 2 model for the present. These connections and contradictions are a consistent presence in the essays of the volume. Lina Bolzoni deals with the topic of ‘Renaissance Heroines between Romance and Melodrama’, studying Renaissance women like Luisa Strozzi, Beatrice Cenci, Lucrezia Borgia and Caterina Cornaro, who are seen as an expression of ‘ideas, fears, stereotypes, hopes that greatly influenced public opinion’ of the period. The focus is on the reception of the Renaissance by a new mass of people, extending beyond the scope of the intellectual and economic élite. The melodramas and the historical novels on which the study concentrates were, in fact, widely accepted in a context, like the Italian one, devoid of a popular national literary tradition and they fulfilled their purpose admirably. Bolzoni's essay opens the fourth section of the book titled ‘Passion and Politics: Women in the Renaissance’ which includes the studies of Candida Syndikus (‘Images of Renaissance Heroines in Nineteenth- Century Painting: Caterina Cornaro, Bianca Cappello, Lucrezia Borgia’), Jane Tylus (‘Rescuing the Renaissance: Women Writers, Courtesans, and Salza's Press’) and Veronica Andreani (‘"Italian Sappho." The literary fortune of Gaspara Stampa in the nineteenth century’). From these essays emerge the literary and iconographic fortunes of Renaissance female heroines, to whom is attributed a symbolic and exemplary value, often tragically dramatic. Openness to the twentieth century characterises the essay by Alina Payne, ‘Between Renaissance Aesthetics and Medieval Craft: The Vexed Genesis of Modernist Architecture’, which is included in the sixth and final section of the book appropriately titled ‘The Aftermath’. Payne investigates how the memory of Italian Renaissance architecture was experienced in the twentieth century. First, she recalls the positive relationship that architects reestablished with the study of proportion, perspective and of the golden section as a design tool. Payne deepens the comparison between Renaissance and Gothic that took place during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and that was expressed through an exchange of positive or negative evaluations, based on different ideological affiliations and in fields that extended from the applied arts to architecture and city planning. The organisation of medieval confraternities, characterised by the collective and anonymous elaboration of different artistic media, without a hierarchy between architecture, decoration and furniture (or rather, sometimes, with a primacy given to decoration) revived in the Bauhaus. This synergy, however, also informed the Renaissance workshop, characterised by collaboration between the creative genius of the designer, the client and the craftsman. On the level of the recovery of forms, Payne cites as an exemplary case Peter Behrens’ Hagen crematorium, dated 1906-08, which recalls the articulation of the Florentine churches' façades by Leon Battista Alberti. Finally, ‘the aesthetics of surfaces’ is assumed as a privileged field in which to observe the relationship between Italian Renaissance and nineteenth-century architecture. The luminous surfaces of the inlaid marble and the sgraffito exteriors, that Heinrich von Ferstel repurposed in the façade of the Museum of Applied Arts in Vienna, as well as the sober modulations of the walls that characterize the Tosco- Roman-Renaissance, came to life in the imagination of Otto Wagner and Peter Behrens or, more explicitly, in the works of the Italian twentieth-century architect Pietro Portaluppi, creating a trend in which Mies van der Rohe also participates. Daniela del Pesco The Italian Renaissance in the nineteenth century: revision, revival and return 3 The book unfolds in a succession of parts. The first, entitled ‘The creation of the Myth’, includes essays by Stephen Bann, Maurizio Ghelardi, Francesca Borgo and Emma Giammatei. Ghelardi deepens our understanding of the evolution of Burckhardt's thought and his tenacious attempt to reflect on what he believed to be the political and cultural destiny of his time. Ghelardi notes in Burckhardt’s studies the passage from a vision of the Renaissance as a global ‘historical-cultural formation’ to its consideration as a pre-eminently artistic phenomenon. On the side of a positive outcome to the nineteenth-century reading of the Renaissance, we have the study by Francesca Borgo of the battle paintings proposed as a way to initiate and progress a modern culture. From a different perspective, Emma Giammattei takes as her starting point the problematic vision of Francesco De Sanctis who noted the contrast between the rebirth of the arts and the loss of religious, political, moral ideals in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. This alternation of appraisals is the thread that connects the essays of Part II: ‘The Myth, Institutions and Patrons’. Eva Maria Troelenberg identifies new motivations for the architectural and artistic productions of the nineteenth century in the presentation of the collection of the Bode Museum in Berlin in 1880. Likewise, Cara Rachele explains that the exhibition of Renaissance drawings in the Uffizi was a source of revival. David Sadighian shows how the Renaissance style became a model suitable to express the modernity of the Rothschilds’ financial power in their residences in rue Lafitte in Paris, in Ferrière en Brie and Mentmore. In contrast, the study of the sculptural effigies of illustrious Renaissance men conveys a contradictory message, as Maria Loth affirms in ‘The future belongs to Ghosts: Renaissance Shadows in Ottocento Italy’. Marc Gotlieb, in ‘The Dueling Angels and Other Tales from the Scene of Instruction’, analyses the literary genre of artistic biography (in particular biographical writings on Giotto) in nineteenth-century France, and how the formation of the painter was understood to oscillate between inspiration from nature and the teachings of the workshop. Part III of the Book, ‘Paradigms: Donatello, Michelangelo, Ariosto, Tasso’ is reserved for those poets and sculptors who were exalted in the nineteenth century. Outside Italy, the works of Ludovico Ariosto and Torquato Tasso are seen as a determining element in the origin of modern poetry and the romantic and melancholic image of the poet incarnated in Tasso (Christian Rivoletti; Giuseppe Gerbino). Cordula Grewe’s essay is dedicated to the reception of the Orlando Furioso in painting, in particular by the Nazarenes, who decorated the Casino Massimo in Rome. The manipulation of the art of the great Italian luminaries from Giotto to Michelangelo is described by Daniel M.Zolli and Ida Campeggiani. The contradiction in attitudes towards the Italian Renaissance also emerges from the studies in the field of architecture presented in Part IV: ‘Building the Backdrop: The Nineteenth Century City’. Neil Levine in ‘The Unexpected Fate of the Italian Renaissance in Nineteenth-Century French Architecture’ dispels the idea of a definitive influence of the Italian Renaissance in nineteenth-century French architecture, especially after 1830. The reference to the forms of a Florentine palace that we observe in the hotel de Pourtalés in Paris by Felix Duban (1837-39) is due to the particular circumstance that it was the home of a collector of old masters. The choices made by Duban in the completion of the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris (1832-40) underline how the Italian Renaissance was not an exclusive model. In fact, Daniela del Pesco The Italian Renaissance in the nineteenth century: revision, revival and return 4 the fragments of the Gaillon and Anet castles (parts of the former collections of the Musée des Monuments Français), that partially overlap the front of the École towards rue Bonaparte, suggest different Renaissance tendencies juxtaposed as in a patchwork. This attitude is even more evident in the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève by Henri Labrouste (1852). The intimation of the arcades of the side prospect of the Tempio Malatestiano in Rimini, which characterises the upper part of the library façade, fades into an interior iron structure articulated according to the logic of French Gothic architecture and with an explicit reference to the refectory of the convent of Saint-Martin des Champs. Even the presence of a large copy of Raphael’s School of Athens on the main staircase of the library turns out to be completely casual and not the result of a planned choice to celebrate the Italian Renaissance. On the basis of a careful examination of the subjects in Labrouste's corpus of drawings, Levine reiterates his thesis that the Italian Renaissance did not play an important role in the architecture of modern Paris, while reference to ancient Rome was continuous and authoritative as the privileged object in architects’ studies at the French Academy in Rome. Another important theme addressed in the book is that of Italy's post- unification architecture and attitudes towards the need to make visible, in urban spaces, the new reality of a united country and culture. Here too, the responses were extraordinarily varied. In the study by Nadia Aksamija of the activity of Alfonso Rubbiani in Bologna, it is noted that this took place by signalling an enhancement and continuity of the forms put into place in both medieval Bologna and the Renaissance period. Rubbiani stands in contrast to the attitude of Camillo Boito who set himself the goal of identifying a unique national style, and found it, above all, in the medieval architecture of the municipal cities, seen as an expression of freedom, in contrast to the Renaissance style, considered a symbol of enslavement to the Church or of subjugation to the foreigner. Claudia Conforti investigates another aspect of the relationship between the Renaissance and the architecture of Italy's post-unification towns in the essay dedicated to ‘Florence Capital (1865-1870): What Renaissance for the city of Dante?’ From her study emerges a vivid insight into the situation of Florence, the first capital of unified Italy. It is quite surprising that in that town, considered the cradle of the Renaissance, the construction of the Piazza della Repubblica, a symbol of the new urban reality, abandoned references to the local architectural tradition and adopted the language of the Roman Renaissance because the latter was considered more suitable to express national identity. In conclusion, from these historically well-founded studies emerges an image of a memory of the Renaissance that has been selective, creative, manipulative, and expressed in a varied constellation of divergent attitudes and interpretations which highlight salient aspects of a problematic relationship. I would, therefore, like to propose a final reflection. In the introduction to the volume we read that the comparison between the approaches of Renaissance scholars and scholars of the nineteenth century is also proposed "in the hope of bringing out further patterns of longue duréé". Thinking about the concept of the longue durée as formulated by Fernand Braudel, we recall how the first conception of the characteristics of the Italian Renaissance proposed by this scholar focused mainly on positive features, on how far the western civilization of the Renaissance created modernity, including the conception of the State, the arts, humanistic philosophy, Daniela del Pesco The Italian Renaissance in the nineteenth century: revision, revival and return 5 and literature. This concept of the Renaissance tends to be seen in contrast to the ‘Middle Ages’. The Renaissance of Braudel, inserted in the longue durée of history, focuses on cities, trades and merchants, and the culture of the humanists, all in a positive continuity that, in the name of the search for civilisation, reaches the eighteenth century. The Risorgimento, as well as the twentieth century, represent variants of a ‘long Renaissance’ that contrasts with the ‘short time’ of wars, state crisis and economic declines, elements in which are absorbed all negative aspects, that have less weight in the historiographical outline of the longue durée. The ‘resistance forces’ (for example. inquisitions, censorships, tyrannies) sometimes hinder the path of civilisation; but the modern world continues its journey forward. It is a fact that societies and cultures continue their dialogue with the Renaissance, elaborating, for example, a concept like the intellectual as a new humanist artifex or proposing a poetics based on imagination as the sediment of memories, like lieux de mémoire; similarly, architectural theorists evoke ideas of local tradition as an instrument to overcome the separation of the building from the life of those who use it. It seems that the research included in this volume, precisely in the contradictory nature of the conclusions that are proposed, suggests a Renaissance that is different from the essentially positive one to which the historiographical concept of the longue durée has referred. It is a concept of the Renaissance and its reception that makes it still dramatically current today. Daniela del Pesco is Professor of the history of early modern art and architecture at Università Roma Tre, Dipartimento di Studi Umanistici. She is a member of the Institute of Advanced Study (Princeton, N. J.) She has participated in many international conferences and held seminars at Italian and foreign universities and institutes. Her main research fields are Architecture in Baroque Rome and Bernini’s work; Architecture and urban development in the Spanish Kingdom of the Southern Italy; Art and Diplomacy between Italy and France in the XVII Century. She is currently participating in a project supported by the Bibliotheca Hertziana (Rome), coordinated by Prof. Tod Marder, dedicated to a new edition of the Brauer- Wittkower catalogue of Bernini's architectural drawings of 1931. Her publications are available online at https://uniroma3.academia.edu/Danieladelpesco. d.delpesco@gmail.com This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial 4.0 International License https://uniroma3.academia.edu/Danieladelpesco http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ 
work_o5hpppppwnd4hj46tyqg72m3ry	----	International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 21 Albanian Cultural Representation In The City Of Venice Through Albanian Painters In Italy Irena Ndreu Faculty of Foreign Languages, University of Tirana, Albania e-mail: alen_irena@yahoo.com Received 10.01.2017; Accepted 01.02. 2017 Abstract Many men of education run away to European cities after the invasion of the entire Balkan Peninsula. The ideals of humanism and renaissance were affirmed, thanks to their intelligence, which brought the Greek-Roman classicism to the top of the fields of literature and art. This paper will present the works of brothers Gjon (Giovanni) and Pal (Paolo) Gazulli, the poet Michele Marulli, the writer Marin Barleti (Marino Barlezio), the philosopher Leonik Tomeu, the painter Vittore Carpaccio, excelled with their talent and works in the city of Venice. The Albanian community needed a fortune to compete with groups from other nations, with the Dalmatians among many. They needed to decorate the premises of their association with precious objects and paintings: there is proof of this in the paintings of Vittore Carpaccio, in the first years of the XVI th century. Carpaccio‟s works are important, they present, in the cycle “Stories of St. Ursula”, the uniform of Albanian soldiers serving the Republic of Venice. Keywords: education, Albanian Cultural Representation, Albanian Painters 1.Introduction The fall of Constantinople (1453) and the invasion of the entire Balkan Peninsula caused the fleeing of many men of education to European cities, especially to Italy. It was there, thanks to their intelligence, that the ideals of humanism and renaissance were affirmed, which brought the Greek- Roman classicism to the top of the fields of literature and art. Among these distinguished people, appreciated in the Greek culture circles, there was a group of Albanian intellectuals who had left their country to escape the Turkish invasion. The brothers Gjon (Giovanni) and Pal (Paolo) Gazulli, the poet Michele Marulli, the writer Marin Barleti (Marino Barlezio), the philosopher Leonik Tomeu, the painter Vittore Carpaccio, and many others who excelled with their talent and works, left their marks in the countries where they immigrated, establishing thus a world reputation. Albanian immigration to Venice was so numerous that in 1489 they (Albanians) had established the premises of the association in the surroundings of St. Maurice (San Maurizio) square, which in solemn cases they decorated masterfully that it looked like a pleasant garden or a solemn theater. mailto:alen_irena@yahoo.com International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 22 The facade of this building preserves to this day reliefs that suggest a lot: bas-reliefs that represent three guardian saints, the emblem of Loredan, of Da Lezze, and the lion of St. Mark (San Marco). In addition, there is the striking central profile of a cliff with a castle on top: Scutari (Shkodra) facing two Turks: The Grand Vizier and Sultan Mehmed II; the big dagger which he grasps threateningly and the turban on his head stand out on the marble field of Istria (fig. 5, 6, 7,). In the meantime, they made sure to record the history of the association in a record book that can be found in the Library Marciana of Venice. It has the image of The Lady of Scutari on the front gate (Nadin 1995,10) (fig. 8). 2. Some words about some people The Albanian community needed a fortune to compete with groups from other nations, with the Dalmatians among many. They needed to decorate the premises of their association with precious objects and paintings: there is proof of this in the paintings of Vittore Carpaccio, in the first years of the XVI th century; the six stories of the life of the Virgin: Birth, (fig.14) presentation at the Temple, (fig.15) Marriage, Proclamation, Visit of Mary to Elisabeth: Death of Mary (Ibidem, 12), although they were later blended with the works of art created after the fall of the Republic of Venice. The works of Carpaccio are important because they present, in the cycle “Stories of St. Ursula”, the uniform of Albanian soldiers serving Serenisima (The Most Serene Republic of Venice). Vittore Carpaccio, son of Pietro, a fur trader (Sgarbi, 1944, 23), was born in Venice in 1455. His parents came from Albania, the city of Korça, and they had moved to the Republic of Venice in the 15th century. His family lived in the Venetian community, while other relatives of Carpaccio had settled in Romania. In 1472, he was nominated heir of his uncle Zuane (Giovanni), the Francescan priest known as Ilario in the Padova Monastery of Saint Ursula (Ibidem, p.23). Carpaccio was an Albanian last name which is still used as such. It comes from the Albanian word „karpë‟ (AA.VV., Brera, guida alla pinacoteca, Electa, Milano 2004. “IL CONTRIBUTO ALBANESE AL RINASCIMENTO EUROPEO” di Mikel Prenushi - English: cliff). The Albanian origin of this artist has been certified throughout his artistic life. He was a contemporary and collaborator of great artists of the Italian rennaisance, Gentile and Giovanni Bellini. Gentile, we gently remind, had made the authentic portrait of Scanderbeg when the latter had been in Italy. Vittore Carpaccio considered Gentile Bellini as his only master. Many scholars have put Vittore Carpaccio at the same level as the geniuses of paintings of the Venetian Renaissancelike Andrea Mantegna, Bellini, Carlo Crivoli, Lazzaro Bastiani, etc., but what they have left unmentioned is his Albanian origin as well as his creative work as an Albanian artist. He has unjustly been considered a Venetian painter while all the works of his lifetime clearly reflect the fact that he was an Albanian patriot. International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 23 In the “Larousse” dictionary, we find these words: “Quando si ammira l‟opera di questo semplice pittore, di talento ed affascinante, dispiace veramente che non si sappia nulla della sua vita” (“When one admires the work of this simple painter, an artist of talent and charm, it is, in fact, a pity that one does not learn anything about his life”.) The writer Luigi Correia had emphasized in his work “Elogio di Carpaccio” (Praise for Carpaccio) – read at the Academy of Venice – the difficulties in finding the painter‟s biography. Art critics and historians in Italy and elsewhere have written about Carpaccio and have positively evaluated his works. They, however, have never discussed his Albanian origin, at a time when all of his contemporaries were described in the minutest of details. Paola Giulini wrote in 1939, comparing Carpaccio to Donatello, : “Ricordate l‟eroe donatelliano, creato strettamente con la semplicità olimpica dei santi cristiani…guardate, invece il cavaliere furioso tratteggiato dal pennello di Carpaccio. Il cavallo è un cavallo di fuoco, battagliero e nero e, l‟intera composizione, assomiglia alle nostre raffigurazioni immaginarie dei semplici cavalieri tanto popolari nelle visioni e sogni fantastici.” (Remember the Donatellian hero created strictly with the Olympic simplicity of Christian saints... see, instead, the furious rider sketched out of Carpaccio‟s brush. The horse is a fire horse, the fighting is black, and the entire composition resembles our imaginary portrayals of simple riders who are very popular in the fantastic dreams and visions.” Giulini evaluates the paintings under “Stories of Saint Ursula” (fig.1) with these words: “E‟ la luce che entra dalla finestra aperta che ha qualcosa dal vero cielo. I colori delicati cantano …” (It is the light that enters from the open window, and there is something in it from the real sky. The delicate colors sing...) In 1502, Carpaccio signs his first paintings for S. Giorgio degli Sciavoni school: (fig.2) under “The Calling of Saint Mathew” (fig.3) and “The Funeral of Saint Jerome”. (Carpaccio, 1964, 9) (fig.4) Carpaccio worked for other schools as well, like that of St. Ursula under the Dominican Covent in Saint Giovani and Paolo (where there were six other schools, including the great Saint Marco school). Saint Stephan school and that of the Albanians were located opposite the Covent of Saint Augustine in Saint Stephan (Ibidem, 28). Unlike his popularity through his paintings along these centuries, the Albanian identity of the painter had not been established, instead hidden and not presented by any of the scholars who wrote about him. There is also a significant inconsistency in his year of birth; none of the authors who have written about Carpaccio includes the accurate year. According to Vittorio Sgarbi, he was born in 1460: Terio Pignatti describes his birth in 1465: Mikel Prenushi in his research proves that he was Albanian and was born in 1455. Studies published before the war in Albania point out Vittore Carpaccio‟s activity in the Albanian brotherhood of Venice. Vittore Carpaccio was, in that city, one of the most active members of the brotherhood “Scuola degli albanesi” since the beginning of the 16 th century. (fig.5) There are numerous paintings of big dimensions created by Carpaccio‟s brush, and among them there is a special place for those of the Albanian theme. Thus, when Scuola degli Albanesi was International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 24 founded in 1502, there is evidence of his series of works (1502 – 1510) among which we find the famous painting “Death of the Virgin” (Pignatti, 8). (fig.9) His work “The Departure” (fig.10, 11) is a painting in vibrant colors and reflects the reality of the time through the departure of the citizens and their fleeing toward the shore. The artist, according to Mikel Prenushi, might have expressed the nostalgia of his country of origin for the departure of Albanians to flee invasion toward the shore of the Adriatic. In this painting, there is an apparent beauty and harmony among people, typical sailing ships of the city surrounded by the sea, and other details like the creative fantasy, the expressive and vibrant humanism, his art in the use of colors, etc. Carpaccio has also documented his Albanian origin with the marble recoating of the facade of Scuola degli Albanesi and, above all, with the decoration of his greatest works, where one can clearly see the traces of Albanian motives. On the main facade of the school, (fig.6, 8) there is an Albanian-themed bas-relief between two windows, a very significant memory of the country of origin. It shows the fall of Scutari: the castle in the center which symbolizes the Albanian resistance, and opposite it, at the bottom of the castle, there are Sultan Mehmed and the great Vizier with their non-glorious weapons. Carved above the bas-relief, there is the year MCCCCLXXIIII (1474), the year of the first siege and the heroic defense. This bas-relief has been preserved to this day, and it is one of the most precious works of Renaissance with one of the most important events of the epoch. That Vittore Carpaccio was a remarkable painter is a universal fact. What is more and not that known, for the needs of the Albanian brotherhood, he also worked as a sculptor, as an architect, and as director of works for the marble coating of the school. Some of his works were based on the religious theme, and some were not. He is also known as a complementing teacher of the landscape. There were six works of this painter, created and prepared with exquisite taste and inspiration for the Scuola degli Albanesi in Venice (fig.12, 13,) when he was at the culmination of his artistic maturity. The best two of those six works were taken under the order of Metternich, when the Austrians occupied Venice, and they have been kept in Vienna. The other works are found in the Academy of Venice and at other Italian cities. Carpaccio‟s works are important because they show the uniform of Albanian soldiers in the cycle “Stories of Saint Ursula”. In addition, his renaissance style was appropriate for the Venetian tradition (Carpaccio, 1977, 21). Furthermore, there is an important description of the Albanian relations with Venice in the Palazzo Ducale in Venice, where, if you look up on the ceiling you see the paintings of Tintoretto, Giovanni Bellini, Alvise Vivarini, Carpaccio, and right after Tiziano, Pordenone and Veronese (Sgarbim 1944, 14). In the same direction on the right and left, there are many other stories: the takeover of Smirne (Izmir) directed by Piero Mocenigo in 1471, and the liberation of Shkodra lead by Antonio Loredan in 1474 (Nadin). The author of the oval and of the two other parts is Paolo Veronese. Work on these paintings started after the fire that fell in 1577 on the entire side of the Ducal Palace. The scene painted by Veronese exhibits a cliff in the background, the castle of Shkodra on which there is a Venetian flag with the initials of Loredan family. Up on the hill, there is the city and a religious building, that of Saint Stephan who was the International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 25 owner of that building. Yonder on the field, there are Turkish camps where the crescent appears among cannons and attack horses. On the front of the painting there are Turkish soldiers who had kidnapped a woman from Scutari (Shkodra); to help release her, Antonio Loredan intervenes. (Ibidem, 16) Although the artist operated in an openly polycentric society and a very competitive one, one can see great independence in the works he had been asked to make (Zorzi, 1988, 10). It must be stated first and foremost that the great painter by the name of Vittore (Viktor) Carpaccio, is mentioned among the most prominent founders of the Italian Renaissance. He left significant traces in the humanist trend the art was taking at the time. He was a student of the great Italian painter, Giovanni Bellini. He created a great number of works, which are now to be found in the most well-known museums of the world, from the “Metropolitan” in New York, to “Brera” in Milan, from “Luvre” in Paris, to “Tratjakov” in Russia, from Venice to the “Prado” in Spain, and in many others as well (I megali zografi – Apo tin anajenisi ston Greke”, Melissa, Athina 1988, p. 88- 990). Vittore Carpaccio died in Venice in 1526, at the age of 71. 3. Illustrations Fig. 1. The Dream of Saint Ursula, Vittore Carpaccio, (1495) Venezia, Galleria dell‟Accademia International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 26 Fig. 2. Scuola S. Giorgio degli Schiavoni Fig. 3. The Calling of Saint Matthew, Vittore Carpaccio (1502) International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 27 Fig. 4. Funeral of Saint Jerome, Vittore Carpaccio (1502) Fig. 5. Scuola degli Albanesi International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 28 Fig. 6. Renaissance relief on the facade of former '''Scuola degli albanesi''', in Campo San Maurizio. The Turkish Sultan Mehmed II occupies the city of Scutari (which was under Venetian rule). Fig. 7. Bas-relief on the facade of Scuola degli Albanesi International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 29 Fig. 8. Bas-relief on the facade of Scuola degli Albanesi Fig. 9. Death of the Virgin, Vittore Carpaccio, (1502 - 1508), tempera on canvas International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 30 Fig. 10. Meeting of the Betrothed Couple and the Departure of the Pilgrims, Vittore Carpaccio (1495) Fig. 11. The Departure of the Pilgrims, Vittore Carpaccio, (1495) Venice, Gallery of the Academy International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 31 Fig. 12. Stories of the Virgin , Vittore Carpaccio – Cycle Scuola delli Albanesi Fig. 13 Stories of the Virgin , Vittore Carpaccio – Cycle of the Albanian School International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 32 Fig. 14. Birth of the Virgin Fig. 15. The Presentation of the Virgin Mary at the Temple International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 33 Fig. 16. Antonio Loredan (seated on the right), Vittore Carpaccio Fig. 17. The Enigma, Vittore Carpaccio International Journal of Social and Educational Innovation (IJSEIro) Volume 4 / Issue 7 / 2017 34 References 1. Carpaccio, (1964). Nella scuola di S. Giorgio degli Schiavoni, Ferdinando Organia, 9. 2. Murano, M. (1977) I disegni di Vittore Carpaccio, La nuova Italia Firenze, 21. 3. Nadin, L. (2008). Migrazioni e integrazione, Il caso degli albanesi a Venezia (1479 – 1552) Bulzoni, 15. 4. Nadin, L. (1995). Venezia e Albania trace di antichi legami, 10. 5. Prenushi, M. (2004) "l contributo albanese al rinascimento europeo” in AA.VV., Brera, guida alla pinacoteca, Electa, Milano 2004. 6. Organia, F. (1964). Carpaccio, Nella scuola di S. Giorgio degli Schiavoni. 7. Pignatti, T. Vittore Carpaccio, Aldo Martello Milano, 8 8. Sgarbi, V. Carpaccio, Rizzoli, (1944), 14-23 9. Zorzi, L. (1998). Carpaccio e la rapresentazione di Sant‟Orsola, Enaudi, Torino, 10. 
work_obgl6bfkznbjflzkss7kklejty	----	reviews29.pmd 141Museum & Society, 10(2) museum and society, July 2012. 10(2) 144-147 © 2012, Peter Corrigan, Stacy Boldrick, Kelly J. Gannon. ISSN 1479-8360 Book Reviews Cordelia Warr, Dressing for Heaven: Religious Clothing in Italy, 1215–1545, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2010, hardback, pp. xx+263 This book uses Italian art from the thirteenth to the sixteenth centuries to examine the role of clothes as liminal objects during this period. The dates were not chosen arbitrarily, but stretch from the year of the Fourth Lateran Council, which forbade the foundation of new religious orders and thus limited the proliferation of different kinds of religious dress, to the Council of Trent, which marked a shift from the association of nudity in art with innocence to its linking with shame and damnation. The book is organized primarily around a succession of case studies. One fifth of it considers the relationship between clothing and religious experience, roughly a third each is devoted to men and religious clothing and women and religious clothing, with the remainder analysing visual and literary accounts of dress in the Last Judgement. The work is well documented visually, with 17 colour plates and 89 black and white illustrations, and includes a comprehensive 25-page bibliography helpfully divided into primary and secondary sources. The first chapter is detailed, but perhaps overly descriptive. Indeed, the whole book is marked by excellence of descriptive detail but rather lacks any strong leading arguments or ideas. This makes it a very good reference book, but not one to consult for sustained philosophical or theoretical contributions. Nevertheless, there are some insights to be gained among the descriptions. One of the enjoyable parts of the book is the reminder of reasonings that may now seem strange but were entirely consistent with the logics of the time. For example, the belief that the Virgin’s body was taken directly up into heaven posed a problem for those who valued relics of actual bodies as ways of connecting with deceased holy persons. Warr shows that it was this problem that allowed clothing to function as a relic in its own right: in the absence of a body, that was the only material link that was available. Pieces of the Virgin’s clothing were claimed by various cities and associated with miracles, which no doubt added to the prestige, and hence power, of those cities. The author shows how particular items of dress were associated with otherworldly meanings, such as the cloak of the Virgin or the monk’s cowl as metaphors for salvation, and with evidence of heavenly approval: the Virgin shows Reginald of Orléans the habit of the Dominican order and thus the Dominicans can now claim that their appearance in the world is divinely sanctioned, while the Carmelites attain the same helpful status by maintaining that their habit had been worn by the prophet Elijah. Of course, clothing had useful distinguishing features as well, such as indicating religious status and membership of particular orders, and hence, as Warr rightly says, helped to impose a group identity. The author’s analysis of women’s religious dress suggests that recognition was less important then the symbolic meanings of clothing and that ‘In the lives of women religious, clothing symbolism was important in relation to their reward in heaven … many … perceived an inverse relationship between the clothing they wore in this life and that which they would receive in the next’ (p. 141). The earthly clothing hierarchy would be inverted in the next life: resist the vanities of the mundane, and the compensation would come in heaven. In some cases, the dress of female saints was, after death, considered to have healing powers. Here, the dress as relic permits access to the world of miracles. The book ends with an informative chapter on ideas about the role of clothing after death, and shows that the treatment of Michelangelo’s Last Judgement of 1534–41 marked a pivotal 142 Book Reviews shift between earlier and later understandings of the role of nudity in sacred art. Very early Christian thinkers such as Tertullian and Cyprian considered some theological problems around the notion of the Last Judgement and concluded that it was the naked body that would arise, not a body bedecked with dress or jewellery. Clothing in this context would be an unnecessary adornment rather than a covering decency, and would thus have no reason for ultramundane existence. The body here is understood in its naked innocence. This appears to have been Michelangelo’s view in his treatment of the Final Day, but Warr shows that this was difficult for the contemporary audience to accept: ‘In late medieval and Renaissance Italy, to strip someone of clothing was to strip away his or her acknowledged identity. For the medieval viewer nakedness or lack of clothes was synonymous with shame, humiliation and punishment’ (p. 209). But the saved and damned alike were nude in Michelangelo’s fresco, and the Council of Trent decided that some judicious loinclothing needed to be done in an era where the innocence of the naked could no longer be accepted. Just as importantly, perhaps, ‘Artists who depicted the saved without clothes deprived the viewer of clues as to who received the heavenly reward’ (p. 219). The role of dress in navigating our own world is well understood, but by the mid sixteenth century it seems as if became a necessity in navigating the way to heaven as well. The book is for a rather specialized audience, and those with art historical and descriptive inclinations are well catered for. Readers looking for more in the way of abstract ideas or sustained arguments are less likely to be satisfied. University of New England, Australia Peter Corrigan Beth Cook, Rebecca Reynolds and Catherine Speight (eds), Museums and Design Education: Looking to Learn, Learning to See, Farnham: Ashgate, 2010, hardback, £55, pp. xxv+201 In Leeds, there are many informal partnerships between museums and Higher Education Institutions (HEIs). During 2011 for example, Leeds Art Gallery invited students from Leeds College of Art to curate a response to Artists Rooms: Damien Hirst, held at the Gallery from July to October. With control over a major space in the Gallery, and access to the entire permanent collection, the small group of students curated ‘A Series of Objects Artfully Arranged’. This is a testament not only to the skill and confidence of the students, but also to the gallery for giving them such a high profile and exciting project to work on. Other examples include Armley Mills Museum, which regularly shows site-responsive artworks by students, and the Royal Armouries who, amongst many others, hosts both student projects and interns. These projects are not unique to Leeds. The wealth of examples of collaborative projects, which exist between museums and HEIs, can certainly be seen as evidence of the radical redevelopments in the purpose and practice of museum education in past decades. The Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) have funded a wide range of Collaborative Doctoral Awards between museums and HEIs in recent years. In this context, perhaps we should wonder why it has taken so long to see a book dedicated to museums and HE teaching. With the word ‘design’ in the title, Museums and Design Education: Looking to Learn, Learning to See might at first appear to be aimed at quite a narrow audience of educators working in the field of design. While some case studies are strongly design related, this book is vastly broader and, as a result, is a powerful argument for the value of collaborative working across museums and HEIs. The book emerges from the Centre for Excellence in Teaching and Learning through Design (CELTD), a research focussed partnership between Brighton University, the Royal College of Art and the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A). Many of the case studies have come from the CELTD, as do the book’s three editors who are also significant contributors. Chapters one to three provide some particularly useful contextual information, highlighting issues that prevent consistent working partnerships. Kate Arnold-Forster and Catherine Speight in ‘Museums and Higher Education: A Context for Collaboration’ suggest that while museums and HEIs share similar beliefs in the value of knowledge and learning, their different pedagogical strategies have ‘impeded integrated activity and the opportunity of shared agendas between the sectors’ (p. 6). Catherine Speight in ‘Museums and Higher Education: A New Specialist Service?’ expands this thesis further, suggesting that neither institution actually 143Museum & Society, 10(2) seems to understand the needs of the other, and the needs of students are ‘often subsumed into those of adult learners’ (p. 11). A quick survey of the education pages of national museum websites revealed huge differences between institutions and the way in which they prioritise and promote their HE provision. ‘Bridging Perspectives – Approaches to Learning in Museums’ is a particularly useful summary and comparison of pedagogical approaches. It is here that one of the main problems of museums incorporating HE students into their programming is highlighted. It is much easier to devise ‘off the shelf’ programming for primary and secondary schools to meet the needs of the National Curriculum. The vagaries of the HE subject benchmarks, and the diversity of ways in which these are interpreted make it impossible for museums to devise HE ‘bookable lessons’, even if this was desirable. ‘Creative Differences: Deconstructing the Conceptual Learning Spaces of Higher Education and Museums’ by Jos Boys provides clear analysis of pedagogical approaches and recommendations for improved collaborative working. After noting that many projects are based on ‘individual enthusiasts’ and ‘piecemeal’ collaborations (p. 43), Boys’ paper articulates a number of ways to develop these relationships, focussing on improving the discussions between HEIs and museums and creating stronger communities of practice leading to a greater sharing of knowledge and pedagogy. Chapters seven to ten focus on object based learning, and this is where the nuances of ‘looking to learn’ and ‘learning to see’ are explored through case studies which examine connections between museum understanding of object based learning, and student use of visual research. Given the heavy emphasis on the CELTD and the V&A, I wondered about the relevance here of an Australian case study, summarising work already published elsewhere. ‘Design Learning in an Australian Museum’ by Geoffrey Caban and Carol Scott is, however, clearly relevant to the book’s thesis, comparing student responses to learning in the traditional HE format, the lecture, with student responses in a ‘free choice’ museum environment. The last four chapters deal with the uses of technology in design education and museums. There is a general sense across these that, while technology is often seen as the latest and best methodology for engaging students, particular care needs to be taken to ensure that this does not distract from direct interaction with museum collections. Two papers that work particularly well together are ‘The Virtual Museum’ by Mark Carnall and Beth Cook, and ‘Learning in Second LIfe’ by Karina Rodriguez-Echabarria and Lars Wieneke. The first provides readers with an overview of what constitutes ‘virtual’ and questions the problem of keeping the ‘focus on education, whilst still retaining the element of fun’ (p. 171), an argument which has earlier precedents (Greenhalgh 1989). The second, examines the virtual world of Second Life and provides some useful ideas about how these environments may be experimented with. The book’s strength lies in the number of case studies it provides across 14 chapters. This will be inspirational to many museum educators seeking to make new connections with university departments. The summaries of education and learning styles will be extremely useful to both students and professionals alike. As an academic teaching museum studies, who has taught ‘design’ based Visual Communication and worked for many years as a museum educator, even I hesitated about the relevance of this book to my own interests, leading me to wonder whether the title is narrowing the audience of this book too much. I also wondered whether it would have been more useful as a publication if it had focussed solely on the work of the CELTD, as there were references to projects which may have been useful additions to the book, particularly S. Fisher’s 2007 report ‘How do HE Tutors and Students Use Museum Collections in Design?’ which is cited in several of the chapters as an unpublished report. These are minor questions however, given that this book is a timely and important reminder that museum education is not just schools. Leeds University Nick Cass References Greehalgh, P. (1989) ‘Education, Entertainment and Politics: Lessons from the Great International Exhibitions’, in Peter Vergo (ed) The New Museology, 74-98, London: Reaktion Books. 144 Christopher R. Marshall (ed.), Sculpture and the Museum, Farnham: Ashgate, 2011, hardback, £55.00, pp. 286. Not so long ago, the subject of sculpture and the museum led scholars to reference Ad Reinhardt’s joke about sculpture being something one bumps into while looking at a painting, a light quip that encapsulates the relegation of sculpture to the peripheral vision of both spectator and institution. That none of the contributors to Sculpture and the Museum ever mentions Reinhardt’s line is testament to the seriousness and significance of this book, an in- depth presentation of critical moments in the history of the collection and display of sculpture. Christopher R. Marshall describes the book, an outcome of a 2005 conference, as ‘the first stand-alone contribution towards what we hope will become a more defined literature on the topic’ (p. 5). His selection of essays featuring a group of scholars with wide-ranging disciplinary and methodological approaches and interests and, at different stages of their careers, makes for a well-rounded, lively and varied collection of voices. It is a volume in Subject/Object: New Studies in Sculpture, the series commissioned by the Henry Moore Institute, Leeds. A single definitive history of centuries of exhibiting sculpture is in itself difficult to delineate, given the unique set of circumstances that led to the formation of individual collections with unique display histories. Understandably, publications on sculpture have tended to concentrate on particular periods (Baker 2000; Potts 2000) or regions (Curtis 2003), or individual exhibitions (Rattemeyer 2010). Each section of Sculpture and the Museum guides the reader through histories of sculpture collections and their changing displays, neither constructing a teleological narrative nor constraining sculpture’s varied exhibition histories. Marshall groups the essays in three more or less chronologically ordered sections, including: museums and sculptors’ legacies; museum displays and changing attitudes to the institutional status of sculpture; and the design of display settings in relation to new sculpture. The first part of the book pursues four very different sets of circumstances surrounding the formation and development of institutions or collections dedicated to sculptors. Johannes Myssok traces the transformation and relocation of Canova’s studio into a museum, and Pauline Ann Hoath explores the development of the Flaxman Gallery at University College London. Antoinette Le Normand-Romain considers the consequences of the Musée Rodin’s sale of posthumous editions of Rodin sculptures (which in itself contributed to the formation of Rodin collections around the world), and she also charts the ever-expanding range of approaches to exhibiting the artist’s work. Finally, Sarah Stanners focuses on the development of the Henry Moore Sculpture Centre at the Art Gallery of Ontario in Toronto, and the compelling negotiations involved in Moore’s desire for a dedicated space for his work in a national institution. Stanners revives Moore’s legacy in contemporary Toronto by neatly framing her story with Simon Starling’s Infestation Piece (Musselled Moore) (2006–8), a work comprised of a reproduction of Moore’s Warrior with Shield (1953–4) infested with zebra mussels, and submerged in Lake Ontario. Moving from Starling’s infested Moore replica to plaster replicas, the second section (the formation of sculpture collections and displays) begins with Marietta Cambareri’s fascinating investigation of the formation of the Italian Renaissance sculpture collection at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston and changing attitudes toward the integrated display of plaster casts with originals as the collection of original sculptures grew over 1870 to 1918. Particularly striking (and amusing for any curator) is the plea from Matthew S. Prichard, the Director’s Secretary, to label all casts with: ‘THE ORIGINAL DOES NOT LOOK LIKE THIS’ (Marshall 2011: 104). In many institutions, the integration of originals and replicas helped to contextualize the objects, but at the MFA this view was contested. By contrast, Thayer Tolles traces the century-long problem of displaying a single sculpture – George Grey Barnard’s Struggle of the Two Natures of Man (1888, carved 1892–4) – in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Massive in scale and stylistically unconventional, its peripatetic life at the Metropolitan reveals a great deal about attitudes to the display of monumental sculpture in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Other case studies in this section also involve tracing the physical journeys sculptures make, and how those journeys represent particular responses to socio-political and cultural change. Marianne Kinkel looks at the history of Malvina Hoffman’s Races of Mankind display at the Field Museum, Chicago, and its journey to Malcolm X College and back, as representative Book Reviews 145Museum & Society, 10(2) of changing attitudes to race from the 1930s to the present. Suzanne MacLeod considers the values and meanings attached to the Sultanganj Buddha in the collections of Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery by looking at its periodic redisplay in light of art historical scholarship on the Buddha. From 1885 to 1998, the Buddha is moved from gallery to gallery, at one time occupying a location close to the male toilets, until it is finally designated an appropriately spacious Buddha Gallery, ‘a physical and conceptual repositioning of the Buddha into one of the most significant locations … on the “art” side of the building and on the main visual axis from the Rotunda, the key access and gathering point in the museum’ (Marshall 2011: 168). In the last section, essays on the relationships between architectural environments, contemporary sculpture, institutions and interventions successfully incorporate into their approaches the work of architectural history and art theory. Whereas Christopher R. Marshall’s beautifully forensic analysis of the complex series of changes to the design of the Duveen Gallery at Tate Britain reveals struggles over how to accommodate ever-changing contemporary sculpture, Wouter Davidts explores the different ways in which artists have responded to the unchanging void of the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern. In the last essay, Khadija Carroll La conducts a wide-ranging historic survey of artists’ interventions in museum collections. With the senses and the bodily as starting points, her proposal that interventions ‘ultimately bring into dialogue the sculptural body and the viewing body’ fuels her original and stimulating critique of and theoretical engagement with the subject. Sculpture and the Museum is a very welcome addition to the field of sculpture studies, a field with its own particular history, inextricably linked to Henry Moore and the Henry Moore Foundation. When the Foundation announced plans to establish a Henry Moore Centre for the Study of Sculpture in 1979, the study of sculpture was a marginal part of art history and warranted greater attention through dedicated projects and funding programmes; in the 1980s and 1990s, commitment to sculpture and its discourse was, in some senses, linked to a certain critical, political position. As the Subject/Object series grows, and as research on sculpture continues to flourish as a result of the Henry Moore Institute’s activities and resources, sculpture seems much less marginal now. The rationale for singling out sculpture, or an intervention or installation, over other media categories is more likely to be based on interest than on ignorance. A painting might just as well become something one brushes up against when looking at a sculpture. The Fruitmarket Gallery, Edinburgh Stacy Boldrick References Baker, M. (2000) Figured in Marble: the Making and Viewing of Eighteenth-Century Sculpture, Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum. Curtis, P. (ed.) (2003) Sculpture in Twentieth-Century Britain, Leeds: Henry Moore Institute. Potts, A. (2000) The Sculptural Imagination: Figurative, Modernist, Minimalist, New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Rattemeyer, C. et al. (2010) Exhibiting the New Art: ‘Op Losse Schroeven’ and ‘When Attitudes Become Form’ 1969, London: Afterall Books. Natasha Vall, Cultural Region. North East England, 1945–2000, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2011, hardback £60.00, pp. 178. Natasha Vall’s latest effort, Cultural Region. North East England, 1945–2000, is a tremendously well-researched analysis of the birth and growth of Northeast England as a distinctive cultural region and the region’s attempts at owning its own cultural representation. Vall seeks to demonstrate how national and local cultural policy affected cultural identity and expression in England’s Northeast region during the second half of the twentieth century. 146 For Vall, cultural expression comes in several forms: radio, television, artistic representation in the performing, literary and visual arts, and riverscapes. Several factors shape the identity of these cultural expressions including dialect, vernacular, class, gender, shared history and political events. These factors are both regional and national in scope, with the Northeast being intrinsically different from much of the rest of Britain. For that reason, national culture (such as the popularity of certain London-created television programmes) often failed not only to affect the culturally dissimilar Northeast, but also to portray a true version of the minority region. After the Second World War, several television programmes developed around northern coal mining themes, such as working-class culture and issues in masculinity. These programmes were created less because of a desire to represent the Northeast or appeal to a Northeastern audience; rather, they were largely the result of the fact that the local mining industry had come to represent a symbol of Britain’s ambition (p. 59). Although topics of Northern realism reached wide appeal within the Northeast region, the catalyst for placing the items on television and radio was more to draw in the majority of the nation, namely middle-class Southerners, than to cater to local audiences upon whom many programmes were based. When creating programmes that used local colour, Vall is careful to note the difficulty had by writers to balance regional dialect with the vernacular so as not to lose a middle- and upper-class audience. In 1939, writer Edwin Lewis and Cecil McGivern, a producer and graduate of Durham University, created Tenement, a play that made use of Northeastern idioms and engaged in both the vernacular and the popular culture of sports rivalries in the Northeast. The programme, aired on a regional BBC radio station, was successful in terms of reviews and listenership. Thirty years later, however, Vall notes that with Southern drama schools accounting for the majority of professional training in acting, it was ‘difficult to recruit actors who could work in “accents” other than the “quaint form of English located halfway between Broadcasting House and Buckingham Palace”’ (p. 27). Despite marginalization by London’s cultural elite, overall, the period from 1945–2000 saw tremendous expansion in ownership of the Northeast region’s history and culture, particularly outside the realms of radio and television. Beginning in the late 1950s, Vall describes a livelier cultural awakening in the form of public history projects and ‘local urban vernacular imagery’ (p. 75). Frank Atkinson established Beamish Museum, England’s first open-air museum, in 1971. The theme of the collection was industrial material culture, although the public was encouraged to donate many different representations of Northeastern ‘folk-life’. The museum’s popularity and attendance during a bank holiday in 1971 was a national record, seconded only by the British Museum’s Tutankhamen exhibition (p. 72). Local poetry and performance art boomed during this period, as well. While influences from American radical poetry could be seen in these English movements, Vall describes Northeastern spoken word performances as a ‘cross-over between avant-garde poets and a celebration of vernacular music and dialect’ (p. 77). Funding and participation in Northeastern public ‘folk-life’ eventually declined during the 1980s when Margaret Thatcher and the Conservative Party took office. Cultural policy during this time was defined by ‘flagship’ cultural projects that would contribute to ‘overall urban image improvements’ rather than the personal expression seen in the 1960s (p. 125). Using the ‘America model’ for urban development, private and public development groups transformed parts of England’s Northeastern industrial cities, particularly along waterfront areas. These areas initially fostered the growth of cafes, offices and other amenities that would appeal to middle-class families. The 1990s soon brought opportunities for public art projects and other cultural projects that were funded by both development corporations and community-based organizations. While Cultural Region is a strong substantive work, its organization is difficult to follow at times. Throughout the book, it is unclear why Vall uses 1945 as a starting point. Much of the chapter on radio discusses attempts to expand radio popularity into the Northeast during the 1920s and 1930s, well before the war. By the fifth chapter, she mentions that the Second World War ‘represented a break with both voluntaristic tradition of cultural improvement, as well as the private patronage of the arts’ (p. 98). Later, Vall cites Dougan’s Northern Arts: The People of the North in which the post-war Northeast is depicted as a ‘cultural desert’ (p. 123); however, Vall never explicitly responds to Dougan’s assertion. Could either the funding issue (p. 98) or Book Reviews 147Museum & Society, 10(2) prior scholarship on the subject (p. 123) be the reason she chose to begin officially with 1945 for her analysis? Was it because of Continental Europe’s inclusion of cultural reconstruction during the period? Vall fails to make her reasoning clear. Still, the book’s research is striking, particularly the oral histories. Vall combed through corporate and government archives to examine board-meeting notes. She uses a substantial amount of secondary sources to reinforce national trends in radio, television and the arts. Most impressively, she cites interviews with the same subjects about whom she is writing, such as Connie Pickard and Peter Stark. Vall’s analysis and these oral histories will be important for future scholarship on English cultural policy and regional histories of the Northeast. Cultural Region presents similarities that can be drawn between England’s Northeast region and the search for identity in culturally disenfranchised regions of other nations (the American South, for instance). The work also serves as a strong reminder that institutional histories cannot stand alone; they must be taken in the context of national and regional movements. Overall, Cultural Region is a strong history of the growth of one region’s awareness, search and practice of a distinctive regional cultural identity. American University, Washington DC Kelly J. Gannon 
work_odbwvgdt55empgyhqegnbq477i	----	Voir l'au-delà : l'expérience visionnaire et sa représentation dans l'art italien de la Renaissance (Collection "Études renaissantes" ; 22) | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. Corpus ID: 194802587Voir l'au-delà : l'expérience visionnaire et sa représentation dans l'art italien de la Renaissance (Collection "Études renaissantes" ; 22) @inproceedings{Nova2017VoirL, title={Voir l'au-del{\`a} : l'exp{\'e}rience visionnaire et sa repr{\'e}sentation dans l'art italien de la Renaissance (Collection "{\'E}tudes renaissantes" ; 22)}, author={Alessandro Nova and A. Beyer and P. Morel}, year={2017} } Alessandro Nova, A. Beyer, P. Morel Published 2017 Art (ca. 1660–65) as an antiquarian response to the 1641 edition of Hadrianus Junius’s Schilder-Konst der Oude. The book’s last section exclusively attends to Apelles, arguably the most storied ancient artist of all. Here, Sarah Blake-McHam (translated into crisp, accessible French by Chantal di Biasi) uses Apelles’s love for Campaspe as an exemplum for exploring early modern depictions of the metaphoric trope of the artist who turns amorous for his model. Most useful is this book’s appendix, which… Expand cambridge.org Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper Related Papers Abstract Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_oiuwmjfrgbcrlg3uj3oz7yziqm	----	Linguistic Theories and Intellectual History in Journal of Art Historiography Number 1 December 2009 Linguistic Theories and Intellectual History in Michael Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators Allan Langdale A close reading of Michael Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators1 Michael Ann Holly has noted that, gives insight to one of the most sophisticated accounts of the relationship between words and images in art history. The volume, which appeared in 1971, works an eclectic synthesis of linguistic theories contextualized in remarkable detail and it remains one of the most intellectually rich accounts of Italian Renaissance/Early Modern humanist art criticism and its structural relation to Renaissance painting. This paper, briefly touching on the book’s importance to Italian Renaissance/Early Modern studies, will focus more specifically on the linguistic theories that have relevant interplay with Baxandall’s enterprise. At the time, Baxandall’s insertion of an advanced linguistic methodology into art historical discourse signaled a paradigm shift in art historical studies, representing a crucial marker of the linguistic turn in art history and, moreover, a work which signaled a confrontation of the humanistic confidence of the text-based Warburg Method with a contemporary epistemological anxiety about language and its limitations. I have attempted to map out some of the linguistic theories and demonstrate how they complement certain intellectual strands in anthropology and art history. Baxandall’s scholarly career has been a sustained reflection on the impossibility of closing the gap opened up between words and images in the practice of art history which he inherited, the discipline that supposedly exists in order to bring the two realms of experience into some kind of congruency.2 This ‘sustained reflection’ begins with a group of articles Baxandall published in the Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes in the 1960s,3 and these formed the core of what would become Giotto and the Orators. To Holly’s comments I would 1 Michael Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators. Humanist observers of painting in Italy and the discovery of pictorial composition, Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1971. 2 Michael Ann Holly, ‘Patterns in the Shadows: attention in/to the writings of Michael Baxandall’, Art History, 21.4, Dec. 1998, 468. 3 They are as follows: Michael Baxandall and E. H. Gombrich, ‘Beroaldus on Francia’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 25, 1962, 113-115; Michael Baxandall, ‘A Dialogue on art from the Court of Leonello D’Este: Angelo Decembrio’s De Politia Litteratia pars LXVIII’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 26, 1963, 304-326; Michael Baxandall, ‘Bartholomaeus Facius on Painting’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 27, 1964, 90-107; Michael Baxandall, ‘Guarino, Pisanello and Manuel Chrysoloras’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 28, 1965, 183-204. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 2 add that Baxandall’s work could be, similarly, positively compared with Foucault’s in the former’s attention to the discursive practices of art history and art historical language. As indicating a moment in the intellectual history of art history, the book is a major milestone in the development of the present state of affairs in the discipline. It is for these reasons as well that it would be rewarding to give close consideration to the book with which Baxandall gained an international reputation.4 This study tries out a variety of comparative samples. For example, one of the ways to reveal significant aspects of Baxandall’s work is to set the objectives of Giotto and the Orators alongside the aims of Panofsky’s Gothic Architecture and Scholasticism, since a comparison of Panofsky’s concept of mental habits or habitus and Baxandall’s notion of habits with language goes far in exposing the methodological parameters of both authors’ works. 5 Of the themes fundamental to Baxandall’s work in Italian Renaissance art at this time, two were paramount. Firstly, there was a pair of related problems closely linked to contemporary art historical and cultural historical debates about Italian Renaissance art: the specific relationships between humanism and the form and content of visual arts, and, more generally, the relationship between written and visual texts. In addressing the first of these problems Baxandall develops a radical contextualization—literary, linguistic, and social—of Alberti’s de pictura, a book which had come to occupy a primary and decidedly authoritative position in articulating Italian humanist art theory, thereby also dominating art historical assessments of Italian Renaissance painting. Baxandall accomplishes this contextualization through a close consideration of a compositional element cherished by Italian humanists, the periodic sentence, which, as Baxandall explains, directed attention to and influenced evaluations of the visual by providing and organizing descriptive criteria for art appreciation and criticism. In addressing the second issue, the relationship between written and visual texts, Baxandall regards the general constitutive role of language in visual culture. To grapple with this problem, he recruits notions from linguistic relativists such as Benjamin Lee Whorf and Melville Herskovits. Another way of illuminating issues in Baxandall’s book is to examine some of the critiques of methods from which Baxandall has borrowed his assumptions. The case of linguistic relativism is a case in point. Noting the manner in which Baxandall selects and adapts such methods to his own requirements does much to reveal the intellectual and scholarly characteristics of his arguments. 6 4 The concerns, though modified, are also present in Baxandall’s Painting and Experience in Fifteenth- Century Italy. A primer in the social history of pictorial style, Oxford and New York: The Clarendon Press, 1972. See as well Michael Baxandall, ‘The Language of Art History’, New Literary History, 10.3, Spring 1979, 453-465. 5 Panofsky’s concept of the habitus was adopted and much expanded by Pierre Bourdieu, who also championed Baxandall’s work. See Allan Langdale, ‘Aspects of the Critical Reception and Intellectual History of Baxandall’s Concept of the Period Eye’, Art History, 21.4, Dec. 1998, 479-497. Henceforth ‘Aspects of the Critical Reception’. Reprinted in About Michael Baxandall, Adrian Rifkin, ed. Oxford: Blackwell, 1999, 17-35. 6 The book is another example of the art historical uses of complementary theories from anthropology (Whorf) and experimental psychology (Herskovits). One is tempted to consider Baxandall’s Warburg Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 3 It is significant that Baxandall’s exposition does not originate with art objects but with literary remains that contain, at some level, art criticism, theory, or descriptions of objects of art. By approaching the art of the Quattrocento from written to visual text—against the grain of what had been the usual art historical procedure where the art object was selected, then textual and other ‘con/textual’ information was appended to it to support a reading—Baxandall discovers discrepancies in the accepted views of the relationships between humanism and the arts. Because Baxandall’s notion of context in Giotto and the Orators is decidedly literary and linguistic, the manner in which he selects and examines documentary evidence is crucial to evaluating his epistemology. Embracing the basic logic of contextuality, Baxandall assumes that texts are best interpreted with reference to external factors such as the aspects of production, consumption, and reproduction in their specific milieu. But, more than this, he also articulates the apparatus of mediation by which humanist literary documents might have affected visual art within that dynamic and reciprocal context. Giotto and the Orators focuses on a body of literary remnants that address visual art and, through a close examination of their style and content, brings attention to their generic qualities and compositional dependencies upon grammatical and structural paradigms. Where cultural and art historians of the Italian Renaissance had often given major humanist texts such as de pictura an emphatic centrality and ignored the rather more bulky remainders of humanist textual production as simply poor literature, fawning encomia, or empty posturing, Baxandall re-inserts the major text—here Alberti’s de pictura and its concept of compositio—within the wider context of less vaunted, pragmatic humanist literary concerns. Given these aims it is crucial to situate Giotto and the Orators within the scholarship on Italian humanism that, among other things, attempted to foreground the rhetorical standards by which humanism constituted itself and its objects of attention.7 Baxandall’s revisionary position towards the humanists and the products of humanism is derived in part from P. O. Kristeller, 8 connections and Warburg’s anthropological interests and Gombrich’s earlier uses of experimental psychology in works like Art and Illusion. whose work aimed at articulating the pragmatic applications and professional status of humanism as 7 One early example is John R. Spencer, ‘Ut rhetorica pictura: A Study in Quattrocento Theory of Painting’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 20, 1957, 26-44. In this formulation rhetoric ceases to be merely cosmetic and becomes constitutive. 8 Baxandall notes Kristeller’s help in the preparation of Giotto and the Orators in his preface, p. viii. See also the interview with Michael Baxandall first published in Allan Langdale, Art History and Intellectual History: Michael Baxandall’s Work between 1963 and 1985, PhD Dissertation, University of California at Santa Barbara, 1995. These interviews are reprinted in this volume of the Journal of Art Historiography, 1.1, 2010. For Kristeller see p. 4. Henceforth, Baxandall Interview, 4. Kristeller’s ideas are presented in an accessible form in the section entitled ‘Humanism’, in The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, Charles B. Schmitt, Q. Skinner and E. Kessler, eds, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988, 113-137. This volume offers a comprehensive bibliography which may be supplemented by the bibliography in the volume by Brian P. Copenhaver and Charles B. Schmitt, Renaissance Philosophy, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 4 opposed to propagating their self-constructed mythologies.9 Those scholars attracted to Kristeller’s point of view, and similarly oriented Warburg scholars like Ernst Gombrich, often focused their attentions on less heroic humanist documents so as to discover the various ordinary uses to which they were put. Historically significant material was revealed not only in the content of the documents but also in the forms that played a role in constituting that content. This type of critical examination was accompanied by four supplemental strategies to complicate and broaden Renaissance humanism’s identity: the focusing on minor humanists and their work (or minor works by not so minor humanists),10 the examination of humanist activity in locations other than Florence,11 attending to the more vernacular applications of humanist texts12 and, finally, examining the qualitative effects of literary and rhetorical standards placed on humanist thought and textual production.13 By examining marginalized humanist texts produced and consumed in social settings other than Florentine, and by tracing some of the rhetorical and compositional templates (ekphrasis, periodic sentence) which helped Alberti formulate and express his ideas, Baxandall attempts to draw attention to the fact that Alberti did not, as he wrote in an earlier article on the subject, create ‘modern art criticism out of a void’.14 9 Warburgian scholarship, it is important to note, was amenable to Kristeller’s position which, indeed, may have been formed by it to some extent. An early article which characterized a similar direction was Augusto Campana, ‘The Origin of the Word Humanist’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 9, 1946, 60-73. It is the first reference Baxandall gives in Giotto and the Orators along with, significantly, P. O. Kristeller, Renaissance Thought: The Classic, Scholastic and Humanist Strains, New York: Harper and Row, 1961. See also P. O. Kristeller, Studies in Renaissance Thought and Letters, Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1956. It is not that Baxandall tries to unseat Alberti, since he recognizes de pictura’s unique and exemplary contribution. It is simply that he is 10 For a similar orientation towards humanist attitudes see E. H. Gombrich, ‘Apollonio di Giovanni: A Florentine cassone workshop seen through the eyes of a humanist poet’, in Norm and Form: Studies in the Art of the Renaissance, London and New York: Phaidon, 1966, 11-28. Baxandall edited this volume for Gombrich, and thus knew it well. Gombrich was Baxandall’s dissertation advisor at the Warburg in those years. See Baxandall Interview, 8. 11 Several studies from the late 1960s and 1970s record these expansions. Examples include David Herlihy, Medieval and Renaissance Pistoia: The Social History of an Italian Town 1200-1430, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967; William M. Bowsky, The Finances of the Commune of Siena, 1287-1355, Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1970; Werner Gundersheimer, Ferrara: The Style of a Renaissance Despotism, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973; and Lauro Martines, Power and Imagination: City States in Renaissance Italy, New York: Knopf, 1979. 12 Along with the work of Kristeller and his followers, see: Charles Trinkaus, ‘A Humanist's Image of Humanism: The Inaugural Orations of Bartolommeo della Fonte’, Studies in the Renaissance, 7, 1960, 90- 147; and his In Our Image and Likeness: Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1970 See also John F. D’Amico, Renaissance Humanism in Papal Rome: Humanists and Churchmen on the Eve of the Reformation, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1983. Important to consider among these works are those studies on education in the Renaissance, particularly the work of William Harrison Woodward which includes Studies in Education during the Age of the Renaissance 1400-1600, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1924; and Vittorino da Feltre and other Humanist Educators, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1921. 13 See in particular Jerrold E. Seigel, Rhetoric and Philosophy in Renaissance Humanism: The Union of Eloquence and Wisdom, Petrarch to Valla, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968; and Nancy S. Struever, The Language of History in the Renaissance: rhetoric and historical consciousness in Florentine humanism, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970. 14 Michael Baxandall, ‘Guarino, Pisanello and Manuel Chrysoloras’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 28, 1965, 200. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 5 challenging, first, what seemed at the time to be the book’s autocratic hold on the world of Renaissance art history, and, second, how de pictura was used by modern scholars to posit canted notions about the origins and developments of Italian Renaissance painting. Baxandall’s intent in Giotto and the Orators is to assign de pictura a place within its literary family group, thereby exposing its generic dependencies and most constituent formal attributes. It is this critical position towards the documentary that makes Giotto and the Orators most successful in terms of its revisionary project. Alberti’s de pictura is the result of relations, of a system, of a sophisticated and interdependent language and social game that drew on diverse traditions and innovations—consciously and unconsciously—during its production. High theory does not tower above more vernacular expressions or ‘low’ theory, rather, they are interconnected by a web of various more vernacular activities in a hierarchy of social practices involving artists, humanists, patrons, and viewers. Giotto and the Orators is arranged into three chapters with a number of subsections. The first chapter outlines the literary and linguistic concerns of ‘typical’ humanists, their uses of antique sources, and their understanding of key words. The discussion moves towards a distinction between the linguistic possibilities inherent in Latin vocabulary, grammar, and literary convention, and what could be accomplished in vernacular Italian. Thus prepared, the second chapter concentrates more specifically on humanists’ comments on painting and painters in their conventional forms: the commonplace of painting as a model art, the convention of artistic progress as a progression of great men, and the rhetorical exercise of ekphrasis. These designate the limits of humanist art criticism. The third chapter finds a common denominator in the humanists’ use of the periodic sentence as a defining pattern of their practice with language and further identifies two stylistic strains, composita and dissoluta, extending into the world of painterly style. The book works towards this conclusion: In the terms of 1435—in terms, that is, of compositio— we can make out a polarization of styles common to both painting and writing. On the one had there is the painting of artists like Pisanello as Alberti saw it, and the writing of Guarino as George of Trebizond saw it; on the other, there is painting of the more or less Neo-Giottesque kind recommended by Alberti, and the more elaborately periodic writing recommended by George. Composita are opposed to dissoluta... in 1435 these things did appear as similar, in humanist terms.15 What Baxandall traces are differences in predominant styles of humanist literary composition, and pairs these with similar variations observed by humanists in the realm of visual art, thus establishing a structural homology between the two.16 15 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 139. 16 Baxandall had had some exposure, though only informal, to the work of Lévi-Strauss. See Baxandall Interview, 26-7. For Structuralist aspects of Baxandall’s concept of the period eye see Langdale, Art History and Intellectual History, 151-156; and Langdale, ‘Aspects of the Critical Reception’, 479-497. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 6 Also of interest are the broad assumptions about the functions of language that are at work in Giotto and the Orators, something Baxandall himself admits to not confronting directly. This passage is found early in the book: The preliminary question becomes: in what way was the exercise of Latin words and grammar on the subject of painting likely to affect people’s attitudes and notions about painting? Obviously this raises old problems about language and cognition not solved and only intermittently recognized in this book; it is clear too that humanists brought other things to painting than just Latin words and syntax. But this preliminary question will set the character of the first chapter, both because it seems historically the proper thing, and because humanist criticism of painting is specially interesting as a linguistic case: here highly formalized verbal behaviour bears, with little inference, on the most sensitive kind of visual experience.17 Indeed, it is by examining some of these ‘old problems about language and cognition’ that we can discover some of the foundations underpinning the book’s arguments. By postulating that the lexical and semantic elements of languages are determinant factors in the cognitive patterns Baxandall places himself in line with a tradition of thinkers including Wilhelm von Humboltd,18 Ernst Cassirer,19 and the American linguists Edward Sapir and Benjamin Lee Whorf.20 The relativist/determinist thesis (frequently referred to as the ‘Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis’) states that the structural properties and lexical resources of particular languages make certain kinds of distinctions, descriptions, and discriminations more easy or difficult. This is one of the first points Baxandall wishes to establish, and he does so by citing the example of translatability, a problem which preoccupied both von Humboldt and Whorf: 17 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 7. 18 See Wilhelm von Humboldt, Linguistic Variability and Intellectual Development, George C. Buck and Frithjof A. Raven, trans., Coral Gables, Florida: University of Miami Press, 1971. The best recent discussion of von Humboldt's theory of language is in Hans Aarsleff’s introduction to Wilhelm von Humboldt, On Language. The Diversity of Human Language Structure and its Influence on the Mental Development of Mankind, Peter Heath, trans., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. von Humboldt’s On Language was first published in 1836 as the introduction to Über die Kavi-Sprache auf der Insel Java. 19 Cassirer’s notions about the relationship between culture and language are found in Language, volume one of Ernst Cassirer, The Philosophy of Symbolic Forms, Ralph Mannheim, trans., New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1953. The work was originally published in 1923. 20 A general introduction to Whorf’s thought is Benjamin Lee Whorf, Language, Thought, and Reality. Selected Writings of Benjamin Lee Whorf, John B. Carroll, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1956. The name of the linguist Edward Sapir (1884-1939) is often mentioned in conjunction with Whorf, since it was actually Sapir who first suggested Whorf explore what was essentially the relativist thesis. A number of books treat the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. Recent discussions include Emily Ann Schultz, Dialogue at the Margins: Whorf, Bakhtin, and Linguistic Relativity, Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1990; and Julia Penn, Linguistic Relativity vs. Innate Ideas. The Origins of the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis in German Thought, The Hague: Mouton, 1972. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 7 All languages are...systems for classifying experience: their words divide up our experience into categories. Each language makes the division in a different way, and the categories embodied in the vocabulary of one language cannot always be transferred simply into the vocabulary of another language.21 And further, on linguistic enforcement, clearly suggesting affinity with linguistic relativism: But there are areas in which one language differentiates more than another, or in a different way, and this put identifiable pressures on what humanists said; observation was linguistically enforced.22 It is these ‘identifiable pressures’ that, indeed, need to be distinguished, and their particular forces measured. Consideration of the basic assumptions of the linguistic relativist/determinist thesis can help problematize as well as clarify Baxandall’s position. Linguistic relativists generally saw language as a manifestation of the Weltanschauung or world-view of speakers. Some translation between languages might be possible, but perfect translatability was not feasible because the variant lexical and semantic elements of the different languages create divergent, or dissimilar, thoughts and concepts. The terms ‘relativism’ and ‘determinism’ are closely related in the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis; variant worldviews are relative to differences in linguistic components (words or lexemes) and grammar (sentences). Similarly, cognition is determined by these same linguistic resources, which precede the subject born into the culture. The Weltanschauung is manifested in a culture’s language and the parameters of thought are predicated upon linguistic units and structures. Thus the subject is born into a pre-formed, linguistically enforcing and culturally specific worldview where language determines the cognitive patterns of the subject. Two fundamental objections can be made of the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis, against elements that Baxandall might at first seem to take as axiomatic. First of all, the hypothesis suffers from a circular or, at least, potentially tautological structure. If all differences in worldview are linguistic in origin, and all the evidence for these differences are linguistic, then we find the thesis both unprovable and unassailable. Secondly, the assumption of untranslatability is questionable. It is quite possible to make highly accurate translations between languages, even those with very different lexical resources and grammars. The determining factor is often less the differences in the languages than the skill and sensitivity, literary and cultural, of the translators.23 21 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 8-9. One of the things Whorf liked to present as evidence in support of 22 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 9. Each issue is discussed in Roger Brown’s Words and Things, New York: The Free Press, 1958. Baxandall's linguistic enforcement seems parallel to Brown's ‘forced observation in grammar’, discussed on p. 253 of Words and Things. 23 The most important difference is in understanding the social function of a term or measuring the cultural ‘weight’ of a concept. Diderot noted that poetry was the most difficult to translate, while translation became easier as language moved towards prose. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 8 his hypothesis was that Inuit have several words for different types of snow, while ‘Standard Average European’ languages24 such as English have only one. But is this really true? Even though we usually might not use the terms ‘slush’, ‘powder’, ‘deep-powder’, ‘icy’, ‘well-packed’, ‘dry snow’, and so on, we—and especially sub- groups like skiers or snowboarders—are quite attentive to variations in snow, and, even if there are not specific designations for each type, there is a recognition and conception of the variant types and how the diverse conditions might affect speed, maneuverability, avalanche conditions and so on. Therefore, one cannot necessarily posit cognitive discrepancies between two languages on lexical grounds, or at least it is often highly problematic to do so.25 The Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis end up being one of those unprovable yet sort of undeniable kinds of theories; it is simply a question of how far one wants to take it in any given situation. 26 Roger Brown’s Words and Things, one of only two references Baxandall gives which supply a firm link to the literature on linguistic relativism,27 criticizes much about the hypothesis but is, nonetheless, resigned to recognizing some validity in it. The critical boundaries of linguistic relativism are evident in Baxandall’s procedure, which demonstrates that he sees efficacy in the hypothesis but also some important limitations.28 One of the ways to examine how Baxandall attempts to make more efficient use of relativism is to pay attention to how he attends to documents in a specific cultural situation involving distinct cultural sub-groups. One of the complaints sounded by Roger Brown in Words and Things is that linguistic relativists failed to articulate the particularities of what he calls ‘subcommunities’ (such as the case of the skiers mentioned above): For Baxandall, linguistic resources may determine expression and understanding to a degree, but what he seems most interested in is discovering the measure of this degree and how the operations of its trajectory might be discernible in specific practices. 24 The designation is Whorf’s. 25 This objection to the Whorf-Sapir hypothesis, among others, is made in Roger Brown’s Words and Things, 234-5 and 255-6. Positing difference simply in terms of the lexicon has obvious limitations, since translation of single words is not as problematic as when dealing with more complex linguistic structures. Setting aside the several problems in the definition of the sentence, I understand the term sentence to refer to the smallest syntactic unit which reveals significant grammatical structure. The sentence was the focus of attention of many relativists including von Humboldt and Whorf, both of whom felt grammar was the most important factor in determining the cognitive patterns of peoples. For a discussion of some of the problems involved in defining such linguistic units as the sentence, see the chapter ‘Defining the Statement’ in Michel Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge, A. M. Sheridan Smith, trans., New York: Pantheon Books, 1972, 79-87. 26 The comment made by John B. Carroll in his introduction to Benjamin Lee Whorf. Language, Thought, and Reality. Selected Writings of Benjamin Lee Whorf, is still applicable: ‘In truth, the validity of the linguistic relativity principle has thus far not been sufficiently demonstrated; neither has it been flatly refuted’. See pp. 27-28. 27 The other is E. H. Lennenberg and J. M. Roberts, The Language of Experience: a case study, Indiana University Publications in Anthropology and Linguistics Memoir 13, 1956. Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 47, note 70. 28 He rejects a vulgar Whorfian formula. See Baxandall Interview, 3. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 9 We have subcommunities for whom particular regions of experience are more differentiated than they are for the majority and, within these subcommunities, there is a special lexicon to meet special cognitive needs.29 Baxandall seems to share this position and has set himself the task of articulating the linguistic features of the early Quattrocento humanist subcommunity. Brown makes another request of the linguist relativist that Baxandall is evidently sympathetic to: A more exciting form of the relativity thesis would define ‘language’ so as to include semantics and define ‘thought’ in terms of some non-linguistic behavior. In general, the thesis here would be that some non-linguistic evidence [painting, in Baxandall] of thought covaries with some linguistic evidence....I don’t know of any attempts as yet to show that an independently defined linguistic pattern has either historical or biographical priority over the thought pattern it is supposed to determine.30 Another objection, this one directed specifically at Cassirer and Whorf, is made by one of Brown’s Harvard students, the psycholinguist Eric Lennenberg: Neither Cassirer or Whorf was sufficiently explicit in stating the nature of the relationship which they purported to describe. They failed to state in general, yet concrete, terms which types of behavior were supposed to be related.31 Giotto and the Orators seems corrective of each of the shortcomings articulated by Brown and Lennenberg, leading one to consider how Baxandall proceeds, and thereby consider how far he is willing to test the axioms of linguistic relativism. One way to tease out the nuances of Baxandall’s enterprise is to compare Giotto and the Orators with Panofsky’s Gothic Architecture and Scholasticism. What interests me in this comparison is the exploration of the parameters of Panofsky’s and Baxandall's relativism and the strategies through which they apply it. Such comparison helps clarify Baxandall’s attitude about how language systems might affect the structures of the visual system. Baxandall begins his argument in Giotto and the Orators by positing the word as the primary linguistic unit which determines the expressive and denotative potentialities of the Latin language; he moves on to the sentence but will give little attention to general Latin grammar since he discovers a unifying structural element in the literary orthodoxy of the periodic sentence in which both grammatical and stylistic forms are embodied. Like the periodic sentence for Baxandall’s humanists, it was just such a larger literary element, the Scholastic Summa, which Panofsky saw as a formative factor constitutive of the aesthetic of Gothic architecture. Like 29 Brown, Words and Things, 256. 30 Brown, Words and Things, 262. 31 E. H. Lennenberg and J. M. Roberts, The Language of Experience: a case study, 2. Other criticisms by Lennenberg had appeared in Eric Lennenberg, ‘Cognition in Ethnolinguistics’, Language, 29, 1953, 463- 71. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 10 Panofsky, Baxandall sees the linguistic and literary as primary and active, exerting a patterning force on the cognitive structures through which societies organize their experience and expression. Both authors presume language to be originary and formative. ‘Notions about painting’, Baxandall writes of the humanists, ‘becomes very much a matter of their habits with language’.32 The term ‘habit’ appears often in Giotto and the Orators, and this term has certain resonances. In Gothic Architecture and Scholasticism Panofsky desired to articulate a: ….connection between Gothic architecture and Scholasticism which is more concrete than a mere ‘parallelism’ and yet more general than those individual...’influences’ which are inevitably exerted on painters, sculptors etc....What I have in mind is a genuine cause and effect relation....It comes about by the spreading of what may be called, for want of a better term, a mental habit.... Such mental habits are at work in all and every civilization.33 Some parallels can be drawn between Baxandall’s humanists’ habits with language and Panofsky’s habitus or mental habits.34 32 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 7. Both authors’ attention to the literary represents an important modification of the usual linguistic relativist strategy for two important reasons. First, a literary convention is much more concrete, identifiable, and analyzable because of its high degree of codedness and its dependence on tropes. Von Humboldt and Whorf dealt with grammar and vocabulary on enormous scales, considering vast amounts of lexical and grammatical elements from which they gleaned generalities about the communicative and cognitive (and especially creative, in the case of von Humboldt) languages like Kawi, Sanscrit, or Hopi. But in Whorf’s or von Humboldt’s impressive empiricism the use of words and sentences, the ergon or work of utterances, was lost amid a sea of linguistic abstractions divorced from the 33 Erwin Panofsky, Gothic Architecture and Scholasticism: An Inquiry into the Analogy of the Arts, Philosophy, and Religion in the Middle Ages, New York: Meridian Books, 1967, 20-21. Originally published in 1951. It is revealing to compare this with a passage from Lucien Fevre’s 1942 book on Rabelais: ‘Each civilization has its mental tools [my emphasis]...each epoch...requires a renewed set of tools, more highly developed for certain needs, less for others’. See Lucien Febvre, Le problem de l’incroyance au XVIe siècle. La religion de Rabelais, Paris, 1968, 141-142. This translation, by Roger Chartier, appears in his ‘Intellectual History or Sociocultural History? The French Trajectories’, in Dominique LaCapra and Steven L. Kaplan eds, Modern European Intellectual History, Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1982, 19. La Capra comments on this aspect of Febvre: ‘What defines mental equipment in these pages is the state of language, its lexicon, its syntax, the scientific language and instruments, and also the “sensitive support of thought” represented by the system of perception, whose variable economy determines the structure of affectivity’. 34 The feature of habit was also important for Whorf, though it was a feature of the ‘world view’, rather than a focus of analysis in and of itself. Note that language is the origin of all the patterns implicit in this ‘world view’. Whorf writes: ‘By “habitual thought” and “thought world” I mean more than simply language, i.e. than the linguistic patterns themselves. I include all the analogical and suggestive value of the patterns (e.g. our “imaginary space” and its distant implications), and all the give-and-take between language and the culture as a whole, wherein is a vast amount that is not linguistic but yet shows the shaping influence of language. In brief, this “thought world” is the microcosm that each man carries about within himself, by which he measures and understands what he can of the macrocosm’. From Whorf, ‘The Relation of Habitual Thought and Behavior to Language’, in Language, Thought, and Reality, 134-159. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 11 complexities of both everyday, ordinary uses of language and highly specialized practices.35 This leads directly to the second revision of a more unconstrained model of relativism: by limiting the range of study to a literary model, the analysis is similarly narrowed to more definable social sub-groups whose expressive workings of the paradigm are more accurately plotted. The patterning forces of the convention are marked very clearly, thus making their structural resonances more traceable. The context is delimited so that the linguistic relativism may be deployed so as to produce more sophisticated and enlightening results. The comprehensive Weltanschauung of a culture was sought at the expense of real diversity within cultures and their languages. Whatever strength an analysis of language potentially offered was thus dissipated by a vulgar relativism. By focusing on literary conventions, Baxandall and Panofsky narrow the field of inquiry to explore a well-defined linguistic sub-unit and the purpose it served; that is, the work that it accomplished in any linguistic or literary act. Locating the origins of their literary models in an intellectual elite—the medieval Scholastic theologians for Panofsky and the fifteenth-century humanists for Baxandall—is only the first step in the process, that is, the identification of a structural parallel. Each author must also demonstrate a point of dissemination or contact with producers of art or architecture. In other words, there must be some articulation of the path or process, a mediating practice, by which characteristics of the literary system transfer to or imprint the visual system. With Panofsky it is the architects themselves who ‘had gone to school...listened to sermons...attended the public disputationes de quolebet’;36 with Baxandall it is a complex network of subtle intellectual relationships between individuals such as Pisanello, Alberti and Guarino and others, mainly in the context of the Ferrarese court. Baxandall also suggests, as did Panofsky to a lesser degree, that formal education formed many of the patterns of expression and this is what formed habitual actions. In each case, the literary model is broken down into constituent structural elements. For the Scholastics the modus operandi of the Summa involves manifestatio, clarification, and conciliation of opposites. For the humanists, the compositio characteristic of the periodic sentence is organized along a parallelizing pattern of clauses involving comparison of similar things or procedures. Baxandall outlines the general structure: Compositio was a technical concept every schoolboy in a humanist school had been taught to apply to language. It did not mean what we mean by literary composition, but rather the putting together of the single evolved sentence or period, this being done within the framework of a four-level hierarchy of elements: words go to make up phrases, phrases to make clauses, clauses to make sentences: fit autem ex coniunctione verborum comma, ex commate colon, ex colo periodos.37 35 Von Humboldt especially repressed the ergon or language in favour of what he called its energeia. See the discussion of these terms in Hans Aarsleff’s introduction to von Humboldt, On Language, xix-xxi. 36 Panofsky, Gothic Architecture and Scholasticism, 24. 37 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 131. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 12 In both cases, the literary forms are articulated, even if in Panofsky it is a discursive form that is foregrounded while with Baxandall it is a stylistic form. Even though there are several similarities, there are significant differences between Panofsky’s ‘mental habits’ and Baxandall's humanists’ habits with language. Baxandall makes clear the mediating route or practice by which words relate to visual art. The key is the act of description: I have tried to identify a linguistic component in visual taste; that is to show that the grammar and rhetoric of a language may substantially affect our manner of describing and, then, of attending to pictures and some other visual experiences.38 and, further, in a succinct demonstration of relativity: It is difficult to judge quite how much difference this made to the humanist’s description of visual things, but it made some difference. Here are two short exclamations about the painting of Pisanello. The first in neo-classical Latin, is by the humanist Guarino of Verona and was written around 1427: What understanding of light and shade! What diversity!/ What symmetry of things! What harmony of parts! The second was written in 1442 in Italian by Angelo Galli, who was secretary to Federigo da Montefeltro, Count of Urbino: Arte mesura aere et disegno/ Manera prospectiva et naturale/Gli ha data el celo per mirabil dono. No doubt Guarino and Galli did indeed observe different things in Pisanello...But it is certain that Galli is directing attention to qualities in Pisanello which Guarino could not, even if he had so wished, have verbalized in Latin.39 Panofsky does not articulate a mediating practice to the degree that Baxandall stresses the centrality of description and the role of the directing of attention that such descriptive exercises play, and so in Panofsky the relation between the mental habit generated by the Summa’s procedures seems to affect visual material in an indefinite, almost mysterious, way. It is one of the limitations of Panofsky’s procedure that he does not make the point of contact between language and art as explicit as it could be. Conversely, this is where Baxandall’s strength lies. The most significant contrast between the two books, then, is simply in the detail with which Baxandall elaborates the reciprocal social intricacies of the language game of art criticism; a game played by humanists, artists, and patrons on the social field of fifteenth-century Italy.40 I have used terms like use, work and ergon. Baxandall’s attentiveness to the use of language may be a result of his (unconscious?) sympathies with ordinary language philosophy. Baxandall’s ordinary language interests are hinted at when he 38 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, vii. 39 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 11. 40 I use the term ‘field’ (champ) to invoke Bourdieu since Baxandall’s contextualization of practices was very amenable to Bourdieu, and Bourdieu began to champion Baxandall’s work, particularly after the publication of Baxandall’s Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy in 1972. See Langdale, ‘Aspects of the Critical Reception’, 488-9 and Langdale, Art History and Intellectual History, 162-174. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 13 repeats, in Giotto and the Orators, the dictum of Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations, ‘Meaning is use’.41 Baxandall continues, ‘...and in classical Latin much of the meaning of words lay in an institution of relationships with other words, a system of cross-reference, distinctions, contraries, and metaphorical habits’.42 Compare Wittgenstein’s characterization of the language game: ‘And the result of this examination is: we see a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing: sometimes overall similarities, sometimes similarities in detail’.43 For Baxandall language is a system44 and his aim is to articulate all the relevant components of this system and what the function of the system was for the group(s)—humanists, courtiers, painters—that utilized it.45 In this sense we might see Baxandall’s concerns in Giotto and the Orators as representing an intersection of linguistic and literary relativist interests tempered by exposure to ordinary language philosophy and the German Kunstwissenschaft tradition exemplified by Warburg, Panofsky, and Baxandall’s mentor, E. H. Gombrich. Yet, as one reads Giotto and the Orators, one wonders about sympathies other than those with the world of modern linguistic relativism or ordinary language philosophy. Baxandall notes that the humanists themselves ‘were sufficiently linguistic determinists’, 46 and it is possible that he derived some of his relativist attitude from a feeling of intellectual kinship with these Renaissance humanists. One has the feeling that Baxandall’s title at the Warburg: ‘Professor of the History of the Classical Tradition’—a title previously held by Gombrich and Gertrud Bing (to whom Giotto and the Orators is dedicated47)—in some way connects him dialogically with the Italian humanists who are his precursors and whose fundamental interests he obviously shares.48 41 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 14. And see Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, G.E.M. Anscombe, trans., New York, 1953. The phrase is adapted from section 43 of the first part of the Philosophical Investigations: ‘The meaning of a word is its use in the language’. From page 20 in the above edition. Baxandall had not read Wittgenstein while preparing Giotto and the Orators, but he had studied at Cambridge where Wittgenstein’s influence was strong. Baxandall, for example, had studied literature with one of Wittgenstein’s friends, F. R. Leavis. See Baxandall Interview, 2-3 and 10. One might consider a figure, clearly admired by Baxandall, one who is often credited with the invention of philological 42 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 14. 43 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, 32. See also Garth Hallett, Wittgenstein’s Definition of Meaning as Use, New York: Fordham University Press, 1967. 44 ‘System’ is a word repeated often throughout Baxandall’s text, as it is in the works of most linguists; and we could include Saussure here as well. See Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, Charles Bally and Albert Sechehaye, eds, and Wade Baskin, trans., London: P. Owen, 1959, 117. 45 Martin Jay writes of the ordinary language philosophers: ‘...these philosophers understood language less as a neutral medium of expression or representation than as a complex human activity. Language was first of all speech, which was a central component of what Wittgenstein called a form of life. Accordingly, the philosopher’s task was not to construct an ideal metalanguage neutralizing the concrete mediation of the speaker, but rather to examine and clarify ordinary language within specific social contexts’. Martin Jay, ‘Should Intellectual History Take a Linguistic Turn? Reflections on the Habermas-Gadamer Debate’, in Modern European Intellectual History: Reappraisals and New Perspectives, Dominick LaCapra and Steven L. Kaplan eds, Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1982, 87. 46 Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 46. 47 See Baxandall Interview, 5-6. 48 At times, for example, Baxandall seems involved in a dialogic relationship with, as he puts it, a ‘number of outstanding men—the generation of Alberti and Lorenzo Valla’, who Baxandall lists on almost a page of exemplae. Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 7-8. Allan Langdale Linguistic Theories … Baxandall’s Giotto and the Orators 14 textual criticism and even linguistic relativism itself: Lorenzo Valla.49 Indeed, it has even been suggested by more than one scholar that Valla was the first ‘ordinary language philosopher’.50 Giotto and the Orators is a crucial text signaling the linguistic turn in art history, a turn that was, indeed, to be made even more emphatic when Baxandall published, the year after Giotto and the Orators, his Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy. Given the confluence of cultural studies, visual culture and art history on our academic landscape, it is useful to consider the intellectual history of these tendencies. Allan Langdale is currently a lecturer at the University of California at Santa Cruz. His publications include ‘Aspects of the Critical Reception and Intellectual History of Baxandall’s Concept of the Period Eye’, Art History, 21.4, December, 1998; Hugo Münsterberg’s Photoplay and Other Writings on Film, Allan Langdale, introduction and ed., Routledge, 2002; and ‘At the Edge of Empire: Venetian Architecture in Famagusta, Cyprus’, Viator, 41.1, Spring, 2010. Allan Langdale Department of Art History and Visual Culture, Porter Faculty Services, UCSC, 1156 High Street, Santa Cruz, CA, 95064 langdale@filmandmedia.ucsb.edu 49 Baxandall Interview, 9. 50 Valla’s sensitivity to the historical relativity of language and quasi-ordinary language concerns are argued for most directly in Richard Waswo, ‘The Ordinary Language Philosophy of Lorenzo Valla’, Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 41, 1979, 255-271; and, by the same author, Language and Meaning in the Renaissance, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987. Many of Waswo’s ideas along these lines are shared—to varying degrees—by Sarah Steuver Gravelle. See her comments in ‘Lorenzo Valla’s Comparison of Latin and Greek and the Humanist Background’, Bibliothèque d'Humanisme et Renaissance, 44.2, 1982, 269-289; and ‘The Latin-Vernacular Question and Humanist Theory of Language and Culture’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 49.3, July-Sept., 1988, 367-386. Observations in Victoria Kahn’s ‘The Rhetoric of Faith and the Use of Usage in Lorenzo Valla's De libero arbitrio’, The Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studie, 13.1, Spring 1983, 91-109; and Lisa Jardine, ‘Lorenzo Valla and the Origins of Humanist Dialectic’, Journal of the History of Philosophy, 15, 1977, 143-164, also seem to support some degree of linguistic relativism in Valla’s thought. Waswo’s ordinary language thesis was somewhat indebted to observations by Hanna-Barbara Gerl in her Rhetorik als Philosophie: Lorenzo Valla, Munich: Fink, 1974. Waswo’s article and book drew invective from John Monfasani in his ‘Was Lorenzo Valla an Ordinary Language Philosopher?’ Journal of the History of Ideas, 50.2, Apr.-June, 1989, 309-323. Both Waswo’s and Gravelle’s replies to the attack appear immediately after Monfasani’s denunciation. 
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work_ols2ay4xmza6bpkgbiosmxtua4	----	Much of the work in this volume is theoretical, but it includes fascinating examples of striking parallels between early Islamic themes and earlier literatures from late antiquity. These include the Qur’anic notion of tah.rīf with Christian ac- cusations of Jewish distortions of Abraham’s true religion (Justin Martyr’s Dia- logue with Trypho the Jew and the Ebionite conception of a diabolical falsification of Scripture); satanic verses “added” to the Qur’an with Pseudo- Clementine Homilies; the early shahāda or statement of faith with “God is one, and there is no God but Him” that appears in Pseudo-Clementine writings; the synonymic appearance of rasūl and nabī in the Qur’an with apostolos and proph- ētēs in the Didache; the notion of jāhiliyya with the lack of any intellectual interest among Christians with “the prior falsehood” of paganism; the Islamic concept of fit.ra with the notion of a natural Christian nature of the human soul (anima natu- raliter christiana); the Qur’anic notion of an original, pristine, and unsullied “re- ligion of Abraham” with Eusebius’s writings in his Ecclesiastical History, and so forth. These parallels do not suggest “borrowing,” as was so commonly assumed by earlier modern researchers, but rather point to the complexity of intertextual and interideational relationships between the religions of the period. While many of these parallels were not uncovered by the author, he interrogates them methodically through a vast array of primary and secondary sources in close to a dozen European and ancient languages. The volume is dense and the breadth of reach remarkable. Anyone interested in early Islam and the interrelatedness and intertextuality of religion in the late antique world will find this book of intense interest. Reuven Firestone Hebrew Union College, Los Angeles • • • MEDIEVAL AND EARLY MODERN ERAS Andrew D. Berns. The Bible and Natural Philosophy in Renaissance Italy: Jewish and Christian Physicians in Search of Truth. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015. 309 pp. doi:10.1017/S036400941600060X “Tra le settantadue lingue che dalle 72 natione della casa d’Israel son nate, solo tre sono state tenute sempre in grandissima veneratione fra tutte l’altre lingue cioè l’Hebrea, Graeca, et Latina. Sì perché in quelle sono state conservate le scrit- ture delle cose divine et parimente humane.” (Among the seventy-two languages that were born from the seventy-two nations of the house of Israel, only three were always held in greatest veneration among all the others: Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. In those languages, writings on divine and indeed human things were preserved; pp. 55–56) Book Reviews 424 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 64 00 94 16 00 06 0X D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 08 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S036400941600060X https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms This quote was authored by none other than the famous Bolognese scientist Ulisse Aldrovandi, one of the leading sixteenth-century botanists and zoologists, a pioneer in the description of geological phenomena and a founder of modern sci- entific inquiry. Who would ever imagine that Aldrovandi’s rich library included the most circulated Hebrew grammars of his days, such as those of Johannes Reuchlin, Johannes van der Driesche (Drusius), Nicolas Cleynaerts (Clenard), and Robert Bellarmine? Among the intellectual achievements that distinguished the Italian Renais- sance from the previous centuries, with a lasting influence on the modern age, was the central role of a more philological approach to classical texts and languag- es from the fifteenth century onward. The rediscovery of ancient philosophical and religious corpora, almost totally unknown in the Middle Ages, spurred humanist scholars to seek out as many sources as possible for their intellectual investigation, in order to attain what they envisaged as a universal knowledge. To achieve such a goal, competence in classical and oriental languages was necessary: as a matter of fact, throughout the sixteenth century, the teaching of Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic, Syriac, and Arabic became increasingly common in the scholarly institutions of western Europe, and the printing industry greatly contributed to the development of such skills. In this comprehensive project, a thorough philological and linguistic analy- sis of the biblical text, in its many versions, played a major role. Far from aiming only at shedding light on the Hebrew truth (Hebraica Veritas), that is, on the pris- tine original text of the Scriptures—as humanists mostly claimed, in order to feel free to penetrate the depths of the sacred writings—the careful perusal of the holy texts primarily explored relationships between faith and rational sciences. In other words, in-depth study of the Bible, paralleled by the investigation of nature ac- cording to new empirical methods, allowed Renaissance intellectuals to ascertain that the scriptural account contained precious information about God’s creation. While the goal of their quest was not new, the means to establish their theses stemmed from a fresh reading of the traditional Aristotelian approach to knowl- edge, which paved the way to early modern science. It is generally assumed that the Roman Church hindered this multilayered investigation of the Scriptures, especially during and after the internal strife that took place in the aftermath of the Protestant Reformation. The Catholic opposition to such analytical understanding of biblical truths would have caused a sudden end to this scholarly fashion, quickly leading to Galilee’s harsh distinction between biblical scholarship and scientific inquiry, which would later become one of the outstanding features of western European modern thought. As a matter of fact, such distinction, which has been stressed mainly by positivist scholars, took a very long time to become effective, and most of the intellectual institutions of early modern Europe, and of Italy in particular, continued to deal with both biblical studies and the investigation of natural sciences at the same time. In this volume Andrew D. Berns compares the approach of Jewish and non- Jewish scientists active in Renaissance Italy toward the biblical text. By drawing on an extensive variety of written documents—encyclopedias, letters, treatises, dictionaries, and medical case studies—the author, who masters several languages Book Reviews 425 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 64 00 94 16 00 06 0X D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 08 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S036400941600060X https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms including Italian, Latin, and Hebrew, analyzes the work of major scholars (such as Amatus Lusitanus, Ulisse Aldrovandi, Melchior Wieland, David de’ Pomis, and Abraham Portaleone; many “minor” personalities also appear in the book), their competence in biblical exegesis, and their understanding of the Scriptures as a touchstone for their knowledge of botany, mineralogy, zoology, and medicine. Following in the footsteps of David Ruderman, who has dealt extensively with the Italian Renaissance and especially with the relationships between Jewish and non-Jewish scientists active in the most thriving intellectual centers of the Italian peninsula, Berns argues that not only were Jews cultural mediators of scientific knowledge for Christians, but they also triggered complex intellectual dynamics, which originated new scholarly approaches to science and biblical ex- egesis. The cooperation of Jewish and gentile scholars was partly responsible for early modern “revolutionary” attitudes leading to a new understanding of the truths that could be derived from faith and from reason. According to Berns, Italian Jews, far from being poorly tolerated subjects obliged to live in the segre- gation of the ghettos, were instead “integrated members of premodern societies”; as he writes, “social and legal interactions between Jews and Christians should be understood as a ‘two-way street’” (25). Berns’s choice to examine the attitude to biblical exegesis of scholars who were not rabbis, theologians, or priests allows readers to better understand the major task of historians of Renaissance culture, namely correctly evaluating the disciplines studied by early modern intellectuals. Until a few decades ago, the dominant late nineteenth-century approach to historiography induced scholars to overlook all references to the Bible or theological issues when dealing with the history of natural philosophy. That is why, for instance, Ulisse Aldrovandi is to this day mainly known for his precise descriptions of plants or insects, and not for his concern with biblical vocabulary that appears in his monumental Lexicon latino-hebraicum et syro-chaldaicum rerum quae in Sacris Bibliis leguntur (Latin-Hebrew and Syriac-Chaldean lexicon of topics that can be found in Holy Scriptures). Aldrovandi’s work, though heavily relying on Sante Pagnini’s and Benito Arias Montano’s Thesauri, displays a certain originality in the description of natural phenomena. The case of the aloe wood explored by Berns is significant, because it is on the basis of the Hebrew text of Psalm 45 that Aldrovandi established the correspondence of the Hebrew term ’ahalot with its Greek and Latin equivalents. The Bolognese scholar did not borrow his information only from polyglot editions of the Psalms (such as the 1516 Psalteri- um edited in Genoa by Agostino Giustiniani, the first of a long series of multilin- gual editions of the Bible printed in the sixteeenth century), but grounded his theories also in the Hebrew Biblia Rabbinica, published by Bomberg in Venice. Moreover, Aldrovandi was possibly influenced by contemporaneous debates: a significant parallel may be drawn with the Portuguese physician Amatus Lusita- nus’s Commentary on Dioscorides’ De materia medica, where Psalm 45 is also scrutinized. Hebrew scientific vocabulary could be adopted to amend imprecise terminology in Pliny’s Natural History, according to Aldrovandi and his contem- porary Melchior Wieland. On the other hand, Renaissance Jewish scholars, besides being knowledgeable in Hebrew and Aramaic, cherished the study of Book Reviews 426 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 64 00 94 16 00 06 0X D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 08 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S036400941600060X https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms ancient Greek. This was the case, for instance, for David de’ Pomis and Abraham Portaleone, who exchanged their biblical knowledge with contemporary Jewish and non-Jewish scientists by taking advantage of the treatises written by erudite Christian scholars that accompanied the publication of Plantin’s polyglot Bible. In the wide selection of texts quoted by the author, some slight errors of tran- scription from both Latin and Italian occur (especially in names of persons and places), as well as some misunderstandings in the translation of the quoted texts. For example, on p. 69: “the querza [oak] … alludes to the people of a repub- lic, being ornamental and luxurious and filled with divine grace.” The Italian orig- inal has “La querza … che cosa significa se non il popolo della repubblica essere d’ornamenti e commodi et divina gratia abbandonato …,” which could be trans- lated: “The oak … alludes to the people of a republic, when deprived of orna- ments, comforts and divine grace.…” Such minor flaws notwithstanding, Berns’s work represents an excellent paradigm of intellectual inquiry in the field of the history of ideas. This volume is a precious tool for better understanding the scholarly relationships between Italian Jews and Christians at the beginning of the modern era. Fabrizio Lelli Università del Salento • • • Maud Kozodoy. The Secret Faith of Maestre Honoratus: Profayt Duran and Jewish Identity in Late Medieval Iberia. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015. 314 pp. doi:10.1017/S0364009416000611 Until the summer of 1391, when anti-Jewish riots spread across the Iberian Peninsula, the individual later referred to as Honoratus de Bonafide, a Christian physician and astrologer at the court of King Joan I of Aragon, had been Profayt Duran—a Jew from Perpignan. Although the details of Duran’s conver- sion are lost to us, Kozodoy assumes it was a forced conversion (3). Despite the fact that he converted or was forcefully converted, he nevertheless continued to write in Hebrew and, perhaps even more interestingly, wrote anti-Christian polem- ical treatises. Like many other Conversos, Duran maintained a dual identity based on an inner/outer dialectic. Although to the outside world, that social space wherein he interacted with others, he was a Christian, his private domain seems to have remained Jewish. In this inner world, he reconceptualized his ancestral re- ligion along rationalist lines because this permitted him to emphasize intention and belief over physical acts of worship. Duran is of such interest to the author because, in her own words, he was able to move eloquently “between external conduct and internal orientation, or between an externally constructed and an in- ternally determined identity” (11). Book Reviews 427 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 64 00 94 16 00 06 0X D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 08 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S036400941600060X https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms 
work_ooyvq33vwvedxesyn44lapqdoy	----	Peter Burke, What Is the History of Knowledge? UvA-DARE is a service provided by the library of the University of Amsterdam (https://dare.uva.nl) UvA-DARE (Digital Academic Repository) [Review of: P. Burke (2016) What is the history of knowledge?] Bod, R. DOI 10.1086/688038 Publication date 2016 Document Version Final published version Published in History of Humanities Link to publication Citation for published version (APA): Bod, R. (2016). [Review of: P. Burke (2016) What is the history of knowledge?]. History of Humanities, 1(2), 426-428. https://doi.org/10.1086/688038 General rights It is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), other than for strictly personal, individual use, unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Disclaimer/Complaints regulations If you believe that digital publication of certain material infringes any of your rights or (privacy) interests, please let the Library know, stating your reasons. In case of a legitimate complaint, the Library will make the material inaccessible and/or remove it from the website. Please Ask the Library: https://uba.uva.nl/en/contact, or a letter to: Library of the University of Amsterdam, Secretariat, Singel 425, 1012 WP Amsterdam, The Netherlands. You will be contacted as soon as possible. Download date:06 Apr 2021 https://doi.org/10.1086/688038 https://dare.uva.nl/personal/pure/en/publications/review-of-p-burke-2016-what-is-the-history-of-knowledge(d7db29ec-5132-49f5-980b-c6ae1a626c69).html https://doi.org/10.1086/688038 Peter Burke, What Is the History of Knowledge? Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016. Pp. 156. US$59.95 (cloth); US$19.95 (paper). Peter Burke’s long-standing and varied career in historiography continues to surprise with highly original works. Starting in the 1970s with books on the Italian Renaissance and early modern Europe, he has also been prolific in the history of history writing with celebrated works like The French Historical Revolution: The Annales School, 1929–1989 (1990), What Is Cultural History? (2004), and his two-volume A Social His- tory of Knowledge (2000, 2012)—just to name a few of his many fine books. No one seems to be more apt than Peter Burke to write the current What Is the History of Knowl- edge?, which is part of the What Is History series by Polity Press. The result is stunning and provides for a highly pleasant read—in any case for those who like historiographical overviews (like this reviewer). In just 125 pages of main text (plus 25 pages of notes, a time line, and a further reading section), Burke unfolds the new field of history of knowledge into four main topics, which are also the titles of the book’s four chapters: “Knowledges and Their Histories,” “Concepts,” “Processes,” and “Problems and Prospects.” However, these chapters are subdivided into a range of smaller sections that do not appear in the table of contents. These sections, and some- times subsections, read like mini-essays and bear names such as “Historiography,” “What is knowledge,” “Knowledges in the plural,” “History and its neighbors” (in the first chap- ter); “Authorities and monopolies,” “Interdisciplinarity,” “Orders of knowledge,” “Prac- tices,” “Regimes of ignorance,” “Situated knowledges,” “Styles of thought,” “Tacit knowl- edge” (in the “Concepts” chapter); “Attempting objectivity,” “Gathering knowledges,” “Analysing knowledges,” “Disseminating knowledges,” “Employing knowledges” (in the “Processes” chapter); and “Internal versus external histories,” “Continuities versus rev- olutions,” “Anachronism,” “Relativism,” “Triumphalism,” “Constructivism,” “Gender” (in the “Problems and Prospects” chapter). It is these sections, the mini-essays, that con- stitute the backbone of the book: while they could be read as stand-alone entries, they form a logical line of thought that could hardly be put in a different order. It is a bit of a shame that this line of thought is not reflected in the table of contents. Burke starts off by noting that the history of knowledge is a very young field. He recalls that when he began working on his book A Social History of Knowledge in the 1990s, he was virtually alone, while nowadays the number of books on the topic is exploding. Burke’s recollection stands, however, in a surprising contrast with his “Timeline: Studies of Knowledge, a Select Chronology” at the end of his book, where he gives a list of around seventy works. According to his time line, the studies on the history of knowledge can be traced back to such volumes as Stolle’s Anleiting zur 426 | H I ST O R Y O F H U M A N I T I E S F A L L 2 0 1 6 This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on January 19, 2018 06:07:06 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Histoire der Gelehrtheit (Introduction to the history of learning) from 1718 and Can- dolle’s Histoire des sciences et des savants (History of the sciences and scholars) from 1873. And for the 1990s, when Burke reportedly was almost alone in his interest, he lists Shapin’s A Social History of Truth, Worsley’s Knowledges, and Poovey’s A History of Modern Fact. Burke’s time line contains also another surprise: while the recent field of history of disciplines and the even more recent field of history of the humanities are well represented in the time line, the field of history of science is virtually absent. It can hardly be denied that the historiography of science is—like the history of the humanities—a crucial part of the history of knowledge. Sure enough, trying to reduce the immense bibliography of history of science to a few titles is tricky and perhaps Burke did not want to open Pandora’s box for his time line. So what then is the history of knowledge? Is it the history of all knowledge-making disciplines taken together, that is, the history of the sciences, the humanities, and the arts? Or is it the history of all human knowing, not just of Wissenschaft but of Wissen? Burke opts for the latter: knowledge includes both practical and theoretical knowledge, and thus historiography of knowledge has to do justice to both the knowledge of ma- sons as opposed to architects, and of midwives as opposed (or next) to doctors. What- ever kind of knowledge we focus on, the problems related to the history of knowledge are relevant for the history of the humanities and history of science as well: the internal- external debate, the problem of continuities, anachronism, relativism, and triumphal- ism are part and parcel of areas like history and philosophy of science. This raises the question whether the history of knowledge stands in a similar relationship to the phi- losophy of knowledge as history of science relates to philosophy of science. It is here that I believe Burke has missed an important chance: the history of knowledge is in fact directly relevant for and strongly connected to the philosophy of knowledge, bet- ter known as epistemology. Long-standing, open problems in epistemology are, for ex- ample, Hume’s and Goodman’s problems. Hume’s problem is often referred to as the problem of induction, that is, is there any justification to generalize about the prop- erties of objects based on a finite number of observations of particular instances? (Take the “All swans are white” observation that will be overruled by the observation of just one black swan.) Goodman’s problem is also related to the problem of inductive knowledge, that is, a finite sequence of observations or events can always be taken as conforming to a great many, even infinitely many, different general patterns. Now, the question that I would like to have seen discussed in Burke’s book is, what can the his- tory of knowledge contribute to such issues as Hume’s and Goodman’s problems—if anything at all? The history of science as well as the history of humanities have taken their own view and regard the problem of inductive knowledge as a historical one. At different times and places, historical actors have dealt differently with the justification B O O K R E V I E W S | 4 27 This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on January 19, 2018 06:07:06 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). of generalizations and patterns. There is not just one way how, say, linguists and as- tronomers from the eighteenth though the twentieth century have dealt with general- izations over different languages and different planets. This exactly reflects the main tension between the historian and the philosopher, and it may best be captured by the question, how did people in different periods draw generalizations and patterns over separate facts and events, and are there any universal ways of drawing such gen- eralizations and patterns? It is here that the historian of knowledge can inform the philosopher of knowledge. Rens Bod 428 | H IST O R Y O F H UM A N I T I E S F A L L 2 0 1 6 This content downloaded from 145.018.109.191 on January 19, 2018 06:07:06 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 
work_oppay2yymnfwdh7l67tsuuqv4u	----	Editors' Notes The Editors and the Association wish to thank the following individuals who were chair,s or discussants at the 1990 Economic History Association Meeting. Their comments helped the authors prepare their final drafts and provided invaluable advice to the Editors. J. Fred Bateman, Indiana University Jacques Berbier, University of Ottawa Michael Bernstein, University of California, San Diego Allan Bogue, University of Wisconsin Charles Calomiris, Northwestern University Fred Carstensen, University of Connecticut Lee A. Craig, North Carolina State University Paul A. David, Stanford University Trevor Dick, University of Lethbridge Joseph Feme, University of Chicago Price Fishback, University of Arizona Deborah Fitzgerald, MIT Lacy Ford, University of South Carolina Claudia Goldin, Harvard University Farley Grubb, University of Delaware Helen Hunter, Bryn Mawr College John James, University of Virginia Jane Knodell, University of Vermont Ann Kussmaul, Glendon College Frank Lewis, Queen's University Mary MacKinnon, McGill University Marvin Mclnnis, Queen's University Gloria Main, University of Colorado Joel Mokyr, Northwestern University Larry D. Neale, University of Illinois Cormac 6 Grada, University College, Dublin William N. Parker, Yale University Roger Ransom, University of California, Riverside Paul Rhode, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill Winifred Rothenberg, Tufts University and MIT Morton Rothstein, University of California, Davis Richard Salvucci, University of California, Berkeley Harry N. Scheiber, University of California, Berkeley Lucy Simler, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis Enrique Tandeter, University of Chicago Warren Weber, Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis David Weir, Yale University Gavin Wright, Stanford University Mary E. Young, University of Rochester ECONOMIC HISTORY ASSOCIATION MEETING The fifty-first annual meeting of the Economic History Association will be held in Boulder, Colorado, from Friday, September 27, to Sunday, September 29, 1991. The preliminary program follows: 475 476 Editors' Notes Equipment, Innovation, and Growth James Bradford De Long, Harvard University, "Equipment Investment and Growth." Alexander J. Field, Santa Clara University, "The Electro-Magnetic Telegraph, Price and Quantity Data, and the New Management of Capital." Ross Thompson, New School for Social Research, "Machine Tools As a Technolog- ical Center." When Growth Stops: The Great Depression Revisited Christina D. Romer, University of California, Berkeley, "What Ended the Great Depression?" William Sundstrom, Santa Clara University, "Unemployment, Discrimination, and Demotion: Black Workers in the North During the Great Depression." David A. Zalewski, Providence College, and J. Peter Ferderer, Clark University, "An Empirical Analysis of Uncertainty and Investment During the Great Depression." Saving and Spending: Microeconomic Studies George Alter, Indiana University, Claudia Goldin, Harvard University, and Elyce Rotella, Indiana University, "Motives for Saving in the Nineteenth Century: Data from the Philadelphia Saving Fund Society at Mid-Century." Michael Haines, Colgate University, "Sources and Data for the Microeconomic Study of Saving Behavior." Jane Humphries and Sara Horrell, University of Cambridge, "Household Budgets in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries." Martha Olney, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, "Making Music, Stitching Seams: Determinants of Family Ownership of Musical Instruments and Sewing Ma- chines in Michigan, 1889 and 1890." Technology, Integration, and Competitiveness John Brown, Clark University, "Vertical Integration and Technological Change: German and British Cotton Textiles Before World War I." Edward Lorenz, University of Notre Dame, "An Institutional Explanation for Competitive Decline: The British Shipbuilding Industry, 1890-1970." Nancy Kane Ohanian, St. John Fisher University, "Vertical Integration in the U.S. Pulp and Paper Industry, 1900-1940." Paul L. Robertson, University of New South Wales, and Richard N. Langlois, University of Connecticut, Storrs, "Technological Choice and Industry Structure: British Textiles in the Nineteenth Century." Technological Change: New Evidence from Patents William Mass and Dane Morrison, University of Lowell, "The Trajectories of Technological Dynamism: Inventors and Innovation at the Draper Company." John S. Nader, State University of New York, Delhi, "Pockets of Invention: Localized Learning in the Midwestern Farm Implement Industry, 1850-1890." William H. Philips, University of South Carolina, "The Economic Geography of the American South: Patent Activity and Railroad Integration." Editors' Notes 477 Financing Investment Ann M. Carlos, University of Colorado, Boulder, and Frank Lewis, Queen's University, "Information and Securities' Prices: Evidence from the Grand Trunk and Great Western Railways of Canada, 1850-1880." Philip T. Hoffman, California Institute of Technology, Gilles Postel-Vinay, Institut National de R6cherches Agronomiques, Paris, and Jean-Laurent Rosenthal, University of California, Los Angeles, "Credit Markets in Paris: 1690-1840." Kenneth Snowden, University of North Carolina, Greensboro, "Innovation in the Nineteenth-Century Mortgage Market: A Tale of Two Failures." One Light, Many Objects: Fundamental Influences on Growth Joel Mokyr, Northwestern University, "Leadership and Inertia in Technological Change." Cynthia Taft Morris, Smith College, "The State and Domestic Capitalist Develop- ment in Its Early Phases: An Essay in Synthesis." Mancur Olson, University of Maryland, College Park, "Is It an Accident that Most of the Technological Leaders are Democracies?: The Historical Evidence." Paul David and Gavin Wright, Stanford University, "Resource Abundance and American Economic Leadership." Regional Perspectives on Followership Alfred G. Espoto, Eastern Michigan University, "Italian Industrialization and the Gerschenkronian 'Great Spurt': A Regional Analysis." William K. Hutchinson, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, " U . S . Regional Growth: The Proximate Causes, 1870-1910." Paul Rhode, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, "California's Emergence As the Second Industrial Belt—The Growth of the Western Automobile and Rubber Tire Industries." Vikan Tchakerian, University of California, Los Angeles, "Economies of Scale, Extent of Markets, and Industrialization in the Late Antebellum South and Midwest." Entrepreneurs, Workers, and Human Capital Raymond L. Cohn, Illinois State University, Normal, "The Occupations of European Immigrants to the United States, 1836-1853." Farley Grubb, "Educational Choice in the Era Before Free Public Schooling: Evidence from Immigrant Children in Pennsylvania, 1771-1820." John R. Hanson II, Texas A&M University, "Human Capital and Foreign Investment in LDCs." William Lazonick, Barnard College, "Learning and the Dynamics of International Competitive Advantage." Women, Work, and Welfare Kris Inwood, University of Guelph, "Firm Size and Gender in Canadian Industry, 1870-1871." Sherrie A. Kossoudji and Laura J. Dresser, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, "Why Did Women Retreat from the Industrial Labor Force in the Post-World War II Period?" 478 Editors' Notes Stephen Nicholas and Deborah Oxley, Australian National University, "Living Standards of English and Irish Women, 1785-1825." Technological Progress in the Early Years of the USSR Andrei A. Belykh, Leningrad University, "Rival Programs in the 1920s." Michael R. Dohan, Queens College, "Dealing with Inflationary Pressures." Holland Hunter, Haverford College, "Incentives for, and Barriers to, Innovation." SHELBY CULLOM DAVIS CENTER FOR HISTORICAL STUDIES SEMINAR AND FELLOWSHIPS In the two academic years 1992-1994 the subject of the Seminar of the Shelby Cullom Davis Center for Historical Studies at Princeton University will be "Proof and Persuasion." The Davis Center invites applications for fellowships or proposals for papers on the allied themes of proof and persuasion. We welcome applications from people working in all periods and geographical areas, and from other disciplines. The center will offer a limited number of Research Fellowships for one or two semesters. Inquiries and requests for fellowship application forms should be addressed to the Secretary, Shelby Cullom Davis Center for Historical Studies, 129 Dickinson Hall, Princeton University, Princeton, NJ 08544-1017, USA. The deadline for applications and letters of recommendation for fellowships for 1992-1993 is December 1, 1991, and for 1993-1994 is December 1, 1992. Scholars who would like to offer a paper to one of the weekly seminars are asked to send a brief description of their proposal and a current curriculum vitae to the director, Natalie Zemon Davis. VILLA I TATTI FELLOWSHIPS The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies will award ten or more stipendiary fellowships, and a limited number of nonstipendiary fellowships, for independent study on any aspect of the Italian Renaissance for the academic year 1992-1993. The fellowships are for scholars of any nationality, normally postdoctoral and in the earlier stages of their careers. The maximum grant will be $27,500; most will be considerably less. Fellowships run from July 1, 1992, to June 30, 1993. Applicants should send a completed application form, a curriculum vitae, a project description, and confidential letters of recommendation from three senior scholars familiar with their work to the Director, Professor Walter Kaiser, Villa I Tatti, Via di Vincigliata 26, 50135 Florence, Italy, to arrive no later than October 15,1991. Duplicates should be sent to the Villa I Tatti office, Harvard University, 124 Mt. Auburn Street, Cambridge, MA 02138, USA. Application forms can be obtained from either Villa I Tatti office. ORAL HISTORY ASSOCIATION MEETING The Oral History Association will hold its 1992 Annual Meeting October 15-18, 1992, at the Stouffer Tower City Hotel in Cleveland, OH. Proposals for papers, panels, media presentations, or entire sessions should be sent by December 1, 1991, to Dr. Donna M. DeBlasio, Program Chair, Youngstown Historical Center of Industry and Labor, P.O. Box 533, Youngstown, OH 44501. CONFERENCE The thirteenth annual North American Labor History Conference, sponsored by the Walter P. Reuther Library and the Department of History of Wayne State University, will be held October 17-19, 1991, in Detroit, MI, on the theme of "Men, Women, and Editors' Notes 479 Labor: Perspectives on Gender and Labor History." This year's conference will focus on gender in labor history. Scholars from across disciplines and methodological approaches will examine such questions as gender and synthesis in labor history; the role of gender ideology in labor solidarity; and labor organizing, strike behavior, and union leadership. For further information, contact Elizabeth Faue, Department of History, 3094 Faculty Administration Building, Wayne State University, Detroit, MI 48202. 
work_oq3g2f3tc5e2leg2oxyuhpa7he	----	The difficulty of being a geo politician and a world historian Submit Manuscript | http://medcraveonline.com space and time, geography and history. During my studies at the Sorbonne, in Paris, we were obliged as students of History, to follow classes of Geography in order to understand the inevitable relation between time and space. Ratzel, in 1897, published his work on political geography, titled Politische Geographie, introducing the concepts of Vital Space or “Lebensraum” and social Darwinism which were later adopted by Hitler’s national-socialism and linking his political geography to World History in his three volume work titled The History of Mankind, published in English in 1896. In 1901, he specifically published an essay called Lebensraum, the starting point of Geopolitics. Thus Geopolitics, from the start was linked to capitalist expansionism, expressing the growth of German industrialism after the 1870 Franco-Prussian war and the subsequent development of imperialism, in the search of markets, bringing Germany into competition with Great Britain. In response to German imperialism, Great Britain in the name of Halford Mackinder (1861-1947) produced its own geopolitical theory. Mackinder, an English geographer, published a paper in 1904 to defend the imperialism of the British Empire as a World Sea Empire, under the title The Geographical Pivot of History, formulating his “Heartland Theory”, opposing British sea power to the continental power of Germany and Russia in a famous sentence, produced in 1919, when he served as an anti-Bolshevik and British High Commissioner in Southern Russia supporting White Russians: “ Who rules East Europe commands the Heartland [Russia-Soviet Union]; who rules the Heartland commands the World-Island [Europe-Asia- Africa]; who rules the World-Island commands the world” through British sea power. In a second response to British imperialism, Hitler’s Germany based its continental expansionism in the lands of the Heartland, on the works of German geographer Karl Haushofer (1869-1946) who had as his student Rudolf Hess, Hitler’s second in command. The link between geopolitics and world history is manifest in the influence German world historian Oswald Spengler (1880-1936), author of The Decline of the West, published in 1918 and 1922, had on Haushofer. Spengler was also the inspirer of the greatest world historian of the 20th century, British Arnold J. Toynbee (1889-1975), author of the monumental 12-volume A Study of History, which was published between 1934 and 1961. Hitler in 1936 invited Toynbee to Berlin and expressed his appreciation of the historian’s work emphasizing that German expansionism for Lebensraum was limited to the Eastern Slavic lands and was not directed against England. Toynbee supported Hitler as sincere and endorsed his message towards the English people in a confidential memorandum the historian sent to the British government. Hitler was imprisoned with Rudolf Hess after the Munich Beer Hall Putsch in 1923. Haushofer then, spent six hours visiting them in prison, bringing with him a copy of Friedrich Ratzel’s Political Geography. From 1945 to the fall of the communist camp in 1989, geopolitics was ousted from academic circles as a false science supporting expansionist imperialist aims, especially the aims of Nazism. Having myself studied geopolitics at the Sorbonne and having published my Sorbonne Ph.D. dissertation on Propaganda and Pressure Groups in International Politics (Presses Universitaires de France, 1963), I was prevented from teaching Geopolitics in France and Canada. Nevertheless, in the 1960s I developed my geopolitical theory that I named “Intermediary Region” of Civilisation between West and East, which I taught at Istanbul’s Bogazici University to my student Ahmet Davutoglu, the future minister of Foreign Affairs and prime minister of Turkey, who adopted it and applied it in his vision of the restauration of the Ottoman Empire, a vision pursued today by President Tayyip Erdogan. Nevertheless, after the fall of the Communist camp in 1989, and the triumphant affirmation of American political scientist Francis Fukuyama’s book, The End of History and the Last Man (1992), pretending that the struggle for world domination was definitely won by free market capitalism over communism and national- socialism which became the final form of human government, Western Universities as well as the media and popular science were overwhelmed with Geopolitics, or at least by people who took pride of calling themselves geo politicians. World History however continued as a science to be looked upon with suspicion by many highly specialized historians who already in the time of Toynbee were criticizing his work as filled with broad generalizations, as they were unable to understand how it was possible for a professional historian to be at the same time a specialist and a generalist. Art Human Open Acc J. 2017;1(1):1‒2 1 © 2017 Kitsikis. This is an open access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and build upon your work non-commercially. The difficulty of being a geo politician and a world historian Volume 1 Issue 1 - 2017 Dimitri Kitsikis Department of History, University of Ottawa, Canada Correspondence: Dimitri Kitsikis, Department of History, University of Ottawa, Ottawa, Canada, Email Dimitri.Kitsikis@uottawa.ca Received: May 28, 2017 | Published: May 29, 2017 Arts and Humanities Open Access Journal Editorial Open Access Editorial Both Geopolitics and World History, linked together in the field of International Relations, are social sciences particularly adapted to our present era of planetarian globalization. At the same time, they have been confronted with suspicion by scientists following the general trend of extreme specialization who tend to contest the possibility of covering such vast areas of knowledge and still staying inside the limits of scientific research. Geopolitics came to the fore at the turn of the 20th century with German geographer Friedrich Ratzel (1844-1904) who combined https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.15406/ahoaj.2017.01.00001&domain=pdf The difficulty of being a geo politician and a world historian 2 Copyright: ©2017 Kitsikis Citation: Kitsikis D. The difficulty of being a geo politician and a world historian. Art Human Open Acc J. 2017;1(1):1‒2. DOI: 10.15406/ahoaj.2017.01.00001 The answer to the above question had been given in ancient Greece, from the time of its sages to the time of the Italian Renaissance, during which the scientists were supposed to know everything. Thus the Italian Renaissance man, Leonardo da Vinci, could be called the last Greek sage for his tremendous handling of all domains of knowledge from art to philosophy, to technology and all sciences. This is why it was not a coincidence if world historians like Toynbee were able to grasp the Universe by starting their History specialization in Greek History. Acknowledgements None. Conflict of interest The author declares no conflict of interest. https://doi.org/10.15406/ahoaj.2017.01.00001 Editorial Acknowledgements Conflict of interest 
work_oryf7qhulnfyddxsq7qqmbyfse	----	UC San Diego UC San Diego Previously Published Works Title A Local Habitation and a Name: Imagining Histories in the Italian Renaissance Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/16z331gt Journal MODERN PHILOLOGY, 111(2) ISSN 0026-8232 Author Smarr, Janet Levarie Publication Date 2013-11-01 DOI 10.1086/671946 Peer reviewed eScholarship.org Powered by the California Digital Library University of California https://escholarship.org/uc/item/16z331gt https://escholarship.org http://www.cdlib.org/ A Local Habitation and a Name: Imagining Histories in the Italian Renaissance. Albert Russell Ascoli. New Yor: Fordham University Press, 2011. Pp. x + 387. This volume is a collection of nine essays on canonical authors of the Italian Renaissance: Petrarch, Boccaccio, Machiavelli, Ariosto, and Tasso. Eight of these essays have appeared separately in print in various journals between 1990 and 2008 and are here only minimally revised; one, on Petrarch's Familiarum Rerum, is new. Nonetheless, they do indeed form a collection unified in at least four ways. One is simply the cross-referencing among what their author now calls "chapters": an essay on Machiavelli's Clizia, for example, refers to the one on Boccaccio's Decameron 7.9, a tale which furnished some of the meanings of character names in the play. A second is the sharing of themes across essays: issues such as the relationship to patrons and politics, or male representations of women and of gender, reappear several times, inviting these chapters to "talk to each other" (12). A third way is the similarity of method: close reading of a passage, involving a pursuit of intertextual traces and the significance of names, then broadened out to display the implications of its issues for the work more generally. In this regard we see the reading process of one very fine reader at work on a number of important texts, whose authors certainly were reading one another. The fourth is a theoretical framework, indicated in part by the title of the volume: drawn from Theseus's reference in A Midsummer Night's Dream to the poets' giving of specific names and places to the products of their imagination, it introduces a series of discussions, strewn throughout the volume, on the interrelatedness of literature and history, fiction and reality, imagination and memory, and thus also of formalist and historicist approaches to reading. Ascoli strongly suggests that not only he but also the writers he discusses were engaged in reflecting on these interrelationships. Most of the essays take up this interrelationship in one way or another. The opening essay, on Petrarch's "Mont Ventoux" letter, compares how Petrarch situates himself there in an unresolved middle that fails to come to closure with how this letter has been used by modern scholars to situate Petrarch as the prime transitional figure between medieval and renaissance cultures. At the mountain's summit, gazing into the two directions of a historical past and a possible spiritual future, both offering themselves only to the imagination, Petrarch consciously confuses remembered fact and imagined fiction. Did he actually ever climb the mountain, and does that even matter? His ascent, framed at the bottom and top by Petrarch's readings of other texts, provides a splemdid introduction to the theoretical heart of Ascoli's volume. The first of two essays on Boccaccio similarly reflects on how that writer has been situated historically, in this case by Auerbach's Mimesis. Ascoli presents two interpretations of Auerbach's description of the Decameron, one of which has been rightly rejected, but the other of which recuperates a more sensible assessment. This in turn leads to a discussion of two modes of literary history: one that inquires into meanings at the time of composition, and the other that traces the meanings projected backwards by subsequent literature and its imagined history. Ascoli claims that Boccaccio was already commenting –though quite differently from Auerbach-- on the connection or, in this case, disconnection between style, genre, and content, or literary form and its offered reality; thus Boccaccio can be seen with Auerbach in a two-way conversation. The essay on Boccaccio's story of Lidia and Pirro takes off from the suggestion that Pirro's name evokes not only the story's pear tree but also the Greek general Pyrrhus, a link that serves to explain for the first time Boccaccio's choice of the name Nicostrato. Besides the reality of these Greek generals, the "pyrrhic victory" of one reflects the Boccaccian etymology of the other, producing a theme of winning which is also losing. This theme, applied to both class and gender power conflicts, is then seen to spill over from the tale to the pair of sixth and seventh days in the Decameron, including significantly the singing about Arcita and Palemone at the end of the seventh day. Like Machiavelli, Boccaccio "recuperates traditional power relations under the guise of dismantling them" while at the same time he "lays bare the mechanisms by which such recuperation is effected." The second essay on Petrarch, and the one new essay in the book, considers the structure of Rerum Familiarum Libri, book nineteen, for Petrarch's "complex staging of his relationship to the world of politics" (118) as both a public and a private figure. Ascoli sees Petrarch as trying simultaneously to draw and to efface the line between public and private and argues that any historical understanding of this issue requires attention to the letters' "elaborate rhetorical dispositio" (121). A chapter on Machiavelli's Prince lays out three goals for that text: of general wisdom, of more specifically situated advice, and of a gift by which the author hoped to create for himself some agency in Italian political history, that is, an attempt to turn knowledge into power. Machiavelli as the unarmed prophet seeks to join with the armed but visionless Medici ruler, while acknowledging the necessary failure of his project, which would require both attributes within one person. "Ariosto's 'Fier Pastor'" continues the problemic relationship of writer to ruler, in this case Pope Leo X, whom Ascoli finds linked by verbal echoes to the episodes of canto 17 and onward to Dante's Ugolino and Ruggieri. Setting forth several ways that scholars have approached the Orlando furioso. Ascoli argues that intra- and intertextual repetitions work against placing too much emphasis on narrative progression. He argues further that what most distinguishes Ariosto from Boiardo, the continual allusions to contemporary history and the self-reflective authorial insertions, make each other possible; once again the literary and the historical cannot be kept apart. The second Ariosto essay focuses on an episode at the beginning of canto 37 and its strange comparison of three stripped women to the monstrous male Ericthonius. A long discussion of Ariosto's ambivalent presentations of women and of gender differences brings in other parts of the poem. Like Boccaccio in the Pirro essay, Ariosto both displays and by displaying critiques the patriarchal envy and enmity towards women, suggesting the monstrosity of both sexes. The tensions between literature and history appear in Machiavelli's Clizia through the prologue's indication of repeated historical cases as the basis for the play, while eliding the obviously literary cases on which it demonstrably draws: not only Plautus's Casina but also Boccaccio's Decameron 7.9 and Ariosto's I suppositi, with reference as well to Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics. The issue of gender hierarchy returns together with the inextricable entanglements of history and literature. In the final essay, Tasso, like the other writers but in his own manner, confronts the unresolved place of his own poetry between imaginatively remembered history and historically situated fiction. Tasso's puns on "voto" as both "vow" and "empty" indicate the position of language as both performative within the real world and impossibly separate from it. Tasso's particular anxieties in this regard are compared with the attitudes of Dante and Ariosto, with Tasso positioning himself uneasily between the truth claims of the one and the fiction-weaving of the other. The empty holy sepulchre at which Tasso leaves us creates a nice closure by evoking the empty Borgo San Sepolcro of the volume's first essay, as Petrarch addresses his letter to a person who is no longer there; both poets leave us hanging between the possibilities of "absence" and "redemptive Presence" (55). These essays are rich in themselves and even richer in their interactions. The generous references to other scholarship offer additional benefits to the reader interested in any of these issues or authors. The intertextual links, analytic readings, and theoretical aims are all persuasively presented. What holds these essays together is also, however, what makes me hesitate: their tendency to make all these writers appear rather similar to each other and to Ascoli in their simultaneous weaving and unweaving of claims, defining and blurring of boundaries between the two books of World and Word. It would be hard to argue, of course, that these writers were not complex or not aware of the very issues dear to Ascoli: questions of how literature and history affect each other. This volume is indeed, as it promises, more than merely a collection of essays. Along with "Petrarch's Middle Age," "Boccaccio's Auerbach," "Machiavelli's Gift of Counsel" and "Ariosto's 'Fier pastor'," it offers us Ascoli's Italian Renaissance, a local habitation well worth the voyage. Janet Levarie Smarr University of California San Diego 
work_os7b5xzzijcohk4ar765rwgdqa	----	CHH volume 33 issue 3 Cover and Back matter + F O R T R E S S P R E S S CO CO 1 SEMINAR EDITIONS Writings from the Life and Thought of the Church since the Reformation £J T h e o d o r e G . T a p p e r t , General Editor A new paperhound scries making available significant writings from tlic history of the church and of theology since the Reformation. 3 3 .Students and general readers alike will appreciate the comprehensive m introductions and the careful annotations of the text. THE SO-GALLED HISTORICAL JESUS AND THE HISTORIC, BIBLICAL CHRIST By Martin K'ahler Edited, translated, and with an introduction by Carl E. Braaten Foreword by Paul J. Tillich This often cited but never before translated work speaks with new immediacy in our time when the question of the relation of historical criticism to the Christian faith is being raised again. $1.75 PIA DESIDERIA By Philip Jacob Spener Edited, translated, and irith tin introduction by Theodore G. Tappert The classic work, written in 1675, which inaugurated the Pictistic movement. Never before available in English, this plea for reform of the church made the author and his proposals famous. $1.75 c/s UJ CO Coming Spring, 1965 F R A T E R N A L A P P E A L By Samuel Simon Schmucker M E M O I R S By Vilhelm Beck £ F O R T R E S S PRESS 1 P H I L A D E L P H I A 1 9 1 2 9 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700116531 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700116531 https://www.cambridge.org/core Eight Philosophers of the Italian Renaissance PAUL OSKAR KRISTELLER A genuinely unified interpretation of Italian Renaissance thought emerges from this description and evaluation of the thought of eight pivotal figures: Petrarch, Valla, Ficino, Pico, Pomponazzi, Telesio, Patrizi, and Bruno. Based upon a series of lectures given at Stanford University under the auspices of the Francis Bacon Foundation in 1961, the essays not only discuss the life, writings, and main ideas of these eight thinkers, but also characterize through a connecting text the place each of them occupied in the general intellectual development of the Italian Renaissance. In the present work, the lectures have been revised and provided with references and a bibliography. $5.00 Anglican and Puritan T H E BASIS OF T H E I R OPPOSITION 1 5 5 8 - 1 6 4 0 JOHN F. H. NEW The long struggle between Anglicans and Puritans in 16th- and 17th- century England is here approached from a fresh standpoint. The in­ terpretation avoids the prevailing view that the basis of the Anglican- Puritan conflict was political and economic, and that the theological differences between the two groups were just rhetoric masking secular preoccupations. It suggests, instead, that these theological differences were the very essence of the conflict. The thesis of this book, then, is that differences over government and ritual, scriptural uses against traditional forms, were but manifestations of far deeper doctrinal dif­ ferences concerning the nature of man, the role of the Church visible, ex­ pectations of the sacraments, and eschatology. $4.50 Order from your bookstore, please S T A N F O R D U N I V E R S I T Y PRESS available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700116531 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009640700116531 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_ot6x6baiqbdq5eglzaufd5sqmi	----	Italy Made in Britain: Contemporary British Perspectives on Italian Culture Comiati, G. et al. 2018 Italy Made in Britain: Contemporary British Perspectives on Italian Culture. Modern Languages Open, 2018(1): 3, pp. 1–4, DOI: https://doi.org/10.3828/mlo.v0i0.195 ARTICLE Italy Made in Britain: Contemporary British Perspectives on Italian Culture Giacomo Comiati1, Martina Piperno2 and Kate Willman3 1 University of Warwick, GB 2 University College Cork, IE 3 University of Bristol, GB Corresponding author: Giacomo Comiati (comiatigiacomo@gmail.com) This special issue of Modern Languages Open is about how contemporary Britain perceives and imagines Italy, and how it mirrors itself in Italy’s image. It aims at interrogating the current clichés about Italy, showing how imagery about the country is multi-faceted and prismatic, highlighting areas of dialogue as well as tendencies towards stereotyping. It problematizes the images of Italy as it is seen in various layers of British society – from the media, to film, to politics – showing how the construction of the southern European country still corresponds to a horizon of expectations more than to reality. Initially inspired by the one-day conference Italy Made in England, held at the University of Warwick on 22nd February 2014 and funded by the Warwick Humanities Research Centre, this special issue emerges from an ongoing dialogue among a group of scholars whose work focuses on the interaction between Italian and British culture. ‘The Italy perceived by the British travellers is – at the least – “half-created” by them. Or, to put it in less romantic and more fashionable terms: it is a construction, an “Italy made in England”’ M. Pfister, The Fatal Gift of Beauty: The Italies of British Travellers This special issue of Modern Languages Open is about how contemporary Britain perceives and imagines Italy, and how it mirrors itself in Italy’s image. It aims at interrogating the cur- rent clichés about Italy, showing how imagery of the country is multifaceted and prismatic, highlighting areas of dialogue as well as tendencies towards stereotyping. It problematises the images of Italy as it is seen in various layers of British society – from the media, to film, to politics – showing how the construction of the southern European country still corresponds to a horizon of expectations more than to reality. Initially inspired by the one-day conference Italy Made in England, held at the University of Warwick on 22 February 2014 and funded by the Warwick Humanities Research Centre, this special issue emerges from an ongoing dialogue among a group of scholars whose work focuses on the interaction between Italian and British culture. Today’s Italy attracts international attention for a variety of reasons, ranging from socio- economic issues – its political instability and struggle to overcome the economic crisis, together with increasing consciousness of Italy’s issues around gender and racial inequality https://doi.org/10.3828/mlo.v0i0.195 mailto:comiatigiacomo@gmail.com Comiati et al: Italy Made in Britain2 – to questions focusing on artistic production and cultural relevance – see, for instance, recent international awards going to films such as Paolo Sorrentino’s La grande bellezza and Alice Rohrwacher’s Le meraviglie, as well as the transnational success of the television series Inspector Montalbano or Gomorrah, or of books such as Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels generating what has been called ‘Ferrante fever’ (McVeigh). Since our original conference in 2014, developments on the international scene have led to new observations about Britain’s relationship with Italy and with Europe more broadly, and pressing concerns have been raised that are relevant to the national identity questions addressed in this special issue, most obvi- ously as a result of the Brexit referendum. The success of Beppe Grillo’s Five Star Movement in Italy has been compared to the rise of populism in other European countries, and compari- sons have also been drawn between Italy’s former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi and cur- rent US President Donald Trump (Jebreal; Foot). Some have seen the Italian millionaire and media mogul as the forerunner of the rise of Trump, an argument that resonates with that made by Bill Emmott, former editor of The Economist, in his keynote address at the Italy Made in England conference, in which he suggested that Italy could be a seen as a pioneer for the Western world, rather than in terms of the traditional belatedness attributed to the peninsula. As this special issue also shows, Italy is a nexus of constructions that alternatively provides positive and negative examples that the British and the wider English-speaking world have used to reflect and try to understand their own anxieties and desires. Giving attention to the (mis)perceptions of Britain in relation to its European counterpart and to the distortions in Britain’s own self-image that these bring to the fore appears all the more urgent in the light of the Brexit process and the rise of anti-European and isolationist feeling in Britain today. Whilst a large amount of scholarly attention has been devoted to the image of Italy through the centuries,1 little has been written so far on how the British world perceives Italy today and how it has done so over the last few decades, whereas we focus here precisely on contempo- rary and very recent narratives, (re-)examining a number of stereotypes and impressions of the peninsula in today’s Britain. The time period covered goes back to the 1970s and 1980s – with Maccaferri and Costa’s articles examining British perceptions of Italian politics in those decades – then moves forwards through the 1990s and into the first two decades of the new millennium, looking at how Italy has been portrayed in the British press with reference to discourse analysis and issues of translation (Filmer), travel writing on Italy by British broad- sheet journalists (Willman), the performance of Italian identity for the British audience by the chef and television personality Gino D’Acampo (Wall) and, finally, a recent documentary on Italy made by the aforementioned Bill Emmott entitled Girlfriend in a Coma (Bassi). Whilst this special issue addresses different areas of contemporary culture – the press (tabloids, broadsheets and weeklies), travel writing, politics, television and film – similar themes run throughout the six articles. Tropes and stereotypes that have been used for centuries to high- light the differences between Britain and Italy – and between north and south – resurface in new forms, and may be used to praise or to criticise. Italian culture may be viewed negatively to confirm British superiority, or, conversely, it may be an object of admiration or a source of pleasure that brings to the fore British limitations, and the very same aspects may even be ‘read’ or performed in these contradictory ways simultaneously for different ends. 1 In particular, the relationship between Shakespeare and Italian culture has been extensively explored; see, for example, D’Amico or Marrapodi 2000, 2004 and 2011. Alternatively, scholarship has focused on Italy’s illustri- ous past and how it impacted on Britain, whether the golden age of the Italian Renaissance (Hale), or the era of the Grand Tour (Hornsby). Similarly, the ‘Internationale Forschungen zur Allgemeinen und Vergleichenden Literaturwissenschaft’ series by the Dutch publisher Rodopi deals with Italy through the centuries: from Pfister to Sandrock and Wright. Recent volumes by Carter and Sutcliffe deal with nineteenth-century perceptions of Italian unification. Comiati et al: Italy Made in Britain 3 The first two contributions focus particularly on comparisons between the British and Italian political scenes. Maccaferri shows that, whilst Italian communism was a source of inspiration for the Labour Party in the Thatcherite period, British discourse on Italy still relied on a series of binary oppositions to set up ‘Britishness’ against ‘Italianness’. In the same period, Italy was conversely being used as a negative paradigm to help understand British decline, which Costa analyses in his article. Yet, once again, we can see that how British commentators used the Italian example depended on simplistic oppositions between the two national identities, although these could be manipulated for different agendas, as illustrated by Costa’s analysis of the complex relationship that the politician Dennis Healey displayed towards Italy. From the 1990s onwards, it was Silvio Berlusconi’s politics that drew attention from many British commentators, providing easy examples of Italy’s backwardness in relation to Britain, which Filmer analyses through the three categories of anti-gay, sexist and racist, exploring British news discourse in the year 2013–14 and how translation and framing techniques had an impact on reporting on Italy. Willman’s article maintains this focus on the British press but through an analysis of how three broadsheet journalists – Tobias Jones, John Hooper and Tim Parks – have also engaged in travel writing that often displays a subjective, partial, even exoticising gaze on the peninsula, which problematises their role as commentators on Italian issues in respected publications. The final two articles in this special issue move into visual culture through the medium of television and a documentary film. Unlike the other contributions included here, Wall focuses not on perceptions of Italy through the lens of a British gaze, but on how an Italian in Britain – Gino D’Acampo – has performed his national identity and the stereotypes related to it in ways that have brought him both advantages and disadvantages. Finally, Bassi shows that the gendered metaphor in Emmott’s documentary Girlfriend in a Coma harks back to a centuries-old characterisation of Italy as weak and feminised, in need of stronger capitalist powers to ‘rescue’ it from its recent crisis. The interdisciplinary approach of this issue of MLO has a double effect: opening Italian studies up to a transnational perspective, and presenting Italy as a model for finding a meth- odology for different nations and disciplines to examine the export of culture abroad. By including specialists from a diverse range of fields, we aim to broaden our understanding of what Italian studies are (or might be), as well as to probe wider questions about the nature of the reception and of the fragmentation and standardisation of cultural features beyond national borders in today’s world. Scholars have recently engaged with more interdisciplinary perspectives to read the peculiarity of Italy as a way of addressing wider questions, as seen in the 2014 Society of Italian Studies Interim conference, Interstitial Italy: Reassessing Global Questions Through the ‘Peculiar’ Italian Case, or the activities of the AHRC-funded network ‘Transnationalizing Modern Languages’, which has examined interactions between Italy and other cultures across the world through exemplary case studies. Considering this broader picture, this special issue could not be timelier in its aim to contribute to ongoing debates in the academic sphere, especially around the boundaries of Italian studies. Acknowledgements This special issue is the result of hard work not only from our patient contributors but also from the staff at the University of Warwick who helped us organise the original conference and bring this publication to fruition (particular thanks go to Jennifer Burns, Fabio Camilletti and Loredana Polezzi), from the various academics who helped in the peer review process, and from Modern Languages Open in generously supporting this publication. We should finally like to express our sincere gratitude to the Library of the University of Warwick for contributing to the publication of this issue. Comiati et al: Italy Made in Britain4 References Carter, Nick (ed.). Britain, Ireland and the Italian Risorgimento. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. D’Amico, Jack. Shakespeare and Italy: The City and the Stage. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2001. Foot, John. ‘We’ve seen Donald Trump before – his name was Silvio Berlusconi’. The Guardian 20 October 2016. https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/oct/20/donald- trump-silvio-berlusconi-italy-prime-minister (accessed 26 April 2017). Hale, John. England and the Italian Renaissance: The Growth of Interest in its History and Art Malden, MA, Oxford: Blackwell, 2005. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1002/9780470755709 Hornsby, Clare (ed.). The Impact of Italy: The Grand Tour and Beyond. London: British School at Rome, 2000. Jebreal, Rula. ‘Donald Trump is America’s Silvio Berlusconi’. Washington Post 21 September 2015. https://www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2015/09/21/ donald-trump-is-americas-silvio-berlusconi/?utm_term=.1b21cbf81443 (accessed 26 April 2017). Marrapodi, Michele. Shakespeare and Intertextuality: The Transition of Cultures between Italy and England in the Early Modern Period. Rome: Bulzoni, 2000. Marrapodi, Michele. Shakespeare, Italy and Intertextuality. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. Marrapodi, Michele. Shakespeare and Renaissance Literary Theories: Anglo-Italian Transactions. Farnham: Ashgate, 2011. McVeigh, Tracy. ‘Ferrante fever sees “dangerous” Naples turn into a tourist hotspot’. The Guardian 14 February 2016 https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/feb/14/ ferrante-fever-naples-tourist-hotspot (accessed 26 April 2017). Pfister, M. (ed.). The Fatal Gift of Beauty: The Italies of British Travellers – An Annotated Anthol- ogy. Amsterdam/Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1996. Sandrock, K. and Wright, O. (eds.). Locating Italy. East and West in British-Italian Transactions. Amsterdam/New York: Rodopi, 2013. Sutcliffe, Marcella Pellegrino. Victorian Radicals and Italian Democrats. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2014. How to cite this article: Comiati, G, Piperno, M and Willman, K 2018 Italy Made in Britain: Contemporary British Perspectives on Italian Culture. Modern Languages Open, 2018(1): 3, pp. 1–4, DOI: https://doi.org/10.3828/mlo.v0i0.195 Published: 22 March 2018 Copyright: © 2018 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. OPEN ACCESS Modern Languages Open is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Liverpool University Press. https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/oct/20/donald-trump-silvio-berlusconi-italy-prime-minister https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/oct/20/donald-trump-silvio-berlusconi-italy-prime-minister https://doi.org/10.1002/9780470755709 https://www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2015/09/21/donald-trump-is-americas-silvio-berlusconi/?utm_term=.1b21cbf81443 https://www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2015/09/21/donald-trump-is-americas-silvio-berlusconi/?utm_term=.1b21cbf81443 https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/feb/14/ferrante-fever-naples-tourist-hotspot https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/feb/14/ferrante-fever-naples-tourist-hotspot https://doi.org/10.3828/mlo.v0i0.195 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Acknowledgements References 
work_oteoyqdqpjburjcolcxqpgyjhy	----	The Brady Medal DAVID J. SIVETER Department of Geology, University of Leicester, Leicester LE1 7RH, UK (e-mail: djs@le.ac.uk) In 2007 The Micropalaeontological Society commissioned and awarded the Brady Medal, the first medal in the history of the Society. This report records the various stages in that process. The inaugural recipient of the medal, Professor John Murray of the University of Southampton, was presented with the award at the Annual General Meeting of the Society, held at University College London on 7 November 2007. THE NAME There was no shortage of ‘possibles’ when TMS committee had the nice but tricky task of deciding the name of the medal. The final choice of the name met with strong approval by all at the Committee meeting on 14 March 2007, at which the criteria and mechanism for awarding the medal were also agreed. The medal is named in honour of George Stewardson Brady (1832–1921) and his younger brother Henry Bowman Brady (1835–1891), in recognition of their pioneering studies in micropalaeontology and natural history. Their father was a medical Doctor and they received their early education at Quaker schools in the northeast of England. George Brady went on to become Professor of Natural History at Newcastle College of Physical Science and a Fellow of the Royal Society, and is best known for his work on ostracods. Henry Brady made his way as a successful pharmacist before turning full time to the study of micro-organisms, especially foraminifera; he also received the accolade of FRS. Over their entire adult lives they published what are now deemed fundamental contributions to the then emerging science of micropalaeontology. The microfossil collections that they dili- gently amassed, such as those obtained from the voyages of HMS Challenger, have proved no less important. Their legion of papers, monographs and reports form invaluable cornerstones of scientific reference today. THE SCULPTOR AND THE DESIGN Anthony Stones was commissioned to undertake original sculp- tures for the medal, which was to be cast in bronze. Born in Glossop, England, he attended Manchester College of Art and is a citizen of New Zealand, where he spent much of the early part of his career. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of British Sculptors and a past President (1999–2004) of The Society of Portrait Sculptors. His sculptures are in public and private collections world-wide. Examples of his work are the life-size equestrian bronze statue of the Roman Emperor Nerva in Gloucester; the commemorative life-size bronze statues of Captain Cook at the Royal Maritime Museum at Greenwich and Gustav Holst in Cheltenham; and portrait bronzes of the Nobel laureates Dorothy Hodgkin and Seamus Heaney at colleges of Oxford University. A group of life-size bronze statues to be sited at the Royal Enclosure at Ascot Racecourse in Berkshire, and eight 2 m-high ancient Olympic runners destined for the Olympic site in Beijing are works that will be unveiled in 2008. TMS committee considered that, if possible, it would be apposite to depict portraits of George and Henry Brady and a period microscope on the medal. As TMS Chairman, I visited Anthony Stones at his home in Oxfordshire on two occasions in order to discuss the design of the medal and then to help choose the final one from several prototype designs. On my first visit he Fig. 1. Anthony Stones with initial sketches for the Brady Medal (16 March 2007). Journal of Micropalaeontology, 27: 1–4. 0262-821X/08 $15.00 � 2008 The Micropalaeontological Society 1 produced initial sketches of the medal design within a minute (Fig. 1). Only two photographs, one of each brother, were available on which to base the portraits. The design and clay modelling of the Brady Medal presented particular objectives and challenges, as Anthony Stones has kindly documented for the archives of TMS (Letter, 5 December 2007): These days a coin or medal is designed and modelled several times larger than the finished object. This model is made in plaster by the sculptor and scaled down and engraved by technicians. In the case of the Brady Medal I wanted the hand of the sculptor to be present at all stages. To do this I went back to the original method of making a medal, which was brought to perfection in the Italian Renaissance. In this method the sculptor makes his prototype at the same size as the medal. The size I determined (85 millimetres) was on the same as the classic examples of the Renaissance. The design of the obverse, which required two portraits of equal status, presented a problem. In nine cases out of ten the obverse bears a single portrait. I made six different designs, with varying arrangements of the Bradys’ heads giving them equal status, and none of them satisfactory. Finally I overlapped the two profiles, giving the elder brother priority and providing the solution. They look to the right because this has a positive connotation. To have them looking to the left would have had the opposite effect. While modelling the two portraits I worked in many different lights (sunshine and artificial) and with the light coming from varying directions. The reverse has an image of the instrument which makes micropalaeontology possible, the binocular microscope. This one is based on drawings from antique specimens on exhibi- tion at the Science Museum in Broad Street, Oxford. The image stands on the area at the bottom of the reverse side of the medal, known as the exergue. Traditionally dates or symbols occupy this space and it seemed the logical place to have the name of the recipient engraved. I wanted a classical face for the lettering and looked for something as close as possible to the alphabet of Trajan as engraved on the column. The lettering had to be raised from Fig. 2. Rungwe Kingdom of Pangolin Editions foundry, Chalford, with moulds of the Brady Medal (23 September 2007). D. J. Siveter 2 the surface of the medal and not engraved, thus keeping in harmony with the raised reliefs of the portraits and the microscope. It is pleasing to record that in his letter to TMS (5 December 2007), Anthony Stones noted that, I am delighted that the Brady Medal was so well received. I rate the medal as one of my best works at this scale. . Again, thank you for making it possible for me to work on this challenging project and to reintroduce Renaissance methods into medal design. CASTING AT THE FOUNDRY The original clay sculptures for the medal were consigned to Pangolin Editions of Chalford, near Stroud, Gloucestershire, a craftsman company that Anthony Stones has used to cast many of his bronzes. Through the guidance of its founder Rungwe Kingdom, Pangolin is recognized widely as one of Europe’s leading sculpture foundries and one of the few that still practises the traditional skills of lost wax investment casting (Fig. 2). Pangolin also specializes in a wide range of patinas, some of which were used in the casting of the Brady Medal. The foundry undertakes casting for an international clientele and at any scale up to tens of metres (as in, for example, work by Damien Hirst and Lynn Chadwick). In September 2007 I was accompanied by TMS former Chairmen Professor Alan Lord and Dr John Whittaker on a visit to the foundry, to check on progress towards the comple- tion of the medal. Together with Rungwe Kingdom we toured the site and were treated to a fascinating insight into the casting process by viewing a wide variety of bronzes in the various stages of production. I collected the finished originals of the medal, four of which were produced in the first casting, from Chalford on 3 November 2007 (Fig. 3). Fig. 3. The Brady Medal. Fig. 4. The First Brady Medallist. The Brady Medal 3 It is, indeed, the case that each recipient of the Brady Medal receives a work of art, rather than a stamped medal as is the norm. THE FIRST BRADY MEDALLIST As its contribution to the bicentenary celebrations of the Geological Society of London, the 2007 AGM of TMS was devoted to the theme of ‘Micropalaeontological Heroes’. Appropriately, two of the five talks acknowledged the lives and work of the Brady brothers. TMS was also delighted that the President of the Geological Society, Professor Richard Fortey FRS, could be present and make a short address to the meeting. The Brady Medal is the highest award of The Micropalaeon- tological Society and is awarded to scientists who have had a major influence on micropalaeontology by means of a substan- tial body of excellent research. When it came to deciding who would prevail from the short-list of candidates, TMS was conscious of setting a ‘bench mark’ in the inaugural year of the award. So it was with great pleasure that the Society honoured John Murray (Fig. 4), in recognition of his seminal and sus- tained contribution to micropalaeontology, not to mention his distinguished service to the scientific and academic community in general. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The author is grateful to Anthony Stones for kindly providing his notes on the Brady Medal; to Alan Lord, John Whittaker and Michal Kucera for comments on the text; and to David Horne for Figure 4. D. J. Siveter 4 
work_ourgqjcxbvhyfagnhejs3rprxa	----	Microsoft Word - Introduction.docx Edinburgh Research Explorer Introduction Citation for published version: Bowd, S & Cockram, S 2017, 'Introduction: The animal in Renaissance Italy', Renaissance Studies, vol. 31, no. 2, pp. 183-200. https://doi.org/10.1111/rest.12299 Digital Object Identifier (DOI): 10.1111/rest.12299 Link: Link to publication record in Edinburgh Research Explorer Document Version: Peer reviewed version Published In: Renaissance Studies Publisher Rights Statement: This is the peer reviewed version of the following article: Bowd, S. and Cockram, S. (2017), The animal in Renaissance Italy. Ren. Stud., 31: 183–200. which has been published in final form at http://doi.org/10.1111/rest.12299. This article may be used for non-commercial purposes in accordance with Wiley Terms and Conditions for Self-Archiving. General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Edinburgh Research Explorer is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The University of Edinburgh has made every reasonable effort to ensure that Edinburgh Research Explorer content complies with UK legislation. If you believe that the public display of this file breaches copyright please contact openaccess@ed.ac.uk providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1111/rest.12299 https://doi.org/10.1111/rest.12299 https://www.research.ed.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/introduction(51313b21-c922-4ebb-95da-f9f3819f11d3).html 1     1 Introduction: The Animal in Renaissance Italy STEPHEN BOWD AND SARAH COCKRAM Until the publication of Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection (1859) the belief that human beings were created in the image and likeness of God and that all animal life was the result of divine creation ex nihilo shaped the general understanding of the relationship between humans and animals. In particular, humans were separated from other animals on the basis of their capacity for a high level of reason, and during the Renaissance it was even argued that humans could grasp something of the divine intellect by means of contact with angelic intelligences.1 The question of how humans could rise above the level of other animals, even that of the ape despite their shared characteristics, strongly marked discussions in history, philosophy, natural philosophy and other fields of human culture.2 Indeed, the question, ‘what does it mean to be human?’ was probably one of the most urgently and productively explored matters for scholars, writers, and artists throughout the premodern era. The men and women who engaged in this question generally employed a common language drawing on religion, philosophy, and history that only began to fragment during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in a complex process of specialization of knowledge about humans and animals. Recent developments in medicine and technology, from brain imaging to biotechnology, have again thrown up the problem of what it is to be human and have helped to decentre humanity. An era during which humanity was defined in relation to non-human animals may now be giving way to one in which it is defined in relation to 2     artificial intelligence.3 It is therefore no coincidence that an increasing number of researchers have been looking at the question of ‘being human’ from a variety of perspectives, not least historical. The history of animals is attracting increased attention and some scholars now speak of an ‘animal turn’ reflected in numerous specialized publications including book series such as Animalibus: Of Animals and Cultures (edited by Nigel Rothfels and Garry Marvin, and published by Pennsylvania State University Press). This turn was most precocious, and has been especially notable in medieval studies.4 However, since the publication of Keith Thomas’s seminal Man and the Natural World: Changing Attitudes in England 1500-1800 (1983), there have appeared a number of valuable edited collections addressing the early modern period,5 along with work in English literature,6 and studies on the history of ideas and science.7 Surprisingly, the production of literature on the animal turn in the context of the Italian Renaissance has so far remained relatively limited with the publication of studies on animals in art history,8 on beasts from specific continents or cities,9 and on animals in the domestic sphere.10 The best work on animals in the Renaissance draws from, and speaks to, both the fields of Renaissance studies and animal studies, and the endeavour to write animals back into historical experience has been accompanied by a number of important debates with broader historical and cultural resonances.11 First, should historians focus on animals as symbols, and as mirrors for humanity, or should the lived experience of animals be a priority in our research?12 The former approach is clearly anthropocentric but the latter produces an even thornier problem: do we need to accept that a gulf exists between ourselves and non-human animals that means that we cannot write the history of animals in and of themselves, and are forced by our sources and perception solely to write the history of human-animal relations?13 How 3     much of a problem is our species-bias (and, it might be asked, how different is this to the trap of subjectivity that all historians must face when trying to understand the interior life of another human being)?14 In turn, these problems raise questions about methodologies and approaches; the animal in our sources may be plain to see, or hiding in the margins. Some scholars have been methodical and imaginative in their pursuit of animal lives through documentary evidence (for example, wills, account books, diaries), others through literature or art, and many apply fruitful theoretical perspectives or collaborate with zooarchaeologists, scientists, ethologists.15 Consequent to the issue of finding the real animal in our evidence is that of agency. While compelling monographs have demonstrated how animals have shaped environments and human historical experience in profound ways,16 questions of animal agency remain prominent. As the recognition and growth of historical animal studies is compared with efforts to give a historical voice to other dominated or silenced groups, scholars may consider the extent to which animals were able to resist their orders (through recalcitrance, running away, biting) or to control humans in turn (through fear or indeed through affection). Alongside animals fighting back, we should also recognise the immense contribution of animal co-operation in farming and other human enterprises including warfare. We must continue to think about how animals experienced the past and the significance of this to animal lives and to the lives of the humans with whom they lived. Questioning the human-animal past, as it might be expressed, also adds to how we understand our relationship with the natural world today, for instance in terms of the boundaries discussed above, as well as in relation to current concerns about exploitation or companionship, which turn out to have been matters for lively debate in Renaissance Italy.17 4     The aim of this special issue on the animal in Renaissance Italy is to bring the fields of animal and Renaissance studies into closer dialogue and to consider ways in which human and non-human categories and relationships were constructed and redefined in relation to the question, posed recently by Benjamin Arbel: ‘Did animals have a Renaissance?’.18 It is especially appropriate for a collection of essays addressing this topic to appear in Renaissance Studies since it was Italian humanists who considered early, extensively and with considerable European influence the nature of humanity, especially the ‘dignity of man’, and the human relationship with animals. Renaissance humanists recovered ancient texts (such as Lucretius’ On the Nature of Things; Plutarch’s works on vegetarianism, and on the intelligence of animals; and Porphyry of Tyre’s On Abstinence from Killing Animals) and with them discovered a range of ethical stances towards animals that may have aided the eventual emergence and spread of new sensibilities and sensitivities towards animals. These discussions were influenced by colonization or contact with other peoples around the world, and they have significantly contributed to many modern concerns with, and categorizations of, humans and animals. Renaissance Italians were heavily influenced by ancient Greek and Biblical traditions that differentiated humans from other animals and assumed an unequal relationship. Unlike other animals man was created in God’s image and likeness (Genesis 1: 27) and possessed a rational soul. Man and woman’s possession of an immortal soul and religious instinct, as well as a reasoning capacity, erect posture, hands, and the ability to laugh or express themselves through spoken language were all presented as proof of human difference to, and superiority over, other animals. The brute beast lacked a mind or soul and in the view of René Descartes, men were the ‘lords and possessors of nature’.19 This hierarchical view of the human relationship 5     with nature, and the belief that animals were simply lacking souls or a religious instinct, often followed the medieval bestiary tradition in a projection of the bestial onto censured aspects of human behaviour such as lust or gluttony.20 As Alamanno Rinuccini wrote of the corruption of Florence in c. 1480, taxes were spent not on the common good but on ‘horses, dogs, birds, actors, sycophants, and parasites.’21 Nakedness or long hair were also considered bestial traits while clothing was presented as an essentially human attribute. The close proximity of peasants to farm animals also reinforced social prejudices about rustic backwardness and as Cecilia Muratori points out in her essay it was facetiously noted that hunters became savage and bestial as a result of prolonged periods in the woods with the animals. The association of evil and irreligiosity with the bestial also helps to explain the horror with which monstrous births were often viewed, as well as the presentation of the devil as half-man and half-beast and his succubi and incubi as animals.22 In a similar fashion Jews were frequently characterized by Christian writers as ‘swine’, pigs, or dogs and associated with the devil.23 Humanists concerned with the behaviour and virtues proper to man drew on such traditional Christian views of Jews and they sought to sustain their universalizing claims about humans in relation to the animal and the Jewish exception. As Andrew E. Benjamin has argued, both Jews and animals could represent external threats to the human since they were quite different in nature, imperfect, unnatural, and requiring subjugation.24 They were also indispensable to the process of definition of what was properly human, a definition based on differentiation according to both incorporeal and bodily characteristics. The medieval idea of the ‘perfidious’ or faithless Jew stubbornly impervious to conversion was therefore reinforced by natural philosophical presumptions about Jewish physiology. The menstruating male Jew and the ‘blood libel’, by which it was thought that Jews 6     murdered Christians and consumed their blood in order to remedy bodily stench, both conferred bestial traits on Jews and cast them more forcefully outside of the scope of humanity, effectively unassimilable by the love of Christ. Given the way the debate about humanity relied on animals and bestial traits it is no coincidence that the sixteenth century saw the birth of natural history as a discipline, and a veritable explosion of books dedicated to the description and cataloguing of all species of animals and plants. Firmly rooted in Renaissance culture, the emergence of natural history demanded knowledge of a broad range of classical authors and the mastery of observation and description.25 These skills constituted the methodological foundations of the discipline, and yet the examination of some of the most remarkable works of natural history of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries reveals the existence of a considerable number of ‘unreal’ or unusual animals. The analysis of how these liminal or hybrid animals were studied—either through observation and dissection, or through verbal and visual description when they were not physically ‘accessible’—allows us to investigate how early-modern humans advanced knowledge of their environment and discussed species that did not quite fit into familiar narratives. Once again, the key to this discipline was the process of ‘ensoulment’ and the perfection of God’s creation, two aspects at the core of what it meant to be human in the Renaissance. However, the ‘tentative’ and ‘contested’ nature (to quote Monica Azzolini in her contribution to this volume) of many observations, enquiries, and debates in this field is a useful reminder of the contested and incomplete state of knowledge about humans and non-human animals in this period. **** 7     In addressing the evidence of human-animal interaction and the place of the animal in Renaissance Italy, the contributors to this special issue consider a range of key questions about the ways in which Renaissance men and women understood themselves in relation to the animal kingdom.26 They offer striking and original conclusions which provide a fuller and more nuanced picture of the human and the animal in the Italian Renaissance and will stimulate and guide future research. The coherence of the areas of investigation covered in this volume and their congruity with each other lies not only in their relationship to the question of human-animal relations but also in their Italian and Renaissance foci. As so often in Italian Renaissance history, a single well-focused area of investigation can uncover a wealth of religious, political, intellectual, social, and economic themes. This diversity reflects the tremendously rich nature of Italian archival material but also the complex and interconnected reality of Italian society, as well as the well-developed relationship of Italy with the rest of the world. Contributions cover the period c. 1350-c. 1700 in order to aid comparison of long-term trends in Italian animal history and to allow for the possible revision of traditional chronologies of the Renaissance. The focus of the first four contributors is human-animal boundaries. Benjamin Arbel’s essay, which is the fruit of a larger research project on Renaissance attitudes to animals, addresses the ways in which comparative anatomy influenced Renaissance discussions concerning the nature and capacities of animals compared to those of humans. Arbel’s essay concentrates on the writings of Leonardo da Vinci, Andrea Vesalius, Girolamo Fabrici di Acquapendente, and Pierre Belon du Mans, all of whom can be considered as pioneers in the field of comparative anatomy and it raises questions of perodization by suggesting how empathy for non-human animals grew 8     during the Renaissance. The insights that his chosen figures derived from their experience in dissections of animal bodies are examined against the background of changing sensitivities with regard to animals, which have already been observed in other writings of the same period, particularly literary works. Rather than going into a detailed comparison of anatomical findings, Arbel’s paper focuses on perceptions that transcended strictly anatomical knowledge, particularly on reflections concerning the possibilities of an animal soul, animal intelligence and animal language. The men studied by Arbel sometimes broke the barrier of skin or fur in their practical investigations or scholarly deliberation in order to cross the divide that traditionally separated human and non-human animals. In doing so they had to challenge deeply-held assumptions. Leonardo da Vinci questioned the idea that the possession of hands elevated humans above other animals and he recorded with fascinated horror the bestial in cannibals who might stoop to consuming the genitalia of their fellow creatures. Four decades later in Padua, Andrea Vesalius’ studies of the brain produced no physical evidence for the immortal ‘rational soul’ thought to distinguish humans from animals, while Girolamo Fabrici, who held the chair of anatomy and surgery at Padua from 1565 claimed that non-human animals possessed a form of language. The rudimentary natural language of animals may have been restricted to voiced expressions of passionate feeling but, he argued, it might be understood by those humans with a sufficiently developed sense of empathy. The following article, by Cecilia Muratori, also shows some apparently unconventional attitudes to animals from Renaissance thinkers. In her study of the place of animals in Italian utopian literature Muratori shows how animals populate a range of texts, including works dealing with ideal cities and imagined parallel worlds. She investigates the ways in which the narratological device of displacing the human- 9     animal relationship into an imaginary world enabled an approach to the theoretical question about the difference between humans and animals, as well as to the ethical one regarding human attitudes towards, and use of, animals. The presence of animals is a neglected aspect of such texts despite the extensive body of scholarship on utopian literature. Muratori argues that it is this specific combination of ontological issues and very practical remarks which makes these texts a particularly important case study for reconstructing Renaissance philosophical discussions on the status of animals. The problem of the human-animal divide and the question about human uniqueness thus appear alongside the discussion of topics such as how to preserve health in an ideal city or suggestions about the best diet for its citizens (and how this might be based on animals as food, for instance). Such concerns directly involve the assessment of human relations to the world of animals, included in these imaginary cities or worlds as co-inhabitants, as sources of calories, as living beings which share in various ways the same space as humans, and also as mirrors onto which the definition of humanity as a special animal is projected. This Renaissance ‘thinking with animals’ (to paraphrase the anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss)27 brings the real into sharper focus by considering the ideal or utopian. Muratori’s article moves from the ironic comments of Ortensio Lando in a volume of funeral sermons for animals, in which beloved companion animals become material for human medicine, to reflections on the division between human and non- human. The broader implications for Renaissance Italian history may be noted here. For example, the violent or cruel treatment of animals deplored in Thomas More’s Utopia (translated into Italian by Lando in 1548) raises questions about the debilitating effects on humans of this behaviour and calls to mind the horrified reactions of Italians to the atrocities of the Italian Wars. For example, the historian 10     Francesco Guicciardini suggested that the year 1508, in which the League of Cambrai against Venice was formed, marked a new phase of the Italian Wars as the violence spread more widely among the people and reached its apex in 1527, when Rome was sacked by imperial troops: But now the door opening to new discords in the future, there followed throughout Italy, and against the Italians themselves, the cruelest accidents, endless murders, sackings and destruction of many cities and towns, military licentiousness no less pernicious to their friends than to their enemies, religion violated, and holy things trampled under foot with less reverence and respect than for profane things.28 The alleged cannibalism exhibited by soldiers during these wars demonstrated a failure of human reason and a descent into the bestial.29 In turn, soldiers could be regarded as the lowest of earthly creatures; at the siege of Metz in 1552 the Emperor Charles V compared them to ‘caterpillars, insects and grubs which eat buds and other fruits of the earth.’30 In Anton Francesco Doni’s utopian I mondi [The Worlds] (1552-3) the bestial nature of men is further highlighted and the conventional hierarchy of rational human animal and irrational non-human animal reversed with reference to recovered classical ideas of the transmigration of souls. The passage of a soul through incarnation as a frog, a horse, and the philosopher Pythagoras might encourage an ethical abstinence from meat eating in humans while the ensouled horse, described by Doni, could overturn traditional hierarchies by virtuously committing suicide like an equine Lucrezia following its mistreatment by a human rider. In Francesco Patrizi’s La città felice [The Happy City] (1553) beasts and their labours are offered up for appreciation – they contribute sustenance and sweat to support the basic needs and 11     happiness of human society. However, the service they supply is secondary to the civilized association of humans in cities. As Patricia Lurati observes of the ‘wild men’ evident in Renaissance art and literature: ‘[A] wild nature was ascribed to his living outside humanity’s civilized order and to his hairy body, the latter being the most evident mark of his untamed temperament.’ Conversely, the human pursuit of happiness, which is the exercise of virtue in the ideal city, reveals the divine origins of humans. As Muratori concludes: ‘As food, animals project onto the utopian society the violence of exploitation that they suffer in this world; as backdrop for the conception of happiness, they prompt a re-assessment of human uniqueness.’ The dynamics of this unequal but polar relationship offer new insights into Renaissance cultural production.31 For example, in what may constitute a commentary on this animal/human split between body and spirit, Titian’s Young Woman with a Fur (Fig. 1) juxtaposes soft fur with smooth flesh, white skin with dark sable. Like the possession of live exotic animals, the ownership of wild animal furs in Renaissance Italy was a sign of prosperity and status. In addition to great expense, these furs signified the owner’s station in exemption from sumptuary restrictions on luxurious items of clothing. Though the wearing of fur was standard for Renaissance elites (and was often proudly displayed in portraits) there has been very little work on its relationship to the international trade in animals and their skins; on the cultural meanings of different types of fur; or, indeed, on what donning the fur of an animal in the first place may indicate about the wearer. INSERT FIGURE 1 HERE 12     In her essay Patricia Lurati reveals that the messages projected by the wearing of fur are ambiguous, potentially combining status with sexuality and vice. Lurati tells us why valuable skins were often used as linings for clothing with the fur on the inside rather than on prominent show, as might be natural to a modern sensibility attuned to ‘bling’ or conspicuous display. Lurati suggests that visible fur on the outside of the garment could raise an alarming series of moral questions concerned with the animal origin of fur and the wearer’s relationship to the animal world. She demonstrates the contemporary connections between fur, hairiness, eroticism and sin, and the concomitant links between base sexual appetites and the bestial. In a culture that portrayed sinister, carnal creatures such as satyrs, centaurs, wild men, and devils with hairy bodies, fur-covered clothing was therefore a suggestive addition to the body. Giving evidence from an array of sources including images and literature such as Giovanni Boccaccio’s Decameron (1353) and Lorenzo de’ Medici’s Canti carnascialeschi [Carnival Songs] (c. 1470-90), Lurati’s essay delves into the complex meanings attributed to fur beyond its magnificence and practical significance. In particular, she explores the visual and symbolic associations with animality and sex that inhibited its open display, and draws attention to the equations of fur with male and female genitalia (as in the pelisse of the essay’s title) in the hints of fur provocatively revealed by slits in clothes described by a preacher as ‘finestrelle dell’inferno’, or ‘windows of hell’. It is little wonder that respectable people would wear fur on the inside of their attire (as they might also have a companion animal, such as a cat or lapdog carried within their sleeve or clothes),32 and that the sensuality of the proximity of that fur – live or dead – to their skin might arouse a range of feelings from moral discomfort to tactile pleasure and warmth to pride in magnificence. 13     While in the Middle Ages viewing or experiencing such displays of magnificence was often considered decidedly sinful, the Renaissance revival of neo- Platonism valorized beauty as perceived through the eye. Renaissance medical and humanistic texts considering the anatomy, appearance and functionality of the eye therefore represent a productive site for examining contemporary conceptions of the relationship between humans and animals. Many of these texts repeat the dictum that the eyes are the windows of the soul. Eyes thus make visible humankind’s immortality and connection to God, and debates concerning the eye permitted writers to frame the human as a liminal zone between the celestial realm and the animal world. Human eyes might also be distinguished from those of animals in aesthetic terms. The Pisan humanist Simone Porzio, for instance, following Aristotle’s discussion of eyes in the Generation of Animals, argued that humans, unlike animals, possessed a variety of eye colours. This trait could only be found in one other species, according to Porzio, and this, unsurprisingly, was the noble horse. Nonetheless, when Porzio and other sixteenth- and seventeenth-century writers set out to classify distinct eye colours and to define their associated characteristics, they relied upon the anatomical and natural historical treatises of Galen and Aristotle, developing these categories with reference to various animal species, including sheep, goats and lions. In fact, the latter two species lent their names to distinct hues of eyes, caprino and lionato. The significance of this linkage between eye colour and animal species gave rise to considerable debate, as physiognomists argued, for example, about whether or not those with goat-coloured eyes, occhi caprini, appropriated goat-like behaviour (either intelligence or stupidity). At the same time, humanist writers and physicians examined the question from the perspective of humoral medicine and human difference. The Sienese physician, Giulio Mancini, departing from the 14     physiognomical theories of writers such as Giambattista della Porta, loosened the association between a specific eye colour and the animal it resembled to provide a more subtle account of the relationship between eye type and character. He argued that in humans goat-coloured eyes constituted a sign of a universal aesthetic and biological superiority, yielding greater powers of vision and longevity of eyesight. At the same time he believed that this hue revealed that the brain possessed a qualitatively better temperament. If examination of human eyes offered insights into the nature of their owners, what of the eyes of the other animal whose eye colour varied? In her essay Frances Gage considers the 1692 treatise by the Venetian Marino Garzoni, L’arte di ben conoscere e distinguere le qualità de’ cavalli, d’introdurre, e conservare una razza nobile, e di resanare il cavallo da mali . . . [The Art of Knowing and Distinguishing the Qualities of Horses Well, and Introducing and Conserving a Noble Race, and of Healing the Horse of Sicknesses . . .]. In this work Garzoni suggests that an owner should seek a horse with eyes that are ‘black, large, clear, jovial, placid and human’. Gage demonstrates that the aesthetics of the perfect horse eye reflected perceived desirable national and ethnic identities in the human realm. Like several other contributions to this volume, Gage’s essay also shows the porosity of the human- animal boundary, revealing of intimate and practical real-life relationships with horses. The buyer might use the horse’s eye as a channel by which to rate a prospective purchase and find the right steed for war or peacetime. The horse was a subordinate who was able to be understood and to understand what was required of him or her. This quasi-humanity was also recognized in the individuality of horses and in their temperaments and feelings, while the potential for human-animal 15     understanding was contained in the equine eye, which was able to show ‘the quality of its heart’. The two final contributors to this special issue develop Gage’s questions about the human-animal divide and attempts to understand or explain the natural world and apply its secrets to human society. The communication of knowledge about animals and its application is central to Sarah Cockram’s essay about the historiographically- neglected role of handlers of exotic animals in Renaissance Italy. The expertise of the animal handler was highly valued by Italian rulers such as the Gonzaga of Mantua whom Cockram has studied in previous work.33 Exotic animal handlers, like the servants sent to make notes on whales discussed by Monica Azzolini in her essay, were part of a ‘plurality of oral sources’ (as Azzolini puts it) and international ‘brokers of knowledge’ (as Cockram prefers) travelling across great distances with cheetahs, lions, giraffes, elephants, and other charismatic megafauna. The globalized nature of the Renaissance world revealed by this trade is especially clear in the celebrated example of Hanno the elephant who arrived in Rome in 1514 with Moorish mahout and Saracen guide. In this way, Cockram’s essay contributes to the work of microhistorians and historians of trading diasporas, including Francesca Trivellato, who have recently sought to bring local and global scales of historical interpretation together.34 The market in Italy for such demanding and expensive beasts from around the world is not hard to explain: they were symbols of power, evidence of wealth, and tokens of prestige for rulers jockeying to establish or to extend their shaky authority. At the highest level these animals acted as tools for international diplomacy along lucrative east-west trading routes. Here the animal handler may be compared to another neglected figure, the ambassador’s secretary who was a repository of vital 16     information and subtle power. Ocem, who accompanied a rhinoceros from Goa to Portugal in 1514, was a richly rewarded royal servant, while the cheetah keeper (pardero) Battista da Bataino travelled from Ferrara to the French court in 1479 with a beast requested by the king and furnished with the expectation of political rewards for Ercole d’Este. On important diplomatic occasions animals like the cheetah could be set running or hunting and the pardero was responsible for ensuring no diplomatic incident arose as a result of a lack of bestial cooperation. The handler’s ability to communicate with his exotic charges, and theirs with him, was indispensable to the success of this relationship. It is worth speculating about the extent to which their example might have contributed to discussions about human-animal communication, which had a venerable pedigree.35 For example, Pliny the Elder stated of the elephant in his Natural History: ‘It understands the language of its country and obeys orders, remembers duties that it has been taught … They are also believed to understand the obligations of another’s religion in so far as to refuse to embark on board ships when going overseas before they are lured by the mahout’s sworn promise in regard to their return.’36 The claim that elephants understood human speech was also made about Hanno the elephant in 1514 on the basis of observation of his interaction with his mahout, and further research may reveal other examples of the way in which such interspecific relationships informed and shaped debates about human-animal understanding, empathy, or communication during the Renaissance.37 Like the skin of the Medici giraffe kept for its wondrousness, exotic specimens might posthumously make their way into collections of naturalia and drive natural historical investigations. In the past two decades a rich historiography of science has flourished around works such as Conrad Gessner’s monumental Historiae animalium [The Histories of Animals] (first published in 1551-8), Ulisse Aldrovandi’s 17     encyclopedic studies of animals, and the Academy of the Lynxes’s Thesaurus Mexicanus [Mexican Treasure] (published only in part in 1628, and then in a complete but revised edition in 1651).38 Each of these works took as its point of departure the exploration of the animal kingdom and is notable for the number of its illustrations. Yet, what makes these printed sources remarkable and, to a degree, surprising, is that this scientific enterprise—seemingly based on the accurate and detailed study of an unprecedented number of animals—includes a series of ‘unreal’ animals in the midst of the real. Gessner’s monocerote (or unicorn), Aldrovandi’s chimera or gallus monstrificus (four-footed cock), Cassiano del Pozzo’s fearful lamia (an anthropophagous fish) or two-headed amphisbaena (a type of snake) are only some of the animal oddities that populate late sixteenth- and early seventeenth- century books. Freak animals and hybrids are also reported in the work of the seventeenth-century Jesuit Athanasius Kircher, while the bones of a giant feature prominently in the Roman collection of Cavaliere Francesco Gualdi, and a seaman skin (likely to be a mermaid-like male specimen) appears in descriptions of Francesco Angeloni’s Roman museum. The European encounter with new, exotic, and remote cultures generated a vast amount of literature, mostly penned by travellers, naturalists, and missionaries reporting back to Europe. This experience encompassed people, animals, plants and landscapes that had not been previously seen. New animals opened the possibility that others that had been discussed in the classical sources like Pliny the Elder’s Natural History, but never seen before, might actually exist and they revitalized the field of natural history in unprecedented ways. At the same time exploration introduced a whole new range of ‘unlikely’ animals that most Europeans had not seen with their own eyes. With their liminal status, ‘unlikely’ animals represented a challenge to 18     early modern ways of knowing; these may not have been treated by classical authors, and yet appear in the accounts of newly discovered lands. They may have been rendered visually and verbally, through drawings or first- and second-hand accounts, and yet remain ambiguous and mysterious. When visible, like the dracunculus monoceros, a supposed dragon owned by Maffeo Barberini (later Pope Urban VIII), they may have appeared as unique specimens or jokes of nature, and presented challenges of comprehension and classification. To this group one should add further animals that represented a puzzle to natural philosophers and anatomists: hermaphrodite rats, hyenas (also believed to be hermaphroditic), two-headed calves, and animals like the armadillo that were believed to be hybrids (according to Kircher this was the result of a porcupine and a turtle mating). In short, the ontological status of a considerable body of Renaissance animals was problematic. But why, exactly? Was it because of their rarity? Was it because of the lack of direct experience? Or was it because they did not fit into what was known already from classical sources? More importantly, did the study of these animals have an important heuristic function, did it ‘produce knowledge’, or should we consider it one of those dead alleys that punctuate the history of science? In short, the study of these animals provides a privileged point of entry into the proto-scientific mentality of the time and allows us to map early modern ways of knowing onto the natural world, helping us to understand why some forms of authentication and scientific ‘proof’ were considered more significant than others. In her essay Monica Azzolini demonstrates how local context and information exchanged orally came together with networks and written authorities to drive natural investigation and Renaissance knowledge about animals. Azzolini highlights the case of a whale discovered in 1624 dead in the sea near Santa Severa, north of Rome. This 19     whale, heaved onto land, examined and dissected, was discussed by Giovanni Bricci in his Relatione della Balena ritrovata morta vicino a Santa Severa … [Account of the Whale Found Dead Near Santa Severa …]. Bricci’s Relatione was a patchwork of information – derived from diverse sources, written and spoken, as well as examination of parts of the whale – and continued with a broader discorso on the topic of cetaceans. The Santa Severa whale is also discussed by the Lyncean Giovanni Faber in a section of his Novae Hispaniae Animalium Expositio in Rerum Medicarum Novæ Hispianiæ Thesaurus [Exposition of the Animals of New Spain in the Treasury of Medical Matters of New Spain], and Azzolini again draws out the importance of orality and a range of informants in the composition of this source in ways which contribute to current research in the field of oral communication in Renaissance Italy.39 The investigation of natural historians into cetaceans gives evidence of interaction between whales of the same species, for instance with their young, and with other species, such as the dangerous orcas. Above all, it shows the relationship of people with living and dead whales: sailors repelling whales with castor oil or encouraging whales to play; teams of men strenuously cutting up whales for blubber and oil; as well as the activities of the scientists themselves, studying whale behaviour, investigating news of beached whales (or having their servants do so), and receiving for analysis specimen whale parts, including the fins and baleen of the Santa Severa whale sent to the hospital of Santo Spirito in Rome. Azzolini also shows us the ways in which natural historians speculated about the origins of ambergris (was this whale sperm, vomit, excrement? Or an external product brought by whales from the depths?). This is another reminder of how animal products that human culture deemed valuable – such as ambergris, civet musk (see Cockram) or fur (Lurati), that could be 20     obtained either from a live animal or only from a dead one – dictated the interests and behaviours of humans towards certain species. In conclusion, these essays offer new ways of looking at the Italian Renaissance and point towards paths for future research. They provide insights into perceptions of human-animal boundaries and their permeability, for good or ill, opportunity or danger. Arbel suggests an empathetic crossing into the animal world. Cockram shows that proximity and understanding across the species boundary did not necessarily render humans bestial but could be valued, while by contrast Lurati highlights the moral perils of slipping over into the hairy animal state. Gage invites us to consider qualities of human and animal, and how such characteristics can be the same (ox eyes, submissiveness) or different between and among species (eye colour, temperament). The theoretical animal is here, as in Muratori’s utopian examples, but across this volume so is the animal as an identifiable individual: Frate Cipolla’s donkey; Hanno the elephant; or the Santa Severa whale. The essays seek to remind the reader of the relationship of Renaissance Italians to the animals all around them, of the significance of inter-dependence and of living alongside and among animals. Human attitudes to animals here range from the sympathetic, affectionate, interested, or awe-struck, to the patronizing, exploitative and dominating. Animal feelings towards humans are naturally harder for us to fathom, but also range from displays of affection to collaboration to rejection to aggression. Communication is a key theme: human to human communication about animals (through the spoken or written word or through images) as well as human communication with animals, and it will be fruitful to reflect further on how these animals communicated with humans as well as on communication between animals. 21     Sowing the seeds for other future work, the essays also strongly suggest how human violence might have been understood by Italians in relation to the non-human world during the Renaissance. Human cruelty was compared to the behaviour of animals and produced a range of texts and images which pessimistically bestialized humans and optimistically empathized with beasts. For example, in the light of his apparent empathy for animals it may be possible to understand why Leonardo da Vinci could write of the ‘most bestial madness’ of battles and elsewhere outline the way in which an artist should depict the corpses, blood, and death agonies of battle, concluding: ‘And see to it that you paint no level spot of ground that is not trampled with blood.’40 As Benjamin Arbel has observed: ‘The criticism against Man’s cruelty to animals often came from the same scholars who also criticized other aspects of their societies, such as war, slavery, and the attitude to other human races.’41 More research on the relationship between conflict and culture, and the social history of war may provide more nuanced insights by an examination of the role of animals in warfare, as symbols or mirrors of humanity and inhumanity, as active participants and as victims of violence.42 Future research will also increasingly find fertile ground where the animal turn meets the ‘global turn’ in historical studies (as suggested by Cockram’s essay in this volume) since both animals and knowledge of animals could cross large distances during the Renaissance. Such cultural exchange provides further evidence for the study of the ways in which the local and global met in Renaissance courts and cities and may also form the basis for comparative studies of European and non-European attitudes towards animals.43 As Benjamin Arbel has pointed out, European travel writers during the Renaissance sometimes remarked admiringly on the favourable treatment of animals in the East and cited these examples as a way of encouraging 22     improved attitudes in Europe.44 Knowledge and expertise about animals have emerged in these essays as important commodities, in courtly and scholarly contexts and beyond, and as drivers of the intellectual movements that underpin much work on Renaissance Italy. The study of the animal in Renaissance Italy can contribute to debates about the continuity between Renaissance and early modern concerns in natural philosophy and developing sciences. As Cecilia Muratori and Gianni Paganini have stated in a forthcoming volume of essays on this topic, it may be valuable to […] shift the weight from the problem of assessing the ‘modernity’ of Renaissance philosophers to the creation of a space of interaction between Renaissance and early modern thinkers in the spirit of ‘conversation’ […] By adopting this particular perspective it will be possible to cast light on the profound continuities that still remain between the two ‘periods’ despite the various elements of discontinuity that are also manifest.45 It is evident from the essays here that the study of the animal in historical terms can reveal striking continuities and discontinuities in human attitudes and non-human experiences and the debate about the chronology – or indeed existence – of a growth in human empathy for animals, to mention one key area, is far from settled. Finally, the problem of periodization unavoidably raises the question of definitions in any consideration of the Italian Renaissance.46 In this respect it is interesting to note that Pierre Belon, the sixteenth-century French naturalist whose work Arbel (as well as Cockram and Gage, in passing) considers in his essay is sometimes quoted by modern historians for his use of the term ‘renaissance’. In the dedicatory epistle for Les Observations de Plusieurs Singularitez et Choses 23     Memorables … [Observations on Many Singularities and Memorable Matters …] (first published in Paris in 1553) Belon wrote of the reawakening of the spirits of men after a ‘deep sleep of ancient ignorance’ and the ‘happy and desirable rebirth [renaissance]’ of ‘all sorts of good disciplines’ following the establishment of a seat of learning at Tournon.47 Belon’s grandiose claims were intended to flatter his powerful dedicatee, the Cardinal of Tournon, but natural historical ideas of the birth and rebirth of knowledge about human and animal have contributed to our modern understanding of the flux of time and they have shaped the origins and meaning of the term ‘Renaissance’ itself. The dialogue between animal and Renaissance studies, to which this volume contributes, may therefore lead to a new way of looking at that powerful and contested idea.48 University of Edinburgh University of Glasgow                                                                                                                 1 Lorraine Daston, ‘Intelligences: Angelic, Animal, Human’, in Lorraine Daston and Gregg Mitman (eds.), Thinking with Animals: New Perspectives on Anthropomorphism (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005), 37-58. 2 For an overview, which focuses on the ape-human comparison and provides a list of further reading, see Kenneth Gouwens, ‘Human Exceptionalism’, in John Jeffries Martin (ed.), The Renaissance World (New York: Routledge, 2007), 415-34. 3 Joseph Campana and Scott Maisano (eds.), Renaissance Posthumanism (New York: Fordham University Press, 2016); Carey Wolfe, What is Posthumanism? (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2009). 4 Joyce Salisbury, The Beast Within: Animals in the Middle Ages (London: Routledge, 1994); Aleksander Pluskowski (ed.), Breaking and Shaping Beastly Bodies: Animals as Material Culture in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxbow, 2007); László Bartosiewicz, 24                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   with contributions by Zsuzsa Miklós and Ferenc Gyulai, Animals in the Urban Landscape in the Wake of the Middle Ages (Oxford: Tempus, 1995). 5 Keith Thomas, Man and the Natural World: Changing Attitudes in England 1500- 1800 (1983; repr. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1984); Bruce Boehrer (ed.), A Cultural History of Animals in the Renaissance (Oxford: Berg, 2007); Matthew Senior (ed.), A Cultural History of Animals in the Age of the Enlightenment (Oxford: Berg, 2007); Erica Fudge (ed.), Renaissance Beasts: Of Animals, Humans, and Other Wonderful Creatures (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2004); Erica Fudge, Ruth Gilbert and Susan Wiseman (eds.), At the Borders of the Human: Beasts, Bodies and Natural Philosophy in the Early Modern Period (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002); Pia F. Cuneo (ed.), Animals and Early Modern Identity (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014). 6 Bruce Boehrer, Animal Characters: Nonhuman Beings in Early Modern Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010); idem, Shakespeare Among the Animals: Nature and Society in the Drama of Early Modern England (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002). 7 Fudge, Gilbert and Wiseman, At the Borders of the Human; Anita Guerrini, Experimenting with Humans and Animals: From Galen to Animal Rights (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003); Karl A. E. Enenkel and Paul J. Smith (eds.), Early Modern Zoology: The Construction of Animals in Science, Literature and the Visual Arts, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 2007); Karl A. E. Enenkel and Paul J. Smith (eds.), Zoology in Early Modern Culture: Intersections of Science, Theology, Philology and Religious Education (Leiden: Brill, 2014). 25                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   8 Simona Cohen, Animals as Disguised Symbols in Renaissance Art (Leiden: Brill, 2008); Mirella Levi D’Ancona, Lo zoo del Rinascimento: il significato degli animali nella pittura italiana nei secoli XIV-XVI (Lucca: Pacini Fazzi, 2001). 9 A selection of this literature would include Joan E. Barclay Lloyd, African Animals in Renaissance Literature and Art (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971); Giancarlo Malacarne, Il mito dei cavalli gonzagheschi: alle origini del purosangue (Verona: Promoprint, 1995); and Silvio A. Bedini, The Pope’s Elephant (Carcanet in association with the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation and the Discoveries Commission, Lisbon: Manchester, 1997). 10 Juliana Schiesari, Beasts and Beauties: Animals, Gender, and Domestication in the Italian Renaissance (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2010). 11 Erica Fudge, ‘A Left-Handed Blow: Writing the History of Animals’, in Nigel Rothfels (ed.), Representing Animals (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002), 3-18; eadem, ‘What Was it Like to be a Cow? History and Animal Studies’, in Linda Kalof (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Animal Studies. DOI:10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199927142.013.28 (accessed May 2015); eadem, ‘Renaissance Animal Things’, in Joan B. Landes, Paula Young Lee, and Paul Youngquist (eds.), Gorgeous Beasts: Animal Bodies in Historical Perspective (Philadelphia: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2012), 41-56 (also in New Formations, 76 [2012], 86-100); Dorothee Brantz (ed.), Beastly Natures: Animals, Humans, and the Study of History (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2010); and Linda Kalof, Looking at Animals in Human History (London: Reaktion, 2007). 12 On this issue, and for insightful perspective on other debates in historical animal studies, see Sandra Swart’s review of Brantz, Beastly Natures, on H-Environment 26                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   (November 2011): https://networks.h-net.org/node/19397/reviews/20598/swart- brantz-beastly-natures-animals-humans-and-study-history (accessed June 2016). 13 For this question see, for instance, Erica Fudge, Perceiving Animals: Humans and Beasts in Early Modern English Culture (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2002), 2-3. 14 See Daston, ‘Intelligences’; Thomas Nagel, ‘What is it Like to Be a Bat?’, The Philosophical Review, 83/4 (1974), 435-50; Jacques Derrida, L’animal que donc je suis, ed. Marie-Louise Mallet (Paris: Galilée, 2006). 15 See, for instance, Erica Fudge, ‘The Animal Face of Early Modern England’, Theory, Culture and Society, 30 (2013), 177-98 and ‘Milking Other Men’s Beasts’, History and Theory, 52/4 (2013), 23-5; Hilda Kean, ‘Challenges for Historians Writing Animal-Human History: What is Really Enough?’, Anthrozoös, 25 (2012), 61. 16 See for instance Virginia DeJohn Anderson, Creatures of Empire: How Domestic Animals Transformed Early America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004); Sandra Swart, Riding High: Horses, Humans and History in South Africa (Johannesburg: Wits University Press, 2010). 17 On exploitation see Muratori’s contribution to this volume. On companionship see Sarah Cockram, ‘A Cat in a Sleeve: Affection, Aesthetics and Proximity to Companion Animals in Renaissance Mantua’, in Sarah Cockram and Andrew Wells (eds.), Interspecies Interactions: Animals and Humans between the Middle Ages and Modernity (London: Routledge, forthcoming). 18 Benjamin Arbel, ‘The Renaissance Transformation of Animal Meaning: From Petrarch to Montaigne’, in Linda Kalof and Georgina M. Montgomery (eds.), Making Animal Meaning (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2012), 76. 27                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   19 René Descartes, Discours de la Methode pour bien conduire sa raison, et chercher la verité dans les sciences (Leiden: Jan Maire, 1637), Ch. 6. 20 Cohen, Animals as Disguised Symbols, Chs. 1, 2. 21 Quoted in Alison Brown, ‘Rethinking the Renaissance in the Aftermath of Italy’s Crisis’, in John M. Najemy (ed.), Italy in the Age of the Renaissance 1300-1550 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 252. 22 On the monstrous see, for example, Asa Simon Mittman and Peter Dendle (eds.), The Ashgate Research Companion to Monsters and the Monstrous (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2012); Lorraine Daston and Katharine Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, 1150-1750 (New York: Zone Books, 1998); Ottavia Niccoli, Prophecy and People in Renaissance Italy, trans. Lydia G. Cochrane (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 30-60; Stephen D. Bowd, ‘Pietro Bembo and the “Monster” of Bologna (1514)’, Renaissance Studies, 13/1 (1999), 40-54. 23 Joshua Trachtenberg, The Devil and the Jews: The Medieval Conception of the Jew and its Relation to Modern Antisemitism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1943); Kenneth Stow, Jewish Dogs: An Image and its Interpreters. Continuity in the Catholic-Jewish Encounter (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006); Claudine Fabre-Vassas, The Singular Beast: Jews, Christians, and the Pig (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997). 24 Andrew E. Benjamin, Of Jews and Animals (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010). 25 B. W. Ogilvie, The Science of Describing: Natural History in Renaissance Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006). 28                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   26 For a summary of work on this ontological problem see Derek Ryan, Animal Theory: A Critical Introduction (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015), Ch. 2. 27 ‘Les espèces sont choisies non commes bonnes à manger, mais comme bonnes à penser.’ Claude Lévi-Strauss, La pensée sauvage (Paris: Plon, 1962). See also Daston and Mitman, Thinking with Animals. 28 Francesco Guicciardini, The History of Italy, trans. and ed. Sidney Alexander (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969), 376. 29 William Eamon, ‘Cannibalism and Contagion: Framing Syphilis in Counter- Reformation Italy’, Early Science and Medicine, 3/1 (1998), 1-31. 30 Quoted in Richard Mackenney, Sixteenth Century Europe: Expansion and Conflict (Macmillan: Basingstoke, 1993), 77-8. 31 Jill Burke, ‘Nakedness and Other Peoples: Rethinking the Italian Renaissance Nude’, Art History, 36 (2013), 714-39. 32 Cockram, ‘A Cat in a Sleeve’. 33 Sarah Cockram, Isabella d’Este and Francesco Gonzaga: Power Sharing at the Italian Renaissance Court (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013). 34 Francesca Trivellato, ‘Is there a Future for Italian Microhistory in the Age of Global History?’, California Italian Studies, 2 (2011) at <http://escholarship.org/uc/item/0z94n9hq#page-1> (accessed May 2015); eadem, The Familiarity of Strangers: The Sephardic Diaspora, Livorno, and Cross-Cultural Trade in the Early Modern Period (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009). See also Leor Halevi, ‘Religion and Cross-Cultural Trade: A Framework for Interdisciplinary Inquiry’, in Francesca Trivellato and Leor Halevi, Catia Antunes 29                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   (eds.), Religion and Trade: Cross-cultural Exchanges in World History, 1000-1900 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 24-61. 35 Brian Cummings, ‘Pliny’s Literate Elephant and the Idea of Animal Language in Renaissance Thought’, in Fudge, Renaissance Beasts, Ch. 9. 36 Pliny the Elder, Natural History, Volume III: Books 8-11, trans. H. Rackham (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press), 3 (8.1). DOI: 10.4159/DLCL.pliny_elder-natural_history.1938 37 Cummings, ‘Pliny’s Literate Elephant’, 169. On understanding of the equine mind see Gage’s contribution to this volume. 38 For example, see Laurent Pinon, ‘Conrad Gessner and the Historical Depth of Renaissance Natural History’, in Gianna Pomata and Nancy Siraisi (eds.), Historia: Empiricism and Eruditio in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2005), 241-67; David Freedberg, The Eye of the Lynx: Galileo, his Friends, and the Beginning of Natural History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002). 39 For example, Stefano Dall’Aglio, Brian Richardson and Massimo Rospocher (eds.), Voices and Texts in Early Modern Italian Society (London: Routledge, 2017). 40 Leonardo da Vinci, Libro di Pittura. Edizione in facsimile del codice urbinate lat. 1270 nella Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ed. Carlo Pedretti, transcr. Carlo Vecce, 2 vols. (Florence: Giunti, 1995), 1: 218; 2: fol. 59v; idem, Selections from the Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci, ed. Irma A. Richter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1952), 185. 41 Arbel, ‘Renaissance Transformation’, 75 42 Stephen Bowd shall address these questions in more detail as part of a Leverhulme Trust-funded project on mass murder during the Italian Wars. 30                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   43 Marcy Norton, ‘Going to the Birds: Animals as Things and Beings in Early Modernity’, in Paula Findlen (ed.), Early Modern Things: Objects and their Histories, 1500–1800 (New York: Routledge, 2013), 53-83. 44 Benjamin Arbel, ‘The Attitude of Muslims to Animals: Renaissance Perceptions and Beyond’, in Suraiya Faroqhi (ed.), Animals and People in the Ottoman Empire (Istanbul: Eren, 2010), 57-74. 45 Cecilia Muratori and Gianni Paganini (eds.), Early Modern Philosophers and the Renaissance Legacy (Berlin and New York: Springer, 2016). 46 For example, the challenge to conventional periodizations and conceptualizations of the Renaissance lies at the heart of Guido Ruggiero, The Renaissance in Italy: A Social and Cultural History of the Rinascimento (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015). 47 ‘De là est ensuivy que les esprits des hommes, qui auparavant estoyent comme endormis & detenus assopiz en un profound sommeil d’ancienne ignorance, ont commencé à s’eveiller, & sortir des tenebres, ou si long temps estoyent demeurez enseveliz: et en sortant, ont iecté hors & tiré en evidence toutes especes de bonnes disciplines: lesquelles à leur tant heureuse & desirable renaissance, tout ainsi que les nouvelles plantes apres l’aspre saison de l’hyver reprennent leur vigeur à la chaleur du Soleil, & sont consolées de la douceur du printemps’. Pierre Belon, Les Observations de Plusieurs Singularitez et Choses Memorables … (Paris: Marnef and Cavellat, 1588), sig. aijv. For use of this passage see, for example, Lynn Thorndike, ‘Renaissance or Prerenaissance?’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 4 (1943), 68; B. L. Ullman, Studies in the Italian Renaissance (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1973), 25; and Amy Wygant, Medea, Magic and Modernity in France: Stages and Histories, 1553-1797 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 36. 31                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   48 Suggestive in this respect is Kenneth Gouwens, ‘What Posthumanism Isn’t: On Humanism and Human Exceptionalism in the Renaissance’, in Campano and Maisano, Renaissance Posthumanism, 37-63. 
work_owqg3eqzinconmr7mpy4fmjtje	----	The influence of surface complexity on judgments of area The influence of surface complexity on judgments of area 1 RONALD T. VERRILW2 AND CHRISTOPHER K. GRAEFF3 SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY Fig. 1. Surface configurations of the judged cards. The patterns from Group 1 through Group 4 represent an increasing order of complexity. Each group contained a series of nine differently sized cards. cards remained at approximately eye level. The illumination of the room was uniformly controlled at an average level. The Ss were asked to assign numbers that appeared to be representative of the area of each card. They were requested not to think in terms of standard units of measurement and to use any number, smaller or larger than one, that seemed to fit the area of the card. They were cautioned to judge the area of the card and not the area of the pattern. All cards of a specific group were presented three times for estimation according to a predetermined random order. Geometric means of the final two estimates were used for the analysis of data. The sequence of group presentations was also random. Stimulus cards, concealed from the S's view, were presented one at a time by the E, who was also concealed from view. No time limit was imposed for viewing each card, but most judgments were made within 1 min. The Ss closed their eyes during card changes. Six undergraduate students (three men and three women) were used. All reported having 20/20 vision, several w!~J, corrective lenses. With the exception of one .:: art or architecture students were not used since some sources indicate that people visually trained give visual data that is somewhat different from that given by untrained Ss (Thouless, 1932). The apparent size of squares was determined as a function of physical area and of surface complexity using the method ofmagnitude estimation. Apparent area increases as a power function of physical area with a slope of about 0.90. The judged areas also increased as a function of complexity of patterns upon the surface, the most complex surfaces being judged approximately 30% larger than the most simple surfaces. It has been noticed by one of the authors (C.K.G.) that certain surface qualities affect the apparent size of buildings. When cultural mores have motivated a desire for grandeur in certain periods of history, such as the Italian Renaissance, architecture has responded with, among other things, an increasing complexity of form and surface. In more recent times, Louis Sullivan and others have employed a technique that also appears to affect apparent size. This technique involves the compositional contrasting of small, rather complex and detailed areas of ornament with larger, less complex areas. Modern buildings, often stripped of surface ornamentation, present a smaller apparent size than is actually the case. The psychophysical method of magnitude estimation (Stevens, 1957) appears to be an appropriate means of submitting these observations to an experimental test. The quantification of size judgments has revolved mainly around the phenomenon of size constancy and other size-distance relationships (Holway & Boring, 1941; Gilinsky, 1955; and others). The development of the method of magnitude estimation led many investigators to examine the relationship of estimated area to the physical area of the stimulus (Ekman & Junge, 1961; Stevens & Guirao, 1963; Teghtsoonian, 1965). The relationship obeyed Stevens's power law and yielded exponents that ranged from 0.70 to 1.0, depending upon the experimental conditions and instructions (Teghtsoonian, 1965). The foregoing experiments used simple, unpatterned stimulus configurations. Although Gibson (1950) emphasizes the importance of texture in perception, most of the published papers dealing with surface arrays are limited to qualitative descriptions. Baird (1965) has studied the estimation of area and distance of patterned stimuli (black and white squares). His Os were asked to judge the physical area of single or multiple black regions on a white surface viewed with monocular regard through a reduction tube. Under these conditions, the results did not fit a power function well. The aim of the present experiment was to relate size estimation as a function of surface patterning, using the method of magnitude estimation. Specifically, two hypotheses were tested: (1) A uniform pattern does not greatly alter apparent size, and (2) a contrast of large and small compositional elements increases apparent size. It must be pointed out that these are two-dimensional surface considerations, not three-dimensional spatial considerations. The results, therefore, should not be interpreted as affirming or denying theories of three-dimensional space perception. METHOD AND PROCEDURE Four groups of nine square cards, having the following characteristics, were prepared, as illustrated in Fig. 1: Group I-no pattern, blank white; Group 2-uniforrn pattern, white with a random distribution of black squares of equal size; Group 3-white, with a random distribution of black squares, circles, and triangles, all of approximately equal size; Group 4-large and small compositional elements, white, with a random distribution of black squares, circles, and triangles of three different sizes. The ratio of the black pattern to the total area of the card was constant (20%) for all cards. For Groups 3 and 4, the number of squares, circles, and triangles of the same area was equal for all cards. Each group consisted of a graduated series of nine cards having areas of 16, 30, 49, 72, 100, 132, 169, 209, and 256 sq in. The constructed patterns were photographed and printed onto Kodak Poly-contrast paper to obtain uniformly black images on uniformly white paper. Reproduction ratio was held constant. The sheets were dry-mounted on stiff cardboard. The cards were presented to the Ss seated 5 ft ± 3 in. from a 30%-40% gray painted wall, where the cards were mounted, one at a time. The center of the D GROUP I GROUP m .. .... ~....:.:.::::: ::.;. =::-"i-.-:.- . -.::::::::::..:.-: ....... -:.......•: ..:~.. GROUP II ~~ .....~ . •••••••••... ...• ••.•••• -...A.- •••,.•••• iII GROUP m Perception & Psychophysics, 1970, Vol. 7 (5) Copyright 1970, Psychonomic Journals, Inc., Austin, Texas 289 Fig. 2. Subjective mapitude of squares as a function of physical area with complexity of the surface patterns as the parameter. Complexity of the Sllrface pattern increase. from Group I (no pattern) through Group 4 (contrasting large and small elements). Estimated area increases with surface complexity. RESULTS AND DISCUSSION The responses from Runs 2 and 3 were averaged for each S (geometric mean) and plotted. The geometric means obtained for each pattern group are shown in Fig. 2. Straight lines were fitted by the method of least squares. The slopes for all groups may be described as power functions with exponents of approximately 0.90. The addition of patterns of varying complexity does not appear to have an effect upon the rate of growth of apparent size, but the differences in the intercepts of the functions indicates that pattern does influence the apparent size of the stimulus. Both hypotheses are verified by the results. The close correspondence between the curves for Groups 1 (no pattern) and 2 (uniform pattern) confirms the first hypothesis: The addition of a uniform pattern to a surface does not alter its apparent size. The estimates of Group 4 cards (large and small compositional elements) were approximately 30% greater REFERENCES BAIRD, J. C. Area and distance estimation of single and multiple stimuli. Vision Research, 1965,5,66Hi78. BAIRD, J. C. Toward a theory of frontal-sized judgments. Perception & Psychophysics, 1968, 4.49-53. EKMAN, G. Two generalized ratio scaling methods. Journal of Psychology, 1958, 45, 287-295. EKMAN, G.• BERGSTROM. B., & KVNNAPAS. T. A comparison between two psychophysical scaling methods. Report of the Psychological Laboratory, University of Stockholm. No. 37, 1956. EKMAN. G., & JUNGE. K. Psychophysical relations in visual perception of length. area and volume. Scandinavian Journal of Psychology, 1961.2,1·10. GIBSON, J. J. The perception of the visual world. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1950. GIUNSKY. A. S. The effect of attitude upon the perception of size. American Journal of Psychology, 1955,68.173-192. HOLWAY, A. H., 8t BORING, E. G. Determinants of apparent visual size with distance variant. American Journal of Psychology, 1941.54,21·37. STEVENS, S. S. On the psychophysical law. Psychological Review, 1957, 64.153-181. STEVENS, . S. S.• & GUIRAO, M. Subjective scaling of length and area in the matching of length to loudness and brightness. Journal of Experimental Psychology, 1963, 66, 177-186. TEGHTSOONIAN, M. The judgment of size. American Journal of Psychology, 1965, 78, 392-404. THOULESS, R. H. Individual differences in phenomenal regression. British Journal of Psychology, 1932, 22, 216-241. NOTES 1. This study was supported in part by Grant GB-8412 from the National Science Foundation and Grant NINDB-NB-0395Q-07 from the National Institutes of Health. U.S. Department of Health, Education. and Welfare. 2. Address: Laboratory of Sensory Communication, Syracuse University, Syracuse. New York 13210. 3. The second author was a graduate student in the Syracuse University School of Architecture when the experiments were performed. He is curren tly on the architectural staff of Architecture 2001. 2001 Center Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (Accepted for publication Augu,t 20, 1969.) CONCLUSIONS The results support the view that estimated area is a power function of physical area. Furthermore, increasing the amount of complexity (pattern or texture) of the judged surface tends to increase estimated area. While a uniform pattern does not appear to increase the apparent area of a surface, the contrasting of large and small compositional elements significantly increased the apparent area of the surface. Caution must be observed in directly translating these results of t w o- dimensional surfaces to three-dimensional buildings, but the observation that ornamentation appears to affect the apparent size of buildings would seem to be consonant with the results of the present study. than those of Group 1 (no pattern), confirming the second hypothesis: A contrast of large and small compositional elements increases apparent size. The estimates of Group 3, which had a pattern of intermediate complexity, fell approximately midway between the simplest and most complex patterns used. The results clearly support the view that judged area is a power function of physical area. The value of the exponent falls within the range of previously obtained slopes, but it is difficult to make a direct comparison because a wide variety of instructions and experimental conditions had been used. Ekman et at (1956) and Ekman and Junge (1961), using the method of ratio estimation, obtained values of 0.86 and 0.92, respectively, for estimated area of squares. Stevens and Guirao (1963), using the method of magnitude production with a standard, obtained an exponent of 0.70 for squares, and Teghtsoonian (1965) obtained a value of 0.81 for irregular polygons by the method of magnitude estimation with a standard. 10( • GRouP I & GRouP n I GROUP m o GROUP ]][ ~~LOI'ES' 090 /...>~.. ~ 290 Perception & Psychophysics, 1970, Vol. 7 (5) 
work_oy3ftqopknhmtpmoge7shadtxq	----	English summaries Australia facing its Colonial Past I. MERLE In 1992, for thefirst time in its history, the High Court of Australia was presented with a case involving récognition of the ancestral land rights of an indigenous community, the inhabitants of the Murray Islands in the Torres Straits. The court ruled in favour of the islanders in the Mabo Case, creating a new légal category in Australian common law: native land rights, or native title. The décision provoked a storm of controversy in Australian public opinion. The repercussions of the décision went far beyond the spécifie case of the Murray Islanders as it amounted to a récognition of the "customary" land rights which ail indigenous Australians were held to inherit from the period preceding European colonisation. The ruling thereby overturned one of the fundamental légal principles of the Australian nation: the doctrine of "terra nullius". This article discusses the stakes in the current debate by reviewing the genesis of a "white " Australia based on the wholesale rejection of its first inhabitants through the légal doctrine that the continent was uninhabited before the arrivai of the Europeans. What was the origin of the idea of "terra nullius" and what did that principle mean? How was it applied and accepted as legitimate for more than two hundred years? In what circumstances was it finally overturned and what are the major conséquences of that ruling ? The Mabo Case points to a séries of historical and légal questions which hâve profoundly challenged the whole of Australian society, its perception of the country's past and the nation's conscience. The Body of a Sinner. The Price of Piety. The Politics of Adultery in Late Antiquity H. SIVAN Using Jérôme's Ep. 1 as a point of departure this article examines the légal définition of the crime of adultery in Late Antiquity. Underlying the exposition of the case narrated by Jérôme is an effort to relate légal théories to realities and idéologies to practicalities. The leading question is how did the moral wrong of adultery contribute to shaping relations between the governed and the government on the one hand, and the private and the public sphères on the other. This study also analyses Jérôme's own attempts to provide a Christian interprétation of a taie of adultery and a public exécution of an adultress. Séduction, Family Space and Authority in the Italian Renaissance L. MARTINES Based upon 251 taies by more than thirty writers, this essay examines family space in Italian Renaissance cities (c. 1350 to 1560). Seen in the context of parental 449 Annales HSS, mars-avril 1998, n° 2, pp. 449-451. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 05 09 88 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 07 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900050988 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms ENGLISH SUMMARIES authority, the thème and stratagems ofamatory séduction, whether by maie orfemale, focus the inquiry. Household space, window and door areas, going into the streets, and visits to relatives and churches are ail considered. Women of the propertied classes were supervised and kept mostly at home. Family space went where women went; it did not follow men. Given the extrême dangers involved, séduction was bound to be fearful. Closed domestic space encouragea real or imagined incest. Having corralled his women, the hégémonie maie was then haunted byfears ofwhat went on inside the enclosure. Fatma's Dilemma: Sexual Crime and Légal Culture in an Early Modem Ottoman Court L. PEIRCE In 1541, the judge of the court of Aintab heard the testimony of a peasant girl, Fatma, who had accused two young men of making her pregnant, and one of the two of raping her. The scénario that unfolded revealed that the râpe accusation was made at the urging of the mother of the young man who was actually the father. Fatma 's case is examined hère, not with the goal of resolving it, but rather as a complex site of conflicting légal principles and interests. By situating this case in the context of other cases of sexual crime in mid-16th-century Aintab, this essay contemplâtes the ways in which a local society interpreted and used the law to résolve moral and social problems. It argues that the local court, while functioning as an instrument for the enforcement of normative law, acted at the same time as an arena for negotiation of the very law it was mandated to enforce. The Search for a Historical Tradition: Early India R. THAPAR It has long been held that Indian society in ancient times was an a-historical society and therefore no historical works were written. This view was propagated by colonial writers who argued that they had to "discover" and reconstruct the past of India. This article indicates the existence of a historical consciousness in early India, referred to as the it ihâsa-purâna tradition. It has constituted of a variety of texts—généalogies, historical biographies, chronicles of kingdoms and of families, and of inscriptions issued by many dynasties, recording certain events. There was also a récognition of linear time as important to thèse records, even though a cyclic form was given to cosmic time. It would therefore be appropriate to investigate what was viewed as history in such a society. At the Edge of Médiéval Islam: Urban Elites and Islamization in the Algarve M. MARIN The article analyses the islamization of the extrême Western région in the lberian Peninsula (the Algarve). This process, while following the gênerai trends of the whole of the history of al-Andalus, présents certain peculiarities, among them a late development (by the second half of the 4th/10th century) of the scholarly activities of the "ulamâ". Reasons for this late appearance are proposed, through an exa- mination of Arabie sources which shows the establishment of Arab cultural models prior to the process of islamization itself. Finally, attention is given to the rôle 450 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 05 09 88 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 07 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900050988 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms ENGLISH SUMMARIES played by the "ulamâ" in shaping the Islamic character of society. As members of urban élites, scholars in the Algarve established their own family networks (mainly of non Arab origin), played an active rôle in local politics and, in a significant number of cases, displayed life styles of extrême asceticism. 451 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 05 09 88 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 07 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900050988 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms 
work_ozxd2ionwbfhbelz65jugccfu4	----	Postgraduate Medical Journal (1985) 61, 367-371 Book Reviews Advances in Nephrology from the Necker Hospital, Volume 13, 1984. Edited by Jean-Francois Bach, Jean Crosnier, Jean-Louis Funck-Brentano, Jean-Pierre Griinfeld, Morton H. Maxwell. Pp. xxiii + 383, illus- trated. Year Book Medical Publishers, Chicago, 1984. £55.50. This is the latest in a distinguished series of reviews based on the Necker Hospital's justifiably famous annual nephrology update. However, it is difficult to recommend this volume unreservedly as for a variety of reasons it fails to match many previous volumes in the series. It has fallen into the trap of many con- ference proceedings in committing every review to print, irrespective of content. Three chapters come into that category, relating to the strategies ofselecting various forms of renal replacement therapy and the results of renal replacement therapy in individual units. They add nothing to what has not been said elsewhere many times and will be familiar ground to all nephrologists. Of the remaining 15 chapters, seven are partly or wholly devoted to some aspect of anti- diuretic hormone physiology, and probably provide within a single volume the best state of the art review on this topic currently available. However, there is considerable overlap between these chapters and a stronger editorial hand in the final written manuscript would have been useful. That leaves a miscellany ofeight other topics for the remaining chapters. These include a comprehensive and readable review of thrombosis in nephrotic syn- drome and an interesting article about granulomatous interstitial nephritis. The remaining chapters unfor- tunately cover topics which have been adequately reviewed in other publications elsewhere and while eminently suitable for inclusion in a symposium, appear in print as thenow familiar review ofother reviews. A final infuriating aspect of the book is its organisa- tion. Several chapters would fit quite happily in sequence, but instead are scattered throughout the book, thechosen order being devoid of any discernible logic. At £55.50 for less than 400 pages this is an expensive way of buying perhaps half a dozen useful review articles. If this respected series is not to grind to a halt, radical change in editorial policy would seem to be necessary. Anthony Nicholls Royal Devon & Exeter Hospitals Exeter Devon From Neuron to Brain: A Cellular Approach to the Function of the Nervous System, Second edition. Stephen W. Kuffler, John G. Nicholls and A. Robert Martin. Pp. xix + 651, illustrated. Sinauer Associates, Sunderland, Massachusetts, 1984. £14.80. This excellent book, now deservedly in its second edition, achieves admirably its intentions ofdelivering the nuts and bolts of neurobiology palatably. It is dedicated to Steven Kuffler, the senior contributor to the first edition, who tragically died during the re- writing. A brief obituary is included, but the impor- tance of his wide ranging contribution to neuros- cience can be seen scattered throughout the pages of the book. The volume moves from the analysis of nerve signals through mechanisms for signal produc- tion and transformation of neural information to explanations of the higher integrative mechanisms of the nervous system, weaving a rich and vivid tapestry which befits a contemporary description of Sherring- ton's Enchanted Loom. The book has a first-rate glossary, a valuable bibliography and useful appen- dices dealing with electrical circuitary and points of neuro-anatomical difficulty. There is much of relevance for the clinician here, with new sections on neuro-peptides, demyelination and re-myelination mechanisms, the development of monoclonal antibodies to netual components and transplantation techniques in the central nervous system. This new edition uses more 'boxes' to highlight important concepts and there is a lavish supply of technical figures and daguerreotypes depicting the great men of neuro-biology. The book is set in Palatino, a face inspired by the typography of the Italian Renaissance which is pleasing to the eye and seems to aid the digestion of complicated concepts. I suspect this volume will sell best to enquiring undergradiuates, but it would also prov useful to all those nerologsts and neuroswgeos who would like to consider themselvs as c$mical scieN. A.J. Lees Nationat Hospital, London WCIN 3BG HWospital piatirs;, Aithy D. MiIner and David Hull. Pp. vini + 412, illustrated. Churchill Livingstone, Edinburgh, London, Melbourne, New York, 1984. £24.00. co p yrig h t. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p g m j.6 1 .7 1 4 .3 6 7 -a o n 1 A p ril 1 9 8 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ 
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work_p4ogduqj7fcpjbtdkjgcubgoju	----	Microsoft Word - MJSS VOL 3 NO 3 SEPTEMBER 2012 ONLINE VERSION.doc  ISSN 2039‐2117                 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                 Vol. 3 (3) September 2012            341 An Overview of Eqrem Cabej’s Literary Thought Edlira Dhima Ismail Qemal University of Vlora College of Human Sciences Department of Language and Literature, Vlora, Albania E-mail: edadhima@gmail.com Doi: 10.5901/mjss.2012.v3n3p341  Abstract For over half a century, Cabej, like a few others, saw great achievements for his contribution to various fields of Albanology and Balkanology. The breadth of his interests and his scientific productivity are perspicuous testimonies of the fact that he was a gifted scientist of European caliber, who dedicated his entire life to science. The writings of great linguists and humanists such as Eqerem Cabej are part of those elements, which constitute the cultural foundations of a nation. Just like the mighty mountains, such contributions cast their shade and rest their weight everywhere. Even when lacking the possibility or the need to analyze them in detail, the wide masses of the common people can feel their irradiating influence, and most of all, they truly believe them. Eqerem Cabej is a profound scholar of the genesis of Albanian literature. He created the theoretical core of Albanian Romanticism and started the theoretical initiative of the Modern Albanian Literature. As a pioneering theorist of the latter, which inevitably includes language too, he put forth prodigious efforts to make it as rich and dynamic as possible, and as developed, and particularly, as aesthetic as it could be. His work, just like the busy hum of the working bee, was persistent and tireless — the work of a great master. His work will be traveling the Albanian-speaking world in perpetuity, due to its being as language-forming as it is world-forming. Keywords: science, literature, initiator, Romanticism, action. 1. Introduction For over half a century, Cabej, like a few others, saw great achievements for his contribution to various fields of Albanology and Balkanology. The breadth of his interests and his scientific productivity are perspicuous testimonies of the fact that he was a gifted scientist of European caliber who dedicated his entire life to science. The writings of great linguists and humanists such as Eqerem Cabej are part of those elements, which constitute the cultural foundations of a nation. Just like the mighty mountains, such contributions cast their shade and rest their weight everywhere. Even when lacking the possibility or the need to analyze them in detail, the wide masses of the common people can feel their irradiating influence, and most of all, they truly believe them. Because in times of pressure, when someone tries to attack the foundations: language, culture, art and its mentality, shinning examples such as Eqrem Cabej, are even more strongly highlighted, just as the hefty mountains are illuminated by lightning during a storm. Cabej, is, in the first place, known as a linguist and there are probably not many of those who know that he has been quite dealing even with popular culture, as well as literature. Furthermore, it can be affirmed that during the first years of his scientific activity, he has dedicated almost equal efforts to linguistic problems, as well as to issues related to folklore and literature. He was convinced that linguistics and folklore are “two fields of study that should walk side by side, since the results coming from the findings of one of them, are serviceable to the findings of the other.” Even from a quick glance at the research, published papers, and speeches on the Albanian literature and popular culture, one finds no difficulty in understanding that even these fields of study Cabej has given valuable contribution. His two pieces of research on Albanian Literature, namely Për Gjenezën e Literaturës Shqipe [On the Genesis of the Albanian Literature] and Romantizmi në Europën Lindore e Juglindore dhe në Literaturën Shqiptare, [Romanticism in East and Southeast Europe and in the Albanian Literature] contain his views on these literature. An overview of Cabej’s multifaceted activity shows that his first article, published in 1929 at the age of 22, is focused on Lasgush Poradeci. In 1936, in his book Elemente të Gjuhësisë e të Letërsisë Shqipe (Për Shkollat e Mesme) [Elements of the Albanian Linguistics and Literature (For High School Students)], in addition to imparting information and opinions about a considerable number of Albanian and Arberesh writers, he included many selected portions of their literary works. Ibrahim Rugova, the greatest standardizer of the Albanian literary criticism, has defined Eqrem Cabej’s creative method in literary studies “cultural-historical” and “philological”.  ISSN 2039‐2117                 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                 Vol. 3 (3) September 2012           342  2. Popular Poetry With regards to popular poetry, in his publication Për Gjenezën e Literaturës Shqipe [On the Genesis of the Albanian Literature], E. Cabej was of the opinion that it it not enough to say that it represents an organic part, although humanly higher, of the life of the common people in its everyday manifestations. He adds that our popular poetry is impossible to be understood without knowledge of the old Albanian everyday life and without understanding of such poetry “as a product and function of that life”. In his papers and articles on the Albanian folk poetry, Cabej has noted the wide variety of motifs interweaved in the folk song verses. As a careful examiner of various aspects of Albanian people’s life, he has also provided valuable ideas on the tunes used to sing those verses in different regions of Albania. Cabej admits that folk poetry has exercised some great influence on writers from different parts of the Balkans. Generally speaking, the Albanian poets have risen from the natural soil of folk poetry. At the same time, he also notes that creations of art and literature have “often been simply turned into folk songs.” 3. Some thoughts and evaluations of Albanian literature and of his authors This historian of the Albanian language could not neglect showing interest on the works that deal with the historical evolution of the Albanian language. Alongside the old Albanian authors such as, Buzuku, Budi, etc, Arberesh writers from Italy, starting from Matrenga up to the present day, have also been included in his work. Indeed, judging by several writing he published, it can be stated that if he had committed himself to literature, he would certainly have left us much valuable literary critical research and probably even literary creations of his own. Regarding the categorization of the Albanian literature, Cabej was of the opinion that it should be based on cultural and literary circles instead of dividing it according to historical periods. Based on this criterion, he distinguished among four literary and cultural circles: The Catholic Circle of North Albania, the Albanian-Italian Circle, The Orthodox Circle of South Albania, and lastly, the national literature of the nineteenth century. Our great scholar has also written about a number of Albanian and Arberesh authors on the Croatian Encyclopedia (1942). 3.1 Romanticism The book Romantizmi në Europën Lindore e Juglindore dhe në Literaturën Shqiptare, [Romanticism in East and Southeast Europe and in the Albanian Literature] was written in 1945, but was only published in 1994 with a half a century delay, is the most systematic literary research authored by Eqrem Cabej and, at the same time, constitutes the theoretical crown of the Albanian romanticism. Cabej views the Albanian romantic poets as creators of their own works of art as well as nation’s patriots and educators. While taking into consideration the cultural heritage, the author views romanticism as belonging to European romanticism and to Balkanic romanticism, thus identifying himself with the great representatives of these views, namely Jeronim De Rada and Naim Frasheri. Regarding De Rada, in an unpublished paper titled Nje shkrim i panjohur i De Rades [An Unknown Piece of Writing by De Rada]. He highlights “… the unfading spirit of this Arberesh colossus…”. In addition, in his speech Vatra dhe bota në poezinë e De Radës [The Hearth and the World in De Rada’s Poetry], Cabej analizes the multifaceted activity of De Rada — as a writer, linguist, folklorist, Albanian language teacher, and patriot — which is summarized in “The image of an apostle to the national idea.” De Rada’s cultural legacy displays nuances of Albanian-Byzantine and Pre-Turkish influences. In order to grasp this poet’s work in a more holistic manner, one should not neglect the circumstances that have conditioned his context — as the author himself informs that he found inspiration in both classical and modern literature, just as the majority of the European poets belonging to the same time period. Traces originating from the Italian Renaissance, particularly Ariosto and Thasos are noticeable in some of the literary figures and motifs used in his poems. The motif of the unfortunate love between youths that stem from two feuding families, which is used in a number of European literatures, can also be found in our poet’s work while depicting the characters of Bozdar Stres and Serafina Topia in Arta, in Skanderbeg’s time. The names of Turkish heroes like Almazore and Algazile, which are mentioned in his poem Skanderbekku i Pafaan [The Ill- fated Scanderbeg] and in the elaboration of his poem Serafina Topia, transport us into the Arabian world of Medieval Spain, just like Sid’s Romansero. Aide’s name, a character that appears as Skanderbeg’s sister, reminds us of Byron’s poems. In addition, The Bible has left a deep impression on the poet.  ISSN 2039‐2117                 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                 Vol. 3 (3) September 2012            343 The romantic characteristics of his poetry are as follows: his foundations planted on folk poetry, his profound research into the nation’s past history, his glorification of the Middle Ages, his way of singing praises to a woman’s spirit, his subjectivity, his pessimism, his deeply religious nature, his sensibility towards nature, as well as an interest in the Orient. In his book Elemente të Gjuhësisë e të Letërsisë Shqipe [Elements of the Albanian Linguistics and Literature], in which Cabej brifly mentions Albanian and Arberesh authors, he states that in Naim Frasheri’s work “the apostle and the poet are one and the same… As a result, it is difficult to distinguish the artist from the patriot.” He is an offspring of the most recent half of romanticism. His poem “Bagëti e Bujqësi” [Herds and Tillage] is considered a masterpiece of our poet. This poem is estimated as his most poetically complete work. Cabej concludes that Frasheri is a product of his nation, and blood of our blood, while generalizing that the ethnic feeling has always been more intense than the religious feeling among the Albanian people. In Cabej’s analysis of Cajupi’s works, especially Baba Tomorri [Father Tomorr], he asserts “this is a folk poet in the true sense of the word”, while adding that “even the content of his poems is mostly reflecting the life of the common people…”. Since the year 1929, when he published his first paper titled "Mbi poezinë e Lasgush Poradecit" [On Lasgush Poradeci’s Poetry] to the end of World War II, Eqrem Cabej (1908-1980) showed great consideration and esteem for the personality and poetry of Gjergj Fishta (1871-1940). This was evident both in the publication of his two monographs — Poeti Shqiptar Gjergj Fishta [Gjergj Fishta, the Albanian Poet] and Epika e Gjergj Fishtes [Gjergj Fishta’s Epic], — and in the release of his literary-historic and literary-critic works — Elemente të Gjuhësisë e të Literaturës Shqipe [Elements of Albanian Linguistics and Literature] and Romantizmi në Europën Lindore e Juglindore dhe në Literaturën Shqiptare [Romanticism in East and Southeast Europe and in the Albanian Literature], with only a slight mention in a number of other publications. In fact, in his textbook Elemente të Gjuhësisë e të Literaturës Shqipe [Elements of Albanian Linguistics and Literature], Cabej dedicates an entire chapter (p. 50-52) to Gjergj Fishta. This man of our era was an important link in the chain of Albanian literary studies, spanning the period between pre- war and post-war Albania, just as Gjergj Fishta was, in a different way, a liaison and very synthesizing link in the development of creative literary thought, from the Renaissance period to the period of Realism and Independence, encompassing the entire history and culture of the Albanian people. In this point of view, Gjergj Fishta and Eqrem Cabej, in their different ways of expressing their creativity, satisfied the necessary criteria, which were also preferred by Horace, who said "Scribendi recte sapere est et principium et fons". Cabej’s appreciation for Fishta’s poetry, especially with regards to his poem Lahuta e Malcis [Lute of Highlands], is steady and constant, while the comparisons he makes with Frasheri’s poetry as well as with additional poems authored by several other Albanian poets who had lived and worked in the East or in the West, render the persona and the great commandment of our national poet even more convincing, while at the same time offer some well-deserved and acceptable support to the development of Albanian literary thought in its entirety. The concepts of the East and of the West, added to the concepts of the hearth and the “Albanian soil” in the poetic creations of De Rada, Frasheri, and Fishta have been presented with the due argumentation of a scientist and a scholar of the Albanian literature in Eqrem Cabej’s analyses. Prompted by the great urge to create a map of the Albanian literature history in the process of cementing the older generation to the next one, Cabej states that, “Asdren provides the transition…” then he specifies that such transition aims at liberating poetry from national obligations in order to resemble more to work of art. After he describes the lyrical work of Asdreni — namely, Rreze Dielli [Sun Rays], Ëndrra e Lotë [Dreams and Tears], and Psalme Murgu [A Monk Psalms], which have a formal poetic structure — praises him as a “master of the form”. The first article published by Cabej is titled “Mbi Poezinë e Lasgush Poradecit” [On Lasgush Poradeci’s Poetry], published on Gazeta e Re newspaper, when he was still a student. The broad cultural knowledge and the depth of the literary thought of this of young Cabej are significantly evident in the eyes of the reader. Based on Poradeci’s poetic creations of that time, Cabej beautifully expresses his judgment and appreciations for the talented writer: “Lasgush Poradeci opens for us the gate to a new life in Albanian poetry… a new style is born and is being cultivated in the Albanian poetry, for which you can search in vain amongst other Albanian poets, but also among foreign writers because of the authenticity that distinguishes this young poet.” The modern European poets: the Germans Rilke and Stefan George, the French Baudelaire, Verlee, Malarme, Rimbaud, Valery, the Italians Pascoli and D’Anuncio, the Russian Jesenin, are viewed, in Cabej’s work, as product of modern times, whose son is also Lasgush Poradeci. Thus, the preceding time periods of old biblical writers, led by Budi, namely the romantic writers’ period, which was highlighted by De Rada and Naim Frasheri, are concluded with the announcement of the modern period of the Albanian literature, which protagonist is Poradeci.  ISSN 2039‐2117                 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                 Vol. 3 (3) September 2012           344  Cabej’s most beautiful piece of writing in the field of literature remains without a doubt his short speech dedicated to Fan Noli’s literary activity, which, in its brevity, is as packed with information as it is sharp and heartfelt. Briefly, he sheds light on the Noli’s colossus work as a writer and a translator of some of world’s masterpieces. According to Cabej, “the complex spirit of the writer permeates everywhere in these works — both in his creations and in his translations. He has lived them, he has lived through them in the images of the heroes…” He involuntarily appears in Brutus and Hamlet, in Don Quixote and in Omar Khayyam, in Moses the prophet and the Galilean, in bound Prometheus and in the people’s enemy, which in reality is his true friend. Further on, while elaborating on his poetic formation and linguistic expression, Cabej adds: “He is not a poet of etheric heights, but instead he is the writer of the sod soil. Noli is a forerunner of the Albanian literature, receiving power from the Motherland itself. In this field of literature he is not a blade of grass, which blooms today and withers tomorrow, nor is he a flower, which blossoms today and fades tomorrow. Instead, he appears as an oak, old and knotty — a lone oak, deeply rooted in the profound soil of this country. Such as this is also the language he uses… It does not have the fragrance of flowers, but it brings the healthy scent of the soil.” The literary sensitivity of Cabej is also clearly witnessed by the beautiful adaptation into Albanian of a number of poems written by well-known international poets, including a children’s book. Such works include the song of Dante to Beatric, as well as the following poems: Song of the Evening by H. Von Failersleben, Green Leaf, Heavy Shadows, A Woman’s Hand by Th. Storm. He has also has translated from German the children’s novel Bambi, by the Austrian writer Felix Salten. Eqrem Cabej is a profound scholar of the genesis of Albanian literature. The Albanologist and the greatest Albanian linguist of all times connected his first studies to literature issues. He created the theoretical core of Albanian Romanticism and started the theoretical initiative of the Modern Albanian Literature. As a pioneering theorist of the latter, which inevitably includes language too, he put forth prodigious efforts to make it as rich and dynamic as possible, and as developed, and particularly, as aesthetic as it could be. His work, just like the busy hum of the working bee, was persistent and tireless — the work of a great master. His work will be traveling the Albanian-speaking world in perpetuity, due to it being as language forming as it is world forming. References Çabej E. (1976) Histori fjalësh të sllavishtes e të shqipes, in Studime filologjike, (1). Çabej, E. (1936) Elemente të gjuhësisë e të literaturës shqipe, Tirana. Çabej, E. (1939) Për gjenezën e literaturës shqipe, in Hylli i dritës, Vol. 2, Vol 3-7. Çabej, E. (1941) Der albanische Dichter Gjergj Fishta, in Südost Forschungen, VI 3-4, Munchen, p. 635-647; Idem, Epika e Gjergj Fishtës, in Gjergj Fishta - A commemorative volume, Luarasi Publishing House, Tirana. Çabej, E. (1965) Fan Noli ynë, in Nëntori, Vol. 4. Çabej, E. (1975) Studime gjuhësore V, Pristina. Çabej, E. (1994) Romantizmi në Europë lindore e juglindore dhe në literaturën shqiptare. All citations on Romanticism belong to this publication. Çabej, E. (1994, 1998) Shqiptarët midis Perëndimit dhe Lindjes, MÇM, Tirana, and in Jeta e re, Pristina, Vol. 4, p. 516-439. From the year 1945, in which it was written, the publication was stored in the Linguistics Institute Archives, Tirana — hereby cited after its being published in Jeta e re. Demiraj, Sh. (1990) In Eqrem Çabej, një jetë kushtuar shkencës, 8 Nëntori Publishings. Demiraj, Sh. (2005, August 13) Vlerësimi për Eqrem Çabejn, in Shekulli. Epist. Ad Pisones, v. 309. Hamiti, S. (2010) Eqrem Çabej: Romantizmi e modernizmi, in Poetika shqipe, 55 Publishing House, Pristina. Hamiti, S., Çabej E. (2010) Romantizmi e modernizmi, in Poetika shqipe, Pristina, Kosovo, p. 571. Kadare, I. (2005, August 13) Regjimi ia shkurtoi jetën, in Shekulli. Rugova, I. (2009) Kode të shkrimit letrar, Faik Konica Publishing House, Pristina, p. 119. Sedaj, Ë. (2008) Konsiderata dhe vlerësime të Eqerem Çabejt për At Gjergj Fishtën, in Zemra Shqiptare, 08. 2008. 
work_pcafmyawcffjzbxa4voqncf7ra	----	Art history’s history in Melbourne: Art history’s history in Melbourne: Franz Philipp in correspondence with Arthur Boyd1 JAYNIE ANDERSON THE FRANZ PHILIPP MEMORIAL LECTURE, 1998 Figure 1 Franz Philipp 1950s One of the new critical inquiries in art history that has developed in the last few years has been the German analysis of the impact that Jewish émigré art historians had on the development of art history in English speaking countries after the Second World War. The subject of German refugee art history began after the German unification and is very much a Berlin reassessment of the past from a nation that invented the discipline of art history. In this new enquiry the theoretical preoccupations of art historians like Erwin Panofsky and others, who immigrated to the United States, are seen as stemming from 1 This article is a revised text of the annual lecture of the then Art Association of Australia, in honour of Franz Philipp, delivered at the Association’s conference in Adelaide on 3 October 1998. In the preparation of this lecture I have enjoyed discussing the past with Arthur and Yvonne Boyd, Ursula Hoff, Patrick McCaughey, June Philipp, Bernard Smith, June Stewart and many others, to all of whom I am grateful. Much of the documentary material is taken from the University of Melbourne archives, as is the correspondence between Philipp and Boyd (DS L 11/3. Acc.36. 166); all references to the correspondence are to this source; I am grateful to June Philipp and Arthur Boyd for permission to reproduce extracts from it. Other archival sources in the University of Melbourne have also been consulted, such as those of the Central Registry and the School of Fine Arts, Classical Studies and Archaeology. Arthur Boyd’s work is reproduced with permission of the Bundanon Trust. As an appendix I include a bibliography of Philipp’s publications, as they have previously been given only partially. *The JAH is unable to publish reproductions of Arthur Boyd’s paintings because of the prohibitive copyright costs. RAW] 2 autobiographical concerns. For example, Panofsky’s decision to interpret Renaissance painting in terms of Neoplatonism has been seen as a choice he made to espouse a philosophy that was antagonistic to the politics of Fascism.2 The representation of sexuality in Italian Renaissance painting, especially in pictures by Titian, such as the Sacred and Profane Love, c.1516 (Borghese Gallery, Rome), was explained by Panofsky, as representations of the two Venuses, one celestial, the other earthly, as described in Neoplatonic philosophical texts. For Panofsky acknowledge himself, that the almost limitless flexibility of the Neoplatonic doctrine meant that it could be applied to different kinds of imagery. For other art historians this form of explanation was viewed as a means to avoid an interpretation of sexuality.3 Figure 2 Franz Philipp 1946 Panofsky’s formation in Hamburg with Aby Warburg was very different to that of the Viennese art historian Franz Philipp (figs 1, 2). It is Philipp’s career I wish to explore here, and to whom the annual lecture of the Art Association of Australia is dedicated.4 I have been asked to address the question of who Franz Philipp was, and to consider his legacy to Australian art history. In one sense this is an easy question to answer. When I was an undergraduate in the University of Melbourne, he was the teacher who meant the most to me. Indeed I still perceive his legacy in personal terms.5 Yet within this wider German enquiry about the relationship between the autobiography of art historians and the subject matter they choose, my questions about art history’s history in Melbourne have developed into a more critical enquiry about the nature of interpretation.6 2 On the overestimation of the importance of Neoplatonism for the Renaissance, especially in twentieth-century art historical writings on iconography, see H. Bredekamp, ‘Götterdämmerung des Neuplatonismus’, Kritische Berichte, vol. XIV, no.4, 1986, pp. 39-48. 3 Panofsky’s classic article on Titian is chapter 5 in his Studies in Iconography. Humanistic Themes in the Art of the Renaissance, New York: Oxford University Press, 1939, pp. 129-69; and that by Edgar Wind, in chapter 10 of his Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance, London: Faber and Faber, 1968, pp. 121-28. 4 In 1999 the organization was renamed the Art Association of Australia and New Zealand. 5 At least two of his former students, Patrick McCaughey (‘Franz Philipp – a tribute by Patrick McCaughey’, Art and Australia, vol. 8, no.3, 1970, p. 218) and Virginia Spate (‘Franz Philipp, Art and Australia, vol.30, no.4, 1993, pp. 516-17) have written essays about their personal recollections of studying with him. 6 Art and Australia dedicated the winter issues (no.4) of 1993 to the contribution made by European émigrés to Australian visual culture, whether as artists, architects, art historians or dealers. 3 The Department of Fine Arts in Melbourne began in 1946, with the appointment of the first Herald Chair, Joseph Burke, and was intended to support the great and growing collection in the National Gallery of Victoria. The charismatic Sir Daryl Lindsay, then director, persuaded Sir Keith Murdoch, Chairman of the Herald and Weekly Times to have his company endow the chair, in commemoration of the allied nations’ victory in the Pacific. The intention was for close co-operation between the University and the Gallery, particularly with a few to training curatorial staff. It was the first university in Australia to establish an art history department, and its establishment followed that of the Courtauld Institute by only a decade.7 Burke’s early career in England had been curatorial, for he had been attached to the National Portrait Gallery in London from 1934 to 1938, and had spent a year as assistant keeper at the Victoria and Albert Museum. At the outbreak of war he was seconded to the Home Office. From 1938 until 1945 he was private secretary to successive Lord Presidents, and finally, to the Prime Minister Rt. Hon Clement Attlee from 1945-46. In his application for the Melbourne Chair, Kenneth Clark supported Burke. On 3 March 1946, from 10 Downing Street, Whitehall, Burke wrote to Clark to thank him: Dear Clark, I have just received a cable from [Sir John] Medley offering me the Chair. I need hardly say how delighted I am. It will be a great opportunity. I shall do my best to make a success of it and to justify your confidence in supporting my application. With heartfelt thanks. Yours very sincerely, Joseph Burke.8 Following the appointment Lord Clark wrote to the Vice Chancellor on 25 March 1946, that Burke is a good scholar, has a wide range of interests and gets on well with everybody. The positions he has held during the war have given him an ease and confidence in dealing with people, which are rather rare among scholars. I cannot think of anyone else who would be as good. It is excellent news that the University is offering this Chair, and I believe that Burke would make a real success of it.9 Burke’s research was in eighteenth-century English art, which underwent a radical revision in methodology in the years when the Warburg Institute had migrated to England. His English M.A. was a critical edition of Hogarth’s Analysis of Beauty, later published, and a second M.A., for Yale, was a biographical and critical study of Benjamin West. The strength of the collection of the National Gallery of Victorian in eighteen- century English art owes much to his advise, both to the Felton Bequest of which he was 7 On the early history of the department, see J. Burke, ‘The fine arts and the Australian universities’, Vestes, the Australian Universities’ Review, vol. IX, no.4, 1963, pp. 259-66; and U. Hoff, ‘Observations on art history in Melbourne 1946-1964’, Australian Journal of Art, vol.III, 1983, pp. 5-9. 8 Joseph Burke, letter to Kenneth Clark, 3 March 1946, Kenneth Clark papers, Tate Gallery, London, archive. 9 Kenneth Clark, letter to John Medley, 25 March 1946, University of Melbourne Registry, archive. There is no copy of Clark’s reference for Burke among his papers in London at the Tate Gallery archive. 4 an active trustee, but also to the Everard Studley Miller Bequest10 which was substantially about portraiture, which was Burke’s field. Indeed he was going to contribute a booklet in a series, produced by the National Gallery of Victoria in the 1960s, entitled ‘The formal and informal portrait’, but the pressure of administration prevented him from completing it. After war-torn England Burke and his wife Agnes found Australia a paradise, and the mood of the department was optimistic. Burke made a brilliant appointed in his first year (1947) with Ursula Hoff, a German art historian, who had studied at the Warburg Institute, Hamburg, and who had written a doctoral thesis on ‘Rembrandt and England’ (1935). Rembrandt was well represented in the Gallery and her appointment was a joint one with the Department of Prints and Drawings at the Gallery. In 1950 Franz Philipp was appointed lecturer, followed by Bernard Smith in 1956, the first Australian-born art historian to hold a post in a university, and whose lifelong activity, in contrast to the others, was to be the study of Australian art. The varied intellectual provenances of these art historians created a rich interplay of theoretical backgrounds and diverse fields of art history. I studied with all four, and from each learnt a great deal. Indeed looking back it is uncanny how many of my publications were stimulated by courses in my undergraduate years. But it was Franz Philipp who was the most important for my formation as a scholar, together with Ian Robertson in the History Department, for I profited from the Melbourne system of combined honours degrees. Philipp was born Franz Adolf Philipp on 20 March 1914 in Vienna. His father was an Austrian importer of fine English cloths. With his two brothers and sister he attended a classical school, the Humanistisches Gymnasium in the Döbling suburb. From 1933 he studied art history at the University of Vienna, with some of the greatest Viennese scholars, Julius von Schlosser, Hans Tietze, Martin Eisler, Karl Swoboda and Hans Sedlmayr. In addition he took courses in history, in medieval history, in palaeography, diplomacy, medieval historiography, and also in archaeology, French, Italian and philosophy. In his teaching and his writings it was Schlosser whom he always paid tribute to as his ‘great teacher’.11 About the celebrated Nazi of the group, Philipp later commented ‘the infamous Sedlmayr [was] a brilliant teacher, apart from his lack of moral and scholarly integrity.’12 In 1936 his father died, and in the following year Philipp began his doctorate on ‘The mannerist portrait in northern Italy’, I suspect under Hans Tietze. He spent four months on a scholarship, a stipendiate of the Kunsthistorisches Institut, Vienna, in the summer 10 P. Paffen, ‘Everard Studley Miller and his bequest to the National Gallery of Victoria’, Art Bulletin of Victoria, no.35, 1994, pp. 35-44. 11 As in his ‘Vasari and the Renaissance’, Melbourne Historical Journal, no.2, 1962, p. 24. 12 Philipp’s annotation in c.1950 to his own curriculum vitae, which he had sent Joseph Burke, in the archives of the former Department of Fine Arts, now the School of Fine Arts, Classical Studies and Archaeology, University of Melbourne. 5 and autumn of 1937 collecting material in northern Italy. He began writing in the spring of 1938, but was prevented from completion by Sedlmayr, who had him expelled from the university. Philipp published only one article on a subject related to his thesis, on Jacopo Tintoretto’s Portrait of Doge Pietro Loredan, 1567, in the National Gallery of Victoria, the most significant mannerist portrait in an Australian collection.13 Recent scientific analysis has confirmed that the Melbourne version is earlier than other variants, such as the one at Fort Worth.14 Though he may have published little on portraiture Philipp’s knowledge informed his teaching. He must have triggered my own fourth year honours thesis in 1965 on the subject of Giorgionesque portraiture in northern Italy, where I defined a typology of motifs that originated with Giorgione and was developed by his followers.15 In his teaching Franz Philipp provoked an interest in broader patterns of visual analysis, such as those initiated by Aloïs Riegl, and Heinrich Wölfflin, and was fond of quoting Wölfflin’s statement, that in the history of art ‘the effect of picture on picture was perhaps most important than any other (external) impact’.16 For most of his students it was the fourth year honours course in the historiography of art history that proved seminal for future research. There we examined the history of style or ‘art history without names’, the history of style and language in the writings of Julius von Schlosser, and all the Vienna school, especially Riegl. Other subjects to which I was introduced included an analysis of connoisseurship and Giovanni Morelli, and the iconography of Edgar Wind. I was later to edit the works of both Morelli and Wind. At the outbreak of war Philipp was sent to the notorious concentration camp at Dachau with his younger brother Ernest. His mother bribed a corrupt Nazi official, who allowed them to escape to England, where Franz became an agricultural labourer and dairyman in Yorkshire, while Ernest joined the British Army Parachute Regiment. They attempted to get their mother and sister out of Austria, but were eventually informed by the Red Cross that the two women had died at the prison camp. In the Latin inscription that he wrote for his tomb (fig. 3), in the Melbourne cemetery, Franz Philipp not only anticipated his own death, but also commemorated that of his much loved mother, who had died at Auschwitz without burial: 13 ‘Jacopo Tintoretto’s Portrait of the Doge Pietro Loredano’, Quarterly Bulletin of the National Gallery of Victoria, vol. XI, no.2, 1967, pp. 2-4. 14 John Payne, ‘Tintoretto’s Doge Pietro Loredano at the National Gallery of Victoria: the earlier version?’, Art Bulletin of Victoria, vol. XXXIII, 1993, pp. 57-61. 15 In my thesis I defined about ten portrait motifs, under the conceptual heading of ‘the portrait of action’, such as the turning portrait, or the portrait of a lover with a hand to his or her heart. The new typology of Venetian portraiture originated with Giorgione, and was widely disseminated among his follower. My model was the study by Aloïs Riegl, the founder of the Vienna School of art history, on the Dutch group portrait Das holländishe Gruppenportrait, 1902, a book which we had studied in dept. A brief synopsis of my thesis was later given as a lecture at the international conference in honour of Giorgione, ‘The Giorgionesque portrait from likeness to allegory’, Giorgione. Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studio per il 5° Centenario della Nascita, Castel-franco Veneto, 29-31 May 1978, Venice: Stamperia di Venezia, 1979, pp. 153- 58. 16 Philipp, ‘Vasari and the Renaissance’, p. 26. 6 Figure 3 Franz Philip's tomb FRANZ PHILIPP N. Vindobonae 29-3-1914 M. Londinii 30-5-1970 Filius EDMUNDI M. 1936 ET KAROLINAE N. Selinko M. 1941-2 Cui in Polonia A Germanis Tempore Ignoto Occisae Non Est Tumulus Sit Tibi Terra Levis, Carissima Cui Ultimae Pietatis Et Amoris Signo Suffigoave Atque Vale. In 1940 Franz was interned as an enemy alien, and sent on the S.S. Dunera, together with 2000 men of German origin, many of them Jewish intellectuals, on a lengthy voyage around the Cape of Good Hope to Australia.17 In later life he was unwilling to talk about the brutal events on the Dunera, when the British officers brutalised the internees, looted and destroyed their possessions, as well as subjecting them to other indignities. When the ‘Dunera boys’ arrived in Australian in 1940 they were kept in camps at Hay and Tatura where they found the Australian military somewhat laid back in comparison to the British, and once again they enjoyed a limited freedom, enough to pursue their intellectual lives. 17 Some account of the internment in 1940 is given in The Dunera Affair: A Documentary Resource Book, P.R. Bartrop with G. Eisen (eds), Melbourne: Schwartz and Wilkinson and the Jewish Museum of Australia, 1990. However, both the British and Australian Governments have placed an embargo on the files relating to the Dunera affair for 100 years. 7 It was at Tatura that a camp university was founded and Philipp gave lectures in art history,18 together with Hans Heckroth, a Frankfurt stage designer, destined to be celebrated as the designer of the sets for the film The Red Shoes, Ludwig Hirschfeld-Mack, the Bauhaus artist, who was to teach at Geelong Grammar, and Ernest Kitzinger, who later became professor of medieval art history at Harvard. An impression of the camp is conveyed in Leonhard Adam’s paintings.19 Adam was a Berlin ethnologist and judge, formerly a reader in primitive law at Berlin, who later taught ethnology at Melbourne. He remained in Australia, where he became one of the pioneering figures in the study of Aboriginal art; and part of the University of Melbourne’s museum’s collection was created by him. In Philipp’s later survey of research in art history for the Australian Humanities Research Council, published in 1959, he began with an account of studies on ancient aboriginal rock painting, a subject he must have encountered for the first time at Tatura university. To give indigenous art such a prominent position in a survey of research was unusual for the time.20 Philipp encountered the Australian landscape for the first time at the Tatura camp. In his monograph on Arthur Boyd and other writings the Australian landscape became one of his most passionate subjects. Following the closure of the camp, Philipp was on active military service from 1942 to 1945, principally engaged loading ships on the docks. At the same time he commenced his studies for a Bachelor of Arts Honours degree in Melbourne, as a part-time service student, specialising in Italian Renaissance history under Professor Max Crawford. In 1946 he came top of his year, receiving the Dwight Prize and Wilson Scholarship, the success of which led to his appointment as a senior tutor in history. At some point, after the war had ended, the University of Vienna offered to grant Philipp the degree once denied, but he declined. In 1948 he married a fellow honours student in history, June Rowley, the daughter of a grazier from Bethanga, and, in the following year, moved to the Department of Fine Arts as assistant lecturer, and then lecturer in 1950. Burke, whose formation had been largely in museums, considered Philipp the ‘architect’ of the new department, and that Philipp’s Renaissance course was the centrepiece for those going into art gallery and university work.21 The intellectual architecture was outlined by Philipp in 1948, in an ambitious article on the study of art history in Australia for Present Opinion.22 Scholars of the Viennese school were praised for having created a study of the ‘science of the mind’ (Geisteswissenschaften), which went beyond the historiography of Jacob Burkhardt or the unifying comparisons of styles devised by Heinrich Wölfflin. So an Australian version of the Austrian ‘sciences of the mind’ was Philipp’s agenda for the new 18 C. Pearl, The Dunera Scandal. Deported by Mistake, London/ Sydney/ Melbourne: Angus and Robertson, 1983, pp. 78-79. 19 See the catalogue of Adam’s watercolours, Leonhard Adam. From the Spree to the Yarra. Aquarelles: 1911-1955, Museum of Art, University of Melbourne, Spring 1996. Se also The Dunera Experience, catalogue of an exhibition at the Jewish Museum of Australia, September 1990 to February 1991. 20 A. Grenfell Price (ed.), The Humanities in Australia, Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1959, and the section by Philipp, ‘University research in the history of art’, pp. 160-61. The survey was updated by J. Stewart, Bibliography Essay on Art Historical Studies in Australia since 1958, Adelaide: Sydney University Press for the Australian Academy of Humanities, 1974. 21 Stated in a reference Burke wrote for Philipp to the Carnegie Corporation of New York, 28 September 1962, School of Fine Arts, Classical Studies and Archaeology, University of Melbourne, archives. 22 Franz Philipp, ‘Some notes on the study of the history of art’, Present Opinion, vol. III, no. 1, 1948, pp. 67-70. 8 department. The fine arts, he thought, were a most significant expression of the collective content of a civilisation, more so than even literature or music, even though he felt passionately about music: ‘The correlation between the fine arts, especially between the architecture of a particular period and its communal life, is perhaps more tangible, and more accessible to the scholar’s enquiry’.23 Philipp had spent much of this time in Vienna and Melbourne studying pure history but, for him, of all histories art history was the most important, because ‘only in its art does a period become sublimated and truly accessible to inquiring contemplation’.24 One of Philipp’s projects was to write a history of Australian domestic architecture, an ambition which was only realised in a few articles and reviews listed in the bibliography of his publications. In 1947, Philipp had written his first article for Present Opinion, a concrete demonstration of his theories, prompted by an exhibition of three of Arthur Boyd’s religious paintings at the Rowden White Library in the University of Melbourne, held in the second semester of 1946.25 Philipp began by asking why Boyd painted religious themes, when for more than a century they had been the sterile preserves of pious academicians. Philipp sought an explanation for such a choice of subject matter: Boyd is not telling a story. He is saying (or, not to prejudge the issue, trying to say) how he feels about his time, about the state of the world. Breughel and Rembrandt, Brouwer and Daumier, were not telling mere stories. Their ‘stories’ (Breughel’s proverbs, Rembrandt’s bibliographical episodes, Brouwer’s genre, and Daumier’s literary or contemporary scenes) are used as the vehicle of a human and artistic message.26 He then continued that: It seems almost obvious to the writer that Boyd’s diptych is dominated by bewilderment and terror of the violent and sanguineous events we have all witnessed during these last years. In the Mockers we are bluntly faced with evil run amok; with an eye to this the artist shows us in the Mourners,27 mankind’s grief and compassion. Still an imaginary critic may refuse to be satisfied. ‘Why’, he asks, ‘the religious cloak? Why not the direct statement? Why the Crucifixion and not the Concentration Camp?’ Mine (and perhaps the artist’s) reply would be that the factual statement is apt to remain merely documentary, whilst the symbol of the Crucifixion enables the artist to stress the universal – one might also say – the metaphysical aspect of the event. Boyd – not 23 ibid, p. 67. 24 ibid. 25 Franz Philipp, ‘On three paintings by Arthur Boyd’, Present Opinion, vol. II, no. 1, 1947, pp. 9-14. 26 ibid, p. 9. 27 Philipp was equally concerned with the drawings of this period and persuaded Ursula Hoff to buy them for the Print Room, for he remarked to Boyd: ‘I have shown the sheet with the 1941-44 drawings to Ursula who would very much like to buy two drawings for the Print Room of the Gallery. If you are willing to sell, the ones she has in mind are AB. no. 100, The Mourners and no. 105, Woman with dog.’ The references were to Philipp’s own catalogue at the end of the Boyd monograph. This letter is in the University of Melbourne Archives, with the rest of the correspondence between Boyd and Philipp, DS L 11/3. Acc.36. 166, referred to in note 1. 9 unlike Eliot – uses a special kind of association, so as to convey his message sub specie aeternitatis with more weight and emphasis than a bald record would have allowed.28 Philipp, like everyone else, recognised that Boyd’s compositions were informed by Peter Breughel, but their ‘mannerist’ qualities recalled his own youthful fascination with that period situated between the Renaissance and the early Baroque. ‘Mannerism’, Philipp wrote, ‘ is a style of stress, the style of a period of disasters and upheavals, of despair and disillusionment.’29 Boyd had recaptured that style, which had been little appreciated until after the First World War, when El Greco and some of its greatest representatives had been rediscovered. The substance of this interpretation is enlarged in Philipp’s monograph on Boyd, published in 1967, but the personal ‘Viennese’ reflections are relegated to the notes, and the references to concentration camps is denied in a footnote. The denial was prompted by Boyd’s own reluctance to acknowledge such an influence. On 4 January 1966, in a letter to Philipp, Boyd gently objected to the: Reference to concentration camps as influence in the paintings of the ‘Mocker’ and ‘Mourners’. It is possibly the right interpretation of the chaotic mockers. I don’t actually remember seeing the photographs, news-reels, etc. of those things before I painted the pictures, but I might have.30 Although Philipp quoted Boyd’s gentle response in a footnote,31 he restated his interpretation in more general terms, with reference to his earlier article. Art, I argued, could not face such subject matter directly – only through the universal veil of symbol or myth. With the instinctive sureness of a tightrope walker Boyd turned from primordial to historical myth – to the familiar communal myth of the Bible. With equal instinctive sureness he evoked the needed, the fitting pictorial language out of the past, a language both literal and universal, and thus painted one of the few great images of the war that has just ended. That his model was Brugel’s Way to Calvary in Vienna I cannot doubt, although the transformation is radical and all-pervading: Brueghel’s historical narrative, detached, ironic (see the Simon of Cyrene episode), with the minutiae of the here-now-and-always is turned into a mythical version. Like Bruegel, Arthur Boyd creates distance (physical and emotional) by means of the high view and the characteristic mannerist foreground (proscenium) screen of a brambled ridge.32 Nor was Philipp alone in his appreciation of Boyd, for other ‘Dunera boys’, such as the philosophy professors, Gert Buchdahl, who bought The Mourners, and Peter Herbst who 28 Philipp, ‘On three paintings by Arthur Boyd’, p. 10. 29 ibid, p. 11. 30 Arthur Boyd, letter to Franz Philipp, 4 January 1966, University of Melbourne archive, DS L 11/3.Acc.36. 166. 31 Franz Philipp, Arthur Boyd, London: Thames and Hudson, 1967, p. 138, n.7; Philipp commented: ‘It was only in 1945 that the full truth of the genocide became known to the more civilised world. I did not and do not assume that the artist refers in any direct manner to the concentration camps – but to ‚evil‛, to man’s fallen state which was then (in 1945) more crassly manifested than for some centuries.’ 32 Philipp, Arthur Boyd, p. 42. 10 owned a number of important works, were among Boyd’s first patrons. Franz owned the painting of Abraham and the Angels, 1946 (collection of Mrs June Philipp, Melbourne), which he insisted on reproducing in colour and discussed at some length.33 Boyd’s patronage was different to that of Sidney Nolan and Albert Tucker, whom Sunday and John Reed had supported in circumstances that have become legendary; but Arthur was in a different category. As he explained to Philipp in a letter of 25 January 1966: John Reed and his wife were sympathetic and hospitable friends rather than patrons until the show in1953 (retrospective at Peter Bray’s) from which John Reed bought a painting called ‘Christ walking on the water’, a small painting. ‘The Thirty Pieces of Silver’ was the first large-scale purchase he made from me. Earlier works that he and his wife had purchased from me such as ‘Progression’ and ‘The Kite, South Melbourne’ (we used to call it the ‘pink picture’) from the 1943 series, had been semi-gifts, i.e. sold for token payments. The Reeds were generous friends of ours and many other contemporaries, artists and other creative people, who did not at that time find much acknowledgment from the public. The Reeds offered the use of their holiday cottages to us and to others as well from time to time and we were all welcome as house-guests at their house at Heidelberg at any time we chose.34 In some of these letters it is also clear that the Reeds were reluctant to return pictures that they had been ‘lent’ by Arthur, or could be evasive in allowing Philipp to see and study what they had been lent, or what had been left behind. The reticence and subtlety with which both men expressed their view of the Reed’s patronage, is worth noting, for it is the gentlest of rebukes to the prevailing interpretation that Heide was a kind of Australian Bloomsbury. The correspondence between Philipp and Boyd, now preserved in the University of Melbourne archives, began with the genesis of the book in 1965, and documents how closely they worked together in the production of the monograph. Boyd had been resident in England from 1959 and their collaboration was dependent on a friendship begun some fifteen years earlier. Several decades later June Philip lent the material to Ursula Hoff, when she wrote her volume, The Art of Arthur Boyd, published by André Deutsch in 1986. Many letters consist of innumerable questions as ‘there is’, Philipp explained to Boyd, ‘a disturbing amount of contradictory information in the books, articles and catalogues that have been concerned with your work and biography, and I believe it should be possible to clear up most of these once for all.’35 Some of the hard slog is shown by remarks such as that in a letter of 3 March 1965, ‘Dear Arthur, < I have traced and partly seen at least 50 pictures through replies to me letter in all State newspapers – especially some very fine early paintings.’ 33 ibid, plate XIII, p. 46 34 Arthur Boyd, letter to Franz Philipp, 25 January 1966, University of Melbourne archive, DS L 11/3.Acc.36 166. 35 Franz Philipp, letter to Arthur Boyd, 16 September 1965, University of Melbourne archive, DS L 11/3.Acc.36. 166 11 Many of the questions were about details of location and provenance, but the most important for Philip were concerned with the interpretation of Boyd’s religious paintings. Philipp wrote to Boyd, that: A number of critics have commented on the preference for Old Testament themes in your biblical paintings. Recently, in an article in Dissent,36 which I enclose, Margaret Garlick (a former student, now senior tutor in the Fine Arts Department, who write the Perceval monograph for Georgian House), write, on o.22: ‘Almost all the subjects are taken from the Old Testament; one feels that Boyd deliberately avoids the New Testament idea of salvation in order to reaffirm a post- war faith for the Jews.’ and later: ‘Profiles are ugly, simplified cartoon faces with accented eyes and noses: a Jewish caricature.’ This had never occurred to me. I suspect it to be mere fancy – would you comment? I have always felt that the Old Testament stories attracted you as being ‘closer to myth’ and having a wider range of human experiences including the erotic – as they attracted Rembrandt so strongly. Was I wrong? Altogether – if you like – would you comment on the article, which is interesting and very good on the early landscapes.37 Boyd replied: I did no deliberately avoid the New Testament. In fact, the first Bible pictures I painted were the ‘Mockers’ and the ‘Mourners’. The ‘Laughing Heads’ (misnamed by someone ‘Laughing Jews’) with big eyes and noses38 were painted [in] 1938 to 1939 and had far more to do with illustrating Dostoievsky than anything else. I have never though of any painting I did as caricature. I do agree with what you say about the Old Testament stories being closer to myth and having a wide range of experience. I feel there is a chip on the shoulder, or a slightly aggressive attitude in Miss Garlick’s writing. She seems very determined to use strong words, note quite related. Maybe I am sensitive about words and phrases like ‘violent’, ‘paint of moral servitude’, ‘degraded’, ‘debased’, ‘extreme perversions’, ‘bitter’, retrograde’, ‘stumbling’, ‘hideous’, ‘bestial’, or ‘bestial groping’, ‘revulsion’, ‘sterile’, ‘copulating’, ‘obsessed’, ‘subversion’, ‘unwholesome’, ‘frenzied’, ‘rape’, love game’, ‘corruption’, ‘spews’, ‘ugly’, ‘crude’, ‘goggly’, ‘desperate’, ‘ungainly’, ‘futility’, ‘grating’, ‘carnal’. Without their context I know that some of these words are merely descriptive, but they seem to me to be persuasive in their context. The article as a whole has the same sort of brashness and journalese that Robert Hughes had when I last read his work. Ordinarily I would never comment on anything a critic says about my work. A.B.39 In his discussion of Boyd’s early work Philipp reproduced a large mural (21.3m x 3.7m) made for Martin Boyd’s house, the ‘Grange’, formerly the property of a family called Harkaway.40 He wrote to Arthur Boyd to inform him of his progress: I have been out to Harkaway last week, with young Nigel Buesst, who has taken a lot of photos, both in colour and black and white, but I have not seen the results yet. The frescoes are far more 36 M. Garlick (born Margaret Plant), ‘The extremes of Arthur Boyd’, Dissent, Spring, 1964, vol.4, no.iii, pp.21-23. 37 Franz Philipp, list of questions to Arthur Boyd, December 1968, University of Melbourne archive, DS L 11/3.Acc.36 166. 38 These paintings were illustrated by Philipp as plates 5-7 in Arthur Boyd, and discussed, pp.27-28, 238. 39 Arthur Boyd, letter to Franz Philipp, 30 December 1968, University of Melbourne archive, DS L 11/3.Acc.36 166. 40 Philipp, Arthur Boyd, 1967, see especially chapter 3, pp.52-56. 12 beautiful than I had remembered them, but some damage has already been done, both by the wetness of the wall (outer corner) and by human (?) hand. Fortunately none of the main parts are damaged. I was horrified at the state of the house; as soon as I can find the time I shall contact Fred Williams (who, I hear, also wants to take some action) and the National Trust. I do indeed feel very strongly about this and promise you to do what I can.41 Later Philipp wrote: I have been out to the Grange this time with David Lawrence who is the restorer at the National Gallery. The Assumption has been damaged. I am trying very hard to get to sponsor a removal for the New Gallery.42 The frescoes were eventually destroyed and the only sustained account of them is in the monograph. Indeed Philipp’s research was of crucial significance in preserving some record of them and of their importance. Philipp’s assessment of Boyd’s landscapes surprised their author. On 9 April 1965, Philipp wrote: Dear Arthur, < I have certainly given greater emphasis to the landscapes than you have, simply because I believe that your best landscapes are – in a way – as important as your other work at least within the development of landscape painting in Australia. I have, I think, only included paintings of great quality. My choice is of course quite open to discussion, though I feel strongly about the Saul and David (painting) being reproduced in colour, and also about including one of the ‘Breughelesque’ Harkaway landscapes in colour.43 Philipp chose to reproduce the image of Susanna Bathing, which Boyd has based loosely on Rembrandt’s Woman Bathing in the National Gallery, London. Freshly returned from the United States in 1963, where he had been much taken by the abstract expressionism of Jackson Pollock, Philipp relished the heavy impasto of Boyd’s early technique. Yet he found Boyd diffident about allowing him to express his enthusiasm in writing, indeed even censorious: I do not quite understand your horror of the palette knife. Surely this is a perfectly legitimate tool, and I still believe – in spite of what you say – that the two early landscapes (of which I enclose some bad photos, taken by myself) are most attractive. I shall certainly want to mention some of them in the text, but I shall not insist on reproducing them in colour if you still feel so strongly about it.44 On other occasions, Philipp expressed doubts about the interpretation of Australian art in terms dictated only be a perceived dichotomy of figurative versus abstract painting, as in 41 Franz Philipp, undated letter (1965) to Arthur Boyd, University of Melbourne archive, DS L 11/3.Acc.36. 166. 42 ibid. 43 ibid. 44 Franz Philipp, letter to Arthur Boyd, 9 April 1965, University of Melbourne archive, DS L 11/3.Acc.36. 166. 13 the exhibition arranged by his colleague Bernard Smith, entitled Rebels and Precursors.45 Philipp found the Australian nationalism of such an exhibition somewhat comic, and was much dismayed when T.S.R. Boase in his introductory forward to his own monograph on Boyd, concentrated on the polemics of Smith’s exhibition, Rebels and Precursors, failing to understand the novelty of Philipp’s text. Boase had occupied prominent posts in England for he had been director of the Courtauld Institute in London, and President of Magdalen College, Oxford. He was a passionate admirer of Boyd’s paintings. In many ways he was eminently suitable to write an introduction for an Australian artist’s monograph for an English publishing house. Yet at one point Philipp stubbornly wished to withdraw the book altogether on the grounds that the introduction was perfunctory. He was persuaded against it, and wrote a new preface (the published one) to contradict Boase.46 In much of the correspondence there is a reticence about exploring any autobiographical or familial allusions in Boyd’s painting, both on the part of the author and the subject. Nor is there any reference to the diaries that Boyd kept for most of his life.47 On 4 January 1966 Boyd wrote Philipp a fairly lengthy commentary on the typescript on the book. I am fairly happy about the accuracy and amount of biographical detail and family history. I liked your quality of observation and quotation from others. (See an article by James Mollison in Art and Australia48 for the kind of ‘familial angle’ I do not like; and I have never met the man).49 At other times Boyd found infelicities in style, such as when he remarked: ‘On page 22 I don’t like ‚of Boyd’s battles of sex‛ nor later ‚drifting on the Sea of Lust‛.’50 Several years earlier, when the book was beginning, on 30 December 1964, Boyd had sent Philipp a typescript of a tape he had made, which is as close as he came to an autobiographical statement. Boyd explained that: When John Hetherington of the Age was doing his artist’s profiles and wrote to me for material I made a long tape recording (1961) of my earliest impressions, memories, anecdotes, anything that I 45 Rebels and Precursors: aspects of painting in Melbourne 19371947, Melbourne, National Gallery of Victoria, 1962. 46 On 1 September 1966, Philipp wrote to Boyd, ‘I am enclosing a copy of a letter I have just sent to Trevor Craker concerning Mr. Boase’s Introduction, which I have found most disconcerting. The enclosure will explain why. I should like to know whether you really want the Antipodean affair dragged back into life. My reasons for trying to avoid this are set out in the letter to Craker. As to my personal feelings, these are also expressed in the letter. I really think the whole unpleasant affair could easily have been avoided. As you know I have my hands more than full of important work and no time such unnecessary diversions.’ Boyd replied on 14 September, ‘Dear Franz, I am terribly sorry about the whole affair. I gather from Thames and Hudson, after talking to Miss Lowman and Mr Neurath that they really want to correct as much as possible all the items that you object to. I think they must need to do it very tactfully because they are involved with Dr Boase on quite a number of other books. One of the smaller ones is a small reissue of a book that he wrote many years ago on the life of St Francis illustrated with some of my lithographs. From the conversations we’ve had I really believe they want to put the think in its correct perspective. Dr Boase himself I know would be very glad to hear from you and would welcome any suggestions. I think he would see your point.’ These letters are in the University of Melbourne archives. 47 The only study of Boyd which uses the diaries, though not extensively, is the catalogue by Grazia Gunn, Arthur Boyd; Seven Persistent Images, Canbera: Australian National Gallery, 1985. 48 J. Mollison ‘Arthur Boyd’, Art and Australia, vol.3, no.2, September 1965, pp.114-23. 49 University of Melbourne archives, UMA, DSLII/3. 50 ibid. 14 felt might be useful. After typing this from the tape a much cut down version of it was sent to him for his article. He of course cut it down still more. Perhaps the original material would be as near to an autobiography as you could get.51 Yet at times Boyd found even this too much, as on 28 April 1966, when he objected: I find myself very embarrassed by your opening which uses a quotation of my own. Apart from wanting to rather get away from the personal approach, which we thought you had avoided so well in your first draft, I felt the opening is a little misleading in tone. That quotation as you know was merely a reply to direct question of Hetherington’s and my answer actually gave more of the pro’s [sic] and cones to that question. Without its surrounding context I feel it sounds a bit arch or pompous and hope you can use the earlier draft beginning which I told you at the time when I read it that I liked very much. Couldn’t the whole opening part about the Boyds and their family relationships be put at the end because your writing on my work is of such a high standard that the family talk slightly reduces it in some way. The quote at the beginning of the book could possibly, if you want to keep it, be inserted somewhere further down. In short, I think the biographical part which is not research in the same way as the rest of your work perhaps takes away from the whole.52 Boyd then concluded: ‘Apart from my shrinking away from much intimate reference I think it is a marvellous piece of writing and the finest appreciation of my work I could ever hope to have published.’53 For the cover Philipp chose an image of black captivity, a half-caste child and her bridgegroom. Based on drawings that Boyd had made in the early 1950s on a railway journey in South Australia when he had reacted to the degraded treatment of Aborigines on a train, the paintings were recollections made a decade later. For Boyd’s admirers they have proved the most difficult paintings to interpret. By high-lighting this aspect of Boyd’s work on the cover Philipp made a plea for Boyd as an artist of social protest, a claim which he only hinted at in the text. One of the earliest attempts at interpretation had been Tim Burstall’s film, Love, Marriage and Death of a Half-Caste.54 Produced by Eltham films in 1960, the film animates the series by Boyd, which tell the story of an aborigine and his half-caste bride. Burstall wrote the original ballad, sung to guitar accompaniment, which runs for the duration of the film sung by Donald Ayrton to music by Karl Ogden. It was conceived as an alternative to a high brow documentary, an imaginative animated interpretation of Boyd’s imagery from a director who had worked in the Boyd pottery. In 1970 Eric Westbrook, the director of the National Gallery of Victoria, proposed an exhibition of Arthur Boyd’s landscapes as part of the bicentennial celebrations for Captain Cook’s discovery of Australia. Though he had been suffering from a heart condition since 51 The text of Boyd’s transcript, ‘Biographical notes,’ far richer in detail than the cut down version, is with the correspondence, UMA, DSLII/3. 52 ibid. 53 ibid. 54 Tim Burstall (director) and Patrick Ryan (producer), Love, Marriage and Death of a Half-Caste, Eltham Film Production, Australian, 1960. 15 1968 Philipp curated Arthur Boyd’s Australia. The exhibition opened with early Peninsular landscapes (1936-1940), followed by those of the ‘primeval bush’, early Hunter paintings, and Berwick and Wimmera landscapes from 1945 to 1952/3. Biblical paintings with landscape backgrounds were included. Some works, which had escaped the monograph, such as an early Bridge painting, Bride Asleep in a Dark landscape, 1957 (private collection, Melbourne), rounded off the exhibition, with one or two of the Nebuchadnezzar series. Philipp died in May 1970 while on sabbatical leave in London, never destined to see the exhibition he devised, Arthur Boyd’s Australia, which was opened by the Queen. It was also the occasion on which Ursula Hoff received her OBE. Arthur Boyd made a bookplate in 1971, an etching of St Jerome (fig.4), a hermit, a contemplative man, for Philipp’s art- historical library which was given by June Philipp to the National Gallery of Victoria. Boyd remembered him as ‘a gentle thoughtful soul’.55 Figure 4 Arthur Boyd, Bookplate. Most students would remember Philipp for his Renaissance scholarship, but his major books were his monograph on an Australian contemporary painter, Boyd, and the other a volume of essays, which he edited, on the history of collecting as exemplified by the National Gallery of Victoria.56 This volume was dedicated to Sir Daryl Lindsay and included some of the best scholarly essays that have ever been written on individual works in the collection, such as Antonio Morassi’s account of Tiepolo’s Banquet of Cleopatra, and Philipp’s own essay on Poussin’s Crossing of the Red Sea. Some essays were commissioned from international scholars, like Kenneth Clark, who had had some involvement in the collection as adviser to the Felton Bequest. Philipp’s Italian Renaissance essays were all published in local Melbourne journals, occasional pieces highlighting National Gallery acquisitions, such as a two-page note on Bartolommeo 55 Arthur Boyd in conversation with Jaynie Anderson, at Suffolk, July 1998. 56 For Philipp’s individual publications, referred to in this section, see Appendix 1, ‘Franz Philipp: publications’. 16 Bellano’s stone relief of the Lamentation of Christ, and Bellano’s bronze statuette of David. He also write on medieval French and English stained glass roundels, which he hoped would stimulate a revival of such techniques for the projected decoration of Wilson Hall in the University of Melbourne. Philipp’s typewritten lectures, which he described as ‘My Treasures’, always suggested lines of enquiry rather than giving set answers to questions. Two of his published articles, one on Giorgio Vasari – an essay on Renaissance historiography in honour of his two teachers, Max Crawford and Julius von Schlosser – the other a lecture commemorating the 700th anniversary of Giotto’s birth, convey to some extent the experience of listening to him. In some ways he wanted to say too much in his Renaissance lectures, packed as they were with quotations in foreign languages and erudite asides, but he always produced an original text of great quality that was lively in his feeling for the matière of painting and sculpture. He was not on the whole interest in connoisseurship, but in iconography. Unlike almost any of his contemporaries among the Jewish émigré art historians he was deeply interested in the art of his time. His passionate espousal of the art of Jackson Pollock following a trip to the United States was in marked contract to another student of Julius von Schlosser, Ernst Gombrich, who actively disliked abstract painting and wrote articles to that effect. Mannerism became a subject that Philipp wrote about only within an Australian context, a metaphor of his own existence. After Philipp’s death there was a search to find a suitable memorial. Charles Mitchell, who was Professor of Art History at Bryn Mawr, where many gifted Melbourne students had studied, such as Virginia Spate, Margaret Manion and Roger Benjamin, suggested to Philipp’s friends, pupils and colleagues that they buy a reprint of the great Viennese art historical journal the Jahrbuch der Kunstsammlungen der allerhoechsten kaiserhauses in Wien. On 26 May 1971 in a letter to Burke, Mitchell wrote: ‘I urge you to gird up your loins, pester every rich man you know in Melbourne, get students to subscribe their mites – and buy the thing in memory of Franz Philipp. There could be no better memorial to him and it will help nourish students from the breast at which he himself sucked.’57 The volumes are now in the Baillieu Library. When rummaging through Philipp’s correspondence with Boyd I came across some references, which confirmed that the teacher who had meant so much to me, returned my esteem, as in a letter from Philipp of 11 August 1966: I have two personal requests. One of our most gifted graduates, Jaynie Anderson, is on her way to the USA to take up a scholarship at Bryn Mawr and will pass through London from 29th August to 10 September. She is completing an MA thesis on Nolan’s early work up to 1950 and would like to see you and talk to you about your contact with him at that time. Although the family are old friends of the Nolans (her father has been physician to the Nolan family for many years) Cynthia has made it quite impossible for her to see Sid when he was here. I wonder whether you could help 57 School of Fine Arts, Classical Studies and Archaeology, University of Melbourne, archive. 17 to arrange a meeting between her and Sid? I would take this as a great personal favour; she is a most gifted and pleasant girl.58 Jaynie Anderson School of Fine Arts, Classical Studies and Archaeology University of Melbourne Appendix 1 Franz Philipp: publications ‘On three paintings by Arthur Boyd’, Present Opinion (Melbourne University Arts Association), vol.II, no.1, 1947, pp.9-14. ‘Some notes on the study of history of art’, Present Opinion, vol.III, no.1, 1948, pp.67-70. A Private View of Works of Art Presented to the University, 25 October 1951, Rowden White Library, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1951 [catalogue of an exhibition prepared by Franz Philipp with Hilda Fletcher]. ‘Medieval stained glass medallions’, Quarterly Bulletin of the National Gallery of Victoria, vol.VI, no.1, 1952, unpaginated. ‘A relief attributed to Bartolommeo Bellano’, Quarterly Bulletin of the National Gallery of Victoria, vol.III, no.2, 1953, pp.4-5. ‘Some aspects of stained glass painting’, Quarterly Bulletin of the National Gallery of Victoria, vol.III, no.1, 1952, pp.16-24. ‘The Dunlop Art Contest’, Meanjin, vol.IX, 1952, pp.148-51. ‘Australia’s Home’ *review of a book by Robin Boyd+, Meanjin, vol.XLVIII, no.11, 1952, pp.36-41. ‘Two newly acquired works of Australian sculpture: Arthur Boyd’s Saul and David and G. F. Lewers *sic+’, Quarterly Bulletin of the National Gallery of Victoria, vol.IX, no.1, 1955, pp.2-4. ‘Notes on the study of Australian colonial architecture’, Historical Studies, vol.VIII, May 1959, pp.405-21. ‘A survey of research in the history of art in Australia’, in A. Grenfell Price (ed.), Survey of the Humanities in Australia, Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1959, pp.160-65. ‘The culture centre’, Meanjin, vol.LXXXIV, no.20, 1961, pp.80-84. ‘Kenneth Clark, Looking at Pictures’, Journal of Australasian Universities Language and Literature Association, vol.XVI, November 1961, pp.258-60. ‘The Melbourne Album edited by Clive Turnbull’, Meanjin, vol.XXI, no.4, 1962, oo.533-34. ‘Varsari and the Renaissance’, Melbourne Historical Journal, vol.II, 1962, pp.24-34. In Honour of Dary Lindsay: Essays and Studies, [editor with June Stewart] Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1965. ‘Poussin’s Crossing of the Red Sea’, in In Honour of Daryl Lindsay, op cit, pp.80-99. 58 University of Melbourne archives, UMA, DSLII/3. 18 ‘An afterthought to Blake’s Antaeus’, Annual Bulletin of the National Gallery of Victoria, vol.VII, 1965, pp.24-25. ‘Giotto and the Renaissance’, Quadernie dell’Istituto Italiano di Cultura, vol.II, 1967, pp.23-38. ‘Jacopo Tintoretto’s Portrait of the Doge Pietro Loredano’, Quarterly Bulletin of the National Gallery of Victoria, vol.XI, no.2, 1967, pp.2-4. Arthur Boyd, London:Thames and Hudson, 1967. Arthur Boyd’s Australia [catalogue of an exhibition selected by Franz Philipp], Melbourne: National Gallery of Victoria, 2 April – 4 May 1970, introduction, pp.2-6. ‘El Greco’s Entombment of the Count of Orgaz and Spanish mediaeval tomb art’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.XLIV, 1981, pp.76-89. 
work_pexfi5us2fdinhhrwu7zjh32ui	----	Leo S. oLSchki P.O. Box 66 • 50123 Firenze Italy orders@olschki.it • www.olschki.it Fax (+39) 055.65.30.214 caSa editrice Casella postale 66 • 50123 Firenze info@olschki.it • pressoffice@olschki.it Tel. (+39) 055.65.30.684 sommario Alireza Naser Eslami, Incontri di culture tra Rinascimento italiano e la ‘Sublime Porta’. Un’intro- duzione • Giovanni Ricci, Nemici o alleati? L’ambiguo rapporto fra Stati italiani e l’Impero Ottomano nei secoli XV-XVI • Gabriella Airaldi, Oltre le frontiere. Genovesi e Turchi tra medioevo e età moderna • Franco Cardini, L’Impero Ottomano e l’autunno della crociata. Analisi del periodo 1683-1718 • Marco Spallanzani, Ceramica ottomana in un palazzo fiorentino del tardo Rinascimento • Anna Contadini, L’ornamento nel mondo Ottomano e nell’Italia del Rinascimento: trasmissione e congiunzione • Giovanni Curatola, Tappeti ottomani nella pittura. Dalla devozione Mariana all’uso profano • Luigi Zangheri, Il giardino ottomano, l’Italia e la cultura europea • Aygül AĞir, La cultura architettonica veneziana e genovese nella Istanbul Ottomana (XV-XVI sec.) • Alireza Naser Eslami, Emulazione, appropriazione, interazione culturale. Architettura tra il Rinascimento italiano e l’Impero Ottomano. Il Mediterraneo della prima età moderna è una zona franca cultu- rale nella quale coesistono Impero Ottomano, «ponte tra Oriente e Occidente», e Italia del Rina- scimento, «porta d’Oriente per i cristiani d’Occidente». Si afferma in questo periodo un certo gusto per l’alterità, percepito sensibil- mente finanche nell’umanesimo dell’Accademia; esso trova nelle reciproche interazioni ed emulazioni tra corti italiane del Rinascimento e la «Sublime Porta» la sua espressione di maggior rilievo. Queste pagine, allora, si possono leggere come una fenomenologia del «dono», inteso come suprema forma di scambio: una profonda Incontri di civiltà nel Mediterraneo L’Impero Ottomano e l’Italia del Rinascimento Storia, arte e architettura A cura di Alireza Naser Eslami Biblioteca dell’«Archivum Romanicum». Serie I, vol. 434 2014, cm 17 ¥ 24, 184 pp. con 75 figg. n.t. di cui 56 a colori. Rilegato. [isbn 97888 222 6364 3] analisi storica che studia i rapporti tra Italia e Impero Ottomano: dai Medici a papa Alessandro VI, dalla Moschea di Bayezid II, ispirazione palese per la Basilica di San Pietro, agli ornamenti, dalle iscrizioni re- ligiose alla ritrattistica e all’arte dei giardini: si affaccia ora un’epoca nella quale Piero della Francesca, Mantegna, Gentile Bellini – per un certo tempo alla corte ottomana di Istanbul – Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci e altri numerosi artisti guardano con interesse alla cultura ottomana e in questo contesto di straordinaria mobilità di uomini e idee tra i due mondi nasce un’auspicata «visione universale del sapere». Alireza Naser Eslami, architetto, insegna Storia dell’Architettura al Dipartimento di Scienze per l’Architettura, Università di Genova. Ha insegnato presso le Facoltà di Architettura di Milano e di Reggio Calabria, partecipato a molti convegni internazionali ed è autore di numerosi saggi e articoli. In Early Modern Age, the Mediterranean area functioned as a free zone for two exceptional cultural experiences, those of the Ottoman Empire and of the Italian Renaissance. Interactions, emulations, gifts, and offerings, connected the Italian courts and the ‘Sublime Porte’. This book can be read as a phenomenology of gift: a deep historical analysis of the relationship between Italy and the Ottoman Empire, through their handicrafts, their artists, their artworks. http://www.olschki.it/libro/9788822263643 http://www.olschki.it/libro/9788822263643 
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work_pr4q5gm7vnhblgolqq2ujdiql4	----	The Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology The Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology Author(s): John Howland Rowe Source: American Anthropologist, New Series, Vol. 67, No. 1 (Feb., 1965), pp. 1-20 Published by: Wiley on behalf of the American Anthropological Association Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/668652 . Accessed: 06/03/2014 09:00 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . Wiley and American Anthropological Association are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to American Anthropologist. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=black http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=anthro http://www.jstor.org/stable/668652?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp The Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology JOHN HOWLAND ROWE University of California, Berkeley THE comparative point of view of anthropology rests on a recognition that there are physical and cultural differences among human popula- tions which must be taken into account in any attempt to generalize about mankind. It is anthropology's recognition of the scientific importance of such differences which chiefly distinguishes it from other disciplines concerned with man and human behavior. The history of this idea is therefore a particu- larly important part of the history of anthropology.1 It is the thesis of this paper that the anthropological tradition of interest in differences among men had its beginnings in the Italian Renaissance of the 14th and 15th centuries and specifically in Renaissance archaeology. The first differences which were recognized as significant to a general understanding of mankind were the cultural and linguistic differences between Classical antiq- uity and what was then the present. It was only after the beginnings of an archaeological perspective had been established that the interest in differences was extended to contemporary contrasts. Renaissance studies of Classical antiquity not only stimulated a general interest in differences among men, they also provided models for describing such differences. When the problem of describing contemporary non-Western cultures arose, there were Renaissance studies of Roman customs and institu- tions to serve as precedents. Similarly, Renaissance grammars and dictionaries of Classical Latin and Greek became models for the description of spoken languages in all parts of the world, and the study of the ancient monuments of Italy and Greece became the basis for archaeological reporting elsewhere. The beginnings of physical anthropology were delayed, because the study of Clas- sical antiquity in this case offered little precedent. In order to demonstrate the Renaissance origin of the comparative point of view of anthropology, it is necessary to show first that there was no con- tinuous anthropological tradition of comparative studies stretching back through the Middle Ages to Classical antiquity, and second that the interest in differences of custom and language and in local antiquities, characteristic of some writers of the period of the voyages of discovery, was related to a fundamental change in men's attitude toward Classical antiquity which was the essence of the Italian Renaissance. I It is a fact that there was no continuous anthropological tradition of com- parative studies in Classical antiquity and the Middle Ages. There were, how- ever, a number of individual writers in both periods who displayed some interest in cultural differences. The number of such writers was not large, and 1 This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 2 American Anthropologist [67, 1965 their anthropological interests made little impression on their contemporaries; if they were respected it was for other qualities. Such ancient writings of an anthropological nature as still survived were discovered with great enthusiasm by Renaissance scholars and only then began to influence effectively the de- velopment of anthropology. The essence of the anthropological point of view is that in order to under- stand ourselves we need to study others. In contrast, the ancient Greeks for the most part held that the way to understand ourselves is to study ourselves, while what others do is irrelevant. This was the view taken by such influential thinkers as Thucydides and Socrates, for example. It was congenial to Greek ethnocentrism and contributed to the lack of any sustained interest in the customs and languages of "the barbarians," i.e., all non-Greeks. The Romans acknowledged the natural superiority which the Greeks liked to claim and therefore endeavored to identify themselves with the Greeks as far as possible. Instead of studying the differences between the Greeks and themselves, a procedure which would have implied an acceptance of their barbarian status, the Romans traced their ancestry to the heroes of Greek legend, identified their gods with Greek ones, imitated Greek manners, and used the grammatical categories of Greek to describe the Latin language. In this context of general indifference the few writers of Classical antiquity who took an interest in anthropological comparison are conspicuous excep- tions. The earliest and most important of such writers was Herodotus, whose History was written about the middle of the 5th century B.C. Herodotus dis- plays as much interest in the customs of the Egyptians, Scythians, and other "barbarian" peoples as he does in Greek and Persian political history, and it has been said on this account that he is "the father of anthropology" as well as "the father of history."2 The epithet is misleading, as will be seen from the discus- sion which follows. How did Herodotus happen to develop an interest so foreign to the main current of Greek thought? A good case can be made that he learned it from Persian sources. There is no question that Herodotus had access to such sources. He was born a Persian subject in Halicarnassus, a cosmopolitan Greek city on the coast of Asia Minor. In his youth he travelled extensively in the western provinces of the Persian Empire, collecting information which he later used in his History (1921-38). Some of the Persian historical traditions which he incorporated in the History were evidently derived from sources in the Persian nobility.3 The Persians had no less national pride than the Greeks did, but they managed to combine it with a respect for the customs and languages of others which was unique in the ancient world.4 Herodotus illustrates the Persian attitude by telling how the Persian king, Darius the Great, rebuked the Greeks who were present at his court for their intolerance toward "barbarian" cus- toms. Herodotus says: If it were proposed to all nations to choose which of all customs seemed best, each, after examination, would place its own first, so strongly is each persuaded that its own are by far This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp ROWE] Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology 3 the best .... That all men have this feeling about their customs may be concluded from many proofs, among them this. When Darius was king he summoned the Greeks who were with him and asked them for how much money they would be willing to eat the dead bodies of their fathers. They answered that there was no price for which they would do it. Then he summoned those Indians who are called Callatians, who eat their parents, and asked them, with the Greeks present and understanding what was said through an interpreter, what price they would accept to burn their dead at death [i.e., follow the Greek custom]. The Indians cried aloud and begged him to avoid such sacrilegious speech. Such is the nature of custom, and I think it is rightly said in Pindar's poem that custom is lord of all (Bk 3 ch. 38; 1921-38, 2:50). Darius had evidently taken the trouble to inform himself about some of the differences in custom among his subjects. It was this same Darius who had his deeds recorded on the cliff at Bisitun in Old Persian, Babylonian, and Elamite, the three languages most likely to be understood by educated travellers in this area. The Bisitun inscriptions are famous today because they provided the basis for the decipherment of the cuneiform script, but the cultural significance of the repetition of the king's message in three languages is rarely noted. Earlier ancient rulers simply ex- pected any subject who was interested in reading royal inscriptions to learn the official language. The Jews, who benefited greatly from the Persian policy of toleration, preserved its memory long after the Persian Empire had fallen. The Book of Esther in the Old Testament, written in the second half of the 2nd century B.C., is a historical romance laid at the court of the Persian king Xerxes, the son of Darius, who ruled from 485 to 465 B.C. Part of the local color which is provided to authenticate the story is a statement that royal dispatches were issued "to every province in its own script and to every people in its own lan- guage." This phraseology is repeated each time the issue of a royal order is mentioned.' The Persian royal tradition appeared again in the 1st century B.C. exempli- fied by Mithridates the Great, king of Pontus, who claimed descent from one of the companions of Darius. Mithridates is said to have spoken fluently the languages of the 25 peoples who were under his rule: "quinque et viginti gen- tium quas sub dicione habuit linguas percalluit."6 If the ancient Persian interest in differences of culture and language led to the formation of a body of written literature of a more or less anthropological character, however, the History of Herodotus is its principal and perhaps only surviving document. Almost the whole of Old Persian literature perished after the conquest of the Persian Empire by Alexander the Great in the 4th century B.C. No tradition of comparative cultural study developed in antiquity out of Herodotus' work. On the contrary, Herodotus was attacked time and again as a liar, and it was his statements about the unfamiliar customs of the "barbari- ans" which his Greek and Roman readers found particularly difficult to be- lieve. As Arnaldo Momigliano has pointed out, Herodotus had many admirers in antiquity who praised his work as a model of literary style and an inspiring account of the heroic deeds of the Persian war, but none of them ever went so This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 4 A merican Anthropologist [67, 1965 far as to defend him from the charge of being a liar. Herodotus' credit for veracity was not restored until 1566, when Henri Estienne argued that the information on differences in custom available in his day demonstrated the credibility of Herodotus' data on cultural variation (Momigliano 1960; Es- tienne 1566:xxix-xxxii; see also Legrand 1932; Spiegelberg 1927; Burn 1962:1-17). The only lasting effect which Herodotus' ethnographic information had on Greek and Roman thought was that it inspired a tenuous thread of interest among philosophers in the fact that customs are different in different areas. As early as the end of the 5th century B.C. some of the teachers of rhetoric and ethics were asking whether there was in fact any absolute standard by which to distinguish between what is honorable and what is shameful, since the same act may be honorable in one place and shameful in another (Diels 1959:405-416; Taylor 1911:102-105; Untersteiner 1954:304-310). This debating problem became part of the standard repertory of Greek philosophers, and every teacher needed a few handy examples of contrasts in custom to which he could refer. As a very minor part of his comprehensive effort to organize knowledge and provide materials for teaching, Aristotle made a collection of examples of odd customs, only a few fragments of which have come down to us (Heitz 1869:297-299; Moraux 1951:130-131). A similar collection was made in the 1st century B.C. by Nicholas of Damascus, a later member of Aristotle's school (Jacoby 1926-30, A:384-390, C:255-261; Reimann 1895; Wacholder 1962: 70-88). The examples in these collections were compiled from the works of earlier writers on history and geography, including Herodotus. The philoso- phers did not make fresh ethnographic observations of their own. The closest approach to an anthropological study in Greek after Herodotus appears to have been the description of India and its peoples by Megasthenes, written in the 3rd century B.C. (MUiller 1874-83, 2:397-429; McCrindle 1877; Stein 1931). Megasthenes was ambassador of the Greek ruler of western Asia, Seleucus Nicator, at the court of Chandragupta, where he had excellent oppor- tunities to see Indian life at first hand and to question informants. He was active only about 20 years after the Persian monarchy had been overthrown, and he represented the state which had inherited the lion's share of the former Persian territory. It is not unlikely that the Persian tradition of tolerant aware- ness of cultural differences influenced him, as it had influenced Herodotus. Only fragments of Megasthenes' work have been preserved, but it evidently contained substantial sections on Indian customs and beliefs as well as descrip- tions of the country and of Indian plants and animals. Like Herodotus, Megas- thenes was branded as a liar by later Classical writers. The charge was inaccu- rate; Megasthenes' weakness was not mendacity but an innocent inability to distinguish the circumstantial narratives of Indian mythology from factual reports of areas he had not visited personally. In Latin literature the only work of Classical antiquity which resembles an ethnographic report is a treatise entitled On the origin, location, customs and peoples of the Germans, written by Cornelius Tacitus in A.D. 98 (Tacitus 1938; This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp ROWE] Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology 5 Norden 1922; Walser 1951; Syme 1958:46-48; 126-128). This work is better known by the short title Germania, but the longer one gives a clearer idea of its contents. The whole treatise is not much longer than a modern journal article, and it conveys rather less ethnographic information than does Herodotus' description of the Scythians. Nevertheless, the fact that a Roman should write any separate work on a foreign people is notable in itself. Tacitus was a Roman lawyer and civil servant, and it is not at all certain that he was ever in Germany. At the time he wrote his essay on the Germans, the Roman emperor Trajan was on the left bank of the Rhine, and the timing suggests that Tacitus was motivated by a desire to persuade the emperor to undertake an invasion of Germany. The Germania certainly reads like an article of the sort written by the political commentators of today to explain the background of current events and perhaps influence public policy at the same time. The author took advantage of the opportunity to read his fellow citizens a moral lesson by praising the Germans for maintaining certain values which Tacitus identified as part of the older Roman tradition and which he felt that his contemporaries were neglecting. In discussing those German customs which conflicted with Roman values, however, Tacitus' attitude was one of marked disapproval. The Germania failed to influence Trajan's foreign policy, and it inspired no interest among the Romans in making more detailed studies of the Germans or of other foreign peoples. In fact, it had little effect on anyone's thinking until after its rediscovery in the Renaissance, when a new tradition of interest in cultural differences had developed on a different basis. In this new context the Germania was read with enthusiasm and attention for the ethnographic infor- mation it contained. It was hailed as a "golden book," and it had a consider- able influence on pioneer ethnographic writings. There is a certain amount of information on human differences scattered through the rest of ancient literature, particularly in works on geography, such as that of Strabo, and in more encyclopaedic works, of which the Natural History of the elder Pliny is the chief example that has come down to us (Strabo 1917-32; Plinius Secundus 1938-63). The information provided by the geographers consists of brief references to foreign customs which the author considered sufficiently peculiar to amuse his readers. It is present only as inci- dental detail, the main emphasis being on physical geography, the location of cities, and varieties of animals and plants. The complete lack of an anthropo- logical perspective is particularly striking in Pliny's Natural History, a work which includes four books on geography (Books III-VI) and one on man (Book VII). There is a section at the beginning of the book on man in which Pliny provides a catalogue of the fabulous anatomical freaks with which the imagina- tion of the ancients peopled the more remote parts of the earth; thereafter, he discusses human variation only in terms of Greek and Roman examples. Such information on foreign customs as we find in ancient literature is greatly reduced in value by the tendency of ancient writers to copy well-turned phrases from one another and show greater concern with form than with con- This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 6 A merican A nthropologist [67, 1965 tent. In discussing barbarians, men felt free to transfer an interesting state- ment of a peculiar custom from one people to another. Thus, statements made by Greek writers about Scythian customs were applied by Tacitus to the Germans. Evidently differences among barbarians were not considered impor- tant enough to require accurate reporting by historians and encyclopaedists. The result was the development of a series of ethnographic commonplaces such as that barbarians use neither images nor temples in their worship; that they live by war and pillage; that they do not appreciate the value of precious metals; and so forth.7 During the Middle Ages some Arabic writers showed more interest in cultural differences than was common in Classical antiquity, but their work failed to influence the European tradition of the time. A certain number of Arabic works were translated into Latin and circulated in Mediaeval Europe, but these were chiefly mathematical and medical works. No significant influ- ence of Moslem interest in cultural differences can be traced in Europe until the time of Giovanni Leone Granatino ("Leo the African") who completed the Italian version of his Description of Africa in 1526 (Granatino 1957). Renais- sance scholars of the 14th and 15th centuries were, on the whole, hostile to Arabic learning, which they compared unfavorably with that of the ancient Greeks. The intellectual climate of Mediaeval Europe was not favorable to com- parative studies. European Christians were much concerned about religious differences but only for the purpose of suppressing them. Other cultural differ- ences were assigned little importance; it was differences in character and morality among individuals which were considered significant. At the same time, there was a literary interest in monsters and marvels, derived from the Classical literary tradition represented by the elder Pliny, which biased the expectations of travellers to distant lands. Thus, Mediaeval writers added little new information on differences among men to the stock which they had in- herited from the geographical compilations of Classical antiquity. In the 13th century, however, the Europeans had their attention forcibly attracted to the Mongols, a strange people from the eastern end of the world about whom the European literary tradition provided no information. Jenghiz Khan defeated the Russians at the Kalka River in 1223; Batu overran Russia between 1237 and 1240, and in 1241 he destroyed the armies of Poland and Hungary, supported by French and German contingents. In 1259 Berke in- vaded Poland again and defeated a crusade sent against him from the west. Here were "barbarians" whom the Europeans obviously could not afford to ignore. Many emissaries were sent to the new rulers of Asia with orders to collect information while conducting their official business. Respect for the military power of the Mongols led to some sober and factual reporting. The most informative of the European envoys to the Mongol courts were the Franciscan friars Giovanni da Pian del Carpini, who travelled in Asia be- tween 1245 and 1247, and Willem van Rubroek, who made his trip in 1253 and 1254. These men wrote accounts of their experiences among the Mongols which were intended primarily as military intelligence reports but included a certain This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp ROWE] Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology 7 amount of information on Mongol customs. Pian del Carpini's History of the Mongols fills 68 small pages in English translation; a little over one quarter of it is devoted to presenting ethnographic information. Rubroek's Itinerary is nearly twice as long (130 of the same size pages) and about one fifth of it deals with Mongol customs (Wyngaert 1929:1-130, 145-332; Dawson 1955). A few years later (1275-1292) Marco Polo, the son of a Venetian merchant, spent 17 years in the service of Kublai Khan as an official of his imperial ad- ministration, eventually returning to Italy with many marvellous tales to tell. He was taken prisoner by the Genoese in a sea fight in 1296 and spent two or three years in a Genoese prison. There, in 1298, his story was written down in rough French by a fellow prisoner, Rusticiano of Pisa. Marco Polo's narrative is very different in tone from the earlier Franciscan reports. It is, in a sense, propaganda for Kublai Khan, whom Marco served loyally and greatly ad- mired; it also reflects a personal interest in cultural differences which Marco says he learned from the Great Khan himself (Polo, ch. 16; 1938, 1:86). How- ever, the ethnographic information in Marco Polo's book is neither very exten- sive nor very accurate. It is intermingled with much fabulous material on the "wonders of the east" which reflects a characteristically Mediaeval attitude (Polo 1938; Olschki 1960:138-146). The influence of the works of Giovanni da Pian del Carpini, Willem van Rubroek, and Marco Polo on European thought was not proportional to the value of the information they provided. Pian del Carpini's brief account of the Mongols was reproduced in the Speculum historiale of Vincent of Beauvais, compiled between 1256 and 1259 as part of Vincent's great encyclopaedia, the Speculum maius, a popular Mediaeval work of reference. Marco Polo's pictur- esque narrative was also widely read. The more detailed and informative work of Willem van Rubroek was used by Roger Bacon, who met the author, and through Bacon's influence it had a modest circulation in England. It was un- known to continental scholars, however, until it was printed in the 16th cen- tury (Dawson 1955:2, 88; Bacon 1900, 1:305). Roger Bacon, who lived from about 1214 to about 1292, was one of the most original thinkers of his time. He had a vision of a comprehensive science in the service of religion which he expounded to Pope Clement IV in his Opus maius of 1267 (Easton 1952). Part Four of this work contains a description of the world, occupying more than 70 pages, in which the reports of Pian del Carpini and Rubroek are both utilized. Here, if anywhere in Mediaeval litera- ture, we might expect to find a foreshadowing of the comparative point of view of anthropology. Bacon does, indeed, stress the fact that the customs of men are different in different regions, but he goes on to explain that the differences are determined by the astrological influence of the planets, so that the way to study them is to determine the precise latitude and longitude of every place. There is no suggestion that direct observation of human behavior might be useful.8 Bacon derived this theory of astrological determination from the pseudo-Aristotelian Secret of secrets, a work which profoundly influenced his thinking (Easton 1952:73). Our review of pre-Renaissance writings by Europeans concerned with This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 8 American Anthropologist [67, 1965 cultural differences can be summed up by saying that works of this sort were not numerous, and that the best ones were neglected or disbelieved. The intel- lectual climate of Europe was not favorable to a native development of anthro- pology either in Classical antiquity or in the Middle Ages, and the European tradition successfully resisted Persian and Mongol influence in this direction. II When a broader perspective was finally developed, it did not originate with observations of contemporary differences but with the study of Greek and Roman antiquity. The first cultural contrast to be recognized was that between the present and the past. This recognition was an achievement of the Italian Renaissance and, in fact, was the new idea which generated the greater part of the Renaissance movement. Only when men had learned to see differences by studying the past were they able to observe contemporary differences in the world around them in any systematic fashion.9 Before the Renaissance, Europeans were no more sensitive to differences in time than they were to differences in space. The only remote past which the Greeks and Romans recognized as different enough to form a contrast with the present was a realm of mythological fantasy, and when the myths ceased to be acceptable in their literal sense they were reinterpreted as allegories. The Christians transferred the allegorical method to the interpretation of biblical texts, thus destroying the documentary value of these texts as records of a non-Classical culture. In the Middle Ages Europeans recognized no significant difference between themselves and the ancients. The distinction between a Classical and a Me- diaeval period was an invention of the Renaissance which would have been incomprehensible to the people of earlier times. The fact is that the cultural tradition of Greece and Rome continued unbroken into the Middle Ages. Latin was everywhere the language of education and continued to be the common written language of Europe. Educated people were therefore not entirely cut off from ancient literature, although books became very scarce. Some ancient writers continued to be read, chiefly the later ones of Christian Rome. Stories from ancient literature and history were retold and illustrated in art. The fact that some changes had taken place was recognized, but the changes were re- garded as isolated discrepancies, not sufficiently significant to establish a syste- matic contrast between antiquity and the present. Where their attention was not called to a specific difference, people simply assumed that the ancients behaved in familiar ways; thus Alexander the Great appeared in Mediaeval romances as a feudal monarch, and the heroes of ancient Rome were depicted in Mediaeval dress in paintings and book illustrations. As Erwin Panofsky puts it, "For want of a 'perspective distance' classical civilization could not be viewed as a coherent cultural system within which all things belonged to- gether" (1960:111). The Renaissance has done its work so well that it now requires some effort to understand this Mediaeval point of view. This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp ROWE] Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology 9 In the 13th century, with the rise of scholasticism and the High Gothic style in art, there was a general abandonment of the Classical tradition in philosophy, literary style, architecture and sculpture, the change being par- ticularly marked in France. In architecture, for example, Classical ornament was almost systematically eliminated. The Latin language was not abandoned, but it was modified in syntax and vocabulary to fit the new patterns of scholas- tic thinking, and Classical writers were no longer taken as models of literary style.10 The Renaissance began in the 14th century as a reaction against the new ideals of the 13th. The founders of the Renaissance wanted to turn again to Classical models and restore the old tradition. Their attack on the work of their immediate predecessors, however, led them to emphasize the differences be- tween current practice and Classical values, so that the cultural contrast between antiquity and the present gradually came to be recognized. The Renaissance learned to see antiquity at the "perspective distance" stipulated by Panofsky. The man who was most influential in starting the Renaissance movement was Petrarch (Francesco Petrarca, 1304-1374), and his interests shaped its development.11 Petrarch was a poet and essayist, an artist with language who was more concerned with literary form than with content. He collected the works of ancient writers, particularly the Roman poets and orators, modelled his Latin style after theirs, imitated their literary forms, and wrote on subjects which they suggested to him. Antiquity for Petrarch represented an ideal of perfection in every department of life, an ideal to be imitated as faithfully as possible. In order to imitate Classical antiquity, however, it was first necessary to study it. Petrarch's own studies of Roman literature were too personal and unsystematic to initiate a tradition of scholarship, and for this step we must look to his friend and admirer, Giovanni Boccaccio (1313-1375), who wrote treatises on Classical mythology and topography as well as the prose stories for which he is now more famous (Voigt 1894:159-180; Hortis 1879; Wilkins 1927). The first systematic observations of archaeological monuments were made about 1375 by another friend of Petrarch's, the physician and mechanical engineer Giovanni Dondi (1318-1389) [Sarton 1948:1676-1677; Rossi 1871 and 1888:330-334; Bormann and Henzen 1876:xxvii-xxviii; Panofsky 1960: 208-210]. Petrarch particularly admired the poetry of Virgil and Cicero's prose, but he knew also the works of perhaps 15 to 20 other ancient Roman writers from manu- scripts which were more or less readily accessible in northern Italy. He studied Greek, though only with limited success, and owned a manuscript of Homer and several of the works of Plato. The selection of ancient literature available grad- ually increased as Petrarch's followers became more numerous and began to exchange copies of the manuscripts they found. The search for manuscripts was carried on chiefly in Italy at first, but shortly after 1400 Italian scholars discov- ered the riches of the monastery libraries north of the Alps and began purchasing This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 10 American Anthropologist [67, 1965 manuscripts in Greece and at Constantinople. The greater part of ancient Greek and Latin literature which has survived was known in Italy by about 1430.12 By this time also a tradition of teaching ancient literature was well established. The effective beginning of Greek studies in Italy dates from the appointment in 1396 of the Byzantine scholar Manuel Chrysoloras to teach Greek at Florence (Sy- monds 1888: 108-113; Voigt 1894:219-228). The discovery, reproduction, and teaching of ancient literature occupied the energy of Renaissance intellectual leaders until well into the 15th century, allow- ing little opportunity for the development of systematic study. Then, with many new resources available, the foundations of modern scholarship were laid by three remarkable men, Ciriaco de' Pizzicolli of Ancona (1391-1452), Lorenzo Valla (1406-1457), and Biondo Flavio of Forli (1392-1463). Ciriaco de' Pizzicolli founded the discipline of archaeology.13 In 1421 he had occasion to study the Latip inscription on the triumphal arch of Trajan at An- cona and was inspired by the idea that archaeological monuments could provide a more direct testimony of antiquity than the literary tradition. He devoted the rest of his life to studying ancient monuments in the field, copying inscriptions and recording ancient sculpture and architecture in Italy, Dalmatia, Greece, Turkey, and even Egypt. Once, at Vercelli in northern Italy, an ignorant priest asked Ciriaco his business, and the archaeologist replied, "Restoring the dead to life" (Pizzicolli 1742:55). The remark is still a good statement of the business of archaeology. Ciriaco's concern with ancient monuments implied no rejection of the literary tradition of antiquity; he regarded the two kinds of evidence as complementing one another. He was himself an enthusiastic student of ancient literature and collected many important Greek manuscripts on his eastern travels. Some of his field notes were made in the margins of a copy of Strabo's Geography which was his guide to the identification of many ancient sites. Little of Ciriaco's work has come down to us in the form it left his hands. Only a few pages of his voluminous original field notes (Commentaria) have survived, and we know his work chiefly from copies of extracts made by contemporaries who were interested in the evidence he provided. He wrote no work of synthesis of his own. Nevertheless, his influence on posterity was considerable. Lorenzo Valla was the founder of the Renaissance tradition of linguistics (Mancini 1891; Gaeta 1955; Valla 1962). His major linguistic work was a manual of literary style entitled Elegances of the Latin language which was begun before 1435 and finished in 1444 (Valla 1962, 1:1-235; Mancini 1891:261-275). It is a descriptive study of Classical usage based on specific examples from ancient texts. Valla's perspective view of ancient Latin enabled him to recognize that linguistic change had occurred, and his descriptive method made study of such change possible. The Elegances was first printed in 1471 and went through 26 editions before 1500. Valla also stimulated Renaissance interest in cultural differences by translat- ing Herodotus into Latin. He is probably best known, however, as the founder of historical criticism. He earned this title by an attack, written in 1440, on the This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp ROWE] Renaissance Foundations of A nthropology 11 authenticity of the so-called "Donation of Constantine," a forgery of the time of Charlemagne on which the popes had, for several centuries, based their claims to temporal power (Valla 1922 and 1962, 1:761-795). Valla's attack on the "Dona- tion" includes such explicit criticism of abuses in the church that he has been hailed as a forerunner of Luther. He had the further audacity to criticize St. Jerome's Latin translation of the New Testament, which he proposed to correct by comparison with the original Greek. A comparable degree of intellectual inde- pendence had brought Jan Hus to the stake only a few years earlier, but the triumph of the Renaissance in Italy introduced an interlude of toleration which not only saved Valla from persecution but made it possible for him to be ap- pointed a papal secretary. Valla was a versatile scholar who wrote philosophical and devotional essays, current history, polemics, and verse as well and the linguistic and critical works mentioned. In addition, he was one of the discoverers of manuscripts of ancient literature. Biondo Flavio also made important contributions to Renaissance linguistics and archaeology, and he was the first to undertake a systematic study of ancient Roman culture.14 His first work was an essay on the language spoken by the ancient Romans, written in 1435.15 Leonardo Bruni and others had suggested that Latin was only the literary language of ancient Rome, while the spoken language was like the Italian of their own day. This theory in effect projected the 15th century situation into the past, in Mediaeval fashion, and blurred the new per- spective view of antiquity. Biondo defended the Renaissance position by present- ing evidence that the spoken language of the ancient Romans was a form of Latin. In doing so, he displayed an essentially modern view of dialect differences. Between 1444 and 1446 Biondo wrote the first archaeological monograph intended for publication. It was entitled Rome restored and was a study of the topography and monuments of the ancient city based on a combination of literary evidence and observations of surviving remains. Printing was introduced into Italy in 1464, and Biondo's Rome restored became the first archaeological work to be published by the new process, appearing in 1471. It had a profound influence on later work. Biondo followed up his study of ancient Rome with another one which provided similar topographic treatment of the antiquities of other parts of Italy. Italy illustrated, as this work was called, was written between 1448 and 1453 and printed in 1474. Biondo's study of ancient Roman culture was written between 1457 and 1459 and was first printed about 1473. It was entitled Rome triumphant and included sections on religion, government, military organization, life and customs, dwell- ings and transportation, and public honors. There were also frequent comparisons with customs and institutions of the author's own time which reflect the begin- nings of an anthropological point of view. Biondo was also a historian concerned with more recent events. His Decades of history from the decline of the Romans, written between 1438 and 1453, is a general history of Italy from the end of the 4th century to the year 1441, the first survey of the Middle Ages from the Renaissance point of view and a work which had a This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 12 American Anthropologist [67, 1965 great influence on later scholarship in the Mediaeval field. It ends with an ac- count of the arrival of envoys from Ethiopia at the papal court. The Renaissance scholars whose work we have discussed treated antiquity as a different world from the one they knew, remote but accessible to all through its literature and its monuments. The Renaissance education of their time spread the view that the ancients were both different and worthy of study. Men trained in this tradition were better prepared than any of their predecessors to observe and record contemporary cultural differences when the opportunity presented itself. The importance of the Renaissance point of view in making men sensitive to cultural differences is clearly seen in the records of early Potuguese and Spanish explorations in Africa and the Atlantic. The accounts of most of the early explor- ers are limited to relating their own adventures, discussing problems of naviga- tion, and indicating the physical characteristics of the new lands and the oppor- tunities for trade which they presented. The rare writers who devoted some attention to the natives and their customs in the early days of the great voyages of discovery were all either educated Italians or men who had been exposed to Italian Renaissance influence. The first great program of western voyages, that of Prince Henry the Navi- gator of Portugal, took place in the 15th century and was contemporary with the first flowering of Renaissance scholarship in Italy. After sending ships to explore Madeira and the Azores, Prince Henry turned his attention in 1434 to the west coast of Africa, looking for slaves and gold. In 1441 his captains reached the Senegal at the northern edge of black Africa, and Europeans stood at the thresh- old of their first contemporary new world. Thereafter, voyages along the West African coast for trade and further exploration were frequent. Although a number of the captains who participated in these voyages wrote reports which have come down to us, only one made a systematic attempt to provide some ethnographic information on the peoples he visited. He was an Italian merchant, Alvise Ca' da Mosto (1432-1483), member of the Venetian nobility, who made two voyages to West Africa for Prince Henry, one in 1455 and the other in 1456. His account of what he saw in Rio de Oro, the Canary Islands, Senegal and Gambia was printed in 1507 (Ca' da Mosto 1937:1-84). The Renaissance tradition of scholarship was taken to Spain in the late 15th century by Elio Antonio de Lebrija (1444-1522), an Andalusian educated at Bologna, and Pietro Martire d'Anghiera (1457-1526), an Italian scholar at- tached to the court of Ferdinand and Isabella. Lebrija was a notable pioneer in linguistics. His Latin-Spanish and Spanish-Latin dictionary, published in 1492-95, was the first bilingual dictionary to include a modern spoken language, and his Spanish grammar, published in 1492, was the first grammar of a spoken language inspired by Renaissance scholarship (Lebrija 1926, 1946, 1951). While based on a Latin grammar which Lebrija had written earlier, the Spanish gram- mar is by no means a mechanical application of the rules of Latin to Spanish. Where differences between Latin and Spanish struck his attention, Lebrija at- tempted to describe the Spanish constructions in their own terms. He was espe- cially interested in pronunciation and proposed a reform of Spanish spelling to This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp ROWE] Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology 13 bring it more into line with the results of his analysis of the sounds of the lan- guage. Lebrija's work set a precedent for the later efforts of missionaries, many of them Spanish or Spanish trained, to describe the native languages of America. Pietro Martire considered the discovery of America to be the most interesting event of his time. Although he never visited the New World himself, he became its first systematic reporter, beginning at once, with the return of Columbus in 1493, to collect information on American explorations from the men who were participating in them. His position at court enabled him to keep in close touch with events, and he entertained and questioned many of the explorers on their return to Spain. He saw the objects they brought with them and examined the captives they exhibited to the king. The information he collected was communi- cated immediately in elegant Latin to the popes and the community of Renais- sance scholarship. A small volume in Italian based on his letters was published in Venice without the author's name in 1505. Pietro Martire's own Latin version of his reports was published in parts, the first in 1511, the first three in 1516, and the entire work in eight parts in 1530, after the author's death. It was entitled New World decades (Salas 1959:13-60 and references; Wagner 1947; Anghiera 1892 and 1912). Pietro Martire took a special interest in ethnographic and linguistic informa- tion about the natives of the newly discovered lands. His letter of November, 1493, to Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, which became Book 1 of the first Decade, in- cludes a brief vocabulary of Taino words recorded from the natives of Hispaniola whom Columbus brought back from his first voyage. This vocabulary is our earliest European record of any New World language. Pietro Martire's ethno- graphic information is relatively abundant and is presented in a notably objective fashion, the only American customs which he feels called upon to condemn out- right being cannibalism and human sacrifice. The fairness of his attitude toward both cultural and physical differences is well illustrated by a passage in which he gives his reactions to the sight of the lip plugs worn by some Mexicans whom Cortes had sent to the Spanish court: I do not remember ever having seen anything more repulsive; they, however, consider that there is nothing more elegant under the orb of the moon, an example which teaches us how absurdly the human race is sunk in its own blindness, and how much we are all mistaken. The Ethiopian considers that black is a more beautiful color than white, while the white man thinks otherwise. The hairless man thinks he looks better than the hairy one, and the bearded man better than the beardless. It is clearly a reaction of the emotions and not a reasoned conclusion that leads the human race into such absurdities, and every district is swayed by its own taste (Decade 4, bk. 7; Anghiera 1892, 2:41-42). Darius the Great would have approved this statement. The anthropological importance of Pietro Martire rests on more than his own objective reports on American ethnography, however. It was he who inspired the actual explorers of the New World to make notes on native customs. He provided a focus of interest in such matters at the Spanish court, questioning returning travellers, demanding reports, distributing information, and over the years creat- ing a public interest which stimulated others to publish the information they had collected in far countries. To give only one specific example of his influence, a This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 14 American Anthropologist [67, 1965 good case can be made on circumstantial evidence that Gonzalo Fernandez de Oviedo y Valdes was stimulated to write his General and natural history of the Indies by the visit he paid to Pietro Martire in January, 1516, and by reading the first three Decades published in the same year. There is no doubt that Fernandez de Oviedo came to regard himself as Pietro Martire's great rival as an expert on New World matters. Once started on his American research, however, Fernandez de Oviedo drew on a Renaissance background of his own. He had travelled in Italy between 1497 and 1502 and had read extensively in Classical literature. He utilized this background to compare New World customs with those of antiquity in a much more systematic fashion than Pietro Martire had done (Salas 1959: 122-125). No one who makes a general survey of the literature bearing on historical ethnology which has come down to us from 16th century Europe can fail to be struck by the fact that it provides better and more detailed information on New World cultures than on those of the other parts of the world which the Europeans were exploring at the same time. The difference can be credited very largely to Pietro Martire's influence. III The significance of the Renaissance to the history of anthropology is that it created a "perspective distance" at which antiquity or any more recent culture might be seen whole and observed with a respect that would make it an accept- able object of study. The perspective of anthropology owes much to the experi- ence of Europeans in the great voyages of discovery, but it did not originate in the observation of contemporary differences. Travellers see only what they are pre- pared to see, and men's eyes had first to be opened by the study of Classical antiquity in a framework which contrasted it with their own times. It is paradoxical in a sense that Renaissance admiration for Classical antiq- uity should have made men more ready to study linguistic and cultural differ- ences in the world around them. Why did they not concentrate exclusively on the study of Classical antiquity? Many, of course, were content to do so. But the Renaissance movement was more than a nostalgic return to the past. It was a dynamic reform movement which asked the advice of the past in order to handle the problems of the present, and it was born in comparison. There were always many Renaissance thinkers for whom the present had to be part of the equation. The enthusiasm of the Renaissance for Classical antiquity had the further effect of cracking the shell of ethnocentric prejudice which had traditionally isolated the men of the west. If the Greeks and Romans were the great masters, never rivalled since, it was ridiculous for any modern people to claim an exclusive excellence. A touch of humility toward the great past made possible the impartial curiosity of men like Pietro Martire d'Anghiera. NOTES 1 This paper is a by-product of research on the early history of archaeology. Its central idea is the result of thinking about the history of anthropology in the framework provided by Arnaldo This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp ROWE] Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology 15 Momigliano's Sather Lectures of 1962, "The Classical foundations of modern historiography," and Erwin Panofsky's work on the significance of the Renaissance (Panofsky 1960, 1962). Momi- gliano's Sather Lectures have not yet been published, but key portions of his argument are avail- able in earlier articles (Momigliano 1955, 1960). My argument, inspired by Momigliano, that there was no continuous anthropological tradi- tion in Classical antiquity, is intended to challenge the notion common among anthropologists interested in the history of their discipline that anthropology begins with Herodotus and has had a more or less continuous development since. This notion is derived from such earlier studies as Myres 1908, Sikes 1914, and Triidinger 1918, where its presence reflects the influence of the idea of progress. A shorter version of this paper was read at the Seventh Annual Meeting of the Kroeber Anthropological Society, Berkeley, April 6, 1963. It is a pleasure to express my appreciation to William C. Sturtevant, John F. Freeman, Dell H. Hymes, Luis Mongui6, Gene M. Schramm, Dorothy Menzel, and Margaret T. J. Rowe for encouragement and suggestions. Except as specific- ally noted, all translations were made by me from the original texts. 2 It was Cicero who called Herodotus "the father of history" (see Momigliano 1960:29) and J. L. Myres (1908:125) who called him "the father of anthropology." Momigliano (1960:44) con- cludes that "Herodotus has really become the father of history only in modern times." I Wells 1923; Glover 1924:60-61; Myres 1953:159-160. 4 The best general account of Persian imperial policy is still that of Eduard Meyer (1953-56, 4. Band, 1:20-89). Meyer contributed a summary of this account in English to the eleventh edi- tion of the Encyclopaedia Britannica (article Persia). A detailed study of Persian toleration is badly needed. 6 Esther 1:22, 3:12, 8:9, quoted from the Revised Standard Version. 6 Gellius (mid 2nd century A.D.), Noctes Atticae, Bk. XVII, ch. xvii; 1927-28, 3:262-263. 7 Schroeder 1921; compare John George Clark Anderson's review of the influence of common- places in the Germania in Tacitus 1938:xxvii-xxxvii. 8 Bacon 1900, 1:300-301. Bacon took most of his geographical and ethnological information from Pliny. 9 There is an immense literature on the Italian Renaissance. For present purposes the most useful research guides to this literature are Stark 1880 and Cosenza 1962. Novices in the Renais- sance field should be warned that there has been much controversy among historians in recent years regarding the differences between the Renaissance and the Middle Ages (see Ferguson 1948 and Helton 1961). In this controversy I follow Panofsky, because I find his arguments convincing. The neo-Burckhardtian approach of this paper therefore represents a deliberate and reasoned choice among the alternatives. 10 This paragraph is based on Panofsky 1960:101-103. 11 On Petrarch see especially Voigt 1894; Essling and Miintz 1902; Nolhac 1907; Venturi 1929; and Mommsen 1957. 12 On the recovery of Latin and Greek manuscripts see Symonds 1888:127-142; Voigt 1894:229-259; and Sabbadini 1905-14. 13 Bodnar 1960:8-15 gives an extensive bibliography of works relating to Ciriaco; to it should be added Essen 1958. The basic source on Ciriaco's life is Scalamonti 1792. On the value of his field records see Lehmann-Hartleben 1943 and Ashmole 1956. 14 Biondo Flavio 1927:xix-cxciii (by Bartolomeo Nogara), and notes kindly provided by Margaret T. J. Rowe. Biondo, of course, wrote in Latin, although the titles of his works are given in English in the text of this paper. 15 De verbis Romanae locutionis; Biondo Flavio 1927:115-130. REFERENCES CITED ANGHIERA, PIETRO MARTIRE D' 1892 De orbe novo Petri Martyris Anglerii ... decades octo quas scripsit ab anno 1493 ad 1526 ... cura et studio D. Joachim Torres Asensio. Madrid, Typis Viduae et Filiae Gomez Fuentenebro. 2 vols. This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 16 American Anthropologist [67, 1965 1912 De orbe novo; the eight Decades of Peter Martyr d'Anghera, translated from the Latin with notes and introduction by Francis Augustus MacNutt. New York and London, G. P. 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This content downloaded from 147.96.1.236 on Thu, 6 Mar 2014 09:00:59 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Article Contents p. 1 p. 2 p. 3 p. 4 p. 5 p. 6 p. 7 p. 8 p. 9 p. 10 p. 11 p. 12 p. 13 p. 14 p. 15 p. 16 p. 17 p. 18 p. 19 p. 20 Issue Table of Contents American Anthropologist, New Series, Vol. 67, No. 1 (Feb., 1965), pp. i-vii+1-292 Front Matter [pp. i-vii] The Renaissance Foundations of Anthropology [pp. 1-20] Computer Methods for Analyzing Genealogical Space [pp. 21-29] A Generalization of the Cross/Parallel Distinction [pp. 30-43] Primitive Money [pp. 44-65] Caribbean Family Organization: A Comparative Analysis [pp. 66-79] William R. Holland 1928-1964 [pp. 80-82] Brief Communications Structure and Process: The Purum Case [pp. 83-91] Descent Systems, Affines and Kindreds: A Rejoinder to Befu [pp. 91-95] Befu's Reply to Nelson [pp. 95-97] Magic and Religion in Sinhalese Society [pp. 97-99] Couvade: Ritual or Real Illness [pp. 99-102] Those Polynesian Voyages [pp. 102-103] Anthropological "Values" and Culture Change: A Note [pp. 103-107] Prognosticative Calendar Systems [pp. 107-110] Formal versus Informal Estimates of Cultural Stability [pp. 110-115] Letters to the Editor The "Human versus Culture" Controversy [p. 116] Comment on Componential Analysis [p. 117] Graves' Review of Barnouw's "Culture and Personality" [pp. 117-118] Concerning Graves' Review of Barnouw: A Reply to Conrad [p. 118] Book Reviews Ethnology Review: untitled [pp. 119-120] Review: untitled [pp. 121-122] Review: untitled [pp. 122-125] Review: untitled [pp. 125-126] Review: untitled [p. 126] Review: untitled [pp. 126-128] Review: untitled [pp. 128-130] Review: untitled [pp. 130-132] Review: untitled [pp. 132-133] Review: untitled [pp. 133-134] Review: untitled [pp. 134-135] Review: untitled [pp. 135-136] Review: untitled [pp. 136-137] Review: untitled [pp. 137-139] Review: untitled [pp. 139-140] Review: untitled [pp. 140-141] Review: untitled [pp. 141-142] Review: untitled [pp. 142-143] Review: untitled [p. 143] Review: untitled [p. 144] Review: untitled [pp. 144-145] Review: untitled [pp. 145-147] Review: untitled [pp. 147-148] Review: untitled [pp. 148-149] Review: untitled [pp. 149-150] Linguistics Review: untitled [pp. 150-151] Review: untitled [pp. 151-152] Review: untitled [pp. 153-154] Review: untitled [pp. 154-155] Review: untitled [pp. 155-156] Review: untitled [pp. 156-157] Archeology Review: untitled [pp. 157-159] Review: untitled [pp. 159-160] Review: untitled [pp. 160-162] Review: untitled [p. 162] Review: untitled [pp. 162-163] Review: untitled [p. 163] Review: untitled [pp. 163-164] Physical Anthropology Review: untitled [pp. 164-166] Review: untitled [pp. 166-168] General Review: untitled [pp. 168-169] Review: untitled [pp. 169-170] Review: untitled [pp. 170-171] Review: untitled [pp. 171-172] Other Review: untitled [pp. 172-176] Review: untitled [pp. 176-177] Review: untitled [pp. 177-178] Review: untitled [pp. 178-179] Review: untitled [p. 179] Review: untitled [pp. 179-180] Review: untitled [pp. 180-181] Review: untitled [pp. 182-183] Review: untitled [p. 183] Review: untitled [pp. 183-184] Review: untitled [pp. 184-185] Review: untitled [pp. 185-186] Review: untitled [p. 187] Review: untitled [pp. 187-188] Review: untitled [pp. 188-190] Review: untitled [pp. 190-191] Review: untitled [p. 191] Review: untitled [pp. 192-193] Review: untitled [pp. 193-194] Review: untitled [pp. 194-195] Review: untitled [pp. 195-197] Review: untitled [pp. 197-198] Review: untitled [pp. 198-199] Review: untitled [pp. 199-200] Review: untitled [p. 200] Review: untitled [pp. 200-201] Review: untitled [p. 202] Review: untitled [pp. 202-204] Review: untitled [pp. 204-205] Review: untitled [pp. 205-206] Review: untitled [p. 206] Review: untitled [pp. 206-207] Review: untitled [p. 207] Review: untitled [p. 208] Film Review Review: untitled [p. 209] Back Matter [pp. 210-292] 
work_pv5awjcgvfdazezkkpwam7a5km	----	Correlation between Earthquakes and AE Monitoring of Historical Buildings in Seismic Areas Appl. Sci. 2015, 5, 1683-1698; doi:10.3390/app5041683 applied sciences ISSN 2076-3417 www.mdpi.com/journal/applsci Article Correlation between Earthquakes and AE Monitoring of Historical Buildings in Seismic Areas † Giuseppe Lacidogna *, Patrizia Cutugno, Gianni Niccolini, Stefano Invernizzi and Alberto Carpinteri Department of Structural, Geotechnical and Building Engineering, Politecnico di Torino, Corso Duca degli Abruzzi 24, 10129 Torino, Italy; E-Mails: patrizia.cutugno@polito.it (P.C.); gianni.niccolini@polito.it (G.N.); stefano.invernizzi@polito.it (S.I.); alberto.carpinteri@polito.it (A.C.) † This paper is an extended version of paper published in the 6th International Conference on Emerging Technologies in Non-destructive Testing (ETNDT6), Brussels, Belgium, 27–29 May 2015. * Author to whom correspondence should be addressed; E-Mail: giuseppe.lacidogna@polito.it; Tel.: +39-011-090-4871; Fax: +39-011-090-4899. Academic Editors: Dimitrios G. Aggelis and Nathalie Godin Received: 5 November 2015 / Accepted: 26 November 2015 / Published: 8 December 2015 Abstract: In this contribution a new method for evaluating seismic risk in regional areas based on the acoustic emission (AE) technique is proposed. Most earthquakes have precursors, i.e., phenomena of changes in the Earth’s physical-chemical properties that take place prior to an earthquake. Acoustic emissions in materials and earthquakes in the Earth’s crust, despite the fact that they take place on very different scales, are very similar phenomena; both are caused by a release of elastic energy from a source located in a medium. For the AE monitoring, two important constructions of Italian cultural heritage are considered: the chapel of the “Sacred Mountain of Varallo” and the “Asinelli Tower” of Bologna. They were monitored during earthquake sequences in their relative areas. By using the Grassberger-Procaccia algorithm, a statistical method of analysis was developed that detects AEs as earthquake precursors or aftershocks. Under certain conditions it was observed that AEs precede earthquakes. These considerations reinforce the idea that the AE monitoring can be considered an effective tool for earthquake risk evaluation. OPEN ACCESS Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1684 Keywords: acoustic emission; structural monitoring; cultural heritage; earthquakes; seismic precursors 1. Introduction A new method to evaluate seismic risk in regional areas is proposed as an attempt to preserve Italian historical and architectural cultural heritage. To this purpose, the spatial and temporal correlations between the acoustic emission (AE) data obtained from the monitoring sites and the earthquakes that have occurred in specific ranges of time and space are examined. The predictive power and the non-invasive procedure of the AE technique (no external excitation is provided, since the source of energy is the damage process itself) can be exploited to preserve Italian cultural heritage, as historic buildings and monuments are exposed to seismic risk and, in general, to severe, long-term, cyclic loading conditions or harsh environmental conditions. Buildings and structures exposed to the action of earthquakes with moderate magnitude, which are rather frequent in the central and southern regions of Italy, may undergo accelerated aging and deterioration. Such damage processes, often inaccessible to visual inspection, eventually lead to an increased vulnerability to the actions of major earthquakes, with catastrophic results [1]. The two regions considered in this paper surround the Italian cities of Varallo and Bologna, where the authors have recently carried out AE monitoring of important historical monuments for structural stability assessment. In particular, in the Italian Renaissance Architectural Complex of “The Sacred Mountain of Varallo” the structure of the Chapel XVII was analyzed, while in the City of Bologna the stability of the “Asinelli Tower”, known as the highest leaning tower in Italy, was evaluated [2,3]. According to seismic analysis, several studies investigated spatial and temporal correlations of earthquake epicenters, involving, for example, the concepts of Omori’s Law and fractal dimensions [4–6]. Other authors tried to study the complex phenomenon of seismicity using an approach that is able to analyze the spatial location and time occurrence in a combined way, without subjective a priori choices [7]. The present approach leads to a self-consistent analysis and visualization of both spatial and temporal correlations based on the definition of correlation integral [8]. Based on these considerations, we have tried not only to analyze the seismic activity in the considered regions, but also to correlate it with the AE activity detected during the structural monitoring. By adopting a modified Grassberger-Procaccia algorithm, we give the cumulative probability of the events’ occurrence in a specific area, considering the AE records and the seismic events during the same period of time. In the modified integral the cumulative probabilities C (r, τ) are the function of the regional radius of interest, r, and of the time interval, τ, both considering the peak of AEs as earthquake “precursors” or “aftershocks” [9]. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1685 2. Description of Chapel XVII and Asinelli Tower In Varallo, placed in Piedmont in the province of Vercelli, there is the relevant Italian Renaissance Architectural Complex named “The Sacred Mountain of Varallo”. It was built in the 15th century on a cliff above the town of Varallo and is composed of a basilica and 45 chapels. Because of its high level of damage due to regional earthquakes that have occurred [2], we chose to consider Chapel XVII, known as the chapel of the “Transfiguration of the Christ on the Mount Tabor”, for the AE analysis. This structure, having a circular plan, was built with stone masonry and mortar. The interior walls of the chapel are also equipped with some valuable frescoes (Figure 1). Figure 1. Sacred Mountain of Varallo, Mount Tabor Chapel XVII. In Bologna, Emilia-Romagna, there is another important masterpiece of Italian architectural and historical heritage, the “Asinelli Tower”, which is also the symbol of the city. To study the damage evolution of the structure, we have recently analyzed the effect of repetitive and impulsive natural and anthropic events, such as earthquakes wind, or vehicle traffic, with the AE technique [3]. The Asinelli Tower was built in the early 12th century, and it rises to a height of 97.30 m above the ground. From the ground level, up to a height of 8.00 m, the tower is surrounded by an arcade built at the end of the 15th century. Studies conducted in the early 20th century revealed that the Asinelli Tower leaned westward by 2.25 m, and other recent studies have confirmed that its leaning is of 2.38 m, and it remains the tallest leaning tower in Italy (Figure 2). Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1686 Figure 2. The Asinelli and the adjacent Garisenda Towers in the city center of Bologna. The Asinelli tower is the tallest one on the right. 3. Acoustic Emission Monitoring The AE monitoring is performed by analyzing the signals received from the transducers through a threshold detection device that counts the burst signals, which are greater than a certain voltage. The adopted USAM (Unit for Synchronous Multichannel Acquisition) acquisition system consists of six pre-amplified AE sensors, equipped with six units of data storage, a central unit for synchronization, and a trigger threshold. The output voltage signals of the piezoelectric transducers (PZT) were filtered with a pass-band from 50 kHz to 800 kHz and a detection threshold of 100 μV. The obtained data from this device are the cumulative counting of each mechanical wave, the acquisition time, the measured amplitude in volts, the duration, and the number of oscillations across the threshold value for each AE signal [2,3]. Then, at the post-processing stage, we discarded signals with a duration shorter than 3 μs and containing less than three oscillations across the detection threshold in order to filter out electrical noise spikes. 3.1. Chapel XVII Firstly, we consider the analysis carried out in Chapel XVII of Varallo. The AE monitoring was led on the frescoed masonry on the north wall of the Chapel. The wall showed some damage: a vertical crack of about 3.00 m in length and fresco detachment. Four AE sensors were located around the vertical crack, while two were placed near the fresco detachment (Figure 3). The AE monitoring was conducted in two phases for a total duration of about 14 weeks. The first phase started on 9 May 2011 Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1687 and finished on 16 June 2011; the second one was from 5 July 2011 to 5 September 2011. The monitoring results related to the chapel’s structural integrity are reported in [2]. We interpreted the AE data considering the amplitude and time distribution of AE signals during the cracking phenomena. From this analysis, we found that the vertical crack, monitored on the north wall of the chapel, evolved during the acquisition period, while the process of detachment of the frescos was mainly related to the diffusion of moisture in the mortar substrate [2]. Figure 3. Chapel XVII. View of the monitored areas. Left side: sensors 5, 6, and the fresco detachment. Right side: sensors 1–4 and the vertical crack. During the monitoring period, among all regional seismic events we considered 21 earthquakes with Richter magnitudes ≥1.2, having an epicenter within a radius from 60 to 100 km from Varallo. The strongest earthquake was a 4.3 magnitude event that occurred on 25 July 2011 at 12:31 p.m. in the Giaveno area (epicenter about 80 km from Varallo). Figure 4 displays the AE event rate, which counts simultaneous signal detection by multiple sensors as one event and the sequence of the earthquakes as functions of time, obtained during the monitoring period. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1688 Figure 4. Chapel XVII: AE rate (blue chart) and nearby earthquake (red dots) occurrences as functions of time. The AE rate chart illustrates the number of AE events (averaged over 1 h), while seismic events are marked by points indicating occurrence time and Richter magnitude. 3.2. Asinelli Tower The AE activity on Asinelli Tower was examined in a significant zone for monitoring purposes. This was developed by attaching six piezoelectric sensors to the northeast corner of the tower at an average height of ca. 9.00 m above ground level, immediately above the terrace atop the arcade. In this area, the double-wall masonry has an average thickness of ca. 2.45 m (Figure 5). AE monitoring began on 23 September 2010 and ended on 10 January 2011, for a total duration of about 16 weeks. By monitoring a significant part of this tower, the incidence of vehicle traffic, seismic activity and wind action on the damage evolution within the structure were assessed [3]. In this case, among all regional seismic events, we considered 43 earthquakes with a Richter magnitude ≥1.2, having an epicenter within a radius from 25 to 100 km from Bologna, as the most likely to affect the tower’s stability. The strongest earthquakes were the 4.1 magnitude event that occurred on 13 October 2010 at 11:43 p.m. in the Rimini area (epicenter about 100 km from Bologna) and the 3.4 magnitude event on 21 November 2010 at 4:10 p.m. in Modena Apennines (epicenter about 50 km from Bologna). The AE instantaneous rate (averaged over 1 h) and the sequence of the earthquakes obtained during the monitoring are displayed in Figure 6. Also, in this case a correlation between peaks of AE activity in the structure and regional seismicity can be observed (Figure 6). The tower, in fact, as in another case investigated by the authors regarding the Medieval Towers of Alba in Italy, is very sensitive to earthquake motions [9,10]. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1689 Figure 5. Front views and axonometric view of Asinelli Tower. Faces (1) South; (2) East; (3) North; (4) West; (5) Axonometric view. The AE transducers were applied to the northeast corner of the tower, in the zones marked with a circle. Figure 6. Asinelli Tower: AE rate (blue chart) and nearby earthquake (red dots) occurrences as functions of time. The AE rate chart illustrates the number of AE events (averaged over 1 h), while seismic events are marked by points indicating occurrence time and Richter magnitude. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1690 4. Grassberger-Procaccia Algorithm Acoustic emissions in materials and earthquakes in the crust are very similar phenomena though on very different scales. They both involve a sudden release of elastic energy from a source located in the medium: respectively, the tip of opening micro-cracks and the seismic hypocenter [11]. The aging and the damage of historical buildings due to the action of small and intermediate earthquakes, a situation very common in central and southern Italy, implies triggering of AE activity on these structures. However, there appear to be some seismic events which follow AE bursts and, then, do not trigger structural AE activity. In fact, intense crises of crustal stress apparently cross large areas, as revealed by increased AE activity in several case histories from Italy [12], and precede the eventual occurrence of some earthquake within them. This experimental evidence suggests that part of the AE activity from the structures might derive from precursive microseismic activity propagating across the ground-building foundation interface. In this sense, AE monitoring provides twofold information: one concerning the structural damage and the other the amount of stress affecting the crust, in which the building foundation represents a sort of extended underground probe. With this spirit we introduce a statistical approach to analyze spatial and temporal correlations between AE bursts from the structures and surrounding earthquakes, along the lines of similar investigations of the spatial and temporal correlations of earthquakes [2,3,9]. Seismicity levels of the Varallo and Bologna areas can be consistently compared by investigating the earthquakes’ spatial distribution over equally sized regions (i.e., circular regions with a radius of 100 km) centered at the two monitoring sites, during analogous monitoring periods (3000 h, as shown in Figures 4 and 6). Quantification of this feature is possible through the notion of the fractal dimension of hypocenters, which is frequently estimated by the correlation integral because of its great reliability and sensitivity to small changes in clustering properties [13–15]. The correlation integral for hypocenter points embedded into a three-dimensional space is defined as follows: = 2− 1 θ − − (1) where N is the total number of seismic events, x is the hypocentral coordinate vector, and Θ is the Heaviside step function (Θ(x) = 0 if x ≤ 0, Θ(x) = 1 if x > 0). The correlation integral C(r) gives the probability of finding another point in the sphere of radius r centered at an arbitrary point. For a fractal population of points, C(r) scales with r as a power law, D being the correlation dimension: ~ (2) We apply the correlation integral to the earthquake sequences under consideration, i.e., the earthquakes with epicentral distance in the range of 60–100 km from the Varallo Chapel and 25–100 km from the Asinelli Tower, which occurred during the AE monitoring periods. The choice of the minimum magnitude threshold, mL ≥ 1.2, was driven by completeness criteria. The seismic events were taken from the Italian Seismological Instrumental and Parametric Data-Base ISIDE [16]. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1691 Two patterns are evidenced in Figure 7a,b: shorter ranges, 3 km < r < 10–20 km, are defined by a unique slope giving a relatively high value of the correlation dimension, D = 1.6 (Varallo) and D = 2.2 (Bologna); for distances over 10–20 km, the slope gives a value of D = 0.7 (Varallo) and D = 0.9 (Bologna). For short ranges, D ≈ 2 corresponds to a distribution of events over a fault plane, such as the active faults in the region surrounding Bologna; the highest ranges, corresponding to a value of D < 1, suggest a dust-like setting of seismicity as in the region surrounding Varallo (see Figure 8).The higher dimension for Bologna apparently reflects the recent and active tectonics of the Emilia-Romagna in the northeastern Italy, with respect to the seismically quiet zone of Varallo [17]. (a) (b) Figure 7. Correlation integral C(r) vs. r (km) and its slope D in bi-logarithmic scale for Varallo regional seismicity (a) and Bologna regional seismicity (b). Figure 8. Map of Northern Italy depicting faults and epicenters. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1692 5. Space-Time Correlation between AE and Seismic Events Along the lines of studies on the space-time correlation among earthquakes based on a generalization of the Grassberger-Procaccia correlation integral [8], we calculate the degree of correlation between the AE time series and the sequence of nearby earthquakes recorded during the same period. No a priori assumptions on causal relationships between AE and seismic activities drive this approach, which is merely statistical. Only the choice of the time window and the region size is arbitrary. The space-time combined correlation integral is defined as follows [7,9]: ,τ = 1 θ − | − | ∙ θ − − (3) where the index j runs over all the NAE event bursts {x0, tj}, with x0 being the coordinate vector of the monitoring site, while k runs over all the NEQ seismic events {xk, tk}, with xk being the epicentral coordinate vector. Since the double-sum in Equation (3) counts pairs formed by an AE event (x0, tj) and a seismic event (xk, tk) with mutual epicentral distance │x0 − xk│ ≤ r and time intervals│tj − tk│ ≤ τ among all NAE and NEQ possible pairs, C(r,τ) can easily be interpreted as the probability of an AE burst and an earthquake occurring with an inter-distance ≤r and a time interval ≤τ. If C(r, τ,) exhibits power-law behavior both in space and time variables, time and space fractal dimensions Dt and Ds can be defined similarly to Equation (2): ,τ = ∂log ,τ∂logτ (4) and ,τ = ∂log ,τ∂log (5) The time correlation dimension Dt(r, τ) characterizes the time-coupling of AE bursts to the earthquakes occurring up to a given distance r from the AE monitoring site, whereas the space correlation dimension Ds(r, τ) characterizes the spatial distribution of nearby earthquakes with separation in time from AE bursts not exceeding a given τ. It is worth noting that Equation (5) identifies with Equation (2) if τ equals the whole time data span, as all earthquakes would be taken into account in the Grassberger-Procaccia integral C(r, τ). Actually, the imposed condition │tj − tk│ ≤ τ does not specify the chronological order between the two types of event. On the other hand, the AE time series and the sequence of nearby earthquakes are two very closely interrelated sets in the time domain. Therefore, a given AE burst might be either due to structural damage triggered by a seismic event or due to precursive microseismic activity. In spite of intrinsic difficulties in high-frequency propagation across disjointed media (in particular at the ground-building foundation interface), AE bursts apparently indicate widespread crustal stress crises during the preparation of a seismic event [9,12], when part of the related deformation energy stored in the Earth’s crust might be transferred to the building foundations. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1693 It is interesting to carry out a probabilistic analysis of the available data considering AE events once as preceding an earthquake, i.e., as potential seismic precursors, and next as following an earthquake, i.e., as structural aftershocks. In this way, the obtained conditioned probability distributions can be compared in order to discover the prevailing trend. This analysis is performed applying the modified correlation integral [9]: ± , = 1 θ − | − | ∙ θ − − (6) where “+” and “−“ are used to account for AE events, respectively, as seismic precursors and as aftershocks. C+ (r, τ), for example, gives the occurrence probability of an AE burst followed by an earthquake in the next interval τ and within a radius r of the monitoring site. We applied the modified integral (Equation 6) to investigate the space-time correlation between the two above-mentioned regional seismic sequences and the AE time series from the Asinelli Tower and the Varallo Chapel (see Figures 4 and 6). The AE signals originating from damage sources definitely localized in the building’s masonry are filtered out. In this way, we can preliminarily distinguish between environmental contributions due to crustal trembling (external source) and structural damage contributions (inner sources localized by means of triangulation techniques [18]). Then, by applying the modified Grassberger-Procaccia correlation integral to the remaining AE data series and to the earthquake sequence, we obtained the cumulative probabilities C±(r, τ) as functions of time C±r(τ) for different values of range r. This provides two-dimensional plots, which are easier to read than a three-dimensional representation of C±(r, τ). Figure 9a,b show that C+r > C−r for all considered values of range r, suggesting that AE bursts are more likely to precede earthquakes than to follow them. The interpretation of this evidence is that the monitored structures behave as receptors of microseismic precursive activity during the preparation of a seismic event, i.e., as sensitive earthquake receptors. (a) Figure 9. Cont. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1694 (b) Figure 9. Modified correlation integrals C±r(τ), both considering AEs as earthquake “precursors” (+) and as “damage aftershocks” (−), plotted as functions of the time separation τ for different values of the spatial range r for: (a) Chapel XVII and area around the city of Varallo; (b) Asinelli Tower and area around the city of Bologna. 6. AE Clustering in Time as a Seismic Precursor or an Aftershock Since the cumulative probabilities C±r(τ) are represented in a time domain ranging from 1 to 14–16 weeks, shorter values of τ are further investigated. In particular, time coupling of regional seismicity to AE activity from Chapel XVII and the Asinelli Tower is analyzed in terms of Dt for τ ranging from 3 to 24 h after an earthquake occurrence, and from 10 min to 24 h before an earthquake occurrence. The varying local slope Dt of Log C− vs. Log τ reveals that the AE activity following seismic events is not equally probable over the time (see Figure 10a,b). For short time delays, τ = 3–10 min, high values of the time fractal dimension, Dt = 1.38 and 1.24, indicate tight coupling of the AE activity to the earthquakes. In other words, AE bursts following an earthquake are more likely to occur within τ = 3–10 min after the seismic event. Then, such short time delays suggest a triggering action exerted by nearby earthquakes on damage processes of Chapel XVII and the Asinelli Tower. Contrarily, for τ ranging from 1.0 × 103 to 1.440 × 103 min, the obtained low values of Dt, 0.48 and 0.45, suggest that the effects of nearby earthquakes on the structural damage evolution disappear after 24 h. In regards to the AE events preceding earthquakes, i.e., considering AE as “seismic precursors”, the linear bi-logarithmic plots of C+ (Dt = 1.06 and 0.94) shown in Figure 11 describe a uniform probability density of finding AE events prior to an earthquake for a wide range of time intervals, up to τ = 1.440×103 min. In other words, we observe a constant AE activity in the 24 h preceding an earthquake. The absence of accelerating precursive activity in the presented case studies confirms the need for further investigation, possibly with the aid of electromagnetic seismic precursors. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1695 (a) (b) Figure 10. Analysis of time-clustering features of AE events considered as “seismic aftershocks” by the time correlation dimension Dt, as a local slope of Log C− vs. Log τ. The time range for τ is 3 min to 24 h. The selected seismic events are all those considered during the defined monitoring periods. (a) Chapel XVII (Varallo); (b) Asinelli Tower (Bologna). (a) Figure 11. Cont. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1696 (b) Figure 11. Analysis of time-clustering features of AE events considered “seismic precursors” by the time correlation dimension Dt, as the local slope of Log C+ vs. Log τ. The time range for τ is 10 min to 24 h. The selected seismic events are all those considered during the defined monitoring periods. (a) Chapel XVII (Varallo); (b) Asinelli Tower (Bologna). 7. Conclusions In order to assess the seismic hazard in different areas, it is suggested to observe the spatial and temporal correlation of seismic events and monitored AEs. It emerges that AEs behave as earthquake precursors. A statistical method of analysis is proposed, based on the Grassberger-Procaccia integral. It gives the cumulative probability of the events’ occurrence in a specific area, considering the AE records and the seismic events during the same period of time. Two important constructions of Italian cultural heritage were considered: the “Sacred Mountain of Varallo” and “Asinelli Tower”. Given the interesting premises that emerged from this study, the Grassberger-Procaccia integral could also be applied more extensively in several monitoring sites belonging to different seismic regions, not only for defining the seismic hazard, but also to handle it as an effective tool for earthquake risk mitigation. However, the authors are aware that a rigorous investigation to ascertain the existence of crustal stress crises crossing areas of a few hundred kilometers’ radius during the preparation of a seismic event would require simultaneous and numerous operations of AE monitoring sites, adequately placed in the territory. Acknowledgments E. de Filippis, Director of the Piedmont Sacred Mountains Institute, is gratefully acknowledged. The authors thank the Municipality of Bologna and Eng. R. Pisani for having allowed the study on the Asinelli Tower. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1697 Author Contributions A.C. supervised the research; P.C. and S.I. performed the numerical simulations; G.N. carried out AE and NDT tests; G.L. wrote the paper with discussions from all the authors. Conflicts of Interest The authors declare no conflict of interest. References 1. Niccolini, G.; Carpinteri, A.; Lacidogna, G.; Manuello, A. Acoustic emission monitoring of the Syracuse Athena Temple: Scale invariance in the timing of ruptures. Phys. Rev. Lett. 2011, doi:10.1103/PhysRevLett.106.108503. 2. Carpinteri, A.; Lacidogna, G.; Invernizzi, S.; Accornero, F. The Sacred Mountain of Varallo in Italy: Seismic risk assessment by Acoustic Emission and structural numerical models. Sci. World J. 2013, 2013, 1–10. 3. Carpinteri, A.; Lacidogna, G.; Manuello, A.; Niccolini, G. A study on the structural stability of the Asinelli Tower in Bologna. Struct. Control HLTH 2015, doi:10.1002/stc.1804. 4. Bak, P.; Christensen, K.; Danon, L.; Scanlon, T. Unified scaling laws for earthquakes. Phys. Rev. Lett. 2002, 88, 178501–178504. 5. Parson, T. Global Omori law decay of triggered earthquakes: Large aftershocks outside the classical aftershock zone. J. Geophys. Res. 2002, 107, 2199–2218. 6. Corral, A. Long-term clustering, scaling and universality in the temporal occurrence of earthquakes. Phys. Rev. Lett. 2004, doi:10.1103/PhysRevLett.92.108501. 7. Tosi, P.; de Rubeis, V.; Loreto, V.; Pietronero, L. Space-time combined correlation integral and earthquake interactions. Ann. Geophys. 2004, 47, 1–6. 8. Grassberger, P.; Procaccia, I. Characterization of strange attractors. Phys. Rev. Lett. 1983, 50, 346–349. 9. Carpinteri, A.; Lacidogna, G.; Niccolini, G. Acoustic emission monitoring of medieval towers considered as sensitive earthquake receptors. Nat. Hazard Earth Syst. Sci. 2007, 7, 251–261. 10. Carpinteri, A.; Lacidogna, G. Structural monitoring and integrity assessment of medieval towers. J. Struct. Eng. 2006, 132, 1681–1690. 11. Scholz, C.H. The frequency-magnitude relation of microfracturing in rock and its relation to earthquakes. Bull. Seismol. Soc. Am. 1968, 58, 399–415. 12. Gregori, G.P.; Paparo, G. Acoustic emission (AE). A diagnostic tool for environmental sciences and for non destructive tests (with a potential application to gravitational antennas). In Meteorological and Geophysical Fluid Dynamics; Schroeder, W., Ed.; Science Edition: Bremen, Germany, 2004; pp. 166–204. 13. Kagan, Y.Y.; Knopoff, L. Spatial distribution of earthquakes: The two-point correlation function. Geoph. J. Roy. Astron. Soc. 1980, 62, 303–320. 14. Hirata, T. A correlation between the b-value and the fractal dimension of earthquakes. J. Geophys. Res. 1986, 94, 7507–7514. Appl. Sci. 2015, 5 1698 15. Carpinteri, A.; Lacidogna, G.; Niccolini, G.; Puzzi, S. Morphological fractal dimension versus power-law exponent in the scaling of damaged media. Int. J. Damage Mech. 2009, 18, 259–282. 16. Italian Seismological Instrumental and Parametric Data-Base (ISIDE). Available online: http://iside.rm.ingv.it/iside/standard/result.jsp?rst=1&page=EVENTS#result (accessed on 5 December 2015). 17. Burrato, P.; Vannoli, P.; Fracassi, U.; Basili, R.; Valensise, G. Is blind faulting truly invisible? Tectonic-controlled drainage evolution in the epicentral area of the May 2012, Emilia-Romagna earthquake sequence (northern Italy). Ann. Geophys. Italy 2012, 55, 525–531. 18. Carpinteri, A.; Xu, J.; Lacidogna, G.; Manuello, A. Reliable onset time determination and source location of acoustic emissions in concrete structures. Cem. Concr. Compos. 2012, 34, 529–537. © 2015 by the authors; licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). 
work_pzlnbowgpzejbdfcq4cilzge3i	----	Scholliers, E. De kvensstandaard in de XV en XVI' eeuw te Antwerpen. Avec un r e - sume francais: Le salariat & la faim. Le niveau de vie a Anvers au x v e & x v i e siecles. A n t w e r p : Uitgeverij ' D e Sikkel', i960, xxxii, 284 biz. 280 f.b. Spinoza, B . Principles of Cartesian philoso- phy. T r . b y H a r r y E . Wedeck, w i t h pref. by Dagobert D . Runes. London: O w e n , 1961. v, 192 p . 2 1 / - . Stephan, R a o u l . Histoire du protestantisme francais. Pref. d u pasteur Marc Boegner. (Coll. Les temps & les destins.) Paris: Fayard, 1961. 396 p . 15 N F . *Swabey, William Curtis. Ethical theory from Hobbes to Kant. N e w Y o r k : Philo- sophical library, 1961. 284 p . $4.75. Tans, J. A. G. Pasquier Quesnel & les Pays- Bas. Correspondance, p u b . avec introd. & annotations. (Publ. de l'lnstitut fran- cais d'Amsterdam. Maison Descartes.) Groningen: J. B . Wolters, i960, xxxviii, 654 bl. 45.00. Truchet, Jacques. La predication de Bossuet. N E W Y O R K U N I V E R S I T Y P A R T I A L L I S T O F I N D I S P E N S A B L E R E P R I N T S 1 9 6 1 Etude des themes. 2 v . Paris: Ed. d u Cerf, i960.29,70 N F . Verondini, Enrico. // prezzo dell'esistere e II divino amore [Malebranche]. Bologna: Tamari, i960. Vincent de Paul, St. Opera omnia. Corri- spondenza. v n : 1644-1646. R o m e : E d . Vincenziane, 1959. 239 p . * W i d m e r , Berthe. Enea Silvio Piccolomini, Papst Pius II. Biographie & ausgewahlte Texte aus seinen Schriften. Basel-Stutt- gart: B e n n o Schwabe & C o . , i960. 477 p . 10 pi. cloth. $6. Willaert, Leopold. Apres le concile de Trente. La restauration catholique. 1. (Coll. Hist, de l'Eglise, 18.) Paris: Bloud & Gay, i 9 6 0 , xvi, 491 p . 30 N F . W o u d e , C. van der. Hugo Grotius en zijn Pietas ordinum Hollandiae ac Wesfrisiae vindicata. Kampen: J. H . Kok, 1961. 44 b l . 1.75. Zeeden, Ernst Walter. Katholische tfber- lieferungen in den luterischen Kirchenord- nungen des 16. Jahrhunderts. Miinster: AschendorfT, 1959. 108 S. 6.80. Robert E. Taylor GILLOW, JOSEPH. Literary and bio- graphical history: or bibliographical dictionary of English Catholics from the breach with Rome in 1534 to the present. 5 vols., 3082 pp. (1885- 9 2 ) . $ 1 2 5 . §The most valuable and sought-for w o r k of its kind, listing 15,000 personages, w i t h reliable b i o - and bibliographical data o n each. 'Especially useful for the bibliograph- HAZLITT, w. CAREW, ed. Hand- book to the popular, poetical and dramatic literature from the invention of printing to the Restoration. Com- plete in 8 volumes exceeding 5,000 pp. Prepub. price $200 (or) main volumes at $3 5 each and supps. at $17.50 each. (1867-1903). Ed. limited to 100 sets. •ics which are very full.' Winchell S126. Complete list available on request. 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work_q57cafylife2rmvihlvmu6hgue	----	182 RES 55/56 SPRING/AUTUMN 2009 Figure 2a. Matteo De’Pasti, the obverse of the portrait medal of Sigismondo Malatesta, bears date 1446. Cast bronze, diameter 84 mm. Photo: Geldmuseum, Utrecht, with permission. 1. On Renaissance medals, see Perspectives on the Renaissance Medal, ed. Stephen K. Scher (New York: Garland, 2000); Philip Attwood, Italian Medals c. 1530–1600 in British Public Collections (London: The British Museum, 2003); John Graham Pollard, Renaissance Medals, 2 vols. (Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art, 2007). The standard reference remains G. F. Hill, A Corpus of Italian Medals of the Renaissance Before Cellini, 2 vols. (London, 1930). 2. Attwood (ibid.), p. 59ff.; Georg Satzinger, “Baumedaillen. Formen und Funktionen. Von den Anfängen bis zum 16. Jahrhundert,” in Die Renaissance-Medaille in Italien und Deutschland, ed. G. Satzinger (Münster: Rhema, 2004), pp. 97–133. Examples range from the foundation of new St. Peter’s in Rome (1506), the Uffizi in Florence (1561), and the city of Valletta on Malta (1565), to the inauguration of the statues on the Ponte S. Angelo (1669), to name but a few examples. 3. Joanna Woods-Marsden, “How Quattrocento Princes Used Art: Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta of Rimini and ‘Cose Militari,’” Renaissance Studies 3 (1989):387–413. See also Helen S. Ettlinger, “The Image of a Renaissance Prince: Sigismondo Malatesta and the Arts of Power” (Ph.D. diss., University of California at Berkeley, 1989). 4. See letter from Flavio Biondo to Lionello D’Este from February 1, 1446, in B. Nogara, Scritti inediti e rari di Flavio Biondo (Rome: Tipografia poliglotta vaticana, 1927), p. 159. and walls of buildings; while some portrait medals were indeed deposited, their counterparts continued to circulate above ground, both as highly appreciated gifts and objects of study. As I will argue, this is in marked contrast with “traditional” building deposits, as they are documented world-wide in virtually every culture. It will be a point of interest to establish which powers were attributed to the portrait medals that were deposited, and, finally, to identify possible classical models for these practices. Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta of Rimini Sigismondo Malatesta was without doubt among the most successful condottieri of his time. Following in the footsteps of his father Pandolfo, he made a profitable career out of the countless wars and shifting alliances between the prinicipalities on the Italian peninsula. In demand by the Florentines, the Sforza, the pope, or Venice, Sigismondo was generally regarded as a military genius. Therefore, it was only appropriate that the first humanistic treatise on warfare, Roberto Valturio’s De re militari (ca. 1455), was dedicated to him.3 Befitting a man of his standing, Sigismondo had a vivid interest in classical culture. According to the humanist Flavio Biondo, he entertained banquet guests for hours on end with stories about the glorious Roman past.4 During the 1440s, Sigismondo established a flourishing humanist court in Rimini, attracting prominent scholars, such as Basinio da Parma, Leon Battista Alberti, and the above-mentioned Roberto Valturio. Within this humanistic circle, Sigismondo actively fostered the Roman origins of Rimini, or “Ariminum.” To Sigismondo, the grand public works of Originating within the elite environments of the Italian courts, the Renaissance portrait medal is a typically humanistic invention, combining the passionate study of the Roman past with the active pursuit of a patron’s individual fame. Ambitious and self-conscious patrons were quick to discover the versatility of the portrait medal and its effectiveness in promoting a glorified image of the self. Being small and easily reproducible, portrait medals had a vast circulation. As collector’s delight, they held pride of place in the Renaissance studiolo.1 But quickly enough, the Renaissance portrait medal was put to a different use as well, namely as building deposits. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it became standard practice to issue foundation medals at the start of prestigious building projects, such as cities, churches, palaces, bridges, or fortifications. At the high point of festively orchestrated ceremonies, the patron would deposit a small number of the medals inside the foundations, along with the first stone. At the same time, specimens of the foundation medal were distributed among those present at the ceremonies to remind them of the patron’s acts of munificence.2 Looking into the origins of this practice, the present article investigates the building deposits of Sigismondo Malatesta (1417–1468) in Rimini and of Pope Paul II (1464–1471) in Rome. In tune with the theme of this issue of RES, specific attention will be given to the non- visibility of the medals deposited within the foundations On the use of Italian Renaissance portrait medals as building deposits MInOu SChRAvEn Out of sight, yet still in place 184 RES 55/56 SPRING/AUTUMN 2009 6. Marilyn Aronberg Lavin, “Notes on the Iconography of Piero della Francesca’s Fresco of Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta Before St. Sigismund. Theoi Athanatoi Kai Tei Polei,” Art Bulletin 56 (1974): 345–374. 7. P. J. Jones, The Malatesta of Rimini and the Papal State. A Political history (London, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1974), pp. 231–233. 5. Emperor Augustus was hailed as founder of the city in a marble portrait medallion (diam. 38 cm), made by the sculptor Agostino di Duccio for the Chapel of the Liberal Arts in the Tempio Malatestiano. It is now in the Museo Civico in Rimini. The inscription read “DIVUS AUG PATER”; see Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta e il suo tempo, exh. cat. Palazzo dell’Arengo in Rimini (Vicenza: Neri Pozza editore, 1970), p. 95. and his younger brother Domenico during a ceremony in the town hall of Rimini in 1433, when Sigismondo was sixteen years old (fig. 1).6 Unfortunately, the odds were against Sigismondo: With the Peace of Lodi of 1454, the powers of Italy reached a political equilibrium that would last until the end of the century. An even greater threat to Sigismondo’s position was constituted by the aggressive policy of the popes to reclaim their authority over the Papal States. In 1462, at the height of this dispute, Pope Pius II excommunicated his unruly vassal, burning Sigismondo’s effigy in front of St. Peter’s. A crusade mounted against Sigismondo that resulted in his losing his territory, with the sole exception of Rimini and its immediate surroundings.7 The accusations of blasphemy, idolatry, simony, and tyranny contained in the excommunication bull would damage Sigismondo’s emperor Augustus in Rimini were a source of inspiration for his own building projects.5 This active patronage of the arts was essential for Sigismondo to reinforce his own position. Since Rimini was technically a papal fief, the Malatesta family needed papal approval for each succession to power, even if they had effectively been ruling the city since the thirteenth century. His entire life, Sigismondo was after favors from emperors and popes alike, hoping they might result in a noble title that would secure rulership over Rimini for himself and his descendants. The fresco in his funerary chapel in the Tempio Malatestiano by Piero della Francesca represents the warlord kneeling in front of St. Sigismund, to whom the chapel was dedicated. But a closer look reveals a striking resemblance between the saint and the Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund of Hungary (d. 1437) who had knighted both Sigismondo Figure 1. Piero della Francesca, fresco in the funerary chapel of Sigismondo Malatesta, ca. 1451. Tempio Malatestiano, Rimini. Seat Archive/Alinari Archives. Photo Alinari, with permission. Schraven: Out of sight, yet still in place 185 11. John Cunnally, “Ancient Coins as Gifts and Tokens of Friendship During the Renaissance,” Journal of the history of Collections 6 (1994):129–143; Syson and Gordon (note 10), p. 109. 12. Luke S. Syson, “Holes and Loops. The Display and Collection of Medals in Renaissance Italy,” Journal of Design history 15 (2003):229–244; A. F. Flaten, “Identity and the Display of ‘Medaglie’ in Renaissance and Baroque Europe,” Word & Image 19 (2003):59–72. 13. Stephen K. Scher, “An Introduction to the Renaissance Portrait Medal,” in Scher (see note 1), pp. 1–26. 14. The 1445 medal is believed to commemorate Sigismondo’s appointment as Captain General of the papal troops that year, an absolute high point in his military career. See Bruna Restani, “Le medaglie di Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta,” Studi Romagnoli 48 (1997):331–364. Compare Syson and Gordon (note 10), pp. 36 and 113 for a different dating. 15. Hill (see note 1), n. 184, diam. 80 mm (there are nine variants of this medal alone in Hill). Given that De’Pasti’s presence in Rimini 8. The Image of the Individual. Portraits in the Renaissance, ed. Luke Syson and Nicholas Mann (London: The British Museum, 1998). 9. Basinio da Parma, courtier at the Malatesta court, praised Pisanello’s portrait of his teacher Vittorino da Feltre in the following way: “Father Vittorino, glory of the Roman language, you too will live by the skill of Pisano; the same expression, the same face as on the man; and he has also portrayed with skill the gravitas of a Caesar and his white hair. . . . The portrait struck terror even in me, who was his pupil, . . . and I was overjoyed to realize that you too, great Vittorino, were alive”; as cited in G. F. Hill, Pisanello (London: Duckworth, 1905), p. 186. Pisanello would also make a portrait medal of Vittorino da Feltre, see Hill (note 1), n. 38. 10. Pisanello. Painter to the Renaissance Court, ed. Luke Syson and Dillian Gordon (London: The National Gallery, 2000), especially the section on portrait medals, pp. 109–130. or letters.11 Just like these ancient coins, contemporary portrait medals started to be distributed as gifts among friends or dependents and soon after their invention, they started to be collected as well.12 Part of the immense appeal of the portrait medal resided in the flexibility of its iconography and size. Since the medal was not a legal means of payment, sitters were not bound to the right of coinage, and could freely experiment with legends, portraits, and emblems. Easy to reproduce and of relatively low cost, portrait medals became soon recognized as a most efficient means of communicating complex political or intellectual messages.13 Sigismondo Malatesta singularly perceived this potential, as is demonstrated by the effective and easily recognizable reverses he picked for his portrait medals. Both medals he commissioned from Pisanello depict him as a self-conscious condottiere, either dressed in full armor, ready for battle (1443; Hill n. 33), or actively engaged in combat (1445; Hill n. 34).14 Later on, Sigismondo would also commission about thirty more portrait medals from his court artist, Matteo De’Pasti (d. 1468), a goldsmith and architect from Verona, possibly trained by Pisanello himself. One of Matteo’s most celebrated medals was issued in occasion of the completion of the Castel Sismondo in Rimini. The medal bears the date of 1446, when Sigismondo and his household finally took up residence in the castle (fig. 2a and b). The medal depicts Sigismondo bare-headed, facing to the left, and dressed in an armored suit. Around him runs the legend “SIGISMUNDUS PANDULFUS MALATESTA PAN[DULFI] F[ILIUS].” On the reverse appears the Castel Sismondo, shown with its crenellated walls and massive defense towers, along with the words “CASTELLUM SISMUNDUM ARIMINENSE M CCCC XLVI.”15 The medal was a great achievement, being reputation for centuries to come. But this ugly turn of events was still far away during the heyday of Sigismondo’s career, when the Malatesta court in Rimini was a magnet for talent. As did many patrons of his time, Sigismondo soon discovered the potential of the recently invented portrait medal. The portrait medals of Sigismondo Malatesta Believing that they immortalized virtues of the sitter, Italian humanists attributed great powers and qualities to portraits, be it on ancient coins, on wooden panels, or portrait busts.8 The painted portraits of Pisanello (d. 1455) were highly praised for their ability to confer eternal life and fame to the sitter, while inducing strong emotions in the viewer.9 No wonder that the bronze portrait medals, as Pisanello invented them in the late 1430s, were particularly well received at the Italian humanist courts. Their format would be followed by generations of medalists to come: an idealized portrait with the name of the sitter, an appropriate emblematic image, and motto on its reverse. Over the years, Pisanello would provide an impressive number of patrons with portrait medals: the absolute “must-have” of that moment. Among his sitters, besides Sigismondo Malatesta, were also the Greek emperor John VIII (by many considered his first medal), Francesco Sforza of Milan, Lionello D’Este of Ferrara, Cecilia Gonzaga of Mantua, Alfonso II King of Naples, and renowned scholars, such as Guarino Guarini.10 As is evident from its form, size, and material, the portrait medal originated from an intimate knowledge and appreciation of the classical coin. As testimonies of the glorious Roman past, humanists and other collectors had an insatiable appetite for them, sending them round as tokens of friendship, often accompanied by poems 186 RES 55/56 SPRING/AUTUMN 2009 17. Cesare Clementini, Raccolto istorico della fondatione di Riminio e dell’origine e vite dei Malatesti (Rimini 1627; reprint Bologna: Forni, 1969), p. 309. There was often a desire to align the birth horoscope of the patron with that of his city or building. See Mary Quinlan-McGrath, “The Foundation Horoscope(s) for St Peter’s Basilica, Rome, 1506. Choosing a Time, Changing the Storia,” Isis 92 (2001):716–741. 18. Joanna Woods-Marsden, “Images of Castles in the Renaissance. Symbols of Signoria, Symbols of Tyranny,” Art Journal 48 (1989):130– 137; see also her article in note 3, pp. 394–396. is documented only from 1449 onward, there has always been some confusion about the dating of this and other medals carrying the date 1446. Pier Giorgio Pasini, therefore, proposed a dating of 1449; see his “Matteo dei Pasti. Problems of Style and Chronology,” in Italian Medals. Center for the Advanced Studies in the Visual Arts. Symposium Papers. 8 (Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art, 1987), pp. 143–159. Syson and Gordon (see note 10) agree with him; Woods-Marsden (see note 3) and Restani (ibid.) do not. 16. Bauten Roms auf Münzen und Medaillen, ed. Harald Küthmann (Munich: Beckenbauer, 1973). Matteo De’Pasti would design one more portrait medal for Sigismondo with a building on its reverse, namely the Tempio Malatestiano (see note 25 to follow). the first stone had been laid in a festive ceremony on March 20, 1437, “in mercordì a hore 18 e minuti 48 in circa”—without doubt upon consultation with an astrologer, as was general practice in the Renaissance.17 Despite recent restorations, the fortress is today but a shadow of its former self. In its original design, the castle was surrounded by an impressive moat twenty- five meters wide and eight meters deep. Its polygonal form was at the absolute forefront of military design.18 the first Renaissance portrait medal to show a building on its reverse. This was obviously a deliberate revival of the genre of classical coins with buildings, much appreciated by humanist collectors.16 The construction of Castel Sismondo was a fundamental step in securing Sigismondo’s position within Rimini. Once papal permission was obtained, Figure 2b. Matteo De’Pasti, the reverse of the portrait medal of Sigismondo Malatesta with the Castel Sismondo, bears date 1446. Cast bronze, diameter 84 mm. Photo: Geldmuseum, Utrecht, with permission. Schraven: Out of sight, yet still in place 187 22. Angelo Turchini, “Medaglie malatestiane rinvenute in Castel Sismondo, con una relazione sul ritrovamento di Giovanni Giuccioli Menghi,” in Castel Sismondo e Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta, ed. C. Tomasini Pietramellara and A. Turchini (Rimini: Ghigi, 1985), pp. 129–148, esp. 133. 23. Ibid. 24. Charles Hope, “The Early History of the Tempio Malatestiano,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 55 (1992):51–154; Corrado Ricci, Il Tempio Malatestiano (Milan: Bestetti & Tuminelli, 1924). 25. Hill (see note 1), n. 183. Sigismondo’s portrait is crowned with a laurel. The legend on the reverse of the medal reads: PRAECL. ARIMINI. TEMPLUM AN. GRATIAE V[OTUM].F[ECIT]. M.CCCCL. See also Leon Battista Alberti, ed. Joseph Rykwert and Anne Engel (Milan: Electa, 1994), pp. 484–485. At the opening of [X] Sigismondo’s grave in August 1756, six specimens of this medal were found underneath his body, displayed in the form of a cross. Ricci (see note 24), p. 350. 19. Just as he had done in an earlier poem on a fortress in Gradara, Vegio introduced Castel Sismondo as speaking in the first person: “Aspice quam mole ingenti cultuque superbo | Quae sim, quam miris machina structa modis | Sismondo nomen mihi, Sigismundus et auctor | Quantus ab exemplo disce sit ipse meo. | Quem Malatestorum magno de sanguine natum | mirare, et laudes effer ad astras suas.” See also Piergiorgio Parroni, “I castelli nella letteratura umanistica e cortigiana,” in Castel Sismondo. Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta e l’arte militare del primo rinascimento, ed. Angelo Turchini (Cesena: Ponte Vecchio, 2003), pp. 325–336. 20. See the articles of Woods-Marsden (notes 3 and 18) and Lavin (see note 6). 21. “Al piano dell’acqua buona, [furono trovate] quantità di medaglie di bronzo grandi, con ritratto di Sigismondo da una parte, e dell’altra il dissegno del Castello istesso, con la quale v’erano anco delle picciole [medaglie],” Clementini (see note 17), vol. II, pp. 723–724. medals were in all likelihood deposited at either the start or conclusion of a distinct phase within the construction. At least that seems to be the case of the extraordinary gilded medal with Castel Sismondo (Hill 174, diam. 83 mm)—in fact, the only gilded specimen that we know of—found in 1972. The medal had been stuck in the wall at the base of the arch supporting the vault, at a height of about five meters above ground level, “as its literal support.”22 The same applies to the building deposits retrieved in the main hall of Castel Sismondo in 1983. As many as twenty-four bronze portrait medals had been deposited in cavities evenly distributed along the walls, at a height of about three meters. The medals of this deposit were grouped in three: one larger bronze medal with the castle, together with two smaller medals with the Malatesta helmet. In all cases but one, the portraits of Sigismondo were facing upward.23 Besides Castel Sismondo, the other important monument in Rimini packed with Malatesta building deposits is of course the Tempio Malatestiano: the medieval Franciscan church that the Malatesta family had used as their burial church since the thirteenth century. Presumably during the Jubilee of 1450, Sigismondo decided to rebuild the church entirely after a design provided by Leon Battista Alberti.24 At that point, the well-known portrait medal, with a never-realized plan of the Tempio on its reverse, must have been commissioned from Matteo De’Pasti.25 Having suffered severly from bombardments, the church was in great need of restoration after the Second World War. During these rebuilding works, a number of building deposits were found in various locations. At the funerary chapel of Sigismondo twenty-two portrait medals were found, deposited within the backs of two Deemed impregnable and capable to withstand artillery attacks, contemporaries generally attributed the design of the castle to the military genius of Sigismondo and in an extraordinary gesture, he decided to strengthen the bond with his fortress even more by naming it after himself. Emulating classical examples, Sigismondo then organized a contest for the best poem celebrating both the castle and its founder: The winning composition by the renowned Latinist Maffeo Vegio was proudly inscribed on its facade.19 Being praised in poems, military treatises, and flattering biographies of its patron, Castel Sismondo became the emblem of Sigismondo’s authority both over Rimini and its territories. Remarkably enough, the fresco in Sigismondo’s funerary chapel included an idealized view of Castel Sismondo. Aside from some slight differences, the framing in a tondo is an obvious resemblance to the medal of De’Pasti, as is the portrait in profile of the kneeling Sigismondo (fig. 1).20 The building deposits in Malatesta territory The very practice of using portrait medals as building deposits is most probably connected to this prestigious building project. Over the centuries, an astonishing number of deposited portrait medals has been uncovered within the castle. During the demolition of one of its main entrances in 1624, for instance, a great number of large bronze medals with the Castel Sismondo on their reverse were found on the level of the soil water. Along with these medals, a number of smaller medals decorated with the monogram SI (for Sigismondo) were found as well.21 Since they had simply not yet been invented at the moment of the castle’s foundation in 1437, the portrait 188 RES 55/56 SPRING/AUTUMN 2009 28. Ibid., pp. 61–71. 29. At the time, De’Pasti was supervising the construction of fortifications in Senigallia; Marinella Bonvini Mazzanti, “La riedificazione di Senigallia,” in Turchini (see note 19), pp. 173–192. 30. “Io mandai venti de le facende [medaglie] a Senigaglia per ser Baptista e Sagramoro, che le metesse in lo revelino di sopra dal cordone, come scrissi alla S. V. a ciò ne sia in tutti li luochi che ora si lavora. Si che non so al presente que me abia a fare. Scrivete a chi par a la S. V. che me dia argento per gettar la medaglia picola che conzio, a cio che ne possa gettare per far quanto volete se faccia”; Siena, Archivio di Stato, Carte Malatestiane, as cited by Pasini (see note 27), pp. 48–49. 26. “Adì 15 del ditto [ottobre 1450], fonno posti dui alifanti in la capella del S. a Santo Francesco; l’abade de San Gaudenzo glie benedisse. . . . A dì 23 del ditto fonno missi dui altri alifante in la ditta capella e fonno benedidi per lo dicto abate”; Cronaca Riminese, as cited by Corrado Ricci (see note 24), p. 218. The deposit consisted of nine large bronze medals with “Fortitude” on its reverse (Hill n. 178), along with thirteen smaller ones, with Fortitude enthroned (Hill n. 181). 27. Pier Giorgio Pasini, “Note su Matteo dei Pasti e la Medaglistica Malatestiana,” in La medaglia d’arte. Atti del primo convegno internazionale di studio (Udine: C.I.A.C. Libri, 1973), pp. 41–75. in the Apennines, and Verucchio.28 The systematic distribution of these deposits over Sigismondo’s territory is a strong indication for a deliberate policy in this respect. A well-known letter of Matteo De’Pasti to Sigismondo, written from Rimini in December 1454, underwrites this hypothesis.29 De’Pasti notified Sigismondo of having sent twenty medals to be deposited in the new fortress of Senigallia, approximately seventy kilometers from Rimini.30 Interestingly, he mentioned the objective to deposit medals in all construction sites of that moment (“a ciò ne sia in tutti li luochi che ora si lavora”). Borrowing the terminology of the late Alfred Gell, one might indeed surmise that the medals black marble statues of elephants. In all probability, the portrait medals had been deposited during the inauguration of these marble elephants on October 15, 1450.26 That same month, another group of eight medals, all of superior quality, had been deposited on top of the pilaster, again at the left-hand side of the chapel’s entrance. This time, the deposit consisted of four large portrait medals with Castel Sismondo on the reverse and four smaller ones with the coat of arms of Sigismondo (fig. 3).27 But Sigismondo’s portrait medals were also deposited outside of Rimini in the fortifications that were built from the late 1440s onward in Malatesta territory. Portrait medals have been retrieved in places such as Fano, some sixty kilometers from Rimini; S. Giovanni in Galilea Figure 3. Part of the deposited bronze portrait medals of Sigismondo Malatesta, found during restoration works in the Tempio Malatestiano in 1948. Published in exhibition catalogue Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta e il suo tempo (Rimini, Neri Pozza Editore 1970), p. 168. Schraven: Out of sight, yet still in place 189 38. Roberto Weiss, Papa Paolo II. un umanista veneziano (Rome, Venice: Istituto per la Collaborazione Culturale, 1958); De Caro Balbi (see note 36), p. 29. 39. There are also portrait medals of the above-mentioned type (Hill n. 783) with HANC ARCEM (Arx, meaning “fortress” ) instead of 31. Alfred Gell, Art and Agency. An Anthropological Theory (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), p. 21. 32. J. Graham Pollard, “The Italian Renaissance Medal. Collecting and Connaisseurship,” in Italian Medals (see note 15), pp. 161–169. 33. C. L. Frommel, “Francesco del Borgo. Architekt Pius’ II. und Pauls II. Palazzo Venezia, Palazzetto Venezia und San Marco,” Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 21 (1984):71–164. 34. Hill (see note 1), n. 738. Compare this inscription to that on the eastern facade of Palazzo Venezia: “Petrus Barbus Venetis Cardinalis Sancti Marci Has Aedes Condidit Anno Christi MCCCLV.” 35. A. Modigliani, “Paolo II e il sogno abbandonato di una piazza imperiale,” in Antiquaria a Roma. Intorno a Pomponio Leto e Paolo II, ed. M. Miglio (Rome: Roma nel Rinascimento, 2003), pp. 125–161. 36. Hill (see note 1), n. 783; S. De Caro Balbi, “Di alcune medaglie rinvenute nelle mura del Palazzo di Venezia in Roma,” Medaglia 5 (1973):23–34. 37. His biographer Gaspare da Verona called him “numismatum tam veterum quam recentium cognoscitor egregius investigatorque assiduus”; see Le vite di Paolo II di Gaspare da verona e di Michele Canensi, ed. G. Zippel (Città di Castello: Lapi, 1904), p. 4. because of this interest, he would commission more portrait medals than any other fifteenth-century pope.38 And besides distributing them among friends and dependents, he also deposited a substantial amount of them in his building projects, such as the fortresses both in Rome and the Papal States.39 Others were distributed the agency of the patron over a network of monuments and a territory.31 In this respect, it is telling that the medals of Matteo De’Pasti were issued in huge numbers. His master Pisanello usually had provided his patrons with one single medal, leaving the responsibility of their reproduction to them.32 The building deposits of Pope Paul II in Rome At about the same period, a very similar strategy was followed in the Palazzo Venezia in Rome, the most important building project of Pope Paul II Barbo. Construction of the palace adjacent to his titulus, the basilica of S. Marco, had already started in 1455, while Barbo was still a cardinal.33 Following the example of the medals of Castel Sismondo and the Tempio Malatestiano, Pietro Barbo also commissioned a portrait medal to commemorate the construction of his palace. The work of an anonymous medalist, it was the first portrait medal ever to be produced in Rome. Its obverse bears the bare-headed effigy of the cardinal, with the legend “PETRUS BARBUS VENETUS CARDINALIS S MARCI.” The reverse shows the facade of the Palazzo di S. Marco with the legend “HAS AEDES CONDIDIT ANNO CHRISTI M CCCC LV.”34 Once elected to the papacy in 1464, the building plans were significantly enlarged to match the patron’s newly acquired status.35 A new series of foundation medals was issued, this time with an adjusted effigy and legend: “PAULUS II VENETUS PAPA,” while the year on the reverse was changed into 1465 (fig. 4a and b).36 Owner of the largest collection of ancient coins, gems, and medals of his time, Paul II was generally acclaimed for his numismatic expertise.37 Perhaps a b Figure 4a and b. Portrait medal of Pope Paul II with the Palazzo di San Marco on its reverse. Cast bronze, diameter 33 mm, bears date 1465. Photo: Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Münzkabinett, with permission. 190 RES 55/56 SPRING/AUTUMN 2009 44. Klaus Klusemann, Das Bauopfer. Eine etnographisch-, prähistorisch-linguistische Studie (Graz/Hamburg, Selbstverlag, 1919). More recently, Vesa-Pekka Herva, “The Life of Buildings. Minoan Building Deposits in an Ecological Perspective,” Oxford Journal of Archaeology 24 (2005):215–227; Peter Woodward and Ann Woodward, “Dedicating the Town. Urban Foundation Deposits in Roman Britain,” World Archaeology 36 (2004):68–86; D. Freidel and L. Schele, “Dead Kings and Living Temples. Dedication and Termination Rituals Among the Ancient Maya,” in Word and Image in Maya Culture, Explorations in Language, Writing, and Representation, ed. W. F. Hanks and D. S. Rice (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1989), pp. 233–243. See also I riti del costruire nelle acque violate, ed. Mirella Serlorenzi and Helga di Giuseppe (Rome, forthcoming). 45. M. Donderer, “Münzen als Bauopfer in römischen Privathäusern,” Bonner Jahrbücher des Rheinischen Landesmuseums 184 (1984):177–187. 46. Rita Müller-Zeis, “Griechische Bauopfer und Gründungsdepots” (Ph.D. diss., Saarbrücken University, 1994), catalogue nr. 54. 47. During the demolition of old St. Peter’s, many medieval coins were found in the foundations of chapels or under columns; see Grimaldi (note 40), fols. 175–176. At another occasion, an old coin with the portrait of St. Nicholas was found in the foundations of old St Peter’s; see ibid., fol. 274. HAS AEDES (“building”). Weiss (see ibid., p. 51) linked this variation with the fortresses built by Paul II in Rome and in the Papal States, at Todi, Cascia, and Terracina during the period of 1465–1466. 40. Weiss (see note 38), p. 77 cites from Giacomo Grimaldi’s Descrizione della basilica antica di S. Pietro in vaticano. Codice Barberini latino 2733, ed. R. Niggl (Vatican City: Vatican Library, 1972), fol. 155: “pars palatii apostolici frontem faciens ad via Alexandrinam a Paulo secundo excitata, ut marmorea notabant insignia, et complures nummi aenei cuius imagine ad vivum expressa cum literis ‘Paulus Venetus Papa Secundus’; in altera parte ‘has aedes aedificavit’ (Hill n. 783); in aliquibus vero numismatibus magnis aeneis erat ipse Paulus in throno Maiestatis cum cardinalibus (Hill n. 775); quae reperta fuerunt in fundamentis atque parietibus dictatum aedium.” 41. Fabrizio Mancinelli, “Il cubicolo di Giulio II,” Bollettino Monumenti, Musei e Gallerie pontificie 3 (1982):63–103; esp. p. 66. 42. Weiss (see note 38), p. 54. 43. As we have seen, the medals in Castello Sismondo were simply put inside cavities in the wall; in Verrucchio, they had been placed just below the chalk; in S. Giovanni in Galilea, the medals had been put inside a glass flask; and in Fano and in Montescudo, terracotta vessels were used, which, unfortunately, have not been preserved; see Pasini (note 27). deposits testify to an apparently deeply ingrained need to seek protection for buildings. Although the typology of the deposits can assume various forms—ranging from beads, ostrich eggs, terracotta figurines, to even the sacrifice of animals and human beings—their main intention seems to be apotropaic: that is, to protect the building and its inhabitants from disease and misfortune.44 The most direct precedent for the disposition of portrait medals is, of course, the deposition of coins. Especially when found in specific areas of the building (under a mosaic pavement, underneath or on top of a column) or within some kind of container, the unintentional loss of the object can be effectively ruled out. Such is the case of a terracotta vessel with two coins found under the floor of a home in Ostia dated to the third century b.c.45 or the 352 silver coins deposited within the foundations of an Isis-temple at Eretria, Greece, during the second century b.c.46 Similarly, coins were sometimes put in walls or doors; during the installation of the bronze doors of the Roman Curia in S. Giovanni in Laterano in 1660, it was discovered that they contained coins with the effigy of Emperor Domitian (d. a.d. 96). Widespread in antiquity for both sacred and domestic architecture, the practice had been continued throughout the Middle Ages.47 At the end of the thirteenth century, the Carrara of Padua had inscribed themselves in this tradition, when they deposited terracotta containers with Carrara coins, the so-called destined for the Vatican Palace, for the part that was built during his pontificate. Several bronze medals of Paul II were found there during rebuilding works in the seventeenth century.40 In the late 1940s, two terracotta vessels with portrait medals of the pope were found in a staircase.41 But by far the largest deposits of portrait medals have been retrieved in the foundations of the Palazzo di S. Marco or Palazzo Venezia. Most of them have come to light during excavations of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Carefully coated in protective layers of wax, the medals had been placed in groups of two, three, or five within terracotta containers, or dindaroli (fig. 5). They had been placed along the perimeter of the palace, at a distance of about three meters from one another. The numbers of portrait medals deposited by Paul II must have been overwhelming indeed, by far outdoing those of Sigismondo Malatesta: Archival research has demonstrated that in 1466 alone, payments were made for 129 of such vessels.42 Also in terms of preservation, Paul II was a step ahead of Sigismondo, who apparently lacked a consistent method of preserving his deposited portrait medals.43 Depositing rituals and classical forms The custom of depositing objects within buildings is a long, universal tradition. Practiced from pre-Columbian pyramids to Minoan palaces on Crete, and from Roman camps to medieval houses, these so-called building Schraven: Out of sight, yet still in place 191 53. “Domum insuper iuxta ipsam ecclesiam magnis impensis testudineoque aedificio funditus construxit; cuius quidem fundamenta cerimoniali cum benedictione atque aliquanta auri argentique numismatici depositione, ut saepe in magnis dignisque aedificiis fieri assolet, optimis auspitiis iecit.” Le vite di Paolo II (see note 37), p. 82. 48. Weiss (see note 38), pp. 70–71; A. Saccocci, “Teche e ‘medaglie’ murali carraresi (1355–1405),” in Le mura ritrovate: fortificazioni di Padova in età comunale e carrarese, ed. Adriano Verdi (Padua: Panda Edizioni, 1988). 49. Tacitus, histories 4, 53. 50. “Galeotto Roberto diede principio a fondar il muro della fortezza alla porta di S. Andrea dal Gattolo, dopo haver il vicario del vescovo dato la beneditione e cantate le litanie. E prima di tutti, Domenico Malatesta gittò la prima pietra, e Giovanni Rossi portò la calcina, con la quale fu murata detta pietra, e il vescovo con l’acqua santa e con le solite e ordinarie cerimonie della Chiesa, la benedì e nei fondamenti Galeotto Roberto gettò molti denari”; see Clementini (note 17), pp. 259–260. 51. Andrea Da Schivenoglia (d. 1467), “Famiglie mantovane e Cronaca di Mantova,” Biblioteca Comunale di Mantova, ms. 1019 (II, 2), as cited by Restani (see note 14), pp. 335–336. 52. Platynae historici liber de vita Christi ac omnium pontificium, ed. Giacinto Gaida (Citta di Castello: Lapi, 1913–1932), p. 388: “numismata prope infinita, ex auro, argento aereve sua imagine signata . . . in fundamentis aedificiorum suorum more veterum collocabat.” pope, Michele Canensi, also linked the deposition of portrait medals to classical models. He stated that the medals had been deposited within the buildings with “optimis auspitiis,” borrowing terminology of Roman divinatory practices. From him we also know that the deposition ceremonies at the Palazzo di S. Marco were performed along with a benediction and some kind of ceremony.53 tessere, within the city walls and the foundations of both a tower and a church in their territory.48 Apart from this continuous tradition, there also seems to have been a deliberate revival of ancient deposition practices in humanist circles, based on the reading of authoritative ancient sources. One such source is Tacitus’ description of the elaborate foundation ceremonies of the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus in June of a.d. 70. The author described various offerings to Jupiter, Juno, Minerva, and the tutelary gods of the place, at the end of which “many gold and silver coins were showered in the foundations.”49 Although the sources never mention the link explicitly, these ritual gestures are easily recognized in a number of foundation ceremonies in the direct environment of Sigismondo Malatesta. In September of 1431, when Sigismondo was fourteen years old, his half-brother Galeotto Roberto (d. 1432) initiated the construction of new fortifications in Rimini with an ostentatious display of ceremonies. At the end of the ceremonies, which involved members of the Malatesta family and the clergy of Rimini, Galeotto Roberto threw many coins, “molti danari,” inside the foundations.50 A few years later, in 1449, this ritual was performed again, this time in Mantua, where Duke Ludovico Gonzaga threw large numbers of golden and silver coins into the foundations of a new city wall.51 To humanists, the deposition of coins and medals into foundations was clearly regarded as a ritual with classical overtones. In his biography of Paul II, the humanist Bartolommeo Platina classified the deposition practices of the pope as “more veterum,” or “following customs of the ancients.”52 Another biographer of the Figure 5. Deposited terracotta container (“dindarolo”) with three bronze portrait medals of Pope Paul II as found in the walls of Palazzetto Venezia. From Silvana De Caro Balbi, “Di alcune medaglie rinvenute nelle mura del Palazzo di Venezia in Roma,” Medaglia. Rivista trimestrale 5 (1973):25. 192 RES 55/56 SPRING/AUTUMN 2009 59. “Ad quondam tui nominis immortalitatem, Matthaei Pasti veronensis opera industriaque vidi aere auro et argento innumeras quasi coelatas imagines, quae vel in defossis locis dispersae, vel muris intus locatae, vel ad exteras nationes transmissae sunt”; letter written in 1453 from Timoteo Maffei to Sigismondo Malatesta, as cited by Weiss (see note 38), p. 71. There is also a portrait medal of Timoteo Maffei, signed by Matteo De’Pasti (Hill n. 159). 60. “Magna aeternitatis cupido . . . numismata eam ob causam tuae imaginis, non cudis modo, sed fundamentis aedificiorum parietibusque admisces, ut illis, vetustate ruentibus, exiliant post mille annos monimenta nominis Pauli,” Ammanati Piccolomini, Lettere 1444–1479, ed. Paolo Cherubini (Rome, Istituto poligrafico e zecca dello Stato, 1997), p. 1203. 61. In this respect, one also needs to keep in mind the powers attributed to portraits in this period; see note 8. 54. R. A. Goldthwaite, “The Building of the Strozzi Palace. The Construction Industry in Renaissance Florence,” Studies in Medieval and Renaissance history 10 (1973):97–194. 55. Hill (see note 1), n. 1018. The portrait medal depicts the aged Filippo Strozzi, while its reverse bears a falcon in an oak tree decorated with the Strozzi coat of arms. There is no inscription, except for the name of the sitter: “PHILIPPUS STROZA.” 56. Tribaldo De Rossi, “Ricordanze,” in Delizie degli eruditi toscani (Florence: Cambiagi, 1770–1789), p. 249, as cited by Richard Trexler, Public Life in Renaissance Florence (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1980), p. 447. A year later, De’Rossi repeated this act of throwing coins at the foundation ceremonies of the Palazzo Gondi. 57. On the foundation ritual, see Mircea Eliade, Le mythe de l’éternel retour. Archetypes et répétition (Paris: Gallimard, 1969), pp. 30–33. 58. “Perchè io intendo et voglio che decta mia casa sia per ogni futuro tempo in perpetuo habitata da dicti Strozzi, et rimanga nella famiglia degli Strozzi” as cited in F. W. Kent, “Più superba de quella de Lorenzo; Courtly and Family Interest in the Building of Filippo Strozzi’s Palace,” Renaissance Quarterly 30 (1977): 311–323, note 47. them from mere spectators to participants, thus securing their involvement, and perhaps even their support, for the huge enterprise. Once the deposited objects were hidden from view by the ongoing construction, those who had been present at the foundation ceremonies still would have a vivid recollection of their participation in that act of foundation, whose memorable character was symbolized by the buried metals and coins. Thus, the active participation of the bystanders was instrumental in creating a collective memory of the event. Portraits and the desire for immortality Also in the cases of Sigismondo Malatesta and Pope Paolo II, there can be no doubt about their desire to perpetuate their name by means of the deposited portrait medals. This intention was already well understood by contemporaries of Sigismondo and Paul II. In a letter written to Sigismondo, the Veronese canon Timoteo Maffei (d. 1470), well connected with the humanistic elite of his day, explicitly linked Sigismondo’s fondness for portrait medals to his desire for immortality (tui nominis immortalitatem). Maffei moreover stated that he had witnessed (vidi—“I have seen”) that the portrait medals of Sigismondo were either sent off as gifts to other courts or were deposited “within the foundations or within walls.”59 This urge for fame and immortality could also encounter hostile responses: Pope Paul II, for instance, was accused of “his great desire for eternity . . . , so that, when after a thousand years [his buildings] will fall down with age, the monuments of Paul’s name [i.e., the medals] will leap out of them!”60 There is an interesting notion at play here that buildings and cities, even papal and magnificent as they may now be, in the end are subject to decay and even oblivion. Future generations will be able to identify their patron Paul II by means of his buried portrait medals.61 The urge of remembrance Besides, the tossing of a coin or medal in the foundations of a new building must have been rather common in this period. The grand foundation ceremonies of the Palazzo Strozzi in Florence may serve as an example.54 A team of astrologers had established the most propitious moment for the laying of the first stone as August 6, 1489. While that morning masses were celebrated in many of Florence’s churches, the wealthy merchant Filippo Strozzi (d. 1491) threw in the first shovel of fill in the foundations of his new family palace along with a portrait medal specially designed for this occasion and some coins.55 Strozzi then encouraged occasional bystanders to join him by picking up a stone and throwing it in. His neighbor Tribaldo De’Rossi became so involved that he ran home to pick up his children. With Filippo’s permission, he made his son throw in a coin and some flowers as he wrote in his Ricordi: “When I had given him a lilied quattrino, [my son] threw it in, and I had him throw a bunch of damask roses he had in hand, and I said: ‘Remember this,’ and he said, ‘Yes [I will, dad],’ and they were together with Tita our servant.”56 Tribaldo’s recommendation to his son to remember what they had just witnessed may be taken as a valuable clue about the intentions underlying foundation rituals. Before anything else, the ceremonies may have served to mark the importance of the act of founding to all present and imprint it as such in their memory.57 The main attention went, of course, to the founder, in this case Filippo Strozzi: Strozzi’s name would remain attached to the family palace for generations to come, as he established in his testament.58 But by asking bystanders to join him in the foundation ceremonies, Filippo turned provides an illuminating account of the practices for the laying of first stones or foundation stones as they were observed in this period.66 Ambitious and self- conscious patrons had an obvious interest to endow the foundations of their buildings with elaborate ceremonies, gathering large crowds as witnesses of these memorable events. Finally, Filarete alluded to the pleasure that the deposits would yield to their finder and the historical sensation that the findings would provoke.67 While carefully assembling the fragments of a past civilization, Renaissance humanists developed a sensibility for the eventual collapse of their own culture. The Renaissance portrait medals, valued for immortalizing the virtues of the sitter, circulated as gifts and objects of study in a network of friends, dependants, and collectors. By depositing them in the foundations of important building sites, the patrons claimed that their agency was distributed not only over their territory, but also could resurface over time. This same sensibility is present in a much-quoted passage in the architectural treatise of the Florentine Antonio Averlino, better known as Filarete (d. 1469), in his architectural treatise, the Libro Architettonico: a dialogue in twenty-five books between a patron and his architect on an ideal city called Sforzinda.62 At the beginning of the book, there is much debate about the foundation and inauguration ceremonies for this new city. When discussing these matters, the author/architect assured his patron of being perfectly informed of the state-of-the-art procedures.63 Once the location had been marked with ropes indicating the gates and principal streets, an astrologer established the most auspicious date and time for the ceremonies. In the presence of his family, the bishop, and the architect, the patron then received a number of gifts, among which were a marble foundation stone, inscribed with the year and names of the patron, bishop, and architect, respectively; and five flasks filled with five different liquids, all of them bearing on the qualities of the future inhabitants of the city. When his imaginary patron had asked why one should place votive objects within the foundation, the architect’s response was clear: The reason I put these things in this foundation is because, as every man knows, things that have a beginning must have an end. When the time comes, they will find these things, and know our names, and remember us because of them, just as we remember when we find something noble in a ruin or in an excavation. We are happy and pleased to find a thing that represents antiquity and gives the name of him, who had it done.64 Although the fictional foundation ceremony of Sforzinda does not include portrait medals,65 Filarete 62. Working from 1460 onward as an architect at the court of Francesco Sforza in Milan, Filarete designed among other buildings the façade of the Castello Sforzesco and the Ospedale Maggiore. See Filarete’s Treatise on Architecture, Being the Treatise by Antonio di Piero Averlino known as Filarete, 2 vols., ed. John R. Spencer (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 1965). Although never put in print, the book had a wide circulation. A copy in Florence with the date 1465 is dedicated to Piero De’Medici: Apparently, Filarete fell out of grace with Francesco Sforza soon after completing the work. 63. Ibid., vol. I, p. 44. 64. Ibid., vol. I, pp. 45–46: “La cagione perchè io metto queste cose in questo fondamento sì è, che, come ogni huomo sa, tucte le cose che hanno principio hanno a havere fine: quando sarà quel tempo, si troveranno queste cose, e per questo da loro saremo ricordati e nominati, come che noi nominiamo quando per cavamento o ruina si truova alcuna cosa degna, noi l’abbiamo cara e piaceci haver trovato quella cotal cosa che ci presenti antichità et nome de quegli che l’hanno fatto.” 65. The foundation ceremonies of Filarete’s Ospedale Maggiore in Milan on April 12, 1465, however, did include the deposition of portrait medals: “una casetta di pionbo dove era piu cose, intra l[’]altre v[’]era certe memorie di teste scolpite di alcuni huomini degni di fama” see Filarete’s Treatise on Architecture (note 62), p. 320. 66. Examples are the previously mentioned foundation ceremonies of the city walls of Rimini (1431), of Castel Sismondo (1437), but also those of Palazzo Strozzi in Florence and the Torre Bentivoglio in Bologna (both in 1489); see also Georgia Clarke, Roman House– Renaissance Palaces. Inventing Antiquity in Fifteenth-Century Italy (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 25–29. 67. Leonard Barkan, Unearthing the Past. Archaeology and Aesthetics in the Making of Renaissance Culture (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 1999). Schraven: Out of sight, yet still in place 193 
work_q5vz4q44pnd5dggy4rb2kysqry	----	Microsoft Word - C7_definitivo.doc P.P.197-202 CIUDADES 7(2002-2003) THE SPREADING CITY R. MOSES∗ Moses1 describe una realidad válida desde entonces: La tendencia a lo urbano es un hecho, que implica también el consumo del paisaje lejano (de que habla Ribas y Piera), en ello los flujos ciudad-campo están servidos. Cree en la ciudad, en la permanencia de ésta como único lugar de desarrollo de la civilización, a pesar de los avatares de la historia o la intolerancia hacia su congestión de los que planifiquen, viendo mucho más problemática la imprevisión del ‘planeamiento’ del suburbano del que algunas de las causas que expone son de total actualidad. Equivocado o no en su valoración tan positiva de la ‘unificación’ campo – ciudad (y en la forma física a que tradujo sus ideas), es certero al enunciar no sólo hechos y problemas sino también expectativas de lo que entendemos por una mayor calidad urbana: “La ambición de cualquier oficial responsable de la reconstrucción y mejora de las ciudades está en incrementar los espacios libres, reducir la ocupación del terreno, salvar, restaurar y preservar los recursos naturales”. The urban trend, whether we like it or not, is undeniable. The shift from country to town is steady. There is little wavering in the graph but, like all statistics, these require both definition and honest interpretation. The country is, of course, the area marked in green on the maps, whether wide open or thinly populated. The town—that is another matter. The town is not only the city in the legal sense but the large village as well, whether incorporated or not, the township in some areas, the metropolis in others. In measuring the ∗ MOSES, R.- “The Spreading City” en Working for rhe People: Promise and Performance in Public Service, New York, Harper and Brothers, 1956. 1 Robert Mooses desarrolla su carrera pública desde comienzos de la década de 1910 hasta finales de la de 1960, entre otros cargos como influyente Comisario de Parques de New York. MOSES, R. CIUDADES 7(2002-2003) 198 trend toward the more compact, populous places, we must remember that as people move into cities many in the same cities move into the outskirts, the suburbs and the satellite towns. Besides those who move from place to place because of their work, an astonishing number of people have homes in town and in the country. They divide their time about equally between an apartment in town and a house, camp or shack of some kind elsewhere. We have millions of city people of all income brackets who spend every weekend in the country and others who have made a habit of regular visits to national and state parks. The city man is a weekend salt-water fisherman by instinct. He requires something unpaved, unencumbered, and monotonous to keep him sane. Perhaps it is an admission against interest to say that there are many of us who simply cannot take the city the week around. Our parkways, turnpikes, expressways, thruways and other roads, which are being multiplied and improved to keep pace with the output of cars and the demands of the travelling public, will increase enormously the pressure on our highway system and promote mutual attraction and gradual unification of the country and the town. Meanwhile, the healthy, natural movement of young couples with growing families to houses and apartments at moderate prices in outlying areas of the city and in the suburbs has been accelerated. No compulsion, no artificial stimulus is needed to drive people out of town. Prejudice and population shifts Increasing leisure, longer paid vacations, larger pensions, earlier retirement, older people with the itch for travel and with unsatisfied curiosity about distant places break down more and more the artificial differences between the city man and the country man. The big question is whether the traveler seeks to broaden his horizons or to confirm his prejudices. We should not pay too much attention to the dweller in the shadow of the "El" who would rather be a lamppost in Chicago than the whole Painted Desert. Or to the confirmed Gothamite who boasts that the city is the finest summer resort and that, as Mr. Dooley remarked: "Ivrything that's worth havin' goes to th' city; the counthry takes what's left." And by the same token, keep in mind that Thoreau spent only a relatively short time continuously in his crude shack at Walden Pond. There is no sense in assuming irreconcilable conflict between city and country people. We are not neatly divided between hayseeds and slickers. Acres have claims as well as concentrations of people, but there are no provable superior virtues attaching to the country or city when moral, spiritual, mental, or even health and hygienic factors are under consideration. Cities were in many cases originally created for protection. This is about the only logic of urban growth which is no longer significant. All the other reasons for the establishment of growing cities are as influential today as they were when the pioneers founded them on the seaboard, the river, the valley, the hill, the rail center, the crossroads, the focal point of a farming, mining, fishing, manufacturing or other center, or the source of plentiful labor. THE SPREADING CITY 199 CIUDADES 7(2002-2003) Academic planners and those who cannot stand urban competition or tolerate a certain amount of noise, tension, hurry, and the anonymity of urban life, advocate decentralization of cities and dispersion of population. But their prejudices will not materially influence the logic of the situation. There are good reasons why most cities persist. Those which decline do so because they no longer serve a function in the larger economy of the nation. Some advantages of concentration It is not to be forgotten that civilization is an outgrowth and attribute of cities. Farms produce food; oceans support commerce; the suburbs are dormitories; the mines teem with energy and the forests with the solitude which promotes thought-but civilization flourishes only in concentrated urban communities. You need not to live in a city, but you must be nearby or visit now and then if you expect to be recognized as a civilized man. A city needs not to be large but a village is not a city. To quote the lines of Vachel Lindsay: Let not your town be large, remembering That little Athens was the muses' home, That Oxford is the heart of London still, That Florence gave the Renaissance to Rome. On the building of Springfield The American is restless and imitative. He likes contrast, change and assembly-line stuff. I believe it was Henry Mencken who described him sourly as an Elk in a Ford. Well, ours may not be a great civilization as measured by philosophers. It is no Cinque-Cento Italian Renaissance when it comes to aristocracy of the arts, but it has its points. This is the one nation on earth in which the average man can also be the well-rounded man with two residences, one in town and the other in the country. You do not have to be a millionaire here to own a flivver and a country bungalow. A proper reading of history shows that the permanence of cities is more significant than their decay. War and the acts of God have from time to time outraged them, but those which were established at navigable waters, at important crossroads and centers, strategic places of one kind or another, persist. A one-industry town may dry up with its only attraction, but this is the exception not the rule. For every Auburn which fades as its bold peasantry declines, there is a Birmingham which still flourishes. Ol' Man River— Mississippi, Danube or Columbia- keeps on rolling along and most of the cities he has spawned on his banks still flourish. A city cannot live on Tyrian purple, or the sale of graven images of Diana, or on depleted mines, honkytonks or rundown aristocracy; but London, Stalingrad, Amsterdam rise from rubble because they were and continue to be the logical and traditional places for concentration and because they continue to have the men, the enterprise and the pride to keep up with or ahead of the times. The trouble with the prophets of doom of cities is that they do not think like the people who live in them. Lewis Mumford, Frank Lloyd Wright and their MOSES, R. CIUDADES 7(2002-2003) 200 followers who damn urbanization because they cannot stand the gaff of city life no doubt honestly believe that all city people hate their existence. They do not realize that Brooklynites adore Brooklyn, idolize the Dodgers because they symbolize it, and cheer themselves hoarse at the mention of its name. Can Mumford and the aesthetes, and Frank Lloyd Wright and the back-to-the-land boys be right and three million Brooldynites be wrong? The community may survive a long time because there are, as Webster said of his old alma mater, those who love it, and because there are also those who cannot get away. A town, like a British remittance man in Canada, can be supported by distant relatives. Some of our old villages are helped by natives who have gone to big cities and made good. We have towns that, like Colonial Williamsburg, have become museums and monuments which stir memories but have no grip on ambitious boys and girls. There are, to be sure, not many such communities in our new country. Those that exist should keep up standards but should not try to compete with rushing, raucous, new places. It is better to live on charm than to be an imitation Babylon. Only the city can afford the arts in their broadest and most developed sense, because it takes population to keep art centers alive and flourishing. The same reasoning applies to great medical centers which require the most nearly complete clinical facilities, to management headquarters of banking and big business, and to many mercantile establishments which have to be close together. The nearby country as well as the suburb is meaningless without the city. Los Angeles supports a veritable paradise of truck farmers and orchards almost at its borders, and New York is the big market for the potatoes, ducks and shellfish of Long Island. Proximity of city and country, warm shorefront and glacial heights, ranch and bungalow, is what makes California such a strong rival of the Atlantic and Gulf seaboards and the Middle West. Our entire economy is dependent on urban, suburban and rural integration. Obviously, city life is not doomed, although some particular town may be static, advancing or going back. In studying any particular community, there is no quick, smooth categorical answer to the never-ending challenges of growth and change. Intelligent citizens should study the main forces at work, the pulls and pressures. Much depends on the traditions of the town, on its special interests, on types of leadership and the strength of advocates of conservative improvement as against radical and revolutionary uprooting. Diversity in metropolitan areas It is a great mistake to assume that the overbuilt and deliberately overcrowded midtown section of every big city is the city, and that nothing else in it counts. Parts of big towns are like suburbs and even country. The significant and often prevailing and controlling outskirts, peripheries and relatively quiet residential places where respectable people keep the noiseless tenor of their way—places which make no pretense of being "stems," Broadway crossroads, "hot spots," "loops" and what not, and with no special bids to visitors—are more characteristic of the city, more redolent of its quality and flavor than the places ballyhooed by barkers and touted by advertisers. The barkers always show off the THE SPREADING CITY 201 CIUDADES 7(2002-2003) city slums, the Harlems, Bowery, Basin streets, Chinatowns, Little Italy, the former ghettoes, and so on, and picture them as a fixed, unchangeable, inevitable feature of city life. But it simply is not so. In our cities the shallows murmur, but the deeps are dumb. There are more churchgoers than cabaret hounds, but they make less noise. The jazz joints, with their raucous snare drums and trumpets, are more obtrusive but much less important than the long-drawn aisles and fretted vaults where, as the poet said, the pealing anthem swells the note of praise. The spreading suburbs also have their logic, not only as dormitories for commuters and garden spots for their wives and children, but also as places from which, by rail and road, the manifold attractions of the city can easily be reached without the distractions and handicaps of city life. It is sad to see venal, weak or complacent local officials, in- different to recent history, permitting the subdividers, real estate developers and their co- conspirators and victims to repeat the same tricks in the suburbs which made the slums of the cities a few generations ago—small lots, narrow streets, with parks, schools, and utilities of all kinds waiting for future assessments on unsuspecting purchasers. Higher standards must come from the average citizen. Water cannot rise above its own level. The suburbs, too, often are leaderless. I worry more about the suburbs than about the cities. In the cities we are at least aware of and are trying to undo the errors of the past. In the suburbs these felonies are being compounded and perpetuated. Some suburban problems I do not believe that the metropolis is obsolete. The city is still the center of gravity of modern civilization. Parts of it of course are antiquated, especially slums and rundown, depressed areas which are the results of the past selfishness of capital, the weakness of government and the indifference of the citizenry. We have at least been educated above this level to some understanding of the difficulties, costs and sacrifices which must be made to remedy conditions which under better leadership would never have occurred. Our big cities must be rebuilt, not abandoned. While this is being done the suburbs will continue to grow amazingly, and open country previously considered beyond commuting distance will become suburban. But let us not fool ourselves about the spreading city. There are just as many problems involved in rapid, uncontrolled, suburban growth as in the rebuilding of substandard midtown urban sections. As we reflect on suburban growth we begin to recognize that this is not an unmixed blessing. I am not at all sure that the problems of the suburbs are not more serious and less understood than those of the city. I have never yet seen one of these big plans for suburban "developments" start out with a proper diagnosis of future problems. The Levittown community on Long Island is an example. Here the builders took a number of farms, open land, and built some 17,000 houses to accommodate 75,000 people. When you live in the heart of the city you have MOSES, R. CIUDADES 7(2002-2003) 202 facilities which, while they may not be just to your liking, do provide schools, streets, sewers, water, electric and gas utilities and some established forms of transportation. When you go out in the open country, however, all these problems gradually rear their ugly heads to plague you. I have seen them develop. You decide that putting in cesspools is safe to start with, but soon you are taking water out of the same ground to drink, no doubt at a different level, and then a water supply problem arises. Nobody pays much attention to drainage, and all of a sudden you have to do something about storm sewers. Somebody is going to get the bills for that. Some one will be assessed. Bills also have got to be paid for sewage plants. Cesspools and well water for 75,000 people do not mix for any length of time. Transportation and schools must be provided. There is no use going through the roster of necessities. They descend upon the community as a whole after the developer, the fellow who has moved these people or industries to virgin territory has departed and closed his account books. "Rus in urbe" Only a pretentious scribbler would glory in the boast that Augustus Caesar found Rome built of brick and left it built of marble. Our watchword should be that we found our city a wilderness of stone and steel, crowded and inaccessible, and that we opened it to light and air, planted it with the green of parks and the laughter of playgrounds, and carved out wide Spokes and rims for parkways and expressways to make the city and country one. I dismiss as unworthy of serious consideration the gloomy prophets who label cities as obsolete because of the possibility of atomic bombing. If the hydrogen bombs actually fall, we shall all be finished. Meanwhile, apprehension and premature terror can paralyze us before anything really happens. These are just the objectives the Communists aim at in their cold, psychological warfare. It is the ambition of every official responsible for the rebuilding and improvement of cities to increase the open spaces, reduce the coverage of land, salvage, restore and preserve natural resources; in fact, to approximate the old Roman idea of rus in urbe, the country in the city. The city, rebuilt, modernized and humanized, will always be the great magnet which draws from the hinterland the eager, the young, the curious, the ambitious, the talented. These, from the dawn of history, have gravitated to big places where the incentives are most dramatic, where competition is strongest and rewards great. Ours is an emerging new people of many stocks and talents in a land of extraordinary variety. Country and city, we are knitted together. Our suburbs will in time somehow attain bouquet, flavor, character and personality. The residents, mostly young couples with small children, will form friendships. Acquaintances will cross the parkways and highways which separate one development from another. Marriages will cement the Montagus and Capulets of these scattered communities. Thus eventually they will produce leaders with vision and pride and by some mysterious alchemy develop a sense of unity. 
work_qbvoso2adbfebfhchnd5n7udha	----	Microsoft Word - 6. NISI - Petrarca Rivista semestrale online / Biannual online journal http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 19 / Issue no. 19 Giugno 2019 / June 2019 Direttore / Editor Rinaldo Rinaldi (Università di Parma) Comitato scientifico / Research Committee Mariolina Bongiovanni Bertini (Università di Parma) Dominique Budor (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) Roberto Greci (Università di Parma) Heinz Hofmann (Universität Tübingen) Bert W. Meijer (Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Instituut Firenze / Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht) María de las Nieves Muñiz Muñiz (Universitat de Barcelona) Diego Saglia (Università di Parma) Francesco Spera (Università Statale di Milano) Segreteria di redazione / Editorial Staff Maria Elena Capitani (Università di Parma) Nicola Catelli (Università di Parma) Arianna Giardini (Università Statale di Milano) Chiara Rolli (Università di Parma) Esperti esterni (fascicolo n. 19) / External referees (issue no. 19) Armando Antonelli (Università di Ferrara) Daniele Artoni (Università di Verona) Alvaro Barbieri (Università di Padova) Sonia Maura Barillari (Università di Genova) Anna Bognolo (Università di Verona) Mauro Bonazzi (Università Statale di Milano) Manuel Boschiero (Università di Verona) Sergio Bozzola (Università di Padova) Alberto Camerotto (Venezia Ca’ Foscari) Clizia Carminati (Università di Bergamo) Fabio Danelon (Università di Verona) Stefano Genetti (Università di Verona) Rosanna Gorris Camos (Università di Verona) Chiara Melloni (Università di Verona) Antonio Musarra (Harvard Center for Renaissance Studies I Tatti) Stefano Neri (Università di Verona) Nicola Pace (Università Statale di Milano) Paolo Rinoldi (Università di Parma) Arnaldo Soldani (Università di Verona) Franco Tomasi (Università di Padova) Martina Tosello (Ferrara) Carlo Varotti (Università di Parma) Luciano Zampese (Université de Génève) Emanuele Zinato (Università di Padova) Progetto grafico / Graphic design Jelena Radojev (Università di Parma) † Direttore responsabile: Rinaldo Rinaldi Autorizzazione Tribunale di Parma n. 14 del 27 maggio 2010 © Copyright 2019 – ISSN: 2039-0114 INDEX / CONTENTS Speciale TRACCE, MEMORIE E SINTOMI. LA CITAZIONE TRA FILOLOGIA, LETTERATURA E LINGUISTICA a cura di Marco Duranti, Jacopo Galavotti, Marco Magnani, Marco Robecchi Presentazione 3-9 Forme e tipologie dell’autocitazione negli scritti di Epicuro VINCENZO DAMIANI (Universität Würzburg) 11-31 La voce di Omero. Tecniche della citazione nei dialoghi filosofici di Luciano MICHELE SOLITARIO (Eberhard Karls Universität Tübingen) 33-54 La citazione in cancelleria. Il comune di Roma nel Medioevo DARIO INTERNULLO (Università di Roma Tre) 55-79 I “Vers de la Mort” di Hélinant de Froidmont: citazione e diffusione di una forma metrica MICHELA MARGANI (Università di Macerata) 81-101 Dal latino al volgare. Echi catulliani nei “Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta” DONATELLA NISI (Università del Salento) 103-115 “Mutatio caparum”. Las citas de origen latino en el “Quijote” de Cervantes BEATRIZ DE LA FUENTE MARINA (Universidad de Salamanca) 117-145 Storia dell’endecasillabo infame. “Sudate, o fochi, a preparar metalli” FRANCESCO SAMARINI (Indiana University – Bloomington) 147-165 Ammirazione o rivalità? Silvio Pellico nei “Mémoires d’outre-tombe” MARGUERITE BORDRY (Sorbonne Université – Paris) 167-178 Curzio Malaparte e i Russi. Citazioni e allusioni nel “Ballo al Kremlino” CARLA MARIA GIACOBBE (Università Statale di Milano) 179-191 Poesia nella prosa. Citazioni esplicite e implicite in Luigi Meneghello ANNA GALLIA (Università di Pavia) 193-202 La citazione meccanica. Una rassegna sul fenomeno dell’ecolalia GRETA MAZZAGGIO (Università di Trento) 203-212 MATERIALI / MATERIALS “Droit au gué de l’Espine vait”. Testi e parole in prestito nel “Lai de l’Espine” MARGHERITA LECCO (Università di Genova) 215-229 Micòl e Felicita. Guido Gozzano nel “Giardino dei Finzi-Contini” VALTER BOGGIONE (Università di Torino) 231-258 Il Raskol’nikov afghano di Atiq Rahimi. Una riscrittura dostoevskiana GIULIA BASELICA (Università di Torino) 259-269 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 19 / Issue no. 19 – Giugno 2019 / June 2019 DONATELLA NISI DAL LATINO AL VOLGARE. ECHI CATULLIANI NEI “RERUM VULGARIUM FRAGMENTA” 1. Petrarca cita Catullo? Esiste una cospicua bibliografia critica e filologica che tratta delle connessioni fra Catullo e Petrarca, e in particolare della reale consistenza del corpus dei carmi catulliani posseduti dall’umanista.1 In mancanza di 1 Si veda P. de Nolhac, Pétrarque et l’humanisme, nouvelle édition, remaniée et augmentée, Paris, Champion, 1907, t. I, pp. 163-213; R. Ellis, Catullus in the XIVth Century, London, H. Frowde, 1905, pp. 3-24; R. Sabbadini, Le scoperte dei codici latini e greci ne’ secoli XIV e XV (1914), edizione anastatica con nuove aggiunte e correzioni dell’autore, a cura di E. Garin, Firenze, Sansoni, 1967; D. R. Stuart, Petrarch’s Indebtedness to the “Libellus” of Catullus, in “Transactions of the American Philological Association”, XLVIII, 1917, pp. 3-26; U. Bosco, Il Petrarca e l’umanesimo filologico (Postille al Nolhac e al Sabbadini), in “Giornale Storico della Letteratura Italiana”, CXX, 1942, pp. 65-119; B. L. Ullman, Petrarch’s Acquaintance with Catullus, Tibullus, Propertius, in Id., Studies in the Italian Renaissance (1955), second edition with additions and corrections, Roma, Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1973, pp. 181-200; Giuseppe Billanovich, Il Catullo della Cattedrale di Verona, in Scire Litteras. Forschungen zum mittelalterlichen Geistesleben, a cura di S. Kramer, M. Bernhard, München, Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1988, pp. 35-58. La discussione critica verte su due posizioni opposte: alcuni sostengono che Petrarca aveva una Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 104 testimonianze dirette le prove del fatto che Petrarca conoscesse tutto il Liber sono da ricercarsi nelle citazioni o richiami alla poesia di Catullo disseminate nella trama delle opere petrarchesche.2 Questo tipo di ricostruzione indiziaria contribuisce a mettere in risalto l’aspetto che qui più ci interessa sottolineare, vale a dire quello della tecnica compositiva dell’imitatio umanistica.3 L’esito più comune e immediato dell’imitatio è sicuramente l’intertestualità, ma è proprio grazie ai padri della lingua italiana e alla necessità di strutturazione del volgare in lingua letteraria, con il conseguente rivolgersi all’antichità classica come modello per la funzione sia creativa che rappresentativa del linguaggio, che questa tecnica maturerà la sua esecuzione più alta. L’imitatio umanistica si rivela, perciò, come un atto fondante per la costruzione di strutture profonde tanto della lingua quanto del prodotto letterario trecentesco. In questo studio mi propongo quindi di riesaminare gli echi catulliani nel Petrarca volgare, valutati nel complesso della storia redazionale del Canzoniere e tenendo conto del ruolo centrale dell’umanesimo petrarchesco nella riscoperta della cultura classica, come nuovo cominciamento (anche grazie alla mediazione bembesca) per la lingua e la poesia italiana.4 I commentatori recenti del Canzoniere convergono sull’idea che la lettura del Liber di Catullo, fatta a Verona nel 1345,5 influenzi Petrarca conoscenza limitata di Catullo, altri ritengono che l’umanista possedesse una copia del Liber. 2 Si veda per esempio V. Di Benedetto, Probabili echi di Catullo in Petrarca, “Quaderni petrarcheschi”, IV, 1987, pp. 225-227 e Guido Billanovich, Petrarca e il Catullo di Verona, in Petrarca, Verona e l’Europa, Atti del convegno internazionale di studi (Verona, 19-23 settembre 1991), a cura di Giuseppe Billanovich e G. Frasso, Padova, Antenore, 1997, pp. 179-220. 3 Si veda V. Fera, L’‘imitatio’ umanistica, in Il latino nell’età dell’umanesimo, Atti del convegno (Mantova, 26-27 ottobre 2001), a cura di G. B. Perini, Firenze, Olschki, 2004, pp. 17-33. 4 Si veda M. Santagata, I frammenti dell’anima. Storia e racconto nel “Canzoniere” di Petrarca, Bologna, il Mulino, 20042, p. 35. 5 Si veda Giuseppe Billanovich, Il Catullo della Cattedrale di Verona, cit., p. 47. Donatella Nisi, Dal latino al volgare. Echi catulliani in Petrarca 105 nella revisione di alcuni testi più antichi eseguita intorno alla metà del Trecento, con l’introduzione di scatti sensuali la cui matrice appare evidente nella trasposizione dal latino al volgare di alcuni versi catulliani. Questo è il caso della sestina A qualunque animale alberga in terra che richiama il carme VII di Catullo, come segnala Lodovico Castelvetro: “Con lei foss’io da che si parte il sole, et non ci vedess’altri che le stelle, sol una nocte, et mai non fosse l’alba”. “aut quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, furtivos hominum vident amores”.6 Affine, per il tema sensuale, è la sestina Non à tanti animali il mar fra l’onde, la cui composizione potrebbe risalire allo stesso periodo intorno al 1345. Qui il proemiale susseguirsi di immagini che rappresentano alcune grandi quantità non numerabili: “Non à tanti animali il mar fra l’onde, né lassù sopra ’l cerchio de la luna vide mai tante stelle alcuna notte, né tanti augelli albergan per li boschi, né tant’erbe ebbe mai campo né piaggia, quant’à ’l mio cor pensier’ ciascuna sera”;7 ripropone la stessa figura retorica presente nel carme VII di Catullo: “Quam magnus numerus Libyssae arenae lasarpiciferis iacet Cyrenis, oraclum Iovis inter aestuosi et Batti veteris sacrum sepulcrum, 6 F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, nuova edizione commentata aggiornata a cura di M. Santagata, Milano, Mondadori, 2004, p. 88 (XXII, 31-33) e G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, a cura di F. Della Corte, Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, Milano, Mondadori, 1977, p. 16 (VII, 7-8). Si veda Le rime del Petrarca, brevemente sposte per L. Castelvetro, Basilea, Pietro de Sedabonis, 1582, p. 42. 7 F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 978 (CCXXXVII, 1-6). Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 106 aut quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, furtivos hominum vident amores, tam te basia multa basiare vesano satis et super Catullo est”.8 Petrarca capovolge la struttura concettuale del carme (“quam multa [...] tam multa est”) e la connota in negativo (“Non à tanti [...] quant’à”); mentre la parola-rima notte è legata come in Catullo al il campo semantico del vedere e delle stelle, ritornando più tardi (“per lo dolce silentio de la notte”)9 come un possibile riuso della silenziosa notte catulliana. I baci reali di Lesbia, insufficienti a soddisfare il poeta, si trasformano in Petrarca nel desiderio irrealizzabile di baci impossibili, diventano i “pensieri” dei baci metaforici di Laura che affollano il cuore del poeta, in un processo di avvicinamento non tanto fisico quanto fantasticato alla figura della donna. La tensione che scaturisce da un simile desiderio, fisico e metafisico al tempo stesso, alimenta la speranza della morte (“Di dì in dì spero omai l’ultima sera”)10 ed evoca il mitico Endimione, con l’auspicio che Laura possa raggiungerlo per baciarlo e farlo addormentare per l’eternità: “Deh or foss’io col vago de la luna adormentato in qua’ che verdi boschi, et questa ch’anzi vespro a me fa sera, con essa et con Amor in quella piaggia sola venisse a starsi ivi una notte; e ’l dì si stesse, e ’l sol sempre ne l’onde.”11 Petrarca si augura che il sole non risorga per stare vicino a Laura un’interminabile notte, riecheggiando così la medesima figura che appariva nel carme V di Catullo: 8 G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 16 (VII, 3-10). 9 Cfr. F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 978 (CCXXXVII, 28). 10 Cfr. ibidem (CCXXXVII, 7). 11 Ivi, p. 979 (CCXXXVII, 31-36). Donatella Nisi, Dal latino al volgare. Echi catulliani in Petrarca 107 “Soles occidere et redire possunt; nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux, nox est perpetua una dormienda. Da mi basia mille, deinde centum.”12 Che il mito di Endimione sia richiamato da Petrarca come un’invocazione alla morte, in opposizione alle di parole Catullo che alludono invece alla gioia di vivere e alla fugacità del tempo, è confermato da un passo del De finibus ciceroniano.13 Ed è suggestivo questo finissimo intreccio delle fonti, dove i motivi classici sono reimpiegati non già direttamente ma attraverso un processo dialettico di rimandi e allusioni,14 con una vera e propria oppositio in imitando simile a quella utilizzata nell’ambito della poesia alessandrina.15 È noto come Petrarca, per una sorta di finzione letteraria, non perda mai occasione di relegare la sua produzione volgare nella prima parte della sua carriera, quando in realtà la redazione della raccolta definitiva lo terrà impegnato fino alla morte. Tale finzione connota anche il sonetto S’i’ fussi stato fermo a la spelunca, composto anteriormente all’incoronazione capitolina (1341), dove il poeta si rammarica di non aver perseverato nell’esercizio della poesia latina, privando Firenze del suo poeta latino (l’unico degno di laurea poetica) in concorrenza con la Verona di Catullo, la Mantova di Virgilio, la Sessa Arunca di Lucilio: 12 G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 12 (V, 4-7). 13 Cfr. M. T. Cicerone, De finibus bonorum et malorum, V, xx, 5: “Itaque, ne si iucundissimis quidem nos somniis usuros putemus, Endymionis somnum nobis velimus dari, idque si accidat, mortis instar putemus”. Si veda C. Acucella, Luna, Endimione e la ‘morte nel bacio’. Poetiche e filosofie a confronto in alcune declinazioni cinquecentesche del mito, in “Griseldaonline”, XIV, 2014, all’indirizzo elettronico www.griseldaonline.it/temi/lune/luna-endimione-morte-nel-bacio-acucella.html. 14 Si veda A. Noferi, L’esperienza poetica del Petrarca, Firenze, Le Monnier, 1962, p. 191. 15 Si veda G. Velli, La memoria poetica del Petrarca, in Id., Petrarca e Boccaccio. Tradizione, memoria, scrittura, Padova, Antenore, 1979, p. 9. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 108 “S’i’ fussi stato fermo a la spelunca Là dove Apollo diventò profeta, Fiorenza avria forse oggi il suo poeta, non pur Verona et Mantoa et Aurunca”.16 Il richiamo a Catullo potrebbe non essere un semplice topos letterario, ma il sintomo di un rinnovato interesse per questo autore, sulla scorta delle comunicazioni filologiche che fin dal 1335 Petrarca intratteneva con Guglielmo da Pastrengo, che lo informava sui preziosi codici conservati nella cattedrale veronese, fra i quali anche i carmi catulliani.17 Tra tutte le definizioni utilizzate da Petrarca per evocare i suoi componimenti la più nota e caratteristica è nugae (“Nugellas meas vulgares”),18 che oltre a metterle in relazione proprio con l’opera catulliana, assume nell’umanista l’esatto significato classico del termine: produzione sparsa e occasionale.19 Pur non essendo un termine impiegato solo da Catullo, nugae ritorna in Petrarca come un eco del carme proemiale del Liber (“meas esse aliquid putare nugas”)20, proprio nella lettera proemiale delle Familiares del 1350 (“Sed fieri potest ut nugas meas tibi habere”).21 16 F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 761 (CLXVI, 1-4). 17 Si veda Giuseppe Billanovich, Petrarca e i libri di Verona, in Petrarca, Verona e l’Europa, cit., pp. 137-143. 18 Cfr. F. Petrarca, Lettres de la vieillesse. Tome IX. Livres XII-XV, édition critique d’E. Nota, traduction de J.-Y. Boriaud, présentation, notices et notes de U. Dotti mises en français par F. La Brasca, A.-P. Segonds, Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 2006, p. 177 (XIII, 11, 3). 19 Per le occorrenze della parola nugae nelle Familiares si veda V. Pacca, Petrarca, Bari, Laterza, 1998, p. 57. Per la presenza del termine in Orazio e S. Agostino si veda Giuseppe Billanovich, Petrarca letterato. I. Lo scrittoio del Petrarca, Roma, Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1947, p. 14. 20 Cfr. G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 6 (I, 4). 21 Cfr. F. Petrarca, Familiarium Rerum Libri, in Id., Opere. “Canzoniere” – “Trionfi” – Familiarium Rerum Libri” con testo a fronte, Firenze, Sansoni, 1975, p. 244 (I, 1, 18). Su questa coincidenza si veda Guido Billanovich, Petrarca e il Catullo di Donatella Nisi, Dal latino al volgare. Echi catulliani in Petrarca 109 Del resto non è forse un caso che certi aspetti della fenomenologia erotica petrarchesca (il fuoco che consuma le midolla, la lingua legata in presenza dell’amata”) siano di derivazione catulliana (si pensi ai carmi XXXV e LI), e che molti ossimori nel Canzoniere, figure della contraddittoria complessità dell’amore e del dolore, abbiano un riscontro nella poesia del veronese (si pensi al famoso “odi et ami” del sonetto Di dì in dì vo cangiando il viso e ’l pelo che riprende il celebre incipit “Odi et amo” del carme LXXXV, o il “dolce amaro” della canzone Di pensier in pensier, di monte in monte erede del catulliano “non est dea nescia nostri, / quae dulcem curis miscet amaritiem” del carme LXVIII).22 2. L’‘imitatio’ di Petrarca Considerando il problema dell’imitazione Petrarca si richiama a quanto già espresso da Orazio e Seneca, come leggiamo nella famosa lettera inviata a Giovanni Boccaccio il 28 ottobre 1366: “Utendum igitur ingenio alieno utendumque coloribus, abstinendum verbis; illa enim similitudo latet, hec eminet; illa poetas facit, hec simias. Standum denique Senece consilio, quod ante Senecam Flacci erat, ut scribamus scilicet sicut apes mellificant, non servatis floribus sed in favos versis, ut ex multis et variis unum fiat, idque aliud et melius.”23 Nel Canzoniere sono dunque frequenti i casi in cui il tema di un autore classico è filtrato da una sapiente variazione verbale e altri in cui Verona, cit., pp. 209-212 (lo studioso dimostra che Petrarca conosceva direttamente il testo del carme e non solo la citazione pliniana nel primo libro della Naturalis Historia). 22 Cfr. rispettivamente F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 849 e p. 631 (CXCV, 7 e CXXIX, 21); G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 200 e p. 172 (LXXXV, 1 e LXVIII 17- 18). 23 F. Petrarca, Familiarium Rerum Libri, cit., p. 1233 (XXIII, 19, 13). Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 110 agisce una raffinata contaminatio.24 Questo processo di recupero multiplo della tradizione, “in un amalgama che niente più conserva degli ingredienti originari”,25 scavalca ogni argine fra fonte latina e fonte volgare, fra prosa e poesia. Nel sonetto Beato in sogno et di languir contento, per esempio, la serie di impossibilia è corroborata da una ricca tradizione proverbiale e letteraria, classica e medievale, ma l’immagine dello scrivere nel vento è anche presente nel carme LXX di Catullo: “Beato in sogno et di languir contento, d’abbracciar l’ombre et seguir l’aura estiva, nuoto per mar che non à fondo o riva, solco onde, e n’ rena fondo, et scrivo in vento”. “Dicit; sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti in vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua”.26 Analoga mescolanza è visibile nel sonetto Vago augelletto che cantando vai, dove Petrarca rivolgendosi all’ “augelletto” dice “verresti in grembo a questo sconsolato”.27 Si può qui ipotizzare un ricordo del famoso passer catulliano: “quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere, cui primum digitum dare adpetenti et acris solet incitare morsus”;28 24 Si veda G. Velli, La memoria poetica del Petrarca, cit., p. 16. 25 Cfr. M. Santagata, Introduzione, in F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. LIII. 26 F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 910 (CCXII, 1-4) e G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 186 (LXX, 3-4). Si veda Il Petrarcha, col commento di M. S. Fausto da Longiano, con rimario et epiteti in ordine d'alphabeto, Venezia, Bindoni e Pasini, 1532, p. 79. La citazione ritorna in F. Petrarca, Invective contra medicum, in Id., Invective contra medicum. Invectiva contra quendam magni status hominem sed nullius scientie aut virtutis, a cura di F. Bausi, Firenze, Le Lettere, 2005, p. 54: “vos, si glorie cupiditate tangimini, in vento et aqua scribite” (II, 18). Si veda P. de Nolhac, Pétrarque et l’humanisme, cit., p. 169. 27 Cfr. F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 1352 (CCCLIII, 1 e 7). 28 G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., pp. 6-8 (II, 2-4). Donatella Nisi, Dal latino al volgare. Echi catulliani in Petrarca 111 ma l’immagine, con una marcata corrispondenza lessicale petrarchesca, è presente pure nel carme III (“nec sese a gremio illius movebat”),29 vicino al sonetto anche per il tema del compianto del defunto. È stato del resto Ludovico Castelvetro a richiamare per primo questa medesima poesia, come riferimento per i versi iniziali del sonetto Piangete, donne, et con voi pianga Amore in morte di Cino da Pistoia: “Piangete, donne, et con voi pianga Amore; piangete, amanti, per ciascun paese, poi ch’è morto collui che tutto intese”. “Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque et quantum est hominum venustiorum. Passer mortuus est meae puellae”.30 La contaminazione avviene spesso fra più testi classici paralleli, fra i quali il Liber catulliano è ben presente. Pensiamo per esempio all’esordio della canzone Che debb’io far? Che mi consigli, Amore? (“Tempo è ben di morire”), che suggerisce sì un richiamo a Catullo (“Quid est, Catulle, quid moraris emori?”),31 ma al tempo stesso evoca – più da vicino ancora – il famoso “Quid mori cessas?” oraziano.32 Analogamente il sonetto Al cader d’una pianta che si svelse presenta un’immagine che riporta a Virgilio: “vidi un’altra ch’Amor obiecto scelse, subiecto in me Callïope t Euterpe; 29 Cfr. ivi, p. 10 (III, 8). Per una discussione sulla conoscenza diretta o indiretta del passer catulliano da parte di Petrarca, sul filo di altre citazioni, si veda P. de Nolhac, Pétrarque et l’humanisme, cit., p. 165 e U. Bosco, Il Petrarca e l’umanesimo filologico (Postille al Nolhac e al Sabbadini), cit., pp. 210-211; e da ultimo Guido Billanovich, Petrarca e il Catullo di Verona, cit., pp. 193-195. 30 F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 450 (XCII, 1-3) e G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 8 (III, 1-3). Si veda Le rime del Petrarca, cit., p. 176. 31 Cfr. F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 1079 (CCLXVIII, 2) e G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 78 (LII, 1). Si veda F. Petrarca, Canzoniere. Rerum vulgarium fragmenta, a cura di R. Bettarini, Torino, Einaudi, 2005, vol. I, p. 1205. 32 Cfr. Orazio, Odae, III, xxvii, 58. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 112 che ’1 cor m’avinse, et proprio albergo felse, qual per trunco o per muro hedera serpe.” “ […] atque hanc sine tempora circum inter victrices hederam tibi serpere lauros”;33 ma anche a Catullo: “mentem amore revinciens, ut tenax hedera huc et huc arborem implicat errans”.34 E questo stesso carme trova un’eco pure nel sonetto petrarchesco Se bianche non son prima ambe le tempie: “Se bianche non son prima ambe le tempie ch’a poco a poco par che ’l tempo mischi”; “usque dum tremulum movens cana tempus anilitas”;35 ma il passo ricorda anche Ovidio: “Iam mihi canities pulsis melioribus annis venerat, antiquas miscueratque comas”.36 Così nella canzone Chiare, fresche et dolci acque il verso “a le dolenti mie parole extreme” ricalca di Virgilio “Haec precor, hanc vocem 33 F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 1225 (CCCXVIII, 5-8) e Virgilio, Eclogae, VIII, 12-13. Si veda A. Daniele, Lettura del sonetto petrarchesco “Al cader d’una pianta che si svelse” (CCCXVIII), in “Revue des Études Italiennes”, XXIX, 1983, pp. 42-57. 34 G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 92 (LXI, 33-35). 35 F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 424 (LXXXIII, 1-2) e G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 102 (LXI, 161-162). Si veda R. Ellis, Catullus in the XIVth Century, cit., p. 22. 36 Ovidio, Tristia, IV, x, 93-94. Si veda F. Petrarca, Canzoniere. Rerum vulgarium fragmenta, cit., vol. I, p. 417. Donatella Nisi, Dal latino al volgare. Echi catulliani in Petrarca 113 extremam cum sanguine fundo”,37 ma vicino è anche il catulliano “atque haec extremis maestam dixisse querelis”.38 Tutte le citazioni petrarchesche di questa poesia, l’epitalamio di Peleo e Tetide, sono tratte dalla descrizione del letto con l’episodio di Arianna39 e tre postille di Petrarca nel codice del Virgilio Ambrosiano vi fanno riferimento con il titolo Peplon (estraneo alla tradizione).40 Due luoghi del carme, durante il racconto del mito di Arianna abbandonata da Teseo, evocano l’immagine del vento che porta via le parole insieme con le promesse d’amore. La seconda occorrenza ha un’eco nel sonetto petrarchesco Oimè il bel viso, oimè il soave sguardo, dove la morte di Laura priva l’amante di ogni speranza: “Di speranza m’empieste et di desire, quand’io partì’ dal sommo piacer vivo; ma ’l vento ne portava le parole”. “At non haec quondam blanda promissa dedisti voce mihi, non haec, miserae, sperare iubebas, sed conubia laeta, sed optatos hymenaeos 37 Cfr. Id., Canzoniere, cit., p. 588 (CXXVI, 13) e Virgilio, Aeneis, IV, 621. Si veda Sonetti Canzoni e Triomphi di M. Francesco Petrarca, con la spositione di B. Daniello da Lucca, Venezia, Nicolini da Sabbio, 1549, p. 85. 38 Cfr. G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 134 (LXIV, 130). Si veda Le rime del Petrarca, cit., p. 231. 39 Si veda U. Bosco, Il Petrarca e l’umanesimo filologico (Postille al Nolhac e al Sabbadini), cit., p. 208. Castelvetro propone anche LXIV, 72 e LXIV 238-240 rispettivamente per per la canzone Se ’l pensier che mi strugge (CXXV, 2) e per la sestina L’aere gravato, et l’importuna nebbia (LXVI,16). Si veda Le rime del Petrarca, cit., p. 225 e p. 133. 40 Si veda F. Petrarca, Le postille del Virgilio Ambrosiano, a cura di M. Baglio, A. Nebuloni Testa e M. Petoletti, Roma-Padova, Antenore, 2006, vol. I, p. 340 e p. 456 e vol. II, p. 613. Per una ricostruzione del dibattito sul rapporto di Petrarca con questo carme si veda U. Bosco, Il Petrarca e l’umanesimo filologico (Postille al Nolhac e al Sabbadini), cit., pp. 208-209; B. L. Ullman, Petrarch’s Acquaintance with Catullus, Tibullus, Propertius, cit., pp. 193-194; Giuseppe Billanovich, Il Catullo della Cattedrale di Verona, cit., pp. 41-42; M. Fiorilla, Postille a Pomponio Mela tra Petrarca e Guglielmo da Pastrengo, in “L’Ellisse”, III, 2009, pp. 11-26. Un riferimento inappropriato al carme LXIV per un verso del sonetto O giorno, o hora, o ultimo momento, mostrato per primo da Nolhac, è stato giustamente escluso da D. R. Stuart, Petrarch’s Indebtedness to the “Libellus” of Catullus, cit., p. 16. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 114 quae cuncta aerii discerpunt irrita venti”.41 La prima occorrenza invece (“irrita ventosae linquens promissa procellae”) è collegata dallo stesso Petrarca a Stazio in una postilla al Virgilio Ambrosiano (“Irrita ventose rapiebant verba procelle”),42 con una citazione ulteriore nel Secretum (“Rapiant venti tamen ista que loquimur, et spargat augurium procelle”).43 La fonte staziana, con il vento che dissolve le parole di Achille separato da Deidamia, sembra essere all’origine del sonetto O giorno, o hora, o ultimo momento: “Or conosco i miei danni, or mi risento: ch’i’ credeva (ahi credenze vane e ’nfirme!) perder parte, non tutto, al dipartirme; quante speranze se ne porta il vento!”44 Ma le speranze corrispondono ancora ai promissa catulliani come nell’occorrenza precedente, e del resto i verba staziani portati via dal vento trovano ancora una volta riscontro nei dicta di un altro carme, come se in Petrarca agisca qui un incrocio intertestuale45 ovvero una duplice memoria poetica: 41 F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 1076 (CCLXVII, 12-14) e G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 134 (LXIV, 139-142). Sottolineature nostre. Si veda Sonetti Canzoni e Triomphi di M. Francesco Petrarca, cit., p. 160. 42 Cfr. G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 128 (LXIV, 59) e Stazio, Achilleis, I, 960. Sottolineature nostre. Si veda F. Petrarca, Le postille del Virgilio Ambrosiano, cit., vol. I, p. 456. 43 Si veda Id., Secretum, a cura di E. Carrara, introduzione di E. Martellotti, Torino, Einaudi, 1977, p. 120 (III). 44 Id., Canzoniere, cit., p. 1284 (CCCXXIX, 5-8). Si veda R. Ellis, Catullus in the XIVth Century, cit., pp. 22-23. 45 Meno probante è la corrispondenza fra il sonetto Signor mio caro, ogni pensier mi tira (“portato ò in seno, et già mai non mi scinsi”) e il Liber catulliano (“quem in sinu tenere”), poiché Petrarca pensa piuttosto ad una lettera ciceroniana (“Mihi crede, in sinu est neque ego discingor”). Cfr. F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 1072 (CCLXVI, 14); G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 6 (II, 2); Cicerone, Epistulae ad Quintum fratrem, II, xiii, 1. Analogamente la canzone Standomi un giorno solo a la fenestra evoca la morte di Euridice (“punta poi nel tallon d’un picciol angue, / come fior Donatella Nisi, Dal latino al volgare. Echi catulliani in Petrarca 115 “Idem nunc retrahis te ac tua dicta omnia factaque ventos irrita ferre ac nebulas aerias sinis”.46 Tutto ciò concorre a mettere in risalto nell’opera petrarchesca la tecnica compositiva della mellificatio senecana. Se è vero, in conclusione, che lo scenario interpretativo degli echi catulliani nel Petrarca latino si presenta vasto ed aperto, anche lo studio dei riferimenti catulliani nella poesia petrarchesca in volgare, di fatto, ha dimostrato il frequente ricorso del poeta all’imitatio umanistica, con lo scopo di creare il ‘nuovo’ che formerà la base della lingua poetica italiana. colto langue”) rinviando a Ovidio ma soprattutto a Virgilio (“purpureus veluti cum flos succisus aratro / languescit moriens” e “qualem virgineo demesum pollice florem / seu mollis violae seu languentis hyacinthi”),45 mentre il passo catulliano parallelo (“cecidit velut prati / ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam / tactus aratro est”)45 agisce semmai nella memoria virgiliana. Cfr. F. Petrarca, Canzoniere, cit., p. 1244 (CCCXXIII, 69-70); Virgilio, Aeneis, IX, 435-436 e XI, 68-69; G. V. Catullo, Le poesie, cit., p. 24 (XI, 22- 24). 46 Ivi, p. 50 (XXX, 9-10). Sottolineatura nostra. Copyright © 2019 Parole rubate. Rivista internazionale di studi sulla citazione / Purloined Letters. An International Journal of Quotation Studies Blank Page 
work_qfhaojdj45aa5k5qd73czm76am	----	Unmasking a wild man: scientific analysis of Bertoldo di Giovanni’s Shield Bearer in The Frick Collection Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 https://doi.org/10.1186/s40494-020-00453-5 R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E Unmasking a wild man: scientific analysis of Bertoldo di Giovanni’s Shield Bearer in The Frick Collection Elena Basso1* , Federica Pozzi1, Julia Day2 and Linda Borsch3 Abstract Bertoldo di Giovanni (ca. 1440–1491) was the primary sculptor and medal worker for Lorenzo the Magnificent (1449– 1492). Despite being one of the most prominent Italian Renaissance artists working in Florence, little is known about his workshop and practice. The Frick Collection, New York, owns a Shield Bearer, one of a small number of bronze statuettes attributed to Bertoldo predominantly based on stylistic grounds. This article presents the results obtained from the scientific analysis of The Frick statuette, including a detailed technical characterization of the casting alloy, gilding, solder, organic coatings, and other later alterations. An array of analytical techniques was employed, including X-radiography, micro- and portable X-ray fluorescence (μXRF and pXRF) spectroscopies, scanning electron micros- copy with energy-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy (SEM/EDS), Raman and Fourier-transform infrared (FTIR) spectrosco- pies, and pyrolysis-gas chromatography/mass spectrometry (Py-GC/MS). This work supported a larger technical study of Bertoldo’s statuettes and reliefs related to an exhibition organized by The Frick, which brought together a select group of medals, as well as eleven bronzes ascribed to the artist, including the museum’s statuette. Close collabora- tion between conservators, curators, and scientists was critical throughout the study of the Shield Bearer, which also included extensive visual examination of the object in order to understand details of manufacture, identify sampling sites, and interpret the collected data. This study confirmed that The Frick figure was cast from the same brass alloy as a second very similar Shield Bearer in the Liechtenstein Collection, Vienna, suggesting that the two are a pendant pair that was likely cast simultaneously. In addition, analysis supported the assertion that the copper base on The Frick sculpture is original and assisted in identifying later alterations in both works. This focused research has expanded the current knowledge of the sculptor’s materials and methods, enabling scholars to better contextualize his artistic production within the framework of Italian Renaissance sculpture. Keywords: Bertoldo di Giovanni, 15th century, Italian Renaissance sculpture, Organic coating, Brass, Bronze, Gilding, Patina, Solder, Lost-wax cast © The Author(s) 2020. This article is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, which permits use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons licence, and indicate if changes were made. The images or other third party material in this article are included in the article’s Creative Commons licence, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not included in the article’s Creative Commons licence and your intended use is not permitted by statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly from the copyright holder. To view a copy of this licence, visit http://creat iveco mmons .org/licen ses/by/4.0/. The Creative Commons Public Domain Dedication waiver (http://creat iveco mmons .org/publi cdoma in/ zero/1.0/) applies to the data made available in this article, unless otherwise stated in a credit line to the data. Introduction In the 15th century, between late 1460 and early 1470, a new kind of artwork appeared in the Florentine artistic milieu. Even if preceded by a few tentative efforts, bronze statuettes modeled by Bertoldo di Giovanni, Antonio del Pollaiuolo, and Bartolomeo Bellano reached their zenith, becoming synonymous with the Italian Renaissance [1, 2]. As a disciple of Donatello (1386–1466), Bertoldo di Giovanni (ca. 1440–1491) was recognized in his time as the primary sculptor and medal worker for the great Florentine statesman and patron of the arts Lorenzo the Magnificent (1449–1492). Although a number of techni- cal studies on 15th-century Renaissance bronzes can be found in the literature [3–12], Bertoldo’s work was not the subject of serious technical study until recently [13]. With the exception of his medals, only a small number of his statuettes and reliefs are known to have survived. Open Access *Correspondence: elena.basso@metmuseum.org 1 Department of Scientific Research, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1000 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10028, USA Full list of author information is available at the end of the article http://orcid.org/0000-0001-6964-3432 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/ http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/ http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1186/s40494-020-00453-5&domain=pdf Page 2 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 Three sculptures have been unambiguously attributed to him based on archival documentation: Bellerophon Tam- ing a Pegasus in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, as well as Orpheus and the Battle relief in the Bargello National Museum, Florence [1, 14]. A recent study of Bertoldo’s sculptural work, undertaken in preparation for a 2019 exhibition at The Frick Collection, New York, has expanded our understanding of his materials and meth- ods and helped clarify the attribution based on stylistic grounds of previously questioned works [13]. The Frick Collection owns the only statuette in the United States that has been recognized as a cast by Bertoldo. The Shield Bearer (Fig.  1), formerly known as Heraldic Wild Man, was acquired by the museum from the collection of J. Pierpont Morgan (1837–1913) through Duveen Brothers in 1916. Prior to 1905, it was in the hands of Charles Loeser (1864–1928), an Ameri- can collector and art historian living in Florence [14]. A similar Shield Bearer in the Liechtenstein Collection, Vienna, was purchased in 1880 by Prince Johann II von Liechtenstein from Stefano Bardini (1836–1922), and it has remained in that collection ever since. Willem von Bode was the first to attribute these works to Bertoldo and propose that they are a related pair [15]. Only scant information is available about the statuettes prior to the end of the 19th century, and no additional archival docu- ments have been found to establish their connection to Bertoldo. However, their physical characteristics are con- sistent with Bertoldo’s documented bronzes and scholars largely agree that these statuettes are by the artist [14]. In recent decades, technical examination and scientific analysis of Renaissance bronzes have demonstrated the potential for fruitful collaborative research that bridges the fields of art history, conservation, and science [16– 25]. These studies have provided data to support his- torical and artistic contextualization, and in some cases solved controversies about authenticity [26]. Compared to the analysis of alloys, only a few studies of Renaissance patinas can be found in the literature [21, 27–30]. It can be very difficult, sometimes impossible, to visually or analytically distinguish between original and later surface treatments, including gilding, chemical patination, and organic coatings. For example, surface coatings are often poorly preserved, and a substantial amount of sampled material is generally required to obtain reliable analytical results. Scientific analysis is further complicated by the Fig. 1 Shield Bearer, Bertoldo di Giovanni, ca. 1470–80, h. 22.5 cm: a The Frick Collection, acc. no. 1916.2.03 and b The Liechtenstein Collection, acc. no. 258 Page 3 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 fact that metal surfaces can oxidize and otherwise inter- act with coatings that themselves degrade or are altered over time [21]. Although analysis with non-invasive tech- niques is generally preferred, sometimes micro-invasive approaches are necessary to yield a more accurate char- acterization of metal alloys, surface treatments, and later repairs. This information may clarify details of sculpting and casting that are specific to an artist or workshop, and can also inform decisions related to conservation treatment. In this context, in-depth scientific analysis of The Frick Shield Bearer was undertaken to investigate the statuette’s materials and fabrication techniques, with the aim of corroborating its stylistic attribution to Bertoldo and substantiating its connection to the Liechtenstein Shield Bearer. To achieve this goal, an array of analyti- cal techniques was employed, including digital X-radi- ography, micro- and portable X-ray fluorescence (μXRF and pXRF) spectroscopy, scanning electron microscopy with energy-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy (SEM/EDS), Raman and Fourier-transform infrared (FTIR) spec- troscopies, and pyrolysis-gas chromatography/mass spectrometry (Py-GC/MS). Results of this work were compared with data obtained from the analysis of Ber- toldo’s bronzes in other collections by the corresponding study conducted at The Frick. Previous research suggests that many 15th-century sculptors, including Bertoldo, cast primarily in low tin bronze. It is interesting to note that the Shield Bearers—the artist’s only gilded statu- ettes—were the lone exceptions that were identified as brass in The Frick survey. Analysis of the solder, in con- junction with radiography, confirmed that the copper base on The Frick statuette is original, while visual exami- nation and radiographs provided additional evidence of later alterations to other areas of the cast. This research supported the larger study to clarify the attribution of Bertoldo di Giovanni’s bronzes through technical exami- nation and alloy analysis [13]. Experimental The Frick Shield Bearer was analyzed with a combina- tion of non-invasive and micro-invasive techniques. Materials studied include the metal alloy, solder, gild- ing, and organic coatings. The sculpture was examined under magnification and using X-radiography to inves- tigate its manufacturing techniques and to evaluate the extent of any possible repairs. The alloy composi- tion was measured non-invasively by means of pXRF and μXRF, which are often preferred over methods that involve sampling of artworks and have proven valuable for the characterization of copper alloy casts [31–34]. Accuracy of these surface techniques for metal alloy analysis may be limited by the presence of gilding, other surface treatments, and corrosion products. Although there is some evidence that organic coatings may inter- fere with XRF analysis [35], this influence appears to be minimal [36]. In addition to non-destructive methods, seven microscopic samples (Table  1) were removed from the statuette using micro-scalpels for analysis with multiple instrumental techniques. Among these, SEM/EDS was used to characterize the gilding and sol- ders; additionally, Raman and FTIR spectroscopies, as well as Py-GC/MS, provided information on the com- position of the dark organic coatings and on the iden- tity of the corrosion products. X-radiography Radiography was performed using Philips MG321 X-ray and Carestream HPX-1 CR sys- tems, equipped with a Philips MCN321 tungsten (W) target ceramic tube that was operated with a 3-mm alu- minum (Al) primary beam filter and collimator, at a dis- tance from the imaging plate of 90  cm, using a Philips MGC30 control unit. CR high resolution XL Blue Digital Imaging Plates were sandwiched between lead (Pb) filters (0.0127 cm in thickness above the plate and 0.0254 cm below). Exposure times were set to 30–60 s, with voltage and current ranging from 225  kV and 4.2  mA to 320  kV and 3.0  mA. Images were processed Table 1 Samples removed from The Frick Shield Bearer Sample Description Sampling location S1 Scraping of black organic coating Back of proper right knee S2 Scraping of possibly original gilding Back edge of panpipes S3 Scraping of possibly later gilding Upper portion of shield S4 Fragment of solder Inner portion of proper right foot S6 Fragment of solder Area at solder line from join between top plate and beveled edge S7 Fragment of solder Area at solder line from join between top plate and beveled edge Page 4 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 using Kodak Industrex software with preset Edge filter 2 to increase contrast and highlight detail. XRF Two instruments were used to collect data on the alloy composition. Analysis by μXRF was carried out exclusively on The Frick statuette with an open- architecture Bruker Artax XRF spectrometer using unfiltered rhodium (Rh) radiation at 50-kV voltage, 700-μA current, and acquiring each spectrum live-time for 60 s in air and with a 1-mm collimator. Spectra were collected on several spots, selected among locations with minimal visible gilding, and quantitative data were calculated using the fundamental parameter-based quantification method by means of the MQuantCalib software provided by Bruker. The unit was calibrated with a Copper CHARM set [37]. Analysis by pXRF was conducted on the Liechtenstein statuette using a Tracer 5i system equipped with a Rh window X-ray tube and a silicon drift detector (SDD), with an average resolution greater than 140  eV at 250,000 cps for the full width at half maximum of the manganese (Mn) Kα line. The instrument was operated in air at 50 kV and 17 μA, and each spectrum acquired for 60 s (live time 52 s). Analy- sis was carried out with the addition of a 75-μm copper (Cu), 25-μm titanium (Ti), and 200-μm aluminum (Al) filter, and the size of the spot analyzed was approxi- mately 8  mm. Quantification of the spectra was per- formed using CloudCal v.2.0 [38] and a calibration set incorporating 33 copper alloy certified reference mate- rials (CRMs) [39]. The CRMs consist of metal disks: fourteen from the Copper CHARM set, seven from The Frick, and twelve from the Garman Art Conserva- tion Department, Buffalo State College, SUNY. These disks were produced by MBH Analytical Ltd., European Commission IRMM, ARMI, and the US Department of Commerce NIST (or NBS). SEM/EDS Analysis was conducted on samples mounted with carbon tape on an aluminum stub, using a FE-SEM Zeiss Σigma HD system equipped with an Oxford Instrument X-MaxN 80 SDD detector. Backscat- tered electron (BSE) imaging, as well as EDS elemental spot analysis and mapping, were performed under high vacuum conditions with an accelerating voltage of 20 kV, on uncoated samples, at an 8.5-mm working distance. Raman Analysis was performed using a Bruker Senterra Raman spectrometer equipped with an Olym- pus 50× microscope objective and a charge-coupled device (CCD) detector. A continuous wave diode laser emitting at 785 nm was used as the excitation source, and two holographic gratings (1800 and 1200 rulings/mm) provided a spectral resolution of 3–5  cm−1. The output laser power, number of scans, and integration time were adjusted according to the Raman response of the sample analyzed. FTIR Analysis was conducted with a Hyperion 3000 FTIR spectrometer equipped with a mercury cadmium telluride (MCT) detector. The sample was crushed in a diamond anvil cell (Spectra Tech) and analyzed as a bulk in transmission mode through a 15× objective. Spectra were collected in the 4000–600  cm−1 range at a resolu- tion of 4  cm−1. Each spectrum was obtained as the sum of 256 scans. Spectra were interpreted by comparison with published literature and library databases available at The Met, as well as IRUG Edition 2000 and 2007. Py-GC/MS Analysis was performed on an Agilent 5973N gas chromatograph equipped with a Frontier PY-2020iD Double-Shot vertical furnace pyrolyzer fit- ted with an AS-1020E Auto-Shot autosampler. The GC was coupled to a 5973N single quadrupole mass selec- tive detector (MSD). Samples of 30–50 µg were weighed out in deactivated pyrolysis sample cups (PY1-EC80F Disposable Eco-Cup LF) on a Mettler Toledo UMX2 Ultra microbalance. Samples were then either pyrolyzed without derivatization or derivatized with tetramethyl ammonium hydroxide (TMAH) before pyrolysis. Deri- vatization took place in the same cups as follows: 3-4  µl of 25% TMAH in methanol (both from Fisher Scientific), depending on the sample size, were added directly to the sample in each cup with a 50-µl syringe and, after 1 min, loaded onto the autosampler. The interface to the GC was held at 320  °C and purged with helium for 30  s before opening the valve to the GC column. The samples were then dropped into the furnace and pyrolyzed at 550 °C for 30  s. The pyrolysis products were transferred directly to a DB-5MS capillary column (30  mm × 0.25  mm × 1  µm) with the helium carrier gas set to a constant linear veloc- ity of 1.5 mL/min. Injection with a 30:1 split was used, in accordance with the sample size. The GC oven tempera- ture program was: 40 °C for 1 min; 10 °C/min to 320 °C; isothermal for 1 min. The Agilent 5973N MSD conditions were as follows: transfer line at 320 °C, MS Quad 150 °C, MS Source 230  °C, electron multiplier at approximately 1770  V; scan range 33–550 amu. For samples run with TMAH, the detector was turned off for 3  min to avoid saturation by excess derivatizing agent and solvent. Data analysis was performed on an Agilent MSD ChemStation D.02.00.275 and results compared with the NIST 2005 spectral libraries. Results and discussion Casting techniques X-radiography provided critical information on the manufacture and alterations of the Shield Bearers. Both figures are evenly radiopaque with no evidence of an internal armature or core, verifying that they are solid casts that were made in the same way (Fig. 2). Solid lost- wax casts are consistent with many statuettes of this Page 5 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 period when sculptors and founders were still struggling with hollow casting [4]. The radiographs display scattered dark spots throughout the figures, revealing areas of porosity that resulted from gases that were trapped in the molten metal during the initial pour or were introduced into the cast as the metal shrank on cooling (Fig.  2a). A particular area of retraction porosity, which originates from the preferential cooling of the metal, is noted in the neck and upper chest of both figures. The location of this porosity would suggest that the statuettes were cast with their heads up and the molten metal was directly fed into the top of the invested mold. Although the figures each hold a club and shield in either hand, early photographs of The Frick Shield Bearer show that one or both of the attributes were damaged before the sculpture entered the collection. Radiographs indicated that the lower club on The Frick statuette was part of the original cast, and that both the shield and upper half of the club exhibit fine, evenly distributed porosity, more typically observed in 19th-century cast- ings. Radiographs of the Liechtenstein Shield Bearer reveal that the attributes display an uneven internal porosity, which is consistent with that detected in the rest of the statuette, supporting the hypothesis that they were cast as part of the figure (Fig.  2b). The current assump- tion is that The Frick figure originally held attributes that were cast as one with the figure and were similar to the existing restorations, which were likely modeled on the Liechtenstein example. Radiographs clarified additional details of the repairs on The Frick statuette. Small dark rectangular shapes that are visible in areas where the shield joins the fig- ure’s right hand, lower right leg, and base, confirm the location of small holes drilled across joins for insertion of attachment pins (Fig. 3a). The two horizontal holes in the leg, which are currently filled but no longer contain pins, could represent evidence of a now missing resto- ration to an earlier damage, or possibly even a repair to an original casting flaw in the shield. The flat or rounded ends of most of these drill holes do not resemble the pointed holes typically created with modern twist drills, which are evident in the more recent repairs to the club (Fig.  3b). Radiopaque solder, visible as whiter areas on the radiographs, is also evident at the repairs in the club, hand, and base (Fig. 3). The Frick statuette base was constructed of three metal sections soldered together: a cast circular plate, a bev- eled ring around the top edge, and a second ring sol- dered around the underside. This construction appears to be unusual for this period since surviving bases were generally cast in one piece. The threaded copper rod that extends from the underside and the circular plugs Fig. 2 Overall radiographs of a The Frick statuette and b the Liechtenstein statuette Page 6 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 soldered into holes in the front and rear of the main plate are later additions (Fig.  4a). Radiographs of the base reveal that a pair of cylindrical rivets connecting the feet of the figure to the base are cut off casting gates that are continuous with the legs of the figure (Fig.  4b). These truncated gates were inserted through similarly sized holes in the base and flattened by hammering; silver solder was detected by SEM/EDS in sample S4 removed from the right foot, indicating that the mechanical join was also soldered. The practice of incorporating casting gates to function as joining elements has been noted in other early Renaissance works [39, 40]. The Liechtenstein statuette likely had a similar base, but at some point it was damaged or intentionally removed and the gates on the underside of its feet were cut off. The base has since been replaced with a small modern brass plate that is attached with threaded screws; this was done prior to its sale in 1880 to the Liechtenstein Collection. A dam- age and subsequent repair to the statuette’s proper right ankle may have resulted from this later alteration. Metal alloys XRF was performed to determine the composition of the metal alloys used for casting the Shield Bearers. Results, expressed as weight percent and normalized to 100%, are summarized in Table 2. All analyses were carried out using μXRF, unless otherwise noted in the table. Data on The Frick statuette’s club are not included due to inter- ference of the gilding with quantitative analysis. The designation of the alloy terms used henceforth is based on classifications reported in the literature [31, 39]. The statuettes were both cast in a medium zinc brass, as shown by the approximate contents of copper (Cu, 84 wt%), zinc (Zn, 12.50 wt%), lead (Pb, 2.15 wt%), and tin (Sn, 0.60 wt%), which were identified along with minor traces of antimony (Sb), arsenic (As), and nickel (Ni). The shield on the Liechtenstein statuette was found to have the same composition as the figure, verifying that it belongs to the original cast. The composition of the riv- ets under the feet of The Frick statuette was found to be identical to that of the figure, which proves that they were part of the original casting. The lower half of the club on the same statuette displays a qualitative composition that compares to the figure, which likewise confirms that it is original. The shield on The Frick statuette was identified as a quaternary alloy of 82.30 wt% Cu, 5.90 wt% Zn, 5.46 wt% Pb, and 3.69 wt% Sn, with traces of Sb, As, and Ni; this alloy differs markedly from that used to cast the fig- ure, establishing that it is a replacement. Qualitative anal- ysis of the upper club identified the alloy as a medium zinc brass with higher levels of Ni and lower levels of Pb than the figure, further substantiating that it is a later Fig. 3 Detail radiographs of repairs on The Frick statuette of the a shield, right leg and hand, and base, and b upper club Page 7 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 restoration. Overall, the analytical evidence supports both the archival records and radiographs, affirming that The Frick Shield Bearer’s upper club and shield are likely later replacements. It was interesting to discover that the base of The Frick statuette is composed of 99 wt% Cu, with traces of Pb, Sb, and As, differing significantly from the brass alloy used to cast both figures; this practice of employing different alloys for separately produced elements has been noted in other Renaissance objects [39, 40]. XRF measure- ments detected the presence of Ag in combination with Cu in the solder used to join the top plate and the bev- eled upper ring of the base (Fig. 5), and SEM/EDS analy- sis of small samples (S6 and S7) confirmed that the solder is made of a Ag–Cu alloy. The equilibrium microstruc- tures visible in the elemental X-ray maps (Fig. 6) illustrate a combination of proeutectic Cu and lamellar Cu–Ag eutectic, compatible with an Ag75–Cu25 alloy [41]. Alloys with similar compositions, known as “hard solders”, were reportedly in use in Italy during the 16th century [42–44]. These differ from Zn- and even brass-containing hard solders that are more typical after the 18th century [45]. The identification of Ag–Cu solder, more common for early manufacture, supports the conclusion that the base of The Frick statuette is original and the assumption that the Liechtenstein statuette may have had a similar base. In order to define a possible trend in the artist’s use of Cu alloys, the elemental compositions of the Shield Bear- ers were compared with data obtained by pXRF analysis and previously reported by one of the authors [13] of eleven casts attributed to Bertoldo. All but one of these casts included in such previous study are largely accepted as works by Bertoldo [1, 46], based on stylistic similarities to the three established casts mentioned earlier. This data was plotted on a Cu–Sn–Zn ternary diagram (Fig. 7) and is reproduced here to show the difference between the alloy of the Shield Bearers and those of the casts thought to be produced by Bertoldo. The diagram clearly illus- trates that the ascribed casts fall into two main alloy cate- gories: in detail, the Shield Bearers were cast in a medium zinc brass containing approximately 80 wt% Cu and 11 wt% Zn, forming a distinct cluster that differs from the artist’s nine other statuettes and reliefs, which were cast in a low tin bronze alloy of approximately 84–92 wt% Cu and 2–7 wt% Sn. The Frick and Liechtenstein Shield Bearers’ elemen- tal composition was virtually identical for both casts (Table 2), supporting the curatorial theory that they were cast simultaneously as a loosely mirrored pair [14]. Since the most recent curatorial consensus has confirmed that these works are by Bertoldo, one possible explanation for this difference from the artist’s usual casting alloy is that he may have used a different foundry or purchased ingots of relatively clean brass to cast the statuettes. Artists have historically preferred brass over bronze for gilding, since it more closely resembles the color of gold and disguises lacunae resulting from flaws in gilding and also later sur- face wear. Furthermore, since antiquity, sculptors have been aware of the fact that the best copper alloys for mer- cury gilding are those in which certain alloying constitu- ents are kept to a minimum, particularly lead [47, 48]. Surface treatments The gilding on both statuettes is worn and displays rem- nants of a black coating in protected areas, which may have been applied overall as part of a later treatment to masque surface wear or to impart a dark appearance to the bronze. Despite published studies that focus on sur- face treatments of 16th- to 18th-century bronzes [21, 27–30], there is limited information and no scholarly consensus on the original appearance of 15th-century Florentine bronzes. However, according to available his- torical treatises from the Renaissance and later Baroque periods, surfaces could be gilded or made dark by heat Fig. 4 a Radiograph of the base of The Frick Shield Bearer, showing b the rivets below the figure’s feet Page 8 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 Ta b le 2 E le m en ta l c o m p o si ti o n o f t h e  m et al a llo ys *N i a n d A g w er e d et ec te d in o n e o f t h e 3 ar ea s an al yz ed , l ik el y ca u se d b y an in te rf er en ce w it h t h e si lv er s o ld er A re a an al yz ed C o lle ct io n C u Sn Z n P b Sb N i Fe A s A g Bo d y A ve ra g e o f 5 a re as Fr ic k 83 .6 0 ± 0 .3 5 0. 63 ± 0 .0 4 12 .4 0 ± 0 .8 2 2. 19 ± 0 .3 9 0. 43 ± 0 .0 2 0. 30 ± 0 .0 1 0. 20 ± 0 .0 2 0. 33 ± 0 .0 3 0. 08 ± 0 .0 0 R iv et U n d er p ro p er r ig h t fo o t Fr ic k 84 .8 0 0. 58 11 .2 0 1. 90 0. 47 0. 20 0. 28 0. 41 0. 13 R iv et U n d er p ro p er le ft fo o t Fr ic k 86 .0 2 0. 55 10 .1 1 2. 10 0. 44 0. 18 0. 20 0. 39 – Sh ie ld G ild in g -f re e ar ea o n t h e sh ie ld Fr ic k 82 .3 2 3. 69 5. 90 5. 46 0. 71 0. 55 0. 79 0. 43 0. 10 Ba se A ve ra g e o f 3 a re as Fr ic k 99 .0 0 ± 0 .6 2 0. 03 ± 0 .0 0 0. 01 ± 0 .0 0 0. 13 ± 0 .0 3 0. 21 ± 0 .2 7 0. 02 * 0. 07 ± 0 .0 3 0. 26 ± 0 .1 6 0. 25 * Fi g u re a n d s h ie ld A ve ra g e o f 6 a re as m ea su re d b y p X RF Li ec h te n st ei n 84 .8 6 ± 0 .7 5 0. 56 ± 0 .1 5 11 .7 5 ± 1 .4 4 1. 74 ± 1 .0 0 0. 38 ± 0 .0 8 0. 29 ± 0 .0 2 0. 19 ± 0 .0 2 0. 27 ± 0 .0 5 0. 07 ± 0 .0 4 Page 9 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 Fig. 5 XRF spectrum of an area corresponding to the soldering line between the top plate and the beveled edge, showing the presence of Cu and Ag, in addition to traces of a few other elements Fig. 6 BSE images of a a portion of sample S6, i.e. a fragment of solder, showing the microstructure constituting the Cu–Ag solder, and b a detail of the microstructure (red square). c, d X-ray elemental maps illustrating the distribution of Cu and Ag, respectively Page 10 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 treatment alone or by the application of oil-based resin varnishes that were subsequently heated [18, 21, 49–51]. These coatings served both an artistic and functional purpose: to improve the beauty of the artwork, while also disguising original repairs to casting flaws such as poros- ity, which were common at this period [52–55]. However, in the 19th century, there was a preference for bronzes to look dark, and gilt or resin varnish surfaces were often covered using black coatings. In the present study, the gilding and organic coatings on both statuettes were examined under magnification; subsequently, only the surface of The Frick Shield Bearer was sampled and ana- lyzed micro-invasively using various techniques. Gilding Mercury amalgam (or fire) gilding was used on bronze reliefs and statues in Italy at this period; however, to the authors’ knowledge, the Shield Bearers may be the only two 15th-century statuettes that have been ana- lyzed and still appear to retain their original gilding. Fig. 7 Cu–Sn–Zn ternary diagram, summarizing the compositional clustering of the twelve casts attributed to Bertoldo based on XRF elemental data Fig. 8 a Overall BSE image of sample S2, i.e. a scraping of the gilding. b BSE image of the gilding (white square). c EDS spectrum of the gilding (black square) Page 11 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 Two microscopic samples of the gilding (Table  1) were removed from The Frick statuette, one from within the recessed area of the original panpipes (S2) and another from the restoration shield (S3). SEM/EDS detected rela- tively pure gold (Au) and mercury (Hg) in both samples (Fig.  8), confirming the use of mercury amalgam gilding for the figure and the shield. However, scientific analysis was unable to highlight any difference between the com- position of the amalgam on the 15th-century figure and that applied to the later replacement shield. Organic coating To understand how the later black coating on The Frick statuette compares to results from studies of early organic surface treatments on bronzes, a scraping of the black restoration coating (S1) was removed from the back right knee for analysis with Py-GC/MS, Raman, and FTIR spectroscopies. Raman spectroscopy was performed to investigate the possible use of any pigments that may be responsible for the black coloration of the coating. Two broad Raman bands at about 1375 and 1550  cm−1 were identified as unambiguous fingerprints of a carbon-based black. The Py-GC/MS chromatogram obtained upon TMAH derivatization (Fig. 9) contains the typical marker compounds for beeswax: significant amounts of palmitic acid with smaller quantities of stearic acid; hydroxy fatty acids, including 15- and 14-hydroxy palmitic acids; series of high molecular weight fatty acids, with tetracosanoic acid (C24) as the most prominent; series of high molecu- lar weight fatty alcohols, with triacontanol (C30) as the most prominent; and series of normal saturated alkanes, with heptacosane (C27) as the most prominent. The presence of beeswax in the restoration coating layers might be due to later routine maintenance of the surface by waxing, aiming to provide a barrier coating against harmful environmental conditions [56], and to improve the sculpture’s appearance by saturating the surface and imparting a gloss [57]. Moreover, the detection of glyc- erol along with a series of fatty acids is indicative of the presence of an oil, or a mixture of oils, which is con- sistent with the use of oils as a surface coating from the Renaissance period onward [21, 58]. Due to the complex mixture of substances identified in the sample, it was not possible to provide a detailed characterization of the type of oil(s) present or to rule out the presence of other ani- mal fats. The results show that despite this being a later coating, some of its components, such as oils and pig- ments, have been identified on early bronzes, demon- strating how difficult it can be to distinguish between original and later surface treatments. Alteration products Sulfur-containing compounds were also detected in the chromatogram of sample S1. These may have resulted from a variety of factors, including exposure to atmos- pheric pollutants or cleaning agents. Although sulfur- containing salts have been used since the late Renaissance to darken bronzes [59–61], their use on the Shield Bearers seems unlikely, since the presence of chemically resistant gilding would have prevented any later chemical patina- tion. FTIR in transmission mode identified atacamite, oxalates, and metal carboxylates as the main components of sample S1 (Fig.  10). Atacamite (Cu2(OH)3Cl), charac- terized by distinctive bands at 3447, 3347, 988, 896, and Fig. 9 Py-GC/MS chromatogram obtained upon derivatization with TMAH of sample S1, i.e. a scraping of the black organic coating. Compounds identified in the chromatogram suggest the presence of beeswax, an oil or mixture of oils, and a sulfur-containing material Fig. 10 FTIR spectrum of sample S1, i.e. a scraping of the black organic coating. Materials identified include atacamite, oxalates, and metal carboxylates Page 12 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 851  cm−1, is a characteristic product whose presence is often related to a bronze corrosion process [62]. This compound is frequently detected in corroded bronze sculptures, sometimes in association with its polymorphs clinoatacamite or paratacamite, or a combination of both. The presence of chlorides on The Frick statuette is most likely the result of modern surface treatments with chloride-containing products, such as polishing compounds or pigmented waxes. Oxalates, on the other hand, with distinctive peaks at 1618 and 1320  cm−1, are insoluble salts that typically form as a result of biodete- rioration of organic materials; on metal artworks, these are generally found in the organic fraction of the patina or develop from the application of waxes, such as the beeswax detected by Py-GC/MS analysis. A broad FTIR band detected at 1574 cm−1 is indicative of the presence of a wide range of metal carboxylates, which might origi- nate from the interaction of the oil or mixture of oils con- tained in the organic coating with metallic ions from the brass [55]. Although scientific analysis could not deter- mine possible dates for the application of the later coat- ings, the data collected during the course of this survey may be helpful in advancing ongoing comparative studies of early bronze surface treatments. Conclusions The attribution of Italian Renaissance bronze statuettes, whose popularity rose during the 15th century and con- tinued to thrive until the late 17th century, poses sev- eral challenges from an art historical point of view, most notably due to the significant loss of many of these bronzes and related archival documentation. The techni- cal examination and scientific analysis of bronzes con- tinues to be a useful and valuable approach in possibly answering materials-related questions, as well as in dat- ing and in the identification of later alterations; how- ever, the amount of data published on 15th-century casts remains limited. Bertoldo di Giovanni is one of the earliest Florentine artists working in this medium, and his relationships with not only Lorenzo the Magnificent, but many of the prominent artists at the time, make him a crucial figure to study for interpreting the casting of small statuettes. The Frick Collection’s exhibition of Bertoldo’s sculptural work, held between September 2019 and January 2020, provided an impetus to carry out a technical investigation in an attempt to substantiate the current art historical attributions through examination and scientific analysis. The Frick Shield Bearer was thus analyzed using a com- bination of instrumental techniques in order to shed light on the casting and fabrication methods, metal alloy com- position, as well as materials used in the original and later surface treatment of the bronze. Results obtained from this work, in combination with a comparative study of a second pendant bronze currently in the Liechtenstein Collection, Vienna, have provided insight into the extent and history of the repairs made to both statuettes. Analy- sis of the metal alloy revealed that they were cast using a virtually identical brass alloy, indicating that they were likely created at the same time, and dispelling any doubt that these two statuettes were conceived as a pair. A combination of radiography, XRF, and SEM/EDS helped in distinguishing between original areas and replacement components of The Frick statuette, through close comparison with the attributes of the Liechtenstein figure. Of particular relevance is the affirmation that the base of The Frick Shield Bearer, which is missing from the Liechtenstein statuette, is original to the composition. It is currently assumed that the Liechtenstein statuette had a similar base, which was lost due to damage or inten- tional alteration. No information is available about the display of these two Shield Bearers in the 15th century or how they would have been used in a secular household. The unusual fabrication of The Frick statuette’s base, which is composed of 99 wt% Cu and soldered together with a Cu-Ag alloy, provides a rare example of a type of base not typically observed on later Italian Renaissance bronzes, which are generally cast in one piece using a Cu alloy. Analysis by means of SEM/EDS, Py-GC/MS, Raman, and FTIR was also conducted to investigate the materi- als used in the surface treatments, with a special focus on the original gilding and organic coatings. Results have shown that both statuettes are characterized by a mercury amalgam gilding, while the organic coating was found to contain mainly beeswax and an oil or mix- ture of oils, pigmented with a carbon-based black—all typical components of early Renaissance bronze treat- ments—but clearly a later treatment in this case. Simi- larly, while SEM/EDS analysis was key to establish the exact materials’ composition for the gilding, it did not provide evidence to help distinguish between early and later applications. However, the results obtained from the analysis of the organic coatings on The Frick statu- ette will assist in the interpretation of similar ongoing studies of 15th- to 18th-century organic patinas. In addition, the identification of the corrosion products that have developed on their surfaces may be helpful in determining future treatment options. Most impor- tantly, the results of the present study of the Shield Bearers were placed in context within a larger investi- gation of the artist’s casts, unambiguously clarifying that these two statuettes form a unique production in the body of surviving bronzes by Bertoldo. Page 13 of 14Basso et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:109 Abbreviations X-radiography: X-ray radiography; μXRF: Micro-X-ray fluorescence spectros- copy; pXRF: Portable X-ray fluorescence spectroscopy; SEM/EDS: Scanning electron microscopy with energy-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy; FTIR: Fourier- transform infrared spectroscopy; Py-GC/MS: Pyrolysis-gas chromatography/ mass spectrometry. Acknowledgements The authors would like to thank the following individuals and institutions. The Frick Collection: Aimee Ng, Noelle Alexander, and Xavier Salomon, whose exhibition was the impetus for this research, as well as Joseph Godla and Gianna Puzzo; The Liechtenstein Collection: Johann Kräftner, Alexandra Hanzl, and Robert Wald for allowing the study of their statuette; The Metropolitan Museum of Art: Federico Carò, Adriana Rizzo, and Richard E. Stone for their guidance in interpreting the data, and Denise Allen and Lisa Pilosi for their support of the project; Buffalo State College: Aaron N. Shugar for assistance in creating a calibration for The Frick’s portable XRF system. Authors’ contributions EB performed μXRF and SEM/EDS of The Frick statuette, along with data inter- pretation; FP conducted Py-GC/MS, Raman, and FTIR analysis and data inter- pretation for the same bronze; JD carried out pXRF on the Liechtenstein Shield Bearer, as well as all other statuettes, reliefs, and medals used for comparison; LB performed digital X-radiography. EB drafted the article, with contributions from FP, JD, and LB. All authors read and approved the final manuscript. Funding This research was made possible by the Network Initiative for Conservation Science (NICS), a Metropolitan Museum of Art program. Support for NICS was provided by a grant (31500630) from The Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. Availability of data and materials All data generated during this study are included in this published article or are available from the corresponding author on reasonable request. Competing interests The authors declare that they have no competing interests. Author details 1 Department of Scientific Research, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1000 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10028, USA. 2 Department of Conservation, The Frick Collection, 1 East 70th Street, New York, NY 10021, USA. 3 Sherman Fair- child Center for Objects Conservation, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1000 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10028, USA. 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The practice and characterization of historic fire gilding techniques. JOM. 1997;49(11):58–62. 49. Vasari G. Vasari on technique. Baldwin Brown G, editor, Maclehose LS, trans. London: Dent. 1907. 50. Scaglia G. A Miscellany of Bronze Works and Texts in the” Zibaldone” of Buonaccorso Ghiberti. Proc Am Philos Soc. 1976;120(6):485–513. 51. Gaurico P. De sculptura. Florence, 1504. Translated by Paolo Cutolo, Naples, 1999. 52. Hughes R, Rowe M, editors. The colouring, bronzing and patination of metals: a manual for the fine metalworker and sculptor. New York: Watson-Guptill Publications; 1991. 53. Hughes R. Artificial patination. In: La Niece S, Craddock P, editors. Metal plating and patination. Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann; 1993. p. 1–18. 54. Bewer FG. Studying the technology of Renaissance bronzes. In: JR Druzik, JL Galvan Madrid, IC Freestone, GS Wheeler (Eds.), MRS Proceedings IV. 1995;352:701–709. 55. Scott DA. Copper and bronze in art, corrosion, colorants conservation. Los Angeles: Getty Publications; 2002. 56. Couture-Rigert DE, Sirois PJ, Moffatt EA. An investigation into the cause of corrosion on indoor bronze sculpture. Stud Conserv. 2012;57(3):142–63. 57. Pitthard V, Stanek S, Griesser M, Hanzer H, Kryza-Gersch C. Comprehensive investigation of the ‘organic patina’ on Renaissance and Baroque indoor bronze sculptures from the collection of the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna. In: Townsend JH, Toniolo L, Cappitelli F, editors. Conservation Sci- ence 2007. Milan, Italy, Archetype Publications: London; 2008. p. 49–55. 58. Stone RE, White R, Indictor N. Surface composition of some Italian renaissance bronzes. In: ICOM Committee for Conservation, 9th triennial meeting. Dresden: ICOMCC Los Angeles; 1990. p. 568–73. 59. Hiorns AH. Metal colouring and bronzing. London-New York: Mc Millian and co; 1902. 60. Bongiorno V, Campodonico S, Caffara R, Piccardo P, Carnasciali MM. Micro-Raman spectroscopy for the characterization of artistic patinas pro- duced on copper-based alloys. J Raman Spectrosc. 2012;43(11):1617–22. 61. Piccardo P, Bongiorno V, Campodonico S. Artistic patinas on ancient bronze statues. In: Corrosion and conservation of cultural heritage metal- lic artefacts. Sawston: Woodhead Publishing; 2013. p. 193–212. 62. Scott DA. A review of copper chlorides and related salts in bronze corro- sion and as painting pigments. Stud Conserv. 2000;45(1):39–53. Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in pub- lished maps and institutional affiliations. https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.1319818 https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.1319818 https://zenodo.org/record/1319818#.XtAZEjpKhPY Unmasking a wild man: scientific analysis of Bertoldo di Giovanni’s Shield Bearer in The Frick Collection Abstract Introduction Experimental Results and discussion Casting techniques Metal alloys Surface treatments Gilding Organic coating Alteration products Conclusions Acknowledgements References 
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work_qk36od2cbjdbfkp3iskax7fh24	----	heritage Article An Ontological Approach to the Description of Visual and Iconographical Representations Nicola Carboni 1,* and Livio de Luca 2 1 University of Zurich Kunsthistorisches Institut, Rämistrasse 73, CH-8006 Zürich, Switzerland 2 UMR 3495 MAP CNRS/MCC, 13402 Marseille, France; livio.deluca@map.cnrs.fr * Correspondence: nicola.carboni@uzh.ch Received: 31 January 2019; Accepted: 17 April 2019; Published: 20 April 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: The perception of our heritage is based on sign-functions, which relate visual representations to cognitive types, allowing us to make perceptual judgements over physical objects. The recording of these types of assertions is paramount for the comprehension and analysis of our heritage. The article investigates a theoretical framework for the organization of information related to visual works on the basis of the identity and symbolic value of their single constituent elements. The framework developed is then used as a driver for the grounding of a new ontology called VIR (Visual Representation), constructed as an extension of CIDOC-CRM (CIDOC Conceptual Reference Model). VIR sustains the recording of statements about the different structural units and relationships of a visual representation, differentiating between object and interpretative act. The result, tested with data describing Byzantine and Renaissance artworks, presents solutions for describing symbols and meanings of iconographical objects, providing new clustering methods in relation to their constitutive elements, subjects or interpretations. Keywords: iconography; art history; ontology; CIDOC-CRM; semantic web; digital iconology; digital art history 1. Introduction The recording of the information related to a heritage object is constructed throughout the registration of different media items (photo, video, text or 3D reconstruction), which function as an anchor and representative in digital space of the original object/phenomenon. The cataloguing, organisation and archiving of such information is of crucial importance, not only for their future retrieval, but also for exposing, revealing and integrating this set of information, as well as providing domain specialists with tools for clustering and organising them. While text-based objects have received a great deal of attention during recent years, little work outside the machine learning domain has been made in regards to images. As a result, the work of normalisation and integration of visual information continues to rely on old paradigms and practices. Tools for the semi-automatic classification of a 2D/3D object, for finding duplicates in a collection or for assigning names to an artefact have been developed. Nevertheless, most of these projects did not spend very much time reflecting on the significance of a representation, and on which basis we classify and interpret them. For such reasons, it is essential to reflect on the relationships between reality, person and image, analysing and integrating overarching theories developed within semiotics, art history, digital humanities and information science. Following this objective, in this article we attempt to construct an inter-disciplinary framework of understanding in order to outline a theoretical model for meaning assignment to visual objects, as well as to construct an information model capable of recording it. The result is two-fold: from a conceptual point of view we outline a basic version of a Heritage 2019, 2, 1191–1210; doi:10.3390/heritage2020078 www.mdpi.com/journal/heritage http://www.mdpi.com/journal/heritage http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0003-4912-4947 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/heritage2020078 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/heritage https://www.mdpi.com/2571-9408/2/2/78?type=check_update&version=2 Heritage 2019, 2 1192 theory of visual interpretation, while from a functional perspective, we construct a formal ontology for recording the image classification act. We present in Section 2 the literature review related to the topic. Section 3 is dedicated to a brief presentation of the theory of meaning, embracing a short explanation of the how we can classify percepts and how we re-use information in order to assign meaning to the visual object. Section 4 presents the functional results of the theory, introducing the VIR (Visual Representation) ontology, a CIDOC-CRM (CIDOC Conceptual Reference Model) extension for recording information about visual representation. In Section 5 its application is discussed, followed by Section 6, where limitations of the current approach are presented. 2. Literature Review One of the earliest approaches to the analysis and interlinking of both knowledge representation and iconographical art was made by D’Andrea and Ferrandino [1]. In the article, the authors attempted to map and reuse concepts from both CIDOC-CRM (CIDOC Conceptual Reference Model) and the D&S (Descriptions & Situations) extension of DOLCE, developed by Gangemi and Mika [2] in order to extract image meaning, using D&S to add an information layer about the context and state of affairs of a specific representation. While the work was quite promising, no further development has, unfortunately, been recorded. Even if restricted to the Byzantine icons domain, the study of Tzouveli et al. [3] is worth citing as one of the first and more complete works in the field. The authors used fuzzy description logic to determine features in Byzantine icons and map those features to an OWL (Ontology Web Language) ontology. However, the features identified are just labels, and no structural or identity criteria are provided in order to understand and aggregate pictures. Moreover, the study, as the authors highlight, is limited to Byzantine imagery, therefore limiting the applicability to more complex scenarios. Also interesting is the solution developed by De Luca et al. [4] during the analysis and documentation of the tomb of Emperor Qianlong in China. The initial investigation revealed that the engravings and iconographies of the tomb were arranged in order to reflect the Buddhist Tibetan funerary ritual; their layout and spatial position reflects the deposit of religious text within a stupa. To visually show this kind of relationship, a virtual stupa was created and put in a relationship with the final 3D model, in order to allow the interlinking between spatial elements and their conceptual counterparts. Additionally, a graph-like interface was created in order to browse the conceptual elements linked to the physical representation. While not using formal representation methods, this solution demonstrates the possibility given by a semantic description of iconographical features. However, even in this case, no identity criteria for recognising and aggregating pictures were provided. Probably the most comprehensive solution is the one developed by the Fototeca Zeri in Bologna [5–7] for the PHAROS (International Consortium of Photo Archives) project [8]. While exposing the Zeri Photo, the authors developed two ontologies (F Entry Ontology and OA ontology) to map data coming from the two Italian standards developed by the ICCD (Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione, or Central Institute for the Cataloguing and Documentation), the Scheda F (Scheda di Fotografia, or Photography Entry in English) and Scheda OA (Scheda Opera d’Arte, or Work of Art Entry in English). The two ontologies were mapped with CIDOC-CRM as well as HiCO (historical context ontology) [9], PRO (publishing roles ontology) [10] and FaBIO (FRBR-aligned bibliographic ontology) [11], which guarantees the possibility of adding information related to, respectively, the provenance of assertions, the roles of the agents dealing with the artworks and the position of the object in relation to the FRBR (functional requirements for bibliographic records) model. Moreover, thanks to an extension and mapping between HiCO and PROV-O (PROVenance ontology), the ontology allows the recording of information in regard to the influence between works of art. This work is excellent and touches diverse needs in the art history community, but it does not take into account a description of the features and attributes, which would greatly help in the retrieval and aggregation of visual items. Heritage 2019, 2 1193 3. Ontological Framework 3.1. Introduction The representation of an object can be of different form and nature, can underline one specific aspect or feature, can have different degrees of faithfulness and can use different grammars to encode the same type of information. The purpose of these representations is not to display and interact with a simulacrum of the heritage object, but to actually use them as instrument of analysis, to make statements about the world through them, to find metrics to compare objects, study their behaviour, subdivide them into units, reconstruct their holes, re-define their existence, put them into their historical context, study how they interact with their ecology and how they shape it, or how they could be and how they were not. Representations of this type are not treated as simple depictions, but are instrumental to the knowledge we derive from our past, because we have the tendency to assign them the status of digital counterparts of heritage objects. For these reasons, it is essential to understand how we assign meaning to them, as well as how we identify and differentiate between diverse visual compositions. In order to answer this question, we are obliged to start analysing the perceptual process, and, specifically, the interpretation of a percept, which heavily relies on the act of recognition, classification and reference of the sense data to a model using a specific visual code. 3.2. Cognitive Type Ontologically speaking, the perceptual challenge revolves around two main subjects: the existence and the identity of a visual representation. It is necessary to define the subject of the percept, as well as to understand the mechanism used for the percept to be referenced as an instance of a class. We argue that the interpretation of a visual message requires the connection of the sense data to a model using a specific visual code. The sense data themselves are selected portions of the continuum of reality, which Floridi [12], building on the work of MacKay [13] and Bateson [14], calls a datum. The recognition and categorisation of a datum is achieved by the relation of the datum to a reference type, using a schema to mediate between the concept and the manifold of the intuition. Eco [15] suggested that to comprehend this process, we should start examining how we classify the unknown. We will delve deep into his thesis, identifying the nuclear elements which enable us to build a shared understanding of our visual reality. For such reason, it is of paramount importance to first introduce, analyse and explain Eco’s theory. Eco asked himself, and his readers, how we would be able to interpret and socially talk about something if we were to see it for the first time. He proposes a thought experiment using the Aztecs’ first encounter with the Spanish knights. During this occasion, the Aztecs were faced with an entirely new animal, mounted by individuals completely covered by metal plates. “Oriented therefore by a system of previous knowledge but trying to coordinate it with what they were seeing, they must have soon worked out a perceptual judgment. An animal has appeared before us that seems like a deer but isn’t. Likewise, they must not have thought that each Spaniard was riding an animal of a different species, even though the horses brought by the men of Cortes had diverse coats. They must therefore have got a certain idea of that animal, which at first they called macatl, which is the word they used not only for deer but for all quadrupeds in general”. [15] What is interesting from this passage is not just the recognition of the nature of a horse as an animal, but the difficulties that such collective recognition impose on the exchanges between the messengers and the emperor. The messengers integrated their description with pictograms and performances, aiming to describe not only the form of this new animal, but also its behaviour. After listening to them, the emperor had formed an idea of the macatl his messengers were talking about, but it would probably have been different from the one in the minds of his messengers. Nonetheless, it was accurate enough to allow Montezuma to talk about a macatl, to be able to recognise one and differentiate it from Heritage 2019, 2 1194 the Spaniard riding it. Moreover, he was probably able to recognise not only the single macatl, but the entirety of them as a single species, even if they had differences in colours, size or carried armour. Gradually, he was able to acquire more and more knowledge about this macatl, about its usefulness in battle as well as its behaviour and origin (earthly or divine for example). Finally, the Aztec started using a specific word for it, modifying the Spanish word caballo into cauayo or kawayo. The story above presents an interesting perspective of the perceptual process, specifically of the recognition and categorisation of new objects, and it allows us to see how, on the basis of the object’s characteristics, we produce an idea of a percept. In his analysis, Eco [15] calls this idea cognitive type (CT). In this case, the CT would be the concept that an Aztec used to recognise a horse as an exemplar of its kind. After having seen some horses, the Aztec would have constructed a morphological schema of it, which comprised not only an image-like concept of the horse, but included its peculiar characteristics such as the neigh, its motions, its capability of being mounted and perhaps even the smell. These elements are the base used for creating the CT of the horse, which appears to be then a multi-sensory idea of what we see. For many readers, this concept will resemble that of the prototype [16,17], but the difference is in their nature. The prototype is an instance of a class which is seen by a cultural group as the one that best represents the class itself. The CT instead works within the primary semiosis field, assessing the membership to a specific category based on perceived characteristics, and it is not an instance, but merely an idea of the nuclear traits. The prototype is an instance of a class which we assume best covers the characteristics of that class, while the CT is nothing other than the idea that allows us to define the membership itself, more closely to an underlying grammar for the construction of the class than to another concept. 3.3. Semantic Marks Unfortunately, Eco does not explain in detail how cognitive types do work, or how we can use this grammar to relate sense data to a semantic and conceptual model in order to achieve a similarity-based recognition. Therefore, it is essential to build up from his theory and define how we construct the identity of an element, correlating visual data to nuclear characteristics. In order to analyse this process, we introduce the concept of the semantic mark (SM). We define a SM as internal encoded functions which help classify external stimuli and discern their nature. SMs are sense based and help classify the perceptual experience by correlating perceived signals to the CT of a situation, and to the CT of a physical thing. Both SMs and CTs are based on equivalence-based criteria between the percept and a situation/object which are similar to. Further recognitions are achieved by a similarity-based degree of the newly perceived SMs and the SMs that characterise a previously constructed CT. SMs function as attributes of the identity of a percept. The number of signals received by the senses can be numerous, but the chosen ones that are used for the identification are fewer, and they present themselves as constituents of a perceptual manifestation. While a SM can be seen as another type of sign, it is instead an encoding of the percept on the basis of a classification, which reuses our experience and social ground for determining the significance of our reality. Having outlined the gist of it, it is best to start formulating a formal analysis, because only through their definition can we comprehend their role in the perceptual process. A SM is the result of a semiotic process which works with three components: • At least one signal. • A situation. • An object. The very first component is the signal, which is an external stimulus, a datum, identified on the basis of its difference and its form. We will flatten its definition, for a functional purpose, using logic, as: Heritage 2019, 2 1195 Definition 1. ∀signal(x) →∀x.((hasDimension(x, N) ∧ isPartOf(x, System)) ∧ different(x, Surrounding)), where x is the signal, which is identified by a dimension (N) in a specific system (could be a specific projection system as well as a topological relationship). The identity of the signal is, moreover, defined by its differences from the surrounding area, because it is exactly this element which grounds its identification into a single unit. Having outlined the criteria for the identification of a signal, we should look to the other components of a SM, situation and object, in order to understand how it is interpreted. The notion of a situation is quite fuzzy. Situation theory and its semantics have been the subject of many academic debates [18–21] in the last thirty years. Many have written on the topic, but there is no real agreement in the community on what exactly is and how to define a situation. Nonetheless, we used some of the elements discussed in those debates to build our definition of a situation (s) as: Definition 2. sdef = {R, a1, . . . , an, ωx}, where R is the relationship perceived by a viewer between a set of physical entities (a1, . . . ,an) in a specific space-time volume (ω), a portion of the space-time continuum. The types of relationship (R) between the entities can be of diverse nature, such as mereotopological or temporal (for a better account of these, see the work of Smith [22,23], Varzi [24] and Freksa [25]). Situations, however, while carrying their own identity, are not unique temporal states that need to be determined every time, but can be approximated as an instance of a situation type (where the situation type is just the closest logical counterpart of the CT of a situation, used here to determine its membership function), which is a prototypical situation we have experience of, and helps us determine a specific perspective or a behavioural pattern to follow. The relation between a situation s and a situation type S is a degree of membership of the elements of s in S where: Definition 3. A situation type S is a pair (S, m), where S is a set and m:S → [0,1] is the membership function. S is the universe of discourse, and for each s ∈ S the value m(s) is the grade of membership of s in (S, m). The function m = µ(A) is the membership function of the fuzzy set A = (S, m). Using the same logical notation, we can define the relationships between a physical thing p and its type P, such as that an object is equivalent to the entirety of the relationships of a set of physical parts identified by the combination of specific materials over time and P is: Definition 4. A physical object type P is a pair (P, n) where P is a set, n:P → [0,1] is the membership function, and for each p ∈ P the value n(p) is the grade of membership of p in (P, n). The function n = µ(B) is the membership function of the fuzzy set B = (P, n). As mentioned before, the resemblance is given by a degree of similarity. Therefore, the sets A and B, which are, respectively, the set of all the matching situations and the set of all the matching physical objects, which we can describe as: Definition 5. A = {s, µA(s) | s ∈ S}. Definition 6. B = {p, µB(p) | p ∈ P}. should use a membership function type which takes as an input the value of a similarity-based degree calculation. However, similarity is not, as it is commonly understood, a juxtaposition between two anatomically similar elements, but a more complex phenomenon. Nevertheless, it is possible to map the correlation between elements in a multi-quality dimension, including, depending on the case, topological, feature, alignment or value information [26]. The value information is based on different qualitative criteria, such as material property, colour, size or reflectance. For example, two representations portraying two different subjects could be grouped together if both had a golden Heritage 2019, 2 1196 background, or if the objects portrayed had the same size; topological information relating the closeness of two or more objects in a specific space reference; a local space, such as a portrait where two dots stand in proximity to each other, or a geographical space, such a country or a town. Feature similarity implies the presence of a few distinctive features that are considered more salient than others by the viewer and are taken as a key for grouping some objects. This could be the case of wearing a hat with a feather or carrying a Latin cross. In both cases, we use these elements to say that two objects are similar. The alignment similarity indicates the likeness of one or multiple parts of an object in respect to one or multiple parts of another object. It implies the possibility of juxtaposing the two parts together. We will not provide an indication as to which membership function should be chosen (Gaussian distribution function, the sigmoid curve, quadratic and cubic polynomial curves etc.), because the methodology depends on what kind of similarity information is being taken into account. For a full account of the methods, refer to great commentary on the subject given by Timothy J. Ross [27]. At last, having determined that the relationship between situations is a physical thing and its CT (for functional purposes, logically expressed as type), we have all the elements for defining the semantic mark of an object, which we define as a tuple: Definition 7. SMx = {(Sigx, . . . , Sign) A,B}, where (Sigx, . . . , Sign) is the set of signals identified, A and B are, respectively, the fuzzy set of all the matching situations and the one of all the matching physical objects in respect to a set of signals which were used to contextualise the signal. We define a semantic mark as the result of a function which relates the signals to a situation and a physical thing to create denotative expressions that link the initial signals to specific cultural content. Following this definition, a CT can be defined as a set of semantic marks. The recognition of this set implies the attribution of the type. 3.4. The Reading of the Image The use of semantic marks to construct the cognitive type of visual items can be further examined throughout the lenses of art history, a discipline which has closely studied the history of representations and has provided us with some of the finest thought on the subject, thanks to major works by Warburg, Panofsky, Gombrich, Arasse and other scholars. In doing so, we follow Eco’s suggestion that iconography and iconology can be considered a fully formed chapter of semiotics [28], as well as the thought of some other art historians who have noticed the congeniality of the analysis of Peirce and Saussure with the study of Riegl, Panofsky and Schapiro [29]. Furthermore, art historians have been studying the formalisation of visual cues, the creation of canons and models of depiction for quite some time, and they are also responsible for the formalisation of several resources used as a nomenclature system for artistic motifs and subjects. Art historians have long been studying visual cultures and their inner traits, recognising their commonalities and nuances and linking those to social arena. One of the results was the possible identification of the author of an artwork on the basis of his figurative and stylistic features. An author, in fact, learns and develops specific traits or features during their apprenticeship in a workshop, or by merely examining or studying their predecessor’s works. The usage of a set of traits to depict a figure standardises compositions and features, creating a representational canon. One great example is Renaissance art. In this period, thanks mainly to a rediscovered sensibility for the Roman and Greek period, artists and patrons felt the need to have a standardised and understandable canon of images, an easy instrument with which to get inspired and follow the design and conception of new works of art [30]. While the need was, indeed, general, there were certain specific tasks, for instance, the representation of identifiable intangible concepts such as Love or Fortune, which benefited greatly from such formalisation. The illustration of these abstract ideas had to be done through the use of substitutes for the abstractions, such as symbols or personifications. The use of these visual devices as the embodiment of concepts and ideas, however, also fulfilled the communicative purpose of an image, providing the viewer with a possible reading of the scene. In order to do so, these figures Heritage 2019, 2 1197 needed to be acknowledged by a high number of people. Achieving such a goal required a figurative normalisation in accordance with specific models. It was bearing this prospect in mind that in the 16th century manuals like “Le imagini colla sposizione degli dei degli antichi” [31] and “Mythologiae sive explicationis fabularum” [32] started to appear. A major milestone in this direction was the publication of Ripa’s Iconologia [33] in 1593. This work covers over 1200 personifications, comprising an extensive collection of visual representation drawn from both classical and contemporary works of art. Ripa’s book reported on not only visual representations (added only in the 1603 edition) together with their designated meanings, but included detailed descriptions of how they should look and why they should be depicted in that way. The impact that Ripa’s Iconologia had on his contemporaries, as well as on artists in the later centuries, was remarkable, and started to lose its importance only with the advent of realism [34]. The impact of Ripa’s Iconologia was not only to be searched for standardisation of the features and poses for the recognition of depicted types, but also on the influence that those standardisations had on the Western-based vision of art. Art historians became used to employing a type-based thinking for their studies as well as heavily applied prescribed literary sources for their figurative reading; they finally become “hunters of prototype,” famously criticised for leaving matters there, and not exploring them further. While the hunting of the prototype has been seen as an infatuation, from which many, fortunately, have recovered, it also helped deliver a methodology which, even if criticised, has not yet found a real challenger or an alternative [35]. We are talking specifically about the work of Panofsky, which helped establish the discipline of art history as we know it now, and it helped investigate those visual cues that we use to identify representations. In his work, Panofsky [36] outlined a method for reading a work of art that required the distinction of an artwork in three layers: • The primary or natural subject matter, which identifies pure forms such as a configuration of lines or representations of an object, which could be called the world of artistic motifs. The collection of these motifs pertains to the pre-iconographical description of a work of art. • The secondary or conventional subject matter is the assignment of theme and concept to the composition of artistic motifs, which are recognised to be the carrier of a conventional (how specific themes and concepts are usually depicted in the visual arts) meaning. The subject(s) of a representation are identified in this layer, thanks to an iconographical analysis. • The intrinsic meaning or content is the interpretation of “the work of art as a symptom of something else which expresses itself in a countless variety of other symptoms, and we interpret its compositional and iconographical features as more particularized evidence of this ‘something else’” [36]. The intrinsic meaning is defined by how cultural-historical developments are reflected in a representation, and such meaning is displayed independent of the will of the artist, who could be completely unaware of it. In a later stage, Panofsky called this phase the iconological interpretation. Following his methodology, the signs that compose a representation are identified during the pre-iconographical phase through the identification of artistic motifs. This step was also identified by Barthes, who called this immediate visual impact, which defines the primary subject matter, the denoted meaning of an image, and the process it originates, denotation [37–39]. The second act of interpretation is the iconographical analysis, which requires more specialised knowledge and the use, in this case, of vocabularies of forms in order to describe the content of the image. These vocabularies do not have to be external resources, but they easily can be embedded in our knowledge repositories and inherited in a social arena (see Bourdieu [40] and Lemonnier [41] for a theoretical treatise on the subject). The recognition of the meaning of the image is based on identification of the diverse signs incorporated into the image, usually consisting of sets of attributes and characteristics. The combination of these attributes, such as objects, plants, animals or other icons/symbols, help identify a personification/character in a specific situation/narrative in a work of art. Attributes can also help identify certain qualities (kindness, rage etc.) of the depicted character, Heritage 2019, 2 1198 or his belonging to a distinct group (blacksmith, noble, saint etc.). The use and harmonisation of this combination have helped to create iconographical types and defined archetypical situations, providing tools for the identification of diverse types of representations [34,38]. Attributes can be seen as a subset of the semantic marks formalised in 3.3. In that case, it appears that iconographical types are nothing other than cognitive types we use for describing and communicating stances about our visual world. After the iconographical analysis, the methodology of Panofsky passes over to iconological analysis, which comprises the socio-historical interpretation of the symbolic value of the painting, which is part of a bigger cultural visual history and is not a conscious process for the author. The indeterminacy of these symbolic values created some significant issues in the art historical community, because sometimes the use of symbols was strongly driven by the author’s intention (as in 16th century Dutch art for example). In order to overcome these issues, and to stay true to the idea that an author can use symbolic representation consciously, we prefer to adopt the revised scheme of Van Straten (Figure 1) [34]. Van Straten does not challenge the first pre-iconographical phase of analysis, focused only on the identification of the artistic motifs such as lines and shapes, but he concentrates instead on identification of the secondary subject matter and the intrinsic meaning. The iconographical analysis is divided into iconographical description (second phase) and interpretation (third phase). The iconographical description is the analytical phase, where the subject of the representation is established (for example “Saint George and the Dragon”) but deeper meaning is not searched for. In this scheme, we can attribute an iconographical description to all works of art, in contrast with the analysis of Panofsky, which recognises the possibility of assigning a secondary subject matter only to a limited set of works of art (landscape, for example, could not be iconographically analysed). Heritage 2019, 2 1198 After the iconographical analysis, the methodology of Panofsky passes over to iconological analysis, which comprises the socio-historical interpretation of the symbolic value of the painting, which is part of a bigger cultural visual history and is not a conscious process for the author. The indeterminacy of these symbolic values created some significant issues in the art historical community, because sometimes the use of symbols was strongly driven by the author's intention (as in 16th century Dutch art for example). In order to overcome these issues, and to stay true to the idea that an author can use symbolic representation consciously, we prefer to adopt the revised scheme of Van Straten (Figure 1) [34]. Van Straten does not challenge the first pre-iconographical phase of analysis, focused only on the identification of the artistic motifs such as lines and shapes, but he concentrates instead on identification of the secondary subject matter and the intrinsic meaning. The iconographical analysis is divided into iconographical description (second phase) and interpretation (third phase). The iconographical description is the analytical phase, where the subject of the representation is established (for example “Saint George and the Dragon”) but deeper meaning is not searched for. In this scheme, we can attribute an iconographical description to all works of art, in contrast with the analysis of Panofsky, which recognises the possibility of assigning a secondary subject matter only to a limited set of works of art (landscape, for example, could not be iconographically analysed). Figure 1. Van Staten’s division of the layers present in a work of art. Iconographical interpretation examines the explicit use of symbols by the artist, and formalises the deeper meaning of a representation. One of the results of an iconographical interpretation is the decoding of symbols and the formalisation of what they express. We can envision the re-use of the codification of these signs to computationally track and analyse them, grounding their use in time and space, and discovering how they originate, evolve and spread across communities. The fourth and final step of the analysis is iconological interpretation, which deals with those symbolic values that are not explicitly intended by the artist, and are part of the visual culture of the time. Figure 1. Van Staten’s division of the layers present in a work of art. Heritage 2019, 2 1199 Iconographical interpretation examines the explicit use of symbols by the artist, and formalises the deeper meaning of a representation. One of the results of an iconographical interpretation is the decoding of symbols and the formalisation of what they express. We can envision the re-use of the codification of these signs to computationally track and analyse them, grounding their use in time and space, and discovering how they originate, evolve and spread across communities. The fourth and final step of the analysis is iconological interpretation, which deals with those symbolic values that are not explicitly intended by the artist, and are part of the visual culture of the time. These symbolic values can be analysed historically and ethnographically, and not only from an art historian’s perspective. Iconological interpretation adds a new level of meaning to a representation, the connoted meaning. If the denoted meaning previously introduced is about the object as expressed by form, the connotation is an interpretation on the basis of a socio-historical analysis of the symbols of an image [37,39]. The codification, description and tracking of connotative references between visual and conceptual objects is another important aspect to track, because it is even more socially grounded than explicit reference. Integration of the study of symbolic values in visual images could help us make sense of how we use semantic marks to classify reality, and how it does change on the basis of the context in which the visual classification takes place. It is clear that Panofsky’s methodology, and the revised version proposed by Van Straten, can be easily integrated with the theory of cognitive type and our addendum about semantic marks. The two methods should be then seen as complementary (Table 1). In fact, semantic marks help us formalise the relationship between a percept and its interpretation, while Panofsky’s methodology provides a path for the reading of a work of art, defining a way to take into account the propositional assumptions of a viewer in relation to a visual representation. The division of the assumptions in layers of meaning is hypothetical, and just a formal way of proposing a reading, which Panofsky uses in his attempt to eliminate subjective distortions. These distortions are, however, always present in the understanding of a visual work, and do not depend on the work itself, but the situation and social context of the assessment, as proven in Section 3.3. A non-Western centred approach to classification would provide different readings and understanding, and that is why it is important to clarify when and how the interpretation of visual signs take place. Table 1. Correspondence between subject matter and act of interpretation. Object of Interpretation Act of Interpretation Primary or natural subject matter—(A) factual, (B) expressional—constituting the world of artistic motifs. Pre-iconographical description Datum Determination of cognitive type on the base of the semantic marks identified in the representationSecondary or conventional subject matter, constituting the world of images, stories and allegories. Iconographical description Iconographical interpretation Connotative reference based on literary sources Intrinsic meaning or content, constituting the world of ‘symbolic’ values. Iconological interpretation Abductive inferencing 4. Ontology 4.1. Introduction The theory outlined in Section 3 will be used as a backbone for developing an ontology for the description of visual representations, and is going to be regarded as its main conceptualisation. Developing an ontology, in fact, means primarily relying on a clear commitment to a particular conceptualisation of the world, and to reflecting this commitment in an information artefact which Heritage 2019, 2 1200 approximates the intended model. We translated the existential and identity commitments outlined in Section 3 to construct an extension of CIDOC-CRM called VIR: visual representation1. The name is, of course, significant, because the scope of the ontology is the formalisation of the relationships between the visual representations and symbols that characterise a single artwork or are distinctive of a social arena. VIR is grounded on the semiotic distinction between expression and content, and introduces class and properties for annotating pictorial elements that compose visual works and their denoted/connoted conceptual elements. 4.2. Case Studies and Problems The objective of the formal ontology was the recording of statements about a series of wall paintings present in the church of Panagia (Mother of God) Phorbiotissa, commonly known as Asinou, in Cyprus. The church, built in the picturesque setting of the lower Troodos Mountain in central Cyprus, around twenty kilometres from Nicosia, is richly decorated and displays a wide variety of frescoes ranging from twelfth (foundation) to the early seventeenth century. It has been recognised as a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1985, together with nine other richly decorated rural churches and monasteries in the area, which have been grouped by UNESCO as the “Troodos Painted Churches Group” [42,43]. The initial core of the ontology was later refined while analysing the dataset of the photographic archive of the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies. The archive of the centre holds a collection of around 250,000 photographic prints, focusing mainly on the Italian art, especially painting and drawing, of the late Middle Ages and Renaissance from 1250 to 1600. During the analysis and description of the visual information presented in our case studies, we quickly noticed that iconographic representations are dynamic objects that evolve over time. In order to easily demonstrate this to a wider public, we chose to focus, in both case studies, on a widely known iconographical character: Saint George. The depictions of the saint are quite heterogeneous, and display him in very diverse situations. Spanning from the sixth century to this very day, representations of Saint George have depicted him as a haloed, beardless knight in different poses and scenes. Initially painted standing in his military attire, he was later represented in various scenes such as the laceration on the wheel, the resurrection of the dead and the destruction of idols, which are strongly linked to his biography and his legends [44]. While, currently, the most widely known iconographical type is surely “Saint George and the dragon,” which portrays the saint slaying a dragon and saving a princess, it was only from the 10th century that he started to be represented on a horseback killing a dragon (Figure 2 for a small overview of Saint George iconography). Initially, no princess was involved, other than in a unique case and in a very different role, in the church of Panagia tou Moutoulla, Cyprus, where the saint killed a crowned woman with the body of a snake [43]. It was only in the 12th century that the laceration on the wheel and the other torments started to be replaced by the rescue of the princess. The origin of this iconographical type can be traced back to a Georgian manuscript dated 11th century, and it is, indeed, in Georgia that we can detect the first representation of Saint George saving a princess from a dragon [45]. It is important to underline that the depiction of Saint George slaying a dragon does not have any privileged uniqueness, because several other characters were famously depicted killing a dragon [46]. Within Christian imagery, many saints slew a dragon. The most famous ones are St. Andrew, St. Matthew, St. Philippe and St. Michael. However, they are not the only privileged ones, and many more can be listed. 1 The ontology is freely available, together with its documentation, from https://w3id.org/vir/ (Supplementary Materials). https://w3id.org/vir/ Heritage 2019, 2 1201 Heritage 2019, 2 1200 content, and introduces class and properties for annotating pictorial elements that compose visual works and their denoted/connoted conceptual elements. 4.2. Case Studies and Problems The objective of the formal ontology was the recording of statements about a series of wall paintings present in the church of Panagia (Mother of God) Phorbiotissa, commonly known as Asinou, in Cyprus. The church, built in the picturesque setting of the lower Troodos Mountain in central Cyprus, around twenty kilometres from Nicosia, is richly decorated and displays a wide variety of frescoes ranging from twelfth (foundation) to the early seventeenth century. It has been recognised as a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1985, together with nine other richly decorated rural churches and monasteries in the area, which have been grouped by UNESCO as the “Troodos Painted Churches Group” [42,43]. The initial core of the ontology was later refined while analysing the dataset of the photographic archive of the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies. The archive of the centre holds a collection of around 250,000 photographic prints, focusing mainly on the Italian art, especially painting and drawing, of the late Middle Ages and Renaissance from 1250 to 1600. During the analysis and description of the visual information presented in our case studies, we quickly noticed that iconographic representations are dynamic objects that evolve over time. In order to easily demonstrate this to a wider public, we chose to focus, in both case studies, on a widely known iconographical character: Saint George. The depictions of the saint are quite heterogeneous, and display him in very diverse situations. Spanning from the sixth century to this very day, representations of Saint George have depicted him as a haloed, beardless knight in different poses and scenes. Initially painted standing in his military attire, he was later represented in various scenes such as the laceration on the wheel, the resurrection of the dead and the destruction of idols, which are strongly linked to his biography and his legends [44]. While, currently, the most widely known iconographical type is surely “Saint George and the dragon,” which portrays the saint slaying a dragon and saving a princess, it was only from the 10th century that he started to be represented on a horseback killing a dragon (Figure 2 for a small overview of Saint George iconography). Figure 2. Diverse representations of Saint George. From right to left: (1) Saint George and the Dragon—Tintoretto, 1560. National Gallery, London. (2) Saint George and scenes from his life— Anonymous, first half of the 13th century. Saint Catherine's Monastery, Sinai. (3) The Martyrdom of Saint George—Veronese, 1565c. Chiesa di San Giorgio in Braida, Verona. (4) Saint George—Donatello, 1415–17. Bargello Museum, Florence. Initially, no princess was involved, other than in a unique case and in a very different role, in the church of Panagia tou Moutoulla, Cyprus, where the saint killed a crowned woman with the body of a snake [43]. It was only in the 12th century that the laceration on the wheel and the other torments started to be replaced by the rescue of the princess. The origin of this iconographical type can be Figure 2. Diverse representations of Saint George. From right to left: (1) Saint George and the Dragon—Tintoretto, 1560. National Gallery, London. (2) Saint George and scenes from his life—Anonymous, first half of the 13th century. Saint Catherine’s Monastery, Sinai. (3) The Martyrdom of Saint George—Veronese, 1565c. Chiesa di San Giorgio in Braida, Verona. (4) Saint George—Donatello, 1415–17. Bargello Museum, Florence. Representations of dragon slayers can be found in other mythologies. The small sculpture of Horus on horseback, for example, depicts a scene very similar to the one of Saint George slaying the dragon. This small sculpture portrays the Egyptian god Horus the moment before he stabbing the deity Setekh/Set, the Egyptian god of the desert, who adopted the form of a crocodile to escape his nephew [44]. Even restricting ourselves to the Christian imagery of Saint George, many are the works of art depicting the saint, comprising many different perspectives, stories, characters and stylistic choices. Only focusing, as is currently done in the visual classification domain, on description or annotation of the iconographical type (e.g., Saint George slaying the dragon) would result in the creation of an all-encompassing description which includes a wide range of different characters and variations. It is clear that for each representation there are many possible variants, and simply classifying something as an instance of a specific iconographical type is not enough to characterise it and distinguish it from the network of similar depictions of the same type. The use of the same iconographical type does not imply the presence of the same character, nor the use of the same attributes and symbolic references. It is essential to describe each of these features in order to be able to cluster the representations on the basis of their characterising elements and their interconnections. 4.3. Recognition of a Representation In order to classify the statements about our case studies, we introduced eight classes (Character, Iconographical Atom, Attribute, Representation, Personification, Visual Recognition, Verso and Recto) together with twenty properties. We will briefly introduce some of these classes, and then use a few examples to demonstrate their usefulness in the description and mapping of information about visual representations. The very first step taken during the construction of the ontology was the introduction of a way to sustain new relationships between the physical and visual domain, declaring the new class IC1 Iconographical Atom. The substance of an Iconographical Atom is that of a physical feature, embracing an arrangement of forms/colours, which is seen by an agent as a vehicle of a representation. The identity of the class is given by the pure act of selecting a region of space as the content form of an expression. An Iconographical Atom does not represent anything in itself, but is the physical container we examine when we recognise a IC9 Representation. An Iconographical Atom is always the object of an interpretation, and the conceptual understanding of what it is depicted (the Representation) is the result of a recognition. Therefore, the Representation cannot exist elsewhere than in the conceptual domain, because it is the idea formed in the mind of the viewer when looking at the Iconographical Heritage 2019, 2 1202 Atom. For such reason, we define a Representation as the set of conceptual elements we use for associating the nuclear characteristics of a visual object with an Iconographical Atom. If we had to make a parallel, following Table 1, we would say that an IC1 Iconographical Atom corresponds to the notion of datum, or the recognised physical container which is the subject of an assignment of status. The IC9 Representation would instead correspond to the determination of the representation on the basis of the cognitive type and the semantic marks associated with it, which partially correspond with the iconographical description outlined by Van Staten. In order to annotate how the interpretation of a visual item works, we introduced the class IC12 Visual Recognition, which defines the act of recognition and interpretation of the subject matter of a representation. The class describes the process of recognition of a representation using a fairly simple schema: persona in contextz persona assesses Objectx persona assigns valuey The above schema, as discussed in Sections 3.2 and 3.3, is the base of the interpretative act, and the only variables are the context, the classified object (Iconographical Atom) and the value assigned (Representation or Attribute). The class IC12 Visual Recognition respects and reproduces this schema, making it possible to describe, for example, the representative value assigned to an image by different art historians, thus enabling the system to keep track of the persons assessing a specific object. Moreover, the use of such a construct would help us record the set of features in a representation considered more salient by a viewer than others within a historical period. In the context of VIR, we call those features Attributes. The clustering of the Attributes together with the Representation they belong to is essential for the analysis of the association between semantic marks and the cognitive type they represent, in order to show their development and changes over time. Sometimes a Representation with a clearly denoted identity can develop a different one within the same context. This process is called connotation. Visual semiotics discern denotation and connotation as two different layers of meaning, where denotation expresses what is being depicted and connotation expresses the values and ideas of what is represented [39]. The connotative layer has been the subject of many studies, with very diverse interpretations about its nature. Barthes, for example, thought that there is no encoding/decoding function within the denotative layer because our object recognition originates from some form of “anthropological knowledge” [47]. While appealing, this description seems to be tip-toeing around the subject, explaining a significant feature of the perception process using a fuzzy concept. We prefer the definition given by Hjelmslev [48] of a “semiotics whose expression plane is a semiotic,” so a function that relates the content of a signification to the expression of a further content. For these reasons, in this ontology we model the connotation as a relationship between the already established Representation and a conceptual object, and not as a new relationship between a Representation and an Iconographical Atom. The persistence of the connotation is transitory, because connotations are founded only on code convention and time-wise are less stable than denotation, because their duration is influenced by the stability of the convention itself. 4.4. Application Examples After having outlined the basic structure of VIR in Section 4.2, this section emphasises the capabilities of the ontology using examples from two datasets, one describing the wall painting in the narthex of the church of Asinou and the second one describing the collection of the Photographic Archive of the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies. For each of the examples, we present an ontological mapping of the information using CIDOC-CRM and VIR. While initially done in RDF (Resource Description Framework), the maps have been transformed, for readability purpose, into graphical representations. Heritage 2019, 2 1203 The purpose of these graphs is to provide to the reader with an example of the applications of the developed ontology, as well as to display how the information present in just a small portion of a wall painting, if correctly described, can help create an information-rich environment that opens the doors to new ways to document a heritage object in relation to its functional and visual context. For easy reading, we specify that the letters K and IC represent, respectively, the properties and the classes of the VIR ontology colour-coded in the graph in purple and orange, while the letters P and E, colour-coded in blue and green, represent the properties and classes belonging to the CIDOC-CRM ontology. 4.4.1. On Representation and Attribute The graph in Figure 3 outlines the map of the information about the panel of Saint George in the church of Asinou. The map presents the description of the Visual Recognition of the representation of Saint George, which assigns the status of a representation to the iconographical atom in the south lunette of the narthex of the Asinou church. The representation is identified here as “Saint George.” However, the recognition of a specific subject is dependent on the knowledge the interpreter has of the context of production. A felicitous recognition is conditioned by a grasp of the context of the artwork, because, while many would recognise Saint George as the main subject of this wall painting, many others, not familiar with Christian iconography, would only recognise a man riding a horse. An expert in Byzantine iconography could instead quickly identify him as Diasorites, a more specific iconographical type. It is important to underline that such diversity in classification in respect to the same representation is, indeed, possible. The modelling in Figure 3 does represent only one of these possible recognitions (the one originally described in the record), but the same assertion, which assigns a representation value to an iconographical atom, is repeatable. We could have, therefore, an instance of IC1 Iconographical Atom acting as a hub of diverse visual interpretations carried out by different art historians who do not share the same knowledge on the subject, or who decide to diverge on the type of attribution (e.g., generic vs. specific). The (possible) selection of a chosen interpretation is not an ontological problem but an institutional one, and should be carried out on the basis of the provenance of the selected assertions. Heritage 2019, 2 1203 However, the recognition of a specific subject is dependent on the knowledge the interpreter has of the context of production. A felicitous recognition is conditioned by a grasp of the context of the artwork, because, while many would recognise Saint George as the main subject of this wall painting, many others, not familiar with Christian iconography, would only recognise a man riding a horse. An expert in Byzantine iconography could instead quickly identify him as Diasorites, a more specific iconographical type. It is important to underline that such diversity in classification in respect to the same representation is, indeed, possible. The modelling in Figure 3 does represent only one of these possible recognitions (the one originally described in the record), but the same assertion, which assigns a representation value to an iconographical atom, is repeatable. We could have, therefore, an instance of IC1 Iconographical Atom acting as a hub of diverse visual interpretations carried out by different art historians who do not share the same knowledge on the subject, or who decide to diverge on the type of attribution (e.g., generic vs specific). The (possible) selection of a chosen interpretation is not an ontological problem but an institutional one, and should be carried out on the basis of the provenance of the selected assertions. Figure 3. Map of the information about the Saint George wall painting in Asinou, Cyprus. Ontology used: VIR and CRM. An IC12 Visual Recognition results in the constituency of an instance of the class representation that is further described as portraying the character of Saint George. This relationship is achieved using the property “K24 portray.” Using the representation as a vehicle to record propositions about the visual object, we define its iconographical type, using the property “P2 has type” from CIDOC- CRM. In the example in Figure 3, we used our own internal vocabulary, but it could easily be linked with external ones. More interesting is the possibility of defining the attributes of the representation, which in Figure 3 are the horse and the spear. Figure 4 presents the map of the description of “Saint George killing the dragon” by Vittore Carpaccio from the Photographic Archive of the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies. It is easy to see that in this representation, the figure of Saint George is richer in attributes (Castle, Princess, Lake and Dragon) in respect to Figure 3. The two representations of Saint George in Figures 3 and 4 do carry their own diverse identities, but can be easily correlated using their shared set of elements. The correlation can be based, for example, on the depicted character. In this instance, they both describe the character called Saint George, and even if the nomenclature in the two records is not the same (in Figure 4 we have St George, while in Figure 3 we have Saint George), they both use external resources (in this case Wikidata) to define the identity of the portrayed character. Another important feature that can be used for correlating the records is the class Attribute. The two Figure 3. Map of the information about the Saint George wall painting in Asinou, Cyprus. Ontology used: VIR and CRM. An IC12 Visual Recognition results in the constituency of an instance of the class representation that is further described as portraying the character of Saint George. This relationship is achieved using the property “K24 portray.” Using the representation as a vehicle to record propositions about the visual object, we define its iconographical type, using the property “P2 has type” from CIDOC-CRM. In the example in Figure 3, we used our own internal vocabulary, but it could easily be linked with Heritage 2019, 2 1204 external ones. More interesting is the possibility of defining the attributes of the representation, which in Figure 3 are the horse and the spear. Figure 4 presents the map of the description of “Saint George killing the dragon” by Vittore Carpaccio from the Photographic Archive of the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies. It is easy to see that in this representation, the figure of Saint George is richer in attributes (Castle, Princess, Lake and Dragon) in respect to Figure 3. The two representations of Saint George in Figures 3 and 4 do carry their own diverse identities, but can be easily correlated using their shared set of elements. The correlation can be based, for example, on the depicted character. In this instance, they both describe the character called Saint George, and even if the nomenclature in the two records is not the same (in Figure 4 we have St George, while in Figure 3 we have Saint George), they both use external resources (in this case Wikidata) to define the identity of the portrayed character. Another important feature that can be used for correlating the records is the class Attribute. The two attributes used for the description of the panel of Saint George in Asinou are also used for the description of Saint George by Vittore Carpaccio. While the latter uses a larger set of elements, the spear and the horse are shared by both representations, and, if adequately modelled, we would be able to link the representations on the basis of the visual elements used to characterise the saint. Heritage 2019, 2 1204 attributes used for the description of the panel of Saint George in Asinou are also used for the description of Saint George by Vittore Carpaccio. While the latter uses a larger set of elements, the spear and the horse are shared by both representations, and, if adequately modelled, we would be able to link the representations on the basis of the visual elements used to characterise the saint. Figure 4. Map of information about the iconography of Saint George killing a dragon on the basis of the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies record. Ontology used: VIR and CRM. 4.4.2. On Personification and Prototype A specific type of Representation that is necessary to mention and describe here is Personification, identified in VIR by the identifier IC11. The class comprises anthropomorphic figures, which symbolise and represent abstract ideas. Widely used within the arts, Personification appears in both Byzantine and Western traditions and is considered a typical communicative device to represent intangible concepts such as Fortune, Fate, Prudence and other allegories. Another typical use of Personification that still survives today is that of national symbols: anthropomorphic figures that embody a nation and its values (e.g., Marianne for France). Figure 5 presents a map of information on the personification of the sea present in the narthex of the church of Asinou, Cyprus. The relationships described in Figure 5 are quite similar to the ones used for the description of a Representation, but, in this case, the symbolic link with a conceptual object is made explicit. As for the representation of Saint George, the characteristics of a personification can also be shared by similar representations, so it is crucial to link the semantic information with external reference resources. In Figure 5, for example, both the symbolic object and the personification are linked, with Wikidata and Iconclass, respectively. Figure 5. Personification of the sea. Asinou, Cyprus. Figure 4. Map of information about the iconography of Saint George killing a dragon on the basis of the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies record. Ontology used: VIR and CRM. 4.4.2. On Personification and Prototype A specific type of Representation that is necessary to mention and describe here is Personification, identified in VIR by the identifier IC11. The class comprises anthropomorphic figures, which symbolise and represent abstract ideas. Widely used within the arts, Personification appears in both Byzantine and Western traditions and is considered a typical communicative device to represent intangible concepts such as Fortune, Fate, Prudence and other allegories. Another typical use of Personification that still survives today is that of national symbols: anthropomorphic figures that embody a nation and its values (e.g., Marianne for France). Figure 5 presents a map of information on the personification of the sea present in the narthex of the church of Asinou, Cyprus. The relationships described in Figure 5 are quite similar to the ones used for the description of a Representation, but, in this case, the symbolic link with a conceptual object is made explicit. As for the representation of Saint George, the characteristics of a personification can also be shared by similar representations, so it is crucial to link the semantic information with external reference resources. In Figure 5, for example, both the symbolic object and the personification are linked, with Wikidata and Iconclass, respectively. Heritage 2019, 2 1205 Heritage 2019, 2 1204 attributes used for the description of the panel of Saint George in Asinou are also used for the description of Saint George by Vittore Carpaccio. While the latter uses a larger set of elements, the spear and the horse are shared by both representations, and, if adequately modelled, we would be able to link the representations on the basis of the visual elements used to characterise the saint. Figure 4. Map of information about the iconography of Saint George killing a dragon on the basis of the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies record. Ontology used: VIR and CRM. 4.4.2. On Personification and Prototype A specific type of Representation that is necessary to mention and describe here is Personification, identified in VIR by the identifier IC11. The class comprises anthropomorphic figures, which symbolise and represent abstract ideas. Widely used within the arts, Personification appears in both Byzantine and Western traditions and is considered a typical communicative device to represent intangible concepts such as Fortune, Fate, Prudence and other allegories. Another typical use of Personification that still survives today is that of national symbols: anthropomorphic figures that embody a nation and its values (e.g., Marianne for France). Figure 5 presents a map of information on the personification of the sea present in the narthex of the church of Asinou, Cyprus. The relationships described in Figure 5 are quite similar to the ones used for the description of a Representation, but, in this case, the symbolic link with a conceptual object is made explicit. As for the representation of Saint George, the characteristics of a personification can also be shared by similar representations, so it is crucial to link the semantic information with external reference resources. In Figure 5, for example, both the symbolic object and the personification are linked, with Wikidata and Iconclass, respectively. Figure 5. Personification of the sea. Asinou, Cyprus. Figure 5. Personification of the sea. Asinou, Cyprus. The grounding of such information using a formal ontology enables diverse possible combinations of queries, searching, for example, for a specific mix of attributes and symbolic content expressed by a personification. Few words need to be spent on another important relationship encoded in the ontology, that of prototype. Representation, sometimes at least, has to be seen as the result of a long process that involves preparatory study and sketches of what, in the end, will be the final version of an artwork. This process is described using several types of attributes (e.g., study for, preparatory, version, prototype, studio), which we do not define as different single properties (which would create a semantic closed system), but we group together into a single relationship. We created the class K4 visual prototype together with the property K4.1 prototypical model as a n-ary construct for documenting the type of prototype used for the creation of an image. A preparatory sketch, for example, would be described as a prototypical version of the final artwork. The description schema is, fairly simply: representationa hasPrototype prototypex prototypex hasType “preliminary version” representationb isPrototypeof prototypex The n-ary construct allows us to relate the two representations, which are connected together using a class which we can further specialise, including the type of relationship that exists between the two representations. In our example we used the type “preliminary version,” but diverse types can be used. The same relationships that connect a preparatory study and the final artwork could be easily used for relating a copy to the original. The copy is, in fact, nothing else than a new object which uses another one as an example. The type of resemblance between the two is just a perceptual judgment, which does not change the process of reusing another object as a prototype for a new one. Using this type of relationship, we can easily visualise the process of creation of an artwork through the use of the diverse prototypes/versions that follow one another until the final object come into being. The map in Figure 6 of the relationship between the Allegory of the Immaculate Conception by Vasari, as held in the church of Santi Apostoli in Florence, and the preparatory study made by the artist, helps us visualise the structure of this relationship. The two Representations are linked together by a type of visual prototype, in this case, a “Studio for.” Heritage 2019, 2 1206 Heritage 2019, 2 1205 The grounding of such information using a formal ontology enables diverse possible combinations of queries, searching, for example, for a specific mix of attributes and symbolic content expressed by a personification. Few words need to be spent on another important relationship encoded in the ontology, that of prototype. Representation, sometimes at least, has to be seen as the result of a long process that involves preparatory study and sketches of what, in the end, will be the final version of an artwork. This process is described using several types of attributes (e.g., study for, preparatory, version, prototype, studio), which we do not define as different single properties (which would create a semantic closed system), but we group together into a single relationship. We created the class K4 visual prototype together with the property K4.1 prototypical model as a n-ary construct for documenting the type of prototype used for the creation of an image. A preparatory sketch, for example, would be described as a prototypical version of the final artwork. The description schema is, fairly simply: representationa hasPrototype prototypex prototypex hasType “preliminary version” representationb isPrototypeof prototypex The n-ary construct allows us to relate the two representations, which are connected together using a class which we can further specialise, including the type of relationship that exists between the two representations. In our example we used the type “preliminary version,” but diverse types can be used. The same relationships that connect a preparatory study and the final artwork could be easily used for relating a copy to the original. The copy is, in fact, nothing else than a new object which uses another one as an example. The type of resemblance between the two is just a perceptual judgment, which does not change the process of reusing another object as a prototype for a new one. Using this type of relationship, we can easily visualise the process of creation of an artwork through the use of the diverse prototypes/versions that follow one another until the final object come into being. The map in Figure 6 of the relationship between the Allegory of the Immaculate Conception by Vasari, as held in the church of Santi Apostoli in Florence, and the preparatory study made by the artist, helps us visualise the structure of this relationship. The two Representations are linked together by a type of visual prototype, in this case, a “Studio for.” Figure 6. Prototypical relation between an initial study and the final outcome of Vasari’s Allegory of the Immaculate Conception. Figure 6. Prototypical relation between an initial study and the final outcome of Vasari’s Allegory of the Immaculate Conception. 4.5. On Historical Grounding The descriptions of the ontology and the examples have been, until now, dedicated only to the description of the visual, overlooking another essential component in art, the historical aspect. In order to accurately describe a representation as a product of its time and space, and bind it to specific traditions or visual culture, it is essential to ground the visual information into a bigger historical framework. This approach enables users to focus not only on aesthetic attributes, but also on the development of symbolic forms or characters within a period. The church of Asinou proves to be again an excellent example to explain the importance of such practice. The top part of the south conch in the narthex of the church hosts the panel “Virgin of Mercy and Latin Donor,” an iconographical type original from the West. This iconography, called Madonna della Misericordia, originated in Italy in the early 13th century and was promptly disseminated in the Mediterranean area by the crusaders [49]. In this case, it is crucial to ground the iconographical information within its history, defining the influence on the production of the painting of both the donor and the Frankish occupation of the island. Figure 7 documents the integration of the aesthetic information within the historical framework of production. The creation of the painting is linked in time with the Lusignan occupation of the island, from 1192 till 1474. The period is, moreover, linked with two other spatio-temporal gazetteers, perio.do2 and chronontology3, which help in retrieval and also in the browsing and visualisation of further documented periods. Using this modelling, we can easily cluster and browse information about representations created in a specific period or location, and, thanks to the class and property defined by VIR, we can explore the use of specific symbols or iconographical types within historical periods. The link between visual representations and historical information within a formal structure that can be queried is the first step towards achieving a true digital iconological framework able to correlate visual culture and symbolism used. 2 https://test.perio.do. 3 http://chronontology.dainst.org. https://test.perio.do http://chronontology.dainst.org Heritage 2019, 2 1207 Heritage 2019, 2 1206 4.5. On Historical Grounding The descriptions of the ontology and the examples have been, until now, dedicated only to the description of the visual, overlooking another essential component in art, the historical aspect. In order to accurately describe a representation as a product of its time and space, and bind it to specific traditions or visual culture, it is essential to ground the visual information into a bigger historical framework. This approach enables users to focus not only on aesthetic attributes, but also on the development of symbolic forms or characters within a period. The church of Asinou proves to be again an excellent example to explain the importance of such practice. The top part of the south conch in the narthex of the church hosts the panel “Virgin of Mercy and Latin Donor,” an iconographical type original from the West. This iconography, called Madonna della Misericordia, originated in Italy in the early 13th century and was promptly disseminated in the Mediterranean area by the crusaders [49]. In this case, it is crucial to ground the iconographical information within its history, defining the influence on the production of the painting of both the donor and the Frankish occupation of the island. Figure 7 documents the integration of the aesthetic information within the historical framework of production. The creation of the painting is linked in time with the Lusignan occupation of the island, from 1192 till 1474. The period is, moreover, linked with two other spatio-temporal gazetteers, perio.do2 and chronontology 3 , which help in retrieval and also in the browsing and visualisation of further documented periods. Figure 7. Map of the historical information about the panel “Virgin of Mercy and Latin Donor” in the south conch of the Narthex of the Asinou church, Cyprus. 2 https://test.perio.do 3 http://chronontology.dainst.org Figure 7. Map of the historical information about the panel “Virgin of Mercy and Latin Donor” in the south conch of the Narthex of the Asinou church, Cyprus. 5. Application We briefly touched the surface of the possible applications of the ontology. It is important to understand that such a flexible structure can be of use in diverse fields and scenarios, ranging from the constructions of intelligible labels to the definition of a schema for recording user annotation over visual objects. The latter is undoubtedly the most common use, especially thanks to the technological advancements that have emerged in recent years. The rise of IIIF (International Image Interoperability Framework) as a standard for viewing and sharing image collections has ignited the development of viewers’ applications rich in annotation capabilities (Mirador4 is probably the most famous example). The possibility of classifying a user-defined spatial area as a representation, as well as correlating it with the iconographical attributes appearing within the image (throughout other annotations), is the first and a necessary step towards creating an iconographical corpus. The use of the ontology together with this type of software would greatly help in the creation of a dataset of attributes, subjects, characters and symbols, allowing researchers to automatically cluster this type of information and perform further research on the interconnections between these elements. While annotators built on top of IIIF viewers or other 2D/3D technology are undoubtedly the most common example of use, the ontology could also be used in correlation with machine learning (ML) algorithms. This type of algorithm excels in assigning labels to pictures, but falls behind when structuring the information they produce. It is conceivable that ML algorithms could be used to define a series of attributes for each representation, using the ontology to record them in a database. While the ontology can be used as a schema for any information system, it does provide the best possible outcome as a way to structure information in an RDF store where, thanks to the SPARQL query language, we would be able to integrate linked data coming from other sources. A straightforward example would be to use Iconclass, probably the primary classification system in 4 http://projectmirador.org. http://projectmirador.org Heritage 2019, 2 1208 the domain of iconography, to obtain normalised terminological entry for the description of attributes and types. We could then easily use SPARQL to directly query an Iconclass graph to find the necessary nomenclature for the definition of the chosen attributes, or the type of iconographical representation we are dealing with, relying on the structure of the ontology for their integration. 6. Limitations The ontology proposed here is not exempt from limitations. The contextualisation of CT in the initial analysis was supported by the use of situation and situation type. The introduction of situation and situation type is indeed possible in RDF, but it would require the constant use of reification, which would drown the usefulness of the ontology in order to pursue an unnecessary purity. Another solution would be the creation of the class Situation, which would involve a set of physical entities in a definite configuration. A Representation would then conform/not conform to the Situation where the Visual Recognition takes place. The possibility of using Situations for differentiating between the meanings of the visual would greatly help in those performance types where the use of the visual element is strongly symbolic. Similar achievements could be done with a connotation. However, the data demonstrate that, for now, the desire is small for such a complex structure, and a bigger effort from the community is required before a real contextual model could take place. Moreover, the necessity of grounding a visual recognition within a situation would considerably raise the complexity of both the recording and the querying of the data, without really great advantages from a practical perspective. The richness in representations of the same subject with very different attributes has been discussed in Section 4.2. While, when using the ontology, it is possible to assign identity to the various components of a representation and link the diverse types of depictions with the same subject or character together, it is not a fully resolved issue. If the attribute and the characters are not properly annotated, the machine can do very little to resolve a human error or bias. The co-referencing problem should be dealt with relying on human judgment, semantic automation (e.g., SILK) or using the similarity constraints outlined in Section 3.3: Topological, Feature, Alignment or Value information. While the feature can be easily defined using the ontology, the topology, alignment and value necessitate the help of diverse algorithms, such as the one used in machine learning, which can calculate the colour value present in two representation as well as their geometrical similarity, and then propose to the user the integration of the information. 7. Conclusions The article presents an overview of a functional theory of perception, defining the nuclear terms used in the classification of visual objects, and re-proposing some of the identified structures and process within a new ontology, called VIR, which extends CIDOC-CRM for describing the diverse type of representations of and relationships between visual features. Specifically, the ontology provides the possibility of defining relationships between prototypical objects used within a visual composition, iconographical objects, attributes of the representations, layering of diverse representations, compositionality, subject matter, personification, illustrations of a scene and others. Examples are provided for the core elements of the ontology, in order to explain both its use and rationale. The approach proposed, allows description of diversity in interpretation, as well as the rationale used for the classification of visual items and their interconnection with other objects that share the same symbolic meaning or refer to the same personification/phenomenon. Supplementary Materials: The VIR ontology, together with further documentation on its use, is available online https://w3id.org/vir. Author Contributions: Conceptualization, methodology, investigation and formal analysis: N.C.; administration, supervision conceptualization and validation: L.d.L. Funding: Part of this research was funded under the European Project Marie Curie ITN-DCH (Initial Training Network for Digital Cultural Heritage), which has received funding from the European Union’s Seventh Framework Programme for research, technological development and demonstration under grant agreement no 608013. https://w3id.org/vir Heritage 2019, 2 1209 Conflicts of Interest: The authors declare no conflict of interest. References 1. D’Andrea, A.; Ferrandino, G. Shared Iconographical Representations with Ontological Models. In Proceedings of the Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology, Berlin, Germany, 2–6 April 2007. 2. Gangemi, A.; Mika, P. Understanding the Semantic Web through Descriptions and Situations. In Proceedings of the on the Move to Meaningful Internet Systems, Sicily, Italy, 3–7 November 2003; Springer: Berlin/Heidelberg, Germany, 2003; pp. 689–706. 3. Tzouveli, P.K.; Simou, N.; Stamou, G.B.; Kollias, S.D. 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This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/3045790 http://dx.doi.org/10.3406/comm.1964.1027 http://dx.doi.org/10.5617/acta.5536 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction Literature Review Ontological Framework Introduction Cognitive Type Semantic Marks The Reading of the Image Ontology Introduction Case Studies and Problems Recognition of a Representation Application Examples On Representation and Attribute On Personification and Prototype On Historical Grounding Application Limitations Conclusions References 
work_qmxdse47xjd4zml6abstjmlylm	----	Architect or Bee? Mike Cooley: the human spirit EDITORIAL Architect or Bee? Mike Cooley: the human spirit Karamjit S. Gill1 Published online: 26 August 2016 � Springer-Verlag London 2016 As AI&Society moves through its 30th anniversary and marches into the extraordinary times and uncertain world we live in, we celebrate the pioneering work and contri- butions of Mike Cooley in the shaping and evolution of the journal over the past 30 years. The journal is now a major international forum for socially responsive technology, far beyond the initial aspirations of its founding board mem- bers. Mike Cooley as the Founding Chairman of the AI&Society Board has been a towering figure in the human-centred intellectual tradition, arguing for a unified cultural vision that embodies human centredness and the rich tradition of Italian Renaissance art and architecture. Mike has now reached a stage in his life with frail health and would like to pass on the baton to the Journal board members and future generations. In recognition of his work and inspiration, the AI&Society Board would like to honour Mike in asking him to become Patron of the Journal as he steps down from being the Board Chairman. Decades before concerns about the black swans of the algorithmic culture were raised following the recent finan- cial crash; Mike Cooley expressed deep concerns about the human price of automation at the work place. He argued for an alternative human-centred vision of socially useful tech- nology that facilitated the ethos of human–machine sym- biosis that he saw as a collaboration of human judgement and the calculation capacity of the machine. It is interesting to note that values of the human-centred tradition of the 1970s are reformulated in the emergence of socially useful artificial super intelligence, Big Data and Internet of Things. Similar questioning of technology led to the making of the European human-centred debate of 1970s. During this era of the rationalisation of industry and the ‘white of heat of tech- nology’, Mike Cooley together with a number of socially conscious thinkers felt perturbed about the hold of the sci- entific method of Taylorism and its implications for working life in the industrialised world, and by implication for the wider society. The concerns included the fear of automation of production processes, the mechanisation and by implica- tion dehumanisation of the work place, the loss of human skill and expertise, and ultimately the replacement of the human worker by the robot, leading to mass unemployment and exclusion. On the same time horizon, the computer as a symbolic embodiment of instrumental reason was seen to go further than the machine, being made in the image of man; an imitation of a certain aspect of man in the sense that it ven- tured into the realm of the imitation of human thought. This was seen as a step towards the reproduction of some key aspects of human traits if not their replacement. There was further unease at the idea of venerating the machine to the point that there is no difference between humans and machines, and betweenhuman thought and machine thought. This made human-centred thinkers recognise that humanity should take this risk seriously. The human-centred intellec- tual tradition saw problems with this instrumental rationality early on; it was clear that human activity itself could not be adequately understood, prescribed or pre-designed using the instrumental approach of Taylorism. Central to the human- centred vision is the notion of a symbiosis of the tacit dimension and the objective. This conceptualisation is founded on the belief that through the interplay between the richness of human skill and the calculation capacity of the machine, we can create a work place model that leads to much enhanced productivity and enriched human expertise & Karamjit S. Gill editoraisoc@yahoo.co.uk 1 Professor Emeritus, University of Brighton, Brighton, UK 123 AI & Soc (2016) 31:435–437 DOI 10.1007/s00146-016-0675-2 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s00146-016-0675-2&amp;domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s00146-016-0675-2&amp;domain=pdf through the combination of human ingenuity and techno- logical innovations. Cooley, however, warns us of the danger of the objectification of human knowledge and experience into information and data; this turns human judgement into calculation and in the process, turns the human into a robot and an appendage of the machine. Over the last 30 years since its inception, AI&Society has gone through its own evolution responding to the ongoing interlocution between technology and society, with its focus on human-centred systems during the first decade followed by its focus on machine intelligence, and now on knowledge, culture and communication. The socially responsive ethos of the Journal is rooted in the human-centred movement of the Lucas Workers’ Plan of 1976 (Cooley 1987), encapsulated in the statement that ‘there cannot be islands of social responsibility in a sea of depravity’. Mike Cooley as the architect of the Lucas Plan highlighted the problem of the technological advanced society of 1970s in noting: ‘the appalling gap between what technology could provide for society, and what it actually does provide’; ‘the tragic waste our society makes its most precious asset—the skills, ingenuity, energy, creativity and enthusiasm of ordinary people’; and ‘the myth that com- puterisation, automation and use of robotic devices will automatically free human being from soul destroying, backbreaking tasks and leave them free to engage in more creative work’. The Lucas Plan not only provided a critique of the mindless introduction of new machines and new work organisation, it laid the foundation and framework of the British Human-Centred movement. It conceptualised human–machine symbiosis as an alternative potential for work life, whilst at the same time becoming a catalyst for humanistic movements such as ‘Democratic Participation’ (Scandinavia) and ‘Humanisation of Technology and Work’ (Germany). These European human-centred move- ments provided a basis for the establishment of the ‘An- thropocentric Systems and Technology’ programme of the European Union during the 1990s. It was during the summer of 1981, at a summer school at the University of Sussex, that I was introduced to Mike Cooley’s seminal book, Architect or Bee? The Human/ Technology Relationship, edited by Shirley Cooley. A revised version of the book came out in 1987 under the same title but with a new subtitle that reflected the far-reaching impact of technology on society: Architect or Be? The Human Price of Technology (Cooley, ibid). This seminal work remains at the heart of the evolution of AI&Society. During the early 1980s, I launched and directed a mul- timedia project, CAAAT (Computer Aided Animated Arts Theatre) that formed the basis for the SEAKE (Social and Educational Applications of Knowledge Engineering) Centre at University of Brighton. The SEAKE Centre organised annual workshops and conferences on Artificial Intelligence for Society, with the first conference held at the University of Brighton in 1983. This 1983 conference was chaired by the late eminent philosopher, Prof. Michael Dummett, and attracted a wide range of international par- ticipants including Maggie Boden, Alan Bundy, Massimo Negrotti and Achille Ardigo (Italy), Ajit Narayan, David Smith, Richard Ennals, Satinder Gill, the late Bob Muller, Janet Vaux, Mahesh Uppal, the late Swasti Mitter, all of whom were to join the founding Boards of AI&Society. The work of the SEAKE Centre and the CAAAT projects became the catalyst for my sabbatical year at GLEB (Greater Enterprise Board, London) in 1985–86, to work with Mike Cooley, who was then the Executive Director of Greater Enterprise Board (GLEB). In 1981, the new Labour administration of London, under the leadership of Ken Livingstone, the first Labour Mayor of London, invited Mike Cooley to head the technology division of GLEB. Mike pioneered the setting up of Technology Networks in London in collaboration with universities, trade unions and community organisations. It was during this period at GLEB that Mike introduced me to the European researchers, Peter Brodner, Lauge Rasmussen, the late Howard Rosenbrock, Felix Rauner, Martin Corbett and John Palmer of the Guardian Newspaper, all of whom later joined as founding members of the Journal Boards. During my time at GLEB, Mike sponsored my research visit to the USA, and introduced me to the late Prof. Joseph Weizenbaum, who in turn introduced me to Marvin Min- sky, Seymore Pappert, Hubert Dreyfus, David Noble, Terry Winograd and Bob Lawler. In New York, I met with James Finkelstein and at New Mexico I met Derek Partridge, and Maggie Boden introduced me to Daniel Dennett. They were all to join the Journal as founding members of its Boards. It was during my visit to MIT that the idea of launching an international journal on Knowledge and Society was formulated, during my seminar at the MIT Media Lab organised by Bob Lawler. Both Profs. Weizenbaum and Marvin Minsky supported the idea of a Europe-based journal. On my return to GLEB, I proposed to Mike that we launch the Knowledge and Society journal and he agreed to support it with a focus on the human- centred ethos of science and technology. The proposal for the journal was put to a number of publishers, but it was Springer that responded positively to the idea of a Euro- pean AI journal. I had earlier edited a book, Artificial Intelligence for Society (Gill 1986), that was based on the proceedings of the 1983 conference with the same title. This was published by Wiley, and coincidently Jamie Cameron who was with Wiley during the publication of my book had moved to Springer as Managing Director to set up their London office, and he liked the idea of inaugu- rating his move with a new international journal dealing with technology and society. It was Jamie Cameron who 436 AI & Soc (2016) 31:435–437 123 suggested the title AI&Society whilst accepting Mike’s subtitle of human-centred systems. So in July 1986, AI&Society: Journal of human-centred systems was laun- ched by Springer. The North American inauguration of AI&Society took place during the annual conference of Computers for Social Responsibility in 1987, chaired by Terry Winograd and supported by Doug Schuler, and Doug later joined the advisory board of the Journal. The focus of the tacit dimension of knowledge in both the Journal and the AI for Society book, attracted a visit to Brighton (where I lived) by two Swedish researchers, Bo Goranzon and Ingela Josefson, who were then leading a European research network on Language, Culture and Artificial Intelligence and were planning an international conference on the same theme. The founding members of AI&Society, Mike Cooley, Hubert Dreyfus, Tore Norden- stam, Kjell Johnanessen, David Smith, Richard Ennals, Massimo Negrotti and myself participated in the confer- ence of Language, Culture and Artificial Intelligence, held in Stockholm in 1988. Soon afterwards in 1989, a sym- posium on human-centred systems was organised by the SEAKE Centre to explore a collaborative future in human- centred systems between European and Japanese researchers. The symposium was chaired by Mike Cooley and hosted by the visiting Japanese research delegation sponsored by the Japanese Ministry of External affairs and led by the late Yuji Masuda and the late Fumihiko Sato- fuka, both of whom later joined the AI&Society Boards. This initiative led to the EU–Japan collaboration in Anthropocentric Systems and Technology under the FAST programme of the European Commission. AI&Society became a catalyst and forum for promoting the contribu- tions of this collaboration, cultivating cultural perspectives of the human-centred movement beyond the European tradition. This collaboration laid the foundation for the EU–India Cross-Cultural Innovation Network coordinated by Karamjit S Gill. This collaboration between European and Indian universities was built upon the human-centred ethos of socially useful systems and technology. Whilst European researchers, Francesco Garibaldo from Bologna, David Smith from Wales and Lauge Rasmussen from Denmark, were already involved in AI&Society, Mike Cooley introduced Dietrich Brandt from Aachen to join the EU–India Network and the Journal, and along with the India network members Ashok Jain and Partha Banerjee, they became members of the Journal boards. In recognition of his international contributions, Mike Cooley was invited by the European Commission to chair the steering com- mittee of the EU–India Cross-Cultural Programme. AI&Society again became a catalyst for bringing together research networks from Europe, Japan, India, Australia and the USA for promoting the human-centred ethos of science and technology. As the Journal progressed into twenty-first century, Mike welcomed Victoria Vesna, Sha Xin Wei, Toyoaki Nishida and Larry Stapleton to the editorial board. His human-centred vision of technology and society has always been warmly supported by our Computing Editors, Beverley Ford and Rachel Roberts at Springer, London. Mike’s contribution to the evolution of AI&Society over the last 30 years is just an illustration of his international achievements, which include the launch of the LUCAS Plan in 1970s, the award of the Alternative Noble Prize in 1981, the setting up of Technology Networks at GLEB in 1980s, the steering and chairing of international work- shops, conferences and symposia on human-centred sys- tems, and his continuing emphasis on ‘purpose’ over ‘cause and effect’ in designing systems and technology that enrich human creativity and liberate us from the militancy of automation. Cooley sees the computer as not an isolated phenomenon but rather as a technological continuum of human history over last 400 years or so. During this period, humanity has witnessed the decline of feudalism, the growth of capitalism, the weakening of religion as the leading edge of European society, and the emergence of Cartesian science. The central issue of concern to Cooley has been our overwhelming faith in science and techno- logical change. Science, to him, is a shallow and arid soil in which to transplant the sensitive and precious roots of our humanity. Science and technology are now leading edges in society—in rather the same way religion was in medi- aeval times. This new religion confuses people with ana- lytics and technical jargon, and the apparent rationality of symbolic logic bludgeons people’s common sense. It is no surprise that there is a concern among many socially ori- ented researchers about the existential risk of artificial super intelligence, and ethical and social implications of big data and Internet of Things. Cooley is concerned that we confer life on machines and diminish ourselves, and consequently we are gradually becoming observers of life rather than its active participants. Anthony Barnet sums up Mike’s vision of humanity in his Introduction to Architect or Bee?: for Cooley, ‘the future is not ‘‘out there’’ in the sense that a coastline is out there before somebody goes to discover it’. It has yet to be built by human beings (Cooley, op.cit). AI&Society editors will always cherish Mike’s humanistic spirit and generosity and wel- come him in his new role of ‘Patron’ of AI&Society. References Cooley M (1987) Architect or Bee? the human price of technology. The Hogarth Press, London Gill KS (ed) (1986) Artificial intelligence for society. Wiley, London AI & Soc (2016) 31:435–437 437 123 Architect or Bee? Mike Cooley: the human spirit References 
work_qnfhx6hv5nec7jyitp6cnj6ouq	----	Genitourin Med 1990;66:33-40 Syphilis in art: an entertainment in four parts. Part 1 R S Morton Abstract It is widely recognised that the history of art reveals the contemporary attitudes ofsocieties and artists to changing patterns of social and sexual behaviour. This collection of artistic creations shows that representations of syphilis in art, over more than five centuries, are consistent with this view. The first quarter century of the morbus gallicus in Europe, starting in 1493, coincided with the spread of Renaissance influence, including printing. A host of pamphlets with woodcut illustrations reflected public alarm at the epidemic proportions and severity of the new disease, with its disabling and sometimes deadly consequences. Also revealed in these early works are the astrological and theological beliefs of disease causation as well as identifiable and serious attempts at public education. These twinned themes of under- standing and educational endeavour recur together throughout the centuries and take many forms as man attempts to outline and influence attitudes and so improve his medico- social health. Attitudes to causation changed with experience so that by the beginning of the 17th century the morbus gallicus is no longer a mere contagion but recognised socially and represented artistically, as a morbus venereus. Its clinical presentation had changed remark- ably from the alarming early days; and so too had its prevalence-from epidemic to endemic proportions.' We find that the artists of both the 16th and 17th centuries, while somewhat reticent about syphilis, are nonetheless at pains to suggest that sex is not without its serious side effects. Their artistic exhortations suggest women as the source of the disease, so that we find Venus shown as both ideal love and the source of contamination. Such attitudes contrast strikingly with what follows. The 18th century is characterised by the sophisticated elements of European societies taking an irreverent or satirical view of sex and syphilis. In England this is reflected in the works of Hogarth and other notable caricaturists. The fierce castigation of men and their follies is matched by more under- standing and rational attitudes towards women. But it does not last. Indeed it seems almost to invite the studied censoriousness of the 19th century with women again stigmatised as a source of degradation and disease. In essence this collection of examples of syphilis in art illustrates wide variations in attitude and behaviour from alarm to tolerance and from intolerance through liberality to licence and much the same again, over nearly five centuries. Just occasionally an artist seems to be ahead of his times. Of all the irqtriguing aspects of the history of syphilis few surpass the contemporary observations on changing personal and public attitudes to the disease. To date the most fruitful sources of such information have been medical or sociological textbooks and popular literature. This study aims to broaden the perspective. The endeavours of a wide variety of artists of diverse gifts from the 15th to the 20th century are assembled chronologically and an attempt is made, by collating them, to extend our understanding of how men, and occasionally women too, have viewed one of the hazards to which their flesh is heir. The Fifteenth Century and before The oldest known artistic representation of syphilis is said to be a fourth century Peruvian jug (fig 1). It is one of a series ofmatching clay jugs each manifesting a disease, such as leprosy and leishmaniasis. They are to be found in the Musee de l'Homme in Paris.2 Most of the jugs are of heads and show damage which may be the result of regular usage or be sacrificial or punitive in origin. As in the example shown, noses seem to be most at risk. The jug measures 19.2 x 16 6 cms. It shows a Department of the History ofMedicine, The Univer- sity, Sheffield, UK R S Morton 33 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / G e n ito u rin M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.6 6 .1 .3 3 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ Morton Figure 2 Devil's mask depicting leprosy. Fourteenth century. Courtesy Wellcome Institute Library, London. Figure I Syphilitic mother with child. Fourth century, Peru. Rose coloured ceramic 192 x 116 mm. Courtesy Musee de l'homme, Paris. mother and her partially wrapped child. The child appears to be healthy but the mother has two features of congenital syphilis-a broad, depressed bridge to her nose and upper central incisors notched at their free margin. How much of the nasal and dental change is due to wear or to wanton or accidental damage cannot be determined. Damage to sculpt noses is also not uncommon. The devil mask (fig 2) from a fourteenth (sic) century house in Carcassonne in southern France, is an example.3 In the common practice of devil mask sculpture the skin is leonised and this with the corneal damage, is compatible with 14th century writings on leprosy. On the other hand, the corneal damage could be the result of weathering or it could be meant to represent a common feature ofcongenital syphilis, that is, interstitial keratitis. The piece is included to emphasise the need to continue the search for pre-Columbian evidence of syphilis in Europe. Figure 3 shows another pre-Columbian work ofart allegedly showing evidence of syphilis. It is the High Altar of St Mary's Church in Cracow, Poland. It was Figure 3 Veit Stoss. Altar of Church of Our Lady (St Mary's) Cracow, 1477-89, 13 x 1I metres. Courtesy of Phaidon Press Ltd. 34 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / G e n ito u rin M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.6 6 .1 .3 3 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ Syphilis in art: an entertainment in four parts. Part I Figure 4 Detail of Figure 3. Courtesy of Phaidon Press Ltd. carved in wood between 1477 and 1489 by Wit Stoss (?1440/50-1533) a leading German sculptor.4 He was summoned by the church's congregation to under- take the commission. His talent was widely recog- nised. Stoss was well known for having carried the hypnotic Italian Renaissance style of wood carving over the Alps and to have integrated it successfully with established Gothic church architecture. The work, measuring 13 x 11 metres, was completed four years before Columbus returned from his first voyage of discovery in 1493. The early Renaissance features most in evidence are the very expressive faces ofthe Apostles (fig 4) and the extremely realistic crumpling of their drapery. It has been said that two of the Apostles show stigmata of congenital syphilis, one having a broad, depressed bridge to his nose and the other having hydro-arthrosis.5 "The Birth ofVenus" (fig 5) appropriately heralds the outbreak ofthe morbus gallicus in Europe. It was painted in 1485-6 by Sandro Botticelli. His Madon- na-like, Renaissance Venus, so coy and self-cons- cious of her nudity, contrasts with the original Roman concept ofthe goddess. The same may be said about her fuller figure. The gentle breeze which so lyrically disturbs her hair and billows her garments, ensures her stately passage to the shore. The shower of falling roses suggests that a welcome awaits her.6 This contrasts sharply with the presence of a serpent round the goddess's neck. The theme of Botticelli's painting is said to be based on a poem, by one Poliziano, in which the heroine dies of consumption. The snake symbolises the fatal illness. Considering the epidemic circumstances which were soon to follow the execution of this work, one cannot escape noticing the resemblance of the serpent to a treponeme. Albrecht Durer (1471-1528) would be in his twenties during the early years of the morbus gallicus epidemic. Figure 6 is a self-portrait.6 What a serious young man he appears to be. He was well aware of the widespread nature of the new disease but, like most of his contemporaries, he did not at first associate it with sexual activity. Later, in August 1506, however, Durer wrote from Nuremberg to his patron, Willibald Pirckheimer; "Give my compliments to our Prior and tell him to pray to God for my protection, particularly from the French disease; I know of nothing of which I am more badly afraid right now. Nearly everybody has it, and many people are quite eaten up by it so that they die".7 Some of 35 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / G e n ito u rin M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.6 6 .1 .3 3 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ Morton Figure 5 Sandro Botticelli. The Birth of Venus, 1485-6. Canvas 1 725 x 2- 785 metres. Courtesy Galleria Degli, Uffizi, Florence. Durer's contemporaries had first hand experience of the ravages of the dreaded disease. In one case, "his nose dropped off'; and in another, a doctor friend, "the face had been eaten away by pox, with exception of a bit of beard on the chin".8 The realities and indignities of the disease were to be faced by another great artist some 400 years later. When Paul Gauguin returned to the south seas in 1895, his former mistress refused to care for him because she was frightened by his late syphilitic sores. Durer is the most celebrated of all German artists.9 From his travels he brought to Nuremberg the real feel and quality of the Italian Renaissance in art. Of all his great skills he was probably at his best in making woodcuts. But it is not only his skill with the knife, the chisel and the gouge which is outstanding. He introduced into the printing of woodcuts, fresh forms, a sense of space and a harmonious balance of light and shade. The latter often meant cutting several blocks and using an over-printing technique previously untried.8 An example ofDurer's work accompanied a broad- sheet issued to the public on 1st day of August 1496. F14. .. i Figure 6 Albrecht Darer. Self Portrait, 1498. Panel 520 x 410 mm. Courtesy of the Prado, Madrid. 36 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / G e n ito u rin M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.6 6 .1 .3 3 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ Syphilis in art: an entertainment infour parts. Part I tlhnmueadp0atncerlpiiacmse 3OW_ -tM *rcot°°*4 Vwtcfiw besss mquA. C qa(u flee qorenegtnffito 0tsdmI ewcimn aWtin* C_l"Cew.faqf$.pee.. jXe-ruqgoLn_egm Dw m flamenhutu a--~--*a_:6- - jt.eSeecEppuwpe Sdka iepeetE 3t --en-- e__f- maa u tpsNnuaaf.akimqIae p4qTaWWat'pr',.i Polk dgn" vit nitAm pate" a. azrzx 4 Toes I tnp40e,lCG,2b~ WESt' nePt.' v --- !_ tens cirnt*ntnMuWqAbtWtfi 7- tp igu?a \4ca\cu\csd/c/tnntttifib .# cccc ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ pa*cepfltStlm ~,ntestIawp.ftcnIbMp*acm S C.eaEkb6nuC\a'*wnidlp-sm'to J*ebu fWi jQndk.flbrnWi 'Utf t Z .-sat s&; -abcni~~~~~~~~~~~~~~fo44 VftPdb b~~~~~~~~~~~~~~b eod7bo m-G&w F!01 f_Zl S WAM"f_W_ Pinow CPU balon sabw 9 r -.cta -r ¢ucihIm-_homba 31_ 1 0ikw3kw1 VUmn* Fk9 _ §i aN fqD emrs*wwrbemscawb rap"g __ botiArrbd.mwn S.m -- -_-A- .S *e m u fi _ iunbeiq fnau rtfSfItsKt 4t0Pn Ckbc(mnRIO@1e'llmnfldb*WI4 Sstjutcmewvab*c'sc atos coe aba44ct6Misiuit*omamen" ~~~~~~~ci)*4is KPNi 14 &"cm# pblU.lCtuac4mcroqUb ulm pqn Cu4_ q+rM*fCattecos,tdFweW0b&> _ s P~TWinbShlPttIDdPR41P10 O3+(" ZCC4 'CPQeW" rn turpcect4)e ft spon:eff S r;Ctr4ttpepn4ssp nb, Mew J3UCWJ:l mC46p qSfnCo i ft t Ckptitt&Wlow>niblA ceeatt@pe Jnccz PimWectIucrptg&Xeon*s wai5t4z¶ne;CpittWfWn'bc Naez I 4'9 4 Figure 7 Albrecht Darer, Woodcut illustration accompanying broadsheet by Theodoricus Ulsenius, Nuremberg, I August 1496. Courtesy Wellcome Institute Library, London. '16-MOONCgMpOM rVftNM3ft*ftApbdpj" f 37 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / G e n ito u rin M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.6 6 .1 .3 3 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ Morton The broadsheet was written by the Nuremberg physician, Theodorus Ulsenius. The first edition, but not the second, was dated (fig 7). In it Ulsenius apologises for his, a doctor's excursion into poetry. He warns about the new disease that is sweeping the country, describes its signs and symptoms, says it cannot be cured and purports to establish a direct connection between the epidemic and the great astrological conjunction of 1484. Note this date on the globe with the signs of the Zodiac. The decastich, a poetic footnote by Ulsenius, admonishes the reader to keep calm and advises any victim of the disease to drink the waters of Jordan, presumably a reference to 1 Kings, 5, 14, where Haaman is cured of leprosy by dipping himself seven times in the river Jordan. Durer's major woodcut (fig 7) is available in colour and this illustrates some points more dramatically than the black and white specimens.'` The stance of the figure is new to German work and shows how early Durer came under the influence of the Renais- sance and utilised its new ideas. The general treat- ment of the subject, the sparse landscape and such details as the signs of the Zodiac round the dated globe are pure Durer. The astrological origins of the new plague, presented in the text, are thus clearly emphasised. The same dramatic authority depicts the victim of the disease. The lantern-jawed, woebegone figure is undoubtedly a victim of the morbus gallicus, or French disease. Note the palmar syphilides and the lesions of limbs, trunk and face. For some observers the fact that the gaunt figure is dressed in the contemporary French style will underline Durer's artistic command of the subject. The innovation of printing in Europe had developed to a useful level and coincided with the growing epidemic. No less than ten pieces of illus- trated pamphlet literature, varying from the simple and informative to the earnest and educational, appeared in the last five years of the 15th century. These tracts made the new disease a living question ofthe day and in their informative way contributed to the early Renaissance of science. A few samples repay study. Grunpeck's tract was accompanied by two wood- cut prints by Sebastien Brandt, already famous for his "Ship of Fools". Like Ulsenius's piece, Grun- peck's text is dated 1496. Figure 8 shows the crowned Virgin with barbed shafts passing from her child to punish the infected. Note their sores and ulcers. The Emperor Maximilian I, who ruled much ofEurope at ..7 -- Figure 8 Sebastian Brandt. Title page woodcut illustration accompanying tract by Joseph Grunpeck. First State. Basle, September 1496. Courtesy Wellcome Institute Library, London. _,., _ . .............. .... ... . . ... . o . s 38 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / G e n ito u rin M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.6 6 .1 .3 3 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ Syphilis in art: an entertainment in four parts. Part 1 Figure 9 Sebastian Brandt. Woodcut illustration accompanying tract by Joseph Grunpeck. (Figure 8). Courtesy Wellcome Institute Library, London. Figure 10 Sebastian Brandt. Title page woodcut illustration to second state (edition) of tract by Joseph Grunpeck. 17 December 1496. Courtesy Wellcome Institute Library, London. the time, stands ready, with his Knights, to receive a crown. His banner bears the Crusaders' cross and the shield shows the Hapsburg eagle, Maximilian's family crest." Figure 9 accompanied the broadsheet. It shows that four planets, in ascendency, "met" in the sign of the Scorpion-incidentally the sign of the Zodiac concerned with the genitals. Treating the infected like sinners to be punished was in keeping with Maximilian's edict which stated that the new plague was the direct result of sin and blasphemy. In contrast to the Ulsenius pamphlet the emphasis here is on theological origins for the epidemic rather than on the astrological. A new woodcut (fig 10) was used in a reprint of Grunpeck's pamphlet. In it the rays from the child Jesus are beneficial rather than barbed. The supplicants look fitter and the rash-ridden corpse is separated from them. The emphasis now is towards a more Christian compassion, a virtue so seldom manifest in this study that a cynic might be forgiven for observing that the change was prompted only because Grunpeck and his woodcutter Brandt had become aware that they were in competition with the astrological ideas of causation. On the other hand we could see, and with a greater sense of generosity, the influence of Maxi- milian himself. He did after all have a reputation for {{4~~~~~~.1 r }g1aSrslc x rf tr rrrxrr rrlr.Itl1rf r und ;Ia zbtCnum trrrli rl i c tkrI; lIitici ll;1i13 fralit.n g nbuiwh br-3l&JfbltlEf28l 415 l RllkCf}[ttt tillt Figure 11 Georg Stuchs. St Denis, Patron Saint of Syphilitics. Nuremberg 1496. Woodcut 350 x 240 mm. Courtesy Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich. 39 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / G e n ito u rin M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.6 6 .1 .3 3 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ Morton Figure 12 Bartholomseus Steber. Cure of the Morbus Gallicus. Vienna 1498. Courtesy Wellcome Institute Library, London. being "a gifted amateur in politics". In educational terms Grunpeck's pamphlet was something of a failure; he himself contracted the disease and at the age of 30 years, published a book doubting the value of available treatments. Nevertheless Grunpeck's tract was popular and ran into many editions. My first excursion into print on the subject of the history of syphilis stemmed from learning that St Denis was the patron saint of syphilitics.12 In the course of researching the subject I managed, while holidaying in Bavaria, to have a painted woodcut with a prayer to St Denis unearthed from the vaults of the Bayerische Staats Bibliothek in Munich." It is dated 1497 (fig 1 1) and measures 35 x 24 cms. It is the work of Georg Stuchs. A reproduction in colour is available to all.'0 There was of course but one Christian church at the end of the 15th century. It maintained a cadre of fourteen emergency saints."` When the morbus gallicus ravaged Europe St Denis was "next on call". When drafted at short notice emergency saints were always shown in woodcut prints with the Virgin. Prints like this one were painted before being hung by one's bedside. The prayer asks St Denis to intercede and seek the alleviation of suffering. Each intercessor should follow the example of the syphilitic supplicant, bottom left, or the poxy pen- itant, bottom right. The last ofthe early woodcuts to be included is one by Bartholomew Steber published in 1498 (fig 12). It has the merit ofdealing with treatment by mercury of a couple with morbus gallicus. Mercury was to remain the syphiliticus' salvation for 400 years. Like the last woodcut, and in contrast to the two earlier ones, Steber's piece must have appealed to many of the infected on the grounds of personal identifica- tion. Note the physician on the right in his profes- sion-designating pointed cap. He is indulging in the age-old diagnostic pastime of urionoscopy. The second physician declares his ecclesiastical allegiance by wearing a biretta. For fear of absorbing too much mercury, developing gingivitis and becoming eden- tulous, he is applying the ointment with a spatula. From the look of his sunken jaws I fear his caution comes too late. Address for reprints: Dr R S Morton, Department of the History of Medicine, The University, Sheffield, UK 1 Morton RS. A Clinical Look at the Morbus Gallicus. Eur J Sex Trans Dis 1985;2:133-40. 2 Schadewaldt H, Binet L, Maillart C, Veith I. Kunst and Medizin. Cologne: De Mont Schauberg, 1967;64:77-9. 3 Boyer C. Devil's mask depicting leprosy; 14th century. Bull Soc Franc Hist Med 1930;24:203-4. 4 Gombrich EH. The Story of Art. 11th ed. London: Phaidon, 1966:201-3. 5 Francis W. Les malades de la peau figurees au retable de Wit Stowsz a Notre Dame de Cracovie. Aesculape 1933;33:242-55. 6 Wood C.One Hundred Masterpieces. London: Hamlyn, 1972, figs 19 & 21. 7 Lange K, Fuhse F. Albrecht Du'rer's schriftlicher. Nachlass: Halle, 1893:33. 8 Wittkower R, Wittkower M. Born Under Saturn. London: Wenderfield and Nicholson, 1963; 160, 284. 9 Panofsky E. Albrecht Du'rer. 2 Vols. 3rd Edn. Oxford University Press, 1948;2:48. 10 Sudhoff K. Graphische und Typographische Erstlinge der Syphilis Literatur aus Jahren 1495-6. Munchen: Kuhn, 1912. 11 Sudhoff K, Singer C. The Earliest Printed Literature on Syphilis: being Ten Tractsfrom the Years 1495-8. Florence: Lier, 1925. 12 Sargent W. Battle for the Mind. London: Heinemann, 1957. 13 Morton RS. St Denis, patron saint of syphilitics. Br J Venereal Dis, 1961;37:285-8. 14 Adwater D. The Penguin Dictionary of Saints. Hardmonsworth: Penguin Books, 1965. 40 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / G e n ito u rin M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.6 6 .1 .3 3 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ 
work_qr7jfmppwffs5iza72ecrn5zua	----	286 bo ok reviews in their text Italian Renaissance Art (1997). Ironically, some colleagues have hesitated to adopt it for classroom use because they feel there’s too much of that ‘other’ stuff and not enough on the familiar trio and the familiar names. Sigh. Their more Burkhardtian ‘Italian Renaissance’ is another invented tradition that, like the modern Siena palio with its acrobatic flag-throwers and vortical horse race, becomes so familiar, romantic and evocative and we easily fall for thinking that it’s the real thing. nicholas terpstra, University of Toronto Parker, Deborah. Michelangelo and the Art of Letter Writing. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Pp. xii, 156 + 11 b/w plates. ISBN 978-0-521-76140-6. $74.13. Deborah Parker’s Michelangelo and the Art of Letter Writing fills an important gap in Michelangelo studies. As the author herself explains, the fifth and final volume of Michelangelo’s indirect correspondence was published only seventeen years ago in 1994 and it is not just the artist’s letters that demand re-examination in light of the recently completed carteggio indiretto, but also earlier biographies that have depended, to greater or lesser effect and degrees, on these letters and the vicissitudes of their critical tradition. Parker’s insightful four-chapter study aims at explicating key aspects of the artist’s epistolary rhetoric and the interests or investments to which they point. It begins most appropriately with a review of  select Michelangelo biographies from different points in history and an analysis of corresponding portrayals of the artist to which the pens of these various biographers gave rise. The first chapter, “The Role of Letters in Biographies of Michelangelo,” focuses exclusively on the periods of the Renaissance, and the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Parker reveals how both the transmission history of the letters and vested interests of different biographers influenced their characterization of the artist. Specific attention is given to biographies by Giorgio Vasari (1550, 1568), Hermann Grimm (1860), Aurelio Gotti (1876), John Addington Symonds (1892), and Giovanni Papini (1952). Though Ascanio comptes rendus 287 Condivi’s 1553 biography is mentioned, it is not submitted to analysis in this chapter. The discussion of more recent biographies consists in a brief handling of E.H. Ramsden’s Introduction to her translation of Michelangelo’s letters, and to book-length studies by George Bull (1995), Anthony Hughes (1997), and William Wallace (2009). Parker furnishes a particularly sensitive reading of the biographies by Vasari and Symonds; her analysis of Vasari is consistent in its conclusions with earlier scholarship by Paola Barocchi and Paul Barolsky. Because this chapter discusses the impact of positivism, Neoclassicism and Romanticism on the reception of Michelangelo’s letters, it constitutes an important contribution to Michelangelo studies more generally. The remainder of Michelangelo and the Art of Letter Writing provides an alternative reading of the letters to their customary treatment “as sources for biographical reconstruction or the dating of artworks” (2). In the ensuing three chapters, Parker substantiates her claim that Michelangelo was as much “a fabulist” in his letter writing as Vasari was in his Vite (46). Chapter two, “From Word to Image: Epistolary Rhetoric and Artistic Form,” turns to a discussion of what Parker rightly identifies as the three key traits of Michelangelo’s writing — the use of aphorisms, repetition, and contrast: aphorisms as a means of giving advice or as a tool for structuring an argument, and repetition, through such devices as polyptotons and hyperbole, to achieve opposition in his texts. Highlighting these traits, Parker argues that a good portion of Michelangelo’s letters constitute a “crafted performance” (64) demonstrating the author’s “keen sense of audience” (70). This chapter additionally includes twenty-three images and a discussion of Michelangelo’s art to which his letters are juxtaposed and compared so as to reveal his “predilection for contrast” as “a deep structuring principle” of his worldview (81). The topos of enslavement is traced through Michelangelo’s correspondence in chapter three, “From Experience to Expression: Representations of Captivity in Michelangelo’s Art, Poetry, and Letters.” In this micro-study, Parker identifies a recurrence of certain linguistic constructs in the artist’s correspondence — the words “fatica” (toil), “obbligato” (obligation) and “servire” (to serve), in particular — that demonstrate the artist’s association of art with servitude and duty. This chapter serves as a valuable complement to Neoplatonic analyses of Michelangelo’s works. It also constitutes a salutary reminder on the importance of keeping Michelangelo’s daily life firmly in mind when examining or 288 bo ok reviews speculating about more intimate, and so less obviously attested, aspects of his character. Another series of key words and clusters are examined in the fourth chapter, “Michelangelo’s Words: Saying, Doing, Meaning,” which focuses on the recurrence of terms like “animo”(mind) “volontà” (will) and “intendere” (to understand/to mean). Parker reveals that one of the artist’s primary concerns seemed to be articulating his intentions, comprehending those of others, and harmonizing the two. Honour and profit are also discussed in the letters and in light of Florentine culture of Michelangelo’s day. In Michelangelo and the Art of Letter Writing, Parker successfully identifies “prevailing tendencies in the way Michelangelo chooses to express himself ” (144). Ultimately, she arrives at similar conclusions to those studying his poetry: Michelangelo writes in a concise manner, now conscientiously, now spontaneously, with the twin penchants of developing a single concept or maxim within a given text, on the one hand, and of fleshing out the same idea in varied, or even opposing ways, across different ones, on the other. If a criticism of this volume were to be ventured, it would be that Parker does not discuss the implications of her work for the field of Michelangelo studies more broadly. Though she identifies a place for her contribution at the beginning of her volume, she does not then reflect upon it at the end. What ultimately emerges from Parker’s analysis is the characterization of Michelangelo as a man tormented by, yet dutifully committed to serving through toil, those to whom he is bound by obligation (family, patrons, and often, friends) — individuals whose desires and expectations, much like his own, he is troubled to understand as well as to meet. This portrait alone renders Michelangelo and the Art of Letter Writing a valuable addition to the field.   sarah rolfe prodan, University of Toronto 
work_qrgfwpeionck3mquhuuq3scbku	----	A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy JAAS PAPER P ub li sh ed o n 15 J an ua ry 2 01 5. D ow nl oa de d on 1 7/ 03 /2 01 5 16 :4 9: 21 . View Article Online View Journal | View Issue A comparative st aISMN-CNR Area della Ricerca Roma1, via Sa Italy. E-mail: giuseppina.padeletti@cnr.it bElettra Sicrotrone Trieste, Strada Statal Basovizza, 34149 Trieste, Italy cDip. Chimica, Università di Milano, via Go Cite this: J. Anal. At. Spectrom., 2015, 30, 738 Received 31st October 2014 Accepted 15th January 2015 DOI: 10.1039/c4ja00382a www.rsc.org/jaas 738 | J. Anal. At. Spectrom., 2015, 30, 7 udy of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy C. Guglieri Rodriguez,b P. Fermo,c L. Olivib and G. Padeletti*a Lustre is characterized by a few hundreds of nanometers thick heterogeneous metal-glassy nano- composite film. Silver and copper nanoparticles are dispersed within the outermost layers of the glaze, conferring peculiar optical properties to the whole material. Even though numerous studies have been carried out, many questions regarding the chemical composition, the mechanism of metal reduction and the optical properties of lustre still remain. Synchrotron radiation techniques are suitable for detailed studies on metal-glassy nano-composites. For example, X-ray absorption fine structure spectroscopy (EXAFS) can provide useful information on oxidized phases or atomic clusters dispersed in an amorphous medium, otherwise not achievable with diffraction techniques. In this work, we try to get information on the chemical state and local environment of metal atoms in the lustre and in the blue pigment, in order to achieve a better understanding of the reduction mechanism of different metals present and the manufacturing techniques related to different productions (Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas). In particular, different samples characterized by lustre and blue decorations only, produced in Spain and in central Italy in XIV–XV cent., are compared. Introduction Lustre was one of the most sophisticated techniques for the decoration of majolicas during the Renaissance period. Lustre consists of a thin metallic lm containing silver, copper and other substances, like iron oxide and cinnabar, applied in a reducing atmosphere on a previously glazed ceramic. In this way, beautiful iridescent reections of different colours (in particular gold and ruby-red) are obtained.1–17 The character- isation and the study of lustre decorated majolicas is of considerable interest for archaeologists and scientists, offering possibilities to produce pottery with outstanding decoration following ancient examples, because nowadays artisans are interested in the reproduction of ancient recipes and procedures. The lustre technique, originally developed in Iraq, later spread to Egypt, Persia and Spain, following the expansion of the Arabian culture during medieval time. From Spain (Valencia, Manises and Malaga), lustre was introduced in the Italian peninsula, mostly in central Italy where it was used to decorate the most beautiful majolicas. Gubbio and Deruta, located in the Umbria region, were important centres for this activity. It has to be pointed out that the Italian laria km 29.5, 00015 Monterotondo, RM, e 14-km 163.5 in AREA Science Park, lgi, 19, 20133 Milano, Italy 38–744 artisans developed their own style, for the decorative motifs, as well as for what concerns the metallic colours obtained. For this reason, the local artisans became keepers of rened and secret recipes and techniques for decorating ceramic objects. Mastro Giorgio Andreoli da Gubbio was the most important artist in this eld, whose works can be found in the most important museums of the world and are very well known in the antique trade market, as well.22–24 His fame is due to the fact that optimising the lustre technique, he obtained outstanding results that were not possible to replicate during his time, and even at present. He was specialised mainly in two kinds of reects: an intense golden-yellow and a ruby-red colour. The original recipes and technological procedures used at that time, were and remained a secret aer his death and until today. In the specic case of the Renaissance period, information on the majolica production technology were passed on by the Knight Cipriano Piccolpasso from Casteldurante, who wrote a treatise entitled “The three books on the art of the Potter” (1558). However, the information reported by Piccolpasso could not be entirely correct, due to the aforementioned reasons regarding the secrecy. From his information, the objects were obtained in the desired form and red in a rst step at 1000 �C. Once cooked and cooled down, the object was immersed in the glaze constituted by sand, potassium carbonate, salts and oxides, such as lead and tin oxides, nely ground and mixed with water. Aer drying in air, it was possible to decorate the glazed surface by using very so This journal is © The Royal Society of Chemistry 2015 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1039/c4ja00382a&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2015-02-20 http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c4ja00382a http://pubs.rsc.org/en/journals/journal/JA http://pubs.rsc.org/en/journals/journal/JA?issueid=JA030003 Paper JAAS P ub li sh ed o n 15 J an ua ry 2 01 5. D ow nl oa de d on 1 7/ 03 /2 01 5 16 :4 9: 21 . View Article Online brushes, made by the bristles of goat, and sometimes, for very ne details, whiskers of cats and mice, too. Following this and aer spraying with a transparent paint, the object underwent a second ring at 900 �C. At the end of this process, the object was complete. However, if we refer to lustre, another step was required to achieve the result of producing reections and iridescence on majolica. Ancient documentation indicates that the lustre was obtained using a mixture of copper and silver salts, clays, ochre and other optional substances, dis- solved or dispersed in vinegar and ring it in a reducing atmosphere at about 600 �C in special kilns made for this purpose, where probably it was easier to control both the temperature and the atmosphere. Lustre decoration in Italian and Hispano-Moorish majolicas has been characterized by numerous analytical techniques. Today it is well known that the lustre lms are formed by copper and silver clusters of nanometric dimensions. The colour and the properties of the lustre lms depend on the elemental composition of the impasto applied on the ceramic surface, as well as on other factors like the metallic nanocluster dimen- sions, the ring conditions, the underlying glaze composition and the procedures used.1–9 Regarding possible differences between both productions, it has been found that Italian arti- sans also added bismuth to the impasto for preparing the lustre, probably in order to keep down the cost. In fact the cosalite phase (Pb2Bi2S5) has been disclosed in the Italian lustres and it can be considered as a marker, which allows us to attribute an object of uncertain provenance to the Italian production.25–30 In order to obtain a deeper knowledge of the differences between the two different productions, X-ray absorption spectroscopy (XAS) was used, which is a powerful tool allow- ing the determination of the local environment around a selected atomic species. To date, some studies have been carried by XAS on gold and red lustre, both of Italian and Hispanic provenance.18–21 Even if the oxidation state of copper and silver has been studied extensively, blue decora- tions on lustre samples have not yet been investigated in depth. In this work, a XAS study has been carried out to get infor- mation on the chemical state and on the local environment of metal atoms in the glaze, lustre and blue pigment. For this reason, samples produced in Spain and central Italy in XIV–XV centuries were compared, with the aim to achieve a better understanding of the technological processes and materials used in different productions. Experimental Two samples have been chosen to investigate possible differ- ences in the coordination state and local environment of metal atoms constituting the blue pigment and the lustre in Italian and Hispano-Moorish productions. The sample L19 represents a typical Italian Renaissance production, from central Italy, and LIM1, one of Hispano-Moorish lustre. Both fragments are in very good conservation state, never restored or treated. The two samples were given to us by Gubbio Town Council Museum and This journal is © The Royal Society of Chemistry 2015 classied by experts as original shards. In particular, both shards were already the objects of archaeometric investiga- tion.3,5,7,25,26 XAS measurements were performed on XAFS beamline, installed on a bending magnet source, at Elettra Sincrotrone Trieste.31 The storage ring energy was operated at 2.4 GeV with a ring current of 159 mA. A Si (111) double-crystal monochromator was used to monochromatize the white beam, and higher harmonics were rejected by detuning the Bragg's angle of the second crystal. The beam size was set at 1 � 1 mm2 and the photon ux was about 1010 photons per s. All spectra were collected at uorescence mode, with a Silicon Dri Detector. In addition several references (CoO, Co3O4, NiO, metallic Cu, CuO and Cu2O) were measured in transmission mode. The spectra were recorded at both the X-ray Absorption Near Edge Structure (XANES) and the Extended X-Ray Absorption Fine Structure (EXAFS) regions. The analyses were performed according to standard procedures.32 XAS spectra were normalized, aer background subtraction, to the averaged absorption coefficient at high energy. EXAFS signals (k) were extracted from the spectra by using the Athena soware,33 removing the background by a cubic spline polynomial tting and normalising the magni- tude of the oscillations to the edge jump. The corresponding pseudoradial distribution function around the photo- absorbing atom has been obtained by performing the Fourier transform, FT (using a sine window). The tting to the exper- imental data was carried out in both R-space and q-space, by using the programme Artemis, also within the IFEFFIT package.33 The study was focused on Hispano-Moorish LIM1 and Italian L19 samples dated back to XIV–XV cent. XANES and EXAFS spectra were recorded at the Co K-edge (7709 eV), Ni K-edge (8333 eV) and Cu K-edge (8979 eV) in the blue pigmented regions of the pottery, and at the Cu K-edge at the lustre. The FT of the EXAFS signals were ltered in the interval k ¼ 2.5 # k # 11.7 Å�1, k ¼ 2.3 # k # 8.8 Å�1 and k ¼ 2.5 # k # 10.7 Å�1 for the Co, Ni and Cu K-edge, respectively. SEM-EDX data were acquired on thin sections obtained starting from cross-sections prepared aer embedding the shards into a suitable resin. The instrument used was a Hitachi TM1000 equipped with an energy dispersive X-ray Spectrometer (Oxford Instruments SwiED). Results and discussion 1. SEM measures on the blue pigment The SEM images acquired on the two thin sections of the samples LIM1 and L19, are shown in Fig. 1. At a rst glance, it is evident that the Hispano-Moorish sample shows a glaze, which is more homogeneous with respect to the Italian one. Further- more, the glaze thickness in LIM1 is lower (about 100 mm) with respect to that of the Italian lustre (between 160 and 180 mm). EDS analyses (not shown) evidenced the presence of iron, cobalt and nickel in the blue parts, in accordance with what was previously observed for the blue colour.3 J. Anal. At. Spectrom., 2015, 30, 738–744 | 739 http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c4ja00382a Fig. 1 SEM images acquired on thin sections corresponding to the analysed samples LIM1 and L19. Fig. 2 Comparison of Co K-edge XANES spectra of the blue pigments in L19 and LIM1 samples, and CoZnSiO4, Na2O–CaO–4SiO4 5% CoO doped, CoSiO4, CoAl2O3, CoO, Co3O4 spectra as references. Fig. 3 Moduli of the Fourier transform (dots ¼ experimental signals; line ¼ fits) for the blue pigment in (a) LIM1 and (b) L19 samples at the Co K-edge of the first coordination shell, fitting range: 1 # R # 2. Table 1 Best fit parameters obtained from the analysis of the first shell contribution of the Co K-edge EXAFS spectra: N coordination number; r distances; s2 Debye–Waller factor. Filtering range: 2.5 # k # 11.7 Å�1. Fitting range: 1 # R # 2 Sample Coord. N r (Å) s2 (Å2) L19 Co–O 3.8 � 0.1 1.97 � 0.01 0.005 � 0.001 LIM1 Co–O 3.5 � 0.4 2.1 � 0.01 0.006 � 0.002 JAAS Paper P ub li sh ed o n 15 J an ua ry 2 01 5. D ow nl oa de d on 1 7/ 03 /2 01 5 16 :4 9: 21 . View Article Online 2. XAS study on the blue pigment 2.1 Co K-edge. The Co K-edge XANES spectra are shown in Fig. 2, together with some references, as indicated in the caption. LIM1 and L19 spectra present the same shape. The main characteristics are a sharp pre-peak, labelled A, and a broad white line, B, followed by a hump-like feature C. The low detailed structures indicate the poor crystalline quality of the Co environment. The FT of the EXAFS signals is shown in Fig. 3. For both cases, it consists of only a peak at 1.6 Å, corresponding to the rst coordination shell. Due to the low crystallinity of the samples, further peaks are not found. The signals were tted to a rst Co–O shell. The interatomic distances, coordination numbers and Debye–Waller factors obtained from the best ts, are reported in Table 1. The tting parameter R-factor (not shown) demonstrated the quality of the ts. 740 | J. Anal. At. Spectrom., 2015, 30, 738–744 The energy edge for both L19 and LIM1 samples is at 7718 eV, corresponding to a Co2+ oxidation state. Previous results for similar samples34 suggested the presence of Co3O4 and CoO in the blue pigment. Because Co3O4 is a mixed valence compound, containing Co2+ and Co3+ ions, it does not seem to be signi- cantly present in any of the analysed samples. On the other hand, we cannot exclude the presence of CoO. However, the comparison of the XANES proles (see Fig. 2) indicates that the main contribution to the L19 and LIM1 spectra cannot arise from that compound. This is clear due to the lack of the pre- peak A and for the shied position of peak B. Indeed, the relatively intense pre-peak A indicates that Co2+ is in tetrahedral sites (or in a highly distorted octahedron). That would be expected, because previous studies about the blue pigmenting properties of Co ions had already established that the blue colour is due to tetrahedral Co2+ compounds.35 In Fig. 2, some crystalline references of several Co2+ compounds frequently used for pigmentation have been included: CoZnSiO4, 36 CoAl2O4 and CoSiO3. 37 For further information, we have added the spectrum of Na2O–CaO–4SiO4 5% CoO doped (labelled as NaCa).36 In CoZnSiO4, CoAl2O4 and NaCa, the Co ions are located at tetrahedral sites, while in CoSiO3 the structure around Co corresponds to a distorted octahedron. The spectral proles of L19 and LIM1 samples look very similar to those of CoZnSiO4, and particularly to the one of NaCa. The similarity of This journal is © The Royal Society of Chemistry 2015 http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c4ja00382a Fig. 5 Moduli of the Fourier transform (dots for experimental signals, line for fits) for the blue pigment in (a) LIM1 and (b) L19 samples at the Co K-edge of the first coordination shell, fitting range: 1 # R # 2.8 Å and 1 # R # 2.1 Å, respectively. Paper JAAS P ub li sh ed o n 15 J an ua ry 2 01 5. D ow nl oa de d on 1 7/ 03 /2 01 5 16 :4 9: 21 . View Article Online the spectra strongly suggests that Co ions are in an analogous tetrahedral compound. On the other hand, a simultaneous contribution of CoAl2O4 and CoSiO3 could lead to a similar spectral shape, which is reasonable, because the presence of Si and Al in both samples has been previously proved.30 The interatomic distances and coordination numbers obtained from the best t of the EXAFS signals (Table 1) coin- cide with previous results obtained for systems with Co in tetrahedral coordination.34,38 In the case of LIM1, the Co–O bond distances are slightly bigger, but still comparable to the reported results.39 This increase could be also due to a higher contribution of Co2+ ions in octahedral sites (nominally larger than those in tetrahedral sites) that would be higher in the Hispano-Moorish LIM1 than in the Italian L19 sample. It is important to note that these ndings are different from what was found by other authors,34 who studied old Sicilian shards (from Caltagirone site), and in which the blue pigments were found to be related to CoO and Co3O4. In any case, our ndings do not conrm important differences between the cobalt compounds forming the blue pigments under investigation, indicating an affinity between the Hispano-Moorish and Ital- ians with regard to the materials used in the ceramic produc- tion. Probably, this was facilitated by the active commercial exchanges and contacts between them at that time. 2.2 Ni K-edge. The Ni K-edge XANES spectra are shown in Fig. 4. The spectrum of NiO is also included. As expected, the samples are not crystalline and so their spectral shapes are not very sharp or dened. The FT of the EXAFS signals are shown in Fig. 5, and the interatomic distances, coordination numbers and Debye–Waller factors obtained from the best ts are reported in Table 2. The tting parameter R-factor (not shown) demonstrates the quality of the ts. The XANES signals are again identical for both samples. Considering the position of the energy edge at 8344 eV and the spectral features, it is most likely to correspond to an amor- phous NiO. The ts of the EXAFS signals (Fig. 5) support this, as the obtained coordination numbers and interatomic distances clearly match those of NiO (Table 2). In this case, the EXAFS Fig. 4 Ni K-edge XANES spectra of the L19 and LIM1 samples, and NiO reference. This journal is © The Royal Society of Chemistry 2015 signals are different for the Italian and the Hispano-Moorish samples. While the module of the FT of the L19 spectrum displays only a peak, corresponding to the rst NiO bonds, and a second peak is hinted in the LIM1, that second peak at 2.4 Å is enhanced. This second feature can be attributed to Ni–Ni bonds, hence in the LIM1 sample the NiO structure is ordered up to the second coordination shell (Ni–O–Ni). 2.3 Cu K-edge. Finally, the Cu K-edge signals was measured on the blue pigments present on both samples, that in some parts were covered with lustre and the results are presented in Fig. 6a. CuO, Cu2O and metallic Cu references are added for comparison. The spectral proles and the position of the edge indicate that copper is close to the Cu2+ oxidised form. However, the small modications of the edge and pre- edge could entail a started reduction of the Cu ions (similar structures in reduced CuO have been reported by several authors40). The EXAFS signals and the magnitude of the FT show that the Cu environments present short range order in all cases, and just the contribution of the rst Cu–O bonds is appreciable. The EXAFS contribution of this shell was isolated by Fourier ltering in the range from 0.8 # R # 2 Å, and then Table 2 Best fit parameters at the Ni K-edge: N coordination number; r distances; s2 Debye–Waller factor. Filtering range: 1 # k # 8.7 Å�1. For L19 the analysis corresponds to the first shell (fitting range: 1 # R # 2.1). For LIM1 the best results are obtained by including a second shell (fitting range: 1 # R # 2.8) Sample Coord. N r (Å) s2 (Å2) NiO Ni–O 6 2.08 Ni–Ni 12 2.95 LIM1 Ni–O 5.3 � 1.0 2.06 � 0.01 0.007 � 0.007 Ni–Ni 10.5 � 1.0 3.06 � 0.04 0.029 � 0.006 L19 Ni–O 5.3 � 1.0 2.04 � 0.03 0.011 � 0.008 J. Anal. At. Spectrom., 2015, 30, 738–744 | 741 http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c4ja00382a Fig. 6 Cu K-edge XANES spectra of CuO, Cu2O, metallic Cu foil and of LIM1 and L19 on the blue pigment (a) and on the lustre (b). Table 3 Best fit parameters obtained from the analysis of the first shell contribution of the Cu K-edge EXAFS spectra: N coordination number; r interatomic distances; s2 Debye–Waller factor. Filtering range: 2.5 # k # 10.7 Å�1. Fitting range: 0.8 # R # 2 Sample Coord. N r (Å) s2 (Å2) CuO Cu–O 4 1.95 Cu2O Cu–O 2 1.84 LIM1 blue Cu–O 3.5 � 0.4 1.92 � 0.01 0.006 � 0.002 L19 blue Cu–O 3.8 � 0.1 1.93 � 0.01 0.001 � 0.002 LIM1 lustre Cu–O 3.5 � 0.4 1.92 � 0.01 0.006 � 0.002 L19 lustre Cu–O 3.2 � 0.1 1.84 � 0.01 0.005 � 0.003 JAAS Paper P ub li sh ed o n 15 J an ua ry 2 01 5. D ow nl oa de d on 1 7/ 03 /2 01 5 16 :4 9: 21 . View Article Online analysed. The results of the ts are shown in Fig. 7a and the best parameters are summarized in Table 3. As expected, the interatomic Cu–O resulting distances are similar to the nominal values in CuO. 3. XAS study of the lustre The study of the lustre was focused on the Cu K-edge. XANES spectra recorded at lustre are shown in Fig. 6b. The EXAFS signals were also measured and the moduli of the FT consist only in one peak; just the contribution of the rst Cu–O bonds is appreciable. The EXAFS contribution of this shell was isolated by Fourier ltering in the range from 0.8 # R # 2 Å. The ltered signals and the results of the ts are shown in Fig. 7b and the best parameters are summarized in Table 3. Fig. 7 k2-weighted filtered EXAFS data (dots) and best fit obtained with parameters included in Table 3 (line) of the (a) blue pigment and (b) lustre in LIM1 and L19 samples, respectively. 742 | J. Anal. At. Spectrom., 2015, 30, 738–744 The XANES spectra registered in the lustred regions of both samples display signicant differences: the L19 XANES spec- trum presents the characteristic pre-peak and energy edge (8981 eV) of Cu2O. On the other hand, the spectrum of LIM1 does not show the pre-peak, and the position of the energy edge, at 8983 eV, is in this case closer to CuO. Anyhow, the differences in the edge indicate as well, a started reduction of the Cu ions. In agreement with the previous discussion, the obtained Cu– O interatomic distance found in the L19 sample is the same as that of Cu2O, whereas in the LIM1 sample the result matches the one of CuO. Our results for the Italian L19 sample are in agreement with previous work concerning similar samples from the Italian Renaissance.41 Those studies reported the presence of metallic Cu in the very near surface region of the lustre; however, in our case, when XAS measurements were performed in uorescence mode, the results pointed out the presence of Cu2O. The different outcome is due to the deeper sampling probing achieved by the uorescence mode (about 30 mm), not so sensible to the near surface zone. At the rst step of the formation of lustre, copper ions would migrate from the initial lustre paste to the glaze, and aer the ion penetration into the glaze. A reduction to metal Cu nanoparticles is expected, as a consequence of the reducing atmosphere created in the kiln. Therefore, the amount of reduced metallic copper would be distributed in the region near the surface, whereas at the deeper regions the Cu ions would be mostly in oxidized form. However, the results of the Hispano- Moorish LIM1 sample indicate a less reduced state of Cu ions, similar to that found for Cu ions in the blue part. Considering all, it seems feasible that the dispersion of Cu ions into the glaze occurred at a different efficiency for the L19 and the LIM1 samples, respectively. In this case, an interpretation could be made considering the use of different technological procedures generating different efficiency in the reducing phase and conse- quently generating copper ions in different oxidation states. Table 4 Elemental composition by ETAAS: * in ref. 3; ** in ref. 25; *** in ref. 26 Sample Cu/Ag Ag/Cu Bi/Ag L19 9.17* 0.11 5.6** LIM1 89.90*** 0.011 —*** This journal is © The Royal Society of Chemistry 2015 http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c4ja00382a Paper JAAS P ub li sh ed o n 15 J an ua ry 2 01 5. D ow nl oa de d on 1 7/ 03 /2 01 5 16 :4 9: 21 . View Article Online In Table 4, the chemical composition of the analysed shards is reported; it is possible to note that they present great differ- ences with regard to Cu/Ag ratios and the chemical composition certainly inuences the reduction process. As well, the bismuth reported in Table 4 conrms its use only in the Italian production.25–30 It is not possible to generalize its use as reducing agent, because it is not present at all in the Hispano- Moorish production, and is found as cosalite in the Italian production. In this compound the Bi oxidation state is +3, thus it is not present in its oxidized form, which would be indicative of its reducing activity. Conclusions In this work, two lustred majolica shards, from Hispano- Moorish (LIM1) and Italian (L19) productions, were studied in two different regions: on the blue pigment and on the lustre. On the blue pigment, XAS spectra were measured at the Co, Ni and Cu K-edge. Concerning the Co, for both productions the XANES spectra pointed out the poor crystallinity of the Co environment as well as a main contribution of Co2+ ions at tetrahedral sites. Besides, the analysis of the EXAFS signals show values of Co–O interatomic distances in agreement with the conclusions of the XANES. In the case of the Hispano- Moorish LIM1 sample, those distances are slightly higher, indicating a higher contribution of Co2+ at octahedral sites. The blue pigmentation could be due to a compound analogous to Na2O–CaO–4SiO4 5% CoO doped or to the contribution of both CoAl2O4 and CoSiO3. Ni is present as NiO but some differences arise between the two samples. In fact, despite the sample being amorphous, as expected, in LIM1 the NiO structure is ordered up to the second coordination shell (Ni–O–Ni). The Cu spectra in the blue parts are quite similar, and indicate that Cu is close to Cu+2, even though it is possible to observe, for both samples, an edge modication that suggest a started reduction of the Cu ions. With respect to lustre, signicant differences have been observed when the Cu XANES spectra are compared: L19 has a behaviour matching Cu2O. The behavior of LIM1 matches CuO, indicating for this sample, a lower degree of reduction. In this case, an interpretation could be made on the basis of the different technological processes used, producing at last, copper ions in different oxidation states. Acknowledgements M. Hunault, (Université Pierre et Marie Curie – Paris 6), Paris, J. Perez-Arantegui (University of Zaragoza), A. Longo (ISMN-CNR, Palermo) and M. P. Casaletto (ISMN-CNR, Palermo) are kindly acknowledged for helpful discussions. Gubbio Town Council is kindly acknowledged for having supplied the analysed samples. Notes and references 1 I. Borgia, B. Brunetti, I. 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This journal is © The Royal Society of Chemistry 2015 http://dx.doi.org/10.1039/c4ja00382a A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy A comparative study of Hispano-Moorish and Italian Renaissance lustred majolicas by using X-ray absorption spectroscopy 
work_qrtpg5s4mjacncvjhhflhxrulm	----	10.11648.j.ajaa.20130101.11 American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics 2013; 1(1) : 1-7 Published online May 2, 2013 (http://www.sciencepublishinggroup.com/j/ajaa) doi: 10.11648/j.ajaa.20130101.11 Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel Valerie Shrimplin Independent Art Historian, Gresham College, Holborn, London EC1N 2HH, England Email address: vshrimplin@dsl.pipex.com (V. Shrimplin), v.shrimplin@gresham.ac.uk (V. Shrimplin) To cite this article: Valerie Shrimplin. Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel, American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics. Vol. 1, No. 1, 2013, pp. 1-7. doi: 10.11648/j.ajaa.20130101.11 Abstract: It is argued that Copernican astronomy is a key theme in Michelangelo’s fresco of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel, and was incorporated with the knowledge, consent and approval of the Popes concerned. In Christian art, the iconography of the Last Judgment (depicting the three parts of the universe: heaven earth and hell) was traditionally based on a layered structure relating to perceptions of the flat earth covered by the dome of heaven according to biblical cosmology. In Michelangelo’s revolutionary work, Christ is significantly depicted as a beardless Apollonian sun-god, positioned in the centre of a dramatic circular design rather than at the top of a layered format. This appears to relate to the traditional Christian analogy between the deity and the astronomical feature of the sun, the neoplatonic cult of sun-symbolism and sources in Dante. More importantly, the influence of the Copernican theory of heliocentricity is argued, since interest in such ideas in papal circles is demonstrated at exactly the time of the commission of the painting (1533). This provides important evidence of papal support for Copernican heliocentricity as early as the 1530s. Keywords: Copernicus, Michelangelo, Heliocentric, Sistine Chapel, Dante 1. Introduction It has long been widely recognized that in Michelange- lo’s fresco of the Last Judgment (1541) Christ is depicted as a classical, beardless ‘Apollonian’ sun-god in the centre of a ‘cosmic’ circular design. The possible influence of Copernicus’s theory of heliocentricity as a contributory factor to Michelangelo’s interpretation has been considered by art historians, but consistently been rejected on the grounds that Michelangelo’s fresco was finished in 1541, two years before the publication of Copernicus’s Revolu- tions in 1543. The idea has thus always been dismissed without full exploration and consideration. Art historians have seemed hesitant to delve into astronomical texts, and astronomers are perhaps less familiar with Renaissance frescoes. This interdisciplinary paper (which is a summary of the publication Shrimplin, V. Sun-symbolism and Cos- mology in Michelangelo’s Last Judgment, Truman State University Press, 2000) presents the argument that, al- though not definitively provable in a scientific sense, it can indeed be argued that Copernican heliocentricity is reflect- ed in Michelangelo’s fresco. The Sistine Chapel, part of the complex of St Peter’s in Rome, was built in 1475 on the site of an earlier thirteenth century chapel. Cosmological associations of the chapel are immediately evident since it measures 40.93 metres by 13.41 metres wide (threescore cubits by twenty cubits), that is, the precise dimensions given in the Bible for the temple of Solomon (1 Kings 6), which in turn was widely held to have been made in imitation of the shape of the universe. The Chapel ceiling (painted by Michelangelo 1508-12) [1] is well known for the depiction, according to Genesis, of the creation; of light and dark; of the universe; and the planets and humanity. On the altar wall, Michelangelo's monumen- tal fresco of the Last Judgment (painted much later, 1536-1541) depicts, by contrast, the end of the universe. The overriding theme of the Chapel is thus ‘the Beginning and the End’ – of the universe, the planet and humanity. Inter- preted in terms of ‘Creation and Last Judgment’, rather than the modern ‘Big Bang and gravitational collapse’, the problems remain the same to be grappled with, even if the solutions or interpretations vary. But the overriding cosmic theme of ‘the beginning and end of the world’ is clear in Michelangelo’s frescoes in the Sistine Chapel. Situated over the altar wall in the most important chapel in Christendom, Michelangelo’s fresco of the Last Judgment could well lay claim to being the single most significant painting in the world and the immense importance of the fresco was immediately recognised by Michelangelo's con- temporaries. Almost as soon as it was completed and 'unveiled' on All Saints' Eve, 31 October 1541, Michelan- gelo's Last Judgment became a focus for controversy as well 2 Valerie Shrimplin: Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel as admiration. Michelangelo's contemporary the Venetian critic Pietro Aretino was not alone in his comments on its allegorical and hidden meaning, when he observed in 1545 that 'Michelangelo has imitated those great philosophers who hid the mysteries of human and divine philosophy under a veil, that they might not be understood by the vulgar'. Literally hundreds of writers have attempted to ‘decode’ and explain the fresco and its hidden symbolism ever since. [2] 2. Cosmology in Church Art and Archi- tecture The main argument presented here is that Copernican as- tronomy is a key theme in the fresco, and was intentionally incorporated by Michelangelo, with the knowledge, consent and approval of the popes concerned. Judaeo-Christian cosmology, or the view of the universe, was traditionally reflected in Church art and architecture, for example in Early Christian and Byzantine domed architecture, which was imitative of natural eye perceptions of the flat earth covered by the dome of heaven. Decoration and decorative cycles (as at the Dome of the Rock, Jerusalem) confirm a symbolic approach, with blue or starry vaults confirming the intention to represent the heavens rather than simply create a covering for a space in such examples. Apart from Church architecture in general, particular subjects from the scriptures also lent themselves especially well to cosmological interpretation. This was particularly relevant in version of the Last Judgment as the one scene in Christian theology where Heaven, Earth and Hell (the three parts of the known world) together with their relative phys- ical positions in the cosmos would naturally be depicted at one time, together. Complex ideas concerning heaven, earth and hell, and the fate of humanity, were illustrated together in a single image, in a distinctly layered design. In innu- merable examples of the Last Judgment, the three parts of the known universe would be depicted in relation to the hierarchical order, according to which all would be judged – as the ‘good’ would ascend to heaven as the ‘bad’ would be sent down into hell – creating a strong disciplinary mes- sage in the absence of widespread effective judicial sys- tems. 3. Michelangelo and the Sun-Christ Analogy Michelangelo’s dramatic circular design, focussed on the central figure of Christ depicted as a beardless ‘Apollonian’ sun god varies enormously from the layered and hierar- chical approach in traditional versions of the Last Judgment. It contrasts dramatically with numerous previous versions from medieval and early Renaissance times, exemplified by the sculptural versions in Romanesque and Gothic cathe- drals or in Italian Renaissance examples where the ar- rangement is consistently layered in a horizontal format with Christ at the top of the hierarchical design. In compar- ison, Michelangelo’s fresco is predominantly circular in design, with Christ, depicted as the sun, at centre. Lines which could be construed as descriptive of Miche- langelo’s fresco: “In the midst of all assuredly dwells the Sun. For in this most beautiful temple who would place this illuminary in any better position … some call him the Light of the World …. So he remains, governing the family of Heavenly bodies which circles around him” actually come from Copernicus’s Revolutions, Book 1, chapter 10 [3] Yet Copernicus’ book was published in 1543, two years after the great fresco was completed and clearly many years after it was commissioned and designed. Be- cause of the discrepancies in the dating of De Revolutioni- bus and the dating of Michelangelo’s fresco, the possibility of a link between the two was never seriously and fully explored. The art historian Charles de Tolnay wrote (1943-60): “By means of the central place which Michelangelo re- served in his composition for the Sun (Christ-Apollo) .. The artist came of himself to a vision of the universe which surprisingly corresponds to that of his contemporary Co- pernicus. Yet he could not have known Copernicus’ book which was published in 1543 – at least seven years after Michelangelo conceived his fresco.” [4] The analogy between Christ and the Sun and the possible influence of Copernicus’ theory was seen as impossible because the publication date of the book postdated the completion of the fresco. However if we look at the sort of sources used by Michelangelo – Christian theology, clas- sical and Christian iconography, Dante, neoplatonism and, it will be argued, contemporary scientific theories, a case can be made for the undoubted influence of Copernicus’ heliocentric theory on the fresco. Typical images of Apollo, such as the Apollo Belvedere (Greek, 2nd century BC, found in Italy in 1489), had been common in the Italian Renaissance. Many such examples were rediscovered in Renaissance Florence and Rome at the time when Michelangelo was working in those cities. An affinity with this type of image is very clear in Miche- langelo’s design. The concept of Christ as an Apollo-type figure was common in the very early days of Christianity, as a way of encouraging converts – and the idea of Christ as the sun or the light of the world is demonstrated by in- numerable biblical references (particularly in the Gospel of St John, especially 1:1-10 and 8:12). 4. Astronomy and Iconography The links between astronomy and Christian iconography and decoration can also be securely established, for exam- ple in the starred, domed ceiling mosaic of the mausoleum of Galla Placidia at Ravenna (c. 425) which echoes the flat earth view, covered by the dome of heaven. [5] The mosaic of God creating the world at Monreale (1175) is another instance where the cosmic meaning is clear, and the crea- tion cycle in St Mark’s Venice (11th century) also demon- American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics 2013, 1(1) : 1-7 3 strates the view of the cosmos in relation to its creation as a strong part of the Christian tradition. These examples cited (of which there are innumerable others) serve to demon- strate the important links between Christian iconography and astronomy. Another area is that of the orientation of Christian architecture. The east-west orientation of Chris- tian Churches, with the altar in the east, is well known, and evidenced by Christian Churches of all regions and periods. The basilica of St Peter’s in Rome is exceptional however since, situated to the west of Rome, the entrance faces Rome itself to the east. Few churches have their altars in the west, but it seems that the reason for this at St Peter’s was because the original basilica was built by the Emperor Constantine on the earlier foundation of a pagan sun temple where the aim was for the rising sun to enter the doorway. The Last Judgment in turn was normally placed on the west wall of a church, to face the setting sun at the end of the day. It was also located in that area in the west, as a stern re- minder to the congregation on exit. The Sistine chapel has the same orientation at St Peter’s so Michelangelo’s Last Judgment is unusually placed on the west (but significantly the altar) wall of the chapel, where its presence is again a potent reminder of the end of the world and the fate of hu- manity. The ‘good’ however will have nothing to fear. Before the Sistine chapel (begun the year Michelangelo was born) was redecorated in late fifteenth and early six- teenth century by Michelangelo and others, it was known to have been decorated with a simple blue ceiling covered in stars, thus again establishing an astronomical connection. In addition, the links between the concept of the Last Judgment and the arrangement of the known universe were also extremely well established. A good example is the sixth century manuscript by the Syrian monk Cosmas Indi- copleustes in his Christian Topography. [6] This includes a version of the Last Judgment with Christ situated at the top and various ranks of humans, saints and angels ascending to heaven and descending to hell in a strict hierarchy. Sig- nificantly, there is a drawing of the universe in the same manuscript which clearly relates to the same layered format, showing an immediate and obvious relationship between the view of the universe and the concept of the Last Judg- ment. Apart from manuscript versions, this basic format for the Last Judgment can be seen, as mentioned, in innumera- ble examples, in the tympana of the great French cathedrals (for example Vezelay, 1125, Notre Dame, completed 1250), and in earlier Italian frescoes, such as Giotto’s version at Padua (c 1305-7) or altarpieces by Fra Angelico (1440) to name just a few examples. The hierarchical framework is very clear in Giotto’s work, in spite of the intrusive window. But Michelangelo changed all this in his version, introduc- ing a revolutionary new design. There are features of the old traditions still remaining in Michelangelo’s work but he had the existing window filled in, so as to make one vast space. As a result, a huge circular design predominates across the entire altar wall. The circular motion overcomes and warps into the traditional layered features of the icono- graphy of the design of the Last Judgment. 5. Dante’s Cosmology At this point it is important to remember the idea of the centre of the universe. According to Judaeo Christian tradi- tion, this was held to be Jerusalem in the flat earth system in accordance with Ezekiel 5:5. This is clearly illustrated in many so-called T-and-O maps, but there is evidence that the old idea of the sun-centred universe, as proposed by the ancient Greeks, such as Aristarchus, never completely died out. [7] The ‘astronomer’ Pope Gerbert, for example, had raised such ideas in c. 999. However, in general, it was the geocentric concept of the earth that displaced the flat earth view of the universe in Western Europe in the middle ages, as illustrated in fifteenth century Florentine manuscripts (such as the Diagram of the Cosmos 1038, 240v in the Bib- lioteca Riccardiana, Florence). This new geocentric view was generally perceived by educated persons, yet the prob- lem here was that if the idea of a circular universe with the earth at the centre was combined with the Biblical concepts of ‘up for heaven’ and ‘down for hell’ then hell would ap- pear to take the central place in a ‘haidocentric’ universe. This was clearly unacceptable and somewhat difficult to deal with. Dante therefore, in his Divine Comedy therefore selects a ‘dual’ scheme for his universe, with two systems separately presented: one for Inferno (centered on Hell) and a separate scheme for Paradiso (centered on the Heavens). Dante, and his illustrators, firstly presents a terrestrial sys- tem with Lucifer at the centre (as in the manuscript of the Topography of Hell, Florence c 1475, Biblioteca Nationale, Palat 320, fol.IIIv). In fact, the precise centre of hell is de- fined in Inferno 34 as the point at which Dante and his companion Virgil descend down the figure of Lucifer, then turn (at the point of Lucifer’s thigh) in order to start as- cending again towards the surface of the earth’s sphere. This view of hell in the centre of the earth or terrestrial system contrasts with Dante’s separate circular system in the Empyrean, focussed on a point of light – as depicted in, for example, Botticelli’s illustrations for the Divine Come- dy as a ‘sun-Christ’ type of figure or symbol.[8] Michelangelo was well known as an expert on Dante and would undoubtedly have been familiar with Dante and the issues that were raised here. His own poetry and that of his friend Vittoria Colonna also include very many references to Christ as the sun – and, lest any complex association be dismissed, it is important to remember that Michelangelo always avowed ‘I paint with my brains, not with my hands.’ Whilst it is inappropriate to read too much into artistic work, it is similarly incorrect to underestimate artists of the stature of Michelangelo. 6. The Neoplatonic view of the Universe Turning now to other contemporary ideas that would have been considered in this period, the importance of neoplatonic philosophy should not be underestimated. Mi- chelangelo – growing up as he did under the patronage of Lorenzo de Medici – was also an expert on neoplatonism 4 Valerie Shrimplin: Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel and the works of Marsilio Ficino.[9] Until Ficino translated Plato’s oeuvre from the Greek, few of Plato’s works had been known through the medieval period. The exception was Plato’s Timaeus which is well know for its theme of cosmology. He wrote, ‘Seeing that the whole is spherical, the assertion that it has one region ‘above’ and one region ‘below’ does not become a man of sense’ (Timaeus 63). The importance of this work in the early sixteenth century is demonstrated by the fact that in Raphael’s famous School of Athens, the figure of Plato holds this very volume under his arm. Michelangelo would therefore have been familiar with works by neoplatonic philosophers such as Ficino, Poliziano and Landino, which focus on interpretations of Plato’s cosmology. The writings of Marsilio Ficino are a major source for the symbolic identification of the Sun and deity as repeatedly found in Renaissance literature and philosophy. Probably Ficino’s most important work, and one which Michelangelo is known to have been familiar with, is his Commentary on Plato’s Symposium. The neop- latonic idea of the sun as symbol of the deity as well as the cosmological ordering of the universe are fully examined by Ficino. In Chapter 2, Part II of the commentary, he draws a direct comparison between this theme and Plato’s writing in the sixth book of Plato’s Republic where the concept of the light as the Good is fully explained by Plato. Early neoplatonic interpretation of Republic VI has also been argued as influential on St John’s Gospel, the so-called ‘Gospel of light’. Ficino continuously draws analogies between God and the sun which suggests his work as source material for Michelangelo. In addition, in fact, Ficino’s ideas were also said to have influenced Co- pernicus Since his book De Sole was required reading in Krakow when Copernicus was a student there. [10] 7. Copernicus’ Theory of Heliocentricity Set against this context of Renaissance scholarship, it is important to remember that Copernicus was exposed to and influenced by these ideas since he spent at least seven years in Italy in a very similar environment to Michelangelo, and this is also demonstrated in his writings which include ref- erences to sun symbolism and neoplatonic ideas.[11] As mentioned, the idea of any relation between Copernicus’ ideas on the sun-centred nature of the universe and Miche- langelo’s ‘sun-deity’ centred fresco had always been dis- counted because of the dating. Revolutions was published in 1543, two years after the completion of the fresco in 1541. However, closer investigation reveals (which is evi- dently more well known amongst astronomers than art his- torians) that Copernicus actually received the first copy of his book whilst on his death bed in 1543, at the age of 70. Born in 1473, Copernicus was almost exactly contempo- rary with Michelangelo (1475-1564), and information about his ideas and reputation had been growing and circu- lating from as early as 1500. Even before Copernicus, early Renaissance writers such as Buridan (1297-1358), Oresme (1323-82) and Cusanus (1401-64) had already considered similar ideas about the motion of the earth and a stationary sun and Copernicus acknowledged this in his Preface to Revolutions in 1543. Leonardo da Vinci also speculated that ‘the sun does not move’ (Notebooks, vol. 2, 152). Co- pernicus was invited to give talks in Rome in 1500 (when Michelangelo was also in Rome) and other publications such as the Commentariolus (1514) and the Letter against Werner (1522) circulated long before the publication of Revolutions (and the conception of the fresco). There is a great deal of additional evidence (for example comments made by Martin Luther) that Copernicus’ ideas about the sun as the centre of the universe were circulating widely in the 1530’s, if not the 1520’s.[12] It thus becomes clear that (since it was not necessary then as now for anyone actually to read Revolutions in order to grasp the heliocentric idea) it would have been very unlikely for Michelangelo not to have heard of Copernicus and his ideas. Copernicus’ heliocentric theory thus originated well be- fore the time of its publication (and his death) in 1543, as he himself explains in his preface. Copernicus’ fame had spread and had been widely recognized as a leading astro- nomer for many years. His early fame was also evidenced in art since he is allegedly portrayed in Giorgione’s painting of the Three Philosophers (which Giorgione painted in 1509, assisted by Sebastiano del Piombo – who also, coin- cidentally, helped Michelangelo in the early stages of prep- arations for the painting of the Last Judgment). The first reference to a commission for the Last Judgment was also made by Sebastiano, in July 1533. He wrote to Michelan- gelo that the Pope (Clement VII who was also a Medici and had known Michelangelo since childhood) had plans for a grand design in the Sistine Chapel. 8. Dating of the Last Judgment and Revolutions Short of the discovery of handwritten notes by the artist, confirming awareness and influence of Copernican helio- centricity in the design of the Last Judgment, it might be difficult conclusively to prove a direct link. The above evi- dence may suggest that ‘on the balance of probabilities’ this is so. However, what appears to support the argument ‘beyond reasonable doubt’, making Copernican influence very clear is that at exactly the time of the commission of the painting, Pope Clement VII specifically requested that Copernicus’ theories ‘concerning the motion of the earth’ should be explained to him at a special lecture to a group of dignitaries in the garden of the Vatican in June 1533. This event was recorded by the lecturer, Albert Widmanstadt inside the cover of a precious manuscript that the Pope gave him to mark the occasion: ‘Clement VII presented this codex to me, AD 1533 after I had, in the presence of Fra Ursino, Cardinal Joh. Salviati, Joh.Petrus Bishop of Viterbo and Matthias Curtius, medical physician, explained to him in the garden of the Vatican, Copernicus’ teaching concerning the motion of the earth. American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics 2013, 1(1) : 1-7 5 Albertus Widmanstadius’.[13] Widmanstadt (who coincidentally was the protégé of Egidio da Viterbo who had advised Michelangelo on the painting of the Sistine ceiling) was a colleague of Theodor- ic of Radzyn, the representative of Copernicus’ chapter of Varmia in Rome, so a direct link is easily traceable between Michelangelo and Copernicus at the time of the commis- sion of the Last Judgment. The dating of the Vatican lecture can be secured by the reference to Johannes Petrus, Bishop of Viterbo since we know this appointment was made in summer 1533. Salviati, also present, was a close friend of Michelangelo and the date ‘6.33’ on the manuscript sug- gests a date of June 1533. It is also well documented (Letter from del Piombo to Michelangelo dated 17 July 1533) that the Pope was then about to give Michelangelo a contract ‘for such as thing as you have never yet dreamed of’. Mi- chelangelo was in Rome until the end of June 1533 when he left for his last visit to Florence. Clement VII was in Rome that summer until he left in September on his way to France, during which time he met Michelangelo near Pisa to discuss the commission for the fresco (22 September 1533). So the Pope commissioned the fresco right after he had had Copernicus’ heliocentric hypothesis explained to him by a professional lecturer with direct and traceable links to Copernicus himself. Michelangelo’s early drawings for the fresco suggest a circular design and astronomical references,[14] and further evidence exists of Vatican interest in Copernican astronomy at this time. The famous letter of Cardinal Schoenberg to Copernicus in 1536 makes it absolutely clear that Coperni- cus’ hypothesis had been regarded as common knowledge for some time before 1536, that his talent was recognized by the Catholic Church and that the Vatican itself was urg- ing publication. The letter appears to be an urgent request for further information as the painting of the fresco got underway in summer 1536. Schoenberg wrote: ‘Several years ago word reached me … I had learned that you had formulated a new cosmology; you maintain that the earth moves, that the sun occupies the most central place in the universe…. I entreat you to communicate this discovery of yours to scholars.… (Cardinal Schoenberg, 1536)’.[15] This strongly suggests ‘approval’ rather than mere ‘know- ledge’ in Vatican circles in the 1530s. The Narratio Prima (published by Rheticus in 1540, followed by a second edi- tion in 1541), also publicized the heliocentric theory. Cle- ment VII had died by this time but the next Pope, Paul III Farnese (who had also grown up in the Medici household in Florence) supported both the fresco and the publication. In fact he was, significantly, the very person to whom Coper- nicus’ Revolutions was dedicated in 1543. Considering the implication of a dedication and the strict application of the papal imprimatur at the time, tacit approval of the ideas (even though presented as hypothesis by the publisher Osiander) is indicated. This mass of evidence, culminating with the documentary evidence of the manuscript, although it cannot be conclusive, clearly points ‘beyond all reasona- ble doubt’ to the probability that the hypothesis is not mere speculation. Although illustrations of the fresco prior to the cleaning and restoration in the early 1990’s show it with a ‘dark and desperate’ atmosphere, caused by smoke from the candles, the cleaned and restored fresco is amazingly lighter and brighter. Contemporary copies (such as that by Martinus Rota, 1569) demonstrate that this was much closer to the original state of the fresco and thus clearly fits in with the concept of sun and light symbolism in the fresco. [16] A summary of key dates – relating both to Michelangelo, Copernicus and the fresco itself, demonstrates significant overlap and coincidence (Table 1). Michelangelo was nur- tured on Catholic views of Christ as the light (sun), imbued with Ficino and Dante and then commissioned to paint what was traditionally a cosmological subject at exactly the time that the theories of Copernicus (himself imbued with Italian Renaissance and neoplatonic thought) were attract- ing huge attention in the Vatican. It is vital that this cosmo- logical interpretation should be given proper consideration and not dismissed because of misconstrued dating. To return to the concept of the central point of the un- iverse, it is interesting to consider what might be the central point in Michelangelo’s design. A formal visual analysis of the painting itself can reveal this, since in order to obtain the circularity of the design on such an immense area (the wall is over 17 metres high), a device such as a rotating plumb line would have been used. Surprisingly, the centre of both the circular movement and the focus of diagonal lines does not lie on Christ’s head or heart, but is evidently lower down. The centre of the design is actually focussed on Christ’s right thigh. A reason for this is to be found in the book of Revelation, 19:16 which reads – ‘ … and on his vesture and on his thigh was a name written, KING OF KINGS and LORD of LORDS. The next verse significantly begins ‘ … and I saw an angel standing in the sun …’. Thus Christ is depicted as Michelangelo viewed him – King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the Sun the centre of the un- iverse. 9. Conclusions Copernicus’ heliocentric theory seems, in the 1530s, to have acted as a precipitating factor to cause a number of existing concepts to fall into place. His scientific thinking appears to have been absorbed into popular thinking and it was no more necessary for those who were interested to read his actual book, anymore than many nowadays who talk about general relativity and black holes have actually read anything by Einstein. It should be remembered that it was not until 1616, over 70 years since its first publication, that Copernicus’ Revolutions was placed on the Index of Prohibited Books. The transition from the flat earth concept (with Jerusalem as centre) to geocentric, haidocentric, he- liocentric – and more recently galactocentric and now a-centric (expanding with no real centre) views of the un- iverse all add to our understanding and the importance of consideration of humanity’s place in the universe. Due to 6 Valerie Shrimplin: Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel Copernicus’ theory, the central position of humanity, in a geocentric universe, had been displaced from its key loca- tion but surely the idea of placing God personified as the sun at centre was far more logical instead. In a view cha- racterised by its elegant simplicity, this concept appears to be most logical. Lack of concrete evidence (the handwritten note) does not necessarily render a thing untrue. After all, Copernicus was unable to prove that the earth travelled around the sun. The heliocentric concept of the universe which placed a spherical Earth in a Sun-centered system proposed an en- tirely different approach to astronomy which was funda- mentally to change mankind’s outlook on the universe. The resultant difficulties of placing Heaven, Earth and Hell in their relative physical and symbolic positions had pre- viously been very straightforward. The new ideas were to lead eventually to the Church’s condemnation – but not, it must be remembered until 1616, much later than the time at which Michelangelo was working on his fresco of the Last Judgment. Although Copernicus’ theory was later con- demned, when the wider implications were acknowledged following the work of Galileo, during the 1530s-40s this was quite simply not the case. At the time that Michelan- gelo was painting his great fresco, the heliocentric theory appears to have generated more interest and support from the Catholic Church than previously recognised. As inter- preted by Michelangelo in his Last Judgment fresco, and linked to Copernican heliocentricity, the traditional analogy between Sun and Deity, at the centre of the universe, was vindicated at last. Table 1. Lives of Copernicus and Michelangelo. Copernicus 1473-1543 Michelangelo, 1475-1564 1491-94 Copernicus at Cracow 1496 Michelangelo in Bologna 1496-1503 C in Bologna, Rome 1500 Michelangelo in Rome 1500 Copernicus in Rome 1500-34 In Rome/Florence 1514 Copernicus' Commentariolus 1533 17 July 'a contract for such a thing...' 1514 Fifth Lateran Council, Copernicus’ advice sought 1533 22 Sept, Michelangelo, Clement VII and Paul III meet near Pisa 1524 Letter against Werner circulating 1533 'Bayonne' drawing of LJ 1531 Satires on Copernicus 1534 'Buonarroti' drawing of LJ 1533 Lecture in Vatican (June) 1534 Sept, Michelangelo returns to Rome; Clement dies; 1536 Schönberg's letter 1534 Paul III becomes pope 1539 Luther against Copernicus 1536 painting commenced (April/ May) 1540 Narratio Prima 1536 17 Nov, Papal breve on LJ 1541 Second edition of Narratio Prima 1541 31 Oct, completion/unveiling 1542 Revival of Inquisition 1542 Pauline frescoes commissioned 1543 Death, Revolutions published 1543 Superintendent appointed to safeguard the frescoes 1544/45 Opposition to Revolutions commences 1545 Opposition to Last Judgment commences Acknowledgments The present paper is a summary of work completed some time ago and thanks are expressed to the IAU (Symposium 260), the Conferences on the Inspiration of Astronomical Phenomena (INSAP), Journal of the History of Astronomy, the Science Publishing Group and others to enable me to present this work in various conferences and publications. Thanks are also due to Truman State University for publi- cation of the complete text where ideas discussed here in brief are fully explained and explored (Shrimplin, V. 2000, Sun-symbolism and Cosmology in Michelangelo’s Last Judgment, Sixteenth Century Essays and Studies, vol. 46 Kirksville Mo.: Truman State University Press, based on my doctoral thesis of the same title, 1991). References [1] Michelangelo Buonarroti, Last Judgment, fresco, Sistine Chapel, Vatican, Rome, painted 1536-41 (13.7 x 12.2 metres; 45 x 40 feet). Illustrations are available through the power- point presentation, reproduced on the IAU Symposium 260 conference website http://iaus260.obspm.fr/. Most works referred to (eg Michelangelo’s Last Judgment itself) are well known and can be viewed in widely available source books or on the internet. [2] For a good summary of Michelangelo and his works, see Linda Murray, Michelangelo, His Life, Work and Times (London: Thames & Hudson 1984). [3] Nicholas Copernicus, De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium, Nuremburg, 1543 (ed. J. Dobrzycki, London: Macmillan, 1968). [4] Tolnay, Charles de, Michelangelo, 5 vols. (Princeton: Prin- ceton University Press, 1943-60) vol 5: 49 and 122. [5] See K. Lehmann, 'The Dome of Heaven,' in W. E. Kleinbauer, Modern Perspectives in Western Art History, New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1971, pp. 227-270. [6] Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography (Vat. Gr. 699), cross-sectional diagram of the Universe, and depiction of the Last Judgment, sixth century. Vatican Library, Rome. Two out of the three surviving manuscripts were in Rome and Florence during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century, where Michelangelo could have had access. [7] It appears significant that the ancient heliocentric theory as proposed by Aristarchus of Samos was mentioned by Vitru- vius in his famous Ten Books on Architecture, with which Michelangelo was undoubtedly familiar. [8] For Dante see Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, transl. A Mandelbaum, 3 vols. (New York: Bantam, 1984), especially Inferno 34 and the Paradiso. [9] For Ficino and the neoplatonists, see in particular Marsilio Ficino, De Amore, Commentary of Plato's Symposium on Love (Dallas: Spring, 1985) Cassirer, Ernst, The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy (Oxford: Blackwell, 1963). [10] De Sole is reproduced in translation in A. B. Fallico and H. Shapiro (eds.) Renaissance Philosophy, New York: Modern American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics 2013, 1(1) : 1-7 7 Library, 1967. [11] For Copernicus, see for example Kuhn, Thomas, The Co- pernican Revolution (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1957), also Edward Rosen, Three Copernican Treatises (New York: Octagon, 1971). [12] See Koestler, A. The Sleepwalkers. A History of Man's Changing Vision of the Universe, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1984 and Kuhn, T. S. The Copernican Revolution. Planetary Astronomy in the Development of Western Thought, Cam- bridge: Harvard University Press, 1957. [13] Bayersiche Staats Bibliothek Munich, Codex Graecus Mo- nacensis, 151, and see Ludwig von Pastor, History of the Popes, 24 vols., (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1901-28)10:336 and 12:549, also Leopold Prowe, Nicholas Copernicus (Berlin, 1883), 1:273. [14] The ‘Bayonne’ drawing, 1533 shows a clearly circular design, whilst the Buonarotti drawing (1534) alludes to the Virgin Mary in accordance with Revelation 12 ‘a woman clothed with the sun and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of 12 stars’. [15] Schönberg’s letter was included in the printed versions of Revolutions in 1543. [16] See Mancinelli F. et al., Michelangelo e la Sistina. La Tech- nica, il restauro, il mito, (Rome: Palombi, 1990) for infor- mation on the cleaning and restoration. 
work_qu6jbtsoijd4vp6e4ul2csukey	----	114 UDC 514.11(091)(450) 371.3::514 Teaching Innovations, 2014, Volume 27, Issue 3, pp. 114–126 Mª Rosa Massa Esteve1, PhD Universitat Politècnica de Catalunya, Centre de Recerca per a la Història de la Tècnica, Barcelona, Spain Original Paper Historical activities in the mathematics cla- ssroom: Tartaglia’s Nova Scientia (1537)2 Abstract: Th e History of Mathematics can be developed both implicitly and explicitly in the classroom. Learning about the history of mathematics can therefore contribute to improving the integral education and training of students. Th e aim of this paper is to analyze the proposal of an historical activity based on the work Nova Scientia (1537) by Tartaglia for use in the mathematics classroom. Th is analysis will show the use of a Renaissance mathematical instrument for measuring the height of a mountain in order to motivate the study of trigonometry in the mathematics classroom, as well as to show students the explanatory role of mathematics in regard to the natural world. Key words: History of mathematics, teaching, Niccolò Tartaglia, Nova Scientia, geometry. Introduction Th e history of mathematics shows how math- ematics has frequently been used to solve problems concerning human activity as well as for helping to understand the world that surrounds us. Th e study of historical processes enables us to see how the dif- ferent aspects of mathematics have been combined together in a repeated interaction of application and development. Th us, for instance, geometry, which emerged as a means of measure, has evolved along- side the problems of measurement (Stilwell, 2010); trigonometry has developed in order to solve prob- 1 m.rosa.massa@upc.edu 2 Th is research is included in the project: HAR2013-44643-R. lems of both astronomy and navigation (Zeller, 1944), while algebra, which came more to the fore in problem-solving, especially in mercantile arith- metic during the Renaissance, was later to become an indispensable tool for solving problems in geometry and number theory (Bashmakova & Smirnova, 2000; Massa Esteve, 2005a). All this knowledge will un- doubtedly enrich the mathematical background and training of teachers, some references to which can be found in the historiography (Calinger, 1996; Fauvel &Maanen, 2000; Demattè, 2006; Massa Esteve et al., 2011; Lawrence, 2012). In Catalonia, the implementation of the his- tory of mathematics in the classroom has for twen- ty years inspired some individual initiatives among Received: 20 July 2014 Accepted: 10 September 2014 115 Historical activities in the mathematics classroom: Tartaglia’s Nova Scientia (1537) teachers (Romero & Massa, 2003; Guevara et al., 2008; Roca-Rosell, 2011; Massa-Esteve, 2012). Th e academic year 2009-2010 saw the inauguration of a new course for training pre-service teachers of mathematics in secondary education. Th e syllabus of this Master’s degree launched at the universi- ties includes a compulsory section on the history of mathematics and its use in the classroom. One of the subjects of this course concerns engineers-artists in the Renaissance, and a proposal of an historical ac- tivity on this subject in the mathematics classroom has been presented to pre-service teachers. Th e aim of this paper3 is to analyze the pro- posal of the implementation of this historical activ- ity, and also to discuss whether these kinds of activi- ties can show students how mathematics may play an explanatory role in regard to the natural world. Furthermore, the paper considers whether working with instruments and following the procedures rec- ommended to their users in the past off er students today a valuable appreciation of mathematical prac- tices (Heering, 2012). Usefulness of the history of mathematics in the classroom Th e usefulness of the history of mathematics in the classroom is described through our theoreti- cal and practical approach, with the aim of persuad- ing people about the need for this type of training. Knowledge of the history of mathematics can assist in the enrichment of teaching tasks in two ways: by providing students with a diff erent vision of mathe- matics, and by improving the learning process (Katz, 2000; Jankvist, 2009; Panagiotou, 2011). A diff erent vision of mathematics Teachers with knowledge of the history of mathematics will have at their command the tools for 3 A fi rst version of this paper was presented in the First Euro- pean Autumn School of History of Science and Education, 15-16 November 2013 in Barcelona. conveying to students a perception of this discipline as a useful, dynamic, human, interdisciplinary and heuristic science (Massa Esteve, 2003, 2010). Teach- ers in possession of such knowledge are able to show students a further relevant feature of mathematics – that it can be understood as a cultural activity. His- tory shows that societies develop as a result of the scientifi c activity undertaken by successive genera- tions, and that mathematics is a fundamental part of this process. Mathematics can be presented as an intellectual activity for solving problems in each pe- riod. Th e societal and cultural infl uences on the his- torical development of mathematics provide teach- ers with a view of mathematics as a subject depend- ent on time and space and thereby add an additional value to the discipline (Katz & Tzanakis, 2011). It is also worth pointing out that not only as teachers, but also as mathematicians, the history of mathematics enables us to arrive at a greater compre- hension of the foundations and nature of this disci- pline. Th e history of mathematics provides the devo- tees of this science with a deeper approach to an un- derstanding of the mathematical techniques and con- cepts used every day in the classroom. Knowing his- tory of our discipline helps us explain how and why the diff erent branches of mathematics have taken shape: analysis, algebra and geometry, their diff erent interrelations and their relations with other sciences. An improvement in the learning process Th e history of mathematics as a didactic re- source can provide tools to enable students to un- derstand mathematical concepts better. Th e history of mathematics can be employed in the mathematics classroom as an implicit and explicit didactic resource (Jahnke et al., 1996). Th e history of mathematics as an implicit re- source can be employed by teachers in the design phase by choosing contexts, by preparing activities (problems and auxiliary sources) and also by draw- ing up the teaching syllabus for a concept or an idea. In addition to its importance as an implicit tool for 116 Mª Rosa Massa Esteve improving the learning of mathematics, the history of mathematics can also be used explicitly in the class- room for the teaching of mathematics. Although by no means an exhaustive list, four areas may be men- tioned where the history of mathematics can be em- ployed explicitly in Catalonia: 1) for proposing and directing research work at baccalaureate level using historical material; 2) for designing and imparting elective subjects involving the history of mathemat- ics; 3) for holding workshops, anniversary celebra- tions and conferences, and 4) for implementing sig- nifi cant historical texts in order to improve under- standing of mathematical concepts (Massa Esteve, 2005b; Romero et al., 2007, 2009; Massa & Romero, 2009). Th is paper is focused on the last point, which is, presenting an historical text involving mathemat- ical instruments employed in the Renaissance. Historical activities in the mathematics classroom Historical texts can be used throughout the diff erent steps in the teaching and learning process: to introduce a mathematical concept; to carry out an exploration of it more deeply; to provide an ex- planation of the diff erences between two contexts; to motivate study of a particular type of problem or to clarify a process of reasoning. In order to use historical texts properly, teach- ers are required to present historical fi gures in con- text, both in terms of their own objectives and the concerns of their period. Situating authors chron- ologically enables us to enrich the training of stu- dents. Th us, students learn diff erent aspects of the science and culture of the period in question in an interdisciplinary way. It is important not to fall into the trap of the amusing anecdote or the biographical detail without any mathematical content. It is also a positive idea to have a map available in the class- room to situate the text both geographically and his- torically. Teachers should clarify the relationship be- tween the original source and the mathematical concept under study, so that the analysis of the sig- nifi cant proof should be integrated into the mathe- matical ideas one wishes to convey. Th e mathemati- cal reasoning behind the proofs should be analyzed and contextualized within the mathematical sylla- bus by associating it with the mathematical ideas studied on the course so that students may see clear- ly that it forms an integral part of a body of knowl- edge. In addition, addressing the same result from diff erent mathematical perspectives enriches stu- dents’ knowledge and mathematical understanding (Massa Esteve, 2014). Th e aims of the implementation of the histor- ical activity in the mathematics classroom are: a) To learn about the sources on which knowl- edge of mathematics in the past is based; b) To recognize the most signifi cant changes in the discipline of Mathematics; those which have infl uenced its structure and classifi cation, its meth- ods, its fundamental concepts and its relation to other sciences; c) To show students the socio-cultural rela- tions of mathematics with politics, religion, philoso- phy and culture in each period, as well as with other spheres; d) To encourage students to refl ect on the de- velopment of mathematical thought and the trans- formations of natural philosophy. Case study: Historical activity based on Tartaglia’s Nova Scientia (1537) Th e following historical activity deals with the work Nova Scientia (1537) by Niccolò Fontana Tart- aglia (1499/1500-1557). In order to implement the activity in the classroom, it is recommendable to be- gin with a brief presentation of the epoch, the Italian Renaissance, and Tartaglia himself. Th e aims of the author as well as the features of the work would then 117 Historical activities in the mathematics classroom: Tartaglia’s Nova Scientia (1537) be analyzed, and fi nally students are encouraged to construct an instrument for measuring degrees and to follow the reasoning of a signifi cant proof, in or- der to acquire new mathematical ideas and perspec- tives. Th is classroom activity would be implement- ed in the last cycle of compulsory education (14-16 year olds) with the aim of introducing and motivat- ing the study of trigonometry. Th e context: Th e Italian Renaissance Th e period from the mid-14th century to the beginning of the 17th century was the age of the Re- naissance, so called because it represented the re- birth of interest in the Greece and Rome of Classical antiquity (Rose, 1975; Hall, 1981). Artists, writers, scientists, and even the more refi ned craft smen looked to the past for inspiration and examples on which to model their own work. Latin and Greek were the indispensable keys to style, knowledge, and good taste, assuming a foun- dational signifi cance in education that they were to retain for centuries. Th is was the period of the great voyages of discovery which enlarged the horizons of the Western civilization, as did the invention of printing, with its incalculable eff ects upon human communication and the spread of information. Th e stream of wealth from the New World helped to de- velop the already growing economies of Europe. Th e major infl uence Renaissance had on technology was in the fi eld of architecture. Th e abandonment of Gothic forms by the Italian architect Filippo Bru- nelleschi (1377-1446) and his successors, and the gradual spread of the Neo-Classical Palladian style of building from Italy over the whole of Europe in- volved changes in building techniques. Teachers could argue that the inventions of the modern world demonstrated its technologi- cal superiority: this was especially the lesson of Jan Stradanus’ Nova Reperta (1570), a volume of splen- did engravings also produced near the end of the 16th century. We can use this image of Nova Reperta to show all these advances to students (see Figure 1). Figure 1. Nova Reperta 118 Mª Rosa Massa Esteve With this image the teacher can discuss with the students how the ancients had not mastered the “super-natural” force of gunpowder, nor discovered how to multiply books and pictures by printing. Nei- ther had they found the direct route to the East, nor the New World to the West; they remained ignorant of the use of the magnetic compass and of other nav- igational aids which had made the 15th century voy- ages of discovery possible. Th e ancients also lacked windmills, iron-shod horses, the art of making spec- tacles, mechanical clocks and iron-founding. In terms of the basic inventions and improve- ments made in the middle Ages, the Renaissance did little more than increase their size and scope. Ma- chines became larger and more intricate and pro- duction increased. Th ere were three major innova- tions during the Renaissance: gunpowder, the com- pass and printing. However, the Renaissance gave rise to a frame of mind which was increasingly re- ceptive to further technological development. Th e historical author: Tartaglia Tartaglia, an engineer and scientist of the Re- naissance, was taught fi rst in abacus school and then further taught himself mathematics. Tartaglia be- longed to that group of engineers and mathemati- cians who looked upon Archimedes as their role- model. Th eory, practice, and knowledge and its ap- plication were all part of the goal of scientifi c knowl- edge of a mathematician. Hence, Tartaglia took a new role and presented a new image of the science of mathematics, which encompassed all these fi elds of study and action (Bennett & Johnston, 1996). Some works by Tartaglia are: Nova Scientia (1537, 2nd edi- tion 1558), Quesiti et Inventioni Diverse (1546), Ge- neral Trattato di numeri et misure (1556-1560) and Euclid’s Elements (1543). Tartaglia is deemed as a great mathemati- cian of this period because of his use of geometry, and for his invention and development of a proce- dure for solving the cubic equation, but which Car- dano later published claiming it as his own (Giusti, 2010; Gavagna, 2010). Tartaglia embodied the im- age of the engineer mathematician that appeared in Italy in the Cinquecento and whose aim was “to solve the problems of his professions and to practice the art of invention”. Th e historical work: Nova Scientia In his work Nova Scientia (1537), Tartaglia introduced a new science: ballistics. In this work he tried to determine the form taken by the trajectory of a cannonball (Valleriani, 2013; Tartaglia, 1998). In the frontispiece of the work dealing with the theory of ballistic phenomena, Tartaglia pre- sents an image that seems to go back to the Pla- tonic idea, according to which mathematics consti- tutes the key to the door of science and philosophy. Th e image depicts two fortresses: One is situated on a top of mountain or hill entitled Philosophy, and fl anked by Plato and Aristotle; the other is situat- ed at the bottom, and called the Quadrivium, which of course consists of Music, Arithmetic, Geometry and Astronomy but to which is added a new science: Perspective. Tartaglia is seen at the center as Master of Ceremonies, presenting the principles of science that constituted ballistics. To enter this Sancta San- torum of Knowledge one must pass through a door guarded by Euclid. Euclid’s Elements in the Cinque- cento period were not only the foundation but the paradigm or manner to attain all wisdom (propae- deutic function) (see Figure 2). Tartaglia’s book is not a treatise on motion in a medieval sense, that is to say, he does not analyze the nature of motion (Tartaglia, 1998). He states that he will address the study of the movement of a pro- jectile ejected from a cannon or by whatever “artifi - cial machine or matter that will be appropriated to throw violently a body equally weighty into the air.” (Defi nition XIII). Th is current of thinking in, which including the artifi cial machine into the theoretical investigations, came to the fore in the middle of the XV century (Gessner, 2010). Th e practice was estab- lished by engineers and others trained in the atel- 119 Historical activities in the mathematics classroom: Tartaglia’s Nova Scientia (1537) iers of craft smen from the north of Italy and Germa- ny. Th e machine and its artifi ces were regarded as a way of conducting research into the world. In fact, the mechanics of the Cinquecento may be regarded as a science of machines. Th e theoretical analysis of the functioning of machines and their eff ects is pre- dominant in other subjects in mechanics, but can use geometry because machines such as the balance, the lever and the pulley are simple to analyze by geo- metric methods. Figure 2. Frontispiece of the Nova Scientia. Tartaglia, 1537. At that time, the principal problems in the analysis of movement of a cannonball were the questions of what happened when the ball was in the air. Th ese were: By how many degrees should the cannon be inclined to the horizontal so that the ball could hit a target located at a particular distance? At what inclination must a ball be fi red so that the ex- pected distance would be the maximum of possible distances? Tartaglia, who was at the time professor of mathematics at Venice, gave the fi rst answers to these questions. He asserted that the maximum dis- tance of a ball fi red from a cannon could be obtained by inclining the cannon 45º on the horizontal. Fur- thermore, he provided another answer that was even more surprising; Tartaglia claimed that the trajec- tory that the ball described through the air consist- ed of a curve. Th is claim contradicted the Aristote- lian doctrine of movement, according to which the movement that the ball must follow will be a straight line until it reaches its maximum height, aft er which it will fall vertically to the center of the earth (Hen- ninger-Voss, 2002). Th us, Aristotle’s doctrine pro- vided for no curved movement. However, the tra- jectory of a cannonball according to Tartaglia was composed of three parts; one rectilinear, one curve that follows an arc of circumference, both represent- ing the trajectory’s violent motion and, fi nally, one rectilinear of natural motion (see Figure 3). Figure 3. Tartaglia’s movement. Tartaglia, 1537. Th is work by Tartaglia enjoyed considerable success. By 1583, the text in Italian had reached sev- en editions and had been translated into many lan- guages. Tartaglia, an expert on the matter, subse- 120 Mª Rosa Massa Esteve quently returned to the problem of movement in his work Quesiti et invention diverse (1546). Th e text: the Euclidian way Nova Scientia consists of 3 books. Th e fi rst book contains 14 defi nitions, 5 suppositions, 4 com- mune sentences and 6 propositions with some cor- ollaries. Book two contains 14 defi nitions, 4 sup- positions and 9 propositions with some corollar- ies, and the third book contains 5 defi nitions and 12 propositions. In looking at Tartaglia’s Nova Sci- entia, teachers in the classroom may comment with the students on the Euclidian way of presenting this new practical science (Ekholm, 2010). In Proposition I of the fi rst book, Tartaglia states his results on movement, including the fol- lowing words: “Proposition First. All bodies of equal weight with natural movement, the further they move away from the beginning and approach their end point, the more they gain in speed.”4 In the fourth supposition of the second book, he again addresses the inclination of the cannon on the horizontal to achieve the maximum distance. Teachers can discuss with students the inclination at which the expected distance would be the maxi- mum (see Figure 4). In addition, in the Proposition VIII of the sec- ond book he proves that the inclination of the can- non must be 45º, basing his reasoning on the propo- sition VII, where he uses geometry in similar trian- gles (see Figure 5): “Proposition VIII. If the same moving power ejects or throws equally heavy bodies, which are similar and equal to each other, violently through the air but in diff erent manners, the one [equally heavy body] that accomplishes its 4 Th e translations are adapted from the English version by Val- leriani of Tartaglia’s edition of the 1558 (Valleriani, 2013).“Prop- ositione Prima. Ogni corpo egualmente grave nel moto natura- le, quanto piu el se andara aluntanando dal suo principio, over appropinquando al suo fi ne, tanto piu andara veloce.” (Tartaglia, 1537). transit at an elevation of 45 degrees above the horizon produces its eff ect farther away from its beginning and above the plane of the horizon than [if it were] elevated in any other way.”5 Figure 4. Tartaglia, 1537. Figure 5. Figure of the Proposition VII. Tartaglia, 1537. 5 „Propositione VIII. Se una medema possanza movente eiet- tara, over tirara corpi egualmente gravi simili, et eguali in diver- si modi violentemente per aere, Quello que fara il suo transito elevato a 45 gradi sopra a l’orizonte fara etià il suo eff eto piu lon- tan dal suo principio sopra il pian de l’orizonte che in qualunque altro modo elevato” (Tartaglia, 1537) 121 Historical activities in the mathematics classroom: Tartaglia’s Nova Scientia (1537) Th e mathematical instrument Tartaglia constructs two gunner’s quadrants, one with a graduate arc to measure the inclination of the cannonball, and the other instrument for solving the problem of measuring the distances and height of an inaccessible object. He off ers an explanation of the fi rst instrument at the beginning of the book in the dedicatory letter, as well as examining its con- struction accurately. He also gives examples with cannon (see Figure 6). Figure 6. Dedication letter. Tartaglia, 1537. In the third book, from the Proposition I to the Proposition IV, he provides a description of the material required for constructing the second gunner’s quadrant: the rule and the setsquare, and checks its angles in the following propositions. Fi- nally in the Proposition VI of the third book, Tarta- glia constructs this gunner’s quadrant (see Figure 7). Th is gunner’s quadrant is used by Tartaglia for measuring the height of inaccessible objects in the propositions of the third book, as shown below. Figure 7. The gunner’s quadrant. Tartaglia, 1537. Th e signifi cant proof: Proposition VIII of the third book Th e proposition we will look into more detail I fi nd a good example to be employed in the class- room because Tartaglia uses the gunner’s quadrant, while at the same time using geometry in similar tri- angles in the proof to determine the distances and height of an inaccessible object. In the classroom implementation, students could be prompted to re- produce the reasoning of this proof with the geome- try of triangles before introducing the trigonometry. In the Proposition VIII of the third book Tartaglia proves how to obtain the height of a vis- ible, but inaccessible object. He claims: “I would like to investigate the height of a visible object that one can move to the level of the base, and at the same time I would like to determine the distance through the hypotenuse or diameter of the height.” 6 6 “Propositione VIII. Voglio investigare l’altezza de una cosa ap- parente che si poscia andaré alla basa, over fondamento di quella, etiam tutto a un tempo voglio comprehendere la distantia ypo- thumissale, over diametrale di tal altezza”. (Tartaglia, 1537). 122 Mª Rosa Massa Esteve Th e image of this proposition clarifi es the ge- ometric reasoning (see Figure 8): Figure 8. Figure of the Proposition VIII. Tartaglia, 1537. Aft er providing accurately an explanation of the construction of gunner’s quadrant, together with the students the teacher could follow the reasoning of the proof using the similarity of triangles. For ex- ample, they can draw a fi gure with triangles that re- produces the geometric problem (see Figure 9). Together with the students, the teacher can reproduce the geometrical proof using similar tri- angles, Pythagoras’ theorem and Th ales’ theorem.7 Th e teacher can also show the use of this fi gure to solve other problems in the classroom; for instance, the height of a house, or a distance of an object. In fact, these kinds of problems are solved today by trigonometry, and furthermore this historical activ- 7 In this case I am referring to Elements VI. 2: “If a straight line be drawn parallel to one of the sides of a triangle, it will cut the sides of the triangle proportionally; and, if the sides of the tri- angle be cut proportionally, the line joining the points of section will be parallel to the remaining side of the triangle.”(Heath, 1956). ity also justifi es the introduction of the teaching of trigonometry. Figure 9. Reproduction of the mathematical problem Concluding remarks In order to transmit to the students the idea that mathematics is a science in a continuous state of evolution, and that it is the result of the joint and on- going work of many people rather than knowledge amassed by independent contributions arising from fl ashes of inspiration, it is recommendable to pre- sent historical activities in the classroom. Th is his- torical activity shows the process from geometry to trigonometry and also how a mathematical instru- ment can be used in the mathematics classroom, the gunner’s quadrant, for instance, or an instrument for measuring degrees, in order to obtain the height of inaccessible objects such as trees or mountains. As regards to the question posed about whether working with instruments and following the procedures recommended to their users in the past can provide students today with a valuable ap- preciation of the past practices, it should be taken into account that when working with instruments 123 Historical activities in the mathematics classroom: Tartaglia’s Nova Scientia (1537) in the classroom, it may not be appropriate to fol- low exactly the instructions of the users in the past. Th e function and effi cacy of these instructions of the past practices sometimes are not connected to the nowadays world of students. However, the replica- tion of such procedures in the construction of in- struments could inspire ideas for constructing simi- lar instruments to reproduce this practice with stu- dents today. Students can learn about how mathe- matical instruments were used in the past to solve real problems. Actually, in the Renaissance, technological developments in military and artistic spheres, as well as in scientifi c instruments, were made through the study of mathematics, which became increasing- ly regarded as a universal tool for solving problems. Th us, the question whether mathematics acquired an explanatory role in regard to the natural world gives rise to further questions about how and why this was so, and leads to discussions on the nature of math- ematics. One may consider that this historical activ- ity clearly shows the explanatory role of mathemat- ics for solving problems of practical geometry in the Renaissance, such as the problem of the inclination of a cannon when one wishes to achieve the maximum distance, as well as the problem of fi nding the height of inaccessible objects. Th e mathematical ideas used for the proofs of these propositions can be found in Euclid’s Elements: Pythagoras’ theorem, Th ales’ theo- rem, and in the principles relating to incommensu- rable lengths. In fact, history of mathematics shows that mathematics is used to address a natural phe- nomenon, and in this sense it shows the usefulness of mathematics for revealing the natural world. Th e originality of this historical activity resides in the use of a text, which does not consist entirely of pure math- ematics, to give an explanation for the movement of the military projectiles, which could be described as geometrization of real-life problems. 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Gueva- ra), Col·lection MATHEMA, México D. F.: Facultad de Ciencias, UNAM.  Valleriani, M. (2013). Metallurgy, Ballistics and Epistemic Instruments. Th e Nova Scientia of Nicolò Tartaglia. A New Edition. Max Planck Research Library for the History and Development of Knowledge. Sources 6. Berlin: Edition Open Acces. Retrieved November 6, 2014. from www: http://www.edition-open-sources.org/  Zeller, S. M. C. (1944). Th e Development of trigonometry from Regiomontanus to Pitiscus. Michigan: Univer- sity of Michigan, Ann Astor. 126 Mª Rosa Massa Esteve др Марија Роза Маса Естеве Политехнички универзитет Каталоније, Истраживачки центар за историју технологије, Барселона, Шпанија Историјске активности на часовима математике: Тартаљина Nova Scientia (1537) Историјски садржаји математике могу да се развијају и имплицитно и експлицитно на часовима. Учење о историји математике може да допринесе побољшању интегралног образовања и оспособљавања ученика. Историју математике, као имплицитни извор, наставници могу да користе да би осмислили фазу часа користећи различите контексте, припремајући наставне активности (проблемске ситуације и помоћне изворе за сазнавање) и креирајући наставни силабус у функцији формирања појмова или идеја. Осим као имплицитном средству за побољшање учења математике, историја математике може да се користи експлицитно у разреду ради поучавања математике. Имплементација важних историјских текстова може да обезбеди средства која ће ученицима омогућити да боље разумеју математички појам. Циљеви имплементације историјске активности на часовима математике су: а) учење о изворима на којима се заснива знање математике у прошлости; б) препознавање најзначајнијих промена у математичким дисциплинама − оне које су утицале на структуру и класификацију, на њене методе, основне појмове и везу са другим наукама; в) указивање ученицима на социокултурну везу математике и политике, религије, филозофије и културе, у сваком периоду, као и везе са осталим сферама, и коначно, што је најважније, подстицање ученика да се изразе у вези са математичком мишљу и трансформацијом природне филозофије. Циљ овог рада је анализа студије случаја предлога историјске активности, базиране на раду „Nova Sci- entia“ (1537) Никола Фонтане Тартаље (Niccolò Fontana Tartaglia (1499/1500–1557)), за коришћење на часовима математике. Ова анализа ће показати употребу ренесансног математичког инструмента за мерење висине планине да би се мотивисало проучавање тригонометрије на часовима математике, као и показивање улоге математике у објашњавању природног света. Штавише, у раду разматрамо да ли рад на инструментима и мерења помоћу њих, препоручиваних корисницима у прошлости, омогућавају ученицима у садашњости адекватно вредновање мерењем инструментима из прошлости. Кључне речи: историја математике, поучавање, Николо Тартаља, „Nova Scientia“, геометрија. 
work_qxafti4gx5g7deirz6g5kel2ni	----	Digital Graphic Documentation and Architectural Heritage: Deformations in a 16th-Century Ceiling of the Pinelo Palace in Seville (Spain) International Journal of Geo-Information Article Digital Graphic Documentation and Architectural Heritage: Deformations in a 16th-Century Ceiling of the Pinelo Palace in Seville (Spain) Juan Francisco Reinoso-Gordo 1,* , Antonio Gámiz-Gordo 2 and Pedro Barrero-Ortega 3 ���������� ������� Citation: Reinoso-Gordo, J.F.; Gámiz-Gordo, A.; Barrero-Ortega, P. Digital Graphic Documentation and Architectural Heritage: Deformations in a 16th-Century Ceiling of the Pinelo Palace in Seville (Spain). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85. https://doi.org/10.3390/ijgi10020085 Academic Editors: Sara Gonizzi Barsanti, Mario Santana Quintero and Wolfgang Kainz Received: 9 January 2021 Accepted: 17 February 2021 Published: 19 February 2021 Publisher’s Note: MDPI stays neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affil- iations. Copyright: © 2021 by the authors. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (https:// creativecommons.org/licenses/by/ 4.0/). 1 Architectural and Engineering Graphic Expression, University of Granada, 18071 Granada, Spain 2 Architectural Graphic Expression, University of Seville, 41012 Seville, Spain; antoniogg@us.es 3 Graphic Expression in Building Engineering, University of Seville, 41012 Seville, Spain; pbarrero@us.es * Correspondence: jreinoso@ugr.es; Tel.: +34-958-249-485 Abstract: Suitable graphic documentation is essential to ascertain and conserve architectural heritage. For the first time, accurate digital images are provided of a 16th-century wooden ceiling, composed of geometric interlacing patterns, in the Pinelo Palace in Seville. Today, this ceiling suffers from significant deformation. Although there are many publications on the digital documentation of architectural heritage, no graphic studies on this type of deformed ceilings have been presented. This study starts by providing data on the palace history concerning the design of geometric interlacing patterns in carpentry according to the 1633 book by López de Arenas, and on the ceiling consolidation in the 20th century. Images were then obtained using two complementary procedures: from a 3D laser scanner, which offers metric data on deformations; and from photogrammetry, which facilitates the visualisation of details. In this way, this type of heritage is documented in an innovative graphic approach, which is essential for its conservation and/or restoration with scientific foundations and also to disseminate a reliable digital image of the most beautiful ceiling of this Renaissance palace in southern Europe. Keywords: ceiling; 16th century; Pinelo; palace; Seville; deformation; scanner; photogrammetry 1. Introduction 1.1. Short History of the Pinelo Palace in Seville (Spain) The Renaissance palace of the Pinelo family is located in an urban framework of me- dieval origin, on a corner where Abades and Segovias streets intersect, near the Cathedral of Seville and the popular neighbourhood of Santa Cruz (Figure 1a). It was built in around 1500 by a family of prosperous merchants from Genoa who played a prominent role in the Casa de la Contratación in Seville and the commercial relationships between Spain and the Americas [1–3]. In 1523, the Pinelo family sold the palace to the Cabildo Catedralicio. Nothing is known about the subsequent transformations of the palace until it changed its usage in around 1885, when it became Guest House Don Marcos [4]. In 1954 it was declared a historical-artistic monument and in 1964 it was expropriated by the Seville City Council. Between 1967 and 1971, some consolidation work was carried out by the municipal architect Jesús Gómez-Millán, and between 1969 and 1981 major restoration was directed by the architect Rafael Manzano Martos [5]. Since then, the building has been the headquarters of the Real Academia de Buenas Letras and the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de Santa Isabel de Hungría in Seville. Inside, the building is organised into three large courtyards in accordance with the typical layout in Spanish medieval architecture [6] (Figure 1b): an entrance courtyard, where the stables were located; a main courtyard, with a large staircase located in one corner, from which the mezzanine can be accessed where the ceiling studied in the present research is located; and a third courtyard/garden. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85. https://doi.org/10.3390/ijgi10020085 https://www.mdpi.com/journal/ijgi https://www.mdpi.com/journal/ijgi https://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0003-3808-1857 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-6188-3167 https://doi.org/10.3390/ijgi10020085 https://doi.org/10.3390/ijgi10020085 https://creativecommons.org/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://doi.org/10.3390/ijgi10020085 https://www.mdpi.com/journal/ijgi https://www.mdpi.com/2220-9964/10/2/85?type=check_update&version=2 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 2 of 17 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 2 of 17 staircase located in one corner, from which the mezzanine can be accessed where the ceiling studied in the present research is located; and a third courtyard/garden. (a) (b) Figure 1. (a) Modern aerial photograph of the Pinelo Palace and its surroundings (overview through Google Earth). (b) Ground floor and mezzanine (indicated by the red circle). Authors’ own drawing, 2020. The lookout tower built in the corner between the two exterior façades of the building would be the first such tower built in Seville under the influence of the villas of the Italian Renaissance. Under the lookout tower is the entrance (Figure 2a). The main courtyard constitutes a prime example of Sevillian Renaissance architecture and contains three galleries on the ground floor and four on the first floor. The arches on the ground floor include original decoration with plasterwork and are supported by columns of imported Genoese marble (Figure 2b). These arches form part of an interesting evolu- tionary sequence of the courtyards in the main palaces of Seville, and combine influences from Mudejar and Gothic art [7], ranging from the Palacio del Rey Don Pedro in the Real Alcázar, through the Casa de Pilatos, and the Palacio de las Dueñas [3]. The first-floor gallery of the courtyard was recovered and decorated in the second half of the 20th century, after being partitioned to create rooms when the building was Guest House Don Marcos [4]. In the ground-floor rooms, the ceilings with painted Renaissance decoration are preserved, as are the ceilings of the courtyard galleries. On the first floor, however, a large part of the 16th-century ceilings has disappeared [8]. The garden in the third courtyard has another gallery with two floors without decorative plasterwork. (a) (b) Figure 2. (a) Lookout tower on the façade. (b) Main courtyard view. Authors’ own photographs, 2020. Figure 1. (a) Modern aerial photograph of the Pinelo Palace and its surroundings (overview through Google Earth). (b) Ground floor and mezzanine (indicated by the red circle). Authors’ own drawing, 2020. The lookout tower built in the corner between the two exterior façades of the building would be the first such tower built in Seville under the influence of the villas of the Italian Renaissance. Under the lookout tower is the entrance (Figure 2a). The main courtyard constitutes a prime example of Sevillian Renaissance architecture and contains three galleries on the ground floor and four on the first floor. The arches on the ground floor include original decoration with plasterwork and are supported by columns of imported Genoese marble (Figure 2b). These arches form part of an interesting evolutionary sequence of the courtyards in the main palaces of Seville, and combine influences from Mudejar and Gothic art [7], ranging from the Palacio del Rey Don Pedro in the Real Alcázar, through the Casa de Pilatos, and the Palacio de las Dueñas [3]. The first-floor gallery of the courtyard was recovered and decorated in the second half of the 20th century, after being partitioned to create rooms when the building was Guest House Don Marcos [4]. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 2 of 17 staircase located in one corner, from which the mezzanine can be accessed where the ceiling studied in the present research is located; and a third courtyard/garden. (a) (b) Figure 1. (a) Modern aerial photograph of the Pinelo Palace and its surroundings (overview through Google Earth). (b) Ground floor and mezzanine (indicated by the red circle). Authors’ own drawing, 2020. The lookout tower built in the corner between the two exterior façades of the building would be the first such tower built in Seville under the influence of the villas of the Italian Renaissance. Under the lookout tower is the entrance (Figure 2a). The main courtyard constitutes a prime example of Sevillian Renaissance architecture and contains three galleries on the ground floor and four on the first floor. The arches on the ground floor include original decoration with plasterwork and are supported by columns of imported Genoese marble (Figure 2b). These arches form part of an interesting evolu- tionary sequence of the courtyards in the main palaces of Seville, and combine influences from Mudejar and Gothic art [7], ranging from the Palacio del Rey Don Pedro in the Real Alcázar, through the Casa de Pilatos, and the Palacio de las Dueñas [3]. The first-floor gallery of the courtyard was recovered and decorated in the second half of the 20th century, after being partitioned to create rooms when the building was Guest House Don Marcos [4]. In the ground-floor rooms, the ceilings with painted Renaissance decoration are preserved, as are the ceilings of the courtyard galleries. On the first floor, however, a large part of the 16th-century ceilings has disappeared [8]. The garden in the third courtyard has another gallery with two floors without decorative plasterwork. (a) (b) Figure 2. (a) Lookout tower on the façade. (b) Main courtyard view. Authors’ own photographs, 2020. Figure 2. (a) Lookout tower on the façade. (b) Main courtyard view. Authors’ own photographs, 2020. In the ground-floor rooms, the ceilings with painted Renaissance decoration are preserved, as are the ceilings of the courtyard galleries. On the first floor, however, a large part of the 16th-century ceilings has disappeared [8]. The garden in the third courtyard has another gallery with two floors without decorative plasterwork. From the landing of the main staircase there is access to a mezzanine room that is currently used as the plenary hall for the Real Academia de Bellas Artes of Seville, where the ceiling with a geometric decoration that is studied in this research is located (Figure 3). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 3 of 17 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 3 of 17 From the landing of the main staircase there is access to a mezzanine room that is currently used as the plenary hall for the Real Academia de Bellas Artes of Seville, where the ceiling with a geometric decoration that is studied in this research is located (Figure 3). The first known historical document that refers to this room is a text written in 1542, which is located in the Archive of the Seville Cathedral (sección IV, Fábrica, Libro nº 377, fol. CCXCV-CCCII vto) and provides essential information regarding the state of the palace in the 16th century [9] [10]. This document describes the room, and confirms that the remarkable ceiling already existed: “E tiene un saquiçami de nueve y doze con sus deçen- didas...”. A “saquiçami” is a ceiling that hides its structural elements under the geometric decoration. The term “deçendidas” refers to the sloping sides. There is a mistake in the description however, since it speaks of a ceiling with interlocking patterns of nine-point and 12-point stars, although there are only interlocking patterns of eight-point and 12-point stars, as explained later. Figure 3. Mezzanine ceiling. Authors’ own photograph, 2020. 1.2. General Objectives The present research is the first to be carried out on the most important ceiling of this outstanding Renaissance palace. Its current situation seems fragile due to the exist- ence of major deformations that can be observed with the naked eye and that form the object of this study. In order to conserve the architectural heritage, it is essential to possess up-to-date and accurate graphic documentation. A well-documented monument has a better chance of surviving over time and through unpredictable adversity. Even in the case of its de- struction, its intangible values would be safeguarded if there were graphic documents that allowed its reconstruction and virtual recreation or diffusion. For this reason, the main objective of this research is to provide a new and precise graphic documentation on a fragile architectural element, to be better known, suitably conserved, or restored on a scientific basis, and for its digital dissemination. For the first time, this ceiling is represented by two complementary digital graphic technologies: a 3D Figure 3. Mezzanine ceiling. Authors’ own photograph, 2020. The first known historical document that refers to this room is a text written in 1542, which is located in the Archive of the Seville Cathedral (sección IV, Fábrica, Libro nº 377, fol. CCXCV-CCCII vto) and provides essential information regarding the state of the palace in the 16th century [9,10]. This document describes the room, and confirms that the remarkable ceiling already existed: “E tiene un saquiçami de nueve y doze con sus deçendidas . . . ”. A “saquiçami” is a ceiling that hides its structural elements under the geometric decoration. The term “deçendidas” refers to the sloping sides. There is a mistake in the description however, since it speaks of a ceiling with interlocking patterns of nine-point and 12-point stars, although there are only interlocking patterns of eight-point and 12-point stars, as explained later. 1.2. General Objectives The present research is the first to be carried out on the most important ceiling of this outstanding Renaissance palace. Its current situation seems fragile due to the existence of major deformations that can be observed with the naked eye and that form the object of this study. In order to conserve the architectural heritage, it is essential to possess up-to-date and accurate graphic documentation. A well-documented monument has a better chance of surviving over time and through unpredictable adversity. Even in the case of its destruction, its intangible values would be safeguarded if there were graphic documents that allowed its reconstruction and virtual recreation or diffusion. For this reason, the main objective of this research is to provide a new and precise graphic documentation on a fragile architectural element, to be better known, suitably conserved, or restored on a scientific basis, and for its digital dissemination. For the first time, this ceiling is represented by two complementary digital graphic technologies: a 3D laser scanner that quantifies the existing deformations, and photogrammetry, which accurately visualises its details. The bibliography regarding Pinelo Palace and its history has been reviewed, as men- tioned in the introduction, as well as the design of this type of wooden ceiling in the 16th century, especially regarding the treatise by Diego López de Arenas of 1633. In addition, ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 4 of 17 the documentation of several major architectural interventions of the 20th century that affected the ceiling has been uncovered in the Municipal Archives of Seville. The importance of graphic representation in architectural documentation is shown in the numerous manuscripts published in the proceedings of the latest “Graphical Her- itage” International Congress held in 2020 [11]. Heritage documentation techniques must avoid damaging it during data collection tasks and this objective is achieved using digital techniques such as photogrammetry and laser scanning [12]. The importance of these tech- niques, included in the field of geomatics, in the sustainable conservation of heritage has been proved [13]; and they are also especially useful in the reconstruction of architectural heritage when it is damaged by natural disasters such as earthquakes [14]. Documenting heritage by means of laser scanners can be considered as one of the best techniques to reliably represent architectural assets [15–17], and the cloud of points derived from these scanners provides a useful tool for the evaluation of the measured objects [18]. Photogrammetry is a technique complementary to scanning when used in heritage documentation [19,20], and it is able to give images with accurate details thanks to the textural resolution. Scanning has been particularly useful in the detection of deforma- tions, for example, in the muqarnas of the Alhambra [21,22] and as a basis for generating BIM (Building Information Modelling) models [23], as well as in architectural parametric modelling [24] and engineering [25]. This suggests that combining laser scanning and photogrammetry can provide accurate documentation of this 16th-century ceiling and its deformations, thereby developing a graphic methodology with no precedents in the literature on this type of architectural element. The application of photogrammetry to wooden ceilings has been used in [26], although possible deformations were not a reason for study. In order to understand and interpret the data obtained through geomatics, it is necessary to review the studies of Renaissance wooden ceilings: the layout and modulation of ceilings similar to the one we analyse in this manuscript [27,28], the historical evolution concerning the way of building the wooden ceilings [29] and a relevant example [30]. 2. Materials and Methods 2.1. The Design of the Ceiling According to the Book by López de Arenas (1633) There are numerous studies on ceilings with wooden interlocking patterns in Spain and the Americas that present interesting examples [31,32]. One of the most extensive and well-known documents on the geometric layout of interlocking patterns is that of Prieto Vives [33], which brought together an uneven set of previously written articles, although it focused on mathematical speculations that failed to agree on the craft origins of these designs and therefore failed to formulate a coherent theory. Another outstanding study on interlocking patterns appeared in a short article by Fernández-Puertas [34] concerning the eight-point stars and was developed in another article by Donaire-Rodríguez [35]. Both stated that these designs were undertaken taking as a reference a unit of measurement that relates all the magnitudes, without the need to employ a compass, with simple geometric lines that give rise to various designs obtained solely using bevels. These ideas are now well-known and accepted thanks to the studies of Nuere- Matauco [36–38], and based on the book by Diego López de Arenas that included dif- ferent rules on interlocking patterns that the carpenters used in Hispano-Muslim and Mudejar art. After a first manuscript in around 1619, it was published in 1633 with the title Breve compendio de la carpintería de lo blanco y Tratado de Alarifes [39] (Figure 4a). Interlocking patterns were also dealt with in another contemporary document by Fray Andrés de San Miguel that remained unpublished until the 20th century [40]: folios 72 to 92 include a section on carpentry based on documents that are now missing but have nothing to do with the book by López de Arenas. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 5 of 17 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 5 of 17 terlocking patterns were also dealt with in another contemporary document by Fray Andrés de San Miguel that remained unpublished until the 20th century [40]: folios 72 to 92 include a section on carpentry based on documents that are now missing but have nothing to do with the book by López de Arenas. According to López de Arenas, the design was made using only bevels, first draw- ing a pattern of lines as the basis for the type of interlocking pattern chosen. The thickness of the linear elements was then determined and repeated at intervals. After drawing these elementary modules, the set is obtained by its juxtaposition, with common units of measurement and proportion. (a) (b) Figure 4. (a) Cover of the book by Diego López de Arenas (1633; reissue 1727). (b) Plate 15r. The ceiling studied in the current research has no structural function in the building as a whole. It has two well-differentiated parts: the load-bearing elements, and the geo- metric decorative elements. The load-bearing elements, “girders” and “braces”, are hid- den in its upper part, and perpendicular to these are the smaller load-bearing elements, called “belts” or “battens”. These smaller elements support the flat wooden surface upon which the geometric ornamentation modules are arranged. This ceiling belongs to a type of mixed interlocking pattern of eight-point and 12-point stars. In other words, the 12-point star is a variation of the modules generated by the eight-point star, as encountered in other examples in the Iberian Peninsula, such as the ceiling of the central nave of the Church of Santa Catalina in Seville. The drawing of the aforementioned modules called “cuartillejos”, appears in the book by Diego López de Arenas (Figure 4b) and also in that of Fray Andrés de San Miguel. The “cuartillejos” are square modules in which the eight-point stars can be traced by various methods using bevels with different angles, called “cuadrado”, “ocho” and “ataperfiles”. The first two are created by dividing 180° by the number that defines them (180°/4 and 180°/8). The third is computed from the formula 45° − 90/n, where n is the number of points of the star in the interlocking pattern, in this case n = 8 (Figure 5). The complete geometric construction of the eight-point and 12-point stars (Figure 6) is well-known and explained in the aforementioned publications. Finally, the size and number of ceiling modules are fitted to the dimensions of the room to be covered. Figure 5. Bevels to trace the eight-point star, according to López de Arenas (1633). Authors’ own drawing, 2020. Figure 4. (a) Cover of the book by Diego López de Arenas (1633; reissue 1727). (b) Plate 15r. According to López de Arenas, the design was made using only bevels, first drawing a pattern of lines as the basis for the type of interlocking pattern chosen. The thickness of the linear elements was then determined and repeated at intervals. After drawing these elementary modules, the set is obtained by its juxtaposition, with common units of measurement and proportion. The ceiling studied in the current research has no structural function in the building as a whole. It has two well-differentiated parts: the load-bearing elements, and the geometric decorative elements. The load-bearing elements, “girders” and “braces”, are hidden in its upper part, and perpendicular to these are the smaller load-bearing elements, called “belts” or “battens”. These smaller elements support the flat wooden surface upon which the geometric ornamentation modules are arranged. This ceiling belongs to a type of mixed interlocking pattern of eight-point and 12-point stars. In other words, the 12-point star is a variation of the modules generated by the eight-point star, as encountered in other examples in the Iberian Peninsula, such as the ceiling of the central nave of the Church of Santa Catalina in Seville. The drawing of the aforementioned modules called “cuartillejos”, appears in the book by Diego López de Arenas (Figure 4b) and also in that of Fray Andrés de San Miguel. The “cuartillejos” are square modules in which the eight-point stars can be traced by various methods using bevels with different angles, called “cuadrado”, “ocho” and “ataperfiles”. The first two are created by dividing 180◦ by the number that defines them (180◦/4 and 180◦/8). The third is computed from the formula 45◦ − 90/n, where n is the number of points of the star in the interlocking pattern, in this case n = 8 (Figure 5). The complete geometric construction of the eight-point and 12-point stars (Figure 6) is well- known and explained in the aforementioned publications. Finally, the size and number of ceiling modules are fitted to the dimensions of the room to be covered. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 5 of 17 terlocking patterns were also dealt with in another contemporary document by Fray Andrés de San Miguel that remained unpublished until the 20th century [40]: folios 72 to 92 include a section on carpentry based on documents that are now missing but have nothing to do with the book by López de Arenas. According to López de Arenas, the design was made using only bevels, first draw- ing a pattern of lines as the basis for the type of interlocking pattern chosen. The thickness of the linear elements was then determined and repeated at intervals. After drawing these elementary modules, the set is obtained by its juxtaposition, with common units of measurement and proportion. (a) (b) Figure 4. (a) Cover of the book by Diego López de Arenas (1633; reissue 1727). (b) Plate 15r. The ceiling studied in the current research has no structural function in the building as a whole. It has two well-differentiated parts: the load-bearing elements, and the geo- metric decorative elements. The load-bearing elements, “girders” and “braces”, are hid- den in its upper part, and perpendicular to these are the smaller load-bearing elements, called “belts” or “battens”. These smaller elements support the flat wooden surface upon which the geometric ornamentation modules are arranged. This ceiling belongs to a type of mixed interlocking pattern of eight-point and 12-point stars. In other words, the 12-point star is a variation of the modules generated by the eight-point star, as encountered in other examples in the Iberian Peninsula, such as the ceiling of the central nave of the Church of Santa Catalina in Seville. The drawing of the aforementioned modules called “cuartillejos”, appears in the book by Diego López de Arenas (Figure 4b) and also in that of Fray Andrés de San Miguel. The “cuartillejos” are square modules in which the eight-point stars can be traced by various methods using bevels with different angles, called “cuadrado”, “ocho” and “ataperfiles”. The first two are created by dividing 180° by the number that defines them (180°/4 and 180°/8). The third is computed from the formula 45° − 90/n, where n is the number of points of the star in the interlocking pattern, in this case n = 8 (Figure 5). The complete geometric construction of the eight-point and 12-point stars (Figure 6) is well-known and explained in the aforementioned publications. Finally, the size and number of ceiling modules are fitted to the dimensions of the room to be covered. Figure 5. Bevels to trace the eight-point star, according to López de Arenas (1633). Authors’ own drawing, 2020. Figure 5. Bevels to trace the eight-point star, according to López de Arenas (1633). Authors’ own drawing, 2020. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 6 of 17 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 6 of 17 (a) (b) Figure 6. Ceiling details: (a) Eight-point star and “cuartillejos”. (b) “Cuartillejo” with a 12-point star. Authors’ own pho- tographs, 2020. The ceiling also includes heraldic coats of arms and other decorative elements, “florones” or “piñas”, which refer to the names of the Pinelo and De la Torre families who commissioned the construction of the building (Figure 7). Figure 7. Details of the heraldic coat of arms (Pinelo and De la Torre families). Authors’ own pho- tographs, 2020. 2.2. The Ceiling Consolidation in the 20th Century As the municipal architect, Jesús Gómez-Millán directed the consolidation work funded by the Seville City Council in the Pinelo palace between 1967 and 1971. Until 1981, other major restorations were carried out in the same building, directed by the ar- chitect Rafael Manzano Martos and promoted by the Dirección General de Bellas Artes. Documentation concerning the nine phases of the work directed by Gómez-Millán is preserved in the Municipal Archive of Seville, two of which, performed on the mezza- nine, are the files titled “Comisión Administradora del Impuesto para la Prevención del Paro Obrero, nº 19/1967. D/1368; 32/1968. D/1371”. The first-phase report (August 1967–November 1967) describes the interventions projected on the mezzanine ceilings. Disassembly of the two roof skirts on the wooden Figure 6. Ceiling details: (a) Eight-point star and “cuartillejos”. (b) “Cuartillejo” with a 12-point star. Authors’ own photographs, 2020. The ceiling also includes heraldic coats of arms and other decorative elements, “florones” or “piñas”, which refer to the names of the Pinelo and De la Torre families who commis- sioned the construction of the building (Figure 7). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 6 of 17 (a) (b) Figure 6. Ceiling details: (a) Eight-point star and “cuartillejos”. (b) “Cuartillejo” with a 12-point star. Authors’ own pho- tographs, 2020. The ceiling also includes heraldic coats of arms and other decorative elements, “florones” or “piñas”, which refer to the names of the Pinelo and De la Torre families who commissioned the construction of the building (Figure 7). Figure 7. Details of the heraldic coat of arms (Pinelo and De la Torre families). Authors’ own pho- tographs, 2020. 2.2. The Ceiling Consolidation in the 20th Century As the municipal architect, Jesús Gómez-Millán directed the consolidation work funded by the Seville City Council in the Pinelo palace between 1967 and 1971. Until 1981, other major restorations were carried out in the same building, directed by the ar- chitect Rafael Manzano Martos and promoted by the Dirección General de Bellas Artes. Documentation concerning the nine phases of the work directed by Gómez-Millán is preserved in the Municipal Archive of Seville, two of which, performed on the mezza- nine, are the files titled “Comisión Administradora del Impuesto para la Prevención del Paro Obrero, nº 19/1967. D/1368; 32/1968. D/1371”. The first-phase report (August 1967–November 1967) describes the interventions projected on the mezzanine ceilings. Disassembly of the two roof skirts on the wooden Figure 7. Details of the heraldic coat of arms (Pinelo and De la Torre families). Authors’ own photographs, 2020. 2.2. The Ceiling Consolidation in the 20th Century As the municipal architect, Jesús Gómez-Millán directed the consolidation work funded by the Seville City Council in the Pinelo palace between 1967 and 1971. Until 1981, other major restorations were carried out in the same building, directed by the architect Rafael Manzano Martos and promoted by the Dirección General de Bellas Artes. Documentation concerning the nine phases of the work directed by Gómez-Millán is preserved in the Municipal Archive of Seville, two of which, performed on the mezzanine, are the files titled “Comisión Administradora del Impuesto para la Prevención del Paro Obrero, nº 19/1967. D/1368; 32/1968. D/1371”. The first-phase report (August 1967–November 1967) describes the interventions projected on the mezzanine ceilings. Disassembly of the two roof skirts on the wooden ceiling was planned, together with the removal of the old wooden beams that made up its slopes and their replacement with new metal girders, to later complete the gabled tile roof. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 7 of 17 However, the third-phase report (May 1968–September 1968) changed the projected proposal and the gabled roofs were replaced by a flat roof. According to this document, it was planned to reinforce the heads of the old ceiling beams. In addition, two new metal girders supported by the perimeter walls were introduced, arranged as two perpendicular axes of the room, that is, parallel to the two lateral walls. The shorter transverse girder was placed at a lower elevation and the longer longitudinal girder placed above it. These new girders served as anchors for metal tensioners, fixed to the old wooden beams that support the weight of the older ceiling. From these beams, also supported on the side walls, other wires were hung to tighten the wooden boards (Figure 8). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 7 of 17 ceiling was planned, together with the removal of the old wooden beams that made up its slopes and their replacement with new metal girders, to later complete the gabled tile roof. However, the third-phase report (May 1968–September 1968) changed the projected proposal and the gabled roofs were replaced by a flat roof. According to this document, it was planned to reinforce the heads of the old ceiling beams. In addition, two new metal girders supported by the perimeter walls were introduced, arranged as two perpendic- ular axes of the room, that is, parallel to the two lateral walls. The shorter transverse girder was placed at a lower elevation and the longer longitudinal girder placed above it. These new girders served as anchors for metal tensioners, fixed to the old wooden beams that support the weight of the older ceiling. From these beams, also supported on the side walls, other wires were hung to tighten the wooden boards (Figure 8). (a) (b) Figure 8. Hidden structural elements. (a) Anchorages of the 16th-century wooden beams on the wall/new metal girders and roof tie rods. Photographs by Ramón Queiro Quijada, 2016. (b) Schematic sections (hand drawn): hypothesis inclined roof of disappeared wood (left)/current state with new concrete slab and metal beams (right). A report on the Technical Inspection of the Building (ITE), drawn up in June 2016 by the architect Ramón Queiro Quijada for the Urban Planning Management of the Seville City Council, warned about the possible imminent danger of collapse of the ceiling. It detected a deflection of approximately 0.15 m, which far exceeds that which is allowed for this type of material, and also uncovered cracks and small fissures in the wood. It was stated that this could be due to the deterioration of the upper anchors to the ceiling and together was seen as an indication that a collapse could occur with fatal consequences. The artworks housed in the room were transferred to other units of the building it- self and the state of conservation of the fastening elements was evaluated, with a pre- cautionary shoring of the ceiling being planned. After reviewing the metal girders placed by the architect Gómez-Millán and the cables from which the old wooden beams hang, it was estimated that the risk of detachment seemed limited. Taking all these considerations into account, and in order to ensure suitable con- servation and monitoring in the future, it was decided to utilise digital graphic technol- ogies to quantify the current deformations: a first for this type of ceiling. 2.3. Graphic Survey: Material and Method Two graphic surveys of the ceiling have been carried out, based on 3D laser scanners and photogrammetry, respectively, which have both proven to be effective [21,24,25]. The first method aimed to quantify the deformations, with an approach similar to that in previous work [22,23]. Vertical deformations are better observed if the walls, window, and floor of the room are also included in the survey. The scans carried out al- low us to ascertain the whole room with homogeneous precision. On the other hand, the photogrammetric method has been used to achieve a tex- tured three-dimensional model with a higher image resolution, in such a way that or- thophotos can be derived and material details can be visualised. Figure 8. Hidden structural elements. (a) Anchorages of the 16th-century wooden beams on the wall/new metal girders and roof tie rods. Photographs by Ramón Queiro Quijada, 2016. (b) Schematic sections (hand drawn): hypothesis inclined roof of disappeared wood (left)/current state with new concrete slab and metal beams (right). A report on the Technical Inspection of the Building (ITE), drawn up in June 2016 by the architect Ramón Queiro Quijada for the Urban Planning Management of the Seville City Council, warned about the possible imminent danger of collapse of the ceiling. It detected a deflection of approximately 0.15 m, which far exceeds that which is allowed for this type of material, and also uncovered cracks and small fissures in the wood. It was stated that this could be due to the deterioration of the upper anchors to the ceiling and together was seen as an indication that a collapse could occur with fatal consequences. The artworks housed in the room were transferred to other units of the building itself and the state of conservation of the fastening elements was evaluated, with a precautionary shoring of the ceiling being planned. After reviewing the metal girders placed by the architect Gómez-Millán and the cables from which the old wooden beams hang, it was estimated that the risk of detachment seemed limited. Taking all these considerations into account, and in order to ensure suitable conserva- tion and monitoring in the future, it was decided to utilise digital graphic technologies to quantify the current deformations: a first for this type of ceiling. 2.3. Graphic Survey: Material and Method Two graphic surveys of the ceiling have been carried out, based on 3D laser scanners and photogrammetry, respectively, which have both proven to be effective [21,24,25]. The first method aimed to quantify the deformations, with an approach similar to that in previous work [22,23]. Vertical deformations are better observed if the walls, window, and floor of the room are also included in the survey. The scans carried out allow us to ascertain the whole room with homogeneous precision. On the other hand, the photogrammetric method has been used to achieve a textured three-dimensional model with a higher image resolution, in such a way that orthophotos can be derived and material details can be visualised. The material used to obtain these surveys included the following: Leica C10 and BLK360 laser scanners were used. The C10 has a dual-axis compen- sator with 1” accuracy and with 6 mm accuracy in position determination. The software ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 8 of 17 used for the registration and for the processing of the point cloud were Cyclone 360 and 3DReshaper, respectively. The photogrammetry was carried out with a Sony Alpha 7 ILCE-7K Full frame (35 mm) 24.3 Mpix camera and a 28-70 mm F3.5-5.6 lens. In order to obtain photographs with a greater approximation and resolution, the camera was mounted on a pole of approximately 2.5 m in height. In addition, supplementary lighting was necessary due to the lack of natural light in the room and the dark colour of the ceiling itself. To this end, a focus of 0.60 × 0.60 m was mounted on an auxiliary pole. The data processing was carried out using the photogrammetric software Agisoft Metashape version 1.5.2. 2.3.1. Scanner Laser Most of the scans were carried out with the BLK360 scanner due to its faster speed and its ability to capture images in Hight Definition Range (HDR), although it does not capture levelled scans. To obtain the whole set in the same reference and levelled system, the scanning process started from the E-1 and E-2 stations of the C10 scanner, which can be levelled and oriented to a predetermined direction (in our case, the courtyard gallery where E-1 was located). The C10 capture parameters both in E-1 and E-2 included the following: capture of points at medium spatial resolution at which each point is separated from its neighbours by 1 cm assuming a plane located 10 m away; the image resolution captured by the scanner was 1920 × 1920 pixels. The remaining scans were carried out with the following BLK360 parameters: medium spatial resolution (1 cm at 10 m) while the images were taken in HDR at those scan stations where the lighting conditions were scarce or where there was a lot of light contrast. The registration between the C10 and BLK360 scans was made through the C10 located in E-1 and the BLK360 located in BLK-1. Figure 9 shows the path followed by the BLK scanner until reaching the mezzanine where the ceiling under the study is located (Figure 9). Figure 10 shows a detail of the scan distribution inside the mezzanine room (Figure 10). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 8 of 17 The material used to obtain these surveys included the following: Leica C10 and BLK360 laser scanners were used. The C10 has a dual-axis compen- sator with 1’’ accuracy and with 6 mm accuracy in position determination. The software used for the registration and for the processing of the point cloud were Cyclone 360 and 3DReshaper, respectively. The photogrammetry was carried out with a Sony Alpha 7 ILCE-7K Full frame (35 mm) 24.3 Mpix camera and a 28-70 mm F3.5-5.6 lens. In order to obtain photographs with a greater approximation and resolution, the camera was mounted on a pole of approxi- mately 2.5 m in height. In addition, supplementary lighting was necessary due to the lack of natural light in the room and the dark colour of the ceiling itself. To this end, a focus of 0.60 × 0.60 m was mounted on an auxiliary pole. The data processing was carried out using the photogrammetric software Agisoft Metashape version 1.5.2. 2.3.1. Scanner Laser Most of the scans were carried out with the BLK360 scanner due to its faster speed and its ability to capture images in Hight Definition Range (HDR), although it does not capture levelled scans. To obtain the whole set in the same reference and levelled system, the scanning process started from the E-1 and E-2 stations of the C10 scanner, which can be levelled and oriented to a predetermined direction (in our case, the courtyard gallery where E-1 was located). The C10 capture parameters both in E-1 and E-2 included the following: capture of points at medium spatial resolution at which each point is separated from its neighbours by 1 cm assuming a plane located 10 m away; the image resolution captured by the scanner was 1920 × 1920 pixels. The remaining scans were carried out with the following BLK360 parameters: medium spatial resolution (1 cm at 10 m) while the images were taken in HDR at those scan stations where the lighting conditions were scarce or where there was a lot of light contrast. The registration between the C10 and BLK360 scans was made through the C10 lo- cated in E-1 and the BLK360 located in BLK-1. Figure 9 shows the path followed by the BLK scanner until reaching the mezzanine where the ceiling under the study is located (Figure 9). Figure 10 shows a detail of the scan distribution inside the mezzanine room (Figure 10). (a) (b) Figure 9. Scan path and distribution. (a) General view. (b) Fit and error values of the scans. Figure 9. Scan path and distribution. (a) General view. (b) Fit and error values of the scans. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 9 of 17 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 9 of 17 Figure 10. Detail of the scanner station positions within the mezzanine room. The global point cloud composed of scan stations E-1, BLK-1, and ET-1 to ET-11 is made up of 124,093,128 points, while the cloud corresponding only to the room contains 60,168,936 points and is made up of the ET-6 to ET-11 scan stations. The registration of the scans was carried out visually using Cyclone 360 software in order to maintain greater control over the results (Figure 9b). For each contiguous pair of scans, their plan projections were visually aligned (Figure 11a), and then displayed in elevation and, if necessary, levelled (Figure 11b; in this image the slope of the lower scan has been intentionally exaggerated). After levelling (Figure 11c), the lower scan was moved vertically until the two scans were roughly aligned (Figure 11d), to finally activate the optimisation algorithm which completed the alignment with more accuracy and re- ported the fitting error, which in our case was 1.6 mm (Figure 11e). The two scan regis- tered with its true colour are shown in Figure 11f where the yellow triangles represent their scan positions. Figure 11. Manual recording of two scans with indication of the fitting error. In the optimisation phase, the software strives to make the best registration using points from overlapping scans and if it succeeds, then it marks the links that took part in the registration with straight lines. The colour of the links indicates the registration suitability, whereby green is the indicator of a good registration. In this case, the error made in the whole set (Bundle) was 3 mm (Figure 9b). Other quality parameters regard- ing the registration refer to the existing overlap between scan stations (% of object sur- faces covered by two scans), registration strength (the better the three directions of space (x, y, z) are covered, the greater the registration strength) and cloud-to-cloud error. Figure 10. Detail of the scanner station positions within the mezzanine room. The global point cloud composed of scan stations E-1, BLK-1, and ET-1 to ET-11 is made up of 124,093,128 points, while the cloud corresponding only to the room contains 60,168,936 points and is made up of the ET-6 to ET-11 scan stations. The registration of the scans was carried out visually using Cyclone 360 software in order to maintain greater control over the results (Figure 9b). For each contiguous pair of scans, their plan projections were visually aligned (Figure 11a), and then displayed in elevation and, if necessary, levelled (Figure 11b; in this image the slope of the lower scan has been intentionally exaggerated). After levelling (Figure 11c), the lower scan was moved vertically until the two scans were roughly aligned (Figure 11d), to finally activate the optimisation algorithm which completed the alignment with more accuracy and reported the fitting error, which in our case was 1.6 mm (Figure 11e). The two scan registered with its true colour are shown in Figure 11f where the yellow triangles represent their scan positions. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 9 of 17 Figure 10. Detail of the scanner station positions within the mezzanine room. The global point cloud composed of scan stations E-1, BLK-1, and ET-1 to ET-11 is made up of 124,093,128 points, while the cloud corresponding only to the room contains 60,168,936 points and is made up of the ET-6 to ET-11 scan stations. The registration of the scans was carried out visually using Cyclone 360 software in order to maintain greater control over the results (Figure 9b). For each contiguous pair of scans, their plan projections were visually aligned (Figure 11a), and then displayed in elevation and, if necessary, levelled (Figure 11b; in this image the slope of the lower scan has been intentionally exaggerated). After levelling (Figure 11c), the lower scan was moved vertically until the two scans were roughly aligned (Figure 11d), to finally activate the optimisation algorithm which completed the alignment with more accuracy and re- ported the fitting error, which in our case was 1.6 mm (Figure 11e). The two scan regis- tered with its true colour are shown in Figure 11f where the yellow triangles represent their scan positions. Figure 11. Manual recording of two scans with indication of the fitting error. In the optimisation phase, the software strives to make the best registration using points from overlapping scans and if it succeeds, then it marks the links that took part in the registration with straight lines. The colour of the links indicates the registration suitability, whereby green is the indicator of a good registration. In this case, the error made in the whole set (Bundle) was 3 mm (Figure 9b). Other quality parameters regard- ing the registration refer to the existing overlap between scan stations (% of object sur- faces covered by two scans), registration strength (the better the three directions of space (x, y, z) are covered, the greater the registration strength) and cloud-to-cloud error. Figure 11. Manual recording of two scans with indication of the fitting error. In the optimisation phase, the software strives to make the best registration using points from overlapping scans and if it succeeds, then it marks the links that took part in the registration with straight lines. The colour of the links indicates the registration suitability, whereby green is the indicator of a good registration. In this case, the error made in the whole set (Bundle) was 3 mm (Figure 9b). Other quality parameters regarding the registration refer to the existing overlap between scan stations (% of object surfaces covered by two scans), registration strength (the better the three directions of space (x, y, z) are covered, the greater the registration strength) and cloud-to-cloud error. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 10 of 17 To better understand the spatial environment, a perspective view of the point cloud was obtained, from the gallery to the mezzanine floor passing through the main staircase (Figure 12). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 10 of 17 To better understand the spatial environment, a perspective view of the point cloud was obtained, from the gallery to the mezzanine floor passing through the main staircase (Figure 12). Figure 12. 3D orthographic views extracted from the point cloud to better understand the different levels for the mezzanine (a) and the tower above the staircase (b). Central image shows the po- lygonal sections (yellow) and the viewpoints VP1 and VP2; the left image was observed from VP1 and the right image was observed from VP2. 2.3.2. Photogrammetry Ceiling photographs were taken by bringing the camera closer with a pole, with additional lighting provided on another pole (Figure 13a). In this way, 89 photographs were obtained (Figure 13b). (a) (b) Figure 13. Photogrammetry on the mezzanine: (a) Data capture. (b) 3D photogrammetric model. The focal length of the camera was set to 28 mm and the resolution to 24.3 Mp for each image. The photograph alignment was computed using Metashape software with the Accuracy parameter set to medium. The dense point cloud was obtained with medium quality that computed 30,957,566 points, and the model mesh was processed setting the Faces count parameter to high, thereby obtaining a total of 6,191,513 faces. Finally, the texture was computed by setting the following parameters: Mapping mode (Generic), blending mode (Mosaic) and Texture size/count (8000 × 1). The alignment adjustment was carried out by means of control points whose coordinates were obtained from the scans recorded in the previous phase; those coordinates were extracted using the 360º visual capabilities of Jetstream software for each scan station. The total (bundle) mean error was 6.5 mm (Figure 14). This figure also offers an orthogonal image of the ceiling with the location of the control points that were employed in the adjustment. Figure 12. 3D orthographic views extracted from the point cloud to better understand the different levels for the mezzanine (a) and the tower above the staircase (b). Central image shows the polygonal sections (yellow) and the viewpoints VP1 and VP2; the left image was observed from VP1 and the right image was observed from VP2. 2.3.2. Photogrammetry Ceiling photographs were taken by bringing the camera closer with a pole, with additional lighting provided on another pole (Figure 13a). In this way, 89 photographs were obtained (Figure 13b). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 10 of 17 To better understand the spatial environment, a perspective view of the point cloud was obtained, from the gallery to the mezzanine floor passing through the main staircase (Figure 12). Figure 12. 3D orthographic views extracted from the point cloud to better understand the different levels for the mezzanine (a) and the tower above the staircase (b). Central image shows the po- lygonal sections (yellow) and the viewpoints VP1 and VP2; the left image was observed from VP1 and the right image was observed from VP2. 2.3.2. Photogrammetry Ceiling photographs were taken by bringing the camera closer with a pole, with additional lighting provided on another pole (Figure 13a). In this way, 89 photographs were obtained (Figure 13b). (a) (b) Figure 13. Photogrammetry on the mezzanine: (a) Data capture. (b) 3D photogrammetric model. The focal length of the camera was set to 28 mm and the resolution to 24.3 Mp for each image. The photograph alignment was computed using Metashape software with the Accuracy parameter set to medium. The dense point cloud was obtained with medium quality that computed 30,957,566 points, and the model mesh was processed setting the Faces count parameter to high, thereby obtaining a total of 6,191,513 faces. Finally, the texture was computed by setting the following parameters: Mapping mode (Generic), blending mode (Mosaic) and Texture size/count (8000 × 1). The alignment adjustment was carried out by means of control points whose coordinates were obtained from the scans recorded in the previous phase; those coordinates were extracted using the 360º visual capabilities of Jetstream software for each scan station. The total (bundle) mean error was 6.5 mm (Figure 14). This figure also offers an orthogonal image of the ceiling with the location of the control points that were employed in the adjustment. Figure 13. Photogrammetry on the mezzanine: (a) Data capture. (b) 3D photogrammetric model. The focal length of the camera was set to 28 mm and the resolution to 24.3 Mp for each image. The photograph alignment was computed using Metashape software with the Accuracy parameter set to medium. The dense point cloud was obtained with medium quality that computed 30,957,566 points, and the model mesh was processed setting the Faces count parameter to high, thereby obtaining a total of 6,191,513 faces. Finally, the texture was computed by setting the following parameters: Mapping mode (Generic), blending mode (Mosaic) and Texture size/count (8000 × 1). The alignment adjustment was carried out by means of control points whose coordinates were obtained from the scans recorded in the previous phase; those coordinates were extracted using the 360º visual capabilities of Jetstream software for each scan station. The total (bundle) mean error was 6.5 mm (Figure 14). This figure also offers an orthogonal image of the ceiling with the location of the control points that were employed in the adjustment. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 11 of 17 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 11 of 17 By using the parametric values indicated above, an orthophotograph of high spatial and spectral resolution with a pixel size of 0.5 mm was reached. (a) (b) Figure 14. Photogrammetric adjustment: (a) Coordinates and error adjustment. (b) Control-point location. 3. Results and Discussion The results are derived from the point cloud obtained with the scan and from the photogrammetric 3D model. The scan provides a 3D structure that integrates the walls and the ceiling, thereby enabling their deformations to be measured. Photogrammetry allows material details to be visualised thanks to the high-resolution texturing of the 3D surface model. The first analysis detected significant geometric deformations that may have already existed in the original construction, as often occurs in historic buildings. The image ob- tained from the point cloud shows a plan that theoretically should be rectangular, but actually has different lengths on its parallel sides: the longest sides differ by 0.065 m. and the smaller ones differ 0.091 m (Figure 15). Figure 15. Ceiling dimensions from point cloud (orthogonal projection). Figure 14. Photogrammetric adjustment: (a) Coordinates and error adjustment. (b) Control-point location. By using the parametric values indicated above, an orthophotograph of high spatial and spectral resolution with a pixel size of 0.5 mm was reached. 3. Results and Discussion The results are derived from the point cloud obtained with the scan and from the photogrammetric 3D model. The scan provides a 3D structure that integrates the walls and the ceiling, thereby enabling their deformations to be measured. Photogrammetry allows material details to be visualised thanks to the high-resolution texturing of the 3D surface model. The first analysis detected significant geometric deformations that may have already existed in the original construction, as often occurs in historic buildings. The image obtained from the point cloud shows a plan that theoretically should be rectangular, but actually has different lengths on its parallel sides: the longest sides differ by 0.065 m. and the smaller ones differ 0.091 m (Figure 15). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 11 of 17 By using the parametric values indicated above, an orthophotograph of high spatial and spectral resolution with a pixel size of 0.5 mm was reached. (a) (b) Figure 14. Photogrammetric adjustment: (a) Coordinates and error adjustment. (b) Control-point location. 3. Results and Discussion The results are derived from the point cloud obtained with the scan and from the photogrammetric 3D model. The scan provides a 3D structure that integrates the walls and the ceiling, thereby enabling their deformations to be measured. Photogrammetry allows material details to be visualised thanks to the high-resolution texturing of the 3D surface model. The first analysis detected significant geometric deformations that may have already existed in the original construction, as often occurs in historic buildings. The image ob- tained from the point cloud shows a plan that theoretically should be rectangular, but actually has different lengths on its parallel sides: the longest sides differ by 0.065 m. and the smaller ones differ 0.091 m (Figure 15). Figure 15. Ceiling dimensions from point cloud (orthogonal projection). Figure 15. Ceiling dimensions from point cloud (orthogonal projection). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 12 of 17 The differences in measurements on the room floor are not visible to the naked eye from inside the room. However, the ceiling deformations are indeed perceptible. In order to provide a clearer first view of the deformations, two perpendicular interior section- elevations were obtained, cutting through the centre of the room (Figure 16). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 12 of 17 The differences in measurements on the room floor are not visible to the naked eye from inside the room. However, the ceiling deformations are indeed perceptible. In order to provide a clearer first view of the deformations, two perpendicular interior sec- tion-elevations were obtained, cutting through the centre of the room (Figure 16). (a) (b) Figure 16. Sections through the mezzanine centre: (a) Longitudinal. (b) Transversal. To quantify the magnitudes of the main deformations, three longitudinal sections (parallel to the longest sides of the room) were made and different heights were sampled therein, whereby the most significant data was chosen (Figure 17). (a) (b) Figure 17. Mezzanine sections: (a) Sections AA′, BB′, CC′. (b) Heights in sections AA′, BB′, CC′. The measurement data is unexpected, since it would be logical to find the greatest deformation in the ceiling centre. However, when observing section BB′ or its orthogonal view (Figure 18), it is verified that the greatest height differences are found 1.05 m from the centre of the room with height differences of 0.238 m from B and 0.239 m from B′. The difference in height from both B and B′ to the centre is 0.220 m. Therefore, between the lowest point of the ceiling and the centre there is a height difference of 0.018 m. These results are coherent with the existence of anchors placed in the 1968 consolidation work directed by Goméz-Millán to alleviate the stresses derived from its own weight. Figure 16. Sections through the mezzanine centre: (a) Longitudinal. (b) Transversal. To quantify the magnitudes of the main deformations, three longitudinal sections (parallel to the longest sides of the room) were made and different heights were sampled therein, whereby the most significant data was chosen (Figure 17). ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 12 of 17 The differences in measurements on the room floor are not visible to the naked eye from inside the room. However, the ceiling deformations are indeed perceptible. In order to provide a clearer first view of the deformations, two perpendicular interior sec- tion-elevations were obtained, cutting through the centre of the room (Figure 16). (a) (b) Figure 16. Sections through the mezzanine centre: (a) Longitudinal. (b) Transversal. To quantify the magnitudes of the main deformations, three longitudinal sections (parallel to the longest sides of the room) were made and different heights were sampled therein, whereby the most significant data was chosen (Figure 17). (a) (b) Figure 17. Mezzanine sections: (a) Sections AA′, BB′, CC′. (b) Heights in sections AA′, BB′, CC′. The measurement data is unexpected, since it would be logical to find the greatest deformation in the ceiling centre. However, when observing section BB′ or its orthogonal view (Figure 18), it is verified that the greatest height differences are found 1.05 m from the centre of the room with height differences of 0.238 m from B and 0.239 m from B′. The difference in height from both B and B′ to the centre is 0.220 m. Therefore, between the lowest point of the ceiling and the centre there is a height difference of 0.018 m. These results are coherent with the existence of anchors placed in the 1968 consolidation work directed by Goméz-Millán to alleviate the stresses derived from its own weight. Figure 17. Mezzanine sections: (a) Sections AA′, BB′, CC′. (b) Heights in sections AA′, BB′, CC′. The measurement data is unexpected, since it would be logical to find the greatest deformation in the ceiling centre. However, when observing section BB′ or its orthogonal view (Figure 18), it is verified that the greatest height differences are found 1.05 m from the centre of the room with height differences of 0.238 m from B and 0.239 m from B′. The difference in height from both B and B′ to the centre is 0.220 m. Therefore, between the lowest point of the ceiling and the centre there is a height difference of 0.018 m. These results are coherent with the existence of anchors placed in the 1968 consolidation work directed by Goméz-Millán to alleviate the stresses derived from its own weight. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 13 of 17 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 13 of 17 (a) (b) Figure 18. Longitudinal cross-section through the room centre including measurement of deformations: (a) Section BB'. (b) Section-perspective view. The lack of uniformity in the deformations is also observed in the north-south transverse direction. While in section A′B′C′ there is a descending slope from north to south, in section ABC there is an ascending slope from A to B and descending from B to C with different values of increments: 0.034 m and 0.012 m respectively. This is also ex- plained by the placement of various anchors during the consolidation work in the late 20th century. On the other hand, the roof surface (Figure 19) has also been reconstructed through photogrammetry, and a textured 3D model was obtained that may be of great interest for future conservation or restoration work, and for the heritage communication. (a) (b) Figure 19. General view and details of the mezzanine ceiling from photogrammetry: (a) 3D surface model. (b) 3D tex- tured model. The 3D photogrammetric model has made it possible to obtain orthophotographs from the central horizontal part of the ceiling and from its tilted planes so that their de- tails can be visualised with a high resolution (Figure 20). The tilted planes are laid flat in their true magnitude along with the central part. Geometric irregularities or defor- mations of the horizontal and tilted planes are clearly visible on the edges. Figure 18. Longitudinal cross-section through the room centre including measurement of deformations: (a) Section BB’. (b) Section-perspective view. The lack of uniformity in the deformations is also observed in the north-south trans- verse direction. While in section A′B′C′ there is a descending slope from north to south, in section ABC there is an ascending slope from A to B and descending from B to C with different values of increments: 0.034 m and 0.012 m respectively. This is also explained by the placement of various anchors during the consolidation work in the late 20th century. On the other hand, the roof surface (Figure 19) has also been reconstructed through photogrammetry, and a textured 3D model was obtained that may be of great interest for future conservation or restoration work, and for the heritage communication. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 13 of 17 (a) (b) Figure 18. Longitudinal cross-section through the room centre including measurement of deformations: (a) Section BB'. (b) Section-perspective view. The lack of uniformity in the deformations is also observed in the north-south transverse direction. While in section A′B′C′ there is a descending slope from north to south, in section ABC there is an ascending slope from A to B and descending from B to C with different values of increments: 0.034 m and 0.012 m respectively. This is also ex- plained by the placement of various anchors during the consolidation work in the late 20th century. On the other hand, the roof surface (Figure 19) has also been reconstructed through photogrammetry, and a textured 3D model was obtained that may be of great interest for future conservation or restoration work, and for the heritage communication. (a) (b) Figure 19. General view and details of the mezzanine ceiling from photogrammetry: (a) 3D surface model. (b) 3D tex- tured model. The 3D photogrammetric model has made it possible to obtain orthophotographs from the central horizontal part of the ceiling and from its tilted planes so that their de- tails can be visualised with a high resolution (Figure 20). The tilted planes are laid flat in their true magnitude along with the central part. Geometric irregularities or defor- mations of the horizontal and tilted planes are clearly visible on the edges. Figure 19. General view and details of the mezzanine ceiling from photogrammetry: (a) 3D surface model. (b) 3D textured model. The 3D photogrammetric model has made it possible to obtain orthophotographs from the central horizontal part of the ceiling and from its tilted planes so that their details can be visualised with a high resolution (Figure 20). The tilted planes are laid flat in their true magnitude along with the central part. Geometric irregularities or deformations of the horizontal and tilted planes are clearly visible on the edges. ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 14 of 17 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, x FOR PEER REVIEW 14 of 17 Figure 20. Ceiling orthoimage with the tilted side planes laid flat. 4. Conclusions In order to ascertain, conserve, and disseminate architectural heritage, it is essential to attain suitable digital images. A graphically well-documented landmark will always have a better chance of surviving the passage of time, an unpredictable catastrophe, or unfortunate human interventions. In the worst scenario, when the architectural heritage is destroyed by some misfortune, its memory can be preserved if there are images that facilitate its material reconstruction or virtual recreation. For the documentation and analysis of this 16th-century ceiling in the Pinelo Palace in Seville, this research has considered its historical background and has followed a methodology based on two complementary digital data captures: using a 3D laser scan- ner, and photogrammetry. Figure 20. Ceiling orthoimage with the tilted side planes laid flat. 4. Conclusions In order to ascertain, conserve, and disseminate architectural heritage, it is essential to attain suitable digital images. A graphically well-documented landmark will always have a better chance of surviving the passage of time, an unpredictable catastrophe, or unfortunate human interventions. In the worst scenario, when the architectural heritage is destroyed by some misfortune, its memory can be preserved if there are images that facilitate its material reconstruction or virtual recreation. For the documentation and analysis of this 16th-century ceiling in the Pinelo Palace in Seville, this research has considered its historical background and has followed a methodology based on two complementary digital data captures: using a 3D laser scanner, and photogrammetry. It has been found that in a room that should theoretically be rectangular, there are differences of 0.065 m when comparing the longest sides and 0.091 m on the shortest sides. These irregularities suggest that the Renaissance palace was able to reuse the ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 15 of 17 walls of a previous medieval building, in accordance with historical studies referred in the introduction. After having analysed several geometric modules of the ceiling, it was found that it is made up of interlocking patterns of eight-point and 12-point stars, and not, as a text from 1542 erroneously describes it, of nine- and 12-point stars. In the final orthoimage (Figure 20), it can easily be observed that the ceiling is composed of “cuartillejos” or modules with a square base, but its modulation is altered in the central part, where a small strip is duplicated, to fit the design to the room dimensions. From this it follows that there was no unitary project for the whole building: the ceiling design had to be fitted to a room whose walls were probably deformed. According to the historical documentation consulted, the ceiling was consolidated under the direction of the architect Jesús Gómez-Millán in around 1967–1970. The tile roof was replaced with a flat concrete floor and the ceiling was hung from two new metal beams. The deformations came into existence when this consolidation was completed approximately 50 years ago, but until now it had not been accurately quantified. In the sections, the maximum ceiling deformation does not occur in the centre: the lowest point is at 1.05 m on both sides from the centre. This is explained by the placement of anchors that released stress due to their weight, although the maximum deformations are large: 0.238 and 0.239 m. A lack of uniformity has also been detected in the deformations: in the cross-sections towards the eastern end the deformations are descending, and towards the western end they are staggered. Therefore, under the direction of Gómez-Millán, wire rods were placed that successfully improved safety and stability, but also caused the current irregular deformations. The high-resolution orthoimage provided allows the details of the ceiling to be viewed with precision. Without a thorough knowledge of what is to be preserved or restored, it remains impossible to propose suitable measures for its protection. The rigorous digital graphic documentation is expected to serve as a starting point for a future scientific plan for the conservation of this unique deformed ceiling and to disseminate on the web the image of a beautiful architectural element of the rich heritage of southern Europe. Author Contributions: Juan Francisco Reinoso-Gordo, Antonio Gámiz-Gordo and PPedro Barrero- Ortega all took part in the entire research process. All authors have read and agreed to the published version of the manuscript. Funding: This research has been funded by internationalisation grants to the Instituto Universitario de Arquitectura y Ciencias de la Construcción (IUACC) of the VII Plan Propio de Investigación y Transferencia in the University of Seville. Institutional Review Board Statement: Not applicable. Informed Consent Statement: Not applicable. Acknowledgments: The present research has been made possible thanks to the collaboration of members and staff of the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de Santa Isabel de Hungría de Sevilla and Real Academia Sevillana de Buenas Letras; Carpintería Los Tres Juanes; Ramón Queiro Quijada; Rafael Manzano Martos. The authors are also grateful for the support from the research group Expregrafica, Lugar Arquitectura y Dibujo (PAIDI-HUM-976), Programa de Doctorado en Arquitectura, Instituto Universitario de Arquitectura y Ciencias de la Construcción from the University of Seville; the research group Ingeniería Cartográfica (PAIDI-TEP-164) from the University of Jaén; and the Survey and Modelling Laboratory (SMlab) from the University of Granada. Conflicts of Interest: The authors declare there to be no conflict of interest. References 1. Falcón-Márquez, T. La Casa de Jerónimo Pinelo Sede de las R.R.A.A Sevillanas de Buenas Letras y de Bellas Artes; Fundación Aparejadores y Fundación Cruzcampo: Seville, Spain, 2006. 2. Manzano-Martos, R. La Casa de los Pinelo y los palacios sevillanos del siglo XVI [Discurso apertura curso académico 1996/97]. Boletín de la Real Academia Sevillana de Buenas Letras Minervae Baeticae 1997, 25, 7–20. Available online: http://hdl.handle.net/1144 1/14695 (accessed on 31 January 2021). http://hdl.handle.net/11441/14695 http://hdl.handle.net/11441/14695 ISPRS Int. J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 16 of 17 3. Barrero-Ortega, P. La Casa de los Pinelo. Las Transformaciones de un Palacio Renacentista en el Siglo XX. Ph.D. Thesis, Universidad de Sevilla, Seville, Spain, 2017. Available online: http://hdl.handle.net/11441/63987 (accessed on 31 January 2021). 4. Barrero-Ortega, P. Las transformaciones arquitectónicas de la Casa de los Pinelo en Sevilla entre 1885–1981. Temas de Estética y Arte 2017, XXXI, 153–172. 5. 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J. Geo-Inf. 2021, 10, 85 17 of 17 30. Nuere-Matauco, E.; Candelas-Gutiérrez, A.; de-Mingo-García, J. Análisis constructivo de la cúpula de madera del desaparecido Palacio de los Cárdenas en Torrijos (S. XV). Inf. Construcción 2020, 72, e353. [CrossRef] 31. Rafols, J.F. Techumbres y Artesonados Españoles; Editorial Labor: Barcelona, Spain, 1926. 32. López-Guzmán, R.J. Carpintería mudéjar en América. In La Carpintería de Armar: Técnica y Fundamentos Histórico-Artísticos; Universidad de Málaga: Málaga, Spain, 2012; pp. 17–44. 33. Prieto Vives, A. El arte de la Lacería; Colegio de Ingenieros de Caminos, Canales y Puertos: Madrid, Spain, 1977. 34. Fernández-Puertas, A. El lazo de ocho occidental o andaluz. Al-Andalus 1975, XL, 199–203. 35. Donaire-Rodríguez, A. El trazado de lacería de ocho en alicatados. In Actas del III Simposio Internacional de Mudejarismo; Instituto de Estudios Turolenses, Centro de Estudios Mudéjares: Teruel, Spain, 1984; pp. 647–671. 36. Nuere-Matauco, E. Los cartabones como instrumento exclusivo para el trazado de lacerías. Madr. Mitt. 1982, 23, 372–427. 37. Nuere-Matauco, E. La Carpintería de Armar Española; Ediciones Munilla Leira: Madrid, Spain, 2000. 38. Nuere-Matauco, E.; Manzano-Martos, R. Dibujo, Geometría, y Carpinteros en la Arquitectura; Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando: Madrid, Spain, 2010; Available online: https://cutt.ly/ufJO6fN (accessed on 31 January 2021). 39. López-de-Arenas, D. Breve Compendio de la Carpintería de lo Blanco y Tratado de Alarifes; Luis Estupiñán: Sevilla, Spain, 1633. 40. De San-Miguel, F.A.; Báez Macías, E. Obras de Fray Andrés de San Miguel; Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México: Mexico City, Mexico, 1969. http://doi.org/10.3989/ic.71019 https://cutt.ly/ufJO6fN Introduction Short History of the Pinelo Palace in Seville (Spain) General Objectives Materials and Methods The Design of the Ceiling According to the Book by López de Arenas (1633) The Ceiling Consolidation in the 20th Century Graphic Survey: Material and Method Scanner Laser Photogrammetry Results and Discussion Conclusions References 
work_qyqvrq7om5hm5mspqieyhs3kxu	----	Branko Mitrović Journal of Art Historiography Number 1 December 2009 Ruminations on the dark side: history of art as rage and denials1 Branko Mitrović That, which satisfies the spirit, is also the measure of its loss. Hegel, Phänomenologie des Geistes2 The old philosophical puzzle about one and many has a wide range of implications for the various disciplines of intellectual history, such as histories of philosophy, science or art. The puzzle can be stated as follows: a multitude always consists of singulars, but is it always a mere sum of these singulars—or should we assume that a whole can differ from the sum of its parts? Is a multitude just a joint name for the individuals that constitute it? Or maybe we should conceive of singulars as constituted into what they are through their membership in a multitude? Are singulars perhaps mere manifestations of the group they belong to? When it comes to human creativity: is the creativity of an artist (author in general) an instantiation of group creativity—or is the creativity of a group the sum of individual creativities? The creative decisions of an author (an artist, scientist or philosopher) are often assumed to be influenced by his or her context. But is this influence of the group that makes up the context merely the sum of that author’s interactions with other individuals that make up the group? Or, can a context influence the creativity of an individual in a way that is not identical with, nor reducible to the sum of the influences of the individuals that belong to that context? 1 I should like to express my gratitude to James Ackerman for initiating my interest in the problems presented in this paper during our 2003 discussions in the Canadian Centre for Architecture; to Christine Smith, Bruce Boucher and Patricia Waddy for their encouragement to work on this project; to The Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute and my home institution, Unitec Institute of Technology, for providing the necessary otium that enabled me to work on the project; to Richard Woodfield for the encouragement to work on this article; to Ian Verstegen for his thoughtful insights; to Jonathan Blower for providing me with a copy of Dvořák’s letter; to Michael Ann Holly, Mark Ledbury, Martin Berger, Hollis Clayson, Thierry de Duve, Hagi Kanaan and Mary Roberts for discussing with me various aspects of the article; to Karen Wise for her help with the written English of the article and to Sarah van Anden for her help in the preparation of the paper. 2 An diesem, woran dem Geiste genügt, ist die Größe seines Verlustes zu ermessen. Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Phänomenologie des Geistes, Leipzig: Dürr’sche Buchhandlung 1907, 8 (Introduction, §2). Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 2 Holism-Individualism Piero della Francesca, it may be said, used perspective in his work because he was a Renaissance painter. Such an explanation can be understood in a number of ways, depending on how one conceives of the Renaissance and its impact on quattrocento Italians. If we assume that this influence of the epoch was more than the sum of influences of individual contemporaries, the Renaissance starts to resemble a spiritual substance that landed on the Italian peninsula in the early quattrocento, stayed there for two centuries and determined the creativity of contemporary Italians according to what was appropriate to their time and community. The central characteristic of such, holist, view is that individual creativity is a mere manifestation of and fully explainable by the creativity of the collective (culture, class, race, ethnicity, period) the individual belongs to—that insofar as they are creative at all, individuals of a certain period or community can only be creative in accordance with the Spirit of that period or community. As Ernst Gombrich observed, this view postulates that all the manifestations of an era—philosophy, art, social structures, etc.—must be considered as expressions of an essence, an identical spirit. As a result, every era is considered as a totality embracing everything.3 This approach is to be found, for instance, in Heinrich Wölfflin’s view that to explain a style means to fit its expressive character into the general history of the period and prove that its forms conform to the other manifestations of the age.4 According to Otto Pächt, such an approach was also shared by Alois Riegl, in whose view, a great artist, even a genius, is nothing but the executor and the fulfilment, of the Kunstwollen of his nation and age.5 An example of the application of this programme is Oswald Spengler’s view that there existed a deep internal link between the invention of perspective, book-printing, the credit system and point-counter-point in music.6 3 Ernst Gombrich in ‘I think art historians are the spokesmen of our civilization; we want to know more about our Olympus’, The Art Newpaper, 28:19, 1993, 18-19. A similar statement by Gombrich is in his In Search for Cultural History, Oxford, 1969, 28: ‘The great Erwin Panofsky, … never renounced the desire to demonstrate the organic unity of all aspects of a period. … In his Renaissance and Renaissances in Western Art he explicitly defended the notion of cultures having an essence against the criticism of George Boas’. See also David R. Topper, ‘On a Ghost of Historiography Past’, Leonardo, 21:1, 1988, 76-78. Similarly, in Wilhelm Pinder’s Das Problem der Generation in der Kunstgeschichte Europas, we read that Vermeer was merely painting Spinoza (i.e. the 4 ‘Einen Stil erklären kann nichts anderes heissen als ihn nach seinem Ausdruck in die allgemeine Zeitgeschichte einreihen, nachweisen, dass seine Formen in ihrer Sprache nichts anderes sagen, als die übrigen Organe der Zeit.’ Heinrich Wölfflin, Renaissance und Barock, Munich: F. Bruckmann, 1908, 58. Similarly, in his Das Erklären von Kunstwerken, Leipzig: Seeman, 1921, 8, Wölfflin states that ‘Erklären wird überall hier heißen, im Einzelnen und Einmaligen das Allgemeinere fühlen zu lehren.’ 5 Otto Pächt, ‘Art Historians and Art Critics — vi: Alois Riegl’, The Burlington Magazine, No 103: 772, May 1963, 188-193. 6 Oswald Spengler, Der Untergang des Abendlandes. Umrisse einer Morphologie der Welgeschichte, Munich: DTV 2003, 66. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 3 content of Spinoza’s philosophy), since the painter and the philosopher were born in the same year.7 Contrary to the holist view is the individualist position that collectives are mere sums of individuals—that, for instance, the Renaissance is a mere name for the creative thoughts, decisions, actions and mutual individual interactions of millions of Italians who, in a certain period, were exposed to similar challenges, such as an intensified intellectual exchange, strong urban environments, the influx of Byzantine scholars or the invention of the printing press. The context in this case does not explain why an individual did things the way he or she did them. Rather, what the context can explain is how an individual artist, scientist or philosopher acquired the skills or knowledge that enabled him or her to produce an artefact with certain properties. In the philosophy of history there exists substantial literature on the debate about individualism and holism.8 Distinction between individualism and holism also applies to history writing. History writing itself is a creative process. When practicing it, large groups of historians may happen to adopt the same methodological assumptions, the way artists of the same period sometimes adopt the same style. This is particularly characteristic of Weimar-era art historiography which was marked by the widespread (one could say unanimous) adoption of a holist world-view—in other words, the holist propensities of Weimar-era scholars constitute a collective phenomenon in its own right, and one that has exercised a huge influence on Distinction between holism and individualism, it should be said, is sharp and requires an either-or answer: insofar as a specific creative decision of an individual author was influenced (or determined) by a specific group, this group can either be understood as reducible to a set of individuals—or it needs to be understood as more than and irreducible to a mere sum of individuals. Influence can be conceived of either as a set of specific influences of a group of individuals, or as the influence of a social entity that is understood as more than a sum of individual influences. But there can be no third possibility. Otherwise one would have to argue that there can exist a multitude that is, in the same sense and at the same time, both reducible and irreducible to the sum of singulars that constitute it. 7 Wilhelm Pinder: Das Problem der Generation in der Kunstgeschichte Europas, Berlin: Frankfurter Verlags- Anstalt, 1926, 134. 8 See Ernest Gellner, ‘Holism versus Individualism in History and Sociology’, in Patrick Gardiner, ed., Theories of History, Glencoe: The Free Press, 1959, 489-503; J. W. N. Watkins, in his ‘Historical Explanation in the Social Sciences’ in Gardiner, ed., Theories, 503-515; Arthur Danto, Narration and Knowledge, New York: Columbia University Press, 1985, 257-284 and Branko Mitrović, ‘Intellectual History, Inconceivability and Methodological Holism’, History and Theory, 46:1, January 2007, 29-47. In art history, the problem often manifested itself in the form of the debate about periodization. See for instance George Boas, ‘Historical Periods’, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 11:3, March 1953, 248-254; Paul L. Frank, ‘Historical or Stylistic Periods’, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 13:4, June 1955, 451-457; Robert C. Stalnaker, ‘Events, Periods and Institutions in Historians’ Language’, History and Theory, 6:2, 1967, 159-179. For a review of Geistesgeschichte—style holistic historiography in English-speaking art history see W. Eugene Kleinbauer: ‘Geistesgeschichte and Art History’, Art Journal, 30:2, Winter 1970-71, 148-153. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 4 English-speaking historiography.9 The discussion of authorial and environmental insecurities as an explanatory strategy in (intellectual) history that is presented here does not include a psychological explanation of the concept of insecurities. Rather, the aim is to discuss (from the example of Weimar-era historians’ holist propensities) whether such a concept could be usefully employed in historical explanations at all and what it could stand for. My main efforts here concentrate on describing a specific phenomenon, one could say a syndrome, that accompanies much of holist history- writing. The discussion (and especially the example of Weimar-era historiography) shows, I believe, that this phenomenon, (i.e. insecurities), could actually explain much of holist historiography, should a proper psychological account of the phenomenon be provided. However, since this paper merely describes the phenomenon, and does not provide the necessary psychological account, it cannot be taken to explain the holist propensities of Weimar-era scholars. More generally, even without psychological account, the term insecurities could possibly still be used the way other psychological terms (motivation, decision, belief) are used in history writing but with much reduced explanatory power. In any case, I believe that the discussion presented here shows that we are dealing with a clearly describable, definable and coherent historiographical phenomenon and that looking for its psychological (possibly psychoanalytic) explanation is a worthwhile project. In this paper I discuss the possibilities and implications of a specific individualist explanation of this collective phenomenon: the claim that their insecurities, as well as those of the environment in which they lived, propelled Weimar-era scholars to adopt holist methodologies. The explanatory strategy that I examine here is thus psychological—as is often the case with individualist explanations, which have to understand the decisions, motivation or creativity of historical figures in psychological terms. A holist historian can argue that the decisions, motivation or creativity of individuals were manifestations of the collective spirit and independent of the individual psychologies of these individuals—but an individualist historian cannot make such claims. Individualist historiography, in its ultimate explanations of human creativity, typically relies on psychological facts. Rausch Writing in 1929, in the Preface to a collection of essays by Alois Riegl, Hans Sedlmayr described the kind of holist position that, in his view, had become the dominant approach to history writing since the end of the war 1914-1918.10 9 In this paper I use the term ‘Weimar-era scholarship’ to include all German-speaking scholarship from the period of Weimar Republic. I also take into account examples from other periods, such as the Wilhelmine era or the Third Reich, in which the authors whose works are discussed here were active. Sedlmayr may not have been quite accurate in his dating: holist historiography had been firmly entrenched in German scholarship since the times of Hegel—but other authors as well, such as Karl Mannheim, observed that holism had gained substantial 10 Hans Sedlmayr, ‘Die Quintessenz der Lehren Riegls’ in Alois Riegl, Gesammelte Aufsätze, Karl Maria Swoboda, ed., Augsburg, 1929, xii-xxxiv. Cited here according to the version reprinted in Hans Sedlmayr, Kunst und Wahrheit, Munich: Mäander, 1978, 32-48. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 5 prominence in the early decades of the twentieth century.11 The important aspect of holist history writing, Sedlmayr reported enthusiastically, was the rejection of the view that groups were mere sums of individuals and that individuals were the primary and the only real historical entities.12 In his view, the individualistic understanding of historical events as the result of blind networks of individual causal lines was to be replaced with the view that there exist real meaningful self- movements of the Spirit which may be delayed, but not substantially affected, by specific historical events. (47) Sedlmayr explains that ‘modern, non-atomistic’ sociology has confirmed the existence of the ‘objective Spirit’ and cites Alfred Vierkandt’s view about the ‘domination of a superindividual Spirit in … human cultures’.13 The same faith in the ‘objective Spirit’ is explicitly articulated in a 1924 textbook for methodology courses in art history departments written by the Heidelberg professor Robert Hedicke. 14 Hedicke explains that art history studies the monuments of the visual arts in the context of their spiritual-historical evolution. The History of the Spirit (Geistesgeschichte) is a field of historical scholarship that studies the objective Spirit, its manifestations in human cultures and the way the Spirit reveals itself in every human cultural monument.15 A historical period is to be understood as a spiritual unit, a unified system of values, and the aim of art history is to acquire knowledge about it.16 A good example of such an understanding of history writing can be found in Wilhelm Worringer’s works.17 In his Abstraktion und Einfühlung Gothic simply came about, entstand, from itself, apparently without any human participation. (145-146) Similarly, in Griechentum und Gotik Worringer postulates forces such as ‘French artistic essence’.18 11 Karl Mannheim, ‘Beiträge zur Theorie der Weltanschauungs-Interpretation’, Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, 4, 1921-1922, 237-284. Since, from this point of view, creativity belongs to groups independently of the individuals that constitute these 12 Sedlmayr, ‘Die Quintessenz’, 46-47. 13‘Im großartigsten Maße zeigt sich das Walten eines überindividuellen Geistes in den Tatsachen der menschlichen Kultur.’ Sedlmayr, ‘Quintessenz’ 36, citing Alfred Vierkandt, Geselschaftlehre, Stuttgart: Enke, 1928, 343. Behind these facts of human culture stands a ‘Wille von überindividueller Art, der dem Einzelnen als normative Kraft gegenübertritt. Man spricht dabei von einem objektiven Willen oder auch speziell von einem objektiven Gesamtwillen, und meint damit eine Kraft, die vom Einzelnen mit Recht als objektive Macht aufgefaßt wird.’ This superindividual will is carried by a group of people, the same way as the objective Spirit. Sedlmayr, ‘Quintessenz’, 36-37. 14 Robert Hedicke, Methodenlehre der Kunstgeschichte. Ein Handbuch für Studierende, Strassburg: Heitz, 1924. 15 ‘Kunstgeschichte ist die historische Wissenschaft von den Bildkunstdenkmälern erfaßt im geistes geschichtlichen Wandlungszusammenhang. …Geistestgeschichte ist die historische Wissenschaft vom Objektiven Geiste, wie er sich in den Kulturen der Menschheit entfaltet hat und wie er sich in jedem menschlichen Kulturdenkmal als Wert offenbart.’ Hedicke, Methodenlehre, 3. ‘Allgemeine Geistesgeschichte ist die historische Wissenschaft von dem allen Geisteswissenschaften gemeinsamen objektiven Geist in seinen verschiedenen historischen Äußerungen und Wandlungen.’ Hedicke, Methodenlehre, 132. 16 „Die grundlegende Idee, der grundegende Glaube ist dabei, daß es in jeder Zeit eine geistesgeschichtliche Einheit, ein einheitliches Wertsystem, einen einheitlichen Geist gibt und daß es letzten Endes gilt, diese Einheit, diese Wertgruppe, diesen Geist zu erkennen und darzustellen.’ Hedicke, Methodenlehre, 141, 17 Wilhelm Worringer: Abstraktion und Einfühlung. Ein Beitrag zur Stilphychologie, Munich: R. Piper, 1921. 18 Wilhelm Worringer: Griechentum und Gotik. Vom Weltreich des Hellenismus, Munich: R. Piper, 1928. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 6 groups, groups can also influence each other (and the creativity of individuals that participate in them) without any actual interaction between the individuals that belong to these groups. This enables Worringer to describe Iranian influences on French medieval art (61), the influence of Praxiteles on Duccio (88), or even to discuss Hellenism in Chinese and Japanese art (13). Dagobert Frey summarized this position by saying that art is one of the finest instruments to diagnose the spirituality of a nation or period; the creative subject (i.e. the artist) is an ideal entity, and cannot be easily identified with a biographical person; for the study of an artwork, the biographical person is fully irrelevant. 19 However, if creative decisions are not the decisions of individual, biographical humans, then who makes them? Hedicke, in the methodology textbook I have just cited, explains that they are the manifestations of the Spirit of its Time. For instance, in order to understand Gothic, the art historian needs to understand something he calls Gothic spiritual totality. 20 The problem is, however, that all we can know about this ‘Gothic spiritual totality’ from which Gothic art arose, we know only on the basis of those properties of Gothic monuments which the ‘Gothic spiritual totality’ is meant to explain. Similarly, Max Dvořák, in his ‘Idealismus und Naturalismus in der Gotischen Skulptur und Malerei’ explained that Gothic art was a result of a specific understanding of space, that was different from the one in early Christian and Romanic art.21 But then, if we ask, how we can know that such an understanding of space existed in Gothic times, the answer is that we know about it on the basis of the Gothic art that resulted from it. As early as 1920, talking about the ‘Gothic man’ whose ‘essence’ is supposed to explain the characteristics of Gothic art, Panofsky warned that the ‘Gothic man’ or the ‘primitive’ on the basis of whose supposed essence a specific artwork is to be explained, is in reality only a hypostasized impression, which we have derived from the same artwork.22 19 ‘Dieses schöpferische Subjekt ist aber ein rein ideelles, allein als Schöpfer des bestimmten Kunstwerkes gegebenes Subjekt; es ist mit der biographischen Persönlichkeit nicht einfach zu identifizieren, ja diese biographische Persönlichkeit ist für die Betrachtung des Kunstwerkes an sich ganz gleichgültig.’ Dagobert Frey, Kunstwissenschaftliche Grundfragen. Prolegomena zu einer Kunstphilosophie, Vienna: R. M. Rohrer Verlag, 1946, reprinted in Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgeselschaft, 1992, 82. 20 Hedike says that art is a product of the unity of the Spirit: ‘Die grundlegende Idee, der grundlegende Glaube ist dabei, daß es in jeder Zeit eine geistesgeschichtliche Einheit, ein einheitliches Wertsystem, einen einheitlichen Geist gibt und daß es letzten Endes gilt, diese Einheit, diese Wertgruppe, diesen Geist zu erkennen und darzustellen.’ Hedicke, Methodenlehre, 141. ‘... die gotische Kultur in ihrer Gesamtheit, ... muß auch vom Kunsthistoriker verstanden, erkannt, dargestellt werden.’ Hedicke, Methodenlehre, 146. 21 Max Dvořák, ‘Idealismus und Naturalismus in der Gotischen Skulptur und Malerei’, in Max Dvořák, Kunstgeschichte als Geistesgeschichte, Munich: Piper, 1924, 43-147, 88. 22 ‘…so daß der ‘gotische Mensch’ oder der ‘Primitive’, aus dessen vermeintlichem Wesen wir ein bestimmtes Kunstprodukt erklären wollen, in Wahrheit nur die Hypostasierung eines Eindrucks ist, den wir von eben diesem Kunstprodukt empfingen.’ Erwin Panofsky, ‘Der Begriff des Kunstwollens’, in Erwin Panofsky, Deutschsprachige Aufsästze, Karen Michels and Martin Warnke, eds, Berlin, 1998, 2 vols, vol. 2, 1019-1035, 1024. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 7 In other words, such explanations resemble a dialogue in Molière’s Malade imaginaire, where opium’s capacity to make people sleep is explained by its dormative powers, while its dormative powers are explained by their capacity to make people sleep.23 A way to avoid such circular ‘explanations’ is to show that numerous members of a certain group produced artworks with certain properties, then to assume that all artists of that group produce artworks with such properties and then to use this assumption in explaining the works of the remaining artists belonging to the same group. Very few Weimar-era historians resisted the temptation to argue that the group that actually explains and determines individual creativity is ethnicity or race. 24 One of them was Spengler, in whose view race was a result of the locality where one lives. For instance, he says, when the English and Germans settled in North America they gradually acquired the racial characteristics of the Indians.25 Another opponent of racial determinism, quite surprisingly, considering his notoriously right-wing political views, was Hans Sedlmayr, who, in his Introduction to Riegl’s articles citied above, argued that nation (Volk) or period cannot be the bearers of Kunstwollen—if this were the case, then the products of the same nation (Volk) would have to be of the same style, or it would happen that all the products of a certain epoch would be the same.26 But numerous prominent Weimar-era art historians commonly conceived of race and ethnicity as decisive for individual creativity. For Heinrich Wölfflin, the claim that the individual artists’ creativity is determined by his or her nationality or 23 BACHELIERUS: ‘Mihi a docto Doctore Domandatur causam et rationem quare Opium fecit dormire: A quoi respondeo Quia est in eo Virtus dormitiva Cujus est natura Sensus assoupire’ Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Molière: Le malade imaginaire, Paris: Magnard, 1992, 134. 24 For a general survey of this type of argument, see Lars Olof Larsson, ‘Nationalstil und Nationalismus in der Kunstgeschichte der zwanziger und dreissiger Jahre’, in Lorenz Dittmann, ed., Kategorien und Methoden der Deutschen Kustgeschichte 1900-1930, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1985, 169-184. 25 Spengler, Untergang, 696. 26 Sedlmayr, Kunst und Wahrheit, 36. He says rather vaguely that the bearer of Kunstwollen is a certain group of humans that can be of different size. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 8 race was the central explanatory strategy.27 A racial approach should not surprise us in the case of Nazi art historians such as Wilhelm Pinder or Albert Erich Brinckmann. European creativity, Pinder says, is the product of European national character and coincides with the area between the Tiber, Loire and Weser.28 It was thus the sick imagination of a Viking, he explains, that made van Gogh paint the way he did.29 27 In Wölfflin, Renaissance und Barock, 1, one reads that northern nations (not the individual artists who lived in the North) failed to make the transition from the Renaissance to baroque, from formal to formless. But even before that, ethnicity determined fundamental differences between German and Italian art; Wölfflin’s favourite example is what he considers the incomprehensibility of Raphael’s School of Athens to ‘Northerners’ (Heinrich Wölfflin: Die Klassische Kunst. Eine Einführung in die italienische Renaissance, Munich: F. Bruckmann, 1908, 2; idem, Erklären, 28)—even though he himself (a ‘northern’ art historian) discusses this painting extensively in Klassische Kunst, 92-97. The art of the High Renaissance was a free expression of Italian people. (Klasische Kunst, 33.) Throughout Wölfflin’s opus one regularly finds the claims that some works of Italian art and architecture would not be attractive to ‘Northerners’ because of their ethnic background (e.g. Santa Maria Della Luce in Perugia, or Fra Bartolomeo’s St. Mark in the Palazzo Pitti, both examples stated in Italien und Deutsches Formgefühl, Munich: F. Bruckmann, 1931, 18 and 28). In Erklären, 7, a High Renaissance building is said to appear bare and cold to a northern traveller; but as soon as one has the correct, Italian Voraussetzungen, this feeling disappears. He further says that although national artistic creativity undergoes historical changes, the different styles of art produced by a country still have a common element that originates from the ground (Boden) and race; the Italian racial type is to be found at the same time behind the Renaissance and baroque. Wölfflin, Italien, 6. For instance, the Mauthalle in Nuremberg and the Kornhaus in Ulm belong to different styles (Gothic vs. baroque) but they are still German solutions of the same problem. Wölfflin, Italien, 220. Similarly, in Erklären we read that in spite of differences between the various epochs of German art, the identity of the same Volksgeist asserts itself; in spite of differences in architectural styles, there exists a constant national way of design. Wölfflin, Erklären, 9. In the same book he explains that Ruysdael’s sensibility was the result of his time and race and claims that it is possible to determine quite accurately how his creativity differed from that of the members of other Germanic tribes. Wölfflin, Erklären, 22. In the Introduction to his book Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe. Das Problem der Stilentwicklung in der neueren Kunst, Munich: Münchener Verlag, 1922, vi, Wölfflin states that one of the aims of the book is to determine national characters. He also argues that it is impossible to avoid the discussion of the fundamental aspects of national sensitivity (Empfinden) (Wölfflin, Grundbegriffe, 9) and a whole chapter of the book is dedicated to ‘National Characters’ (Wölfflin, Grundbegriffe, 254-255). In his book Geist der Nationen Brinckmann claims that all the regions of the former Italianness in art in Italien und Deutsches Formgefühl is thus said to be characterised by the clear definition and separation of shapes, whereas in the North (‘Bei uns im Norden’), proportions of bodies or surfaces are not decisive. Wölfflin, Italien, 13. Italian paintings create an artificial unity of groups of persons, whereas it is characteristic of German imagination that everything pertains to feeling the space and content. Wölfflin, Italien, 33-34. German understanding of space is infinite and moved, whereas Brunelleschi’s space is always a limited and defined form. Wölfflin, Italien, 57. Italian art is based on homogenous form which contributes to the total harmony; in German architecture a great diversity of proportions and forms relate to each other on a single building. Wölfflin, Italien, 89. German architecture deals more easily with irregularity. Wölfflin, Italien, 89. Italian faces are more regular than German faces not only in the art but in reality too. Wölfflin, Italien, 107. Italians have the capacity to monumentalize everything. Wölfflin, Italien, 165. Sociological explanations are always peripheral, and what is central for art-historical explanations is the ‘Form- und Vorstellungsweise einer Nation’. Wölfflin, Italien, 215. 28 Pinder, Generation, 46. For the discussions of the Germanic nature of van Gogh’s art see Ron Manheim, ‘The ‘Germanic’ van Gogh: A Case Study of Cultural Annexation’, Simiolus: Netherlands’ Quarterly for the History of Art, 19:4, 1989, 277-288. 29 ‘Die kranke Wikingerphantasie van Goghs läßt Bäume und Blumen, Erdschollen and Wolken lodern und kreisen, als flammende Gebärdensprach’. Wilhelm Pinder, ‘Pflicht und Anspruch der Wissenschaft’, in Wilhelm Pinder: Gesammelte Aufsätze aus den Jahren 1907-1935, Leo Bruhns, ed., Leipzig: Verlag E. A. Seemann, 1938, 212-218. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 9 Roman world where Germanic tribes did not settle (Southern Italy, Sicily, French Provence) have remained culturally fruitless.30 But it is also to be admitted, he notes further, that the areas inhabited by racially pure Germanic population, which lacked the Roman base, have also remained unproductive; culturally productive regions are those where races mixed, such as Northern Italy, East France, Southern Germany. (28) Insofar as they wanted to assert the pre-eminence of Gothic art, German historians had to accept that Gothic was not purely Germanic: Worringer thus observed that the Germanic race was the conditio sine qua non Gothic art; race however should not be taken in the sense of racial purity, he says, but one should rather look at those nations in whose constitution the Germanic race played a decisive role. 31 A particularly bizarre product of this type of methodology is Dagobert Frey’s 1942 book Englisches Wesen im Spiegel seiner Kunst.32 One could continue listing examples of holist and racial thinking among Weimar-era historians—but my question is, how an individualist explanation of this collective phenomenon can be provided. It would certainly be absurd to say that their ethnic background or some kind of Germanic historiographical essence predetermined the way Weimar-era historians wrote art history. In the opening of his book Spengler says that he writes history the way he has to, being a German historian. Nevertheless, when he, later in the book, argues that Diocletian was the first caliph (275) and that the Pantheon was the first mosque (273), it would certainly be inappropriate to say that his German ethnic background made him indulge in absurd fantasies. One would want to provide an individualist explanation that is fair Published in the midst of the war, the book expresses no negative prejudices about the English, but rather treats English art with all the respect appropriate for the art of the Germans’ racially closest relatives. The book assumes a strong causal relationship between individual creativity and racial background. Vanbrugh’s feeling for three- dimensionality is un-English according to Frey and needs to be explained by his Flemish racial origin (218); similarly, on the basis of family portraits it is possible to establish that Hogarth had Celtic racial characteristics, which explains the form of his artistic expression (306). 30 Albert Erich Brinckmann: Geist der Nationen. Italiener-Franzosen-Deutsche. Hamburg: Hoffmann und Compe, 1938. Brinckmann’s major concern is not to assert supremacy of Germans, but rather to insist on the differences between various nations. Brinckmann, Geist. He even cites Goethe’s view ‘daß das wahrhaft Verdienstliche sich dadurch auszeichnet, daß es der ganzen Menschheit angehört’ and Alberti ‘ non pro nobis sed pro humanitate scribimus’. Brinckmann, Geist, 253. German Vergeisterung is not Cartesian; it is gefühlsbetont. It considers joy and suffering as worthy of representation. Brinckmann, Geist, 225. The method of this Vergeisterung is not logic or ratio but schöpferische Wille. Brinckmann, Geist, 226. German sense for experiencing Nature is stronger than in other nations. Brinckmann, Geist, 228. ‘Denn die Darstellung ist weniger objektiviert und inniger verbunden mit der Mentalität des Darstellenden’. Brinckmann, Geist, 228. German sensibility for form and colour are fundamentally different from those of Italians or French. Brinckmann, Geist, 231. German Renaissance painting emphasises individualities, for a German is the concept of composition too poor, and a German does not see a Sum but only sums, pluralities. Brinckmann, Geist, 233. German art is marked by the lack of proportion even when they can be measured; and the Wille zur Disproportion is visible also in architecture; compositions full of tension almost become grotesque. Brinckmann, Geist, 238. He asks whether a German is a ‘starrköpfiger Individualist’. Brinckmann, Geist, 240. 31 Wilhelm Worringer, Formprobleme der Gotik, Munich: R. Piper, 1920, 126-7. 32 Dagobert Frey, Englisches Wesen im Spiegel seiner Kunst, Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1942. The first page of the book has an alternative title: Englisches Wesen in der bildenden Kunst. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 10 to his German colleagues and compatriots. Denials Consider Wilhelm Pinder’s statement that no Maori, but only a European, could paint like Gauguin.33 In his biography of Adolf Hitler, Joachim Fest describes how the young Hitler, while he lived unemployed in Vienna, used to carry a photograph of his father, a medium ranking provincial Austro-Hungarian bureaucrat, in the appropriate uniform, and show it to the people he talked to. The statement is actually true—just as it is also true that no German or other Frenchman can paint like Gauguin either. Gauguin was an original artist. But Pinder is not making his point in order to emphasize Gauguin’s originality. He is also not saying that only a Frenchman can paint like Gauguin. Pinder’s implicit point is, rather, that a great painter like Gauguin had something in common with a German like himself: they are both Europeans. Racial theorists and holist historians, often sound like a person who hangs portraits of important people on the wall of his or her living room and tells the guests that these are his or her ancestors. In order to feel the need to fabricate one’s own importance by using such methods, one must suffer from perceiving oneself as unimportant. A student of the works of Weimar-era holist historians will sooner or later notice how hard (in fact, impossible) it is to find sections where they argue the inferiority or present relative weaknesses of their own ethnicity and race. In other words, it is always useful to listen to what historians say about themselves when they write about various groups. 34 A particularly common strategy when it comes to denials is appropriation. When showing the photograph of his father, the young Hitler was appropriating for himself the social status he did not have. Pinder was similarly claiming identity with Gauguin when he subsumed the French painter under European identity. Narratives about identity are often complex agglomerations of appropriations and denials—and appropriations and denials often constitute the world-view of historians as well. A good example is a protest letter written by Max Dvořák to Italian art historians in 1919, in reaction to the Italian government’s repatriation of a number of artworks This was not a sign of an excessive attachment to the father, but, rather, a method to legitimise oneself, to compensate for one’s insecurities and classify oneself (in one’s own eyes in the first place) as more than a proletarian. Insecure people tend to use communication with others in order reassure themselves; in such cases it is often more important to listen to what their statements implicitly deny about themselves than what they say about the topic they are talking about. It is precisely this function of holist historical explanations of human actions—their great ability to assuage numerous types of insecurities—that one needs to consider here. Saying something about the group one belongs to (and how it differs from other groups) is an indirect way to say something about oneself. This strategy is likely to be used by those individuals who feel that they do not have enough to say about themselves as individuals. Obviously, a person who does not feel deficient that way, will not feel the need to invoke a compensatory narrative about one’s own group and the way it differs from other groups. 33 Pinder, Generation, 44. 34 Joachim Fest, Hitler. Eine Biographie. Berlin: Ulstein, 2006, 67. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 11 from Viennese museums—an act that at the time caused a substantial emotional reaction among the Viennese.35 The letter leaves aside the legal aspects of repatriation (who actually owned the paintings) and opens with a surprising accusation that by repatriating the paintings of Cima da Conegliano, Vitore Carpaccio and Bartolomeo Vivarini, the Italians are requisitioning foreign artworks.36 Dvořák then lists patronisingly the intellectual debt of Italian art historians to their German-speaking and especially Austrian colleagues: ‘You have learnt from us…you have been our disciples…’ and in the process introduces a particularly pregnant and multilayered ‘we’-form.37 Another strategy in which holist historiography is used in order to assert the superiority (i.e. deny the inferiority) of one’s own group are fallacious statements pertaining to the inconceivability of a certain fact, concept or idea to the members of another group. Such claims abound in holist writings on intellectual history, though, in a different form, they can be made from the individualist position as well. Insofar as we assume that the letter is about the repatriation of artworks, his argument is nonsensical: it implies that, since the Italians learnt to do art history from the Austrians, Austrian institutions have the right to retain Italian artworks even if the latter were obtained illegally. In fact, the letter soon drops the topic of repatriation behind the angry self-praise of the Austrian contribution to the Italians’ understanding of their own art. By his extensive employment of the appropriative ‘we’-form Dvořák uses the letter to tell his Italian colleagues (in reality, to re-assure himself) of his own importance and that he ranks among their Austrian teachers. At the same time, this appropriation is also a denial: for Dvořák himself is not Austrian—he is a Czech living in Vienna and writing in German. As for the topic of repatriation, the letter could have been much more damning if he had written it as a Czech, an impartial, third-party observer and if the repeated use of ‘we’ had been played down. But this is not what the letter is about; the repatriation of artworks is an occasion for Dvořák to satisfy his need to contemplate his own significance, constituted through his appropriated Austrian identity. 38 35Max Dvořák, ‘Ein Brief an die italienischen Fachgenossen’, in Hans Tietze, Die Entführung von Wiener Kunstwerken nach Italien: Eine Darlegung unseres Rechtspunktes, Vienna: Anton Schroll & C., 1919, 3-9. I owe gratitude to Jonathan Blower for providing me with a copy of the letter. For the wider context of the repatriation of Italian artistic works, including their identification, see Jonathan Blower, ‘An Introduction to Max Dvořák’s Denkmalpflege’, paper presented at the meeting of Network for the History of Viennese Art Historiography, Glasgow, 4-5 October 2009. It is not controversial, for instance, that Plato, because he was an ancient Greek, could not have conceived of nuclear physics—an individualist historian will argue that Plato’s individual contacts did not enable him to acquire the necessary knowledge to conceive of nuclear physics. The holist explanation, however, is that Plato could not have conceived of nuclear physics because as an ancient Greek he was constitutionally incapacitated from doing that—the way, for instance, some animal species cannot see colours. Since individual intellectual capacities, according to the holist account, are constituted by the individual’s membership in a group, insofar as certain groups did not develop certain ideas, this means that the individuals who belonged to these 36 He actually talks about ‘Requisition fremder Kulturgüter’, Dvořák, ‘Ein Brief’, 3. 37 Dvořák, ‘Ein Brief’, 7. 38 See Mitrović, ‘Intellectual History’. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 12 groups were constitutionally incapable of having such ideas. In other words, the argument is not that some groups did not develop certain ideas because no individual belonging to that group formulated such ideas, but, rather, that no individual came up with that idea because the group could not do it. Spengler was the great master of this kind of argument. In his Untergang des Abendlandes we read that the ancient Greeks and Romans were incapable of writing history beyond discussing contemporary events (i.e. he forgets about Herodotus or Livy) (11); that a ‘real Russian’ finds Darwin’s theory incomprehensible the way a ‘real Arab’ cannot understand the Copernican system (31); that the Greeks had no sense for ceremony in public life. (79) A Russian has no relationship to God as the father, his ethos being that of brotherly love, says Spengler (259); the very sound of the Russian word for sky (nyebo) emphasizes horizontality, and a Russian looks towards to the horizon, whereas a Westerner looks up, for which reason no Russian can be an astronomer. (If someone were to argue that the same word is used in Copernicus’ Polish, Spengler has a ready answer and explains elsewhere that Copernicus was an ethnic Viking. (425)) A good example of a widely circulated Weimar-era thesis about inconceivability is Erwin Panofsky’s erroneous, but often cited view from ‘Perspective as a Symbolic Form’, that before the early Renaissance it was impossible to conceive of space as a homogenous and isotropic medium.39 Until he left Germany, Panofsky often relied on arguments about inconceivability in his writing. For instance, in his 1920 article ‘The Concept of Kunstwollen’ he argues that Polygnotos did not paint a naturalistic landscape because, as a result of the ‘necessity that predetermined his will’, he could only have wanted to paint an unnaturalistic landscape.40 39 Erwin Panofsky, ‘Die Perspektive als ‘symbolische Form’’, in Fritz Saxl, ed., Vorträge der Bibliothek Warburg 1924-1925, Leipzig and Berlin 1927. Citations according to the reprint in Panofsky, Deutschsprachige Aufsätze, vol. 2, 664-757. See also English translation Erwin Panofsky: Perspective as Symbolic Form, translated by Christopher S. Wood, New York: Zone Books, 1991. Few Panofsky’s papers have been more cited for the past century, and few have weathered so badly. Because of the curvature of the retina, Panofsky claimed, the geometrical construction of perspective, (which provides an image on a plane) does not correspond to what is actually perceived—in fact, as subsequently pointed out by Maurice Henri Léonard Pirenne, Optics, Painting & Photography, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1970, 148-149, we never see the retinal image but the object outside the eye; the geometrical construction of perspective merely depicts the intersection of the picture plane and the rays that connect the object with the eye. At the same time, Panofsky’s argument substantially depended on an inaccurate interpretation of the technical terminology of Euclid’s Optica as well as Aristotle’s discussion of space in the Physics. (For misunderstanding Euclid’s terminology, see C. D. Brownson, ‘Euclid’s Optics and its compatibility with linear perspective’, Archive for History of Exact Sciences, 24:3, September 1981, 165-194. For the misinterpretation of the section about space in Aristotle’s Physics, see Branko Mitrović, ‘Leon Battista Alberti and the Homogeneity of Space’, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 63:4, December 2004, 424-440. Additionally, according to the definition of homogenous space Panofsky provided, his argument actually implies that no pre-Renaissance architect could have figured out that measuring one and the same wall from one end to another, and vice versa, would give the same result. (See Mitrović, ‘Alberti and Homogeneity’.) 40 ‘weil er—kraft einer sein psychologisches Wollen vorherbestimmenden Notwendigkeit—nichts anders als eine unnaturalistische Landschaft wollen konnte’ Erwin Panofsky, ‘Der Begriff des Kunstwollens’, Panofsky, Deutschsprchge Aufsätze, vol.2, 1019-1034. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 13 Looking through denials It is thus tempting, when interpreting Weimar-era historians’ holist claims, to consider what these claims deny and not merely what they assert—in other words, to examine whether it may be possible to explain Weimar era historians’ holist propensities, for instance, as a result of insecurities in relation to older European cultures, possibly additionally aggravated by the outcome of the first World War. A simplified and very general explanatory thesis would say something like: Weimar-era historians’ adoption of holist methodology was motivated by insecurities. The thesis relies on (constitutes) a psychological claim; we have seen that such claims are hard to avoid in individualist historiography. One should certainly bear in mind that such explanations may easily end up as armchair psychology. At the same time, insofar as historians deal with the motivations and decisions of historical figures, they deal with psychological facts that ultimately must have psychological explanations: an explanation of the motivation of a historical figure that is not psychologically credible cannot be historically credible either. The importance of psychological clarification of the concept of insecurities is further strengthened by the fact that the concept is much less commonly used than concepts such as motivation or decision. Additionally, without a psychological clarification of the concept, saying that the holist tendencies of Weimar-era art historians were insecurity motivated is a circular claim: it says that the insecurities of Weimar-era scholars made them adopt a certain methodology and assumptions, while all we know about these insecurities is that they made a group of scholars adopt a certain methodology and assumptions. Only psychology can properly provide us with the wider picture that would enable us to overcome such circular reasoning. However, before one can even start looking for such a psychological clarification, it is necessary to ask whether there is at all such a phenomenon as insecurities in history writing, whether it can be defined and described. Without this, it would be pointless to look for a psychological explanation. My motivation for analysing the possibilities of the application of this concept in explaining the holist propensities of Weimar-era art historians is precisely that such an analysis provides a reasonably comprehensive picture of the phenomenon. It seems plausible to argue that a certain historiographical claim assuages insecurities (and was used to do so) if: a) the claim denies the perceived inferiority (often by asserting the superiority) of the author or the group he or she identifies with or he or she writes for; while, at the same time, b) the claim relies on contradictory statements, statements that cannot be verified, contradict the facts that would have been known to the author or the beliefs that were widespread in the context in which the author worked; Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 14 and c) the claim does not provide any pragmatic, direct, gain for the person(s) whose insecurities it is said to assuage. It is pointless to rely on insecurities when explaining historical statements that are not contradictory, counterintuitive and contrary to what we otherwise know about the author’s beliefs. In that case, the historian may have been simply doing his or her job well. Also, a historian may introduce fallacious or contradictory claims in order to achieve certain pragmatic (or even personal) gains: in that case too, one cannot say that these claims were insecurity motivated. Can it happen that a historiographical claim satisfies all three requirements but is nevertheless not insecurity motivated? It certainly can. Insecurities are invoked here in order to explain, rationally, historians’ irrational claims —‘irrational’ often in the sense that they contradict other beliefs of these historians. Since we cannot explain these historians’ statements as consistent with their other beliefs, the assumption is that sometimes, these claims can still be rationally explained on the basis of a specific motivation (i.e. insecurities) that drives them. Insecurity-based explanations merely expand the pool of rationally explainable statements made by a historical figure (a historian, in this case) beyond those statements that can be rationally explained as consistent with other beliefs of that historical figure. When applying the above three criteria and classifying a certain claim as still rationally explainable because it is insecurity-motivated, we may thus be giving the benefit of the doubt to a historian who is genuinely ranting. Nevertheless, if a historian’s writing systematically manifests a certain type of irrational denial (e.g. in the form of the claim of one’s own superiority) in relation to a certain perceived inferiority, we can assume with reasonable confidence that we are indeed dealing with an insecurity-driven discourse. A good illustration of insecurity-driven scholarship (according to the tripartite definition stated above) is the variegated cluster of denials and appropriations that characterises the attitude of Weimar-era art historians’ to the Italian Renaissance. (Note that some of the claims that follow are explicitly holist, while others are fragments used to formulate wider holist perspectives.) Rage In his book Italien und das Deutsche Formgefühl, Heinrich Wölfflin described the feeling of unease during the celebrations marking the 400th anniversary of Dürer’s death in Nuremberg in 1928.41 The unease was caused by the awareness that Germany’s greatest visual artist sought to learn in Italy, and that an ‘essentially foreign art, such as Italian’ exercised such a huge impact on him.42 41 Wölfflin: Italien und das Deutsche Formgefühl, 1. Wölfflin’s book 42 ‘[ Dürer]...italienische Lehre aufgesucht hat und daß eine wesensfremde Kunst wie die italienische gerade ihn, den führenden deutschen Künstler, so stark in ihren Bann ziehen konnte, womit doch notwendig ein gefährlicher Gegensatz zur heimatlichen Tradition entstand. Das war es denn auch, was Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 15 describes differences between the Italian and German sense of form in order to show that German visual sensibilities and consequently art are different, but not inferior to Italian.43 His is no mean presumption, since he implicitly assumes the right to prescribe to Dürer (that is, Albrecht Dürer himself) what kind of art he should have liked to be a good German. That German and Italian arts should not be compared is Max Dvořák’s important point as well. In his study of the Van Eyck brothers, he declares that the cult of the Renaissance is an unexplainable anomaly of historiography.44 In his other writings Dvořák warns against judging medieval art by the objectivity of its representation, since this means imposing on it the standards of the art of quattro- and cinquecento.45 For Worringer, the Renaissance was a disaster that disoriented medieval thinking, and made it into a mere means to achieve scientific truth.46 Very much like Dvořák, Worringer protests against comparisons between medieval and Renaissance arts.47 He argues with great passion that one cannot ascribe higher cultural achievements to Renaissance Rome than to the medieval Paris of the high Gothic.48 In the Renaissance, he says, one does not find the sensibilities of Antiquity, but merely the archaeological knowledge of Latin Antiquity. 49 wie ein Schatten auf jenen Gedächtnisfeiern lag und selbst wenn man dem kühnen Eroberer fremder Fernen Beifall klatschte, so mußte dieser Romanismus eben doch als eine Störung der natürlichen Entwicklung erscheinen. Mit der wohlwollenden Mahnung, diese Dinge nicht zu ernst zu nehmen, ist nicht geholfen. Dürer selbst spricht dagegen: er hat Italien ernst genommen.’ Wölfflin, Italien, 1. A more generous view of the Renaissance was expressed by Brinckmann, who observed, in his book Geist der Nationen, the tendency of German scholarship to regard the influences of the Renaissance as purely negative; but in 43 See note 27. 44 Max Dvořák, Das Rätsel der Brüder van Eyck, Munich: Artur Rosenauer, 1925, 145, reprint Vienna: WUV, 1999. See also Rampley, Matthew: ‘Max Dvořák: Art History and the Crisis of Modernity’, Art History, 26:2, April 2003, 214-237, 219. 45 Max Dvořák, ‘Idealismus und Naturalismus in der Gotschen Skulptur und Malerei’, in Max Dvořák, Kunstgeschichte als Geistesgeschichte, Munich: Piper, 1924, 43-147, 45-46. 46 ‘Es war eine Katastrophe, die das ganze mittelalterliche Denken desorientierte und aus dem Geleise hob, als durch die Renaissance das Denken, das bisher Selbstzweck gewesen war, zum blossen Mittel zum Zweck, nämlich zur Erkenntnis einer ausser ihm liegenden wissenschaftlichen Wahrheit degradiert wurde, als der Erkenntniszweck alles und der Erkenntnisvorgang nichts wurde. Da verlor das Denken seine abstrakte Selbstherrlichkeit und wurde dienend; es wurde zum Sklaven der Wahrheit.’ Worringer, Formprobleme, 117. 47 ‘Nein, in dieser Beziehung sehen wir heute wohl klar und begreifen, daß es sich da um Epochen handelt, in denen eben zwei verschiedene und inkommensurable Kulturgedanken die Stufe ihrer vollkommensten Ausprägung gefunden haben. Und dennoch bleibt uns, schwer korrigierbar, im historischen Gefühl immer noch jene humanistische Akzentsetzung, die keine Mehrpoligkeit des historischen Geschehens anerkennt, sondern uns die Renaissance als einpoligen Mittelpunkt des histo- rischen Kreislaufes aufoktroyiert. Mit welchem Rechtstitel die Renaissance diesen Anspruch durchzusetzen vermochte, ist klar: mit einer Berufung auf die Antike, die nur auf italienischem Boden wirklich legitim sein könne, weil nur da bluthafte Kontinuität der antiken Tradition vorhanden sei.’ Wilhelm Worringer: Griechentum und Gotik, 8-9. 48 ‘Will heute einer noch im Ernst behaupten, das Italien der Renaissance habe, absolut genommen, eine höhere Kultur gehabt als etwa das Frankreich der mittelalterlichen Hochblüte? Daß das Rom Julius II kulturell schwergewichtiger gewesen sei als das Paris Ludwigs des Heiligen? Daß der Petersdom als künstlerische Höchstleistung ein bedeutungsvolleres Kulturdokument sei als der Dom von Reims oder sonst eine der französischen Glanzkathedralen?’ Worringer, Griechentum und Gotik, 8. 49 ‘…als Renaissance soll nicht gelten, das wiedererwachendes und wahlverwandt antwortendes Gefühl für die Antike, sondern archäologische Kenntnis der Antike.’ Worringer, Griechentum und Gotik, 77. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 16 Brinckmann’s opinion, no nation can exclude itself from the Western spiritual community.50 An important aspect of the negative attitude to the Renaissance is the rejection of anything that is referred to by the word humanism. For Spengler, the term is meaningless, since humanity is either a biological concept or an empty term. (28) Wölfflin, in his Italien und Deutsches Formgefühl cancels even this zoological unity: the North, he says, has a fundamentally different concept of humanity from Italy. (163) For Dvořák, the study of the humanities, humaniora, lost significance with classical antiquity; 51 in his view, it was an error of Renaissance humanists to believe that humaniora of antiquity could be saved.52 For Worringer, humanism is a mere educational ideal that was defeated by the Reformation;53 it is a subjective historical view, derived from the use of Latin language.54 Humanism in contemporary history writing, he complains, is a dictate of Italian art historians.55 The rejection or appropriation of the Renaissance discovery of perspective is another significant ingredient of the same project. Should Renaissance artists have discovered how human visual perception actually works and applied this knowledge to their art, then one could not deny special status to Renaissance paintings. For Spengler, Alberti’s and Brunelleschi’s discovery of perspective actually belongs to Northern art. (308-310) Dagobert Frey denied that perspective was discovered in the Renaissance, because all the necessary mathematical and optical knowledge was previously available—so there was nothing to discover. 56 Panofsky’s thesis that perspective as a way of seeing is just a cultural construct belongs to this type of argument as well.57 ‘It is a bizarre idea to believe in the rebirth of any kind of ancient art in the West in the fifteenth century,’ wrote Spengler. (288) ‘The Renaissance was born from spite. It lacks the depth, extent and the confidence of form-building instincts….It is 50 Brinckmann, Geist, 114. 51 ‘Es ist ein auf die Humanistenliteratur zurückgehender Kardinalirrtum, wenn man glaubt, daß die humaniora das einzige Vermächtnis der Antike für die Folgezeit gewesen sind. Sie sind mit den auf Naturrecht begründeten militärischen und polytheistischen National- und Eroberungsstaaten zusammengebrochen, und es blieben nur membra disjecta übrig; ihr im naiven Materialismus wurzelnder Sinn ging verloren, und so wurden sie an sich wertlos wie eine Schrift, die man nicht lesen kann.’ Dvořák, ‘Idealismus’, 53. 52 Dvořák, ‘Idealismus’, 49 and 53. 53 ‘Der beschauliche wirklichkeitsfremde Humanismus, dieses Privileg saturierter Existenzen, vermochte auf die Dauer das gärend, ein voller Entwicklung befindliche Volksbewusstsein nicht niederzuhalten. Er wird durch jene grosse Volksbewegung, die zur Reformation führt, korrigiert. An die Stelle der Bildungsideale treten wieder religiöse Ideale, der Humanismus weicht der Reformation.’ Worringer, Formprobleme, 79. 54 Worringer, Griechentum, 90. 55 ‘Ich behaupte, daß diese Akzentsetzung immer noch die vom italienischen Geschichtsschreibungshumanismus diktiert ist. Immer noch trägt im Ablauf der Stile und Kulturen die Renaissance den das Taktgefüge des Periodenrhythmus regelnden Hauptakzent. Das ist für den, der vorurteilslos an die Wertung der Kulturhöhen herangeht, nichts anderes als ein humanistisches Vorurteil, aus dessen diktatorischer Suggestivkraft der Wissende schon gleich jenes Roma locuta est causa finita est heraushört, das für alle Zwangsvorstellungen unseres geschichtlichen Sinnes so entscheidend geworden ist.’ Worringer: Griechentum, 7-8. 56 Dagobert Frey, Gotik und Renaissance als Grundlagen der modernen Weltanschauung, Augsburg: Dr. Benno Filser Verlag, 1929, 10. 57 Panofsky, ‘Perspektive’. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 17 the only epoch in history whose theory was more consistent than its achievements.’ (350) The Renaissance was no more than a failed attempt to reject Gothic, we gather from his book; while Gothic encompassed the entirety of human life, the achievements of the Renaissance were limited to the arts. It never affected west- European ways of thinking or life. (300) A strictly ancient capital is simply not to be found in Renaissance works (309), while Palladio’s architectural treatise had no influence in the West. (534) Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo were the only great men Italy had produced since Dante; in spite of their efforts to revive antiquity in accordance with Medicean theories, they actually remained Gothic artists (351). The paintings of Filippino Lippi, Ghirlandajo and Boticelli, Pollaiulo and even Leonardo have much more Dutch in them than ancient, argues Spengler. (303) A different and paradoxically affirmative view of the Italian Renaissance we find in Ludwig Woltmann’s Die Germanen und die Renaissance, published a decade before the 1914-1918 war.58 Woltmann’s starting assumption is that the presence of the blond race determines the cultural worth of a nation. Consequently, their cultural achievements prove that Renaissance Italians must have been predominantly of Germanic origin, an offspring of ancient Goths and Longobards.59 58 Ludwig Woltmann, Die Germanen und die Renaissance, Leipzig: Thüringische Verlagsanstalt 1905. The Renaissance sense for freedom, we thus learn, is Germanic in its origin; (30) and the Germanic race, he reminds us, is the ideal of beauty according to Procopius (57), Giotto (59) and the Renaissance (59). Woltmann thus argues that Arnolfo di Cambio and Lorenzo Ghiberti were Germans because of their Germanic names (69); that Brunelleschi’s name comes from German Brünell (70), Alberti from Hildebrand (72); Bramante’s name comes from German Braken, Brehm (72); Buonarotti comes from Bonne, Bohn and Rohde, Rothe. (73) Woltmann’s list of popes with Germanic names takes two whole pages (38-39). He also lists important Renaissance Italians who were blond: Luca della Robbia and Michelozzi had blond beards and hair (71); Savonarola had blue eyes and the family name could be Germanic (96); Palladio, according to a portrait, had pale eyes; Leonardo da Vinci had Germanic racial constitution, blond hair and beard. (83-86) (The sources actually do not mention that he had blond hair and beard, Woltmann admits, but since they praise the beauty of his hair, we can infer that it was blond.) Woltmann’s conclusion is, as he states, that 85-90% of Italian genius belonged to the Germanic race and that the Italian Renaissance is an achievement of the Gothic and Longobards tribes that immigrated into Italy in the early Middle Ages. (145) The reader is, however, left with little doubt that what motivates the book is the uncomfortable perception that the same race achieved much less on the less sunny side of the Alps—and since a book like this is a public act, this perception is not only the author’s, but shared by those readers who approved of its content; it was also obviously published by a publisher who expected it to be bought and to meet with the approval of a certain segment of the general public. 59 ‘Der Gehalt Volkes an blonder Rasse bestimmt seinen Kulturwert, und der Niedergang der höheren Kulturen hat seine anthropoligische Ursache im Aussterben der Blonden.’ Woltmann, Germanen, 16. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 18 Wider framework of insecurity-based historical explanations These simultaneous and passionate denials and appropriations of the Renaissance illustrate the importance of paying attention to the insecurities that individual scholarly works strive to assuage—and they also vividly depict insecurity as a historiographical phenomenon. A useful framework for the analysis of the methodological explanatory use of this phenomenon can be found in Panofsky’s 1938 essay ‘History of Art as a Humanistic Discipline’, in which Panofsky endeavoured to redefine his methodology and re-position his work in relation to the individualism- holism debate.60 In the essay, Panofsky defined humanistic art history as marked by assumptions of the free will and rationality of human (historical) subjects on the one hand, and the awareness of human frailties on the other.61 The three crucial concepts—rationality, free will and frailties— remained however undefined. For our purposes here, it is enough to assume that a historian and a historical figure share the same rationality insofar as they regard the same beliefs and statements as non- contradictory. In a situation where a historian finds a historical figure’s statements (beliefs) mutually contradictory, he or she will not be able to explain them as consistent with that person’s other views. Consequently, in Panofsky’s scheme, insecurity can be seen as part of human frailties, a tendency to make counterfactual denials or adopt beliefs (contradictory to one’s other beliefs) about one’s own superiority when facing a situation that suggests (in one’s own perception) one’s own inferiority. Since Panofsky postulates the rationality and free will of historical figures, it is also implied that a person can overcome this frailty by analysing one’s own motivation—although we cannot know or predict whether an individual will manage to overcome or succumb to this specific frailty. Assumptions of the free will and rationality of historical figures go hand-in-hand with individualist historiography; once a historian postulates such rationality and free will, it becomes impossible to say that the decisions or reasoning of these figures were determined by their social context.62 60 See Mitrović, ‘Humanist Art History’. Individual Weimar-era art historians could have decided not to act the way they did (for instance, not to write the books with holist arguments that they wrote). The insecurities-based explanation describes the insecurities to which individuals succumbed; it does not say that they had to succumb. The thesis does not say that it was necessary that German Weimar-era art historians make a certain type 61 Erwin Panofsky, ‘The History of Art as a Humanistic Discipline’, first published in T. E. Greene, ed., The Meaning of the Humanities, Port Washington: Kennikat Press, 1938, 89-119. Cited here according to the version published in Erwin Panofsky, Meaning in the Visual Arts, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1955, 1-25. 62 Panofsky does not say it, but, in fact, one ends up with the individualist approach to history writing even if one merely admits that humans’ possession of free will and universal rationality count among irresolvable philosophical problems: if one does not know whether human beings possess free will, one cannot claim that their actions are predetermined by the group they belong to—and holist historiography becomes impossible. Also, even a historian who denies free will (e.g. on religious grounds) need not necessary adopt the holist position in history writing: believing that God pre- determined human acting need not necessarily mean that God pre-determined it in a way that individuals’ actions follow these individuals’ membership in specific groups—except in the trivial sense, that all individuals who make certain actions belong to the group of individuals who make such actions. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 19 of assumption in their writing; it merely describes the kind of intellectual weakness they yielded to. Insecurities that affect history writing need not belong exclusively to historians; they can be environmental rather than authorial. Let us imagine that an extensive study of the individual psychologies of a great number of Weimar-era scholars has indeed shown that each of them was narcissistically injured and as a result his history-writing was insecurity-motivated. Such a study would provide an individualist account of a commonly shared aspect of a dominant stream of Weimar- era scholarship—but how complete would this account be? A scholarship of a certain era is not only the set of ideas expressed in the writings of the historians of those times; it is also constituted by the reaction to these ideas, their acceptance and rejection, the fact that historians write with motivation to have their work accepted or suppress their judgments in order to avoid confrontations. It is of limited help to describe the personal insecurities of individual historians, because the entire context in which and for which they were writing also needs to be understood individualistically as the generator of a certain, commonly shared characteristic of history writing. History writing is often, for instance, motivated by the authors’ desires and expectations to achieve a certain reception; some historians make careers by pleasing their contemporaries, others fear upsetting their colleagues and yet others simply adopt, without questioning, the assumptions that are widespread in the works of their peers. One should merely try to imagine what kind of heroic stance it would take to defend the Renaissance in the context in which it was so passionately envied. (Indeed, it has been often observed that Renaissance studies had a peculiar position within the Geisteswissenschaften of the Weimar era and that all prominent Renaissance scholars left Germany after 1933.63 We are thus not merely dealing with historians’ individual insecurities. In order to understand the impact of the insecurities of the general public, it is particularly important to pay attention to other contemporary works that, though often different in content, successfully assuaged the same insecurities: from this angle, Spengler’s denial and Woltmann’s Germanic appropriation of the Renaissance say the same thing. The reason why I have given so much space here to Spengler’s nonsensical claims is their exceptionally wide reception in the context in which they were made. Der Untergang des Abendlandes had few, if any, truly positive reviews in scholarly journals when it came out. ) 64 63 ‘Like Hans Baron, in fact all the leading representatives of Renaissance scholarship left Germany, including Paul Oskar Kristeller, Felix Gilbert, Erwin Panofsky, Fritz Saxl, and Edgar Wind. And they did not have many students left in Germany.’ Otto Gerhard Oexle: ‘Was There anything to Learn? American Historian and German medieval Scholarship: A Comment’ in Patrick J. Geary, Medieval Germany in America, Washington: German Historical Institute, 1996. Published without pagination. See also Horst Günther, ‘Hans Baron und die emigrierte Renaissance’, an introduction to Hans Baron, Bürgersinn und Humanismus in Florenz der Renaissance, Berlin: Verlag Klaus Wagenbach, 1992, 7-10, esp. 9-10. Although historians saw through its 64 The anonymous reviewer for The Science News-Letter, 8:268, May 29, 1926, 9-10, observes: ‘In scope of conception, profusion of learning, boldness of generalization, impressiveness of utterance, eloquence of language, Spengler ranks with the German philosophers of the old school, with Hegel, Schopenhauer and Hartmann. He also shows the characteristics of the German philosopher in his overloading of sentences, cloudiness of meaning, arrogance of assertion and intolerance of opposing opinion. A work that no thinker can afford to ignore, however much he may disagree with its thesis.’ In a review by E. R. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 20 charlatanry, over a hundred thousand copies of the book were sold in a relatively short period of time. Frank H. Hankins, in a review in Social Forces, noted ‘This speaks well for the Germans, for he [Spengler] is as hard to read as a muddy metaphysician; and two volumes of him would keep the average member of the intelligentsia busy long evenings for weeks.’65 There obviously existed an intelligentsia who were receptive to the book’s message and considered it important. Anyone exploring the intellectual and cultural history of the Weimar era must bear in mind that books published in that context were predominantly published for individuals who wanted to read (and believe) ideas akin to Spengler’s. Extensive comparative studies may try to reconstruct the particular ideas that attracted their approval the most, and for that purpose it is reasonable to compare Spengler’s book not only with works of similar content, but with those whose denials assuage the same insecurities. History writing, after all, occurs in a social environment and not in a vacuum; saying that society consists of individuals means also saying that the social environment is an environment of individual interactions. Epilogue Considering the great impact of German-speaking historiography on scholarship in the United States and Great Britain after 1933, one has to wonder how many and what aspects of the Weimar-era holist propensities were transferred to English B. for the Journal of Hellenic Studies 47:2, 1927, 287-289 one reads: ‘That some such [claver and original] observations may be there in this sea of pretentious verbiage I would not even now deny, but my own search for them has not been fruitful: I have dived repeatedly but failed to bring up a pearl: someone else may have better fortune’. ‘There can be no doubt of the man’s erudition; that he is a genius is sufficiently evident from the mysticism, egotism, contradictions, disputable assertions, and scanty intelligibility of his work’, Frank H. Hankins, ‘The Latest in the Philosophy of History’, review of The Decline of the West in Social Forces, 6:2, December 1927, 213-216. A particularly inspired review by Cecil Forsyth, published in The Musical Quarterly in 1928, had the form of an imaginary university examination paper on Spengler’s book. It included questions such as: ‘If Columbus had made his discovery in 1492 B.C., what Pharaoh would now be on the throne of America? Would American music now be Nilotic, chaotic, tommy-rotic or jazzotic?’ or: ‘Show how the Byzantine arabesque was nothing but an early meander-synthesis of the christyminstrelfolkmelody ‘Ancient Nigritic Joseph’’. Cecil Forsyth, ‘A Musical Examination-Paper on Spengler’s ‘The Decline of the West’’, The Musical Quarterly, 14:2, April 1928, 155-157. Ernst Troeltsch, untitled review, Historische Zeitschrift 120:2, 1919, 281-291 speaks of a book ‘von reichsten Kenntnissen, wenn auch der an sich nicht verwerfliche Diltantismus in ihm mitunter an die Grenzen des groben Unfugs geht.’ (281) and ‘Es wimmelt von falschen angaben, phastasiereichen Behauptungen und schiefen analogien, es fehlt fast alle kritische Sicherung der Tatsachen und jedes Bedürfnis danach’. (285) The book itself, he says, is ‘ein bedeutsames Kulturdokument aus der Zeit einer geistigen Krisis der deutschen Wissenschaft, ein Zeignis der überall spürbaren Empörung gegen die exakte Philologie und gegen die schulmäßig-formalistische Philosophie der Katheder.’ (281). The success of the book has to do, in Troeltsch’s opinion, with the contemporary German tastes: ‘Der grundsätzliche Größenwahn, das majestätische Einstoßen offener Türen, die feierliche Ankündigung von carmina non prius audita, das befehlsmäßige Pronunciamento von Paradoxien und kecken Einfällen gehört offenbar zu den Stileigenntümlichkeiten der heutigen deutschen Literatur, auch wenn es sich um Dinge handelt, die auch ohne diesen Jargon ihrer Wirkung— wenigstens bei ernsten und sachlichen Denkern—sicher wären. Aber man nennt das heute ‘Persönlichkeit’, und das deutsche Publikum verlangt das, so sehr eine feinere Humanität gerade von diesen schlechten Manieren sich reinigen wollte.’ (282-283) Similarly another German scholar, J. Ruska. Review, Isis, 5:1, 1923, 176-181. 65 Hankins, ‘Latest’, 213 Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 21 speaking scholarship at the time. If holist tendencies were a result of Weimar-era scholars’ interaction with their environment, what happened when that environment changed? The scholars who escaped the Nazis found themselves in an environment marked by very different political values—values that largely derived from a different view on the relationship between the individual and society. They had very good reasons to re-examine the wider implications as well as the origins of their methodologies. Gombrich famously never ceased to warn against the totalitarian implications of holist methodologies, while Panofsky worked, for decades, on a project that de facto amounted to restructuring the central themes of Weimar-era art history into the individualist framework.66 Nevertheless, intellectual adaptation is always a slow process. James Ackerman, who, as a student of the generation of Weimar-era refugees, witnessed this process first hand, observed that even in the German context of the nineteenth century, the implicit, ultimately Hegelian, philosophical assumptions contradicted the positivist interest in facts as well as the concept of individuality and interest in the uniqueness of the creative act.67 During the reception of Weimar-era methodologies into English-speaking scholarship, this contradiction was ‘so poorly perceived that judgments based on both positions are likely to be found in the same work, and particularly in textbooks’ while at the same time ‘what makes the situation insupportable is that most of us do not even share the philosophical concepts the positions are based on’.68 It would be, however, naïve to think that Weimar era scholars arrived, after 1933, to an environment that was utterly devoid of holist tendencies and the insecurities that, this article has suggested, typically motivate them. In analytic philosophy and in the humanities in general, the 1950s and 1960s were the heyday of the linguistic turn and the widespread belief that thinking always occurs in a language: in other words, that human reasoning processes and the contents of human beliefs are always already predetermined by the socially available conventions which enable the communication of their content. 69 In German intellectual context, this is an old idea, going back to Johann Gottfried Herder and early Romanticism.70 The view that all thinking is verbal was also one of the central assumptions of English-speaking, analytic philosophy and remained almost unchallenged until 1983 and John Searle’s seminal book Intentionality.71 The thesis coincided with the main tenets of behaviourist psychology and, in particular, the denial of non-verbal forms of thinking, such as visual imagination.72 66 See Mitrović, ‘Humanist Art History’ for a comparison of Gombrich’s and Panofsky’s approach to the problem. The linguistic 67 James Ackerman, ‘Toward a New Social Theory of Art’, New Literary History, 4:1, Autumn 1972, 315- 330, 319-320. See also James Ackerman, ‘On Judging Art Without Absolutes’, Critical Inquiry, 5:3, Spring 1978, 441-449, 445. 68 Ackerman, ‘Toward a new Social Theory’, 319. 69 Richard Rorty, ed., The Linguistic Turn, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967, see especially the Introduction, 1-39. For a general history of the linguistic turn, see Michael Losonsky, Linguistic Turns in Modern Philosophy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 70 Johann Gottfried Herder, Abhandlung über den Ursprung der Sprache, Berlin: Christian Friedrich Boß, 1778, cited according to the modern reprint, Stuttgart: Phillip Reclam, 1966, 85-86. 71 John Searle, Intentionality, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. 72 See Ned Block’s Introduction to Ned Block, ed., Imagery, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1981, 1-18 for the suppression of research about visual imagination during the behaviourist era. See also Daniel C. Branko Mitrović Ruminations on the dark side 22 turn itself favoured certain types of holist positions. Here belong the claims of the inconceivability of certain concepts for cultural groups which (allegedly) did not possess specific words to express them (obviously, if all thinking is verbal, then people who do not have appropriate words cannot have the corresponding thoughts). The rejection of formalism in analytic aesthetics also went hand-in-hand with the view that all thinking is verbal and implied that individuals are incapable of aesthetic evaluation independent of the groups they belong to.73 Due to the demise of the linguistic turn, for the past ten years many of these holist assumptions have been seriously challenged. The view that all thinking is verbal, or that thought-contents are identical to their articulation, has largely lost its credibility, especially as a result of a substantial body of research in cognitive psychology. The idea that there is no innocent eye, widespread in those days, can also be easily converted into the claim that visual perception is determined by the perceiver’s social group. 74 In aesthetics this has enabled the revival of formalism; in historiography it has brought back intentionalism and a renewed interest in the authorial intention, conceived of as ultimately irreducible to the author’s social context.75 For the first time since Sedlmayr, the dominant tone of international historiography seems on the way to liberating itself from holist methodological premises and to overcoming the dichotomy, described by Ackerman, between the humanist world-view, shared by many historians, and the holist methodologies that historians often rely on. But if such liberation is going to be more than a mere adjustment to the latest trends and what is currently academically credible, it needs to enable us to recognise and overcome the forces that drive the human soul into the denial of the free will and rational capacities of other individuals. Branko Mitrović received doctorates in architectural history and philosophy. He is the author (or co-author/co-editor) of four books on Renaissance architectural history and has been the recipient of the Humboldt Research Award as well as fellowships from the Harvard University, Canadian Centre for Architecture, Humboldt Foundation, National Gallery of Art and Clark Art Institute. Branko Mitrović Unitec Institute of Technology Auckland, New Zealand brankomitrovic@hotmail.com Dennett, ‘The Nature of Images and the Introspective Trap’, Block, ed., Imagery, 51-60, for one of the last defences of the behaviourist position. 73 Kendall Walton, ‘Categories of Art’, Philosophical Review 79:3, July 1970, 334–67. 74 For a summary of this research see José Luis Bermúdez, Thinking Without Words, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. 75 For the revival of formalism, see Nick Zangwill, The Metaphysics of Beauty, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001. For intentionalism, see Mark Bevir, The Logic of the History of Ideas, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Holism-Individualism 
work_qzpu3oj2nveztnrm7ubxqaqf6m	----	Conflicting views on Holl Steps to better buildings Conflicting views on Holl Steps to better buildings Reflections on Holl - and arq It was good to receive the first copy of arq (3/1) under its new publishers. I was also delighted to find a satisfactory increase in legibility through a sharper type face and daring use of blacker ink! As for content, well, the mixture is before, impenetrable in some places, extremely interesting (especially on U.S. practice in the context of Holl's Museum of Contemporary Art in Helsinki), lucid and enriching in the book reviews, especially Maxwell on 'Rhetoric'. Then good to see a building well published with decent plans even if my experience and perceptions of the building did not embrace the significance of its relationship to the city and our culture. My diary refers to it as'... not a bad thing but a thin affair after Aalto - ramps and architectural high jinks ...' Maybe Holl got the 'generator' right given the distinction drawn in the article between 'modern' art and 'contemporary' art but, as at the Tate of the West Gallery at St Ives, there seems too much architecture in relation to contents. On the other hand, Ada Louise Huxtable would persuade us that these new 'Museums' at their best are dedicated'... not only to collecting and preserving but to the search for meaning that has always been among civilisation's highest achievements. This has produced a unique building type today, based on an unprecedented kind of collaboration between artists and architects. At its most successful it is a new art form..." (New York Review of Books, 11 April 1999) The distinction between 'modern' and 'contemporary' seems a fine one in this instance. Does 'contemporary' need architecturally highly articulated even dominating space? The recent 'Sensation' exhibition at the Royal Academy showed that traditional spaces suit well that sort of thing while most Installation Art surely needs to start from 'neutral' space which, for example, I'm sure Herzog and de Meuron's new Tate Gallery at Millbank will provide. Are these new museums, these ecstatic works, cultural cruise missiles which land in old cultures that are perhaps deeper than we know, and which offer instant toursitic visual stimuli rather than content? As Pound put it,'... the age demanded an image of its accelerated grimace...' But arq sets one thinking about these and other issues - and isn't that what it's for? Congratulations on getting it going again. TREVOR DANNATT London Trevor Dannatt is Professor of Architecture at the Royal Academy and practices in London. More on Holl There are two issues which might have been expanded on in Esa Laaksonen's review (arq 3/1) of Steven Holl's Museum of Contemporary Art in Helsinki - the echoes of Aalto's Terrace Square proposal and the relation between the building and the art for which it provides a setting. The chosen site was once a part of an urban plan by Alvar Aalto to create a new cultural centre in Helsinki. He proposed a string of buildings embracing T66I0 Bay's western shoreline and culminating with Terrace Square, a piazza in city centre. The proposals were objected to for many different reasons: Terrace Square was considered dreary and lacked the surrounding density needed for an urban square and nearby Mannerheimintie has wide pavements and many cafes. The area didn't need Aalto's vast piazza. The public wanted the area around T66I0 Bay to be preserved as a park. In the end, the only part of Aalto's grand scheme to be built was Finlandia Hall, sitting without its intended context on T66I0 Bay. Aalto objected to the area being preserved as an 'urban forest' and the authorities have recently returned to his ideas, holding competitions for public buildings to be built around the bay. The site for the Museum for Contemporary Art may have been on what was originally Terrace Square in Aalto's scheme but the intentions reflected his idea of a line of cultural buildings around the bay. Holl has created enough of a public piazza in front of his building to serve the same purpose as Aalto's square. And Holl's building conveys the feeling that, had it not been sliced through at its north end, it could have extended, in Aalto's words, '...as far as Lapland...' The competition brief emphasised that in no way should the architecture take over from the art itself. It stated that: 'Art should be given priority in the design of the new museum. It should be borne in mind that a good deal of contemporary art is intended to be shown in relatively unembellished settings. The focus of the museum should be the space in which the spectator encounters the works of art..: Each of the 25 unique exhibition spaces successfully remains silent letters arq V0I3 • no2 • 1999 105 i o 6 arq • V0I3 • no 2 • 1999 letters as the brief specified, eliminating intermediate details and fittings which might distract from the art: they form a successful setting for a wide range of exhibitions and installations. The most published image though, the space with which most people will associate the museum, is the circulation hall which marks the internal meeting of the building's two elements. There is a constant reference to this space as you move through the building, it orientates you by providing carefully studied views but it is also introverted and encourages the spectator to analyse the space created, like a work of art, an inverted sculpture. This space can be examined from every angle and height possible: it controls the building. Though the circulation hall was intended to be mute by masking the constructional details, it is animated to the point of being confusing. The angle of the view as you enter the building is such that the landing point at which the long ramp meets the curving stairs is concealed, suggesting infinite growth. There is a very strong sense of spatialityas the vanishing point disappears between the black concrete floor and the bright roof light. The strong sense of ground and sky allows the ramps to move gracefully within the space, cantilevered off the wall without appearing to defy gravity. The ramp which takes you from the ground floor at the beginning of your journey moves away from the earth imperceptibly, its solid balustrade appearing later. The walls on either side are solid and unforgiving except where punctuated by openings to the spaces beyond. The focus of the museum is thus the circulation hall rather than the space in which the spectator encounters the works of art but perhaps this is appropriate for a contemporary art gallery whose transient exhibitions need to be situated in a more restful setting. The brief stated that the interior spaces should be 'spatially unobtrusive and unarticulated' but at the same time the architecture should 'reflect the function and character of the building.' Holl's building successfully satisfies this requirement. BETH KAY Cambridge Beth Kay is an architecture student and has recently written a dissertation on 'Designing Museums in the Millennium: the Intertwining of Art and Architecture' Learning cycle problems Donald Watson's paper on the link between practice and research (arq 3/1) was very interesting, but appeared directed toward the 'converted', rather than to the generality of architects and their clients. Perhaps that is indicated in the use of the phrase 'the astute (my italics) client'. Despite all the advances in recent years in the process of commissioning, significant gaps remain, and the clients who claim to be astute are sometimes perilously close to believing that they can obtain a fail- safe building if they and their advisers complete sufficient paperwork. The development of a learning cycle would have to be funded, perhaps by a version of the Dutch system, in the form of a 'tax' on building construction. However, into that learning cycle, we need to inject a clear analysis of the problems that learning cycle is intended to tackle. Three examples: First, clients - astute or not - have to be made aware of the consequences of their own decisions. Building failure claims reveal a substantial contributory negligence aspect for the client - where they have stopped and changed programmes, cut budgets, insisted on certain materials, certain contractors and particular procedures. Sharing of the results in peer-reviewed publications may be excellent for academic progression but seems highly unlikely to command a wide professional or client market. Once again, it is the provider's, rather than the consumer's perspective. I think it is only in Scotland that there has been regular detailed feedback on buildings claims openly published - even in its fairly rudimentary way. Second, there is the question of language. It is quite possible that the most important person of the future is a translator between architect and client. In one project, great offence was given when a user desire was rejected by the architect on the grounds that 'it would interfere with the design' (his words). An analysis of the project has revealed that the user desire would have been impossible because there was insufficient space for it: a completely different and understandable matter. Finally, I wonder if the profession has always been as sophisticated as it could have been about communicating what architecture can achieve for the client. The user should be able to take basic competence and improving knowledge for granted. So what are the values the architect can bring to the project with 2o/2ist century materials and technology: light.uninterrupted space, volume, comfort, sustainability.materials and surprise - for a start. Whether in an office or a block of flats, is it to be the same old plan with consistent ceiling heights with marginal pyrotechnics around the entrance, circulation and lavatories, fashionable cladding and a wavy roof, or something rather deeper ? Donald Watson suggests that dissemination of knowledge through conferences and publications. It would be a start, at any rate, if every building in receipt of government funds were required to have produced, upon completion, a simple A4 document giving the basic information on the bulding, design and construction, including a statement of client intention and architect response, and a brief summary of how the design developed during the project, if it did. Ideally, all UK Lottery funded projects should expand that with the addition of a post-completion analysis and evaluation. The existence of such information in a consistent way could be the first step in preparing a suitable practice/academic research culture: for at the moment, we have no coherent and systematic body of knowledge in which such a proposed culture could take root. CHARLES MCKEAN Dundee. Charles McKean is Professor of Architectural History at the University of Dundee and former Secretary of the Royal Incorporation of Architects in Scotland Letters should be sent to Peter Carolin, arq, c/o University of Cambridge Department of Architecture, iScroope Terrace, Cambridge CB21PX, UK F +44(0)1223332960 or Emailedto pc207@hermes.cam.ac.uk The Editors reserve the rig ht to shorten letters. CAMBRIDGE Giulio Romano ManfredoTafuri The Giulio Romano exhibition in Mantua in 1989 was the occasion for the publication, for the first time, of a full and thorough account of Giulios art. Now this lavishly illustrated book, selected from the original Italian catalogue by the late Manfredo Tafuri, brings together essays by a distinguished team of scholars to provide a full picture of Giulios activities as an architect. £75.00 HB 0 52157339 4 Architecture in Early Modern Italy 345pp A History of Venetian Architecture Ennio Concina and Judith Landry Ennio Concinas comprehensive survey of Venetian architecture draws on extensive original research on the city's cultural history. From its classical roots, to the twentieth- century battles against flood and economic decline, Concina discusses the influence of Venice's extraordinary position in history and geography on architectural styles. £50.00 HB 0 521573386 362pp The Architectural Treatise in the Italian Renaissance Architectural Invention, Ornament and Literary Culture Alina Payne Vitruvius's Ten Books ofArchitecture'was the fountainhead of architectural theory in the Italian Renaissance. This treatise did not, however, address all of the questions that were of concern to early modern architects. This study examines the Italian Renaissance architect's efforts to negotiate between imitation and reinvention of classicism. £50.00 HB 0 52162266 2 320pp Wren's 'Tracts' on Architecture and Other Writings LydiaM.Soo This book examines the theoretical work of one of the most important architects of early modern Europe. Wren posited a new version of the origins and development of the Classical style, thereby becoming one of the first to challenge theoretical principles of architecture that had been upheld since the Renaissance. £45.00 HB 0 521573696 236pp Decoding Homes and Houses Julienne Hanson Decoding Homes and Houses uses a computer- based method of analysis to explore the relation between the design and layout of traditional, vernacular, speculative and architect-designed houses and people's evolving tastes, lifestyles, habits and domestic routines. £45.00 HB 0 521572843 328pp Now in Paperback Space is the Machine A Configurational Theory of Architecture Bill Hillier In this ground-breaking book, Bill Hillier looks at a wide range of architectural and urban problems. Using new techniques of configurational analysis he shows that the patterns of space created by buildings are the key to how buildings and cities work for people. £16.95 PB 052164528X 475pp Lewis Mumford and American Modernism Eutopian Theories for Architecture and Urban Planning Robert Wojtowicz Lewis Mumford and American Modernism examines the career and writings of America's leading critic of architecture and criticism. His numerous books on the history of architecture have proved to be prescient, forming the basis for architecture and urban planning at a time of transition and redefinition at the end of the twentieth century. £55.00 HB 0 521482151 240pp Unity Temple frank Lloyd Wright and Architecture for Liberal Religion Joseph M. Siry This is the first in-depth study of one of the seminal works of Americas most renowned twentieth-century architect. Unity Temple is treated as a work of art that embodies both Wright's theory of architecture and his liberal religious ideals. £17.95 PB 0 521629918 383pp Cambridge books are available from good bookshops, alternatively phone UK +44 (0)1223 325588 to order direct using your credit card, or fax UK+44 (0)1223 325152. Now in Paperback $& C A M B R I D G E The Edinburgh Building '"$* UNIVERSITY PRESS Cambridge, CB2 2RU, UK http://vvwvv.cup.cam.ac.uk 
work_r4pgejerevax7dsp5mcojaym74	----	Machiavelli and urinalysis theless, in our fully adjusted model, the 95% CI for the hazard ratio associated with the administration of paricalcitol versus calcitriol included the point estimate reported by Teng et al.3 Paricalcitol appears to confer no survival advantage over doxercalciferol. The point estimates for hazard ratios for doxercalciferol versus paricalcitol ranged from 0.99 to 1.06 and each 95% CI included 1.0. However, we cannot exclude the possibility that doxercalciferol may be associated with a small benefit or disadvantage over paracalciferol. Our retrospective study reflects clinical practice. Since different vitamin D preparations became available at different times, the treatments were not simultaneous, and switching was the major cause of censoring. The vitamin D analogs were not dosed according to KDOQI guidelines, since most of the study occurred before these were published. 1. Sprague SM. Mortality risk among hemodialysis patients receiving different vitamin D analogs. Kidney Int 2006; in press. 2. Tentori F, Hunt WC, Stidley CA et al. Mortality risk among hemodialysis patients receiving different vitamin D analogs. Kidney Int 2006; 70: 1858–1865. 3. Teng M, Wolf M, Ofsthun MN et al. Activated injectable vitamin D and hemodialysis survival: a historical cohort study. J Am Soc Nephrol 2005; 16: 1115–1125. F Tentori1, WC Hunt1, CA Stidley1, MR Rohrscheib1, EJ Bedrick1, KB Meyer1, HK Johnson1 and PG Zager1 1Dialysis Clinic Inc. (DCI), Quality Management, Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA Correspondence: F Tentori, Dialysis Clinic Inc., Quality Management, 1500 Indian School Rd NE, Suite 200, Albuquerque, New Mexico 87102, USA. E-mail: francesca.tentori@dciinc.org Immunofluorescence on proteinase XXIV-digested paraffin sections Kidney International (2007) 72, 896; doi:10.1038/sj.ki.5002495 To the Editor: In their comparison of immunofluorescence (IF) on frozen sections with pronase-digested paraffin sections, Nasr et al.1 found that pronase digestion was a useful technique for IF on paraffin (IF-P) sections. However, the sensitivity of this technique was low for membranous glomerulopathy and anti-glomerular basement membrane disease (50 and 20%, respectively), which was mainly due to weak staining of IgG (immunoglobulin G). In our laboratory, we use bacterial proteinase XXIV (Sigma, St Louis, MO, USA), as described by Bancroft and Gamble, 2 instead of pronase. We compared IF-P on proteinase XXIV- and pronase-digested paraffin sections. We selected five cases of lupus nephritis that showed full- house fluorescence staining on frozen sections. In all cases, staining intensity was similar or better on proteinase XXIV- digested slides, and less background was observed. Impor- tantly, staining for IgG and C1q was more intense in sections digested with proteinase XXIV than in those digested with pronase. In addition, we tested five cases of anti-glomerular basement membrane disease. One of these was negative after pronase, as well as after proteinase XXIV digestion, one was positive with both techniques, whereas the remaining three were positive only after proteinase XXIV digestion. Finally, in nine cases of membranous glomerulopathy, diagnostic IF-P staining for IgG was obtained in six cases after pronase digestion and in five cases after proteinase XXIV digestion. In conclusion, we agree with Nasr et al. that IF-P is a valuable salvage technique for renal biopsies. To this, we would like to add that IF-P on sections digested with proteinase XXIV is generally more sensitive than IF-P on pronase-digested sections. 1. Nasr SH, Galgano SJ, Markowitz GS et al. Immunofluorescence on pronase-digested paraffin sections: a valuable salvage technique for renal biopsies. Kidney Int 2006; 70: 2148–2151. 2. Bancroft JD, Gamble M. Theory and Practice of Histological Techniques, 5th edn. Churchill Livingstone, London, 2002, pp 450–451. K van der Ven1, TQ Nguyen1 and R Goldschmeding1 1Department of Pathology, University Medical Center Utrecht, Utrecht, The Netherlands Correspondence: R Goldschmeding, Department of Pathology, University Medical Center Utrecht, Utrecht, The Netherlands. E-mail: R.Goldschmeding@umcutrecht.nl Machiavelli and urinalysis Kidney International (2007) 72, 896–897; doi:10.1038/sj.ki.5002496 To the Editor: I read with great interest the article on the history of urinalysis in Western culture by Armstrong.1 It gives a detailed outline of how uroscopy developed into a prominent medical diagnostic tool, and later was abandoned due to the poor scientific basis of such practice. In Dr Amrstrong’s article, however, it is not mentioned that uroscopy was so popular to be included in the most famous play by Niccolò Machiavelli, ‘La Mandragola (The Man- drake)’, 2,3 making fun of presumptuous physicians and credulous patients. In another important paper on uroscopy by Voswinckel,4 the contribution of Machiavelli is not mentioned as well. Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli (May 3, 1469 to June 21, 1527) was an Italian political philosopher. He is a central figure of the political component of the Italian Renaissance, most widely known for his treatises on realist political theory (The Prince). However, he also was a musician, poet, and romantic comedic playwright. The Mandragola has been widely performed and very popular since the sixteenth century. The title comes from the popular tale that a woman who drinks a potion made from the mandrake root is certain to conceive a child, the only drawback being that the man with whom she first has sex after taking the potion will die within 8 days. The story evolves around Callimaco, a lovesick Florentine who came form Paris to conquer the heart (and the graces) of Lucrezia, the beautiful young wife of Messer Nicia Calfucci, a 896 Kidney International (2007) 72, 895–898 l e t t e r t o t h e e d i t o r foolish wealthy merchant whose only thought is having an heir. The clever Callimaco therefore disguises himself as a physician, and to gain Nicia’s faith, he performs an hilarious uroscopic exam (Act II, Scene 6), reported in Table 1. Machiavelli reports how easy could be for an educated imposter to play the part of an expert doctor, without seeing his patient. It is crucial to note the importance of Nicia’s credulous attitude towards someone who could speak Latin, educated in a foreign Country, asking for an absolute faith in his previous experience. It is possible that Machiavelli took his inspiration from the first printed medical books on uroscopy, such as the Epiphanie Medicorum 5 or the Fasciculus Medicinae.6 In any case, he tried to denigrate the inappropriate use of uroscopy much earlier than Thomas Brian.7 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I thank Dr Roberta Zanoli from the Piccolo Teatro di Milano, for her help in retrieving bibliographic material on Machiavelli’s works. 1. Armstrong JA. Urinalysis in Western culture: a brief history. Kidney Int 2007; 71: 384–387. 2. Machiavelli N. La Mandragola (written between 1513 and 1520). First published in Rome, 1524. Here we refer to the edition cured by Gerolamo Lazzeri, Milano. Corbaccio 1924. 3. Machiavelli N. Mandragola (English translation Mera J. Flaumenhaft) Waveland Press, Inc.: Prospect Heights, IL, 1981. 4. Voswinckel P. From uroscopy to urinalysis. Clin Chim Acta 2000; 297: 5–16. 5. Pinder, Ulrich (Udalricus Binder). Epiphanie Medicorum. Speculum videndi urinas hominum. Clavis aperiendi portas pulsuum. Berillus discernendi causas & differentias febrium. Sodalitas Celtica: Nuremberg, 1506. 6. Ketham, John de (Johannes de Ketham, Hans von Kirchheim). Fasciculus medicinae. Venice, Giovanni & Gregorio Di Gregorii, Latin Edition: 1491; Italian Edition: 1493. See also http://archive.nlm.nih.gov/proj/ttp/flash/ ketham/ketham.html. 7. Brian T. The Pisse-Prophet, or certaine pissepot lectures. London, Printed by E. P. for R. Thrale, 1637. See also http://eee.uci.edu/clients/bjbecker/ PlaguesandPeople/week3h. M Gallieni1 1A.O. San Paolo, Renal Unit, Milano, Italy Correspondence: M Gallieni, A.O. San Paolo, Renal Unit, via di Rudinı̀, 8, Milano 20142, Italy. E-mail: maurizio.gallieni@fastwebnet.it Classification of pediatric lupus nephritis Kidney International (2007) 72, 897–898; doi:10.1038/sj.ki.5002497 To the Editor: We read with great interest the review by Markowitz and D’Agati1 on the 2003 International Society of Nephrology (ISN)/Renal Pathology Society (RPS) classifica- tion of lupus nephritis (LN).2 We agree that the new classification has provided a standardized approach to renal biopsy interpretation which was required to compare outcome data across centers and facilitate intervention trials in LN. The authors highlight the controversy regarding the introduction of a subclassification within diffuse LN (class IV) Table 1 | Transcript of the play ‘La Mandragola’, relevant to uroscopy, from the original Scene 6, Act II, in Italian and Latin, followed by English translation CALLIMACO Avete voi el segno? NICIA E’ l’ha Siro, sotto. CALLIMACO Dàllo qua. Oh! questo segno mostra debilità di rene. NICIA Ei mi par torbiccio; eppur l’ha fatto or ora. CALLIMACO Non ve ne maravigliate. Nam mulieris urinae sunt semper maioris grossitiei et albedinis, et minoris pulchritudinis, quam virorum. Huius autem, inter caetera, causa est amplitudo canalium, mixtio eorum quae ex matrice exeunt cum urina. NICIA Oh! uh! potta di san Puccio! Costui mi raffinisce in tralle mani; guarda come ragiona bene di queste cose! CALLIMACO Io ho paura che costei non sia, la notte, mal coperta, e per questo fa l’orina cruda. NICIA Ella tien pure addosso un buon coltrone; ma la sta quattro ore ginocchioni ad infilzar paternostri, innanzi che la se ne venghi al letto, ed è una bestia a patir freddo. CALLIMACO Infine, dottore, o voi avete fede in me, o no; o io vi ho ad insegnare un rimedio certo, o no. Io, per me, el rimedio vi darò. Se voi avrete fede in me, voi lo piglierete; e se, oggi ad uno anno, la vostra donna non ha un suo figliolo in braccio, io voglio avervi a donare duemila ducati. NICIA Dite pure, ché io son per farvi onore di tutto, e per credervi piú che al mio confessoro. CALLIMACO Have you got the specimen? NICIA Siro’s got it, under his mantle. CALLIMACO Give it to me. Oh! This specimen shows a weakness of the kidneys. NICIA Indeed, it looks quite cloudy to me; and yet she just did it. CALLIMACO You should not be surprised. Nam mulieris urinae sunt semper maioris grossitiei et albedinis, et minoris pulchritudinis, quam virorum. Huius autem, inter caetera, causa est amplitudo canalium, mixtio eorum quae ex matrice exeunt cum urina. (In fact, urine from females is always thicker and whiter, and less exquisite, than urine from males. Of such things, among others, the cause is the width of the channels, combined with the materials which exit from the body matrix with the urine). NICIA Oh! uh! Pussy of Saint Puccio! This man gets better and better while I listen to him; see how well he speaks about these things! CALLIMACO I fear the patient may not be well covered at night, and perhaps this is the reason why her urine is not well matured. NICIA She is well covered, with a good blanket, but then she’ll spend four hours on her knees threading paternosters together, before she comes to bed, and yet she is as strong as an ox when it comes to standing the cold. CALLIMACO Well now, sir, the question is, have you faith in me, or haven’t you; and do you want me to teach you a certain remedy or don’t you? For my part, I’m ready to give you the cure. If you have faith in me, you’ll get it, and if your wife doesn’t have a baby in her arms by this time next year, then I’ll be willing to give you two thousand ducats. NICIA Go on then, tell me, because I am ready to give you credit and honors for everything, and ready to believe you more than my own confessor. Kidney International (2007) 72, 895–898 897 l e t t e r t o t h e e d i t o r 
work_rfc5tg5yrzbm5p7ukt5qsf7azm	----	In Memoriam �Memorial�texts�about�the�former�MLA� presidents� Wayne� C.� Booth� and� Edith� Kern�and�the�former�PMLA�editor�John�W.� Kronik�follow�this�listing. �This�listing�contains�names�received�by� the�membership�office�since�the�January� 2006�issue.�A�cumulative�list�for�the�aca- demic�year�2005–06�appears�at�the�MLA� Web�site�(www�.mla�.org/in_memoriam). �The�sections�Forthcoming�Meetings�and� Conferences� of� General� Interest� and� Professional�Notes�and�Comment�are�no� longer�printed�in�PMLA.�They�have�been� moved�to�the�members-only�area�of�the� MLA�Web�site�(www.mla.org/resources),� where�they�are�updated�twice�a�month. Taddesse�Adera,�University�of�Mary�Washington,�17�January�2006 Graciela�Andrade�Alfieri,�Lawrence�University,�9�November�2005 Ruth�Margaret�Ames,�Queensborough�Community�College,�City�University�of�New�York,� 25�April�2005 Artine�Artinian,�Bard�College,�19�November�2005 Edwin�Bonsack,�Library�of�Congress,�1�April�2005 Dolores�Brown,�University�of�Arizona,�7�August�2005 Guy�Adams�Cardwell,�Washington�University,�27�September�2005 Charles�E.�Carlut,�Ohio�State�University,�Columbus,�20�December�2004 Bradley�Dean,�Bloomington,�Indiana,�14�January�2006 Arnold�A.�Del�Greco,�University�of�Virginia,�13�January�2005 Richard�J.�Finneran,�University�of�Tennessee,�Knoxville,�17�November�2005 William�S.�Fisher,�Detroit,�Michigan,�21�October�2005 John�Fowles,�Dorset,�England,�5�November�2005 Morton�L.�Gurewitch,�State�University�College�of�New�York,�Cortland,�13�July�2005 Dev�Hathaway,�Shippensburg�University,�18�June�2005 Edith�Kern,�Smith�College,�29�September�2005 Patricia�A.�Kimmell,�Aurora�University,�15�March�2005 Edmund�Ludwig�King,�Princeton�University,�25�December�2005 Jack�Kolbert,�Susquehanna�University,�25�September�2005 John�W.�Kronik,�Cornell�University,�22�January�2006 Robert�Cutter�Laing,�Jr.,�University�of�Pittsburgh,�Bradford,�13�April�2005 Richard�L.�Larson,�Lehman�College,�City�University�of�New�York,�20�January�2006 John�R.�Lauritsen,�Charles�B.�Mills�Center,�Ohio,�14�July�2005 Kitty�O’Donnell�Locker,�Ohio�State�University,�Columbus,�9�September�2005 John�C.�Lovas,�De�Anza�College,�21�June�2005 Ralph�W.�Lynch,�University�of�Louisiana,�Lafayette,�20�February�2005 Andrí ı̆�Malýc’kyı̆,�Indiana,�Pennsylvania,�30�March�2005 Nellie�Yvonne�McKay,�University�of�Wisconsin,�Madison,�22�January�2006 Carol�Peirce,�University�of�Baltimore,�31�August�2005 Charles�J.�Pelfrey,�Morehead�State�University,�14�April�2005 Walther�G.�Prausnitz,�Concordia�College,�Minnesota,�17�September�2005 1 2 1 . 2 ] [ © 2 006 by t h e mode r n l a nguage a s s o ci at ion of a m e r ic a ] 553 Petrona�D.�Rodríguez-Pasqués,�Universidad�Tecnológica�Nacional,�Buenos�Aires,� Argentina,�1�November�2005 Roger�Shattuck,�Boston�University,�8�December�2005 Clara�M.�Siggins,�Boston�College,�5�November�2005 Harry�Steinhauer,�University�of�California,�Santa�Barbara,�12�January�2006 Helen�S.�Thomas,�University�of�Houston,�University�Park,�25�October�2005 James�Holbrook�Wheatley,�Trinity�College,�Connecticut,�28�May�2005 Charles�G.�S.�Williams,�Ohio�State�University,�Columbus,�15�September�2005 Wayne C. Booth (22 FeB. 1921–10 oCt. 2005). As�recently�as�March�2005,�in�his� eighty-fourth�year,�Wayne�Booth,�one�of�the�preeminent�literary�theorists�of�the�last� half�of�the�twentieth�century,�was�once�more�in�an�undergraduate�humanities�class- room�at�the�University�of�Chicago,�even�as�he�was�completing�his�last�book,�his�autobi- ography,�My Many Selves: The Quest for a Plausible Harmony (2006).�Teaching,�learning,� and�writing�were�all�manifestations�of�Wayne’s�profound�commitment�to�shared�under- standings�as�a�way�of�making�the�world�a�better�place.�“We�are�all�here�on�earth�to�help� each�other,�but�what�the�others�are�here�for,�God�only�knows”—the�W.�H.�Auden�quota- tion�serving�as�one�epigraph�to�chapter�1�of�A Rhetoric of Irony—captures�through�its� mixture�of�the�literal�and�the�ironic�much�of�what�Wayne�believed�and�practiced. Born�in�American�Fork,�Utah,�tracing�his�descent�from�Mormon�pioneers,�and� growing�up�surrounded�by�moral�absolutes,�Wayne�accepted�a�mission�call�in�Pennsyl- vania�at�age�twenty�despite�his�increasing�doubts.�His�serious�wrestling�with�the�tenets� of�Mormonism�ultimately�led�him�away�from�the�church�but�profoundly�influenced� the�character�and�quality�of�his�intellectual�life�thereafter�and�helped�shape�his�turn� toward�ethical�criticism�and�his�interest�in�rhetoric�as�an�ethical�act.�Wayne�earned�his� BA�from�Brigham�Young�University�in�1944,�served�a�stint�in�the�army�during�1944–46,� and�then�continued�his�studies�at�the�University�of�Chicago,�where�he�earned�his�MA� in�1947�and�his�PhD�in�1950,�working�with�the�noted�neo-Aristotelian�scholars�Richard� McKeon�and�R.�S.�Crane,�on�whose�insights�he�would�advance�considerably,�as�he�trans- formed�their�concern�with�the�poetics�of�literary�form�into�an�approach�to�literature�as� rhetoric.�He�began�his�career�as�an�assistant�professor�at�Haverford�College�and�then� moved�in�1953�to�Earlham�College�as�professor�of�English�and�chair�of�the�department� before�he�was�recruited�in�1962�to�serve�as�the�George�M.�Pullman�Professor�at�the� University�of�Chicago,�where�he�spent�the�rest�of�his�academic�career. In�the�groundbreaking Rhetoric of Fiction (1961),�Wayne�Booth�introduced�readers� to�previously�unexplored�territory,�where�we�would�discover�literature�as�a�complex� rhetorical�and�ethical�act�and�our�reading�of�literature�as�an�intricate�process�of�grasp- ing�our�relation�to�implied�author�and�narrator�so�as�to�discern�and�disentangle�the� strategies�by�which�we�are�seduced�by�narratives.�One�marker�of�the�book’s�influence� is�that�many�of�its�terms,�especially�implied author�and�unreliable narrator,�are�so�much� a�part�of�the�lingua�franca�of�literary�criticism�that�they�are�frequently�used�without� source�citation.�Booth’s�work�on�the�rhetoric�and�ethics�of�narrative�eventually�led� him�to�his�second-most-influential�book,�The Company We Keep (1988).�“Read�as�you� would�have�others�read�you;�listen�as�you�would�have�others�listen”—Wayne’s�advice� in�Company�leads�us�from�books�to�life�and�back�again�to�books.�The�advice�invites�us� to�illuminate�our�lives�and�to�guide�our�interactions�with�others�by�how�we�best�engage� with�literature�as�well�as�by�what�we�learn�from�engaging�with�it. Wayne�lived�by�the�precepts�that�informed�his�criticism.�He�understood�that�he�ex- isted�in�the�world�as�a�moral�agent�and,�in�his�capacity�as�dean�of�college�during�1964– 69,�accepted�the�challenge�of�helping�to�lead�the�University�of�Chicago�through�this� turbulent�period.�Rereading�now�Modern Dogma and the Rhetoric of Assent,�the�book� that�came�out�of�the�campus�unrest�of�the�late�sixties,�is�like�encountering�a�wise�old� friend.�I�had�not�thought�to�learn�again�from�Wayne�about�how�to�manage�the�increas- u n iv er si t y o f ch ic a g o 554� In�Memoriam [ P M L A 555 ing�challenges�I�faced�as�I�moved�from�chair�to�dean�to�provost.�Yet�it�was�Wayne�who� initially�both�encouraged�and�cautioned�me�about�taking�on�administrative�respon- sibilities,�and�it�is�the�Wayne�of�Modern Dogma�who�often�provides�helpful�guidance� as�I�try�to�meet�them.�Reasonable�and�receptive,�he�served�for�many�as�their�example� of�principled�leadership,�and�from�him�many�besides�me�have�drawn�a�conviction� that�reason�and�the�pursuit�of�shared�understanding�can�ultimately�prevail�despite�the� chasm�that�often�yawns�between�and�among�various�constituencies.�This�receptivity— call�it�openness—to�the�serious,�complex,�and�often�painful�negotiations�we�make�with� life�and�the�terms�it�sets�for�us�distinguishes�Wayne’s�life�and�his�work.�And�through�this� difficult�openness�and�his�unflagging�belief�in�the�power�of�shared�understanding,�he� created�meaningful�change�and�opportunities�for�renewed�community. Wayne�was�a�prolific�writer.�In�addition�to�his�major�studies�of�the�rhetoric�and� ethics�of�fiction,�he�completed�his�indispensable�study�of�irony�in�1974,�an�analysis�of� pluralism�in�Critical Understanding (1979),�important�readers�and�handbooks�on�rheto- ric�and�research,�and�several�lively�collections�of�essays�on�the�art�of�teaching.�After�his� retirement,�in�1991,�he�continued�his�quest�for�learning�in�his�research,�as�he�edited� The Art of Growing Older�(1992)�and�wrote�For the Love of It: Amateuring and Its Rivals (1999),�about�the�challenges�and�rewards�of�beginning�as�an�adult�to�learn�to�play�the� cello�and�“what�it�means�to�do�something�worth�doing�for�the�sheer�love�of�it,�with�no� thought�of�future�payoff.”�The Rhetoric of Rhetoric�followed�in�2004,�and,�fittingly,�he� closed�with�his�autobiography.�Wayne�will�be�remembered�with�deep�affection�for�his� generosity�of�spirit,�his�rich�sense�of�humor,�his�principled�engagement�with�the�world,� and�his�expressive,�incisive�intelligence. ELIzABETH�LANGLAND edith Gentner Kern (7 FeB. 1912–29 Sept. 2005).�Edith�Kern�was�president�of�the� MLA�in�1977.�Greatly�quoted�in�studies�of�French�drama,�she�was�a�comparatist�of�note,� of�the�generation�of�René�Wellek�and�those�other�admirable�Old�World�teachers.�Like� them,�she�was�utterly�polyglot,�and�charming�in�all�the�languages�she�spoke. Not�only�was�Edith�able�to�cite�from�several�languages,�but�she�had�read�widely,� and�in�depth.�On�many�occasions,�she�showed�how�writers�who�may�seem�to�most�of�us� obscure,�to�say�the�least,�were�important�to�various�movements:�see,�for�example,�her� work The Influence of Heinsius and Vossius upon French Dramatic Theory (1949). Edith�Kern�was�especially�known�for�her�studies�of�Samuel�Beckett,�whom�she� knew�and�frequently�quoted.�An�authority�also�on�existentialism�and�on�the�theater�of� the�absurd,�she�was�interested�in�the�interconnections�between�narrative�techniques� and�dramatic�ones.�She�was�a�splendid�editor,�compiling�Sartre: A Collection of Critical Essays�(1962).�She�combined�many�of�her�interests�in�Existential Thought and Fictional Technique: Kierkegaard, Sartre, Beckett�(1970). Her�sense�of�humor�was�memorable,�and�she�celebrated�humor�in�general�with� glee.�Think�of�her�book�The Absolute Comic (1980). �She�was�a�gracious�person,�always�willing�to�discuss�her�interests�with�younger� scholars.�I�well�remember�her�salon�apartment�on�Washington�Square,�filled�with� young�people�and�conversation�in�several�languages.�Her�friends�were�as�learned�as� she�was:�she�was�close�to�a�philosopher�called�Edward�Robinson,�one�of�Heidegger’s� translators,�who�would�enthuse�about�her�to�me.�He�had�actually�prepared�a�house�for� them,�with�a�double�sink—I�was�very�impressed,�by�him,�by�her,�by�them. Edith�was�part�of�the�Old�World�intelligentsia,�but�amply�supplied�with�curiosity� about�the�New�World. MARY�ANN�CAWS 556� In�Memoriam [ P M L A 557 New from P E N G U I N G RO U P ( U SA ). . . . . . . . . . . . . . www.penguin.com/academic P E N G U I N G R O U P ( U S A ) Academic Marketing Department, 375 Hudson St., New York, NY 10014 ARTHUR MILLER RESURRECTION BLUES Penguin Plays 80 pp. 0-14-303548-7 $11.00 ROBERTSON DAVIES THE MANTICORE Introduction by Michael Dirda Penguin Classics 336 pp. 0-14-303913-X $15.00 WORLD OF WONDERS Introduction by Wayne Johnston Penguin Classics 352 pp. 0-14-303914-8 $15.00 H. G. WELLS ANN VERONICA Introduction by Margaret Drabble Edited with Notes by Sita Schütt Penguin Classics 352 pp. 0-14-144109-7 $13.00 KIPPS Introduction by David Lodge Edited with Notes by Simon J. James Penguin Classics 320 pp. 0-14-144110-0 $9.00 THE HISTORY OF MR POLLY Introduction by John Sutherland Edited by Simon J. James Notes by John Sutherland and Simon J. James Penguin Classics 272 pp. 0-14-144107-0 $8.00 WILLIAM TREVOR FOOLS OF FORTUNE Introduction by Francine Prose Penguin Classics 208 pp. 0-14-303962-8 $14.00 FERNANDO PESSOA A LITTLE LARGER THAN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE Selected Poems Translated with an Introduction and Notes by Richard Zenith Penguin Classics 400 pp. 0-14-303955-5 $16.00 JACK KEROUAC WINDBLOWN WORLD The Journals of Jack Kerouac, 1947–1954 Edited and with an Introduction by Douglas Brinkley Penguin 432 pp. 0-14-303606-8 $18.00 Also new in Penguin: BOOK OF SKETCHES 0-14-200215-1 ISAAC BABEL RED CAVALRY AND OTHER STORIES Edited with Notes by Efraim Sicher Translated with an Introduction by David McDuff Penguin Classics 400 pp. 0-14-044997-3 $15.00 JOHN STEINBECK THE GRAPES OF WRATH Introduction and Notes by Robert DeMott Penguin Classics 496 pp. 0-14-303943-1 $15.00 THE WAYWARD BUS Edited with an Introduction and Notes by Gary Scharnhorst Penguin Classics 288 pp. 0-14-243787-5 $14.00 John W. KroniK (18�May 1931–22�Jan. 2006).�In�December�2001,�John�Kronik�retired� from�his�professorship�in�the�Department�of�Romance�Studies�at�Cornell�University� after�a�distinguished�career�of�thirty-five�years�in�that�institution.�Freed�from�residence� in�one�place,�he�became,�if�anything,�even�more�of�a�presence�in�our�field,�accept- ing�invitations�as�a�visiting�professor�hither�and�yon,�presenting�papers�at�multiple� conferences,�staffing�departmental�evaluation�committees,�and�so�forth.�His�visibility� and�influence�grew�on�account�of�the�ubiquitousness�afforded�to�him�by�his�emeritus� status.�News�of�his�passing�cast�a�pall�over�the�entire�field�of�Hispanic�studies,�accus- tomed�as�we�had�become�to�this�bustle�of�activity,�which�belied�any�notion�of�John’s� retirement.�This�memorial�note�appears�in�PMLA�in�a�series�that�until�now�had�marked� the�deaths�of�former�presidents�of�the�association.�While�John�never�held�that�position,� his�editorship�of�PMLA�for�seven�years�and�his�other�contributions�to�the�profession� amply�justify�this�inclusion.�But�there�is�also�the�belief�in�our�field—the�fact,�some� would�say—that�John�was�the�unelected�yet�uncontested�elder�statesman�of�Hispanism� in�the�United�States. John�Kronik�was�born�in�Vienna�in�1931,�and�while�he�was�still�a�boy,�his�family� left�that�city�and�eventually�settled�in�the�United�States.�He�received�an�undergradu- ate�degree�from�Queens�College�in�1952,�followed�by�an�MA�(1953)�and�a�PhD�(1960)� from�the�University�of�Wisconsin,�Madison.�After�brief�stints�at�Hamilton�College�and� the�University�of�Illinois,�Urbana,�he�joined�the�faculty�at�Cornell�in�1966,�where�he� remained�until�his�retirement.�At�Cornell�he�initiated�generations�of�undergraduate� and�graduate�students�into�the�reverence�for�Benito�Pérez�Galdós,�whose�labyrinthine� realist�universe�he�deemed�as�deserving�of�close�study�as�those�of�Galdós’s�counter- parts�Dickens�and�Balzac.�He�published�important�articles�on�Galdós,�Clarín,�Emilia� Pardo�Bazán,�Camilo�José�Cela,�Carmen�Laforet,�Carmen�Martín�Gaite,�Antonio�Buero� Vallejo,�and�Fernando�Arrabal,�coedited�anthologies�of�scholarly�essays�on�modern� Spanish�literature,�and�penned�substantial�opinion�pieces�on�professional�matters.� He�was�president�of�the�Asociación�Internacional�de�Galdosistas�from�1981�to�1985� and�editor�of�its�official�journal,�the�Anales Galdosianos,�from�1985�to�1990.�In�1992�he� received�the�Distinguished�Retiring�Editor�Award�from�the�Council�of�Editors�of�Learned� Journals�in�recognition�of�his�editorial�work. John�was�the�first�person�to�serve�as�editor�of�PMLA�after�the�position�was�sepa- rated�from�that�of�the�MLA�executive�director.�That�fact,�and�his�tenure�for�seven�years,� allowed�him�to�reinvent�the�office�of�editor�of�PMLA�and�the�journal’s�editorial�process.� His�successors�in�that�post—Domna�C.�Stanton,�Martha�Banta,�Marianne�Hirsch,�and� I—drew�heavily�on�John’s�wisdom�and�editorial�smarts.�I,�for�one,�may�have�abused�his� willingness�to�offer�advice�in�my�search�for�guidance�in�facing�the�challenges�of�the�job� and�developing�the�necessary�thick�skin. As�a�student�at�Cornell,�I�took�several�of�John’s�classes�on�nineteenth-century� Spanish�realism�and�on�contemporary�Spanish�literature.�It�was�in�one�of�his�classes� that�I�had�that�epiphany�which�launches�you�on�the�road�to�becoming�the�best�teacher� you�can�be:�while�allowing�every�student�to�contribute�to�the�discussion�at�will�and� letting�the�class�follow�the�varied�lines�of�questioning�thus�opened,�John�wove�that� spontaneous�movement�into�a�trajectory�that�took�the�class�through�every�one�of�the� issues�and�problems�he�wanted�to�address�in�his�own�discourse�on�the�work�at�hand.� I�understood�then�that�the�debate�about�whether�good�teachers�are�born�or�made� was�moot:�that�the�generosity�to�really�hear�what�your�students�have�to�say�cannot� be�learned,�and�that�acquiring�the�skills�needed�to�orchestrate�the�score�of�a�class� demands�a�great�deal�of�toil.�I�have�been�teaching�for�many�years—enough�so�that� jadedness�has�every�reason�to�have�set�in—yet�I�still�get�a�bit�nervous�the�first�day�I� meet�a�new�class.�And�I�have�John�to�thank�for�that�bittersweet�gift. In�the�1997�issue�of�Profession,�John�published�a�trenchant,�witty,�and�moving� meditation�(a�combination�that�was�his�trademark)�on�the�relation�between�research� and�teaching,�or,�more�exactly,�between�publishing�and�teaching,�since�the�crux�of�the� piece�was,�precisely,�that�publication�had�come�to�be�synonymous�with�research.�In�it� John�defines�himself�resolutely�and�foremost�as�a�pedagogue: o sc a r & a ss o ci at es , i n c . 558� In�Memoriam [ P M L A 559 I�have�two�neighbors�who�are�also�on�the�Cornell�faculty�(I�live�in�an�academic�ghetto).� When�the�three�of�us�are�asked,�“What�do�you�do?,”�one�of�us�answers,�“I’m�a�physi- cist”;�the�second�says,�“I’m�an�engineer”;�and�the�third—yours�truly—replies,�“I� teach.”�(Which�of�course�always�invites�a�follow-up�question:�“What�do�you�teach?”�To� my�answer,�“Hispanic�literature,”�the�best�reaction�I�ever�got�was�from�a�newspaper- woman�in�Anchorage,�Alaska,�who�cooed:�“Oh,�how�elegant!”)�Don’t�you,�too,�identify� yourselves�as�teachers?�Isn’t�that�your�essence,�your�elegant�essence?�Deep�down,�I� know�what�means�most�to�me�and�where�I�seek�my�immortality:�warm�bodies�that� hold�me�in�their�memories,�not�my�name�in�cold�black�print.� (162) Since�John’s�passing,�numerous�colleagues�and�friends�have�expressed�to�me�that�he� was�the�best�teacher�they�ever�had,�that�he�furthered�their�careers�when�they�had�no�real� claim�to�his�help,�that�John�taught�them�everything�they�know�that�is�important�academi- cally�and�professionally,�and�that�they�cannot�imagine�this�profession�without�him. By�his�own�definition—and�is�there�any�other�that�matters?—John’s�immortality� is�doubtless�assured. � CARLOS�J.�ALONSO 560� In�Memoriam [ P M L A 561 563 Tnysn—Documents—PMLA (Mar 06) File: indexes_121-2_P2T1.indd Job #: 120-10 3/28/06–JR/DC ALL TK Times—Text: 10/13 (–0.5tr), Epi: 9.25/12 IT; TimesSC—AAuthor: 16/18 (lc, 115%, +5tr); Christiana—ATitle: 21/26 MD (90%) MAX: 3 lines then shrink, AuNote: 7.5/11.5 (C-AuNoteName: SC), C-AFirstLine: 10 (UC), C-AInitCap125: 125% (80%, –0.5tr), C-AInitQuote75: 75% (–0.5tr); IntroOpen: 9/13, C-IntroInitCap135: 135% (115vs, –0.5tr), C-IntroInitQu97: 97% ( –15tr), IntroText: 9/13, PhotoCredit: 5/10 (lc SC) u n i v e r s i t y o f t o r o n t o p r e s s available in better bookstores or visit www.utppublishing.com Andrés González de Barcia and the Creation of the Colonial Spanish American Library Studies in Book and Print Culture Jonathan E. Carlyon In this highly original new book, Jonathan E. Carlyon traces González de Barcia’s work as editor, bibliographer, and author, focusing on his program of scholarly republication that resulted in the creation of the first comprehensive colonial Spanish American library. Cloth 080203845X $55.00 January 2006 Narrative Interludes: Musical Tableaux in Eighteenth-Century French Texts University of Toronto Romance Series Tili Boon Cuillé Juxtaposing pre-eminent and popular writers, Cuillé reads their fictional works in light of their treatises on art and society, exploring the significance of musical tableaux that have previously fallen outside the scope of literary analysis but that revolutionized the form and function of music in the text. Cloth 0802038425 $75.00 March 2006 Fitting Sentences: Identity in Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Prison Narratives Jason Haslam Fitting Sentences is an analysis of writings by prisoners from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries in North America, South Africa, and Europe. Jason Haslam examines the ways in which these writers reconfigure subjectivity and its relation to social power structures, especially the prison structure itself, while also detailing the relationship between prison and slave narratives. Cloth 0802038336 $60.00 January 2006 A Tournament of Misfits: Tall Tales and Short Lorenzo Da Ponte Italian Library Aldo Palazzeschi. Translated by Nicolas J. Perella A Tournament of Misfits brings together a selection of Palazzeschi’s short fiction for the first time in English. Through clear and fluid translations, Nicolas J. Perella demonstrates Palazzeschi’s use of laughter to debunk social and literary myths. Cloth 0802038506 $50.00 / Paper 0802049987 $27.95 January 2006 565 Tnysn—Documents—PMLA (Mar 06) File: indexes_121-2_P2T1.indd Job #: 120-10 3/28/06–JR/DC ALL TK Times—Text: 10/13 (–0.5tr), Epi: 9.25/12 IT; TimesSC—AAuthor: 16/18 (lc, 115%, +5tr); Christiana—ATitle: 21/26 MD (90%) MAX: 3 lines then shrink, AuNote: 7.5/11.5 (C-AuNoteName: SC), C-AFirstLine: 10 (UC), C-AInitCap125: 125% (80%, –0.5tr), C-AInitQuote75: 75% (–0.5tr); IntroOpen: 9/13, C-IntroInitCap135: 135% (115vs, –0.5tr), C-IntroInitQu97: 97% ( –15tr), IntroText: 9/13, PhotoCredit: 5/10 (lc SC) New from PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Distributor of Berg Publishers, I.B.Tauris, Manchester University Press, and Zed Books ( 8 8 8 ) 3 3 0 - 8 4 7 7 • Fa x : ( 8 0 0 ) 6 7 2 - 2 0 5 4 • w w w. p a l g ra v e - u s a . c o m BERNARD MANDEVILLE’S “A MODEST DEFENCE OF PUBLICK STEWS” Prostitution and Its Discontents in Early Georgian England Irwin Primer 240 pp. / 1-4039-7166-8 / $65.00 cl. 1-4039-7167-6 / $22.95 pb. 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Manchester University Press ENGLISH GRAMMAR FOR TODAY A New Introduction, Second Edition Geoffrey Leech, Margaret Deuchar, and Robert Hoogenraad 256 pp. / 1-4039-1641-1 / $74.95 cl. 1-4039-1642-X / $24.95 pb. 567 Tnysn—Documents—PMLA (Mar 06) File: indexes_121-2_P2T1.indd Job #: 120-10 3/28/06–JR/DC ALL TK Times—Text: 10/13 (–0.5tr), Epi: 9.25/12 IT; TimesSC—AAuthor: 16/18 (lc, 115%, +5tr); Christiana—ATitle: 21/26 MD (90%) MAX: 3 lines then shrink, AuNote: 7.5/11.5 (C-AuNoteName: SC), C-AFirstLine: 10 (UC), C-AInitCap125: 125% (80%, –0.5tr), C-AInitQuote75: 75% (–0.5tr); IntroOpen: 9/13, C-IntroInitCap135: 135% (115vs, –0.5tr), C-IntroInitQu97: 97% ( –15tr), IntroText: 9/13, PhotoCredit: 5/10 (lc SC) 569 Tnysn—Documents—PMLA (Mar 06) File: indexes_121-2_P2T1.indd Job #: 120-10 3/28/06–JR/DC ALL TK Times—Text: 10/13 (–0.5tr), Epi: 9.25/12 IT; TimesSC—AAuthor: 16/18 (lc, 115%, +5tr); Christiana—ATitle: 21/26 MD (90%) MAX: 3 lines then shrink, AuNote: 7.5/11.5 (C-AuNoteName: SC), C-AFirstLine: 10 (UC), C-AInitCap125: 125% (80%, –0.5tr), C-AInitQuote75: 75% (–0.5tr); IntroOpen: 9/13, C-IntroInitCap135: 135% (115vs, –0.5tr), C-IntroInitQu97: 97% ( –15tr), IntroText: 9/13, PhotoCredit: 5/10 (lc SC) Introducción a la morfofonología contemporánea El Subtitulado Cinematográfico: Ambipositions Rosa Ana Martín Vegas María José González Rodríguez Alan Libert Universidad de Salamanca Universidad de La Laguna University of Newcastle Las gramáticas históricas y la mayor parte de los tratados de morfología de las lenguas románicas no dedican a la morfofonología un capítulo particular. Tampoco hay muchos estudios teóricos extensos que centren su atención sobre las alternancias morfofonológicas. Este trabajo pretende cubrir esta laguna teórica recopilando, desde una visión crítica, todos aquellos factores que determinan la historia de estos fenómenos, que han sido tratados de forma dispar por las diferentes corrientes lingüísticas. De este modo, este estudio es una teoría de la morfofonología ejemplificada principalmente con casos de alternancias en español. La investigación se estructura en dos dominios. 1) La primera parte es una reflexión teórica sobre la caracterización de los procesos morfofonológicos. Se presentan los problemas de delimitación de estas alternancias frente a otros tipos de alomorfia y se analizan los rasgos condicionantes de su historia. Se defiende la teoría del reanálisis frente a la segmentación morfemática, como posible explicación de la lexicalización y del cambio analógico de algunas alternancias. 2) La segunda parte es una historia de la morfofonología como disciplina teórica. Se analiza de forma crítica el tratamiento descriptivo y/o explicativo que las distintas corrientes lingüísticas le han otorgado a las alternancias morfofonológicas a lo largo de la historia. Asimismo, se propone un modelo explicativo de corte cognitivista elaborado principalmente a partir de los presupuestos de la teoría natural, el modelo de organización léxica y morfológica de Bybee, el modelo analógico de Skousen y algunas investigaciones psicolingüísticas. ISBN 3 89586 463 3. . 232pp. USD 72.00.. 2006. Mientras que una película doblada se ve y se escucha simultáneamente, la película subtitulada introduce un componente añadido de presión temporal: el acto de leer. El propósito de este trabajo es dar cuenta del papel destacado de los subtítulos a través de una caracterización de las rutinas básicas que se emplean en su preparación, junto con las convenciones relativas al uso del español en el subtitulado de películas de habla inglesa. En este sentido, los resultados nos permiten constatar en qué medida los subtítulos añaden significado a una película, y cómo en una película subtitulada el requerimiento de leer se convierte en un obstáculo que el espectador puede llegar a superar hasta el punto de fijar su atención en la experiencia básica de la película, dado que la dimensión temporal queda totalmente controlada. ISBN 3 89586 994 5. . 88pp. USD 46.00. 2006. Two major categories of relational words are prepositions and positions, the difference between them having to do with whether they precede or follow their object. There is a relatively small group of words of the same general type which can be placed either before or after their object. Such words have been given the name ambipositions. A possible (though not uncontroversial) example from English is through, e.g. he walked through the forest and he slept the whole night through. Other examples are German entlang and Ancient Greek peri. This book is a detailed examination of this unusual type of word. Contents: Preface, Abbreviations, 1 Introduction, 2 Ambipositions with Simple Behavior, 3 Meaning Differences Depending on Position, 4 Ambipositions with Case Marking Differences in Different Positions, 5 Differences in Types of Complement Allowed, 6 Differences in Form of Prepositional and Postpositional Occurrences, 7 Ambipositions from an Historical Point of View, 8 Conclusion, References. (with examples from more than 50 languages) ISBN 3 89586 747 0. . 106 pp. USD 51.50. 2006. LINCOM Handbooks in Linguistics 21 Edición Lingüística 51 LINCOM Studies in Language Typology 13 Fusión de Palabra, Gesto y Movimiento Escénico LINCOM EUROPA academic publications webshop: www.lincom-europa.com LINCOM GmbH Gmunder Str. 35, D-81379 Muenchen FAX +49 89 6226 9404 LINCOM.EUROPA@t-online.deLE 571 Tnysn—Documents—PMLA (Mar 06) File: indexes_121-2_P2T1.indd Job #: 120-10 3/28/06–JR/DC ALL TK Times—Text: 10/13 (–0.5tr), Epi: 9.25/12 IT; TimesSC—AAuthor: 16/18 (lc, 115%, +5tr); Christiana—ATitle: 21/26 MD (90%) MAX: 3 lines then shrink, AuNote: 7.5/11.5 (C-AuNoteName: SC), C-AFirstLine: 10 (UC), C-AInitCap125: 125% (80%, –0.5tr), C-AInitQuote75: 75% (–0.5tr); IntroOpen: 9/13, C-IntroInitCap135: 135% (115vs, –0.5tr), C-IntroInitQu97: 97% ( –15tr), IntroText: 9/13, PhotoCredit: 5/10 (lc SC) From your bookseller, call 800-537-5487, or visit www.press.uillinois.edu U N I V E R S I T Y O F I L L I N O I S P R E S S Living Walden Two B. F. 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Cloth $50.00; Paper $19.95 The Flowers of Tarbes or, Terror in Literature JEAN PAULHAN Translated from the French by Michael Syrotinski This fi rst English translation makes available to undergraduates and oth- ers Paulhan’s treatise on the nature of the literary act which has become a landmark text in the history of twen- tieth century literary criticism and in the emergence of contemporary lit- erary theory. Cloth $35.00 Of Chaff and Wheat Writers, War, and Treason JEAN PAULHAN Translated from the French and with an Introduction by Richard A. Rand A stinging literary protest against po- litical restrictions on writing. Cloth $35.00 Into the Vortex Female Voice and Paradox in Film BRITTA H. SJOGREN Challenges and rethinks feminist fi lm theory’s brilliant but often pessimistic refl ections on the workings of sound and voice in fi lm, offering an alternative to image-centered scenarios that domi- nate feminist fi lm theory’s critique of the representation of sexual difference. Illus. Cloth $40.00; Paper $20.00 Sovereign Selves American Indian Autobiography and the Law DAVID J. CARLSON Argues that, by drawing on the con- ventions of early colonial treaty-mak- ing, nineteenth- and early twentieth- century Indian autobiographers sought to adapt and redefi ne the terms of Indian law as a way to assert specifi c property-based and civil rights. Paper $30.00 572� � “ ” 573 574� � NEW AND NOTEWORTHY Prices subject to change. 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For information about this and other opportunities, go to www.humboldt-foundation.de or contact the Foundation’s U.S. Liaison office at avh@verizon.net. Live Theory is a major series of guidebooks: each offers a clear introduction to the work of a key contemporary cultural theorist, and includes a NEW interview with the subject. Live Theory… a key resource for today’s most current cultural theory. Read · Think · Evolve Slavoj Ži žek Live Theory Rex Butler PB | 0-8264-6995-7 | $19.95 | 176pp Donna Haraway Live Theory Joseph Schneider PB | 0-8264-6279-0 | $19.95 | 144pp Hélène Cixous Live Theory Ian Blyth and Susan Sellers PB | 0-8264-6680-X | $19.95 | 144pp Jean Baudrillard Live Theory Paul Hegarty PB | 0-8264-6283-9 | $19.95 | 192pp Julia Kristeva Live Theory John Lechte and Maria Margaroni PB | 0-8264-6356-8 | $19.95 | 192pp Available at all fine bookstores • 800.561.7704 • www.continuumbooks.com Being and Event Alain Badiou “A significant book, one which one cannot fail to find staggering.” –Jean-Francois Lyotard “One of the most important philosophers writing today.” –Joan Copjec “A book of exceptional scope and rare courage of thought.” –Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe “This is Badiou’s magnum opus.” –Keith Ansell Pearson, University of Warwick HC | 0-8264-5831-9 | $29.95 | 448pp Jacques Derrida Live Theory James K.A. 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Penguin Classics 1,056 pp. 0-14-043568-9 $22.00 ANGELIQUE RICHARDSON, EDITOR Women Who Did STORIES BY MEN AND WOMEN 1890–1914 Introduction and Notes by the editor An original collection of short stories that capture the spirit of the “new woman” at the turn of the last century. Contains forty stories by American and English men and women, as well as brief pieces on writing by Sarah Grand and Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Chronology, suggested reading, biogra- phies, notes, and glossary. Penguin Classics 528 pp. 0-14-144156-9 $15.00 Also of interest: JAMES T. C AMPBELL Midd le Passages AFRIC AN-AMERIC AN JOURNEYS TO AFRIC A, 1787–2005 The Penguin History of American Life Series A groundbreaking history that recounts more than 200 years of black American encounters with Africa, exploring African Americans’ ever-chang- ing relationship with Africa and, by extension, their complex, often painful, relationship with the United States. The Penguin Press 592 pp. 1-59420-083-1 $29.95 P E N G U I N G R O U P ( U S A ) www.penguin.com/academic Academic Marketing Department, 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014 578� � UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA PRESS A Broken Mirror BY MERCÈ RODOREDA Translated and with an introduction by Josep Miquel Sobrer A brilliantly fragmented family saga by the twentieth century’s fi nest writer of Catalan literature. $24.95 paper 978-0-8032-9007-5 $49.95 cloth 978-0-8032-3963-0 EUROPEAN WOMEN WRITERS Marion Faber, Alice Jar- dine, Susan Kirkpatrick, & Olga Ragusa, series editors. White Spirit BY PAULE CONSTANT Translated by Betsy Wing A piquant roman noir of innocents in colonial Africa. $19.95 paper 978-0-8032-6441-0 $50 cloth 978-0-8032-1535-1 EUROPEAN WOMEN WRITERS www.nebraskapress.unl.edu order toll free | 800.755.1105 Th e U n i v e r s i t y o f Vi r g i n i a announces THE 2006 WALKER COWEN MANUSCRIPT PRIZE COMPETITION IN Eighteenth-Century Studies The University of Virginia Press invites submissions for the Walker Cowen Memorial Prize The prize is awarded to the author of a scholarly book-length manuscript in eighteenth-century studies, including the Americas and the Atlantic world. Submissions may be in history (including history of science), literature, phi- losophy, or the arts. The competition is held annually. The author of the Cowen prize will receive a $5,000 award and publication of the manuscript by the University of Virginia Press. The prize honors the late Walker Cowen, second Director of the Press from 1969 until his death in 1987. Request an application or send queries to: Mary MacNeil * University of Virginia Press * PO Box 400318 * Charlottesville, VA 22904-4318 mmm5w@virginia.edu To be considered for the 2006 award, manuscripts should be submitted no later than November 1, 2006. Manuscripts will not be returned. Foreign-language works first published in Europe will also be considered for the prize and for translation into English. Announcement of the winning manuscript will be made in April 2007. For further information, see www.upress.virginia.edu 579 T H E L I B R A R Y o f A M E R I C A America’s best writers deserve America’s best editions In bookstores everywhere. Distributed by Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Exam & desk copy requests, or other inquiries: 212-308-3360; info@LOAacademic.org; or write: The Library of America, 14 E. 60th Street, NY, NY 10022. www.LOAacademic.org This fifth volume in the Library of America edition of the complete novels of Henry James brings together The Sacred Fount, the only one of his novels told in the first person, with one of his most beloved masterpieces, The Wings of the Dove. isbn 1-931082-88-x • 713 pages • $35.00 Arthur Miller’s greatest plays in one volume for the first time: • The ManWho Had All the Luck (1944) • All My Sons (1947) • Death of a Salesman (1949) • An Enemy of the People (adaptation, 1950) • The Crucible (1953) • A Memory of Two Mondays (1955) • A View from the Bridge (one act, 1955) • A View from the Bridge (two act, 1956) • The Misfits (1961) isbn 1-931082-91-x • 774 pages • $35.00 The Essential Classics Arthur Miller: Collected Plays 1944–1961 Tony Kushner, editor Henry James: Novels 1901–1902 Leo Bersani, editor Also available Henry James: Novels 1871–1880 0-940450-13-5 • $40.00 Henry James: Novels 1881–1886 0-940450-30-5 • $40.00 Henry James: Novels 1896–1899 1-931082-30-8 • $40.00 580� � 581 582� � 583 Fatal Desire Women, Sexuality, and the English Stage, 1660–1720 Jean I. 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Knopp, Williams College $52.50 cloth, $20.95 paper 584� � 585 I Love Artists New and Selected Poems MEI-MEI BERSSENBRUGGE Drawing on four decades of work and including new poems published here for the first time, this selection of Berssenbrugge’s poetry displays the extraordinary luminosity characteristic of her style—its delicate, meticulous observation, great scenic imagination, and unusual degree of comfort with states of indetermination, contingency, and flux. $45.00 cloth, $19.95 paper The Totality for Kids JOSHUA CLOVER “Fierce intelligence, fierce under- standing of social issues, and fierce sense of the power of artifice. This is major work, haunted by a sense of totality always present in the formal intricacy and in the roles cities and architecture play.” —Charles Altieri, author of The Art of Twentieth-Century American Poetry $45.00 cloth, $16.95 paper The Wilds MARK LEVINE In his third book of poems, Levine continues his exploration of the rhythms and forms of memory. 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Celenza Winner, Phyllis Goodhart Gordan Book Prize, Renaissance Society of America “This impressive volume offers a fresh interpretation of Italian Renaissance learned culture and vindicates that culture’s abiding importance . . . Lucid in its exposition of complex philosophi- cal and linguistic theories, whether from the 15th century or the 20th, this exceptional book will help us to advance constructively to the 21st.” —Choice $25.00 paperback French Writers and the Politics of Complicity Crises of Democracy in the 1940s and 1990s Richard J. Golsan “Golsan sets out to explore the mo- tives, consequences, and implications of political complicity during two periods of twentieth-century French history. Each of the six case studies of Montherlant, de Châteaubriant, Giono, Debray, Finkielkraut, and Courtois raises a different set of questions, providing a wide-ranging view of French cultural politics. Golsan’s knowledge of the periods in question is extensive and his scholarship is impeccable: well documented, well reasoned, fully contextualized, elegantly and clearly expressed.” —Lynn Higgins, Dartmouth College $55.00 hardcover Race Mixing Southern Fiction since the Sixties Suzanne W. Jones “One of the allures of this book is that readers will want to read all of the 42 works by the 38 men and women, black and white, from 1967 to 2001, discussed and so capably analyzed by Jones . . . Essential.” —Choice $25.00 paperback 588� � Visit our website for a complete list of books www. dupress.duq.edu Duquesne University Press c/o CUP Services, 750 Cascadilla Street Box 6525, Ithaca, NY 14851 Toll free (800) 666-2211 The Virgilian Pastoral Tradition: From the Renaissance to the Modern Era NANCY LINDHEIM This study contributes to a dialogue about the scope and meaning of pastoral, arguing for a more socially and aesthetically complex awareness of its significance. Dealing mainly with Renaissance works by Spenser, Milton and Shakespeare, the study grounds itself in Virgil and concludes with pastoral’s transmuted after- life in Wordsworth and Samuel Beckett. ISBN: 0-8207-0372-9 $60.00s cloth Theological Milton: Deity, Discourse and Heresy in the Miltonic Canon MICHAEL LIEB “Michael Lieb has written a splendid book [that] of- fers the most theologically engaged study we have of Milton’s ‘godhead’ in relation to his poetry and theo- logical prose. 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LUXON John Milton assumed a leading role in the redefini- tion of Protestant marriage as a hetero-erotic version of classical friendship. Understanding Milton’s work as a part of a major cultural project, Single Imperfection takes a fresh look at John Milton’s poems in the light of a new analysis of his famous doctrine of marriage and tracts on divorce. ISBN: 0-8207-0373-7 $58.00s cloth DUQUESNE UNIVERSITY PRESS 589 NYU in Madrid–Department of Spanish and Portuguese Faculty of Arts and Science, New York University 19 University Place, 4th Floor, New York, NY 10003-4556 Telephone: 212-998-7576; Fax: 212-995-4149; E-mail: nyu-in-madrid@nyu.edu Drawing on the resources of NYU, the city of Madrid, and professors from both Spanish universities and the NYU Department of Spanish and Portuguese in New York, we offer a newly redesigned M.A. program that is both intellectually stimulating and academically rigorous. M.A. candidates study at El Viso, a residential area of Madrid very close to the center of the city, as well as at the historic Instituto Internacional.The new site boasts state-of-the-art classrooms and computer facilities. Upon approval, students may also choose to take courses at the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. Course offerings include The yearlong course, A Cultural History of Spain and Latin America, is taught by faculty from leading Spanish universities and from the NYU Department of Spanish and Portuguese in New York. Courses in the Literatures and Cultures Concentration range from Jews in Medieval Spain, Cervantes, Pictorial Traditions in Spain and Its Latin American Colonies—16th-18th Centuries to electives on 20th-century Spanish and Latin American literatures. Offerings for the Language and Translation Concentration include The Theory and Practice of Translation, Problems in Spanish Syntax for Bilingual Communication, and The Teaching of Spanish as a Foreign Language. 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Courses at the University of Paris, weekly workshops, and guest lecturers, plus our own computer facilities and research library complement the programs. Course offerings include History of French Colonialism; French Classical Tragedy; Autobiography and Autofiction;The Age of Enlightenment; Civilization of Contemporary France;Textual Analysis; Parole, Nation, Ecriture:The Novel in Francophone Caribbean and Africa;Women Writers in French Literature; Contemporary French Theatre; French Cultural History Since 1870. All graduate courses are conducted in French. NYU in Paris also offers an undergraduate program for the academic year, a semester, or summer. Courses are taught in French and English. New York University in Paris M.A. Programs in French Literature (completed in one academic year) and in French Language and Civilization (completed in one academic year or three to four consecutive summers) 0506_a049a-a5R2_StudyAbroad FAS PMLA 6" x 8.75" pdf email: pdfads@mla.org Issue Date: 01.01.06; 03.01.06; 05.01.06; 09.01.06 Closing Date: 08.03.05; 08.03.05; 08.03.05; 08.03.05 proof: finalR 11.22.05 gd New York University is an affirmative action/equal opportunity institution. 590� � Ste ph e n M itc h e ll’S gripping, provocative, and stunningly brilliant, GilGamesh “The translation is superb. . . certainly the best that I have seen in English.” —Harold Bloom, author of The Western Canon and The Book of J 591 592� � Clarice Lispector Derek Walcott Hélène Cixous Manuel Puig Giannina Braschi Jorge L. Borges www.americas-society.org New Co-Editors! Doris Sommer (Harvard) and Tess O’Dwyer (Americas Society) New Advisory Board Members! Carlos J. Alonso (Columbia); Rubén Gallo (Princeton); Francine Masiello (UC, Berkeley), Doris Sommer (Harvard); and Diana Taylor (NYU) New Scholarly Section Essays on Cultural Agents by: Doris Sommer, Diana Taylor, Silvia Alvarez Curbelo, Angela Pérez-Mejía, Deborah Cohn. UP NEXT Asian-Latin American Edition Spring 2006, Guest Editor Evelyn Hu-Dehart (Brown); Brazilian Edition Fall 2006, Guest Co-Editors Nicolau Sevcenko (Harvard) and Sergio Bessa (Bronx Museum). The Best of Review: Celebrating the Americas Society’s 40th Anniversary Half-a-dozen Nobel laureates, two dozen classics, and a few wild cards from Americas Society’s 40 year history of promoting Latin American and Caribbean writers at all stages of their careers. Reprised Classics! Allen Ginsberg on the death of Pablo Neruda. Pablo Neruda on the break-up of a violent love affair. Octavio Paz on taboos and racism in American cuisine. Manuel Puig on growing up at the movies. Hélène Cixous on strip-tease and cross-dressing in Severo Sarduy’s Cobra. Victoria Ocampo on her infatuation with Virginia Woolf. Cristina Peri Rossi on the bittersweet sacrifices of fetishists. Giannina Braschi on the muse of murderous rage in poetry. Clarice Lispector on how a sexual predator works his creative writing in the classroom. Mario Vargas Llosa on the parable of the tapeworm. And other pivotal pieces by or about: Miguel Angel Asturias, Jorge Luis Borges, Gabriel García Márquez, G. Cabrera Infante, Julio Cortázar, Gabriela Mistral, Juan Rulfo, Luisa Valenzuela, and Derek Walcott. Review: Literature and Arts of the Americas: 2005-2006 Winter Edition Available Now! ORDER NOW! Review magazine is available through Routledge. Visit: http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals/titles/08905762.asp 593 World Literature Today Then... Established to promote international understanding through literary study, World Literature Today has devoted itself to the discussion of current literature around the world for the past 80 years. Drawing on the resources of over 600 specialists in the United States and abroad, WLT has provided valuable insight and lively commentary concerning some of the world’s finest authors, including Federico García Lorca, Pablo Neruda, Bertolt Brecht, Samuel Beckett, Ralph Ellison, Naguib Mahfouz, Chinua Achebe, Günter Grass, Vladimir Nabokov, Mercè Rodoreda, Kenzaburō Ōe, Gabriel García Márquez, N. Scott Momaday, Nadine Gordimer, Czeslaw Milosz, J.M. Coetzee, Alice Walker, and Adam Zagajewski (just to name a few). ...and Now World Literature Today continues in its mission with expanded coverage of the arts and humanities. In addition to in-depth coverage of literature from around the world, you’ll also find information and essays about music, art, dance, film, and politics. 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What do these three authors have in common? 19 27 20 06 To Subscribe to World Literature Today, visit our website www.ou.edu/worldlit or send correspondence to 630 Parrington Oval, Suite 110 Norman, OK 73019-4033 USA (405) 325.4531 (phone) (405) 325.7495 (fax) 6 issues — just $20 Available at Fine Bookstores W o r l d L i t e r a t u r e T o d a y world literature today 594� � “Lyu’s project has to do with inventing a new way of reading: to retain the analytic rigor of the deconstructive tradition along with the possibility of an emotional literary responsiveness, and to keep the two engaged in a fine equilibrium. This is of course to take great—though also necessary—risks in our post-deconstructive era. Lyu’s text invokes my whole reading self in a manner that little contemporary scholarship does.” —Janet Beizer, Harvard University “An inspired, necessary rereading of Latin America’s avant- gardes as a self-aware negotiation with the expanding geopol- itics of their time. [Rosenberg] builds a compelling case for the avant-gardes’ resilient import for current discussions of the global dynamics of cultural production and their anticipatory challenge to the putative modern/postmodern divide.” —Vicky Unruh, University of Kansas “Only a book as eloquently composed and carefully reasoned as this one could provide the critical optimism missing from the Humanities today. Miller's intelligent and moving study gives me hope that writing does matter after all, even and especially in the face of our greatest national traumas. This book is humanistic writing at its very best.” —Diana Fuss, Princeton University “Vandevelde argues trenchantly that the practice of interpreta- tion, as both an event and an act, involves a process of justi- fication that appeals to one or more distinct but interrelated levels of meaning: author's intention, textual meaning, and representative content. 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Barney The first full commentary on Piers Plowman since the late nineteenth century is inaugu- rated with the publication of the first two of its five projected volumes. “A work of enormous importance. Of all the poems of the English Middle Ages, Piers Plowman is the one that most deserves and needs annotation of the fullest and best possible kind, both because it is a text of unrivaled literary quality and interest, and because it is characteristically knotty and deploys a language of unusual richness, density, and allusiveness. Much of this allusiveness is to areas of learning that are not at every modern reader’s fingertips. A particular difficulty is the existence of the poem in three authorial versions of almost desperate complexity. It will be an immense triumph to have a commentary which elucidates their relationships as a matter of policy and not simply as the result of conflating annotation on the different versions.”—Derek Pearsall VOLUME 1 APR 2006 | 488 PAGES | CLOTH | $95.00 VOLUME 5 APR 2006 | 304 PAGES | CLOTH | $65.00 BACK TO NATURE The Green and the Real in the Late Renaissance Robert N. Watson “Back to Nature is demanding, at times dizzying, in its range and boldness, the all- encompassing and often surprising nature of its conjunctions. The line of argument that runs from parts of the introduction, through As You Like It and the Marvell mower poems, by way of the Dutch painters to Traherne, really works and is genuinely im- portant. These sections of the book amount to the most powerful and wide-ranging ‘green’ reading of early modern literature that has yet emerged.” —Jonathan Bate, University of Warwick 2006 | 448 PAGES | 51 ILLUS. | CLOTH | $59.95 MEDIEVAL BOUNDARIES Rethinking Difference in Old French Literature Sharon Kinoshita “Kinoshita has produced a book of major importance. Her command of the Francophone Middle Ages should exert an important critical influence on the greater field of Middle English and should also be recognized as an important contribution to the prehistory of postcolonial studies.” —David Wallace, Univ. of Pennsylvania THE MIDDLE AGES SERIES 2006 | 296 PAGES | 11 ILLUS. | CLOTH | $59.95 CENSORSHIP AND CULTURAL SENSIBILITY The Regulation of Language in Tudor-Stuart England Debora Shuger “This is a major work. Shuger deals with the rules of appropriate language use in early modern Europe, making an argument about censorship in sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century England that is original, surprising, and in her thorough presenta- tion, entirely plausible.”—Katharine Eisaman Maus, University of Virginia 2006 | 352 PAGES | CLOTH | $59.95 596� � � �                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   597 THE SCHOOL OF CRITICISM & THEORY at Cornell University An international program of study with leading figures in critical theory invites you to apply for its Thirtieth Summer Session June 18-July 28, 2006 IN NEW YORK STATE’S FINGER LAKES REGION The Program In an intense six-week course of study, participants from around the world, in the disciplines of literature, history, and related social sciences, explore recent developments in literary and humanistic studies. Tuition The fee for the session is $2500. Applicants are eligible to compete for partial tuition scholar- ships and are urged to seek funding from their home institutions. Acceptance Applications from faculty members and advanced graduate students at universities worldwide will be judged beginning March 1, 2006. Admissions are made on a rolling basis, and decisions are announced as soon as possible. For further information or to apply, write: The School of Criticism and Theory Cornell University, A. D. White House, 27 East Avenue, Ithaca, N.Y. 14853 telephone: 607-255-9274 email: humctr-mailbox@cornell.edu fax: 607-255-1422 2006 Faculty: 6-Week Seminars Amanda Anderson Caroline Donovan Professor of English Literature, Johns Hopkins University “Literary Theory/Political Theory” Brent Hayes Edwards Associate Professor of English, Rutgers University “Black Intellectuals” Eric Santner Philip and Ida Romberg Professor of Modern Germanic Studies, University of Chicago “On Creaturely Life” Ella Shohat Professor, New York University Robert Stam University Professor, New York University “Travelling Debates in Translation: Eurocentrism, Multiculturalism, and Postcoloniality” Mini-Seminars Alain Badiou Ecole Normale Supérieur “Towards a New Concept of the Relation between Philo- sophy and Non-Philosophy” Judith Butler Maxine Elliot Professor of Rhetoric and Comparative Literature, University of California at Berkeley “Violence and Critique” Geoffrey Hartman Sterling Professor Emeritus and Senior Scholar, English and Comparative Literature, Yale University “Poetry and Divinity in Contest” Stephen G. Nichols James M. Beall Professor of French and Humanities, Johns Hopkins University “Revolution and Counter-Revolution” Haiping Yan Professor of Critical Studies, School of Theatre, Film, and Television, UCLA; Zijiang Professor of the Arts and Humanistic Studies, East China University, Shanghai, China “On Theatricality” “The SCT program took interdisciplinarity to a whole new level. ” David Marshall Johns Hopkins University “Although I have studied in a number of different coun- tries, SCT still surprised me with its exceptionally wide international range. I spent many nights with a map of the world and with an encyclopedia, just to make sure I knew the context in which to place the long conversations with my fellow participants.” Eneken Laanes University of Tartu “I have had a fantastic and extremely rewarding ex- perience throughout the six weeks, and I feel that SCT has made an invaluable contribution to my develop- ment as a scholar.” Susan Antebi Harvard University “SCT changed not only many of my conceptions but my entire way of seeing problems.” Silvana Seabra de Oliveira Catholic University of Minas Gerais Dominick LaCapra, Director Bowmar Professor of Humanistic Studies, Cornell University 598� � The future of academic publishing Humanities-Ebooks.co.uk http://www.humanities-ebooks.co.uk richardgravil@hotmail.com Tirril Hall, Tirril, Penrith, Cumbria CA10 2JE, UK Forthcoming titles from Humanities Ebooks include New Monographs Revised Monographs Edited Collections Micro-ebooks (single essays) Scholarly Editions Facsimiles and three educational series History Insights, edited by Alan Cousins Literature Insights, edited by Charles Moseley Philosophy Insights, edited by Mark Addis Which of these principles do you disagree with? copyright belongs to authors publishing rights should be time-delimited books should not cost the earth it should be easier to keep works up-to-date most of the price of a work belongs to the author authors should have a say in design& promotion academic books deserve a wider readership they certainly need quicker publication 599 KNOPF ALFRED A. KNOPF ✦ VINTAGE ANCHOR BOOKS ✦ PANTHEON SCHOCKEN ✦ EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY Knopf Academic ✦ 1745 Broadway ✦ 20th Floor ✦ New York, NY 10019 Website: www.randomhouse.com/academic E-Mail: acmart@randomhouse.com KNOPF | CLOTH | 432 PAGES | $26.95 From one of the most admired essayists and nov- elists at work today comes a new collection of essays—his first since Tests of Time, which won the National Book Critics Circle Award for Criticism. These 25 essays speak to the nature and value of writing and to the books that result from a deep commitment to the word. William H. Gass A TEMPLE OF TEXTS VINTAGE | PAPER | 448 PAGES | $16.95 When Michael Schmidt’s last book, Lives of the Poets, was published, Mark Strand called it “a tour de force, an astonishing view of the whole of poetry in English, a superb read.” Now Schmidt brings the same erudition, insight, and élan to The First Poets—the story of the ancient Greeks whose work continues to influence poetry in our own time. Combining the verifiable facts of their lives and the narratives provided by later writers, Schmidt walks the fine line between fact and scholarly con- jecture to create vivid, animated, wonderfully compelling portraits of these ancestors of our culture. Michael Schmidt THE FIRST POETS LIVES OF THE ANCIENT GREEK POETS KNOPF | CLOTH | 352 PAGES | $27.50 “Eminently readable. . . . Akhmatova is a figure that Russians return to again and again, the bet- ter to understand their own history. Feinstein has done English-speaking readers a great favour by making Akhmatova’s life story, and therefore her poetry, more accessible to us than ever before.” —Anne Applebaum, The Spectator Elaine Feinstein ANNA OF ALL THE RUSSIAS A LIFE OF ANNA AKHMATOVA PANTHEON | CLOTH | 400 PAGES | $27.50 Based on Said’s popular graduate seminar, On Late Style examines the later works of writers, musi- cians, and filmmakers and describes how they dif- fered from previous work and what they tell us about the artist’s evolution. Said makes clear that, rather than being a culmination, most of the works discussed are rife with unresolved contra- diction and almost impenetrable complexity. Though these works were often unpopular at the time, they were just as often forerunners of what was to come—works of true genius. Eloquent and impassioned, brilliantly reasoned and revelatory, On Late Style is Edward Said’s own great last work. Edward W. 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For information on the online version, please contact: CSA 800 843-7751 www.csa.com EBSCO Information Services 800 653-2726 www.epnet.com Gale Group 800 877-GALE www.galegroup.com OCLC 800 848-5878, ext. 6251 www.oclc.org ProQuest 800 521-0600 www.proquest.com For information on the print edition, please contact: Modern Language Association 26 Broadway, 3rd floor New York, NY 10004-1789 646 576-5155 fax 646 576-5160 www.mla.org InvaluableResource An The Authoritative Resource for Books and Articles on Literature, Language, Film, Linguistics, and Folklore NOW AVAIL ABLE: 1926 – 62 print volumes have been digitized and are searchable in the ML A Bibliography database. 605 Binder6.pdf 561 563 565 567 569 571 572 573 574 575 576 577 578 579 580 581 582 583 584 585 586 587 588 589 590 591 592 593 594 595 596 597 598 599 600 601 602 603 604 605 
work_rhaxeyirezawvf5ifecn2wbfky	----	C: Vol. 1, Issue 2, Dec 2019, Journal of Education, Innovation, and Communication (JEICOM), pp. 15-20 1-december-2-issue-1-volume-jeicom10.34097//org.doi://https 15 History of Education and Contemporary Education: Reflections on Jewish Education Yehuda Bitty 1 Abstract This research paper describes how pedagogical knowledge is constructed sharing the paradigm from the history of Jewish education. We discuss examples shared with my students during my lectures and where I try to build their own identity as future teachers. Keywords: pedagogical knowledge construction, sharing paradigm Introduction It seems that the discipline of "the history of education" has no chance; it has no "home". Historians see it as a subject in the science of education, while education specialists see it as a category in the field of history. Even if some scholars are studying the history of education, who is really interested in their research and who is interested in this field? John S. Brubacher (1947) answers: "professional students of education will have an interest in the history of their profession because it illuminates the contemporary problems with which they have to deal". This paper aims to report on the evaluation of a course on the history of Jewish education that I taught for several years as part of the master's studies tract, at a Teacher's College, in Jerusalem, Israel: Herzog Academic College. Twenty teachers - men and women - participate each year in this course. They are general teachers in elementary schools or teach various subjects in high schools. Most of them have no previous knowledge in the field of history - let alone the history of Jewish education - other than what they learned while they themselves were in school. Each week during the course, they analyse a historical source that reveals an aspect of the history of Jewish education: from the Jewish communities of medieval Christian Europe to pre -modern North Africa, and from the Jewish school of the Italian Renaissance to the eighteenth century Jewish ghetto in Lublin. Using these historical sources, the students discover that the old and distant narrative is actually quite close to the reality that they face in their classrooms: the same dilemmas, the same difficulties and sometimes ... even the same educational solutions. Exposure to the history of Jewish education becomes an empowering experience and strengthens their professional identity as teachers (Cochran- Smith, 2003). yehudab@herzog.ac.ilmail: -e, Dept. of Jewish Education, Herzog Academic College, Jerusalem, Israel, Senior Lecturer 1 mailto:yehudab@herzog.ac.il Vol. 1, Issue 2, Dec 2019, Journal of Education, Innovation, and Communication (JEICOM), pp. 15-20 1-december-2-issue-1-volume-jeicom10.34097//org.doi://https 16 To illustrate this argument, I will present two historical sources that we study in this course. The first one, written 1,500 years ago, describes the transition from familial education to institutional education in Ancient Israel. The second one is an image of a class in a Jewish school in Lithuania, at the end of the 19th century. Towards Formal Education In the Talmud Babli, the central text of Rabbinic Judaism and the primary source of Jewish religious law and Jewish theology, we can read this interesting testimony about the establishment of schools in Ancient Israel: (1) "If not for Joshua ben Gamla, may his memory be blessed, the Torah would have been forgotten by Israel. (2) Originally, children who had a father - their father taught them the Torah, but orphans - did not study. (3) The Sages then instituted that the teachers of Jerusalem taught the children, but that was still not enough: children who had a father - their father would take them to Jerusalem, but orphans – were not brought and did not study. (4) Finally, Joshua ben Gamla instituted that teachers in all cities will teach all children". According to this historical source, the original framework of education is the family (Ebner 1956). Teaching Judaism to the new generation is one of the parents' duties, in each family and not only in rich families, as was customary in Ancient Greece, for example. Not a cultural duty or a civil duty but a religious duty. The creation of schools "for all children", as we have today, is due to the fact that the family model "does not work": "orphans - did not study". At this point, the society takes over and organizes an educational system that also includes "children who had a father", to continue the basic duty of education for all the children and perhaps also to improve it by having professional teachers in place of fathers… According to the curriculum potential theory (Ben-Peretz 1990), what is the curriculum potential of this historical source when we study it with young teachers interested in the current educational system and not that of 2000 years ago? This is an opportunity to develop a discussion on the role of parents in the modern education system: what kind of cooperation do we expect from them? Only to bring their children to school - as the laws of Western civilization specify - or actively participate in the educational process? Additionally, is it important for the teacher to be in contact with both parents of the child or only one of them? Which of them? The father? The mother? And what does a child who is studying with his parents feel? How does this activity affect the parent/child relationship? What does the parent think of his own parental responsibility? These are some of the issues that occupy us after studying this historical document. Tradition and Modernity At the end of the 19th century, most of the Jewish children in Europe were schooled. In France, England, Italy and Germany – where the emancipatory process moved quickly, most of most of the Jewish children studied in state schools, alongside their non-Jewish fellow students. However, in Eastern Europe - where the emancipatory process evolved slowly, many are the children continued https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbinic_Judaism https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theology Vol. 1, Issue 2, Dec 2019, Journal of Education, Innovation, and Communication (JEICOM), pp. 15-20 1-december-2-issue-1-volume-jeicom10.34097//org.doi://https 17 studying in the Heder, the traditional elementary school in these countries, teaching the basics of Judaism and the Hebrew language (Katz 1987). Usually only boys attended classes at the age of five. After learning to read Hebrew, they immediately began studying the Torah. They generally began to learn Mishnah around the age of seven and the Talmud as soon as they mastered the Mishnah. Repeating and learning the holy texts by heart were the main technics used by the teacher, known as Melamed. The age of 13 or 14 would mark the end of a Heder boy's education. At the traditional "Heder", the classes took place in one of the local synagogue rooms ("Heder", literally "room") or even at the teacher's house. According to periods and regions, the teacher's salary was paid by the Jewish community or directly by children's parents. Contrary to the position of the Rabbi, which was very respectable because of his high level of Torah learning, the social condition of the Melamed was at the bottom of the economic scale, in part because of the large competition: everybody could work as a Melamed (Stamfer 1988). If you know how to read, you can teach reading, without professional training, without particular tools. The Siddur – the daily prayer book – was the only textbook that you needed… Most of the Maskilim (Jewish Enlightenment leaders) who studied in the Heder harshly criticized this type of educational institution and they participated– or encouraged - in the establishment of modern Jewish schools where secular as well religious subjects were taught: geography, history, arithmetic, German grammar and Russian language. They also denigrated the absence of suitable conditions for learning (dirty location, unsuitable furniture, unventilated space) and the fact that teachers lack ed any pedagogical training and sometimes used physical violence instead of a didactic approach. In 1840, there were four modern Jewish schools in all of Russia (in Riga, Odessa, Kishinev and Uman) and the russification politicians viewed them as the main model for all Jewish communities. However, for most of the Jewish population in Eastern Europe, this educational initiative was too radical. Jewish historiography typically views the emancipatory process as a slow, gradual and continuous transition from communal life in a traditional Jewish society, to a new life in a modern non- Jewish one. Throughout the 19th century, Eastern European Jewry found itself in a complex reality in which a spirit of modernity entered Jewish communities that still adhered to the values of past tradition, especially in the field of education. In this historical and sociological context, the emergence of a new educational framework , nicknamed "the revised Heder" is very interesting and not so well known, because it has not received much attention in historical research (Halevy 1976, Zipperstein 1983). The founders of the "revised Heder" wanted to create a new concept. On one hand a "Heder", a classroom for children from religious families, where most of the daily study would continue to be traditional learning, and on the other hand, a "revised" classroom, where instruction is based on modern pedagogic principles about teaching and learning. This is the vision of the "revised Heder". However, in practice, how did it look? More like a Heder or more similar to a modern school? The information about the "revised Heder" that historians have is primarily based on polemical literature and fragments of memoirs. It is clear that these sources are subjective, reflecting an ideological context and they do not correctly transl ate the reality, even if they have a historical core. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judaism https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hebrew_language Vol. 1, Issue 2, Dec 2019, Journal of Education, Innovation, and Communication (JEICOM), pp. 15-20 1-december-2-issue-1-volume-jeicom10.34097//org.doi://https 18 Another interesting kind of historical source is a corpus of more than one hundred textbooks, which were used in this kind of school. Teaching by using textbooks specially written for children was an innovation in the world of Jewish traditional education. Browsing through these books allows you to be impressed by the general atmosphere of the class and to imagine teachers, pupils, benches, tables, etc. Some of them even include illustrations of children's daily life, such as home utensils, clothes, animals and toys. Pedagogy as a Self- Professional Experience Abraham Baruch Temkin was a modern teacherin Vilna at the end of the 19 th century and he wrote several textbooks based on his professional experience. In one of his books– called Ha-torahVe-hasafa (the Torah and the Language) –Temkinintended to teach both Biblical texts and Hebrew language - and by the way Russian language too- to Yiddish-speaking Jewish children.This is not the regular curriculum of the traditional Heder!This textbook is intended to the "revised Heder", as we can see on the illustration that appears on the inside title page of the book. This classroom is a real modern classroom: with a large, clean and tidy room, with windows that can be opened, with oil lamps to light when it's dark and with a big wood stove for cold winter days. Pupils wear uniforms, they sit on benches and their books and notebooks are laying on school desks. The teacher has a special chair, he writes on the blackboard, and books arranged orderly in the bookcase. Of course, he's the only one who can look at the clock hanging on the wall behind the students and know when he should finish the lesson… However, something is disturbing in the organization of this class: the teacher is not facing the pupils. Similarly, another curious detail requires our attention: there are two blackboards in this class - and not only one, as we use today. Why? It seems that this class is actually divided into two groups. On our left, these pupils are looking at the teacher who's teaching them, and only them. During this time, the pupils from the second group had a writing assignment: their hands are on the desk and not under the desk, like the first group. This is the reason why there are two blackboards in this classroom: two boards for two different groups in the same class. Even today, separating the class into distinct groups is a technic recommended for teachers who teach a class with many students or a multilevel class (Snow 1995). The difference between then and today is, that today, teachers apply what they learned Vol. 1, Issue 2, Dec 2019, Journal of Education, Innovation, and Communication (JEICOM), pp. 15-20 1-december-2-issue-1-volume-jeicom10.34097//org.doi://https 19 during pre-service training, compared to those days - when the teacher came to this insight himself, based on his own professional experience or on his colleagues' professional experience that they shared with him (Shulman 2007). But every teacher who tried this technic knows that in practice it does not work very well ...pupils who are supposed to write the exercise listen to the second group's lesson and cannot always focus on their task. What is the solution that the teacher in the picture found for this difficulty? Looking at the two blackboards in the picture: there are two different sentences, one is short (only five words), and the other one is longer. The shorter one is a verse from the Bible (Honor your father and your mother, Exodus, 20, 12); the second one is a quote from an ethical tractate of Oral Law (Let the honor of the other be as dear to you as your own, and the reverence for your master as the reverence for Heaven, Avot, 2,01). Two different sentences from two different sources but around the same main idea and the same keyword: honor and respect. The solution that the teacher in the picture found to help his pupils focus on their task is to teach two subjects that are close to one another - despite the different levels of knowledge - and not to teach two different subjects. Thus, the pupil writing does not hear something completely different but words and ideas from the same vocabulary and the same semantic field. This solution is not a piece of pedagogical knowledge learned in a course in pedagogy or in a book on education and teaching. This solution is indicative of a pedagogical sense and of the teacher's ability to understand the difficulty of his students and to find a creative and useful solution. Teachers at the "revised Heder" did not learn pedagogy but they knew what pedagogy is. However, what is, in fact, the topic of this lesson? Bible? Not exactly: half of the pupils are not studying Bible. Oral law? Not really: half of the pupils are studying Bible! The title of this lesson his "Honor and respect": Respect parents, respect teachers, respect everyone! Honor and respect as moral and social values. In fact, the subject of this lesson is values as the basis of an ethical society. But, honor and respect are a Jewish value or an universal value? The "revised Heder"'s answer is clear: even universal values are learned from the sources of Judaism. Judaism has a special way to approach universal values. When the illustrator decided to share with us the special atmosphere of this educative framework, he thought what to write on the board. He could have written "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth"(the first and famous sentence in the Bible, Genesis, 1,1) – to accentuate the traditional nature of the "revised Heder" or he could prefer an arithmetic exercise to prove the modern orientation of this framework. Nevertheless, he chose another option that expresses the special combination that symbolizes the essential character of this new educational initiative. This kind of image is not a naïve illustration: it should be seen as an ideological statement in which each component is well-planned. Conclusion For young Israeli teachers, pedagogical knowledge, self-learning experience, modern identity and tradition values are contemporary education issues. Both of these examples clearly illustrate the challenges of Jewish education today. According to Fox (2005), the primary purpose of Jewish education is not only to continue the existence of the Jewish people, but also to give meaningful content to the Jewish identity. This content is derived from the textual sources of Jewish culture but at the same time has meaning that is relevant to people Vol. 1, Issue 2, Dec 2019, Journal of Education, Innovation, and Communication (JEICOM), pp. 15-20 1-december-2-issue-1-volume-jeicom10.34097//org.doi://https 20 living in modern society and identifying with the values of this society. Fox often built his own teaching and educational analysis around Joseph Schwab’s “four commonplaces,” the key elements that obtain in any educational situation: the teacher, the learner, the subject matter and the "milieu" (Schwab, 1978). Of the four commonplaces, Fox himself acknowledged that the milieu was the least explained and most in need of conceptual development. For him, the "milieu" is the social and cultural environment where the didactic triangle is played out: the teacher, the learner, the material. The milieu influences the interpretation of the text, thus distancing itself from its historical significance. If this deviation is negative in the eyes of the historian, it is necessary to the pedagogical approach of the educator. The study of the historical sources of Jewish education among Israeli teachers must therefore take into consideration the particular "milieu" and its role as cultural agent: in one side - professional identity development and in the second side - Jewish identity definition in a modern world. The two examples presented in this short article illustrate the "translation" needed to carry out this educational challenge. In the words of Jonathan Cohen (2008): "Translating from principles deriving from the tradition of Jewish thought to educational thought and practice is a most complex matter". Bibliography Beijaard D., N. Verloop& J. D. Vermunt (2000). Teachers' Perceptions of Professional Identity: An Exploratory Study from a Personal Knowledge Perspective. In Teaching and Teacher Education, 16 (pp. 749-764). Ben-Peretz M. (1990). Research on Teacher Education in Israel: Topics, Methods and Findings. In M. F. Wideen& R. Tisher (Eds.), Research in Teacher Education: International Perspectives (pp 207-225). London: Falmer Press. Ben-Peretz M. (1990). The Teacher-Curriculum Encounter: Freeing Teachers from the Tyranny of Texts, Curriculum Issues and Inquiries. Albany: State University of New York Press. Brubacher J. S. (1947). A History of the Problems of Education (pp. 12). New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company. Cochran-Smith M. (2003). Learning and Unlearning: The Education of Teacher Educators. In Teaching and Teacher Education, 19 (pp. 5-28). Cohen, J. (2008). Introduction. In J. Cohen & E. Holzer (Eds.), Modes of Educational Translation (pp. 10-18). Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press. Ebner E. (1956). Elementary Education in Ancient Israel. New York: Bloch Pub. Co. Katz J. (1987). Toward Modernity. New Brunswick: Transaction Books. Schwab, J. J. (1978). The practical 3: Translation into curriculum. In I. Westbury & N. J. Wilkof (Eds.), Science, Curriculum, and Liberal Education (pp. 365–383). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Shulman L. (2007). Practical Wisdom in the Service of Professional Practice. In Educational Researcher, 36 (9), (pp.560-563). Snow R. E. (1995). Individual Differences and Instruction. In T. Husen 8: T. N. Postlethwaite (Eds.), The International Encyclopedia of Education (2nd Ed., Vol 5, pp. 2759-2769).Oxford: Pergamon. Stampfer S. (1988). Heder Study, Knowledge of Torah, and the Maintenance of Social Stratification in Traditional Est European Jewish Society. In Studies in Jewish Education, 3 (pp. 271-289). 
work_rkaw7hvttbe53pulejewt5c2mm	----	[PDF] Food for thought. | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1038/nchembio.1730 Corpus ID: 205302845Food for thought. @article{Warhol2015FoodFT, title={Food for thought.}, author={Andy Warhol}, journal={Nature chemical biology}, year={2015}, volume={11 1}, pages={ 1 } } Andy Warhol Published 2015 Medicine Nature chemical biology In recent decades, the developed world has enjoyed ready access to diverse and high-quality food choices. At the same time, industrial-scale agriculture poses environmental and food safety threats, and ~12% of the world’s population suffers from persistent hunger (http://www.wfp.org/ hunger). Governments and multinational organizations are developing strategies for long-term agricultural sustainability and food safety (see, for example, the “Global Alliance for Climate-Smart Agriculture” at… Expand View on PubMed nature.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper Topics from this paper Plant Growth Regulators Anabolism Mental Suffering Plant Development Community Phytochemicals Gluten Growth and Development function Note (document) Celiac Disease standards characteristics Government Choice Behavior Pesticides Anatomical compartments Cytoplasmic matrix Ductal Carcinoma In Situ with Microinvasion Plant Physiological Phenomena Inspiration function Decision Making Secondary Metabolism References Museum of the High Plains Local Sponsor: McCook Arts Council Januar!l 9-Februar!l 4 Nouember 1999 Related Papers Abstract Topics 1 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_roslztnlnjgkrd7xaqhm7hv3ra	----	issue-11-performing-pacifism British Art Studies March 2019 Theatres of War: Experimental Performance in London, 1914–1918 and Beyond Edited by Grace Brockington, Impermanence, Ella Margolin and Claudia Tobin British Art Studies Issue 11, published 25 March 2019 Theatres of War: Experimental Performance in London, 1914–1918 and Beyond Edited by Grace Brockington, Impermanence, Ella Margolin and Claudia Tobin Cover image: Film still, The Ballet of the Nations, 2018.. Digital image courtesy of Impermanence. PDF generated on 26 February 2021 Note: British Art Studies is a digital publication and intended to be experienced online and referenced digitally. PDFs are provided for ease of reading offline. Please do not reference the PDF in academic citations: we recommend the use of DOIs (digital object identifiers) provided within the online article. These unique alphanumeric strings identify content and provide a persistent link to a location on the internet. A DOI is guaranteed never to change, so you can use it to link permanently to electronic documents with confidence. Published by: Paul Mellon Centre 16 Bedford Square London, WC1B 3JA https://www.paul-mellon-centre.ac.uk In partnership with: Yale Center for British Art 1080 Chapel Street New Haven, Connecticut https://britishart.yale.edu ISSN: 2058-5462 DOI: 10.17658/issn.2058-5462 URL: https://www.britishartstudies.ac.uk Editorial team: https://www.britishartstudies.ac.uk/about/editorial-team Advisory board: https://www.britishartstudies.ac.uk/about/advisory-board Produced in the United Kingdom. A joint publication by Contents Performing Pacifism, Grace Brockington Performing Pacifism Grace Brockington Authors Senior Lecturer in the History of Art at the University of Bristol Cite as Grace Brockington, "Performing Pacifism", British Art Studies, Issue 11, https://dx.doi.org/10.17658/issn.2058-5462/issue-11/pacifism Introduction The Ballet of the Nations was an odd book to publish in the midst of the First World War, when pacifists were a persecuted minority and the publishing industry was struggling under the pressures of paper rationing, censorship, and mobilization. 1 The story of its production points to an intersection between the peace movement and the London little theatres and is worth recounting as evidence of those overlapping networks. The author, Vernon Lee (1856–1935), was a cosmopolitan writer, known for her essays on travel and aesthetics, her ghost stories, and her erudition as a polyglot and scholar of the Italian Renaissance. She was also politically radical, a pacifist and campaigner for women’s suffrage whose outspoken objections to war alienated much of her readership and exacerbated her later obscurity as a writer. 2 She joined the Union of Democratic Control (UDC), a pressure group which formed in 1914 to scrutinize British foreign policy and war aims, and which opposed conscription, censorship, and the restriction of civil liberties that were increasingly a feature of the war. 3 It was through the UDC that The Ballet of the Nations came to the attention of publishers. In the first instance, Lee brought the script to her friends, the writer Constance Smedley Armfield (1876–1941) and her husband, the artist Maxwell Armfield (1881–1972), whom she knew through the International Lyceum Club for Women Artists and Writers, which Smedley had established a decade earlier. 4 The Armfields arranged for Lee to recite The Ballet of the Nations at a UDC meeting, which they hosted in their studio in Chelsea, and then at another meeting in the more public forum of the Margaret Morris Theatre on the King’s Road, which the peace campaigner Kate Courtney noted in her diary as follows: UDC Meeting in theatre, corner of Flood St. “Vernon Lee” gave her striking allegory, “The Ballet of the Nations”, for second time. Ch. Trevelyan spoke, and a Miss Cooper Willis gave us an interesting selection from Burke and Fox about peace with revolutionary France—very apt. I was in chair. Very so-so. Audience interested—all polite.” 5 Amongst the audience was Geoffrey Whitworth, a theatre critic and editor at Chatto & Windus, who commissioned the book for publication (Fig. 1). Armfield illustrated the text with a “pictorial commentary”, which gives the book its striking appearance. This exhibition takes the making of The Ballet of the Nations as the starting point for an exploration of the overlapping networks and working relationships that formed around Armfield, Morris, Whitworth, and their students and collaborators, in and beyond Chelsea during and after the First World War. The excavation of visual and aural material begins here with Lee and Armfield’s book, and with the record of the personal and political commitments that drew them together. Exhibition View this illustration online Figure 1. Vernon Lee, The Ballet of the Nations: A Present-Day Morality, with a Pictorial Commentary by Maxwell Ashby Armfield (London: Chatto & Windus, 1915). Digital image courtesy of Digital facsimile courtesy of Chatto & Windus, Penguin Random House UK, and The Estate of Maxwell Ashby Armfield. Vernon Lee did not like Maxwell Armfield’s “pictorial commentary” on her Ballet. A letter from her publisher suggests a showdown between artist and author: the illustrations did not “altogether meet with [Lee’s] approval”, because she felt that “the pictures should be realistic embodiments of the dancers in the Ballet”, and “thoroughly expressive” as well as “decorative” in their treatment of the subject matter. 6 Armfield proposed his friend, Norman Wilkinson of Four Oaks, as an alternative, 7 and later commented that Lee would have preferred something in the manner of the Victorian Symbolist, George Frederic Watts. 8 He himself felt that his rendering was faithful to the narrative. “I tried to give a sense of the horror of the bombing (not yet seen in London),” he explained, “the streams of fugitive women and children going this way and that; the exhaustion, and the final starting all over again.” 9 Yet contemporary reviewers were struck by the discrepancies between text and illustration, and by what they called Armfield’s “exaggerated avoidance of the brutal”. 10 A century later, it is these very differences of subject matter and visual aesthetic that make the book such as a powerful witness to cultural debates during the First World War. They expose fundamental disagreements about the role of art as a weapon against war and point our attention to the world of experimental theatre in which Armfield operated. 11 Figure 2. John Singer Sargent, Vernon Lee, 1881, oil on canvas, 53.7 x 43.2 cm. Collection of Tate (N04787). Digital image courtesy of Tate (CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0 [Unported]). John Singer Sargent inscribed his portrait of Vernon Lee: “To my friend Violet”. They had met as children in Nice where their families were spending the winter, and they had in common a childhood spent travelling in a leisurely way across Europe, moving with the seasons between France, Germany, and Italy. Lee spent most of her life in Florence, moving to Chelsea only for the duration of the First World War. Her objections to war grew out of her cosmopolitan sensibility and way of life. She experienced, deeply and at first-hand, the European civilisation that seemed to be self-destructing through the waste of war and the breakdown of international relations. Figure 3. Vernon Lee, Peace with Honour: Controversial Notes on the Settlement, (London: Union of Democratic Control, 1915), front cover. Digital image courtesy of Private Collection. Lee campaigned against war in pamphlets and newspaper articles, as well as in the fictional form of The Ballet of the Nations. Her views were controversial and often unwelcome, particularly her contention that both sides of the conflict were equally to blame. She complained about the censorship of German liberal opinion in Britain and made a point of reading the German press—even when it became hard to obtain. Her pamphlet Peace with Honour, published by the UDC, made a long-sighted case for a non-punitive peace settlement with Germany and for freedom of debate as an active measure against war. Figure 4. Unknown photographer, Maxwell Ashby Armfield and Constance Smedley Armfield, undated, photograph. Digital image courtesy of Private Collection. The Armfields formed a close creative partnership, as shown in this photograph of the couple at work together. Here we see her sewing and him typing, although she is better known as a writer, feminist, and founder of the Lyceum Clubs, and he as a painter in tempera. Both had attended the Birmingham School of Art at the turn of the century, then a centre for the Arts and Crafts Movement, and their work was deeply informed by Arts and Crafts techniques and ideas, as well as by Smedley’s commitment to Christian Science and her encounters with European symbolism. Their move into theatre began after their marriage in 1909, when they settled in the Cotswolds and established the Cotswold Players, a company which survives to this day. At the outbreak of the First World War, they moved to Chelsea and became closely involved with the London little theatres through their new company, the Greenleaf Players. Figure 5. First Italian Exhibition of Impressionism, Lyceum Club, Florence, April-May 1910, front cover. Collection of The Lyceum Club, Florence. Digital image courtesy of The Lyceum Club, Florence. Vernon Lee first met Constance Smedley and her fiancé Maxwell Armfield in Florence in January 1908. Smedley wrote to her parents that she found Lee “very clever and charming and exclusive” and that they “talked about the Club”—in other words, the new branch of the International Lyceum Club for Women Artists and Writers, which was shortly to open in Florence. 12 Smedley had founded the Lyceum in 1903 as a global resource for educated women, a worldwide network of cultural and professional centres which promoted female emancipation and international cooperation, and which spread across Europe, Australasia, and North America. 13 The image shown here is the catalogue for the First Italian Exhibition of Impressionism, which took place at the Florence Lyceum Club in spring 1910, and included work by Cézanne, Degas, Forain, Gauguin, Matisse, Monet, Pissarro, Renoir, Rosso, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Van Gogh—a mixture of Impressionists and those whom we would now classify as Post-Impressionist, a term coined by the critic Roger Fry for his exhibition Manet and the Post-Impressionists, which opened in London six months later. 14 It is a measure of the Lyceum’s cultural ambition that it was prepared to host this pioneering display of modern art from France. View this illustration online Figure 6. Eliss and Walkry, “The Latest Exponent of the Delsartian School: Miss Ruth St Denis as Radha, Wife of Krishna, the Eighth Incarnation of Vishnu”, photograph, The Illustrated London News, 31 October 1908, 16. Digital image courtesy of Illustrated London News Group. Constance Smedley’s shift into theatre began during her tenure as Honorary Secretary of the Lyceum Club. Ruth St. Denis, pioneer of modern dance in the United States, was a crucial influence; they had first met through the Berlin Lyceum in 1905. 15 In 1908, Smedley promoted St. Denis’s season of Indian dances at the Scala Theatre, London by organising a celebrity Gala night. 16 Smedley remembered St. Denis as “the broadest-visioned artist I have ever met”. 17 St. Denis was equally impressed, calling Smedley “a radiant personality […] In her presence nothing was impossible.” 18 This is notable, because, in most other cases, there is little to corroborate Smedley’s own account of her life’s work—she has largely fallen out of the historical record. [mul] The “Music of the Passions” is important to Satan’s scheme to incite war in The Ballet of the Nations: hatred carries a “huge double-bass”, Rapine, Lust, Murder, and Famine are “fitted out with bull roarers and rattles and other cannibalic instruments”, Science has “a first-rate gramophone tucked under her arm”—between them, they stir the Nations to a frenzy; and when they flag, it is the voice of Pity “like the welling-up notes of many harps” that revives them to a fresh lease of slaughter. Music was key to Lee’s thinking about art and it permeates her writing—both fiction and non-fiction. 19 In her ghost story, A Wicked Voice, a composer is haunted by the voice of the eighteenth-century singer Zaffirino, which was said to be so ravishing that it could kill a woman—another case of art wreaking destruction in human lives. 20 Running through the story is the old Venetian air La Biondina in Gondoleta, which the composer sings at a soirée and then hears being sung by an unidentified, androgynous voice “of intense but peculiar sweetness”—the ghost of Zaffirino himself? Footnotes For an account of the economic problems facing publishers during the First World War, see Jane Potter, Boys in Khaki, Girls in Print: Women’s Literary Responses to the Great War 1914–1918 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005), 52–87; and Imogen Gassert, “Collaborators and Dissenters: Aspects of British Literary Publishing in the First World War, 1914–1918” (DPhil diss., University of Oxford, 2001). The literature on Lee is considerable, but see in particular Gillian Beer, “The Dissidence of Vernon Lee: Satan the Waster and the Will to Believe”, in Susan Raitt and Trudi Tate (eds), Women’s Fiction and the Great War (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), 107–131. Sally Harris, Out of Control: British Foreign Policy and the Union of Democratic Control 1914–1918 (Hull: University of Hull Press, 1996); Marvin Swartz, The Union of Democratic Control in British Foreign Policy During the First World War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971). Smedley and Armfield both give accounts of their collaboration with Lee in their memoirs, which are broadly, though not entirely, consistent with each other. Constance Smedley Armfield, Crusaders: The Reminiscences of Constance Smedley (Mrs. Maxwell Armfield) (London: Duckworth, 1929), 223; and Maxwell Armfield, “My World and I—the Cotswolds and London in War”, (1970, unpublished), Tate Gallery Archives, Tate Archive: TGA 976/3/2/10, 49–52. Kate Courtney, Extracts from a Diary During the War (London: privately printed by the Victor Press, 1927), 50. Charles Trevelyan was a Liberal politician who founded the Union of Democratic Control together with Ramsay MacDonald. His brother, the poet R.C. Trevelyan, sheltered John Rodker when he was on the run as a conscientious objector (see the section on the Choric School part three of this exhibition). Irene Cooper Willis was Lee’s friend and eventually her executor, who published a study of the British liberal press during the First World War; see Irene Cooper Willis, How We Went into the War: A Study of Liberal Idealism (Manchester: National Labour Press, 1918). Geoffrey Whitworth, letter to Violet Paget, 29 July 1915, University of Reading Modern Publishing Archive, Chatto & Windus, 86: 1034. Whitworth, letter to Violet Paget, 29 July 1915. Maxwell Armfield, “My World and I—the Cotswolds and London in War” (unpublished, 1970), 50, Tate Archive: TGA 976/3/2/10. Armfield, “My World and I”, 51. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Bibliography Armfield, M. (1970) “My World and I—the Cotswolds and London in War”. Tate Gallery Archives, Tate Archive: TGA 976/3/2/10. Beer, G. (1997) “The Dissidence of Vernon Lee: Satan the Waster and the Will to Believe”. In Susan Raitt and Trudi Tate (eds), Women’s Fiction and the Great War. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 107–131. Brockington, G. (2005) “A World Fellowship: The Founding of the International Lyceum Club for Women Artists and Writers”. Transnational Associations 1: 15–22. Brockington, G. (2010) Above the Battlefield: Modernism and the Peace Movement in Britain, 1900–1918. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Cooper Willis, I. (1918) How We Went into the War: A Study of Liberal Idealism. Manchester: National Labour Press. Courtney, K. (1927) Extracts from a Diary During the War. London: Victor Press. Fergonzi, F. (1993) “Firenze 1910—Venezia 1920: Emilio Cecchi, i quadri francesi e le difficoltà dell’ Impressionismo”. Bollettino d’Arte 6, no. 79 (May–June): 1–26 Gassert, I. (2001) “Collaborators and Dissenters: Aspects of British Literary Publishing in the First World War, 1914–1918”. DPhil diss., University of Oxford. Harris, S. (1996) Out of Control: British Foreign Policy and the Union of Democratic Control 1914–1918. Hull: University of Hull Press. Lee, V. (1890) Hauntings. London: W. Heinemann. Lee, V. (1915) The Ballet of the Nations: A Present-Day Morality, with a Pictorial Commentary by Maxwell Armfield. London: Chatto & Windus. Lee, V. (1915) Peace with Honour: Controversial Notes on the Settlement. London: Union of Democratic Control. Lippi, Donatella (2016) “The Story of the Lyceum Club Internazionale di Firenze”, https://lyceumclubfirenze.it/chi-siamo/ history-lyceum-club-firenze.html, accessed 10 December 2018. Potter, J. (2005) Boys in Khaki, Girls in Print: Women’s Literary Responses to the Great War 1914–1918. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Rodriguez, J.-F. (1994) La réception de l’impressionnisme à Florence en 1910. Venice: Istituto veneto di scienze, lettere ed arti. St. Denis, R. (1939) An Unfinished Life: An Autobiography. London: George G. Harrap & Co. Smedley Armfield, C. (1929) Crusaders: The Reminiscences of Constance Smedley (Mrs. Maxwell Armfield). London: Duckworth. Swartz, M. (1971) The Union of Democratic Control in British Foreign Policy During the First World War. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Anon., “Various War Books”, The Manchester Guardian, 27 November 1915, 4. The book was also reviewed in The Evening Standard, The Athenaeum, and The Times Literary Supplement. These debates are discussed in more detail in Grace Brockington, Above the Battlefield: Modernism and the Peace Movement in Britain, 1900–1918 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010), 116–129. Constance Smedley, letter to William T. Smedley, 26 January 1908, quoted in Armfield, “My World and I”, 37c. In 1911, they met again, when the Armfields spent the summer in Florence, “renewing and improving our friendship with ‘Vernon Lee’”; Armfield, “My World and I”, 24. The history of the Lyceum Club in Florence is narrated in Donatella Lippi, “The Story of the Lyceum Club Internazionale di Firenze”, 2016, https://lyceumclubfirenze.it/chi-siamo/history- lyceum-club-firenze.html, accessed 10 December 2018. Grace Brockington, “A World Fellowship: The Founding of the International Lyceum Club for Women Artists and Writers”, Transnational Associations 1 (2005): 15–22. Clubhouses opened in London (1904), Berlin (1905), Paris (1906), Florence (1908), Athens (1910), Stockholm (1911), Geneva (1912), Melbourne (1912), Auckland (1922), Amsterdam (1923), Toronto (1930), Helsinki (1932), and Vienna (1937). This list is not exhaustive. In many of these countries, more clubhouses were to follow in other cities; see www.lyceumclubs.org. The Lyceum exhibition is discussed in Flavio Fergonzi, “Firenze 1910—Venezia 1920: Emilio Cecchi, i quadri francesi e le difficoltà dell’ Impressionismo”, Bollettino d’Arte 6, no. 79 (May–June 1993): 1–26; and Jean-François Rodriguez, La réception de l’impressionnisme à Florence en 1910 (Venice: Istituto veneto di scienze, lettere ed arti, 1994). Smedley, Crusaders, 134–140. Smedley, Crusaders, 184–185. Supporters included Auguste Rodin and George Bernard Shaw. Smedley, Crusaders, 140. Ruth St. Denis, An Unfinished Life: An Autobiography (London: George G. Harrap & Co., 1939), 92, 116. See Shafquat Towheed, “‘Music is not Merely for Musicians’: Vernon Lee’s Musical Reading and Response”, Yearbook of English Studies 40, nos 1–2 (2010): 273–294; and Shafquat Towheed, “The Science of Musical Memory: Vernon Lee and the Remembrance of Sounds Past”, in Katharine Ellis and Phyllis Weliver (eds), Words and Notes in the Long Nineteenth-Century (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2013), 104–122. First published in Vernon Lee, Hauntings (London: W. Heinemann, 1890). 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 Towheed, S. (2010) “‘Music is not Merely for Musicians’: Vernon Lee’s Musical Reading and Response”. Yearbook of English Studies 40, nos 1–2: 273–294. Towheed, S. (2013) “The Science of Musical Memory: Vernon Lee and the Remembrance of Sounds Past”. In Katharine Ellis and Phyllis Weliver (eds), Words and Notes in the Long Nineteenth-Century. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 104–122. Licensing The Publishers of British Art Studies are committed to supporting scholarship on British art and architecture of all periods. This publication is made available free of charge at https://www.britishartstudies.ac.uk. We ask users to identify the use of materials made available through this website and to provide an appropriate credit to the to the author and the publication, so that others may find and use our resources. 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We are confident that we have carried out due diligence in our use of copyrighted material as required, but we apologise for any inadvertent infringement of rights. Digital copies of resources are made accessible for research for one of the following reasons: • they are in the public domain; • the rights are owned by the Publishers; • we make them accessible under an exception or limitation to UK copyright law, as outlined in the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (as amended); • we have permission to make them accessible; • or, there are no known restrictions on use. If you believe that we have made a mistake and wish for your material to be removed from our site, please contact us at copyright@paul-mellon-centre.ac.uk. Please include the following information with your request: • Name and contact information, including email address and phone number. • Identification of the resource for consideration of removal. Providing URLs in your communication will help us locate content quickly. • The reason for the request. The Publishers respond promptly, normally within 21 business days. We may remove the resource from our site while we assess the validity of the request. Upon completion of the assessment, we will take appropriate action and communicate that action to you. British Art Studies March 2019 Theatres of War: Experimental Performance in London, 1914–1918 and Beyond Edited by Grace Brockington, Impermanence, Ella Margolin and Claudia Tobin Contents Performing Pacifism Grace Brockington Authors Cite as Introduction Exhibition Figure 1. Figure 2. Figure 3. Figure 4. Figure 5. Figure 6. Footnotes Bibliography Licensing 
work_rpqybn5v55fwzea4i365uo5bmi	----	The Universities of the Italian Renaissance (review) The Universities of the Italian Renaissance (review) Michael Wyatt University of Toronto Quarterly, Volume 74, Number 1, Winter 2004/2005, pp. 393-395 (Review) Published by University of Toronto Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:06 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0240 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180716 https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0240 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180716 humanities 393 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 All these activities are represented in the careful descriptions included in this richly illustrated book. It is impossible in a review of this length to give any comprehensive idea of the sheer range of material which is covered, from emblematically-expressed doctoral theses (like the won- derfully titled Via Lactea candidus ad felicitatem trames), to laudations of bishops and dukes on their taking office, to emblematic celebrations of canonizations and ecclesiastical festivals (Francesco Intorcetta�s Emblems celebrating the intercession of St Rosalia at Palermo sound particularly attractive), to emblems displayed at the funerals or marriages of local magnates, to handbooks of rhetoric and poetics such as the widely disseminated Ratio discendi et docendi of Joseph de Jouvancy or the De l�Art des Devices of Pierre le Moyne. The letter H has inevitably brought one of the most challenging tasks of this whole project: the Pia Desideria of Herman Hugo, SJ was one of the most widely distributed, most widely translated and imitated religious books (not just emblem books) of the seventeenth century. The bibliogra- phers rise to it splendidly, in 143 dense pages which describe editions in all the major European languages, printed over the course of more than a century. Wisely, Daly and Dimler confine themselves to direct imitations of Hugo�s work. It would have been literally impossible to include all works which derive from it more remotely: there were in print in England as late as the 1880s versions of emblem books which have the Pia Desideria as their source, interestingly by that date printed especially for the Protestant Dissenting market. A true index of the spread of imagery from the Pia Desideria is that in so remote a place as the Viking cathedral of Kirkwall in the Orkney Isles, there are late seventeenth-century grave slabs, partly consisiting of grim, brusque Latin verses but bearing also relief carvings of the child-soul of Hugo�s emblem-pictures. When this series is complete, it promises to be very much more than a superbly accurate and comprehensive bibliography of Jesuit emblematics: it will be a guide to the activities of one of the crucial cultural forces not only in early modern Europe but in Asia and the Americas, it will be a history in epitome of early modern verbal and visual culture. (PETER DAVIDSON) Paul F. Grendler. The Universities of the Italian Renaissance Johns Hopkins University Press 2002. xx, 593. US $55.00 The early Italian university was a far cry from its modern counterpart. There was no library collection or, initially, any fixed university building; the faculty was relatively small; and its curriculum was narrowly focused. But as Paul Grendler�s authoritative study The Universities of the Italian xxxxxx chf 394 letters in canada 2003 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 Renaissance shows, the template for many of the most important subse- quent innovations in Western intellectual culture was worked out in a remarkably fertile period for the Italian university between about 1450 and 1600. Grendler�s history lucidly maps out the emergence of sixteen institutions of higher education throughout the Italian peninsula and Sicily between 1150 and 1596. Universities forms a sequel to Grendler�s earlier and equally significant examination of Italian pre-university education, Schooling in Renaissance Italy: Literacy and Learning, 1300–1600. The first section of Grendler�s study explores the creation, administra- tion, and functioning of each of the Italian universities. Bologna and Padua were the largest, but several of the others compensated for their modest size with the superior quality of their faculties. A university could only take root where there was an infrastructure capable of sustaining (and dealing with) a male student population. Above and beyond educational fees, the cost of room and board was always a considerable issue for students, but the presence of extra-urban lodgers had a notable impact on the economies of their host cities, a heavy factor in the Venetian Republic�s continuing to allow German Protestants (as well as Jews and the Greek Orthodox) to study in Padua in the wake of the Reformation and after the Council of Trent. The attention Grendler devotes to faculty compensation demonstrates that the star system is no recent invention of the elite universities of the United States: while the average salary at Bologna in 1526–27 was about 306 Bolognese lire, the superstar legist Mariano Sozzini the Younger earned 5200 lire (1300 scudi) in 1552, one-sixth of the university�s budget! Grendler elsewhere discusses a Pavian document from 1547 that gives a figure of 192 lire (28 Venetian ducats) for the rent of a house and meals for five students, including salary and board for two servants � the equivalent of two-thirds of a Venetian bricklayer�s annual salary � but this is the only information in the book which renders possible a comparison of the actual value of university-related economic data for the reader unacquainted with the bewildering maze of Italian currencies in the sixteenth century; a subse- quent edition would do a great service by including some sort of contextual economic apparatus. Even when they did not begin as such, all Italian universities came to be administered by the communes in which they were located, and doctoral degrees (the norm, as the baccalaureate never gained a foothold in Italy) were granted through the territorial political authority after a course of study involving several years of regular attendance at lectures and a final comprehensive examination. Exceptions to this pattern were the doctorate in canon law, which was granted locally but authorized by the papacy (a privilege revoked after the Council of Trent); degrees granted by Counts xxxxxxxx humanities 395 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 Palatine, a curious extension of the authority invested in them by the Holy Roman Emperor; and the degrees granted by what Grendler refers to as �partial� and �paper� universities. These unusual arrangements permitted the awarding of the doctorate upon examination, with little or no time spent in the lecture hall. Erasmus earned his much-ridiculed doctorate in Turin in this way, after a period of only a few weeks there in the summer of 1506. Grendler�s enormously useful second section, dedicated to each of the disciplines taught in the early Italian university, spells out the creative tension in curricula which had been defined by the medieval intellectual tradition�s investment in Aristotle. In every area but theology � a relatively late, and singularly static, entrant into the curricular mix � humanist developments, particularly in terms of philology, had a tremendous impact on the continuing relevance of classical texts for disciplines seeking to respond to the exigencies of contemporary discovery. (MICHAEL WYATT) John Craig. Reformation, Politics and Polemics: The Growth of Protestantism in East Anglian Market Towns, 1500–1610 Ashgate. xiv, 267. US $89.95 Was the English Reformation a popular movement eagerly embraced by a devout people tired of ecclesiastical corruption, or was it an unwelcome change forced on a loyal Catholic population for political purposes? Dichotomies so stark hardly deserve an answer, but that in brief is the debate that has raged through English Reformation studies for the past few decades. For many centuries it seemed that England�s natural Protestant- ism was the implicit and widely accepted Fortieth Article of Faith that followed on those thirty-nine doctrinal details that few paid much attention to. Yet twenty years ago, J.J. Scarisbrick, Eamon Duffy, and Christopher Haigh began publishing studies that documented the robust health of the English Catholic church before Henry VIII�s �great matter� and the continuing loyalty to it long after his death. When in doubt about the grand narrative, go local. Recent studies of the English Reformation have focused on particular communities or social groups in an effort to determine more clearly who believed what and when, in the hope that out of these local stories a new grand narrative might emerge. In Reformation, Politics and Polemics John Craig explores the religious views and practices of �ordinary� or �common� people by examining different dimensions of religious and political conflict in four East Anglian market towns (Mildenhall, Bury St Edmunds, Thetford, Hadleigh). In this case, �common� people are merchants, artisans, and small landholders. They are frequently and, Craig believes, mistakenly described xxxxxxxxx 
work_rpfnvy7zqzhodpt4lzrsncpule	----	HERCULES IN ITALIAN RENAISSANCE ART: MASCULINE LABOUR AND HOMOEROTIC LIBIDO HERCULES IN ITALIAN RENAISSANCE ART: MASCULINE LABOUR AND HOMOEROTIC LIBIDO P A T R I C I A S I M O N S Christian fortitude and civic heroism blend in the Renaissance figure of a muscular, idealized, nude Hercules overcoming his foes and performing mythic labours or resting in glorious victory (see plate 1).1 By the time Cesare Ripa’s iconographic guide was first published in 1593, Hercules canonically embodied Virtù Heroica, able to moderate anger, temper avarice and subordinate pleasure under the rule of reason.2 Writers like the late fourteenth-century Chancellor of Florence Coluccio Salutati, or the early sixteenth-century Dutch priest Desiderius Erasmus held Hercules up as an exemplar of tireless effort and moral strength. Allegorically, he was regarded as the vanquisher of passion and vice, politically, as the potent foe of rebellion or tyranny. Hercules’s visual and textual representations have been naturalized as a self- evident case of classical revival and celebration of virtuous citizenry or exemplary rulership. Instead, this study takes neither classically informed political values nor the spectacle of masculinity for granted, and it considers personal as well as public resonances of the popular imagery. The Renaissance Hercules is an insis- tent, assertive statement of particular kinds of masculine identity, ones, furthermore, laden with the burdens of masculine ideals beyond attainment. Yvonne Tasker has observed of Hollywood action movies that ‘The body of the male hero . . . provides the space in which a tension between restraint and excess is articulated.’3 The same can be said of Hercules, for the strain of forging mascu- linity is worked out in very physical, laboured ways. Furthermore, the kind of masculinity on display was often sensual and sometimes conveyed homoerotic appeal. R E N A I S S A N C E H E R O I C S A N D M A S C U L I N E L A B O U R Popular perception tends to equate ‘Hercules’ with ‘hero’ and to think in terms of brawny action and ideal masculinity. Ancient heroes, however, were a rarer (though still male) breed, far from Hollywood or tabloid proclamations. The Greek word ‘hero’ was, as Norman Austin points out, ‘an honorific title accorded by a community to a distant and legendary personage, whom the community vener- ated as its primordial ancestor . . . Whether in cult or in the epic tradition derived DOI:10.1111/j.1467-8365.2008.00635.x ART HISTORY . ISSN 0141–6790 . VOL 31 NO 5 . NOVEMBER 2008 pp 632-664632 & Association of Art Historians 2008. Published by Blackwell Publishing, 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford OX4 2DQ, UK and 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148, USA. from local cults . . . [he] achieved his full heroic status only after death, when he was honored as if he were a god’.4 Hercules was of this category, a mortal apotheosized upon death, sired by the highest divinity, Jupiter, but of a human mother, Alcmene. True to his mixed parentage, the demigod’s mythic saga represents him engaging in both flawed and ideal behaviours.5 Renaissance authors, artists and viewers grappled with that complexity, experimenting with the multivalent connotations of masculinity put to the test.6 1 Detail of (plate 11) Michelangelo Buonarroti, Labours of Hercules, c. 1530. Red chalk. Windsor: Royal Library. Photo: The Royal Collection r 2008 Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 633& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 Visualizing a republican boast as Florence formulated an expansionist programme of righteous might against supposed tyranny during the late four- teenth and early fifteenth centuries, appropriated later in the Quattrocento to populate the Medici Palace of that city when the dynasty cleverly adopted civic traditions to support their own claim to power, Hercules also featured in North Italian courts and was a popular subject for portable statuettes and multiple prints. The producers and audiences of this variable Herculean model were primarily male, although women were also increasingly exposed to domestic and public renditions of masculine strength.7 Tommaso Spinelli’s three daughters, betrothed in the years 1458 to 1460 at the ages of seven or eleven, were instructed in the imagery of love and masculine desirability by seeing in their Florentine courtyard sgraffito images of naked (but genitally masked) youths, Cupid letting loose his arrow, and Hercules overcoming the Nemean Lion.8 Waiting between six and nine years before actually marrying, the girls came to expect vigilant, vigorous grooms. At the large wedding of 1473 that joined Ercole d’Este of Ferrara with the daughter of the king of Naples, Eleonora of Aragon, prestigious and numerous guests gathered in Rome to enjoy sugar sculptures representing the labours of Hercules (Ercole in Italian) and the staged ‘dance of Hercules’, during which that heroic character won a mock battle against centaurs.9 In later years Italian troupes of acrobatic actors would entertain crowds with ‘the Antiques, of carrying of men one upon an other [which] som [sic] men call Labores Herculis’, feats not only named for their physical endurance but also, perhaps, for their resemblance to the manner in which Hercules defeated the marauding giant Antaeus by holding him off the ground.10 Hercules’s image and his strenuous exploits – especially the struggle to the death against Antaeus – were popular with an Italian elite that could afford to commission or purchase reproductions of the masculine action figure in a variety of media, including paintings, manuscripts, statuettes, prints, tapestries and hat badges.11 Varied in political allegiance, rank and location, that buying public consumed a suggestion not so much of victory but of stress, of public heroics under pressure, of a youth deciding his future conduct in the Choice at the crossroads, of an elder statesman tested to his physical and psychic limits, especially at Omphale’s court and when experiencing fits of raging madness, of a classical icon animated almost beyond endurance in his numerous Labours. He had to work at his masculinity. When standing still, resting between labours or after them all, when he can luxuriate in his victories, the demigod is muscular, confident, usually posed in a contrapposto stance, implying movement, an ephebe or adult man of glorious bodily beauty and alertness (see plate 2).12 However, he was from time to time shown as a revelling drunkard barely able to stand, his character flaws brought to the fore after the strain of recurrent rages and labours. A Bolognese bronze statuette from the 1490s has the ageing hero reclining inelegantly, clutching a vine branch and sleeping after a bout of indulgence.13 Inscribed on the underside with the words ‘promoter of virtue’ which praise the patron and antiquarian Gaspare Fantuzzi, the sculpture perhaps spurred learned companions at his convivial table to appreciate its variation from the seated precedent of antiquity, the Hercules Epitrapezios statuette that had the ‘guardian spirit of the temperate board’ preside over the meals of numerous ancient worthies.14 The learned wit of H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 634 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 the Renaissance figurine was all the keener for the ironic interplay between virtue and excess, labour and rest, strength and weakness, ideal and reality, dignity and pathos, encapsulated in the literal inversion from seated hero to splayed demigod. In narrative or exemplary depictions Hercules was also complex, sometimes appearing as a character whose gender and sexuality were multiple ascriptions. As Erwin Panofsky uncomfortably recognized in passing, the pulpit in the Pisan Baptistery, carved by Nicolo Pisano around 1260, cast ‘Hercules in the feminine role of Fortitude’.15 The semantics of personification and allegory meant that the abstract quality being represented, like Fortitude or Painting, was usually embodied in static, female form, thereby accentuating the distance between actuality and the higher ideal. Occasions of gender slippage in the allegorical process are often telling sites of contradiction or ambivalence, and Hercules is no exception. Seemingly a straightforward case of classicism in subject, style and significance, Hercules was a popular but complicated symbol not only for regimes or princes seeking to assert their authority but also for Renaissance humanists, artists and viewers.16 Using Hercules as his exemplar of ‘robust and bold’ masculinity, the sculptor and architect Filarete noted around 1464 that ‘it would not be a suitable figure nor appropriate to him if he did not seem to be undergoing great struggles when he held up the sky to help Atlas or when he held Antaeus on his chest.’17 Struggle and strain are at the demigod’s mythic core. Even the images of him standing imply reward after foregoing action; he is only heroic because of those earlier labours. Performing a series of labours, usually numbered twelve, and other heroic deeds, Hercules must overcome evil and thereby expiate his own wrongs, for his heroics stem from remorse and punishment after he had murdered his first spouse and children. His heroic status is shown being fought for constantly, against a series of animal and bestial opponents, chiefly the multi-headed Hydra, the Nemean lion or the Libyan monster Antaeus.18 While demonization of his enemies guaranteed resolution in favour of male power, patriarchal authority, masculine reason and human virtue, the visual imagery frequently showed him as though forever caught in the act of struggling for that closure. Boccaccio’s telling of the tale of Hercules’s infatuation with Omphale/Iole in his Famous Women warned that Hercules’s enslavement meant that men must be on constant guard against feminine wiles: ‘we must be vigilant and defend our hearts with great constancy . . . Passion has to be restrained with continual effort’.19 Just such assiduous labour is what Hercules usually exercises, exemplifying the notion that masculinity continually has to come into being through crisis and challenge. Physical struggle is joined with psychic demands too, for he was a troubled char- acter. Salutati’s treatise on Hercules was partly written (from the early 1380 s until his death in 1406) to answer a concern about the demigod’s representation in Seneca’s Hercules furens as a murderer of his wife and offspring.20 Salutati resorted to an allegorical and etymological explanation for the complex fable, using it as a case study in Christian poetics. But the dark side of this mythic man was not eradicated. There were many Herculeses to deal with: Boccaccio catalogued thirty- one labours, and Salutati similarly analysed thirty-one labours, as well as finding in the literature forty-three strong men with the name Hercules.21 According to Salutati, the exemplar had provided the lesson that ‘we can make the arduous ascent of the virtues, if we do not concede but fight.’22 H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 635& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 H E R C U L E S A N D H O M O E R O T I C S According to the opening of pseudo-Lucian’s Erotes, which treated both same-sex and cross-sex desire, Hercules was renowned for his libidinous bent.23 Fifteenth- century humanists explicitly spoke of Hercules being smitten with another man. Panormita’s self-consciously obscene Hermaphroditus, dedicated to Cosimo de’ Medici in 1425, noted that Hercules screwed Hylas on his father’s grave.24 Controversy sparked by this adventurous Latin poetry disseminated the graphic picture of Hercules the sodomizer. Poliziano’s poetic play Orfeo, first staged in Mantua in 1480, had its chief protagonist Orpheus repudiate women and praise male-only love because the gods practise it. Like his father Jupiter succumbing to Ganymede’s charms, Hercules, too, was brought down by same-sex desire: ‘To this sacred love did Hercules concede,/He who felled monsters [or conquered the world] till he fell to the beauty of Hylas’.25 Here the Florentine scholar of Greek (whose own Greek poetry is sometimes explicitly homoerotic) recalls Theocritus’s third-century BCE pastoral lament for the beautiful, golden-haired youth Hylas, lost from the sailing crew of Hercules and the Argonauts when water nymphs embraced him forever.26 Hercules hunted Hylas in a frenzy, longing for the youth, and making of himself not only an impassioned lover and true friend but also, in Theocritus’s view, a temporary deserter. Once more, the masculine hero is flawed, not by his desire per se but for the consequences, which lead him to neglect his manly duties. Hercules’s reputation during the Renaissance clearly included homoerotic traces. For example, two epigrams penned by Jacopo Sannazaro in the early 1480s, but not printed for centuries thereafter, imagined jealousy on the part of Hercules’s wife, or by Jupiter, in response to the hero’s erotic relations with Hylas.27 Such tales were in the minds of many viewers, old and young. The matters of age and change over a life cycle need to be considered in relation to eroticized power relations in the Renaissance. Older men, including teachers and masters, were same-sex lovers in a Renaissance economy of desire where ‘beardless’ youths with lesser power were objects of homoerotic attraction. Michael Rocke’s meti- culous study of official records regarding sodomy in Renaissance Florence concludes that ‘men seldom had sexual relations either with very young boys or with youths past the age of twenty’; most ‘passives’ were fanciulli in Italian, puereri in Latin, boys ‘between the ages of twelve and eighteen to twenty’, though a few were much older.28 If one factors into Rocke’s calculations, the knowledge that during the Renaissance facial hair often did not mark the advent of early maturity until the man was aged twenty-three or so, then the ranks of fanciulli also included men a little older in age. If older men continued with sodomy, they usually became ‘active’ or dominant partners and their average age was between twenty-seven and thirty-four. The erotic pattern of age-graded marriages applied to same-sex relations between men too, for ‘an average gap of eleven to nineteen years separated the senior and junior partners.’ A man’s seniority according to age was an important factor in his degree of eroticized power over either male or female sex partners. Age is a factor in Hercules’s narrative, from his struggle against serpents as an infant, to his Choice when a young adult, to his Labours and servitude to Omphale, when he is usually shown as a bearded, full adult. The responses of viewers, male and female and varying in age, could differ according to such H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 636 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 matters as the depicted age. Young princes, for instance, were often shown the Choice because the virile young Hercules was an exemplar, and the demigod was thereby established as an adorable icon, one that could easily arouse homoerotic attraction.29 Older viewers need not have forgotten such sensual appeal either. The very eroticism of Hercules’s admirable body through most of his life was probably one of the key reasons for its continual depiction, suitable for such audiences as potential brides, youths needing exemplars, or older men satisfied by the civic, active and virile model. To date, art-historical attention to homoerotic imagery of the Renaissance, if present at all, has had a propensity to concentrate on the feminized or androgynous youth, like Donatello’s David or Michelangelo’s Ganymede.30 Patterns of sexual behaviour partly support such a focus, yet the erotic range is narrowed, and images with crossover rather than exclusive appeal tend to be neglected. While Antonio del Pollaiuolo’s jaunty young Hercules in the Frick Collection might be acknowledged as having an ephebic, homoerotic allure, the older, bearded, heavily built and even more assertive Hercules in Berlin, attributed to the same artist, has largely been excluded from discourses of desire.31 But the subjectivity and amorous initiative of youths, and female viewers, cannot be denied; nor can the erotic nostalgia and ongoing desire of older men, some of whom loved adult men of varying ages. The sensual appeal of the lithe youth was accompanied by an erotic charge in representations of the older, burly and ever-active hero. The very exaggeration of his masculinity, visualized in physical sturdiness as well as eternal, reiterated labour, presented a contrast with ideal ephebes or mortal men. Set apart and overly macho, Hercules enacted maleness in an amplified register. As Richard Dyer has pointed out, macho exaggeration requires ‘the conscious deployment of signs of masculinity’ and in that sense is close to camp and drag.32 The figure of Hercules reminds viewers that macho gender is a self-conscious performance rather than a universal, natural condition, and that male gender need not be always conflated with conventional sexuality. This study, then, aims to expand the scope of what kind of masculine figure carried homoerotic potential in the corpus of Renaissance art. It also works against any presumption that objects of homo- erotic desire must be pubescent or pre-phallic or effeminate, as though only ‘lack’ can render a body attractive to an adult male. Nor can the agency of younger viewers be ignored. In particular, imagery of Hercules in close physical contact with Antaeus often conveyed an erotic subtext about both characters, one that was especially, but not exclusively, arousing for male viewers. H E R C U L E S A N D A N TA E U S I N F L O R E N C E When performing his taxing labours on earth, Hercules encountered the Libyan giant Antaeus. Especially in this feat, according to Florentine humanists like Salutati, Cristoforo Landino and Marsilio Ficino, libidinous allurements and sexual wiles are conquered.33 Such scholars were adopting the mythographic tradition articulated by Fulgentius in the sixth century, allegorizing Hercules as the opponent of Antaeus’s personification of lust. Yet that literally crushing victory is achieved against, and intertwined with, another humanized, embraced body, the only one in his various exploits, besides the giant Cacus, to feature a male opponent in human form. The physical conquest of sexual desire is visually presented in terms of sensual, somatic engagement. The physical contact evident H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 637& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 in two dimensions is tangibly accentuated in the case of numerous bronze statuettes.34 The visualization of this seeming repression of sensual appetites could actually be a carnal scene. The narratives, and textual glosses, engage in gendered, sexual politics, and the backdrop of a masculinized patria is central to Hercules’s prominence in Florence. Already when he appeared on the civic seal in the late thirteenth century, inscribed ‘Florence subdues depravity with a Herculean club’, he enacted masculine domination and suppres- sion.35 As rendered in the emerald version of 1532 for the administration of the new, first Duke of Florence Alessandro de’ Medici, the seal showed Hercules, club over his shoulder and lion skin held in his left hand, striding to the left, ever alert.36 For the Cathedral’s bell tower, Andrea Pisano carved a relief of Hercules and Cacus around 1335, celebrating, as did Dante Alighieri’s Inferno, the determined eradication of monsters and enactment of justice against a thief.37 What seems to have been a painting of the standing Hercules was installed in the city’s town hall sometime between 1385 and 1414, with a marble titulus emphasizing its political message. Like ‘Flor- ence, the image of virtue just like myself’, the hero boasts, he has ‘brought down ungrateful cities and overcome cruel tyrants.’38 Hercu- les’s civic significance as an exemplar of conquest and masculine virtue was further highlighted, but in the register of interpretatio Christiana, when he appeared as a standing hero or enacting three of his conquests, carved on the jamb of the Porta della Mandorla of the Florentine Cathedral in the 1390 s (plates 2 and 3).39 As Panofsky and Leopold Ettlinger have argued, these religious citations of Hercules present his labours as exempla virtutis, as ‘mythological antetypes in a Christian context’ of moral allegory.40 Men of the ruling class similarly cast the civis in a virile, Herculean light. The poet Franco Sacchetti, at some time after April 1377, praised Florence as the ‘Hercole novo’ waging its valiant labours against a range of enemies; Rinaldo degli Albizzi took a more personal approach around 1424–26, urging each citizen to be ‘un nuovo Ercole’ defeating the Visconti tyrants.41 Sacchetti, however, still 2 Nanni di Banco (attrib.), Hercules, c. 1395. Marble, dimensions. Florence: outer door jamb of Porta della Mandorla, Cathedral. Photo: Conway Library, Courtauld Institute of Art. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 638 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 adhered to the more traditional picture of Florence as a female personification, there- fore easily switching from ‘Hercole novo’ in one line to ‘quest’alta Donna’, this esteemed Lady ‘Fiorenza mia’ in the following lines. In the final stanza, the city in the form of ‘New Hercules, joyous liberty/daughter of Rome and above every other woman’ is praised for its fortitude and control.42 More commonly, affiliation with ancient history made Flor- entines sons of Rome, defending a fatherland (patria) which was sometimes given rhetorical form as a female allegory, to be protected by masculinized citizens. The allegorical process could make Hercules labile. In the imagery of men like Rinaldo degli Albizzi, the classical revival of the early fifteenth century is about refreshing the rhetoric and imagery of a pagan hero already Christianized during the Middle Ages, placing the masculine paragon in a self-consciously novel civic context of propaganda and personal exemplarity. Hercules, like Florence, is resurgent, bolstered by its remaking through mythic history. Writing a treatise on Hercules around the time of these civic/religious images, the Flor- entine Chancellor Salutati (d. 1406) envisaged Hercules as the perfect embodiment of virtue and reason; in contrast, Antaeus was a symbol for every generic vice but especially, on etymological grounds, for the libido, because Antaeus came from Libya. As is shown by Guidoccio Cozzarelli’s black Libyan Sibyl, designed in the 1480s for the pavement of Siena’s Cathedral, Libya generally connoted Africa at the time.43 With a tinge of racial superiority spicing Salutati’s negative image of the African foe, Antaeus is said to have ‘died from lack of nourishment’, because he was separated from ‘food and drink from whence lust is fed’.44 Antaeus is crushed by the strength of Hercules once he is weakened when lifted from the earth and thence deprived of nurturing contact with his mother the earth goddess Gaia. Such was Ovid’s emphasis, observing that the crux of the matter was the hero’s success in depriving the threatening giant of alimenta parentis, or 3 Detail of Piero di Giovanni Tedesco (attrib.), Labours of Hercules, c. 1395– 1400. Marble, dimensions. Florence: left inner door jamb of Porta della Mandorla, Cathedral. Photo: Conway Library, Courtauld Institute of Art. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 639& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 ‘his mother’s nourishment’ (Metamorphoses 9.184). Later writers continued to stress his feminine dependency, making the giant infantile and weak.45 Hercules, by contrast, uses both brawn and brain, discovering his foe’s weakness and exploiting it so that he is victorious over one who relies too much on the maternal bond. Salutati provides a vivid description of explicitly effeminate Antaeus’s death throes, with his vision dimming, sinews loosening, guts wounded, motion stilled and semen spilled.46 Gigantic but legless, rendered literally baseless and morally base, Antaeus in the Cathedral relief (see plate 3) is gasping, locked in the choke- hold of death by a Hercules whose face, hair and body type are not dissimilar. Ettlinger argued that the front-to-front arrangement institutes a Florentine formula, but in the first century C.E. Lucan’s epic description of the battle had Hercules meeting his foe ‘chest to chest’.47 Whatever the longevity of the visual composition, the Florentine relief has the city’s emblem caught in a mirror-like confrontation with an alter ego. Defender of the fatherland conquers a mother’s boy; inferior size beats monstrous magnitude; superior virtue defeats bestial aggression; and an interior battle eventually conquers one’s lesser self. Prominent in location but diminutive in scale, the relief did not spur a rash of other Florentine versions, and the republican fervour of Herculean imagery seems to have dimmed. It is only in the mid-century that the deed is revived in that city, and then for a domestic, secular market. The impetus was probably the decoration around 1460 of the Sala Grande of the new Medici palace with three large paintings by the Pollaiuolo brothers, on cloth, each with gold frames, depicting Hercules battling with the Hydra, the Nemean Lion, and Antaeus.48 Choosing the same three exploits featured on the Porta della Mandorla, the Medici cycle was doubtless a component of their clever appropriation of Flor- entine civic rhetoric.49 On the other hand, public commissions of Herculean imagery ended well before Cosimo de’ Medici returned to Florence in 1434; the imagery was as much Florentine as republican, kept alive amongst the populace by children making gigantic snowmen of Hercules. Sixteenth-century interest by the first two Medici dukes in the rhetoric of Hercules, especially his exploit with Antaeus, remodelled the Florentine, political hero in a personal and classicizing vein, appropriating patriotic and virile connotations to support the legitimacy, virtue and masculine strength of their centralizing authority.50 The now-lost works by Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo are probably remembered in two miniature oil paintings by Antonio, which may date from as late as a decade or so after his large-scale productions, and may have adorned a desk or formed a precious diptych (plate 4).51 Various images, including two engravings by Cristofano Robetta at the end of the century, are also related to the influential Medici cycle.52 The palace inventory of 1492 described one of Pollaiuolo’s canvases showing ‘Hercules bursting (scoppia) Antaeus’, a telling word because the explosive force of his crushing embrace is vividly captured even in the smaller version.53 Toes curl and clutch, nipples stand erect, and breath bursts from Antaeus’s collapsed lungs in orgasmic expiry. Hercules grips Antaeus’s buttocks and the foes link arms in a circular dance of death. Action pivots around the fulcrum at Antaeus’s genitals which are pressed against Hercules. The immense struggle is so great that Hercules is as bestial as his partner, with a deformed body, exaggerated spinal arch, popping eyes and gnashing teeth. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 640 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 In the later 1470s, Pollaiuolo also produced – perhaps for the Medici palace – a bronze statuette of the combat between Hercules and Antaeus, which sets up a paragone, or comparison, between two works by the same artist in different media, exploring much of the same extravagant composition, now daringly realized in three dimensions (plate 5).54 It follows the pattern of counterpoised strain between two figures facing each other and turning around a pressure point at Hercules’s chest. For the Libyan giant, long understood to personify lust, the physical juncture with his enemy occurs at his genital site. Around this join, Pollaiuolo realizes the narrative’s intrinsic movement and extension through space in a sequence of views from multiple angles. Exploiting the tensile strength of bronze, the sculptor can also display his anatomical knowledge and skill at presenting bodies in a variety of complex yet balanced postures, just as Leonardo da Vinci recommended.55 Thrashing limbs, tensed muscles, arched backs, at least 4 Antonio del Pollaiuolo, Hercules and Antaeus, c. 1475. Oil on panel, 16 � 9 cm. Florence: Galleria degli Uffizi (Inv. 1890, no. 1478). Photo: Scala/Art Resource, NY. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 641& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 5 Antonio del Pollaiuolo, Hercules and Antaeus, c. 1475–80. Bronze, Height (including base) 46 cm (figures 36 cm). Florence: Museo Nazionale del Bargello (Inv. Bronzi 280). Photo: Scala/Art Resource, NY. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 642 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 partially naked buttocks and Antaeus’s anguished neck and face thrown back in desperate struggle: all set the life-and-death conflict at a high pitch of affect and significance. The polished metal suggests the sweating sheen of the struggling bodies; protuberances such as muscles and rump gleam in the rich light cast on the dark bronze by natural light or by oil lamps and candles. When Antaeus’s back is being observed, the viewer sees from this range of angles each man’s genitals in a degree of alignment, with the divide of Antaeus’s taut buttocks (barely hidden by his raised foot) above Hercules’s genitals, which are enhanced by his suppo- sedly modest lion skin.56 (That the lion’s face replaces Hercules’s buttocks at another angle establishes a witty, self-conscious relationship between the artist and his audience in a further scatological joke). As with the sometime close similarity between Virtue and Voluptas at the crossroads, or the resemblance between those same forces personified as Hercules and Antaeus on the Porta della Mandorla (see plate 3), here resemblances between the physique, hair and faces of the wrestling pair allows no easy dichotomization. Hence, clarification of masculine virtue is not predetermined. Such visual mirroring echoes Lucan’s emphasis in his epic poem on the elongated struggle between the two men which, he comments, is caused by their parity. The two strong men were amazed to have met their match (4.620). ‘They clashed as equals, one with the strength of Earth, the other with his own’ (4.636–37), a line quoted by Salutati (3.27.6–7), and only Hercules’s realization about the maternal source of his foe’s strength tips the scales in favour of the wiser demigod. Like acrobats performing the ‘Labores Herculis’ in equipoise, or two bodies pivoting around the central fulcrum noted by Leonardo da Vinci, in some pictorial choices ideal masculinity is represented in suspension, forever asserting itself but in a struggle, the outcome assured yet not shown. Viewers learn that proper masculinity must always rise to each challenge; without such tests, masculinity does not seem to be proven. The psychoanalytic model of psychic anxiety at the core of male identity is current in many studies of early modern masculinity, but the mythological model of Herculean labours suggests, rather, that under patriarchy masculinity must be constructed as always in crisis, forever under threat, in order for manliness to come to the fore.57 Meanwhile, the face-to-face personalized conflict had been represented outside Florence, in the context of an extended cycle of famous men. The lost frescoes decorating Cardinal Giordano Orsini’s Roman palace were executed before 1432 by an artist in Masolino da Panicale’s circle and survive in partial copies, the most complete being Leonardo da Besozzo’s so-called Crespi Cronica, dated to the 1430s or early 1440s.58 The immolation of Hercules occurs, and the one exploit of the hero selected for visual representation showed him clutching Antaeus’s genital region to his chest while the two engaged in a death ballet of arched spines and spread legs. The inclusion of these two scenes, but with a different composition for the labour, recurs in a later world chronicle produced in Florence during the 1460s or early to mid-1470s, after the Medicean revival sparked renewed awareness of the exemplary exploits (plate 6).59 By refusing the civic and Medicean precedent of a face-to-face encounter, the composition in the ‘Florentine Picture Chronicle’ is unusual; by foregrounding pictorial homoerotics it is even more striking. Attributed to Baccio Baldini, Maso Finiguerra, or artists in their circle, the H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 643& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 drawings in the album often compile scenes by using figural elements selected from pattern books, yet the defeat of Antaeus is depicted in what seems to be an unique manner.60 Hercules is placed behind his opponent but in a more equal embrace, resulting in heads and knees being on roughly the same level.61 The entwined, sodomitical couple, of a beardless youth and a fully bearded, mature adult, seems to share the same torso and the same genitals. Antaeus’s 6 Circle of Baccio Baldini or Maso Finiguerra, Hercules and Anteaus, c. 1470–75. Pen and brown ink and brown wash over black chalk, 32.6 � 22.6 cm. London: British Museum (1889,0527.33). Photo: Trustees of the British Museum. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 644 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 genitals hang between Hercules’s legs as though the bodies have merged at the physical source of lust. Hercules now battles his own ‘generic vice’ within himself but the self-reflexivity of the action also brings into pictorial form a case of physical and sexual union. The setting is informed by the textual traditions regarding geography, for the Libyan Sibyl frames the double-page spread on the left and on the far right the wrestling couple emerge from the lair of Antaeus’s cave, within a tall crag mentioned in Lucan’s Civil War (4.601) and signifying Antaeus’s removal from his mother Earth. His expulsion from his mother’s womb- like enclosure brings Antaeus to the point of death rather than birth, and one desperately appealing hand directs the eye towards a bare, lopped tree trunk that contrasts with the flourishing tree behind him. Weakened by the cutting of an umbilical tie yet idealistically ephebic, gripped in the throes of death and desire, Antaeus suffers the orgasmic ‘death’ of passion. Hercules is more in control, his feet on the ground and his mouth muffled in his partner’s hair, rendering invisible facial expressiveness as well as genital arousal. Masculinized against the uncontrolled, gesticulating, passionately material Antaeus, Hercules is nevertheless engaged in a duet of sexual fury even as he kills the bestial enemy. He is shown as what was called the ‘active’ (agens) partner in sodomy while the implicitly penetrated Antaeus is the ‘passive’ (patiens) and womanly one, who legally was usually given a lesser punishment since he was deemed to be young and innocent.62 But the properly masculine, honourable initiative enacted by Hercules against his partner is heroic in terms of the myth. Juridical codes clash with cultural ones in this unusual Florentine imagining of sodomy performed in company with heroic murder. Battling his own passions and engaging in a death struggle with the externalized personification of sexual vice, Hercules is simultaneously implicated in the physical embodiment of those passions. He is masculine and victorious – both sodomitically and virtuously – while Antaeus is a ‘passive’, attractive and explicit object of homoerotic desire. L A N D I N O A N D F I C I N O O N T H E L A B O U R A G A I N S T A N TA E U S Knowing the story’s moral and the inevitable death of the Libyan giant cannot deflect a viewer from recognizing the pictorial thrust. Attempts by Landino and Ficino in the next two decades to evacuate any sexual innuendo in Hercules’s actions sound awkward and ineffectual when set against this visual precedent. When dedicating his treatise on nobility to Lorenzo de’ Medici in the late 1480s, the Florentine humanist Landino gave a political and mildly Neoplatonic gloss to the now-popular story. In rather standard mythographic terms, the tale was considered an allegory of earthly desires and material attachments overcome by a consideration of higher, spiritual concerns.63 But Landino’s frame attends to civic ideals. Hercules is introduced as ‘the most invincible leader of all mortals, who surely must be imitated’.64 Such a political exemplar cannot be conceived in complex terms, and Landino emphatically confirmed the conventional allegorical interpretation of Antaeus’s defeat. Standing for the ‘irrational appetite [which] is always opposed to reason’, Antaeus was a sign of the ‘desire [for] earthly and perishable things’ overcome only ‘if our minds are lifted up on high to divine things and seized by the love of those things’ so that ‘all desire [libido] for earthly things completely perishes.’65 A psychomachia, or internal struggle in the soul H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 645& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 against vice, attains moral victory when set in a nostalgic, mythic time of perfect masculinity. The dependence of masculine identity on a dichotomized opponent is homo-socialized in that the enemy is male, but cross-sexualized in that the vice is feminized, inferior and ultimately dominated. Self-control and wisdom earn immortality, that is, ‘the highest and truest nobility’ is attained only ‘by way of all the civic and heroic virtues’.66 In his earlier Disputationes Camaldulenses (1472), Landino emphasized civic virtue even more, having his former pupil Lorenzo de’ Medici speak as a prota- gonist, who advocates the vita activa over the contemplative life. Lorenzo praises Hercules as a paragon of the active life. His wisdom ‘served all men. For . . . he destroyed horrendous wild beasts, vanquished pernicious and savage monsters, chastised the most cruel tyrants, restored justice and liberty to many peoples and nations.’67 Probably remembering the three deeds pictured in epic proportions within the Medici Palace (the beastly Lion, monstrous Hydra and tyrannical Antaeus, respectively), Landino credits to the youth, now in his early twenties, ideas that the teacher may well have first rehearsed before those very paintings. When aged around eleven, along with his younger brother Giuliano, the boy Lorenzo would have been especially thrilled by the newly installed, over-life-size paintings. Lessons learned in that manner, and reiterated in political discourse, were to last a lifetime. In the Medici circle, but continuing earlier Florentine republican rhetoric, Hercules is represented as an exemplar of the active life and of civic leadership. Lorenzo, like most Florentines, equally knew that the realities of political manoeuvring and moral conduct were far more fraught with ambi- guity and compromise. Another teacher in the Medici circle, the Neoplatonist scholar Marsilio Ficino, took a more metaphysical stance when he wrote in a letter of 1 July 1477 that ‘reason within us is called Hercules: he destroys Antaeus, that is the monstrous images of fantasy, when he lifts Antaeus up from the earth, that is, when he removes himself from the senses and physical images.’ The other two labours popular in Florentine and Medicean imagery were read similarly by Ficino: Hercules ‘also subdues the lion, meaning that he curbs passion. He cuts down the Hydra . . . that is, he cuts off the force of desire . . . ’68 In a sense, all Hercules’s opponents were feminized by their vulnerability and ultimate weakness. But the Hydra comes closest to visual signification as female, when the multi-headed monster can be represented like the Gorgon, with snakes sprouting behind a woman’s hair, as it is in a bronze roundel by Antico.69 Commenting on fortune in a letter to Bernardo Bembo, Ficino tellingly contrasted Hercules with the effeminate, sensual and luxurious Sardanapalus, by legend the last King of Assyria: ‘I would prefer to be Hercules rather than Sardanapalus. The one overcame as many monsters as overwhelmed the other; Hercules, having vanquished savage beasts, rose up as a god, while Sardanapalus was destroyed by beasts and made lower and more wretched than they.’70 An irrational attention to worldly and less consequential matters is cast as a femi- ninized distraction, just as Aristotelians typed matter as feminine against more important, masculine substance.71 Antaeus is then implicitly a ‘passive’ partner to the man who is an adult, independent, rational hero. Mere Aristotelian matter is subsumed when manly strength and masculine reason conquer the personifi- cation of flesh. Hercules’s overpowering of monstrous illusions and lust would H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 646 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 seem to make him asexual, yet the Neoplatonic stress on spiritual love, propounded by men like Ficino, could open the way for the justification of Hercules as a practitioner of virtuous, pure sensuality on a higher plane. The struggle between Hercules and Antaeus becomes a psychomachia between lust and virtue, fantasy and reason, feminine and masculine principles, earthly lust and divine love. In the philosophically gendered system of men like Ficino, the rational epitome of ideal masculinity, wielding his phallic club, is opposed to multiple, voracious monsters that embody passion, desire and fantasy. As we have seen, Filarete noted that ‘it would not be . . . appropriate to him if he did not seem to be undergoing great struggles’; Salutati’s etymology claimed for Hercules’s name the sense of being ‘glorious in strife’.72 To Ficino, the virtuous decision against Venus at the crossroads thereafter committed Hercules to a life in which he was ‘vexed perpetually with the work of labours’.73 His worrying labours show him always at the work of gender, for he is forever in the process of attaining masculine identity, in a series of interdependent oppositions with feminized, inferior foes. Although Herculean efforts were sometimes read in Neoplatonic terms, Landino clearly considered the civic aspect, and the gendered component indicates that philo- sophical abstraction was complemented by the power of embodiment. M A N T U A A N D N O R T H E R N I TA L Y While Landino and Ficino were writing in Florence, Andrea Mantegna and other North Italian artists were beginning to saturate the market with images of Hercules and Antaeus that visualized close, sensual contact between naked men. The Mantuan performance of Poliziano’s Orfeo in 1480 seems to have struck a particular chord. Six of Hercules’s exploits were already frescoed around 1465 by Mantegna on the Camera picta’s ceiling in the ducal palace of Mantua, perhaps because decades earlier, when still a boy, Marquis Lodovico Gonzaga had been nicknamed Ercole by his tutor Vittorino da Feltre.74 It was in the Mantuan circle of Mantegna and his followers that production of images of Hercules with Antaeus began during the last quarter or so of the fifteenth century, spreading as far as France by the early sixteenth century. Also in Mantua, Antico’s bronze statuettes of Hercules and Antaeus (for Bishop Lodovico Gonzaga c. 1500 and for Isabella d’Este in 1519) reconstruct and complete the model of an antique marble torso.75 Mantegna referred to the damaged classical prototype – or a similar record preserved in a medal – of Hercules lifting Antaeus from behind, adapting the pose for a spandrel in the Camera picta. Some time later, he or his workshop and followers produced several versions in prints and drawings, primarily depicting the struggle either face to face or with Antaeus half-turned, which enabled more decorous masking of the genital regions (see plate 7).76 The Mantuan court’s interest in Herculean feats was further fostered upon the marriage of Marquis Francesco and Isabella d’Este in 1490. Daughter of Ercole d’Este, whose name both signalled and increased cultural interest in Hercules at the court of Ferrara, she went on to name her own son after the paternal namesake. Antico’s figure, a poignantly classical hero of virtuous conquest, might have been of special interest to Isabella’s fourteen-year-old son Ercole Gonzaga (born 23 November 1505) when newly made, and again in later years when he returned to the exemplar. Due to their episodic, heroic nature, Hercules’s deeds were readily assimilated into an H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 647& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 ongoing interest in chivalric tales, one catered to by the production of such stories for schoolboys as well as older readers.77 Soon the popularity of Mantegna’s prints engendered numerous copies, variants, revisions and reissues, spreading beyond Mantua to engage artists like Giovanni Antonio da Brescia, Nicoletto da Modena, Moderno and Luca Signorelli, as well as men in the Raphaelesque circle, including Marcantonio Raimondi (plates 7 and 8).78 The sheer number of surviving prints (as well as the occasional drawing or plaquette) suggests that the wrestling match was a top seller, some- times serving not only as a didactic or inspirational gift but also as a love token to boys and young men. In all the examples from the later part of the fifteenth century and the early sixteenth century, in various media and a range of scale, the narrative of Hercules and Antaeus provided an opportunity for the repre- sentation of two naked and muscular male bodies in physical, intimate contact. In some examples, like Antico’s bronze statuette, the genitals are visible but not in any special or close relationship. At other times, a more modest viewership is assumed and genitals are largely hidden (see plate 7). In either case, there is an air of strained physical action which displays culturally approved concepts of masculine vigour, heroic conquest and close bodily encounter. In other cases, overt genital contact is represented.79 Mantegna’s fresco almost covers Hercules’s genitals behind the back of Antaeus’s lower thigh and 7 (left) Giovanni Antonio da Brescia, Hercules and Antaeus, 1507 or later. Engraving, 23.2 � 17.2 cm. London: British Museum (1845,0825.703). Photo: Trustees of the British Museum. 8 (right) School of Andrea Mantegna, Hercules and Antaeus, 1470–1500. Engraving, 30.3 � 20.9 cm. London: British Museum (V,1.61). Photo: Trustees of the British Museum. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 648 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 hence a viewer could fantasize that Antaeus was expiring in a sexual embrace. As in the ‘Florentine Picture Chronicle’ (see plate 6), the strategy of placing one naked male body behind another’s rear, with genital closeness intimated, tended to connote sodomitical relations of the kind regularly practised in cities like Florence. Perhaps to avoid such erotic suggestiveness, some images raise Antaeus even higher above Hercules’s head, as did Antico’s statuette. One strand of prints derived from Mantegna’s design, dated c. 1490, turns Antaeus around so that his face is hidden from the viewer (see plate 8). Neither his suffering nor any hint of sexual expiration can therefore be indicated by facial expression, but the physical contact is still intense. His chest, with one breast and sensitive nipple visible, is squeezed against Hercules’s brow, his toes are clenched, the genitals rub against the hero’s chest, Antaeus’s legs are spread to show his testicles, and the admirably compact buttocks are highlighted. Often inscribed ‘Divo Herculi invicto’ (‘to the godlike and invincible Hercules’), the prints grant divine status to Hercules overcoming lust in a representation replete with genital contact and sensual bodily display.80 No wonder the demigod served rulers and warriors as a fictive ancestor as well as role model. However, even the contemporary biographer of the Commander of Venetian forces, Barto- lomeo Colleoni, was sceptical in the early 1470 s about that soldier’s genealogical claims to Herculean descent. His ancestral allegations had been implied on the reverse of a medal issued around 1457–58 that seemed to depict Hercules Invictus.81 More scathing was Pietro Aretino’s reference in 1534 to the man, whose last testament had resulted in a grandiose equestrian monument designed and cast in bronze by Andrea del Verrocchio, eventually unveiled in a prominent Venetian square in March 1496. Tavern quips about the vain, fame-seeking mercenary seem to be remembered in Aretino’s ‘father General’ pretentiously dressed up and strutting around a nunnery-turned-brothel, likened to the military general called ‘Bortolameo Coglioni’.82 More than once, Aretino played on the general’s name, turning Colleoni into the like-sounding coglioni (testicles), a satire invited by the coat of arms that indeed displayed testicles.83 Aretino’s implication was that, rather than ‘ballsy’ the man was ‘full of bollocks’ (coglio- neria). Militaristic heroics, then, were not always treated with unmitigated awe, and the sight of testicles, visibly hanging from Verrocchio’s steed or notable in the battle between Hercules and Antaeus, could signify proper virility, excessive cockiness or erotic sensitivity. M I C H E L A N G E L O A N D P S Y C H O M A C H I A Early in the sixteenth century Michelangelo Buonarroti’s graphic explorations of the theme of Hercules and Antaeus typically sought to invest the exploit with new visual dynamism and also suggested his own engagement with the sensual exci- tements and challenges of the myth. Having assuaged his sorrow over Lorenzo de’ Medici’s death in 1492 by carving a marble Hercules, it is possible that, as James Saslow claims, ‘Michelangelo understood the ancient hero as a symbol of strong male–male affinity’ and friendship.84 The snowman that Michelangelo is reported to have made in the courtyard of the Medici palace in January 1494 may also have been a Hercules, like those built regularly by Florentine children whose winter play populated the city with civic emblems, such as the lion, or a six-foot Hercules placed next to the town hall in 1409.85 H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 649& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 Also outside the Palazzo Vecchio, Michelangelo was commissioned in the first decade of the sixteenth century to produce what was surely a Herculean pendant to his David, a project that ultimately resulted instead in Bandinelli’s Hercules and Cacus.86 Drawings from the mid-1520s and now in the British Museum, London and the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford (plates 9 and 10), show that Michelangelo pondered the exploit with Antaeus, probably for the protracted project in the Piazza della Signoria.87 The proportions of a marble block matching his David would have made certain configurations of the wrestlers impossible to represent, and the drawings focus on an especially close meshing of bodies, compressed together by technical as well as moral implications. The two form ‘one unit of movement’, as Ursula Hoff noted, adding about the Ashmolean sketch that ‘Antaeus’ head movement expresses the pathos of pain in the manner of the Laocoön. The figures seem forever interlocked in a struggle without end.’88 On the Oxford sheet, the rivals are face to face, but the elevated Antaeus twists away in a serpentine fury; in the London drawing, torsoes face each other, but Antaeus is wound so that his buttocks abut Hercules’s genitals, creating an even more physically intimate engagement. In each case, Michelangelo envisaged Antaeus so united with Hercules that he seems to rise up from the genital site of creation like a tormented alter ego and Hercules’s soul grapples with itself over the dilemma of physical arousal. Like the artist of the ‘Florentine Picture Chronicle’, Pollaiuolo, or Hans Baldung Grien, to name just a few, Michelangelo did not readily polarize 9 Michelangelo Buonarroti, Four grotesque heads and Hercules and Antaeus, c. 1524–25. Red chalk, 25.4 � 34.8 cm. London: British Museum (1859,0625.557 recto). Photo: Trustees of the British Museum. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 650 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 the two combatants, instead understanding them as ambivalent or, rather, interdependent. Michelangelo’s poem on the verso of the Ashmolean sheet ponders the need for repentance and redirection as death approaches.89 Spurred to such thoughts by his aged reflection in a mirror, and declaring his sense that he is an ‘enemy of myself’ (nemico di me stesso) because mortal feelings such as ‘false hopes and empty desire/– weeping, loving, burning, and sighing’ have kept him ‘far away from the truth’, Michelangelo grapples with the conflict explored later on the other side of the sheet. Although he does not name the mythic protagonists, who are locked in an unresolved struggle, the poem notes that ‘Now that time is changing and sloughing off my hide,/death and my soul make constant trial together (insieme),/ the second and the first, for my final state.’ The mirrored intertwining of the two male figures echoes Michelangelo’s moving psychomachia or trial between his soul and his mortal, passionate nemico within. Faced by forthcoming death and needing to find ‘truth’ rather than sensual and earthly desires, Michelangelo’s pen and chalk, at different times, delved into the divided elements which battle insieme, as the soul struggles to overcome material, fleshly desires. His crisis of conscience is visually encoded in the embodied terms of homoerotic temptation. A more finished red-chalk drawing, which may relate to others he presented to his favourite Tommaso de’ Cavalieri around 1530 (plate 11), returns to the same three Herculean exploits that once decorated the Medici Palace.90 Between the conquests of the Nemean Lion and the Lernean Hydra, Hercules battles with Antaeus. The foe is inverted; he curves over in a foetal position and struggles with his head close to Hercules’s genitals, as though the seat of reason is now directly 10 Michelangelo Buonarroti, Hercules and Antaeus and other sketches, recto, c. 1524–25. Red chalk with some light drawing in pen and ink, 28.8 � 42.7 cm. Oxford: Ashmolean Museum (1844.63) recto. Photo: Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 651& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 confronted with the source of lust.91 Lifted well away from his mother Earth, Antaeus has lost the battle and the Herculean triumph of reason might be signified by the masking of the genital area by a head, usually the seat of reason, but here it signifies the demented mind of a bestial enemy, whilst also implying the performance of oral sex. As in the earlier drawings, Antaeus has attenuated lower limbs and is enfolded in an interlocked relationship with the torso and genital region of Hercules; he seems to arise from the body of the masculine hero. Sprouting a monster from his genitals and torso, Hercules wrestles with a prodigy and gives birth to a phantasm who is an ‘enemy of myself’. Michelangelo’s conception of the theme recalls Ficino’s internalization of the battle where ‘reason within us is called Hercules’, and he vanquishes monstrous fantasies ‘when he removes himself from the senses’. Another drawing by Michelangelo of the mid-1520s or early 1530s (plate 12), whether or not it refers specifically to Hercules, shows two nudes similarly wrestling in erotic, physical ardour. One arm reaches for his partner’s genitals; one leg is placed between two others; and the bodies twist and writhe as though trying to disappear into each other. The accompanying poem voices poignant amazement at the ‘new and strange anguish’ of love, which ‘hurts me more the more grace I receive.’92 Here the contradictions of love are played out in a passionate fury of urgent desire. Poem and drawing each present a stunned commitment to the pain and struggle as well as grace of desire. Herculean self- control and Neoplatonic distancing is willingly disavowed for the pleasure of 11 Michelangelo Buonarroti, Labours of Hercules, c. 1530. Red chalk, 27.2 � 42.2 cm. Windsor: Royal Library. Photo: The Royal Collection r 2008 Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 652 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 losing one’s senses in love. Like the drawings of Hercules and Antaeus, this sheet tangibly imagines the close, sweating embrace of two male bodies linked almost as though arising from a single marble block. Unlike the other drawings and the Ashmolean poem, the exploration in this sketch and verse does not repress the libido but imagines homoerotic desire in less guilty, more immediate and fervent terms. 12 Michelangelo Buonarroti, Two Nude Men Wrestling, mid-1520s or mid-1530s. Red chalk, 23.7 � 19.2 cm. Paris: Louvre (Inv 709 recto). Photo: Réunion des musées nationaux/Art Resource, NY. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 653& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 PAT H O S , E C S TA S Y A N D S C E P T I C I S M Depending on the image, and the viewer, emotive responses to Hercules and Antaeus varied. Hoff discerned a trend during the course of the fifteenth century, from Hercules’s certain victory announced by Antaeus’s passive suspension, to Pollaiuolo’s energized, violent staging, to the interest shown by Mantegna and others like Michelangelo in ‘the pathos of surrender’.93 Vasari noted of Pollaiuolo’s now-lost canvas that Antaeus was opening his mouth, gasping, and finally, slowly, giving up the ghost. Words from a partly mutilated poem found on another section of Michelangelo’s drawing in Paris evoke anguish, anger and fury, as well as the soul and death.94 Just such a mixture of pain and passion, suffering and spirituality, are evoked in the pathos of Antaeus’s demise. The link with his mother’s nourishment is broken irrevocably; sensual appetites fade; death approaches. The body language and, when seen, Antaeus’s facial expression, eloquently intimate that the loss of passion and life is bitter and sorrowful. The very rationality and impassivity of Hercules, often emphasized, accentuates a melancholic loss of its opposite, which is pictured in the form of superb, young flesh at the height of physical conditioning. Admiration for the demigod’s superhuman, virtually impossible, wisdom and strength is balanced by empathy for the vanquished sensuality every mortal citizen found hard to banish utterly. The heightened, passionate engagement of the combat has a sensual, even erotic, affect in itself. The ‘death’ of orgasm is writ large here, in a sense, for pathos mingles with ecstatic removal of self from self. In a Neoplatonic key, the spirit rises up out of the dead but elevated body of the giant; in the allegorical and mythographic sense, libido is conquered by reason; in a material and visual sense, sensuality is registered in moving pathos and anguish. After all, a long-lived figure for orgasmic release and post-coital languor was ‘death’ or the ‘little death’ suffered after libidinous battles in which one was ‘killed’, ‘finished off’ or ‘spent’.95 As was often the case, Aretino articulated what others might not dare, but thereby he recorded one way in which it was possible to interact with learned conventions on a more earthy level. Precisely that ancient exemplar of artistic pathos, the Laocoön, recently unearthed in Rome in 1506, struck Aretino in several ways. The dolore of the father’s struggle against the serpent is what Aretino praised in his attempt at respectable verse, the Marfisa written in Mantua around 1527–29. No longer seeking court patronage but deciding to make money on the public stage of printed books, around five or so years later Aretino again reminded readers of the classical paragon. At the moment of orgasmic relief, General Colleoni in the orgiastic convent ‘wore that frowning look the marble statue at the Vatican Museum gives the snakes that are strangling him between his sons.’96 Of course, such bawdy irreverence is not adequate to Michelangelo’s anguish or Pollaiuolo’s violence; nevertheless, it is a reminder that in the early modern world, from Neoplatonic heights to the depths of the sensually provocative, as Pierre de Ronsard put it, ‘Love and death are but the same thing.’ Hercules was a notable test case for Renaissance attempts to reinforce patriarchy, define masculinity and contain sexualities when none were uncon- tested fields. Masculinity was dependent upon a continuous struggle over the selection of particular behaviours, roles and narratives. Multiple in roles and H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 654 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 deeds, Hercules was, during the Renaissance, both mad and heroic, impassioned and implacable, driven and divine. Rarely can we know what Renaissance women thought of the excessively masculine Hercules. Two voices from the first half of the fifteenth century were sceptical. The female humanist Isotta Nogarola extolled the heights women could reach, citing various exploits in history, and at one point asking her male correspondent: ‘Did not the Amazons build a state without men? . . . For they were so strongly endowed with virtus [valour/virtue] and with remarkable military skill that to Hercules and Theseus it seemed impossible to bring the force of the Amazons under their rule.’97 That Hercules eventually won the girdle of the Amazonian queen Hippolyta is conveniently passed over, for Nogarola’s more important point was that women too were gifted with potent virtus, with military and political acumen. Women like Nogarola may have found especially delicious Omphale’s triumph over effeminized Hercules. Another woman writer was cautious about the effect of the Herculean model upon young men, an audience especially targeted with images of the demigod, on birth spoons or trays, in statuettes, paintings and public entries, showing him at the crossroads or performing his labours. Christine de Pizan did not find Hercules such a great exemplar for a fifteen-year-old boy aspiring to be a knight. Her mythographic Letter of Othea to Hector (c. 1400) finds commendable Hercules’s loyal assistance to friends when rescuing Proserpina from Hades. However, ‘it is not at all necessary to you/To acquire arms and make/A journey to battle with . . . serpentine things’, as did Hercules.98 After scoffing at these deeds, the Goddess of Wisdom does approve self-defence, ‘constancy and firmness’ and a similar strength which is ‘unyielding against carnal desires’, so on the allegorical level this female writer could use Hercules as a moral but not a literal example for a boy reared on chivalric tales. Referring to the illustrations to her text, she wrote ‘Toward Hercules you ought to turn/And gaze at his worthiness.’ By such a divi- sion between ostensible narrative and moralizing justification, Hercules could be seen by women, children and philosophizing men as a proper, decorous subject. The images themselves, however, show that Hercules’s battle against lust – personified in such figures as Omphale, Antaeus or Voluptas to one side of the Choice – was not only a subject for moralizing and political allegory but also a narrative that could excite the erotic fantasy of artists and viewers. Whether in the political context of courts or cities, Hercules during the Renaissance ostensibly performed masculine control of the passions through the exercise of rational might and moral courage, yet at the same time the visual imagination embodied the struggle in sombre, sensual and witty ways. Bronze statuettes of Hercules made for display in palace interiors can only refer obliquely to civic or grand-scale public virtue and in these objects the tactile possibilities of sensually polished bronze, which also warms to the touch, would increase any apprehension of the subject as sensual. Prints were openly shown or privately enjoyed, welcoming close and repeated inspection as one followed every somatic detail marvellously wrought in the new technology of figurative printing. Women and men saw images of Hercules in a variety of circumstances and with a range of responses. It is clear that the possible understandings of the complex figure of Hercules included high-minded asexuality, recondite moralizing, political allegory, gendered contrast, homoerotic engagement and vernacular amusement. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 655& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 Notes 1 Key literature on Hercules during the Renais- sance includes Erwin Panofsky, Hercules am Scheidewege und andere antike Bildstoffe in der neueren Kunst, Leipzig, 1930; Leopold D. Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthis- torischen Instituts in Florenz, 16, 1972, 119–42; G. Karl Galinsky, The Hercules theme: Adaptations of the hero in literature from Homer to the Twentieth century, Oxford, 1972, chap. 9; Stephen Orgel, ‘The example of Hercules’ in Walther Killy, ed., Mythographie der fr.uhen Neuzeit: Ihre Anwendung in den K.unsten, Wiesbaden, 1984, 25–47. A recent overview, chiefly of the sixteenth century, is available in Malcolm Bull, The mirror of the gods, Oxford, 2005, 86–140. On the nude Hercules– Fortitude carved c. 1395 for the Florentine Cathedral’s Porta della Mandorla, see Mary Bergstein, The sculpture of Nanni di Banco, Prin- ceton, 2000, 26–30, 82–7, which attributes the precocious work to Nanni. 2 Cesare Ripa, Iconologia, ed. Piero Buscaroli, Vicenza, 2000, 473–4. 3 Yvonne Tasker, Spectacular bodies. Gender, genre and the action cinema, London, 1993, 9. A gender analysis of Rubens’s allegorical mode in relation to his visualization of Hercules’s masculinity, pictured as either virtuous or indulgent (being intoxicated), is conducted in Lisa Rosenthal, ‘Manhood and statehood: Rubens’s construction of heroic virtue’, Oxford Art Journal, 16: 1, 1993, 92–111. 4 Norman Austin, Meaning and being in myth, University Park, PA, 1990, 110. 5 On ‘the essential ambivalence’ of Hercules in ancient Greece, see Nicole Loraux, ‘Herakles: The super-male and the feminine’, in David M. Halperin, John J. Winkler and Froma Zeitlin, eds, Before sexuality: The construction of erotic experience in the ancient Greek world, Princeton, 1990, 21–52. 6 The interdependence of gender construction is particularly demonstrated in his choice at the crossroads between two feminine allegories (Virtue and Vice), and when his effeminate servitude to Omphale results in a mockery that works to reinforce normative gender roles. 7 Some paintings on wedding chests or wall panels represented Hercules: see, for example, Paul Schubring, Cassoni, Leipzig, 1923, nos 33 and 339 (symbolizing Fortitude), 335–7, 379, 582 (in the Triumph of fame), 820 and passim; John Pope- Hennessy and Keith Christiansen, Secular painting in 15th-century Tuscany, New York, 1980, 14–15. The labours appear on ceramic ware. For three plates showing Hercules and Antaeus, see Jörg Rasmussen, The Robert Lehman Collection. X: Italian majolica, Princeton, 1989, no. 32; Alain Gruber, ed., The History of Decorative Arts. The Renaissance and Mannerism in Europe, New York, 1994, 281 (the Victoria and Albert Museum); and for a plate in Washington, see below. Statuettes were intimate, domestic objects, but not necessarily ones readily available to all women in the household. Other, fixed decoration in a palace placed Hercules on permanent display, however. In 1501 Giuliano da Sangallo executed mantelpiece figures of Hercules and Samson for the Palazzo Gondi: Paola Barocchi, ed., Il giardino di San Marco. Maestri e compagni del giovane Michelangelo, Milan, 1992, 45–7 no. 8. For a damaged, late fifteenth-century fresco of the standing Hercules in the Palazzo Bardi-Serzelli of Florence, see Barocchi, 26, 28, 32 n. 85, which also notes ‘2 Hercoli dipinti’ in the inventory of Francesco di Angelo Gaddi, and the purchase in 1472 by Lorenzo Morelli of an ‘ercholetto di gesso’. A relief of Hercules and Cacus (c. 1500) remains in the Palazzo Guicciardini: Alison Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers: The arts of Florence and Rome, London, 2005, 531, no. 74. 8 The Hercules is associated with Medicean loyalty in Philip Jacks and William Caferro, The Spinelli of Florence: Fortunes of a Renaissance merchant family, University Park PA, 2001, 134, 137–40, 271, and only the Cupid is understood to relate to the betrothals. The sgraffito work, a new technique at the time, is dated imprecisely (112–34), and perhaps it was commissioned after the engage- ments, in the early 1460s, closer to the period when the young ladies were old enough for the weddings to proceed (1464, 1466 and 1469, for which see 245–7). Furthermore, the incised picture does not resemble records of the Medici painting (137–8). Elizabeth Cropper, Pontormo: ‘Portrait of a halberdier’, Los Angeles, 1997, 72–3 gives the salutary warning that ‘not every image of Hercules around 1530 is associable with the Medici’ and that not all have political messages. The same could be said for the fifteenth century. Cogent doubts have been raised about Lorenzo de’ Medici’s ownership of Pollaiuolo’s statuette of Hercules and Antaeus: Alison Wright, ‘The myth of Hercules’ in Gian Carlo Garfagnini, ed., Lorenzo il Magnifico e il suo mondo: Convegno internazionale di studi (Firenze, 9–13 giugno 1992), Florence, 1994, 331–2; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 334–40. 9 Meg Licht, ‘Elysium: A prelude to Renaissance theater’, Renaissance Quarterly, 49, 1996, 6, 7, 18– 19, 26. 10 The description is by Sir Thomas Smyth, in a letter from Paris to Burghley of 18 June 1572: K. M. Lea, Italian popular comedy, vol. 2, New York, 1962, 348. For other cases of the ‘Forze d’Ercole’ being performed, at least as early as 1528, see 406–7. 11 For hat badges see Cropper, Pontormo: ‘Portrait of a halberdier’, 68–75. For the Triumphs of Hercules in a tapestry of c. 1517–20, see Thomas P. Camp- bell, et al., eds, Tapestry in the Renaissance: Art and magnificence, London, 2002, no. 26. Francesco di Giorgio’s illuminated roundels are discussed in Luke Syson et al., Renaissance Siena: Art for a City, London, 2007, 180–1, with earlier bibliography. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 656 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 12 For a selection of bronze statuettes of the standing Hercules, see Wendy Stedman Sheard, Antiquity in the Renaissance, Northampton, MA, 1978, nos 32, 34; Sybille Ebert-Schifferer, ed., Natur und Antike in der Renaissance, Frankfurt am Main, 1985, nos. 89–93, 97–8, 101–102, 320, 323; Manfred Leithe-Jasper, Renaissance master bronzes from the collection of the Kunsthistorisches Museum Vienna, New York, 1986, nos. 11, 36; James David Draper, Bertoldo di Giovanni. Sculptor of the Medici household. Critical reappraisal and catalogue raisonné, London, 1992, figs. 24–6, 36, 131, 136; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 334–5. On Piero della Francesca’s fresco of a standing Hercules, taken from his family’s house in Borgo San Sepolcro and now in the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston, see Creighton Gilbert, ‘The Hercules in Piero’s house’, Artibus et Historiae, 23, 2002, 107–116. 13 Jeremy Warren, ‘Bronzes in the Wernher Collec- tion’, Apollo 155, no. 483 (May 2002), 25–7. 14 Statius, Silvae, trans. D. R. Shackleton Bailey, Cambridge, MA, 2003, 283 (4.6.32: ‘castae genius tutelaque mensae’). 15 Erwin Panofsky, Renaissance and renascences in western art, Stockholm, 1965, 155 (my emphasis), also 68, 96, 147, 150 n. 4, 176. 16 In the case of Dominique Fernandez, A hidden love. Art and homosexuality, Munich, 2002, 129–34, it is stated with refreshing, if anachronistic, certainty that Hercules was ‘bisexual’. Almost in passing, the historian John Hale was able to avoid convention and observe that Landino’s Neoplatonism ‘hardly explains the gusto’ with which Hercules is represented in close union with Antaeus, suggesting there might be ‘an added jolt from the homo-erotic element in Renaissance life and culture’: J. R. Hale, Artists and warfare in the Renaissance, London, 1990, 157. Bull, The mirror of the gods, 106, noted in passing that ‘there is often something weirdly sexual about the confrontation.’ Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 334 observed that ‘the frequently sensual rendering’ of Hercules in bronze statu- ettes ‘could even lend Hercules an implicitly erotic charge, though this aspect of his potency is not registered – nor was it likely to be – in contemporary sources.’ 17 Antonio Averlino detto il Filarete, Trattato di Architettura, eds Anna Maria Finoli and Liliana Grassi, Milan, 1972, vol. 2, 660: ‘ardito e robusto . . . Ben sai che quando e’ sostiene il cielo per aiutare Attalante, e quando ancora e’ tenne sul petto Anteo, che non paresse che durasse fatica non sarebbe atta figura, né apropriata a lui’; translated in Filarete, Treatise on architecture, ed. and trans. John Spencer, London, 1965, 307. Similarly, Bruni observed that ‘Herculem magni labores celebratiorem fecere, quam si numquam tam periculose laborasset’: Leonardo Bruni Aretino, Humanistisch-Philosophische Schriften, ed. Hans Baron, Berlin, 1928, 148; ‘the labours of Hercules made him more famous than he would have been had he never had to face such dangers’: Gordon Griffiths, James Hankins and David Thompson, eds, The humanism of Leonardo Bruni, Binghamton, 1987, 196. 18 For Hercules and especially his labours, see Apollodorus, Biblioteca 2.4.8–7.8; James Hall, Dictionary of subjects and symbols in art, revised edn, New York, 1979, 147–53; Dieter Blume, ‘Herkules oder die Ambivalenz des Heros’ in Ebert-Schifferer, Natur und Antike in der Renais- sance, 131–9; Phyllis Pray Bober and Ruth Rubin- stein, Renaissance artists and antique sculpture, London, 1986, 163–75; Jane Davidson Reid, The Oxford guide to classical mythology in the arts, 1300– 1990s, Oxford, 1993, vol. 1, 515–61; H. David Brumble, Classical myths and legends in the Middle Ages and Renaissance: A dictionary of allegorical meanings, London, 1998, 154–66. His encounter with Antaeus is not one of the proper, canonical labours, but appears, for instance, in Apollo- dorus, Biblioteca 2.5.11; Diodorus Siculus, Biblio- teca 4.17.4–5; Philostratus, Imagines 2.21; Lucan, Civil war 4.589–655; Ovid, Metamorphoses, 9.184; Pindar, Isthmian odes 4.52–55; the Mythographers (Scriptores rerum mythicarum Latini tres, ed. George Heinrich Bode, Cellis, 1834, vol. 1, 19, 131, 247); see Brumble, 26–7 and Reid, 533–5. 19 Giovanni Boccaccio, Famous women, ed. and trans. Virginia Brown, Cambridge, MA, 2001, 94–5, with parallel Latin text: ‘Vigilandum igitur est et robore plurimo nobis armanda sunt corda; . . . laboribus assiduis est premenda lascivia.’ 20 Coluccio Salutati, De laboribus Herculis, ed. B. L. Ullman, Zurich, 1951, vol. 2, 585. 21 Giovanni Boccaccio, Genealogie doerum gentiliium libri, ed. Vincenzo Romano, Bari, 1951, vol. 2, 633 (13.1, finished in 1373); Salutati, De laboribus Herculis, vol. 2, 591. 22 Salutati, De laboribus Herculis, vol. 2, 634: ‘ad arduum illum virtutum ascensum, si non cedere sed pugnare’. 23 Lucian, I dialoghi piacevoli, le vere narrationi, le facete epistole di Luciano philosopho, Venice, 1551, 171 verso (‘sta inclinato alla libidine’). Taken to be by Lucian, the text was first published in Greek in Florence in 1496, first published in a Latin translation in Venice in 1494, and printed in an Italian translation in Venice in 1525, several times reissued thereafter. 24 Antonii Panhormitae, Hermaphroditus, ed. Dona- tella Coppini, vol. 1, Rome, 1990, 1.7.13: ‘gnovit Hylas, patrio percisus ab Hercule busto’. 25 Antonia Tissoni Benvenuti, L’Orfeo del Poliziano, Padua, 1986, 163, 182 (Orfeo 289–90): ‘a questo santo amore Ercole cede/che vinse il mondo [or: i monstri] e dal bello Hyla è vinto.’ In using the same verb, vincere, for both Hercules’s victories and the amorous conquest of him by his beau- tiful young assistant, Poliziano’s verse implies that Hercules’s worldwide battles with monstri like Antaeus were similarly sensual. Poliziano’s strategy of inversion with ‘santo amore’ was later adopted by Benvenuto Cellini, whose response H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 657& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 upon being cursed as a sodomite was to counter: ‘I wish to God I did know how to indulge in such a noble practice (nobile arte): after all, we read that Jove enjoyed it with Ganymede in paradise, and here on earth it is the practice of the greatest emperors and the greatest kings of the world. I’m an insignificant, humble man, I haven’t the means or the knowledge to meddle in such a marvellous matter (una cosi mirabil cosa)’: Autobiography, trans. George Bull, Harmondsworth, 1956, 338 (2.71). 26 Theocritus, Idyll 13, in the Loeb volume The Greek bucolic poets, trans. J. M. Edmonds, revised edn, London, 1928, 156–63. Other versions of the tale do not address Hercules’s love so evocatively, though his furious search also features in Apol- lonius Rhodius, Argonautica, 1.1261–72. On the other hand, Martial satirically noted that Hercules made Hylas bend over like a bow: 11.43.5. On Hylas see also Brumble, Classical myths and legends, 174; Reid, The Oxford guide to classical mythology, vol. 1, 618–20. His capture by the nymphs appears on domestic paintings: Schubring, Cassoni, nos 296, 411; Pope-Hennessy and Christiansen, Secular painting, fig. 24. At least twice, Hercules and Hylas stand out on the Argo, awaiting the landing on Mysia: Schubring, nos 616, 669. In the case of a panel in Padua’s Museo Civico, attributed to Lorenzo Costa, Hercules looks back towards young, svelte Hylas with a longing look: Paola Tosetti Grandi, entry in Alessandro Ballarin and Davide Banzato, eds, Da Bellini a Tintoretto. Dipinti dei Musei Civici di Padova dalla metà del Quattrocento ai primi del Seicento, Rome, 1991, no. 11. 27 Jacopo Sannazaro, Opera latina scripta ex secundis curis Jani Broukhusii, Amsterdam, 1728, 236, 241 (2.20, 2.34). Exclusion from all previous editions is noted in William J. Kennedy, Jacopo Sannazaro and the uses of pastoral, London, 1983, 62, 66. 28 Michael Rocke, Forbidden Friendships. Homo- sexuality and Male Culture in Renaissance Florence, Oxford, 1996, 94–105, 113–19 (quoted from 95, 97, 116). For age differences in Venice, see Guido Ruggiero, The Boundaries of Eros: Sex Crime and Sexuality in Renaissance Venice, Oxford, 1985, 120 at n. 34, 121–5, 139–40 and passim. 29 Panofsky, Hercules, 84; E. Tietze-Conrat, ‘Notes on ‘‘Hercules at the crossroads’’’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 14 (1951), 308– 309 and pl. 52 b; Friedrich PolleroX, ‘From the exemplum virtutis to the apotheosis: Hercules as an identification figure in portraiture: An example of the adoption of classical forms of representation’ in Allen Ellenius, ed., Iconography, propaganda, and legitimation, Oxford, 1998, 40–3, and 37–62 for Hercules as a model for princes more widely, from the fifteenth to the eight- eenth centuries. 30 For example, James M. Saslow, Ganymede in the Renaissance: Homosexuality in Art and Society, New Haven, 1986; Christopher Fulton, ‘The Boy Stripped Bare by His Elders: Art and Adolescence in Renaissance Florence’, Art Journal, 56, 1997, 31–40; Adrian W.B. Randolph, ‘Homosocial Desire and Donatello’s Bronze David’ in his Engaging Symbols: Gender, Politics, and Public Art in Fifteenth-Century Florence, New Haven, 2002, 139– 92. 31 On these statuettes, see Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 131; Leopold D. Ettlinger, Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo, London, 1978, 147 nos 16–17; Michael Knuth’s entry in Volker Krahn, ed., Von allen Seiten schön: Bronzen der Renaissance und des Barock, Berlin, 1995, 154–6; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 340–9, 528 nos 66–7. 32 Richard Dyer, The Matter of Images: Essays on representations, 2 nd edn, London, 2002, 38. See also Loraux, ‘Herakles’, and, on the performance of masculine heroics, Patricia Simons, ‘Separ- ating the Men from the Boys: Masculinities in Early Quattrocento Florence and Donatello’s Saint George’, in F. W. Kent and Charles Zika, eds, Rituals, Images and Words: Varieties of Cultural Expression in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, Turnhout, 2005, 147–76. 33 They develop the theme established by Fulgen- tius in the sixth century (Fulgentius the mytho- grapher, 2.4): ‘He was born of the earth because lust is conceived of the flesh.’ The allegorical position was reiterated in the twelfth century by the Third Vatican Mythographer (Scriptores rerum mythicarum, 13.2) and then Boccaccio in the fourteenth (Genealogia Deorum 1.13). See also Brumble, Classical myths and legends, 26; Ursula Hoff, ‘The sources of ‘‘Hercules and Antaeus’’ by Rubens’, in Franz Philipp and June Stewart, eds, In honour of Daryl Lindsay. Essays and studies, Melbourne, 1964, 68, 74 n. 14; Galinsky, The Hercules Theme, 190. Enrique de Villena’s Los doze trabajos de Hércules (1417) similarly regarded Antaeus as ‘la carne’, nourished in his carnality by contact with the earth: Obras completas, vol. 1, Madrid, 1994, 68–70. 34 For a selection of bronze statuettes of Hercules and Antaeus, see Ebert-Schifferer, Natur und Antike in der Renaissance, nos. 21–2, 99–100, 308; Krahn, ed., Von allen Seiten schön, 173–5, 378–9, nos 18 (Antico), 119 (Giambologna). 35 On the seal, first recorded in 1277, see Ullman, The humanism of Coluccio Salutati, 24; Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 120–2 (‘Herculea clava domat Florencia prava’); Marlis von Hessert, Zum Bedeutungswandel der Herkules-Figur in Florenz von den Anf.angen der Republik bis zum Prinzipat Cosimos I, Cologne, 1991, 7–17, 67–9. The translation is from Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 82. 36 For the seal by Domenico di Polo, with a mount commissioned by Cosimo I, who succeeded Alessandro as Duke after the assassination in 1537, see Marco Collareta, ‘Il sigillo con l’Ercole del Museo degli Argenti’, Rivista d’arte, 38 (1986), 291–3; Alessandro Cecchi’s entry in Annamaria Giusti et al., Masters of Florence, Memphis, 2004, 142. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 658 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 37 Dante, Inferno, 25.25–33; Marvin Trachtenberg, The Campanile of Florence Cathedral. ‘Giotto’s tower’, New York, 1971, 86, 94–5; Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 123; Anita Fiderer Moskowitz, The sculpture of Andrea and Nino Pisano, Cambridge, 1986, 32, 38, 127. 38 Maria Monica Donato, ‘Hercules and David in the early decoration of the Palazzo Vecchio: Manu- script evidence’, Journal of the Warburg and Cour- tauld Institutes, 54, 1991, 83–90 (‘. . . disieci ingrates urbes, sevosque tirannos/ . . . /Terrarum domitor quondam, nunc voce perenni/per cele- bror claros populos; virtutis imago nunc michi persimilis, talem Florentia sedem/exibuit . . .’). In 1409–10, and thinking of the civic seal, Goro Dati praised his city in analogous terms: ‘Ercole fu giogante, che andava spegnendo tutti i tiranni, e inique signorie, e cosı́ hanno fatto i Fiorentini’ (Donato, 87; Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 121; Nicolai Rubinstein, The Palazzo Vecchio 1298– 1532. Government, architecture, and imagery in the civic palace of the Florentine Republic, Oxford, 1995, 54 n. 84). Rubinstein is confident that the epigram can be dated 1406–17. That Hercules was sometimes thought of as a giogante may recall his even more gigantic opponent Antaeus. When drawing a parallel between David’s defeat of Goliath and Hercules’s victory over Antaeus, Dante associated two conquests of giants: Monarchia 2.9.11. 39 The carving of the Labours is attributed to Piero di Giovanni Tedesco by Bergstein, The sculpture of Nanni di Banco, 86. On the Porta, see also Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 124–8; von Hessert, Zum Bedeutungswandel der Herkules-Figur in Florenz, 26–44. 40 Panofsky, Renaissance and renascences, 150 n. 4; Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 126–7. Such is presumably also the case with the two reliefs carved by Antonio Federighi for the Pozzetto del Sabato Santo in Siena’s Cathedral a little before 1460, depicting Hercules conquering the Nemean Lion and battling with Nessus: see Alessandro Angelini, ‘Antonio Federighi e il mito di Ercole’, in Pio II e le arti. La riscoperta dell’antico da Federighi a Michelangelo, ed. A. Angelini, Siena, 2005, 105, 122. 41 Franco Sacchetti, Il libro delle rime, ed. Franca Brambilla Ageno, Florence, 1990, 284–90 (no. 197); Donato, ‘Hercules and David’, 87; Rubin- stein, The Palazzo Vecchio, 54. Before May 1371 Sacchetti also wrote a song specifically against the Visconti of Milan, in which ‘Hercole qui resurga/e vinca te sı́ come vinse Anteo’ (149.58– 9). Hercules remained meaningful in the civic arena; see n. 67 here for 1472. 42 Sacchetti, Il libro delle rime, 284–5, 290, lines 4–7, 145–6 (‘Hercole novo, libertà gioconda,/figlia di Roma e sovr’ogn’altra donna,/ . . . tu di fortezza se’ oggi colonna;/ . . . tu vuogli ch’ogni turba sia quieta’). 43 According to most accounts, Antaeus was Libyan and ‘black, dyed by exposure to the sun’ in Philostratus, Imagines 2: 21, trans. Arthur Fair- banks, London, 1931, 227. For Guidoccio Cozzar- elli’s Libyan Sibyl, see Jean Devisse and Michael Mollat, The Image of the Black in Western art. II. From the Early Christian era to the ‘Age of Discovery’, Part 2: Africans in the Christian ordinance of the world (Fourteenth to the Sixteenth century), trans. William Granger Ryan, Cambridge, MA, 1979, 222, fig. 232. 44 Salutati, De laboribus Herculis, vol. 1, 325 (3.27.16: ‘Sublato quidem a terra Antheo, hoc est subtracto potu et cibo, unde dantur alimenta libidini, proculdubio moritur Antheus deficiente nutrimento furori’), trans. in Michael A. Jacobsen, ‘A note on the iconography of Hercules and Antaeus in Quattrocento Florence’, Source, 1, Fall 1981, 16. Salutati’s chief source (322) is Fulgentius the mythographer, 2.4. Lucan, Civil war 4.593–4, 596–7, 646 on Tellus is also quoted (321, 325). 45 For example, he is ‘deprived of his mother’s aid’ and is ‘called the child of earth’: Landino, De vera nobilitate, 109 (‘. . . eo pactu materno auxilio destitutus . . . is est filius terrae’), as translated in Albert Rabil, Jr., ed., Knowledge, goodness, and power: The debate over nobility among Quattrocento Italian humanists, Binghamton, NY, 1991, 257; Pietro Andrea di Bassi, The Labors of Hercules, 68, 70. Machiavelli claimed the favole poetiche arose because Hercules defeated the enemy on foreign soil (Discorsi sopra la prima deca di Tito Livio 2.12), and his interest in military strategy led him to emphasize Hercules’s astuzia. 46 Salutati, De laboribus Herculis, vol. 1, 322–3: ‘Hec etenim corpus effeminans vires extinguit, visum hebetat, nervos solvit, digestivam ledit, agili- tatem aufert, et propter resolutionem spirituum ac semen quod emittitur nulla delectatio tanto damno per hominem procurator.’ Hercules realizing what his winning stratagem would be is highlighted in Lucan, Civil war 4.645–9, quoted by Salutati (321). 47 Lucan, Civil war 4.624 (‘pectore pectus’). Salutati, De laboribus Herculis, 325, cites Lucan’s ‘pressis intra mea pectora membris’ (4.648) (limbs crushed at my chest), and ‘iam pectora pigro stricta gelu’ (4.652–53), holding the dying Antaeus to his chest. 48 Marco Spallanzani and Giovanna Gaeta Bertelà, eds, Libro d’inventario dei beni di Lorenzo il Magni- fico, Florence, 1992, 26 (the inventory of 1492, describing each canvas as being approx. 3.5 m); Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori scul- tori ed architettori, ed. Gaetano Milanesi, Florence, 1906, vol. 3, 293–4 (hereafter Vasari-Milanesi); Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 128–9; Ettlinger, Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo, 164–5, no. 44; Wolfger A. Bulst, ‘Die sala grande des Palazzo Medici in Florenz: Rekonstruktion und Bedeu- tung’, in Andreas Beyer and Bruce Boucher, eds, Piero de’ Medici, ‘il Gottoso’ 1416–1469: Kunst im Dienste der Mediceer, Berlin, 1993, 89–127; Alison Wright, ‘Piero de’ Medici and the Pollaiuolo’ in H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 659& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 the same volume, 129–49; Wright, ‘The myth of Hercules’, 324–31; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 75–86, 535–6, no. 92. 49 For Cosimo I de’ Medici’s interest in Hercules, see Kurt W. Forster, ‘Metaphors of rule: Political ideology and history in the portraits of Cosimo I de’ Medici’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, 15, 1971, 78–83, 96; Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 139–41; von Hessert, Zum Bedeutungswandel der Herkules-Figur in Florenz, 73– 104; Annamaria Giusti in Cristina Acidini Luchinat et al., The Medici, Michelangelo, and the art of Late Renaissance Florence, London, 2002, no. 47 (the fountain sculpture of Hercules and Antaeus by Tribolo and Ammanati for the Medici villa at Castello); Deborah Parker, ‘The poetry of patronage: Bronzino and the Medici’, Renaissance Studies, 17, 2003, 233, 236–41. 50 Several works representing Hercules and Antaeus were commissioned by the two Medici dukes, from Castello’s fountain to a medal inscribed ‘The ultimate attempt of Herculean virtue’: Carl Brandon Strehlke’s entry in Strehlke et al., Pontormo, Bronzino, and the Medici, Phila- delphia, 2004, 134–5, no. 39. On the seal, see notes 35–6 above; on the snowmen, note 85 below. For the useful reminder that Hercules was long regarded as a model for monarchy, see Donato, ‘Hercules and David’, 88, note 26. Hercules was a political figure in Venice too, visible on façades and the tombs of Doges: see Patricia Fortini Brown, Venice and Antiquity, New Haven, 1996, 21–2, 113, 172 and passim. 51 Ettlinger, Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo, 26–8, 51, 141–2, no. 10; Wright, ‘The myth of Hercules’, 330–1; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 75, 86–7, 519, no. 42. 52 Mark Zucker, The Illustrated Bartsch 25 (commen- tary) formerly volume 13 (part 2): Early Italian Masters, New York, 1984, 567; Ettlinger, Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo, 27, 165, figs 22–23; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 75. Timothy Wilson, ‘Pollaiuolo’s lost Hercules and the Lion recorded on maiolica?’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 53, 1990, 299–301 discusses other possible records of the episodes with the Hydra and the Nemean Lion. Wright, ‘The myth of Hercules’, 338–9, figs. 11–12, treats two Flor- entine manuscripts of 1494 illustrating the exploit with Antaeus, one of which follows Pollaiuolo’s painting. 53 Spallanzani and Bertelà, Libro d’inventario, 26 (‘Erchole che schoppia Anteo’). Vasari-Milanesi vol. 3, 294 also uses ‘scoppia’. Notably, a delicate semi-transparent veil above the lion’s skin indi- cates that certain viewers would have been disturbed by the degree to which Hercules’s buttocks were exposed. That area of Hercules is more completely covered in the statuette. 54 Spallanzani and Bertelà, Libro d’inventario, 72 (‘Uno Erchole che schoppia Anteo, di bronzo tutto’, but valued at only two florins and of a small size); Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 130; Ettlinger, Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo, 27, 51–2, 147 no. 18; Wright, ‘The myth of Hercules’, 331–2; Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi, entry in Maria Grazia Vaccari, ed., Pollaiolo e Verrocchio? Due ritratti fior- entini del Quattrocento, Florence, 2001, 58–63; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 334–40, 527–8, no. 65. 55 Martin Kemp, ed., Leonardo on painting. An anthology of writings by Leonardo da Vinci with a selection of documents relating to his career as an artist, trans. M. Kemp and Margaret Walker, London, 1989, 135; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 339. The battle is twice mentioned by Leon Battista Alberti, ‘On painting’ and ‘On sculpture’, trans. Cecil Grayson, London, 1972, 51, 125, in the context of proportion and with regard to facial expression. 56 For illustrations of this view, rarely photo- graphed, see Ettlinger, Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo, fig. 82; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, figs 272–3. 57 To choose two books merely for their title, see Mark Breitenberg, Anxious Masculinity in Early Modern England, Cambridge, 1996; Abigail Solomon-Godeau, Male Trouble: A Crisis in Repre- sentation, London, 1997. 58 On the Crespi chronicle, now in Milan, and on the Orsini cycle, see Colvin, Florentine Picture Chronicle, 9; Bernhard Degenhart and Annegrit Schmitt, Corpus der italienischen Zeichnungen 1300– 1450, vols 1–2, Berlin, 1968, 592, and pl. 834 for the Hercules furens; Robert Louis Mode, ‘The Monte Giordano Famous Men cycle of Cardinal Giordano Orsini and the Uomini Famosi tradition in Fifteenth-Century Italian art’, PhD, University of Michigan, 1970, for this and other partial copies of the lost fresco cycle (for Hercules see 102–103, 106, pls XIb, XIc, XXIXa, the latter being the Cockerell page copied from the Crespi chronicle showing Hercules furens); Luisa Scalab- roni, ‘Masolino a Montegiordano: un ciclo perduto di ‘‘uomini illustri’’’, in Da Pisanello alla nascita dei Musei Capitolini. L’antico a Roma alla vigilia del Rinascimento, Rome, 1988, 63–6. The scene with Hercules and Antaeus is reproduced in Ettlinger, Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo, fig. 21. Also in Rome, Filarete’s bronze doors for St Peter’s, completed in 1445, included a face-to- face battle between Hercules and Antaeus: Helen Roeder, ‘The borders of Filarete’s bronze doors to St. Peter’s’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 10, 1947, 151, pl. 39 b. As indicated by the useful summary in Wright, ‘Piero de’ Medici and the Pollaiuolo’, 141, Hercules often appeared in Famous Men cycles. 59 See Colvin, Florentine Picture Chronicle (facsimile); Degenhart and Schmitt, Corpus der italienischen Zeichnungen, 573–621 nos 566–620, and vols 1–4, pls 385–439a (Hercules and Antaeus is no. 585); Lucy Whitaker, ‘Maso Finiguerra, Baccio Baldini and The Florentine Picture Chronicle’, in Elizabeth Cropper, ed., Florentine drawing at the time of Lorenzo the Magnificent. Papers from a colloquium held at the Villa Spelman, Florence, 1992, Bologna, H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 660 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 1994, 181–96; Albert Jan Elen, Italian Late-Medieval and Renaissance drawing-books from Giovanni de’ Grassi to Palma Giovane: a codicological approach, Leiden, 1995, 98–9, 242–7, with further biblio- graphy. 60 Whitaker, ‘Maso Finiguerra, Baccio Baldini and The Florentine Picture Chronicle’, 186 believes that the use of pattern books ‘suggests that other figures were copied from similar sources’. Other than Colvin, Florentine Picture Chronicle, pl. 35 and Jacobsen, ‘A note on the iconography’, 18, the Antaeus scene is rarely discussed or reproduced, and its erotic element has not attracted comment. 61 Also moving away from an earlier tradition of face-to-face encounter, Michelangelo’s drawings of the mightier figure, Jupiter (in the form of an imperial eagle), situated behind his patiens idol young Ganymede used a similar composition to convey erotic intimacy. For the drawings, and the popularity of the design, recalled in numerous prints, paintings, cameos and other objects, see Saslow, Ganymede, chap. 1; Marcella Marongiu, ed., Il mito di Ganimede prima e dopo Michelangelo, Florence, 2002, 66–107. Certain aspects of the Florentine drawing do occur in a Spanish illustration published in Zamora in 1483 (and reissued from Burgos in 1499), heading chap. 9 of Enrique de Villena’s Los doze trabajos de Hércules. It features a cave on the right and has Hercules and Antaeus locked in an embrace that appears to be sexual. The giant lies on top of Hercules, his legs between those of the hero and his buttocks exposed, as though he is engaged in sexual intercourse with a female partner. The 1499 edition contains new images, and keeps a similar arrangement for the Antaeus scene, although the sexual implications are much reduced, perhaps deliberately, because the composition has been turned 90 degrees as it were and now Hercules stands, barely, while he struggles intimately with the giant. See de Villena, Obras completas, 66, 69, for both illustra- tions. On the illustration of 1483, Bull, The mirror of the gods, 106, notes that ‘Antaeus’s tongue sticks out provocatively’, though this indicates that he is being strangled. 62 Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, 12–13, 51–2, 69, 72, 98, 105–111, 214–15. 63 Cristoforo Landino, De vera nobilitate, ed. Maria Teresa Liaci, Florence, 1970, 107–110 (for the terminus post quem of 1487 see 16–17); Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 136; Jacobsen, ‘A note on the iconography’, 17. Fulgentius the mythographer, 2.4 has, for instance, ‘when virtue bears aloft the whole mind and denies it the sight of the flesh, it at once emerges victorious.’ 64 Landino, De vera nobilitate, 107 (‘est profecto invictissimus omnium mortalium dux Hercules imitandus’); translated in Rabil, Jr., Knowledge, goodness, and power, 256. 65 Landino, De vera nobilitate, 109 (‘Anteum eum appetitum dicimus, qui rationi adversatur. . . . semper adversatur rationi appetites irrationalis; is est filius terrae, quia illum in nobis corpus resque terrenae et corruptibiles excitant. Quapropter non potest Hercules, idest vir sapiens, illum extinguere, si terrae haereat, idest dum terrena caducaque cupimus; sed si in altum et ad divina elevetur, tunc illarum amore raptis animis nostris funditus perit omnis terrenarum rerum libido’); translated in Rabil, Jr., Knowledge, goodness, and power, 257. Landino is echoing Salutati, De laboribus Herculis, 322 (3.27.8). 66 Landino, De vera nobilitate, 110 (‘. . . immortalisque effectus ad summam veramque nobilitatem perducitur quam quidem nullus omnino hominum, nisi omnium civilium heroicar- umque virtutum via . . .’); translated in Rabil, Jr., Knowledge, goodness, and power, 258. 67 Cristoforo Landino, Disputationes Camaldulenses, ed. Peter Lohe, Florence, 1980, 32: ‘At non sibi sapiens, verum sua sapientia omnibus paene mortalibus profuit. Nam maximam orbis partem peragrans horrendas feras sustulit, perniciosa ac inmania monstra perdomuit, crudelissimos tyrannos coercuit, plurimis populis ac natio- nibus ius libertatemque restituit’. I use the translation in Wright, ‘The myth of Hercules’, 328 (who notes the relationship between the labours described and the Medici paintings). ‘The defeat of tyrants, the freeing of subject nations, the restitution of liberty – all credited to Hercules – are characteristic topoi of Florentine republicanism’: Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 137. Landino’s treatise (dated between April and December of 1472 by Lohe, xxxii) is dedicated to Federigo da Montefeltro, the mercenary captain whose suppression of revolt in Volterra in mid- June 1472 earned the gratitude of the Florentine Signoria. By 24 July 1472 Antonio Pollaiuolo was at work on a silver helmet as a gift for Federigo from the Signoria, decorated with the image of Hercules trampling the Volterran griffin: Ettlinger, Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo, 168; Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 295–6, 344, 534, no. 88. Landino’s specific passage about Hercules occurs immediately after Federigo had been praised for his virtue, literary study and military skill. Whichever came first, text or helmet, the connection between Federico and Hercules was in the air. 68 Marsilio Ficino, Opera omnia, Turin, 1959, vol. 1, part 2, 775 (‘Ratio rursus in nobis Herecules nominatur. Hic occidit Anteum, id est, immania quaedam simulacra phantasiae. Quando vide- licet a terra attollit in altum, hoc est, quando a sensibus & corporali imaginatione se moverit. Hic quoquem leonem domat, id est, iracundiam cohibet. Hic hydram obtruncat . . . id est, concu- piscendi uim amputat’); The Letters of Marsilio Ficino, trans. Members of the Language Depart- ment of the School of Economic Science, London, 1981, vol. 3, 61; Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 137; Wright, ‘The myth of Hercules’, 329. On Ficino’s interpretation of Hercules, see Michael J. H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 661& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 Allen, ‘Homo ad zodiacum: Marsilio Ficino and the Boethian Hercules’ in Dennis J. Dutschke et al., eds, Forma e parola: Studi in memoria di Fredi Chiappelli, Rome, 1992, 205–221. 69 John Pope-Hennessy, Catalogue of Italian sculpture in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 1964, vol. 1, 323–4, vol. 3, fig. 349. Around 1524, Rosso stressed the Hydra’s femininity by providing a frontal view of her genitals: Eugene A. Carroll, Rosso Fiorentino. Drawings, prints, and decorative arts, Washington DC, 1987, no. 11. Chaotic and endlessly fertile, sprouting two new heads whenever one was cut off, the Hydra fascinated Ficino, whose letter of 1477 devoted most space to this ‘insatiable whirlpool’ of passion (‘insa- tiabili voragine’): Ficino, Opera omnia, 775. 70 Ficino, Opera omnia, 748 (‘Equidem si mihi daretur optio, Hercules esse mallem quam Sardanapalus. Quot alter monstra praemebat, tot alter monstris opprimebatur, alter superatis feris Deus evasit, alter superatus a feris, factus est fera deterior atque miserior’); Marsilio Ficino, Letters, trans. Members of the Language Depart- ment of the School of Economic Science, London, 1978, vol. 2, 77. Juvenal similarly opposed Hercules and Sardanapalus: Satires 10: 3601– 3662. 71 For example, Aristotle, Generation of animals 728a17–22, 729a10–11, 729b10–20, 737a25–30, 738b20–30; Baldesar Castiglione, The book of the courtier. The Singleton translation, ed. Daniel Javitch, London, 2002, 156–8 (3.11–12, 15). 72 Salutati, De laboribus Herculis, 193 (3.9.5: ‘gloria litis’); Galinsky, The Herakles theme, 197. 73 For Ficino’s comment in a dedication letter addressed to Lorenzo de’ Medici in 1491, see Michael J. B. Allen, ed. and trans., Marsilio Ficino: The Philebus Commentary, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975, 482–3. 74 Ronald Lightbown, Mantegna, Oxford, 1986, 112. 75 The earlier statuette is in the Victoria and Albert Museum, the later one in Vienna’s Kunsthistor- isches Museum. On the former, see Anthony Radcliffe’s entry in David Chambers and Jane Martineau, eds, Splendours of the Gonzaga, London, 1981, no. 55. For the latter, see Ebert-Schifferer, Natur und Antike in der Renaissance, no. 22; Leithe- Jasper, Renaissance master bronzes from the collection of the Kunsthistorisches Museum Vienna, no. 9; Manfred Leithe-Jasper’s entry in Krahn, ed., Von allen Seiten schön, 173–5, no. 18. The antique marble fragment, installed in the Belvedere around 1503, is now restored and in the Palazzo Pitti: Francis Haskell and Nicholas Penny, Taste and the antique. The lure of classical sculpture 1500– 1900, London, 1982, no. 47; Bober and Rubinstein, Renaissance artists and antique sculpture, no. 137. 76 For Mantegna’s painting, and prints associated with his designs, see Amalia Mezzetti, ‘Un ‘‘Ercole e Anteo’’ del Mantegna’, Bollettino d’arte, 43, 1958, 232–44; Jay A. Levenson, Konrad Ober- huber and Jacquelyn L. Sheehan, Early Italian engravings from the National Gallery of Art, Washington DC, 1973, 218–21, 238–9; Zucker, The Illustrated Bartsch 25 (commentary), 118–22; Light- bown, Mantegna, 101, 112, 416, 483, no. 183, 492, no. 219; Jane Martineau, ed., Andrea Mantegna, London, 1992, 297–318 (listing six compositions of Hercules and Antaeus by, or after, Mantegna). 77 See Tina Matarrese, ‘Il mito di Ercole a Ferrara nel Quattrocento tra letteratura e arti figurative’, in Patrizia Castelli, ed., L’ideale classico a Ferrara e in Italia nel Rinascimento, Florence, 1998, 191–202; Paul F. Grendler, Schooling in Renaissance Italy: Literacy and Learning, 1300–1600, Baltimore, 1989, 289–99. 78 See Mark Zucker, ed., The Illustrated Bartsch 24 formerly volume 13 (Part 1). Early Italian Masters, New York, 1980, 76–7; Mark Zucker, ed., The Illu- strated Bartsch 25, formerly volume 13 (Part 2). Early Italian Masters, New York, 1980, 9, 50–1, 183–6, 296, 302–303; Zucker, The Illustrated Bartsch 25 (commentary), 161–2 (Nicoletto da Modena), 338– 40 (Giovanni Antonio da Brescia), 574. Water- mark evidence indicates that at least three plates were taken to France: Martineau, Andrea Mantegna, 313, 473–5. Hercules lifting Antaeus is the subject of two North Italian drawings of the 1460s or 1470s: Lillian Armstrong, ‘A North Italian Drawing of Hercules and Antaeus in a German Incunable: Marco Zoppo (?) and Draw- ings in Renaissance Books’, in Susan L’Engle and Gerald B. Guest, eds, Tributes to Jonathan J.G. Alexander: The Making and Meaning of Illuminated Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts, Art and Architecture, London, 2006, 5–20. For a drawing attributed to Signorelli and dated c. 1490, see A. W. Popham and J. Wilde, The Italian drawings of the XV and XVI centuries in the collection of His Majesty the King at Windsor Castle, London, 1949, no. 29 and pl. 12. For plaquettes of Hercules and Antaeus, one by Moderno c. 1488, see Francecso Rossi, ed., Placchette e rilievi di bronzo nell’età del Mantegna, Milan, 2006, 51–2, no. 27, 64, no. 44. Not considered here, although they attest further to the theme’s popularity, are prints of Hercules and Antaeus associated with Marcan- tonio Raimondi and his circle, dated to the early sixteenth century and produced in Bologna or Rome. 79 Hans Baldung Grien’s drawing of c. 1530 shows the pair grappling as virtual equals in size, meeting frontally at the waist and hence having their genitals in direct contact: James H. Marrow and Alan Shestack, Hans Baldung Grien: Prints and drawings, Washington DC, 1981, no. 78. Joseph Leo Koerner, The moment of self-portraiture in German Renaissance art, Chicago, 1993, 441, 443, points out that Hercules’s face appears to be a self-portrait, as it is in a subsequent painting, and that overpainting has obfuscated the degree to which the conquest is explicitly aimed at Antaeus’s genitals. Renaissance artists were adept at representing genitals by way of visual puns. In the case of a drawing by Jacopo da Bologna, which pictures the front-to-front encounter, Hercules’s genitals H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 662 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 are seemingly restrained by the lion’s skin wrapped around his waist, but the visible result is that the lion’s paw hanging at the end of the cloak somewhat resembles a tumescent penis: Faietti and Oberhuber, Bologna e l’umanesimo 1490–1510, 232 and fig. 12. The hanging lion’s paw, in a similar location in Pollaiuolo’s painting of Hercules and the Hydra, takes on a semblance to manly testicles (Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, pl. 56), even more exaggerated in an engraving after Pollaiuolo’s design, some- times attributed to Baccio Baldini (Mark J. Zucker, The Illustrated Bartsch 24 commentary part 2. Early Italian Masters, New York, 1994, 181–2). 80 On the inscription, see Suzanne Boorsch, in Martineau, Andrea Mantegna, no. 86. Although the phrase may initially have praised Ercole I d’Este, it recurs on many variants and therefore probably came to have more generic significance, adding to the pseudo-classical air of the image. 81 Antonio Cornazzano, Vita di Bartolomeo Colleoni, trans. and ed. Giuliana Crevatin, Rome, 1990, 8– 9; Joanne G. Bernstein, ‘Bartolommeo Colleoni as Hercules Invictus: Guidizani’s medal reinter- preted’, in Marco Rossi and Alessandro Rovetta, eds, Studi di storia dell’arte in onore di Maria Luisa Gatti Perer, Milano, 1999, 119–29. 82 Pietro Aretino, Ragionamento. Dialogo, ed. Paolo Procaccioli, Milan, 1984, 28. He is also dispara- ging about ‘Bartolomeo Coglioni’ in the Cortigiana, a comedy he wrote in Rome in 1524– 25, and in a letter of 25 June 1537: Cortigiana. Opera nova. Pronostico. Il testamento dell’elefante. Farza, ed. Angelo Romano, Milan, 1989, 126 (4.1); Lettere, ed. Paolo Procaccioli, vol. 1, Rome, 1997, 230. The ‘K of the alphabet who was a man of arms’ is probably another reference: Il marescaclo 3.11. On Colleoni and the monument, see Andrew Butterfield, The sculptures of Andrea del Verrocchio, London, 1997, 158–83, 232–6. 83 Gianmario Petrò, ‘Stemmi colleoneschi a Bergamo e nel territorio. Per una Geografia delle presenze’ in Lelio Pagani, ed., Bartolomeo Colleoni e il territorio bergamasco. Problemi e prospettive, Bergamo, 2000, 13–35. I am grateful to Timothy McCall for bringing this article to my attention. 84 Saslow, Ganymede, 32 and n. 37, which notes that in 1561 Michelangelo thanked Leone Leoni for his portrait medal of Michelangelo by giving him a wax statuette of Hercules and Antaeus. For the marble Hercules of c. 1492–94, later sent to Francis I, see Ascanio Condivi, The life of Michelangelo, trans Alice Sedgwick Wohl, ed. Hellmut Wohl, Oxford, 1976, 15, 126 n. 20; Vasari-Milanesi, vol. 7, 145, 341; Ettlinger, ‘Hercules Florentinus’, 119, 137–8; Wright, ‘The myth of Hercules’, 333–4; Janet Cox-Rearick, The collection of Francis I: Royal treasures, Antwerp, 1995, no. IX–5. Michelangelo’s treatment of the standing Hercules theme is discussed in Paul Joannides, ‘Michelangelo and the Medici Garden’, in La Toscana al tempo di Lorenzo il Magnifico. Politica Economia Cultura Arte, Pisa, 1996, 23, 30–3. 85 For 1494, see Condivi, The Life of Michelangelo, 15; Vasari-Milanesi, vol. 7, 145, 341; Luca Landucci, Diario fiorentino dal 1450 al 1516, rpt. Florence, 1969, 66–7. On the Florentine tradition of Herculean snowmen, see Alison Brown, ‘City and citizen: Changing perceptions in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth centuries’ in Anthony Molho et al., eds, City-States in classical antiquity and Medieval Italy, Ann Arbor, 1991, 95 and n. 11, including Bartolommeo del Corazza’s report in January 1409. Pontormo’s visit to see a Hercules (‘a vedere uno Hercole’) in March 1556, not long after a noteworthy snowfall, was probably about such a spectacle: Jacopo da Pontormo, Diario, Florence, 1956, 69–70. 86 Virginia L. Bush, ‘Bandinelli’s Hercules and Cacus and Florentine traditions’ in Henry A. Millon, ed., Studies in Italian art and architecture 15 th through 18 th centuries, Cambridge, MA, 1980, 163– 89; Wright, ‘The myth of Hercules’, 336; Michael Hirst, ‘Michelangelo in Florence: ‘‘David’’ in 1503 and ‘‘Hercules’’ in 1506’, Burlington Magazine, 142, 2000, 487–92, esp. 492; Paul Joannides, ‘Two drawings related to Michelangelo’s Hercules and Antaeus’, Master Drawings, 41, 2003, 105–118. Around 1506–8, Leonardo da Vinci was also contemplating the production of a sculpture of Hercules: Carmen C. Bambach, ‘A Leonardo drawing for the Metropolitan Museum of Art: Studies for a statue of Hercules’, Apollo, 153, March 2001, 16–23. 87 For the drawing in the British Museum, dated around July 1525 by de Tolnay, see Charles de Tolnay, Corpus dei disegni di Michelangelo, Novara, 1976, vol. 2, no. 236 recto, with earlier biblio- graphy. For the drawing in the Ashmolean, dated to 1525–28, see de Tolnay, Corpus, no. 237 recto, with earlier bibliography; Jacobsen, ‘A note on the iconography’, 18 and fig. 3; Paul Joannides, The Drawings of Michelangelo and His Followers in the Ashmolean Museum, Cambridge, 2007, 166–74, no. 30 (dating both drawings to 1524–25). 88 Hoff, ‘The sources of ‘‘Hercules and Antaeus’’’, 70; the relationship to the Laocoön, and the pathos of Michelangelo’s sketch is also empha- sized in Cropper, Pontormo: ‘Portrait of a halber- dier’, 70–5 passim. 89 de Tolnay, Corpus, no. 237 verso; The poetry of Michelangelo, trans. James M. Saslow, London, 1991, no. 51 (with parallel Italian), here quoted with some translation preferred from Complete poems and selected letters of Michelangelo, trans. Creighton Gilbert, New York, 1970, 30–1: ‘Le fallace speranze e ’l van desio,/piangendo, amando, ardendo e sospirando/. . . m’hanno tenuto, . . . lontan certo dal vero. . . . /Or che ’l tempo la scorza cangia e muda,/la morte e l’alma insieme ognor fan pruove,/la prima e la seconda, del mie stato’. The verso includes two ideal male heads attributed to Michelangelo by de Tolnay, while assistants sketched a nearby skull and other items like an equestrian warrior, a giraffe, and a naked man holding his legs in the air so H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 663& ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 that his testicles are clearly displayed. Thoughts of death, ambitions about grand artistic subjects, and records of unusual animal life, mingle in the studio’s imagination and pastimes with erotic scherzi. The very incidental nature of the various elements suggests that the everyday life and graphic fantasies of Michelangelo’s companions readily encompassed sexualized, masculine encounters. 90 For the Windsor drawing, see Popham and Wilde, The Italian drawings of the XV and XVI centuries in the collection of His Majesty the King at Windsor Castle, no. 423, pl. 19; de Tolnay, Corpus, no. 335 recto; Michael Hirst, Michelangelo and his drawings, London, 1988, 110–11 and col. pl. 5; Paul Joannides, Michelangelo and his influence. Drawings from Windsor Castle, Washington DC, 1996, 80–1. 91 The pose recalls the description in a Greek epigram of Antaeus ‘doubled up’ or ‘bent double’: The Greek Anthology 16.97, discussed, without reference to Michelangelo, in Wright, The Pollaiuolo brothers, 337. 92 de Tolnay, Corpus, nos 267 recto–verso; Roman drawings of the Sixteenth century from the Musée du Louvre, Paris, Chicago, 1979, no. 29; Saslow, The poetry of Michelangelo, nos 31 and A 27 (‘. . . tante amor più quante più grazia truovo./ . . . O nuovo e stran tormento!’). Since all four feet are on the ground, the group may represent the struggle of Jacob with the Angel. de Tolnay situated the drawing in the time of Cavalieri and suggests an ‘allusione autobiografica’ to relations between the two men, a point affirmed by the verse. 93 Hoff, ‘Sources of ‘‘Hercules and Antaeus’’’, 69–70. 94 Saslow, The Poetry of Michelangelo, 513. 95 For example, J. N. Adams, The Latin sexual vocabu- lary, Baltimore, 1982, 159; Aretino, I modi 1.6, 1.14, 3.5, 7.17, 13.14. 16.17; Ariosto, Orlando furioso 28.17.3–4; Secundus, Elegies 1.5.9–11, 2.6 and Basium 16; Veronica Franco, Poems and selected letters, ed. and trans. Ann Rosalind Jones and Margaret F. Rosenthal, Chicago, 1998, 137 (13.85); Pierre de Ronsard, Sonnets pour Hélène, quoted in Keith Cameron, Louise Labé. Renaissance poet and feminist, Oxford, 1990, 74–75; Gordon Williams, A glossary of Shakespeare’s sexual language, London, 1997, 93 (death), 98 (die). 96 Aretino, Marfisa (1.89) and Ragionamento, 30 (‘facea quell viso arcigno che a Belvedere fa quella figura di marmo ai serpi che l’assassinano in mezzo dei suoi figli’); translation from Aretino’s dialogues, trans. Raymond Rosenthal, New York, 1971, 29. 97 Cristelle L. Baskins, ‘Cassone’ painting, humanism, and gender in Early Modern Italy, Cambridge, 1998, 40. In the second century CE, the Greek oneir- ocritic Artemidorus reported that ‘a woman dreamt that she had performed the labours of Heracles’: Artemidorus, The interpretation of dreams, trans Robert J. White, Park Ridge, 1975, 202 (4.43). Rare and ancient though this record may be, it suggests that at least some women living under extreme forms of patriarchy were nevertheless able to identify with masculine adven- ture, albeit in a manner that indicated to author- ized interpreters that something was out of joint. 98 Christine de Pizan, Epistre Othea, ed. Gabriella Parussa, Geneva, 1999, 205: ‘Si ne t’est mie neccessaire,/Pour armes pourchacier et faire,/ Aler combatre aux fiers serpens,/ . . . N’aussi aux autres serpentines.’ The following quotations are from 204–206: ‘constance et fermeté,’ ‘roide contre les charneulx desirs’ and ‘Vers Herculés te faut virer/Et ses vaillances remirer.’ The transla- tion is from Christine de Pizan’s Letter of Othea to Hector, trans. Jane Chance, Newburyport, MA, 1990, 39–41. 664 & ASSOCIATION OF ART HISTORIANS 2008 H E R C U L E S I N I T A L I A N R E N A I S S A N C E A R T 
work_rquuwxqt2rcvdfnzvoqekauq6e	----	XXVII Edgar Mannheimer Lecture: The discovery of circulation and the origin of modern medicine during the Italian Renaissance Cardiol Young 1996; 6:109-119 © World Publishers Incorporated ISSN 1047-9511 XXVII Edgar Mannheimer Lecturef The discovery of circulation and the origin of modern medicine during the Italian Renaissance Gaetano Thiene From the University of Padua, Padova I T IS SIGNIFICANT THAT I AM DELIVERING THIS LECTUREat the University of Bologna, the oldest in the world,since this University is the "alma mater" of my own University, that of Padua. Following a dispute between the monks of Santo Stefano and the Councillors of Bologna, a group of students and professors migrated from the University of Bologna and founded the Uni- versity of Padua in 1222.1 Saint Anthony of Padua, whose eighth centenary since birth is celebrated this year, was a lecturer in Theology at the University of Bologna from 1223 to 1225, and most probably was involved in this migration. The last part of his life was spent preaching in the province of Padua, where he died on June 13, 1231. The huge number of University personnel present at his funeral gave testimony to his very close bonds of friendship with many University teachers and scholars. These scholars strongly sup- ported a petition for his canonization, which was granted in a very short time, exactly in 1232, only one year after his death, thanks to Anthony's extraordinary power to perform miracles. Among the several miracles, which allowed him to attain sanctity, I bring to your attention the particular one linked to Science and Medicine, namely the miracle of the usurer.2 A very rich, miserly merchant died in old age, and Anthony was called to bless the body. Anthony came, but denied Christian burial saying, "This man was heartless in life and his heart is now with the treasure he left." The jeweled coffer was then opened, and to the great astonishment of the onlookers, a heart was found inside. "Scientific" proof was necessary to verify the miracle, and an autopsy on the miser's body disclosed the absence of any heart within the chest (Figure 1). This miracle inspired many t Presented at the XXX Annual Meeting of the Association of European Paediatric Cardiologists, Bologna, May 17-20, 1995 Correspondence to Prof. Gaetano Thiene, Istituto di Anatomia Patologica, Via A. Gabelli, 61,35121 Padova, Italy. Tel. 39-49-827-2283; Fax. 39-49-827-2284 Accepted for publication 14 November 1995 painters. Four centuries later, in 1618, Damini painted the scene depicting Fabricius ab Acquapendente, Pro- fessor of Anatomy and Surgery at the University of Padua, as he performed the postmortem. Scholarship and Sanctity were closely linked through- out the following period of Renaissance. Many saints were scholars at the lay University of Padua before following a philanthropic or ecclesiastical calling.3 Many of them should be considered the Nobel Laureates of that time, in terms of inspiration and theological back- ground. All historians agree that Modern Science was born during the Italian Renaissance in the 15th-16th centu- ries. The Renaissance was a great revival of the liberal arts, science and religion based on humanism, namely the rediscovery of man, nature, and natural philosophy as formulated in antiquity. A new concept of erudition was advanced according to which not only mathematics and logic, but also poetry, philology and liberal arts were considered superior to metaphysics and theology. The major events determining the onset of the Re- naissance were the Fall of the Byzantine Empire in 1453, the invention of the printing press in 1452, and the discoveries of the New Worlds from 1487 to 1502. Thirst for discovery was one of the essential compo- nents of the civilization of the Renaissance fervor, and the Portuguese became the messengers and eyes and ears of Europe in the world.4 After the Fall of Constantinople in 1453, Greek culture was once again scattered all over Modern Eu- rope, and the invention of the printing press accelerated the circulation and exchange of ideas. In 1468, Cardinal Bessarione donated 482 Greek and 264 Latin codes to the Venetian Doge, thus transferring classical Greek erudition to Italian culture. At that time he wrote, "In the absence of books, the same tomb holding the body would cancel also the memory of man. "5 Erasmus of Rotterdam also came to Italy "to know Greek" in 1506. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core 110 Cardiology in the Young April 1996 Figure 1. The Usurer's Miracle by St. Anthony: the heart was found in the coffer, not in the chest. One of the fundamental achievements of the Renais- sance was the elevation of painting, sculpture and architecture to the status of liberal arts. The sculptures of incomparable Renaissance masters, such as Michel- angelo's body of Jesus Christ in the Pieta (1498-99) at Rome, display an understanding of structure that can- not be explained without accepting the sculptor's deep knowledge of the human body. In the biography of Antonio Pollaiolo, published in 1568, Giorgio Vasari reported that the artist had flayed many bodies to see the anatomy beneath.6 The sculptor Lorenzo Ghiberti, in his First Commentary of 1450, stated that "It is necessary to have seen dissection in order that the sculptor wishing to compose a "statua virile "knows how many bones are in the human body and in a like manner knows muscles and all the tendons and their connections. "b It was indeed a magic moment, during which science and art were not yet differentiated, and had not seen themselves as op- posed. It is generally believed that the dissection of cadavers was performed secretly, because it was forbidden by the authorities. This is untrue. In 1482, the University of Tubingen presented the following petition to Pope Sixtus IV: "Permission to take the bodies of legally executed criminals from the place of execution, and to dissect them according to medical rules and practice without any special license from the Holy See." The request was granted "provided the dissected bodies be given burial. "b The Venetian Moderators of Padua University wrote the following letter to the Podesta (Mayor) of Padua on December 15, 1556: "Since Anatomy is very useful to students of Medicine, and the present time is very appropri- ate, I begyour Magnificence to give some subject, sentenced to death, to the most excellent Fallopius (Professor of Anatomy) who will perform a dissection to the great expectation and satisfaction of those scholars... "7 Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519), the greatest artist- anatomist who ever lived, conducted the most impor- tant scientific studies of the human body in the history of art. He was an exceptional individual, an artist and a scientist at one and the same time. Leonardo's anatomi- cal drawings reveal that he was a gifted observer of the human body in all its parts. He not only studied living men and women, but also dead ones, which he dissected with painstaking care in order to draw each vessel, muscle and organ with extreme precision. Although he never worked as a professional anatomist, he collabo- rated in dissecting human cadavers with Marcantonio Figure 2. Leonardo's drawing depicting the veins and blood originating from the liver (the Collection ofH.R.M. Queen Elisabeth II, Royal Library at Windsor Castle, London). https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core Vol. 6, No. 2 Thiene G: Origin of Modern Medicine during the Italian Renaissance 111 della Torre, a young professor of Anatomy at the University of Pavia, from 1510 to 1511, when the plague struck that city. Leonardo had performed more than ten dissections by 1509, and more than thirty before he died. He truly combined the ability of an artist and an anatomist in a supreme manner.8 Leonardo's study of the heart dates to approximately 1511-1513, and was performed in Florence. He fol- lowed the Galenic theory of blood being generated in the liver (Figure 2), and the concept of flux and reflux through the veins: "The blood is thinner when it is more beaten, and this percussion is made by the flux and reflux of the blood generated from the two intrinsic ventricles of the heart to the extrinsic ventricles called auricles which are dilated and receive into themselves blood driven from the intrinsic ventricles and then they contract returning the blood to those extrinsic ventricles. "And again, "All veins and arteries arise from the heart, and the reason is that the biggest veins and arteries are found at their conjunction with the heart... veins arise in the gibbosity of the liver because they have their ramification in the gibbosity... " If Florence was the Center of Artistic Renaissance, where Platonism and Idealism prevailed, Padua was the Center of the Scientific Renaissance. And it was not fortuitous that architecture, the liberal art most close to science, developed under the influence of the Venetian Republic as a sort of rediscovery of the Grecian style, combined with the study of classic monuments. Andrea di Pietro della Gondola (1508-1580), known as Palladio from the Goddess Pallade, who was born in Padua and lived in Vicenza, exemplified the Humanist, and was a scholar of classical Greek art. For Palladio, the dignity of a discipline derived not only from the nobility of the subject, such as theology from God, but also from the rigor of methods and the certainty of achievements. In chapters XII-XIII of the second book of his treatise "/ quattro libri dellarchitettura"9 he describes the ideal residences of the "homo universale" (humanist) "... The town residences suit the gentleman for their magnificence and comfort as he must live there during the time needed to attendto his public andprivate affairs. But no less benefit and pleasure will he get from his country mansions, where he will spend the rest of the time looking after and improving his land and possessions, and where he will strive with his art and ingenuity to increase the wealth of the agriculture... where, given that exercise on foot and horse- riding is usually taken there, the body will more easily preserve its health and vigor, and where finally the spirit, tired by the troubles of the life of the town, will find restoration and consolation amidst the quietude of the countryside, and will pleasantly attend to the study of the Arts and the contemplation of Nature... "(Figure 3). This surely is exhortation to return to reality and "dignitas Figure 3. Villa Foscari "La Malcontenta " by Andreas Palladio, completed around 1560, mirrored in the Brenta River. Figure 4 . The upper colonnade around the courtyard Palace called "II Bo " by Andrea Moroni (1545), the finest example of Renaissance architecture in Padua. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core 112 Cardiology in the Young April 1996 Figure 5. St. Mark's Lion, symbol of the Venetian Republic. hominis" in the setting of the dialectic between culture and nature (Figure 4). By general consent, the University of Padua is cred- ited with having given rise to Modern Medicine. Butterfield in 1958 wrote: "William Harvey... was for a few years at the University of Padua, where his most important predecessors worked: Vesalius, Columbus, Fab- ricius. It is impossible to ignore that this chapter on the history of the heart is the pride of this University... Also Copernicus and Galileo were at this University during the most productive periods of their lives;... If the honor to have been the site of scientific revolution might belong to a single place, such honor should be credited to Padua, the Queen of Science. "10 Several circumstances favored the origin of Modern Science at Padua University. Its northern geographic position was strategic in favoring cultural and commer- cial exchanges with other European countries, and the use of Latin as an international language further facili- tated communication. O f utmost importance were the civil and religious freedom and tolerance, guaranteed by the Republic of Venice (Figure 5), of which Padua had been the University since 1405. The Motto of the University of Padua "Universa Universis Patavina Libertas" well underlines the importance of freedom and an open mind in international relations. The Pro- fessors enjoyed unlimited liberty in their teaching, and the University of Padua was considered "Magistra totius Europae." Incredibly enough, at that time the Univer- sity of Padua graduated as many scientists as saints. Although it was nominally a Catholic University, a profession of faith was not required from the students as was the case in other confessional Universities, like C A I E T A N V ? CWONICVJ- PAT PHIL ETTHEQL. Figure 6. Caietanus Thienaeus, Ordinary Professor of Philosophy at the Universitas Artistarum, Padua. Bologna, Pisa and Rome. This allowed the attendance and graduation of Protestant and Jewish foreign schol- ars, who formed the vast majority of the student body.''"13 With few exceptions, the English graduates of Padua were later to be found among the elite of England's medical profession. '4 The value and fame of the teachers were worldwide, and the Venetian Ambassadors scat- tered throughout the world were continuously on the lookout to single out and import the best foreign minds, offering them the position of Professor.12 "Only men of demonstrated excellence in their profession are given charge over the education of the young" was the proclamation of the Venetian Senate, thus guaranteeing the best in the Faculties of their University.13 Moreover, to prevent nepotism, neither Venetian patricians nor citizens of Padua were allowed to hold a chair of Ordinary Profes- sor, and, with a few exceptions, not even the position of Extraordinary Professor.12 From the Venetian view- point, it appears that the University had become more important than the town in which it was located or, as expressed by Bernardo Navagero, one of the Venetian overseers known as "Riformatori dello Studio di Padova," "without the University, Padua would not be Padua."14 Why this town gave rise to the so-called "scientific revolution" despite its being, among the European Universities, the one in which Aristotelian philosophy had a long-standing, and sound tradition is one of the paradoxes concerning the University of Padua.15 The biologist more than the metaphysician who was Aristotle attracted the Padovan philosophers. Aristotelism in Padua was not in any way anti-humanistic, and declared the autonomy and total separation of physics (=science) https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core Vol. 6, No. 2 Thiene G: Origin of Modern Medicine during the Italian Renaissance 113 Table. University of Padua and the origin of modern medicine: milestone publications. Date 1493 1543 1559 1603 1628 1761 Publication Historia corporis humani De humani corporis fabrica De re anatomica De venarum ostiolis Exercitatio anatomica de motu cordis et sanguinis De sedibus et causis morborum per anatomen indagatis Author Alessandro Benedetti (1455-1525) Andreas Vesalius (1514-1564) Realdus Colombus (1516-1559) Hieronymus F. ab Acquapendente (1533-1619) William Harvey (1578-1657) Giovanni Battista Morgagni (1682-1771) from metaphysics (=philosophy), according to the teach- ing of Averroes. In this respect, Pietro d'Abano (1250- 1318) and Caietanus Thienaeus (1367-1465) (Figure 6) [See Editor's Note], the latter an Ordinary Professor of Philosophy in the University of Artists (=Medicine and Philosophy), were the outstanding representatives of Figure 7. Lesson of anatomy "ex cathedra " (from Fasciculus Medicinae, Venetiis, 1494). this philosophical School. Experience by observation and induction ^empiri- cism) was considered to be at the basis of scientific logic. These two prerequisites facilitated the onset of a method which proved essential for the renewal of anatomical studies by coupling objectivism with rationalism.16 The sequence of books published by the famous anatomists well depicts the history of discoveries that account for the development of modern medicine in Padua (Table). The titles of the volumes are significant for understanding the progression of knowledge, from anatomy (De Humani Corporis Fabrica, by Vesalius in 1543) to physiology (Exercitatio Anatomica de Motu Cordis et Sanguinis in Animalibus, by Harvey in 1628) to pathology (De Sedibus et Causis Morborum per Anatomen Indagatis, by Morgagni in 1761). The word anatomy appears in the title of both the anatomo- pathological and physiological textbooks, because the dissection of cadavers was essential to achieve such goals. The lesson in Anatomy was purely "ex cathedra" prior to Alessandro Benedetti (1455-1525), the first Professor to use a mobile anatomical theatre for au- topsy. While the autopsy was performed, an Extraordi- nary Professor of Medicine would read the book Anathomia by Mondino dei Luzzi, a Professor of Anatomy at the University of Bologna (1270-1326). An Ordinary Professor would concomitantly point to the viscera within the cadaver to demonstrate the truth of the statements, and nothing else could be done until such evidence was reached (Figure 7). The dissection itself was carried out by the Surgeons, who were nothing but technicians.17 With time, the doctors lost the skill of dissecting as well as the knowledge of visceral anatomy. It was with Andreas Vesalius (1514-1564) that these three positions (lector, ostensor and sector) were com- bined into a single one. The learning of anatomy was then "per ocules, non per aures" (by observation, not by hearing).18 Vesalius exemplified this spirit of inquiry into nature, to which the vast body of modern scientific knowledge owes its origin. Vesalius did not shy from handling the knife himself in order personally to con- https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core 114 Cardiology in the Young April 1996 Figure 8. Portrait of Andreas Vesalius in the De Humanis Corporis Fabrica. duct the postmortem (Figure 8). Anatomy was considered the foundation of all medi- cine, and the anatomical studies of the XVIth century represented the wonderful dawning of Modern Medical Science, which culminated with the publication of De Humani Corporis Fabrica (On The Building of the Human Body) by Vesalius in 1543. This year was the turning point in the history of science during the Renaissance. With the posthumous publication of "De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium" by Nicolaus Copernicus (On Revolutions of Celestial Bodies), the sun replaced the earth as the center of the Universe. And it is not incidental that, with the studies of Vesalius, the heart started to replace the liver as the center of the network of vessels: heliocentrism and cardiocentrism vs geocentrism and hepatocentrism. But Vesalius was still far from the correct concept of the circulation and pulmonary function. He still be- lieved in the existence of pores in the ventricular sep- tum, and flux and reflux of the blood through the veins. In his book Tabulae Sex, published in 1540, in the drawing of heart, veins and arteries, you see that the left atrium is still considered the cavity where "Arteria venalis in sinistrum sinum aerem expulmonibus deferens " ("Pulmonary vein carries air from the lungs to the left atrium") (Figure 9). The illustrations of De Humani Corporis Fabrica are unique, and represent the perfect union between art and science.19 They are the result of a collaboration between a communicative anatomist (Andreas Vesalius) and a receptive illustrator (Stefan Van Calcar from the work- shop of Titian in Venice). In a very humanistic sense, the anatomy lesson represented the irreplaceable rite of the discovery of the values of nature and life in the most complex work of the Creation, the Human Body.20 It is impressive to recognize the likeness that exists between the Venus de Milo at the Louvre and the portrayal of a female nude by Vesalius (Figure 10). Finally, in 1543, there occurred another extraordi- nary event that changed the course of the history of Medicine. The Professor of Practical Medicine, Giovanni Battista Da Monte (1478-1551), started teaching stu- dents at the bedside, as reported in a record of a visit to the Hospital of St. Francis in Padua (April 1543, 17th visit, patient affected by syphilis).12'21 Da Monte, who was then the first Professor of Clinical Medicine in the history of Medicine, stated: unibs muffhi fnt^ommnumlwr. AHJl0pM'f«r*tH A H J 0 p f r I AJfiiftntjislr>mufciilu0mimltt. K Suttxttm viiu mtnttium cxtumt. L Adttimtrtimliimvlrmjucviu. M UmttnsftrttmtiuisAJrimiliissifir' Urn txtmtnm pcttcu. N Aifupmrti tlenas afta. O DIM/O mixmtyCmuMtummMi tix*. fmcrtm ttrfcru ftrUm iijfumiittir, i fut moxmfing/tUt cofttt prvpgmt* hutrwn l«r. P VaucwsmiextrumcorlufMtimqtrf* Q. Arttru mutts m finflnm fimam tcrim txfulmombmt dtftrni, R_ V iIM .rlmWu tx tttXto fiM fmfunuM ffffffig T UUimiJimSfnviJttTtsritim «u« V AJ utvni amum^f bilu vtfic*M* X Ki mdntuhmff tmtmum. Y htmtfMttmmpiritftiftnm. A Ai rnii,tmul(<iitc! dt(lf,vnu igfii Figure 9. In the legend to this drawing, published in the Tabulae Sex (1540), Vesalius describes the left atrium (Q) as follows: "arteria venalis in sinistrum sinum aerem ex pulmonibus deferens " (the pulmonary vein carries air from lungs to the left atrium). https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core Vol. 6, No. 2 Thiene G: Origin of Modern Medicine during the Italian Renaissance 115 Figure 10. Comparison between the Venus de Milo at the Louvre Museum, Paris (left) and the female nude depicted in the De Humani Corporis Fabrica (1543). "When you approach a patient, you must do the following, namely first look at his face, then talk with him, take his pulse and observe anything you believe necessary to under- stand the disease. "The need for practice in addition to lectures, both in anatomy and the clinical setting, was very much appreciated by students: "Few or none of us have come here only for the sake of lectures, and all of us have come to learn practice. We do not lack for lectures in our own country or elsewhere, and we also have books at home which we can just as well read there as here. It is the study of practice that has led us to cross so many mountains, and at such great expense. "u Thus, in 1578 the Venetian Senate decreed: "Two of the professors of practice will visit the hospital at established times, there to hold forth about the diseases presented by the occasion, for the utility of the students. "n To implement the onset of Clinical Medi- cine, in 1545 the Venetian Senate granted that Profes- sor Francesco Bonafede (1474-1558) set up the Ortus Botanicus, the first garden of medicinal herbs in the world. Fine anatomical dissections were the prerequisite for the next findings regarding the circulation of blood. Realdus Colombus (1516-1559), who succeeded Vesalius, experimented in living dogs and found that the pulmonary veins carried blood, not air, thus discov- ering lung function and circulation (Figure 11): "/ believe... the function of the pulmonary vein is to carry blood mixed with air from the lungs to the left ventricle of the heart and this is unquestionable. In fact, if you observe cadavers as well as living animals, you will always find the pulmonary vein full of blood, which is not possible if this V i « » T i n . Ex Tvpoguphta NicoUi Bewbcqaat Figure 11. Realdus Colombus, painted by Paolo Veronese while performing autopsy (title page ofDe Re Anatomica, 1559). https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core 116 Cardiology in the Young April 1996 Figure 12. The famous anatomical Theatre ofFabricius ab Acquapendente (1595) at "II Bo, " where venous valves were discovered through dissection of cadavers. vein had to carry only air and fumes. "And again: "I am sure that this new function of the lung, which no anatomist has ever imagined, will appear unbelievable to the skeptics and followers of Aristotelian theories; but you, unpreju- diced reader, make the experiment on animals. You will find the pulmonary veinfullofbloodas I described, and not full of air or fumes." It was the discovery of valves within the veins, re- ported in De Venarum Ostiolis (1603) by Hieronymus Fabricius ab Acquapendente (1533-1619), that prompted William Harvey (1578-1657), his pupil, to conceive of the circulation of blood. Fabricius, Profes- sor of Anatomy and Surgery, is known worldwide for Figure 13. William Harvey's portrait at the National Portrait Gallery in London the building of the Anatomical Theatre, the first Scien- tific Laboratory of Medicine, in 1595. This year marks the 400th Anniversary of this event. It is a magnificent work of art which epitomizes the golden century of anatomy (Figure 12). "In this place, so different from others, in this secret and almost sacred place, those who had the right to enter, whether students or professors, became different. In no other place, in no other lesson than the anatomical one... such an awareness of and pride in scientific values could be present. "20 By applying the Galilean experimental method, ac- cording to which Science is based on observation and measure,16 Harvey (Figure 13) conjectured that the presence of venous valves would hinder reflux of blood, Figure 14. The two illustrations in the Exercitatio De Motu Cordis et Sanguinis, depicting the maneuver to demonstrate centripetal blood flow through the veins, and swelling at the valve vein level. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core Vol. 6, N o . 2 Thiene G: Origin of Modern Medicine during the Italian Renaissance 117 1 so that movement of the blood would be centripetal, not centrifugal in the venous network (Figure 14). Moreover, he estimated the volume of blood passing through the heart at a given time, and surmised that the liver would be unable to produce such an amount of blood in such a short period of time. Thus, blood volume could be kept constant only in a closed circula- tory system. In chapter IV of his book, Harvey discussed the motion of the heart and auricles in animals, issuing the first clear statement on the origin and conduction of the heart beat: "The movement seems to start in the auricles and to spread to the ventricles. "21 This is unani- mously reported as the birth of physiology in the History of Medicine. The term "circulation," however, had previously been coined by Andreas Cesalpinus (1524-1603), a keen friar working at the University of Pisa. In his books "Peripateticarum questionem" (1571) and "De Plantis" (1583) he wrote that "Through veins the blood goes to the heart, and through arteries it is distributed to the whole body... "and moreover, "The blood crosses from arteries to veins through communicating vessels, called anastomoses, and then goes to the heart. "The nature of these anasto- moses (capillaries) was eventually discovered by Marcello Malpighi (1628-1694), an anatomist in Bologna, who in De Pulmonibus (1678) described the following: "I Figure 15. Giovanni Battista Morgagni s portrait in the Hall of Medicine, "II Bo." saw the blood flowing into the arteries like a flood, and I expected that it would spread over an empty space and then be collected from the mouth of a vessel... My thought changed when I observed the dry lung of a frog... With the help of a lens, Ididn 't see scattered points, but vessels joined together like rings... Thus, it was clear that the blood flowed in sinuous vessels and did not spread over spaces, but was always contained within tubules. " The final step in the revolution of Medical Science occurred in the field of pathology, and was achieved thanks to the contribution of Giovanni Battista Morgagni (1682-1771), who in the Encyclopedia Americana is reported as follows (Figure 15) "...His greatest work published in 1761... established Pathologi- cal Anatomy as Science and changed the course of medical diagnosis. "23 He perceived that "it is impossible to pursue the nature and cause of any disease without dissection of the respective cadavers." His method was based upon a comparison between clinical symptoms and signs and pathologic findings (clinicopathological correlations), and on the epicrisis (=final critics). Thanks to this method, anatomical empiricism turned into Medical Science.24 This method is well exemplified by the first clinical and pathologic description of a congenital car- diac malformation, namely pulmonary stenosis, in the Anatomo-Medical Letter 17.12, published in the "De Sedibus et Causis Morborum per Anatomen Indagatis," 1761:25 "A girl, who was sick since birth, complained of dyspnea and asthenia. At the age of sixteen she died. The heart was small... the right ventricle had a shape similar to the left ventricle... The right atrium was double the size of the left atrium... The foramen ovale was patent... The semilunar pulmonary valves were cartilagineous... and fused leaving only a lentil-like orifice... I believe that the lesion was present since birth... Lividskin was explained by blood stagnation with dilation of the right chambers and veins, as well as by patency of the foramen ovale, the valve of which was pushed from right to left... Poor perfusion of the brain and the entire body, as well a small amount of blood crossing the lungs accounted for the asthenia and dyspnea..." Research, diagnosis and education were an insepa- rable trinity in the minds of these Masters of Science. Morgagni, a pupil of Valsalva at the University of Bologna, was appointed as Professor of Theoretical Medicine at the University of Padua in 1711. At the age of only 29 years, in his inaugural lecture, he addressed the problem of teaching and education in the Faculty of Medicine: "Finally, I became convinced that treating patients is not sufficient for the distinguished doctor we intend to form, but his experience must also serve posterity; thus he must present what he has learned through his skill in a clear and simple manner. "26 This message still embodies all the significance of being a Professor of Medicine today, at the eve of the third millennium. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core 118 Cardiology in the Young April 1996 Figure 16. Galileo Galilei's portrait on the Great Hall Ceiling, "II Bo ". Galileo Galilei (Figure 16), who introduced the experimental method, was Professor of Mathematics at the Universitas Artistarum (Faculty of Medicine and Philosophy) of Padua from 1592 to 1610 ("eighteen years, the best of my life ") ,27'28 exactly when Fabricius ab Acquapendente was Professor of Anatomy and Surgery. Thus, he taught William Harvey. With the discovery of Jupiter's planets, published in SidereusNunciusm 1610, Galileo further embraced the heliocentric Copernican theory, which was banned and persecuted by the Holy Office of the Roman Church because it opposed the Bible. Galileo left the tolerant Republic of Venice in 1610 to move to the clerical Florence, thus losing his "Patavina Libertas." He became a case-symbol of the conflict between faith and science, namely between the need for freedom in research and the obligation to obey the doctrinal authority of the Church. In his letter to Cristina Lorena in 1615, he quotes Cardinal Baronio, a very famous historian of the Roman Church and pupil of St. Filippo Neri, as having said that "the aim of the Holy Spirit is to teach how to go to heaven, not how heaven is going. "28 In that same year, Cardinal Bellarmino, a Jesuit who graduated from the tolerant University of Padua and was later canonized, wrote to Father A. Foscarini recommending "... to act with caution in explaining the Holy Scriptures which appear contrary, and say instead that we do not understand rather than calling false that which is demonstrated. "29 Despite these au- thoritative statements, the intolerant position within the Holy Office prevailed and, in 1633, Galileo was sentenced to recant his theories. The split between Science and Faith continued for centuries. In 1992, the 400th Anniversary of Galileo's appointment at the University of Padua, Pope John Paul II acknowledged the error, and in a letter29 to the Rector of the University of Padua closed the contro- versy by saying "... The common vocation of both scientists and theologists is to contribute to the best knowledge of the Truth." References 1. Bellinati C. Alle origini dello "Studio di Padova." II vescovo Giordano (1214-1228) e i professori dell'Universita nelle pergamene della Capitolare. In: Premuda L (ed). I Secoli d'oro della Medicina, 700 anni di ScienzaMedica a Padova." Panini, Modena,1986,ppl5-18. 2. Ricci Polentone S. Vita di S. Antonio. In: Gamboso V (ed). Antonio da Padova. Edizioni Messaggero, Padova, 1995, p 198. 3. Govi E. Profilo dei Santi studenti dell'Universita di Padova e Compatroni della Parrocchia di S. Alberto Magno. Tipografia Valentini, Cadoneghe (Padova), 1990. 4. Barreto LF. Portugal: A pioneer of the North/South dialogue. Imprensa Nacional, Casa da Moeda, Lisbona, 1988, pp 11-13. 5. Encidopedia Italiana Treccani. Lessico universale italiano. Arti Grafiche Marchesi, Roma, 1978, pp 91-97. 6. Clayton M. Leonardo da Vinci, the Anatomy of Man. Bulfinch Press Book Little, Brown and Company, Hong Kong, 1992, pp 11-23. 7. Rippa Bonati M. Personal communication, Padova, 1995. 8. Premuda L. Storia dell'iconografia anatomica. Ciba Edizioni, Milano, 1993, pp 95-118. 9. Palladio A. I Quattro Libri dell'Architettura. Vol.2, XII-XIII chapters, Venice, 1570. 10. Butterfield H. Le Origini della Scienza Moderna. Bologna, 1962. 11. Rossetti L. The University of Padua—An Outline of its History. Edizioni Lint, Trieste, 1983. 12. Bylebyl JJ. The school of Padua: humanistic medicine in the sixteenth century. In: Webster C (ed). Health, Medicine and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century. Cambridge University https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core Vol. 6, No. 2 Thiene G: Origin of Modern Medicine during the Italian Renaissance 119 Press, Cambridge, 1979, pp 335-370 13. JessensJ.PrognoseonPraticarumLibri Duo. Frankfurt, 1610. 14. O'Malley CD. The Lure of Padua. In: Poynter FNL, Litt D (eds). Medical History. Vol. 14. The Wellcome Institute of the History of Medicine, London, 1980, pp 1-9. 15. Berti E. II ruolo storico deU'aristotelismo nello studio di Padova. In: I Secoli d'oro della Medicina—700 Anni di Scienza Medica a Padova. Edizioni Panini, Modena, 1986, pp 19-25. 16. Premuda L. La filosofia sperimentale di Galileo "Padovano" e le concezioni meccanicistiche in biologia e in medicina. In: Gal- ileo e la Cultura Padovana. Cedam, Padova, 1992, pp 113-126. 17. Penso G. La Medicina Medievale. Ciba-Geigy Edizioni, Roma, 1991. 18. Premuda L. II "secolo dell'anatomia". In: I Secoli d'oro della Medicina—700 Anni di Scienza Medica a Padova. Edizioni Panini, Modena, 1986, pp 43-50. 19. Premuda L. Padova nella medicina europea tra Rinascimento e Barocco. In: Semenzato C (ed). II Teatro Anatomico. Storia e Restauri. Offset Invicta Spa, Padova, 1994, pp 10-34. 20. Semenzato C. Valore e significato. In: Semenzato C (ed). II Teatro Anatomico. Storia e Restauri. Offset Invicta Spa, Padova, 1994, pp 116-133. 21. Ongaro G. La medicina nello studio di Padova e nel Veneto. In: Storia della Cultura Veneta. Dal Primo Quattrocento al Concilio di Trento. Volume 3. Neri Pozza Editore, Vicenza, 1981, pp 75-134. 22. Key JD, Keys TE, Callahan JA. Historical development of concept of blood circulation. An anniversary memorial essay to William Harvey. Am J Cardiol 1979; 43: 1026-1032. 23. Thiene G. Cardiovascular pathology: past, present and future achievements. Cardiovasc Pathol 1992; 1: 79-86. 24. Premuda L. GB Morgagni (1682-1771). L'introduzione del pensiero anatomico nella patologia e i suoi riflessi sul piano dinico. In: I Secoli d'oro della Medicina—700 Anni di Scienza Medica a Padova. Edizioni Panini, Modena, 1986, pp 85-90. 25. Thiene G. GB Morgagni: De sedibus et causis morborum per anatomen indagatis. G Ital Cardiol 1985; 15: 834-835- 26. Morgagni GB. Nova Institutionum Medicamm Idea. Padova, 1712. 27. Basso C, Thiene G. Galileo Galilei, i suoi mali e le origini della Medicina Moderna. Cuore e Salute 1994; 12: 387-397. 28. Favaro A. Le opere di Galileo Galilei. G. Barbera Ed Firenze, 1968 (ristampa); XVII, 255. 29. Joannes Paulus II. Letter to the Rector of Padua University, November 26,1992. In: II Gazzettino. December 3,1992, p 5. [Editors's note: Caietanus Thienaeus is the latin equiva- lent ofGaetano Thiene. There were two Gaetano Thiene during Italian Renaissance, both forebears of the Mannheimer Lecturer. The first (1367-1465) was Ordi- nary Professor of Philosophy. The second (1480-1547) graduated in Jurisprudence in 1505 and was himself canonized; his portrait is to be found in a mural in the new part of the Bo of the University of Padua.] https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1047951100003450 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_rrtzsma5kja4ffl7e3o33crbsu	----	Gold in book binding Gold in Book Binding THE ORIGINS OF THE CRAFT Giulia Bologna Director, Historical Archives and Trivulziana Library, Milan, Italy From early days, extensive use has been made of gold for the decoration of the covers of manuscrípts and books, especially those of a sacred nature. The development of this aspect of the craft of bookbinding, which reached its zenith in the 1 7th and 18th cen- turies, is desceibed below. In ancient times gold was used in the East for making all kinds of objects. Later, during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance period, when less extensive use was made of gold, the metal was reserved mainly for ornamental and decorative purposes. It was therefore natural that it should have begun to play an important part in the external adornment of books and their bindings. This continued into the 17th and 18th centuries when gold fell in esteem for this application, and precious stones won greater favour. reason, titles were inscribed lengthwise on the spine or on a label which was attached to one of the two cover boards. In Europe, plaques for the enrichment of the covers were made of gold, engraved silver or ivory, all set with precious stones to create an effect of magnificence, especially in the Carolingian epoch. At this time the Near East began to produce bindings adorned with polychrome enamels and a profusion of gold; religious scenes and the figures of saints were depicted in the manner characteristic of contemporary taste. Early Bindings The history of book binding is closely connected with the form and shape of the book itself. The Greeks and Romans kept their scrolls in boxes and containers, but with the introduction of folio sheets of papyrus and parchment in the ist century A.D. new methods were sought for the protection of the volumes so formed. In Egypt and the Near East the practice was adopted of using two wooden boards between which the folio sheets, folded into sections, were inserted. These were then sewn to the covers with stitches that differed in their type and detail according to the locality and the period. The oldest bindings that have come down to us in the West date back to the 7th century. It was then that gold made its brilliant début on the splendid front cover of the `Gospels of Theolinda' which are preserved at Monza, near Milan. The cover consists of a fine sheet of gold, bearing eight cameos set in the form of a cross. In the early Middle Ages, binding methods employed in the western world were, in fact, quite different from any previous ones. It became customary to stitch the page sections onto two raised bands made of leather strips running the length of the spine. The rather fragile ends of these bands were strengthened with braid or plaited silk. After sewing the boards to the page sec- tions by means of the two bands, the covers were adorned in various ways. Rare codices, sacred texts in particular, were adorned with gold, precious stones, enamels and ivory. Manuscripts were normally embellished with fabric and decorated leatherwork. Metal studs and angle pieces, often gilded, were used to protect the covers, as such books were placed horizontally on their shelves. For the same `Evangelistary of Aribert', an 1 lth century copy of the Four Gospels contained in gold and silver covers adorned with pearls, precious stones and enamels. This is one of the finest examples that survive of early Romanesque overlay. It was once the property of Aribert, Archbishop of Milan, and is ncw kept in the Cathedral Treasury of that city GoldBull. . 1982, 15, (1) 25 The Tooling and Gildurg of Leather The custom of tooling leather for covering the wooden boards began only in the 14th century, and continued at least until the end of the Middle Ages. Metal punches and similar tools were used for the dry impressing of decorative motifs. At first, the same method was employed as for stamping copper and silver, but later a special technique was developed. Rich fantasy and a variety of subjects enlivened the work, and in the style of the day — Romanesque or Gothic — hunting scenes, winged animals and coats of arms were reproduced, picked out with leaves, branches of oak and vine, and other motifs taken from the world of plants. Meanwhile, the art of preparing leather and gilding it for the decoration of wall hangings and manuscript bindings had been perfected by the Arabs. In this, they had learned much from the Egyptians and the people of Asia, and in the second half of the 15th century found a favourable response when they introduced their new ways of treating leather bindings to the western world. These techniques, until then unknown in Europe, were designed to bring into relief, and heighten, the ornamentation of bindings by applying lacquers and liquid or dry preparations containing powdered gold to the leather. The art spread rapidly through Italy and Spain, then into France at the beginning of the 1500s. The Renaissance Witti the revival of the Renaissance spirit in the second half of the 16th century, refined taste demanded that leather bindings should be adorned in gold with designs of oriental inspiration of the kind already seen on carpets. Hence, the medallion and al- mond shapes were introduced at the centre of the book cover, and quarter medallions edged with ribbing at the four corners. The principal motif of the Arabs in general, and the Persians in par- ticular, was the Chinese lotus flower linked to small leaves by arabesques and spirals. For Italian and especially Venetian bindings of the Renaissance period, the most widely used motif was the half leaf of the ivy merging into the surrounding braid or other fabric. These motifs were impressed onto the covers in bas- A 15th Century Roman missal written and illuminated on vellum sheets bound in red velvet for a Cardinal ofthe ruling House ofEste. The clasps and bosses are in silver gilt. The missal now forms part of the collection of the Trivulziana Library, Milan, manuscript 2165 `Book of Grammar' compiled in manuscript form on vellum and bound in leather with decorative gilding for Massimiliano Sforza, son of Ludovico il Moro. The central panel displays the coat of arms of the Sforza family. Late 15th cen- tury work now entrusted to the Trivulziana Library, Milan, manuscript 2167 26 GoldBull. 1982, 15, (1) relief against a background gilded with lacquers containing powdered gold, by applying strong pressure to dies cut for leather- work. Alternatively, they would be painted onto the gilded background with coloured lacquers so as to enhance further the final enamel and goldwork. With eastern bindings, the inner face of the cover was often adorned with a perforated design which was enhanced when superimposed on a gold, silver, green or blue base. The Technique As is still the custom, decorative designs were pressed hot onto the leather, and from the very start this called for the use of a variety of implements: a special pad, bronze pressworking tools, pallets, rollers, letter punches and a heater for the tools. Most essential was the mordant for giving luminosity to the leather. For the gold to stick to leather, it was necessary to apply a preparation of a type still used, since no substitute bas been found for it in spite of many attempts to do so. The formula was an extremely simple one: the yolk was removed from one or more eggs, no trace of it being left in the albumen to which was added good quality `white acid' (vinegar), in volume one-quarter to one-half the amount of egg white, according to the strength required. This was whisked to a froth with a wooden beater, then left to stand for a quarter of an hour before pouring the liquid content, clear of froth and dregs, into another vessel. With a soft brush, the mor- dant was uniformly spread over the entire book cover, the opera- tion being repeated at least three times after drying. As soon as the final coating was nearly dry, the work of decoration started. In- stead of a liquid mordant based on albumen, dehydrated white of egg and white or yellow bleaching powder, (goudre de page), have been used in more recent times for treating silk and velvet, but not always with good results. Hot Gilding with Leaf As mentioned earlier, Easterners, and especially the Persians, were the truc pioneers of the art of decorating leather book bindings with gold. Their methods were to be adopted, and im- `The Venetian Statutes of 1578', boundin redmorocco leatherwith gilded com- partments showing, back and front, the lion of St Mark and the Da Ponte coat of arms. A late 16th century work in the `doge' style referred to in this article, and presently kept in the Trivulziana Library, Milan, manuscript 1331 `Stratagemmi di Polieno', a book on the art of warfare published in Venice in 1552. The binding was probably made in Ferrara on the instructions of Tommaso Maioli, a well-known book collector whose role in stimulating the craft is mentioned in this article, and is held in the Trivulziana Library, Milan, inventory number Triv. L3655 GoldBull„ 1982, 15, (1) 27 heated die stamp after treating the leather with a mordant. New impetus was thus given to the production of finely decorated bindings and Italy was quick to make the most of the artistic op- portunities that this field offered. This was the period in which the invention of printing was spreading and, in its wake, book binding was entering a phase of radical reform. The aim was to reduce the mass and format of bindings by substituting pressed paper or cardboard for the wooden under-covers. For ornamentation purposes, appliances that could be operated more rapidly than punches and stamps were coming in: for instance, large plates and metal cylinders for impressing or striking off patterns when sizeable quantities were required. It is said that the pioneers of gilding with leaves and flowers by this method were the artisans at the Aragonese court in Naples. In Florence and Milan, where craftsmen were nothing if not assiduous, bindings began to appear with small gold dots and circles in the interstices of the pattern. At first, these were done in the mannet of the oriental craftsmen, using dry powdered gold, which gave a rather dull look; later, hot-pressed gold leaf was used The Holy Bibleprinted in Cologne in 1630 and bound by the Derome family for the French bibliophile Renouard. Inside, the covers are lined with orange silk adornedwith gold lacework indentelle style. The Bible is held at theTrivulziana Library, Milan, inventory number Triv. L1649 proved upon, in the second half of the 15th century by western binders, influenced, albeit, by Arab artisans working alongside them, particularly in Venice which was then on its way to winning a leading position in European book production. More than other cities of the peninsula, Venice and Naples had learned the orien- tal methods of treating leather in the course of their overseas trade relations. In fact, in botte places it had long been the practice to use liquid gold preparations for the embellishment of book covers and to apply these with a light brush or pen. However, the result was somewhat irregular compared with the effects that were soon to be obtained by using metal tools. Then, in about 1470, the new technique of hot gilding with leaf emerged. Developed by Italian artisans who had learned it from immigrants from Syria and Egypt, the procedure was to apply the gold firmly with a `Theatre de la Guerre en Italie, by Dheulland et Julien of Paris, 1748. This green morocco binding with an elegantly gilded dentelle pattern was made in the Padeloup workshops in Paris in 1748. The royal crest repeated at the corners and in the centre is the coat of arms of Louis XV. The binding is now part of the collection of the Trivulziana Library, Milan, inventory number Triv. C 28 28 GoldBull , 1982, 15, (1) with more brilliant effects. Venice It was Venice which established pre-eminence in the art of pro- ducing bindings hot-pressed with gold in a style revealing the combined effects of the Renaissance and the East in the choice of motifs, and in the splendour of the gilding and the colouring. Since that city became one of the most important centres of printing, and since it was soon the custom for printing houses to do their own binding and to maintain well equipped workshops and skilled craftsmen for that purpose, the influence and the fame of Venetian book binders spread rapidly. By the end of the 15th century the bindings that were most ad- mired and progressive were those that came from the house of Aldo Manuzio. The volumes that he produced brought the techniques of his day to perfection, while ornamental motifs which he himself created were designed to please Italian Renaissance taste. They were tooled with straight and curving lines interspersed with flowers and leaves hot-pressed with gold leaf, one at a time by hand. Typically Venetian in style, the tangled leaves formed charming friezes linked by scrolls and volutes — sometimes tenuous and restrained, sometimes superabundant in their gilding — to the title words of the book. During this same period a taste for classical adornment per- sisted, and bindings with cameo inserts were produced, especially in Milan, Mantua and Venice. The leatherwork was engraved to portray imperial coins, medallions of mythological scenes, perhaps a portrait of the author, all illuminated in gold. Libraries rich in such books were built up by the Aragonesi, Medici, Malatesta, Visconti and Sforza families at their Renaissance courts. Their shelves, and those of the private collections of keen book lovers like Giovanni Grolier and Tommaso Maioli, were ar- ranged with beautifully miniated codices and the first exemplars of works from famous early printers: volumes bound in leather ar- tistically adorned with gold, or in precieus fabrics embossed with gilded studs and engraved clasps. The Pre-Eminence of Italy In the 16th century, books were published and sold in increas- ing numbers and the work of binding them flourished in all the main printing centres of Italy. The precïosity of the styles now adopted was reflected in covers adorned in gold with decorative geometrical patterns consisting of double parallel lines — straight, curved or lozenge-shaped — enriched with spirals and arabesques. Then, in the late Renaissance, when the custom started of plating books upright on the shelves, greater attention was also given to the spines of the volumes. As well as displaying title and author, the spin was now decorated with geometrical and floral patterns in gold of the finest quality. The principal motif applied to many of these bindings, whether they were made in Italy or by Italian artisans in other countries, notably France, was composed of a diamond and a rectangular figure interwoven to form an infinity of patterns when embellished with convoluted tendrils and arabesques. In Northern Italy, above all in Milan, the influence of Leonardo da Vinci extended in no small degree even to this minor art form. Thus, to attain a more exquisite effect, new die stamps styled with leaves and flowers were constantly being designed. They were call- ed aldi after Aldo Manuzio: aldi pieni, vuoti and al tratteggio (solid, blank and broken line). Combined with spirals and volutes they were applied to the empty spaces in geometrical patterns of lines and friezes with striking and stylistically perfect results. Up to the end of the 16th century, bindings with this kind of goldwork were found all over Europe, most of them from Italian prototypes originating in Venice, Milan, Mantua, Turin, Genoa, Ferrara, Bologna, Florence and Rome. Some were quite magnificent, classical but original in composition, endless in variety and har- monious in general appearance. The décors included structural compositions, scrolls and plaques in goldwork, intervening sec- tions with gold dots, lively colour effects obtained with leather appliqué work and lacquer paint. All this gave resplendence to 16th century bindings. It was during this period that decorative work was first used on inside covers and the edges finely gilded. At this time, many volumes were specially prepared for the two great bibliophiles whom we have already mentioned, Tommaso Maioli and Jean Grolier, who were themselves arbiters of the craft and gave their orders to the best Italian workshops. Of Italian origin, they were on friendly terms with the humanists and book lovers of the day and were well known to Aldo Manuzio. Both Maioli and Grolier insisted that their designs should not be repeated on bindings prepared for other collectors. While the former preferred gilded work of lively rnovement, the latter favoured a style that was strictly geometrical in its combination of interlaced circles, semï-circles, lozenges and borders, all of which were much in vogue at the time. Grolier, who returned from Italy to his native city of Lyons in 1534, set up a bindery in that town and employed Italian artisans. It is to his credit that he introduced the Italian Renaissance type of binding into France, where such work was still 'clumsy and heavy' in appearance. In the mid-16th century, bindings were being produced in Italy which were fine in technique, as well as in the quality of a new decorative style expressed in ribbon-shaped borders that gave added splendour to the gilding. Even when mosaic effects were introduced by applying morocco leather inlays in various colours, goldwork was still abundantly used for the lines that delimited and at the same time united the parts of the décor. The Rest of Europe In other European countries, notably France, England and Germany, bindings showing Italian influence began to appear at the end of the 1400s and in the early 1500s, but they lacked preci- sion in the technique and artistry of their gilding. Then, towards GoldBull , 1982, 15,(1) 29 the end of the 16th century, Italy too adopted larger gilding tools which were quicker and easier to use, but did not give such scrupulously detailed results as earlier techniques. The new die stamps portrayed vases, caryatids, masks, chimeras, dolphins and winged cherubs among others. Elsewhere, especially in Venice where classical Renaissance motifs were dwindling in number because of changes in fashion, binders took inspiration from the East and designed heavy borders in bas-relief that were deeply alveolated along the edges of the panel and at its four corners. These were called 'doge' or `Venetian style' bindings. With the advent of the 17th century, tastes in the decorative gilding of bonk bindings with hot stamps changed with the development of this craft: new patterns displaying twisting parallel lines impressed in triplicate, with scrolls and cylinders in the corners, were introduced. Meanwhile, in Italy this type of craftsmanship feli into decline, partly due to politico-social changes, so that the country soon lost pre-eminence in this field. In Rome, Turin and Milan, striking effects continued to be pro- duced on vellum bindings with gold that contrasted well with the lack-lustre of a matt background. Meanwhile, in France, where gilding was second only to Italy in the extent of its development, new die stamps were designed for the spirals and volutes, and the tendrils of oak and laurel, with which the spaces in geometrical patterns were filled. This trend freed France from Italian influence and left her craftsmen to follow an independent and wholly original course which for a long time gave them the lead, patronis- ed as they were by the Court and the nobility, and inspired by the skilis of such binders as Le Gascon, Badier, Eve, Ruette and Boyet. During the reign of Louis XIII in the first half of the 17th cen- tury, the master binder Le Gascon launched a novel and elegant style of gilding known as filigrane or pointillé, which spread to other countries, Italy included. However, its ostentatious ap- pearance brought about a sharp reaction and the adoption, at least in France, of the Janséniste binding in deference to the austere leanings of that sect. At first, no more than a simple fillet of gilding was admitted, but to this was soon added a richly ornate lacework border, precursor of the French clentelle style which was later to focus inwards on the coat of arms or initial letters that oc- cupied the centre of the cover. As the century progressed, Italy turned towards ornamental styles featuring fan-shaped motifs, plain and simple in Milan and Turin, more lavish and precious in Rome and Florence. Gilded at the four corners with a lacework pattern resembling a fan, the cover was left blank at the centre in the form of a circle. The rococo style of the 18th century pointed the way to yet another fashion in the adornment of bindings, one which was quickly developed and propagated by the Padeloup and Derome families, and which was unmatched for the rest of the century. For Live generations, from 1642 to 1795, the Padeloups used warm shades of orange, rose, blue and pea green for their morocco leather bindings. These, they gilded with dots and geometrical 30 shapes that were repeated to suggest parquetry and decorated richly with mosaic patterns and wide borders in lively colours displaying rococo influence. The Deromes specialized in bindings in keeping with the Louis XV style, embellishing them with gild- ed designs derived from Venetian lace and embroidery. Highly skilled in the use of small stamps, they contrived original group- ings of tendrils, fronds and flowers, in particular of the carnation, rose and pomegranate, without omitting the rococo emblem of the Shell from the cover corners, nor, when appropriate, the patron's crest from the centre of the panel. Bindings were also produced in the French manner in Italy, but here the 18th century ushered in an entirely original style dominated by gilded bands which wound around latticed pads at the corners of the central panel, flowing inward often to usurp the place normally reserved for a coat of arms. The leather was of natural hue, though sometimes tinted with an undertone or streak of colour. Meanwhile, England was held in spell by that most famous of bibliophiles, Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford, founder of the Harleian Collection at the British Museum. He prepared his own designs for the bindings of books that went into his library. And their motifs, taken from plant life, gave English bindings a distinctive style and character which endures to this day. Later Developments In Italy, Harley' s most recent counterpart was Baron Weil Weiss (1863-1939) who devoted his life to collecting fine editions which he had bound by the best artist binders then working in Paris and Turin. Of these, Giovanni Pacchiotti is the most celebrated, at least in Italy, if only because he bound and decorated 475 works of the 7 000 items which comprise the Weiss Collection of Art Bindings in the Trivulziana Museum, Milan. An examination of their styles shows how greatly the art of adorning leather bindings has changed in the last hundred years. The search for original motifs led to the introduction of a wide variety of floral, figurative, even geometrical embellishments; the tendency became more thematic, more fantastic, depending on the content of the book, sacred, profane, literary or scientific. However, this is a subject that lies outside the range of this article, involving, as it does, the place of art and design in modern book binding. Suffice to say that traditional motifs have by no means been abandoned and that much of the best work done today reflects the classic designs that have been discuseed here. Furthermore, since gold, when applied by artists of experience and taste, has never failed to enhance fine leatherwork, we may be sure that book binders will continue to use it as long as beautiful presentation volumes are appreciated. Acknowledgement This text was translated from the Italian by Michael P. A. Langley. GoldBull., 1982, 15, (1) 
work_rsb5ss7nc5cgllek6zggqrykju	----	Modernity Beyond the West: A Review of Kathleen James-Chakraborty’s Architecture Since 1400 With Architecture Since 1400 another volume has been added to the list of authoritative surveys of architectural history published in recent years. With 30 bit-like chap- ters and some 300 illustrations, this book is an ambitious attempt to write a global history of architecture that focuses on the arrival of modernity. The central idea of this survey is the shift away from the Weberian approach that views modernization as emanating from the West. Instead, in this book modern architecture is rewritten according to a global approach that allows for multiple perspectives in a multipolar world. This decentring approach is also pivotal for other parts of the book. For example, there is the much-needed effort to include women in the canon. In addition, the author exchanges a stylistic history for a social history and combines this with a narrative that maps the agents of the built environment, thus comple- menting the narrative of the genius-architect with that of the role played by clients, patrons and critics. In this way, Lina Bo Bardi or Zaha Hadid not only take their place next to Le Corbusier or Brunelleschi, but in addition Eleanor of Toledo is mentioned as an influential sixteenth-century ruler next to her husband Cosimo I, and Hardwick Hall in England is now considered the outcome of the coop- eration between the architect Robert Smythson and the landowner Bess of Hardwick. James-Chakraborty’s survey may be considered as a late outcome of the debate about the relationship between architecture and history that started in the decades after the Second World War. In fact, during the 1950s the first cracks in the stronghold of modernist historiography became apparent. Post-war historians like Jürgen Joedicke from Germany and Peter Collins from England took a more distanced stance towards what now appeared as the canon of modern architecture (especially Joedicke 1958 and Collins 1965). However, the real problematization of the grand narratives of modern architecture took place in the aftermath of the debate on the decline of orthodox modernism. The contribution of Manfredo Tafuri and the School of Venice to this process is well known; in addition, as a result of the changing architectural-theoretical con- text of the mid-seventies, there was a new interest in broader cultural and philosophical themes. In particu- lar, the shift towards post-structuralism and the study of Derrida and Foucault led to the insight that, in order to expose the hollowness of modernist ideals, history had to be dissected into parts rather than welded together into a grand whole. As was shown by developments in the histor- ical sciences — for example, Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie’s Montaillou (1975) or Natalie Zemon Davis’ The Return of Martin Guerre (1983) — the focus was now on the frag- ment as the study of a smaller historical unit, instead of broad synthetic accounts of history (Ankersmit 1989). As a consequence of these developments, the survey as his- torical genre became more or less suspect. The new ideal was that history ought to be an agent of disjunction where the emphasis was on analysis rather than on synthesis. This state of affairs also reflected the changed position of Europe in the world. It was now no longer considered the centre of the world: rather, it was, so to speak, but one tree in a whole forest. As a consequence, histories about the triumph of reason or the glorious struggle for emancipa- tion were now considered to be only of local importance and for that reason not suitable for a meta-narrative. The publication of new architectural historical surveys in the last few years signals in a certain way the return of this genre. That is, books like Architecture Since 1400 or Jean-Louis Cohen’s The Future of Architecture Since 1889 can be seen as attempts to make the genre once more compatible with the major historiographical revi- sions of the past decades. Cohen, for example, uses Braudel’s notion of multiple temporalities to break up the homogeneity of the epic tale of modernism into a series of contrasting and often conflicting experiences. James-Chakraborty seems to go even a step further: where Cohen still begins his history traditionally, with the Industrial Revolution, James-Chakraborty re-writes the history of modernization in the key of globalization, thereby changing its geographical constants. For James- Chakraborty, 1400 is a crucial year for the start of moder- nity: around this year, the Ming dynasty seized control of China, the palace city of Cuczo was created in present day Mexico, and in Florence the architectural competition * Goethe University Frankfurt am Main, Germany titiarixt.hoekstra@gmail.com Review Modernity Beyond the West: A Review of Kathleen James-Chakraborty’s Architecture Since 1400 Architecture Since 1400, Kathleen James-Chakraborty, Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 516 pages, 287 illustrations b/w, 2014, ISBN: 9780816673964 Rixt Hoekstra* Hoekstra, R 2014 Modernity Beyond the West: A Review of Kathleen James- Chakraborty’s Architecture Since 1400. Architectural Histories, 2(1): 25, pp. 1-3, DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.5334/ah.ca mailto:titiarixt.hoekstra@gmail.com http://dx.doi.org/10.5334/ah.ca Hoekstra: Modernity Beyond the WestArt. 25, page 2 of 3 for the dome of the city cathedral was held. According to James-Chakraborty, what all these events have in com- mon is that they represent a modernisation process that is characterized by an increasing amount of novel struc- tures and an intensification of contact and interaction between geographically disparate cultures. James-Chakraborty’s book uses a well-known chrono- logical framework to present a fundamentally updated and enlarged account of modern architectural history. The Italian Renaissance is now contrasted with very different experiences in China, or with divergent architectural devel- opments in England, France, Poland and the Netherlands. The Baroque is discussed in Rome, but equally in terms of its Spanish and Portuguese heritage in the Americas. James-Chakraborty writes about Neoclassicism and the Gothic Revival but also about very different experiences in Edo Japan — present-day Tokyo — and in other Asian regions. The book concludes with a completely updated history of twentieth-century architecture, which departs, among others things, from the failure of the modern movement to capture the full impact of modernity on architecture. Significantly, Architecture Since 1400 starts and ends with China’s architectural history: from its impe- rial architecture around 1400 to the architecture of global cities like Hong Kong and Shanghai. Global history emerged as a new field of study after the end of the Cold War and directly reflects the rise of new themes such as multiculturalism. What most global histo- ries have in common is the wish to develop less Western- centric narratives and to come to a new understanding of the past that is not in any way restricted by national concepts. Architecture Since 1400 fits into this trend: it fuses global history as a new field of study that is still in the process of defining its basic assumptions with the central notion of architectural history, which is the arrival of modernity. This leads to the main thesis of the book, which is that even though Europe has lost its central place in the world, the history of modernity stills holds its value, albeit in a context that encompasses the whole world and no longer privileges Europe. Architecture Since 1400 is structured on the basis of a number of corrective insights that stem from this chal- lenging statement. First, James-Chakraborty breaks with the assumption that a pre-modern corpus of architec- ture was defined by traditional architecture incapable of change, while the modern architecture of the Western world was marked by a rapid succession of styles. Instead, she depicts modernization as a complex process consist- ing of several modalities and tempi. China, for example, had an imperial system that remained relatively stable until the eighteenth century, resulting in the architec- tural refinement of tradition rather than the introduc- tion of radical changes as was the case in Renaissance Europe. However, at the same time, Chinese architecture was not static: the development of the Chinese courtyard house, for example, was gradual, but real. Also, although Europe’s architecture was characterized by a succession of styles, the great inventions did not always stem from this continent: the double-shell dome for example was used in present-day Iran and central Asia long before it was employed in Renaissance Italy. Another assumption that is rejected in this book is that innovation moves from the core to the periphery and that at the edges of political and economical systems nothing goes on. Instead, in this sur- vey the periphery is amply present, as in those countries in Northern Europe that resisted the Renaissance or in the rural villas and theoretical writings of Andrea Palladio in the Venetian countryside, away from the country’s cen- tres Rome and Florence. Relevant is also the way in which James-Chakraborty describes the rise of non-Western non- colonial modern architecture, not as an import product of the Western World to the exotic periphery or to teach ignorant natives, but as something that was desired by that very public, albeit for reasons that differed from the motivations and aspirations of the West. Naturally, the ambitious undertaking of Architecture Since 1400 also has its pitfalls. In a certain way by describ- ing a modernization process that encompasses the whole world and goes back to 1400, the author inflates the notion of modernization in both a temporal and geo- graphical way. James-Chakraborty is not alone in choos- ing this strategy: it is also present in, for example, Francis D. K. Ching’s A Global History of Architecture (2011). In the notion of modernization that is thus created nothing much is left of its Enlightenment content, which associ- ates modernization with such phenomena as the libera- tion of authoritarian rule, the exchange of the religious for the secular, or the division between public and pri- vate space as a fundamental ingredient of civil society. In fact, the risk of this strategy is that modernisation itself becomes a catch-all term that like a hollow container has lost its distinguishing analytical characteristics. It is a pity in this respect that James-Chakraborty does not define the term modernization in this book — nor, for that matter, the term architecture. Also, the question comes to mind if the global history of architecture does not encompass processes and ideals that are incompatible with moderni- zation, or even resist this notion. However, that does not alter the fact James-Chakraborty has written a valuable survey. The book offers an updated and revised understanding of the history of modern architecture; among others, it is of interest for those seek- ing an introduction into the complex history of colonial and postcolonial architecture or for those who wish to trace the presence of women in the history of architec- ture. Although the books’ illustrations are not its forte — they are in black and white, and look rather dim — it has been published in paperback format, which is a plus for students. References Ankersmit, F R 1989 Historiography and Postmodern- ism. History and Theory 28(2): 137–153. DOI: http:// dx.doi.org/10.2307/2505032 Ching, F D K, Jarzombek, M, and Prakash, V 2011 A Global History of Architecture. New Jersey: Wiley. Collins, P 1965 Changing Ideals in Modern Architecture, 1750–1950. London: Faber and Faber. Joedicke, J 1958 Geschichte der Modernen Architektur. Stuttgart: Hatje. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/2505032 http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/2505032 Hoekstra: Modernity Beyond the West Art.25, page 3 of 3 How to cite this article: Hoekstra, R 2014 Modernity Beyond the West: A Review of Kathleen James-Chakraborty’s Architecture Since 1400. Architectural Histories, 2(1): 25, pp. 1-3, DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.5334/ah.ca Published: 27 October 2014 Copyright: © 2014 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License (CC-BY 3.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/. OPeN ACCeSS Architectural Histories is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.5334/ah.ca http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ 
work_ruutfcfqgzbg3j5niezqauyrqi	----	471 . [lacuna] — (“By the prayers of Thy Most Pure Mother and holy wonderwork- er Nicholas […] of God — have mercy on us”). Kirillin thinks that the lacuna might correspond to the word (Genitive form of one of the synonyms of “saint” in Church Slavonic and Old Russian, a normal epithet of St Nicholas). Instead, I am sure, the lacuna cor- responds to the most common formula of the nal clauses of such texts wri en with the titles, thus in a very compact form and without breaks between words: (“O Lord Jesus Christ Son”). This phrase contains the same number of le ers (nine) as (where the initial /u/ might be rendered by the digraph ). If so, the em-dash added by Kirillin is also out of place, and the text must be read as: (“By the prayers of Thy Most Pure Mother and holy wonderworker Nicholas, O Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us”). Basil Lourié . , (XVI–XVII .) ( : , 2006) 136 . [ - ] N na Si i , Narration on St. Maxim the Greek (XVI– XVII cent.) (Moscow, St. T hon Un vers ty P bl shers, 2006) 136 pp. ISBN 5-7429-0232-8 The book wri en by prominent Russian scholar Nina Sinitsyna deals with the earliest textual witnesses of the life of Maxim the Greek ( ) or Maximos Trivolis, an Athonite monk who was in- vited to Russia in 1518 and died there in 1555. Several pieces of hagi- ography subsist from the earliest period. All of them are published in the book. These are: Narratio-praefatio [ ] by an anonymous author, known in several redactions and Narratio informans [ i ] known in many mss. The la er was included into the Menaion of the priest Ioann Milyutin (1646–1654). Two additional text witnesses were added to these texts. One is a small note wri en down by monk Selivan, a disciple of Maxim (1524), the other by monk Nil Kurlyatev (1552). The main importance of the book however is a new edition of the Narratio informans according to the ms. recension of 1587. Now the hagiographical dossier of St. Max- im looks fairly complete. Some minor problems to be mentioned are Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access 472 Scrinium IV (2008). Patrologia Paci ca . . , . . , . . , . . , . ( .), . . I ( : « », 2008) 568 . [ - : , : ]. L. I. Z u , V. Y. K u k , N. V. Si i , B. L. F ki , K. K (ed.), Saint Maxim the Greek. Collected Works. Vol me I (Moscow: “Indr p bl shers”, 2008) 568 pp. [R s- s an Academy of Sc ences: Inst t te of R ss an H story; S be- r an Branch of RAS: The Inst t te of H story] ISBN 978-5-85759-445-2. The rst long-awaited volume of the new edition of the works of St Maxim the Greek has been published by renowned Moscow scholar Nina Sinitsyna in collaboration with one of the strongest teams work- ing with pre-Peter texts and the old-believer tradition — the N. Po- krovsky group from Novosibirsk. The volume includes texts of the rst period of the life of St Maxim in Russia until the condemnation (1518–1525) as well as works preserved in Greek (with Russian trans- lation), wri en in Italy and on Mt Athos (1498–1516) by Michael (Max- imos) Trivolis. The very identity of St. Maxim the Greek known from the Russian sources remained unclear until I. Denisov identi ed him as Maksimos Trivolis in 1943; since then his hypothesis has received general acknowledgement. The rst publication of the Greek part of the heritage of St Maxim will strongly contribute to the research of Maxim’s relation to the Ital- ian Renaissance. Although the problem itself remains somehow out- side the focus of the introductory article, it remains pre y acute and demands tough work with Latin contemporary sources. The new edition comes almost 150 years a er the three-volume edition which was completed in 1859–1862 in the Kazan Theological related to the spelling of the titlo (abbreviations). Thus двд7овы on p. 75 is most likely and not , likewise дка on p. 89 is very probably a titlo Dка and should be spelled as . Nevertheless, a very high level is maintained in the book, which could be labeled as a very helpful addition to the dossier of one of the most famous gures in the religious and cultural history of XVI century Russia. A. Muraviev Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:07AM via free access HиHa B. CиHиubIHA, Cka3ahuR o npeno∂o∂нoм Makcuмe Γpeke 
work_rv5f5umljvfq5bi7phut7fz3y4	----	What was meant by vulgarizing in the Italian Renaissance? Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rihr20 Intellectual History Review ISSN: 1749-6977 (Print) 1749-6985 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rihr20 What was meant by vulgarizing in the Italian Renaissance? Marco Sgarbi To cite this article: Marco Sgarbi (2018): What was meant by vulgarizing in the Italian Renaissance?, Intellectual History Review, DOI: 10.1080/17496977.2018.1521628 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/17496977.2018.1521628 Published online: 06 Dec 2018. Submit your article to this journal View Crossmark data http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rihr20 http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rihr20 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/17496977.2018.1521628 https://doi.org/10.1080/17496977.2018.1521628 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=rihr20&show=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=rihr20&show=instructions http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/17496977.2018.1521628&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2018-12-06 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/17496977.2018.1521628&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2018-12-06 What was meant by vulgarizing in the Italian Renaissance? Marco Sgarbi Department of Philosophy and Cultural Heritage, Università Ca’ Foscari, Venice, Italy ABSTRACT What did it mean to “vulgarize” in Renaissance Italy? Was it simply a matter of translating into the vernacular, or did it mean making a text more accessible to the people – to in some sense popularize it? The answer is far from simple and certainly never one-sided; therefore, each individual case needs to be independently assessed on its own merits. This article seeks to shed some light at least on the major treatments of the theory of vulgarization by the likes of Ludovico Castelvetro, Faustus Longianus, Francesco Robortello, Alessandro Piccolomini, Orazio Toscanella and Girolamo Catena, which were central to the debate from the 1540s onwards. KEYWORDS vulgarization; Ludovico Castelvetro; Faustus Longianus; Alessandro Piccolomini; Orazio Toscanella; Girolamo Catena 1. Introduction: translation, tradition and betrayal What did it mean to “vulgarize [volgarizzare]” in Renaissance Italy? Was it simply a matter of translating into the vernacular,1 or did it mean making a text more accessible to the people2 – to in some sense popularize it?3 The answer is far from simple and certainly never one-sided; therefore, each individual case needs to be independently assessed on its own merits. Transposing from one language to another and making content more accessible are two practices which are not always easy to distinguish between. The two meanings have long coexisted, and their polysemy is just as appreciable today as it was in the Renaissance. What is interesting is that in this period intellectuals began to reflect on the process of vul- garization itself. In the Italian Renaissance almost any attempt to make content more accessible to a wider public implied at least some form of translation from the classical languages into the vernacular (when the production was not original), and this is what was meant by ren- dering into the vernacular. With that said, however, we can make no general assumption – at least on the basis of the cases we have knowledge of – to the effect that every translation was an instance of popularization. Either way, it is well to remember, as George Steiner points out, that translation is never a simple and neutral transmission of a text from one language to another; it is not a mere linguistic question, because it always produces new knowledge.4 Hence, even when translation is not intended as popularization, by making the text or its content more widely known – and also when a radical transform- ation of both is involved – it nevertheless fulfills the function of generating new © 2018 International Society for Intellectual History CONTACT Marco Sgarbi marco.sgarbi@unive.it INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW https://doi.org/10.1080/17496977.2018.1521628 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/17496977.2018.1521628&domain=pdf mailto:marco.sgarbi@unive.it http://www.tandfonline.com knowledge.5 It is equally certain that to render a classical text into a vernacular language greatly increases the number of its public.6 To date, studies focusing on the vulgarization process have for the most part been con- cerned with the early phases of the Romance languages between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries.7 Another line of inquiry focuses on the problem of translation from Greek to Latin during Humanism,8 another still on specific geographical areas, for instance France.9 However, almost nothing has been written on the theory of vulgarization from classical languages to the vernacular in the Italian Renaissance.10 In the rare event that some effort has been made in this direction, scholars have been concerned primarily with the translation of literary texts rather than philosophical and scientific texts.11 Only in recent years has there been a surge of interest in the various translation practices that were adopted.12 So far, however, nothing systematic has come of it. Yet there is one very good reason for studying this complex process: the Renaissance, the Cinquecento in particular, was a time of intense blossoming of what we today call vul- garization in all fields of knowledge, especially in terms of prose.13 In order to fully grasp the meaning of vulgarization in the Italian Renaissance, it is therefore necessary to examine some of the first-hand accounts rather than focusing exclusively on a-posteriori reconstructions, which inevitably risk distorting reality through the lens of a modern way of looking at things. Even the classification of vulgarization as a literary genre was late in emerging. Few Renaissance intellectuals defined their works as vulgarizations. The word “volgarizzamento” only came into widespread use in the second half of the Seicento, and it was not until the late Settecento and the Ottocento that this category of literary genre really took root, albeit in a non-defined kind of way. This article therefore seeks to shed some light at least on the major treatments of the theory of vulgarization by the likes of Ludovico Castelvetro, Faustus Longianus, Francesco Robortello, Alessandro Piccolomini, Orazio Toscanella and Girolamo Catena, which were central to the debate from the 1540s onwards. The role played by these authors is particu- larly significant, as most of them worked on the translation and vulgarization of philoso- phical and scientific texts, which in part present a different set of challenges from that of purely literary and poetic works. Although making content more understandable is hardly a concern in the case of the latter, such works do raise the problem of metrical correspon- dence, which is absent in prose works. Even so, as we shall see, the question of preserving certain linguistic forms in the transfer from one language to another persists. Our reconstruction omits the question of the genres of these texts as something which is correlated but not immediately dependent. Obviously the choice of one literary genre over another implies a different approach to the original text. As Alessio Cotugno has so bril- liantly shown, it is difficult to speak of vulgarization without reference to the manner in which a text is vulgarized – in other words, the techniques of exegesis and interpretation that are employed.14 Nonetheless, a useful distinction may still be drawn between the quid facti of vulgarization, or how it is produced, and the quid iuris, namely the possibilities and limitations of vulgarization. This present inquiry focuses on the quid iuris, or the theory of the translation. At its height, when the vernacular had established itself as a language of culture, vulgar- ization was no longer questioned in terms of its feasibility.15 Vulgarization had long since ceased to be the object of criticism, and indeed intellectuals such as Faustus Longianus and Orazio Toscanella came to view the question of its validity as simply superfluous, even 2 M. SGARBI nonsensical. By then, vulgarization had become a well-established practice.16 The problem of developing a theory of translation and vulgarization emerged only later, however, when the vernacular no longer needed legitimizing as a language of culture and the notion that vulgarizing was “extremely beneficial and honorable”17 was becoming widely accepted. It was only when vulgarizations were being printed that serious reflection on a theory of translation and vulgarization began to emerge. The most pressing concern at this stage was therefore to define the criteria and prin- ciples according to which it was possible or even necessary to vulgarize.18 Such principles, the quid iuris, were what made it possible to select the best vulgarization technique. This theory of vulgarization – which to start with, at least, turned primarily on the fundamental principles of translation – became possible only when the idea that it was necessary to reproduce the high-register forms of Latin also in the vernacular was abandoned.19 Historians have generally tended to reduce the theory of Renaissance translation to a single overarching dichotomy: “do we translate according to the words or the meaning?”20 This dichotomy has often been associated with a juxtaposition between those who are interested primarily in form, or words, and those who prefer to focus on content, or meaning. The first group usually includes Ludovico Castelvetro, Sebastianus Faustus Longianus, Orazio Toscanella and Girolamo Catena. The assumption is that to vulgarize, for these intellectuals, meant to translate in the strictest sense, in other words to “convert [convertere]”, “transpose [transferre]”, “interpret [interpretari]” and “render [reddere] or return”. It was therefore for the most part a word-for-word translation (verbum pro verbo), against Leonardo Bruni’s suggestion.21 By contrast, Francesco Robor- tello and Alessandro Piccolomini, along with many other intellectuals who were con- cerned not so directly with the theory of translation but with actual translations or the theory of language, for instance Sperone Speroni, Benedetto Varchi, Ludovico Dolce and Claudio Tolomei, were more alive to content.22 For them, to vulgarize was not merely to translate, or a word-for-word transposition, but above all a rendering of the true sense of the author’s message, in line with Saint Jerome’s dictum “do not render word-for-word, but express the original sense [non verbum e verbo, sed sensum exprimere de sensu]”. Ultimately, it was a matter of taking a stance on the question of Cicero’s theory of trans- lation, which is based on a distinction between interpreter/translator and orator/author. In De finibus III.15, Cicero states: It is not necessary to squeeze out a translation word by word, as ineloquent interpreters do, when there is a more familiar word conveying the same meaning. Indeed, I usually use several words to expose what is expressed in Greek by one, if I am unable to do anything else. In De optimo genere oratorum 14, his argument is subtler: I did not translate them [Aeschines and Demosthenes] as an interpreter, but as an orator, with the same ideas, forms and, as it were, shape, and with language fitted to our usage. In this I did not think that I should render word for word, but instead preserved every cat- egory and the force of the words.23 This distinction quickly gained currency among rhetoricians much loved by the humanis- tic tradition such as Horace and Quintilian,24 and came to represent the departure point for all subsequent debate on the topic in the Renaissance period.25 What was the role of the INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 3 true translator? That of interpreter or of author? Was Cicero right? And if so, which Cicero? This Ciceronian debate is often confused with the characteristically humanist debate on the question of Ciceronianism, where the purpose was rather to discuss the adoption of a language modeled on the style of Cicero and based on the idea of an intrinsic correspon- dence between res and verba, content and form.26 As the focus of discussion was whether or not it is necessary, when vulgarizing, to adhere to the words of the original text in order to express content, a question analogous to the one about whether certain verba are required to express certain res, the differences between these debates appeared negligible. Hence we see that the transposition of not only terms but also linguistic structures from the classical languages to the vernacular remained current as a subject of inquiry.27 Nonetheless, as we shall see, by the time these theories of vulgarization had taken root, the schism in the Ciceronian res–verba dichotomy had already played itself out.28 Objects and words were no longer on the same level, as the humanists had advocated – rather, objects and concepts were now prior to words, a position already argued by Aristotle.29 To ask why authors in the Cinquecento made no reference to the translation theories of the Quattrocento is thus misleading: Leonardo Bruni in his De interpretatione recta had totally different concerns when working on the translation from Greek to Latin in a context without the printing press.30 It would be like asking why Bembo in his Prose scar- cely even acknowledged the experiences of Quattrocento intellectuals such as Leon Battista Alberti, Cristoforo Landino and Lorenzo de’ Medici, and taking him to task for maintain- ing a certain kind of silence. Very simply, intellectuals in the Cinquecento had different questions and demands, as well as a profoundly altered theoretical framework to work with.31 To reduce the whole question of vulgarization to a juxtaposition between word/ meaning and res/verba would be profoundly misguided. It would seem therefore more profitable to leave such distinctions aside for the moment, and to begin by looking at the different types of vulgarization. 2. Ludovico Castelvetro on “traslatare” The first document to offer an insight into the question of the meaning of vulgarization is a letter dated 7 May 1543 from Ludovico Castelvetro to Gaspare Calori.32 There are at least three reasons why this document is of particular interest. Firstly, it is an early document written by a young Castelvetro which explores in an entirely theoretical vein the possibi- lities of translation and vulgarization. Castelvetro had yet to tackle the practical issues involved in translating classical texts: his Poetica d’Aristotele volgarizzata e sposta came out only in 1570.33 Secondly, the work was written at a time when the vernacular was still struggling to establish itself as a language of culture; Sperone Speroni’s Dialogo delle lingue had been in print for only a year, although the ideas presented in it were already widely acknowledged, and the validity and dignity of the vernacular as a language capable of transmitting knowledge that is not only literary but also scientific–philosophical was under the constant scrutiny of philologists and humanists. Lastly, unlike the other documents that are examined here, Castelvetro’s letter has the singular distinction, not to say misfortune, of remaining unpublished until 1747 when Angelo Calogerà brought it to light, sufficient reason for it not to have had any impact at all on subsequent debate. 4 M. SGARBI The letter has prompted a number of detailed studies, the purpose of most of which has been to shed light on the body of philological knowledge that was accrued from biblical or literary exegesis.34 What has generally been overlooked, however, is that Castelvetro focuses his analysis on the translation of literary texts – primarily poetry. Such compo- sitions, in Castelvetro’s view, had a single purpose: to entertain. Poetry has no other purpose,35 and in no way may it take on the task of uncovering truth or transmitting knowledge. This is especially true of the poetry of Virgil, which Castelvetro examines in his letter and openly attacks later in the Poetica d’Aristotele for its intent to transmit ideas, content and concepts that stray far beyond the remit of straightforward entertain- ment.36 He is by no means alone in his views. Sperone Speroni held similar views in respect of poetic compositions,37 and it is an important point to make because the letter clearly shows that translation, too, at least in the field of poetry, must align with the ultimate purpose of the original. This implies the careful selection of words that are “ornate” precisely because they must give pleasure to the listener and the reader. Even so, it would be rash to conclude from this that every translation for Castelvetro must be “ornate”.38 Castelvetro’s letter is built around three core themes: (1) the genetic priority of concept over word; (2) the semantic power of concept over word; and (3) the impossibility of deriv- ing the former from the latter. This impossibility gives rise to the single greatest issue in translation, namely its reliability. The problem is stated in psychological terms. While it is difficult to relate a word to a concept of our own, it is well-nigh impossible to do so with a word that replaces another word that already refers to another’s concept. The impossibility of knowing the soul’s concepts and affects – that is the intentions of the author – consti- tutes the first major obstacle to transmission. To transpose from one language to another is therefore always an act of authorship, because it relates one’s own words to one’s own concepts. Castelvetro’s glottological approach also presents a historical–cultural problem. Each language contains concepts that are in some way inseparable from words because through- out the course of the centuries they have built up a certain semantic value that can be transposed from one language to another only with great difficulty. These are the so- called “untranslatables”.39 The questions relating to linguistics and the theory of translation Castelvetro raises present no easy solutions, and one may well be lulled into seeing some kind of equivalence between thought/concept and linguistic utterance/word – a kind of nominalism, in other words, or one-to-one correspondence.40 This cannot be Castelvetro’s position, however, because it would imply that only one specific word could be used to express a specific concept, hence no translation would be possible. Far more simply, Castelvetro speaks of a customary use of language, a kind of habitus. Just as we are accustomed to seeing water as transparent and find it strange to see it black, so we are accustomed to using certain words and not others for certain concepts.41 This is true not only for translation from one language to another, but also for periphrasis – in other words, when seeking to explain the same concept with different words in the same language. Having established that it is easier to be composers or authors rather than translators, Castelvetro goes on to define a hierarchy of values for carrying out a good translation. Firstly, when translating it is necessary as much as possible to avoid terms that take one directly back to the source language, which above all else means eliminating INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 5 Graecisms and Latinisms. Castelvetro’s reasoning is that only in this manner can the ver- nacular genuinely see itself as a language worthy of science and literature without coming across as perennially subordinate to the classical languages. A case in point is the trans- lation of “μίμησις” as “rassomiglianza [similarity, likeness]” or more rarely as “rappresen- tatione [representation]”, but never with the customary “imitazione [imitation]”, which derives from the Latin imitatio. Castelvetro offers no solution to the problem of the untranslatables, or of how to trans- pose from one language to another concepts that are closely bound to a word without resorting to loan-words from the source language. In such cases, which include the above- mentioned question of the translation of “μίμησις”, Castelvetro appears to be operating – albeit unconsciously – in a manner that is highly philosophical rather than philological. The aim is to identify in the target language the word that best characterizes the source concept and then translate it. This naturally implies a deep understanding of the concept – an understanding which had hitherto remained unattainable given the impossi- bility of reading concepts stripped of words. The best that one can do to overcome this difficulty is to acquire an in-depth knowledge of the subject in question, namely the text to be vulgarized. However philological Castelvetro’s approach may seem, and however closely he may focus on finding the right words, it is content, or the concept, that provides the key to his theory of translation. His works are intensely philosophical. In his view, one must have mastered both the source and the target language because otherwise one can give no account of the properties of translations, figures and qualities of words. To overlook the content would mean to create the paradoxical situation of expressing serious concepts with frivolous words, or frivolous concepts with serious words. To translate is thus to preserve above all content, then the terminology of the target language and, lastly, the syntax and linguistic structures of the source language. On this basis, Castelvetro gives a reading of the passage from De optimo genere ora- torum in which he states that Cicero refers to the role not of the translator, but of the orator, who is concerned more with content than style.42 This might explain Cicero’s aver- sion to word-for-word translations – but still, according to Castelvetro, Cicero is not criti- cal of literal translation in an overall sense; rather, Cicero wishes to assert that it is possible to adopt different approaches to rendering a source text according to the situation. Like- wise, Aulus Gellius in his Noctes Atticae references the author/orator and not the transla- tor when claiming that it is not necessary to translate a source text word-for-word.43 An author for Castelvetro is not one who dresses concepts in words for the first time – at least, not only this. Like so many others after him, he refers rather to the etymological meaning of the word “author”, which translates the Latin “auctor”, from “auctus”, perfect participle of “augeo”, meaning “to enlarge”, “to augment”, “to develop” and “to expand”. Anyone who is not a perfect translator, therefore, is for Castelvetro an author in the sense that he or she enlarges, augments, develops and expands the source text. It is not necessary to be innovative to be an author; any vulgarizer who is not merely a translator is an author, because he expands a source text, making it more transparent for the reader. As we shall see, Alessandro Piccolomini, too, adopts the approach of being an author, not a translator. To conclude, there are two approaches to translation: one the interpreter’s, the other the author’s. Translation in a strict sense is the preserve of the interpreter, who must stick closely to the original text – and for this he must be expert not only in the 6 M. SGARBI terminology and syntactic structures of the target language but also in those of the source language. Knowledge of concepts through the words of source-language texts is crucial for an adequate translation using the relevant target-language terminology without inap- propriate recourse to loan-words from the classical languages. This kind of translation requires not only philological expertise but also a great capacity to recreate the initial concept in other words, that is to say to understand the original concept in its most inti- mate sense and reproduce the same intimacy of understanding in the target language. This is why Castelvetro’s translation of Aristotle’s Poetics, aside from its critical apparatus, is not only philologically accurate but also a model of conceptual translation that represents the high point of his philosophical career. 3. Faustus Longianus on translating according to Cicero Castelvetro’s perspective is taken further by Sebastianus Faustus Longianus in his dialogue Del modo de lo tradurre d’una in altra lingua segondo le regole mostrate da Cicerone (1556), prompting Werther Romani to advance the not implausible hypothesis that there was in fact some kind of student–teacher relationship between the two.44 Be that as it may, Del modo de lo tradurre is the first published Renaissance work in the vernacular on the theory of translation. Bodo Guthmüller has already provided an admirable textual and contextual analysis of the dialogue,45 hence it is sufficient here simply to recall its theor- etical relevance. The title itself clearly shows how the author’s aim is to give an account of the method of translation advocated by Cicero rather than putting forward a general view of what it means to translate or vulgarize. The fictional dialogue begins with the story of two intellectuals engaged in defending what they see to be the real task of the translator, namely that of interpreter or orator according to Cicero’s text. In other words, Faustus Longianus is asking whether it is right to translate word-for-word or according to meaning.46 In order to take a stance in this debate, it is necessary from the outset to state what translation actually is and how it may be distinguished, for example, from metaphrasis, paraphrase, summary, comment, exposition and explanation – in other words, from the other modes of vulgarization. Metaphrasis is, in Faustus Longianus’s view, a form of popularization47 – whether in the same language or a different one – which comes close to translating according to meaning, so that, in his words, “nowadays it is used by many, but under the name of trans- lation”.48 However, it refers only to “meaning or the shadow of meaning” – in other words, “it is not obliged to the purity of the meaning of the words”.49 It can however be a powerful means of distorting the message of a text, and indeed it “amplifies, diminishes, confuses, transposes, disturbs, obscures, so that the main author would no longer recognize it as his own”.50 The meaning can be transformed to such a degree that the original author finds himself on a par with a secondary author who may even bring another meaning to the text. Hence metaphrasis, whose purpose should be to adapt and explain the content to a wider audience, can end up perverting it instead. Elsewhere, Faustus Longianus speaks of metaphrasis in terms of an illustration (illustratitione) “which is not bound to any law of meaning or of words”.51 Like metaphrasis, paraphrase “can be carried out in the same language or in another one”.52 It is in every sense a form of vulgarization because “its strength consists in clarifying INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 7 the meaning of that which is ambiguous or obscure with a greater number of words”.53 Unlike metaphrasis, therefore, paraphrase always remains close to the meaning intended by the author. Because of this, and because of its capacity to clarify content, paraphrase for Faustus Longianus is “extremely difficult, and not everyone can do it”.54 Another form of vulgarization is the summary, or epitome, the purpose of which is to aid memory and ensure that only the most salient content is reported. Yet it is precisely in this selection of content that Faustus Longianus sees the greatest risk in the act of summar- izing, which is liable “sometimes to cause no small amount of damage”.55 Selection can result in important content being left out or a message that is different from the author’s intended message being conveyed. Hence the best summary is the one that follows the author’s intended meaning. The final form of vulgarization examined by Faustus Longianus is the explanation (ispianatione) or “ispositione, commentario, narratione, isplicatione”. Its purpose is to declare meanings, manifest the secrets of the art, resolve contradictions, clarify ambiguities, grasp the most plausible opinion in a controversy, publish stories and hidden fables, show the significations and virtues of words, apportion reason, discover their sources, observe their elocution.56 In other words, ispianatione serves to make the content of a text more plain, clear and understandable, and in this sense is an example of genuine vulgarization, even though “it may be undertaken both in one’s own language and in that of others”.57 Unlike all other ways of approaching a text, to translate means above all to interpret, convert and transpose faithfully from one language to another. In all other cases the orig- inal text may be modified in its own language.58 Translation is part of a wider psychological process based on a word–thing dichotomy of Aristotelian derivation: “any utterance that has ever been made or will ever be made by anyone anywhere in the world by voice or in writing consists of nothing more than two elements: things and words”.59 Things, meaning “statements, senses, feelings, matters, concepts, are considered first”, prior to words, which are only an ornament to them; the priority is to preserve “the order of things”, meaning concepts – that is to say, to not alter the sense of the original author’s argument.60 Faustus Longianus is aware that “truth gets lost in differences, hence it is necessary gently to reason and make every effort to gain knowledge of the thing”.61 Translation is always a betrayal, yet – despite this inescapable drawback of the translation process – a translator must spare no effort in revealing the truth of a text. Before anything else in the translation, the content must be preserved – and only subsequently is it possible to apply “the same forms and figures, or conformations, […] ornaments, […] or patterns”.62 It is therefore necessary to translate “with appropriate words and beyond that to preserve the virtue, the force and the value of the words of the language from which one is transposing”.63 This means that words play a crucial role as a “garment” for concepts, and indeed Riccardo Drusi has argued for the existence “of an essential relationship between language and con- cepts, so that the word is a substance, not a vehicle, of the argument it expresses”,64 which is reminiscent of what has already been asserted by Castelvetro. Nonetheless, the bias in the relationship between concepts and words is still tilted in favor of concepts. In the case of pure translation, however, the task should be to “stay within the words if possible and express the meaning”.65 In other words, for Faustus Longianus translation 8 M. SGARBI should be word-for-word, if in such a manner the meaning may be conveyed. This is why he interprets Horace’s “nec verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus / interpres” as follows: “you, who want to be a faithful interpreter, will not be concerned with translating word-for- word, but will consider only the meaning”.66 “Interpreter” here does not mean “transla- tor”, however, because otherwise you would no longer have the priority of the word- for-word translation. In this case, as in many others, “interpreter” is used by Faustus Long- ianus in its most commonly accepted meaning, which it retains to this day, of one who reveals in the best possible way the meaning of the source text as it is understood.67 Else- where he refers to the figure of the interpreter as an imitator, in opposition to the trans- lator.68 This discrepancy between translator and imitator gives some sense of how the problem of vulgarization is both anchored and unhinged by the problem of the imitation of Ciceronianism in the decades that spanned the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. During this time, an “imitator” was one who followed the linguistic forms and structures of Latin, whereas for Faustus Longianus it is one who simply follows the overall meaning of the text. Ideally, however, a translation should be word-for-word. Clearly this is not easily achieved: there is recognition of the fact that “each language has its own usages, beauties, splendors, which do not correspond to those of other languages”.69 Hence in order to translate literally it is important to understand the meaning of the text, and to know both the language into which one is translating and the language from which one is trans- lating. Whoever is unable to overcome these three difficulties will necessarily resort to translating according to meaning.70 It has been noted that his quibble here most likely has a specific target in mind, namely the anonymous translator of the Epistole famigliari di Cicerone, whose work appeared the year after Faustus Longianus’s own translation.71 In its dedicatory letter, the process of translation is clearly represented as a vulgarization that seeks to transmit concepts rather than words. The reasoning runs counter to Faustus Longianus’s: anyone who does not understand the concepts, so the argument goes, “opts to follow the path of the words [ … ] attends only to the voices”.72 It is often the case that those who do not understand the meaning of a text, and here the reference is to Faustus Longianus, go no further than the words, and so the “translation, which was discovered to make explicit otherwise hidden information, proves to be even more obscure”.73 Translation is a form of vulgarization for the anonymous translator both because it must render into the vernacular and because it must clarify that which is obscure. The juxtaposition between the perspectives of the anonymous translator and Faustus Longianus is fictitious, however, an artifice created by the anonymous translator specifically to justify a new translation only one year on. As we have seen, translating word-for-word is possible and advisable for Faustus Longianus only where it is not at the expense of conveying the sense. Adherence to the text is important, but it must not constitute a betrayal of its sense. In his Dialogo de lo modo di tradurre, Faustus Longianus identifies two general forms of vulgarization: those that simplify the understanding of a text – despite the problems that this too can sometimes cause – including metaphrasis, paraphrase, summary and ispiana- tione; and those that render the text into the vernacular, that is translation according to sense and literal translation. Vulgarization in the sense that simple texts which are also translated into the vernacular can be metaphrases, paraphrases, summaries and ispiana- tioni if and only if they are in the vernacular. Translation, on the other hand – even though is not necessarily a clarification, since it represents a transition from a dead INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 9 classical language to a living vernacular language – allows for a greater degree of com- munication of the content of the text. 4. Francesco Robortello on vulgarization As the founder of Renaissance historiography and modern criticism with his In librum Aristotelis De arte poetica explicationes (1548) and De historica facultate (1548), Francesco Robortello is not known for his theory of vulgarization. Nonetheless, it is a topic he devel- oped in at least two distinct ways. The first concerns the manner of translating from one language into another and explains how to make philosophical discourse “popular”, be it in Latin or vernacular. It is dealt with in the manuscript Del translatare d’una lingua in l’altra (c. 1552).74 In this work Robortello distinguishes between two kinds of vulgarization: one concern- ing the sciences, the other common speaking. For Robortello this distinction comes from the first book of Aristotle’s Rhetorica, where the Stagirite deals with the possibility of speaking according to either the “common place” or the “proper place” of a particular science or art.75 Robortello understands this doctrine of Aristotle’s as a theory of vulgar- ization, which can be scientific or common to a greater or lesser degree. While in Aristo- tle’s mind “common” means general or universal, for Robortello it has come to mean “popular”.76 Robortello’s conceptual shift is evident from his distinction between scientific and common speaking.77 Common speaking is therefore like a plain that may easily be traversed, in that it is easy to understand and learn, while scientific speaking is like an intri- cate vineyard, often repetitive and hard to understand. Sciences must be translated dis- tinguishing universal and scientific terms such as “substantia”, “qualitas” and “predicamentum”, still nowadays valid, from ancient words such as “toga”, “paludamen- tum” and “logio”. Universal and scientific terms, Robortello states, “must be translated in our language in terms coined by the translator according to the meaning of the word, that is, orator, ‘dicitore’”.78 As much as possible Robortello wishes to avoid the wholesale use of Graecisms and Latinisms, preferring rather to search for the equivalent vernacular terms that best express the essence of the concept. In this sense, Robortello is very close to Castelvetro. Unlike Castelvetro, however, Robortello distinguishes between a number of different levels of translation precisely because translation is not merely the transposition of words from one language to another, but involves a wider process of vulgarization. Scientific terms can be translated into “our” popular terms, or into “our” terms that are not in current usage, or into ancient terms that have been “popu- larized or accepted by people out of necessity”, or into ancient terms that are “not made popular”. What is important for Robortello is that these terms must in every instance be comprehensible to all. But he also takes this distinction a step further. Ancient terms that refer to the same thing must be translated with vernacular terms. For example, “ephippium” must be translated with “sella [saddle]”, but ancient terms that are similar to those ordinarily employed must be preserved using vernacular diction, such as “due sesterzi” or “cinquanta ducati”, thus preserving a Latinized vocabu- lary in the vernacular. Alternatively, if there is no correspondence in terms of terminology or content, it is necessary to preserve ancient words as they are. This is important for Robortello especially in connection with ancient arts and sciences which have specific terms and subjects no longer current. This explains in general the strategy for using 10 M. SGARBI Greek and Latin words in vernacular texts: it is not because the beneficiaries of these texts are more learned, but because there is no other way to teach the people, if not by indicating with precision what no longer exists and what had its own specific term. Only thus, according to Robortello, is it possible to disseminate knowledge easily and to educate people. Common speaking proceeds, on the other hand, by means of simple words, locutions and metaphors. Simple words do not constitute the difficulty of translation, while locu- tions may be of different kinds. Proper or ordinary locutions like “conticuere omnes [all were silent]” can be translated without difficulty into the vernacular.79 Locutions of cir- cumstance, if there are analogous vernacular terms, must be translated thus – otherwise they can remain in the original language. For instance, the locution of circumstance “Diffugere nives, redeunt iam gramina campis [The snow has fled; already the grass is returning to the fields]” can be translated, but such expressions sound infelicitous in the vernacular.80 Fabular locutions (locuzioni fabulari) such as “indulgere genio” or “Bacchus amat colles” are readily translatable.81 Metaphors must be translated only if there are words analogous to the ancient ones, otherwise they do not need to be translated – although one should find in one’s own language equally effective metaphors so that the knowledge may fully be understood. Robortello’s conception of the translation of knowledge is far from simple: one must translate, it is true, but not always, not necessarily and not unconditionally. There are various ways of translating, and various linguistic registers must be adopted in order to render in the best possible way the sense of what is being translated. This means not only remaining faithful to the original, which for Robortello is the main priority in terms of acquiring reliable knowledge, but also being understood by a wider public. Robor- tello’s theory of translation is therefore a genuine product of his idea of the popularization of knowledge, but also of his philological approach, which demands high-quality knowl- edge, not cheaply bartered goods. From this idea derives also the conception of how to vulgarize – in other words, in this case, how to make a philosophical discourse popular.82 Robortello’s underlying Aristote- lianism plugs into Cicero’s theory of the orator as translator, or vulgarizer. For this reason his whole discourse on vulgarization centers on the problem of rhetoric, which for Robor- tello is useful for making philosophical discourse more understandable and popular among a wider public: a philosophical discourse is that which is constituted by words, such as universal terms, that are little known to the populace; and on the contrary, popular discourse is that which refers directly to things whose words are instantly com- prehensible and shared by all. For Robortello rhetoric is particularly necessary in edu- cation and teaching, in other words as a means of introducing everyone to the knowledge of things. Rhetorical discourse, which deals with truth, is specifically called “oratorical” in the Ciceronian sense, which sees in the orator the vulgarizer of knowledge. Unlike the dis- course of philosophy, oratorical discourse must have a certain degree of eloquence for Robortello. In fact, it has the task of making knowledge clear and giving the populace the opportunity to judge “concretely” the truth or falsity of what has been seen.83 In order to convey truth, philosophy usually employs a sophisticated process, capable of gen- erating knowledge for the populace. The oratorical method, conversely, is suitable for popularizing philosophy because it starts from probable premises – or at least from INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 11 what may be taken to be true by the populace, since the populace itself can start from a common and shared body of knowledge and then further refine what it has learned.84 Not all knowledge can be popularized, according to Robortello. Indeed, there are some disciplines such as jurisprudence, mathematics and theology which in themselves can also be eloquent but which common people find it difficult to get used to, primarily because they employ so many technical and specific terms that cannot be made popular.85 This has given rise to the belief that Robortello maintains the idea of possible popularization purely for certain topics that are of ordinary interest to people. Not only in such instances do common people learn in a peculiar manner: they acquire knowledge exclusively through oratorical discourse, which is limited neither by brevity nor by the use of specific technical terms. In general, however, Robortello points out that it is important to follow the rules when explaining the specific terms of the various arts and sciences, referring first to the Greek and Latin meanings and then giving a translation in the common language.86 In De artificio dicendi Robortello maintains that there are four ways of making a phi- losophical discourse popular, in other words of transforming an intellectually challenging philosophical text in order to make it relevant to a wider audience. The first of the four ways is to make an abstract notion more concrete, which is possible thanks to the rhetori- cal inference of the example. The second way is to transform a universal concept into a particular concept: the orator does not deal with happiness in terms of its definition, but with regard to the happy man.87 The third is speaking of philosophical concepts by means of metaphor. The fourth is to employ many words and phrases, that is circumlocu- tion, to explain and clarify a philosophical concept. A philosopher should not overdo words and metaphors, thereby risking falling into error and making the discourse more obscure, but the orator can use this technique to explain more than once and more effec- tively notions that are not completely clear to the populace.88 Rhetoric for Robortello is a tool for reaching a wider audience, and popularizing, vul- garizing and translating are first of all processes by means of which the public’s level of knowledge may be raised without reducing high culture to a lower level.89 5. Alessandro Piccolomini on translation Never having attempted a translation into the vernacular, Robortello presents a view that is entirely theoretical. Alessandro Piccolomini, however, explored practically every concei- vable form of vulgarization during the course of his life. His theoretical considerations may be found in the Epistola ai lettori del modo del tradurre, published in Piena, et larga par- afrase nel terzo libro della retorica d’Aristotele (1572).90 The roots of Piccolomini’s theory of vulgarization reach back into Aristotelian psychol- ogy. He is convinced that the concepts of the mind – meaning the passions of the soul – are the same in all human beings and that they have psychological priority over words. Indeed, words are found only to give expression to concepts, not vice versa. At the same time, con- cepts form the primary content of texts and, hence, those engaged in vulgarizing should work so that “their preservation be kept always clean, immaculate, inviolable and in no way altered”.91 To change concepts when vulgarizing can lead to the interpolation of the voice of a second author into the text, who “would come to write his own things [ … ] would stray into the vice of falsifying [… and] would make others say what they 12 M. SGARBI do not say”.92 The priority for Piccolomini, as it was for Castelvetro and Faustus Longia- nus, is therefore to preserve the concepts. A more difficult proposition is to maintain the locution, “which consists of words and structure and in the links between them”, because every language has its own specific variety.93 Concepts may be vulgarized in different ways: “translating, commenting, in other words explaining, annotating, paraphrasing and summarizing”.94 Of all these methods, the most difficult – which, in Piccolomini’s opinion, is also the one to avoid – is trans- lation. The perfect translation “forces one to maintain and preserve not only the opinions of others, but also their words”, an operation which, as we have said, is extremely difficult to achieve. The pitfalls are manifold. In Piccolomini’s view, if one does not translate but instead limits oneself to commenting, paraphrasing, summarizing and/or annotating, one requires expertise only in the source language, not so much the target language, because these forms of vulgarization do not require adherence to the original and therefore the words can be less rigorously selected. Vulgarization generally, when not pure translation, allows the sentences to be expressed more effectively – broken down, simplified and modified – so that the effect the author intended becomes more understandable in the target language. Hence vulgarization does not require “an exceedingly close familiarity with the language”.95 On the contrary, in translation absolute correspondence between source and target languages is required. Translation has another limitation. In every form of vulgarization, from comment to paraphrase, the vulgarizer may be accused of betraying the author. In comments and para- phrases, however, a betrayal may be viewed as an instance of bad interpretation, a form of accusation mitigated by the common practice – in these types of vulgarization – of the vul- garizer speaking in the first person. With translation, however, as mentioned above, the vulgarizer is never accused of bad interpretation: he can only be a falsifier. Piccolomini’s preference for types of vulgarization other than translation is also dic- tated by practical concerns. Translations are so difficult, especially those that set them- selves “to convey from one language into another scientific and doctrinal material”, that often the translator simply ends up displaying his ignorance of the subject and his inability to use the appropriate language.96 In other words, Piccolomini takes issue with the approach of literal translation carried out by translation professionals who are not experts in the subjects they are meant to vulgarize, rendering texts virtually incomprehensible. Unlike other forms of vulgarization we have seen, translation must not only remain faithful to the mind of the author but must also “preserve as much as possible his words and locution and links, and his thought patterns” without needing to further amplify or order sentences.97 Adherence to the source language can sometimes produce a translation that is “more obscure or more confused”, and ultimately “pointless and vain”, therefore bearing “no fruit whatsoever”.98 Piccolomini’s argument here is with the translation of Aristotle’s Poetics by Ludovico Castelvetro.99 Piccolomini even goes on to add that translators of scientific texts working from Greek into Latin, or from Greek into Latin and then into vernacular, even when extremely well versed in the content, frequently in attempting to stay close to the word of the original fail to achieve the ultimate aim of the translation, which is to vulgarize – in other words, to make the content more understandable: INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 13 some [ … ] without conveying, as they should, primarily the sentence and the sentiment, proceed word-by-word, minimal particle by minimal particle, seeking to reproduce the exact rhythm they find [… and] end up producing a kind of confused and insipid locution, and what is worse, [one that is] for the most part unintelligible [… they render] the sentence obscure, intricate and often false, and, what is worse, as I have said, difficult to draw any sense from.100 Moreover, Piccolomini rejects the position of those who do not wish to make any kind of modification to the original text and end up formulating new words in order to consolidate meaning, thus creating “barbarisms”. He also attacks the practice of those who attribute the meaning of one word to another, and in so doing mislead the reader.101 To conclude, it is by no means the case that Piccolomini rejects translation as a type of vulgarization; he simply believes it to be more difficult to produce. As with all the other theoreticians of vulgarization and translation, what must be preserved above all else in scientific works is the content. In Piccolomini, more than elsewhere, one perceives the influence of his experiences in the Accademia degli Infiammati, where a concept was sufficient to gain access to content. The other authors considered thus far, as with those still to follow, believe that in order to access the truth and make the concept understand- able it is necessary to restore the word to its full originality. 6. Orazio Toscanella and the Discorso del tradurre Anyone expecting to find an original theoretical position in Orazio Toscanella will most likely be disappointed. The ideas he develops in his Discorso del tradurre, published in 1575, are not dissimilar to those of his contemporaries. As with Faustus Longianus, the choice as to whether or not to translate and vulgarize needs no justification for Toscanella: everyone “knows that transposing authors from one language to another is both extremely beneficial and highly honorable; for this reason I need spend no effort demonstrating it”.102 Moreover, for Toscanella the problem of vulgarization, as he himself addresses it, is restricted to translation – and, in particular, to the translation of philosophical and scientific texts. From this perspective, the essential element that the translator must seek to preserve before all others is the content. Indeed, Toscanella’s first requirement is that the translator be an expert in the subject he is translating, lest the end product turn out to be of extremely poor quality: “if someone who is not a philosopher started translating works of philos- ophy, and someone who is not an astrologer works of astrology, there is no question that he would reap criticism rather than applause, and in no small measure”.103 But it is not merely a problem of content: there is also the matter of terminological appropriate- ness, since the various sciences use different vocabularies and to mix them up would be to distort the translation – hence his advice that “no one should undertake the translation of something that is outside of their profession”.104 Unlike Piccolomini, Toscanella believes that the translator not only requires an extre- mely extensive knowledge of the source language but also an “excellent taste for the language into which the thing is being translated”.105 Nonetheless, he sets no distance between himself and the other theorizers of the time when he asserts that the translator must have a good grasp of “the topics addressed by the author that he intends to translate”.106 14 M. SGARBI Having advanced such general considerations, Toscanella then returns to the passage from Horace so dearly loved by Faustus Longianus: “nec verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus / interpres”. Toscanella distinguishes between the imitator, known also as the orator, and the interpreter or translator. Despite a close “kinship” between the two, “the imitator must not remove the words and the objects of the one he is imitating […] but while imitating well he must use a different invention, disposition and location from that of the person he is imitating”.107 The imitator must therefore be seen more generally as a kind of vulgarizer who is not bound to the letter of the author but, rather, is occupied with ensuring that the content is perfectly understandable. By contrast, the interpreter “must be faithful, because his law is to explicate word-for-word, according to the proper- ties of Latin or Greek or another language”: he is therefore an “explicator and transla- tor”.108 The use of the verb “explicate” by Toscanella must not lead us into the error of seeing a false correspondence between the translator and he who provides explanations, clarifies and makes content understandable. The latter is only and properly an imitator, or – in more explicit terms – a commentator. The task of the interpreter or translator is to explicate in the sense of the Latin verb “explicare”, meaning to render a discourse in the vernacular following the rules of the source language. Hence in Horace’s passage “interpres” is not properly speaking the interpreter, but the imitator or orator, so that the sense of the sentence may be translated as “do not expend yourself translating word-for-word like a faithful interpreter, just imitate”.109 The task of the real translator is to stick rigorously to the words. He must translate lit- erally and not “(as others would have it) according to substance”.110 The openly polemical “as others would have it” is probably directed at Piccolomini, but this does not mean that Toscanella is giving priority to words over content. The translator must be as faithful as possible to the words, because words represent things and different words represent different things. In this Toscanella displays a naturalistic view of language, rather like Cas- telvetro: he believes that certain concepts remain perennially unchanged and stand in a univocal relationship with certain words. Unlike Castelvetro, however, when translating, the same concept should be translated with the vernacular term that most closely corre- sponds to the original word, not concept, in the target language. But Castelvetro prefers terms that are not calques of the source language if the translator can identify alternatives in the target language that appear to be more suited to expressing the concept. If concepts are essentially more or less the same, then the words that are used should also be more or less the same. For example, whereas Castelvetro prefers to translate “imitare” with “rep- resent”, Toscanella prefers first “imitate” and then “represent”.111 Likewise, “cognitio” was to be translated primarily with “conoscenza”, using “intelligenza” only as a secondary option.112 There are plenty of such cases in the Prontuario di voci volgari et latine, a text which has been unjustly neglected by historians of language. In his Discorso, Toscanella points out that the target language must not only reflect the “quality of the words” but also the “quantity of their syllables, and the position where they are collocated”.113 For instance, “lucidus” must be translated with “lucido” rather than “chiaro”, not merely because of the quality of the word but also because of the number of syllables: “lucido” has three syllables like “lucidus”, whereas “chiaro” has only two. “Lucidus” could also be translated with “lucente”, which has the same number of syllables – but “lucido” is pre- ferred nonetheless “out of respect for the nature of its syllables, which in ‘lucente’ are long and in ‘lucido’ are short”.114 The correspondence must be of such quality and INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 15 detail that not only must the words and syllables be the same in number and of the same length in order to deliver the same timing and the same level of harmony, but the words themselves must be positioned in the very same place within the sentence: the translator is “obliged to position the translated vernacular verb where the Latin verb is, the noun where the noun is, the pronoun where the pronoun is, and so on with all other parts of the discourse”.115 This level of correspondence must be maintained regardless of the differences between languages: the Moors, the Persians, the Indians, the Arabs, the Chaldeans, the Greeks, the French, the Spanish, the Italians, and all the others use different languages, yet each in his own language has the words to name practically every single thing.116 In other words, “each nation has sufficient words to express almost all things”.117 What is striking about Toscanella’s argument is not so much the fact that each language is suffi- cient and therefore worthy of expressing anything, but rather the failure to acknowledge the link between the progress of knowledge and the development of language, as though language did not evolve with the advancement of knowledge and was itself static – a link that is very clear in Piccolomini. Since knowledge is no different from that of the Latins – in other words, since content and concepts are the same – in Toscanella’s view there is no problem with using words in the vernacular that correspond to words in Latin. What matters most to Toscanella is to be as faithful as possible to the original text. Sometimes, in order to sustain such faithfulness, the translator may use obsolete words or refer to things that no longer exist and are therefore difficult to understand. This may be achieved if and only if “he has some support, and knows that someone else has used them” or that they can be “received and tolerated”.118 Moreover, if certain words cannot be translated into the vernacular “they can be left without blame, just as they are, in the same way as the translators of Greek into Latin left certain Greek words as they were”.119 If it is not possible to adhere so closely to the text because certain concepts and ideas would prove incomprehensible, the translator may use “periphrasis, or meta- phor”, or other rhetorical devices that will render a text more intelligible.120 Such tech- niques, such “roundabout expressions”, must not be overused, however, because “simple things in every language may be called in simple ways”.121 Toscanella seems somewhat critical of those who, with the excuse of making a text more understandable, want to embellish it with ornate “figures and selected concepts” when translating. This operation makes sense – but not always. Using a colorful metaphor, Tos- canella claims that a prostitute will not necessarily appear more beautiful the better dressed she is. On certain occasions her garments will prove inappropriate – for instance, for a marathon, her ornaments should be set aside. Likewise, “those garments and those jewels and ornaments that make some things extremely beautiful, are unbecoming to others”.122 It is futile and vain for Toscanella to reiterate that the translator must respect the nature of translated things: this is the fundamental principle of translation, otherwise the translator would not even undertake the task. Ultimately, it appears obvious to him that translation has the purpose of making content known and is not merely a literary and linguistic exercise. With that said, the special edge that translation has is its complete faithfulness to the source text. On the other hand, it is his view that anyone who states that sentences written in the classical languages cannot be translated 16 M. SGARBI into the vernacular in a way that is just as beautiful and refined is effectively saying that “the Tuscan language is not poor, but exceedingly poor, and that it cannot reach the meaning of the Latin language without roundabout expressions”.123 In other words, for Toscanella this is tantamount to questioning the value of the vernacular as a language of culture capable of competing with Greek and Latin. At the end of his Discorso, Toscanella finally shows his cards when he says “that the translator must preserve the same invention, the same disposition and the same locution observed by the author”.124 He does not deny the importance of transmitting the content, something he considers to be beyond question, but he focuses more on the language and the style – in other words, on the rhetoric of translation. 7. Girolamo Catena on the translation of sciences Another advocate of this view who has experienced something of a comeback in recent years, albeit more in the context of comparing contemporary translation theories than providing genuine historical contextualization, is Girolamo Catena.125 Compared to the authors examined previously, the theoretical influence of Bembo is far stronger in Catena. In his letter of 27 July 1583 addressed to the Archbishop of Otranto, Marcello Acquaviva, Catena rebuts the identification of the vernacular with the language of the people, as does Bembo himself in his Prose della volgar lingua. The true vernacular is not Italian, or Tuscan, or Florentine, but the Florentine codified by the great writers of the Trecento such as Petrarch and Boccaccio. When writing in the vernacular, therefore, the rules laid out by these authors must always be followed: it is not permitted to change and write according to one’s own caprice, fishing from the scum of the populace and the plebs, as so many modern writers do […] who betimes write and teach something worthwhile when imitating Petrarch and Boccaccio, and following their example; but at others prove themselves to be both lacking and crude.126 From this it is clear that vulgarization must follow “the manners of figurative speaking and the compositions of voices” – or, in other words, it must contain a degree of rhetoric.127 Catena had already outlined some of these ideas in his Discorso sopra la traduttione delle scienze, & d’altre facultà, published in 1581, where he applied them specifically to the translation of scientific–philosophical texts and Scripture. The work opens by making a clear distinction between interpreter/translator and imitate/orate, concluding that “it is not necessary to use many words to talk about something”.128 Although his observation appears self-evident, Catena returns repeatedly to this contrast throughout his Discorso with a view to differentiating between generic forms of vulgarization and specific forms of translation. The primary aim, however, is to define the purpose of translation, which can only be to “benefit others by highlighting those authors who by universal consent have been approved and considered perfect, so that we may learn from them the true manner of composing and learning the right doctrine”.129 Catena thus reveals his main concerns: firstly, to learn to compose in a certain manner and, secondly, to learn good doctrine. The rhetorical and sty- listic factor is not separate from the content, but it does enjoy a certain priority over it – at least initially. It is therefore no surprise that for Catena “the proper translation and interpret- ation of the authors in their doctrines was [ … ] word-for-word”.130 Translating word-for- INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 17 word means essentially “to preserve the figures and the same order of things”, thus prioritiz- ing rhetoric over content.131 The content may be conveyed only through a perfect rendering of the words. Hence, he asks: “who will give me the true science of Plato or Aristotle if he does not restrict himself to interpreting word-for-word?”132 Only the words render the true meaning because they give back the concepts. Free translation, on the other hand, constantly fuels the suspicion that the author may not actually have said what has been translated. How, asks Catena, can one learn to write poetry like Virgil if the translator “translates less than faithfully? In this manner I would be imitating the translator, not the author”.133 The example is significant because it concerns poetry rather than scientific prose. Whether or not this rule is universal is an entirely legit- imate question, and quickly receives an affirmative answer: it has always been agreed among the experts that in the public schools one reads the ancient translations of Aristotle, whether by Boethius or others, never a modern one […] since the translations of the moderns, for all that they are cleaner and more ornate, precisely because of their ornaments lose the true sentiment of the author.134 Following the words is therefore the only way to gain access to the truth of the text: the truth reveals itself through the words, not only through concepts. Hence “the sciences and the doctrines and even more so the Holy Scriptures must be translated according to the words, even when the outcome would prove less easy on the ear than one’s own composition or an imitation”.135 It is therefore necessary to distinguish between the “simple interpreter”, meaning the translator, and the “interpreter orator”. Few in Catena’s view have even noticed this dis- tinction, especially among the early translators of “the Metamorphosis of Ovid and the works of Virgil, the comedies of Plautus and Terentius and other works of primary impor- tance such as the Ethics of Aristotle and others”.136 The most likely suspects are Giovanni Andrea dell’Anguillara, Alessandro Piccolomini, Ludovico Dolce and Giovanni Fabrini, who stand accused of replacing the voices of the classical authors with their own.137 Hence Catena’s desire to make the distinction clearer. The “simple translator finds for each word its correspondent, and orders them in the same way, rigorously preserving their form, in other words the layout of the sentences and likewise all the figures”.138 The trans- lator/orator is different from the simple translator because by “using figures and words that are appropriate to the applications and customs of the language into which he is trans- lating, he has no need to count the words”.139 The translator/orator is therefore distinct from the simple translator because he follows the rhetoric of the discourse, but not the same words. The translator/orator is not be confused with the orator, or imitator, as was the case in the authors we examined earlier. To translate as an orator is different from being an orator. There are also translators who consider themselves translator/orators, but in fact are not: some, believing they are illustrating places, add their own inventions to such a degree that they corrupt the art, and what there is that is good, and the work they have accomplished is not translation nor imitation nor comment nor paraphrase nor summary nor any other such form, but a truly monstrous body.140 Catena is particularly scathing of the false translators of Aristotle, “who to a very great extent and with great eloquence have translated him, thinking they were illustrating 18 M. SGARBI him”.141 His reasoning is quite singular: “philosophy is like an immaculate virgin that loves neither compliment nor ornament”.142 Regarding scientific–philosophical texts, Catena recommends that a vulgarization go straight to the heart of the content without any rhetorical ornament whatsoever: “eloquence is not necessarily to be sought in the doc- trines, or where truth only resides”.143 This is not to say that he is giving up on the rhetoric of the discourse, however, which must be kept in the translation to reflect the original. Catena openly attacks those who seek to translate an author’s arid voice with a style that is flowery and abundant just for the purpose of “being viewed as good Cicero- nians”.144 Anyone who translates by departing significantly from the words of the author for the sake of rhetoric may consider themselves to be “ignorant” or “forgers”.145 In this group, Catena points the finger at one translator of Aristotle in par- ticular, Joachim Périon, who – as Charles B. Schmitt has pointed out – created with his beautifully Ciceronian translation a full-blown “humanist Aristotle” in opposition to the “scholastic Aristotle”, who at times is even more obscure.146 As Catena observes, the style of Aristotle was “succinct and restrained”, while Cicero’s was “extremely elaborate and abundant”: in order to be faithful to these two authors, therefore, one must translate their works word-for-word in different ways.147 As we have seen, Catena’s interest in literal translation is due to the fact that it alone renders the words of a discourse in a perfect way. It would however be misguided to think that translation for Catena is a means of making the discourse of an author under- standable, or even simply to make it more easily understood. To translate is most definitely not to vulgarize in the broadest sense of clarifying or popularizing. There are instances in which one can and must translate in an obscure manner, the most noteworthy example being Heraclitus: if I were to translate Heraclitus, and my translation were to remain obscure, what blame would I have, given that Heraclitus wanted to write obscurely. On the contrary, it would no longer be a composition of Heraclitus’s if I sought to open it up. This is the task of the commentator, not the translator.148 One must therefore not confuse translation with other types of vulgarization, such as epitome, summary and paraphrase, which have nothing at all to do with translation, except perhaps free sense-translation, sensu lato, where texts “are not formally translated”.149 And it is precisely in order to distinguish literal translation from other forms of vulgar- ization – sense-translation in particular – that Catena identifies five specific types of word- for-word translation: When the layout is observed, and all the words are interpreted according to the order; when one transposes, but all the words are translated; when each word has its correspondent of the same quality; and even if it does not, the same Greek word is used; and of the language into which one is translating […] the language of the orator […] which is done circuitously, […] namely with a great roundabout use of words.150 As is to be expected, Catena doubts that the last two forms of translation are indeed word- translations, suggesting rather that they fall under the broader umbrella of vulgarization, which “belongs more properly to paraphrase, and to those who do epitome, and summary, and breviarii”.151 So Catena identifies three types of vulgarization, two of which are translations proper, the third not. There is literal, word-for-word translation, which is pursued in order to stay INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 19 faithful to the original text. There is also oratorical translation, similarly defined as free, where the aim is not to translate word-for-word but to deliver a translation of the text that is faithful to form and structure, while focusing exclusively on the style of the target language. Lastly, there is imitation, where the sense and the content of the text are maintained without any concern for the form, structure, words or rhetoric of the dis- course. These three types of translation may be traced back at least to humanism, for instance the work of Emanuele Crisolara: Manuel used to say about translation that to translate ad verbum into Latin [conversionem in latinum ad verbum] was wholly ineffective. It was not only absurd, he averred, but even sometimes, perverted the sense of the Greek. One must translate according to the sense [transferre ad sententiam], he said; those who took pains with matters of this sort would in this way make it a rule for themselves not to alter in any way the propriety of Greek usage. For if anyone alter [immutarit] some [part] of Greek propriety with the object of speaking more clearly and brilliantly to his own people [i.e. to those who spoke his own language], he is playing the part of a commentator [exponentis] rather than of a translator [interpretis].152 As Sabbadini has noted, “here in conversio ad verbum we can see literal interpretation, in transferre ad sententiam faithful oratorical translation, in immutare the free oratorical translation”.153 It is a singular inversion of values. Whereas Crisolara preferred oratorical translation because it allowed him to showcase the beauty and eloquence of the Latin language (we are referring here to translations from Greek into Latin), Catena believed that literal translation was better for preserving the truth of the message. In this sense Catena’s approach is no different from that of Piccolomini’s; whereas the latter believed that the word was not indispensable for the transmission of the truth, in the opinion of the former only the word could adequately express the truth of a text. Both, however, wished above all to deliver the truth and the sense of the discourse of the author. 8. Conclusion: philologism of content From this examination of the treatises that deal explicitly with the theory of vulgarization and translation, we can state unequivocally that to vulgarize does not always mean to transpose into the vernacular, namely to translate, but can sometimes also have the broader meaning of popularizing. Hence not every translation is a vulgarization. Experts have often held the view that the focus on translation, literal translation in par- ticular, was a reaction to the spread of vulgarizations that seemed in one way or another to betray the original text through amplification or summary, sometimes even by completely disrupting its content. This resistance undoubtedly echoes the intellectual debates that were current at the time, but when taken to extremes it ends up obscuring the sense of vulgarization and translation which everyone could agree upon, which was the manifes- tation of the content of knowledge. Authors such as Piccolomini did so openly, without concern for the words, and in this way were able to explore alternative forms of vulgariza- tion. Those who had a more naturalistic conception of language, however, and believed in an intrinsic correspondence between concept and word, tended more towards literal trans- lation. The choice to translate word-for-word is dictated by a specific desire to convey the truth expressed by the original text. One can speak in terms of philologism of content rather than the word, by far the more common interpretation. What matters here is 20 M. SGARBI that we are not discerning a perspective in which external expression (the word) is privi- leged over or juxtaposed with internal content (the concept). This would be to simplify the positions of these authors. The word is always geared toward the transmission of the content. Hence we might be led to conclude that these authors, with their focus on the correspon- dence between words and content, in some sense brought about a renaissance of the huma- nistic ideal of the union between res and verba. Yet here too the conjecture would be misleading. The purposes of the humanists were different from those of the intellectuals of the late Cinquecento; whereas the humanists preserved the unity of res and verba because they were intent on a type of language that highlighted the eloquence of a discourse, their later counterparts upheld the union of res and verba as the only means of rendering the truth of the content with the utmost fidelity. With the former there is an underlying Cicer- onianism which is almost entirely absent in the case of the latter. Ultimately, then, what did it mean to vulgarize in the Renaissance? As regards both translations – of whichever kind – and other forms of vulgarization, it meant rendering in the vernacular for the purpose of making content more accessible. Content is never at the expense of rhetoric or the eloquence of the discourse. What matters most is the transmission of sense, and in order to transmit sense it is legitimate also – in the more extreme cases – to abandon literal translation, which can be cumbersome, and embrace free forms of vulgarization. Naturally, vulgarizers were also aware that this would lead to a betrayal – but betrayal, as mentioned at the outset, can also lead to new traditions and ideas, an acceptable sacrifice for the advancement of knowledge. Notes 1. As late as the early 1900s, Remigio Sabbadini believed that the first to use the term tradurre (from the Latin traducere) with this new meaning was Leonardo Bruni in 1405; see Sabbadini, “Del tradurre i classici in Italia”. This is an opinion that has been upheld even in recent studies: see, for example, Norton, “Humanist Foundations of Translation Theory”; Trovato, Storia della lingua italiana, 149. Today we know of prior occurrences in the verna- cular – for instance, Guido da Pisa in the Trecento – even though they were isolated cases; see Guido da Pisa, Fiore d’Italia, 7. 2. By the term “people [volgo]” I mean the class in a society that represents the greatest number of people and commands the greatest anonymity, but also occupies the lowest levels of culture, and hence also contains the least qualified and important individuals in respect of economic and political life. It may be synonymous with popolo in being the part of society that is juxtaposed to the upper classes; see Sgarbi, “Aristotle and the People”. 3. To make a text clearer does not necessarily mean to simplify or trivialize it. For example, Lodovico Castelvetro’s Poetica vulgarizzata et sposta (1570) clarifies the Aristotelian text without trivializing or simplifying it. On the other hand, Giovanni Antonio Roffeni’s Discorsi astrologici (1609–1645) both simplifies and trivializes Aristotle’s natural philosophy. 4. Steiner, After Babel, 449. 5. See Paris, “Translation and Creation”; De Campos, “De la traduction come création”; Hewson, “Vexed Question of Creativity”. 6. I refer here to the “public” rather than readers because it is now an accepted fact that reading in the Renaissance was not the only approach to a written text, as oral transmission was still very much an active phenomenon. 7. Segre, “I volgarizzamenti del Due e Trecento”; Contamine, Traductions et traducteurs; Guth- müller, “Die volgarizzamenti”; Folena, Volgarizzare e tradurre; Beer, Translation Theory and INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 21 Practice; Beyers, Brams, and Sacré, Tradition et traduction; Hamesse, Les traducteurs au travail; Morlino, “Volgarizzare e trasporre”. 8. Cortesi, “La tecnica del tradurre”. 9. Norton, “Translation Theory in Renaissance France”; Norton, Ideology and Language; Worth, Practising Translation; Worth-Stylianou, “Translatio and Translation”. 10. Guthmüller, “Literaturgeschichte und Volgare”; Guthmüller, “Letteratura nazionale”; Guth- müller, “Antico-moderno, latino-volgare”. 11. Some examples include Guthmüller, Ovidio Metamorphoseos vulgare; Porro, “Volgarizza- menti e volgarizzatori”; Borsetto, L’“Eneida” tradotta; Borsetto, Il furto di Prometeo, 222–55. 12. Tesi, Aristotele in Italiano; Cotugno, “Piccolomini e Castelvetro traduttori della Poetica”. 13. Dionisotti, Geografia e storia della letteratura italiana, 175. 14. Cotugno, “Piccolomini e Castelvetro traduttori della Poetica”; Cotugno, “Osservazioni lin- guistiche”; Cotugno, “Le Annotationi di Piccolomini”. 15. Sgarbi, “Instatement of the Vernacular”. 16. Guthmüller, “Fausto da Longiano e il problema del tradurre”, 10–11; Toscanella, Discorsi cinque, 28. 17. Toscanella, Discorsi cinque, 28. 18. Guthmüller writes, correctly, that “around 1550, the fundamental problem of whether it is legitimate to translate or not becomes secondary to the question of how to translate” – but, unlike Cotugno, he does not make a distinction between the manner of translation and the technical results of vulgarization. Hence, whereas Cotugno is aware of a distinction between quid iuris and quid facti, Guthmüller appears to confuse the two levels; see Guth- müller, “Fausto da Longiano e il problema del tradurre”, 21. 19. Dionisotti, Geografia e storia della letteratura italiana, 167; Guthmüller, “Fausto da Longiano e il problema del tradurre”, 13. 20. Guthmüller, “Fausto da Longiano e il problema del tradurre”, 21. 21. Marassi, “Bruni e la teoria della traduzione”. 22. Some of the assertions by these writers and others may be found in: Guthmüller, “Fausto da Longiano e il problema del tradurre”, 21–23; Siekiera, “La Poetica vulgarizzata et sposta per Castelvetro”; Siekiera, “La questione della lingua di Piccolomini”; Siekiera, “Letteratura descrittiva in volgare”; Siekiera, “Riscrivere Aristotele”. 23. See McElduff, Roman Theories of Translation, 113–16. 24. Horace, Ad Pisones, 133; Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, X, 5, 5. 25. Guthmüller, “Fausto da Longiano e il problema del tradurre”, 33. 26. Reiff, Interpretatio, imitatio, aemulatio; McLaughlin, Literary Imitation. 27. The greater the fidelity of the translation to the words of the source text, the more the vul- garization will be philological – yet this does not mean that a philological vulgarization will be the best outcome. As we will see, philological meticulousness and closeness to the source text are frequently viewed by the vulgarizers as an obstacle to achieving an effective vulgarization. 28. Cf. Cicero, De oratore, I, 32–33; Cicero, Orator, I, 70; Cicero, De inventione rhetorica, I, 5. See also Sgarbi, The Italian Mind, 23–31. 29. Aristotle, De interpretation 16a, 3–8. In this sense, almost all the theoreticians of vulgariza- tion are Aristotelians. 30. Guthmüller, “Fausto da Longiano e il problema del tradurre”, 33. 31. On the new intellectual framework, see Vianello, Il letterato, l’Accademia e il libro. 32. I am using the latest edition by Enrico Garavelli in Castelvetro, Lettere Rime Carmina. 33. Cotugno, “Piccolomini e Castelvetro traduttori della Poetica”; Siekiera, “La Poetica vulgariz- zata et sposta per Castelvetro”. 34. Romani, “Castelvetro e il problema del tradurre”. 35. Castelvetro was writing before the reassessment of Aristotle’s Poetics in 1548 with Francesco Robortello’s Explicationes. 36. Castelvetro, Poetica d’Aristotele volgarizzata et sposta, 16v; Castelvetro, Lettere Rime Carmina, 134. On poetry as a vehicle of knowledge, see Sgarbi, “Il Socrate Veneziano”. 37. Speroni, Opere, vol. 4, 577–78. 22 M. SGARBI 38. Romani, “Castelvetro e il problema del tradurre”, 171. 39. Castelvetro, Lettere Rime Carmina, 123. 40. Of the same opinion are Romani, “Castelvetro e il problema del tradurre”, 156; Drusi, “Recensione”. 41. Castelvetro, Lettere Rime Carmina, 123–24. 42. Castelvetro, Lettere Rime Carmina, 125. 43. Castelvetro, Lettere Rime Carmina, 126; Gellius, Noctes Atticae IX, 1–2. 44. Romani, “Lodovico Castelvetro e il problema del tradurre”, 152–179. 45. See Guthmüller, “Literaturgeschichte und Volgare”. 46. I quote according Guthmüller’s edition in Guthmüller, “Fausto da Longiano e il problema del tradurre. Fausto da Longiano, Dialogo del modo de lo tradurre d’una in altra lingua segondo le regole mostrate da Cicerone”, 9–152. Longianus, Dialogo del modo de lo tradurre, 38. 47. I am not referring here to vulgarization because it is not necessarily in the vernacular and it does not necessarily make the content more suitable for the populace. 48. Longianus, Dialogo del modo de lo tradurre, 44. 49. Ibid., 45. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid., 156. 52. Ibid., 46. 53. Ibid., 47. 54. Ibid., 46. 55. Ibid., 49. 56. Ibid., 52. 57. Ibid., 51. 58. Ibid., 54. 59. Ibid., 115. 60. Ibid., 132. 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid., 119. 63. Ibid., 85. 64. Drusi, “Recensione”, 474. 65. Ibid. 66. Longianus, Dialogo del modo de lo tradurre, 135. 67. For the history of this concept, see Rener, Interpretatio. 68. Longianus, Dialogo del modo de lo tradurre, 133. 69. Ibid., 122. 70. Ibid., 151–52. 71. Epistole famigliari di Cicerone. 72. Ibid., Aijv. 73. Ibid. 74. For a description of the manuscript, see Garavelli, “Un frammento di Francesco Robortello”. 75. Aristotle, Rhetorica I.2 1358 a. 76. Something similar can be found in Piccolomini, Copiosissima parafrase, 16. 77. Robortello, Biblioteca del Museo Correr, Venezia, Donà dalle Rose 447. misc. XVI–XVII, f. 28. 78. Ibid. 79. Virgil, Aeneid II, 1. 80. Horace, Odes IV.7. 81. Virgil, Georgic II, 113. 82. See Sgarbi, “Robortello on Popularizing Knowledge”. 83. Robortello, Biblioteca del Museo Correr, Venezia, Donà dalle Rose 447, 9r–v. 84. Ibid. 85. Ibid., 13r. 86. Ibid., 15v. INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 23 87. Robortello, Biblioteca Nazionale di Napoli, V D 45, f. 70r. 88. Ibid. 89. See Sgarbi, “Robortello’s Rhetoric”. 90. The letter was republished with some editorial changes in 1575 in Piccolomini, Annotationi nel libro della Poetica d’Aristotele. 91. Piccolomini, Epistola ai lettori del modo del tradurre, 39. I am quoting here from the critical edition in Cotugno, “Piccolomini e Castelvetro traduttori della Poetica”. 92. Piccolomini, Epistola ai lettori del modo del tradurre, 39. 93. Ibid. 94. Ibid., 9. 95. Ibid., 14. 96. Ibid., 17. 97. Ibid. 18. 98. Ibid., 19. 99. Cotugno, “Piccolomini e Castelvetro traduttori della Poetica”, 195. 100. Piccolomini, Epistola ai lettori del modo del tradurre, 22. 101. Cotugno, “Piccolomini e Castelvetro traduttori della Poetica”, 189. 102. Toscanella, Discorsi cinque, 28. 103. Ibid. 104. Ibid. 105. Ibid. 106. Ibid. 107. Ibid. 108. Ibid., 29. 109. Ibid. 110. Ibid. 111. Toscanella, Prontuario di voci volgari, 144. 112. Ibid. 113. Toscanella, Discorsi cinque, 33. 114. Ibid., 34. 115. Ibid. 116. Ibid., 30. 117. Ibid. 118. Ibid. 119. Ibid. 120. Ibid., 29. 121. Ibid., 30. 122. Ibid., 29. 123. Ibid., 30. 124. Ibid., 34. 125. See Garcia, “Parola per parola”; Baldassari, “Il Discorso sopra la traduttione delle scienze”. 126. Catena, Delle lettere, 259–60. 127. Catena, Delle lettere, 260. 128. Catena, Discorso sopra la traduttione delle scienze, 2. 129. Ibid., 3. 130. Ibid., 1–2. 131. Ibid., 2. 132. Ibid., 3. 133. Ibid., 4. 134. Ibid. As we shall see later, with “moderni” Catena refers to the humanists. 135. Ibid., 38. 136. Ibid., 61. 137. Suffice it to recall the criticism leveled by Girolamo Ruscelli at the Trasformationi of Ludo- vico Dolce: “you and anyone else who translates does not make the poem, rather the poem 24 M. SGARBI belongs to the poet who recreates, discovers and explains the subject, and ultimately the poem belongs to the one who composes, not the one who translates”; Ruscelli, Tre discorsi, 261. 138. Catena, Discorso sopra la traduttione delle scienze, 61. 139. Ibid., 61–62. 140. Ibid., 63. 141. Ibid., 83. 142. Ibid. 143. Ibid., 51. 144. Ibid., 55. 145. Ibid. 146. Schmitt, Aristotle and the Renaissance. 147. Catena, Discorso sopra la traduttione delle scienze, 56. 148. Ibid., 33. 149. Ibid., 44. 150. Ibid., 59. 151. Ibid. 152. Translated by James Hankins in Hankins, Plato in the Renaissance, 44–45, original in Berta- lot, “Cincius Romanus und seine Briefe”, 210. 153. Sabbadini, “Del tradurre i classici in Italia”, 209. Funding This work was supported by the European Research Council [grant no. 335949]. Notes on contributor Marco Sgarbi (Mantua, 1982) is associate professor of history of philosophy and vice-provost for communication and development at the Università Ca’ Foscari, Venice. He has been the Principal Investigator of the ERC Starting Grant 2013 on “Aristotle in the Italian Vernacular: Rethinking Renaissance and Early-Modern Intellectual History (c. 1400–c. 1650)”. He has been a Jean-Fran- çois Malle-Harvard I Tatti Fellow at Villa I Tatti, The Harvard University Center for Italian Renais- sance Studies; Frances A. Yates Short-Term fellow at the Warburg Institute. He is the editor of Philosophical Readings, a four-monthly on-line journal, of the Encyclopedia of Renaissance Phil- osophy and of the Bloomsbury Studies in the Aristotelian Tradition. Bibliography Aristotle. Opera. Berlin: Reimer, 1831. Baldassari, Stefano U. “Il Discorso sopra la traduttione delle scienze e d’altre facultà dell’umanista Giorlamo Catena”. Per Leggere, 6, no. 11 (2006): 133–147. Beer Jeanette, M. A., ed. Translation Theory and Practice in the Middle Ages. Kalamazoo: Western Michigan University Press, 1997. Bertalot, Ludwig. “Cincius Romanus und seine Briefe”. Quellen und Forschungen aus Italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken 21 (1929–1930): 209–255. Beyers, Rita, Jozef Brams, and Dirk Sacré, ed. Tradition et traduction. Les textes philosophiques et scientifiques grecs au Moyen Age latin. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1999. Borsetto, Luciana. L’“Eneida” tradotta. Riscritture poetiche del testo di Virgilio nel XVI secolo. Milan: Unicopli, 1989. Borsetto, Luciana. Il furto di Prometeo. Imitazione, scrittura, riscrittura nel Rinascimento. Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso, 1991. Castelvetro, Ludovico. Lettere Rime Carmina. Pisa: ETS, 2015. INTELLECTUAL HISTORY REVIEW 25 Castelvetro, Ludovico. Poetica d’Aristotele volgarizzata et sposta. Vienna: Steinhofer, 1570. Catena, Girolamo. Discorso sopra la traduttione delle scienze, & d’altre facultà. Venice: Ziletti, 1581. Catena, Girolamo. Delle lettere. Rome: Tornieri, 1589. Contamine, Geneviève, ed. Traductions et traducteurs au Moyen Âge. Paris: CNRS, 1989. Cicero, Marcus Tullius. De finibus. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998. Cicero, Marcus Tullius. De inventione. De optimo genere oratorum. Topica. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1949. Cicero, Marcus Tullius. De oratore. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Cicero, Marcus Tullius. Orator. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004. Cortesi, Mariarosa. “La tecnica del tradurre presso gli Umanisti”. 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Letterati e grammatici nella crisi religiosa del Cinquecento, edited by Massimo Firpo and Guido Mongini, 25–45. Florence: Olschki, 2008. Siekiera, Anna Maria. “La questione della lingua di Alessandro Piccolomini”. In Alessandro Piccolomini (1508–1579). Un siennois à la croisée des genres et des savoirs, edited by Marie- Françoise Piéjus, Michel Plaisance, and Matteo Residori, 217–233. Paris: Centre Interuniversitaire de Recherche sur la Renaissance Italienne–Université Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris 3, 2011. Siekiera, Anna Maria. “Riscrivere Aristotele: la formazione della prosa scientifica in italiano”. In Aristotele fatto volgare. Tradizione aristotelica e cultura volgare nel Rinascimento, edited by David A. Lines and Eugenio Refini, 149–167. Pisa: ETS, 2014. Speroni, Sperone. Opere. 5 vols. Venice: Occhi, 1740. Steiner, George. After Babel: Aspects of Language and Translation. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975. Tesi, Riccardo. Aristotele in Italiano. I grecismi nelle traduzioni rinascimentali della Poetica. Florence: Accademia della Crusca, 1997. Toscanella, Orazio. Discorsi cinque. Venice: De Franceschi, 1575. Toscanella, Orazio. Prontuario di voci volgari, et latine, copiosissimo per imparare con somma brevità, & facilità a scrivere latino con la citatione succinta delle voci, & locutioni d’Autori famosi, da quali sono tratte. Venice: Valgrisi, 1565. Trovato, Paolo. Storia della lingua italiana. Il primo Cinquecento. Bologna: il Mulino, 1994. Vianello, Valerio. Il letterato, l’Accademia e il libro. Contributi sulla cultura veneta del Cinquecento. Padua: Antenore, 1988. Virgil Maro, Publius. Opera. Oxford: Clarendon, 1969. Worth-Stylianou, Valerie. “Translatio and Translation in the Renaissance: From Italy to France”. In The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism, Vol. 3, edited by Glyn P. Norton, 127–135. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Worth, Virginia. Practising Translation in Renaissance France: The Example of Etienne Dolet. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988. 28 M. SGARBI Abstract 1. Introduction: translation, tradition and betrayal 2. Ludovico Castelvetro on “traslatare” 3. Faustus Longianus on translating according to Cicero 4. Francesco Robortello on vulgarization 5. Alessandro Piccolomini on translation 6. Orazio Toscanella and the Discorso del tradurre 7. Girolamo Catena on the translation of sciences 8. Conclusion: philologism of content Notes Notes on contributor Bibliography 
work_rwgjb345uvewhm5mvv6nleheze	----	Figure captions - Blocco note.pdf Home » Archeologia sperimentale » Articoli e News Portraits of Leonardo da Vinci - by Amelia Carolina Sparavigna Redazione Archaeogate, 06-12-2011 A special event at the Reggia di Venaria, Torino, is the exhibition "Leonardo, the Genius the Myth", from November 2011 to January 2012 [1]. The famous self-portrait in red chalk (Figure 1) will be on display along with works by other artists inspired over the centuries by the Leonardo's genius. The original Leonardo's drawings can be admired in a special shrine designed by Dante Ferretti, two times awarded by the Academy for Best Art Direction. Besides the famous self-portrait, the visitors can see the Codex on the Flight of Birds, opened at the pages where, according to Carlo Pedretti, an Italian historian expert on the life and works of Leonardo, there is a self- portrait of the genius, made when he was young [2,3]. The Codex on the Flight of Birds, as the self-portrait in red chalk, is usually held at the Biblioteca Reale of Turin. The Codex is a relatively small note- book, dated approximately 1505. Since Leonardo recycled the paper for its note-book, the portrait is older for sure. The up-left panel of Figure 2 shows the drawing in the Leonardo's note-book. We can see what looks like a portrait partially hidden by Leonardo himself, who wrote on it. This drawing remained unappreciated for 500 years before being noticed by Piero Angela, an Italian scientific journalist. On Saturday February 27, 2009, during a prime-time entertainment show of the RAI broadcaster on history and science [4], Angela explained how he noticed it. The journalist said that when he was observing a copy of the Codex on the Flight, he saw what looked like a nose underneath the text. The fact that the drawing was made by a left-hand artist, as the directions of the sketching lines indicate, reinforced the supposition of a self-portrait of the artist. Comparing this drawing with the Leonardo self-portrait in red chalk, Angela said that the two men were looking like brothers. As previously told, a well-known researcher on Leonardo works, Carlo Pedretti, agrees in considering the image as a self-portrait. In 1975, Pedretti proposed a "photographic restoration" of this drawing [2]. By removing the handwritten words with a negative-positive procedure on a photographic plate, he obtained a quite interesting result. However, it is just in 2009 that the portrait becomes popular because of its "digital restoration" proposed by Piero Angela. The digital restoration was obtained by enhancing the red-chalk sketch on a high resolution digital image. The graphic designers gradually cancelled the text revealing the drawing beneath: after months of micro-pixel work, the portrait of a young Renaissance man appeared (see the result at the site [5]). As I discussed in [6,7], this was a very important discovery, demonstrating that the image processing is a fundamental tool for a new kind of restoration, not made on the document itself but on its digital image. In Reference 6, I have proposed a simple approach to the restoration of the portrait in the Codex of Flight. This approach is based on the interpolation over nearest neighbouring pixels. Let me shortly repeat what was the procedure (for more details, see [6]). Each pixel of a colour digital image can have red, green and blue tones (RGB) with numerical values ranging from 0 to 255. Because the portrait is in red- chalk and the writing almost black, we can choose a threshold value to remove the darkest pixels and replace them with white pixels. The new image is shown in Figure 2, up-right panel. We can work further on it by means of an algorithm that replaces the white pixels with pixels having a colour tone, given by an averaged value of neighbouring pixels. After applying this algorithm we have the image in Figure 2, down-left panel [6]. A further processing of this image by means of a wavelet filtering program, Iris [8,9], gives us the image in the down-right panel. This is the portrait of a young man that we can try to compare with the self-portrait in red chalk (Fig.1). To this purpose, we use another freely available image processing tool, the GIMP [10]. It allows the merging of images on several layers, each having its proper transparency level. With GIMP we superimpose the two portraits, Figures 1 and 2, and we have the final result in Figure 3. From the superposition, we see that the two faces are quite coincident: in particular, the relative distances of eyes, nose and mouth are the same. After the image processing, we have a portrait, that of Figure 3, where Leonardo looks younger than in the self-portrait of Figure 1. Is this a faithful portrait of Leonardo? That is, have we the possibility to compare it with the true appearance of the middle-aged Leonardo? The answer is positive, because there is a painting, the "School of Athens" by Raphael, where the Italian Renaissance artist depicted Leonardo da Vinci as the philosopher Plato. The "Scuola di Atene", one Cliccare s ull'immagine per l'ingrandimento Fig.1 Leonardo’s portrait in red chalk (dated approx. 1510) held at the Biblioteca Reale of Turin. Fig.2. Piero Angela initially dis cov ered what looked like a nos e in a page of the Codex on the Flight of Birds (up-lef t panel). I f we remove the writing, the portrait appears . The drawing has red tones , the handwritten text is black (original, up-lef t). We can replace the black pixels with white pixels (up-right panel). Then we can work on the white pixels , replacing them with proper colour tones giv en by the neighbouring pixels (down-lef t panel). A f urther proces s ing of this image with a wav elet f ilter giv es the image in the down-right panel. EGITTOLOGIA PAPIROLOGIA ANTICHITÀ CLASSICHE ARCH. SUBACQUEA IURA SPERIMENTALE VICINO ORIENTE I.I.C.E. ARCH. SPERIMENTALE Archivio Articoli e News Archivio Manifestazioni Archivio Novità Editoriali Archivio Riviste e Periodici Enti e Associazioni Musei Links Contatti Cerca Cerca nel sito: Cerca Leonardo da Vinci as the philosopher Plato. The "Scuola di Atene", one of the most famous paintings by Raphael, was created between 1510 and 1511. This fresco decorates the wall of one of the rooms, the "Stanza della Segnatura", in the Apostolic Palaces of Vatican. The great Greek philosophers are represented inside a classic architecture. At the central position of this masterpiece, we see two philosophers, Plato on the left and Aristotle, his student, on the right. Plato is shown as a wise-looking man (see Figure 4). It is usually accepted that Raphael based the Plato's face on the features of Leonardo da Vinci [11]. The two artists probably had established a direct interaction when Raphael spent a period of his life in Florence, perhaps from about 1504 to 1508 [12-14]. Leonardo da Vinci returned to Florence from 1500 to 1506: therefore, if the image of Plato is a portrait of Leonardo, this means that Raphael depicted him when Leonardo was 52 or 54 year old. Let us then compare the portrait in Figure 3, which we obtained using the image processing of the two Leonardo' self-portraits, with the Raphael's portrait (Figure 4), that is, the image of Plato. Figure 5 shows them side by side. Before discussing the comparison, let me remark that we are looking at two images obtained from originals created by artists who used different techniques and a different rendering of the head position. Moreover, there is another fact, which is in my opinion quite important, that the two portraits are showing a distinct side of the face. And we know very well that the two sides are not equal and that the existing small differences create the "good" and "bad" side of our faces [16]. Let us remember that for all the living creatures, the bilateral symmetry [17] of the body is an approximate symmetry: the two halves, left and right, of the body and then of the face, are not perfectly symmetrical. The symmetry of human faces is a subject of several studies. Some researchers are supporting the idea that more symmetry means more beauty and freedom from diseases [18-20]. On the other hand, a face, which is too symmetric, gives the impression of being unnatural [21]. The fact that the two sides are different is quite relevant if we are comparing a self-portrait with a portrait, because we must be sure to compare the same side of the face. For the explanation, let me use Figure 6. Let us consider two canvasses, having on them a self- portrait and a portrait, with the head depicted in the same position, the two paintings are showing a different side of the face. When the artist is depicting a self-portrait, he is looking at the face in a mirror. When it is another artist depicting the portrait, he is looking at the face directly. For this reason, if the face on the canvas has the same position, the depicted sides turn out to be different. Therefore, if the left image of Figure 5 is a self-portrait and the right image is a portrait, it is necessary to reflect one of them, to point out that we are seeing different sides. I decided to change the Raphael's image with a reflection. Moreover, I made a small rotation of it and converted the colours in grey tones, to avoid the vision of different hues. Figure 7 gives the result. Is the figure showing the same person? I guess that there is this possibility, but further studies are necessary. Let me then avoid a direct answer and just write some conclusions. Using the image processing we had compared portraits having quite different origins. This is telling that several processing tools, some of them freely available, can help in the study of history, archaeology and arts. For what concerns the specific case, it seems from Figure 7, that the structure of the two faces, in particular of nose and cheekbones, is quite similar. We can also see that one of the eyes is a little bit larger in both images. According on the previous discussion on portrait and self-portrait (Figure 6), I tend to consider the Raphael's Plato based on a direct interaction between Raphael and Leonardo, when Raphael was in Florence, and then on a previous portrait or drawing that Raphael made of Leonardo. References 1. http://www.lavenaria.it /web/ 2. C. Pedretti, Disegni di Leonardo da Vinci e della sua scuola alla Biblioteca Reale di Torino, Giunti Barbera, Firenze, 1975. 3. C. Pedretti, A Chronology of Leonardo Da Vinci's Architectural Studies after 1500, E. Droz, Geneva, 1962. 4. ANSA.it - News in English - Leonardo self- portrait 'discovered', 2009 and also BBC NEWS Europe - 'Early Leonardo portrait' found, 2009. 5. http://www.leonardo3.net 6. Amelia Carolina Sparavigna, The Digital Restoration of Da Vinci's Sketches, http://arxiv.org/abs/0903.1448 7. Amelia Carolina Sparavigna, Digital Restoration of Ancient Papyri, http://arxiv.org/abs/0903.5045 8. Iris © 1999-2010, Christian Buil, http://www.astrosurf.com/buil/us/iris/iris.htm 9. A.C. Sparavigna, Enhancing the Google imagery using a wavelet filter, http://arxiv.org/abs/1009.1590 10. GIMP © 2001-2011, http://www.gimp.org/ 11. Raffaello, presentato da Mchele Prisco, Milano, Rizzoli Editore, 1966. 12. Cecil Gould, The Sixteenth Century Italian Schools, National Gallery Catalogues, London 1975. 13. Raphael, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raphael, 14. The School of Athens, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_School_of_Athens 15. It is thought that Leonardo drew the self-portrait in red chalk at the age of 58 or 60. The Wikipedia page, Cultural depictions of Leonardo da Vinci, tells that this well-known drawing is not universally Fig.3 Us ing GI MP we can add the portrait of the y oung man (Figure 2, down-right) to the s elf -portrait in red chalk (Figure 1) of the old man. Fig.4 Raphael’s Plato (image s ource: http://www.aiwaz.net/) Fig.5 On the right, the Raphael painting and on the lef t, the res ult of a merging of two Leonardo’s drawings Fig.6 Let us cons ider two canv as s es , hav ing on them a s elf - portrait and a portrait res pectiv ely , with the head depicted in the s ame pos ition. The s ide of the f ace is dif f erent. When an artis t is depicting a s elf -portrait, he is looking at the f ace in a mirror. As s uming the pos ition of the head as abov e, the s elf -portrait is s howing the lef t s ide of the f ace. I n the cas e that it is another artis t depicting the portrait, he is looking at the f ace directly , and then the s ide depicted is the right one. Fig.7 I s this the s ame pers on? Leonardo da Vinci, tells that this well-known drawing is not universally accepted as a self-portrait, because the depicted face appears to be quite old, suggesting that Leonardo represented his father or grandfather. Another possibility is that Leonardo altered himself, in order that Raphael might use it for his Plato. However, Plato does not look so old in the painting by Raphael. 16. I have read on the Glamour Magazine about a simple experiment by P. Gugliemetti, Do You Have A Good Side And Bad Side Of Your Face?, 11-13-2008. The author writes "At a party over the summer, I mentioned to someone how I have a good side and bad side, and she thought I was just being dramatic. So I had her take a photo of each side and we showed the shots to random people in the room, asking them to vote on which side was my prettier one. Every single person voted right! Then we tried this on other people, lining them up one-by- one against a white wall, shooting their sides, and having people vote. Only a couple had equally attractive sides." 17. Bilateral symmetry of a body means that there exists a plane which is dividing the body into two mirror image halves. An operation of reflection shows that the two halves coincide. 18. G. Rhodes and L.A. Zebrowitz, Facial Attractiveness - Evolutionary, Cognitive, and Social Perspectives. Ablex. ISBN 1567506364, 2002 19. R.J. Edler, Journal of Orthodontics Vol.28(2), pag.159, 2001 20. K. Grammer and R. Thornhill, Journal of Comparative Psychology, Vol. 108, pag.233, 1994. 21. R. Kowner, Journal of Experimental Psychology: Human Perception and Performance, Vol.22, pag.662, 1996. Articoli recentemente pubblicati in Archeologia sperimentale [archivio]: Faience: the ceramic technology of ancient Egypt - by Amelia Carolina Sparavigna Cooking the volumes - by Amelia Carolina Sparavigna Chersiphron & Son Engineers - by Amelia Carolina Sparavigna HOME IICE NEWSLETTER ADMIN CONTATTI EPLIST DONAZIONI CERCA RSS inizio pagina pagina precedente Archaeogate - ISSN 1973-2953 - Copyright © 2004-2012 - Tutti i diritti riservati | | Supportaci | La Redazione AmeliaCarolina Testo digitato Figure 1 AmeliaCarolina Testo digitato Figure 2 AmeliaCarolina Testo digitato Figure 3 AmeliaCarolina Testo digitato Figure 4 AmeliaCarolina Testo digitato Figure 5 AmeliaCarolina Testo digitato Figure 7 AmeliaCarolina Testo digitato Figure 6 �������� ��� � ��������� ������ ���� ���� ������� ����� ���� ���������������� ������ ��������� ��� ������ ��� � ����!��"�����# ��� �� ��� ��$������%�����&� �������������� � ����� � � ��� �������'������ ����������������������� (����� �����)��&����*�%������ &���� �+����� ���� ��� � ���� ����� &� ��� �������� ��+������ �&����� ���������� ��������� �+�� (�������,��� ��� � ��������� ��� ������&���� &����� �������� (������ ����� �� �&��� �&����� �����&����� �����+� �� � �� �����*�&���� �� ������������ �����%� ��$����� ��������� �� ���������& (����� �����#��������� ������� �����������* ���&���� � & %��������������%��������* ���� �������& (������ ��� ����-�.�� ��/)0"�&��� � ������� ���� ����������$�� ��* ���������!+� ��& (������������������( ���� ���� ������� �������������������������* � ����1�� � �����"� �����* ���������2���� 233&&&� �& 4� ��3� ������5 ����������+������ � ��� � �� �� ��� ���������+��������������� � *���� ������&����� �������� &� �� ����6���������� �������&��� % ����+�� %� ��� ����*� �����( ���� ��� �� � ���� ������ ����%��$+�&���������� ���� ������� ������ *�� ������ �� ��� ������������� ������������� ���,�� � � ����������� ���� �� �����( ���� ��+��� �������� �� ������� ���� � �*�������#���*� ������ ������ ���������� �� �� ��%�+���������( ���� ���������&� ������������������������ ����) ������ ��� �� �������� ������ �������� ���� ������ ���� ��+������������ �� ������� ��� �������$+� ����� ������������ �������������������� �� ����7�)������������ *�� ���� 8 
work_ry5mcwiveba6dgoasw46g6keb4	----	I think most people in Shakespeare’s day, and for at least two centuries afterward, would have been surprised by the notion that his plays were “learned,” which would have meant that they displayed consid- erable classical erudition (and even imitated classi- cal models). In this sense, the most learned plays of his time were closet dramas, and the most learned writer for the public stage was usually considered to be Ben Jonson, who studied under Camden at West- minster School. In fact, Jonson’s “learned” art was sometimes contrasted with Shakespeare’s “natural” art, as in Milton’s “L’Allegro”: Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonsons learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe, Warble his native Wood-notes wilde. That distinction may no longer be relevant today, but what is relevant is the failure of the Ox- fordians, both old and new, to produce any positive evidence for their argument, which would consist of examples of “learning” in the plays that Shake- speare could not have acquired from his Stratford schooling or his reading or his experiences in London and therefore must be credited to Oxford the earl or the university. No such evidence exists. What is even more significant, I believe, is that these Oxfordians ignore the negative evidence, which really does exist and which consists of exam- ples in the plays showing that their author was not so learned after all. I am not speaking here about the many minor anachronisms in dress (ancient Greeks or Romans wearing hats, gloves, scarves, doublets, etc.) that a number of commentators have pointed out, and that may have been the re- sult of simple carelessness, but about a much more serious ignorance of geography and chronology. Thus the author of The Winter’s Tale believed that Bohemia has a seacoast, and the author of Hamlet believed that the way to lead an army from Nor- way to Poland is by marching through Denmark. Moreover, in the first part of The Winter’s Tale Leontes consults the Delphic oracle, which was closed down in AD 390, while in the second part, which follows by sixteen years, a courtier refers to Julio Romano, an artist of the Italian Renaissance. And in Troilus and Cressida Hector cites Aristotle, who was born many centuries after the end of the Trojan War. Is this the kind of learning that could only be acquired at a university? Richard Levin Stony Brook University To the Editor: The Forum section of the October PMLA in- cludes a letter from Robert F. Fleissner with the following reference to me: “A London Shakespear- ean, Gil Elliot, in her letter in the Times Literary Supplement (25 July 2003), also defended the view that Shakespeare went ‘to university,’ citing Peter Alexander, the well-known Shakespearean au- thority from Scotland, to this effect.” I would like to point out that I am not a Shakespearean or a scholar of any kind, nor did my letter defend the view that Shakespeare went to university, nor, to complete this review of errors, am I female. I am male and a writer, and my letter to the Times Literary Supplement was meant to suggest that academics like my old professor Peter Alex- ander, in common with many others through the ages, tend to configure Shakespeare in their own image. I happen to believe that Shakespeare’s edu- cation at Stratford Grammar—along with the vo- racious reading to be expected of such a protean mind—was perfectly adequate to feed his genius. Gil Elliot London Reply: I am aware of the anti-Stratfordian approach endorsing Edward de Vere as Shakespeare, but that connection did not appear germane. I certainly agree that the so-called Oxfordians have no real pos- itive evidence favoring de Vere as the playwright. The existence of errata in Shakespeare’s plays might be explained by Shakespeare’s having possibly been only an auditor of some sort at Oxford (although I have been reading again of his father’s having been a local “high bailiff” or chief magistrate—in certain towns a son of such a person was supposed to receive free tuition at Oxford). The playwright simply may not have registered all the facts he heard. Robert F. Fleissner Central State University (retired) 578 Forum [ P M L A 
work_s3jefpwjnndhvf5vietzfr3bxi	----	PII: 0315-0860(89)90099-2 HISTORIA MATHEMATICA 16 (1989), 69-85 Sharaf al-Din al-Tiisi on the Number of Positive Roots of Cubic Equations JAN P. HOGENDLIK Department of Mathematics, P.O. Box 80.010, 3508 TA Utrecht, The Netherlands In the second part of his Algebra, Sharaf al-Din al-T&i (l2th-century) correctly deter- mines the number of positive roots of cubic equations in terms of the coefficients. R. Rashed has recently published an edition of the Algebra [al-Tiisi 19851, and he has discussed al- Tiisi’s work in connection with 17th century and more recent mathematical methods (see also [Rashed 19741). In this paper we summarize and analyze the work of al-Tiisi using ancient and medieval mathematical methods. We show that al-Tiisi probably found his results by means of manipulations of squares and rectangles on the basis of Book II of Euclid’s Elements. We also discuss al-Tiisi’s geometrical proof of an algorithm for the numerical approximation of the smallest positive root of x3 + c = ax2. We argue that al-Tiisi discovered some of the fundamental ideas in his Algebra when he was searching for geomet- Ikd proofs of such algorithms. 0 1989 Academic Press, Inc. Dans la seconde par-tie de son Algebre, Sharaf al-Din al-Tusi (XII’ sitcle), a correctement determine le nombre de racines d’une equation du troisitme degre en fonction de ses coeffi- cients. R. Rashed a rtcemment publie une edition de cette Algebre [al-Ttisi 19851 et a CtudiC l’ouvrage d’al-Tiisi en se servant des methodes mathematiques du XVII’ siecle et de methodes encore plus recentes (voir aussi [Rashed 19741). Dans cet article, nous resumons et analysons l’ouvrage d’al-Tiisi en utilisant les methodes mathematiques connues dans 1’Antiquite et au Moyen-Age. Nous montrons qu’al-Tiisi a probablement trouve les resultats auxquels il est parvenu par des operations effect&es sur des car& et des rectangles, operations basees sur le Livre II des klements d’Euclide. Nous Ctudions Cgalement la demonstration geometrique d’un algorithme utilise par al-Tiisi pour calculer par approxima- tion la valeur numerique de la plus petite racine positive de l’tquation x3 + c = ax2. Nous essayons de montrer qu’al-Tiisi a trouve certaines des idees fondamentales de son AlgPbre alors qu’il tentait de trouver des demonstrations geometriques a de tels algorithmes. o 1989 Academic Press, Inc. 69 03 15-0860/89 $3 .OO Copyright 0 1989 by Academic Press, Inc. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved. JAN P. HOGENDIJK HM 16 AMS 1980 subject classifications: OlA30. KEY WORDS: historyofalgebra, cubicequations, Islamicmathematics, Sharafal-Din al-JXsi,geometri- cal algebra, numerical approximation. 1. INTRODUCTION The recent edition of the Algebra of Sharaf al-Din al-Tiisi (12th century, not to be confused with Nagir al-Din), which was published by R. Rashed in [al-Tiisi 19851, is an important contribution to the history of Arabic mathematics. Until recently the mathematician and poet ‘Umar al-Khayyam (ca. 1048-l 131) was supposed to have given the most advanced medieval treatment of cubic equations. Thanks to Rashed’s publications [al-Ttisi 19851 and [Rashed 19741 we now know that al-?&i went considerably further. The publication [al-Ttisi 19851 contains an edition of the Arabic text with a literal French translation, a transcription of al-Ttisi’s reasoning in modern nota- tion, and a discussion of most of the text in terms of modern algebra and analysis. Rashed conveniently divided the very long text of the Algebra into two parts, consisting of 116 and 127 pages of Arabic text, and printed in two volumes of [al- Ttisi 19851; these volumes will henceforth be denoted as [Tl] and [T2]. We will be concerned with the second part of the Algebra, on cubic equations that do not for all positive choices of the coefficients have a positive root. This second part consists mainly of a sequence of very long proofs in Euclidean style. The proofs are correct, but as Rashed points out, they do not necessarily reflect the way in which al-Ttisi found his results. In the introduction in [Tl, xviii-xxxi], Rashed relates al-TM’s discussion of the cubic equation f(x) = c to a method of P. de Fermat (1601- 1665) for the determination of maxima and minima of a cubic curve y = f(x). Act or d ing to Rashed, the concept of the derivative of a function or of a polynomial is also implicit in al-Ttisi’s work (see also [Rashed 1974, 272-273,290] = [Rashed 1984, 175-176, 1931, and for some further consequences [Rashed 1984, 3 121, reprinted from [Rashed 19781). HM 16 AL-TuSI ON POSITIVE ROOTS 71 As far as is known, cubic curves were never drawn by medieval mathemati- cians, and the method of Fermat and the derivative are not mentioned explicitly in any known medieval Arabic text. Thus the question arises of whether al-Ttisi’s methods and motivation can also be explained in terms of standard ancient and medieval mathematics. In this paper I propose such an alternative explanation. Section 2 of this paper is a concise analysis of the second part [T2] of al-TM’s Algebra, by means of methods and concepts attested to elsewhere in the Greek and Islamic tradition. Section 3 is about al-Ttisi’s motivation. The appendices contain notes to the Arabic text and the French translation in [T2], for the reader who wishes to compare this paper with the original text. I conclude the present section with a brief summary in modern notation of the results that al-Ttisi proves in the Algebra. The Algebra is a detailed treatment of linear, quadratic, and cubic equations in one unknown. Because the mathematicians in the Islamic tradition only recog- nized positive coefficients and roots, they had to distinguish 18 different types of cubic equations. Al-Khayyam had already shown that the five types without a constant term can be reduced to quadratic equations, and for each of the remain- ing 13 types he had given a geometrical construction of a root by means of two intersecting conic sections, or by means of one conic section intersecting a circle [al-Khayyam 198 11. Eight of these thirteen types have for all (positive) choices of the coefficients a (positive) root. In the first part of the Algebra [Tl], al-Ttisi renders al-Khayyam’s geometrical constructions for these eight types, and he describes a numerical procedure (essentially the Ruffini-Horner scheme, see [Luckey 19481) for approxi- mating the root. The second part of the Algebra [T2] is entirely devoted to the five remaining types of cubic equations, namely x3 + c = ax2 (0 x3 + c = bx (2) with a, b, c > 0. x3 + ax2 + c= bx (3) x3 + bx + c = ax2 (4) x3 + c = ax2 + bx (5) Al-Khayyam pointed out that the number of roots of these equations depends on the number of intersections of the two conic sections used in the construction. He does not give the precise relation between the number of intersections and the coefficients of the cubic equation (cf. [al-Khayyam 1981, 711). For a given choice of the coefficients one could of course draw the conic sections on a piece of paper and determine the number of intersections empirically. Al-Khayyam does not mention this procedure, perhaps because it cannot be completely accurate. However, al-Ttisi succeeded in determining the exact relationship between the 72 JAN P. HOGENDIJK HM 16 number of roots and the coefficients of the equation. Neither al-Khayyam nor al- Tiisi was able to determine the roots themselves in terms of the coefficients; there is no evidence whatsoever that the algebraic solution of the cubic equation was known before the Italian Renaissance. Al-Ttisi treats the five equations in the order (1) [T2, l-181; (2) [T2, 19-341; (3) [T2,34-481; (4) [T2,49-701; and (5), case a = fi [T2,70-761, case a > fi [T2, 76-1041, case a < fi [T2, 104-1271. For each of the types (l)-(4), and for each of the three cases of (5), the treatment is structured as follows (for detailed refer- ences to the text, see note [ 11). For sake of brevity I write the equations (l)-(5) as f(x) = c. A. First al-Tusi defines a quantity m in a way that depends on the type of equation: (1) m = ($)a, (2) m = X@Bj, (3) m2 + (@am = b/3, (4) m2 + (b/3) = #am (here m is the largest of the two positive roots), and (5) m2 = @am + 6/3. (In ail five cases we havef’(m) = 0, but in my opinion al-Ttisi did not know the concept of a derivative.) He then proves f(x) <f(m) for all (positive) x # m. Thus if c > f(m), f(x) = c has no root and if c = f(m) there is exactly one root x = m. B. He then supposes c <f(m), and he considers the equation y3 + py2 = d, (6) with d = f(m) - c for all types and p depending on the type of equation, as follows: (1) p = a, (2) p = 3m, (3) p = 3m + a, (4), (5) p = 3m - a with m defined as above; it can be shown that p > 0 always. The (unique positive) root yl of (6) had already been constructed geometrically in [Tl, 56-571 by means of a parabola and a hyperbola, and an algorithm for the computation of yI had been described in [Tl, 58-661. Al-Tusi proves that x1 = m + yl is a root of f(x) = c. Thus the existence of at least one root xl > m is guaranteed (by the geometrical construc- tion of yl), and in part F it will turn out that there is no other root x > m. The root xl can be computed from m and yl. C. For types (4) and (5) al-Tusi provides an upper bound of x1 in terms of a and b. Dl. For type (1) only, al-Ttisi geometrically constructs a segment of length 4 such that q2 + da - XI) = da - XI), (7) where x1 > m is the unique positive root of (1) constructed in B. He shows that x2=a- xi + q is another root of (1) with x2 < m. He also proves that if z2 = m - x2, then z = z2 is a root of z3 + d = pz2, (8) with d = flm) - c = (4/27)a3 - c, p = a as above. He then explains an algorithm for the computation of x2 from (l), assuming that c 5 (&)a3 (see below for more details). If c > (&)a3 we have d < (&)a3; in this case he first computes 22 = @a - x2 by the same algorithm applied to (8). D2. For types (2)-(5), al-Tiisi considers the auxiliary equation HM 16 AL-‘j’oS1 ON POSITIVE ROOTS 73 z3 + d = pz2, with p and d as in (6); this equation is of type (1). Let 22 be the smallest (positive) root and x2 = m - 22. He then proves that x2 is a root offlx) = c. The root x2 can be computed from z2 and m. E. For types (4) and (5), al-Ttisi discusses positive lower bounds for x2 in terms of a and b if such bounds exist. F. Al-Ttisi proves separately that if x1 > m is a root offlx) = c, y1 = x1 - m is a root of (6). G. He proves similarly that if x2 < m is a root offlx) = c, z2 = m - x2 is a root of (9). H. He finishes the discussion of most types with a summary or a numerical example. Thus al-T&i determines the number of solutions directly from the coefficients, and he shows that al-Khayyam’s separate geometrical constructions for (l)-(5) are superfluous, because they can all be reduced to the geometrical construction for (6) in [Tl , 56-571. Therefore [T2] does not contain conic sections at all. Al- Tiisi does not mention the fact that the equation x3 + bx = ax2 + c can have two or three positive roots for suitable positive coefficients a, b, c (compare [Tl , 107- 1161). 2. ANALYSIS OF THE SECOND PART OF AL-TGSI’S ALGEBRA In the Algebra al-Tiisi uses similar reasoning in many different situations, and his solutions of Eqs. (l)-(5) are to a large extent analogous. This makes it possible to render the essentials of the 127 pages of Arabic text in [T2] in a concise way. The purpose of the following presentation is to make al-Ttisi’s ideas easily accessible to the reader, and to explain his ideas in the context of ancient and medieval mathematics. The presentation is very close in spirit to the text of the Algebra, although I do not follow the order of the arguments in the text, labeled A-H in the preceding section. I rather intend to give a plausible reconstruction of how al-Ttisi found his results. In ancient terminology one could say that al-Tiisi’s Algebra is a synthesis and my reconstruction is a corresponding analysis. The text of the Algebra contains several indications of al-Tusi’s original line of thought (see the parts labeled F and G in Section 1, and also, for example, [T2,36,39,57]), and my reconstruction is consistent with these indications. For sake of brevity and clarity I use some modern notation in the transcription of ancient and medieval concepts. I indicate the algebraical “cube,” “square,” and “root” as x3, x2, and x (or y3, y2, y, z3, z2, z), and I transcribe equations such as “a cube plus a number equals squares plus roots” as x3 + c = ax2 + bx; here a and b stand for the “number of squares” and the “number of roots,” respectively. The second part of the Algebra contains very little of what we would call algebra, i.e., direct manipulation of algebraic equations (for an exception see [T2, S-91). Al-Ttisi immediately casts his equations in a geometrical form, and he works with the resulting geometrical expressions. Thus in the case of x3 + c = ax2 74 JAN P. HOGENDIJK HM 16 + bx, he chooses on a straight line three segments BE = X, BC = a, and BA = -\Tb (the square root is necessary for reasons of homogeneity). Then c can be inter- preted as “the excess of BC times the square of BE and the square of AB times BE over the cube of BE.” I will transcribe this as c = BC . 3 2 + AB2. BE - BE3. I denote the points in the geometrical figures as much as possible in the way of the French translation in [T2]. Turning to al-Ttisi’s ideas, first consider Eq. (S), that is x3 + c = ax* + bx, to which al-Ttisi devotes the last 58 pages of Arabic text [T2, 70-1271. Fix segments BC = a and AB = a, as in Fig. 1. Al-Ttisi discusses the three cases a = a, a > d, and a < fi separately. I omit the relatively easy case a = a [T2,70-761. First suppose a < d [T2, 104-1271. Al-Tusi is interested in the . relationship between x and c. Let x = BE as in Fig. 1. Al-Ttisi sometimes uses a technical term baqiya c;liZ’ BE (“the remainder for side BE”) [2] for the quantity BC l BE* + AB* * BE - BE3, and I therefore feel entitled to write this quantity as f(BE). Then (5) can be written as f(BE) = c. Al-Tusi interprets AB* and BE* as real squares ABlYa!, EBKE, and the difference AB* - BE2 as a “gnomon” (Arabic: ‘alam) A&K&E as in Fig. 1, in the manner of Book II of Euclid’s Elements (see [Heath 1956 I, 370-3721). I write the squares and the gnomon as [Bcx], [BE], and [ECY], respectively. Then f(BE) = BC . [BE] + BE . [ECY]. (10) If D is a point between E and C, then similarly f(BD) = BC . [B6] + BD . [&XI. (11) Al-Tusi investigates the difference between f(BD) and f(BE), but he does not use zero or negative quantities. For the sake of brevity I will use the minus sign in the modern way; thus I use “a - b = c - d” to shorten expressions like “if a > b thenc>danda-b=c-d;ifa=bthenc=d;ifa<bthenc<dandb-a=d - c.” B C FI I - FIG. 1. BC = a < fi = BA. HM 16 AL-TnSj ON POSITIVE ROOTS 75 Al-Tusi simplifies f(BD) - f(BE) by decomposing all squares and gnomons as far as possible. We have [BE] = [B6] + [Ss] and [&xl = [&I + [ECY]. Therefore by (10) and (11) f(BD) - f(BE) = (BC - [BS] + BD . [Sa]) - (BC a [BE] + BE l [~a]) = BD . [&TX] - (BC . [&I + BE . [~a]) = BD . [&I - (BC . [&I + DE . [~a]) = CD a [&I - DE s [EC& Al-Tusi calls CD - [&I the characteristic (khassa) off(BD) and DE . [~a] the characteristic off(BE) (see the index in [T2, 1591). Note that both characteristics depend on D and E. Using [as] = DE . (BD + BE) we obtain f(BD) - f(BE) = DE . (CD . (BD + BE) - [~a]). (12) Similarly, if F is between C and D f(BF) - f(BD) = FD . (CF . (BF + BD) - [&Y]). (13) We now try to find D such thatf(BD) is maximal. Then by (12) and (13) D must be a point such that for all E between D and A CD . (BD + BE) > [~a] (14) and for all F between D and C CF . (BF + BD) < [&Y]. (15) Since CD * (BD + EB) > 2CD * DB, and [6a] > [~a], (14) is true if 2CD l DB 1 [h]. Since CF l (BF + BD) < CD . (BD + BD), (15) is true if 2CD . BD I [aa]. Therefore, if D is such that 2CD . BD = [h], (16) then f(BD) is maximal. (Al-Tiisi shows that for D defined by (16) and for all relevant points P not between C and A also f(BP) < f(BD).) Putting m = BD, (16) can be reduced to m* = (3)m - BC + ($)AB*. (17) Al-Trisi defines m algebraically by (17) and he then derives (16). The rest of his argument is based exclusively on (16) and the ideas of the present analysis. I now investigate the possible relationships between al-Tiisi’s definition of D and the derivative. We havef’(m) = 3m2 - 2ma - b = 2m(m - a) - (b - m*) = 2 CD . DB - [6ar] = 0 (cf. (16)). However, for x = BE,f’(x) = 2CE . BE - [ECY], but this quantity does not occur in al-Ttisi’s argument. This means that al-Tusi does not find m by computing the derivative f’ and by putting f’(x) equal to zero. Therefore the concept of derivative is not implicit here. To return to al-TM’s ideas, it is now clear that the original Eq. (5) has no solution if c > f(m) and one solution, namely x = m, if c = f(m). 76 JAN P. HOGENDIJK HM 16 NOW let c <f(m), write x1 = BE, and put y1 = DE, then y1 = x1 - m. We have CD * (BD + BE) - [ECY] = CD l DE + [&I, and therefore by (12) f(m) - c = f(BD) - f(BE) = DE * (CD * DE + [&I) = yl((m - a)yl + y1(2m + y,)) = yT(3m - a + yl). Therefore y = y1 is the (unique positive) root of y3 + y2(3m - a) = f(m) - c, that is (6). Similarly, if we let x2 = BF, and put 22 = FD, then 22 = m - x2 andf(m) - c = FD l ([&I - CF * (BF + BD)) = 22 * (CD * FD + [$a]) = &3m - a - .Q), and therefore z = z2 is the unique positive root of z3 + f(m) - c = z2(3m - a), that is (9), such that z < m. These are the essential ideas in the solution of (5). The parts labeled A, B, D2, F, and G in Section 1 are lengthy elaborations of these ideas (see [T2, 104-1271). The preceding reasoning answers the question: for which c does a root x exist? Al-Ttisi also studies the similar question: For which x does c > 0 exist; i.e., what x can be roots of an equation of type (5) for fixed a and b? Such x should satisfy c = f(x) > 0, that is to say x2 > ax + b. The further details (in parts C and E in Section 1) are mathematically trivial. This concludes the discussion of the case a < b, so suppose BC = a > fi = AB, as in [T2, 76-1041, and let the notation be as in Fig. 2. Then f(BD) = BC . BD* + AB* . BD - BD3 = BC . [B6] - BD a [cd], (18) and by a similar reasoning as above f(BD) - f(BE) = DE . ([cd] - EC a (BE + BD)) (19) and f(BF) - f(BD) = FD . ([a$] - DC . (BD + BF)). (20) We now wish to find D such that f(BD) is maximal. Then for all E between D and C [cd] > EC . (BE + BD) (21) and for all F between D and A [a+] < DC l (BD + BF). (22) J BGAFDEC 0 O C Y “4 % - E FIG. 2. BC = a > V’& = AB. HM 16 AL-TuSj ON POSITIVE ROOTS 77 First consider (21). The term [aa] does not depend on E. We now determine the maximum of EC a (BE + BD) for E a variable point between C and D. If we choose J on DB extended such that BJ = BD, then EC . (BE + BD) = EC * JE. Suppose that the midpoint of segment JC lies between J and D. Then by Euclid, Elements II : 6 [Heath 1956 I, 3851 EC. JE < DC. JD = DC * 2DB. Therefore (21) holds for all E between C and D if 2DC . DB 5 [&I. (23) Note that if 2DC . DB I [&I, then 2DC . DB < [B6], so that DC < BD/2, hence the midpoint of JC is in fact between D and B. At first sight the analysis of (22) seems more complicated, because both terms increase monotonically ifF tends to D. The difficulty disappears if we guess (with (23) in mind) that D should also be defined by (16), that is, 2DC . DB = [&I, and if we then consider the differences [c&l - [a+] = [@I = (BD + BF) * FD and 2DC - DB - DC l (BD -I- BF) = DC. FD. By (16), DC < BD < BD + BF, so that DC * FD < [@I, and (22) follows. Thus if D is defined by (16), f(BD) is maximal. Everything else is the same as in the case a < V’%. This concludes my analysis of al-Tusi’s solution of Eq. (5). Al-Ttisi treats Eq. (2), that is x3 + c = bx, and (3), that is x3 + ax* + c = bx, in the same way as x3 + c = ax2 + bx, case a < fi. For (2), C coincides with B in Fig. 1, and in (3), C is chosen on AB extended such that IBCl = a. The treatment of Eq. (4), that is x3 + bx + c = ax2, resembles that of x3 + c = ax2 + bx, case a > fi. For (4), al-Tiisi draws a segment BA = fi perpendicular to BC (Fig. 3). In (19) and (20) one obtains instead of gnomons [&I and [a+] quantities AB2 + BD2 and AB2 + BF2, respectively (which al-Tusi interprets geometrically as the squares of hypotenuses of right-angled triangles). Thus f(BD) > f(BE) and f(BD) > f(BF) are seen to be equivalent to AB2 + BD2 > EC . (BE + BD) (24) A P J I3 IfD EC -& FIG. 3. x3 + bx + c = uxz. AB = ti. BC = u. 78 JAN P. HOGENDIJK HM 16 and respectively. AB* + BF* < DC . (BD + BF), (25) The inequalities (24) and (25) can be investigated in similar ways as (21) and (22), leading to the result that f(BD) is maximal if D is such that AB* + BD* = 2DC s DB. The equation (I), x3 + c = ax*, is treated in the same way as the case a > I6 of x3 + c = ax* + bx, with A coinciding with B in Fig. 2. For (l), al-Ttisi derives the quadratic equation q* + q(a - x1) = xl(a - x1), where x1 > m and x2 < m are the two positive roots and x2 = a - x1 + q (see Section 1, part Dl) in the following manner. Referring to Fig. 2, put x1 = BE, x2 = BF, a = BC. From c = ad - xf = BE* . CE = ax: - xi = BF* * CF we get, subtracting from BE* . CF, BE* a EF = CF. [.$I, hence BE* = CF. (BE + BF) (26) hence BF . (BE + BF - CB) = BE. CE. (27) In order to cast (27) in a nice geometrical form, al-Ttisi defines G on BC such that BG = CE. Then (27) can be written as BF . GF = BE. CE. WV If B, E, and C (and hence G) are known, the construction of F is a standard Euclidean problem: to apply to BG a rectangle, equal in area to BE . CE, and exceeding by a square (GF*). Or, in other words, GF* + BG . GF = BE . CE (this is the equation used in [T2, 71). The fact that al-Ttisi uses GF and not BF (in (27)) as the unknown shows that his method is basically geometrical. The preceding summary contains the essence of the second part of the Algebra, with the exception of trivialities and the Ruffini-Horner process (see the next section). Al-Tiisi discusses each equation in such an elaborate way that his Alge- bra resembles the Cutting-off of a Ratio of Apollonius of Perga. Unlike Apollo- nius, al-Tiisi sometimes makes his proofs more complicated than necessary by introducing useless proportions. Suter also noted complications of this kind in another text of al-Ttisi [Suter 1907-19081. My analysis does not take account of such complicating factors. 3. AL-TUSI’S INITIAL MOTIVATION In the preceding section we have seen that certain identities for a cubic polyno- mialf, such asf(BD) -f(BE) = DE l (CD . (BD + BE) - [~a]) (that is (12)), play a HM 16 AL-Y@SI ON POSITIVE ROOTS 79 cardinal role in the reasoning of al-TM. Clearly al-Ttisi discovered many of the results in the Algebra, such as (16) and (17), after he had found identities such as (12). Thus one wonders for what reasons al-J&i initially studied (12). A possible reason may have been his search for geometrical proofs of numerical algorithms for the approximation of roots of cubic equations. A proof of this kind appears in [T2, 15-181, in connection with the approximation of the smallest positive root of Eq. (l), that is x3 + c = ax*. The algorithm is essentially the method of Ruffini-Homer (see [Luckey 19481). This method was used for the computation of cube roots before the middle of the third century A.D. in China [Wang and Needham 1955; Vogel 1968, 41-42, 113- 1191 and in the 10th century A.D. in the Islamic world [Ktishyar 1965,26-28, lOO- 1041. The extraction of cube roots was apparently well known in the time of al- Ttisi, who does not even bother to explain the details [Tl , 241. The generalization to arbitrary cubic equations is straightforward (see [Luckey 1948, 220-221, 229- 2301) and may have been used in the early I lth century A.D. by al-Biriini for the computation of the roots of x3 + 1 = 3x and x3 = 1 + 3x [Schoy 1927, 19, 211. In the first part of the Algebra, al-Ttisi describes the generalized algorithm for all cubic equations of the form x3 + t-ax + sbx = c with r and s equal to - 1, 0, or 1, not both zero. In these cases al-Ttisi adds numerical examples and a verbal expla- nation of why the algorithm is correct. It seems that he felt more uncertain about (l), that is x3 + c = ax*, perhaps because a (positive) root does not always exist. This may have prompted him to develop the geometrical proof in [T2, 13-151, which will now be rendered in modern notation. Suppose x0 is the smallest positive root of (1). (We assume c 5 (4/27)a3, so that x0 exists.) Let x0 = nl . lOk + n2 * IOk-* + . . . be the decimal expression, with n1 # 0. We can estimate k using x0 = m (see [T2, 151 and [l] below). We then find by trial and error xl = n1 * 10“ as the maximal number X = n . 10k such that n is an integer and aX* 5 X3 + c. We then compute the following quantities: a’ = a - x1, a” = a’ - x1, al = a” - xl 6’ = xla’, bl = b’ + xla”, cl = c - x,b’ (note that x0 = xi + y with y(bl + y(al - y)) = cl). We now find by trial and error yl = n2 * lok-’ as the maximum number Y = n . lok-i such that n is an integer and Y(bl + Y(al - Y)) I cl. We then compute ai = al - YI, a; = ai - yl, a2 = a;’ - yl bi = bl + ylai, b2 = bi + yla’i, c2 = cl - ylh (note that y = yi + z with z(b2 + z (a2 - z)) = Q) and so on. With each step we find one further decimal of the root; the successive approximations of x0 are xl, x1 + ~1, etc. 80 JAN P. HOGENDIJK B E ID A HM 16 FIGURE 4 Al-Ttisi proves the correctness of this procedure in a somewhat obscure pas- sage [T2, U-181, which we paraphrase as follows (Fig. 4). The algebraical nota- tion a, b, c, xi, yi, z and the symbols K, K1 are mine. Let AB = a, BD = x0, BE = xi,ED=y.Thenc=ax$-xi= DA.BD2=DA*BE2+DA.(BD2-BE2)=EA. BE2 - ED a BE2 + DA * (2 BE . ED + ED2). Therefore cl = c - (a - x,)x; = DA . BD2 - EA . BE2 = ED . K with K = DA . (2BE + ED) - BE2 (29) =2(DA+ED).BE-2ED*BE+DA*ED-BE2 = 2 EA a BE + DA . ED - BE2 - 2ED . BE = EA a BE + (EA s BE - BE2) + DA . ED - 2BE. ED = EA . BE + (EA - BE) . BE + (EA - BE - BE - ED) . ED. (30) Thus cl = y * K with K = bl + y(al - y) as desired. Similarly, let y1 = EZ, z = ID, x2 = x1 + y1 = BZ. The text is very concise, but the underlying line of thought seems to be as follows ([T2, 17 line 20-18 line 61: We have in the algorithm c2 = cl - y1 * (bl + yl(al - yi)), or geometrically c2 = cl - EZ . K1 with K1 = EA . BE + (EA - BE) . BE + (EA - BE - BE - EZ) . EZ (cf. (30)). Hence, as above, c2 = cl - EZ . (IA . (2BE + EZ) - BE2) (cf. (29)). Thus c2 = cl + EZ * BE2 - IA . (2EZ. BE + EZ2), as stated in the text. Therefore c2 = cl +EA.BE2-ZA.BZ2=c - IA * BZ2 = c - &a - x2). It is also easily verified that b2 = x2(a - x2) + xz(a - 2x2) and a2 = a - 3x2. We can now apply the proof of (30) to a2, b2, c2, x2, z instead of al, bl , cl, x1, y. It follows that c2 = z(b2 + z(a2 - z)) as desired. Differences such as DA . BD2 - EA l BE2 play an important role in this proof (cf. (29) and (30), or [T2, 16 line 5-17 line 19 (Arabic), 16 line 3-17 line 21 (French)]). Hence it is conceivable that al-Ttisi first studied the differencesf(BD) - f(BE) while he was searching for this proof, and possibly for similar proofs for Eqs. (2)-(5). In the beginning he may not have known that the roots of (2)-(5) can be found by solving (1) and x3 + ax2 = c. Anyhow, it would be natural for al-Ttisi to begin with (l), because the necessary and sufficient condition c 5 (4/27)a3 for the existence of a root was known in his time. This condition had been derived geometrically by Archimedes, and it had been stated algebraically in the 10th century (see [Woepcke 1851,96-1031 = [Woepcke 1986 I, 168-1751). Note that it was important for al-Ttisi, who did not work with negative numbers, that the HM 16 AL-TUSI ON POSITIVE ROOTS 81 quantities al = a - 3x1, a2 = a - 3x2, etc., in the algorithm are all positive. This is only true if x o I ($)a. For x0 > (Qa, one can use Fig. 4 for BD = (@a, BE = x0, ED = y to obtain y3 + [(&)a3 - c] = ay2 using methods which are even simpler than the proof of (30). Because y 5 (+)a one can now use the algorithm to compute y. Hence al-Ttisi may well have discovered the substitution y = (@a - x (22 = m - x2 in the notation of Section 2) in connection with his investigation of the proof of the algorithm for Eq. (1). In conclusion, it seems to me that the Algebra of al-Ttisi can be explained as the result of a project that started with a more modest aim, namely the search for geometrical proofs of algorithms for approximating the roots of cubic equations. I believe that I have shown that al-Tiisi’s motivation and ideas can be explained without the assumption that he drew cubic curves and determined their local maxima and minima by means of the method of P. de Fermat. And as we have seen in Section 2, there is no evidence that al-Tfisi used the derivative. The absence of traces of these concepts does not detract from the intrinsic value of al- Tosi’s work. On the contrary, al-Ttisi’s ingenuity appears very clearly when one realizes that he used only traditional ancient and medieval mathematical methods. 4. NOTES TO THE TEXT AND TRANSLATION OF THE ALGEBRA The following notes are intended for the reader who wishes to study the original text or the translation of the second part of al-Tiisi’s Algebra, which has been analyzed in Sections 2 and 3 of this paper. I wish to stress here that the edition and translation in [T2] are in my opinion very good, and that my notes on details do not imply a qualification of this general judgment. This section contains notes to the Arabic text, followed by corresponding notes to the translation (not all notes to the text entail a change in the translation). A notation such as 98:2 refers to line 2 of page 98 of the Arabic text or the translation. In the transcription of the Arabic text I conform to the conventions in [T2]; thus letters denoting points in the geometrical figures are transcribed according to the system used in [T2] (therefore jim = C, ztiy = G, {a’ = I), and angular brackets contain editorial additions to the Arabic text in the manuscripts. I also put the French translation of these words in angular brackets, even though such brackets do not appear in the translation. Notes to the Arabic Text 1. 15: 11 delete (murabba’). 2. 16:16 and 16:17 for BE read (murabba’) BE. 3. 17:22-18:l (AI, wa-darabna EZ fi): In view of the singular mablagh on 18:l one should add here something like (Al, wa-naqasnti al-mablagh min al-‘adad, wa- darabnti El fi). 4. 30:5 for illa m&Ian read wa-ill; malan, and 30:7 for illti kacban read wa-ills kacban, as in the mss. (cf. the apparatus); illa functions as the minus sign. Com- pare 69: l-2 (wa-illa amwalan), 102:21-103: 1 (wa-illa ka’ban). 5. 35: 11 delete (murabba’). 82 JAN P. HOGENDIJK HM 16 6. 38: 11 for EM read CM. The reading in the footnote to 38: 12 is preferable to the text in 38:12. The mathematical context requires that ka-dhalika in 38:13 be emended, for example to wa-dhalika. 7. 40:6 delete (ma’him). 8. 40: 17 for wa-(huwa) mithl di’f read wa-di’f, the word mithl in the manuscript should be deleted from the text and put in the apparatus, because it is a scribal error. 9. 46: 1, 2 for BC read MC. 10. 49: 16 delete (wa-qutruha AB); the words ‘ala AB indicate that AB is the diameter. 11. 5 1: 11-12 for fa-la yu’radu . . . Ii-1-istihala read: fa-la ya’ridu . . . . al-istihala (al-istihala and li-1-istihala are indistinguishable in the London manuscript). Delete the footnote to 5 1: 11. 12. On p. 64 interchange ya and sad in the figure. 13. 67:3 for (fi BE) read (fi EG). 14. 73: 16 if DA is emended to BA, the additions (wa-huwa musawin li-murabba’ AB) and (DK wa-huwa) can be omitted. 15. 74:16 the emendation must be incorrect, because the quantity in question does not in fact have a (positive) lower bound, as al-j&i proves in the subsequent passage (75: l-5). Perhaps li-bayan should be emended not to Ii-1-bayan (lahu), but to laysa lahu (the final ruin in the manuscript being a trace of lahu). 16. 77:5 for BG read AB as in the mss. (see the apparatus). 17. 78:7 delete (wa-huwa), and for wa-huwa read huwa. 18. 79: 10 note that [ma’a] is evidently a trace of (murabba’) in 79: 11. 19.84:21 fa-darb: the fa- makes no sense here, and the text is much clearer if we emend wa-(huwa) darb; this takes care of the difficulty mentioned in the footnote to 85:l. In 85:3 delete (huwa) and for bi-muka’ ‘ab read mukac ‘ab. 20. 85: 10 emend CO to DJ, delete (madruban fi OM), for li-kawn read lakin as in the mss. (see the apparatus). Note CM = DJ. 21.94:5-6 delete (BE . . . Ii-#I’), instead of the footnotes to 94:6 and 94:6-9 put: 94:6-9 BD ‘ala muka’ ‘abihi . . . dil’: naqisa L. 22. 98:3 al-awwal: there is no need for this emendation, read al-th%ni as in the mss. (see the apparatus). 23. 98:17 delete (wa I-ashya’ wa I-mal) (the gnomon is AE(EB + BA)), 98:19 delete (ziyada). 24. 108:12 for DC read GC. 25. 109: 1 for BD read BG. 26. 116: 11 delete (DB maca BE), 116: 12 for DC read EC as in the mss. (see the apparatus), 116: 15 for DC read EM (cf. the apparatus), 116: 16 for DC read EC as in the mss. (see the apparatus). In 116: 14-16 note DC + EK = DC + EM - MK = EM, because KM = DC (cf. 110: 12). The emendation (alladhi) in 116: 13 is mathe- matically correct, but (wa-murabba’ DE fi EK) is perhaps more plausible from a paleographical point of view. HM 16 AL-‘J’uSi ON POSITIVE ROOTS 83 Notes to the French Translation 1. For 15: 12 et il peut-15: 15 infe’rieur I suggest the following alternative transla- tion et il peut convenir qu’il n’ait pas d’ecart (pour le premier chiffre), et que l’ecart ait seulement lieu pour les autres chiffres cherchees (du quotient). Le premier chiffre de ce quotient (par AB) sera done le (premier chiffre) exact (du quotient par AD) ou un nombre voisin qui lui est inferieur. The following il refers to the premier chiffre de ce quotient (par AB). Footnote 47 on page 15 and footnote 1 on p. xix of the commentary are misleading. In 15:16 for le car& du nombre read le nombre. 2. 16:22 and 16:23 for BE read le carve de BE. On p. 17 footnote 50 read petit for grand; thus the translation in 17:24 is correct. 3. 17128 for (AZ, et multiplie’ AZ) read (AZ, et soustrait ce produit du nombre et que nous ayons multiplie EZ par). 18: 1 for ces produits read ce produit. 5. 35:15 delete (le carre). 6. 38:15-16 for (par EM) read (par CM). For 38: 17 le reste sera done (la difference du) premier (solide) et du deuxieme. Aussi puisque read: le premier reste sera done plus grand que l’autre (reste). Car puisque. 7. 4019 for le nombre des cart-e’s est (connu) read est le nombre des car&s. 8. The translation 40:23 corresponds to the text as I have corrected it. 9. 46:3 for BC read MC (MC in 46: 1 is correct). 10. 49:21 for nous . . . et read nous construisons sur AB un demi-cercle de centre G, et. 11. 51: 17 for le probleme read tel probleme, the reference is to the quadratic equation in 51: 16. Footnote 59 is misleading. 12. On p. 64 interchange J and U in Fig. 59. 13. 67:5 for BE read EG. 14. 73: 20-22 for le car& de DA . . . serait read le car& de BA ou (un quantite) plus grand que lui par trois fois AB ou (un quantite) plus grand que lui, serait. 15. 74: 19 the translation is based on an emendation which must be incorrect, because the nombre cherchee does not in fact have a positive limite en petitesse, as is proved subsequently in 75: l-7. 16. 77~5 delete alors, 7716 for BC seraient read AB sont. 19. 84123 for par CD. Le produit read par CD, c’est-d-dire le produit. 20. 85: 11 for par CO, (multiplie par OM,) du fait que read par DJ, mais. Note CM = DJ. 21. 94:6-7 delete (BE . . . c&e). 94:8 delete ce qui. 22. 9814 for premier read deuxieme. 23. 98:24 delete (les chases et le carre) (the gnomon is AE(EB + BA)), 98:27 for qui reste de l’augmentation du cube read qui reste du cube. 24. 108:16 for DC read GC. 25. 109:2 for BD read BG. 26. 116: 13 delete (DB plus BE), 116: 14 for DC read EC, 116: 17 for Mais read Done, 116: 18 for DC read EM, 116: 19 for DC read EC. 84 JAN P. HOGENDIJK HM 16 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I am grateful to Professors H. J. M. Bos (Utrecht), E. S. Kennedy (Princeton), F. Oort (Utrecht), and especially to Professor J. L. Berggren (Vancouver) for their very helpful comments on an earlier version of this paper. Dr. Kh. Jaouiche (Paris) kindly translated the summary of this paper into French and Arabic. NOTES 1. The following references are to the Arabic text of [T2]. The French translation has the same pagination as the Arabic text, but the line numbers may be different. A notation such as 3:8 refers to line 8 of page 3. (1) A 1: l-5:9, B 5: lo-6:18, Dl and G 7: l-8:2 and 10:6-18:22, F 8:3-10:5. (2) A 19: l- 23:14, B 27:1-28:20, D2 23:15-26:13, F 29:1-30:16, G 31:1-32:4, H 32%34:2. (3) A 34:3-40:4, B 40:5-41:22, D2 42: l-43: 19, F 44: l-45: 10, G 45: 1 l-46: 14, H 47: l-48:20. (4) A 49:1-58:4, B 58:4-60:7, D2 60:8-62:2, C and E 63:1-66:7, F 66:8-67:19, G 68:1-69:9, H 69:10-70:13. (5) case a = a, A 70: 17-72:9, B 72:9-73:11, C 73: 12-73: 19, D2 73:20-74: 15, E 74:16-75:6, F 75:7-75: 15, G 75:16-76:3, H 76:4-76: 15. (5) case a > a, A 76: 16-84:4, B 84:5-89:8, C 89:9-90: 12, D2 90:13-95:15, F 95:16-99: 13, G99:14-103:16, H 103:17-104:15. (5) case a < a, A 104:16-llO:lO, B llO:lO-114:12, C 114:13- 115:16, D2 116:1-119:18, F 119:19-123:11, G 123:12-126:21, H 127:l -127:17. 2. Compare [T2,41 lines 11, 15-20; 43 lines 11, 15; 65 line 61; al-Ttisi also uses variant expressions such as “the remainder which is together with BE” (al-baqiya alladhi maCa BE) on [T2, 52 line 121. REFERENCES Heath, T. L. 1955. The thirteen books ofEuclid’s Elements. 3 vols. New York: Dover (reprint). al-Khayyam. 1981. L’oeuure algebrique, ttablie, traduite et analysee par R. Rashed & A. Djebbar. Aleppo: Institute for the History of Arabic Science. Ktishyar ibn Labban. 1965. Principles of Hindu reckoning (Kitiibfi- U;til I;iiscib al-Z$nd), translated with introduction and notes by M. Levey & M. Petruck. Madison: Univ. of Wisconsin Press. Luckey, P. 1948. Die Ausziehung der n-ten Wurzel und der binomische Lehrsatz in der islamischen Mathematik. Mathematische Annalen 120, 217-274. Rashed, R. 1974. Resolution des equations numeriques en algebre: Sharaf-al-Din al-Ttisi, Vi&e. Ar- chive for History of Exact Sciences 12, 244-290 (reprinted in slightly revised form in [Rashed 1984, 147-1931). 1978. La notion de science occidentale. In Human implications of scientific advance, E. G. Forbes, Ed., pp. 45-54. Edinburgh (reprinted in [Rashed 1984, 301-3181). - 1984. Entre arithmetique et algebre: Recherches sur l’histoire des mathtmatiques arabes. Paris: Les belles lettres. Schoy, K. 1927. Die trigonometrischen Lehren des persischen Astronomen Abu’l-Rayhan Muh ibn Ahmad al-Biriini. Nach dem Tode des Verfassers hrsg. von J. Ruska & H. Wieleitner. Hannover: Lafaire. Suter, H. 1907/1908. Einige geometrische Aufgaben bei arabischen Mathematikem. Bibliotheca Muthematica 3 8, 23-36 (reprinted in [Suter 1986 II, 217-2301). 1986. Beitrtige zur Geschichte der Mathematik und Astronomie der Araber. 2 ~01s. Frankfurt: Institut fiir Geschichte der Arabisch-Islamischen Wissenschaften. Tl, T2: see al-Tusi. al-Tiisi, Sharaf al-Din. 1985. Oeuures mathematiques, edited and translated by R. Rashed. 2 ~01s. Paris: Les belles lettres. (The two volumes are indicated as Tl and T2 in this paper.) Vogel, K. 1968. Chin Chang Suan Shu. Neun Biicher arithmetischer Technik. Braunschweig: Vieweg (Ostwalds Klassiker der exakten Wissenschaften Neue Folge 4). HM 16 AL-TuSf ON POSITIVE ROOTS 85 Wang, L., & Needham, J. 1955. Homer’s method in Chinese mathematics: Its origin in the root- extraction procedures of the Han-Dynasty. T’oung Puo 43, 345-401. Woepcke, F. 1851. L’algPbre d’Omar Alkhuyyumi. Paris: Duprat (reprinted in [Woepcke 1986 I]). 1986. Contributions ci l’ktude des muthkmutiques et ustronomie urubo-islumiques. 2 ~01s. Frankfurt: Institut fiir Geschichte der Arabisch-Islamischen Wissenschaften. 
work_s4atjewim5b7ddgwi5hzwm3foa	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 7 December 2012 Ornament and object—ornament as object Review of: Alina Payne, From Ornament to Object: Genealogies of Architectural Modernity, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012, 360 pages, 62 color + 108 b/w illus, ISBN: 9780300175332, Cloth: $65.00 During the mid nineteen-thirties, the art and architectural historian Hans Hildebrandt (also the author of the first survey of modern architecture and German editor of Le Corbusier’s Vers une Architecture) was working towards a book project on a ‘World History of Adornment’ to be published by Propyläen Verlag as part of its well-known series on Kunstgeschichte.1 Over a period of several years, the scholar compiled massive bibliographies (some of them listing more than two thousand items), made a great number of notes and sketches, and corresponded extensively with museum administrators to obtain photographic reproductions. But in spite of the Sisyphean effort and although the manuscript and illustrations were more than half complete, the book never materialized. While there were insurmountable political reasons (such as the fact that the author’s wife was Jewish, which cost Hildebrandt his academic position at Stuttgart), the publication also folded from the sheer enormity of the research endeavour. Hildebrandt was collecting not only ornaments around the world, but also the massive literature on the same objects— an army of books, journals, treatises, folios, and countless exhibition catalogues on bodily adornment that had been published over the course of a century, mainly in German, French, and English. Hildebrandt’s unfinished history stands as a testament to the unique bond between ornament and historiography: a form of history that not only describes the development of decorative artefacts but also attempts to replicate their wealth, luxury, and variety, however arduous it may be to transcribe such qualities on paper. It is as if the massive quantities of ornament discovered in the nineteenth century during several archaeological and ethnographic expeditions were eventually buried by the books that were piled onto them. Could this mountainous literature be one of the contributing factors to what we customarily perceive as the ostensible disappearance of ornament from twentieth-century practice? The very profusion of historiography that enhances ornament with the allure of textual criticism also presages its demise and replacement by unornamented objects. This may be an instance of Victor Hugo’s ‘ceci tuera cela,’ in which the book on ornament does not exactly ‘kill’ ornament but helps bury it following a fittingly ornate funerary oration. 1 Hans Hildebrandt, bibliographic and other research notes for ‘Der Schmuck,’ ca. 1936-37, Hildebrandt Papers, Research Library, Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles. See also, Spyros Papapetros, ‘An Ornamental Inventory of Microcosmic Shifts: Notes on Hans Hildebrandt’s Book Project ‘Der Schmuck’ (1936-37), The Getty Research Journal, 1 (2009), 87-106. Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 2 This gradual eclipse of ornament that captures art historiography’s negative dialectics is the main subject of Alina Payne’s From Ornament to Objects. In sum, the book describes the transition from the endless stylistic iterations of architectural ornamentation in the late nineteenth-century to the unornamented household objects of early twentieth-century modernism, smooth sculptural artefacts that carry over the rhetorical function previously allotted to ornamentation. Payne begins her account with Adolf Loos’s well-known lecture Ornament and Crime, a powerful invective against the use of adornment in buildings and furniture, which, due to its virtuosic rhetorical delivery, is itself a fine specimen of verbal ornamentation. Another architect, Le Corbusier, who, next to Loos, figures both at the starting point and the conclusion of Payne’s story, rehearses the trajectory from ornament to object in his own writing and design practice. Once a jewellery and watch engraver (the profession of his father) as well as a careful reader of ornamental motifs (as evidenced in his careful copying of ornaments from Owen Jones’s Grammar of Ornament and Alois Riegl’s Altorientalische Teppiche), the young designer would fully ornament his first building commission, the Villa Fallet at his native La Chaux-de- Fonds (1906), with the stylized pattern of a pine tree rhythmically repeated throughout the façade and the interior of the house. And yet this is the same architect who less than two decades later (and on the grounds of the 1925 Paris Exposition of the Decorative Arts) would install his Pavillon de l’Esprit Nouveau, an unornamented building envelope populated by mass-produced furniture as well as storage units designed by the architect. A similar trajectory from ornament to object, albeit a more oscillating one, informs Corbusier’s expansive body of writing, from the lyrical symbolism of the travel diaries of his youth to the objectivist rhetoric of his later architectural manifestos (as well as the synthesis of both styles in his writings after the second-world-war).2 Corbusier’s career illustrates not only the development from ornament to object but also the contradictions that complicate such linear progress. The trajectory from ornament to object is not a direct one; it is a path that contains ornamental loops and formal undulations as well as methodological regressions to earlier paradigms. Modern practice does not move steadily from decoration to artefact, but rather between the two; sometimes the two categories move in parallel and at others against one another. Based primarily on the polarizing rhetoric of Loos and Le Corbusier in the 1920s, Payne’s argument assumes an equally polemical tone and traces a polarity between ornament and object, while her material often divulges the underlying analogies that unite the two species via a variety of corresponding tactics common in textual and design practices. Her scrupulously researched historiographic account of the literature on ornament makes abundantly clear that ornament is an object of both scholarly and practical investigation and that such inquiry often follows a cluster of bifurcating trajectories that are as intricate as the ornamental motifs whose origins the art historian or designer endeavours to delineate. 2 On Corbusier as writer, see M. Christine Boyer, Le Corbusier, Homme des Lettres, New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2011. Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 3 Perhaps the most revealing case is that of Gottfried Semper, whose ‘heritage’ is described in the first chapter of Payne’s book and echoes throughout the rest of its pages. Semper evidently thinks of ornament in terms of an object; in the title of an important lecture he delivered in Zurich in 1856 on the formal principles of ornamentation (part of which was later incorporated into the architect’s ‘Prolegomena’ to his voluminous Style), Semper opts to use not the word Ornament but Schmuck, a term describing three-dimensional objects of human or architectural adornment.3 For Semper, discussions of ornamentation should not address flat disembodied patterns whose geometric contours follow the equally static principles of classical aesthetics; on the contrary, the architect polemically argues that adornment materializes in concrete artefacts that have mass, direction, and movement. Ornament (the Greek Kosmos) regains its cosmological function not by rehearsing universal systems of classical harmony but by dynamically reacting to the impact of physical, social, cultural, and, implicitly, political forces that inscribe each human artefact into the real world. The naked dynamic form (such as the parabolic shape of ancient Greek projectiles studied exhaustively by Semper) is the object’s true adornment.4 Even if Semper’s own decorative designs for building interiors and household artefacts are replete with ornamental figures, figurative decorations are a mythological cover whose meaning becomes increasingly indecipherable and finally detached from the formal and functional core of the object. The nude deities dressing Semper’s buildings are eventually substituted by naked architectural forms. Indeed, during an era increasingly suffused by the mechanical replication of historicist ornament, Semper’s theoretical valuation of functional form is prophetic of developments that emerge in the next fifty years. It is no accident that in the first decades of the twentieth century, August Schmarsow would still invoke Semper when describing the formal principles (Gestaltungsprinzipien) of ornament in terms of proportionality, symmetry, and direction.5 Perhaps Semper’s greatest contribution was the transformation of the ornamental artifact into an experimental model by which the architect, theorist, or historian can test a number of alternative 3 Gottfried Semper’s lecture ‘Über die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes und dessen Bedeutung als Kunstsymbol’ was first published as a brochure by Meyer & Zeller in Zurich in 1856 and as an article in the Monatsschrift des wissenschaftlichen Vereins in Zürich 1, Zurich: Meyer & Zeller, 1856, 101-130. It was republished in Gottfried Semper, Kleine Schriften, ed. Hans and Manfred Semper, Berlin and Stuttgart: W. Spemann, 1884, 304-343. The first section of the essay has been translated into English by David Britt as ‘From Concerning the Formal Principles of Ornament and its Significance as Artistic Symbol,’ in The Theory of Decorative Art: An Anthology of European and American Writings, 1750-1940, ed. Isabelle Frank, New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 2000, 91-104; for a translation of the second section see, Gottfried Semper, ‘On the Formal Regularity of Adornment and Its Significance as a Symbol in Art— Part II,’ translated by Anna-Kathryn Schoefert and Spyros Papapetros in RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics 57/58, Harvard University Press, 2011, 299-308. 4 On Semper’s analytical study of ancient projectiles, see Gottfried Semper, Über die bleiernen Schleudergeschosse der Alten, Frankfurt: Verlag für Kunst und Wissenschaft, 1859. 5 August Schmarsow, ‘Anfangsgründe jeder Ornamentik,’ Zeitschrift für Ästhetik und allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft 5, 1910, 199-200. The essay is mentioned in Payne, From Ornament to Object, 143-144. Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 4 hypotheses: tectonic, formal, structural, as well as philological, archaeological, and even epistemological ones. As shown by Semper’s exhaustive morphological analysis of textiles and ceramics combined with philologically informed (yet not always accurate) historical reconstructions of the origins of the same articles, minor artefacts such as clothing accessories or small household implements can become major objects of intense scholarly scrutiny and archaeological investigation. Following Schliemann’s discoveries in Mycenae and Troy, entire civilizations previously thought lost could be reconstructed not on the basis of massive architectural monuments, but through myriads of small decorative artefacts such as buttons, headdresses and hairpins found in buckets under the foundations of city walls. Ancient civilizations continued to live in the orbit of the small object whose circulation defined the material and conceptual circumference (what Aby Warburg called Umfangsbestimmung) of modern economy.6 Essentially neglected by art historians devoted to the study of the fine arts, the decorative and applied arts finally become legitimate objects of art historical investigation in the late nineteenth-century as part of the scholarly enquiry into the arts ‘not fine.’7 It is precisely the study of ornament that raises such practical artefacts to the status of art historical objects. For example, in spite of methodological differences, both Riegl and Warburg work on the common assumption that small decorative artefacts possess a unique theoretical value as tools for interpreting culture. Ornament and objects and (to an even greater degree) architecture have the ability to arbitrate among a variety of disciplines and connect heterogeneous epistemological domains. Payne mentions Semper’s theoretical design for an Ideal Museum, whose four sections house four types of objects and material techniques—textiles, ceramics, metallurgy, and tectonics (which mirror the four sections of Der Stil)—yet which does not include architecture (Payne, 63). That is because architecture serves as the overall frame that encompasses all four of these sections. Architecture effaces itself under the presence of its objects. By becoming objects of museum study, ornamental artefacts are subject to investigation by a number of disciplines, including art history, archaeology, philology, cultural anthropology and ethnography. Moreover, via Semper’s comparative morphological studies of natural bodies and man-made artefacts they enter the natural sciences (such as statics and dynamics), as well as comparative anatomy, physiology, biology, and ultimately evolutionary science.8 Following 6 On Warburg’s concept of Umfangsbestimmung see Gombrich, Aby Warburg: An Intellectual Biography, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1986, 77-78, 218-19; and Bernd Villhauer, Aby Warburgs Theorie der Kultur: Detail und Sinnhorizont, Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2002, 68-71. 7 See for example Lewis F. Day, Every-day Art: Short Essays on the Arts Not Fine, London: Batsford, 1882; cited in Payne, 28. 8 In his lecture on Schmuck for example, Semper uses the term ‘rudiment’ when describing the transformation of certain forms of bodily ornamentation (see note 3 in this review). For later evolutionary theories of ornament see a number of the publications ALSO cited by Payne: Alfred C. Haddon, Evolution in Art: As illustrated by the Life-Histories of Design, London: Walter Scott, 1902, G. Heuser ‘Darwinistisches üer Kunst und Technik,’ Allgemeine Bauzeitung 1890, 17-19, 25-27 and ‘Das Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 5 Semper, the small ornamental artefact represents the world in miniature, allowing the human subject to intuit its functioning principles and discover her orientation. As noted in the architect’s 1856 lecture on Schmuck, the Greek word Kosmos signifies both bodily adornment and world order. Contemporary lexica disclose that Kosmos also designates ‘discipline,’ ‘direction,’ or ‘faculty,’ a form of hierarchy that extends to the organization of knowledge. One of ornament’s primary functions in nineteenth century historiography is precisely the association of different epistemic faculties under the comparative study of manmade artefacts and natural bodies. The legacy of Semper’s cosmic reconceptualization of both ornament and object is evident in the work of two of the most seminal art historians of the late nineteenth century, Aby Warburg and Alois Riegl, very rarely examined together yet craftily imbricated within Payne’s narrative. Payne closely reads Riegl’s numerous essays on artefacts from museum collections in Vienna, which combine art history and archaeology with ethnographic and folklore studies. Here the lowly decorated implement, only rarely considered as worthy of art historical inquiry, becomes the fulcrum of intense historical scrutiny as well as speculative yet highly rigorous formal or even epistemological theorization. It is the movement of undulating patterns in the diminutive corner of an embroidered vest from a Southern Dalmatian city that discloses an affinity with a similar pattern of interlacing tendrils on an Attic bowl from Aegina and thus demonstrates a diachronic continuity in ornamental development from archaic Greece to Byzantium; 9 and it is the hardly noticeable plastic recessions (only a few millimetres deep) in a Roman fibula or belt buckle that define for Riegl a new conception of space that characterizes an entire era, in this case the Late Roman.10 The decorative object’s conceptual circumference is exorbitantly magnified in relation to its modest or miniscule physical size. As in Freud’s contemporary psychoanalytic investigations into dreams, ornament’s magnified details can reveal the most intrinsic reality of object-making that hitherto remained covert. However abstract or predominantly formal, Riegl’s theoretical analysis of ornamental artefacts inscribes the very national, racial, religious, and cultural properties that it attempts to exclude; historical context is grafted upon the artefact, often by its very absence. This dialectic addresses the larger problematic of Payne’s account a propos the peculiar status of ornament as art historical object. The book allows us to reconsider what the object of (and not simply in) art history might ultimately be and why ornament is one of art history’s most privileged yet enigmatic subjects of investigation. Ornament is material and theoretical, general and particular at the same time; complete in itself but with manifold conceptual and material extensions. Werden von Stylformen. Fortsetzung Darwinistischer Studien’ Allgemeine Bauzeitung 1894, 53-69; and Lawrence Harvey, Semper’s Theory of Evolution in Architectural Ornament extracted from the Transactions of the Royal Institute of British Architects, London: RIBA, 1885. 9 Alois Riegl, Stilfragen: Grundlegungen zu einer Geschichte der Ornamentik,1893; reprint Munich- Mittenwald: Mäander Kunstverlag, 1977, 180 and 184. 10 See the chapter ‘Die Kunstindustrie’ in Alois Riegl, Spätrömische Kunstindustrie (1901); reprint Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 2000, 264-405 Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 6 While seemingly isolated from geographic and cultural context, ornamental artefacts give graphic expression to the pressures they receive from their environment. If Semper raised the decorative object to a model for understanding the natural principles of the universe, art historians like Riegl turned ornament into a model for understanding the fundamental principles of art. Such is the evident line of inquiry in Stilfragen, in which Riegl draws the main trajectories of ornamental development irrespective of the medium on which the decorative pattern is applied; clay, fabric, or stone, the underlying motif unites materials, surfaces, and genres. In Late Roman Industry, a similar principle informs the study of three dimensional artefacts such as pendants, fibulas, and building capitals, as yet again differences in material or scale become secondary; venturing into 3-D space, the art historian ultimately produces a projective surface akin to a Constantinian relief. Writing at approximately the same period as Riegl, Aby Warburg rehearses the trajectory from ornament to object in his early work, from the manifold analysis of accessories-in-motion in his dissertation on Botticelli (1892) to his anthropological study of ornamental patterns and decorated implements in the pueblo rituals of the American Southwest (1895-96). In the tradition of Semper, whose texts he had read during his student years, Warburg continues writing throughout his career about small ornamental objects as analogical models that encapsulate cosmological principles.11 In several of his unpublished manuscripts and particularly his Grundlegende Bruchstücke für eine Monistische Kunstpsychologie (Foundational Fragments for a Monistic Psychology of Art, 1888-1903), Warburg develops an aesthetics of objects in which he examines the cultural, psychological, and symbolic properties of objects from fabric accessories (Beiwerk) to bodily adornment (Schmuck) to utensils and implements (Gerät) to clothing and traditional costume (Tracht); he probes the status of these artefacts as inorganic extensions of the human body (reminiscent of Ernst Kapp’s ‘object limbs’ discussed extensively by Payne).12 Drawing on Warburg’s paradoxical term ‘foundational fragments,’ one notices that several of the essays and treatises on ornament from the period offer to lay a ‘foundation’ for the evolution of decorative motifs; consider for example the subtitle of Riegl’s Stilfragen: Grundlegungen zu einer Geschichte der Ornamentik (Foundations for a History of Ornament).13 But does not ornament itself offer a theoretical foundation 11 On Warburg and Semper, see Spyros Papapetros, ‘Aby Warburg as reader of Gottfried Semper: Reflections on the Cosmic Character of Ornamentation’ in Elective Affinities, edited by Charlotte Schell- Glass and Catriona McLoud, conference proceedings of the 7th International Association of Word and Image Studies, Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi, 2009, 317-336; and ‘World Ornament: The Legacy of Gottfried Semper’s Essay on Adornment,’ RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics 57/58, 2011, 309-329. 12 The latter part of the title eventually changed into Pragmatic Theory of Expression. See Aby Warburg, Grundlegende Bruchstücke zu einer monistische Kunstpsychologie (pragmatischen Ausdruckskunde), Warburg Institute Archive III.43.1. A version of Warburg’s project on aesthetics was recently published as Frammenti sull’espressione: Grundlegende Bruchstücke zu einer pragmatischen Ausdruckskunde (bilingual edition in German and Italian) edited by Susanne Müller and translated by Maurizio Ghelardi and Giovanna Targia, Pisa: Edizioni della Normale, 2011. 13 See note 12 in this review. This foundation may also take the form of ‘original causes’ as in the article by Schmarsow, ‘Anfangsgründe jeder Ornamentik,’ mentioned earlier in this review, note 7. Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 7 for several forms of art historical and philological scholarship? It is perhaps no accident that ornament is the dissertation subject of several prominent art and architectural historians and cultural critics of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Think of Adolphe Behne’s dissertation on the incrusted style of decoration in Tuscany and Siegfried Kracauer’s dissertation on cast-iron ornament, to mention only a few.14 One could argue that Warburg’s doctoral dissertation on Botticelli and the depiction of accessories-in-motion in Renaissance painting and literature, as well as Riegl’s Stilfragen (even if written after almost a decade of writing on a number of minor objects, such as calendars and carpets), constitute inaugural works in which ornamental objects serve as introductory guides or even blueprints for later art historical research. Studies of ornament are viewed as offering access not only to the epistemological foundations of a certain mentality or culture, but also to the methodological principles of the art historian that retraces such analogies. Ornament sets up the art historical design, including the one drawn by the art historian. This could also be true in the case of the author of this splendidly designed book. From Ornament to Object retraces the main theme of Payne’s first major book publication The Architectural Treatise in the Italian Renaissance. 15 The main connection between the two books is ornament’s constitutive relation to rhetoric. In addition to its mediating function, ornament has the capacity for (re)invention—formal, material and conceptual variation—which, as Payne describes, derives from the art of rhetoric. Drawing from both historiography and design, her account underlines the analogies (as well as occasional contradictions) between rhetorical theory and building practice. In her earlier work, Payne argues that Renaissance ornament grants the building the ability to speak and communicate with the urban environment based on a repertory of iconographic, social, and cultural conventions. In From Ornament to Object, she argues that in twentieth-century modernism, following centuries of ornament’s prevalence in architecture’s rhetorical performance, objects now play that role and do the talking for buildings. This suggests that even in modern architecture, the drive for decoration (what Semper calls Verzierungstrieb) does not subside; it simply changes course towards a new mode of rhetorical expression. Payne further argues that in twentieth-century modernity objects not only talk for, but also become the building: architecture itself becomes subject to a gradual objectification as modernist buildings acquire object-like properties. In contrast to the qualities of solidity and permanence attached to the historical architecture of the previous centuries, modern buildings espouse the logic of portability and ability for reinvention. Payne describes Gerrit Rietveld’s Schroeder House in Utrecht (1925) as 14 Adolf Behne, Der Inkrustationsstil in Toscana, Berlin : E. Ebering, 1912 and Siegfried Kracauer, Die Entwicklung der Schmiedekunst in Berlin, Potsdam und einigen Sta dten der Mark vom 17. Jahrhundert bis zum Beginn des 19. Jahrhunderts, Worms: Wormser Verlag and Berlin: Wasmuth, 1915. 15 Alina Payne, The Architectural Treatise in the Italian Renaissance: Architectural Invention, Ornament, and literary Culture, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 8 ‘a giant Rubik’s cube, in which stairs, doors, walls, and balustrades moved, collapsed, expanded, and contracted (Payne, 7).’ Similarly, Corbusier’s Pavillon de l’Esprit Nouveau (1925) is a virtually portable geometric envelope that can be reproduced in series and serves the purpose of housing objects produced for a mass market. Modern architecture’s mobile character subsists primarily not on physical mobility but on the capacity for structural, material, and typological reinvention—a form of pre- or re-fabrication – and on a variety of materials and scales. The complete sequence described by Payne is then not only from ornament to object but also from ornament to object to building (and vice versa): all stages of design production become part of a reification process in which objects of every scale appear ostensibly interchangeable. Yet we do not proceed from ornament to object by a leap. In between these two categories there are a number of artefacts that serve as mediators, most prominently the miniature models of built architecture that Payne describes as Kleinarchitektur: ciboria, pulpits, fountains, and choir stalls whose plastic decoration imitates larger building structures. While most of these architectural miniatures originate in the Renaissance, they become the objects of art historical inquiry by turn-of-the century scholars such as Cornelius Gurlitt, Georg Dehio, and Alois Riegl. In this case architecture turns into both a portable object and an ornament that facilitates the representation of as well as the experimentation with architecture. Via its miniaturization into ornament, architecture essentially expands to the status of a prototype that can generate a number of formal, tectonic, and typological alternatives. Kleinarchitektur signifies an architecture within architecture—an architecture of the second degree. The same objects reintroduce the problem of scale in both ornament and building, since they create patterns that can ostensibly expand or contract at any scale: from miniature furniture decorations to vast building and even urban arrangements. Indeed one of ornament’s most intriguing yet perplexing qualities is its essential scalelessness—its resistance to transforming into an object with perfectly definable physical dimensions (this might be one of the more subtle differences between ornament and object). The gradual transition to architecture, via the mediation of Kleinarchitektur, allows Payne to shift her attention in her last chapters from art historians to architects. She discusses Herman Muthesius (also a doctoral student of Cornelius Gurlitt), whose theoretical and architectural work highlights the renewed importance of objects in the British and German traditions of applied arts, and then returns to the writings and design practice of Adolf Loos. As Payne demonstrates, while the Viennese architect polemically denounces ornament, he is fully knowledgeable of the rich literature on the subject. Loos’s virtuosic display of embellished rhetoric, not only in ‘Ornament and crime’ but also in a number of other lectures and journal articles, displays that the author is culpable of the very crime he polemically castigates. One may detect a similar criminal propensity towards understated embellishment in the architect’s decorative understanding of the surface, manifest in the lavish materials and shining textures of his resplendent Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 9 architectural interiors. If ornament signifies the visual means by which a building distinguishes itself among its peers, then ornamentation in Loos (and a good part of modern architecture) subsists in the very lack of traditional ornament; ornament’s new rhetorical power subsists in silence—a dramatic pause of high theatrical value. The book’s narrative circle closes when Payne returns to one of her introductory examples, Le Corbusier’s Pavillon de l’Esprit Nouveau (1925). This and a series of contemporary buildings by the architect acquire a multifaceted mobile character similar to the objects they are housing. Payne underlines Corbusier’s interest in travelling storage trunks that underscores the quasi-nomadic existence of the modernist subject. His maison sur pilotis behaves as a mobile enclosure that houses a number of ready-made artefacts, often selected by the architect from catalogues. Popular or specialized publications are essential in architecture’s new mobility status: the building’s permanence consists in its circulation as an object that feeds (or provokes) the public imaginary. As in Corbusier’s early 1920s purist paintings of glass bottles and wineglasses in which content and container appear to fuse, the building envelopes of Corbusian pavilions, villas, or houses-in-series are ostensibly modelled by the very objects they enclose to the degree that the very notion of enclosure is seemingly abolished. It is unfortunate that the book does not expand on Corb’s early studies of ornamentation under Charles l’Eplattenier in the school of applied arts of his native La Chaux-de-Fonds. As mentioned earlier, during this period the young designer (at that time Charles-Edouard Jeanneret) not only studied treatises of ornamentation such as the works of Charles Blanc, but also made a large number of ornamental designs, from watches and jewellery to his first commissions for houses built in the vicinity of his native Swiss town and replete with ornamental motifs. In spite of his later attack against the (over) ‘decorated art of today,’ Corbusier’s work divulges a deep engagement with decoration and pattern, which may be congruent with and not antithetical to his interest in the standardized mass-produced object.16 The Swiss architect’s long career thus demonstrates the essential continuity ‘from ornament to object’ rather than a break or a rift. But there is another rift that Le Corbusier ostensibly bridges, and that is the purported gap between art historiography and architectural practice. Payne underlines Corbusier’s knowledge of art historical texts, such as Riegl’s Late-Roman Industry and Worringer’s Abstraction and Empathy, both of which are mentioned in the carnets of the young Jeanneret during his trip to the East. The two art historical books were apparently suggested to the young designer by his travelling companion August Klipstein, an art history student taught by Worringer, Wölfflin, and Lipps in Munich (Payne, 246). While seemingly a peripheral piece of information, this rare connection is important for the development of Payne’s argument, as it presents a momentous alignment among the research interests of art historians and architects. In fact, the same coincidence is characteristic of Payne’s 16 For such critique, see Le Corbusier, L’art decoratif d’aujourd’hui, Paris: Crès, 1925; English trans.: The Decorative Art of Today trans. James Dunnett, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1987. Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 10 own method and speaks to her ability to bridge art historical concerns with current architectural discourses. Following the historiographic pattern outlined by Semper, Payne employs architecture as a theoretical practice that frames and joins other disciplines, including archaeology, philology, and art history. She demonstrates how art historians like Schmarsow and Warburg expand on Semper’s tectonic and other structural principles to introduce spatial issues into their readings of paintings and sculptures, such as the orientation of human bodies or inanimate objects in motion. Semper had in fact introduced such spatial issues three decades earlier vis-à-vis the property of ‘directionality’ (Richtung) attached to certain forms of bodily and architectural adornment.17 In other words, we do not only proceed from ornament to object and to architecture, but also from ornament to painting and to sculpture; discourses of ornament construct a practical and theoretical framework that encompasses all forms of art and object making. There are a number of methodological peculiarities that appear more frequently in architectural rather than art historical texts, and which surface here as evidence that Payne’s book is written by a historian with a design background and intent. For example, while her account follows a primarily chronological order, each of her chapters includes topical references that span a number of decades and create comparisons among a number of chronologically or geographically distant areas. While analyzing the importance of detail as a methodological and compositional instrument in modern art historical discourses as well as art and architectural practices, Payne mentions that Aby Warburg’s well-known motto ‘God is in the detail’ has also been quoted in relation to (or even attributed to) Mies van der Rohe and that ‘this confusion of authorship may not be without its measure of insight (Payne, 114).’ Such highly suggestive diagonal connections are also present in the illustrations of the book, which, while they too follow a primarily chronological order, often create a number of surprising constellations following the manifold transhistorical references in the text; for example, a double-page spread juxtaposes a photograph of an elegant ‘soup tureen and ladle’ service set by Christopher Dresser with a photograph of a massive iron bridge in Rendsburg reproduced in the Baukunst der Neuesten Zeit by Adolf von Platz (1927), one of the first surveys of modern architecture (Payne, 184-85). As in the striking juxtaposition of images in the Bauhaus books by Moholy-Nagy, what brings these heterogeneous objects together is not a pseudomorphic similarity (for they look nothing alike) but a comparative tectonic logic that establishes a large range of analogies between dissimilar things. It is historiography, the study of the histories of ornament, which allows such transhistorical comparisons to take place, as when Riegl’s late Roman fibulas follow Schliemann’s Mycenean pendants and proceed Warburg’s Renaissance accessories and Pueblo headgears. In its complex historical structure, the book 17 See Semper’s 1856 lecture on Schmuck mentioned in note 3 in this review. Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 11 recreates that rare moment in the late nineteenth century when the world appeared reunited by its ornament; histories of ornament retraced histories of the world and created imaginative blueprints of its present as well as its future condition. Payne retraces ornament’s cosmic moment as well as its eventual collapse and substitution by a new set of universal analogies established by modern architecture in the first decades of the twentieth century. This dialectic substitution proves a point made abundantly clear by the book, which is that studies of historiography cannot be separated from those of art and architectural practice and that such separation impoverishes the study of both. We have often heard the story of the decline of ornament and the emergence of an unornamented aesthetic in architectural modernity, but what does such practice have to do with the endless histories of ornament that precede and implicitly presage such decline? It is precisely this projective or even prognosticating quality of histories of ornamentation that Payne’s combined account puts into practice. Perhaps the greatest feat of the book is the imposition of an orderly design in what initially appears as a sprawling mass of obscure writings, treatises, and folios—the very daunting task that Hildebrandt was ultimately unable to accomplish. Any theorist, historian, or critic that has written on ornament knows that ornamentation is not only the richest but also the most treacherous object of art historiography: it is easy for an author to get lost in the endless reproduction of ornamental artefacts and decorative details as well as the elaborate literature that trails behind them. Perhaps more than any other form of art history, the historiography of ornament is also the most complex and contradictory one: the art historian has to empathetically imitate the convolutions of his meandering subject while striving to keep a critical distance from it. Warburg’s study of ornamental motifs and spatial patterns related to Pueblo snake rituals is perhaps the most poignant example of such methodological conflict. The book’s overall design is not entirely symmetrical: while it contains a great number of historiographic references, not all texts and authors are treated with the same depth. The sections on Riegl and Schmarsow, for example, are highly detailed and highlight less known material drawn from Riegl’s little known articles published in archaeological and anthropological journals18 and Schmarsow’s multiple essays on ornament from 1910 to 1925 published in the Zeitschrift für Aesthetik und allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft.19 Studies of texts by authors less familiar to English speaking audiences such as Heinrich Geuymüller, Cornelius Gurlitt, and Richard Streiter are also welcome contributions. The section on Aby Warburg, on 18 See for example Alois Riegl, ‘Neuseeländische Ornamentik,’ Mittheilungen der anthropologischen Gesellschaft in Wien 20, 1890: 84-87; and ‘Pfederschmuck aus Westungarn,’ Jahrbuch der k.k. Zentral- Kommission für Kunst- und historische Denkmäle Neue Folge 1, 1903: 273. 19 August Schmarsow, ‘Anfangsgründe jeder Ornamentik’ Zeitschrift für Aesthetik und allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft 5, 1910: 191-215, 321-55 (see also note 7 in this review); ‘Die reine Form in der Ornamentik aller Künste’ Zeitschrift für Aesthetik und allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft 16, 1922: 491-500; 17, 1923: 1-17, 129-45, 209-34, 305-29; 18, 1924: 83-107; ‘Zur Lehre von Ornament’ Zeitschrift für Aesthetik und allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft 16, 1922: 511-26. Spyros Papapetros Ornament and object—ornament as object 12 the other hand, is based only on a few of his published essays such as the 1892 dissertation on Botticelli and the 1923 lecture on the North American Pueblos, and draws heavily on the secondary literature by Ernst Gombrich, Georges Didi- Huberman, and Maurizio Ghelardi; the bulk of Warburg’s minute research on ornament and bodily gear is in the research drafts for the two previous and many other writings that hitherto remain unpublished and do not appear in this account. Ultimately, however, Payne’s argument for the contiguity between ornament and object as complementary instruments of human expression resonates more strongly in Warburg than perhaps any other author analyzed in her book. Some sections might also appear more synoptic and condensed than others; Semper is the only figure that is granted an entire chapter, while seminal art historians like Wölfflin occupy only a few pages. Yet there are a number of specialized monographs on Warburg and Riegl today, as there are countless studies of Loos, Muthesius, and Le Corbusier, some of them focusing on their use or renunciation of ornamentation. What ultimately matters the most in Payne’s account are not the individual references but the analogies and correspondences between all of these characters that are either never or only very rarely brought together in the same history or story. Moreover, as the subtitle of Payne’s book discloses, this is not another history of architectural modernity but a genealogy, an eclectic lineage of historical figures, artworks, and literary texts with a similar origin and endpoint. Cutting across a large segment of nineteenth and early twentieth- century discourses, the book employs ornament not in order to rehearse the same pattern but to draw a new one. Histories and practices of ornament subsist not on the endless repetition of the same pattern but the variation and invention of a new one, one that may even encircle ornament’s self-organized demise. More than a century ago, the explosion of literature on ornament was followed by a revolutionary architectural practice. From Ornament to Object makes us wonder what the resurgence of interest in ornament in contemporary art historiography as well as recent building practice might collectively augur. Spyros Papapetros is Associate Professor, Behrman Faculty Fellow, and member of the Program in Media and Modernity at Princeton University. He is the author of On the Animation of the Inorganic: Art, Architecture, and the Extension of Life (The University of Chicago Press, 2012) and the editor of Space as Membrane by Siegfried Ebeling (Architectural Association Publications, 2010). He is co-editor with Christopher Wood of the book series Literature of Art forthcoming by Princeton University Press. He is currently completing a second personal book project titled World Ornament analyzing the historiography of bodily and architectural adornment in the nineteenth and twentieth-centuries from a global perspective. spapapet@princeton.edu 
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work_s6rlcqel7nbincw3tw2yjcwhv4	----	298 bo ok reviews Alois Riegl and the Baroque”), situates Riegl’s ideas on the Baroque in the context of their time. A second contribution by Arnold Witte (“Reconstructing Riegl’s Entstehuung der Barockkunst in Rom”) addresses the complexities of interpreting Riegl’s text and original notes while a third essay by Andrew Hopkins (“Riegl Renaissances”) treats the reception of the book. Collectively these essays offer a very fine addition to a text that is certain to open further enquiry on the late ideas of this important art historian. gregory davies, McMaster University Ruggiero, Guido. Machiavelli in Love: Sex, Self, and Society in the Italian Renaissance. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2007. Pp. x, 285. ISBN 13-978-0- 8018-8516-7 (hardcover) $25. Guido Ruggiero is the historian who has done the most to shape our current understanding of sex and violence in Renaissance Italy. Reaching deep into the Venetian archives, and particularly into criminal court records, he has drawn out evidence of how Italians constructed behavioural boundaries and how they dealt both personally and socially with violations of those norms. This is the hard edge of sex and violence, stiffened and complicated by the contexts of crime, court, and discipline, and always coloured by them. It gives us a view of sexual identity that Foucault would recognize, a construct built out of forms of discipline and with an often hollow centre. In this collection, Ruggiero aims to move from the hard edge of conflict and discipline to see how sex figured in the lives of those who took it as a form of pleasure, enjoyment, and entertainment. Conflicts here are more about performance than about honour. More to the point, conflicts are not the defining centre of the story. Ruggiero aims instead to capture a broad range of shared understandings and assumptions about sex, and to show how Italians used these to shape the way they understood their own experiences and presented their selves to others. To get at this idea of socially-constructed sexual identities, he frames the concept of ‘consensus realities’: that is, the imagined, performed, and shared understandings about sex that were operative within groups. To comptes rendus 299 ensure that these aren’t static, he emphasizes that an individual might share different consensus realities with different groups, and that these might change at different times and particularly at different stages of life. Ruggiero argues that an individual like Machiavelli was known to his friends in terms of these realities. They were negotiated & performed in self- fashioning, and they incorporated a potential for social discipline — your group held you to an identity and kept you in line, and so enabled you to live up to a particular reality. These identities do emerge in court records, but Ruggiero turns in this collection to a different range of sources in order to recover consensus realities that take a more creative and celebrative view of sexuality. He works with three forms in particular. The first are the novellas, short stories, and popular plays that constitute renaissance storytelling. They rely on stereotyped characters and stock situations, but in fiction as in life, particular deeds stand out from the stereotype and point to more complex and individual identity. Sex is alluded to playfully and often through double entendres. The second set of sources are the erudite classical comedies that were popular in the early Renaissance and that give way to less formal commedia dell’arte by century’s end. Very mannered, they suspend traditional morality without abandoning it, and function as a prism giving a multi-hued look at sex as playful and something to be celebrated. The third set of sources are letters, which were literary and self-consciously ‘fashioned’. Ruggiero is particularly interested in letters circulating in groups that show how consensus realities were framed, and how they shaped and disciplined self-presentation. The question with all these literary forms is determining whether they show self-presentation or simply the mannered or deliberate imitation of classical forms. It’s impossible to tell but Ruggiero deals with this openly to show that he’s conscious of being something of an interloper in literary scholarship. Less interloper than mediator, because he aims in this collection to suggest ways of rereading and rethinking some familiar texts to see how they might reveal consensus realities. So, for instance, Aretino’s Il marescalco can be read as conveying the more positive and tolerant view of male-male sodomitical relations that must have existed as a consensus reality alongside the more traditional legal and theological condemnations. In particular, it shows male sexual identity as something that evolves over the life span. Reading sources like Boccaccio’s Decameron together with items from the Venetian archives 300 bo ok reviews that may be overtly condemning let us recognize sex as playful, celebrative, and full of pleasure. Perhaps too full, because these and other sources also depict the troubles that result from too much access to sex, and particularly men’s vulnerability in face of hungry and canny women. That stereotype can be turned, self-deprecatingly, to excuse, explain, or manipulate situations — as we see in some of Machiavelli’s letters to Francesco Vettori when he is in his forties and outside politics. Machiavelli depicts himself comically as both a victim of his own passions and yet a successful lover, and his friends are in on this self- deprecating and hardly ‘Machiavellian’ image of male identity. Ruggiero describes his chapters as essays, and they have precisely that fresh, allusive and illuminative character. He encourages us to tease more out of familiar sources, and by approaching these canonical texts with a fresh eye and a curiosity shaped by years in the archives, he draws more out from the spaces between their lines. Ruggiero demonstrates that what’s unsaid and implied puts a different cast to the words on a page, and he offers rereadings that are suggestive and persuasive. He disciplines his readings with three criteria: they must stay close to the internal demands of the text, stay close to the context, and find meanings that open up critical thinking about the text and allow more sheer pleasure in the encounter with it. Given his experience with the broad social range found in court records, it would be helpful to hear more from Ruggiero on how we might find some way of integrating precisely that range of class and gender into our re-readings. The pens writing the lines that we peer between are usually held by men of a certain station and experience. The pleasure they imagine, project, and share carries the shadings of their privilege. Yet the reality for many women was that sex was hardly consensual. A startling number of women experienced rape or assault as a reality or a fear, and it would be intriguing to see whether and how that shaped consensus realities for the different genders and classes of Italians. Ruggiero is aware that social historians haven’t always been able to convey the renaissance joy of sex, and in this collection he aims to give us some of that celebrative pleasure. With essays that are fascinating, provocative, and highly suggestive, he succeeds beautifully. nicholas terpstra, University of Toronto 
work_slaq2hjnbnc3fbi77mbudua6py	----	Economics and theology special issue: introduction E D I T O R I A L Economics and theology special issue: introduction Luigino Bruni1 • Paul Oslington2 • Stefano Zamagni3 Published online: 19 February 2016 � Springer-Verlag Berlin Heidelberg 2016 A new and promising debate between social sciences and theology is taking off. From the very beginning of Christianity up to modern political economy, cross- fertilization between theology and oikonomia has occurred, sometimes to the extent that one constituted the other. For example, the economic notions of redemption and reconciliation are integral to the New Testament account of God’s dealings with human beings. The early Christian theologians developed the idea of an economy of salvation. Smith, Marx, Vico, Genovesi, and others drew on theology, and their theoretical systems were influenced by theological debates (see Urquhart and Elias in this special issue). Philosopher Walter Benjamin wrote in 1921 that ‘‘Capitalism is a religion, that is to say, capitalism essentially serves to satisfy the same worries, anguish, and disquiet formerly answered by so-called religion. Then, capitalism itself developed parasit- ically on Christianity in the West’’ (Benjamin 1986 [1921], p. 102). According to Benjamin, capitalism is a new form of religion that calls for an exclusive form of worship and replaces Christianity (not any religion), because it spawned from Jewish– Christian humanism (see Nelson 2010 and also Samir in this issue for a discussion of the interplay between economy and Islam). According to this view (that is consistent & Luigino Bruni luigino.bruni@gmail.com; l.bruni@lumsa.it Paul Oslington paul.oslington@ac.edu.au Stefano Zamagni stefano.zamagni@unibo.it 1 LUMSA University, Rome, Italy 2 Alphacrucis College, Sydney, Australia 3 University of Bologna, Bologna, Italy 123 Int Rev Econ (2016) 63:1–5 DOI 10.1007/s12232-016-0251-6 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s12232-016-0251-6&amp;domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s12232-016-0251-6&amp;domain=pdf with Marx’s vision of capitalism, less with Weber’s: see Weber 1976; Fanfani 1934; Barbieri 2013; Oslington 2011, 2014), modernity is not characterized by a disenchantment of the world, but instead by the affirmation of a new religion, i.e., by the transformation of the Christian spirit into the ‘‘spirit’’ of capitalism. In modern times, the deep and crucial links of capitalism to the protestant ethics were a classic locus in sociology, and the issue of providence has been central not only in Adam Smith but also in the foundations of the whole modern political economy, from the Neapolitan G. Vico to the French Physiocrats or la sect de les économists, as first underlined by Viner (1972) and Hirschman (1977). In the tradition of political economy after Smith there have been economists with strong theological interests, i.e. the English Wicksteed (1885, 1910) or the Italian Sella (1930). Moving from the realm of ideas to actual economies in general, the intertwined relations between Christianity and capitalism run deep. Capitalism borrows from the vocabulary of the Bible (faith–trust, credit–belief). And we cannot understand the Middle Ages, the Reformation or Modernity, unless we take into account the numerous intersections between grace and money. A key period in the interconnections between theology and the economy is the protestant Reformation and the Catholic Counter Reformation (Controriforma) in the XVI–XVII centuries. Before this crucial crossroad of Western civilization, market economy had growth as a unique European movement, from Sicily to London, from Lisbon to Prague. Christian faith had represented the new philia (fides) that, as in the polis of Aristotle and Pericles, made possible trust and trading among different people belonging to different clans and villages. The fiere along the big rivers of Europe were the hubs of complex networks of commercial, artistic, and cultural relationships that sprung into the Civic Humanism and Rinascimento of XV and XVIII centuries. The scholastic philosophers and theologians—Aquinas over all, for his huge influence over the second Middle Age social, philosophical, and economic syntheses—have built up a first ethics of the proto-market economy based on the pivotal idea of common good, namely the thesis that the good of the individual has to be seen in deep and necessary connection with the good of the community. From that vision came a conception of economy—money, usury, just price …—ontologically communitarian and hierarchical, because the mediators (priest, king, father …) were the basic mechanism to implement the harmonization of public and private goods. Furthermore, in the late Middle Age, the connections between market and religion have reached a very huge dimension: indulgences, poor people paid by the rich ones for making prayers and penitence in their place, donation of bankers for buying reduction of years of purgatory, etc. Martin Luther reacted against at least two elements of the southern Christianity: (a) the excessive and often insane mixture money–grace, (b) the magnificence of Rome and Italy that were also the fruit of the wealth created by a new and positive attitude toward luxury and money during the XIV and XV centuries. Luther was deeply impressed and shocked by the mundane and market-based society he met in Italy that considered far from the original message of austerity and poverty of the gospel. The strong reaction of Lutheran and later Calvinist Reformation was against not only the theology of the Roman church, but also against the style of living of Italian Renaissance, its palaces, masterpieces of art, Michelangelo, Leonardo. Therefore, the 2 L. Bruni et al. 123 protestant cultural program was also a reestablishment of a more authentic and less money-oriented society, but, paradoxically, due to the elimination of the hierarchical mediation of the church, the protestant culture created an environment much more adapt to develop the capitalist economy (Magatti and Martinelli, in this issue; see also Barbieri 2013). In fact, while in southern Europe the counterreformation stopped the process of freedom in commerce and politics started with the civic humanism, in the northern protestant countries the individual freedom (produced by the elimination of hierarchy of the church) was the engine of capitalistic revolution. Then was the northern protestant Europe where the civic humanism and renaissance tradition continued, although in Roman Catholic countries, such as Italy or Spain, there was a re-feudalization of the society that brought back those countries into a situation close to the Middle Age before civic humanism. The mediation of the Roman Catholic church is a very key point here. Unlike the protestant world, in the Roman context the church and its institutions played a central role in the legislation regarding commerce and money, using a theological vision—that of the Scholastic, of Aquinas in a special way—written in a different historical period (centuries XIII–early XIV) more static and based upon Aristotelian categories (sterility of money, …) that in the Rinascimento were not anymore able to encompass the new economic reality after commercial revolution of the Italian and European cities. As underlined in the early XVIII century also by Scipione Maffei, the mediation and control of the institutions of the Catholic church upon individual economic activity, and the strong tools of implementation of this control (i.e., Inquisitione), made the countries of South Europe (Italy, Spain, Portugal, part of the France) in a condition of economic and financial disadvantage with respect to Northern Europe. In fact, due also to a lack of religious hierarchy, in Holland and in the other protestant countries, financial and money lending were allowed, and so commerce and wealth growth (Barbieri 2013). Parallel to this, whereas in the North Europe and later in USA, thanks to Calvinist ethics, labor and business were considered to be moral ways of engaging in ordinary life, in Italy after the Controriforma there was a re-feudalization of the culture, with a new praise for rural life and diffidence toward urban life (and its commerce). Also the condemnation of money lending and usury knew a new season in Italy in the Seicento that contrasts with what was going on in northern part of Europe—Bentham ‘‘defence of usury’’ is a radicalization of a widely shared idea in this context. It is true that most ecclesiastic, political thinkers, theologians of the post-Controriforma season were laudatores of labor, but the praised labor was agricultural and intellectual work, whereas the manual or artisan’s activity in the cities (smiths, carpenters, shoemakers, …) was considered to be not noble and servile. Most of the present-day differences in labor culture, public debt, private and public ethics, in welfare states, individual rights, and the idea of market lay in the two different ways that Europe took after the Reform and Controriforma era. The Cinquecento and Seicento were therefore a return to Middle Age (Aquinas) as far as economic ethics is concerned. The modernization and openness to market of Quattrocento, with the key role of figures such as Bernardino da Siena or Leon Battista Alberti, were not able to fully flourish in Italy and Southern Europe. Second, the age of Controriforma was—with few exception, such as Menochio—a Economics and theology special issue: introduction 3 123 praise of agriculture and rural life and a criticism to urban and civic activities (i.e., commerce). As a consequence, starting with the second half of XVI century, Latin Europe knew a re-feudalization of society and a centrality of rent over profit of merchants and salary of workers. Third, after Reformation, neo-Platonic thought replaced the Aristotelian one of the Quattrocento; then, solitude, esoteric, and magic practices took the place of social and political activities of the Aristotelian vision of Leonardo Bruni and other civil humanists of the previous century. A thesis consistent with that of the historians Eugenio Garin and Hans Baron, who almost in the invented the expression of Civic Humanism in order to distinguish the (first half) of Quattrocento. Finally, an issue that is present in particular in Martinelli and Magatti paper is the key role of theology for understanding the still relevant differences between the Anglo-Saxon capitalism and the Latin European one. The southern Europe, its long history characterized by a huge biodiversity, at the apex of Middle Age had generated a market economy based on Catholic paradigm and then expression of a communitarian and institutionally ‘‘mediated’’ idea of society. The northern protestant traditions gave life to an idea of society of individuals without the mediation of intermediate institutions, i.e., the humanism of the ‘‘invisible hand’’ and of the Leviathan: within the space of freedom of the State Leviathan created by the social contract, the common good is not entrusted to the mediation of the institutions but is the non-intentional result of the actions of separated and independent individuals. The Reformation and the Controriforma have been a turning point in the Modern Europe, and the contemporary gaps in economic and social terms between North and South Europe are fruits of an interrupted path. The social pathologies, the ‘‘amoral familism,’’ and the corruption of ‘‘mediated society’’ of the Italian and Mediterranean societies are well known and serious. At the same time, also the protestant humanism, its individualism, is facing a different but not less relevant crisis that calls for something new too (Milbank and Pabst in this issue). We hope that in this transition age of capitalism, this special issue can offer some light for a deeper understanding of our time. We dedicate this special issue to Pier Luigi Porta, Editor in chief of this journal, organizer of the Conference on ‘‘Economic Theology, theological Economics’’ (Rome, May 2014), where the papers of this special issue were first presented. Pier Luigi was an exceptionally talented historian of economics, a dear friend and beloved colleague. His death came when this issue was about to be completed. With the hope that he would have been pleased with our work. References Barbieri G (2013)[1940] Decline and economic ideals in Italy in the early modern age. Leo S. Olschki, Florence Benjamin W (1986) Capitalism and religion. In: Liedemann R, Hermann (eds) Gesammelte Schriften, vol VI. Suhrkamp Verlag, Schweppenhäuser, Frankfurt 4 L. Bruni et al. 123 Fanfani A (1934) Cattolicesimo e protestantesimo nella formazione storica del capitalismo. Vita e Pensiero, Milan. Translated as Catholicism, Capitalism and Protestantism Hirschman AO (1977) The passions and the interests. Political arguments for capitalism before its triumph. Princeton University Press, Princeton Nelson RH (2010) Two gods: economic religion versus environmental religion. Pennsylvania State University Press, Pennsylvania Oslington P (2011) Adam Smith as theologian. Routledge, London Oslington P (ed) (2014) Oxford handbook of christianity and economics. Oxford, OUP Sella E (1930) La dottrina dei tre principi. Cedam, Padova Viner J (1972) The role of providence in the social order. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Weber M (1976) The protestant ethic and the spirit of capitalism (trans: Parsons T). Allen and Unwin, London Wicksteed PH (1885) Is christianity practical?. Lindsley Press, London Wicksteed PH (1910) The commonsense of political economy. Macmillan, London Economics and theology special issue: introduction 5 123 Economics and theology special issue: introduction References 
work_snwuc6o6z5c67pvtz7dwnwq6ju	----	1© The Author(s) 2019. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of Entomological Society of America. All rights reserved. For permissions, please e-mail: journals.permissions@oup.com. Direct Injury, Myiasis, Forensics Insights on Funeral Practices and Insects Associated With the Tombs of King Ferrante II d’Aragona and Other Renaissance Nobles Augusto Loni,1 Antonio Fornaciari,2 Angelo Canale,1 Valentina Giuffra,2 Stefano Vanin,3 and Giovanni Benelli1,4 1Department of Agriculture, Food and Environment, University of Pisa, via del Borghetto 80, 56124 Pisa, Italy, 2Division of Paleopathology, Department of Translational Research and of New Technologies in Medicine and Surgery, University of Pisa, Pisa, Italy, 3School of Applied Sciences, University of Huddersfield, Queensgate, HD1 3DH Huddersfield, United Kingdom, and4 Corresponding author, e-mail: giovanni.benelli@unipi.it Subject Editor: Michael Rust Received 11 April 2019; Editorial decision 23 May 2019 Abstract The impressive Sacristy of the Basilica of St. Domenico Maggiore contains 38 wooden sarcophagi with the bodies of 10 Aragonese princes and other Neapolitan nobles, who died in the 15th and 16th centuries. To im- prove the knowledge about the entomofauna associated with bodies in archaeological contexts, herein we pro- vide insights on the funerary practices and the insect community associated to Ferrante II King of Naples and other Italian Renaissance mummies of the Aragonese dynasty buried in the Basilica of St. Domenico Maggiore. We identified 842 insect specimens: 88% were Diptera (Muscidae, Fanniidae, and Phoridae), followed by 9% Lepidoptera (Tineidae) and 3% Coleoptera (Dermestidae and Ptinidae). Ninety-seven percent of the specimens were collected from the coffin of Francesco Ferdinando d’Avalos, which was the best preserved. A lack of fly species characterizing the first colonization waves of exposed bodies was noted. The most common fly was the later colonizing muscid Hydrotaea capensis (Wiedemann); only a few Fanniidae (Fannia spp.) were retrieved. The lack of blowflies, coupled with recording H.  capensis as the dominant fly, supports our hypothesis that corpses have been kept indoors for a long time under confined environmental conditions. Other explanations include odorous oils/balms having been used in the embalming process, causing the delay or stopping the arrival of first colonizer flies. Hermetically sealing of the coffin with bitumen may also have played a role in preventing access to the corpses. This scenario describes a historical context characterized by a well-advanced knowledge of body preparation, with specific burial techniques adopted for nobles. Key words: Phoridae, Muscidae, Hydrotaea capensis, Fanniidae, Italian Renaissance Archaeoentomology deals with the collection and analysis of arthropods remain in archaeological contexts. It derives from the tradition of Quaternary entomology, covering the study of insects and insect fossils embracing the last 2.5 million yr. Insect remains can give important information regarding sites of archaeological interest, involved by human activities. They can cover physical en- vironment, vegetation, human subsistence practices as well as hy- giene (Moret 1998, Green et al. 2019). A more specific field within archaeoentomology is represented by funerary archaeoentomology, which mainly focuses on tombs or other burials of archaeolog- ical or historical interest (Huchet 2014, Giordani et  al. 2018). Funerary archaeoentomology can be considered a discipline par- tially overlapped with classic archaeoentomology and forensic en- tomology, since both deal with the study of human cadavers. They share most of the methodology employed in collecting data, but they scopused to the obtaining of different goals (Vanin and Huchet 2017). In the case of funerary archaeoentomology the temporal dis- tance between the collection of the insects and the time of their active presence on the cadaver or on the substrate, can encompass centuries or even millennia (Handschin 1944, Wylie et  al. 1987, Germonpré and Leclercq 1994, Benelli et al. 2014). During this time, many hard- to-predict factors, including environmental ones, could strongly modify the preservation state of the insects. Furthermore, sampling methodologies could also affect the results of the collection. For this reason, data can be difficult to analyze focusing on their quantitative aspect. As a first consequence, all the collections of insect in archae- ological contexts represent an incomplete sample of the original set, not giving a full picture of the original scenario. However, especially applyparastyle "fig//caption/p[1]" parastyle "FigCapt" applyparastyle "fig" parastyle "Figure" Journal of Medical Entomology, XX(X), 2019, 1–8 doi: 10.1093/jme/tjz102 Research D ow nloaded from https://academ ic.oup.com /jm e/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/jm e/tjz102/5528168 by U niversita di P isa, giovanni.benelli@ unipi.it on 04 July 2019 mailto:giovanni.benelli@unipi.it?subject= in enclosed environments like a coffin, the remains of insects com- munity can provide many important information about the envi- ronmental, ecological, taphonomical, and sometimes cultural events linked with specific past burial practices. Information in funerary contexts is still poor, despite some efforts in the last decades, leading to the collection of data from excava- tion and exhumations performed in Europe, North Africa and South America (e.g., Panagiotakopulu 2001; Masetti et  al. 2008; Vanin et  al. 2009; Huchet and Greenberg 2010; Panagiotakopulu and Buckland 2012; Huchet et al. 2013a,b; Gaudio et al. 2015; Giordani et al. 2018). In order to improve the knowledge about the entomofauna as- sociated with cadavers from archaeological contexts, herein we analyzed the insects collected from Ferrante II King of Naples and three other Italian Renaissance mummies of the Aragonese dynasty (15th–16th centuries). Mummies had been buried in the Basilica of San Domenico Maggiore in Naples, Italy, and later exhumed and studied by Fornaciari (2006), applying in this archaeological con- text the methodology and techniques used in forensic entomology (Giordani et  al. 2018). The entomofauna collected was analyzed to better understand the funerary practices, attempting to answer the following questions: 1) Did the body concealment in a coffin af- fect the composition of the cadaveric fauna? 2) Did the embalming and mummification process (well-documented for NASD6 and NASD20 (Table 2) influence the composition of the cadaveric fauna? 3)  Did the secondary burial affect the general composition of the cadaveric fauna? Historical and Archaeological Context The Basilica of San Domenico Maggiore (14th century) is one of the largest and most important churches in Naples (Southern Italy). The impressive Sacristy of San Domenico Maggiore (Fig. 1A), located in a suspended gateway close to the vault, hosts 38 wooden sarcophagi containing the bodies of 10 Aragonese princes and princesses and other Neapolitan aristocrats, who died in the 15th–17th centuries (Fig. 1B–D). Most of the individuals had been embalmed and this is cer- tainly not surprising, considering the high social level to which the individuals buried in San Domenico belonged. From the physi- cian Ulisse Aldrovandi, we know that during the Renaissance ‘the Fig. 1. (A) An overview of the sepulchres of members of the royal Aragonese family in St. Domenico Maggiore, Naples. (B) Badly preserved and partially burned artificial mummy of the King of Naples Ferrante II of Aragon (1469–1496, ID: NASD20). (C) Skeletonized artificial mummy most probably of Francis Ferdinand of Avalos, marquis of Vasto and Pescara (1530–1571, ID: NASD6). (D) Disconnected skeleton of the Queen of Naples Joan IV of Aragon (1479–1518, ID: NASD19). 2 Journal of Medical Entomology, 2019, Vol. XX, No. XX D ow nloaded from https://academ ic.oup.com /jm e/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/jm e/tjz102/5528168 by U niversita di P isa, giovanni.benelli@ unipi.it on 04 July 2019 European kings and great personages used to entrust embalming of their bodies to their doctors and surgeons’ (cited in Gannal 1841). The very complex evisceration and embalming method indicates a long-practiced and a diffused embalming tradition. The embalming process by evisceration in the Renaissance had a dual purpose: to preserve the body during the long funerary rituals (which also included prolonged exposure of the body) and to guar- antee maintenance over time of the body of nobles and sovereigns (Giuffra et al. 2016). In Naples, in addition to evisceration and treat- ment with preservative vegetable substances, body preservation was favored by the permanence of the corpses in a dry room, in a tank probably filled with volcanic Vesuvian sand. Similar rooms still exist in the basements of the church of San Domenico Maggiore in Naples. However, some well-preserved individuals show no apparent signs of embalming. In this case, the natural mummification of the bodies can probably be attributed to the very dry microclimatic conditions of the Basilica (Fornaciari 1998). The Sacristy of San Domenico Maggiore collection includes 32 individuals (Fornaciari 2006) but, for a first entomological study, four individuals were sampled (Table 1). One of the examined mummies, badly preserved and partially burned, is the King of Naples Ferrante II of Aragon (1469–1496) (NASD20) (Fig. 1B). Another mummy, almost completely skeletonized is Francis Ferdinand of Avalos, Marquis of Vasto and Pescara (1530–1571) (NASD6) (Fig. 1C). The third one, consisting of a disconnected skeleton, belongs to the Queen of Naples Joan IV of Aragon (1479–1518) (NASD19) (Fig. 1D), whereas the last one is a secondary burial of the trunk with well-preserved bones, belonging to Catherine of Moncada, Duchess of Montalto (deceased in 1659) (NASD31). Material and Methods Entomological samples were manually collected with sterile tweezers and paintbrushes from the remains within the coffins and stored in sterile glass vials at room temperature (15–20°C) to avoid any contamination that would damage or interfere with any further molecular investigations of the mummies and the entomo- logical samples. The entomological samples, observed with a stereoscopic micro- scope S9E (Leica, Germany) typically consisted of a combination of intact insects and insect parts or fragments. The puparium represents the nonmobile stage of the fly life cycle and because of its chemical and physical properties can be collected after centuries or millennia (Vanin and Huchet 2017). To estimate the minimum number of puparia that were highly fragmented, each complete puparium was considered as a single specimen; if fragmented, only the parts with the posterior spiracles, which often represent very reliable diagnostic structures, were counted as specimens (Skidmore 1985, Giordani et al. 2019). Part of the material was mounted on entomological card and photographed to create a pictorial archive useful for the identification of the species (Skidmore 1985, Smith 1986, Peacock 1993, Giordani et al. 2018, Pradelli et al. 2019). Where the species identification was not possible because the remains were incomplete, badly preserved or because of the lack of an identification key for that developmental stage or fragment (e.g., Lepidoptera cocoon and Coleoptera exuviae), identification was done to the taxonomic level of genus or family. Results Eight hundred forty-two insect remains belonging to three orders, Diptera, Coleoptera, and Lepidoptera, were collected from the four Aragonese mummies examined in this study. Notably, 738 (87.6%) specimens were Diptera, followed by 77 (9.1%) Lepidoptera and 27 (3.2%) Coleoptera. Eight hundred fourteen (96.7%) of all the insect remains were collected from the coffin NASD6, 13 (1.5%) from NASD20, 10 (1.2%) from NASD19 and only 5 (0.6%) from NASD31 (Table 2). Three families of Diptera were represented, Muscidae, Fanniidae, and Phoridae, along with two families of Coleoptera, Dermestidae and Ptinidae, and one family of Lepidoptera, Tineidae (Table 1). Diptera Among Diptera, Muscidae was the most collected taxon mainly represented by the species Hydrotaea capensis (Wiedemann) (Diptera: Muscidae). Puparia of this species (Fig. 2A and C) were present in all the examined human remains. Some puparia of H. capensis showed the typical exit holes produced by the emergence of Hymenoptera parasitoids (Fig. 2D and E). Hydrotaea capensis adult heads, wings, legs, and fragments of thorax were also present among the studied material (Fig. 3). Twelve puparia belonging to a species in the genus Fannia Robineau-Desvoidy 1830  (Diptera: Fanniidae), were retrieved in sample NASD6. The immature stages of this genus are morpholog- ically characteristic. Puparia are dorso-ventrally flattened and they show well-developed ramified processes on the lateral and dorsal sides (Fig. 4A and B). One single puparium of Phoridae was present in the sample NASD6. Its shape fits well with the species Conicera tibialis Schmitz (Diptera: Phoridae) (Fig. 4C and D); however, the absence of adults prevents definitive identification to species. Coleoptera Several exuviae of Dermestidae larvae were identified among the studied samples, but they were not identified at the species level despite the presence of short setae that is characteristic/diagnostic of the species in the Anthrenus Geoffroy, or Attagenus Latreille genera  (Coleoptera: Dermestidae) (Fig. 5A). A  single elytron of a spider beetle (Ptinidae) was recovered in the sample NASD20. It is consistently matching with the genus Ptinus Linnaeus (Coleoptera: Ptinidae) (Fig. 5B). Table 1.  Identification of individuals and preservation of the bodies Tomb ID NASD20 NASD19 NASD31 NASD6 Identification Ferrante II (1496) Giovanna IV (1518) Caterina di Moncada (1659) Francesco Ferdinando d’Avalos (1571) Body preservation Artificial mummy Disconnected skeleton Disconnected skeleton Artificial mummy Postmortem damage Fire, grave robbers damage Grave robbers damage Re-deposition in trunk Partial grave robbers damage 3Journal of Medical Entomology, 2019, Vol. XX, No. XX D ow nloaded from https://academ ic.oup.com /jm e/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/jm e/tjz102/5528168 by U niversita di P isa, giovanni.benelli@ unipi.it on 04 July 2019 Lepidoptera Cocoons (Fig. 6A and B) and cephalic capsules of Tineidae (Lepidoptera: Tineidae)  larvae (Fig. 6D and E) were found in all the mummies. No remains of adults were detected, thus genus or species for this taxon remains undetermined. Furthermore, two cocoons showed the typical exit hole of a Hymenoptera parasitoid (Fig. 6C). Unidentified Samples Four insect eggs were recorded from sample NASD20 (Table 2). Discussion To the best of our knowledge, a strictly limited number of earlier studies examined the insect remains characterizing Aragonese tombs. Recently, Benelli et  al. (2014) showed that the black sol- dier fly, Hermetia illucens (Linnaeus) (Diptera: Stratiomyidae), of supposed American origin and acknowledged in Europe only from 1926, was present in Italy several centuries earlier. Indeed, Benelli et  al. (2014) found a larva of this species in the sarcophagus of the Renaissance princess Isabella d’Aragona (1470–1524). Earlier, Fornaciari et  al. (2009) detected a double infestation of the head Fig. 2. Hydrothaea capensis (Diptera: Muscidae): (A) puparia global view, (B) arrows indicate the spiral anterior respiratory horns, (C) posterior spiracula, (D–E) arrows indicate the exit hole produced by the emergence of a parasitoid. Red scale bar: 1 mm; blue scale bar: 500 µm. Table 2.  Abundance of insect remains retrieved from the mummies of Ferrante II d’Aragona, King of Naples (1496), Giovanna IV d’Aragona, Queen of Naples (1519), Caterina di Moncada, Duchess of Montalto (1659), and Ferdinando Francesco d’Avalos, Marquis of Vasto and Pescara (1571) Order, family, and species Abundance of insect remains (no.) Ferrante II d’Aragona (1496) NASD20 Giovanna IV d’Aragona (1518) NASD19 Caterina di Moncada (1659) NASD31 Ferdinando Francesco d’Avalos (1571) NASD6 Total Coleoptera 5 22 27 Dermestidae 4 22 24 Ptinidae, Ptinus sp. 1 1 Diptera 2 4 4 724 738 Fanniidae, Fannia sp. 12 12 Muscidae, Hydrotaea capensis 2 4 4 711 721 Phoridae, Conicera tibialis 1 1 Lepidoptera 2 6 1 68 77 Tineidae 2 6 1 68 77 Not identified Eggs 4 4 Total 13 10 5 814 842 Insect orders are outlined in bold. Within each order, the classification at family or species level was provided. 4 Journal of Medical Entomology, 2019, Vol. XX, No. XX D ow nloaded from https://academ ic.oup.com /jm e/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/jm e/tjz102/5528168 by U niversita di P isa, giovanni.benelli@ unipi.it on 04 July 2019 louse, Pediculus humanus capitis De Geer Anoplura: Pediculidae and the pubic louse, Pthirus pubis (Linnaeus) Anoplura: Pthiridae in the mummy of Ferrante II d’Aragona (1467–1496), King of Naples. This finding stressed that even members of the Renaissance upper classes were afflicted by louse infestations (Fornaciari et al. 2009). However, until now the other Aragonese mummies, buried in San Domenico Maggiore (Naples), remained unexplored. In the present study, a remarkably higher number of insect fragments were found in the mummy NASD6 than in the other three Aragonese individuals. NASD6 was also subjected to inspection in Fig. 3. Diptera Muscidae Hydrothaea capensis. (A) Head fragmented, frontal view, (B) thorax; arrow indicates the posterior side with scutellum. Red scale bar: 1 mm. Fig. 4. (A) Diptera Fanniidae puparia global view, (B) detail, (C) Conicera tibialis (Diptera Phoridae) puparia global view, (D) detail. Red scale bar: 1 mm; blue scale bar: 500 µm. Fig. 5. (A) Larval exuviae of Coleoptera Dermestidae, (B) elytron of Ptinus sp. (Coleoptera Ptinidae). Red scale bar: 1 mm. 5Journal of Medical Entomology, 2019, Vol. XX, No. XX D ow nloaded from https://academ ic.oup.com /jm e/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/jm e/tjz102/5528168 by U niversita di P isa, giovanni.benelli@ unipi.it on 04 July 2019 1894 (Amante 1896) and it is the better-preserved deposition, with the skeleton still in partial anatomical connection. In contrast, the other three individuals consist of a mummy strongly damaged by the disas- trous 1506 fire (Volpicella 1847) with disconnected limbs (NASD20) and in two disconnected skeletons (NASD19 and NASD31). The better preservation of mummy NASD6 compared to the other individuals can explain the abundance of the sampled insects. All the insects found in our sampling belonged to species typical of a late cadaver colonization, with a lack of species characterizing the first colonization waves of exposed bodies (e.g., species belonging to the genera Calliphora Robineau-Desvoidy, Lucilia Robineau- Desvoidy (Calliphoridae), Musca Linnaeus, Muscina Robineau- Desvoidy (Muscidae), and Sarcophaga Meigen (Sarcophagidae)). High numbers of H.  capensis puparia, the most represented taxon, have been reported from human remains of historic and ar- chaeological interest (for a review see Giordani et  al. 2018). This species usually colonizes corpses in later succession waves during the ammonia fermentation. However, in concealed conditions, where no arrival of blowflies is possible, H.  capensis is often the domi- nant Diptera species (see also Pradelli et  al. 2019). This supports the hypothesis that corpses have been kept indoors for a long time under protected, confined environmental conditions, without expo- sure to open air (Couri et al. 2009). However, other explanations for NASD20 and NASD6 could be outlined, including an embalming process using odorous oils/balms that could have delayed or stopped the arrival of the first colonizer flies, followed by sealing the coffin with bitumen. On the other hand, the presence of specimens in the genera Fannia and Hydrotaea likely excludes the hypothesis of a preliminary dehydration of the body using volcanic sand, which quickly dries the treated bodies, strongly reducing the suitability of the environmental conditions for the colonization of these species. Overall, this scenario corresponds to a historical context with a well- advanced knowledge about body preparation where specific burial techniques existed and were adopted for the wealthy and aristocrats (Marinozzi and Fornaciari 2005). The large abundance of Diptera puparia fragments is not sur- prising, because puparia represent the most resistant structural element of all the Diptera developmental stages. The puparia for- mation process is characterized by the sclerotization of the mature maggot cuticle rich in chitin, whose chemical structure can survive Fig. 6. Lepidoptera Tineidae. (A) cocoon, (B) parasitized cocoon, arrows indicated the parasitoid exit hole, (C) cocoon detail, arrows indicate red tissue fibers, (D) cephalic capsule ventral view, and (E) dorsal view. Red scale bar: 1 mm; blue scale bar: 500 µm. 6 Journal of Medical Entomology, 2019, Vol. XX, No. XX D ow nloaded from https://academ ic.oup.com /jm e/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/jm e/tjz102/5528168 by U niversita di P isa, giovanni.benelli@ unipi.it on 04 July 2019 for centuries to millennia (Vanin and Huchet 2017). Only a few, very damaged adult fragments of H.  capensis, were found, which may be explained by their fragility (Panagiotakopulu 2004). The scarcity of adult fly fragments suggests that most of them could have had the possibility to fly away from the coffin or that their body could have been consumed by successive populations of the polyphagous insects, such as Dermestidae beetles. Such a situation is consistent with a possible later exhumation of the bodies that could have been exposed for a quite long period, e.g., after the visits of grave robbers. Phoridae are small-size Diptera, well known in the forensic con- text for their ability to enter coffins or to reach deeply buried bodies (Manlove and Disney 2008). Their scarcity could suggest the coffins were well-sealed. However, in our case, the single partial puparium of C. tibialis was found in the sample NASD6, together with the high number of H. capensis remains, suggest that insects had easy access to this corpse. Furthermore, Fanniidae species usually are typical of a later colonization. In relatively advanced decomposed cadavers, the degeneration of the tissues to a liquid state, produces a wet en- vironment on the bottom of the coffin, which is highly attractive for the species of this family, also known as ‘latrine-flies’ (Nuorteva et al. 1974, Smith 1986, Lee and Marzuki 1993). The finding of Fannia specimens in these contexts and, at the same time, the absence of bowflies remains, is consistent with the hypothesis of easier, later access by insects to the NASD6 corpse. For instance, if some slots appeared later in the coffin, due to structural adjustments, under the pressure of the gas produced by the decaying corpse. Both Dermestidae and Ptinidae beetles are later colonizers of corpses, feeding on dried substrates and showing polyphagous habits, by consuming skin, hairs as well as clothes fibers and even other chitinized body parts. The discovery of a limited number of larval exuviae of Dermestidae and no adult remains, which repre- sent the most resistant body parts, indicates that adult specimens had the possibility to leave the corpses quite easily through a well accessible opening. Like Dermestidae beetles, Tineidae moths are associated with the last phases of the body decomposition. They feed on dry tissues, hairs, and textiles fibers, which are visible in the texture of the cocoons structure (Fig. 6B). We detected only cephalic head capsules of larvae and cocoons, without any traces of adult remains, supporting the hypotheses, already formulated for Dermestidae, that adults had the possibility to move out from the coffin after their emergence. Besides, the remarkable presence of moth remains could be associated with the abundance of textiles from the clothes used for the funerary cer- emony of these people of high social status (D’Arbitrio 2001). The finding of H.  capensis puparia and Tineidae cocoons parasitized by Hymenopteran wasps highlights the ability of these parasitoids to reach concealed hosts and could also substantiate the hypothesis that the coffin NASD6, sometime after burial, was partially or entirely exposed to the open environment for a period, allowing a late insect colonization, including parasitoids that attack larvae and pupae of their hosts. Conclusions The examination of more than 800 insect specimens from four mummies belonging to these members of the Aragonese family con- firm the historical information about the burial of people belonging to the Renaissance noblesse. In addition, the findings reported in this article underline how the concealment of the body plays a fun- damental role in the selection of the entomofauna associated with body colonization. Our records, in agreement with previous work, highlight out the role of H. capensis in the colonization and organic material recycling in body located in confined conditions, in contrast to what happens with exposed bodies, where blowflies are the most important taxon in body colonization. To attempt a reply to the three questions formulated in the in- troduction, it can be concluded that: 1) body concealment in coffins significantly affected the composition of the cadaveric fauna; 2)  Furthermore, our results demonstrate that embalming and the mummification process can influence the composition of the cadav- eric fauna as previously shown in other studies (Gilbert and Bass 1967, Huchet 2010, Huchet and Greenberg 2010, Nystrom et  al. 2005). The embalming process appears to have stopped coloniza- tion from first colonizer flies, but it did not affect cadaver-breeding insects that colonize corpses during later stages of decomposition. 3)  Lastly, the secondary burial affected the general composition of the cadaveric fauna. Indeed, the new exposition of the body allows the arrival of insects previously blocked on reaching the body. Acknowledgments We are grateful to the three anonymous reviewers, who kindly improved an earlier version of our manuscript. We declare no competing interests. References Cited Amante, B. 1896. La tomba di Vittoria Colonna e i testamenti finora inediti della poetessa. Zanichelli, Bologna, Italy. Benelli, G., A. Canale, A. Raspi, and G. Fornaciari. 2014. The death scenario of an Italian Renaissance princess can shed light on a zoological dilemma: did the black soldier fly reach Europe with Columbus? J. Archaeol. Sci. 49: 203–205. 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Giuffra,  V., A.  Fornaciari, S.  Minozzi, A.  Vitiello, and G.  Fornaciari. 2016. Autoptic practices in 16th-18th century Florence: Skeletal evidences from the Medici family. Int. J. Paleopathol. 15: 21–30. 7Journal of Medical Entomology, 2019, Vol. XX, No. XX D ow nloaded from https://academ ic.oup.com /jm e/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/jm e/tjz102/5528168 by U niversita di P isa, giovanni.benelli@ unipi.it on 04 July 2019 Green, W., R. C. Schirmer, and W. T. Billeck. (2019). Plant remains and as- sociated insects from the Millipede site (13ML361), a burned earthlodge in southwest Iowa. Plains Anthropologist. doi:10.1080/00320447.2019. 1585409 Handschin, E. 1944. Insekten aus den Phosphoriten des Quercy Abh. Schweiz. Paläontol. Ges. 64: 1–23. Huchet,  J.  B. 2010. Archaeoentomological study of the insects remains found within the mummy of Namenkhet Amon, San Lazzaro Armenian Monastery, (Venice/Italy). Adv. Egyptol. 1: 59–80. Huchet,  J.  B. 2014. L’archéoentomologie funéraire, pp. 201–224. In D.  Charabidze and M.  Gosselin (eds.), Insectes, cadavres et scènes de crime, Principes et applications de l’entomologie médico-légale. De Boeck, Paris, France. Huchet, J. B., and B. Greenberg. 2010. Flies, Mochicas and burial practices: a case study from Huaca de la Luna, Peru. J. Archaeol. Sci. 37: 2846–2856. Huchet,  J.  B., C.  Callou, R.  Lichtenberg, and F.  Dunand. 2013a. The dog mummy, the ticks and the louse fly: archaeological report of severe ectoparasitosis in Ancient Egypt. Int. J. Paleopathol. 3: 165–175. Huchet, J. B., G. Pereira, Y. Gomy, T. K. Phillips, C. E. Alatorre-Bracamontes, M.  Vásquez-Bolaños, and J.  Mansilla. 2013b. Archaeoentomological study of a pre-Columbian funerary bundle (mortuary cave of Candelaria, Coahuila, Mexico). Ann. Soc. Entomol. France 49: 277–290. Lee, H. L., and Marzuki, T. M. 1993. Preliminary observations of the occur- rence of arthropods on carrion and its application to forensic entomology in Malaysia. Trop. Biomed. 10: 5–8. Manlove, J. D., and R. H. Disney. 2008. The use of Megaselia abdita (Diptera: Phoridae) in forensic entomology. Forensic Sci. Int. 175: 83–84. Marinozzi, S., and G. Fornaciari. 2005. Le mummie e l’arte medica nell’Evo modern. Casa Editrice Università La Sapienza, Roma, Italy. Masetti,  M., S.  Gabrielli, M.  Menconi, and G.  Fornaciari. 2008. Insect re- mains associated with the mummy of Cardinal Giulio della Rovere, Archbishop of Ravenna (1533–1578), pp. 379–385. In P.  Atoche  Peña, C. Rodríguez Martín, and M. A. Ramírez Rodríguez (eds.), Mummies and science: world mummies research. Proceedings of the VI World Congress on Mummy Studies, Teguise, Lanzarote, Islas Canarias. Academia Canaria de la Historia, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Spain. Moret, P. (1998). L’archéo-entomologie, ou les insectes au service de l’histoire. Revue de Médecine Vétérinaire, 149: 995. Nuorteva,  P., Schumann,  H., Isokoski,  M., and Laiho,  K. 1974. Studies on the possibilities of using blowflies (Diptera: Calliphoridae) as medicolegal indicators in Finland. Ann. Entomol. Fenn. 40: 70–74. Nystrom, K. C., A. Goff, and M. L. Goff. 2005. Mortuary behaviour recon- struction through palaeoentomology: a case study from Chachapoya, Perú. Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. 15: 175–185. Panagiotakopulu, E. 2001. New records for ancient pests: archaeoentomology in Egypt. J. Archaeol. Sci. 28: 1235–1246. Panagiotakopulu, E. 2004. Dipterous remains and archaeological interpreta- tion. J. Archaeol. Sci. 31: 1675–1684. Panagiotakopulu, E., and P. C. Buckland. 2012. Forensic archaeoentomology– An insect fauna from a burial in York Minster. Forensic Sci. Int. 221: 125–130. Peacock,  E.  R., 1993. Adults and larvae of hide, larder and carpet beetles and their relatives (Coleoptera Dermestidae) and of Derodontid beetles (Coleoptera Derodontidae), pp. 3–143. In R. R. Askew and W. R. Dolling (eds.), Handbooks for the identification of British insects, Vol. 5, Part 3. Royal Entomological Society of London, London, United Kingdom. Pradelli,  J., C.  Rossetti, F.  Tuccia, G.  Giordani, M.  Licata, J.  M.  Birkhoff, A. Verzeletti, and S. Vanin. 2019. Environmental necrophagous fauna se- lection in a funerary hypogeal context: the putridarium of the Franciscan monastery of Azzio (northern Italy). J. Archaeol. Sci. Rep. 24: 683–692. Skidmore,  P. 1985. The biology of the Muscidae of the world. Springer Netherlands, Dordrecht, the Netherlands. Smith, K. G. V. 1986. A manual of forensic entomology. Comstock Publishing Associates, Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY. Vanin,  S., and J.  B.  Huchet. 2017. Forensic entomology and funerary archaeoentomology, pp. 176–186. In E. M. J. Schotsmans, N. Marquez- Grant, and S. Forbes (eds.), Taphonomy of human remains: analysis of the death and the depositional environments. Chapter 13. John Wiley & Sons Ltd, Chichester, United Kingdom. Vanin,  S., M.  Turchetto, A.  Galassi, and C.  Cattaneo. 2009. Forensic ento- mology and the archaeology of war. J. Conflict Archaeol. 5: 127–139. Volpicella, G. 1847. Storia dei monumenti del Reame delle Due Sicilie. Vol. 2, Stamperia e Cartiere del Fibreno, Napoli, Italy. Wylie, F. R., G. L. Walsh, and R. A. Yule. 1987. Insect damage to aboriginal relics at burial and rock-art sites near Carnarvon in central Queensland. Aust. J. Entomol. 26: 335–345. 8 Journal of Medical Entomology, 2019, Vol. XX, No. XX D ow nloaded from https://academ ic.oup.com /jm e/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/jm e/tjz102/5528168 by U niversita di P isa, giovanni.benelli@ unipi.it on 04 July 2019 
work_spywvikfcfcshk3sabxrwkntv4	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 11 December 2014 The Persistence of Nationalism Review of: Michela Passini, La fabrique de l’art national: Le nationalisme et les origins de l’histoire de l’art en France et en Allemagne 1870-1933. Paris, Maisons des sciences de l’homme, 2012, €48.00, xx + 333 pp., ISBN-10: 2735114392 ISBN-13: 978-2735114399 It has long been recognised that nationalism was central to the formation of art history as a modern academic discipline. The fact that the profession of art historian established itself at the same time as the popularization of nationalist ideals was more than a mere historical coincidence. The two were structurally linked, for art history was, to use an old Althusserian term, an ideological apparatus of the state. Not only were modern universities founded as part of the modernisation drive of emerging nation states in the nineteenth century, in addition, institutes and departments of art history were established in order to promote the study of national artistic schools and traditions. In so doing, they helped create the imagined community of the nation and thereby bound artistic scholarship to the interests of the state. Consequently, the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries witnessed a proliferation of national histories of art. This is a well known narrative, but while it has been explored in outline, it has seldom been analysed in depth. This important book provides what has been missing: a substantial study of the uses of nationalist ideologies in French and German art history writing and, crucially, the ways that they were contested. Focusing on the period from 1870 to 1933, which also coincided with the rise of the German Reich, its transformation into the Weimar Republic and then replacement by the rule of Hitler, this volume examines a number of topics: the idea of the Renaissance in France, the relation of France and Germany to Renaissance art, the meaning of Gothic, the so-called ‘Primitives’ of the fifteenth century. The work of many of the German writers discussed, such as Heinrich Wölfflin, Henry Thode, Georg Dehio or Wilhelm Worringer, is well known, and the book’s contribution here consists less in offering new insights and rather more in gathering discussion of them together in a single coherent treatment. Where it does break new ground is in its sustained analysis of French art historians, such as Louis Courajod, Louis Dimier, Eugène Müntz, Henri Bouchot or Henri Focillon. In comparison with the extensive scholarship on Austro-German tradition of historiography, France remains, in many respects, an undiscovered country, and this book begins to make good that lack. Identity is produced through difference, and as this book points out with admirable clarity, much the same could be said of the construction of national artistic traditions, in which German and French art came to be defined in opposition to each other. The best known example of this remains the interminable debates Matthew Rampley The Persistence of Nationalism 2 around ‘ownership’ of the Gothic. The association of medieval art and architecture with the Germans dated back to Vasari and, thanks to Goethe and the Romantics, had been reiterated in the early 1800s. Yet by the mid-nineteenth century it had become recognised that Gothic architecture had originated in France; even authors such as Anton Springer had rejected the theory of the German origins of the style. Yet, as Passini demonstrates, such was the political and psychological investment in the idea of it being an expression of the German spirit, that a range of theories were put forward that sought to maintain the notion. Wilhelm Worringer’s Problems of Form in Gothic (1911) held tenaciously onto the notion the its essential spirit was German, while Kurt Gerstenberg, acknowledging its French origins, held that the Germans had made it their own and developed it into specifically German forms, resulting in the German ‘Sondergotik’ or ‘special Gothic’ of the late Middle Ages. An older contemporary, Georg Dehio, saw the Germanness of Gothic in the fact that it was the precursor of Baroque art, which was the true embodiment of the northern German spirit. With his notion of the Gothicising Baroque (‘gotisierendes Barock’) Dehio attempted not only to contest the exclusive French claim to Gothic, but also to disrupt the emerging orthodoxy that saw Baroque as the logical sucessor to Italian Renaissance art. As such we are reminded that French and German art historians defined national traditions not only in opposition to each other, but also in opposition to Italy. Attention has mostly focused on the writings of German authors, but French art historians frequently articulated equally nationalistic views and promoted a similarly partisan image of art history. Louis Courajod (1841-1896), for example, proclaimed that the roots of the Renaissance lay in thirteenth-century French art; according to this account Italy was a latecomer to transformations in aesthetic sensibility that had first been visible in French sculpture of the thirteenth century. Likewise, numerous lesser known figures, including Léon Palustre (1838- 1894), Marius Vachon (1850-1928) and Henri Delaborde (1811-1899), became embroiled in a pointless debate about the Frenchness of the School of Fontainebleau. For some it constituted the French counterpart to the Italian Renaissance and was celebrated as such, while for others it constituted the irruption of decadent Italian artistic and cultural values, with the painter Francesco Primaticcio, one of its leading figures employed by Francis I, singled out for particular moral censure. In response to the ‘discovery’ of the early Netherlandish ‘primitives’ at the turn of the century, Henri Bouchot (1849-1906), working at the bibliothèque nationale, organized a large scale exhibition at the Louvre in 1904 of ‘Primitifs Français’ that sought to demonstrate that France, too, had had its own flowering of late medieval and early Renaissance painting that had made its own decisive contribution to European art. Even more substantial art historians such as Henri Focillon were not immune to this nationalistic ideology; his Art of the West (1938) published at the very end of the period covered in this book, was essentially an apologia for French civilisation. As Passini notes (p. 231) ‘when Focillon was thinking of Western Europe, the intellectual and symbolic centre of his idea of the “West” remained France.’ Such ideas were contested. The Renaissance scholar Eugène Müntz (1845- 1920), at the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris, distanced himself from attempts to nationalise the Renaissance, and his extensive engagement with German-language literature led some in France to doubt his loyalty. Likewise Aby Warburg, who cited Matthew Rampley The Persistence of Nationalism 3 Müntz approvingly, emphasised the transnational circulation of artists and artistic ideas between France, Flanders and Italy. But they were often marginal voices. This book provides a valuable source of material, even if some of the episodes relating to the German authors are already familiar, but it remains curiously inconclusive. The currents analysed here culminated, Passini argues, in the CIHA conference of 1933 in Stockholm, when the concept of national art was the central theme. But this raises more questions rather than bringing the discussion to a conclusion. Published by the Deutsches Forum für Kunstgeschichte, a joint Franco- German initiative based in Paris, comparative study of France and Germany is perhaps an inevitable aspect of the research. What is not quite clear from this volume is what such comparative study is intended to achieve. Although the book lays out admirably the ways in which the interests of German and French scholars converged or came into conflict with each other, it nevertheless presents a series of parallel stories, rather than a history of intertwined practices. The mutual suspicion of many German and French art historians is strongly in evidence, and it is common knowledge that this was fuelled by political events, from the Prussian humiliation of the French army at Sedan to the invasion of the France by the imperial German military in August 1914. But it might have been helpful to have a clearer sense of the ways in which art historical writing was immersed in this wider political context. A chapter on the impact of the Great War and the mutual recriminations over war damage to important historic monuments is the closest the book comes to such a desideratum. Otherwise, the book runs the danger of offering an outline of politically charged writings by numerous art historians but without any political analysis. One might ask: was there something distinctive about the Franco-German situation? The depressing story of nationalism’s hold on art history is one that could be recounted in relation to every part of Europe, and there were clear parallels with art historical practices elsewhere. The genealogical coupling of Gothic and Baroque which Dehio tied to the German national spirit was repeated elsewhere in central Europe; the Czech art historian Vojtěch Birnbaum (1877-1934), for example, used the term ‘Baroque Gothic’ (‘barokní gotika’) in relation to what he regarded as a specifically Czech treatment of late Gothic art. This was a polemical response to Dehio’s own thesis, but the fact that Czechs and Germans could have the same kinds of disputes over ‘ownership’ of late Gothic as German and French art historians did over Gothic or Renaissance art reminds us of the wider pattern into which the French and German cases fitted. This is alluded to in the final chapter of this book, but a more expansive critical treatment would have been helpful or indeed a discussion of the particularities of the Franco-German case. Finally, since so much of the formation of the sense of German and French national artistic culture was dependent on the negotiation of the differences and similarities to Italian art, what did Italian art historians think of this appropriation of their art as a foil? It would have been interesting to learn what Adolfo Venturi thought of French claims to the priority of France as ancestor of the Renaissance, given that Venturi was at the same time engaged in production of a massive history of Italian art. Such requests for more should not detract, however, from what is a Matthew Rampley The Persistence of Nationalism 4 valuable addition to the historiographic literature that casts light on the some of more inglorious moments in the development of the discipline. Matthew Rampley is Chair of Art HIstory at the University of Birmingham. Recent books include: The Vienna School of Art History (2013), Art History and Visual Studies in Europe (co-edited, 2012) and Heritage, Ideology and Identity in Central and Eastern Europe (2012). He is currently leading a project examining the political economy of museums in Austria-Hungary. m.j.rampley@bham.ac.uk 
work_sq3j3p2wsfaebhsqzyevq4svpm	----	s o u r c e : h t t p s : / / d o i . o r g / 1 0 . 7 8 9 2 / b o r i s . 1 1 5 4 3 0 | d o w n l o a d e d : 6 . 4 . 2 0 2 1 I987 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 409 The Reformation in Historical Thought. By A. G. D I C K E N S and J O H N M. T O N K I N with the assistance of K E N N E T H POWELL (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985; pp. vii + 443. £35). EVER since the publication in 1948 of Wallace K. Ferguson's masterful synthesis on The Renaissance in Historical Thought, scholars interested in the Reforma- tion period have frequently bemoaned the conspicuous absence in the available literature of a work surveying and discussing the development of the historio- graphy of the Reformation from its inception to the present. At long last Profes- sor Dickens and Dr Tonkin have shouldered the awesome task of filling this lacuna. Faced with the lasting, although by no means canonical importance of Jacob Burckhardt's research on the Renaissance, Ferguson was able to com- bine intricately many of the major thematic and chronological aspects of his study by relating them in one way or other to Burckhardt's lifetime and work. However, like the Northern Renaissance, the Reformation has had no Burck- hardt - at least not yet. The authors have thus wisely given priority to a chronological approach, although they have perhaps done so at the occasional expense of devoting due space to the discussion of thematic issues, such as the relationship between the Reformation tradition and the rise of science, Puritanism, or the impact of the Reformation on education, which are con- sidered in a rather cramped twenty-page appendix. The book is divided into three parts. Part One is entirely devoted to the historiography of the sixteenth century. We encounter the Strasbourg diplomat and chronicler Johannes Sleidan, the martyrologists Jean Crespin and John Foxe, as well as a host of less well-known pioneers in historical scholarship on the Reformation. A rather brief second part covers the period 1600-1840, in which the authors highlight the historical assessment of the Reformation by stalwarts of the Enlightenment, whence they move on to Guizot, Macauley, and Carlyle, and emphasize against this background the novelty and importance in its time of the research carried out by Ranke. The longest section of the volume, Part Three, covers the modern era. It ranges broadly from Ignaz von Dollinger to Joseph Lortz, from Albrecht Ritschl to Heiko A. Oberman, from Friedrich Engels to Max Steinmetz, taking in Max Weber and R. H. Tawney, and last but not least from Canon Dixon to Patrick Collinson, to mention only very few of the authors discussed. Due consideration is given to the burgeoning and ever more diverse scholarship of the last three or four decades. Even this very brief survey suggests the uphill struggle which Drs Dickens and Tonkin have faced in completing this lengthy and well- documented work without the help of any preparatory studies of a broader scope. Although the authors make it clear that their survey represents in several respects a provisional rather than a definitive assessment, this should by no means detract from the significance of their achievement; neither should the following comments. Considering the scope of their work, the authors should not be faulted for not always including the most recent secondary works, especially since in some cases (to mention only Bodin, Sarpi, Ranke and Weber) they would have had to wend their way through jungles of very specialized and rather self-contained research. But this partly explains the fact that not all chapters will capture the reader's imagination to the same extent. A certain unevenness is also due to the essentially chronological structure of the work, which 410 REVIEWS OF BOOKS April occasionally seems to run against the authors' attempt to highlight regional and national variations in the historiography they are concerned with. I am thinking in particular of their treatment of the eighteenth century (Chapter Six). This is written all too one-sidedly in the scholarly tradition established by Paul Hazard and continued by Peter Gay, and, as a result, the authors fail to differentiate sufficiently between the French, German and English Enlightenments in matters pertaining to religion. Similarly, their underlying notion of Italian Renaissance humanism in my opinion owes too uncritical a debt to the Burckhardtian view, as when such notions as 'Italianate rationa- lism' are adduced. Charles Trinkaus's research should make us think twice about such general labels. Elsewhere, however, the authors ably dismiss H. A. Enno van Gelder's thesis of a rational intellectual continuity between Renais- sance and Enlightenment, which challenges the importance of the Reformation, by questioning the 'rationality' of the outlook adopted by one of van Gelder's heroes, Lorenzo Valla (p. 334). They nevertheless seem to insist on such conti- nuity in claiming that 'the writers of the Enlightenment, like none of their predecessors except perhaps the scholars of the fifteenth-century Renaissance, were acutely aware of their distinctiveness, their radical break from the past, their crucial importance for the future direction of European thought' (p. 120). Are such minor inconsistencies the price to be paid for co-authorship? It is difficult to imagine that Dr Dickens, at any rate, would ever go as far as to discuss sixteenth-century thinkers, such as Guillaume Postel, Sebastian Castellio and Jean Bodin, in terms of their 'liberal' and 'rational' outlook (see page 75). In general, the authors have succeeded admirably in steering a firm course between the related temptations of either sacrificing too much unfamiliar mater- ial to the exigencies of style and readability, or overloading their work with information, as did Eduard Fueter in his all too densely-written classic, Ge- schichte der neueren Historiographie (which, incidentally, is cited only once in a French translation, without reference to the original, on page 354, n. 15). The second kind of temptation becomes, perhaps inevitably, most apparent in the last chapter concerned with the recent social history of the Reformation, although I should add that I found this chapter lively and appealing owing to the enthusiasm with which the subject is approached. At points, however, this enthusiasm is mitigated through the authors' assumption of a rather magis- terial outlook, culminating in the caveat: 'Are not social historians in danger of falling into sentimentality, idealizing rural magic, and banishing any talk of "popular superstition" as obscene?' (p. 314) - a timely reminder that today's Reformation historians are as yet far from agreeing about such basic categories as 'religion', 'church' and 'confession'. The same reservation must apply to the notion of clericalism. The Reformation movement, as Oberman has recently reminded us, did not take long in developing its own brand of clericalism. It is from this vantage point, I believe, that we ought to interpret the authors' assertion, made in one of their final paragraphs, that 'the central element in the Protestant Reformation was a conscious, essentially religious, mission: to steer Christianity back in line with biblical sources after many centuries of hierarchical manipulation' (p. 327). These brief comments show that informed readers will undoubtedly want to reorganize in their own minds some of the emphases and judgements made in this work. This should not, however, obscure the present reviewer's convic- 1987 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 4II tion that The Reformation in Historical Thought represents much more than a humble beginning in the footsteps of Ferguson's work on historical scholar- ship on the Renaissance (as the authors modestly claim in their Preface). It offers stimulating reading and is a substantial achievement, which will be wel- comed by all historians interested in the Reformation period and in its sub- sequent historical assessment. University of Bern KASPAR VON GREYERZ Revolution Reassessed: Revisions in the History of Tudor Government and Administration. Edited by C H R I S T O P H E R C O L E M A N and D A V I D STARKEY (Oxford: ClarendonP., 1986; pp. viii + 219. £22.50; pb. £7.95); Reassessing the Henncian Age: Humanism, Politics and Reform, ifoo-iffo. By A L I S T A I R F O X and J O H N G U Y (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986; pp. 242. £22.50). T H E S E two books are a remarkable tribute to the staying power, after thirty years, of Sir Geoffrey Elton's concept of a 'Tudor Revolution'. The contributors are for the most part Sir Geoffrey's own pupils, paying him the tribute of taking issue with his concepts. The 'Tudor Revolution' has been a rather elastic term. It began as a description of the administrative changes of the 1530s, which were held to mark the transition from an essentially 'household' to a 'bureaucratic' form of government, the most important change in English government between the Conquest and the Victorians. It soon expanded to describe a more far-reaching change in the nature of the English state brought about by the Henrician Reformation: the emergence of a concept of a sovereign, national state and the embodiment of that sovereignty in King-in-Parliament. More recently there has crept in an emphasis on 'reform' more generally: schemes for economic and social reform, for an effective poor-law, for public works, for action against enclosure or to rescue decaying towns. And in all this the prime mover is held to be Thomas Cromwell. Of course, these formula- tions are always more subtle, more qualified, than they seem at first; the diffi- culty in discussing them has always been to decide when the qualifications amount to a negation of the original bold statement. Revolution Reassessed is ostensibly the more ambitious of the two collections, Starkey concluding that the 'Tudor Revolution' must be driven 'Coriolanus- like, off the stage', to be replaced by a 'Tudor readjustment in government'. But the book consists of a series of random shots, rather than a systematic examination of Elton's theories. The focus is primarily the first, narrowly administrative, formulation of the 'Revolution', with some attention, by Star- key himself, to the 'reform' angle. The substantial middle-ground, the claims for the changing nature of the Henrician state, are largely ignored. Jennifer Loach, in the only essay to deal substantially with Parliament, prefers the indirect approach, arguing that the creation of new borough seats was due rather to the Crown's wish to find places for its servants (pace Pollard, Neale and Elton), not to pressure from below, and deducing from this that contempor- aries were unaware of momentous changes in the nature of Parliament. John Guy propounds an evolutionary view of the development of the Council, with a useful flow-chart, but then cries 'snap' in pin-pointing the actual foundation 1 
work_sr2bc33dajhlxhanjiuzdpoub4	----	Editor’s Column “I can’t write that kind of stuff!” This proclamation of humility, which I quote without permission, issued from the lips of a highly respected, extensively published, and uncommonly articulate colleague in the Slavic field. What produced the utterance was my urging that he send his next essay to PMLA. The unexpected response led me to ponder, as my predecessors in the editor’s chair have, just what is the stuff of which PMLA is made? What, if any, is its right stuff? And what keeps some members from sending us their stuff? I confess that my scrutiny of our journal’s pages, past and future, has led me to no perceptions as clear and definitive as those of the Camus scholar whom I reproached for neglect- ing PMLA. Her response was a confident measure of the journal’s contents: “I haven’t written any- thing suitable.” Suitability presumes a fit with an inscribed pattern, yet the statement of editorial policy defines the ideal PMLA article as broadly as possible: the best of its kind, whatever its kind. Significance, clarity, concision, readability, interest are expressed desiderata, but the journal’s openness to a variety of topics and to all scholarly methods and critical perspectives is the stuff of its identity. No quotas of any sort govern acceptances; and while referees inevitably bring their private ideological and methodological biases to their readings of manuscripts, the very play of disparate convictions among readers tends to prevent the favoring of one approach or the exclusion of another. Those who serve on the PMLA advi- sory committee and the editorial board on a rotating basis come from as many persuasions as the as- sociation’s membership. The executive council defines its nominees for these posts by field, period, and genre (the classifications are invariably narrower than their bearers), but it does not deliberately seek out a critic of a particular stripe. True enough, an eavesdropper on the editorial board’s huddles would not always hear judgments untainted by subjectivity or partiality. In one reader the word diegesis may cause a reaction more glandular than rational; to another modes of production seems better suited to the Wall Street Journal than to PMLA. It is a healthy sign of the maturity of our profession’s critical enterprise that we no longer feel born to the task, that we learn to adopt positions and working methods, and that we develop convictions. The sacrifice of passivity and neutrality and sometimes even of our academically decorous tolerance is the price we pay for flourishing debates. The interplay of disparate commitments and expectations and the occasional contentiousness among the nine or ten readers of a manuscript ensure not only reasonable fairness in PMLAs evaluation process but variety and disparity in the final selections. PMLA receives and judges articles with a collective open-mindedness, and no single procedure or ideology has a jump on any other. The only possible response to the questions I have been asked—What is PMLAs critical orientation? What methodology does the editorial board prefer?—is a gesture of embrace. Summon to mind any two journals that you consider at opposite ends of the critical horizon, and we would be happy to compete with their editors for your favors and your articles. Peruse the pages of our journal, and you will most likely identify essays that could readily have gained entry into one or the other of your discrepant pub- lications. A further self-effacing explanation for nonparticipation, “I’m too traditional for PMLA,” appears to echo the sentiments of a number of readers. Some of the essays—and now and then an entire issue— may well fan such a perception. Last October’s number, for example, was heavily slanted toward the- ory and the ways of modern critical analysis. It offered an essay on Bakhtinian dialogics, a metacriti- cal examination of literary convention itself, an application of contemporary narratology and gender criticism to a series of nineteenth-century novels, poststructuralist readings of a Henry James novel and a sixteenth-century poem, and a figural analysis of Coleridge’s writings. As the long-lived scholarly organ of a vast community rather than the voice of a coherent minority, PMLA is as much mirror as it is lamp. It reflects the state of our art. Inevitably, it collects the winds that blow through our profession, the vocabularies in vogue, the theorists most in the news or in the footnotes. These modes and names, however, hold no proprietary rights over today’s PMLA, as the contents of any succession of issues and yet another disclaimer will prove: “I’m not erudite enough for PMLA.” If the responses to my invitation carry a touch of contradiction and distortion, the explanation proba- bly lies with PMLAs very multifacetedness. At the same time learned journal and literary review, as- sembled mostly from what comes in over the transom (as John Fisher put it in the centennial issue), PMLA holds no brief for any given stance. Modernity and tradition as well as the tensions that divide them are appropriate stuff for a PMLA article, as they are of our convention sessions and of our mem- bership’s profile. The articles in this issue differ from October’s collection and from one another. Several of them es- chew canonical texts. Reed Way Dasenbrock, treating a subject that appears too rarely in our pages, grapples with the critical apprehension of Anglophone literature by African, Indian, Chinese Ameri- can, Chicano, and Maori writers. Susan Crane’s close look at Chaucer’s Wife of Bath’s Tale suggests fresh juxtapositions of history and fiction, satire and romance, semantics and society. Phyllis Rackin’s provocative exercise in feminist criticism focuses on three Renaissance dramatists as it considers gen- der in the context of theatrical representation. Donald W. Foster’s witty piece of detective work based on Elizabethan rhetorical conventions offers a startling solution to a mystery that has long puzzled Shakespeareans. In David Laurence’s article the historical and rhetorical analysis of Bradford’s Of Plymouth Plantation shares space with an important consideration of the subtleties of the sublime. Fi- nally, Lee Clark Mitchell deftly deals with language, gender, and the social structure in the American western along with questions of reader reception. The articles that we have on hand for future issues are equally varied in subject matter and methodology: a metrical analysis, with feminist overtones, of Emily Dickinson’s poetry; a cultural history of a dramatic genre of the Italian Renaissance; an assess- ment of the new historicism; a feminist interpretation of a Hitchcock film; an intertextual reading of a Spanish pastoral poet; a pair of inquiries into James Joyce, one a model of eclectic criticism that ad- dresses language, politics, origins, and authority, the other a Lacanian reader-oriented reinterpretation of a Dubliners story; and a trio of textual analyses of medieval English verse that draw from the ar- senals of semantics, Marxism, and hermeneutics. Some of the referees’ responses to these articles— “sheer joy,” “quite unlike PMLA’s usual fare,” “will set many fertile bees buzzing in the critical bon- net,” “a refreshing alternative to the older pedantry” —suggest that readers and potential contributors can find in PMLA opportunity without circumscription. Indeed, modes of production and codes of seduction can cohabit harmoniously in today’s PMLA, while sources and intertexts can both find sus- tenance around PM LA’s, table of contents. PMLA, in the heterogeneity of its ingredients, reflects the pluralism of the act of interpretation to which its contributors devote themselves. The polemics between valid interpreters and creative critics refuse to subside, but the perpetrator of the notion that interpretation is the projection of self on data may not have been entirely off the mark, as readers from Don Quijote to Norman Holland’s quintet have demonstrated. Few who ply our vocation would agree with Emerson’s dictum, “The trait and test of the poet is that he builds, adds and affirms. The critic destroys.” Critics are governed by the same anxieties as poets. If they destroy anything, they destroy their own critical forebears while subsuming and transcending received interpretations. That continually evolving process, with its constants and its innovations, is the stuff of which PMLA articles are made, of which all our articles are made. Surely, then, the young critic fresh from a tenure victory is misguided when he retreats from my call to try PMLA with his next piece of work: “I wouldn’t dare'.” I ask myself: What are the risks to body or soul, to personal equilibrium or professional status that a submission to PMLA entails? The ulti- mate in my collection of excuses for noncollaboration with our publication is a duo of responses that came from colleagues in the same department—English, if the truth must be told—and that aptly de- scribe the constructive tensions within PMLA-. “Oh, PMLA is too modern for me!” said one; “No, PMLA isn’t yet modern enough for me!” said the other. As Blake put it, “Both read the Bible day and night, / But thou read’st black where I read white.” John W. Kronik 
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work_t23htd37fzavbmcylyujhzeuta	----	Microsoft Word - 1. Deborah ParkerReview Bryan Leferman 312 DEBORAH PARKER BRONZINO: RENAISSANCE PAINTER AS POET Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. x, 218 pp. + b&w illustrations. hen Bronzino s paintings are compared with those of Raphael or Titian, critics have long noted in Bronzino s clear lines a figural representation that eludes introspection. Combined, the inability to discern the subjects conscience and the scant resources purveying information of Bronzino s life have made Bronzino himself an elusive figure to posterity. However, this painter was also a poet and, as Parker so elegantly illuminates, a quite successful one at least within the circles he frequented. In this meticulous study, Parker affords Bronzino s heretofore little considered poetry the literary dignity it deserves and reveals that analyzing Bronzino s complete artistic production both the painting and the poetry provides insight to his views, artistic intentions and life, which until now, remained sealed in the impenetrable surfaces of his canvases. Parker divides her study into four parts. The first chapter discusses Bronzino s satirical burlesque poems, or capitoli. The second chapter addresses the second component of Bronzino s poetry his sonnets. The penultimate examines the lyric tradition that celebrated artistic virtuosity and the relation of such tradition to sonnets of this type appearing in Bronzino s canzoniere. This then leads to a discussion of Bronzino s thoughts on artistic matters as revealed in his capitoli. The last chapter analyzes Bronzino s famous painting, the Allegory of Venus, and his little analyzed poem, Il piato to show how a study of his poetry can help better understand his painting. Parker concentrates on Bronzino s literary culture and the analysis of his poetic production. She reveals how Bronzino s two poetic registers, the burlesque and the solemn, indeed coincide in his art and how the study of both provides greater understanding of Bronzino s sense of despair and irony. She sees Bronzino, as a painter and a poet, as highly skilled, but not a visionary. Bronzino may indeed have produced elusive paintings, but his poetry reveals that this was Bronzino s systematic intention. His poetic language intentionally creates multiple meanings that evade exact interpretation and his allegories are often inconclusive much in the same way Bronzino seems to have viewed the world. On both levels then, Bronzino s art does not offer conclusive answers, but fashions an intricate and nuanced world in which submission replaces pursuit of an ideal (p. 169). In his own lifetime, both Bronzino s capitoli and sonnets were published. His capitoli were included in some of the most popular anthologies of BRONZINO: RENAISSANCE PAINTER AS POET 313 burlesque poetry of the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, while his sonnets, though given less attention, were included in publications by the poetess Laura Battiferri, Benvenuto Cellini and in a collection of poems occasioned by the death of Michelangelo. Parker notes that Bronzino frequented and befriended members of the highest Florentine literary circles and that his poetic achievements were recognized by the likes of Benedetto Varchi, Luca Martini and Giorgio Vasari, among others. At various times, Bronzino was a member of the Accademia Fiorentina and well known by its members for his knowledge of Petrarch and Dante. The model for burlesque poetry in Bronzino s time was Francesco Berni and Bronzino made notable use of his style. Berni skilfully used complicated burlesque language to tell an obscene story about a seemingly mundane object and deride the presiding influence of Petrachism. These characteristics are found in Bronzino s poetry, specifically in his poem, Del pennello and his parodies of Dantean and Petrarchan themes. Parker finds in Bronzino s obscenity and absurdity, the desire to create ambiguity. Bronzino was completely aware of the burlesque linguistic code, but limiting the reading of his poetry to a strict decryption takes away from the multiple, but not so exact, meanings Bronzino seems to intend. The capitoli display Bronzino s ability to mock, entertain, eroticize and be utterly honest. Parker urges that more attention be paid to the possibly subversive elements in Bronzino s painting: in the Portrait of Giovanni de Medici, the young Giovanni is holding his pet bird, but when considering the many meanings of uccello , and the frequency of its appearance in burlesque poetry, Bronzino, without explicitly admitting anything, allows for an abundance of meanings. Bronzino s canzoniere makes-up the other half of his poetic repertoire. It has received little and unfavourable critical attention in the past, but Parker s re-reading of it as a whole provides useful insight to Bronzino s personal world. Bronzino follows the prevailing anthological practice of his time in not unifying his canzoniere around an amatory theme. Parker notes that approximately one-third of the canzoniere consists of correspondence poems, which actually include the proposte and risposte of Bronzino s correspondents. In his own canzoniere, Bronzino substitutes Petrarch s idea of a great love as the gravitational centre of poetry with the inspiration derived from his loyal group of friends. If in his capitoli Bronzino parodied Petrarchan themes, in his sonnets he shows himself to be a faithful follower. The use of Petrarchan language allowed him access to the upper levels of Florentine society and a vehicle suitable for praising the achievements of his friends and patrons. Parker found that Bronzino s skill in utilizing Petrarchan vocabulary lied not in his ability to recreate it, but in his ability to integrate successfully whole lines and key words into his own poems. She also reflects on the relationship to be deduced from the language Bronzino used to praise Bryan Leferman 314 the Medici in his sonnets and the way of representing them in art. In poetry, as well as in art, Bronzino lavished praise on his patrons, asserting their justness and right to rule, and the poems bring this transaction into greater focus (p. 44). The attention Parker pays to Bronzino s canzoniere and the contrast in his two styles of poetry yield significant meaning. The Bronzino that emerges from the canzoniere is a private one, one that celebrates the lives and achievements of his friends, and one that mourns the passing of many of them. Parker divides the canzoniere in two parts: the first addresses a wide variety of themes; the second consists almost completely of elegiac poems. The capitoli show his public side, his satirical and transgressive side. Parker searches for some deeper meaning in this division and she finds that he praises, he mourns and he criticizes, but he never has the answer and he never reveals what he may really believe. Bronzino becomes one more artist, poet, human being in search of truth, but plagued by a profound sense of loss, alienation, and decline (p. 126). He is thus able to create intricate worlds within his paintings, but the possible meanings are many and he does not provide the answer. Parker s collaborative study of Bronzino s poetry and art also unveils a consistency in his use of superior models. Bronzino was a strong supporter of hard, diligent study based on imitation. He readily incorporated Petrarch, Dante and other classical models into his poetry and critics have long noted Michelangelo s influence on his art. A sort of system emerges. Bronzino seems to delight in the many meanings such allusions lend to his own work. His ability to imitate and adopt are no small part of his art. In one particular capitolo discussed by Parker, he even expresses his doubts concerning the habits of younger artists, their lack of study and their belief in artistic licence, but ends it inconclusively, saying that he does not know if posterity may prefer their style. For Bronzino, Michelangelo is artistic truth and Bronzino stays true to his models, following the examples of those who have done the best, but he does not present us with clear answers. In the final chapter of her book, Parker examines Bronzino s most famous, and possibly most ambiguous painting, the Allegory of Venus, and his poem, Il piato , his longest allegorical poem, in order to better understand relations unexplored in his work. In the poem, Bronzino invokes a number of sources, principally Dante, but does not then use allegory in any consistent way. He is witty and sly; he uses allegory to expose society s hypocrisies, but the images evoked never seem conclusive; there are elements that do not fit into any single interpretation. Parker s analysis reveals that more attention needs to be paid to Bronzino s playfulness, his sexual puns and aimed ambiguity. Parker s exploration of only vaguely surveyed territory provides new, crucial insight into Bronzino s character and tendencies that allow a more BRONZINO: RENAISSANCE PAINTER AS POET 315 unified view of his systematic and complex artistic works. Whether it be the incorporation of other models, his praise of friends and patrons, or a piece that leaves more questions than answers, Bronzino was consistent in his poetry and art: there is no single, overarching approach to art or to life (p. 169). Parker makes a fundamental contribution to the study of Bronzino. As one of the great master painters of the High Renaissance, an integral analysis of all of Bronzino s work was long overdue. Bronzino falls into the limited category of artist-poets; he joins elite company and his poetry is just as important to understanding his character, as is that of Michelangelo. This work will be of great interest to scholars of Italian Renaissance Art History. BRYAN LEFERMAN University of Windsor, Windsor, Ontario 
work_t3dj6knch5bqpfqqhxvh47nyqa	----	The web and its sorceries C U R M U D G E O N C O R N E R The web and its sorceries Giuseppe Longo1 Published online: 15 October 2016 � Springer-Verlag London 2016 Computer networks provide us with enriched possibilities of encounter with those who are distant and those who are different. They grant us access to the entire human knowledge base. The trade of culture, ideas, and things has been at the heart of the highest moments of our history, from Greece to the Italian Renaissance, hubs of highly intense exchanges across the Mediterranean and further. We could do a whole lot more given a lot more speed. Yet, computer networks can also function as an ‘‘average field,’’ in the sense used in physics: When there are too many neighbors, one can no longer find singularities, each of us is grayed out, and average behavior is forced onto everyone. The modes of life are completely changed, and the collective imagination is constantly under the pressure of supposed machines that, since the 1970s, have been pro- mised to replace mankind in all respects. Just like the android in Blade Runner (1982) who develops a relation- ship with Harrison Ford; the android (or gynecoid?) is entirely indistinguishable from a woman in 2019—who in fact is a beautiful actress. Since those decades, banks and post offices have invested in sparing their employees from the onerous work of reading checks and sorting mail, but progress has been extremely modest. Instead, every day we hear: Beware! Accept any working condition and violation of your rights because otherwise, very soon, you will be completely replaced by machines—a fabrication targeting the collective imagination. This replacement of worker by machine has already been happening for decades, thanks to numerically controlled machines in the assembly lines, where the repetitive iteration of gesture is precisely the function of the digital machine. This fabrication also haunts a collective imagination that is adapted to subor- dination to rules, to mechanical evaluation, to governance rather than government. Our replacement will be ever possible, especially if we format human behavior based on the machine: the longer we live in video games, iterating identical actions, the more we’ll be replaceable by machines made to iterate. Continued innovation? Sure, we’re surrounded, inun- dated by thousands of new gadgets, but the techno-scien- tific substrate has been the same for the past 20 years. One of the scientific ideas contributing to this technological avalanche is the discovery of giant magnetoresistance in the 80s by Albert Fert, University of Paris XI, and Peter Grünberg in Jülich, Germany, for which they received the Nobel prize in Physics in 2007. Instantly, companies with their own research departments, especially in the USA, understood the practical significance of the discovery, developed it, and so gave birth to that digital memory which to this day has been doubling in capacity about every two years. Thanks to increasing memory, more data, and more programs are implemented into smaller devices, and a splendid environment of software ‘‘craftsmanship’’ has taken place. But the real scientific discovery, Fert–Grün- berg, is about 30 years old, enriched by original variants of 20 years old programming methods, such as object ori- ented programming, occasionally on top of stochastic methods. If you read news from the late 90s, you will find announcements of projects very similar to the Google Car… What happened to the Google Glasses from 2 years ago? Phantasmagorical promises with some fallback onto & Giuseppe Longo giuseppe.Longo@ens.fr; http://www.di.ens.fr/users/longo 1 CNRS and ENS, 29 rue d’Ulm, 75005 Paris, France 123 AI & Soc (2017) 32:135–136 DOI 10.1007/s00146-016-0678-z http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s00146-016-0678-z&amp;domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s00146-016-0678-z&amp;domain=pdf gadgets that make our car use more or less comfortable. Analogously, flocks of brilliant programmers and players of chess (IBM 1997) and Go (Google 2015) have put into an expanding memory decades of matches played by humans. Very well designed algorithms randomly produce millions of Go strategies per second via the Monte Carlo method (1950), and statistical learning algorithms store the most effective moves based on the context of each game. Thus, those poor chess and Go champions have faced off against storms of human adversaries and decades of strategies, memorized by identically iterating machines, save for the random generation of strategies, and against memorization algorithms of comparative statistics (Deep Learning, 3D neural nets), which was an unquestionable advancement in the art of programming. Obviously, this has nothing to do with the figurative vision of the game, the human ‘‘seeing’’ of configuration dynamics, broadly qual- itative, and an all-human organization of the otherwise pointless combinatorics of the game. But perhaps the greatest irony of this entirely con- structed, assumed, and menacing humiliation of mankind, this publicity scoop for those who believe in it, is the latest fashion of a a-scientific Data Mining in Big Data—some call it ‘‘agnostic science’’, science with no knowledge. This should predict and guide actions within any dynamic of life, without the need for hypotheses, theories, under- standing, knowledge (Anderson 2008). Big Data and the techniques of statistical analysis provide a huge opportu- nity, if these are leveraged to produce hypotheses, evaluate theories, and offer new ones. Instead, following a trend that has spread virally, these techniques are said to optimize— i.e., minimize the need for—thought, reducing it to zero: When databases are large enough, ‘‘Correlation supersedes causation, and science can advance even without coherent models, unified theories’’. The bigger the database, by yottabytes upon yottabytes, the less it is necessary to think: Machines will discovery regularities that science will not, to a degree that is sufficient for prediction and action—‘‘we kill people based on metadata,’’ declared the ex-director of the CIA, M. Hayden, in a recent debate. Fortunately, mathematics allows us to prove the absurdity of such claims. C. Calude, a mathematician from the University of Auckland (NZ), and I proved their absurdity in an article that is simple but built on classic non-trivial results—‘‘The Deluge of Spurious Correlations in Big Data.’’ (2016) In brief, for any given ‘‘regular correspondence between numbers,’’ there exists an integer size N, such that every set with N elements contains that correspondence. Thus, authors of algorithms who deny thought, who intentionally ignore algorithm theory, ergodic theory, and numerical combinatorics, which we invoke in the article, come up against the intrinsic limits that these theories are able to prove: Randomness inevitably seeps into large sets of numbers, making prediction impossible, unless one estab- lishes a prior rule that prescribes what matters and what could be useful for prediction. In other words, any suffi- ciently large dataset contains arbitrary—hence spurious— correlations. So much for Big Data without science. The power of scientific knowledge is also that of being able to prove the inherent limits of each theory, of explaining the perspective that allows the carrying out of science: whoever says that they can understand or accomplish everything using just one tool or concept, like DNA, or algorithms… will surely be wrong. Curmudgeon Corner Curmudgeon Corner is a short opinionated column on trends in technology, arts, science and society, commenting on issues of concern to the research community and wider society. Whilst the drive for super-human intelligence promotes potential benefits to wider society, it also raises deep concerns of existential risk, thereby highlighting the need for an ongoing con- versation between technology and society. At the core of Curmudgeon concern is the question: What is it to be human in the age of the AI machine? -Editor. Acknowledgments Extracted from Bartolini (2016), interview to the author. Translated by Gabriele Carotti-Sha. References Anderson C (2008) The end of theory: the data deluge makes the scientific method obsolete. Wired. https://www.wired.com/2008/ 06/pb-theory/. 27 June 2008 Bartolini P (2016) Complessità, scienza e democrazia (Complexity, science and democracy), interview with Giuseppe Longo. Globalist. http://megachip.globalist.it/Detail_News_Display?ID =125846&typeb=0&complessita-scienza-e-democrazia. 5 Oct 2016 Calude CS, Longo G (2016) The deluge of spurious correlations in big data. Found Sci. doi:10.1007/s10699-016-9489-4 136 AI & Soc (2017) 32:135–136 123 https://www.wired.com/2008/06/pb-theory/ https://www.wired.com/2008/06/pb-theory/ http://megachip.globalist.it/Detail_News_Display%3fID%3d125846%26typeb%3d0%26complessita-scienza-e-democrazia http://megachip.globalist.it/Detail_News_Display%3fID%3d125846%26typeb%3d0%26complessita-scienza-e-democrazia http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s10699-016-9489-4 The web and its sorceries Acknowledgments References 
work_t3ltsd5vgbea5j4bzaesckjc7q	----	MLN 133 (2018): 48–63 © 2018 by Johns Hopkins University Press Boiardo and Ariosto in Contemporary Sicilian Puppet Theater and the Tuscan-Emilian Epic Maggio ❦ Jo Ann Cavallo Characters from medieval and Renaissance chivalric texts have been given tangible form through the centuries not only in operatic, melo- dramatic, theatrical and, more recently, cinematic adaptations, but also in popular performance traditions such as Sicilian puppet theater (opera dei pupi) and the folk operas (maggi epici) of the Tuscan-Emilian Apennines. This essay traces the reimagining of a sampling of non- Christian characters and non-European places from Matteo Maria Boiardo’s Orlando Innamorato and Ludovico Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso by a number of contemporary puppet theater and maggio companies. My contention is that an examination of select scenes available online, in conjunction with a close reading of the original episodes, may help students think more deeply about perennial issues addressed in the two poems—related to gender roles, the foreign and religious Other, violence, and political power—that continue to be relevant today.1 1The links for the videos discussed in the essay will be provided in the following end- notes. There is additional material from both traditions (scripts, videos of performances, interviews, photographs) in the database eBOIARDO: https://edblogs.columbia.edu/ eboiardo/. All links are current as of 24 February 2018. 49M L N Sicilian puppet theater No art form has devoted as sustained and elaborate attention to the Orlando Innamorato and the  Orlando Furioso  as Sicilian puppet theater.2 Although today we are past the time when Orlando and his fellow knights relived their adventures  a puntate  every evening in teatrini across Sicily and beyond, we can still encounter puppeteers, especially in Palermo, Catania, and Siracusa, who regularly present episodes from the two poems. The plays may be adapted for audi- ences who are no longer familiar with the original stories, but the puppeteers themselves have an intimate knowledge of their sources and make meaningful choices as they adapt narratives for the stage.3 Angelica The two most popular plays performed in Sicily today are the Innamorato’s battle between Rinaldo and Orlando for Angelica and the Furioso’s madness of Orlando. Since Angelica is central to both episodes, these plays offer ample material for a comparative examina- tion of her character in contemporary Sicilian puppet theater. Regarding Angelica’s physical features, neither Boiardo nor Ariosto exoticize her beauty and a longstanding Italian and European artistic tradition has for the most part represented her with European features and dress. Most traditional Sicilian puppeteers have followed suit—with one difference. Although both Boiardo and Ariosto refer to Angelica as a blonde, matching Italian Renaissance standards for ideal beauty, most of the Angelicas I have encountered when attending puppet plays and visiting puppet museums in Sicily since 2000 have had dark brown hair, possibly reflecting the more Mediterranean colors of Sicilian women.4 When I asked members of the traditional public to 2For a comprehensive overview of Sicilian puppet theater, see the studies of Pasqualino, in particular L’opera dei pupi and Le vie del cavaliere dall’epica medievale alla cultura popolare. 3Most often their source is Lo Dico’s La storia dei paladini di Francia, a 3000-page prose compilation first published 1858–1860 and still considered la bibbia dei pupari. Some intrepid puppeteers also go back to the original medieval and Renaissance sources while others are content adapting the scripts of their predecessors. My intention in this paper, in any case, is not to investigate which version of the story lies behind any particular play, but to give an idea of material based on the Innamorato and the Furioso available for classroom discussion. I therefore refer directly to Boiardo and Ariosto when examining the plays without considering Lo Dico’s prose rendition. 4Students can compare Angelica puppets in versions of Orlando e Rinaldo per la bella Angelica by Enzo Mancuso’s Compagnia Carlo Magno, Nino Cuticchio’s Teatro Ippog- rifo, and the Associazione Culturale Agramante di Vincenzo Argento e Figli, as well as in the puppet plays discussed below. See eBOIARDO, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/ eboiardo/sicilian-puppet-theater/puppet-plays/. 50 JO ANN CAVALLO describe Angelica, the reply was invariably that she was beautiful, tout court. Nor did her clothing set her apart as a foreigner. As the pup- peteer Enzo Rossi explained, the traditional puppeteer’s wife simply made sure that Angelica had the most elaborate and exquisite outfit.5 One can also find exceptions to the general Europeanization of Angelica. The puppeteer Enzo Mancuso (Associazione Carlo Magno, Palermo) remembers that his uncle constructed a brown-toned Angel- ica, remarking: “Questa è una Angelica che mio zio ha visto sempre così, ha visto sempre mulatta perché giustamente è indiana.”6 The puppeteer Alfredo Mauceri (Compagnia dei Pupari Vaccaro-Mauceri, Siracusa) decided to render more visible Angelica’s foreign status initially by constructing an Indian Angelica—complete with a bindi, nose earring, and henna tattoo—and subsequently by dressing her in Middle Eastern garb that, as the puppeteer himself explains, “non è certo un abito tipico del Catai, ma ciò consente di distinguerla dagli abiti europei indossati dalle altre dame.”7 In addition to giving Angelica a physical form, puppeteers also develop her character through action and dialogue. The question my students have found most compelling has been whether the plays pick up on and accentuate her more dangerous and seduc- tive connotations or whether they instead bring her more in line with traditional precepts for female conduct. Most Sicilian puppet plays I’ve been able to film tend to temper her more compromising moments, perhaps to avoid any behavior that would be considered outside accepted norms. Regarding, for example, the staging of the Innamorato’s opening scene in Charlemagne’s court, the puppeteer Salvatore Oliveri (Compagnia Gaspare Canino di Salvatore Oliveri, Alcamo) depicts Angelica remaining silently at the side of her brother as he alone addresses Charlemagne and proposes a joust (“Angelica’s entrance”).8 The fact that Argalia offers his sister’s hand in marriage to the winner of the tournament also lessens the scandalous nature of Angelica’s original proposal in which not only did she do all the talking while her brother stood by in silence, but she also invented a 5See eBOIARDO, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/interview-with-enzo-rossi/, “On the Angelica puppet.” 6See eBOIARDO, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/sicilian-puppet-theater/ interviews/nino-and-enzo-mancuso/, “Enzo Mancuso shows his uncle’s [Indian] An- gelica puppet.” 7His fuller comments can be found in Cavallo, “Encountering Saracens” 170–72. 8See eBOIARDO, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/sicilian-puppet-theater/ puppet-plays/storia-dei-paladini-oliveri/. 51M L N false tale of woe to elicit pity and then openly offered her body (“la mia persona”) without any reference to marriage (OI 1.1.28). When Oliveri subsequently gives voice to Angelica’s thoughts via a soliloquy, the princess explains that she fell in love with Rinaldo at first sight (thus eliminating Boiardo’s recourse to the fonte dell’amore) and plans to beg her father for his hand in marriage when he arrives in Cathay as a prisoner (Angelica’s soliloquy).9 A particularly beautiful and stately Angelica can be found in the plays performed by Girolamo Cuticchio and his sons, Carmelo, Giacomo, and Franco (Teatroarte Cuticchio, Palermo). In a play entitled La morte di Truffaldino, Angelica can be seen falling in love with Rinaldo thanks to the fonte dell’amore (“Rinaldo e Angelica alle due fonti”), rescuing Rinaldo from the equivalent of the Rocca Crudele (“Angelica salva Rinaldo”), addressing her defenders at Albraca (“Angelica e Astolfo ad Albraca”), and rescuing Orlando from Dragontina’s palace (“Angelica e Orlando al giardino di Dragantina”).10 While her agency is consistently foregrounded, the scenes depicting her penchant for Rinaldo also contain a touch of humor. No doubt some measure of the comical effect for contemporary audiences is due to the fact that Angelica speaks in the puppeteer’s falsetto voice according to the tradition of Palermo, but the enamored princess’s verbal exchanges with Rinaldo may also be designed to induce laughter, as when the no longer enamored knight responds to her: “Tu sei la mia desiderata Angelica? Il tuo sguardo mi sembra quello di una belva feroce!”11 In the Catanian tradition of the Marionettistica dei Fratelli Napoli, female roles are spoken by women, lending a softer touch to Angelica’s character. In the scene from the Orlando Furioso in which Angelica and her beloved Medoro take leave of the shepherds who have sheltered them, the princess commands attention through her regal bearing and authority as Medoro stands silently by her side. Comic relief is provided instead by the banter of their rustic hosts (“Angelica and Medoro take leave of their shepherd hosts”).12 Angelica has also recently been used in puppet theater in less conventional ways. The Compagnia dei Pupari Vaccaro-Mauceri who, as mentioned above, has brought us an Indian and Middle Eastern 9Ibid. 10The four videos are available on eBOIARDO: https://edblogs.columbia.edu/ eboiardo/sicilian-puppet-theater/puppet-plays/morte-di-truffaldino/. 11“Rinaldo e Angelica alle due fonti,” in particular 3:18–5:00. 12See eBOIARDO, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/sicilian-puppet-theater/ puppet-plays/amore-e-follia/. 52 JO ANN CAVALLO Angelica, has also added a soliloquy not to reveal the princess’s own personal romantic desires (see Oliveri’s Angelica above) but rather to expose the contradictions in the militancy of the Christian political establishment and even to question the existence of God. When early in the play, entitled Angelica, la fuga, the bishop Turpino censures Angelica in the presence of Charlemagne for having created discord among the Christian knights (“Dio vi ha castigato per il male che avete fatto”), she initially responds by placing responsibility upon her father and considering herself a victim of her beauty (“vittima della mia bellezza”). After she has escaped from Namo’s tent in a subse- quent scene, however, Angelica further reflects on Turpino’s statement regarding God’s punishment of her alleged misdeeds, reframing it to question its premises given the losses suffered by Christian troops at the hands of Agramante’s army: “Ma che Dio è quel Dio che castiga i propri seguaci, che permette ad un uomo di uccidere un altro uomo senza muovere un solo dito? Dicono che esiste, ma io non lo vedo.” 13 The evil, in this case, is not an alluring damsel, but rather the unchecked tendency within mankind to aggress against others and wage war.14 Angelica can say this without contradiction in the context of the play because Galafrone’s original plan to imprison all the knights who are enticed to fight in the Parisian joust is not disclosed. The company’s unorthodox presentation of Angelica continues when the maiden encounters Medoro, a darker-toned puppet with a white robe and turban.15 The couple meets at night, near a well, with stars in the background. After Angelica has healed Medoro, the latter expresses the first stirrings of an emotion that will lead to their future union: “Sento qualcosa nascere dentro di me, non so se gratitudine o qualcosa di più grande; il tempo mi darà la risposta.” They almost 13See eBOIARDO, “Angelica encounters the wounded footsoldier Medoro,” in particular 00–1:46, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/sicilian-puppet-theater/ puppet-plays/angelica-la-fuga/. 14A questioning of the violence underpinning the epic genre (and of historical war- fare, more generally) can be found in other contemporary plays. Giacomo Cuticchio’s Il Viaggio di Astolfo sulla luna, for example, includes a reflection voiced by Astolfo from the vantage point of the moon that reminded one of my students of John Lennon’s Imagine: “Se gli uomini comprendessero i mali che fanno sulla terra, si potrebbe vivere in pace, senza guerra, senza offendersi l’un con l’altro, senza esserci bisogno di lottare per aiutare i giusti e i deboli.” See eBOIARDO. https://edblogs.columbia. edu/eboiardo/sicilian-puppet-theater/puppet-plays/viaggio-di-astolfo /, “Astolfo on the moon,” 2:35–3:13. 15See eBOIARDO, “Angelica encounters the wounded footsoldier Medoro,” in par- ticular 1:46–5:26. https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/sicilian-puppet-theater/ puppet-plays/angelica-la-fuga/. 53M L N kiss before exiting arm in arm. The performance steers clear of the sexuality central to Ariosto’s episode and places the emphasis instead on the value of individual sentiments in opposition to the earlier pro- nouncements of Church (represented by the Bishop Turpino) and State (represented by the Emperor Charlemagne) attacking Angelica’s disruptive female beauty. The most iconoclastic representation of Angelica, however, is that of Onofrio Sanicola, who portrays her as an overtly sexualized figure with partially exposed breasts.16 In the play La pazzia di Orlando, while Orlando sleeps in the foreground, Angelica has a sexual tryst with Medoro rendered through slow, stylized dance-like motions as romantic music and soft lights help to set the mood.17 And onstage sex between puppets is not the only surprise. Taking seriously Medoro’s origin as a Moor and rank as foot soldier, Sanicola represents him through one of the small anonymous Saracen puppets generally brought on stage to die after a few sword strokes (these are commonly referred to as a suddateddu d’incolpo, or “little soldier who dies at the first hit”) (Figure 1). Does the scene promote diversity through its biracial sex scene? Does it attempt to adhere more faithfully to the stated origin of Medoro as a Moor from Africa? Or does it mean to further justify Orlando’s ensuing insanity in the context of the play just as Ariosto used Medoro’s designation as an “african,” a “vilissimo barbaro,” and a “Saracino” (OF 42.38–40) to motivate Rinaldo’s rage upon finding out the news of Angelica’s sexual automony? My students have had various reactions.18 Agramante’s Biserta In an original play entitled L’Oro dei Napoli, staged by the Marionet- tistica dei Fratelli Napoli, family members from the only company of pupari remaining in Catania share and reenact their memories as they perform segments of puppet plays predominantly dealing with the final battle of three against three on the island of Lampedusa (referred to as Lipadusa in Ariosto’s poem). In the process, King Agramante’s attempt to prevent the destruction of his North African kingdom 16The fact of not being a “figlio d’arte,” as Sanicola immigrated to Milan in his youth and acquired the theater of a retired puppeteer in the late 1980s, has perhaps spurred his willingness to defy puppet theater convention. 17See eBOIARDO, in particular 1:14–3:48, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/ sicilian-puppet-theater/puppet-plays/pazzia-di-orlando/. 18For some student’s responses to this play, as well as to the Vaccaro-Mauceri play discussed above, see Cavallo, “Encountering Saracens.” 54 JO ANN CAVALLO parallels the efforts of the puppeteer Natale Napoli and his family to forestall the demise of traditional puppet theater in eastern Sicily.19 The play’s opening puppet theater sequence moves from the sight of Biserta in flames to Agramante’s grief and desperation as he observes the devastation of his capital city from nearby Lampedusa (“Battle of Lampedusa I”).20 After Sobrino and Gradasso arrive in the nick of time to prevent his suicide and instill new hope, Agramante is persuaded to challenge Charlemagne to a decisive battle between each side’s three greatest champions to determine the outcome of the war. The other puppet present in the scene is a common soldier who will be sent by Agramante to Biserta as a messenger. Staging the sequence from Agramante’s point of view, with added pathos elicited by his very position of standing by helplessly as his 19For a review of the overall play based on its 2002 debut, see Cavallo, “L’Oro dei Napoli.” 20See eBOIARDO, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/sicilian-puppet-theater/ puppet-plays/oro-dei-napoli/. Figure 1. Angelica and Medoro in La pazzia di Orlando, by the Teatro drammatico dei pupi di Onofrio Sanicola, reproduced with the kind permission of Onofrio Sanicola. 55M L N homeland goes up in flames, may already seem to go against the grain by granting center stage to the Saracen perspective. Yet an even more surprising move is in store for the public in the next scene when the puppet who had previously figured as Agramante’s lowly messenger addresses the public directly in a soliloquy (he will be the only puppet accorded this privileged role in the course of the play) (“L’Oro dei Napoli, Messenger’s Soliloquy I”).21 The soldier, like Sanicola’s Medoro puppet, is a small-framed Moorish suddateddu d’incolpo, suggesting his low social status. This contrasts with the elevated role afforded him in the production in which he returns periodically as the spokesperson for, variously, a downtrodden Catanian society, a destroyed puppet theater tradition, and a disenfranchised global population. In his first speech, the common soldier acts as a witness not only to the annihila- tion of Agramante’s Biserta, but also to the cessation of Sicilian puppet theater in 1950s Catania. In this, his function is parallel to that of the Napoli family members who also bear witness to the same history. By the end of the play it becomes clear that the family’s identifica- tion with the Saracens is not tied to any particular cultural or religious preference, but to their position as defeated and powerless underdogs in the final cantos of Ariosto’s poem. The play creates connections to Christian characters in their suffering as well. In another segment, for instance, after Alessandro Napoli notes that the traditional working- class public identified with Rinaldo as a fellow victim of injustice, the family performs the heartbreaking farewell between Rinaldo and his wife Clarice after Charlemagne has unjustly condemned him to exile upon the treacherous instigation of Gano (“Rinaldo exiled, from ‘L’Oro dei Napoli’”).22 In addition, in the play’s climactic scene, the tragic death of Brandimarte during the battle leads to a symbolic merg- ing of the fallen warrior with Natale Napoli who, as his widow explains, suffered a heart attack while performing the episode precisely on the island of Lampedusa in 1978 (“Battle of Lampedusa II”).23 The play concludes organically merging puppeteers and puppets as both take part in Brandimarte’s funeral procession (“Battle of Lampedusa III”).24 After the family’s exit, the only figure still onstage is their erstwhile spokesperson, the lowly Saracen soldier, now seated in the chair that various family members had used during the performance, ominously silent with no one left to give him voice and gestures. 21Ibid. 22Ibid. 23Ibid. 24Ibid., in particular 1:11–3:11. 56 JO ANN CAVALLO The Tuscan-Emilian epic maggio The maggio epico, also called maggio drammatico to distinguish it from maggi lirici (springtime festival songs), has recently been shown to have antecedents dating back to the Renaissance, but in its current form is documented in the Tuscan-Emilian Apennines from the late 1700s.25 The plays, generally performed in a natural outdoor setting on a summer Sunday afternoon, consist of singers dramatizing stories with choreographed battles using swords and shields in a symbolic contest between good and evil. Unlike opera lirica with its sophisti- cated and virtually unlimited variety of melodies, this popular form of opera depends almost exclusively on the same melody which is used throughout for singing quatrains, occasionally interspersed with two additional melodies for the five-verse sonetto or arietta, in dramatic or joyous moments, and for the ottava rima, generally reserved for the most emotionally-charged or tragic scenes. The Reggio Emilia Apennines in particular feature adaptations of medieval and Renaissance chivalric epics pitting Christian paladins against Saracen foes.26 The distinguishing characteristics between the Saracen and Christian knights are simple variations in the maggerino’s costume and shield design, while the female damsels don Renaissance- style gowns regardless of origin or creed. The Saracens, like their Christian counterparts, are portrayed by maggerini who remain rec- ognizable as members of the community, without make-up or masks. The company best known for its epic productions, the Compagnia Maggistica Monte Cusna di Asta (from the outskirts of Villa Minozzo [RE]), regularly performs maggi based on Boiardo and Ariosto: Luca Sillari’s Orlando Innamorato and the anonymous Rodomonte, respectively. Both maggi feature female Saracen characters, Angelica in the first and Doralice in the second, who take on a role that goes beyond—or even against—their depiction in the original poems. Angelica in the maggio Orlando Innamorato Luca Sillari’s maggio Orlando Innamorato gives ample space to five female characters, Bradamante and Fiordelisa on the Christian side, and Angelica, Marfisa, and Dragontina among the non-Christians. 25For the epic maggio’s forerunners in sixteenth-century Tuscany, see Feo. For the tradition as it developed over the last two centuries, see in particular Fioroni and Vez- zani; Giusti; Magrini; and Vezzani. 26As Fontana remarks: “Sono queste le terre dove ancora risuona la tromba epica del Boiardo e dell’Ariosto, i due più grandi poeti reggiani di tutti i tempi” (14). 57M L N Angelica sets off the action in the maggio, as she does in Boiardo’s poem, by proposing a joust, but from the start Sillari portrays a human- ized and more openly sympathetic character by eliminating both the false story of Angelica’s expulsion from her realm and Galafrone’s duplicitous plan to use his daughter to capture and imprison the jousting knights (“Arrival of Angelica”).27 When Ferraguto declares his infatuation, Angelica reflects upon the deceptive nature of love itself: “spesso il cuor segue un miraggio / certo sei di ciò che vuole?” (19). Whereas in the poem Angelica simply flees the violent combat between Ferraguto and her brother, in the maggio she shows greater concern for her sibling. Seeing that Argalia cannot prevail against the fierce Ferraguto with his enchanted armor, Angelica magically places the Spanish knight in a dreamlike state and commands the wind to transport him to the Arden Wood. Although, as in the poem, her magic is powerless to release her from loving Rinaldo, she later uses it to the advantage of all those entrapped in Dragontina’s garden in a way that develops the Boiardan episode in a new direction. Dragontina’s garden is one of the pivotal sites of Boiardo’s poem, involving various characters who arrive at different moments. The site is not only likewise central to Sillari’s maggio, dominating the action in five scenes between stanza 56 and stanza 192 in a 250-stanza work, but it is further elaborated through additional features with markedly symbolic meanings. First of all, the episode is distanced from any connection to the conflict between Christian Europe and the Saracen world beyond its borders. This move away from inter-religious hostility was already present at various moments in Boiardo’s original, from the imprisoned knights who didn’t remember whether they were “saracino, o cristïano” (OI 1.9.73), to a chivalrous Ranaldo’s plea for Fiordelisa to tell him what distressed her “per lo Iddio del celo, e per Macone” (OI 1.11.47), to the liberated knights’ willingness to help Angelica in a defensive war in Albraca that cut across religious lines (OI 1.14.49). In Sillari’s rendition, the rejection of collective identities is even more explicitly stated in an ottava rima exchange between Brandimarte and Fiordelisa prior to approaching Dragontina’s garden. When the knight tells his beloved that he must go fight against a threat from the East—“Di andare in guerra io non son contento / Da Oriente viene una minaccia ardita” (76)—the wise maiden immediately rejects distinctions based on geographical origins in recognition of the com- 27See eBOIARDO, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/epic-maggio/perform- ances/maggio-orlando-innamorato/. 58 JO ANN CAVALLO mon humanity of all: “Oriente ed Occidente pari sono / Se al centro della vita poni l’uomo” (“Dragontina’s Palace III”).28 Second, Sillari adds a scene not present in the poem in which the Christian Brada- mante and the Saracen Marfisa initially meet and engage in combat to test their valor in quintessential Arthurian fashion, after which, at Fiordelisa’s urging, they agree to join forces against Dragontina in order to help those in need (117–126; “Dragontina’s Palace IV”).29 The fact that the two donne guerriere are of different faiths is of no apparent consequence. Finally, the Cathayan princess herself, through her enhanced role in the episode, substitutes distinctions based on religion or geography with the division between good and evil actions on the part of individuals. In Boiardo’s poem, Angelica heads to Dragontina’s garden out of self-interest when she decides to enlist Orlando in her defense at Albraca. She learns of Fiordelisa’s predicament in a Circassian tower in which they are both captured (OI 1.14.34–37), but then escapes alone thanks to the magic ring that renders her invisible and eventu- ally destroys Dragontina’s garden. Fiordelisa, who had been heading to the garden with Ranaldo before she was kidnapped and imprisoned in the tower, is rescued by the paladin outside Falerina’s garden in Orgagna, and she eventually leads him to the location of Dragontina’s garden, only to find that it has vanished. In Sillari’s maggio, Fiordelisa, Rinaldo, and Angelica are all involved in the episode, albeit in different ways. Fiordelisa twice asks Rinaldo to liberate Dragontina’s prisoners, but both times he refuses, citing more urgent missions. In response to Fiordelisa’s initial plea for help (“Dragontina’s Palace V”),30 he recalls his previous vow to challenge the treacherous Truffaldino for the murder of Albarosa (142) (“Dragontina’s Palace III”).31 Fiordelisa accordingly leads him to Truffaldino, who in the meantime has taken Angelica captive via trickery (“Truffaldino I”).32 After Rinaldo kills the traitor and frees Angelica, Fiordelisa renews her request for his assis- tance, informing him that Orlando is among Dragontina’s imprisoned knights (“Truffaldino II”).33 When Angelica proposes a joint rescue 28Ibid., in particular 00:36–2:40. Fiordelisa is the poem’s foremost figure of knowledge (Cavallo, The World Beyond Europe 218). Sillari imagines that she and Brandimarte are already Christian in order to avoid any incongruency with their status in the Rodomonte (according to author’s personal communication). 29See eBOIARDO, in particular 0:00–00:59, https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/ epic-maggio/performances/maggio-orlando-innamorato/. 30Ibid. 31Ibid. 32Ibid. 33Ibid. 59M L N effort (“liberiamo i paladini”), Rinaldo replies that his more pressing duty is to return to France to save Charlemagne from Gradasso and he advises Angelica to forget him (“risana ogni ferita / Scordandoti di me” [168]). Placing the chivalric code before her personal emo- tions, Angelica sets off for Dragontina’s garden, effectively taking on the role of Fiordelisa’s champion that Ranaldo had filled in the Innamorato episode. The ensuing confrontation between Angelica and Dragontina is undoubtedly the most memorable moment of the episode, and per- haps of the entire maggio. In the poem, Angelica furtively enters the garden and uses her magic ring to mentally liberate Orlando, who then releases the other enchanted knights. As a result of the ring’s spell- breaking properties, Dragontina and her garden suddenly disappear (OI 1.14.47). In the maggio, however, Dragontina is a more maleficent opponent who is also harder to defeat. Indeed, she imprisons not only Orlando (“Dragontina’s Palace I”) and Brandimarte (“Dragontina’s Palace II”), but subsequently also Marfisa and Bradamante by using the two enamored knights as her champions against the newcomers (“Dragontina’s Palace IV”).34 Thus when Angelica is led by Fiordelisa to the site, she will need to save not only Orlando and Brandimarte, but the poem’s two formidable donne guerriere as well. Although Rinaldo had earlier stated that only Angelica’s magic could prevail against Dragontina’s wiles (140), the spell-breaking ring is not sufficient to destroy the garden. After Angelica and Fiordelisa set Marfisa and Bradamante free (“Dragontina’s Palace VI”),35 and Angelica uses her ring to bring the enamored knights to their senses, Dragontina con- jures up a tempest that reduces the knights to “inermi bambinelli” writhing on the ground in pain (174–175). With the knights’ valor thus undermined, Angelica must come up with a way to save them using weapons in her own arsenal. She thus challenges Dragontina to a duel of magic which begins when the fairy calls upon a fire-breathing dragon from the inferno and orders it to direct its rage against the maiden (177–178) (“Dragontina’s Palace VII”).36 Angelica, in turn, brings forth a lion from the Black Mountains. While Dragontina’s “rettile fatato” is the essence of evil (“d’ogni male ha in se l’essenza”), Angelica’s lion is armed with an instinct for survival (180–181) and carries positive symbolic connotations (one may think of C.S. Lewis’s 34Ibid. 35Ibid. 36Ibid. 60 JO ANN CAVALLO choice of a lion as the savior figure in The Chronicles of Narnia). In this way, what was originally an episode in which Angelica turned a situation to her advantage thanks to her magic ring, here becomes a fierce conflict between two creatures symbolizing moral opposites. Through her victory, the Saracen Angelica not only liberates all the knights, but also represents the triumph of good over evil. Dragontina dies filled with ire and cursing those present in a final ottava rima imprecation that concludes with the hope of seeing them all in hell by winter (183). Angelica, on the other hand, shows no rancor toward her defeated opponent and focuses instead on the knights’ newfound freedom: “morta è ormai la poverina / Cavalier liberi siete” (184). In the poem, after Angelica frees Orlando she immediately enlists him to help defend her against Agricane at Alb- raca. In the maggio, however, she responds to Orlando’s declaration of love (“da una donna fui salvato / Da colei che il cuor mio brama”) with a confession of her past deceit and an admonition to forget her: “Non guardar più quella dama / Che colei ti ha un dì ingannato” (187). Not only does Angelica come clean with Orlando and refuse to capitalize on the situation, but she goes on to sing an ottava rima (her final verses in the maggio) in which she considers herself “prigioniera di una triste sorte” and takes leave of everyone to go “per il mondo [ . . . ] errando” (188). Her words are enough to cure the knight of his lovesickness, and he is apparently thereby also spared the trouble of going insane from jealousy in the future. As he confides to Bran- dimarte: “Più non ci sarà fanciulla / Che potrà rubarmi il cuore / Penso a Carlo imperatore” (190). Doralice in the maggio Rodomonte Angelica is physically absent from the Ariostan text regularly performed by the same company of maggerini in Asta, entitled Rodomonte. This is not for lack of space, since the anonymous maggio, consisting of 554 stanzas in its unabridged form, devotes substantial attention to the vicissitudes of other Saracen characters who are developed, moreover, in their own right and not treated simply as enemies of the Christian heroes.37 The prominence of the Saracens is suggested by the maggio’s 37The maggio was first transcribed by the company’s capomaggio (director) Giordano Zambonini in 1975. The unabridged version, which takes around five hours to com- plete, was last performed in 2000, but was not videotaped. The version available on eBOIARDO is an abridged version from 2005. For a comparison of the Rodomonte with a more conservative maggio, Romolo Fioroni’s Roncisvalle, regularly performed by a neighboring maggio company, see Cavallo, “National Political Ideologies.” 61M L N very title, which replaces Orlando’s name with that of the fierce Alge- rian warrior king. The maggio goes on to feature episodes that place Christians and Saracens in analogous situations. For example, after Orlando arrives at the tree inscribed with the names of his beloved Angelica and her lover Medoro and thereby loses his sanity (23–34), Rodomonte learns that his betrothed Doralice prefers another and thus perhaps even more visibly than in the original poem parallels Orlando in his madness (119–124, 128–129). The Rodomonte’s most novel treatment of a Saracen character, however, is that of the Span- ish princess herself, whose rapport with Mandricardo comprises one of the most developed episodes in the maggio. The action begins with Charlemagne’s announcement that King Agramante has invaded his territory motivated by a desire for revenge, leaving out the question of their different religious creeds (“Carlom- agno on Agramante’s attack”).38 We then move directly to the Saracen side: surrounded by the Christian army, Agramante sends a messenger to look for military support (“Agramante sends messenger for rein- forcements”),39 while Doralice warns her new beau Mandricardo that her old flame Rodomonte is drawing near (“Doralice warns Mandri- cardo of Rodomonte’s approach”).40 As in the poem, the two knights engage in battle until Agramante’s messenger arrives and Doralice beseeches them to stop fighting and lend a hand to the Saracen cause (“Rodomonte fights Mandricardo”).41 Having omitted the episode of Mandricardo’s ruthless abduction of Doralice in the original poem, however, the maggio sets out right from this initial scene to underscore the tender affection between the two lovers and to document in par- ticular the maiden’s concern for her knight’s well-being. In the ensuing episode at Agramante’s camp in which Doralice is compelled to choose between the two rivals, the maggio continues to treat her bond with Mandricardo as more than sexual (“Doralice chooses Mandricardo over Rodomonte”).42 Whereas Ariosto remarks that the Tartar lord’s confidence in being chosen was due to the fact that “più fïate e più di piatto / con lei fu mentre il sol stava sotterra” (OF 27.106.6–7), the maggio’s Doralice explains instead to Mandricardo that her choice was the will of their God: “Fu del ciel l’alto decreto / fu voler del nostro Dio” (125). Their sanctioned union is marked by 38See eBOIARDO. https://edblogs.columbia.edu/eboiardo/rodomonte/. 39Ibid. 40Ibid. 41Ibid. 42Ibid. 62 JO ANN CAVALLO the singing of two ariette, the verse form that is used sparingly in the maggio tradition to underscore either dramatic or joyous moments: Doralice Unico mio tesoro amato e dolce bene da mille e più catene i nostri cuor legò i nostri cuor legò. (126) Mandricardo In te confido ormai tutti gli affetti miei la sposa mia tu sei la pace del mio cuor la pace del mio cuor. (127) The maggio departs most substantially from Ariosto’s treatment of Doralice as superficial and sensuous in the subsequent episode of Mandricardo’s death (“Ruggiero fights Mandricardo”).43 In the origi- nal poem, after Ruggiero delivers a fatal blow to his Tartar opponent, Doralice’s tears mean nothing since, the narrator suggests in an aside, she might already be enlisting Ruggiero to satisfy her sexual needs if it weren’t so unseemly: “Proveder le convien d’un che gagliardo / sia notte e dí ne’ suoi bisogni” (OF 30.73.3–4). The maggio, by contrast, transforms Ariosto’s fickle Doralice into a model of devotion and supplies the heartfelt lament missing from the poem that culminates in another pair of ariette, this time in tragic tones: Doralice Ah! qual barbara sorte il ciel mi ha destinato veder lo sposo amato che giace estinto al suol che giace estinto al suol. Ah! caro amato bene mai più ti vedrò io oh! Caro sposo mio voglio morir con te voglio morir con te (167–168) Doralice’s final words in the maggio, in response to Marsilio’s plea that she resign herself to the will of the gods, is her declaration that “Il dolor mi stringe al cuore / e rapisce i sensi miei” (169). Whereas Ariosto’s narrator surmised that Doralice’s sentiments went no further 43Ibid. 63M L N than her physical pleasure, in the maggio, on the contrary, the pain of grief takes over her entire being. Doralice’s sincere love for Man- dricardo not only lends greater humanity to both Saracen characters throughout the extended sequence, but at its tragic conclusion elicits complicity and compassion, rather than a distainful chuckle, on the part of the spectator. In conclusion, the continued adaptation of Boiardo’s Orlando Innamorato and Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso in popular performance tradi- tions half a millennium after their original appearance is a testament to both the lasting appeal of these poems and the perennial issues they evoke. Although folk traditions have often been considered a conservative form of cultural expression in that they purportedly aim to convey values passed down from previous generations, even a brief look at contemporary puppet plays and epic maggi shows that the representation of the traditional Saracen enemy—and of the world beyond Christian Europe in general—is anything but a uniform or static re-enactment. While both traditions inherited a backdrop presupposing conflict between Christians and Saracens, we can find performances (especially, but not only, recent ones) that actively question confrontations based on ethnicity or religion, chal- lenge conventional societal attitudes, seek to promote understanding across borders, and encourage our compassion for those who suffer regardless of their origin. In this way, puppeteers and maggerini voice their views on pressing issues of our time—something that for me makes them especially viable for classroom discussions of the Italian Renaissance romance epic. Columbia University 
work_tat5nea3cjhgpagdc7bbvbdlay	----	JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 __________ © 2020, The Author(s). This is an open access article, free of all copyright, that anyone can freely read, download, copy, distribute, print, search, or link to the full texts or use them for any other lawful purpose. This article is made available under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. JLIS.it is a journal of the SAGAS Department, University of Florence, published by EUM, Edizioni Università di Macerata (Italy). “You will be richer, but I very much doubt that you will be happier”. Antonio Panizzi professor in London, 1828-1831* Stefano Gambari(a), Mauro Guerrini(b) a) Biblioteche di Roma, https://orcid.org/0000-0002-2910-9654 b) Università degli Studi di Firenze, http://orcid.org/0000-0002-1941-4575 __________ Contact: Stefano Gambari, s.gambari@bibliotechediroma.it; Mauro Guerrini, mauro.guerrini@unifi.it Received: 30 September 2019; Accepted: 8 October 2019; First Published: 15 January 2020 __________ ABSTRACT The paper offers an overview of the complex, not easy period in which Antonio Panizzi was teaching at London University (1828-1831), innovatively suggesting that “a uniform program be adopted for the study of all modern languages and literatures” and nevertheless dedicating himself to research with care and passion. In the article, the teaching materials and custom tools he quickly provided to his students for learning italian language and culture are analyzed regarding concept, structure and target: The Elementary Italian Grammar 1828, and two anthologies of prose writings: Extracts from the Italian Prose Writers, 1828, and Stories from Italian Writers with a Literal Interlinear Traduction, 1830. KEYWORDS Italian language; Italian grammar; Italian literature; Teaching materials for italian; University of London; Antonio Panizzi. CITATION Gambari, S., Guerrini., M. “«You will be richer, but I very much doubt that you will be happier». Antonio Panizzi professor in London, 1828-1831.” JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020): 73−88. DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600. * Translated into English by Eugenie Greig. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://orcid.org/0000-0002-1941-4575 JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 74 Exile in England Fleeing the Duchy of Modena in consequence of his active role in conspiring to achieve Italian unity, Antonio Panizzi arrives in London in May 1823 and immediately makes contact with the community of Italian exiles: he forges a firm friendship with Santorre Santa Rosa and associates with Ugo Foscolo and Thomas Campbell. In the summer of the same year – with the help of William Roscoe,1 a patron of Italian literary culture in England – he moves to Liverpool, where he teaches Italian literature and gives lectures at the Royal Institution. In five years he studies and masters the English language – which will be a decisive factor in his surprising success in the British community. The thirty-year-old Panizzi has already demonstrated his exceptional strength of character. This man: endowed with an inexhaustible capacity for work and for dealing with people, had, despite being poor and in exile, for want of better, turned himself into a self-styled teacher, and even into a professor, and, for almost ten years – the best years, between youth and maturity – had carried out a thankless task, one which left him with no hope of success.2 The masterly pen of Carlo Dionisotti manages to present a highly effective insight into the profile of Panizzi the professor and helps us to draw closer to the substance of a character of extraordinary versatility, who until that time had published only a single book, Dei Processi e delle Sentenze.3 That work denounced the failure to observe legal guarantees, with statements being extracted from accused persons through torture by investigators and by the Tribunal of Modena, and it had an international resonance, which served to make the author known and valued within the circles of political exiles and the English intelligentsia. He had not yet written anything on Italian language or literature. Professor at London University Panizzi’s fortunes soon became linked with those of London University, an institution founded in 1826 by a radical minority of educated English, among them Henry Brougham, lawyer and statesman. Biographer Edward Miller draws attention to the positive impression made on Brougham by the rhetorical skills and competence employed by Panizzi in the trial of the Ellen Turner case.4 Brougham and Thomas Campbell played a key role in assisting the exile upon his first arrival in London and in facilitating his integration into British life, and also in his professional career as a teacher of the Italian language. 1 William Roscoe (Liverpool, March 8, 1753 – Liverpool, June 30, 1831) welcomes and protects Panizzi in Liverpool; Roscoe leads the English rediscovery of the Italian Rinascimento and is the author of two celebrated lives – those of Lorenzo the Magnificent and Leo X. 2 Carlo Dionisotti, Un professore a Londra. Studi su Antonio Panizzi, a cura di Giuseppe Anceschi. Novara: Interlinea edizioni, 2002, p. 57. 3 Antonio Panizzi, Dei Processi e delle Sentenze contro Gli imputati di Lesa-Maestà e di aderenza alle Sette proscritte negli Stati di Modena del Tribunale statario di Rubiera… Madrid [but Lugano]: [s.n.], 1823. 4 Ellen Turner, at age fifteen, was removed from school in Liverpool on March 7, 1826 and carried off by a young widower, Edward Gibbon Wakefield, with whom she contracted a form of marriage. Traced by her family to Calais, she was persuaded to return to England. Wakefield was prosecuted and the scandal was denounced and received wide attention in the press because of the romantic aspects of the affair and the involvement with the convoluted legal aspects of the trial, which was held the following year and saw Panizzi and Brougham defend the accused and win. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 75 As early as 1821, in fact, Thomas Campbell had, together with a group of friends and colleagues, developed the idea of creating a new university in London, conceiving of it as an opportunity for all those who were unable to access Oxford or Cambridge: restrictions on academic access were at that time considered to be intolerable by broad sectors of public opinion. London University, which was later to be called University College London (UCL), was the first British university to admit students without regard to sex, ethnicity, religion or political ideology. Brougham fully grasped the strategic importance of the project that quickly became its life and soul: in fact, he became president of the University Council upon its establishment and applied himself to the task with care and determination. In 1827 London University named the appointees to its various chairs.5 Several candidates were identified for the chair of Italian language and literature, among them Giuseppe Pecchio, Ugo Foscolo, Gaetano De Marchi, Gabriele Rossetti – all of whom, however, were unavailable for various reasons.6 Brougham was able to exercise his influence7 on an initially hesitant Panizzi: over the last five years, the Italian exile had woven a considerable network of cultural relations among the intellectual circles of Liverpool, relations which he had no intention of letting go: first and foremost with William Roscoe, William Shepherd and Francis Haywood; he was above all very worried about a university appointment, furthermore, one that was in a completely new environment. Brougham invites him to apply for the chair of Italian language and literature, but the economist and Milanese patriot Giuseppe Pecchio – a friend of Panizzi and also in exile after the 1821 movement in Italy – first in Spain, then in Portugal and, lastly, in Great Britain – sends a message to his "beloved Panizzi" warning him: Returning to the question of your professorship, there is no doubt that you will be richer, but I very much doubt that you will be happier. That will depend upon your nature: London holds so much to irritate the bile!8 Edward Miller reports a detail of Panizzi’s visit to London in February 1828, which “helped with resolving his doubts”: 5 Miller, recalling the moment in which Brougham becomes director of the new Council makes a note: “Creevey sarcastically referred to ‘Brougham and the enlightened who are founding Stinko Miles College at the end of Gower Street’”. Edward Miller, Prince of Librarians. The Life and Times of Antonio Panizzi of the British Museum. London: Deutsch, 1967, p. 79. 6 “It would appear that Campbell initially had Pecchio in mind as a suitable candidate for the chair of Italian, but he, newly married, gave up the idea, knowing that the position would not be a good financial prospect. Foscolo towards the end of his life was interested, briefly, but immediately withdrew his application. Panizzi had suggested that his Piedmontese friend, Gaetano De Marchi, who was then teaching in Edinburgh, might take on the position; another candidate was the poet and critic Gabriele Rossetti, father of Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti. In July 1827, De Marchi wrote to Panizzi that it was unlikely he would apply for the chair, an assurance that he repeated one month later, upon hearing that Panizzi had proposed him; in a later letter, on 1 August 1827, De Marchi promised Panizzi that he would use any relevant influence he might have in his favour, should he wish to apply for the post” (cf. Additional Manuscripts, Department of Manuscripts, British Museum, 36, 714, ff. 84, 86 De Marchi era stato un amico di Panizzi a Brescello; Edward Miller, Prince of Librarians. cit., pp. 68, 69, 79). 7 Brougham was no longer president of the Council, having been replaced by the Duke of Sussex, “the ‘liberal’ member of the royal family”; see: Edward Miller, Prince of Librarians, cit., p. 69. 8 The piece is taken from the anthology Lettere ad Antonio Panizzi di uomini illustri e amici italiani (1823-1870), pubblicate da Luigi Fagan. Firenze: Barbèra, 1880, pp. 72–73. Louis Fagan assembled numerous letters sent to Antonio Panizzi, among them one by Giuseppe Pecchio published 1st June, 1828. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 76 Panizzi paid a visit to London to meet Horner, rector of the new University. Horner9 received him kindly and they discussed what his duties would be. Panizzi held strong reservations about teaching beginners and expressed the opinion that he would have to have an assistant to whom to delegate such commitments. Panizzi, as always, knew exactly what he wanted and made a convincing argument to Horner about it.10 Later, Panizzi writes Horner a letter of thanks,11 in which he proposes a certain Pistrucci as his assistant,12 and explains his teaching method, which he considers to be optimal. Panizzi is formally appointed to the chair of Italian language and literature at London University on the 16th of February 1828; Miller believes that he did not take office in London until the following autumn, after having concluded some commitments in Liverpool and having taken leave of his friends. Miller recalls that, in a subsequent letter to Horner,13 Panizzi, besides returning to the request for an assistant, proposes that “a uniform program be adopted for the study of all modern languages and literatures”, as agreed to by the teachers. “Here was already evident” he remarks “that rationalization, that desire to eliminate everything that got in the way of efficiency, which was to be such a noteworthy characteristic of his years at the British Museum”.14 The Council of London University, however, did not agree to these proposals but, in any case, Panizzi accepted the conditions,15 while still making clear his opposition to them and his displeasure at the refusal to accept his suggestion. The major difficulty, however, was due to the limited number of students enrolled in his course.16 Panizzi left Liverpool and returned to London furnished with letters of introduction from William Roscoe to various acquaintances, such as Samuel Rogers,17 and with a letter from Brougham to Lady Dacre, a writer and a translator of Petrarch.18 Panizzi and Lady Dacre quickly became friends through intellectual affinity, and she and her husband helped him greatly in the first stage of his return to London, introducing him into ‘society’. 9 Leonard Horner, 1785-1864. Geologist and educator. 10 Edward Miller, Prince of Librarians, cit., p. 69. 11 Antonio Panizzi to Horner, 24 February 1828. Original letter in University College, London. Text reproduced in Margaret Campbell Walker Wicks, The Italian Exiles in London 1816-1848, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1937, p. 266. On Google Books is found the text of the first edition, 1937; on Internet Archive, the text of the 1968 reprint. 12 Margaret Campbell Walker Wicks, The Italian Exiles in London 1816-1848, cit., p. 266 reproduces the words of Panizzi: “I must find a reasonable man, who will allow himself to be directed, and who is not a sturdy pedant, or a conceited coxcomb”; Panizzi believed that Filippo Pistrucci had an accent that would have been good for the students to imitate. For a biographical note on Pistrucci, cf. Carlo Dionisotti, Un professore a Londra, cit., p. 139, note 5. 13A.P. to Horner, 19 April 1828; 29 April 1828, in Margaret Campbell Walker Wicks, The Italian Exiles in London 1816- 1848. Manchester: University Press, 1937, pp. 267–268. 14 Edward Miller, Prince of Librarians, cit., p. 70. 15 Antonio Panizzi to Horner, 29 April 1828. Original in London University. The text reproduced in Margaret Campbell Walker Wicks, The Italian exiles in London 1816-1848, cit., pp. 267–268. 16 An entry for Robert Browning was crossed out: “found private tutor”. 17 Samuel Rogers, 1763-1855, banker and poet. Cf. Louis Fagan, The Life of Sir Anthony Panizzi, K.C.B. Late Principal Librarian of the British Museum. Senator of Italy. London: Remington, vol. 1, 1880, p. 73. The text of the second edition is available on Internet Archive. 18 Barbarina Brand, Lady Dacre, 1768-1854, poet and playwright. In 1819, in her second marriage, she married Thomas Brand, the twenty-one year old Lord Dacre. Brougham’s letter to Lady Dacre of March 3, 1829 (Additional Manuscripts, Department of Manuscripts, British Museum 36, 714. f.127) is reproduced in Louis Fagan, The Life of Sir Anthony Panizzi, cit., p. 76. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 77 Also W.S. Rose,19 an acquaintance of his early days in England, now settled near Pecchio, in Brighton, wrote to Panizzi to congratulate him on his new appointment. For a period of time, until Rose’s death in 1843, he and Panizzi corresponded frequently and between them there developed a cordial friendship.20 In London, Panizzi took up residence at Gower Street North 2, not far from the site of London University; he delivered his first lecture in November, with few students enrolled in the course: in the first year there were five, in the second eight, in the third five. His salary was directly linked to the numbers enrolled: his financial situation was, therefore, difficult in this period and had a demoralizing effect, despite the satisfaction of seeing his own works published. Some disputes arose between the academic body and the university management, one connected to an attempt to remove the lecturer in medicine, John Conolly,21 in which Panizzi supported the director, Horner;22 another related to a letter by Panizzi23 protesting against a request directed to the teaching staff, that they should not oppose the possible suspension of their own employment relationship, without “just cause”. Panizzi’s aversion to injustice aroused a strong reaction: relations with the governance of the institution began to deteriorate; the decision not to comply with the requests for payment advanced by him in the April of 1831 still weighed heavily.24 Nevertheless, in this highly complex and difficult period, for Panizzi an important and decisive change was taking shape concerning his professional future at the British Library, which was linked to the political ascendancy of his important ‘protector’, Henry Brougham. The ‘fortunate exile’, as Giulio Caprin was to call him in his biography of Panizzi,25 right from his very arrival in England, knew how to react to the vicissitudes of fate, with commendable vigour and a tenacity that made him capable of adjusting to the times and to the most varied of situations. Choosing a solution which differed from that of the majority of other Italian exiles, and integrating himself fully into his new homeland – yet without ever forgetting the Italian cause – from teacher he became professor, litterato and went on to succeed in filling the role of Principal Librarian of the library of the British Museum, becoming one of the most outstanding librarians of all time. Writings from his London teaching period Panizzi’s desire is to deliver lessons to a high standard, but he soon comes to realise that this will not be possible and he adapts 19 William Steward Rose (1775-1843) was Member of Parliament for the city of Christchurch from 1796 to 1800. From 1800 he was Reading Clerk of the House of Lords and Clerk of Private Committees. 20 Edward Miller, Prince of Librarians, cit., p. 71. 21 John Conolly, 1794-1866. Specialist in mental disorders. 22 Antonio Panizzi to the Council of London University, 13 March 1830. Quoted in Margaret Campbell Walker Wicks, The Italian exiles in London 1816-1848, cit., p. 269. 23 Manuscripts relating to Lord Brougham at University College, London, 24 March 1829. Quoted in Chester William New, The Life of Henry Brougham to 1830. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961, p. 387. 24 London University, MSS, no. 2444. Quoted in Margaret Campbell Walker Wicks, The Italian exiles in London 1816-1848, cit., p. 133. The request was deemed a sterile honour by Keightley in his edition of the Orlando of Panizzi in “Foreign Quarterly Review”, no. 29, vol. xv (1835). 25 Giulio Caprin, L’esule fortunato Antonio Panizzi. Firenze: Vallecchi, 1945. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 78 to a level of teaching only a little higher than that which he had delivered up to that point: grammar, syntax, translation […]. Of his language-teaching colleagues, only the German, Mühlenfals, could have lent a university tone to his teaching; the others were modest grammarians.26 Hence he works on two fronts, dedicating himself with care and passion to teaching and research. On the one hand he pursues his studies of the Italian Renaissance, preparatory to editing Matteo Maria Boiardo’s Orlando Innamorato and Ludovico Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso.27 On the other, he is anxious to prepare teaching materials quickly: he publishes a grammar, An Italian Grammar for the Use of Students in the London University,28 and two anthologies of prose writings: Extracts from the Italian Prose Writers for the Use of Students in the London University,29 and Stories from Italian Writers with a Literal Interlinear Traduction.30 The Elementary Italian Grammar, 1828 An Elementary Italian Grammar for the Use of Students in the London University is a short, basic grammar of 61 pages, that is presented “with very little claim to originality” – these the words used by Panizzi in the Preface, and followed by a reference to source materials: the grammar written in English by Angelo Cerutti31 and one in French by Niccolò Giosefatte Biagioli;32 the young professor declares that these formed the groundwork for his own work, but that he departed from them where their discourse became metaphysical. The strength of his grammar is its conciseness, which, he declares, is the “advantageous” characteristic of the text. “Here already” – comments Dionisotti – one can see that Panizzi the grammarian was that same Panizzi who was otherwise known as a man of few, essential and sufficient words”:33 very few exercises – sentences to be translated from one language to the other, which then, as now, were to be found in all grammar books -– followed by explanations of the ten parts of speech. Biagioli’s grammar was unavailable in English, otherwise – Panizzi explains – he would have adopted it for his students, because of its qualities of ‘brevity and correctness’; Cerutti’s grammar, on the other hand, was largely based on ‘antiquated authorities’ and could not be employed in its entirety. Panizzi acknowledges that he drew from both, insofar as it was useful to do so, and that he added some original matter, gaining the advantage of extreme conciseness, thanks to a reduction in the number of 26 Giulio Caprin, L’esule fortunato, cit., p. 94. 27 The comparative edition Orlando Innamorato di Bojardo. Orlando furioso di Ariosto. With an essay on the romantic narrative poetry of the Italians. Memoirs and notes was published between 1830 and 1834, in 9 volumes. 28An Elementary Italian Grammar for the Use of Students in the London University. London: printed for John Taylor bookseller and publisher to the University, Upper Gower Street, 1828. 29 Extracts from the Italian Prose Writers for the Use of Students in the London University. London: John Taylor, 1828. 30 Stories from Italian Writers with a literal interlinear translation, on the plan recommended by Mr. Locke (Selected from Dr. Panizzi's Extracts from Italian Prose Writers.) [With notes, largely extracted from Panizzi's “Elementary Italian Grammar.”]. London: John Taylor, 1830. 31 Angelo Cerutti, A New Italian Grammar or a Course of lessons in the Italian language. London: printed for Sherwood, Gilbert and Piper, 1828. 32 Niccolò Giosefatte Biagioli, Grammatica ragionata della lingua francese. Parigi: Didot, 1814. Grammaire italienne, élémentaire et raisonnée, suivie d’un traité de la poésie italienne. Paris: Fayolle, 1805. Text available online on Gallica. 33 Carlo Dionisotti, Un professore a Londra, cit., p. 110. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 79 exercises.34 If a student has made progress in the use of a language, he will find it more useful to translate an English historical work into Italian, rather than to continue writing exercises of little interest, taken from any grammar textbook”.35 His brief compendium, therefore, does not set out to serve as a comprehensive grammar, but as an aid in the work of translating from English into Italian. After a page relating to the parts of speech,36 the author illustrates: the Italian alphabet,37 the nominative, genitive, dative, vocative and ablative cases,38 masculine, feminine and neuter genders,39 masculine and feminine40 plurals,41 the article,42 augmentatives and diminutives,43 adjectives,44 numerals,45 possessive pronouns, demonstrative pronouns, demonstratives, interrogative, interrogative relatives, indeterminants, the pronoun si,46 observations on the use of auxiliary verbs,47 on particular forms of the verbs andare and stare;48 on verbs, and, specifically: conjugation of the verbs essere and avere; on regular and irregular verbs;49observations on the infinite subjunctive and the past participle;50 prepositions;51 orthography, in particular: accents, apostrophes, sincope, addition of letters to words.52 All variables make the publication a special case, isolated from that which was occurring in the first half of the century in an Italy that was still so divided, from which Panizzi had been forced to flee, and which had even condemned him to death in effigy. Remember that Panizzi “was not born to write, either in Italian, or in English; when he wanted to, he could write well, at times even vigorously, but not without effort”.53 In fact, he had studied law at the University of Parma, graduating in 1818, 34 It would be interesting to compile a panorama of the grammatical works published in Italy in the same period, and about the even closer connection between Italian grammar and basic school teaching, together with how teaching trends revealed during the 18th century became more and more accentuated approaching Unification and the consequent necessity to establish a single language. 35 Antonio Panizzi, An Elementary Italian Grammar, cit., p. ii. 36 Parts of speech. 37 Italian Alphabet, Chapter I, pp. 3–4. 38 Of Cases, Chapter II, pp. 4–6. 39 Of Gender, Chapter III, pp. 6–8. 40 Of number, Chapter IV, pp. 8–10. 41 The article, Chapter V, pp. 11–14. 42 Of augmentatives and diminutives, Chapter VI, pp. 14–15. 43 The adjectives, Chapter VII, pp. 16–19. 44 Of numeral adjectives, Chapter VIII, pp. 19–21. 45 Of pronouns. Chapter IX, pp. 21–33. 46 Observations upon the manner of making use of auxiliary verbs, Chapter X, pp. 33–35. 47 Observations upon some forms of expression peculiar to the verbs andare, and stare, Chapter XI, p. 35. 48 Of verbs, Chapter XII, pp. 36–52. 49 Observations on the subjunctive and infinitive moods, and past participle, Chapter XIII, pp. 52–53. 50 Prepositions, Chapter XIV, pp. 53–56. 51 Ortography, Chapter XV, pp. 56–61. 52 Panizzi’s name appears in the proceedings of the tribunal established in the Castle of Rubiera by Francesco IV of Austria, Duke of Modena and Reggio, to condemn the adherents of secret societies. Almost certainly from very early in 1820, Panizzi becomes a member of the Society of Sublime Perfect Masters and, in the face of imminent arrest, is compelled to flee first to Switzerland then to England. In Lugano he publishes the fierce pamphlet Dei processi, and the Duke, infuriated, orders him to be tried in absentia: he is condemned to death in effigy and one year after his arrival in the United Kingdom, a letter is delivered to him with the paradoxical request for reimbursement of the costs of the trial. 53 Carlo Dionisotti, Un professore a Londra, cit., p. 63. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 80 successfully opening an office and exercising his profession in his native Brescello (Reggio Emilia). Even though political activity very quickly overtakes the professional, and circumstances force him to make a daring escape, Panizzi would never have thought of becoming a teacher of Italian. A second, fundamental, point: his Grammar arises from pressing necessity, which is demonstrated by the timing of its publication – the year in which he began his university teaching: there is neither space nor time, let alone any need, for “metaphysical frills”. We are inevitably very far away from the trend that at that time was enjoying success in Italy: the tendency towards annotated grammar, initiated by Francesco Soave who, in 1771, had published in Parma his Grammatica ragionata della lingua italiana, reprints of which continued into the 19th century and beyond. This is a grammar which, blending linguistic and pedagogical theories developed in France from the beginning of the eighteenth century with the Italian grammatical tradition, is characterized by a philosophical framework that sustains and supports the grammatical one: that is to say, the rules that underlie grammatical phenomena are explored in light of a more speculative and theoretical system that helps readers to think in terms of language.54 The metaphysical aspect remains fundamental, however, and this is the very thing that Panizzi, in his preface to his Grammar, aims to avoid at all costs. Finally, the last variable: the public to whom the grammar is directed – English university students – and the language in which it is written. His choice of language helps to determine a key element of Panizzi’s fate […] the of English was, in fact, not necessarily to be taken for granted in an England where Italian was commonly used by Italian editors and teachers. Panizzi, not knowing how long his exile would last, resolves to immerse himself completely in his adoptive culture. This is the turning point which perhaps not even Giuseppe Pecchio, who when necessary used to write in English, had managed to conceive of when, in a letter of 1828, he had cast doubt in a brotherly way on the future happiness of his friend, in that London of bleak skies which so upset his bile. A precondition of immersing oneself was the perfect acquisition of the English language. In the case of a scholarly publication such as the Grammar, the use of Italian would have been fully justified, but Panizzi gives up that idea. English becomes a necessity: It was thanks to that dedication and effort, that he was able to alter his vulnerable and lowly status as an exile, by strengthening his position through British citizenship, and thus being in a position to settle favourably accounts opened in Italy before his exile.55 In a letter to his mother in 1839, Giuseppe Mazzini sums up well the change in Panizzi (which by that time had become even more apparent) when he asserts critically: “Panizzi, through becoming English in his opinions, in fashion, in everything, is librarian of the public library, on an excellent salary”.56 Extracts from the Italian Prose Writers, 1828 Still in 1828, Panizzi publishes Extracts from the Italian Prose Writers for the Use of Students in the London University,57 an anthology of Italian prose writers, conceived as a supporting textbook for his 54 Simone Fornara, Breve storia della grammatica italiana. Roma: Carocci, 2005, pp. 84–88. 55 Carlo Dionisotti, Un professore a Londra. cit., p. 64. 56 Giuseppe Mazzini to his mother Maria Drago, 31 July 1839. Together with the one of August 21, 1839 the letter was published in: Giuseppe Mazzini Scritti editi ed inediti. Imola (BO): Galeati, 1914, vol. XVIII, pp. 140–141, and p. 166. 57 Antonio Panizzi, Extracts from the Italian Prose Writers, cit. Panizzi’s name does not appear on the title page, but at the foot of the Prefazione. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 81 students at London University. It is a small format edition, in 12°, but with a substantial 558 pages, in which 127 texts from earliest times to the 19th century are assembled, chosen from the “most distinguished writers of Italy”. Panizzi in the brief Preface advises that the anthology is directed not only to university students, but to all who wish to become familiar with the Italian language and literature: that is, to all English readers desirous of obtaining the knowledge of a language, which, if not the most generally spoken upon the continent, is still sufficiently so, to render it an object of primary importance in the education of Englishmen.58 The prose is of the kind which is to be preferred when the aim is to convey or acquire familiarity with a language. In accordance with the principle of delicacy, Panizzi declares that he has, as a rule, avoided passages which might offend feminine sensibilities and has chosen not to overload the text with an elaborate structure of notes. He observes, furthermore, how at that time, much incorrect or baseless information was being put about in relation to the conditions and character of Italy – and how lack of familiarity with the Italian language and culture had actually contributed to bringing about such a deplorable state of affairs. Since language and culture are inseparable, the sections of the anthology cover topics of a moral, social and political nature – Panizzi choosing, moreover, extracts from contemporary authors who focus on the question of Italian identity and independence. The anthology is original, compared with similar earlier publications in England, which consisted of simple adaptations of anthologies published for Italian readers and, hence, of little interest to English readers; Panizzi wished to devise an original text – on the one hand, selecting texts suited to the tastes of the British reader, and on the other, attempting to convey the idea of the extreme versatility and adaptability of the Italian language – his aim being to render study enjoyable, particularly for younger readers. Rare indeed were anthologies of prose writings; Dionisotti stresses the novelty of Panizzi’s anthology; the only comparable work was the prose Crestomazia of Giacomo Leopardi, published the previous year,59 which was arranged by subject, whilst his poetry Crestomazia, published in 1828, is in chronological order. Panizzi’s anthology, on the other hand, follows a simple alphabetical arrangement by author, allowing him to commence with Vittorio Alfieri. The difference in arrangement and in choices of a cultural nature within the two works, is evident from the comparison with the Crestomazia, a comparison that does no disservice to Panizzi and which permits Dionisotti to highlight the importance attributed by Panizzi to Machiavelli and Alfieri, in contrast to their sporadic occurrence in Leopardi’s anthology, which comprises about eighty authors, while Panizzi includes quotations from thirty-one, of whom about a dozen do not appear at all in the Crestomazia, among them Alessandro Manzoni.60 The two anthologies stem basically from one common idea: Leopardi also wanted his teaching aid “to serve both young Italians studying the art of writing, and foreigners who wish to practise our 58 Antonio Panizzi, Extracts from the Italian Prose Writers, cit., p. ix. 59 Crestomazia italiana, ossia Scelta di luoghi insigni o per sentimento o per locuzione raccolti dagli scritti italiani in prosa di autori eccellenti d'ogni secolo, per cura del conte Giacomo Leopardi. Milano: Ant. Fort. Stella, 1827. 60 Carlo Dionisotti, Un professore a Londra, cit., p. 110. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 82 language”; yet, while departing from apparently similar premises, they produced “two anthologies that have little or nothing in common”.61 Panizzi’s anthology, where the titles of the translated passages are in English, includes among 14th century authors only Boccaccio62 and three stories that form part of a collection of novellas written at the end of the thirteenth century, before the writing of Boccaccio’s Decameron, and published in several works: Novelle antiche, Le cento novelle antiche, Novellino.63 The literary output of the sixteenth century is the most widely represented in the anthology, with 55 extracts (43% of the total): Agnolo Firenzuola,64 Annibal Caro,65 Niccolò Machiavelli,66 Torquato Tasso,67 Giorgio Vasari,68 Francesco Guicciardini,69 Benvenuto Cellini,70 Benedetto Varchi,71 Bernardino Baldi,72 Pietro Bembo,73 Lodovico Castelvetro,74 Baldassar Castiglione,75 Angelo Di Costanzo76 e Luigi da Porto con un brano tratto da Storia di Giulietta e Romeo. It is clear from his choice of this last author, that Panizzi was keen to draw the attention of English readers to the writer from Vicenza, creator of the story of Romeo and Juliet that was later adopted by Matteo Bandello and then by William Shakespeare. Seventeenth-century authors are barely represented, with seven texts 61 Ibidem, p. 112. 62 The four extracts from Giovanni Boccaccio are: 1) A Jew, on seeing the wickedness of the Court of Rome, turns Christian, Abraam giudeo, da Giannotto di Civignì stimolato, va in corte a Roma, e veduta la malvagità de’ cherici, torna a Parigi e fassi cristiano, Decameron prima giornata seconda novella; 2) Melchisedec, a Jew, avoids the snares of Saladin by a timely told story, Melchisedech giudeo, con una novella di tre anella, cessa un gran pericolo dal Saladino apparecchiatogli, Decameron Prima giornata Terza novella; 3) Ready answer of a Cook to his Master, Chichibio, cuoco di Currado Gianfigliazzi, con una presta parola a sua salute l’ira di Currado volge in riso e sé campa dalla mala ventura minacciatagli da Currado, Decameron, Sesta Giornata Quarta novella; 4) Calandrino is persuaded that he has found the Elitropia, a stone which renderds men insible, but is sadly undeceived, Calandrino, Bruno e Buffalmacco giù per lo Mugnone vanno cercando di trovar l’Elitropia, e Calandrino se la crede aver trovata: tornasi a casa carico di pietre: la moglie il proverbia, et egli turbato la batte, et a suoi compagni racconta ciò che essi sanno meglio di lui, Decameron Ottava giornata Terza novella. 63 The three ancient novelle are: A sleepy Novelist (Qui conta di un novellatore di messere Azzolino); A Sultan and a Jew (Come il Soldano, avendo mestiere di moneta, colle cogliere cagione a un giudeo); A witty interruption of a long story (Qui conta di’un’Huomo di Corte, che cominciò una Novella, che non venia meno). 64 The ten excerpts from Agnolo Firenzuola are drawn from La prima veste de’ discorsi sugli animali of 1524. 65 The nine extracts are from Delle lettere familiari del commendatore Annibal Caro. Venezia: Giunti, 1581. 66 The eight excerpts from Niccolò Machiavelli are from: Historie fiorentine, work posthumously published in 1532, Il Principe, a letter to Francesco Vettori del 10 dicembre 1513, La vita di Castrucci Castracani da Lucca, 1520, Discorsi sopra la prima Deca di Tito Livio, Belfagor. 67 The six excerpts of Torquato Tasso are from letters to various people. 68 The five excerpts of Giorgio Vasari are chosen from Vita di Raffaello da Urbino and Vita di Michelagnolo Bonarroti. 69 Five extracts from Francesco Guicciardini are drawn from La Historia d’Italia, 1561; also represented is the correspondence between Guicciardini and Machiavelli, with five letters sent between May 17 and 19, 1521. 70 Two selections from Benvenuto Cellini are from his Vita scritta da lui medesimo. 71 Two passages are from the Storia fiorentina of Benedetto Varchi. 72 Two passages from Bernardino Baldi are from Della vita di Guidobaldo I. Duca d’Urbino. 73 The passage from Pietro Bembo is from Gli Asolani, first edition, 1505. 74 By Lodovico Castelvetro is included an extract from his commentary on the Prose works of Pietro Bembo. 75 Baldassar Castiglione is represented by an extract from Il libro del Cortegiano, first edition, 1528. 76 The extract from Angelo Di Costanzo is from his Istoria del Regno di Napoli. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 83 by Galileo Galilei,77 Guido Bentivoglio,78 Lorenzo Magalotti,79 Fulvio Testi80 and Arrigo Catterino Davila.81 Authors of the eighteenth century, on the other hand, are well represented, with 49 extracts (39% of the total): Gasparo Gozzi,82 Pietro Metastasio,83 Vittorio Alfieri,84 Giuseppe Baretti, whose The appearance of London to a Foreigner,85 is included, Gaetano Filangieri,86 Francesco Algarotti.87 The excerpt from Girolamo Tiraboschi, taken from his Storia della letteratura italiana, is a passage where the historian draws a literary comparison between Ariosto and Tasso. Between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries stands the figure of Michele Colombo,88 whilst among Panizzi’s contemporaries there appear Ugo Foscolo,89 two extracts from Foscolo’s friend Ippolito Pindemonte, and Alessandro Manzoni with two extracts from the first edition of I promessi sposi, which had appeared in the June of the previous year: one part from chapter IV (Padre Cristoforo) and one part from chapter XXII (Cardinal Federigo Borromeo). Dionisotti observes that the success of the Promessi sposi was immediate and extremely widespread, but that, even in Italy, it would not be easy to find any other such significant early anthology bearing witness to that success [… Panizzi] had immediately grasped the new sense of revolution in Italy and the value of Manzoni’s novel to the nation in its relations with Europe. 90 Stories from Italian Writers with a Literal Interlinear Traduction, 1830 In 1830 Panizzi publishes his Stories from Italian Writers with a Literal Interlinear Traduction with John Taylor,91 the same publisher to whom he had given his first two works, Extracts, and Grammar. 77 Galileo Galilei is represented by three extracts from: Il saggiatore: La favola dei suoni, Lettera a Madama Cristina granduchessa madre, Al p. Vincenzo Ranieri del 1633. 78 From Guido Bentivoglio is the passage Carattere della Regina Elisabetta, drawn from Della guerra di Fiandra. 79 A passage of Lorenzo Magalotti is extracted from Lettera Al Signor Marchese Gio. Battista Strozzi. Descrizione della vita di Lonchio. 80 A letter was published by Fulvio Testi to his father Giambattista d’Este. 81 A passage from Historia delle guerre civili di Francia by Arrigo Catterino Davila Brano. 82 Twenty fables, short stories and letters come from Osservatore by Gasparo Gozzi. 83 Eleven letters of Pietro Metastasio addressed to various personalities: Marianna Benti Bulgarelli, Count Algarotti, Count Bathyany, Domenico Diodati, to his brother, Captain Cosimelli, dated between 4th July 1733 and 19 May 1769. 84 Vittorio Alfieri opens the anthology with six songs, two stories of visits to England, and a story of his second trip to Tuscany extracted from Vita; a passage from Della tirannide and two passage from Del principe e delle lettere: Cosa sia il principe, and Qual sia maggior cosa, o un grande scrittore, o un Principe grande. 85 Giuseppe Baretti's letters are addressed to various interlocutors, including his brothers and six stories of visits in several countries, including Portugal and Spain. 86 Gaetano Filangieri, four passages from La scienza della legislazione. 87 Francesco Algarotti, a passage from Viaggi di Russia. 88 Michele Colombo, a passage from Tre novelle di messer Agnol Piccione. 89 Four passages are mentioned by Ugo Foscolo, among which The love of Country. Venice sold to Austria by Napoleon. State of Italy. Hopes and Fears; e A generous patriot. Parini extracted from Ultime lettere di Jacopo Ortis. 90 Carlo Dionisotti, Un professore a Londra, cit., p. 111. 91 Antonio Panizzi, Stories from Italian Writers with a literal interlinear translation,on the plan recommended by Mr. Locke (Selected from Dr. Panizzi's Extracts from Italian Prose Writers.) [With notes, largely extracted from Panizzi's “Elementary Italian Grammar”]. London: John Taylor, 1830. On cover: A popular system of classical instruction, combining the methods of Locke, Ascham, Milton, & c. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 84 Two years later, his Stories from Italian Writers; With a Literal Interlinear Translation, on Locke’s Plan of Classical Instruction: Illustrated with Notes,92 is published in the United States, with a second, London edition in 1835.93 This latter work presents numerous differences: the introduction covers the theoretical aspects of Italian grammar on the sound of: vowels, consonants and letter combinations; syllables, accents and a table of Italian definite and indefinite articles; the selection includes excerpts from Vittorio Alfieri, Giuseppe Baretti, Baldassar Castiglione and Gaetano Filangieri.94 The first part presents the text in Italian with interlinear translation in English and explanatory notes; the second, the text only, in Italian. The United States edition opens with a new, short preface by Filippo Mancinelli,95 written in Philadelphia on October 10, 1832, in praise of the value of the ancient method of interlinear translation, which had long been neglected; Mancinelli declares that he has adopted Stories from Italian Writers, by Panizzi, consisting of a selection of the passages published in Extracts from the Italian Prose Writers and that he wishes to re-issue it, with the addition of “a few familiar dialogues, and other easy exercises” in the hope that they would assist the student in acquiring the “beautiful language”. There follows an Introduzione consisting of grammatical tables,96 and lastly, the three sections into which the work is organised: - Novelle italiane, with a selection of texts consisting of excerpts from Vittorio Alfieri, Giuseppe Baretti, Baldassar Castiglione and Gaetano Filangieri; anecdotes, short stories;97 - Italian tales, which reintroduces interlinear translated texts and a series of notes;98 - The Easy dialogues of Mancinelli, with translation into Italian.99 92 Stories from Italian Writers; With a Literal Interlinear Translation, on Locke's Plan of Classical Instruction: Illustrated with Notes. First American from last London Edition, with additional translations and notes by F.[ilippo] Mancinelli. Philadelphia: Carey & Lea, Chesnut Street 1832. First and second editions (1835) available online on Google books. 93 Stories from Italian Writers with a literal interlinear translation on the plan recommended by Mr. Locke. Illustrated with notes. Second edition. London: John Taylor, 1835. 94 Viaggio in Inghilterra e Olanda, Terzo viaggio in Inghilterra are extracted from Vita di Vittorio Alfieri scritta da esso. The passages of Giuseppe Baretti are extracted from Del miglior metodo per imparare una lingua: Lettera ad una donna inglese e lettera Di Francesco Ageno al marchese Giambattista Negroni, the passages of Baldassar Castiglione are extracted from Il libro del cortegiano and of Gaetano Filangieri from Scienza della legislazione. 95 Filippo Mancinelli, son of Gioacchino, in 1832 translated from French Dialoghi disposti per facilitare lo studio della lingua italiana di A.G. Collot (Collot, A.G. Dialoghi disposti per facilitare lo studio della lingua italiana, translated by F. Mancinelli, romano. Serie I. Philadelphia: Carey & Lea – Chestnut Street, 1832). 96 The tables relate to the sound of: vowels, consonants and letter unions; syllables, accents, articles, days of the week, seasons of the year, cardinal numbers, order numbers, adverbial numbers, collective numbers, numbers distributive, proportional numbers (pp. IX-XV). 97 Stories from Italian writers; With a literal interlinear translation on Locke’s Plan of Classical Instruction, cit., pp. 9–44. Le novelle sono: Il vecchio bue, La Scimia padrona del sacco delle noci e le altre scimie, Il cervo scacciato dalla selva dal cinghiale, che chiede aiuto agli animali suoi vicini di Giovanni Gherardo de Rossi; La lucciola, ed il vermicello di Gasparo Gozzi; L’aquila e la biscia di Melchior Cesarotti; Il pappagallo ed altri animali di Giuseppe Manzoni; Le matrone ambizione di Gaetano Polidori The short stories, except those by Gozzi and Cesarotti, are found in: Scelta di prose italiane tratte da’ più celebri scrittori antichi e moderni, per uso degli studiosi di questa lingua. Pietro Bachi, precettore nell’Università Harvardiana. Cambridge: Carlo Folsom, 1828. 98 Stories from Italian writers, cit. pp. 45–140. 99 Ibid., pp. 141–169. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 85 Literary research and difficulties of the London period In spite of a significant commitment directed towards the preparation of teaching materials, Panizzi now dedicates himself largely to research and to studies on the Italian Renaissance completed for the preparation of the Orlando Innamorato of Matteo Maria Boiardo and the Orlando Furioso of Ludovico Ariosto, which constitute his principal and highly regarded literary-critical production. This London period is marked above all by increasing financial difficulties: apart from small payments for occasional reviews, and his university salary of £250 per annum,100 Panizzi has no other means of income. The hardships endured by him are many and varied, among them the University’s decision to reduce to £200 the salaries of the professors of Italian, German, Spanish and Oriental languages, whose protests fell on deaf ears. The spectre arose of living on a mere pittance, such as he had known in his first years in England, and he bitterly regretted his decision to leave Liverpool, where he was known and well liked, and had enjoyed a reasonable degree of financial security, for the risky uncertainty of life in London.101 Nothing came of the projects which Panizzi had developed, with the agreement of the Council of London University, for finding a way out of such an unfortunate situation: in March 1829 he developed a course of lectures on the romantic poets, with very low attendance, however, from the public; a subsequent course saw the presence of only two people, “who would not have joined, had they not been my personal friends”, remarked Coates.102 In the following April, a series of lectures on Italian life, held in a venue103 which was easier to attend for female members of the public, who were also those more likely to be interested, saw an attendance of fifty persons who, nevertheless, were still mainly from his circle of friends. Orlando furioso di Ariosto In 1830 the first volume appeared of the Orlando Innamorato di Bojardo: Orlando Furioso di Ariosto: with an Essay on the Romantic Narrative Poetry of the Italians; Memoirs, and Notes by Antonio Panizzi, a work that would be published in nine volumes by the London publisher Pickering between 1830 and 1834. Dionisotti recognizes that, with “the edition of the two poems”, to which is added in 1835 that of the lyrical poems of Boiardo, “Panizzi provided Italian literary history with a monumental contribution”104 that was, however, almost forgotten, as Luigi Settembrini would observe.105 The first volume is dedicated to William Roscoe and contains a dissertation on Italian romantic poetry with an 100 Constance Brooks, Antonio Panizzi: scholar and patriot. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1931, p. 47. 101 Edward Miller, Prince of Librarians, cit., p. 72. 102 Antonio Panizzi a Thomas Coates, 1st may [presumably between 1829 and 1830]. Margaret Campbell Walker Wicks, The Italian Exiles in London 1816-1848, cit., p. 269. 103 Willis’s Rooms, King Street, St James. 104 Carlo Dionisotti, Un professore a Londra, cit., p. 115. 105 Lezioni di letteratura italiana dettate nell'Università di Napoli da Luigi Settembrini, vol. 1. Napoli: Stabilimento Tipografico Ghio, 1866, p. 338. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 86 analysis of Teseide by Boccaccio, Morgante by Pulci and Mambriano by Bello106. In the second volume (1831) after a preface in memory of Boiardo, the life of Ariosto is presented. “It was Panizzi who first noted that in the Innamorato there is a confluence between the heroic-religious cycle of Charlemagne and the romantic cycle of the Round Table”.107 The text of the Orlando Innamorato comes edited with notes in English to assist the reader of the translation, together with memories and observations of a personal nature; comparisons are drawn with Berni’s text of the Innamorato and other editions. Panizzi consulted the sixteenth century editions of Boiardo in the private library of his friend Thomas Grenville, and of Count George Spencer. In volumes V and VI of his critical edition, he publishes references to the sources in Bibliographical notices of some early editions of the Orlando Innamorato and Furioso.108 With completion of the publication of the nine volumes in 1834, Panizzi is thanked by member of Parliament Thomas Macaulay “for having given him the means of reading an Orlando Innamorato better than the one which he had read in the reworking by Berni”.109 The negative criticism of Thomas Keightley110 appearing in the “Foreign Quarterly Review”,111 is to be considered in the context of the difficult relations between Panizzi and Keightley, reported in depth by Neil Harris.112 The relationship between the two, initially one of simple, mutual interests, undergoes gradual deterioration, whether because of the closeness ideologically of Keightley with Gabriele Rossetti, or through a series of misunderstandings, among them, the suspicion that Panizzi was the author of an anonymous review that trashed Tales and Popular Fictions, the popular literary work by Keightley. This false attribution of authorship prompted an extremely vulgar attack by the Irish writer and a justifiable reaction by Panizzi, which revealed a characteristic of the man that marked him in his professional life, symbolically represented by the seal which he applied to his letters with the motto Je réponds à qui me touche, a detail pointed out by Constance Wicks and Neil Harris. In an open letter to the “Foreign Quarterly Review”,113 Panizzi opens up an exchange of views which will last for several years and which, ironically, displays all the contradictions and hidden agenda of criticism: inconsistency regarding the subject, gross and out-of-place use of stereotypes, which on various occasions, were attributed to him by English and Italians alike. Panizzi’s activity as a bibliographer with expert knowledge of sources, a scholar of Italian language and literature, and as an academic, has been investigated relatively widely; here, on the other hand, one is dealing with a crucial transition period, characterizing Panizzi’s life in his twenties, a period in which, from a lawyer, he becomes a complete man of letters, and, from an exile, becomes fully 106 Louis Fagan, The life of Sir Anthony Panizzi, K.C.B., late librarian of the British Museum, Senator of Italy. Second edition. London: Remington, 1880, vol. 1, p. 79. 107 Giulio Caprin; L’esule fortunato, cit., p. 98. 108 Le Bibliographical notices were then published as an extract of 103 pages by the Pickering publisher in 1831; cf. Giuseppe Anceschi, Nota bibliografica degli scritti di e su Antonio Panizzi, in Enzo Bottasso, Carlo Dionisotti, Maurizio Festanti, Edward Miller, Studi su Antonio Panizzi, a cura di Maurizio Festanti, cit., p. 521. 109 Giulio Caprin, L’esule fortunato, cit., p. 127. Macaulay promised to write a critical comment in the journal “Edinburgh review”. 110 Thomas Keightley (1789-1872) Irish author of ‘comparative’ folklore or mythological works such as Fairy Mythology (1828), editor of some editions of the works of Milton and Shakespeare, and author of manuals and texts for the school . 111 Foreign Quarterly Review, xv (1835), pp. 46–74, 50–51. 112 Neil Harris, “Je réponds à qui me touche”. The Quarrel in 1835 between Antonio Panizzi and Thomas Keightley, “La Bibliofilia”, vol. XCIX, n. 3 (1997), pp. 237–269. 113 Letter of 27th March 1835. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 87 integrated into the English language, into English culture and society. One wonders whether all this activity, impressive for the high level and wide range of knowledge attained within a short period of time, helped to ease his way into the world of libraries, acquiring high-level technical competencies in that field also, always continuing to seek in-depth understanding of the situations in which he found himself, the methods most suited to relating to his interlocutors and the most functional and innovative solutions for the organisation of work at the British Library. References Anceschi, Giuseppe. 1981. Nota bibliografica degli scritti di e su Antonio Panizzi. In Enzo Bottasso, Carlo Dionisotti, Maurizio Festanti, Edward Miller, Studi su Antonio Panizzi, a cura di Maurizio Festanti, 515–535. Reggio Emilia: Biblioteca municipale A. Panizzi. Bachi, Pietro. 1828. Scelta di prose italiane tratte da’ più celebri scrittori antichi e moderni, per uso degli studiosi di questa lingua da Pietro Bachi, precettore nell’Università Harvardiana. Cambridge: Carlo Folsom. Biagioli, Niccolò Giosafatte. 1805. Grammaire italienne, élémentaire et raisonnée, suivie d’un traité de la poésie italienne. Paris: Fayolle. Biagioli, Niccolò Giosafatte. 1814. Grammatica ragionata della lingua francese. Parigi: Didot. Brooks, Constance, 1931. Antonio Panizzi: scholar and patriot. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Caprin, Giulio. 1945. L’esule fortunato: Antonio Panizzi. Firenze: Vallecchi. Cerutti, Angelo. 1828. A New Italian Grammar or a Course of lessons in the Italian language. London: printed for Sherwood, Gilbert and Piper. Collot, A.G. 1832. Dialoghi disposti per facilitare lo studio della lingua italiana, translated by F. Mancinelli, romano. Serie I. Philadelphia: Carey & Lea – Chestnut Street. Dionisotti, Carlo. 2002. Un professore a Londra. Studi su Antonio Panizzi, a cura di Giuseppe Anceschi. Novara: Interlinea edizioni. Fagan, Louis. 1880. The Life of Sir Anthony Panizzi, K.C.B. Late Principal Librarian of the British Museum. Senator of Italy. London: Remington. Fagan, Louis. 1880. The Life of Sir Anthony Panizzi, K.C.B. Late Principal Librarian of the British Museum. Senator of Italy. Second edition. London: Remington. Fornara, Simone. 2005. Breve storia della grammatica italiana. Roma: Carocci. Lettere ad Antonio Panizzi di uomini illustri e amici italiani (1823-1870), pubblicate da Luigi Fagan. Firenze: Barbèra, 1880. JLIS.it 11, 1 (January 2020) ISSN: 2038-1026 online Open access article licensed under CC-BY DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-12600 88 Harris, Neil. 1997. ‘Je réponds à qui me touche’. The Quarrel in 1835 between Antonio Panizzi and Thomas Keightley, “La Bibliofilia”, 99:237–269. Leopardi, Giacomo. 1827. Crestomazia italiana, ossia Scelta di luoghi insigni o per sentimento o per locuzione raccolti dagli scritti italiani in prosa di autori eccellenti d’ogni secolo, per cura del conte Giacomo Leopardi. Milano: Ant. Fort. Stella. Mazzini, Giuseppe. 1914. Scritti editi ed inediti. Imola: Galeati. Miller, Edward. 1967. Prince of Librarians. The Life and Times of Antonio Panizzi of the British Museum. London: Deutsch. New, Chester William. 1961. The Life of Henry Brougham to 1830. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Panizzi, Antonio. 1823. Dei Processi e delle Sentenze contro Gli imputati di Lesa-Maestà e di aderenza alle Sette proscritte negli Stati di Modena del Tribunale statario di Rubiera. Madrid [ma Lugano]: [s.n.]. Panizzi, Antonio. 1828. An Elementary Italian Grammar for the Use of Students in the London University. London: printed for John Taylor bookseller and publisher to the University, Upper Gower Street. Panizzi, Antonio. 1828. Extracts from the Italian Prose Writers for the Use of Students in the London University. London: John Taylor. Panizzi, Antonio. 1830-1834. Orlando Orlando innamorato di Bojardo: Orlando furioso di Ariosto: with an essay on the romantic narrative poetry of the Italians; memoirs, and notes. London: William Pickering, 9 voll. Panizzi, Antonio. 1830. Stories from Italian Writers; with a literal interlinear translation, on the plan recommended by Mr. Locke (Selected from Dr. Panizzi’s Extracts from Antonio Panizzi, Italian Prose Writers.) [With notes, largely extracted from Panizzi’s “Elementary Italian Grammar”]. London: John Taylor. Panizzi, Antonio. 1832. Stories from Italian Writers; with a literal interlinear translation, on Locke’s Plan of Classical Instruction: Illustrated with Notes. First American from last London Edition, with additional translations and notes by F.[ilippo] Mancinelli. Philadelphia: Carey & Lea, Chesnut Street. Panizzi, Antonio. 1835. Stories from Italian Writers; with a literal interlinear translation on the plan recommended by Mr. Locke. Illustrated with notes. Second edition. London: John Taylor. Settembrini, Luigi. 1866. Lezioni di letteratura italiana dettate nell’Università di Napoli da Luigi Settembrini. Napoli: Stabilimento Tipografico Ghio. Wicks, Margaret C. W. 1937. The Italian Exiles in London 1816-1848. Manchester: University Press. 
work_tbltzadnxjeulmunqczzcukutu	----	2 Urology Annals | Jan - Jun 2009 | Vol 1 | Issue 1 be further extended to include the following, “and if we do not understand our science of today we will not be able to add to it.” More than 1000 years ago, Abu Bakr Muhammad ibn Zakariyya Al-Razi, stressed on the same point saying that the scholar who attains complete knowledge of the achievement of those who came before him will be able to add original contributions to it.[2,3] IntroductIon In agreement with many historians, in the history of science, as in that of any expression of human intelligence and emotion, the past is never past, but continues and is very active in every form and at every manifestation of the present. Therefore, as stated by George Sarton, “we shall not be able to understand our science of to-day, if we do not succeed in penetrating its genesis and its evolution.”[1] This statement of Sarton can Address for correspondence: Prof. Rabie E. Abdel-Halim, 90 Heathfield Rd, Liverpool, Merseyside, L15 9HA, UK. E-mail: rabie@doctors.org.uk Received: 25.01.2009, Accepted: 23.02.2009, DOI: 10.4103/0974-7796.48780 With few exceptions, most of the current publications on history of urology still ignore the scientific and technological events of the more than a thousand years between the Greco-Roman times and the modern era. This has broken an important link in the globally continuous line of progress and evolution of world civilizations. Another aggravation of that missing-link problem in the history of urology, and history of medicine, in general, is the large number of articles based, only, on copying from secondary sources without checking the primary sources (the edited and published original manuscripts). Such articles easily propagate omissions, deficiencies, misunderstandings, distortions, and unfounded claims. On the other hand, in the Arabic and Islamic world, though many original authentic medical manuscripts written by famous scholars of the Islamic era were authoritatively edited and published during the twentieth century, the number of primary source studies based on them by historians or medical researchers remained few and were limited to individual efforts. Therefore, we focused on this missing-link era and performed several primary source studies of the published medical works of ten scholars who lived and practiced between the ninth and the thirteenth centuries and whose Latinized books were available in Europe as early as the twelfth century with their influence lasting until the eighteenth century. Our results confirm that those scholars of the Islamic era were not mere compilers or sheer transmitters of Greco-Roman medical literature. On the contrary, they critically reviewed the translated heritage of previous civilizations rejecting what is superfluous and accepting only what proves to be true. They added original contributions to the progress of urology and pioneered new fields of medical knowledge and practice such as medical ethics, medical education, medical certification, health education, preventive medicine, hospitals and hospital training, medical-practice quality control, clinical medicine, differential diagnosis, experimental medicine, experimental surgery, beginnings of specialization, pharmacology, use of anesthetics, and many other new discoveries in anatomy, physiology, pathology, therapeutics, surgical instruments, and surgical techniques. Key Words: History of medicine, history of uro-anatomy, history of uro-physiology Abstract The missing link in the history of urology: A call for more efforts to bridge the gap Rabie E. Abdel-Halim King Saud University College of Medicine and King Khalid University Hospital, Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia Review Article [Downloaded free from http://www.urologyannals.com on Monday, April 13, 2009] Urology Annals | Jan - Jun 2009 | Vol 1 | Issue 1 3 Abdel-Halim: The missing link in the history of urology Such knowledge of the history of medicine has to be complete and uninterrupted in order to enable a person to make new advances to his contemporary practice. The history of progress of man to his modern condition is a fascinating story. The interest, as described by John Glub,[4] is lost, however, when the continuity is concealed by the omission of periods of several centuries and the presentation of bits and pieces of history, gathered from here and there, in accordance with our own emotional prejudices or our national vanity. The line of evolution of history of medicine is continuous and uninterrupted. It has gone through several phases accumulating contributions of different civilizations, and numerous nations extending across several phases of evolution. Indeed, the medicine of today is a joint global contribution of the whole world. However, even up till now such an attitude of the universality of science is rare among the scholars of the contemporary Western civilization. As Philip Rehbock put it, “the situation for truly global treatments of the history of science has been especially barren. Ever since Europeans began to write it in the late eighteenth century, the history of science has meant the history of Western science. Like the courses for which they have been intended, textbooks in the history of science have largely followed this orientation.”[5] This is in marked contrast to the scholars of the Islamic era who respected the universality of knowledge, and paid tributes to all contributors regardless of their color, tongue, religion, or ethnic and national origin. Accordingly in their works, Ibn Al-Nadeem,[6] Ibn Juljul,[7] Saed ibn Ahmad ibn Saed Al Andalusi,[8] Ibn Abi Usaibiaa,[9] and many other Islamic scholars looked upon the history of the progress of medicine as a global contribution by all nations, a heritage of all mankind. In his book Uyoon Al Anbaa Fi Tabaqat Al-Atibbaa,[9] Ibn Abi Usaibiaa reviewed the progress of medicine from its beginnings up to his life time, following a thorough, accurate, and unbiased system, covering in a chronological order all civilizations in all parts of the world over all phases of development of medicine. Phases of evolutIon of medIcal knowledge The line of evolution and progress of medical knowledge from antiquity up till now followed several phases of successive eras and civilizations. Phase after phase, the progress circles of medical theory and practice continued to expand: 1. Creation of Adam (peace be upon him) and prehistory 2. Ancient civilizations: Assuro-Babylonian, Ancient Egyptian, Indian, Persian, and Far Eastern 3. Greco-Roman and Alexandrian 4. Islamic civilization 5. Western civilization Where is the missing link? It is noticeable that, in any contemporary article on urology or any other surgical or medical specialty, the more than 1000 years between Greco-Roman times and the modern era, are commonly overlooked; giving the appearance that during this period nothing worthy of mention happened in medicine. And the same holds true with respect to mass media resources and curricula at schools and colleges. In Europe, this period is usually referred to as the Dark Ages, in which the great era of the Greco-Roman medicine came to an end and no progress in medical science was made until the Renaissance. The state of decline of medicine in Europe during that period is well documented in details by all Western historians. As stated by Cumston, “at the time when the Arabs appeared in the Orient, Greek sciences were in total decadence and the practice of magic reigned supreme.”[10] However, in the East, according to Dickinson,[11] Sarton,[12] Cumston,[10] and Margota,[13] the firm establishment of the Muslim supremacy, coincided with the development of botany, pharmacy, and chemistry – branches of science that the Muslim world is given credit for having established. With the spread of Islamic civilization between the ninth and the sixteenth centuries, the study of medicine and other branches of science revived and acquired a scientific basis. Nevertheless, with few exceptions, most of the current studies on history of medicine still ignore the scientific and technological events of the period. This has broken an important link in the globally continuous line of progress and evolution of world civilizations. As stated by Al-Hassani,[14] students, who are trained to think critically, suddenly face a sullen darkness of ten centuries, and then are told things appeared, as if by miracle, all at once in the Renaissance [Figure 1]; this defies logic. Things, as any scientist knows, do not appear by chance. Continuity is basic, especially in the birth and rise of sciences; it is almost so in every other field of study. In agreement with Al-Hassany,[14] Ghazanfar,[15] Dawson,[16- 18] Gilson[19,20] Haskins,[21,22] Makdisi,[23] Cumston,[10] and Sarton,[12] this period of ten centuries set aside as ‘vulgar and dark’, and given scant notice in books, curricula, and at universities, is actually the period when the grounds of modern science were mapped out and amplified; the period when the multidimensional development of Arab–Islamic thought, provided the stimulus for developing the human intellect further, and for bringing about the forces of rationalism and humanism that led to the twelfth century Medieval Renaissance, [Downloaded free from http://www.urologyannals.com on Monday, April 13, 2009] 4 Urology Annals | Jan - Jun 2009 | Vol 1 | Issue 1 Abdel-Halim: The missing link in the history of urology the fifteenth century Italian Renaissance, and indeed, for sowing the seeds of European Reformation. The examples for this literature gap in history of urology during the Islamic era are too many to list. It is quite a common finding in the current references and textbooks. In the West it has inevitably been the tradition to highlight Eurocentric culture, based on endorsing and attributing all, exclusively and solely to the Roman and Greek cultures. This is the case not only with the historiography of medicine and other applied sciences, but also with that of all other venues of human thinking. varIous manIfestatIons of the mIssIng- lInk Phenomenon 1. While Haskins[21,22] and a few other science historians emphasize ‘continuity and change’ as the hallmark of Middle Ages, one typically observes ‘discontinuity’ and an almost exclusive ‘universalization’ of European Dark Ages in literary history, pertaining to almost all branches of knowledge. Much of the literature reflects painstaking efforts to completely omit, negate, or minimize the significance of Islamic linkages; the Greek heritage is the primary emphasis. 2. The role played by the scholars of the Islamic era is only acknowledged as mere transmitters of the Greek heritage to Middle-Ages Europe, denying them any other achievements, additions, or original contributions. Although few Western historians in the first half of the twentieth century, like Briffault,[24] Ronan,[25] and Sarton,[12] did not approve such posturing; the current literature in history of medicine and history of science is still replete with such mistaken erroneous claims minimizing the role of the whole Islamic era to mere preservation of Greek science. 3. Another manifestation of the missing link is the toleration of the names of only few medieval Islamic scholars, as if they were exceptional individuals who sporadically existed and as if there were no others like them, in the whole Islamic era. This ignores the fact that a fully developed Islamic civilization involving all aspects of life existed in that era, and led to the flourishing of an original school of medicine which regulated medical education, medical ethics and certification, established hospitals as genuine medical facilities, and provided health services at primary care level in urban, rural, and military settings. There are documented biographies already available for hundreds of famous medical pioneers and professors, indicating that thousands of practitioners existed during that era. Even with the few names like Rhazes and Avicenna commonly quoted in the Western references, because their original works are not checked or studied, nothing much is mentioned about their original contributions. 4. Another form of exclusion of the Islamic era from the history of progress of medicine is plagiarism, publishing the Latinized works of the Islamic scholars under the names of medieval European authors. The famous example for that is Constantinus Africanus, who as stated by Campbell,[26] suppressed the names of the Arabic authors whose works he produced Latin versions of in the eleventh century. Even more worse is the attribution of the commentaries of the Muslim scholars on the works of Galen, to Galen himself. Same happened with the Muslim’s commentaries and additions to the important work of the first-century eminent herbalist Dioscorides. That is why Cumston[27] noted that many of the medicinal remedies reported by Dioscorides are of Islamic origin. 5. The missing-link phenomenon is also well represented by the many distortions and misunderstandings copied from one secondary source to another. The examples for those distortions, misunderstandings, and even accusations are too many to list. They are abundant both in reference books, scientific articles, newspapers, information media, and Internet. Most typical is the following quotation currently found on several online encyclopedias: “Independent investigation in the fields of exact science, anatomy, and physiology was forbidden by the laws of the Koran.”[28] factors that aggravate and ProPagate thIs lIterature gaP In the hIstory of medIcIne 1. First of all, very little or no studies are based on primary sources. Most of current resources are copied from previously published secondary source articles, without checking the edited and published original manuscripts. Such articles easily propagate omissions, deficiencies, misunderstandings, distortions, and unfounded claims. 2. Furthermore, almost all history of medicine research centers, worldwide, focus only on their local history and Figure 1: A timeline graph showing the thousand years missing history. (Courtesy of The Foundation for Science, Technology, and Civilization[14]) [Downloaded free from http://www.urologyannals.com on Monday, April 13, 2009] Urology Annals | Jan - Jun 2009 | Vol 1 | Issue 1 5 Abdel-Halim: The missing link in the history of urology pay little attention, if any, to further studies in the medicine of the Islamic Era. 3. Moreover, with few exceptions, there is no academic interest in the history of medicine in the universities of the Arabic and Islamic world, and in contrast with the whole of the Western world, history of medicine, is not yet included in their undergraduate or postgraduate curricula. 4. Similarly, although many original authentic medical manuscripts written by famous scholars of the Islamic era were authoritatively edited and published during the twentieth century, the number of primary source studies based on them by historians or medical researchers remained very little. This is possibly because of the lack of academic departments or research centers devoted to history of medicine in those countries. Additionally, hundreds of medical manuscripts are waiting for editing and publishing. This represents a great obstacle as no one else cares for this neglected world treasure of knowledge. an ongoIng study aImIng at restorIng the mIssIng lInk In the hIstory of urology Since the early seventies of last century, we focused on this missing-link era and performed several primary source studies utilizing the already published original medical works of Al- Razi,[29-32] Ibn Al-Jazzar,[33] Al-Zahrawi,[34-37] Ibn Sina,[38] Ibn Zuhr,[39] Ibn Rushd,[40] Muhadhdhab Al-Deen Al Baghdady,[41] Ibn Al-Bitar,[42] Ibn El Quff,[43] and Ibn Al-Nafis,[44-48] who lived and practiced between the ninth and the thirteenth centuries. Our study critically evaluated the contributions of this list of Islamic scholars to the progress of, not only urology but also clinical medicine, anatomy, physiology, preventive medicine, medicine, surgery, anesthesiology, antenatal care, pediatrics, social pediatrics, pharmacy, health education, medical services, hospitals, hospital training, medical education, and medical ethics. Their original works were compared with those of their predecessors and with those who came after them. Their influence on Medieval Europe and European Renaissance was traced, evaluated, and documented. Furthermore, original translations into English were made of relevant excerpts of all the works studied. The Latinized works of all those Islamic scholars [Figures 2–6] were available in Europe as early as the twelfth century, with their influence lasting until the eighteenth century as documented by Sarton,[12] Cumston,[10] Cambell,[26] Friend,[49] Margotta,[13] Radbill,[50] Garrison,[51] and by Ulman.[52] Up till now, out of this ongoing long-term research project, several original contributions to the progress of urology by those scholars during the Medieval Islamic era have been documented.[53-61] This includes contributions to the progress of anatomy, physiology, pathology, clinical urology, therapeutics, operative urology, and instrumentation. Our results also confirm that those scholars of the Islamic era were not mere compilers or sheer transmitters of Greco-Roman medical literature. On the contrary, they critically reviewed the translated heritage of previous civilizations rejecting what is superfluous and accepting only what proves to be true. They added original contributions to the progress of urology and pioneered new fields of medical knowledge and practice such as medical ethics, medical education, medical certification, health education, preventive medicine, hospitals and hospital training, medical-practice quality control, clinical medicine, differential diagnosis, experimental medicine, experimental surgery, beginnings of specialization, pharmacology, and use of anesthetics.[62-66] Figure 2: A Latin edition of the Kulleyyat of Ibn Rushd and the Taisir of Ibn Zuhr; the first ever example of joint authorship of a medical textbook. Printed at Venice in the year 1542. (Courtesy of Biblioteca Histórica de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid) Figure 3: Another edition of the two-volumes-in-one book shown in Figure 2 printed at Venice in 1553. (Courtesy of Biblioteca Histórica de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid) [Downloaded free from http://www.urologyannals.com on Monday, April 13, 2009] 6 Urology Annals | Jan - Jun 2009 | Vol 1 | Issue 1 Abdel-Halim: The missing link in the history of urology much more future efforts are needed However, much more efforts are still needed to fill this wide literature gap and to restore the missing continuity in the line of evolution of urology and all other surgical and medical sciences. Individual efforts, though of help, are not enough. All universities, research centers, heritage-revival centers, museums, and historical libraries in all the Arab and Islamic countries have to shoulder their responsibilities in fulfilling the following badly needed essential measures: 1. Establishing departments for history of medicine in every university. 2. Encouraging academic staff to do primary source research in history of medicine; each in his own specialty. This can be made as one of the promotion requirements, perhaps one paper for each promotion cycle. 3. Including history of medicine courses in undergraduate and postgraduate curricula of the colleges of medicine, pharmacy, and science. 4. Encouraging editing manuscripts in Master, PhD, and Postdoctoral studies. 5. Encouraging publications in history of medicine aimed for both the higher and the general education levels and for public information. Hopes are high; there is no shortage of resources and there is plenty to be done. Sincere efforts have already started in several parts of the Arab and Islamic countries. references 1. Sarton, G. The Study of the History of Science. Harvard: Harvard University Press; 1936. p. 5. 2. Mukhtar AM. Rhazes contra Galenum. Bonn: Rheinischen Friedrich- Wihelms-Universitat; 1969. p. 6. (Arabic section.). 3. Pines S. Razi critique du Galien, Actes du VIIe Congres Internationale d’ Histoire des Sciences Jerusalem 4-12 Aout 1953, Collections travaux academie international histoire sciences. Paris: Hermann; 1954. p. 480-7. 4. Glubb J. A short history of the Arab peoples. Hodder and Stoughton; 1969. p. 289-90. 5. Rehbock PF. Globalizing the history of science 1942. J World History Spring 2001;12:183-92. 6. Ibn Al-Nadim, Al-Fihrist, Ramadan I, editors. Beirut: Dar El-Mareefah; 2nd ed. 1997. 7. Ibn Juljul, Tabbaqat K, Al Attibbaa, Al-Hukamaa WA, Fouad S, editors. Cairo: French Bureau Publications; 1955. 8. Saed Ibn Saed, Al-Andalusi. Science in the Medieval World “Book of the categories of nations”. In: Salem SI, Kumar A (Translators and Editors). Austin: University of Texas Press; History of Science Series No.5.; 1996. 9. Ibn Abi-Usaybia, Uyunul-Anba Fi-Tabaqat AI-Atibaa. (The sources of the knowledge of classes of doctors). Reda N, editor. Beirut: Dar Maktabat al Hayat; 1965. 10. Cumston CG. Islamic Medicine. In: Cumston CG, editor. An introduction to the history of medicine from the time of the pharaohs to the end of the XVIII century. London (UK): Kegan Paul, Trench, Trumbner and Co. Ltd. Figure 6: Another Latin edition of Ibn Sina’s Canon of Medicine printed at Louvan in 1658. (Courtesy of the Koraes collection, Koraes Central Library of Chios) Figure 4: A Latin edition of Ibn Sina’s Canon of Medicine printed at Venice in 1520. (Courtesy of Biblioteca Histórica de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid) Figure 5: Another Latin edition of Ibn Sina’s Canon of Medicine printed at Rome in 1593. (Courtesy of Biblioteca Histórica de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid) [Downloaded free from http://www.urologyannals.com on Monday, April 13, 2009] Urology Annals | Jan - Jun 2009 | Vol 1 | Issue 1 7 Abdel-Halim: The missing link in the history of urology New York, (NW): Alfred A. Knopf; 1926. p. 185-211. 11. Dickinson EH. The medicine of the ancients. 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An introduction to the history of medicine with medical chronology, suggestions for study and bibliographic data. 3rd ed. Revised and enlarged. Philadelphia and London: W B Saunders Company; 1924. 52. Ullmann M. Islamic medicine. Islamic surveys No.11. Edinburgh (Scotland): Edinburgh University Press; 1978. 53. Abdel-Halim RE, Jan MY. Kinderheilkunde vor 1000 jahren, blick in die Arabish-Islamische Medizin. Der Kinderarzt 1983; 14;61-3. 54. Abdel-Halim RE. Pediatric urology 1000 years ago. Prog Pediatr Surg 1986; 20:256-64. 55. Abdel-Halim RE. Lithotripsy: A historical review. In: Endourology, Proceedings of the Third Congress of the International Society of Urologic Endoscopy. E. Matouschek, Baden-Baden, bua-Verlag Werner Steinbruck, editors. 1985. p. 474-6. 56. Abdel-Halim RE. Urethral catheters: A historical review. Saudi Med J 1990; 11:87-8. 57. Abdel-Halim RE, Altwaijiri AS, Elfaqih SR, Mitwalli AH. Extraction of urinary bladder stone as described by Abul-Qasim Khalaf Ibn Abbas Alzahrawi (Albucasis) (325-404 H, 930-1013 AD): A translation of original text and a commentary. Saudi Med J 2003; 24:1283-91. 58. Abdel-Halim RE, Abdel-Maguid TE. The functional anatomy of the uretero- vesical junction: A historical review. Saudi Med J 2003; 24:815-9. 59. Abdel-Halim RE. Re: Management of urinary tract infections: Historical perspective and current strategies: Part 1--before antibiotics. J Urol 2005;174:1502. 60. Abdel-Halim RE. Clinical methods and team work: 1000 years ago. Am J Surg 2006; 191:289-90. 61. Abdel-Halim RE. Contributions of Muhadhdhab Al-Deen Al-Baghdadi to the progress of medicine and urology. A study and translations from his book Al-Mukhtar. Saudi Med J 2006;27:1631-41. 62. Abdel-Halim RE. Contributions of Ibn Zuhr (Avenzoar) to the progress of surgery: A study and translations from his book Al-Taisir. Saudi Med J 2005;26:1333-9. 63. Abdel-Halim RE. Obesity: 1000 years ago. Lancet 2005;366:204. [Downloaded free from http://www.urologyannals.com on Monday, April 13, 2009] 8 Urology Annals | Jan - Jun 2009 | Vol 1 | Issue 1 Abdel-Halim: The missing link in the history of urology 64. Abdel-Halim RE. Contributions of Ibn Al-Nafis (1210-1288 AD) to the progress of medicine and urology: A study and translations from his medical works. Saudi Med J 2008;29:13-22. 65. Al-Mazroa AA, Abdel-Halim RE. Anaesthesia 1000 years ago-I. In: Atkinson RS, Boulton TB, editors. The History of Anaesthesia. London, New York: Royal Society of Medicine Services and the Parthenon Publishing Group; 1989. p. 46-8. 66. Al-Mazrooa AA, Abdel-Halim RE. Anesthesia 1000 years ago-II: 1991. Middle East J Anesthesiol 2000;15:383-92. Source of Support: Nil, Conflict of Interest: None. Author Help: Online submission of the manuscripts Articles can be submitted online from http://www.journalonweb.com. 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work_tgdwevfh5fgm7khuvynwiujwji	----	JEH volume 32 issue 4 Cover and Front matter V O L U M E X X X I I D E C E M B E R 1972 N U M B E R 4 SHEPHERD AND WILLIAMSON The Coaxtal Trade of the British Sorth American Colonies, 1768-1772 OLMSTEAI) Investment Constraints and Xcw York City Mutual Savings Bank Financing of Antebellum Development ADAMS The Bank of Stephen C.iraul. 18I2-I8M CIARVY Banking Under the Tsars and the Soviets KLEIN The Portuguese Slave Trade from Angola in the F.iglueenth Century WEISS The Industrial Distribution of the Urban and Rural Workforces: Estimates for the United States, 1870-1010 NOTE JONES The Rise and Fall of the Manorial System: A Critical Comment REVIEWS OF BOOKS BOOKS RECEIVED INDEX TO VOI.l'ME NXXII P U B L I S H E D FOR THE ECONOMIC HISTORY A S S O C I A T I O N BY THE G R A D U A T E SCHOOL OF B U S I N E S S A D M I N I S T R A T I O N OF NEW YORK U N I V E R S I T Y property of TREASURY LIBRARY room 5030 Main Treasury BMn EDITOR NATHAN ROSENBERG KDITORIAL STAFF Dorothy S. Brady, Book Review Editor Mary E. Bradish, Assistant Editor Herman E. Krooss, Business Manager EDITORIAL BOARD Paul A. David 1969-1974 Stanford Lance E. Davis 1968-1973 California Institute of Technology Folke Dovring 1969-1974 Illinois David Herlihy 1967-1972 Wisconsin David S. Landes 1967-1972 Harvard Marvin R. Mclnnis 1971-1976 Queen's T H E JOURNAL OF ECONOMIC HISTOBY is published in March, June, September, and December for The Fconomic History Association by the Graduate School of Business Administration, New York University. The JOURNAL is sent to all members of the Association. Membership rates are: student membership, S3.00; regular membership, United States, $10.00; library subscriptions, $15.00; regular membership, foreign, $10.50; professors emeriti who have been members of the Association for ten years, $3.00; back issues, $4.00. Applications and inquiries concerning membership and single copies should be addressed to HERMAN E. 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Articles and correspondence relating to editorial functions of T H E JOURNAL OK ECONOMIC HISTORY should be directed to NATHAN ROSENBERG, Department of Eco- nomics, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wisconsin 53706. Correspondence relating to book reviews should be sent c/o DOROTHY S. BRADY, Department of Economics, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19104. PUBLISHED QUArtTEIU.Y BY THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF BUSINESS ADMINISTRATION, N E W YORK UNIVERSITY, FOR TIIF, ECONOMIC HISTORY ASSOCIATION PUBLICATION OFFICE: 1 0 0 TRINITY PLACE, N E W YORK, N . Y . 1 0 0 0 6 Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office, Worcester, Mass. Copyright 1972 by The Economic History Association Printed in the U.S.A. bv The Heffernan Press Inc. THE JOURNAL of ECONOMIC HISTORY VOLUME XXXII Editor NATHAN ROSENBERG Book Review Editor DOROTHY S. BRADY Business Manager HERMAN E. 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MAIL SUBSCRIPTIONS C. TOTAL PAID CIRCULATION O. FREE DISTRIBUTION BY MAIL, CARRIER OR OTHER MEANS 1 . SAMPLES, COMPLIMENTARY, AND OTHER FREE COPIES' 2. COPIES DISTRIBUTED TO NEWS AGENTS, BUT NOT SOLD E. TOTALOISTRtBUTION/yumo/CmdZy F. OFFICE USE, LEFT-OVER, UNACCOUNTED, SPOILED AFTER PRINTING G. 7OTAL (Sum of BSF-should equal net press nm shown m A) EACH ISSUE DURING PRECEDING 12 MONTHS 3,500 0 3,400 3,400 0 0 3,400 100 3,500 SINGLE ISSUE PUBLISHED NEAR- EST TO FILING DATE 3,500 0 3,400 3,400 0 0 3,400 100 3,500 ^ (Slgnatef&of editor, publisher, businef&jnanuger, or owner) I certify that the statements made by me above are correct end w^^*./^Wy\4/H^^4/t^ jC£&ffir^(~—> PS Form 3 S 2 6 July 1971 THE JOURNAL OF ECONOMIC HISTORY Volume XXXII December 1972 Number 4 ARTICLES JAMES F. SHEPHEBD AND SAMUEL H. WILLIAMSON The Coastal Trade of the British North American Colonies, 1768-1772 783 ALAN L. OLMSTEAD Investment Constraints and New York City Mutual Savings Bank Financing of Antebellum Development 811 DONALD R. ADAMS, JB. The Bank of Stephen Girard, 1812-1831 841 GEORGE GARVY Banking Under the Tsars and the Soviets 869 HERBERT S. KLEIN The Portuguese Slave Trade from Angola in the Eighteenth Century 894 THOMAS WEISS The Industrial Distribution of the Urban and Rural Workforces: Estimates for the United States, 1870-1910 919 NOTE ANDREW JONES The Rise and Fall of the Manorial System: A Critical Comment 938 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 945 AVAGLIANO, LUCIO Alessandro Rossi e le orinini dell'Italia industriale, reviewed by Richard T. Rapp 945 BAZANT, JAN AND Alienation of Church Wealth in Mexico: Social and MICHAEL P . COSTELOE Economic Aspects of the Liberal Revolution, (ED. AND TR.) 1856-1875, reviewed by Thomas J. Dodd 946 BLAZNTK, PAVLE ET AL. BOEHM, E. A. FORSTER, COLIN, EDITOR SCHEDVIN, C. B. BOG, INGOMAR EDITOR CLOUGH, SHEPAHD B. AND THEODORE F . MARBURG COLL, BLANCHE D. CROUZET, F. M . - J . , W. H. CHALONER AND W. M. STERN, EDITORS DALTON, GEORGE DAVIS, LANCE E. AND DOUGLASS C. NORTH DAVIS, LANCE E., RICHARD A. EAS- TERUN, WILLIAM N . PARKER, ET AL. DAVIS, J. RONNIE FISCHER, DAVID HACKETT GARNEL, DONALD GOUVERNEUR, J . GUTTENTAG, JACK M . , EDITOR HEINNEMAN, JOHN BELL HELD, VIRGINIA HERMANNS, HEINZ HIGGS, ROBERT HILTON, GEORGE W. HYDE, FRANCIS E. Cospodarka in druZbena zgodovina Slovenceo. Zgodovina agrarnih panog: 1. Zvezek-Agramo gospodarstvo, reviewed by Toussaint HoJevar . . . 947 Twentieth Century Economic Development in Australia, and Australian Economic Development in the Twentieth Century and Australia and the Great Depression, reviewed by Albert J. Robinson 948 Der Aussenhandel Ostmitteleuropas 1450-1650, reviewed by M. L. Flaningam 954 The Economic Basis of American Civilization, re- viewed by David O. Whitten 955 Perspectives in Public Welfare: A History, reviewed by William B. Hartley 957 Essays in European Economic History, 1789-1914, reviewed by Michael R. Haines 959 Economic Anthropology and Development: Essays on Tribal and Peasant Economies, reviewed by Sidney W. Mintz 960 Institutional Change and American Growth, re- viewed by Allan G. Bogue 961 American Economic Growth: An Economist's History of the United States, reviewed by Donald N. McCloskey 963 The New Economics and the Old Economists, reviewed by Dean May 966 Historians' Fallacies. Toward a Logic of Historical Thought, reviewed by Albro Martin 968 The Rise of Teamster Power in the West, reviewed by Gerald N. Grob 971 Productivity and Factor Proportions in Less De- veloped Countries: The Case of Industrial Firms in the Congo, reviewed by William B. Eastlake . . 972 Essays on Interest Rates: Volume II, reviewed by Joseph Horton 973 Royal Taxation in Fourteenth Century France: The Development of War Financing, 1322-1356, reviewed by Gustav Schachter 974 The Public Interest and Individual Interests, reviewed by Dean May 976 Die Handelskammer fur den Kreis Mulheim am Rhein (1871-1914) und die Wirtschaft des Koln- Miilheimer Raumes, reviewed by Richard V. Pierard 978 The Transformation of the American Economy, 1865-1914: An Essay in Interpretation, reviewed by William B. Hartley 980 The Cable Car in America: A New Treatise on Cable or Rope Traction as Applied to the Working of Street and Other Railways, reviewed by Duane E. Ball 981 Liverpool and the Mersey: An Economic History of a Port, 1700-1970, reviewed by Max E. Fletcher 982 JOHNSON, E. A. j . The Organization of Space in Developing Countries, reviewed by John B. Parr 984 KLUGEH, JAMES H. The Clifton-Morenci Strike: Labor Difficulty in Arizona, 1915-1916, reviewed by Joe C. Ashby . . 987 KHOOSS, HERMAN E. A History of Financial Intermediaries, reviewed by AND MARTIN H. BLYN Roger S. White 988 LEVENSTEiN, HABVEY A. Labor Organizations in the United States and Mexico: A History of their Relations, reviewed by Mark Perlman 989 LOPEZ, R. s. The Three Ages of the Italian Renaissance, re- viewed by M. M. Knight 991 MALLOY, JAMES M . Beyond the Revolution: Bolivia Since 1952 AND BICHARD S. THORN and ARNOLD, ADLAI F . Foundations of An Agriculture Policy in Paraguay, reviewed by Dwight B. Heath 993 MATHIAS, PETER The First Industrial Nation: An Economic History of Britain 1700-1914, reviewed by Arthur E. Rockwell 995 MCGREEVEY, WILLIAM An Economic History of Colombia, 1845-1930, PAUL reviewed by Richard D. Wolff 998 MEILLASSOUX, CLAUDE, The Development of Indigenous Trade and Markets EDITOR in West Africa, reviewed by B. Marie Perinbam 1000 MOODY, j . CARROLL The Credit Union Movement: Origins and Develop- AND GILBERT c. ment, 1850-1970, reviewed by Robert P. With- FITE ington, Jr 1002 NELSON, CHARLES R. The Term Structure of Interest Rates, reviewed by Joseph Horton 1004 PULLAN, BRIAN Rich and Poor in Renaissance Venice: The Social Institutions of a Catholic State, to 1620, reviewed by Marvin B. Becker 1005 BAMSETT, DAVID E. Regional Industrial Development in Central Amer- ica: A Case Study of the Integration Industries Scheme, reviewed by Kenneth J. Grieb 1008 ROBINSON, EBic AND James Watt and the Steam Revolution: A Docu- A. E. MUSSON mentary History, reviewed by John F. Hanieski 1009 ROSEVEARE, HENRY The Treasury. The Evolution of a British Institu- tion, reviewed by William J. Baker 1010 SAPORI, ARMANDO, II libro bianco della compagnia dei Covoni, re- EDITOH, WITH A STUDY viewed by Pierluigi Profumieri 1011 BY GIULIO MANDICH SUPPLE, BARRY The Royal Exchange Assurance: A History of British Insurance 1720-1970, reviewed by Michael Edelstein 1012 THOMAS, HUGH Cuba: The Pursuit of Freedom, reviewed by Ken- neth J. Grieb 1014 TUMA, ELIAS H. European Economic History: Tenth Century to the Present. Theory and History of Economic Change, reviewed by David R. Ringrose 1016 WHTTEMAN, MAXWELL Copper for America: The Hendricks Family and a National Industry 1775-1939, reviewed by Stephen Salsbury 1019 WILLIAMS, MICHAEL The Draining of the Somerset Levels, reviewed by Donald N. McCloskey 1021 ZELNTK, REGINALD E. Labor and Society in Tsarist Russia, 1855-1870, reviewed by Oliver Hayward 1023 ZEMSKY, ROBERT Merchants, Farmers and River Gods: An Essay on Eighteenth-Century American Politics, reviewed by Van Beck Hall 1025 BOOKS RECEIVED 1028 INDEX TO VOLUME XXXII 1034 CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXXII 1972' Number 1, March Papers Presented at the Thirty-first Annual Meeting of the Economic History Association ARTICLES ROBERT W. FOGEL RALPH W. HIDY DONALD N. MCCLOSKEY JOHN MCMANUS WILLIAM M. LANDES AND LEWIS C. SOLMON ALICE HANSON JONES JAMES F. SHEPHERD AND GARY M. WALTON JOHN J . MCCUSKER DANIEL SCOTT SMITH . . MARIS A. VINOVSKIS PAUL HOHENBERG FRANKLIN F. MENDELS MAUREEN F. • MAZZAOUI SCOTT M. EDDIE ROBERT B. ZEVIN ROBERT BRENNER DOCTORAL DATES CANDI- EDITOR'S NOTES . Current Directions in Economic History 1 The Road We Are Traveling 3 The Enclosure of Open Fields: Preface to a Study of Its Impact on the Efficiency of English Agri- culture in the Eighteenth Century 15 An Economic Analysis of Indian Behavior in the North American Fur Trade 36 Compulsory Schooling Legislation: An Economic Analysis of Law and Social Change in the Nine- teenth Century 54 Discussions: Stephen Salsbury, Earl Finbar Murphy 92 Wealth Estimates for the New England Colonies About 1770 98 Trade, Distribution, and Economic Growth in Colonial America 128 Sources of Investment Capital in the Colonial Philadelphia Shipping Industry 146 Discussions: Jackson Turner Main, Richard Sheri- dan, Roger Weiss 158 The Demographic History of Colonial New England 165 Mortality Rates and Trends in Massachusetts Before 1860 184 Discussions: Joseph J. Spengler, Richard Sutch . . 214 Change in Rural France in the Period of Indus- trialization, 1830-1914 219 Proto-industrialization: The First Phase of the Industrialization Process 241 The Cotton Industry of Northern Italy in the Late Middle Ages: 1150-1450 262 Discussions: David M. Landes, Sylvia Thrupp, Tom Kessinger 287 The Terms of Trade as a Tax on Agriculture: Hungary's Trade with Austria, 1883-1913 298 An Interpretation of American Imperialism 316 The Social Basis of English Commercial Expansion, 1550-1650 361 Discussions: Martin Bronfenbrenner, William Woodruff, Arcadius Kahan 385 Summaries of Doctoral Dissertations by: Edith M. Lang, Stephen Decanio, Lucius F. Ellsworth, Lester G. Lindley, Richard Nelson Bean, James R. Golden, E. Phillip Leveen, and Hugh Rockoff 393 Discussions: Clarence H. Danhof, Peter D. McClelland 421 428 Number 2, June ARTICLES EPHRAIM ASHEH Industrial Efficiency and Biased Technical Change in American and British Manufacturing: The Case of Textiles in the Nineteenth Century 431 STANTLEY L. Some Economic Issues Relating to Railroad Sub- ENGERMAN sidies and the Evaluation of Land Grants 443 ANNE MAYHEW A Reappraisal of the Causes of Farm Protest in the United States, 1870-1900 464 BiCBABD HOLL Interest Rates and Price Expectations During the Civil War 476 WILLIAM p. The Real-Balance Effect in the Great Depression . . 499 GRAMM ROBEHT N. American Reformers Abroad: The Kemmerer Mis- SKTOEL sions in South America, 1923-1931 520 NOTE IRVING STONE British Investment in Argentina 546 EDITOR'S NOTES 548 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 551 BOOKS RECEIVED 608 Number 3, September ARTICLES JAMES MAK AND Steamboats and the Great Productivity Surge in GAHY M. WALTON River Transportation 619 ROGER L. RANSOM Debt Peonage in the Cotton South After the Civil AND RICHARD War 641 SUTCH PAUL j . USELDING Factor Substitution and Labor Productivity Growth in American Manufacturing, 1839-1899 670 NOTES LLOYD j . MERCER Internal Funds and Automobile Industry Invest- AND w. DOUGLAS ment: An Evaluation of the Seltzer Hypothesis . . 682 MORGAN JEFFREY G. Embodiment, Disembodiment, Learning by Doing, WILLIAMSON and Returns to Scale in Nineteenth-Century Cot- ton Textiles 691 PAUL A. DAVID The Use and Abuse of Prior Information in Econo- metric History: A Rejoinder to Professor William- son on the Antebellum Cotton Textile Industry . . 706 REVIEW ARTICLE PD3TER c. The History of the Dutch Slave Trade, A Biblio- EMMER graphical Survey 728 EDITOR'S NOTES 748 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 749 BOOKS RECEIVED 781 Number 4, December ARTICLES JAMES F. SHEPHERD The Coastal Trade of the British North American AND SAMUEL H. Colonies, 1768-1772 783 WILLIAMSON ALAN L. OLMSTEAD Investment Constraints and New York City Mutual Savings Bank Financing of Antebellum Develop- ment 811 DONALD H. ADAMS, JR. The Bank of Stephen Girard, 1812-1831 841 GEORGE GARVY Banking Under the Tsars and the Soviets 869 HERBERT s. KLEIN The Portuguese Slave Trade from Angola in the Eighteenth Century 894 THOMAS WEISS The Industrial Distribution of the Urban and Rural Workforces: Estimates for the United States, 1870-1910 919 NOTE ANDHEW JONES The Rise and Fall of the Manorial System: A Critical Comment 938 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 945 BOOKS RECEIVED 1028 INDEX TO VOLUME XXXII 1034 
work_tjca5n7vpba2zdlv7ffnxjq2hu	----	Bruno Zevi, the continental European emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s theories Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rjar20 The Journal of Architecture ISSN: 1360-2365 (Print) 1466-4410 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rjar20 Bruno Zevi, the continental European emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s theories Raúl Martínez Martínez To cite this article: Raúl Martínez Martínez (2019) Bruno Zevi, the continental European emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s theories, The Journal of Architecture, 24:1, 27-50, DOI: 10.1080/13602365.2018.1527383 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/13602365.2018.1527383 © 2018 The Author(s). Published by Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group Published online: 24 Jan 2019. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 275 View Crossmark data https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rjar20 https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rjar20 https://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/13602365.2018.1527383 https://doi.org/10.1080/13602365.2018.1527383 https://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=rjar20&show=instructions https://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=rjar20&show=instructions http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/13602365.2018.1527383&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-01-24 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/13602365.2018.1527383&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-01-24 Bruno Zevi, the continental European emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s theories In the late nineteenth century, Bernard Berenson revived the analytical methodologies employed in art history by proposing new methods of pictorial analysis, such as space-composition and life-enhancement. In the twentieth century, his pupil Geoffrey Scott transferred these new methodologies from their original context, Renaissance painting, to architecture. Though Scott was a recognised critic within English aes- thetic circles, he was largely ignored in Continental European academic communities. The influence of his book The Architecture of Humanism (1914) was limited to the Anglo-American world before the 1940s. This essay depicts the key role that the Italian architect Bruno Zevi played after the Second World War, by becoming the primary architectural his- torian to introduce and diffuse Scott’s forgotten masterpiece in many non-English-speaking countries. Zevi defended a critical methodology based on spatial, empirical, and sensory analysis of architectural works, an attitude that is observed in his theoretical corpus written immediately after his return from the United States. This paper proposes an examin- ation of Zevi’s reception of Scott’s theories and the debates that it propa- gated, and aims to contribute to the understanding of the methodological approach followed in the years after the Second World War on both sides of the Atlantic. The introduction of the concept of space as an element of architectural analysis and design has been one of the most significant contributions to the field of architecture in the twentieth century. The interpretation of architecture in terms of space, though, did not become widely familiar to American and English audiences until the early 1940s, with the publication of Sigfried Giedion’s Space, Time and Architecture in 1941, Nikolaus Pevsner’s An Outline of European Architecture in 1943, and later, Bruno Zevi’s Architecture as Space in 1957. Broadening this traditional narrative, Colin Rowe suggested that the American art historian Bernard Berenson, his pupil, the English architec- tural historian Geoffrey Scott, and, potentially, the American architect Frank Lloyd Wright, had already begun to utilise space as a fundamental concept in their works, prior to the normally assumed entry of space onto the English- speaking architectural stage in the 1940s.1 Rowe’s hypothesis was developed in part from Cornelis van de Ven’s Space in Architecture: the Evolution of a # 2018 The Author(s). Published by Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-Non- Commercial-NoDerivatives License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/), which permits non-commercial re-use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited, and is not altered, transformed, or built upon in any way. Raúl Martínez Martínez Department of History and Theory of Architecture and Communication Techniques, Universitat Politècnica de Catalunya-BarcelonaTech, Barcelona, Spain. raul.martinez-martinez@upc.edu ORCID 0000-0001-9401-8006 27 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 1360-2365 https://doi.org/10.1080/13602365.2018.1527383 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ mailto:raul.martinez-martinez@upc.edu http://orcid.org/0000-0001-9401-8006 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/13602365.2018.1527383&domain=pdf New Idea in the Theory and History of Modern Movements (1978).2 This book, focusing on the period from 1850 until 1930, operated on the premise that ‘the concept of space as an architectural fundamental was almost exclusively a German contribution,’3 a seemingly continuous source of influence for the leading architects and historians of the twentieth century. Rowe articulated van de Ven’s argument, questioning European influence on Wright but support- ing the inclusion of Berenson and Scott.4 This paper will delve deeper into Rowe’s observations in order to propose a continuous chain of connectivity and influence stretching from the 1960s all the way back to Anglo-American art historians and theorists of the late nine- teenth century. Its focus is to reveal the lineage beginning with Bernard Beren- son, continuing with Geoffrey Scott and developing further with Bruno Zevi. The connection between Berenson and Scott has already been well established by scholars like David Watkin and Mark Campbell but the relationship between Scott and Zevi has never been explored.5 In Rowe’s opinion, The Architecture of Humanism: A Study in the History of Taste (1914), together with its theoretical alternative, Rudolf Wittkower’s Archi- tectural Principles in the Age of Humanism (1949),6 was the most important contribution within the theory of architecture of the twentieth century.7 Scott’s well-known masterwork aimed to expand the methodological theory outlined by Berenson in 1883 in ‘A Word for Renaissance Churches,’8 a little- known, yet seminal essay that proposed an incipient interpretation of architec- ture in terms of space, described from the point of view of the aesthetic spec- tator (Fig. 1). However, as Watkin has pointed out in the foreword of the 1980 edition of The Architecture of Humanism, the legacy of Scott’s volume extended further than just his interpretation of architecture in terms of space. It also facilitated the introduction of the emerging physiological aesthetic theory, based on the concept of Einfühlung, into the English-speaking architec- tural scene; the demolition of the ‘fallacies’ (Romantic, Mechanical, Ethical, and Biological), false analogies based on intellectual concerns, developed in the nineteenth century by architectural criticism in an effort to explain architecture; and a positive statement of Baroque architecture as the ultimate depiction of the ‘humanist values’ in architecture9. In terms of these four contributions, the impact of ‘Geoffrey Scott’s greatest memorial’10 was not immediately recognised, nor was it linear. The book was published in England and the United States at an unfortunate moment in history, the summer of 1914 when the Great War began. The positive reception garnered by the release of this first edition was limited to a modest group of people, mostly friends and scholars related to Villa I Tatti. The second edition, released in 1924, appeared under more favourable historical conditions (Fig. 2). The receptive climate of opinion at the time facilitated a wider dissemi- nation of the text and, as Watkin observed, it ‘almost could be taken for a book of the 1920s instead of something left over from before the war.’11 From the late 1940s to the 1980s, The Architecture of Humanism lived a dynamic life of continuous recognition. It was reprinted several times in the United States (1954, 1956, 1965, 1969, and 1978) and in England (1947, 1961, and 28 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez Figure 1. The Free Review: A Monthly Magazine, November 1893. (Biblioteca Berenson, Villa I Tatti – The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies, courtesy of the President and Fellows of Harvard College). 1980), becoming a fundamental text in the field of modern and postmodern architecture. Philip Johnson in ‘The Seven Crutches of Modern Architecture’ (1954), Vincent Scully in Modern Architecture: Toward a Redefinition of Style (1957), Peter Collins in Changing Ideals in Modern Architecture 1750–1950, Charles W. Moore in Body, Memory and Architecture (1977), Philip Steadman in The Evolution of Designs, Biological Analogy in Architecture and Applied Arts (1979), and Roger Scruton in The Aesthetics of Architecture (1979), among others, were all influenced by one or several of the main points described in Watkin’s foreword. The relative influence of Scott on the intellectual development of American postmodernism is witnessed by the impact that Vincent Scully had on leading architects of the late 1960s and 1970s, some of whom participated in creating the ‘Strada Novissima’ in the Venice Biennale of 1980. Scully’s critical point of view towards the International Style was evident in the text that he wrote for the catalogue of the exhibition, titled ‘How things got to be way they are now,’ in which he provided reasoning on the current architectural situation. In Scully’s opinion, the presence of the past as it operated in that moment in American architecture dealt with the reconsideration of ‘traditional, vernacular values by critics and architects alike,’12 fostering the reappearance of forms that stemmed from the American tradition of domestic building in wood. This revival was related to similar convictions that had led the first Shingle Style in the 1870s and 1880s, important ideals that America had forgotten and that needed to be restored. Scully further developed his study on this time period in his doctoral dissertation, later published as The Shingle Style: Architectural Theory and Design from Richardson to the Origins of Wright (1955). Scott was both directly referenced and alluded to in this work, specifically when Scully mentioned Scott’s ‘ethical fallacy’ to describe John Calvin Steven’s and Albert Winslow Cobb’s attitude of mind. More importantly though, Scott’s presence was forci- bly noted through Scully’s spatial descriptions and his ability to transmit the feeling of interior space. Two decades later, Scully delineated the influence of the formal and spatial relations of the Shingle Style on contemporary American architects in The Shingle Style Today or The Historian’s Revenge (1974). There he included the work of postmodern architects such as Robert Venturi, Charles W. Moore, Robert A. M. Stern, Jaquelin T. Robertson, among others. Scott’s influence on Scully is not unique; a similar line can be traced, both directly or indirectly, from The Architecture of Humanism to the featured work of other postmodern architects, including written pieces like The Secret Life of Buildings (1985) by Gavin Macrae-Gibson. The longevity and widespread impact of Scott’s ideas exist through the continuing lives of this ever-expanding study. The profound significance of The Architecture of Humanism spread further than just the United States and England. In 1939, 10 years after Scott’s death, Elena Craveri Croce, the daughter of philosopher Benedetto Croce, translated the text into Italian (Fig. 3). The introduction that she wrote for the book emerged from an adolescent reverence for Berenson that instigated a strong admiration towards Scott.13 It depicted Croce’s deep knowledge of his biography as well as the apparent connection between Scott’s principles and 29 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 Figure 2. The Architecture of Humanism: A Study in the History of Taste, 2nd edition, 1924. Berenson’s own theory. She also presented her own interpretation of the book’s importance, emphasising the attention placed on aesthetic matters, with beauty as the pivotal point of architecture, a carefully calculated observation linked to her father’s interests in aesthetics. Though Elena Croce’s translation was published at an unfortunate time—the start of the Second World War—it maintained longevity in Italy throughout the twentieth century. The Italian architect and historian Bruno Zevi, actively inter- ested in aesthetic matters, was immediately attracted to the book, and acquired his own Italian copy. His careful reading of The Architecture of Humanism is evi- denced through annotated phrases and meticulous notes in the margins. During the same year as the publication of the Italian translation, Zevi was forced, due to his Jewish heritage, to abandon his studies of architecture in Rome and emi- grate from Italy. In the spring of 1939, he first travelled to England to study at the Architectural Association School of Architecture in London, and later, in 1940, he moved to the United States to study at Columbia University and Harvard University.14 In these two countries, he gained a new understanding of the enormous influence that The Architecture of Humanism had on the Anglo-American world. In 1943, Zevi returned to Europe, and, immediately after the end of the Second World War, he began incorporating Scott’s theories in his own work. The enthusiastic reception Zevi achieved within the Italian community led to a diminishing appreciation of the importance of his Anglo-American training. Zevi was subsequently categorised by scholars and architects as a primarily ‘Italian’ architectural historian, even though English references were predominant in the bibliographies of his first books and Geof- frey Scott’s theories maintained a prominent role within his texts. By reflecting Scott’s theories in his own writing, Zevi became a mouthpiece for Scott’s contributions long after Scott’s untimely death, and a continuation of a lineage that stretched back to Berenson. Furthermore, because of his exposure to the British and North American architectural culture, Zevi played a key role in building a bridge between the Anglo-American world, the Italian world, and subsequently, the Ibero-American world with the rapid translations of his texts into Spanish. Books such as Saper vedere l’architettura (1948), Storia del- l’architettura moderna (1950), Architettura e Storiografia (1950), Architettura in nuce (1960), and Il linguaggio moderno dell’architettura (1973) were translated into Spanish in 1951, 1954, 1958, 1969, and 1978, respectively. Zevi’s diffusion of Scott’s postulates permeated into his work beyond his own writing. In 1978, Zevi became the editor of the Universale di Architettura pub- lished by Edizioni Dedalo, a collection of short essays that aimed to expand architectural appreciation and understanding to the general public.15 The Italian translation of The Architecture of Humanism was reprinted as the second and third volume of the compilation, just after Edward Frank’s Pensiero organico e architettura wrightiana—two works that Zevi considered essential texts for the formation of a good architect, along with Heinrich Wölfflin’s Renaissance und Barock16 (Fig. 4). Zevi reissued the same translation two decades later while serving as the director of a new collection Universale di Architettura, edited this time by Testo&Immagine (Fig. 5). 30 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez Figure 3. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1939. Translation of Elena Craveri Croce from the 2nd English edition. (image courtesy of Fondazione Bruno Zevi) Zevi’s original reading and modern interpretation of Scott’s text paved a foun- dation upon which he would build his life’s work. This was summarised on the back cover of the 1978 and 1999 Italian reprints of The Architecture of Human- ism, where Zevi rhetorically posed the question, ‘Is it possible to understand painting without knowing Bernard Berenson? Similarly, you cannot understand architecture without reading Scott’s book.’ This reasoning expanded the con- tents of the book from Italian Renaissance architecture to all architectural periods, specifically providing a practical application ‘to understand and judge contemporary events’. The efficacy of the text was expanded by Zevi from archi- tectural criticism to architectural design. He described The Architecture of Humanism as ‘a guide to current architectural practice,’ and advocated for the use of Scott’s theories in architectural design courses as a complement to the book’s already-accepted theoretical aims. This definition was closely aligned with Scott’s own hopes and objectives, since he originally conceived The Architecture of Humanism for ‘those who practice architecture, and also those who deal in philosophy (Figs. 6 and 7).’17 Zevi began fostering this relationship between architectural practice and criti- cal thought in Saper vedere l’architettura (1948). In the last chapter, titled ‘Toward a Modern History of Architecture,’ Zevi appealed for a more progressive manner of understanding the history of architecture. According to him, among the living factors of the contemporary world, modern architecture with its ‘inves- tigation of spatial problems’18 marked a pathway for historians and critics toward the true essence of architecture, allowing them to read both present and past buildings through a contemporary lens. This spatial essence of architec- ture, Zevi claimed, had been notably perceived by modern architects like Frank Lloyd Wright and Eric Mendelsohn, but ‘among the authors who have under- stood the problem, Geoffrey Scott, stands out.’19 This dynamic interpretation of the history of architecture provided a continuity which connected the present and the past, and had significant pedagogical implications. As he pro- fessed, ‘the story of ancient architecture should be taught with a modern critical mentality.’20 Zevi’s idea that the study of history created a critical consciousness whose usefulness had to be put in practice during the creative process was cate- gorised in the 1950s under the slogan of ‘history as an instrument of synthesis of architectural education.’21 As the director of the journal L’Architettura. Cronache e Storia, Zevi reinforced the concept that history ‘ought to be the most stimulating subject in the university and its methodological effects should be felt in the other branches of the curriculum.’22 Becoming a focus of his educational pedagogy, these ideas directed his inaugural lecture as chair of architectural history at the University of Rome in 1963, titled ‘La storia come metodologia del fare architectonico,’ and were reiterated in the United States the following year in his speech ‘History as a Method of Teaching Archi- tecture’23 during his assistance at the AIA-ACSA Teacher Seminar. This core thought followed a linear path from its development in Poetica del- l’architettura neoplastica (1953). According to Zevi, Neoplasticism was a style, derived from Cubism, that had translated its pictorial conquests into architec- tural terms. The two-dimensional and three-dimensional vision of architecture 31 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 Figure 4. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1978. Collection Universale di Architecttura (directed by Bruno Zevi), number 2-3. 32 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez Figure 5. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1999. Collection Universale di Architecttura (directed by Bruno Zevi), number 59. Figure 6. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1939. In the first chapter entitled ‘Renaissance Architecture,’ Zevi wrote the name of F.L. Wright when Scott talked about the relationship between the architectural design and the materials in the Renaissance. (image courtesy of Fondazione Bruno Zevi) 33 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 Figure 7. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1939. In the chapter ‘Romantic Fallacy,’ Zevi referred to the Tecton Group when Scott talked about the role that the garden played in the Renaissance taste. This is another example of Zevi’s modern interpretation of Scott’s fallacies. (image courtesy of Fondazione Bruno Zevi) of the past was surpassed by the four-dimensional reality of architecture, which including time as an element, had to abandon the static definition of architec- ture and to reconstruct the ‘dynamic experience of the conception and the realization of a work of art.’24 This new architectural consciousness lead the architect to an intellectual technique for the decomposition, characterisation, and assemblage of the parts of the buildings, becoming an effective analytical process that could be used to critically reinterpret architecture while establishing links between history and design. As Zevi expressed in the conclusion, subtitled ‘Critical Instrumentality of the Neoplastic Search,’ ‘to make architecture and to understand architecture’ were considered ‘parallel activities.’25 The progression of this active history of architecture was materialised in his attempt to visualise this architectural criticism within the exhibition on the fourth centenary of Michelangelo Buonarroti’s death. The display, held at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni in Rome in 1964, featured models and photographs of the architectural work of the Italian architect. These ‘critical models,’26 made by Zevi’s students from the Istituto Universitario di Architettura di Venezia, with the assistance of the painter Mario Deluigi, were three-dimen- sional translations of specific critical thoughts on architecture. Expressed with the instruments of the architect rather than the written word, these artistic cre- ations served to visualise architectural criticism from a contemporary vantage point, a new method in teaching and learning architecture that had to be not only capable of producing culture but also of developing the creative approach of architects in the formation of spaces. In 1973, Zevi’s beliefs shifted from ‘mannerism to language,’27 as he admitted in his address at the RIBA in 1983.28 This change was embodied by his publication of Il linguaggio moderno dell’architettura (1973), an essay which, in Zevi’s own words, ‘con- densed all that I believed in’: the language of modern architecture could be codified, modern architecture coincided with modern historiography, but most importantly, architecture is ‘mainly space, dynamic space to move in, to be used and lived in.’29 By creating several new channels to disperse Scott’s vision, Zevi became the greatest intermediary for the rebirth of The Architecture of Humanism in new architectural fields. Geoffrey Scott’s Fallacies in Zevi’s Theoretical Corpus 1945–1950 Throughout Zevi’s career, as evidenced in his writings, Scott continued to be a reference and an avid support for his arguments and claims. Scott’s fallacies, in particular, provided the theoretical basis for Zevi’s corpus. Verso un’architettura organica (1945), his first book, was written in London with the assistance of the resources of the Royal Institute of British Architects’ library. This seminal text rejected ‘the most widespread misunderstanding in the historiography of modern architecture,’30 the interpretation of modern architecture as a sequence of three stages—growth, maturity and decay. Scott’s ‘Biological Fallacy’ equipped Zevi with the necessary backing to develop his historiographical claims. Scott’s defense of the ‘Primitive’ and ‘Baroque’ periods of Renaissance architecture as time frames of growth and development rather than of stagna- 34 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez tion and decay coincided with Zevi’s objectives to portray the architectural periods before 1920 and after 1933 as times of expansion and development in their own right, non-subsidiary to the rationalist phase of modern architecture (1920–1933). Verso un’architettura organica referenced Scott in ‘Meaning and Scope of the Term Organic in Reference to Architecture,’ a chapter where Zevi made use of Scott’s terminology to clarify the confusion behind the word ‘organic.’ Zevi’s first fallacy, named the ‘Naturalistic Fallacy,’ was based on ‘romantic naturalism,’ a principle which considered the organic to be a ‘formal imitation of nature.’31 He rejected any connection between the two concepts, using ideas from Scott’s ‘Romantic Fallacy.’ He then applied this same axiom to modern architecture and other periods like Gothic architecture and ‘all the worst English pseudo-roman- ticism.’32 The origin of this historical reference was denoted in Zevi’s Italian copy of The Architecture of Humanism and in Verso un’architettura organica (Fig. 8). Where Scott wrote of English domestic architecture, ‘the modern preference is to make the manor share in the romantic charm of the cottage,’33 Zevi added in his text that the period was, ‘full of naturalistic souvenirs which were tacked onto the outsides of cottages in order to give them an added charm.’34 Zevi’s second postulate titled, the ‘Biological Fallacy,’ shared its name with Scott´s last fallacy but its meaning bore no relation to Scott’s definition. The defect of this misconception was creating connections between psychological sensations and architectural forms. The strict correlation fabricated between the two resulted in a ruled aesthetic system—a manual, of sorts, that would sep- arate architecture from art. Zevi presented Scott as the protagonist of this fallacy and related the basis of this anthropomorphic identification with quotes from Arnold Whittick’s Eric Mendelsohn (1940) and Scott’s The Architecture of Humanism.35 Because Zevi held Scott in such a high regard, however, he resisted portraying him in a negative light, stating, If Geoffrey Scott had not died young and had been able, as he promised in his masterpiece The Architecture of Humanism, to reconsider the history of Renais- sance architecture in the light of these Berensonian theories, either he would have utterly refuted such doctrines or else his subtlety would have succeeded in evoking, even from such meagre premises, a series of brilliant critical deductions.36 The analytical and methodological contents of Scott’s fallacies, then, gave Zevi the necessary mechanisms to analyse modern architecture and other archi- tectural patterns. In another chapter of Verso un’architettura organica, Zevi jus- tified the reasons that led Italy to reject modern architecture based on two ‘fallacious trends,’ Monumentalism and Provincialism, which were motivated by Scott’s Romantic Fallacy. For Scott, the gravest facet of this fallacy was con- sidering architecture to be symbolic. Monumentalism, according to Zevi, failed in this respect because it exaggerated the symbolism of public buildings to glorify the fascist state. This connection between current architecture and poli- tics is strengthened by the evidence provided by Zevi’s copy of Scott’s text, where Zevi wrote ‘Piacentini’ on the margins bordering a paragraph on the Counter-Reformation which stated, ‘never, perhaps, has architecture been more successfully or more deliberately made the tool of policy’37 (Fig. 9). The 35 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 36 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez Figure 8. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1939. In the chapter ‘Romantic Fallacy,’ Zevi highlighted the naturalistic influence on the domestic English architecture expressed by Scott and marked the example of the cottage which was adapted later for Zevi’s own arguments. (image courtesy of Fondazione Bruno Zevi) 37 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 Figure 9. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1939. In the first chapter ‘Renaissance Architecture,’ Zevi referenced Piacentini when Scott talked about the political instrumentality of architecture. (image courtesy of Fondazione Bruno Zevi) other trend, Provincialism, was delineated as a strong reaction against the modern. As Zevi stated, it was ‘the by-product of a romantic fallacy’ supported by pseudo-nationalist and sentimentalist motives. Throughout his analysis, Zevi followed the same philosophy as Scott, that ‘to overcome these misunderstand- ings, it is necessary to not only condemn them, but to clarify the reasons for their emergence.’38 Although Scott’s fallacies made up the basis of Zevi’s first book, the tangible relationship between their theories was only just beginning. Zevi’s second book, Saper vedere l’architettura, was most eye-opening to the non-English-speaking architectural sphere as it proposed a new methodology of understanding, judging and analysing architecture. The fifth chapter was con- structed based on the same model that Scott utilised in The Architecture of Humanism. Zevi achieved this similarity by directly distinguishing ‘Scott’s falla- cies’ from his ‘interpretations of architecture,’ characterising ‘interpretations’ based on their ability to provide a partial history of architecture and ‘critical fal- lacies’ on their inability to illuminate any permanent element of architecture. Then, as Scott did with the fallacies, Zevi analysed the main interpretations of architecture (political, philosophical-religious, scientific, economic-social, mate- rialist, technical, physio-psychological, and formalist) and pointed out their deficiencies; however, unlike Scott, Zevi proved these to be partial or incomplete histories of some aspects of architecture rather than absolute misconceptions. Finally, just as Scott concluded The Architecture of Humanism with his ‘huma- nist values,’ Zevi ended chapter five with the proposal, ‘On the Spatial Interpret- ation.’ Zevi’s theory subordinated the other eight secondary interpretations under the spatial interpretation in the same way that Scott’s theory subordi- nated the fallacies to humanist values. Scott’s humanist values, based on the senses, were the core of the architectural experience; and the fallacies, based on intellect, could not constitute an architectural experience, though they may have enriched it. Scott took on a particularly predominant role in the section ‘On the Spatial Interpretation.’ Zevi extensively quoted and referenced ‘the distinguished English critic’ and ‘student of Berenson’ in order to support his conviction that space was the primary mechanism through which one should judge archi- tecture. In this section, Zevi included a full transcription of Scott’s proposal regarding space. He explained the quotation of this ‘important passage’ as ‘an insight into architectural reality,’ stating, in no unclear terms, that Scott was the only historian to grasp the ‘secret of architecture’ and to express it ‘with absolute clarity.’39 Scott was included under the physio-psychological interpretation (the ‘Biological Fallacy’ from Verso un’architectura organica), although Zevi excused him again from any fallacious arguments by stating that ‘these hazy points do not diminish the value of Scott’s fundamental con- clusions.’40 Zevi’s pardon proved to be unnecessary; Scott was not trying to transform art into science. In fact, he rejected the intellectualisation of art, criti- cising the preponderance that intellect had maintained above senses in each one of his fallacies. The concept of Einfühlung, defended by Scott, was more in relation to the idea of architecture as an experience than as the theorisation of architecture. At the same time that Scott began recognising space as the 38 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez intrinsic value of architecture, he was proposing the application of Einfühlung methodologies to architectural space and, subsequently, he was inferring that space should be the basis of architectural criticism. Scott’s fundamental con- clusions were, therefore, the same as those that Zevi maintained in Saper vedere l’architettura. The key role that The Architecture of Humanism played in Saper vedere l’arch- itettura is reinforced in the bibliography, where Zevi stated that it was a unique work ‘of fundamental importance among books on the theory of architec- ture.’41 He also included Scott’s text as a justification for the inclusion of two references: first, Georges Gromort’s Initiation à l’architecture (1936),42 and second, Clough & Amabel Williams-Ellis’s The Pleasures of Architecture (1924).43 Zevi explained in the bibliography that these two books succeeded because of their grounding in Scott’s work, which allowed them to reject false postulates established by the old criticism. Saper vedere l’architettura was translated into English as Architecture as Space in 1957, only a decade after the Italian edition and immediately following the last two reprints of The Architecture of Humanism (1954, 1956). The first correlation between Scott’s and Zevi’s books was pointed out by Paul Zucker in his review of the English translation. This author argued that ‘the importance of Zevi’s book Architecture as Space can hardly be overestimated. It may have the same influence for our generation which Geoffrey Scott’s The Architecture of Humanism had more than forty years ago and still maintains.’44 Zucker’s con- nection cannot be reduced to the simple fact that Scott was the architectural critic most quoted in Zevi’s text or that his statements regarding space created a foundation for the book. This connection was made by Zucker, in fact, because he felt that Zevi embodied Scott’s legacy and impact in his own right. Zevi’s third book, Storia dell’architettura moderna, was an extension of Verso un’architettura organica.45 The chapter where Scott was first mentioned was ‘The Evolution of Architectural Thought.’ It maintained the same structure and principles as ‘Meaning and Scope of the Term Organic in Reference to Architecture’ from Verso un’architettura organica. Even functioning as a repro- duction, it contained small, but significant alterations related to Scott’s prin- ciples, especially those concerned with the ‘Biological Fallacy,’ mentioned in the first book. Zevi clarified here that the ‘Biological Fallacy’ was ‘the application of a physio-psychological interpretation and especially of the theory of Einfüh- lung to architecture,’46 a further elaboration on Zevi’s main concepts listed in Sapere Vedere l’architettura. He changed the term ‘aesthetic system’ to ‘ambig- uous aesthetic system,’ which implied that the concept of Einfühlung could support multiple interpretations but, most importantly, this clarification estab- lished a link between the theory of Einfühlung and its application for the analysis and judgment of architecture. Zevi dedicated another chapter to ‘the methodological problems in architec- tural historiography,’ problems that were closely related to Scott’s fallacies—in particular, the Biological Fallacy. Zevi’s primary objective when he wrote Verso un’architettura organica and Storia dell’architettura moderna was to put an 39 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 end to the misconceptions of ‘immaturity, maturity and decline’ as evolutionary phases in modern architecture.47 In Zevi’s opinion, ‘the structural fallacy benefited the evolutionary because it made art rely on technical progress.’48 Scott had included this erroneous tendency within the parameters of his Biologi- cal Fallacy; the archaic stage of an artistic tradition, he argued, was not mere immaturity of technique. Rather, it implied a particular aesthetic aim and conception. Zevi’s fourth book, Architettura e Storiografia, was published the same year as Storia dell’architettura moderna. In this work, Rationalism and Organic architecture were considered architectural phases that shared the same tradition and a single language. He established the same historical continuity that Scott had proposed between the Renaissance and the Baroque, rejecting early evolutionary theories. Influenced by Wölfflin’s Renaissance und Barock, Zevi explained that the Baroque and organic architecture reintegrated the archi- tectural elements that the Renaissance and rationalism had separated. The difference was that ‘Baroque fused the three dimensions of the Renaissance and organic architecture merged the four dimensions of cubism.’49 Baroque and organic architecture for these two authors portrayed the ultimate phases of Renaissance and modern architecture, respectively (Fig. 10). The strong correlation between Scott’s fallacies and Zevi’s books demon- strated the applicability of The Architecture of Humanism throughout diverse and separate architectural subjects with the complete integration of Scott’s the- ories into Zevi’s way of thinking. While the ‘destructive portion’ (the fallacies) of Scott’s text was critical for the basis of Zevi’s arguments, the ‘constructive portion’ (the humanist values) played an arguably larger role in the development of Zevi’s spatial interpretation. Bruno Zevi’s Methodological Basis: On the Spatial Interpretation The importance given to methodological issues in architecture during the late 1940s was one of the most common topics in architectural debates in the Anglo-American context where the formalist methodology of Wölfflininan roots was beginning to be revised.50 Both The Architecture of Humanism and Saper vedere l’architettura were united in the aim of applying new methodo- logical approaches to architecture based on spatial interpretation.51 According to Zevi, the ‘ignorance of architecture’ developed from a lack of a direct and clearly delineated analytical method, a problem which he attempted to solve in the fifth chapter of Saper vedere l’architettura, entitled ‘Interpretations of architecture.’ The main interpretations were grouped into three categories: ‘interpretations of content’ (political, philosophical-religious, scientific, econ- omic-social, materialist, and technical), ‘physiological and psychological interpretations,’ and ‘formalist interpretations.’ The last two categories were analysed in depth by Zevi due to their relevance and applicability to a spatial interpretation. The formalist interpretations led to a revolutionary shift in the analysis of painting, sculpture and architecture.52 By focusing exclusively on formal aspects, scholars were enabled to study architectural works with more 40 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez 41 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 Figure 10. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1939. In the ‘Introduction,’ Zevi underlined Scott’s own interpretation of the term Renaissance architecture (the primitive, classic, baroque, academic, and rococo phases formed Renaissance architecture) and adapted this procedure to the term Modern architecture. (image courtesy of Fondazione Bruno Zevi) critical precision and while enacting more exact individuation of each monu- ment, thus promoting ‘a finer response to its aesthetic value.’53 The physio- psychological interpretations, developed from formalist interpretations, continued this explicit path offering a humanist basis to architecture rooted within Einfühlung theory. Zevi warned, however, that these two interpretations failed because they used an ‘aesthetic judgment,’ instead of an ‘architectural judgment,’ to analyse architecture. Where aesthetic criticism reduced architec- ture to pictorial values, focusing on facades and surfaces, architectural criticism was concerned with space. Zevi’s proposal, ‘On the Spatial Interpretation,’ tried to resolve this lapse by applying formalist and Einfühlung theories to architec- tural space. This layout was developed in the fourth chapter when Zevi showed the evol- ution of ‘space through the ages,’ a new proceeding that followed in the path of other authors, especially Nikolaus Pevsner’s An Outline of European Architec- ture. In the descriptions of the buildings analysed, Zevi depicted the architectural experience of an observer who wandered through its interior, explaining the empathetic sensations that occurred when the human body was transposed into space. He used imagery such as, ‘you feel that you are an organic part of a space which has been created for you and has meaning only due to your pres- ence,’54 and ‘architects conceived spaces which induced in the observer not a sense of peaceful contemplation but a mood of imbalance, of conflicting impulses and emotions, of struggle’ to place the reader within the architectural experience.55 These statements were all consistent with Scott’s proposal to apply formalist and Einfühlung methodologies to analyse architectural spaces. In Scott’s own words ‘we have transcribed ourselves into terms of architecture. […] We transcribe architecture into terms of ourselves. This is the humanism of architecture.’56 Zevi concurred with Scott’s desire to apply these two methodologies to archi- tectural analysis; however, he elaborated on the failures in the formalist and physio-psychological interpretations as they were transferred from aesthetic cri- ticism to architectural criticism. He characterised architecture from other art forms such as painting and sculpture by clarifying the specific ‘content of archi- tecture.’ It was, he said, ‘the men who live in architectural space, their actions, indeed their whole physical, psychological and spiritual life as it takes place within it. The content of architecture is its social content.’57 Zevi justified this argument with the use of Vitruvius’s principles and focused his attention on social and aesthetic problems, arguing that in architecture, there was little sense in isolating beauty but ignoring social content. Zevi asked the reader, ‘Is a highway beautiful without automobiles? Is a ballroom beautiful without dancing couples?’58 in order to conclude that function and beauty were irrevoc- ably intertwined due to the social content present at the very core of architec- tural understanding. Zevi’s expression that ‘social content, psychological effects and formal values in architecture all take shape in space’ professed the ‘indissolubility of social and aesthetic problems,’59 the same assertion that Scott claimed in The Architecture of Humanism (Fig. 11). 42 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez 43 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 Figure 11. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1939. In the ‘Introduction,’ where Scott differentiated between the three conditions of well-building (commodity, firmness, and delight), Zevi emphasised that beauty in architecture lay in space. (image courtesy of Fondazione Bruno Zevi) Architecture requires ‘delight.’ For this reason, interwoven with practical ends and their mechanical solutions, we may trace in architecture a third and different factor —the disinterested desire for beauty. This desire does not, it is true, culminate here in a purely aesthetic result, for it has to deal with a concrete basis which is utilitar- ian.60 In the late 1950s, following the English release of Zevi’s works, the debate between social and aesthetic content of modern architecture rose to the fore- front of architectural criticism. In 1956, a year before the English translation of Saper vedere l’architettura, Arnold Whittick, in the second edition of Eric Mendelsohn, criticised the ‘too limited’ interpretation that Bruno Zevi had in Verso un’architettura organica by considering organic architecture exclusively through functional reasoning. In Whittick’s opinion, organic architecture ‘should comprehend both functional building and an aesthetic principle of des- ign.’61As the discourse on the social content of architecture began to grow and expand, the dialogue surrounding it became more focused on function over beauty. In 1957, John Summerson in ‘The Case for a Theory of Modern Architecture’ used Zevi’s rhetoric about organic architecture to support his investigation into the existence of a common basic principle applicable to modern architecture. By refuting the established formal theory, he concluded that ‘the source of unity in modern architecture was in the social sphere, in other words in the architect’s program.’62 In the same year, Erick Christian Sor- ensen in ‘On Form, In Space’ furthered the discussion by saying ‘what we seek is an architecture able to encompass the frame of life—to reflect all our experi- ences in the true order of art.’63 All these authors, while eager to contribute to this new discussion on functional and aesthetic content in modern architec- ture, were unable to incorporate the development of Zevi’s argument over time because they only had his first book as a reference. At that time, Saper vedere l’architettura had not yet been translated and dispersed into the English-speak- ing hemisphere. Most recently, Panayotis Tournikiotis in The Historiography of Modern Architecture (1999) reanalysed Zevi’s thesis and continued this trend of placing social content above technical interests and artistic impulse.64 By expanding upon the difference between aesthetic judgment and architectural judgment as well as expanding upon the social content of architecture in Saper vedere l’architettura, Zevi both modernised and actualised the original claim made by Scott in The Architecture of Humanism. The Architectural Experience Continued Saper vedere l’architettura claimed space as the essence of architecture and the key aspect of analysis in architectural judgment. According to Zevi, architecture had to be conceived as a sensory art (not an intellectual one) that could only be understood from direct experience. At the time when the book was written, architectural space was beginning to be characterised as a relevant subject matter for architectural criticism in English-speaking countries. Articles such as Ernö Goldfinger’s trilogy—‘The Sensation of Space’ (1941), ‘Urbanism and Spatial Order’ (1941), and ‘Elements of Enclosed Space’ (1942)—dealt with 44 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez matters similar to those discussed in Saper vedere l’architettura. They evaluated the specific qualities of space, its aesthetic and psychological effects on the indi- vidual, and introduced the concept of architectural experience as one of the characteristics of spatial perception. This direction towards a cinematic con- ception of architecture was evidenced by the appearance of several books in English during the 1950s and 1960s. Rex Distin Martienssen’s The Idea of Space in Greek Architecture in 1956; the English translation of Zevi’s book Architecture as Space in 1957; Steen Eiler Rasmussen’s Experiencing Architec- ture in 1959; Kevin Lynch’s The Image of the City in 1960; and Gordon Cullen’s Townscape in 1961, were all publications about spatially experiencing architecture and architectural environments that contributed to the introduction of the sense of dynamic motion in urban and architectonic processes of analysis and design. The influence of Saper vedere l’architettura continued to thrive well into the 1960s. New spatial criticism emerged at that time such as the theories of the Portuguese scholar Pedro Vieira de Almeida. In his bachelor’s thesis ‘Ensaio do espaço da arquitectura’ (1963),65 he developed new concepts like espaço nuclear (core space), espaço complementar (complementary space), and espaço transiçao (transitional space) which assisted in the evolution of Zevi’s theories. During this decade, Zevi continued to allocate attention toward the subject of space. In 1960, 12 years after Saper vedere l’architettura, a second book was published, manifesting a renewed interest in the topic. In Architettura in nuce, Scott’s presence was central, yet again; only this time, it was through references to his mentor, Bernard Berenson. It should be noted that the Amer- ican art historian was not a new addition to Zevi’s repertoire. Berenson was also mentioned in Zevi’s first books, but only in direct reference to Scott. Unlike many architectural critics, Berenson, according to Zevi, maintained the power to influ- ence architecture through his aesthetic perspectives.66 In this new book, Zevi repeatedly used Berenson’s description of ‘art as an experience’67 to confront the abstract, German-minded approach to space, especially the theory of Raum- gestaltung, introduced by August Schmarsow, Herman Sörgel and Leo Adler.68 The confrontation between ‘traditional theories’ of space (Schmarsow) and ‘contemporary interpretations’ of space (Berenson) was dissected in Zevi’s text.69 Zevi did not reject abstract spatial conceptions since he recognised that they played a relevant historical role in considering a spatial approach in the study of architecture. Often intellectually stimulating, they failed because they were based on spatial categories and not on specific architectural works. Zevi agreed with Berenson’s approach, a subject which he had discussed before through the lens of Scott’s own interpretation of the same point. Accord- ing to Zevi, Scott, and Berenson, the valid methodology for architectural analysis had to always be based on the direct architectural experience of concrete works (Fig. 12). Not coincidentally, two decades later Saper vedere l’architettura, Zevi utilised this same argument as the foundation of his review of Cornelis van de Ven’s Space in Architecture. In L’Expresso, Zevi recognised the usefulness of this book and its importance to the categorisation of contributors to this debate, but 45 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 46 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez Figure 12. L’architettura dell’umanesimo, 1939. In the ‘Introduction,’ when Scott explained that architecture was understood as an art through rhythm and proportion, Zevi connected these two intellectual concepts with a sensory element: space. (image courtesy of Fondazione Bruno Zevi) he also reinforced its major flaw: the metaphorical interpretation of architectural phenomena as ‘incarnations of abstract spatial postulates.’70 The concept of space was first introduced abstractly into architectural theory, maintaining malleability throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. From the very beginning, two different theoretical positions emerged. In 1893, both Schmarsow with Das Wesen der architektonischen Schöpfung (The Essence of Architectural Creation) and Berenson’s with ‘A Word for Renais- sance Churches,’ introduced their differing concepts regarding the interpret- ation of architectural space. Zevi was in alignment with Berenson’s and Scott’s trajectory on this principle, inherently contradicting previously accepted German theories. The wide dissemination of Berenson and Scott’s ideas in the Western world is unimaginable without the work done by Zevi in Continental Europe, with his persistent effort to spread this attitude to understand, analyse, and judge architecture through space. Acknowledgements A shorter version of this essay was originally presented at the Association of Art Historians Annual Conference held at University of East Anglia, 9–11 April 2015 and at the Third International Symposium, Mapping Architectural Criticism 20th–21st Centuries held at the Académie d’Architecture, Paris, 3–4 April 2017. I would like to thank Mark Crinson, Richard Williams, Paolo Scrivano and Hélène Jannière for selecting this paper. I would like to acknowledge the Biblioteca Berenson, Villa I Tatti, The Harvard University Center for Italian Renais- sance Studies for the courtesy of providing figure 1, and the Fondazione Bruno Zevi for their assistance in recovering images from the library of Bruno Zevi and their generous permission for reproduction. Notes and references 1. Colin Rowe, ‘The Present Urban Predicament’, in Alexander Caragonne, ed., As I was Saying. Volume 3: Urbanistics (Cambridge, MIT Press, 1996), p. 219. 2. This book derives from his doctoral dissertation at the University of Pennsylvania, defended in 1974 and titled: Concerning the Idea of Space: The Rise of a New Fundamental in German Architectural Theory and in the Modern Movements until 1930. 3. Cornelis van de Ven, Space in Architecture: The Evolution of a New Idea in the Theory and History of Modern Movements (Assen, Van Gorcum, 1978), p. xiii. 4. Rowe surmised that neither scholar admitted to German influence while, in fact both authors acquiesced to a certain degree. Berenson referenced Jacob Burckhardt in The Study and Criticism of Italian Art: Second Series (London, George Bell and Sons, 1902), p. vi; and Scott mentioned Jacob Burckhardt, Heinrich Wölfflin, and Theodor Lipps in The Architecture of Humanism: A Study in the History of Taste (London, Constable, 1924), pp. ix, 214. 5. David Watkin, ‘Foreword’, in Geoffrey Scott, The Architecture of Humanism: A Study in the History of Taste (London, Architectural Press, 1980); Mark Campbell, A Beautiful Leisure: The Decadent Architectural Humanism of Geoffrey Scott, Bernard and Mary Berenson (Dissertation, Princeton University, 2014); Mark Campbell, ‘Geoffrey Scott 47 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 and the Dream-Life of Architecture’, Grey Room, 15 (Spring, 2004), pp. 60–79; Mark Campbell, ‘Aspects not Things: Geoffrey Scott’s View of History’, AA Files, 59 (2009), pp. 42–49. 6. Alina A. Payne, ‘Rudolf Wittkower and Architectural Principles in the Age of Modernism’, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 53, 3 (September, 1994), pp. 332–335. 7. Alfonso Corona Martínez, ‘Respe(c)to a Colin Rowe’, Revista Summa +, 47 (2001), p. 132. 8. The article was first published in The Free Review: A Monthly Magazine (November, 1893) and reprinted in The Study and Criticism of Italian Art: Second Series (London, George Bell and Sons, 1902). 9. Watkin, ‘Foreword’, pp. ix–xxix. 10. Ibid., p. xix. 11. Ibid., p. xxiv. 12. Gabriella Borsano (ed.), Architecture 1980: The Presence of the Past (New York, Rizzoli, 1981), p. 16. 13. Elena Croce, Ricordi familiari (Firenze, Vallecchi, 1962). 14. Bruno Zevi, Zevi su Zevi: architettura come profezia (Venezia, Marsilio Editori, 1993), pp. 34–43; and Roberto Dulio, Introduzione a Bruno Zevi (Bari, Editori Laterza, 2008), pp. 9–23. 15. Mario Sanfilippo, ‘Architettura/La collana di Zevi. Pensare e provocare’, Il messaggero (October 13, 1978). 16. Francesco Cirillo, Saper credere in architettura (Napoli, Clean Edizioni, 1996), p. 47. 17. Geoffrey Scott, The Architecture of Humanism: A Study in the History of Taste (London, Constable, 1924), p. 203. 18. Bruno Zevi, Saper verdere l’architettura (Torino, Einaudi, 1948), p. 160. The clarification that Zevi provided in the first note, titled ‘The Anti-Architectural Nature of the Modern Spirit?’ was significant because he expressed that whenever he referenced ‘space in archi- tecture,’ he was referring to the ‘idea of space-time,’ which he gave a specific application within architectural criticism. The aim was to abolish the concept of architecture as an a- temporal art not through ‘philosophic or scientific demonstrations’ but rather within the ‘direct experience of architectural analysis.’ 19. Ibid., p. 163. 20. Bruno Zevi, ‘La storia dell’architettura per gli architetti moderni’, L’Architettura. Cronache e Storia, 23 (September, 1957), pp. 292–293. 21. This was the title of the inaugural lecture that Zevi gave on 3 August 1951 at the University of Buenos Aires, as the opening of the course on Architectural History that he gave at the School of Architecture and Urban Planning. The inaugural lecture and the closing speech were printed as Bruno Zevi, 2 conferencias (Buenos Aires, Facultad de Arquitectura y Urba- nismo, 1952). 22. Zevi, ‘La storia dell’architettura per gli architetti moderni’, p. 292. 23. Zevi’s transcription, titled ‘History as a Method of Teaching Architecture,’ was published in Marcus Whiffen (ed.), History, Theory and Criticism of Architecture: Papers from the 1964 AIA-ACSA Teacher Seminar (Cambridge, MIT Press, 1965), pp. 11–21. For a summary of the seminar see: Marcus Whiffen, ‘History, Theory and Criticism. The 1964 AIA-ACSA Teacher Seminar. Abstracts and Extracts’, Journal of Architectural Education, 19, Supplement: History, Theory and Criticism. The 1964 AIA-ACSA Teacher Seminar (1964), pp. 1–12. 24. Zevi, Saper verdere l’architettura, p. 152. 25. Bruno Zevi, Poetica dell’architettura neoplastica (Milano, Libreria Editrice Politecnica Tam- burini, 1953), p. 151. Two decades later, in Il linguagio moderno dell’architettura (1973), Zevi considered ‘The Syntax of Four-dimensional Decomposition’ as one of the seven invari- ables of the modern language of architecture. 48 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez 26. Images of the models were published in a monographic number of L’Architettura. Cro- nache e Storia, 99 (January, 1964). A balance of the exhibition was achieved in Bruno Zevi, ‘Visualizzare la critica dell’architecttura’, L’Architettura. Cronache e Storia, 103 (May, 1964), pp. 2–3. 27. ‘From mannerism to language’ is the title that Zevi added later in his second autobiography Zevi su Zevi: architettura come profezia (Venezia, Marsilio Editori, 1993) to introduce his talk at the RIBA, which summarizes Zevi’s change after 1973. It was then that he first under- stood the limitations of modern mannerism and proposed the advantages of a new codified system for modern architecture. 28. For a full transcription of Zevi’s speech at the RIBA see Bruno Zevi, ‘Architecture versus His- toric Criticism’, Royal Institute of British Architects. Transactions, 5 (1984), pp. 39–51. 29. Ibid., p. 51. 30. Bruno Zevi, Storia dell’architettura moderna (Torino, Einaudi, 1950), pp. 11–12. 31. Bruno Zevi, Verso un’architettura organica (Torino, Enaudi, 1945), pp. 71–72. 32. Ibid., p. 72. 33. Scott, The Architecture of Humanism, pp. 68–69. 34. Zevi, Verso un’architettura organica, p. 72. 35. The relation Whittick-Scott is not accidental, during the development of Verso un’architet- tura organica Zevi consulted Whittick’s book Eric Mendelsohn. In its last chapter, ‘The Aes- thetic Value and Significance of Mendelsohn’s Work’, Whittick considered the aesthetic pleasure as the characteristic mechanism to judge the essentials of architecture. To reinforce this belief, he quoted Scott to support the use Einfühlung’s theory in architectural analysis. See Arnold Whittick, Eric Mendelsohn (London, Faber & Faber, 1940), p. 162. 36. Zevi, Verso un’architettura organica, p. 78. 37. Scott, The Architecture of Humanism, pp. 24–25. 38. Zevi, Verso un’architettura organica, p. 47. 39. Zevi, Saper verdere l’architettura, p. 146. 40. Ibid., p. 147. 41. Ibid., p. 167. 42. Georges Gromort, Initiation à l’architecture (Paris, Librarie d’Art R. Ducher, 1936), p. 8. 43. Clough Williams-Ellis and Amabel Williams-Ellis, The Pleasures of Architecture (London, Jonathan Cape, 1924), p. 252. The authors will support their arguments in the Mechanical Fallacy (p. 82), the Biological Fallacy (p. 87), and the psychological standpoint (p. 106). 44. Paul Zucker, ‘Review’, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 16, 2 (December, 1957), p. 283. 45. Zevi, Storia dell’architettura moderna, pp. 13, 329; and Dulio, Introduzione a Bruno Zevi, p. 82. 46. Zevi, Storia dell’architettura moderna, p. 341. 47. Ibid., p. 597. 48. Ibid., p. 598. 49. Bruno Zevi, Architettura e Storiografia (Milano, Tamburini, 1950), pp. 80–81. 50. Anthony Vidler, Histories of the Immediate Present (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008), pp. 7–8. 51. Zevi’s methodological vocation was already recognised by other authors such as Giulio Carlo Argan and Paolo Scrivano. See Giulio Carlo Argan, ‘A proposito di spazio interno’, Metron, 28 (1948), pp. 20–21; and Scrivano ‘“Vedere e scrivere l’architettura”. Bruno Zevi e “Saper vedere l’architettura”’, in Architettura spazio scritto. Forme e tecniche della teoria dell’architettura in Italia dal 1945 a oggi (Torino, Utet, 2001), pp. 201–213. 52. The application of formalist judgment in architecture can be observed in the two books of Giulio Carlo Argan: L’architettura protocristiana, preromanica e romanica (1936) and 49 The Journal of Architecture Volume 24 Number 1 L’architettura italiana del Duecento e Trecento (1937). These two text were very influential for Zevi and were reprinted in his collection Universale di Architettura. See Zevi, Zevi su Zevi, p. 136. 53. Zevi, Saper verdere l’architettura, pp. 140–141. 54. Ibid., p. 64. 55. Ibid., p. 76. 56. Scott, The Architecture of Humanism, p. 213. 57. Zevi, Saper verdere l’architettura, p. 147. 58. Ibid., p. 148. 59. Ibid., p. 150. 60. Scott, The Architecture of Humanism, p. 4. 61. Arnold Whittick, Eric Mendelsohn (London, Faber & Faber, 1956), p. 195. 62. John Summerson, ‘The Case for a Theory of Modern Architecture’, R.I.B.A. Journal (June, 1957), p. 309. 63. Erick Christian Sorensen, ‘On Form, In Space’, in Michael Asgaard Andersen, ed., Nordic Architects Write. A Documentary Anthology (New York, Routledge, 2008), p. 61. 64. Panayotis Tournikiotis, The Historiography of Modern Architecture (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999), p. 80. 65. Parts of the bachelor’s thesis were published between 1963 and 1964 as ‘Ensaio sobre o espaço da arquitectura (1)’, Arquitectura, 79 (1963), pp. 15–22; ‘Ensaio sobre o espaço da arquitectura (2)’, Arquitectura, 80 (1963), pp. 3–16; ‘Ensaio sobre o espaço da arquitec- tura (3)’, Arquitectura, 81 (1964), pp. 29–38. In 2013 a facsimile, published by Centro de Estudos Arnaldo Araújo, appeared. For deeper understanding of the correlation between Zevi and Pedro Vieira de Almeida, see Tiago Lopes Dias, ‘Teoria e Desenho da Arquitectura em Portugal, 1956–1974: Nuno Portas e Pedro Vieira de Almeida’ (Ph.D. dissertation, Uni- versitat Politècnica de Catalunya, 2017). 66. Zevi, Zevi su Zevi, p. 78. 67. Bruno Zevi, Architettura in nuce (Venezia-Roma, Istituto per la collaborazione culturale, 1960), p. 179. 68. Current scholarship such as Johanna Gullberg, ‘Voids and bodies: August Schmarsow, Bruno Zevi and space as historiographical theme’, Journal of Art Historiography, 14 (June, 2016), pp. 1–20, examines the differing opinions between these two authors and demonstrates the longevity and lasting importance of space as a relevant topic. 69. Zevi, Architettura in nuce, p. 62. 70. Bruno Zevi, Cronache di architettura, dalla National Gallery di I. M. Pei alla polemica sul ‘falsi’ bolognesi (Bari, Laterza, 1979), p. 47. 50 Bruno Zevi, the Continental European Emissary of Geoffrey Scott’s Theories Raúl Martínez Martínez Abstract Geoffrey Scott’s Fallacies in Zevi’s Theoretical Corpus 1945–1950 Bruno Zevi’s Methodological Basis: On the Spatial Interpretation The Architectural Experience Continued Acknowledgements Notes and references 
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work_tmzvcrjuwvbw7hkyeexhmwwtru	----	tuning of the Apophthegmata to fit his notion of subjectivity, while according to Eric MacPhail the stance “you never speak about yourself without loss,” from the essay “On the Art of Discussion,” applies to Montaigne’s own project the proverbial Her- culean labor that is the writing of Adages for the benefit of others. Concluding this section, Hélène Cazes discusses Henri Estienne’s ambiguous homage to the Adages, ex- pressed in his 1558 edition of the work. The volume’s final part tackles religious questions. The dual Erasmian-Lucian imi- tation informs Nicolas Correard’s assessment of the mixture of Lucianism, evangelism, and skepticism in two satires in the Erasmian style (one by Jean Thenaud, the other the Cymbalum Mundi), whereas Anne-Pascale Pouey-Mounou sees Rabelais’s subtle blur- ring of adiaphora (religiously indifferent issues) in relation to Erasmus’s understanding of them in the Enchiridion. After Sarah Cameron-Pesant’s and Jean-François Cottier’s refreshing look at two manuscript translations of the Paraphrases targeting different audiences, the volume concludes with two essays that discuss the Erasmian legacy in religious controversies of later years, Natacha Salliot’s during the time of the Edict of Nantes, and Ioana Manea’s during the heyday of Port-Royal. With its wide scope and range of approaches, this volume authoritatively fills the lacuna for France beside the comprehensive studies of Erasmus’s presence and recep- tion in Spain and Italy, and offers stimulating new perspectives on the multifaceted nature of Erasmism during and after the reign of Francis I. Reinier Leushuis, Florida State University Eros Visible: Art, Sexuality, and Antiquity in Renaissance Italy. James Grantham Turner. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017. 464 pp. $75. James Turner’s Eros Visible is one of the most impressive books in Italian Renaissance art history to appear in many years. It is an extensively researched, erudite, original, and entertaining meditation on “art, sexuality, and antiquity in Renaissance Italy,” fo- cusing primarily on the sixteenth century. It is the synthesis of decades of research re- flected in the bibliography, which lists copious articles and key books published by the author over a period of more than thirty years. Bringing together scholarly writing on erotic art by Stephen Campbell, Mary Pardo, Patricia Simons, Bette Talvacchia, and many others, Turner sheds light on works by Michelangelo, Leonardo, Raphael, Giulio Romano, Peruzzi, Correggio, Parmigianino, Bronzino, Salviati, Titian, and Tintoretto. His bibliography is teeming with highly eclectic references to a wide range of scholarship pertinent to his subject; he incorporates writings by Francesca Alberti, Leonard Barkan, Andrea Bayer, Michael Cole, Philippe Morel, Alexander Nagel, Ulrich Pfisterer, Charles Robertson, Patricia Rubin, Maria Ruvoldt, and others too numerous to mention here. REVIEWS 1059 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Turner’s book covers a rich variety of works: sculpture and painting, but also prints, drawings, medals, and maiolica. It is written with relish and extraordinary vitality. It is not merely to be read but to be savored for its wit and acute visual insights. Although the author received his training in the study of literature, which is evident in his close read- ing of texts, he also has a keen eye and is a close observer. When he discusses Titian’s portrait of Jacopo Strada, for example, he suggestively points out how Strada’s fingers approach those of the Lilliputian figurine of Venus that he holds in his hands—the hint of a physical bond. He amusingly and understandably refers to the statuette of Venus as the patron’s “mistress.” Turner’s book is divided into several dovetailing chapters on art and literature, both ancient and modern. Pietro Aretino, Ludovico Ariosto, Baldassare Castiglione, Gio- vanni Della Casa, Ludovico Dolce, Anton Francesco Doni, Nicolò Franco, Lucian, Ovid, and Pliny the Elder are just some of the authors to whom Turner refers. One of the most exciting sections of the book pertains to Agostino Chigi’s villa on the Tiber decorated by Peruzzi, Raphael, and Sebastiano del Piombo. Turner discusses the lost painting by Peruzzi on the villa’s entrance façade of the fornication of Mars and Ve- nus—a subject that he analyzes in great depth and with considerable originality. The author of Eros Visible pursues many other subjects, including Raimondi’s I Modi (“The Ways”), which illustrates some of the various ways of copulating. Raimondi’s engrav- ings, based on Giulio Romano’s drawings, were accompanied by Aretino’s outrageous sonnets. Although these images and texts have been much discussed, Turner’s treatment of them adds to our understanding. Turner’s book is framed at its beginning and end by discussion of the highly con- troversial Leonardesque drawing of an angel (as of the Annunciation) which has an erection. He attributes the fleshy Angelo incarnato to Leonardo’s disciple Salai—al- though, as he notes, some think the drawing by Leonardo himself, while others reject the attribution. Turner’s summary of the various interpretations of the drawing is fas- cinating. In the spirit of diversity, let me add yet another here by way of analogy, not necessarily of specific influence or even intention. I am thinking of Boccaccio’s story of the rogue, Frate Alberto, who has his way sexually with a beautiful but dimwitted woman by coming to her as the angel Gabriel in the Annunciation—the ultimate trav- esty of the mystery of incarnation. Is the smile of the angel in the drawing one of spir- ituality or of pending corporeal pleasure? Renaissance scholars, especially of iconography, art theory, sexuality, literature, pa- tronage, classical antiquity, mythology, and social history—not to mention those who enjoy looking at sexy images—will be drawn to Turner’s entertaining and instructive book. I am confident that Eros Visible will come to be a sturdy foundation for all fu- ture studies of Renaissance erotica seen in a broad context. Paul Barolsky, University of Virginia 1060 VOLUME LXXI, NO. 3RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_tnifay4bqvdujbaznehu5bdk6y	----	TRADITION IN PEDAGOGY AND LINGUISTICS: TWO FOOTHOLDS IN ASCENTION – JOHN AMOS COMENIUS AND EUGENIO COSERIU Luiza ŞOŞU, University lecturer, Alecu Russo State University of Balti “…Solomon who says that there is nothing new under the sun, whatever is now existed before…‖ (Gordano Bruno). Rezumat: Ideea prezentării se conţine în motto-ul articolului, ce conţine aserţiunea filosofului italian Giordano Bruno. În ea el face aluzie la celebrele cuvinte ale lui Solomon – „nimic nou nu este sub soare, ce este acum, a fost mai înainte‖ . Deci ea leagă concepţia biblică cu cea carteziană, a cărei strălucit reprezentant G. Bruno a fost. Filosofia lui panteistă, la rândul său, a entuziasmat pe mulţi filosofi, gânditori, poeţi, precum, I.A. Comenius, Spinoza, Leibniz, Goethe. Continuitatea aceasta leagă concepţii şi generaţii. Greşesc cei ce desconsideră tradiţia atât în religie, cât şi în ştiinţă. Veşnica dihotomie – tradiţie şi inovaţie, este ca o forţă motrice în ascensiunea ambelor. Creaţia titanică a lui Comenius în teologie, filozofie, pedagogie, educaţie, acum când marele gânditor intră în al 345 an al eternităţii, rămâne de o autenticitate incontestabilă, fiind exponentul cel mai strălucit tocmai în continuitatea tradiţiei. Toată înţe- lepciunea divină a Bibliei, toate valorile deontologice şi ştiinţifice ale lumii antice, toate noile idei ale ştiinţei contemporane lui au fost adunate în scrierile şi activitatea lui prodigioasă ia oferit locul de fonda- tor al educaţiei moderne. Spre regret, puţin a fost evaluată şi implementată filosofia lui educaţională. Pentru el pedagogia a început cu religia şi teologia avea ultimul cuvânt în toată sistema lui educaţională. Concepţia lui ar putea întoarce educaţia hipersecularizată modernă pe făgaşurile începuturilor sale epistemologice triumfale. Cuvinte-cheie: Biblie, tradiț ie, ș tiinț ă, secular, filosofie, religie, teologie, sistem de învăț ământ, moș tenire spirituală, istorie, învăț are, cunoaș tere, virtute, pietate, raț ionalism, tânăr, instruire, lingvistică, cultură, valori etice, cercetare. The idea of tradition is important in both religion and philosophy. Twentieth century philo- sophy is often divided between an 'analytic' tradition, dominant in Anglophone and Scandina- vian countries, and a 'continental' tradition, dominant in German and Romance speaking Europe. The term "tradition" comes from the Latin traditio, but the Greek term is paradosis and the verb is paradido. It means giving, offering, delivering, performing charity. In theological terms it means any teaching or practice which has been transmitted from generation to generation throughout the life of the Church. More exactly, paradosis is the very life of the Holy Trinity as it has been revealed by Christ Himself and testified by the Holy Spirit. The roots and the foundations of this sacred tradition can be found in the Scriptures. For it is only in the Scriptures that we can see and live the presence of the three Persons of the Holy Trinity, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. St. John the Evangelist speaks about the manifestation of the Holy Trinity: "For the Life was manifested, and we have seen it, and bear witness, and show unto you that eternal life, which was with the Father, and was manifested unto us" (1 John 1:2). The essence of Christian tradition is described by St. Paul, who writes: "But now in Christ Jesus, you that used to be so far apart from us have been brought very close, by the blood of Christ. For He is peace between us, and has made the two into one and broken down the barrier which used to keep them apart, actually destroying in His own person the hostility caused by the rules and decrees of the Law. This was to create one single man in Himself out of the two of them and by restoring peace through the Cross, to unite them both in a single body and reconcile them with God. In His own person He killed the hostility... Through Him, both of us have in one Spirit our way to come to the Father" (Ephes. 2:13-14). The discontinuity in the Sacred Tradition, as well as in philosophy and any other domain of human activity is characteristic of our modern times: “In the Christian world everything is based (founded) on the Sacred (Holy) Tradition, on the sacred continuity of this tradition. Historical criticism began to demolish it at the start of the epoch of Reformation. For the first time did Reformation cast doubt on it. The Reformation ceased to take it in consideration and due to its equivocal character, which is intrinsic of any reform, considered only the Holy Writ. The process of destruction went on and in the long run, brought to the destruction of the Holy Writ. Truly, the Holy Bible is nothing else than an inseparable part of the Sacred Tradition. Hence, tradition being refused, Holy Bible should be refused inevitably… CZU 811.111+373.011.3 ―I think that the process which takes place in the realm of historical criticism of religion, takes place in the sphere of history in general. Because, there truly exists not only a sacred tradition of the religious history, but there also exists a sacred tradition of history, a sacred tradition of culture, inner sacred traditions…‖ 1 . Then the famous Russian philosopher warns that the Marxist way of understanding history „discomposes and mortifies without compromises, in a consequent way and to the end, all sacred historical traditions”. He advocates nations not to follow this cynic approach of the economic materialism, which once brought the world to rebellion, revolution, and collapse. There are still many a deep and unhealed wounds that this ideology has left. It has destroyed in man the knowledge of soul, spirit and Christian faith. That is why we live now in the chaos of a continuously wrecking pedagogy. It did not stick to the epistemological promises of its triumphant beginning, i.e. to the unity of religion and tradition. And nowadays many a secular and supersecular innovation put under peril even our very species.‖ Instead of the godly wisdom through which it has been given to us to know, to honour, and to enjoy the one who is the height of all goodness, there has arisen a horrible shrinking from that God in whom we live, move, and have our being, and a foolish conjuration of his Holy name‖ 2 . It is high time we had a retrospection on the teachings of John Amos Comenius. He is rightly considered the father of modern education. However, only the infinitesimal parts of his teachings have been investigated and implemented up till now. His best spiritual behest is still under veil. His edifying theology is, unfortunately, at post-restante. John Amos Comenius (1592 -1670) was a Czech pastor, religious leader, educator and encyclopedic philosopher, but first and foremost a theologian: “Should there be any man who is such a pedant as to think that the reform of schools has nothing to do with the vocation of a Theologian, let him know that I was myself thoroughly penetrated with this idea. But I have found that the only way in which I can be freed from it is to follow God‘s call, and without digression to devote myself to that work to which the divine impulse directs me‖ 3 . So, we see that the relationship between pedagogy and theology does not exclude each other. These two humanistic domains, on the contrary, are amplifying each other. He revolutionized not only the teaching of Latin but was conspicuous in the 17 th century for his ecumenical beliefs. He developed a universal system of human knowledge among all men and nations. That is why in the context of enlarging the European Union with its multiple educational systems we should once again cast a glance on his pansophic legacy. His biggest project Janua Rerum (gateway of things), an encyclopedia of the physical world intended to unite our understanding of the physical world with that of God was termed Pansophia. There, he outlined the reform of society through a process of learning that he described by means of the metaphor of light in Via lucis (the way of light). But his most enduring heritage is Didactica Magna, where he postulates how the reform can be attained. It is like a most durable foothold between biblical traditions of education and our modern ones. For Comenius pedagogy started with religion. That is why he projects his new school as being an equivalence with man‟ s life in Eden. The purpose of any school is to help the man to progress spiritually. According to Comenius the most useful thing that the Holy Bible teaches us – is that there is no more certain way under the sun for the raising of sunken humanity than the proper education of the young. For all men the goal is the same, namely, knowledge, virtue, and piety, as this life – the Scriptures reveal, is nothing but the preparation for that to come. For they call it a way, a progress, a gate, and an expectation, while men they call pilgrims, sojourners, or lookers forward to the lasting state. His retrospective view over the biblical times identifies the first school immediately after the Deluge and traces the development of tradition in the school system as far back as the schooling in ancient Egypt and ancient Babylon:‖ We learn that patriarch Shem opened the first school, just after the flood. Later this was called the Hebrew school. Who does not know that in Chaldea, especially in Babylon, there were many schools, in which the arts, including astronomy, were cultivated? Since later on (in the time of Nebuchadnezzar), Daniel and his companion were instructed in the wisdom of the Chaldeans, as was also the case with Moses in Egypt” 4 . These schooling traditions were handed down to Israel, where he identifies the religious education with the formal one: ―By the command of God, schools were set up in all the towns of the children of Israel. They were called synagogues, and in them the Levites used to teach the law. This lasted till the coming of Christ, and became renowned through His teachings and that of his Apostles‖ 5 . There was a continuation of the tradition in the Roman Empire: ―The custom of erecting schools was borrowed by the Romans… and from the Romans it spread throughout their empire, especially when the religion of Christ became universal through the care of pious princes and bishops. History relates that Charlemagne, whenever he subjected any heathen race, forthwith ordained for it bishops and learned men, and erected churches and schools‖ 6 . And this tradition should be passed further to other generations: “It is to the interest of the whole Christian republic that this Godly custom be not only retained but increased as well, and that in every well-ordained habitation of man‖ 7 . Comenius is conscious of the responsibilities of those who can devise some plan, who can obtain a method by which some improvement may be made in the youth who are growing up. So he admonishes by the words of Bible that cursed are those who make the blind to wander out of the way. And he raises the question: ―Can it then please Him that we pass by without thought, and stretch out no helping hand, when we see the errors, not of beasts, but of intelligent beings, not of one or two, but of the whole world? Let this be far from us!‖ 8 . This awareness makes him stretch back his inquisitive mind to the fountain springs of human thought – to Socrates, Diogenes, Plato, Aristotle, Seneca, Cato, Cicero, Plutarch, St. Augustine and others, so that he might have a solid foundation for his new method of “didachography”. And the wise men of old realized the gravity of the task too: “Plutarch says: ‟ For the characters of young children, no man is responsible; but it is in our power to make them virtuous by a proper training. Mark this well; he says ―in our power” 9 . But power comes from knowledge. And he seems to absorb all ethical, educational, intel- lectual standards of the ancient tradition. The teachings of the old philosophers are like footholds in his pedagogical ascension. Throughout his Great Didactic their precepts are scattered like dewy drops that reflect the wisdom of God: “Books should be written simply and clearly… and it is desirable that they be written in the form of a dialogue. … Nothing is more suited to inspire confidence than dialogue-form, and by means of it the mind can be gradually led to the desired goal… in this form Plato wrote all his philosophical, and St. Augustine all his theological works, and Cicero also has employed it largely, thus coming down to the level of readers‖ 10 . ‗That the art of teaching be placed on a proper foundation is to the advantage of states, according to the testimony of Cicero. With whom agrees that of Diogenes …‖ 11 . ―It will also be of great use if an abstract of the contents of all the books used in the class be placed on the walls of the room… by means of which the senses, the memory, and the under-standing may be daily exercised in conjunction. Not without purpose was it that, as the ancients relate, the walls of the temple of Aesculapius were covered with the precepts of the art of medicine, written there by Hippocrates himself. This great theatre of the world, also, God has filled with pictures, statues, and living emblems of His wisdom that he may instruct us by their means‖ 12 . “To fill the minds of scholars with a dreary waste of books and of words is lost labor… Rightly does Seneca say of instruction: ‘Its administration should resemble the sowing of seed, in which stress is laid, not on quantity, but on quality” 13 . ―Truly did Aristotle say that all men are born anxious to acquire knowledge…But how many of those who undertake to educate the young appreciate the necessity of first teaching them how to acquire knowledge?‖ 15 . ―We must bestow our labor on that which is of real importance, and therefore (as Seneca says in his 9 th Letter), must devote ourselves to the improvement of our understanding rather than to the enlargement of our vocabulary‖ 16 . ―A system of concentration that is of such vital importance should be applied to all branches of study, in order that, as Seneca says, what is learned by reading may be given form by writing, or that St. Augustine says of himself, we may write while we make progress and make progress while we write‖ 17 . In his Great Didactic he delves not only into Biblical and philosophical teachings. His conception of education is very complex. It reveals the influences of many a philosophical trend, social and religious precepts of his century. It is centered on the human being, on the freedom of thinking and acting, advocated by the epoch of Renaissance, on modern realism and rationalism, on the pantheistic and empiric conception of the great philosophers of his time - Gordano Bruno, Francis Bacon and Descartes, on his own creed that the young can attain the true knowledge of God, of man and of nature, that they (the young) may grow accustomed to see in this light the light of God and to love and to honor the Father of Light above all things‘. The scientific revolution of his century marked the advent of new theories in educational progress, expressing his own conception: “God has inspired some sturdy men in Germany, who, weary of the errors of the present method of instruction, began to think out an easier and shorter way of teaching languages… I here allude to men like Ratke, Lubin, Helwig, Ritter, Bodin, Glaum, Vogel, Woifstrin, and he who deserves to be placed before them all, John Valentine Andreae (who has laid bare the diseases not only of the Church and the state, but also the schools, and has pointed out the remedies). In France too they set this stone in motion, since the year 1629, Janus Caecilius Frey brought out a fine work on Didactic ―A New and Easy Way to the Godly Sciences and Arts, to Languages and Rhetoric‖ 18 . And other points of view, very congruous with his own: “Lubin says in his Didactic – Charity bids us not to niggardly withhold from mankind what God has intended for the use of all, but to throw it open to the whole world‖ 19 . “…Pleasantries often lead to serious things. Thus would be fulfilled Luther‘s wish that the studies of the young at school could be so organized that the scholars might take pleasure in them as if in playing at ball all day, and thus for the first time would schools be a real prelude to practical life‖ 20 . He was greatly influenced by the optimistic conception of Giordano Bruno who propounded the idea of universal harmony: “All things are in the universe, and the universe is in all things, we abide in it and it abides in us: and in this way everything coincides in a perfect unity. That is why we should not rack our minds, that is why there does not exist a single thing we should be awed by. And because this unity is single and stable and ever lasts, this Oneness is eternal … Those philosophers who have found this unity, have found their confidant – Wisdom” 21 . Comenius was one of those select. It supported him in his projects – large and wearisome: ‖ This is undoubtedly so, and unless our labours are shortened the task will be no easy one; for this art of ours is as long, as wide, and as deep as the universe that has to be subdued by our minds” 22 . Natural philosophy, as it was envisioned by Descartes and other participants in the Scientific Revolution, had only the physical world as its proper domain, and this has been largely true of science ever since. Numerous scientists of the seventeenth century affirmed the Cartesian dualism of the primary properties of the physical world versus the secondary properties associated with human perceptions. The goal of science was to see beyond the veil of these secondary properties to the true nature of the physical world. It facilitated Comenius and other scholars to pursue research in an unbiased and rational manner to obtain certain knowledge of the natural world and the nature of the spirit, as Descartes himself asserted it to be easier to investigate than the body. ―In man, the microcosm, everything is contained potentially. Bring light and he will strait-way see” 23 . This ideal is expressed largely in his Great Didactic where he proves to be the staunchest supporter of the rational procedure in pedagogical science, and the quintessence of his pedagogical creed is that children should grow rational, virtuous and pious. To the aspired European knowledge based society of nowadays, Comenius in his 345 year of eternity, sends a desiderata – not a utopian but a prophetic one: “… multiplication of learned men, since the multitude of the wise is the wisdom of the world. And since our desire is to increase the sum of Christian wisdom, and sow the seeds of piety, of learning, and of morality in the hearts of all who are dedicated to God, we may hope for the fulfillment of the divine prophecy: ‘The earth shall be full of the knowledge of God, as the waters cover the sea‖ (Isaiah, xi, 9) 24 . How inextricably linked are we today to the whole tradition of pedagogy via Comenius‟ titanic endowment, as well as endeavor, for we are not to discontinue this tradition - ―For this no single man and on single generation is sufficient, and it is therefore essential that the work be carried on by many, working together and employing the researches of their predecessors as a starting-point‖ 25 . For if pedagogy started with religion, it should return to its life giving spring, otherwise it is doomed to collapse. Another philosopher, a contemporary one, who took tradition as a vehicle of learning and ascent to the acme of humanistic research, is the greatest scientist in modern linguistics, Eugenio Coseriu. The principle of tradition in Coseriu‟ s deontological hierarchy comes third but in the sciences of culture it is the most important one. In The Principles of Linguistics as a Science of Culture Coseriu quotes the famous Spanish linguist Menendez Pidal: “…in culture everything is primarily tradition, and only then, in the frame of tradition – new and revolutionary things‖ . Coseriu enlarges a little bit by adding:‖ Who asserts only new things, does not say anything, because the true, effective newness in science as well as in culture is something that has its roots in the tradi-tion, it does not ignore what has been done hitherto. It is a satanic self-assurance to say: I am to arrange things, everything that has been done is foolish. This means to despise all the world, from its origin to present days, this means not to admit that all people wanted to say the truth, to say things as they are. And if they made mistakes – and no doubt they did – it was because of this essential limit of the man and science, because of a certain historic moment and because they viewed things from a certain perspective. From these rationalities I do value tradition and constantly seek in it for antecedents of later theories, seek for this intuition, partial as it is, and try revealing in all my works of historical linguistic the continuity of the problems” 26 . To exemplify this E. Coseriu emphasizes that there cannot be a delimitation between pre scientific or non scientific (as some say) linguistics and a scientific one with the beginning of the 19 century. He points that a new method emerged in the 19 century, there is no doubt about it, but the problems – both of theory and description – were always the same. Another example is with Italian Renaissance, for instance, where we can find exactly the same principle of historical explanation through substratum and superstratum and socio-cultural differentiation of languages. Another quotation from Lingvistica integrala proves the ponderability of tradition in linguistics: ―Tradition weighs most heavily in the langue than in any other activity, because of this otherness (alterity), which means unity with the subjects from the past and present and solidarity with subjects of the future. A subject from the future will be able to understand what I do in Romanian now if it is in accordance with the possibilities of Romanian. It is the linguist who is aware of this, while the speaker is not conscious of the fact and applies it intuitively, i.e. creates without thinking of the fact that someone might not understand him. In this way we come to the objectivity of linguistics. And this is the object of linguistics: it must study the langue as the objectivity of a subject among subjects, endowed with alterity‖ 27 . I would like to round up my presentation with the words of a philosopher who stands as a foothold for the ascent of all modern science, giving it the new methods of investigation – Francis Bacon: “It is useless to expect a considerable growth in knowledge via simple adding new things upon old ones; Every time we should start from the very low foundations, if we do not wish to rotate in the same circle… The honour of the old authors always remains unstained because the comparison we are making here is not a comparison of talents or efforts, but of methods, and we have here not the role of the judge but of the guide‖ 28 . Notes 1 Berdiaev, 1996, p. 31 2 Comenius, 1907, p. 13 3 Comenius, 1907, p. 9 4 Comenius, 1907, p. 62 5 ibidem 6 ibidem 7 ibidem 8 Comenius, 1907, p. 17 9 Comenius, 1907, p. 90 10 Comenius, 1907, p. 173 11 Comenius, 1907, p.20 12 Comenius, 1907, p.174 13 Comenius, 1907, p.175 14 Comenius, 1907, p. 20 15 Comenius, 1907, p. 87 16 Comenius, 1907, p. 178 17 Comenius, 1907, p. 178 18 Comenius, 1907, p. 8 19 Comenius, 1907, p. 9 20 Comenius, 1907, p.180 21 Bruno, 1943, p. 207 22 Comenius, 1907, p. 160 23 Comenius, 1907, p. 175 24 Comenius, 1907, p. 294 25 Comenius, 1907, p. 285 26 Coşeriu, 1992, p.15 27 Coşeriu, 1996, p.124 28 Bacon, 1943, p. 217 References 1. BACON, F. Novum Organum. Antologie filosofică (filosofi srtăini). Ediţia a doua. Casa Şcoalelor, 1943 (In English: Bacon F. Novum Organum. Philosophical Anthology (Foreign Philosophers, II edition. Casa Scoalelor, 1943) [=Bacon, 1943]. 2. BERDIAEV, N. Semnificaţia tradiţiei. Sensul istoriei. Colecţia Plural. Polirom, 1996 (in English: Berdiaev N. The Significance of Tradition. The Essense of History. Polirom, 1996 [=Berdiaev, 1996]. 3. BRUNO, G. Despre cauză principiu şi unitate. Antologie filosofică (filosofi străini). Ediţia a doua. Casa Şcoalelor, 1943 (in English: Bruno G. About Cause, Principle and Unity. Philosophical Antho- logy (Foreign Philosophers. II edition. Casa Scoalelor, 1943 [=Bruno, 1943]. 4. COŞERIU, E. Lingvistica Integrală (interviu cu E.Coşeriu, realizat de N.Saramandu). Bucureşti: Edi- tura Fundaţiei Culturale Române,1996 (in English: COSERIU, E Integral Linguistics (interview with E. Coseriu, granted to N.Saramandu, Bucharest: Romanian Cultural Foundation Press, 1996) [=Cose- riu, 1996] 5. COMENIUS, J.A. The Great Didactic London: Adam and Charles Black, 1907 https://archive.org/ details/cu31924031053709 [=Comenius, 1907]. 
work_tqetgmsdn5cqphtaxo2wr4npqa	----	15th International Workshop on Advanced Infrared Technology and Applications (AITA) proceedings Editorial 15th International Workshop on Advanced Infrared Technology and Applications (AITA) † Paolo Bison 1, Mario D’Acunto 2, Xavier Maldague 3, Davide Moroni 4,* , Valentina Raimondi 5, Antoni Rogalski 6, Takahide Sakagami 7 and Marija Strojnik 8 1 Istituto per le Tecnologie della Costruzione, CNR, 35127 Padova, Italy; paolo.bison@itc.cnr.it 2 Istituto di Biofisica, CNR, 56124 Pisa, Italy; mario.dacunto@pi.ibf.cnr.it 3 Electrical and Computer Engineering Department, Université Laval, Quebec, QC G1V 0A6, Canada; maldagx@gel.ulaval.ca 4 Istituto di Scienza e Tecnologie dell’Informazione “Alessandro Faedo”, CNR, 56124 Pisa, Italy 5 Istituto di Fisica Applicata “Nello Carrara”, CNR, 50019 Sesto Fiorentino FI, Italy; v.raimondi@ifac.cnr.it 6 Institute of Applied Physics, Military University of Technology, 01-476 Warsaw, Poland; antoni.rogalski@wat.edu.pl 7 Department of Mechanical Engineer, Kobe University, Kobe 657-8501, Japan; sakagami@mech.kobe-u.ac.jp 8 Centro de Investigaciones en Óptica (CIO), 37150 León, Mexico; mstrojnik@gmail.com * Correspondence: davide.moroni@isti.cnr.it † Presented at the 15th International Workshop on Advanced Infrared Technology and Applications (AITA 2019), Florence, Italy, 17–19 September 2019. Published: 16 December 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: The 15th International Workshop on Advanced Infrared Technology and Applications has been held in Florence on 16–19 September 2019. Keywords: Infrared imaging; Smart and fiber-optic sensors; Thermo-fluid dynamics; Biomedical applications; Environmental monitoring; Aerospace and industrial applications; Nanophotonics and nanotechnologies; Astronomy and Earth observation; Non-destructive tests and evaluation; Systems and applications for the cultural heritage 1. Introduction The 15th International Workshop on Advanced Infrared Technology and Applications has been organized by the Fondazione “Giorgio Ronchi”, the Istituto di Fisica Applicata “Nello Carrara” (IFAC-CNR), the Istituto per le Tecnologie delle Costruzioni (ITC-CNR), the Istituto di Scienza e Tecnologie dell’Informazione “Alessandro Faedo” (ISTI-CNR) and the Istituto di Biofisica (IBF-CNR). After having organized the 13th edition in Pisa in 2015, AITA conference moved to North America with the 14th edition that was hosted at Laval University (Quebec City) in September 2017 under the organisation of the Canada Research Chair on Multipolar Infrared Vision Infrarouge Mulipolaire (MIVIM) of the Electrical and Computer Engineering Department. In 2019, AITA came back again to Italy and, more precisely, to Florence, where the idea of this conference series spurred about 25 years ago mainly thanks to the efforts and commitment by the Fondazione “Giorgio Ronchi”. In addition, 2019 is a special year since it marks an important anniversary: the 90th birthday of Prof. Laura Ronchi Abbozzo, AITA General Chair, to which the workshop has been dedicated. The workshop program featured a technical seminar day (Section 2) followed by actual conference days (Section 3). A selection of the received papers will be published in a peer-review journal, namely OSA Applied Optics. Proceedings 2019, 27, 53; doi:10.3390/proceedings2019027053 www.mdpi.com/journal/proceedings http://www.mdpi.com/journal/proceedings http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0002-5175-5126 http://www.mdpi.com/2504-3900/27/1/53?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/proceedings2019027053 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/proceedings Proceedings 2019, 27, 53 2 of 4 AITA scientific program was accompanied by two social events, namely a visit to the Cenacolo del Fuligno, featuring a masterpiece fresco by the Italian Renaissance painter Pietro Perugino (Figure 1), and a Gala Dinner in a traditional Florentine restaurant. Finally, the website http://ronchi.isti.cnr.it/AITA2019 will be maintained active for future references. The 16th International Workshop on Advanced Infrared Technology and Applications will take place in Venice, Italy, in late summer/fall 2021. Figure 1. The Last Supper (1493–1496), a fresco by the Italian Renaissance painter Pietro Perugino, located in the refectory of the former Convent of Fuligno (picture by Sailko available in Wikimedia under CC BY-SA 3.0). 2. Technical Seminar: Infrared Techniques and Applications for Aerospace Florence and Tuscany Region enjoy a long tradition in optics and space optics, and still today photonics and space technologies are included in the smart specialisation strategy of the Tuscany region. For this reason, the AITA organising committee has decided to dedicate to this sector a technical seminar titled “Infrared techniques and applications for aerospace”. The one-day seminar has been held on September 16 and has been organised as an Open Engagement Event by the INTERREG Europe project STEPHANIE led by the Istituto di Fisica Applicata “Nello Carrara” (IFAC-CNR) with Tuscany Region as a key partner. Twelve talks were delivered by invited speakers who discussed extensively key challenges, trends and opportunities for the aerospace sector, discussing several Earth Observation applications ranging from climate to volcano monitoring, from oceanography to smart cities. 3. Conference Days The actual conference days run from September 17 to September 19 at noon. The technical program was organized in 13 sessions on the following topics: Image Processing and data analysis; Advanced technology and materials; Non-destructive testing; Biomedical Applications and Spectroscopy; Astronomy, Earth observation and environment; Cultural Heritage; Aerospace and industrial applications. Sessions of general interest were organised as plenary, while due to the limited available time, some more specialist sessions have been run in parallel. Highlights from the program include four keynote speeches that were distributed along the conference days. After the opening session on September 17, Prof. Elżbieta Pieczyska gave an introduction to a new Ti alloy - Gum Metal, describing new results obtained thanks to the infrared technique. On September 18, we had a morning keynote speech by Xavier Maldague, who provided an interesting review of inspection methodologies based on infrared thermography by drones, and an afternoon talk by Dr.ssa Carosena Meola, who surveyed the contribution of infrared thermography within impact testing of composite materials. Finally on the last conference day, Prof. Marija Strojnik gave a speech on rotationally shearing interferometry for extrasolar planet detection, accounting a http://ronchi.isti.cnr.it/AITA2019 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Cenacolo_di_Fuligno_di_Pietro_Perugino.JPG Proceedings 2019, 27, 53 3 of 4 joint work with Beethoven Bravo-Medina. A further highlight is represented by the technical and vendor session that took place on September 17 after lunch. On this occasion, vendors were allowed to give a presentation of their top and innovative instruments by either discussing the opportunities offered to the scientific community and describing their successful applications. A total of 54 papers were presented and will be included in the workshop proceedings, published in MDPI Proceedings, vol. 27 (https://www.mdpi.com/2504-3900/27/1). 4. 4th under-35 Paper Award A best paper award has been assigned by the chairpersons in honour of Ermanno Grinzato, AITA co-chairman for a long time and known scientist in the thermography community. The award aims at encouraging innovative studies of young researchers in some of the topics of interest for the workshop. In view of the excellent talks delivered by young scientists, this year the commission decided to give an ex aequo prize to Chiara Filippini for the paper “Thermal imaging based affective computing for educational robot” [1] and to Klaudia Hackiewicz for the paper “InAs/GaSb superlattice based mid-infrared interband cascade photodetectors grown on both native GaSb and lattice-mismatched GaAs substrates” [2]. An honorable mention was also awarded to Raffael Thiessen for the paper “Infrared Thermography and DIT of Quadcopter Rotor Blades Using Laser Heating” [3]. 5. Committes General chair L. Ronchi Abbozzo Fondazione Giorgio Ronchi, Firenze, Italy Co-chair P. Bison ITC-CNR, Padova, Italy M. D’Acunto IBF-CNR, Pisa, Italy X. Maldague Laval University, Quebec, Canada D. Moroni ISTI-CNR, Pisa, Italy V. Raimondi IFAC-CNR, Firenze, Italy A. Rogalski Military University of Technology, Warsaw, Poland T. Sakagami Kobe University, Kobe, Japan M. Strojnik CIO, León, Guanajuato, Mexico Scientific committee B. Allotta University of Firenze, Firenze, Italy D. Balageas ONERA, Chatillon, France C. Corsi Alenia-Creo, L’Aquila, Italy E. Dereniak University of Arizona, Tucson, USA C.T. Elliott Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh, Scotland C. Maierhofer BAM, Germany C. Meola University of Napoli, Napoli, Italy H.N. Rutt Southampton University, Southampton, United Kingdom O. Salvetti ISTI-CNR, Pisa, Italy G. Steenackers University of Antwerp, Antwerp, Belgium J.L. Tissot ULIS, Veurey Voroize, France V.P. Vavilov Tomsk University, Tomsk, Russia M. Volinia Politecnico of Torino, Torino, Italy H. Zogg ETH, Zurich, Switzerland https://www.mdpi.com/2504-3900/27/1 Proceedings 2019, 27, 53 4 of 4 Program committee G. Cadelano ITC-CNR, Italy A. Carboni ISTI-CNR, Italy S. Colantonio ISTI-CNR, Italy G. Ferrarini ITC-CNR, Italy D. Germanese ISTI-CNR, Italy D. Guzzi IFAC-CNR, Italy B. Jalil ISTI-CNR, Italy C. Lastri IFAC-CNR, Italy M.A. Pascali ISTI-CNR, Italy G. Pieri ISTI-CNR, Italy M. Reggiannini ISTI-CNR, Italy A. Scozzari ISTI-CNR, Italy A. Tonazzini ISTI-CNR, Italy Organizing committee F. Pardini ISTI-CNR, Italy M. Tampucci ISTI-CNR, Italy E. Ricciardi Comitato Organizzazione di Conferenze ed Eventi Scientifici (COCES), Italy Acknowledgments: We would like to thank the Associazione Italiana Prove non Distruttive Monitoraggio Diagnostica (AIPnD) for the patronage of our event and the INTERREG Europe project STEPHANIE (Space TEchnology with PHotonics for market and societal challenges) for having sponsored the technical seminar. We also thank our sponsors FLIR, InfraTec, ThermoFisher Scientific and Telops for generous support. We are grateful to all the members of the scientific committee and of the program committee that helped the chairpersons in the reviewing process, providing timely, professional and constructive comments that fostered the scientific quality of AITA workshop. A special note is reserved to Ovidio Salvetti which gave us precious suggestions and advice in organising this scientific event and to Benedetto Allotta, who helped us in finding a suitable venue in Florence. Special thanks go to our treasurer Ettore Ricciardi, to Marco Tampucci, who served as the webmaster, and, finally, to Francesca Pardini, who took care of organisational aspects in a tireless way and make it possible to have a successful workshop edition. Conflicts of Interest: The authors declare no conflict of interest. References 1. Filippini, C.; Spadolini, E.; Cardone, D.; Merla, A. Thermal Imaging Based Affective Computing for Educational Robot. Proceedings 2019, 27, 27, doi:10.3390/proceedings2019027027. 2. Hackiewicz, K.; Kopytko, M.; Rutkowski, J.; Martyniuk, P.; Ciura, Ł. InAs/GaSb Superlattice Based Mid-Infrared Interband Cascade Photodetectors Grown on Both Native GaSb and Lattice-Mismatched GaAs Substrates. Proceedings 2019, 27, 38, doi:10.3390/proceedings2019027038. 3. Thiessen, R.; Schülein, E. Infrared Thermography and DIT of Quadcopter Rotor Blades Using Laser Heating. Proceedings 2019, 27, 31, doi:10.3390/proceedings2019027031. c© 2019 by the authors. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction Technical Seminar: Infrared Techniques and Applications for Aerospace Conference Days 4th under-35 Paper Award Committes References 
work_trwoaakoerd2fbrjccyp64slnq	----	Layout 2 University of Groningen In Defense of Common Sense. Lorenzo Valla’s Humanist Critique of Scholastic Philosophy Nauta, Lodi IMPORTANT NOTE: You are advised to consult the publisher's version (publisher's PDF) if you wish to cite from it. Please check the document version below. Document Version Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Publication date: 2009 Link to publication in University of Groningen/UMCG research database Citation for published version (APA): Nauta, L. (2009). In Defense of Common Sense. Lorenzo Valla’s Humanist Critique of Scholastic Philosophy. Harvard University Press. http://www.hup.harvard.edu/catalog.php?recid=29432 Copyright Other than for strictly personal use, it is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Take-down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please contact us providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Downloaded from the University of Groningen/UMCG research database (Pure): http://www.rug.nl/research/portal. For technical reasons the number of authors shown on this cover page is limited to 10 maximum. Download date: 06-04-2021 https://research.rug.nl/en/publications/in-defense-of-common-sense-lorenzo-vallas-humanist-critique-of-scholastic-philosophy(5c1a8a97-b6fb-4956-b627-11019a3c697f).html http://www.hup.harvard.edu/catalog.php?recid=29432 In Defense of Common Sense l o d i n a u ta l o d i n a u ta is Professor of Medieval and Renaissance Philosophy, University of Gronin- gen, the Netherlands. I Tatti Studies in Italian Renaissance History harvard university press Cambridge, Massachusetts London, England www.hup.harvard.edu Jacket art: Colantonia, Saint Gerome in his study with the lion. ©Scala/Ministero per i Beni e le Attività culturali / Art Resource, NY. “This is by far the best book in any language on Valla as a philoso- pher. It will immediately take its place on graduate reading lists and in courses on Renaissance humanism and philosophy, and bring Valla into the narrative of Western philosophical history as no book has previously succeeded in doing.” —james hankins, harvard university “Tremendously impressive. This is a welcome development in scholarship on Valla. Nauta has written a book that will be con- sulted for a long time to come.” —christopher celenza, johns hopkins university One of the leading humanists of Quattro- cento Italy, Lorenzo Valla (ca. 1406–1457) has been widely praised as a brilliant and successful debunker of medieval scholastic philosophy. Transcending the disciplinary boundaries that still divide the study of humanism from that of medieval philosophy, Lodi Nauta seeks a more balanced assessment, presenting us with the first comprehensive study of the humanist’s attempt at radical reform of Aristotelian scholasticism. This study first examines Valla’s attack on major tenets of Aristotelian metaphysics, show- ing how Valla employed common sense and lin- guistic usage as his guides. Next, it explicates Valla’s critique of Aristotelian psychology and natural philosophy and discusses his moral and religious views, including Valla’s notorious iden- tification of Christian beatitude with Epicurean pleasure and his daring views on the Trinity. Fi- nally, it takes up Valla’s humanist dialectic, which rejects the formal approach of the scholastics and seeks to transform logic into a practical tool in which persuasiveness and ef- fectiveness are the prime parameters. Nauta’s work firmly places Valla’s arguments and ideas within the contexts of ancient and medieval philosophical traditions as well as re- newed interest in ancient rhetoric in the Ren- aissance. It also amply demonstrates the philosophical relevance of Valla’s conviction that, because language is the key to thinking and writing, the philosophical problems of the scholastics are rooted in a misunderstanding of language. Combining philosophical exegesis and historical scholarship, this book offers a new approach to a major Renaissance thinker. In Defense of Common Sense Lorenzo Valla’s Humanist Critique of Scholastic Philosophy n a u ta 
work_tt2jcy5q7bds7h6treilo4u6zy	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
work_txfzmi2yobg6tnjfq7t2fa3n6a	----	Microsoft Word - Tamir_TOCENGJ The Open Chemical Engineering Journal, 2008, 2, 97-99 97 1874-1231/08 2008 Bentham Open Open Access Interaction Between Engineering, Science and Art Abraham Tamir* Chemical Engineering Department, Ben Gurion University of the Negev, Israel Abstract: This article is the beginning of a new section entitled Engineering and Science by Art where the emphasis will be on Chemical Engineering. It applies to an approach developed by the author where subjects related to engineering and sciences are demonstrated by artworks. This makes the subjects more understandable and easy to percept. After studying the articles written by the author, he believes that in the future the readers will also be able to write articles of this type. INTRODUCION The three cultures, Engineering, Science and Art are usu- ally looked upon as three different entities. However, the interaction between Engineering and Science is well-known, whereas the interaction between Engineering and Art, and between Science and Art is not so obvious. However, ac- cording to Cheng-Dau Lee, a Nobel laureate in physics, there is an interaction between science and art; he said: "Both, science and art are not separated from each other. There is even a similarity between them as they help us observe na- ture. With the help of science we can find out routines of nature. On the other hand, by means of art we can describe the emotions of nature." The major aim of the present article is to demonstrate the interaction between the above mentioned cultures for which a new section will be established in the magazine entitled “Engineering via Art”. The author of this article will demon- strate this approach, and the readers are invited to contribute their own ideas by applying the above interactions. In the following, we elaborate the above interactions by demon- strating them through art. WHAT IS SCIENCE? Science to the layman is usually identified with some- thing precise, such as mathematics or physics. However, science has an essential scope to reveal the laws of nature which govern our life every second. Science has many defi- nitions. For example, the Oxford Advanced Learner's Dic- tionary (1989) and Even-Shoshan’s New Hebrew Dictionary (1975) definitions are summarized as follows: “Science is a systematic research in a certain subject, such as in mathemat- ics, physics, botany, and history, organized and based on facts, observations or experiments, and summarized into laws, rules and axioms.” According to Dictionary of Science, science is defined as “the study of the physical universe and its contents by means of reproducible observations, meas- urements, and experiments to establish, verify, or modify general laws to explain its nature and behavior.” Another definition based on Webster's New World Dictionary of the *Address correspondence to this author at the Chemical Engineering De- partment, Ben Gurion University of the Negev, Israel; E-mail: abr.tamir@gmail.com American Language reads, (http://www.aboundingjoy.com/ define-fs.htm): “Systemized knowledge derived from obser- vation, study, and experimentation carried on in order to determine the nature or principles of what is being studied.” In the Encyclopedia Britannica (1987), "Science is the knowledge of the world of nature". Campbell's [1] definition is very interesting, he says that nature means, practically, the part of the world that humans regard as external to them. Thus, “Science is that branch of pure learning which is con- cerned with the properties of the external world”. A few art- works demonstrating science by art are presented in the fol- lowing. Fig. (1) demonstrates Archimedes Law related to hydrodynamics. Archimedes of Syracuse (c.287 BC– c.212 BC) was a Greek mathematician, physicist, engineer, inventor, and astronomer. He formulated his law about 2200 years ago stating that: “On a body immersed in a fluid, a force acts in opposite direction to gravity force. The magni- tude of this force, designated as ‘buoyancy force’ is equal to the weight of the displaced fluid by the immersed body”. Fig. (1), “The skiff ”, painted by Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841-1919), a French impressionist, demonstrates the law where due to the buoyancy force the boat with the two ladies could sail without sinking. Mathematics is demonstrated in Fig. (2) by the symbol of infinity painted by Todd Davidson. Here a man is mowing his backyard in the shape of infinity. Fig. (1). Chemistry is demonstrated by reaction 2AB which gives A + B + A in Fig. (3). The reaction is based on an element on the left of Fig. (3) of the artwork entitled “2 -motifs, transi 98 The Open Chemical Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 2 Abraham Tamir tional system I A -I A ” painted by Maurits Cornelis Escher (1898 –1972), a Dutch graphic artist [2]. To conclude part of the subjects related to science, “reflexology” related to alter- native medicine that belongs to life sciences is presented Fig. (4) of an unknown artist. An ancient Chinese technique uses pressure-point massage (usually on the feet, and also on the hands and ears) to restore the flow of energy throughout the entire body. While the art of reflexology dates back to An- cient Egypt, India and China, it wasn’t until Dr William Fitzgerald introduced this therapy to the West as ‘zone ther- apy’. He noted that reflex areas on the feet and hands were linked to other areas and organs of the body within the same zone. It has been observed that a tension in any part of the feet is mirrored in the corresponding part of the body. It is a complementary therapy, which works on the feet to help heal the whole person and not just the prevailing symptoms. It is interested to note that Fig. (4) reminds the famous artwork “The creation of Adam”[3] painted by Michelangelo (1475- 1564) Italian Renaissance. Fig. (4). WHAT IS ENGINEERING? According to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, Engi- neering is the discipline and profession of applying scientific knowledge and utilizing natural laws and physical resources in order to design and implement materials, structures, ma- chines, devices, systems, and processes that realize a desired objective and meet specified criteria. More precisely, engi- neering can be defined as “the creative application of scien- tific principles to design or develop structures, machines, apparatus, or manufacturing processes, or works utilizing them singly or in combination; or to construct or operate the same with full cognizance of their design; or to forecast their behavior under specific operating conditions”. An important step in developing a process is testing in the lab the optimal conditions of the chemical reaction that will take place in the plant for producing on a large scale the required product. The lab is demonstrated in Fig. (5) [4] by an image of Louis Pas- teur, a French chemist and biologist, in his laboratory painted in 1885 by A. Edelfeld. Following the lab stage, the plant is constructed, an example of which is demonstrated in Fig. (6) [5]. It is an artwork of the Publicker Industrial Chemicals plant with the world’s largest capacity for the production of ethyl alcohol. It is located on the Delaware River, near the southernmost tip of Philadelphia, where Fig. (7) demonstrates a photograph of a real steam plant which may be looked upon as a very nice artwork. And finally, Fig. (8) [6] entitled “Man as industrial palace” is an interesting artwork painted by Fritz Kahn (1888-1968). One can clearly see the hierarchy of departments within the body factory, with the center of operation located at the top of the head, namely in the brain. By simulating the body as a factory, Kahn was able to relate the body’s complex organic interior to the industrialized space. Thus, Fig. (8) can simulate a con- trolled chemical plant that is composed of different elements that interact with each other, similar to man’s body. Fig. (5). Fig. (2). Fig. (3). Interaction Between Engineering, Science and Art The Open Chemical Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 2 99 Fig. (6). Fig (7). Fig. (8). CONCLUSIONS The author has recently established in this journal a new section entitled Engineering and Science by Arts. The pre- sent article demonstrates this approach by describing differ- ent elements of engineering by artworks. In future articles, subjects related also to Chemical Engineering and Science will be presented hoping that the readers will also apply this approach and write articles of this kind. ACKNOWLEDGEMENT Thanks to Ms. Humaira Hashmi, Manager Publications, for her useful advice to change a few artworks, which has improved the artistic demonstration of the specific subjects. REFERENCES [1] N. Campbell, What is Science? Dover Publications, Inc., New York, 1953. [2] http://images.google.co.il/images?q=Escher&ndsp=21&um=1&hl= iw&start=546&sa=N [3] Sacred Mirrors The Visionary Art of Alex Grey, Inner Traditions International, Rochester, Vermont, 1990. [4] http://louis-pasteur.navajo.cz/louis-pasteur-6.jpg [5] www.maverickengineering.com [6] www.nlm.nih.gov/.../ 1200%20dpi/IV-A-01.jpg Received: June 17, 2008 Revised: June 25, 2008 Accepted: July 07, 2008 © Abraham Tamir; Licensee Bentham Open. 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work_tzvxdbvrarhwjntvft75l2p6j4	----	Salvator Mundi: an investigation of the painting’s materials and techniques Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 https://doi.org/10.1186/s40494-020-00382-3 R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E Salvator Mundi: an investigation of the painting’s materials and techniques Nica Gutman Rieppi1*, Beth A. Price2, Ken Sutherland2,3, Andrew P. Lins2, Richard Newman4, Peng Wang5, Ting Wang5 and Thomas J. Tague Jr.5 Abstract Before the start of its restoration in 2007, the Salvator Mundi was thought to be one of a number of copies of a long- lost Leonardo da Vinci painting, depicting Christ giving a blessing with his right hand while holding a crystal orb in his left. During the restoration treatment, a scientific examination of the painting was carried out to elucidate the painting’s materials and techniques. Microscopic sampling of the painting was necessarily limited, and nine out of ten samples were prepared and analyzed as cross-sections. A number of analytical methods were employed selectively, including stereomicroscopy, visible and fluorescent light microscopy, scanning electron microscopy with energy dis- persive spectroscopy, Raman microspectroscopy, Fourier transform infrared microspectroscopy in transmission mode and with attenuated total reflection. The pigments characterized were lead white, vermilion, red iron oxide earth, red lake, natural ultramarine, lead–tin yellow, umber, and charcoal, carbon and bone blacks. Manganese-containing soda-lime glass was detected in the ground, imprimitura and paint layers, and a walnut oil medium was identified by pyrolysis gas chromatography-mass spectrometry. Cross-section studies revealed aspects of the painting’s stratigra- phy: a size layer, white ground and off-white imprimitura, followed by a complex sequence of paint layers applied by the artist to achieve sophisticated visual effects. Keywords: Salvator Mundi, Panel painting, Cross-section, Raman, SEM, FTIR, Py-GCMS, Pigments © The Author(s) 2020, corrected publication 2020. This article is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, which permits use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons licence, and indicate if changes were made. The images or other third party material in this article are included in the article’s Creative Commons licence, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not included in the article’s Creative Commons licence and your intended use is not permitted by statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly from the copyright holder. To view a copy of this licence, visit http://creat iveco mmons .org/licen ses/by/4.0/. The Creative Commons Public Domain Dedication waiver (http://creat iveco mmons .org/publi cdoma in/zero/1.0/) applies to the data made available in this article, unless otherwise stated in a credit line to the data. Introduction In 2017, the painting Salvator Mundi was sold as a redis- covered work by Leonardo da Vinci by Christie’s auction house (Fig. 1). However, prior to its restoration treatment between 2007 and 2011, the painting was thought to be one of a number of copies of the possible, long-lost Leon- ardo painting, an image of which was depicted in a 1650 etching by Wenceslaus Hollar bearing the Latin inscrip- tion “Leonardus da Vinci pinxit” (“Leonardo painted it”) [1]. After the layers of discolored varnish and overpaint were removed, the paint handling and surface details of the painting were revealed, leading to a reassessment of its authorship by Leonardo scholars [1, 2]. The uncover- ing of the original paint surface, affected by paint loss and abrasion, provided a unique opportunity for examina- tion of the painting’s materials and techniques.1 Certain aspects of the technical examination, including infrared reflectography and X-radiography, have been discussed in a separate publication, which also gives a detailed account of the restoration treatment [2]. In addition to these forms of examination, during the early stages of the restoration, microscopic samples were obtained from inconspicuous yet relatively intact areas of paint and Open Access *Correspondence: nrieppi@gmail.com 1 Art Analysis & Research, LLC, New York, NY 10018, USA Full list of author information is available at the end of the article 1 Aspects of this research were presented at the CHARISMA conference Leonardo da Vinci’s Technical Practice: Paintings, Drawings and Influ- ence, The National Gallery, London, 13-14 January 2012, co-organized by the Centre de Recherche et de Restauration des Musées de France (C2RMF) and the British Museum, London (Dianne Dwyer Modestini, Beth A. Price, Nica Gutman Rieppi, Ken Sutherland, Robert Simon and Thomas J. Tague Jr., ‘Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘Salvator Mundi’ Rediscovered’); and at a symposium co- hosted by New York University and Columbia University, February 18, 2012 (Nica Gutman Rieppi, Beth A. Price, Ken Sutherland, Thomas J. Tague Jr., “Leonardo da Vinci - Recent Technical Findings and Discoveries”). http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/ http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/ http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1186/s40494-020-00382-3&domain=pdf Page 2 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 prepared as cross-sections to examine the layering struc- ture and subsequent, non-original retouching. In 2011, in preparation for the exhibition ‘Leonardo da Vinci: Painter at the Court of Milan’ at the National Gallery, London, the cross-section studies were resumed and expanded to investigate the material composition of the paint lay- ers. Analyses were undertaken using a complement of instrumental techniques: visible and fluorescent light microscopy (VLM and FLM), scanning electron micros- copy with energy dispersive spectroscopy (SEM-EDS), Raman microspectroscopy, Fourier transform infrared microspectroscopy (MFTIR), FTIR with attenuated total reflection (ATR-FTIR), and pyrolysis gas chromatog- raphy-mass spectrometry (Py-GCMS). The scientific details of these results have not been published previ- ously by the authors; in addition to shedding light on the artist’s materials and techniques, they provide a basis for future technical studies of the Salvator Mundi. Methods Stereomicroscopy and paint sampling The paint surface was examined in detail using ster- eomicroscopy (up to 50× magnification), informed by information derived from infrared reflectography [2]. Working under the stereomicroscope, ten micro- scopic  samples that appeared to contain original paint layer structures were acquired using a surgical scalpel from locations adjacent to losses. The sampling locations were chosen to represent a range of colors and composi- tional elements. Instrumental analyses were carried out on nine of the samples prepared as cross-sections and on one unmounted sample for supplemental pigment and medium analysis. Sample details are listed in Table 1. Visible and fluorescent light microscopy (VLM and FLM) Samples for cross-sections were embedded in Bio-Plas- tic® polyester-polystyrene resin (Ward’s Natural Science), cured, and polished with 4000 to 12,000 grade Micro- Mesh abrasives. The cross-sections were viewed in visible Fig. 1 Salvator Mundi, oil on walnut panel, c. 1500, with approximate sample locations marked (see also Table 1) Table 1 Sample details Key: 1 = VLM and FLM, 2 = SEM-EDS, 3 = Raman, 4 = MFTIR, 5 = ATR-FTIR, 6 = PyGC-MS a Sampling coordinates, distance from lower left corner (x/y), mm b Coordinates approximate since sample was taken while the painting was framed Sample Number Description Locationa Sample Form 1 Flesh highlight, proper right hand [1, 2, 3] 37/295 Cross-section 2 Flesh shadow, proper right hand [1, 2, 3, 5] 48/260 Cross-section 3 Proper left diagonal band, area with underpainted knotwork design [1, 2, 3] 266/129 Cross-section 4 Background (with overpaint) [1, 2, 3] 56/377 Cross-section 5 Highlight of white cuff of sleeve, proper right hand [1, 2, 3] 3.5/184 Cross-section 6 Blue robe [1, 2, 3] 49/16 Cross-section 7 Blue robe, bottom edge [1, 2, 3] 50/12 Cross-section 8 Flesh shadow, proper right hand [1, 2, 3, 5] 48/261 Cross-section 9 Background (with overpaint), left edge [1, 2, 3] 9/249 Cross-section 10 Blue robe [1, 4, 6] 406/154b Not embedded Page 3 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 light and with ultraviolet-violet excitation, using a Leitz Laborlux S microscope, equipped with fiber optic lights for VLM and a Leitz D filter cube (355–425  nm excita- tion, 460  nm suppression filter) and 100  W mercury source for FLM. Samples were imaged using a Nikon Digital Sight DS-5M camera with Nikon EclipseNET software. Scanning electron microscopy with energy dispersive spectroscopy (SEM‑EDS) Paint cross-sections were mounted on carbon tape on an aluminum stub; all were analyzed uncoated in low vac- uum mode except sample 1, which was carbon-coated using a Denton Desk II cold sputter coater with car- bon rod evaporation accessory. Backscattered electron images and EDS spectra were acquired using a JEOL JSM-6460LV SEM equipped with an Oxford Instruments INCA X-sight EDS detector and INCA Energy 200 soft- ware. The accelerating voltage was 20  kV. The carbon coated cross-section was analyzed under high vacuum and the others at 30 Pa. Supplementary, quantitative EDS analysis was undertaken on sample 1 in high vacuum mode, with an accelerating voltage of 20  kV and a beam current of ~ 1 nanoamp. Corning Reference Glasses A, B, C, and D were used as standards. Fourier transform infrared microspectroscopy (MFTIR and ATR‑FTIR) Representative portions of sample 10 were isolated and flattened on a Spectra-Tech diamond window with a roller tool. Analyses were performed using a Thermo Nicolet Continuum microscope (MCT-A detector) attached to a Nexus 670 spectrometer. The data were col- lected in transmission mode between 4000 and 600 cm−1 at 4 cm−1 resolution and 200 scans per spectrum. Omnic 6.0 software was used for data treatment; spectra were processed using Happ-Genzel apodization. ATR-FTIR analyses were undertaken on cross-section samples 2 and 8. Data were collected using a Bruker Hyperion 3000 FTIR microscope, equipped with MCT detector and a 20× ATR objective with germanium (Ge) crystal. The microscope was attached to a Vertex 70 FTIR spectrome- ter equipped with a mid-IR Globar source. Data were col- lected from 4000 to 650  cm−1 at 4  cm−1 resolution, 512 scans per spectrum, using Blackman-Harris apodization and Mertz phase correction. Data were analyzed using Bruker OPUS software, version 6.5. Raman spectroscopy Cross-section samples were examined using a Bruker Senterra Raman microscope equipped with a 785  nm laser and 50x objective. Data were collected using ~ 3  cm−1 resolution between 70 and 3500  cm−1 with a 20  s integration time and 2 accumulations per spectrum. The power on the samples was ~ 1 mW to prevent transient heating. Area Raman images were col- lected using an Infinity 1 digital video camera and rel- evant spectra extracted from the video images. All data were processed using Bruker OPUS 6.5 software. Fluo- rescence and polarized light illumination facilitated sam- ple observation and characterization. Pyrolysis gas chromatography mass spectrometry (Py‑GCMS) A portion of the unmounted sample 10 (c. 10  μg) was placed in a Frontier Lab stainless steel sample cup, and 2 μL of a 25% solution of tetramethylammonium hydrox- ide (TMAH) in methanol was added prior to insertion into a Frontier PY-2020iD vertical microfurnace pyro- lyzer, attached to an Agilent 6890  N GC and interfaced to a 5973 N MS. The pyrolyzer furnace temperature was 550 °C. The GC was equipped with J&W DB5MS column (30 m, 0.25 mm i.d., 0.25 μm film); oven temperature was programed from 40 °C, with a 2 min hold, then increased at 20 °C/min to 140 °C, at 15 °C/min to 320 °C, and held isothermally for 11 min; total run time 30 min. The inlet was operated with a split ratio of 1:10, with helium car- rier gas at a flow rate of 1  mL/minute. The MS was run in scan mode (m/z 35–600) with the source at 230 °C and quad at 150 °C. Data were collected and processed using Agilent ChemStation software. Results and discussion The results of pigment analysis are summarized in Table  2 and are discussed below in the context of the painting’s construction: that is, panel preparation and paint application; and in relation to its different compo- sitional elements. Panel preparation The Salvator Mundi was executed on a walnut panel measuring 655  mm high by 451–456  mm wide [2]. The surface of the wood panel appears to have been prepared by sealing with an unpigmented size, observed as a dis- creet lowermost layer in several cross-sections (Fig.  2). Analysis by ATR-FTIR of this layer in sample 2 indicated a proteinaceous medium, likely animal glue, as sug- gested by NH stretch (3295  cm−1) and amide (1647 and 1533 cm−1) bands in the spectra. Over the sizing (layer 1 in Fig. 2), a white ground layer was applied (layer 2), followed by a thinner, off-white priming or imprimitura2 (layer 3). The ground layer appears semi-translucent, with yellow discoloration 2 The term imprimitura is used in this paper to describe an overall, thin, tinted preparation layer applied on top of the white ground. Page 4 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 apparent along the lower interface adjacent to the under- lying sizing material. Analysis of the ground and imprim- itura revealed generally similar compositions, each containing a mixture of lead white pigment and lipid, likely oil, but with a small amount of lead–tin yellow pigment added to the imprimitura. The lead white pig- ment, comprising basic and neutral lead carbonates, was identified by combined EDS and MFTIR. Diagnostic IR spectral bands include a very strong carbonate stretch centered at 1406  cm−1 with weaker diagnostic bands at 1051, 839 and 678  cm−1 (neutral form) and 3538, 1045 and 682 cm−1 (basic form) [3]. Lead–tin yellow was indi- cated by the detection of lead (Pb) and tin (Sn) in yellow particles by EDS, with an absence of silicon (Si)  imply- ing the type I pigment. IR spectral bands suggesting a lipid/oil material were observed at 2927/2854, 1736 and 1170  cm−1. Imprimitura layers of similar composi- tion—lead white with lead–tin yellow—have been found in Italian Renaissance paintings [4]. The presence of a lead white ground, rather than the more traditional cal- cium sulfate gesso ground, is less typical for this period. Table 2 Pigments characterized in the Salvator Mundi Key: 1 = FLM, 2 = SEM–EDS, 3 = Raman, 4 = MFTIR Color Pigment Ideal chemical‑mineral name/formula Occurrence Red Vermilion [2, 3] Mercuric sulfide/HgS Flesh highlights and shadows, warm brown background underlayer, warm brown underlayer of robe, warm gray under- paint of diagonal band, lattice design of diagonal band Possible red lake with alum-derived sub- strate [1, 2] – Blue robe, brown background underlayer Iron oxide earth [2, 3] Hematite, iron oxide/Fe2O3 Flesh shadows, lattice design, blue robe Yellow Lead tin yellow type I [2] Lead stannate/Pb2SnO4 Imprimitura, lattice design, underpainted knotwork of diagonal band, warm gray underpaint of diagonal band Blue Ultramarine, natural [2, 3, 4] Lazurite/(Na, Ca)7-8(Al, Si)12(O, S)24 [(SO4), Cl2,(OH)2] Blue robe Brown Umber [2] Iron oxide, manganese dioxide/Fe2O3, MnO2 Dark robe underpaint Black Bone black [2] Carbon, calcium hydroxyapatite (mainly)/C, Ca5(PO4)3(OH) Initial black background layer, warm brown background underpaint, warm brown underpaint of robe and cuff, gray under- paint of diagonal band, flesh shadows, cuff of sleeve, background glaze layers Carbon black [3], including charcoal [2] Carbon/C Initial black background layer, warm brown background underpaint, warm brown underpaint of robe and cuff, dark robe underpaint, warm gray underpaint of diagonal band, flesh tones, cuff of sleeve, background glaze layers; lattice design (charcoal) White Lead white [2, 3, 4] Basic lead carbonate and lead carbonate/2PbCO3.Pb(OH)2 and PbCO3 Ground and imprimitura layers, flesh highlights, cuff of sleeve, warm gray underpaint of diagonal band Transparent Soda lime glass [2, 4] (Na, K)x(Ca,Mg,Al)ySiO2 Ground and imprimitura layers, initial black background layer, warm brown background underpaint, warm brown underpaint of robe and cuff, blue robe, flesh tones, cuff of sleeve Quartz [2] Silicon dioxide/SiO2 Blue robe, brown underlayer of robe Fig. 2 Cross-section sample 2 from shadow in flesh, visible light, showing: (1) glue size, (2) ground (3) imprimitura (4) paint layers Page 5 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 However, several paintings from the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century with panels prepared with lead white grounds laid directly over wood have been reported: at the Musée du Louvre, the Portrait of Ber- nardino di Salla (c. 1504–1509) by Giovanni Francesco Carota [5], and at the National Gallery, London, works including the Portrait of a Man Aged 20 (“The Archinto Portrait”), dated 1494, by Marco d’Oggiono and The Vir- gin and Child (c. 1500) by a Follower of Giovanni Anto- nio Boltraffio [6]. As with the Salvator Mundi, these paintings were constructed with panels made of walnut, a dense wood that would have been well-suited to accom- modate an oil-based preparatory layer. In addition to lead white pigment, the ground and imprimitura layers contain angular-shaped, colorless glass particles of variable size from less than one and up to 30  micrometers dimensions, and of a composition consistent with manganese-containing soda-lime glass, which has been reported elsewhere in Italian Renais- sance paintings [7–11] (Fig.  3). FTIR spectra of the Sal- vator Mundi’s glass particles exhibit a strong, broad Si–O stretch centered at 1072  cm−1. The particles con- tain a large proportion of silicon with lesser quantities of sodium (Na), magnesium (Mg), aluminum (Al), chlorine (Cl), potassium (K), calcium (Ca), manganese (Mn), and iron (Fe) as detected by qualitative EDS. Quantitative EDS analysis indicated the following composition for the glass (expressed as weight percent of oxides, exclud- ing Cl, which is given as elemental weight percent): Na2O (10.1), MgO (3.1), Al2O3 (2.5), SiO2 (65.0), Cl (0.7), K2O (5.2), CaO (9.1), MnO (3.2), and FeO (1.0). The observed Na:Ca:K ratios fit well with examples of soda-lime glass commonly encountered in Italian paintings, rather than the potash glass more typical for Northern Europe [7]. A small quantity of lead also was detected, most likely deriving from the lead white pigment and fatty acid soaps (lead carboxylates) present throughout the paint matrix in cross-section; the soaps are formed from reaction of the lead white pigment with the oil medium. An IR spec- tral band attributable to the lead soaps was observed at 1523 cm−1. These soaps may contribute to the perceived translucency of the ground layer, an alteration phenom- enon in paintings that has been discussed extensively elsewhere [12]. With regard to the distribution of the glass particles in the Salvator Mundi, the ground layer exhibits a higher concentration than the thinner imprimitura layer, which is mainly lead white-based. Glass also was used exten- sively in various paint layers (see sections below). The implementation of pulverized glass by artists has been well documented in European paintings dated to the fif- teenth- and sixteenth-centuries, especially those from Italy [7–11, 13]. In a survey undertaken by the National Gallery (London), large, coarsely-ground glass particles, as detected in the Salvator Mundi, were found more frequently in Italian rather than northern paintings [7]. Likewise, the implementation of glass as an additive in oil-bound imprimiture was observed only in the Italian paintings [7]. It has been postulated that glass was added to improve the drying properties of oil media, with the siccative properties of soda-lime glass attributed to the presence of manganese, an active drier. Glass may alternatively have been used for aesthetic effect by enhancing the translu- cency of the paint, but in the case of the Salvator Mundi, the glass in the lower ground and imprimitura layers more likely functioned as a siccative since these layers are not visible in the final painted image. It also is possible that the glass was added to adjust the handling and tex- tural properties of the panel preparation materials. Background Cross-section analysis combined with stereomicroscopic examinations and IRR [2] provided information about Fig. 3 Cross-section sample 1 from flesh highlight, proper right hand (left), showing: (1) ground (2) imprimitura (3) black background paint layer (4) flesh highlight paint layers; backscattered electron (SEM-BSE) image (right) corresponding to area with overlaid box, showing coarse glass particles in the lead white matrix of the ground and imprimitura, as well as the upper paint layers (3–4) Page 6 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 the paint stratigraphy of the background of the com- position. This part of the painting appears to have been executed with an initial, thin black paint application (the ‘lay-in’) that was applied directly over the imprimitura and subsequently built up with multiple warm-toned brown and black paint layers. The surviving remnants of the background paint, revealed after the cleaning of the painting, were uniformly dark and exhibited a similar warm black color, suggesting that the background may have been even in tone and hue overall [2]. This complex sequence of layers in the background can be seen in cross-section (Fig. 4). The initial thin layer of black paint (layer 3 in Figs.  3 and 4) visible above the imprimitura was found to contain finely ground carbon (C) and bone black (mainly Ca(PO)4(OH)) pigments in oil. The carbon black was identified from Raman spectra with peaks at 1580 and 1325  cm−1 [14]; bone black was indicated by the detection of calcium and phosphorous (P) by EDS. As with the ground and imprimitura layers, a generous amount of manganese-containing soda-lime glass was incorporated in the black paint. As discussed earlier, the glass may have served a drying function and to impart a translucent quality to the final paint surface and depth to the painted shadows. The background was subsequently built up with mul- tiple paint layers, the first of these warm brown in tone and comprising vermilion, carbon black, red lake, and glass particles (layer 4 in Fig. 4). Mercury (Hg) and sulfur (S) indicative of vermilion (HgS) were detected by EDS, and Raman spectra showed characteristic bands for this pigment at 255 and 344 cm−1 [15]. The red lake pigment was not present in sufficient quantity in the cross-section to enable identification by methods available at the time of this study; however, the particles fluoresced orange- pink under UV-violet illumination using FLM, and alu- minum was detected by EDS, suggesting an alum-derived substrate. In the area sampled, several further paint lay- ers, black in color, are situated above the warm brown layer (layers 5). These layers, ranging in thickness from approximately 3 to 5 micrometers, vary in pigment com- position and translucency, containing variable combina- tions of carbon and bone black pigments, and may have served to further darken and attenuate the warmth of the background. With each successive paint application, the background would have become smoother with a greater depth and richness in tonality. Regarding the initial black lay-in paint of the back- ground, it appears from stereomicroscopic examination and IRR [2] to have been applied around the contour of the figure, leaving Christ’s torso and head in reserve, that is, to be painted later. Interestingly, no reserve appears to have been made for the upper part of the raised hand with the blessing gesture, which was painted over the initial black lay-in paint of the background. This is illus- trated in a cross-section corresponding to one of the fingers located above the figure’s shoulder, in which the black lay-in layer is present on top of the imprimitura and beneath the subsequent flesh paint layers (Fig.  3). When examined with the stereomicroscope, the bound- ary of the black lay-in paint appeared to follow the con- tour of Christ’s proper right shoulder, perhaps indicating that the raised hand was not included in the earliest con- ception of the image, or possibly representing the artist’s oversight. This observation merits further investigation utilizing advanced imaging and mapping techniques. Christ’s blue robe Analysis of two cross-sections from the Christ figure’s blue robe, as well as a cross-section from the proper right white sleeve cuff, revealed a lowermost, semi-translucent warm brown paint layer (layer 2 in Figs.  5, 6), similar in appearance and composition to that described above in the background (containing vermilion and carbon black pigments mixed with glass particles), but in this case applied directly to the imprimitura layer rather Fig. 4 Cross-section sample 4 from background, visible light (top) and ultraviolet fluorescence illumination (bottom), showing: (1) ground, (2) imprimitura, (3) initial black paint layer, (4) warm brown underpaint, (5) three black paint layers. Over these paint layers is a fluorescent, unpigmented layer and an uppermost green layer representing non-original overpaint; this aspect of the painting has been discussed in a separate publication detailing the restoration treatment [2] Page 7 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 than on top of a black paint layer. The thickness of this warm brown layer varies in the cross-sections, suggest- ing that it may have been applied unevenly or in localized applications rather than as an overall even lay-in for the robe. The presence of similar brown underpaint in differ- ent compositional elements of the Salvator Mundi—the background and robe—suggest that it may have played a visual role, contributing to the overall warm tone of the final painted image. However, its effect on the over- all appearance of the painting may be exaggerated by the painting’s abraded condition [2]. The warm underpaint appears to have been applied selectively to areas of the robe and background, and is not present in samples taken from the flesh and the diagonal band of the stole. The warm brown underpaint of the robe appears to have provided a mid-tone base upon which the sub- sequent paint layers of Christ’s robe were built. In the cross-section (sample 6), a dark layer containing carbon black pigment can be seen superimposed on the warm brown paint (layer 3 in Fig.  5). This layer, which is not continuous across the sample, varies in thickness and appears medium-rich, suggesting that it may have been semi-translucent. Although the function of this black paint in relation to the robe overall is unclear, its appar- ent application prior to the final blue paint suggests that it may have served a modelling function, helping to establish light and shade. The use of washes of monochrome modelling, rendered on top of preparatory layers prior to the application of the full range of color, is a technique employed in fifteenth and sixteenth century Italy. It may have gained influence through Andrea del Verrocchio’s workshop, and has been identified in Verrocchio’s The Virgin and Child with Two Angels (1467–1469), at the National Gallery, London [16]. Further examples, employing thin applications of brown and/or black paint, include the National Gallery’s The Virgin and Child (1493–1499) by Giovanni Antonio Boltraffio and Salome (c. 1510–1530) by Giovanni Pie- tro Rizzoli (called Giampietrino), as well as the Galeria Nationale di Parma’s La Scapiliata (c. 1500–1505) attrib- uted to Leonardo da Vinci [17]. The prevalence of mono- chrome underpaintings of this type is unclear since they are most evident in rare, unfinished areas of paintings, of which known examples include Giovanni Antonio Bol- traffio’s Esterházy Madonna (c. 1495–1497) in the Szép- müvészeti Múzeum, Budapest [18, 19] and Leonardo’s unfinished works such as the Gallerie degli Uffizi’s  Ado- ration of the Magi (c. 1482)  [20]. The execution of the drapery of Christ’s robe and man- tle in the Salvator Mundi was continued with subsequent application of blue paint, containing natural ultramarine mixed with red lake and a small amount of a red iron oxide earth pigment, possibly added to enhance the warm tone of the blue (Fig.  5). Analysis of the blue pigment identified lazurite, a mineral component of lapis lazuli. A Raman spectral band was observed at 543 cm−1 [21] and IR bands at 1004 (1114 shoulder) and 2340  cm−1. This imported pigment was considered precious, its labori- ous preparation from the mineral source contributing to its cost [22]. No copper (Cu) was detected in the cross- sections by EDS to suggest azurite [Cu3(CO3)2(OH)2] nor was azurite detected by MFTIR. The iron oxide pigment was suggested by the detection of iron using EDS and Fig. 5 Cross-section sample 6 from blue robe, visible light (top) and ultraviolet fluorescence illumination (bottom), showing: (1) imprimitura, (2) warm brown underlayer, (3) black or dark gray layer (4) blue paint Fig. 6 Cross-section sample 5 from cuff of sleeve, proper right hand, visible light (top) and ultraviolet fluorescence illumination (bottom), showing: (1) imprimitura, (2) warm brown underlayer, (3) thin black or gray layer, (4) gray paint layer, (5) pale gray paint layer, (6) white paint layer Page 8 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 confirmed by Raman, with spectral bands for hematite located at 225 and 293 cm−1 [23]. Due to the worn and blanched condition of the blue paint of the robe, resulting from harsh past cleaning, along with sampling limitations, a detailed comparison of the highlights, midtones and shadows was not possible [2]. Furthermore, the blue has likely altered in tone, since ultramarine paints are prone to discoloration and red lake often fades over time [24–27]. However, the origi- nal blue probably was not brilliant and may have had a somewhat muted appearance resulting from the underly- ing dark paint and the poor covering power of ultrama- rine pigment, which can be somewhat translucent when used in oil without an added opaque pigment, such as lead white. In the Salvator Mundi, the use of an oil-based medium was determined by combined MFTIR and Py- GCMS analysis of sample 10 taken from the blue robe, which gave results indicative of walnut oil: the fatty acid composition included a high level of azelaic acid and a ratio of palmitic to stearic acid of 2.7 [28]. The ratios of the dicarboxylic acids, which can sometimes provide evi- dence for heat bodying of drying oil, did not provide con- vincing information in this case (ratio of suberic:azelaic acid was 0.23, a lower value than has been associated with heat bodied oils [29]). The single sample analyzed included the blue paint and semi-translucent black and warm brown underlayers, in addition to a small amount of the white preparatory layers; these layers could not be separated for individual analysis. Further sampling and analysis would be necessary to determine if walnut oil was used in other parts of the composition, or if addi- tional oil types or different binding media were employed (Fig. 7). Bands of the stole and Christ’s hair In some areas of the composition, microscopic surface examination along with cross-section analysis indicated an initial buildup using neutral shades of gray, or grisaille. Analysis of the cross-section from the proper left diag- onal band in the drapery area (Fig.  8) reveals an initial application of light warm gray underpaint (layer 2) on top of the imprimitura, containing lead white, vermilion and carbon black pigments. Upon close examination of this area of the painting with a stereomicroscope, a mono- chromatic, asymmetrical knotwork design was observed below the upper paint surface (Fig.  9). The cross-section taken from an area where this underlying knotwork is present suggests that it was executed on top of the light warm gray underpaint using a pale yellow paint, contain- ing lead–tin yellow pigment. This early knotwork design has a curvilinear, loosely interlacing pattern that does not match the final lattice design visible in the paint- ing (Fig.  10). Alongside the pale yellow strokes of this knotwork design, thin strokes of black or dark gray paint appear to have been loosely applied as cast shadows to create a relief against the underlying light warm gray paint. Stereomicroscopic examination and cross-section analysis show that the brownishred paint of the lattice design depicted in the final composition was applied on top of the underpainted knotwork design. Backscattered Fig. 7 PyGCMS data (total ion chromatogram) from analysis of paint sample 10; Su suberic, Az azelaic, P palmitic, S stearic fatty acid methyl ester derivatives Fig. 8 Cross-section sample 3 from the proper left diagonal band of the stole, visible light (top) and ultraviolet fluorescence illumination (bottom), showing: (1) imprimitura, (2) warm gray paint, (3) yellow paint of knotwork design, (4) gray paint layer, (5) reddish brown paint layer, (6) orange-red paint layer Page 9 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 electron images revealed splintery particles in the vermil- ion-containing reddish-brown paint, which are charac- teristic of charcoal (Fig.  11). Cross-section analysis also reveals that the blue paint of the robe is not present in the layer structure of the sample taken from the proper left diagonal band: this, combined with stereomicro- scopic examination, suggests that the bands were part of the conception of the image when the blue paint was applied. In addition to the area of the proper left diagonal band, evidence was found for another underpainted decorative design that appears to have been loosely painted for the central plaque, or pendant, on Christ’s chest (not shown). Although it is only visible in certain areas, where upper lying blue paint had been abraded, it differs from the one seen in the final painted image. Further investiga- tion utilizing advanced imaging and mapping techniques (not available at the time of the study) would be useful for elucidating these underpainted designs. While nei- ther of these early designs appear to have been worked up in detail, they nevertheless provide testimony to crea- tive process and give insight to the development of the composition. Stereomicroscopic examination of areas of the horizon- tal breast band where upper paint layers were abraded also revealed grisaille underpainting in the form of an interwoven lattice pattern similar in design to that ren- dered in the visible composition (Fig. 12). Additional gri- saille underpainting was observed in the lower tresses of Christ’s hair, where the artist applied fine strokes of light gray paint before building up the color (Fig. 13). Flesh tones Cross-sections from the flesh paint suggest that the approach to establishing the flesh tones differed from that described for the drapery, for which monochromatic and grisaille underpaint appear to have been applied to establish the lights and shadows before the color was added. In the flesh, in contrast, a more brightly colored paint was applied first, on top of the imprimitura, upon which light and shade were established subsequently using multiple layers of paint. Surface examination and cross-section analysis suggest that the materials and approach for different types of flesh paint—highlights, Fig. 9 Photomicrograph showing underpainted knotwork design present beneath the proper left diagonal band of the stole Fig. 10 Underpainted knotwork design seen beneath the painted lattice design of the proper left diagonal band of the stole, as observed through stereomicroscopic examination (mapped in red and superimposed over the corresponding area of the painting) Fig. 11 Backscattered electron (SEM-BSE) image of paint of the lattice design of the proper left diagonal band of the stole, showing charcoal particles Page 10 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 shadows and mid-tones—varied. For example, in sam- ple 1 taken from a bright highlight of the raised blessing hand, a base layer of saturated opaque pink, containing lead white, vermilion, glass particles, and a small amount of carbon black, was applied. The warmth of this layer was modified and attenuated with layers of slightly cooler and paler opaque paints, containing the same pigments but in differing proportions (Fig.  3). The highlights were finished with several extraordinarily thin (approximately 4–5 micrometers each) layers of cooler and paler pink paint to create the remarkably smooth surface of the final painted image (Fig.  14). No glass was detected in these uppermost, highlight paint layers. In contrast to the highlights, the shadowed flesh of the raised hand appears to have been constructed with multiple layers of semi-translucent pigmented glazes. In cross-section  8, taken from the deep shadow of Christ’s raised hand, the lowest brown–red layer is colored most intensely with vermilion and a small amount of carbon black. This layer is followed by multiple darker glaze lay- ers, which appear to be more medium-rich, containing various mixtures of carbon and bone black particles with some vermilion. The glaze layers are thin, ranging in thickness from approximately 3 to 6 micrometers, and vary in degree of tone, warmth and translucency (Fig. 15). Red lake pigment appears to have been added to some of the layers, especially to the uppermost, thus imparting additional color and warmth. The subtle adjustments in the pigmentation of the glaze layers may have been used to create the modulations and enhance the depth and luminosity of the flesh shadows. The combinations of materials, layering techniques and paint manipulation described may account for the absence of visible brush- strokes, even under stereomicroscopic examination, with a physical smoothness of the paint surface that is most evident in Christ’s face. Conclusions The scientific analysis of samples taken from the Salva- tor Mundi and stereomicroscopic examination of the painted surface have helped to provide an understanding of the material nature of the painting, as well as an insight into the techniques employed and paint handling effects achieved. The Salvator Mundi appears to have been exe- cuted using a fairly limited palette, including lead white, vermilion, red iron oxide earth, red lake, natural ultrama- rine, lead–tin yellow, umber, and charcoal, carbon and bone blacks. However, given the necessarily limited sam- pling performed, the presence of other pigments in the painting cannot be discounted. Further investigation uti- lizing advanced imaging and mapping techniques would be valuable to provide a more comprehensive overview of the pigments used and their distribution. Within each paint layer analyzed, the pigment mixtures are fairly simple, yet sophisticated visual effects were achieved by employing a complex sequence of layers. Analysis provided insight to the stages of the painting’s creation, with the walnut panel prepared with two lead white-containing layers bound in oil, the second of these tinted with lead–tin yellow. The overall tone of the Salva- tor Mundi may have been set partly through the use of warm brown underpaint, identified in areas of the back- ground and robe, as well as with the lower more brightly hued warm underlayers of the flesh. The underlying dark and grisaille paint applications, as well as the earlier dec- orative designs of the stole, such as the underlying knot- work in the proper left diagonal band, provide insights to an artistic mind actively at work during the various stages of painting. Examination of cross-sections showed some of the approaches that were used to render the painting’s sub- tle visual effects. For the drapery, light and shade appear Fig. 12 Photomicrograph of lattice design of the horizontal breast band of Christ’s robe, showing exposed area of grisaille underpainting (indicated by arrows) Page 11 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 to have been established in early stages through the use of dark, monochrome and/or grisaille underpaint appli- cations, later enhanced by the layering of color. For the flesh, bright color appears to have been established first, its hue then attenuated by adding subsequent thin, intri- cate layers of light and/or shade. The combination of these approaches, and the addition of pulverized glass to the paint, helped achieved the luminosity, translucency and depth that characterize the Salvator Mundi. Fig. 13 Photomicrographs of curls of the lower tresses of Christ’s hair, showing exposed grisaille underpainting (left) and a more intact painted curl (right) Fig. 14 Detail of cross-section sample 1 from flesh highlight, proper right hand, showing: (1) imprimitura (2) black background paint layer (3) flesh highlight paint layers. Several extraordinarily thin layers of cooler and paler pink paint, each approximately 4–5 micrometers thick, are seen uppermost Fig. 15 Cross-section sample 8 from flesh shadows, visible light (top) and ultraviolet fluorescence illumination (bottom), showing: (1) glue size, (2) ground (3) imprimitura (4) brownish pink paint (5, 6, 7, 8) semi-translucent glaze layers Page 12 of 12Gutman Rieppi et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:39 Abbreviations VLM and FLM: Visible and fluorescent light microscopy; SEM-EDS: Scanning electron microscopy with energy dispersive spectroscopy; MFTIR: Fourier transform infrared microspectroscopy; ATR-FTIR: FTIR with attenuated total reflection; Py-GCMS: Pyrolysis gas chromatography-mass spectrometry. Acknowledgements The authors would like to acknowledge conservator Dianne Dwyer Modestini, Clinical Professor, Kress Program in Paintings Conservation at the Conserva- tion Center of the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, for her guidance and expertise. This project would also not have been possible without the scholarship and expertise of Robert B. Simon, PhD. The type of wood used for the panel support was identified by George Bisacca, Emeritus Conservator of Paintings, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Authors’ contributions NGR performed stereomicroscopy, VLM and FLM, contextualization of data, and prepared the manuscript. BAP performed MFTIR and prepared the manu- script. KS performed SEM–EDS and Py-GCMS and prepared the manuscript. PAL reviewed data and prepared the manuscript. RN performed quantitative EDS analysis of glass particles. PW and TW performed Raman microspectros- copy. TJT performed ATR-FTIR and Raman microspectroscopy. All authors read and approved the final manuscript. Funding Not applicable. Availability of data and materials All data generated or analysed during this study are included in this published article. Competing interests The authors declare that they have no competing interests. Author details 1 Art Analysis & Research, LLC, New York, NY 10018, USA. 2 Philadelphia, PA 19101, USA. 3 The Art Institute of Chicago, 111 S. Michigan Ave, Chicago, IL 60603, USA. 4 Museum of Fine Arts, 465 Huntington Avenue, Boston, MA 02115, USA. 5 Bruker Optics Inc., 40 Manning Road, Billerica, MA 01821, USA. Received: 30 November 2019 Accepted: 7 April 2020 References 1. Syson L. 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Washington DC: The National Academies Press, 2003. p. 12–26. 11. Tucker M, Passeri I, Sutherland K, Price B. Technique and Pontormo’s Por- trait of Alessandro de’ Medici. In: Strehlke CB, editor. Pontormo, Bronzino, and the Medici: the transformation of the renaissance portrait in Flor- ence. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art; 2004. p. 34–54. 12. Noble P. A brief history of metal soaps in paintings from a conservation perspective. In: Casadio F, Keune K, Noble P, Van Loon A, Hendriks E, Centeno SA, Osmond G, editors. Metal soaps in art: conservation and research. Cham: Springer; 2019. p. 1–22. 13. Newman R. Observaciones acerca de los materiales pictóricos de Velázquez en Ciencia e Historia del Arte. In: McKim-Smith G, Newman R, editors. Velazquez en el Prado. Madrid: Museo del Prado; 1993. p. 113–47. 14. Coccato A, Jehlicka J, Moens L, Vandenabeele P. Raman spectroscopy for the investigation of carbon-based black pigments. J Raman Spectrosc. 2015;46:1003–15. 15. Bell IM, Clark RJH, Gibbs PJ. Raman spectroscopic library of natural and synthetic pigments (pre- ≈ 1850 AD). Spectrochim Acta Part A Mol Biomol Spectrosc. 1997;53:2159–79. 16. Dunkerton J. Leonardo in Verrocchio’s workshop: re-examining the tech- nical evidence. Natl Gallery Tech Bull. 2011;32:4–31. 17. Keith L, Roy A. Giampietrino, Boltraffio, and the influence of Leonardo. Nat Gallery Tech Bull. 1996;17:4–19. 18. Chui SA, Phenix A. The Esterházy Madonna in the context of Leonardo da Vinci’s studio practice. In: Menu M, editor. Leonardo da Vinci’s technical practice: paintings, drawings and influence. Paris: Hermann; 2014. p. 169–81. 19. Chui SA, Phenix A. Giovanni Antonio Boltraffio’s Madonna and Child in the context of Leonardo da Vinci’s Milanese studio. Am Inst Conserv Hist Artistic Works Paint Spec Group Postprints. 2011;24:1–12. 20. Bambach C. Leonardo, Michelangelo and notions of the unfinished in art. In: Baum K, Bayer A, Wagstaff A, editors. Unfinished: thoughts left visible. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art; 2016. p. 30–41. 21. Bicchieri M, Nardone M, Russo PA, Sodo A, Corsi M, Cristoforetti G, Palleschi V, Salvetti A, Tognoni E. Characterization of azurite and lazurite based pigments by laser induced breakdown spectroscopy and micro- Raman spectroscopy. Spectrochim Acta Part B. 2001;56:915–22. 22. Cennini CA. The Craftsman’s handbook “Il Libro dell’Arte”. Transl. Thomp- son DV, Jr. New York: Dover Publication, Inc.; 1933. p. 36–9. 23. Burgio L, Clark RJ. Library of FT-Raman spectra of pigments, minerals, pig- ment media and varnishes, and supplement to existing library of Raman spectra of pigments with visible excitation. Spectrochim Acta Part A Mol Biomol Spectrosc. 2001;57:1491–521. 24. Bacci M, Cucci C, Del Federico E, Ienco A, Jerschow A, Newman JM, Picollo M. An integrated spectroscopic approach for the identification of what distinguishes Afghan lapis lazuli from others. Vib Spectrosc. 2009;49:80–3. 25. Del Federico E, Schoefberger W, Schelvis J, Kapetanaki S, Tyne L, Jerschow A. Insight into framework destruction in ultramarine pigments. Inorg Chem. 2006;45:1270–6. 26. Del Federico E, Newman J, Tyne L, O’Hern C, Isolani L, Jerschow A. Solid- state NMR studies of ultramarine pigments discoloration. Mater Res Soc Symp Proc. 2007;984:45–50. 27. Saunders D, Kirby J. Light-induced colour changes in red and yellow lake pigments. Natl Gallery Tech Bull. 1994;15:79–97. 28. Mills JS, White R. The organic chemistry of museum objects. 2nd ed. Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann; 1999. p. 171–2. 29. Mills JS, White R. Analyses of paint media. Natl Gallery Tech Bull. 1983;7:65–7. Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in pub- lished maps and institutional affiliations. Salvator Mundi: an investigation of the painting’s materials and techniques Abstract Introduction Methods Stereomicroscopy and paint sampling Visible and fluorescent light microscopy (VLM and FLM) Scanning electron microscopy with energy dispersive spectroscopy (SEM-EDS) Fourier transform infrared microspectroscopy (MFTIR and ATR-FTIR) Raman spectroscopy Pyrolysis gas chromatography mass spectrometry (Py-GCMS) Results and discussion Panel preparation Background Christ’s blue robe Bands of the stole and Christ’s hair Flesh tones Conclusions Acknowledgements References 
work_u2u5pmtmdjadlcbufsftpegw2q	----	Introduction Introduction Leslie Zarker Morgan, April Oettinger, John C. McLucas MLN, Volume 133, Number 1, January 2018 (Italian Issue), pp. 5-8 (Article) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:06 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/mln.2018.0002 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/697003 https://doi.org/10.1353/mln.2018.0002 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/697003 MLN 133 (2018): 5–8 © 2018 by Johns Hopkins University Press Introduction 2016 marked the 500th anniversary of Ludovico Ariosto’s first publi- cation of the Orlando Furioso, in 40 cantos, at Ferrara. Throughout the world, scholars, students and poets celebrated Ariosto’s lasting achievement and its continuing charms. Four universities in Baltimore, Maryland, joined together to offer their contribution: Goucher Col- lege, the Johns Hopkins University, Loyola University Maryland and Towson University. Invited scholars spoke on topics from before, during and after Ariosto’s time: romance epic precedents, his contemporary influences and his afterlife in other media, such as theater, and of course, in other languages, particularly English. The editors of the present volume hope that it will give the academic community a sense of the rigor, collegiality, broadly speculative range, and engaging good humor which characterized the conference. The keynote speakers opened the presentations by continuing and challenging their own earlier works. David Quint’s talk, “Palaces of Enchantment: the 1516 Orlando Furioso,” examines Ariosto’s com- plex relation to his predecessor Boiardo, whose Orlando Innamorato he not only continues but also absorbs and critiques. Specifically, Quint ponders the fates of magical palaces and castles as they are erected and leveled throughout the Furioso, and, more broadly, the ends of enchantments in both poems. Fully alert to the tragic overtones of Ariosto’s poem, Quint also details the systematic elimination, in the Furioso, of Boiardo’s protagonists, as the later poet kills them off one by one in a darkening poetic vision. Quint’s readings span past, pres- ent, and future—whether reaching forward to Tasso’s continuation of the Estense dynastic epic, or reflecting on the unpredictable, almost magical shifts and dissolutions in the political realities of Ariosto’s time. Eleonora Stoppino is author of Genealogies of Fiction: Women Warriors and the Dynastic Imagination in the Orlando Furioso, which explores aspects of the romance epic tradition in Ariosto’s classic. Here Stoppino re- examines the genealogies she studied in her monograph, starting with 6 INTRODUCTION the material evidence of wedding decorations and gifts. She suggests that canto 34 depicts the necessary violence of history and the foun- dation of a dynasty though important intertexts and contexts from Boccaccio and romance precedents. The role of Lidia in that canto, where Ariosto revisits Dante, also reflects other episodes in Ariosto’s poem (for example, canto 3). However, romance texts contribute to the tale as well, and Ariosto thus can use his Furioso as political com- mentary. His rewriting, Stoppino suggests, leads the reader to question the apparent message of the story: Ariosto brings violence not only to the woman and her family, but also to the plot of his poem. Charles S. Ross presents his ongoing project of translating Ariosto into English. Ross, an experienced translator of poetic works, including the Thebaid, Boiardo’s Orlando Innamorato and Sydney’s Arcadia into modern English, reflects upon how best to bring Ariosto’s genius into English. He demonstrates the difficulties with previous attempts—oth- ers’ and his own—and explains his desire to duplicate the form of the poem without introducing anything extra. From examples of this approach and the reasoning behind it, he proposes his translation of the first canto of Orlando Furioso. Jo Ann Cavallo, author most recently of The World beyond Europe in the Romance Epics of Boiardo and Ariosto and editor of a forthcoming volume Teaching the Italian Renaissance Romance Epic, examines some “foreign” characters and places based on Ariosto’s and Boiardo’s poems in modern puppet theater and maggi (folk operas), particularly in regard to teaching Ariosto and Boiardo by focusing on ways in their themes resonate with discussions of today’s social issues. How do we visualize Angelica, daughter of a sorcerer from the East? Cavallo offers an analysis of the productions from different companies, both physi- cal representation and rhetorical form, that the reader can verify by linking to the videos taken of performances. Angelica’s interactions with Medoro, a “Saracen,” on stage, may surprise both instructors and students. Other topics she examines include Biserta, the Saracen city, and Doralice. Cavallo’s choices, both her exposition in the article and the videos available on her website, eBOIARDO, will certainly enable and enliven discussion. Ayesha Ramachandran, author of The Worldmakers: Global Imagin- ing in Early Modern Europe, examines the crossing and interaction of two genres—the lyric and the epic—in the Orlando Furioso. Reveal- ing Petrarch’s and his contemporaries’ mixing of genres in their own writing, as well as their appreciation of such hybridity in clas- sical authors, she begins with Boiardo’s deployment of lyric in the 7M L N Innamorato, both in direct quotes and in more subtle allusions. She then shifts to Ariosto’s uses of lyric, concentrating on Orlando’s madness. She argues that the language of lyric is individual and “self-making,” and that the second half of the 1532 Furioso—after Orlando’s descent into madness—shows a series of characters (Orlando, Ruggiero and others) for whom Petrarchan lyric expression can be exultant or lethal: Medoro’s joyous lyrics initiate Orlando’s self-destruction, which is itself expressed in Petrarchan terms. Comparing Ariosto’s Canto 23 and Petrarch’s Canzone 23, Ramachandran investigates the role of multi-referential lyric within the Furioso, a lyric which evokes Boiardo recalling Petrarch who had already echoed Ovid. She thus offers a new appreciation of lyric intertextuality within the framework of the Furioso, suggesting that Ariosto informs the ethical meaning of the Furioso through its conscious reuse of lyric. Jane E. Everson and Morten Steen Hansen’s contributions to the present volume explore the reception of the Orlando Furioso through the lens of design and the visual arts, an approach that scrutinizes the blurred boundaries between word and image, form and content. Everson’s essay addresses the editio princeps of the Orlando Furioso from the perspective of the history of the book. She makes a compelling case for the relationship between Ariosto and his publisher, Giovanni Mazzocchi, who was widely known for printing humanistic works in Greek and Latin. She provides a close study of the traditions and inno- vations that guided the production and packaging (size, presentation and page layout) of the 1516 edition, which came to press in an age when the nascent business of printing was precarious for both author and printer. By comparing the first edition of the Furioso with chivalric romances that preceded it into print (in particular, the Innamoramento de Orlando and the Mambriano), Everson demonstrates that both Ariosto and Mazzocchi played fundamental roles in guiding the visual (e.g. frontispiece, typeface, layout) and paratextual (dedication, title, colo- phon, errata) aspects of the Furioso. Aside from elucidating aspects of design in the first edition of the Furioso, Everson also suggests Ariosto’s keen awareness—even anxiety—concerning intellectual property and need to establish his authority in the publication of a chivalric epic that innovates upon tradition. Broadly, Everson’s essay belongs to an expanding discussion of book design and marketing, authorship and authority, and the anxiety of print in the early modern era. Morten Steen Hansen’s essay treats the expanding popularity of the Orlando Furioso in seventeenth-century Florentine painting in relation to contemporary discussions of painterly naturalism, expres- 8 INTRODUCTION sion, and affect in the post-Tridentine era. Hansen takes up the ways in which artists variously depicted two episodes from Ariosto’s tale of the virginal Angelica: Angelica’s declaration of her love for Medoro, and her rejection of Ruggiero’s unwanted advances. For painters, the challenge of translating Angelica’s nude flesh into sensuous form represented an opportunity not only to demonstrate their skill, but also to express Ariosto’s poetics of desire (whether fulfilled or denied) through the lyricism of pigment and brushstroke. Hansen explores how seventeenth-century images of the nude Angelica appealed to the sensual and imaginative faculty of the beholder, at once fulfilling the demand for beautiful naturalism and, resonating with the call for images crafted to appeal to Christian beholders in the age of the Counter-Reformation. Deanna Shemek’s paper, “Ariostan Armory: Feminist Responses to the Orlando Furioso,” pursues a double path through the tangled wood. She describes the archival evidence for the presence of the Furioso in the libraries of early modern women—and in the case of Isabella d’Este, how it became an active part of her intellectual and courtly life. Shemek also presents evidence of ways in which Ariosto’s poem informed and stimulated the creativity of women authors in the generations after him, making possible what she terms “a language of valorization, protest and feminist critique.” Laura Terracina, Moderata Fonte, Lucrezia Marinella, and Arcangela Tarabotti are among the most frequent female authorial voices in this portion of Shemek’s study. Ann E. Mullaney brings the acute and ironic eye of a Folenghista to Ariosto’s at-times subversive and anarchic discourse, suggesting that he resorted to an established, if heterodox and transgressive, lexicon of ribaldry evident in other authors of his day. Mullaney argues that this language informs Ariosto’s trademark critique of religious, politi- cal, and intellectual platitudes. She illustrates how some of the Furioso poet’s exact contemporaries, including Bembo and Folengo himself, deploy this vocabulary pointedly and to virtuosic effect. From Classical through contemporary, from lyric to artistic, from the physical book to individual words in it, these contributions span genres, languages, and fields of academic specialization. They together form a tribute to the ongoing relevance of Ariosto’s masterpiece, in which we invite you to participate. Leslie Zarker Morgan, Loyola University Maryland April Oettinger, Goucher College John C. McLucas, Towson University 
work_u3335tn4arejjafzahtplfjxcm	----	The antiquity of hydrocephalus: the first full palaeo-neuropathological description HISTORY OF NEUROLOGY The antiquity of hydrocephalus: the first full palaeo-neuropathological description Raffaella Santi1 & Piera Rizzolo2 & Michele Pietragalla3 & Virginia Valentini2 & Veronica Zelli2 & Francesco Maria Galassi4 & Laura Ottini2 & Gabriella Nesi1 Received: 12 June 2018 /Accepted: 8 November 2018 /Published online: 23 November 2018 Abstract The Pathology Museum of the University of Florence houses a rich collection of anatomical specimens and over a hundred waxworks portraying pathological conditions occurring in the nineteenth century, when the museum was established. Clinical and autopsy findings of these cases can still be retrieved from the original museum catalogue, offering a rare opportunity for retrospective palaeo-pathological diagnostics. We present a historical case of severe hydrocephalus backed by modern-day anthro- pological, radiological and molecular analyses conducted on the skeleton of an 18-month-old male infant deceased in 1831. Luigi Calamai (1796–1851), a wax craftsman of La Specola workshop in Florence, was commissioned to create a life-sized wax model of the child’s head, neck and upper thorax. This artwork allows us to appreciate the cranial and facial alterations determined by 30 lb of cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) accumulated within the cerebral ventricular system. Based on the autopsy report, gross malformations of the neural tube, tumours and haemorrhage could be excluded. A molecular approach proved helpful in confirming sex. We present this case as the so-far most compelling case of hydrocephalus in palaeo-pathological research. Keywords Hydrocephalus . Palaeoneurology . Pathology museum . Wax models . Palaeo-radiology . Ancient DNA Introduction The term Bhydrocephalus^ derives from the Greek words ὕδρο- [hydro-, from ὕδωρ, Bwater^] and κεφαλή [kephalé, Bhead^], thus literally meaning Bwater on the brain^. Overall, the incidence of hydrocephalus is estimated at 1.1 cases per 1000 births and may be congenital or acquired [1]. Obstructions of the cerebrospinal fluid (henceforth, BCSF^) pathway by congenital malformations of the neural tube (e.g. Arnold-Chiari malformation), tumours, infections or haemor- rhage are the major causes. In rare instances, CSF overproduc- tion and defective absorption may be responsible. In children, enlargement of the skull manifests prior to fusion of the cranial sutures. In older subjects, hydrocephalus is associated with expansion of the ventricles and increased intracranial pressure, with no modification in head circumference. Central nervous system infections, brain tumours, head trauma and intracranial haemorrhage (subarachnoid or intraparenchymal) can be re- sponsible for acquired hydrocephalus. Untreated patients may suffer irreversible brain damage [2]. Physiopathologically, abnormal amount of CSF accumulat- ing in the ventricles of the brain may cause increased intracra- nial pressure with progressive enlargement of the head and compression of the nervous tissue of the brain. This disease remained incurable until the twentieth century, when innova- tive advances in CSF valve technology were made [2]. From the perspective of the history of neurology, cases of hydrocephalus have been documented since antiquity, with references to hydrocephalus found in ancient Egyptian medi- cal literature from 2500 BC [3–5]. However, it is generally accepted that the Greek physician Hippocrates (c. 460–c. 370 BC) first described hydrocephalus as Bwater over the Raffaella Santi and Piera Rizzolo contributed equally to the manuscript. * Gabriella Nesi gabriella.nesi@unifi.it 1 Division of Pathological Anatomy, Department of Surgery and Translational Medicine, University of Florence, Largo Brambilla 3, 50134 Florence, Italy 2 Department of Molecular Medicine, Sapienza University of Rome, Rome, Italy 3 Radiology Section, University of Florence, Florence, Italy 4 Institute of Evolutionary Medicine, University of Zurich, Zurich, Switzerland Neurological Sciences (2019) 40:1315–1322 https://doi.org/10.1007/s10072-018-3643-4 # Springer-Verlag Italia S.r.l., part of Springer Nature 2018 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s10072-018-3643-4&domain=pdf http://orcid.org/0000-0002-2614-944X mailto:gabriella.nesi@unifi.it head^ and the Persian doctor Rhazes (850–925) stated that the condition was caused by Bwater enclosed without exit, exiting upon death^ [6]. The first clinical record of hydrocephalus and the relevant operative procedures appear in the medical ency- clopaedia Al-Tasrif by the Arabian surgeon Abu al-Qasim al- Zahrawi (936–1013 AD), who wrote about evacuation of su- perficial intracranial fluid in hydrocephalic children [7]. In his chapter on neurosurgical diseases, he described infantile hy- drocephalus as caused by mechanical compression. He stated: BThe skull of a newborn baby is often full of liquid, either because it has been excessively compressed by the expectant mother, or because of other unknown rea- sons. The volume of the skull then increases daily, so that the bones of the skull fail to close. In this case, three openings must be made in the middle of the skull, the liquid allowed to drain away, then the wound closed and the skull bandaged tightly^ [3]. Over the following centuries, the famous physician Guy de Chauliac (c. 1300–1368) defined the condition as Baqua in capitibus puerorum^ (water in children’s heads) and Pietro d’Argellata (died 1423) Baquositas quae reperitur in capitibus puerorum^ (the watery fluid which is found in children’s heads). In 1543, Andreas Vesalius (1514–1564) was the first to define hydrocephalus as CSF accumulated within enlarged ventricles. This totally replaced the 2000-year-old misinter- pretation of hydrocephalus (i.e. extracranial or subdural fluid collection) clearing the way to further study on the circulation of CSF and its pathophysiology [3, 5]. Hydrocephalus remained a fatal condition until the twentieth century, when its management was eased with the development of shunts to divert CSF away from the cranial cavity [3]. From a palaeopathological perspective, several potential cases have been presented from different historical periods, quantified in 1991 to be about n = 30 in total and ranging from 10,000 BC to 1670 AD [8, 9]. Another potential case of hydro- cephalus dating back to 2800 BC was subsequently described in the skull of a 13-year-old girl from the Burned City BShahr-i Sokhta^, Iran, on which evidence of cranial surgery could be detected [10]. This finding is considered highly significant, since the young patient survived the operation [11, 12]. Furthermore, a historically interesting case of non-severe hydrocephalus from the Italian Renaissance is represented by the skull of Don Filippino de’ Medici (1577–1582), where a relevant correlation could be made between a somewhat real- istic (yet not scientific) artistic representation, historical sources (including a sixteenth century autopsy report) and osteological and radiological evidence [13]. One main limitation perceived in palaeopathological re- search on hydrocephalus is the absence of clear diagnostic criteria [8], to which it can be added that often such cases are single instances, not always fully preserved. Furthermore, lack of archival information of the studied spec- imens, which is a common issue in bioarchaeological con- texts, prevents researchers from analysing vital details on the ancient patient’s actual clinical manifestation [14, 15]. Here, we describe an extraordinary case of severe hydro- cephalus in an 18-month-old child who died in 1831. His entire skeleton is preserved in the Pathology Museum of the University of Florence together with a life-sized wax repro- duction of the head and upper thorax. Details of the clinical history are recorded in the museum catalogue. Founded in 1824, the Pathology Museum houses over a hundred wax- works and a vast number of anatomical preparations, includ- ing congenital malformations, genetic disorders and neo- plasms. The original catalogue, in which specimens are listed and systematically described, together with the Registro delle Autopsie (autopsy register) containing 1469 post-mortem cases observed between 1839 and 1881, is held in the muse- um. Currently, visits to the Pathology Museum by medical undergraduates contribute to their scientific, historical and cultural education. These medical reports, unlike documenta- tion from previous historical periods characterized by a certain descriptive vagueness due to the then not yet developed med- ical sciences, show an impressive degree of scientific detail and accuracy, which allows a far higher degree of source matching. Training doctors was one of the reasons why the museum was established, and its history is closely linked to that of the first professorship of Pathological Anatomy in Italy (1840) at the University of Florence [16]. Materials and methods In order to investigate this historical case of hydrocephalus in light of contemporary neuroscientific knowledge, we employed a diagnostic flowchart which included descriptions of the ana- tomical specimen and wax model, an outline of the clinical his- tory, anthropometric methods, radiological findings and molec- ular testing. This virtuous combination of sources allows to best reconstruct the historical phenotype of ancient pathologies [17]. Historical documentation, anatomical preparation and wax model The catalogue of the Pathology Museum was perused for clin- ical details and autopsy findings. The life-sized wax model accurately reproduced the child’s head as it appears in the skeleton preserved in the museum collection. Anthropometric calculations Age at death was estimated on the basis of the degree of dental eruption and development [18, 19] and on post-cranial bone 1316 Neurol Sci (2019) 40:1315–1322 measurements without epiphyses [20]. Measurements of the bones were obtained using a sliding caliper (Martin type). Radiological examination Traditional antero-posterior (AP) X-ray projections of the skull, thorax, abdomen and upper and lower extremities were performed. Computed Tomography (CT) of the skull was also carried out, and CT images were taken using a bone recon- struction algorithm and Volume-Rendering Technique (VRT). KVp and mAs were not recorded in the study. This palaeo- radiological analysis was implemented in order to better eval- uate inner body changes brought about by the pathological status of this individual, with particular reference to the cranial level. Furthermore, radiological images were used to more correctly estimate the patient’s age from epiphyseal fusion, ultimately comparing this evidence with the age reported in the written sources. Skeletal maturity was assessed following Greulich and Pyle’s method [21]. DNA extraction and genetic sex identification Approximately 300 mg of bone tissue was removed from a rib fragment and finely ground with a Mikro-dismembrator S (Sartorius AG, Goettingen, Germany). DNA was extracted following a previously described protocol [22]. Quality and quantity of DNA were assessed with real-time PCR technolo- gy using Quantifiler Human DNA Quantification Kit (Applied Biosystems, Foster City, CA, USA) on ABI, a 7500 fast real-time PCR instrument, in accordance with the manufacturer’s instructions. For genetic sex determination, X and Y amelogenin loci, which differ in length, measuring 106 and 112 bp, respective- ly, were analysed using the primers and conditions formerly reported by Sullivan and co-authors [23]. Results Historical documentation, anatomical preparation and wax model This case of hydrocephalus is detailed in the museum cata- logue alongside the description of the wax model (Fig. 1). The following is a translation of the original text: catalogue no. 293—A wax model of a hydrocephalic head, increased in volume to just over 10 inches in di- ameter. This anatomical preparation, collected in 1831, referred to an 18-month-old boy, hydrocephalic from birth and treated by Dr. Capecchi who donated this spec- imen to the hospital. The hydrocephalus was ventricular, the brain was extended like a membrane, containing 30 pounds of fluid; the ratio between water and body weight being 17 to 30. The waxwork closely resembled the huge deformed head. Measurements were taken at various points, giving the following: 33 ins in circum- ference at the os frontale, parietale and occipitale; 34 ins in circumference from the protuberantia mentalis through the os frontale to the spine, 23 ins from right to left auricle; 22 ins from nose to os occipitale. On examining the infant skeleton, alteration of the external cranial vault with open sutures and thin bones, consequent to the conspicuous enlargement of the skull, was impressive. The skeleton was supported by a metal pole inserted into a wooden base (Fig. 2a,b). Copal varnish, commonly used to harden and preserve dried specimens, rendered the bones glossy in aspect. The wax model by Luigi Calamai (1796–1851) depicts end-stage disease, possibly at the time of autopsy. The un- comely appearance of the child exemplifies the scientific aim of this remarkable replica. Anthropometrics The individual only has the maxilla from which the four de- ciduous incisors (central and lateral, bilaterally) erupted. Within the alveolar process of the maxillary bone, the devel- oping gems of the canines and first and second deciduous molars can be seen. Moreover, the bilateral presence of devel- oping crowns of the permanent superior first molars can be highlighted on the occlusal plane. Fig. 1 Wax model depicting an 18-month-old infant with severe hydrocephalus (Luigi Calamai, 1831) housed at the Pathology Museum of the University of Florence. Courtesy of Roberta Ballestriero Neurol Sci (2019) 40:1315–1322 1317 Ubelaker’s method → 12 months ± 4 months Al Qahtani’s method → 10.5 months ± 3 months The following measures were obtained, underling a sub- stantial symmetry of both upper and lower limbs: Humerus: left = 109 mm; right = 108 mm Radius: left = 77 mm; right = 78 mm Ulna: left = 94 mm; right = 93 mm Femur: left = 120 mm; right = 120 mm Tibia: left = 105 mm; right = 105 mm Fibula: left = 101 mm; right = 101 mm Maresh’s method → 6–12 months, average = 9 months. Palaeo-radiological analysis A total of fifteen radiographs and a skull-brain CT were ac- quired. The skull, upper and lower limbs and pelvis were scanned with AP X-ray projections (Fig. 3a–d). Imaging demonstrated marked enlargement of the skull vault with mild prevalence of the transverse diameter caused by increased intracranial pressure. The bregmatic fontanelle was patholog- ically open for the age of the child (Fig. 3a). Radiographs of the lower limbs showed lateral subluxation of the right tibio- talar joint, subtalar dislocation and slight medial deviation of the first metatarsal bone. There was evidence of asphericity of the femural head and coxa vara bilaterally (Fig. 3b,c). Mild convex right thoracic scoliosis was evident (Fig. 3d). There were no other skeletal alterations of the thorax, upper and lower limbs or pelvis. CT scans obtained with bone Hounsfield Unit (HU) win- dow showed marked enlargement of the posterior and middle cranial fossae, with thinning of the vault and skull bones, most likely caused by compression of the cerebral cortex from ab- normally elevated intracranial pressure (Fig. 4a,b). VRT 3D reconstruction confirmed the above-mentioned skull findings and demonstrated the persistence of the right mastoid fonta- nelle, normally closed at 18 months (Fig. 4c). Signs of skull fractures were absent. Besides this consideration of the fontanelles, since the skull is severely affected by the pathological process, it cannot be appropriately used for age-estimation purposes. Moreover, the mandibular bone is missing; thus, the mandibular symphysis, which fuses during the first year of extrauterine life, cannot be evaluated. The epyphyses of the long bones are all open, which, however, simply indicates that the individual was not an adolescent. Through the radiograph of the individual’s hands, the Greulich-Pyle method gives an interval between 9 and 12 months (average 10.5 months). Ancient DNA amplification and genetic sex identification For each sample, the cycle number of amplification was com- pared with a standard curve generated from a series of DNA standards, translating the cycle number into a DNA concentra- tion (Fig. 5). An internal PCR control (ICP) system template was added to exclude any false results due to the presence of PCR inhibitors and chemical or instrumental failure. A good ICP amplification plot was obtained, indicating the absence of amplification inhibitors (Fig. 5). Comparing the amplification curve of rib fragment DNAwith the standard curve resulted in a DNA concentration of 0.7 ng/μl. Molecular analysis proved that the rib fragment belonged to a male (Fig. 6). Discussion The current case, a most severe phenotype of hydrocephalus, was considered worthy of preservation both as an anatomical preparation and wax model. Perusal of the documentary sources provided relevant information on the original context Fig. 2 The entire skeleton of the child suffering from hydrocephalus (Pathology Museum of the University of Florence). a Frontal view. b Lateral view. Courtesy of Roberta Ballestriero 1318 Neurol Sci (2019) 40:1315–1322 of these musealized objects. Wax models, employed in the past to instruct medical students in normal and pathological anatomy without resorting to corpse dissection, are admirable examples of symbiosis between art and science. They offered medical students hands-on experience of both normal and aberrant processes, which could not be gained with fixed or- gans and tissues [24]. Luigi Calamai, who moulded the hydrocephalic head, was a talented artist at the renowned anatomical wax studio La Specola, attached to the Imperiale e Regio Museo di Fisica e Storia Naturale established in 1775 under the patronage of the first Habsburg Grand Duke of Tuscany, Pietro Leopoldo (1747–1792) [16]. Calamai’s outstanding botanical and ana- tomical waxes undoubtedly benefitted from his knowledge of chemistry applied to wax, along with an inborn skill for modelling and design [25]. There is no evidence to support any specific noxa in this historical case, although, based on the archival data, gross malformations of the neural tube, tumours and haemorrhage can all be excluded. Among the exogenous causes of congen- ital hydrocephalus, infectious agents, particularly Toxoplasma, Rubella virus and Cytomegalovirus, are potential aetiological factors, more feasible in this case than others, such as trauma, traces of which are visible neither on the skull nor on the post-cranial segments of the child’s skeleton. In modern times, prevention and control of infectious diseases during pregnancy have dramatically decreased foetal/neonatal morbidity and mortality. In our case, imaging studies showed massive enlargement of the skull vault, bulging of the fronto-parietal bones and enlarge- ment of the middle cranial fossa, indicative of tetraventricular hydrocephalus. Radiographical alterations of the spine and low- er limbs are likely to be related to abnormal gait. In the words of the German physician, Friedrich Dorner, discussing his medical thesis BDe hydrocephalo chronico senili^ (1826), the walking impairment of hydrocephalic patients (ataxia) was described as Bhydrocephalici vacillant; atrophia cerebri laborantes recti incedunt^ [Eng.: Bhydrocephalic patients waver; although they Fig. 3 a Rx A-P projection of the skull. Hydrocephalus caused enlargement of the cranial sutures, leading to the persistence of the bregmatic fontanelle, normally closed at 18 months. Note the disproportion between neurocranium and viscerocranium bones. b Rx A-P projection of abdomen and lower limbs. Femoral heads with loss of the normal spherical morphology and bilateral coxa vara were documented. Lateral subluxation of right tibio-talar joint was seen alongside subtalar dislocation. The first metatarsal bone was deviated medially. c Particular of panel b. d Rx A-P projection of the spine. Mild right convex thoracic scoliosis was evident Neurol Sci (2019) 40:1315–1322 1319 suffer in the brain, they (manage to) walk in upright posture^ [26]]. An interesting aspect of the palaeo-radiological examina- tion is that skeletal maturity and chronological age do not co- incide, since the former is younger than the latter. The average of the skeletal ages obtained with different methods yields 10.5 months, which is less than the 18 months this hydroce- phalic patient managed to survive. This discrepancy can, none- theless, be explained mainly by means of a perturbation of the hormonal system (primarily the pituitary gland and its axis), an eventuality often encountered in similar neuro-developmental conditions [27]. Molecular testing on skeletal DNA also contributed to our results. Both population and molecular palaeopathology ben- efit from analysis of DNA isolated from ancient human re- mains and museum specimens (ancient DNA, aDNA). However, problems in generating sufficient authentic DNA sequences can arise with aDNA which is not only scarce, and much fragmented, but also often chemically modified and contaminated by environmental DNA [28]. In our case, the copal varnish used to preserve the specimen could also have contributed to DNA alteration. Molecular analysis showed that the skeletal fragments, from which DNA was extracted, belonged to a male individual, thereby confirming the biological information in the original museum catalogue. In conclusion, although the aetiology of this case of hydro- cephalus could not be thoroughly elucidated, our multidisci- plinary investigation, ranging from archival evidence to ad- vanced palaeomolecular analyses, has made it possible to pro- vide neurological research with the so-far most complete Fig. 5 a Standard curve obtained from quantification of DNA, extracted by a rib fragment, using real-time PCR technology. a, Human Quantifiler amplification plot; b, internal PCR control (ICP) amplification plot. b Quantification of DNA, extracted by a rib fragment, using real-time PCR. a, Human Quantifiler amplification plot; b, internal PCR control (ICP) amplification plot Fig. 4 a Axial CT of the skull. Skull base section showing remarkable enlargement of the posterior cranial fossa and asymmetric dilation of the middle cranial fossae. Thinning of the left lesser wing of the sphenoid, of the petrous portion of the left temporal bone and of the occipital bone was observed. b Axial CT of the skull. Middle third section of the skull exhibiting irregular inner compact layer of the bones, due to compression of the cerebral cortex convolutions, from elevated intracranial pressure. c VRT 3D reconstruction of the skull, anterior view. Conspicuous enlargement of the skull with open sutures and persistence of the bregmatic and right mastoid fontanelles 1320 Neurol Sci (2019) 40:1315–1322 description of a severe case of hydrocephalus. Hydrocephalus can currently be diagnosed and treated thanks to the progress of medical knowledge and technology; yet, insufficient data are at hand regarding the evolutionary and historical trends of this pathology. Moreover, a relevant wax model, the most realistic type of representation of patient soft tissues before the introduction of scientific photography, allows a far higher degree of intimacy between observer and child, whose disabil- ity appears as though frozen in time—a snapshot from the past when medicine was still unable to effectively treat such dev- astating conditions. The feasibility of molecular studies on ancient specimens highlighted in our case does encourage further similar research projects in that vast treasure of knowl- edge represented by antique pathology collections. Acknowledgements Thanks are due to the Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio di Firenze for their support of the Pathology Museum of the University of Florence. The authors wish to express their gratitude to Ugo Funaioli for his valuable work in ensuring housing and curation of the skeletal specimen collected. Francesco M. Galassi thanks the Mäxi Foundation (Zurich, Switzerland) for supporting his research. 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PCR product of DNA, visualized on ethidium-stained agarose gel, showed two fragments of 106 bp (chromo- some X) and 112 bp (chromosome Y) matching the positive male control (C+ male) electrophoretic profile Neurol Sci (2019) 40:1315–1322 1321 23. Sullivan KM, Manucci A, Kimpton CP, Gill P (1993) A rapid and quantitative DNA sex test: fluorescence-based PCR analysis of X- Y homologous gene amelogenin. Biotechniques 15:636–641 24. Chen JCT, Amar AP, Levy ML, Apuzzo ML (1999) The develop- ment of anatomic art and sciences: the Bceroplastica^ anatomic models of La Specola. Neurosurgery 45:883–891 25. Negri G (1932) Luigi Calamai, Ceraiolo e Naturalista fiorentino. BAtti Soc. Colombaria^, Firenze 26. Dörner F (1826) De hydrocephalo chronico senili: dissertatio inauguralis. Becker, Würzburg 8 27. Feeley BT, Ip TC, Otsuka NY (2003) Skeletal maturity in myelomeningocele. J Pediatr Orthop 23:718–721 28. Willerslev E, Cooper A (2005) Ancient DNA. Proc Biol Sci 272:3– 16 1322 Neurol Sci (2019) 40:1315–1322 The antiquity of hydrocephalus: the first full palaeo-neuropathological �description Abstract Introduction Materials and methods Historical documentation, anatomical preparation and wax model Anthropometric calculations Radiological examination DNA extraction and genetic sex identification Results Historical documentation, anatomical preparation and wax model Anthropometrics Palaeo-radiological analysis Ancient DNA amplification and genetic sex identification Discussion References 
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The Journal of Economic History (USPS 279-580) is published quarterly by Cambridge University Press. Periodicals postage paid at New York, NY and additional mailing offices. Postmaster: Send address changes to The Journal of Economic History, Cambridge University Press, 100 Brook Hill Drive, West Nyack, NY 10994-2133. Printed in the United States of America. THE JOURNAL OF ECONOMIC HISTORY Volume 69 December 2009 Number 4 ARTICLES ROBERT C. ALLEN The Industrial Revolution in Miniature: The Spinning Jenny in Britain, France, and India 901 XAVIER TAFUNELL Capital Formation in Machinery in Latin America, 1890–1930 928 RUI ESTEVES AND DAVID KHOUDOUR-CASTÉRAS A Fantastic Rain of Gold: European Migrants’ Remittances and Balance of Payments Adjustment During the Gold Standard Period 951 CHARLES CALOMIRIS AND JONATHAN PRITCHETT Preserving Slave Families for Profit: Traders’ Incentives and Pricing in the New Orleans Slave Market 986 MARKUS LAMPE Effects of Bilateralism and the MFN Clause on International Trade: Evidence for the Cobden-Chevalier Network, 1860– 1875 1012 KENNETH M. SYLVESTER Ecological Frontiers on the Grasslands of Kansas: Changes in Farm Scale and Crop Diversity 1041 LEANDRO PRADOS DE LA ESCOSURA AND JOAN R. ROSÉS The Sources of Long-Run Growth in Spain, 1850–2000 1063 DROR GOLDBERG The Massachusetts Paper Money of 1690 1092 GRAEME G. ACHESON, CHARLES R. HICKSON, JOHN D. TURNER, AND QING YE Rule Britannia! British Stock Market Returns, 1825–1870 1107 NOTES MYUNG SOO CHA Productivity Trend in Korea from the Seventeenth to Nineteenth Century: A Comment on Jun, Lewis, and Kang 1138 JUN SEONG HO, JAMES B. LEWIS, AND KANG HAN-ROG Stability or Decline? Demand or Supply? 1144 EDITORS’ NOTES 1152 REVIEWS OF BOOKS GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS MADDISON. Contours of the World Economy, 1–2030 AD: Essays in Macro-Economic History G. Clark 1156 BELICH. Replenishing the Earth: The Settler Revolution and the Rise of the Anglo-World, 1783–1939 S. L. Engerman 1162 FREYER. Antitrust and Global Capitalism, 1930–2004 D. Williamson 1163 ANCIENT TO MODERN EUROPE BANG. The Roman Bazaar: A Comparative Study of Trade and Markets in a Tributary Empire P. Temin 1165 VERNON. Hunger: A Modern History T. D. Logan 1166 VAN DOOSSELAERE. Commercial Agreements and Social Dynamics in Medieval Genoa D. Williamson 1168 FRIESEN. Rural Revolutions in Southern Ukraine: Peasants, Nobles, and Colonists, 1774–1905 T. K. Dennison 1170 TABAK. The Waning of the Mediterranean, 1550–1870: A Geohistorical Approach G. Levi 1172 NELSON AND ZECKHAUSER. The Patron’s Payoff: Conspicuous Commissions in Italian Renaissance Art R. Jensen 1174 DAUNTON. State and Market in Victorian Britain: War, Welfare, and Capitalism D. Oxley 1175 DE VRIES. The Industrious Revolution: Consumer Behavior and the Household Economy, 1650 to the Present J. Styles 1177 LATIN AMERICA CORTÉS CONDE. The Political Economy of Argentina in the Twentieth Century D. Rock 1179 HABER, KLEIN, MAURER, AND MIDDLEBROOK. Mexico Since 1980 J. Bortz 1180 AFRICA LYDON. On Trans-Saharan Trails: Islamic Law, Trade Networks, and Cross-Cultural Exchange in Nineteenth-Century Western Africa T. Kuran 1182 ASIA BLUSSÉ. Visible Cities: Canton, Nagasaki, and Batavia and the Coming of the Americans T. Brook 1184 MOSK. Japanese Economic Development: Markets, Norms, Structures P. Francks 1185 TRESCOTT. Jingji Xue, The History of the Introduction of Western Economic Ideas into China, 1850–1950 K. Deng 1187 UNITED STATES AND CANADA MAGRA. The Fisherman’s Cause: Atlantic Commerce and Maritime Dimensions of the American Revolution M. Egnal 1188 HERNDON AND MURRAY, Eds. Children Bound to Labor: The Pauper Apprentice in Early America D. Mitch 1190 ROCKMAN. Scraping By: Wage Labor, Slavery, and Survival in Early Baltimore H. Bodenhorn 1191 WILSON. Tenants in Time: Family Strategies, Land, and Liberalism in Upper Canada, 1799–1871 J. J. Liebowitz 1193 LEWIS. Chicago Made: Factory Networks in the Industrial Metropolis L. P. Cain 1194 HARTIGAN-O’CONNOR. The Ties That Buy: Women and Commerce in Revolutionary America G. L. Main 1196 FLAD AND GRIFFEN. Main Street to Main Frames: Landscape and Social Change in Poughkeepsie P. M. Hohenberg 1197 COSTA AND KAHN. Heroes and Cowards: The Social Face of War L. A. Craig 1199 CONTENTS OF VOLUME 69 Number 1, March ARTICLES VALERIE A. RAMEY Time Spent in Home Production in the Twentieth-Century United States: New Estimates from Old Data................. 1 MARK DINCECCO Fiscal Centralization, Limited Government, and Public Revenues in Europe, 1650–1913 ..................................... 48 LEE J. ALSTON, SHANNAN MATTIACE, AND TOMAS NONNENMACHER Coercion, Culture, and Contracts: Labor and Debt on Henequen Haciendas in Yucatán, Mexico, 1870–1915 ... 104 KRIS JAMES MITCHENER AND MARI OHNUKI Institutions, Competition, and Capital Market Integration in Japan ........................................................................... 138 CHRISTIANA STODDARD Why Did Education Become Publicly Funded? Evidence from the Nineteenth-Century Growth of Public Primary Schooling in the United States ......................................... 172 DAN BOGART Nationalizations and the Development of Transport Systems: Cross-Country Evidence from Railroad Networks, 1860–1912 ...................................................... 202 JAMES I. STEWART Economic Opportunity or Hardship? The Causes of Geographic Mobility on the Agricultural Frontier, 1860–1880 ........................................................................ 238 LATIKA CHAUDHARY Determinants of Primary Schooling in British India ............ 269 EDITORS’ NOTES .............................................................................................................. 303 REVIEWS OF BOOKS ........................................................................................................ 312 __________________________________________________ Number 2, June ARTICLES ALAN L. OLMSTEAD (Presidential Address) The First Line of Defense: Inventing the Infrastructure to Combat Animal Diseases ................................................. 327 CATALINA VIZCARRA Guano, Credible Commitments, and Sovereign Debt Repayment in Nineteenth-Century Peru ........................... 358 TREVON D. LOGAN The Transformation of Hunger: The Demand for Calories Past and Present ............................................................... 388 ELTJO BURINGH AND JAN LUITEN VAN ZANDEN Charting the “Rise of the West”: Manuscripts and Printed Books in Europe, A Long-Term Perspective from the Sixth Through Eighteenth Centuries ................................ 409 GARY RICHARDSON AND PATRICK VAN HORN Intensified Regulatory Scrutiny and Bank Distress in New York City During the Great Depression ........................... 446 ALVARO S. PEREIRA The Opportunity of a Disaster: The Economic Impact of the 1755 Lisbon Earthquake ............................................ 466 CARSTEN BURHOP AND THORSTEN LÜBBERS Cartels, Managerial Incentives, and Productive Efficiency in German Coal Mining, 1881–1913 ............................... 500 NOTES AND DISCUSSION BRUCE W. HETHERINGTON AND PETER J. KOWER A Reexamination of Lebergott’s Paradox About Blockade Running During the American Civil War ......................... 528 SUMMARIES OF DOCTORAL DISSERTATIONS AMÍLCAR EDUARDO CHALLÚ Grain Markets, Food Supply Policies, and Living Standards in Colonial Mexico .......................................... 533 VICTOR LAPUENTE GINÉ A Political Economy Approach to Bureaucracies ................ 537 JOHN P. TANG The Yellow Non-Pareil: Industrialization and the Making of Modern Japan ................................................. 542 MARCO SUNDER Passports and Economic Development: An Antropometric History of the U.S. Elite in the Nineteenth Century ......... 546 JOHN PARMAN The Private and Public Effects of School Reform ................ 550 EVAN ROBERTS Her Real Sphere? Married Women’s Labor Force Participation in the United States, 1860–1940.................. 554 KEVIN O’ROURKE Comments on Challú, Giné, and Tang ................................. 558 B. ZORINA KHAN Comments on Parman, Roberts, and Sunder ........................ 564 ABSTRACTS OF PAPERS PRESENTED AT THE ANNUAL MEETING ....................... 569 ABSTRACTS OF POSTERS PRESENTED AT THE ANNUAL MEETING .................... 587 EDITORS’ NOTES .............................................................................................................. 593 REVIEWS OF BOOKS ........................................................................................................ 598 __________________________________________________ Number 3, September ARTICLES ERIC HILT AND KATHARINE O’BANION The Limited Partnership in New York, 1822–1858: Partnerships Without Kinship.......................................... 615 MARC FLANDREAU AND JUAN H. FLORES Bonds and Brands: Foundations of Sovereign Debt Markets, 1820–1830 ........................................................ 646 FABIAN LANGE, ALAN L. OLMSTEAD, AND PAUL W. RHODE The Impact of the Boll Weevil, 1892–1932 ......................... 685 ALEXANDER MORADI Towards an Objective Account of Nutrition and Health in Colonial Kenya: A Study of Stature in African Army Recruits and Civilians, 1880–1980 .................................. 719 LEAH PLATT BOUSTAN Competition in the Promised Land: Black Migration and Racial Wage Convergence in the North, 1940–1970 ... 755 BRIAN A’HEARN, JÖRG BATEN, AND DOROTHEE CRAYEN Quantifying Quantitative Literacy: Age Heaping and the History of Human Capital ............................................... 783 ELIANA BALLA AND NOEL D. JOHNSON Fiscal Crisis and Institutional Change in the Ottoman Empire and France .......................................................... 809 NIKOLAUS WOLF Was Germany Ever United? Evidence from Intra- and International Trade, 1885–1933 ...................................... 846 REVIEWS OF BOOKS ........................................................................................................ 882 __________________________________________________ Number 4, December ARTICLES ROBERT C. ALLEN The Industrial Revolution in Miniature: The Spinning Jenny in Britain, France, and India.............................. 901 XAVIER TAFUNELL Capital Formation in Machinery in Latin America, 1890–1930 ..................................................................... 928 RUI ESTEVES AND DAVID KHOUDOUR- CASTÉRAS A Fantastic Rain of Gold: European Migrants’ Remittances and Balance of Payments Adjustment During the Gold Standard Period ................................... 951 CHARLES CALOMIRIS AND JONATHAN PRITCHETT Preserving Slave Families for Profit: Traders’ Incentives and Pricing in the New Orleans Slave Market ................ 986 MARKUS LAMPE Effects of Bilateralism and the MFN Clause on International Trade: Evidence for the Cobden- Chevalier Network, 1860–1875 ...................................... 1012 KENNETH M. SYLVESTER Ecological Frontiers on the Grasslands of Kansas: Changes in Farm Scale and Crop Diversity .................... 1041 LEANDRO PRADOS DE LA ESCOSURA AND JOAN R. ROSÉS The Sources of Long-Run Growth in Spain, 1850–2000 ... 1063 DROR GOLDBERG The Massachusetts Paper Money of 1690 .......................... 1092 GRAEME G. ACHESON, CHARLES R. HICKSON, JOHN D. TURNER, AND QING YE Rule Britannia! British Stock Market Returns, 1825– 1870………………………………………………...…. 1107 NOTES AND DISCUSSION MYUNG SOO CHA Productivity Trend in Korea from the Seventeenth to Nineteenth Century: A Comment on Jun, Lewis, and Kang ............................................................................... 1138 JUN SEONG HO, JAMES B. LEWIS, AND KANG HAN-ROG Stability or Decline? Demand or Supply? .......................... 1144 EDITORS’ NOTES ............................................................................................................ 1152 REVIEWS OF BOOKS ...................................................................................................... 1156 
work_u3xp2nnkcvct7cecd2ijx7vdxu	----	C A M B R I D G E Discover Archaeology ... with Cambridge For FREE samples of our journals visit: -» Archaeological Dialogues -> Social Anthropology www.journals.cambridge.org/jid_ARD www.journals.cambridge.org/jid_SAN -> Cambridge Archaeological Journal -> Ancient Mesoamerica www.journals.cambridge.org/jid_CAJ www.journals.cambridge.org/jid_ATM Unearth the latest research today w w w . c a m b r i d e e . o r e / a r c h a e o l o e y l|<ff C A M B R I D G E O t> tV mm UNIVERSITY PRESS I Archaeological Landscapes of the Near East T. J. WILKINSON In this trailblazing book, Wilkinson identifies specific landscape signatures for various regions and periods, from the early stages of complex societies to the close of the Early Islamic period. 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Euclid Ave., Tucson AZ 85719 • 1-800-426-3797 • www.uapress.arizona.edu http://www.journals.cambridge.org/jid_ARD http://www.journals.cambridge.org/jid_SAN http://www.journals.cambridge.org/jid_CAJ http://www.journals.cambridge.org/jid_ATM http://www.cambridee.ore/archaeoloey http://atwww.uapress.arizona.edu/books/bid1522.htm http://atwww.uapress.arizona.edu/books/bid1521.htm http://www.uapress.arizona.edu Major new archaeology series! Archaeologist's Toolkit from AltaMira Press A brand new introductory series of seven titles, covering all aspects archaeology from planning a project to presenting finds. Written by experienced archaeologists and full of practical advice, tips, case studies and illustrations, this series highlights conservation ethics and an understanding of the legal and practical aspects of cultural resource laws. Perfect for new students and novice archaeologists: buy them singly or as a value-for-money boxed set. Archaeology By Design Stephen L. 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Tel: +44 ( 0 ) 1 7 5 2 2 0 2 3 0 1 Fax: +44 ( 0 ) 1 7 5 2 2 0 2 3 3 3 E: orders@plymbridge.com s P R E S S A Member of the Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group mailto:orders@plymbridge.com I R A D I O C A R B O N L A B O R A T O R Y Accelerator Mass Spectrometry Radiocarbon Dating V >v Prompt reporting times <v- never more than 8 weeks Competitive prices <& NZ$ 820 per sample Stable isotope corrections <v- d13C measurement at no extra charge Additional services -v- 3 week express turnarounds 4- enhanced precision measurements -v* radiometric 14C dating for large samples ^bone C:N analysis:- %C, %N, d13C,d15N -0- direct dating of pollen -0- X-ray diffraction for shells -v- calibration assistance •fr consultancy services For more information, visit our website www.RafterRadiocarbon.co.nz or contact us at: Rafter Radiocarbon Laboratory Institute of Geological & Nuclear Sciences 30 Gracefield Road, Lower Hutt, New Zealand s: +64-4-570 4647 Fax: +64-4-570 4657 Email: rafter.ant@gns.cri.nz G E O L O G I C A L . & N U C L E A R S C I E N C E S http://www.RafterRadiocarbon.co.nz mailto:rafter.ant@gns.cri.nz HOLIDAYS WITH EXPERTS IN THE ANCIENT WORLD FOR OUR FREE BROCHURE PLEASE RING: 0 1 7 2 2 7 1 3 8 0 0 OR EMAIL: tours@andantetravels.co.uk www.andantetravels.co.uk mailto:tours@andantetravels.co.uk http://www.andantetravels.co.uk Notes for authors a n d subscribers Submissions to the journal should report significant new international research, methods or matters of professional and public interest. 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Send completed form to: The Company of Biologists, Bidder Building, 140 Cowley Road, Cambridge CB4 4DL England. Tel: (44) (0) 1223 426164; Fax: (44) (0) 1223 423353; Email: sales@biologists.com mailto:sales@biologists.com Secrets from the Sand My Search for Egypt's Past Zahi Hawass 'The life of an Egyptian archaeologist is busy, exciting and sometimes dangerous, and in the following chapters I will tell many stories about my excavations, of the spectacular discoveries we have made, and of my struggles to save the ancient monuments of Egypt.' With these words, Zahi Hawass introduces his latest book, a personally conducted tour of some of the most important excavation sites in Egypt. His lively descriptions of his life's work, accompanied by many previously unpublished photographs, take us all over Egypt, from Giza, where he supervised the restoration of the Sphinx and the Great Pyramids and explored the newly discovered tombs of the pyramid builders, to the intriguing tombs at Saqqara and Heliopolis and the Golden Mummies in Bahariya Oasis. Dr Hawass's book is based on rigorous scientific analysis of excavations conducted by himself or under his supervision, although he is also a spellbinding storyteller: in his hands, archaeology becomes the stuff of enthralling adventure, danger and wonder. 262 illustrations, 251 in colour 25.4 x 20.3cm 272pp ISBN 0 500 051259 £ 2 4 . 9 5 The Pagan Dream of the Renaissance Joscelyn Godwin 'Dazzlingly wide-ranging .... unusual and refreshing ... afascinating range of beetle-browed and potentially illuminating interpretations — cabbalistic, alchemical, Neoplatonic, zodiacal —for some of the most stunning creations of the Renaissance' Andrew Graham-Dixon, The Daily Telegraph ' This enchanting book is an essential guide to the theory and practice of Renaissance natural magic' Penelope Gouk, author of Music, Science and Natural Magic in Seventeenth-Century England 'A scholarly and well-illustrated feast which does much to explain the explosion of interest in classical antiquity in the Christian courts of the Italian Renaissance' 3rd Stone 'His sheer humanity leaves one gasping with wonderment, with pleasure, with humour' Anthony Rooley, author of Performance: Revealing the Orpheus Within 250 illustrations 24.0 x 19.0cm 296pp ISBN 0 500 251193 £ 2 6 . 0 0 Thames & Hudson www.thamesandhudson.com http://www.thamesandhudson.com 
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work_u5azmrjbpjebtkli6xtsgzzub4	----	demonstrates, the antiquities market provided opportunities for finders and fixers across a broad social spectrum, and her analysis considerably expands our understanding of the mechanisms of this material economy, which depended on complex economic, legal (and sometimes illegal) transactional networks that linked peasants and princes. Focused on Rome as the primary site for the antiquities trade, this book is about so much more than finders and fixers. Furlotti examines the movement of antiquities, from discovery through the marketplace; the roles of agents, negotiators, appraisers, and restorers; illegal means of acquisition and brokerage; legal and logistical issues related to the safe, or often unsafe, transport of fragile objects over long distances by various handlers; the peril of such precarious custodial chains; and the development of official papal legislation designed to impose order on the disordered processes of commodifica- tion and export that fed a voracious urban economy. That the antiquities trade cut across classes is made clear in Furlotti’s account of the peasant “rummagers” and various “hunters after curiosities” (57), often farmers and field workers who learned to exploit cycles of tilling and harvesting as opportunities to dig up treasures. Presenting a wealth of documentary evidence, including an appendix of fascinating documents related to excavations, licensing for export, and various trial proceedings occasioned by theft, improper brokerage, or failed contracts, the book is rich with new insights and compelling topics for further research. For example, we learn about a number of early seventeenth-century Roman widows, of various classes, who applied for excavation licenses and employed diggers to retrieve antiquities that they sold to dealers for profit (37). Women’s engagement in such free enterprise broadens our gene- ral understanding of secular female agency across social classes. The holistic approach that Furlotti applies to the study of the antiquities trade defin- itively breaks the illusion of the Renaissance as a series of highly intellectualized trans- actional bonds between erudite collectors and high-minded humanist agents. This book reveals a wealth of entanglements that complicate the old-fashioned classism of tradi- tional Renaissance studies, painting a picture of the antiquities trade as more of a blood sport than a civilizing process. Sally Hickson, University of Guelph doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.136 The Globalization of Renaissance Art: A Critical Review. Daniel Savoy, ed. Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 274; Brill’s Studies on Art, Art History, and Intellectual History 23. Leiden: Brill, 2017. xii + 342 pp. $159. Attempts to write a history of world art that takes into account the increasing contact and exchange between cultures around the planet since the fourteenth century trace their genealogy back to such classics as Fernand Braudel’s Mediterranean World RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1012 VOLUME LXXIII, NO. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:12, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog?doi=10.1017/rqx.2020.137&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core (1949) and Emmanuel Wallerstein’s Modern World System (1974), though study of “the global Renaissance” kicked into high gear during the commemorative rethinking around the five hundredth anniversary of Columbus, in 1992. Whileeachofthisbook’sessaysmakesausefulcontributiontothemushrooming corpus of knowledge about early modern cultural transfer, the volume’s overall goal is wider and deeper,asitssubtitledeclares.ElizabethHodorowichneatlydefinesglobalapproachesasthe study of “the process by which early modern European artistic production both influenced and was influenced by other cultures” (220). Now that this enterprise has had a whole gen- eration to develop, eleven scholars, both senior and up-and-coming, serve up a historio- graphic smorgasbord that assesses the trajectory and current state of its theoretical discourse and academic impact. All are responding to what Stephanie Leitch labels the increasingly urgent need in an interconnected world “to reject anachronistic and culturally divisive nationalisms in favor of a Renaissance that was diverse . . . grounded in exchange, and exemplary of complex connections between cultures” (187). Individual articles fall into two categories: the first eight present intriguing new scholarship in the form of succinct introductions to each topic’s broader context, while the following three address more pragmatic concerns. The volume concludes with a roundtable in which seven of the authors informally sum up what their project has revealed. Each research essay provides an engaging review of the literature in its spe- cialized area, from printmaking to cartography, Asian adaptations of European imports, and the socioeconomic range among Andean painters. Their clear expositions of over- arching themes and thorough bibliographies make them ideal classroom readings. Almost every essay reveals fault lines within this still-unsettled formation, whose evo- lution has spawned disagreements on terminology, methods, and periodization. The very name of the field is debated: several authors reject “global Renaissance,” though coined to reject nationalisms, for its tendency to reinscribe Eurocentric categories. Similarly, the one-sided title “Age of Discovery” gave way to the more neutral “Age of Encounter,” itself now critiqued for occluding the asymmetries of power that skew cultural confrontations. Even art history is problematized, with essays examining peri- patetic objects through the different lenses of material culture, postcolonial theory, quantitative geography, and network theory. As for what exactly transpires during these cross-cultural movements of objects and their meanings, various authors invoke hybridity, métissage, appropriation, histoire croisée, or influence—each term carrying its own semantic and political baggage. One author finds Wallerstein and Braudel still rel- evant but offers qualifications, while another rejects them altogether. A reader is left with the impression of a dynamic, productive, yet still contested and open-ended discipline. The final section breaks disturbing new ground by shifting attention from ideas to practices, inquiring how far “the global turn” has penetrated the consciousness and institutions of mainstream art history, identified by Lia Markey’s subtitle as “class- room, academy, museum, canon.” The concluding roundtable lets readers eavesdrop REVIEWS 1013 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:12, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core on a sophisticated yet accessible review session among some of the field’s seminal fig- ures, including Claire Farago and Thomas Kaufmann. The verdict is mixed: while thriving within its own walls, the global Renaissance is hemmed in by hostile forces in the surrounding territory, for reasons that will resonate with anyone struggling through contemporary academia. Despite the obvious relevance of inclusive pedagogy to an increasingly diverse student body, informal survey data suggest that global approaches and examples still appear only intermittently in textbooks, syllabi, course offerings, and faculty support. Small wonder, alas, when fewer students seek art his- tory, fewer care about art before World War I, opportunities for new hires are shrink- ing, and administrators prioritize marketing over innovation. A bit of anecdotal corroboration: one author graduated from my own program at the City University of New York. While she was there, the faculty developed and approved a new curric- ulum track in global early modern, but due to lowered enrollment and presentism, no students have chosen this major. The minor key dominating these essays aptly recalls the biblical prophet Isaiah, the inspired “voice crying out in the wilderness” to whom no one listened. James M. Saslow, Queens College and The Graduate Center, CUNY, emeritus doi:10.1017/rqx.2020.137 Thresholds and Boundaries: Liminality in Netherlandish Art (1385–1520). Lynn F. Jacobs. Visual Culture in Early Modernity. London: Routledge, 2018. xiv + 232 pp. + 12 color pls. $150. Jacobs’s stirring text analyzes representations of the limen (threshold) as a signifier for sharp divisions, hazy borders, and dramatic transitions within religious, socioeco- nomic, and political spheres in the Northern Renaissance. Building on her remarkable study of spatial logistics in triptychs (Opening Doors: The Early Netherlandish Triptych Reinterpreted [2012]), Jacobs’s new book offers a theoretical paradigm for appreciating the complexity and nuance of an artistic tradition that has often found itself at odds with the “simplicity of unified, infinite space, [the] spatial ideal of Italian Renaissance painting” (108). Jacobs situates her arguments in past literature, and her accessible prose—occasionally punctuated with modern-day analogies—will appeal to a wide readership. Although limi- nality is a multifaceted topic with nearly endless permutations, Jacobs demonstrates its presence in early modern art with just four case studies and a coda. These case studies represent a diversity of media, and their multiple ancillary examples only make liminality’s relevance more ubiquitous. Indeed, one of the book’s most important contributions is a methodological toolbox for a multidisciplinary spectrum of scholars. RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY1014 VOLUME LXXIII, NO. 3 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:12, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_u74foqxbj5c2njl6cf7wvbf3ge	----	Genome Biology 2003, 4:114 co m m e n t re vie w s re p o rts d e p o site d re se a rch in te ra ctio n s in fo rm a tio n re fe re e d re se a rch Comment Galileo’s stepchildren Gregory A Petsko Address: Rosenstiel Basic Medical Sciences Research Center, Brandeis University, Waltham, MA 02454-9110, USA. E-mail: petsko@brandeis.edu Published: 24 July 2003 Genome Biology 2003, 4:114 The electronic version of this article is the complete one and can be found online at http://genomebiology.com/2003/4/8/114 © 2003 BioMed Central Ltd Inside the church of Santa Croce in Florence, just to the left of the main aisle as you enter, is the tomb of Galileo Galilei. Condemned by the Catholic Church as a heretic and forced to recant his scientific conclusion that the earth moved around the sun, he was excommunicated in 1633. With typical swiftness, the Church reinstated him in 1992, which I’m sure eased his mind considerably. Florentines still bring fresh flowers to his tomb. Exactly opposite Galileo’s tomb, on the right side of the aisle, is the tomb of Michelangelo Buonarroti, architect, painter and sculptor. His bust, which adorns the top of his sarcopha- gus in the fashion of the time, stares out across the aisle directly at the bust of Galileo. Michelangelo died in 1564, the year Galileo was born, so these giants of the Italian Renais- sance, who helped drag mankind, kicking and screaming, out of the Dark Ages, never met. Yet they now lie only a few meters apart. One is tempted to introduce them: Michelan- gelo, meet Galileo; Galileo, this is Michelangelo. Seeing the great scientist and great artist entombed facing one another, one cannot help but reflect that, throughout history, every enlightened society has held the view that science and the arts are not intrinsically incompatible. Which raises the question: what does that make us? If ever there was a society that seemed hell-bent on retreating from the idea of science and the arts as integral parts of the intel- lectual life of every well-brought-up person, it’s ours. By ‘ours’ here I mean Western society in general and North American society in particular. In many universities it is pos- sible to obtain a bachelor’s degree from the College of Arts and Sciences without ever having taken a course in either the arts or the sciences. It is widely believed that the ‘hard’ sci- ences are incomprehensible to the average person and that, even if they could be comprehended, there is no need to do so. Another common belief is that knowledge of the arts is ‘impractical’ and therefore a waste of time compared with studies of business (a subject that, as we have seen, really needs to have a major in ethics as a prerequisite but obviously doesn’t), law (clearly important because of the serious short- age of lawyers, especially in the US), and other professional qualifiers. And the idea that science and the arts should in any way be related is seldom considered. It was C.P. Snow - whose mediocre ability as a writer was exceeded only by his less than mediocre ability as a sociologist - who introduced the notion of ‘the two cultures’, by which he meant science and everything else. His ideas were quite influ- ential and did a lot of harm. They made it respectable to shun science on the one hand or focus on it almost exclusively on the other, and the intellectual climate they helped create is with us still. It has a lot of insidious, subtle consequences. One of them is that practicing scientists who try to communicate the excitement of their subject to the general public are often regarded with the sort of esteem usually reserved for political traitors and used-car salesman. Another is that professional intellectuals who know nothing about science can make pro- nouncements about science being ‘just another belief system’ like, say, Confucianism or vegetarianism or a belief in the magical power of crystals, without being recognized by the rest of the non-scientific community of professional intellectuals as the idiots they are. One can go further and speculate that at least some of our current preoccupation with, among other things, the oxymoron of alternative medicine; ideas that run counter to the theory of evolution; increasing belief in the exis- tence - and power - of the spirit world; and the superiority of trusting ‘feelings’ over thinking (which, along with a distrust of technology in general, forms the philosophical underpinning of nearly every recent Michael Crichton novel or Steven Spiel- berg movie, and you know how popular those are) would not have become so widespread without at least some serious debate had the disconnect between science and the humani- ties not become respectable. Ironically, I think that science and the arts have a lot more in common than almost any other pair of disciplines, not so much in subject matter (although it is gratifying to see so many contemporary artists taking inspiration from the stag- gering beauty and variety of forms in the natural world as revealed by science) as in flavor. Science and art are both subjects that are best practiced by people who see them as vocations rather than careers. In both cases one is trying to reveal truth, and often also attempting to uncover or create something beautiful (“That’s beautiful!” is often the highest compliment one scientist can pay to another’s work). Devo- tion to the purity of one’s vision is ultimately valued in both fields above following fashion. Science is for most scientists a form of self-expression, just as art is, which probably accounts for the love that most scientists express for their work, except at grant-renewal time. Which brings me to my summer reading recommendation: “A Short History of Nearly Everything” by Bill Bryson. Bryson, a superb travel writer and social commentator who combines humor with pointed observation, decided that he knew nothing about science - couldn’t tell a proton from a protein, in his words - but that it was important and could be fascinating, so he set out to immerse himself in subjects ranging from physics to genetics over a period of three years. The result is an extraordinary book, one that tells the story of our universe, planet and species with wit and clarity. Never missing an opportunity for an amusing - and engrossing - anecdote, Bryson also gets the science right and tells it in a way that anyone, even practicing scientists, will find enlight- ening as well as enjoyable. If he - an avowed scienceophobic beforehand - can find in what we do great stories that are fun to read about, I see no reason why we can’t convey that same mixture of information and excitement to non-scientists. I am convinced that courses in one or more of the ‘hard’ sci- ences, but especially chemistry and biology, should be required of all university students regardless of their major field. And I’m equally convinced that courses in subjects like art history and literature should be required of all science and engineering majors. It’s gratifying to know that the leading lights of the Renaissance would agree with me: Michelangelo immersed himself in engineering and anatomy; Galileo was both a practitioner and a patron of the arts. Speaking of patrons, enlightened rulers such as Lorenzo the Magnificent supported - and were afficionados of - both scientists and artists. So was John F. Kennedy, but this is probably too much to expect of George W. Bush. You will note that I haven’t mentioned Leonardo da Vinci here, and I won’t, because a true polymath like him, who puts the rest of us to shame in essentially every subject imaginable, comes along only once every several hundred years, thank goodness. Michelangelo and Galileo are usually the Renais- sance men we have in mind when we aspire to be called one. Our educational system and popular culture conspire to make that seem unattainable. As scientists we need to reach out to the public to make the things we do not only under- standable but enjoyable. One way to do that is to acknowl- edge, and celebrate, the arts-like nature of our profession. Nowhere is this more important than in genomics, which is increasingly seen by the lay public as threatening to create a brave new world of genetically engineered food, animals, microbes and people. Galileo is a hero - a sort of spiritual father - to many scien- tists because he dared stand up to the anti-science culture of his day. Standing in the church of Santa Croce in Florence, one is tempted to feel a similar kinship to Michelangelo as well. Presumptuous, of course, but somehow I think they wouldn’t mind. 114.2 Genome Biology 2003, Volume 4, Issue 8, Article 114 Petsko http://genomebiology.com/2003/4/8/114 Genome Biology 2003, 4:114 
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work_ufv32ww5bngx7dh6zyt3wleakm	----	J Bras Patol Med Lab • Volume 46 • Número 2 • abril 2010 ISSN 1676-2444 Nossa capa our journal cover Co le çã o Ph ill ip s – W as hi ng to n, D .C . Renoir: a dor passa, mas a beleza permanece Pierre-Auguste Renoir nasceu em Limonges, França, no dia 25 de fevereiro de 1841. Seu pai era alfaiate e mudou-se para Paris quando o pequeno Pierre tinha apenas 3 anos. Aos 14 anos, o jovem artista entrou como aprendiz em uma firma de pintores de porcelana; depois pintou estampas religiosas em tecidos. Seu talento recebeu nova direção quando ele ingres- sou na École des Beaux-Arts, no ateliê de Charles Gleyre, onde conheceu outros jovens pintores como Claude Monet, Frédéric Bazille e Alfred Sisley. Em 1874, cansados de serem rejeitados pelo salão oficial, vários desses artistas, inclusive Renoir, Monet e Sisley, organi- zaram sua própria exposição. Renoir incluiu sete quadros nesta mostra, que não foi um sucesso financeiro, mas concedeu aos pintores o título de Impressionistas, termo que no início era usado como forma de ridicularizá-los. Para sobreviver, Renoir pintava retratos convencionais. Na segunda Exposição Impres- sionista, em 1876, Renoir apresentou 15 trabalhos. Nesse pe- ríodo, seus quadros estavam agradando cada vez mais. Algumas de suas obras alcançaram enorme sucesso no salão de 1879. Em 1881, Renoir viajou à Itália, onde ficou tão impressio- nado com o trabalho dos renascentistas italianos que chegou à conclusão de que nada sabia sobre desenho e muito pouco sobre pintura. A parti daí, ele firmaria seu traço e abandonaria aos poucos a maneira impressionista de aplicar as tintas em pequenas pinceladas, passando a usar o método tradicional de espalhá-las em camadas e vernizes. Nessa fase de viagens, ele também visitou a Argélia, onde ficou fascinado com o ambiente exótico e a luminosidade. Renoir, então, concentrou-se em criar suas próprias e no- vas técnicas. Percebendo que traço firme e riqueza de colorido eram coisas incompatíveis, Renoir concentrou-se em combinar o que havia aprendido sobre cor durante seu período impres- sionista com os métodos tradicionais de aplicação de tinta. O resultado foi uma série de obras-primas. Em 1885 nasceu Pierre, filho de Renoir e Aline Charigot, há muito sua amante e modelo. Três anos depois, Renoir desco- briu Cagnes-sur-Mer, lugar que passou a ser sua residência de inverno após começar a sofrer de artrite e reumatismo. Passava longos períodos no sul com Aline, que nesse tempo teve mais dois filhos: Jean e Claude (Coco), nascidos em 1894 e 1901. Com a piora da artrite, Renoir sentia cada vez mais dificul- dades para segurar os pincéis e acabou tendo de amarrá-los a suas mãos. Começou também a esculpir, na esperança de poder expressar seu espírito criativo por meio da modelagem. Criou Venus Victrix, em 1915, e Lavadeira de Cócoras, em 1917. Apesar das graves limitações físicas, Renoir continuou tra- balhando até o último dia de sua vida. Em agosto de 1919, visitou Paris pela última vez, onde teve uma grande alegria: seu quadro Retrato de Madame Charpentier, foi comprado pelo governo francês e exposto no Museu do Louvre. Três meses de- pois, em 3 de dezembro, Renoir faleceu em Cagnes-sur-Mer aos 78 anos, deixando uma pequena natureza morta com duas maçãs inacabada no cavalete. Renoir: pain fades, beauty remains Pierre-Auguste Renoir was born in Limonges, France, on February 25, 1841. His father was a tailor who moved to Paris while little Pierre was just 3. At the age of 14, the young artist worked as a painter at a porcelain factory; afterwards painted religious patterns in textiles. His talent gained a new direction when he entered the École des Beaux-Arts, studying art under Charles Gleyre. There he met other young painters, like Claude Monet, Frédéric Bazille and Alfred Sisley. In 1874, tired of being rejected by the official salon, several of those artists, including Renoir, Monet and Sisley, organized their own exhibit. Renoir included seven pictures in this display, which was not a commercial success, but granted the painters the title of impressionists, a term initially used to ridicule them. In order to survive, Renoir painted conventional portraits. In the second impressionist exhibition, in 1876, Renoir presented 15 works. In that period, his pictures gradually began to grow famous. Some of his works achieved great success at the 1879 salon. In 1881 Renoir traveled to Italy, where he got so impressed by the work of Italian Renaissance painters that he concluded he knew nothing about drawing and very little about painting. From then on he began to make his lines firm and abandoned the impressionist manner of applying paints in short strokes, starting to use the traditional method of splashing them in layers and varnish. In that phase of trips, he also visited Algeria, where he became fascinated by the exotic environment and its brightness. Renoir, then, concentrated on creating his own new techniques. Understanding that firm lines and richness of color were incompatible, he attempted to combine what he had learned about color during his impressionist period with the traditional methods of paint application. The result was a series of masterpieces. In 1885, a son, Pierre, was born to Renoir and Aline Charigot, who had long been his lover and model. Three years later, Renoir discovered Cagnes-sur-Mer, a place that became his winter dwelling after he began suffering from arthritis and rheumatism. He used to spend long periods in the South with Aline, who, during that time, had two more children: Jean and Claude (Coco), born in 1894 and 1901. With his arthritis worse, Renoir experienced each time more difficulties to hold the brushes and he ended up having to tie them to his hands. He also began sculpting, hoping to express his creative spirit by means of shaping. He created Venus Victrix, in 1915, and the Washerwoman, in 1917. Despite the serious physical limitations, Renoir continued working until the end of his life. In August 1919, he last visited Paris, where his great joy was to discover that his picture Portrait of Madame Charpentier had been bought by the French government and was exposed at the Louvre. Three months later, on December 3, Renoir died in Cagnes-sur-Mer, at the age of 78, leaving a small still nature with two apples incomplete on the easel. O Almoço dos Remadores (Le Déjeuner des Cantoniers) Óleo sobre tela, 1881. Pierre-Auguste Renoir 
work_uiwrwdvasvbh7nwdbk5r5zk264	----	Microsoft Word - Leonardo10.doc Preprint for the journal Leonardo, in press. Rembrandt’s textural agency: A shared perspective in visual art and science Steve DiPaola 1, Caitlin Riebe 2 & James T. Enns 2 1. Simon Fraser University 2. University of British Columbia Abstract This interdisciplinary paper hypothesizes that Rembrandt developed new painterly techniques — novel to the early modern period — in order to engage and direct the gaze of the observer. Though these methods were not based on scientific evidence at the time, we show that they nonetheless are consistent with a contemporary understanding of human vision. Here we propose that artists in the late ‘early modern’ period developed the technique of textural agency — involving selective variation in image detail — to guide the observer’s eye and thereby influence the viewing experience. The paper begins by establishing the well-known use of textural agency among modern portrait artists, before considering the possibility that Rembrandt developed these techniques in his late portraits in reaction to his Italian contemporaries. A final section brings the argument full circle, with the presentation of laboratory evidence that Rembrandt’s techniques indeed guide the modern viewer’s eye in the way we propose. INTRODUCTION A fundamental feature of human vision is that our experience of a scene or an artwork is not uniformly detailed [1]. Each eye contains only a small area in which the cone receptors are packed densely enough to provide us with detailed color and shape perception (a region in our visual field about the size of a thumbnail when viewed at arm’s length). Thus our viewing experience is actually one that extends over time, including periods of fixation, in which the eye position is almost stationary and visual information is taken in, interrupted by saccades, rapid movements of the eye from one image region to another during which we are also effectively blind [2]. This makes seeing a highly interactive process, one in which information acquired in a fixation is influencing the content of our mental experience, while at the same time the content of our mind (including its goals and cognitive strategy) is guiding our eyes to new image regions in order to acquire further high resolution information [3,4,5]. At differing levels, many modern artists are aware of this understanding of human vision and deliberately seek to incorporate and exploit it in their work. A specific technique of this kind, typically associated with 20th century painting, is to use painterly brushwork on the textural plane to direct and coerce the viewer’s gaze through a painting, thereby influencing the observer’s fixation points and eye gaze paths within the work. Well-known portraitist John Howard Sanden [6] describes how he believes “center of focus” sharpening techniques help to structure the experience of the viewer. For example, in the portrait shown in Figure 1, the increased textural and color detail rendered in the sitter’s left eye and eyebrow are intended to move the viewer’s gaze to these locations, thus helping to draw attention to the intelligent, yet playful personality characteristics of the sitter. Sanden further emphasizes this interpretation with his loose directional brush strokes under the eye, which guide the viewer’s gaze to This article is a pre-print, accepted for publication in Leonardo, MIT Press. DiPaola, S., Riebe, C., & Enns, J. (2010). Rembrandt's textural agency: A shared perspective in visual art and science. Leonardo 43(2), 145-151. the accentuated eye area, both by the implicit gestures of the spiraling paintbrush and by the repetition of the asymmetric curvature in both the eyes and the mouth. Directing the viewer’s gaze to selected regions in a portrait is one of the tools a modern artist has for emphasizing certain character traits of the sitter and for giving viewers a glimpse into the collaboration between sitter and painter in the development of a portrait [7,8,9]. In addition to being consistent with the modern understanding of mind-eye dynamics, artists’ selective application of detail is also consistent with the specialized neural pathways of human vision: coarse brushwork corresponds to low spatial frequency information that is transmitted very rapidly to many regions of the visual system to help orient the eyes to points of possible interest, whereas fine brushwork corresponds to higher spatial frequency channels that transmit more slowly to the centers involved in detailed and prolonged inspection [10,11]. Modern artist Harley Brown also exploits the tendency for the observer’s gaze to follow a line or edge. Brown uses what he and others describe in their writings as the ‘lost and found edge’ technique, referring to the idea that because the eye often prefers to follow edges (regions of strong contrast in tone or color), when those edges disappear the eye can be guided in its search for new edges to an artistic center of focus [12]. While several examples of this technique are evident in Figure 2, the most blatant are the lost edges along the elbows, which lead directly into the edges and detail of the downward- looking face. How these techniques of textural agency work in detail, both in unconsciously guiding the eyes and in altering the viewing conscious experience of the observer, is a question we think is of great interest to artists and vision scientists alike. This is because both parties have a vested interest in better understanding the interface of intuition and consciousness, although they each bring different tools and perspectives to the problem. In what follows, we will explore the role of selective textural detail in structuring the art viewing experience, both from the perspective of art history and from the perspective of an empirical attempt to test the textural agency hypothesis with a study of eye tracking. Fig. 1. J.H. Sanden’s “Reverend Cole Close-up” Fig. 2. H. Brown’s “Charlo Girl” Early Modern Painting: A Monolithic Mechanistic View? Art historians usually assume the deliberate use of textural agency does not stretch back to Renaissance painters of the early modern period. The conjecture we put forward here is that a closer look at late Rembrandt and his performative discourse with Italian art suggests instead that it does. Specifically, we will argue that Rembrandt experimented with and developed these techniques in reaction to, and as a further step beyond, the more uniformly detailed artworks of the Italian Renaissance. As art historian, Harry Berger Jr. [13] puts it, textural agency techniques help to guide the “viewer’s gaze through the act of finishing the painting” as a personal and subjective mental act, rather than experiencing the artwork in the more mechanical way one might view a uniformly detailed photograph. If Rembrandt used and developed some of these techniques, then it can also be argued — and this is admittedly the more speculative aspect of our proposal — that his understanding of human vision, at least at an intuitive level, was consistent with our own modern understanding of human vision. We acknowledge that a phrase such as “intuitive understanding” can be contentious, especially when these terms have different connotations in the art and science communities. It is beyond the scope of this paper to resolve these issues; yet, we think it is worth considering the possibility that an historical artist who was necessarily silent on a question that has become of interest to us only recently, can nonetheless be credited through the historical record of his performance (artworks), for understanding, at some level, a scientific principle that has entered the currency of our modern discourse more recently. A commonly held belief about the Renaissance is that science and art were very much intermingled. This was the result of the introduction of the scientific method, which provided a new process for discovery and placed an emphasis on empirical evidence and the importance of mathematics. In Renaissance art, the crowning achievement of this new intermingling was the development of highly realistic linear perspective. The development of perspective can be seen as one part of a much broader trend in both the sciences and the arts towards realism. Harry Berger Jr., in his 1998 essay [14], describes what he and others see as a monolithic view in academic discourse on the early modern period. Martin Jay termed this view as “Cartesian Perspectivalism” [15] in which the eye is treated as an abstract cartesian point, or a pinhole camera, which forms the visual image and presents it to the brain for interpretation, rather than as a complex organ that interacts dynamically with brain. Alberti described in his classic On Painting, that this trend “hailed mathematics over physics or physiology” [16] in its recasting of vision. This prompts us to wonder whether there might be other, more organic, forms of painterly intention that have been buried by the static understanding of perspective in which this period has been viewed. To us it also raises the paradoxical possibility that although scientific thinking may have contributed to this mechanized view of vision during the early modern period, science may now be called upon once again to relocate the eye back into a more properly dynamic understanding of vision. Systems of Early Modern Painting - Painting Modes To help provide a framework for our historical and scientific discussion, we turn to Berger’s ‘Systems of Early Modern Painting’, in which he describes four painting modes: decorative, graphic, optical and textural. The decorative mode uses pigment, color, light, and techniques to give a sense of beauty and, even more importantly, to honor the painting and the subject. In the graphic mode, subjects are painted as they are known or thought to be, i.e., as people imagine they really are and appear. Lifelike, naturalistic imitation of 3D forms in space and spatial relations are significant in the graphic mode as well as the visualization of knowledge, for instance incorporating the knowledge from anatomical studies. Berger posits that the transition from decorative mode to graphic came as patronage changed from religious clientele to that of the merchant class. In the optical mode, things are painted as they are seen with an emphasis on the conditions of visibility that affect, alter, or in some cases interfere with the graphic mode. Looking deeper into the optical mode, we see that this mode offers the observer a somewhat more active interpretive role than the graphic mode. The optical mode brings about a shift from "objective" to a "subjective" set of cues. Finally, the textural mode is about ‘the trace,’ the work of the brush in “real-time” and as an extension of the painter's own body. The textural mode can therefore be read as the painter's interpretive act, which calls for an interpretive response from the viewer. Texture generates conflicting modes of observership and can be seen as a window to the graphic mode. Berger claims that the textural mode, “obscures where the graphic clarifies [and] softens where it hardens.” In this paper we wish to extend Berger’s view of the textural mode to include a level of agency. Our primary proposal is that the textural mode can be used to enrich, invite, and move the viewer’s gaze via the artist’s intention, so that the oft-cited direct connection between the artist’s trace and the observer’s perception can be understood as more than just a metaphor. Stated in its strongest form, our hypothesis is that the creative act of painting begins with the artist’s hands, and that these hands leave a trace that can be used to hint at, to guide, and to sometimes even coerce the viewer’s gaze through the act of completing the painting as a mental experience. As a case study for our exploration of this hypothesis, we will restrict ourselves to Rembrandt portraits, in particular those done late in his life. REMBRANDT’S PORTRAITS, EYE GAZE AND INTENT In his 2000 book, Fictions of the Pose: Rembrandt against the Italian Renaissance, Berger [17] uses Rembrandt as a vehicle to demythologize a more standard view of the intellectual and cultural history of the early modern period. One of Berger’s main points concerns what he thinks ‘the Rembrandt look “sees”’. What Rembrandt sees, challenges, critiques and at times parodies, is “the embarrassment of the Renaissance riches” of the Italian model. Berger asserts, expanding on Kenneth Clark [18], that “Rembrandt transformed his style by the study of Italian Renaissance art.” This dialogue, one- directional as it may seem, between Rembrandt and Italy gave way to both a classical and anti-classical style in Rembrandt’s art and, more importantly, shifted the discourse in the other direction, reading Italy through Rembrandt’s eyes. Berger shows us the process by which painters can “imitate, emulate, appropriate, and sublate” prior art and, more specifically, Rembrandt’s performative mastery of this process. Berger refers to this as “revisionary allusion” which allows Rembrandt’s implied reconstructions to “creatively distort the past” in order to make it reflect the present and “more immediate[ly] focus on critique.” The adoption of oil painting as a medium was controversial when it first appeared. Titian quickly recognized its merits, and added several innovations to early oil painting techniques. The fact that the mature Rembrandt was deeply influenced by 16th-century Venetian painting - especially by Titian and Giorgione - wasn't new when Kenneth Clark published his classic study on Rembrandt and the Italian Renaissance. When an inventory was taken of Rembrandt’s possessions, an album was devoted almost entirely to Titian's work. As Vasari noted, Titian's late works were “carried out in bold strokes, broadly applied in great patches in such a manner that they cannot be looked at closely but from a distance appear perfect”. Noted art historian Rosand [19] described the appeal of these late paintings as “tactile as well as visual, inviting us to touch as well as to look.” A 17th-century Venetian critic Marco Boschini, which claims to report the words of a late-16th-century disciple of Titian, writes that toward the end of Titian painting process, he painted more with his fingers than with the brush, comparing himself to God, who formed the human body, created it out of earth with his hands [20]. Titian never taught his assistants, but, as Vasari reports, each disciple took whatever he could from the master's example. The same can be said for Titian's most significant followers, like Rembrandt. Rosand describes how “Titian's facture, for all the revelation of his textured surfaces, continues to remain just beyond the reach of comprehension. In comparison, Rembrandt's technique seems quite straightforward, much more accessible to direct visual analysis.” We know that Rembrandt revered and emulated late Titian. In typical Rembrandt style, he appropriated and extended Titian’s process of textural and bodily touch, with the result that his touch, while still gestural, embodied a deep communication link with the eye gaze of his viewers. In further support of this interpretation, Virgil Elliott [21], an artist and writer on Rembrandt states of Rembrandts technical innovations, states that “the highly refined imagery of his younger days gradually gave way to a rougher, more painterly finish in his middle and later years, perhaps due to changes in his eyesight” (Figure 3). But rather than attributing these changes to a visual impairment — a diagnosis consistent with a mechanical understanding of vision but not of the dynamic interplay between eye and brain — we propose that a mature Rembrandt was simply continuing his lifelong critique and discourse with the Italian Renaissance. Specifically, he was performatively inventing another, more painterly, technique, one ‘more cognizant of his discourse with his viewers’, more personal and direct than what Berger has called graphic and optical modes. Fig. 3. Rembrandt: (Left) Early self-portrait, 1629, with more uniform and higher levels of textural detail versus (Right) a late self-portrait, 1661, with reduced and more selective use of textural detail. A NEW LOOK AT THE INFLUENCE OF TEXTURAL AGENCY ON VIEWING ART When we first began to examine the textural agency hypothesis from the perspective of modern vision science, we were surprised to learn that it had not yet been put to a direct test. There have been numerous previous studies examining the gaze patterns of viewers while they were inspecting works of original art [22, 23], but in each case it was difficult to attribute the gaze patterns of viewers directly to the selective emphasis in the painting involving the degree of textural detail. The reasons for this lack of direct evidence are quite straightforward when considered from the perspective of art creation. When a painter selects one region of the canvas for increased detail over another region, these regions also invariably differ from one another in their meaningful content (i.e., they are usually of foreground rather than of background interest), in relative degree of lighting (i.e., textural detail is usually increased for surfaces depicted as in direct light) and in relative spatial location (i.e., regions of increased detail are often at the center of the composition). Of course, strong correlations such as these in an artwork — between the semantic level, the compositional level, and at the level of textural detail — all likely conspire in a synergistic way to guide the gaze of the viewer to selected regions of the painting. But, for the purposes of putting the current claim to a proper scientific test — the hypothesis that textural variations in themselves guide the viewer’s eye — these inherent correlations in original portraits make it impossible to confirm or deny the hypothesis by simply having viewers examine original artwork while their gaze is being recorded. Testing the textural agency hypothesis in modern viewers of Rembrandt-like art Our approach to testing the texture-gaze hypothesis involved generating portraits that were plausible works of art, and yet portraits in which the textural level of detail was uncorrelated with the other levels of analysis (i.e., content, lighting, spatial layout). This was done through a three-step process. We first photographed human models posing, dressed, and lit in a similar way to four of Rembrandt’s most famous late portraits: Self Portrait with Beret and Turned-Up Collar, 1659; Man with a Magnifying Glass, 1661; Hendrickje Stoffels, 1660; and Large Self-Portrait, 1652. (Figure 4). Second, we rendered these photographs in the style of Rembrandt using a knowledge-based computer painterly rendering system [24] where approximately 50 parameters of brush details, color palette and other painterly attributes were matched as close as possible to the original Rembrandt portraits [25]. Third, we selected four regions in each rendered portrait for selective manipulation with regard to textural detail: one region centered about each eye and one region centered on each side of the chin, where the material of the collar meets the skin of the neck, as illustrated in figures 5 and 6. The variation in textual details for each eye and chin side was achieved using additional passes of progressive smaller brush strokes in the painterly system algorithm as a base, with additional Gaussian blur and stroke manipulations where appropriate. Fig. 4. Four original Rembrandts and our photographs of human model analogues used in the eye tracking study. Fig. 5. Detailed crops of two of the painterly rendered portraits, showing the regions of textural variation (outlined in blue circles only for purposes of illustration, circles were not shown to participants). Fig. 6. Detailed crops of the same painterly rendered portraits, showing the model’s left eye and neck region in greater detail (left image of each pair) versus model’s right eye and neck region in greater detail (right image of each pair). This left us with the opportunity to compare gaze patterns of viewers examining the original photo of the models (where textural detail is uniformly high for all image regions), with their gaze patterns when viewing the same models rendered as portraits with systematic variation of detail in the chosen regions. Finally, to ensure that our results would be specific to the degree of relative detail — independent of relative location in the image — we presented viewers with both the original orientation and the mirrored image of the portraits. EYE TRACKING AND ART VIEWING METHODOLOGY Our study participants were students in Psychology courses at the University of British Columbia (31 in all, mean age = 20 years, 11 male) who volunteered for a study advertised as “Eye movements and Art.” Each participant was tested separately in a one hour session in which they were told they would have the opportunity to view 30 portraits on a 19-inch high definition flat screen, each for a 5 second period, while their eye fixations and movements were recorded. The task they were given was to simply view all the portraits for the first time, with the goal of assigning a subjective rating of “artistic merit” to each portrait, using an 8-point scale. However, participants were also told that the ratings would be made only after each of the images had been seen once, so that the entire range of the scale could be used in a consistent manner (8=best, 1=worst). It was this first viewing period that we were interested in for the purposes of eye tracking, since it allowed us to measure whether relative differences in textural detail in the eye and neck regions of the portraits influenced their gaze patterns. On a second viewing of the same portraits, in a new random order, participants then assigned their ratings to the images. Participant’s eyes were monitored using an SR Research Eyelink II tracking system, which samples the position of the eye every 2 milliseconds. Saccades (eye movements) and fixations (periods of stable gaze) were assessed using the default settings, namely a saccade is a spatial shift with amplitude exceeding 0.58 degrees, with an acceleration threshold of 9,5008/s2 and a velocity threshold of 308/s. A brief period of calibration preceded the first viewing of the portraits by each participant. The 30 portraits viewed by each participant consisted of 10 critical portraits (2 models x 5 images) and 10 filler portraits that we selected from an assortment of fine art books covering portraits by noted artists from different periods and styles (e.g., Lenbach, Hopper, Freud, Kinstler). Each of these filler portraits was viewed two times within a session, in an effort to balance the fact that the models in the critical photos were also repeated within a viewing session. The 5 critical images taken of each model consisted of the studio photo and 4 Rembrandt-renderings of the photo, either the left or the right eye in greater detail combined with either the left or the right neck region in greater detail. In order to test all combinations of critical images involving the 4 models x the 4 textural regions x the 2 image orientations (original, mirror), the 32 participants were divided into four groups, with each group of 8 participants viewing all four image variants of the 2 models in one of two orientations. Eye Tracking Results The eye tracking of the first viewing period by our participants yielded promising support for the textural agency movement hypothesis. All results reported here were statistically significant (i.e., a less than 5% likelihood of reporting a difference when in reality none exists). We began by examining the overall level of activity in the eyes of participants viewing the filler portraits, the studio photos of our models, and the critical portraits. These results (shown in Figure 7A) indicated that a Rembrandt-like rendering resulted in a calmer eye. Participants made a significantly smaller of fixations when viewing filler and photo portraits, than when viewing the critical images, F(1, 60) = 41.57, p < .001. This supports the idea that reducing the amount of textural detail in a portrait causes the eye to inspect fewer locations overall but to dwell longer in each one. We next examined where participants tended to fixate in the portraits and found, consistent with many previous studies [26,27] that a majority of all fixations (~60%) were centered on the two eye regions in each photograph. The next most frequent region lay in a stripe along the nose, extending to the mouth (~25%), with the relatively few fixations that remained (<15%) inspecting locations that varied from image to image around the silhouette of the face, hair, and shoulders. With specific regard to our Rembrandt-like portraits, an even larger percentage of all fixations were in the two eye regions, F(1, 120) = 22.09, p < .001. Interestingly, there were almost no fixations directly in either of the two neck regions we had manipulated for textural detail, although these regions did have an influence on the fixations made to the two eye regions. Figure 7B shows there was an increased likelihood of a fixation to the detailed eye when it was on the same side as a less detailed neck region, as though the detailed eye became an even more salient attractor of fixations in the context of a less detailed neighboring region, F(1, 120) = 15.31, p < .001. When we measured the time it took for the first fixation to land in either of the two eye regions of the portraits, we observed a strong influence of textural detail. Figure 7C shows that whereas the time to first fixation in the eye regions of the photos was around 700 ms, the first fixation in an eye region of greater textural detail was over 70 ms earlier, F(1, 60) = 7.2, p < .01. Furthermore, the first fixations to eye regions of greater detail were more than 170 ms earlier than to eye regions of reduced detail in the same portraits, F(1, 60) = 26.29, p < .001. When we examined the conditional probability of successive fixations in the same region versus moving to a different region, there was a stronger trend for viewers’ gaze to move from an eye region of reduced detail to an eye region of greater detail in a portrait, than in the opposite direction, F(1, 60) = 3.85, p < .05. These results clearly suggest that relative differences in textural detail guide the modern viewer’s gaze when inspecting a portrait. This study provides definitive evidence for this hypothesis, because the eyes of viewers were tracked in a context in which the only differences from one portrait to another were at the level of textural detail. Unlike actual great works of art, the images we used in our test varied in textural detail, while at the same time not varying at all in their semantic content, in the nature of the lighting depicted in the portrait, and in the spatial location of the textural regions. Yet at the same time, these images were viewed as plausible works of art by our participants, lending credence to the possibility that these results can be generalized to the viewing of original portraits painted by master artists. Our confidence in the generality of our results comes in part from our analysis of the ratings the participants made in this study on their second viewing of each of the portraits. These ratings showed considerable agreement among the participants. Filler portraits judged to be the very best obtained mean ratings of 6.2 to 6.4 (standard error = .3); those judged the worst obtained mean ratings 2.9 and 3.0 (standard error = .2). In this context, the model photos garnered mean ratings ranging from 3.5 to 5.2 (standard error = .5) and the critical portraits rendered from these photos ranged from a mean of 4.2 to 5.2 (standard error = .4). Most importantly, when we gave 8 separate participants the opportunity to select which one of the four renderings of each model was the “very best,” with all four images presented simultaneously in random quadrants on a 19-in viewing screen, they selected the most Rembrandt-like rendering (detailed eye and neck regions on the same side of the image) at a rate significantly greater than chance (chance = .250, obtained p = .352, chi-sq (1) = 7.04, p < .01). What the eye tracking shows, in combination with participant’s ratings of artistic quality, is that the artist’s selection of regions of a portrait for more and less detail has a direct influence on viewing behavior and on aesthetic experience. The relative level of detail chosen by the artist guides the eye in at least two important ways. First, regions of greater detail serve as attractors for more detailed inspection by the viewer (fixation frequency). Second, and perhaps ultimately even more important, the relative detail in a region in a portrait that is not fixated directly (e.g., the neck regions in our portraits), guides the viewer’s gaze by increasing the salience of a detailed region that is the target of multiple fixations (i.e., the eye regions). This study therefore provides strong support for the idea that portrait artists, perhaps even as early as Rembrandt, guided the viewer’s gaze through their selection of textural detail. Whether this guidance occurs because of an implicit (unconscious) understanding of the texture-gaze link by artists, or whether artists discover this explicitly (consciously) by observing their own visual behavior while their work is in progress, is a fascinating question, but beyond the scope of the present paper. We hope it is one of the questions that future artists and scientists will collaborate to pursue. Fig. 7A. Mean number of fixations during the first 5 second viewing period for three different types of portraits. Fig. 7B. Proportion of total viewing time (5 seconds) spent examining the two eye regions in each portrait for photos (light gray bar) and Rembrandt-style renderings (dark gray and white bars), as a function of the relations between detail in the eye and neck regions Fig. 7C. Mean time (milliseconds) of first fixation to one of two eye regions in photos and Rembrandt-style renderings. CONCLUSION In this paper we have taken a two-pronged approach to advance the hypothesis that artists in the late ‘early modern’ period developed the technique of textural agency in order to guide the observer’s gaze and viewing experience. We first considered how this development might have come about in the work of Rembrandt, through his background familiarity with the spectacular developments of perspective in the work of the Italian masters, and then through his desire to innovate beyond these developments by placing the viewer once again as a more active participant in the exchange between artist and viewer. Rembrandt, and other artists that followed him, did this by selectively emphasizing certain image regions over others by varying the relative level of image detail. In doing so, these artists may have been exploring the possibilities that arise when the viewer’s eye is guided to these selectively emphasized regions, as opposed to leaving the viewer with greater freedom in their gaze pattern, as occurs in a more uniformly rendered artwork of that period with strong perspective, and as now occurs when viewing photographs. Thus, it is our view that the early modern period should not only be credited with the development of perspective to its highest form, but should also be credited with emerging attempts to understand the inherently dynamic interaction of eye and brain that characterizes human vision. In doing so, our analysis supports the contention of art critics such as Martin Jay and Harry Berger Jr. that the renaissance application of science to art went well beyond the contribution of mathematics and geometry to the construction of an image. It may have also included an understanding, implicit or explicit, of the behavioral and experiential dynamics that occur when a human eye with limited spatial resolution is confronted with a large scene or image [28]. In the second section of the paper, using Rembrandt as a guide, we empirically tested the hypothesis that the viewer’s gaze is guided by variations in the textural detail of an artwork. The results demonstrated that variation in image detail could indeed influence the viewing experience on at least two levels, including that of simply guiding the viewer’s gaze at a lower level of eye-brain function, as well as influencing the conscious attributions the viewer makes about the skill of the artist in portraying the characteristics of the sitter. We suspect that textural variations may even influence the conversation between artist and viewer that occurs at a meta-cognitive level (including the larger community of other artists and viewers), but this hypothesis will have to wait for a future test. Of course, the present results from the eye tracking study are limited in their direct generality to the textural details of edge contrast and color, as well as being restricted to artworks consisting of portraits. Future work will need to explore the idea of textural detail with much more rigor than in this initial demonstration and it will also have to see how variations in textural detail influence gaze patterns in more complex scenes involving multiple objects and perhaps even in more abstract artworks. Nonetheless, the proof-of-concept that textural agency has an influence even in this one domain inspires us, and we hope other artists and scientists, to examine the generality of the textural-agency hypothesis more widely. Artists and scientists may each indeed at times use specialized language, but it seems that our questions about the human experience have a deep common core. Acknowledgements We would like to thank art historians Harry Berger and Bronwen Wilson for their guidance. References 1. J. Hochberg, In the Mind’s Eye, In R. N. Haber (Ed.) Contemporary Theory and Research in Visual Perception (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1968). 2. M.F. Land, “Motion and Vision: Why Animals Move Their Eyes,” Journal of Comparative Physiology A Vol. 185, 341–352 (1999). 3. J.T. Enns & E.L. Austen, Mental Schemata and the Limits of Perception, In M. A. Peterson, B. Gillam, & H. A. Sedgwick (Eds.), In The Mind's Eye: Julian Hochberg On The Perception of Pictures, Film, and The World (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007). 4. J. Henderson, “Human Gaze Control During Real-World Scene Perception,” Trends in Cognitive Sciences Vol. 7, No. 11, 498-504 (2003). 5. D. Melcher & C. Colby, “Trans-Saccadic Perception,” Trends in Cognitive Sciences Vol. 12, No. 12, 466-473 (2008). 6. John Sanden, Portraits from Life (Cincinnati: North Light Books, 2004). 7. Harry Berger Jr., “The System of Early Modern Painting,” Representations Vol. 62, Spring, 31-57 (1998). 8. R.C. Miall & J. Tchalenko, “Painter's Eye Movements: A Study of Eye and Hand Movement during Portrait Drawing,” Leonardo Vol. 34, No. 1, 35-40 (2001). 9. M. Nicholls, D. Clode, S.J. Wood & A.G. Wood, “Laterality of Expression in Portraiture: Putting Your Best Cheek Forward,” Proceedings of the Royal Society B Vol. 266, No. 1428, 1517-1522 (1999). 10. M. Livingstone, Vision and Art: The Biology of Seeing (New York: Harry N. Abrams 2002). 11. T.R. Vidyasagar, “A Neuronal Model of Attentional Spotlight: Parietal Guiding the Temporal,” Brain Research Reviews Vol. 30, No. 1, 66-76 (1999). 12. Harley Brown, Harley Brown's Eternal Truths for Every Artist (Cincinnati: North Light Books, 2001). 13. Berger Jr. [7]. 14. Berger Jr. [7]. 15. Martin Jay, Scopic Regimes of Modernity, In Hal Foster (Ed.) Vision and Visuality (Seattle: Bay Press, 1988). 16. L.B. Alberti, On Painting [First Appeared 1435], Trans. John R. Spencer (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1956). 17. Harry Berger Jr., Fictions of the Pose: Rembrandt against the Italian Renaissance (Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 2000). 18. K. Clark, Rembrandt and the Italian Renaissance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1966). 19. D. Rosand, Painting in Cinquecento Venice: Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990). 20. D. Rosand, “Titian and the Eloquence of the Brush,” Artibus et Historiae Vol. 2, No. 3 (1981). 21. V. Elliot, Traditional Oil Painting: Techniques and Concepts of Classical Realism from the Renaissance to the Past (New York: Watson-Guptill Publications, 2007). 22. Miall [8]. 23. Livingstone [10]. 24. S. DiPaola, “Exploring a Parameterized Portrait Painting Space,” International Journal of Art and Technology Vol. 2, No. 1-2, 82-93 (2009). 25. S. DiPaola, “Painterly Rendered Portraits from Photographs Using a Knowledge-Based Approach,” In Proc: SPIE Human Vision and Imaging, Int. Society for Optical Engineering. San Jose, p. 33 (2007). 26. Melcher [5]. 27. E. Birmingham, W.F. Bischof, & A. Kingstone, “Gaze Selection in Complex Social Scenes,” Visual Cognition Vol. 15, 341-355 (2008). 28. S. Zeki, Inner Vision (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999). 
work_uk4akh4d25h6xjqvmx5srpwh7e	----	postgradmedj-2020-138370 1..6 1Department of Cardiology, University College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland 2Department of Biomedical Sciences, University of Cagliari, Cagliari, Italy 3Department of Cardiology, University of Palermo, Palermo, Italy Correspondence to Pier Paolo Bassareo, University College Dublin, Mater Misericordiae University Hospital, Dublin D07 R2WY, Ireland; piercard@inwind.it Received 30 May 2020 Accepted 7 June 2020 © Author(s) (or their employer(s)) 2020. No commercial re-use. See rights and permissions. Published by BMJ. To cite: Bassareo PP, Melis MR, Marras S, et al. Postgrad Med J Epub ahead of print: [please include Day Month Year]. doi:10.1136/ postgradmedj-2020- 138370 Learning from the past in the COVID-19 era: rediscovery of quarantine, previous pandemics, origin of hospitals and national healthcare systems, and ethics in medicine Pier Paolo Bassareo ,1 Maria Rosaria Melis,2 Silvia Marras,2 Giuseppe Calcaterra3 ABSTRACT After the dramatic coronavirus outbreak at the end of 2019 in Wuhan, Hubei province, China, on 11 March 2020, a pandemic was declared by the WHO. Most countries worldwide imposed a quarantine or lockdown to their citizens, in an attempt to prevent uncontrolled infection from spreading. Historically, quarantine is the 40-day period of forced isolation to prevent the spread of an infectious disease. In this educational paper, a historical overview from the sacred temples of ancient Greece—the cradle of medicine—to modern hospitals, along with the conceive of healthcare systems, is provided. A few foods for thought as to the conflict between ethics in medicine and shortage of personnel and financial resources in the coronavirus disease 2019 era are offered as well. One day Albert Einstein gave his students the same final exam the year before. His assistant shyly noticed the mistake. Einstein replied: “You are right, these are the same questions as last year – but the answers have changed” INTRODUCTION In December 2019, a series of pneumonia cases of unknown origin were reported in Wuhan, Hubei province, China. On 12 January 2020, after ascertaining the viral origin of the disease, the WHO recognised a coronavirus responsible for the disease and named it as the 2019 novel coronavirus (2019-nCoV). Again, based on its genetic similarity to already known coronaviruses, the International Committee on Taxonomy of Viruses renamed the previously termed 2019-nCoV as severe acute respiratory syn- drome coronavirus 2 (SARS-CoV-2). Conversely, the first coronavirus or coronavirus 1 was responsi- ble for SARS epidemic in 2003.1 On 30 January 2020, the WHO released a public health emergency of international concern. On 11 February 2020, the WHO formally named the disease as COVID-19. On 11 March 2020, the WHO formally recognised the global spread of COVID-19 as a pandemic: the second in this century and the first to be caused by a coronavirus.2 3 The first description of human coronavirus was published by the Scottish virologist June Hart Almeida in The British Medical Journal in 1965, while working in St Thomas’s Hospital Medical School (London). Since the spokes around the viral edge reminded researchers of a crown, the virus was named corona (crown in Latin) in a subsequent paper published in Nature (1968).4 Since 11 March 2020, SARS-CoV-2 has changed our daily life, behaviour and maybe the whole human history. SARS-CoV-2 has spread throughout our nightmares with the same strength as it has had in breaking into our lives. Quarantine, spread, isolation, lockdown, cocoon- ing, masking, social distancing, hand hygiene, blood tests, vaccine, immunity: all these words are now part of our daily speeches, pervading the most subcon- scious of our thoughts. Our healthcare system is now facing huge chal- lenges with the spread this virus, and so it is getting a favourable occasion to review the history of the previous infections which the human being had to face in the past, with the ultimate aim of educating young doctors to learn from those events. In daily conversations, people often use the term ‘quarantine’ to refer to separating sick people with a contagious disease from the healthy ones in various ways. Quarantine or lockdown is a forced segrega- tion to prevent a communicable disease from spreading.5 The term ‘quarantine’ comes from the Italian word ‘quarantena’, which means a period of 40 days (in Italian, 40 is ‘quaranta’; the latter derives from the Latin word quadrāgintā). During the 14th century, 40 days was the length of strict isolation required for ships suspected of carrying an infectious or contagious illness before their passengers and crew were allowed to land. This practice was usual in Venice in the 1300s, in an effort to stave off plague (‘black death’). It entered English language in the early 1600s.6 7 An early mention of ‘isolation’ dates back to the 7th century B.C. or maybe earlier in the Leviticus, the third book of the Old Testament in the Bible. In that book, the procedure of separating infected from healthy peo- ple to prevent leprosy from spreading, according to Mosaic Law was described, (if the shiny spot on the skin is white but does not appear to be more than skin deep and the hair in it has not turned white, the priest is to isolate the affected person for seven days. On the seventh day the priest is to examine him, and if he sees Bassareo PP, et al. Postgrad Med J 2020;0:1–6. doi:10.1136/postgradmedj-2020-138370 1 Ethics and law o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p o stg ra d m e d j-2 0 2 0 -1 3 8 3 7 0 o n 9 S e p te m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m mailto:piercard@inwind.it http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1136/postgradmedj-2020-138370&domain=pdf http://orcid.org/0000-0002-8374-0260 http://pmj.bmj.com/ that the sore is unchanged and has not spread in the skin, he is to isolate him for another seven days).8 However, nowhere in these forerunner reports was the term ‘quarantine’ used. After arriving in Southern Europe in 1347, plague spread rapidly and reached England, Germany and Russia by 1350.6 Over these years, one-third of the European population passed away. The dramatic impact of the epidemic led governments to put in place extreme infection control measures. For instance, in 1374, Viscount Bernabo of Reggio, Italy, declared that every person with plague was to be taken out of that city into the fields, where to die or to recover.9 ORIGIN OF THE NAME The date, 27 July 1377, is one of the highest achievements in the history of medicine. Originally, the period of isolation was limited to 30 days. As reported in the first available documents, before entering the seaside city-state of Ragusa in Dalmatia (now Dubrovnik in Croatia), newly arrived people had to spend 30 days (a ‘trentine’) in a restricted place in the islands in front of the city (see box 1),10–12 waiting to see whether the symptoms of black death would develop. The city chief doctor Jacob of Padua was responsible for the decision. At that time, Ragusa was an important Adriatic harbour belonging to the maritime Republic of Venice.10 A specific decree (Veniens de locis pestiferis non intret Ragusium nel districtum) was pub- lished in Dubrovnik’s book of laws, the so-called Green Book (Latin: Liber viridis). The 30-day period outlined in the 1377 ‘quarantine’ edict was known in Italian as a ‘trentino’ (‘thirty’ in English). Four were the outlined point in the 1377 edicts, namely: (1) those coming from black death-endemic regions would not be admitted into Ragusa until they had waited in isolation for 30 days; (2) none from Ragusa was allowed to access the isolation area, under penalty of being compelled to stay there for 30 days; (3) subjects not indicated by the Great Council as responsible of those being isolated were not allowed to bring them food, under penalty of remaining with them for 30 days; and (4) whoever did not accomplish with the above stated regulations would be fined and subjected to isolation for 30. In 1397, the Great Council of Ragusa released a new decree (De ordinibus contra eos qui veniunt de locis pestiferis anno 1397 factis), which specified again the 30-day duration of quarantine and determined the place. Penalties were imposed for those breaking rules, and three healthcare officers (called kacamorti) were appointed to supervise the compliance with quarantine provisions. The penalties for not complying with the provided regulations were represented by a money fine or prison sentence or severe corporal punishment. The penalties were applied only to common people but not to aristocracy. In addition, the impor- tation of goods from the countryside for the entire duration of the epidemic was forbidden.13 In 1448, the Venetian Senate, the main deliberative and legislative body of the Republic of Venice, pro- longed the waiting period to 40 days, thus giving birth to the term ‘quarantine’.14 Over the next 80 years, similar edicts were pub- lished in Marseilles, Venice, Pisa and Genoa.15 Since disease was considered as a divine punishment for sin- ners, the biblical 40-day period of purification had crossed over into health practices and the term ‘quarantine’ had great symbolic and religious significance to medieval Christians. In the sacred scripture, when God flooded the Earth, it rained over 40 days and 40 nights; Moses stayed on Mt. Sinai for 40 days; Jesus fasted and was tempted by the devil in the desert for 40 days; after child- birth, a new mother was expected to rest for 40 days.6 On the basis of a 14th-century tale by the Genoese Gabriele de’ Mussi, the devasting black death came over Italy carried by Genoese sailors who sailed from Caffa/Kaffa (now Feodosija, Ukraine) to their home city (1346/1350). In fact, in 1345, the Tartar forces captained by Jani Beg Khan had laid a military operation in which his forces surrounded Caffa, in an attempt to cut off essential supplies, with the aim of compelling the Genoese to surrender and removing them from one of the cornerstones of Europe’s defence against Eastern attack. After several unsuccessful assaults due to the outbreak of the black death, Jani Beg Khan’s army catapulted infected bodies over the city walls into Caffa, using the plague to weaken the defenders. That is the first known example of biological war- fare in the human history.16 A Caffa street (via Caffa in Italian) is still present in the city centre of Genoa to remember that event (figure 1). However, the number of Crimean harbours under Mongol army control suggest that Caffa is unlikely to have been the only source of plague-infested ships heading to Europe. In addi- tion, the overland caravan routes from Mongol territories might be considered responsible for infecting Europe as well.16 PLAGUE BETWEEN LITERATURE AND MICROBIOLOGY This plague was well described by one of the most famous Italian authors of the 14th century, Giovanni Boccaccio (1313–1375), in his book The Decameron written in Tuscan vernacular (Italian). The book is a collection of short stories told by a group of seven young women and three young men sheltering in a villa just outside Florence to escape the black death that afflicted that city. Boccaccio probably conceived his masterpiece of classical Italian Renaissance prose after the plague epidemic of 1348, which came to a standstill by 1353. The black death in the 14th century resulted in more than 50 million deaths and is considered one of the greatest public health disasters in recorded history as well as one of the most dramatic examples ever of a periodically re-emerging disease. Between 1348 and 1359, the black death Box 1 Origin of the term ‘lazaret’ ► All merchants, sailors and goods coming from ‘suspicious lands’ could not enter Ragusa, unless they have spent a month on quarantine on uninhabited islands of Mrkan, Bobara and Supetar in front of the city. A few wooden shelters (wooden so that they could be burned if needed) were built on them because of the unfavourable weather. This sort of simple dwelling was called lazaret (Italian: lazzaretto). The term derives from the Biblical story of beggar Lazarus, who was raised from the dead out of the tomb by Jesus Christ. Following that, another lazaret was built on a small island in the lagoon in front of Venice in 1403. In 1467, the maritime Republic of Genoa followed the example of Venice, and in 1476, the old leper hospital in Marseille was turned into a black death hospital. The great lazaret of Marseille, perhaps the most complete of its kind, was built in 1526 on the island of Pomègues. The procedures in the lazarets in the Mediterranean sea did not differ a lot from those of the British Empire in the Levantine and North African trade. As soon as cholera arrived (1831), a few new lazarets were built, especially near the harbour of Bordeaux In the human history, similar isolation centres were built for those with leprosy (leprosarium) or tuberculosis (tubercolosarium). 2 Bassareo PP, et al. Postgrad Med J 2020;0:1–6. doi:10.1136/postgradmedj-2020-138370 Ethics and law o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p o stg ra d m e d j-2 0 2 0 -1 3 8 3 7 0 o n 9 S e p te m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ killed about one-third of the European population, and a significant percentage of that in Asia.10 17 18 Only a few centuries later, it was discovered that plague or black death is a bacterial disease caused by the gram-negative pathogen Yersinia pestis, discovered in 1894 by the Swiss/ French physician Alexandre Yersin and later (1944) renamed ‘Yersinia’ in his honour. It is mainly spread by infected fleas from rats.19 20 According to current knowledge, the bubonic plague has an averaged 37-day period from infection to death; therefore, the European quarantines would be highly successful in determining the health of crews from potential trading and supply ships.21 (‘When leaving his surgery on the morning of April 16, Dr. Bernard Rieux felt something soft under his foot. It was a dead rat lying in the middle of the landing.’ Albert Camus (1913–1960), French writer, in his book The Plague). EPIDEMICS IN THE HUMAN HISTORY Following that, in the human history, quarantine was declared many times when an infectious disease threated the population of a town, region or country. The most dangerous pandemics in the human history are summarised in box 2.22 23 As a general rule, the more the human beings became civilised —leaving agrarian life, building towns, forging trade routes to connect remote regions one another and fighting wars for supre- macy— the more pandemics showed up. In the USA, the process of developing national quarantine policy required many years. Originally, as to many other matters, the single federal states were responsible for handling the influx of infectious illnesses. However, repeated outbreaks of yellow fever induced the Congress to release the National Quarantine Act in 1878, thus creating the premises for federal involvement. In 1892, a cholera outbreak led officials giving the federal gov- ernment more authority to impose the requirements. By 1921, the quarantine system was totally nationalised.24 According to the US Centres for Disease Control and Prevention, there is a marked distinction between quarantine and isolation. As to the first term, people are put in ‘quarantine’ when they have Figure 1 Stone plate with the name of Caffa street (via Caffa) in Genoa, Italy (author: Silvia Marras). Box 2 Short timeline of the most dangerous epidemics in the human history ► 430 B.C.: In Athens, a pandemic happened during the Peloponnesian War. ► 165 A.C.: Antonine Plague. This was likely to be caused by smallpox carried by Huns during the Barbarian invasions. This plague lasted until 180 A.C. and Emperor Marcus Aurelius was probably among its victims. ► 250 A.C.: Plague of Cyprian. It was so coined to commemorate St. Cyprian the Christian, bishop of Carthage, who witnessed and described the plague. Africa and the territories of the Roman Empire were involved. Its aetiology is uncertain. There were recurring outbreaks over the next three centuries. ► 541 A.C.: Justinian Plague. First appearing in Egypt, then it spread through the Byzantine Empire and Mediterranean area. It killed about a quarter of the world population. It is believed to be caused by the bubonic plague. ► 11th century: Leprosy. Numerous leprosy-focused hospitals were set up to accommodate victims. Leprosy was often considered a God punishment for sinners, who were so isolated. Now known as Hansen’s disease, it still afflicts thousands of people and can be fatal if not treated with antibiotic therapy. ► 1334: A plague epidemic killed two-thirds of China’s inhabitants. ► 1350: The First Plague Pandemic. The ‘black death’ caused a collapse of the British feudal system. ► 1492: The Columbian Exchange. Upon Cristoforo Colombo discovered ‘the new world’, diseases such as smallpox, measles, tuberculosis and bubonic plague were transmitted to the native populations by the Spanish. Since no previous exposure, these diseases exterminated native people of America. ► 1665: The Great Plague of London and the Second Plague Pandemic. About a fifth of London population passed away. ► 1817: First Cholera Pandemic. It was the first of seven cholera pandemics over the next 150 years. Russia, Europe, the British Empire, Africa and even Japan were involved and millions died. ► 1855: The Third Plague Pandemic. Starting from China and reaching India and Hong Kong, during is scary travel claimed 15 million victims. ► 1889: Russian Flu. It was the first significant influenza pandemic. It started from Siberia and Kazakhstan, travelled to Moscow, and from there reached the rest of Europe. By the following year 1890, about 360 000 had died. ► 1918: Spanish Flu. The avian-borne influenza killed maybe up to 100 million people worldwide. It disappeared in the summer of 1919, when most of the infected had either developed immunities or died. ► 1957: Asian influenza. It started from China and from there into the rest of the world, causing from 1 to 4 million deaths, according to different estimates. ► 1981: HIV/AIDS. ► 2003: SARS. ► 2009: H1N1 influenza pandemic. SARS, severe acute respiratory syndrome. Bassareo PP, et al. Postgrad Med J 2020;0:1–6. doi:10.1136/postgradmedj-2020-138370 3 Ethics and law o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p o stg ra d m e d j-2 0 2 0 -1 3 8 3 7 0 o n 9 S e p te m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ neither signs nor symptoms, as they are not infected, but have been or may have been exposed to a communicable disease. This can help preventing the disease from spreading. Conversely, people are put in ‘isolation’ when they are symptomatic or are reasonably believed to be infected with a communicable disease. This is to totally separate them from those who are not infected. Isolation may be voluntary or imposed by a federal, state or local public health order.25 The history of quarantine in the USA is summarised in box 3.26 BRIEF HISTORY OF HOSPITALS AND HEALTHCARE SYSTEMS COVID-19 widespread is putting healthcare systems under sig- nificant pressure worldwide. A large number of patients are needing to be admitted to hospitals at the same time for intensive care. Available beds, ventilators and personnel are often not enough to face this ongoing emergency. The first facilities for sick people were not hospitals but temples dedicated to ‘healing gods’, such as Imhotep for ancient Egyptian, Asclepius for the Greek and Aesculapius in ancient Rome. At that time, prayers, sacrifices and dream interpretations played a crucial role in the healing pathway, but the ancient doctors also stitched cuts, set broken bones and administered opium for pain.27 The foundations of medicine are in the island of Delos, which belongs to the Cyclades archipelago in the Greek sea. According to local mythology, Delos was the birthplace of Apollo, who is acknowledged as the original source of health and healing. He taught the art of surgery to Chiron, the centaur, who in turn taught the same to Asclepius, the Greek healing God: his daugh- ters were Hygieia (‘Hygiene’, the goddess of cleanliness), Iaso (the goddess of recovery from illness), Aceso (the goddess of the healing process), Aegle (the goddess of good health) and Panacea (the goddess of universal remedy). Religious worship of Asclepius was in the island of Kos, which was also the birthplace of Hippocrates, who is recognised as the father of ‘rational’ medi- cine. In Athens, the temple dedicated to Asclepius (5th century B.C.) had a large room for inpatient to be healed (pure in the body and spirit). Greek physicians treated patients on the basis of house calls as well, which was a practice that continued for hundreds of years. The temples became medical practice schools in Greece in the 6th century B.C.28 The word ‘hospital’ derives from the Latin word ‘hospes’ for host or ‘hospitium’ for a place to entertain. The Roman military hospitals were often used as healthcare facilities. Each room was provided with three beds, thus representing a kind of ancient ward. Similar hospitals were likely to be available also for gladia- tors and slaves, owing to their financial value. However, public hospitals were not at patients’ disposal, and physicians examined them at home after being called.29 Claudius Galenus, who was born in Greece and then moved to Rome, was initially a surgeon for gladiators (coerusicus) and after that a physician and a philosopher. He became the Emperor Marcus Aurelius’ personal doctor and wrote about the plague, which afflicted Rome during his reign. Since Marcus Aurelius’ family name was Antonine, the pandemic disease was called ‘Antonine Plague’. Galenus contributed widely to the progress in medicine and his books were considered fundamental up the Middle Ages.30 As the Roman Empire got converted to Christianity, the Church’s role in providing for the sick persons became firmly established. Many monasteries were built, and generally they included rooms for pilgrims, the poor and the sick.31 The emperors from the 6th century onward, including Charlemagne, decided that a hospital should be built beside every cathedral and provided with large, open wards. In the meantime, doctors kept on making house calls to the upper class. The strong religious influence in early healthcare is testified by the duties of the Warden of St Mary’s Hospital in England in 1390. Not only he was required to guarantee the quality of the care but also to hear the confession of the patient before admis- sion (‘pure in the body and spirit’).32 The wards, housing multiple patients, kept on being expanded and became the standard of care for public hospitals over centu- ries. The cross-shaped plan, which is thought to have had origin in Florence (Italy) during the Italian Renaissance, was conceived with an altar in the middle and multiple wards radiating from it. Florence was well recognised for the high level of its hospitals and doctors, as testified by Martin Luther, during his visit.33 As the wards became larger, they often became the repository of infections. By the mid-1700s, one of the largest hospitals in Paris had deteriorated to awful conditions, with wards which had over 100 beds with multiple patients per bed. The wards were dark, poorly ventilated and dirty.34 A significant improvement was reached, thanks to Florence Nightingale, the founder of modern nursing, after seeing a mortality rate of over 42% at a military hospital in Turkey during the Crimean War. A new type of hospital, made up of pavilions rather than wards, was conceived. Pavilions provided patients with fresh air and daylight, thus improving their recovery and reducing infections. This approach is sometimes called ‘the Nightingale Ward’ and was used first in St Thomas’ Hospital in London.35 Even at the old religious hospitals, nobles could have better housing bed by making donations. This approach was expanding in the late 1800s, so that in 1842, the first ‘pay’ hospital was opened in London with eight private single-bed rooms.36 As time passed, each country set up its arrangements for meeting and keeping people healthy, treating the sick and protecting from infectious diseases. Healthcare innovation is a challenging topic for legislators and governments worldwide. Only the most developed, industrialised countries (about 40 of the 200 in the world) have established healthcare systems, while the others are too poor for providing their citizens with any kind of mass medical care. Healthcare system models are usually summarised in terms of three main models (or their combination), with expected differ- ent opinions in relation to which is the best of them.37 The first model is called Bismarck Model. Germany has the world’s oldest national social health insurance system, whose origin dates back to 1883 with the Otto von Bismarck’s Sickness Insurance Law. It uses an insurance system—the insurers are called ‘sickness funds’—which are usually financed jointly by employers and employees by means of payroll deduction (‘mutualistic’ system). The Bismarck Model-based system is not aimed at making profits. Doctors and hospitals tend to be private in Bismarck countries. For example, Japan has way more private Box 3 Summary of the history of quarantine in the USA ► 1799: In the harbour of Philadelphia, the first quarantine station was built after a previous yellow fever outbreak in 1793. ► 1878: Release of the National Quarantine Act, which shifted quarantine power from single states to federal government. ► 1944: The federal government quarantine authority was set up. ► 1967: The National Communicable Disease Centre replaced the federal government quarantine authority. ► 1970s: The number of quarantine stations was reduced from 55 to 8. ► 2004–2007: The number of quarantine stations was increased from 8 to 20, owing to the SARS outbreak in 2003. SARS, severe acute respiratory syndrome. 4 Bassareo PP, et al. Postgrad Med J 2020;0:1–6. doi:10.1136/postgradmedj-2020-138370 Ethics and law o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p o stg ra d m e d j-2 0 2 0 -1 3 8 3 7 0 o n 9 S e p te m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ hospitals than the USA. The Bismarck Model does not provide with universal health coverage, since it requires employment for health insurance and stores its resources only for those who contribute financially.37 The second is the Beveridge Model. It was developed by Sir William Beveridge in 1948 in the UK. It is a centralised system working through the establishment of a national healthcare service (in the UK, it is the National Health Service). In summary, the government acts as the single-payer, because of taking off all com- petition in the market to maintain costs low and standardise bene- fits. The national healthcare service being the single-payer controls what doctors can do and what they cannot. This model is funded only by taxes, and there are no out-of-pocket fees for patients or any cost-sharing. Everyone who is a tax-paying citizen is guaranteed the same access to care, so that this model is also defined as ‘universal’. One criticism of the Beveridge Model is its potential risk of overuse. Owing to the lack of restrictions, free access can potentially allow patients to demand healthcare services that are unneeded or waste- ful. The result leads to increasing costs and taxes.37 The third model is the Free Market Model. Health is considered as a consumer good, in a free market for insurance companies aimed at making profits. It is the model adopted in the USA, where healthcare is not provided and financed by the govern- ment. Those who have no health insurance have to pay the bill out-of-pocket at the time of a treatment is provided.37 As told, especially in Europe, a combination of the above- stated models is possible. What is sure is the fact that, due to COVID-19 rapid widespread, all these systems are facing an enormous funding crisis so far, whose consequences are also ethical. BRIEF HISTORY OF ETHICS IN MEDICINE AND NEW CHALLENGES ON THE HORIZON The word ‘deontology’ comes from the Greek word ‘deon’, which means ‘duty’. Thus, deontology is also named as duty-based ethics. In deontology, reason is used to reach an agreement as to ethical standards to follow, so one has the duty to act according to those ethical principles. Deontology is also called non-consequentialist ethics, because the rightness or wrongness (morality) of an action is judged on the basis of how it fits with ethical principles, not on its practical result.38 In this respect, the influence of the philosopher Emmanuel Kant is evident. According to Kant, the moral law or ‘categorical imperative’ is an ethical principle, a universal law for all people. The essence of morality is in these principles. One of the oldest ethical code in the human history is the Hippocratic Oath. It was written by the ancient Greek physician Hippocrates (460 B.C.–370 B.C.). The traditional Hippocratic medical principle is ‘primum non nocere’ (first of all, avoid any harm) and doing good. Its modern version, released in 1964 by Lasagna, Dean of the School of Medicine at Tufts University (USA), is still considered as a guide to conduct by the medical profession in modern ethics of deontology.39 Since the introduction of the current bioethical paradigm by Beauchamp and Childress in 1979, there has been much contro- versy about whether its four principles are universally and effec- tively applicable. These principles are (1) respect for autonomy, (2) justice, (3) beneficence and (4) nonmaleficence. The reported issues as to applicability are related to many factors, including the continuous changing of social structures and conditions, and the ongoing advances in technology. As to ethics, doctors have often to face other subjects who may have had no medical training, such as bioethicists, moral philosophers, theologians, clergy, hospital administrators, lawyers, attorneys, judges. Living in a country with limited economic resources is another factor sometimes hampering the practical application of these ethical obligations.40 Persad et al suggested four ethical principles to guide the dis- tribution (allocation) of the available scarce medical resources, namely (1) treating people equally, (2) giving priority to the worst off, (3) maximising benefits and (4) promoting and reward- ing social usefulness.41 Within each of these four principles, there are two further contrasting ethical sub-principles (for a total of eight sub-principles). For example, regarding ‘maximising bene- fits’, two sub-principles are provided, that is, ‘saving the most lives’ and ‘saving the most life years’.42 43 During COVID-19 pandemic, this is one of the new challenges faced by doctors on the front line. Since our medical systems have often only a limited amount of available resources (in terms of nurses, physicians, beds, treat- ments, equipment, money), doctors may have to choose whether treating a patient or another, based on his/her life expectancy. In addition to clinical responsibilities, the COVID-19 outbreak is posing a very real ethical dilemma: what is a doctors’ responsibility to serve patients despite personal risk? Is this risk eventually to extend to medical trainees? The American Medical Association Code of Ethics states that a physician’s responsibility to provide urgent care during disaster situations holds ‘even in the face of greater than usual risk to the physicians’ own safety, health or life’.44 There are also other new and still unanswered questions. How can a doctor maintain a patient’s humanity during an overwhelming pandemic with limited resources and time? Is the principle of delivering ‘empathetic care’ to be redefined under the current cir- cumstances, and, if so, what does that look like? Is sacrificing personal freedom with lockdown to protect the safety of commu- nities justified? Is sacrificing the individual healing and dignity of patients to protect the health and welfare of the general population allowed? Should individual rights be limited in favour of supporting more vulnerable people? We are social creatures and the principle of ‘solidarity’ implies that we act supporting the most vulnerable members of our society and that we must not left them alone in scary times. In a more personal way, all of us have a friend or beloved one who is at risk in case of COVID-19. What would we want others to do to protect them? An interesting ethical perspective is represented by the immunity-based licences recently suggested, similarly to those for drivers or aeroplane pilots. However, one may argue that the latter are a certification of ability to work, not of health or personal state. Unlicenced people should be subject to social or economic exclusion as well as personal liberty limitations. Never the current restrictions were applied before in Western societies.45 46 In ancient Greece, crisis had also the meaning of ‘change’. The COVID-19 outbreak found most of countries unprepared, with scarce resources stored to afford the SARS-CoV-2 emergency. Coronavirus has been dismantling our daily life in all its features (health, behaviour, economy).47 In a catastrophic perspective, since a second outbreak cannot be excluded, we should be ready to cope with it by building new specific COVID-19 hospitals and preparing nurses and general practitioners to face the emergency at the very early beginning, thus preventing patients from the need to be admitted to hospitals. All the above have strong ethical con- sequences and imply a new way to allocate resources. There are two possible long-term strategies: ‘long-term mitiga- tion’ and ‘suppression’. The first implies sustained or intermittent social distancing until herd immunity is reached or a vaccine discovered. Conversely, the second is aimed at identifying and isolating cases until a vaccine is available. Suppression requires dropping case numbers quickly to be effective, by using excellent testing and contact tracing infrastructure.48 Bassareo PP, et al. Postgrad Med J 2020;0:1–6. doi:10.1136/postgradmedj-2020-138370 5 Ethics and law o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p o stg ra d m e d j-2 0 2 0 -1 3 8 3 7 0 o n 9 S e p te m b e r 2 0 2 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ CONCLUSIONS Nowadays, a new pandemic is threatening our hyper- technological, but even so defenceless world. Due to its sudden and too recent appearance, evidence-medicine on this issue is still poor to provide clinicians with reliable data.49 A new viral disease (the Great Invader) has surprised an unarmed world. It causes pneumonia, extrapulmonary complica- tions and often death. The first case was reported in China on 17 November 2019 but was not recognised soon. Eight more cases appeared in early December 2019, with researchers starting to think about a still unknown virus as their possible cause, but only on 31 December, they were reported to the WHO Country Office. On 11 February 2020, the infection was officially named COVID- 19. Following that, the virus spread beyond Chinese borders and, by mid-March, reached more than 163 countries. On 11 March 2020, the WHO announced that COVID-19 was officially a pandemic. The spread is anywhere near finished.50 51 Without a vaccine available and due to the lack of a reliable therapy, a vast majority of the countries identified persistent lockdown as the only way to limit contagion from spreading without control. Overall, the 7-century-old ‘quarantine’ word has back in fashion. Doctors are now facing new challenges, which involve ethics and may lead to make difficult and painful choices for their patients and themselves, owing to the paucity of the available resources.52 The current healthcare systems are unlikely to be prepared to cope with this sudden and unexpected emergency and should be reformed or updated (from lazareth/leprosarium/ tuberucolosarium to ‘COVID-sarium’, ie, a specialised centre with personnel for swabs and immunology tests). We should be careful that the ‘cure’ for COVID-19 is not worse thanthe diseaseitself. Theuniversal andunprecedentedpublichealth preventive measures, including lockdown and social distancing, are damaging our economy and increasing unemployment worldwide. Lastly, as doctors, the current COVID-19 age is emphasising some of the moral problems of modern medicine, which is more than ever split between ethics and financial rationalisation. Contributors PPB and GC conceived and wrote the paper; MRM and SM contributed to reference research and final approval for the paper to be published. Funding The authors have not declared a specific grant for this research from any funding agency in the public, commercial or not-for-profit sectors. Competing interests None declared. Patient consent for publication Not required. Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed. This article is made freely available for use in accordance with BMJ's website terms and conditions for the duration of the COVID-19 pandemic or until otherwise determined by BMJ. You may use, download and print the article for any lawful, non-commercial purpose (including text and data mining) provided that all copyright notices and trade marks are retained. ORCID iD Pier Paolo Bassareo http://orcid.org/0000-0002-8374-0260 REFERENCES 1 Casti G, Bassareo PP, Limone M, et al. Epidemiology of SARS-CoV-2: numbers matter! 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work_uo67dfvt6fa6teykha7ptyl6la	----	1516 ECM 11.1_02_1300034_Editorial 3..9 Eighteenth-Century Music 11/1, 3–9 6 Cambridge University Press, 2014 doi:10.1017/S1478570613000341 editorial Partimento practice appeared, almost unnoticed, at the end of the seventeenth century, grew up steadily during the eighteenth century, and disappeared (though not entirely) during the course of the nineteenth century. When Gustav Fellerer discovered some partimento manuscripts in the Santini collection in Münster around 1930, nobody in Germany knew about them. But in a city in southern Italy, once among the capitals of European music and since the unification of Italy deprived of most of its importance – Naples – partimenti were still in use. Thirty years after Fellerer’s ‘rediscovery’, Jacopo Napoli, the director of the local conservatory (heir to the four eighteenth-century conservatori) published the last partimento collection belonging to a living tradition (Bassi della Scuola Napoletana, con esempi realizzati (Milan: Ricordi, 1959)). However, Napoli’s and Fellerer’s work was by and large inconsequential, for partimenti fell into oblivion again. Only very recently have partimenti been rediscovered, by a number of scholars researching inde- pendently in different countries. Now there is a growing and enthusiastic community of partimentisti in both the old and the new worlds, and more and more musicians have become fascinated by the practice. The recent interest in partimenti has been one of the most engaging developments in modern music theory, and I wonder about its causes. One reason is that partimenti fill some voids and address some needs. In the wake of Alfred Mann’s seminal works (in particular, Theory and Practice: The Great Composers as Teachers and Students (New York: Norton, 1987)) there is an awareness that the ‘official’ history of compositional theory, largely based on German and French treatises, cannot account for the transmission of compositional craft. In other words, you cannot teach how to compose music by writing a book. Consider the history of compositional pedagogy, which in the eighteenth century was largely based on strict counterpoint in its many facets: simple, with species, invertible and imitative. There is a huge gap between strict counterpoint and free composition, one which Heinrich Schenker was acutely aware of; finding the bridge between these two realms became the most serious theoretical problem he had to solve. Besides strict counterpoint, eighteenth-century musicians often referred to thoroughbass as the ‘true fundament’ of compositional craft. In J. S. Bach’s words, ‘General Bass is the most complete foundation of music’ (Gründlicher Unter- richt des General-Basses, chapter 2: Von der Definition, in Beiträge zur Generalbass- und Satzlehre, Kontra- punktstudien, Skizzen und Entwürfe, ed. Peter Wollny, Johann Sebastian Bach: Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Supplement (Kassel: Bärenreiter 2011), 5). Bach’s opinion has always puzzled me. To be sure, thoroughbass is important; it is one of the hallmarks of what we call ‘baroque music’. But it was essentially an accompanimental technique, and ‘accompaniment’ means something that ‘comes with’ – a side order to the main course, so to speak. The rediscovery of partimento practice helped me to understand better the actual role of thoroughbass in eighteenth-century theory. Thoroughbass was not only a convenient accompanimental practice, but – under the clothing of partimento – was also the main conduit for the transmission of compositional craft. The recent interest in partimenti may also be a symptom of a dramatic change in the field of music analysis since the mid–2000s. Until the last decade of the twentieth century, music analysis was primarily a North American discipline, focused on musical works belonging to the Austro-German canon and domi- nated by a mere handful of theoretical models. Most transatlantic exchanges in the field of music analysis flowed in one direction only: from America to Europe. The pre-twentieth-century European (and particu- larly German) theoretical legacies were revered by historians of music theory, but in a field separate from music analysis. A deeper integration of history and analysis (the much sought-after ‘native’ analytical methods) was invoked as a distant goal. The idea that European and American analysts could develop a 3 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 https://www.cambridge.org/core new theory together, deeply rooted in history and with strong heuristic potential, could scarcely be imagined. And no one expected that this new theory would pose a challenge to the most foundational pillars of music analysis: the concepts of unity, coherence, authorship and the ‘work’ itself. In truth, this multifaceted ‘new theory’ is not a unified one and has taken on different names. Robert Gjerdingen’s schemata (Music in the Galant Style (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007)), German Satzmodelle (see the special issue of the Zeitschrift der Gesellschaft für Musiktheorie, 4/1–2 (2007)), the Austrian partitura tradition (Felix Diergarten, ‘ ‘‘The True Fundamentals of Composition’’: Haydn’s Partimento Counter- point’, Eighteenth-Century Music 8/1 (2011), 53–75) and Italian partimenti (my The Art of Partimento: History, Theory, and Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012)) are all aspects of this trend, and each one represents a part of the whole. In fact, schemata, Satzmodelle, partitura, partimento, cadential formulas, scales, the Rule of the Octave, bass motions and invertible-counterpoint patterns are all different aspects of the native eighteenth-century compositional craft. The assumption of these theories is that during the eighteenth century a large number of pre-composi- tional schemata, comparable to building-blocks, were consciously used by most composers, and that many of them were passed down to the following generations, well into the nineteenth century. I say ‘consciously’ because young composers were taught schemata – particularly in Italy – although there is hardly a trace of them in the long and complex treatises that have so far been the favourite sources for historians of music theory. Rather, schemata in their purest form abound in manuscript collections of composition exercises, such as partimenti, regole and solfeggi developed at the four conservatories of Naples. What does this kind of analysis tell us? If we turn our attention to what I have called ‘traditional’ analysis, we behold a very different landscape. The keyword – actually, the obsession – of late twentieth-century analysis was ‘unity’ (whether organic or not), a term sometimes combined with the less cogent word ‘coherence’. Unity was so important because there was a strong belief in the uniqueness and individuality of the piece of music under scrutiny. And, in turn, the clearly defined identity of a piece of music (or better, of a ‘musical work of art’) was a token of indisputable authorship. Many of these beliefs are still operating today, even if most analysts are reluctant to raise the flag of organic unity (too much postmodernism, too much deconstructionism has passed under the bridge since the roaring seventies). Still, nobody would deny that, say, the Allemande of Bach’s French Suite in C minor is a strongly coherent and meaningful piece of music, that it is a work of art endowed with personality and individuality and, finally, that it is a manifestation of the creative mind of Bach. But it uses the same building-blocks used by generations of composers, before and after Bach, who operated in exactly the same ways. Of course, there is nothing new in this. Leon Battista Alberti built the Tempio Malatestiano in Rimini using the same architectural elements described by Vitruvius some fourteen centuries before: the same arches, columns, capitals and pilasters. Yet the Tempio Malatestiano is one of the greatest masterpieces of the early Italian Renaissance. We are also witnessing a general crisis in the performing model rooted in the ‘musical-work’ paradigm, based on the concept of Werktreue and operating according to the parameters established by Liszt during the mid-nineteenth century. Performers increasingly seek to escape from the confines of ritualized perfor- mance, as in the case of the Russian violinist Viktoria Mullova and her recent engagement with Gypsy music. However, the rigidity of classical training for performers – especially for those versed in classical and romantic repertory – creates an almost insurmountable barrier to improvisation and freedom. This last point, the challenge to the Werktreue model, seems to me the most intriguing parallel development to the partimento renaissance. Challenging the Werktreue ideology has more far-reaching consequences than improvising a cadenza or supplying bel canto embellishments during a reprise. As a classical pianist myself, I have always been painfully aware of the restrictions imposed by the ‘musical-work’ paradigm on our performing approach. Some of us cannot even test an instrument in a piano showroom without playing other people’s music; just improvising on a simple cadential progression seems out of the question. This problem has nothing to do with one’s ability at the keyboard. In my partimento classes I have met brilliant concert pianists who could e d i t o r i a l 4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 https://www.cambridge.org/core play Rachmaninoff ’s Third Piano Concerto with ease. But when asked to play the easiest of Fenaroli’s partimenti they faltered in the realization, their fingers stiff with anxiety. Can we reasonably ask them to improvise a cadenza in a Mozart concerto? In a recent video produced by the Department of Tourism in the Marche region of central Italy, American actor Dustin Hoffmann recited the poem L’infinito by the Italian poet Giacomo Leopardi, in the original language and from memory (the reader can watch the video at <www.youtube.com/ watch?v=F6PNvmZs1gE>). Hoffman does not know Italian, and had to memorize the pronunciation and the meaning of every single word. The result had a certain alien quality, though not disagreable to those Italians familiar with the poem since childhood. But this was obviously an experiment, a deliberate pro- vocation. Something similar happens in musical performances when one gets the impression that the performer’s keyboard skills exceed her understanding of the musical language. This problem is obviously well known, and was pointed out by the fathers of music analysis a century ago. Analysing the music we perform will no doubt deepen our understanding of it and strengthen our confidence in its delivery. Still, analysis is an intellectual activity; its benefits tend to remain at the surface of the performer’s consciousness. In order to ‘speak’ an eighteenth-century musical language, we need something going much deeper, down to the level of what we call ‘musical instinct’. This was the exact purpose of the rigorous partimento training the Neapolitan maestros imposed on their novices: to make music a native language. Improvising a complete piece of music using a partimento as a guide represents a middle ground between performing an existing piece and improvising ‘from scratch’. One does not have complete freedom, but one does not risk going astray either. However, the amount of freedom allotted to the performer is very high, and more importantly, one cannot play a partimento verbatim, as in a poor performance of a fully written piece. The performer’s creative intervention is mandatory. The step from partimento to free improvisation is significant, but not huge. Once you have memorized a good number of schemata, you can recall them and create your own mental partimento. With time, the operation will become easier and almost unconscious (as far as I know, this is the method followed by the Forschungsgruppe Basel für Improvisation (FBI), led by Rudolf Lutz). I would say that the problem of improvisation is particularly acute for performers specializing in classical and early romantic repertories because – in contrast to their baroque colleagues – the idea of improvisation is much more alien to them. The importance for per- formers of improvisation in the classical repertory has been demonstrated by Robert Levin, among others. But it is not yet reflected in course syllabuses for the majority of music students, except in a few niches (particularly in fortepiano classes). Now, what does a modern performer gain from partimento practice, and how can she use partimento fluency in her performance? First of all, practising partimenti is a way to return to performers what they have been robbed of: music. A glance at the history of piano treatises from the late eighteenth century to the early twentieth century is revelatory (compare, for example, those by C. P. E. Bach and Daniel Gottlob Türk with Attilio Brugnoli’s Dinamica Pianistica (Milan: Ricordi, 1926)). The earlier treatises focus on music – expression, style, embellishments, fingerings and improvisation; the later ones are increasingly concerned with anatomy – bones, muscles, finger motions, wrist rotation and the like. Music was gradually removed from the pianist’s syllabus, beginning with improvisation. When even fingering disappeared, the transformation of pianists into perinde ac cadaver executors was complete. Very well, one might argue: let us teach pianists how to improvise a short prelude, a modulation or a sequence. But then? Audiences still want to listen to works of art such as Beethoven sonatas, not a per- former’s whimsical extemporization. Or should we contemplate introducing partimenti into the classical canon? Frankly, I think partimenti will remain what they were two centuries ago: a special kind of art reservata. But even if we are unlikely to find partimenti in a future concert programme, their introduction into performance classes will greatly enhance musical fluency. Finally, growing awareness of the pervasiveness of musical building-blocks in eighteenth-century music poses a significant threat to the idealistic concept of authoriality. What is left of the musical-work paradigm e d i t o r i a l 5 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 https://www.cambridge.org/core when so many pieces of music share the same compositional elements, even if applied with varying degrees of skill and (fortunately) yielding varying aesthetic results? Finally, what happens to authorship when, as was the case in eighteenth-century Naples, a strong, supra-individual and long-lasting tradition led many composers to write works so similar that musicologists must analyse copyists’ handwriting to distinguish a work by Pergolesi from one by Durante? 7 13 c c c & A B &a) B b) A ? C C & B C &c) C d) A ? A B & C A &e) B f) C ? A B Œ ˙ œ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó Œ ˙ œ ˙ Ó ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ Ó ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ Ó ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ Ó Œ ˙ œ ˙ Ó Œ ˙ œ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ Ó Œ ˙ œ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ Ó Œ ˙ œ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó Example 1 Three elements in triple invertible counterpoint, in six permutations e d i t o r i a l 6 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 https://www.cambridge.org/core By way of example, let us consider a typical combination of schemata that was taught in Naples during the eighteenth century. It is a model of triple counterpoint that can also be used in double counter- point, with the exclusion of one voice. Basically, the scheme comprises a do-re-mi (element B), a matching do-si-do with syncopation (element A) and a faster element (C) that, when appearing in the bass – as often happens – produces the cadential progression 3̂– 4̂– 5̂– 1̂, perhaps the most common instance of what the Neapolitans called ‘cadenza lunga’. Example 1 shows all six possible permutations of this scheme, though in practice permutations e and f were seldom used. My next example shows how these schemata were taught. It is a selection of partimenti by different Neapolitan teachers, spanning from the early eighteenth century (Gaetano Greco) to the early nineteenth century (Fenaroli). Example 2a shows element C in isolation, repeated in sequence. In Example 2b, C appears after B, meaning that in the realization of this partimento the right hand will play B while the left hand plays C, and vice versa. The same thing happens in all the remaining examples except for 2f, where A and B join together to the exclusion of C. 6 5 4 3 6 6 5 4 3 6 5 3 6 2 6 7 6 2 6 7 6 2 6 7 6 # 6 6 5 # 63 2 65 #4 2 6 6 c 42 c C Bba) ?b) ?##c) ?bd) ?be) ?bf) ?bg) ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œn œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ w ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ w ˙ w ˙ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ# œ ˙ œn œn œ ˙ ˙ Ó œ ˙ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Example 2 (a) Gaetano Greco, I-Nc 45.1.65 c. 100v (Gj deest); (b) Leonardo Leo, Gj 1700 (several sources, among them I-PESc Rari Ms.c.12); (c) Nicola Sala, Gj 2015 (several sources, among them I-Nc 46.1.34); (d) Nicola Sala, Gj 2005 (several sources, among them I-Nc 46.1.34); (e) Francesco Durante (?), No. 56 from I-Nc Roche A.5.6 (Gj deest); (f ) Nicola Sala, Gj 2056 (several sources, among them I-Nc 46.1.34); (g) Fedele Fenaroli, No. 8 from book 4 of Partimenti ossia Basso Numerato (Florence: Gio. Canti, c 1850; facsimile reprint Bologna: Forni, 1978). Gj numbers follow the cataloguing system used by Robert Gjerdingen on his website Monuments of Partimenti <http://faculty-web.at. northwestern.edu/music/gjerdingen/partimenti/index.htm>. Used by permission e d i t o r i a l 7 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at http://faculty-web.at.northwestern.edu/music/gjerdingen/partimenti/index.htm http://faculty-web.at.northwestern.edu/music/gjerdingen/partimenti/index.htm http://faculty-web.at.northwestern.edu/music/gjerdingen/partimenti/index.htm https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 https://www.cambridge.org/core With my third example we are in the realm of ‘real’ music. Example 3a is the beginning of Pergolesi’s Salve regina (one of the works securely attributable to the composer). This music is made of the same contrapuntal fabric as my previous examples: a do-re-mi, a syncopated do-si-do and a faster ‘cadenza lunga’. The same combination, in the same order, is also used at the beginning of another sacred piece by Pergolesi, the Laudate pueri (Example 3b). Yet the two pieces could not be more different: one is a Largo in minor mode, and the other is an Allegro in major mode. Pergolesi was not the only composer to exploit this component, nor indeed was he the first. A celebrated composer of the previous generation, Arcangelo { { { { Largo f Allegro Allegro Allegro c c &bbb nœJ œ œ œ ?bbb a) &## ?## b) &bbb n ?bbb c) &bbb [piano] [forte] [piano] [forte] ?bbb d) Ó̇ ™ ˙ œn œ̇ ˙ œ ™ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ ‰œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Œœ j ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ ™œ ™ œ œJ ‰œ œ œ œ jœ œœ œ œJ œ œ œœ ‰ œ œjœœœœ œ œœJ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ̇ ˙ ˙ œn œ̇ ˙ ˙ œ œ̇ ˙ ˙n œ œœ œ̇ ˙ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œn œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ ˙ ˙ ˙n œ# œ̇ ˙ ˙n œ# œ˙ ˙ ˙ œn ˙œ ˙ ˙ œn œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œn œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œn œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Example 3 (a) Pergolesi, Salve regina (Vespro della Beata Vergine, ed. Malcolm Bruno (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2007)); (b) Pergolesi, Laudate pueri (Vespro della Beata Vergine); (c) Corelli, Sonata a 3 Op. 4 No. 11, Allemanda (Corelli, Sonata da camera a tré . . . Opera quarta, ed. Joseph Joachim and Friedrich Chrysander (London: Augener, 1888–1891; reprinted New York: Dover, 1992)); (d) Corelli, Concerto Grosso Op. 6 No. 8, Allegro (Corelli, Concerto grosso, op. 6, Nr. 8 (Weinachtskonzert), ed. Waldemar Woehl (Leipzig: Peters, 1937)). Used by permission e d i t o r i a l 8 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 https://www.cambridge.org/core Corelli, established many schemata that would later become standards. The triple-counterpoint schema appears in several of his works, such as the Allemanda of the Sonata a tre Op. 4 No. 11 (Example 3c) and the first Allegro of the Concerto Grosso Op. 6 No. 8 (Example 3d: the celebrated ‘Christmas Concerto’). The idea that a piece of music may grow out of the gradual refinement of a handful of partimento schemata is comparable to the way in which an orator works out his speech according to classical rhetoric. As Roman authors such as Cicero and Quintilianus argued, a successful oration should include five stages of elaboration: inventio, dispositio, elocutio, memoria and pronunciatio (invention, arrangement, style, memory and delivery). The choice of partimento patterns might be compared to invention, not in the sense that the composer creates the patterns but in the etymological meaning that he ‘finds’ them (inventio essentially means ‘discovery’). Dispositio corresponds to assembling the patterns, carefully connecting them so as to ensure continuity and coherence. Through elocutio the crude succession of patterns becomes a flowing bass line, the right-hand part begins to take a more definite shape and the piece assumes its final design through additional figurations (the two remaining stages, memoria and pronunciatio, concern delivery or performance). Application to music of the five stages of elaboration has a long tradition, and it was well established in the eighteenth century. As Laurence Dreyfus has brilliantly argued in a captivating book (Bach and the Patterns of Invention (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996)), Bach’s music can be understood using Mattheson’s adaptation of the stages as analytical and critical tools. However, neither Mattheson nor Dreyfus considers bass schemata to be part of inventio ; for them, the compositional process is based on distinctive motivic ideas, not on overarching and almost featureless bass schemata. However evocative, parallels between rhetorical elaboration and the composition of music from a hand- ful of partimento schemata need not be taken literally. Whether or not the rhetorical rubric can be applied successfully to all eighteenth-century compositions, in part or in whole, the period gave rise to what became an established tradition of developing complete compositions from underlying patterns. Simple schemata, such as those developed for accompanying a scale, served as points of departure for an impres- sively large number of compositions spanning more than two centuries. In conclusion, the discovery of a repertoire of pre-compositional building-blocks should lead us to rethink traditional notions of organic unity and coherence, authorship and the identity of the ‘musical work of art’. But it does not rule out these concepts entirely. Coherence grows out of the sequence of components (inventio) and their elaboration; the composer’s individual nature expresses itself in the compositional paths he decides to follow among a huge number of possibilities; and a work of art’s identity lies less in a hypothetical Grundgestalt than in a coherent succession of compositional choices. Every analytical category employed here has its roots in historical sources – not only treatises, but also (and especially) manuscripts of compositional exercises, partimenti and solfeggi. Collectively, schemata theories are perhaps the closest approximation to a ‘native’ theory we have had so far. giorgio sanguinetti <giorgio_sanguinetti@fastwebnet.it> e d i t o r i a l 9 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570613000341 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
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work_utka6uyabvh5bfb5nf4p7yixia	----	PII: 0315-0860(82)90015-5 228 Projects HM 9 PROJECTS This department welcomes brief notes and article-length manuscripts. The former may include announcements of contem- plated or ongoing projects, information on doctoral theses in progress or completed (writer, title, institution, supervisor, and available information on completion time), proposals and questions, and requests for assistance. Announcements of indi- vidual research projects, including theses are very important to avoid awkward and wasteful duplication of effort. Articles will ordinarily describe projected, in progress, or completed large-scale projects involving one or several scholars and should follow the same standards as other articles. A RENAISSANCE MANUSCRIPT IN PRACTICAL MATHEMATICS Dr. Brunetto Piochi (Institute of Mathematics of the University of Siena, Italy) is transcribing Paolo dell'Abbaco's Trattato di tutta l'arte dell'abacho, from the copy found in the National Library in Florence. Eight more copies of this treatise are known: six are in Italian Libraries, one in the United States--in the Plimpton Collection; and one in France-- in the National Library in Paris (see Van Egmont, Practical Mathematics in the Italian Renaissance, p. 365, Florence, 1981). However, the copy in the Florentine Library seems to be the original, or at least the oldest, one. The manuscript contains--in 188 charts--arithmetical tables and operations; business, recreational, and geometrical problems; astronomical tables and a dissertation on astrology. Dr. Piochi, who expects to transcribe and edit the entire treatise, is preparing a paper containing a description of the manuscript, a commentary, and a collation of its different copies. 0315-0860/82/020228-01$02.00/O Copyright 0 I982 by Academic Press, Inc. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved. 
work_uyaacz3etfczbeyf5kv4zknoeq	----	INTERVIEW Rachel Jackson: ‘There is no more poignant time to consider art as therapy’ By Kate Quinlan Are there dentists or artists in your family? There are no dentists. My family can’t understand why I chose this path to be honest. My mother is a retired self-taught artist; she has a beautiful imagination and draws this out of me as my approach is a little more disciplined. What attracted you to medical illustration, as opposed to studying fine art or another art subject? The human body and my general scientific intrigue – where art was more a formal method to communicate than that set out by contemporary, abstract or even fine art. Medical illustration felt purposeful and I felt comfortable in my abilities in this area too. How much of your medical illustration degree focused on dentistry/teeth? Very little from an arts and illustration point of view. We attended lectures on general systems of the body, anatomy lab and physiology etc, alongside the medics and nurses. The only dental aspect was within my remit as a clinical photographer, taking standard orthodontic views. My knowledge of dentistry and in dental health was very little. After graduating, you worked as a medical illustrator for hospitals in Glasgow. What did this entail exactly? I worked within a small team of graphic designers, artists, illustrators and photographers based within a very busy hospital. My role was to aid the communication of the medical and dental profession, between each other and to the public. This was most often in the form of photographic documentation of surgical procedures and disease monitoring. On occasions I was expected to document the effects of serious crimes, which was a steep learning curve. From a creative aspect I would work with consultants and surgeons to illustrate medical textbooks and surgical concepts. This close working dynamic provided me with an unbounded form of medical education, one that crossed many healthcare disciplines. I began to fall in love with healthcare. Why did you decide to go back to university to study dental therapy? I had moved back to the Highlands, where I am from, now with a young child. The job prospects were limited. I decided to move into the dental field as I saw this as another clinical environment, one with direct patient contact and another opportunity to learn. I began working as a dental nurse within a department where a new dental therapy school was to be built. I watched with intrigue, and loved the idea of moving to the other side of the dental chair. I was supported by my colleagues to progress too. I could see a spark of creativity in the dentists I had assisted and knew my artistic abilities and clinical and patient experiences thus far could be applied but in a new role. Was it difficult to gain a place on the Oral Health Science course? No, it wasn’t. My qualifications, experience, maturity and good standing helped with the application. I had worked with vulnerable groups and had actioned dental public health initiatives within remote and rural communities. I discussed art in dentistry for the first time during my interview actually, simply as evidence to support skills such as precision and dexterity. The feedback was encouraging, and I was excited. How did you find balancing your studies with family life? I began when my daughter started school which eased the pressure a little. I have a very supportive family and tend to work with a certain level of stress anyway. It is pressure that keeps me going, moving forward it seems. I actually work better that way. It had its Rachel Jackson started her career as a medical illustrator in Glasgow, moved to the Highlands to start a family, trained as a dental therapist, became a tutor on the Oral Health Science course she had completed... then in 2017, she began studying for her BDS in Aberdeen. Rachel is also an artist and has recently launched a Facebook Group called the Creative Dental Network. 498 BRITISH DENTAL JOURNAL | VOLUME 228 NO. 7 | ApRIL 10 2020 UpFRONT © 2020 British Dental Association. All rights reserved. moments; I was building a house too. I can’t say that I will ever do that again! Did you move straight into general practice after graduating? Acquiring a job as a dental therapist was straightforward. I would say I was lucky, but it wasn’t luck, it was hard work and the fortune in meeting open minded practitioners. Mixed with a growing reputation, dedication and teamwork, that ensured I was working within the salaried service, general and private practice, to my full remit from the off. Did you enjoy being a dental therapist and going back to teach on your degree course? I enjoyed my job very much; it was the people I worked with that made every day an enjoyable one. I had a very supportive dental manager too. Yet I have an odd nature that causes me to immerse myself in one project after another. I need to be challenged; I sometimes think what on earth am I searching for? But it is that constant drive to learn and create that carries me along. It was within a year of graduating that I began to get itchy feet and tried many things to overcome it. I was working for several dentists each week. Through observing their work, patients, planning and its execution I grew out of my role very quickly. This was a significant form of peer review. I realised that the dentists had no one to compare their work with as I did. The power of peer review is so significant in understanding one another, which means that care has the same value for all with respect to carrying on a common pursuit. Healthcare first! I believe that peer review should be a compulsory part of continuing professional development across all sectors of dentistry. Feeling I had more to give and more to learn I moved into teaching. I had a great deal to learn but looking back I think that teaching was in fact the most creative and artistic part of my career to date. You do not have to be a fountain of knowledge to teach but you do have to be able to bring something into the world that did not exist before. The ethos of dental education should be the creation of human subjectivity: to create a person that is able to reflect and take action on his or her own questioning, as well as the dental theory. What led you to applying for dentistry? Back then it was the frustration within the confines of my remit; my love for restorative dentistry and my desire for the next challenge. I thought I knew what a dentist was, what I was entering into. I thought that the transition from therapist to dentist was straightforward. But I was wrong. Anyone that says it is a small step up the career ladder is wrong; it is an entirely different role and identity. The skill set of a dental therapist is a solid one for sure and brings with it an inherent caring nature, a very holistic mindset, which is a vital start to dentistry. Yet this is overshadowed by the theory of medicine, anatomy and physiology, which results in an even playing field within a postgraduate entry course to be honest. Was it daunting to embark on your third period of higher education − and the longest yet? Yes, I remember getting teary with my boss, questioning what I had done. That was it … I was giving up security, a job that others would beg for, time with my family, finances, a ‘normal’ family routine. I knew my role, my identity and position within the workforce. I could execute it well and was surrounded by supportive colleagues. Yet every day I searched for more. I was at the BDA wellbeing meeting a few weeks ago and the word ‘valued’ was concluded to be a prominent intrinsic form of motivation that in turn improves mental health. It is feeling valued within a team, within a plan, within a person’s care, that results in motivation for more, motivation to do well. Dentistry could provide me with more; teaching will provide me with even more. Therefore, a person is more willing to adapt and sacrifice as you face the next hurdle. How have you found your studies at dental school so far? I had organised my life to ensure the pressures of leaving paid employment and becoming a student again were manageable.  Sadness and Sorrow (oil on canvas) BRITISH DENTAL JOURNAL | VOLUME 228 NO. 7 | ApRIL 10 2020 499 UpFRONT © 2020 British Dental Association. All rights reserved. It has been an amazing rollercoaster so far, with more ups than downs. I am provided with an amazing education, facilities and nurtured by experienced knowledgeable staff and as a group of students we take care of each other too. I would be lying if I said it was easy, the volume of work in a condensed course is unbelievable. When will you graduate? 2021 … in style one hopes! I plan on having an exhibition to conclude my journey as a dental student. My studies have led to the production of artwork: this is my visual diary, one of a dental student. This is a window into the profession, the dedication, the skill and knowledge of each and every one of us. It is the side of us that is not well represented in society and needs to be shown to the public, to our patients. Have you been able to continue as an artist throughout your studies and career to date? I hadn’t thought of it as a continuous journey as I hadn’t lifted a paintbrush since I left medical illustration in 2007. I identified myself as an artist in year two of the BDS programme, through the inspiration of my dental education. When I finally did lift a paintbrush, I had even shocked myself. My skills as an artist had grown through the continuous tuning of precision, an appreciation for shape and form that came from dentistry, as the only thing I had in my hands for all those years was a drill. The artwork was to bridge my world at university and that of my daughter; I chose to illustrate what I was learning. To allow her into my world, to see what mum was doing, to educate her and have little projects to do together too. I found it was useful from my educational perspective too. I could concisely convey large volumes of theory and concepts into one image. I would close my eyes and remember the theory on the page. This was just as I did as a medical illustrator, removing the ‘noise’ from a surgical procedure to illustrate a technique. This was the first time I realised that the art of dentistry could be in the form of education. I have a studio back home in Inverness; outside of that it is the windowsill in my shared student flat, driving my flatmate bonkers with my latest pedantic pursuit. Do you think artistic ability is an important skill for the dentist? Without a doubt. When I started dental school, I felt I was the wrong shape for dentistry. I was not heavily science minded. I was going to leave in fact. For a moment I thought that the artistic ability I have, had only a very small place, one solely associated with aesthetic and restorative dentistry. I use a drill as well as I use a paintbrush, but after my institute gave me the freedom to find myself within the profession, I have discovered a much greater appreciation for artistic abilities within dentistry. It’s a very exciting time. I smile as I answer this question as it is so exciting to have come to so many eureka moments in getting here. My institute embrace it; they listen, they support and they have created an environment that I can grow within and I have met so many inspirational people. So far yes, dexterity, shape, form, colour, texture, negative shapes and precision go hand in hand with clinical skill. We might all agree on that. However, there is a deeper artistic skill yet to be recognised within dentistry and that is in connecting with our patients, as an educational tool, wellbeing and areas such as reflective practice and the professionalism domains. Do you find producing art therapeutic? Yes, it is an escape from the boundaries of the profession. I can take risks without worry, make mistakes without fear. It is an artist’s freedom that has allowed me to develop a reflective open mind, one that is not fearful of failure, and this helps my clinical development. There is no more poignant time to consider art as therapy than now, and after the effects of COVID-19. I am not about to insult everyone by saying this is a remedy to a devastating situation for many, but it is an outlet just as exercise is or any hobby for that matter. In creating a healthy, stronger mind in times of trouble. All of my work is inspired by dentistry and dentistry alone. The inspiration behind each piece might surprise people but it happens, which is how I might better convey to the profession just how an artist can fit within dentistry and how those skills are of use. I have a mental list of paintings that I just need to find time to complete. One is a burden to me a little at the moment. It’s a large oil painting that sees the perception of an anaesthetised patient on the anaesthetist and on the surgeon himself. It looks to propose that the anaesthetist always perceives the living but that the surgeon perceives the dead to negate himself from humanity to fulfil his role in that moment. It is a work in progress and will take a few years. How could art influence teaching at undergraduate level for a future curriculum? This is an area that I look to research. I am looking to ‘bridge the gap’ between non- clinical and clinical practice with art-based  In Fashion Fractured Mandible 1904 Jelly Molar 500 BRITISH DENTAL JOURNAL | VOLUME 228 NO. 7 | ApRIL 10 2020 UpFRONT © 2020 British Dental Association. All rights reserved. teaching methods. To design a humanities thread fit for dentistry. I say thread as it needs to be woven throughout all years but it must connect the art and science of our profession. The arts can tap into so many curriculum domains. Restorative dentistry for sure, that’s the easy one. For me it is the scientifically disciplined artist that can facilitate art in dentistry as it speaks our language. There is no point me coming at the profession with some abstract concept: the crazy artist angle. Art in dentistry has to incorporate science and practical skills first. That will set the foundation for more complex, deeper thinking and practical skill moving forward. For example, education happens through communication, not spoken or written words alone. In facilitating creativity, we are able to know more about the sick person and the illness than just the name of the disease and the science that explains it. Times have changed, dentistry is still very traditional in many ways, yet society and the dental student has changed a great deal. Therefore, education has to adapt if we are to create a dentist fit for this profession and its future. When education is broader and freer there will be more opportunity for each to find their place. What are your plans for the coming few years? Like all dental students right now we are adapting within unusual times due to the viral pandemic which causes a level of uncertainty. I never wish my time away though – yes it’s hard – but at the same it is not a hardship to be in an environment overflowing with the treasures of education. To be nurtured, to help others, to be valued and to grow. Each of us must remember what a privilege it is to enter into this profession. I will begin my research project and facilitate art workshops within my institute in the next academic year, I hope. Students and I have introduced Creative Dental Network on Facebook so as to facilitate creative opportunities for staff and students that in turn focus on wellbeing. I look to encourage dental students from across the UK to embark on a wellbeing within dentistry campaign, in which they contribute with their own artwork to a mental health awareness charity calendar. If anyone could help support this I would love to hear from them. I will continue to produce artwork and have several commissions on the go. Anything from personal artwork that reflects a dentist’s career path and their identity within the profession, to illustrating modern implant techniques for educational purposes. I am using Italian Renaissance art to allow implantology to be viewed and conveyed in a new and very beautiful way (see image, Implant Surgery #1). I will continue to add to the ‘live in gallery’ at The Campbell Academy in Nottingham and have another exhibition planned: Edinburgh with the BACD in November 2020. The title of this is ‘Seeing is Believing’; currently if you can imagine dental structures, anything from enamel under a microscope to x-rays, implants and biology mixed with a kaleidoscope, geometry and lights. That’s the inspiration for the artwork. This will be coupled with my own exploration of what beauty means to dentistry and society today. Do you have a career plan for when you graduate? I intend to move into teaching part time and practising part time. The inspiration for the artwork will come and I will continue producing work. I have begun developing my own postgraduate workshops for the dental profession and look to have that as a standalone or combine with other education providers. I will continue my postgrad teaching qualification and would love to complete an MSc in restorative dentistry. I have met so many influential people from across the world and hope to continue to do so. Is there anything else you would like to share with readers of the BDJ? I would like to ask anyone that might be interested in developing a charitable project focusing on the wellbeing of the dental profession and for any students that would like to contribute to an exhibition to get in touch. I would like to give you an example of how the artist’s mindset can facilitate education, both from a learner and an observer’s perspective. This example is particularly meaningful in the current climate I think. It is the inspiration behind the painting ‘Sadness and Sorrow’ (pictured). ‘Sadness and Sorrow’ is an oil painting inspired by an extraordinary conversation I had with an oral medicine specialist. We had been discussing the psychology of pain management before he asked, ‘Rachel could you paint pain?’ I thought ‘what type? It’s so subjective!’ I spent a few months exposed to the emotions of patients and their families within the local hospital and hospice and produced abstract art seen in ‘Sadness and Sorrow’ where colour is used to create the noise of sadness and the texture of pain. The process saw me enter the ‘human dimension’ of the dental professional and its relationship with patients.  Rachel is happy to be contacted at rjmedink@ gmail.com. Instagram @rjmedink. www.medink.co.uk. Implant Surgery #1 Lungs Carious Fissure BRITISH DENTAL JOURNAL | VOLUME 228 NO. 7 | ApRIL 10 2020 501 UpFRONT © 2020 British Dental Association. All rights reserved. 
work_uyjrfome6ffefcympfp5impcri	----	The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 229 aarc-82-01-10 Page 229 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews scholarly text is novel, approachable, and appropriately academic. As a contri- bution to new scholarship on eugenics, its topical content and critical approach are relevant not only to historians and archivists working in the health sciences, but also to social historians, students, policymakers, and eugenics survivors. Its critique of recordkeeping offers valuable perspectives to archivists who seek to support researchers in accessing and interpreting sensitive personal data. It is deeply troubling that the first-person experiences of patients have been systematically erased or underrepresented in historical analysis—whether due to bias or the functional problems of HIPAA. Eugenic Rubicon is an imperfect, yet promising, step toward finding those voices. © Maija Anderson Oregon Health and Science University Library Notes 1 For example, see Wikipedia, s.v. “Eugenics,” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eugenics. 2 Hunter Schwarz, “Following Reports of Forced Sterilization of Female Prison Inmates, California Passes Ban,” Washington Post, September 26, 2014, https://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/govbeat/ wp/2014/09/26/following-reports-of-forced-sterilization-of-female-prison-inmates-california- passes-ban. 3 Alexandra Minna Stern, Eugenic Nation: Faults and Frontiers of Better Breeding in Modern America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005). 4 Alliance for Networking Visual Culture, “About Scalar 2.0—Trailer,” https://scalar.me/anvc/scalar. 5 For a more in-depth examination on the implications of HIPAA for archivists, plus a set of rec- ommended practices, see Emily R. Novak Gustainis and Phoebe Evans Letocha, “The Practice of Privacy,” Innovation, Collaboration, and Models: Proceedings of the CLIR Cataloging Hidden Special Collections and Archives Symposium, March 2015, http://www.medicalheritage.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/ Gustainis-Letocha.pdf. 16Recordkeeping Informatics for a Networked Age By Frank Upward, Barbara Reed, Gillian Oliver, and Joanne Evans. Clayton, Victoria, Australia: Monash University Publishing, 2018. 288 pp. Softcover and EPUB. Softcover $49.95, EPUB freely available at http://books.publishing.monash.edu/apps/ bookworm/view/Recordkeeping+Informatics+for+a+Networked+Age/207/01_cover.html. Softcover ISBN 978-1-925495-88-1; EPUB ISBN 978-1-925495-90-4. Business analysts, known as consultants, play a ubiquitous and accepted role in the most lucrative sectors across the globe. The methods they use to analyze and document business processes increasingly relate to sectorial infor- matics. The authors of this volume expand on their previous work to argue that records and archives professionals would do well to adopt similar methods so as D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/0360-9081-82.1.229 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eugenics https://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/govbeat/wp/2014/09/26/following-reports-of-forced-sterilization https://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/govbeat/wp/2014/09/26/following-reports-of-forced-sterilization https://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/govbeat/wp/2014/09/26/following-reports-of-forced-sterilization https://scalar.me/anvc/scalar http://www.medicalheritage.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/Gustainis-Letocha.pdf http://www.medicalheritage.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/Gustainis-Letocha.pdf http://books.publishing.monash.edu/apps/bookworm/view/Recordkeeping+Informatics+for+a+Networked+Age/207/01_cover.html http://books.publishing.monash.edu/apps/bookworm/view/Recordkeeping+Informatics+for+a+Networked+Age/207/01_cover.html 230 The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 aarc-82-01-10 Page 230 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews to continue to provide relevant and effective service in an increasingly complex networked society. All too often, we persist in our focus on the products (infor- mation, data objects, and records) of skills, practices, theories, and knowledge, while ignoring the tools, systems, relationships, and principles from which they are born. This is an unsustainable approach to the context and provenance we simultaneously esteem and which should provide accountability, authenticity, and persistence. Despite acknowledging this crisis and the critical research car- ried out by the authors—which includes the seminal development over the past two decades-plus of the records continuum framework—in practice, our profes- sions are still largely wedded to outmoded traditional approaches to records management and recordkeeping (and therefore also to the archival endeavor or enterprise). Recordkeeping Informatics for a Networked Age presents a corrective with a conscious emphasis on workplace issues outside academe to provide a logical matrix for archives formation (p. xviii) and for avoiding the silos of the variety of information professions now inextricably linked to our work. It argues for a convergence and emergence of a “mega-profession” made up of the many different specialists in records, data, and information architecture. The book is intellectually rich, conceptually dense, and takes some unpacking. The four authors, all members of the Records Continuum Research Group at Monash University as well as long-time practitioners in Australia, point to the book’s origins in 2008 when they sought a new records management textbook that would consider both digital records as a means of business (e-records) and the networked context (cyber-physicality) in which they were increasingly being created, used, shared, and maintained. They did not find adequate resources and decided to write their own, which has taken a decade to come to fruition; a decade the authors feel has been beneficial in building a new disciplinary base across the two eras of computation (pp. xvii, xx) as we move rapidly toward the dominance of cloud-computing. However, along the way, their intended audi- ence was vastly enlarged in correlation with the development of their theoret- ical and practical approach. The book is divided into ten chapters in four parts: “The Recordkeeping Single Mind,” “Facets of Analysis,” “The Building Blocks,” and “The Future.” Its preface, added on the recommendation of a manuscript reviewer, provides necessary background and explicates the book’s structure—and succeeds in pulling together what is an ambitious and important endeavor, written at different points over the last decade. Part 1 explains the basis for the theoretical underpinning of the book, including sociologist Anthony Giddens’s structura- tion theory, the search for the archival “still point” recordkeeping informatics matrix at the heart of the dynamic complexity of the records continuum (wicked problems and all), and a short history of recordkeeping informatics—a single- minded disciplinary approach—over the past hundred years. D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/0360-9081-82.1.229 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 231 aarc-82-01-10 Page 231 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews Part 2 presents a three-pronged analytical base for the information matrix of technology, social settings and ways of knowing using structural theory, Actor-Network Theory, and direct experience to address dissemination of digital records and “access-directed proactivity,” leading to faster evolution of control techniques, which currently lag behind the pace of records creation and related business processes. Here, the authors first raise the concept of “nanosecond archiving.” The recordkeeping culture, direct recording of business activities, access (one of the acknowledged wicked problems) and dissemination, and digital recordkeeping functionality are discussed. Also addressed are the impli- cations of the divide between records managers and archivists, the increased agency of the individual creator over an organizational approach such as the registry or series control of records, the limitations of information gover- nance due to a focus on data and lack of attention to overarching structures of complexity, and the need for nanosecond archiving (that is, an archival process set up at creation of the inscription so it is not lost in “information sludge”), to name but a few aspects. Part 3 presents two building blocks for recordkeeping informatics: continuum thinking and recordkeeping metadata (which may also be construed as facets of analysis, depending on the reader’s goal or perspective), for a stable matrix, which is flexible and responsive to needs. Metadata are viewed as both a description of the business transaction itself and as applied to the record (a bundling of “inscriptions” to trace their relationships, connections, and links). It also brings together models for information, publishing, cultural heri- tage, digital forensics, and data systems management within a continuum of recorded information. Part 4 imagines a future where a multidisciplinary team- work approach can enable nanosecond archiving to allow persistent linking of data to its source and suggests new forms of professionalism to better leverage the potential of web-based technology. The authors pull no political punches and admit to including caustic comments, especially on the limited view by archivists of “access” as a synonym for “information retrieval.” What does this all mean? To answer that, you should be familiar with the authors’ earlier writings on the records continuum model and recordkeeping informatics. These writings are touched on in the book, and in the interests of brevity, critical elements are often alluded to rather than fully explained, leaving gaps for readers not thoroughly immersed in both topics. A good book always leads to further reading, but in this case, it may be heavy going. The precursors to this book in the form of articles are necessarily more concise and more clearly written.1 Boning up on Giddens and the other writers whose ideas influenced the authors of this book (including colleagues such as Chris Hurley) is not a bad idea. The book necessarily condenses and extrapolates from the models, frameworks, and theories feeding into the main thrust of the book—to D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/0360-9081-82.1.229 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 232 The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 aarc-82-01-10 Page 232 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews provide a “rebuilt,” (multi)disciplinary, and professional base of recordkeeping informatics from which to equip practitioners in meeting the challenges presented by digital and networked environments (or at least to acknowledge their complexity and feel empowered to jointly address it). Most of us, whether information, records, or IT professionals, do not have the broad knowledge that underpins the theory informing this approach. This review does not have space to include definitions of the terms mentioned above, which are central to the ideas set out in the book, but it is necessary to point out some related structural flaws that could hold the reader back. The lack of an index heightens confusion engendered by having to flip ahead from where terms are mentioned in the preface or earlier chap- ters to fully understand what the authors are trying to convey. For example, “simplexity” is not defined until page 261. As a voracious reader, while I could make an educated guess from its context, the lack of an index slowed my full comprehension. (I did not want to avail myself of an online search while I was reading.) Ditto for “nanosecond archiving,” mentioned long before its full expla- nation in chapter 4. It is not clear why the publisher skimped on this important access point, unless it was due to cost. Well, it costs readers too. I was also taken aback by a Wikipedia article citation for Actor-Network Theory, rather than what I had to deduce was its source (Whittle & Spicer, 2008?), and by a handful of copyediting mistakes, which I would not expect from an academic press (some of which are not just typographic errors and therefore confuse the meaning of related sentences). These are quibbles, but when trying to broaden your audience—in fact, to bring an audience into the collaborative fold—these minor factors have the potential to become major detractors. Although Recordkeeping Informatics for a Networked Age makes a valuable contri- bution to formulating and maturing a more holistic approach to recordkeeping and records management, I am not convinced that it will make its argument clearly enough to the full spectrum of the audience for whom it is intended— information and data managers, system designers/architects, and sector infor- matics specialists. I hope I am proven wrong, but it reads as simultaneously too granular in its explanation of the theoretical structure that draws across dispa- rate disciplines and too broad in its explanation of the records and archives back- ground that have brought us to this crisis. The former makes it almost too dense to unpick and apply, and the latter, despite its intent, signals it is still written for those who usually read our professional literature—records and archives profes- sionals. Nevertheless, the authors’ goal—to champion a recordkeeping infor- matics discipline base as a way toward better support of evidence, authoritative resource management, and ethics—is laudatory, stimulating, and timely. © Sarah R. Demb Harvard University Archives D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/0360-9081-82.1.229 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 The American Archivist Vol. 82, No. 1 Spring/Summer 2019 233 aarc-82-01-10 Page 233 PDF Created: 2019-6-17: 10:49:AM Reviews Note 1 See especially, “Achieving the Right Balance: Recordkeeping Informatics—Part 1,” Informaa Quarterly 25, no. 1 (2009): 18–21; “Achieving the Right Balance: Recordkeeping Informatics—Part 2,” Informaa Quarterly 26, no. 1 (2010): 42–52; “Recordkeeping Informatics: Re-figuring a Discipline in Crisis with a Single-minded Approach,” Records Management Journal 23, no. 1 (2013): 37–50; “A Background Paper for a Conversation on a Single-Minded Approach to Recordkeeping Informatics,” International Council on Archives Congress, Brisbane, August 20–24, 2012, http://ica2012.ica.org/ files/pdf/Full papers upload/ica12Final00200.pdf; and “Recordkeeping Informatics: Building a Discipline Base,” Triennial Conference of the DLM Forum 7, Lisboa, 2014, http://purl.pt/26107/1/ DLM2014_PDF/02%20-%20Recordkeeping%20Informatics%20Building%20the%20Discipline%20 Base.pdf. 17 Albrecht Dürer: Documentary Biography Edited by Jeffrey Ashcroft. New Haven, CT.: Yale University Press, 2017. 1,216 pp. Hardcover, 2 vols. $125.00. ISBN 978-0-300-21084-1 and 978-0-300-21084-2. The Renaissance of Northern Europe, in tandem with the Italian Renaissance, ushered in a renewed interest in the secular aspects of human existence and the interactions relating human experiences to art, architecture, poetry, and lit- erature. Those who pursued such studies referred to themselves as “humanists.” Artist Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528) was one of the most inspired and influential humanists; and he seems to have been an inveterate hoarder, who was eager to document his life for posterity. Albrecht Dürer: Documentary Biography brings together all known documents linked to Dürer’s life and work, arranged, translated, and annotated by Jeffrey Ashcroft, a research fellow at the University of St. Andrews, who devoted ten years to the project. Dürer, an accomplished painter, but most renowned for his graphic works, revolutionized the art of printmaking. Artists from across Europe admired and copied his prints, which ranged from portraits of famous people to biblical and mythological scenes to exotic animals. He was also the first artist outside Italy to leave behind a voluminous quantity of writing. Documents in this two-volume work include correspondence concerning the aesthetics of art as well as its business side; family papers; account books; notes on ancient archi- tecture and the proportions of the human body; plans for fortifications; sundry references to Dürer gleaned from official records; and passages pertaining to him found among the papers of his acquaintances. Documents are assembled chronologically in the volumes, translated into modern English, and annotated. The compilation is intended as a type of archival resource upon which historians, biographers, and others can build. Ashcroft calls this approach a “documentary biography.” His intention was to D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/0360-9081-82.1.229 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 http://ica2012.ica.org/files/pdf/Full papers upload/ica12Final00200.pdf http://ica2012.ica.org/files/pdf/Full papers upload/ica12Final00200.pdf http://purl.pt/26107/1/DLM2014_PDF/02%20-%20Recordkeeping%20Informatics%20Building%20the%20Discipline%20Base.pdf http://purl.pt/26107/1/DLM2014_PDF/02%20-%20Recordkeeping%20Informatics%20Building%20the%20Discipline%20Base.pdf http://purl.pt/26107/1/DLM2014_PDF/02%20-%20Recordkeeping%20Informatics%20Building%20the%20Discipline%20Base.pdf 
work_uzvdqp4onfcyvnrs4zwgek6uhq	----	renq63205 545..715 Edinburgh Research Explorer Never under Saturn: Girolamo Manfredi, physician and astrologer Citation for published version: Azzolini, M 2010, 'Never under Saturn: Girolamo Manfredi, physician and astrologer', Renaissance quarterly, vol. 63, no. 2, pp. 643-U367. https://doi.org/10.1086/655293 Digital Object Identifier (DOI): 10.1086/655293 Link: Link to publication record in Edinburgh Research Explorer Document Version: Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Published In: Renaissance quarterly Publisher Rights Statement: © Azzolini, M. (2010). Never under Saturn: Girolamo Manfredi, physician and astrologer. Renaissance quarterly, 63(2), 643-U367. 10.1086/655293 General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Edinburgh Research Explorer is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The University of Edinburgh has made every reasonable effort to ensure that Edinburgh Research Explorer content complies with UK legislation. If you believe that the public display of this file breaches copyright please contact openaccess@ed.ac.uk providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1086/655293 https://doi.org/10.1086/655293 https://www.research.ed.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/never-under-saturn-girolamo-manfredi-physician-and-astrologer(cc0d4e4b-fda1-4d3c-b355-35e7f7f7caef).html Tommaso Duranti. Mai sotto Saturno: Girolamo Manfredi, medico e astrologo Mai sotto Saturno: Girolamo Manfredi, medico e astrologo by Tommaso Duranti Review by: Monica Azzolini Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 63, No. 2 (Summer 2010), pp. 643-644 Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the Renaissance Society of America Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/655293 . Accessed: 17/03/2014 05:52 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . The University of Chicago Press and Renaissance Society of America are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Renaissance Quarterly. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 129.215.19.193 on Mon, 17 Mar 2014 05:52:39 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucpress http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=rsa http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/655293?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Tommaso Duranti. Mai sotto Saturno: Girolamo Manfredi, medico e astrologo. Bologna medievale ieri e oggi 10. Bologna: CLUEB, 2008. 212 pp. index. illus. tbls. chron. bibl. €19. ISBN: 978–88–491–3129–1. In this study Tommaso Duranti examines the life and works of the Bolognese physician and astrologer Girolamo Manfredi. Now known only to a handful of historians, Manfredi lived and operated with remarkable success in fifteenth- century Bologna, rising to a notable level of prominence both within the university and at the court of the Bentivoglio of Bologna. As indicated in the foreword by medieval historian Carla Frova, this book is essentially the biography of a fifteenth- century intellectual. It is divided into four chapters, starting with Manfredi ‘‘the man,’’ to continue with Manfredi ‘‘the university professor,’’ followed by ‘‘the doctor’’ and concluding with ‘‘the astrologer.’’ A short epilogue on Manfredi’s death and burial brings the book to a close. The first, brief chapter takes as its departure the relatively well-known story of Manfredi’s involvement in a spate of negative prognostications against the Duke of Milan in 1474. With their public prognostications for the year, Manfredi and other astrologers from Bologna and Ferrara displeased greatly the Duke of Milan, Galeazzo Maria Sforza, who read the prognostication of the death of an Italian prince as a veiled allusion to his own death. A series of diplomatic documents (some already known, others presented here for the first time) document the intervention of Galeazzo’s ambassador and other Sforza courtiers in order to rectify the situation and discourage the astrologers — even at the cost of issuing death threats —from repeating such mistakes in the future. This chapter seems to serve the purpose of introducing the book’s character to its reader, and anticipates some of the aspects of Manfredi’s life that are treated in more detail in chapters 2 and 3. Chapter 2 is articulated into three parts: the first, very broad and general, on the University of Bologna and its faculty of arts and medicine, the other two on Manfredi’s academic career and his participation in the publication project of Ptolemy’s Geography. Chapter 3 is, once again, introduced by a very general section on the place of medicine in late medieval society, and proceeds with four other sections, each dedicated to one of Manfredi’s works: respectively his De homine, his treatise on plague, his unpublished Anatomia, and his Centiloquium de medicis et infirmis. Like the other chapters, chapter 4 is prefaced by a general section on the place of astrology in medieval society, followed by some considerations on the various astrological traditions and authorities present in the period, continuing with a brief outline of Pico’s polemics against astrology and concluding with a more detailed analysis of Manfredi’s annual prognostications. This is a useful and readable book: it has the merit of unearthing a number of unpublished documents on Manfredi, and offering a good overview of Manfredi’s teaching and his published and unpublished work. While it fulfills its aim of providing a short biography of a lesser-known figure of the Italian Renaissance, however, the book could have been more ambitious in its aims and results. We 643R E V I E W S This content downloaded from 129.215.19.193 on Mon, 17 Mar 2014 05:52:39 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp certainly gain better knowledge of Manfredi’s activities, and particularly of his involvement in Bolognese publishing enterprises (53–65) and his attempts, which were met with some success, to gain the patronage of Giovanni II Bentivoglio, to whom he dedicated all but one of his books, but we still lack much of the context surrounding his teaching and writing within a Bolognese, and to a greater extent, Italian context. This may be due to a lack of documentation, but judging from the introductory sections that preface the more analytical aspects of Duranti’s work, where he reads and analyzes Manfredi’s medical and astrological works, it seems more likely that this was a conscious choice by the author. Establishing an intended audience for such a book is not easy: historians of medicine and astrology will find the book relatively useful as an introductory work on a lesser-known author, but they will be hard-pressed to place Manfredi and his work within the broader context of Renaissance medicine. While attempts in this direction are sometime present, like in the case of Manfredi’s Trattato della pestilentia, they are immediately abandoned in favor of the functional use of secondary sources in lieu of primary texts, thus providing a rather hasted and superficial picture. More significantly, especially for an international readership, Duranti’s broad contextualization is grounded almost exclusively in Italian scholarship, some of which is rather dated or very general (notable by its absence, however, is Andrea Carlino’s La fabrica del corpo. Libri e dissezione nel Rinascimento), while completely ignoring important studies in English by Nancy Siraisi and Katharine Park on medieval and Renaissance anatomy and medical university teaching, and by Laura Smoller, Robert Westman, and Darrel Rutkin on medieval and Renaissance astrology. MONICA AZZOLINI University of Edinburgh R E N A I S S A N C E Q U A R T E R L Y644 This content downloaded from 129.215.19.193 on Mon, 17 Mar 2014 05:52:39 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 
work_v4axvbd4tre6rfrqvrcexynoei	----	Gale Presents Two New Series for Critical Appraisals of Short Stories and Medieval and Classical Literature Devoted solely to the authors of short fiction Short Story Criticism Critio^L- Now when you need to locate critical information on short fiction, you can find it in one convenient source: Gale’s new Short Story Criticism series. Covering short story writers from around the world, from all time periods, each annual volume will provide critical evaluations of about 15-20 authors. Entries begin with a critical introduction that discusses the importance of short fiction to the author’s career, followed by a list of the author’s major short story collections. The main part of the entry consists of chronologically arranged critical excerpts (less than 20% drawn from other Gale criticism series) representing the full range of critical response the short stories have received. Authors covered in Volume 1 include: • Sherwood Anderson • J.G. Ballard • John Cheever • G.K. Chesterton 1 Fedor Dostoevski ' William Faulkner 1 Mary Wilkins Freeman 1 Ernest Hemingway • Guy de Maupassant • Herman Melville • Flannery O’Connor • Edgar Allan Poe • J.D. Salinger • James Thurber • Jean Toomer • Eudora Welty Edited by Laurie Lanzen Harris and Sheila Fitzgerald. 450 pages. $70.00/vol. (Volume i ready 'November 1987) Appraisals of early literature from antiquity through 1400 Classical and Medieval Literature Criticism This new series provides librarians, students, and researchers with an accessible source of carefully selected critical material on writers who lived from antiquity through the fourteenth century. Each volume presents definitive overviews of four to six authors or works. Entries begin with an author or title heading that lists the author’s full name, variant forms, and pseudonyms, with birth and death dates of the author, when known. This is followed by a biographical/historical introduction to the author or work written by Gale editors. The main part of the entry consists of critical excerpts, carefully selected to be representative of critical views from all periods of history, with emphasis on modern evaluations made during the past 100 years. Entries also contain explanatory notes that provide background information on important critics, a list of the author’s principal works, illustrations, author portraits when available, and a bibliography of additional sources for further study. Author/works included in Volume 1 are: • Apuleius • Beowulf • Chanson de Roland • Homer (The Illiad) • Lady Murasaki (The Tale of the Genii) • Slovo o Polku Igoreve (The Song of Igor’s Campaign) Edited by Dennis Poupard and Jelena Kronick. 450 pages. $80.00. (Ready December 1987) For Fast Service — Order Tollfree: 800-223-GALE Gale Research Company Book Tower, Detroit, MI 48226 All Gale books are available on 60-day approval. Standing Orders receive a 5% discount. Customers outside the U.S. and Canada add 15%. THE RIGHT TO Literacy A Conference Sponsored by the Modern language Association, Ohio State University, and the Federation of State Humanities Councils 16-18 SEPTEMBER 1988 COLUMBUS, OHIO The Modern Language Association encourages members of the teaching profession at all levels, as well as others interested in the literacy movement, to propose individual papers or entire sessions devoted to one of the following areas of concern and based not simply on research but on firsthand experience within or outside the classroom. The Uses of Literacy: explorations of the relations between literacy and thinking, literacy and citizenship, and literacy and culture. Literacy and Its Enemies/Illiteracy and Its Friends: explorations of the ways that social forces and institutions affect literacy and illiteracy, with particular attention to the resistance that obstructs, or the “support” that trivializes, the pursuit of full literacy. Becoming Literate Today: explorations of how children and adults learn to read and write in their native tongues or in second languages. Struggles for Literacy Today: explorations of attempts to achieve literacy in different historical periods and different cultures. The conference aims to attract individuals who are involved in literacy education and interested in the substantive, political, and theoretical issues of literacy, broadly defined as the ability to use language in order to become an active participant in all forms of public discourse. The deadline for submitting proposals is 15 January 1988. Anyone interested should request a proposal form from Robert D. Denham, MLA, 10 Astor PL, New York, NY 10003-6981. PR IN C ET O N U N IV ER SI TY P R ES S MODERNIST POETICS OF HISTORY POUND, ELIOT, AND THE SENSE OF THE PAST JAMES LONGENBACH While it has long been recognized that the poetry of T. S. Eliot and Ezra Pound grew from an active interest in the past, an exploration of the nature of their “historical sense” has not until now been undertaken. By thoroughly examining these poets’ collected and uncollected writings, James Longenbach presents their understandings of the philosophical idea of history and analyzes the strategies of historical interpretation they discussed in their critical prose and embodied in their “poems including history.” Although concentrating on Pound’s work through 1917 and Eliot’s through 1922, the book moves beyond this focus to a more compre­ hensive analysis of the modernist sense of the past, locating its origins in a strain of Romantic literature exemplified by Pater and Yeats. “This is an exemplary work. Longenbach, without discarding our existing knowledge of the Pound/Eliot origins of twentieth-century High Modernism, has spelled out a context that was always vaguely implicit but never easy to specify: a new and anti-positivistic idea of how ‘history’ can be understood... .The scholarship is of a high order throughout, and the narrative everywhere perspicuous.” —Hugh Kenner, The Johns Hopkins University Cloth: $29.00 THE LINGUISTIC MOMENT FROM WORDSWORTH TO STEVENS J. HILLIS MILLER This series of readings, available for the first time in paperback, explores the functioning of moments in poems when the medium—language—becomes an issue. In works by Words­ worth, Shelley, Arnold, Browning, Hopkins, Hardy, Yeats, Stevens, and Williams, the book discusses moments when language is not simply used, but talked about as a theme. In each case the linguistic moment takes a distinctive form, but in all instances it has such momentum that it tends to dominate the poem and to suspend its ostensible meaning. Significantly revising aspects of his earlier work, J. Hillis Miller examines the breakdown, in the linguistic moment, of the illusion that language is a transparent medium of meaning. “With this new, long-awaited study, in which he turns his attention to the poets, he [Miller] has fully consolidated his position in the vanguard of American theoretical criticism.... it is a measure of his interpretive ingenuity that although the general tenor of his readings is the same throughout, the precise contours are always exhilaratingly new.” —R. J. Jarvis, The Times Higher Education Supplement Paper: $12.50. Cloth: $55.00 WINNER OF THE 1979 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AWARD OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION AND THE 1979 MELVILLE CANE AWARD OF THE POETRY SOCIETY OF AMERICA ROOTS OF LYRIC PRIMITIVE POETRY AND MODERN POETICS ANDREW WELSH Folk riddles, emblems, charms, and chants are a few of the traditional forms examined by Andrew Welsh to discover the means by which poetic language achieves its powerful effects. His book shows how the roots of lyric are embodied in primitive verse forms, how they are raised to higher powers in poetry from the Renaissance to the twentieth century, and how an awareness of them can illuminate our reading of the poetry of any age. “... a useful and illuminating exploration of the central organizing powers in poetic lan­ guage. It should interest anyone concerned with the intersection of oral and written poetry, in the shared lyric spaces of primitive poetry and modern poetics.” —Edward Hirsch, World Literature Today Now available in paperback: $14.50 At your bookstore or Princeton University Press 41 William Street, Princeton, NJ 08540 Ir^ Oxford ■ ■ "~ .... Poetry in English An Anthology M.L. ROSENTHAL, New York University, General Editor Series Editors: V. A. De Luca, Sally M. Gall, A. Kent Hieatt, Beryl Rowland, Rosemary Sullivan, Howard Weinbrot This authoritative, handsomely designed anthology of poetry from tl Anglo-Saxon to the contemporary stresses major figures without neglecting minor ones of quality. Meant for survey and genre courses (and for all interested readers), it offers responsible scholarly texts for study in themselves and for seeing both the continuities and the changes in dominant modes over the centuries. The larger aim is to enhance appreciation of poetic art generally. Selection is based on excellence, along with certain necessary considerations: how well poems reflect their periods, show the development of a form or genre, illustrate a poet's range, and speak to modem sensibilities. Whenever feasible, complete poems are used. In addition to headnotes, annotations, and known dates of composition and publication, Poetry in English includes M.L. Rosenthal's introduction, Sally M. Gall's comprehensive essay on versification, and an author/title/first-line index. It is the ideal text for students and teachers alike. 1987 1,240 pp. paper $19.95 The Technical Writing Process MARILYN SCHAUER SAMUELS, Case Western Reserve University Drawing on current research in cognitive science, real industry samples and cases, and the author's fifteen years of teaching experience in academia and business, this book follows the process of technical writing from reader-oriented problem-solving through document design to final editing. It outlines the communications requirements specific to the corporate setting and applies them to job-related memos, instructions, proposals, feasibility studies, progress reports, oral presentations, and much more. Considering visual aids and matters of style throughout, The Technical Writing Process provides a stimulating balance of theory and practice to guide writers towards effective technical communication. January 1988 320 pp.; 2 halftones, 58 linecuts paper $16.95 A Rhetoric for Writing Teachers Second Edition ERIKA LINDEMANN, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill Praise for the first edition: "Deserves the attention of all department heads concerned about the way their faculty teach composition. 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Covering all the major authors of the period and using a wide variety of scholarly and theoretical approaches, the selections are balanced between wide-ranging studies and interpretations of particular texts. 1987 464 pp. paper $9.95 cloth $29.95 Popular Writing In America The Interaction of Style and Audience Fourth Edition DONALD McQUADE, University of California, Berkeley, and ROBERT ATWAN Praise for earlier editions: "An impressive and ambitious work... .This anthology manages to assemble a vast amount of material and to present it in a unified and workable manner." —College Composition and Communication. In response to comments from professors and colleagues, McQuade and Atwan have revised the fourth edition of this popular anthology to include more expository writing, while retaining the successful mixture of excerpts from a broad spectrum of sources. March 1988 636 pp.; 8 halftones paper $18.95 The Practical Tutor EMILY MEYER and LOUISE Z. 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To request an examination copy, write on school letterhead giving full course information, including course name, level, expected enrollment, and your decision deadline, to: College Humanities & Social Sciences Marketing Dept. Oxford University Press 200 Madison Avenue • New York, NY 10016 r= Oxford " Victoria's Year English Literature and Culture, 1837-1838 RICHARD L. STEIN, University of Oregon Stein's study of the first twelve months of Queen Victoria's reign reveals how the early Victorian era was understood by those who knew it best—the Victorians. 1987 352 pp.; 42 halftones $29.95 Stone Cottage Pound, Yeats, and the Secret Society of Modernism JAMES LONGENBACH, University of Rochester James Longenbach tells the virtually untold story of W.B. 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Titunik and edited in collaboration with Neal H. Bruss Foreword by James V. Wertsch Available in English here for the first time is the complete text of V. N. Volosinov’s important critique of Freud, published in the Soviet Union in 1927 and long unobtainable. A classic for linguists, psychol­ ogists, and psychoanalysts, and for anyone inter­ ested in structuralism, Marxism, literary theory, semiotics, or the philosophy of language, paper $9.95 On Referring in Literature Edited by Anna Whiteside and Michael Issacharoff What is the relationship between the “real” world and fictional constructs? How is referential illusion created? The purpose of this volume is to show the close links between reference and interpretation. It examines types of literary reference, showing what it is and how it works. Cloth $27.50 paper $12.50 Jy Herbert Blau “Blau blends postmodern obsessionality, eloquence, and almost despite himself, common sense in a way that makes him at once an exemplar of and a com­ mentator on the bewildering lucidity of contempo­ rary culture.” —Murray M. Schwartz Blau here reflects on performance, from the theatri­ calized activism of the ’60s to the theoretical activ­ ism of the '80s. Theories of Contemporary Culture, Center for Twentieth Century Studies cloth $29.95 paper $14.75 Adam, “New Born and Perfect” The Renaissance Promise of Eternity By Giancarlo Maiorino Michelangelo's Creation of Adam on the Sistine Chapel ceiling represents an exemplary vision of the potential nobility of man, who awakens to adulthood at the moment of creation. With the Creation of Adam as an organizing metaphor, Giancarlo Maiorino studies the central role of the concept of “perfection at birth” in Italian Renaissance culture. $22.50 Now in paperback Displacement Derrida and After Edited by Mark Krupnick “I am struck by the extraor­ dinary quality of this work, particularly by the uncompromising rigor and the remarkable and rich introduction. I am already learning a lot from this book.” —Jacques Derrida “A most intelligent collection of essays." —Geoffrey Hartman, Yale University Theories of Contemporary Culture, Center for Twentieth Century Studies paper $8.95 Also available in cloth $17.50 Confused Roaring Evelyn Waugh and the Modernist Tradition By George McCartney “A highly original and significant study.” —Frank Brady, late of Hunter College, CUNY Confused Roaring explores the link between Evelyn Waugh and the major modernist forces of his time. In McCartney’s reading, Waugh’s playful and ironic use of modernist themes and techniques reveals not only his interest in contemporary philosophy and aesthetics but also the personal conflicts behind his famous satires of the struggle between order and anarchy in our century. $19.50 R I ■ : INDIANA UNIVERSITY PRESSTo order, write or call W7 W7 W7 TENTH AND MORTON STREETS, BLOOMINGTON, IN 47405 Major credit cards accepted 812-335-6804 Modern Arabic Poetry An Anthology Salma Khadra Jayyusi This definitive anthology of Arabic poetry presents the work of over ninety poets. Each selection was translated twice: first by a bilingual translator, and again, by English language poets (such as Richard Wilbur and W.S. Merwin) who render the works into the correct English-language idiom. 496 pp., S40.00 An Extraordinary Woman Selected Writings of Germaine de Stael Translated with an Introduction by Vivian Folkenflik “Students of literature and its relation to social institu­ tions are greatly indebted to Vivian Folkenflik. .. .This judicious selection of works conveys the romantic writer’s astonishing range.”—Juliet Flower McCannell, University of California, Irvine 480pp, S37.5O IN THEORY ANNOUNCING IRVINE STUDIES IN THE HUMANITIES Robert Folkenflik, General Editor The Aims of Representation Subject/Text/History Edited and with an Introduction by Murray Krieger Leading theorists such as Jean-Francois Lyotard, David Carroll, Anthony Giddens, and Dominick LaCapra present a rich variety of responses to the growing dominance of historical and political pressures upon textual interpretation. 320 pp, *35.00 T U R E IN PAPERBACK MORE TWENTIETH-CENTURY CONTINENTAL FICTION IN PAPERBACK Awarded the Goncourt Prize The Opposing Shore Julien Gracq Translated from tbe French by Richard Howard 292 pp., S9.95 pa Balcony in the Forest Julien Gracq Translated from the French by Richard Howard With a new Preface by the Translator 213 pp, S8.95 pa, $25.00 cl A Morningside Book Subjects of Desire Hegelian Reflections in Twentieth-Century France Judith P. Butler “Butler has identified an important issue in contem­ porary discussions of philosophy and critical theory and has traced its roots to relevant nineteenth-century literature.”—Mark C. Taylor, Williams College 256 pp, $27.50 Nominated for tbe National Book Award Dublin’s Joyce Hugh Kenner With a new Introduction by the Author 384 pp, S15.00 pa, $25.00 cl A Morningside Book Reading Woman Essays in Feminist Criticism Mary Jacobus Gender and Culture Carolyn G. Heilbrun and Nancy K. Miller, General Editors 316 pp, photos, $12.50 pa Breaking the Chain Women, Theory, and French Realist Fiction Naomi Scbor Gender and Culture 203 pp, $13-00 pa A King’s Crown Paperback Virginia Woolf Michael Rosenthal 270 pp, $14.50 pa A King’s Crown Paperback The End of the Line Essays on Psychoanalysis and the Sublime Neil Hertz 228 pp., $15.00 pa A King’s Crown Paperback As Through a Veil Mystical Poetry in Islam Annemarie Scbimmel 359 pp, $15.00 pa A King’s Crown Paperback To order, send check or money order to 4, the address below, including $3-00 for postage and handling. ® Columbia University Press Dept. JN, 136 South Broadway, Irvington, NY 10533 The Collected Poems of Charles Olson CHARLES OLSON Edited by George Butterick In this volume, Olson's entire poetic accomplish­ ment (excluding the Maximus series) comes together with all the work that influenced a generation. Some 300 new poems, retrieved from the poet's papers, have been included and further extend Olson's great contribution to world poetry. For the first time the full range of Olson's poetic achievement becomes available. $45.00 Poets on Painters Essays on the Art of Painting by Twentieth-Century Poets Edited by J. D. McCLATCHY What are poets looking at and looking for, when they walk into a room of pictures? This book answers this question by bringing together essays by modern American and British poets about painting. This is a book about the creative process itself, about style: the way artists use art and invent it. $25.00 Agonistic Poetry The Pindaric Mode in Pindar, Horace, Holderlin, and the English Ode WILLIAM FITZGERALD Fitzgerald offers a new interpretation of Pindar and examines the different ways in which modern poets have engaged the distinctive problems and strategies that he evolved. "A substantial and major critical work, which will be permanently useful and thought- provoking." —William Mullen, Bard College $27.00 Thinking in Pictures Dramatic Structure in D. W. Griffith's Biograph Films JOYCE E. JESIONOWSKI Jesionowski's rigorous shot-by-shot analysis shows, for the first time, what Griffith really did—and allows us to understand its implica­ tions for film narrative in general. She traces the evolution of Griffith's work through 165 films—how he learned to create the illusions of a real world on the screen. $27.50 A Coat of Many Colors Osip Mandelstam and His Mythologies of Self-Presentation GREGORY FREIDIN "Freidin writes just the kind of criticism Mandelstam wrote and which he would have loved....Nothing that I have read on Mandelstam has so provoked my own thinking as has Freidin's work....Stimulating in every sense of the word. It will move the study of Mandelstam off the point at which it has been stuck for far too long." —John E. Malmstad, Harvard University $45.00 At bookstores or call toll-free 800-822-6657. Visa and MasterCard only. University of California Press • Berkeley 94720 THE SPOKEN ARTS TREASURY OF 100 MODERN AMERICAN POETS READING THEIR POEMS The most important anthology of American poetry ever assembled... 464 poems on 18 cassettes or LP discs... all read by the poets themselves. Produced by Arthur Luce Klein Edited by Paul Kresh TREASURY OF 100 MODERN AMERICAN POETS -Ending Their Poems VOLUME I: Edgar Lee Masters * James Weldon Johnson * Gertrude Stein * Robert Frost * Carl Sandburg * VOLUME II: Wallace Stevens * Witter Bynner • Max Eastman • William Carlos Williams • Louis Untermeyer • VOLUME III: Ezra Pound • William Rose Ben6t • John Hall Wheelock * H. D. (Hilda Doolittle) * VOLUME IV: Robinson Jeffers • Marianne Moore • John Crowe Ransom • T. S. Eliot • Conrad Aiken • VOLUME V: Robert P. Tristram Coffin • Archibald MacLeish * Donald Davidson * Dorothy Parker * Mark Van Doren * e. e. 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Cunningham * Ken­ neth Patchen • Brother Antoninus (William Everson) • VOLUME XI: Hy Sobiloff * Karl Shapiro * John Frederick Nims * Delmore Schwartz * Muriel Rukeyser * Barbara Howes * VOLUME XII: Randall Jarrell * John Berryman * Owen Dodson * Jean Garrigue • Ruth Stone * Hollis Summers • VOLUME XIII: John Ciardi • Peter Viereck • John Mal­ colm Brinnin * Robert Lowell * Gwendolyn Brooks * William Jay Smith • VOLUME XIV: William Meredith * May Swenson • Howard Nemerov * Lawrence Ferlinghetti• Richard Wilbur * Howard Moss * VOLUME XV: Anthony Hecht • James Dickey • Louis Simpson • Denise Levertov • Philip Booth • W. D. Snodgrass • VOLUME XVI: James Merrill • Robert Creeley * Allen Ginsberg * David Wagoner * Robert Bly • Galway Kinnell • VOLUME XVII: John Ashbery • James Wright * Peter Davison * Donald Hall * Anne Sexton • Adrienne Rich • VOLUME XVIII: Robert Pack • John Hollander • John Updike • Sylvia Plath • Mark Strand • Robert Kelly “....a thorough appreciation of these recorded poets is not a matter of a moment, or even of hours, but of a lifetime!” Harold Clurman THE NEW YORK TIMES “...the most imposing testimonial yet assembled to the scope and vigor of contemporary American poetry.” RECORD GUIDE The greatest collection of its kind in the world I I I I I I I SPOKEN ARTS, INC. Dept. PML7 P. O. Box 289, New Rochelle, NY 10802 □ Please send the complete SPOKEN ARTS TREASURY OF 100 AMERICAN POETS at $175.00 each Please specify □ cassettes □ records □ Please send the INDIVIDUAL VOLUMES in the quantities listed below. I have enclosed $10.95 for each volume ordered plus $2. for postage and handling. Volumes__ 1___2___ 3__ 4___ 5___ 6__ 7___ 8___ 9 __ 10 __ 11 ___ 12___13_ 14 ____15___16___ 17 __ 18 □ Please specify □ cassettes □ records □ Please send the complete record cassette catalog. □ I enclose check or money order □ MASTER CHARGE □ VISA Card Number — Expiration Date. Name - j —ittdat; stjriu iritj uumpieie focoro cassene caiaioy. City - State- Zip- I I I I I I Newfrom “Cambridge Studies in American Literature & Culture” Cross-Examinations of Law and Literature Cooper, Hawthorne, Stowe, and Melville Brook Thomas Thomas uses a legal lens to read several important fictions—The Pioneers, The House of the Seven Gables, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and a number of Melville’s works. He presents these as reflections of and influences on crucial legal issues of antebellum America. $29.95 cloth Robert Lowell: Essays on the Poetry Steven Axelrod and Helen Deese, Editors The twelve essays in this volume, written by many of the most distinguished scholars in the field, offer a chronological review of Lowell’s career as a poet. $29.95 cloth Emily Dickinson The Poet on the Second Story Jerome Loving In this original study Professor Loving demonstrates that any serious examination of Emily Dickinson’s work must be bound up with the details of the poet’s life. $19.95 cloth American Realism and American Drama: 1800-1940 Brenda Murphy While literary criticism of American drama has previously focused on the influence of continental and English realistic drama on American playwrights, Murphy atgues that the theory and practice of native realists such as William Dean Howells and Henry' James are equally important. $27.95 cloth also of interest... T.S. Eliot and Indie Traditions A Study in Poetry and Belief Cleo McNelly Kearns This book places Eliot’s lifelong interest in Indie philosophy and religion in the context of his concomitant studies in Western philosophy and of his views on literary theory and poetic practice. $34.50 cloth Emerson’s Epistemology The Argument of the Essays David Van Leer This first treatment of Emerson as philosopher explores his interest in serious philosophy while remaining sensitive to the unfolding of his own complex career. $29.95 cloth At bookstores or order from Cambridge University Press 32 East 57th Street, NY, NY 10022. Cambridge toll-free numbers for orders only: 800-872-7423, outside NY State, 800-227-0247, NY State only. MasterCard and Visa accepted. The best on language and literature from HOLT, RINEHART AND WINSTON New! THE RINEHART HANDBOOK FOR WRITERS BONNIE CARTER and CRAIG SKATES, both of the University of Southern Mississippi Provides a comprehensive back-to-ba sics approach to grammar and a guide to the entire writing process. Clear presentation, outstanding exercises, and nu­ merous interesting examples by student and profes­ sional writers make The Rinehart Handbook for Writers an exceptional reference work and teaching hand­ book. 1988 608 pp. (approx.) Available November 1987 ISBN 0-03-071167-3 Revised! INTRODUCTION TO LANGUAGE, 4/e VICTORIA A. FROMKIN, University of California, Los Angeles, and ROBERT RODMAN, North Carolina State University The new edition of this bestselling text offers an up- to-date introduction to linguistics. Covers phonet­ ics, phonology, morphology, semantics, syntax, and pragmatics along with many topics not discussed in comparable texts, including chapters on the brain and language, computer processing of natural lan­ guage, and minority dialects. 1988 396 pp. (approx.) ISBN 0-03-006532-1 Available November 1987 Revised! A GLOSSARY OF LITERARY TERMS, 5/e M. H. ABRAMS, Cornell University This preeminent reference work provides complete alphabetical glossary of the terms, concepts, and perspectives commonly used in the history, analysis, and interpretation of literature. Entries are fully Available now! TO READ LITERATURE, 2/e DONALD HALL One-volume anthology of fiction, po­ etry and drama with clear and elegant introductions which present students to the elements and major writers of literature. Emphasis is on contempo­ rary writers as well as literary clas­ sics. An expanded section offers detailed advice on writing critical essays. 1987 1,280 pp. ISBN 0-03-006207-1 TO READ FICTION DONALD HALL This anthology includes 45 selections from To Read Literature along with approximately 30 additional short stories, all introduced by established poet and scholar Donald Hall. 1987 608 pp. ISBN 0-03-012218-X A GUIDE TO LITERARY CRITICISM AND RESEARCH BONNIE KLOMP STEVENS, Knox College, and LARRY L. STEWART, The College of Wooster Furnishes a concise introduction to literary analysis, discussion of ap­ proaches to criticism, and coverage of research techniques. 1987 192 pp. ISBN 0-03-071964-X How to order: for examination copies, contact your local Holt, Rinehart and Winston sales rep­ resentative, or write on your college letterhead to: Marjorie Waldron, Dept. H6, Box 68, Laval­ lette, NJ 08735. Please include your course title, enrollment, and text currently in use. To expe­ dite shipping include the ISBN for each item requested. H6-7PMLA-10 cross-referenced. 1988 224 pp. (approx.) Available Now ISBN 0-03-011953-7 HOLT, RINEHART AND WINSTON 111 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10003' Illustration by Keith Haring. Visions of the Modern City Essays in History, Art, and Literature edited by William Sharpe and Leonard Wallock "We are now at a point of transition to a new kind of city,” write William Sharpe and Leonard Wallock, "and thus we are reexperiencing the same crisis of language felt by observers of early-nineteenth and early-twentieth century cities.” Visions of the Modern City explores the ways in which artists and writers—from Dickens and Baudelaire to Bellow and Pynchon—have struggled to define the city during the past two centuries and have opened a new perspective on the urban vision of our time. Essays examine the representation of cities from the London and Paris of 1850 to the New York, Los Angeles, and Tokyo of the present and offer a view of the newly emerging "decentered” city. Contributors include Thomas Bender and William Taylor, Eric Lampard, Steven Marcus, and Deborah Nord. $27.50 hardcover $10.95 paperback Photograph from Igmar Bergman's Cries and Whispers (1973). Courtesy of The Museum of Modern Art/Firm Stills Archive, blew York. Images in Our Souls Cavell, Psychoanalysis, and Cinema edited by Joseph H. Smith and William Kerrigan In his work on "the Hollywood comedy of remarriage,” Stanley Cavell has speculated on the existence of another, adjacent genre that holds no place for the conversation that makes comic remarriage possible. In Images in Our Souls, Cavell defines this genre—"the melodrama of the unknown woman”—in which men and women speak different languages, and where men confront the "unknownness” of the other. The contributors to Images in Our Souls explore recurring issues of male skepticism, activity and passivity, and gender differences in cinema. Subjects include Hitchcock’s Vertigo and Shadow of a Doubt, Babenco’s Kiss of the Spiderwoman, Ophuls’s Letter from an Unknown Woman, Chaplin’s The Kid, Bergman’s Cries and Whispers, and the films of Peter Weir. Psychiatry and the Humanities, vol. io $29.50 Also in the series, Psychiatry and the Humanities, Joseph H. Smith and William Kerrigan, editors Pragmatism’s Freud The Moral Disposition of Psychoanalysis With contributions by Richard Rorty, Annette Baier, Gordon Braden, David Damrosch, James W. Earl, and Richard H. King. $24.50 Opening Texts Psychoanalysis and the Culture of the Child Contributors include Anne Scott MacLeod, Steven Marcus, Samuel Pickering, Jr., Roger Sale, Maria Tatar, Nicholas Tucker, and Jack Zipes. $20.00 Taking Chances Derrida, Psychoanalysis, and Literature With essays by Jacques Derrida, Alan Bass, David Carroll, William Kerrigan, J. Hillis Miller, Avital Ronell, and Samuel Weber. $22.50 THE JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY PRESS 701 West 40th Street, Suite 275, Baltimore, Maryland 21211 The Masters of the Italian Renaissance THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE READER Edited by Julia Conaway Bondanella and Mark Musa. Here is a thorough, yet concise, one-volume introduction by two noted scholars to the influential works of the major literary figures of Renaissance Italy- Francesco Petrarch, Giovanni Boccaccio, Leon Battista Alberti, Pico della Mirandola, Leonardo da Vinci, Baldesar Castiglione, Niccolo Machiavelli, Francesco Guicciardini, Benvenuto Cellini, Michelangelo Buonarotti, and Giorgio Vasari. Almost two-thirds of this collection is newly translated and each piece is accompanied by introductory commentary and endnotes that provide a rich understand­ ing of each writer’s life and works. ©MERIDIAN 0-452-00873-5 $5.95/$8.25* ‘Price in Canada. Prices subject to change. 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It is also the first full-length study of Beckett’s short fictions of the past thirty-five years, his work in narrative since The Unnamable. 308 pp., 4 illus. $24.95 THE PHYSICIAN’S TALE Edited by Helen Storm Corsa Volume 2, Part 17 of a Variorum Edition of the Works of Geoffrey Chaucer The Physician's Tale, somewhat neglected during the nineteenth century, has enjoyed a resurgence of scholarly attention over the past quarter century. Corsa demonstrates above all else that this tale will continue to make tantalizing claims on our interest and attention, and her unusually full treatment should prove to be an indispensable aid to student and teacher alike. 208 pp., illus. $29.50 THE VIRGIN TEXT Fiction, Sexuality, and Ideology By Jon Stratton Uniting post-structuralist sociological and historical theories of the family and sexuality with feminist literary criticism of the novel, Stratton explores how the written and published text has been histor­ ically constructed and conceptualized as a “fetishized” female ob­ ject. The first volume in The Oklahoma Project for Discourse and Theory. 256 pp. $22.50 A new series to explore the human sciences. THE OKLAHOMA PROJECT FOR DISCOURSE AND THEORY Series Editors: Robert Con Davis and Ronald Schleifer. The Oklahoma Project for Discourse and Theory is a series of scholar­ ly books in the humanities integrating contemporary literary and cultural criticism, both theoretical and practical. Each contribution to the series will address an area or an interchange in the human sciences. KEATS AS A READER OF SHAKESPEARE By R. S. White White has used Keats’s statements in letters and marginalia along with the poet’s clear affinity to the critical principles of Hazlitt to establish what Shakespeare meant to Keats both as a reader and as a great poet in his own right. 250 pp. $24.95 Write for free catalog. From your bookseller, or order books direct (add SI.50 post band). Dept I 16 1005 Asp Ave. — Norman. OK 73019 University of Oklahoma Press ILLINOIS Interviews with American Authors of the 1980s Walter Ablsh Max Apple Ann Beattie Raymond Carver Alive and Writing Samuel Debny Barry Hannah Russell Hoban William Kennedy Cemhuled .inti edited by Larry McCaffery and Sinda Gregory Ursula Le Guin Thomas McGuane Tbm Robbins Ron Stillman Edmund White Max Apple: Things don't behave the way that so-called realistic fiction depicts them.... In my freshman English class I taught One Hundred Years of Solitude; I think its a wonderful book. Many freshmen did not understand it - they thought it was weird and claimed that nothing like that could ever happen. One student finally got up and said that he much preferred The Red and the Black.... So I said, Look, if you take a course in the history of World War I, you're used to reading paragraphs that give you the four reasons for the war.... We're used to all these kinds of political and economic ways of talking about what's happened. But, I said, Marquez is telling you about these things in another way. Suppose you start a story like this: Once upon a time there was a vegetarian with one testicle who decided he wanted to kill all the Jews in the world, and one of the most sophisticated nations in the history of the world went along with him. I said. Look what history /s/Look at what you're living in the midst of! "McCaffery and Gregory have the best interviewing style I've come across, and they manage, as in their illuminating conversation with Max Apple, to get more out of their subjects than anyone else who is conducting such inter­ views. " - Alan Wilde, author of Horizons of Assent. Illustrated, $22.50 Boundaries of the Self Gender, Culture, Fiction Roberta Rubenstein Rubenstein analyzes the complete fictional canons of six contemporary women writers who represent a multiplic­ ity of female viewpoints and cultural identities: Maxine Hong Kingston, Toni Morrison, Leslie Silko, Marilynne Robinson, Margaret Atwood, and Penelope Mortimer. Through their fiction, all six explore such issues as union and exclusion, attachment and separation, the discovery of psychological boundaries, the nature of relationships between mothers (or mother figures) and daughters, the implicit or explicit cultural conflicts between dissimilar groups or values, and the relationship between gender and ethnicity. $24.95 Robert Hayden A Critical Analysis of His Poetry Pontheolla Taylor Williams With a foreword by Biyden Jackson Robert Hayden selected themes and forms from both Euro-American and Afro-American literary traditions. In her critical study of Hayden's complete oeuvre, including the posthumously published American Journal and uncollected poetry, Williams demonstrates how he was determined to correct the distortions of Afro-American history by choosing well-known black heroic figures to represent aspects of Afro-American culture. Her study is based on extensive research in the poet's private papers and on a series of interviews with Hayden, his col­ leagues, and his publishers. $21.95 The Romance Revolution Erotic Novels for Women and the Quest for a New Sexual Identity Carol Thurston A sociological study of romance novels and the women who read them, The Romance Revolution offers a comprehensive analysis of the evolution of the genre since 1972. "One of the most readable and consistently fascinating books I have read in a long time. Thurston offers a view of romances that will surprise many readers who have written off these books as a form of escapist literature." - Maurice Charney, author of Sexual Fiction. Illustrated. Cloth, $27.95; paper, $9.95 Intricate and Simple Things The Poetry of Galway Kinnell Lee Zimmerman Charting the shifting relationships between isolation and belonging in Galway Kinnell's poetry, Zimmerman identifies poetic affinities between Kinnell and three opposed pairs of literary ancestors: William Wordsworth and John Keats, Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson, and T S. Eliot and William Carlos Williams. Connecting Kinnell to Rilke and to other twentieth-century writers, Zimmerman also examines Kinnell's novel, translations, and critical writing. $ 19.95 Order from your local bookstore, or from University of Illinois Press % CUP Services R O. Box 6525 Ithaca, New York 14851 607/277-2211 Ajenilbn English A Sample Sdecii&i hr LITERATURE > . r-ni. James H. Pickering andL.thtMttUTZ', Second Edcuon.........Jettrey D. Hoeper 1886 ^f-fendbook hf (the. late) C. High Holman and LwttteEurC,, Fifth Edition........................... William Harmon 1886 Writing About L&ew&unl' '■ Aims CUM/boOSS........Joyce MacAUister 1887 Literature and Writing Process........ Elizabeth McMahan, .Susan Pay and Robert Funk 1886 Lfier&kute of jEfa' Brian Mlkie and* u Western World , Second Edition.............. James Hurt 1888 Vol. L: The Ancient World Through The/tiuMissuncHr l/ol TL NtoclAfficisn Through, 7m Modem Period The A&ntii of MrgiL................... Anthology of American ti&rahtnc,, Third Edition Vol. I ■ Colonial Through. Pomankio Vol. TL- Realism To The. present .........Brian Wilkie 1887 .George McMichael 1885 Cpnusp Anthology of AmeriCCen litensEuni', Second Edition..JSeorge McMichael 1885 Fiction 100 • •' Fifth Edition........... James H. Pickering 1888 X The Story • ... Readers and IdrHtrs of Fiction.................... pavid Bergman 1888 Ct&SSUS of... , Jolxn W Griff-i-ftiand Childrens utemiure, S&cond Edition...........Charles Frey 1887 tt&VlCC&S of (the late) Alexander Allison, Arthur M. Easlman , Fifth Edition................. and ArlhurJ. Carr 1886 the ferrnfc COMPOSITION The, Macmillan., COU&ge' HC&tdfrGOK....................................... Gerald Levin 1987 7Zi£ ShatM, of Reason ■ ArgurMrdadtiJi/e, Writing in Coilaga,.................... John T Gage 1987 Revising ProS&, Second Edition... .fcchard/\. Lanham 1987 The fundamentals of Thomas EL. Pearsall and.. . QOOu, Wribifig.......................Donald H- Cunningham 1988 Ways To Writing, Linda c. Stanley,.. oeeond Edition............................ David Shim kin and 4llen Larmer I988J^£. Writing and Learning, m Second Edition............................................>4nne Ruggles Gere 1888 Vision and Revision ... The Process of finding and Writing....... Salty Sullivan 1988 Writing for Life.......... ........ Perr^EGiSos ^0^ Write and Write Again •* Jane Paznik'Bondarinandaaw A Worktext with Readings.....................Milton Baxter 1988 JsjC Writing Arguments : John D Ramage and 44^ J RhetoPu arid Reader............................... John C. Bean 1988 The M&anillan Reader...Judith Nadell and John Langan 1987 £rOSStn£J TolfyreS •■ Henry Knepler and Reading FarConpasdian, Second Edition... Myrna Knepler 1987 The, Conscious Reader, Caroline Schrodes, kkg Fourth. Edition.......... Harry Fines tone, Michael Shugruc. 1988 Models in Proass • A Rhetoric and Reader.............. .. .V/illiam. Kelly 1988 fiF Stuart Hirschberg 1988 *rossPLsd For Further Inquiry Concerning Our Complete Menu 0/ {Lassus In uteraiure,, iompostt&n, and £SL Call Toll - Fret. I-&0O- 426 3750 or write. Mamdllan Pidtfcfiing Cvnp&iu COLLEGE DIVISION 866 THIRD AVENUE NEW Y<5*K;/V)NYIOOZZ “A classic in the field; in fact, it has the field to itself” WILLIAM CARROLL* SHAKESPEARE A Study and Research Guide Second Edition, Revised Dauid M. Bergeron and Geraldo Cl. de Sousa This volume provides for the student or general reader an overview of the develop­ ment and present state of Shakespeare schol­ arship and the variety of possible critical approaches—including sections on feminism and gender studies, Shakespeare’s Romances, poststructuralism, and the new historicism— and summaries and evaluations of scores of bibliographies, periodicals, monographs, and reference books. Also included are guidelines for, and a model of, the critical research paper, taking into account the new MLA documentation system. “Answers a lot of questions [students] ask, as well as others they ought to ask. . . . Useful not only to undergraduates, but also to graduate students, teachers, and others who are beginning serious study of Shake­ speare.”—Shakespeare Quarterly. *William Carroll, author of The Metamor­ phoses of Shakespearean Comedy. 208 pages, $25.00 cloth, $7.95 paper UNIVERSITY PRESS OF KANSAS 329 Carruth, Lawrence KS 66045 directory °f Master's Rrograms The most current and comprehensive listing of master’s programs in the United States in foreign languages, foreign literatures, and linguistics. The Directory of Master’s Programs in Foreign Languages, Foreign Literatures, and Linguistics not only provides information for prospective graduate students and their advisers but also offers departments a useful tool in making curriculum comparisons and evaluations. Entries contain data on languages offered, curricular emphases, requirements, program options, and certificates or diplomas. Several indexes make information easy to find by state, program, special program, certificate or diploma, and by a general comprehensive index. 79S7. 77J pp. $15.00 (MLA members $12.00) MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION in Foreign Languages, Foreign Literatures, and Linguistics MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION The best in contemporary and timeless literature from Plume Fiction SOMETIMES I LIVE AN ACADEMIC QUESTION By Barbara Pym. Set in a provincial English uni­ versity in the early 1970’s, An Academic Question is, according to Vanity Fair, “a must for Pym com- pletists.. a picnic outing of a book.” Kirkus Reviews called it “bracing fun...intriguing Pym, studded with luminescent thumbnail characteriza­ tions and deliciously funny.” ©Plume 0-452-25996-7 S7.95/S10.95* IN THE COUNTRY FAGGOTS By Larry Kramer. “Faggots sends up New York's self-imposed gay ghetto...its gyms, its discos, orgy rooms, army fatigues, moustaches and ad­ vertising agencies,” wrote Library Journal of this controversial novel when it was first published in 1978. A decade later, Erica Jong called it “a book of major historical importance—the first contem­ porary novel to chronicle gay life with unsparing honesty and wild humor.” ©Plume 0-452-25997-5 $7.95/$10.95* By Frederick Busch. A novel with “great re­ sources of humor and —who even uses the word any more? —tenderness,” said The New York Times Book Review of this novel of adolescent an­ guish and emotional renewal from “an immensely gifted and mindful writer.” “A powerful account of coming of age in an isolated and forbidding pocket of contemporary rural America.”— Washington Post Book World ©Plume 0-452-25932-0 S7.95/S10.95* November THE NIGHTINGALE By Sholom Aleichem. Translated by Aliza Shevrin. Exploring the relationship between the demands of religion and the temptations of the secular world, Aleichem tells the tragic story of a young cantor whose clear, lilting voice earns him the nickname of Nightingale. “Shevrin’s translation is a delight...a book where tears and laughter mingle.”—New York Times Book Review ©Plume 0-452-25933-9 $7.95/$10.95* December ANNA DELANEY'S CHILD By John Thorndike. Set in America’s heartland, this beautifully crafted first novel follows one wom­ an’s journey from the devastating loss of her only son and recent divorce to her first tentative steps toward healing and building new bonds. “Thorn­ dike creates a strong heroine in Anna Delaney.... The setting is carefully detailed... and the charac­ ters, each mourning a loss, are strikingly original.” —Library Journal ©Plume 0-452-25998-3 $7.95/510.95* 'Price in Canada. Prices subject to change. Write to the Education Department at the address below for a free Literature & Language catalog. NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY 1633 Broadway, New York. NY 10019 IMAM- Using MLA Online, the computer-accessible form of the MLA International Bibliography, you can identify—in ten minutes or less—sources that explore the influence of photography on Simon’s novels, the feminist implications of Manuel Puig’s works, apartheid in South African literature, and the film adaptations of books. MLA Online provides access to the world’s largest bibliography of works on literature, languages, and linguistics. And that’s not all. MLA Online also offers information on politics and law; film, television, and radio; social sciences; philosophy; anthropology and folklore; psychology; and religion. It is available through Dialog Information Retrieval Services and through the WILSONLINE™ retrieval system. In October, the Bibliography will also be available on CD through WILSONDISC™. As of September 1987, MLA Online included 816,906 citations from the 1965 to 1986 volumes of the MLA International Bibliography. An expansion of the data base is under way; soon every volume of the Bibliography, which began publication in 1921, will be added to the online file. More important, monthly updates to MLA Online began in December 1986, making bibliographical information from 1986 publications available to online users well before the bound volumes of the Bibliography are published. When users search MLA Online, they get immediate, up-to-date answers to research questions. For a brochure describing MLA Online in detail, please write or call Dee Ella Spears, Manager of Online and Special Services, at the Modern Language Association, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003, (212) 614-6350. Signet Classic\ SHAKESPEARE The most comprehensive, authoritative and complete paperback collection of Shakespeare's dramas...newly revised to include the latest in critical insight and interpretation. I The Merchant lofVfenke MORE THAN 18 MILLION IN PRINT Great literature and great scholarship have always complemented each other in the SIGNET CLASSIC SHAKESPEARE. Now Sylvan Barnet, Profes­ sor of English at Tufts University and the original general editor of the series, has carefully selected special new critical materials designed to enhance the appreciation of these plays by a new generation of readers. SIGNET CLASSIC SHAKESPEARE is the only paperback series • Togrow with the times by selecting both historical and thoroughly con­ temporary critical commentary on such issues as feminist, political, and theatrical interpretations of the plays and including recent essays by such respected scholars as Frank Kermode, Carolyn Heilbrun, Michael Gold­ man, Linda Bamber, and many others. • To provide more bibliographic listings and the most up-to-date and rel­ evant listings of pertinent books and articles. • To feature timely new essays, written by Sylvan Barnet, on the Perfor­ mance or Stage History of each play. Complete, contemporary, consistently superior, the SIGNET CLASSIC SHAKESPEARE also remains one of the most affordable editions available. SIGNET CLASSIC SHAKESPEARE combines the newest in critical material with the proven superiority of such outstanding features as Footnotes—extensive but unobtru­ sive notes at the bottom of each page Type Size—larger than the competing editions with better leading between lines and better spacing between speeches Introductory Remarks—cogent de­ scriptions of Shakespeare's back­ ground, the texts of nis plays and notes on the text, and comments on Shakespeare's theater General Introduction—each play fea­ tures an extensive individual intro­ duction by a noted scholar Character Names—provided in full for each speech throughout the play Original Play Source—a specific account of sources; original mater­ ials are actually included when applicable "The new revisions of contents promise to make this series a most desirable choice for teaching Shakespeare in the 1980's and '90's." —Irwin Primer, Professor of English and Coordinator of Sophomore Literature, Rutgers University, Newark Campus. New Revised Editions of Shakespeare's most-often-taught plays OTHELLO JULIUS CAESAR KING LEAR Edited and with a Special Introduction by Alvin Kernan, Yale University 0-451-52132-3 $3.50/54.SO- THE MERCHANT OF VENICE Edited and with a Special Introduction by Kenneth O. Myrick, Tufts University 0-451-52133-1 $2.25/$2.95* MACBETH Edited and with a Special Introduction by Sylvan Barnet, Tufts University 0-451-52135-8 $2.75/53.75- ROMEO AND JULIET Edited and with a Special Introduction by Joseph Bryant, University of Kentucky 0-451-52136-6 $2.75/53.75- A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM Edited and with a Special Introduction by Wolfgang Clemen, University of Munich 0-451-52137-4 $2.75/53.75- Edited and with a Special Introduction by William and Barbara Rosen, University of Connecticut 0-451-52124-2 $1.95/52.50- THE TEMPEST Edited and with a Special Introduction by Robert Langbaum, University of Virginia 0-451-52125-0 $2.25752.95* THE TAMING OF THE SHREW Edited and with a Special Introduction by Robert Heilman, University of Washington 0-451-52126-9 $2.50/53.50-' In addition, SIGNET CLASSIC keeps all thirty-eight Shakespeare plays in print at all limes. •Price in Canada. Prices subject to change. NAL NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY 1633 Broadway, New York, NY 10019 Edited and with a Special Introduction by Russell Fraser, University of Michigan 0-451-52127-7 $2.75/53 75- HAMLET Edited and with a Special Introduction by Edward Hubler, Princeton University 0-451-52128-5 $2.7S/$3.75* TWELFTH NIGHT Edited and with a Special Introduction by Herschel Clay Baker, Harvard University 0-451-52129-3 $2.75/53.75- HENRY IV, PART I Edited and with a Special Introduction by Maynard Mack, Yale University 0-451-52130-7 $2.50/53.50- AS YOU LIKE IT Edited and with a Special Introduction by Albert Gilman, Boston University 0-451-52131-5 $2.50/53.50* Linguistics Actes du XVIIP Congres International de Linguistique et de Philologie Romanes Universite de Trier (Treves) 1986 Edited by Dieter Kremer [= Proceedings of the 18th International Conference on Romance Languages and Literatures. University of Trier (West Germany), 1986.] 7 vols. with log. c. 4340 p. Cloth tog. c. US-$ 730. — ■ ISBN 3-484- 30220-7 The volumes will also be sold separately. A special prospectus with detailed information on the contents is available. The documents of this most important international academic confe­ rence of Romance scholars, which took place in Germany for the first time, offer a representative cross-section of recent work in all Romance languages and literatures. 371 reports are collected here including 19 podium discussions, divided into 16 sections led by the most important specialists in the field. Besides such traditional areas as the history of language, the geography of language, lexicography, theoretical linguistics, medieval literature, topics such as ^Romania submersa</‘Romania nova< (Africa), onomastics, new methods of liter­ ary analysis, academic history or the presentation of important re­ search projects on international Romance studies are given promi­ nence. Anne Betten Grundziige der Prosasyntax Stilpragende Entwicklungen vom Althochdeutschen zum Neuhochdeutschcn [= prose Syntax. Style moulding developments from Old High German to New High German.] C. /90 p. Paper c. US-$ 24.-. ISBN 3-484-31082-0 (Reihe Germanistische Linguistik. Vol. 82) The first part provides important sources for prose from the 8th to the 16th century as well as the reasons for its proliferation. The second part begins with a summary of the treatment of syntax in historical grammars followed by a rough draft of the development of sentence constructions from OHG to NHG. The oversimplification demanded by such approaches is enhanced by more detailed, critical, text-based analyses in the following four chapters: conjunction, periphrastic verb forms, verb position, and sentence complexity. The DANLEX-Group Descriptive Tools for Electronic Processing of Dictionary Data Studies in computational lexicography XI, 261 p. Paper c. US-$ 38.-. ISBN3-484-30920-2 (Lexicographica. Series Maior. Vol. 20) This book grew out of a wish on the part of the authors to use the power of the computer for lexicographical cooperation: cooperation between lexicographers and publishers, between the editors of indivi­ dual dictionaries, between authors and users of dictionaries, and be­ tween different dictionaries. The DANLEX group itself is an example of cooperation between dictionary editors, experts in computational linguistics, terminologists and publishers. Georges Kleiber Relatives restrictives et relatives appositives: une opposition >introuvable<? [= Restrictive Relatives and Appositive Relatives: An >Unpercep- tive< Opposition?] [II], 166 p. Cloth c. US-$39. — . ISBN 3-484-32216-x (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift fur romanische Philologie. Vol. 216) In the first chapter the author examines the various semantic defin­ itions, the tests of identification and the different syntactic representa­ tions which are proposed. He shows then (2nd chapter) the limits of such characterisations. After a review of the different studies which have tried to go beyond the traditional opposition (chapter 3), he offers a new conception of the distinction restrictive/appositive based on a structural and pronominal ambivalence. Lexikon der Romanistischen Linguistik (LRL) Edited by Gunter Holtus, Michael Metzeltin, Christian Schmitt [= Dictionary of Romance Linguistics.] 8 vols. with tog. c. 3.840 p. Cloth. Format 17 x 24 cm. Complete c. US-$ 2.030. —. ISBN I—VIII: 3-484-30230-9 The volumes will also be sold seperately. A prospectus with detailed information is available. The »Lexikon der Romanistischen Linguistik (LRL)« provides a gene­ ral survey of Romance language studies, emphasizing both the links between this area of research and language studies in general and the pioneering aspects of Romance studies that have been taken up to a significant degree in other areas of linguistics. — The work consists of 8 volumes and totals some 5.840 pages. Each volume will be available separately. The articles are written in French, Italian, Spanish, Portu­ guese, or German. Publication will begin in late 1987 with volume IV (articles 234 — 292) on Italian, Corsican, and Sardinian. The next installments to appear will be volume III (Romanian, Dalmatian and Istro-Romance, Friulian, Ladin, Romansch), and volume V (French, Occitan, Catalan). The first volume to appear: Vol. IV Italian, Corsican, Sardinian C. 760 p. Cloth c. US-$ 264.— (when buying the entire edition) (Price for the single volume: c. US-$ 283. — . ISBN 3-484-30234-7) Symposium on Lexicography III Proceedings of the Third International Symposium on Lexicography May 14—16, 1986 at the University of Copenhagen Edited by Karl Hyldgaard-Jensen and Arne Zetterstf.n XI, 346 p. Paper, c. US-$ 112.—. ISBN 3-484-30919-9 (Lexicographica. Series Maior. Vol. 19) Aleksander Szulc Historische Phonologie des Deutschen [= Historical German Phonology.] C. 173 p. Paper c. GS-$ 24. — . ISBN 3-484-63006-0 (Sprachstrukturen. Series A. Historische Sprachstrukturen. Vol. 6) This book is intended to fill the historically determined gap in German linguistics between the neogrammarian concept of historical language studies and generative phonology. It gives a survey of the development of the German sound system from its Indo-European roots up to the standard language of today. Literature Hans Banziger Frisch und Durrenmatt Materialien und Kommentare [= Frisch and Durrenmatt. Material and commentaries.] C. 190 p. Paper c. USS24. — . ISBN 3-484-32042-7 (Untersuchungen zur deutschen Literaturgeschichte. Vol. 42) This book is a collection of new insights on Frisch and Durrenmatt: The articles deal with the growing tension between Frisch and the »Neue Ziircher Zeitung**, his strong sense of literary tradition, diffe­ rent grotesque reactions to performances of Durrenmatt’s » Visit**, Tilly Wedekinds accusation that the »Marriage of Mr. Mississippi** was a plagiarism, a complex of security motifs in the »Meteor*<. Sigmund von Birken Werke und Korrespondenz Edited by Klaus Garber, Ferdinand van Ingen, Dietrich Jons and Hartmut LauehOtte [= Sigmund von Birken, Works and Correspondence (Critical Edi­ tion).] Since the 1960’s research in German Literature of the 17th century has taken new directions and thereby uncovered the absence of an edition of the works of one of the most important German authors of this time. Until now there have been only a few reprintings or new print­ ings of the work of Sigmund von Birken, even though the greater part of this writings are by far more typical for the way of thinking and writing of the Baroque than others which have determined the picture of German Baroque literature for centuries. This critical edition con­ tains Birken’s works in certain areas in a representative selections, in others in a complete edition and should give the basis for various new research. The first volume to appear: Vol. 14: Prosapia / Biographia Edited by Dietrich Jons and Hartmut Lauehutte [= Sigmund von Birken, Autobiography.] C. 190p. Paper c. USS34. — . ISBN3-484-28041-7 (Neudrucke deutscher Literaturwerke. N.F. Vol. 41) Deutsche Handschriften 1100 — 1400 Oxforder Kolloquium 1985 Edited by Volker Honemann and Nigel F. Palmer [= German Manuscripts 1100 — 1400. Oxford Colloquium 1985.] C.62op. withe. 100plates.Clothe.US-5 no.-. ISBN3-484-10378-x Roland Kany Mnemosyne als Programm Geschichte, Erinnerung und die Andacht zum Unbedeutenden im Werk von Usener, Warburg und Benjamin [= Mnemosyne as a Program. History, recollection and the devo­ tion to the insignificant in Usener, Warburg and Benjamin.] 1987. VI, 273 p. Paper US-$ 48. — . ISBN3-484-18093-3 (Studien zur deutschen Literatur. Vol. 93) Hans-Georg Kemper Deutsche Lyrik der friihen Neuzeit Vol. 3: Barock — Mystik [= Early Modern German Poetry. Vol. 3: Baroque — Mysticism.] C. 343 p. Cloth US-$ 36. — ; Paper US-$ 24.-. ISBN 3-484-10368-2/ 10361-3 This six volume study places the poetry of the period between the Middle Ages and the modern age for the first time in a broad social and cultural context which extends far beyond the normal limitations of epoch and genre. A wide variety of cultural manifestations of the time, little considered until now, are examined. The volume now appearing is »Baroque - Mysticism**. It shows how the >seeing< mystic of the seventeenth century makes the divine accessible through the medium of poetry. In sanctifying the poetry, he at the same time turns the Chri­ stian pursuit of salvation into something more aesthetic and secular. Hugh Powell Trammels of Tradition Aspects of German life in the seventeenth century and their impact on the contemporary literature C. 300 p. with c. 33 plates. Cloth c. US-$ 38. — . ISBN 3-484-10383-6 This book is not another historical account of German Baroque litera­ ture. Instead, the author identifies some close affinities between the interests of seventeenth-century poets and novelists and the special concerns of contemporary political philosophers, mathematicians, technologists, medical practitioners and others in the German-speak­ ing territories. He also demonstrates that in those days scientists and men of letters were not conceptually and linguistically estranged. Through a selection and scrutiny of imaginative and didactic writings in the rhetorical tradition, of literature for recreation, of geographical surveys, accounts of travel abroad, books disseminating mathematical and scientific phenomena in popular forms, down to newssheets and street ballads light is shed on the rival claims of traditional practices and embedded attitudes on the one hand, and venturesome modes of thinking and investigation on the other. Verantwortung und Utopie Zur Literatur der Goethezeit Ein Symposium Edited by Wolfgang Wittkowski [= Responsibility and Utopia. On the literature of the Goethe period. A symposium.] C. 460 p. Cloth c. US-$ 76.—. ISBN 3-484-10333-4 In order to clarify the meaning of >utopian thought* as often applied to authors of the Goethezeit, contributors refer to 'responsibility*, a term emerging as the main opposition to >utopian thinking* in recent politi­ cal debate. As a result, the unprecise use of the term >utopian< is being exposed, discussed and more clearly defined in respect to individual authors and works. This are some of our new publications in the area of linguistics of the second half of 1987. Publication is expected by the winter of 1987/88. In the U.S. and Canada please address your call for detailed informa­ tion and your order to Foris Publication USA, Inc. P.O. Box 59 04 Providence, RI 02903, or phone (401) 232-2722 or telefax (401) 231-2373. Max Niemeyer Verlag P.O. Box 21 40 • D-7400 Tubingen Niemeyer NEW BOOKS FROM LIVERPOOL EN MARGE DU CLASSICISME: ESSAYS ON THE THE FRENCH THEATRE FROM THE RENAISSANCE TO THE ENLIGHTENMENT edited by ALAN HOWE and RICHARD WALLER Scholarly activity in all aspects of French theatre studies is currently at a very high level. This collection of eleven papers written in English focuses on a variety of problems, of staging, genre, dramaturgy, ideology and aesthetics, exhibiting a corresponding variety of critical approaches, and maintaining a balance between the detailed analysis of plays other than the great masterpieces by Corneille, Moliere and Racine, and the consideration of more wide-ranging topics. 304 pp. £13.95 net/$29.95 (doth) April 1987 ISBN 0 85323 105 2 STENDHAL ET L’ANGLETERRE edited by K.G. McWATTERS and C.W. THOMPSON A distinguished collection of essays mostly written in French covering the extent of Stendhal’s debt to English literature, language, thought and civilisation and of his contribution to English periodical literature. The papers were first given at a Colloquium held at the French Institute in London. 416 pp. £22.50 net/$39.95 (doth) )uly 1987 ISBN 0 85323 045 5 THE CHESTER MYSTERY CYCLE: A NEW STAGING TEXT by EDWARD BURNS This is a modernized acting version of the fifteenth-century Chester Mystery Plays, commisioned for first performance in July 1987. The new text aims to present accessible and immediate theatre for modern audiences while maintaining the specific character of the Cycle. 192 pp. £5.95 net (paper) June 1987 ISBN 0 85323 046 3 BYRON AND THE LIMITS OF FICTION edited by BERNARD BEATTY AND VINCENT NEWEY This collection of essays is timed to coincide with the anniversary in 1988 of Byron’s birth in 1788. Contents include: Byron and the Limits of Fiction; Beppo: Empiricism and Deconstruction; Byron’s Orientalism; Byron’s Experiments in Personality; Byron and the Sense of the Dramatic; Lyrical Presence in Byron’s Narratives; Time and Space in Childe Harolde's Pilgrimage; Byron’s Make-Believe, and Contemporary Theory. Liverpool English Texts and Studies, Volume XXII 176 pp. approx. £18.25 net (doth) Spring 1988 ISBN 0 85323 026 9 In the USA, these books and further information are available from HUMANITIES PRESS INTERNATIONAL INC., ATLANTIC HIGHLANDS, NEW JERSEY 07716; Telephone 201-872-1441; Telex 752233 HILARIOUS LIVERPOOL UNIVERSITY PRESS RO Box 147, Liverpool, L693BX, UK.Telex627095 Contents of Volume 102 (1987) I. AUTHORS AND TITLES Barnard, Mary E. (Pennsylvania State Univ., University Park). Garcilaso’s Poetics of Subversion and the Orpheus Tapestry.......................................................................................... (May) 316 Castillo, Debra A. (Cornell Univ.). Never-Ending Story: Carmen Martin Gaite’s The Back Room ....................................................................................................................................... (Oct.) 814 Cohen, Ed (Stanford Univ.). Writing Gone Wilde: Homoerotic Desire in the Closet of Representation................................................................................................................................... (Oct.) 801 Cope, Jackson I. (Univ. of Southern California). Bernini and Roman Commedie Ridicotose............................................................................................................................................ (Mar.) 177 Crane, Susan (Rutgers Univ., New Brunswick). Alison’s Incapacity and Poetic Insta­ bility in the Wife of Bath’s Tale..................................................................................................... (Jan.) 20 Dasenbrock, Reed Way (New Mexico State Univ.). Intelligibility and Meaningfulness in Multicultural Literature in English.......................................................................................... (Jan.) 10 Earl, James W. (Fordham Univ.). Hisperic Style in the Old English “Rhyming Poem” (Mar.) 187 FInch, A. R. C. (Stanford Univ.). Dickinson and Patriarchal Meter: A Theory of Metrical Codes.................................................................................................................................................. (Mar.) 166 Foster, Donald W. (Vassar Coll.). Master W. H., R.l.P.................................................. (Jan.) 42 Harwood, Britton J. (Miami Univ.). Chaucer and the Silence of History: Situating the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale.................................................................................................................... (May) 338 Kristeva, Julia (Paris, France). The Pain of Sorrow in the Modern World: The Works of Marguerite Duras........................................................................................................................ (Mar.) 138 Laurence, David (New York, New York). William Bradford’s American Sublime ... (Jan.) 55 Law, Jules David (Princeton Univ.). Joyce’s “Delicate Siamese” Equation: The Dialectic of Home in Ulysses.......................................................................................................................... (Mar.) 197 McConeghy, Patrick M. (Michigan State Univ.). Women’s Speech and Silence in Hart­ mann von Aue’s Erec...................................................................................................................... (Oct.) 772 Miller, J. Hillis (Univ. of California, Irvine). Presidential Address 1986. The Triumph of Theory, the Resistance to Reading, and the Question of the Material Base................. (May) 281 Mitchell, Lee Clark (Princeton Univ.). “When You Call Me That . . . ”: Tall Talk and Male Hegemony in The Virginian........................................................................................ (Jan.) 66 Modleski, Tanla (Univ. of Wisconsin, Milwaukee). Rape versus Mans/laughter: Hitch­ cock’s Blackmail and Feminist Interpretation........................................................................... (May) 304 Moser, Thomas C., Jr. (Stanford Univ.). “And I Mon Waxe Wod”: The Middle English “Foweles in the Frith” .................................................................................................................... (May) 326 Norris, Margot (Univ. of Michigan, Ann Arbor). Narration under a Blindfold: Read­ ing Joyce’s “Clay”............................................................................................................................ (Mar.) 206 Pechter, Edward (Concordia Univ.). The New Historicism and Its Discontents: Politiciz­ ing Renaissance Drama .................................................................................................................. (May) 292 Petrey, Sandy (State Univ. of New York, Stony Brook). Castration, Speech Acts, and the Realist Difference: S/Z versus Sarrasine............................................................................. (Mar.) 153 Rackin, Phyllis (Univ. of Pennsylvania). Androgyny, Mimesis, and the Marriage of the Boy Heroine on the English Renaissance Stage......................................................................... (Jan.) 29 Soyinka, Wole (Abeokuta, Nigeria). Nobel Lecture 1986. This Past Must Address Its Present................................................................................................................................................ (Oct.) 762 Vogeley, Nancy (Univ. of San Francisco). Defining the “Colonial Reader”: El Periquillo Sarniento............................................................................................................................................ (Oct.) 784 II. MISCELLANEOUS Committees and Commissions of the Association............................................................ (Dir.) 432 Constitution of the Modern Language Association.................................................... (Dir.) 468 Departmental Administrators, 1987-88 Four-Year Colleges and Universities............................................................................. (Dir.) 608 Two-Year Colleges ............................................................................................................... (Dir.) 625 Directory of Useful Addresses, 1987-88........................................................................... (Dir.) 731 Contents of Volume 102 Distribution of MLA Members............................................................................................. (Dir.) 448 Editor’s Column..................................................................... (Jan.) 3, (Mar.) 131, (May) 275, (Oct.) 755 Ethnic Studies Programs........................................................................................................ (Dir.) 635 Fellowships and Grants.......................................................................................................... (Dir.) 650 Forum........................................................................................ (Jan.) 78, (Mar.) 216, (May) 351, (Oct.) 829 Honorary Fellows of the Modern Language Association......................................... (Dir.) 475 Honorary Members of the Modern Language Association....................................... (Dir.) 474 Humanities Research Centers............................................................................................... (Dir.) 649 In Memorlam................................................................................................................................. (Dir.) 606 Language and Area Programs............................................................................................... (Dir.) 637 List of Members........................................................................................................................... (Dir.) 477 Members of the Executive Council.................................................................................... (Dir.) 428 MLA Delegate Assembly.......................................................................................................... (Dir.) 429 MLA Divisions and Discussion Groups .............................................................................. (Dir.) 449 MLA Headquarters Staff ........................................................................................................... (Dir.) 442 MLA Statistics........................................................................................................................... (Dir.) 444 Organizations of Independent Scholars and Organizations Providing Significant Programs for Independent Scholars.......................................................................................................... (Dir.) 648 Presidents of the Association, 1884-1987 ......................................................................... (Dir.) 428 Procedures for Organizing Meetings for the MLA Convention and Policies for MLA Divisions and Discussion Groups.................................................................................................... (Dir.) 451 Professional Notes and Comment........... (Jan.) 94, (Mar.) 236, (May) 374, (Dir.) 686, (Oct.) 878 Report of the Executive Director...................................................................................... (May) 353 Reports of the Regional Modern Language Associations......................................... (Dir.) 462 Women’s Studies Programs........................................................................................................... (Dir.) 640 IMAGINING THE PENITENTIARY Fiction and the Architecture of Mind in Eighteenth-Century England JOHN BENDER “An outstanding example of the new historical scholarship in literature, which tracks the parallel development in the eighteenth century of new concepts of penal confinement and surveillance and new narrative strategies of authorial control.”—Anne K. Mellor, University of California, Los Angeles Cloth $29.95 352 pages lest.} 70 halftones THE POST CARD From Socrates to Freud and Beyond JACQUES DERRIDA Translated by Alan Bass A mock-epistolary account of the scholarly debate over the value and authenticity of Plato’s “letters;” a deconstructive reading of Beyond the Pleasure Principle; and a critique of Lacan's psychoanalytic interpretation of “The Purloined Letter.” Paper $18.95 552 pages 1 color plate, 5 halftones Library cloth edition $46.00 THE TRUTH IN PAINTING JACQUES DERRIDA Translated by Geoff Bennington and Ian McLeod Cezanne wrote to Emile Bernard: "I owe you the truth in painting and I will tell it to you.” It is this “truth”—how it is to be understood, whether it can be rendered (and what it is to render)—that Derrida pursues here through essays occasioned by Kant’s Critique of Judgment, Heidegger's Origin of the Work of Art, and the work of Adami and of Titus-Carmel. Paper $19.95 408 pages 63 halftones Library cloth edition $49.95 TRADITION COUNTER TRADITION Love and the Form of Fiction JOSEPH ALLEN BOONE Foreword by Catharine R. Stimpson “Written from a feminist point of view, Tradition Counter Tradition is a comprehensive, learned, and well-written account of the deep contradictions that lie at the heart of the Anglo-American literary treatment of romantic marriage. Boone’s impeccable scholarship and critical penetration throw light on texts traditional and counter- traditional from antiquity to the twentieth century.”—Jean H. Hagstrum, Northwestern University “An enlightened and enlightening piece of work.”—Tony Tanner, King’s College, Cambridge Cloth $27.50 408 pages Women in Culture and Society series ALTARITY MARK C. TAYLOR Juxtaposing the work of diverse thinkers from Hegel and Heidegger to Kristeva and Derrida, Taylor develops a genealogy of otherness and difference. “An important moment in a singular oeuvre and at the same time an excellent introduction to a little-known body of critical thought.”—Jacques Derrida Paper $14.95 352 pages lest.) 20 halftones Library cloth edition $39.95 THE FAMILY IDIOT Gustave Flaubert, 1821-1857 Volume 2 JEAN-PAUL SARTRE Translated by Carol Cosman Volume 2 of the first English translation of this monumental work takes a reader through Flaubert's adolescence well into his evolution as an artist. Comments on Volume 1: “The publication of The Family Idiot should be welcomed as a major cultural event.”—Leo Bersani, New Republic “This vast work is now beginning to appear in a splendid translation by Carol Cosman . . . Sartre called The Family Idiot a ‘true novel,’ and it does tell a story and eventually reach a shattering climax.”—Fredric Jameson, New York Times Book Review Cloth $27.50 444 pages Now in paper------------------------------- ICONOLOGY Image, Text, Ideology W.J.T. MITCHELL “[Mitchell] undertakes to explore the nature of images by comparing them with words or, more precisely, by looking at them from the viewpoint of verbal language. . . . The most lucid exposition of the subject I have ever read.”—Rudolf Arnheim, Times Literary Supplement “The most brilliant work of conceptual criticism this year.” —Carlin Romano, Philadelphia Inquirer $9.95 242 pages THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS 5801 South Ellis Avenue, Chicago, IL 60637 New Classroom Paperbacks from Cornell— V fc ^THEHI.VE H.UIKS BEFORE READING Narrative Conventions and the Politics of Interpretation By PETER J. 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work_v4mj6zift5dg7on5n2atqes6ve	----	Catana, System of Philosophy u n i v e r s i t y o f c o p e n h a g e n Leo Catana, 'The Concept "System of Philosophy" The Case of Jacob Brucker's Historiography of Philosophy' Catana, Leo Published in: History and Theory Publication date: 2005 Document version Early version, also known as pre-print Citation for published version (APA): Catana, L. (2005). Leo Catana, 'The Concept "System of Philosophy": The Case of Jacob Brucker's Historiography of Philosophy'. History and Theory, 44, 72-90. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 1 The concept “system of philosophy” in Jacob Brucker’s historiography of philosophy* Leo Catana Preprint. Published in History and Theory, vol. 44 (2005), pp. 72-90 Abstract In this essay I shall examine and discuss the concept “system of philosophy” as a methodological tool in the history of philosophy. I shall do so in two moves. First I shall analyze the historical origin of the concept in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Thereafter I shall undertake a discussion of its methodological weaknesses — a discussion, which is not only relevant to the writing of history of philosophy in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but also to the writing of history of philosophy in our times, where the concept remains an important methodological tool. My first move is to analyze Jacob Brucker’s employment of the concept in his influential history of philosophy, Historia critica philosophiae, dating from 1742-68. To Brucker, a “system of philosophy” is characterized by the following four features: (a) it is autonomous in regard to other, non-philosophical disciplines; (b) all doctrines stated within the various branches of philosophy can be deduced from one principle; (c) as an autonomous system it comprises all branches of philosophy; (d) the doctrines stated within these various branches of philosophy are internally coherent. Brucker employed the concept on the entire 2 history of philosophy, and he gave it a defining role in regard to two other methodological concepts, namely “eclecticism” and “syncretism”, which he regarded as more or less successful forms of systematic philosophy. My second move is to point out the weakness of this concept of “system of philosophy” as a methodological tool in the history of philosophy. I shall argue that the interdisciplinary nature of much pre-modern philosophy makes Brucker’s methodological concept “system of philosophy” inadequate, and that we may be better off leaving it behind in our future exploration of pre-modern philosophy. *** The concept “system of philosophy” has had very wide currency in the modern period as a primary way of writing the history of philosophy. This essay examines the work of a thinker who was crucially instrumental in developing this concept and using it to write the history of philosophy, the German historian Jacob Brucker. The point of such an examination is not only to get Brucker’s thought straight (though this is not unimportant, given that earlier commentators have misunderstood the importance of the concept “system of philosophy” in his work); it is also to reveal the weaknesses of this concept, weaknesses that are especially clear as the concept first emerged. The work of Brucker shows both the power and the weakness of the notion of a system of philosophy, and this essay’s ultimate goal is to illuminate both the strengths and weaknesses of this crucially important idea in the writing of the history of philosophy. 3 As other methodological concepts, the historiographical concept “system of philosophy” emerged in a specific historical context. One of the influential adaptations of this concept on the history of philosophy was undertaken by the German priest and historian of philosophy, Jacob Brucker (1669-1770), notably in his Kurtze Fragen aus der philosophischen Historie (1731-1736) and in his Historia critica philosophiae (1742-1744).1 Through the last mentioned work Brucker achieved an international reputation as a pioneering historian of philosophy, and this work became very influential on subsequent historians of * This essay explains a key concept in my paper entitled The emergence of the concept “systematic philosophy” in the seventeenth century: Some historiographical considerations, presented at the conference Historiography of philosophy, intellectual history and science, Copenhagen, October 2-4, 2003. I should like to thank Peter Barker, Stephen Gaukroger, John Schuster and Tom Sorell for their comments to my paper. 1 J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae a mundi incunabulis ad nostram usque aetatem deducta, 5 vols. (Leipzig: C. Breitkopf, 1742-1744). Appendix, 1 vol. (Leipzig: Heir of Weidemann and Reich, 1767). Anastatic reprint: BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae a mundi incunabulis ad nostram usque aetatem deducta, 6 vols, eds R. H. Popkin and G. Tonelli (Hildesheim and New York, 1975.) For an Italian translation of the Dissertatio praeliminaris (ibid., vol. 1, pp. 3-45), see M. LONGO, Historia philosophiae philosophica. Teorie e metodi della storia della filosofia tra Seicento e Settecento (Milan: IPL, 1986), 154-203. J. BRUCKER, Kurtze Fragen aus der philosophischen Historie, 7 vols. (Ulm: Daniel Bartholomai und Sohn, 1731-1736). For a full bibliography of Brucker’s writings, see H. ZÄH, “Verzeichnis der Schriften Jacob Bruckers,” in Jacob Brucker (1696-1770) Philosoph und Historiker der europäischen Aufklärung, ed. W. Schmidt-Biggemann and T. Stammen (Berlin: Akademie- Verlag, 1998), 259-351. For Brucker’s religious stand as a priest, see E. FRANÇOIS, “Bruckers Stellung in der Augsburger Konfessionsgeschichte,” in Jacob Brucker (1696-1770) Philosoph und Historiker der europäischen Aufklärung, 99-109. 4 philosophy.2 For this reason I shall primarily base my analysis of Brucker’s historiography of philosophy on this Latin work. Brucker scholars have observed Brucker’s historiographical uses of the concepts “syncretism”, “eclecticism” and “system of philosophy”; the conceptual structure by which Brucker relates these three concepts has not, however, been thoroughly examined, although a few passing comments on the relation between “eclecticism” and “system of philosophy” have been made.3 In this essay I shall 22 For Brucker’s influence, see P. CASINI, Diderot “philosophe” (Bari: Laterza, 1962), 254-261. (Ibid., 259 n. 95, Casini identifies 43 articles on philosophers and philosophical movements in Diderot’s Encyclopédie based on this Latin work of Brucker); L. BRAUN, Histoire de l’histoire de la philosophie (Paris: Ophrys, 1973), 120-121; M. LONGO, “Le storie generali della filosofia in Germania,” in Storia delle storie generali della filosofia, ed. G. Santinello, vol. 1-, (Brescia: La Scuola, 1979-), vol. 2, 611-632; G. PIAIA, “Jacob Bruckers Wirkungsgeschichte in Frankreich und Italien,” in Jacob Brucker (1696-1770). Philosoph und Historiker der europäischen Aufklärung, 218-237. 3 This applies to the following studies on Brucker’s historiography of philosophy: J. FREYER, Geschichte der Geschichte der Philosophie im achtzehnten Jahrhundert, in Beiträge zur Kultur- und Universalgeschichte, Heft 16, (Leipzig: R. Voigtländers Verlag, 1912), 21-49; G. SANTINELLO, “Il problema metodologico nella storia critica della filosofia di Jakob Brucker,” in id., Metaphysica e critica in Kant (Bologna: Pàtron, 1965), 293-315; L. BRAUN, Histoire de l’histoire de la philosophie, 119-137; M. A. DEL TORRE, Le origini moderne della storiografia filosofica (Florence: La nuova Italia editrice, 1976), 69-102; LONGO, “Le storie generali della filosofia in Germania,” 527-635; id., Historia philosophiae philosophica. Teorie e metodi della storia della filosofia tra Seicento e Settecento (Milan: IPL, 1986), 103-117; SCHMIDT- BIGGEMANN, “Jacob Bruckers philosophiegeschichtliches Konzept,” in Jacob Brucker (1696- 1770). Philosoph und Historiker der europäischen Aufklärung, 113-134; SCHNEIDER, “Das Eklektizismus-Problem in der Philosophiegeschichte,” in Jacob Brucker (1696-1770). 5 argue that Brucker’s criteria for characterizing a philosophy as “syncretistic”, or “eclectic”, are intimately linked to his concept “system of philosophy”, and that this concept, “system of philosophy”, for this reason is more central to Brucker’s historiography of philosophy than has been recognised so far. In the first part I shall outline the meanings assigned by Brucker to the concept “system of philosophy” as a historiographical tool with universal validity in the history of philosophy. In the second part I shall explain how this methodological device was applied in his categorisations of various past philosophers as being “syncretistic” or “eclectic”. At the end of this essay I shall raise some general questions concerning the validity and usefulness of the concept “system of philosophy” in writing the history of philosophy. I. The notion “system of philosophy” as a historiographical tool in Brucker’s Historia critica philosophiae Philosoph und Historiker der europäischen Aufklärun, 135-158; G. PIAIA, “Brucker versus Rorty? On the ‘models’ of the historiography of philosophy,” British Journal for the history of philosophy, vol. 9 (2001), 69-81. Nor has the conceptual structure between “syncretism”, “eclecticism” and “system of philosophy” in Brucker’s historiography of philosophy been examined in the studies on eclecticism mentioned in n. 43 below. 6 In the two introductory sections of Brucker’s Historia critica philosophiae — that is, in the Praefatio4 and in the Dissertatio praeliminaris5 — Brucker frequently uses the term “system” (systema) in relation to various forms of philosophy developed in the course of history.6 In these two introductory sections he does not, however, explain the meaning of the term explicitly. Nor is it, to my knowledge, explained in the remaining part of the work, even though it is used frequently and forcefully when describing various past philosophers. Brucker’s first move in the Dissertatio praeliminaris is to define the scientific object of the historian of philosophy. Due to philosophy’s historical links with disciplines such as theology, cosmology, medicine, mathematics, etc., one might have expected an inclusive definition of the historian’s task — a definition, which would give room to such and other links between philosophy 4 J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, [viii]-[xi]. The pages in the Praefatio are unpaginated. I count as the first page the page after the title page, which begins “Serenissimo ac potentissimo”. Page number ii thus begins “Rex potentissime” in my pagination. 5 Ibid., vol. 1, 3-45. For a study of the methodological aspects of the Dissertatio praeliminaris, see M. LONGO, Historia philosophiae philosophica, 103-117. In J. BRUCKER, Kurtze Fragen, vol. 1, 1-38, we find a methodological section entitled Vorbereitung, which is similar to the Dissertatio praeliminaris in Brucker’s Historia critica philosophiae. 6 In the Praefatio and the Dissertatio praeliminaris Brucker uses the term in the context of history of philosophy on the following pages: J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, [viii].28, [viii].31, [ix].18, [ix].22, 4.21, 5.24, 10.23, 10.40, 11.1, 11.2-3, 11.5, 11.21, 11.27, 12.10, 12.28, 14.3, 15.3, 15.11, 15.17, 15.21, 15.25, 15.29, 15.35, 16.32, 29.25, 31.5, 37.16, 39.40, 40.30. He also uses the term on these pages in regard to the planetary system; see ibid., vol. 1, 23.22. In this note, and in the following ones, the number after a full stop, following a page number, refers to the line on the page. 7 and its disciplinary neighbors. Brucker, however, rejects a wide definition of history of philosophy, stating that it is not his intention to write the history of erudition (historia eruditionis), including all its arts and disciplines, but the history of philosophy (historia philosophiae).7 What, then, does Brucker mean by “philosophy”? Brucker offers an essentialist definition of philosophy. The word “philosophy”, he explains, is derived from the Greek word σοφία (sophia), later translated into Latin as sapientia. Despite this linguistic development from Greek into Latin, the meaning of “philosophy” has remained unchanged, he says.8 At the beginning of humankind’s history, the term sapientia was applied to any discipline in which the human mind (ingenium) was perfected. Brucker thus attributes the view to Aristotle and Plato, justly or unjustly, that philosophy is identical with man’s perfectionment within the arts, or simply identical with any 7 Ibid., vol. 1, 3.10-12: “Scilicet non eruditionis, et quas illa comprehendit omnium artium et disciplinarum historiam exponere animus est, sed philosophiae.” In this and other quotations from this work of Brucker, I transcribe “&” as “et”. 8 Ibid., vol. 1, 3.16-19: “Philosophiam vero, quam nominamus, dicta olim est σοφί〈, id est sapientia; quosque philosophos salutamus, sapientes salutatos esse, constat, nomine postea quidem mutato, sed retenta pristina significatione.” For Brucker’s notion of philosophy as sapientia, see M. LONGO, Historia philosophiae philosophica, 536-537. 8 experience within the arts.9 This meaning of philosophy, the perfectionment of the human mind, remains central throughout history, but the perfection itself takes on new and more advanced forms over time, still according to Brucker. In the course of history, the perfection of the human mind has been hindered by corrupt, religious traditions and authorities, which prevented the human mind from grasping the principles of truth. This sad state of humankind changed for the better when individual, talented minds were able to abandon such corrupt traditions and to reflect independently of authorities.10 These exceptionally gifted minds were able to grasp the principles of truth by means of their own reason and to build systems of philosophy on these principles: 9 J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 3.22-26: “Scilicet prima illa humani ingenii aetate, qua ejus quasi infantia absolvitur, sapientiae nomen omnibus artibus tributum est, quae ullo modo ingenio excolebantur, et ad humani generis utilitatem aliquo modo faciebant; unde Aristoteli [Brucker’s note: Ethic. ad Nicom. L. VI. c. 7. T. 11. p. 58. ed. Casaub. (According to M. LONGO, Historia philosophiae philosophica, 154 n. 1, Brucker refers to this work of Aristotele in Casaubon’s edition published in Leiden in 1590.)] sapientia, ‘artium virtus’ sive ‘perfectio’, et Platoni [Brucker’s note: v. Theaetetos et Theages et ex his Laert. l. III. f. 63 ubi consulendus est Is. Casaub. ad h. l. (According to M. LONGO, ibid., 154 n. 2 and 188 n. 27, Brucker refers to Casaubon’s edition of Diogenes Laertius published in 1692.)] ‘quaevis artis experientia’ dicta est.” 10 J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 4.4-18. 9 And in this way the sublime minds took on the ambition, that they should search for the truth by means of a more profound meditation, and, having abandoned the hollow and impure traditions which they were initially nourished by, that they would consult the sources of reason (ratio), reducing everything to certain principles of science, joining together a system of wisdom [systema sapientiae] built upon its own foundations.11 This quotation conveys three important elements in Brucker’s concept of philosophy. First, philosophical reflection requires complete emancipation from traditions in order to reflect independently; Brucker does not consider a critical but continuous revision of the traditions initially absorbed by the various past philosophers as progressive, but only a radical break with traditions. Second, having freed himself from these traditions, the philosopher may turn to his own personal reason and there find certain principles. Third, having sought out and established these principles, a system of wisdom (that is, a system of philosophy) can be founded on these principles. Due to this nature of philosophy, Brucker continues, the cultivation of the philosopher’s reason (ratio) is very central in philosophical progress, and only those people who possess a very noble reason 11 Ibid., vol. 1, 4.18-25: “Et hinc animi ingeniis sublimibus additi sunt, ut profundiori meditatione in veritatem inquirerent, et defertis impuris traditionis patriae lacunis, rationis fontes consulerent, omnia ad certa scientiae principia revocantes, et ita sapientiae systema condentes suis fundamentis superstructum.” My translation. If nothing else is mentioned, the translations below are also made by me. 10 should be considered philosophers.12 In the quotation above Brucker also latches on to a metaphor used conspicuously elsewhere in his Historia critica philosophiae, namely that of a house: the above-mentioned “principles” correspond to the foundation of a house; the “system” is the building raised upon this foundation, that is, on these principles.13 This metaphor tacitly offers a peculiar methodology: Just as a house raised on its own foundation is unique and solitary, a philosophy should, at least ideally, be autonomous. Brucker does not explain what he means by “principle” (principium) in this context, although it is frequently used in his Dissertatio praeliminaris.14 It would make sense, however, to interpret Brucker’s “principle”, in the quotation above, and in similar contexts in the Dissertatio praeliminaris, as a general philosophical theory — almost in the sense of a philosophical axiom — which can be applied to more restricted areas or disciplines in philosophy.15 Even though Brucker does not, as already said, explain explicitly what he means by “system”, we are led to assume by the quotation above that it is the complex outcome of some sort of deduction from general principles to special doctrines within various 12 Ibid., vol. 1, 4.22-25: “Quae veritatem omnem, eam praecipue, quae ad Deum hominesque refertur, excolendi ratio cum nobillisima fit, sapientiae nomen in propria tandem sibi significatione vindicavit, et cultores suos sapientium nomine decoravit.” 13 The same metaphor can be found ibid., vol. 1, 15.10-14, as quoted in n. 18 below. It is also found in ibid., vol. 5, 3.22-4.11, as quoted in n. 57 below. 14 E.g. ibid., vol. 1, 4.13-14, 4.21, 10.24, 15.12, 15.15. 15 For the meanings of “principle” in early modern philosophy, see H. HOLZHEY, ‘Pinzip. III. Neuzeit’, in Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, general ed. J. Ritter. Vol. 1-, (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1971-), vol. 7, cols 1355-1372. 11 areas of philosophy, the latter forming a body of doctrines characterized by an internally coherent order, that is, a system. This conception of philosophy is followed by a distinction between philosophy and theology. There are, Brucker states, two sources to truth. One is the “innate light” or “human reason”. The other is the (Christian) Revelation. In concord with Brucker’s above definition of philosophy, philosophers make use of the first source of truth. There are, however, narrow limitations to the powers of human reason in regard to the understanding of all areas in the universe, wherefore human reason must be aided by Revelation; not only in order to grasp the truths about matters transcending the powers of human comprehension, but also in order to know what will make human beings happy.16 So unless theology is understood as natural theology — in which rational principles are employed — philosophy should be separated from theology, since the two disciplines make use of distinct forms of understanding.17 Having explained the essence of philosophy and its relation to theology, Brucker goes on to define the task of the historian of philosophy: 16 J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 7.27-34: “Duplex vero veritatis ad veri boni possessionem, et exoriundam inde felicitatem ducentis cognitionis fons est, unus congenitae lucis sive rationis humanae regulae, alter divina revelatio. Cum enim adeo angustis limitibus humanus intellectus circumscriptus sit, ut patentissimos veritatis universae campos emetiri, immo nec ea omnia cognoscere valeat, quae tamen felicitatis humanae ratio cognosci et sciri postulat, necesse erat, ut divina revelatio suppetias homini ferret, et de iis eum instrueret, quae felicitatem ejus summo loco ponere apta sunt.” For Brucker’s separation between philosophy and theology, see L. BRAUN, Histoire de l’histoire de la philosophie, 123. 17 J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 7.34-8.8. 12 In order to pass a sound and proper judgment on the propositions of philosophers, it is necessary to reconstruct the whole system on the basis of their writings. First of all, the general principles, which constitute the foundation underlying the entire building of doctrines, should be reconstructed; on these [general principles] the conclusions should be erected, conclusions which derive willingly from these sources [the general principles]. For since it is the main task of the philosopher to deduce the special ideas from some general principles by means of an apt connection, you [i.e. the historian of philosophy, to be distinguished from the past philosopher] should prefer, due to higher merit, the interpretation which aptly conforms with, and internally coheres with, the form and order of the whole system, even though it seems to suggest something else at first sight.18 [Brucker’s italics.] 18 Ibid., vol. 1, 15.10-18: “Ut itaque de sententia philosophorum sanum rectumque judicium ferri queat, totum ex eorum scriptis systema ita eruendum est, ut ante omnia principia generalia, quae fundamenti loco toti doctrinarum aedificio subjiciuntur, eruantur, et his demum illae superstruantur conclusiones, quae ex istis fontibus sponte sua fluunt. Quemadmodum enim hoc praecipue philosophi officium est, ut ex positis quibusdam principiis generalibus, specialia dogmata justo nexu derivet, ita eam interpretationem merito alteri praetuleris, quae cum toto systematis habitu et connexione convenit apteque inter se cohaeret, etsi prima facie aliud dicere videatur.” (Brucker’s italics.) 13 In other words, the historian of philosophy carries out a reversed process of that of the past philosopher whose thoughts he tries to understand and to expose: The past philosopher, on the one hand, first chooses out the general principles on which he subsequently builds his system of philosophy with all its special doctrines. The historian of philosophy, on the other hand, has to reconstruct these general principles on the basis of the past philosopher’s writings; having done so, the historian of philosophy may be able to detect how the various doctrines are connected to these general principles, and, ultimately, the past philosopher’s system of philosophy. Hence the methodological concept “system of philosophy” remains crucial to the philosopher as well as to the historian of philosophy; it offers the possibility of intellectual heroism to both of them in their respective pursuits of systems of philosophy. In the Dissertatio praeliminaris, Brucker does not set up any limitations in regard to the periods in the history of philosophy which can be dealt with in this way — on the contrary, he claims that this method can be applied to the philosophies from the beginning of the world up till his own time.19 The past philosopher’s system must, as said, be unveiled on the basis of the philosopher’s written texts.20 This is not, however, the only task of historians of philosophy. In addition, they should also, in order to give a full exposition, uncover the historical circumstances (circumstantiae) of the philosopher and make clear how these influence the philosopher’s system. On one occasion Brucker mentions the following circumstances, all concerned with biographical 19 Ibid., vol. 1, 11.21-33. 20 Ibid., vol. 1, 15.10-11. 14 issues: The philosopher’s temperament, his education, his teachers, his adversaries, his patrons, his lifestyle, the people with whom he lived, and similar matters. 21 If the historian of philosophy does not take these circumstances into consideration in his understanding of the past philosopher’s system, Brucker warns, then his exposition will be deluded.22 The task of the historian of philosophy is thus twofold, still according to Brucker, namely to expose the past philosopher’s system, and to explain how the historical context contribute to this system. Such an undertaking Brucker calls a “critical” history of philosophy, since the historian of philosophy employs a considerable amount of discernment (and is therefore “critical”) in his unveiling of connections between a past philosopher’s system and his biographical circumstances.23 Obviously, this is also an explanation for the title of Brucker’s own work, Historia critica philosophiae, a critical history of philosophy. Apparently, it does not cross Brucker’s mind that the mere effort to detect a past philosopher’s “system” could, per se, be a delusion, if the past philosopher in question did not possess, nor refer to, any such system. Brucker simply assumes 21 Ibid., vol. 1, 15.29-36: “Non vero ad systemata tantum ipsa, in scriptis philosophorum obvia, sed ad circumstantias quoque auctorum, temperamenti et educationis rationem, praeceptores, quos ex parte imitati sunt, adversarios, quibus sua dogmata opposuerunt, fautores, vitae genus, quod sectati sunt, gentem unde vel oriundi, vel apud quam vixerunt, et quae alia his similia attendendum est. Supra enim jam monuimus, ejusmodi circumstantias plurimum habere in ipsa systemta philosophorum influxum, quae ubi negliguntur, ineluctabilem obscuritatem pariunt.” Some of these circumstantiae are also mentioned ibid., vol. 1, 11.21-30. 22 Ibid., vol. 1, 10.39-11.4. This warning is repeated ibid., vol. 1, 15.34-36. 23 For the importance of critical power of discernment, see ibid., vol. 1, [ix].16-31, 12.6-10. 15 that philosophers have always intended to work out systems of philosophy, though not always with good results. Even Plato did so, albeit imperfectly, Brucker holds. If we are to understand how the doctrines in Plato’s system cohere, which they “often” do “badly”, according to Brucker, we must take recourse to his circumstances, that is, identify the various philosophers who influenced the doctrines in Plato’s system, e.g. Pythagoras, Cratylus, Parmenides, etc.24 On a more general level one may ask whether Brucker remains faithful to his own warning, not to impose our modern systems and hypotheses on past philosophers?25 The mere assumption that past philosophers had always striven to 24 Ibid., vol. 1, 11.4-12. For Brucker’s treatment of Plato’s assumed system (as it is presented in his Kurtze Fragen), see M. LONGO, “Le storie generali della filosofia in Germania”, 556-559. It is still assumed by some Plato scholars that Plato possessed a system of philosophy: One example can be found in R. KRAUT, “Introduction to the study of Plato,” in The Cambridge companion to Plato, ed. R. Kraut (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 1-50. On the opening page Plato is described as the “head of our philosophical tradition,” who gave a “unitary treatment” of various disciplines still discussed (metaphysics, epistemology, ethics, political theory, language, art, love, mathematics, science, and religion). Plato, according to Kraut, thus fulfilled the demand to philosophy, namely to “yeld an organized system of truths”. Other examples in Plato scholarship can be found in H. J. KRÄMER, Arete bei Platon und Aristoteles, zum Wesen und zur Geschichte der platonischen Ontologie, vorgelegt am 9. Juli 1958 von Wolfgang Schadewaldt (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag, 1959); see “System” in index, 596; K. GAISER, Platons ungeschriebene Lehre. Studien zur systematischen und geschichtlichen Begründung der Wissenschaften in der Platonischen Schule (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett, 1963), 8-11. 25 BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 12.23-30. FREYER, Geschichte der Geschichte der Philosophie, 38-39, criticizes Brucker for ignoring that various past philosophies employ their systems in ways which do not always conform with the deductive method prescribed by 16 work out systems of philosophy may in itself be a rash retro-projection: Did all past philosophers possess the concept “system of philosophy” at all? Did they strive to organize their doctrines in such philosophical systems? The term “system”, in Greek σύστηµα (systema), in Latin systema, and its cognates, were not used by Ancient or Medieval philosophers in the context of methodology or philosophy of science, but in many other contexts.26 In this period, in Greek as well in Latin, the concept “system” and its cognates were used in the following ways:27 To denote the organization of a government;28 the Brucker’s concept “system of philosophy”. In this work Freyer does not, however, raise the issue whether the concept “system of philosophy” existed in pre-modern philosophy. SANTINELLO, in his “Il problema metodologico nella storia critica della filosofia di Jakob Brucker”, 310, rejects Brucker’s claim that pre-modern philosophy, including that of Plato, can be described as systems of philosophy: “L’accentuazione di questo carattere formale [systems of philosophy made up of principles and deductions from them] non si può dire derivi al Brucker proprio dal pensiero antico, come egli sostiene; gli viene piuttosto dalla tradizione scolastica del suo tempo, dal razionalismo della scuola leibniziana, e si ripercuoterà, contemporaneamente, sul criticismo kantiano.” 26 F.-P. HAGER, “System. I. Antikke,” in Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, vol. 10, cols 824-825. The result of my own examination, regarding the possible use of “system” in the meaning of methodology or philosophy of science, concurs with this view of Hager. 27 Here I rely on the following dictionaries. For Greek I have used (a) A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th ed. with Supplement, eds H. G. Lidell and R. Scott, rev. by H. S. Jones (Oxford: Clarendon, 1940, rep. 1996), covering Classical Greek until the fifth century AD, but not Patristic and Byzantine Greek in this period; (b) Mediae latinitatis lexicon minus, ed. J. F. Niermeyer (Leiden: Brill, 1976). For Latin I have used (a) The Oxford Latin Dictionary, ed. P. G. W. Glare (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982), covering the period up till ca. 200 AD; (b) A Latin 17 organization of an institution, in particular a college of priests or magistrates29 — a meaning which is also conspicuous among the Patristics;30 harmonies in music;31 the composition of a literary work;32 a biological organism (including man) consisting of several parts;33 and, finally, the universe and its parts.34 Hence, from a purely philological view point, it is fair to say that the term “system” and its cognates were not key terms in Ancient and Medieval philosophy, and certainly not in the methodology, or philosophy of science, of this period.35 Dictionary, eds C. T. Lewis and C. Short (Oxford: Clarendon, 1879), covering Classical Latin and the period up to ca. 600 AD. 28 E.g. PLATO, Leges 686B; ARISTOTLE, Ethica Nicomachea 1168b32. 29 E.g. POLYBIUS 21.13.11. 30 See “⌠ύ⌠⎮⎜⎧〈” in A patristic Greek lexicon, 1350-1351. 31 E.g. PLATO, Philebus 17D. 32 E.g. ARISTOTLE, Poetica 1456a11. 33 E.g. id., De generatione animlium 740a20, 758b3. 34 E.g. FULGENTIUS, Mythologiae 3.9. This cosmological meaning of “system” we encounter in BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 23.22. 35 This view concurs with O. RITSCHL, System und systematische Methode in der Geschichte des wissenschaftlichen Sprachgebrachs und der philosophischen Metodologie. Bonn: A. Marcus und E. Webers Verlag, 1906), col. 7, citing FORCELLINI, Totius latinitatis lexicon, 1871: “Systema proprie compages, constructio; speciatim vero solet in scientiarum studiis adhiberi pro ingeniose excogitata rerum dispositione, quo sensu tamen deest nobis Latini scriptoris exemplum.” 18 In the second half of the sixteenth century and in the seventeenth century, on the other hand, the Latin word for system, systema, was not only used in the traditional contexts, such as cosmology; in addition, the meaning of the term was transferred to a new field, methodology.36 It was now used to denote a body of doctrines pertaining to a specific scientific field, for instance philosophy or theology. The German Protestant reformer Philipp Melanchton (1497-1560) was among the first to transfer the term “system” to methodology. For instance, he called the quadrivium — that is, the disciplines arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music — “a fourfold system of a lyre”.37 This meaning of “system”, a body of scientific disciplines, were to become prominent over the next two centuries. Admittedly, this coinage of Melanchton was rather isolated in the sixteenth century. In sixteenth-century Protestant theology, the term was frequently compared with the expression “corpus integrum”, that is, “a complete body”, used to express a body of articles of faith, or a body of Christian doctrines.38 This usage was transferred to philosophy and sciences in the first three decades of the seventeenth century.39 If we look at a list of seventeenth-century titles on 36 For a study of the concept “system” in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century philosophy, see O. RITSCHL, System und systematische Methode, 6-53; C. STRUB, “System, II. S. und S.-Kritik in der Neuzeit,” in Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, vol. 10, cols 825-856; N. W. GILBERT, Renaissance concepts of method (New York: Columbia University Press, 1960), 213- 220. 37 “Quaternum lyrae systema” in Ritschl’s translation of Melanchton’s Greek words. Cited from RITSCHL, System und systematische Methode, col. 10. 38 Ibid., cols 12-13. 39 Ibid., col. 26. 19 philosophical, theological and scientific publications wherein the word systema appears — it runs into more than hundred and fifty titles40 — we get the impression that it was not only regarded as desirable to treat a subject “systematically”, it was also regarded as a useful marketing strategy to put that precious word “system” on the front page of the book. It is beyond the limitations of this essay to trace the development of the concept “system of philosophy” in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century philosophy and science in great detail. What is clear, however, is that “system” had only been employed to a body of philosophical disciplines one or two centuries before Brucker did so in the 1740s. Hence, from a purely philological perspective, Brucker may have been misled by the methodology of his own time to believe that pre-modern philosophers also possessed systems of philosophy; this meaning of “system” was simply unknown to pre-modern philosophers. It is possible, of course, that these pre-modern philosophers in fact did organize their philosophical disciplines and doctrines in a way adequately described by Brucker’s concept “system of philosophy”, even though they did not know the expression “system of philosophy”. Whether that was the case is a question open to discussion — a discussion, in which we should keep in mind the distinction between a past philosopher’s own organization of his doctrines, on the one hand, and the organization supplied by subsequent authors, on the other hand.41 It is 40 Ibid., Anhang, i-v. 41 One may object, for instance, that Aristotle did provide a system of philosophy, even though he did not use the concept “system of philosophy”. However, in this case we should distinguish Aristotele’s own statements, few as they are, about the organization of philosophy’s branches (e.g. Nichomachean Ethics VI iii-vi), on the one hand, and later systematizations of his 20 beyond doubt, however, that Brucker did not carry out such a critical examination, and that he may well have ignored one of his own advices to the historian of philosophy, not to impose “our systems and hypotheses” on the philosophies of past philosophers.42 II. Brucker’s historiographical notion “system of philosophy” and the notions “syncretism” and “eclecticism” The terms “syncretism” and “eclecticism” had already a history of their own when Brucker took them on in his histories of philosophy dating from the 1730s and 1740s.43 These terms are perhaps best understood in Brucker’s thought through philosophy. For the tendency towards systematization of Aristotle through textbooks in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, see C. B. SCHMITT, “The rise of the philosophical textbook,” in The Cambridge history of Renissance philosophy, eds C. B. Schmitt, Q. Skinner, E. Kessler, J. Kraye (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 792-804. 42 J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 12.23-30. 43 For the history of “eclecticism”, see W. NIEKE, “Eklektizismus,” Philosophisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, vol. 2, cols 432-433; H. HOLZHEY, “Philosophie als Eklektik,” Studia Leibnitiana, vol. 15 (1983), 19- 29; H. DREITZEL, “Zur Entwicklung und Eigenart der ‘eklektischen’ Philosophie,” Zeitschrift für historische Forschung, vol. 18 (1991), cols 281- 343; M. ALBRECT, Eklektik. Eine Begriffsgeschichte mit Hinweisen auf die Philosophie- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 1994), where Brucker’s contribution is discussed 545- 21 their application in his division of the history of philosophy into three periods, of which the third period in particular is characterized by syncretism and eclecticism.44 The first period stretches from the beginning of the world, that is, according to conventions at Brucker’s time, around 6.500 BC, until the birth of the Roman Empire in the first century BC.45 It is, according to Brucker, the period of “barbaric philosophy”, that is, non-Christian philosophies, comprising Hebrew, Persian, Chaldean, Indian, Arabic, Egyptian, Ethiopian and Greek philosophers. The philosophies of Plato and Aristotle, for instance, are reduced to two of the many competing sects in Greek philosophy.46 The second period begins with the rise of the Roman Empire and ends with the assumed crisis of scholasticism, which Brucker apparently dates to the 550 et passim. For “eclecticism” in Brucker’s historiography of philosophy, see SCHNEIDER, “Das Eklektizismus-Problem in der Philosophiegeschichte,” 135- 158. 44 The periodization is briefly explained in BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 38.27- 45.26. For this scheme of periodization and C. A. Heumann as a possible source, see L. BRAUN, Histoire de l’histoire de la philosophie, 128-133. The periodization in BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, 1742-1744, differs from the periodization which he gave in his earlier Kurtze Fragen, 1731-1736. For the periodization in the Kurtze Fragen, see W. SCHMIDT-BIGGEMANN, “Jacob Bruckers philosophiegeschichliches Konzept,” 126-134; for a comparison between the two periodizations, see ibid., 134. 45 The first period is described in BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 46-1357. 46 For Plato, see ibid., vol. 1, 627-728; for Aristotle, see ibid., vol. 1, 776-839. 22 thirteenth century.47 This second period is subdivided into two parts. The first part covers the time before the coming of Christ — here we find Jewish philosophy and the Greek sects, etc.48 The second part starts with the philosophies of Christ and his apostles, including the church fathers, and it ends with the scholasticism of the thirteenth century.49 The third and last period runs from the revival of learning in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and up till Brucker’s time.50 The revival of learning regards, among other things, knowledge of ancient Greek and Latin, allowing philosophers of this third period to return to the ancient sources.51 This third period too is subdivided into two parts. The first begins, as said, with the rediscovery of learning in the fourteenth century and implies the revival of various ancient sects and schools throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.52 The Italian Renaissance philosopher Giovanni Pico della Mirandola (1463-1494) belongs, due to his alleged revival of ancient Platonic philosophy, to the first part 47 The second period is described ibid., vol. 2, 3-1069, and vol. 3, 3-912. For Brucker’s treatment of Medieval philosophy, see K. FLASCH, “Jacob Brucker und die Philosophie des Mittelalters,” in Jacob Brucker (1696-1770). Philosoph und Historiker der europäischen Aufklärung, 187- 197. 48 The first part of the second period is described in J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 2, 3-1069, and vol. 3, 3-240. 49 The second part of the second period is described in ibid., vol. 3, 241-912. 50 The third period is described in ibid., vol. 4, 3-785, and vol. 5, 3-923. 51 Ibid., vol. 4, 4. 52 For the first part of the third period, see ibid., vol. 4, 3-785. 23 of the third period.53 Moreover, Pico is regarded as the emblem of this period as far as his philosophy is syncretistic, precisely what the first part of the third period is in general. The second half of this third period lasts from this revival of ancient philosophy in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries until Brucker’s days.54 Contrary to the first half of this third period, the second half is more than a mere revival of ancient philosophical sects and schools. In this period talented philosophers lay down new foundations for original philosophical systems. These new philosophies are not characterized by syncretism, but by eclecticism, as we shall see. In this second half of the third period we find, among others, Giordano Bruno (1548-1600), Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679), René Descartes (1596-1650), Benedict Spinoza (1632-1677) and Gottfried W. Leibniz (1646-1716). It is precisely within the third period of Brucker’s scheme, that we find the terms “syncretism” and “eclecticism” exposed, terms to which I shall now turn. Brucker was convinced that philosophy had progressed since the age of syncretism, that is, since the first part of the third period, to a large extent 53 For Pico reviving Platonic philosophy, see ibid., vol. 4, 59. It may not come as a great surprise that later Pico scholars have rejected this simplistic identification of Pico’s sources. One example is A. DULLES, Princeps concordiae. Pico della Mirandola and the scholastic tradition (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1941). For more recent studies on Pico, see the bibliography in J. HANKINS, “Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni (1463-94),” in Routledge encyclopedia of philosophy, general ed. E. Craig. 10 vols. (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), vol. 7, 386-392. 54 For the second part of the third period, see BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 5, 3- 923. 24 covering what we today call the Italian Renaissance.55 The philosophy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, located in the second part of the third period, was not marked by syncretism, but, as said, by eclecticism. Today “syncretism” and “eclecticism” are typically used synonymously, in the sense of unoriginal borrowings from various philosophies, but Brucker distinguished the two concepts and valued them differently.56 According to Brucker, “eclecticism” has a very positive potential. He introduces eclecticism, characterizing the second part of the third period, with the following words: Eclectic philosophy, after many wars, is indeed restored, victorious and powerful, having thrown off and trampled upon the sectarian mode of philosophizing. Having cast off this mean and unworthy yoke from human reason, and having cast off that slavish clinging to authority and prejudice of antiquity, some great and acute minds began to choose out true and universal principles, not by consulting the opinions of others, but by consulting their own [inner] lights. On these principles they began to erect conclusions and, thanks to their meditation, to build for themselves a personal and domestic system of philosophy; these great minds began to store up truths from 55 For the historiography of the Italian Renaissance, see C. B. SCHMITT, “Towards a history of Renaissance philosophy,” in Aristotelismus und Renaissance: In memoriam Charles Schmitt, eds E. Kessler, C. Lohr and W. Sparn (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1988), 9-16. 56 For the difference between “syncretistic” and “eclectic” philosophy, see J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 5, 4-5. 25 scattered sects, separating them from dogmas and connecting [the truths] to their convenient and apt place in the system. They did not approve or admit anything, which did not appear demonstrated and certain according to the judgment of their reason and according to the clarity of truth. 57 In this quotation Brucker describes eclectic philosophy in ways that are in fundamental harmony with his conception of philosophy as a system of philosophy. I shall point out seven similarities between “eclecticism” and “system of philosophy” which strongly suggest that Brucker’s concept of eclecticism is 57 J. BRUCKER, Historia critical philosophiae, vol. 5, 3.22-4.11: “Nempe restituta tandem et post multas pugnas victoria potita est philosophia eclectica, eiecta et conculcata sectaria philosophandi ratione. Abiecto enim indigno humana ratione hoc iugo, et contemto servili auctoritatis et antiquitatis praeiudicio coeperunt magna quaedam et acuta ingenia non aliorum quidem placita, sed sua lumina consulere, principia vera, universalia, certa seligere, conclusiones iis inaedificare, et suae meditationis beneficio proprium atque domesticum sibi philosophiae systema condere; veritates autem per sectas omnes sparsas, separatas suisque dogmatibus iunctas in commodum aptumque systematis sui locum reponere: nihil vero probare et admittere, quod non rationis iudicio et veritatis evidentia sibi demonstratum certumque videretur esse.” According to CASINI, Diderot “philosophe”, 259 n. 95, Diderot’s article “Éclectisme” in his Encyclopédie is based on Brucker’s conception of “eclecticism” as it appears in his Historia critica philosophiae. 26 derived from his concept of “systematic philosophy”. First, the eclectic philosopher in the quotation above has emancipated himself from “the sectarian mode of philosophizing”, characteristic to a large part of philosophies in the first period of the history of philosophy, and he has freed himself from “authority”, and “prejudice of antiquity”.58 This state of complete intellectual emancipation is a precondition for the eclectic philosopher’s construction of a new philosophy. Similarly, Brucker states about the philosopher who construes a system of philosophy, that before doing so, he must have “abandoned the hollow and impure traditions which they were initially nourished by”.59 Philosophical progress requires the same radical break with traditions from the systematic and the eclectic philosopher. Second, eclectic philosophy is an individualistic enterprise undertaken by exceptional and heroic minds. Brucker refers in the quotation above to “some great and acute minds”, who had the talent not only to free themselves from traditions and authorities, but also to produce new philosophies.60 Such 58 BRUCKER, Historia critical philosophiae, vol. 5, 3.22-4.4: “Nempe restituta tandem et post multas pugnas victoria potita est philosophia eclectica, eiecta et conculcata sectaria philosophandi ratione. Abiecto enim indigno humana ratione hoc iugo, et contemto servili auctoritatis et antiquitatis praeiudicio …” 59 Ibid., vol. 1, 4.19-20: “… desertus impuris traditionis patriae lacunis …” For the context of these words, see n. 11 above. 60 Ibid., vol. 5, 4.4-5: “… coeperunt magna quaedam et acuta ingenia non aliorum quidem placita, sed sua lumina consulere …” 27 individuals, “sublime minds”, are also considered the formative power of systems of philosophy.61 Third, these exceptionally gifted philosophers, both eclectic and systematic philosophers, produce their philosophies by means of their personal, intellectual powers alone; they are not indebted to other philosophers, other scientific traditions or to institutions. In the quotation above Brucker thus states that the eclectic philosophers reach their philosophies, “not by consulting the opinions of others, but by consulting their own [inner] lights”.62 Similarly, the systematic philosophers have the ambition to “consult the sources of reason (ratio)”, in order to give their respective philosophies “its own foundations”.63 Fourth, and epistemologically connected with this third point, such autonomous, eclectic philosophers turn inwardly in meditation (meditatio), through which they produce new philosophies.64 Similarly, the systematic philosophers set out to “search for the truth by means of a more profound meditation”.65 61 Ibid., vol. 1, 4.18: “… ingeniis sublimibus …” For the context of these words, see n. 11 above. 62 Ibid., vol. 5, 4.4-5, as quoted in n. 60 above. 63 Ibid., vol. 1, 4.20-22: “… rationis fontes consulerent ... suis fundamentis …” For the context of these words, see n. 11 above. 64 Ibid., vol. 5, 4.4-7: “… coeperunt magna quaedam et acuta ingenia non aliorum quidem placita, sed sua lumina consulere, principia vera, universalia, certa seligere, conclusiones iis inaedificare, et suae meditationis beneficio proprium atque domesticum sibi philosophiae systema condere …” 65 Ibid., vol. 1, 4.18-19: “… profundiori meditatione in veritatem inquirerent …” For the context of these words, see n. 11 above. 28 The remaining two similarities between eclecticism and systematic philosophy do not, as these first four similarities, regard the social and epistemic practise of the philosopher, but the formal and methodological aspects related to the philosopher’s conception of a new philosophy. My fifth observation is thus concerned with “principles”. The eclectic philosopher, having freed himself from authorities and traditions and having turned to his own reason in meditation, chooses out “true and universal principles”, as said in the quotation above.66 Similarly, the philosopher who produces a system of philosophy through meditation is “reducing everything to certain principles of science”.67 So both the eclectic and the systematic philosopher search for principles. Sixth, Brucker employs the metaphor of a house to the method of the eclectic philosopher. The principles are like a foundation of a house; on these principles, “conclusions” are erected; the complex whole of principles and conclusions is termed a “domestic system of philosophy”.68 This metaphor we also find when Brucker describes the genesis of a system of philosophy, in which process the systematic philosopher is “reducing everything to certain principles of science, joining together a system of wisdom [systema sapientiae] built upon its own foundations”.69 Seventh, as the last point makes clear, the eclectic 66 Ibid., vol. 5, 4.4-7, as quoted in n. 64 above. 67 Ibid., vol. 1, 4.20-21: “… omnia ad certa scientiae principia revocantes …” For the context of these words, see n. 11 above. 68 Ibid., vol. 5, 4.4-7, as quoted in n. 64 above. 69 Ibid., vol. 1, 4.20-22: “ …omnia ad certa scientiae principia revocantes, et ita sapientiae systema condentes suis fundamentis suerpstructum…” For the context of these words, see n. 11 above. 29 philosopher make deductions from some selected principles; the complex body of deductions make up a system.70 The philosopher who builds a system of philosophy follows the same method.71 These seven similarities between the concepts “eclecticism” and “systematic philosophy” strongly suggest that these two concepts are not only close in meaning, but also that the eclectic philosopher is striving to work out a system of philosophy, and that the concept “system of philosophy” thus plays a key role in Brucker’s historiography. Let us look at a few examples of eclectic philosophers. According to Brucker, the Italian Renaissance philosopher Giordano Bruno was the first to revive, though imperfectly, eclectic philosophy in the second part of the third period.72 Brucker’s reason for accepting Bruno as an eclectic philosopher lies in his conception of Bruno’s philosophy as encrusted into an Epicurean system. Bruno, through his atomism, was able, at least in the eyes of Brucker, to develop the Epicurean system better than Epicure and Democritus had been able to.73 Although Bruno took the history of philosophy one step further through his mere effort to philosophize in an eclectic manner, his eclectic philosophy was in itself 70 Ibid., vol. 5, 4.4-7, as quoted in n. 64 above. 71 Ibid., vol. 1, 4.20-22. See also ibid., vol. 1, 465.13-17: “Versabatur tum in ipsis philosophandi σύστηµατικως initiis humanum ingenium, videratque veritates aliquas, easque ex principiis suis deduxerat, sed nec plene nec accurate satis, ut in intiis scientiarum plerumque fieri solet, quae non nisi multorum seculorum labore et meditatione ad justam perfectionem perducuntur.” 72 For Bruno as the first to revive eclectic philosophy, see ibid., vol. 5, 38.15-20, as quoted in n. 74 below. For Brucker’s treatment of Bruno’s philosophy, see ibid., vol. 5, 12-62, and vol. 6, 809-816. 73 Ibid., vol. 5, 36.34-38.26. 30 unsatisfying, for it was almost destroyed by the poverty of his judgment, by his undisciplined imagination, by his veneration for old philosophical hypotheses; in fact, the new philosophy which Bruno fostered, was, in Brucker’s words, “more like a monster (monstrum) than an apt and rational system”.74 In his history of philosophy, Brucker asked persistently for a single and unified system in Bruno’s philosophy, something which he did not find. And Bruno’s mind — the mind being essential to good eclectic philosophy — was equally described in less flattering terms, namely as a spiritus contradictorius, whose poor merit it was not only to have opposed the school of Aristotle, but the schools of all philosophers.75 Brucker also includes Descartes and Leibniz in the group of eclectic philosophers.76 To what extent the philosophies of Descartes and Leibniz can be described adequately in the terms quoted from Brucker, is a problem which I shall not address here. Be this as it may, Brucker’s emphasis, when speaking about eclecticism, is clearly on system and systematic thinking. This is surprising to 74 Ibid., vol. 5, 38.15-20: “Quem philosophiae scopum si recte attigisset Brunus, gloria illi primum restitutae philosophiae eclecticae omnino esset tribuenda. Verum enim vero obstabant infelici philosopho iudicii paupertas, imaginationis lascivia, et ineptus mos consarcinandi veterum hypotheses, ut novam philosophiam effingeret, quae inde monstrum magis, quam aptum et rationale systema prodiit.” The alleged lack of system in Bruno’s philosophy, is repeated ibid., vol. 5, 40, 51, 54-55, 62. 75 Ibid., vol. 5, 34.31-35.1: “Obscuritati Bruni iungi potest debetque spiritus, quem fovit, contradictorius, quo non uni tantum Aristotelis scholae, sed omnibus omnino philosophis se opposuit.” 76 For Descartes as an eclectic philosopher, see ibid., vol. 5, 10.33-40; for Leibniz as an eclectic philosopher, see ibid., vol. 5, 11. For more recent eclectic philosophers, see ibid., vol. 6, 807- 809. 31 modern usage, according to which “eclecticism” is not only used in a negative sense, but also in the sense of an incomplete and often self-contradictory sampling of elements from various philosophies, that is, in the sense of an unsystematic philosophy. Few, if any, modern historians of philosophy would, for instance, call Descartes and Leibniz eclectic philosophers. So much for eclecticism. Syncretism, in Brucker’s thought, can be understood as unsuccessful eclecticism: In syncretism the eclectic ability to philosophize does not even go as far as to produce a coherent system.77 By implication the syncretistic philosopher also fails to produce what is essential to philosophy, a system of philosophy. Hence syncretism can hardly be called philosophy at all. Syncretistic philosophers strive, though clearly unsuccessfully, to unify various doctrines and various schools, but, Brucker says, “they should only be allowed [into the history of philosophy] with considerable caution, because they normally betray the authentic thought of the philosophers, as the history of philosophy shows to us, both Ancient, Medieval and our own recent past.”78 By the last words he probably refers to some of the “very recent Platonists”,79 but he may also refer to several ancient philosophers whose 77 E.g. id., Kurtze Fragen, vol. 3, 449-551. 78 Id., Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 16.39-17.3: “Unde omnes omnino Syncretistae, id est, variarum sententiarum et diversarum sectarum inter se consiliatores caute audiendi et multo cautius admittendi sunt, quippe qui mentem philosophorum plerumque adulterant, cujus testes fere infinitos historia philosophica, tum veteris, tum mediae, tum recentioris aetatis nobis exhibebit.” 79 Ibid., vol. 1, 17.4-14. 32 fraudulent works enjoyed considerable popularity in the Italian Renaissance, for instance the works attributed to Zoroaster and Hermes Trismegistus.80 Giovanni Pico della Mirandola is an exemplary syncretist. He was not only a Platonist, still according to Brucker, but he also propagated ancient figures as Zoroaster and Hermes Trismegistus. Pico is therefore used as a conspicuous example of the syncretism characteristic of the first part of the third period. Brucker presents Pico with the following words: Likewise in philosophy, to the degree that he [Pico] pursued it, the Platonic [philosophy] stood out: [Pico] was betaken by syncretism, a plague, introduced by more recent Platonists and Greek exiles coming to the house of Cosimo [Cosimo dei Medici, de facto ruling Venice at the time of Ficino] and also reaching Ficino [Marsilio Ficino, 1433-1499]; he [Pico] was ensnared by the elegant prejudice, that Platonism exhibits a true and divine philosophy, and he assigned opinions of the Platonists to Moses and other holy men, and, as we have already gathered, he mixed everything up without showing a sense of what is fitting, and Cabalistic, Pythagorean, Platonic, Aristotelian, Jewish and Christian [philosophy] mixed with each other in a wretched manner.81 80 Ibid., vol. 1, 17.14-17. For Zoroaster and Hermes Trismegistus in the Italian Renaissance, see D. P. WALKER, The ancient theology. Studies in Christian Platonism from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century (London: Duckworth, 1972). 81 J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 4, pp. 59.38-60.4: “Idem in philosophia, quam secutus est, Platonica praestitit: Syncretismo enim pestilenti, quem recentiores Platonici introduxerant, et Graeci exules in Cosmi domum et ad ipsum quoque Ficinum perduxerant, 33 correptus, et lepido seductus praeiudicio, veram et divinam philosophiam Platonismum exhibere, Platonicorum placita Mosi aliisque viris sanctis tribuit, et ut semel complectamur, inepte miscet omnia, et Cabbalistica, Pythagorica, Platonica, Aristotelica, Iudaica, Christiana inter se misere confundit.” These words of Brucker became the point of departure for Ernst Cassirer’s effort to rehabilitate Pico’s philosophy; see E. CASSIRER, “Giovanni Pico della Mirandola. A study in the history of Renaissance ideas,” Journal of the history of ideas, vol. 3 (1942), 128: “This objection has been directed against Pico from the very beginning, and it has determined the traditional estimate of his philosophy. His many-sidedness and comprehensiveness have been admired, but in the same breath his thought has been denied any philosophic value. For men saw in it for the most part nothing but an expression of eclecticism and syncretism. The accounts of the first historians of philosophy who treated Pico in detail, and tried to determine his position in the development of modern philosophy, expressed just such a view. Brucker in his critical history of philosophy sees in Pico’s thought nothing but and assembling and confusing of the most incompatible elements: ‘inepte miscet omnia et inter se misere confundit’ [= BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 4, 60.2-3]. Later historians have sought to soften this judgement, at least to defend Pico against the charge of being a fool and intellectually incompetent. They too have found the supposed ‘system’ of Pico burdened with the heaviest contradictions; but they have admired the subjective ability and readiness with which Pico succeeded in harmonizing all these contradictions, at least in his own mind, and effecting an apparent reconciliation.” M. LONGO, “Le storie generali della filosofia in Germania,” 626, claims that Cassirer only mentioned Brucker once, namely in his La filosofia dell’illuminismo, translated into Italian by E. Pogar. Florence, 1936, 314 [probably corresponding to E. CASSIRER, Die Philosophie der Aufklärung, in id., Gesammelte Werke, vol. 1-, general ed. B. Recki (Hamburg: Felix Meiner, 1998-), vol. 15, 236; I have not had access to the Italian translation]. Longo seems to have ignored the reference to Brucker in this study of Pico dating from 1942. In addition, Cassirer also made explicit references to Brucker in his Kants Leben und Lehre, in id., Gesammelte Werke, vol. 8, 244, and in his Geschichte. Mythos, 34 This quotation conveys some central features characterizing syncretism. First, we are told that Pico was “ensnared by” an “elegant prejudice”, which is precisely what a philosopher should not be, according to Brucker: Neither the eclectic nor the systematic philosopher carries on prejudices, as said above, but purges his mind from such obstacles, in order to meditate freely.82 Pico failed on this score, since he had not sanitized his mind from philosophical and intellectual traditions and their prejudices. Second, Pico “mixed everything up without showing a sense of what is fitting,” Brucker claims in the quotation above, probably referring to Pico’s synthesis of Platonic philosophy and Christianity.83 On this occasion Brucker’s condemnation may aim at Pico’s synthesis of philosophy and theology, which should be kept apart according to Brucker;84 but Brucker may also aim at Pico’s synthesis of various philosophical traditions. A few lines below, Brucker thus cites approvingly the words of another scholar holding that Pico’s combination of various authors, that is, past philosophers, was not ordered into a chain (catena), and that it was not guided by a sound reason (ratio); instead, Pico’s philosophy in id., Nachgelassene Manuskripte und Texte, vol. 1-, eds K. C. Köhnke, J. M. Krois, O. Schwemmer et al. (Hamburg: Felix Meiner, 1995-), vol. 3, 98. 82 For the systematic philosopher purging his mind from “impure traditions” and applying his reason (ratio) freely, see J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 4.18-25, as quoted in n. 11 above. For the eclectic philosopher in this respect, see ibid., vol. 5, 3.22-4.11, as quoted in n. 57 above. 83 Ibid., vol. 4, 60.2-3: “… inepte miscet omnia …”. 84 Ibid., vol. 1, 727-8.8. 35 was produced by his uncontrolled fantasies (phantasiae).85 These words, all concerned with Pico’s unfortunate mixing “everything up without showing a sense of what is fitting”, are reminiscent of Brucker’s criteria for systematic and eclectic philosophy; for both the systematic and the eclectic philosopher must, as said above, possess a sound reason.86 Pico did not, Brucker thought. The result is disastrous, since it is precisely the office of the philosopher’s reason to choose out certain principles87 and to deduce an internally coherent system from these principles.88 Pico simply lacked the epistemological precondition for choosing out principles and deducing doctrines from them into a system, wherefore Pico’s philosophy failed completely. 85 Ibid., vol. 4, 60.4-11: “Id quod in Heptaplo eius, sive commentario in Genesin, desiderasse, sibique indicasse Aloysium Lippomannum, Veronesem episcopum, narrat Sixtus Senensis, ‘nempe se in consulendis et coniungendis auctoribus in catena sua, ideo Pici rationem nullam habuisse, quod existimavisset, nihil se eius opera indigere, cum animadvertisset, Picum in hoc tantum unum incumbere, ut Platonicas cogitationes, vel suas potius phantasias verbis ac dictis Mosaicis exprimeret.’” 86 For this role of reason among eclectic philosophers, see ibid., vol. 5, 4.4-5, as quoted p. 15 n. 60; for this role among systematic philosophers, see ibid., vol. 1, 4.20-22, as quoted in n. 69 above. 87 For the role of principles in eclectic philosophy, see ibid., vol. 5, 4.4-7, as quoted in n. 64 above; for the role of principles in systematic philosophy, see ibid., vol. 1, 4.20-21, as quoted in n. 67 above. 88 For the system deduced from principles in eclectic philosophy, see ibid., vol. 5, 4.4-7, as quoted in n. 64 above; for the system deduced from principles in a philosophy, see ibid., vol. 1, 4.20-22, as quoted in n. 69 above. 36 Conclusion I hope this study of the notions “system of philosophy”, “eclecticism” and “syncretism” in Brucker’s Historia critica philosophiae support my contention, that “systematic philosophy” takes up a defining role in relation to the two other concepts. Moreover, I have raised the question whether all pre-modern philosophers possessed Brucker’s concept “system of philosophy” as a methodological tool. Even though I left this question open, I hope that I have called this into doubt, or at least called for caution before applying this concept to pre-modern and early modern philosophers. The relevance of these matters may, at first sight, be limited: Does the above analysis of Brucker’s concept “system of philosophy” have any value beyond the circle of Brucker scholars? I think the answer is affirmative, because the concept is still used forcefully, and uncritically, among a considerable number of modern historians of philosophy.89 Admittedly, the concept of system has received new and original philosophical interpretations over the intermediary centuries, but without obliterating the historiographical sense of the concept advocated by Brucker.90 One might object that nowadays the concept, even as a historiographical concept used in the history of philosophy, has taken on new meanings, and that it is therefore futile to use Brucker’s concept system of 89 For a few examples taken from Plato scholarship, see n. 24 above. Another example is Ernst Cassirer and his analysis of Giovanni Pico della Mirandola’s philosophy; see n. 91 below. 90 For interpretations of the concept system in early modern philosophy, see STRUB, “System, II. S. und S.-Kritik in der Neuzeit,” cols 825-856. 37 philosophy as a pretext for criticizing modern uses of this concept. That would be a fair objection to be considered in each case. My sense is, however, that at least four features from Brucker’s concept “system of philosophy” can be found, in various combinations and to various degrees, among a substantial number of modern historians’s use of the same concept in expositions of past philosophers — in which case a criticism of Brucker’s concept becomes less futile. In the first place, philosophy is sometimes regarded as an autonomous discipline possessing internal unity.91 It is, as in 91 An example of a modern historian of philosophy who accepts these four features is E. CASSIRER, “Giovanni Pico della Mirandola,” p. 129: “And in truth it is just at this point that the critical problem lies, from the standpoint of the history of philosophy. Were we forced to deny to Pico’s thought any such ‘inner form’, it would then remain but a mere literary curiosity, a document in many respects important and interesting, instructive as to all the manifold and antagonistic interests that motivated the thinking of the Renaissance. But Pico’s thought would have to be expunged from the history of genuine philosophy. For we can attribute no philosophical significance to an accomplishment that takes no definite stand on the great antitheses of metaphysics, epistemology, and ethics; which poses no definite problems and which maintains or rejects no certain solutions. Can we count Pico della Mirandola as belonging to philosophy in this sense, and include him in its intellectual development? And what is the distinctive principle he set up, and expressed in the whole of his thinking?” (Cassirer’s italics.) For Cassirer’s reference to Brucker’s reading of Pico, see ibid., 128, as quoted in n. 81 above. Cassirer does not build his defense of Pico on a rejection of Brucker’s criteria for a genuine philosophy, but on a fresh reading of Pico’s texts which, so Cassirer thinks, reveals a unity in Pico’s philosophy which has been ignored by earlier historians of philosophy, and which fulfills Brucker’s criteria for genuine philosophy; see E. CASSIRER, “Giovanni Pico della Mirandola,” 137: “The distinctive category under which he subsumed his doctrine of God, of the world and of man, his theology and his psychology, is the category of 38 Brucker, regarded as distinct from its disciplinary neighbors, such as theology, astronomy, etc., and can be exposed as such. Second, philosophy is ideally based on certain principles from which specific doctrines in various fields of philosophy can be derived, though perhaps in a less rigid way than prescribed by Brucker. Third, a past philosophy should make up an internally coherent unity of doctrines within various branches of philosophy (e.g. ontology, epistemology, ethics), that is, a system. Finally, the concept “system of philosophy” has at least two aspects in Brucker’s thought, which can also be detected among many modern historians of philosophy. On the one hand, the thinkers deserving to be included in the history of philosophy should deal with their material systematically. On the other hand, and ideally congruent with this first position, the historian of philosophy should present past philosophers in a systematic mode.92 These four features of the concept “system of philosophy” introduce a series of problems. The first problem is related to the idea of philosophy’s autonomy. This feature of the concept “system of philosophy” may hinder an understanding of philosophical problems, which are generated through an interplay between philosophical and non-philosophical disciplines — theology, astronomy, medicine, alchemy, music, etc. If such problems, and their solutions, were reducible to certain philosophical principles, then why should the past philosopher in question bother with terminology and ideas from non-philosophical symbolic thought. Once we ascertain this central point of his thinking, the different parts of his doctrine immediately coalesce into a whole.” 92 This two-folded demand is expressed in J. BRUCKER, Historia critica philosophiae, vol. 1, 15.10-18, as quoted in n. 18 above. 39 disciplines? And why should a historian of philosophy assume that these non- philosophical disciplines did not provide a cognitive and scientific content, which is irreducible to purely philosophical propositions? The second feature, concerned with the deductive procedure, also gives rise to a problem. The demand entails the idea that the doctrines in various branches of philosophy, e.g. natural philosophy, should be deduced from one or more general principles. But why, one may object, should we expect such a method in branches of philosophy, which for longer periods have led an existence fairly independent from other branches of philosophy? Does it make sense, one may ask on a general level, to seek for a general principle employed on a specific philosophical discipline, if the problems and the terminology used in that specific philosophical discipline are primarily shaped within the discipline itself, or, alternatively, through an interplay with other non-philosophical disciplines? Why assume that a philosophical position held within one field should be deducted from outside rather than developed in response to the problems, the conceptual and terminological framework, which are specific to the field itself? The third feature, that of internal coherence in a philosophy, is also problematic. If we leave open the possibility that past philosophers have developed their ideas through interplays between philosophy and its disciplinary neighbors, it becomes seemingly difficult to see why such a past philosopher should have striven to unify his philosophical positions within one single and internally unified order. If there is consistency and logical development of ideas in such a past philosopher’s writings, then the order, or the system, is less likely to comprise all branches of philosophy, and nothing else; it would be more likely 40 that we find several distinct local systems, so to speak, that is, internal orders between one or a few branches of philosophy and some non-philosophical disciplines — internal orders determined by the historically given ties and interactions between various disciplines. The requirement for unity between the philosophical branches may in fact hinder the exploration of a past philosopher’s writings as well as the integration of new discoveries, if these do not fit into the overall interpretation of the unity of the philosopher’s system. If these considerations bear some weight, then the last feature should also be reconsidered, that is, the requirement to the historian of philosophy only to include systematic thinkers, and to present his or her material systematically. The question begs itself, why not give up the concept “system of philosophy” completely in the historiography of philosophy, in particular when it comes to pre-modern philosophy? The concept certainly seems to obscure more than it reveals. 
work_v4ojoji4lffv5itqqzzcv7szhy	----	Advertisement A Macmillan Education Imprint To request your complimentary review copy now, please visit: macmillanhighered.com/PMLA New literature texts from Bedford St. Martin’s LaunchPad Solo for Literature, a set of online materials and tools, helps beginning literature students learn and practice close reading and critical thinking skills in an interactive environment. Easy-to-use and easy-to-assign modules based on widely taught literary selections guide students through three common assignment types: responding to a reading, drawing connec- tions between texts, and instructor-led collaborative close reading. To learn more about LaunchPad, contact your local sales representative or visit: launchpadworks.com Get to the heart of close reading First Edition First Edition First Edition NEW Literary analysis —demystiied Spark a lifelong love of poetry in your students A shorter version of an “indispensable” critical anthology Mexican American Literature: Onward y adelante www.journals.uchicago.edu Speculum: A Journal of Medieval Studies New to Chicago! Established in 1926 as the journal of the Medieval Academy of America, Speculum publishes articles in all fields studying the Middle Ages. Quarterly • ISSN: 0038-7134; E-ISSN: 2040-8072 Modern Philology Features contributions on literature in all modern world languages. Quarterly • ISSN: 0026-8232; E-ISSN: 1545-6951 Renaissance Quarterly The leading American journal in Renaissance studies. Quarterly • ISSN: 0034-4338; E-ISSN: 1935-0236 Renaissance Drama Investigates traditional canons of drama and performance. Two issues/year • ISSN: 0486-3739; E-ISSN: 2164-3415 I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance Seminal scholarship in the Italian Renaissance. Two issues/year • ISSN: 0393-5949; E-ISSN: 2037-6731 Critical Inquiry One of the leading humanities journals in the world. Quarterly • ISSN: 0093-1896; E-ISSN: 1539-7858 Signs: A Journal of Women in Culture and Society At the forefront of new directions in feminist scholarship. Quarterly • ISSN: 0097-9740; E-ISSN: 1545-6943 EXPLORE JOURNALS FROM CHICAGO Order online at journals.uchicago.edu, or call (877) 705-1878 (US & Canada) or (773) 753-3347 (international). Taxes and shipping may apply. Offer expires 3/1/16. USE PROMO CODE MLA16—SAVE 20% The Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America New to Chicago! Published on behalf of the BSA, Papers explores the history of the book, manuscripts, and printing. Quarterly • ISSN: 0006128X; E-ISSN: 2377-6528 A Macmillan Education Imprint Join Our Community! The Macmillan English Community is now home to Bedford/St.Martin’s profession al resources, featuring content to support the teaching of literature, including our popular blog site, LitBits. Let us know why you think literature is important. Join today at community.macmillan.com Share and discuss Join the conversation about what makes literature important—and see the data that proves it! Find articles, research studies, and testimonials on the importance of literature in our classrooms and in our lives. Connect with authors and teachers LitBits is the place to see how literature teachers, scholars, and writers such as Heather Sellers, Joanne Diaz, David Eshelman, and Emily Isaacson are inspiring the next generation. Engage with them and share your ideas, too! Review projects and ideas in the pipeline We’re hard at work on the educational books and media of the future, and we welcome your ideas to make them great. because… Community members can: coverii coveriii coveriv 
work_v5fiyth2fjgjzdpoethem3ybmy	----	02Bartoli copy la restrittiva e sociale. Il quarto capitolo funge allora bene da tramite con il seguen- te perché, oltre ad andare avanti nella storia senese (dopo la chiusura delle accade- mie senesi nel 1568), sempre in modo molto critico e legato all’argomento princi- pale, allude mediante le imprese accademiche alla promiscuità strutturale dalla quale fuggivano le donne nel Cinquecento: l’autore accenna ad una tematica tanto difficile perché rinvia a simboli e perché rimane a volte interpretativa, ma quanto necessaria per la comprensione dei motivi di quelle donne, per l’affermazione della loro identità in un momento in cui i dibattiti a riguardo sono molto accesi. L’autore dedica poi gran parte alla fondazione dell’Accademia delle Assicurate: risulta fondamentale visto che ricostruisce la storia e l’identità della prima accade- mia femminile della storia italiana e che quindi aggiorna il paragrafo di Michele Maylender a tal riguardo nella sua enciclopedia. Le bellissime illustrazioni dei manoscritti consultati dimostrano l’accuratezza con la quale le protagoniste del- l’accademia desideravano affermarsi mediante statuti, incisioni di imprese, ecc., quindi mantenere un certo status rispetto alle strutture maschili omologhe. Illustra per finire l’eredità dei giochi senesi e dell’impegno femminile nel Settecento dimo- strandone la legittimità in quanto genere socio-culturale duraturo dal Cinquecento, anzi dal Trecento se riteniamo la preminenza boccacciana. L’autore allargando l’arco temporale dal Cinquecento ai primi del Settecento dà rilevanza alle origini, allo sviluppo e al lascito dei parlour games nella vita delle donne sene- si confrontate a vari contesti, maschili innanzittutto, cortigiani, teatrali, bellici, ecc. Non si tratta infatti di uno studio chiuso: l’autore pone le domande giuste rispetto ad un contesto storico che non riguarda solo Siena ma anche Firenze. Inoltre, il suo avvertimento sul femminismo nella prefazione, se è utile nella defi- nizione di un concetto e nel prendere distanza da esso, viene illustrato lungo il libro in cui un’intera società erudita promosse la cultura femminile. L’equilibrio del libro mediante capitoli cronologici, con illustrazioni perti- nenti tratte da documenti autentici di ottima qualità, dimostra sia la rilevanza del “fenomeno” studiato dall’autore, sia la chiarezza del suo ragionamento in un ingle- se d’altronde molto fluido. Non si tratta quindi di un ennesimo studio ridondan- te sulle donne nel Rinascimento: partendo dagli studi già pubblicati, l’autore sin dalla prefazione intende andare oltre e vince quella sfida. DELPHINE MoNToLIU Il Laboratorio-Université Toulouse II Kenneth R Bartlett. The Civilization of the Italian Renaissance: A Sourcebook. Second Edition. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2011. Pp. 312. ISBN 97814426 0485 8. $ 59.95 CAD. Kenneth Bartlett’s second edition titled The Civilization of the Italian Renaissance offers a comprehensive approach for anyone interested in the study of the Italian Renaissance. He touches on a myriad of subjects essential to the understanding of this time period. RECENSIONI — 174 — 12- recensioni _02Bartoli copy 2/10/14 10:38 AM Page 174 Similar to the previous edition, this version approaches all facets of early mod- ern Italian civilization. In the introduction, aside from providing an overall con- text, the author highlights the importance of the classical era to the study of the Renaissance. He provides information on two important authors to Renaissance thought and philosophy: Quintilian and Cicero. However, he leaves out Plato. The exclusion forms a gap between this chapter and that on neoplatonism. Had the author included information on Plato and his works in the introduction, it may have facilitated a deeper understanding of the origins of neoplatonic thought. As noted by the author, this edition contains significant additions and some omissions. one such addition is a basic guide to reading historical documents. Since Bartlett includes a variety of primary sources in this book, this is a useful resource that each student should consult when confronting texts found in this book, as well as sources encountered while conducting their own research. His second chapter titled: “Dante and Medieval Italy” is a new section that is invaluable to this companion. In this chapter, he informs his reader of the various differences between the two time periods: the medieval and the Renaissance. It also highlights the medieval world’s undeniable influences on the Renaissance. He introduces the reader to the life of Dante Alighieri and his major work, the Divine Comedy, alongside the life and works of his contemporaries such as Brunetto Latini, Guido Cavalcanti, and Cino da Pistoia. He devotes the next chapter to Petrarch. Bartlett focuses on Petrarch’s rapport with the ancients, especially with regard to Cicero, and his contribution to the beginnings of the humanist movement. While he emphasizes Petrarch’s role as “a transitional figure between the older values of the Middle Ages and the new ideas of the Renaissance Italy” (26), he does not mention Petrarch’s greatest contribu- tion to the Italian vernacular: the Canzoniere. In the chapters that follow, Bartlett meticulously addresses political, social, economic, cultural, literary, artistic, and religious aspects to Renaissance life. Each chapter has a similar structure. He begins with an introduction outlining a main topic. Next, he includes biographies of authors ranging from historians to literary writers. Then, he supplies primary source excerpts that thematically relate to the chapter. Since the author includes only primary source texts, readers can form their own opinions on the topic. This format creates an accessible and organized overview of the content. Moreover, one of the most interesting aspects of this book is the author’s inclu- sion of various historical documents. For example, the chapter, “Marriage, the Family, and Women,” includes provocative court documents that illustrate the life of lower class marginalized women such as prostitutes, and even an alleged witch. While Bartlett makes substantial additions to content in this new edition, he omits all images found in the earlier edition. In the preface, he states that this deci- sion is based on the fact that students can readily find relevant images on the Internet. While there is room for expansion, Bartlett’s goal is to provide a concise intro- duction to the Renaissance, especially for those students with little or no prior knowledge on the matter. Bartlett’s jargon free sourcebook should be a required read for any student enrolled in a beginning Italian history or culture course. It could also RECENSIONI — 175 — 12- recensioni _02Bartoli copy 2/10/14 10:38 AM Page 175 serve as a reference companion to a survey of Italian literature course. Since all pri- mary sources are in translation, no knowledge of a Latin or Italian is needed. JANET E. GoMEz Johns Hopkins University Konrad Eisenbichler. The Sword and the Pen. Women, Politics, and Poetry in Sixteenth-Century Siena. Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012. Pp. 392. ISBN 9780268027766. $32. (Paperback) This meticulously argued study presents and contextualizes the poetic production of a group of patrician women in Siena in the middle decades of the sixteenth cen- tury. The Sword and the Pen offers modern editions and English translations of 79 poems, some previously published by the author. Eisenbichler shows how Petrarchism becomes the means to engage in the poetic discourse of the larger community of male poets, and for these poets to express themselves distinctively on a wide variety of topics. The scholar’s patient research underscores the aptness of Virigina Cox’s assertion that “much of women’s writing before the 1540s circu- lated in manuscript, not in printed form.” The poets are bound by relationships of kinship, admiration, and communali- ty of religious beliefs or political interests. The scholar uses the metaphor of a “vir- tual academy” to describe the community, comparable to academies like the Intronati of Siena. Besides the poetry, documents suggest discussions among women, as well as between men and women, on topics ranging from Dante’s Paradiso and Leone Ebreo’s Platonic philosophy, to astronomy, theology and moral philosophy. The Sword and the Pen opens with two pieces that set the scene. The first has a male protagonist: Alessandro Piccolomini, who, in the summer of 1540, makes a pilgrimage to the tomb of Petrarch in Arquà, then circulates a sonnet of homage, Giunto Alessandro a la famosa Tomba, in Siena and elsewhere. Women and men respond in tenzone, including six Sienese women whose responses raise questions of spirituality and the social restraints that prevent women from pilgrimages like those of the young student, among others. The second piece is more provocative: it is a 1538 dialogue by Marc’Antonio Piccolomini in which several women dis- cuss whether beauty is the consequence of chance or design, leading them to debate the role of Providence and free will, and eventually, the necessity of Purgatory. one of the interlocutors, Laudomia Forteguerri, assumes decidedly het- erodox positions, only to be guided back to orthodoxy, inviting us to ponder why a young woman of social prominence would be portrayed in this way. The Sword and the Pen then focuses on three poets known for their beauty, charm, and wit: Aurelia Petrucci, Laudomia Forteguerri and Virginia Martini Salvi. Reliable historical information on the three poets is scarce, leaving the schol- ar to conjecture frequently. Although only two poems by Aurelia Petrucci (1511- 1542) survive her call for unity among the warring Sienese factions, Dove sta il tuo RECENSIONI — 176 — 12- recensioni _02Bartoli copy 2/10/14 10:38 AM Page 176 
work_v5jlwtre7nbppakhjkhgs64pee	----	BJH volume 11 issue 3 Cover and Front matter ISSN 0007-0674 The British Journal for the History of Science November 1978 Volume XI Part 3 No 39 Published by The British Society for the History of Science available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007087400043752 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007087400043752 https://www.cambridge.org/core O F F I C E R S A N D C O U N C I L OF T H E B R I T I S H S O C I E T Y FOR T H E H I S T O R Y OF S C I E N C E 1978-79 President: D R W. H. BROCK Vice-Presidents: M R H. G. L. BEVAN PROFESSOR A. R. HALL M R J. B. MORRELL LT-CDR D. W. WATERS Hon. Secretary: D R W. F. BYNUM Hon. Treasurer: M R G. L'E. TURNER Hon. Editor: D R N. W. FISHER Hon. Programme Secretary: D R A. M. DUNCAN Council: D R B. BRACEOIRDLE M R D. J. BRYDEN D R G. N. CANTOR M R A. CHAPMAN PROFESSOR A. J. MEADOWS M R R. H. NAYLOR D R J. V. PlCKSTONB D R G. K. ROBERTS D R W. F. RYAN D R S. A. SHAPIN D R C. W. SMITH D R R. SMITH available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007087400043752 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007087400043752 https://www.cambridge.org/core AJ> The British Journal for the History of Science November 1978 Volume X I Part 3 No 39 CONTENTS A r i s t o t l e ' s S u b o r d i n a t e S c i e n c e s . R I C H A R D D . M C K I R A H A N . . 1 9 7 T h e I m p o r t a n c e o f F r e n c h T r a n s f o r m i s t I d e a s for t h e S e c o n d V o l u m e o f L y e l l ' s Principles of Geology. P I E T R O C O R S I . . . . 2 2 1 P o l y h e d r a a n d t h e A b o m i n a t i o n s o f L e v i t i c u s . D A V I D B L O O R . . 2 4 5 E s s a y R e v i e w : T h e H i s t o r y o f M o l e c u l a r B i o l o g y . E D W A R D Y O X E N . . . 2 7 3 B o o k R e v i e w s (for d e t a i l s s e e n e x t p a g e ) . . . . . 2 8 0 B o o k s R e c e i v e d . . . . . . . . . 2 9 7 N o t e s o n C o n t r i b u t o r s . . . . . . . . 2 9 9 R e p o r t o f C o u n c i l . . . . . . . . . 3 0 0 Published by The British Society for the History of Science available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007087400043752 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007087400043752 https://www.cambridge.org/core ESSAY REVIEW PAGE R O B E R T O L B Y , The path to the double helix: rev. b y E D W A R D Y O X E N 273 F R A N K L I N H . P O R T U G A L & J A C K S. C O H E N , A century ofDNA: a history of the discovery of the structure and function of the genetic substance: rev. by E D W A R D YOXEN 273 GENERAL B O O K R E V I E W S S T E N L I N D R O T H , A history of Uppsala University, 1477-1977: rev. by J . B. M O R R E L L 286 MEDICINE E . A S H W O R T H UNDERWOOD, Boerhaave's men at Leyden and after: rev. by R O G E R F R E N C H 287 N O E L & J O S E P A R R Y , The rise of the medical profession: a study of collective social mobility: rev. b y K A R L F I G L I O 287 SCIENTIFIC INSTRUMENTS S I L V I O A . 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BURNISTON BROWN 298 NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES O W E N C H A D W I C K , The secularization of the European mind in the nineteenth century: rev. b y E. S. S H A F F E R 2g8 M . V A L T & T . ILOMETS (Compilers), Folia Baeriana I: rev. by W I L M A G E O R G E 300 THE WELLCOME TRUST Research Grants for Studies in the History of Medicine The Wellcome Trustees invite applications for grants from post-doctoral scholars with historical training, whoare currently associated with a university department in Britain and actively engaged in independent research. Fellowships of up to t w o years will be considered to enable applicants to undertake a specific research programme related to some aspect of the history of medicine or medical science. By arrangement with the appropriate authorities, applicants with university posts could take a period of research leave and the cost of a temporary replacement be funded by the Wellcome Trust. 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work_viygu64xmzge3aograbxeppcfy	----	untitled COPYING This journal is registered with the Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Organizations in the USA who are also registered with the C.C.C. may therefore copy material (beyond the limits permitted by sections 107 and 108 of U.S. Copyright law) subject to payment to the C.C.C. of the per copy fee of $12.00. This consent does not extend to multiple copying for promotional or commercial purposes. Code 0020–8590 ⁄ 2010. ISI Tear Sheet Service, 3501 Market Street, Philadelphia, PA 19104, USA, is authorized to supply single copies of separate articles for private use only. Organizations authorized by the Copyright Licensing Agency may also copy material subject to the usual conditions. For all other use, permission should be sought from Cambridge or from the American Branch of Cambridge University Press. 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work_v7ck5kxosvfp7koz3yi6frajcu	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 11 December 2014 Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians1 Matthew C Potter When Kenneth Clark (1903-1983) delivered a set of two lectures at London University some time in 1930 an interesting confluence of art historiographical currents occurred. It provided an opportunity not only for a select university audience to hear about the talents and potential problems attending recent German scholarship in the field of art history, but also an occasion for a 27-year-old art historian, only just entering his field as a professional, to contemplate what kind of practitioner he would himself become. This article explores the reflective process Clark undertook in his close reading of the work of two of the most important art historians of the previous half-century – how he explained, critiqued and suggested supplementary processes for augmenting the theoretical machinery supplied by Alois Riegl (1858-1905) and Heinrich Wölfflin (1864-1945). The background to the London University lectures Despite his ability to unintentionally offend or appear aloof, as an early-career art historian, Clark was obviously singularly adept at engaging, entertaining, and retaining the confidence of leading figures in the contemporary art world – academic, connoisseurial, and commercial.2 Whilst at Oxford, Clark had developed a close relationship with Charles F. Bell (1871-1966), the Keeper of Art at the Ashmolean Museum. It was through Bell that Clark gained an introduction to Bernard Berenson (1865-1959) in 1926, opening a new mentoring relationship that would be the most consummate example of Clark’s active management of his options in order to keep them open as long as possible, but also the most difficult juggling act to attempt.3 Berenson was impressed both by Clark’s eye and mind, and 1 The quotes by Kenneth Clark are from the Tate Archives and are reproduced by permission of the Estate of Kenneth Clark c/o The Hanbury Agency Ltd, 28 Moreton Street, London SW1V 2PE. Copyright [1930] © Kenneth Clark. All rights reserved. I would like to thank Professor Richard Woodfield for inviting me to contribute this article on the Clark lectures and for his editorial comments. 2 Meryle Secrest, Kenneth Clark: A Biography, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1984, 86; William Mostyn-Owen, ‘Bernard Berenson and Kenneth Clark: A Personal View’, in Connors and Waldman (eds.), Bernard Berenson: Formation and Heritage, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press; Villa I Tatti, 2014, 232, 234: Mostyn-Owen refers to the friction caused by the perceived arrogance of Clark amongst the Villa I Tatti set and National Gallery curators. 3 David Piper, ‘Clark, Kenneth Mackenzie, Baron Clark (1903–1983)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004: 60 Vols., vol. 11, 817. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 2 had recruited him the same year to help in revisions for a new edition of The Drawings of the Florentine Painters, although this would not come to fruition as Clark’s work on his own book project The Gothic Revival (1928) intervened.4 The rift caused by this defection was compounded by the domestic issues surrounding Clark’s marriage – Jane Martin broke off her previous engagement to the son of an intimate friend of the Berensons.5 Clark consulted his mentor when he was offered the Ashmolean job in 1931, but Berenson’s professional jealousies and dubious dealings with the Duveen brothers (as their de facto agent in Italy) may have served to distance the two, especially around 1934 when Joseph Duveen and Berenson were involved in selling the National Gallery Sassetta paintings of questionable authenticity during Clark’s first year as the Director (1934-45).6 William Mostyn- Owen has credible doubts, however, about the reality of any ‘break’ between the two men.7 Whatever the case may be, by 1938 Berenson’s cessation of his thirty-year association with the Duveens over a disagreement on the attribution of Lord Allendale’s Nativity would no doubt have brought them closer together.8 Clark had taken his revenge upon Duveen over the Sassetta incident by blocking his reappointment as a Trustee of the National Gallery.9 Clark found it difficult to arrive at anything other than a damaging conclusion regarding Berenson’s money-driven 4 Secrest, Clark, 49, 68, 88, 145. Meryle Secrest, Being Bernard Berenson: A Biography, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1980, 331. The work that Clark was employed to help in revising was Bernard Berenson’s The Drawings of the Florentine Painters, Classified, Criticised and Studied as Documents in the History and Appreciation of Tuscan Art, with a Copious Catalogue R , London, Murray, 1903. The revised edition eventually appeared in three volumes (Chicago, Ill.: University of Chicago Press, 1938). Kenneth Clark, The Gothic Revival: An Essay in the History of Taste, London: Constable, 1928. Berenson, The Drawings of the Florentine Painters, ix, 29 n.4: Berenson noted how Clark had aided him over two winters and generously acknowledged that ‘my loss was the public’s gain’ with Clark’s move to the Ashmolean then National Gallery. He also freely acknowledged Clark’s aid in connoisseurial observations where it was decisive. 5 Secrest, Berenson, 332-3. 6 Colin Simpson, Artful Partners: Bernard Berenson and Joseph Duveen, New York: Macmillan, 1986, 246-8; Rachel Cohen, Bernard Berenson: A Life in the Picture Trade, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2013, 117, 184, 237-9; Kenneth Clark, Another Part of the Wood: A Self-Portrait, London: Murray, 1974, 227-8. 7 Mostyn-Owen, ‘Bernard Berenson and Kenneth Clark: A Personal View’, 234, 237: in his correspondence with Clark, Berenson was open about his doubts over the authorship of the works but felt their aesthetic merits meant they were worth purchasing. Rather than a subsequent break, Mostyn-Owen sees the lapse in the Berenson-Clark correspondence as due to the distraction of other business and the lack of necessity for direct business dealings between them. Furthermore the idea of a break is undermined by the continuum of four to five letters a year between the two, excluding the war years. 8 Secrest, Berenson, 333, 351; Secrest, Clark, 97-8; Simpson, Artful Partners, 255-9, 264; Ernest Samuels and Jayne Samuels, Bernard Berenson, the Making of a Legend, Cambridge, Mass. and London: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1987, 436; Kenneth Clark, The Other Half: A Self-Portrait, London: J. Murray, 1977, 103: in Clark’s account of the Allendale Nativity affair curiously he is more sympathetic to Duveen than Berenson. 9 Piper, ‘Clark, Kenneth Mackenzie, Baron Clark (1903–1983)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 11, 818; Simpson, Artful Partners, 247. http://solo.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/primo_library/libweb/action/search.do?dscnt=2&frbg=&scp.scps=scope%3A%28OX%29&tab=local&dstmp=1412082206869&srt=rank&ct=search&mode=Basic&dum=true&vl(304942529UI1)=all_items&indx=1&tb=t&fromLogin=true&vl(1UIStartWith0)=contains&vl(353692469UI0)=any&vl(freeText0)=Colin%20Simpson%2C%20Artful%20partners%3A%20Bernard%20Berenson%20and%20Joseph%20Duveen&vid=OXVU1&fn=search http://le.summon.serialssolutions.com/2.0.0/link/0/eLvHCXMwY2AwNtIz0EUrE0yMgP0w05Sk5JQU8yTDZAPTpBSDtMTUVEsgN8nMPA3l6kMeRHnmJsTAlJonyiDp5hri7KGbkxoPHdWITzQEXchqaSTGwALsJ6dKMCikJJsbmiZZJhsmW6SZJJlaJlomJqalGhmbJhqZpJgnWwIAeAUmyQ http://le.summon.serialssolutions.com/2.0.0/link/0/eLvHCXMwY2AwNtIz0EUrE0yMgP0w05Sk5JQU8yTDZAPTpBSDtMTUVEsgN8nMPA3l6kMeRHnmJsTAlJonyiDp5hri7KGbkxoPHdWITzQEXchqaSTGwALsJ6dKMCikJJsbmiZZJhsmW6SZJJlaJlomJqalGhmbJhqZpJgnWwIAeAUmyQ Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 3 actions in the art market and, on Berenson’s part, there was a certain sensitivity to their different situations regarding the privileges of the ‘moneyed’ social set to which his some-time acolyte belonged, but Clark did help manage his former mentor’s reputation by advising a judicious annihilation of Berenson’s business records on his death.10 Long before these transactions, Clark’s University of London lectures may have caused some form of offence to Berenson’s sensibilities and the tribal politics of the contemporary London (and global) art world came into play here. Colin Simpson suggests that it was through Joseph Duveen’s influence that Clark was given the opportunity to act as co-organizer of the 1930 exhibition of Italian art at the Royal Academy (1 January to 8 March): the dealer using this as an opportunity to showcase works he had sold to his clients.11 Clark began his lecturing career in the spring of 1930 in relation to this Italian exhibition. His first lecture was on Botticelli at the British Academy on 17 January. He gave the same or a similar talk at (probably Charles Henry) St. John Hornby’s house in Chelsea, and other lectures on Giotto and Bellini as well.12 As a lecturer in the Royal Academy series, Clark was in the company of Roger Fry (1866-1934) and it was no doubt he who introduced the young art historian to Tancred Borenius (1885-1948). Clark idolized Fry: as an undergraduate student at Oxford University he had heard Fry lecture and this built upon the bedrock of respect constructed on his reading of Vision and Design (1920).13 It is clear that Clark’s career as a lecturer began under the influence of these highly-placed patrons within the art establishment. Borenius was a friend of Fry and had benefitted from the latter’s introduction into the London art world himself. It was Borenius’ invitation that led to Clark’s talks on German art historians which are under scrutiny in this article. In his autobiography, Clark posited that ‘One might have supposed that Fascism and the British Foreign Office would have exhausted Mr Berenson’s powers of vituperation, but he always had some left over 10 Secrest, Berenson, 251, 332, 385; Mostyn-Owen, ‘Bernard Berenson and Kenneth Clark: A Personal View’, 245: Clark too encountered money problems later in life and was obliged to sell some of his art to remain solvent. 11 Simpson, Artful Partners, 244; Royal Academy [Lord Balniel and Kenneth Clark (eds.)], A Commemorative Catalogue of the Exhibition of Italian Art Held in the Galleries of the Royal Academy, Burlington House London, January-March 1930, London: Humphrey Milford, Oxford University Press, 1931, vii: the ‘selection committee’ of the British Executive Committee included Lady Chamberlain, Lord Balniel, the Viscount Bearsted, Kenneth Clark, W.G. Constable, Lady Colefax, Campbell Dodgson, Roger Fry, Henry Harris, A.E. Popham, Charles Ricketts, Archibald Russell, Lord Gerald Wellesley, and Sir Robert Witt. Roger Fry provided the Introductory Note (xxi-xxvii). 12 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 183; Christine Shaw, ‘Hornby, (Charles Harold) St John (1867–1946)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 28, 128-9; Royal Academy of Arts, Italian art; an illustrated souvenir of the exhibition of Italian art at Burlington House, London, London: published for the Executive Committee of the Exhibition by W. Clowes, 1930, iv-v. See: http://www.racollection.org.uk/ixbin/indexplus?record=VOL6228&_IXp=8&_IXz=2 and http://www.racollection.org.uk/ixbin/indexplus?record=VOL6228&_IXp=9&_IXz=2 accessed 9.11.2014. 13 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 109. http://www.racollection.org.uk/ixbin/indexplus?record=VOL6228&_IXp=8&_IXz=2 http://www.racollection.org.uk/ixbin/indexplus?record=VOL6228&_IXp=9&_IXz=2 Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 4 for colleagues, especially Roger Fry and Tancred Borenius and, of course, the execrable Strygowski [sic]’.14 The reasons for this animosity are easily discerned. Fry had not only beaten Berenson to the post of curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1905 but went on to provide a critical appraisal of Berenson’s North Italian Painters of the Renaissance (1907) which caused offence to the author.15 Berenson might presumably have felt that Clark’s move into such circles was a personal betrayal, although it may have been orchestrated by Joseph Duveen, an intermediary figure to whom Berenson would have readily deferred. According to Simpson, Duveen used his influence to secure Clark’s appointment at the Ashmolean and the National Gallery, and he was also the employer of both Berenson and Borenius.16 From the point of view of his professional development Clark no doubt appreciated the opportunity to spread his wings at such a high profile venue as the British Academy. Furthermore these lectures also afforded him the chance to hone his opinion of the masters of the Italian Renaissance. It was clear to him that lecturing occupied a particular position within the scholarly repertoire. Despite the money and reputation garnered by his performances at the lectern, Clark gave careful consideration in his first autobiography as to whether his ‘career as a lecturer … was a mistake or not’ and that perhaps he would have been better served by avoiding that medium entirely: The lecture form encouraged all the evasions and half-truths that I had learnt to practise in my weekly essays at Oxford. How can a talk of fifty minutes on Giotto or Bellini be anything but superficial? I was conscious of this at the time and wrote two serious lectures on Wölfflin and Riegl which I gave, at the instigation of Tancred Borenius, in an enormous hall in London University. When I mounted the rostrum there were about fifteen pupils in the hall. “Wait”, said Tancred, “the students will come in their thousands”. In fact no one else came. This sobering experience cured me temporarily of my itch to lecture, but not for long. The fact is that I enjoy imparting information and awakening people’s interest; and in the arts this can be achieved more successfully by a lecture than by the printed page. But historical truth is usually complex and frequently dull, and anyone with a sense of style or a love of language is tempted to take short cuts and omit the qualifications that would make a statement less telling. The practice of lecturing not only ended my ambition to be a scholar (this might never have 14 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 153. 15 Cohen, Bernard Berenson, 164; Roger E. Fry, ‘The Painters of North Italy’, The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs vol. 12, no. 60 (March, 1908), 347-349: Fry’s assessment was that Berenson’s book was something of a curate’s egg. He saw the rich material it contained and its attempt to encyclopaedically classify the authorship of North Italian works as providing a great service to students and scholars. However, Fry felt that overzealousness had led to attributions best left ‘anonymous’ and that the brevity of the volume had produced weaknesses in its essays. Berenson’s typological formula of ‘prettiness and triviality’ for North Italian art was dangerously reductive and ‘led to a certain amount of distortion and exaggeration’. 16 Simpson, Artful Partners, 244, 246. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 5 succeeded, as I am too easily bored), but prevented me from examining problems of style and history with sufficient care.17 Yet despite this rather cavalier and dismissive judgement of his early accomplishments as a lecturer, even this recollection carried with it major significance. In 1930 Clark was aware of the need to find a requisite ‘balance of effort and delight’ between deep scholarly enquiry and the beguiling art of the public-speaker aided by his slides – a craftsmanship which had been nurtured in him by the high tempo bravura methodology of the Oxford tutorial system. Tellingly, the considered but nevertheless light touch style of the Italian lectures were in stark contrast in Clark’s eyes to his bookish and ‘serious lectures on Wölfflin and Riegl’. As an introduction to the first of these Clark posited that: Perhaps the best way of understanding the methods of an historian of art is to study one of them at work, & Professor Borenius has suggested that I should take as an example Wölfflin’s classical book, the Kunstgeschichtliche grunbegriffe [sic] – the fundamental conceptions of art history. On the whole, this is much the best choice because Wölfflin is what is rare in German speculative writers – perfectly sane & level headed.18 But why study German art historians in 1930? Despite the advent of the First World War, from the nineteenth century through to the rise of the Nazi party in 1933 Anglo-German relations in the cultural arena had remained relatively healthy. During the naval arms race of 1905-6 German artists, art scholars and art museum workers had been key signatories in a declaration of friendship to the British, in the years before 1914 the Bloomsbury set toyed with German formalist aesthetics, whilst Vorticist artists including Percy Wyndham Lewis and Edward Wadsworth visited Germany and responded to German ideas and art forms.19 Connections went deeper than art practitioners: English art patrons like the Sadler family travelled to Germany to buy art before the outbreak of the First World War, writers like D.H. Lawrence and Rupert Brooke travelled to Germany in the interwar years, and in 1933 Herbert Read would advocate the values of Modern German art to a British audience in Art Now.20 Additionally, in 1927 Read translated Wilhelm Worringer’s Formprobleme der Gotik (1912) (published as Form in Gothic) and wrote an engaging introduction to this.21 Read later also penned the introduction to the 1952 translation of Wölfflin’s Classic Art. On that occasion he squarely set out the methodological 17 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 183-4. 18 Tate Gallery Archive, Papers of Kenneth Clark, TGA 8812/2/2/1131: Kenneth Clark, ‘Wölfflin: London University Lecture’, 1. 19 Matthew C. Potter, The Inspirational Genius of Germany: British Art and Germanism, 1850- 1939, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2012, 203, 222-3, 237-8, 249-50. 20 Potter, The Inspirational Genius of Germany, 227, 235, 261. 21 Andrew Causey, ‘Herbert Read and Contemporary Art’, in David Goodway (ed.), Herbert Read Reassessed, Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1998, 125; Paul Street, ‘Perception and Expression’, in David Goodway (ed.), Herbert Read Reassessed, 256; David Thistlewood, Herbert Read: Formlessness and From: An Introduction to his Aesthetics, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1984, 41; Potter, The Inspirational Genius of Germany, 261. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 6 achievements of Wölfflin: his greater ‘precision’ of visual analysis compared to the wider ‘historical insight’ of Burckhardt, the five antitheses of the Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe (1915: translated as Principles of Art History (1932)), and his influence over Fry and Berenson, such that ‘his great distinction is that he did perfect such a scientific method in art-historical criticism’ that ‘there is no art critic of importance after his time who has not, consciously or unconsciously, been influenced by him’.22 Yet Clark had trodden a similar path over twenty years earlier in his London University lectures. Borenius was a Finnish art historian who after studies and travels in Germany and Italy became an established expert on Italian Renaissance art. Borenius was befriended by Fry and succeeded him as Lecturer in the History of Art at University College, London, in 1914 before becoming the inaugural Durning- Lawrence Professor of the History of Art at the same institution in 1922.23 Borenius was one of Duveen’s second-string advisors and also co-edited Apollo with Duveen (its owner).24 Despite their obvious antipathy, the Fry-Borenius and Berenson camps agreed on the values of Wölfflin’s scholarship.25 Berenson had been inspired to undertake close readings of images by his study of the Austrian and Swiss art historians Riegl and Wölfflin.26 Berenson took Wölfflin’s sense of the tactile to develop a more nuanced psychological reading of the response of the individual to a work of art in The Florentine Painters of the Renaissance (New York: G.P. Putnam and Sons, 1896).27 Meanwhile Fry had warmly reviewed Wölfflin’s The Art of the Italian Renaissance for The Athenaeum in 1903. Wölfflin had worked out his thesis ‘with striking originality, with a rare freshness of observation and brilliant powers of analysis’.28 The book also offered ‘an interesting indication of a possible revolution in taste – a revolution which would bring us back almost to the point of view taken by Reynolds in his discourses, and which would substitute for the minute criticism of the detailed qualities of design the consideration of those large and general effects which are distinguished in the first total impression’ and ‘expressive power’ visible in Quattrocento draughtsmanship. However, Fry 22 Herbert Read, ‘Introduction’, in Heinrich Wölfflin, Classic Art: An Introduction to the Italian Renaissance, translated by Peter and Linda Murray from Basle 1948 edition, London: Phaidon, 1952, v-viii; Patricia Emison, The Italian Renaissance and Cultural Memory, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012, 104. 23 Dennis Farr, ‘Borenius, (Carl) Tancred (1885–1948)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 6, 657. 24 Simpson, Artful Partners, 246. 25 Jill Burke, ‘Inventing the High Renaissance, from Winckelmann to Wikipedia: An Introductory Essay’, in Jill Burke (ed.), Rethinking the High Renaissance: The Culture of the Visual Arts in Early Sixteenth-Century Rome, Farnham: Ashgate Publishing, Ltd., 2012, 22, n.54. 26 Elizabeth Chaplin, Sociology and Visual Representation, London: Routledge, 1994, 48; Michael Hatt and Charlotte Klonk, Art History: A Critical Introduction to Its Methods, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006, 58. 27 Nicholas Stanley Price, Mansfield Kirby Talley, and Alessandra Melucco Vaccaro, Historical and Philosophical Issues in the Conservation of Cultural Heritage, Los Angeles: Getty Publications, 1996, 24. 28 [Roger Fry], ‘Fine Arts’, The Athenaeum, No. 3974, 26 December 1903, 863, col.a. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 7 reserved criticism of the early Cinquecento style about which Wölfflin was writing, for the loss of detail that occurred in its parts (‘no one of the sacred personages represented has any definite individuality’) and the preponderance for artificially addressing its audience (‘One feels, moreover, that they are arranged entirely with a view to the effect to be produced on the spectator’).29 Fry’s 1921 assessment of Wölfflin’s Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe was equally positive.30 Fry reused his Athenaeum review in his essay on the ‘Seicento’ in Transformations (London: Chatto & Windus, 1932), which was heavily influenced by Wölfflin’s Renaissance und Barock.31 Berenson’s enthusiasm was equally long-lasting for in the second edition of the Drawings of the Florentine Painters he remarked ‘would that our studies had more Wölfflins! [I repeat this in 1935 with increased fervour.]’32 Berenson drew particular attention to the valuable analysis of the ‘Titanism’ of the work of Michelangelo undertaken by Wölfflin in Die Jugendwerke des Michelangelo (Munich: T. Ackermann, 1891), and urged students to consult his reconstruction of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel frescoes scheme in the Jahrbuch der Königlich Preussischen Kunstsammlungen (1892). Obviously, from the preliminary passage of Clark’s second lecture quoted above, it was at the suggestion of his new mentor Borenius that Wölfflin’s book Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe was taken as a case study.33 However it is clear also that the German school of art history these German-speaking art historians represented was familiar to Clark long before he entered the London lecture circuit. Clark’s first biographer, Meryle Secrest, suggested that although art history was not offered at British universities whilst he was an undergraduate, the alternative of studying Kunstgeschichte in Germany would have left him non-plussed as ‘his mind would have recoiled from the German fondness for an accumulation of factual detail at the expense of critical values’.34 Clark may well not have harboured any desires to become a full-blown Kunstforscher (art researcher) but this does not mean he was either ignorant or ill-disposed towards German ideas.35 During the time he spent at the Ashmolean as an Oxford undergraduate (1922-6), Clark mined the 29 [Fry], ‘Fine Arts’, 862, col.b., 863 col.a-c. 30 Andrew Hopkins, ‘Riegl Renaissances’, in Andrew Hopkins and Arnold Witte (eds.), The Origins of Baroque art in Rome (by Alois Riegl), Los Angeles: The Getty Research Institute, 2010, 73 n.13. 31 Caroline Elam, ‘Roger Fry and Early Italian Painting’, in Christopher Green (ed.), Art Made Modern: R ger Fry’ V f Art, London: Merrell Holberton, 1999, 88 n.2. 32 Berenson, Drawings of the Florentine Painters, vol. 1, 188-9,197. 33 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 1; Secrest, Clark, 95, 137-8: Interestingly Clark’s relationship with Borenius was soured by professional jealousy similar to the tensions that had existed between Clark and Berenson previously. Both had applied for the post of Surveyor of the King’s Pictures but the appointment committee disliked Borenius’ intention to charge for his services. Clark therefore secured the position. Secrest suggests Borenius served his revenge cold with the part he played in the Daily Telegraph’s (20 October 1937) critique of the dubious Giorgiones purchased for the National Gallery under Clark. 34 Secrest, Clark, 50. 35 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 200: Interestingly Clark used this German term to describe Campbell Dodgson who visited the Ashmolean during Clark’s tenure: Dodgson was ‘almost the only English Kunstforscher of the date who was respected on the Continent’. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 8 library stock and the subject of his first University of London lecture appears in connection with this activity for: ‘I had read, with immense difficulty, the works of Riegl and had formed the ambition to interpret every scrap of design as the revelation of a state of mind. I dreamed of a great book which would be the successor to Riegl’s Die spätrömische Kunst-Industrie’.36 It is quite possible that Clark had some German from his schooldays at Wixenford and Winchester although there are no records of his taking classes in modern languages. Even so Clark would have been compelled to read Riegl in German as English translations were not available of his major works until the 1980s, and Die spätrömische Kunst-Industrie nach den Funden in Österreich-Ungarn (Vienna: Kaiserlich-Königlichen Court and State Press, 1901) was particularly hard-going fare.37 Fittingly Clark had been inspired to undertake a trip to Germany by the reproductions of expressionist works brought back from Berlin in 1922 by his friend Eddy Sackville: Partly under his influence I made my way to Berlin, where I spent my time in museums and galleries, and so saw nothing of the ferocious depravities which made so great an impression on Eddy, and later on Stephen Spender. I learnt a lot. But I must confess, that Germany is very much not my ‘spiritual home’. Realising that almost all writers on philosophy and the history of art who had influenced me deeply – Hegel, Schopenhauer, Jacob Burckhardt, Wölfflin, Riegl, Dvŏrák [sic] – had all been German or German-trained, I later made a determined effort to soak myself in German culture, and spent almost the whole of one long vacation in Dresden and Munich.38 This second trip, lasting three weeks, took place in 1926. The art he saw on that occasion was mostly Italian Renaissance work in the German collections. He visited the Gemälde Galerie in Dresden and the Nymphenberg Palace in Munich, and also attended performances of Anton Walbrook’s plays and Richard Wagner’s operas but the trip was also aimed at providing him with the opportunity to perfect his 36 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 108. 37 Saul Ostrow, ‘Introduction Aloïs Riegl: History’s Deposition’, in Richard Woodfield (ed.), Fr m g F rm l m: R egl’ W rk, London: Routledge, 2013, 3, 9 n.5; Richard Woodfield, ‘Reading Riegl’s Kunst-I du tr e’, in Richard Woodfield (ed.), Framing Formalism, 56; Martin Warnke, ‘On Heinrich Wölfflin’, Representations (Summer 1989), vol. 27, 172-3, 176: the scholarly responses to Wölfflin’s Principles of Art History did not really occur until 1917 and then were affected by the insular patriotism that dominated art historical discourse in Germany at the time (and in fact cause and effect were reciprocal in that Wölfflin’s formalism was motivated by a desire to depoliticize his work). Interestingly Warnke argues that the Principles of Art History can be seen as an equivalent to ‘military service’ for Wölfflin. Similarly Riegl’s work may be contextualized by the rise of Prussian cultural nationalism and the need for Habsburg visual culture to assert its own ‘national character’: see Diana Graham Reynolds, Alois Riegl and the Politics of Art History: Intellectual Traditions and Austrian Identity in fin-de-siècle Vienna, PhD Thesis: University of California, San Diego, 1997, xi, 101- 212; later published as Diana Reynolds Cordileone, Alois Riegl in Vienna 1875–1905: An Institutional Biography, Farnham: Ashgate, 2014. 38 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 114. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C5%8E http://www.google.co.uk/search?tbo=p&tbm=bks&q=inauthor:%22Dr+Diana+Reynolds+Cordileone%22 Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 9 German language skills.39 Yet he invoked E.M. Forster to express where his true sympathies laid, for: ‘yet, in spite of this, I was unhappy in Germany. “Only connect”. I never connected, as I did from the first minute I set foot in Italy’.40 It is quite possible that Clark’s misgivings were imparted during his student days by Bell, his mentor at the Ashmolean, who entertained a great animosity for Germans.41 His work in the year prior to the London University lectures gave opportunities to encounter the works of other German art historians. In 1929 when undertaking his research for the catalogue of Leonardo drawings in the Royal Collection he was obliged to consult Jean Paul Richter (1847-1937) on the Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci (London: S. Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1883) with its survey of the five thousand extant manuscript fragments, and his careful reconstruction of the texts these formed or were intended to form. While Clark found this the best work in its field, Richter failed to relate the writing of the artist to that of his contemporaries.42 Whilst Richter, like Berenson, was heavily influenced by the ideals of Giovanni Morelli, Clark was able to develop a more well-rounded view of possible art historical approaches by attending a lecture delivered by Aby Warburg (1866-1929) in Rome in January 1929 which encouraged him to abandon the connoisseurial mode of Morelli and Berenson in favour of a more ambitious approach couched in the history of ideas.43 This lecture, delivered on 19 January 1929, was one of Warburg’s last public outings and took as its subject ‘Die römische Antike in der Werkstatt Ghirlandaios (Roman antiquities in the workshop of Ghirlandaio)’. Warburg magisterially linked Ghirlandaio, Botticelli, Dürer, Rubens and Rembrandt in his plea for a more interdisciplinary and ambitious form of art historical scholarship.44 Its impact on Clark was immense and he recalled how Warburg literally ‘directed the whole lecture at’ him for two hours and, despite his imperfect German, he ‘understood about two thirds’ of it.45 The intellectual trajectory this imparted on Clark can be traced from The Gothic Revival (1928) to The Nude (1956). In the preface to The Gothic Revival Clark declared that art historians had a choice of alternative approaches to their subject: ‘Instead of making a great work of art his central theme and trying to explain it by means of the social and political circumstances of the time, the historian may reverse the process, and examine works of art to learn something of the epochs which made them, something of men’s 39 Secrest, Clark, 71. 40 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 115. 41 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 105. 42 Kenneth Clark, A Catalogue of the Drawings by Leonardo da Vinci in the Collection of His Majesty the King at Windsor Castle, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1935: 2 Vols.; Jean Paul Richter (1847-1947), Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci, London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1883: 2 Vols., vol. 1, xv. 43 Secrest, Clark, 80; Karen Ann Lang, Chaos and Cosmos: On the Image in Aesthetics and Art History, Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2006, 255, n.122. 44 Christopher D. Johnson, Mem ry, Met ph r, d Aby W rburg’ Atl f Im ge , Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 70-1. This lecture is known as the Hertziana lecture due to its delivery at the Biblioteca Hertziana in Rome. 45 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 189-90. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 10 formal, imaginative demands which vary so unaccountably from age to age’.46 Martin Kemp sees this ambition as being ‘closer to German Kunstwissenschaft than to traditional British art criticism’.47 Clark’s insistence that his chapter on ‘Pathos’ in The Nude was ‘entirely Warburgian’ puzzled William Mostyn-Owen in his recent reminiscences.48 Kemp’s assessment of this particular conundrum is more revealing for he sees Clark working as a cultural historian using images to reveal the thoughts of an historic age as ‘Warburgian in a general way’ without necessarily engaging with the ‘philosophical and psychological intricacies of Warburg’s approach’ citing his perplexity at metaphysics as further proof.49 Nevertheless, as Nicolas Penny writes, ‘Into it one may feel that much of the best German writing on the history of art during the previous half-century has flowed’ drawing inspiration for his comparative studies from Wölfflin, transmigration of forms from Riegl, and the sense of an emotional reinvention of classical art during the Renaissance from Warburg.50 Clark’s appreciation of Hegel’s engagement with visual culture and Walter Pater’s indebtedness to German aesthetics did however gain notice in his Moments of Vision (1954).51 In reviewing the interplay of descriptive and analytical components of art criticism in another section of the same book, Clark paid homage to ‘the penetrating eye of Ruskin, Wölfflin or Riegl’, which provide ‘perhaps the most enlightening in all criticism’, picking out specifically Wölfflin’s critique of Baroque architecture, and the comparison of the genre painter Gerard ter Borch (1617-81) and the history painter Gabriël Metsu (1629-67) as incidents of ‘real aesthetic pleasure’.52 Ultimately Clark would make few references to German art historians in The Nude, in fact only Wölfflin received explicit reference in that text. The same rationale was at play here as in Moments of Vision from two years earlier. Wölfflin was praised for his formal analysis of Baroque art – a matter Clark explored in detail in his London University lectures.53 46 Kenneth Clark, The Gothic Revival: An Essay in the History of Taste, London: John Murray, 1928 [1962], xx. 47 Martin Kemp, ‘Clark’s Leonardo’, in Kenneth Clark, Leonardo da Vinci, London: Folio Society, [1988] 2005, 13. 48 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 190; Mostyn-Owen, ‘Bernard Berenson and Kenneth Clark: A Personal View’, 234. 49 Kemp, ‘Clark’s Leonardo’, 15-16; see Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 35: where Clark confesses to being ‘as perplexed by metaphysics as a Trobriand islander’. 50 Nicholas Penny, London Review of Books, vol. 3, no. 21 (19 November 1981), 20. 51 Kenneth Clark, Moments of Vision, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954 [1981], 63, 89, 135; see also Potter, The Inspirational Genius of Germany, 112-13. 52 Clark, Moments of Vision, 87. 53 Kenneth Clark, The Nude: A Study of Ideal Art, London: J. Murray, 1956, 135: While Clark did not find Wölfflin’s methodology practical to apply to Peter Paul Rubens he did nevertheless acknowledge the importance of the conception intellectually, for ‘Wölfflin in his masterly analysis of baroque form spoke of a change from tactile to a painter-like, or, visual, approach’. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 11 The make-up of the London University lectures Having provided some contextualization for how and why Riegl and Wölfflin presented themselves as apt material for his lectures, their format can now be considered. The manuscripts of the two lectures are to a varying degree incomplete: the first literally, for while it is typed up with hand-written annotations and corrections it is missing its first three pages; the second is wholly in manuscript with the final three (unnumbered) pages providing an alternative draft to pages twenty- one to twenty-two. Together the work may further be seen to be unfinished, given its author’s desire to take the project further. In a later note that he appended to the first lecture, added presumably when Clark was undertaking the housekeeping of his files, he remarked that: ‘A lot of thought has gone into it, & I hesitate to throw it away. But I don’t know what to do with it!’54 It is understandable that Clark’s initial attempt at an intellectual history of this kind was frustrated given, firstly, the extreme limitations of the parameters of two hour-long lectures, and that, secondly, to paraphrase Zhou Enlai, it was perhaps still ‘too early to say’ what the impact of the German school would be on art historians.55 In his self-conscious reflection upon the methodology and theory of art historians, Michael Podro’s The Critical Historians of Art (1982) might fittingly be seen as a realization of Clark’s project. Yet if Podro undertook the task with greater academic rigour and extended the chronological boundaries (ranging from the late 1820s to the late 1920s) and number of German- speaking art historians covered, it also confirmed an important issue which Clark had no doubt already perceived. Notably that the intellectual history of these German ideas was too rarefied and abstract, too self-contradictory to make for easy working into a book. Perhaps more so for Podro than Clark, due to his greater scope, the Laocoön-like struggle to master the serpentine Germanic school of thought was a formidable challenge. Anyone was likely to be brought down and drawn back into the convoluted mass from which they were attempting to separate themselves in order to gain an objective and exterior view. The critical responses to this book confirm such a perspective. Whilst Alex Potts welcomed the book as both ‘very important and timely’, and a valid attempt to carve out a separate tradition of thought from that suited to contemporary fashions for Marxist social art history, he also saw the book’s success as ‘partly stem[ming] from Podro’s own peculiar position neither quite inside nor quite outside the discipline’.56 This issue of the author’s membership of the tradition which he was critiquing was carried through into other reviews. Mark Cheetham was less forgiving of Podro’s inferred failure to reflect upon the impact of such thinking on his own practice and that of his contemporaries, whilst David Carrier not only marvelled at the ‘major achievement’ represented in the ‘lucid history of this tradition’ provided by The Critical Historians 54 Tate Gallery Archive, Papers of Kenneth Clark, TGA 8812/2/2/11, Kenneth Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 1. 55 Dean Nicholas, ‘Zhou Enlai’s Famous Saying Debunked’, History Today website, posted 15th June 2011, 11:30: http://www.historytoday.com/blog/news-blog/dean-nicholas/zhou- enlais-famous-saying-debunked accessed 9.11.2014. 56 Alex Potts, ‘A German Art History’, The Burlington Magazine, vol. 127, no. 993 (December, 1985), 900, 903. http://www.historytoday.com/blog/news-blog/dean-nicholas/zhou-enlais-famous-saying-debunked http://www.historytoday.com/blog/news-blog/dean-nicholas/zhou-enlais-famous-saying-debunked Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 12 of Art, but was also more sympathetic in his evaluation of Podro’s adopted vantage point, suggesting that Podro might become a chapter in the extended narrative of future histories of his subject.57 Before passing back from heir to art historiographical forebear, it is worth commenting on one aspect of conceptual consistency between Podro and Clark. Although The Critical Historians of Art is formally divided into two parts, Potts rightly identifies a more meaningful three- way division in its sets of case studies: a first phase of a history of art flavoured by the idealism of the early nineteenth century; a second phase of consolidation through a focus on stylistic analysis; and a third phase signalling a return to Neo- Kantian scientific definitions of art.58 Independently Podro and Clark had come to similar conclusions regarding the discrete character of the middle-period, and identified Riegl and Wölfflin as its key practitioners. The two lectures Clark produced worked independently to elucidate the useful contributions of these two writers to the field of art history, and collectively to trace their shared vision for an art history that modelled changes in style over time. Throughout the two lectures, Clark hinted at the threads that ran between them. When discussing Riegl’s Stilfragen: Grundlegungen zu einer Geschichte der Ornamentik (Berlin: Siemens, 1893) in his first lecture, Clark paused. Following the natural flow of his narrative, he had begun to consider material factors that affected the evolution of styles. In a display of critical discipline, however, he halted that particular refrain in order to resume it in its proper place for ‘that aspect of his book must be considered in my second lecture; we are at present concerned with the point of view which his method implies’.59 The two talks worked in careful collaboration – the first was depicting the ideas in a broad-brush manner (the conceptual framework), the second explaining with detailed examples how the Germans saw the evolution of style (with evidence of the German ‘history of style’ methodology in Wölfflin’s practice). The first lecture: Riegl and the philosophy of art history As a young-blood, Clark was no doubt enthused by the revolutionary nature of the Post-Impressionist polemic of the Fry set, and was seeking to use Riegl and Wölfflin as media for carrying his equally ground-breaking ideas on how art history needed to change. Clark saw the eighteenth century as shackled to ‘the circle of humanism’ generated by the ancient cultural traditions of the West as represented by Jonathan Richardson (1694-1771).60 Clark argued for the need to cultivate a more refined sensibility amongst art historians for ‘Instead of the old navigable inland sea of humanist culture, there is a stream of ocean vaguely encircling the known world & 57 Mark A. Cheetham, ‘Review: “The Spectator and the Landscape in the Art Criticism of Diderot and His Contemporaries” by Ian J. Lochhead; “The Critical Historians of Art by Michael Podro”’, Art Journal, vol. 43, no. 4 (Winter, 1983), 421, 423; David Carrier, ‘Review: The Critical Historians of Art by Michael Podro’, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, vol. 42, no. 1 (Autumn, 1983), 95-6. 58 Potts, ‘A German Art History’, 901. 59 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 15. 60 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 5-6. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 13 washing up on its shores amazing evidences of its continuity. On the limits of this uncharted sea, I will stop. There is hard work awaiting the future historian of art’.61 It was his adamant belief that the key shifts in styles from Classical to Byzantine (and by extrapolation from Romanesque to Gothic, or Renaissance to Baroque) did not involve changes in absolute value (i.e. producing better or worse art) but rather represented subtle shifts in the artistic will of a people. Clark singularly rejected any possibility of teleological development in art history for this implied an absolute zenith to which all art aspired. Rather Clark was careful to use the concept of ‘a continuous process of evolution’ in a nuanced manner ‘without the idea of blind progress which biologists have attached to it’.62 Ideas of cultural evolution were legion in the nineteenth century and thrived on the ideological and typological models produced by Darwin’s followers: T.H. Huxley and Herbert Spencer. In art – and in Germany especially – artists and critics were attracted to drawing connections between evolutionary theories and artistic forms, especially in the work of mythological and Symbolist artists like Arnold Böcklin, Max Klinger and Gabriel Max.63 Yet Clark was more interested in conventional historical narratives of continual change through mechanisms integral to creative processes, and he found these in Riegl: By his incredibly close analysis, Riegl was able to show that in the history o[f] ornament there were no breaks, no catastrophes, but a steady, continuous development, showing change for no outside or material reasons, but from the nature of the ornament itself and from the spiritual desires of the people who made it. The force of this theory was only shown when, in 1901, Riegl applied it to the figure arts.64 The theory of evolution in Riegl’s Die spätrömische Kunst-Industrie was nuanced such that the idea of the decadence of late Roman art was roundly rejected – based on the assumption that all art ‘is the result of intention, not of accident’ of the ‘artistic will’ (which Clark mistranscribed as ‘Kunstvollen’ rather than Kunstwollen).65 Yet bearing his Berensonian training in mind, Clark was unhappy to abandon all value- judgements regarding quality and felt that ‘In one way the theory of the Kunstvollen [sic] is dangerous. Like an extreme determinist theory of morals it seems to annihilate all standards of value’ for even without the moral connotations of ‘decadence’ and ‘incompetence’ it was still possible for an art historian to evaluate the finish and craftsmanship of two works of art or two periods.66 For Riegl the 61 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 23. 62 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 16. 63 See Marsha Morton, ‘From Monera to Man: Ernst Haeckel, Darwinismus, and Nineteenth- Century German Art’, in Barbara Jean Larson and Fae Brauer (eds.), The Art of Evolution: Darwin, Darwinisms, and Visual Culture, Lebanon, NH: Dartmouth College Press, 2009, 61, 67, 74-8, 90. 64 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 15. 65 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 16. 66 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 16-17; Mostyn-Owen, ‘Bernard Berenson and Kenneth Clark: A Personal View’, 242-3: Clark later recycled this point in his ‘Apologia of an Art Historian’, Presidential Address to the Associated Societies of University of Edinburgh, 1950. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 14 Kunstwollen helped explore the intellectual realms of creativity for they provided ‘interpretative forms of expression’ and established an ‘“optic” or “subjective” ideal of art’ in opposition to historicist modes of visual culture fashionable in Vienna at the time.67 As the reviewers of The Critical Historians of Art concluded, the two leitmotifs of this tradition of German intellectual history were the ‘autonomy’ and ‘retrieval’ theses, as Paul Crowther termed them: the first proclaiming art’s evolution as an internal process, the second, explaining how the art of the past was evaluated and used in the present.68 Clark was attuned to these features and mused upon the philosophical implications of Riegl’s work: ‘I think there are two chief ways of trying to account for a change of style. We can either seek to explain it by the laws of development inherent in the forms themselves, or by the changes in the spiritual conditions which these forms express’.69 That Clark should have vocalized such a thought is unsurprising given his musings in the preface of The Gothic Revival two years earlier (see above, p. 9). Perhaps it was the influence of Warburg or maybe the less intense form of cultural history as advocated by Jacob Burckhardt (1818-1897) which caused Clark to step back from the logical extreme of such a thesis for in bringing the ‘spiritual conditions’ back into the frame Clark was placing a check on the ‘autonomy’ thesis. Borenius was similarly an enthusiast of the cultural historical manner of Jacob Burckhardt.70 Famously Burckhardt hardly mentions individual works of art in Die Cultur der Renaissance in Italien (Basel: Schweighauser, 1860: translated into English in 1878).71 Also by invoking ‘spiritual conditions’ – rather than socio-economic contextual factors – Clark was displaying his awareness of the importance of Geist (translatable as Mind or Spirit) within the German traditions of Geistesgeschichte and Kunstgeschichte which had gained an audience amongst Britons during the previous century through the writings of Hegel and, more recently, Wassily Kandinsky.72 Wölfflin had only been able to create an internally logical model for stylistic change by excluding historical contexts.73 Yet it is clear that the appeal of the Kunstwollen as an explanation of the 67 Margaret Iversen, Alois Riegl: Art History and Theory, Cambridge, Mass. and London: MIT Press, 1993, 12, 30, 35, 43; Reynolds, Alois Riegl and the Politics of Art History, x-xi: Reynolds explores the origins of the Kunstwollen in the philosophies of Friedrich Nietzsche and Arthur Schopenhauer. 68 Paul Crowther, ‘“The Critical Historians of Art”: Michael Podro (Book Review)’, British Journal of Aesthetics, vol. 23, no. 4 (1983), 363. See also: Cheetham, ‘Review: “The Spectator and the Landscape in the Art Criticism of Diderot and His Contemporaries” by Ian J. Lochhead; “The Critical Historians of Art by Michael Podro”’, 421; see also Warnke, ‘On Heinrich Wölfflin’, 179-81, on the ‘emancipatory’ expressive potential of art (and its history) as autonomous. 69 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 18. 70 Dennis Farr, ‘Borenius, (Carl) Tancred (1885–1948)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 6, 657. 71 Potter, The Inspirational Genius of Germany, 46. 72 Potter, The Inspirational Genius of Germany, 37, 70, 109, 120, 221, 230-1. 73 Harry Francis Mallgrave & Eleftherios Ikonomou, Empathy, Form, and Space: Problems in German Aesthetics 1873-1893, LA: Getty Center for the History of Art and Humanities, 1994, 51; see also Warnke, ‘On Heinrich Wölfflin’, 172: Warnke argues that the conceptualization Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 15 cause of change was, in Clark’s mind, better suited as a philosophy rather than a methodology. It was at this juncture that Clark undertook a serious logistical appraisal of Riegl’s methodology as applied to the Stilfragen and Die spätrömische Kunst-Industrie: In the change which Riegl set himself to examine, the change from Classical to what we may call Byzantine art, the first explanation carries us even less far. Riegl himself was very fond of this method and used great ingenuity in showing how great a part was played by purely artistic aims such as the development of the idea of space and of the pictorial sense in sculpture; and of the inevitable application of colouristic ideas to a plastic style, and so forth. But he was bound to admit that the fundamental change of style was due to a change of spirit – the change from a materialism to a transcendentalism, from an anthropocentric to a theistic conception of life.74 Clark’s reference to ‘plastic style’ is interesting, for the German theorists of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries had a more basic understanding of this concept. Rather than reflecting a visceral creative evaluation of the sensibility and possibility of formal characteristics, for Germans like Adolf von Hildebrand and Riegl, plasticity ‘designated the densely textured, opaque two-dimensional shape that distinguished itself from the relative emptiness of the visual field surrounding it when the perceptual apparatus differentiated figure from ground’.75 Another point of methodology raised by Clark in his first ‘philosophical’ lecture involved the effect rendered on the minds of art historians by their use of photography as a support for their research. Whilst Walter Benjamin would later reflect on the potential damage caused by photographic reproductions to visual perception and valuation in his famous essay on ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction’ (1936), six years earlier Clark passed equally insightful comment upon the potential of high quality photographic reproductions of art works to transform the perspective of art historians. The new photographic visions (of magnified close-ups and simultaneous study of paintings in different collections) allowed art historians to undertake a panoptic view of the creative history of mankind, with a two-fold impact on scholarship: philosophic and historic affecting the accuracy of perception and chronicling respectively.76 Yet a model for both Clark and Benjamin had already been provided by Riegl. Benjamin inverted Riegl’s precepts ‘making modern perception tactile or haptic rather than optic’.77 Clark had seen the potential of such work in Warburg’s use of magnified photographs to of Wölfflin’s ‘ahistorical aestheticism’ helped the discipline to develop ‘a heightened awareness of the historical dimension of aesthetic forms’. 74 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 19. 75 Alex Potts, The Sculptural Imagination: Figurative, Modernist, Minimalist, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000, 125. 76 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 8-10. 77 Iversen, Alois Riegl, 15-16; Margaret Olin, F rm f Repre e t t Al R egl’ The ry f Art, University Park, Penn.: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992, 182. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 16 illustrate his concept of the Mnemosyne or Bilderatlas (picture atlas) at the Hertziana lecture in Rome.78 As with all points in Clark’s commentary, the observation of the features in the art historiographical landscape were a means to another end. Clark’s seismic conclusion was that beauty as a concept commonly used in the Western tradition was no longer fit for purpose and required wholesale renovation, for ‘Clearly none of these conditions of beauty apply to our Scythian plaque or even, to take a less esoteric example, to a piece of Romanesque sculpture. Yet these objects arouse in us sensations which, with our limited powers of psychological analysis, seem to be identical with those aroused by the frieze of the Parthenon’.79 Photography could enable this new eclectic vision. In the case of Riegl’s shortcomings, Clark concluded that change in style must occur when a new spirit evolved in a cultural consciousness, and that the ‘almost magical event’ of creating new forms meant artists and designers would borrow from types available from elsewhere.80 Clark demurred at the unpredictability of Riegl’s model of spontaneous artistic creativity for ‘I believe it is often possible to know what form an art-will [i.e. Kunst-will] will assume by relating the change of spirit which lies behind it with the available material by which these changes can be expressed. And that it is really what we are doing when we say that one culture has influenced another’.81 Clark was clear that his conclusion was ‘obviously opposed to the theory of Kunstwollen’ but he was sure that Riegl had ‘underrate[d] outside influence’.82 The influence of Greek artistic spirit was important, but Clark also referred to that of historically remote influences such as the impact of the artefacts of the Sasanian Empire (c.224-651) on medieval Western Europe in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.83 In his conclusion to the ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’ Clark nailed his colours squarely to the mast. Previously he had referred to the ‘execrable Strygowski [sic]’. In Moments of Vision (1954) Clark would later reminisce upon the animosity Berenson had felt for Josef Strzygowski (1862-1941): To this complex amalgam of love and hate was added the precipitant of pure hate for a scholar named Strzygowski, who was for Mr Berenson the Hitler of art historical studies, the arch-enemy of humanist culture, who must at all costs be destroyed. The fact that to many of us Strzygowski’s name may no longer be familiar proves that even with such an evolved character as Mr Berenson, prejudices must be personalised in order to become dynamic.84 78 Johnson, Mem ry, Met ph r, d Aby W rburg’ Atl f Im ge , x, 69. 79 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 11-12. See also Clark, Moments of Vision, 127: Clark uses the Scythian plaque again here as a restorative ‘cocktail’ to the weary visitor to the Vatican sculpture galleries or the Museo Torlonia. 80 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 21. 81 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 20. 82 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 21. 83 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 21-2. 84 Clark, Moments of Vision, 127-8. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 17 This enmity was passed on from Berenson to Clark and under the context of the rise of fascism in Europe of the 1930s it is understandable. Strzygowski was one of the Austrian intellectual historians who seized upon the Sonderweg thesis of Germany’s chosen path to glory, and sought to explain artistic schools according to their manifestation of racial purity. The association of such theories with an artist like Böcklin had a deleterious effect upon his reception in Britain at least.85 Despite the ideological associations of Strzygowski’s theories, even in 1938 Berenson acknowledged his formal analytical skills, citing him in the Drawings of the Florentine Painters.86 Long before this Clark could be found expressing a similar mixture of political distaste and connoisseurial respect in his Lecture on Aesthetics: And here I cannot but mention the name of a writer whose works I would not recommend anyone to read – Professor Strygowski [sic]; for when all has been said against him – and no doubt more will be said than ever after the Persian Exhibition – he was the first art historian to crack the shell of the humanist egg. No wonder he began to crow rather prematurely. None the less what Strygowski [sic] saw really did exist.87 The Persian Exhibition which Clark referred to here was the International Exhibition of Persian Art held at the Royal Academy between 7 January and 7 March 1931 which helps to further secure the dating of the lectures on the German art historians.88 Strzygowski’s contribution came in Orient oder Rom: Beiträge zur Geschichte der spätantiken und frühchristlichen Kunst (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1901) and its importance was in his anti-humanist methodology exploring the Oriental origins of Western architecture.89 Interestingly, Clark’s first lecture shared something of the constitution of Burckhardtian art history. Of the text in the twenty remaining pages of the manuscript only three works of art are mentioned: Nicholas Poussin’s Tancred and Erminia (c.1634), the twelfth-century manuscripts of Cîteaux, and Reims Cathedral (1211-75).90 Additionally only nine artists are named: Giorgione, Phidias, Poussin, Raphael, Giulio Romano, and four sculptor-architects who appear in one clause (Giuliano da Sangallo (1443-1516), Giacomo da Vignola (1507-73), Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598-1680), and Francesco Borromini (1599-1667)).91 This was perhaps unsurprising given the adjustments he made to Riegl’s model, as well as the fact 85 Potter, The Inspirational Genius of Germany, 209. 86 Berenson, Drawings of the Florentine Painters (1938, 3 Vols.), vol. 1, 170, n.2. 87 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 22. 88 Royal Academy, Catalogue of the International Exhibition of Persian Art, London: Royal Academy, 1931, i (see http://www.racollection.org.uk/ixbin/indexplus?record=VOL6202&_IXp=5&_IXz=2) accessed 9.11.2014. See also Barry D. Wood, ‘“A Great Symphony of Pure Form”: The 1931 International Exhibition of Persian Art and Its Influence’, Ars Orientalis, vol. 30 (2000), 113- 130. 89 Talinn Grigor, ‘Orient oder Rom? Qajar “Aryan” Architecture and Strzygowski’s Art History’, Art Bulletin, vol. 89, no. 3 (September, 2007), 563-4. 90 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 5, 13, 21. 91 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 4, 5, 9, 14, 19. http://www.racollection.org.uk/ixbin/indexplus?record=VOL6202&_IXp=5&_IXz=2 Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 18 that Borenius entertained sympathies for the Burckhardtian method. Clark praised the ‘great history’ of Jacob Burckhardt and Wilhelm Lübke (i.e. Geschichte der neueren Baukunst (Stuttgart: Ebner and Seubert, 1867)).92 It is intriguing to see that, just as Podro unknowingly retraced the steps first taken by Clark in his lecture, others have rehearsed Clark’s juxtaposition of Burckhardt and Wölfflin. In Past Looking (1996), for example, Michael Ann Holly undertakes a similarly-spirited project of ‘contrasts: not just between Burckhardt’s contextualist and Wölfflin’s formalist history of art, but also between Renaissance and baroque art as each of their stories becomes emplotted in the confrontation between Renaissance and baroque historiography’, surveying Wölfflin’s Renaissance und Barock and Die klassische Kunst, albeit coming to different conclusions to Clark (such as the possibility of an ‘anonymous history of the history of art’).93 Even so, within such contexts Clark can be seen to have partially fulfilled his ambitions, if not in writing the sequel to Riegl’s Die spätrömische Kunst-Industrie, then at least in occupying similar conceptual territory to the established modern authorities in intellectual art history and its historiography. The second lecture: Wölfflin’s microscopic vision The following week Clark delivered the second part of his overview. On this occasion, as previously mentioned, his aim was microscopic where it had previously been macroscopic. His interest was now in ‘methods by which we study a stylistic change with tactics, as last week we were concerned with strategy’, and more so, Borenius’ suggestion of Wölfflin was helpful for he was ‘an observer & a stylist, not a thinker’.94 Clark approached his subject respectfully for he acknowledged that ‘Heinrich Wölfflin is by common consent the best living writer on art, & at least four of his works should be familiar to anyone who intends to study the history of art’.95 His prescribed reading list consisted of Renaissance und Barock: eine Untersuchung über Wesen und Entstehung des Barockstils in Italien (Munich: Bruckmann, 1888), Die klassische Kunst: eine Einführung in die italienische Renaissance (Munich: Bruckmann, 1899), Die Kunst Albrecht Dürers (Munich: Bruckmann, 1905), and Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe: Das Problem der Stilentwicklung in der neuren Kunst (Munich: Bruckmann, 1915). Clark noted that only the first of these had been translated (as reviewed by Fry: see above), that he was taking the last Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe as the main subject of the lecture, and that this created logistical difficulties: In lecturing today I am therefore faced with the difficulty of there being no accepted English words by which to render Wölfflin’s rich & complicated 92 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 10. 93 Michael Ann Holly, Past Looking: Historical Imagination and the Rhetoric of the Image, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996, 97, 110. Interestingly both Clark and Holly’s interest in the change from High Renaissance to Baroque art were part of a wider ‘renaissance’ in analysis of this paradigm shift in response to Wölfflin’s work: see Emison, The Italian Renaissance and Cultural Memory, 5 n.10, 148 n.41. 94 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 1. 95 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 2. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 19 terminology of art criticism; & it is particularly difficult to give English equivalents of his critical terms because the German language has compound forms which are barbarous in a literal translation.96 It did not take Clark long to describe the pattern by which Wölfflin set out his thesis on stylistic change across all types of art via four distinct methodological innovations: firstly, his expression of five antitheses of analytical awareness; secondly, his departure from biographical conventionalities of art history; thirdly, the suspension of value judgements (Clark notes how Wölfflin is not interested in the individual lives of artists but rather comparisons between works); fourthly, the synthetic approach of using well-known examples rather than new research to support his arguments; and, finally, Wölfflin’s acceptance of Riegl’s idea of the Kunstwollen.97 Already before going into detail there was evidence of points of disagreement between Clark and Wölfflin – in relation to the third of these we have already witnessed Clark’s reluctance to forego aesthetic judgement (see above), and, in connection with the second and fourth, Clark felt Wölfflin was too extreme in his application of a narrow focus on the material history of style for ‘in the Grundbegriffe, he treats of style in isolation – in too great isolation, I think we shall find’.98 In contrast to the first lecture, the second gave Clark the opportunity to undertake more free-ranging visual explorations. He followed Wölfflin’s innovative technique of dual projection which allowed easy comparison and contrasting of different images, and promoted formal analysis as valid visual evidence.99 However, in transforming Wölfflin’s written text into a lecture Clark inevitably encountered difficulty. The year after Clark’s lecture, Wölfflin would articulate in the preface to Italien und das deutsche Formgefühl (Munich: F. Bruckmann, 1931) how the dual projection technique was ill-suited to use in books perhaps reflecting upon the difficulties he had encountered in writing the Grundbegriffe.100 As The Nude would be generally ‘Warburgian’ in the attitude it adopted to cultural history, Clark’s Wölfflin lecture was Wölfflinesque in its visual analysis without dogmatically sticking to the text of the Grundbegriffe. Clark was obliged to ‘back-engineer’ Wölfflin’s book into the workable form of lecture. So for example, to illustrate the first antithesis (‘between the tactile & visual apprehension of form’), Clark displayed paired slides of Raphael’s ‘Squ t g C rd l’ (i.e. Portrait of Tommaso Inghirami (Fig. 1: c.1514-16)) and Diego Velázquez, Portrait of Pope Innocent X (Fig. 2: c.1650); Benedetto da 96 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 2. 97 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 3. 98 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 5. 99 T. Fawcett, ‘Visual Facts and the Nineteenth-Century Art Lecture’, Art History, vol. 6, no. 4 (1983), 455-6; Frederick N. Bohrer, ‘Photographic perspectives: photography and the institutional formation of art history’, in Elizabeth Mansfield (ed.), Art History and Its Institutions: Foundations of a Disciple, London: Routledge, 2002, 250-1, 256; W. Freitag, ‘Early Uses of Photography in the History of Art’, Art Journal, vol. 39, no. 2 (Winter 1979/80), 122; Warnke, ‘On Heinrich Wölfflin’, 176. 100 Heinrich Wölfflin, The Sense of Form in Art: A Comparative Psychological Study, New York: Chelsea Publishing Co., 1958 [Translation from Italien und das Deutsche Formgefühl, Munich: F. Bruckmann A G, 1932], 3-4. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 20 Maiano’s Bust (c.1475-1500) and Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s Portrait of Cardinal Scipione Borghese (1632); Michelangelo’s Medici Tomb (Fig. 3: 1520-55) and Bernini’s St. Terese (Fig. 4: 1647–52); the Palazzo Rucellai (Fig. 5) and Palazzo Odescachi (Fig. 6); and Botticelli’s St. Sebastian (Fig. 7: 1474) and Raphael’s Portrait of Agnolo Doni (Fig. 8: c.1505).101 Wölfflin used many different examples in his discussion of his first antithesis. In terms of the graphic arts, he contrasted drawings by Albrecht Dürer of Eve (1504: click to view) and Rembrandt of a Female Nude (c. 1637: click to view); Heinrich Aldegrever’s Male Portrait (c.1530s?) and Jan Lievens’ Portrait of the Poet Jan Vos (first half of the seventeenth century: click to view); as well as Dürer’s Portrait of Bernard van Orly (1521: click to view) and Franz Hals’ Portrait of a Man (1646-8: click to view).102 In the final sphere of architecture, Wölfflin used two examples from Rome: Baccio Pontelli’s SS. Apostoli (late fifteenth century) and Carlo Rainaldi’s S t’A dre dell V lle (1655-1663).103 However, Clark did use some of the same images that appeared in Wölfflin’s text. In terms of sculptural examples, Wölfflin had used both the contrast of Benedetto da Maiano (Wölfflin used Portrait of Pietro 101 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 6. 102 Heinrich Wölfflin (tr. M. D. Hottinger), Principles of Art History: The Problem of the Development of Style in Later Art, London: G. Bell and Sons, and New York: Dover Publications, Ltd, 1932, 33-6, 42-3. * In this and subsequent captions [source] and (click to view) connect to the image’s location on a remote webpage (e.g. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ and others), accessed 9.11.2014. Readers will appreciate that such links may be unstable. 103 Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, 68-70. Fig. 1: Raphael, Portrait of Tommaso Inghirami, (c.1514-16), oil on wood, 90 x 62 cm, Galleria Palatina (Palazzo Pitti), Florence [source].* Fig. 2: Diego Velázquez, Portrait of Pope Innocent X (c.1650), oil on canvas, 141 × 119 cm, Galleria Doria Pamphilj, Rome [source]. http://www.studiolo.org/Photography/Judging/Judging-Durer_Study%20for%20Eve.jpg http://www.pubhist.com/w21869 http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bb/Jan_vos.jpg http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a9/Albrecht_D%C3%BCrer_-_Portrait_of_Bernhard_von_Reesen_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Portrait_of_a_Young_Man_by_Frans_Hals.JPG http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Portrait_of_a_Young_Man_by_Frans_Hals.JPG http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c0/D%C3%BCrer_-_Life_of_the_Virgin_17.jpg http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portrait_of_Tommaso_Inghirami#mediaviewer/File:Inghirami_Raphael.jpg http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portrait_of_Innocent_X#mediaviewer/File:Retrato_del_Papa_Inocencio_X._Roma,_by_Diego_Vel%C3%A1zquez.jpg Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 21 Mellini and perhaps the same bust was shown in Clark’s lecture) and Bernini’s Cardinal Borghese, and Michelangelo’s Medici Tomb and Bernini’s S. Teresa.104 The Palazzi Odescachi and Rucellai were also used by Wölfflin, but to illustrate the fourth antithesis of multiplicity and unity.105 Fig. 3: Michelangelo (1520-34) (and assistants 1535-55), Tomb of L re z d P er de’ Med c with Dusk and Dawn, marble, 420 x 630 cm, Church of San Lorenzo, Florence [source]. Fig. 4: Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Ecstasy of Saint Teresa (1647–52), marble, 350 cm (h), Santa Maria della Vittoria, Rome [source]. Fig. 5: Leon Battista Alberti and Bernardo Rossellino, Palazzo Rucellai (1446-1451), Florence [source]. Fig. 6: Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Façade of the Palazzo Odescachi (c.1665), Rome [source]. 104 Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, 56-8, 61-2. 105 Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, 187-191. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medici_Chapel#mediaviewer/File:Life_of_Michael_Angelo,_1912_-_Tomb_of_Giulino_de_Medici.jpg http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/af/Santa_teresa_di_bernini_04.JPG http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/cc/Rucellai.jpg http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/cd/Palais_Odescalchi-Berggasse_3.JPG Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 22 Fig. 7: Detail from Sandro Botticelli, St. Sebastian (1474), tempera on panel, 195 × 75 cm, Staatliche Museen, Berlin [source]. Fig. 8: Detail from Raphael di Sanzo, Portrait of Agnolo Doni (c.1505), oil on panel, 63 x 45 cm, Galleria Palatina (Palazzo Pitti), Florence, [source]. In these pairings the first image often presented more restrained naturalism rendering the individual parts as ends in themselves in contrast to the latter examples which showed the play of greater effects or more highly developed uses of colour and tone. This contrast Clark saw as having its origins in the theories of the painter Hildebrand as expressed in his book Das Problem der Form in der Bildenden Kunst (Strasbourg: Heitz and Mündel, 1893).106 Clark disagreed with Hildebrand’s formulation of differing ways for artists to perceive their subject matter – and this may have been the product of Clark’s own continued subscription to humanist principles and especially the ‘universalizing’ concept that all people see and think the same way. In treating Wölfflin’s first ‘antithesis’ – between the linear and painterly – Clark saw the real issue as being one of the expression of an independent motif or one subordinate to the sense of the composition as a whole – or a spirit of ‘unity’.107 Clark described Wölfflin’s second antithesis, between ‘Fläche und Tiefe’ (surface and depth), as demonstrating the greater affinity for depth perception that existed in Baroque art compared to Renaissance art, using the examples employed in the Grundbegriffe, such as Palma Vecchio’s Adam and Eve (1504), and works by Titian and 106 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 6; Michael Podro, The Critical Historians of Art, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1982, xxv, 66, 119: interestingly Podro similarly remarked upon Wölfflin's debt to Hildebrand. Wölfflin adapted the observations Hildebrand made on the relationship between subject matter and formal treatment in relief works to inform his own discussions of the contrasting linear and planimetric style (which correspond to his second antithesis of ‘Fläche und Tiefe’ (or surface and depth). The practice of borrowing and developing from others was common amongst the German theorists. Riegl borrowed from Gottfried Semper’s motif theory for his Stilfragen, for example. 107 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 9. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4c/Sandro_Botticelli_054.jpg http://www.wikiart.org/en/raphael/portrait-of-agnolo-doni-1506 Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 23 Rembrandt (with passing reference to ter Borch, Hobbema and Ruysdael).108 Clark traced how Wölfflin was forced to accommodate the fact that ‘depth’ had been extant in works before the Baroque but hurdled this impediment by articulating a subtle difference – that the Quattrocento artists created a planar layering of fields of depth whilst the Cinquecento artists portrayed objects more successfully in the round through devices like diagonal compositional lines and ‘uninterrupted series of curves’.109 Clark judged this distinction as ‘true & valuable’ but felt that, in explaining effects rather than causes, Wölfflin was missing an important trick that would have provided greater enlightenment had it been pursued, an argument he repeated in later sections of the talk.110 Rather than focussing on the shift between the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries (the shift from Renaissance to Baroque style) Clark felt it necessary to criticise Wölfflin on his implication that a retrogressive step existed from the Quattrocento (fifteenth) to the Cinquecento (sixteenth) centuries with loss of depth. For while the abstraction of the human form under the influence of neo-Classical humanism had produced the effect of increased superficiality, an important by-product of these creative gymnastics was also the increased appreciation for the plastic potential of figures. This of course fed Baroque developments in such a way that Clark suggested a supplementary medial stage between the linear and painterly periods in Wölfflin’s theory – where artists like Botticelli, Raphael and Leonardo balanced these impulses in a ‘plastic period’.111 Clark’s discussion of Wölfflin’s third antithesis between ‘geschlossene und offene form’ (closed and open form (or bounded and boundless composition)) provided another two-way filter through which to view Renaissance and Baroque art. While the former was constrained by the parameters of compositional frames the latter was liberated from the same. Reconstructing Clark’s visual steps again demonstrates his close following of Wölfflin’s text. Clark’s notes refer to ‘Durer Death of Virgin’, a Rubens Portrait and ‘della Valle’ and these most probably relate to Dürer’s The Death of Mary (1510: click to view), Ruben’s Portrait of Dr. Thulden (c.1615-17), and the church of S. Andrea della Valle used by Wölfflin to illustrate the first, third and fourth antitheses.112 Tiepolo’s Finding of Moses (e.1730s) from the National Gallery was an innovative introduction of Clark’s own.113 Before considering the final two antitheses Clark broke his stride to return to the philosophical manner of his first lecture. Considering the cumulative effect of the first three antitheses, Clark felt that Wölfflin’s essential issue was that of the ‘conception of space’ and that ultimately the Geistesgeschichte model had to be returned to in order to make sense of this. For the humanistic view of the universe was that man was at the centre of an enclosed space, whilst the combined efforts of Giordano Bruno and Galileo Galilei between 1600 and 1604 had overthrown this. Thus ‘vision was no longer to be enclosed but was to sheer off into infinity. And that, I think, is also the shortest possible definition of baroque art’ so that ‘You see 108 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 11; Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, 76-7, 98-9, 170-2. 109 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 10-11. 110 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 12, 15. 111 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 13. 112 Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, 70, 137, 159. 113 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 14. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c0/D%C3%BCrer_-_Life_of_the_Virgin_17.jpg Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 24 that all the points which Wölfflin made in the last two sections – are contained naturally in this sentence. The effort to achieve continuous depth, & to annihilate the picture frame, & the conscious rejection of geometrical framework’.114 Once again Clark detected aspects of brilliance in his subject and suggested subtle adjustments which he believed could make the generalizations of Riegl and Wölfflin more effective. Clark invoked the concept of ‘revolution’, albeit one fettered by rational progress, for ‘When I say that the Baroque architects aimed at annihilating the wall I do not, of course, mean that they anticipated Le Corbusier’.115 Clark traced the progression from the flat and ordered surface of the Palazzo della Cancelleria (Palace of the Chancellery, 1489–1513, Rome, [click to view]), via the midpoint of the Palazzo Farnese (1515-89) where the central door punches through the surface of the façade, to the complete Baroque expression of the Palazzo Odescalchi, where non- uniform columns, porticos and shields break up the different planar levels of the façade, and where different decorations appear above alternate windows [click to view]. Again the Palazzo Farnese was a new component added by Clark. This progression demonstrated how ‘the Baroque artists adopted a device which had for some time been practiced in painting. They forced the spectator to look at their façades from an angle, thus achieving the diagonal recession, the sheering off into infinity which was otherwise denied them by practical necessities’.116 Fig. 9: Antonio da Correggio, The Nativity (also known as The Holy Night (or La Notte)), (c.1529–1530), oil on canvas, 256.5 × 188 cm, Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Dresden [source]. 114 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 16. 115 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 17. 116 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 17-18; Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, 187-9, 191. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1f/Parione_-_palazzo_Riario_o_Cancelleria_nuova_1628.JPG http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5c/Trevi_-_piazza_ss_Apostoli_1050945.JPG http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5c/Trevi_-_piazza_ss_Apostoli_1050945.JPG http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/43/Correggio_004.jpg Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 25 In another departure from Wölfflin, Clark offered two examples of Italian painting, both from Correggio’s oeuvre, which offered important examples of the use of ‘open form’. His notes on The Nativity (La Notte), (fig. 9: c.1529–1530) referenced the fact that the Virgin was no longer in the centre, and that the line created by the extended left leg and foot of the angel at the top of the composition pushed the vanishing point of the picture far outside the right hand limits of the frame.117 The National Gallery’s Agony (After Correggio, The Agony in the Garden (c.1640-1750), oil on poplar, 38.1 x 41.9 cm, National Gallery [click to view]) employed a similar device. The figure of Christ visited by an angel is placed on the left half of the canvas, and the angel’s leg performs the same telescoping role as the equivalent figure in The Nativity. Wölfflin did discuss Correggio’s work but without reference to specific works.118 In treating Wölfflin’s fourth antithesis of ‘Veilheit und Einheit’ (multiplicity and unity), Clark returned to the issue of photography (see above) describing how Professors Yukio Yashiro and Clarence Kennedy used photographic details of paintings by Botticelli and Settignano to perform their analysis.119 However, Clark argued that this methodology could not be employed on later Baroque art for the isolation of parts from the whole in these canvases rendered them meaningless.120 Clark used the illuminating potential of close study of details throughout his publishing career, for example, in One Hundred Details from Pictures in the National Gallery (1938) and Looking at Pictures (1960).121 In the first of these publications Clark reflected on the benefits of showing ‘two details [which] must face one another when the book is opened’ as it allowed for the appreciation of ‘certain analogies and contrasts’ as ‘epigrammatic summaries of the history of art’ especially in showing both the differences between Northern and Mediterranean painting, and points of commonality between images. He was also true to his observation eight years earlier regarding the unsuitability of photographic details and visual contrasts for Baroque painting, for ‘pictures in a style based on firm delineation, a style requiring equal finish in all the parts, yields far better details than pictures in what may be called an impressionist style, where the degree of finish grows less as the eye moves away from the focal point’.122 Returning to the text of the second lecture, there followed a sequence of further images inspired by but departing from Wölfflin’s text: Rubens’ The Descent from the Cross (Fig. 10: c.1616-17) and Rembrandt’s, Descent from the Cross (Fig. 11: 117 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 19. 118 Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, 30-1, 105, 121, 147, 182, 212, 220. 119 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 45, 168, 250: Yashiro was friends with Clark since they first met in Italy in 1927. 120 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 20-1. See: Clarence Kennedy, The Tomb of Carlo Marsuppini by Desiderio da Settignano and Assistants: Photographs, Northampton, Massachusetts: Carnegie Corporation, 1928; Kenneth Clark, One Hundred Details from Pictures in the National Gallery with an Introduction and Notes, London: National Gallery, 1938, vii: Clark refers to Yashiro again here. 121 Clark, One Hundred Details from Pictures in the National Gallery; Kenneth Clark, Looking at Pictures, London: John Murray, 1960, 35, 39: this text was richly illustrated with numerous photographic details, for example, from Diego Velásquez’s Las Meniñas (1656). 122 Clark, One Hundred Details from Pictures in the National Gallery, v. http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/after-correggio-the-agony-in-the-garden Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 26 1634). In these works detail is sacrificed to general effect so that Baroque artists go beyond individual figures to give emphatic movement to the whole composition with strong diagonal axes. The artists orchestrated their figures in synchronized and coordinated movement. Clark suggested that this relationship between part and whole was central to the dual concepts of Veilheit and Einheit. The different role played by detail was decisive for ‘coordinate detail & subordinate detail’ produced division (or localized effects) and unity (or general effect) respectively.123 Clark worked up an alternative version of this narrative – citing different examples, such as Piero del Pollaiolo’s Martyrdom of St. Sebastian (after 1475), Bernini’s Saint Longinus (1629-38), and Rubens’ The Assumption of the Virgin Mary (1626) – only the last of which appeared in Wölfflin’s text, whilst exploring centripetal and centrifugal interpretations of the contrasting Renaissance and Baroque configurations of movement.124 It is unclear whether these sections were contemporary to the 1930 talk or reworked as part of possible publication plans. In any case, as part of the main text Clark chose to supplement the frame of Wölfflin’s reference to the Depositions by Rembrandt and Rubens (Wölfflin only illustrated the former) with a third example, not used by Wölfflin, Deposition from the Cross (1504– 7) by Filippino Lippi and Pietro Perugino (Fig. 12). Clark detected a rhetorical flair in this work that seemed to confuse its clear definition as Renaissance or Baroque. While stylistically the linearity and flatness of the painting was clearly appropriate to the High Renaissance (with clear and complete parts evident), the sinuous movement of the central figures shared affinities with Baroque ideals. Unity was achieved not through one dominant single motive but through the pattern of all the parts set against the sky.125 The effect Clark here described is close to the concept of the artist’s breaking through the picture surface in order to engage his audience in the narrative. This builds inevitably from his discussion of the third antithesis when he saw the purpose of looking at that series of images as an illustration of the subtly shifting perspectives of Baroque culture, for: All these devices for securing infinite depth through [sic] some special obligation on the spectator: he has got to look at the picture from a certain position. The pictures of the Renaissance made no such demand. They seem to have a complete & independent existence. In short by a very slight extension of those already well stretched terms we may say that the change from Renaissance to Baroque reflects, or anticipates, the change from an objective to a subjective way of thought.126 Despite having Wölfflin as his subject for this lecture, it is tempting to see Clark making connections here between the third and fourth antitheses, and Riegl’s 123 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 21-2; Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, 157-62: Wölfflin reproduced an etching of Rembrandt’s Deposition and Ruben’s The Bearing of the Cross. He discussed Rubens in relation to Rembrandt and Dürer’s Depositions at 158. 124 Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, 161-2. 125 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 21. 126 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 19. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 27 discussion of Dutch group portraits.127 In ‘Das holländische Gruppenporträt’ (Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen der Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses XXII: Vienna, 1902) Riegl developed his thesis concerning the importance of subjective consciousness, where artists construct a malleable artificial universe to offset the impotence they experienced in the real world. The external observer was integral to the functioning of this conceit. In a manner akin to Wölfflin’s third antithesis of open and closed compositions, Riegl saw that group portraits could have an internal coherence without inviting audience participation, such as Dirk Jacobsz’ Militia Company (1529), or alternatively a greater sphere of influence with an open form like Rembrandt’s Anatomy of Dr Tulp (1632) where the surgeon at the peak of the compositional pyramid looks out to the audience, or The Night Watch (1642) where the captain gestures out to the audience.128 No doubt mindful of Riegl’s work, Wölfflin did not use any of these examples in the Grundbegriffe. Fig. 10: Peter Paul Rubens, The Descent from the Cross (c.1616-17), oil on canvas, 425 x 295 cm, Palais des Beaux-Arts de Lille [source]. Fig. 11: Rembrandt van Rijn’s, Descent from the Cross (1634), oil on canvas, 158 x 117 cm, Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg [source]. Fig. 12: Filippino Lippi and Pietro Perugino, Annunziata Polyptych – Deposition from the Cross (1504–7), oil on panel, 334 × 225 cm, Basilica dell’ Annunziata, Florence [source]). Clark discussed the application of these ideas to architecture using Francesco Borromini’s S. Carlino, Rome (Fig. 13: 1638-41) to illustrate the movement in Baroque façades, and Giacomo Barozzi da Vignola and Giacomo della Porta’s Church of the Gesù, Rome (Fig. 14: 1568-80) to discuss the orchestration of light effects to create unity. Again these examples were not cited by Wölfflin so indicate another example of Clark’s suggestion of improvement to the theories of the German art historian. 127 Podro, The Critical Historians of Art, 7, 24. 128 Podro, The Critical Historians of Art, 83-4, 88, 89, 94; Iversen, Alois Riegl, 92-122; Olin, Forms f Repre e t t Al R egl’ The ry f Art, 155-69. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/96/La_descente_de_croix_Rubens.jpg http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/67/Descent_from_the_Cross_%28Rembrant%29.jpg http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/79/Pietro_Perugino_cat74a.jpg Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 28 Fig. 13: Francesco Borromini, S. Carlino, Rome (1638-41) [source]. Fig. 14: Giacomo Barozzi da Vignola and Giacomo della Porta, Church of the Gesù, Rome (1568-80) [source]. Clark’s coverage of the last antithesis (Klarheit und Unklarheit (clearness and vagueness, or determinate and indeterminate form by Clark’s translation)) is sparse as Clark deemed it superfluous, adding nothing to the understanding of stylistic change. In evaluating the theory as a whole, Clark was balanced in passing judgement. The first four antitheses were useful for, in overlapping, they enabled art historians to see objects from multiple perspectives, both literally and metaphorically speaking. However, as a whole, the method was misleading for it overplayed the importance of formal differences and it was partial in the sources it took as its inspiration: One of the keystones of Wölfflin’s argument is the stylistic coherency of all the arts. Now if you look through his illustrations you will see that whereas he takes by far the greater part of his examples of painting from Northern Europe = Rubens, Rembrandt, Dürer & so forth, he takes practically all his examples of architecture & all his examples of sculpture from Italy. Why? Because if he had taken Northern architecture his theories would not have worked.129 Of the 125 illustrations in the Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe there were three examples of Northern architecture, eighty of Northern graphic art, and none from Northern sculpture, compared to ten pieces of Southern architecture, twenty-four of 129 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 23-4. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/0e/San_Carlo_alle_Quattro_Fontane.jpg http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a4/Lazio_Roma_Gesu1_tango7174.jpg Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 29 Southern graphic art, and eight Southern sculptures.130 The percentage distribution of images between Northern and Southern Renaissance and Baroque examples bears out Clark’s analysis of the biases of Wölfflin (See Table 1). Table 1: Illustrations in Principles of Art History (1932: translated from 7th edition of Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe (1929)) Architecture Graphic Art Sculpture Total No. Proportion between Northern and Southern No. Proportion between Northern and Southern No. Proportion between Northern and Southern No. Proportion between Northern and Southern Northern 3 23% 80 77% 0 0% 83 66% Southern 10 77% 24 23% 8 100% 42 34% What is more, outside the narrow chronological period of focus of the Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe these theories were, for Clark, virtually useless. Riegl’s theory of the Kunstwollen was equally problematic for it was unclear whether it was meant to be inferred as a diachronic or synchronic process.131 Clark openly cited Wölfflin’s admission on this particular shortcoming of his theory, but extrapolated further to point out that a period style is evident in essential forms regardless of theories of abstract shapes and the like, such that even from a detail of a painting, sculpture or drawing the nature of the whole would be inferable.132 It is at this point that Clark tied up his dismissal of the overall value of Wölfflin’s theories by reference to its ‘intellectual puritanism’ and the need for a corrective spiritual context: I said in my first lecture that the vagaries of the art-will were ultimately referable to a change in spiritual conditions; & this is especially true of the most arbitrary manifestation of the art-will – the shapes desired. Now Wölfflin considers the question of style in almost complete isolation; he does not attempt to relate it to contemporary events in the history of the mind – religion, science, literature & so forth.133 It is perhaps telling that this dismissal of Wölfflin’s ‘Puritanism’, was similar to Clark’s rejection of modern German art as Protestant.134 The Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe was perhaps a flawed masterpiece for Clark. However, Clark saw Wölfflin as offering a bridge between two rival art historical traditions in the treatment of objects. He contrasted the inaccuracies of Worringer’s expressive interpretation of art forms to the archaeological approach of Adolph Goldschmidt which could not transcend beyond myopia. Wölfflin was 130 Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, xiii-xvi. 131 Podro, The Critical Historians of Art, 97. 132 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 25-6. 133 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 26. 134 Chris Stephens, ‘Patron and Collector’, in Chris Stephens and John-Paul Stonard (eds.), Kenneth Clark – Looking for Civilisation, London: Tate, 2014, 84. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 30 engaging, persuasive and succeeded in getting people to look closely at art works in conjunction with each other. Even if it failed to produce a synthetic whole worthy of its parts in the final equation Clark felt these works were worth reading, for the best kind of art history would result from the combination of the: receptive & interpretive power of one school with the candour, accuracy & assimilative power of the other. This direction has been followed by many German scholars – by Dvorak [sic], Dagobert Frey, Robert Longhi, up to a certain point most admirably by Wölfflin, &, above all, by Riegl. Let me end by advising you to read their works, & if any of you cannot read German, to clamour for their translation.135 Why Clark struck through these last lines is unclear – it may have been at a later date during the attempted revisions for publication, or inspired by wartime disaffection. However at the original point of writing these words it is clear that Clark was convinced of the merits of German art historians like Riegl and Wölfflin. Aesthetics and the Bloomsbury context The psychological aspect of Clark’s art historiographical suggestions will be returned to in due course. However presently it is important to note the revolutionary implications of Clark’s use of Riegl’s work. At the heart of Clark’s reading of the German art historian was a disavowal of the mimetic neo-classical criteria of Renaissance art. Interestingly Clark relied on an alternative non-German tradition to support his musings on the nature of beauty. In defining the oppositional concepts of beauty (Schönheit) and art (Kunst) as applied to the canonical and non-canonical forms of art according to humanistic criteria, Clark referred to the work of Thomas Sturge Moore (1870-1944). Sturge Moore moved in the circle of Charles Shannon and Charles Ricketts, Laurence Binyon and W.B. Yeats, but most relevantly developed ideas on aesthetics through his analysis of Renaissance art – primarily through works on Albrecht Altdorfer (1900), Albrect Dürer (1904) and Antonio da Correggio (1906) which synthesized in his Art and Life (London: Methuen and Co., 1910).136 Interestingly Sturge Moore’s younger brother was George Edward Moore (1873-1958), the Cambridge philosopher and member of the select Apostles group. G.E. Moore’s early philosophical inquiry followed the idealism of Bertrand Russell and J. M. E. McTaggart before he embarked upon an independent line that distinguished between the world of ideas and objects. He ultimately refuted idealism altogether via the recognition of the independent existence of objects in the works he produced between 1899 and 1903. Crucially G.E. Moore concluded his Principia Ethica (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1903) with a key polemical assertion regarding the value of art and the contemplation of beautiful objects, and was very much part of the Cambridge set who would go on to form the hub of the Bloomsbury group which Clark himself 135 Clark, ‘Wölfflin’, 27. 136 John Kelly, ‘Moore, Thomas Sturge (1870–1944)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 38, 1006. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 31 would later encounter through Fry.137 Clark would perhaps have accessed this alternative tradition of thought through Sturge Moore’s Art and Life. If so, it is clear that French moral philosophy and aesthetics were a more formative influence on his speculative analysis of the ‘historical evolution of stylistic characters’ whereby sincerity in art was of primary importance, as was the ‘admirable expression’ of beauty and the need for an appreciative audience – all characteristics Moore traced, and that Clark would also see reflected in Riegl’s analysis of Dutch art.138 Ultimately despite his desire to shatter the authoritarianism of humanist aesthetics, Clark probably felt greater affinity for Sturge Moore’s position which offered greater unity than the further fragmenting dichotomy of the Germanic Schönheit/Kunst division. As Clark put it, ‘In English the question “should a work of art be beautiful?” is tautology – is nonsense’ for, in his personal view, both classical beauty and craftsmanship represented valid forms of beauty, and in fact, the former was but a subset of the broader definition that was craft (as implied here by ‘Kunst’).139 The issue of the aesthetic value of non-canonical art was close to Clark’s heart given his early work The Gothic Revival. According to his memoire, Clark originally embarked on that project with satirical intentions but ‘was gradually, albeit inadequately converted to the Gothic revivalists’.140 It comes as no surprise then that he would return to that subject in relation to Riegl and Wölfflin. In the preliminary comments for his first lecture, subjectivity was at the fore of Clark’s mind as he was aware that up to the middle of the nineteenth century art historians were distracted from ‘the possibility of subjective judgment’ by obsessions with ‘skin-deep antiquity’.141 Unsurprisingly given their affinities as art observers, Clark rejected archaeologically microscopic approaches to art as light work compared with John Ruskin’s proper understanding of medieval art. Ruskin’s influence on Clark had been great since starting his labours on the Gothic Revival.142 Thus in the ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’ Clark declared: Among the English apologists for mediaeval art only one had any conception of art history as I am trying to make you see it: that was John Ruskin. Ruskin could not only interpret the monuments themselves, he could relate a style to preceding and following styles, and he could analyse it into the cultures which had produced it. He saw that each people had had its special gifts – the Romans of stasis, the Greeks of physical beauty, the northern wanderers of linear movement, the Etruscans of racy craftsmanship, and so forth. In short, he saw the history of art as a continuous whole. Unfortunately, Ruskin’s numerous preoccupations, and in particular, his very natural and honourable interest in morals, prevented him from concentrating his gifts; and even his vision of the unity of art 137 Thomas Baldwin, ‘Moore, George Edward (1873–1958)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 38, 936-7. 138 T. Sturge Moore, Life and Art, 100, 106, 138. 139 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 12-13. 140 Clark, Another Part of the Wood, 109. 141 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 4. 142 Secrest, Clark, 180-1. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 32 history did more harm than good. He rightly felt bound to refer to many cultures besides those of which he had made a detailed study, and, these references were often inaccurate. He generalised on too little evidence, partly, no doubt, because he half felt the thing wasn’t worth doing, and partly because the evidence wasn’t there for him to generalise on.143 Clark also expressed his appreciation for Ruskin through other avenues. When Clark took up his post as Slade Professor of Fine Art at Oxford (1946-50) he reflected on the teaching experiences of his predecessor before attempting to provide a workable history of art against the backdrop of ‘the apparent wilderness of modern art’ and ‘intellectual defeatism of the time’. Despite his anti-humanist statements in 1930, by 1946 he was prepared to act as a bulwark for ‘an ancient, humanist institution, where to abandon ourselves to the chaos of unrelated sensations would be to betray all that is implied in the idea of our foundation’. Clark felt better equipped than Ruskin could have been in his day with superiorly arranged archives, museums and galleries, and once again the stock of photographs. Clark was inspired by Ruskin to continue the latter’s disavowal of German theory.144 Nevertheless, the contribution of German art historians was not to be denied for: the history of art is one of the few branches of human study which have advanced during the last fifty years. The historical interpretation of form and composition by Wölfflin, Riegl’s study of the art-will, Roger Fry’s analysis of design, the Warburg Institute’s study of the survival of symbols, the Croceian art historians of Italy – all of these have extended the possibilities of the subject, so that it is no longer divided between antiquarians and anecdotalists. And at the very source of this new conception of art history stands The Stones of Venice.145 The Stones of Venice provided a forum for Ruskin to argue for a return to more traditional forms of labour (in preference to the reductive and repetitive nature of the industrialized division of labour), and that allowing artisans the freedom to create had a positive spiritual effect.146 Such ideas would have been reflected in Clark’s studies of late nineteenth and early twentieth-century German and British art historians and theorists. In exploring the sense of proportion in Dürer’s work and writings, Sturge Moore highlighted the importance of authenticity and freedom of mind and vision, for ‘The sense of proportion within a design is employed to stimulate and delight the eye’ and ‘the standard in works of art is not truth but 143 Clark, ‘Lecture in Aesthetics’, 7-8. 144 Potter, The Inspirational Genius of Germany, 58; Mark A. Cheetham, Artwriting, Nation, and C m p l t m Br t : The ‘E gl h e ’ f E gl h Art The ry ce the E ghtee th Ce tury, Farnham: Ashgate, 2012, 89. 145 Kenneth Clark, Ruskin at Oxford: An Inaugural Lecture delivered before the University of Oxford, 14 November 1946, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1947, 14-15. 146 John Ruskin, ‘The Stones of Venice: Volume II’, in E.T. Cook and Alexander Wedderburn (eds.), The Works of John Ruskin, London: George Allen, 1904, vol. 10, 198–9. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 33 sincerity’.147 Warburg meanwhile argued for the spiritual augmentation of the Wunschbild (or ‘wish-image’) for example in spiritualizing and internalizing cultural heritage and impressions of the world.148 As Clark argued on a later occasion, ‘there is one essential quality which runs through all the arts however the medium may vary; and the real problem is to find which means of expression will, at a certain period, allow that spirit to take form’.149 The emotional and psychological register in art history – that which Riegl’s ‘Das holländische Gruppenporträt’ essay touched upon but which Wölfflin rejected – was of central importance to Clark.150 During his most philosophic musings within the London University lectures, Clark answered the ‘why’ question left unanswered by Riegl and Wölfflin in their accounts of the art history of stylistic change, and he did so with recourse to psychological rationale, and tied this back to the lessons learned from his study of Gothic art history: How did this change come about? It was brought about less by the expansion of intelligence than by the expansion of sensibilities. That is a rule of all art history: appreciation must precede understanding – we must see that an object is a work of art, not a mere artifact, before we can begin to use it as a document in the history of the spirit. And so, no doubt, the first step towards the true understanding of art history was the revived appreciation of Gothic architecture. Without tracing the whole of that complete and fascinating process, we can say that by the middle of the 19th century the world of taste believed in two great periods of art, Gothic and Classic. But that was all. Outside these two periods and between them was darkness and decadence.151 The appreciation of the fullness of creative consciousness achieved in the Gothic period, as advocated by Ruskin, was sharply contrasted by the humanist neo-classical canon. Even though Riegl and Wölfflin did their bit to crack the humanist shell they did it unintentionally for while: it was not until 1901 that the Austrian, Alois Riegl, worked out and formulated the historical implications of the new sensibility … Riegl himself did not arrive at [a] theory of stylistic change so much through sensibility as through an uncanny, an absolutely appalling skill in analysing works of art but it was the new sensibility which confirmed and popularised his theory.152 147 T. Sturge Moore, Albert Dürer (1905), 18, 227. 148 Aby Warburg, Hertziana lecture, quoted in Johnson, Mem ry, Met ph r, d Aby W rburg’ Atlas of Images, 71. 149 Kenneth Clark, Five Speeches: An Address at the Royal College of Art Convocation, London: Lion and Unicorn Press, 1956, 5. 150 Podro, The Critical Historians of Art, xxiv, 104, 107: Wölfflin’s initial interest in empathy, following Semper, was abandoned in 1893 for the pursuit of ‘visual ordering’. 151 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 6-7. 152 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 14. Matthew C Potter Breaking the shell of the humanist egg: Kenneth Clark’s University of London lectures on German art historians 34 Conclusion Clark’s lectures on Riegl and Wölfflin from 1930 represent the first attempt at self- reflective engagement with the middle years of the tradition of German critical historians of art by a British scholar. As Podro’s masterly survey of the same material over fifty years later helps reveal, Clark undertook an authoritative assessment of a set of complex untranslated texts. Crucially he was fair-minded and reasoned in his explanation of the strengths and weaknesses of their arguments. Both Riegl and Wölfflin had made useful observations despite adopting approaches philosophically unsuited to Clark’s perspective.153 Clark perhaps imagined what might be possible when art historians embraced the new sensibility he had outlined in contrast to the German theorists in his London University lectures. He believed that ‘Sensibility to the language of form and colour is not a universal endowment, and yet it is by this alone, now that the rules of humanist art are discarded, that we can read the historical implications of a work of art’.154 A new age of empathy and relativism promised to open up art historical vistas if Clark’s audience followed his advice to learn from the German art historians and then do better. Matthew C. Potter is Reader in Art and Design History at Northumbria University. His research focuses on the role played by visual culture in the construction of national identity and wider issues of international exchange. He is the author of The Inspirational Genius of Germany: British Art and Germanism, 1850-1939 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2012), and editor of and contributor to The Concept of the ‘M ter’ Art Educ t Br t d Irel d, 1770 t the pre e t (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013). matthew.potter@northumbria.ac.uk 153 Podro, The Critical Historians of Art, 104, 107. 154 Clark, ‘Lecture on Aesthetics’, 23. 
work_vmc3lfkffjefpfo4bbltl2gnfu	----	doi:10.1016/j.hm.2008.03.001 Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 www.elsevier.com/locate/yhmat Abstracts Sloan Evans Despeaux, Editor Laura Martini and Kim Plofker, Assistant Editors The purpose of this department is to give sufficient information about the subject matter of each publica- tion to enable users to decide whether to read it. It is our intention to cover all books, articles, and other materials in the field. Books for abstracting and eventual review should be sent to this department. Materials should be sent to Sloan Evans Despeaux, Department of Mathematics and Computer Science, Western Carolina University, Cullowhee, NC 28723, U.S.A. (e-mail: despeaux@wcu.edu). Readers are invited to send reprints, autoabstracts, corrections, additions, and notices of publications that have been overlooked. Be sure to include complete bibliographic information, as well as translit- eration and translation for non-European languages. We need volunteers willing to cover one or more journals for this department. In order to facilitate reference and indexing, entries are given abstract numbers which appear at the end following the symbol #. A triple numbering system is used: the first number indicates the volume, the second the issue number, and the third the sequential number within that issue. For example, the abstracts for Volume 20, Number 1, are numbered: 20.1.1, 20.1.2, 20.1.3, etc. For reviews and abstracts published in Volumes 1 through 13 there are an author index in Volume 13, Number 4, and a subject index in Volume 14, Number 1. An online index of all abstracts that have appeared in Historia Mathematica since 1974 is now available at http://historiamathematicaabstracts. questu.ca/. The initials in parentheses at the end of an entry indicate the abstractor. In this issue there are abstracts by Francine Abeles (Union, NJ), Christopher Hammond (New London, CT), Deborah Kent (Hillsdale, MI), Patti Wilger Hunter (Santa Barbara, CA), Herbert E. Kasube (Peoria, IL), Duncan J. Melville (Can- ton, NY), Amirouche Moktefi (Strasbourg), Laura Martini, Kim Plofker, and Sloan Evans Despeaux. General Benson, Dave. Music: A Mathematical Offering, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007, xiv+411 pp. This book discusses the role mathematics plays in music. The nine chapters include resonance, scales, digital music, and “A mathematician’s guide to the orchestra.” See the review by C.J. Scriba in Mathematical Reviews 2283500 (2007k:00009). (HEK) #35.2.1 Borzacchini, Luigi. Il computer di Platone: Alle origini del pensiero logico e matematico [Plato’s Computer: On the Origin of Logical and Mathematical Thinking], Bari: Edizioni Dedalo, 2005, 509 pp., paperback. A broadly ranging historical study of the origins of formal reasoning, logic, and mathematics. Specific examples are taken from various mathematical traditions, including those of Greece and China. The volume contains a preface by Piergiorgio Odifreddi. See the review by Manfred Stern in Zentralblatt MATH 1119.01002. (CH) #35.2.2 Chahal, Jasbir Singh. A Historical Perspective of Mathematics, Heber City, UT: Kendrick Press, 2006, x+153 pp. The author proposes to teach students the “right way” to do mathematics via history. See the review by Victor J. Katz in Mathematical Reviews 2294413 (2007m:01001). (DJM) #35.2.3 0315-0860/2008 Published by Elsevier Inc. doi:10.1016/j.hm.2008.03.001 http://www.elsevier.com/locate/yhmat http://historiamathematicaabstracts.questu.ca/ http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.hm.2008.03.001 http://historiamathematicaabstracts.questu.ca/ Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 151 Fischer, Hans. Die Geschichte des Integrals ∫ ∞ 0 sin x x dx: Eine Geschichte der Analysis in der Nussschale [The history of the integral ∫ ∞ 0 sin x x dx: A history of analysis in a nutshell], Mathematische Semesterberichte 54 (1) (2007), 13–30. A discussion of how this particular integral provided a consistent challenge to mathematicians attempting to deal with the theory of the integral, from the early nineteenth century to the beginning of the twentieth. See the review by Ivor Grattan-Guinness in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01014. (CH) #35.2.4 Gebhardt, Rainer, ed. Verfasser und Herausgeber mathematischer Texte der frühen Neuzeit. Tagungsband zum wissenschaftlichen Kolloquium aus Anlass des 510. Geburtstages von Adam Ries, Annaberg-Buchholz, Deutschland, 19. – 21. April 2002 [Authors and Publishers of Mathematical Texts of Early Modern Times. Proceedings of a Sci- entific Colloquium held on the 510th anniversary of the Birth of Adam Ries in Annaberg-Buchholz, Germany, April 19–21, 2002], Annaberg-Buchholz: Adam-Ries-Bund, 2002, x+423 pp. This volume is a collection of papers from the 2002 scientific colloquium held on the 510th anniversary of the birth of Adam Ries. Articles concerning the history of mathematics are listed here separately as #35.2.50; #35.2.52; #35.2.51; #35.2.54; #35.2.55; #35.2.57; #35.2.58; #35.2.59; #35.2.60; #35.2.61; #35.2.62; #35.2.65; #35.2.66; #35.2.67; #35.2.70; #35.2.71; #35.2.72; #35.2.75; #35.2.76; #35.2.84; #35.2.86; and #35.2.91; #35.2.112; #35.2.145; and #35.2.188. (LM) #35.2.5 Gnedenko, B.V., ed. Outlines on the History of Mathematics in Russia [in Russian], 2nd edition, Moscow: URSS, 2005, ii+292 pp. This book is an overview of the main episodes in the development of mathematics in Russia from the Middle Ages to the 1940s. This updated edition also includes commentaries on the research done by historians of mathematics over the last 60 years. (LM) #35.2.6 Grossman, George W. On the numerical approximation to π , Journal of Concrete and Applicable Mathematics 5 (3) (2007), 181–196. Two recurrence relations that can be used to compute π are discussed. See the review by J.D. Dixon in Mathematical Reviews 2297896 (2007k:11214). (HEK) #35.2.7 Gunter, Pete A.Y. Analysis and its discontents: Nonlinearity and the way things aren’t, Chaos, Solitons and Fractals 20 (1) (2004), 5–9. This paper discusses the concept of analysis since the beginning of the modern era. (LM) #35.2.8 Guy, Richard K. The lighthouse theorem, Morley & Malfatti—a budget of paradoxes, American Mathematical Monthly 114 (2) (2007), 97–141. This article discusses the role of the geometry of triangles in the study of geometry. The Lighthouse Theorem states that given two sets of n lines at equal angular distances, one set through each of the points B, C, intersect in n2 points that are the vertices of n regular n-gons. The paper includes historical comments and an extensive bibliography. See the review by Mihai Cipu in Mathematical Reviews 2290364 (2007k:51024). (HEK) #35.2.9 Kozhamthadam, Job. Jesuit contribution to the origin and development of modern science and mathematics, Indian Journal of History of Science 42 (1) (2007), 13–30. The author describes this paper as largely based on a recent book concerning the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) and their contributions to the development of modern science (Bishop, George, Jesuit Pioneers of Modern Science and Mathematics, Anand: Gujarat Sahitya Prakash, 2005). (KP) #35.2.10 Martínez, Alberto A. Negative Math: How Mathematical Rules Can Be Positively Bent, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006, x+267 pp., hardback. A novel treatise, intended for a general audience, on the ways in which minor modifications to established algebraic laws can lead to the discovery of new mathematical systems. Among other topics, the author focuses on several major developments that arose out of the initial controversy surrounding negative numbers. See the review by Karl-Heinz Schlote in Zentralblatt MATH 1119.01001. (CH) #35.2.11 Mason, John. Bartering problems in arithmetic books 1450–1890, British Society for the History of Mathematics Bulletin 22 (3) (2007), 160–181. As part of an ongoing study, the author presents examples of bartering problems that appear in arithmetic textbooks from the 13th through the 19th century. (PWH) #35.2.12 Miller, Nathaniel. Euclid and his Twentieth Century Rivals. Diagrams in the Logic of Euclidean Geometry, Stanford, CA: CSLI Publications, 2007, viii+119 pp. This book includes a short history of the use of diagrams in mathematics and illustrates the rigor of a geometric proof that utilizes diagrams. The amount of rigor in such proofs has been in dispute since the time of Hilbert. See the review by Roman Murawski in Mathematical Reviews 2301262 (2007k:00008). (HEK) #35.2.13 152 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 Odifreddi, Piergiorgio. Le menzogne di Ulisse. L’avventura della logica da Parmenide ad Amartya Sen [The Lies of Ulysses. The Adventure of Logic from Parmenides to Amartya Sen], Milan, TEA—Tascabili degli Editori Associati S.p.A., 2006, 286 pp. A cast of characters including Plato, Aristotle, William of Ockham, Leibniz, Newton, Kant, George Boole, Cantor, Dedekind, Frege, Russell, Wittgenstein, Bourbaki, Hilbert, Poincaré, Brouwer, Gödel, Turing, and Tarski work to make sense of the words True and False in this study of the history of logic. See the review by Victor V. Pambuccian in Mathematical Reviews 2293337 (2007k:03004). (HEK) #35.2.14 Odifreddi, Piergiorgio. See #35.2.2. Roche, John. What is momentum?, European Journal of Physics 27 (5) (2006), 1019–1036. The author assembles and subjects to critical analysis an array of conceptions of and approaches to momentum. See the review by T. Erber in Mathematical Reviews 2256013 (2007m:70004). (DJM) #35.2.15 Segal, Jerôme. Le zéro et le un: histoire de la notion scientifique d’information au 20e siecle [The zero and the one: History of the scientific notion of information in the 20th century], Paris: Syllepse, 2004, 890 pp. This book discusses engineering, the theory of probability, ideology, science (including genetics), and economic and military concerns. It also traces the roots of the theory of informatics from World War II. See the review by Marie-José Durand-Richard in Gazette des Mathématiciens. Société Mathématique de France, Paris 106 (2005), 69–79. (HEK) #35.2.16 Simmons, George F. Calculus Gems: Brief Lives and Memorable Mathematics, Washington, DC: Mathematical Association of America, 2007, xiv+355 pp., hardback. A reprint of a text originally published in 1992, consisting of thirty-three brief biographies of mathematicians (ranging from the ancient period to the 19th century) and twenty-six memorable pieces of mathematics. There have been no significant updates since the original edition. See the review by Eberhard Knobloch in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01019. (CH) #35.2.17 India Chauthaiwale, S.M. Indian mathematicians on sums of terms in arithmetic progression, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 27 (2005), 15–25. Presents some rules and examples for arithmetic progressions in Indian mathematical texts. See the review by S.L. Singh in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01003. (KP) #35.2.18 Dongaonkar, Ujwala N.; Karade, T.M.; and Jain, L.C. A brief review of the literature of Jain Karmic theory, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 24 (2002), 6–13. See the review by S.L. Singh in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01300, reproduced here in its entirety: ‘The authors make the following claim: “This article presents the extracts of the contribution of Jain school with respect to mathematical theory of Karma Paramanu.” ’ (KP) #35.2.19 Ganitanand. The stumbling hole: a brief history of division by zero, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 25 (2003), 138–145. Dis- cusses the development of the concept of division by zero in mathematical works from Brahmagupta (7th c. CE) to Euler and De Morgan. The author places the earliest known formulation of the notion that division by zero results in infinity in the work of Bhāskara II in the twelfth century. See the review by S.L. Singh in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01004. (KP) #35.2.20 Ganitanand. The jungle of eras with special reference to India, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 26 (2004), 105–130. Provides a list of eras and date conversion rules used in Indian chronology. See the review by Girish Ramaiah in Zentralblatt MATH 1119.01006. (KP) #35.2.21 Gupta, R.C. A little-known text and version of Śrı̄yantra, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 25 (2003), 22–28. Describes the well-known mystical diagram in Hindu worship known as the Śrı̄yantra (“excellent instrument”), and analyzes the construction of triangles in it. See the review by Girish Ramaiah in Zentralblatt MATH 1119.01005. (KP) #35.2.22 Gupta, R.C. The study of history of mathematical sciences in India, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 23 (2001), 1–11. Histori- ographic study of the discipline of the history of exact sciences in India, from their discovery by colonial Oriental- ists to the scientific research of today. See the review by Cristina Irimia in Zentralblatt MATH 1119.01007. (KP) #35.2.23 Jain, L.C. See #35.2.19. Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 153 Karade, T.M. See #35.2.19. Padmavathamma. Mahāvı̄rācārya’s Gan. ita Sārasaṅgraha, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 24 (2002), 105–109. A discussion and historiographical survey of the famous Sanskrit mathematical text by the 9th-century Jaina author Mahāvı̄ra. See the review by T. Thrivikraman in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01006. (KP) #35.2.24 Singh, Balesvara. See #35.2.26; and #35.2.27. Singh, P.K. Glimpses of the development of mechanics from ancient period to renaissance, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 24 (2002), 25–34. A survey of the development in the discipline of mechanics from the time of the ancient Greeks to the European Renaissance. See the review by Pradip Kumar Majumdar in Zentralblatt MATH 1119.01003. (CH) #35.2.25 Singh, Parmanand; and Singh, Balesvara. Pāt. isāra of Munı̄śvara. Chapters 1 & 2. English translation with mathe- matical and historical notes, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 26 (2004), 56–104. English translation of the first two chapters of the early seventeenth-century Sanskrit arithmetic text by the renowned Benares astronomer and mathematician Munı̄śvara. Pāt. ı̄ or “board-mathematics,” usually translated “arithmetic,” deals with computational techniques not requiring algebra; the first two chapters of this work discuss basic computation and rules involving mixtures. See the review by S.L. Singh in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01008. (KP) #35.2.26 Singh, Parmanand; and Singh, Balesvara. Pāt. isāra of Munı̄śvara. Chapter III: Ks.etra-Vyavahāra, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 27 (2005), 64–103. English translation of the third and final chapter of the early seventeenth-century arithmetic text by Munı̄śvara; the translation of the first two chapters was abstracted in #35.2.26. This chapter treats geometry of plane figures. See the review by S.L. Singh in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01009. (KP) #35.2.27 Singh, Parmanand. The Gan. ita Kaumudı̄ of Nārāyan. a Pan. d. ita. Chapter XIII. English translation with notes, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 23 (2001), 18–82. English translation of the thirteenth chapter of the fourteenth-century Sanskrit text on computation. This chapter deals with the so-called “net of numbers,” the term in Indian mathematics for per- mutations and combinations and their applications; it is the earliest known comprehensive treatment of this subject in a Sanskrit mathematical text. See the review by S.L. Singh in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01007. (KP) #35.2.28 China Guo, Shuchun. Traditional mathematics of China and mathematics mechanization [in Chinese], Journal of Qufu Normal University, Natural Science Edition 32 (3) (2006), 1–9. A comparison of the development of mathematics in China and in the West, emphasizing the effects on the Chinese system caused by the continual attempt at mechanizing mathematics. See the review by J.-C. Martzloff in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01006. (CH) #35.2.29 Sun, Qinghua; and Bao, Fangxun. Development of complex number and its early spread in China [in Chinese], Journal of Northwest University, Natural Science Edition 36 (3) (2006), 502–506. A recapitulation of the history of complex numbers, along with a brief discussion of their introduction to China in the nineteenth century. The author also argues that there is some evidence that Chinese mathematicians independently developed complex numbers several centuries earlier. See the review by J.-C. Martzloff in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01007. (CH) #35.2.30 Yan, Xuemin. The mathematical concept in Mojing [in Chinese], Journal of Northwest University, Natural Sci- ence Edition 36 (1) (2006), 165–168. A discussion of the relationship between the mathematical content of the Mo Jing, the canonical text of the ancient Mohist philosophy, and related results in Euclid’s Elements. See the review by J.-C. Martzloff in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01002. (CH) #35.2.31 Zhang, Huimin. A study on the Zhu Shijie’s high degree “zhaocha” method in Yuan Dynasty [in Chinese], Jour- nal of Shaanxi University, Natural Science Edition 34 (3) (2006), 19–22. A modern formulation of a list of summation formulas found in a manual dating from the early fourteenth century. See the review by J.-C. Martzloff in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01008. (CH) #35.2.32 154 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 Islamic/Islamicate Berrani, Hamid. See #35.2.34. Brentjes, Sonja. An exciting new Arabic version of Euclid’s Elements: MS Mumbai, Mullā Fı̄rūz R.I.6, Revue d’Histoire des Mathématiques 12 (2) (2006), 169–197. A presentation and analysis of an anonymous and undated Arabic version of Euclid’s Elements. The author examines the place of this version in the Euclid Arabic tradition. He argues that it is close to the work of al-Hajjāj b. Yusūf b. Matar, the first known translator of Euclid’s Elements into Arabic. (AM) #35.2.33 Samsó, Julio; and Berrani, Hamid. The Epistle on Tasir and the projection of rays by Abu Marwan al-Istiji, Suhayl 5 (2005), 163–242. Gives annotated translation and the full Arabic astrological text from the late eleventh century. See the review by H. Guggenheimer in Zentralblatt MATH 1120.01003. (DK) #35.2.34 Samsó, Julio. Qusta ibn Lqa and Alfonso X on the celestial globe, Suhayl 5 (2005), 63–162. The paper discusses each part of Libro de la façon dell espera, an astronomical text dealing with the construction and use of a celestial globe. See the review by H. Guggenheimer in Zentralblatt MATH 1120.01002. (DK) #35.2.35 See also: #35.2.40. Other non-western Petkovic, Ljiljana D. See #35.2.36. Petkovic, Miodrag S.; and Petkovic, Ljiljana D. Seki Kowa – the Japanese Newton, in: Krejic, N. et al., eds. PRIM 2004. Proceedings of the XVI Conference on Applied Mathematics, Budva, Montenegro, May 31–June 4, 2004 (Novi Sad: Univ. of Novi Sad, 2006), 99–109. This article discusses the life and work of seventeenth-century Japanese mathematician Seki Kowa. See the review by Milica Stojanovic in Zentralblatt MATH 1121.01002. (SED) #35.2.36 Stathopoulou, Charoula. Traditional patterns in Pyrgi of Chios: Mathematics and community. Nexus Network Journal 9 (1) (2007), 103–117. The village of Pyrgi on the Aegean island of Chios is known for its medieval tradition of xysta or geometrical designs scratched in plaster on house facades. This article treats the obscure origins of this tradition and its ethnomathematical connections with local culture. (KP) #35.2.37 Antiquity Barner, Klaus. Negative Größen bei Diophant? I [Negative values in Diophantus? I], Internationale Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Ethik der Naturwissenschaften, Technik und Medizin (N.S.) 15 (1) (2007), 18–49. Argues against earlier work of N. Schappacher that the Arithmetica of Diophantus represents the work of a single author, and that Diophantus did make use of negative numbers in some problems. See the review by Detlef Gröger in Mathematical Reviews 2297894 (2007m:11002). (DJM) #35.2.38 Barner, Klaus. Negative Größen bei Diophant? II [Negative values in Diophantus? II], Internationale Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Ethik der Naturwissenschaften, Technik und Medizin (N.S.) 15 (2) (2007), 98–117. The author cites many more examples of Diophantus using negative numbers in intermediate computations. See the review by Detlef Gröger in Mathematical Reviews 2329886. (DJM) #35.2.39 Berggren, J.L.; and Sidoli, Nathan. Aristarchus’s on the sizes and distances of the sun and the moon: Greek and Arabic texts, Archive for History of Exact Science 61 (3), 213–254. This paper analyzes both the Greek version and two Arabic versions of Aristarchus’s innovative work. Attention is applied to the mathematical aspects and logical structure of the work. See the review by Albert C. Lewis in Zentralblatt MATH 1123.01004. (SED) #35.2.40 Borzacchini, Luigi. Incommensurability, music and continuum: A cognitive approach, Archive for History of Exact Science 61 (3), 273–302. The author argues that the idea of incommensurability originated with Greek music instead of Greek geometry and explores past and present conceptions of the continuum. See the review by Albert C. Lewis in Zentralblatt MATH 1123.01005. (SED) #35.2.41 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 155 Dantzig, Tobias. Mathematics in Ancient Greece, NY: Dover Publications, 2006, 191 pp. This volume consists of an unabridged reprint of the 1955 original book, The Bequest of the Greeks [abstracted in Zentralblatt MATH 0066.24302]. (LM) #35.2.42 Huffman, Carl A. Archytas of Tarentum: Pythagorean, Philosopher and Mathematician King, Cambridge: Cam- bridge University Press, 2005, xv+265 pp., hardback. A comprehensive treatise on the philosophical and mathematical work of Archytas, a little-known but important contemporary of Plato. The author offers new insights into the sig- nificance of Archytas within the context of the important intellectual issues of his day. See the review by Victor V. Pambuccian in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01005. (CH) #35.2.43 Mercier, Raymond. The standard scheme of the moon and its mean quantities, Archive for History of Exact Sci- ence 61 (3), 255–272. This article compares different Greek models concerning the Moon: the Standard Scheme based on a Babylonian zigzag model and the Greek models based on epicycles. The author argues that nearly coinciding calculations of the mean Moon found by the different models point to a common background. See the review by Teun Koetsier in Zentralblatt MATH 1123.01006. (SED) #35.2.44 Sidoli, Nathan. See #35.2.40. White, Michael J. On doubling the cube: Mechanics and conics, Apeiron 39 (3) (2006), 201–219. A discussion of early Greek solutions to the problem of doubling the cube using mechanical aids beyond the unmarked straight-edge and compass, or conics. See the review by Richard L. Francis in Mathematical Reviews 2273150 (2007m:01006). (DJM) #35.2.45 Renaissance Angelini, Annarita. “Un autre ordre du monde”: Science et mathématiques d’après les commentateurs de Proclus au Cinquecento [“Another order of the world”: Science and mathematics according to the commentators of Proclus in the sixteenth century], Revue d’Histoire des Sciences 59 (2) (2006), 265–283. The author describes how Francesco Barozzi and Jacopo Mazzoni used Proclus’ Commentary in support of their arguments for the epistemological sta- tus of mathematics. See the review by William R. Shea in Mathematical Reviews 2290700 (2007m:01008). (DJM) #35.2.46 Bien, Reinhold. Viète’s controversy with Clavius over the truly Gregorian calendar, Archive for History of Exact Sciences 61 (1) (2007), 39–66. A discussion of the controversy between François Viète and Christopher Clavius over the recent reforms to the calendar, particularly the rules used to determine the date of Easter. See the review by Teun Koetsier in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01009. (CH) #35.2.47 Boag, Elizabeth. Lattice multiplication, British Society for the History of Mathematics Bulletin 22 (3) (2007), 182. Short note describing the use on a recent UK national exam of Napier’s lattice method to solve a multi-step arithmetic problem. (PWH) #35.2.48 Camerota, Filippo. Teaching Euclid in a practical context: Linear perspective and practical geometry, Science and Education (Dordrecht) 15 (2–4) (2006), 323–334. An exploration of the ways in which geometrical concepts were taught in Italy during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The author discusses how optics and other mathemat- ical disciplines were “banished” from philosophical schools during this period, and were primarily perpetuated and advanced through practical applications such as architecture, painting, and surveying. See the review by Jens Høyrup in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01010. (CH) #35.2.49 Denzel, Markus A. Die Bedeutung der Rechenmeister für die Professionalisierung in der oberdeutschen Kauf- mannschaft des 15./16. Jahrhunderts [The importance of reckoning masters in case of the professionalisation of the merchant of upper Germany during the 15th and 16th century], in #35.2.5, pp. 23–30. #35.2.50 Deschauer, Stefan. Die Bücher der Breslauer Rechenmeister Johan Bierbauch (1529) und Nickel Zweichlein alias Gick (1564) [The books of the Breslau reckoning master Johann Bierbauch (1529) and Nickel Zweichlein alias Gick (1564)], in #35.2.5, pp. 85–94. #35.2.51 156 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 Deschauer, Stefan. Die Bücher des Danziger Rechenmeister Erhart von Ellenbogen [The books of Erhart von Ellenbogen, reckoning master in Gdansk], in: Gebhardt, Ranier, ed., Arithmetische und algebraische Schriften der frühen Neuzeit (Annaberg-Buchholz: Adam-Ries-Bund, 2005), pp. 113–126. This article discusses the books of Erhart von Ellenbogen, a early figure in the history of accounting. #35.2.52 Gatto, Romano. Christoph Clavius’ “Ordo servandus in addiscendis disciplinis mathematicis” and the teaching of mathematics in Jesuit Colleges at the beginning of the modern era, Science and Education (Dordrecht) 15 (2006) 235–258. This article discusses the role that Clauvius played in convincing the Jesuit colleges of the centrality of math- ematics to their curriculum. Contains the text of Clavius’ Ordo Servandus in Addiscendis Disciplinis Mathematicis. See the review by Teun Koetsier in Zentralblatt MATH 1123.01010. (SED) #35.2.53 Gerl, Armin. Fridericus Amann und die Mathematik seiner Zeit [Fridericus Amann and the mathematics of his time], in #35.2.5, pp. 265–280. #35.2.54 Gronau, Detlef. Johannes Keppler (1571–1630): Die logarithmischen Schriften [Johannes Keppler (1571–1630): His contributions to logarithms], in #35.2.5, pp. 253–264. #35.2.55 Gropp, Harald. Christoph Clavius (1538–1612) und die Gregorianische Kalenderreform [Christoph Clavius (1538–1612) and the Gregorian calendar reform], in #35.2.5, pp. 281–288. #35.2.56 Gropp, Harald. Nicolaus Copernicus (1473–1543) – arabische Wurzeln einer europäischen Revolution? [Nico- laus Copernicus (1473–1543), Arabic sources of a European revolution?], in #35.2.5, pp. 229–236. #35.2.57 Hellmann, Martin. Die Algorismus-Vorlesung von Nikolaus Matz aus Michelstadt (um 1443–1513) [An algorismus-lecture of Nikolaus Matz from Michelstadt (ca. 1443–1513)], in #35.2.5, pp. 137–144. #35.2.58 Kaunzner, Wolfgang. Über ein vermutlich in dritter Auflage im Jahre 1546 in Köln anonym erschienenes lateinis- ches Rechenbüchlein [An arithmetic book, which probably was published anonymously in a third edition in Latin in Cologne in 1546], in #35.2.5, pp. 213–228. #35.2.59 Kaunzner, Wolfgang. Über die Arithmetik und Geometrie in Johannes Foeniseca’s “Opera,” Augsburg 1515 [Arithmetic and geometry in the “Opera” of Foeniseca], in #35.2.5, pp. 63–84. #35.2.60 King, David A. Medieval monastic ciphers in Renaissance printed texts, in #35.2.5, pp. 51–62. #35.2.61 Kühne, Andreas. Augustin Hirschvogel und sein Beitrag zur praktischen Mathematik [Augustin Hirschvogel and his contribution to practical mathematics], in #35.2.5, pp. 237–252. #35.2.62 Lévy, Tony. L’algèbre arabe dans les textes hébraïques (II). Dans L’Italie des XVe et XVIe siècles, sources arabes et sources vernaculaires [The Arabic algebra in Hebrew texts (II): In Italy of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Arabic and vernacular sources], Arabic Sciences and Philosophy 17 (1) (2007), 81–107. A study of two mathematical texts from the Italian Renaissance, one by Simon Motot and the other by Mordekhai Finzi, and of their relationship to Arabic and Spanish sources. See the review by H. Guggenheimer in Zentralblatt MATH 1120.01008. (CH) #35.2.63 Martin, Paul C. Das Rechenbuch von Johann Böschensteyn [The arithmetic book of Johann Böschensteyn], in #35.2.5, pp. 145–152. #35.2.64 Reich, Ulrich. Der Reformator Nikolaus Medler (1502–1551) und sein Einsatz für die Mathematik [The reformer Nikolaus Medler (1502–1551) and his effort for mathematics], in #35.2.5, pp. 103–112. #35.2.65 Röttel, Karl. Johann Stabius Humanist und Kartograph [Johann Stabius: Humanist and cartographer], in #35.2.5, pp. 289–298. #35.2.66 Rüdiger, Bernd. Isaak Ries und andere im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert in Leipzig tätige Rechenmeister (neue Quel- lenfunde im Stadtarchiv Leipzig) [Isaac Ries and other reckoning masters who worked in Leipzig during the 16th and 17th century], in #35.2.5, pp. 31–50. #35.2.67 Saiber, Arielle. Giordano Bruno and the Geometry of Language, Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005, xvi+183 pp., hard- back. The author explores connections between geometry and literature in the writings of Italian Renaissance author Giordano Bruno. See the review by Thomas Sonar in Zentralblatt MATH 1122.01005. (SED) #35.2.68 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 157 Schmidt-Thieme, Barbara. Konrad Tockler, genannt Noricus [Konrad Tockler, called Noricus], in #35.2.5, pp. 95–102. #35.2.69 Schneider, Ivo. Ausbildung und fachliche Kontrolle der deutschen Rechenmeister vor dem Hintergrund ihrer Herkunft und ihres sozialen Status [Professional instruction and expert control of the German reckoning masters, seen on their social background and origin], in #35.2.5, pp. 1–22. #35.2.70 Schröder, Eberhard. Korbbogenkonstruktionen – Theorie und Anwendungen in der Baupraxis [Construction ac- cording to the arc of a basket: Theory and applications in the practical work of architecture], in #35.2.5, pp. 299–308. #35.2.71 Skvorov’a, Jana. Klatovský, Apianus und die anderen. Versuch eines Vergleichs der Rechenbücher aus dem 16. Jahrhundert [Klatkovský, Apianus and the others. An attempt of a comparison of the arithmetic books of the 16th century], in #35.2.5, pp. 153–162. #35.2.72 Spiesser, Maryvonne. L’algèbre de Nicolas Chuquet dans le contexte français de l’arithmétique commerciale, Re- vue d’Histoire des Mathématiques 12 (1) (2006), 7–33. A discussion of the algebraic part of the Triparty en la science des nombres of the French fifteenth-century mathematician Nicolas Chuquet. The author focuses on the influence of the commercial mathematics tradition on Chuquet’s works and methods. (AM) #35.2.73 Tonietti, Tito M. The mathematical contributions of Francesco Maurolico to the theory of music of the 16th century (The problems of a manuscript), Centaurus 48 (3) (2006), 149–200. An exposition of the mathematical con- tributions of Maurolico to the theory of music, including a new proof of the number of commas in the tone, the theory of “ictus,” and a new notation for the composition of proportions. The author also discusses the numerous problems associated with piecing together the relevant manuscripts. See the review by Teun Koetsier in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01010. (CH) #35.2.74 Ulff-Møller, Jens. Robert Recorde und sein Rechenbuch, London 1542 [Robert Recorde and his arithmetic book, London 1542], in #35.2.5, pp. 127–136. #35.2.75 Weidauer, Manfred. Johann Weber Rechenmeister und Bürger zu Erfurt [Johann Weber, reckoning master and citizen in Erfurt], in #35.2.5, pp. 203–212. #35.2.76 See also: #35.2.10; #35.2.90; and #35.2.91. 17th century Buchwald, Jed Z. Huygens’ methods for determining optical parameters in birefringence, Archive for History of Exact Sciences 61 (1) (2007), 67–81. A reconstruction of the methods used by Huygens to study the issue of birefringence (the splitting of a single ray of light into two rays), the results of which were eventually published in his Traité de la Lumière. The author thoroughly considers both published and unpublished materials. See the re- views by Teun Koetsier in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01011 and I. Grattan-Guinness in Mathematical Reviews 2270270 (2007k:01006). (CH) #35.2.77 Bukowski, John. Christiaan Huygens and the problem of the hanging chain, The College Mathematics Journal 39 (1) (2008), 2–11. Presents and analyzes Huygens’ correspondence with Mersenne in which he gives the first known proof that a hanging chain is not a parabola. (PWH) #35.2.78 Burn, Bob. Geometric progression, British Society for the History of Mathematics Bulletin 22 (3) (2007), 183– 184. Introduces briefly an idea on geoemetric progressions from the 1647 Opus geometricum of Grégoire de Saint Vincent, discussing how to introduce the idea to a modern class. (PWH) #35.2.79 Ducheyne, Steffen. The argument(s) for universal gravitation, Foundations of Science 11 (4) (2006), 419–447. The author analyzes Newton’s argument for universal gravitation and argues that Newton used a variety of different inferential strategies as part of his argument. (LM) #35.2.80 158 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 Favino, Federica. Mathematics and mathematicians at Sapienza University in Rome, Science and Education (Dordrecht) 15 (2–4) (2006), 357–392. The author presents some data on the teaching of mathematics at the Uni- versità La Sapienza in Rome during the 17th century, focusing on the development of the discipline that took place at the end of the century. (LM) #35.2.81 Gontier, Thierry. Mathématiques et science universelle chez Bacon et chez Descartes [Mathematics and universal science in Bacon and Descartes], Revue d’Histoire des Sciences 59 (2) (2006), 285–312. The author looks at the work of Francis Bacon and his relationship with Aristotle and Descartes. In particular, the existence of a universal method in mathematics, in which Bacon believed, is discussed. See the review by Craig G. Fraser in Mathematical Reviews 2290701 (2007k:01008). (HEK) #35.2.82 Gorham, Geoffrey. Descartes on time and duration, Early Science and Medicine 12 (1) (2007), 28–54. The Carte- sian concept of time is commonly considered to make time dependent on motion and on arbitrary mental constructs such as standard time-units. The author argues that Descartes also viewed time as inextricably linked with the dura- tion of enduring things, requiring no presupposition of motion or thought, which position in some respects anticipates Newton. (KP) #35.2.83 Hergenhahn, Richard. Detmar Beckman (ca. 1570 – nach 1622) Schreib- und Rechenmeister zu Dortmund [Det- mar Beckman (ca. 1570 – after 1622), master in writing and reckoning], in #35.2.5, pp. 309–324. #35.2.84 Iliffe, Rob. Newton. A Very Short Introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007, 141 pp. The author presents a short introduction to Newton’s life and a discussion of his work in alchemy and theology. See the review by Teun Koetsier in Zentralblatt MATH 1115.01010. (HEK) #35.2.85 Kühl, Jürgen. Recheneinschreibebücher in Schleswig Holstein [Calculational Inscription books in Schleswig- Holstein], in #35.2.5, pp. 183–190. #35.2.86 Maronne, Sébastien. Sur une letter de Descartes à Schooten qu’on dit de 1639, Revue d’Histoire des Mathéma- tiques 12 (2) (2006), 199–248. The author challenges the usual dating a letter of Descartes addressed to Schooten, regarding the latter’s preparation of the 1649 Latin edition of La Géométrie. The author argues that it should be dated on March or April 1648. (AM) #35.2.87 Naylor, Ron. Galileo’s tidal theory, Isis 98 (1) (2007), 1–22. Argues that Galileo’s theory of the tides, which referred their cause to the movement of the earth rather than to the attraction of the moon, has never been thoroughly explained, and in fact remained during Galileo’s lifetime a work in progress whose difficulties were never fully re- solved. (KP) #35.2.88 Nerlich, Graham. Can parts of space move? On paragraph six of Newton’s Scholium, Erkenntnis 62 (1) (2005), 119–135. A critique of an argument due to Newton relating to the immovability of space. A comparison is made between Newton’s views and related opinions of Leibniz. See the review by Roman Duda in Zentralblatt MATH 1119.01011. (CH) #35.2.89 Schemmel, Matthias. The English Galileo: Thomas Harriot and the force of shared knowledge in early modern mechanics, Physics in Perspective 8 (4) (2006), 360–380. The work of Thomas Harriot on projectile motion is com- pared to that of Galileo. It is argued that “their shared knowledge defined the space of possible solutions to the problem of projectile motion, although the inferential pathways they followed through their shared knowledge proceeded in exactly opposite directions.” (KP) #35.2.90 Ulff-Møller, Jens. Niels Michelsen und sein Rechenbuch. Kopenhagen, 1615 [Niels Michelsen and his reckoning book (Copenhagen, 1615)], in #35.2.5, pp. 191–202. #35.2.91 Wardhaugh, Benjamin. Poor Robin and Merry Andrew: Mathematical humour in Restoration England, British Society for the History of Mathematics Bulletin 22 (3) (2007), 151–159. Examines the work of three lesser-known mathematicians from Restoration England: Poor Robin, Merry Andrew, and Tom of Bedlam, with the goal of under- standing some popular perceptions of mathematics during the period. (PWH) #35.2.92 See also: #35.2.36; and #35.2.70. Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 159 18th century Alfonsi, Liliane. Algebraic analysis and the use of indeterminate coefficients by Etienne Bézout (1730–1783), Bulletin of the Belgian Mathematical Society. Simon Stevin 13 (5) (2006), 933–936. A brief summary of Bézout’s techniques for solving algebraic equations using indeterminate coefficients, based on a more extensive analysis in the author’s recent thesis. See the review by G. Frei-Imfeld in Mathematical Reviews 2293218 (2007m:01012). (DJM) #35.2.93 Assad, Arjang A. Leonhard Euler: A brief appreciation, Networks 49 (3) (2007), 190–198. The author provides an overview of Euler’s life and mathematical works focusing on the historical development of the concept of Euler paths and cycles. (LM) #35.2.94 Baltus, Christopher. The Euler–Bernoulli proof of the Fundamental Theorem of Algebra, in #35.2.97, pp. 41–52. #35.2.95 Barnett, Janet Heine. Enter, stage center: The early drama of the hyperbolic functions, in #35.2.97, pp. 85–104. #35.2.96 Bradley, Robert E.; D’Antonio, Lawrence A.; and Sandifer, C. Edward, eds. Euler at 300: An Appreciation, Washington, DC: Mathematical Association of America, 2007, 325 pp. A collection of 20 papers that resulted from the many academic conferences in the U.S. and Canada leading up to the tercentenary of Euler’s birth. These articles are listed here separately as #35.2.95; #35.2.96; #35.2.98; #35.2.99; #35.2.102; #35.2.103; #35.2.104; #35.2.106; #35.2.107; #35.2.108; #35.2.109; #35.2.110; #35.2.111; #35.2.114; #35.2.115; #35.2.116; #35.2.117; #35.2.118; #35.2.119; #35.2.121; and #35.2.122. (SED) #35.2.97 Bradley, Robert E. The Genoese lottery and the partition function, in #35.2.97, pp. 203–216. #35.2.98 Bradley, Robert E. Three bodies? Why not four? The motion of the lunar apsides, in #35.2.97, pp. 227–238. #35.2.99 Clero, Jean-Pierre. La révolution des témoignages dans le calcul des probabilités [The revolution of testimonies in the calculus of probabilities], Journal Électronique d’Histoire des Probabilités et de la Statistique 2 (1b) (2006), electronic, 20 pp. A study of the development of the calculus of testimonies, particularly as seen in the Ars Conjectandi of Jacob Bernoulli and the Theologiae Christianae Principia Mathematica of John Craig. See the review by Radoslav M. Dimitric in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01013. (CH) #35.2.100 Crépel, Pierre. Les dernières perfidies de d’Alembert [The final perfidies of d’Alembert], Mathématiques et Sciences Humaines. Mathematics and Social Sciences 176 (2006), 61–87. Surveys the unpublished volume IX of d’Alembert’s Opuscules, which was left unfinished at his death in 1783, and reveals his new and interesting ideas on probabilities and other mathematical subjects. An inventory and description of the volume are provided. (KP) #35.2.101 D’Antonio, Lawrence. Euler and elliptic integrals, in #35.2.97, pp. 118–130. #35.2.102 D’Antonio, Lawrence. “The fabric of the universe is most perfect”: Euler’s research on elastic curves, in #35.2.97, pp. 239–260. #35.2.103 D’Antonio, Lawrence A. See also #35.2.97. Godard, Roger. The Euler advection equation, in #35.2.97, pp. 261–272. #35.2.104 Heeffer, Albrecht. The origin of the problems in Euler’s Algebra, Bulletin of the Belgian Mathematical Society. Simon Stevin 13 (5) (2006), 949–952. The author identifies Christoff Rudolff’s 1525 Coss as the main source. See the review by Albert C. Lewis in Mathematical Reviews 2293221 (2007m:01015). (DJM) #35.2.105 Heine, III, George W. Lambert, Euler, and Lagrange as map makers, in #35.2.97, pp. 281–294. #35.2.106 Jardine, Dick. Taylor and Euler: Linking the discrete and continuous, in #35.2.97, pp. 157–168. #35.2.107 160 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 Klyve, Dominic; and Stemkoski, Lee. The Euler archive: Giving Euler to the world, in #35.2.97, pp. 33–40. #35.2.108 Langton, Stacy G. The quadrature of lunes, from Hippocrates to Euler, in #35.2.97, pp. 53–62. #35.2.109 Langton, Stacy G. Some Combinatorics in Jacob Bernoulli’s Ars Conjectandi, in #35.2.97, pp. 191–202. #35.2.110 Lathrop, Carolyn; and Stemkoski, Lee. Parallels in the work of Leonhard Euler and Thomas Clausen, in #35.2.97, pp. 217–226. #35.2.111 Macák, Karel. See #35.2.120. Martin, Thierry. La logique probabiliste de Gabriel Cramer [Gabriel Cramer’s probabilistic logic], Mathéma- tiques et Sciences Humaines. Mathematics and Social Sciences 176 (2006), 43–60. The author examines the ideas on probability that appear in the still-unpublished course of lectures on logic delivered by Gabriel Cramer around 1745, which he argues are poorly represented in the Encyclopédie article “Probability” inspired by these lectures. (KP) #35.2.112 Martínez, Alberto A. Euler’s “mistake”? The radical product rule in historical perspective, American Mathemat- ical Monthly 114 (4) (2007), 273–285. The author defends Euler’s handling of square roots of negative numbers by claiming Euler always viewed square roots as double-valued. See the review by I. Grattan-Guinness in Mathematical Reviews 2281925 (2007m:30001). (DJM) #35.2.113 McKinzie, Mark. Euler’s observations on harmonic progressions, in #35.2.97, pp. 131–142. #35.2.114 McKinzie, Mark. Origins of a classic formalist argument: Power series expansions of the logarithmic and expo- nential functions, in #35.2.97, pp. 143–156. #35.2.115 Pengelley, David J. Dances between continuous and discrete: Euler’s summation formula, in #35.2.97, pp. 169– 190. #35.2.116 Sandifer, C. Edward. Euler’s fourteen problems, in #35.2.97, pp. 25–32. #35.2.117 Sandifer, C. Edward. Euler’s solution of the Basel Problem – The longer story, in #35.2.97, pp. 105–118. #35.2.118 Sandifer, C. Edward. Euler rows the boat, in #35.2.97, pp. 273–280. #35.2.119 Sandifer, C. Edward. See also #35.2.97. Schuppener, Georg; and Macák, Karel. Stanislav Vydra (1741–1804). Zwischen Elementarmathematik und na- tionaler Wiedergeburt [Stanislav Vydra (1741–1804). Between Elementary Mathematics and National Rebirth], Leipzig: Leipziger Universitätsverlag, 2004, 248 pp., paperback. This critical biography of Stanislav Vydra—teacher of Bernhard Bolzano—analyzes in detail the dissemination of enlightenment ideas in Prague. See the review by Karin Reich in Zentralblatt MATH 1120.01010. (DK) #35.2.120 Stemkoski, Lee. See #35.2.108 and #35.2.111. Thiele, Rüdiger. Leonhard Euler, the decade 1750–1760, in #35.2.97, pp. 1–24. #35.2.121 Thiele, Rüdiger. What is a function?, in #35.2.97, pp. 63–84. #35.2.122 See also: #35.2.81; #35.2.85; #35.2.86; #35.2.128; and #35.2.193. 19th century Audin, Michèle. Le cas de Sophie K. (de Jean-François Peyret) [The case of Sophie K. (by Jean-François Peyret)], Gazette des Mathématiciens. Société Mathématique de France, Paris 106 (2005), 38–41. This paper re- ports on the French production by Jean-François Peyret and Luc Steels, entitled “The case of Sophie K.” which was staged at the Festival in Avignon in July 2005 with an emphasis on the “innovative and revolutionary” mathematical Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 161 work of Kowalevskaya. See the review by Reinhard Siegmund-Schultze in Zentralblatt MATH 1115.01011. (HEK) #35.2.123 Barile, Margherita; and DeNuccio, Sergio. Lezioni di matematica dagli scritti di Évariste Galois. Vol. 2, parte 1 [Lessons in Mathematics from the Works of Évariste Galois. Vol. II, Part I], Preface by Silvio Maracchia, Tri- este: Edizioni Goliardiche, 2007, 512 pp., paperback. Contains lessons on logarithms and discussions, ranging from Archimedes to Leibniz, of theorems from differential calcululs. See the review by Cristina Irimia in Zentralblatt MATH 1120.01011. (DK) #35.2.124 Beckers, Danny. Elementary mathematics education in the Netherlands ca. 1800: New challenges, changing goals, Bulletin of the Belgian Mathematical Society. Simon Stevin 13 (5) (2006), 937–940. This article discusses changes to elementary education in the Netherlands around 1800, which included new textbooks, the metric sys- tem, and an appeal to definitions, proofs, and the universality of mathematics. See the review by Øystein Linnebo in Zentralblatt MATH 1122.01009. (SED) #35.2.125 Bölling, Reinhard. From reciprocity laws to Ideal Numbers: An (un)known 1844 manuscript by E.E. Kummer, in #35.2.141, pp. 271–290. #35.2.126 Boniface, Jacqueline. The concept of number from Gauss to Kronecker, in #35.2.141, pp. 315–343. #35.2.127 Boyer, Christian. Sudoku’s French ancestors, Mathematical Intelligencer 29 (1) (2007), 37–46. A revised and enhanced version of an article appearing in the June 2006 issue of Pour La Science that provides the origins of this popular logic puzzle which was first published in 1979. Its origins go back to Leonhard Euler’s 1782 Latin square (LS): every sudoku is a 9 x 9 LS but not conversely. The first 9 x 9 LS sudoku was published in 1891 in the Revue des Jeux. A set of nine problems published in France between 1888 and 1895 that are very close to sudokus is appended. Solutions to them appear in the Mathematical Intelligencer 29 (2) (2007), 59–63. (FA) #35.2.128 Brechenmacher, Frédéric. A controversy and the writing of a history. The discussion of “small oscillations” (1760–1860) from the standpoint of the controversy between Jordan and Kronecker (1874), Bulletin of the Belgian Mathematical Society. Simon Stevin 13 (5) (2006), 941–944. This article discusses a less than straightforward chapter in the history of the theory of matrices—the controversy surrounding two completing approaches to the theory of bilinear forms and the two main actors in this controversy, Jordan and Kronecker. See the review by Albert C. Lewis in Zentralblatt MATH 1122.01010. (SED) #35.2.129 Brigaglia, Aldo. An overview on Italian arithmetic after the Disquistiones Arithmeticae, in #35.2.141, pp. 431– 452. #35.2.130 Bullynck, Maarten. A note on article 36 in Gauss’s Disquisitiones. A ramificated story in the margin of the re- writing of section II, Bulletin of the Belgian Mathematical Society. Simon Stevin 13 (5) (2006), 945–947. This note discusses the sizable history around article 36 of Gauss’s Disquisitiones Arithmeticae. The work of J.H. Lambert, J. Bernoulli, and C.F. Hindenburg is discussed in relation to article 36, which concerns the solution to certain sys- tems of modular equations. See the review by Albert C. Lewis in Zentralblatt MATH 1122.01011 and S.L. Segal in Mathematical Reviews 2293220 (2007k:01011). (SED) #35.2.131 Cohen, Daniel J. Equations from God. Pure Mathematics and Victorian Faith, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2007, 242 pp., hardback. Explores the impact of Neoplatanism on Victorian mathematicians such as B. Peirce, G. Boole, and A. DeMorgan and investigates the changing relationship of mathematics and theology in their work. See the review by Teun Koetsier in Zentralblatt MATH 1120.010001. (DK) #35.2.132 Craik, Alex D.D. Science and technology in 19th century Japan: The Scottish connection, Fluid Dynamics Re- search 39 (2007), 24–48. This article discusses the contributions of Scottish engineers and educators in Japan from the Meiji restoration of 1868 to the 1880s. (SED) #35.2.133 DeNuccio, Sergio. See #35.2.124. Décaillot, Anne-Marie. Number theory at the Association francaise pour l’avancement des sciences, in #35.2.141, pp. 411–428. #35.2.134 162 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 Edwards, Harold M. Composition of binary quadratic forms and the foundations of mathematics, in #35.2.141, pp. 129–144. #35.2.135 Fenster, Della; and Schwermer, Joachim. Composition of quadratic forms: An algebraic perspective, in #35.2.141, pp. 145–158. #35.2.136 Fenster, Della. Gauss goes West: The reception of the Disquistiones Arithmeticae in the USA, in #35.2.141, pp. 463–481. #35.2.137 Ferreirós, José. ‘O ��òς ’Aριθ μητ ίζ �ι: The rise of pure mathematics as arithmetic after Gauss, in #35.2.141, pp. 235–268. #35.2.138 Frei, Günter. Gausss unpublished section eight: On the way to function fields over a finite field, in #35.2.141, pp. 159–198. #35.2.139 Gandon, Sébastien. La réception des Vorlesungen über neuere Geometrie de Pasch par Peano, Revue d’Histoire des Mathématiques 12 (2) (2006), 249–290. A comparison of Peano’s Calcolo geometrico (1888) and “I principii di geometria” (1889). The author argues that there is a discontinuity between the methods used by Peano in these works. He then discusses the relationship and the differences between the latter and Pasch’s Vorlesungen über neuere Geometrie (1882). (AM) #35.2.140 Goldstein, Catherine; Schappacher, Norbert; and Schwermer, Joachim, eds. The Shaping of Arithmetic after C.F. Gauss’s Disquisitiones Arithmeticae, Springer, 2007, xii+578 pp., Hardcover. In this volume, eighteen authors discuss the reception and development of themes from Gauss’s Disquisitiones Arithmeticae through successive time periods. The articles are listed here separately as #35.2.126; #35.2.127; #35.2.130; #35.2.134; #35.2.135; #35.2.136; #35.2.137; #35.2.138; #35.2.139; #35.2.142; #35.2.143; #35.2.144; #35.2.148; #35.2.149; #35.2.152; #35.2.153; #35.2.154; #35.2.155; #35.2.156; and #35.2.159. (SED) #35.2.141 Goldstein, Catherine; and Schappacher, Norbert. A book in search of a discipline (1801–1860), in #35.2.141, pp. 3–66. #35.2.142 Goldstein, Catherine; and Schappacher, Norbert. Several disciplines and a book (1860–1901), in #35.2.141, pp. 67–104. #35.2.143 Goldstein, Catherine. Hermitian forms of reading the Disquisitiones Arithmeticae, in #35.2.141, pp. 377–410. #35.2.144 Gropp, Harald. Hamiltonian graphs from Kirkman to König, in: Meszka, Mariusz, ed. Fifth Cracow Confer- ence on Graph Theory USTRON ’06 (Electronic Notes in Discrete Mathematics 24) (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006), pp. 81–88 (electronic). Surveys contributions on the problems of closed circuits in graphs from 1856, when they were separately discussed by W.R. Hamilton and T.P. Kirkman, to the publication in 1936 of the first book on graph theory, by D. König. (KP) #35.2.145 Guzzardi, Luca. Hidden masses and motions, aether and space in Hertzian mechanics [in Italian], Physis—Rivista Internazionale di Storia della Scienza (N.S.) 42 (2) (2005), 379–416 (2006). “This paper examines the connections between the ‘systems of hidden masses and motions’ that Hertz introduced in his Prinzipien der Mechanik in neuem Zusammenhang dargestellt (1894), the vortex-atom theory of William Thomson (Lord Kelvin), and the vortex-aether models propounded by the Maxwellians. . . It is within this framework—revolving around the notions of aether, point- to-point action, and field theory—that for Hertz the problem of physical space emerges, thus testifying to the breadth and modernity of his speculation.” (KP) #35.2.146 Hartimo, Mirja Helena. Towards completeness: Husserl on theories of manifolds 1890–1901, Synthese 156 (2) (2007), 281–310. Analyzes Husserl’s concept of “definiteness” as discussed in two lectures delivered by him in Göt- tingen in 1901, and in his lectures on logic over several previous years. Husserl’s “definiteness” is equated to the modern notion of “categoricity.” (KP) #35.2.147 Houzel, Christian. Elliptic functions and arithmetic, in #35.2.141, pp. 291–312. #35.2.148 Lemmermeyer, Franz. The development of the Principal Genus theorem, in #35.2.141, pp. 529–562. #35.2.149 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 163 Luciano, Erika. At the origin of functional analysis: G. Peano and M. Gramegna on ordinary differential equa- tions, Revue d’Histoire des Mathématiques 12 (1) (2006), 35–79. A historical and conceptual discussion of Peano’s “Integrazione per serie delle equazioni differenziali lineari” (1887) and Gramegna’s “serie di equazioni differenziali lineari ed equazioni integro-differenziali” (1910). The author suggests that Gramegna’s note harmed to Peano’s lec- tureships and marked “the beginning of the progressive decline of his school.” (AM) #35.2.150 Luciano, Erika. At the origins of functional analysis: G. Peano and M. Gramegna on ordinary differential equa- tions, Revue d’Histoire des Mathématiques 12 (1) (2006), 35–79. A detailed analysis of the technical content, historical implications and professional impacts of two articles on systems of linear differential equations by Peano and by Gramegna. (KP) #35.2.151 Maracchia, Silvio. See #35.2.124. Meszka, Mariusz. See #35.2.145. Neumann, Olaf. The Disquisitiones Arithmeticae and the theory of equations, in #35.2.141, pp. 107–128. #35.2.152 Patterson, Samuel J. Gauss sums, in #35.2.141, pp. 505–528. #35.2.153 Petri, Birgit; and Schappacher, Norbert. On arithmetization, in #35.2.141, pp. 343–374. #35.2.154 Piazza, Paola. Zolotarevs theory of algebraic numbers, in #35.2.141, pp. 453–462. #35.2.155 Pieper, Herbert. A network of scientific philanthropy: Humboldts relations with number theorists, in #35.2.141, pp. 201–234. #35.2.156 Rowe, David E. Felix Klein, Adolf Hurwitz, and the “Jewish Question” in German Academia, Mathematical In- telligencer 29 (2) (2007), 18–30. A rich description of a version of events in the career of Adolf Hurwitz (1859–1919) from 1884 until 1892. Rowe recounts the subtleties of academic anti-Semitism during this period that affected the careers of Leopold Kronecker, Paul Gordan, Max Noether, M.A. Stern, Hermann Minkowski, Arthur Schönflies, Otto Blumenthal, and Edmund Landau. From an earlier time, C.G.J. Jacobi is also mentioned. Images of six photographs and a letter in German translated into English illustrate the article. (FA) #35.2.157 Schappacher, Norbert. See #35.2.141; #35.2.142; #35.2.143; and #35.2.154. Schubring, Gert. Der Aufbruch zum “funktionalen Denken”: Geschichte des Mathematikunterrichts im Kaiser- reich 100 Jahre Meraner Reform [The beginning of “functional thinking”: The history of mathematical education in the empire: 100 years Meran reform], NTM. Neue Serie 15 (1) (2007), 1–17. This paper analyzes the educational sys- tem and the mathematics instruction in Germany focusing on Felix Klein’s key initiatives for modernizing secondary school teaching. (LM) #35.2.158 Schwermer, Joachim. Reduction theory of quadratic forms: Toward Räumliche Anschauung in Minkowski’s early work, in #35.2.141, pp. 483–504. #35.2.159 Schwermer, Joachim. See also #35.2.136 and #35.2.141. Sichau, Christian. Storming a citadel: Mathematical theory and experimental practice, Physics in Perspective 8 (3) (2006), 236–254. The author uses a comparison of the nineteenth-century experiments on viscosity by Maxwell and Oskar Meyer to argue “that mathematical theory plays a significant role in both aspects of experimental practice, the design and construction of an experimental apparatus and the transformation of the observed experimental data into the value of a physical quantity.” (KP) #35.2.160 See also: #35.2.164; #35.2.184; and #35.2.193. 20th century Bansal, Shuchi; and Kiran, Shashi. The history of pointwise regularity of Riemann’s nondifferentiable function, Gan. ita-Bhāratı̄ 25 (1–4) (2003), 159–174. A collection of results relating to nondifferentiable continuous functions. See the review by S.L. Singh in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01303. (CH) #35.2.161 164 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 Baritompa, Bill; Löwen, Rainer; Polster, Burkard; and Ross, Marty. Mathematical table-turning revisited, Mathe- matical Intelligencer 29 (2) (2007), 49–58. The authors provide the mathematical theory to support their main theorem that a mathematical table always can be balanced locally as long as the ground function is continuous. This theorem, an undocumented corollary of a 1954 theorem by George Livesay, gives a real-world solution to the common problem of having to fix a wobbling table: turn the table on the spot in a certain way. Essential ingredients of the solution go back at least to 1913. However, uneven legs or a tiled floor can defeat the table-turning solution. (FA) #35.2.162 Born, Axel; Hurkens, Cor A.J.; and Woeginger, Gerhard J. The Freudenthal problem and its ramifications. I, Bulletin of the European Association for Theoretical Computer Science 90 (2006), 175–191. The problem proposed by Freudenthal in 1969 is as follows. A knows the sum of two numbers; B their product. C attempts to deduce the two numbers from a conversation between A and B. The authors describe the problem, some variants and the main approaches to solutions. See the review by Henri Volken in Mathematical Reviews 2281531 (2007m:01019). (DJM) #35.2.163 Costabel, Martin. Some historical remarks on the positivity of boundary integral operators, in: Schanz, Martin, and Steinbach, Olaf, eds., Boundary Element Analysis (Lecture Notes in Applied and Computational Mechanics 29) (Berlin: Springer, 2007), pp. 1–27. Examines the use of energy methods in early works on boundary integral equa- tions, their later “resurfacing” in the context of boundary element methods, and their relation to modern variational principles. (KP) #35.2.164 Dathe, Uwe. Philosophy as an own answer to the general question world. Letters of Felix Hausdorff to Franz Meyer, Internationale Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Ethik der Naturwissenschaften, Technik und Medizin (N.S.) 15 (2), 137–147. The author look for clues to Hausdorff’s choice of philosophical interests through letters between Hausdorff and Meyer. Specifically, Hausdorff’s choice of pseudonym, Paul Mongrés, is discussed. See the review by Jean-Paul Pier in Zentralblatt MATH 1122.01014. (SED) #35.2.165 DeTurck, Dennis; Gluck, Herman; Pomerleano, Daniel; and Vick, David Shea. The four vertex theorem and its converse, Notices of the American Mathematical Society 54 (2) (2007), 192–207. This paper discusses the 4- vertex theorem (the curvature of a simple closed plane curve has at least 4 extrema) and its converse. Biographies of S. Mukhopadhyaya, A. Kneser, and B. Dahlberg are included. See the review by Serge L. Tabachnikov in Mathemat- ical Reviews 2285124 (2007k:53003). (HEK) #35.2.166 Ebbinghaus, Heinz-Dieter. Ernst Zermelo. An Approach to his Life and Work. In Cooperation with Volker Peck- haus, Berlin: Springer, 2007, xiv+356 pp. A well-rounded portrait of the life and work of Ernst Zermelo. See the review by J.M. Plotkin in Mathematical Reviews 2301067 (2007m:01024). (DJM) #35.2.167 Eckmann, Beno. Mathematical Survey Lectures 1943–2004, Berlin: Springer, 2006, 265 pp., hardback. A col- lection of twenty-one articles by Eckmann, each in its original language. Topics range from topology and differ- ential geometry to homological algebra and group theory. See the review by Jean-Paul Pier in Zentralblatt MATH 1117.01021. (CH) #35.2.168 Ferreira, Fernando. The mathematics of Kurt Gödel [in Portuguese], Boletim da Sociedade Portuguesa de Matemática 55 (2006), 39–62. This paper discusses Gödel’s basic results including his Incompleteness Theorems. See the review by U. D’Ambrosio in Mathematical Reviews 2271242 (2007k:03001). (HEK) #35.2.169 Friedlander, Susan; and Goresky, Mark. The IAS School of Mathematics at 75, Notices of the American Math- ematical Society 52 (8) (2005), 859–861. The authors celebrate the seventy-fifth anniversary of the founding of the Institute for Advanced Study (IAS) in Princeton, New Jersey by highlighting the achievements of its faculty and members. (LM) #35.2.170 Geiringer, Hilda. See #35.2.190. Gluck, Herman. See#35.2.166. Goresky, Mark. See #35.2.170. Hauser, Kai. Gödel’s program revisited. I. The turn to phenomenology, Bulletin of Symbolic Logic 12 (4) (2006), 529–590. The author discusses Gödel’s search for new mathematical insights in his later life via the study of the work of Husserl. See the review by E. Mendelson in Mathematical Reviews 2283090 (2007m:03014). (DJM) #35.2.171 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 165 Hurkens, Cor A.J. See #35.2.163. Kahle, Reinhard. Die Gödelschen Unvollständigkeitssätze [Gödel’s incompleteness theorems], Mathematische Semesterberichte 54 (1) (2007), 1–12. A description of Gödel’s two incompleteness theorems and their proof tech- niques. See the review by I. Grattan-Guinness in Mathematical Reviews 2293991 (2007m:03002). (DJM) #35.2.172 Kennefick, Daniel. Traveling at the Speed of Thought. Einstein and the Quest for Gravitational Waves, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2007, 319 pp., hardback. Using published papers, taped interviews, correspondence, and conference discussions, the author investigates historical developments in the study of gravitational waves and their impact on late twentieth-century physics. See the review by Karin Reich in Zentralblatt MATH 1120.01013 (DK) #35.2.173 Kiran, Shasi. See #35.2.161. Kripke, Saul. Russell’s notion of scope, Mind 114 (456) (2005), 1005–1037. The author analyzes Bertrand Rus- sell’s approach to the concept of “denoting phrases” as part of a centenary celebration of the publication of Russell’s article, “On denoting” in 1905. The author includes historical remarks on the understanding of denoting phrases in the 20th century. See the review by Ignacio Angelelli in Mathematical Reviews 2272577 (2007m:03003). (DJM) #35.2.174 Krömer, Ralf. La “machine de Grothendieck” se fonde-t-elle seulement sur des vocables métamathématiques? Bourbaki et les catégories au cours des années cinquante, Revue d’Histoire des Mathématiques 12 (2006), 119–162. A reconstruction of the Bourbaki’s discussions on category theory in the 1950s. The author argues that the group’s refusal to adopt this theory led to Grothendieck’s departure. (AM) #35.2.175 Löwen, Rainer. See #35.2.162. Marcus, Solomon. Mathematics in Romania, Baia Mare: Cub Press, 2004, iv+84 pp., paperback. Translated by Crina Lipovan and the author. A collection of almost fifty short chapters providing glimpses into the mathematical culture of Romania in the twentieth century. See the review by Roman Duda in Zentralblatt MATH 1119.01024. (CH) #35.2.176 Mawhin, Jean. Louis Nirenberg and Klaus Schmitt: The joy of differential equations, Electronic Journal of Dif- ferential Equations 15 (2007), 221–228, electronic only (2007). This paper is a tribute to Louis Nirenberg and Klaus Schmitt for their 80th and 65th birthday anniversary, respectively. (LM) #35.2.177 McLarty, Colin. The last mathematician from Hilbert’s Göttingen: Saunders Mac Lane as philosopher of mathe- matics, British Journal for the Philosophy of Science 58 (1) (2007), 77–112. This paper discusses the influences that “Hilbert’s Göttingen” had on Saunders MacLane’s conception of the organization of mathematics. See the review by Thomas Sonar in Zentralblatt MATH 1122.01017. (SED) #35.2.178 Milton, Kimball A. Julian Schwinger: From nuclear physics and quantum electrodynamics to source theory and beyond, Physics in Perspective 9 (1) (2007), 70–114. On the life of Nobel physicist Julian Schwinger. See the review by David F. Mota in Mathematical Reviews 2308127 (2007m:81002). (DJM) #35.2.179 Nadkarni, M.G. Did Cantor sow the seed of measure and integral?, The Mathematics Student 73 (1–4) (2004), 219–230 (2005). The author explains his answer of “Yes” to the title question. Inadequacies in Cantor’s theory of measure are noted. See the review by I. Grattan-Guinness in Mathematical Reviews 2290087 (2007k:26003). (HEK) #35.2.180 Nastasi, Pietro; and Tazzioli, Rossana. Problems of method in Levi-Civita’s contributions to hydrodynamics, Revue d’Histoire des Mathématiques 12 (1) (2006), 81–118. Investigates Levi-Civita’s work on hydrodynamics topics such as d’Alembert’s paradox, the ‘wake hypothesis,’ and the existence of the irrotational wave in a finite-depth canal, relating these results to the methods of the new theory of integral equations. Includes a rich use of his correspondence and some information on his students. (AM/KP) #35.2.181 Odefey, Alexander; and Roussanova, Elena. Verzeichnis des wissenschaftlichen Nachlasses von Erich Hecke (1887–1947) [Index of the scientific Nachlass of Erich Hecke (1887–1947)], Mitteilungen der Mathematischen Gesellschaft in Hamburg 25 (2006), 85–102. After giving a short biography of the number theorist and Nazi opposer 166 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 Hecke, this article gives a description of the lectures and correspondence of Hecke left to the Mathematics Department of Hamburg University. See the review by Reinhard Siegmund-Schultze in Zentralblatt MATH 1124.01007. (SED) #35.2.182 Olkin, Ingram; Tong, Y.L.; and Santner, Thomas. The scientific contributions of Milton Sobel, Probablility in the Engineering and Informational Sciences 20 (3) (2006), 383–411. This paper discusses Milton Sobel’s scientific contributions in the context of his personal and university life. (LM) #35.2.183 Peckhaus, Volker. See #35.2.167. Polster, Burkard. See #35.2.162. Pomerleano, Daniel. See #35.2.166. Pratt, Scott L. ‘New continents’: The logical system of Josiah Royce, History and Philosophy of Logic 28 (2) (2007), 133–150. Analyzes the logical system developed by the eminent American metaphysician Josiah Royce before his death in 1916. Drawing on the work of Russell and Kempe, Royce saw his system as highlighting connections between logic and ethics. (KP) #35.2.184 Rodriguez-Consuegra, Francisco. Two unpublished contributions by Alfred Tarski, History and Philosophy of Logic 28 (3) (2007), 257–264. This article reproduces and comments on two previously unpublished items by Tarski from 1965. See the review by Roman Murawski in Zentralblatt MATH 1121.01011. (SED) #35.2.185 Ross, Marty. See #35.2.162. Roussanova, Elena. See #35.2.182. Santner, Thomas. See #35.2.183. Santos, Rui. Probability circa 1914 and Diogo Pacheco d’Amorim’s Elements of Probability Theory [in Por- tuguese], Boletim da Sociedade Portuguesa de Matemática 53 (2005), 127–144. This paper discusses d’Amorim’s dissertation on probability theory. There, d’Amorim had presented the mathematical theory of probability based on the idea of “to throw at random.” See the review by Ernesto Mordecki in Mathematical Reviews 2199379 (2007k:60008). (HEK) #35.2.186 Sauer, Tilman. Einstein and the early theory of superconductivity, 1919–1922, Archive for History of Exact Sci- ences 61 (2) (2007), 159–211. The author discusses Einstein’s early research on superconductivity in relation to how theoretical physics reacts to experimental findings when the latter are non compatible with established theoretical notions. (LM) #35.2.187 Schanz, Martin. See #35.2.164. Schmidt Am Busch, Hans-Christoph; and Wehmeier, Kai F. On the relations between Heinrich Scholz and Jan Łukasiewicz, History and Philosophy of Logic 28 (1) (2007), 67–81. A study, based on a number of unpublished documents, on how Scholz supported Łukasiewicz (a Polish logician) during World War II, and how he eventually helped Łukasiewicz and his wife move from Warsaw to Münster. See the review by Roman Murawski in Zentralblatt MATH 1118.01019. (CH) #35.2.188 Sheynin, Oscar. Markov’s work on the treatment of observations, Historia Scientiarum (2) 16 (1) (2006), 80–95. The author discusses Markov’s contribution to the method of least squares. See the review by Paolo Rocchi in Math- ematical Reviews 2271719 (2007k:60009). (HEK) #35.2.189 Siegmund-Schultze, Reinhard. A non-conformist longing for unity in the fractures of modernity: Towards a sci- entific biography of Richard von Mises (1883–1953), Science in Context 17 (3) (2004), 333–370. This paper describes Richard von Mises’ scientific and philosophical “non-conformism” through a discussion of his work and sets the ex- isting premises and sources for a scientific biography of von Mises to be written. It also includes a biographical sketch authored by von Mises’ widow, Hilda Geiringer. (LM) #35.2.190 Smirnov, N.N. See #35.2.193. Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 167 Socha, Katherine. Circles in circles: Creating a mathematical model of surface water waves, American Mathemat- ical Monthly 114 (3) (2007), 202–216. An introduction to the linear theory of two-dimensional water waves. Includes some historical remarks. See the review by Chris M. Linton in Mathematical Reviews 2290285 (2007m:76025). (DJM) #35.2.191 Souto Salorio, María José; and Tarrío Tobar, Ana Dorotea. María Josefa Wonenburger Planells. Woman and mathematician [in Spanish], La Gaceta de la Real Sociedad Matemàtica Española 9 (2) (2006), 339–364. The author discusses the life and mathematics of María Wonenburger, one of the few Spanish women who had some mathematical relevance during the third fourth of the twentieth century. Her work in group theory and Clifford algebras is discussed. See the review by Pedro J. Paúl in Zentralblatt MATH 1115.01016. (HEK) #35.2.192 Steinbach, Olaf. See #35.2.164. Tarrío Tobar, Ana Dorotea. See #35.2.192. Tazzioli, Rossana. See #35.2.181. Tong., Y.L. See #35.2.183. Tyulina, I.A.; and Smirnov, N.N., eds. Mechanics at Moscow University (250th anniversary of the M.V. Lomonosov Moscow State University) [in Russian], Moscow: Aı̆ris-Press, 2005. 352 pp. “The first, introductory, article is devoted to the development of mechanics at MGU in the 18th–20th centuries. Attention is focused mainly on the 20th century, toward the end of which nine professorships of mechanics were created at MGU.” (KP) #35.2.193 Vick, David Shea. See #35.2.166. von Meyenn, Karl, ed. Wolfgang Pauli: Wissenschaftlicher Briefwechsel mit Bohr, Einstein, Heisenberg u. a. Band IV, Teil IV, A: 1957, B: 1958 [Wolfgang Pauli: Scientific Correspondence with Bohr, Einstein, Heisenberg, et al. Vol. IV, Part IV, A: 1957, B: 1958], Berlin: Springer, 2005, 1585 pp. These two final volumes of Pauli’s correspondence contain 33 commentaries on various fields of physics and include helpful indices. An introduction treats “[t]he begin- nings of modern Physics according to the correspondence of Pauli.” See the review by Karin Reich in Zentralblatt MATH 1120.01014. (DK) #35.2.194 Wanner, G. Dahlquist’s classical papers on stability theory, BIT. Numerical Mathematics 46 (3) (2006), 671–683. Discusses the background to, and impact of, the order barrier papers on ODEs of the numerical analyst Dahlquist. The paper includes copies of personal correspondence of Dahlquist. See the review by Bernhard A. Schmitt in Mathemat- ical Reviews 2265581 (2007m:65059). (DJM) #35.2.195 Wehmeier, Kai F. See #35.2.188. Woeginger, Gerhard J. See #35.2.163. See also: #35.2.145; and #35.2.151. Reviewers Index of authors of reviews in Mathematical Reviews and other publications that are referenced in these abstracts. Angelelli, Ignacio—#35.2.174. Cipu, Mihai—#35.2.9. D’Ambrosio, U.—#35.2.169. Dimitric, Radoslav M.—#35.2.100. Dixon, J.D.—#35.2.7. Duda, Roman—#35.2.89; and #35.2.176. Durand-Richard, Marie-José—#35.2.16. Erber, T.—#35.2.15. Francis, Richard L.—#35.2.45. Fraser, Craig G.—#35.2.82. Frei-Imfeld, G.—#35.2.93. Grattan-Guinness, Ivor—#35.2.4; #35.2.77; #35.2.113; #35.2.172; and #35.2.180. Gröger, Detlef—#35.2.38; and #35.2.39. Guggenheimer, H.—#35.2.34; #35.2.35; and #35.2.63. Høyrup, Jens—#35.2.49. Irimia, Cristina—#35.2.23; and #35.2.124. Katz, Victor J.—#35.2.3. 168 Abstracts / Historia Mathematica 35 (2008) 150–168 Knobloch, Eberhard—#35.2.17. Koetsier, Teun—#35.2.44; #35.2.47; #35.2.53; #35.2.74; #35.2.77; #35.2.85; and #35.2.132. Lewis, Albert C.—#35.2.40; #35.2.41;#35.2.105; #35.2.129; and #35.2.131. Linnebo, Øystein—#35.2.125. Linton, Chris M. —#35.2.191. Majumdar, Pradip Kumar—#35.2.25. Martzloff, J.-C.—#35.2.29; #35.2.30; #35.2.31; and #35.2.32. Mendelson, E.—#35.2.171. Mordecki, Ernesto—#35.2.186. Mota, David F.—#35.2.179. Murawski, Roman—#35.2.13; #35.2.185; and #35.2.188. Pambuccian, Victor V.—#35.2.14; and #35.2.43. Paúl, Pedro J.—#35.2.192. Pier, Jean-Paul—#35.2.168; and #35.2.165. Plotkin, J.M.—#35.2.167. Ramaiah, Girish—#35.2.21; and #35.2.22. Reich, Karin—#35.2.120; #35.2.173; and #35.2.194. Rocchi, Paolo—#35.2.189. Schlote, Karl-Heinz—#35.2.113. Schmitt, Bernhard A.—#35.2.195. Scriba, C.J.—#35.2.1. Segal, S.L.—#35.2.131. Shea, William R.—#35.2.46. Siegmund-Schultze, Reinhard —#35.2.123; and #35.2.182. Singh, S.L.—#35.2.18; #35.2.19; #35.2.20; #35.2.26; #35.2.27; #35.2.28; and #35.2.161. Sonar, Thomas —#35.2.68. Stern, Manfred—#35.2.2. Stojanovic, Milica— #35.2.36. Tabachnikov, Serge L.—#35.2.166. Thrivikraman, T.—#35.2.24. Volken, Henri—#35.2.163. Abstracts General India China Islamic/Islamicate Other non-western Antiquity Renaissance 17th century 18th century 19th century 20th century Reviewers 
work_vo6c67tgmjegbnwultbo75z76y	----	PROCEEDINGS 491 for the study of military architecture. Other publications were: La peinture murale en France; le haut Moyen Age et Pepoque romane (1951); La peinture murale au dibut de Vepoque gothique (1963); and a more popular work, Aux temps des croisades. It was during his period as Director that the Mus6e de sculpture comparee became the Mus^e des monuments frangais. With the collaboration of the Historic Monuments Service, M . Deschamps created an office for the documentation of monuments, to study construction tech- niques of the past: this has proved invaluable for students of both archaeology and architecture. C O M T E BLAISE DE M O N T E S Q U I O U - F E Z E N S A C Elected Honorary Fellow 8th May 1947 Le Comte de Montesquiou-Fezensac died at his home in France on 3rd September 1974. He published widely on aspects of medieval art-history. T h e first volume of his last work, Le Tresor de Saint-Denis, appeared in 1972, and the second volume was in the hands of the printers at the time of his death. PROFESSOR DR. E M I L V O G T Elected Honorary Fellow nth January 1951 Professor Dr. Emil Vogt died as the result of a street accident on 2nd December 1974, aged 68. He was born in Basle in 1906 and worked for a short time at the Historical Museum there. From 1930 until his retirement in 1971 he worked at the National Museum in Zurich, of which he was made Vice-Director in 1953 and Director in 1961. He was appointed as the first Pro- fessor of Prehistoric Archaeology at the University of Zurich in 1945. Emil Vogt was a scholar of international repute, and a pioneer in the study of Swiss prehistory, particularly that of the Neolithic and Bronze Ages. His excavations at Egolwil from 1950 to 1966 enabled him, with other scholars, to reinterpret on a scientific basis the so-called 'lake- dwellings'. His tenure of directorship at the National Museum saw considerable advances in the techniques of display and conservation. T H O M A S SHERRER ROSS BOASE, ESQ., M . C . , M.A., F.B.A. Elected gth January 1947 Thomas Boase died on 15th April 1974 at the age of 75. He was President of Magdalen College, Oxford, from 1947 to 1968, and had been Chairman of the British School at Rome since 1965. He had a keen interest in medieval history, but his overriding interest was in pic- tures, architecture, and sculpture, including that of the medieval period, the Italian Renaissance, and eighteenth- and nineteenth-century art in England. From 1922 to 1937 Boase was tutor in History and Dean at Hertford College. He was then appointed Professor in the History of Art at the University of London and Director of the Cour- tauld Institute. In 1943 he went to the Middle East, where he spent two years as chief repre- sentative to the British Council. On returning to England he became a trustee of the National Gallery (1946—53), and a member of the advisory council of the Victoria and Albert Museum (1947—70). He was a governor of the British Museum and also of the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre. From 1958 to i960 he was Vice Chancellor of Oxford University. His publications included: Boniface Fill, St. Francis of Assisi, English Art 1100-1216, English Art 1800-jO, and Kingdoms and Strongholds of the Crusaders. He edited the Oxford History of English Art and also made valuable contributions to the Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008775 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008775 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_vs6nfsiagjfoppejwupcf5oj5i	----	10.11648.j.ajaa.20130101.11 American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics 2013; 1(1) : 1-7 Published online May 2, 2013 (http://www.sciencepublishinggroup.com/j/ajaa) doi: 10.11648/j.ajaa.20130101.11 Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel Valerie Shrimplin Independent Art Historian, Gresham College, Holborn, London EC1N 2HH, England Email address: vshrimplin@dsl.pipex.com (V. Shrimplin), v.shrimplin@gresham.ac.uk (V. Shrimplin) To cite this article: Valerie Shrimplin. Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel, American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics. Vol. 1, No. 1, 2013, pp. 1-7. doi: 10.11648/j.ajaa.20130101.11 Abstract: It is argued that Copernican astronomy is a key theme in Michelangelo’s fresco of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel, and was incorporated with the knowledge, consent and approval of the Popes concerned. In Christian art, the iconography of the Last Judgment (depicting the three parts of the universe: heaven earth and hell) was traditionally based on a layered structure relating to perceptions of the flat earth covered by the dome of heaven according to biblical cosmology. In Michelangelo’s revolutionary work, Christ is significantly depicted as a beardless Apollonian sun-god, positioned in the centre of a dramatic circular design rather than at the top of a layered format. This appears to relate to the traditional Christian analogy between the deity and the astronomical feature of the sun, the neoplatonic cult of sun-symbolism and sources in Dante. More importantly, the influence of the Copernican theory of heliocentricity is argued, since interest in such ideas in papal circles is demonstrated at exactly the time of the commission of the painting (1533). This provides important evidence of papal support for Copernican heliocentricity as early as the 1530s. Keywords: Copernicus, Michelangelo, Heliocentric, Sistine Chapel, Dante 1. Introduction It has long been widely recognized that in Michelange- lo’s fresco of the Last Judgment (1541) Christ is depicted as a classical, beardless ‘Apollonian’ sun-god in the centre of a ‘cosmic’ circular design. The possible influence of Copernicus’s theory of heliocentricity as a contributory factor to Michelangelo’s interpretation has been considered by art historians, but consistently been rejected on the grounds that Michelangelo’s fresco was finished in 1541, two years before the publication of Copernicus’s Revolu- tions in 1543. The idea has thus always been dismissed without full exploration and consideration. Art historians have seemed hesitant to delve into astronomical texts, and astronomers are perhaps less familiar with Renaissance frescoes. This interdisciplinary paper (which is a summary of the publication Shrimplin, V. Sun-symbolism and Cos- mology in Michelangelo’s Last Judgment, Truman State University Press, 2000) presents the argument that, al- though not definitively provable in a scientific sense, it can indeed be argued that Copernican heliocentricity is reflect- ed in Michelangelo’s fresco. The Sistine Chapel, part of the complex of St Peter’s in Rome, was built in 1475 on the site of an earlier thirteenth century chapel. Cosmological associations of the chapel are immediately evident since it measures 40.93 metres by 13.41 metres wide (threescore cubits by twenty cubits), that is, the precise dimensions given in the Bible for the temple of Solomon (1 Kings 6), which in turn was widely held to have been made in imitation of the shape of the universe. The Chapel ceiling (painted by Michelangelo 1508-12) [1] is well known for the depiction, according to Genesis, of the creation; of light and dark; of the universe; and the planets and humanity. On the altar wall, Michelangelo's monumen- tal fresco of the Last Judgment (painted much later, 1536-1541) depicts, by contrast, the end of the universe. The overriding theme of the Chapel is thus ‘the Beginning and the End’ – of the universe, the planet and humanity. Inter- preted in terms of ‘Creation and Last Judgment’, rather than the modern ‘Big Bang and gravitational collapse’, the problems remain the same to be grappled with, even if the solutions or interpretations vary. But the overriding cosmic theme of ‘the beginning and end of the world’ is clear in Michelangelo’s frescoes in the Sistine Chapel. Situated over the altar wall in the most important chapel in Christendom, Michelangelo’s fresco of the Last Judgment could well lay claim to being the single most significant painting in the world and the immense importance of the fresco was immediately recognised by Michelangelo's con- temporaries. Almost as soon as it was completed and 'unveiled' on All Saints' Eve, 31 October 1541, Michelan- gelo's Last Judgment became a focus for controversy as well 2 Valerie Shrimplin: Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel as admiration. Michelangelo's contemporary the Venetian critic Pietro Aretino was not alone in his comments on its allegorical and hidden meaning, when he observed in 1545 that 'Michelangelo has imitated those great philosophers who hid the mysteries of human and divine philosophy under a veil, that they might not be understood by the vulgar'. Literally hundreds of writers have attempted to ‘decode’ and explain the fresco and its hidden symbolism ever since. [2] 2. Cosmology in Church Art and Archi- tecture The main argument presented here is that Copernican as- tronomy is a key theme in the fresco, and was intentionally incorporated by Michelangelo, with the knowledge, consent and approval of the popes concerned. Judaeo-Christian cosmology, or the view of the universe, was traditionally reflected in Church art and architecture, for example in Early Christian and Byzantine domed architecture, which was imitative of natural eye perceptions of the flat earth covered by the dome of heaven. Decoration and decorative cycles (as at the Dome of the Rock, Jerusalem) confirm a symbolic approach, with blue or starry vaults confirming the intention to represent the heavens rather than simply create a covering for a space in such examples. Apart from Church architecture in general, particular subjects from the scriptures also lent themselves especially well to cosmological interpretation. This was particularly relevant in version of the Last Judgment as the one scene in Christian theology where Heaven, Earth and Hell (the three parts of the known world) together with their relative phys- ical positions in the cosmos would naturally be depicted at one time, together. Complex ideas concerning heaven, earth and hell, and the fate of humanity, were illustrated together in a single image, in a distinctly layered design. In innu- merable examples of the Last Judgment, the three parts of the known universe would be depicted in relation to the hierarchical order, according to which all would be judged – as the ‘good’ would ascend to heaven as the ‘bad’ would be sent down into hell – creating a strong disciplinary mes- sage in the absence of widespread effective judicial sys- tems. 3. Michelangelo and the Sun-Christ Analogy Michelangelo’s dramatic circular design, focussed on the central figure of Christ depicted as a beardless ‘Apollonian’ sun god varies enormously from the layered and hierar- chical approach in traditional versions of the Last Judgment. It contrasts dramatically with numerous previous versions from medieval and early Renaissance times, exemplified by the sculptural versions in Romanesque and Gothic cathe- drals or in Italian Renaissance examples where the ar- rangement is consistently layered in a horizontal format with Christ at the top of the hierarchical design. In compar- ison, Michelangelo’s fresco is predominantly circular in design, with Christ, depicted as the sun, at centre. Lines which could be construed as descriptive of Miche- langelo’s fresco: “In the midst of all assuredly dwells the Sun. For in this most beautiful temple who would place this illuminary in any better position … some call him the Light of the World …. So he remains, governing the family of Heavenly bodies which circles around him” actually come from Copernicus’s Revolutions, Book 1, chapter 10 [3] Yet Copernicus’ book was published in 1543, two years after the great fresco was completed and clearly many years after it was commissioned and designed. Be- cause of the discrepancies in the dating of De Revolutioni- bus and the dating of Michelangelo’s fresco, the possibility of a link between the two was never seriously and fully explored. The art historian Charles de Tolnay wrote (1943-60): “By means of the central place which Michelangelo re- served in his composition for the Sun (Christ-Apollo) .. The artist came of himself to a vision of the universe which surprisingly corresponds to that of his contemporary Co- pernicus. Yet he could not have known Copernicus’ book which was published in 1543 – at least seven years after Michelangelo conceived his fresco.” [4] The analogy between Christ and the Sun and the possible influence of Copernicus’ theory was seen as impossible because the publication date of the book postdated the completion of the fresco. However if we look at the sort of sources used by Michelangelo – Christian theology, clas- sical and Christian iconography, Dante, neoplatonism and, it will be argued, contemporary scientific theories, a case can be made for the undoubted influence of Copernicus’ heliocentric theory on the fresco. Typical images of Apollo, such as the Apollo Belvedere (Greek, 2nd century BC, found in Italy in 1489), had been common in the Italian Renaissance. Many such examples were rediscovered in Renaissance Florence and Rome at the time when Michelangelo was working in those cities. An affinity with this type of image is very clear in Miche- langelo’s design. The concept of Christ as an Apollo-type figure was common in the very early days of Christianity, as a way of encouraging converts – and the idea of Christ as the sun or the light of the world is demonstrated by in- numerable biblical references (particularly in the Gospel of St John, especially 1:1-10 and 8:12). 4. Astronomy and Iconography The links between astronomy and Christian iconography and decoration can also be securely established, for exam- ple in the starred, domed ceiling mosaic of the mausoleum of Galla Placidia at Ravenna (c. 425) which echoes the flat earth view, covered by the dome of heaven. [5] The mosaic of God creating the world at Monreale (1175) is another instance where the cosmic meaning is clear, and the crea- tion cycle in St Mark’s Venice (11th century) also demon- American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics 2013, 1(1) : 1-7 3 strates the view of the cosmos in relation to its creation as a strong part of the Christian tradition. These examples cited (of which there are innumerable others) serve to demon- strate the important links between Christian iconography and astronomy. Another area is that of the orientation of Christian architecture. The east-west orientation of Chris- tian Churches, with the altar in the east, is well known, and evidenced by Christian Churches of all regions and periods. The basilica of St Peter’s in Rome is exceptional however since, situated to the west of Rome, the entrance faces Rome itself to the east. Few churches have their altars in the west, but it seems that the reason for this at St Peter’s was because the original basilica was built by the Emperor Constantine on the earlier foundation of a pagan sun temple where the aim was for the rising sun to enter the doorway. The Last Judgment in turn was normally placed on the west wall of a church, to face the setting sun at the end of the day. It was also located in that area in the west, as a stern re- minder to the congregation on exit. The Sistine chapel has the same orientation at St Peter’s so Michelangelo’s Last Judgment is unusually placed on the west (but significantly the altar) wall of the chapel, where its presence is again a potent reminder of the end of the world and the fate of hu- manity. The ‘good’ however will have nothing to fear. Before the Sistine chapel (begun the year Michelangelo was born) was redecorated in late fifteenth and early six- teenth century by Michelangelo and others, it was known to have been decorated with a simple blue ceiling covered in stars, thus again establishing an astronomical connection. In addition, the links between the concept of the Last Judgment and the arrangement of the known universe were also extremely well established. A good example is the sixth century manuscript by the Syrian monk Cosmas Indi- copleustes in his Christian Topography. [6] This includes a version of the Last Judgment with Christ situated at the top and various ranks of humans, saints and angels ascending to heaven and descending to hell in a strict hierarchy. Sig- nificantly, there is a drawing of the universe in the same manuscript which clearly relates to the same layered format, showing an immediate and obvious relationship between the view of the universe and the concept of the Last Judg- ment. Apart from manuscript versions, this basic format for the Last Judgment can be seen, as mentioned, in innumera- ble examples, in the tympana of the great French cathedrals (for example Vezelay, 1125, Notre Dame, completed 1250), and in earlier Italian frescoes, such as Giotto’s version at Padua (c 1305-7) or altarpieces by Fra Angelico (1440) to name just a few examples. The hierarchical framework is very clear in Giotto’s work, in spite of the intrusive window. But Michelangelo changed all this in his version, introduc- ing a revolutionary new design. There are features of the old traditions still remaining in Michelangelo’s work but he had the existing window filled in, so as to make one vast space. As a result, a huge circular design predominates across the entire altar wall. The circular motion overcomes and warps into the traditional layered features of the icono- graphy of the design of the Last Judgment. 5. Dante’s Cosmology At this point it is important to remember the idea of the centre of the universe. According to Judaeo Christian tradi- tion, this was held to be Jerusalem in the flat earth system in accordance with Ezekiel 5:5. This is clearly illustrated in many so-called T-and-O maps, but there is evidence that the old idea of the sun-centred universe, as proposed by the ancient Greeks, such as Aristarchus, never completely died out. [7] The ‘astronomer’ Pope Gerbert, for example, had raised such ideas in c. 999. However, in general, it was the geocentric concept of the earth that displaced the flat earth view of the universe in Western Europe in the middle ages, as illustrated in fifteenth century Florentine manuscripts (such as the Diagram of the Cosmos 1038, 240v in the Bib- lioteca Riccardiana, Florence). This new geocentric view was generally perceived by educated persons, yet the prob- lem here was that if the idea of a circular universe with the earth at the centre was combined with the Biblical concepts of ‘up for heaven’ and ‘down for hell’ then hell would ap- pear to take the central place in a ‘haidocentric’ universe. This was clearly unacceptable and somewhat difficult to deal with. Dante therefore, in his Divine Comedy therefore selects a ‘dual’ scheme for his universe, with two systems separately presented: one for Inferno (centered on Hell) and a separate scheme for Paradiso (centered on the Heavens). Dante, and his illustrators, firstly presents a terrestrial sys- tem with Lucifer at the centre (as in the manuscript of the Topography of Hell, Florence c 1475, Biblioteca Nationale, Palat 320, fol.IIIv). In fact, the precise centre of hell is de- fined in Inferno 34 as the point at which Dante and his companion Virgil descend down the figure of Lucifer, then turn (at the point of Lucifer’s thigh) in order to start as- cending again towards the surface of the earth’s sphere. This view of hell in the centre of the earth or terrestrial system contrasts with Dante’s separate circular system in the Empyrean, focussed on a point of light – as depicted in, for example, Botticelli’s illustrations for the Divine Come- dy as a ‘sun-Christ’ type of figure or symbol.[8] Michelangelo was well known as an expert on Dante and would undoubtedly have been familiar with Dante and the issues that were raised here. His own poetry and that of his friend Vittoria Colonna also include very many references to Christ as the sun – and, lest any complex association be dismissed, it is important to remember that Michelangelo always avowed ‘I paint with my brains, not with my hands.’ Whilst it is inappropriate to read too much into artistic work, it is similarly incorrect to underestimate artists of the stature of Michelangelo. 6. The Neoplatonic view of the Universe Turning now to other contemporary ideas that would have been considered in this period, the importance of neoplatonic philosophy should not be underestimated. Mi- chelangelo – growing up as he did under the patronage of Lorenzo de Medici – was also an expert on neoplatonism 4 Valerie Shrimplin: Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel and the works of Marsilio Ficino.[9] Until Ficino translated Plato’s oeuvre from the Greek, few of Plato’s works had been known through the medieval period. The exception was Plato’s Timaeus which is well know for its theme of cosmology. He wrote, ‘Seeing that the whole is spherical, the assertion that it has one region ‘above’ and one region ‘below’ does not become a man of sense’ (Timaeus 63). The importance of this work in the early sixteenth century is demonstrated by the fact that in Raphael’s famous School of Athens, the figure of Plato holds this very volume under his arm. Michelangelo would therefore have been familiar with works by neoplatonic philosophers such as Ficino, Poliziano and Landino, which focus on interpretations of Plato’s cosmology. The writings of Marsilio Ficino are a major source for the symbolic identification of the Sun and deity as repeatedly found in Renaissance literature and philosophy. Probably Ficino’s most important work, and one which Michelangelo is known to have been familiar with, is his Commentary on Plato’s Symposium. The neop- latonic idea of the sun as symbol of the deity as well as the cosmological ordering of the universe are fully examined by Ficino. In Chapter 2, Part II of the commentary, he draws a direct comparison between this theme and Plato’s writing in the sixth book of Plato’s Republic where the concept of the light as the Good is fully explained by Plato. Early neoplatonic interpretation of Republic VI has also been argued as influential on St John’s Gospel, the so-called ‘Gospel of light’. Ficino continuously draws analogies between God and the sun which suggests his work as source material for Michelangelo. In addition, in fact, Ficino’s ideas were also said to have influenced Co- pernicus Since his book De Sole was required reading in Krakow when Copernicus was a student there. [10] 7. Copernicus’ Theory of Heliocentricity Set against this context of Renaissance scholarship, it is important to remember that Copernicus was exposed to and influenced by these ideas since he spent at least seven years in Italy in a very similar environment to Michelangelo, and this is also demonstrated in his writings which include ref- erences to sun symbolism and neoplatonic ideas.[11] As mentioned, the idea of any relation between Copernicus’ ideas on the sun-centred nature of the universe and Miche- langelo’s ‘sun-deity’ centred fresco had always been dis- counted because of the dating. Revolutions was published in 1543, two years after the completion of the fresco in 1541. However, closer investigation reveals (which is evi- dently more well known amongst astronomers than art his- torians) that Copernicus actually received the first copy of his book whilst on his death bed in 1543, at the age of 70. Born in 1473, Copernicus was almost exactly contempo- rary with Michelangelo (1475-1564), and information about his ideas and reputation had been growing and circu- lating from as early as 1500. Even before Copernicus, early Renaissance writers such as Buridan (1297-1358), Oresme (1323-82) and Cusanus (1401-64) had already considered similar ideas about the motion of the earth and a stationary sun and Copernicus acknowledged this in his Preface to Revolutions in 1543. Leonardo da Vinci also speculated that ‘the sun does not move’ (Notebooks, vol. 2, 152). Co- pernicus was invited to give talks in Rome in 1500 (when Michelangelo was also in Rome) and other publications such as the Commentariolus (1514) and the Letter against Werner (1522) circulated long before the publication of Revolutions (and the conception of the fresco). There is a great deal of additional evidence (for example comments made by Martin Luther) that Copernicus’ ideas about the sun as the centre of the universe were circulating widely in the 1530’s, if not the 1520’s.[12] It thus becomes clear that (since it was not necessary then as now for anyone actually to read Revolutions in order to grasp the heliocentric idea) it would have been very unlikely for Michelangelo not to have heard of Copernicus and his ideas. Copernicus’ heliocentric theory thus originated well be- fore the time of its publication (and his death) in 1543, as he himself explains in his preface. Copernicus’ fame had spread and had been widely recognized as a leading astro- nomer for many years. His early fame was also evidenced in art since he is allegedly portrayed in Giorgione’s painting of the Three Philosophers (which Giorgione painted in 1509, assisted by Sebastiano del Piombo – who also, coin- cidentally, helped Michelangelo in the early stages of prep- arations for the painting of the Last Judgment). The first reference to a commission for the Last Judgment was also made by Sebastiano, in July 1533. He wrote to Michelan- gelo that the Pope (Clement VII who was also a Medici and had known Michelangelo since childhood) had plans for a grand design in the Sistine Chapel. 8. Dating of the Last Judgment and Revolutions Short of the discovery of handwritten notes by the artist, confirming awareness and influence of Copernican helio- centricity in the design of the Last Judgment, it might be difficult conclusively to prove a direct link. The above evi- dence may suggest that ‘on the balance of probabilities’ this is so. However, what appears to support the argument ‘beyond reasonable doubt’, making Copernican influence very clear is that at exactly the time of the commission of the painting, Pope Clement VII specifically requested that Copernicus’ theories ‘concerning the motion of the earth’ should be explained to him at a special lecture to a group of dignitaries in the garden of the Vatican in June 1533. This event was recorded by the lecturer, Albert Widmanstadt inside the cover of a precious manuscript that the Pope gave him to mark the occasion: ‘Clement VII presented this codex to me, AD 1533 after I had, in the presence of Fra Ursino, Cardinal Joh. Salviati, Joh.Petrus Bishop of Viterbo and Matthias Curtius, medical physician, explained to him in the garden of the Vatican, Copernicus’ teaching concerning the motion of the earth. American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics 2013, 1(1) : 1-7 5 Albertus Widmanstadius’.[13] Widmanstadt (who coincidentally was the protégé of Egidio da Viterbo who had advised Michelangelo on the painting of the Sistine ceiling) was a colleague of Theodor- ic of Radzyn, the representative of Copernicus’ chapter of Varmia in Rome, so a direct link is easily traceable between Michelangelo and Copernicus at the time of the commis- sion of the Last Judgment. The dating of the Vatican lecture can be secured by the reference to Johannes Petrus, Bishop of Viterbo since we know this appointment was made in summer 1533. Salviati, also present, was a close friend of Michelangelo and the date ‘6.33’ on the manuscript sug- gests a date of June 1533. It is also well documented (Letter from del Piombo to Michelangelo dated 17 July 1533) that the Pope was then about to give Michelangelo a contract ‘for such as thing as you have never yet dreamed of’. Mi- chelangelo was in Rome until the end of June 1533 when he left for his last visit to Florence. Clement VII was in Rome that summer until he left in September on his way to France, during which time he met Michelangelo near Pisa to discuss the commission for the fresco (22 September 1533). So the Pope commissioned the fresco right after he had had Copernicus’ heliocentric hypothesis explained to him by a professional lecturer with direct and traceable links to Copernicus himself. Michelangelo’s early drawings for the fresco suggest a circular design and astronomical references,[14] and further evidence exists of Vatican interest in Copernican astronomy at this time. The famous letter of Cardinal Schoenberg to Copernicus in 1536 makes it absolutely clear that Coperni- cus’ hypothesis had been regarded as common knowledge for some time before 1536, that his talent was recognized by the Catholic Church and that the Vatican itself was urg- ing publication. The letter appears to be an urgent request for further information as the painting of the fresco got underway in summer 1536. Schoenberg wrote: ‘Several years ago word reached me … I had learned that you had formulated a new cosmology; you maintain that the earth moves, that the sun occupies the most central place in the universe…. I entreat you to communicate this discovery of yours to scholars.… (Cardinal Schoenberg, 1536)’.[15] This strongly suggests ‘approval’ rather than mere ‘know- ledge’ in Vatican circles in the 1530s. The Narratio Prima (published by Rheticus in 1540, followed by a second edi- tion in 1541), also publicized the heliocentric theory. Cle- ment VII had died by this time but the next Pope, Paul III Farnese (who had also grown up in the Medici household in Florence) supported both the fresco and the publication. In fact he was, significantly, the very person to whom Coper- nicus’ Revolutions was dedicated in 1543. Considering the implication of a dedication and the strict application of the papal imprimatur at the time, tacit approval of the ideas (even though presented as hypothesis by the publisher Osiander) is indicated. This mass of evidence, culminating with the documentary evidence of the manuscript, although it cannot be conclusive, clearly points ‘beyond all reasona- ble doubt’ to the probability that the hypothesis is not mere speculation. Although illustrations of the fresco prior to the cleaning and restoration in the early 1990’s show it with a ‘dark and desperate’ atmosphere, caused by smoke from the candles, the cleaned and restored fresco is amazingly lighter and brighter. Contemporary copies (such as that by Martinus Rota, 1569) demonstrate that this was much closer to the original state of the fresco and thus clearly fits in with the concept of sun and light symbolism in the fresco. [16] A summary of key dates – relating both to Michelangelo, Copernicus and the fresco itself, demonstrates significant overlap and coincidence (Table 1). Michelangelo was nur- tured on Catholic views of Christ as the light (sun), imbued with Ficino and Dante and then commissioned to paint what was traditionally a cosmological subject at exactly the time that the theories of Copernicus (himself imbued with Italian Renaissance and neoplatonic thought) were attract- ing huge attention in the Vatican. It is vital that this cosmo- logical interpretation should be given proper consideration and not dismissed because of misconstrued dating. To return to the concept of the central point of the un- iverse, it is interesting to consider what might be the central point in Michelangelo’s design. A formal visual analysis of the painting itself can reveal this, since in order to obtain the circularity of the design on such an immense area (the wall is over 17 metres high), a device such as a rotating plumb line would have been used. Surprisingly, the centre of both the circular movement and the focus of diagonal lines does not lie on Christ’s head or heart, but is evidently lower down. The centre of the design is actually focussed on Christ’s right thigh. A reason for this is to be found in the book of Revelation, 19:16 which reads – ‘ … and on his vesture and on his thigh was a name written, KING OF KINGS and LORD of LORDS. The next verse significantly begins ‘ … and I saw an angel standing in the sun …’. Thus Christ is depicted as Michelangelo viewed him – King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the Sun the centre of the un- iverse. 9. Conclusions Copernicus’ heliocentric theory seems, in the 1530s, to have acted as a precipitating factor to cause a number of existing concepts to fall into place. His scientific thinking appears to have been absorbed into popular thinking and it was no more necessary for those who were interested to read his actual book, anymore than many nowadays who talk about general relativity and black holes have actually read anything by Einstein. It should be remembered that it was not until 1616, over 70 years since its first publication, that Copernicus’ Revolutions was placed on the Index of Prohibited Books. The transition from the flat earth concept (with Jerusalem as centre) to geocentric, haidocentric, he- liocentric – and more recently galactocentric and now a-centric (expanding with no real centre) views of the un- iverse all add to our understanding and the importance of consideration of humanity’s place in the universe. Due to 6 Valerie Shrimplin: Michelangelo, Copernicus and the Sistine Chapel Copernicus’ theory, the central position of humanity, in a geocentric universe, had been displaced from its key loca- tion but surely the idea of placing God personified as the sun at centre was far more logical instead. In a view cha- racterised by its elegant simplicity, this concept appears to be most logical. Lack of concrete evidence (the handwritten note) does not necessarily render a thing untrue. After all, Copernicus was unable to prove that the earth travelled around the sun. The heliocentric concept of the universe which placed a spherical Earth in a Sun-centered system proposed an en- tirely different approach to astronomy which was funda- mentally to change mankind’s outlook on the universe. The resultant difficulties of placing Heaven, Earth and Hell in their relative physical and symbolic positions had pre- viously been very straightforward. The new ideas were to lead eventually to the Church’s condemnation – but not, it must be remembered until 1616, much later than the time at which Michelangelo was working on his fresco of the Last Judgment. Although Copernicus’ theory was later con- demned, when the wider implications were acknowledged following the work of Galileo, during the 1530s-40s this was quite simply not the case. At the time that Michelan- gelo was painting his great fresco, the heliocentric theory appears to have generated more interest and support from the Catholic Church than previously recognised. As inter- preted by Michelangelo in his Last Judgment fresco, and linked to Copernican heliocentricity, the traditional analogy between Sun and Deity, at the centre of the universe, was vindicated at last. Table 1. Lives of Copernicus and Michelangelo. Copernicus 1473-1543 Michelangelo, 1475-1564 1491-94 Copernicus at Cracow 1496 Michelangelo in Bologna 1496-1503 C in Bologna, Rome 1500 Michelangelo in Rome 1500 Copernicus in Rome 1500-34 In Rome/Florence 1514 Copernicus' Commentariolus 1533 17 July 'a contract for such a thing...' 1514 Fifth Lateran Council, Copernicus’ advice sought 1533 22 Sept, Michelangelo, Clement VII and Paul III meet near Pisa 1524 Letter against Werner circulating 1533 'Bayonne' drawing of LJ 1531 Satires on Copernicus 1534 'Buonarroti' drawing of LJ 1533 Lecture in Vatican (June) 1534 Sept, Michelangelo returns to Rome; Clement dies; 1536 Schönberg's letter 1534 Paul III becomes pope 1539 Luther against Copernicus 1536 painting commenced (April/ May) 1540 Narratio Prima 1536 17 Nov, Papal breve on LJ 1541 Second edition of Narratio Prima 1541 31 Oct, completion/unveiling 1542 Revival of Inquisition 1542 Pauline frescoes commissioned 1543 Death, Revolutions published 1543 Superintendent appointed to safeguard the frescoes 1544/45 Opposition to Revolutions commences 1545 Opposition to Last Judgment commences Acknowledgments The present paper is a summary of work completed some time ago and thanks are expressed to the IAU (Symposium 260), the Conferences on the Inspiration of Astronomical Phenomena (INSAP), Journal of the History of Astronomy, the Science Publishing Group and others to enable me to present this work in various conferences and publications. Thanks are also due to Truman State University for publi- cation of the complete text where ideas discussed here in brief are fully explained and explored (Shrimplin, V. 2000, Sun-symbolism and Cosmology in Michelangelo’s Last Judgment, Sixteenth Century Essays and Studies, vol. 46 Kirksville Mo.: Truman State University Press, based on my doctoral thesis of the same title, 1991). References [1] Michelangelo Buonarroti, Last Judgment, fresco, Sistine Chapel, Vatican, Rome, painted 1536-41 (13.7 x 12.2 metres; 45 x 40 feet). Illustrations are available through the power- point presentation, reproduced on the IAU Symposium 260 conference website http://iaus260.obspm.fr/. Most works referred to (eg Michelangelo’s Last Judgment itself) are well known and can be viewed in widely available source books or on the internet. [2] For a good summary of Michelangelo and his works, see Linda Murray, Michelangelo, His Life, Work and Times (London: Thames & Hudson 1984). [3] Nicholas Copernicus, De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium, Nuremburg, 1543 (ed. J. Dobrzycki, London: Macmillan, 1968). [4] Tolnay, Charles de, Michelangelo, 5 vols. (Princeton: Prin- ceton University Press, 1943-60) vol 5: 49 and 122. [5] See K. Lehmann, 'The Dome of Heaven,' in W. E. Kleinbauer, Modern Perspectives in Western Art History, New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1971, pp. 227-270. [6] Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography (Vat. Gr. 699), cross-sectional diagram of the Universe, and depiction of the Last Judgment, sixth century. Vatican Library, Rome. Two out of the three surviving manuscripts were in Rome and Florence during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century, where Michelangelo could have had access. [7] It appears significant that the ancient heliocentric theory as proposed by Aristarchus of Samos was mentioned by Vitru- vius in his famous Ten Books on Architecture, with which Michelangelo was undoubtedly familiar. [8] For Dante see Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, transl. A Mandelbaum, 3 vols. (New York: Bantam, 1984), especially Inferno 34 and the Paradiso. [9] For Ficino and the neoplatonists, see in particular Marsilio Ficino, De Amore, Commentary of Plato's Symposium on Love (Dallas: Spring, 1985) Cassirer, Ernst, The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy (Oxford: Blackwell, 1963). [10] De Sole is reproduced in translation in A. B. Fallico and H. Shapiro (eds.) Renaissance Philosophy, New York: Modern American Journal of Astronomy and Astrophysics 2013, 1(1) : 1-7 7 Library, 1967. [11] For Copernicus, see for example Kuhn, Thomas, The Co- pernican Revolution (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1957), also Edward Rosen, Three Copernican Treatises (New York: Octagon, 1971). [12] See Koestler, A. The Sleepwalkers. A History of Man's Changing Vision of the Universe, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1984 and Kuhn, T. S. The Copernican Revolution. Planetary Astronomy in the Development of Western Thought, Cam- bridge: Harvard University Press, 1957. [13] Bayersiche Staats Bibliothek Munich, Codex Graecus Mo- nacensis, 151, and see Ludwig von Pastor, History of the Popes, 24 vols., (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1901-28)10:336 and 12:549, also Leopold Prowe, Nicholas Copernicus (Berlin, 1883), 1:273. [14] The ‘Bayonne’ drawing, 1533 shows a clearly circular design, whilst the Buonarotti drawing (1534) alludes to the Virgin Mary in accordance with Revelation 12 ‘a woman clothed with the sun and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of 12 stars’. [15] Schönberg’s letter was included in the printed versions of Revolutions in 1543. [16] See Mancinelli F. et al., Michelangelo e la Sistina. La Tech- nica, il restauro, il mito, (Rome: Palombi, 1990) for infor- mation on the cleaning and restoration. 
work_w3stgvlts5ahbcfesc7rnof2ue	----	White Paper Report Report ID: 99628 Application Number: PF5001310 Project Director: Joseph Godla (godla@frick.org) Institution: Frick Collection Reporting Period: 7/1/2010-8/31/2011 Report Due: 11/30/2011 Date Submitted: 11/30/2011 1   National Endowment for the Humanities White Paper Grant Number: PF-50013-10 Project Title: Creating a Preservation Environment for Renaissance Limoges Enamels Project Director: Joseph Godla Institution: The Frick Collection, New York Date: November 30, 2011 2   A. PROJECT ACTIVITIES The Frick Collection recently completed a year-long project to renovate two of its historic display cases designed by the eminent architect John Russell Pope (1874–1937). The renovation was necessary in order to create a suitable environment within the cases for the exceptional collection of Renaissance Limoges enamels that are normally housed in them. Because the Pope cases are considered a significant part of the museum’s historic interior, and because the enamels were originally purchased by Henry Clay Frick himself, it was important—in keeping with the institution’s mission—that the enamels remain on view in the Pope cases, as they have been since 1935. It was equally important, however, that the enamels be protected and preserved for future generations. The elaborate bronze and glass cases were designed by Pope in 1935 specifically for the enamels’ display. At the time, however, there was little understanding of preservation issues relating to enamels. In particular, owing to the inherently unstable makeup of the glass composition in Renaissance enamels, their condition is significantly affected by fluctuations in temperature and relative humidity (RH). In 2008, following close examination, it was discovered that many of the Frick’s pieces showed cracks and delamination of the enamel. Systematic monitoring with data loggers of the RH in the museum galleries and storage areas revealed at least part of the problem: the RH within the display cases experienced severe swings, shifting as much as 25% during the winter months. With these findings, the enamels exhibiting glass deterioration were removed from the cases and placed in a sealed cabinet with proper airflow inside the Frick’s climate-controlled storage vault. Architectural drawings and notes from the time of the building’s 1934–35 Pope modifications provided information on the source of the climatic problems within the cases. Pope located the cases in front of wall sections that had originally been a large doorway (south side) and a large casement window (north side). At the time the cases were built, both openings were enclosed with masonry consisting of an exterior face of limestone backed with terracotta tiles. These new walls were much thinner than those found in the building’s original 1914 construction and also lacked any insulation or moisture barrier. Unfortunately, these walls serve as the backs of the enamels cases. As a result, external weather conditions had a 3   significant impact on temperature and RH within the cases. The cases’ façades—constructed of several panels of flat and curved glass mounted in decorative bronze frames with an ornate pediment—were also a source for environmental instability. The façades have hinged doors flanking a central sliding glass panel, which provide access to the interior. While the cases are excellent examples of Pope’s classical detailing, we now know that they allow a high rate of air leakage at the hinge points. Frick conservators, in consultation with colleagues from other institutions with large holdings of enamels and glass, investigated the ideal conditions for the preservation of the inherently unstable Limoges enamels. The goal, it was decided, was (1) to maintain a stable temperature and RH within the 1935 cases and (2) in order to minimize changes in environmental conditions as pieces were taken on and off display, to maintain the same RH for both the display cabinets and the storage vault (i.e., 48±1%). In 2009, Art Preservation Services (APS), specialists in museum environmental issues, were brought in as consultants to develop plans for creating a display case that is capable of maintaining environmental conditions within the tight tolerances required for the preservation of sensitive Renaissance glass, while retaining the historic bronze and glass façades of the original Pope cases. Following many visits to inspect the current conditions, and consultation with sub-contractors, APS developed a plan which included insulating the exterior walls; fabricating a new case with circulating fans and a compartment for buffering salts; and refitting the bronze elements of the original façade with gaskets to ensure a sealed environment. The first phase of the project—developing the schematic plan into a practical working plan— began in November 2010 and involved numerous meetings with the consulting environmental engineer, case maker, metalworker, and exhibition design consultant to work out numerous details such as: how gaskets would be applied to the historic elements to create a tight seal; the location of the compartments to house the buffering agent inside the cases; modifications 4   to the counterweights for the central glass panel that would allow it to open an additional 12 inches; and placement of the lights to better illuminate the artwork In January 2011, working closely with Steven Weintraub, Principal of APS, the conservation department dismantled the cabinets and undertook the year-long project. Application of insulation between the rear of the case and the wall To stabilize the temperature in the gallery, high R-value foam insulation was installed on the inner face of the exterior walls behind the cases. The combination of the insulation and its moisture barrier facing eliminates the possibility of condensation buildup on the inside surface of the exterior wall. Rebuilding the case interiors so that they are air-tight The cases’ primary five-sided structure was made by R. H. Guest Inc. of high-density overlay, and the interior walls lined with inert high-density polyethylene. In an effort to reduce the acidity in the new cases, we also replaced the existing fabric-covered wooden frames surrounding several of the enamels with reproduction frames made with high-density polyethylene. Developing a unique method for sealing both the cases’ front vertical sliding glass panel and the side pivot-hinged glass doors A major challenge for the project was making the necessary alterations to the cases’ bronze and glass façades in order to create the necessary microclimate inside, while maintaining the integrity of John Russell Pope’s original design. Specifically, the issue was the manner in which the side doors (the glass panels to the extreme right and left of each case) open. Originally, the doors were attached to the cases by simple pivot hinges, making it next to impossible to create the tight seal necessary. To address this, new brass fittings around the perimeter of the doors were made, on to which new gaskets were mounted. These components have been placed out of view, behind the outer frame of each of these panels, thus not interfering with the design of the original cabinets. Similar elements were made for the central panel as well. Additionally, the counterweight system for the central panel was 5   reconfigured in order to increase the maximum opening size for the central panel. Installing a passive RH buffering system utilizing silica gel, located below the deck Each case now includes two boxes with a buffering agent (silica gel) for controlling relative humidity. Each box also contains a scavenger capable of absorbing gaseous airborne pollutants such as sulphur dioxide and nitrogen dioxide which can accelerate the degradation processes. Installing a novel active RH control system as a supplement to the passive system -- essential for meeting the dual objectives of tight RH control and low maintenance After much discussion with the environmental consultant, the metal worker, and the conservators, a novel active RH control system was added as a supplement to the passive (silica gel) system. APS had designed a similar system for conditioning silica gel for its own use, which it then modified for the museum’s display cases. This new active system channels the circulating air by means of a small pump through a container with either moist air or dry air (dessicated silica gel) to correct the overall RH. The pumps are attached to separate data loggers that are programmed for the specified RH range. This active system gives the Frick time to replace the silica gel. The new system is also much preferable to older active systems which involved complicated equipment that was difficult to maintain. Using a low-velocity fan-operated air circulation system to ensure uniform conditions throughout the case Each case has been fitted with an ultra-quiet fan and a duct system to increase air circulation within the case. Installing a wireless temperature and RH monitoring system with alarm capability During the course of the project it was decided that it would be useful for Frick staff conservators to be alerted immediately to any variations in the environmental conditions within the cases. As a result, a wireless temperature and RH monitoring system made by Arten RF was added to the project. This system is web-based and capable of sending alarms to the conservators’ computers via the internet. 6   Installing a custom LED system In the course of the initial planning the conservators and curators decided to replace the existing fiber optic and fluorescent system (installed ten years ago) with an LED system. The LED system is a more compact and is also more flexible, providing a combination of general and precise spot lighting. In addition, because the LEDs are located above the ceiling, and exterior to the sealed case, all heat is exhausted to the room, thus providing better temperature control within the cases. The LEDs are also more energy efficient. B. PROMOTION OF THE PROJECT General audience: An Enamels Room press release (see attachment) was e-mailed to the Frick’s approximately 1,200 media contacts, as well as posted on the Frick’s website (www.frick.org.). To date, the press release has been picked up by the Art Daily and Antiques and Arts Weekly websites. We have also been told by The Art Newspaper that they will include a short piece about the project in the magazine’s December issue. In addition, the Enamels Room was featured in the Frick’s November e-newsletter which has a distribution list of over 11,000 names (primarily members and others interested in the Frick). We will also add a description of the project to the conservation section of the Frick’s website. The Enamels Room will also be featured at a press preview on December 12 that has as its main focus the Frick’s new Portico Gallery. Offering access to both rooms at this important media event will greatly further visibility and recognition of the Enamels Room project. In addition, in January 2011 Associate Curator of Decorative Arts Charlotte Vignon and Assistant Conservator Julia Day led a seminar on the Frick’s enamels collection. As well as discussing the enamels as works of art and the technical achievements they represent, the seminar addressed the preservation issues surrounding the medium and how the Frick has addressed those issues. 7   Specialized audience: Julia Day will present the project, along with a discussion of the treatment of the enamels, at the ICOM-CC Enamel Group Meeting in June 2012. Chief Conservator Joseph Godla, Julia Day, and Steven Weintraub have also submitted an abstract about the project for the Climate for Collections Conference to be held at the Doerner Institut in Munich in fall 2012. Steven Weintraub teaches a course in preservation at New York University’s Conservation Center at its Institute of Fine Arts and has brought his first-year conservation students to the Frick to see the Enamels Room. Julia Day also teaches a conservation course at NYU and plans to bring her students to the Frick as well. C. AUDIENCE The audience for the project is the general Frick audience and visitors, as well as experts in the fields of decorative arts, enamels, and Renaissance history. It was not, and is not, anticipated that visitor flow will increase as a result of the project, only that the visitor experience will be enhanced. D. ACCOMPLISHMENTS/EVALUATION The aim of the project was to house the Frick’s outstanding Renaissance Limoges enamels collection in a manner that would ensure its long-term preservation, while also maintaining to the extent possible the historic facade of the 1935 John Russell Pope cases. This was successfully accomplished. The restored cabinets now provide a sealed, stable environment for the art objects, allowing the unstable enamels to be on view. It is not possible for an observer to detect any changes to the historic portion of the cases. During the course of the project the conservators were faced with a number of challenges that required changes from the initial plan. These changes included:  Adding an active RH control system to supplement the passive system. The combination of the two systems (passive and active) provides the 48 ±1% relative humidity required. The newly-designed system is uncomplicated and therefore easy 8   for the conservation department to maintain and trouble-shoot.  Adding a wireless environmental monitoring system, thus allowing the Frick to keep constant watch over the newly restored cases and evaluate the system.  Replacing the fiber-optic lighting with LEDs. This simplified the task of creating a sealed environment by reducing the number and size of penetrations into the case. We have received very good feedback from the staff and visitors. The enamels are better lit and the case construction provides a more “open” feel. The response from the press has also been positive (see above). It should be noted that the project was also a successful collaboration of many people and disciplines: conservation, curatorial, consulting environmental engineer, case maker, metalworker, exhibition design consultant, IT, and engineering. E. LONG TERM IMPACT Renaissance Limoges enamels are inherently unstable and the best hope for their preservation lies in housing them in a constant temperature and RH conditions—both inside the cases and as they are moved on and off display. The newly restored display cases will ensure this and also allow the art works to stay on view. Sharing the results of the project with colleagues at two international conferences will also provide other institutions facing similar challenges with guidelines for the care, preservation, and treatments of enamels. Information garnered in the course of this complex project, may be used by the Frick in future projects:  The LED light fixtures that were developed for the project may be used inside picture lights used in the museum. Steven Weintraub, who designed the unique heat-sink and filtering system, intends to use the new design as a model for future projects. 9    Currently, the conservation department uses data-loggers to monitor the temperature and RH throughout the museum. These data-loggers are assessed bi-weekly—a time intensive endeavor. Based on the success of the web-based wireless monitoring system, we are considering expanding the system throughout the museum. Attachments  Project photos o The cases before being dismantled o The cases after being dismantled o New insulation behind the cabinet walls o Detail showing new brass fittings for gaskets o The partially re-constructed cases, showing the boxes for the buffering agents o The finished cases  Enamels Room Press Release 1 The refurbished case on the north wall contains highlights from Henry Clay Frick’s great purchase of enamels from the Morgan estate, many of which have undergone treatment and cleaning; Photo: Michael Bodycomb The refurbished and relit Enamels Room at The Frick Collection; Photo: Michael Bodycomb WITH SUPPORT FROM THE NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE HUMANITIES, THE FRICK UPDATES ITS HISTORIC ENAMELS ROOM CASES AND CONSERVES A REMARKABLE COLLECTION New York’s Frick Collection is home to one of the most important groups of Renaissance enamels in the world, ranking alongside those of the Musée du Louvre in Paris, The Wallace Collection and the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and The Walters Art Museum in Baltimore. The forty-two enamels in The Frick Collection were produced in the city of Limoges, in central France, from the late fifteenth to the early seventeenth century. A selection of the Frick’s enamels returned to view this month after a year’s absence. During this period, many objects were examined and treated for the first time since they entered the Collection. This project was inspired by advances in the last decade in the understanding of Renaissance enamel production and composition. It has also benefited from a major international enamel conservation conference held at the Frick. The consensus about the care of enamels has led many institutions to place them in environments of absolute temperature stability with a lower relative humidity than had been recommended in the past. With this new standard in mind, The Frick Collection rebuilt the historic cases created in 1935 for its Enamels Room by the eminent architect John Russell Pope (1874–1937). The ornate vitrines, which evoke the sense of a princely collector’s cabinet, offer an appealing context for 2 Andrea Briosco, called Riccio (1470–1532), Lamp, c. 1510– 24, bronze, 6 5/8 inches high, The Frick Collection, New York; Photo: Michael Bodycomb the presentation of enamels. The Frick’s cases have been completely sealed, allowing for optimal climate control by circulating the air through an automated internal humidification and dehumidification system. The cases are constructed of neutral materials conducive to prolonged display, and they have been relit using customized prototype fixtures developed for the museum by Steven Weintraub of A.P.S. (Art Preservation Services, based in New York). The new devices employ energy-efficient L.E.D. (light-emitting diode) illumination. The combined effect of these efforts, along with the treatment of the objects, is that the Frick’s jewel-like enamels now reveal their brilliance as never before and their long-term preservation is assured. Comments Conservator and project coordinator Joseph Godla, “We are grateful to the National Endowment for the Humanities for a generous award that supported this important initiative. The agency joined us in recognizing not only the importance of the collection, but the value and rarity of its display in historic cases. We were able to incorporate the latest standards on enamel preservation and presentation and are also thrilled that these holdings can now be better seen and appreciated by the public. It has been a cross-departmental project, involving Assistant Objects Conservator Julia Day, who treated the objects and who organized the conference; Charlotte Vignon, Associate Curator of Decorative Arts; and Curator Denise Allen. Also involved in the project were William Trachet, Senior Conservation Technician, Adrian Anderson, Senior Gallery Technician, and Stephen Saitas Design; R. H. Guest, Inc.; and Canstruct L.L.C. We have all enjoyed working closely with Steven Weintraub, who consults on museum environments. The unique line of light fixtures he created for us will surely inform additional projects at the Frick and perhaps at other institutions.” The current display in the Frick’s Enamels Room features fourteen enamels as well as two remarkable ceramic pieces from the period, a rare French Saint-Porchaire porcelain ewer purchased by Henry Clay Frick in 1918 and an Italian counterpart, a beautifully painted maiolica dish. Also on view in the refurbished cases are several of the finest Renaissance bronzes in the collection. These small-scale and finely detailed works are best appreciated in an intimate gallery within cases. Among the highlights of the Frick’s renowned bronze collection to be displayed there are Riccio’s Oil Lamp, Grandi’s Hand Bell, and Severo da Ravena’s Queen Tomyris with the Head of Cyrus. On loan from the Quentin Foundation is a unique and delicate wax model by Giambologna. Returning to the gallery are several gemlike Italian paintings by the artists Cimabue, Duccio, Piero de la Francesca, and others. ABOUT RENAISSANCE LIMOGES ENAMELS Beginning in the Middle Ages, Limoges was an important center for the production of artistic enamels, and by the end of the fifteenth century, materials and techniques had developed that allowed enamellers to create works that could compete in artistry with tempera and oil paintings on panels or canvas. Limoges enamellers reached such a high level of technical and artistic excellence that today their works are considered to be the finest painted enamelware ever produced in Europe. So-called “painted” enamels were created by applying enamel—ground 3 Pierre Reymond, Casket: Old Testament Subjects, Limoges, sixteenth century, enamel on copper with gilt metal frame, 4 1/2 x 6 1/2 inches, The Frick Collection, New York; Photo: Michael Bodycomb Léonard Limousin, Triumph of the Eucharist with Members of the House of Guise,Limoges, c. 1560–70, enamel on copper, 7 5/8 x 9 7/8 inches, The Frick Collection, New York; photo: Michael Bodycomb glass, colored with metallic oxides, and worked into a paste—to a metal (usually copper) support. The different colors of opaque and translucent enamel were meticulously layered in order to achieve painterly effects of shading and modeling. Repeatedly fired in a kiln, often after each layer of enamel was applied, the vitreous substance fused to the metal, hardening when cooled to achieve a lustrous finish with vivid luminosity. Pieces were sometimes enriched with gold and silver foils placed under the enamel to create shimmering iridescent tones, which could be further enhanced with gold paint. It was a complex process, and the resulting objects were extremely valuable. Only monarchs, important church dignitaries, and noblemen of the highest rank were able to commission such pieces. The enamels at the Frick represent the range of artistic production in Limoges from the late fifteenth through the early seventeenth century, including secular and religious objects, tableware, and portraits. The religious objects are typically triptychs illustrating biblical scenes, conceived as portable devotional works for Renaissance noblemen and clergy. Tablewares such as ewers, platters, salt cellars, and candlesticks were considered too precious to be used and were instead placed on sideboards to create an impressive display demonstrating the owner’s cultivation, taste, and wealth. Portraits offered an enduring record of a subject’s likeness and a dazzling display of delicate modeling, as exemplified by the virtuosity of the mid-sixteenth- century enameller Léonard Limousin. The Frick’s collection contains works by most of the major enamel painters of Limoges, from one of the earliest identifiable artists, the so-called Master of the Baltimore and Orléans Triptychs of the late fifteenth century, to the masters in the Courteys family in the sixteenth century. A number of these pieces are signed or dated, providing crucial points of reference for the study of Limoges enamels. The Frick’s entire collection of Limoges enamels was published in 1977 by Philippe Verdier, in volume VIII of The Frick Collection: An Illustrated Catalogue. HOW THE ENAMELS ENTERED THE FRICK COLLECTION The collection of enamels now in The Frick Collection was assembled during the first decade of the twentieth century by the American financier and art collector John Pierpont Morgan (1837–1913). This assemblage, which rapidly became one of the most important of its kind in private hands, was on loan for an exhibition at the Victoria & Albert Museum until 1912. That year, Morgan’s entire collection of thousands of works of art, including Limoges enamels, antiquities, Gothic tapestries, Italian bronze statuettes and maiolica, Renaissance and Baroque gilt-silver, ivories, glasses, watches and clocks, jewelry, rock crystal, Meissen porcelain, eighteenth-century French furniture and decorative arts, and Old Master paintings, was shipped from London and Paris to New York for a http://67.99.191.20/view/people/asitem/items$0040null:194/0?t:state:flow=d4b56e98-165d-4ae0-9066-6635d4c45531 4 Workshop of Pierre Reymond, The Mocking of Christ, Limoges, mid-sixteenth century, enamel on copper, 8 x 6 1/4 inches, The Frick Collection, New York; photo: Michael Bodycomb The Enamels Room of The Frick Collection, 1930. Photo: The Frick Collection/Frick Art Reference Library Archives two-year loan exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. The exhibition, which opened in 1914, is today considered one of the first museum “blockbusters.” It offered the American public, including Henry Clay Frick, the rare opportunity to admire Morgan’s wide-ranging collection of European art and set the standard for many American collectors. Morgan died in 1913, one year before the opening of the Metropolitan Museum’s exhibition, leaving his entire art collection to his son, Jack Morgan. This was a great surprise to the public and the press, as well as officials at the Metropolitan Museum, all of whom expected that a large donation would be made to that institution. Instead, between 1915 and 1916, Jack Morgan sold more than half of his father’s art collection in order to pay inheritance taxes. In 1915 the powerful art dealer Joseph Duveen began buying substantial sections of the Morgan collection, including all of the Italian Renaissance bronzes, the Italian Renaissance maiolica, and the Limoges painted enamels. Duveen immediately resold the enamels to three serious collectors of European art, all of them by now good clients of the firm: William Randolph Hearst, Charles Taft, and Henry Clay Frick. The enamels purchased by Hearst are now at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, those acquired by Taft are at the Taft Museum of Art in Cincinnati, and those purchased by Frick are housed at The Frick Collection. In Frick’s new home at 1 East 70th Street, the enamels were installed in a small room—originally Frick’s private study—at the rear of the large paintings gallery. The purchase of the enamels prompted Frick to transform the study into an exhibition space, renamed for this purpose the “Limoges Gallery.” The preeminent contemporary collectors, including Philip and Robert Lehman, P.A.B. Widener and his son Joseph, and George and Florence Blumenthal, all chose to re-create Italian Renaissance rooms to showcase their holdings from this period. Frick was the only important American collector of the time to display a significant collection of Limoges enamels along with Renaissance furniture in a gallery evocative of a French interior—a bold and unusual choice. ABOUT THE FRICK COLLECTION AND FRICK ART REFERENCE LIBRARY Henry Clay Frick (1849–1919), the coke and steel industrialist, philanthropist, and art collector, left his New York residence and his remarkable collection of Western paintings, sculpture, and decorative arts to the public “for the purpose of establishing and maintaining a gallery of art, [and] of encouraging and developing the study of fine arts and of advancing the general knowledge of kindred subjects.” Designed and built for Mr. Frick in 1913 and 1914 http://67.99.191.20/view/people/asitem/items$0040null:194/0?t:state:flow=d6cc6110-eced-4e10-8052-fd8b4aee4115 5 by Thomas Hastings of Carrère and Hastings, the mansion provides a grand domestic setting reminiscent of the noble houses of Europe for the masterworks from the Renaissance through the nineteenth century that it contains. Of special note are paintings by Bellini, Constable, Corot, Fragonard, Gainsborough, Goya, El Greco, Holbein, Ingres, Manet, Monet, Rembrandt, Renoir, Titian, Turner, Velázquez, Vermeer, Whistler, and other masters. Mr. Frick’s superb examples of French eighteenth-century furniture, Italian Renaissance bronzes, and Limoges enamels bring a special ambiance to the galleries, while the interior and exterior gardens and the amenities created since the founder’s time in the 1930s and 1970s contribute to the serenity of the visitor’s experience. Renowned for its exhibitions and for its highly regarded concert series and lectures, The Frick Collection also operates the Frick Art Reference Library, founded by Henry Clay Frick’s daughter, Helen Clay Frick, located in an adjoining building at 10 East 71st Street. Both a research library and a photo archive, the Frick Art Reference Library is one of the world’s great repositories of documents for the study of Western art. It has served the international art world for more than seventy-five years. BASIC INFORMATION General Information Phone: 212.288.0700 Web site: www.frick.org E-mail: info@frick.org Where: 1 East 70th Street, near Fifth Avenue. Hours: open six days a week: 10am to 6pm on Tuesdays through Saturdays; 11am to 5pm on Sundays. Closed Mondays, New Year’s Day, Independence Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas Day. Limited hours (11am to 5pm) on Lincoln’s Birthday, Election Day, and Veterans Day. Admission: $18; senior citizens $15; students $10; “pay as you wish” on Sundays from 11am to 1pm Subway: #6 local (on Lexington Avenue) to 68th Street station; Bus: M1, M2, M3, and M4 southbound on Fifth Avenue to 72nd Street and northbound on Madison Avenue to 70th Street Tour Information: included in the price of admission is an Acoustiguide Audio Tour of the permanent collection. The tour is offered in six languages: English, French, German, Italian, Japanese, and Spanish. Museum Shop: the shop is open the same days as the Museum, closing fifteen minutes before the institution. Group Visits: Please call 212. 288.0700 for details and to make reservations. Public Programs: A calendar of events is published regularly and is available upon request. #187, November 14, 2011 For further press information, please contact Heidi Rosenau, Head of Media Relations & Marketing, or Alexis Light, Manager of Media Relations & Marketing Media Relations Phone: 212.547.6844 Fax: 212.628.4417 E-mail address: mediarelations@frick.org PLEASE NOTE TO YOUR READERS: Children under ten are not admitted to the Collection. http://www.frick.org/ mailto:mediarelations@frick.org White Paper before during insulation gasket detail polyethylene Finished Frick Enamels Room Press Release About The Frick Collection and Frick Art Reference Library Basic Information 
work_w545wb3iwvewllf6c2t5qxiay4	----	BioMed CentralJournal of Medical Case Reports ss Open AcceCase report Federico di Montefeltro's hyperkyphosis: a visual-historical case report Anthony V D'Antoni*1 and Stephanie L Terzulli2 Address: 1Department of Anatomy, Touro College of Osteopathic Medicine, 230 West 125th Street, New York, NY 10027, USA and 2Department of Clinical Immunology, Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, 1275 York Avenue, New York, NY 10021, USA Email: Anthony V D'Antoni* - anthony.dantoni@touro.edu; Stephanie L Terzulli - terzuls1@mskcc.org * Corresponding author Abstract Introduction: The literature contains several publications describing the use of visual arts to develop observational skills in medical students. Portraits of individuals of the Italian Renaissance can be used to enhance these skills and stimulate the development of differential diagnoses in medical students. The Duke of Urbino, Federico di Montefeltro (1422–1482), lost his right eye and nasal bridge during a jousting accident in 1450. Consequently, almost every profile of him in existence today depicts his face in a left lateral view. Although some authors have described the Duke's missing nasal bridge, none have described his prominent thoracic hyperkyphosis, which is clearly discernible in two paintings by Piero della Francesca. The purpose of this report is to describe the Duke's hyperkyphosis, develop relevant differential diagnoses, and suggest a possible etiology of the convexity. Case presentation: We have examined two paintings of the Duke by Piero della Francesca – the diptych, The Duke and Duchess of Urbino (1465), and the Madonna of the Egg (1472). A MEDLINE search revealed 2 articles that were relevant to this study. This search was complemented by a search of the collection at the library of Seton Hall University, and the first author's experience studying at the University of Urbino. The historical data obtained from these searches were incorporated with the visual analysis to formulate a plausible etiology of the Duke's thoracic hyperkyphosis. Conclusion: Differential diagnoses of the Duke's thoracic hyperkyphosis include Scheuermann disease, osteoporosis, and trauma-related spinal changes. Based on the available evidence, the Duke's thoracic hyperkyphosis could have been caused by repetitive trauma to the spine due to numerous hours on horseback with heavy armor. The role that osteoporosis played in the development of the hyperkyphosis is unclear, as is whether the Duke had the convexity during childhood. The hyperkyphosis as a stylistic variant by Piero della Francesca is unlikely. This report is an example of a teaching strategy that can be used to enhance the observational skills of medical students in evidence-based medical education. Published: 21 January 2008 Journal of Medical Case Reports 2008, 2:11 doi:10.1186/1752-1947-2-11 Received: 23 May 2007 Accepted: 21 January 2008 This article is available from: http://www.jmedicalcasereports.com/content/2/1/11 © 2008 D'Antoni and Terzulli; licensee BioMed Central Ltd. This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. Page 1 of 4 (page number not for citation purposes) http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=18208610 http://www.jmedicalcasereports.com/content/2/1/11 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0 http://www.biomedcentral.com/ http://www.biomedcentral.com/info/about/charter/ Journal of Medical Case Reports 2008, 2:11 http://www.jmedicalcasereports.com/content/2/1/11 Introduction There are several publications in the medical literature that describe how the visual arts can be used to teach med- ical students clinical observational skills [1-4]. Physicians use observational skills during the history and physical examination of patients. The information gained from these observations enable physicians to identify subsets of the population with high prevalence of disease, which increases the predictive value of the tests used to confirm the diagnosis. Developing observational skills in medical students should be introduced early in medical education since it is an important component of evidence-based medicine. Federico di Montefeltro (1422–1482), a renowned histor- ical figure of the Italian Renaissance, was the Duke of Urbino, a small town in northeast Italy located in the mountainous region called the Apennines. Federico was a professional soldier for hire – an occupation at which he excelled and was quite prosperous – as well as a statesman and connoisseur of the humanities ("mecenate" in Ital- ian). In 1450, he lost his right eye and bridge of his nose during a jousting accident [5], and consequently, almost every profile of him in existence today depicts him in a left lateral view so that the right side of his face cannot be observed. We have examined two paintings of the Duke by Piero della Francesca – the diptych, The Duke and Duchess of Urbino (1465) at the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy, and the Madonna of the Egg (1472) at the Pinacoteca of the Brera Academy in Milan, Italy. Although several authors have described the Duke's missing nasal bridge [5-7], none have described his prominent thoracic hyperkypho- sis, which is clearly discernible in both paintings. A MEDLINE search for English language articles published between 1960 and 2006 was performed using the non- MeSH term Montefeltro. A total of five articles were retrieved, and two were retained for this study (references [5] and [7]) because of their applicability to the subject. The MEDLINE search was complemented by a traditional literature search of the collection at the library of Seton Hall University (South Orange, NJ, USA), as well as the first author's experience studying at the University of Urbino in the summer of 1998. Finally, a visual analysis of the paintings was performed, and this information was incorporated with the historical data obtained from the literature searches. Case presentation In The Duke and Duchess of Urbino, the 43-year-old Duke is depicted in a left lateral view facing his wife, Battista Sforza, who is opposite him and depicted in a right lateral view (Figure 1). The head, neck, and thorax of both figures can be clearly observed in the painting. Close inspection of the Duke reveals a prominent hyperkyphosis of the tho- racic spine with the apex of the convexity at approximately the level of the T6–7 vertebrae. Interestingly, there is no such deformity present in his wife. The panels of the dip- tych were intended to hang side by side so that the land- scape in the background is contiguous. In the Madonna of the Egg, the 50-year-old Duke is shown genuflecting in the right lower quadrant of the painting, and again, he is depicted in a left lateral view (Figure 2). Here the Duke is wearing a suit of armor and his thoracic hyperkyphosis is again present at the same vertebral levels as in the previous painting. It seems as though his custom- made armor was crafted to accommodate this hyperky- phosis. Based upon this visual analysis, the convexity portrayed in these paintings could be attributed to Scheuermann dis- ease, osteoporosis, or trauma-related spinal changes. A stylistic variant technique by Piero della Francesca is also possible. Because the paintings were created by the same artist and depict the Duke's hyperkyphosis in both plain clothes and armor, a stylistic variant seems unlikely. A comparison of the thoracic spines of the Duke and his The Duke and Duchess of Urbino (1465) by Piero della Franc-esca. Uffizi Gallery, Florence, ItalyFigure 1 The Duke and Duchess of Urbino (1465) by Piero della Francesca. Uffizi Gallery, Florence, Italy. The left panel is a portrait of Battista Sforza in a right lateral view. She faces her husband, Federico di Montefeltro, who is depicted in a left lateral view. The Duke was 43 years old when this dip- tych was painted. Notice the missing nasal bridge [5], moles on the cheek, and the skin folds on his jaw due to a facial skin disease that he had as a young man [13]. In addition, observe his prominent thoracic hyperkyphosis with the apex of the convexity roughly at the level of the T6–7 vertebrae. Battista, in contrast, does not have this anomaly. (Reproduced with permission from the Uffizi Gallery, Florence.) Page 2 of 4 (page number not for citation purposes) Journal of Medical Case Reports 2008, 2:11 http://www.jmedicalcasereports.com/content/2/1/11 wife in Figure 1 reveals, quite convincingly, that the Duke had the convexity but his wife did not. Other representations of the Duke by different artists in which he is depicted in perfect lateral view also reveal the hyperkyphosis. For example, the medal by Sperandio of Mantua depicts the Duke in left lateral view and clearly illustrates the convexity at the same vertebral level as that portrayed in the paintings by Piero della Francesca. The medal by Pauli de Ragusio (National Museum of Ireland, Dublin) also depicts the Duke in left lateral view with the convexity visible [7]. Close inspection of the Duke's neck in this medal reveals a posteroinferior slope at 45° that is interrupted by a bump, which represents the superior bend of the hyperkyphosis. A portrait of the Duke by an unknown painter, displayed in the Museo Civico di Urba- nia (Urbino, Italy), also reveals the Duke's convexity in left lateral view [5]. The portrait of the Duke with his son Guidobaldo by Pedro Berruguete, displayed in the Galle- ria Nazionale delle Marche di Urbino (Urbino, Italy), does not depict the Duke in perfect lateral view. Instead, the Duke is seen at a slightly oblique angle so that his left shoulder obscures the back, making examination of the hyperkyphosis difficult. However, the convexity is sug- gested because the contour of the neck slopes posteroinfe- riorly like that depicted in Ragusio's medal. Finally, in the painting by Joos van Ghent, the Communion of the Apostles (Galleria Nazionale delle Marche di Urbino), the Duke is seen on the right in the background. Again, his shoulders are oblique and the cloth draped over his left shoulder hides the hyperkyphosis. However, his face is shown in left lateral view and the slope of his posterior neck line is similar to that seen in other paintings. Scheuermann disease is characterized by a hyperkyphosis of the thoracic spine that most often occurs in children aged 13 to 16. All existing portraits of the Duke depict him in adulthood so a comparison of his thoracic spine in childhood is not possible. Therefore, one cannot rule out the possibility of a persistent hyperkyphosis that began in childhood as a result of Scheuermann disease. The palace of Urbino contained enough stables to accom- modate 300 horses [8] and horses were the main mode of transportation at the time. As previously mentioned, war was the Duke's professional occupation and he was first sent to battle at the age of 15. Thus, it is plausible to assume that the Duke spent many hours on horseback, with and without armor, throughout his lifetime. The armor was heavy and the plates protecting the thorax were suspended by shoulder straps. This weight could certainly have influenced the curvature of the spine. Recently, Orloff and Rapp [9] studied the effects of a 9-kg backpack on spinal curvature in healthy subjects and found significant changes in curvature as they fatigued. Other researchers have also found significant changes in posture and spinal curvature as a result of wearing back- packs [10,11]. The axial loads transmitted through the Duke's spine while on horseback [12], coupled with the weight of armor, could possibly have resulted in compres- sion fractures of the vertebral bodies, resulting in the Madonna of the Egg (1472) by Piero della Francesca. Pinaco-teca of the Brera Academy, Milan, ItalyFigure 2 Madonna of the Egg (1472) by Piero della Francesca. Pinacoteca of the Brera Academy, Milan, Italy. In this painting, the 50-year-old Duke is genuflecting and is again depicted in a left lateral view. Observation of the neck mov- ing posteroinferiorly demonstrates the transition between skin and armor. The contour of the silver-colored armor is convex and quite striking, especially when viewed against the red cloak of the figure behind the Duke. What confounds this area is the Duke's red and gold damask cape that hangs down his back. However, the intersection of the armor and the cape reveals the prominent inferior bend of the thoracic hyperkyphosis, which is present at the same vertebral levels as in Figure 1. Apparently, his custom-made armor was crafted to accommodate his hyperkyphosis. (Reproduced with permission from the Pinacoteca of the Brera Academy, Milan.) Page 3 of 4 (page number not for citation purposes) Journal of Medical Case Reports 2008, 2:11 http://www.jmedicalcasereports.com/content/2/1/11 Publish with BioMed Central and every scientist can read your work free of charge "BioMed Central will be the most significant development for disseminating the results of biomedical researc h in our lifetime." Sir Paul Nurse, Cancer Research UK Your research papers will be: available free of charge to the entire biomedical community peer reviewed and published immediately upon acceptance cited in PubMed and archived on PubMed Central yours — you keep the copyright Submit your manuscript here: http://www.biomedcentral.com/info/publishing_adv.asp BioMedcentral development of the hyperkyphosis. By the time he was an adult, the Duke's marked hyperkyphosis was present as illustrated in Figures 1 and 2. Whether the Duke had oste- oporosis is unknown, but this could also be responsible for the hyperkyphosis. Conclusion Based on the available evidence, the Duke's thoracic hyperkyphosis as depicted in two paintings by Piero della Francesca was probably not a stylistic variant by the artist. Possible etiologies include osteoporosis and repetitive trauma to the spine due to numerous hours on horseback with heavy armor. Whether the Duke had the anomaly during childhood is unclear. This report illustrates how the visual arts can be used to facilitate the development of observation, an important skill for future physicians. These paintings could be pre- sented to medical students to enhance their observational skills in an evidence-based medical education program. Competing interests The author(s) declare that they have no competing inter- ests. Authors' contributions AVD designed the conceptual framework of the study and performed the literature searches. SLT was involved in the organization and preparation of the manuscript. Both authors read and approved the final manuscript. Acknowledgements We graciously thank A B Ockerse, MD for reviewing the manuscript and providing expert opinion regarding its content. References 1. Bardes CL, Gillers D, Herman AE: Learning to look: developing clinical observational skills at an art museum. Med Educ 2001, 35(12):1157-1161. 2. Boisaubin EV, Winkler MG: Seeing patients and life contexts: the visual arts in medical education. Am J Med Sci 2000, 319(5):292-296. 3. Dolev JC, Friedlaender LK, Braverman IM: Use of fine art to enhance visual diagnostic skills. Jama 2001, 286(9):1020. 4. Lazarus PA, Rosslyn FM: The arts in medicine: setting up and evaluating a new special study module at Leicester Warwick Medical School. Med Educ 2003, 37(6):553-559. 5. Santoni-Rugiu P, Massei A: The legend and the truth about the nose of Federico, Duke of Urbino. Br J Plast Surg 1982, 35(3):251-257. 6. de La Sizeranne R: Federico di Montefeltro: capitano, principe, mecenate (1422-1482). Urbino , Argalià Editore; 1972. 7. Winters HPJ: Federico da Montefeltro, duke of Urbino (1422- 1482): the story of his missing nasal bridge. Br J Plast Surg 1982, 35(3):247-250. 8. Prescott O: Princes of the renaissance. New York , Random House; 1969. 9. Orloff HA, Rapp CM: The effects of load carriage on spinal cur- vature and posture. Spine 2004, 29(12):1325-1329. 10. Korovessis P, Koureas G, Papazisis Z: Correlation between back- pack weight and way of carrying, sagittal and frontal spinal curvatures, athletic activity, and dorsal and low back pain in schoolchildren and adolescents. J Spinal Disord Tech 2004, 17(1):33-40. 11. Korovessis P, Koureas G, Zacharatos S, Papazisis Z: Backpacks, back pain, sagittal spinal curves and trunk alignment in ado- lescents: a logistic and multinomial logistic analysis. Spine 2005, 30(2):247-255. 12. Palanichamy MS, Patil MK, Ghista DN: Minimization of the verti- cal vibrations sustained by a tractor operator, by provision of a standard-type tractor seat suspension. Ann Biomed Eng 1978, 6(2):138-153. 13. Lightbown R: Piero della Francesca. New York , Abbeville Press; 1992. Page 4 of 4 (page number not for citation purposes) http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=11895244 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=11895244 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=10830552 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=10830552 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=11559280 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=11559280 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=12787379 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=12787379 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=12787379 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=6758899 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=6758899 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=6758898 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=6758898 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=15187633 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=15187633 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=14734974 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=14734974 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=14734974 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=15644765 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=15644765 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=15644765 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=717865 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=717865 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&dopt=Abstract&list_uids=717865 http://www.biomedcentral.com/ http://www.biomedcentral.com/info/publishing_adv.asp http://www.biomedcentral.com/ Abstract Introduction Case presentation Conclusion Introduction Case presentation Conclusion Competing interests Authors' contributions Acknowledgements References 
work_w7a7n6q2sbagzphm6ncrntrxyi	----	PII: 0315-0860(82)90085-4 260 Notes on Contributors HM 9 NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS Pierre Dugac, charge d'un tours de mathgmatiques et d'histoire des mathgmatiques h 1'Universitg Pierre et Marie Curie a Paris; ses recherches portent sur les fondements de l'analyse du XVIIIe au XXe si&le. Giorigio Israel received a degree in mathematics in 1968 from the University of Rome, where he is presently Associate Professor of Mathematics. He has published articles and books on commuta- tive algebras, field theory, and differential equations and their applications, as well as several works in the history of science and mathematics on such topics as science and the French Revolution, aspects of contemporary mathematics, and, most re- cently, mathematics in Italy between the two World Wars. As a Fellow of the National Research Council, he is responsible for its program entitled "The Mathematical Work of Vito Volterra." Karsten Johnsen is Wissenschaftlicher Rat at the Seminar of Mathematics of the University Kiel. He received his Ph.D. from the University of Kiel in 1969 and his Dr. rer. nat. habil in 1977. His main research interests are algebra, geometry, and history of mathematics. Wilbur Knorr teaches the History of Science at Stanford Univer- sity, where he is Assistant Professor in Classics and Philosophy. His recent work has explored problems in the interpretation of Archimedes and the ancient tradition of geometry and geometric science, and includes a study of the Archimedean mechanical tradition in the Middle Ages and a study of the development of the classical tradition of geometric problems. Yakov M. Rabkin is Associate Professor of Science Policy and History of Science at the Institut d'histoire et de sociopolit- ique des sciences, Universit; de Montreal, Canada. He has written in a variety of scholarly journals on science and pol- itics, sources of industrial innovation, and sociology of science. This review was written during a sabbatical leave spent in Israel. Joan L. Richards is Assistant Professor of History at Brown University on leave for a year at Cornell. She is currently writing a book on the reception of non-Euclidean geometry in Victorian Britain, and beginning research for an intellectual biography of Augustus De Morgan. HM 9 Notes on Contributors 261 Paul LaWrellCe Rose is Professorial Reader in European History at James Cook University, Australia. He is the author of Italian Renaissance of Mathematics (1975) and Bodin and the Great God of Nature (1980). Gordon C. Smith is Senior Lecturer at Monash University, Aus- tralia. His main research interests include the development of Newton's calculus and the history of the laws of algebra. He is currently engaged in preparing for publication an edition of the correspondence of G. Boole and A. De Morgan. Frank SW&! is Professor of Mathematics and Education at the Capitol Campus of The Pennsylvania State University. His re- search interests concern the history of mathematics and societal impact on scientific thought and teaching. His writings in the history of mathematics include: Was Pythagoras Chinese? An Examination of Right Triangle Theory in Ancient China (The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1977). Raymond L. Wilder, presently Emeritus Professor and Research Associate at the University of California, Santa Barbara, is also Professor Emeritus at the University of Michigan. Although his main area of research was Topology, in recent years he has devoted most of his studies to the social anthropology of math- ematics, in which he has published a number of articles and two books, Evolution of Mathematical Concepts (Wiley, 1968) and Math- ematics as a Cultural System (Pergamon, 1981). Anthony Winterbourne received his Ph.D. from the University of Bristol in 1979 and is presently Senior Lecturer at Birmingham Polytechnic. His major research interests are Kant's philosophy; the foundations of mathematics; and, most recently, the relations between art and science. 
work_w7b7ykvomrbizhicuzzvwuc5si	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 11 December 2014 The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections Andrée Hayum At the time of the symposium honouring Linda Seidel, I remarked that my participation had its raison d’être in being the person there to have known her the longest, indeed from the very beginning of our graduate studies at Harvard.1 Looking back on those days and the classes we actually took together, two stand out for their future significance. One, a seminar with Joachim Gaehde on Romanesque Art, was the springboard for what became Seidel’s main area of expertise. The other, a lecture course on Early Netherlandish Painting, turned out to be an area of overlap in our work from which, accordingly, the following essay draws. Insofar as my subject, the Bruges exhibition of 1902: ‘Les Primitifs flamands’, is familiar to English speaking audiences, it is probably through Francis Haskell’s History and its Images, published in 1993, where especially that show’s effects on the Dutch historian, Johan Huizinga, are discussed.2 Important for my own formation were references Haskell made to the 1902 exhibition in a series of lectures I had attended at the Collège de France already in the mid-1980s.3 Immediately this exhibition registered as something that needed to be factored into my own researches on the modern reception of Grünewald’s Isenheim Altarpiece.4 But, more important, it was the first 1‘Challenging the Myths of Art History: A Symposium in Honor of Linda Seidel,’ was held at Fordham University’s Lincoln Center Campus, February 13, 2011; co-sponsored by Center for Medieval Studies and Department of Art History and Music, Fordham University; Division of Humanities, University of Chicago; Department of Art, DePauw University. Thanks go to Anne F. Harris, Cecily J. Hilsdale, Dawn Odell, Elizabeth Rodini and Rebecca Zorach for organizing the event, comprised of twenty-two short communications by former students of Seidel and four longer papers by senior colleagues. This essay expands on my lecture for that occasion. In what follows, all translations are mine except where otherwise indicated. 2 Francis Haskell, History and its Images, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993, Chap. 15, esp. 445-82. 3 At the invitation of André Chastel and Jacques Thuillier, this series of five lectures, starting on April 16, 1985, was entitled L’Historien et les beaux-arts: des relations difficiles and they clearly marked preparatory steps in the evolution of Haskell’s above- mentioned book. 4 See Andrée Hayum, The Isenheim Altarpiece: God’s Medicine and the Painter’s Vision, Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1989, Chap. 4, 135-6. I remain grateful to J. Patrice Marandel, at the time Curator of European Paintings at The Detroit Institute of Arts, for inviting me to participate in a symposium in October 1987, to commemorate the Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 2 time, altogether, that I became aware of the cultural impact an exhibition could have. Such considerations about the institutions of art were far from habitual a scant generation earlier, even at Harvard, with its then renowned museum course and its early successes in spawning some of the finest museum professionals in America. Furthermore, although Egbert Haverkamp-Begemann, who taught our Northern Art class, had come from the museum world in Holland for his first academic appointment in the U.S., neither Seidel nor I recall any mention being made of the 1902 exhibition. Erwin Panofsky’s Early Netherlandish Painting of 1953 might be seen as setting this stage. For, apart from a few references to relevant catalogues in its bibliography, there is no discussion of the Bruges show in the actual text of Panofsky’s magisterial study. This is all the more surprising given the acknowledgement, in the show’s immediate aftermath, roundly expressed by scholars of different nationalities, of its importance for all future studies in this field.5 Moreover, Max Friedländer reflects on the 1902 exhibition when, more than twenty years after, he launched his multi-volume Alt Niederländische Malerei and, in a lecture at the close of 1943, Huizinga credits its role in his own evolution as a historian.6 Not to speak of the destination this exhibition became in its own time for contemporary artists, writers and critics – the Belgian, symbolist sculptor, George Minne, the French novelist and critic of Dutch ancestry, Joris-Karl Huysmans, Roger opening of its newly renovated Northern European galleries, when I first began to explore the subject of the 1902 exhibition. 5 Apart from Belgian critics, among notable foreigners who reviewed the show were Max Friedländer, Hugo von Tschudi, Roger Fry and Adolfo Venturi. A check list for reproductions to be sold individually (Bruckmanns Pigmentdrucke nach Gemälden Alter Meister auf der Ausstellung zu Brügge 1902, Munich: F. Bruckmann, A-G., 1902), has a blurb on last page about Max Friedänder’s commemorative volume (see note 9) which states, ‘Netherlandish painting now stands at forefront of art studies’ (‘Die niederländische Malerei steht jetzt im Vordergrunde der Kunstforschung’). In his memoirs, originally published in 1930, Wilhelm von Bode, who attended the exhibition, remarks that this ‘most significant of old master exhibitions’; (‘Diese bedeutendste Ausstellung alter Kunst’), ‘served as a special stimulus for research’ in this area; (‘..hat auf die Forchung besonders anregend gewirkt.’) Thomas W. Gaehtgens and Barbara Paul, eds, Wilhelm von Bode, Mein Leben, Vol. 1, Berlin: Nicolaische Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1997, 298-99. If Haskell reclaims attention to this exhibition, we find further evidence of that renewed focus in Julien Chapuis, ‘Early Netherlandish Painting: Shifting Perspectives’, From Van Eyck to Bruegel: Early Netherlandish Painting in The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1998, 3- 21. 6 Max Friedländer, Die Altniederländische Malerei, Vol. 1, Berlin: Paul Cassirer, 1924, 15, refers here to the ‘denkwürdigen (memorable/noteworthy) Brügger Leihausstellung von 1902’. Pieter Geyl and F.W.N. Hugenholtz, eds, Arnold J. Pomerans, trans, Johan Huizinga, ‘My Path to History’, Dutch Civilization in the Seventeenth Century’, New York: Frederick Ungar Publishing Co., 1968, 266-67. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 3 Figures 1 and 2 catalogue Exposition des Primitifs flamands et d’Art ancien, Bruges, 1902, Hôtel Gruuthhuuse, troisième section: Art ancien, installation shots of furniture and decorative arts. Fry, Marcel Proust taking advantage of his improved health and the exhibition’s postponed closing date to make the journey to Bruges.7 Insofar as this exhibition included furniture, sculpture, ivories, metalwork, medals, coins, tapestries, manuscripts, as well as paintings, it is the inheritor of those international expositions starting in London, 1851, Manchester 1857 and Paris 1855, 1867, 1889 that drew attention to a range of materials and the workmanship involved in their production and transformation into objects of use and embellishment. But the show’s arrangement also reflected the prevailing separation and hierarchy of the mediums attendant to the growth of the museum as institution. Thus, presumably comprising the Art ancien of the full title: Exposition des Primitifs flamands et d’Art ancien, those objets d’art were assembled in the Hôtel Gruuthuuse (Figs 1 & 2), whereas, four hundred or so paintings were displayed separately in the Hôtel du Conseil Provincial (Figs 3 & 4). 8 Just as the artistic values and the historical narratives conveyed in the early public art museum were articulated primarily through its painting collections, so the ensemble of paintings at Bruges 7 Philip Kolb, ed, Marcel Proust, Correspondance, Vol. 3, 1902-3, Paris: Librarie Plon, 1976, no. 81, letter to Alfred Vallette, 152-53. Having opened in mid-June, the exhibition was slated to close on 15 September 1902 but, given the attendance, it remained open until 5 October. Proust went on 2 October with his friend, Bertrand de Fénelon. 8 Baron de Vinck de Winnezeele was president of the committee in charge of the Art ancien, whose catalogue speaks of this exhibit as annexé à l’Exposition des Primitifs flamands. M.A. Wauters headed the committee in charge of the paintings. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 4 Figure 3 – catalogue Exposition des Primitifs flamands et d’Art ancien, Bruges, 1902, Hôtel du Conseil Provincial, première section: Tableaux, installation shot of paintings. Fig. 4 – pamphlet Les Primitifs flamands à Bruges, Brussels: P. Weissenbruch, 1902, ground plan of painting exhibition. provided nearly exclusive focus for the extensive critical reception of this exhibition.9 In a nomenclature that needs further discussion, these, the so-called ‘Primitifs’, will be my concern as well. Given Seidel’s publications, it’s difficult to resist commencing with the most important picture not brought to Bruges in 1902, the very first example of the so- called ‘early schools’ of painting to have entered the National Gallery’s collection in 1842.10 There was a simple reason that Jan van Eyck’s Arnolfini double portrait stayed at home. Though England can be credited with establishing the phenomenon of the loan exhibition, at the time, the National Gallery still held a firm policy against lending from its holdings. In specifying ‘loan exhibition’, i.e. ‘Die Brügger Leihausstellung von 1902’, the title of Max Friedländer’s long review signals the problems peculiar to such temporary displays, which were faced by the original 9 Max J. Friedländer, Meisterwerke der Niederländischen Malerei des XV und XVI Jahrhunderts auf der Ausstellung zu Brügge 1902, Munich: F. Bruckmann A.-G., 1903. An introductory page asserts the privileged role of the paintings in the exhibition, many of which, as author indicates, were photographed for the first time, to which this folio volume of reproductions attests. See also note 5 above. Another set of reproductions, again, exclusively of paintings in the show and for sale individually was: Catalogue des Reproductions Inaltérables au Charbon faites d’après les peintures ayant figuré à L’Exposition des Primitifs Flamands et d’Art Ancien à Bruges 1902, Paris and New York: Maison Ad. Braun & Cie., 1903. 10 Linda Seidel, Jan van Eyck’s Arnolfini Portrait: Stories of an Icon, Cambridge, New York, Oakleigh: Cambridge University Press, 1993. https://arthistoriography.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/fig-4.jpg Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 5 organizers of Les Primitifs flamands at a point when the practice was not yet common.11 Predictably, major disappointment resulted from works of art that could not be obtained. How would the uninitiated have reacted to the sturdy Madonna, then in the Brussels Somzée collection, presented at the Bruges exhibition as the only sure painting by its artist?12 For some of those reviewing the show, like Friedländer (at the time assistant to Wilhelm Bode at Berlin’s Gemäldegalerie), or Hugo von Tschudi (then director of the museum for nineteenth century and contemporary art, the Nationalgalerie, in Berlin), this one picture must have served as a synecdoche for a corpus of examples they, along with Bode and the Belgian art historian, Henri Hymans, had been instrumental in building during the preceding decade: Hugo von Tschudi had brought into play the large panels at Frankfurt’s Städelsches Kunstinstitut, originally the wings of an altarpiece for a Cistercian monastery in Flémalle and thus associated with a ‘Master of Flémalle’, the same master as Wilhelm Bode’s ‘Maître de Mérode’, Bode having connected the Somzée Madonna with the central section of a triptych then owned by the Comtesse de Mérode.13 While we can imagine the strictures about transporting the huge wings from Frankfurt, it remains puzzling why a small triptych from a private collection in nearby Brussels would not have been lent.14 In any event, here was an artistic identity in process of being constructed and perceived to be fundamental to any proper understanding of the stylistic genealogy of early fifteenth- century Northern art. That lineage, from teacher to pupil: Robert Campin, Jacques Daret, Rogier van der Weyden, in need of interpolation since, as consensus had it, Rogier was made visible in the exhibition more through the indelible stylistic and iconographic imprint left by his compositions on the work of others than by many original examples of his own. As for Jan van Eyck, most of his paintings from within Belgium were to be seen in the exhibition. The improved viewing conditions provided by the simple move to the exhibition galleries of a work like the Madonna with Canon Van der Paele was a revelation acknowledged by Max Friedländer. At the same time, the failure 11 Max J. Friedländer, ‘Die Brügger Leihausstellung von 1902’, Repertorium für Kunstwissenschaft, 26: 1903, 66-91; 147-75. 12 Now called Follower of Robert Campin, Virgin and Child before a Fire Screen, c. 1440, Salting Bequest 1910, National Gallery of Art, London. 13 Hugo von Tschudi, ‘Der Meister von Flémalle’, Jahrbuch der Königlich Preussischen Kunstsammlungen, 19: 1, 1898, 8-34; 2, 89-116. Wilhelm Bode, ‘La Renaissance au Musée de Berlin’, Gazette des Beaux Arts (deuxième periode), 35: 3, 1887, 204-220. Henri Hymans, ‘Les Musées de Madrid. Le Musée du Prado. Les Écoles du Nord – Les Primitifs’, Gazette des Beaux Arts (troisième periode), 9: 5, 1893, 374-91. 14 The owner’s apprehensions about lending must have been alleviated by the very success of the 1902 exhibition since the Mérode triptych did appear in an exhibition in Bruges in 1907. See Henri Hymans,‘L’exposition de la Toison d’Or à Bruges’, Gazette des Beaux-Arts, ser. 3, Vol. 38: 1907, 199-217, 296-314. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 6 on the part of the organizers to realize their goal of reconstructing as an entity Jan Van Eyck's Ghent Altarpiece was much lamented. At that point divided up in into three different locations (Ghent, Brussels, Berlin), only the panels of Adam and Eve from the upper story were finally sent from Brussels. These two monumental nudes were judged to be unsurpassed in their rendering. However, installed in isolation in the entry gallery, the two panels seemed to underscore the absence of other sections of the altarpiece and the dilemma posed by works of art removed from their original context. For this display, painters spanning the fifteenth century through the first half of the sixteenth, from Broederlam to Bruegel, could be studied, like a comprehensive survey course in Early Netherlandish Painting. Petrus Christus, Dieric Bouts and Hugo van der Goes were present with telling examples like the St. Eligius, now in the Lehman Collection at the Metropolitan Museum, the main section of Bouts’ Holy Sacrament Altarpiece from the church of St. Peter’s in Louvain, and Hugo van der Goes’ Death of the Virgin in the Groeningemuseum in Bruges . Overall, however, Henri Hymans suggested that ‘the Bruges exhibition was, one could say, the glorification of Memling and of Gérard David’.15 Born in Seligenstadt on the Main, Memling had become a citizen of Bruges. Here one had a veritable retrospective of some thirty or so works by this prolific, late fifteenth-century artist: the Shrine of St. Ursula, and the diptych portrait of Martin van Nieuwenhove, the St. John triptych all from the Hospital of St. John in Bruges. About Gérard David, who also worked in Bruges, one critic says, ‘Long forgotten, it is to Mr. Weale that Gérard David owes his glorious resurrection’.16 To be seen were his Baptism triptych from the Groeningemuseum, the Rouen Madonna with Angels (Musée des Beaux- Arts, Rouen), and around twenty other examples by this painter, who straddled the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and made manifest the increasing artistic exchanges during this period between northern and southern Europe. Several of the issues emerging from this exhibition would still be taken up by Erwin Panofsky in his Early Netherlandish Painting. One was the establishment of a plausible chronology of early panel painting, of works, that is, antecedent to the Ghent altarpiece. Given Broederlam’s example, could one write a separate and distinct history for panel painting as opposed to one that sought its derivation in the source of manuscript illumination? Then there was the question of the brothers Van Eyck and the place of the picture brought from England (now in the Boymans Van Beuningen Museum, Rotterdam), The Three Mary's at the Tomb, in trying to articulate their separate identities. Beyond the need to formulate an accurate lineage, from teacher to pupil, within the Netherlandish sphere, was the attempt to illuminate the vectors of influence determining the stylistic vocabularies of artistic counterparts 15 ‘...l'exposition de Bruges fut, peut-on dire, la glorification de Memling et de Gérard David’. Henri Hymans, L’Exposition des Primitifs flamands à Bruges, Paris: Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 1902, 52. 16 ‘Longtemps oublié, Gérard David doit à M. Weale sa résurrection glorieuse’. Henri Frantz, ‘L’Exposition des Primitifs flamands’, Les Arts, 1: 7, August 1902, 27-34. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 7 such as Martin Schongauer, Stefan Lochner, Conrad Witz, Antonello da Messina in neighboring Germany, France, Switzerland as well as in Italy and Spain. Future research into the care and conservation of northern painting of a kind that was so conspicuously to flower at the Brussels Laboratoire under the aegis of Paul Coremans was a stated goal of the 1902 exhibition, and one is struck by the attentiveness to details of condition on the part of those first writing about the show.17 Von Tschudi allows as to how the general under-evaluation of the Eyckian Three Maries at the Tomb resulted from scholars’ lack of awareness of the rubbing and retouching of the picture’s surface.18 Friedländer notes the heavy, yellowed varnish then covering the Memling portraits of Tommaso and Maria Portinari (Metropolitan Museum of Art) and the questionable condition of the dark background behind the male figure. By contrast, he recognized an unusually fine state of preservation of Hugo van der Goes’ Death of the Virgin where others had routinely decried its condition.19 Paradoxically, such scrutiny must have been stimulated by the stunning standard of technical workmanship these paintings presented – as an early National Gallery catalogue account of the Arnolfini portrait had already underscored, recommending ‘our artists to find out with what oils so much finish and glazings were performed and yet preserve their freshness for nearly four centuries’, a reaction affirmed in contemporary reviews with one critic marvelling at ‘the faultlessness of a technique which surpasses in finish and expression all that has been accomplished afterwards in the days of the renaissance and of the eighteenth century’.20 This response to technique was likely made the more urgent by the experience of Impressionism and it parallels the search for more systematic and exacting ways to apply paint to canvas on the part of contemporary artists, as with Seurat, whose Pointilliste method found fertile ground in Belgium. The 1960 catalogue of the Detroit Museum’s Flanders in the Fifteenth Century conveys a sense of the Bruges 1902 exhibition as a watershed in the loss of innocence with respect to the connoisseurship of Northern painting.21 Even if the official catalogue of the 1902 show by W.H. James Weale kept to the decorum of using lenders' attributions throughout (Fig. 5), having about 400 pictures together in one 17 Centre National de Recherches ‘Primitifs flamands’, Laboratoire Central des Musées de Belgique, Studies in Conservation, I, no. 1, Octobre 1952. 18 Hugo von Tschudi, ‘Die Ausstellung altniederländischer Gemälde im Burlington Fine Arts Club’, Repertorium für Kunstwissenschaft, 16: 1893, 100-16. 19 Max J. Friedländer, ‘Die Brügger Leihausstellung von 1902’, 81. 20 George Foggo, National Gallery: A Catalogue of the Pictures, London: H.G. Clarke & Co., 1845, 57, no. 186. Octave Uzanne, ‘The Exhibition of Primitive art at Bruges’, The Connoisseur, IV: September-December 1902, 172-80. 21Flanders in the Fifteenth Century: Art and Civilization, The Detroit Institute of Arts, Detroit, Michigan & The Centre National de Recherches Primitifs Flamands, Brussels; Antwerp: L. Blondé, 1960, 28, ‘The casual attributions to Dürer or some other vaguely remembered name belong to the era before the great exhibition of 1902 in Bruges’, says Edgar P. Richardson in his introduction. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 8 Figure 5 Title page, official catalogue, Bruges: Desclée, De Brouwer et Cie., 1902. Figure 6 Title page, Georges Hulin de Loo, Catalogue Critique, Ghent: A. Siffer, 1902. place provided an unprecedented opportunity for close comparative viewing.22 Indeed, the unofficial, Catalogue Critique (Fig. 6), by Georges Hulin de Loo shows a weighing and measuring of individual artists’ styles and a sharpening of the tools of connoisseurship that would soon be brought to a level thus far operative only for Italian Renaissance painting.23 At the Bruges exhibition, several pictures moved from anonymity to the clear light of identifiable style, as with the handsome female portrait now in the National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., ascribed by Hulin de Loo to Rogier van der Weyden.24 But it was also a time to strip away false identities for the purpose of future re-evaluation. Thus, Hulin de Loo deemed a Consecration of St.Thomas of Cantebury, ‘Inconnu brugeois, fin du XV siècle’, where, adhering to the inscription on the panel, the official catalogue called it Jan Van Eyck;25 and the attribution of a small Lamentation, now in the Frick Collection, is changed from Antonello da Messina to ‘unknown master, possibly School of Avignon, second half 22 W.H. James Weale, Exposition des Primitifs flamands et d’Art ancien, Première section: Tableaux, Bruges: Desclée, De Brouwer et Cie., 1902. 23 George Hulin de Loo, Bruges 1902 Exposition de Tableaux Flamands, Catalogue Critique, Ghent: A. Siffer, 1902. In terms of Italy, the 1890s had seen Giovanni Morelli outlining his ‘scientific’ method of detecting the individual hand of an artist. Bernard Berenson’s Rudiments of Connoisseurship first appeared in 1902 with drawings becoming the medium for his connoisseurship studies in his Drawings of the Florentine Painters, 1903. 24 Hulin de Loo, Catalogue Critique, 1902, 25, no. 108. Weale, 1902, 44, no. 108 as ‘inconnu’. At the time, this portrait was in collection of Duke of Anhalt in Woerlitz. 25 Hulin de Loo, Catalogue Critique, 1902, 3, no. 8; Weale, 1902, 3-4, no. 8. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 9 of fifteenth century’.26 Indeed, one of the most impressive aspects of this chapter in the history of connoisseurship was a realistic appraisal of the paucity of documentary and biographical evidence about these northern artists and a remarkable tolerance for the ambiguity of the anonymous master.27 ‘Until some lucky coincidence leads us onto the right track, we will, according to good practice, need to be satisfied with a Master of St. Aegedius’, von Tschudi had remarked about two panels shown at the Burlington Fine Arts Club, an acknowledged precursor to the Bruges show.28 A prefatory section in Hulin de Loo’s catalogue, ‘De l’identité de certains maîtres anonymes’, resists the impulse to bestow an artist’s name even for certain picture groupings judged by him to be by the same hand. Equally impressive was a sense of shared scholarly mission: In Bode’s evaluation of the Somzée Madonna, he credits Henri Hymans for bringing the Mérode altarpiece to his attention.29 Friedländer expresses admiration for the attributions in Hulin de Loo’s critical catalogue, uses von Tschudi’s evaluation of the Eyckian Three Maries at the Tomb as a point of departure and cites Scheibler and Bode as having first connected a Deposition in the Brussels Museum to the career of Petrus Christus.30 On such connoisseurship questions, these scholars acknowledged and built upon each other’s contributions, a modus operandi less than characteristic in parallel studies of Italian art at this time, which tended to foreground the personal prowess of a given critic in his determination of the style of an identifiable master. As for more general response to the pictures in Bruges, some remarked on their sense of piety; one writer expressed awareness of the seeming contradiction in his juxtaposition of the two words ‘réalisme mystique’ to identify that coupling of meticulous representational style with promised levels of deeper significance.31 Many proclaimed the inadequacy of words, the impossibility of language to capture the essence of these paintings. Thus, we should invoke one scholar who did find words, even if, like the Arnolfini double portrait, he did not make it to Bruges. I am thinking of Alois Riegl, whose book-length article on the Dutch group portrait first 26 Weale, 1902, 14-15, no. 32; Hulin de Loo, Catalogue Critique, 1902, 9, no. 32. 27 Uzanne, The Connoisseur, Sept.-Dec. 1902, 180, refers to ‘these mysterious craftsmen, about whom so little has been revealed to us’, [and about whom] ‘even the most extensive knowledge is but a topography of ignorance’. 28 Hugo von Tschudi, ‘Die Austellung altniederländischer Gemälde im Burlington Fine Arts Club’, Repertorium für Kunstwissenschaft, 16: 1893, 100-16, ‘Man wird, bis ein glücklicher Zufall auf die richtige Spur führt, sich wohl nach guten Brauch mit dem “Meister des hl. Aegidius” begnügen müssen’. 29 Wilhelm Bode, ‘La Renaissance au Musée de Berlin’, Vol. 35, 3, 1 Mar. 1887, 218; Hugo von Tschudi, ‘Der Meister von Flémalle’, 1898, 8-34 speaks of Bode having already associated the Somzée Madonna with the Mérode Altarpiece. 30 Max Friedländer, ‘Die Brügger Leihausstellung von 1902’, 68-9. 31 Octave Maus, ‘Les Primitifs Flamands’, L’Art Moderne, 28, 13 July, 1902, 233-235. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 10 appeared in the same year as the Bruges exhibition.32 If it seems amiss to turn to this study of what is a predominantly seventeenth-century subject genre, it should be recalled that Riegl begins his considerations with a remarkable account of the figural group at the left side of the narratives of The Legend of the Relics of St. John the Baptist by the Dutch painter of the late fifteenth-century, Geertgen tot Sint Jans. Visitors to Bruges became acquainted with Geertgen through a small picture then in an English private collection, now in the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin, the endearing, St. John in the Wilderness, in which the saint sits before the viewer in isolated puzzlement . Although Riegl laments the difficulties in tracking down the source materials for his overall project ‘in far-away Holland’, Geertgen’s huge wing of the Burning of the Bones of St. John, the work with which the Viennese scholar begins, was close at hand at the local, Kunsthistorisches Museum where he obviously gave it his sustained attention.33 As Riegl meditates on this exemplary prototype for the group portrait, a genre he sees as predicated on the refinement individual portraiture had already attained at the hands of Northern European painters, he begins to posit the characteristics of Geertgen’s Burning of the Bones of St. John in terms comparative with those of Italian art. Thus, on the rendition of space, [Italian art]: strives mainly after the rendering of the spatial, cubic appearance of individual things (figures) …: hence its development of linear perspective…. Northern art, beginning with the brothers Van Eyck, strives mainly at the rendering of what is between the figures, that is the free space....; hence the cultivation of aerial perspective… 34 [Or, on the behavior of figures in Italian art]: all parts of the individual body as following one willful impulse and in showing all figures of a story involved in one single action. [By contrast, in 32 Alois Riegl, ‘Das holländische Gruppenporträt’, Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses, 23: nos.3-4, 1902, 71-278. First published as a book posthumously; Das holländische Gruppenporträt, Vienna: Österreichische Staatsdruckerei, 1931. 33 These preliminary words by Riegl ‘daß fast das gesamte, überaus reichhaltige Untersuchungsmaterial im fernen Holland aufzusuchen war..’ were probably written before the Bruges exhibition had opened. But they illuminate the perceived sense of distances between countries within Europe that could still prevail, which renders the movement of pictures and people that did occur in the context of such an exhibition all the more remarkable. 34 For the quotations from this section of Riegl’s essay, I have used the translation by Stephen S. Kayser included in: W. Eugene Kleinbauer, Modern Perspectives in Western Art History, New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1971, 124-38. Riegl, 1931, 23, ‘Die erste strebt vornehmlich nach Wiedergabe der kubisch räumlichen Erscheinung der Einzeldinge (Figuren)….daher ihre Ausbildung der Linienperspective,….Die nordische Kunst strebt von den Brüdern van Eyck an vornehmlich nach Wiedergabe des zwischen den Figuren Befindlichen, des freien Raumes, ….daher ihre Ausbildung der Luftperspective,… ‘ Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 11 the north]: If one looks here for an action as an utterance of will in the Italian manner, the scene remains incomprehensible; what takes place instead is rather a mental intercommunication in which emotion and attention play a much greater role than the will, ..;35 [and later in the passage]…In deliberately suppressing the impulse of will, early Dutch art did not arrive at unity through subordination, to be sure, but at a much deeper subjectivity of psychic expression.36 Even though the comparative structure of such sections of Riegl's essay seems balanced and objective, a brilliant phenomenological analysis of two national styles, the Northern mode of vision does come across as more subtle, more resonant with meaning, more congenial to contemporary experience, in what turns out to be a celebration of Northern art. So too, in spite of the well-known encomiums artists such as Jan Van Eyck and Roger van der Weyden had received on Italian soil during their own lifetimes, this exhibition was envisaged as redressing the critical neglect of these same masters in posterity’s hands.37 In terms of art politics, and in line with Riegl’s paragone, by showing off this panoply of northern artistic styles, Les Primitifs Flamands was mounting a campaign against that absent protagonist, Italian art. By 1902, the ‘primitifs’ in Les Primitifs flamands did refer to the art of both northern and southern Europe: An 1860 entry to the journals of the Goncourt brothers, ‘J’ai possédé dans ce regard toutes les vierges des primitifs allemands’.38 Indeed, even what seems to be its earliest usage for the livret accompanying a special exhibition at the Musée Napoléon (rededicated Louvre), contains some northern artists. Staged in 1814 by Napoleon’s minister of the arts, Dominique 35 Riegl, 1931, 13, ‘Sucht man darin eine Handlung als Willensakt nach italienischer Weise, so bleibt sie unverständlich; an ihrer Stelle ist vielmehr ein psychischer Wechselverkehr getreten, in dem Gefühl und Aufmerksamkeit eine wichtigere Rolle spielen als der Wille…’ 36 Riegl, 1931, 18, ‘Indem sie den Willensausdruck bewußt zurückdrängte, gelangte sie allerdings zu keiner Einheit durch Subordination, aber zu einer weit tieferen Subjectivität des psychischen Ausdrucks.’ 37Hymans, L’Exposition des Primitifs Flamands, 5, vividly presents the painters in the Bruges show in common protest against ‘l’injuste méconnaissance de leurs droits à l’admiration de la postérité’ (‘the unjust disregard of their rights to posterity’s admiration’). Two sequential reviews of the exhibition, unsigned but, attributed to Roger Fry (The Atheneum, 13 & 20: Sept. 1902, 355; 388), their attention to the show notwithstanding, suggest some of this animus against the art of the north; the writer remarks that Mr. Weale had rescued Gerard David ‘from well-deserved oblivion’. Such biases are expressed directly in Fry’s letter written from Bruges to Mary Berenson advising her not to bother making the trip with B.B. and singling out for special praise the one picture in the exhibition - the Provençale Pietà (see pages 8-9) - whose quality he explains in terms of the impact of Italian art on its sense of form. Denys Sutton, ed, Letters of Roger Fry, Vol. 1, New York: Random House, 1972, 191, no. 106. 38 Robert Ricatte, ed, Edmond et Jules de Goncourt, Journal: mémoires de la vie littéraire, Vol. 1, 8 September 1860, Paris: Fasquelle: Flammarion, 1956, 339. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 12 Vivant Denon, its ‘tableaux des écoles primitives….’, included ‘Germany and several…other different schools’.39 But it is important to realize that first and most copiously came the Italian examples and it was Italian painting to which this designation was initially deemed relevant. The idea of Italy as wellspring of Western culture infused the earliest public museums where Raphael was the treasured core of a ‘visible history of art’.40 The écoles primitives – trecento and quattrocento altarpieces such as Cimabue’s Enthroned Madonna and Child and Fra Angelico’s Coronation of the Virgin – works that preceded the canonical achievements of Raphael and the High Renaissance, became stepping-stones for this narrative sequence and fuelled a compelling notion of progress in charting a course for the visual arts. Part of the problem in matching up Northern art with this narrative model was the lack of as clear a boundary between an early and a high Renaissance style. In fact, the span of the 1902, Exposition des Primitifs flamands reached well into the sixteenth century, encompassing works by Quentin Metsys, Joachim Patinir, Bruegel, even if those artists attracted considerably less attention at the Bruges exhibition than its earlier, fifteenth-century masters. Moreover, prevailing artistic canons could work at cross-purposes with growing impulses to accommodate alternate stylistic modes, as the documentation for the founding of Munich’s Pinakothek had already revealed. In honouring a classical and Mediterranean ideal of form, April 7th, birthday of the ‘immortal Raphael’, was chosen for its groundbreaking ceremony in 1826.41 But a decade later, the first published catalogue applauds the acquisition of the renowned Boisserée brothers’ collection, whose early Netherlandish and fifteenth-century German pictures served to show – as Georg von Dillis, its first director, writes – ‘that Germany too could take heart in having her own foundational school’, one which, by implication, would later flourish, and whose historical development might posit an Albrecht Dürer in the culminating place of Raphael.42 Without question, it was this orientation toward the ‘primitives’ that rendered the Bruges exhibition a compelling model for a cluster of shows around Europe that would shortly follow its lead and which, correspondingly, paid homage to a particular region or locality by focusing on the earliest phases of its production in the visual arts. Thus it was with Siena, 1904, the setting in its Palazzo Pubblico praised as a revelatory context for distinguishing those fourteenth- and fifteenth- 39 The complete title: Notice des Tableaux des Écoles Primitives de l’Italie, de L’Allemagne, et de plusieurs autres tableaux de différentes Écoles, Paris: L.P. Dubray, 1814. 40 To project ‘eine sichtbare Geschichte der Kunst’ was the goal of Christian von Mechel’s plans of 1781 in reorganizing the picture collection of Vienna’s Imperial Gallery, Verzeichniß der Gemälde der kaiserlich könglichen Bilder Gallerie, Wien: Rudolf Gräfer älter, 1783, xi. 41 Georg von Dillis, Verzeichnis der Gemaelde in der königlichen Pinakothek zu München, München: 1938, vii, ‘des unsterblichen Raphael’. Founding documents also in appendix of Peter Böttger, Die alte Pinakothek in München, Munich: Prestel, 1972. 42 Georg von Dillis, Verzeichnis der Gemaelde, xx, ‘dass auch Teutschland sich einer ursprünglichen Schule erfreuen dürfe,…’ Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 13 century pictures from their better known Florentine counterparts.43 Frequently, early pictures from German speaking Europe had been treated in one stylistic continuum with Early Netherlandish painting but, at Düsseldorf, 1904, works by Stefan Lochner, Albert Altdorfer, Lucas Cranach were meant to convey that early German and Austrian painting could stand up to the level of quality found among the Italian and Netherlandish ‘primitives’.44 The grandest follow-up to Bruges and the one closest to home: Paris, 1904, Les Primitifs français, was motivated by the desire to single out the French components of Northern painting, along with the provincial variants of its style.45 At long last, works such as those by Jean Malouel, Jean Fouquet, Engherrand Quarton, the Master of Moulin, could be rescued from previous indifference even on the part of France’s own scholars.46 It is not surprising that these implied and overt controversies about the relative characteristics and merits of regional or national styles to be observed in the arena of art and culture should reflect contemporary conditions in the broader realm of national politics. Unification movements marked nineteenth-century Europe, Bismarck consolidating a German empire and the united kingdom of Italian states being forged. Rising national tensions between France and Germany had their outlet in the Franco-Prussian war. National consciousness also accompanied the democratization of some of Europe's smaller states including Belgium. Accordingly, the Belgian art journal, Les Arts anciens de Flandre, founded under the aegis of king and country in 1904 to commemorate the 1902 exhibition (Fig. 7), proclaims the purpose of the show to have been a celebration of the national patrimony.47 The 43 Mostra dell’Antica Arte Senese - Catalogo Generale Illustrato, Siena: Sordomuti di L. Lazzeri, 1904; Corrado Ricci, Il Palazzo Pubblico di Siena e la Mostra d’Antica Arte Senese, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, 1904. Il Segreto della civiltà – La Mostra dell’Arte Senese del 1904 cento anni dopo, a cura di Giuseppe Cantelli, Lucia Simona Pacchierotti, Beatrice Pulcinelli, Siena: Protagon Editori, 2005. In a variation on this pattern of ‘local’ celebrations, 1904 also saw an exhibition of Sienese masters at the Burlington Fine Arts Club in London. See Elisa Camporeale, ‘L’Esposizione di arte senese del 1904 al Burlington Fine Arts Club di Londra’, Il Segreto della civiltà, 2005, 485-517. 44 Paul Clemen & Eduard Firmenich-Richartz, Meisterwerke Westdeutscher Malerei auf der Kunsthistorischen Ausstellung zu Düsseldorf 1904, München: F. Bruckmann A.-G., 1905. 45Henri Bouchot, L’Exposition des Primitifs Français, Palais du Louvre et Bibliothèque Nationale, Avril, 1904, Paris: Librairie Centrale des Beaux-arts, 1904-05. Georges Lafenestre, Les Primitifs à Bruges et à Paris 1900-1902-1904, Paris: Librairie de L’art ancien et modern, 1904. 46 See George Lafenestre’s preface to 1904 catalogue, especially XII-XIV. Hulin de Loo, Catalogue Critique, 1902, 9, also makes this point. Primitifs français – Découvertes et redécouvertes, Louvre 27 Février au 17 Mai 2004, par Dominique Thiébaut, Philippe Lorentz, François-René Martin, Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 2004. 47 The title page of first volume, published in 1905, states: ‘Association Pour La Publication des Monuments de L’Art Flamand. Fondée en souvenir de L’Exposition des Primitifs Flamands et d’Art Ancien de 1902 à Bruges’. As in the case of the hundred-year commemorative catalogues of Siena and Paris, 1904, a more modest publication on the Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 14 introduction to Henri Hymans’ small book on Bruges and Ypres of 1903 also rings this nationalistic chord: Acquiring its autonomy only in recent times, within its designated confines, Belgium nonetheless constitutes a nation in the true sense of the word: one whose organization as well as customs and institutions – their idea going back centuries – are avowed in its splendid monuments, where a past of singular grandeur survives, whether considered from a political, military, artistic, commercial or industrial point of view.48 Figure 7 Title page, first issue of journal, Les Arts Anciens de Flandre, 1905. Thus too, the ‘Flamands’ in the show’s title had certain critics parsing the designation, one that Hulin de Loo justifies as having come to embrace the geographically broader territory before the split between Holland and Belgium. But Bruges exhibition is: Impact 1902 revisited: early Flemish and ancient art exhibition: Bruges, 15 June-15 September, Vlaanderen: Openbaar Kunstbezit in Vlaanderen, 2002. 48 Henri Hymans, Bruges & Ypres, Paris: H. Laurens, Éditeur, 1901, I, ‘Entrée tardivement en possession de son autonomie, la Belgique n’en constitue pas moins, dans ses frontières idéales, une nation au sens vrai du mot, dont l’organisme, autant que les moeurs et les institutions, dont le principe remonte haut dans les siècles, s’accusent en des monuments fastueux, où survit un passé de singulière grandeur, qu’on l’envisage au point de vue politique, guerrier, artistique, commercial ou industriel’. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 15 he also allows that ‘École Néerlandaise’ and not just ‘École Flamande’ could rightly have been employed.49 It is interesting in this context to reflect on Haskell’s account of the confessed impact, years later, of the 1902 exhibition on Huizinga’s practice as a historian. Using the visual arts as tangible evidence, the Dutch historian saw in early Netherlandish painting and Van Eyck’s realism, in particular, not the beginning of a development but a final flowering of the Gothic era – striking in its contrast to the above-mentioned conception of the ‘primitives’ as evidence of a nation or a region’s innate creativity and potential for continuing and viable future production in the visual arts. Huizinga’s positing of such a decline might be understood as the other side of the coin of a defensive attitude, not only about ‘Flamand’, but also about ‘primitive’ expressed in certain critical responses to the Bruges exhibition. During the course of the nineteenth century, the dictionary definition for ‘primitive’ had confined itself to the idea of an originary or primary condition or state in the purely historical sense (primitive église), the Nouveau Larousse Illustré adding – in the years spanning the Bruges show (1898-1904) – the term’s direct application to art history: those artists who preceded the High Renaissance masters.50 But, a new-found confidence in the quality of many of the works displayed at Bruges also occasionally provoked questions regarding the appropriateness of the title’s ‘primitifs’ and indicates that more derogatory implications, as of an underdeveloped and thus inferior state, had by this time crept into its meaning, traits that would ultimately cause ‘primitive’ to be expunged from the vocabulary of the social sciences.51 Notwithstanding those particular reservations, the exhibition’s title, Les Primitifs flamands, reveals the extent to which ‘Primitifs’ had achieved a comprehensible set of meanings and associations for the general public when applied to Renaissance art. Informed by the definitions in successive, French language dictionaries during the course of the nineteenth century, ‘primitifs’, as referring to those pre-High Renaissance pictures, had by 1902 come to be used also in English (Italian Primitives in the Jarves Collection), Italian (I Primitivi Veneziani) and, to a lesser extent, German. Moreover, its gradual shift from adjective to noun – Les Écoles primitives/Les Primitifs flamands – may be symptomatic of certain unstated conditions and connotations of the term that are also worth rehearsing. That it applied to painting as a medium was concretized in Bruges’ two-part title – Primitifs flamands and Art ancien – with the concomitant apportioning of displayed works: paintings (primitifs) in one building, the decorative arts (art ancien) in another. The 49 Hulin de Loo, Catalogue Critique, 1902, VIII; XII-XIII. ‘le terme Flamand a pris une extension beaucoup plus vaste, s’appliquant à tout l’ensemble des Pay-Bas.’ 50 Nouveau Larousse illustré, Vol. 7, Paris: Librairie Larousse, 1898-1904, 31-2. ‘Artistes, peintres ou sculpteurs qui ont précédé les maîtres de la grande époque’. I am indebted to a stimulating conversation with the late Nicole Loraux who first suggested tracking the lexical history of this term, especially in its rich, French language, accretions. 51 Georges Lafenestre, Les Primitifs à Bruges et à Paris, 1904, 7-8. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 16 prevalent Italian, fourteenth- and fifteenth-century examples had mainly been devotional works, often gold-ground paintings, tempera on panel, nearly always fragments of larger structures, that is to say, portable objects which, to join the preserve of the ‘primitive’, were removed from their original contexts to new, artificial settings. Let us recall in this regard that the special exhibition at the Musée Napoléon, whose livret had first used the term les écoles primitives, was comprised of works brought back by Napoleon from conquered territories.52 Moreover, it was not just Napoleon but also private citizens, especially the English and also the French (i.e, William Young Ottley; François Cacault), who started accumulating these early schools of painting in the late-eighteenth century during voyages or residencies abroad. At the turn of the twentieth century, along with the renewed appreciation of Early Netherlandish painting that made the Bruges exhibition both possible and welcome, those conditions of appropriation and deracination of art works came under the added pressure of a burgeoning market, with its growing network of dealers and experts feeding the appetites of new collectors, not only in Europe but increasingly in the United States.53 Nothing conveys the latter situation more clearly than to cite three important early Netherlandish pictures that had made their way into American collections more than a decade before the exhibition in Bruges: the small Lamentation by Petrus Christus, purchased by Henry Marquand in 1889, the same year as Henry Lee Higginson acquired Rogier van der Weyden’s St. Luke Painting the Virgin, Jan van Eyck’s tiny St. Francis Receiving the Stigmata entering the Philadelphia collection of John G. Johnson in 1893.54 Granted American public spiritedness and, apart from the obvious need to increase the holdings of those recently founded American museums, the perception of a special educational value for these ‘primitives’ seems quickly to have destined them in their new owners’ minds for the public domain, with Marquand and Higginson donating those 52See pp. 11-12 and note 39. 53In this regard, an illuminating letter of 13 May 1901 from Adolfo Venturi asks Allan Marquand at Princeton to send him American art news for his journal, L’Arte, ‘As now America absorbs the greater part of the art works of the European markets,..’. Marilyn Aronberg Lavin, ‘Princeton: The Beginnings Under Marquand’ in Craig Hugh Smyth & Peter M. Lukehart, eds, The Early Years of Art History in the United States, Princeton: Department of Art and Archaeology, 1993, 11. Given the exposure to the northern ‘primitives’ that the Bruges exhibition afforded, their resultant popularity and marketability would, not surprisingly, also at times beget forgeries, a situation identified by Maryan W. Ainsworth in: ‘Caveat Emptor: An Early twentieth-century workshop for Flemish Primitives’, Apollo, Vol. 153, June 2001, 20-29, with Max Friedländer repeatedly cautioning against this danger even as he lent his expertise to various private collectors and dealers, not only in Europe but also New York, during the 1910s and 1920s. 54For the entry of Early Netherlandish paintings into American collections, see Edgar P. Richardson, ‘Flemish Primitives in American Collections’, Flanders in the Fifteenth Century, 27-30; and Everett Fahy, ‘How the Pictures got here’, From Van Eyck to Bruegel’, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1998, 62-75. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 17 pictures almost immediately to the Metropolitan and Boston Museums, and Johnson’s painting later bequeathed to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Even Europe’s more established art institutions, however rich their collections, were sometimes deemed lacking in what, after Bruges, came to be considered key artists from this period. Accordingly, Georges Lafenestre applauds the Louvre’s purchase from a private collection in Montpellier in 1902 of its first painting by Geertgen, The Raising of the Lazarus.55 Furthermore, in contemporary accounts, recurring anxieties about works of art being sold off and changing hands, especially in the aftermath of such an exhibition, were kept at bay and satisfaction expressed when such pictures found the stable and accessible new home of a public institution, as had occurred when the Musée Royal in Brussels purchased Roger van der Weyden’s Pietà in 1899 at the Genoese Pallavicini-Grimaldi sale.56 Comfort about such stability was not what Joris-Karl Huysmans experienced. When, shortly after his visit to the Bruges exhibition with the cleric, Abbé Mugnier, Huysmans published Trois Primitifs, he was clearly responding to the piety expressed in those northern paintings and the sense of Christian faith that seemed to shape their imagery.57 Especially as the preceding years had him immersing himself in church history and liturgy, turning to the remnants of Catholic life in France and even exploring monastic retreat. To judge by the second essay in Trois Primitifs, which contrasts a full-length nursing Madonna by the Master of Flémalle to an Italian, female allegorical portrait, Huysmans was all the more taken aback by the modern displacement such a devotional work could undergo, this Madonna and Child having landed in a prospering, post-industrial, urban context where, divorced from other segments of its original altarpiece structure and from the cult values and practices that gave the panel its meaning, it now hung in Frankfurt’s Städel Institute. 55 Georges Lafenestre, ‘Les Peintres hollandais au Musée du Louvre 1900’, Les Primitifs à Bruges et à Paris, 1904, 231. Though this picture was not on display in Bruges, its acquisition by the Louvre in 1902 was undoubtedly stimulated by the show. Indeed, Geertgen’s St. John in the Wilderness, lent to the Bruges exhibition by the London collector, Percy Macquoid, Esq., entered Berlin’s Gemäldegalerie later that same year. Suzanne Laemers, ‘De lieveling van Max Friedländer: Johannes de Doper in de wildernis door Geertgen tot Sint Jans’, in: Charles Dumas, Jan Kosten, Eric Jan Sluijter, Nicolette C. Sluijter, eds, Liber Amicorum Marijke de Kinkelder, The Hague, 2013, 243-50, for Friedländer’s role in the Berlin acquisition. 56Georges Lafenestre, ‘Les Vieux Mâitres à Bruges, 1902’, Les Primitifs à Bruges et à Paris, 1904, 113. 57 Journal de L’Abbé Mugnier (1879-1939), Paris: Mercure de France, 1985, 134, entry of 15 September 1902, refers to having just gone with Huysmans to the Bruges exhibition. J.-K. Huysmans, ‘Le Maître de Flémalle et la Florentine du Musée de Francfort-sur-le-Mein’, Trois Primitifs, Paris: A. Messein, 1905, 57-106. Presumably the title of this book by Huysmans derives from that of the exhibition; a note on page 92 of the aforementioned essay refers to Flémalle’s seated Madonna and Child (then in the Somzée collection) as having been seen in the Bruges exhibition. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 18 However impressed by the exhibition as, in turn, Johan Huizinga had been, his impulses as a historian took him beyond the confines of any such display. In his effort to illuminate a passage in Franco-Flemish history, he felt impelled to sift through a general and variegated visual culture. In this respect, not necessarily in its interpretive results, it is in harmony with Linda Seidel’s study of the Arnolfini Portrait, which evaluates Van Eyck’s small panel as embedded in the material culture of its time wherein a pendant, a document seal, a manuscript, mirror, or tapestry, and Van Eyck’s portrait painting participate on equal footing. At the same time, more in line with those two scholars who reviewed the exhibition, Max Friedländer and Hugo von Tschudi, an optimistic view of the generative capacity of the early schools is, at least, implicit in her involvement in Northern painting and with it, the call for a concomitantly vital critical engagement on her – and their – parts. Memoirs written by Friedländer in Amsterdam, where he had fled Nazi Germany, shed light on this issue. He distinguishes between the radical nature of those earliest twentieth century studies of German painting and ‘more recent’ predilections for German art based on ‘biased, nationalistic boasting’.58 To drive home his point, in an interesting twist, he reports that, in Berlin at least, it had been Jewish collectors and researchers who began early on to occupy themselves with German and northern art in general, while ‘art-loving Aryans’ [his words] kept to the Italian Renaissance.59 That is to say: the freedom, even risk, in making what was clearly perceived to be an anti-canonical choice on the part of those Berlin collectors and researchers, was deemed less likely to occur from within society’s mainstream. Hewing to Max Friedländer’s sociology, Hugo von Tshudi, as the name itself conveys, makes an improbable comrade here, but he was a kindred spirit. In 1902, apart from his review of the Bruges exhibition, he published an essay on Manet (Fig. 58Max J. Friedländer, ‘Lippman’, Rudolf M. Heilbrunn, ed, Erinnerungen und Aufzeichnungen, Mainz and Berlin: Florian Kupferberg, 1967, 67-68, ‘Dieser Umstand steht in Widerspruch gegen die neuerdings aufgekommene tendenziöse nationalistische Prahlerei.’ Reminiscences and Reflections, trans. Ruth S. Magurn, Greenwich, Conn.: New York Graphic Society LTD, 1969, 94-96. 59Max J. Friedländer, Rudolf M. Heilbrunn, ed, 1967, 67-68, ‘Ich mache auf den Umstand aufmerksam, daß es wenigstens in Berlin Juden waren, die sich mit deutscher Kunst zu beschäftigen begannen als Forscher und Sammler….während die kunstfreundlichen ‘Arier’ vorwiegend der italienischen Renaissance ihre Teilnahme zuwandten….’ Here, for rhetorical effect, Friedländer limits this observation to German painting but I take the liberty of extending his comment to include Early Netherlandish art. As mentioned earlier, the two areas were usually linked in terms of the history of taste. Friedländer’s own scholarly practice embraced the two fields and in this very remembrance of the former head of the Kupferstichkabinett, Friedländer refers to Lippmann as having formed a second collection during his Berlin years: ‘acquiring Early Netherlandish and Early German paintings at a time when these things were not yet highly appreciated’ (...hat er in Berlin wiederum eine Sammlung angelegt, altniederländische und altdeutsche Gemälde erworben zu einer Zeit, in der diese Dinge noch nicht hoch greschätzt wurden'). Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 19 Figure 8 Title page, Hugo von Tschudi, Édouart Manet, Berlin: Bruno Cassirer, 1902. 8). Moreover, the ‘deeper subjectivity of psychic expression’ that Alois Riegl had seen in the Northern pictorial world must have been what drew von Tschudi to the works of Vincent van Gogh, whom he championed along with his earlier studies on the Master of Flémalle.60 Indeed, during the years spanning the Bruges exhibition, von Tschudi’s legendary directorship of the Nationalgalerie in Berlin was marked by public conflicts that ensued from his continuing commitment to acquire ‘foreign’, especially French Impressionist and post-Impressionist, paintings for an institution dedicated to the future of German art, conflicts that eventually cost him his position.61 No better way, it would seem, to pay homage to Seidel’s academic career, 60 Barbara Paul, Hugo von Tschudi und die moderne französische Kunst im deutschen Kaiserreich, Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1993, 206, reports that between April 1903 and November 1907, von Tschudi bought no fewer than 8 paintings and 9 drawings by Van Gogh, both for himself and for the Nationalgalerie. 61Peter Paret, ‘The Tschudi Affair’, Journal of Modern History, 53, 4, 1981, 589-618. Johann Georg Prinz von Hohenzollern and Peter-Klaus Schuster, eds, Manet bis Van Gogh: Hugo von Tschudi und der Kampf um die Moderne, Munich and New York: Prestel, 1996. In terms of my discussion of Friedländer’s comments about Jewish scholars and collectors in Berlin being first to turn their attention to the northern ‘primitives’, see a fascinating parallel in the article in this volume: Stefan Pucks, ‘Von Manet zu Matisse – Die Sammler der französischen Moderne in Berlin um 1900’, 386-90, for an account of the prominant community of Jewish bankers and industrialists in Berlin who were purchasing French Impressionist and Post- Impressionist pictures for their own collections as well as supporting von Tschudi’s efforts in acquiring them for the Nationalgalerie. Andrée Hayum The 1902 exhibition, Les Primitifs flamands: scholarly fallout and art historical reflections 20 to her own work, as well as that of her many devoted students than to invoke the careers of these modern museum men, who revealed the study of early Netherlandish painting to be at criticism’s cutting-edge. Andrée Hayum - Professor Emerita, Department of Art History & Music, Fordham University, New York. The Isenheim Altarpiece: God’s Medicine and the Painter’s Vision, Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1989; 1994, was recipient of the Charles Rufus Morey Award for especially distinguished book from the College Art Association. More recent studies concern aspects of the early public museum and its effects on the idea of the Renaissance with special attention to the category of the ‘primitives’. hayum@fordham.edu 
work_wc7xyrmcyjfdvcumwybolxql4u	----	Body Contouring: The Success of the Androgynous Model | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1097/GOX.0000000000000671 Corpus ID: 44888083Body Contouring: The Success of the Androgynous Model @article{Oranges2016BodyCT, title={Body Contouring: The Success of the Androgynous Model}, author={C. M. Oranges and A. Gohritz and M. Tremp and D. Sch{\"a}fer}, journal={Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery Global Open}, year={2016}, volume={4} } C. M. Oranges, A. Gohritz, +1 author D. Schäfer Published 2016 Medicine Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery Global Open 1 Carlo M. Oranges, MD Andreas Gohritz, MD Mathias Tremp, MD Dirk J. Schaefer, MD Department of Plastic, Reconstructive, Aesthetic and Hand Surgery Basel University Hospital Basel, Switzerland Sir: T pharaonic belief in androgynous nature of gods was the motivation for practicing female circumcision in ancient Egypt.1 This historical observation leads us, as plastic surgeons, to consider how much the aesthetical ideals are influenced by philosophical and ethical views. We are called to… Expand View on PubMed doi.org Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 3 Citations View All Topics from this paper width Personality Character masculine feminine Conferences Male Circumcision Scientific Publication Entity Name Part Qualifier - adopted desire Quantity Orange (fruit) 3 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Gynecomastia in the Ancient Egypt limestone statue of Hemiunu, the architect of the Great Pyramid of Giza (fl. 2570 BC) C. M. Oranges, W. Wang, M. Tremp, Q. Li, D. Schaefer Art, Medicine Journal of Endocrinological Investigation 2016 3 Save Alert Research Feed Hermaphroditism in a Roman fresco from Herculaneum (first century A.D.), National Archaeological Museum, Naples, Italy C. M. Oranges, B. Mijuskovic, D. Schaefer Art, Medicine Journal of Endocrinological Investigation 2016 1 Save Alert Research Feed Enhancement of autologous fat graft survival by recipient site preparation S. Madduri, P. Brantner, +5 authors F. Thieringer 2019 PDF Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-6 OF 6 REFERENCES Plastic surgery trends parallel Playboy magazine: the pudenda preoccupation. Otto J. Placik, John P. Arkins Medicine Aesthetic surgery journal 2014 27 PDF Save Alert Research Feed A new method for aesthetic reduction of labia minora (the deepithelialized reduction of labioplasty). H. Choi, K. Kim Medicine Plastic and reconstructive surgery 2000 138 Save Alert Research Feed So you want to be like Leonardo da Vinci or Michelangelo? Which one are you? Rod J. Rohrich, D. Sullivan Medicine Plastic and reconstructive surgery 2011 12 Save Alert Research Feed Quantifying Female Bodily Attractiveness by a Statistical Analysis of Body Measurements Martin Gründl, M. Eisenmann-Klein, L. Prantl Medicine Plastic and reconstructive surgery 2009 36 Save Alert Research Feed Shapely centrefolds? Temporal change in body measures: trend analysis M. Voracek, M. Fisher Biology, Medicine BMJ : British Medical Journal 2002 104 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Structure & Dynamics of the Psyche Collected Works of C.G. Jung, Volume 1970 Related Papers Abstract Topics 3 Citations 6 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_wdkwaratwfb7rkoeqx43oagjui	----	Microsoft Word - Nedkova-imp.docx Comparatismi 4 2019 ISSN 2531-7547 http://dx.doi.org/10.14672/20191596 Grammatizing the Visible Denitza Nedkova Abstract • The Visual Narrative Grammar Theory counting the Parallel Architecture linguistic model—recently traced, the first one, by the cognitive and comics theorist Neil Cohn and, the second, by the linguist and cognitive scientist Ray Jackendoff— empirically evidence the same congenital but context modulated organizational cognitive structures founding the grammatical structure of verbal and visual languages. The identification of the visual morphology and syntax allows, then, the experimental application of the aforementioned grammar in every field of the image narration. Hence emerges the hypothesis of a dimensional counterpoint between the two communicative channels. The two-dimensional chronologically linear verbal expressions’ phrase construction is compared with the three-dimensional visual representation construct based on irregular and diachronic combination of the images. Analyzing how the visual symbols’ combination arises and to what degree it’s similar to that of verbal languages, the present study suggests that the simultaneous perception of the visual grammar elements allows an immediate, but often partial, reading of the image narration. Keywords • Visual Narrative Grammar; Image Morphology; Visual Syntax; Morphs; Iconic Text Storytelling Grammatizing the Visible Denitza Nedkova Notoriously the visual symbols, beyond the simple perception of the image, allow the sense construction. The latter occurs through the combination and ordering of the former. Consequently, it is possible to trace an analogy between the images and the verbal lexemes that form complete and meaningful messages (phrases) constructed in right combinations. Still the linear words ordering of the spoken language sequences contrast the simultaneous and parallel spatial and temporal structure of the visual ones. The hypothesis of a dimensional counterpoint between the two communicative systems could be ventured. On one side merge the two-dimensional string or verbal expressions’ phrase construction, i.e. chronological arrangements of concepts representing morphemes and, on the other, the three-dimensional construct of the visual representation with the interferential interactions between the plural possible meanings generated by irregular and diachronic combination of the images. This dichotomy causes the main queries of the present paper: How does the visual symbols’ concurrence occur and to what degree is it similar to that of verbal languages? Is it possible to formulate a “theory of sequential image comprehension”? 1. Visual Language Theory Inspired by Theory of Visual Language—born by the empirical and experimental research of the cognitivist Neil Cohn in seeking to understand the comics’ communication mechanism—here is underlined the parallel between the cognitive structures that govern verbal and the visual languages. In confirm the threefold structure of the relationship between language and thought—signifying (word), meaning (mental imprinting of the referent), referent (an extra-linguistic reader body)—is stabile even with the switch of the first position from word to image. Therefore, every language, verbal or visual, is a system of conventional signifiers (phonemes, graphemes etc.) grammatically structured to form a rational message and depending on the cultural context that provides particularities and differences to distinguish it. The theory of common language grammatical rules (Cohn, The visual narrative reader 180) based on the same organizational cognitive structures - congenital but permanently modulated by the context—that govern all the communicative expressions (musical one included, Jackendoff and Audrin 470), opens the experimentation of the aforementioned grammar in every image narrative field. All possible because, contrary to the Chomsky’s generative grammar, meaning is not grammar derived, but is a parallel and separate structure, whose organization rules are memory stored as complete archetype cognitive schemes. Graphic abilities, as the discursive ones, are structured according to function, form and development. They involve, like the talking, motor skills, interaction with the graphic practice of a given culture, socialization and motivation, emotional intelligence, etc. The image, equally to the word, gives the psychosomatic capacity to express both the live (view-based depiction / description) and memory (object-based depiction / description) perception. Accepting the stability of Marr’s visual perception tripartite division of mental 4 2019 • Comparatismi 120 image processing dated 1978·early vision sketches the basic image elements (color, shape, movement) (Chatterjee 1573) activating the V1 zone of the primary visual cortex; intermediate vision adds spatial image elements (position, depth, orientation) activating the secondary extra striate visual cortex (V2); late vision provides three dimensional representation integrating new and existing knowledge through the motor-sensitive mirror neurons of the tertiary visual cortex (V3, V4,V5, V6)—the second level agrees with the view-based representation as recalls the visa emulation, while the third with the object- based one conceptualizing the perceived data. These two levels seem to found the neural organization structures that hold up every communicative construction facilitating the evidence of resemblance and contrast through visual and verbal cognitive stamps. The meeting point between the two communication systems, as previously highlighted, is the basic comprehension (lexicon) system with variable and individual number of cognitive meaning making schemes (concepts) expressed by image (drawing) or by systematic sounds and symbols’ organization (spoken language). The cultural pre- establishment of the stamps’ blend for each communication system conserves and conventionalizes them over time by the collective memory of each culture. This concurred process (culturally determined) allows distinguishing Greek art from the Maya or Japanese one exactly as it happens with their respective verbal languages. Consequently, there are pre-existing representative schemes of the objects in the mind and not just a direct perception of it at the base of the drawing, as well as of the language. Therefore the cognitive image system presupposes the availability of a graphic lexicon constructed from the pre-determined mental resemblances of the discerned object and organized by size— first the simple graphic elements (lines, dots, etc. equal to the letters), after schematized parts of the image (equal to the syllabation) and finally simple representations of the image (equal to the words) - and managed by a graphic syntax. Accordingly, the main diversity between verbal and graphic cognitive models stays in the iconic nature of the picture. It presupposes that the graphic images are superimposed on the relative phrases as they are formally similar. Contrary the language signs (graphemes) are causally linked to the meanings—not having a visual similarity with them—which determines their purely symbolic nature. Thus, the drawing is more comprehensively universal, the temporal linearity of the spoken language is missing or in any case not imposed in the comprehension of the picture language even if both verbal and image languages maintain a high cultural-imposed conventionality. If in the spoken language it is the syntax to organize the meaning in the drawn one it organizes only graphic elements similarly to the phonology function that combines sounds to call and therefore to mean something. These different forms of linguistic structure and the relationship between the linguistic levels (phonetic, morphological, and syntactic) are balanced in the broader linguistic framework of Parallel Architecture (Jackendoff and Audrin 483). Concretely, the visual language implies an interaction between the graphic structure (lines and shapes are the phonemes) the morphological structure (linking of the phonemes) and the semantic structure (realization of a meaning). 2. Image morphology Visual morphology treats the shapes of figurative elements, their formation and modulation in a system. The division of the language lexical units (single word, part of word or sequence of words) in open/variable elements (nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs) and closed/invariable elements (prepositions, articles, conjunctions, pronouns) is hardly applicable (Cohn, Combinatorial Morphology in Visual Languages 183) to the image Nedkova • Grammatizing the Visible 121 lexicon. The definition of a minimum unit in the image is useless, as the visual information allows a simultaneous, and non-linear as in speech, perception of the morphological elements. Therefore, the autonomous visual units are not morphemes—as the parallel architecture would have established—but mono, micro or macro morphs, term crystallized by Neil Cohn following the semiologist Walter Koch’s interpretation from 1971 as logemes. Formally the morphs are represented by complete forms such as figures, objects or parts of them. These are connected in a morphology system through non-autonomous units such as affixes formally expressed by motion directions, color definition, dimensions etc. of the forms and aggregated both to open and close units. Accordingly, the monomorphs are composed of micromorphs which in turn can separate from the former and represent their own meaning such as synecdoche in verbal language. The macromorphs then are formed by several monomorphs as to form the phrases in the sentence. This connection of the parts is exemplified in Cohn’s visual grammar theory by the commix frame where the shapes—objects or persons—are matched with the insertion of affixes—in the word these are suffixes, prefixes etc.—that could be upfix like the speech bubble above the head of the speaking character, a circumflix when it comes to lines of action around an object that moves etc. The affixes can substitute completely the morphs similarly to the irregular verbs (eat → ate). The affix of the dust cloud, for example, replaces the macromorph of the fighting people representing an external substitution, while the internal one—as the metaphonesi (fall → fell)—is graphically expressed from hearts instead of eyes to indicate falling in love. The analogy that occurs in the combinatorial strategies of the spoken and the picture languages is confirmed by the cerebral functioning almost identical in the comprehension of morphological variations both on a graphic and written level. The electroencephalographic measurement of the electrophysiological brain response to an external stimulus (ERP, event-related potential) in cases of semantic or structure violation—on morphological as well as on syntax level—registers the same neural behavior both for a visual (Cohn and Mahler 78) and verbal (Kuperberg 176) narration. A negative electrophysiological peak in the frontal lobe occurs—the cerebral wave of the event-related potential drops for 400ms (N400)—in case of semantic incongruity, and a positive electrophysiological peak in the posterior left hemisphere rises—the ERP rises for 600ms (P600)—in the case of the syntactic one. N400 is a context specific default brain response, which indicates the extraction of semantic information from the perceived stimulus, namely the overlap of information currently received with the pre-existing mental models. Therefore, the more the stimulus is incongruous to the milieu the more the ERP potential falls. Instead, P600 reacts to situational changes, i.e. violations of the positioning and grouping of the informative components, with increasing its activity of modifying and updating the existing sequential mental model. Relating the visual morphology to a real (photograph) or artistic (picture) representation emerge other formal elements proper to the image lexicon. Observing a masterpiece of Italian Renaissance art (Fig. 1), alongside with the conjunction graphic affixes—such as the drapery that wraps the figure or the clods that sustain them—the lightening and the chromatics of the monomorphs transform the simple physical relation—so well achieved by the action lines in the comics—in a dramatic event. Color affixes, for example, link the monomorphs in macromorphs i.e. phrases—note the dominant flesh color of the nudes— or hyperbolize one monomorph among the others—as the intense blue color of the Virgin’s vest. Moreover, as in the comic strip a synecdoche or metonymy increase the dynamics of the narration, in this masterpiece it is entrust to the allegory with the attribution of a hidden meaning to images, beyond their apparent literal representation. In specific, the clusters of 4 2019 • Comparatismi 122 corps become the waves of the vortex—namely the action lines—activated by Christ’s gesture. Fig. 1 – Michelangelo Buonarroti, Last Judgment (1536-41); detail: Christ Judge; Sistine Chapel, Vatican City. 3. Visual Syntax The evidenced visual morphology is, by its nature, organized more or less sequentially in a narrative grammar through the syntax structures. The creation of a narration through images is analogous to the verbal one because of the same memory encoding of the systemic relations between forms and meaning, as by aforementioned empirical results. In Cohn’s theory a narrative arc structure of cinematic origins is applied to identify a series of hierarchical narrative constituents (Cohn et al. 67) of the comics’ storytelling, starting with these that establish and initiate the action/event and finishing with those that climax a release it. These syntactic elements form three types of narrative schemes: the regular one, the amplified regular one with additions to each constituent and fragmentation of the visual image (called conjunction) and narrative scheme with modifiers that focus the attention on a particular element of the image by attention windows. When the constituent is fragmented into several panels showing several points of view of the same event, different elements of the same semantic representation or an iterative progression of the event’s completion, it needs conjunctions to maintain the integrity of the sequential flow. In these cases, the understanding of the sequence requires an inferential (deductive) neural process of updating that refers the detail image to the larger context of the whole sequence. The reader perceives this common milieu and understand the visual narration using pre-existing combinatorial structures separated from the perceptual updating of the panels (Cohn, The Visual Language of Comics: Introduction to the Structure and Cognition of Sequential Images 66) and represented by the conjunctions use in maintaining the narrative coherence. Actually the cerebral reaction, both of structural and sense correction to the same element of conjunction—namely high left anterior negativity (N400) in the presence of conjunctions both in semantically congruous and incongruous sequences and high left posterior positivity (P600) in both correct or incorrect syntactically sequences with conjunctions—in graphic (Manfredi, Cohn and Kutas 33) as well as in linguistic (Friederici Nedkova • Grammatizing the Visible 123 1357) and sound (Koelsch and Siebel 578) fields, highlights the share of the same conjunction mechanism and its presence both in terms of sense and structure in all communication systems. This is therefore a stable element of a unique narrative understanding system that underlies all the communication structures. In addition, the left posterior positivity (P600) in the manga readers results lower as they more easily recognize the spatial connectors, opposed to their higher left anterior (N400) negativity left as they engage in more intense combinatorial experience-based processes. Contrary those who do not routinely read comics have a higher P600 due to a more sophisticated update of the mental models and a lower N400 as the combinatorial neural energy is in who is not used to such action manages a less extensive lexicon. These results explain the difference in the descriptive character—defined by Cohn expressive relativity (The visual narrative reader 323)—of the visual narratives of different cultures. Therefore, a Japanese, using a more descriptive spoken language, creates and reads without difficulty a similar visual language, unlike the American that, expressing himself synthetically, needs to find in a single or just few frames the entire narrative arc, as evidenced by its difficulty in combining multiple frames of the same action. This phenomenon is due not only to the difference in the verbal language typology but also to the different training of the visual perception as evidenced by the diverse use of the four main types of attention windows in the narrative strip (Cohn, The visual narrative reader 335). The macro attention window contains most or the entire information of the action, the mono window has only one element that, through the micro window is emphasized by enlarging certain parts of it, and finally the amorphous window containing elements not directly related to the action but rather to its contextualization. Westerners tend to focus on the leading character in the scene while the Orientals pay the same attention both to the protagonists and to the surrounding environment (Masuda et al. 1262). So, the Japanese manga simulates the whole process that the eye performs in the attention, posing consecutively on the characters (mono), on their details (micro) and on the context (amorphous). Western comics, instead, tend to offer immediately the integral scene (macro) as the readers easily capture the important traits, attracted only by the protagonists of the action. 4. Universality of the visual language grammar Despite the cultural specificities the unique visual narrative feature of the simultaneous perceiving and consequently reading of the information often leads to cultural interference and overlap. Returning to the Sistine Chapel, let’s consider entire fresco narration of the Last Judgment (Fig. 2). Fig. 2 – Michelangelo Buonarroti, Last Judgment (1536-41); detail: Christ Judge; Sistine Chapel, Vatican City. 4 2019 • Comparatismi 124 This iconic text is not apparently divided in separate frames—crucial for Cohn’s Visual Grammar Theory—as is the vault of the same chapel frescoed by Michelangelo just few years earlier (Fig. 3) representing one of the most famous precursors of the comics strip. This progressive removal from the regular representational layouts—with the consequent linear reading of the content—towards structurally open and more random solutions is explained, century after, by the empirical analysis of the visual text. The phenomenon, in fact, is traced by Neil Cohn (Cohn and Campbell 197) examining the development in the last 70 years of the comic strip layouts and identifying a gradual shift from the Z-path conventional structures, namely from left to right and from top to bottom (the 40s and 50s of the 19th century) to most linguistically i.e. culturally free and productive ones—such to allow the creation of comics writers’ personal style and the emergence of individual readers’ storytelling. In fact, the authors initially feel obliged to follow the simple linguistic writing and reading structure (Z-path) in order not to confuse the readers in the narration following. Subsequently, however, the creative unconscious intuition that the navigation rules are systematic and implicit, namely the stability of the reading (verbal) order preference even in structurally unstable texts, allows to explore less regular decorative elements. The systematic application of the latter confirms the artists’ treat of the page as a canvas regardless to compel the reader moving through the page in an intuitive way, obeying only to the embodied navigation principles. Once again, as in the Renaissance, the page is transformed from a simple base for a panels’ flow (Molotiu 88) into a canvas to paint on (Groensteen 110) that can accommodate both the flow of narrative sequences—as the Sistine Chapel vault—and a unique widescreen—as the Last Judgment. Indeed, the story fragmentation of the Michelangelo’s Judgment in diverse scenes is accomplished by the vertical macromorphs’ stratification straight from Environment - note the contrasting blue background that absorbs all the episodes—and Time—all actions refer to the same outcome - Conjunctions (Cohn, The visual narrative reader 326). The layers arrangement allows the definition of the constituents in a narrative arc that syntactically is far from the horizontal (linear verbal) narrative scheme—establisher/climax/release— which assumes the typical for the western languages (graphic and verbal) Z-path reading. Differently this fresco syntax develops an irregular narrative scheme structuring the constituents not sequentially but circularly around the central Peak constituent formally represented by the monomorph of Christ Judge. Even if each episode/phrase peripheral to the central scene can be used as an initial or establisher for the latter, one of the most probable reading directions, because of the viewers’ most usual physical position, is the vertical one surprisingly conforms with the oriental verbal and graphic languages. If we Fig. 3 – Michelangelo Buonarroti, Sistine Chapel vault (1508-12), Vatican City. Nedkova • Grammatizing the Visible 125 consider, for example, the narrative expression adopted by the father of the modern Japanese manga (mangaka) Osami Tezuka, we observe that the same narrative line direction is found (Fig. 3). In fact, the contemporary manga graphic story, as set by its pioneer Tezuka, is usually made up of episodes that compose narrative arcs of variable length and direction within which the events are calibrated according to their importance by the syntax of the frames. In turn, the value of each panel is defined by the complexity of its morphological composition. Mangaka amalgamates the graphic essentiality of vertical oriental writing with the western narrative richness. Observing one page of Tezuka’s masterpiece Astro Boy, the assonance with the Michelangelo’s narrative is discernible. The irregular narrative arc, created through three vertical panels sequence, increases the tension from the bottom to the top. The consecutio temporum of the entire page is determined by the main frame/phrase similarly to the one performed by the group of the Judge in Michelangelo’s fresco. The western verbal and graphic space-time flow, namely a horizontally developing sequence of regular phrases/frames, is set aside by a syntactically irregular narrative scheme. The latter often abandons any reading direction inviting the user not to follow but to immerse into the image storytelling. Two images belonging to two completely diverse epochs, cultural systems and artistic styles but governed by the same grammatical representational organization confirm the universality of the Visual Language Grammar located in a system of pre-established mental patterns inherent in everyone and only subsequently culturally modulated that are crystallized by Gombrich’s pupil Michael Baxandall in the concept of Period Eye (for a discussion of this topic, see Nedkova 199). 5. Works Cited Chatterjee, Anjan. “The neuropsychology of visual artistic production.” Neuropsychologia, vol. 42, no.11, 2004, pp. 1568-83. Cohn, Neil. “Combinatorial Morphology in Visual Languages.” The Construction of Words. Springer, Cham, 2018, pp.175-99. ---. Early writings on visual language. Emaki Productions, 2003. ---. The Visual Language of Comics: Introduction to the Structure and Cognition of Sequential Images. A&C Black, 2013. ---, editor. The visual narrative reader. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2016. Cohn, Neil, et al. “The grammar of visual narrative: Neural evidence for constituent structure in sequential image comprehension.” Neuropsychologia, vol. 64, 2014, pp. 63-70. Fig. 4 – Osamu Tezuka, Astro Boy, The birth, vol.1, Dark Horse 27. 4 2019 • Comparatismi 126 Cohn, Neil, and Hannah Campbell. “Navigating Comics II: Constraints on the Reading Order of Comic Page Layouts.” Applied Cognitive Psychology, vol. 29, no. 2, 2015, pp. 193-99. Cohn, Neil, and Marta Kutas. “What’s your neural function, visual narrative conjunction? Grammar, meaning, and fluency in sequential image processing.” Cognitive research: principles and implications, vol. 2, 2017. Cohn, Neil, and Stephen Maher. “The notion of the motion: The neurocognition of motion lines in visual narratives.” Brain research, no. 1601, 2015, pp. 73-84. Friederici, Angela D. “The brain basis of language processing: from structure to function.” Physiological reviews, vol. 91, no. 4, 2011, pp. 1357-92. Groensteen, Thierry. The system of comics. UP of Mississippi, 2007. Jackendoff, Ray, and Jenny Audring. “Morphological schemas.” The Mental Lexicon, vol. 11, no. 3, 2016, pp. 467-93. Koch, Walter A. Varia semiotica. Vol. 3, Georg Olms, 1971. Koelsch, Stefan, and Walter A. Siebel. “Towards a neural basis of music perception.” Trends in cognitive sciences, vol. 9, no. 12, 2005, pp. 578-84. Kuperberg, Gina R. “The proactive comprehender: What event-related potentials tell us about the dynamics of reading comprehension.” Unraveling the Behavioral, Neurobiological, and Genetic Components of Reading Comprehension, edited by Brett Miller, Laurie E. Cutting and Peggy McCardle, Paul Brookes Publishing, 2013, pp. 176- 92. Manfredi, Mirella, Neil Cohn, and Marta Kutas. “When a hit sounds like a kiss: An electrophysiological exploration of semantic processing in visual narrative.” Brain and language, no. 169, 2017, pp. 28-38. Masuda, Takahiko, et al. “Culture and aesthetic preference: Comparing the attention to context of East Asians and Americans.” Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, vol. 34, no. 9, 2008, pp. 1260-75. Marr, David, and H. Keith Nishihara. “Visual information processing: Artificial intelligence and the sensorium of sight.” Technology review, vol. 81, no.1, 1978, pp. 2-23. Molotiu, Andrei. “Abstract Form: Sequential dynamism and iconostasis in abstract comics and in Steve Ditko’s Amazing Spider-Man.” Critical Approaches to Comics: Theories and Methods, edited by Matthew J. Smith and Randy Duncan, Routledge, 2012, pp. 84- 100. Nedkova, Denitza Roumenova. “The thinking eye: from Semir Zeki to John Onians.” Comparatismi, no. 2, 2017, pp. 199-208. Tezuka, Osamu. Astro Boy 1 & 2. Dark Horse Comics, 2008. 
work_wdrxjtxdrnainozlqto6nz7yui	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 13 December 2015 The Pinch of Expressionism in Art History Review of: Kimberly A. Smith, ed., The Expressionist Turn in Art History, Farnham, Surrey, and Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate, 2014, 374 pp., 35 ill. b/w, £75.00, ISBN: 978-1-4094-4999-7 Andrei Pop There is no more common, and probably no more useful, art historical superstition than the hunch that whatever disparate phenomena appear around the same time (be they artworks, philosophies, wars, or styles of dancing) have something in common. This is useful because, even if wrong, such connections often illuminate by force of contrast. More embarrassing is the success of such operations: no one will any longer accept an explanation in terms of Zeitgeist, style, source, Kunstwollen, episteme, turns of the dialectic, and other collective generalizations – at least, no one outside one’s own camp. More recent attempts, like Michael Baxandall’s ‘cognitive style’, wore their dustiness on their sleeve, convincing only where charming similarities could be found, and not through any grand explanation of the similarity. Be that as it may, one term in the historicist vocabulary seems to have evaded our suspicion: the ‘turn’. The first, and most famous, a ‘Linguistic Turn’, gave the rather tendentious title to a mid-century anthology in the philosophy of language edited by Richard Rorty. An iconic turn was thereafter declared in art history (to roll back the linguistic one), and haptic, auditory, performative, and enactive turns have tumbled over one another, cheerfully proclaiming the primacy of some sole favoured approach, whether in a specialized field like cognitive science (the enactive turn) or all the humanities (the enactive turn again). The volume under review fortunately does not suffer from such partisan myopia, since neither editor Kimberly Smith nor any of the living contributors (many of whom provide not just interesting introductions but also translations of allegedly expressionist art historians) believe that we are or should be expressionist art historians. Indeed, they seem to be agreed that the phenomenon of a critical (and more questionably, historical) expressionism lasted hardly more than two decades, and affected primarily Germany, Austria and Switzerland. But like other contemporary users of ‘turn’ rhetoric, Smith seems convinced that once we swallow the term, we can enjoy a relatively smooth empirical ride, for the world took an expressionist turn, apparently, and though we don’t know precisely why, or in which direction the influence (another nasty old historicist term) flowed, there is no doubt that art prose shared some of the emphatic, pathos-laden, Germanic (at times to the point of bigotry) tone of expressionist painting, especially in the decade immediately before and after the Great War. Then one met opening sentences like those of Wilhelm Worringer’s Altdeutsche Buchillustration of 1912: Andrei Pop The Pinch of Expressionism in Art History 2 The German is not born with a naïve sensuality of the eye, but must instead acquire it. He is too strongly interested in what is essential to record things with impartial sight. And if he is an artist, then he tends to express what things are, instead of representing them.1 Such crude jingoism makes one wonder not just whether forgotten expressionist historians need rediscovering, but even whether famous ones like Worringer shouldn’t be forgotten. But of course most of us reading such an author today are not joining a debate on methodology, but treating the author as a kind of exotic historical beast, perhaps one that will cast indirect light on Ludwig Kirchner or Emil Nolde. And at times reading on does pay: Worringer’s second sentence already suggests an interesting contrast between the essential and the objective that, however misguided, might throw light on larger range of modern art and thinking than the expressionist label would suggest. The third sentence applies this broad claim to art and artists, and already our sought-after term, expression, makes its entrance. Readers expecting to find a theoretical history of expressionism via its art- historical personnel will be disappointed. Benedetto Croce, whose aesthetic theory of expression underwrote much interesting argument about art from Julius von Schlosser to Clement Greenberg, makes at most intermittent appearances in the notes; the same goes for empathy theorists like Theodor Lipps and Theodor Vischer (though the sparse index, which omits reference to the endnotes, is no guide in tracking sources). But that is really not the point of the collection: unlike the influential Getty volume of translations on empathy theory, and Chris Wood’s reader of The Vienna School, Smith’s book makes no claims to reclamation (or critique) of a founding moment of art history: rather, the book aims to estrange these venerable traditions, and its heart consists in texts by two obscure Germans (Fritz Burger and Ernst Heidrich), juxtaposed with canonical (Heinrich Wölfflin, Worringer) and nearly-canonical (Max Dvořák, Carl Einstein) figures.2 The ratio of unfamiliar to familiar is then not overwhelming, and that of translated material to critical essay is likewise less than generous: in the case of three authors, there is one critical essay and just one translation. We are given rather familiar texts by Wölfflin at least. His late (1933) reply to critics of his Kunsthistorische Grundbegriffe, though absent from the old Dover Principles of Art History, is going to be included in the new translation (ed. Evonne Levy and Tristan Weddigen, 2015), and besides is far less a ‘revision’ than the English word suggests: in German, ‘Revision’ just means ‘look back’, and the author is neither bold in amending his formalism, nor does this fragment of the thirties have much to do with expressionism. The reader would have been better served by a translation of 1 Wilhelm Worringer, ‘Introduction to Old German Book Illustration (1912)’, translated by Heather Mathews, with Kathleen Chapman, in Smith (ed.), The Expressionist Turn in Art History, 81. 2 These claims apply of course only to English-speakers: in Vienna, Dvořák is as famous as Wölfflin, and Worringer and Einstein are suspect. The authors constantly advance such canonical considerations, but given that obscurity afflicts such remarkable historians as Émile Mâle or Arthur Kingsley Porter (whose names are known, but who are read only by specialists), overwrought worrying that, e.g., ‘a prominent German historian of the teens is now hardly read’ betrays a Teutonic chauvinism in English-language art historiography. Andrei Pop The Pinch of Expressionism in Art History 3 his first submission to the philosophical magazine Logos, the 1913 article ‘Über den Begriff des Malerischen’ [On the concept of the painterly] which diverges interestingly from the first chapter of the Grundbegriffe, and possesses a freshness in the way it runs its concept roughshod over various media that is likely to have been infectious to artists (as Wölfflin boasted of the 1915 book). Besides the ‘revision’, there is Wölfflin’s 1922 Logos contribution, ‘Italy and the German Sense of Form’, which despite being familiar in book form (1931; the 1958 English ed. is censoriously titled The Sense of Form in Art: An Introduction to the Italian Renaissance), serves the editor and translators well as a test case of failed aesthetic diplomacy, Wölfflin’s delicate investigations of Italian form North of the Alps being offset by a fateful ‘two ways of seeing’ approach that has been kept alive above all by Svetlana Alpers’ Art of Describing. The essay on Wölfflin, by Michela Pasini and Francesca Peri, is a careful, precise reconstruction of two senses of the word expression, labelled in dry analytic style as expression1 and expression2, the former of which signifies intentional communication of a content (expressing a thought) and the latter, the elusive bringing to the surface of things hidden (expressing the ‘temper of an age’, p.242). The results of applying these rubrics to Wölfflin’s writings make nice sense where sceptics like Gombrich often saw just windy rhetoric; the authors don’t paper over Wölfflin’s German nationalism, not at all an inevitability for a Swiss national, but not all that uncommon either.3 The character of the other essays varies in scope, from Hans Aurenhammer’s and Charles Haxthausen’s assured, broadly historical placements of Dvořák and Einstein respectively, to the understandably more apologetic and expository introductions to Burger and Heidrich by Elena Filippi and Eveliina Juntunen. One can see why their authors were forgotten: Burger compares the canonical Cézanne with Hodler before getting to their synthesis in Franz Marc, which will not change any reader’s mind today, but is obviously of historical interest for the marriage of German art history with then-contemporary art. Heidrich’s Germanic philippics against Italian form and in favour of German colour, meanwhile, must have embarrassed the more nuanced and ecumenical Wölfflinians. But Heidrich can also surprise: in discussing Rubens’ Massacre of the Innocents and other tragic pictures (178-9), he acknowledges the Counter-Reformation background of his themes and beliefs, but insists that ‘Rubens’ elementary worldview…the full feeling for life which, perpetually welling up as a unity, cannot be destroyed’ is what makes these pictures powerful. Corny but true! Rubens is in this sense a precursor to Goethe, who confessed to Eckermann that he was incapable of composing tragedy. The translators, here and elsewhere, deserve credit for neither sweeping these writers’ poetic flights under the rug, nor collapsing into kitsch. Returning from the translations to the scholarship, Kathleen Chapman’s accomplished essay actually manages to say something new about Worringer, by 3 246-9. Typically, Passini and Peri are careful to distinguish this pan-Germanism from Worringer’s and that of Julius Langbehn. A shame that editorial staff didn’t amend sentences like ‘while it accentuated his diffidence for certain chauvinistic components of German culture, it strengthened his ties to the German community.’ A footnote to this unlovely sentence makes clear that ‘diffidence’ should rather be ‘unease’! Wölfflin during the war is quoted as complaining: ‘This is the unity we heard so much about: everyone has lost his mind.’ (251) Andrei Pop The Pinch of Expressionism in Art History 4 focusing on his Altdeutsche Buchillustration and showing how William Morris-like ideas about handiwork and home industry (a great passion of Adolf Loos and Alois Riegl as well) combined with German exceptionalism to produce the fantastic thesis that ‘the German propensity for abstraction was expressed most clearly in illustration’ (61). Though the Werkbund is cited as context, this is a rare case of the essays going beyond the writer in question to illuminate the world he inhabited: it is worth considering the degree to which such ideas infected the Werkbund, or the first, expressionistic phase of the Bauhaus. A middle term might be Karl Scheffler’s Der Geist der Gotik (Leipzig: Insel, 1917), which in its shrill attack on Greek order and boundless enthusiasm for Germanic chaos folded up functional architecture into the latter. The introduction by Kimberly Smith is both well-read and, for an edited volume, unusually attentive and respectful to the actual arguments advanced by her authors (I cannot describe the irritation of being misunderstood by your own editor, and dismissed in a few banal sentences: a feeling her author/translators will not have here). I am however puzzled by her way of organizing this text: she first brings up the theme of expressionism in art and scholarship, then provides short subtitled sections dealing with each translated author, returns to argument with a section on ‘Expressionist Art and Art History’ (showing how even the suspicious Dvořák greeted ‘the spiritual’ dimension issuing in ‘German soulfulness’), before finally giving an overview of the essays and translations. This rather redundant arrangement indicates the tension between original scholarship on an era and anthology of that era, with which the book struggles. As it is, I am afraid it does too little of either to serve as a definitive study of or anthology of these figures—but its hybrid form will make it a welcome guide to those new to the area, including undergraduates in advanced courses on German expressionism. Finally, since a review’s primary task is not to praise or blame but to indicate what is done and what needs doing, I want to draw attention to an aporia haunting more than one of the contemporary texts. It is freely admitted by Aurenhammer and Haxthausen that the authors they discuss were not particularly sympathetic to, nor particularly understood, the art we most literally call expressionist. And, as Smith puts it in her introduction, when Worringer wrote of expression, ‘he was thinking more of Hans von Marées, Ferdinand Hodler, or Adolf von Hildebrand than Wassily Kandinsky or Franz Marc’ (23). She adds thoughtfully that it was Cubism which set the tone, and not its German epigones. But if that is true, as it certainly is, then the very canon of expressionist art historians is exploded. If Marées in fact was important, why not include Julius Meier-Graefe (who crops up in the book, but not in the index), who not only wrote saliently on ‘expressionists’ from Munch to Beckmann, but who despite his dislike of the Germanophile artists speculated that his German background and Mediterranean orientation might have allowed Marées to achieve a monumental style not available to his beloved Impressionists? It is fatuous for reviewers to complain of omissions, since every reader will have other favourites: but the point is not the omission of a favourite of mine as much as the shape history is given by forgetting some persons and remembering others. Here this means that the force of art historical tradition—a rigid identification of Expressionism with Die Brücke and Der Blaue Reiter—has prevailed despite the rhetoric of rethinking. Be that as it may, provoking argument about the relation of Andrei Pop The Pinch of Expressionism in Art History 5 art to history is a worthy endeavour, so the editor and authors of The Expressionist Turn have already put us in their debt. Andrei Pop studied art history at Stanford and Harvard Universities and taught at the Universities of Vienna and Basel before joining the Committee on Social Thought at the University of Chicago. He has published Antiquity, Theatre, and the Painting of Henry Fuseli (2015), edited Ugliness: The Non-Beautiful in Art and Theory (2014), and translated Karl Rosenkranz’s Aesthetics of Ugliness (2015), the latter two projects in collaboration with Mechtild Widrich. apop@uchicago.edu This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial 4.0 International License. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ 
work_wfqyk7gcknhtvh3nnbvwmo7som	----	Pamela H. Smith; Amy R. W. Meyers; Harold J. Cook, eds. Ways of Making and Knowing: The Material Culture of Empirical Knowledge. University of Groningen Bookreview of Ways of Making and Knowing: The Material Culture of Empirical Knowledge by Pamela H. Smith; Amy R. W. Meyers; Harold J. Cook Lehmann, Ann-Sophie Published in: Isis, the international journal for the history of science DOI: 10.1086/682761 IMPORTANT NOTE: You are advised to consult the publisher's version (publisher's PDF) if you wish to cite from it. Please check the document version below. Document Version Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Publication date: 2015 Link to publication in University of Groningen/UMCG research database Citation for published version (APA): Lehmann, A-S. (2015). Bookreview of Ways of Making and Knowing: The Material Culture of Empirical Knowledge by Pamela H. Smith; Amy R. W. Meyers; Harold J. Cook. Isis, the international journal for the history of science, 106(2), 423-424. https://doi.org/10.1086/682761 Copyright Other than for strictly personal use, it is not permitted to download or to forward/distribute the text or part of it without the consent of the author(s) and/or copyright holder(s), unless the work is under an open content license (like Creative Commons). Take-down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please contact us providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Downloaded from the University of Groningen/UMCG research database (Pure): http://www.rug.nl/research/portal. For technical reasons the number of authors shown on this cover page is limited to 10 maximum. Download date: 06-04-2021 https://doi.org/10.1086/682761 https://research.rug.nl/en/publications/bookreview-of-ways-of-making-and-knowing-the-material-culture-of-empirical-knowledge-by-pamela-h-smith-amy-r-w-meyers-harold-j-cook(e30ac8be-c723-49c1-a500-f521d67d6e3d).html https://doi.org/10.1086/682761 Pamela H. Smith; Amy R. W. Meyers; Harold J. Cook (Editors). Ways of Making and Knowing: The Material Culture of Empirical Knowledge. (Bard Graduate Center Cultural Histories of the Material World.) xi � 430 pp., illus., table, bibl., index. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2014. $60 (cloth). The notion of the “turn” has to manifest itself by stressing that everything it turns to is indeed textual, pictorial, performative, or—as is the case with the turn the series editor Peter N. Miller evokes in his preface to this volume as “surely being upon us”—material (p. vii). As a consequence, many publications that have addressed the material turn reiterate its origins, ambitions, and goals, while the actual impact of research into the meaning of materials lags behind. This volume, edited by Pamela H. Smith, Amy R. W. Meyers, and Harold J. Cook, the fourth in the Bard Graduate Center Cultural Histories of the Material World series, is a welcome combination of both: it addresses the overall theoretical impact of the material turn for the history of science and art, as well as presenting case studies that reflect the academic usefulness of the increasingly sensitive attention paid to the material world. The reason for this combination may be the rather long history of the book, which began in an interdisciplinary conference in 2005. Most of the fourteen contributions have benefited from the long seeding time and, as the footnotes show, have been updated to include references to publications up until at least 2011. While most readers of edited volumes may be inclined to skip the introduction and move on to the contribution that connects to their area of interest and expertise, this one should not be missed. It beautifully frames the knowledgeable relation between the mind and the hand through the metaphor of the wisdom of Athena, which embodied both the “bright” knowledge of ideas and the “dark” knowledge of matter. More importantly, it presents an overview of the historiography of research into objects, materials, and practices that reaches far beyond sociological and anthropological theories of the 1990s (today’s familiar backbone of the material turn) and identifies earlier accumulations in the 1930s and 1970s. It also shows that the academic investigation into the history of materials has a political side to it, as it exposes the material conditions of the field itself, which today, when external funding and impact factors tend to outweigh originality of research, are as important as ever. Of the fourteen contributions, two are more essayistic in nature. Suzanne B. Butters reviews the relation between skill and knowledge in Italian Renaissance art with the help of multiple examples; and Mary M. Brooks presents a view from inside the museum, illustrating with diverse British exhibitions up until 2008 how preservation can be conceptualized to think about decay as a natural and inspiring element of the material world. The remaining twelve contributions deal mostly with Northern European and some North American early modern material practices and objects and have carved out their historical contexts deeply. As such they present what Ken Alder, writing in this journal some years ago, called “thick things”; they answer to the “challenge of representing things in ways that at least partially and temporarily coordinate the diverse sets of human agents who design, make, and use them” (Isis, 2007, 98:80 – 83, on p. 82). From the unexpected relation between butter and mercury in metalsmithing treatises (Pamela H. Smith), to the intriguing history of the black dyestuff produced from logwood (Alicia Weisberg-Roberts), to the material practices arising from the testing of valuable substances and products for their quality (Patrick Wallis and Catherine Wright), and all the way to the use of oil of turpentine as a preservative for anatomical specimens (Harold J. Cook), the authors show how the study of substances and the objects produced from or with them yields a wealth of information on the relation between making and knowing. They also demonstrate the necessity that such research be interdisciplinary, productively connecting the history of science to that of art. With no fewer than five contributions on specimen boxes and vessels, artfully constructed cabinets, illustrated books, and lists, the volume has an implicit subfocus on the containers that keep, transport, display, and record salient substances and objects (Mark Laird and Karen Bridgman, Glenn Adamson, Joel T. Fry, Lisa L. Ford, Elizabeth Yale). Taken ISIS—Volume 106, Number 2, June 2015 423 This content downloaded from 129.125.019.061 on November 02, 2018 06:36:33 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). together, the successful pursuit of the “thick thing” approach presented here should inspire researchers for some time to come. With many high-quality color illustrations and a classic layout, Ways of Making and Knowing makes for enjoyable reading. The editors should also be complimented on their “tiny step” (p. xi) toward integrating new formats. They discuss and link to the reconstructions of Venetian glassmaking by Ian Hankey that took place at the initial conference in 2005 and were recorded on film. The integration of such visuals with the printed book is the next challenge for the material turn, asking as it does for a change in our very own material culture of publishing research results. Ann-Sophie Lehmann Sacha Stern; Charles Burnett (Editors). Time, Astronomy, and Calendars in the Jewish Tradition. (Time, Astronomy, and Calendars, 3.) xxi � 365 pp., illus., tables, bibl., index. Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2014. $220 (cloth). Time, Astronomy, and Calendars in the Jewish Tradition collects the published versions of papers presented at a conference under the same title at University College, London, in June 2012. Most of the contributors have been associated with any of several major London-based research projects on these topics. The first few papers address the formative period of postbiblical and rabbinic literature. Jonathan Ben-Dov discusses the reception of 1 Enoch 82 in the Jewish communities of Egypt. Reimund Leicht argues that the rabbinical procedures for observation of the moon in the tractate Rosh ha-Shanah are more politically motivated than based on any detailed cosmological knowledge. By contrast, Katharina Keim shows that the Pirke DeRabbi Eliezer represents an advance in curiosity about the facts of nature. The remaining nine contributions treat the medieval period. Some of them are brief synopses of forthcoming books and dissertations. François de Blois introduces us to the Islamic and Christian authors to whom we owe our earliest (ninth– eleventh century) information about the rabbinical calendar: Muh� ammad b. Mu� sa� al Xuwa�rizmı�, Ibn Ba�mša�ð al Qa�’inı�, Abu� l-’Abba�s al-Fad� l b. H� a�tim an-Nayrı�zı�, Abu� l-H� asan ‘Alı� b. al-Husayn al-Mas‘u� di, Abu� Rayh� a�n Muh� ammad b. Ah� mad al-Bayru� nı�, and Elias of Nisibis. Anne Kineret Sittig discusses her dissertation research on the Sabbath Epistle of Abraham Ibn Ezra, arguing that the letter should be understood within the context of debate between Jewish and Christian communities, rather than as a response to any particular text. Ilana Wartenberg presents excerpts from a forthcoming new edition of the book of Abraham bar H� iyya, comparing it with the work of Jacob bar Samson, which she argues was entirely independent. Two of the articles are long and technically challenging analyses of astronomical data and instruments. Raymond Mercier discusses the astronomical tables of Abraham bar H� iyya dated to 1104 Sep 21 and a closely related set dated to 1110 Feb 28, based on the work of bar H� iyya but adjusted from the meridian of Syria to that of Toulouse. He shows how bar H� iyya extended the mathematics of the Jewish calendar by merging it with the work of Claudius Ptolemy and the Arabic astronomer al Batta�nı� to produce a more comprehensive astronomical textbook. Josefina Rodrı́guez Arribas dicusses Ibn Ezra’s treatise on the astrolabe, written in Hebrew both because knowledge of Arabic was receding within the Jewish com- munity and because Jews wanted to make this fashionable instrument their own. Two papers draw the reader’s attention away from concern solely for textual reconstruction toward the culture of the scribes. Marina Rustow and Sacha Stern discuss the calendar controversy of 921–922, when the rabbinical authorities of Iraq and Palestine disagreed on the date of 1 Tishri 921 and therefore also of Passover in 922. From the Genizah fragments the authors reconstruct the eleventh-century manuscripts that preserve the documents. They explain why the debate became of interest in the eleventh century but then disappeared from memory until rediscovered by nineteenth-century scholars. 424 Book Reviews: General This content downloaded from 129.125.019.061 on November 02, 2018 06:36:33 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 
work_wjz3v2scxzfxlkaxpzt5a7ya4y	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
work_wuuwbyygjjfo7gy5eapkoymyme	----	bb9x78.qxd Review A good read For gift ideas, or just some compelling reading over the holiday season, try some of our favourites of 1999. A Fish Caught in Time by Samantha Weinberg (Fourth Estate, £7.99; Harper Collins, $24.00). The coelacanth, an intriguing fish, previously believed to be extinct, was re-discovered off the Comoros in 1938 by Marjorie Latimer. An amateur ichthyologist, J.L.B. Smith, then spent the rest of his life hunting more specimens. This book describes the frantic dash to preserve and keep in South Africa the first specimen, and the dramatic way in which it was won from the French. You don’t have to be a fan of fish to be consumed by this tale. The Man who Loved Only Numbers by Paul Hoffman (Fourth Estate, £7.99; Little Brown, $12.95). Part biography, part popular maths text, this is a racy tale of a weird man, the mathematical genius Paul Erdös. It is an affectionate and funny portrait of a true eccentric, who had no home and lived out of two tattered suitcases for more than 60 years, as he travelled the world collaborating with fellow mathematicians. Paper by John McCabe (Granta Books, £9.99). Highly qualified, incompetent, oddball geneticist Darren White stumbles on evidence of a crime — a welcome change from pipetting water and avoiding colleagues such as the Tea Break Terminator. Caught between hallucination and confusion, he pieces the bizarre clues together. I Wish I’d Made you Angry Earlier by Max Perutz (Oxford University Press, £19.99; Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory Press, $42.00). A gem of a collection of essays and book reviews that brings to life the stories of some of the greatest scientists of this century. Perutz brings a particular sense of pathos and personal struggle to his history of the science and scientists of the Second World War. Always fascinating, often moving, this is a riveting read. The Voyage of the Narwhal by Andrea Barrett (Flamingo, £6.99; W.W. Norton $14.00). An absorbing novel describing the voyage of the Narwhal to the Arctic in 1855, in the wake of Franklin’s infamous expedition. The dynamics of a group of very different characters aboard, and families back home, are handled lucidly and somewhat in the style of 19th-century writing. Consilience by Edward O. Wilson (Abacus, £8.99; Random House, $14.00). Just out in paperback, this is Wilson’s impassioned and thorough argument for the fundamental unity of all knowledge. It’s thought-provoking stuff, for scientists and non-scientists alike. Don’t be put off by the scope; dive in and ponder. Secondary Immunization by B.B. Jordan (Prime Crime, $5.99). Sex, drugs and immunology loom large in this ‘biomystery’ from the pen of UCSF immunologist, Frances Brodsky. It features Dr Celeste Braun, Californian immunologist and ‘90s woman, who becomes embroiled in a sinister experiment that could prove fatal. The Anatomist by Federico Andahazi (Anchor Books, £6.99; $12.95). An exploration of the (pre)discovery of the clitoris by an Italian Renaissance physician. Part-fantastic, part-realistic, the story shifts along like a whodunnit. Even for those who already know how to find it, this is an evocative description of how it was found. Dorothy Hodgkin: A Life by Georgina Ferry (Granta, £9.99). A sensitive portrayal of Hodgkin the scientist and Hodgkin the woman, explaining the theory behind X-ray crystallography along the way. Now out in paperback. Time, Love, Memory: A Great Biologist and his Quest for the Origins of Behavior by Jonathan Weiner (Alfred A. Knopf, $27.50; Faber & Faber, £18.99). Long before it became de rigeur to look to the genes for the basis of fundamental behaviours, the geneticist Seymour Benzer set himself the daunting task of unravelling circadian rhythms, mating and learning. Weiner’s own strong grasp of biology makes this account of Benzer’s enormously influential work both readable and exciting. Give it to anyone who’s curious about modern biology. Mr Darwin’s Shooter by Roger McDonald (Anchor Books, £6.99; Penguin, $13.95). A novel based on the life of Syms Covington, who worked as a servant to Darwin during his voyage on the Beagle. Intriguing insights into possession and professional rivalries, and master–servant interactions. Learn how to prepare and mount a bird skin. R910 Current Biology Vol 9 No 24 Review A good read 
work_wv2nvn2pnrciffhqagw72nvhce	----	06 April 2021 AperTO - Archivio Istituzionale Open Access dell'Università di Torino Original Citation: Roman coloured and opaque glass: a chemical and spectroscopic study Terms of use: Open Access (Article begins on next page) Anyone can freely access the full text of works made available as "Open Access". Works made available under a Creative Commons license can be used according to the terms and conditions of said license. Use of all other works requires consent of the right holder (author or publisher) if not exempted from copyright protection by the applicable law. Availability: This is the author's manuscript This version is available http://hdl.handle.net/2318/80617 since DOI: 10.1007/s00339-006-3515-2 Appl. Phys. A 83, 239–245 (2006) Materials Science & Processing Applied Physics A r. arletti1,� m.c. dalconi2 s. quartieri3 m. triscari3 g. vezzalini1 Roman coloured and opaque glass: a chemical and spectroscopic study 1 Dipartimento di Scienze della Terra, L. go S. Eufemia, 19, 41100 Modena, Italy 2 Dipartimento di Scienze della Terra, Via Saragat, 1, 44100 Ferrara, Italy 3 Dipartimento di Scienze della Terra, Salita Sperone, 31, 98166 Messina S. Agata, Italy Received: 5 December 2005/Accepted: 12 December 2005 Published online: 21 February 2006 • © Springer-Verlag 2006 ABSTRACT This work reports the results of an archaeometri- cal investigation of opaque Roman glass and is mainly focussed on the role of configuration and oxidation state of copper on the colour and opacity of red and green opaque finds (mo- saic tesserae, game counters, and glass artefacts) from Sicily and Pompeii excavations. The glass fragments were charac- terised by EMPA, SEM-EDS, TEM, and XRPD analyses and the copper local environment was investigated using X-ray ab- sorption spectroscopy. The analyses of high-resolution Cu-K edge XANES and EXAFS spectra suggest that, in red samples, copper is present as monovalent cations coordinated to the oxy- gen atoms of the glass framework, accompanied by metallic clusters. In green samples all the copper cations are incorporated in the glass matrix. PACS 61.10.Ht; 61.43.Fs; 61.46.+w 1 Introduction The colour of glass is determined by the oxida- tion state and the electronic configuration of the associated metal ions [1, 2]. Regarding red glass, Weyl [3] stated that coloration is always produced by crystals of metallic cop- per dispersed in the glass matrix, the differences in the final colour being mainly related to the dimensions of the par- ticles (particles < 50 nm lead to transparent red glass called ‘copper-ruby’ and a particle size around a few hundred nm gives an opaque red glass). Mirti et al. [4], studying fragments of 7th–8th century glass from Cripta Balbi in Rome, found some red opaque samples containing small spherules, smaller than 1-µm across, dispersed in a homogeneous matrix. The energy dispersive spectrometry (EDS) analyses and the X-ray powder diffraction (XRPD) spectra confirmed the presence of metallic copper in the glass. Otherwise, a study performed by Brun et al. [5] on Celtic opaque red glass containing lead re- vealed the presence of a large number of dendritic crystals of cuprous oxide (Cu2O), together with a few metallic copper nodules. Thus, red opaque glass can contain metallic copper as well as cuprous oxide. A recent study performed by X-ray � Fax: +39-059-2055887, E-mail: rarletti@unimore.it absorption spectroscopy (XAS) on the red Satsuma ancient glass and on reproduced (red and colourless) glass samples [6] revealed that the majority of copper was present as mono- valent cations coordinated to three or four oxygen atoms in the glass matrix. However, since the reproduced colourless glass also revealed a high level of Cu1+, the authors concluded that monovalent copper ions do not play any role in glass col- oration. The red colour of this ancient ruby glass was ascribed to colloidal particles of metallic copper, undetected by XAS. Padovani et al. [7, 8], in a study of red lustre decorations of Italian Renaissance pottery, found that the majority of copper was present as monovalent species, along with a minor level of metallic nano-particles. They concluded that the chromatic ef- fect was determined only by the fraction of metal ions reduced to nano-particles. As regards green glass, copper generally occurs in its oxi- dised form (Cu2+), and the ions are present in the glass frame- work bonded to the oxygen atoms, imparting the distinctive turquoise colour to the glass [9]. It has been largely demonstrated that XAS is a powerful means for obtaining structural information on a specific ab- sorbing element. This technique has the advantage of being nondestructive, element selective, and sensitive to low con- centrations and hence represents a suitable tool for cultural heritage studies. In recent years, in fact, X-ray absorption near edge structure (XANES) and X-ray absorption fine structure (EXAFS) techniques have been successfully applied to the study of colour of several ancient glass and lustre samples, providing information on the chemical state of the colouring agents [7, 8, 10, 11]. Since the characterisation of colourants is fundamental for investigating the manufacturing methods of ancient glass, we applied – besides micro-analytical and imaging techniques – the XAS method to study the oxidation state and the coordination of Cu in red, blue, and blue-green samples. 2 Samples All the analysed glass samples, dated between the I and III century A.D., come from two Sicilian sites (Tusa and Lipari, Italy) [12] and Pompeii [13]. All the sam- ples are coloured and most of them are opaque and rep- resent different typologies of glass item, including mosaic 240 Applied Physics A – Materials Science & Processing Sample PM11313-5 PM35117 PM3191A VL3 BL4 BTS5 RL6 RT7 PM9361A Provenance Pompeii Pompeii Pompeii Lipari Lipari Tusa Lipari Tusa Pompeii Age I cen A.D. I cen A.D. I cen A.D. III cen A.D. III cen A.D. III cen A.D. III cen A.D. III cen A.D. I cen A.D. Colour O. Blue-green O. Green O. Yellow-green T. Green T. Blue O. Blue O. Red O. Red O. Red SiO2 69.09 61.52 72.77 60.67 64.22 67.21 61.17 63.04 64.60 TiO2 0.12 0.17 0.16 0.13 0.13 0.08 0.18 0.18 0.15 Al2O3 2.24 2.02 2.32 2.66 2.19 2.46 2.04 3.24 3.50 FeO 0.88 0.98 0.91 0.53 0.60 1.77 1.37 2.71 2.17 MnO 0.38 0.48 0.34 0.11 0.13 0.46 0.40 0.46 0.40 MgO 1.14 1.15 0.79 3.73 3.61 0.49 2.64 1.04 1.08 CaO 6.57 5.90 3.08 9.22 8.35 5.09 8.89 6.63 8.44 Na2O 18.47 16.45 18.90 16.19 16.33 15.56 14.66 16.49 16.21 K2O 0.84 1.58 0.54 3.56 3.20 0.74 2.52 1.47 1.45 Sb2O5 1.85 2.67 1.35 0.07 0.08 4.99 0.30 0.66 0.28 PbO 0.28 3.11 6.00 0.04 0.25 0.12 2.12 1.81 0.52 CuO 0.85 3.99 0.27 4.25 0.07 0.81 2.63 2.10 1.80 CoO 0.00 0.01 0.00 0.01 0.04 0.48 0.01 0.00 0.00 TABLE 1 Glass chemical analyses obtained by WDS-EMPA for opaque (O.) and transparent (T.) samples, respectively tesserae, game counters, vessels, and other artefacts (see Table 1). The attention was focussed on green, blue-green, and red samples, i.e. on samples containing high copper levels. 3 Experiment 3.1 Electron microprobe analyses Before collecting XAS spectra, the samples were extensively characterised from the chemical and mineralog- ical points of view. The quantitative chemical analyses of the glass were performed using an ARL-SEMQ microprobe equipped with four scanning wavelength dispersive spectrom- eters (WDS-EMPA) sited at the Earth Science Department of the University of Modena e Reggio Emilia. The elem- ents analysed were: Si, Ti, Al, Mn, Mg, Fe, Ca, K, Na, Co, Sb, Cu, and Pb. A series of certified natural minerals were employed as standards. The analyses were performed operat- ing at 15 kV and 20 nA using counting times of 5 s–10 s–5 s on background–peak–background, respectively. Due to the known loss of light elements under the electron beam [14], a defocussed beam (30 µm) was used. The results were pro- cessed for matrix effects using the program Probe [15] with the Armstrong PHI absorption correction and the oxide per- centages were computed. 3.2 SEM-EDS and TEM analyses A number of backscattered images were collected on each sample with a Philips XL40 scanning electron micro- scope (SEM) – sited at the Centro Interdipartimentale Grandi Strumenti of the University of Modena e Reggio Emilia – to evaluate the presence of high atomic number phases dis- persed as opacifiers in the glass matrix. Their qualitative chemical analyses were obtained with an EDS spectrometer (Oxford SATW). The analyses were performed on the pol- ished samples using an acceleration voltage of 25 kV. Trans- mission electron microscopy (TEM) images were obtained on a JEOL 2010 TEM – sited at the Centro Grandi Strumenti of the University of Modena and Reggio Emilia – operating at 200 kV. The microscope was equipped with a slow-scan cam- era (Gatan 694) for collecting images and with an INCA 100 Oxford EDS system which allowed the obtaining of qualita- tive chemical compositions. The glass samples were ground in an agate mortar and then deposited (as a suspension in iso- propyl alcohol) on a carbon film Ni grid. 3.3 XRPD analysis X-ray diffraction (XRD) experiments were per- formed to identify the crystalline phases dispersed in the glass matrix. The analyses were carried out with a Philips PW1729 diffractometer with Bragg–Brentano geometry θ/2θ and Cu Kα radiation, using a zero background quartz holder. The spectra were collected from 5 to 80◦ 2θ using a 0.02θ step and counting time of 4 s for each step. 3.4 XAS experiments Cu-K -edge XANES spectra were collected di- rectly on glass fragments in fluorescence mode at the GILDA- CRG beamline (ESRF, Grenoble, France). A dynamically and sagittally focussing monochromator with Si(311) crys- tals [16] was used. Reference spectra were collected in trans- mission mode on a Cu foil and on powdered CuO and Cu2O deposited on millipore membranes. Energy calibrations were achieved using the spectra of copper foil as references and the position of the first inflection point was taken at 8989.7 eV. All the XANES spectra were collected at room temperature. EXAFS measurements were performed at 77 K in fluores- cence mode on selected red RT7 and green PM35117 sam- ples and on the reference compounds (metallic Cu, Cu2O, CuO). The EXAFS signals were extracted from the experi- mental absorption spectra and analysed using the interactive program IFEFFIT [17] with the support of the graphical util- ities ATHENA and ARTEMIS [18]. The theoretical EXAFS signals were calculated using the FEFF8 code [19]. The re- sults of the fitting procedure, performed up to the second shell around the absorbing atom, are reported in Table 3. A Fourier transform (FT) was performed in the interval k = 3.6–11.0 Å−1 with a k2-weight for the red sample and in the interval k = 3–10 Å−1 with a k1-weight for the green sam- ple. The back-FT was computed in the intervals 1–2.8 Å and 0.9–2.1 Å, for the red and green samples, respectively. The multi-electron amplitude reduction factor S20 in the EXAFS formula was fixed to the value obtained from the CuO EXAFS spectrum (S20 = 0.8). ARLETTI et al. Roman coloured and opaque glass: a chemical and spectroscopic study 241 4 Results and discussion 4.1 Chemical composition The chemical analyses of the major elements (Table 1) reveal that most of the samples are silica-soda-lime glass, typical of the Roman age, produced with calcareous siliceous sand as vitrifying material and natron as flux [2, 20– 22]. Only the three samples coming from Lipari (VL3, BL4, and RL6) show higher levels of MgO and K2O, suggesting the use of a different source of flux. In fact, levels of these two oxides above 2.5% have usually been found in plant- ash-based glass [23] produced with an organic sodium-rich flux (usually deriving from marine plants) also containing K and Mg. The differences in the minor elements (in particular in Cu, Co, Sb, and Pb) are mainly related to the colour and opacity of the samples. The highest values of PbO, along with quite high values of Sb2O5, are present in opaque green and yellow- green samples. Furthermore, high levels of antimony are also present in blue and blue-green opaque glass. All the red sam- ples show significant copper contents and Cu is also present in all the green glass, even if only samples PM35117 and VL3 are Cu-rich. Cobalt is present only in the blue samples, asso- ciated with low amounts of copper, whereas iron is present in all the samples analysed, the highest concentrations always in red glass. 4.2 SEM-EDS and XRPD results: opacifing agents SEM-EDS and XRPD analyses were performed with the aim of identifying the opacifying agents employed in the production of these opaque Roman glass artefacts. All the images collected by back scattered electrons (BSE) on the opaque samples revealed the presence of small particles with mean atomic numbers higher than the matrix. In particular, in yellow-green and green samples, aggregates of particles con- taining lead and antimony were detected. Furthermore, the XRPD analyses revealed the presence of Pb2Sb2O7 crystals in these samples. The colour exhibited by the yellow-green sam- ple is probably due to the combined presence of the yellow lead antimonate as opacifier and of copper and iron as colour- ing agents. In blue and blue-green opaque samples, the BSE images, coupled with the EDS spectra, demonstrated the pres- ence of small crystals of calcium antimonate. This result is in FIGURE 1 BSE image of the red sample RT7 agreement with the XRPD pattern, which shows several peaks characteristic of the CaSb2O6 phase. In this case, the presence of cobalt – even if in low amounts – assures the blue colour of these samples. Regarding the opaque red glass, the XRPD pattern shows, along with a strong background due to the glassy matrix, two very weak peaks corresponding to the (111) and (220) reflec- tions of Cu0. BSE images evidence rare large (a few microns) spherules of copper sulphide accompanied by other very small particles well dispersed in the matrix (Fig. 1). These small particles, certainly containing copper as revealed by the EDS analysis, were also evidenced by TEM images (Fig. 2). This last technique also allowed us to determine the size distribu- tion of the clusters, which is peaked around 40–50 nm (Fig. 3). However, from these data it was not possible to understand if copper was also present in the glass matrix as cations. Hence, FIGURE 2 Bright-field TEM image of the red sample RT7 FIGURE 3 Histogram reporting the size distribution of the copper clusters determined by TEM 242 Applied Physics A – Materials Science & Processing a XAS study was performed to define the oxidation state and the local environment of copper in these samples. 4.3 XAS results Figure 4 reports the XANES spectra of the refer- ence compounds and of selected samples. Table 2 reports the energy positions of the spectral features. The analysis of the XANES spectra of the three standard compounds shows that there is a shift of the absorption edge towards high energy with increasing oxidation state: a shift of 0.9 eV is observed between the edges of Cu0 and Cu2O and one of 3.7 eV between Cu2O and CuO. In general, all the fea- tures of the CuO spectrum are strongly shifted towards higher energy when compared with those of the other reference com- pounds. Moreover, the CuO spectrum exhibits a very weak absorption peak at about 8978 eV (Fig. 4), attributed to the dipole-forbidden 1s → 3d transition, which is absent in the other copper compounds. The edge peak at about 8903 eV (labelled e in Fig. 4), due to the dipole-allowed transition 1s → 4 p, is extremely intense in all the glass here studied. A similar very intense edge peak was observed by Kuroda et al. [24] in a copper- ion-exchanged ZSM-5 zeolite. The energy positions of the XANES features are compatible with Cu1+, and the high in- tensity of the 1s → 4 p peak was ascribed by the authors to the coordination geometry of copper, which was found to be bonded to three framework oxygen atoms at a distance of about 1.9 Å. These data will support our conclusions, reported below, that is, that in our samples Cu cations are mainly mono- valent and dispersed in the glass matrix via coordination with the oxygen atoms. 4.3.1 Red glass. The positions of edge, shoulder, and edge crest of the red sample lie at 8983.6, 8992.2, and 8995.6 eV, respectively (Table 2), and match better with the positions found in Cu2O rather than those of metallic copper. In fact, for Cu0 these three features are shifted by about 2 eV towards lower energy. However, two further features found in the sam- ple spectrum above the edge (labelled a and d in Table 2 and Fig. 4) do not appear in the Cu2O spectrum, while they are Sample Colour Edge (e.) 1◦ shoulder (s.) Edge crest (e.c.) a b c d PM11313-5 Green 8983.3 8992.2 8996.3 PM35117 Dark green 8983.3 8992.5 8996.2 PM3191A Yellow-green 8983.4 8992.1 8996.2 VL3 Green 8983.3 8992.7 8996.1 BL4 Dark blue 8983.3 8992.7 8996.1 BTS5 Dark blue 8983.3 8992.7 8996.2 RL6 Red 8383.1 8992.4 8995.6 9003.3 9025.5 RT7 Red 8983.3 8992.4 8995.6 9003.3 9025.6 PM9361A Red 8983.6 8992.2 8995.6 9003.2 9026.9 Standards Edge 1◦ shoulder Edge crest Feat a Feat b Feat c Feat d CuO 8986.2 8993.0 8998.5 – – 9015.8 – Cu2O 8982.5 8991.7 8995.9 – 9011.4 9015.8 – Cu 8981.6 8989.7 8994.1 9003.1 – – 9025.3 TABLE 2 Cu-K -edge feature positions (eV) for the glass samples and the reference compounds. The labels e., s., e.c., a, b, c, d refer to Fig. 1 FIGURE 4 Cu-K -edge XANES spectra for blue, green, and red glass sam- ples, compared with those of reference compounds present in that of metallic copper. These two features are also present in the Cu-K -edge XANES spectrum of a red mosaic glass from the Dome of Hagia Sophia (Istanbul) studied by Nakai et al. [10], and were attributed by the authors to the presence of metallic copper. Hence, the XANES data for the red sample studied here suggest the presence of monovalent copper accompanied by metallic copper, this last already ev- idenced by TEM and XRD. Further structural information was obtained by EXAFS analysis. The EXAFS signal of sample RT7 and its Fourier transform are compared with those of the standard metallic copper in Fig. 5a and b, respectively. All the features of the reference foil are also present in the sample signals, but, as ev- ARLETTI et al. Roman coloured and opaque glass: a chemical and spectroscopic study 243 FIGURE 5 Comparison between the moduli of Cu-K -edge EXAFS signals (a) and Fourier transforms (b) of the red sample RT7 and Cu foil Cu−O Cu−Cu R (Å) N σ 2 (10−4 Å2) R (Å) N σ 2 (10−4 Å2) RT7 1.81 ± 0.02 1.51 ± 0.6 30 ± 10 2.54 ± 0.02 11.9 ± 1.2 19 ± 10 3.59 ± 0.02 5.4 ± 1.9 19 ± 10 4.39 ± 0.02 22.0 ± 4.4 19 ± 10 PM35117 1.90 ± 0.02 1.80 ± 0.7 38 ± 64 CuO 1.95 2 2.90 4 1.96 2 3.08 4 Cu2O 1.85 2 3.02 12 Cu met – – 2.55 12 3.61 6 4.42 24 TABLE 3 Results of EXAFS analysis for red (RT7) and green (PM35117) glass. R, N, σ 2 indicate interatomic distance, coor- dination number, and Debye–Waller factor, respectively. The structural parameters of the reference compounds are from the Crystallo- graphic Information File idenced by the reduced intensity, the amount of Cu0 in RT7 must be rather low. To quantitatively estimate the copper spe- ciation, we have performed a first EXAFS fit including both monovalent and metallic copper phases, with fixed coordina- tion numbers (CN) – from cuprite and metallic copper bulk, respectively – and refining the relative percentages of the two phases and their structural parameters. The use of the CNs of bulk Cu0 (12, 6, and 24 for the first three shells, respectively) in the EXAFS analysis of the metallic phase present in our sample was suggested by the large dimensions of the clusters, as deduced by the TEM investigation [25]. From this first an- alysis we estimated the presence of about 25% of Cu0 and 75% of Cu+. Adopting these percentages, we performed a second EXAFS multi-shell fit allowing the coordination numbers of FIGURE 6 Cu-K -edge moduli of Fourier transform (a) and best fit (b) for the red sample RT7. Transform- ation was performed in the interval k = 3.6–13.0 Å−1 with a k2-weight the two phases to vary. The results are reported in Table 3 and in Fig. 6a and b, which show the k2-weighted Fourier trans- form moduli and the result of the multi-shell fitting procedure of the EXAFS signal collected on sample RT7. As shown in Table 3, the copper–copper bond distances are in strict agreement with those of metallic copper bulk, co- herently with the large dimensions of the clusters dispersed in the glass. Concerning monovalent copper, it is coordinated to oxygen atoms at 1.81 Å, which is in excellent agreement with the Cu−O interatomic distance determined by Padovani et al. [7, 8] for Italian Renaissance pottery and by Nakai et al. for Satsuma copper-ruby glass [6]. These authors suggest that Cu+ is incorporated in the glass matrix. The bond distance and the CN (1.5 ± 0.6) estimated for Cu+ in RT7 are also com- 244 Applied Physics A – Materials Science & Processing FIGURE 7 Cu-K edge moduli of Fourier transform (a) and best fit (b) for the green sample PM35117. Transformation was performed in the interval k = 3–10 Å−1 with a k1- weight patible with the structure of cuprite. However, since we did not find any evidence of cuprite peaks in the X-ray diffraction pattern collected on this sample, we suggest that monovalent copper is incorporated into the glass framework. 4.3.2 Green and blue glass. All the XANES spectra collected on green and blue samples (opaque and transparent) show the same features in the same energy positions, in particular an absorption edge at 8983.3 eV and a shoulder at 8992.5 eV, followed by an edge crest around 8996 eV. The spectra pro- files, rather similar to that obtained for Cu2O, show the dom- inating presence of the dipole-allowed transition 1s → 4 p at 8982.5 eV, which is, however, shifted by 0.8 eV towards higher energy with respect to cuprite. The position of the edge crest of all the samples fits with that exhibited by Cu2O, even if in the samples (especially in the blue ones) this feature is much broader. In general, the spectra of our samples show very different features from those of CuO; in particular, the weak pre-edge peak at 8978 eV is absent. These observations suggest that the dominant species in all these glass samples is monovalent copper dispersed in the glass alumino-silicatic matrix, possibly accompanied by a minor presence of divalent copper. This last species, associated with iron, should be the cause of the green colour of the glass. The Fourier transform of the green sample PM35117, re- ported in Fig. 7a, shows the presence of only one major peak, which, on the basis of its position, can be attributed to Cu−O bonds. For a more detailed investigation of number and bond distances of the first-neighbour oxygen atoms, the inverse FT of the first shell was performed (Fig. 7b). The structural pa- rameters obtained after the fitting are summarised in Table 3. The fit proves the presence of about two neighbouring oxygen atoms at 1.90 Å. This distance, completely in agreement with that found in an EXAFS study of implanted copper ions in sil- ica glass [26], is intermediate between that of Cu1+ in Cu2O (1.84 Å) and Cu2+ in CuO (∼ 1.95 Å) and is compatible with copper cations coordinated to oxygen atoms of the glass ma- trix. The relatively low coordination number obtained by our EXAFS analysis could be ascribed to disorder effects typical of the glass structure [6, 27, 28]. It is worth noting that also in this green sample XRPD did not evidence the presence of cuprite. Finally, based on the well-known colouring efficiency of cobalt (which is able to confer the typical deep-blue colour even when present in a few ppm), it can be argued that blue glass owe their colour to the presence of this element, which, in our samples, is present in concentration levels ranging from a few hundreds to a few thousands of ppm (see Table 1). 5 Conclusions The results obtained for red glass samples clearly indicate the presence of monovalent copper cations incorpo- rated in the glass matrix, accompanied by Cu nano-clusters. These conclusions are congruent with the red colour and the opaque aspect of the samples and are in agreement with the results reported in the literature for other studies of glass and lustre. In particular, the agreement with the results obtained by Padovani et al. [7, 8] on Renaissance lustre is remarkable, suggesting possible analogies in the two production tech- niques. The glass composition and the melting conditions are the parameters that control the metal oxidation state. To ob- tain metallic copper, strong reducing conditions are needed; Ahmed and Ashour [29] succeeded in producing opaque red glass containing metallic copper by adding iron to the final batch, since this element should displace the redox equilib- rium of copper to the reduced state. This is in agreement with the results reported in Table 1, which show that all the red samples contain high levels of Fe. However, this hypothesis will be further verified by synthesising glass with different Cu and Fe contents and under different oxidation atmospheres. As regards the green and blue-green samples, we found that copper is mainly present as Cu1+ incorporated in the glass matrix. Minor quantities of divalent copper could be responsible, together with iron, for the colour of the green samples, whereas the intense blue colour of the blue glass is certainly due to the presence of a few hundred ppm of cobalt. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors are indebted to Dr. M.A. Mastelloni (Museo Regionale di Messina, Italy) and Dr. A.M. Cia- rallo (Laboratorio Ricerche Applicate, Sovrintendenza Archeologica di Pompei) for providing the mosaic tesserae from Sicily and the game coun- ters from Pompeii, respectively, to Dr. Simona Bigi for the help during TEM analyses, to two anonymous referees for the constructive reviewing of the manuscript, and to Eric Dooryhee for his editorial efforts. Financial sup- port was provided by the Italian MIUR (COFIN2002 ‘Geo-crystal-chemistry of trace elements’ to S.Q. and M.T. and COFIN 2004 ‘Scienza dei mate- riali antichi derivati da geomateriali: trasferire le conoscenze di base delle geoscienze allo studio di vetri e metalli’ to R.A. and G.V.) and by Isti- tuto Nazionale per la Fisica della Materia. GILDA beamline staff (ESRF, Grenoble) are acknowledged for the assistance during the XAS experiments. ARLETTI et al. Roman coloured and opaque glass: a chemical and spectroscopic study 245 REFERENCES 1 R.H. Doremus, Glass Science, 2nd edn. (Wiley, New York, 1994) 2 J. Henderson, Oxford J. Anthropol. 4, 267 (1985) 3 W.A. Weyl, Coloured Glass (Corning, New York, 1953) 4 P. Mirti, P. Davit, M. Gulmini, Anal. Bioanal. Chem. 372, 221 (2002) 5 N. Brun, L. Mazerolles, M. Pernot, J. Mater. Sci. Lett. 10, 1418 (1991) 6 I. Nakai, C. Numako, H. Hosono, K. Yamasaky, J. Am. Ceram. Soc. 82, 85 (1999) 7 S. Padovani, C. Sada, P. Mazzoldi, B. 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work_x5otsfv7bvalhcdqfrw653itha	----	Noninvasive nuclear magnetic resonance profiling of painting layers | Request PDF Home Art Visual Arts Painting ArticleNoninvasive nuclear magnetic resonance profiling of painting layers July 2008 Applied Physics Letters 93(3):033505-033505-3 DOI: 10.1063/1.2963026 Authors: Federica Presciutti Università degli Studi di Perugia Juan Perlo Magritek GmbH Federico Casanova Magritek Inc. Stefan Glöggler Max Planck Institute for Biophysical Chemistry Show all 8 authorsHide Request full-text PDFTo read the full-text of this research, you can request a copy directly from the authors. Request full-text Download citation Copy link Link copied Request full-text Download citation Copy link Link copied To read the full-text of this research, you can request a copy directly from the authors. Citations (64) References (16) Abstract In this work we demonstrate the potential of single-sided nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) sensors to access deeper layers of paintings noninvasively by means of high-resolution depth profiles spanning several millimeters. The performance of the sensor in resolving painting structures was tested on models for which excellent agreement with microscopy techniques was obtained. The depth profiling NMR technique was used in situ to investigate old master paintings. The observation of differences in NMR relaxation times of tempera binders from these paintings and from artificially aged panels raises the possibility to differentiate between original and recently restored areas. Discover the world's research 20+ million members 135+ million publications 700k+ research projects Join for free No full-text available To read the full-text of this research, you can request a copy directly from the authors. Request full-text PDF Citations (64) References (16) ... Single-sided nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) has been used to non-invasively study objects and chemical processes including oil well logging [4,5], food [6][7][8], manufacturing procedures [9,10], paintings [11][12][13][14][15], instruments [16], ceramics [17][18][19], paper [20], and building materials [21]. The use of permanent magnets in single-sided devices greatly reduces engineering and operation complexity associated with traditional NMR equipment. ... ... The small size of the single-sided magnets allows them to be mounted on mechanical lifts that can control motion of the entire magnet set-up. This facilitates NMR "profiling" or one-dimensional imaging of paint layers with resolution on the scale of tens of microns [11,[22][23][24]. By utilizing the Carr-Purcell-Meiboom-Gill (CPMG) pulse sequence, spin-spin relaxation times (T 2 ) can be measured [25,26]. ... ... CPMG experiments were carried out on the area of paint providing the greatest signal as determined by measuring a 1-D depth profile [11]. For Sample Groups B, C, and D, the CPMG measurements were made using a pulse length of between 4.75 and 5.0 μs (B 1 pulse power = 50-53 kHz), and 128 echoes were collected with an echo time of 60 μs. ... Physical and chemical properties of traditional and water-mixable oil paints assessed using single-sided NMR Article Mar 2017 MICROCHEM J Nicholas A. Udell Robyn E Hodgkins Barbara Berrie Tyler Meldrum Single-sided NMR and gas chromatography were used in tandem to investigate the physical and chemical differences between traditional linseed oil paint and water-mixable oil paint. Water-mixable oil paints contain an emulsifier that confers water miscibility, but it may also affect the curing process and the intermolecular network formed in a cured paint film. Comparisons of paint samples of different compositions and ages show that the emulsifier changes both the chemical and physical properties of the paint films, though at different curing times and to different extents depending on the paint formulation. This research highlights the utility of NMR relaxometry in cultural heritage analysis, and suggests further study into the effects of agents affecting the curing process and reactions within a paint film. View Show abstract ... This technique permits the identification of characteristic vibrations associated with functional groups in a given molecule [31,32]. Typical applications include analysis of paint pigments and binders, lacquers and finishes. ... ... Museum curators, art historians, restoration scientists, and archaeologists have many analytical tools at their disposal to study objects with cultural heritage significance. These analytical tools include: 1. ultraviolet-visible (UV-vis) absorption, reflection, fluorescence, and phosphorescence spectroscopy [1-5]; 2. infrared (IR) (also referred to by the instrumentation type Fourier transform IR (FTIR)) absorption and reflection spectroscopy [6][7][8][9][10][11] in the near, shortwave, mid, and far regions of the spectrum; 3. Raman spectroscopy (RS) [12], surface enhanced Raman spectroscopy (SERS) [13,14], and surface enhanced resonance Raman spectroscopy (SERRS) [15] 5. x-ray fluorescence (XRF) [17,18], energy dispersive XRF (EDXRF), and wavelength dispersive XRF (WDXRF), and confocal XRF [19] spectroscopy; 6. mass spectroscopy (MS), laser photolysis gas chromatography mass spectroscopy (LP GC-MS) [20,21], and pyrolysis gas chromatography mass spectroscopy (Py GC-MS) [22]; 7. neutron activation analysis (NAA) [23]; 8. particle-induced x-ray emission (PIXE) spectroscopy [24,25]; 9. Mössbauer spectroscopy [26]; 10. conventional liquid phase nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) [27,28], solid state NMR (SSNMR) [29,30], and unilateral time resolved NMR spectroscopy [31,32]; and 11. electron paramagnetic resonance (EPR) spectroscopy. ... Concordant ESR and TL depositional age of Romanian Plane loess Chapter Oct 2020 L.C. Tugulan Mihail Secu Vasile Bercu Octavian G Duliu To determine the age of a 2.8 m loess horizon situated in the Eastern Romanian Plane, the independent age methods based on the accumulation of radiation defects, i.e. thermoluminescence (TL) and electron spin resonance (ES), were used for the same quartz fraction. In both cases, the additive method was used to determine the local paleodose (PD) while the local annual dose rate was recalculated starting from the content of radioactive elements in soil determined by high resolution gamma-ray spectrometry. Final results gave coincident results within experimental uncertainties of 19.85 ± 2.60 and 20.38 ± 2.93 ka for TL and respectively for ESR age. One possible explanation of the relatively high level of age uncertainties could be related to the additive method of the estimation of the PD by extrapolating the signal to dose dependency. View Show abstract ... Oil-binding medium was used in northern Europe since the 13th century, on its introduction in Italy in the 15th century oil painting seems mainly to have been effected using walnut oil but use of linseed oil became more general in the 16th century (i.e Mona Lisa of Leonardo Da Vinci, 1503-1517) [1,2]. Due to the preciousness of the painting, we used in situ portable NMR to obtain, in a fully nondestructive and non-invasive way, the stratigraphy of a great number of regions of the painting [3][4][5]. The successive sampling was carried out according to the results obtained by in situ NMR and was limited to regions near gaps, cracks, and in those regions partially removed during the 20th century restoration. ... ... Starting from the surface of the painting, the two regions labeled as 1 and 3, with an intense NMR signal were ascribed to the painting layer and the wood respectively, whereas the intermediate one labeled as 2, with the weakest intensity, was ascribed to the primer (see Fig. 2a). The thickness of the layers was calculated by measuring the distance from the position of half maximum amplitude of the first edge to the equivalent point of the second edge [4]. The value of the thickness of the painting layer composed by varnishes, binders and pigments was found to be 650 ± 50 μm in the 14th century region, 800 ± 50 μm in the 16th century re-painted region, and 850 ± 50 μm in the 20th century re-painted region. ... Advanced NMR methodologies and micro-analytical techniques to investigate the stratigraphy and materials of 14th century Sienese Wooden Paintings Article Mar 2016 Microchem J A. Atrei Nadia Marchettini Valeria Di Tullio Donatella Capitani View ... Figure 1b shows a device consisting of a permanent magnet mounted on a precision lift. Application of these devices has opened a number of new possibilities also in the field of cultural heritage [27][28][29][30][31][32][33][34]. NMR sensor with a uniform gradient to resolve the near surface structure of arbitrarily large samples, the sensor is placed on a lift that allows one to move the magnetic field inside the object to be analyzed with micrometric steps, sensor by RWTH Aachen University, Aachen, Germany [26]. ... ... NMR stratigraphy is an analytical technique which may be applied in situ to reveal different layers of a painting in a fully non-invasive manner. The first stratigraphy was published by Presciutti et al. [27]. With this technique, layers of different materials can be detected and their thickness can be measured. ... Applications of Nuclear Magnetic Resonance Sensors to Cultural Heritage Article Full-text available Apr 2014 SENSORS-BASEL Noemi Proietti Donatella Capitani Valeria Di Tullio In recent years nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) sensors have been increasingly applied to investigate, characterize and monitor objects of cultural heritage interest. NMR is not confined to a few specific applications, but rather its use can be successfully extended to a wide number of different cultural heritage issues. A breakthrough has surely been the recent development of portable NMR sensors which can be applied in situ for non-destructive and non-invasive investigations. In this paper three studies illustrating the potential of NMR sensors in this field of research are reported. View Show abstract ... The possibility of using the NMR-MOUSE as a scientific tool for the nondestructive analysis of paintings had been tested on modern model easel paintings on wood prepared following the procedures of old masters. The wood panels were first covered by a layer of primer and then a paint layer from copper-and cobalt-based pigments mixed in binder [12]. Presciutti et al. used the NMR-MOUSE to gather depth profiles of these samples with a resolution of 10 μm. ... ... Differences in relaxation of paint layers are caused by the type of pigment, the type of binder, the history of aging [12], and the history of restoration. Apart from the pigments, aging and restoration impact the state of the binder by loss of small molecules and chemical changes invoked by exposure to oxidation, heat, and solvents. ... Nondestructive Testing of Objects from Cultural Heritage with NMR Chapter Jan 2018 Maria Baias Bernhard Bluemich View ... In recent years several issues regarding cultural heritage have been afforded by NMR [10][11][12]. Among these are wall paintings and oil paintings [13][14][15][16][17][18][19], paper [20,21], moisture in historical walls [22][23][24], lead soaps [25-28], pigments [29,30], organic paint binders [31,32], modern art materials [33-35], archaeological and fossil wood [36-39], ancient leather [40,41], amber [42,43], ancient pottery [44-46], porous stones [47-51], and advanced cleaning and conservation systems for cultural heritage [52-55]. ... ... NMR stratigraphy is able to reveal non-invasively and in situ the different layers of a painting. The first NMR stratigraphy was published few years ago by Presciutti et al. [16]. The stratigraphy encodes the amplitude of the 1 H-NMR signal as a function of the depth scanned. ... Nuclear Magnetic Resonance, a Powerful Tool in Cultural Heritage Article Full-text available Jan 2018 Noemi Proietti Donatella Capitani Valeria Di Tullio In this paper five case studies illustrating applications of NMR (Nuclear Magnetic Resonance) in the field of cultural heritage, are reported. Different issues were afforded, namely the investigation of advanced cleaning systems, the quantitative mapping of moisture in historic walls, the investigation and evaluation of restoration treatments on porous stones, the stratigraphy of wall paintings, and the detection of CO2 in lapis lazuli. Four of these case studies deal with the use of portable NMR sensors which allow non-destructive and non-invasive investigation in situ. The diversity among cases reported demonstrates that NMR can be extensively applied in the field of cultural heritage. View Show abstract ... The type of binder, its state and the type and concentration of the embedded pigments determine the relaxation times T 1 and T 2 observed by NMR. 10,26 For accelerated F I G U R E 1 NMR-MOUSE set up at the State Bureau of Criminial Investgations in Berlin measuring a painting forged by Wolfgang Beltracchi. Two of the four magnets, rf-coil and sensitive slice are overlaid to the NMR-MOUSE. ... ... The sensor is mounted on a translation stage that allows to place the sensitive slice into the paint layer, which is aligned in parallel with the sensitive slice light aging of tempera paint, it has been found that T 2 decreases with increasing aging time, while natural aging of master paintings over centuries decreases both, T 1 and T 2 ( Figure 2B). 26 The gifted forger of modern art, Wolfgang Beltracchi 27 has baked or ironed his paintings to artificially age the paint. The light-aging study ( Figure 2B) and the insights gained from accelerated aging and natural aging of synthetic polymer materials suggest that nondestructive NMR relaxometry with the NMR-MOUSE may reveal the differences between Beltracchi's accelerated aging of paint and the paint aged naturally over decades in known originals on display in museums. ... Aging of polymeric materials by stray‐field NMR relaxometry with the NMR‐MOUSE Article Mar 2018 CONCEPT MAGN RESON A Bernhard Blümich The sensitivity of NMR relaxation to molecular motion is explored to study the aging of polymer materials and paint binder in master paintings. Polymeric materials are formulated from macromolecules with a distribution of molecular weights and low molecular weight additives. Their physical and chemical properties change with time due to exposure to temperature, mechanical stress, and solvents. These conditions lead to physical and chemical aging, which can proceed naturally over longer times or accelerated under artificial conditions in shorter times. Either procedure bears a particular signature on the molecular mobility, which can be probed nondestructively by the NMR relaxation times T1 and T2. Natural aging and accelerated temperature‐ and solvent‐induced aging are summarized for synthetic polymer materials and compared to aging of binders in the paint layers of paintings aged naturally over hundreds of years and aged artificially by solvent‐cleaning procedures during restoration or at elevated temperature during forgery. View Show abstract ... NMR MOUSE is a relatively small and compact device design to perform noninvasive and nondestructive analyses, highly valued in the field of cultural heritage. Objects like mummies (Rühli et al., 2007), paintings (Presciutti et al., 2008), frescoes (Proietti et al., 2005) and parchments (Badea et al., 2008;Masic et al., 2012) were successfully analysed using NMR-MOUSE. ... UNILATERAL NMR FOR DAMAGE ASSESSMENT OF VEGETABLE- TANNED LEATHER. CORRELATION WITH HYDROTHERMAL PROPERTIES Conference Paper Full-text available Oct 2014 Claudiu Sendrea Elena Badea Lucretia Miu Horia Iovu Unilateral NMR has proven to be a valuable tool in the field of collagen-based cultural heritage where non-destructive analyses are highly demanded. Old leather is a collagen-based biomaterial made from animal hides chemically treated by vegetable or mineral tanning to increase chemical and physical durability and confer desired handling and working characteristics. In this study unilateral Nuclear Magnetic Resonance (NMR) combined with shrinkage temperature measurement by the Micro Hot Table (MHT) method were applied to evaluate the conformational, structural and stability changes of variously vegetable tanned leathers exposed to accelerated ageing by heating at 70 °C in controlled atmosphere at 30% relative humidity (RH) and irradiated with 4000 lx in the visible light region for 8, 16, 32 and 64 days. Longitudinal relaxation time T1 values, measured by NMR MOUSE portable equipment using a saturation recovery sequence, showed specific variations depending on both animal species and tanning agent, and ageing time. Collagen fibres' shrinkage temperature Ts values evaluated using the home made MHT equipment available at INCDTP-ICPI, Bucharest, complemented the hydrothermal information on fibre level. View Show abstract ... The position of the excited slice is moved inside the sample by means of a high-precision lift that repositions the sensor with respect to the sample. The use of these sensors has already opened new possibilities (Rühli et al., 2007;Presciutti et al., 2008;Blümich et al., 2010a and b;Del Federico et al., 2010;Di Tullio et al., 2011Proietti et al., 2011Proietti et al., , 2014. ... Nuclear Magnetic Resonance to investigate inorganic porous materials of interest in the cultural heritage field Article Full-text available Jun 2015 EUR J MINERAL Giorgio Trojsi Valeria Di Tullio Donatella Capitani Noemi Proietti Nuclear Magnetic Resonance (NMR) can be successfully applied to a wide number of organic, inorganic, and hybrid materials regarding cultural heritage. High-resolution solid-state NMR provides information on the structure of materials, and portable NMR devices allow non-destructive and non-invasive in situ investigation of variably sized objects. This result is possible by combining open magnets and surface radiofrequency coils to generate a sensitive volume external to the sensor and inside the object under investigation. In this paper we focus on the application of NMR to investigate inorganic porous materials such as pottery, plasters, and stones from cultural heritage sites. 27Al MAS and 3QMAS, and 29Si MAS high-resolution solid-state NMR along with spectral deconvolution allowed for the investigation of the chemical structure of ancient pottery. Portable unilateral NMR was used to investigate, in a non-invasive and non-destructive way, the porous structure of pottery. The effect of protective-consolidating treatments on plaster was carefully investigated by 1H NMR depth profiles that allowed for scanning with micrometric resolution of plaster specimens. Changes occurring in the total open porosity after treatments were also evaluated. NMR diffusion measurements provided information on the restricted geometry of the porous structure of two types of biocalcarenite and tuff. A suitable processing of collected data enabled us to define the average pore radius and pores’ interconnection in these materials. View Show abstract ... The study of objects of cultural heritage by compact and mobile NMR is conducted predominantly with stray-field instruments such as the NMR-MOUSE because nondestructiveness is essential in nearly all cases [1,13,38,39] with the exception of moisture monitoring in large building structures, a case for which the NMR DIP-stick has been designed (see above) [148]. Objectives pursued by stray-field NMR in the context of cultural heritage are moisture mapping [149,150], contributing to the optimization of stone conservation strategies [151], studying the mortar base of wall paintings [152,153], assessing bone degradation [13,154], monitoring the water distribution in wooden panels such as easel paintings [155], studying the stratigraphy and binder states of paintings [156], assisting in the development of restoration techniques for easel paintings [157,158], and studying the degradation mechanisms of parchment and leather [159][160][161]. The overriding goals are to understand the states of degradation, to identify the extent of past restoration and conservation measures, and to monitor the impact of conservation efforts on the state of the object. ... Mobile and Compact NMR Chapter Jan 2016 Bernhard Bluemich NMR with mobile and compact devices is experiencing considerable growth in recent years in particular since instruments have become available, which are capable not only of measuring NMR relaxation but also images and high-resolution spectra. Based on permanent magnet technology, compact tabletop NMR instruments measure samples of materials and solutions positioned inside the magnet, while compact mobile instruments measure material properties of intact objects and samples nondestructively in the inhomogeneous stray field outside the magnet. Following a brief introduction to NMR with homogeneous and inhomogeneous magnetic fields and to the concepts of permanent center- and stray-field NMR magnets, the evolution of the technology over the past 10 years is reviewed and illustrated with selected applications. Relaxation and diffusion measurements find use in the analysis of foods, biological tissues, polymer materials, porous media, and objects of cultural heritage. Compact imaging instruments are mainly employed to study crops and plants as well as transport phenomena in chemical engineering and geophysics. Tabletop NMR spectrometers find increasing use in educational institutions and for chemical analysis and reaction monitoring on the workbench and in the fume hood of the synthesis laboratory, and they are being explored as a tool for process control. View Show abstract ... Various noninvasive and noncontact modalities which can provide in-situ quantitative information in depth, such as confocal x-ray fluorescence (with elemental distribution contrast) 2 , femtosecond pump-probe microscopy (with molecular and structural constrast) 3 , nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) (with 1 H abundance constrast) 4 , and optical coherence tomography (with structural constrast) 5 , are under active research. Nonetheless, to date, the aforementioned optical techniques, as well as x-ray fluorescence (the emitted photon is optical) have been limited to demonstrations permitting measurements to depths up to only tens or ~200 μm due to strong optical attenuation, while NMR has only been used to demonstrate several Z-scans across a painting 6 . ... Global mapping of stratigraphy of an old-master painting using sparsity-based terahertz reflectometry Article Full-text available Nov 2017 Junliang Dong Alexandre Locquet Marcello Melis D.s. Citrin The process by which art paintings are produced typically involves the successive applications of preparatory and paint layers to a canvas or other support; however, there is an absence of nondestructive modalities to provide a global mapping of the stratigraphy, information that is crucial for evaluation of its authenticity and attribution, for insights into historical or artist-specific techniques, as well as for conservation. We demonstrate sparsity-based terahertz reflectometry can be applied to extract a detailed 3D mapping of the layer structure of the 17th century easel painting Madonna in Preghiera by the workshop of Giovanni Battista Salvi da Sassoferrato, in which the structure of the canvas support, the ground, imprimatura, underpainting, pictorial, and varnish layers are identified quantitatively. In addition, a hitherto unidentified restoration of the varnish has been found. Our approach unlocks the full promise of terahertz reflectometry to provide a global and detailed account of an easel painting’s stratigraphy by exploiting the sparse deconvolution, without which terahertz reflectometry in the past has only provided a meager tool for the characterization of paintings with paint-layer thicknesses smaller than 50 μm. The proposed modality can also be employed across a broad range of applications in nondestructive testing and biomedical imaging. View Show abstract ... Painted surfaces including wood, stone,a nd canvas,a re prominent objects where mobile NMR sensors can help unravel their history and optimize conservation and restora- tion strategies.T he flat sensitive slice of the NMR-MOUSE combined with the portability of the sensor are valuable assets for mapping and characterizing thin-layer stratigraphy across depth ranges of up to 25 mm. [35][36][37][38] Wall paintings and frescoes are particularly unique in the sense that the stratigraphy of their mortar base bears the signature of the craftsmen at the time of painting,a ltering,and restoring. ... Cultural Heritage Studies with Mobile NMR Article Mar 2018 ANGEW CHEM INT EDIT Christian Rehorn Bernhard Bluemich Nuclear Magnetic Resonance (NMR) provides in‐situ information about selected isotope densities in samples and objects, while also providing contrast through rotational and translational molecular dynamics. These parameters are probed not only in magnetic resonance spectroscopy and imaging but also in nondestructive materials testing by mobile stray‐field NMR whose unique perks are valuable in cultural heritage studies. We present recent progress in the analysis of cultural heritage with mobile 1H NMR stray‐field sensors, for which the detection zone is outside of the NMR magnet. Prominent applications include the analysis of stratigraphies in paintings and frescoes, and the assessment of material states changing under the impact of aging, conservation and restoration. View Show abstract ... Painted surfaces including wood, stone,a nd canvas,a re prominent objects where mobile NMR sensors can help unravel their history and optimize conservation and restora- tion strategies.T he flat sensitive slice of the NMR-MOUSE combined with the portability of the sensor are valuable assets for mapping and characterizing thin-layer stratigraphy across depth ranges of up to 25 mm. [35][36][37][38] Wall paintings and frescoes are particularly unique in the sense that the stratigraphy of their mortar base bears the signature of the craftsmen at the time of painting,a ltering,and restoring. ... Cultural Heritage Studies with Mobile NMR Article Mar 2018 Angew Chem Christian Rehorn Bernhard Bluemich Nuclear Magnetic Resonance (NMR) provides in‐situ information about selected isotope densities in samples and objects, while also providing contrast through rotational and translational molecular dynamics. These parameters are probed not only in magnetic resonance spectroscopy and imaging but also in nondestructive materials testing by mobile stray‐field NMR whose unique perks are valuable in cultural heritage studies. We present recent progress in the analysis of cultural heritage with mobile 1H NMR stray‐field sensors, for which the detection zone is outside of the NMR magnet. Prominent applications include the analysis of stratigraphies in paintings and frescoes, and the assessment of material states changing under the impact of aging, conservation and restoration. View Show abstract ... One of these contexts is represented by mobile Laboratories (i.e., mobile Labs). The reference architecture [103] consists of a physically constrained environment, a mobile room/laboratory that can be transported. Inside this laboratory thousands of heterogeneous sensors/actuators can be activated to analyze critical objects, where measurements are to be extremely precise, fast and repeated several times (for reproducibility test). ... Smart Portable Devices Suitable for Cultural Heritage: A Review Article Full-text available Jul 2018 SENSORS-BASEL Federica Valentini Andrea Calcaterra Simonetta Antonaroli Maurizio Talamo This article reviews recent portable sensor technologies to apply in the Cultural Heritage (CH) fields. The review has been prepared in the form of a retrospective description of the sensor’s history and technological evolution, having: new nanomaterials for transducers, miniaturized, portable and integrated sensors, the wireless transmission of the analytical signals, ICT_Information Communication Technology and IoT_Internet of Things to apply to the cultural heritage field. In addition, a new trend of movable tattoo sensors devices is discussed, referred to in situ analysis, which is especially important when scientists are in the presence of un-movable and un-tangible Cultural Heritage and Art Work objects. The new proposed portable contact sensors (directly applied to art work objects and surfaces) are non-invasive and non-destructive to the different materials and surfaces of which cultural heritage is composed. View Show abstract ... Unilateral NMR has been previously used to measure selfdiffusion in porous materials, polymers, and viscous materials. [19] In the case of paintings, the technique allows the determination of the stratigraphy [20] in ac ompletely non-invasive manner, providing am ethod to map the work of art in its entirety to determine possible locations where micro-samples may be removed. [21] HR-MAS NMR spectroscopy allows analysis of very small samples of soft matter. ... Water Diffusion and Transport in Oil Paints as Studied by Unilateral NMR and 1H High‐Resolution MAS‐NMR Spectroscopy Article Sep 2019 CHEMPHYSCHEM Nicholas Zumbulyadis Silvia A. Centeno Cecil Dybowski Valeria Di Tullio Heavy metal carboxylate degradation severely affects thousands of oil paintings. Relative humidity has been reported to accelerate the rate of the reactions. To evaluate its role further, water diffusion and molecular mobility of protons in linseed oil‐based lead white paints were studied by unilateral NMR and 1 H HRMAS spectroscopy. The results indicate that exposure to high %RH for relatively long times affects the dynamics of the oil paint’s mobile fraction and that the effect is more pronounced as the thickness of the film increases. It was found that the paint can absorb appreciable amounts of water and has a porosity of approximately 6% available for the diffusion of water, for which a regime of restricted diffusion was observed. Furthermore, the presence of bound and free‐moving water, due to the possible formation of hydrated ionic groups clusters, supports the hypothesis of a polymeric/ionomeric network, as well as regions of essentially water free to move as in the bulk. The findings allow a better understanding of the role of water as a factor activating the degradation process in linseed oil‐based lead white paints. View Show abstract ... an NMR depth profile can detect, non-invasively and in situ, the multi-layered structure of a painting. In recent years, Presciutti et al. [41] reported the first NMR stratigraphy collected in a wooden painting dating from the 15th century. The profile encodes the intensity of the 1 H NMR signal as a function of the depth scanned, recognizing layers according to their hydrogen content. ... New Insights to Characterize Paint Varnishes and to Study Water in Paintings by Nuclear Magnetic Resonance Spectroscopy (NMR) Article Full-text available Apr 2020 Noemi Proietti Valeria Di Tullio Paintings are complex multi-layered systems made of organic and inorganic materials. Several factors can affect the degradation of paintings, such as environmental conditions, past restoration works and, finally, the type of painting technique and the art materials used over the centuries. The chemical–physical characterization of paintings is a constant challenge that requires research into and the development of novel analytical methodologies and processes. In recent years, solvents and water-related issues in paintings are attracting more attention, and several studies have been focused on analyzing the interaction between water molecules and the constitutive materials. In this study, recent applications applying different NMR methodologies were shown, highlighting the weakness and the strength of the techniques in analyzing paintings. In particular, the study of water and its diffusive interactions within wall and oil paintings was performed to prove how the portable NMR can be used directly in museums for planning restoration work and to monitor the degradation processes. Furthermore, some preliminary results on the analysis of varnishes and binders, such as linseed oil, shellac, sandarac and colophony resins, were obtained by 1H HR-MAS NMR spectroscopy, highlighting the weakness and strengths of this technique in the field of conservation science. View Show abstract ... Electron paramagnetic resonance (EPR) spectroscopy is one of a vast number of spectroscopic analytical techniques [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10] used by art conservators, historians, and restorers to study paintings. EPR spectroscopy probes magnetic energy levels associated with unpaired electrons in matter, and is therefore useful for investigating paramagnetic, ferro/ferrimagnetic, and free radical containing pigments. ... The Noninvasive Analysis of Paint Mixtures on Canvas Using an EPR MOUSE Article Full-text available Mar 2020 Elizabeth A. Bogart Haley Wiskoski Matina Chanthavongsay Joseph Hornak Many artists create the variety of colors in their paintings by mixing a small number of primary pigments. Therefore, analytical techniques for studying paintings must be capable of determining the components of mixtures. Electron paramagnetic resonance (EPR) spectroscopy is one of many techniques that can achieve this, however it is invasive. With the recent introduction of the EPR mobile universal surface explorer (MOUSE), EPR is no longer invasive. The EPR MOUSE and a least squares regression algorithm were used to noninvasively identify pairwise mixtures of seven different paramagnetic pigments in paint on canvas. This capability will help art conservators, historians, and restorers to study paintings with EPR spectroscopy. View Show abstract ... The sublimation kinetics of CDD were studied both by NIR and NMR spectroscopies and a good agreement between the two employed techniques was demonstrated. The aim of this work was to broaden the investigation of the CDD + solvent system to include porous stone matrices, so as to describe its global disappearance process by means of the aforementioned, non-invasive analytical techniques [12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22]. ... A non-invasive investigation of cyclododecane kinetics in porous matrices by near-infrared spectroscopy and NMR in-depth profilometry Article May 2014 J CULT HERIT Chiara Anselmi Federica Presciutti Brenda Doherty Costanza Miliani In order to evaluate the effectiveness of cyclododecane (CDD) as a temporary protective coating and consolidating agent for fragile stone materials, this paper focuses on its physicochemical behaviour in terms of its penetration into porous matrices and subsequent sublimation. In particular, a near-infrared spectroscopy (NIR) and NMR in-depth profilometry study has been carried out by monitoring the evaporation/sublimation process of CDD solutions as a function of time. By means of this non-invasive multitechnique approach, the behavior of CDD both on the surface and inside the first millimeters of the stones has been adequately described. It has also been highlighted how the progression of CDD's disappearance within different stones is affected by both substrate porosity and boiling point of the carrier solvent. These results demonstrate the potential of such a method of protocol for non-invasive in situ monitoring of the unconstrained sublimation process of this temporary protective agent. View Show abstract ... This approach is invasive, resulting in the destruction of the integrity of the painting. Various noninvasive and noncontact modalities which can provide in-situ quantitative information in depth, such as confocal X-ray fluorescence (with elemental distribution contrast) [85], femtosecond pump-probe microscopy (with molecular and structural constrast) [86], nuclear magnetic resonance (with 1 H abundance constrast) [87], and optical coherence tomography (with structural constrast) [88], are under active research. Although with micrometer-level high resolution, these methods have limited penetration in depth, or imply probing a small region of interest, as opposed to an extended area, and therefore, cannot generate a 3D global mapping of the layer structure of a painting [89]. ... TERAHERTZ IMAGING FOR NONDESTRUCTIVE EVALUATION AND MATERIAL CHARACTERIZATION A Dissertation Presented to The Academic Faculty Thesis Jun 2017 Junliang Dong Thanks to the emergence of powerful light sources and highly sensitive detectorsoperating in the terahertz (THz) spectral region, the traditional THz ‘gap’ (0.1-10THz) is shrinking fast nowadays. Recent advances in photonics and electronics enablesthe development of compact but sophisticated THz time domain spectroscopy (TDS)systems. Today, pulsed THz imaging based on THz-TDS systems is investigatedin many areas spanning from nondestructive evaluation (NDE), industrial qualitycontrol, medical imaging and security sectors to studies of fundamental physics andcultural heritage. Despite the on-going broad applications of THz imaging, a THz‘killer application’– a novel, innovative use in which THz imaging exhibits higherperformance than any other existing techniques, is still waiting to be clearly identified.Therefore, the research problems of this thesis aim at the exploration of the potentialof THz imaging in the fields of industry and cultural heritage conservation science,and developing theories and techniques to enhance the capabilities of THz imagingto solve practical problems in NDE and material characterization.The thesis is outlined as follows. View Show abstract ... The sublimation kinetics of CDD were studied both by NIR and NMR spectroscopies and a good agreement between the two employed techniques was demonstrated. The aim of this work was to broaden the investigation of the CDD + solvent system to include porous stone matrices, so as to describe its global disappearance process by means of the aforementioned, non-invasive analytical techniques [12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22]. ... Monitoring of optimized SERS active gel substrates for painting and paper substrates by unilateral NMR profilometry Article Jul 2014 J Raman Spectros Antonio Sgamellotti Brenda Doherty Federica Presciutti Costanza Miliani In order to realize a surface enhanced Raman spectroscopy (SERS) gel protocol with portable Raman instrumentation, this contribution oversees the optimization of a removable SERS active methylcellulose gel and the applicability of an innovative gelatin substrate. Analytical evaluations by non-invasive portable nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) profilometry with regards to methylcellulose and gelatin film penetration and removal from an unvarnished painted surface and commercial dyed paper substrates have been carried out, respectively, following successful SERS measurements. Both gels have been specifically prepared in accordance to the substrate under exam so as to simultaneously permit sufficient surface interaction for Raman enhancements to be recorded with limited penetration into or subsequent damage on removal of the matrix under study. This work continues to bridge the gap towards non-invasive SERS measurements and in-situ SERS measurements. Copyright © 2014 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. View Show abstract ... With unilateral NMR, the magnetic field is applied to one side of the object allowing measurements to be performed without any sampling, thereby preserving the integrity of the object under investigation. [27][28][29][30][31][32][33][34][35] This non-destructive and non-invasive technique was applied to evaluate the penetration depth of the treatment, its capability to impair water absorption, the presence of inhomogeneities caused by sharp variations of the amount of absorbed product, and how the treatment may change the open porosity and may affect water diffusion through the porous matrix. Exploiting the strong and constant field gradient generated by unilateral NMR sensor, diffusion measurements were carried out to obtain the average surface-to-volume ratio of pores and the degree of pores interconnection in untreated and treated tuffs. ... Unilateral NMR investigation of multifunctional treatments on stones based on colloidal inorganic and organic nanoparticles Article Jan 2015 Magn Reson Chem Mariacristina Cocca Roberto Avolio Maurizio Avella Valeria Di Tullio Consolidation and protection are among the most important treatments usually carried out in conservation of stone artifacts and monuments. In this paper, portable unilateral NMR and conventional techniques were used for investigating new multifunctional treatments based on tetraethoxysilane, silica, and polytetrafluoroethylene nanoparticles. The study was carried out on a very complex and heterogeneous porous stone such as tuff. NMR study allowed to obtain detailed information on the penetration depth of treatments, the hydrophobic effect, and changes in the open porosity caused by treatments. Physical and chemical inhomogeneities between the impregnated layers of tuff and the layers underneath were also detected. The average pores radius and pores interconnection obtained from NMR diffusion measurements were used for the first time to compare effects of different consolidating and/or protective treatments on stone. Because unilateral NMR technique is neither destructive nor invasive, investigation of treatments can be also carried out and optimized directly on buildings and monuments of interest for Cultural Heritage. Copyright © 2014 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. View Show abstract ... [11] The spin-spin decay related to a 1 H stratigraphy of a painting can suggest the presence of different layers constituted by different organic materials allowing for subsequent selective microsampling. [12][13][14] Moreover the spin-spin and spin-lattice relaxations can also be affected by the interaction ... A non-invasive NMR relaxometric characterization of the cyclododecane–solvent system inside porous substrates Article Jan 2015 Magn Reson Chem Federica Presciutti Brenda Doherty Chiara Anselmi Costanza Miliani With the aim of deepening the knowledge on the behavior of cyclododecane (CDD) as a temporary consolidant agent for weathered stones, NMR longitudinal and transverse relaxation decays have been exploited to follow the distribution of cyclododecane solutions into porous matrices. By measuring as function of time the relaxation decay constants of CDD solutions dropped onto porous supports, it has been possible to differentiate the step encompassing the solvent evaporation, which determines the consolidant migration within the matrix, from that governing the consolidant sublimation, which is related to the consolidation effectiveness over time. Copyright © 2014 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. View Show abstract ... Following the 1 H NMR method already described in our previous paper [3], stratigraphic determinations were carried out in situ in a fully non-invasive way. The method encodes the amplitude of the 1 H NMR signal as a function of the depth scanned [6][7][8][9] allowing us to discriminate and visualize different layers made of different hydrogencontaining materials. ... A Multi-Analytical study of ancient nubian detached mural paintings Article Oct 2015 MICROCHEM J Noemi Proietti Valeria Di Tullio Federica Presciutti Donatella Capitani View A Miniaturized NMR-MOUSE with a High Magnetic Field Gradient (Mini-MOUSE) Article Dec 2014 APPL MAGN RESON Dirk Oligschläger Stefan Glöggler Jan Watzlaw Bernhard Bluemich Mobile nuclear magnetic resonance sensors still suffer from relatively high weight and large dimensions, although they are already considerably smaller than superconducting high-field magnets. Application of such sensors for an accurate analysis of rigid materials and thin layers is limited by the echo time of the radiofrequency (rf) coil and the spatial resolution of the sensor. This study presents the construction of a miniaturized NMR-MOUSE® that is reduced to about 90 % in volume and weight compared to a standard Profile NMR-MOUSE®. Thanks to the short dead time of 4 µs of the micro-structured rf coil, short transverse relaxation times of rigid and dry materials can be determined with improved accuracy. Furthermore, it is possible to record depth profiles with high resolution. The large magnetic field gradient of the new set-up leads to enhanced diffusion contrast. View Show abstract Characterization of aging and solvent treatments of painted surfaces using single-sided NMR Article Jan 2015 Magn Reson Chem Gwendoline Fife Bascha Stabik Allison E. Kelley Tyler Meldrum Typical experiments conducted with single-sided NMR are incapable of unique chemical identification and, thus, often rely on comparative measurements in scientific study. However, cultural heritage objects have unique natures and histories, making a genuine ‘control’ sample a rarity and complicating many scientific investigations. In this paper, we present some comparative results enabled by such a rare, control sample. Two paintings, The Dinner and The Dance from the 1616 set Pipenpoyse Wedding, were made by the same artist with indistinguishable materials and techniques. However, despite their shared history, The Dinner has undergone varnishing and subsequent varnish removal multiple times, whereas The Dance has not. NMR measurements on these two paintings show the effect of organic-solvent-based treatments on the stiffness of the paintings as measured by T2,eff, supporting visual and tactile observations that The Dinner is stiffer throughout its thickness than The Dance, probably due to ingress of natural resins and organic solvents into the paint and ground layers. In addition to a comparative analysis of these two paintings, initial experiments to compare solvent penetration with different varnish removal methods are described. Model canvas painting samples were treated with solvent in two ways—with free solvent on a swab and with cellulose gel thickened solvent in a tissue. Both treatment methods cause a measurable change in T2,eff; however, the thickened-solvent method affects a narrower region of the model than does the free solvent. Copyright © 2014 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. View Show abstract Mobile Nuclear Magnetic Resonance Chapter Jun 2012 Ernesto Danieli Bernhard Blümich Federico Casanova In order to make NMR available for applications that require moving the NMR equipment outside of the laboratory, several research groups have engaged in developing magnets and radiofrequency probes suitable for in situ measurements. This article summarizes the advances reported in the field of mobile NMR within the last decade. In particular, emphasis is placed on the challenges posed by the hardware while optimizing compact sensors when specific methods, such as relaxation, imaging, or spectroscopy, need to be implemented. Since the design of mobile systems is driven by the target application, the tools are engineered in view of the optimum compromise between portability and sensitivity among the configurations that generate the required magnetic field profile. This review covers the most relevant methodologies available for sample characterization within mobile NMR and describes the steps taken to optimize the sensors.Keywords:mobile NMR;single-sided NMR;permanent magnets;magnet design;Halbach magnets View Show abstract Book of Abstracts of the 3rd International Seminar and Workshop on Emerging Technology and Innovation for Cultural Heritage "Advanced Technology for Diagnosis, Preservation and Management of Historical and Archaeological Parchment, Leather and Textile Artefacts" (ETICH 2014) Book Full-text available Oct 2014 Ed. Andrea Bernath Irina Petroviciu Elena Badea The International Seminar and Workshop on Emerging Technology and Innovation for Cultural Heritage (ETICH) is dedicated to the natural connection between science and conservation. The main aim of ETICH is to bring together conservators, restorers, conservation scientists, chemists, physicians, engineers, teachers and show how interdisciplinary work across a broad range of discipline is contributing to the conservation and sustainable preservation of our cultural heritage. In the last decades the booming developments in chemical, physical and biological science, but also in the fields of electronics and computer sciences, nanomaterials and nanotechnologies has brought us new instruments and methods of great perfection, which present new horizons in the analysis, diagnosis and protection of historical and cultural objects and artefacts. ETICH 2014 is the third edition after previous symposia organised in collaboration with the National Museum of Romania History in 2012 and Romanian Academy Library in 2013, and focusses on advanced technologies for diagnosis, preservation and management of historical and archaeological parchment, leather and textile artefacts. The need for full interdisciplinary participation of professionals in the conservation and restoration of cultural heritage has been universally recognised. We thus hope that the 2014 ETICH edition will particularly provide an international platform for presentation and discussion and on how to effectively integrate scientific research outcomes with preservation practice. The 2014 Seminar and Workshop is jointly organized by the National Research and Development Institute for Textile and Leather (INCDTP), ICPI Division, Bucharest, Romanian Association Science and Cultural Heritage in Connection (i-CON) and Training Centre for Conservators and Restorers (CePCoR), ASTRA National Museum Complex (CNM ASTRA), Sibiu. View Show abstract Miniaturized multi-coil arrays for functional planar imaging with a single-sided NMR sensor Article Feb 2015 Sören Lehmkuhl Dirk Oligschläger Jan Watzlaw Bernhard Bluemich Nowadays most low-field NMR sensors, such as the single-sided Profile NMR-MOUSE®, still suffer from poor sensitivity, either resulting from low magnetic field strengths and correspondingly low NMR frequencies, or lack of sensitivity. Generally, micro-coils can improve sensitivity, but due to their small size, and thus small inductance, they are mainly used for high-field NMR. Their main application field is parallel imaging, where those coils are typically assembled to receive-only coil-arrays and increase the field-of-view. Prominent signal combination techniques such as GRAPPA and SENSE are used to combine the spatially independent NMR signals to images in order to increase acquisition speed. A decisive disadvantage of today's single-sided NMR probes is the limited accessibility for NMR imaging. Although it is possible to use flat gradient coils on top of the NMR-MOUSE® to apply imaging techniques, such images can only be recorded with very long acquisition times, excluding the NMR-MOUSE® for lateral imaging of time-dependent processes. In this study sensitivity improved micro-structured RF coils, optimized for low frequencies, and correspondingly arrays of these coils, were employed to improve sensitivity and gave access to lateral spatial resolution within the sensitive plane at several observation points at the same time. Recently developed three- and four-coil arrays were combined with a Profile NMR-MOUSE® and characterized in terms of coil coupling, noise correlation and signal combination. The three-coil array was used for lateral imaging of moisture transport in travertine rock samples and to study the one-dimensional drying of paint. Copyright © 2015 Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. View Show abstract Hyphenated low-field NMR techniques: combining NMR with NIR, GPC/SEC and rheometry: Hyphenated low-field NMR techniques Article Apr 2015 Magn Reson Chem Volker Räntzsch Manfred Wilhelm Gisela Guthausen Hyphenated low-field NMR techniques are promising characterization methods for online process analytics and comprehensive offline studies of soft materials. By combining different analytical methods with low-field NMR, information on chemical and physical properties can be correlated with molecular dynamics and complementary chemical information. In this review, we present three hyphenated low-field NMR techniques: a combination of near-infrared spectroscopy and time-domain NMR (TD-NMR) relaxometry, online (1) H-NMR spectroscopy measured directly after size exclusion chromatographic (SEC, also known as GPC) separation and a combination of rheometry and TD-NMR relaxometry for highly viscous materials. Case studies are reviewed that underline the possibilities and challenges of the different hyphenated low-field NMR methods. Copyright © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Copyright © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. View Show abstract Development of NMR: Solid-State NMR and Materials Science, Post 1995 Chapter Jun 2012 Jeffrey A. Reimer During the period 1995-2011 the sub-discipline of solid-state NMR grew enormously as represented by more than 30,000 publications, numerous conferences, and a burgeoning population of young researchers. This article seeks to summarize the trends of these researches in the area of materials chemistry, engineering, and physics. These trends are found to be based upon three pillars: a strong and evolving base of fundamental science, a clear connection to emerging computation and communication technologies, and the perspicacity of researchers in the fields of materials science.Keywords:solid-state NMR;materials;instrumentation;portable NMR;computation;theory;sensitivity;quadrupolar;dipolar;chemical shift View Show abstract Single-Sided Stray-Field NMR Profiling Using Chirped Radiofrequency Pulses Article Aug 2015 APPL MAGN RESON Leah B. Casabianca Yifat Sarda Elad Bergman Lucio Frydman Single-sided nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) scanners find increased use in applications where non-destructive measurements are needed. These single-sided scanners are characterized by a weak magnetic field and a large stray magnetic field gradient. These characteristics make these scanners suitable for determining a sample’s proton density profile, or for mapping NMR properties such as T 1, T 2 or diffusivity as a function of distance. The strong stray-field gradient generated by these magnets dictates a need for relatively high transmission/reception bandwidths, even when thin slices are involved. Consequently, scanning a large volume demands multiple separate measurements, associated with long scan times, potential inaccuracies associated with mechanical misplacements and limitations in tackling certain in vivo or dynamic systems. This work explores the consequences of replacing the hard pulses in the usual multi-echo sequence used in this kind of scanner, with frequency-swept (chirped) pulses. It was found that, under identical echo times and number of echoes, peak power-limited cases like the ones usually involved in these setups endow chirped-pulse sequences with a higher sensitivity than their square-pulse counterparts. Furthermore, data can be extracted in this manner faster; it can also be measured from larger slabs following a single excitation, thereby avoiding the need for multiple mechanical motions of the scanner/sample. Still, at least with the system hereby assayed, hardware limitations prevented us from utilizing equally short echo times for square- as well as chirped-pulse implementations. Given the shorter echo delays that could be used in the square-pulse versions, optimal acquisitions ended up endowing the latter with the best overall sensitivity defined as signal intensity per unit acquisition time. Potential bypasses of this limitation are briefly discussed. View Show abstract Single-sided NMR Article Jan 2011 Federico Casanova Juan Perlo Bernhard Blümich Since its discovery in 1945 [1, 2], nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) has developed into an inexhaustible research field. It is exploited in several areas in physics, chemistry, biology, and medicine to extract unique information at the molecular level [3–8]. In chemistry, for example, it is considered to be one of the most powerful analytical tools to elucidate molecular structure, and in medicine it is routinely used for diagnostic imaging. Driven by the fact that sensitivity and spectral resolution increase with the magnetic field strength and homogeneity, magnets are built larger and larger over the years. Today, magnets are heavy and static devices installed in special NMR laboratories designed to shield electromagnetic interference and reduce magnetic field distortions in order to provide ideal experimental conditions (Fig. 1.1a). Besides the fact that samples of interest must be taken to the magnet, they must fit into the limited space available in the bore of the magnet. These issues are certainly a limitation when arbitrarily large samples require non-destructive analysis. View Show abstract High resolution spectroscopic mapping imaging applied in situ to multilayer structures for stratigraphic identification of painted art objects Conference Paper Full-text available Apr 2016 G. Karagiannis The development of non–destructive techniques is a reality in the field of conservation science. These techniques are usually not so accurate, as the analytical micro–sampling techniques, however, the proper development of soft–computing techniques can improve their accuracy. In this work, we propose a real–time fast acquisition spectroscopic mapping imaging system that operates from the ultraviolet to mid infrared (UV/Vis/nIR/mIR) area of the electromagnetic spectrum and it is supported by a set of soft–computing methods to identify the materials that exist in a stratigraphic structure of paint layers. Particularly, the system acquires spectra in diffuse–reflectance mode, scanning in a Region-Of-Interest (ROI), and having wavelength range from 200 up to 5000 nm. Also, a fuzzy c–means clustering algorithm, i.e., the particular soft–computing algorithm, produces the mapping images. The evaluation of the method was tested on a byzantine painted icon. View Show abstract Applications in Material Science and Cultural Heritage Chapter Jan 2011 J. Kolz The diversity of available techniques has made magnetic resonance a valuable tool in medicine, in chemistry, as well as in material science [1–3]. In spite of the complexity of obtaining high-resolution spectra and the lower sensitivity compared to NMR with superconducting magnets this is also true for single-sided NMR, particularly considering that the technique is truly non-destructive due to the open geometry of the sensor [4, 5]. The first U-shaped sensor was conceived to View Show abstract Nondestructive Testing of Objects from Cultural Heritage with NMR Chapter Jun 2018 Maria Baias Bernhard Blümich Our world heritage is constantly facing the risk of being lost, either to severe weather conditions, chemical or biological attack, mishandling by conservators, inappropriate storage conditions, or even destruction by war. Science can provide the necessary tools for analyzing the objects of cultural heritage, assessing their state of conservation, and proposing suitable methods and strategies for preserving them for future generations. Nondestructive testing by nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) in this area of research is relatively new. It was made possible by the development of portable single-sided NMR sensors capable of recording NMR signals from samples that are exterior to the magnet. Nondestructibility and mobility are the two main features identifying mobile NMR as an essential tool for cultural heritage research. © Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018. View Show abstract Identification of complex structures of paintings on canvas by NMR: Correlation between NMR profile and stratigraphy Article May 2020 MAGN RESON CHEM Leonardo Brizi Villiam Bortolotti Giulia Marmotti Mara Camaiti Paintings on canvas are complex structures created by superimposing layers of different composition. Investigations on the structure of these artworks can provide essential information on their state of conservation, pictorial technique, possible over‐paintings, and in planning a proper conservation plan. Standard methods of investigation consist in sampling a limited number of fragments for stratigraphic analyses. Despite the recognized validity of these methods, they are affected by evident limitations. NMR profiling, often named NMR stratigraphy, is an NMR relaxometry technique applied by single‐sided portable devices developed to overcome the disadvantages of micro‐invasive stratigraphic analyses. The potential of this approach on artworks, including wall paintings and a few examples of painted canvas, is described in the literature. In this study, NMR profiles of painting on canvas were examined by analyzing transverse relaxation time data by T 2 quasi‐continuous distributions, and the results compared with standard stratigraphic cross‐sections analysis. Combining signal intensity and T 2 quasi‐continuous distributions, the identification of textile, preparatory and paint layers was enhanced. The diction “NMR stratigraphy” for these inhomogeneous layered artworks is also discussed. Indeed, unlike the stratigraphic cross‐sections, NMR profiles provide information on a volume (flat slice), rather than on a surface, and the collected signal can derive from non‐uniform and partially overlapping layers. This study paves the way for extensive investigations on relaxation time quasi‐continuous distributions in various binder/pigment mixtures in order to improve the reliability of NMR profile as an innovative, non‐invasive and non‐destructive method for analyzing paintings on canvas. View Show abstract NMR relaxometry of oil-paint binders Article Full-text available Mar 2020 MAGN RESON CHEM Franziska Busse Markus Küppers Christian Rehorn Bernhard Blümich Mobile nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) is a flexible technique for nondestructive characterization of water in plants, the physical properties of polymers, moisture in porous walls or the binder in paintings by relaxation measurements. NMR relaxation data report material properties and therefore can also help to characterize the state of tangible cultural heritage. In this work, we discuss the relaxation behavior in two series' of naturally aged paint mock‐up samples. First, paints with different pigment concentrations were prepared and investigated in terms of the longitudinal and transverse relaxation‐time distributions. We document the evolution of both relaxation time distributions during the initial drying stage and demonstrate the heightened importance of transverse over longitudinal relaxation measurements. Second, we observe non‐linear dependences of the relaxation times on the pigment concentration in a typical oil binder. Third, in a study of naturally aged paint samples prepared in the years between 1914 and 1951 and subsequently aged under controlled conditions, we explore the possibility of determining the age of paintings using partial least square regression (PLS) by fitting T1‐T2 data with the sample age. Our results suggest some correlation, albeit with significant scatter. Estimating the age of a painting stored under unknown conditions from NMR relaxation data is therefore not feasible, as the cumulative effects of light irradiation, humidity, and biological degradation further obfuscate the chemical and physical impact of aging on the relaxation times in addition to the impact of pigment concentration. View Show abstract Production of highly concentrated and hyperpolarized metabolites within seconds in high and low magnetic fields Article Full-text available Oct 2019 PHYS CHEM CHEM PHYS Sergey Korchak Meike Emondts Salvatore Mamone Stefan Glöggler Hyperpolarized metabolites are very attractive contrast agents for in vivo magnetic resonance imaging studies enabling early diagnosis of cancer, for example. Real-time production of concentrated solutions of metabolites is a desired goal that will enable new applications such as the continuous investigation of metabolic changes. To this end, we are introducing two NMR experiments that allow us to deliver high levels of polarization at high concentrations (50 mM) of an acetate precursor (55% 13C polarization) and acetate (17% 13C polarization) utilizing 83% para-state enriched hydrogen within seconds at high magnetic field (7 T). Furthermore, we have translated these experiments to a portable low-field spectrometer with a permanent magnet operating at 1 T. The presented developments pave the way for a rapid and affordable production of hyperpolarized metabolites that can be implemented in e.g. metabolomics labs and for medical diagnosis. View Show abstract The MR Cap: A single‐sided MRI system designed for potential point‐of‐care limited field‐of‐view brain imaging Article Jun 2019 MAGN RESON MED Patrick C. McDaniel Clarissa Zimmerman Cooley Jason P Stockmann Lawrence L Wald Purpose: The size, cost, and siting requirements of conventional MRI systems limit their availability and preclude usage as monitoring or point-of-care devices. To address this, we developed a lightweight MRI for point-of-care brain imaging over a reduced field of view (FOV). Methods: The B0 magnet was designed with a genetic algorithm optimizing homogeneity over a 3 × 8 × 8 cm FOV and a built-in gradient for slice selection or readout encoding. An external pair of gradient coils enables phase encoding in the other two directions and a radiofrequency (RF) coil provides excitation and detection. The system was demonstrated with high-resolution 1D "depth profiling" and 3D phantom imaging. Results: The lightweight B0 magnet achieved a 64-mT average field over the imaging region at a materials cost of <$450 USD. The weight of the magnet, gradient, and RF coil was 8.3 kg. Depth profiles were obtained at high resolution (0.89 mm) and multislice rapid acquisition with refocused echoes (RARE) images were obtained with a resolution ~2 mm in-plane and ~6-mm slice thickness, each in an imaging time of 11 min. Conclusion: The system demonstrates the feasibility of a lightweight brain MRI system capable of 1D to 3D imaging within a reduced FOV. The proposed system is low-cost and small enough to be used in point-of-care applications. View Show abstract Advanced Characterization Techniques, Diagnostic Tools and Evaluation Methods in Heritage Science Book Jan 2018 David M. Bastidas Emilio Cano This book details the application of advanced characterisation techniques and diagnostic tools to heritage science, including the evaluation of heritage assets’ condition, their preservation and restoration. It examines the use of electrochemical techniques in conservation science, with a particular focus on how to solve problems in taking on-site measurements. Specifically, it introduces readers to a new gel polymer (GPE) electrochemical cell developed by the authors for the characterisation of metallic heritage objects. Other techniques used to characterise and monitor reinforced concrete objects in more modern buildings are also covered, including non-destructive electrochemical techniques that allow steel corrosion to be assessed in these structures, and in those that are used to protect and repair such buildings. The usefulness of the NMR-Mouse nuclear magnetic resonance sensor in the assessment and preservation of softer heritage materials, such as wood, parchment, bone, and painted walls, is covered, as well as Infrared reflectography for examining paintings and laser cleaning for restoring them. The book introduces ultra-High Performance Liquid Chromatography (u-HPLC) with a diode-array (DAD) and mass–mass (MS-MS) quadruple time-of-flight spectroscopy (QTOF). This new technique can be applied to the analysis and identification of natural and synthetic organic pigments and its use is demonstrated in several case studies. This book provides a rigorous scientific grounding in the application of state-of-the-art techniques in heritage science and conservation, and offers a practical handbook for practitioners. View Show abstract Concepts and Applications of the NMR-MOUSE Chapter Jan 2018 Bernhard Blümich The NMR-MOUSE is a portable magnetic resonance imaging device employed for non-destructive testing of hydrogen-containing materials. Following an introduction to NMR and the NMR-MOUSE, the use of the device for heritage studies is illustrated with examples concerning mummies, easel paintings and frescoes. View Show abstract Mobile and Compact NMR Chapter Jan 2018 Bernhard Blümich View Solid-state NMR for the study of Asger Jorn’s paintings Article Nov 2015 Microchem J Cindie Kehlet Filiz Kuvvetli Amelia Catalano Jens Dittmer In this work, we explore the potential of a recent NMR technology, requiring one to two orders of magnitude less sample quantity than conventional solid-state NMR, for the study of oil paintings. The aim is the detection of changes on the molecular level that may be related to the degradation of the paint. Our sample is a small paint fragment that has flaked off the canvas of Asger Jorn's work Maske from 1945, and an approximatively one-year-old zinc white reference sample. In addition to the expected signals stemming from products of the curing process, we observe chemical shifts corresponding to carboxylates indicating de-esterification and saponification. The advantage of using solid-state NMR is the possibility to study the entire sample rather than the small extractable mobile fraction. Fast spinning in conjunction with filtering techniques allows for the acquisition of 1H spectra of the mobile fraction in order to characterize it in its original environment. This could be all the more important as some hypotheses say that the loss of this mobile phase, acting as a plasticizer, is responsible for the degradation of the paint. View Show abstract Photoacoustic signal attenuation analysis for the assessment of thin layers thickness in paintings Article Full-text available Mar 2018 J APPL PHYS George Tserevelakis Alice Dal Fovo K. Melessanaki Giannis Zacharakis This study introduces a novel method for the thickness estimation of thin paint layers in works of art, based on photoacoustic signal attenuation analysis (PAcSAA). Ad hoc designed samples with acrylic paint layers (Primary Red Magenta, Cadmium Yellow, Ultramarine Blue) of various thicknesses on glass substrates were realized for the specific application. After characterization by Optical Coherence Tomography imaging, samples were irradiated at the back side using low energy nanosecond laser pulses of 532 nm wavelength. Photoacoustic waves undergo a frequency-dependent exponential attenuation through the paint layer, before being detected by a broadband ultrasonic transducer. Frequency analysis of the recorded time-domain signals allows for the estimation of the average transmitted frequency function, which shows an exponential decay with the layer thickness. Ultrasonic attenuation models were obtained for each pigment and used to fit the data acquired on an inhomogeneous painted mock-up simulating a real canvas painting. Thickness evaluation through PAcSAA resulted in excellent agreement with cross-section analysis with a conventional brightfield microscope. The results of the current study demonstrate the potential of the proposed PAcSAA method for the non-destructive stratigraphic analysis of painted artworks. View Show abstract Mobile NMR: An essential tool for protecting our cultural heritage Article Oct 2016 MAGN RESON CHEM Maria Baias What is "cultural heritage"? Is it simply our legacy of physical artifacts – or is it our collective legacy as human societies – how we want to be remembered by future generations? With time, negligence, and even military conflict working to erase the past, we must ask: Can a better understanding of our shared heritage assist us in addressing cultural differences in the present day? And how can science both help us understand the historic record and work to preserve it? In this perspective article we examine an emerging scientific method, mobile nuclear magnetic resonance, that can help us examine in a non-invasive way important objects and sites of our cultural heritage. Following these investigations one can envisage ways for protecting our global heritage for future generations. For this purpose we examine how this method can be used to non-destructively explore historical artifacts, which can lead to understanding the science behind the creation of these treasured items – paintings, frescoes, parchments, historical buildings, musical instruments, ancient mummies, and other artifacts. This perspective article follows few relevant examples from the scientific literature where mobile NMR has been applied in a non-invasive way to analyze objects of cultural heritage. One can envision possible future advancements of this technique and further applications where portable NMR can be used for conservation of cultural heritage. View Show abstract Effect of pigment concentration on NMR relaxometry in acrylic paints Article May 2020 MAGN RESON CHEM Mary T. Rooney Tyler Meldrum Acrylic emulsion paint is among the most common media employed by 20th century artists. Since early acrylic paintings have begun to require the attention of conservators, scientists are working to characterize the properties of these paints to facilitate conservation efforts. In this study, we report an investigation of the physical and chemical properties of acrylic emulsion paints using single‐sided NMR in conjunction with gloss measurements and scanning electron microscopy‐energy dispersive spectrometry. Combining the data from these techniques gives insight into pigment‐base interactions and the acrylic curing process, showing that as pigment concentration is increased in paints, the amount of acrylic base adsorbed to pigment particles increases, resulting in films with differing relaxation times. This research both emphasizes and contextualizes the utility of NMR relaxometry in studying cultural heritage objects, and prompts further study into the effects of pigment concentration on the curing and conservation of paint films. View Show abstract Investigation of stratigraphic mapping in paintings using micro-Raman spectroscopy Conference Paper Full-text available Apr 2016 G. Karagiannis Georgios Apostolidis In this work, microRaman spectroscopy is used to investigate the stratigraphic mapping in paintings. The objective of mapping imaging is to segment the dataset, here spectra, into clusters each of which consisting spectra that have similar characteristics; hence, similar chemical composition. The spatial distribution of such clusters can be illustrated in pseudocolor images, in which each pixel of image is colored according to its cluster membership. Such mapping images convey information about the spatial distribution of the chemical substances in an object. Moreover, the laser light source that is used has excitation in 1064 nm, i.e., near infrared (NIR), allowing the penetration of the radiation in deeper layers. Thus, the mapping images that are produced by clustering the acquired spectra (specifying specific bands of Raman shifts) can provide stratigraphic information in the mapping images, i.e., images that convey information of the distribution of substances from deeper, as well. To cluster the spectra, unsupervised machine learning algorithms are applied, e.g., hierarchical clustering. Furthermore, the optical microscopy camera (×50), where the Raman probe (B and WTek iRaman EX) is plugged in, is attached to a computerized numerical control (CNC) system which is driven by a software that is specially developed for Raman mapping. This software except for the conventional CNC operation allows the user to parameterize the spectrometer and check each and every measurement to ensure proper acquisition. This facility is important in painting investigation because some materials are vulnerable to such specific parameterization that other materials demand. The technique is tested on a portable experimental overpainted icon of a known stratigraphy. Specifically, the under icon, i.e., the wavy hair of “Saint James”, can be separated from upper icon, i.e., the halo of Mother of God in the “Descent of the Cross”. View Show abstract An analytical renaissance Article Feb 2010 CHEM IND-LONDON Michael Gross View Unilateral magnetic resonance Article Jan 2013 J.C. García In just a few decades Nuclear Magnetic Resonance (NMR) has become an important tool in almost all areas of human development. In this context, Unilateral Magnetic Resonance (UMR) has emerged in recent years as a powerful technique to explore samples of arbitrary size. In UMR the desired magnetic field is generated in a remote volume outside the magnet, which means inhomogeneous magnetic field. New magnet designs have been developed and applied in diverse fields such as down-hole oil well logging, characterization of food products, medical applications, material analysis, artwork preservation and investigation of plants and soils. Nevertheless, because of the advantages and capabilities of this method, new applications are continually being developed. This work introduces the particularities of NMR in inhomogenous fields and makes a review of the most important works developed in UMR. Magnet approaches and new applications are discussed. View Show abstract Mobile depth profiling and sub-surface imaging techniques for historical paintings—Review Article Article Jul 2013 SPECTROCHIM ACTA B Matthias Alfeld José A. C. Broekaert Hidden, sub-surface paint layers and features contain valuable information for the art-historical investigation of a painting's past and for its conservation for coming generations. The number of techniques available for the study of these features has been considerably extended in the last decades and established techniques have been refined. This review focuses on mobile non-destructive subsurface imaging and depth profiling techniques, which allow for the in-situ investigation of easel paintings, i.e. paintings on a portable support. Among the techniques discussed are: X-ray radiography and infrared reflectography, which are long established methods and are in use for several decades. Their capabilities of element/species specific imaging have been extended by the introduction of energy/wavelength resolved measurements. Scanning macro-X-ray fluorescence analysis made it for the first time possible to acquire elemental distribution images in-situ and optical coherence tomography allows for the non-destructive study the surface paint layers in virtual cross-sections. These techniques and their variants are presented next to other techniques, such as Terahertz imaging, Nuclear Magnetic Resonance depth profiling and established techniques for non destructive testing (thermography, ultrasonic imaging and laser based interference methods) applied in the conservation of historical paintings. Next to selected case studies the capabilities and limitations of the techniques are discussed. View Show abstract Show more A Review of Nondestructive Characterization of Composites Using NMR Chapter Jan 1989 George A. Matzkanin Nuclear Magnetic Resonance (NMR) is a nondestructive evaluation technique useful for characterizing organic matrix composites and other polymer based materials. NMR depends on the interaction between the nuclear magnetic moment and a magnetic field and thus it is sensitive to localized field variations caused by molecular motions, changes in molecular or crystal structure, and chemical composition differences. Application of NMR to composites and polymers involves measurement of the hydrogen nucleus (proton) NMR signal. Fortunately, the proton NMR signal is very strong and easily measured. Much of the physical and chemical information available through the use of NMR is associated with the relaxation characteristics of the nuclear magnetic moments, which can be measured using pulsed NMR techniques. The energy exchange between nuclear moments and the surrounding lattice is characterized by the spin-lattice relaxation time, T1, while the energy exchange among nudear magnetic moments is described by the spin-spin relaxation time, T2. These relaxation times are very sensitive to molecular motions and structural changes and can be used to provide both qualitative and quantitative information on the dynamic environment in which the nuclei are located. For application to composites and polymers, hydrogen NMR has been used to characterize water absorption, molecular diffusion, environmental degradation, aging, degree of cure, and modulus variations. View Show abstract A new tool for painting diagnostics: Optical coherence tomography Article Jul 2006 OPT SPECTROSC+ Tito Arecchi Marco Bellini C. Corsi A. Tortora Nondestructive techniques have seen successful growth in the last few years, and, among them, optical ones are widespread and extremely well received in the field of painting diagnostics because of their effectiveness and safety. At present, many techniques for nondestructive investigations of paintings are available; nevertheless, none of them is suitable for a quantitative characterization of varnish. However, varnish removal, either partial or complete, is a fundamental part of the cleaning process, which is an essential step in painting conservation. This critical process has been carried out, up to now, without the possibility of any non-destructive measurement for assessing the actual varnish thickness, but with microscopic observation of a detached microfragment. Optical coherence tomography (OCT) is a noninvasive technique that is well established for biomedical applications. In this work, we present a novel application of OCT to measure the varnish film thickness for painting diagnostics. View Show abstract Non-invasive in-situ investigations versus micro-sampling: A comparative study on a Renoirs painting Article Dec 2007 APPL PHYS A-MATER Costanza Miliani Francesca Rosi Aviva Burnstock Antonio Sgamellotti In this paper, a multi-technique in-situ non-invasive approach has been followed for the study of the materials used for a painting by Pierre-Auguste Renoir, “A woman at her toilette”. The study was carried out using five portable spectroscopic techniques, namely X-ray fluorescence, mid-infrared reflectance spectroscopy, near infrared reflectance spectroscopy, and UV-Vis spectroscopy in absorption and emission. The painting was selected as a case study because it was examined in advance of the current investigation using conventional micro-sampling techniques. This provided the opportunity to evaluate potential and limitations of the non-invasive approach to the complex case of the modern painting. View Show abstract The NMR MOUSE, a mobile universal surface explorer Article Sep 1996 J Magn Reson G. Eidmann R. Savelsberg Peter Blümler Bernhard Blümich View Non-invasive identification of surface materials on marble artifacts with fiber optic mid-FTIR reflectance spectroscopy Article Aug 2006 Camilla Ricci Costanza Miliani Bruno Brunetti Antonio Sgamellotti Research work using a compact and portable fiber optic mid-infrared reflectance spectrometer has been carried out to study surface materials on marble, first on laboratory reference models and then on historical objects. The laboratory research has shown that the complex optical reflectance phenomena of layered samples can be interpreted in terms of the nature of the compounds present (sulfates, oxalates, phosphates, resins, waxes and proteins were studied) even with a very low signal overlapping with the strong carbonate reflectance. The portable instrument was used for in situ examination of the surface condition of two Italian marble works of art: the Deposizione dalla Croce by Benedetto Antelami in the Parma cathedral and the David by Michelangelo in the Galleria dell'Accademia in Firenze. View Show abstract Degradation of historical paper: Nondestructive analysis by the NMR-MOUSE Article May 2003 J MAGN RESON Bernhard Bluemich S. Anferova Shivam Sharma C Federici The NMR-MOUSE is a mobile sensor for single-sided NMR inspection of organic materials which takes advantage of the principles of magnetic resonance and inside-out-NMR. Historical books dating from the 17th century were measured at different points by positioning the NMR-MOUSE on the paper. Different degrees of paper degradation can be discriminated from the regularized inverse Laplace transform of the envelope of the acquired echo signals. For the first time the degradation of historical paper was characterized entirely nondestructively by NMR. As a contribution to current preservation efforts, NMR shows great promise for future use in damage assessment of historical documents. View Show abstract Monitoring degradation in paper: Non-invasive analysis by unilateral NMR. Part II Article Oct 2004 J MAGN RESON Noemi Proietti Donatella Capitani Enrico Pedemonte A.L. Segre High quality paper samples have been oxidized with a specific oxidant to reproduce one of the possible causes of the aging of paper. All samples have been characterized by 13C CP-MAS NMR spectroscopy. The artificial aging of paper has been monitored using a standard NMR relaxometer and the results have been compared with the corresponding data obtained using an unilateral NMR relaxometer. Experimental values obtained with both techniques are in agreement, demonstrating that unilateral NMR relaxometric measurements constitute a suitable non-invasive method for assessing the degradation process of cellulose-based materials. The sensitivity of the non-invasive NMR method allows the detection of degradation even at a very early stage. Effects due to the sample volume and to the penetration depth have been investigated. View Show abstract Profiles with Microscopic Resolution by Single-Sided NMR Article Oct 2005 J MAGN RESON Juan Perlo Federico Casanova Bernhard Bluemich A single-sided NMR sensor to produce depth profiles with microscopic spatial resolution is presented. It uses a novel permanent magnet geometry that generates a highly flat sensitive volume parallel to the scanner surface. By repositioning the sensitive slice across the object one-dimensional profiles of the sample structure can be produced with a space resolution better than 5 microm. The open geometry of the sensor results in a powerful testing tool to characterize arbitrarily sized objects in a non-destructive way. View Show abstract Fiber-Optic Fourier Transform Mid-Infrared Reflectance Spectroscopy: A Suitable Technique for in Situ Studies of Mural Paintings Article Apr 2007 APPL SPECTROSC Costanza Miliani Francesca Rosi Ilaria Borgia Antonio Sgamellotti A prototypical in situ noninvasive study of ancient mural painting materials has been carried out using an easily manageable fiber-optic Fourier transform mid-infrared (mid-FT-IR) reflectance spectrophotometer. The reported object of the study is the Renaissance fresco by Pietro Vannucci, called il Perugino, located in the church of Santa Maria delle Lacrime (1521, Trevi, Perugia Italy). For the first classification and interpretation of infrared spectra, principal components analysis was used. Spectral artifacts due to lacunas, restoration materials, or alteration products have been identified, as well as two different secco refinements bound in a tempera medium. For the characterization of inorganic pigments, mid-FT-IR spectra have been integrated with other data obtained through in situ X-ray fluorescence (XRF) elemental analysis. This complementary noninvasive approach led to the characterization of Perugino's pigments, even in the presence of complex mixtures. The mid-FT-IR noninvasive technique, in combination with XRF, is thus recommended as a valuable first approach for the examination of mural paintings, permitting the assessment of the execution technique as well as contributing to the evaluation of the conservation state. View Show abstract Jan 2007 F Miliani A Rosi B G Burnstock A Brunetti Sgamellotti Miliani, F. Rosi, A. Burnstock, B. G. Brunetti, and A. Sgamellotti, Appl. Phys. A: Mater. Sci. Process. 89, 849 2007. Jan 1996 R Eidmann P Salvelsberg B Blümler Blümich Eidmann, R. Salvelsberg, P. Blümler, and B. Blümich, J. Magn. Reson., Ser. A 122, 104 1996. Jan 2006 M Arecchi C Bellini R Corsi M Fontana L Materazzi A Pezzati Tortora Arecchi, M. Bellini, C. Corsi, R. Fontana, M. Materazzi, L. Pezzati, and A. Tortora, Opt. Spectrosc. 101, 23 2006. Jan 2004 D Proietti E Capitani B Pedemonte A L Blümich Segre Proietti, D. Capitani, E. Pedemonte, B. Blümich, and A. L. Segre, J. Magn. Reson. 170, 113 2004. Jul 2003 S Blümich S Anferova A L Sharma C Segre Federici Blümich, S. Anferova, S. Sharma, A. L. Segre, and C. Federici, J. Magn. Reson. 161, 204 2003. Jan 2005 F Perlo B Casanova Blümich Perlo, F. Casanova, and B. Blümich, J. Magn. Reson. 176, 64 2005. 11 B. Blümich, Essential NMR Springer, Berlin, 2005. Jan 2005 B Blümich B. Blümich, Essential NMR ͑Springer, Berlin, 2005͒. Recommendations Discover more about: Painting Project SICAMOR Francesca Benetti Valeria Di Tullio Donatella Capitani [...] Emiliano Carretti View project Article Non-invasive NMR profiling of painting layers January 2008 · Applied Physics Letters Federica Presciutti Juan Perlo Costanza Miliani [...] Antonio Sgamellotti In this work we demonstrate the potential of single-sided nuclear magnetic resonance �NMR� sensors to access deeper layers of paintings noninvasively by means of high-resolution depth profiles spanning several millimeters. The performance of the sensor in resolving painting structures was tested on models for which excellent agreement with microscopy techniques was obtained. The depth profiling ... [Show full abstract] NMR technique was used in situ to investigate old master paintings. The observation of differences in NMR relaxation times of tempera binders from these paintings and from artificially aged panels raises the possibility to differentiate between original and recently restored areas. Read more Looking for the full-text? You can request the full-text of this article directly from the authors on ResearchGate. Request full-text Already a member? Log in ResearchGate iOS App Get it from the App Store now. Install Keep up with your stats and more Access scientific knowledge from anywhere or Discover by subject area Recruit researchers Join for free LoginEmail Tip: Most researchers use their institutional email address as their ResearchGate login PasswordForgot password? Keep me logged in Log in or Continue with LinkedIn Continue with Google Welcome back! Please log in. Email · HintTip: Most researchers use their institutional email address as their ResearchGate login PasswordForgot password? 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work_xa4uwnfgy5ajzdb4tyfrzk4v2u	----	Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology (1486–1493): From Scientia Naturalis to the Disputationes adversus astrologiam Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology (1486–1493): From Scientia Naturalis to the Disputationes adversus astrologiam Ovanes Akopyan, University of Innsbruck THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE astrological ideas of Giovanni Pico della Miran- dola (1463–94) still remains one of the most intriguing aspects of his legacy.1 Al- though Pico explicitly dedicated only his last philosophical treatise, the Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem (1493–94), to the study of astrology, his views on the subject can be found in nearly all his texts.2 The current article aims to show the evolution of Pico’s philosophical outlook from 1486 to 1493, the year in which he started writing the Disputationes. This focus on Giovanni Pico’s astrological views will illustrate the development of his itinéraire philosophique from early Neopla- tonic writings and ambitious theological projects to the later biblical commentar- ies. While at an early stage of his career Pico was fascinated by recently discovered sources such as the Kabbalah, Plato, and Neoplatonic writings as a means of inter- preting astrology, he would eventually deviate from them. Between 1489 and 1491 he posited for the first time the question of the communication of two essential as- Contact Ovanes Akopyan at Amthorstrasse 1, 6020, Innsbruck, Tyrol, Austria (ovanes.akopyan@ gmail.com). This essay is an updated and significantly rewritten version of my article that appeared in Russian as “Критика астрологии и магии в трудах Джованни Пико делла Мирандола (1486–1493),” Вестник Московского Университета 8, no. 3 (2013): 3–19. 1. On Pico’s biography, see Louis Valcke, Pic de la Mirandole: Un itinéraire philosophique (Paris, 2005). 2. Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem, 2 vols., ed. Eugenio Garin (Turin, 2004). Originally published in 1946–52, this is the sole modern edition of the Disputationes. On its structure, see Lynn Thorndike, A History of Magic and Experimental Science, 8 vols. (New York, 1923–58), 4:529–43; Giancarlo Zanier, “Struttura e significato delle Disputationes pichiane,” Giornale critico della filosofia italiana 1, no. 1 (1981): 54–86. I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance, volume 21, number 1. © 2018 by Villa I Tatti: The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies. All rights reserved. 0393-5949/2018/2101-0002$10.00 47 This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 48 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 trological and philosophical categories, light and matter. For Pico, the problem in question was a part of his major philosophical project on the reconciliation of Plato and Aristotle, an issue that was central for fifteenth-century Italian Renaissance thought. It is also worth noting that his treatise De Ente et Uno, devoted specifically to the Plato-Aristotle question, appeared in the same period. However, Pico did not succeed in combining the notion of celestial light interpreted within a Neoplatonic framework with Aristotelian physics. The failure ended his reconciliation attempts, while the De Ente et Uno marked the reconsideration of his philosophical method, which from that moment on addressed his intention to purify major figures such as Plato and Aristotle from subsequent interpretations and to go ad fontes. His return to Aristotle and other classical authors in the Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem had clear philosophical implications, as this essay will show, while the development of his astrological views from 1486 through 1493 sheds light on the evolution of his philosophical itinerary.3 Pico’s comments on astrology in his earlier works before the Disputationes—a work characterized as “the most extensive and incisive attack on astrology that the world had yet seen”4—have been studied by several scholars over the years, but their conclusions often seem to be in conflict with one another. Eugenio Garin, the author of a fundamental biography of Pico and the editor of the Disputationes, claimed that the Count of Mirandola never supported astrological speculation. Ac- cording to Garin, Pico’s attack on astrology in the Disputationes strongly influenced the future scientific revolution and the revision of ancient notions of cosmography.5 Daniel Walker and then Frances A. Yates tried to show that, on the contrary, Pico never criticized magic and astrology and that even in the Disputationes he had in- tended to distinguish magia naturalis from occult influences.6 Giancarlo Zanier’s 3. I here echo Valcke’s title, “Un itinéraire philosophique.” 4. Steven vanden Broecke, The Limits of Influence: Pico, Louvain, and the Crisis of Renaissance As- trology (Leiden, 2003), 55. 5. Eugenio Garin, Giovanni Pico della Mirandola: Vita e dottrina (Florence, 1937), 169–93. How- ever, Garin did not confirm his views with sufficient arguments. The potential influence of Pico on new astronomical ideas is now hotly discussed because of Robert Westman’s study The Copernican Ques- tion: Prognostication, Skepticism, and Celestial Order (Berkeley, 2011). 6. Daniel P. Walker, Spiritual and Demonic Magic from Ficino to Campanella (University Park, PA, 2000), 54–59; Frances A. Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (London, 1964), 114–15. Moreover, in one of his articles on the subject, Walker supposed that Pico’s treatise was motivated by Ficino’s unfinished Disputatio contra iudicium astrologorum; Daniel P. Walker, “Ficino and Astrol- ogy,” in Marsilio Ficino e il ritorno di Platone: Studi e documenti, 2 vols., ed. Giancarlo Garfagnini (Florence, 1986), 1:341–49. Having noted the similarity of the titles of Ficino’s and Pico’s treatises and the Count of Mirandola’s statement that it was Ficino who had advised him to attack astrological predictions (Disputationes, vol. 1, bk. 1, 60), Walker presumed that the Disputatio contra judicium astrologorum could have been written around 1493 and that consequently it had influenced Pico. How- This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology | 49 and Paola Zambelli’s attempts to analyze Pico’s early views on astrology were limited to the Conclusiones,7 while several scholars clearly revealed Pico’s orientation toward Aristotle’s physical ideas in the Disputationes but did not explain what motivated his shift from Plato to Aristotle in his late treatise.8 More recently, Louis Valcke has called attention to some interesting aspects of astrological polemics in the context of Pico’s criticism of Neoplatonic Orphism, suggesting that the De Ente et Uno was the peak of Pico’s itinéraire philosophique.9 He concludes his book with a chapter on the agreement between Plato and Aristotle as the central point of Pico’s modus philosophandi. For Valcke, the Disputationes is not significant for a consideration of Pico’s philosophical legacy—a conclusion with which I will disagree in the following pages. Finally, Darrel Rutkin has urged scholars to reconsider Frances Yates’s theses on Pico and astrology.10 He argues for the innovative and revolutionary aspects of Pico’s vera astrologia, particularly in re- gard to his use of the Kabbalah, making him the first so-called Christian Kabbalist.11 ever, P. O. Kristeller, using some indirect proofs, argued that Ficino had worked on these anti-astrological notes around 1477, an opinion now generally accepted. For the history of the dating of the Disputatio and its context, see Ornella Pompeo Faracovi, “Introduzione a Marsilio Ficino,” in Marsilio Ficino, Scritti sull’astrologia, ed. Ornella Pompeo Faracovi (Milan, 1999), 5–36. 7. Giancarlo Zanier, “Il problema astrologico nelle prime opere di Giovanni Pico della Mirandola,” La Cultura 8 (1970): 524–51; Paola Zambelli, L’apprendista stregone. Astrologia, cabala e arte lulliana in Pico della Mirandola e seguaci (Venice, 1995), 31–53. 8. Brian Vickers, “Critical Reactions to the Occult Sciences during the Renaissance,” in Scientific En- terprise: The Bar-Hillel Colloquium; Studies in History, Philosophy, and Sociology of Science, vol. 4, ed. Edna Ullmann-Margalit (Dordrecht, 1992), 43–92; Ornella Pompeo Faracovi, Scritto negli astri: L’astrologia nella cultura dell’Occidente (Venice, 1996), 224–33; vanden Broecke, Limits of Influence, 55–80. Other recent studies on the Disputationes, its authorship, and Pico’s astrology include Sheila Ra- bin, “Pico on Magic and Astrology,” in Pico della Mirandola: New Essays, ed. Michael V. Dougherty (Cambridge, 2008), 152–78; Brian Copenhaver, “Studied as an Oration: Readers of Pico’s Letters, An- cient and Modern,” in Laus Platonici Philosophi: Marsilio Ficino and His Influence, ed. Stephen Clucas, Peter J. Forshaw, and Valery Rees (Leiden, 2011), 155–98. 9. Valcke, Pic de la Mirandole, 295–319. Valcke’s idea to connect the first Pico-Ficino controversy related to the Commento alla Canzona d’amore, and Pico’s further attack on astrology seems doubtful, for these texts were written at different stages of Pico’s intellectual career, while the problems they deal with are not related to each other. 10. Darrel Rutkin, “Astrology, Natural Philosophy and the History of Science, c. 1250–1700: Studies toward an Interpretation of Giovanni Pico della Mirandola’s Disputationes adversus astrologiam divina- tricem” (PhD diss., Indiana University, 2002), “Magia, cabala, vera astrologia: Le prime considerazioni sull’astrologia di Giovanni Pico della Mirandola,” in Nello specchio del cielo. Giovanni Pico della Miran- dola e le “Disputationes contro l’astrologia divinatoria,” ed. Marco Bertozzi (Florence, 2008), 31–45, and “The Use and Abuse of Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos in Renaissance and Early Modern Europe: Two Case Stud- ies (Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Filippo Fantoni),” in Ptolemy in Perspective: Use and Criticism of His Work from Antiquity to the Nineteenth Century, ed. Alexander Jones (Dordrecht, 2010), 135–49. 11. I prefer to use the spelling “Kabbalah” rather than any other variant, as it better conforms with the Hebrew pronunciation. For the history of the concept of Christian Kabbalah, see François Secret, I cabbalisti cristiani del Rinascimento (Rome, 2001), originally published in French in 1964. An ambi- This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 50 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 Rutkin’s analysis of Pico’s astrology in his early works and in the Disputationes con- tains some interesting details. He successfully situates the Disputationes within me- dieval and Renaissance astrological literature, and as a result his studies are useful for a better understanding of the development of astrological speculation from the Mid- dle Ages to the Renaissance. He has justly placed Pico’s Disputationes at the center of this movement. However, some of Rutkin’s conclusions seem to be questionable, such as his ma- jor claim that Pico’s Disputationes were directed against Marsilio Ficino and spe- cifically against his De vita libri tres written in 1489. He even calls it the “third Pico- Ficino controversy.”12 But Rutkin does not pay special attention to Ficino’s texts written during those five years (especially De sole and De lumine) and disregards some of Pico’s own works, including the Expositiones in Psalmos. He neglected the development of Pico’s and Ficino’s philosophical outlooks around 1490, even though the period in question was crucial for both of them. Pico’s motivation for attacking Ficino and allegedly responding to the De vita also remains unclear. While much scholarly literature on Pico has suggested that he altered his orig- inal views because of the influence of Savonarola—who arrived in Florence in 1490 precisely at Pico’s request13—this essay will instead argue that he recognized on his own that astrology was ultimately incompatible with the combination of Aristote- lianism and Platonism that he eventually embraced in his later writings. In tracing his earlier views on astrology before the Disputationes, I will show how Pico moved from strong attachments to the doctrines of Neoplatonism and Kabbalah to a deep tious project on the Kabbalistic library of Giovanni Pico della Mirandola is currently being directed by Giulio Busi, with the following volumes already published: Guglielmo Raimondo Moncada, The Great Parchment: Flavius Mithridates’ Latin Translation, the Hebrew Text, and an English Version, ed. Giulio Busi, Simonetta Bondoni, and Saverio Campanini (Turin, 2004); The Book of Bahir: Flavius Mithridates’ Latin Translation, the Hebrew Text, and an English Version, ed. Saverio Campanini (Turin, 2005); and The Gate of Heaven: Flavius Mithridates’ Latin Translation, the Hebrew Text, and an English Version, ed. Susanne Jurgan and Saverio Campanini (Turin, 2012). On the problem of Giovanni Pico’s Kabbalistic library, see Giulio Busi, “Chi non ‘ammirerà il nostro camaleonte?’ La biblioteca cabbalistica di Giovanni Pico della Mirandola,” in his L’enigma dell’ebraico nel Rinascimento (Turin, 2007), 25–45. 12. Rutkin, “Astrology, Natural Philosophy and the History of Science,” 337–38, 357–91. Pico at- tacked Ficino twice. In the Commento and later in the De Ente et Uno, he criticized Ficino’s approach to interpreting Plato and Platonic tradition. For Rutkin, the Disputationes thus marked the third Pico- Ficino controversy. 13. This fact has been described even in fiction, an interesting example of which is Thomas Mann’s play Fiorenza (1905). The idea that Savonarola influenced Pico’s anti-astrological attack was debated immediately after Pico’s death. Among its supporters were two of the most significant opponents of the Disputationes, Lucio Bellanti and Giovanni Pontano. See Ornella Pompeo Faracovi, “In difesa dell’astrologia: Risposte a Pico in Bellanti e Pontano,” in Bertozzi, Nello specchio del cielo, 47–66. See also Giovanni Pontano, De fortuna, ed. Francesco Tateo (Naples, 2012), 290–94. This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology | 51 interest in the “natural science” of Aristotle. I intend to demonstrate that around 1490, as he attempted to combine Aristotelian physics and the Neoplatonic doctrine of light, Giovanni Pico found himself in a difficult position, one that would later cause him to revise his natural philosophical views in the Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem. In what follows, I address Pico’s remarks on astrology in six of his treatises. Four are from the first period, that is, before and during his thwarted dispute in Rome in 1486. Pico wrote the Commento alla Canzona d’amore di Girolamo Benivieni in Italian before arriving in Rome.14 The Conclusiones, the Oratio de hominis dignitate (often referred to as “the great Renaissance proclamation of a modern ideal of human dignity and freedom”), and the Apologia formed a single project, the Roman dis- pute,15 which never took place because of the accusation of heresy.16 I then turn to two exegetical works of the second period, written in Florence: the Heptaplus (1489) in which Pico attempted to comment on Creation using the Hebrew Kabba- listic tradition rather than relying on classical exegesis,17 and fragments of Pico’s unfinished Commentaries on Psalms (1491/92), collected from various manuscripts into a single book and published in 1997 by Antonio Raspanti.18 Although the sty- 14. Pico probably decided to write his Commento in Italian since the original work by Benivieni was written in Italian as well. For the text of Pico as well of that of Benivieni, see Giovanni Pico della Mi- randola, “Commento alla Canzona d’amore,” in De hominis dignitate, Heptaplus, De ente et uno e scritti vari, ed. Eugenio Garin (Turin, 2004), 445–581. 15. For Conclusiones, see Stephen A. Farmer, Syncretism in the West: Pico’s “900 Theses” (1486); The Evolution of Traditional Religious and Philosophical Systems (Tempe, AZ, 1998). I have used the clas- sical edition of Oratio de hominis dignitate: Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, “De hominis dignitate,” in Garin, De hominis dignitate, Heptaplus, De ente et uno e scritti vari, 102–65. See also Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Discorso sulla dignità dell’uomo, ed. Francesco Bausi (Parma, 2003). For the recent English translation, see Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Oration on the Dignity of Man: A New Trans- lation and Commentary, ed. Francesco Borghesi et al. (Cambridge, 2012). In-text quotation is from Brian P. Copenhaver, “The Secret of Pico’s Oration: Cabala and Renaissance Philosophy,” Midwest Studies in Philosophy 26 (2002): 58. For Apologia, see Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Apologia: L’autodifesa di Pico di fronte al Tribunale dell’Inquisizione, ed. Paolo Edoardo Fornaciari (Florence, 2010). 16. In Rome, Pico intended to present his project of religious and philosophical synthesis. However, the Conclusiones were condemned by the Inquisition. After his unsuccessful attempt to escape from Rome, Pico spent several months in prison. In 1488 Lorenzo de’ Medici managed to persuade Pope Innocent VIII to release Pico from prison. On the documents regarding Pico’s trial, see Léon Dorez and Léon Thuasne, Pic de la Mirandole en France (1485–1488) (Paris, 1897). 17. Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, “Heptaplus,” in Garin, De hominis dignitate, Heptaplus, De ente et Uno e scritti vari, 168–382. This text was first published by Garin in 1942. For an analysis of the Hepta- plus, see Crofton Black, Pico’s “Heptaplus” and Biblical Hermeneutics (Leiden, 2006); Brian Ogren, “The Forty-Nine Gates of Wisdom as Forty-Nine Ways to Christ: Giovanni Pico della Mirandola’s Heptaplus and Nahmanidean Kabbalah,” Rinascimento 49 (2009): 27–43. 18. Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Ioannis Pici Mirandulae expositiones in Psalmos, ed. Antonio Raspanti (Florence, 1997). This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?doi=10.1086%2F697034&crossref=10.1111%2F1475-4975.261054&citationId=p_n_16 https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?doi=10.1086%2F697034&crossref=10.1111%2F1475-4975.261054&citationId=p_n_16 52 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 listic features and purposes of these works are quite different, my analysis will show that Pico missed few opportunities to clarify his position on astrology and magic in his writings. C OM M EN TO ALL A C AN Z ON A D ’ AMOR E The Commento alla Canzona d’amore is Pico’s first essay that depends on (Neo) Platonic interpretation. Directed against his friend and colleague Ficino, the Commento is often referred to in the context of the first Pico-Ficino controversy.19 Objecting to his elder contemporary, Pico created his own Neoplatonic system of the world, strongly inspired by astrological interpretations. In the center of man- kind Pico places God, the principle and the cause of every divine being.20 As Pico claims, Hermes, Zoroaster, and the “Platonists” identified the first creation of such a God as “the Son of God, the Wisdom, the Mind of God,” which had nothing in common with the Christian God. The first creation, also called the first reason and not to be confused with Jesus, had, in turn, created the rational soul.21 Warning against such comparisons with Jesus Christ, Pico also criticized Ficino’s interpre- tation of Platonic supposition about the creation of the human soul by God.22 In Pico’s doctrine, astrology is strongly related to three substances. As Pico claims, ancient theologians attributed to God, to the First Reason, and to the ratio- nal soul the virtues of Caelus, Saturn, and Jupiter, respectively.23 This structure cor- responds to the traditional Neoplatonic triad. Pico’s decision to include Caelus (Uranus) in his triad may be explained by two reasons. First, he probably knew the legend described in Cicero’s De natura deorum about Kronos (replaced by Sat- urn in the Roman tradition) castrating his father Caelus, from whose genitals, as from semina rerum, Venus (Aphrodite) was born.24 Moreover, in his Divinarum 19. On the Pico-Ficino controversies, see Michael J. B. Allen, “The Second Ficino-Pico Contro- versy: Parmenidean Poetry, Eristic and the One,” in Garfagnini, Marsilio Ficino e il ritorno di Platone, 2:418–55; Maude Vanhaelen, “The Pico-Ficino Controversy: New Evidence in Ficino’s Commentary on Plato’s Parmenides,” Rinascimento 49 (2009): 1–39; Unn Aasdalen, “The First Pico-Ficino Contro- versy,” in Clucas, Forshaw, and Rees, Laus Platonici Philosophi, 67–88. 20. Pico della Mirandola, Commento alla Canzona d’amore, bk. 1, chap. 3, 464. 21. Ibid., bk. 1, chap. 5, 466. 22. Ibid., bk. 1, chap. 4, 466. 23. Ibid., bk. 1, chap. 8, 470. 24. Cicero, De natura deorum libri tres, 3 vols., ed. Joseph B. Mayor and J. H. Swainson (Cam- bridge, 2010), vol. 2, bk. 25, 64. On Caelus’s semina rerum, see Macrobius, Saturnalia, 3 vols., ed. and trans. Robert A. Kaster (Cambridge, MA, 2011), vol. 1, bk. 1, chap. 8, 6–9. The concept of seeds or, according to Plotinus, logoi spermatikoi, in the Renaissance, especially in Ficino’s De vita, has been studied by Brian Copenhaver, “Renaissance Magic and Neoplatonic Philosophy: ‘Ennead’ 4.3–5 in Ficino’s ‘De vita coelitus comparanda,’” in Garfagnini, Marsilio Ficino e il ritorno di Platone, 2:351– 69; Hiro Hirai, “Concepts of Seeds and Nature in the Work of Marsilio Ficino,” in Marsilio Ficino: This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology | 53 institutionum libri, Lactantius described some of Plotinus’s ideas, referring to three divine hypostases and calling them, as Pico would do, Caelus (the First), Saturn (or Kronos, Intellect) and Jupiter (Soul).25 In the Commento, however, only Saturn and Jupiter receive astrological characteristics: Pico follows tradition and identifies Ju- piter as the rational soul who exerts a positive influence on politicians and active people, while Saturn, according to the well-known astrological practice, has an im- pact on more meditative types.26 Moreover, following the Neoplatonic tradition, Pico regarded the eight celestial spheres as animated substances.27 This idea means that each planet has a character of its own, and Pico specifies that Venus is situated near Mars in order to balance the destructive influence of her husband with her positive energy; almost the same effect takes place between “positive” Jupiter and “negative” Saturn.28 Pico also shows how the animated spheres operate. He states, in addition to the eight spheres—the stars and the seven planets—there is a ninth (the rational soul) and a tenth sphere (the immovable first reason) that govern the sublunar world. This structure allowed Pico to combine classical astronomical techniques with the Neoplatonic trinity, placing the immovable Neoplatonic God beyond physical and even metaphysical reality. In order to reconcile the Neoplatonic structure of the world with classical astrology, Pico uses ten spheres in his system—seven planets and the Neoplatonic trinity.29 In the later Disputationes, however, he refused to support any planetary doctrine (i.e., the doctrine of eight, nine, or ten spheres) and even cited contradictions among astrologers on this subject to show the in- compatibility of astrology with physical data and, consequently, the falsity of pre- dictions as such.30 But in the early Commento, where he leans toward Neoplato- His Theology, His Philosophy, His Legacy, ed. Michael J. B. Allen and Valery Rees (Leiden, 2002), 257– 84, and Le concept de semence dans les théories de la matière à la Renaissance: De Marsile Ficin à Pierre Gassendi (Turnhout, 2005). 25. Elizabeth DePalma Digeser, “Religion, Law and the Roman Polity: The Era of the Great Perse- cution,” in Religion and Law in Classical and Christian Rome, ed. Clifford Ando and Jörg Rüpke (Stutt- gart, 2006), 78–79. 26. Raymond Klibansky, Erwin Panofsky, and Fritz Saxl, Saturn and Melancholy: Studies in the His- tory of Natural Philosophy, Religion and Art (London, 1964). 27. Pico della Mirandola, Commento alla Canzona d’amore, vol. 1, bk. 11, 477–78. 28. Ibid., vol. 2, bk. 8, 496. 29. Ibid., vol. 2, bk. 15, 506. On the history of the spheres, see the fundamental work by Michel- Pierre Lerner, Le monde des sphères, 2 vols. (Paris, 1996–97). In the late Middle Ages, it was quite com- mon to admit the existence of more than eight spheres (seven planets and a sphere of stars) to explain motion associated not directly with planets or stars. 30. On this subject, see Pico della Mirandola, Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem, vol. 2, bk. 8, 228–32. See also Ovanes Akopyan, “Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Ptolemy and the ‘Astrological Tradition,’” Accademia (Revue de la Société Marsile Ficin) 12 (2010): 43–45. This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 54 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 nism, Pico explains that divine light penetrates everything and can be found ev- erywhere, although he does not offer further explanation as to how this light com- bines with sublunar matter.31 Pico limits himself instead to traditional Neoplatonic interpretations, linking them to widely circulating medieval astrological concepts, such as the significance of Jupiter and Saturn. Nor does he explain the process of the direct influence of heaven on earth. The Commento thus seems to be a very gen- eral introduction to the question of astrology. Pico would clarify most of these pre- liminary ideas in his subsequent writings. TR I LOG Y Although the central treatise of the Trilogy is the 900 Conclusiones, it would be bet- ter to begin the analysis of Pico’s relatively early (1486–87) views on magic with the Oratio de hominis dignitate. The Oratio, one of the best known works of the Renais- sance, was conceived as an introduction to the Roman dispute of 1486. In this text, Pico intended to set out his ideas in a general way, with a view to further developing them in the Conclusiones. Given that the text of the 900 Conclusiones is rather too complicated for a detailed analysis—a fact well illustrated by the lack of satisfactory editions32—the Oratio may serve as a useful preface to Pico’s main philosophical text of that period. Insofar as magic was thought to have two dimensions, Pico begins the Oratio by contrasting magic’s illicit form based on demonic incantations—now commonly referred to as “black magic”—to natural magic.33 In his view, the latter is strongly related to philosophical and theological matters and was founded in the East by the prisci theologi, whose legacy derives from Zoroaster and Hermes Trismegistus. In 31. Pico della Mirandola, Commento alla Canzona d’amore, vol. 1, bk. 10, 476. 32. With the exception of Farmer’s aforementioned edition, other editions—in French and in Italian— have no commentary, while Bohdan Kieszkowski’s contains numerous errors. Giovanni Pico della Mi- randola, Conclusiones sive theses DCCCC Romee anno 1486 publice disputandae, sed non admissae. Texte établi d’aprés le MS. d’Erlangen (E) et l’editio princeps (P), collationné avec les manuscrits de Vienne (V et W) et de Munich (M), ed. Bohdan Kieszkowski (Geneva, 1973), and Conclusiones nongentae: Le novecento tesi dell’anno 1486, ed. Albano Biondi (Florence, 1995); Jean Pic de la Mirandole, 900 conclu- sions philosophiques, cabalistiques et théologiques, ed. Bertrand Schefer (Paris, 2006). On Kieszkowski’s textual and grammatical errors, see Farmer, Syncretism in the West, 104, 185–86. 33. “The other is, when keenly examined, nothing but the absolute perfection of natural philoso- phy. . . . We have also proposed some theses about magic, in which I have shown that there are two forms of magic, one of which depends entirely on the work and powers of demons and is, in my faith, an execrable and monstrous thing” (Altera nihil est aliud, cum bene exploratur, quam naturalis philosophiae absoluta consumatio. . . . Proposuimus et magica theoremata, in quibus duplicem esse magiam significavimus, quarum altera demonum tota opere et auctoritate constat, res medius fidius execranda et portentosa; Pico della Mirandola, De hominis dignitate, 148). Hereinafter, the English translation of the Oratio is by Francesco Borghesi et al. (see n. 15). This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology | 55 Pico’s terms, their magic is synonymous with studies of the divine. In this context, the word magus seems to suggest an interpreter and worshipper of celestial influ- ences and a person who can channel such influences to help mankind. Ficino ex- presses almost the same doctrine in his various works with special emphasis on the priestly character of the magus—a concept the Italian scholar Paola Zambelli has called magus cum sacerdos.34 Thanks to Ficino’s influence, the role of the magus was accepted in most intellectual circles in Italy and Europe; Pico’s interpretation should, therefore, be placed within the larger philosophical context of his time. To prove the elevated position of the magus, Pico mentions Porphyry (whose legacy he would later reject),35 who had asserted that magic is related to the study of the di- vine.36 In the later Disputationes, however, Pico would severely criticize these apol- ogists for magical speculation, indicating that this magical doctrine could have been created only by societies infected by superstitious beliefs.37 Among those whom Pico mentions in the Oratio as supporting magical spec- ulations are Pythagoras, Plato, and especially Empedocles and Democritus. Nei- ther Empedocles nor Democritus ranked among the prisci theologi in Ficino’s works. This proves that already in the late fifteenth century the doctrine of prisca theologia had changed. Sixteenth-century historiographers typically made additions to the general list of prisci theologi. In his De perenni philosophia, for instance, Agostino Steuco da Gubbio supplemented the prisci theologi with Armenians.38 Pico also added to the list two more recent philosophers, Al-Kindi and Roger Bacon, who would become his bêtes noirs in the Disputationes.39 He would deprive Al-Kindi, 34. Paola Zambelli, White Magic, Black Magic in the European Renaissance (Leiden, 2007), 131. 35. Pico della Mirandola, Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem, vol. 2, bk. 12, 526. 36. “As a matter fact, as Porphyry says, in the Persian language magus means the same as expert and interpreter of divine things with us. . . . The latter is approved and embraced by all wise men and all peoples devoted to heavenly and divine things” (Idem enim, ut ait Porphyrius, Persarum lingua ma- gus sonat quod apud nos divinorum interpres et cultor. . . . Hanc omnes sapientes, omnes caelestium et divinarum rerum studiosae nationes, approbant et amplectuntur; Pico della Mirandola, De hominis dignitate, 148). 37. Book 12 of the Disputationes is dedicated to this question. 38. Maria Muccillo, Platonismo, ermetismo e “prisca theologia”: Ricerche di storiografia filosofica rinascimentale (Florence, 1996), 17–19. 39. “No philosopher nor man eager to learn good arts has ever been a student of the former [black magic], but to learn the latter [white magic] Pythagoras, Empedocles, Plato and Democritus crossed the seas, taught it when they returned and held it chief among the arcane doctrines. . . . Eudoxus and Hermippus persevered. . . . Among the later philosophers, then, I find three who have sniffed it, the Arabian Al-Kindi, Roger Bacon and William of Paris” (Illius nemo unquam studiosus fuit vir philosophus et cupidus discendi bonas artes; ad hanc Pythagoras, Empedocles, Democritus, Plato, discendam navigavere, hanc predicarunt reversi, et in archanis precipuam habuerunt. . . . Perstiterunt Eudoxus et Hermippus. . . . Ex iunioribus autem, qui eam olfecerint tres reperio, Alchindum Arabem, Rogerium Baconem et Guilielmum Parisiensem; Pico della Mirandola, De hominis dignitate, 150–52). This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/action/showLinks?doi=10.1086%2F697034&crossref=10.1163%2Fej.9789004160989.i-282&citationId=p_n_42 56 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 author of De radiis stellarum, one of the most influential medieval treatises on magic, astrology, and optics,40 of his place as an adherent of “true magic,” while he would accuse Roger Bacon and Pierre d’Ailly of distorting the essence of Christian dogmas by using astrological techniques.41 The analysis of these fragments shows that throughout his career Pico’s attitude to astrology and its most prominent apologists was inconsistent at best. In his Conclusiones (1486), Giovanni Pico repeats several ideas already ex- pressed in the Oratio de hominis dignitate.42 For instance, he develops his prelim- inary considerations on two forms of magic, saying: “All magic that is in use among the moderns, and which the Church justly suppresses, has no solidity, no founda- tion, and no basis for truth, because it depends on the enemies of the first truth, those powers of darkness that pour the darkness of falsehood over poorly disposed intellects.”43 To this magical dark side, he opposes something more elevated, which he calls natural magic: “Natural magic is permitted and not prohibited, and con- cerning the universal theoretical foundations of this science, I propose the follow- ing conclusions according to my own opinion.”44 Pico admits that natural magic might be considered to be a “practical and the noblest part” of the large body of philosophical doctrine known as scientia naturalis (natural science).45 Proclaim- ing that the aim of scientia naturalis is to discover the invisible and to unite what is separate,46 he derives its origin from prisci theologi and compares the harmony 40. Al-Kindi, “De radiis,” ed. Marie-Thérèse d’Alverny and François Hudry, Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du Moyen Âge 41 (1974): 139–260. On al-Kindi’s theory of rays, see Pinella Travaglia, Magic, Causality and Intentionality. The Doctrine of Rays in al-Kindi (Florence, 1999). On the history of optics in the Middle Ages and in the Renaissance, see David C. Lindberg, Theories of Vision from al-Kindi to Kepler (Chicago, 1976). 41. On medieval sources of Giovanni Pico, see Stefano Caroti, “Note sulle fonti medievali di Pico della Mirandola,” Giornale critico della filosofia italiana 84 (2005): 60–92, and “Le fonti medievali delle Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem,” in Bertozzi, Nello specchio del cielo, 67–93. 42. Hereinafter, the text of the Conclusiones and its English translation will be reproduced (with some corrections) according to the edition of Farmer, Syncretism in the West. I will only indicate the section of the text and the ordinal number of the conclusions. 43. “Tota Magia, quae in usu est apud Modernos, et quam merito exterminat ecclesia, nullam habet firmitatem, nullum fundamentum, nullam ueritatem, quia pendet ex manu hostium primae ueritatis, potestatum harum tenebrarum, quae tenebras falsitatis male dispositis intellectibus obfundunt” (Con- clusiones Magicae, 1). 44. “Magia naturalis licita est, et non prohibita, et de huius scientiae uniuersalibus theoricis fundamentis pono infrascriptas conclusiones secundum propriam opinionem” (ibid., 2). 45. “Magia est pars practica scientiae naturalis. Ex ista conclusione et conclusione paradoxa dog- matizante XLVII sequitur, quod magia sit nobilissima pars scientiae naturalis” (ibid., 3–4). 46. “Nulla est uirtus in coelo et in terra seminaliter et separata, quam et actuare et unire Magus non possit”; “Mirabilia artis Magicae non fiunt nisi per unionem et actuationem eorum, quae seminaliter et separatae sunt in natura” (ibid., 5, 11). This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology | 57 of the knowledge of the world to marriage (by analogy with alchemical art).47 He argues that some of the occult sciences can help a magus find the hidden elements of nature. The study of numbers and letters widely represented in the Kabbalah, with its mystical attitude toward figures, becomes one of the central elements of Pico’s Kabbalistic interpretation.48 In Pico’s system, the Kabbalah occupies the supreme position among magical practices. Considered almost as worthy as the Kabbalah, astrology for its part be- comes one of the most respected elements in the hierarchy of occult sciences. In the seventy-second conclusion, Pico summarizes its importance by saying, “Ac- cording to my own opinion, just as true astrology teaches us to read in the book of God, so the Kabbalah teaches us to read in the book of the Law.”49 Pico not only established a close link between astrology and Jewish mysticism but also justified some Christian dogmas using Kabbalistic astrology. For example, he refers to the Arabic practice of using specific astrological images, known as hylegh,50 47. “Magicam operari non est aliud quam maritare mundum” (ibid., 13). This image of alchemical marriage was used by several alchemists and has become popular thanks to Carl Gustav Jung. 48. “Quilibet numerus praeter ternarium et denarium sunt materiales in Magia, isti formales sunt, et in Magia Arithmetica sunt numeri numerorum. Ex secretioris philosophiae principiis necesse est confiteri, plus posse caracteres et figuras in opere Magico, quam possit, quaecunque qualitas materialis. Sicut caracteres sunt proprii operi Magico, ita numeri sunt proprii operi Cabalae, medio existente inter utrosque, et appropriabili per declinationem ad extrema usu literarum” (Every number besides the temarius and denarius are material numbers in magic. Those are formal numbers, and in magical arithmetic are the numbers of numbers. Out of the principles of the more secret philosophy it is nec- essary to acknowledge that characters and figures are more powerful in a magical work than any ma- terial quality. Just as characters are proper to a magical work, so numbers are proper to a work of Kab- balah, with a medium existing between the two, appropriable by declination between the extremes through the use of letters; ibid., 23–25). “Ideo uoces et uerba in Magico opere efficaciam habent, quia illud in quo primum Magicam exercet natura, uox est Dei. Quaelibet uox uirtutem habet in Magia, in quantum Dei uoce formatur. Non significatiuae uoces plus possent in Magia, quam significatiuae, et rationem conclusionis intelligere potest, qui est profundus ex praecedenti conclusione. Nulla nomina ut significatiua, et inquantum nomina sunt, singula et per se sumpta, in Magico opere uirtutem habere possunt, nisi sint Hebraicam uel inde proxime deriuata” (Sounds and words have efficacy in a magical work, because in that work in which nature first exercises magic, the voice is God’s. Every sound has power in magic insofar as it is shaped by the voice of God. Sounds that mean nothing are more pow- erful in magic than sounds that mean something. And anyone who is profound can understand the reason for this conclusion from the preceding conclusion. No names that mean something, insofar as those names are singular and taken per se, can have power in a magical work, unless they are Hebrew names, or closely derived from Hebrew; ibid., 19–22). 49. “Sicut vera Astrologia docet nos legere in libro Dei, ita Cabala docet nos legere in libro legis” (Conclusiones Cabalisticae, 72). 50. According to astrologers, there are five so-called hylegh, or specific astrological elements, that de- termine human lives: the Sun and the Moon, the Horoscope, the Part of Fortune, and the place of the full Moon or the new Moon immediately preceding the birth. Here the full Moon at the birth of Solomon and the full Sun at the birth of Jesus are the examples of these hylegh. Pico examines this theory in the This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 58 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 and to the medieval doctrine of the so-called horoscopes of Christ,51 from within a Kabbalistic context, saying, “Just as the full Moon was in Solomon, so the full Sun was in the true Messiah, who was Jesus. And anyone can conjecture about the diminished correspondence in Zedekiah, if he is learned in the Kabbalah.”52 Moreover, he found evidence of the divinity of Christ in astrological elements: “Be- cause of the eclipse of the sun that occurred at the death of Christ, as can be known following the principles of the Kabbalah, it is clear that the Son of God and the true Messiah suffered.”53 Pico’s attempts to explain core Christian doctrines by means of the Kabbalistic art go far beyond these astrological limits. Thus, he finds evidence for the Trinitarian dogma with the help of “Kabbalistic science” and finds proof of the divinity of Christ in the tetragrammaton.54 According to this theological doctrine, there is a secret and sacred name of God that cannot be pronounced and is desig- nated by the abbreviation of four holy letters: יהוה , or YHWH. It is quite understand- able that Giovanni Pico and other Christian Kabbalists, such as Johann Reuchlin, Francesco Zorzi, and Egidio of Viterbo, sought to use the tetragrammaton concept in their Christological disputes.55 Pico confirms the usefulness of Kabbalistic ideas for proving the truth of Christian dogmas in the Apologia, claiming that only with the assistance of the Kabbalah was it possible to explain the marvels produced by Jesus Christ.56 In the eighteenth Kabbalistic conclusion, Pico brings in an astrological reason for celebrating the Sabbath on Sunday instead of Saturday, as is the norm in Jewish religious communities, although he does not make any further comment concern- ing this suggestion: “Whoever joins astrology to Kabbalah will see that following the era of Christ it is more appropriate to take the Sabbath and to rest on the Lord’s day rather than on the day of the Sabbath.”57 Finally, in two other theses Pico combines the Kabbalistic doctrine of the ten sephirot (revelations or emana- tions of God’s will) with that of the ten celestial spheres. While in the Commento alla Canzona d’amore he had placed the notion of ten spheres within a Neopla- Disputationes; Pico della Mirandola, Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem, vol. 1, bk. 2, 146– 48. See also Akopyan, “Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Ptolemy and the ‘Astrological Tradition,’” 42–43. 51. On this theory, see Ornella Pompeo Faracovi, Gli oroscopi di Cristo (Venice, 1999). 52. “Sicut fuit luna plena in Salomone, ita fuit plenus Sol in uero Messia qui fuit Iesus. Et de cor- respondencia ad diminutionem in Sedechia potest quis coniectare, si profundat in cabala” (Conclu- siones Cabalisticae, 51). 53. “Per eclipsationem solis quae accidit in morte Christi sciri potest secundum fundamenta cabalae quod tunc passus est filius dei et uerus messias” (ibid., 46). 54. Ibid., 5–6, 14–15. 55. For a brief description of this idea, see Secret, I cabbalisti cristiani, 60, 77–78, 137–39. 56. Pico della Mirandola, Apologia, 155–93. 57. “Qui coniurixerit Astrologiam Cabale, videbit quod sabbatizare et quiescere conuenientius fit post Christum die dominico, quam die sabbati” (Conclusiones Cabalisticae, 18). This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology | 59 tonic context, in the Conclusiones and again three years later in the Heptaplus, Pico reproduces the same structure in a Kabbalistic rather than Neoplatonic ver- sion.58 This proves that during these two early stages of his philosophical career, Pico remained loyal to the same interpretation of celestial spheres while neverthe- less making some important changes. However, further analysis of the 900 Conclusiones demonstrates that Pico’s early works do not contain the idea of astrological predestination.59 At this stage, astrology was for him only descriptive and not practical in any sense of the word, although his Neoplatonic and Kabbalistic ideas leave some room for astrological speculation. Despite the various parallels made between those occult sciences in the Commento and the Conclusiones, Pico never dwelled on any practical or nat- uralistic aspect of celestial influence. The question of astral and divine influences in the sublunar world would be elucidated in detail only in his subsequent works. THE H E P T A P L U S AND THE EX P OS IT IO N E S I N PS ALM O S Pico’s major post-Roman treatises are the Heptaplus and the Expositiones in Psalmos. Although these texts can be considered examples of Renaissance biblical exegesis, es- pecially in the context of humanistic modes of textual criticism, Pico advanced in them his theory of celestial influence on the terrestrial world.60 Both works abound in quotations from various Kabbalistic sources, and Pico’s views on the emanation of light are still within the scope of Kabbalistic and Neoplatonic concepts. However, he would make several important changes. 58. “Whatever other Cabalists say, I say that the ten spheres correspond to the ten numerations like this: so that, starting from the edifice, Jupiter corresponds to the fourth. Mars to the fifth, the sun to the sixth, Saturn to the seventh, Venus to the eighth, Mercury to the ninth, the moon the tenth. Then, above the edifice, the firmament to the third, the primum mobile to the second, the empyrean heaven to the tenth. Anyone who knows the correspondence of the Ten Commandments through conjunction of as- trological truth with theological truth will see from the foundation that I set out in the preceding conclu- sion, whatever other Cabalists say, that the first commandment corresponds to the first numeration, the second to the second, the third to the third, the fourth to the seventh, the fifth to the fourth, the sixth to the fifth, the seventh to the ninth, the eighth to the eighth, the ninth to the sixth, the tenth to the tenth” (Quicquid dicant ceteri cabaliste, ego decem spheras sic decem numeracionibus correspondere dico, ut edificio incipiendo, Iupiter sit quarte, Mars quinte, Sol sexte, Saturnus septime, Venus octaue, Mercu- rius none, Luna decime, cum supra edificium firmamentum tercia, primum mobile secunda, celum Empyreum prima. Qui sciverit correspondenciam decem preceptorum ad prohibencia per coniunc- tionem veritatis astrologice cum veritate theologica, videbit ex fundamento nostro precedentis con- clusionis, quicquid alii dicant cabaliste, primum preceptum prime numeracioni correspondere, secundum secunde,tertius tercie,quartum septime, quintum quarte, sextum quinte, septimum none, octauum octaue, nonum sexte, decimum decime; ibid., 48–49). 59. Vittoria Perrone Compagni, “Pico sulla magia: Problemi di causalità,” in Bertozzi, Nello specchio del cielo, 95–115. 60. In both works, Pico sought to make a reconstruction of an “original” biblical language using the Hebrew text of the Genesis and Psalms. This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 60 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 In the introduction to the Heptaplus, where Pico’s substantial knowledge of Kabbalistic literature and Hebrew becomes evident,61 Pico claims that despite nu- merous Christian commentaries on Genesis, including those of Augustine, Am- brose, Origen, Basil of Caesarea, John Chrysostom, and many others,62 he is going to focus on the Jewish tradition.63 Pico is sure that elements of Moses’s doctrine may be found in the doctrine of the Egyptians, from whom they were transferred to the most prominent Greek philosophers, including Pythagoras, Plato, Emped- ocles, and Democritus.64 By this example, Pico obviously tried to confirm the ex- istence of prisca theologia and its transmission from Moses through ancient phi- losophers to his own time. One of the cases of such a “heritage” is related to the notion of celestial spheres. As he did some years earlier in the Commento, Pico describes the universe, which, according to him, consists of ten spheres—seven planets, the sphere of fixed stars, the ninth sphere that “can be conceived by mind and not by sense and the first among moving bodies,” and the tenth, immovable sphere, termed “empyrean.”65 61. As Chaim Wirszubski has shown, in 1486, i.e., the date of the Roman dispute, Pico’s knowledge of Hebrew was rather superficial. Chaim Wirszubski, Pico della Mirandola’s Encounter with Jewish Mysticism (Cambridge, MA, 1989), 3–9. 62. Pico includes Philo of Alexandria among Greek and Christian authors. 63. “Whatever, therefore, has been written on this book by holy men like Ambrose and Augustine, Strabo and Bede and Remigius, and among the more recent by Aegidius and Albert, and among the Greeks by Philo, Origen, Basil, Theodoretus, Apollinarius, Didymus, Diodorus, Severus, Eusebius, Jo- sephus, Gennadius, and Chrysostom, we shall leave completely untouched, since it would be both rash and superfluous for a weak man to work in that part of the field where the most robust minds have long been working. We shall make no mention at present of what Ionethes or Anchelos or the venerable Simeon bequeathed in the Chaldean language, or what, among the early Hebrews, Eleazar, Aba, John, Neonias, Isaac, or Joseph wrote, or, among the more recent, Gersonides, Sadias, Abraham, both Moseses, Salomon, or Manaem” (Quae igitur super hoc libro viri sanctissimi, Ambrosius et Augustinus, Strabus item et Beda et Remigius et, ex iunioribus, Aegidius et Albertus; quae item apud Graecos Philon, Origenes, Basilius, Theodoritus, Apollinarius, Didymus, Diodorus, Severus, Eusebius, Iosephus, Gennadius, Chri- sostomus, scripserunt, intacta penitus a nobis relinquentur, cum et temerarium et superfluum sit in ea se agri parte infirmum hominem exercere, ubi se pridem robustissimae mentes exercuerint. De his item quae vel Ionethes vel Anchelos vel Simeon antiquus chaldaice tradiderunt vel, ex Hebraeis, aut veteres: Eleazarus, Aba, Ioannes, Neonias, Isaac, Ioseph; aut iuniores: Gersonides, Sadias, Abraam, uterque Moses, Salomon et Manaem conscripserunt, nullam nos in praesentia mentionem habebimus; Pico della Miran- dola, Heptaplus, prooemium, 178–80). Hereinafter, the translation of the Heptaplus is mine. 64. “We have the weighty authority, moreover, of both Luke and Philo that Moses was deeply learned in all the lore of the Egyptians. All the Greeks who have been considered the most excellent took the Egyp- tians as teachers: Pythagoras, Plato, Empedocles and Democritus” (Sunt item, quantum attinet ad nostros, et Lucas et Philon auctores gravissimi illum in universa Aegyptiorum doctrina fuisse eruditissimum. Aegyptiis autem usi sunt praeceptoribus Graeci omnes qui habiti fuere diviniores: Pythagoras, Plato, Em- pedocles et Democritus; ibid., prooemium, 170). 65. “Above the nine spheres of the heavens, that is, the seven planets and the eighth sphere, which is called that of the fixed stars, and the ninth sphere, which is apprehended by reason, not by sense, and which is first among the bodies that move, there is believed to be a tenth heaven, fixed, quiet, and at This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology | 61 While in the Commento he proved the existence of this universe using Platonic terms, in the Heptaplus Pico appeals to several Hebrew sources, nevertheless af- firming that such an idea was supported by some among “our” (i.e., Christian) thinkers, such as Bede.66 Pico also referred to “Abraham of Spain” (most probably having in mind Abraham ibn Ezra) and “Isaac the Philosopher” who may be iden- tified as Abraham ben Isaac of Narbonne, already mentioned in Pico’s Kabbalistic theses.67 Moreover, Pico insists on the parallels between the structure of the uni- verse and the shape of the menorah used for religious purposes in Jewish commu- nities.68 The ten spheres in the context of Kabbalistic metaphorical images also has something in common with the idea of ten sephirot, described by Pico in the 900 Conclusiones. In Pico’s opinion, the highest (empyrean) sphere is the unique origin and source of light and contains in se the potential to diffuse light through the ninth sphere, by which it is spread to all the other elements.69 This vivifying, incorporeal light is transmitted to the terrestrial world, filling mankind with its positive influence. It is symptomatic that in looking for analogies, Pico refers to the similar Neoplatonic rest, which does not participate in motion” (Supra novem caelorum orbes, idest septem planetas et sphaeram octavam, quam vocant inerrantem, nonumque orbem, qui ratione non sensu deprehensus est primusque est inter corpora quae moventur, creditum esse decimum caelum, fixum, manens et quietum, quod motu nullo participet; ibid., bk. 2, chap. 1, 224). 66. “This has been believed not only by Christians, especially recent thinkers like Strabo and Bede, but also by many Hebrews, and by certain philosophers and mathematicians. Let it be enough to bring forward two of these, Abraham the Spaniard, a great astrologer, and Isaac the Philosopher, both of whom confirm this” (Neque hoc tantum creditum a nostris maxime iunioribus, Strabo et Beda, sed a pluribus etiam Hebraeorum praetereaque a philosophis et mathematicis quibusdam. E quibus satis duos sit attulisse, Abraam Hispanum, astrologum maximum, et Isaac philosophum, quorum uterque hoc attestatur; ibid., bk. 2, chap. 1, 224). 67. Farmer, Syncretism in the West, 272. 68. “He likewise takes the ten spheres to be what Zachariah represented by the seven-branched golden candlestick, the lamp above it, and the two olive trees above the lamp” (Figuratas item intelligit decem sphaeras a Zacharia per candelabrum aureum distinctum septem lucernis et lampadem super caput eius, tum super lampadem olivas duas; Pico della Mirandola, Heptaplus, bk. 2, chap. 1, 224). 69. “But if two primary sources cannot be assigned to the same stream, one of the two highest spheres must be the first principle of all light. If light is to be traced back to one sphere as to its source, that is, to the tenth, which is then the unity of lights, then the ninth sphere may be considered the first to receive light with the whole essence of its substance. In the third stage, the light may arrive thanks to the full participation of the sun, and then from the sun in the fourth and last stage it may be divided among all the stars. Therefore, above the nine heavens let us suppose a tenth, which the theologians call the empyrean” (Verum si non possunt eiusdem aquae duo primi fontes constitui, necesse est ex illis duabus supremis sphaeris alteram esse quae sit principium totius lucis. Quod si ad alteram, ad primam utique, idest ad decimam referendum est, ut sit ipsa quasi unitas luminum, tum proxime lumen tota essentia suae substantiae nona recipiat; inde tertio ad solem plena participatione proveniat, a sole autem quarto iam ideoque postremo gradu in omnes stellas partibiliter dividatur. Supra igitur novem caelos decimum statuamus, quem theologi vocant empyreum; ibid., bk. 2, chap. 1, 226). This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 62 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 notion of the Sun as empyrean (and even quotes a fragment from Emperor Julian’s Oratio de sole), as well as to the Christian dogma of the indivisible Trinity.70 Pico thus supplemented his basically Neoplatonic theory of light with Kabbalistic addi- tions, which seems in some aspects close to the interpretation of Ficino in De sole and De lumine (both written in 1492).71 This does not necessarily mean that these writers influenced each other, since the doctrine of emanation was central to Chris- tian mysticism, itself influenced by Neoplatonism. The most important conclusion we can draw from Pico’s representation of this divine light is that the celestial influence coming from the empyrean is permanent because of its divine nature and that through the ninth sphere its power emanates to planets and stars. Pico had no intention of exploring the whole structure of heavenly images and figures in his exegetical treatise, but it is possible to find in the Heptaplus some interesting points concerning the influence of planets, the most important of which is Saturn.72 It is quite probable that this representation of Saturn was based on an analogy between this planet and the First Mind, as de- scribed in the Commento. The second place is occupied by the Sun and the Moon, while Jupiter, considered supreme in the Commento, is displaced from the very top of this planetary hierarchy.73 This again shows the inconsistency in Pico’s in- terpretation of the celestial spheres. It is also important that Pico confirms the existence of constellations between celestial images, which are able to complement the effects of each other. Thus, he admits that planets can produce opposite effects, and a negative effect can be bal- anced by a positive one. The same applies to the position of celestial bodies in the Zodiac.74 Without exploring the significance of astrological images, Pico simply recognizes this doctrine, which was extremely popular in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.75 At the same time, he severely criticizes astrology as a tool for foreknowledge. In book 5 of the Heptaplus, he opposes the idea of the possibility of predicting future events.76 It is quite probable that in this passage Pico’s attack is directed against the art of divination, described in Cicero’s famous treatise De divinatione. However, while he mentions that such astrological practices were con- 70. Ibid., bk. 2, chaps. 1–2, 226–28. 71. On Ficino’s theory of the Sun and its influences, see Andrea Rabassini, “La concezione del sole secondo Marsilio Ficino: Note sul Liber de Sole,” Momus 5, nos. 7–8 (1997): 115–33. 72. Pico della Mirandola, Heptaplus, bk. 2, chap. 3, 232. 73. Ibid., bk. 2, chap. 3, 232–34. 74. Ibid., bk. 2, chap. 3, 234. 75. Nicolas Weill-Parot, Les ‘images astrologiques’ au Moyen Âge et à la Renaissance: Spéculations intellectuelles et pratiques magiques (XII–XV siècles) (Paris, 2002). 76. Pico della Mirandola, Heptaplus, bk. 5, chap. 4, 296–98. This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology | 63 demned by prominent philosophers and theologians, he does not provide further arguments for his accusation of divinatores. Although at first glance Pico’s astrological views may not seem to have under- gone considerable development between the pre- and post-Roman periods under consideration, it is in the Heptaplus where for the first time he puts forth the ques- tion of celestial influence and the communication of light with matter.77 This would become one of the most serious issues that he would try to resolve in his Expositiones in Psalmos (1491/92). For an understanding of how he dealt with the issue for the first time and for further exploration of his astrological ideas in general, the most important expositio is that of Psalm 18, Coeli enarrant gloriam Dei. Significantly, some commentators, such as Pierre d’Ailly in his Vigintiloquium de concordia astronomice veritatis cum theologia and then in the Elucidarium astro- nomice concordie cum theologica et historica veritate, used this psalm as a source for legitimizing astrological studies.78 In the expositio of Psalm 18, Giovanni Pico expanded his views about astrol- ogy, replacing the empyrean with two forms of the Sun: the intellectual Sun, or the Good, and the simple Sun, which receives impulses from the intellectual one. Pico claims that they both diffuse rays that penetrate everything and influ- ence every terrestrial object without losing their divinity.79 Around the same time, Ficino interpreted the same Neoplatonic doctrine in his De sole using identical categories. According to Ficino, just as the light of the Sun, “the purest and most sublime phenomenon among all sensible things,” penetrates everything and gives birth to all material effects, so does the intelligible light of the Good spread its vital influence on the world.80 Following the tradition of Neoplatonic interpretation of the Sun,81 Pico at the same time tries to find points of contact between ancient philosophy and Jewish texts, mentioning Abraham ibn Ezra as a supporter of the concept of an intelligible Sun.82 Interestingly, in the Expositiones Pico refers to Ibn Ezra as a representative of Jewish philosophy, while two years later in the Disputa- tiones he will mention Ezra in a negative way and only as an astrologer. 77. Ibid., bk. 1, chap. 5, 218. 78. On Pierre d’Ailly’s astrological speculations, see Laura Ackerman Smoller, History, Prophecy, and the Stars: The Christian Astrology of Pierre d’Ailly (1350–1420) (Princeton, NJ, 1994). A thorough study is still needed of how biblical passages, particularly from Genesis and the book of Job, were used to legitimize astrology in the Middle Ages and Renaissance. 79. Pico della Mirandola, Expositiones in Psalmos, 178, 182. 80. Marsilio Ficino, Opera omnia, 2 vols. (Basel, 1576), 1:966. The translation is mine. 81. In the De sole, Ficino added an excerpt from the De mysteriis by Iamblichus (ibid.). Also see Iamblichus, De mysteriis, trans. with an introduction and notes by Emma C. Clarke, John M. Dillon, and Jackson P. Hershbell (Atlanta, 2003), 1:9. 82. Pico della Mirandola, Expositiones in Psalmos, 178. This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 64 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 One important aspect of Pico’s interpretation of solar philosophy is that he pre- sumes the existence of the natural Sun as an imago of the intellectual Sun/Good.83 By this supposition, Pico seeks to explain the essence of natural influence on the terrestrial world. Thus, in his opinion the real Sun, which accumulates all the pos- sible virtues of its intellectual prototype, must be regarded as mediator of the di- vinity and the agent intellect (intellectus agens), to use the terminology of the scho- lastics.84 Hence, in contrast to Ficino, who limited himself only to philosophical aspects of this solar theory, Pico strives to clarify the mechanism of heavenly dom- inance over the material world. But he failed to resolve the question as to how in- telligible light is combined with matter and found himself in a very difficult situ- ation. As he attempted to reconcile Plato and Aristotle while working on the Expositiones in Psalmos, Pico realized that the Neoplatonic doctrine of light con- tradicted the Aristotelian physics, which postulated the transformation of every influence received by matter.85 As is well known, Pico’s attempt to reconcile two fundamental ancient philosophical systems suffered from his unrestricted manipulation of sources and terms. The best known example concerns the frag- ment from chapter 2 of De Ente et Uno, where Pico, trying to prove the identity of these two concepts in Aristotle’s and Plato’s works, purposely quotes the text of Plato’s dialogue Sophist in a modified way.86 Although he introduces the concept of matter in both the Heptaplus and the Expositiones in Psalmos to explain the process of the emanation of light, because of the incompatibility of Neoplatonic light with Aristotelian physical “materialism” he could not go beyond some pre- liminary notes on the naturalistic aspects of heavenly impulses. Thus, despite his apparent orientation toward Neoplatonism in the Heptaplus and Expositiones in Psalmos, in Pico’s astrological interpretation the question of the reconciliation of Neoplatonic light with matter understood within an Aristo- telian framework became crucial. Related to a larger and more ambitious project to which Pico devoted his De Ente et Uno in the same period, this issue finally led him to a deadlock, since he failed to reconcile the two concepts. Moreover, even without references to determinism, Pico’s doctrine as expressed in the Heptaplus and the Expositiones in Psalmos left much room for further astrological specu- 83. Ibid., 178, 182. 84. Ibid., 180. 85. A letter to Angelo Poliziano entitled De Ente et Uno was written in 1491 and conceived as part of a more fundamental treatise on the concordance between Plato and Aristotle; Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Dell’Ente e dell’Uno, ed. Raphael Ebgi and Franco Bacchelli (Milan, 2010). 86. Ibid., 212–14. Pico’s arguments are discussed in Ovanes Akopyan, “Платон и Ренессанс: ‘ревняя теология’ и примирение с Аристотелем,” in Платоновский сборник (Приложение к Вестнику Русской христианской гуманитарной академии, т. 14), 2 vols. (Moscow, 2013), 2:320–40. This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Astrology | 65 lation, while the proposed agreement between the Platonic and Aristotelian no- tions would have given more credibility to the naturalistic and nondeterministic grounds of astrological influence on the terrestrial world.87 But Pico did not suc- ceed in doing so: after realizing the failure of this reconciliation project and after reconsidering the notions of tradition and philosophical authorities in his polemic with Ficino in the De Ente et Uno, he drastically changed his philosophical orien- tation.88 Hence, Pico’s future attack on astrology in the Disputationes, apart from theological motivations conditioned by the influence of Savonarola, would seem to be grounded in these philosophical reasons that forced him to revise his theory of astrology. CON CLUSI ON The evolution of Pico’s attitude toward astrology illustrates the development of his itinéraire philosophique. In the Commento alla Canzona d’amore, completed in 1486, Giovanni Pico combined astrological elements with Neoplatonic ideas. Pico had discovered and explored the Kabbalah before the Roman dispute and thus sought in his early works to connect Kabbalistic ideas with astrology and magic. The culmination of his Kabbalistic interpretation was the Heptaplus, published in 1489. In the Heptaplus and the Expositiones in Psalmos, however, he faced an impor- tant problem when trying to reconcile the Neoplatonic doctrine of light with Aristo- telian physics. The two were ultimately irreconcilable. This caused him to radically transform his natural philosophical views, as expressed in the Disputationes. Pico’s Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem remained unfinished be- cause of his sudden death in 1494 and was published posthumously by his nephew Gianfrancesco Pico della Mirandola in 1496. Although this large treatise, which consists of twelve books, is stylistically less than perfect, Pico is consistent in his attempts to reject astrology as a dangerous superstition. Pico’s polemic against astrology consists of two main points. The first concerns the textual and “historiographic” criticism of astrology; Pico shows that no great 87. For instance, on antideterministic aspects of Ficino’s astrology, see Ornella Pompeo Faracovi, “Destino e fato nelle pagine astrologiche di Marsilio Ficino,” in Nella luce degli astri: L’astrologia nella cultura del Rinascimento, ed. Ornella Pompeo Faracovi (Sarzana, 2004), 1–24. 88. On Pico’s deconstruction of the notion of tradition, which was at the center of his philosophical investigation in the De Ente et Uno and later in the Disputationes, see Ovanes Akopyan, “‘Princeps aliorum’ and His Followers: Giovanni Pico della Mirandola on the ‘Astrological Tradition’ in the Dis- putationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem,” Renaissance Studies (forthcoming), http://onlinelibrary .wiley.com/doi/10.1111/rest.12335/abstract, and “‘Me quoque adolescentem olim fallebat’: Giovanni (or Gianfrancesco?) Pico della Mirandola versus prisca theologia,” Accademia (Revue de la Société Marsile Ficin) (forthcoming). This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 66 | I TATTI STUDIES IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE SPRING 2018 philosopher or theologian had ever supported the idea of predictions. The second is the incompatibility of astrological prognostications with physical reality. This point is discussed in book 3 of the Disputationes, where Pico makes an important revision to his cosmological and physical ideas. Trying to eliminate the possibility of all astral influences, admitted in his early works, he chooses Aristotle as his major authority instead of Plato. As shown above, the Neoplatonic philosophical matrix, with its very specific representation of light, left a large space for magical specula- tions. Pico’s change of the paradigm is understandable: using an Aristotelean phil- osophical matrix, he tries to prove the distortion of every celestial influence by nat- ural reasons. That would become one of the most important messages of the third book of the Disputationes. Here he scrutinizes the main philosophical points re- lated to the subject, such as light, motion, and warmth in Aristotelean terms, refer- ring to the Metaphysics, the Physics, and the De Caelo. Of even greater importance is the fact that he finally enriches his philosophical discourse with a full analysis of the notion of matter, excluding any chance of direct astral influence, although he allows for the influences of certain physical phenomena (such as high and low tide). Such a shift from Neoplatonism toward Aristotelianism can be regarded as conclu- sive proof of Pico’s deviation from Hermetic, Kabbalistic, Neoplatonic, and other occult sources. Thus, over the course of seven years Giovanni Pico’s views on phi- losophy and astrology underwent a radical modification. The essence and features of his intellectual transformation are still to be studied in depth. This content downloaded from 130.160.024.117 on May 15, 2018 13:33:18 PM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 
work_xbxv2eifcnartasdwmxzgfgize	----	“La Toilette”. When a doctor becomes a painter: Frederic Bazille Vol.:(0123456789)1 3 Journal of Endocrinological Investigation (2019) 42:1255–1256 https://doi.org/10.1007/s40618-019-01040-7 E N D O C R I N O LO G Y A N D A R T “La Toilette”. When a doctor becomes a painter: Frederic Bazille L. Obolonczyk1  · M. Berendt‑Obolonczyk1  · K. Sworczak1 Received: 15 March 2019 / Accepted: 21 March 2019 / Published online: 15 April 2019 © The Author(s) 2019 Abstract Purpose To find endocrinological disturbances in impressionism. Patients and methods Analysis of “La Toilette” painting of Frederice Bazille. Results We present a masterpiece work of Frederic Bazille “La Toilette” where a large goiter is visible. Short description of Bazille’s life and painting is included. Conclusion Despite of unique painting technique, thyroid disorders are visible even in impressionism. Keywords Frederic Bazille · Endocrinology · Painting Jean Frederic Bazille (1841–1870) was born in Montpellier and grew up in a wealthy, middle class family. His father was a prominent wine dealer. Due to a number of father’s con- nections, young Frederic met an art collector Alfred Bruyas. During this closer relationship, he could admire paintings of, e.g., Delacroix and Corot. First as a spectator, later as a young artist his painting adventure slowly started. In 1859, Bazille started medical study in Montpellier and since 1862 continued it in Paris. A contact with impression- ists as Monet, Renoir and Sisley made him more painter than doctor. He was also known as a great benefactor because of his material support for his friends (especially Monet). In 1864, he finished medical study, but he never worked as a doctor. He died at age of 29 years in Franco-German war [1]. “La toillete” oil on canvas was finished in 1870 just before Bazille’s death (Fig. 1). It presents a French art model Lise Trehot, but for us more interesting is a mysterious woman on the right side. We see clearly large, smooth goiter. No eye signs, but slim woman’s stature does not help with differen- tiation between simple goiter and Graves’ disease. Histori- cally, goiter seems to be “older” disease (i.e., paintings of Flemish or Italian Renaissance painters) but this question will be unanswered [2, 3]. According to Encyclopaedia Brittanica, Bazille was an unenthusiastic medical student. I strongly deny this opinion when I see such perfect thyroid. I hope every student have Bazille’s perception [4]. * L. Obolonczyk przepona@wp.pl 1 Department of Endocrinology and Internal Medicine, Medical University of Gdansk, Debinki 7 Street, 80-952 Gdansk, Poland http://orcid.org/0000-0002-7975-271X http://orcid.org/0000-0003-1802-6877 http://orcid.org/0000-0002-9866-5670 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s40618-019-01040-7&domain=pdf 1256 Journal of Endocrinological Investigation (2019) 42:1255–1256 1 3 Compliance with ethical standards Conflict of interest On behalf of all the authors, the corresponding au- thor states that there is no conflict of interest. Ethical approval This paper does not contain any studies with human participants or animals performed by any of the authors. Informed consent No informed consent. Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Crea- tive Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creat iveco mmons .org/licen ses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribu- tion, and reproduction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. References 1. Jourdan A (1992) Frédéric Bazille: prophet of impressionism. Publisher: Brooklyn Museum Bookshop; First edition (November 1, 1992) 2. Lazzeri D, Pozzilli P, Zhang YX, Persichetti P (2015) Goiter in paintings by Rogier van der Weyden (1399–1464). Thyroid 25(5):559–562 3. Sterpetti AV, Fiori E, de Cesare A (2016) Goiter in the Art of Renaissance Europe. Am J Med. 129(8):892–895 4. Encyclopaedia Brittanica. https ://www.brita nnica .com/biogr aphy/ Frede ric-Bazil le. Accessed 07 Mar 2019 Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Fig. 1 La Toilette (Decem- ber 1869–March 1870), by Frederic Bazille, oil on canvas 153 × 148.5 cm [Musee Fabre, Montpellier, France]. Please note large goiter on first right lady http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://www.britannica.com/biography/Frederic-Bazille https://www.britannica.com/biography/Frederic-Bazille “La Toilette”. When a doctor becomes a painter: Frederic Bazille Abstract Purpose Patients and methods Results Conclusion References 
work_xc3xbeukojeytidelzjeztvuze	----	European ceramic technology in the Far East: enamels and pigments in Japanese art from the 16th to the 20th century and their reverse influence on China HAL Id: hal-02797126 https://hal.sorbonne-universite.fr/hal-02797126 Submitted on 5 Jun 2020 HAL is a multi-disciplinary open access archive for the deposit and dissemination of sci- entific research documents, whether they are pub- lished or not. The documents may come from teaching and research institutions in France or abroad, or from public or private research centers. L’archive ouverte pluridisciplinaire HAL, est destinée au dépôt et à la diffusion de documents scientifiques de niveau recherche, publiés ou non, émanant des établissements d’enseignement et de recherche français ou étrangers, des laboratoires publics ou privés. European ceramic technology in the Far East: enamels and pigments in Japanese art from the 16th to the 20th century and their reverse influence on China Riccardo Montanari, Nobuyuki Murakami, Philippe Colomban, Maria Alberghina, Claudia Pelosi, Salvatore Schiavone To cite this version: Riccardo Montanari, Nobuyuki Murakami, Philippe Colomban, Maria Alberghina, Claudia Pelosi, et al.. European ceramic technology in the Far East: enamels and pigments in Japanese art from the 16th to the 20th century and their reverse influence on China. Heritage Science, Springer, 2020, 8, pp.48. �10.1186/s40494-020-00391-2�. �hal-02797126� https://hal.sorbonne-universite.fr/hal-02797126 https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 https://doi.org/10.1186/s40494-020-00391-2 R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E European ceramic technology in the Far East: enamels and pigments in Japanese art from the 16th to the 20th century and their reverse influence on China Riccardo Montanari1* , Nobuyuki Murakami2, Philippe Colomban3, Maria Francesca Alberghina4, Claudia Pelosi5 and Salvatore Schiavone4 Abstract The production of Japanese enamels for porcelain decoration was thought to have originated from the direct and exclusive influence of Chinese potters who moved to Japan during the chaotic Ming to Qing dynastic change in 1644. Recent systematic studies have identified, for the first time, the crucial influence of Jesuit missionaries on pigment and enamel production in Japan from the late 16th-century. In particular, such first encounter laid the foundation for the continued influence exerted by European technology on Japanese art throughout the centuries. The present study has further identified European enamels used for the decoration of polychrome wares fired in Arita, the porcelain production center of Japan. This continued exchange not only marked the Edo period, but also extended into the twentieth century. For the first time, the lack of written records regarding the use of western pigments for enamel production caused by the persecutions of European and Japanese Christians has been overcome in the work herein presented. The nature of the imported materials has been firmly identified and characterized. The analytical results (EDXRF and Raman) have finally revealed how western technology and materials not only kept influencing Japanese art during the isolation (sakoku) period, but also accompanied the strong westernization process that marked Japa- nese history from the late nineteenth century. Moreover, the significant reverse influence of Japanese-made enamels on Chinese polychrome porcelain production in the late Qing and twentieth century has been fully identified for the first time. Furthermore, results show that the shift of the Pb mode of lead antimonate (Naples Yellow) is affected by the firing temperature for enamel decoration, and that this characteristic, along with the chemical composition, enables the identification of the origin and manufacture period of the yellow enamel. Keywords: Porcelain, Enamel, Pigment, Painting, Japan, Jesuit, Seminario, China, EDXRF, Raman © The Author(s) 2020. This article is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, which permits use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons licence, and indicate if changes were made. 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Introduction and historical context The production of overglaze enamels in Japan was long thought to have originated from the direct and exclu- sive influence of Chinese potters in the mid seventeenth century [1, 2] when the collapse of the Ming dynasty caused many of them to flee to Japan to find new profit- able markets for their own survival. Yet, recent system- atic studies on the origin of the materials employed for polychrome decoration identified, for the first time, the technological exchange that occurred between Jesuit missionaries and Japanese painters and potters from the late sixteenth century [3, 4]. In particular, the Euro- pean Renaissance practice of using the same coloring agents both for paintings and ceramics was unquestion- ably confirmed by the matching compound detected on a Open Access *Correspondence: ckrm97@yahoo.com 1 Independent Researcher, Expert Witness, Rome, Italy Full list of author information is available at the end of the article http://orcid.org/0000-0002-0228-6052 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/ http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/ http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1186/s40494-020-00391-2&domain=pdf Page 2 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 coloured porcelain and a European style painting created by a Japanese painter who studied at the Jesuit Seminario under the direction of the Italian Jesuit painter Giovanni Cola from 1583 [4]. The production of sacred and secu- lar images based on models imported from Europe, be it prints, engravings or paintings, involved the use of European pigments that did not exist in Japan at the time [3–6]. These new pigments also marked Chinese enamel production from the early eighteenth century, after Jes- uit missionaries were ordered by the Kangxi Emperor in 1695 to establish a glass workshop in the Palace to repro- duce the enamels of western origin that had strongly impressed him [7, 8]. Recently, Raman analyses have con- firmed the use of European enamel precursors at the end of Kangxi reign as mentioned in historical records [9, 10]. This pattern of influence had actually originated in Japan in the late sixteenth century [3, 4]. Additional evidence comes from Naito Tokuen Johan [11], a Christian samurai and close friend of Takayama Ukon, who supported the establishment of a glass workshop in the painting Semi- nario built by the Jesuits in Arie in 1595 under the super- vision of Giovanni Cola [11]. The Jesuit Seminario was attended by Japanese and Chinese painters eager to learn European oil painting techniques [12]. The imported compounds employed for such purpose were scarce and very expensive [6], so their use was strictly allowed to those having trained under the direct supervision of Giovanni Cola himself. In particular, tin and antimony were important elements used in Renaissance Europe for enameling of majolica [13–16], Limoges metal wares [17], and for preparing painting pigments [18, 19]. Both end-members of pyrochlore solid solutions (lead–tin yel- low and lead antimonate yellow) as well as more complex solid solutions had been largely used since Roman times [20–22]. These same pigments have been detected on the famous Painting of the Madonna with the Infant Jesus and Her Fifteen Mysteries (1620  s, Japan) [5] and on the rare mukozuke dish bearing the Japanese mark ‘Kan’ei Nen Sei’ (made in the Kan’ei period, that is 1624–1644) [3]. Those instances have provided the definitive proof that the first phase of technological exchange between Europe and Japan started in the late sixteenth century, and that it continued until the final expulsion of all Chris- tians by the Tokugawa Shogunate in 1639 as a result of the strictly enforced persecutions, with no surviving doc- uments relating to the Jesuit presence and the early inter- action with the Japanese. This study has proven, for the first time, how such first technological exchange between Jesuit missionaries and the Japanese in the sixteenth century laid the foundation for the continued influence exerted by Europeans on Japanese applied arts (porcelain, prints, and paintings) throughout the Edo period (1603– 1868) and into the twentieth century. We report here a non-destructive analysis carried out by X-Ray Fluorescence (ED-XRF) and Raman spec- troscopy in order to get more information on the use of these ceramic pigments, thus overcoming the daunting issue of the lack of written records regarding the use of western pigments and/or western technology for enamel production. Shards of polychrome decorated porcelains fired in Arita, the porcelain production center of Japan, dating from the nineteenth and twentieth century, were analyzed with the aim of identifying the coloring agents employed for such production. The results have finally provided a definitive answer, revealing how western tech- nology and materials not only kept influencing Japanese art during the isolation (sakoku) period, but also accom- panied the strong westernization process of the country that marked Japanese craft and industry from the late nineteenth century. Materials and methods Analyzed shards All analyzed shards were provided by the Arita Museum of History, Arita, Saga Prefecture, Japan, and were mostly excavated at the Aka-e machi site (enamellers’ quarter) located in the Uchiyama area of Arita, where all enam- ellers had been moved by the Nabeshima clan in the late 1650s in order to improve the production process through better labor organization [4]. The shards provide crucial information regarding the coloring agents and enamel preparation techniques employed when the pres- ence of western countries increased significantly and the Tokugawa shogunate was about to collapse. Characteris- tics are summarized in Fig. 1. XRF spectrometer: experimental and measurement parameters The employed XRF portable instrument consists of a min- iature X-ray tube system (Amptek, X-123 SDD, Mini-X X-ray tube, USA) which includes the X-ray tube (max volt- age of 40  kV, max current of 0.2  mA, target Rh, collima- tor 1 or 2  mm), the power supply, the control electronics and the USB communication for remote control; a Sili- con Drift Detector (SDD) with a 125 to 140 eV FWHM @ 5.9  keV Mn Kα line Energy Resolution (depends on peak- ing time and temperature); 1 keV to 40 keV detection range of energy; max rate of counts to 5.6 × 105 cps; software for acquiring and processing the XRF spectra. Primary beam and detector axis form an angle of 0 and 40 degrees respectively with the perpendicular to the sam- ple surface. Measurement parameters were as follows: tube voltage 35  kV; current 80 μA, acquisition time 100  s; no filter was applied between the X-Ray tube and the sample; Page 3 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 Fig. 1 a Analyzed shards with underglaze and overglaze decoration. Kiln sites, production date and XRF or Raman measurement areas are given (the dimensions are here reported: Shard #7: 12 × 9 cm2; #8: 16 × 13 cm2; #9 diameter: ~ 9.8 cm; #10: 9.5 × 8 cm2; #11: 7 × 5 cm2). b Fracture sections showing the glaze-body interface of the #8, #9, #10, #11 analysed shards acquired by using portable optical microscopy (50 magnification) along the fracture lines without any sampling Page 4 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 distance between sample and detector around 1  cm. The setup parameters were selected to have a good spectral sig- nal and to optimize the signal to noise ratio (SNR). Meas- urement data were processed using the factory provided data reduction DPPMCA software, which enables the acquisition, display, and control for Amptek signal proces- sors and allows the automatic peak recognition supported by manual peak selection and checking. The software fur- ther enables curve fitting based on chosen elements to ensure a match between the measured spectra and theo- retically predicted spectra calculated from fundamental parameters (FP). Finally, XRF spectra have been graphically provided by Origin Pro 8.5. Raman spectroscopy The micro-Raman analysis was performed through a Ren- ishaw InVia Raman Microscope (UK). The fragments were examined without any preparation. In order to make the fragment surface perfectly perpendicular to the laser path and to improve the focus, the shards were positioned on a clay base. Two exiting wavelengths were used: 532 nm and 633 nm. The diffused light was recorded in a backscattered geometry using a 50× objective at long focal distance, in order to obtain a measurement spot of about 4 microns in diameter. Spectra were managed by Wire 2.0 software, associated to the Renishaw instrument. Results and discussion The overglaze enameled shards analyzed in this study are characterized by the presence of coloring agents of Euro- pean origin. We will discuss the Raman and XRF data recorded on the different colored areas, yellow, blue, and green. Overglaze yellow enamels Raman analysis The Raman spectra detected on the nineteenth and twen- tieth century Japanese yellow enamels and on the seven- teenth century mukozuke dish are reported in Fig. 2. Naples yellow pyrochlore is a non-stoichiometric A2-xA’B2-y B’yO7-δ phase built with two sub-lattices, one of (big) A cations (A = Pb2+ in the case of Naples yel- low pigment), the second of (small, covalent bonded) cations (B = Sb, Sn, Fe, Zn, Si, Zr…) forming tetrahedral and octahedral entities sharing some oxygen atoms [23, 24]. B cations are easily oxidized/reduced and thus the formula and oxygen stoichiometry depend on the firing atmosphere. Due to the high mass of lead, the Raman signature show a characteristic strong peak arising from the Pb translational mode at low wavenumber, ranging from ~ 125 to ~ 140  cm−1 as a function of the composi- tion/structure [13–15, 17, 25]. Studies of Sn–O and Sb-O end members have allowed the identification of the Sn–O and Sb-O stretching modes (stretching modes are strong in Raman spectroscopy) at ca. 450 and 505 cm−1 respec- tively [17]. Thus differentiation between Sn-rich and Sb-rich Naples Yellow is obvious from their Raman spec- trum: Sb-rich pigment shows two strong peaks at ca. 130 Fig. 2 Yellow enamel Raman signature: a Shard #7 yellow enamel (1894); b Shard #9 yellow enamel (1932–1945), two spectra are reported to show the good reproducibility of the measurements acquired on different yellow spots; c mukozuke dish Naples Yellow (1630s) [3] Page 5 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 and 505  cm−1, while Sn-rich pigment shows a spectrum with peaks at ~ 130, 325, 450 and 505 cm−1 [17]. As shown in Fig.  2, the spectra recorded on the yel- low decorations of shards #7, #9, and the previously ana- lysed seventeenth century mukozuke porcelain, all show a strong ca. 130–140–505  cm−1 doublet, characteristic of a Sb-rich Naples Yellow pyrochlore. However, the three yellow enamels feature different wavenumber positions of the strong Pb mode, namely 135, 141 and 130  cm−1, and all prove to be a shift higher than the uncertainty of the measure. The lowest value detected on the mukozuke dish, 130  cm−1, corresponds to a firing temperature in the range of 900–1000 °C according to Sakellariou et al. [16]. Such temperature value is consistent with the firing tem- peratures that characterize lead antimonate yellows in Renaissance Italy [13, 16, 18, 26–30]. XRF analysis XRF spectra recorded on yellow colored areas show strong Pb peaks and medium Si peaks as expected for lead-based overglaze enamels. The Pb-Sb yellow detected on shard #7 (Fig.  3a) and the Pb–Fe–Sb–(Zn) yellow detected on shard #9 (Fig. 3b) both bear an enamel matrix consisting of the ternary system Pb–Si–K. Such matrix composition, along with the presence of antimony, strongly points to the recipe reported by Takamatsu in 1878 [31]: Shiratama (PbO, SiO2, K2O) and Tojirome, an antimony-based compound, are listed as the main components to be used for yellow decoration “…nearly pure antimony… also called Toshi- rome…is used as a yellow enamel with Shiratama and other bodies, whereby oxides of antimony and lead are formed which give the yellow colour”. This description confirms that the preparation of the antimony-based enamel differs from the European Renaissance recipe. The Japanese yellow color is not the specific compound obtained through calcination as the traditional European method employed for Naples Yellow required [16, 18], but it appears to be basically a by-product of the reaction between the mixed reagents. Comparison with the spec- trum of the Italian Renaissance Naples Yellow (lead-anti- monate yellow) detected on the famous mukozuke dish dated 1624–1644 (Fig.  3c) [3] clearly shows that the late Renaissance enamel consists instead of a Pb–Si matrix with no significant amount of potassium: the yellow on the mukozuke dish perfectly matches the recipe for Giallo de’ Vasari (Potters’ yellow) published by Valerio Mariani in 1620 in the treatise Della Miniatura [13, 14]. The Pb–Cr yellows detected on shards #8 and #10 (Fig.  4a, b) prove to belong to the Cr-based enamels developed in Europe in the early nineteenth century. The use of Cr-based enamels for ceramic decoration was emphasized by Vauquelin, the discoverer of the element chromium [32]. These new findings are consistent with the previous detection of a Cr-based yellow enamel on a porcelain cup produced in Arita in the second half of the nineteenth century [4] (Fig.  4c), thus confirming the Fig. 3 Representative XRF spectra recorded on yellow coloured areas: a Shard #7 Pb-Sb yellow (1894); b Shard #9 Pb–Fe–Sb–Zn yellow (1932–1945); c previously analyzed mukozuke dish Pb-Sb Naples Yellow (1630s) [3] Page 6 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 incorporation of such chromophore in the Japanese por- celain industry in the early-to-mid nineteenth century. Blue coloring agent and overglaze enamels The XRF spectrum of the underglaze blue pigment detected on shard #7 shows a manganese to cobalt ratio (Mn/Co < 1) incompatible with the use of a natural and pure Asian cobalt ore [33, 34]. This demonstrates that the chromophore consists of a mixture of natural cobalt imported from China and a synthetic blue material devel- oped in Europe (Fig. 5a). It is interesting to note here that the practice of mixing different grades of blue materials in Japan started in the mid-seventeenth-century when trade with Europe became the main drive of the porcelain industry in Arita: western taste demanded heavy decora- tion and Japanese potters needed to save up on material cost in order to improve profitability [4]. The XRF spectrum recorded on the overglaze blue dec- oration of shard #8 (Fig.  5b) shows a chemical composi- tion consistent with the European smalt-based enamel characterized by the elements Ni–Fe–As in association with Co. European sources of cobalt are vein of arsenates secondary deposits, while Asian cobalt sources are pri- mary deposits rich in Fe and Mn [35]. The XRF spectrum recorded on shard #9 shows instead the use of an over- glaze blue enamel based on a compound of Co and Zn (Fig. 6a). The results unquestionably prove that starting from the second half of nineteenth century and well into the twen- tieth century, Japanese potters gradually replaced most of the low-grade natural cobalt ores (rich in manganese and iron) imported from China and the smalt-based over- glaze blue enamel imported from the Old Continent with Co-based synthetic pigments of European origin char- acterized by a higher coloring power and less sensitiv- ity to firing atmosphere. This same type of blue material appears to have been consistently used until the present day as testified by the analysis carried out on a contem- porary polychrome porcelain cup of high artistic value fired in Arita (Fig. 6b). Overglaze green enamels Visual inspection of the green colored shards herein analyzed strongly points to the intentional use of differ- ent compounds aimed at achieving various chromatic effects. Besides the expected use of copper ions dissolved in the glassy matrix for the traditional green color [7], a Cu–Cr-containing enamel was detected on shard #10 by XRF (Fig. 7a). Such instance is in perfect agreement with the recipe published in 1869 by Thomas Salter in Field’s Chromatography or Treatise on Colours and Pigments as Used by Artists: the author lists a Cu-Cr pigment that “… may be prepared by several methods”. Furthermore, the light-green enamel analyzed on shard #11 (Fig.  7b) proves to originate from the mixture of Sb and Cu. In particular the color is obtained by adding Cu Fig. 4 Representative XRF spectra recorded on yellow area: a Shard #8 Pb–Cr yellow (1868–1912); b Shard #10 Pb–Cr yellow (1850–1900); c porcelain cup produced in Arita in the second half of the 19th century Pb–Cr yellow 4 Page 7 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 to the recipe for the Pb-Sb yellow detected on shard #7 (Fig. 3a). Noteworthy is to mention here the Renaissance recipe by Cipriano Piccolpasso, who listed in his “Li Tre Libri dell’Arte del Vasaio” (The Three Books of the Pot- ter’s Art) in the mid-sixteenth century, a “mixed” green pigment consisting of a mixture of Cu, Pb and lead anti- monate yellow [36]. Such record well traces the Italian origin of the later-developed northern European recipes that spread in the Far East in the nineteenth century as here demonstrated. Naples yellow pigment: a tracer of Europe‑Japan technological exchanges Preparation procedures As previously presented, the Pb-Sb yellow enamel detected on shard #7 (Fig.  3a) and the Pb–Fe–Sb–(Zn) yellow detected on shard #9 (Fig.  3b) both bear a Pb– Si–K matrix. This enamel composition is perfectly con- sistent with the recipe reported by Takamatsu in 1878 [31], therefore the preparation of the Pb–Sb and Pb–Fe– Sb–(Zn) compounds clearly differs from the calcination process required for the production of the European Renaissance Naples yellow. Moreover, no K was detected on the mukozuke dish (Fig.  3c) as expected for a lead antimonate compound prepared according to Valerio Fig. 5 Representative XRF spectra of recorded on blue areas: a Shard #7, underglaze blue pigment (1894); b Shard #8 (1868), overglaze Pb-containing blue enamel Fig. 6 Representative XRF spectra recorded on blue areas: a Shard #9 (1932–1945), lead-based overglaze; b Contemporary overglaze lead based blue enamel Page 8 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 Mariani’s recipe for Giallo de’ Vasari (Potters’ yellow) published in the treatise Della Miniatura (1620) [18]. The implication is clear: the composition of the Japanese yel- low enamels differ dramatically from the common Ital- ian Renaissance recipes. The Renaissance yellow bears the fluxing agent NaCl, while the nineteenth-century Japanese yellows show the employment of a K-based flux, thus proving to belong to the group of contemporary antimony-based yellows developed in northern Europe [26, 37] on the basis of the original Italian process pub- lished by Passeri in 1758. The French scientist Fougeroux de Bondaroy (1769) was the first to have modified the process by adding potassium alum, and the other north- ern European recipes followed suit [26, 37]. The results perfectly fit into the trade picture of the nineteenth century, when new materials were being imported into Japan from northern Europe by the Dutch [4, 31, 38]. As a consequence of the isolation policy enforced by Tokugawa Shogunate, European materi- als available for porcelain production and paintings differed over the centuries. The mukozuke dish was dec- orated with a Renaissance yellow enamel of Italian ori- gin imported by the Jesuits in the early 1600s, while the nineteen-century porcelains were enameled with a yellow color based instead on the recipes developed in northern Europe in the nineteenth century. Yet the Japanese created their own path and changed the actual production process of the coloring agent. European recipes required the calcination of a mixture of antimony oxide and lead oxide to achieve a stable Naples Yellow compound to be embedded in the NaCl fluxed matrix [16, 18, 39], as consistently detected on the mukozuke dish. The Japanese method involved instead the use of different bodies providing a Pb–Si–K matrix to which an antimony compound, pure antimony from Iyo province [31], was then added. No previous calcination was carried out, thus leading to different enamel char- acteristics in terms of formed phases and reagents stoi- chiometry. Raman spectra (Fig. 2) provide further crucial information as to the firing temperatures of the anti- mony-based compounds, thus enabling the identification of their geographical area of origin and, along with XRF compositional data, their period of production. The Raman signature of the pyrochlore solid solution In order to fully understand this point, we have to con- sider that lead antimonate belongs to the family of com- pounds with the ideal pyrochlore structure having the general formula A2B2O6O’ [13, 16, 27, 28, 40, 41]. B-O bonds are crucial to the cohesion of the crystal and a reg- ular BO6 polyhedron entails a more-distorted AO8 poly- hedron and vice versa [40, 41]. The (B–O) force constants are six to eight times stronger than those of f(A–O) and f(A–O’) [40, 41]. Firing temperature, stoichiometric ratio, and small distortions of the pyrochlore structure strongly affect the Pb mode of the A2O’ lattice. Yet even a significant perturbation of the A4O’ network has a weak influence on the BO6 network and overall rigidity of the structure [40, 41]. Therefore, from a vibrational stand- point, the two networks appear, on first approach, to be energetically independent [41]. The implication is clear: the firing temperature for enamel decoration affects the Raman wavenumber of the Pb mode to such a greater extent than the compositional base of the matrices in which the chromophore is embedded or the respective molar ratios. The lower the value of the diagnostic-peak wavenumber, the more stable the structure of the pig- ment owing to the increasing firing temperature [16]. It has been firmly demonstrated that as the firing tempera- ture increases, the peak shifts to lower wavenumbers: Fig. 7 Representative XRF spectra recorded on green area: a Shard #10 (19th 2nd half c.); b Shard #11 (19th 2nd half c.) Page 9 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 134  cm−1 at 800  °C, 130  cm−1 at 950  °C, and 124  cm−1 at 1100  °C [16]. The peak at 130  cm−1 observed on the Naples yellow used to decorate the mukozuke dish (Fig.  2c) matches the reported data perfectly, confirm- ing an Italian Renaissance lead antimonate yellow fired at 900–1000 °C (‘Feu de moufle’). A firing temperature in the range of 900–1000 °C is incompatible with either the ceramic technology at Jingdezhen where overglaze enam- els were fired at 700–800 °C [42, 43] or a Chinese enamel- on-metal technology with enamels fired at 600–700  °C [44, 45]. The latter, in particular, employs additional flux- ing agents such as CaF2 or even Bi2O3 [44] that lower the processing temperature, thus relying on a thermal-treat- ment duration which clearly differs between China and Europe in terms of kiln technology and heating rate. The values of the diagnostic-peak wavenumbers observed on Chinese wares of any media, be it porcelain or metal, from any period and recipe, that were deco- rated with a lead antimonate yellow enamel [42, 44] fall within the range 136–142  cm−1 [42, 44]. They therefore fit into the firing-temperature range associated with both technologies in China, namely 600–800  °C [42–45]. As a consequence, a Chinese origin and firing of the yellow enamel is to be ruled out on the basis of such experimen- tal evidences. The strong peaks at 135  cm−1 and 141  cm−1 detected on the Japanese nineteenth-century Pb–Sb and Pb–Fe– Sb–(Zn) yellows (Fig.  2a,b), unequivocally point to a fir- ing temperature in the range of 700–800  °C [16, 42] as confirmed by kiln practice for the period in Arita. To conclude, based on the evidence discussed so far, the implication is very clear: the firing temperatures and chemical compositions of the Chinese Naples Yellows [42–46], be it on metal or ceramic, and the Japanese nine- teenth century Naples Yellow, all differ dramatically from the Naples yellow of European origin that was detected on the mukozuke dish fired in the late Renaissance period (1630s). The latter shows a Raman signature consistent with the firing temperature of 950 °C as identified identi- fied by Impey for the firing of Arita wares in the early Edo period [47, 48], as well as the firing temperature needed in Renaissance Italy to obtain a brighter and richer anti- mony-based yellow color [16]. The results point to a fir- ing process the mukozuke dish underwent in western Arita, most likely at the Yanbeta kiln, under the super- vision of European missionaries in the 1630s, before the final expulsion of all missionaries in 1639. Historical recipes and scientific evidence: the connections Provenance and use of antimony Documentary evidence and recent studies confirm that antimony was imported into Japan during the seven- teenth century [4, 31, 38, 48, 49]. In particular, a Dutch record for the year 1690 mentions the import of anti- mony into Japan as specifically needed for the decora- tion of porcelain wares [48, 49]. This instance is a highly significant one as Dutch traders knew the pigments being exported very well, considering that those same pigments, that is, lead-antimony and lead–tin yellows, started being imported into China from Europe around the same period, after the glass workshop had been established in the Palace in 1695 as ordered by the Kangxi Emperor to Jesuit missionaries [8, 42, 46, 50, 51]. In fact, Teodorico Pedrini (a Lazarist), who arrived in China with the painter Matteo Ripa to work at the court of the Emperor Kangxi, petitioned Rome in 1711 for the sup- ply of antimony (antimono non preparato) and enamels (smalti) needed for the production of new colors at the imperial workshop [8]. The missionaries were focusing on the preparation of new enamels, such as lead–tin yellow, lead-antimony yellow, arsenic-white and pink, that would enrich the Ming ceramic palette based on the traditional transition metals that Jingdezhen potters had been using for porcelain decoration until the Qing dynasty [8, 42, 46, 50, 51]. Moreover, the Dutch record mentioning anti- mony in 1690 triggered the suggestion [48] that antimony may have been the coloring agent used by Kakiemon in the late seventeenth century to produce the classic wares that took Europe by storm. From a compositional standpoint, the chemical ele- ments detected on the lead-iron-antimony yellow on shard #9 (Fig.  3b) offer, for the first time, crucial infor- mation regarding the actual recipe that formed the basis of Japanese porcelain decoration in the nineteenth and twentieth century. The presence of Fe, K, Zn, Sb and Pb strongly points to the recipe developed by Louis- Alphonse Salvetat at Sèvres in the mid-nineteen century. A Fe-based enamel characterized by the addition of Sb and Zn is listed in Leçons de Céramique published by Sal- vetat in 1857: “Fondant 880, Fleurs de zinc 35, Oxide de fer hydraté jaune 70, Antimoine diaphorétique 15”. Noteworthy is that the French recipe well matches the chemical composition of the yellow enamel detected on shard #9: the Arita enamel is a traditional Fe-based yel- low with the addition of Sb, and Zn in a Pb–Si–K based matrix (Shiratama and other bodies as described by Takamatsu). The Raman spectrum (Fig.  2b) has confirmed the nature of the compound acting as coloring agent, and has also shown the different stoichiometry of the reagents and the different firing temperature as compared to Euro- pean kiln practice. The significant presence of Zn is clearly the result of the influence of Salvetat’s method. Its addition, as also described by Theodore Deck in La Faïence published in 1887, helped obtaining different shades of an opaque Page 10 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 yellow in combination with Sb and Pb. Salvetat further explains in Leçons de Céramique how the use of Zn helps achieving a brighter yellow. Japanese potters appear to have followed such instructions to obtain a bright and opaque yellow for porcelain decoration. This new enamel also reveals a very interesting transi- tion from the Japanese traditional Fe-based yellow to the new Sb-Zn-containing European recipe. A clear instance of this change is represented by the Nabseshima shard (1690–1730) (Fig.  8a, b) and the Ko-imari Cup (1770– 1790) (Fig.  8c, d) as compared to the shards analyzed in this work. The translucent Pb–Fe-based yellow enamel employed on the highly traditional Nabeshima shard and Ko-Imari cup appears to have been consistently used from the mid-seventieth century, after the Jesuits had all been expelled from Japan, and throughout the eighteenth century. Japanese potters’ practice of yellow enamelling with the translucent iron-based color in the eighteenth century is also reported in the book of recipes attributed to Johann Gregorius Höroldt (director of the Meissen manufacture) and dated to 24 December 1731: the “Yel- low in the Japanese manner” is listed as consisting of iron compounds, contrary to the opaque Meissen yellow enamel based on lead antimonate [52]. Basically, Japanese potters ended up modifying their traditional translucent Fe-based recipe with minor addi- tions of Sb and Zn to make it brighter and opaque. It appears very clear now how the transition must have been gradual and possibly smooth in terms of techno- logical innovation as with other forms of applied arts. The same kind of approach emerges from ukiyo-e prints, where the incorporation of new synthetic colors of Euro- pean origin proved gradual, selective, and coexisted with Japanese traditional practice [53]. The technological implications are very significant: the Renaissance opaque yellow enamel was based on a com- pletely new and unknown technology that required Jesuit supervision in the first phase of enamel development in Japan in the 1630s, while the nineteen-century enamels were obtained by modifying the European methods on the basis of the Japanese established local tradition. The Japanese way developed by adapting European recipes to Japanese practice. It appears pretty clear how such approach led to the modification of the European reci- pes: the lead-antimonate yellow became the result of a mixture of compounds with no previous preparation by calcination; and the innovative incorporation of limited amounts of antimony and zinc into the traditional trans- lucent Fe-based yellow helped making it brighter and opaque. More details on the effect of the use of zinc in yellow enamels for porcelain decoration is revealed by Alexan- dre Brongniart in the treatise Colouring and Decoration of Ceramic Ware, published in 1898, where the author says “Oxide of zinc enters into the composition of greens, yellows, yellow-browns and blues…Oxide of zinc…devel- ops qualities necessary for the beauty of certain colours”. The use of zinc as an opacifier belongs to the Euro- pean tradition as also testified by Salvetat in Leçons de Céramique. European materials for painting and ceramics The continued but very limited availability and circula- tion of European lead-based yellow chromophores in Japan is further clarified by the surviving early-seventi- eth-century painting depicting The Madonna with the Infant Jesus and her Fifteen Mysteries: the pigment lead– tin yellow, unknown in Japan, was detected on the cen- tral inscription in Latin characters (romaji) “LOWADO SEIA O SANCTISSO SACRAMETO” [5]. This specific pigment belongs to the same family of Naples Yellow, the lead-antimonate enamel detected on the famous muko- zuke dish fired in the Kan’ei period (1624–1644). Noteworthy is to mention here that along with imported pigments and Japanese traditional coloring agents, flaxseed oil, a vegetable drying oil of European origin, unknown in Japan, not only was detected on the painting The Madonna with the Infant Jesus and her Fif- teen Mysteries, but also on the western style screen Map of the World and Famous Cities (early seventeenth cen- tury), as the binding medium [5, 54]. This crucial instance has led Oka to emphasize the influence of Western tech- nology on painting production, and to identify the Jesuit Seminario as the source of the imported materials [54]. Such unrecorded use of Western materials is perfectly consistent with a period of strict enforcement of anti- Christian edicts by the Tokugawa Shogunate [3, 12], with no chance for any written records mentioning any direct interaction with the missionaries to survive. Unfortu- nately, the yellow color on the screen Map of the World and Famous Cities was not analyzed. Porcelain and paintings: one coloring agent for both productions Additional important confirmation comes from the Yan- beta shard previously studied (Fig.  9) [4]: the composi- tion of the green enamel analyzed on the shard perfectly matches the green pigment detected on the early-seven- tieth-century screen Western Kings on horseback [55]. In terms of technological implications, an early use of a Cu– As–Zn based green pigment has been clearly detected on the works by the sixteenth-century Italian painter Ste- fano Sparano [56]. Once again, the practice of using the same materials for paintings and ceramics is of European origin and does not belong to Japanese tradition. Page 11 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 Fig. 8 a, b Nabeshima Shard (1690–1730) and Pb–Fe yellow enamel XRF spectrum; c, d Ko-Imari cup (1770–1790) and Pb–Fe yellow enamel XRF spectrum Page 12 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 Persecutions and closure of the country European technology unknown to the Japanese was still available during the fierce persecutions that started in 1614, but on a very limited basis. Therefore, the overall analytical evidence confirms that the imported materi- als influenced color decoration on paintings and ceram- ics until the final expulsion of all Christians in 1639. The sakoku (closed country) policy established by the Toku- gawa Shogunate led to the strict control of anything that entered the country, and trade with Europe ended up being monopolized by the Dutch and the Chinese in Dejima, thus ending the phase of spontaneous westerni- zation of the applied arts that had started in the mid-16th century thorough the effort of Jesuits missionaries. Blue coloring agents Smalt: provenance and use Of particular interest is also the case of the overglaze blue enamel, the glass rich in potassium and colored by cobalt oxide, used in Europe since the fourteenth century for paintings and ceramics alike [57–60]. This blue pigment, also named smalt (saffre in French, smalto in Italian), has been detected on a hand-colored Japanese Buddhist print dated to the late 16th century [61], and on ukiyo-e paint- ings from the seventeenth to the late eighteenth cen- tury [38]. Recent systematic studies have demonstrated that smalt had initially been imported into Japan by the Jesuits for porcelain decoration in the late Kan’ei period (1624–1644), thus resolving the long-standing issue of the origin of the material [4, 62]. Afterwards the Dutch monopolized the trade [38]. From the Kanbun era (1661– 1673) the imported material was also employed on ukiyo- e paintings [38]. Noteworthy is that there are no earlier examples of the use of smalt in the Asian paper or silk painting tradition [38], so Japan appears to have been the first country where the material started to be used under the supervision of Jesuit missionaries in the late sixteenth century. This pioneer use of imported European materials proves perfectly consistent with the detection of lead- antimonate yellow on the rare mukozuke dish (Fig.  2c, 3c), of lead–tin yellow on the painting The Madonna with the Infant Jesus and her Fifteen Mysteries, and of flaxseed oil on both The Madonna with the Infant Jesus and her Fifteen Mysteries and the western style screen Map of the World and Famous Cities. No wonder we find smalt on ukiyo-e works from the latter half of the seventieeth century: the supply of the material, as for the case of porcelain production [4], had stabilized at the time by means of the trade with the Dutch, who, to cope with the high demand, established a production facility in Holland [4, 38]. The pigment innovation of the late 16th century, as testified by the hand-colored Buddhist print [61], kept showing strong roots in the artists’ creative approach. The detection of smalt on ukiyo-e paintings is very significant as ukiyo-e repre- sented a new form of art that shaped popular culture during the Tokugawa Shogunate. Once again, as for the craze for anything European (Namban) that took Japan by storm in the Momoyama period (1568–1603), European innovations kept inspiring new experimen- tation that shaped the artistic forms of the whole Edo period (1603–1868). Paintings and enameled porcelains were expensive commodities; therefore it makes perfect sense to have found the imported materials on works reserved for the wealthy. Significant instances of the use of smalt by Japanese masters come from the seventieth-century painting Flowers and Rocks by Ogata Korin (1655– 1716) and the late-eighteenth-century Moonlight Rev- elry at Sagami Dozo by Kitagawa Utamaro [62]. In terms of pigment origin, full confirmation comes from the blue color analyzed on a Japanese votive painting dated 1682 [63]: the chemical composition of the pigment is Co–Ni–Fe–As, which, as expected, perfectly matches the composition of the European smalt-based enamel imported into Japan by the Jesuits in the late 1630s for overglaze blue decoration of por- celain wares [4]. It is worth noting here that the prac- tice of using the same coloring agents for paintings and ceramics belongs to the European technological tradition. Japan therefore established itself as the first country to have incorporated European Renaissance technology into traditional Far Eastern applied arts. Smalt, as for the case of Naples Yellow, lead–tin yel- low and arsenic-opacified white, will acquire a central role in the new opaque enamel palette developed at Fig. 9 Schematic of XRF signal of Cu, Zn and As elements recorded on shard # YB3 in a previous work [4] Page 13 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 Jingdezhen (China) from 1720s for the decoration of imperial wares [7, 8, 42, 64, 65]. Foreign coloring agents in the late Edo period (eighteenth and nineteenth centuries) Ukiyo-e paintings were gradually replaced by woodblock prints, an inexpensive mass produced form of art. Pub- lishers needed to switch to less expensive and ready-to- use materials in order for the prints to be enjoyed by the public at large: Prussian Blue, a synthetic pigment devel- oped in the Old Continent in the early eighteenth cen- tury [66], started to replace smalt and coexist with native natural pigments from the early nineteenth century [67], as testified by masterpieces such as Doshoku Sai-e by the painter Ito Jakuchu (1716–1800) [68]. It is interesting to note here that smalt and Prussian Blue have been identi- fied as being part of the Kaishunsai paints, the pigments collected by the Nabeshima family in the early nineteenth century and stored in Takeo city, Saga prefecture [69]. Takeo city is located in the vicinity of Arita, where the production of blue-decorated porcelains was recently discovered to have developed in the late 1630  s on the basis of a smalt-based enamel imported by the Jesuits [4]. The Nabeshima family controlled porcelain produc- tion in Arita, and the clan’s crucial role became evident on the occasion of the organization and unification of the kilns that occurred in 1637 [70]. Such change was needed to exploit the full potential of the porcelain trade. So the presence of the pigments in the collection further testi- fies to the influence of European technology on art pro- duction in Japan throughout the Edo period. Comparison with China: smalt and European chromophores European technological influence on Chinese arts fol- lowed the exact same path established in Japan one cen- tury earlier. The Chinese, after the first technological exchange with the Jesuits in 1695 [7], started incorporat- ing new imported materials into their artistic practice: smalt, lead–tin yellow, lead-antimonate yellow, Pb-Sb- Sn yellow, arsenic white, Prussian Blue and new artificial pigments saw an extensive use in ceramics and paintings throughout the Qing dynasty and up to the present day [42, 64, 65, 71]. Contrary to the case of Japan, Jesuit mis- sionaries enjoyed imperial patronage in China and were free to exert their influence on the production of poly- chrome wares at Jingdezhen in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century. In Japan the Jesuits were forced to hide when the young porcelain industry in Arita started developing the first overglaze enamels. There- fore the same gradual modification and incorporation of European recipes as identified in eighteenth-century China and late-nineteenth-century Arita, would have been impossible in the early seventeenth century when the fierce persecutions culminated in the final expulsion from Japan of all missionaries in 1639. The two painting and ceramic traditions, Japanese and Chinese, however, differed for the extensive use of smalt that characterized the former and that almost completely lacked in the latter [7, 47, 72–75]. European recipes for the global market: production innovations in the porcelain industry of Arita Domestic consumption of porcelain in Japan had spread by the late eighteenth century [76], yet the porcelain industry started to face a deep decline due to the reduced trade with Europe, kiln destructions by fire [76], and the fierce competition by the mass-produced Chinese cop- ies of Imari wares that had flooded the European market in the eighteenth century [73, 74]. Chinese traders were capable of taking full advantage of any business oppor- tunity arising in the Far East. In this highly competitive environment, kiln owners in Arita needed to devise new strategies to make the whole process less expensive and meet domestic and western taste. The development of new colors involved the use of synthetic pigments made in Europe: the present results show how such decision became a dominant factor in enamel production. A clear shift to the newly-developed and cheaper materials took place in the nineteenth century, after a predominance of the traditional coloring agents in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries (transition metals), yet with the con- tinued import of the smalt-based blue enamel form the Old Continent. In particular Takamatsu describes the imported blue material from Europe in 1878 [31] by saying: “No certain information of the manufacture of this substance has been obtained at present. It is said that it may be prepared by fusing crude oxide of cobalt with a mixture of clay and alkalies, so as to form a kind of blue glass, or smalt. At present foreign smalt is largely used, being sold at a cheaper rate”. Takamatsu therefore records that the blue pigment, known in Japan as Hanakonjo, was being imported as a ready-to-use material, thus confirming that Japanese painters and potters had not yet established a local pro- duction and kept relying on the European supply until the early twentieth century [31, 77], as also demon- strated in this work. The continued use of imported smalt remained unchanged since the late 16th century, as tes- tified by the Japanese votive pictures and ukiyo-e paint- ings, up until the twentieth century [77]. Our results have also shown that the blue pigment employed in Arita from the late nineteenth century consisted of the newly devel- oped Co-based synthetic material of European origin that gradually replaced smalt for overglaze decoration, Page 14 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 and low-grade natural-cobalt-ores for underglaze deco- ration (Fig.  5a, 6a). These findings, along with previous studies [3, 4], fully reveal that even though the Japanese had been exposed to European materials from the late 16th century, they didn’t succeed in mastering the tech- nology needed to reproduce them until the early twen- tieth century. This further explains why the very limited use of the scarce and expensive lead-based yellows dur- ing the Momoyama and early Edo periods suddenly stopped after the final expulsion of all Christians and Jes- uits in 1639. The Japanese were still in the earliest stage of enamel-firing experimentation and therefore needed a new chromophore to replace the unavailable Jesuit- related yellows (lead antimonate and lead–tin yellows). Yellow was the most difficult color to fix for Arita potters [70] and the issue was resolved by means of the cheaper and easier-to-fire iron yellow, likely through Chinese supervision. But the practice of replacing imported Euro- pean materials of unknown technology with Chinese pig- ments could not be successfully carried out in the case of smalt. The Japanese were not capable of reproducing the same coloring effect with any of the materials available to them at the time, locally or from China. This is firmly demonstrated by a previous study by Montanari et al. [4]: the polychrome decorated shard (1640–1650) excavated at the Naka-Shirakawa kiln-site (Fig.  10a, b) reveals the attempt to use a low-grade cobalt ore imported from China (commonly employed for underglaze blue deco- ration) to achieve an overglaze blue-green effect. The attempt failed as the low-grade cobalt ore was unsuit- able for overglaze decoration. It becomes undoubtedly clear that as soon as the Jesuits left the country in 1639, the technology to obtain smalt could not be reproduced, and the failed Naka Shirakawa attempt testifies to the tireless effort by Arita potters to find a way of replacing the imported blue material. Potters could not succeed in that task, and were therefore forced to keep relying on imports from Europe. Furthermore, the Naka-Shirakawa shard bears a Fe-based yellow enamel. The presence of both the ‘experimentally-failed’ overglaze blue-green enamel and the Fe-based yellow enamel on the same shard testifies to the frantic situation Arita potters were facing in the earliest stage of polychrome porcelain pro- duction right after Europeans had been expelled from the country in 1639. The shard is offering a glimpse of the period that followed immediately after the total closure of the country around the early 1640s: Japanese potters had managed to replace the Jesuit-related yellow materi- als with the iron yellow, but could not replace the smalt needed for overglaze blue decoration as it wasn’t avail- able in China at the time. Therefore they had to rely entirely on imports by the Dutch, the only Europeans allowed to trade with Japan during the Tokugawa Shogu- nate. Trade of ceramic materials and development of pro- duction techniques became the major factors impacting the competition between potters. The profitable market for enameled wares became the aim of Arita kilns as well as their fierce battleground. To conclude this part, the results demonstrate that in the late Meiji period (1868–1912), as soon as European presence became relevant once again in the country, con- trary to the Edo period, Japanese potters finally managed, for the first time, to establish their own production of antimony yellow and synthetic blue materials. The main difference between the closed country policy of the Edo period and the Meiji policy of strong westernization is Fig. 10 Naka Shirakawa shard [4], a Schematic of XRF signal of chemical elements recorded on overglaze blue-green, b detail of analysed overglaze blue-green decoration Page 15 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 that the latter led to the establishment of a full-fledged, state-of-the-art industry that enabled Japan to become, once again after 400 years, the hub for European materi- als and technology in the Far East. Ready‑to‑use pigments in the twentieth century: from Europe to Japan and China The scientific evidences also confirm the suggestions by Kerr, Wood and Watt [7, 43, 71] regarding the replace- ment of Jingdezhen overglaze and underglaze materi- als with newly developed and ready-to-use pigments imported from France, Germany and Japan in the early twentieth century. In particular, Watt reports the practice at Jingdezhen of mixing natural low-grade Chinese cobalt ores with newly developed synthetic blue pigments in the early twentieth century [71]. The technology trans- fer appears very clear on the basis of our results: shard #7 (Fig.  5a) reveals that such practice started in Arita in the late nineteenth century and then spread to Jingdez- hen, when the new Japanese-made pigments became an important part of the trade with China in the early twen- tieth century. Further confirmation comes from the Sb– Cu green enamel detected on shard #11 (Fig. 7b). Takamatsu also describes the preparation of blue enamels by listing the reagents involved in the process: he basically tells us that the imported ready-to-use mate- rial Hanakonjo was embedded into a Pb–Si–K matrix (a mixture of Shiratama, Tonotsuchi and Hinookaseki) [31]. This further confirms that the Japanese practice of using imported blue pigments from Europe for paintings and ceramics had not changed since the first encounter with the Jesuits in the late sisteenth century. The results pre- sented for shard #9 and a modern high artistic value cup further prove this continued practice (Fig. 6a, b). Shard #9 therefore offers a clear instance of the shift from the smalt-based recipe to the newly developed Co- based synthetic ones: the XRF spectrum shows a com- pound of Co and Zn (Fig.  7a). Such composition is in perfect agreement with the recipe published in 1869 by Thomas Salter in Field’s Chromatography or Treatise on Colours and Pigments as Used by Artists [66]. The author lists a Zinc-Cobalt Blue saying that “… For tinting porce- lain…it is admirably adapted, imparting thereto a very pure dark blue of extraordinary beauty”. Charles-Ernest Guignet further describes in La céramique ancienne et moderne (1899) the effects that the incorporation of Zn in the blue recipe allows to achieve: “… For sky blues, add zinc oxide…so that the mixture takes on a tone closer to pure blue”. Conclusions The analytic results reported here demonstrate how the study of ceramic enamels may provide valuable information not only on the history of porcelain pro- duction, but also on materials employed in Asian paint- ing and printing traditions. We have demonstrated how the long-thought exclusive Chinese influence on Japan, especially on ceramics and paintings, was only one aspect of the Japanese technological development of coloring agents. The arrival of Europeans in 1543 triggered a privileged exchange that enabled Japan to become the first hub of European technology in the Far East, thus reversing, for the first time, the centuries-old predominance of China as the main actor in the spread of western culture throughout Asia. The new evidence confirms that the pattern of influence established by the Jesuits in the late 16th century laid the foundation for a new and independent Japanese cultural develop- ment. Such development will strongly influence China in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Exten- sive experimentation with new synthetic pigments and enamels imported from the Old Continent will mark this extraordinary process of Japanese innovation. However, the two traditions will be distinguished by the extensive use of smalt in Japan as opposed to its very limited use in Chinese paintings, as well as in Chinese ceramic production before the eighteenth century. The new evidences reveal that synthetic pigments started to be produced in Japan in the twentieth cen- tury on the basis of European original recipes. Such pigments will also be exported to China for porcelain decoration. Japan, as occurred four centuries earlier with the Jesuits, became once again the hub for western material circulation in the Far East. Moreover, Raman results have demonstrated, for the first time on Far-Eastern porcelains, that the shift of the Pb mode of the A2O’ lattice of lead antimonate yellow (Naples Yellow) provides important information on the firing temperature for enamel decoration. Such charac- teristic, along with its chemical composition, enables the identification of the area of origin and period of manufacture of the yellow enamel. Abbreviations EDXRF: Energy-dispersive X-ray fluorescence; XRF: X-ray fluorescence. Acknowledgements We would like to thank Mr. Yoshihisa Tsuruta. Authors’ contributions The research project was conceived by RM, who also prepared the manu- script. The shards were selected by NM and RM. The analyses were carried out by RM, MFA, SS. The results were interpreted by RM, MFA, PhC, and CP. PhC and CP also revised the manuscript. All authors read and approved the final manuscript. Page 16 of 17Montanari et al. Herit Sci (2020) 8:48 Funding Non applicable. Availability of data and materials All data is available upon request. Competing interests The authors declare that they have no competing interests. Author details 1 Independent Researcher, Expert Witness, Rome, Italy. 2 Arita Museum of His- tory, 1-4-1, Izumiyama, Arita-cho, Nishimatsuura-Gun, Saga, Japan. 3 Sorbonne Université, CNRS, MONARIS, 4 Place Jussieu, C49, 75005 Paris, France. 4 S.T.Art- Test, Via Stovigliai, 88, 93015 Niscemi, CL, Italy. 5 University of Tuscia, Labora- tory of Diagnostics and Materials Science, Largo dell’Università, 01100 Viterbo, Italy. Received: 13 January 2020 Accepted: 12 May 2020 References 1. Kôji O. Recent discoveries from archaeological excavations at Edo castle: Re-examining porcelain made in Edo-period Japan. In: Transaction of the Oriental Ceramic Society Society, editor. London: 2013–2014. p. 29–40. 2. Kôji O. Jiki—Porcellana Giapponese tra Oriente ed Occidente 1610–1760. Milano: Electa; 2004. 3. Montanari R, Alberghina MF, Casanova Municchia A, Massa E, Pelagotti A, Pelosi C, Schiavone S, Sodo A. A polychrome Mukozuke (1624–1644) porcelain offers a new hypothesis on the introduction of European enameling technology in Japan. J Cult Herit. 2018;32:232–7. 4. Montanari R, Murakami N, Alberghina MF, Pelosi C, Schiavone S. The Origin of overglaze-blue enameling in Japan: new discoveries and a reas- sessment. J Cult Herit. 2019;37:94–102. 5. 神庭信幸, 小島道裕, 横島文夫, 坂本 満, 「マリア十五玄義図 」の調 査, 京都大学所蔵. 1998 (Research on the “Painting of the Madonna with the Infant Jesus and Her Fifteen Mysteries”, in Japanese). 6. 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Japanese export porcelain: catalogue of the collection of the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. Leiden: Hotei Publishing; 2002. 75. Jörg CJA. Fine and curious: Japanese export porcelain in Dutch collec- tions. Leiden: Hotei Publishing; 2003. 76. Nagatake T. Classic Japanese Porcelain—Imari and Kakiemon. Tokyo: Kodansha International; 2003. 77. Winter J. East Asian paintings—materials, structures and deterioration mechanisms. London: Archetype Publications Ltd; 2008. Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in pub- lished maps and institutional affiliations. European ceramic technology in the Far East: enamels and pigments in Japanese art from the 16th to the 20th century and their reverse influence on China Abstract Introduction and historical context Materials and methods Analyzed shards XRF spectrometer: experimental and measurement parameters Raman spectroscopy Results and discussion Overglaze yellow enamels Raman analysis XRF analysis Blue coloring agent and overglaze enamels Overglaze green enamels Naples yellow pigment: a tracer of Europe-Japan technological exchanges Preparation procedures The Raman signature of the pyrochlore solid solution Historical recipes and scientific evidence: the connections Provenance and use of antimony European materials for painting and ceramics Porcelain and paintings: one coloring agent for both productions Persecutions and closure of the country Blue coloring agents Smalt: provenance and use Foreign coloring agents in the late Edo period (eighteenth and nineteenth centuries) Comparison with China: smalt and European chromophores European recipes for the global market: production innovations in the porcelain industry of Arita Ready-to-use pigments in the twentieth century: from Europe to Japan and China Conclusions Acknowledgements References 
work_xip6ysml5nhu7jpq5vpsweynhi	----	Michael Silk, Ingo Gildenhard, Rosemary Barrow, The Classical Tradition: Art, Literature, Thought Andrea Veglia Università degli Studi di Torino Abstract Review of Silk, Michael, Ingo Gildenhard, Rosemary Barrow. The Classical Tradition: Art, Literature, Thought. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014. Print. Keywords art, nachleben, antiquitiy, tradition Contact andre_veg@alice.it What are the Greeks and Romans for us, and what are we for the Greeks and for the Romans? The theme of the classical presence in Western culture has been at the centre of scholarly debate for about two decades. However, as Philip Hardie stated in a famous review of Classics and the Uses of Reception, Charles Martindale’s reception theory motto – «meaning is always realized at the point of reception» – has become a kind of mantra (Hardie 240). What is, then, the best way of defining the influence of the ancient world on subsequent ages, «reception» or «tradition»? This problem has already been debated in Simon Goldhill’s Who Needs Greek? (2002), and in two recent Blackwell Companions – Classical Tradition (2007) and Classical Receptions (2008); undeniably, the most successful definition is now «reception», even if this choice is not unproblematic. In fact, it seems to imply «a relatively weak or passive mode of acceptance or recognition» (Silk 12). Isn ’t this what reception theorists said about «tradition»? This simple remark implies the fact that the two terms do not have a precise distinction in most of contemporary scholarship. If Lorna Hardwick defined reception as «the artistic or intellectual processes involved in selecting, imitating or adapting ancient works» (Reception Studies 5 ) , The Classical Tradition chooses other directions. Michael Silk, Ingo Gildenhard, and Rosemary Barrow focus attention on phenomena that clearly are visible only on a long period and not in a specific point in time. The need for an analysis of big pictures and schemes is essential, even against a widespread postmodern suspicion about the possibility of writing history itself. Using of the concept of «tradition» is then inevitable. ‘Reception’ seems not criticized on a theoretical level, but as inadequate for the purpose of the book. Clearly what ‘reception’ is less suitable for is trace the Nachleben of texts which had a limited readership in antiquity, but an extraordinary influence on postclassical literature and thought. Well known examples are On the Sublime, which from Kant to Lyotard and beyond has had an endless impact on aesthetic theories, and De Architectura by Vitruvius, which has had a dynamics of discontinuous appraisal and decline, from the Renaissance to the 20th century. Enthymema X 2014 The Classical Tradition Andrea Veglia Without being a new Companion, The Classical Tradition shows the ambition of becoming a point of reference, thanks to its exploration of a remarkable variety of themes, periods, and artistic forms – written texts, visual arts and music, discourse about politics, aesthetics and literary criticism. It draws its strength from a fruitful collaboration of scholars from different disciplines: Classics, Comparative Literature, Art History. It aims at being «a rereading of a formative aspect of Western culture itself, and, thus, a rereading, however partial, of Western culture itself in the perspective of the classical» (Silk ix). The authors are able to write a most readable book that has the merit to summarize the topic of the afterlife of antiquity with a variety not common in other books on the same subject. The emphasis on architecture, and not only on visual arts, and the references to political and aesthetic thought are most welcome. What are, then, the potentialities and limits of this work? The volume is organized in five sections – Overview, Archetypes, The Imaginary, Making a Difference, Contrasts and Comparisons. The first part covers almost half of the book, and is arranged both in chronological and thematic order, and explores the meaning and strategies of preservation of the classical tradition: history of education and of classical scholarship, the role of Latin and Greek in forging national identities, the filtered modalities of looking at the past in museums. The other four parts follow a thematic order, focusing on specific cross-temporal topics, such as the concept of heroism, the images of the Urbs aeterna, the new appraisal of antiquity in museums, and a reflection on the choice and possibility of either a contemplative or active life through a bold ‘parallel life’ of Machiavelli and Wagner (§31 Ideas and Action). Surely these four thematic parts give the reader the opportunity to explore unexpected comparisons of artistic forms. Trying to summarize great questions in a limited number of pages, the first part traces an impressive overview of the main general phenomena connected with the theme of the afterlife of Greece and Rome, and could be useful as a specialized introduction to the topic. In fact, if one wants to have an outline of the classical tradition as a whole, this is actually an essay to have ready on the shelf. However, sometimes it could leave the professional scholar unsatisfied – mainly if not English. Most of the secondary sources are in English, and a substantial amount of foreign bibliography – on a few topics, the most important part – is left out. It is clearly impossible to explore the impact of one phenomenon everywhere, anytime, in every discipline, mostly when that phenomenon itself is a 2000 year-long-set of intertwined relationships of continuity and discontinuity. The authors, then, choose to limit the field to England, France, Germany, and Italy, with a particular attention to English literature when dealing with literary texts. This choice partly confirms Alessandro Barchiesi’s alarm that the study of the legacy of Greece and Rome is doomed to become a monolinguistic, English language field of investigation only (Barchiesi 202) . In a period of globalization, the choice not to aspire to a world literature horizon is quite arguable (many of the most interesting studies of the afterlife of classical literature take into consideration postcolonial theory). However, if it is true that the Greco-Roman world has with the Western civilization a relationship hardly present in other cultures, arguable is the choice to exclude from the survey literatures such as the Spanish, Greek, Turkish, Russian. This would have been useful for the general reader to understand what kind of hybrid the classical legacy can become when getting in contact with a foreign substratum. Most of not-English 20 th century literature is widely unexplored in the essays in the volume (see in particular §35 Poetry). This is quite eloquent about the ideological approach of most of recent English scholarship: Enthymema, X 2014, p. 246 http://riviste.unimi.it/index.php/enthymema The Classical Tradition Andrea Veglia concentrating on English language literature(s) only because of their audience. Engagements with antiquity such as Heiner Müller’s and Dario Fo’s are left apart (the latter would have been perfectly appropriate in the chapter on the afterlife of popular culture); Pasolini and Christa Wolf – perhaps the two contemporary European intellectuals with a ground-breaking approach to Hellenism – are quoted only once. What the authors seem to be doing is try to clearly delimitate the field: this is both the strength and the weakness of The Classical Tradition: on the one hand, it gives a comprehensive view of continuity and discontinuity across a long period of time, but on the other, it follows the easy part of the afterlife of Greece and Rome. In fact it takes into consideration the periods usually dealt with in essays on the afterlife of the Classics: Western Middle Ages, Italian Renaissance, French Classicism, Weimar Greek Humanism, English 19th century Hellenism, with a few references to Post-modern classicism. But what about the periods in which the tradition takes hidden paths, in which we find no direct mention of classical elements, and no forms of direct imitatio or aemulatio? Does this mean that the ‘tradition’ has withered? This question is mostly left unanswered. Bibliography Barchiesi, Alessandro. “Il prossimo Ovidio.” Undique mutabant atque undique mutabantur. Beiträge zur augusteischen Literatur und ihren Transformationen. Eds. Pierluigi Leone Gatti e Nina Mindt. Goettingen: Ruprecht, 2012. 198–210. Print. Goldhill, Simon. Who Needs Greek? Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2002. Print. Hardie, Philip. Rev. of Classics and the Uses of Reception, eds. Charles Martindale and Richard F. Thomas. Poetry and Translation, 16.2 (2007): 240–44. Print. Hardwick, Lorna. Reception Studies. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Print. Hardwick, Lorna, ed. A Companion to the Classical Receptions. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008. Print. Kallendorf, Craig, ed. A Companion to the Classical Tradition, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007. Print. Martindale, Charles, and Richard F. Thomas, eds. Classics and the Uses of Reception. Oxford: Blackwell, 2006. Print Enthymema, X 2014, p. 247 http://riviste.unimi.it/index.php/enthymema 
work_xkzug3pxdnaydjkmc2sdxajfbi	----	comptes rendus 171 the texts we want students to read and underpins them with explanatory material that is adequate to the circumstance. laura willett, Victoria College, University of Toronto Quiviger, François. The Sensory World of Italian Renaissance Art. London: Reaktion Books, 2010. Distributed by University of Chicago Press. Pp. 206. ISBN 978-1-86189-657-5 (hardcover) $27. Synesthesia, a neurological condition in which two or more senses are connected — leading to hearing in colour or tasting shapes or countless other anomalies of sensation  —  first entered the medical literature in the early nineteenth century and then virtually disappeared from about 1930 until the 1990s. It has since enjoyed a sustained renaissance, particularly in research related to neuroplasticities, which ground sensory and aesthetic perceptions in neurological responses. The early nineteenth century also gave birth to Stendhal syndrome, a psychosomatic illness brought on by a surfeit of beautiful art, usually, at least at the time, in Florence. The fact that both of these conditions of heightened and overwhelming aesthetic sensory overload became matters of medical concern in the early nineteenth century, before the radical shift to modernisms that vanquished visual “beauty” in favour of expressive “isms,” might well have been a result of sustained sensory excitement that had gripped art since the Renaissance. Basing his ideas on both modern neurological discoveries (although these are mentioned only as asides and are never intrusive in the text), Quiviger is able to state unequivocally that “representations of sensory experience do stimulate the same region of the brain reacting when the real sensation occurs” (p. 167). In Quiviger’s analysis, Renaissance art  —  particularly Renaissance paintings and sculptures — deliberately triggered viewers to imagine sensations. The key examples he returns to, with great effect, are nativity scenes (of Christ, the Baptist, the Virgin Mary) in which the foreground is often dominated by the figure of a nurse or midwife who tests the warm temperature of the soapy bathwater, placed directly in our line of vision, while holding the “damp animate body of 172 bo ok reviews the newborn child” (p. 167). The image signals a flood of responsive sensations in the viewer; of touch, smell, warmth, and damp. Audiences “feel” the warmth and humanity of that tiny, sacred figure, just as we “hear” the notes struck by figures who tune instruments in concert scenes, and angels who tune lutes in sacra conversazione scenes  —  we “feel” so that we might sense the humanity of Christ, we “hear” so that we might tune in to the silent message of the holy conversation. In feeling and hearing, as well as in our olfactory responses to signs of “smell” (flowers, fruits and other foods  —  which also awake our sensations of taste), we more fully enter the world of the image, which we gauge not only visually but through all of our connected sensations. The importance of this, for Quiviger, is that these sensational responses work as effectively as the visual construct of linear perspective to construct and imagine space in the mind of the viewer: “representing sound forces the mind to imagine the space without which sound cannot exist” (p. 151). The importance of the book is almost lost in its deceptive and stark simplicity; Quiviger’s aim is to explore “the place and function of non-visual sensations in the imagination and art of the Italian Renaissance” (p. 7). To do this he describes the importance of sensation in medieval religion; the functioning and faculty of memory, imagination, and visualization in Renaissance thought; how the multi-sensory imagination forged through these practices influenced artistic practice and the audience reception of visual objects; the relationships between iconography and the sensory imagination found in emblem art; and, finally, the author reads an astonishing variety of Renaissance works to forge an iconography of “non-visual sensory data in Renaissance art” (10). The result, like Stendhal syndrome, is slightly overwhelming but there is much pleasure to be derived from it. One wishes only for a slightly more ample bibliography, particularly with reference to the recent neurological research into aesthetic reception. sally hickson, University of Guelph 
work_xpa3msb455hnznot2pvlf5ywgi	----	The recent 500th anniversary of Leonardo da Vinci’s death: a reminder of his contribution in the field of fluid mechanics Vol.:(0123456789) Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 https://doi.org/10.1007/s10652-020-09748-4 1 3 E D I TO R I A L The recent 500th anniversary of Leonardo da Vinci’s death: a reminder of his contribution in the field of fluid mechanics Michele Mossa1 Received: 24 March 2020 / Accepted: 23 May 2020 / Published online: 29 May 2020 © Springer Nature B.V. 2020 Abstract In this work, a summary of Leonardo da Vinci’s contribution in the field of fluid mechan- ics is reported. Some theoretical laws or fluid flows analyzed or drawn by Leonardo are highlighted, such as vortices, flow fields with obstacles, the continuity law, waves, velocity profiles in open channels, as well as some ingenious contributions in the field of hydraulic constructions and machines. Keywords Leonardo da Vinci · 500th Anniversary of Leonardo da Vinci’s death · History of fluid mechanics 1 Introduction The history of continuum mechanics can be traced from the early work of the Hellenic period up to the present century. This history is based upon early work in statics, deform- able solids, dynamics, fluid mechanics and aerodynamics. The unifying theory of contin- uum mechanics came in the 1900s combined with the advances in thermodynamics and rheology. It is believed that one of the precursors of the continuum mechanics and studies of the interactions between solids and fluids was Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519), whose 500th anniversary of his death was celebrated in 2019. Leonardo was ahead of his time. However, in some respects, crucially, he was obviously a man of his time. It is correct to say that the innovations proposed by Leonardo highlight his ability to operate better than his predeces- sors or contemporaries in the scientific context of his time [1, 2]. Among the wide range of phenomena that Leonardo analyzed and represented, the behavior of liquids must be considered. In his Codex Leicester, Leonardo da Vinci [3] highlights his revolutionary ideas on fluid dynamics. The numerous drawings contained in the codes prove that Leonardo’s interest in fluid mechanics works and water is only one aspect of his method of observation and representation of the landscape, all at once, artis- tic, naturalistic and related to engineering. * Michele Mossa michele.mossa@poliba.it 1 Department of Civil, Environmental, Land, Building Engineering and Chemistry, Polytechnic University of Bari, Via E. Orabona 4, 70125 Bari, Italy http://orcid.org/0000-0002-6477-8714 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s10652-020-09748-4&domain=pdf 2 Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 1 3 Some examples of hydraulic phenomena or hydraulic works, analyzed or drawn by Leonardo, will be shown. It should be noted that the present paper shows only a minimal part of Leonardo’s stud- ies on water. In fact, for the sake of brevity, it was necessary to make choices, cutting, unfortunately, numerous other contributions of Leonardo. 2 Vortices Although Leonardo da Vinci was not the first to advocate the experimental method, which is accredited to Galieo Galiei, he differed considerably from others in the degree to which he exemplified what he advocated. His basic premise was “remember when discoursing on the flow of water to adduce first experience and then reason”. Some phenomena that he was the first to sketch or describe are the formation of eddies at abrupt expansions (Fig. 1) and the streamlines in vortices. Leonardo was fascinated by the vortices, not only of water, but also by those, governed by the same laws, of air and blood in the ventricles and in the atria of the heart. In the Codex Leicester he provides depictions of vortices and their infinite variability which are unprecedented and will not have a long following. With its devastating spiral dynamics, the vortex is an expression of the force of nature. Nothing can resist its demolition action that continually changes the surface and belly of the Earth. Based on observations of nature, Leonardo identified three types of vortices, namely those level with the surface, those with the center raised (i.e., vortices present in turbu- lent zones of air) and those whose center tends downwards (i.e., swirls in a sink). During his time, Leonardo did not have the mathematical tools for an analytical development of the vortex theory, which would have been developed hundreds of years later, starting from Helmholtz [4]. Nevertheless, Leonardo’s drawings of the eddies present in river and lake flows, around obstacles or near the confluences of rivers are extremely detailed and of great interest. The drawings of vortices present in the Codex Leicester are linked to others, such as those of the royal collection of Windsor Castle, particularly important (see Fig. 1). To understand how in many cases Leonardo’s intuitions and observations are still cur- rent, think of the vortex structure of a hydraulic jump. Only many years later after Leon- ardo, Guglielmini [5] and Bidone [6] notice the phenomenon of a hydraulic jump. Later, Bélanger [7] obtained the well-known equation of hydraulic jumps (see Leutheusser and Alemu [8], that considers the head loss of the flow and the dynamic simi- larity [9]. In this fascinating story of hydraulic jumps, which is still a very current topic (see, for example, Gualtieri and Chanson [10], Ben Meftah et  al. [11, 12], De Padova et  al. [13], among many recent papers), Leonardo intervened long before Guglielmini himself, not to solve the equation describing the phenomenon, which, as already written, happened much later, but to observe and draw the vortices in the flow in great detail. 3Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 1 3 3 Studies on motion fields in the presence of obstacles The interest of the most innovative research of the interaction between flows and vegetation [14, 15] is linked, for example, to the effects that mangroves and, more generally, coastal Fig. 1 Vortex studies in currents (Windsor Castle, The Royal Collection, RL 1266ov) 4 Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 1 3 plants have in terms of attenuation of waves due to large storms or tsunamis. Furthermore, the coastal vegetation could naturally improve the beach stability [16, 17]. Leonardo was a precursor also in this field, at least in terms of observation and graphic reproduction of the phenomenon. In this regard, see Fig.  2, which represents an elderly man sitting on a rock intending to observe a current (The Royal Collection, RL 12579). In that table the objects or obstacles, synonyms that Leonardo alternate in the numerous papers of his code, are the barriers, natural or artificial, situated in the riverbed, which make a “firm shield to the event of the waters”. Leonardo wrote about the effects on a channel flow caused by these obstacles, based on their shape, number and mutual distance. In this regard, particularly interesting is also the table shown in Fig. 3. 4 The continuity law Qualitative ideas on the concept known today as the continuity law, in the sense of con- served mass used by the French chemist Antoine Lavoisier (1743–1794), had already been formulated by the ancient atomists. Seneca quotes Democritus, who compared the corpus- cles of air to a crowd lining a narrow passage. In f. 57v of Ms. A Leonardo wrote: “If there is a place that has 3 different widths […] and the first smaller width enters the second 4 times and the second comes twice in the third, I say that the little men who will fill […] the said places […], that when the men of the greater place will make 1 step, those of the second smaller width will do 2, and those of the third place […] in that the same time in all the movements, which pass through various widths of places.” See Fig. 4. Fig. 2 Seated old man, studying a water current (The Royal Collection, RL 12579) 5Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 1 3 5 Waves and combination of art and science Leonardo’s observation on the absence of mass transport in waves is also memorable, with his famous example of the waves generated by the wind in a wheat field. As shown by Capra [18] Leonardo observed that “Accade sovente che l’onda si allontani dal suo punto di creazione, mentre l’acqua non si muove, come le onde create dal vento in un campo di Fig. 3 Interaction between water, riverbed, and obstacles. Hydraulic engineering (Leicester Codex, 24r) 6 Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 1 3 grano, dove vediamo le onde correre attraverso il campo mentre il grano rimane al suo posto” (i.e. “The wave flees from the place of its creation without the water changing its position, like the waves which the course of the wind makes in wheat fields, where one sees the waves running over the field without the wheat field changing its place”). Leonardo drew the waves several times and an example is shown in Fig. 5. Leonardo da Vinci’s intuitions are often linked to his art form. For example, it is pos- sible to believe that Leonardo interpreted the waves as a universal form of propagation of emotions, not necessarily linked to the transfer of the mass. From this point of view, it is believed that his famous painting “The Last Supper” also represents a wave of emotions, which, accompanied by silence, is born with the words of Jesus who predicts his betrayal. This is a typical example of the wonderful combination of art and science, often present Fig. 4 Leonardo da Vinci: “[…] and this portion you will find in all the movements that pass through various widths of places”. The equation of continu- ity explained with the example of a group of marchers forced to pass through two bottlenecks, Ms. A. f. 57v, detail Fig. 5 Leonardo’s sketch of a wave (Codex Leicester, 4v) 7Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 1 3 in Leonardo’s work. The many drawings in Leonardo’s codices prove how his interest for hydraulic works and for water were but a single aspect of his method of observation and representation of landscapes; at the same time, this representation made use of points of view that were equally artistic, naturalistic, and engineering. 6 Qualitative study of the velocity profile in open channels As shown by Di Fidio and Gandolfi [19], Leonardo had a thorough understanding of the velocity distribution in rivers. He noted that the water motion resistance, which is greater close to the riverbed, is responsible for smaller velocities at the bottom. For the same resistance, the velocities diminish from the river’s central axis towards its banks. Leonardo carried out some experiments on the velocity variations along a vertical direction in a river, inventing a new floating device (see Fig. 6 from Cardinali [20], composed of a rod, whose upper part is inserted in a floating leather bag, and the lower part in a stone. If the rod leans upstream, the water current velocities are greater in the lower part of the rod, and vice versa if the rod leans downstream. Of course, if the rod remains vertical, the velocity cur- rent is constant along the rod length. 7 Remediation works, hydraulic machines and locks The marsh reclamation works to which Leonardo made his contribution were also numer- ous and often decisive. As an example, we will briefly describe the reclamation of the Pon- tine Marshes, a malaria-infested area of about 800 km2 south-west Rome, in the territory of the Papal State. In 1514 Giovanni de’ Medici, Pope Leo X, granted to his cousin, Julius de’ Medici, later Pope Clement VII, a concession for the work of drainage, which resulted in the cutting of a canal named Fiume Giuliano after the pope’s brother, Giuliano de’ Medici, whose service Leonardo da Vinci was in at the time. Probably during this time Leonardo prepared a map showing his scheme of drainage, in which he proposed to recut the ancient Roman canal running parallel to the Appian Way, and, as previously done by the Romans, use it as a cut-off channel for the waters coming down from the Lepini Mountains. For fur- ther details, see Ciriacono [21]. Fig. 6 Rod floating device used by Leonardo to measure relative speed between two layers 8 Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 1 3 Like Archimedes, Leonardo made great contributions in hydraulic works and machines. Leonardo da Vinci repeatedly expressed admiration for Archimedes during his lifetime. Not only was he fascinated by the legend of Archimedes as inventor of prodigious war machines, but also by his successful approach to problems of statics and engineering, from which practical applications could be drawn. Particularly, Leonardo showed similar admi- ration in the statics field, studied the treatise “On Plane Equilibria”, even referring to it on the cover of Manuscript F (“Archimedes, de centro gravitatis”). Also the water screw, popularly known as the Archimedes’ screw, the well-known machine used for transferring water from a low-lying body of water into irrigation ditches (commonly attributed to Archimedes, even though some historical documents show that it was used in Ancient Egypt) was rediscovered and reanalyzed by Leonardo. As an example of hydraulic works, Leonardo’s contribution in Milan will be briefly describe. Milan was like Venice, with its navigable canals, an effective and efficient network of communication. In just 35 years, from 1439 to 1475, 90 km of canals were built in the Milan area. A record that no other city could have boasted. Leonardo da Vinci arrived in Milan in 1482 and was commissioned by Ludovico il Moro to make canals navigable. See Fig. 7 for an example of locks proposed by Leonardo. 8 Conclusions In one of his aphorisms, Leonardo da Vinci observed that “Mechanics is the paradise of mathematical sciences, because with that one comes to the mathematical fruit”. Leonardo was a pioneer of modern science, however, in some respects, he was also a man of his time. Its versatility was prefigured by the great artist-engineers of the Italian Renaissance. In his work on physics, Leonardo was heir to medieval theories of statics and dynamics, often linked to his art form. Five hundred years after his death, in this note some flow fields and hydraulic laws analyzed or only simply drawn by Leonardo have been highlighted, such as vortices, flow fields with obstacles, the continuity law, waves, velocity profiles in open channels, as well as some ingenious contributions in the field of hydraulic constructions and machines. 9Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 1 3 References 1. Kemp M (2019) Leonardo’s laboratory: studies in flow. Nature 571:322–323 Fig. 7 Lock at San Marco, from Codex Atlanticus, f. 240r-c (656r-a new numbering) 10 Environmental Fluid Mechanics (2021) 21:1–10 1 3 2. McCurdy E (1920) Leonardo da Vinci. Nature 105(2637):340–342 3. Leonardo da Vinci (1510) Codice Leicester, Bill Gates’s private collection 4. Helmholtz H (1858) Über Integrale der hydrodynamischen Gleichungen, welche den Wirbelbewegun- gen entsprechen. J Die Reine Angew Math 55, ISSN 0075-4102 5. Guglielmini D (1739) Della natura de’ fiumi, Nuova Edizione con le annotazioni di Eustachio Man- fredi, Bologna 6. Bidone G (1820) Expériences sur la propagation des remous. Mem della Reale Accad delle Sci Torino 30:195–292 7. Bélanger JB (1828) Essai sur la Solution Numérique de quelques Problèmes Relatifs au Mouvement Permanent des Eaux Courantes (Essay on the Numerical Solution of Some Problems relative to Steady Flow of Water). Carilian-Goeury, Paris 8. Leutheusser HJ, Alemu S (1978) Flow separation under hydraulic jump. J Hydraul Res IAHR 17(3):193–206 9. Bakhmeteff BA, Matzke AE (1936) The hydraulic jump in terms of dynamic similarity. ASCE Trans 101, paper no. 1935, 630–680 10. Gualtieri C, Chanson H (2007) Experimental analysis of Froude number effect on air entrainment in the hydraulic jump. Environ Fluid Mech 7:217–238 11. Ben Meftah M, De Serio F, Mossa M, Pollio A (2007) Analysis of the velocity field in a large rectan- gular channel with lateral shockwave. Environ Fluid Mech 7(6):519–536 12. Ben Meftah M, Mossa M, Pollio A (2010) Considerations on shock wave/boundary layer interaction in undular hydraulic jumps in horizontal channels with a very high aspect ratio. Eur J Mech B/Fluids 29(6):415–429 13. De Padova D, Mossa M, Sibilla S, Torti E (2013) 3D SPH modelling of hydraulic jump in a very large channel. J Hydraul Res 51(2):158–173 14. Mossa M, De Serio F (2016) Rethinking the process of detrainment: jets in obstructed natural flows. Sci Rep Nat 6, Article number 39103, ISSN: 20452322. https ://doi.org/10.1038/srep3 9103 15. Mossa M, Ben Meftah M, De Serio F, Nepf HM (2017) How vegetation in flows modifies the turbulent mixing and spreading of jets. Sci Rep 7(1), Article number 6587. https ://doi.org/10.1038/s4159 8-017- 05881 -1 16. Tognin D, Peruzzo P, De Serio F, Ben Meftah M, Carniello L, Defina A, Mossa M (2019) Experimen- tal setup and measuring system to study solitary wave interaction with rigid emergent vegetation. Sen- sors 19(8):1787. https ://doi.org/10.3390/s1908 1787 17. Peruzzo P, De Serio F, Defina A, Mossa M (2018) Wave height attenuation and flow resistance due to emergent or near-emergent vegetation. Water 10(4):402. https ://doi.org/10.3390/w1004 0402 18. Capra F (2013) Learning from Leonardo—decoding the notebooks of a genius. Berrett-Koehler Pub- lishers Inc, San Francisco 19. Di Fidio M, Gandolfi C (2017) Flow velocity measurement in Italy between Renaissance and Risorgi- mento. J Hydraul Res 49(5):578–585. https ://doi.org/10.1080/00221 686.2011.59459 9 20. Cardinali F (ed) (1828) Leonardo da Vinci (1828). Del moto e misura dell’acqua di Leonardo da Vinci, Bologna 21. Ciriacono S (ed) (2017) Land drainage and irrigation—studies in the history of civile engineering, vol 3. Routledge, Abingdon Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. https://doi.org/10.1038/srep39103 https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-017-05881-1 https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-017-05881-1 https://doi.org/10.3390/s19081787 https://doi.org/10.3390/w10040402 https://doi.org/10.1080/00221686.2011.594599 The recent 500th anniversary of Leonardo da Vinci’s death: a reminder of his contribution in the field of fluid mechanics Abstract 1 Introduction 2 Vortices 3 Studies on motion fields in the presence of obstacles 4 The continuity law 5 Waves and combination of art and science 6 Qualitative study of the velocity profile in open channels 7 Remediation works, hydraulic machines and locks 8 Conclusions References 
work_z4dw6ncg6jgbrcdugghkuhzskm	----	abstracts_120-3_P4T1.indd Abstracts 734 Bill Brown, The Dark Wood of Postmodernity (Space, Faith, Allegory) As a way of restaging certain questions about postmodernity (is it marked by rupture or repetition, or is it all illusory?), this essay imagines Fredric Jameson’s iconic disorientation at the Bonaventure Hotel as a reenactment of Dante’s crisis in the selva oscura. That imaginative act allows one to see how a nonmodern measure makes postmodernism visible (the concept of “cognitive mapping,” for instance, derives from Kevin Lynch’s appreciation of the urban fabric of Flor- ence). And it allows one to perceive how Jameson’s response to our contempo- rary condition assumes a Dantean cast, becoming an incorporative act of totalizing, manifest stylistically and conceptually, that deploys allegory to trans- code phenomena into the terms of the dominant system. To what degree does the internalization of such a hermeneutic enterprise (a medieval Christian legacy) render religion as such imperceptible, compelling us to perceive acts committed in the name of Islam as merely a displacement of (proper) politics? (BB) 75 Ed White, Invisible Tagkanysough Thomas Harriot’s A Briefe and True Report of the New Found Land of Virginia has emerged as a paradigmatic “contact” text, in large part thanks to Stephen Greenblatt’s canonical interpretation in “Invisible Bullets.” The pair of texts is examined in terms of an implicit codification of the disciplinary tensions be- tween anthropology and history. An alternative reading of an Algonkian eth- nography of the English suggests new ways of revisiting the disciplinary rift in colonial studies. (EW) 768 Lisa Surwillo, Representing the Slave Trader: Haley and the Slave Ship; or, Spain’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin Uncle Tom’s Cabin was one of the foremost texts of the American abolitionist movement, but its impact on politics was international. This article traces the reception of Stowe’s novel in Spain, the last European empire with a slave econ- omy, during the mid–nineteenth century. As an imperial power, Spain was the political and economic force behind the transatlantic slave trade; but as a na- tion of readers, it imported a narrative back across the Atlantic in order to fictionalize and contemplate the effects of its slave policies in the Caribbean. One such adaptation converted the novel into a play about a slave trader and recast Stowe’s story of slavery in the Atlantic world in terms of Spain’s role in the slave trade and in the imperial control of Cuba. (LS) 783 Gang Zhou, The Chinese Renaissance: A Transcultural Reading This paper examines the ways in which the idea of renaissance was understood and appropriated by Chinese intellectuals in the early twentieth century. My discussion foregrounds Hu Shi, one of the most important intellectual leaders in modern China and the main architect of the Chinese vernacular movement.  2 0 . 3 ] [ © 2 005 by t h e mode r n l a nguage a s s o ci at ion of a m e r ic a ] 975 I analyze his rewriting and reinvention of the European Renaissance as well as his declaration and presentation of the Chinese Renaissance in various con- texts. Hu’s creative uses of the Italian Renaissance and passionate claims for a Chinese Renaissance reveal the performative magic of the word renaissance and prompt us to ask what a renaissance is. The Chinese Renaissance and the fact that various non-European countries have declared and promoted their own renaissances invite a scholarly reconsideration of “renaissance” as a trans- cultural phenomenon rather than as a critical category originated and there- fore owned by a certain culture. (GZ) 796 Manuel M. Martín-Rodríguez, Recovering Chicano/a Literary Histories: Historiography beyond Borders This article underscores the need to reconstruct Mexican American literary historiography by locating and analyzing pre–Chicano/a movement critical sources. Consideration of how Mexican Americans saw their literature at dif- ferent junctures in the past will ensure that we do not impose our own aes- thetic and political criteria as we reinterpret older texts. I analyze a 1959 literary history of New Mexico and Colorado in order to explore how a recov- ery of this particular text would intervene in current debates in the field of Chicana/o studies, most prominently the tension between nationalism and re- gional studies, on the one hand, and transnationalism, on the other. My analy- sis demonstrates that Mexican Americans and Chicanos/as have shared literary tastes and cultural capital with other Latinas/os and Latin Americans and that consequently Chicano/a literary history should be a discipline that goes be- yond borders. (MMM-R) 806 Jonathan P. Eburne, The Transatlantic Mysteries of Paris: Chester Himes, Surrealism, and the Série noire This essay examines Chester Himes’s transformation, in 1957, from a writer of African American social protest fiction into a “French” writer of Harlem crime thrillers. Instead of representing the exhaustion of his political commitment, Himes’s transformation from a “serious” writer of didactic fiction into an ex- iled crime novelist represents a radical change in political and literary tactics. In dialogue with the editor and former surrealist Marcel Duhamel, Himes’s crime fiction, beginning with La reine des pommes (now A Rage in Harlem), invents a darkly comic fictional universe that shares an affinity with the sur- realist notion of black humor in its vehement denial of epistemological and ethical certainty. Rejecting the efforts of Richard Wright and the existentialists to adopt an engaged form of political writing, Himes’s crime fiction instead forges a kind of vernacular surrealism, one independent of the surrealist move- ment but nevertheless sharing surrealism’s insistence on the volatility of writ- ten and political expression. (JPE) 976 Abstracts [ P M L A 
work_yldgzfjkfnbzvfmalok6jufe2m	----	Street Singers: An Interdisciplinary Perspective Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=yits20 Download by: [Luca Degl'Innocenti] Date: 18 May 2016, At: 07:07 Italian Studies ISSN: 0075-1634 (Print) 1748-6181 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/yits20 Street Singers: An Interdisciplinary Perspective Luca Degl’Innocenti & Massimo Rospocher To cite this article: Luca Degl’Innocenti & Massimo Rospocher (2016): Street Singers: An Interdisciplinary Perspective, Italian Studies, DOI: 10.1080/00751634.2016.1175713 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00751634.2016.1175713 Published online: 13 May 2016. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 1 View related articles View Crossmark data http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=yits20 http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/yits20 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/00751634.2016.1175713 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00751634.2016.1175713 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=yits20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=yits20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/00751634.2016.1175713 http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/00751634.2016.1175713 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/00751634.2016.1175713&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2016-05-13 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/00751634.2016.1175713&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2016-05-13 ItalIan StudIeS, 2016, 1–5 © 2016 the Society for Italian Studies INTRODUCTION Street Singers: An Interdisciplinary Perspective Luca Degl’Innocenti University of Leeds Massimo Rospocher Istituto storico italo-germanico, Trento Cantastorie, canterini, cantimpanca, saltimbanchi, cerretani, ciarlatani, ciurmadori, istrioni, buffoni, ioculatori, giullari: so many different names (and one might think of even more) must indicate many different things. Or do they? They all refer to the street singers and performers of Renaissance Italy, and at first sight they appear to designate many distinct specializations within the large spectrum of interrelated activities that they carried out in the piazzas and marketplaces of the peninsula. Hence, cantastorie or canterini would be the specific names for the poet-sing- ers, whose principal trade was to perform verses, stories, and songs, usually to musical accompaniment, in urban public (or semi-public) spaces, and whose mastery of words and music even allowed them to improvise their compositions; saltimbanchi or ioculatori would be used for the acrobats, jugglers, dancers, and conjurers, whose skills were phys- ical more than verbal; istrioni and buffoni for the actors, either playing parts in comedies or performing solo their best set pieces; cerretani and ciurmadori for the charlatans and pedlars who advertised and sold their multifarious wares to passers-by whom they mes- merized with speeches, gestures, and images. Yet, all those wandering entertainers and itinerant salesmen were so protean, and therefore so elusive, that the more we deepen our knowledge of them (as far as the scarce documentation allows us to), the more we wonder whether the abovementioned labels really designated different arts and professions, or rather different aspects of the same multifaceted identity. If we try to create a taxonomy of the street singers, all of their different social and cultural characteristics no longer appear as distinct categories or careers. For the sake of convenience, in this issue we have chosen to favour the term cantastorie, but most of them could in fact be labelled with many other different names, depending on which of their facets was showing on a given occasion, or in a specific context, or in a particular period of their career. Cantastorie were, in the first place, oral poets. The heirs of medieval minstrels and jest- ers, they entertained, educated, and informed their audiences with a manifold repertoire dOI 10.1080/00751634.2016.1175713 D ow nl oa de d by [ L uc a D eg l'I nn oc en ti ] at 0 7: 07 1 8 M ay 2 01 6 http://orcid.org/0000-0002-5533-1726 2 LUCA DEGL’INNOCENTI AND MASSIMO ROSPOCHER of narrative, lyrical, didactic, and dramatic works, either of other authors or of their own, drawing upon both the anonymous popular tradition and the production of canonical writers; historical and chivalric epics were one of their typical subjects, but they also sang about politics and current affairs, as well as performing amorous, comic, moral, religious, scientific and fantastical verses. Secondly, while their capacity to entrance broad audiences was founded on the attraction of their voices, they were often also skilled musicians, sometimes excellent players of stringed instruments such as the viola da braccio, to whose accompaniment they sang their verse. Thirdly, many of them were also successful actors and buffoons, as their vocal, mimetic, and mnemonic skills made them capable of impersonating different characters, each of them displaying a specific language and repertoire, either in one-man-shows or in company with a few fellow performers. Furthermore, the physical skills and the nimbleness that enhanced their stage presence could be so well-developed as to allow them to astonish their spectators also as acrobats and dancers. Similarly, the training in the art of memory required by their activity as oral poets could as well be put to use in amazing conjuring tricks. Finally, cantastorie very often were keen to exploit their own natural magnetism and refined art of verbal persuasion in transforming spectators into consumers of an array of novel products: numerous street entertainers were therefore also well-known charlatans, public healers, tooth-pullers, and sellers of recipes, remedies, panaceas, perfumes, balls of soap, and many other wares. What is more, from the late fifteenth century many developed another important activity and source of profit as pioneering publishers and booksellers, quickly recognising the possibilities of the new art of printing to allow them to sell copies of their works cheaply, even if the press would also ultimately hasten their decline. Although some cantastorie found success in palaces and courts, their primary stage was the urban piazza, where they captured the attention of a variegated public, from merchants and artisans to peasants, nobles and men of letters, women as well as men. These seemingly marginal and shadowy figures held a place at the epicentre of Italian Renaissance civilization, and moved fluidly between different cultural and social spheres, acting as crucial mediators in the dynamic continuum of learned and popular, oral and literate, Medieval and humanistic cultures that characterised that era. They were, symbolically, a focal point where the culture of the piazza and the culture of the palazzo collided and intermingled. At least since Peter Burke’s seminal work on early modern popular culture, cantastorie and their counterparts in other parts of Europe have been identified as a subject of pivotal importance, albeit one difficult to study.1 More recently, scholars from various disciplines have considered different facets of these performers: cultural historians have used anthropologi- cal tools to analyse how some of their compositions contributed to spread anticlericalism, prophetic culture, and even heterodox ideas widely through Italian society;2 historians of communication have recognized the fundamental role played by cantastorie in the formation of an ephemeral form of public sphere and their capacity to act as oral proto-journalists by providing not only entertainment but also information and breaking news to a wide 1 Peter Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe (London: Temple Smith, 1978; 3rd revised edition, Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), and idem, ‘Oral Culture and Print Culture in Renaissance Italy’, ARV: Nordic Yearbook of Folklore, 54 (1998), 7–18. 2 Ottavia Niccoli, Prophecy and People in Renaissance Italy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990; Italian edn. Rome-Bari: Laterza, 1987), and idem, Rinascimento anticlericale (Rome-Bari: Laterza, 2005). D ow nl oa de d by [ L uc a D eg l'I nn oc en ti ] at 0 7: 07 1 8 M ay 2 01 6 INTRODUCTION 3 audience;3 book historians have increasingly highlighted their primary importance in the dissemination of print, not only from the commercial point of view, but also from that of editorial strategies;4 others have scrutinized their medical activity as charlatans, who used their performative skills to draw a crowd around them and to advertise and sell their miraculous remedies;5 literary scholars have explored texts and contexts of some of the favourite genres of the cantastorie, chivalric romances above all,6 lately shedding some light on the interactions between oral performances and written sources and records, and reassessing the long-lasting influence of their poetic craft on the composition and circulation of both popular and learned poems;7 historians of theatre have investigated the close connections of street entertainers with the birth and the developments of Renaissance comedy, and their direct involvement in the fortunes of the so-called Commedia dell’Arte;8 and musicologists have examined the oral and aural dimension of cantastorie’s art, typically linked to non-written traditions and improvisational techniques.9 If cantastorie nevertheless remain so elusive, it is partly due to the actual ambivalences of the fluid macro-category of piazza entertainers, with their many interconnected skills and activities and their diverse and overlapping social and cultural characteristics; partly to the apparent ambiguities produced by our present-mindedness and by the (sometimes one-eyed) perspectives of different disciplines and academic traditions; and partly to the lack of documentation, that can only be overcome by combining the use of archival documents, substantial textual analysis and iconographic materials. In order for the cultural role of these protean and multi-faceted figures to be fully understood, then, there is a need to combine different narratives and disciplinary skills 3 Rosa Salzberg and Massimo Rospocher, ‘Street Singers in Italian Renaissance Urban Culture and Communication’, Cultural and Social History, 9 (2012), 9–26; Massimo Rospocher, ‘Songs of War. Historical and Literary Narratives in the “Horrendous Italian Wars” (1494–1559)’, in Narrating War. Early Modern and Contemporary Perspectives, ed. by Marco Mondini and Massimo Rospocher (Bologna: il Mulino; Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2013), pp. 79–97. 4 Rosa Salzberg, ‘In the Mouth of Charlatans: Street Performers and the Dissemination of Pamphlets in Renaissance Italy’, Renaissance Studies, 24 (2010), 638–53, and idem, Ephemeral City: Cheap Print and Urban Culture in Renaissance Venice (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2014); Massimo Rospocher, ‘From Orality to Print: Revolution or Transition? Street Singers in the Renaissance Multi-Media System’, in The Historiography of Transition: Critical Phases in the Development of Modernity, ed. by Paolo Pombeni (New York: Routledge, 2016), pp. 23–39; Giancarlo Petrella, Ippolito Ferrarese, a Traveling ‘Cerretano’ and Publisher in Sixteenth Century Italy, in Print Culture and Peripheries in Early Modern Europe. A Contribution to the History of Printing and the Book Trade in Small European and Spanish Cities, ed. by B. Rial Costas (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 201–26. 5 David Gentilcore, Medical Charlatanism in Early Modern Italy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). 6 Marco Villoresi, La fabbrica dei cavalieri. Cantari, poemi, romanzi in prosa fra Medioevo e Rinascimento (Rome: Salerno editrice, 2005). 7 Luca Degl’Innocenti, I ‘Reali’ dell’Altissimo: un ciclo di cantari fra oralità e scrittura (Florence: Società Editrice Fiorentina, 2008), and idem, ‘The Singing Voice and the Printing Press: Itineraries of the Altissimo’s Performed Texts in Renaissance Italy’, The Italianist, 34 (2014), 318–35; Marco Villoresi, ‘La voce in piazza. Note e divagazioni sulla figura del canterino’, Paragone Letteratura, 84–86 (2009), 41–72. 8 Paola Ventrone, Gli araldi della commedia: teatro a Firenze nel Rinascimento (Pisa: Pacini, 1993); Robert Henke, Performance and Literature in the Commedia dell’Arte (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); M. A. Katritzky, The Art of Commedia: A Study in the Commedia dell’Arte 1560–1620 with Special Reference to the Visual Records (Amsterdam–New York: Rodopi, 2006). 9 James Haar, ‘Improvvisatori and their Relationship to Sixteenth-Century Music’, in idem, Essays on Italian Poetry and Music in the Renaissance, 1350–1600 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986), pp. 76–99; Blake Wilson, ‘Dominion of the Ear: Singing the Vernacular in Piazza San Martino’, I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance, 16 (2013), 273–87, and idem, ‘Canterino and Improvvisatore: Oral Poetry and Performance’, in The Cambridge History of Fifteenth-Century Music, ed. by Anna Maria Busse-Berger and Jesse Rodin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), pp. 292–310. D ow nl oa de d by [ L uc a D eg l'I nn oc en ti ] at 0 7: 07 1 8 M ay 2 01 6 4 LUCA DEGL’INNOCENTI AND MASSIMO ROSPOCHER and perspectives. If we are to look at such scarcely-documented and many-sided figures without seeing only a flat and partial image, scholars must adopt multiple points of view, either each on their own, or else by joining forces. This is what we aim to do in the present volume, whose essays have been chosen with a view to assembling an array of case studies from specialists in different disciplines. Each essay offers a specific approach to the general topic, but at the same time all of them encompass more than one aspect, so that their diverse projections of street singers’ profiles should make many common traits and interconnections readily apparent to readers. Blake Wilson, for instance, not only investigates musical delivery as an essential compo- nent of Renaissance poetry, but addresses questions that are crucial for both musical and verbal composition, such the conscious employment of mnemonic techniques on the part of cantastorie-improvisers. Anna Pegoretti tackles an aspect apparently limited to the realm of literacy, the imitation of Dante, but then highlights its deep connection with orality (and aurality) as well, showing how cantastorie acted as mouthpieces perpetuating the oral success of literary masterpieces. By examining the wide-spread poems about poverty, Rosa Salzberg deals with the ambivalence of cantastorie’s social status and communication strategies (bal- anced between exclusion and advancement, protest and resignation), and also reflects on how performing and printing related to each other. Laura Carnelos presents the blindness typical of many cantastorie (since Homer’s time) on the one hand as a disability that marginalised performers socially and economically, and on the other as a gift that endowed them with exceptional musical, linguistic and mnemonic talents. By comparing the visual personae of elite canterini and urban buffoni perpetuated by portraits and book illustrations, Chriscinda Henry shows how they merged together elements associated with performers as (apparently) diverse as virtuosic musicians, Arcadian shepherds, mock-heroic entertainers, medical charla- tans, and poets laureate. Robert Henke re-examines the vexed question of the links between street entertainment and the Commedia dell’Arte by exploring the many cheap prints that connect the (nick)names and repertoires of professional actors with piazza performances, thus showing how those worlds overlapped and intersected; and Eugenio Refini portrays a paradigmatic example of a medical charlatan who at once epitomises the protean nature of the cantastorie, since his strategies of self-promotion are refracted through a prism that simultaneously encompasses street performance, poetry and music, publishing and book- selling, high literature and popular advertisement, visual communication, public appeal and social climbing. Ultimately, these essays make abundantly clear why, as Peter Burke argues in his postscript, the cantastorie represent exemplary figures of what Burke calls the ‘hybrid Renaissance’. Not only do they occupy a hybrid cultural space in which we hear both popular rhymes and lyrical echoes of Dante (Pegoretti); they also inhabit the multiform physical space of the piazza, a public arena animated by buffoni (Henry) and by charla- tans (Refini); by celebrated actors such as those of the Commedia dell’Arte (Henke) and by virtuosic musical improvisers (Wilson); by anonymous blind performers (Carnelos) and by a multitude of humble singers who made ends meet by singing about the pov- erty and misery that afflicted them (Salzberg). For these reasons, it is our belief that, by exploring the social and cultural world of the street singers, we also cast new light on the Renaissance itself, viewing it not simply ‘from below’ or ‘from above’, but from a different perspective altogether. D ow nl oa de d by [ L uc a D eg l'I nn oc en ti ] at 0 7: 07 1 8 M ay 2 01 6 INTRODUCTION 5 Acknowledgements Earlier versions of these essays were presented orally at research events organized under the aegis of the project ‘Oral Culture, Manuscript and Print in Early Modern Italy 1450–1700’, based at the University of Leeds. This research was funded by the European Research Council under the European Union’s Seventh Framework Programme (FP7/2007- 2013)/ERC Grant Agreement no. 269460. The editors wish to express their gratitude to the ERC for its generous support. ORCID Luca Degl’Innocenti   http://orcid.org/0000-0002-5533-1726 D ow nl oa de d by [ L uc a D eg l'I nn oc en ti ] at 0 7: 07 1 8 M ay 2 01 6 http://orcid.org http://orcid.org/0000-0002-5533-1726 Acknowledgements 
work_y3sxrelf3ncznhdsztx53rdtza	----	PII: 0315-0860(77)90049-0 HM4 Reviews 105 marginalia, giving the reader most welcome help, especially in understanding the subtleties of infinitesimals in geometry and dynamics . A list of passages in the Principia that Leibniz underlined or otherwise marked and a conclusion complete the book. It is a rich edition; preface, introduction, commentary and conclusion are given both in German and in French (and hence the title page in Latin). The Academic Internationale d’Histoire des Sciences of whose Collection des Travaux the edition forms a part, explains the decision for a bilingual edition by the interest of the subject and the honour of the memory of Leibniz who wrote so much in French--but one hopes the argument will not be taken over by other editors of Leibnitiana, as there are already enough delays in that venture. The printing is beauti- fully done (by Vrin)--apart from a rather large number of mis- prints. The copy I saw was provided with a loose sheet of Corrigenda on which however was not mentioned the misprint that mars the dedication (“victimis omnium saeculorum intolerantia cuiuscunque generis oppressis dedicatum,” but it says quiuscunque). Nevertheles a gem, and as a true gem it has its hidden mysteries which it refuses to reveal. We will not know what Leibniz thought on reading the passages on the deduction of Kepler’s law of areas or on the law of gravity in the solar system; his comments to the first were cut off when the volume was rebound some 75 years ago, and the second was crossed out immediately by Leibniz himself, and this so rigorously that even the most modern optical techniques could not disclose them! The book conveys the excitement, the craftmanship and the fascination which history of science can offer--it is a pleasure to own, to browse and to use it. HISTOIRE DES MATHiMATIQUES. By Jean-Paul Collette. Montreal (Editions du Renouveau Pedagogique). 1973. 238 p. Reviewed by Guy A. R. Guillotte Polyvalente J. H. Leclerc, Granby, Quebec, Canada It is a pleasure to welcome and review a new French book on the history of mathematics. The author is a native of Quebec who has been teaching history of mathematics at the University of Quebec in Trois Rivisres, Quebec, Canada. The work is a manual rather than a treatise, The author presents historical notions widely accepted by historians in a way that is readable for the layman. In his preface he warns his reader that a good background in college or CEGEP level or in O-level mathematics is sufficient to understand his book with profit. This volume initiates the reader into the history of mathe- matics from primitive times up to the beginning of the 17th 106 Reviews HM4 century. It is the desire of Professor Collette to present later a second volume (of a projected series of four volumes) which will deal with the 17th century. At the end of this first book is a list of thirty-two sources of research and a bibliography classified under specific topics. This arrangement may incite the reader, whether he is a student, a professor or a simple layman, to have direct contact with these sources for his own research, There is an index to the principal names cited, a list of illustrations, and finally a general index. Each chapter ends with a brief r&ume’, followed by a bibliography of works or articles from scientific journals, giving the pages referring directly to the content of the chapter. Exercises are provided to facilitate the synthesis of the context or to complete cer- tain notions already presented in previous chapters. In this instructive and well-written book, the author se- lected the following periods: the prehistory of mathematics, the Babylonian civilization, the Egyptian civilization, the birth of Greek mathematics, the period from Plato to Euclid, Archimedes and the School of Alexandria, the Chinese and Hindu civilization, Islamic mathematics, the mathematics of Europe during the Middle Ages, 500-1400 A.D., the European Renaissance, and finally the beginning of the 17th century. The main mathe- matical topics discussed--numbers, fractions, geometry, elemen- tary algebra, infinite series, co-ordinate geometry and elemen- tary calculus--may lead both professors and teachers to a better understanding of the learning techniques of mathematics. Finally, although the author obtained his information from secondary sources, his book consists of an honest synthesis of the principal mathematical contribution of the great civiliza- tions that preceded us. This book is to be recommended to all lovers of mathematics and to teachers at all levels. Professor Collette has presented his manual admirably. Bravo! THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE OF MATHEMATICS. By Paul Lawrence Rose. Geneva (Librairie Droz) . 1975. xiii + 316 pp. Reviewed by Stillman make University of Toronto, Toronto M5.S 1Al European mathematics from the invention of printing with movable type to the close of the sixteenth century constitutes a topic of special interest socially as well as technically. The universities remained almost the sole repository of mathe- matics during the Middle Ages, and the chief text was Euclid. Printed books made it possible for talented persons outside the main stream of education to take part in the development of mathematics and to communicate their contributions on a scale 
work_y7zwoh6gqveg3o3lj3e7hmniym	----	World Literature Tomorrow World Literature Tomorrow E. S. Shaffer Comparative Critical Studies, Volume 3, Issue 1-2, 2006, pp. 77-82 (Article) Published by Edinburgh University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/ccs.2006.0015 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/199725 https://doi.org/10.1353/ccs.2006.0015 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/199725 World Literature Tomorrow e l i n o r s h a f f e r Comparative Critical Studies 3, 1–2, pp. 77–82 © BCLA 2006 77 I met a very competent ex-student the other day, now a lecturer in a well respected ‘new’ university, who said that he and his cohort were very excited by the new idea of teaching not national literature, nor comparative literature, but World Literature! I was obliged to laugh, however sympathetically, at this déja-vu experience. As comparatists know, the term Weltliteratur is hardly ‘new’; it was of course coined by Goethe in the early nineteenth century and referred then, as it still refers today, to literature that has survived the ordeal of translation and is hence able to speak to audiences across the barriers of language and even culture. Like such illuminating rediscoveries, the ‘crisis in comp lit’ is endemic and recurrent. It may be a sign of health as much as of threatened decay; for whatever its successes, because of its inability (by its very nature) to achieve complete independence, any successes are claimed or siphoned off by its own constituent parts. It could only achieve independence at the cost of its essential parts, the national and regional languages and literatures. To attain independence – by, for example, becoming the translated substance of a series of abandoned local habitations and names – would spell disaster. The ‘natural’ hegemony of English and English departments today poses a powerful threat; yet as it becomes more all-encompassing, abandons its own sacred nooks and crannies, and embraces ‘world’ literature, it at the same time reopens the door to enterprising explorers of the actual languages and cultures behind the translated pabulum. An Indian student from Calcutta came to see me recently; she was a specialist in Canadian aboriginal languages. Soon the once familiar European languages may become as rare and enticing. If the verities, and the endemic crises, of comparative literary studies have merely shifted gear into ‘world’ mode, what has become of the intellectual structures known as ‘theory’ that dominated all literary studies for a time? These were hardly unique to comparative EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM77 chf muse_logo elinor shaffer78 literature, though because of their various national sources it was much more natural to comparatists to seek out the originals, grasp the movements of thought that had brought them to the fore, and disentangle their historical meshing. Although they arrived approxi- mately at the same time in English (and American), in the late 1950’s and 1960’s (and thereafter), owing to the false historical perspective imposed by translation in fact we were simply receiving the succession of theoretical moments of European literary thought since 1900 all at once and in no particular order, so giving the appearance of a bewildering variety of demanding options: Russian formalism and narrative theory; linguistic structuralism (Prague and Vienna styles); German phenomenology and the aesthetics built upon it; Austrian and Swiss psychoanalysis of art and artists; French versions of all of these, often associated with particular critics (Sartre, Derrida, Lacan, Foucault), reaching Britain via translated anthologies and Continental or global immigrants to the U.S. None of these approaches is a thing of the past only, despite the now ubiquitous slogan ‘the end of theory’; for all such systems, modes, and models, as well as a range of discourses from neighbouring disciplines, remain available to scholars in the humanities, which, unlike the ‘hard-core’ natural sciences, tend not to replace one theory with another but rather allow multiple paradigms to exist simultaneously. (See Wolfgang Iser’s recent How to Do Theory1 for an instructive and immensely readable conspectus of the productive diversity of theory as it stands now in the humanities.) My own practical answer to the question of what we think is vital to comparative literature today is and must be, of course, our Research Project on reading and reception studies, and specifically the resulting series of volumes on The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe. Ten volumes have so far been published (Continuum 2002– ), including Woolf, Joyce, Sterne, Byron, and Hume,2 and the projected series represents a wide range of figures (including literary, political, philosophical and scientific writers) who have been influential on the cultural life of Europe. The project is based on the urgency of recognizing and analyzing the intellectual history of the UK as part of the wider European cultural heritage. Still perhaps the most fruitful theoretical approach to literature developed over the past thirty years (in our view) is the reception studies – both reception aesthetics and reception history – of the Constance School, in particular as encapsulated in the seminal works of Hans Robert Jauss and Wolfgang Iser, which succeeded in combining EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM78 World Literature Tomorrow 79 the reading of texts with an active awareness of the role of readers in the context of their times in bringing texts to life in successive interpretations or concretizations. The narrow national literary history of Britain (as of every other nation), which so often has stopped at the Channel, must be extended to the unfamiliar, often unexpected and illuminating responses abroad to the works of British writers. A nation’s knowledge of its writers – its own literary, intellectual and cultural history – is simply incomplete and inadequate without these kinds of studies.3 Moreover, it needs to be underpinned by the developing study of the History of the Book on the production, publication and distribution of manuscripts and printed books throughout Europe. Copyright law, new technologies, changing publishing and distribution modalities, and censorship play a role not always fully recognized and appreciated, often cutting across period designations which are all too frequently based on purely political designations or later literary considerations (see William St Clair’s engaging and challenging book, The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period).4 As part of the project, we have established a British Academy ‘network’ group across Europe that is inquiring into the state of the theory and practice of reception studies today. Some may look with suspicion on our Project, taking the view that ‘Europe’ is somehow out of bounds because now we must do ‘world literature’. But it is precisely as part of doing ‘world literature’ that we must grasp the scope and the complexity of the interactions of European literature, which have formed at the very least a major paradigm for the development of contemporary literary history – and maybe our series can serve as a blueprint for future regional and even inter-regional reception projects. But there are also other projects that are equally comparative in nature and might also serve as prototypes for future research in this area. There is Franco Moretti’s Atlas of the European Novel 1800–1900, studying the impact and circulation of European novels across Europe in the nineteenth century (which, however, is rejected by historians of the book as merely impressionistic).5 There is Pascale Casanova’s excellent The World Republic of Letters,6 in which the formation of a literary sphere of value and influence is examined through the model of France, itself built upon Roman and Italian Renaissance fore- runners, as it was challenged in the late eighteenth-century by the Herderian model of a variety of ‘folk’ cultures, which in their European forms nevertheless required validation as national literary EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM79 elinor shaffer80 cultures during the nineteenth century, and now by post-colonial nations still enacting the struggle for cosmopolitan recognition at the ‘centre’ while seeking to gain or regain an independent indigenous culture. These and related considerations were at the foundations of comparative literature in the immediate postwar period; many of the founding works of comparative literature had a similar scope and mission: Ernst Robert Curtius wrote his powerful study of a common tradition, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages,7 Erich Auerbach returned to the Bible, Greeks and Romans as a starting point in Mimesis and the Representation of Reality in Western Literature,8 René Wellek’s multi-volume work on the history of critical theory rebuilt the structures of twentieth-century thinking.9 The recent reappearance of ‘universalism’ and ‘cosmopolitanism’ as positive terms of analysis is also noted by Amanda Anderson in her interesting essay ‘Cosmopolitanism, Universalism, and the Divided Legacies of Modernity’.10 It is important for us that, in Britain, there was little of the US conflict between ‘comparative literature’ and ‘cultural studies’; rather they reinforced each other, suggesting new modes of organization of studies and of teaching that combined them, thereby in part stretching and shifting the old departmental alliances and divisions. The shared heritage (and the history of conflict) we are only now fully realizing in our current period of post-imperial devolution of European nations is helping to deflate nationalist aspirations. At the same time as the face of Europe is changing, with its countries and populations drawing ever closer geographically, economically, demo- graphically, educationally, and institutionally, we are seeing an opening of archives and the emergence of new fields of study. As the United States has become the dominant imperialist power in the world, Europe must look to the preservation of its own interests and attend to its common culture. The history of Europe and the European Union has shown that the stress on the shared background of Europeans also brings forward the individual, the regional, the small nation, and the minority language or dialect. This has been one of the most vivifying and perhaps unexpected effects of the EU. In our volume on the European reception of Ossian (the most extensive British literary reception apart from Shakespeare’s), Great Britain’s evolution, and indeed its devolution, had to be brought into play, for the English, Welsh, Irish Gaelic, and Scots Gaelic factions were in active controversy over Macpherson’s Ossianic writings; with contributions EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM80 World Literature Tomorrow 81 from Brittany, France, Germany and a variety of Eastern European nations past and present, a local discussion of ‘Celticism’ later plays into the rediscovery and invention of national epic and folk poetry across Europe. The spread of a work or an author or a language (and the presses that print its texts, in the original or in translation) is often the work of a group of emigrés or exiles (the British Jacobites, the French Huguenots, the Spanish exiles from Franco). It is thus only through the detailed examination of the process of dissemination of writings across Europe over time that we can determine the exact contours of this complex and changing entity. Establishing this record is all the more urgent in the face of the possibility that we already have ‘world literature’ in a very different sense, an easily circulating, crudely commercial product whose concern is not at all with literary value. The ‘republic of letters’ by contrast is explicitly opposed to globalization.11 Despite its historical identification with certain cities as ideas (Rome, Florence, Paris) it is a moveable banquet. London and New York may be hosting it for now, but a variety of smaller feasts or at least box lunches are going on in multiple centres around the globe. The creation of literary value is in analogy with economic competition in that city-states or nations compete for authority, and indeed literary value, however established, creates economic value. As Paul Valéry asked in ‘La liberté de l’ésprit’ (1939), ‘What is this capital called culture?’12 Nevertheless, literary and artistic authority and value have not coincided fully with economic power and constitute a realm with their own history and trajectory. It is these realms, histories, and trajectories that comparative literature needs to explore more fully than we have done in the past. But while the exploration of the interactions of writerly value in Europe in our current research project is one possible model for future larger-scale comparative research dealing with such issues as value and the transfer not just of economic but also intellectual capital, it is only a beginning. As has always been clear to the founders of comparative literature, many of whom were also pioneers of Oriental literary studies, world literature requires extending beyond the confines of European literature, not as ‘post-colonial’, but as setting forth from a different set of originating ‘centres’ and shifting ‘peripheries’. Yet it is part of our aim that the methods of research applied to European literature and world literature may be comparable. EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM81 elinor shaffer82 NOTES 1 Oxford: Blackwell, 2005. 2 The Reception of Virginia Woolf in Europe, edited by Mary Ann Caws and Nicola Luckhurst (London and New York: Continuum 2002); The Reception of James Joyce in Europe, 2 vols., edited by Geert Lernout and Wim van Mierlo (London and New York: Continuum 2004); The Reception of Ossian in Europe, edited by Howard Gaskill (London and New York: Continuum 2004); The Reception of Laurence Sterne in Europe, edited by John Neubauer and Peter de Voogd (London and New York: Continuum 2004); The Reception of Byron in Europe, edited by Richard Cardwell (London and New York: Continuum 2005). 3 See the Series Editor’s Prefaces to The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe volumes (especially Swift (2005), Yeats (2006)). 4 Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. 5 London and New York: Verso, 1998 (originally Atlante del romanzo europeo, 1800–1900, Torino: G. Einaudi, 1997). 6 Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2004 (originally La république mondiale des lettres, Paris: Seuil, 1999). 7 London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979 (originally Europäische Literatur und lateinisches Mittelalter, Bern: Francke, 1948). 8 Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1953 (originally Mimesis. Dargestellte Wirklichkeit in der abendländischen Literatur, Bern: Francke Verlag, 1946). 9 A History of Modern Criticism 1750–1950, 8 vols. (London: Jonathan Cape, 1955– 1992). 10 In The Way We Argue Now (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2006, pp. 69–92). 11 See also Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Death of a Discipline, New York: Columbia University Press, 2003. This catchy title is, of course, a misnomer. 12 In Regards sur le monde actuel (Paris: Librarie Stock, 1934); this theme was carried out by Ferdinand Braudel, Civilisation and Capitalism 15th-18th Centuries, 3 vols, trans. S. Reynolds (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). EUP_CCS3_1_07_Shaffer 3/7/06, 1:48 PM82 
work_y75ooidbbfbw5oejxtiqsmemhy	----	Journal of Jesuit Studies � (����) �-�� © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���� | doi ��.����/��������-�������� Jesuit Schools in Europe. A Historiographical Essay Paul F. Grendler Professor of History Emeritus, University of Toronto 110 Fern Lane Chapel Hill, NC 27514 paulgrendler@gmail.com Abstract The article surveys recent scholarship on Jesuit schools and universities in Europe from 1548 to 1773. It focuses on the period after the death of Ignatius of Loyola because that is when crucial decisions that shaped Jesuit schools were made. Diego Laínez made the most important decision in 1560 when he ordered that all Jesuits would teach. The goal of Jesuit teaching went beyond saving souls: Jesuit schools had the secular purpose of improving civil society by educating boys to earn a living and to fill leadership positions. Much recent scholarship has focused on Jesuit mathematical scholarship and teaching while insufficient attention has been devoted to philosophy. The Jesuits oversaw and taught in boarding schools for noble boys with considerable success. However, their attempts to become professors in universities often met with strong resistance and sometimes failed. The Jesuits devoted considerable time and effort to catechetical instruction using a variety of catechisms and approaches across Europe and the rest of the world. A major scholarly lacuna is the lack of attention paid to the financing of Jesuit colleges and schools, largely because of its complexity. A mix of subsidies from ruler or city council, designated taxes, private bequests of property or income, donations, living annuities, and other devices supported Jesuit schools. Lawsuits were a byproduct. Keywords Jesuits – schools – universities – Laínez – humanism – mathematics – boarding schools – catechesis – finances This is an article on recent scholarship and research opportunities in the study of Jesuit education in Europe before 1773. The Jesuits created the first free brill.com/jjs Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 8 Grendler journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 1 Two other large collective volumes contain some articles on Jesuit education and related topics in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: The Jesuits. Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts 1540-1773. Edited by John W. O’Malley, Gauvin Alexander Bailey, Steven J. Harris and T. Frank Kennedy. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999; and The Jesuits II. Cultures, public education system that Europe or the rest of the world had seen. It was an international system and program with the same curriculum, texts, and pedagogy, whether the school was located in Portugal or Poland, Rome or Goa. Despite the international scope of Jesuit education, all Jesuit history is local history, because the foundation and life of every single college and its school— about 700 schools of all kinds in Europe in 1749 and another 100 in the rest of the world—was a complicated story involving many actors. They included the Jesuits who founded a college; the Jesuit leadership in Rome; civil and ecclesi- astical rulers, officials, and prominent citizens who wanted to bring the Jesuits into a town; opponents who fought to keep them out, to limit the school, and sometimes drove them out; the architects and artists who erected and deco- rated Jesuit churches, colleges, and schools; the generations of Jesuits who lived in a college and taught in its school; the literary, artistic, musical, and theatrical works produced by a college and its schools; and the boys and men who studied with the Jesuits. There have been many excellent studies of indi- vidual colleges, and many more will be written. Unfortunately, it is not possi- ble to include very many studies of individual colleges in this essay. Hence, it will emphasize broad issues in Jesuit education. What follow are comments on some important new scholarship, musings about the historiography of Jesuit education, and suggestions for future research. The Schools after Ignatius Scholars need to direct more attention to Jesuit education after the era of the first Jesuits, defined by John W. O’Malley as 1540 to 1565, and especially to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. A number of recent studies indicate that this is beginning to happen. The Mercurian Project. Forming Jesuit Culture 1573-1580, edited by Thomas M. McCoog, S.J. (Rome: IHSI, and St. Louis: The Institute of Jesuit Sources, 2004) is a splendid example. It includes articles on schools in Italy, the various Jesuit colleges in Rome, and the Jesuits at the University of Ingolstadt. In addition, its broader articles on the Jesuits in France, the Netherlands, and the German-speaking parts of Europe provide a good deal of information on schools in these regions.1 What is needed next is a similar volume (or volumes, because it lasted so long) on the generalate of Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 9Jesuit Schools In Europe. A Historiographical Essay journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� Sciences, and the Arts 1540-1773. Edited by John W. O’Malley, Gauvin Alexander Bailey, Steven J. Harris, and T. Frank Kennedy. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006. 2 Ladislaus Lukács, “De origine collegiorum externorum deque controversiis circa eorum pau- pertatem obortis 1539-1608,” in AHSI 29 (1960): 189-245; and 30 (1961): 61-89. 3 John W. O’Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press, 1993), 208-216. 4 Fulvio Cardulo, “Discorso sopra gli studi di Humanità (1584),” in Mon. paed. VII, 128-129. He repeated much of this in 1590 (ibid., 130-131). On Cardulo see the short biography of Ladislaus Lukács in DHCJ, 1:658-659. Claudio Acquaviva (1581-1615) during which the schools continued to expand, the Ratio Studiorum was adopted, and Acquaviva imposed restrictions on philosophical and theological speculation in teaching. In the meantime, the long article of Ladislaus (László) Lukács including its statistics on the number of Jesuit schools and teachers through 1600 remains fundamental.2 What were the purposes of a Jesuit education? Earlier historians have seen them as confirming Catholics in their faith, winning over Protestants, and con- futing heresy. By contrast, O’Malley wrote that the first Jesuits saw the purpose of Jesuit schools as saving souls, helping one’s neighbor, and contributing to the common good, which included civil society (ad civitatis utilitatem) and the church. Jesuit schools contributed to the common good by educating future leaders who would take action to improve society.3 Subsequent Jesuits emphasized the goal of improving civil society and edu- cating boys to take their place in that world even more strongly. In 1584, Fulvio Cardulo (1529-1591), who taught rhetoric at the Collegio Romano for many years, wrote that a Jesuit humanities education would instruct noble youths so that as adults they would be able to prove their worth in pulpits, senates, sec- retariats, and embassies. Cardulo argued that the prudence and eloquence taught in Jesuit schools would serve the Christian state (repubblica christiana). It would make their former students into good preachers, senators, secretaries, nuncios, ambassadors, and others who served the common good. He added more in this vein in a memorandum of 1590.4 In both cases he was not “market- ing” Jesuit schools to parents, but addressing members of the committees drafting the Ratio Studiorum. He believed that they were over-emphasizing theology at the expense of the humanities. Cardulo’s words were similar to the arguments favoring a humanities education based on the classics of ancient Rome and Greece voiced by famous Italian Renaissance pedagogical human- ists such as Pier Paolo Vergerio (c.1368-1444), Vittorino Rambaldoni da Feltre (1373 or 1378-1446/7), and Guarino Guarini of Verona (1374-1460), except that Cardulo’s statements were stronger and clearer. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 10 Grendler journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 5 “E di sommo interesse non solo degli scolari, e dei loro genitori, ma ancora della Repubblica civile, e della cristiana religione l’istruir bene i fanciulli nelle lettere. L’interesse degli scolari, e dei loro genitori è patente, perchè la massima parte di loro dall’apprender bene le lettere aspetta, e spera il proprio mantenimento, ed avvanzamento nelle temporali prosperità. Ma quello stesso che è sommo interesse degli scolari, e dei parenti loro et anche sommo inter- esse dell’umana repubblica: Imperocchè una massima parte degli impieghi, che la repub- blica dispensa, e che sono necessari al buon regolarmento […] e felicità dei tenebrosi tempi, che corsero, cominciando dall’anno di nostra salute 800 fino quasi al 1400, per mancanza di buone lettere nel mondo, è ben nota a tutti quelli, che sono pratici della storia. […] Che se l’istruire i fanciulli nelle lettere è di tanto interesse per la Repubblica umana quanto al viver civile; di quanto maggior interesse è alla Religione Cattolica quanto al vivere cristiano?” Treatise on teaching entitled “Della qualità che formano la perfettione propria dei maestri delle scuole inferiori di questo Istituto,” by Tommaso Termanini in ARSI, Opp. NN., 459, 1-2, 3 (each recto and verso manuscript page is numbered). The prolix treatise fills Opp. NN. 458 and 459. For Termanini, see the short biography of Mario Zanfredini in DHCJ, 4:3779. Jesuits continued to endorse the civic and personal benefits of a Jesuit edu- cation. In about 1760, Father Tommaso Termanini (1730-1797) wrote a prolix treatise on Jesuit education. He had taught in several Jesuit schools in Italy, then served as a missionary in rural Lazio and Tuscany, and had published several works. He emphasized the importance of the lower school classes. Teaching the humanities to boys was of the greatest importance to students and parents, and to the state and Christian religion, he wrote. Those who learned letters would be able to support themselves and become prosperous. Teaching the humanities well was also of great importance to the state (umana repubblica), because the majority of positions that were so important to a well- ordered state and needed to be filled depended on a humanities education. Indeed, the lack of good letters was what caused the dark ages, which lasted from the year 800 to almost 1400, he judged. He asked rhetorically: if teaching letters to boys was so important to the state and to civil life (viver civile), how much more important was it to the Catholic religion and the Christian life?5 Termanini strongly urged his fellow Jesuit teachers to pay particular attention to boys from humble backgrounds, instead of lavishing attention on students with wealthy and noble parents. Much evidence documents that some Jesuits judged the success of their schools by the number of sons of the powerful who attended, and that they favored them in the classroom. Termanini urged the opposite. His treatise was never printed, possibly because the Jesuits had their hands full coping with attacks and expulsions in the 1760s. As Cardulo and Termanini made explicit, a purpose of a Jesuit education was to educate boys so that they would have the skills to fill civic positions and earn a living. They would then be in a position to serve the common good. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 11Jesuit Schools In Europe. A Historiographical Essay journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 6 Gabriel Codina Mir, Aux sources de la pédagogie des Jésuites. Le ‘Modus Parisiensis’ (Rome: IHSI, 1968) is the standard work. Termanini’s comments also point out that the Jesuits were aware that the vast majority of their pupils were not the sons of wealthy nobles, but were middle- class and lower-class boys who would have to support themselves through gainful employment. Cardulo and Termanini did not ignore the first two goals of a Jesuit education (saving souls and helping neighbors). Instead, they saw the three goals of Jesuit education as a unity. Jesuit acceptance of secular edu- cational goals, including enabling boys to earn a living, paralleled the Society’s increasing involvement in secular life as a whole. The statements of Cardulo and Termanini, and the research of O’Malley, also emphasize that Italian Renaissance humanism strongly influenced the Jesuit curriculum and educational policies. Without acknowledgment, and perhaps unwittingly, the Jesuits accepted the curriculum and goals of Italian Renaissance humanistic education formulated by Vergerio, Vittorino da Feltre, and Guarini, and put into practice by tens of thousands of humanist school masters in Italy, France, Germany, Spain, and elsewhere during the sixteenth century. This point of view modifies traditional historiography which sees the modus parisiensis (the style of Paris) as the formative and dominating influ- ence on Jesuit education.6 The modus parisiensis meant teaching practices: graduated progress in learning texts characterized by numerous drills, exercises, and disputations patterned on classroom practices used in the Paris colleges at which Ignatius Loyola and almost all the other original Jesuits studied. Of course, the modus parisiensis influenced Jesuit classroom practice, but it was not the full story. The content of Jesuit humanities education consisted of texts from the ancient world in Latin and, to a lesser extent, Greek, that fifteenth-century Italian Renaissance pedagogical humanists had moved into the schoolroom. The pub- lication of the seven volumes with over 5,200 pages of documents of the Monumenta Paedagogica Societatis Iesu (1965-1992) gathered and edited by Lukács provide ample support for this statement. Scholars are just beginning to explore the rich material in the Monumenta Paedagogica. Perhaps scholars have placed too much emphasis on the origins of Jesuit schools and the role of Ignatius Loyola. He was a brilliant opportunist who transformed the Society into a teaching order. He founded schools with shaky finances and not enough teachers, especially good teachers. Ignatius trusted in God and relied on frayed shoestrings, and some of them broke. Scholars have also paid a great deal of attention to what Ignatius and Juan Alfonso de Polanco wrote about schools in the Constitutions. Nevertheless, when Ignatius died in Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 12 Grendler journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 7 “Essendovi generalmente parlando due maniere di aiutar li prossimi, una nelli collegii con la institutione della gioventù nelle lettere, dottrina et vita xpiana, l’altra con aiutar universal- mente tutti con le prediche et confessioni, et altri mezzi conformi al nostro solito modo di procedere. […] che tutti ordinariamente doveranno portar parte del peso delle schuole.” Letter to the superiors of the Society, 10 August 1560, Rome, written by Polanco for Laínez, in Laínez 5:165-167, quotes on 165 and 166. It is also printed in Mon. paed., III, 304-306. 8 O’Malley, The First Jesuits, 200-201. Lukács noted it but did not realize its importance. 1556 the Jesuits had only about thirty-three schools across Europe and signifi- cant problems. His successor, Diego Laínez (1512-1565), had to deal with the severe shortage of teachers that Ignatius bequeathed to the Society. Laínez found the solution: he elevated the schools to the most important ministry, and he decreed that every Jesuit must teach at some point in his career. On 10 August 1560, Polanco, writing for Laínez, sent a letter to all the superiors of the Society. He began by praising teaching. He then wrote, “There are two ways of helping our neigh- bors: one is in the colleges by the education of youth in letters, learning, and Christian life. The other is to help all universally through preaching, [hearing] confessions, and all the other means in accord with our customary way of pro- ceeding.” This was extraordinary and unprecedented. Laínez told the mem- bers of the Society that the ministry of the schools was as important as all the other ministries combined. Laínez then explained how his directive would be implemented: every Jesuit must ordinarily “bear part of the burden of the schools,” that is, every Jesuit would teach at some point in his career, with a handful of exceptions. Most Jesuits would teach before beginning philosophi- cal studies, some would teach after completing philosophical studies, and still others after completing theological studies.7 Laínez’s decree determined the careers of almost all future Jesuits. In the two centuries between 1560 and 1773, practically every Jesuit taught three to five years in the lower school (classes in grammar, humanity, and/or rhetoric). This can be easily verified by checking the biographies in the DHCJ. The vast majority did so after completing three years of philosophical studies. After teaching in the lower school, some Jesuits moved to other ministries and did not return to teaching. A great many Jesuits then did their theological studies, were ordained, and then taught philosophy (metaphysics, natural philosophy, logic) and/or mathematics. A small number of Jesuits taught at all three levels: in the lower school, philosophy, and theology. O’Malley is the first scholar to emphasize the immense significance of Laínez’s decision.8 As more and more young men became Jesuits, and every new Jesuit taught for at least three to five years, the decree solved the teaching shortage. Just as Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 13Jesuit Schools In Europe. A Historiographical Essay journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 9 The Ratio Studiorum. The Official Plan for Jesuit Education. Translated and Annotated by Claude Pavur (St. Louis: The Institute of Jesuit Sources, 2005), paragraph 239, page 109. 10 See Denis De Lucca, Jesuits and Fortifications. The Contribution of the Jesuits to Military Architecture in the Baroque Age (Leiden: Brill, 2012), especially 348-352 for a list of printed and manuscript treatises on military matters written by Jesuit authors; and Geert Vanpaemel, “Jesuit Mathematicians, Military Architecture and the Transmission of Technical Knowledge,” in The Jesuits of the Low Countries: Identity and Impact (1540-1773). Proceedings of the International Congress at the Faculty of Theology and Religious importantly, this career path enabled the Jesuit leadership to solidify the Society as a teaching order and to plan ahead. By counting the number of nov- ices and knowing on the basis of past experience approximately what percent- age of them would complete the novitiate and their studies, they could roughly predict how many teachers would be available. Hence, when a city or prince asked them to establish a new school, or an existing school wanted to teach more classes, the Jesuit leadership could estimate if it had enough teachers, even though such calculations could never be precise. For scholars, the point is that, although Ignatius decided to emphasize the schools, his successors made far-reaching decisions on teachers, and the size, number, structure, cur- riculum, and culture of the schools. Once the Society adopted the Ratio Studiorum of 1599, it had a fixed curricu- lum and detailed pedagogical methods to follow. However, there were changes and developments that those who drafted the Ratio Studiorum did not foresee and might not have countenanced. For example, the Ratio said very little about the teaching of mathematics. It told teachers to teach Euclid’s Elements, “some- thing about geography and the Sphere or about those things that are usually of interest.”9 (The “Sphere” was De sphaera, written about 1220 by Johannes de Sacrobosco ( John of Holywood, d 1244 or 1250). It summarized Ptole maic astronomy and was the most used and commented on astronomical work in medieval and Renaissance universities.) Thus, the Ratio told Jesuit mathemati- cians to teach three things: Euclid, astronomy, and “things […] of interest.” Recent scholarship has underscored the fact that Jesuit mathematicians taught and wrote about a wide variety of practical applications of mathemati- cal principles. One “thing of interest” was military architecture. Jesuit mathe- maticians in Italy, France, Malta, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, Paraguay, the Philippines, and elsewhere taught the application of mathematical principles to fortresses. They advised governments on the building of for- tresses, and wrote at least sixty-four treatises on general military matters in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.10 Another practical subject of great Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 14 Grendler journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� Studies, KU Leuven (3-5 December 2009). Edited by Rob Faesen and Leo Kenis (Leuven: Peeters, 2012), 109-128. 11 See Alessandra Fiocca and Luigi Pepe, “La lettura di matematica nell’Università di Ferrara dal 1602 al 1771,” in Annali dell’Università di Ferrara, Sezione 7, Scienze matematiche 31 (1985): 125-167; Fiocca, “Ferrara e i gesuiti periti in materia d’acque,” in Gesuiti e università in Europa (secoli XVI-XVIII). Atti del Convegno di studi, Parma 13-15 dicembre 2001. A cura di Gian Paolo Brizzi e Roberto Greci (Bologna: CLUEB, 2002), 339-359; and Fiocca, “I gesuiti e il governo delle acque nel basso Po nel secolo XVII,” in Giambattista Riccioli e il merito scientifico dei gesuiti nell’età Barocca, a cura di Maria Teresa Borgato (Florence: Leo S. Olschki, 2002), 319-370. 12 For Italian Jesuit mathematicians see the many articles of Ugo Baldini, some of which are collected in his Legem impone subactis. Studi su filosofia e scienza dei Gesuiti in Italia 1540- 1632 (Roma: Bulzoni Editore, 1992), and Saggi sulla cultura della Compagnia di Gesù (secoli XVI-XVIII) (Padova: CLEUP Editrice, 2000). For French Jesuit mathematicians, see the splendid work of Antonella Romano, La Contre-Réforme mathématique. Constitution et diffusion d’une culture mathématique jésuite à la Renaissance (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1999). 13 See the articles of Alfredo Dinis, “Was Riccioli a Secret Copernican?,” 49-77, and Juan Casanovas, “Riccioli e l’astronomia dopo Keplero,” in Giambattista Riccioli, 119-131. interest to governments was hydraulics. State and city governments in north- eastern Italy whose lands were subject to the ravages of the Po River sought out Jesuit mathematicians for advice on flood control projects including building dams, channeling rivers, draining swamps, and reclaiming land, all of which involved hydraulic engineering. They also wanted the Jesuits to teach this material to students and engineers employed by governments.11 Historians have done an excellent job describing the mathematical instruc- tion and multifaceted treatises of Jesuit mathematicians.12 Jesuit mathemati- cians taught practical mathematical skills because city fathers, princes, and parents wanted them to do so. This enabled the Jesuits to contribute to the improvement of society, to spread mathematical knowledge among the pub- lic, and to win the approval and support of the powerful. One also wonders to what extent the prohibition against teaching heliocentricism as a physical reality might have encouraged Jesuits to turn their talents in less controver- sial  directions. The extent to which Jesuit mathematicians may have tacitly, but not openly, concluded that Copernicus, Galilei, and Kepler were correct is difficult to determine. For example, a recent volume of studies on the distin- guished Jesuit mathematician Giambattista Riccioli (1598-1671) contains two articles that reach opposed conclusions: that he was a secret Copernican but did not write about it because he worried about the impact on Catholic belief, and that he doubted heliocentricism.13 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 15Jesuit Schools In Europe. A Historiographical Essay journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 14 Paul Richard Blum, Studies on Early Modern Aristotelianism (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012). 15 Cristiano Casalini, Aristotele a Coimbra. Il Cursus Conimbricensis e l’educazione nel Collegium Artium. Preface by John O’Malley (Rome: Anicia, 2012). 16 Robert Aleksander Maryks, Saint Cicero and the Jesuits. The Influence of the Liberal Arts on the Adoption of Moral Probabilism (Aldershot, Hampshire, England, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate; and Rome: IHSI, 2008); and Jean-Pascal Gay, Jesuit Civil Wars. Theology, Politics and Government under Tirso González (1687-1705) (Farnham, Surrey, England, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2012). In contrast to the extensive scholarship on Jesuit mathematics, less new scholarship has appeared on Jesuit teaching and writing in natural phi- losophy  and the rest of the philosophical curriculum. A major exception is Marcus Hellyer, Catholic Physics. Jesuit Natural Philosophy in Early Modern Germany (Notre Dame, Ind: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005). This is a comprehensive study of how German Jesuits taught and wrote on the middle subject in the Jesuit philosophical trio of logic, natural philosophy, and meta- physics in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Hellyer demonstrates that German Jesuits transformed a subject heavily based on Aristotle into an experimental science that used mathematical techniques. Along the way the book offers much information about Jesuit schools in Germany. Another is Paul Blum’s collection of studies which features many Jesuit philosophers, including Benito Perera (Pererius, 1535-1610), Honoré Fabri (1608-88), and oth- ers.14 A third recent volume provides new information on the origin, develop- ment, and use of the famous Coimbra commentaries. These were volumes of texts and commentaries on the works of Aristotle that a group of Jesuits at the college at Coimbra prepared and published between 1592 and 1598, with the volume on logic appearing in 1606. They were often reprinted, because many Jesuit and non-Jesuit schools and universities across Europe used them until the middle of the seventeenth century and sometimes beyond.15 The vast majority of Jesuit schools taught moral theology or cases of con- science (casuistry); the two were not quite identical, according to the Ratio. They taught cases of conscience as a kind of extension class intended for local clergymen, not as part of the curriculum intended for the regular enrollment of boys and young men. The Jesuits wrote extensively on the subject. Two recent studies of Jesuit moral theology focusing on tutiorism, probabilism, and probabiliorism view Jesuit moral theology in broader and more complex rhe- torical and political contexts than past studies.16 The most interesting deviation from the first Jesuit schools came in the form of boarding schools for nobles. Ignatius and the other early Jesuits had little enthusiasm for boarding schools, but allowed them for seminaries and Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 16 Grendler journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 17 Miriam Turrini, Il ‘giovin signore’ in collegio. I gesuiti e l’educazione della nobiltà nelle con- suetudini del collegio ducale di Parma (Bologna: CLUEB, 2006), a book that is a pleasure to read because of its clear presentation and meticulous documentation. students in spiritual danger, such as boys living in Protestant lands. Yet Jesuit boarding schools for secular youths of noble birth, and a limited number of schools for boys from the citizen class, became numerous and extremely important in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The boarding schools added lessons in riding, singing, dancing, playing musical instru- ments,  fencing, designing fortifications, and vernacular languages to the curriculum of the Ratio. They also produced much theater. Numerous employ- ees and servants provided for the needs and wishes of students. Although the curriculum of the Ratio was still free of charge, the parents of noble board- ers  paid high fees for lessons in the other disciplines taught by non-Jesuits, plus  room, board, services, servants, and the privilege of attending a noble school. Ranuccio I Farnese (r.1569-1622), duke of Parma and Piacenza, founded the Parma school for nobles in 1601 and entrusted it to the Jesuits in 1604. At its height in 1700, it enrolled 285 young nobles, and twenty-three per cent of its enrollment for the years 1601 through 1770 came from beyond Italy. The new study of Miriam Turrini uses diaries for the years 1710 to 1713 and her own per- ceptive analysis in order to describe the daily life and study inside the schools.17 Life inside the school was surprisingly austere and rigorous despite the ser- vants and the pleasures of riding and hunting. In addition to the traditional Latin schooling and the other skills mentioned above, the Parma school taught law, on the grounds that legal studies were useful and necessary for good pub- lic and private government, and because legal studies taught students how to live a regulated life. Overall, the Jesuits at the Parma school sought to teach Christian piety, civil customs, the skills appropriate to a Christian knight (a term used by the school), solid traditional education, and practical leadership skills. The noble boarding schools also generated an educational culture marked by elite self-identification, noble bonding, learning the rules of civil life, an ethic of responsibility, many recreations and activities, and high aca- demic achievement. The Jesuit noble boarding schools prefigured English pub- lic schools, except that the Jesuits prized learning to a greater extent. And if a young noble was not academically gifted, the noble boarding school provided tutoring. The Jesuits spent considerable energy and resources educating nobles. But it should not be forgotten that the vast majority of their students were not Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 17Jesuit Schools In Europe. A Historiographical Essay journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 18 Andreas Kraus, Das Gymnasium der Jesuiten zu München (1557-1773). Staatspolitische, Sozialgeschichtliche, Behördengeschichtliche und Kulturgeschichtliche Bedeutung (Munich: Beck, 2001). See page 18 for a succinct table. The book as a whole provides a vast amount of information on the students and much analysis. 19 Daniela Novarese, Istituzioni politiche e studi di diritto fra Cinque e Seicento. Il Messanense Studium Generale tra politica gesuitica e istanze egemoniche cittadine (Milano: A Giuffrè, 1994). nobles. The Jesuit school at Munich (1559 to 1773) is one of the very few schools for which matriculation lists have survived and they indicate the status and occupation of fathers of students. Using the lists and his extensive additional research on the careers of students, Andreas Kraus has demonstrated that between 1601 and 1776, 4.9 % of the students came from noble families, and another 11.9 % came from families of civic office holders or reached that rank.18 Hence, 83.2 % of the students came from the rest of society. Free education was very important to these students and their parents. Universities The first Jesuit school, founded in Messina in 1548, has received considerable scholarly attention over the years but nothing comparable to the monograph of Daniela Novarese, which is based on a wealth of archival and other sources.19 Three strong themes that have not previously received sufficient emphasis emerge from her study. First, both the Jesuits and the city government of Messina expected that the school would quickly become a university. Ignatius especially wanted Messina to be the first Jesuit university. Second, both the Jesuits and the Messina city council sought full control over the proposed uni- versity. Third, they fought tenaciously over this issue and finances without reaching agreement. In the end, the city created the University of Messina in 1597 without the Jesuits. The failure to turn the Messina school into a Jesuit university introduces a larger topic, the numerous efforts of the Jesuits to enter existing universities as professors or to establish new universities in which the Jesuits would hold professorships in theology, moral theology or cases of conscience, metaphys- ics, natural philosophy, logic, mathematics, and the humanities. On the other hand, according to their enemies, the Jesuits forced their way into universities, seized control of faculties of arts and theology, and evicted non-Jesuit professors. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 18 Grendler journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 20 Karl Hengst, Jesuiten an Universitäten und Jesuitenuniversitäten. Zur Geschichte der Universitäten in der Oberdeutschen und Rheinischen Provinz der Gesellschaft Jesu im Zeitalter der Konfessionellen Auseinandersetzung (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1981). There is a diagram on p. 298 that summarizes the different kinds of universities. But one needs to read the book as a whole, including the many documents and references to pri- mary and secondary sources, to understand the complexity of the picture. 21 Susan Spruell Mobley, “The Jesuits at the University of Ingolstadt,” in The Mercurian Project, 213-248. 22 Jan Roegiers, “Awkward Neighbours: The Leuven Faculty of Theology and the Jesuit College (1542-1773),” in The Jesuits of the Low Countries, 153-175. In 1981, Karl Hengst published an excellent comprehensive study of all the Jesuit universities, plus universities controlled by the prince or state in which the Jesuits did all or some of the teaching of philosophy and theology, in the Jesuit provinces of Upper Germany and the Rhineland from 1549 to 1648.20 They were a diverse lot, beginning with the Jesuit universities of Dillingen (founded in 1563), Paderborn (1616), Molsheim (1618), Osnabrück (1632), and Bamburg (1648) completely ruled and staffed by the Jesuits. However, these Jesuit universities did not teach civil law or medicine. Then there were the uni- versities of Trier, Mainz, Würzburg, Heidelburg (from 1629), and Münster, in which the Jesuits controlled the faculties of philosophy and theology, meaning that they taught all the courses in these subjects, but no others. These universities had lay professors who taught a limited amount of law and medi- cine. Then there was the University of Ingolstadt at which, after a bitter strug- gle and the support of the Bavarian dukes, the Jesuits won control of the faculties of philosophy and theology.21 The Jesuits controlled the faculty of phi- losophy at Freiburg im Breisgau and three of their members taught theology there, although they did not control the faculty of theology. Finally, one or two Jesuits taught theology at the older and well-established universities of Erfurt and Cologne. Whenever the Jesuits joined an existing university, battles raged. For exam- ple, the Jesuits arrived in the University of Leuven in 1542 and began teaching theology almost immediately. They were soon quarreling with the other theo- logians of the faculty of theology over Molinism, Jansenism, attracting stu- dents, and much else. The mutual denunciations and attempted purges by one side or the other continued until 1773.22 While the Jesuits had considerable university success in northern Europe and Spain, they had little success in Italy. The Jesuits were unable to enter any of the pre-existing Italian universities, with the exception of an occasional pro- fessorship, usually in mathematics. So they allied themselves with two princes Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 19Jesuit Schools In Europe. A Historiographical Essay journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 23 For Parma, see Gian Paolo Brizzi, Alessandro D’Alessandro, and Alessandra Del Fante, Università, Principe, Gesuiti: La politica farnesiana dell’istruzione a Parma e Piacenza (1545- 1622) (Rome: Bulzoni, 1980); for Mantua, see Paul F. Grendler, The University of Mantua, the Gonzaga & and the Jesuits, 1584-1630 (Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009); for Fermo see L’antica Università di Fermo. Testo di Gian Paolo Brizzi. Schedatura a cura di Maria Luisi Accorsi. Fotografie di Alberto Lagomaggiore (Fermo: Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio di Fermo and Carifermo, 2001). 24 See Paul F. Grendler, “The Attempt to Found a Civic and Jesuit University in Chambéry, 1679-1681,” in Los jesuitas. Religión, política y educación (siglos XVI-XVIII). Ed. José Martínez Millán, Henar Pizarro Llorente, and Esther Jiménez Pablo. 3 vols. (Madrid: Universidad Pontificia Comillas, 2012), 1:407-432. and one city council to found new joint civic and Jesuit universities: the University of Parma in 1601, the University of Mantua in 1625, and the tiny University of Fermo founded in 1585 which added Jesuit professors of theology and philosophy in 1609. In all three, the Jesuits filled only about one-third of the professorships (in theology, philosophy, mathematics, and the humani- ties) and had limited authority. The prince or city council appointed the far more numerous, prestigious, and better paid professors of law and medicine, and exercised overall authority over the university. Mantua, the most intellec- tually innovative of the three, survived for only four years, a victim of war, plague, and the brutal sack of the city in 1630, while Fermo lasted until the Napoleonic period.23 Only the University of Parma survives today, as a state university without any Jesuits. The Jesuits had some successes in founding new universities and entering pre-existing universities. They also had many fail- ures, in which strong opposition thwarted the combined efforts of prince and Society to found a new university.24 Once in a while the opposition between Jesuit and Protestant universities eased and students profited. Simona Negruzzo has examined the small Jesuit University of Molsheim in Alsace from an unusual perspective—its relation- ship with the famous Lutheran Gymnasium (later University) of Strasbourg founded by Jacob Sturm (1507-1589) in 1538. Located only twenty kilometers apart but separated by religious denomination, they competed for students, both of them using theater and music to attract them. In 1681, Strasbourg sur- rendered to Louis XIV and became part of the kingdom of France. However, Protestants retained the freedom to worship and the University of Strasbourg lived on. At this time, the smaller Jesuit University of Molsheim moved to Strasbourg to become the Jesuit University of Strasbourg with a royal charter. Some students then attended both institutions. For example, a Catholic might Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 20 Grendler journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 25 Simona Negruzzo, L’armonia contesa. Identità ed educazione nell’Alsazia moderna (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2005). 26 Íñigo Arranz Roa, “Educar a rudos y pobres: La Casa de los Niños del Amor de Dios (Valladolid, 1595-1860),” in Los Jesuitas, 1:491-526. 27 This is a tentative statement, because Ignatius never wrote a catechism. The only account of his catechetical instruction is a combination of verbatim transcription of what Ignatius said and summary notes of his catechetical teaching prepared by an anonymous listener about 1541. Epp. ign., XII, 666-673. See also O’Malley, The First Jesuits, 115-126. 28 They were the large Summa doctrinae christianae (first published in 1555) for priests and teachers; the middle-sized Parvus catechismus catholicorum (1559), about 100 pages study philosophy at the Jesuit university and then law or medicine at the Lutheran university. A French revolutionary decree of 1793 suppressed both institutions.25 Catechesis Although the Jesuits founded and taught in universities, they were also devoted to the simplest form of education, teaching the catechism to children and unlearned adults. Not enough scholarly attention has been paid to Jesuit cat- echetical instruction, even though Ignatius and the first Jesuits strongly emphasized it and subsequent Jesuits maintained that commitment. Practically every triennial or visitation report from a Jesuit college in Europe mentions that the Jesuits taught the catechism. They also oversaw lay men and women who served as catechetical instructors, and they sometimes persuaded students in Jesuit colleges to teach Christian doctrine as well. A recent article documents the importance of Jesuit catechetical instruction in Valladolid.26 However, Jesuit catechesis was not uniform across the Society. Although basic Catholic doctrine was the same, the author of a catechism had to make decisions that brought forward subtle but meaningful differences in approach and emphasis. What should be taught first? Which attribute of God should be highlighted? How should the believer reach out to God? Which sacraments should be given priority? How much emphasis should be given to the Ten Commandments and confession? Which prayers should be included? How much should the intercession of Mary and the saints be emphasized? Ignatius Loyola emphasized confession in his catechesis.27 And past scholarship has accentuated the influence throughout the Society of the three catechisms of Peter Canisius, who stressed the Ten Commandments.28 Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 21Jesuit Schools In Europe. A Historiographical Essay journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� and intended for adolescents; and the Catechismus minimus (1559), about sixteen pages and intended for children. 29 See Joep van Gennip, “Cornelius Hazart S. J. and the Jansenist Controversies, 1682-1690,” in The Jesuits of the Low Countries, 177-196, an excellent article that ranges beyond Hazart and his catechisms. 30 See Miriam Turrini, “‘Riformare il mondo a vera vita christiana’: le scuole di catechismo nell’Italia del Cinquecento,” Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento 8 (1982), 407-489; and Grendler, “Fifteenth-Century Catechesis, the Schools of Christian Doctrine, and the Jesuits,” in Prima di Carlo Borromeo. Istituzioni, religione e società agli inizi del Cinquecento. A cura di Alberto Rocca e Paola Vismara. Studia Borromaica, 26 (Milan: Biblioteca Ambrosiana, and Rome: Bulzoni, 2012), 291-319. 31 D. Scott Hendrickson, “A Jesuit Catechism: Aspects of Discernment in Juan Eusebio Nieremberg’s Doctrina Christiana (1640),” in Los Jesuitas, 2:1221-1236, quote on page 1221. However, catechisms written by Jesuits from different lands and in different languages tended to reflect local catechetical traditions. Canisius’s catechisms were widely used in German speaking lands but not everywhere else. Even though Canisius was a Dutchman, the Jesuits of the Netherlands made little use of his catechisms and never printed them. Instead they wrote and used their own vernacular catechisms, some of which generated controversy.29 In  Italy, the Dottrina christiana breve per insegnare in pochi giorni, & per interrogazioni a modo di dialogo, fra il Maestro e Discepolo (first printing 1567 or  1568) of Diego Ledesma (1524-1575), who was influenced by pre-Jesuit Italian  catechetical traditions, was the dominant Italian Jesuit catechism until the end of the century. Then Robert Bellarmine’s Dottrina cristiana breve (1597), intended for children, and an expanded version in 1598, replaced it in Italy.30 In Spain, the Practica del catecismo romano, y doctrina Christiana (1640) of Juan Eusebio Nieremberg (1595-1658) became the most popular catechism, in part because “it was written for the purpose of being read out loud during Mass and other liturgical celebrations, and could even be used in the place of a homily.”31 Other Jesuit catechisms written in European vernacular lan- guages  followed and Jesuit catechisms written for Christians in Asia, the Americas, Africa, and Oceania had to take into account cultural differences in order to be effective. Finances Moving from catechesis to money is an abrupt change, even though both were very important and have been neglected by historians. Scholars have devoted little attention to the finances of Jesuit schools because the financial history of Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 22 Grendler journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 32 See Paul F. Grendler, “Laínez and the Schools of Europe,” in Diego Laínez (1512-1565) and his Generalate. Jesuit with Jewish Roots, Close Confident of Ignatius of Loyola, Pre- eminent Theologian of the Council of Trent. Edited by Paul Oberholzer (Rome: IHSI, forthcoming). even a tiny college was immensely complicated and hard to follow. In the early years of the Society, the Jesuits sometimes angled to be invited to establish a college in a city by sending a brilliant Jesuit to preach there, or Ignatius spoke directly to a prince or imperial governor. During the vicariate and gen- eralate of Diego Laínez (1556-1565) the Jesuits made a strong effort to establish colleges, schools, and universities in central and eastern Europe, and even in France, in the hope of strengthening Catholics in their faith and winning over some Protestants.32 But later Jesuits waited for offers. A prince, city coun- cil, individual, or group of potential donors asked the Jesuits to establish a col- lege with a school. Then negotiations began. The Jesuits insisted on legal guarantees, because they had learned the hard way not to trust promises. The Jesuits needed a church for their exclusive use, a college building to serve as living quarters, and another building for classrooms. Most impor- tantly, they had to have continuous and guaranteed financial support. If the Jesuits were to receive payment in exchange for teaching, the Jesuits and the city or prince had to sign what the Jesuits called “a foundation contract.” It stipulated the amount of money to be received, the building(s) to be assigned to them and often renovated, how many Jesuits would teach, and exactly which classes would be taught. The money might come from an annual subsidy from the city, the proceeds of a designated tax, a bequest, a gift of property, or a combination of all four. Foundation contracts also listed the conditions for dis- solution, such as failure of the Jesuits to provide the required number of teach- ers and classes, or failure of the city or prince to provide the contracted amount of money. The papacy had to designate a church for Jesuit use and, often, to provide a benefice for a displaced pastor. Once the contract was signed and the money and/or property was received, the local Jesuit college had to make the property produce the needed income, through rents, farm produce, interest- bearing investments, or other means. After a college and school opened, much additional money was needed. This usually came in the form of bequests, land, or jewels given to the Jesuits by pious members of the town grateful for Jesuit ministries. The Jesuits often made financial arrangements with current and future donors: the Jesuits pro- vided annuities to donors in exchange for a legacy, which came to the Jesuits immediately or when the benefactor died. The Jesuits often discovered that bequests entangled them in lengthy legal disputes, or that a gift of land did not Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 23Jesuit Schools In Europe. A Historiographical Essay journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 33 Miquel Batllori, Cultura e finanze. Studi sulla storia dei Gesuiti da S. Ignazio al Vaticano II (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1983), 121-174. 34 Grendler, The University of Mantua, 29-32, 75-79. 35 Johannes Sander, S.J., Geschichte des Jesuitenkollegs in Paderborn 1580-1659. Textedition und Übersetzung von Gerhard Ludwig Kneissler. Mit Anmerkungen versehen von Friedrich Gerhard Hohmann (Paderborn: Bonifatius, 2011). 36 Immo Eberl, “Die Umwandlung des Jesuitengymnasiums in Ellwangen in das Collegium Ignatianum und dessen Tätigkeit bis zur Säkularisation,” in Jesuiten in Ellwangen. Oberdeutsche Provinz, Wallfahrt, Weltmission. Ed. Franz Brendle, Fabian Fechner, Anselm Grupp (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 2012), 61-109, at 83-109. yield the expected income because it was in a flood plain or came with obliga- tions that the donor had neglected to mention. Miquel Batllori did pioneering work on the finances of the Collegio Romano and the Jesuit colleges at Messina, Sassari, Paris, Vienna, Madrid, Ratisbon, and Osnabrück.33 And Grendler has described the complicated financial and other negotiations that brought the Jesuits to Mantua in 1584 and produced a university in 1625.34 A great deal more needs to be done. Jesuit college chronicles, when they exist, offer a means for studying college finances. Two recent publications offer examples. Giuseppe Gorzoni (1637- 1713) was a Jesuit who spent the last eighteen years of his life at the Jesuit col- lege at Mantua administering the properties and investments that produced the income that supported rural missions in the Mantovano. He wrote a chronicle of the history of the college which abounds in financial informa- tion, stories of donors and lawsuits, and insights. He concluded that the college never profited from living annuities, which led to labyrinthine legal difficulties. Indeed, reading his chronicle gives the impression that the Mantua Jesuits were not particularly astute businessmen. A similar diary for the Jesuit college at Paderborn for the years 1580 to 1659 provides information on bequests and other financial matters.35 Nevertheless, some Jesuit colleges became quite wealthy, thanks to many bequests received over a period of more than a cen- tury. An inventory of the properties and other wealth of the Jesuit college at Ellwangen (near Stuttgart, in the current state of Baden-Württemberg), made in 1773 and 1774 reveals that this college, which was not particularly large or distinguished, was quite wealthy.36 The Jesuits knew that accurate financial records were crucial. Father Ludovico Flori (1579 or 1580-1647), who spent most of his career as a Jesuit in Palermo, provided some help. In 1636, he published a comprehensive account- ing manual in order to teach his fellow Jesuits how to keep good financial records: Trattato del modo di tenere il libro doppio domestico col suo essemplare composto dal Padre Lodovico Flori della Compagnia di Giesu. Per uso delle case, Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 24 Grendler journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 37 See Giovanna Centorrino, Il trattato di Padre Ludovico Flori. Analisi del contenuto e traspo- sizione in linguaggio contemporaneo (Rome: Aracne, 2008). It consists of an extensive introduction and analysis, a reproduction of the 1636 edition, and a side-by-side modern Italian version of the text. 38 Same title, Palermo, per il Lazzare Varese, 1677. There is a copy in the Rare Book Room of the Columbia University Libraries. 39 For brief summaries, see William V. Bangert, S.J., A History of the Society of Jesus. Second edition: Revised and Updated (St. Louis: The Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1986), 431-471; and James Sauvé, Gabriel Codina, and José Martínez de la Escalera, “Educación,” in DHCJ, 2:1202-1214, at 1207-1214. e collegii della medesima Compagnia nel Regno di Sicilia (In Palermo, per Decio Cirillo, 1636).37 It was reprinted at least once, in Palermo in 1677.38 There is now a modern critical edition with a good analysis of the work and Flori’s career. After the Suppression The European Jesuit schools all closed between the first suppression in Portugal in 1759 and the papal suppression of 1773. Governments seized the buildings, properties, and financial assets of Jesuits, then sold them, gave them away, or put them to non-educational purposes. The Austrian empire created state schools in the former Jesuit buildings, using confiscated Jesuit wealth to sup- port them. Although the Society of Jesus was universally reinstated in 1814, only a small number of the previous schools in continental Europe were restored, because governments continued to exile or suppress the Society. A national government or monarch permitted the Society to resume opera- tions within its borders, the Society started a handful of schools, then that same government or a subsequent one expelled the Society. After a few years, the cycle repeated itself. This happened around 1820, 1830, in 1848, the 1870s, and later. The fate of the Collegio Romano was typical. Pope Leo XII returned the Collegio Romano building to the Jesuits in 1824 and they re-opened their school. But the new kingdom of Italy closed it for good in 1870 and seized its substantial library.39 The Society made two major changes in educational policy in the nine- teenth century. It revised the Ratio Studiorum and promulgated it on a trial basis in 1832. The revised version made a number of changes, including recom- mending the teaching of vernacular languages and paying more attention to the natural sciences, history, and geography. The other change came in 1833 when Pope Gregory XVI authorized the Jesuits to charge students for tuition. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access 25Jesuit Schools In Europe. A Historiographical Essay journal of jesuit studies � (����) �-�� 40 Allan P. Farrell, The Jesuit Code of Liberal Education. Development and Scope of the Ratio Studiorum (Milwaukee: Bruce, 1938), 383-395, 398-400; Broderick, 435-437, 482; For Matters of Greater Moment. The First Thirty Jesuit General Congregations. A Brief History and a Translation of the Decrees. Edited by John W. Padberg, Martin D. O’Keefe, and John L. McCarthy (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1994), 36-37, 440-442 (General Congregation 21, decrees 13-19), 455-457 (General Congregation 22, decrees 38-39, 42-43), quote at 457. 41 This information comes from Mark Lewis, S.J., for which I am grateful. The Society did not completely accept these changes at the time. It never for- mally adopted the revised Ratio, and the twenty-second general congregation of 1853 did not endorse charging for tuition. It did, however, authorize the superior general to permit colleges to levy tuition “for the time being” because of the Society’s penury.40 Hence, Jesuit schools charged tuition. These two changes were not sufficient to revive very many Jesuit schools in continental Europe but they had an impact elsewhere. After 1814, the Jesuits founded many more schools and universities outside of Europe, especially in North America. Although segments of American society were quite anti- Catholic until the era of the two Johns ( John XXIII and John F. Kennedy), the American Constitution mandated religious freedom. Therefore, neither the federal nor state governments could expel the Jesuits. Instead, a vast tide of Catholic immigrants came from Europe. They and their numerous and wealth- ier descendants provided the financial support that made it possible for the Jesuits to create a large number of schools and universities in the New World. In the early twenty-first century there are twenty-eight Jesuit university-level schools, some of them affiliated with larger institutions, and about fifty high schools in the United States and Canada.41 Some of them have interesting his- tories that should be examined in more detail by scholars. The handful of Jesuits who went to Messina in 1548 to found a school were followed by thousands of Jesuits who taught before 1773 and continue to teach in Europe and the rest of the world in the twenty-first century. The Society of Jesus created an extraordinary number of schools that educated a countless number of students. As noted earlier, each school has a history worthy of study. Fortunately, many able scholars are bringing to light the stories of individual schools and investigating broader themes in Jesuit education. The past few years have been rich in new scholarship and the future promises even more. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:06:13AM via free access Jesuit Schools in Europe. A Historiographical Essay 
work_zjyhfaqwvngdpn5lj47pqr7m7y	----	L E T T E R F R O M T H E G U E S T E D I T O R Military Architecture and Mathematics Marco Giorgio Bevilacqua Published online: 4 November 2014 � Kim Williams Books, Turin 2014 Abstract NNJ guest editor Marco Giorgio Bevilacqua introduces the papers in the special issue of the Nexus Network Journal dedicated to Military Architecture and Mathematics. Keywords Military architecture � Fortifications � Geometry The use of firearms in the warfare techniques from the early fifteenth century forward triggered a progressive and radical renovation of the systems of fortification, which until then had remained essentially unchanged since antiquity. 1 High walls, towers and moats, elements of an archetype based on the plunging defence, quickly showed their inadequacy to resist the new techniques of attack, the purpose of which was to breach the walls, rather than climb them. A very lively season started; supported by the cultural spirit of the Italian Renaissance, in little more than one century it led to the conception of a new system of urban and territorial defences. Fortresses of the first half of the fifteenth century, even if still tied to the medieval tradition, were already characterized by a first gradual geometric regularization of their structure, with all the elements placed and proportioned according to rules of optical control. In the experimentations that followed, the principle of the flanking defence was recovered from the classical tradition and innovatively adopted as a key element of the design. With the contributions of many Renaissance architects— M. G. Bevilacqua (&) DESTeC, Dipartimento di Ingegneria dell’Energia, dei Sistemi, del Territorio e delle Costruzioni, Università di Pisa, Via Diotisalvi, 2, 56126 Pisa, Italy e-mail: mg.bevilacqua@ing.unipi.it 1 In the 8000 B.C., Jericho was defended by walls, towers and a moat; in the Bronze Age, Chalandriani in Syros was fortified with circular walls and semi-circular towers (Santoro 1996: X). Nexus Netw J (2014) 16:517–521 DOI 10.1007/s00004-014-0220-x including certainly Francesco di Giorgio Martini and Antonio and Giuliano da Sangallo, but also Leon Battista Alberti—experimentation began to discover the rules for tracing the new bastioned front. By the mid-sixteenth century, these rules were substantially defined. The new front was designed according to a careful geometric analysis of artillery firing: shots for flanking defence, sketched in visual rays, defined the planimetric outlines of the fortified perimeters; rays also define the vertical section of the fortifications for défilement, or defilade, that is, the art of using features of the natural landscape or manmade land defences to protect the interior parts of a fortress. As Amelio Fara has pointed out, in the new fortified architecture, ‘‘its parts are in a relationship among themselves similar to that of the parts of a geometric system. The change introduced at one point has an impact on the integral whole, as in the geometric continuum of perspective’’ (Fara 1993: 11; my trans.). These new rules were extended beyond the fortified boundary, subjecting fortress compounds and even entire cities to those typical stellar plans that, inside, assured the functional reduction of the paths for the repositioning of troops and, outside, kept enemy artillery as far away as possible. While closely related to functional parameters, the new military architecture was also the result of the more general Renaissance culture of architecture, for which geometry and proportion provided the basis for a new aesthetic conception as well as the link with the classical antiquity. These experiences, which were at first genuinely and exclusively Italian, spread throughout Europe beginning in the second half of the sixteenth century, thanks to the circulation of treatises that became increasingly specialized with the passing of time: experiments tested on the battlefields found a place in theoretical models. This laid the foundations for a progressively autonomous science—the science of war—, which found in geometry the scientific basis for predicting the effectiveness of a design. Thus, in those years there came to be defined the figure of a specialist in warfare who applied his technical and theoretical knowledge to the solution of current problems. As Filippo Camerota writes, ‘‘shots of bombards affects the geometry of fortresses, require a proper understanding of the relationship between weight and range of the projectiles, impose the greatest precision in measurement and calculation, that is to force men of arms to acquire the mathematical basics necessary to the perfect management of armies’’ (Camerota 2002: 169; my trans.). ‘‘Men of arms’’ needed to know arithmetic for the organization of soldiers; to have a working knowledge of geometry and stereometry for measuring surfaces, shapes and solids; to know mechanical sciences, for the proper use of war machines; to have practical experience with artillery; to know methods and tools for directly and indirectly surveying buildings, cities and territories; to know the techniques of representation; to have technical knowledge of military architecture, and to be capable of applying all this theoretical knowledge to any site regardless of condition (rocky or sandy, mountainous or in the plains, etc.). Each of these skills describes some of the ways in which the relationship between mathematics and military architecture, the theme of this special issue, can be declined: geometry and architectural design of fortifications; applied mathematics in 518 M. G. Bevilacqua the early studies on ballistics; trigonometry, architectural survey and topography; geometry and representation of fortifications. These are therefore some of the keys with which the following papers deepen specific topics of research. The first group of papers that make up this issue is entirely dedicated to theoretical aspects of military architecture. In ‘‘Alberti and Military Architecture in Transition’’, Marco Giorgio Bevilacqua and Kim Williams focus on Leon Battista Alberti’s main treatise, De re aedificatoria, analyzing the parts where Alberti deals with military aspects, highlighting how the text represents a wonderful report of the state of fortifications in the first half of the fifteenth century, when artillery was coming into wider use. Shape, measure, relationship and proportion are the tools with which Alberti tries to give a first systemization to the medieval practices, laying the foundations for a new scientific treatment of the military architecture. The two closely related papers that follow regard the origin and spread of military axonometry for the representation of fortifications. ‘‘Prospettiva Soldat- esca: An Empirical Approach to the Representation of Military Architecture in the Early Modern Period’’, by Miguel Ángel Alonso-Rodrı́guez and José Calvo-López, explores the topic from the origins of transoblique perspective in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, and then focuses on some of the most important scholars of military architecture from the end of the fifteenth to the first half of seventeenth century: Francesco di Giorgio Martini, Baldasare Peruzzi, Giovan Battista Zanchi, Bonaiuto Lorini, Hendrik Hondius up to Jean Du Breuil. ‘‘The Dissemination of Military Perspective through Fortification Treatises between the Sixteenth and Eighteenth Centuries’’, by Jorge Galindo Dı́az, focuses on the most important specialists in the French and Spanish areas between the end of the sixteenth and the second half of the seventeenth century, including Bachot Ambroise, Claude Flamand, Jean Errard, Alonso de Cepeda y Adrada, Marqués de Leganés, Jean Du Breuil, and Blaise François Pagan. The joint research of Josep Lluis i Ginovart, Josep M. Toldrà i Domingo, Gerard Fortuny Anguera, Agustı́ Costa Jover, Pau de Sola-Morales Serra, entitled ‘‘The Ellipse and the Oval in the Design of Spanish Military Defence in the Eighteenth Century’’, describes the persistence of U-shaped plan in the project of some Spanish fortifications in the eighteenth century; the study, substantiated by a careful metrological analysis, deals also with the verification of the geometric root— whether oval or elliptical—of this planimetric form. James McQuillan’s ‘‘The Treatise on Fortification by Guarino Guarini’’ examines a little-studied aspect of the career of Guarino Guarini, with interesting references to Nicolas-François Blondel, Sébastian le Prestre de Vauban and Claude-François Milliet Dechales in the broader context of seventeenth-century military culture. Laura Carlevaris’s study, ‘‘Nicolas-François-Antoine de Chastillon: The Défile- ment of Fortifications at the Roots of Descriptive Geometry’’ sheds lights on the principles of défilement for tracing the vertical section of fortifications as described by Chastillon in the second half of the eighteenth century; the aim is to show how the tracing methods for défilement contributed to the genesis of modern descriptive geometry. Adriana Rossi concludes the first part, with ‘‘Hellenic vestiges in the Bastioned Front of the late 1700 s’’, her study on the treatise of the Jesuit Carlo Borgo, who in Military Architecture and Mathematics 519 1777 proposed extremely complex layouts for fortifications based on Greek references. These layouts, which have never been applied, describe the apex of the theoretical discussion on the modern fortification. The second group of papers presented here is dedicated to specific examples, organized in chronological order. In ‘‘Fortezza Vecchia in Livorno’’ Denise Ulivieri recalls the history of the old fortress of Livorno, one of the most important fortresses of the early sixteenth century, where Antonio and Giuliano da Sangallo experimented with the first examples of polygonal bastions; the study investigates the various phases of construction, from the medieval core up to the interventions of the sixteenth century. The two contributions that follow introduce two members of the Antonelli family, Italian military architects, very active at the court of Spain between the sixteenth and seventeenth century. Sandro Parrinello and Silvia Bertacchi present ‘‘The Fort of Bernia by Giovanni Battista Antonelli’’, with original research about the only fortress he designed in Spain, which no longer exists but whose perimeter can still be discerned in aerial photographs. Based on a careful survey and rare documentary sources, the study critically analyzes the project, identifying the geometric root of the plan and the elevation. Olimpia Niglio, in ‘‘Geometry and Genius Loci: Battista Antonelli’s Fortifications in Havana’’, focuses on the figure of the more famous Battista Antonelli (the younger brother of Giovanni Battista Antonelli), very active in the Spanish Caribbean at the end of the sixteenth century; in particular, Niglio analyzes two fortresses of his: the Castillo de los Tres Reyes del Morro and the Castillo San Salvador de la Punta in Havana, Cuba. The evolution of Ottoman military architecture in the early sixteenth century is well described in ‘‘Early Modern Military Architecture in the Ottoman Empire’’ by H. Burcu Özgüven, who, through a careful reading of the formal and technical aspects of three exemplary fortresses, highlights the strong cultural exchange between the Ottoman Empire and the Italian Renaissance regarding the military techniques. In ‘‘Are Vauban’s Geometrical Principles Applied in the Petrovaradin Fortress?’’ Marija Obradović and Slobodan Mišić, in order to ascertain the paternity of the project, attributed to Sébastien Le Prestre de Vauban, propose a very careful study on the geometric genesis of the project at the various phases of expansion, in relation also to the theoretical principles expressed by the Count de Pagan and Vauban. ‘‘The Citadel of Alessandria. Giuseppe Ignazio Bertola’s Architectural Infraction of the Hexagon’s Geometrical Regularity’’ by Amelio Fara concludes this issue. Fara is one of the most important scholars of military architecture in Europe; heartfelt thanks go to him for having accepted my invitation to publish a paper here. This paper is part of a wider research that the author has been carrying out for many years on the figure and the work of Italian military architect Bertola and on the School for Engineers in Torino in the late eighteenth century. The research papers in this issue are complemented by four others works. In our Didactics column, Ahmed A. Elkhateeb and Esraa A. Elkhateeb present the final part of their series of article that have appeared in vol. 16: ‘‘Remarks on the Surface Area and Equality Conditions in Regular Forms Part IV: Pyramidal Forms’’. There 520 M. G. Bevilacqua are three book reviews in this issue. As guest editor of this issue, it was my pleasure to review Festungsbau: Geometrie, Technologie, Sublimierung, edited by Bettina Marten, Ulrich Reinisch and Michael Korey. Michela Rossi reviews The Italian Piazza Transformed: Parma in the Communal Age by Areli Marina. Last but not least, Kim Williams reviews Architecture, Astronomy and Sacred Landscape in Ancient Egypt by Giulio Magli. Heartfelt thanks go to Kim Williams, NNJ co-editor in chief, for her irreplaceable guidance and support during the long phase of selection of the papers. My personal thanks go also to all the scholars who have dedicated part of their precious time to the review process of the papers: Paolo Bertoncini Sabatini, Roberto Castiglia, José Calvo-López, Giuseppe D’Acunto, Sylvie Duvernoy, Ralf Gebühr, Ewa Karwacka, Bettina Marten, Alessandro Merlo, Ana López Mozo, Alessandra Pagliano, Alexandra Paio, Marinella Pasquinucci, Enrique Rabasa, Clara Silvia Roero, Michela Rossi, Marta Salvatore, Margarida Tavares da Conceição and João Pedro Xavier. References Camerota, Filippo. 2002. Le scienze della guerra. In Storia d’Italia. Annali 18. Guerra e Pace, ed. Barberis Walter, 169–197. Torino: Einaudi. Fara, Amelio. 1993. La città da guerra nell’Europa moderna. Torino: Einaudi. Santoro, Rodo. 1996. Prefazione alla ristampa. In Dalle caverne ai rifugi blindati:trenta secoli di architettura militare, ed. Cassi Ramelli, Antonio, III–XXI. Bari: Adda. Marco Giorgio Bevilacqua engineer, is an Assistant Professor of Architectural Representation at the University of Pisa, where he was graduated in 2003 and received a Ph.D. in ‘‘Sciences and techniques for the civil constructions’’ in 2008. His research interests are in the field of valorization of the historical architectural heritage, with particular attention to historical military architecture, architectural and urban survey and digital technologies for the communication of historical architectural heritage. He currently teaches Architectural Representation and Methodologies for Architectural surveying in the Master degree program of Building Engineering and Architecture. He has published several works and papers on his main research topics, presented conferences and lectures. Among his publications are Le mura di Pisa. Rafforzamenti, ammodernamenti e modificazioni dal XII al XIX secolo, co-authored with Cristina Salotti (Pisa: ETS, 2011); for the NNJ‘‘The Conception of Ramparts in the Sixteenth Century: Architecture, ‘Mathematics’ and Urban Design’’ (NNJ9, 2 (2007), pp. 249–261), ‘‘The Turkish Baths in Elbasan: Architecture, Geometry and Wellbeing’’ with Roberto Castiglia (NNJ 10, 2(2008), pp. 307–321) and ‘‘Alexander Klein and the Existenzminimum: A ‘Scientific’ Approach to Design Techniques’’ (NNJ 13, 2 (2011), pp. 297–313). He is co-author with Kim Williams of ‘‘Leon Battista Alberti’s Bombard Problem in Ludi matematici: Geometry and Warfare’’ (The Mathematical Intelligencer, 34, 8 (2013), pp. 27–38). Military Architecture and Mathematics 521 Military Architecture and Mathematics Abstract References 
work_zf4ta43i6bbpxnbbocscwwge7i	----	comptes rendus 187 or reading you are studying, Foxe’s volume is likely to include an example of it. Acts of Reading provides scholars with a variety of thoughtful models for interpreting Foxe’s numerous and expansive publications and other early modern texts. gwynn dujardin, Queen’s University Ascoli, Albert Russell. A Local Habitation and a Name: Imagining Histories in the Italian Renais- sance. New York: Fordham University Press, 2011. Pp. x, 387. ISBN 978-0-8232-3429- 5 (paperback) $35. This volume is a substantial study of themes that have preoccupied Ascoli for most of his career. As the Terrill Distinguished Professor of Italian at the Uni- versity of California, Berkeley, Albert Russell Ascoli has made a place for him- self in Italian literary studies based upon thought-provoking interpretations of Petrarch, Dante, and Ariosto. This volume is no different. A Local Habitation gathers nine essays from across Ascoli’s career (1990–2011) and presents them as a meditation on six major themes or literary preoccupations. At the core of this volume is Ascoli’s self-described “enduring obsession with the relations be- tween ‘the literary’ and ‘the historical’ ” (7), which is played out through investi- gations of important literary works and their authors’ own personal obsessions. The first essay, entitled “Petrarch’s Middle Age,” examines Petrarch’s evo- cation of Augustine and Dante as a portal through which to discern the place, be it real, fictionalized, memorialized, or constructed, of this volume’s title. However, as with most of these essays there is a greater issue blurring the edges of his argument. Ascoli strives to present Petrarch’s own vision of himself while examining the modern identification of Petrarch as the canonical first modern man. This essay embodies one of the volume’s major themes: revealing how modern critical discourse has presented certain authors as emblems of histori- cal periods. Another complementary theme appears in the second essay, entitled “Boccaccio’s Auerbach: Holding a Mirror up to Mimesis.” Here Ascoli focuses 188 bo ok reviews on the issue of periodicity and the literary relations between Boccaccio and Dante. His investigation of Eric Auerbach’s assertion that the Commedia was a necessary prerequisite to the Decameron becomes an investigation of Boccaccio’s own marginality and the construction of literary worlds. At the chapter’s end, literary reality is fleeting and periodicity seems immaterial. What follows this dissolution of firm historical bounds is an elevation of ambivalence and an emphasis on the themes of dominance and subversion in an essay entitled “Pyrrhus’ Rules: Playing with Power in Boccaccio’s Decameron.” Although Ascoli himself notes the essay’s preoccupation with inter- and intratextual philology and etymology, most striking is the timelessness of themes (class and gender) in comparison to the preceding essay’s focus. This third essay shows Ascoli’s facility with the tools of structural analysis and historicization, which functions as a third preoccupation throughout the volume and reappears in two later essays on Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso. In the fourth and fifth essays Ascoli turns his focus towards the more public or politicized interactions of Petrarch and Machiavelli through their re- spective works, Rerum Familiarum Libri and The Prince. While these essays, entitled “Petrarch’s Private Politics” and “Machiavelli’s Gift of Counsel,” are the clearest examples of historicizing literary works, they focus on the tension of negotiating political place through rhetoric and the difficult performance of au- thorial roles. Neither author succeeded in his goal, yet their attempts to identify valued and protected positions vis à vis local rulers help us to understand the difficulties that authors faced in acquiring and keeping a place in the fickle and constructed world of patronage. Where the two former essays reflect Ascoli’s continued interest in Italian authors and their experiences navigating the winds of change in peninsular politics, the sixth essay, entitled “Ariosto’s ‘Fier Pastor’: Form and History in Orlando Furioso,” moves into the realm of critique. Here Ascoli explores another more nebulous theme: the way in which authors stand as representations of their society and thus as potential conduits of social criticism. As Ascoli notes, this role is rarely textually explicit, but exists in potential as part of the literary structure — which challenges the reader to uncover the moralizing analogies linking the literary narrative with contemporary events or authorial concerns. Ascoli takes on an equally difficult task in the seventh and ninth essays, which focus on double images in Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso and Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata. Again these essays benefit from Ascoli’s ability to plumb cinquecento comptes rendus 189 culture and reveal the authors’ conscious and unconscious beliefs. This cultural commentary is set against a narrative structure that is deconstructed etymologically in order to show a rich under-layer of meaning and conflict that draws on age-old themes like death and gender relations. Readers might find the volume’s subtitle, Imagining Histories in the Italian Renaissance, to be a more apt description of Ascoli’s work. The nine essays col- lected here span a full career that brims over with skill, detail, and imagination worthy of the authors whom Ascoli studies. jennifer mara desilva, Ball State University Carter, Karen E. Creating Catholics: Catechism and Primary Education in Early Modern France. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2011. Pp. xiii, 314. ISBN 978- 0-268-02304-1 (paperback) n.p. Cahiers de Doléances as sources to understand the Catholic Reformation? His- torians have studied these lists of grievances written on the eve of the French Revolution for all sorts of reasons, but Karen Carter’s use of them suggests the imaginative and unconventional nature of her book overall. Indeed, Creating Catholics offers a re-conceptualization of the periodization of early modern Eu- rope that pulls the 1780s much closer to the 1560s and highlights just how long the changes inspired at the Council of Trent took to come to fruition. On the face of it, Creating Catholics fits nicely within a body of scholarship on the Protestant and Catholic Reformations that seeks to measure the extent and nature of the impact of early modern religious changes, in this case on rural residents of France. If historians in recent years have presented the Catholic Reformation as failed, limited, or at least frustrated in the villages, Carter’s book suggests that they need to widen their scope. To do this, Carter takes one facet of the Catholic Reformation, religious education, and examines it over three centuries  —  thus extending her research into periods traditionally covered by scholars of the Enlightenment and Revolution. Evidence suggests, she argues, that by the end of the eighteenth century, catechism and schoolteachers helped 
work_y7qymig3vvh7fidm6gq5z35p2q	----	49O T H E ANTIQUARIES JOURNAL T h e following were elected Officers and members of the Council for the coming year: Dr. A. J. Taylor (President); Mr. R. M . Robbins (Treasurer); Professor J. D. Evans (Director); Dr. I. H. Longworth (Secretary); Mr. D. F. Allen; Dr. R. L. S. Bruce-Mitford; Mr. A. R. Dufty; Mr. P. A. Faulkner; Mr. B. J. Greenhill; Professor R. M . Harrison; Mr. T . G. Hassall; Dr. G. W . Herrmann; Mr. R. R. Inskeep; Mr. W . Reid; Dr. G. G. Simpson; Mr. P. Smith; Mr. B. H. I. H. Stewart; Dr. H. M . Taylor; Professor W. Watson; Mrs. L. Webster; Dr. N . J. Williams. T h e President then delivered his Anniversary Address (pp. I - I O ) . 1st May 1975. T h e President announced that he had appointed Mr. A. R. Dufty to be a Vice-President. Mr. N . H. Cooper, Mr. C. A. F. Meekings, Miss N . R. Briggs, Mr. D. C. Winfield, Mr. C. B. Burgess, Mr. A. G. Down, Dr. J. W . Hayes, Dr. R. N . Bailey, Dr. A. Saunders, Dr. J. E. Herrin, Dr. R. S. Cormack, Mr. J. F. Physick, Mr. J. Christian, Mr. P. J. Reynolds, Professor E. T . Hall, Mr. D. Peace, Dr. D. M . Smith, Professor L. Thorpe, and Professor J. Simmons were elected Fellows. 8th May 1975. T h e Norman church and door at Stillingfleet, Yorkshire, by P. V. Addyman and Ian Goodall. A selection of brief obituaries covering the period 1973-5 follows. HIS MAJESTY KING GUSTAF VI ADOLF O F SWEDEN Elected Royal Fellow 12th December 1935 King Gustaf V I Adolf of Sweden died at Helsinborg on 15th September 1973, aged 90. It was during the 1920s that King Gustaf first developed his interest in archaeology: he spon- sored and also took an active part in Swedish expeditions to Greece and Cyprus. In 1926 he was the first to hold the famous Keishu Crown, discovered in a seventh-century grave excavated in Korea to mark his visit. He was also the only westerner ever to enter Peking, the 'Forbidden City', by the W u Men Gate. King Gustaf became a leading European authority on Far Eastern art, and he was awarded honorary degrees and fellowhips of learned societies in many parts of the world. In this country, he held honorary degrees at the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge, Leeds, and London. He was a Fellow of the Royal Society, an Honorary Fellow of the British Academy, and was created a K . G . by the Queen during his state visit to London in 1954. M. PAUL DESCHAMPS Elected Honorary Fellow 2nd February 1928 M . Deschamps died on 25th February 1974 at the age of 85. He was a member of the Acad^mie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, a Commander of the Legion of Honour, and was Keeper of the Musde national des monuments franc,ais. I n his academic interests he was torn between documentary research and archaeology, but eventually opted for the latter; his published work, however, reflected his historical knowledge. He became Secretary to the Ecole de Chartes in 1921, and in 1927 was appointed Director of the Musee de sculpture comparee de Trocadero. He took part in expeditions organized by the Director of Syrian Antiquities, and these led to the publication of the first volume ofChdteaux des Croises (1934), dealing with Le Krak des Chevaliers, a second on the kingdom of Jerusalem (1939), and a third volume in 1972 on Tripoli and Antioch, all of which had great consequences https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008751 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008751 https://www.cambridge.org/core PROCEEDINGS 491 for the study of military architecture. Other publications were: La peinture murale en France; le haut Moyen Age et Pepoque romane (1951); La peinture murale au dibut de Vepoque gothique (1963); and a more popular work, Aux temps des croisades. It was during his period as Director that the Mus6e de sculpture comparee became the Mus^e des monuments frangais. With the collaboration of the Historic Monuments Service, M . Deschamps created an office for the documentation of monuments, to study construction tech- niques of the past: this has proved invaluable for students of both archaeology and architecture. C O M T E BLAISE DE M O N T E S Q U I O U - F E Z E N S A C Elected Honorary Fellow 8th May 1947 Le Comte de Montesquiou-Fezensac died at his home in France on 3rd September 1974. He published widely on aspects of medieval art-history. T h e first volume of his last work, Le Tresor de Saint-Denis, appeared in 1972, and the second volume was in the hands of the printers at the time of his death. PROFESSOR DR. E M I L V O G T Elected Honorary Fellow nth January 1951 Professor Dr. Emil Vogt died as the result of a street accident on 2nd December 1974, aged 68. He was born in Basle in 1906 and worked for a short time at the Historical Museum there. From 1930 until his retirement in 1971 he worked at the National Museum in Zurich, of which he was made Vice-Director in 1953 and Director in 1961. He was appointed as the first Pro- fessor of Prehistoric Archaeology at the University of Zurich in 1945. Emil Vogt was a scholar of international repute, and a pioneer in the study of Swiss prehistory, particularly that of the Neolithic and Bronze Ages. His excavations at Egolwil from 1950 to 1966 enabled him, with other scholars, to reinterpret on a scientific basis the so-called 'lake- dwellings'. His tenure of directorship at the National Museum saw considerable advances in the techniques of display and conservation. T H O M A S SHERRER ROSS BOASE, ESQ., M . C . , M.A., F.B.A. Elected gth January 1947 Thomas Boase died on 15th April 1974 at the age of 75. He was President of Magdalen College, Oxford, from 1947 to 1968, and had been Chairman of the British School at Rome since 1965. He had a keen interest in medieval history, but his overriding interest was in pic- tures, architecture, and sculpture, including that of the medieval period, the Italian Renaissance, and eighteenth- and nineteenth-century art in England. From 1922 to 1937 Boase was tutor in History and Dean at Hertford College. He was then appointed Professor in the History of Art at the University of London and Director of the Cour- tauld Institute. In 1943 he went to the Middle East, where he spent two years as chief repre- sentative to the British Council. On returning to England he became a trustee of the National Gallery (1946—53), and a member of the advisory council of the Victoria and Albert Museum (1947—70). He was a governor of the British Museum and also of the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre. From 1958 to i960 he was Vice Chancellor of Oxford University. His publications included: Boniface Fill, St. Francis of Assisi, English Art 1100-1216, English Art 1800-jO, and Kingdoms and Strongholds of the Crusaders. He edited the Oxford History of English Art and also made valuable contributions to the Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008751 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500008751 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_zsdrzwz7ynb3vjqqn3733zemiu	----	authenticate La Bella Principessa; the presence of Cesare Borgia, Machiavelli, and Leonardo in Imola, in the autumn of 1502; and the discussion of the range and depth of Leonardo’s to-do lists (get the measurement of the sun promised me by Maestro Giovanni Francese, describe the tongue of the woodpecker). Early modern specialists will find other sections less compelling—for example, Isaacson’s account of the rivalry between Leonardo and Michelangelo, one social and handsome, the other unattractive and antisocial, and the contemporary observation that the realism of The Lady with an Ermine offers an example of a portrait that does all but speak. But such factors do not detract from Isaacson’s splendid achievement, at once a magisterial biography and tribute to every aspect of Leonardo’s observatory prowess. The book is magnificently produced, with ample reproductions, an illustrated timeline, and an uplifting conclusion on how we can all learn from Leonardo’s omnivorous curiosity. Deborah Parker, University of Virginia doi:10.1017/rqx.2018.24 Jacopo de’ Barbari: Künstlerschaft und Hofkultur um 1500. Beate Böckem. Studien zur Kunst 32. Cologne: Böhlau Verlag, 2016. 516 pp. €65. The name Jacopo de’ Barbari resonates now only faintly among specialists in Northern Renaissance art, as the obscure Venetian artist who spent his career in the Holy Roman Empire (ca. 1500–16) and who may have reinforced Albrecht Dürer’s reception of the Italian Renaissance. As Böckem’s excellent study makes clear, Barbari’s extant oeuvre may be small and somewhat mysterious, but he was also part of the transformative wave of Italian innovators that swept across the empire. Altogether, Böckem has assem- bled an extant corpus of possibly twelve paintings, two drawings, thirty engravings, and two woodcuts. (She is doubtful or uncertain about a few of the attributions.) Importantly, Barbari created art for major rulers of the empire, especially for those engaged in promoting humanism: Emperor Maximilian, Elector Friedrich the Wise of Saxony, Elector Albrecht of Brandenburg, and Archduchess Margaret of Austria, regent of the Hapsburg Netherlands. In her study, Böckem pursues two goals: she offers a comprehensive analysis of Barbari’s “artistry” (“Künstlerschaft”) in several media—his techniques, style, themes, and achievements—as well as a thorough historical reassess- ment of the artistic culture of the courts with which he was associated. Indeed, nearly half of the book is devoted to wide-ranging analyses of these courts, with especially insightful portrayals of the ambitions of Friedrich the Wise and Margaret of Austria. Moreover, Böckem expertly and vividly charts Barbari’s connections to Venetian art from the late fifteenth century. RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY258 VOLUME LXXII, NO. 1 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core As for the Dürer question, Böckem documents all known associations between the two artists and concludes that influence probably flowed both ways. It is conceivable, but not likely, that the artists met during Dürer’s first trip to Italy, and it is certain that they knew each other during Barbari’s Nuremberg residency, in 1500–01, the year Barbari worked for Maximilian. In two discarded drafts for an introduction to Four Books on Human Proportions (1528; see pp. 123–34), Dürer claims that Barbari initiated him into the canons of proportions. For unspecified reasons, according to Dürer, Barbari was not able to explain proportional representation in detail, which motivated Dürer’s scholarly immersion into Vitruvius. On 7 June 1521, Dürer requested (but did not receive) Barbari’s “little book” from Margaret of Austria, possibly a sketchbook. This would appear to indicate Dürer’s respect for Barbari’s work. On an earlier occa- sion, however, Dürer wrote, mockingly, from Venice that the local painters claimed Barbari “would have stayed (i.e., in Venice) if he were any good” (7 February 1506). Böckem focuses her analysis on comparisons of important nudes by Dürer with closely related compositions by Barbari. Both artists also used the innovative Venetian frontal portrait of Christ as Salvator Mundi. The composition exists in two variants in Barbari’s oeuvre and in one major unfinished painting by Dürer; it also informs Dürer’s Self- Portrait of 1500. Böckem’s reconstruction of Barbari’s career reveals clearly that the intellectual status of the painter was undergoing a significant elevation in the empire during the first decade of the sixteenth century. In a letter of inquiry sent to Elector Friedrich the Wise, Barbari declares that the art of painting was the culmination of all the liberal arts. This intellectualization of the visual artist, which is derived entirely from the Italian Renaissance, first appears in the north at precisely this time, with artists such as Dürer and Cranach the Elder. Böckem also demonstrates convincingly that Barbari’s social milieu was the humanist professorate of the fledgling University of Wittenberg in 1503/04–05. One of his paintings, Christ Giving a Blessing, is notable for the expertly rendered Hebrew on two bands decorating Christ’s clothing. This painting is attributed to Barbari on the basis of a 1553 woodcut reproduction by Lucas Cranach the Younger that illustrates a pamphlet validating visual representation of Christ by Protestant artists. Barbari’s role as a purveyor of the Italian Renaissance style is also indicated by other contemporaneous reproductions of his designs, by the Augsburg sculptor Hans Daucher and in the innovative etchings from the Hopfers, a flourishing workshop in Augsburg that also reproduced designs by Raphael, Marcantonio Raimondi, and Dürer. Understandably, Böckem expresses warm enthusiasm for Barbari’s work, but she does so without overstating the evidence for his influence or achievements. Her keen eye and historical rigor lead her to qualify the attribution of the magnificent view of Venice (woodcut in six blocks, 1500) to Barbari, suggesting that he probably only con- tributed to the work. She also strongly questions the attribution of the well-known REVIEWS 259 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core double portrait with the renowned mathematician Luca Pacioli. Overall, this book is a rich study not only of an enigmatic career but also, more generally, of the emergence of humanism and Renaissance art at the major courts of the empire. David H. Price, Vanderbilt University doi:10.1017/rqx.2018.25 Colorito: La technique des peintres vénitiens à la Renaissance. Michel Hochmann. Turnhout: Brepols, 2015. 396 pp. €150. This book poses a challenge to a certain way of practicing art history, as a discipline that sometimes forgets that paintings are complex bodies and not only incorporeal images! Archival sources, case studies, and examination data that the author assembles and inter- acts with are not art historians’ usual reading, and they are even less common in uni- versity training in art history. Making and the sense of making are at the core of Michel Hochmann’s research, which takes place in a dialogue between art historians, historians, restorers, and scientists. Such interaction leads to a deeper understanding of the artists’ practices and reassesses the clichés about Venetian technique, a myth for both artists and art theorists from the sixteenth century onward. Chapters follow each other like the layers applied to a painting. In the first ones, on drawing, the author brings case studies, libri di spese, letters, recipe books, art theory, and infra-red reflectogram data face-to-face, demonstrating the variety of graphic practices (similes, sketches, studies, underdrawings, and cartoni) among Venetian painters. The conventional idea of drawing’s marginal role is therefore deeply reconsidered. Similar observations can be made on chapters about supports and mediums. From the Quattrocentoonward,artists used wood panelsas well ascanvas,dependingon thedimen- sions and function of paintings. If in the Palazzo Ducale the Bellini chose teleri as substi- tutes for frescoes, their easel paintings and some large pale are mostly on wood. Later, Giorgione, Palma, or Lotto are just as irregular, even if artists, such as the young Titian, mostly chose simple thread canvases when they used tempera, looking for the homoge- neous effects of wooden panels. The choice of support also had to do with cost or time constraints. Hochmann estimates the cost of canvas around 2% of the painting’s total price. This could explain why Titian or Tintoretto worked often on composite canvases, sometimes made by scraps dissimilar in dimensions, thread, and typology: Titian’s Triumph of Faith is made by canvases of various threads, while Tintoretto’s Last Judgment, in the Madonna dell’Orto, is a patchwork of disparate scraps. Comparing sources and examination data, the book also undoes the story of the oil-painting-industry espionage by Antonelloda Messina, who allegedly brought it into Venice. Indeed, though, oil and tempera were used since the early fifteenth century. Giovanni Bellini employs par- tial oil inthe Transfiguration, buthisAgony inthe Garden is eggtempera.If in theMadonna RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY260 VOLUME LXXII, NO. 1 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_zwzwjzfvkzbczohm4s2xhsqjlu	----	w w w . l i b r i d e r g i . o r g Kitap Tanıtımı, Eleştiri ve Çeviri Dergisi Journal of Book Notices, Reviews and Translations Volume II (2016) CICERO, Murena Savunması. İstanbul 2016. Kabalcı Yayınevi, 243 sayfa. Çev. E. N. Akdoğdu Arca – M. Oktan. ISBN: 9786059872355 B. Deniz ATİLLA Libri: Kitap Tanıtımı, Eleştiri ve Çeviri Dergisi’nde bulunan içeriklerin tümü kullanıcılara açık, serbestçe/ücretsiz ‘açık erişimli’ bir dergidir. Kullanıcılar, yayıncıdan ve yazar(lar)dan izin almaksızın, dergideki kitap tanıtımı, eleştiri ve çevirileri tam metin olarak okuyabilir, indirebilir, dağıtabilir, çıktısını alabilir ve kaynak göstererek bağlantı verebilir. Libri, uluslararası hakemli elektronik (online) bir dergi olup değerlendirme süreci biten kitap tanıtımı, eleştiri ve çeviriler derginin web sitesinde (www.libridergi.org) yıl boyunca ilgili sayının içinde (Volume II: Ocak-Aralık 2016) yayımlanır. Aralık ayı sonunda ilgili yıla ait sayı tamamlanır. Dergide yayımlanan eserlerin sorumluluğu yazarlarına aittir. Atıf Düzeni B. D. Atilla, Murena Savunması. Yazar: Cicero, Çevirenler: E. N. Akdoğdu Arca – M. Oktan. Libri II (2016) 517-519. DOI: 10.20480/lbr.2016046 Geliş Tarihi: 04.12.2016 | Kabul Tarihi: 24.12.2016 | Elektronik Yayın Tarihi: 26.12.2016 URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.20480/lbr.2016046 Editörya Phaselis Project www.phaselis.org Kitap Tanıtımı, Eleştiri ve Çeviri Dergisi Vol. II (2016) 517-519 CICERO, Murena Savunması. İstanbul 2016. Kabalcı Yayınevi, 243 sayfa. Çev. E. N. Akdoğdu Arca – M. Oktan. ISBN: 9786059872355 B. Deniz ATİLLA∗ Marcus Tullius Cicero, MÖ 3 Ocak 106 tarihinde, Roma’nın 100 km güneydoğusunda yer alan Arpi- num kasabasına yaklaşık 7 km uzaklıkta bulunan bir evde, equites sınıfına mensup bir ailenin ilk çocuğu olarak dünyaya geldi. Gençlik döneminde Roma’nın önde gelen isimlerinden dersler aldı. Bunlardan biri de Quintus Marcus Scaevola’nın gözetiminde almış olduğu Roma hukuku eğitimiydi. 23 yaşında avukatlık mesleğine adım attı. Cursus honorum yolunda MÖ 75 yılında questor, MÖ 69 yılında aedilis ve MÖ 66 yılında da praetor oldu. MÖ 63 yılında ise Roma Cumhuriyet Dönemi’nin en önemli devlet görevi olan consul statüsüne erişti. Consul olarak görevini yürüttüğü sırada önemli başarılarından birisi de devlete karşı silahlı bir ayaklanma hazırlığında olan Catilina’nın Roma’dan sürülmesini sağlamak oldu. I. Triumviratus Dönemi’nde Caesar karşıtı bir tutum izleye- rek Pompeius’un yanında göründü. Ancak Caesar tarafından Pharsalos Savaşı sonrasında affedildi ve Roma’ya geri döndü. II. Triumviratus Dönemi’nden önce, bu kez M. Antonius karşıtı olarak Octavianus’un yanında yer aldı ancak MÖ 43 yılında Octavianus tarafından ihanete uğrayarak evin- de öldürüldü. Avukatlık mesleğine uygun şekilde savunma ve suçlama konuşmalarından oluşan eserler kaleme aldı. Ayrıca felsefe, rhetorika ve politika konularında da birçok eser yazdı. Cice- ro’nun en önemli özelliği hitabetteki başarısıydı. Ancak, kaydedilmiş toplam 88 konuşmasından sadece 58’i bugüne ulaşabilmiştir. Cicero’nun günümüze ulaşan eserlerinden biri de, Akdeniz Üniversitesi, Edebiyat Fakültesi, Eski- çağ Dilleri ve Kültürleri Bölümü, Latin Dili ve Edebiyatı Anabilim Dalı öğretim üyeleri Yrd. Doç. Dr. Ebru N. Akdoğu Arca ve Yrd. Doç. Dr. Mehmet Oktan tarafından Türkçe’ye kazandırılan Murena Savunması adlı çalışmadır. Bu kitap, MÖ 62 yılı consul designatus’u Murena’ya, kendisi ile birlikte consul seçimlerine giren ancak seçimi kaybeden Servius Sulpicius tarafından yöneltilmiş suçlama- lara karşı, Cicero tarafından yapılan savunma metnini içermektedir. Cicero bu savunmayı, MÖ 63 yılı Kasım ayında üstlenmiştir. Önsöz (6-7) kısmında Pro Murena konuşmasının, eserin tarihi içeriği ve baba oğul Murena’ların Küçük Asya ile olan yakın ilişkisi nedeniyle tercih edildiği ifade edilmektedir. Ayrıca eserin, Cum- huriyet Dönemi’nin sonlarında karşı karşıya kalınan sorunlar ile bu sorunların nasıl çözümlenmeye çalışıldığı, idari sistemin mevcut tehlikeler karşısında nasıl şekillendiği ve Roma yasalarının nasıl çıkarıldığı gibi pek çok konuda bilgi verdiği belirtilmektedir. Çeviri Yöntemi (8-9) kısmında çeviride kullanılan edisyonlar, kısaltmalara yönelik açıklamalar ve çeviri notlarında ve yorumlarda yararlanı- lan kaynaklar yer almaktadır. Giriş (10-33) bölümünde ise Lucius Licinius Murena’nın yaşam ∗ MA., Akdeniz Üniversitesi, Akdeniz Uygarlıkları Araştırma Enstitüsü, Akdeniz Eskiçağ Araştırmaları Anabilim Dalı, Antalya. denizatilla@akdeniz.edu.tr DOI: 10.20480/lbr.2016046 Cicero 518 öyküsüne yer verilmektedir. Murena Savunmasına İlişkin Retorik Öğeler ve Konuşmanın Özetlen- mesi bölümünde (34-46) gerçekleştirilen söylevin türü ve söylevde kullanılan hitap sanatı teknikle- rine değinilerek, metne ilişkin genel bir özet sunulmaktadır. Lex Tullia de Ambitu bölümünde (47- 57), Roma’da krallık yönetiminin sona ermesinin ardından Cumhuriyet yönetimi ile birlikte seçimle işbaşına gelen idareciler döneminin başladığı ve idareci olarak seçilmek üzere aday olanların yürüttüğü seçim çalışmalarına ilişkin bir düzenlemeye ihtiyaç duyulduğu anlatılmaktadır. Bölümde, bu konuda yapılan çalışmalardan biri olan ve MÖ 62 yılı consul seçimleri öncesinde Cicero tarafın- dan düzenlenerek senatus consultum yoluyla çıkarılan Lex Tullia de Ambitu yasasına ve metnin yasalaşmasının ardından yaşanan sürece yer verilmektedir. Belirtilen bu kısımların ve bölümlerin ardından, metnin çevirisinin sunulduğu M. Tulli Ciceronis Pro L. Murena Oratio (Marcus Tullius Cicero - Lucius Murena Savunması) (60-199) başlıklı tercüme yer almaktadır. Kitabın girişinde aktarılan bilgiler ışığında Murena’nın savunması; Giriş [Exordium] (60-75), Çürütme [Confutatio] (75-187) ve Sonsöz [Peroratio] (187-199) olmak üzere üç alt başlığa ayrılmaktadır. Çürütme Confutatio (75-187) alt başlığıysa; Murena’nın Hayatına İlişkin Suçlamalar Hakkında [de Reprehensine Vitae Muranae] (75-81), Rekabet Haysiyeti Hakkında [de Contentione Dignitatis] (81-141) ve Rüşvet Suçlaması Hakkında [de criminibus ambitus] (141-187) olarak adlandırılan üç yan başlığa bölünmektedir. Giriş [Exordium] (60-75) alt başlığında Cicero; senatus, equites ve tribuni eararii’den oluşturulan ve kura ile belirlenen yargıçlar topluluğunun, ölümsüz tanrıların yetkilerini paylaştıklarını ifade etmektedir. Böylece Murena hakkında verilecek kararın kutsiyetine vurgu yaparak savunmasına başlayan Cicero, yargıçlardan Murena’nın consul görevine devamı konusunda Roma halkı ile aynı yönde karar vermelerini istemektedir. Kendisini hem consul hem Lex Tullius de Ambitu yasasını çıkaran kişi hem de Murena’yı savunan hatip olarak doğru bir iş yapmadığı yönünde eleştiren Ca- to’ya da cevap veren Cicero, konuşmasını Murena’nın rakibi ve davacısı olan Servius Sulpicius’un eleştirilerine yanıt vererek sürdürmektedir. Cicero, consul seçimlerinde Servius Sulpicius’u destek- lediğini kabul etmekle birlikte, Murena’nın suçlanması söz konusu olunca Servius Sulpicius ile aynı yönde hareket etmek zorunda olmadığını ifade etmektedir. Çürütme [Confutatio] (75-187) alt başlığındaysa Cicero, Murena’ya yöneltilen suçlamaları üç başlık altında değerlendirmektedir. Murena’nın Hayatına İlişkin Suçlamalar Hakkında [de Reprehen- sine Vitae Muranae] (75-81) başlığıyla düzenlenen alt başlıkta Cicero, Asia’ya sefahat sürmek için gittiği yönündeki eleştirilerin yanı sıra, oldukça ağır bir itham şekli olan “dansçı” yakıştırması ile karşı karşıya kalan Murena’nın savunmasına devam etmektedir. Cicero, VI. Mithradates ile savaş- mak üzere Sulla’nın komutasında Anadolu’ya geçen baba Murena’nın başarılı bir yardımcısı olan oğul Murena’nın sefahat için değil, Roma adına savaşmak için Asia’da bulunduğunu ifade etmektedir. Cicero burada iddiaları doğrudan çürütme yoluna başvurmamakta, baba Murena’nın askeri başarılarını ön plana çıkararak oğul Murena’nın bu başarılardaki payını vurgulamak iste- mektedir. Rekabet Haysiyeti Hakkında [de Contentione Dignitatis] (81-141) başlığıyla düzenlenen diğer alt başlıkta, Servius Sulpicius’un pleps kökenli Murena’nın soyuna ilişkin küçümsemelerine cevap veren Cicero, Servius Sulpicius’un hukuk alanında ilerlediğinden bahisle, consul makamında askeri becerileri olan Murena’nın olması gerektiğini, bir savaş durumunda hatiplikten ziyade askeri yetilerin daha yararlı olacağını belirtmektedir. Bu minvalde Cicero, tüm savunmasının temelinde de yer aldığı üzere, Catilina isyanına yönelik devam eden tehlikeli durumu yargıçlara anımsatmaktadır. Consul makamı için yarışmaktansa, adaylara suçlamalar yöneltmek suretiyle elenmelerini sağlamak yolunu tercih eden Servius Sulpicius’un yanlış tavrını eleştiren Cicero, bir consul adayının tüm Murena Savunması 519 enerjisini seçimleri kazanmak için destekçi edinmek üzere kullanması gerektiğini ifade etmektedir. Cicero’nun Servius Sulpicius’a yönelik eleştirilerini ölçülü bir tutum içinde ortaya koyduğu görül- mektedir. Rüşvet Suçlaması Hakkında [de CriminibusAambitus] (141-187) şeklinde düzenlenen alt başlıkta Cicero, Postumus ve genç Sulpicius’un suçlamalarına değinmektedir. Ancak Postumus ve genç Sulpicius’un suçlamaları metinden çıkarılmıştır. Savunma metninden; Postumus’un, Mu- rena’nın seçim için rüşvet dağıttığına ilişkin şahitlerin bulunduğunu ve rüşvet paralarının ele geçiril- diğini iddia ettiği anlaşılmaktadır. Cicero, bir praetor adayının consul adayını suçlamasının uygun olmadığını söyleyerek sübuta ermediği anlaşılan bu iddiaları geçiştirmektedir. Önemli ve ağır bir otoriteye sahip olan Cato’ya verilen cevaplarda ise Cicero daima Cato’nun erdemlerini överek söze başlamaktadır. Murena’yı Campus Martius alanında karşılamaya giden kişilerin parayla tutuldu- ğunu, bunun da ambitus yani rüşvet olduğunu ve Murena’nın halkı kendi yanında tutmak için oyunlar tertip ettiğini iddia eden Cato’ya cevaben Cicero, ambitus ile hayırseverlik işlerinin karış- tırılmaması gerektiğini ifade etmektedir. Ayrıca Cicero, bu türden hususların hangi durumlarda suç unsuru olarak sayılabileceğini de açıklamaktadır. Yeniden Catilina tertibinin tehlikesine dikkat çe- ken Cicero, 1 Ocak’ta devletin başında iki consul bulunmasının gerektiğini, seçimlerin yenilenmesi- nin istikrarı bozacağını belirtmektedir. Sonsöz [Peroratio] (187-199) alt başlığında Cicero, Murena’nın suçlanması durumunda Ro- ma’nın çok ciddi bir tehlike içinde kalacağını, savaş deneyimine sahip bir consulün zulmedici Cati- lina ve taraftarlarından gelecek tehdidi durdurabilecek nitelikte olduğunu belirtmektedir. Mure- na’nın consul makamından yoksun bırakılmasının hem kendisi hem de Roma için yıkım getireceğini ifade eden Cicero, yargıçlardan Roma halkının, Murena’nın consul seçilmesi suretiyle gösterdiği lütfunun korunmasını isteyerek savunmasını sona erdirmektedir. Savunma metninin yer aldığı bö- lümleri, Son Notlar (200-233) ve Antik Kaynak Edisyonları (234-237) kısımları izlemektedir. Eser, Kaynakça (238-240) ve Dizin (241-243) kısımları ile tamamlanmaktadır. Eserde Cicero’nun söylevi, Latince ve Türkçe metinleri ile birlikte verilmektedir. Çalışma böylece Latince dilbilgisi eğitimi için de faydalı hale gelmektedir. Giriş (10-33) bölümünde verilen Lucius Li- cinius Murena’nın yaşam öyküsü ile Murena Savunmasına İlişkin Retorik Öğeler ve Konuşmanın Özetlenmesi (34-46) bölümü, çeviri metninin okuyucu tarafından kavranmasını kolaylaştırmaktadır. Ayrıca düzenlenen kapsamlı Son Notlar (200-233) bölümü, önemli bilgileri ayrıntıları ile okuyucuya sunmaktadır. Kenneth R. Bartlett, The Civilization of the Italian Renaissance: A Source Book adlı eserinde, XIV. yüzyıl öncesi Ortaçağ yazarları tarafından yeterince anlaşılmayan Cicero’nun, döne- minin en büyük bilgini ve hümanisti sayılan Francesco Petrarca tarafından 1345 yılında, Atticus mektupları aracılığı ile keşfedildiğinden bahsetmektedir. Böylelikle, Cicero’nun eserlerinin hüma- nist bir yaklaşımla yeniden değerlendirilmesinin ise, Rönesans’ı başlatan en önemli etkenlerden biri olduğu söylenmektedir. Bu doğrultuda, bu derece öneme haiz bir yazarın eserlerinden birinin Türkçe’ye kazandırılması için yapılan böylesi çalışmalar da, hiç kuşkusuz büyük bir adım niteliği taşımaktadır. CICERO, Murena Savunması. İstanbul 2016. Kabalcı Yayınevi, 243 sayfa. Çev. E. N. Akdoğdu Arca – M. Oktan. ISBN: 9786059872355 
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work_yantpzjp55fjleepome37s3ebq	----	[REVIEWS Continued from p. ii of cover] Rodwcll and Rodwcll, RivenhaU: Investigations of a Villa, Church, and Village, I95O-I977 176 Butler and Morris (eds.), The Anglo-Saxon Church 177 H i n t , An Anglo-Saxon Inhumation Cemetery at Sewerby, East Yorkshire . . 178 Cook and Dacrc, Excavations atPortway, Andover, 1973-1975. Anglo-Saxon Ceme- tery, Bronte Age Barrow and Linear Ditch 178 Pine, with Archibald and Hall, The Archaeology of York. 1 8 , 1 . Post-Roman Coins from York Excavations 1971-81 179 Moltke, transl. Foote, Runes and their Origin. Denmark and Elsewhere . . 180 Arwidsson (ed.), fitrfci. II, 2. Systematische Anafysen der GrSbetfimde . . 181 Grodecki, ed. Chastel and Sauerlinder, Le Moyen Age retrouvt: de Fan mil a Van 1200 182 Arnold, German Knighthood 1050-1300 183 Riley-Smith, The First Crusade and the Idea of Crusading 184 Bites, A Bibliography of Domesday Book 185 Wilson, The Bayeux Tapestry 185 Mcin, Norman Ush. The Birth of a Town 187 Hare, Battle Abbey. The Eastern Range andthe Excavations of1978-80. . . 187 Norton and Park (eds.), Cistercian Art and Architecture in the British Isles . . 188 Witts and Rahtz,Mary-le-Port, Bristol. Excavations 1962-1963 . . . 1 8 9 M c C o r m a c k , Channel Island Churches 1 9 1 Ormrod (ed.), England in the Fourteenth Century 192 Howell, Umd,Fatmly and Inheritance inTransitim.KibworthHarcou^ 193 XjceaeandHarding,ASuwey of Documentary SourcesofPropertyHoMinginLondm before the Great Fire 193 Woodman, The Architectural History of King's College Chapel . . . 195 d e H a m e l , The History of Illuminated Manuscripts 196 Burckhardt, rev. and ed. Murray, transl. Palmes, The Architecture of the Italian Renaissance 197 Campbell, The Pictures in the Collection of Her Majesty The Queen. The Early Flemish Pictures 198 Kennard, Gunfounding and Gunfounders 199 Oates, Cambridge University Library. A History. I. From the Beginnings to the Copyright Act of Queen Anne 199 McKitterick, Cambridge University Library. A History. II. The Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries 201 Impey and MacGregor (eds.), The Origins of Museums: the Cabinet of Curiosities in Sixteenth-and Seventeenth-Century Europe 201 Curl, The Londonderry Plantation 1609-1914 203 Salaman, Dictionary of Leatherworking Tools c. 1700-1950 and the Tools of Allied Trades 203 Pearson, R.C.H.M. (England), Rural Houses of the Lancashire Pemines . . 204 Giles, R.C.H.M. (England), Rural Houses of West Yorkshire 1400-1830 . . 204 Cafryn, R.C.H.M. (England), Workers' Housing in West Yorkshire, 1750-1920 . 204 Wiliam, The Historical Farm Buildings of Wales 207 Hague, Hague anrf McLachlan, The Unitarian. Heritage 208 Stell, R.C.H.M. (England), An Inventory of Nonconformist Chapels and Meeting- Houses in Central England 209 Hay and Stell, R . C . A . H . M . (Scotland), Monuments of Industry . . . . 2 1 1 Hatcher, The Industrial Architecture of Yorkshire 212 Survey of London. X L I I . Southern Kensington: Kensington Square to Earfs Court. 213 Kissack, Victorian Monmouth 214 Crawford, C. R. Ashbee: Architect, Designer and Romantic Socialist . . . 215 rhitham, The Classical Orders of Architecture 215 Daniel, Some Small Harvest. The Memoirs ofGfyn Daniel 217 Other publications received 218 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500026238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500026238 https://www.cambridge.org/core ADLARD AND SON LTD THE GARDEN CITY PRESS DORKING . ENGLAND https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500026238 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:06:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581500026238 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_yv3ivwgjjbf7dmkcag7uptqpaa	----	Master-v5n1.pdf NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 153 James Ackerman Origins, Imitation, Conventions Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2002 Reviewed by Michael Chapman The latest book by the widely respected American art historian James S. Ackerman brings together a collection of recent essays spanning a diverse array of subjects and focusing primarily on Ackerman’s principal interest: the Italian Renaissance. Following on from his 1991 compilation, Distance Points: Essays in Theory and Renaissance Art and Architecture (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1991), Ackerman reveals in the preface that the focus of these latest essays is to re-examine historical narratives through a predominantly post-structuralist lens. In this respect the work deals largely with issues pertaining to perspective, and in particular the specific perspective of the critic as observer with a peculiar and individual viewpoint. In the short preface to Distance Points Ackerman made reference to the title, which refers to a point selected in constructing a Renaissance-specifically Albertian- perspective image that fixes the distance of the observer from the object. I mean it to refer in this context to the position the historian or critic takes in relation to his or her object-as it were the point of viewing [Ackerman 1991: viii]. Origins, Imitation, Conventions concerns itself to a large extent with this “point of viewing” and its relationship to the traditionally objective position of the architectural historian. Ackerman draws upon the influential examples of Michel Foucault and Manfredo Tafuri, attempting to broaden the perspective of architectural history and creativity beyond a simplified linear departure from antiquity. This latest work concerns itself primarily with an understanding of the relative creative importance of artistic development and attempts to surpass the traditionally progressive depictions of the evolution of historical styles, which Ackerman himself has previously endorsed. Ackerman examines critically the relationship of academic history to specific historical eras delineating the inherent oversimplification of an ever-increasing oeuvre in scholarship that focuses primarily on the appropriation of styles, rather than their more specific creative origin or impetus. As well as examining the theoretical perspective of the critic towards history, Ackerman’s work also embraces the relative position of the artist towards antiquity. Ackerman redefines creativity as a continual manipulation of historical conventions, through the unique interpretation of the individual artist; he examines the way that this theoretical marriage between the artist and history is instrumental in shaping the way architecture is described, depicting a hiatus in the Renaissance between the relative objectivity of unadorned orthogonal drawings, and the more subjective expression of 154 MICHAEL CHAPMAN – Review of James Ackermer, Origins, Imitations, Conventions architectural perspective, employing light and shadow to engage the observer with the picture. The preference in the Renaissance for one-point perspective, like the influence of the camera centuries later, implies a subjectivity that tends to privilege the individual observer at the expense of a more abstract understanding of overall proportion and pure mathematical harmony. This understanding invites Ackerman to critically reexamine the way that the study of architectural space has traditionally been approached. Given this, the collection of essays that comprise Origins, Imitation, Conventions are part of a thoughtful and committed reassessment not only of important historical developments, but also of the intellectual function of history altogether. In the preface Ackerman describes the compilation as centering on “the tension between the authority of the past […] and the potentially liberating gift of invention” [Ackerman 2002: viii]. This concerns itself primarily with the creative engagement between artists (and historians) and their ancestors delineating a position to art history which is not so much progressive, as interactive or exploratory. The work thus, as the title suggests, is divided into three distinct sections. The first section (comprising the opening four essays) examines origins, looking at innovations in technique or style which represented a rupture rather than continuation of the past. Here significant events such as the development of perspective, the invention of photography and even the scholarly account of architectural history itself are depicted as historical moments, essentially without precedent which, in turn, have given rise to a diverse range of prevailing conventions. In the opening chapter Ackerman demonstrates the way that Vasari, one of the earliest Renaissance art historians, provided a new theoretical impetus for architecture through his gradual formulation of art-history. By methodically grouping individuals within a larger artistic style, Vasari (and others) provided a framework for a historical interpretation of art, defined primarily by its relationship to nature. The subsequent chapter examines genealogically the way in which basic principles of orthographic communication emerged almost instantaneously in the thirteenth-century plans for Reims cathedral. This important conceptual advancement was often overlooked by the architects of the Renaissance who preferred the principles of perspective over the two-dimensional abstraction of plan and section. Despite the protestations of Alberti (who tersely urges architects towards orthogonal drawings—devoid of light or shadow— leaving perspective as the exclusive domain of the painter) there was a widespread reluctance in the period towards such abstract depictions of architectural form. Ackerman, in an insightful conclusion, argues that the Renaissance fascination with pictorial form necessitates a complete spatial re-evaluation of the principles of Renaissance architecture, previously associated with strict two-dimensional proportion and mathematical rigour. Ackerman writes, perhaps my interpretation of Italian late medieval and Renaissance architectural representation as pictorial, in contrast to the linear emphasis of northern Gothic NEXUS NETWORK JOURNAL – VOL. 5, NO. 1, 2003 155 images, could lead to an expansion of our critical perspective on Renaissance architecture [Ackerman 2002: 61]. Later, in chapter 4, Ackerman shows how the development of photography, in a similar manner, instantly revolutionized architectural illustration by recasting its relationship to the impartial observer. Another important historical moment depicted by Ackerman is the Renaissance reinterpretation of the Christian church (Chapter 3). Ackerman describes how the humanism of the Italian Renaissance led to a dramatic rupture with the historical model for ecclesiastical architecture, realigning itself more profoundly with ancient pagan principles. The architects of the Renaissance (Leonardo da Vinci being the most energetic) rejected the linear demarcation of space inherent to the ritualistic Medieval church (and derived from the Roman liturgy), preferring instead centrally-planned cloisters that circumvented authority by placing the individual at the centre of the spatial diagram. This allocation of space, whilst entirely inadequate for the purposes of the church, reflected Platonic geometric principles by establishing a microcosm of the Christian universe. Ackerman describes how Leonardo’s exploratory sketches of space and mass, in their raw and rapid form, had already conceded the improbability of their own acceptance or realization by the clergy. The construction of the central chapel was reserved almost entirely for the private chapel or the pilgrimage and discarded for important religious monuments. Despite this, the new approach to church design represented an important historical advance, not only embodying important philosophical principles but also critically incorporating ancient architectural models with a more contemporary interpretation of individualism. The second section of the compilation—imitation—gives an account of the historical dependency of many Renaissance artists in reiterating or reproducing ancient precedents in a creative and inventive manner. Ackerman examines the relationship between imitation and influence, effectively recast in the twentieth century by the forces of post- modernism and deconstructivism. Ackerman is critical of the perennial academic drive towards establishing traces of ancestry in the work of artists. This has exaggerated the need for originality and tainted many epochs with the burden of imitation giving it a derogatory and often illegitimate connotation. Ackerman argues that imitation in the Renaissance had a degree of innocence and also inevitability that was the direct result of a more liberated relationship between the artistic individual and the broader forces of culture. Ackerman writes that “[i]mitation stressed community, the solidarity that the maker of the present experiences with his ancestors and teachers-ancestors whom he engages in a contest of skill and imagination.” He continues that “[n]o major writer in the ancient or Renaissance worlds meant it to promote the sort of frozen authority we call academic” [Ackerman 2002: 137]. Having established this, Ackerman demonstrates the importance of Vitruvius as the spiritual forefather of the Renaissance and integral to almost all of the major architectural achievements of the period. Ackerman’s account looks at architects such as Palladio and 156 MICHAEL CHAPMAN – Review of James Ackermer, Origins, Imitations, Conventions Thomas Jefferson (as well as theoreticians such as Alberti and Barbaro) demonstrating their subtle but distinct reappraisal of the historical canons of Vitruvius. A central and discursive essay is devoted to the immaculate sketches of Leonardo da Vinci, who was virtually alone in the Renaissance in his dedication to nature as a source of inspiration over and beyond previous historical precedent. As Ackerman demonstrates, many of Leonardo’s later works, in particular his studies of plants and animals, are the direct result of empirical investigation, and Leonardo’s objective was the emulation of nature rather than antiquity. This made his work highly original in artistic terms, but also strongly derived from ancient and medieval scientific principles. Ackerman refers earlier to the famous skull drawing, demonstrating the genius involved in its technical orchestration, but also its limited scientific rigour that inaccurately depicts a hollow spinal column. The final section, confined to the concluding essay, looks at conventions. This examines the artistic language that facilitates interpretation through the repetition of accepted principles of communication. This, like many of the preceding essays, focuses on architectural drawing and the development of a distinct but characteristic language of architectural conventions, both abstract and translatable. In isolation, each of the twelve essays in Ackerman’s work provide an insightful and authoritative account of major developments in art-history and architectural communication. In unison, they represent a post-structuralist reappraisal of the specific relationship between art and history through the processes of invention, imitation and interpretation. This not only provides a broader understanding of important artistic and architectural developments but also allows a greater relevance for history through its deepening relationship to the emancipatory processes of art and architecture. About the Reviewer Michael Chapman is based at the University of Newcastle, Australia, and is currently completing postgraduate research on architecture and the philosophical writings of Friedrich Nietzsche. << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /All /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Dot Gain 20%) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (U.S. Web Coated \050SWOP\051 v2) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Warning /CompatibilityLevel 1.4 /CompressObjects /Tags /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJDFFile false /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Default /DetectBlends true /ColorConversionStrategy /LeaveColorUnchanged /DoThumbnails false /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedJobOptions true /DSCReportingLevel 0 /EmitDSCWarnings false /EndPage -1 /ImageMemory 1048576 /LockDistillerParams false /MaxSubsetPct 100 /Optimize true /OPM 1 /ParseDSCComments true /ParseDSCCommentsForDocInfo true /PreserveCopyPage true /PreserveEPSInfo true /PreserveHalftoneInfo false /PreserveOPIComments false /PreserveOverprintSettings true /StartPage 1 /SubsetFonts true /TransferFunctionInfo /Apply /UCRandBGInfo /Preserve /UsePrologue false /ColorSettingsFile () /AlwaysEmbed [ true ] /NeverEmbed [ true ] /AntiAliasColorImages false /DownsampleColorImages true /ColorImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /ColorImageResolution 300 /ColorImageDepth -1 /ColorImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeColorImages true /ColorImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterColorImages true /ColorImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /ColorACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.15 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /ColorImageDict << /QFactor 0.15 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /JPEG2000ColorACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /JPEG2000ColorImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /AntiAliasGrayImages false /DownsampleGrayImages true /GrayImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /GrayImageResolution 300 /GrayImageDepth -1 /GrayImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeGrayImages true /GrayImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterGrayImages true /GrayImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /GrayACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.15 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /GrayImageDict << /QFactor 0.15 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /JPEG2000GrayACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /JPEG2000GrayImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /AntiAliasMonoImages false /DownsampleMonoImages true /MonoImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /MonoImageResolution 1200 /MonoImageDepth -1 /MonoImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeMonoImages true /MonoImageFilter /CCITTFaxEncode /MonoImageDict << /K -1 >> /AllowPSXObjects false /PDFX1aCheck false /PDFX3Check false /PDFXCompliantPDFOnly false /PDFXNoTrimBoxError true /PDFXTrimBoxToMediaBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXSetBleedBoxToMediaBox true /PDFXBleedBoxToTrimBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXOutputIntentProfile () /PDFXOutputCondition () /PDFXRegistryName (http://www.color.org) /PDFXTrapped /Unknown /Description << /FRA <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> /ENU (Use these settings to create PDF documents with higher image resolution for improved printing quality. 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work_zgb3juzm3vdv5fnvjnxiuqu474	----	Summaries of articles Homer, Hipparcus and the Good Word A. SCHNAPP-GOURBEILLON The question as to the date of the writing down of Homeric poetry is one of the major obsessions of the epic's specialists. The supporters of the notion of a "lower" period dating (i.e. the writing down taking place rather late, that is in the 5th century B.C.) generally base their daim on Plato's depiction of Hipparcus, in which we see the tyrant boasting ofhaving "brought" Homer'spoems to Athens. Asidefrom the nar- rative's historical inconsistancy, an in-depth examination of the paradigm taken as a whole shows something other that what thèse authors had hoped tofind: an exaltation of orality in an elitist culture in which the "reading" (of inscriptions) concerned the populace alone, the only receiver of the tyrant's authoritative voice. A close study of other later sources provides no solution concerning a possible "writing down" of Homeric poetry, but instead reveals an attitude towards the respective values of writing and speech which was peculiar to ancient society. The Power of Writing: Power over Writing during the Italian Renaissance A. PETRUCCI The Italian Renaissance was a period characterized by rapid development ofliteracy in urban populations. It can be readily measured in terms, on the one hand, ofsocio- cultural status related to book production—manuscripts at first, then later printed books—and on the other, of two particular intermediary forms of writing: delegated writers who wrotefor the illiterate, and master writers who created graphie models and simple signs. The resuit was a clear opposition between macro-and micro-circuits ofthe production and use of writing and written texts. While a maximum of control was exereized over the former, which were officiai and expensive, freedom of expression was concentrated in the latter, which remained private and modest. Writing's Seasonal Workers: Schoolmasters and Clerks in the Languedoc's 18th Century Rural Communities D. BLANC A study of the émergence and multiplication of small schools at the end of the Ancient Régime permits us to define one of the historical figures of académie institu- tions: Created through contracts drawn up between schoolmasters and communities, schools established a model ofteaching which is well known today. The research pre- sented in this article highlights the multifarious compétences required of the person called upon to work as schoolmaster. Farfrom responding to the necessities of lite- racy alone, his duties came to include various uses of writing which became indispens- 1021 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 07 23 09 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 11 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900072309 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms SUMMARIES OF ARTICLES able because ofthe évolution of 18th century communities' relations with their environ- ment. Thus the figure of schoolmaster-clerk takes center stage in this analysis which tries to isola te his many faces. Surveyor, clothes tailor or mas ter surgeon, he already held an intermediate position in society. Thanks to him, schools did not hâve to con- quer virgin territory: they were inserted into already constituted sets of relationships. Languages and Possession: The Case of Pentecostal Groups in Southern Italy M.P. Di BELLA The "gift" of glossolalia (speaking in longues) as seen in Pentecostal groups which sprang up in rural southern Italy after the Second World War, conforms to the ambiant ideology insofar as it serves to handle problems of domination and hierarchization with which the local populations were preoccupied. In the groups studied—the unitary Pentecostal group from Accadia (Pouilles/Puglia), directed by a woman missionary, and the neighboring unitary or trinitary groups directed by men—an emphasis was found to be placed on "gifts" given by the Holy Ghost, especially that of glossolalia. In the Accadian group, this particular "gift" stimulâtes "equality", while elsewhere it "hierarchizes" the group by separating the pastor and missionary—who hâve the "gift" from the fait hful who are deprived ofit. Structures and Mutations of a Proto-Industrial Space: Rouen and its Région at the End ofthe 16th Century J. BOTTIN Because of its functions and commercialpower, Rouen furnishes a privileged obser- vatory oflate 16th centuryproto-industry in one ofFrance's earliest developed régions: Normandy. Centered on spatial diffusion and quantitative levels, the analysis ofcol- lected data from notary archives leads to two-pronged results. Starting in the 1580s, the production levels attained by the heaviest export sector—that of cloth fabrication— are comparable in volume to those ofthe 18th century. But from the 16th to the 18th century, the localization of this activity, due to the cotton boom, undergoes a geogra- phical "transfer" from wooded régions south of the Seine to the Caux countryside. This change in intra-regional balance, which also affected other activities, leads one to pay particular attention to the intervention modalities and organizational capacities of the commercial metropolis in the non-agricultural productive sector. The Distribution of Immigrants and Organization of Space in the North-Eastern United States in 1813 J. CHASE Récent studies of rural New England hâve shown how textile production was com- mercialized therefrom the mid-eighteenth century on, showing as well its key rôle in the rise of a domestic economy, its links with urban merchant financing, and the graduai évolution towards urban production locations. It is suggested hère that this model cannot be generalized. Within the tri-state New York City area prior the 1820s, the major seaboard city and its hinterland were relatively separate in terms of économie activity, growth rates and immigrant groups. Despite the importance of rural textile production, New York City's merchant involvement in it was highly sélective, rein- forced traditional modes of rural production, and may well hâve inhibited the growth of towns. The new spatial distribution oflabor that emerged in the 1820s reflected a new relation: the historical if not chronological end ofthe eighteenth century. 1022 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 03 95 26 49 00 07 23 09 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :0 6: 11 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0395264900072309 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms 
work_yge3cqoenjeprncxu5zw2zm3gm	----	Three Giants in the Cradle of Reproductive Medicine; Reproduction Theories of the Seventeenth Century as Discerned by Pregnancy Portraiture in the Oeuvre of Jan Vermeer HISTORY OF MEDICINE Open Access Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal Citation: Haimov-Kochman R, Spitz IM. Three Giants in the Cradle of Reproductive Medicine; Reproduction Theories of the Seventeenth Century as Discerned by Pregnancy Portraiture in the Oeuvre of Jan Vermeer. Rambam Maimonides Med J 2016;7 (2):e0017. doi:10.5041/RMMJ.10244 Copyright: © 2016 Haimov-Kochman and Spitz. This is an open-access article. All its content, except where otherwise noted, is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. Conflict of interest: No potential conflict of interest relevant to this article was reported. * To whom correspondence should be addressed. E-mail: kochman@hadassah.org.il Rambam Maimonides Med J | www.rmmj.org.il 1 April 2016  Volume 7  Issue 2  e0017 Three Giants in the Cradle of Reproductive Medicine; Reproduction Theories of the Seventeenth Century as Discerned by Pregnancy Portraiture in the Oeuvre of Jan Vermeer Ronit Haimov-Kochman, M.D., B.Sc.1*, and Irving M. Spitz, M.D., D.Sc.2 1Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Hadassah Hebrew University Medical Center, Jerusalem, Israel; and 2Institute of Hormone Research, Shaare-Zedek Medical Center, Jerusalem, Israel ABSTRACT Portraits of pregnant women are rare in Catholic Renaissance art. In seventeenth-century Holland, the Catholic rule of Spain had been thrown off and a Protestant Calvinistic republic emerged, freeing Dutch artists to choose an unorthodox subject matter for their paintings. The Golden Age of Holland was characterized by extreme wealth, originating from overseas trade, which fostered a marked interest in philosophy, science, medicine, as well as art. Despite this, portraiture of pregnancy remained uncommon. An exception to this rule was Jan Vermeer of Delft, who lived during the zenith of this era. Jan Vermeer painted fewer than 40 pictures, fathered 15 children, and died bankrupt and little appreciated at the age of 43. Vermeer confined himself almost entirely to images of women in various domestic situations, including three figures of pregnant women. In this framework, pregnancy could be viewed as an icon for fidelity and conformism to social expectations. In this paper we investigate the roots of this unusual icon in Vermeer’s oeuvre, and suggest that the use of pregnancy in his paintings could have been inspired by his Delft-resident contemporaries Antony van Leeuwenhoek and Reinier de Graaf, fathers of well-known and opposing Three Giants in the Cradle of Reproductive Medicine Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal 2 April 2016  Volume 7  Issue 2  e0017 theories of reproduction. These eminent scientists and Vermeer’s pregnant wife, who frequently served as his model, might have made pregnancy less mysterious and more realistic to the painter. KEY WORDS: Art, history, medicine, pregnancy, reproduction INTRODUCTION Portraits of pregnant women are rare in Italian Renaissance paintings due to the influence of Catholicism. However, in Holland in the seven- teenth century, the Catholic rule of Spain had been thrown off, and a Protestant Calvinistic republic emerged. The stern Calvinistic creed had little use for religious art; therefore, Dutch artists had the freedom to choose themes for their paintings.1 This Golden Age of Holland, which spanned most of the seventeenth century, was characterized by sharp realism that permeated philosophy, science, medi- cine, and art. The United Provinces of Holland, where the quest for knowledge was not seen in conflict with religion, became one of Europe’s fore- most scientific centers. It was in Leiden that René Descartes had published his famous Discourse de la Méthode. The first astronomical observatory was erected in the University of Leiden at the same time as, in Italy, Galileo was standing trial for his views. In Amsterdam, Dr Nicolaes Tulp was depicted by Rembrandt during an anatomy lesson, dissecting the forearm of a cadaver in front of an anxious audience (The Anatomy Lecture of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp, c. 1632, Mauritshuis, The Hague). Such a scene could have taken place only during the Age of Reason within a society highly appreciative of medical investigation.1 Thanks to overseas trading, Holland was elevated to one of Europe’s great powers and experienced tremendous economic, social, and political growth. Indeed, by the middle of the seventeenth century, half of Europe’s trade was carried by Dutch ships. The general tenor of life was set by the merchants who experienced great economical satisfaction, as mirrored by their self-portraits. The spectacular rise in fortune provided a livelihood for a multitude of artists. Turning away from the religious, mytho- logical, and allegorical themes of Renaissance art, and having a vibrant market to sell their production, they portrayed their surroundings, celebrating everyday life with unblinking directness.1,2 Thus, it is intriguing to find so little illustrative evidence of pregnant women in Flemish-Dutch por- traiture at a time when contraceptives were non- existent, and multiparity was the rule. Moreover, sometimes advanced pregnancy was even concealed, as in the case of Reynu Meynertsdr Semeyns, who was portrayed by Jan Claesz on the occasion of her marriage and gave birth four and a half months later. However, her pregnant state was not indicated in the portrait.3,4 Pregnancy was sometimes addressed as unforeseen in theatrical commedia dell’arte scenes of young lovesick women seeking medical advice from quack doctors (Jan Steen, Love Sickness, c. 1660, Alte Pinakothek, Munich; Doctor’s Visit, c. 1663, Apsley House, London). The diagnosis of early pregnancy was made by visual examination of the patient’s bottled urine, and, rarely, by “reading” the smoke coming from burning coals in the patient’s basin. Midwifery manuals list a large number of physical signs of pregnancy—none of which were, however, certain. A lively birth celebra- tion is another amusing setting that served as a decoration of pregnancy (Jan Steen, Celebrating the Birth, c. 1664, Wallace Collection, London). These women’s gatherings, full of loquaciousness, laugh- ter, and drinking, were disreputable for transgres- sive talk led by midwives, who moved among house- holds and were purveyors of bawdy gossip.3 It seems that the still mysterious nature of human repro- duction intimidated both the artists and their audience, and led to either denial or humorous treatment of pregnancy. Jan van der Meer (Joannes Vermeer), in marked contrast to his contemporaries, depicted gravid women in a realistic manner (Figure 1). He was born in Delft in 1632, near the zenith of the Golden Age, and died in 1675 at the age of 43, when this era was coming to its end. Vermeer was recognized as an artist by the St Luke guild by the age of 21. He married Catharina Bolnes and fathered with her 15 children, of whom 4 died when still very young. Producing on average only two paintings a year (fewer than 40 paintings are attributed to Vermeer today), he could scarcely have met the high cost of living from selling his works. For further financial support for his household, Vermeer worked as an art dealer and as an innkeeper. His later years were Three Giants in the Cradle of Reproductive Medicine Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal 3 April 2016  Volume 7  Issue 2  e0017 overshadowed by a dramatic deterioration of his financial position. He died apparently little appreci- ated or esteemed; it was 200 years before his lum- inous paintings were recognized as great master- pieces of Western art.1,2,5 This paper investigates the possible inspiration of personal experiences and acquaintances with leading figures of human repro- ductive history that might have brought the theme of pregnancy to the attention of Jan Vermeer and made it less mysterious and more approachable to him. PREGNANCY PERSPECTIVE AT THE GOLDEN AGE Medical illustrations from the seventeenth century still depicted the pregnant stomach as a bud of a blossom opening up, petal for petal.6 The similarity of human gestation to a seed giving fruit was por- trayed by Leonardo De Vinci in his famous anatomy study on the gravid womb.7 During the seventeenth century, long-established views on human concep- tion were uprooted by newly made discoveries. Surprisingly, the fathers of these discoveries and evolving novel concepts were immediate neighbors of Vermeer in Delft, Antony van Leeuwenhoek and Reinier de Graaf. Antony van Leeuwenhoek and the Discovery of the Spermatozoon Antony van Leeuwenhoek (1632–1723) was a tradesman of Delft, who developed about 400 microscopes, some with a magnification power of ×270. His studies on microscopy led him to the first description of male spermatozoon. In 1677, Johan Ham, a student of the medical school in Leiden, handed van Leeuwenhoek a semen sample from a patient inflicted with gonorrhea. Both Ham and van Leeuwenhoek observed the lǘtgen dierkens (tiny creatures) as a component of male sperm. Van Leeuwenhoek resumed his observations in his own semen, examined immediately following conjugal coitus, describing a multitude of “animalcules,” less Figure 1. Jan Vermeer. A: Woman in Blue Reading a Letter, c. 1662–1664, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons. B: Woman with a Pearl Necklace, c. 1664, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons. C: Woman Holding a Balance, c. 1662–1664, National Gallery of Art, Washington DC. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons. http://bit.ly/1RwAhcI http://bit.ly/1RwAhcI https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jan_Vermeer_van_Delft_-_Young_Woman_with_a_Pearl_Necklace_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Woman-with-a-balance-by-Vermeer.jpg Three Giants in the Cradle of Reproductive Medicine Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal 4 April 2016  Volume 7  Issue 2  e0017 than a millionth the size of a grain of sand and with thin undulating transparent tails.8 In his letters to the Royal Society in London he included drawings of the spermatozoa (Figure 2) that were the first known drawings of male sperm cells.6 Van Leeuwenhoek rejected the idea of de novo creation of organisms, out of thin air (Generatio Spontane of Aristotle, 384–322 BC). In his writings describing conception, procreation, and development of the human embryo, he speculated that these cells hold the seed of human life. He claimed that the entire form of the fetus (Homunculus) was enclosed in the spermatozoon (Figure 3), but also confessed that he was unable to prove this.7 He was hoping to be fortunate enough to find an animal whose “male seed” was large enough to allow recognition of the figure of the creature within it. Later, at the turn of the century, he speculated further that the miniature replica in the spermatozoon was assembled only when nourished in the womb. The female uterus was viewed then as nothing but an incubator, which protected and supported the fetus during gestation. Van Leeuwenhoek’s ideas were in accordance with the views of Aristotle who separates male and female roles in reproduction into active and passive, respectively. He believed that the female furnishes the material for the embryo which is made of the female menstrual blood, defining the material cause of generation. The efficient cause is defined as what causes existence, and for reproduction Aristotle designates the male semen as the efficient cause. The male is the one who passes on the principle of life or the soul (psyche), the generative agent, whereas the female provides only the food for the developing embryo.6 The “Ovist” Theory of Reinier de Graaf Reinier de Graaf (1641–1673) was a respectable physician in Delft at that time. In 1672, he published his pioneering work De Muliebrum Organis on female anatomy. The prevailing thinking in the Netherlands at that time was that the female “semen” derived from the female “testicles” and Figure 2. Antony van Leeuwenhoek. Human and rabbit spermatozoa, 1678, from a letter to the Royal Academy of Sciences. From Wellcome Library London; Wellcome Images. Reproduced under Creative Commons Attribution license CC BY 4.0. Figure 3. Nicolaas Hartsoeker. Sketch of a homunculus enclosed in a human spermatozoon, 1694, from Essai de Dioptrique, Paris. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HomunculusLarge.png Three Giants in the Cradle of Reproductive Medicine Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal 5 April 2016  Volume 7  Issue 2  e0017 reached the uterus via the fallopian tubes. In 1667 observations of de Graaf led a circle of anatomists affiliated with the medical school of Leiden, including Jan Swammerdam and Dane Nicolaus Steno, to redefine the female testicles as ovaries and the ovarian follicles as eggs.8 Shortly thereafter, it was de Graaf who first recognized that the true egg was in fact much smaller than the whole follicle and that it was capable of passing through the fallopian tubes during its migration to the uterus. His study argued against the old procreation theorists and proposed a new theory of human reproduction, known as the “ovist” theory. De Graaf assumed that male spermatozoa contain the spirit of life which was infused into the ovum. He did not foresee that human life begins with fusion of egg and sperm. However, the discovery of the ovarian follicle (now named the Graafian follicle), the ovum, and their role in conception changed the concept of fertiliza- tion to recognize that a woman also participates in the creation of her offspring. This theory was very provocative at that time and had not prevailed since the time of Hippocrates two thousand years earlier. Hippocrates (460–377 BC) postulated that a sem- inal fluid that is formed both in men and women flows into their sex organs. Following copulation, the two fluids mix and create new life. During the Middle Ages, the female was predominantly described in terms that emphasized her receptive, protective, and nourishing functions. Her body served as a broedruimte (incubator) for the fetus; her uterus was but a vas (vessel) or a cavitas. The postulation that the spirit of life was contained in the spermatozoon was based on an argument dated from the Baroque period that every form of life expresses itself through movement. The ovist theory could be discarded by a quick look through the microscope: the liveliness of sperm compared to the stationary egg. The lives of Antony van Leeuwenhoek, Reinier de Graaf, and Jan Vermeer appear to intermingle. Following the untimely death of Vermeer, Antony van Leeuwenhoek was appointed as curator to han- dle the bankruptcy declared by Vermeer’s widow. Both van Leeuwenhoek and Vermeer were born in Delft in 1632 in the same week, and both are docu- mented on the same page of the municipal records of the city of Delft. Delft was then the fourth most populous town in Holland with 22,769 inhabitants (by the population count of 1622).9 More impor- tantly, the father of Vermeer was a textile merchant in Delft, as were van Leeuwenhoek and his father- in-law. It is also suggested that van Leeuwenhoek was a model for Vermeer’s paintings The Geogra- pher and The Astronomer, his only paintings with predominant male figures.2,6 Both van Leeuwenhoek and Vermeer had a passion for optics and for the properties of light. Vermeer was believed to have used a camera obscura for bringing details into his paintings following a suggestion by van Leeuwen- hoek. Both van Leeuwenhoek and Vermeer had captured light and sculptured it; the former con- ducted it through the microscope lenses in order to magnify an image without losing its sharpness, and the latter accentuated light in order to achieve depth in his paintings without sacrificing the brightness of the colors. According to C.C. Dobell, a biographer of van Leeuwenhoek, the drawings of the spermatozoa (Figure 2) that were sent to the Royal Society in London were in fact made by Vermeer.6 As a mem- ber of the Royal Society in London, Reinier de Graaf was the one who introduced Antony van Leeuwen- hoek to this distinguished circle. Both men attended the anatomic lessons held every week at the Delft Anatomy Theatre, which shared its locale with Delft’s civic guard, of which Vermeer was an active associate member.6 The major dispute between the two investigators about the origin of life that took place presumably at Vermeer’s own inn in Delft could have inspired Vermeer. Therefore, pregnancy as a major theme in Vermeer’s art might have been less mysterious and more approachable to him. Vermeer’s Attitude towards Women and Pregnancy The artistic treatment of women is pivotal to Vermeer’s work. During his major period of produc- tivity, he abandoned most extraneous subjects and confined himself almost entirely to the image of the young woman, alone, in various domestic situations. About 30 out of Vermeer’s works depict women as the predominant figure. Hasty observers come away from a perusal of his paintings with the impression of the “sacredness of the woman, who creates the happy and well-ordered home.”1 Alternatively, one can easily view Vermeer’s figures as trapped in domestic captivity. Vermeer, the alleged poet of domesticity, had never failed to fill his paintings with moral messages.5 Symbolic icons were a com- mon means for conveying a non-verbal message at that time. The women in his paintings either practice humility and modest introspection, con- forming to the official code of thought and behavior of the exemplum virtutis (model of virtue), or vio- Three Giants in the Cradle of Reproductive Medicine Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal 6 April 2016  Volume 7  Issue 2  e0017 late the norms by yearning for extramarital rela- tions, which break the vow of chastity. The iconography of the moral conflict could be reflected in wine as a love potion, fruits and music of seduc- tion, extramarital love letters, jewelry of vanity, open passages that let in the evil temptation of the soul, or in objects such as the pure white milk, and the water and bread of life of moderation and sim- plicity.2,5 A woman subjected to such a conflict is depicted in Woman in Blue Reading a Letter (Figure 1A). A pregnant woman faces the light pouring in from an invisible window, completely engrossed in reading a letter, her cheeks moistened. The intruding light and love letters were a frequent theme in Vermeer’s work, pointing to adultery. Her advanced gravid state stands for the respectability of marriage, as an institution designed to ensure repro- duction. Such a pronounced pregnancy brings about connotations of fidelity, fertility, dependency, and conformism to social expectations and the spouse’s demand of monogamy. Another pregnant figure is seen in Woman with a Pearl Necklace (Figure 1B). She stands in solitude in front of a mirror, adorning herself with pearls. Pearls take on many symbolic meanings, ranging from purity, faith, and virginity, to the vices of greed and arrogance. In his Introduction to the Devout Life (1608), published in a Dutch translation in 1616, the mystic St Francis De Sales addressed spiritual meaning in the white, flawless luster of pearls.5 Pearls were also the attribute of St Margaret of Antioch, the holy patron of pregnancy and child- birth. Childbirth was hazardous in that period when one in a hundred women died as a direct result of labor. Part of the St Margaret of Antioch popular cult was the promise that women in childbirth upon calling on her would be safely delivered. The coronet she wears features pearls which are a symbol often shown with Margaret because her name in Greek means “pearl.” Self-adoration with pearls could be intended to attract St Margaret’s blessing during the hazards of pregnancy.10 While generally accepted as an allegory, Woman Holding a Balance (Figure 1C) has been interpreted in many ways over the years. In a darkened room a gravid woman is balancing empty scales; against this gloom the pearls in the boxes have a sparkling glitter. In view of the advanced stage of gestation, and following an old folk tradition, the act of weighing pearls was carried out in order to divine the sex of the child to be born or to judge the fate of his soul.2 The picture on the wall behind the figure is a Last Judgment. This background provides a theo- logical context for the scales she holds: to judge is to weigh. According to Christian teaching, on the Day of Judgment, good and evil will be sundered. The apocalyptic scene is an eschatological appeal to the conscience of the woman, plainly bearing a semantic relation to her thoughts and actions. Although the scales are empty, the jewelry boxes, the pearls, and the gold are valued within the temporal world. As such, they represent temptations of material splen- dor.5 The vacant balance, the serenity and inner peace that the woman exudes, and her evident preg- nancy provide an optimistic view to the picture. Indeed, this painting embodies pregnancy as an emblem of reproduction and continuity. Since there are only a few examples of pregnant women in Flemish-Dutch portraiture, it was ques- tioned repeatedly in the literature on Vermeer whe- ther these women were actually pregnant. It was suggested that the protruding stomach was merely the result of fashion, as they were wearing a crino- line farthingale, a hoop skirt, as is proposed by the painting Girl in a Blue Dress, c. 1641, by Johannes Cornelisz Verspronck at Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, which features a young girl wearing such a dress.4 The formal gown, tabbaards, was a combination of a stiffened bodice and a matching skirt and was impossible to wear during pregnancy. In fact in 1659 Jesuit Adriaen Poirters urged married women to avoid the use of such bodices as they could cause miscarriages.3 Most of the women depicted in Vermeer’s paintings are wearing informal, everyday clothes that may serve as maternity dresses. To the professional eye of the obstetrician, the pregnancy is invariably evident. It was apparently clear to the artistic eye of Vincent Van Gogh, who vividly described Woman in Blue Reading a Letter (Figure 1A) in 1888 to his colleague Emile Bernard: “Do you know a painter named Jan van der Meer? He painted a pregnant Dutch woman, beautiful and very distinguished. The palette of this strange painter is blue, citron yellow, pearl gray, black and white”.1,5 Moreover, it is conceivable that the model for the pregnant women was Vermeer’s wife. Due to financial constraints and slow rate of productivity, Vermeer could not afford a professional model. She gave birth to 15 children during 20 years of marriage and was therefore pregnant most of the time.1 Three Giants in the Cradle of Reproductive Medicine Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal 7 April 2016  Volume 7  Issue 2  e0017 THE CANVAS AS A SPECULUM SINE MACULA—ART AS A MIRROR OF CULTURE Community standards and intellectual fermentation among peers can be major sources of influence, as are domestic conditions and quantity of artistic output. The free scholastic debate about human procreation and reproduction might have been the atmosphere in which Vermeer functioned. Pregnan- cy was no more virtual or metaphysical; it was at the center of aristocratic dispute led by two major fig- ures in Vermeer’s hometown. In view of the moral conflicts depicted within Vermeer’s paintings, preg- nancy stands as an icon that is intended to intensify the experience of ambivalence in marriage life. The canvas of Vermeer discloses the social attitudes towards women in general and pregnancy in particular. It may also unveil the academic dispute between the two pivotal scholars who profoundly contributed to the understanding of human repro- duction during the Age of Reason in Holland of the seventeenth century. REFERENCES 1. Koningberger H. The World of Vermeer. New York, NY: Time-Life Books Inc; 1967;9–160. 2. Nash J. Vermeer. 3rd ed. Amsterdam: Scala Books in association with the Rijksmuseum Foundation, Scala Publishers Ltd; 2002;54–108. 3. De Winkel M. The Interpretation of Dress in Vermeer’s Painting. In: Gaskell I, Jonker M, eds. Vermeer Studies. National Gallery of Art, Washing- ton: Yale University Press; 1998;327–38. 4. De Jongh E. Portretten van echt en trouw. Huwelijk en gezin in de Nederlandse kunst van de zeventiende eeuw [Portraits of real and faithful marriage and family in Dutch art of the seventeenth century]. Cat. 15. [Exhibition catalogue Frans Hals museum]. Simiolus: Netherlands Quarterly for the History of Art. Stichting Nederlandse Kunsthihistorische Publicaties 1986;16;254–62. 5. Schneider N. Vermeer the Complete Paintings. 1632– 1675. Veiled Emotions. Köln, Germany: Taschen; 2000;7–88. 6. Leonhard K. Vermeer’s pregnant women. On human generation and pictorial representation. Art History 2002;25:293–318. Full Text 7. Garrard MD. Leonardo da Vinci: Female Portraits, Female Nature. In: Broude N, Garrard MD, eds. The Expanding Discourse: Feminism and Art History. New York, NY: Westview Press; 1992;58–86. 8. Ruestow EG. Leeuwenhoek’s perception of the spermatozoa. J Hist Biol 1983;16:185–224. Full Text 9. Montias JM. Statistical evidence on the economic status of artists and artisans in Delft in the 17th century. Journal of Cultural Economics 1979;3:1–29. Full Text 10. Cork R. Pearly queen. Feb. 1, 2003. Tate Magazine. Available at: http://bit.ly/1QDvAAD http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1467-8365.00323 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/BF00124698 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/BF00167320 http://bit.ly/1QDvAAD 
work_ybfzgl3vizc4dastvnnfkr77c4	----	Microsoft Word - Тит Слово.doc МОВОЗНАВСТВО ISSN 2304-7402. Прикарпатський вісник НТШ. Слово. – 2019. – № 3(55). 101 УДК 378.016:881.111:74 DOI: 10.31471/2304-7402-2019-3(55)-101-108 TEACHING ENGLISH PROFESSIONAL WRITING TO STUDENTS OF DESIGN AND FINE ARTS O. L. Tytun, A. P. Boichuk, H. M. Sivkovych Vasyl Stefanyk Precarpathian National University; Foreign Languages Department; 76018, Ivano-Frankivsk, Shevchenko St., 57; tel. +380(342)59-60-74; е-mail: kim@pu.if.ua The article deals with the problem of teaching students of Design and Fine Arts to write texts for professional purposes. The authors consider mod- ern methods and activities for teaching writing. The authors underline the role of writing in teaching a foreign language that has gradually increased and considered as a reserve for improving the efficiency of teaching a foreign language. Stress is done on the importance for every educated modern per- son to produce different kinds of written texts for professional purposes. Modern advances in the field of information and communication technologies and the enormous popularity of using various social networks changed the attitude to writing. The importance of using information and communication technologies in teaching writing is considered. The authors suggest the fol- lowing activities for improving and developing the acquired at school skills for writing texts. To improve the skills of writing annotations exercises are recommended. Activities for writing reports on videos are suggested. To mas- ter the skills of describing photos or paintings it is recommended to visit some sites. The authors recommend to make presentations on the given sub- jects. All the activities were successfully tested at English classes. Key words: teaching, writing, a foreign language, students of Design and Fine Art, methods, activities. Introduction. Teaching English Writing for Professional Purposes of students of higher education establishments largely depends on the role it plays in the professional training of modern specialists who are art major. So, on the curriculum of Vasyl Stefanyk Precarpathian National University there is only a general course of English, which includes some elements of busi- ness English and is attended during 150 academic hours (8 semesters), 300 hours is an independent work of students. This situation looks tragic-comic as we are entering a new epoch in human history marked by vital importance of having knowledge of any foreign language. Moreover, any educated modern person is expected to produce different kinds of written texts, and this influ- enced the role of writing in teaching a foreign language. We are convinced that the ability to write professional texts testifies to a full and complete command of a foreign language. МОВОЗНАВСТВО ISSN 2304-7402. Прикарпатський вісник НТШ. Слово. – 2019. – № 3(55). 102 Theoretical framework and research methods. The expansion of in- ternational relations of increases the role of the foreign language as an impor- tant means of intercultural communication. The Internet serves as an accessi- ble source of information, and more and more users are turning to it for the purpose of obtaining knowledge. For the teacher it is important to teach stu- dents not only to use the ready information from the sites, but to teach them to refer, analyze and receive material for further processing. The Internet en- ables online interviews, quizzes, polls, conferences, forums, etc. Writing plays an important role in teaching a foreign language; therefore it is one of the main tasks of teaching. So, according to A. Vereitina at the beginning of the 21st century, the role of writing in teaching a foreign language has gradu- ally increased and is considered as a reserve for improving the efficiency of teaching a foreign language. The scientist notes that the participation of an increasing number of people in international conferences and congresses, their foreign business trips, internships of university staff and students led to the need to master professional-oriented business and academic writing [1]. Problems of teaching writing were discussed in works by well-known scientists as M. Zhynkina, I. Zimnya, O. Leontiev, and others. The scientists distinguish writing for the purpose of transformation and creation of texts. G. Dridze defines this work with a text as the exchange of ideas and emotions which let your imagination run wild as well as guidelines and value orienta- tions, patterns of behavior and activities in social communication [4, p. 455]. In methodology of teaching a language the problem of teaching profes- sional writing has become the subject of close attention of scientists, primar- ily methodologists-philologists (G. Boretska, O. Vasylieva, T. Korzh, G. Krivchikova, I. Melnyk, S. Radetska, G. Skurativska). The researchers have developed a variety of methods of teaching business writing, namely writing annotations of professional texts, reports on scientific problems, business letters, faxes, e-mails, holding oral and written negotiations in Eng- lish. So, as we see, there is a constant search for ways that are aimed at the development of the personality of a specialist who speaks foreign languages both in oral and written forms. In Vasyl Stefanyk Precarpathian National University teaching writing English professional texts takes place (from the reasons mentioned above) with considerable restrictions. Therefore, teaching writing business letters, e- mails, short personal announcements, abstracts, summaries, presentations and reports, filling in various forms, writing short CVs, articles and annotations takes place in the shortest time conditions. The activities done to teach writing are usually divided in accordance with the didactic purposes, namely which skills they should develop, or what type of text they teach to create. Classification of activities by other criteria has the following form: according to the way of simulation of reality – com- municative and conditional-communicative; according to the participation of a teacher – partially managed, minimally managed, fully managed (or: con- МОВОЗНАВСТВО ISSN 2304-7402. Прикарпатський вісник НТШ. Слово. – 2019. – № 3(55). 103 trolled, uncontrolled, free); according to the presence of visual aids – without them, with specially created aids, with natural aids; according to ways of teaching – individual, paired, group, whole class; according to the involve- ment of a game component – without a game component, with a role-playing component; according to the connection with other language skills - recep- tive, reproductive, productive, and others. We should also mention the teacher`s approach to preparing and doing activities – textual, genre or pro- cedural [5, p. 218]. Taking into account all contemporary achievements of English, Ger- man, and Spanish scholars, O. Tarnopolsky commented and described all these activities in details. Methodologists divided activities for development of skills and competences for writing English into the following ones: correc- tional, analytical, transformational, professionally oriented, editing, control, the ones with using technologies [3, p. 188]. Each of these types of activities is related to the formation of skills to create certain written texts or to fix these skills, for example, correctional - aimed at creating the types of written texts appealing to the addressee: tele- grams, announcements, statements, invitations, greetings, compassion, grati- tude; analytical – intended for training on the base of educational texts; trans- formational – exercises on lexical, grammatical, semantic text compression for teaching to write plans, annotations, summaries, resumes, reports: profes- sionally oriented – for translations, writing essays, reviews of the press, re- ports on practice, etc. Considering all the stages of teaching writing English texts we distin- guish the following stages: preparatory and practice stages. At the first stage, we pay attention to grammar, spelling and selection of vocabulary which is demanded in writing. The goal of the second stage, we see in improving and development of the acquired skills for writing texts. Modern advances in the field of information and communication tech- nologies and the enormous popularity of using various social networks have greatly changed the attitude to writing, and especially to written texts, there- fore we consider it important to use information and communication tech- nologies in teaching a foreign language. Results. Written texts play an essential role in writing which deals with working out the writing technique and forming the ability to create a product of written texts, at the same time it is important to select certain genre types of written texts that will ensure the professional orientation of speech compe- tence in the process of teaching a foreign language. Taking into account all mentioned above, we selected the following material for teaching students of Design and Fine Art to write for professional purposes. To master describing skills it is recommended to visit a website Digital photo mentor at https://www.digitalphotomentor.com/20-most-famous- photographs/. МОВОЗНАВСТВО ISSN 2304-7402. Прикарпатський вісник НТШ. Слово. – 2019. – № 3(55). 104 It introduces the collection of 20 famous photographs which have been carefully chosen because of their importance in history. Each one of these iconic images has helped shape our history and alter the world which we live in. They are some of the most powerful and influential images ever captured by some of the most famous photographers in history. The task is to describe a photo chosen by a student. Here are our top tips for describing a photo or a picture taken from the site British Council at http://learnenglishteens.britishcouncil.org/exams/speaking-exams/describe- photo-or-picture. Look at your picture carefully and take a few moments to think before you start writing. Don`t panic if you don’t know the words for all the things in the picture. You don’t need to know all the words for everything in the pic- ture. Here is some language you can use: What is in the picture? In the picture I can see ... There’s / There are ... There isn’t a ... / There aren’t any ... Say what is happening with the present continuous. The man is ...ing The people are ...ing It’s raining. Where in the picture? At the top/bottom of the picture ... In the middle of the picture ... On the left/right of the picture ... next to in front of behind near on top of under If something isn’t clear It looks like a ... It might be a .... He could be ...ing. Maybe it’s a ... . Another good idea to improve writing skills is to make a presentation. Choose one of the world’s top art galleries. Prepare a presentation on the sub- ject: Art Gallery is the place of admiration and inspiration. Louvre Museum, national museum and art gallery of France, housed in part of a large palace in Paris that was built on the right-bank site of the 12th- century fortress of Philip Augustus. It is the world’s most-visited art mu- seum, with a collection that spans work from ancient civilizations to the mid- 19th century. Metropolitan Museum of Art, byname the Met, the largest and most- comprehensive art museum in New York City and one of the foremost in the world. The museum was incorporated in 1870 and opened two years later. The Met has important collections of Egyptian, Babylonian, Assyrian, East Asian and Middle Eastern, Greek and Roman, European, pre-Columbian, New Guinean, Islamic, and American art, including architecture, sculpture, painting, drawings, prints, photographs, glass, ceramics, textiles, metalwork, lacquerwork, furniture, period rooms, arms and armour, and musical instru- ments. National Gallery, art museum in London that houses Great Britain’s na- tional collection of European paintings. It is located on the north side of Trafalgar Square, Westminster. It was founded in 1824 when the British gov- ernment bought a collection of 38 paintings from the estate of the merchant МОВОЗНАВСТВО ISSN 2304-7402. Прикарпатський вісник НТШ. Слово. – 2019. – № 3(55). 105 John Julius Angerstein (1735–1823). The collection now comprises only some 2,000 works, but it is regarded by many as the most representative sampling of European painting in the world. It has the most comprehensive collection of Italian Renaissance paintings outside Italy, with works by most of the great Florentine and Venetian masters of that period. There are also impressive holdings of works by various British, Dutch, French, Spanish, and Flemish painters from the 15th to the 19th century. National Gallery of Art, American museum of art that is federally oper- ated. It is located at the east end of the Mall, Washington, D.C. The National Gallery houses a very extensive collection of European and American paint- ings, sculpture, decorative arts, and graphic works from the 12th to the 20th century. The museum has especially rich holdings of works by Italian Ren- aissance painters, as well as by Dutch and Spanish Baroque and French Ro- coco artists. Brera Picture Gallery, art museum in Milan, founded in 1809 by Napoleon I, and one of Italy’s largest art galleries. Its original collection was that of Milan’s Academy of Fine Arts, though its most important works were acquired later. It has especially rich collections of Venetian and Lombard paintings from the Renaissance and Baroque periods. Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow art museum founded by Pavel M. Tretya- kov in 1856. It contains the world’s finest collection of 17th- and 18th- century Russian icons, having more than 40,000 of them. There are also 18th- century portraits, 19th-century historical paintings, and works of the Soviet period. The museum is organized into Early Russian Art, Art of the 18th Century, Art of the First Half of the 19th Century, Art of the Second Half of the 19th Century, Art of the Early 20th Century, and Soviet Art. Hermitage, art museum in St. Petersburg founded in 1764 by Catherine the Great as a court museum. Under Nicholas I the Hermitage was recon- structed (1840–52), and it was opened to the public in 1852. Following the October Revolution of 1917, the imperial collections became public property, and the museum was expanded in the 1920s with art requisitioned from private collections. The Hermitage holdings include nearly three million items dating from the Stone Age to the present [2]. It is essential to remind students about useful phrases and strategies to create a presentation. The strategy includes 3 steps: effective opening, main part of presentation, effective conclusion. Effective opening makes an effective presentation, it is important to get your audience interested in the first three minutes of your presentation. You need to hook your audience and cause them to pay attention to you. There are three ways to make an effective opening: 1.Give your listeners a problem to think about. 2. Give them some amazing facts. 3. Give them a story or some personal experience. МОВОЗНАВСТВО ISSN 2304-7402. Прикарпатський вісник НТШ. Слово. – 2019. – № 3(55). 106 For more information attend the site at https://canicollege.com/wp- content/uploads/2018/02/USEFUL-PHRASES-AND-STRATEGIES-FOR- PRESENTATIONS.pdf. Annotations. You should remind the students that the annotation is a brief reference to the printed text - its general characteristics, data on its au- thor and value. Annotation also highlights the main information of the text, although it does not require a precise understanding of the text. The abstract, as a rule, is very small. Strategy of working with annotations: 1) an overview reading in order to get ideas about the overall content of the text; 2) re- reading the sentences containing the main information; 3) writing informa- tion in the form of a brief description of the text under the following plan: the title of the article, the author of the article, where and when the article was published, the main idea of the article, the content of the article, some facts, names, figures and your opinion. Students are invited to review articles, taken from the official website of the BBC World News, rubric: Entertainment, Culture and Arts. Language cliche for article annotation. 1. The title of the article. The article is headlined… The headline of the article I have read is… 2. The author of the article, where and when the article was published. The author of the article is… The author’s name is ... Unfortunately the author’s name is not mentioned ... The article is written by… It was published in … (on the Internet)… 3. The main idea of the article. The main idea of the article is… The article is devoted to… The article deals (is concerned) with… The article touches upon the issue of… The purpose of the article is to give the reader some information on… The aim of the article is to provide the reader with some material on… 4. The contents of the article. Some facts, names, figures. The author (of the article) writes (reports, states, stresses, thinks, notes, considers, believes, analyses, points out, says, describes) that… / draws reader’s attention to... Much attention is given to… According to the article… The article goes on to say that… It is reported (shown, stressed) that … It is spoken in detail about… The fact that … is stressed. The article gives a detailed analysis of… МОВОЗНАВСТВО ISSN 2304-7402. Прикарпатський вісник НТШ. Слово. – 2019. – № 3(55). 107 In conclusion the author writes (reports, states, stresses, thinks, notes, considers, believes, analyses, points out, says, describes) that… / draws reader’s attention to... The author comes to the conclusion that… 5. Your opinion. I found the article (rather) interesting (important, useful) as / because… I think / In my opinion the article is (rather) interesting (important, use- ful) as / because… I found the article is too hard to understand / rather boring as / be- cause… Our world is changing very fast at the same time our educational sys- tem has not changed for hundreds of years, we try to avoid much lecturing. So, we use such a powerful source of education as the Internet in order to make learning more engaging and relevant. Nowadays it is a common prac- tice to watch different videos online and to follow some bloggers. Thus, we asked students to report on the favourite blogger`s video. The following vo- cabulary is of great use. Let’s watch the video under the title… It’s on you tube channel… The video is devoted to… The key-note/problem/main idea of the video is… It deals with… The presenter/host/bloger starts telling the viewers about … According to the video… In relation to this, the video goes on to say/inform that… The bloger/ presenter/host reports/states/stresses/points out In conclusion… I found the video (+) important/(–) of no value It goes without saying, it is (not) worth watching. Conclusion. We should note that all the suggested activities were suc- cessfully tested at English classes with the students of our university. The ac- tivities motivated and encouraged the students to master English. We highly recommend them to improve writing skills for professional purposes. Література 1. Vereitina I. (2009). Teaching Methods of Profession-Oriented Writing of Non-Linguistic Universities’ Students at the End of the 20th and at the Begin- ning of the 21st Centuries (1990-2009). media. URL:https: //www. narodnaos- vita.kiev.ua/Narodna_osvita/vupysku/12/statti/vereitina.htm (Accessed 10.04.2019). 2. Encyclopedia Britannica. URL: https://www.britannica.com (Accessed 10.04.19). 3. Kusko K.Ya. (Eds.). (1996). Lingvodidactical organization of the teaching foreign languages process at the university. Collective work. Lviv: Svit (in Ukr.). МОВОЗНАВСТВО ISSN 2304-7402. Прикарпатський вісник НТШ. Слово. – 2019. – № 3(55). 108 4. Pidko L. (2013). Mastering the textual activity by future philologists: theo- retical foundations. Naukovi zapysky, 119, Philological Sciences (Linguis- tics). Kirovograd. P.454 – 457 (in Ukr.). 5. Tarnopolsky O.B. (2006). Methodology of teaching foreign language speech activity in a Higher Linguistic Education Establishment. Kyiv: Firma Inkos (in Ukr.). Стаття надійшла до редакційної колегії 5.03.2019 р. Рекомендовано до друку д.ф.н., професором Аркушиним Г. Л. НАВЧАННЯ ПИСЕМНОГО АНГЛІЙСЬКОГО ПРОФЕСІЙНОГО МОВЛЕННЯ СТУДЕНТІВ СПЕЦІАЛЬНОСТЕЙ «ДИЗАЙН» ТА «ОБРАЗОТВОРЧЕ МИСТЕЦТВО» О. Л. Титунь, А. П. Бойчук, Г. М. Сівкович Прикарпатський національний університет імені Василя Стефаника; кафедра іноземних мов; 76018, м. Івано-Франківськ, вул. Шевченка, 57; тел. +380(342)59-60-74; е-mail: kim@pu.if.ua У статті проаналізовано  проблему навчання писемного професійного мовлення студентів спеціальностей «Дизайн» та «Обра- зотворче мистецтво». Автори розглядають сучасні методи навчання писемного мовлення. Підкреслено роль письма у навчанні іноземної мови, яка поступово збільшується і розглядається як резерв для підвищення ефективності навчання іноземної мови. Наголошується на важливості для кожної освіченої сучасної людини вміти продукувати різні види письмових текстів для професійних цілей. Сучасні досягнення в галузі інформаційно-комунікаційних технологій та величезна популярність використання різних соціальних мереж змінили ставлення до письма. Розглянуто важливість використання інформаційно-комунікаційних технологій у навчальному процесі. Автори пропонують завдання для вдосконалення та розвитку набутих у школі навичок написання текстів. Для підвищення навичок написання анотацій рекомендуються вправи. Пропонуються вправи для написання доповідей. З метою покращення навички опису фотографій або картин рекомендується відвідати певні сайти. Автори рекомендують завдання для покращення навичок створення презентацій. Всі завдання були успішно апробовані під час роботи зі студентами зазначених спеціальностей. Ключові слова: навчання, письмо, писемне мовлення, іноземна мо- ва, студенти, методи, діяльність. 
work_zkhii3lg6jetxg52qkdsnxyww4	----	for all that is Israel’s recognition of Palestinians as equal humans entitled to equal rights. Omar Barghouti Jerusalem Once and Future Feminism To the Editor: The October 2006 PMLA Theories and Meth- odologies section focusing on feminism(s) testifies to the importance of the topic and the vitality of our professional journal (121 [2006]: 1678–741). All the essays it contains demand an attentive reading. There is no doubt that feminism—like all his- torical phenomena—has undergone great changes through the years. Any social and political move- ment must change. However, I find very prob- lematic the dismissive tone of some of the quoted statements about the so-called second wave of feminism. To simplify, downplay, or disparage past efforts is a disservice to truth, our understanding of our past, and the interests of all human beings who are working toward a changed world. The ones among us who were alive and active forty years ago know that even then we sensed that we were embarking on a long and complex journey. Nothing was simple, there were no paths already open. History books had erased our past as well as that of many other people. We had to reinvent feminism and ourselves. The relationship between what has become customary to view as an undif- ferentiated middle class of “white women”—in it- self a fallacious abstraction—and women of color and other until-then-ignored female human beings was even then much more nuanced than the meta- phors of first, second, and third wave suggest. As to the new perspectives in feminist theory, I fear that scholars have become too nervous about focusing on the universe of femaleness. Its explo- ration must be somehow justified by being sub- sumed under more general and worthier topics of research, even though that universe cannot but in- tersect with all forms of otherness. Naming women continues to carry the stigma of limiting oneself to the study of something exclusive, “secondary,” less important, and to be somewhat disguised. More problematic still is the tendency of in- tellectual discourse to adopt new abstractions. Race, class, ethnicity, yes; but those categories, whose listing has become almost an obligatory mantra, have meaning only if refracted by the di- versity of individual human beings. Each of those elements of identity, like gender, is lived differ- ently by different people. On the other hand, to deny the existence of people’s common experiences is absurd and dam- aging to those who are now living them. The almost universal coercion to which women and girls are subjected in matters of sexuality is indeed a com- mon experience, no matter how mild or horren- dous a form that coercion may take. Even the rape of men is predicated on their being “lowered” to the level of women, as Abu Ghraib and many other of the world’s hellholes have taught us. Women’s long exclusion from the universe of learning is yet another common experience, which today’s schol- ars would do well to remember. Although we do not belong to the so-called underdeveloped world, our full participation in public life is a recent ac- quisition and by no means eternally assured. As Toril Moi so aptly says, “If feminism is to have a future, feminist theory—feminist thought, feminist writing—must be able to show that femi- nism has wise and useful things to say to women who struggle to cope with everyday problems” (1739). A�ngela M. Jeannet Franklin and Marshall College Shakespeare at Oxford? To the Editor: The point of Robert F. Fleissner’s recent Forum letter (121 [2006]: 1743–44) is that Shakespeare may have spent some time at Oxford, and the principal argument is that “[t]he dramatist’s works were too learned not to have been inspired by such academic influence.” It is a familiar argument that is usually employed by the anti-Stratfordians, who insist that the “Shake-speare” plays were too learned to be written by a mere commoner and so must come from an aristocrat, the most popular claimant now being Edward de Vere, the seventeenth earl of Oxford. His partisans might be called the old Ox- fordians (although Oxford himself was educated at Cambridge), while Fleissner, as a new Oxford- ian, claims not that the playwright was Oxford but merely that he studied there. 1 2 2 . 2 ] Forum 577 I think most people in Shakespeare’s day, and for at least two centuries afterward, would have been surprised by the notion that his plays were “learned,” which would have meant that they displayed consid- erable classical erudition (and even imitated classi- cal models). In this sense, the most learned plays of his time were closet dramas, and the most learned writer for the public stage was usually considered to be Ben Jonson, who studied under Camden at West- minster School. In fact, Jonson’s “learned” art was sometimes contrasted with Shakespeare’s “natural” art, as in Milton’s “L’Allegro”: Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonsons learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe, Warble his native Wood-notes wilde. That distinction may no longer be relevant today, but what is relevant is the failure of the Ox- fordians, both old and new, to produce any positive evidence for their argument, which would consist of examples of “learning” in the plays that Shake- speare could not have acquired from his Stratford schooling or his reading or his experiences in London and therefore must be credited to Oxford the earl or the university. No such evidence exists. What is even more significant, I believe, is that these Oxfordians ignore the negative evidence, which really does exist and which consists of exam- ples in the plays showing that their author was not so learned after all. I am not speaking here about the many minor anachronisms in dress (ancient Greeks or Romans wearing hats, gloves, scarves, doublets, etc.) that a number of commentators have pointed out, and that may have been the re- sult of simple carelessness, but about a much more serious ignorance of geography and chronology. Thus the author of The Winter’s Tale believed that Bohemia has a seacoast, and the author of Hamlet believed that the way to lead an army from Nor- way to Poland is by marching through Denmark. Moreover, in the first part of The Winter’s Tale Leontes consults the Delphic oracle, which was closed down in AD 390, while in the second part, which follows by sixteen years, a courtier refers to Julio Romano, an artist of the Italian Renaissance. And in Troilus and Cressida Hector cites Aristotle, who was born many centuries after the end of the Trojan War. Is this the kind of learning that could only be acquired at a university? Richard Levin Stony Brook University To the Editor: The Forum section of the October PMLA in- cludes a letter from Robert F. Fleissner with the following reference to me: “A London Shakespear- ean, Gil Elliot, in her letter in the Times Literary Supplement (25 July 2003), also defended the view that Shakespeare went ‘to university,’ citing Peter Alexander, the well-known Shakespearean au- thority from Scotland, to this effect.” I would like to point out that I am not a Shakespearean or a scholar of any kind, nor did my letter defend the view that Shakespeare went to university, nor, to complete this review of errors, am I female. I am male and a writer, and my letter to the Times Literary Supplement was meant to suggest that academics like my old professor Peter Alex- ander, in common with many others through the ages, tend to configure Shakespeare in their own image. I happen to believe that Shakespeare’s edu- cation at Stratford Grammar—along with the vo- racious reading to be expected of such a protean mind—was perfectly adequate to feed his genius. Gil Elliot London Reply: I am aware of the anti-Stratfordian approach endorsing Edward de Vere as Shakespeare, but that connection did not appear germane. I certainly agree that the so-called Oxfordians have no real pos- itive evidence favoring de Vere as the playwright. The existence of errata in Shakespeare’s plays might be explained by Shakespeare’s having possibly been only an auditor of some sort at Oxford (although I have been reading again of his father’s having been a local “high bailiff” or chief magistrate—in certain towns a son of such a person was supposed to receive free tuition at Oxford). The playwright simply may not have registered all the facts he heard. Robert F. Fleissner Central State University (retired) 578 Forum [ P M L A 
work_zvsqlfg3uzblfj4jt5vv32ykfi	----	Experience of Integrating Humanities and Natural Sciences into the Educational Environment Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 206 ( 2015 ) 369 – 373 Available online at www.sciencedirect.com ScienceDirect 1877-0428 © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of the Scientific Committee of LKTI 2015. doi: 10.1016/j.sbspro.2015.10.067 XV International Conference "Linguistic and Cultural Studies: Traditions and Innovations”, LKTI 2015, 9-11 November 2015, Tomsk, Russia Experience of Integrating Humanities and Natural Sciences into the Educational Environment Maria Kukhtaa*, Olga Homushkub, Mikhail Kornienkoa, Larisa Kutsenkoa aNational Research Tomsk Polytechnic University, 30 Lenin Avenue, Tomsk, 634050, Russia bTuvan State University, 36 ul. Lenina, Kyzyl, 667000, Russia Abstract Relevance of the paper is due to the need for understanding of educational environment, conducive to the formation of a creative, holistic and harmonious personality. The study used historical and cultural methods, method of comparative and system analysis. In this regard, complementary relationship between humanities and natural sciences, contributing to the development of symbolic thinking, was revealed. Peculiarities of symbolic thinking and its role in training the creative professional were shown. Approaches to investigating dialogue mode in the educational environment, resulting in the formation and harmonious development of the creative personality, were identified. © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Peer-review under responsibility ofthe Scientific Committee of LKTI 2015. Keywords: Experience; education; creativity; personality; dialogue. 1. Introduction One of the greatest physicists of the century Max von Laue at the beginning of the century formulated the essence of education as something that stays with you when you forget what you were taught. The outcome of education in this regard is one or more formal language skills, as well as personality traits, providing systematic creative * Corresponding author. E-mail address: eukuh@mail.tomsknet.ru (M. Kukhta). © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of the Scientific Committee of LKTI 2015. http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.sbspro.2015.10.067&domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.sbspro.2015.10.067&domain=pdf 370 Maria Kukhta et al. / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 206 ( 2015 ) 369 – 373 thinking. Thus, the main purpose of education is to prepare for creativity, i.e. the ability of the individual to generate new, unconventional texts. The texts are considered as products of any cultural activity (scientific, social and artistic). The quality of education, in this context, can be defined as the formation degree of the main prerequisites of students' creative abilities: holistic worldview, self-reflection, inner freedom, emotional flexibility, etc. Its formation is impeded, in our opinion, by means of artificial differentiating between such areas of expertise as ‘Humanities’ and ‘Natural sciences’. The purpose of the article is to identify the conditions, contributing to the formation of a creative personality in the educational environment. 2. Experience of educational environment in the medieval university Differentiation of “Arts” and “Sciences” came down to us in the way it existed in ancient times. “Arts’ was divided in two broad categories: mechanical or ‘servile’ (servile - slave, physical, mechanical type of labor) and free. As part of the mechanical arts, all operations associated with manual labor were united without distinction. Free arts were divided in two groups; its teaching regulated the entire academic curriculum in the medieval university: trivium and quadrivium. The first consisted of grammar, dialectic and rhetoric, the second – geometry, arithmetic, astronomy and music. Differentiating between sciences in the Italian Renaissance period, more or less, coincided with the modern one. Renaissance Humanists developed the sphere of knowledge (studiahumanitatis), which included poetry, rhetoric, politics, and ethics, and excluded from the range of interests Natural sciences (i.e. philosophical ontology, physics, logic and medicine). However, as noted by Andreev, humanists, dealing with the certain cultural matter, were not considered humanities in the modern sense. Since the time humanities originated, has ended the period of the Renaissance culture. Renaissance division of sciences, almost identical to the modern one, differed from it in fact. Although, contemporary ‘naturalists’ twit humanities with inaccurate wording, fuzzy terms, intractable strict formalization and lack of universal verification mechanism, ‘naturalists’ were twitted about the same inaccuracies by the Renaissance humanists (cf. Serebryaniy, 1998). Petrarch in his treatise ‘On his own ignorance’ noted that somebody knows a lot about animals, birds and fish and is well aware of how much hair is there in the lion’s mane, and how many feathers are there in the hawk’s tail, and with how many rings a squad can wrap the shipwrecked... (cf. Serebryaniy, 1998, p. 338). Information is largely false, but even if it was true, then it wouldn’t contribute to a happy life. In fact, for what to know the properties of animals, birds, fish and snakes, if you do not know or do not wish to know the nature of man, why we were born, where we come from and where we are going? Thus, the ‘study of man’ is the supreme and worthy subject of Renaissance humanism. However, from the modern point of view, humanists studied nothing but Latin, and since the XV century – Greek as well as the works written in these languages. It was not a study, as it was not reduced to the sum of knowledge and information; with all labor costs it was regarded as a festive, coming out of the daily routine activity. 3. The classical and post-nonclassical model of education Classical science gives a very negative image of a man, «machine animate», driven by pulses of instincts. This image lacks in a genuine recognition of the higher values, such as spiritual awakening, feeling of love, esthetic pleasure and pursuit of justice. Universe was shown as gigantic and fully deterministic clockwork, whose work was described by means of a specially developed mathematical apparatus – differential calculus. Difference – the meaning of this very mathematical operation plotted a direction vector for the classical paradigm, dividing the world and man into the object and the subject, and being philosophically justified by the writings of Rene Descartes (Cunning, 2010). Man-observer was opposed to the world and, in fact, was not included in the objective flow of processes. Modern times end with the process of destruction of the cosmos integrity, man is thrown out of the nature, is opposed to it, and the nature from ‘temple’ is converted into ‘workshop’. It is these trends that originated the current differentiation, between the Natural sciences and Cultural sciences. Different nature of these areas explains their belonging to distinct cultures. Newton-Cartesian model was adequate and even very successful as long as physicists investigated phenomena in the world of everyday experience, or ‘in the zone of middle dimensions’. As soon as they start exploring microcosm 371 Maria Kukhta et al. / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 206 ( 2015 ) 369 – 373 of sub-atomic processes and macrocosm of astrophysics beyond the common perception, classical model became unusable that led to transcendence. Not only in physics but also in other fields of knowledge, there were more and more phenomena, inexplicable within the classical paradigm. New evidence of physical, scientific, psychological, sociological studies helped design post-nonclassical paradigm, which further formation was supported by the development of cybernetics, information theory, systems theory. Post-nonclassical paradigm includes classical worldview, recognizes the closed systems, acting as a mechanism, but as a part of the world of phenomena, forming complex open systems, characterized by an intense exchange (information, matter, energy) with the environment. Post-nonclassical science investigates not the terms of the world, split into regions of discrete elements and objectives, but semantic structures of different nature in the space of isomorphic transformations. A man is given a new role in this set of realities, that have different rates of self- transformation – a man is no longer a spectator or observer, but a full participant in the dialogue that has got, according to research by Korzhybski (2007), the unique ability ‘to bind time’, to transfer its experience to future generations by means of symbols, words and other ‘values and records’. The stages of this experiment are recorded at all levels of human development in terms of integrity, that is, in terms of organized fields of interdependent operations as a single space-time net of intertwined structures containing all the information about the world. Connectivity restoration of temporal experience is possible via comprehension of the ‘problem of two cultures’ as intercorrelated ones. Indeed, features of the humanities world, at first glance, are rather far from science in terms of problem content, content of questions and answers, and experiment content. But they are quite close in relation of the thinker to the experiment for courage with which the thinker goes in for the hardest paradoxical experiment, temperament of knowledge, pursuit of experimentum cruces, expulsion from the consciousness of all casual, routine, unrelated to the problem of space solution. Within the post-nonclassical paradigm, the relationship between humanities and natural sciences can be compared to the relationship between electric and magnetic fields. The static electric field doesn’t excite the magnetic one; the latter is proportional to the derivative of electric induction in time, i.e. its rate of change; in turn, the electric field is proportional to the rate of change of magnetic flux. Science as a system of positive ideas about the world has got little in common with poetry. On the contrary, the process of science, science in its development, science as a series of changes in the perception of the world, like the alternating electric or magnetic field, causes the field of different type; developing science causes a poetic component. The faster the science develops, the more experiment falls behind new generalizations or generalization behind experiment, or development of a new logical- mathematical apparatus behind generalization and experiment, the more prominent part is played by intuition, replacing syllogism for associations, symbolic generalizations, catalytically affecting emotions, mood in the development of other associative chains and symbolic images (Kuznetsov, 1965). 4. Development of symbolic thinking as a foundation for the creative personality formation The imperative of symbolic thinking in the creativity formation is associated with its characteristics, genesis and special onto-epistemological status. “The truth did not come into the world naked, but it came in symbols and images” – reads the ancient apocryphal work (Sventsitskaya & Trofimova, 1989, p. 37-378). The comprehension of truth often comes to us through the historical memory, spiritual insight and aesthetic experiences. Philosophical thought of Renaissance announced poetic image the repository of truth. In the speech, marking his crowning at the Capitol, Petrarch said that he could easily show how under the cover of inventions poets draw the conclusions on natural and moral philosophy, historical events, and it would prove that poet’s, historian’s and philosopher’s matters, whether in moral or natural philosophy, differ the same as cloudy and clear skies, both shine similarly, but observers perceive it differently (cf. Serebryaniy, 1998, pp. 377-378). A man needs not neither logic nor wisdom, noted de Saint-Exupery (1999), but a new picture, and pictures are created by artists, making stones and paints serve the free will of their work. Why do the symbol and the image become repository of the truth? Conscious symbol is similar to the bridge that allows connecting two sides of reality – rational and intuitive. Symbol draws our mind to the deep roots of imaginative wisdom and connects with the experience of cultures. The symbol captures a certain type of relationship between cosmos and human microcosm, ‘shows’ a man the 372 Maria Kukhta et al. / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 206 ( 2015 ) 369 – 373 consciousness environment. It can be assumed that any symbol requests understanding and contains some mechanism of self-realization, and requires it fulfillment. Defining the symbol as a unity of form and meaning and pointing to its depth and compositional completeness, note that the symbol is utterly existential. The symbols deal not only with logic, but also involve emotional and sensual sphere through the plastic, color, image and composition. Mamardashvili (1997), analyzing symbols, defined their structure as cognitive completed harmonies, which contain the ‘opportunity for breaking of our understanding’. Mamardashvili and Pyatigorskiy (1997) in their work “Symbol and consciousness” highlight the lack of symbolism in modern education. For various reasons, rooted in culture or mentality, symbols are often perceived as signs. That is, the symbols are ‘signified’, included in our mode of automatic sign operation, which naturally they do not belong to. Inside of our sign systems they are desymbolized, i.e. lose their direct ‘conscious’ content and become signs, strictly speaking, of anything. This transition from a situation of understanding to the situation of knowledge is associated with the semiotization experience where the consciousness symbols are translated into culture signs. In contrast to the scientific knowledge of the world, the symbolic consciousness does not handle the system of categories and concepts, but completely and clearly grasps the fickle face of varied life, trying to capture every fact and the moment of being, while maintaining animated relationship between objects and phenomena, reflecting in it the organic integrity of existence. Studies of ancient cultures suggest that symbolic thinking is not only associated with primitive communities, but is generally inherent in the nature of human consciousness (Kukhta & Pelevin, 2015a,b). 5. Conclusion Modern educational environment is oriented towards unification, which main goal is training a focused specialist that meets certain qualification requirements and standards. Focus of the educational process on openness does not involve information abuse or imposition of system of universal common knowledge, but creation of the environment, contributing to optimal and harmonious drawing creative potential out of the personality. A holistic worldview is formed in the synthesis of humanities and natural sciences. Thus, education, striving not only to the ‘production’ of focused specialists but, above all, creative personalities, shall be focused on eliminating the contradictions between the fundamental and humanities component. In this process, integrative in fact, the leading role is given to the development of symbolic thinking in the dialogue relationship between a student and a teacher. The dialogue in the educational environment is seen primarily as a co-tune of two open systems, consciousness, devoid of dogmatic attitudes. Implementation of the dialogue mode is the first and important condition for the development of symbolic consciousness, awakening of creativity. Symbolic thinking does not deal with words, but images. The image removes all the contradictions, as only words oppose to each other, but a man, climbing step by step up, can see everything in a different way, and there is no contradiction for him (de Saint-Exupery, 1999). Imaginative symbolic thinking is characterized by a large flow of information into the mind at a time, incommensurate with verbal thinking. In the framework of symbolic image we can speak about a particular consciousness dialogue, dialogue of cultures, beyond the boundaries of time and language. Participants of the dialogue process do not ‘educate’ each other and mutually deploy their positions, and these positions require mutual listening to each other, but not mutual correction; only self-correction is acceptable in this dialogue. Transparency is a must for the fruitful implementation of the dialogue mode in the educational environment. Ambitions, lack of thinking discipline and attention to listeners create information chaos. In conclusion, it should be noted that such an approach to education was implemented in the Pythagorean School which drew attention, first of all, to the development of moral and spiritual qualities, and then transferred knowledge according to the level of student’s consciousness. References Cunning, D. (2010). Argument and Persuasion in Descartes' Meditations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Korzhibski, A. (2007). Nauka I psikhicheskoe zdorov’e [Science and psychic health]. http://www.litmir.co/br/?b=226102. Kukhta, M. S., &Pelevin, E. A. (2015a).Ethno-Design as the Basis for the Formation of a Tolerant Attitude to the Traditions of Different 373 Maria Kukhta et al. / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 206 ( 2015 ) 369 – 373 Cultures.Procedia – Social and Behavioral Sciences.166, 680-683. Kukhta, M. S., &Pelevin E.A. (2015b).The Specifics of Creating Emotional Comfort by Means of Modern Design.Procedia – Social and Behavioral Sciences, 166, 199-203. Kuznetsov, B. G. (1965). EtyudyobEynshteyne [Essays about Einstein]. Moscow:Nauka Publishers. Mamardashvili, M. K., Piatigorskiy, A. M. (1997). Simvolisoznaniye.Metafizicheskiyerassuzhdeniya o soznanii, simvolikeiyazyke [Symbol and consciousness.Metaphysical reasoning about consciousness, symbolism and language]. Moscow: Shkola ‘YAzykirusskoykul'tury’. Saint-Exupery, A. de. (1999). Favorites: Transl. from French. Moscow:Gudyal-Press Publishers. Sventsintskaya, I., & Trofimova, M. (1989). Apokrify drevnikh khristian: Issledovanie, teksty, kommentarii [Apocrypha of ancient Christians: Research, texts, comments]. Moscow: Mysl’. Serebryaniy, S. D. (Ed.). (1998). Istoriyamirovoykul'tury: NaslediyeZapada: Antichnost'. Srednevekov'ye, Vozrozhdeniye[History of the world culture: Western Heritage: Antiquity. MiddleAges, Renaissance]. Moscow: Rossiyskiygosudarstveniygumanitarniyuniversitet. 
work_yuxwl6jg5beftd7hrevkhblvcq	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
work_xw5rhldghbd3jj36isdiqeitn4	----	06 April 2021 AperTO - Archivio Istituzionale Open Access dell'Università di Torino Original Citation: The magnetic remanence of hematite-bearing murals Published version: DOI:10.1029/2009GL041198 Terms of use: Open Access (Article begins on next page) Anyone can freely access the full text of works made available as "Open Access". Works made available under a Creative Commons license can be used according to the terms and conditions of said license. Use of all other works requires consent of the right holder (author or publisher) if not exempted from copyright protection by the applicable law. Availability: This is the author's manuscript This version is available http://hdl.handle.net/2318/92886 since Magnetic remanence of hematite-bearing murals R. Lanza, 1 E. Zanella, 1 and S. Saudino 1,2 Received 6 October 2009; revised 12 November 2009; accepted 19 November 2009; published 16 December 2009. [1] We report on a series of experiments designed to test the ability of hematite-bearing colors to record the direction of the ambient magnetic field. Plasterboards accurately oriented with respect to the Earth’s magnetic field were painted with red tempera colors prepared with hematite pigments. Magnetic measurements indicate that the color film retains a remanent magnetization and acquires a well developed magnetic fabric. The remanence direction is close to, yet slightly deviated from the Earth’s magnetic field. The deviation is interpreted to result from preferential alignment of the pigment grains parallel to the plasterboard surface and depends on both its orientation with respect to magnetic north and the degree of magnetic anisotropy of the color film, which in turn varies according to the pigment used. Investigation of the magnetic remanence of murals may complement archaeomagnetic information derived from traditional materials such as baked and fired structures. Citation: Lanza, R., E. Zanella, and S. Saudino (2009), Magnetic remanence of hematite-bearing murals, Geophys. Res. Lett., 36, L24302, doi:10.1029/2009GL041198. 1. Introduction [2] Red colored, hematite-bearing mural paintings have been shown to carry a remanent magnetization close to the geomagnetic field direction at the time they were painted, known either from direct historical measurements [Chiari and Lanza, 1997, 1999] or archaeomagnetic data [Zanella et al., 2000; Goguitchaichvili et al., 2004]. [3] The basic model for acquisition of a pictorial remanent magnetization (PiRM) supposes that when the color is applied to a wall, the hematite grains behave as tiny magnets free to move and align their moment parallel to the Earth’s field. Once the color dries, the grains are locked and magnetization is preserved over time. This model was tested in laboratory controlled conditions: colors were prepared with high-quality pigments and used to paint oriented plasterboards. The natural remanent magnetization was measured and its direction checked against that of the laboratory field. A deeper under- standing of the remanence characteristics was obtained from measurement of the anisotropy of isothermal remanent mag- netization (AIRM). Measurements were done at the ALP laboratory (Peveragno, Italy) using a JR-6 spinner magnetom- eter, a 2-G Enterprises degausser, a Molspin AF demagnetizer, a Bussi pulse magnet and a Schonstedt thermal demagnetizer. 2. Samples and Remanence Measurements [4] Two red colors were prepared using a 4 to 1 mixture of water and egg yolk as binder (90% in volume) and commercial hematite pigments (10%), namely Morellone and Rosso di Marte (Zecchi, Fine art and restoration materials – Firenze), which are equivalent to the pigments with the same names used by Italian Renaissance painters. Scanning Electron Microscope (SEM) images (Figure 1) demonstrate that the grain size of both pigments is less than 0.5 mm and that the Morellone grains are mostly flake- shaped, and that the Rosso di Marte ones are acicular. The colors were applied to plasterboards placed in grassland opposite the laboratory, in order to avoid any unevenness of the magnetic field inside the building. The plasterboards were accurately oriented with respect to the Earth’s mag- netic field using bubble levels, a compass and a 3-axes fluxgate magnetometer. Orientation accuracy was estimated as ±1�. Samples were taken with the flexible plastic disk (8 = 18 mm) technique [Chiari and Lanza, 1999; Goguitchaichvili et al., 2004]. In order to make possible thermal demagnetization of the color film, one basal face of oriented standard cylindrical paleomagnetic specimens (8 = 25.4 mm, h = 23 mm) was also painted. To avoid any bias in measuring the PiRM, diamagnetic limestones were used and the possible remanence carried by incidental ferrimagnetic grains was checked before painting. The measured signal was of the order of 10 �11 Am 2 , similar to the nominal sensitivity (2.6 � 10�11 Am2) of the JR-6 spinner magnetometer. [5] Magnetometers used in paleomagnetism are designed to measure specimens usually 8 to 11 cm 3 in volume, whereas the disk-shaped specimens of color film are some tens of microns thick and a few cubic millimeters in volume. The result of a measurement might therefore depend on the position of the specimen relative to the pick-up coils of the spinner magnetometer. To check this possible effect, two groups of ten specimens were measured in two positions. In the first one, the diameter of the disk coincided with the spinner axis, while in the second the disk was shifted 10 mm sideways. The group mean directions are statistically indistinguishable (Table 1), which suggests that the small, 1� to 3�, differences between the directions of individual specimens reflect random errors probably due to the positioning of specimens within the spinner specimen holder. [6] Six vertical plasterboards with different orientations with respect to magnetic north were painted. The azimuths, measured clockwise, were: 0�, 30�, 45�, 90�, 315� and 330�. Various portions of individual plasterboards were painted with different brushstroke orientation: up-down, side to side, random. Ten specimens for each color were collected from each plasterboard. They were measured and the mean direction of each group was calculated using Fisher [1953] statistics. The painting always acquired a remanent magnetization with magnetic moment in the order of 3–6 � 10�9 Am2 and directions tightly grouped. The angular dispersion was usually smaller for Morellone GEOPHYSICAL RESEARCH LETTERS, VOL. 36, L24302, doi:10.1029/2009GL041198, 2009 Click Here for Full Article 1 Dipartimento di Scienze della Terra, Università di Torino, Turin, Italy. 2 Now at Dipartimento di Ivrea, ARPA Piemonte, Ivrea, Italy. Copyright 2009 by the American Geophysical Union. 0094-8276/09/2009GL041198$05.00 L24302 1 of 5 http://dx.doi.org/10.1029/2009GL041198 (0.8� � a95 � 2.7�) than for Rosso di Marte (2.4� � a95 � 5.1�). The directions were not affected by the brushstroke orientation and close to that of the local ambient field (D = 0�, I = 59�), although small differences (0� to 9�) in declination were detected (Figure 2). The differences look systematic because the value of the deviation angle is a function of the azimuth of the plasterboard and the deviation is opposite in sense to the plasterboard orienta- tion: it is clockwise when the plasterboard azimuth falls in the NE-SW quadrant, and counterclockwise when in the NW-SE quadrant. One horizontal plasterboard was painted and the inclination of the painting remanence was 6� to 12� shallower than that of the ambient field. The possible origin of the observed deviations is discussed below. 3. Characteristics of the Acquired Remanence [7] The PiRM stability is good, which is typical of remanences carried by powdered hematite. The PiRM direction does not change throughout stepwise thermal and AF demagnetization. More than 50% of the initial remanence is still present after heating at 580�C, and some 60% remains after AF demagnetization at a 280 mT peak- field. Similar observations were made for some murals at the Bibliotheca Apostolica in Rome [Chiari and Lanza, 1999]. This demonstrates that hematite-bearing mural paint- ings carry a stable record of the Earth’s field at the time they were painted and may be used in archaeomagnetic studies, as in the case of Pompeii [Zanella et al., 2000]. [8] The observed deviation of the remanence direction from the ambient field needs further investigation. The inclination shallowing in the case of the horizontal plaster- board might be regarded as analogous to that typical of a depositional remanent magnetization (DRM). Preferential orientation of non-equant detrital grains is caused by gravity in the DRM case, whereas in the PiRM one it could be caused by other phenomena acting on the pigment grains, such as surface tension in the color films, which parallels the painted surface, or grain anisotropy in the hematite pigment. [9] Vertical plasterboards give a clue to understand the deviation. Let b be the angle between magnetic North and the azimuth of the plasterboard (Figure 3) and d the angle between the plasterboard and the PiRM horizontal compo- nent. Should the PiRM direction coincide with magnetic North, d = b. The fact that d � b means that the PiRM direction is systematically deviated toward the painted surface and that it does not coincide with magnetic North. The systematic deviation may be accounted for by prefer- ential orientation of the pigment grains, which would tend to orient their long dimension parallel to the color film, namely to the painted surface. The easy magnetization direction of hematite lies in the lattice basal plane, whereas the hard direction parallels the axis of symmetry. The long dimension of hematite grains usually corresponds to the basal plane so that their preferential orientation would bias the remanence direction. This hypothesis can be tested by investigating the magnetic fabric of the color film by means of remanence anisotropy measurements. AIRM was thus Figure 2. Equal-area projection of the PiRM directions from plasterboards painted with Morellone (circles) and Rosso di Marte (squares) pigments. Full/open symbols: vertical/horizontal plasterboards; star = laboratory ambient field. Figure 1. SEM images of (a) Morellone and (b) Rosso di Marte pigments. Table 1. Mean PiRM Direction and Intensity for Morellone Specimens From Plasterboards With Different Orientations and Measured in Different Positions Within the JR-6 Coils a Azimuth Position n D, I (deg) M (Am 2 ) k a95 (deg) 30� Central 10 2.7, 57.3 4.3 10�9 318 2.7 30� Offset 10 4.5, 57.0 4.3 10�9 544 2.1 330� Central 10 358.3, 58.4 3.3 10�9 118 4.5 330� Offset 10 359.7, 59.2 3.3 10�9 148 4.0 a Key: azimuth: plasterboard orientation; position: position of the specimen within the measuring coils; n = number of specimens; D, I = declination, inclination; M = magnetic moment; k, a95 = precision, semi-angle of confidence from Fisher [1953]. L24302 LANZA ET AL.: MURAL REMANENCE L24302 2 of 5 measured on specimens from vertical and horizontal plaster- boards. The specimens were subjected to tumbling AF demagnetization in the maximum available peak-field of 100 mT and were then given a direct field of 80 mT for the Morellone and 60 mT for the Rosso di Marte specimens. IRM acquisition curves showed that these values were enough to give the specimens a magnetic moment in the order of 1 � 10�7 Am2. The procedure was repeated twelve times: the direct field was applied in six different positions according to the scheme of Jelinek [1996], and in two opposite directions for each position, in order to cancel the NRM component harder than 100 mT. The magnetic fabric is similar in all specimens and is always well developed. The minimum axes I3 are well grouped and are orthogonal to the plasterboard plane (Figure 4), which coincides with the magnetic foliation; the maximum I1 and intermediate I2 axes are more or less dispersed within the foliation plane. The anisotropy degree, P = I1/I3, is higher for the Rosso di Marte specimens (P = 1.55) than for the Morellone (P = 1.18) specimens. [10] According to Uyeda et al. [1963] the relationship between the actual direction of the remanence and that of the external magnetizing field is (using our symbols from Figure 3) tan d = 1/P tan b, where P is the degree of anisotropy. Experimental values of tan d vs. tan b (Figure 5a) have good linear correlation; interpretation of the Morellone curve using the above equation gives a calculated value P = 1.14, which is consistent with the experimental value of P = 1.18, whereas the agreement is less good for the Rosso di Marte specimens, whose calculated and experimental values are P = 1.27 and P = 1.55, respectively. The equation of Uyeda et al. [1963] may thus be used to calculate the Figure 4. Equal-area projection of AIRM principal directions: (a, c) vertical plasterboards; (b, d) horizontal plasterboards. Symbols: squares = maximum axis, I1; triangles = intermediate axis, I2; solid circles = minimum axis, I3; thick great circles = magnetic foliation. Figure 3. Geometrical sketch of a hypothetical PiRM vector and plasterboard orientation. Symbols: Nm = magnetic North; J = PiRM vector; H, Z = PiRM horizontal and vertical components; b = plasterboard azimuth; d = angle between plasterboard and H; b � d = D, declination error. L24302 LANZA ET AL.: MURAL REMANENCE L24302 3 of 5 PiRM declination error D = b � d = b � tan�1 (1/P tan b) (Figure 5b), i.e. the expected deviation of the PiRM from the geomagnetic field. [11] Since the deviation is clockwise or counterclockwise according the wall azimuth is in the NE or NW quadrant, its effect on the mean PiRM direction derived from different walls in the same building is strongly reduced. Paleomag- netic directions for murals sampled from the four walls of a room at Palazzo Venturi-Gallerani (Siena, Italy), which were painted in 1794, are slightly different (Figure 6), yet their mean (D = 341�, I = 65�) is indistinguishable from the coeval Earth’s magnetic field direction (D = 343�, I = 64�) from direct historical measurements [Cafarella et al., 1992]. [12] The equation of Uyeda et al. [1963], written in the form tan IDRM = 1/P tan IField, is often used to estimate inclination shallowing in sedimentary rocks,. In the case of horizontal plasterboards, the equation works well in the case of the PiRM carried by Rosso di Marte, and gives the same shallowing (12�) as the observed value. The calculated shallowing in the Morellone (5�) case is close to or half of the observed values (6� and 10� respectively). 4. Discussion and Conclusions [13] On the basis of the experimental results, we conclude that the PiRM direction acquired by a mural painting is a stable remanence whose direction is slightly deviated from that of the Earth’s magnetic field as a function of the wall orientation and the degree of magnetic anisotropy of the color film. In terms of archaeomagnetic investigations, the deviation of the PiRM direction relative to the ambient field does not imply that murals are unreliable sources of information on secular variation (SV). On the one hand, the deviation is zero for walls oriented N-S or E-W. On the other, the expected deviation may be evaluated from AIRM measurements. Moreover, since the error depends on the wall orientation, it may be cancelled by sampling different walls in the same room or building and calculating the mean PiRM direction. In conclusion, our simple model for PiRM Figure 5. (a) Tangent of PiRM declination (d) vs. tangent of plasterboard azimuth (b) measured from magnetic North (see Figure 3 and text for further explanation). Symbols: solid circles = Morellone (r = 0.997) specimens, and squares = Rosso di Marte (r = 0.976) specimens. (b) Calculated PiRM declination error D = (b � d) as a function of wall orientation (b). Figure 6. Equal-area projection of the PiRM directions from murals painted on the four walls of a room at Palazzo Venturi-Gallerani (Siena, Italy). Symbols: solid circles = individual mural mean PiRM direction; star = Earth’s magnetic field direction from historical measurements in 1794. L24302 LANZA ET AL.: MURAL REMANENCE L24302 4 of 5 acquisition appears to work well enough for archaeomag- netic purposes. Investigation of new types of materials, such as mural paintings and plasters [Soler-Arechalde et al., 2006], extends the use of archaeomagnetism beyond the traditional baked and fired structures and provides new opportunities to date archaeological finds. [14] Acknowledgment. The authors are indebted to G. Chiari for providing the samples from the Palazzo Venturi-Gallerani murals. References Cafarella, L., A. De Santis, and A. Meloni (1992), Secular variation from historical geomagnetic field measurements, Phys. Earth Planet Inter., 73, 206–221, doi:10.1016/0031-9201(92)90091-9. Chiari, G., and R. Lanza (1997), Pictorial remanent magnetization as an indicator of secular variation of the Earth’s magnetic field, Phys. Earth Planet Inter., 101, 79–83, doi:10.1016/S0031-9201(96)03222-0. Chiari, G., and R. Lanza (1999), Remanent magnetization of mural paintings from the Bibliotheca Apostolica (Vatican, Rome), J. Appl. Geophys., 41, 137–143, doi:10.1016/S0926-9851(98)00038-X. Fisher, R. A. (1953), Dispersion on a sphere, Proc. R. Soc. A, 217, 295–305, doi:10.1098/rspa.1953.0064. Goguitchaichvili, A., A. M. Soler, E. Zanella, G. Chiari, R. Lanza, J. Urrutia-Fucugauchi, and T. Gonzalez (2004), Pre-Columbian mural paintings from Mesoamerica as geomagnetic field recorders, Geophys. Res. Lett., 31, L12607, doi:10.1029/2004GL020065. Jelinek, V. (1996), Theory and measurement of the anisotropy of isothermal remanent magnetization of rocks, Travaux Geophys., 37, 124–134. Soler-Arechalde, A. M., F. Sánchez, M. Rodriguez, C. Caballero-Miranda, A. Goguitchaichvili, J. Urrutia-Fucugauchi, L. Manzanilla, and D. H. Tarling (2006), Archaeomagnetic investigation of oriented pre- Columbian lime-plasters from Teotihuacan, Mesoamerica, Earth Planets Space, 58, 1433–1439. Uyeda, S., M. D. Fuller, J. C. Belshé, and R. W. Girdler (1963), Anisotropy of magnetic susceptibility of rocks and minerals, J. Geophys. Res., 68, 279–291, doi:10.1029/JZ068i001p00279. Zanella, E., L. Gurioli, G. Chiari, A. Ciarallo, R. Cioni, E. De Carolis, and R. Lanza (2000), Archaeomagnetic results from mural paintings and pyroclastic rocks in Pompeii and Herculaneum, Phys. Earth Planet Inter., 118, 227–240, doi:10.1016/S0031-9201(99)00146-6. ����������������������� R. Lanza and E. Zanella, Dipartimento di Scienze della Terra, Università di Torino, Torino, I-10125, Italy. (roberto.lanza@unito.it) S. Saudino, Dipartimento di Ivrea, ARPA Piemonte, Ivrea, I-10015, Italy. L24302 LANZA ET AL.: MURAL REMANENCE L24302 5 of 5 
work_zbse57nzgjfxticbc2i27cm7bu	----	Johnson, Megan, Louise Ochoa, and Geraldine Purpur Johnson, Megan, Louise Ochoa, and Geraldine Purpur. “Virtually Usable: a Test of the Information Gardens.” The Journal of Academic Librarianship. 33:5 (September 2007). P. 593-601. The original version of this article may be accessed at http://www.elsevier.com/wps/find/journaldescription.cws_home/620207/description#des cription. Virtually Usable: A Test of the Information Gardens Megan Johnson(a) , Louise Ochoa(a), and Geraldine Purpur(a) (a)Belk Library and Information Commons, Appalachian State University, Boone, NC 28608, USA Available online 27 June 2007. Abstract This paper presents the results of a usability study conducted to determine the functionality of a desktop, three-dimensional virtual library designed and supported by the Appalachian State University Distance Learning Library Services team. Formative evaluations were performed with representative students utilizing Morae software. Results influenced the final design of the library. Introduction This paper will discuss the results of a usability study conducted to determine the functionality of a three-dimensional, desktop virtual reality library (the Information Gardens). The Information Gardens supports three graduate programs in the Reich College of Education Leadership and Educational Studies Program at Appalachian State University. It is designed and supported by the Appalachian State University Distance Learning Library Services team. The purpose of the usability testing was to identify areas for improvement while still in the design stage. A series of three formative evaluations were conducted on portions of the Information Gardens utilizing representative users. This information led to improvements in the virtual library. There are three main VR (virtual reality) categories: text-based, desktop, and sensory- immersive virtual reality. In a networked, text-based VR, users interact solely through typing messages on their computer keyboards. Desktop VR is similar to interactive multimedia; using three-dimensional images without being immersive. Sensory- immersive VR immerses the user in a three-dimensional computer generated world. Visual, auditory, and touch technologies create the illusion of real user presence in the simulated environment.1 The usability testing of a virtual environment can vary widely depending on the type of virtual reality being evaluated, but in all cases the goal is to evaluate the ease of use and learning, the degree of error tolerance of the system, and the overall user satisfaction.2 The AET Zone is an example of desktop VR. Like interactive multimedia, combinations of visual, audio and textual representation are utilized. In this environment, avatars represent the individual as they travel through a computer graphic display of a three- dimensional world. The input devices used for travel and interaction with graphic objects are the computer mouse or keyboard arrow keys. A text-based chat allows communication with other individuals present in the AET Zone. Auditory output is another feature that can be incorporated. A unique feature of desktop VR is the extensive use of metaphors to represent real world objects and functions. Because selection of appropriate metaphorical models can improve user efficiency and recall, the evaluation of metaphorical design is an important aspect of usability testing in desktop VR.3 Many methods exist for the usability evaluation of human–computer interfaces although they have primarily been designed for GUIs (graphical user interfaces). Depending upon the type of VR, unique characteristics of the interaction styles in VR may make use of these methods ineffective. For example, in an immersive VR the user may be utilizing whole body movements as an input device rather than a computer keyboard, mouse or joystick. In addition, multiple input modes such as voice, gestures, and text chatting can occur simultaneously. This can cause processing difficulty for a single evaluator, necessitating multiple modes of observation or multiple evaluators. The sense of presence, or feeling of being physically located in a simulated environment, is also something that is not encountered in traditional user interfaces. To accurately assess presence, the evaluator must not be seen or heard as they are not part of the virtual world and may interfere with the user's perception of presence. Literature Review A review of the literature reveals that a number of usability evaluation methods have been applied to virtual reality systems. Most of these are common methods originally designed for human–computer interaction or two-dimensional systems. A listing of the major methods accompanied by a sampling of the researchers utilizing the methods follows. The cognitive walkthrough is an approach taken by Polson, Lewis, Rieman, and Wharton for GUI usability and is modeled on their CE+ theory of exploratory learning.4 In this type of evaluation, a group of evaluators analyzes each task required to achieve a user's goal, particularly examining the cognitive processes involved in each step. It attempts to identify design errors that interfere with a user's ease of learning. This approach is especially suited to understanding the needs of first-time users or exploratory learners. Nielson described the use of a heuristic evaluation for usability inspection.5 It was further developed by Sutcliff and Gault in their evaluation of a virtual reality environment.6 In this method, several independent experts analyze a design utilizing a set of relevant guidelines or heuristics. Like the cognitive walkthrough, no users are involved. Results are then combined and ranked to prioritize any redesign issues. The formative evaluation is a term originally coined by Scriven7 and utilized by Hix et al.8 Scriven developed formative evaluation for use in the instructional design process and it was later adopted by the field of human–computer interaction.7 Formative evaluation is performed early in the design process and assesses a user interface by having representative users complete tasks while observing and recording their performance data. The data collected can be qualitative (user comments, critical incidents, reactions) or quantitative (timed tasked, counted errors). Summative evaluation was also coined by Scriven7 and has been utilized by Bowman and Hodges,9 among others. Summative evaluation is generally performed after a design has been completed and may statistically compare one or more designs side by side. Representative users may be utilized in a method analogous to the formative evaluation process or an expert review by specialists may be employed. A post hoc questionnaire is a technique utilized by Slater, Usoh, and Steed in their analysis of the walking metaphor in a virtual environment.10 The questionnaire is a written set of questions administered after participation in a usability evaluation. It can be the sole form of data collection or used to supplement another form of evaluation. Data gathered may be demographic information and user experiences, interests, or reactions. Questionnaires are convenient and relatively easy to administer. The interview is described as a usability technique by Hix and Harston11 and one of the techniques utilized by Bowman et al.12 An interview is much more personal than a questionnaire as the interviewer works directly with the respondent. They are useful for obtaining in-depth information on a topic. Interviews may be formally structured with the same questions asked of each respondent, or informal, with no predetermined questions. In addition to the main evaluative techniques, there are several commonly used data collection techniques. Verbal protocol taking or “thinking aloud” is described by Hix and Hartson in their usability text.11 In concurrent protocol taking the participant is encourage to talk aloud about what they are doing during an evaluation session. This can also be done in a post hoc or retrospective session. An advantage of post hoc protocol taking is that it offers less opportunity to interfere with task performance or timing during an evaluation. Videotaping and audiotaping are both frequently employed data collection techniques.11 Videotaping is especially useful as it enables accurate recording of the participant's physical motions, facial expressions, and speech. Both techniques provide valuable backups to other data collection techniques and assist an evaluator in observing multiple data inputs during an evaluation. To take advantage of the best features of individual research techniques, researchers frequently utilize a combination of techniques.[12.], [8.] and [13.] In their longitudinal study of the design of a collaborative virtual environment, Tromp, Steed, and Wilson13 made use of the cognitive walkthrough, heuristic evaluation, and video observations in their formative evaluations. Hix and colleagues have developed a cost effective approach for design and evaluation of navigation in a virtual environment consisting of iterative use of expert heuristic evaluation, followed by formative and summative evaluations.8 Bowman and colleagues developed a test bed approach to evaluation which incorporated both interviews and a summative evaluation.12 Due to the variety of virtual reality systems and associated user interfaces, it has not been possible to define a set method or methods that will be applicable to all. Also, techniques that are suitable for evaluation of one aspect of the design may not be suitable for others. While many researchers have successfully applied human–computer interface usability techniques to virtual environments, there is a need for usability engineering research specifically for virtual environments. Methodology The Information Gardens is the second library created within the AET Zone. A decision was made to depart from the more traditional look and feel of the original library. The overall metaphor of the Information Gardens is that of a garden where growth and exploration take place. Individually themed gardens house a variety of resources within the building. In keeping with the garden theme, non-traditional objects frequently link to library services or resources. These secondary metaphors may not be as obvious as those in the original library within the AET Zone. The goal of our study is to evaluate the usability of the new Information Gardens design which includes user response to the metaphorical design (see Figure 1, Figure 2 and Figure 3). Although it may influence the test, we are not concerned with the functioning of user interfaces since we have no control over the overall systems design. The evaluation technique consisted of iterative formative evaluations which included the following data collection techniques: questionnaires, post hoc interviews and recording of the screen, audio, and video with Morae software. Morae software, produced by TechSmith, was set up to record live screen shots of the test users navigating through the Information Gardens. Audio was also recorded along with a single video camera utilized to record facial expressions of the participant. A brief demographic questionnaire was given the participants as well as a post hoc interview consisting of both structured and informal questions. Participants were all asked to perform the same set of three specific tasks. They were encouraged to talk aloud during the testing. Figure 1. Information Gardens Library. http://www.sciencedirect.com/science?_ob=MiamiCaptionURL&_method=retrieve&_udi=B6W50-4P2J38B-2&_image=fig1&_ba=1&_user=634929&_rdoc=1&_fmt=full&_orig=search&_cdi=6556&view=c&_acct=C000033778&_version=1&_urlVersion=0&_userid=634929&md5=4bedfbccd916b294e8e838cfd3ceb658� Figure 2. Initial Zen Garden. Figure 3. Redesigned Italian Renaissance Garden. A pilot test was run with three individuals to ensure that all aspects of the usability test would operate satisfactorily. Minor changes were made in the testing procedure and in the VR design as a result of the pilot test. Following the pilot test, an additional formative evaluation was completed with three new participants. We redesigned the elements in the virtual library space based on the results of this evaluation and then re-tested with two more students. Results from the final formative evaluation may spur additional design changes. A total of nine representative participants were selected to act as evaluators. The majority were students, and were chosen so that a wide range of ability and ages could be represented. The target audience for the AET Zone is adult distance education students, so we were particularly interested in the subjects who match a profile of a “typical” distance learner (female, over thirty-five). Since we were testing human subjects, our first step was to obtain an Institutional Review Board waiver (from the Office of Research and Grants). After this step we recruited test participants, scheduled testing times, and devised an observational test (see Appendix C). The software that we planned to use to record the sessions, Techsmith's Morae, had some compatibility issues with the AET Zone (they both use the computer's videocard so the AET Zone was not appearing) but we received technical assistance to troubleshoot this issue and were able to successfully record. At the beginning of each session we: • had the user sign a consent form (see Appendix B); • had the user answer the questionnaire: were they familiar with AET Zone environment and if they game, their age range (twenties, thirties, forties, or fifties), and if they are familiar with libraries; http://www.sciencedirect.com/science?_ob=MiamiCaptionURL&_method=retrieve&_udi=B6W50-4P2J38B-2&_image=fig2&_ba=2&_user=634929&_rdoc=1&_fmt=full&_orig=search&_cdi=6556&view=c&_acct=C000033778&_version=1&_urlVersion=0&_userid=634929&md5=10bf63189c7686ae7f8b2376256b30fd� http://www.sciencedirect.com/science?_ob=MiamiCaptionURL&_method=retrieve&_udi=B6W50-4P2J38B-2&_image=fig3&_ba=3&_user=634929&_rdoc=1&_fmt=full&_orig=search&_cdi=6556&view=c&_acct=C000033778&_version=1&_urlVersion=0&_userid=634929&md5=e036cf3b05b8664c183adb79d7a8e5ef� • reassured users it is a test of the design—not of them; • encouraged the user to talk aloud; • told the user the test was brief, there was no pressure to rush; • as needed, gave them an introduction to the AET Zone (for example, holding the shift and arrow keys when your avatar becomes stuck); and • allowed them to practice navigating in the environment. Generally, with observational usability testing, if you test four to seven users, they all tend to “stumble” at the same place. This demonstrates a problem with the interface (not the users) that needs to be clarified. The designers address the “problem area” of the interface, then, ideally, they retest with a new group of users to gauge the success of the adjustments. Observational tests can be extremely illuminating to the designers, since a designer cannot see the interface with “new eyes” after having worked with it over a length of time. One downside of this type of testing is the “Hawthorne effect.” This refers to a psychological phenomenon that occurs when people know they are being observed. Because they know they are being watched, they may change their behavior. For example, they may try to figure out an interface for longer than they would if they were alone. We had a subject state, “If I were away from here [the testing room] I would probably get very frustrated with this.” Another aspect of observational testing is watching a user for a brief period of time when they are new to an interface does not help a designer understand how a user's behavior changes over time.14 As a user becomes familiar with an interface, some things become clearer, while other aspects of the interface may become annoying or problematic. Subject Profiles The target audience for the AET Zone is distance education students in the Instructional Technology, Higher Education and Library Science graduate school programs in the Reich College of Education. These students typically vary in age from their twenties through fifties with a wide range of technical skills. Because it can be difficult by definition to test “distance” students, we recruited local test subjects who would closely match the demographics of our target audience. Participants for the pilot study were: Subject A, a female student in her thirties who was familiar with the AET Zone environment, Subject B, a male in his twenties who was unfamiliar with the environment and a regular gamer, and Subject C, a female in her fifties who was unfamiliar with the AET Zone, and not a gamer. The test subjects who represented the target distance learning population were three women and one man. Participants in the second formative evaluation were Subject D, a female student in her thirties who was unfamiliar with the AET Zone and not a gamer, Subject E, a female student in her forties who was unfamiliar with the AET Zone and not a gamer, and Subject F, a female student in her fifties who was unfamiliar with the AET Zone and not a gamer. All four are graduate students in the College of Education, though none had taken classes in the AET Zone. The participants in the final formative evaluation were Subject G, a male student in his twenties who was unfamiliar with the AET Zone and also a gamer and Subject H, a female in her fifties who was unfamiliar with the AET Zone and not a gamer. Task List Summation and Commentary Go to the Zen Garden and Find the Link to the Web Version of the Charlotte Observer Two subjects (F and C) found this difficult; they did not understand mousing over objects or did not recognize the symbol for the newspaper. Younger or more tech savvy users had relatively little difficulty. Go to the Italian Renaissance Garden and Find the Academic Search Premier database. Find an Article on Virtual Learning Environments and E-mail it to Yourself Participants were drawn to the metaphor of the computer, but confused as to why all computers were not the same. They figured out, eventually, that each was a database, but as one participant stated, “You'd think a computer would go to all, no?” The second part of this question was asked just to see how well subjects navigate the online databases. No one had difficulty with this task, which is refreshing since in the early days of database interfaces this was often a challenge. Find the Object in the Information Gardens which Links You to the Library Catalog. What is it? This was problematic for users. It is the same object in both the Zen Garden and the Italian Renaissance Garden: a treasure chest. However, users continued to expect it to be a computer or a book. The days of the physical card catalog are long gone, and no one was expecting a metaphor that is not a computer, and intuitively, a treasure chest does not scream “catalog.” However, part of the purpose of a virtual world is exploration and once users discovered the catalog they did not have a problem with the metaphor of a treasure chest, though one participant said it “maybe a pile of books would be better.” Questionnaire Results Would you Want to Take a Class in this Environment? Follow Up with Why? Almost every user said yes, although subject D replied in the negative. Subject E said, “not my type of format, but I would not ‘not' take one.” Every person over thirty said they thought it would be good for younger users and perceived this kind of environment as having future potential. Overall Comments or Suggestions? Four users commented on wanting signage. Our youngest participant (Subject B—a male in his twenties who is a regular gamer) missed the alternate “gaming” keys (w-a-s-d act as arrows in many games). Four users did not notice the corresponding Web page that appeared when they clicked on an object. One suggestion was to enlarge the Web page screen. Another was to have an audio cue. Two users wished they had more time to explore. Gratifyingly, all of the users thought the Information Gardens was visually attractive and more interesting than a traditional-looking library. Conclusions and Observations Not surprisingly, the younger test subjects acclimated quickly to the Information Gardens. They were comfortable using the metaphors in the Gardens and when asked to travel from one Garden to the next, Subject C responded “What would a Zen Garden look like?” and “What would an Italian Renaissance Garden look like?” They did not have any navigational problems and consequently experienced a high level of satisfaction and comfort. They completed the tasks fairly quickly resulting in increased productivity. However, it was a different story with the more mature test subjects (those over forty). It took them much longer to acclimate. Granted, they were not in the Information Gardens very long, but the difference between the two age groups was marked. Most of the subjects in this group experienced lower levels of satisfaction, comfort, and took longer to accomplish the tasks, due to awkwardness with navigation and a general lack of experience in a virtual environment. From our observations, we were able to draw several conclusions. The first is that, just like in the real world, users do not read signage. The first participants in the pilot study asked for signage, so we added it, but when testing with the next round of users the signage was ignored (see Issues for Future Consideration). The second result was that, after observing actual users, we determined that offering orientation tours of the Information Gardens space would help users and hopefully cut down on frustration. The first of these orientation tours have taken place and seem to be helpful to students. A number of the subjects had a tendency to stay in one location physically and use the mouse to click on objects within their line of sight. We observed that from certain angles and distances, tool tips (the windows that pop up when you mouse over objects) do not work and inexperienced users found that frustrating. Younger users and those with more experience moved closer to the object, so the tips worked. In a related issue, this resulted in difficulty noticing objects that were placed near walls or in corners. With experience, we expect that most users will gain confidence in navigation that will eliminate these problems. We are now aware of the problem and can angle and move objects away from less visually accessible areas to help alleviate this difficulty. Also, people had difficulty seeing across spaces (from the Zen Garden to the Italian Renaissance Garden, the Italian Garden does not come into view until about half way across the lobby). This is really a limitation of the AET Zone software, not so much an error on the designer's part, and perhaps in future releases the graphics will be more sophisticated. User C commented that she is not a visual learner and preferred text. This is a reminder that designers should be conscious of different learning styles in creation of virtual environments. Another observation (see Appendix A) was that the sundial object in the Information Gardens is used to link to the Belk Library Web site (subject F, when she noticed this, said, “Oh, the sundial will always go to the library page.”) However, in other classes in the AET Zone, it goes to the discussion board. Conformity of metaphorical symbols across all virtual worlds in the AET Zone would be helpful to users. A conclusion of these researchers is that a Web-based clearinghouse of symbols used, and what they represent for all designers in the AET Zone will strengthen these worlds. In the first round of testing, we had the user perform in the “first person.” In this mode, your avatar is not seen by you, only by others in the virtual world. This is for the ease of use for the participant. It improves navigation and allows the avatar to get physically closer to objects. However, in making a video to show others, it is helpful to actually see the subjects' avatars. In the final round of testing, we attempted to use the “third person” avatar since it is more visually interesting for presenting and easier for the researcher to observe what the subject is doing. However, using the “third person” actually makes it more difficult for the user (they have a harder time getting an angle for tool tips, for example), so we gave up on this idea and returned to recording the user in “first person.” Issues for Future Consideration The usability study has been beneficial in that it has helped us identify areas for improvement in the design of the Information Gardens as well as areas that are functioning well and do not need to be changed. One area that needs improvement is the arrangement of electronic resources in the Italian Renaissance Garden. Users were confused by the organization of the library databases and the fact that each computer workstation only links to one specific database. We will re-design the resources in this garden to improve functionality based on the comments of the users and our observations. Some users appeared lost when they first entered the Information Gardens—what can we do to change that? Maybe the users were expecting a traditional looking library and that is the cause of their initial confusion. This is an extremely important issue. We want users to have success in the library, not leave out of frustration. We have already started to discuss this and plan to experiment with different aids, tools or devices. We will continue to get feedback from the students to determine the most effective way to guide people through the Information Gardens. Because users requested signage, we added it, but this did not greatly increase orientation. We are contemplating changing the text in the directory and directional signs to images. Perhaps images will be more intuitive. Another area that deserves further consideration involves the metaphorical design of the Information Gardens. Some of our users expected the name of each garden to coincide with the resources that were in the Garden. If this was not the case, they became “befuddled.” The Zen Garden is an example of a Garden in which the materials within correspond with the name. The Zen Garden, a place for quiet and contemplative reading contains links to relevant reading material such as popular reading, newspapers, and journal articles. On the other hand, the image of an Italian Renaissance Garden does not bring to mind electronic resources and library databases. While we may not be able to match resources as well as we would like with garden names, one thing we can do is change the name of the garden to better describe the resources it contains. One garden which illustrates this is The NorthWoods Special Collections Garden. Our special collections can be accessed in this garden and the metaphors were clear and even amusing to test subjects. One of the users suggested adding HELP windows or pop-ups throughout the Information Gardens. Perhaps this would also aid in alleviating frustration. Although more mature users were generally less productive and experienced greater frustration in this environment, we are fairly confident, based on our own experiences that this will improve with time spent in the AET Zone. A longitudinal user study of this user group would be a potential subject of further research. Notes and References 1. Klaus-Peter Beier, “Virtual Reality: A Short Introduction” (2004) (http://www- vrl.umich.edu/intro/index.html). 2. Foraker Design, “Introduction to Usability,” http://www.usabilityfirst.com/intro/index.txl. 3. C. Borgman, “The User's Mental Model of an Information Retrieval System: An Experiment on a Prototype Online Catalog”, International Journal of Man-Machine Studies 24 (1986), pp. 27–64. 4. Peter Polson, Clayton Lewis, John Rieman and Cathleen Wharton, “Cognitive Walkthroughs: A Method for Theory-Based Evaluation of User Interfaces”, International Journal of Man-Machine Studies 36 (1992), pp. 741–773. Abstract | PDF (2651 K) | View Record in Scopus | Cited By in Scopus (82) 5. Jakob Nielsen, “Heuristic Evaluation”. In: Jakob Nielsen and Robert Mack, Editors, Usability Inspection Methods, John Wiley & Sons, New York (1994), pp. 25–62. 6. Alistair Sutcliffe and Brian G. Notes, “Heuristic Evaluation of Virtual Reality Applications”, Interacting with Computers 16 (4) (2004), pp. 831–849. Article | PDF (347 K) | View Record in Scopus | Cited By in Scopus (3) 7. M. Scriven, “The Methodology of Evaluation”. In: R.E. Stake, Editor, Perspectives of Curriculum Evaluation American Educational Research Association Monograph, Rand McNally, Chicago (1967). 8. Deborah Hix, J., Edward Swan, Joseph L. Gabbard, Mike McGee, Jim Durbin, and Tony King, “User-Centered Design and Evaluation of a Real-Time Battlefield Visualization Virtual Environment,” Paper presented at the IEEE Virtual Reality 1999. 9. Doug A Bowman and L. Hodges, “An Evaluation of Techniques for Grabbing and Manipulating Remote Objects in Immersive Virtual Environments,” Paper presented at the Proceedings of the ACM Symposium on Interactive 3D Graphics 1997. 10. Mel Slater, Martin Usoh and Anthony Steed, “Taking Steps: The Influence of a Walking Metaphor on Presence in Virtual Reality”, ACM Transaction on Computer Human Interaction 2 (3) (1995), pp. 201–219. Full Text via CrossRef 11. Deborah Hix and H. Hartson, Developing User Interfaces: Ensuring Usability Through Product & Process, John Wiley and Sons, New York (1993). 12. Doug Bowman, D. Johnson, and L. Hodges, “Testbed Evaluation of Ve Interaction Techniques,” Paper presented at the Proceedings of the ACM Symposium on Virtual Reality Software and Technology 1999. 13. Jolanda Tromp, Anthony Steed and John Wilson, “Systematic Usability Evaluation and Design Issues for Collaborative Virtual Environments”, Presence 12 (3) (2003), pp. 241–267. Full Text via CrossRef | View Record in Scopus | Cited By in Scopus (14) 14. Jonas Löwgren, Thoughtful Interaction Design: A Design Perspective on Information Technology, MIT Press, Cambridge, MA (2004). Appendix A. Changes Made to the Information Gardens After Each Test Table A1. Pilot Study Problem Resolution Subjects had trouble locating Zen Garden Added directional signs for Zen Garden Subjects had trouble locating Renaissance Garden Added directional signs for Renaissance Garden Table A2. Formative Evaluation No. 1 Problem Resolution Future Resolution Subject D became stuck in open space between Zen and English Gardens Removed open space Subjects were not using the directory sign Enlarged the directory sign and changed the background color from blue to green Subjects were not using directional signs Changed the background color from blue to green. and changed the color of the text from Subjects were unable to determine the arrangement of the databases in the Italian Renaissance Garden Added signs which identified groupings of the databases by subject area Subjects expected the sundial to link to a discussion board instead Removed the link to the Library Web site from the sundial and We will link the sundial to a Problem Resolution Future Resolution of the library Web site (the sundial links to discussion boards in the courses in the AETZone) added it to the white statue discussion board Subject recommended “one-stop shopping,” to facilitate finding resources more quickly Placed the large white statue with a link to the library Web site in multiples places throughout the Information Gardens (all library resources can be accessed from this link) Table A3. Formative Evaluation No. 2 Problem Resolution Future Resolution Subjects were still not reading/using the directory and directional signs Replace the text on the signs with images or add audio cues Subject did not see the signs showing the arrangement of the databases in the Italian Renaissance Garden. Assumed they would be arranged alphabetically Re-position the signs which organize the databases by subject area so they are more obvious Major reorganization of this area to eliminate confusion and facilitate ease of use Subjects had trouble finding the treasure chest (object representing the catalog) Changed the color of the treasure chest so it is more noticeable Table A4. Task No. 1: Zen Garden Task No. 2: Italian Renaissance Garden Task No. 3: Library Catalog Results Results Results Subjects wandered around until they found the Zen garden Subjects thought the computers would link to all of the databases, not just one specific database Subjects expected the object to be a book or a computer Task No. 1: Zen Garden Task No. 2: Italian Renaissance Garden Task No. 3: Library Catalog Results Results Results Two subjects did not understand the cue for the newspaper Subjects were unable to figure out the arrangement of the databases Subjects found the link to the library Web site instead Four subjects missed the corresponding Web page Subjects were able to find an article without any trouble, once they located the Academic Search Premier database Sundial Appendix B. Usability Test Consent form Belk Library and Information Commons Appalachian State University Please read and sign this form. In this usability test: • You will be asked to perform certain tasks in virtual library. • We will conduct an interview with you. • You will be asked to fill in a questionnaire or survey. • Your voice or a video may be recorded. These recordings will be used only by the library web committee. Participation in this usability study is voluntary. All information will remain strictly confidential. The descriptions and findings may be used to help improve the web site. However, at no time will your name or any other identification be used. You can withdraw your consent to the experiment and stop participation at any time. If you have any questions after today, please contact Geri Purpur at 828-2626-6903 or purpurgm@appstate.edu. I have read and understood the information on this form and had all of my questions answered You may contact the Appalachian State University Institutional Review Board at the following address and telephone number at any time during this study if you feel your rights have been violated: Chairperson, Institutional Review Board c/o Graduate Studies and Research BB Dougherty Administration Building Appalachian State University Boone, NC 28608 828-262-2130 Appendix C. AET Zone Observational Test Date: Usability Study Questions for the AET Zone Information Gardens You will begin out in front of the Information Gardens. To maneuver around, click in the window and use your arrow keys. You will practice navigating here before you go into the Gardens and attempt the tasks. If you get stuck, use the shift/arrow keys to get unstuck. For this Usability Study you will be using the Zen Garden and Renaissance Garden only. Please describe your experience with Web browsers and tools: □ beginner □ intermediate □ advanced Participant is: □ Freshman □ Sophomore □ Junior □ Senior □ Staff □ Faculty □ Other Department (if applicable): _____________________________________ 1. Go to the Zen Garden and find the link to the Web Version of the Charlotte Observer. 2. Go to the Italian Renaissance Garden and find the Academic Search Premier database. Find an article on virtual learning environments and e-mail it to yourself. 3. Find the object in the Information Gardens which links you to the library catalog. What is it? 4. Would you want to take a class in this environment? Follow up—why? 5. Overall comments or suggestions? 
work_zory6omi2rfmfhalmlvsxawxay	----	cité des dames a le grand mérite de mettre à la portée des étudiants et de nombreux lecteurs le texte intégral d’œuvres du XVIe siècle scrupuleusement éditées par des spécialistes dont la réputation n’est plus à faire. Le prix modique de ses éditions, leur petit format, la simplicité et l’élégance de leur présentation jouent un rôle considérable dans leur popularité. C’est aussi et surtout la richesse des notes qui accompagnent le texte intégral des Epîtres et du Songe qui en font pour tout étudiant un parfait outil de travail. Il convient ici de féliciter Éliane Viennot, professeur à l’Université de Saint-Étienne, membre de l’Institut universitaire de France, pour l’initiative de cette collection publiée sous sa direction par les Presses de l’Université de Saint-Étienne. R égine R eynolds-Cornell, Professeur émérite, Agnes Scott College Patricia Lee Rubin Images and Identity in Fifteenth-Century Florence New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2007. Pp. xix, 418. This sophisticated textbook is designed for upper-level undergraduate and gradu- ate students, particularly those specializing in art history. Rubin’s publication retains some aspects of a traditional art-history survey book; it features hundreds of photographic reproductions, many of them in colour, primarily of canonical art works. It is nevertheless superior to conventional textbooks—such as Frederick Hartt’s History of Italian Renaissance Art, now in its sixth edition—because it goes beyond discussing the biographical details and styles of individual artists. Images and Identity in Fifteenth-Century Florence includes chapters on the visual display of honour, and the politics of looking and being looked at in early modern Italy, offering a welcome synthesis of some of the latest scholarship in the field. Rubin’s book complements other excellent publications created to enrich the study of early modern visual culture, notably Evelyn Welch’s Art and Society in Italy, 1300–1500, a broader survey of Italian art first published in 1997. Like Welch, Rubin emphasizes the economic dimension of early modern Italian visual culture, explaining why material things such as clothing, linen, ar- mour, and furnishings were requisite for eminent citizens needing to display their rank. Drawing on early modern texts written by Leon Battista A lberti, Leonardo Bruni, and Matteo Palmieri, in addition to various archival sources, Rubin charts the “authority of possession” (16). She argues that acquiring luxurious goods was not so much a personal choice as a necessity for Florentine citizens striving to 118 Book R eviews RenRef32-4.indd 118 9/01/10 3:14:44 PM create reputations in relation to developing ideologies of wealth. Yet Rubin avoids economic determinism by focusing on the multiple interests of patrons, providing a welcome critique of explanations of the Italian Renaissance that focus on the rise of humanism to account for the concomitant flowering of visual culture. She continues to challenge previous assertions of humanism’s promotion of visual art to the status of a noble or liberal practice by examining both the tax registers and business negotiations of key artists. In an analysis of Donatello, for example, Rubin recounts that the sculptor refused to wear the fine clothes supplied by his patron, Cosimo de Medici. Donatello at once resisted moving beyond his more lowly rank as artist, and asserted a kind of authority and emerging artistic identity by not allowing himself to be refashioned by his patron. With such detailed discussions, Rubin conveys the complexity of some of the economic exchanges made between Florentine artists and their patrons. Other chapters continue to extend understandings of early modern Italian visual culture by exploring the domain of visuality, moving beyond biological understandings of vision to examine historically and culturally specific ways of seeing the world. Historians and art historians have been producing historical and theoretical writing on this topic for at least the past fifteen years, and Rubin does not repeat their findings. Instead, she summarizes and applies the work relevant to her topic, namely fifteenth-century Florentine art and culture. In Chapter Five, “The Eye of the Beholder,” Rubin considers the representation of vision in Dante’s Divine Comedy, a poem that she says both “describes a vision and is about vision.” This emphasis on a written account of the pleasures and pain associated with seeing is a welcome addition to the discussions of the development of linear perspective typically included in textbooks devoted to Italian Renaissance art. Rubin additionally examines contemporary theories of vision, addressing Alberti’s interest in Aristotle’s ideas about sight, as well as the intromission theory, which held that eyes receive rays from the surfaces of objects, rather than emitting rays toward those objects. Rubin argues that this emphasis on the power of the direct ray is crucial to under- standing the influential paintings of Giotto, which often feature representations of purposeful looking to convey biblical narratives. She furthermore addresses the kind of inner seeing sometimes associated with visual culture, promoted by such religious figures as the Dominican bishop Giovanni Dominici. He advised parents to bring children “up in the sight” of sacred representations so that young people could both identify with and emulate the visual images. In the four chapters that focus on visuality, Rubin provides a thorough overview of various acts of looking Comptes r endus 119 RenRef32-4.indd 119 9/01/10 3:14:44 PM in early modern Florence, as well as representations of vision, debates about optical functioning, and the presumed pedagogical aspects of seeing. Rubin’s textbook offers a compelling synthesis capable of inspiring students to grasp the richness of current scholarship on early modern Italian visual culture, encouraging them to explore the field more fully. The author provides extensive bibliographical notes as an addendum, describing additional scholarship on such themes as consumption, marriage, and the ethics of expenditure during the early modern period. Gender is only briefly mentioned, however, in a few chapters, even though the work of female artisans and the commissions ordered by female patrons are of current interest to scholars. The book also lacks a sustained consideration of the early modern trading practices which saw international objects flood into Florence, another issue increasingly scrutinized by specialists in the field. Anyone hoping to offer a complete overview would thus need to provide students with supplementary readings. A ll the same, the sustained focus of Images and Identity in Fifteenth-Century Florence on such central concerns as visuality is most welcome. In the end, Rubin’s up-to-date exploration of a limited time frame and cultural period is successful, and similar publications on other historical periods would be well received by both experts and students interested in the politics and practices of visual culture. LIANNE McTAVISH, University of Alberta John McA fferty The Reconstruction of the Church of Ireland: Bishop Bramhall and the Laudian Reforms, 1633–1641 Cambridge Studies in Early Modern British History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. pp. xiv, 268. John McA fferty has written a solid and impressive account of the rise, contested implications, and eventual decline of the Laudian “reconstruction” of the Church of Ireland. His rigorous and careful argument will significantly advance scholarly understanding of a complex and confused movement in one of the most complex and confused periods of early modern Irish history. McA fferty’s study focuses on the clerical career of John Bramhall, a Yorkshire clergyman whose promotions in the Church of Ireland were fast-tracked from relatively humble origins through his associations among the ecclesiastical and administrative elite. Bramhall arrived in Ireland one century after the legislative 120 Book R eviews RenRef32-4.indd 120 9/01/10 3:14:44 PM 
work_zrv7a6p4fvfnfjst7lkpjlswqu	----	COMPREHENSIVE COMPARISON BETWEEN THE QING IMPERIAL GARDEN AND THE ENGLISH LANDSCAPE GARDEN IN THE 18TH CENTURY: A CULTURAL HERITAGE STUDIES APPROACH Yongsheng Yin1 2 1 College of Humanities, University of Exeter, Exeter,UK - y.yin@exeter.ac.uk 2 School of Architecture,Tianjin University, Tianjin, China - yysshanshui@gmail.com Commission II, WG II/8 KEY WORDS: Qing Imperial Garden, English Landscape Garden, Cultural Heritage, Views of Nature, Cultural History, Values ABSTRACT: In 17-18th century, the spread of the image of the Qing Imperial Garden witnessed the cross-cultural exchanges and promoted the development of English Landscape Garden style. The reciprocal ‘far away foreign land’ between Chinese and British cultures and the influence of historical context had caused the discrepant view of European on Chinese gardens. This project focuses on the differences of cultural heritage values found in the two kinds of gardens: from the design of space and structure, poems and paintings representing designers' concepts, humanities factors, design conception, gardening elements and etc. Which hopes to fill up the gaps of relevant studies and stress the importance of documentation for gardens between the East and West. There are three aspects to illustrate the inner differences under the surface similarities between the two kinds of gardens. Firstly, the distortion and discontinuity through out the introduction and translation.This research attempts to cross-examine such an argument through an investigation into the journey to the West by the carrier of Chinese Imperial garden ideas. Then the meaning of ‘views of nature’ in the English Landscape Garden was inconsistent with the Chinese concept of ‘natural state of the world’. Thirdly, the differences of historical background, culture and values between the Qing Imperial Garden and the English Landscape Garden. All in all, this research could well invite a more factually-based understanding of the Sino-English architectural interactions as well as the Chinese contributions to the world architecture. 1. INTRODUCTION In the 18th century, The Qing Imperial Garden in China and the English Landscape Garden in Britain were the two major peaks of the natural gardens in the history of garden arts and cultural heritage. English Landscape Garden appeared to have drawn on the art of Chinese gardens in the development process. The English or British interest in Chinese gardens may be traced to the 17th century when Sir William Temple (1691) describes the irregular layout of Chinese gardens. This interest developed in the 18th century, as illustrated in a number of publications such as Deigns of Chinese Buildings, Furniture, Dresses, Machines, and Utensils (1757) by William Chambers. It was more obviously to observed that in the south-east corner of Kew Gardens stands the Great Pagoda(Figure 1) by Sir William Chambers, erected in 1762, from a design in imitation of the Chinese Pagoda(Figure 2). Figure 1. Kew Gardens Great Pagoda Photo by Rafa Esteve in April 2019 The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W15, 2019 27th CIPA International Symposium “Documenting the past for a better future”, 1–5 September 2019, Ávila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W15-1235-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 1235 mailto:y.yin@exeter.ac.uk mailto:yysshanshui@gmail.com Figure 2. The Porcelain Pagoda as illustrated in Fischer von Erlach's ‘Plan of Civil and Historical Architecture’ (1721) Owing to the lack of first-hand materials, English writers attitude to the Qing Imperial Garden in the late 17th to 18th century have not received much attention by scholars in China. With the increasing of cultural exchanges between China and the West, since the early 20th century, the complex relation between 18th century English landscape garden and the Chinese gardens has become an attractive field of modern scholarship. The Chinese Influence on European Garden Structures(1936) for example,written by Eleanor Von Edberg is a famous treatise systematically discussing the impact of traditional Chinese gardens on Europe. Laurence Fleming(1979) believes that the changes in the English Landscape Garden took place quietly and cautiously, but their main ideas are taken from the Qing Imperial Garden. Chen Chunhong(2006) discusses the historical cultural backgrounds and garden art of traditional Chinese garden and the English Landscape Garden. In the same year, Yuan Xuanping in her book discusses Chinoiserie in Britain gardens, and introduced its impact on British interior decoration and furniture. Wu Jiangyang and Jan Woudstra(2015) confirm the key issues directly pushing Chinese gardening features developing in English landscape gardens were the movement of English landscape gardening and the fashion of Chinoiserie. However, these studies pay little attention to illustrate the inner differences under the surface similarities between the Qing Imperial Garden and the English Landscape Garden in 18th Century. There are three aspects that this project proposes to research. Firstly, the distortion and discontinuity through out the introduction and translation. Secondly, the meaning of ‘views of nature’ in the English Landscape Garden was inconsistent with the Chinese concept of nature, or ‘natural state of the world’ in the Qing Imperial Garden. Thirdly, the differences of historical background, culture and values between the Qing Imperial Garden and the English Landscape Garden. 2. DISTORTION AND DISCONTINUITY Europeans were fascinated by reports of the customs and taste of China, mainly issuing from the Jesuit missions there, and the English were no exception, so the information was very scanty. The westward spread of the Qing Imperial Gardening thoughts in the 18th century was mainly completed by two stages. Firstly, the documents about the Qing Imperial Gardens were translated and explained in French, English and Dutch by Europeans in China. Secondly, these texts of translations and interpretations were ‘re-interpreted’ by local researchers in the UK. The processes of studying the Qing Imperial Gardens westward transmission were basically completed by Europeans. There was no Chinese to the UK to participate in the theoretical construction or the design of the English Landscape Garden.These processes took place in a specific historical period, in which the ‘distortions’ were limited by various factors: political factors; geographical environment; cultural background; scientific and technological level (such as modes of transportation, information recording and means of communication). The Europeans in China at that time lacked an in-depth understanding of the Chinese philosophical system and historical traditions. The reason why they did not fully understand many key issues was that they cannot understand the cultural context and manifestation of Chinese gardening practice. So the vast majority of the literature they translated is still limited to representations and cannot penetrate the essence of Chinese garden thought. What’s more, the connection between the interpreters, the re-interpreters and the garden designers and builders was severely broken. The key interpreters Michel Benoist(1715-1774), Jean-Denis Attiret(1702-1768) and Pierre-Martial Cibot(1727-1780) have not returned to their hometowns, however, some important re-interpreters such as Sir William Temple(1628-1699), Joseph Addison(1672-1719), Isaac Ware(1704-1766), Horace Walpole(1717-1797) have never gone to China. The latter provides the texts provided by the former for analysis and identification based on first-hand information, so the latter is relevant.There was not only a significant time difference between the theoretical construction and the former's original data, but a lack of scientificity and credibility. Finally, workers who study theoretical communication are also out of touch with garden designers and builders. The transition between theory and practice was ambiguous and even uncertain. Just as Zhou Ning said:‘The image of the Chinese in the Western counties contains three kinds of meaning: one is a reflection of China's reality to a certain extent, the other is the awareness of Sino-Western relations, and the third is the manifestation and refraction of the Western cultural mentality’. 3. VIEWS OF NATURE AND ZIRANGUAN(自然观)[1] The idea of ziranguan(自然观) first appeared in the book Laozi, according to which ‘natural’ means the natural state of things[2]. [1]Tao Te Ching(Also known as: Laozi) says ‘There was something undefined and complete, coming into existence before Heaven and Earth. How still it was and formless, standing alone, and undergoing no change, reaching everywhere and in no danger (of being exhausted)! It may be regarded as the Mother of all things.I do not know its name, and I give it the designation of the Dao (the Way or Course). Making an effort (further) to give it a name I call it The Great. Great, it passes on (in constant flow). Passing on, it becomes remote. Having become remote, it returns. Therefore the Tao is great; Heaven is great; Earth is great; and the (sage) king is also great. In the universe there are four that are great, and the (sage) king is one of them. Man takes his law from the Earth, the Earth takes its law from Heaven, Heaven takes its law from the Tao, The law of the Tao is its being what it is’ [2]Tao Te Ching(Also known as: Laozi) says ‘All things are produced by the Tao, and nourished by its outflowing operation. They receive their forms according to the nature of each, and are completed according to the circumstances of their condition. Therefore all things without exception honour the Tao, and exalt its outflowing The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W15, 2019 27th CIPA International Symposium “Documenting the past for a better future”, 1–5 September 2019, Ávila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W15-1235-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 1236 While ziranguan( 自 然 观 ) represents the meaning of santiandi(参天地)[3] in traditional Chinese culture. In 1724, the Italian priest Matteo Ripa passed through London from China, en route to found a theological college in Naples for the training of Chinese-born priests. It is highly likely that he carried with him a series of copperplate engravings of the imperial garden of Jehol, which he had made on the orders of the Kangxi Emperor[4] in 1713 (Figure 3 - 4 - 5). He thought that (Qing Imperial Garden) is in a taste quite different from the European; for whereas we seek to exclude nature by art, leveling hills, drying up lakes, felling trees, bringing paths into a straight line, constructing fountains at a great expense, and raising flowers in rows, the Chinese. on the contrary, by means of art endeavour to imitate nature.[5] Figure 3. A view of rocks and water at Jehol, drawn by a Chinese artist and engraved by Father Matteo Ripa((1682-1746) in 1713. (photo from British Museum) operation.This honouring of the Tao and exalting of its operation is not the result of any ordination, but always a spontaneous tribute.’ [3]Zhongyong(Also known as: The state of equilibrium and harmony) says ‘It is only he who is possessed of the most complete sincerity that can exist under heaven, who can give its full development to his nature. Able to give its full development to his own nature, he can do the same to the nature of other men. Able to give its full development to the nature of other men, he can give their full development to the natures of animals and things. Able to give their full development to the natures of creatures and things, he can assist the transforming and nourishing powers of Heaven and Earth. Able to assist the transforming and nourishing powers of Heaven and Earth, he may with Heaven and Earth form a ternion.’ [4]The Kangxi Emperor (1654-1722) was the fourth Emperor of the Qing dynasty in China. [5]Memoirs of Father Ripa, During thirteen Years' Residence at the Court of Peking in the Service of the Emperor of China: With An Account of the Foundation of the College for the Education of Young Chinese at Naples. Figure 4. Xiang yuan yi qing, drawn by a Chinese artist and engraved by Father Matteo Ripa (1682-1746) in 1713. (photo from British Museum) Figure 5. Hills and valleys at Jehol, drawn by a Chinese artist and engraved by Father Matteo Ripa in 1713 (Photo from British Museum) However, Views of nature in the English Landscape Garden are associated with a variety of European intellectual ideas ranging from the Greco-Roman concept of nature as essence or principle to the Enlightenment credo of nature as liberty. William Kent is among the first to see that ‘all nature is a garden’ and his famous dictum that ‘nature abhors a straight line’(Figure 6 and Figure 7). As for natural garden represented by English Landscape Garden of 18th century, the form and aesthetics of garden can be further divided, 1)ideal nature, like Arcadian garden as paradise, treats the wonderland in ancient legend as desirable environment in new era; 2)in practical nature, mainly involving gardening of farm, it is decoration and beautification of second type of nature in human manufacture, i.e. countryside and wild; 3)in primitive nature, the agitate emotion of this kind of garden is characterized by wildness and precipitousness through little artificial process based on first nature prototype. In these gardens, human life in reality "varnishes". The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W15, 2019 27th CIPA International Symposium “Documenting the past for a better future”, 1–5 September 2019, Ávila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W15-1235-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 1237 Figure 6. Chiswick House Grounds; the cascade and surroundings, conceived by William Kent in I733 and drawn by Donowell and engraved by Woollett in 1752. (Photo from David Jacques) Figure 7. William Kent, Stowe gardens (Photo by Paola Gullino) 4. CULTURAL HISTORY AND VALUES The academic achievements by previous scholars tend to focus on morphological studies and garden layout instead of the differences of culture and values between the Qing Imperial Garden and the English Landscape Garden. So the following study from the viewpoint of philosophy to discuss the differences of cultural origins and values under the superficial likeness in their appearances between those two kinds of gardens. The Qing Imperial Garden and the English Landscape Garden have considerable cultural differences since their historical background and culture traditions were different. The soul of the Qing Imperial Garden’s arts were not in the beauty of mountains, water, plants, flowers and architectural combinations, but in the philosophical spirit, ideal personality and yearning for nature. The relationship between man and environment was full of wisdom in the practice of human settlements at different scales. As we all know, the English architects designing landscape gardens such as Stowe House(Figure 8) in 18th century did not simply copy traditional Chinese garden elements, but rather they blended the Chinese design methods and the Italian Renaissance gardening tradition. Figure 8. Stowe House in Buckingham shire, England from Morris's ‘Country Seats’ (1880). (Photo from Merchbow commonswiki) Most of the Qing Imperial Garden were presented to people in the form of courtyards. Although they were derived from nature, the gardens were internal and private, and the grass and trees in the gardens emphasized subtle beauty. All the gardens were able to express the infinite artistic conception with limited space and scenery. However, the English Landscape Garden were external and public. In order to make the gardens much better integrated into nature, designers digging ditch instead of building the wall to divide the space. There were no internal and external distinction between the gardens and the outside world. From the rolling grasslands to the meandering rivers, as well as the dense and orderly trees, it seems to be naturally formed and unadorned. 5. CONCLUSIONS Despite the backwardness of traffic and information in the 18th century, the great artistic achievements of Chinese Imperial gardens still promoted the birth and maturity of the garden art, at the other end of Eurasia, in its own unique way. The translation process was full of information distortion and misunderstanding because of the disconnection between the interpreters, re-interpreters and designers. But the situation was changed from 1793. The fascinating observations on Qing Imperil Garden’s culture recorded by the members of the first British Embassy to the Qing dynasty emperor, led by Lord Macartney between 1792 and 1794, have long been overshadowed by the resounding political failure of their mission. That because although the peculiar relationship between the English Landscape Garden and the imperial Chinese examples had been a controversial topic of discussion throughout the 18th century, it was not until 1793 that the ambassador have seen both styles of gardens. In the process, the essential differences of the concepts toward nature Chinese and Europe under the resemblance and aesthetics between of Chinese garden and English landscape garden was revealed.The English garden designers looked to the Far East as more of a reference to seek justification for their own gardening revolution than a role model for inspiration or imitation. The characteristics of appearance and reproduction of Chinese garden image that spread through commercial and religious paths were reappeared taking the revolution of the English landscape garden into account. Though the existence of misconception can be seen as objective and inevitable, the results of the collision of the two garden cultures were meaningful and gratifying. The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W15, 2019 27th CIPA International Symposium “Documenting the past for a better future”, 1–5 September 2019, Ávila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W15-1235-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 1238 ACKNOWLEDGEMENT Project supported by the Major Program of the National Social Science Foundation of China (NO. 14ZDB025), National Natural Science Foundation of China (NO. 51508377) and China Scholarship Council (NO. 201806250156). REFERENCES Aldous Bertram., 2013. Lord Macartney Embassy to Peking, 1793:New light on China and the English landscape garden. The British Art Journal, 14(2), 76-80. Eleanor Von Erdberg., 1936: Chinese influence on European garden structures. Harvard University Press, Cambridge. Laozi., 2002: Laozi. China Publishing House, Beijing. Laurence and Alan Gore Fleming., 1980: The English Garden. Michael Joseph, London. Matteo Ripa., 1844: Memoirs of Father Ripa, During thirteen Years' Residence at the Court of Peking in the Service of the Emperor of China : With An Account of the Foundation of the College for the Education of Young Chinese at Naples, Fortunato Prandi, London. Pierre Jean Grosley., 1772: A Tour to London:Volume I. Lockyer Davis, London. Sir William Temple., 1690: Miscellanea: II-Upon the Gardens of Epicurus Part. Brown T C, London. Wang Y., 1998. Interior display and its relation to external spaces in traditional Chinese gardens. Studies in the History of Gardens & Designed Landscapes, 18(3), 232-247. William Chambers., 1972: Deigns of Chinese Buildings, Furniture, Dresses, Machines and Utensils. North Stratford: Ayer Company Publishers, London. Wu Jiangyang and Jan Woudstra., 2015. The Rising and Declining of the Chinese Gardening Features in English Landscape Garden. Chinese Lanscape Architecture. 15(2), 84-88. Zhou Ning., 2006: Western Images of China. Peking University Press, Beijing. The International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences, Volume XLII-2/W15, 2019 27th CIPA International Symposium “Documenting the past for a better future”, 1–5 September 2019, Ávila, Spain This contribution has been peer-reviewed. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprs-archives-XLII-2-W15-1235-2019 | © Authors 2019. CC BY 4.0 License. 1239 COMPREHENSIVE COMPARISON BETWEEN THE QING IMPERIAL Yongsheng Yin1 2 1.INTRODUCTION 2.DISTORTION AND DISCONTINUITY 3.VIEWS OF NATURE AND ZIRANGUAN(自然观)[�] 4.CULTURAL HISTORY AND VALUES 5.CONCLUSIONS ACKNOWLEDGEMENT REFERENCES 
work_zrgejo5lxnhqhdioapyoybvr2u	----	Title Investigating Claims of Eroticism in Images of the Annunciation Author Frank Ferrie Publication FORUM: University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Journal of Culture and the Arts Issue Number 14 Issue Date Spring 2012 Publication Date 05/06/2012 Editors Barbara Vrachnas & James Leveque FORUM claims non-exclusive rights to reproduce this article electronically (in full or in part) and to publish this work in any such media current or later developed. The author retains all rights, including the right to be identified as the author wherever and whenever this article is published, and the right to use all or part of the article and abstracts, with or without revision or modification in compilations or other publications. Any latter publication shall recognise FORUM as the original publisher. University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Journal of Culture and the Arts Issue 14 | Spring 2012 FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 1 Investigating Claims of Eroticism in Images of the Annunciation Frank Ferrie | Birkbeck College, University of London In late-medieval Europe growing interests in ‘man-centred’ philosophies, known subsequently as humanism, had profound effects upon art and literature. In the visual arts, which were dominated by Christian themes, there was an increasing tendency to depict biblical stories and those from the lives of saints realistically. In contrast to the schematic symbolism of medieval times, the "gures and objects pictured in the Renaissance closely resembled those from everyday life. #is new naturalism was particularly evident in the expanding urban centres of Florentine Tuscany. #e usefulness of religious images to the Christian Church had long been appreciated, but their function was most clearly expressed from the time of #omas Aquinas (1225-74) onwards. Images were to instruct the illiterate and the ignorant, to remind devotees about the mysteries of the faith by reference to the exemplary lives of the saints, and to stimulate devotion (Welch 137). Naturalism, which began to emerge in the early fourteenth century, can be seen as a logical extension of these aims. #ere were dangers involved in the encouragement of naturalism. One risk was that the importance of the images themselves could become wildly exaggerated to the extent that they were worshipped in an idolatrous fashion. Another danger was that, in breaking time-honoured conventions, artists became exposed to accusations of misinterpretation and even profanity. #e systematic destruction of artworks and other objects during the Byzantine Iconoclastic period (principally the eighth and early ninth centuries) demonstrated the gravity of such issues for the Christian faith. As the mood for reform of the Church gathered pace in the second half of the "fteenth century, the use and propriety of imagery was once again coming into sharp focus. In the wrong hands and in a changing visual and philosophical environment the sacred could so easily become the sacrilegious. FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 2 Profanity at the Annunciation? Without question, the scene in which the Angel Gabriel announces to the Virgin Mary that she will bear the Messiah, Jesus Christ, is a de"ning moment in Christianity. It is reasonably well-documented in Scripture (Luke 1:26-38) and consequently its depiction has changed little over the centuries. However, in the age of naturalism this very traditional encounter could take on a particularly sensual or even erotic dimension in a number of Italian Renaissance images. An undoubtedly sensuous-looking Virgin appears, for example, in Alessandro Botticelli's Annunciation (c. 1489-90, "g.1). #is article employs Susan Rhor von Scaff’s recent analysis (2002) as a vehicle to discuss the possibility of eroticism in Italian Renaissance images of the Annunciation. Scaff highlights changes to the image type brought about by the increasing use of naturalistic poses and gestures as well as the abandonment of the schematic devices common in medieval art. #e new meanings suggested by these more earthly encounters are, however, extremely difficult to de"ne. Scaff’s reading of the contrast between Mary's purity and earthly sensuality appears well grounded, but her conclusion suggests that the images were ambiguous and inappropriate: “[although] Mary's heavenly perfection is de"ned by her chastity [...], her womanliness is completed by her human sexuality. In this regard she has been transformed [...] into an object of erotic desire” (118). I acknowledge the enhancement of a number of gestural and symbolic references to sexuality and procreation in the images identi"ed. Indeed, I will describe what I believe to be hitherto unrecognised characteristics of this type. However, my argument is that these images would not have been considered erotic, improper or ambiguous in any way. To the devout Renaissance viewer there was no paradox in the Virgin Mary’s human sexuality and virginity. #e distinction between the sacred and sacrilegious, which can appear blurred or ambiguous to the modern viewer of such images, was clearly delineated in the fourteenth and "fteenth centuries. #e Virgin’s human sexuality and perpetual virginity are in accordance with her role as human FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 3 mother and Mother of God and the contrast between them, highlighted by the images, signi"es further the miraculous nature of the Incarnation. #is sense of an entirely orthodox and non-controversial tension is particularly persuasive when we consider the religious context in which the images would have been encountered and used. By the late-medieval period, the Virgin Mary had been considered a paragon of virtue for over a thousand years. Following the teachings of the Latin theologian Helvidius in the fourth century, Mary’s perpetual virginity was consistently proclaimed by both the Eastern and Western Church (Graef 10). Indeed, claims for Mary’s purity developed to the extent that by the Renaissance, after centuries of theological debate and despite the fact that it is never mentioned in Scripture, the Immaculate Conception was widely established in the Church. #e reasons for the Virgin’s importance are, in fact, Christological and at the heart of the Faith. Mary had to be beyond reproach so that Christ’s coming was both miraculous and free from the sins of Adam. #is is why any concrete association between the Virgin and actual sexual intercourse would have been considered scandalous and beyond the pale. It can be difficult to distinguish between physical and spiritual feelings during worship and at intense moments of religious contemplation or ‘rapture’. Over the centuries theologians and mystics alike have noted that the body and soul (or intellect) are co-dependent and that their pathway through life is an identical one (Elliott 141). Scaff (quoting Marina Warner), links her conclusion to “the tendency [in Catholicism] to con%ate [...] physical and spiritual expressions of love” - carnal desire and “the leap of the soul towards God” are expressed in similar ways (118). #e ostensible contradiction of Roman Catholic teaching is that whilst chastity, abstinence and modesty are championed, devotees are at the same time encouraged to imagine a “physical embrace” with God as the soul ‘leaps’ toward him (118). FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 4 !e Song of Songs and Saint Bernard To ground this claim Scaff refers to Saint Bernard of Clairvaux's in%uential and overtly erotic visualisations of the 'Song of Songs' from the Vulgate Bible. Saint Bernard regarded the Song as a sublime allegory on the love of God that can be experienced through contemplation. He re-interprets the story of a beautiful virginal bride as referencing the Virgin Mary, the Church itself, and, at the same time, the soul of the individual devotee (Schäfer 157). Bernard’s reading is highly complex and allegorical. It has, for example, been interpreted by many recent commentators as evidence of the medieval male assuming feminine characteristics - a renunciation of male ‘worldly’ values in a male-only environment (the monastery at Clairvaux) with the aim of spiritual enlightenment (Krahmer 304). #e complexity of Bernard’s reading is demonstrated by Sermon 29, ‘On discord in the church and in communities.’ Bernard consistently employs physical and sensual language, often with unmistakably erotic overtones, but it is applied metaphorically to highlight both the enduring strength of spirituality and the very ‘weakness’ of the %esh. #e Virgin Mary and the institution of the Church itself are often regarded as one and the same, implying a mutually supportive sense of sexual neutrality and propriety. Time and again, Bernard emphasises the association between physical weakness and spiritual strength. His language is rich in penetrative sexual metaphors, but like images of the Annunciation, these are always tempered or neutralised in some manner, as indicated here by the phrase "full of grace," which is borrowed from Luke's Annunciation: "A polished arrow" too is that special love of Christ, which not only pierced Mary's soul but penetrated through and through, so that even the tiniest space in her virginal breast was permeated by love. #enceforth she would love with her whole heart, her whole soul and her whole strength, and be full of grace. #is is a mystical penetration not a physical one. Mary is “transpierced” by love, but FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 5 sexual neutrality is guaranteed by the lack of any actual bodily exchange or contact. Christ is “conceived invisibly, neither from the %esh nor by means of the %esh”. However, the following excerpt might be considered proof that physical and spiritual love are, at times, considered one and the same by Bernard. My view is that Bernard thinks they are, but I am not sure that one would call this sexual love. A physical embrace, (here, with Christ) does not necessarily involve carnal desire and in Bernard's opinion the spirit always overcomes the %esh: In the process she experienced through her whole being a wound of love that was mighty and sweet; and I would reckon myself happy if at rare moments I felt at least the prick of the point of that sword. Even if only bearing love's slightest wound, I could still say: "I am wounded with love." How I long not only to be wounded in this manner but to be assailed again and again till the colour and heat of that %esh that wars against the spirit is overcome. Scaff argues that because, like Bernard’s vision, images of the Virgin were conceived and produced by men, the Virgin was therefore a perfect expression of male desire. Mary has “virtue and beauty, submissiveness to authority, and readiness to absorb every circumstance and feeling that might be imputed to her from modesty and reluctance to receptiveness and sexuality ripe for the taking” (Scaff 119). Given the paternalistic nature of the Church and the visceral and penetrative quality of Bernard's metaphors, this argument is an inviting one. However, Bernard's thoughts are cited by Scaff without sufficient reference to the conditions and times in which they were expressed and received. Practices of worship could change just as radically as imagery. Recent work by Caroline Walker Bynum demonstrates that there existed a medieval corporeal sense of piety that is completely alien to modern sensibilities. It would be misleading, in these circumstances, to read Bernard’s words too literally. FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 6 Other claims of eroticism #ere are other grounds for the assertion that the Madonna's portrayal in the "fteenth century could be considered erotic, not least the Dominican preacher Girolamo Savonarola's late "fteenth-century sermons in which he attacks the practice of dressing religious "gures in the fashions then current to young women: You painters do an ill thing [...] Do you believe the Virgin Mary went dressed this way, as you paint her? I tell you she went dressed as a poor woman, simply, and so covered that her face could hardly be seen [...] You make the Virgin Mary seem dressed like a whore (quoted in Gilbert 157-158). #e issue of eroticism in images of the Virgin is not, therefore, straightforward. Savonarola might be regarded as a special case, a fanatic, who, even during his own ascendancy in the mid-1490s, was seen by many as someone who wished to turn Florence into a convent (Martines 102). However, we know that eroticism was becoming an issue for other church leaders, especially in the sixteenth century as testi"ed by the infamous controversy surrounding the naked "gures in Michelangelo’s Last Judgement (1536-41). As argued convincingly by writers such as Margaret Miles and Megan Holmes, the bare-breasted lactating Madonna is an image-type that was considered inappropriately erotic in "fteenth-century Florence. By the late century, it was becoming rare to "nd images in which the lactating Virgin’s bare breast was depicted in a graphic manner. As naturalism developed, such images could be confused with other discourses about women in Florentine society, namely, “the bare-breasted or erotic woman” and the wet-nurse (Holmes 178-80). Indeed, the con%ation between ideal beauty in women and the Virgin Mary has a broader basis in literature. Medieval poetry honouring the Virgin Mary often has features identical to profane love poetry written around the same time (Wimsatt 29). Nevertheless, a close analysis of Renaissance Annunciation images reveals the very limitations of erotic characteristics in this context. #ere may indeed be a FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 7 tendency to con%ate expressions of spiritual and physical love in Catholic texts and associated devotional practices, but the extent to which such a con%ation is echoed by the images in question is highly debatable. Even if we accept that there are erotic overtones in the "fteenth-century Annunciation, such views are tainted by modern- day secular perspectives. Leo Steinberg (1983) notes this difficulty with reference to latter day prudishness about the nudity and sexuality of Christ (17). !e Immaculate Conception Although Christ alone was considered indisputably sinless, the Virgin Mary was, in the eyes of many, effectively equal to him in this regard. For although the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception was disputed (principally by the Dominican order), even those who questioned it agreed that Mary was sancti"ed in her mother Anne's womb or, at the very latest, at the moment of the Incarnation (Graef 203). #omas Aquinas, the doctrinaire inspiration of the Dominicans and one of the leading medieval theologians opposed to the Immaculate Conception, did not believe that Original Sin compromised Mary's purity (O’Faolain and Martines 118-20). #e argument against the Immaculate Conception had always been that if Mary was exempt from sin, she could not have participated fully in the Redemption of man. Christ dies on the Cross for man’s sins, cancelling them out, but Mary needs to be fully human to guarantee the reality and fruition of his sacri"ce. William of Ware (%ourished 1290-1305) countered this concern by pointing out the essential difference between Mary and Christ. Whereas the former was pure, but from an impure background, Christ was ‘pure from pure.’ His pupil Duns Scotus (1270-1308) went a stage further. Turning the Redemption argument on its head, he claimed that because Mary’s Immaculate Conception required the supreme intervention of Christ, she was, although free from normal sin, fully human. Indeed, Mary was even more dependent upon the Redemption than all others, who could be saved from Original Sin by the simple act of baptism. Christ’s gift, as it were, had been bestowed upon Mary in advance of the Cruci"xion (Graef 236-237). #is subtle argument exerted a singularly FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 8 pervasive in%uence in the following centuries. But, even to the doubters, Mary’s perpetual virginity was never in question. It follows, therefore, that although a conception is central to Annunciation images, this does not present any difficulty or danger of misinterpretation. Accordingly, it is quite common to "nd that the Annunciation takes place in Mary's bedroom, the !alamus Virginis (Scaff 111). She is after all, the bride of Christ. Indeed, in fourteenth-century Italian images of the Annunciation in particular, the exchange often takes place in a “womb-like space” (Scaff’s term). #is reference to an internal space follows the only indication we have in Scriptures about the location of the Annunciation: “And the angel being come in, said unto her: Hail, full of grace...” (Luke 1:28, my emphasis). Importance of location, form, function and reception #e womb-like space, often a cut-away or schematically indicated structure, also re%ects the need for an efficient method of representing a larger internal space within a limiting format. Individual episodes of religious narratives are frequently recorded in discrete areas of fresco cycles, within small side panels, or the narrow con"nes of an altarpiece predella. #e reduction of architectural features in comparison to the "gures in a scene was quite common in fourteenth-century art. Images of the Annunciation were most commonly produced for church locations. #ey were, as such, integral to the teachings, ceremonies and acts of worship associated with the Eucharist and other religious feasts and rituals. One of the principal reasons why the Annunciation is a suitable subject for the central panels of high altarpieces is that it concerns the Incarnation of Christ and ultimately, like the cruci"x, Christ's sacri"ce and the Redemption. #e Virgin's withdrawn or sad disposition at the Annunciation is often interpreted as a sign that she has foreseen the death of her son even at the moment of his conception (Lavin 195-196). It is clear, therefore, that issues of function (devotional, didactic or liturgical), location and reception (whether private, public, or as part of regular or speci"c FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 9 ceremonies) need to be taken into account when assigning meaning. #e issue of private patronage and the detailed circumstances and constraints of individual commissions is beyond the scope of this article. However, when it is considered that the austere Fra Angelico Annunciation (c. 1440-41, "g. 2) was made for the friary of San Marco, it becomes clear that the kneeling, obedient and submissive nature of the Virgin Mary was primarily an example for the friar who occupied the cell within which it is painted and did not necessarily constitute a model for women (Honour and Fleming 450). #e format of the Annunciation type and its iconography were also intimately associated with the design and development of altarpieces and church architecture, as well as the increasing popularity of the Virgin Mary. For example, because the Annunciation episode involves two "gures, it was convenient to show them on separate parts of an altarpiece, on opposite wings or on either side of a structural architectonic divide or decorative division derived from a structural one (see "g. 3). On the arch, high upon the choir wall in the Arena chapel, Giotto pictures God dispatching the Angel Gabriel on his mission. #en, following the narrative of the life of Christ and western sequencing conventions, the Annunciation takes place in the next two scenes below and upon either side of the choir opening, with the Virgin as recipient of the angel's message pictured to the right ("g. 4). With the rise in the popularity of the Virgin Mary, the two protagonists were often brought physically closer on the central panels of altarpieces. Common Annunciation symbolism Another common idea in the Trecento, but more pronounced a century later, was that the encounter took place near an enclosed garden, the hortus conclusus, symbolic of virginity and the womb (Scaff 111). In addition, the meeting is often pictured within view of a distant interior window, the fenestrum crystallinam, symbol of the intact hymen and Mary’s perpetual virginity. Care is needed when interpreting the signi"cance of such symbols. #e enclosed garden was a symbol of fruitfulness but FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 10 more often, like the window - and especially in Annunciation imagery - it signi"ed Mary’s virginity (Schiller 53). Arguably, there is a phallic quality to the way that this intimate space is breeched by the dove or by a ray of light from God, symbolising the Holy Spirit. Yet, unlike Saint Bernard’s ‘transpiercing’ arrow, these rays never reach the Madonna’s body (Steinberg, 1987, 34).1 #eir effect is perhaps most aptly summarised in a verse inscribed upon the frame (now lost) of an Annunciation by Jan van Eyck: As the sunbeam through the glass Passeth but not staineth #us, the Virgin, as she was, Virgin still remaineth (quoted in Carrier 239) Scaff’s claim of a similarly phallic quality to the “tall spiked trees” in Leonardo's Annunciation ("g. 5), the “typically erect” lilies, and the “long straight alleys leading back to Mary's enclosed garden” in other "fteenth-century Annunciation images seems exaggerated (119). #e latter is merely a re%ection of "fteenth-century preferences for scenes that favoured the inclusion of prominent linear perspective devices such as the convergence of parallel lines towards a distant vanishing point. If there is any sense of impiety or overt sensuality it is most often cancelled out by the sexually neutral Angel Gabriel, who is commonly depicted as a female with similar features to Mary herself (Scaff 111). #e division of the enclosed space and the separation of the two "gures by a wall or another architectural feature, which is particularly prevalent in Italian art, reinforces this sense of propriety and neutrality. #e Virgin is shown frequently with head bowed and eyes closed, maintaining the psychological distance between the two "gures. Scaff notes that in one unusual example, the eyes of the two protagonists appear to meet, suggesting an intimate exchange (Fra Angelico, c.1420-40, "g. 6). But on closer inspection, the Virgin, who is 1 Early church fathers such as Zeno, Bishop of Verona (363-372) and Ephraem of Syria (ca. 306-373) believed that Christ entered Mary through the ear (Graef 44-46). FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 11 pictured on the other side of a central pillar from the angel, is typically lost in contemplation. One can interpret Donatello's Santa Croce Annunciation sculpture (c.1435, "g. 7), as further evidence of the development of the ‘conversation’ between the angel and the Virgin (Schiller, 38-39). #e two "gures are brought into close proximity, are realistically portrayed (the angel’s wings aside) and the exchange between them visualised as more of an intimate entreaty than an ‘announcement.’ #e above characteristics are also prominent in Botticelli’s Uffizi Annunciation ("g. 1), the Lippi/del Cervelliera version ("g. 8), and Ghirlandaio’s fresco (1486-90, "g. 9). However, any sense of impropriety is invariably mitigated or neutralised by other factors in the images. Even in Botticelli's unusually sensuous-looking Uffizi example, where the two "gures are pictured at close quarters, the Virgin's eyes are downcast and, despite her suggested movement or agitation, there is a solemnity and distant character, a platonic remoteness, about her whole being. Although, by her body movements, it is evident she has been disturbed by the visitation of the angel, turning away in apparent confusion from the lectern, it is as though her contemplation of the mysteries of faith has not effectively been disturbed at all. She is performing the role prophesised for her in the Old Testament, from which, according to Saint Bernard, she had just been reading: “#erefore the Lord himself will give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son” (Isaiah 7:14). In any case, these intimate depictions are the exceptions. In other versions of the Annunciation the same artists (Fra Filippo Lippi and Sandro Botticelli) retained the more traditional elements such as the physical separation of the two "gures by architectural features. !e Virgin Mary as a portal #e extent to which these characteristics suggested tensions between eroticism and propriety is difficult to gauge. #ese are complex images, at least to the modern viewer. I would argue that Mary's opened cloak in a number of Italian "fteenth- century images acted as a portal or gateway. As noted above, Botticelli's standing FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 12 Madonna somehow maintains her balance and contemplative calm as she turns away from her lectern and gesticulates in disbelief and initial confusion towards the Angel Gabriel. Despite the considerable disturbance she manages to keep her cloak, which is fastened at the neck, but is forced wide open by her arms, closed around her legs (a detail that is also evident in Carlo Crivelli's Annunciation, "g. 10). Combined with the stark contrast between the colours of her cloak and gown (traditionally blue and red respectively) this forms a striking eye-shaped aperture towards the viewer - a symbolic container in front of the Madonna's enlarged abdomen. #is opening echoes the mandorla in which Christ was commonly pictured in medieval and Byzantine imagery (signifying his divinity and holiness) and, in turn, may even be a reference to Christ’s wound and to Mary’s birth canal (see "g. 11).2 Like the penetrative rays of light more common in medieval depictions, the aperture is also a reference to the sexual act, a deliberate yet subtle emphasis upon the contrast between the Madonna’s physical sexuality and, because no actual penetration ever takes place, her unquestioned purity. #e devout "fteenth-century viewer witnesses, without contradiction, a truly miraculous event - the opening of the gateway to mankind's redemption. As schematic symbolism became less fashionable, the subtlety with which poses and gestures had to convey meaning became ever more sophisticated. Balancing the roles of the Virgin Innovation and subtlety of meaning were not, however, con"ned to naturalism during the Renaissance. In the mosaic of the Annunciation at Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome (432-40, "g. 12), which was commissioned by Pope Sixtus III as part of a Christological cycle to glorify the Incarnation after the First Council of Ephesus (431), Mary is shown seated formally as though enthroned, wearing rich clothing and many jewels. #is portrayal is in accordance with Mary's declaration at Ephesus as 2 As well as divinity, sacredness and holiness, the mandorla also represented virginity, the vulva, and an opening or pathway. Each side of the almond shape could represent opposite poles (Cooper, 103- 104). On Christ’s wound and the opening to Mary’s gown see Lavin, 195-196. On the Virgin’s womb as a temple with its own portal, see Jacobus, 170. FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 13 Mother of God. Nevertheless, re%ecting her humble origins, she is shown carrying out the simple, ordinary task of spinning wool, which is an allusion to the apocryphal account of the Annunciation in the Protoevangelium of James. Yet another layer of subtlety is indicated by the colour of the wool, which is purple and represents Mary’s regal and queenly status. #e sensitive balance between Mary’s recently exalted position and humble origins is especially apparent if we consider this scene in the context of the rest of the programme. #e scene immediately below the Annunciation upon the triumphal arch is the Adoration of the Magi ("g. 13) in which Christ is unmistakably elevated and separated from all the other "gures. Shown as a young boy, he is robed in white and seated upon a large and elaborate throne and dais, an imperial synthronon. Mary, although richly clothed underneath, is covered modestly and sits simply to his left. Her plain outer cloak or maphorion indicates clearly that she is being portrayed as wife and mother (Rubery 160, 164). Reverence for Mary as Mother of God is thus carefully modulated between that of her glori"cation at the moment of the Incarnation and her humility, virtue and acceptance of God’s will. Another female "gure is pictured beside Christ’s throne in the Adoration scene. Eileen Rubery speculates that both women, who have not been identi"ed de"nitively, are simultaneously the Virgin Mary. She notes that the "gure to Christ’s right is similarly adorned to that of Mary in the Annunciation scene above. Rubery also notes the striking similarity of this bejewelled woman to depictions of virgins from the same period in Rome and Ravenna. #e "gure to the Christ’s right is, therefore, identi"ed as the ‘ever-Virgin’ Mary and the other, the Mother of God, re%ecting the contemporary emphasis, around the time of the Council of Ephesus, upon the unity of Christ, his simultaneous and complete humanity and divinity. If this reading is correct, the Adoration image represents one of the most sophisticated attempts to convey the mystery of Mary’s motherhood and virginity. FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 14 Continuity of meaning #e same sense of a delicate balance between the contrasting roles and characteristics of the Virgin was carried forward in the centuries following the Council of Ephesus. An unambiguous sense of propriety and correctness between the angel and Mary is maintained and carefully modulated as changes resulting from naturalism and the Virgin’s status were introduced in the fourteenth and "fteenth centuries. Despite the prominence of the symbolic opening to the Virgin’s outer cloak discussed above, it is never discarded and usually covers the majority of her body maintaining the emphasis upon her motherhood, chastity and modesty. #e idealised "gure of Mary is undoubtedly more sensuous-looking in the Renaissance, but this does not necessarily infer sexual love. As naturalism progressed the penetrating ‘phallic rays’ of light are removed from Annunciation scenes. #e Angel Gabriel may occasionally move closer to Mary in "fteenth-century images, suggesting a more intimate exchange between the "gures, but this is defused in some manner by other devices. For example, by divisions such as the lectern in Leonardo’s Annunciation, or by the increasing inclusion of references to the Fall, which contrasts Mary’s purity with the sinful Adam and Eve ("g. 14, see Schiller 39-41). In addition, as we move outside, the Virgin’s bedroom is visibly subordinated. #e kneeling Gabriel does indeed contrast sharply with the standing Madonna in the later Annunciation images, but in the light of the Virgin Mary’s contemporary ascendency in the church as well as in the popular domain, this, rather than the entreaties of a courtesan, can be understood more readily as devout or rapturous religious salutation. It is the earthly nature of the exchange that brings the lives of these saints and other religious "gures, their very piety, chastity and devotion to God, closer to that of the devotee. It is highly questionable whether artists would seek to do this by stimulating or encouraging carnal desire. As indicated by the Roman mosaics these adjustments can be seen as part of a much longer series of checks and balances, designed to maintain simultaneously FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 15 Mary’s special status as Mother of God (con"rming Christ’s divinity), and her importance as human mother (guaranteeing man’s ultimate redemption). Conclusion #is article considered the possibility that, because of their naturalism, a number of images of the Annunciation in the Renaissance became eroticised. It seemed that in depicting the Virgin Mary as a beautiful, richly-attired and sensuous young woman, artists were treading a "ne line between the sacred and the sacrilegious. However, a closer study of the images, combined with a consideration of their meaning and use, particularly in the context in which they would have been encountered, revealed a very different picture. It has to be acknowledged that we are dealing with a visual language and related devotional habits that will never be entirely transparent. A brief review of Saint Bernard’s reading of the ‘Song of Songs’ suggests propriety, but not in modern- day terms. It was also noted that in "fteenth-century Florence there was a risk of sexual ambiguity in other images of the Virgin Mary, most notably, perhaps, the bare- breasted lactating Madonna. In the 1490s Savonarola, although regarded by many as a moral extremist, signalled a new sensitivity about religious images, including those in which the Madonna was inappropriately dressed. However, the Annunciation in art reveals a contrasting feature about naturalistic developments. As schematic devices were abandoned and as the Virgin's status and popularity increased, Renaissance artists adapted with, at times, what can only be described as an astonishing degree of resourcefulness and subtlety. New and sensitive methods of balancing the Virgin Mary’s often sharply contrasting attributes had to be found whilst completing the traditional task of instructing devotees and stimulating devotion. #ese methods evolved in close harmony with the functions, the various forms and the locations of the images. Of course, as the Reformation approached in the sixteenth century, the artistic and critical climate was about to change. But from the evidence discussed, it is difficult to imagine any sense of impiety or sexual FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 16 ambiguity invading the encounter between the devotee and these "fteenth-century images. #ere was indeed a tension between the Virgin Mary’s ‘ever-virgin’ perfection and her sensual, earthly reality in Renaissance Annunciation imagery, but this was entirely appropriate. It underscored powerfully the miraculous nature and the mystery of the Incarnation. Works Cited Bernard of Clairvaux, Commentary on the Song of Songs, E-text arranged by Br.Sean, a Choir monk, 2008, http://www.archive.org/stream/StBernardsCommentaryOn#eSongOfSongs/ StBernardOn#eSongOfSongsall_djvu.txt (accessed 21/4/12). Web. Bynum, Caroline Walker. “#e Body of Christ in the Later Middle Ages: A Reply to Leo Steinberg.” Renaissance Quarterly 39.3 (1986): 399-439. Print. Carrier, David. “Naturalism and Allegory in Flemish Painting” !e Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 45.3 (1987): 237-249. Print. Cooper, J.C. An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols. London: #ames and Hudson, 1978. Print. Elliott, Dyan. “#e Physiology of Rapture and Female Spirituality.” Medieval !eology and the Natural Body. Ed. Peter Biller and A.J. Minnis. York: Medieval Press, 1997. 141-158. Print. Gilbert, Creighton. Italian Art, 1400-1500: Sources and Documents. Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1992. Print. Graef, Hilda. Mary, A History of Doctrine and Devotion. New York: Sheed and Ward, 2009. Print. Holmes, M. “Disrobing the Virgin: the Madonna Lactans in Fifteenth century Florentine Art.” Picturing Women in Renaissance and Baroque Italy. Ed. G.A. Johnson and S.F. Matthews Grieco. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. 167-95. Print. Honour, Hugh, and Fleming, John. A World History of Art. London: Lawrence King Publishing, 2002. Print. FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 17 Jacobus, Laura. Giotto and the Arena Chapel: Art, Architecture & Experience. London: Harvey Miller, 2009. Print. Krahmer, Shawn M. “#e Virile Bride of Bernard of Clairvaux.” Church History 69.2 (2000): 304-327. Print. Lavin, Marilyn Aronberg. Piero della Francesca. London, New York: Phaidon Press, 2002. Print. Martines, Lauro. Scourge and Fire: Savonarola and Renaissance Italy. London: Pimlico, 2006. Print. Miles, Margaret R. A Complex Delight: !e Secularization of the Breast, 1350-1750. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008. Print. O’Faolain, Julia and Lauro Martines, eds. Not in God ’s Image: Women in History from the Greeks to the Victorians. London: Virago Press, 1979. Print. Rubery, Eileen. “Pope John VII’s Devotion to Mary: Papal Images of Mary from the Fifth to the Early Eighth Centuries.” Origins of the Cult of the Virgin Mary. Ed. Chris Maunder. London and New York: Burns and Oates, 2008. Print. Scaff, Susan von Rhor. “#e Virgin Annunciate in Italian Art of the Late Middle Ages and Renaissance.” College Literature 29.3 (2002): 109-123. Web. Schäfer, Peter. Mirror of His Beauty: Feminine Images of God from the Bible to the Early Kabbalah. New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2002. Print. Schiller, Gertrud. Iconography of Christian Art. Trans. Janet Seligman. London: Lund Humphries, Second Edition, 1969. Print. Steinberg, Leo. “‘ How Shall #is Be?’ Re%ections on Filippo Lippi's ‘Annunciation’ in London Part I.” Artibus et Historiae 8.16 (1987): 25-44. Web. ---. “#e Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and in Modern Oblivion.” !e MIT Press 25 (1983): IV, 1-198, 204-222. Web. Welch, Evelyn. Art and Society in Italy 1350-1500. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. Print. Wimsatt, James I. “#e Apotheosis of Blanche in ‘#e Book of the Duchess’” !e Journal of English and Germanic Philology 66.1 (1967): 26-44. Print. FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 18 Illustrations Fig. 1, Sandro Botticelli, Annunciation, 1489-90, Tempera on panel, 150 x 156 cm, Uffizi, Florence Fig. 2, Fra Angelico, Annunciation, 1440-41, Fresco, Cell, Monastery of San Marco, Florence FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 19 Fig. 3, Giovanni da Milano, Prato Polyptych (detail), Annunciation, before 1363, Tempera on panel, Pinacoteca Comunale, Prato Fig. 4, Giotto, Annunciation, c.1305-8, Fresco, Arena Chapel, East End, Padua Fig. 5, Leonardo da Vinci, Annunciation, c.1472-75, Panel, Uffizi, Florence FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 20 Fig. 6, Fra Angelico, Annunciation, c.1420-40, Fresco, Monastery of San Marco, North Corridor, Florence Fig. 7, Donatello, Annunciation, c.1435, Gilded pietra serena, Santa Croce, Florence FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 21 Fig. 8, Filippo Lippi and Giovanni di Francesco del Cervelliera, Annunciation, mid- 1440s, Panel, San Lorenzo, Florence Fig. 9, Domenico Ghirlandaio, Annunciation, 1486-90, Fresco, Cappella Tournabuoni, Santa Maria Novella, Florence FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 22 Fig. 10, Carlo Crivelli, Annunciation, 1486, Panel, National Gallery, London Fig. 11, Christ displaying his wound to a nun, Initial D, Hours of the Passion, S. France, 1275-1300, British Library, MS. Egerton 945 f.237v FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 23 Fig. 12, Annunciation, 432-40, Triumphal Arch (detail), Mosaic, Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome Fig. 13, Adoration of the Magi, 432-40, Triumphal Arch (detail), Mosaic, Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome FORUM Issue 14 | Spring 2012 Ferrie 24 Fig. 14, Lorenzo di Credi, Annunciation, 1480-85, Panel, Uffizi, Florence 
work_ztam74ozsvd2fnxe47icvj5pkm	----	Keywords: church, baptistery, basilica, centrally-planned building, chapter house, Middle Ages, meaning, symbolism, geometry, harmonic proportion, measurement, number, Platonic solids, sacred geometry, shapes Book Review Nigel Hiscock The Symbol at Your Door: Number and Geometry in Religious Architecture of the Greek and Latin Middle Ages Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007 Reviewed by Areli Marina School of Architecture University of Illinois 117 Temple Buell Hall, MC 621 611 Lorado Taft Drive Champaign, IL 61820 USA amarina@illinois.edu In his previous book, The Wise Master Builder: Platonic Geometry in Plans of Medieval Abbeys and Cathedrals (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2000), Nigel Hiscock sought to demonstrate that Platonic geometry underlay the ground plans of Western European Romanesque cathedrals and abbey churches, but refrained from arguing that these geometric and numerological foundations had symbolic meanings. In The Symbol at Your Door, he sets out to prove that medieval church design is pervaded with numbers and geometric forms that express metaphysical concepts central to Christian neo- Platonism. In Hiscock’s view, this symbolism was deliberately inscribed into the structures by the buildings’ designers at the behest of their patrons. He argues that religious buildings that can be parsed into measures that correspond to Pythagorean number theory and broken down into fragments that coincide with Platonic geometry exist in such large numbers that the correspondences cannot be coincidental, but rather must have been intended by either patrons or builders. Furthermore, because there is so much evidence that well-educated medieval persons associated particular numbers, ratios, and geometric forms with Christian significance (such as the association of the number three with the Trinity, the square with the shape of the Holy Jerusalem, or the sphere with heaven), Hiscock concludes that patrons and designers must have meant to elicit those meanings in the mind of their viewers. As the author acknowledges, this controversial hypothesis contradicts an influential strain of medieval architectural historiography that asserts that medieval builders used geometry and number purely for functional and not for representational purposes. This school of thought is exemplified by the work of Lon R. Shelby, John Harvey, François Bucher, or (more recently) Robert Bork, and emerges from the French nineteenth- century rationalist tradition of Eugene Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc. Hiscock positions himself in a different genealogy, identifying his conceptual roots in the iconographic investigations of Richard Krautheimer, Erwin Panofsky, and Paul Frankl, among others. In fact, The Symbol at Your Door can be read as a prolonged meditation on questions suggested by Frankl in “The Secrets of the Mediaeval Masons” in 1945 (Art Bulletin 27, Nexus Network Journal 12 (2010) 353–355 Nexus Network Journal – Vol.12, No. 2, 2010 353 DOI 10.1007/s00004-010-0031-7; published online 6 May 2010 © 2010 Kim Williams Books, Turin 354 Areli Marina – The Symbol at Your Door: Number and Geometry in Religious Architecture of the Greek and Latin... n. 1, pp. 46-60): What means did medieval builders use to develop their buildings’ plans, elevations, and decoration? How were these ideas communicated in the workshop? Why were the equilateral triangle and the square so important to medieval design practice? How were the metaphysical concepts about shape and measure presented by Plato in the Timaeus transmitted in the Middle Ages? What do these practices reveal about the relationship between the underlying geometry, workshop practice, aesthetic pleasure, and religious ideology? Although these are not new questions, most have never been conclusively resolved, and Hiscock’s in-depth exploration of them is a welcome addition to the discourse. The author divides his investigation into four parts. In the substantial Prologue, he examines the historiography of medieval architectural history and introduces the reader to Pythagorean and Platonic thought, its transmission in the Middle Ages, and its impact on architectural culture. This section digests material treated more fully in The Wise Master Builder. It outlines the relationship between arithmetic and the numbers perceived to be at the root of universal order (particularly 1, 2, 3, and 4) and the meanings attributed to them by ancient philosophers and Christian theologians. Chapters 1 and 2 constitute the second part of the book, in which the author explores the significance of two solid geometric forms, the sphere and the cube, as well as their deployment in cruciform churches. Chapters 3 through 6 are dedicated to the architectural use and meaning of plane figures: the equilateral triangle and the numbers derived from it (3, 6, 12); the square, square schematism, quadrature, and its associated forms, including the 1: 2 rectangle; the pentagon; and, in the last and longest chapter, circles, octagons, and other polygons. The book closes with an Epilogue in which the author summarizes his findings and considers their post-medieval implications. To counter the arguments of the “rationalist school” and prove his hypothesis, Hiscock surveys and presents two bodies of classical and medieval textual sources and juxtaposes them with his analyses of medieval buildings. The first body of textual sources, including citations from authors such as Augustine, Boethius, and Dionysus, the Pseudo- Aeropagite, demonstrates that number and geometric form conveyed specific metaphysical meaning to educated audiences. The second shows that when writing ekphrases and other eulogistic texts on buildings, or using buildings as metaphors, medieval authors such as Eusebius and William Durandus often adopted the same numerological and geometric topoi. The range of sources cited by Hiscock is impressive; the bibliography includes 157 citations of ancient and medieval works. Relatively few of these writers, however, present direct evidence about a specific building at or around the time of its construction, and Hiscock focuses on those examples only briefly (pp. 37-38). He is most persuasive when discussing the abundance of evidence relating to a single building structure, such as Hagia Sophia in Istanbul (Chapter 1), or when he introduces new questions, such as why the expressive content of the stone tracery of stained glass windows is seldom considered when discussing their iconographic programs (Chapter 6). The book’s impressive breadth of scope is also its principal weakness. Hiscock conjures so many examples, cites so many authors, and illustrates so many buildings to prove his point that the vigor of his argument is dissipated in seemingly endless, often redundant, and occasionally contradictory exposition. Even the author seems to get lost in this thicket of evidence, suggesting, for example, that the burial and commemorative function of English cathedral chapter houses did not account for the choice of a polygonal plan on page 255, only to assert on page 257 that because chapter houses functioned as memorial shrines, they often imitated the octagonal form of baptisteries, Nexus Network Journal – Vol.12, No. 2, 2010 355 mausolea, and martyria. Also, his persistent use of the passive voice obscures the agency with which he wants to endow patrons, designers, and builders, and often obfuscates his meaning. Judicious editorial pruning would have focused the narrative, and resulted in a more legible and ultimately more convincing text. In the end, Hiscock cannot quite dispel the lingering doubt that, although highly- educated clerics and patrons may have been well-versed in the metaphysical aspects of number and geometric form, there is little consistent proof that either designers, builders, or audiences were equally familiar with them, much less across several centuries and from the British Isles to Asia Minor. Indeed, in cases where texts directly addressing geometry and number in relation to active workshops survive, such as the well-known debate regarding the design of Milan cathedral, they are silent on the subject of meaning and symbolic content (see especially pp. 366-370). The philosopher Karl Popper has suggested that scientific theories cannot be proven true; at best, scientists can only refute untrue hypotheses. The volume of evidence amassed by Hiscock powerfully suggests, but does not prove, a strong causal relationship between the existence of Pythagorean and Platonic numbers and figures in medieval religious buildings and the symbolic interpretations of the buildings and building components made by their contemporaries. As in Frankl’s day, the weak link remains the connection between the mind of the patron and the builder’s hand (Frankl, 50). Insights into this aspect of the problem may lie, not within the purview of architectural history, but in the hands of our colleagues exploring the histories of medieval education and science. In sum, The Symbol at Your Door is an ambitious book that is not afraid to engage a complex and controversial question. Hiscock’s introduction to the metaphysics of number in the medieval period and the veritable anthology of medieval writings on architecture that he has assembled will be useful launching pads for future studies of how (or perhaps whether) the numbers and geometric forms embedded in specific medieval religious buildings had symbolic meaning. The wide range of his analyses reminds us of the richness and diversity of signification that architectural forms convey to their past and present audiences. About the reviewer Areli Marina, who trained as an art historian at the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, teaches medieval and Renaissance architectural history at the University of Illinois. Her research focuses on the intersection of public rhetoric, national identity, and civic art production, particularly in relation to the semiotics of architecture and urban form; the problematic historiography of the Romanesque, Gothic, and Renaissance styles; and the role of antiquity in medieval and Renaissance art and architecture, with particular emphasis on northern Italy. Her work has been supported by a Rome Prize Fellowship at the American Academy in Rome, a Getty Foundation Fellowship, the Gladys Krieble Delmas Foundation, and the University of Illinois. Dr. Marina has recently completed a book on the medieval piazza, The Italian Piazza Transformed: Parma’s City Center in the Communal Age, which will be published by Pennsylvania State University Press. During 2010-11, she hopes to make significant progress on a new book on medieval and Renaissance baptisteries while a Villa I Tatti fellow at the Harvard Center for Italian Renaissance Studies in Florence. 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work_ziw3hoz3pre47c6plwjzoryydy	----	Editors' Notes ECONOMIC HISTORY ASSOCIATION MEETING The fifty-second annual meeting of the Economic History Association will be held in Boston, Massachusetts from September 17 to 20, 1992. The preliminary program follows: Plenary-Session: Consumers and Households in History Gregory Clark, University of California, Davis, Michael Huberman, Trent Univer- sity, and Peter Lindert, University of California, Davis, "The British Food Puzzle." Nancy Folbre and Barnet Wagman, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, "Count- ing Housework: New Estimates of Real Product in the United States." Cissie Fairchilds, Syracuse University, "A Comparison of the Consumer Revolutions in Eighteenth Century Britain and France." The Consuming Unit: Institutions and Households Ann Smart Martin, University of Delaware, "Consumerism and the Retail Trade in Eighteenth Century Virginia." Ann McCants, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, "Meeting Needs and Sup- pressing Desires: Institutional Consumption in the Dutch Republic." Mary Schweitzer, Villanova University, "Economic Growth, Household Production, and Demand in Early Eighteenth Century Pennsylvania." Consuming Longevity and Health: Children and Adults Paul Huck, Wake Forest University, "Infant Mortality in the Moravian Settlements of North Carolina." Robert Whaples, Wake Forest University, "Anthropometric Evidence from Slova- kian Immigrants in the Early Twentieth Century." David Weir, Yale University, "Parental Consumption Decisions and Child Health during the Fertility Transition, 1740-1913." Consumers, Markets, and Public Utilities David Gable, Queens College, "Pricing Telecommunications Services in a Compet- itive Market." David B. Sicilia, Ohio State University, "Marketing a Regulated Utility: the Case of Boston Edison in the 1920s." Kenneth Lipartito, Harvard Business School, "Marketing the Telephone, Bell's Response to the Consumer Society." Consumption and Production in a Domestic Setting Elizabeth Ewan, University of Guelph, "Women as Consumers and Producers in Medieval Scottish Towns." Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, University of New Hampshire, "Household Consumption and Production of Textiles in Eighteenth Century New England." Kris Inwood, University of Guelph, and Phyllis Wagg, Dalhousie University, "Consumption and Production of Cloth among Rural Families in Rural Canada." 469 470 Editors' Notes Consumption, Material Culture, and Social Class Whitney Walton, Denison University, "Helpmates, Spendthrifts and Seducers: Bourgeois Women as Consumers in Nineteenth Century France." Lorena Walsh, Colonial Williamsburg, "Fettered Consumers: Slaves and the Anglo- American 'Consumer Revolution." Anton Schuurman, Agriculture University, the Netherlands, "The Construction of Taste, Continuity, and Change in Consumption Patterns in the Nineteenth Century in the Dutch Countryside." Productivity and Consumption in Agrarian Societies Metin Cosgel, University of Connecticut, "Agricultural Productivity of the Amish, 1850-1880." Peter George, Fikret Berkes and Richard Preston, Council of Ontario Universities, "Indigenous Land Use and Harvesting among the Cree in Western James Bay." Terry Von Ende, Texas Tech University, and Tom Weiss, University of Kansas, "Consumption of Farm Output, Output per Worker and Economic Growth by Region, 1800-1840." Consumption and Trade in the Atlantic Economy John Nye, Washington University, "The Unbearable Lightness of Drink: British Wine Tariffs and French Economic Growth, 1689-1860." John Komlos, University of Pittsburgh, "Food Consumption During the Industrial Revolution: the Contribution of the New World." Tony Ward, Brock University, "The Corn Laws and the English Grain Market." Consumers in Rural, Urban, and Suburban Settings Mary Gregson-Eschelbach, University of Illinois, "Rural Response to Urban De- mand." David Weiman, Yale University, "Rural Origins of the New South, 1820-1920: the Dynamics of Regional Urbanization." Lee Craig, North Carolina State University, "Urbanization and the Transformation of Women's Work in Nineteenth Century American Agriculture." Innovation, Enterprise, and the Economy Zorina Khan, Northeastern University, "Entrepreneurship and Innovation during Early American Industrialization." Rick Szostak, University of Alberta and University of New South Wales, "Techno- logical Change and the Great Depression." Chris Grandy, Barnard College, "Original Intent and the Sherman Antitrust Act: A Reexamination of the Consumer Welfare Hypothesis." Housing and Consumer Durables Elyce Rotella, Indiana University, and Kenneth Snowden, University of North Carolina, Greensboro, "Building Associations in the Late Nineteenth Century." Susan Bowden and P. M. Turner, University of Leeds, "The UK Consumer and the Demand for Consumer Durables in the United Kingdom in the Interwar Period." Editors' Notes 471 Greg Whitwell, University of Melbourne, "The Suburban Ideal and Australia's Rise as a Consumer Society." The dissertation session will be chaired by Gregory Clark, University of California, Davis and by Kenneth Sokoloff, University of California, Los Angeles. HAGLEY RESEARCH SEMINAR The Hagley Center for the History of Business, Technology and Society will inaugurate in Fall 1992 a monthly research seminar for scholars whose work involves topics in industrialization and the social and cultural dimensions of technological, economic, and urban development. Our interest is chiefly but not exclusively in subjects concerning the United States after 1850, especially the Mid-Atlantic region. Researchers who might wish to offer a paper during the 1992-93 academic year should contact the Director. Travel funds and honoraria are available. In addition, interested scholars and graduate students in the region are invited to become seminar members, again by writing the Director. Seminar members will receive advance copies of papers to be discussed and are welcome to present their own research findings. For further information, contact: Philip Scranton, Center for the History of Business, Technology and Society, Hagley Museum and Library, Wilmington, DE 19807. ANNOUNCEMENT FOR PUBLICATION SPRING 1992 Villa I Tatti: The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies will award ten or more stipendiary fellowships, and a limited number of non-stipendiary fellowships, for independent study on any aspect of the Italian Renaissance for the academic year 1993/94. The fellowships are for scholars of any nationality, normally post-doctoral and in the earlier stages of their careers. Fellowships run from 1 July 1993 to 30 June 1994. Fellows must be free to devote full time to study and will be expected to spend most of their time at the Center. Application forms may be obtained from Villa I Tatti, Via di Vincigliata 26, 50135 Florence, Italy or the Villa I Tatti office, Harvard University, University Place, 124 Mt. Auburn Street, Cambridge, MA 02138-5762, USA. CALL FOR PAPERS JUNE 3-JUNE 4, 1993 WORLD WAR II: A 50 YEAR PERSPECTIVE Siena College is sponsoring its eighth annual multidisciplinary conference on the 50th anniversary of World War II. The focus for 1993 will be 1943,—though papers dealing with broad issues of earlier years will be welcomed. Topics welcome include: Fascism and Naziism; Stalingrad, New Guinea, the Air War, North Africa, Sicily and Italy, the North Atlantic; Literature; Art; Film; Diplomatic; Political and Military History; Popular Culture, Minority Affairs and Women's and Jewish Studies dealing with the era. Asian, African, Latin American and Near Eastern topics of relevance are solicited. Obviously, collaboration and collaborationist regimes, the events on the home front, religion, conscription and dissent will also be of significance. For information write: Professor Thomas O. Kelly II, Department of History, Siena College, 515 Loudon Rd., Loudonville, New York 12211-1462. Deadline for submissions is December 1, 1992. CONGRESS OF THE "INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF ECONOMIC HISTORY" (MILAN. 1994) One of the " B " Themes of the 11th Congress of the "International Association of Economic History" will be the following "European Networks (19th-20th Centuries): 472 Editors' Notes New Approaches to the Formation of a Transnational Transport and Communication System (Air, Land and Sea)." Anyone who is interested in this topic and would like to present a paper should write: Prof. Albert Carreras, "European Networks," Badia Fiesolana, Via dei Roccettini, 9, 50016 San Domenico di Fiesole (Fi) ITALY. ERRATA A number of errors appear in Table 1, p. 289 of Charles Calomiris's "Is Deposit Insurance Necessary? A Historical Perspective," which appeared in the June 1990 issue of the JOURNAL. The corrected version follows. TABLE 1 HIGH-GROWTH STATES: INSURED VERSUS UNINSURED Uninsured Arkansas Colorado Idaho Iowa Minnesota Missouri Montana New Mexico Wyoming Average Insured Kansas Mississippi Nebraska North Dakota Oklahoma South Dakota Texas Average Proportion in 1914 to of Assets Assets in 1920 National Bank 0.408 0.522 0.341 0.507 0.509 0.490 0.495 0.501 0.314 0.454 0.463 0.506 0.537 0.485 0.309 0.400 0.414 0.447 State Bank 0.379 0.450 0.316 0.503 0.406 0.540 0.489 0.352 0.315 0.418 0.380 0.335 0.335 0.367 0.259 0.351 0.391 0.344 Assets ($ per Bank, 1920 thousands) National State Bank $1,020 1,801 1,088 1,301 1,979 5,507 761 963 1,365 1,755 977 1,843 1,566 563 1,096 862 1,588 1,231 Bank $456 460 487 562 425 572 436 347 300 448 326 664 335 248 346 395 375 391 Ratio of Capital to Total Assets, 1920 National Bank 0.084 0.048 0.059 0.057 0.054 0.063 0.077 0.073 0.048 0.063 0.066 0.069 0.057 0.068 0.060 0.053 0.071 0.064 State Bank 0.085 0.083 0.077 0.067 0.069 0.072 0.091 0.119 0.090 0.084 0.079 0.066 0.082 0.081 0.070 0.062 0.112 0.078 Source: Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System, All Bank Statistics (Washington, DC, 1959). An error also appears on p. 174 of Sanford Jacoby and Sunil Sharma's article, Employment Duration and Industrial Labor Mobility in the United States, 1880-1980," which appeared in the March 1992 issue of the JOURNAL. The title of Table 4 should have read PERCENT OF (CENSORED) JOB SPELLS UNDER ONE YEAR. The editors regret these errors. 199! REFEREES In addition to the members of the editorial board, the following outside referees deserve our thanks for their generous assistance during the year: Robert C. Allen, University of British Columbia Lee Alston, University of Illinois N. Gerald Barrier, University of Missouri, Columbia Editors' Notes 473 Fred Bateman, Indiana University William N. Becker, George Washington University Howard Bodenhorn, St. Lawrence University Allan Bogue, University of Wisconsin Michael Bordo, University of South Carolina Gordon Boyce, Victoria University of Wellington John C. Brown, Clark University Malcolm Burns, University of Kansas Charles Calomiris, University of Pennsylvania Susan Carter, University of California, Riverside Carmel U. Chiswick, University of Illinois, Chicago Gregory Clark, University of California, Davis Sally Clarke, University of Texas Austin John Coatsworth, University of Chicago Ricardo Cortes Conde, Universidad de San Andres (Buenos Aires) N.F.R. Crafts, University of Warwick Philip D. Curtin, John Hopkins University R. W. Davies, University of Birmingham George Davis, Miami University Lance E. Davis, California Institute of Technology J. Bradford De Long, Harvard University David Dollar, The World Bank Michael Edelstein, Queens College—CUNY Martin Eisenberg, Knox College Bernard Elbaum, University of California, Santa Cruz David Eltis, Queen's College Stanley Engerman, University of Rochester Peter Fearon, University of Leicester David Feeny, McMaster University Charles Feinstein, All Souls College, Oxford University Stefano Fenoaltea, University of Pennsylvania Louis Ferleger, University of Massachusetts, Boston Albert Fishlow, University of California, Berkeley Roderick Floud, City of London Polytechnic Nancy Folbre, University of Massachusetts, Amherst James Foreman-Peck, St. Anthony's College, Oxford David W. Galenson, University of Chicago Henry A. Gemery, Colby College David P. Gilmartin, North Carolina State University Claudia Goldin, Harvard University George Grantham, McGill University Stephen Haber, Stanford University William W. Hagen, University of California, Davis Bronwyn Hughes Hall, University of California, Berkeley Joan U. Hannon, St. Mary's College of California C. Knick Harley, University of Western Ontario Michael Haupert, University of Wisconsin, La Crosse G. R. Hawke, Victoria University of Wellington Thomas Hazlitt, University of California, Davis Bruce Herrick, Washington and Lee University Alan Heston, University of Pennsylvania Jan Hogendorn, Colby College Michael Huberman, Trent University 474 Editors' Notes Jane Humphries, Cambridge University E. H. Hunt, London School of Economics John Hurd, Norwich University R. Douglas Hurt, Iowa State University Charles Issawi, Princeton University John James, University of Virginia Eric L. Jones, LaTrobe University Shawn E. Kantor, University of Arizona Jane Knodell, University of Vermont Alex Keyssar, Duke University Naomi Lamoreaux, Brown University Richard Langlois, University of Connecticut William Lazonick, Barnard College Lynn Hollen Lees, University of Pennsylvania Nathaniel H. Leff, Columbia University J. Clark Leith, University of Western Ontario Carol S. Leonard, Harvard University Frank Lewis, Queen's University Gary Libecap, University of Arizona John Lyons, Miami University John McCusker, University of Maryland Robert McGuire, University of California, Davis Marvin Mclnnis, Queen's University Mary MacKinnon, McGill University Patrick Manning, Northeastern University Howard P. Marvel, Ohio State University Thomas Mayer, University of California, Davis John Mbaku, Kennesaw State University James Millar, George Washington University Joel Mokyr, Northwestern University Morris D. Morris, Brown University R. J. Morris, University of Edinburgh Carl Mosk, University of Victoria James Nakamura, Columbia University John V. Nye, Washington University Anthony Patrick O'Brien, Lehigh University Patrick K. O'Brien, St. Anthony's College, Oxford Kerry Odell, Scripps College Alan Olmstead, University of California, Davis Martha L. Olney, University of Massachusetts, Amherst Edwin Perkins, University of Southern California Sidney Pollard, University of Sheffield Clayne Pope, Brigham Young University David Pope, University of New South Wales Gilles Postel-Vinay, Institut National de la Recherche Agronomique (Paris) Jonathan Pritchett, Tulane University Frederic L. Pryor, Swarthmore College Roger Ransom, University of California Thomas Rawski, University of Pittsburgh Hugh Rockoff, Rutgers University Richard Roehl, University of Michigan, Dearborn Joshua Rosenbloom, University of Kansas Winifred B. Rothenberg, Tufts University Editors' Notes 475 Donald Schaefer, Washington State University Larry Schweikart, University of Dayton Thomas E. Skidmore, Brown University Kenneth Sokoloff, University of California, Los Angeles Martin C. Spechler, Indiana University, Indianapolis Robert C. Stacey, University of Washington William Sundstrom, Santa Clara University Richard Sylla, New York University Peter Temin, Massachusetts Institute of Technology Robert Tignor, Princeton University C. Peter Timmer, Harvard University Elias Tuma, University of California, Davis Abraham L. Udovitch, Princeton University Thomas S. Ulen, University of Illinois Dan Usher, University of British Columbia Nicholas von Tunzelmann, University of Sussex Nancy Virts, California State University Jan de Vries, University of California, Berkeley Kenneth Wachter, University of California, Berkeley Gary M. Walton, University of California, Davis Scott L. Waugh, University of California, Los Angeles Steven B. Webb, The World Bank David Weiman, Yale University Robert Whaples, Wake Forest University Warren C. Whatley, University of Michigan David Wheelock, Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis Lawrence H. White, University of Georgia Jeffrey G. Williamson, Harvard University R. Bin Wong, University of California, Irvine Gavin Wright, Stanford University Mary Young, University of Rochester 
work_zmgsvhaywbb7dlar6ad4yheey4	----	movies about intelligence: the limitations of g Copyright © 2003 American Psychological Society CURRENT DIRECTIONS IN PSYCHOLOGICAL SCIENCE 95 References Akins, C.K., Klein, E.D., & Zentall, T.R. (2002). Im- itative learning in Japanese quail (Coturnix japonica) using the bidirectional control proce- dure. Animal Learning & Behavior, 30, 275–281. Akins, C.K., & Zentall, T.R. (1996). Imitative learn- ing in male Japanese quail (Coturnix japonica) using the two-action method. Journal of Com- parative Psychology, 110, 316–320. Akins, C.K., & Zentall, T.R. (1998). Imitation in Japanese quail: The role of reinforcement of demonstrator responding. Psychonomic Bulletin & Review, 5, 694–697. Bandura, A. (1969). Social learning theory of iden- tificatory processes. In D.A. Goslin (Ed.), Hand- book of socialization theory and research (pp. 213– 262). Chicago: Rand-McNally. Custance, D.M., Whiten, A., & Bard, K.A. (1995). Can young chimpanzees imitate arbitrary ac- tions? Hayes and Hayes revisited. Behaviour, 132, 839–858. Dorrance, B.R., & Zentall, T.R. (2001). Imitative learning in Japanese quail depends on the mo- tivational state of the observer at the time of observation. Journal of Comparative Psychology, 115, 62–67. Gallese, V., Fadiga, L., Fogassi, L., & Rizzolatti, G. (1996). Action recognition in the premotor cor- tex. Brain, 119, 593–609. Heyes, C.M., & Dawson, G.R. (1990). A demon- stration of observational learning in rats using a bidirectional control. Quarterly Journal of Ex- perimental Psychology, 42B, 59–71. Heyes, C.M., & Ray, E.D. (2000). What is the signif- icance of imitation in animals? In P.J.B. Slater, J.S. Rosenblatt, C.T. Snowdon, & T.J. Roper (Eds.), Advances in the study of behavior, Vol. 29 (pp. 215–244). New York: Academic Press. Klein, E.D., & Zentall, T.R. (in press). Imitation and affordance learning by pigeons. Journal of Comparative Psychology. Meltzoff, A.N., & Moore, M.K. (1989). Imitation in newborn infants: Exploring the range of ges- tures imitated and the underlying mecha- nisms. Developmental Psychology, 25, 954–962. Mitchell, C.J., Heyes, C.M., Gardner, M.R., & Daw- son, G.R. (1999). Limitations of a bidirectional control procedure for the investigation of imita- tion in rats: Odour cues on the manipulandum. Quarterly Journal of Experimental Psychology, 52, 193–202. Mitchell, R.W. (2002). Kinesthetic-visual matching, imitation, and self-recognition. In M. Bekoff, C. Allen, & G.M. Burghardt (Eds.), The cogni- tive animal (pp. 345–351). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Piaget, J. (1962). Play, dreams, and imitation in child- hood (C. Gallegno & F.M. Hodgson, Trans.). New York: Norton. Zentall, T.R., Sutton, J., & Sherburne, L.M. (1996). True imitative learning in pigeons. Psychologi- cal Science, 7, 343–346. Movies About Intelligence: The Limitations of g James R. Flynn1 Department of Political Studies, The University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand Abstract There is a strong tendency for the same people to do better or worse on a wide variety of IQ tests. On this basis, some psy- chologists posit the concept of g, or a general intelligence factor. Does g show that performance on a wide range of cognitive tasks is influenced by individual differences in brain quality? It may, but if so, g lacks a sociolog- ical dimension and cannot ex- plain cognitive trends over time or assess their significance. It also encourages a paradox about nature versus nurture and over- simplifies the causes of the Black-White IQ gap. Keywords g; intelligence; IQ gains; race No matter whether mental tests feature vocabulary, general informa- tion, verbal oddities, scrambled sen- tences, logical reasoning, number series, pictorial oddities, spatial anal- ogies, or completion of matrices, the same people tend to do better or worse. Statistical analysis of the data suggests that a single factor accounts for much of this tendency toward consistent performance, and that common factor is what psychologists call g. It functions like a correlation coefficient with a value of .65. For ex- ample, assume a correlation between height and basketball performance of .65. Given this correlation, if we selected a sample of people at the 84th percentile for height, they would average at the 74th percen- tile for basketball performance. Sim- ilarly, if we knew people’s g scores, we could predict how well they would perform when using a huge range of cognitive skills. Cognitive performance in every- day life is influenced by g. Siblings who are superior to their co-siblings for g tend to enjoy greater academic success; making an omelet is a more cognitively complex task than scram- bling eggs and therefore has a higher g loading. Jensen believes he knows why g influences cognitive perfor- mance: “Some property (or proper- ties) of the brain . . . has cognitive manifestations that result in the emer- gence of g” (Jensen, 2002, p. 153). In other words, Jensen believes that g measures the influence of brain qual- ity. And a better brain gives you an advantage in school, on the job, wher- ever cognitive skills are relevant. The g we calculate by the tech- niques available today may not be a pure measure of brain quality; that is, it may be diluted by picking up the influence of nonphysiological factors like individual differences in motiva- tion. However, throughout this arti- cle, I pretend that Jensen’s ideal of a purely physiological g has been real- ized. I do this in order to show that the closer we approach that ideal, the more g suffers from a peculiar limita- tion: It becomes sociologically blind. The symptoms are most evident when we take a look at the evolution of cognitive skills over time. g CANNOT DETECT SOCIOLOGICAL FACTORS Since 1950, the populations of The Netherlands, Belgium, Israel, 96 VOLUME 12, NUMBER 3, JUNE 2003 Published by Blackwell Publishing Inc. and Argentina have shown gains of about 18 IQ points per genera- tion (30 years) on a test of cognitive ability called Raven’s Progressive Matrices. Gains on Wechsler tests (e.g., the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children, or WISC), which are often used to measure IQ, have averaged at least 9 points per gen- eration. These IQ gains have been influenced by sociological factors, sometimes almost entirely. There- fore, a g that refers to brain physi- ology can do little to explain them. The main candidates for physio- logical factors that might increase IQ scores are nutrition, advances in obstetrics, and increased outbreed- ing (hybrid vigor). Improved nutri- tion has been important at certain times and places, but not at others. In America, recent IQ gains have been as large at the middle and top of the curve as at the bottom. Be- cause one would expect improved nutrition to affect primarily the most deprived, and produce dis- proportionate gains at low IQ lev- els, nutrition does not seem to have played an important role in causing U.S. gains, at least not since 1950. Similarly, post-1950 improve- ments in obstetric and neonatal care have probably had no net effect. For every child who has escaped mental impairment, another who would have died without modern tech- niques has been saved. As for hybrid vigor, inbreeding within a small group has a nega- tive effect on IQ. If American his- tory was a story of little isolated communities being replaced by a highly mobile society, that might help explain the massive IQ gains America has made throughout the 20th century. However, Americans n e v e r d i d l i v e i n s m a l l i n b r e d groups. There was always a huge influx of migrants who settled in both urban and rural areas. There were huge population shifts dur- ing settlement of the West, after the Civil War, and during the World Wars. The growth of mobility has b e e n m o d e s t : I n 1 8 7 0 , 2 3 % o f Americans were living in a state other than the one of their birth; in 1970, the figure was 32%. Sociological explanations of IQ gains seem more promising. Be- t w e e n 1 9 4 8 a n d 1 9 8 9 , A m e r i c a gained the equivalent of 20 IQ points on the WISC subtest called Similarities. Similarities asks ques- tions like, “What do dawn and dusk have in common?” Answer- ing such questions demands solv- ing problems on the spot without a learned method for doing so. Dur- ing the same period of time, gains on WISC subtests like Arithmetic, I n f o r m a t i o n , V o c a b u l a r y , a n d R e a d i n g C o m p r e h e n s i o n w e r e comparatively modest or nil. The content of these tests is very close to school-taught subjects. How can we explain this puzzling pattern, that over the years we have be- come more mentally agile but learn no better at school? America’s post-1950 affluence brought smaller families in which c h i l d r e n ’ s “ w h y s ” w e r e t a k e n more seriously. More leisure made it possible to enjoy cognitive chal- lenges ranging from chess to video games (Greenfield, 1998). And more professional work roles de- manded independent thinking on the job (Schooler, 1998). People be- came more disposed to invest men- tal energy into problem solving for its own sake, or at least problem solving on the spot. At the same time, homework was resented and too much focus on basics thought boring. Americans became unwill- ing to see formal schooling become more cognitively demanding. The result of these two attitude shifts was that score gains accelerated on the Similarities subtest, and score gains faltered on the school-related Wechsler subtests. Even if I am mistaken in detail, sociological factors of some sort were the dominant cause of U.S. IQ gains. They would have been im- portant even in nations where nu- trition made a contribution. Jensen’s g simply does not provide a con- ceptual framework for identifying those factors: It puts its eggs in the physiological basket. g CANNOT ASSESS SOCIAL SIGNIFICANCE It is natural to ask whether IQ gains are g gains. Jensen answers t h i s q u e s t i o n b y u s i n g w h a t i s called the method of correlated vec- tors. For example, you rank the 10 subtests of the WISC in terms of the size of their IQ gains (Arith- metic at the bottom with nil gains and Similarities at the top with huge gains), you rank the same 10 in terms of their g loadings (once you have extracted g from a set of tests, you can see how much scores on each test correlate with g itself), and then you see if the two rank- ings are positively correlated. I believe this method has severe limitations. But setting those aside, if IQ gains were not g gains, would that drain them of social signifi- cance? IQ gains reflect fascinating trends in American intellectual life. The fact that we are better at on- the-spot problem solving is indica- tive of real-world cognitive gains. We appear better than we used to be at leisure activities that are cog- nitively demanding. The quality of play in chess tournaments has es- calated, and this trend may extend to games like bridge (Howard, 1999; Nunn, 1999). The level of po- litical debate has been enhanced (Rosenau & Fagan, 1997). The fact that more people can think inde- pendently helps fill the large num- ber of professional work roles the industrial revolution demands (Schooler, 1998). In addition, the fact that Americans have no greater arithmetic skills, nonspecialized vo- cabulary, or knowledge of general information has profound social significance. Copyright © 2003 American Psychological Society CURRENT DIRECTIONS IN PSYCHOLOGICAL SCIENCE 97 S o d e t e r m i n i n g w h e t h e r I Q gains are g gains offers no criterion for assessing their significance— except that g gains would mean that brain physiology had been en- hanced. However, that is not a pre- requisite for progress. There is no reason to believe that the glory that was Greece, the grandeur that was Rome, or the Italian Renaissance was due to anything but cultural change. Fortunately, society can exploit unrealized brain potential, and fortunately, society can ignore the fact that all cognitive skills are correlated at a particular time and place. Over time, it can pick and choose among skills for emphasis. It can encourage on-the-spot prob- lem solving without performing the (perhaps impossible) task of getting us to do more homework. g CANNOT DETECT MULTIPLIERS Some 30 years ago, Jensen (1973) noted that twin studies gave a low correlation between IQ and envi- ronment (about .33). He concluded that for environment to cause two groups to differ in IQ by one stan- dard deviation, their environments would have to differ by three stan- dard deviations. In effect, the envi- ronment of virtually everyone in the higher-IQ group would have to be better than the average environ- ment of the lower-IQ group. This creates a paradox: IQ gains have of- ten been more than one standard deviation per generation, yet posit- ing three or four standard devia- tions of environmental progress over one generation seems absurd. The twin studies seem to show that what is known to be true (IQ gains are caused by the environment) cannot be true. How can twin stud- ies show environmental effects to be so feeble and IQ gains show them to be so potent? Let us see what sociol- ogy can do to answer this question. I d e n t i c a l t w i n s s e p a r a t e d a t birth and raised apart grow up w i t h s i m i l a r I Q s . T h e o b v i o u s cause is their identical genes. But things are not that simple. Identical genes tend to get matched with very similar environments and thereby co-opt the potency of pow- erful environmental factors. Con- sider a sport analogy. Your basket- ball genes are slightly better than average, and you are born a bit taller and quicker than average. You live in the basketball-mad state of Indiana. When you go to school, you are a bit better at bas- ketball than your classmates, so you are picked more often to play, practice more than most of them, make your school team, and get professional coaching. In contrast, people whose genes make them a bit shorter and stodgier than aver- age will get matched with a much worse basketball environment. In Indiana, if identical twins are g e n e t i c a l l y p r o g r a m m e d t o b e taller and quicker than average to the same degree, then despite be- ing raised apart, they will tend to get matched to basketball environ- ments of about the same degree of superiority. What would a twin study show? Very similar basket- ball skills, for which their identical genes would get all the credit. The fact that both twins benefited from more practice than their peers, making a school team, and getting professional coaching would be overlooked. Now for IQ. If John is born with a bit better brain than James, who will like school, get praised for his schoolwork, haunt the library, and get into advanced classes? And if John has a separated identical twin, who enjoys much the same school experience, what will really ac- count for their similar adult IQs? Not identical genes alone. Rather, the ability of those identical genes to co-opt environments of similar quality will be the missed piece of the puzzle. Within a generation, genes profit from seizing control of a powerful instrument that multiplies their causal potency. A gene-caused abil- ity advantage upgrades the school environment by more homework be- ing done, which upgrades the ability advantage, which upgrades the en- vironment by entry into a top aca- demic track, which upgrades ability further. Each feedback loop acts as a potent multiplier. Could some per- sistent environmental factor have been at work between generations, seizing control of a multiplier pow- erful enough to have caused the massive IQ gains of recent decades? Then our paradox would be solved. There would be huge environmen- tal effects on the average IQ differ- ence between generations—effects quite consistent with genetic domi- nation of individual IQ differences within each generation. The persistent environmental factor that has been at work is the industrial revolution with its social trends, smaller families, more cog- nitively demanding leisure, and more cognitively demanding work roles. As for the powerful multi- plier these trends have used, we might call it the “social multiplier.” Its essence is that rising average performance becomes a potent causal factor in its own right. Back to sports. About 1950, the advent of television sparked much greater and keener participation in basketball. This raised the general skill level; you had to shoot accu- rately to be better than most other players. Then you had to be able to p a s s w i t h e i t h e r h a n d , t h e n t o shoot with either hand. In other words, every escalation of the aver- age performance in the general population meant every individ- ual had to improve to keep up, which escalated the average per- formance further, which meant a new challenge to each individual— so the multiplier produced a huge escalation of skills in a single gen- eration. The same thing happened 98 VOLUME 12, NUMBER 3, JUNE 2003 Published by Blackwell Publishing Inc. after 1948 for on-the-spot problem solving. Society made new de- mands on the cognitive content of conversation, leisure, and work. This raised the average perfor- mance, and then everyone had to respond to keep up, which raised the average performance further, producing a huge escalation of skills in a single generation. So all is clear: Twin studies re- flect situations in which genes drive powerful multipliers; mas- sive IQ gains occur when environ- mental trends seize control of pow- erful multipliers. It all depends on whether genes or the environment is in the driver’s seat. Sociology can solve our paradox, and a g-ocentric view of intelligence cannot. If you focus primarily on g and the fact that g differences between individ- uals are genetically influenced, the paradox simply makes you want to find that IQ gains are caused by some genetic factor like hybrid vigor. Jensen said that twin studies show how improbable it is that the IQ gap between Black and White Americans is environmental. After all, that IQ gap amounts to a full standard deviation. Who could ar- gue that the average Black environ- ment is three standard deviations below the average White environ- ment? Such an analysis begs the question: Are Blacks like individu- als within White society who on average have inferior genes for mental abilities, or instead are Black-White differences in IQ more like generational differences due to persistent environmental factors? M c W o r t e r ( 2 0 0 0 ) b e l i e v e s t h a t Black Americans have a sense of victimhood that makes them shun mainstream American culture and see school achievement as selling out to White culture. If so, they would be ambivalent about match- ing average school performance. Therefore, the social multiplier would spiral the average down- ward rather than upward! HOW g UNRAVELS: TWO KINDS OF COMPETITION We use our cognitive abilities to compete with one another. Compe- tition to win creates g, and compe- tition to keep up destroys g. These two kinds of competition refer not to different motives (one always wants to win), but to different con- texts. Competition to win is a static competition. At a particular time, each person’s cognitive perfor- mance is measured against the cog- nitive performance of others. That kind of competition tends to pro- duce a single pecking order. If all players have a level playing field, who wins at a given place and time i s i n f l u e n c e d b y d i f f e r e n c e s i n brain quality. That common factor crosses the boundaries between various cognitive skills and weaves them together into g. Competition to keep up is dy- n a m i c . I t o p e r a t e s o v e r l o n g stretches of time and combines progress with anarchy and simply unravels g. The mean of on-the- spot problem-solving skills begins to rise and people compete to keep up, while the mean of boring old arithmetic skills is immobile and people relax. Every day, the enor- mous potency of an active versus an inactive social multiplier wid- ens the gap between Similarities and Arithmetic scores without any regard to their g loadings. g’S VANISHING ACT: A TRIP TO THE MOVIES Consider two films. The first is about the life history of individu- als. Some become doctors; others cannot pass the chemistry course to get into medical school. Their per- formance over a wide range of ar- eas is influenced by better or worse brains—and there is g. The second film is about American society since 1950. Shifting social priori- ties raise cognitive skills in one area, stall them in another, with no pattern except that set by the prior- ities themselves. Average brain quality neither improves nor de- clines—and g vanishes. Individual differences in brain quality still ex- ist, of course. But because they have no influence on the pattern of skill gains, and because g is a mea- sure of their influence, skill gains simply will not evidence g. You can get a look at g when- ever you want, but you have to go to the right film. To lament that you cannot see it when differences in brain physiology do not count is t o f o r g e t w h a t J e n s e n ’ s g i s a l l about. That g, ideally at least, is a pure measure of the brain’s influ- ence on cognitive performance. What society would prioritize cognitive abilities according to which were most influenced by brain physiology? If a society were bizarre enough to do that, you would get IQ gains on various WISC subtests that matched the g loadings of those subtests. But that would not be true g but g mim- icked. It would be a mere likeness painted by some mad dictator who had decided to encourage (or dis- courage) cognitive skills in terms of how much they were brain influ- enced rather than in terms of social priorities. It would be like a society that refused to allow people to choose between improving their basketball and baseball skills, but rather, imposed rewards and pen- alties in favor of baseball on the grounds that it was the sport in which performance was most af- fected by human physiology. WHAT IS TO BE DONE? What research might advance our understanding of human cog- nition, individual and group differ- Copyright © 2003 American Psychological Society CURRENT DIRECTIONS IN PSYCHOLOGICAL SCIENCE 99 ences, and how to enhance cogni- tive skills? We need to identify the brain processes that influence cogni- tion. Jensen has found correla- tions between g and elementary cognitive tasks (mental process- ing speed), the brain’s electrical response to stimuli, and how quickly an injection of glucose is absorbed by the brain. Hope for further advance in this area lies in new techniques of viewing what brain centers are active when different cognitive tasks are being done. We should learn more about so- cial multipliers. Boozer and Cac- ciola (2001) showed that when reduced class size raises aca- demic performance, peer inter- action multiplies that rise and accounts for virtually all of the long-term gains. The relative potency of Whites’ and Blacks’ social multipliers should be compared. Although teaching children “how to think” is desirable, we should recognize that this will not neces- sarily enhance numeracy and lit- e r a c y . T h e f o c u s m u s t b e o n • • • • teaching reading and arithmetic skills. And note that if we really want to enhance those skills, there will have to be an attitude shift, so that Americans welcome core subjects that make greater cognitive demands. If all parents and children were like Chinese Americans, the “nation’s report card” would improve dramati- cally. Above all, we must go beyond g to develop a theory of intelli- gence with a sociological dimen- sion. In this theory, g will still play an important role. Within every generation, people com- pete to win, and, therefore, g will always help explain why some people excel across so many cog- nitive skills. Recommended Reading Deary, I.J. (2001). Intelligence: A very short introduction. Oxford, En- gland: Oxford University Press. Dickens, W.T., & Flynn, J.R. (2001, April 21). Great leap forward. New Scientist, 170, 44–47. Jensen, A.R. (1998). The g factor: The science of mental ability. Westport, CT: Praeger. • Note 1. Address correspondence to J.R. Flynn, POLS, University of Otago, Box 56, Dunedin, New Zealand; e-mail: jim.flynn@stonebow.otago.ac.nz. References Boozer, M., & Cacciola, S.E. (2001). Inside the black box of Project STAR: Estimation of peer effects us- ing experimental data (Center Discussion Paper No. 832). New Haven, CT: Yale University Economic Growth Center. Greenfield, P. (1998). The cultural evolution of IQ. In U. Neisser (Ed.), The rising curve: Long-term gains in IQ and related measures (pp. 81–123). Washington, DC: American Psychological As- sociation. Howard, R.W. (1999). Preliminary real-world evi- dence that average intelligence really is rising. Intelligence, 27, 235–250. Jensen, A.R. (1973). Educability and group differ- ences. New York: Harper and Row. Jensen, A.R. (2002). Galton’s legacy to research on in- telligence. Journal of Biosocial Science, 34, 145–172. McWorter, J. (2000). Losing the race: Self-sabotage in Black America. New York: Free Press. Nunn, J. (1999). John Nunn’s chess puzzle book. Lon- don: Gambit Publications. Rosenau, J.N., & Fagan, W.M. (1997). A new dyna- mism in world politics: Increasingly skilled in- dividuals? International Studies Quarterly, 41, 655–686. Schooler, C. (1998). Environmental complexity and the Flynn effect. In U. Neisser (Ed.), The rising curve: Long-term gains in IQ and related measures (pp. 67–79). Washington, DC: Ameri- can Psychological Association. Spanking Children: Evidence and Issues Alan E. Kazdin1 and Corina Benjet Child Study Center, Yale University School of Medicine, New Haven, Connecticut (A.E.K.), and National Institute of Psychiatry, Mexico City, Mexico (C.B.) Abstract W h e t h e r o r n o t t o s p a n k children as a discipline practice is controversial among lay and professional audiences alike. This article highlights different views of spanking, key conclu- s i o n s a b o u t i t s e f f e c t s , a n d methodological limitations of the research and the resulting ambiguities that fuel the current debate and plague interpreta- tion. We propose an expanded research agenda to address ques- tions about the goals of parental discipline; the role, if any, that punishment plays in achieving these goals; the effects and side effects of alternative discipline practices; and the impact of punishment on underlying de- velopmental processes. Keywords spanking children; punish- ment; parent discipline Spanking as a way of disciplining children is a topic of broad interest to people involved in the care and edu- cation of children (e.g., parents, teach- ers), as well as to the many profes- sions involved with children, parents, and families (e.g., pediatrics, psychi- atry, psychology, and social work). Hitting children is intertwined with religious beliefs, cultural views, gov- ernment, law, and social policy and 
work_z6kl2ubv6jckpjk7zks5yhqpau	----	DigitalTechnology-CreativesIndustries HAL Id: hal-00946932 http://hal.grenoble-em.com/hal-00946932 Submitted on 14 Feb 2014 HAL is a multi-disciplinary open access archive for the deposit and dissemination of sci- entific research documents, whether they are pub- lished or not. The documents may come from teaching and research institutions in France or abroad, or from public or private research centers. L’archive ouverte pluridisciplinaire HAL, est destinée au dépôt et à la diffusion de documents scientifiques de niveau recherche, publiés ou non, émanant des établissements d’enseignement et de recherche français ou étrangers, des laboratoires publics ou privés. Disassembly and reassembly on digital technology and creative industries Vincent Mangematin, Jonathan Sapsed, Elke Schüßler To cite this version: Vincent Mangematin, Jonathan Sapsed, Elke Schüßler. Disassembly and reassembly on digital technol- ogy and creative industries. Technological Forecasting and Social Change, Elsevier, 2014, 83, pp.1-9. �10.1016/j.techfore.2014.01.002�. �hal-00946932� http://hal.grenoble-em.com/hal-00946932 https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr 1 DISASSEMBLY AND REASSEMBLY ON DIGITAL TECHNOLOGY AND CREATIVE INDUSTRIES Vincent Mangematin, Grenoble Ecole de Management, France, Vincent.mangematin@grenoble-em.com Jonathan Sapsed, University of Brighton, United Kingdom, J.D.Sapsed@bton.ac.uk Elke Schüßler, Freie Universität Berlin, Germany, elke.schuessler@fu-berlin.de1 1 All three authors have contributed equally to this paper. Author names are therefore in alphabetical order. 2 ABSTRACT This paper analyses the dynamics of disassembly and reassembly unfolding in selected creative industries through the advent of digital technology. It argues that a full understanding of the much-observed organizational or sectoral lock-in effects on the one hand, and the possibilities for transformation and innovation on the other is only gained by analyzing jointly how institutional logics, business models and creative processes are affected by digital technology and how they interrelate in producing stability or change. These three dimensions provide a framework for reviewing the findings of the papers comprised in the Special Issue and for integrating their insights towards a research agenda. This introduction starts with a reflection on creative industries classification systems and related possibilities for generalization and discusses how digital technology acts as a driver for disassembly and reassembly. It concludes by highlighting three avenues for further research. KEYWORDS Digital technology; creative industries; innovation; business models; institutional change; institutional logics; creative processes 3 INTRODUCTION Digitization is everywhere in discussions on industrial and, more broadly, societal change. The way we get our news, the choice of work places and the design of work environments, how we connect with customers and stakeholders in developing products and how these products are consumed: our lives, both private and professional, are fundamentally affected by digital technology. No set of industries has felt this impact more than the creative industries: that set of sectors bound together through a reliance on the value of symbols and aesthetics [1]. Previously thought of as frivolous and an expensive luxury, the creative industries are now considered an industrial priority and a ‘laboratory’ for studying the transformations of modern economies and societies. Accordingly, the changes they are currently undergoing through digital technology are becoming increasingly urgent in broader debates on cultural production, entrepreneurial activity and the nature of creativity [2; 3; 4]. Creative industries research in the past has tried to understand the paradoxes or tensions inherent in creative work [5; 6; 7], the role of places or networks in supporting creative production [8;9] or innovation dynamics [10;11]. These studies stress specific forms of organization, managerial practices and policies and social ties as fundamental for spurring creative dynamics and enabling value creation from creativity. However, the role of digital technology as a mediator of these variables and in particular its disruptive effects on established forms of creative production and consumption is rarely explicitly addressed in these debates. Although digital technology is commonly considered as a driver of growth and innovation [12], we also know that it has fundamentally shaken industries such as music, film production or publishing [13; 14; 15]. Old business models are often held onto, whereas new opportunities 4 depend on firms’ willingness and ability to apply new tools of production, recognize and address changed consumption patterns and mobilize institutional voids to change broader rules of the game [16; 17; 18]. The same holds for other sectors beyond the confines of the creative industries such as photography or telecommunications, where incumbent firms are often slow in adapting their business models to technological change because they are trapped in old cognitive representations and adhere to existing institutional logics [19;20]. The contribution of the Special Issue is to focus explicitly on both processes of disassembly – the shaking of existing business models of transaction and distribution, for instance – and reassembly – for example, new tools and architectures to interact with audiences and communities in selected creative industries. It hereby addresses three levels of analysis that are clearly interlinked in producing stability or change but rarely examined jointly: the macro level of institutional logics, the meso level of business models and the micro level of creative processes. This introductory article provides a synthesis of each papers’ arguments and findings. It also derives theoretical implications for research on creativity and creative industries and highlights blind spots in our understanding as well as avenues for further research. First, it reviews briefly the rationales for classifying the creative industries and the boundaries around them, which is a contested and fluid field. These boundaries are important for understanding how the contributions of this Special Issue can be generalized to other settings. Second, it characterizes the process of disassembly and reassembly brought about by digital technology. Third, it summarizes the role of institutions in constraining and enabling creative processes and forms of value capture and appropriation in creative industries. Introducing the first set of papers in the Special Issue, this section highlights the role of discourse, actors and institutional work in maintaining or challenging dominant institutional logics and regulatory regimes. Fourth, it looks at the 5 opportunities for and challenges in business model transformation arising through the shift from material to digital content. This section introduces the second set of papers seeking to understand how the traditional value chain of creation, production, distribution and sales has collapsed and how it is being reconfigured. Fifth, it turns attention to how technologies more generally and digital technologies in particular affect the thinking and activity of creative workers. By introducing the final set of papers which analyze the ‘digital native’ sectors of video games development and post-production of computer-generated animated film we find new methods of coordination that nevertheless perform some of the same creative functions as those enshrined in the early Italian Renaissance. The sixth and final section emphasizes the transformation of other sectors that may derive value from creativity regarding ways to create, produce and deliver goods and services and to interact with users and consumers. It also offers thoughts on the ongoing research agenda. CLASSIFYING CREATIVE INDUSTRIES AND MOVING BEYOND CLASSIFICATION The classification of what constitutes a ‘creative’ industry is highly contested. Building on the influential mapping and measurement exercise undertaken by the UK New Labour government of Tony Blair in 1998, researchers, policy makers and practitioners often consider sectors such as advertising, architecture, art and antiques, computer games, crafts, design, designer fashion, film and video, music, performing arts, publishing, software, TV and radio as identified creative industries. These are defined as “those (…) which have their origin in individual creativity, skill and talent and which have a potential for wealth and job creation through generation and exploitation of intellectual property.” [21] (p4). The main policy motivation driving this classification was to account for and encourage economic growth, employment and social cohesion in advanced countries, recognizing unsung sources of value creation where cities, 6 regions, and nations faced the decline of traditional manufacturing industries. This reasoning considers creativity not only as individual originality, imagination or inspiration, but as an economic factor contributing to entrepreneurship, innovation, growth and social peace. Critics of these policy-driven developments have pointed out the highly eclectic and arbitrary compilation of traditional arts and cultural fields as well as digital new economy sectors under the creative industries label [22]. Some more fundamentally questioned the neoliberal stance behind applying the norms of industrial production to the production of cultural goods through the coining of the term ‘creative industries’ [23], a view that is said to be largely detached from artists' self-perceptions [24]. From this latter perspective, Horkheimer and Adorno’s [25] original usage of the term ‘cultural industry’ as an overt critique of popular mass culture has been subtly and perversely converted into a normative agenda for 21st century economic policy. Several alternative classificatory systems have been developed in the light of these criticisms. Throsby’s [26] concentric circles model, for instance, proposed to differentiate between the ‘core creative arts’ such as literature, music or performing arts, other ‘core cultural industries’ such as film, museums or photography, ‘wider cultural industries’ such as publishing, television or video/computer games and, finally, ‘related industries’ such as advertising, architecture or design. This system gradually distinguishes sectors with high cultural value from sectors with high economic value. Hesmondhalgh [23] (p 12-14), in contrast, suggested that only those industries that create texts or cultural artefacts and which engage in some form of industrial reproduction should be considered as ‘core cultural industries’, including advertising, broadcasting, film, internet, music, publishing and video/computer games. Yet an alternative approach, which is best represented by the classification system of the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), is to focus on the role of copyright in mediating value creation and appropriation. According to 7 this logic, sectors such as advertising, collecting societies, film and video, music or publishing constitute the ‘core copyright industries’, whereas sectors such as design, architecture and fashion are considered as ‘partial copyright industries’ because copyright plays a more peripheral role to their business models. The broadest perspective was developed by Howkins [27] who writes of a ‘creative economy’ embracing toys and games production as well as research and development in science and technology. The role of digital technology has played an important part in these debates over creative industries classifications. The 1998 DCMS classification included the software sector, which formed a large part of the economic value of the creative industries’ overall contribution, even though this sector was not considered among cultural industries previously. More recent iterations have dropped IT sectors, but they may be reinstated with the new ‘creative intensity’ method [28], which depends upon a threshold of creative occupations. Arguments in favor of inclusion point to the increasing convergence of creativity and digital technology in high growth sectors [29; 30]. Our specific focus on digital technology has clearly attracted submissions around a narrow set of sectors more in line with the alternative classification systems. Specifically, the core cultural industries in Throsby’s concentric circles model and the core copyright industries seem to be most urgently affected by digital technology. These industries are engaged in content production and have traditionally gained revenue by restricting access to using and copying this content. Digital technology has not only changed the means of content production (from analogue to digital cameras, for instance), but also the means of content distribution and consumption (from CD to MP3, from newspaper to blogs, etc.). Thus, we suggest that the findings compiled in this Special Issue cannot necessarily be generalized to all creative industries (as in the DCMS 8 classification), but first and foremost they are relevant for all industries engaged in content production. Additionally, there are few industries that are not also users of digital content for marketing and communications and are increasingly aware of the power of digital connectivity to users and customers. The papers in our Special Issue also speak to them. Finally, our findings yield insights on organizational fields whose boundaries and practices are changing as a result of new technologies or other disruptive events. DIGITAL TECHNOLOGY AS A DRIVER FOR DISASSEMBLY AND REASSEMBLY The advent of digital technology represents a classic case of the dual effect of creative destruction described by Schumpeter [31], where the adoption of a new set of innovations will profoundly affect industry dynamics. In this reasoning, incumbent firms are undermined through new entrants’ abilities to better exploit new technologies that may have technical, organizational or cost advantages over the current technologies or processes. This causes a rapid decline in both the firms and the skills and labor force associated with the old order. Simultaneously, innovations rise as new firms foster the development of new skills and a rearrangement of the rules of engagement. Neo-Schumpeterians have nuanced this theory, pointing out that the new ‘common sense’ of structural and institutional arrangements does not arise spontaneously and can take decades to become established. Freeman and Perez [32] have shown that there is a considerable socio-institutional lag behind the technical change before a new techno-economic paradigm is established, accepted and understood. This adjustment is painful, as older job roles are outmoded, unemployment rises, and the skills required for the new forms of work are in too scarce supply. Similarly, sociological research on sectoral and societal transformation has pointed to the complex, enduring and gradual shifts triggered by new technologies [33]. 9 In the context of creative industries, these shifts involve, for instance, concerns over the supply and demand for systems engineers and software programmers in the digital era [30]. They clearly also involve new user practices such as streaming or even new cultural techniques such as sampling, sharing or mashing-up contents. These practices, often based on what is termed Internet piracy, have undermined the ability of corporations to extract value from the rights to use and sell creative and cultural material and have largely destroyed their core business model of commercializing creativity by performing marketing, distribution and business functions [34]. At the same time, piracy is recognized by some as a driver for innovation [35; 36]. The shifts exerted by digital technology thus also involve broader regulatory structures and touch widespread beliefs or cultural norms, much like the change of production regimes away from mass production in the 1970s and 1980s [37]. Historically, Walter Benjamin [38] examined the implications of the reproduction of cultural objects in his famous 1936 (reprinted 2007) essay ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction’. The mass printing of paintings, photographs and the growing supremacy of film entailed a ‘liquidation’ of traditional value and ritual in these objects. But even as artworks lost their ‘aura’ and their authority, Benjamin referred to a ‘reactivation’ of art objects as they were brought closer to masses of consumers. Today’s digital technologies accelerate and intensify the trends observed by Benjamin in the 1930s. The reproduction costs of digital content tend towards zero, and the distribution of works is no longer mediated even by the businesses that replaced the graduated and hierarchical mediation of religion and educational institutions. The Internet surrounds and absorbs the audience, rather like the built environment and, unsurprisingly, shares the same design language of architecture. Importantly, digital artefacts are now designed not only for reproducibility, which Benjamin observed, but for interaction. Digital video, web 10 copywriting and, at the extreme, video games are all designed with the expectation of the user engaging and entering the work and commenting on the experience. The digital format enables the extension of this interaction to the collective, without making it a mass broadcast as in the mid-Twentieth century, but allowing more segmented diffusion and search. In sum, digital technologies affect creative industries through their distinctive properties as outlined by Castells [39; 40]: their self-expanding processing and communicating capacity in terms of volume, complexity and speed; their ability to recombine on the basis of digitization and recurrent communication; and their distributing flexibility through interactive, digitized networking. This results in a fundamental reconfiguration of value chains in multiple directions (see also Bilton [41] and Lange [42]). First, digital technology affects creation mechanisms and the relationship between artists and users by involving users or consumers actively in the process of creation. This involvement can be mediated across geographical distances and reach out to anonymous crowds [42], or it can take place in spatially bounded local areas such as clubs [42]. Second, it also changes transactions and distribution as consumers can be addressed in a different way by offering service rather than product or pay per view rather than subscription. These developments blur the boundaries and roles between different actors and break up the existing partition of value creation and appropriation. These opportunities for disassembly and reassembly trigger as of yet largely unpredictable dynamics of transformation in the creative industries and beyond, touching fundamental institutions as well as business models and creative processes. DISASSEMBLY AND REASSEMBLY: THE ROLE OF INSTITUTIONS From an institutional perspective, creative industries can be understood as organizational fields that comprise “(…) key suppliers, resource and product consumers, regulatory agencies, and 11 other organizations that produce similar services or products.” [44]. More broadly, an organizational field is an established set of organizations engaged in a similar purpose or in related activities which together shape activity and meaning in that field [45]. Creative fields, thus, are organizational fields in which actors interact around a creative activity [46]. They include not only suppliers and buyers of creative goods but also actors such as critics, juries, professional bodies and patrons who together constitute a recognized area of creativity [47]. Central questions are how such fields come into being, how their constituting boundaries and practices are maintained and how they change. New technologies provide opportunities for field (re-)structuration in that they facilitate the formation of new actor constellations and can introduce new practices that challenge institutionalized conventions [48]. Early neoinstitutionalist approaches held that the organizations comprising an organizational field become more and more similar through coercive, mimetic, and normative isomorphism. Coercive pressure is exerted by other organizations holding critical resources or by cultural expectations in society; mimetic processes occur as a response to perceived uncertainty when organizations model each other to increase their legitimacy; normative pressures stem from professionalization through formal education and professional networks. This strand of institutional theory can thus be used to explain why creative industries such as music or publishing may find it difficult to change and adapt to new technologies. With cognitive, normative and regulatory institutions converging towards one dominant ‘logic’ in the broader creative fields guiding organizations on how to interpret the world, behave and succeed [49;50], the necessary diversity and flexibility needed to explore alternative paths may be missing. More recent approaches suggest that organizational fields do change, however, and are in fact, continuously in flux [51]. Individual actors can act as institutional entrepreneurs who leverage 12 resources to change institutions according to their interests [52; 53]. Furthermore, organizational fields may not necessarily be dominated by one institutional logic, but rather comprise multiple logics that are at least partly incompatible [54]. Such institutional plurality or multiplicity may be a source of change since actors at the interstices of such conflicting logics can reflexively detach themselves from their normative prescriptions [55]. The institutional work perspective suggests that institutions are always enacted in everyday practice with some actors aiming to create new institutions, others trying to maintain existing institutions, and yet others strategically disrupting them [56]. Institutional multiplicity is thus not a transitory state that is eventually resolved by a reconciliation or suppression of interests, but a state that is actively and dynamically constructed [57; 58]. From such a perspective, the emergence of a new technology can be seen as a trigger for delegitimizing existing institutional arrangements and the development of competing institutional work projects. Some of these may coalesce into new institutions, whereas others are discredited [59]. Such developments have been observed in the music industry, where incumbents and challengers struggle for discursive legitimacy regarding new practices such as file-sharing [17]. These struggles may involve the organization of field-configuring events to experiment with new field boundaries and practices and to gain support from regional scenes [60]. Cycles of boundary work and practice work – attempts to create, shape, and disrupt field boundaries and to create, maintain or disrupt legitimate practices – have been shown to underpin the transformation of organizational fields [61]. Two papers in this Special Issue address these themes. Focusing on the French recorded music industry, Blanc and Huault [62] study the attempts of major labels to maintain the institution of intellectual property rights. They pay particular attention to the way artefacts – specifically, CDs 13 and digital files – are used in discourse and find that powerful actors try to infuse new artefacts with the values inscribed in existing institutional arrangements. They can then serve as a powerful instrument for institutional maintenance. Dobusch and Schüßler [63] analyze a similar issue – discursive struggles regarding copyright or intellectual property regimes in the popular music industry – but focus on the German case. Studying the regulatory debate unfolding at industry events between 2001 and 2010 they identify two discourse coalitions: major labels, industry representatives, artists and collecting societies defend old business models, whereas startup companies, small online-only music distributors, avant-garde artists or the newly founded pirate political parties challenge the existing regulatory regime. Interestingly, these discourse coalitions are not engaging in a debate, but rather try to mobilize the public and policy makers particularly in times of high regulatory uncertainty. Together, both papers contribute to the neo-institutional research agenda by articulating how business model reconfiguration is closely intertwined with both cognitive and regulatory institutions. At least in public, incumbent actors hold on to traditional business models and values by actively engaging in discursive maintenance work. Both papers show that here there actually is little interaction and active contestation between opposing groups. Instead, each side mobilizes coalitions, artefacts or other resources to manipulate institutions in line with their respective ideologies. In reality, of course, incumbent actors may already experiment with new practices and reach out to actors at the fringes of organizational fields, but the extent to which they actively embrace these in parallel to institutional maintenance work needs to be assessed by further empirical research. DISASSEMBLING AND REASSEMBLING BUSINESS MODELS 14 Business models are at the core of disassembly and reassembly dynamics. The term ‘business model’ explains how users and customers are chosen [64], how value is created [65] and how value is captured or monetized [66]. Technological innovation does not define the business model, but rather the business model mediates technology and the market. In other words, it connects technology on the one side with consumer satisfaction and the firm’s need for revenues and profits on the other. Business models mobilize technology to create new devices or services, to address existing consumers in a different way or to meet with new ones. Creative industries like music, film and video, publishing, video games and television have been transformed through digitization. Digital technology affected not only the diffusion and circulation of content, it also changed the ways in which content is selected. Musicians and artists are identified based on the number of views in YouTube or other video channels, users are highly involved in the development of video games and texts are tested on websites before being published. Creative industries are thus a favorable environment to explore the formation of new business models and to better define the concept. Within the standard definition of business model, the identification of new customers, the differentiation between users and customers and ways of customer engagement remain in shadow, as the value chain defines the business model. However, in a recent definition [66], the concept of business model underlines the identification of new customers and customer engagement as key elements. Theorizing business models Baden Fuller and Mangematin [64] consider four elements: identifying the customers (the number of separate customer groups), customer engagement (or the customer proposition/value creation), monetization (value capture) and value chain and linkages (governance typically concerning the firm internally). Each of these dimensions relates to the business model definition of either value creation or value capture, or 15 both. The first two aspects, identifying customers and customer engagement, are currently the main knowledge gaps in the business model approach. Customer identification can involve the creation of new customers (customer invention), such has been done in the case of ‘Facebook’, the social networking platform. Customer identification also specifies if the business model is one sided or multisided, that is if the users pay for the services received, or if there is another group of customers who pay for additional services when the core offering is provided for free. The choice of one sided or multisided markets is a key element of digitization of creative activities. Papers in this Special Issue explore both the reinvention of users and customers and the broader reconfiguration of value chains within creative industries. Parmentier and Mangematin [67] emphasize that online games are redefining the boundaries between the firms and user communities, i.e. the developers and the players of the game. User communities are highly involved in game development, bringing new ideas, developing tools to play or designing new game environments. They are also involved in service development and transform the product identity to incorporate the user community identity. Firms may orchestrate the community in order to appropriate the creativity and motivation of users and increase their innovativeness. Parmentier and Mangematin [67] especially analyze how consumers are identified and how, as products are online, the interactions with the community become more important than the product itself, which changes in the process of user interaction. Øiestad and Bugge [68] study the opposite situation. High prices and limited offer in Norwegian language publishing characterize a situation where the reinvention of users and the modification of customer engagement has not been done. The result is that the whole value chain remains 16 stable and the opportunities for increasing value are poor. They describe stable business models where gains in efficiency are the only sources of profit. Similarly, Rothmann and Koch [69] analyze the reason why the key players in the quality- newspaper sector in Germany have tried to benefit from digitization and why they have failed so far. They report that organizations tend to use up all their creative potential in order to maintain problematic strategies rather than explore new ones, a classical cognitive lock-in situation. Hadida and Paris [70] specifically explore the cognitive frameworks of entrepreneurs who are promoting new businesses. At industry level, the cognitive frameworks of digital music entrepreneurs challenge all the industry recipes and dominant logics of the traditional music industry. However, the managerial cognition of digital music entrepreneurs is constrained by the mental model of the value chain. The value chain framework is so embedded in entrepreneurs' representations of the digital music industry that it prevents them from acknowledging the diversity and plurality of its value propositions, its actors' collective involvement in value co- construction and the new, expanded role of its intermediaries as prescribers. These three papers thus describe stable business models where incumbents in different industries are trapped into mindsets that annihilate the capacity to identify new customers and to engage with customers in different ways. In all cases, cognitive lock-ins appear to be stronger than technological ones. Thus, the articles in this Special Issue reveal the role of managerial mental representations as a key element of the business model. The mindset of managers for a given industry limits business model evolution and therefore reconfiguration usually comes from outside the industry. The four papers open new research avenues on business model innovation or reconfiguration as new ways to overcome business mental representation. Models and 17 representation come hand in hand, and thinking in terms of models may help to challenge existing representations within the industry. DISASSEMBLY AND REASSEMBLY OF CREATIVE PROCESSES Digitization directly affects creative processes and practices. While the previous two sections have pointed to the potentiality of technology to challenge dominant logics in organizational fields and to reconfigure firms’ business models, the characteristics of digital technology outlined in section two also affect the core human instincts of conceptualizing and generating novelty. While new tools and technologies have always appeared throughout history, the question here is the extent to which the pervasive nature of this epoch changes how creators think and make their work. Creative processes in organizations have typically been characterized as stage models. These involve the initial framing or identification of an opportunity or problem, the generation of multiple heuristics or options to pursue, the filtering and selection of the most promising options and finally their communication or implementation (see Schalley and Zhou [71] for a review). Digital technology is a resource that may play a role in each of these stages through the connectivity to people and information that it allows. Digitization can also stretch and accelerate the process of generating novelty on the cognitive level of individuals. Scholars of creativity and artificial intelligence have categorized three forms of creativity to understand how computing technology may simulate or connect with the creativity of human cognition [72]. These are combinative creativity, explorative creativity and transformational creativity. Digital technology scales up possibilities of combination because of the shared digital format and expansion of access to new resources [39; 73]. The same may be said of exploration of conceptual spaces, 18 because domains of thought and activity are deepened by the availability of new tools and techniques such as design visualization and prototyping [74]. Conceptual spaces may be transformed by processing power, for example with modelling or data analytics. The third group of papers explore the micro-level evolution of the creative process with digital technologies. All of the papers question the specificities of digital creation, specify the extent to which digital creation differs from non-digital creation and discuss which actors actually engage differently when the creation process involves digitized content. Rüling and Duymedjian [75] study how creators do their work and coordinate in the digital age. They depict the production of digital visual effects as a process of ‘digital bricolage’. All artists are bricoleurs, i.e. they are combining materials in original ways based on the use of a stock of devices. This combination relies on the physical closeness of actors and resources as well as their heterogeneity. In digital bricolage, in contrast, work can be geographically dispersed, which has increased the level of specialization in project teams. Digital resources furthermore allow easy access, assemblage and recombination. These conditions call for new ways of coordinating work. Rüling and Duymedjian [75] find that the coordination across teams mainly revolved around two mechanisms: ‘narrative alignment’, i.e. the ability of a specific scene or effect to contribute to the development of the overall storyline of a movie, and ‘verisimilitude’, i.e. an effect or scene's perceptual realism. Recorded instances of motion capture and references to material reality are constant resources used by skilled professionals to anchor digital creative processes and to develop a shared language across specialized teams. Panourgias and Nandhakumar [76] analyze how novel gameplay experiences in computer games are shaped through entanglement between the creative agency of developers and the digital 19 technologies of game engines, the core software code that enables the mechanics and dynamics of games. Constraints here are also important, since the engines, although they are enabling, also present clear parameters around the creative ideas and imagination of the developers and thus define, as the authors cite Bourdieu [77], ‘the space of possibles’. Ideas constantly bump up against limitations of technology, but rather than an ongoing opposition of forces, the development plays out in the sociomaterial reality so that in the longer term these ideas suggest desiderata of future game engine development. This co-development has implications for the perceptions of creatives and technologists as distinctive actors, and more broadly for the creative industries and their relationship with IT sectors, returning to our discussion of sectorial classifications in section two. Technology development, especially in a content sector, cannot be detached from the heuristics of creativity, it is the intersection of the reasoning and skillsets of both that generate innovation. These articles are of course presenting research on ‘digital native’ sectors and so digital technology will naturally be integral to the creative process. We might expect to gain insights from the adoption of digital technology in the creative process of older industries in comparison with contemporary emergent sectors. Along these lines, in our final paper, Sapsed and Tschang [78] compare the effects of technology on creative effort in two historical periods separated by five hundred years: the early Italian Renaissance and the contemporary Internet age with the production of art for digital products such as video games and animation. They underline the commonalities of creation in the two epochs: combination and iteration in process, based on imagination, bounded by the contemporaneous set of possible motifs and their social acceptance. While these activities remain constant, new technologies mediate how the organizational practices and activities of creators are configured. The greater availability of sketching and paper 20 materials in the early Renaissance stimulated design and prototyping in the creative process. Digital technology by contrast affects the sequencing of the creative process by compressing the linear stage-based model established in the Renaissance so that design and execution are now simultaneous, even while the core practices of creative work remain the same. Sapsed and Tschang [78] paraphrase the Latin motto, Art is Long, Life is Short, with Art is Long, Innovation is Short to denote the persistence of creative practice and the more temporal influences of techniques and technologies. The three papers emphasize three specificities on digital creative processes. First of all, digital creation remains highly material, and this materiality is a mechanism of coordination because it provides necessary anchors or pre-constraints for creativity. The creative process is hereby coordinated by fundamental processes of combination and iteration, yet turned towards heuristics like verisimilitude and narrative alignment. A second specificity is the ability to rework the creation instantly, to transform it and to make it more fluid than non-digital creation. This brings associated management challenges. The third difference is the scale impact through the shared digital format and the interconnectedness of the Internet and therefore the ability to engage with a larger envelope of motifs and resources. CONCLUSIONS AND AVENUES FOR FURTHER RESEARCH Our Special Issue shows that digital technologies affect the creative industries profoundly at the level of institutions, business models and the creative process itself. The two institutional articles stress the difficulties organizations in established sectors face in apprehending technological trends in and the instinctive adoption of defensive strategies through the manipulation of discourse and existing regulatory arrangements. These tendencies are also critical in the papers 21 on business models, where preservation and stability of the old order are desired but opportunities for monetization decline. Meanwhile, those firms active in the new digital content and web-oriented sectors embrace new sources of innovation and growth such as online user engagement. The papers on the creative process show that in these digital sectors, technology is already reconfiguring the sequencing and organization of creative work, even if these are co- ordinating changes to fundamental human impulses that remain such as combination, iteration, and bricolage [79]. Digital creative production is clearly advancing at differing rates across sectors. While ‘digital native’ ones are accelerating in the utilization of digital properties, traditional industries are not only lagging, but locked into existing business models and broader institutional logics. At the same time, several gaps remain. First, the papers we have compiled actually derive from few sectors – essentially music, games, film and publishing. We have reasoned above that the business models of these content-producing industries are most fundamentally affected by digital technology and that broader questions about the production, consumption and value of culture in the contemporary age are at stake through these transformations. However, this focus forces us to think about the limitations of our argument. One way to go about this is to reflect about which insights could be gained from studying other creative industries such as design, architecture or advertising. Clearly, creative processes in these sectors have also changed through digital technology, mostly the use of computers. However, since industries such as the fashion industry rely much less on revenues derived from the protection of copyright, processes of disassembly and reassembly may be much less pronounced, even if digital technology has largely ripped out and upgraded the supply chain. Analyzing cases from non-copyright industries, for instance, and 22 contrasting cases from different sectors would shed further light on the way creative practices and institutional logics intersect in producing stability or change. Second, new sectors such as digital marketing, social media, blogging or e-commerce evolve that demand new capabilities that fuse technical-analytical skills with sensibilities in the Arts and Humanities [78]. Whether journalists or musicians can easily ‘upgrade’ their skills, whether they will ‘buy’ these services or whether they will collaborate in social networks, physical and virtual, remains a question for further empirical research across different sectors. Third, most of our studies stem from a singular national context and this context is typically European. While the latter aspect may result from the fact that that this Special Issue resulted from a subtheme at the European Group for Organization Studies (EGOS) annual meeting, there are less obvious explanations for the former. One reason may be that comparative research in the international business community often focuses on multinational enterprises that are rather strongly grounded in national business systems [80]. The creative industries, in contrast, are typically composed of small and medium enterprises and networks of individual artists or entrepreneurs. These often co-locate spatially in cities or regions, so that the level of national institutions may simply be less relevant than other context factors for creative industries research. However, the papers in our Special Issue point to the relevance of both national regulatory regimes [62;63] as well as overarching management fashions such as the value chain model that transgress national boundaries [70]. Furthermore, the relevance and contested dynamics of emerging layers of transnational regulation regarding, for instance, copyright and the Creative Commons have been highlighted by recent studies [81]. Thus, there is promising potential for comparative research on dynamics of disassembly and reassembly not only across sectors, but also across countries at the intersection of national and transnational institutions. 23 Table of contents Blanc, A; Huault, Isabelle, Against the Digital Revolution? Institutional Maintenance and Artifacts within the French Recorded Music Industry Leonhard Dobusch; Elke Schüßler, Copyright Reform and Business Model Innovation: Regulatory Propaganda at German Music Industry Conferences Guy Parmentier; Vincent Mangematin, Orchestrating Innovation with User Communities in the Creative Industries Sara Øiestad, MA; Markus M. Bugge, Digitization of Publishing: Exploration based on Existing Business Models Wasko Rothmann; Jochen Koch, Creativity in Strategic Lock-Ins: The Newspaper Industry and the Digital Revolution Allegre L Hadida, Thomas Paris, Un-chained Melody: Managerial Cognition and the Value Chain in the Digital Music Industry Charles-Clemens Rüling; Raffi Duymedjian, Digital Bricolage: Resources and Coordination in the Production of Digital Visual Effects Nikiforos Stuart Panourgias, Joe Nandhakumar, Creativity and Digital Innovation: A Study of Computer Games Development Jonathan Sapsed; Feichin T Tschang, Art is Long, Innovation is Short: Lessons from the Renaissance and the Digital Age 24 Acknowledgements Jonathan Sapsed’s work on this special issue was partly funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC)’s ‘Brighton Fuse’ project. 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R., & Lounsbury, M. (2011). Institutional complexity and organizational responses. The Academy of Management Annals, 5(1), 317-371. [55] Seo, M.-G., & Creed, W. E. D. (2002). Institutional contradictions, praxis, and institutional change: A dialectical perspective. Academy of Management Review, 27(2), 222-247. [56] Lawrence, T. B., & Suddaby, R. (2006). Institutions and institutional work. In S. R. Clegg, C. Hardy, W. R. Nord & T. B. Lawrence (Eds.), The Sage Handbook of Organization Studies (pp. 215- 254). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. [57] Jarzabkowski, P., Matthiesen, J., & Van de Ven, A. H. (2009). Doing which work? A practice approach to institutional pluralism. In T. B. Lawrence, R. Suddaby & B. Leca (Eds.), Institutional Work: Actors and Agency in Institutional Studies of Organizations (pp. 284-316). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. [58] Smets, Michael, and Paula Jarzabkowski. 2013. "Reconstructing institutional complexity in practice: A relational model of institutional work and complexity." Human Relations, 66(10) 1279- 1309. 30 [59] Zietsma, C., & McKnight, B. (2009). Building the iron cage: Institutional creation work in the context of competing proto-institutions. In T. B. Lawrence, R. Suddaby & B. Leca (Eds.), Institutional Work: Actors and Agency in Institutional Studies of Organizations (pp. 143-175). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. [60] Schüßler, E., Dobusch, L., & Wessel, L. (in print). Backstage: Organizing events as proto- institutional work in a transforming creative industry. Schmalenbach Business Review. [61] Zietsma, C., & Lawrence, T. B. (2010). Institutional work in the transformation of an organizational field: The interplay of boundary work and practice work. Administrative Science Quarterly, 55, 189-221. [62] Blanc, Antoine, Huault Isabelle, Against the digital revolution? Institutional maintenance and artefacts within the French recorded music industry, Technological Forecasting and Social Change, this issue. [63] Dobusch Leonhard; Schüßler, Elke, Copyright reform and business model innovation: Regulatory propaganda at German music industry conferences, Technological Forecasting and Social Change, this issue [64] Baden-Fuller, C., & Mangematin, V. 2013. Business models: A challenging agenda. Strategic Organization, 11/4, 418-427. [65] Amit, R., & Zott, C. 2001. Value creation in E-business. Strategic Management Journal, 22(6/7): 493-520. [66] Teece, D. J. 2010. Business Models, Business Strategy and Innovation. Long Range Planning, 43(2-3): 172-194. [67] Parmentier, Guy; Mangematin, Vincent, Orchestrating innovation with user communities in the creative industries, Technological Forecasting and Social Change, this issue. [68] Øiestad, Sara; Bugge, Markus, Digitisation of publishing: Exploration based on existing business models, Technological Forecasting and Social Change, this issue. 31 [69] Rothman, Wasko; Koch, Jochen, Creativity in strategic lock-ins: The newspaper industry and the digital revolution, Technological Forecasting and Social Change, this issue. [70] Allegre L Hadida, Thomas Paris, Un-chained Melody: Managerial Cognition and the Value Chain in the Digital Music Industry, Technological Forecasting an Social Change, this issue. [71] Shalley, C. E., & Zhou, J. (2008). Organizational creativity research: A historical overview. Handbook of organizational creativity, 3-31. [72] Boden, M.A. (2005). The Creative Mind: Myths and mechanisms. 2nd ed. Abingdon: Routledge. [73] Yoo, Y., Boland, R.J., Lyytinen, K., and Majchrzak. (2012) ‘Organizing for Innovation in the Digitized World’. Organization Science. 23, 5, 1398-1408. [74] Dodgson M., Gann D., Salter A. 2005, Think, play, do: technology, innovation, and organization, Oxford, Oxford University Press. [75] Rüling, Charles-Clemens; Duymedjian, Raffi Digital bricolage: Resources and coordination in the production of digital visual effects Technological Forecasting and Social Change, this issue. [76] Panourgias Nikiforos S.; Nandhakumar, Joe; Scarbrough, Harry, Entanglements of creative agency and digital technology: A sociomaterial study of computer game development Technological Forecasting and Social Change, this issue. [77] Bourdieu, P., R. Johnson. The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature, Columbia University Press, New York, 1993. [78] Sapsed, Jonathan ; Tschang, Feichin Ted, Art is long, innovation is short: Lessons from the Renaissance and the digital age, Technological Forecasting and Social Change, this issue. [79] Duymedjian, R., & Ruling, C.-C., 2010, Towards a Foundation of Bricolage in Organization and Management Theory. Organization Studies, 31(2): 133-151. [80] Whitley, R. (1999). Divergent Capitalisms: The Social Structuring and Change of Business Systems: The Social Structuring and Change of Business Systems. Oxford University Press. 32 [81] Dobusch, L.; Quack, S. (2013): Framing standards, mobilizing users: Copyright versus fair use in transnational regulation. In: Review of International Political Economy, 20 (1), 52-88. 33 AUTHOR BIOS Vincent Mangematin is Professor of strategic Management and scientific director at Grenoble Ecole de Management (France). His research stands at the intersection of Strategic Management and Innovation. He focuses on emergent phenomena and on the transformative influence of digital technologies in the society. In the recent years, he has been focusing on business models as an approach to renew strategy. He is recognized as a stimulating scholar on topics related to innovation and emergence. He is serving in the editorial board of Organization Studies, Technovation and Long Range Planning. His work is widely cited in the field of management. Dr Jonathan Sapsed is a Principal Research Fellow at the Centre for Research in Innovation Management (CENTRIM) at the University of Brighton, where he is Academic Director of the Brighton Fuse project (www.brightonfuse.com). His research interests are innovation management and policy, especially in the creative and digital industries. His research is published in journals such as Research Policy and Organization Studies. He is on the editorial boards of Journal of Management, Technovation and International Journal of Innovation Management and he is co-editor of the Oxford Handbook of the Creative Industries from Oxford University Press. Dr Elke Schüßler is an Assistant Professor of Organization Theory at the Management Department at Freie Universität Berlin. She is currently leading a scientific network on “field- configuring events” and has previously managed a number of research projects in German creative industry clusters. Her research focuses on institutional change, creativity, and path dependence in the context of different industry and policy fields. Her research is published in journals such as Academy of Management Journal, Economic and Industrial Democracy, Industry & Innovation or Industrial and Corporate Change. 
work_zrzfcdrkb5gmxgocdyvstk62wq	----	Journal of Art Historiography Number 11 December 2014 Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts Erin J. Campbell Introduction Inspired by recent work on ecology and the environment, this study proposes an intervention in the way that scholars encounter, understand, and study what has come to be called the decorative arts in the discipline of art history.1 The laboratory and evidence base for this essay are the people, objects, and spaces of the early modern European home 1400-1700.2 The discipline of art history is at a crossroads in the study of the object, as attested to by the most recent international art history congress sponsored by the Comité International d’Histoire de l’Art (CIHA), entitled The Challenge of the Object (2012). Specifically with respect to the decorative arts, in the author’s own field of early modern European art, despite the keen interest in furniture, textiles, ceramics, metal-ware, glassware, and other so-called decorative objects, there is a continuing divide in art historical scholarship between those who study art and those who 1 This study was originally presented as part of the 2013 College Art Association Conference session 'The Decorative Arts within Art Historical Discourse: Where is the Dialogue Now and Where is it Heading?' organized by Christina Anderson and Catherine Futter. I wish to thank Christina and Catherine for inviting me to present my work at the conference, as well as for the opportunity to publish the material. I am also grateful for Kristel Smentek's invaluable comments on an earlier version of this study, which were provided as part of the open peer review process for this journal. My ideas also benefitted greatly from the insights of colleagues and students at the University of Victoria, including Catherine Harding, Carolyn Butler-Palmer, Brian Pollick, and Jamie Kemp. The research for this study was supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. 2 For recent work by the author in this area of study, see Erin J. Campbell, Stephanie R. Miller, and Elizabeth Carroll Consavari, eds, The Early Modern Domestic Interior: People, Objects, Domesticities, Burlington, VT.: Ashgate, 2013; Erin J. Campbell, 'Art and Family Viewers in the Seventeenth-Century Bolognese Domestic,' in Campbell, Miller, and Carroll Consavari, Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 107-123; Erin J. Campbell, '"Old Wives" and Art in Early Modern Bologna,' in Jacqueline Murray and Konrad Eisenbichler, eds, To Have and To Hold: Marriage in Premodern Europe 1200-1700, Toronto: The Centre for Renaissance and Reformation Studies, 2012, 257-278; Erin J. Campbell, 'Prophets, Saints, and Matriarchs: Portraits of Old Women in Early Modern Italy,' Renaissance Quarterly 63:3, Fall 2010, 807-849; Erin J. Campbell, 'Balancing Act: Displaying Imported Porcelain in Eighteenth-Century Venice,' in Michael Yonan and Alden Cavanaugh, eds, The Cultural Aesthetics of Eighteenth- Century Porcelain, Ashgate: Burlington, VT, 2010, 107-118; Erin J. Campbell, 'Good Housekeeping: Objects and Agency within the Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior,' in G. Ulrich Grossmann and Petra Krutisch, eds, The Challenge of the Object, Congress Proceedings, Nuremberg: Germanisches Nationalmuseum, 2013, 45-48. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 2 study the decorative arts.3 Such a separation between so-called high art and the decorative arts in the field of scholarship is mirrored in many modern museums, in which early modern painting and sculpture are rarely displayed together with the furnishings that once surrounded them, such as, for example, the recent exhibition of Renaissance portraits at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, which only focused on the paintings and sculpture.4 Underlying this divide in modern museums is the distinction between craft and art that begins with the advent of writing about art in the European Renaissance.5 Despite the long history of separation between art and craft, high art and decorative art in our scholarship, this study argues that art historians need constantly to interrogate the categories to which the discipline consigns its objects of study, adopting what Mimi Hellman has called the 'unease of classification.'6 By studying and experiencing art and decorative art in isolation from each other, an isolation supported by major museums and the modernist art historical discourses that have grown up to support this separation, scholarship obscures the fluid, mobile, and interpenetrating nature of these spheres.7 In considering new paradigms for the study of early modern furniture, textiles, ceramics, and other so-called decorative objects that recognize the inter- relatedness of art and decorative arts, and abandoning 'fantasies of boundary marking, mastery and definitive explanation,'8 this study proposes what it calls an ecological approach. This is to be distinguished from E. H. Gombrich's concept of 3 See, for example, the distinctions made between art and 'furniture, costume, jewelry, and other finery' in Alexander Nagel and Christopher Wood, Anachronic Renaissance, New York, NY: Zone Books, 2010, 17. 4 Keith Christiansen and Stefan Weppelmann, eds, The Renaissance Portrait from Donatello to Bellini, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art; New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2012. 5 For succinct surveys of this historical division see the following useful studies: Isabelle Frank, The Theory of Decorative Art, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2001, 1- 18; Paul Greenhalgh, 'The History of Craft,' in Peter Dormer, ed., The Culture of Craft, Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1997, 26-30; Élizabeth Lavezzi, 'The Éncyclopédie and the Idea of the Decorative Arts,' Art History 28: 2, April 2005, 174-199. For a provocative study of the cross-cultural dimensions of this classification system, see Kimi Coaldrake, 'Fine Arts vs. Decorative Arts: The Categorization of Japanese Arts at the International Expositions in Vienna (1873), Paris (1878) and Chicago (1893),' Japan Forum 25.2, 2013, 174-190. 6 Mimi Hellman, 'Object Lessons: French Decorative Art as a Model for Interdisciplinarity,' in Julia V. Douthwaite and Mary Vidal, eds, The Interdisciplinary Century: Tensions and Convergences in Eighteenth-Century Art, History and Literature, Oxford: Voltaire Foundation, 2005, 76. 7 See, for example, Martina Droth's point of departure which interrogates the division between sculpture and decorative art. Droth advocates 'taking a more direct approach to the works themselves, one which, rather than priortising the historical or circumstantial, pays attention to the visual and the material.' Martina Droth, 'Introduction,' in Martina Droth, ed., Taking Shape: Finding Sculpture in the Decorative Arts, Leeds: The Henry Moore Institute; Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum, 2008, 8. 8 Hellman, 'Object Lessons,' 76. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 3 the ecology of images, an idea developed by Gombrich to convey that changes in artistic style are responses to specific social environments and 'to the functions assigned to the visual image by a given society.'9 The present study shares with Gombrich the sense that the arts can be compared to organisms since both respond in unpredictable ways to specific environments. Gombrich was particularly inspired by the concept 'ecological niche' because it emphasized the 'constant interaction' between species of plants and animals and their environment.10 He embraced the concept of 'ecological niche' because it avoided 'rigid social determinism.' As he explains: 'the study of ecology has alerted us to the many forms of interaction between the organism and its environment which render the outcome quite unpredictable.'11 However, in contrast to Gombrich's focus on style, this study explores the constant interaction between art and decorative art, spaces, and people within the domestic environment. Instead of using art historical methods to analyse style, patronage, authenticity, technique or production, this essay examines the decorative arts through an experiential and environmental lens by drawing on phenomenological approaches to the object as well as theories of vital materialism, object agency and human/non-human intra-activity in the work of Tim Ingold, Jane Bennett, Bruno Latour, Karen Barad, and others.12 Such an approach is complementary to methods focused on the cultural study of the decorative arts, and especially work by Mimi Hellman, Katie Scott, Mary Sheriff, Charissa Bremer-David, Martina Droth and other scholars of the French eighteenth- century interior who view furnishings as social performance.13 It shares ground with the growing interest in affect and the sensorium, as well as the spatial turn, the materialist turn, the performative turn, the anthropological turn and what has most 9 E.H. Gombrich, The Uses of Images: Studies in the Social Function of Art and Visual Communication, London: Phaidon Press, 1999, 48. 10 Gombrich, Uses of Images, 10. 11 Gombrich, Uses of Images, 48. 12 Karen Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway: Quantum Physics and the Entanglement of Matter and Meaning, Durham & London: Duke University Press, 2007; Jane Bennett, Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things, Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2010; Tim Ingold, Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description, London and New York: Routledge, 2011; Tim Ingold, The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill, London and New York: Routledge, 2000; Bruno Latour, Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor Network Theory, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005; Timothy Morton, The Ecological Thought, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2010. Alfred Gell's work on the agency of objects is also worth noting. However, for the purposes of the present study Gell's work is less relevant than the authors noted above, because he did not explore the agency of non-humans but instead sought to discover human agency imbedded within objects. For an insightful discussion of the differences between Alfred Gell and Bruno Latour's approaches to agency see Daniel Miller, ed., Materiality, Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2005, 11-14. For Gell's theory of objects and agency, see Alfred Gell, Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998. 13 See most recently: Droth, Taking Shape. See also, Campbell, 'Balancing Act,' 107-118; Mimi Hellman, 'Furniture, Sociability, and the Work of Leisure in Eighteenth Century France,' Eighteenth Century Studies, 32: 4, 1999, 415-445. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 4 recently been called the posthuman turn.14 Moreover, as Ruth Phillips’ recent explorations of objects as subjects have shown, it is also in dialogue with on-going work on indigenous epistemologies.15 It thus forms part of a growing awareness by art historians of the relational and interdependent nature of people, objects, and spaces. Such an approach will help art historians transcend the historical division of high art and decorative art, allowing the discipline to see and experience its objects of study in new ways.16 The decorative arts and the early modern domestic interior To begin the task of fostering an ecological approach to the decorative arts, this study focuses on just one environment: the early modern home. This environment has been chosen because the development of the decorative arts and the development of the home are inextricably tied together in early modern Europe.17 By studying the decorative arts as part of an environment, it is possible to observe the dynamics of an ecology – that is, the intertwining of the human and non-human, the material and the social, and, especially for the purposes of this study, of the art object and the so-called decorative object. Supporting an ecological approach to the decorative arts in the domestic interior are modern and early modern writings that 14 For some of these developments, see Fiona Candlin and Raiford Guins, eds, The Object Reader, London and New York: Routledge, 2009; Diana Coole and Samantha Frost, New Materialisms: Ontology, Agency, and Politics, Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2010; François Quiviger, The Sensory World of Italian Renaissance Art, London: Reaktion, 2010; Edward W. Soja, Postmodern Geographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory, London and New York: Verso, 1989; Michael J. Deer, ed., GeoHumanities: Art, History, Text at the Edge of Place, London, UK and New York, NY: Routledge, 2011; Mariët Westermann, ed., Anthropologies of Art, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2005; Melissa Gregg and Gregory J. Seigworth, eds, The Affect Theory Reader, Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2010. 15 See, most recently, Ruth Phillip's session at the CIHA congress in Nuremberg in 2012, 'The Object as Subject'. The papers are published in Grossmann and Krutisch, The Challenge of the Object. 16 Throughout this article I have used interchangeably the terms 'object' and 'thing.' Scholars who deliberately use the term 'thing' rather than 'object' do so to reject the 'objectification' inherent in the term 'object,' which reflects the Kantian distinction between the thing as passive object and subject of human perception and the thing as an entirely autonomous subject, thereby challenging the normative subject/object dichotomy. In art historical scholarship it is still more common to use the term 'object' while continuing to explore, interrogate, and problematize the ontology of objects. Thus, I continue to use the term 'object' as a term that allows for the exploration of a myriad of human - non-human relationships. For a recent, succinct discussion of the use of the term 'thing' and a justification of the term 'object' see Penny Harvey, Eleanor Conlin Casella, et al., eds, Objects and Materials: A Routledge Companion, London and New York: Routledge, 2014, 3-4. 17 See, for example, James R. Lindow, The Renaissance Palace in Florence: Magnificence and Splendour in Fifteenth-Century Italy, Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2007; Marta Ajmar-Wollheim and Flora Dennis, eds, At Home in Renaissance Italy, London: V&A Publications, 2006; Richard Goldthwaite, Wealth and the Demand for Art in Italy 1300-1600, Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993, 212-255. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 5 evoke the home as a small world and microcosm of the universe. Gaston Bachelard, for example, in The Poetics of Space calls the home 'our first universe, a real cosmos in every sense of the word.'18 Home, Akiko Busch writes in Geography of Home, comprises a host of 'interior systems' - a 'network' of 'habits, beliefs, and values.'19 Mary Douglas, in 'The Idea of a Home,' characterises the home as a moral economy designed to ensure the perpetuation of the family.20 Daniel Miller argues in The Comfort of Things, that home is in fact a 'little cosmology,' an 'order of things, values and relationships' expressed by the household material culture.21 Such cultural imaginaries of the home as an ethical system, a moral economy, and a miniature world have their roots in early modern Europe. Early modern writers on the home referred to it as an 'economy,' a 'small city' and a microcosm of the universe.22 Such modern and historical ideas about the home as a small world are an invitation to consider the people, objects, and spaces of the domestic interior as an integrated environment. In particular, to approach the decorative arts within the home as forming part of an integrated environment of people, things, and spaces, this study builds on scholarship concerned with the role of objects and space in social processes. The early modern Italian domestic interior is an expanding area of inquiry. Scholars have shed light on the socio-cultural implications of specific categories of domestic furnishings and objects, broadened the range of objects under our purview, and enriched our understanding of the complex and layered social functions and meanings of domestic objects.23 Nevertheless, typically such scholarship 18 Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, translated by Maria Jolas, New York: Orion Press, 1964, 4. 19 Akiko Busch, Geography of Home: Writings on Where We Live, New York, NY: Princeton Architectural Press, 1999, 163. 20 Mary Douglas, 'The Idea of a Home: A Kind of Space,' Social Research, 58: 1, Spring 1991, 297. 21 Daniel Miller, The Comfort of Things, Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2008, 294. 22 Giacomo Lanteri, Della economica, Venice: Vincenzo Valgrisi, 1560, 159. As Lanteri writes: 'Fa stima, che questa nostra casa ad ambidue noi & alla nostra famiglia commune, sia una picciola città (che così la possiamo chiamare per comparatione)...'. For a study of early modern concepts of the home as microcosm of universal order, see Daniela Frigo, Il padre di famiglia: Governo della casa e governo civile nella tradizione dell’ ‘economica’ tra cinque e seicento, Rome: Bulzoni Editore, 1985. 23 Marta Ajmar, 'Toys for Girls: Objects, Women and Memory in the Renaissance Household,' in Marius Kwint, Christopher Breward and Jeremy Aynsley, eds, Material Memories, Oxford: 1999, 75-89; Marta Ajmar-Wollheim, Flora Dennis, and Ann Matchette, eds, Approaching the Italian Renaissance interior: sources, methodologies, debates, Malden, Massachusetts and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007; Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, At Home in Renaissance Italy; Anne Barriault, Spalliera Paintings of Renaissance Tuscany: Fables of Poets for Patrician Homes, University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 1994; Cristelle Baskins, Cassone Painting, Humanism, and Gender in Early Modern Italy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998; Andrea Bayer, ed., Art and Love in Renaissance Italy, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2008; Patricia Fortini Brown, Private Lives in Renaissance Venice: Art, Architecture and the Family, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004; Elizabeth Cohen and Thomas Cohen, 'Open and Shut: The Social Meaning of the Cinquecento Roman House,' Studies in the Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 6 contextualises objects within the spaces of the home as part of the social history of the family, domestic consumption, or patronage without examining space and materiality themselves as creative forces and powerful social agents, and without asking what we mean by 'the social.'24 Although scholars of the domestic interior have demonstrated the importance of attending to the layering of meaning within domestic spaces, such research tends to focus on paintings.25 To move beyond an implicit sense of space as a mere container of meaning, and objects as somehow adding meaning, and to interrogate the interplay amongst art, decorative art, architectural space, and the family, the ecological approach draws on early modern sources for the home as well as research in both the social sciences and humanities concerned with the social experience of materiality and space, to re-conceptualize the domestic interior in terms of meshwork in which the spatial, the material and the social are woven together. 'Remembering' the home environment: historical sources and research tools To craft a new ecological approach to the early modern domestic interior that transcends the historical divide in our scholarship between art and decorative art, scholars must engage with the past as a temporal environment that exists only in the imagination. The home spaces studied by scholars have been reconfigured, the people are long dead, and the objects are dispersed. Ingold encourages historians to view the study of environments long gone as an act of remembrance. 'Remembering,' Ingold contends, 'is not so much a matter of calling up an internal image, stored in the mind, as of engaging perceptually with an environment that is itself pregnant with the past.'26 Remembering means listening to historical sources for the intertwining of the material and the social: for an environment, like music, is Decorative Arts, Fall-Winter 2001-2002, 61-84; Goldthwaite, Wealth and the Demand for Art; Lindow, The Renaissance Palace in Florence; John Kent Lydecker, 'The Domestic Setting of the Arts in Renaissance Florence,' unpublished Ph.D. diss., The John Hopkins University, 1987; Jacqueline Musacchio, The Art and Ritual of Childbirth in Renaissance Italy, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999; Jacqueline Musacchio, Art, Marriage, and Family in the Florentine Renaissance Palace, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2008; Monika Schmitter, 'The Quadro da Portego in Sixteenth-Century Venetian Art,' Renaissance Quarterly 64: 3, Fall 2011, 693-751; Dora Thornton, The Scholar in his Study: Ownership and Experience in Renaissance Italy, New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1997; Peter Thornton, The Italian Renaissance Interior, 1400-1600, New York: Harry N Abrams, 1991; Paola Tinagli, 'Womanly Virtues in Quattrocento Florentine Marriage Furnishings,' in Letizia Panizza, ed., Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society, Oxford: Legenda, 2000, 265-284. 24 Good examples include Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, At Home in Renaissance Italy; Brown, Private Lives in Renaissance Venice; Lindow, The Renaissance Palace in Florence; Raffaella Sarti, Europe at Home: Family and Material Culture 1500-1800, translated by Allan Cameron, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002. 25 Luke Syson, 'Representing Domestic Interiors,' in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, At Home in Renaissance Italy, 86- 101; Schmitter, 'The Quadro da Portego.' 26 Ingold, Perception of the Environment, 189. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 7 present only through its performance.27 While Ingold’s thoughts are evocative, actually answering how art historians might engage perceptually with past environments, what traditional sources would be used, what new sources might be needed, and how to approach the sources of historical information in both accepted and novel ways, is one of the tasks of the ecological approach. Essential to the project of engaging perceptually with the home environment are a variety of traditional historical sources, including physical evidence, literary descriptions, diaries, letters, account books, household inventories, probate inventories, wills, and prescriptive writings on the home. The second part of this essay demonstrates how to apply this new approach using three examples of these types of sources: a painting, a literary description, and an object. In particular, the ecological approach values prints, paintings, sculptures, terracotta plaques, pictures on birth trays and cassoni, and other pictorial sources for such sources capture the experience of the historical home as an integrated environment. Attesting to the value of pictures for both factual information and socio-cultural knowledge about class, gender, family, spirituality, and ideology, are research resources such as the AHRC Domestic Interiors Database in the UK and related publications, which give equal attention to visual and textual representations of the domestic interior.28 Moreover, the development and refinement of relevant digital technologies can support fresh approaches to traditional sources and facilitate observation and analysis of the ecological dimension of the domestic interior. To understand fully the complex interrelatedness of the social, the spatial, and the material in the early modern domestic interior it is necessary to map multiple pathways of people and objects through time and space. Historical visualisations of past home environments, such as the so-called period room, are typically hampered by their inability to integrate objects, people, space and time simultaneously.29 Period rooms simplify the elements of people, time, and space to present factual detail about historical furnishings. Certain types of digital knowledge visualisation open up the potential for investigating and visualising the home as a meshwork of people, 27 Ingold, Perception of the Environment, 197. 28 For the Domestic Interiors Database see http://www.rca.ac.uk/Default.aspx?ContentID=502924&CategoryID=36764, and the related publication: Jeremy Ainsley and Charlotte Grant, eds, Imagined Interiors: Representing the Domestic Interior Since the Renaissance, London: V&A Publications; New York, NY: Harry N. Abrams, 2006. For additional studies of representations of interiors in both art and literature see Frances Borzello, The Domestic Interior in Art, London: Thames & Hudson, 2006; and Julia Prewett Brown, The Bourgeois Interior, Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press, 2008. 29 For recent studies of some of the challenges involved in creating and displaying period rooms, see Adriana Turpin, 'Objectifying the Domestic Interior: Domestic Furnishings and the Historical Interpretation of the Italian Renaissance Interior,' in Campbell, Miller, and Carroll Consavari, The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 207-225; Susan Wegner, 'Recreating the Italian Domestic Interior: A Case Study of One Museum's Approach to the Period Room,' in Campbell, Miller, and Carroll Consavari, The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 227-243. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 8 objects, and spaces in time.30 Catherine Richardson and Tara Hamling's recent project 'Ways of Seeing the English Domestic Interior, 1500-1700: the case of decorative textiles,' investigated the atmospheric and experiential qualities of early modern English domestic space using computer visualization techniques and eye- tracking technology.31 GIS (Geographical Information Systems) can provide a spatially referenced database that allows researchers to explore change geographically and temporally. Historical GIS refers to approaches to historical research involving GIS, while Humanities GIS extends the use of these tools to other areas of humanistic research, such as literary studies and film studies. Quantitative data are already well explored in Historical GIS. Humanists, however, are developing new ways to incorporate qualitative data, which can include textual descriptions, images, photographs, maps, sound, and video.32 The ability of GIS to integrate qualitative data from a range of historical sources facilitates the investigation of the home as a spatio-temporal 'homescape'. GIS can be used to answer questions about the flow of people and objects in spaces, to investigate the conception of the home as an ecological system. GIS has three basic roles: it provides a spatially referenced database; it allows the visualization of data; and it allows the analysis of data. A spatially referenced database for the home allows scholars to ask what is at a specific location, where certain features are found, and what are near these features. In addition, it allows the integration of information from disparate sources, such as inventories, diaries, descriptions, visual images, architecture, etc., which will be brought together and interrelated through the use of location. One example of the potential of GIS to support the investigation of the home as an environment is offered by Michael Anderson's use of small-scale GIS to analyse the phenomenological effects created by the arrangement of domestic spaces in a sample of sixty-five Pompeian houses.33 Arguing for the close connection between social life and space, Anderson's goal was to study how inhabitants moved through space in the home, focusing on the relative visibility of spaces. As Anderson contends: 'Each social interchange that takes place within the spaces created by a house is patterned by spaces and their phenomenology.'34 Instead of the large-scale spatial information on the scale of cities and continents that is typical for GIS projects, Anderson used small-scale GIS and introduced maps 30 David J. Bodenhamer, John Corrigan, and Trevor M. Harris, eds, The Spatial Humanities: GIS and the Future of Humanities Scholarship, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010; Ian Gregory and Paul S. Ell, Historical GIS: Technologies, Methodologies, and Scholarship, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008; Chris Johanson, et al., 'Teaching Digital Humanities Through Digital Cultural Mapping,' in Brett Hirsch, ed., Digital Humanities Pedagogy: Practices, Principles and Politics, U.S. & U.K.: Open Book Publishers, 2012, 121-149. 31 For this project, see: http://www.kent.ac.uk/mems/domestic%20interior.htm.l 32 For examples, see Anne Burdick, et al. Digital Humanities, Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, 2012; Gregory and Ell, Historical GIS; Johanson, 'Teaching Digital Humanities.' 33 Michael Anderson, 'Mapping the Domestic Landscape: GIS, Visibility, and the Pompeian House,' in F. Niccolucci, and S. Hermon, eds, Beyond the Artifact - Digital Interpretations of the Past, Proceedings of CAA2004, Prato 13-17 April 2004, Archaeolingua, Budapest, 183-189. 34 Anderson, 'Mapping the Domestic Landscape,' 183. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 9 of the home into the system by digitizing sixty-five house plans. GIS allowed him to factor time and movement into his study of visibility to create a visibility map of the home that characterized 'the experience of an actor moving through architecture.'35 By using GIS to map the shifting viewpoints within the spaces of the home, Anderson's research has produced unexpected insights into domestic space. For example, spaces in the Pompeian home formerly thought to be the most private were shown to be the areas of greatest visual focus. Moreover, rooms that had been decorated with exquisite frescoes and therefore assumed to be for the purposes of élite display, were shown to be visually and pragmatically remote, so that any audience would be very restricted. Through these findings, GIS enabled Anderson to present a far more detailed and functional account of the Pompeian house than previous scholarship. The social, the material, and space The rest of this study will introduce the core concepts that are integral to the ecological approach and demonstrate their utility through several examples. First, however, it is necessary to define what this study means by the social, the material, and space. i. The social The proposed ecological framework builds on Latour's concept that the social itself is an ongoing, mobile, chaotic, and contingent process of binding together what constitutes society.36 For Latour, the so-called social structure is replaced by the idea of social associations and assemblages. As Latour argues in Reassembling the Social, 'I am going to define the social not as a special domain, a specific realm, or a particular sort of thing, but only as a very peculiar movement of re-association and reassembling'37 - the study of which he calls the 'sociology of associations'.38 From this perspective, the decorative arts of the home form part of the concatenations of people and things that through their associations do not simply reflect the social world of the home, they are the social world of the home. The goal is not to assign intentionality to domestic objects, but to recognize that things without intentions comprise our social worlds. Social practices 'are carried forward by things…which hold together and stand in for the common understanding of human actors.'39 In other words, 'non-human actants' bring 'intentionalities together'.40 Latour's ideas 35 Anderson, 'Mapping the Domestic Landscape,' 186. 36 Latour, Reassembling the Social, 4-7. Latour writes: 'I am going to define the social not as a special domain, a specific realm, or a particular sort of thing, but only as a very peculiar movement of re-association and reassembling' (7). See also Anne Taufel Wessells, 'Book Review: Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory by Bruno Latour,' International Public Management Journal, 10: 3, 2007, 351-56. 37 Latour, Reassembling the Social, 7. 38 Latour, Reassembling the Social, 9. He notes that he wishes he could call this form of sociology 'associology.' 39 Wessells, 'Book Review: Reassembling the Social,' 355. 40 Wessells, 'Book Review: Reassembling the Social,' 355. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 10 encourage researchers to approach the decorative arts as social agents that through their associations with other objects and humans form what Latour refers to as 'the many entanglements of humans and non-humans.'41 At the same time, the definition of the social as association and assemblage undermines the notion of so- called material culture as forming a domain separate from living culture. To underscore the importance of objects as actors in social life, Latour points out the absurdity of talking about "'material culture,'" which suggests that objects are 'simply connected to one another so as to form an homogeneous layer'. This, he suggests, is just as absurd as imagining, a 'configuration' in which people are 'linked to one another by nothing else than social ties.' Indeed, as Latour argues, 'Objects are never assembled together to form some other realm anyhow'. In fact, critiquing the limited role accorded objects in Marxism, as well as the theories of sociologists Pierre Bourdieu and Erving Goffman, Latour makes a case for the 'multiplicity' of objects' effects, arguing that the activity of objects 'is no doubt much more varied, their influence more ubiquitous, their effect much more ambiguous, their presence much more distributed than these narrow repertoires.'42 ii. The material Although Latour’s ideas help to interrogate the role of the decorative arts in constituting the social world of home, Ingold's concept of meshwork allows scholars of the decorative arts to approach their objects of study from a phenomenological and environmental perspective, adding the elements of experience and affect. Above all, Ingold's concept of meshwork draws our attention to how the materials of the decorative arts themselves are living parts of an environment. Ingold argues that whereas the defining feature of objects in Latour's 'network' is their role as discrete and bounded parts of an 'assemblage of bits and pieces,'43 by contrast, the defining feature of objects in the meshwork is their role in 'the interplay of forces' that make up the 'tangle of threads and pathways' of the meshwork.44 In this view, objects form part of the action which 'emerges from the interplay of forces conducted along the lines of the meshwork.'45 While Latour’s theories accord materiality a constitutive role in the social – it is an actant in the network – the meshwork recognizes that 'for things to interact they must be immersed in a kind of force field set up by the currents of the media that surround them.'46 As Ingold argues in a chapter in Being Alive entitled 'Materials Against Materiality,' the growing literature in anthropology and archaeology on materiality has little to say about actual materials - 'the stuff that things are made of'.47 Ingold asks observers of an environment to perceive the seeming bounded containment of objects as an illusion. In fact, he argues, the human and non-human 'swim in an ocean of 41 Latour, Reassembling the Social, 84. 42 Latour, Reassembling the Social, 84-85. 43 Ingold, Being Alive, 92. 44 Ingold, Being Alive, 92. 45 Ingold, Being Alive, 64. 46 Ingold, Being Alive, 93. 47 Ingold, Being Alive, 20. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 11 materials.'48 Objects and humans exist in a state of 'flux in which materials of the most diverse kinds, through processes of admixture and distillation, of coagulation and dispersal, and of evaporation and precipitation, undergo continual generation and transformation.'49 Everything exists and is 'borne along...within this current of materials.'50 iii. Space The ecological approach to the decorative arts considers space as part of the meshwork of an environment rather than as an abstract or separate quality. Space in this model is not conceived as a neutral stage or container for social activity. Instead, people, things, and space are mutually constituted.51 Space and objects in this model are fluid: they form part of 'a path of flow, like the riverbed or the veins and capillaries of the body.'52 Such ideas about space build on Henri Lefebvre's concept of 'archi-textures,' in which space has density and texture, comparable to a spider’s web.53 Helen Hills’ interpretation of early modern convent interiors as comprising interiors within interiors is also helpful for conceptualising space as textured.54 For Hills, convent interiors are 'multi-layered' with 'systems of boundaries and borders whose inter-relationships were inherently ambiguous and ambivalent.'55 Hills argues that interior spaces are permeable, so that hard and fast distinctions between exterior and interior cannot be made.56 Space, within this framework, is intensive rather than extensive – it is dense and tangled, at once chaotic and controlled.57 From this perspective, the decorative arts are not merely objects in space, but join in the material flows and processes of an environment. In motion through the activity of light, air, sound vibrations, and human interaction, domestic objects form lines of possibility - they are of the space. Just as the sense of a sharp separation between landscape and sky is an illusion - an artificial distinction - so the space of the home environment needs to be conceived as inseparable from the human and non-human elements in that environment. As Ingold argues: 'There could be no life in a world where medium and substances do not mix, or where the earth is locked inside - and the sky locked out - of a solid sphere. Wherever there is life and habitation, the interfacial separation of substance and medium is disrupted 48 Ingold, Being Alive, 24. 49 Ingold, Being Alive, 24. 50 Ingold, Being Alive, 24. 51 For a succinct summary of the emergence of this paradigmatic shift in the understanding of space and its implications see Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway, 223-224. 52 Ingold, Being Alive, 86. 53 Ingold, Being Alive, 84-85; Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith, Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 1991, 117-118. 54 Helen Hills, 'The Housing of Institutional Architecture: Searching for a Domestic Holy in Post-Tridentine Italian Convents,' in Sandra Cavallo and Silvia Evangelisti, eds, Domestic Institutional Interiors in Early Modern Europe, Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2009, 126. 55 Hills, 'Housing of Institutional Architecture,' 127. 56 Hills, 'Housing of Institutional Architecture,' 122-127. 57 Hills, 'Housing of Institutional Architecture,' 141. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 12 to give way to mutual permeability and binding.' 58 We live in the world, Ingold contends: 'We inhabit our environment: we are part of it; and through this practice of habitation it becomes part of us too.'59 Similarly, the decorative arts 'inhabit' the home environment - they are of the environment. As opposed to closed, objective forms, the decorative arts are open to the world of the home. Time, light, heat, cold, dampness, seasonal change, sound, all form the 'weather-world' of the home with which the decorative arts live out their lives.60 Space then, in the ecological approach to the decorative arts, is one part of an interconnected series of parts of an environment. Core concepts Building on these approaches to the social, the material, and space, the ecological approach consists of the following core concepts: i. Environment The home environment is the surroundings in which family members operate. Key to an understanding of the home as an environment is to see objects, spaces, and people as having a symbiotic relationship. Movement is at the heart of this model. Home is therefore not static, like a period room in a museum. The home is a place in which the human and non-human are in constant flux. The ontology of people and things is thus interdependent. Ingold tells us 'to perceive the environment is not to look back on the things to be found in it, or to discern their congealed shapes and layouts, but to join with them in the material flows and movements contributing to their – and our – ongoing formation.'61 Everything takes place in an environment, what Timothy Morton describes as 'a vast, sprawling mesh of interconnection without a definite centre or edge.'62 Morton asks: 'At what point do we stop,' when we seek to draw 'a line between environment and non-environment'?63 ii. Ecology The concept of ecology develops further the idea of movement and flux by similarly emphasising inter-relatedness and movement. As Jane Bennett writes, an ecology is defined by flow, movement, and inter-activity: it is 'an interconnected series of parts, but it is not a fixed order of parts, for the order is always being reworked in accordance with a certain "freedom of choice" exercised by its actants.'64 To adopt an ecological sensibility, is to put the emphasis on horizontal rather than hierarchical 58 Ingold, Being Alive, 120. 59 Ingold, Being Alive, 95. 60 'Weather-world' is Ingold's phrase. He uses it to characterise what it is like to inhabit the open: 'it is not to be stranded on the outer surface of the earth but to be caught up in the substantial flows and aerial fluxes of what I call the weather-world.' See Ingold, Being Alive, 96. 61 Ingold, Being Alive, 88. 62 Morton, Ecological Thought, 8. 63 Morton, Ecological Thought, 10. 64 Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 97. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 13 relationships between people, things, and spaces.65 Ecological thought, according to Morton, is 'thinking of interconnectedness.'66 Thinking ecologically, Morton explains, is 'a practice and a process of becoming fully aware of how human beings are connected with other beings - animal, vegetable, or mineral.'67 Morton underscores that 'When we start looking, we find the ecological thought everywhere.'68 To reframe the home and its decorative arts in ecological terms, is to stay open to possibilities, to engage in questioning about categories and relationships between people and things, the human and non-human, art and decorative art. As Morton asserts, 'Thinking the ecological thought is difficult: it involves becoming open, radically open - open forever, without the possibility of closing again.'69 iii. Meshwork The metaphor of meshwork gives further substance to the concept of the home as an environment and an ecology in which the human and non-human are interdependent. Meshwork foregrounds texture, atmosphere and affect. To approach the decorative arts of the home from the perspective of meshwork is to emphasise interconnection within the domestic environment. Writing about the 'mesh', Morton defines it as the condition of interconnectedness: '"the interconnectedness of all living and non-living things."'70 The mesh, he insists 'consists of infinite connections and infinitesimal differences.'71 Morton urges readers to 'think stockings and graphic design, metals and fabrics.'72 In the mesh, there is no background or foreground, no centre or edge, since 'Each point of the mesh is both the center and the edge of a system of points.'73 Nothing within this 'vast mesh of interconnection,'74 Morton argues, 'is complete in itself.'75 Ingold uses the term meshwork to characterise the environment, which he describes as a 'domain of entanglement.' It is 'a tangle of interlaced trails, continually ravelling here and unravelling there.'76 The environment as meshwork is 'entangled lines of life, growth, movement.'77 Ingold distinguishes the meshwork from Latour’s powerful concept of the 'network.' In Latour’s metaphor of network, objects are connected with human agents and both are vital actants as well as mediators that constitute the social. Making a pun on the acronym for Latour's Actor Network Theory, ANT, to Latour's 'ants’, Ingold posits ‘the spider’, thereby 65 Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 10. 66 Morton, Ecological Thought, 7. 67 Morton, Ecological Thought, 7. 68 Morton, Ecological Thought, 7. 69 Morton, Ecological Thought, 8. 70 Morton, Ecological Thought, 28. 71 Morton, Ecological Thought, 30. 72 Morton, Ecological Thought, 28. 73 Morton, Ecological Thought, 28-29. 74 Morton, Ecological Thought, 38. 75 Morton, Ecological Thought, 33. 76 Ingold, Being Alive, 71. 77 Ingold, Being Alive, 63. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 14 transforming Latour's network in which there is merely a connection between things, into a web-work, which Ingold defines as a living tangle of threads and pathways.78 Ingold argues: 'behind the conventional image of a network of interacting entities, [there is] what I call the meshwork of entangled lines of life, growth and movement. This is the world we inhabit.'79 Latour's concept of the 'network' becomes the 'web-work' through such essential elements as perception, movement, and 'habitation’. The meshwork, Ingold contends, is 'not a network of interconnected points, but a meshwork of interwoven lines.'80 iv. Assemblage A dynamic part of the meshwork – contributing to its vitality - is the 'congregational agency' which accrues from assemblages of objects and materials. Assemblages, Bennett explains, 'are ad hoc groupings of diverse elements.'81 As an 'open-ended collective,'82 assemblages have 'emergent properties' that are 'capable of independent variation' and new sets of relationships are always possible.83 The decorative arts within such groupings increase their agency by being interwoven with other objects and materials, so that the whole is greater than the parts. v. Vital materiality The concept of living matter views matter as joining people and objects in a shared materiality that minimizes the difference between subjects and objects.84 As Bennett argues, 'a newfound attentiveness to matter and its powers ... can inspire a greater sense of the extent to which all bodies are kin in the sense of inextricably enmeshed in a dense network of relations.'85 vi. Distributive agency The concept of distributive agency underscores that agency is shared in assemblages comprised of the human and non-human. With distributive agency, objects and people are joined 'horizontally' rather than 'vertically'. Distributive agency levels 78 Ingold, Being Alive, 91-92. 79 Ingold, Being Alive, 63. 80 Ingold, Being Alive, 63. Compare also archaeologist Ian Hodder's concept of 'entanglement,' which builds on Latour's ideas of relationality while also responding to what Hodder sees as 'insufficient attention to the ways in which humans and things in their physical connectedness to each other...entrap each other.' Ian Hodder, Entangled: An Archaeology of the Relationships Between Humans and Things, West Sussex, UK: Wiley- Blackwell, 2012, 93. For Hodder, entanglements are 'specific flows of matter, energy and information' (105). Building on Ingold's work, archaeologist Carl Knappett uses the concept of 'meshwork' to interpret Aegean Bronze Age culture. See Carl Knappett, 'Networks of Objects, Meshworks of Things,' in Tim Ingold, ed., Redrawing Anthropology: Materials, Movements, Lines, Farnham, Surrey and Burlington, VT.: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2011, 45- 63. 81 Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 23. 82 Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 24. 83 Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 35. 84 Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 13. 85 Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 13. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 15 the playing field of social action between the human and the non-human, and for our purposes herein, between high art and decorative art. As Bennett notes: 'A lot happens to the concept of agency once nonhuman things are figured less as social constructions and more as actors, and once humans themselves are assessed not as autonoms but as vital materialities.'86 Distributive agency recognizes that the social arises from the intertwining and interdependency of materialities both human and non-human. vii. Matter as social performance Building on the concept of matter as alive, and also enriched by notions of assemblage and distributive agency, is the approach to matter as social performance developed by Karen Barad. This complex idea reminds scholars not to essentialize matter. It asserts that the meaning of matter, starting at the molecular level, is relational, arising out of inter-relations in the meshwork. Barad, exploring 'the dynamic and contingent materialization of space, time and bodies,' encourages us to understand matter not in terms of the 'property of things,' but as constituted by 'a dynamic and shifting entanglement of relations.'87 In this conception of matter, 'Agency is not aligned with human intentionality or subjectivity,' but ensues from what Barad calls 'intra-activity' or the 'changing possibilities' of space-time-matter relationships, so that agency, and the agency of matter in particular, is 'an enactment, not something that someone or something has.'88 The early modern domestic interior: meshwork and assemblage To demonstrate the value of the above concepts for the study of the decorative arts of the home, the final part of this essay will focus on two closely related core concepts: meshwork and assemblage. The sixteenth-century Venetian depiction of a biblical wedding, Marriage Feast at Cana, by an anonymous painter after a work by Tintoretto, which records the setting, objects, and class of people typical of a contemporary Venetian patrician wedding (Figure 1),89 provides evidence for the concept of 'meshwork.' The ceramics, glassware, metal-ware, table-carpets, table- cloths, serviettes, cutlery, acquaio (wall-fountain), table, benches, credenza, banners, and musical instruments depicted in this image are not simply discrete objects acting as social connectors in a network, but create along with embodied human agents and space the environment itself. Approaching this image as a document or 'remembrance' of an environment heightens our awareness of space-time-matter interconnections, in which the human and non-human are perpetually entangled 86 Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 21. 87 Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway, 224. 88 Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway, 235. 89 For a discussion of this image in the context of sixteenth-century Venetian dining and élite marriage celebrations, see Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, At Home in Renaissance Italy, 244-45, and cat. no. 50 (p. 355), which attributes the painting to 'After Tintoretto, Greco-Venetian artist, (Michele Damaskinos?),' and dates it to c. 1561-70 (80 x 118 cm; tempera and oil on wood panel; in the Museo Correr, Musei Civici Veneziani). The painting is after Tintoretto's Marriage Feast at Cana, in S. Maria della Salute, Venice, Italy. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 16 and in motion. As a record of the 'weather-world' of the home, referring back to Ingold's phrase, the image alerts the researcher to atmospheric effects of both natural light and light from the candles - placed near the ceiling in wall-mounted holders - as it changes over the day and as it is filtered by the density of air, mediated by the heat from bodies, and moderated by the coolness radiating from the polished floors. Sounds, as well, form part of the homescape, so that the sound of water from the washing of hands at the acquaio, the tempo and melody of the music - created by the musicians represented on the left of the image - the lilt of human voices in conversation, of varying registers and speeds, and the clang of serving-ware and clatter of silverware mediate all engagements with time and space. The image also substantiates that the senses are central to the experience of the home as a miniature world. Not only is the environment comprised of people and things, but also of the aromas of food, drink, perfumes, and sweat, the feel on the skin of breezes wafting through, the visual pleasures of brightly coloured, patterned clothing of diverse cut and fabric, the bright white of tablecloths, the glint of brass, the glossy sheen of porcelain, and the richness of polished wood, all of which are mediated by the perceiver, whose response is calibrated by a myriad of embodied and social factors, including age, gender, race, and class. An essential part of such a meshwork, and contributing to its vitality, is the 'congregational agency' which accrues from assemblages of objects. Such groupings of objects increase their agency by being interwoven with other material agencies, so that the whole is greater than the parts. All the members of an assemblage have emergent properties, and are capable of independent variation. In an assemblage, new sets of relationships are always possible.90 One key site to observe the dynamics of the assemblage are fireplaces. The fireplace, as Mimi Hellman has argued, 'was a key element of the well-appointed interior', and addressed both family members and guests 'through multiple modes of signification - visual, material, spatial, social, and even somatic.'91 It is, to paraphrase Bachelard, 'the little sun' of the 'little universe' of home, generating vital symbolic and somatic heat.92 It can be compared to Bachelard's evocation of the 'evening lamp on the family table' that he writes is 'the centre of a world’.93 'In fact,' Bachelard continues, 'the lamp- lighted table is a little world in itself'.94 Hellman relates that in the homes of the élite in eighteenth-century France, 'the fireplace was probably the most densely articulated zone in any type of social space.'95 Hellman's description of objects that congregate around this significant symbolic-sensual site within the home, where 90 Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 35. 'An assemblage owes its agentic capacity to the vitality of the materialities that constitute it.' Bennett, Vibrant Matter, 34. 91 Mimi Hellman, 'The Decorated Flame: Firedogs and the Tensions of the Hearth,' in Droth, Taking Shape, 180. 92 Bachelard is here quoting Cyrano de Bergerac describing an apple and an apple seed, in which the apple is the 'little universe' and the seed the 'little sun of this little world.' Bachelard, Poetics of Space, 151. 93 Bachelard, Poetics of Space, 171. 94 Bachelard, Poetics of Space, 171. 95 Hellman, 'The Decorated Flame,' 180. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 17 both heat and light are provided, signal the potential for human and non-human intra-activity: Firedogs were accompanied by tools such as shovels, pincers, tongs, bellows, and hearth brushes; firebacks incorporated figurative motifs or coats of arms; panels or mirrors sometimes covered the mouth of the fireplace when it was not in use. The greatest decorative diversity was found on the mantelpiece, which featured objects such as clocks, candlesticks, bouquets of real or artificial flowers, and porcelain vessels or figurines.96 All of the objects listed by Hellman evoke lines of possibility: shovels, pincers, tongs, bellows, and hearth brushes were embellished with a range of symbolic, classical, or heraldic allusions, which would be brought into play separately or through a sequence of activities that brought human and non-human together in the dance of fire-making. Clocks and flowers both could register time passing. Porcelain vessels and figurines can be picked up, passed around, and re-arranged to create new assemblages. Moreover, increasing the congregational agency of these items was their capacity to be 'doubled by reflection in the mirror behind them.' 97 Figure 1 After Tintoretto (Michele Damaskinos?), Marriage Feast at Cana, ca. 1561-70. Tempera and oil on wood panel, 80 x 118 cm. Venice: Museo Correr, Musei Civici Veneziani. Photo credit: Cameraphoto Arte, Venice/Art Resource, NY. Vying with the fireplace as an important source of assemblage and congregational agency are the ubiquitous credenze that graced the early modern 96 Hellman, 'The Decorated Flame,' 180. 97 Hellman, 'The Decorated Flame,' 180. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 18 home. Ranging from simple tables draped in cloth with tiered shelves for the display of precious ceramics and metal-ware, such as the one depicted on the right Figure 2 Credenza, ca. 1550-1599. Walnut wood, 115 x 254 x 71 cm. Bologna: Museo Civico d'Arte Industriale e Quadreria Davia Bargellini. Photo credit: courtesy of Museo Civico d'Arte Industriale e Quadreria Davia Bargellini. in the Marriage Feast at Cana (Figure 1), to elaborately carved walnut side-boards with drawers and cupboards and plate-racks, such as the example from the Museo Civico d'Arte Industriale e Quadreria Davia Bargellini in Bologna, illustrated in Figure 2, these valuable sites of social interaction and exchange served as stages for carving, arranging, and serving food, as well as sites for the display of precious vessels.98 Objects also clustered around them, like filings around a magnet, attesting 98 For a discussion of the evolution of credenze in Italy, see Peter Thornton, The Italian Renaissance Interior, 205-209, 220-222. For the textiles, ceramics, and metalware that might be associated with credenze and dining, see Marta Ajmar-Wollheim, 'Sociability,' in Ajmar- Wollheim and Dennis, At Home in Renaissance Italy, 210-214; Allen J. Grieco, 'Meals,' in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, At Home in Renaissance Italy, 244-253; and Reino Liefkes, 'Tableware,' in Ajmar-Wollheim and Dennis, At Home in Renaissance Italy, 254-265. For a study of the majolica owned by Alfonso II d'Este intended for such display, see Carmen Ravanelli Guidotti, 'Le "credenze" nuziali di Alfonso II d'Este,' in Marina Cogotti and June di Schino, eds, Magnificenze a tavola: Le arti del banchetto rinascimentale, Rome: De Luca Editori d'Arte, 2012, 55-66. For the credenza in the Museo Civio d'Arte Industriale e Quadreria Davia Bargellini, Bologna, Italy, illustrated in Figure 2, see Graziano Manni, Mobili Antichi in Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 19 to the power of the assemblage, including terracotta plaques, paintings, wine- servers, linens, tapestries, and benches. So much more than mere furniture, credenze operated as a kind of micro-ecology within a macro-ecology, in which the assemblage of various kinds of objects and materials was rich with possibilities for both material and social interaction, all of which was unpredictable and filled with movement and life, like an organism. Approached as an assemblage, art and decorative art are subsumed within the whole, hierarchies of the object recede, and all is relational. One source of evidence for the power of the credenza-assemblage are sixteenth-century descriptions of interiors, such as the Bolognese literary giant Giulio Cesare Croce’s seventy-page ekphrasis in the vernacular of Il Tuscolano (1582),99 a villa in the countryside near Bologna modelled on Cicero's Tusculan villa, about four kilometres from the Porta Galliera. It was built in 1561 by two brothers, Giovanni Battista and Francesco Ramondini, and sold in 1566 to Monsignor Giovanni Battista Campeggi, Bolognese nobleman and Bishop of Majorca (1507- 1583), who was a member of an eminent senatorial family.100 As Nadja Aksamija has shown, Croce’s text - which deserves more attention by scholars of the early modern domestic interior - formed part of numerous neo-Latin and vernacular letters and poems written in praise of the villa between 1567-1582 by Campeggi, his nephew Giovanni Galeazzo (Giangaleazzo) Rossi, and many other letterati.101 The commemoration of villas in poetry and letters was inspired by antique precedents, such as Pliny the Younger's villa letters, and was very popular in sixteenth-century Italy. These writings were often composed by patrons or their architects.102 In the case of Campeggi's Il Tuscolano, Aksamija argues that the outpouring of writings on the villa were a deliberate strategy 'to immortalize Campeggi as the new, Christian Cicero.'103 The writings on Campeggi's Il Tuscolano - including 23 different poems by 14 different authors - were in the form of panegyrics, ekphrases, and letters.104 Croce's poem is one of the longest texts and one of the few works which were published. The text could potentially be dismissed as a purely literary exercise divorced from the actual physical reality of the villa itself because, significantly, it is Emilia-Romagna, Modena: Artioli, 1993, 47. The credenza is dated to c. 1550-99. It is made of walnut wood, and its dimensions are 115 x 254 x 71 cm. 99 Giulio Cesare Croce, Descrittione del nobil palazzo posto nel conta di Bologna detto Tusculano del molto Illustre, et Reverendiss. Monsignore, Il Sig. Gio Battista Campeggi Vescovo di Maiorca, Bologna: Gio. Rossi, 1582. 100 The villa was destroyed in 1820. For the history of the villa and its destruction, see Nadja Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry in the Making of a Christian Cicero: Giovanni Battista Campeggi's Tuscolano and the Literary Culture of the Villa in Counter-Reformation Bologna,' Villa I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance, 13, 2010, 128-130; Giancarlo Roversi, 'Il Tuscolano: Vicende e splendori di una villa scomparsa,' Stenna Storica Bolognese, Anno 14, dopo 1956, 1-48. 101 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 130. 102 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 131. 103 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 130. 104 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 135. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 20 known that some of the authors who wrote tributes had never seen the villa.105 However, despite its genesis in the Ciceronian self-fashioning of the patron, Croce's poem is remarkable in its ability to re-create the spatial and material experience of the villa as an environment. Such is its perceived accuracy that Croce's text is the major source for the reconstruction of the appearance of the villa.106 Aksamija somewhat ruefully observes that Croce 'stops in every room to dwell on what seems like every mantelpiece, painting, dish, utensil, and piece of furniture.'107 Bemoaning the fact that he is too interested in the details of furnishings to provide the names of artists who produced the artworks, she is, nevertheless, impressed by Croce's attention to orienting the viewer spatially. Despite referring to the poem as 'tedious and inventory-like at times,' Aksamija praises it as 'an invaluable source of information on the Tuscolano's spatial layout and the variety of objects and furnishings with which Campeggi had adorned its interior.' 108 Croce's 'literary double' of Il Tuscolano,109 which carefully plots the visitor's movements through the villa - even mimicking in the tri-partite format of the poem the tri-partite structure of the villa110 - would offer an interesting test case for Anderson's methodology discussed above in the section on GIS.111 The visibility map produced by his use of small-scale GIS could be generated using the ground plan of Il Tuscolano, and then correlated with Croce's description of the visitor's movement through the villa to see how they compare. Given the poem's keen attention to objects in space and to the visitor's unfolding experience of the space over time, the text offers outstanding evidence for how the interior is experienced as an environment. Using language that captures the affective dimension, such as 'stupendous,' 'astonishing,' 'comfortable,' and 'marvellous,’ Croce devotes the longest descriptions not to artworks, but to describing the effect on the viewer of beds, bedding, benches, vases, leather hangings, white linen tablecloths, and other furnishings. Contributing to the evocation of an environment, in addition to describing the effects of the furnishings on the senses, Croce includes descriptions of the qualities of space, as well as light effects, which he registers as seeming to come from the stars and the heavens.112 Significantly, his most extensive descriptions are of the various credenze in the villa. Through these descriptions, the idea of the credenza as an assemblage with emergent possibilities and the potential for new sets of relationships are conveyed. For 105 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 134. 106 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 135, note 23. 107 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 150. 108 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 151-152. 109 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 150. 110 Aksamija, 'Architecture and Poetry,' 151. In its focus on orienting the viewer in space, Croce's poem could be compared to Torquato Tasso's description of the villa in his dialogue Il padre di famiglia (1580s). Torquato Tasso, 'Il padre di famiglia/The Father of the Family' in Tasso's Dialogues, translated with introduction and notes by Carnes Lord and Dain A. Trafton, Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1982, 43-149. The dialogue dates to the 1580s (Tasso, 'Il padre di famiglia,' 6). 111 Anderson, 'Mapping the Domestic Landscape,' 183-189. 112 Croce, Descrittione, 65. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 21 example, Croce describes a large credenza that is located in one of the large receptions rooms (sala). In his description, he evokes both the parts and whole, conveying both the overall sensory impression using adjectives such as 'beautiful' and 'polished' ('polito effetto') while also identifying an interwoven array of materials and objects, including wood, leather of red, leather coverings, shelves, a wine holder,113 as well as tablecloths, serviettes, drawers, and flanking benches.114 In the description of another credenza, located within another sala - perhaps the most impressive passage in the entire book - Croce evokes the sense that the credenza is assembled ('apparecchiare') as a kind of command performance for the needs of the household.115 The credenza is presented as a living assemblage of diverse objects and materials in this passage, which underscores what is lost when a piece of furniture is extracted from its living environment and studied like a dead bug under a microscope. Croce's description provides evidence of the micro- environment of the credenza-world comprised of numerous objects and materials at the ready for interaction, such as the adorning tablecloth that 'touches the ground' at 113 'Un credezon di noce grande, & bello / Coperto del corame sopra detto, / La scaffa accommodata sopra quello, / Con la bottigliaria bene in affetto / Coperta del medesimo in quel drapello, / Che viene à far molto polito effetto, / Vi è dodici carieghe insieme unite, / Di cuoio rosso, & franze ben guarnite." 114 'Banchette con l'appoggio anco altrettante, / Et doi, à qui stan sopra due cassette; / Nelle qual son le robbe tutte quante, / Quando in ordin la tavola si mette, / Come mantili da tenere da vante, / Tovaglie, tovaglioli, & salviette, / Ch 'in opra pongon poi con leggiadria, / Quando apparecchian la bottigliaria.' Croce, Descrittione, 16. 115 'Quando la gran credenza apparecchiare / Voglion, ci vanno gl'infrascritte cose, / Che senza star à farsele prestare, / Sempre à i bisgoni lor quà son ripose. / Pria una bella tovaglia, che di pare / Può star di quante Aragne mai compose, / Candida, gentilissima, & sottile, / Ch'in ogni parte tien del signorile. Questa serve pel primo adornamento, / Et tocca terra per ogni cantone; / Poi sopra quella un gran bacil d'argento / Per più rara bellezza vi si pone, / Che tien scolpito la bell'arma drento / Del suo Reverendissimo patrone, / D'alto rilevo con la Mitra sopra, / Che veder non si può la più degn'opra. Un bel bronzo d'argento, che'l bacile / Accompagna, e sei tazze, & due saliere / Molto ben lavorate, & del simile / La panatierra ancor si può vedere, / E del proprio metallo, alto, & gentile / Due bussole ci son, ch'al mio parere; / Perche di dir il ver sempre mi cale, / Nell una il pepe stà, nell'altra il sale. / Dodici ancora d'argento, & dorati / Cuchiai vi sono con le sue forcine, / Altri sei pur d'argento lavorati, / Con sei forcine appresso belle, & fine, / Et undici coltelli assai pregiati / Col manico d'argento, e à dirlo al fine / Vi è la forchetta grande per trinciare / Quando pasto, ò banchetto si suol fare. / Nella sua coltelliera stanno quelli, / Secondo che bisogna accommodati, / Poi altro tanto numer di coltelli, / Co'l manico d'avorio, & poi dorati, / Tre ordini di piatti molto belli, / Quai di stagno battuto son formati, / Grandi, mezani, & piccioli, ch'ardito / Son di dire, che'l suo numero è infinito. Altri piatti di stagno pur battuto / Con l'orlo d'oro belli à paragone; / I quali di servire han per statuto, / Quando imbandiscon le confettione, / Con altre cose, ch' à dirle à minuto / Mai non verrei alla conclusione; / Però della credenza il fin qui sia, / Et ragioniam della bottiglieria. (25-27) Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 22 every corner, and is 'spotless' ('candida'), 'extremely delicate' ('gentilissima'), and 'fine' ('delicato'), the large silver basin engraved with the arms of the patron, another kind of vessel referred to as a 'bronze' ('bronzo') but seemingly made of silver ('d'argento'), six cups, two salt cellars ('very well wrought'), two boxes ('Due bussole') one for salt and one for pepper, numerous types of forks, knives, and spoons made of gold and silver, with handles made of various materials, including ivory, gold, and silver, and plates of infinite number made of beaten tin in three sizes, arranged in three rows, as well as plates of beaten tin with borders of gold. Not just diverse materials, such as gold, silver, ivory, and tin are part of the assemblage but also different modes of treating objects, such as gilding and silvering, as well as various ways of fashioning objects, such as 'highly wrought,' 'beaten,' and 'very well worked.' Adjectives that appeal to the senses, such as 'beautiful,' 'delicate,' and 'very fine' come to the fore in this description. The close attention to the numbers of items, such as 'twelve gilded and silvered spoons', 'eleven knives,' 'six cups,' and 'three rows of plates' which are 'large, medium and small' and seem 'infinite in number' evokes both the diversity and abundance of this micro-environment and its potential for interaction.116 Conclusion In conclusion, by crafting an ecological approach to the decorative arts comprised of these inter-meshed concepts: environment, ecology, meshwork, assemblage, vital materiality, distributive agency, and the social performance of matter, this study hopes to have provided a horizontal, non-hierarchical lens that allows scholars of the decorative arts to see and experience the inter-relatedness of their objects, spaces, and people. Returning to the painting Marriage Feast at Cana (Figure 1), and reflecting on the domestic environment it represents, is it possible to see the interdependency of agencies? The decorative arts are here in force: furnishings, ceramics, linens, jewellery, tiles, paintings, sculpture, prints, textiles. Such things within the home are intertwined and inseparable from the human. Ingold characterizes both the social life represented in such paintings and music as representing unfolding patterns of resonance.117 Is it possible to use such images as a lens or microscope or amplifying device that allows researchers to see and hear the relational nature of the domestic ecology?118 If scholars would simply look, and listen to what the objects are trying to say? Finally, this exhortation to 'look' and 'listen' to our objects is not a plea for abandoning historical inquiry for phenomenology. Rather, the ecological approach proposed herein complements other disciplinary lenses, such as the study of authorship, connoisseurship, style, patronage, periodization, and historiography. Yet, as well as providing another lens, the ecological approach also re-negotiates the 116 See Croce, 25-26 (note 99, above). 117 Ingold, Perception of the Environment, 197. 118 See Ingold's analysis of Pieter Bruegel, The Harvesters (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York) for an example of how one might approach painting to discern such patterns of resonance. Ingold, Perception of the Environment, 201-207. Erin J. Campbell Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts 23 status of the so-called decorative arts within the discipline of art history, releasing them from the lower tier of a hierarchy of value still deeply entrenched in the institutions of our discipline. In all of the examples discussed above - The Marriage Feast at Cana, the fireplace, the credenza and dishes in the Museo Civico d'Arte, and Croce's poem on Il Tuscolano - a significant element of the human experience of objects would be lost without the finely-tuned lens of the ecological approach. Historical inquiry necessarily starts with our experience of the object within an environment. The ecological approach asks us to attend to past environments: it offers a methodology that will sharpen our senses and allow us to ask better questions. Erin J. Campbell is Associate Professor of Early Modern European Art at the University of Victoria, Canada. She is editor and contributing author of Growing Old in Early Modern Europe: Cultural Representations (2006), co-editor and contributing author of The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior: People, Objects, Domesticities (2013), and author of Old Women and Art in the Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, forthcoming with Ashgate Publishing. erinjc@uvic.ca; erinjcam@gmail.com 
work_xmy75qtsgvhxbemie3hmgd6u6a	----	АЛЕКСАНДАР КАДИЈЕВИЋ сажетак: Прво самостално остварење бечког архитекте Константина А. Јовановића (1849–1923) у Београду, Кућа адвоката Марка Стојановића у Кнез Михаиловој улици 53–55 из 1885. године, симболизује европеизацијски узлет профаног неимарства у Краљевини Србији, којим је дефинитивно потиснута оријентална градитељска пракса. Пошто је преко оца Анастаса, уз пословни, развио и пријатељски однос с њеним наручиоцем, Јовановић је у главној градској улици саградио репрезентативно приватно здање, чиме се препоручио имућним инвеститорима. У исто риографији често довођена у везу с Јовановићевим култом италијанске ренесансе, Стојановићева кућа садржи и елементе маниризма и барока, хармонично уклопљене у еклектичку целину. Прилагођена београдској средини једноспратним конструктивним склопом на врху Савске падине, представља директну интерполацију бечких еклектичких искустава. кључне речи: архитектура, Константин А. Јовановић, Марко Стојановић, европеизација, бечки еклектицизам КУЋА МАРКА СТОЈАНОВИЋА (1885) – ПРВО САМОСТАЛНО ОСТВАРЕЊЕ АРХИТЕКТЕ КОНСТАНТИНА ЈОВАНОВИЋА У БЕОГРАДУ УДК 728.3(497.11)"1885" 72.071.1 Јовановић К. 9 александар кадијевић Прво самостално остварење бечког архитекте Константина А. Јовановића (1849–1923) у Београду,1 кућа адвоката Марка Стоја- новића у Кнез Михаиловој улици 53–55 из 1885. године, симболизује европеизацијски узлет про- фаног неимарства у Краљевини Србији, којим је дефинитивно потиснута оријентална градитељска пракса.2 Пошто је преко оца Анастаса, уз пословни развио и пријатељски однос с њеним наручиоцем, Јовановић је након мермерног постамента монар- хистичког Споменика кнезу Михаилу М. Обрено- вићу Трећем на Позоришном тргу (1874–1882),3 на главном градском потезу саградио репрезента- тивно приватно здање (сл. 1), чиме се препоручио имућним инвеститорима.4 У историографији често довођена у везу с Јовановићевим култом италијанске ренесан- се, Стојановићева кућа садржи и елементе ма- ниризма и барока, хармонично уклопљене у слојевиту еклектичку целину. То значи да се у пројектовању није стриктно придржавао стила ренесансе,5 чији је примат одлучно заступао, већ је користио и репертоар каснијих нововековних стилова. По размерама, трошковима изградње и урбанистичком значају, Стојановићева кућа спада у најрепрезентативније престоничке па- лате подигнуте након Капетан Мишиног здања (1863),6 док по функцији припада мешовитом ре- зиденцијално-пословном типу приватних згра- да.7 Према облику просторне организације, свр- става се у спратне једнопородичне куће одвојене у две функционалне јединице, с унутрашњим двориштем и трговинама у приземљу,8 а по на- чину позиционирања – у објекте усађене у че тво- роугаони урбани блок. У погледу материјализа- ције, спада у примере масивне градње, засноване на употреби опеке.9 Поред тога што је утемељила Јовановићев београдски опус, подстакла је и раз- вој српског архитектонског академизма,10 еклек- тичког правца прихваћеног из средње Европе. Са статусом заштићеног споменика унутар просторне културно-историјске целине подручја Кнез Михаилове улице,11 Стојановићева кућа је у српској историографији више пута анализи- рана. Углавном је описивана штуро, у неколи- ко језгровитих реченица, где је изостао подроб- нији критички приказ. Неочекивано заобиђена у првом историографском осврту на престонич- ко градитељство XIX века Николе Несторовића (1937),12 редовно је помињана у послератним мо- нографским студијама, чланцима и каталозима изложби о архитекти Јовановићу; приручници- ма, прегледним огледима, стручним лексикони- ма и енциклопедијама. Драгоцена запажања ње- них првих тумача – Љубомира Никића, Љиљане Бабић, Жељка Шкаламере, Зорана Јаковљевића, Јована Секулића, Гордане Гордић и Богдана Не- сторовића,13 о њеном стилу, унутрашњем уређењу и урбанистичком положају – употпуниле су гене- рације потоњих историографа детаљнијим типо- лошким и контекстуалним анализама.14 Ипак, у дефинисању архитектонског стила Стојановићеве куће, од почетка владају критери- олошка неслагања, изражена различитим терми- нима и синтагмама, као што су стил италијанске ренесансе, ренесансни стил, стил ренесанса, ре- несанса, неоренесанса, историзам, историцизам, академизам, академска еклектика и еклектици- зам. Не само што сведоче о терминолошкој не- усклађености историографских тумачења већ указују и на тешкоће у поимању Јовановићеве вишезначне архитектуре. Преуско везивање за ренесансу, као њену једину парадигму, осим са- мог Јовановића, у историографији је иницира- ла Љиљана Бабић 1961. године, запажањем да су ренесансне фасаде Стојановићеве куће при- мер складних пропорција и једноставне љупко- сти које карактеришу читаву Јовановићеву архи- тектуру.15 У следећој карактеризацији, из 1964. године, Жељко Шкаламера и Зоран Јаковљевић су применили синтагму стил неоренесанса,16 коју ће 1966. користити и Гордана Гордић,17 да би је Јо- ван Секулић и Шкаламера употпунили ставом да, зграда представља један од репрезентативних примера академизма XIX века.18 Следствено томе, Јовановићев опус је од краја шездесетих година чешће повезиван с архитектуром академизма,19 чиме није умањиван значај његових псеудорене- 10 кућа марка стојановића (1885) – прво самостално оствареЊе арХитекте константина јовановића у београду сансних слојева. Иако се с тиме наставило и ка- сни је, терминолошка неуједначеност није иско- рењена, о чему сведочи поновно инсистирање на ренесансном стилу – Љубомира Никића (1976) и Милана Шћекића (1988).20 Дуго произвољно датована у 1889. годи- ну, захваљујући Дивни Ђурић Замоло кућа се од 1981. везује за 1885. годину.21 Одјеке просторног склопа ове грађевине Богдан Несторовић је уочио на палати Николе Спасића, изграђеној на доњем потезу Кнез Михаилове улице 1889. године.22 Потоњи тумачи су такође потцртали утемељи- тељски значај прве Стојановићеве куће у форму- лацији Јовановићевог београдског опуса, уз на- помену да је раскош њеног ентеријера нестала у бројним пренаменама.23 Међутим, отворена пи- тања о пореклу и карактеру њене архитектонске концепције (директна интерполација бечких или будимпештанских еклектичких иску става, прои- звољна периферијска интерпретација иностра- них узора), још нису добила прецизан одговор. Постављена марта 2019. године на национал- ном научном скупу о згради Факултета ликовних уметности, на којем је Стојановићева кућа све- страно анализирана,24 нису потпуније разматрана због скромног одазива експерата за Јовановићеву архитектуру. Естетика архитектуре академизма – темељно полазиште Јовановићевог стваралаштва Како би дискредитовали конзервативне ме- тоде које су сматрали превазиђеним у високо- школској едукацији архитеката, критичари су кра јем XIX века из филозофије преузели термин академизам, претварајући га у пејоративни ак- сиолошки квалификатив.25 Негативно значење је задржао и у историографским тумачењима која су касније фаворизовала уметничку авангарду. С протицањем времена и појавом постмодернизма у архитектонској култури, тај термин је уместо дисквалификујуће стекао описну техничку уло- гу. У савременој историографији има двојако зна- чење: универзалног естетског закона форме и Сл. 1 / Палата Марка Стојановића, Кнез Михаилова 53–55, главно прочеље (извор: фототека Завода за заштиту споменика културе града Београда) 11 преовлађујућег стила у ликовној уметности зре- лог историзма (1870–1914).26 Ипак, његову приме- ну и даље разводњавају сродни супституционал- ни термини и синоними, као што су историзам, историцизам, еклектицизам, неостилови, неоре- несанса, неоманиризам, необарок и неокласицизам, при чему се превиђају њихове појмовне разлике. Као универзални уметнички принцип, ака- демизам подразумева покоравање нормама које је установила нека утицајна уметничка школа, проистекло из недостатка инвенције или из ње- ног свесног обуздавања. Активни академизам по- чива на пропагирању култа вечних и незаменљи- вих архитектонских канона, примерених сваком пројектном задатку и локацији, заступљених у градитељској пракси, предавањима ex catedra или теоријским трактатима, док пасивни означава њи- хову доследну и беспоговорну примену. Преузет са средњоевропских уметничких академија и тех- ничких факултета као догматична школска док- трина, академизам се развио у српској архитекту- ри друге половине XIX века, подстичући обнову нововековних стилова. Појава академизма се поклапа са стицањем државне самосталности у време друге владавине кнеза Михаила Обреновића Трећег (1860–1868). Културно ослањање на Аустроугарску монархију, које су подржали његови династички наследници, подразумевало је прихватање академизма као све- решавајућег стила, заснованог на принципу ево- кативног еклектицизма. До почетка Првог свет- ског рата, српски наручиоци и архитекти су се масовно угледали на тековине средњоевропског академизма у осмишљавању грађевина најразли- читијих намена. Његову доминацију није угрози- ла ни појава сецесије, чији је модернизацијски по- тенцијал остао недовољно искоришћен. До 1865. године спонтано развијано, оживља- вање историјских стилова у српској архитектури је потом подвргнуто строжим правилима како би се зауставио талас неконтролисаних роман- тичарских импровизација. Већи респект према академским нормама, пре свега култу централне огледалске симетрије и троделне фасадне поделе с истакнутим главним мотивом, увели су гради- тељи школовани у средњој Европи.27 Иако то нису строго зацртали, водећи академски ауторите- ти – Фридрих Шмит [Friedrich Schmidt], Хајнрих фон Ферстел [Heinrich von Ferstel], Карл фон Ха- зенауер [Karl von Hasenauer], Готфрид Земпер [Gottfried Semper], Теофил фон Ханзен [»eophil von Hansen] и Јозеф Дурм [Josef Durm], кроз тео- ријски рад, или преко својих ученика – подстакли су развој српског академизма. Ипак, анализа еви- дентираних примера, предузета с историјске ди- станце, показује да се српски академизам у југо - источној Европи развијао најсамосталније. Њего- ва периодизација обухвата три развојна раздобља: рано (1865–1900), у којем су строге композицио- не норме доследно поштоване, зрело (1900–1914), када су под утицајем сецесије интерпретиране слободније, и позно (1918–1941), изражено мо- нументалним објектима с југословенским идео- лошким предзнаком. Академизам се краткотрај- но одржао и у периоду соцреалистичке изградње (1945–1952).28 Стил класицизма, који је оставио дубок траг у српској уметности прве половине XIX столећа, обновљен је у раздобљу раног академизма као равноправан слој хетеростилских композиција. Уз ренесансу, маниризам и барок, обележио је еклектичку архитектуру репрезентативних јавних и приватних зграда. Тековине историјских стило- ва, подвргнуте академским правилима одабирања и стапања, одговарале су укусу власти и богатог грађанства у Србији, укључујући и просвећеног Марка Стојановића. Увођење прописа у градитељску праксу (од 1865. год.), кроз прецизну категоризацију улица сходно типу објекта, погодовало је заступници- ма реда и урбанистичког сагласја. При изградњи монументалних јавних здања, њихова друштве- на функција је истицана изузетном положајном вредношћу, одмицањем од затеченог поретка и правца регулационе линије. Тиме је стварана одређена врста замене трга у облику правоугао- ног простора пред здањима. Приватне слобод- ностојеће и у блок узидане куће, као и виле на александар кадијевић 12 периферији, нису издвајане на исти начин, већ су заузимале положај на угловима или средини слободних парцела. Отуд је градотворна компо- нента обележила век српског академизма, за шта се залагао и први урбанист Емилијан Јосимовић (1823–1897).29 Подизање Народног позоришта (1867–1869) у Београду, према пројекту Александра Бугарс- ког,30 омогућило је успон академизма у архитекту- ри монументалних јавних објеката. Инспирисан прочељем миланског Театра ала Скала с краја XVIII века, Бугарски је увео принцип аналогиј- ског еклектицизма. Монументалност и слојеви- тост академски обликованих фасада у већој мери је истакао на Двору краља Милана (1881–1884, по- знатијем као Стари двор),31 који је дуго доминирао престоничким управним центром. Са друге стра- не, опус Константина Јовановића одликују једно- стилска (неоренесансна) и вишестилска синтезна решења (спојеви неоренесансе, неоманиризма и необарока),32 која су до појаве сецесије подједнако конвенирала племићкој аристократији и грађан- ско-предузетничком слоју. Примат академизма подржала је већина наставника Архитектонског одсека Техничког факултета Велике школе у Бе- ограду, 1896–1898. године уређеног по узору на средњоевропске високошколске установе. Са естетиком академизма млади Јовановић се упознао на студијама архитектуре (1867–1870) на политехничкој школи у Цириху,33 следећи пре- поруке харизматичног ментора Готфрида Земпе- ра (1803–1879), о обнови ренесансне уметности.34 Обилазећи с њим и студентима Италију, Јовано- вић је развио путописно-истраживачки цртеж, као израз персоналне перцептивне географије, на коjем преовлађују ренесансне грађевине.35 На- клоњен ренесанси, и у пројектовању се угледао на њене тековине, прилагођене академским ме- тодама оживљавања. Отуд је и на већини оства- рења, следећи Земперов пример, развио чисту ва- ријанту неоренесансне архитектуре, не мешајући је с наносима других стилова.36 У томе није био усамљен, јер су исте идеале заступали многоброј- ни светски градитељи и по цену да буду критико- вани због конзервативизма. Са друге стране, на мањем броју дела промовисао је синтезу новове- ковних стилова, што је дошло до изражаја и на његовој првој београдској палати. Прилагођавајући академистичку естетику властитој уметничкој имагинацији, Јовановић је у Београду оформио препознатљив ауторски из- раз,37 који су благонаклоно прихватили локални наручиоци. Дискретним хроматским, светло-там- ним и пластичким контрастима, оживљавао је слојевита прочеља уникатних здања. Ублажавао је њихову рустику, усложњавао етажне основе и растварао највише зоне, не гомилајући декора- тивне мотиве. Применом необарокних кубета, атика, балустрада и мансардних кровова, завр- шне партије еклектички уобличених грађевина силуетно је динамизовао, најављујући слободнију фазу српског академизма после 1900. године. Под утицајем Земпера,38 објекте је осмишљавао функ- ционалније у односу на већину савременика. За разлику од слободностојећих и угаоних, зграде узидане у средишта густо попуњених блокова није знатније визуелно истицао. Преношењем актуелних бечких искустава, Јовановић је престоницу младе хришћанске Кра ље вине Србије (основана 1882) изграђивао по средњоевропском укусу, чему се тежило и у најразвијенијим регионалним центрима. Иако је изјављивао да искључиво ради у ренесансном стилу,39 одбијајући да прихвати сецесију и рани функционализам, није се разликовао од већи- не тадашњих градитеља који су себи допуштали идеолошке недоследности, па и корените концеп- цијске заокрете, што потврђују примери Ота Ваг- нера [Otto Wagner], Хендрика Петруса Берлагеа [Hendrikus Petrus Berlage] и Луиса Саливена [Louis Sullivan]. Ипак, за разлику од тих утицајних ства- ралаца, Јовановића недоследност није навела на радикално осавремењивање архитектонских про- грама, већ га је још јаче везала за прошлост. Архитектура Стојановићеве палате Изградњу двонаменске стамбено-трговачке палате на завршном делу горњег потеза Кнез Ми- кућа марка стојановића (1885) – прво самостално оствареЊе арХитекте константина јовановића у београду 13 хаилове улице у правцу парка Калемегдан,40 пре- дузео је утицајни инвеститор Марко Стојановић (1844–1923), који се, поред управљачких послова у финансијској сфери, бавио адвокатуром и фо- тографијом.41 Преименована 1870. године прили- ком урбанистичког преуређења посторијентал- не вароши,42 Кнез Михаилова је постала главна улица друштвеног центра, испуњена трговачким, пословним, угоститељским, образовно-научним, трезорним и резиденцијалним објектима.43 На- мењена ивичној изградњи, системом правоуга- оних блокова је повезивана са другим улицама у окружењу, које су данас у саставу њеног заштиће- ног подручја. Заузимајући ободну страну блока омеђеног Рајићевом, Париском и Кнез Михаиловом ули- цом у току његовог формирања (сл. 2),44 прва Стојановићева кућа припада корпусу разуђених угаоних интерполација.45 Подигнута је на месту некадашње Мензулане, прве српске поштанске установе. Упркос сложеног унутрашњег распо- реда, уклопила се у низ суседних једноспратни- ца обликованих у класицистичком, романтичар- ском и неоренесансном стилу (хотел „Грчка кра љица“ из 1835. у броју 51, хотел „Српска кру- на“ из 1869–1870. у броју 56 и стамбено-трговачка палата Милана Павловића из 1880–1885. у броју 52),46 не одступајући од постојеће уличне регу- лације. Просторно обухватна и правилно пози- ционирана на врху Савске падине,47 упркос паду терена и сложеној конфигурацији парцеле, није претерано наметљива и пластички експанзивна. Изведена као четвороугаоно здање правил- не основе, које обједињује две зграде са засебним улазима, Стојановићева кућа је била нетипична за тадашњу београдску, али не и за бечку архи- тектуру.48 Засебне функционалне јединице, пре- кривене заједничким фасадним плаштом, садр- же тротрактни просторни распоред. У приземљу повезаних зграда, на прочелној страни су уређе- не трговачке радње и мануфактурне радионице за изнајмљивање, које су често мењале намену и закупце (бакалске радње, продавнице текстил- них и кожарских производа, дечје опреме и на- мештаја, књижара, гвожђара, јувелирница, а да- Сл. 3 / Основа спрата (извор: Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964: 31) Сл. 2 / Угао Кнез Михаилове и Рајићеве улице (фотографија А. Кадијевића, март 2019) александар кадијевић 14 нас галерија и продавница сликарског прибора). Скромно декорисани улаз у зграду у броју 53 из Рајићеве улице, водио је до просторија за изнај- мљивање, док се на левој страни одваја ходник према степеништу за спрат. На спрату су уређе- не просторије за вишечлану Стојановићеву породицу (сл. 3), док је зграда у броју 55 издава- на, прво Аустроугарском конзулату 1900. годи- не.49 Отуд је и њен улаз декоративније обрађен, док је у свечаном приземљу уређен мајестетични степенишни хол. Једноспратни склоп палате у главној градској улици у то време није представљао изузетак, јер су двоспратнице сматране неисплативим.50 Ипак, етажне зоне раздвојених и натегнуто повезаних сегмената Стојановићеве куће нису целински нај- функционалније решене због неправилног по- ложаја парцеле, што споља (изузев са дворишне стране) није уочљиво.51 Зграда је грађена у масив- ном скелетном систему,52 са зидовима од опеке, дрвеном међуспратном конструкцијом ојачаном гвозденим сводним ребрима, док су фасаде обра- ђене у кречном малтеру. Застакљене површине су најзаступљеније у приземној зони главног про- чеља. Фасадни зидови имају преградну и носећу улогу, што важи и за унутрашње. Столарију, бра- варију, лимарију и декоративне необарокне ку- поле (сл. 4–5) Стојановићеве палате (међу првим у главној градској улици), извеле су београдске уметничке занатлије. У приземљу бочних прочеља, правоугаони прозори са шамбранама и засторима надвишени су троделним полукружним, обликованим у сти- лу маниризма (сл. 6–7). Двокрилни правоугаони прозори спрата, надвишени надсветлом, увучени су у раван фасадних зидова и оивичени мајесте- тичним псеудоренесансним едикулама.53 Улична подлога пред главним прочељем је поплочана гра- нитним коцкама 1886–1887. године.54 Станари су се снабдевали водом са Делијске чесме до увођења водоводне и канализационе мреже почетком XX века, када су придодате телефонске и електричне инсталације.55 За истог инвеститора, на суседној парцели при врху Савске падине (Париска 15), Јо- вановић је током 1899–1900. изградио и другу кућу пословно-стамбене намене, такође осми шљену на Сл. 4 / Угао Кнез Михаилове и Париске улице (фотографија А. Кадијевића, март 2019) Сл. 5 / Угао Кнез Михаилове и Париске улице (извор: фото тека Завода за заштиту споменика културе града Београда) кућа марка стојановића (1885) – прво самостално оствареЊе арХитекте константина јовановића у београду 15 начелима академизма, с адвокатским кабинетом и архивом у високом партеру.56 Иако зграде у Кнез Михаиловој улици 53–55 поседују различито просторно решење и нејед- наку квадратуру (друга је обухватнија и изду- женија, са заобљеним фронтом према башти, не ослањајући се на суседну зграду), обједињене су компактним спољним плаштом с три морфолош- ки усаглашена фронта, лишена дисонанци које би указивале на унутрашњу програмску подвојеност. Отуд су и улази у обе зграде постављени на боч- на прочеља у Рајићевој и Париској улици. Кровни покривач је вишесливан и неистакнут у визуелној презентацији целине. Фасадне фронтове палате повезује конти- нуални хоризонтални појас уједначеног ритма, обогаћен вертикалним крилним нагласцима који уносе пластички динамизам (необарокна кубета, ризалити и угаони балкони). Четврта, са уличних страна неупадљива дворишна фасада, одељена је на мање крило у броју 53, са станом за домара, и на истурен неоманиристички трем у виду отворе- ног полуваљка у приземљу (данас је ту раван зид), с неоренесансним ризалитом надвишеним дво- водним кровом у броју 55. Палата се по вертикали састоји од подру- ма, приземља и отменог спрата (или бечког no- belstock-а, парафразe раноренесансног система piano nobile). Степенишни вестибил у приземљу зграде бр. 55, обликован у виду мајестетичног осмо угаоног антреа с неоренесансним нишама, ен- теријеру одузима много корисног простора. У дво- ришном тракту приземља уређена је пространа свечана сала, док су собе и продавнице у обе зграде приближно уједначене размере са по 16 (4 m х 4 m) квадратних метара површине.57 Репрезентативан власников стан на спрату зграде у броју 53 је имао седам соба распоређених дуж два улична тракта и ка једном бочном. Про- страно правоугаоно предсобље је са три стране окружено собама, а са четврте уским двотракт- ним унутрашњим двориштем, које је имало функ- цију осветљавања, проветравања и комуникације између одвојених зграда. Преградни стаклени па- рапет учвршћен танким гвозденим профилима и овалним медаљонима, постављен између трпеза- Сл. 6 / Детаљ приземља у Рајићевој улици (фотографија А. Кадијевића, март 2019) Сл. 7 / Фасада у Париској улици (извор: фототека Завода за заштиту споменика културе града Београда) александар кадијевић 16 рије и отвореног светларника, средишњем прос- тору обезбеђује изузетну осветљеност. На спрату суседне зграде у Кнез Михаиловој 55 централни простор је дводелан, и до њега се долази кроз тро- крако степениште и квадратно предсобље. Шест соба поређаних у низу, хол окружују са три стра- не, док се са четврте налазе соба и светларник. Обједињујући тековине различитих новове- ковних стилова, Стојановићева кућа је превасход- но инспирисана палатама римске зреле ренесан- се (1500–1520), а делом и маниризма (1520–1575), док су у разради горњег постројења примењени барокни мотиви. Прилагођена академским на- чинима оживљавања прошлости, синтеза ново- вековних стилова је темељно одредила њен ар- хитектонски програм. Јовановићеве представе о њиховој генези заснивале су се на проучавању грађевина in situ, доступној историографској ли- тератури и Земперовим тумачењима ex catedra. Важно је истаћи да Стојановићева кућа није реплика, а ни слободна парафраза неке италијан- ске нововековне грађевине. Реч је о оригинал- ном остварењу, прилагођеном београдском тере- ну, заснованом на принципима бечке еклектичке школе које је Јовановић доследно следио. За ра- злику од некомпактне унутрашње поделе, приме- ном централне осне симетрије дуж иконографски уједначених фасада, њена спољашњост је склад- но заокружена. Високи рафинман у комбиновању историјских мотива легитимише је као грађан- ски отмену и статусно престижну грађевину, која плени допадљивом љупкошћу. Одмереним свет- ло-тамним, пластичким и хроматским контра- стима, развијеним по вертикали и хоризонтали, вишеструко се издвојила у градском миљеу, обез- беђујући аутору нове наруџбе. Као пример урав- нотежене еклектичке концепције, привлачнија је од уздржаније декорисаних неоренесансних пала- та, док је од необарокних мање претенциозна. На главном прочељу Стојановићеве куће, широком око 25 метара, четири правоугаона при- земна излога су наткривена паровима спратних прозора у едикулама, а на крилним ризалитима једним већим прозором. Уместо функционалним излозима, приземља бочних фасада су растворена лучно завршеним неоманиристичким прозорима с истакнутим кључним каменом. Водоравне поја- севе на прочељима здања раздваја плитак подео- ни венац, на крилним ободима испрекидан бал- конским вратима. По узору на раноренесансне палате, стилски редови пиластара се смењују по вертикали (тоскански дорски у приземљу и ко- ринтски на спрату), док је фасадна рустика во- доравно избразданих канелура наглашенија у приземљу крилних ризалита. Функционалне ино- вације, као што су широки правоугаони излози трговина, Јовановић вешто усађује у хармоничну целину, што важи и за лаку балконску ограду од кованог гвожђа. Бочни крилни ризалити, надвишени атика- ма са балустрадама и куполама на главном про- чељу, повезани су континуалним везивним пољи- ма, ритмично одељеним тематски уједначеним травејима. Травеји везивних поља су одељени јед- ним, а крилних ризалита са по два коринтска пи- ластра. Угаоне куполе, које се преласком из ква- дратне у осмоугаону основу пластички сужавају и завршавају шиљатим лантернама, балкони и атич- ке вазе (као барокизирајући прилози), пре допри- носе идеалној равнотежи целине уместо што се издвајају као самодовољне екстензије. У духу ма- ниризма, Јовановић наглашава згуснуту пластику засечених углова, док барокни динамизам пре- овлађује у разради завршних партија. Упркос примени разнородних историјских мотива, прочеља зграде су повезана у тематску и ритмичку целину, од чега донекле одступа експан- зивно дворишно крило. Поткровни венац јаког испада није пренаглашен, што важи и за сведену рустику приступачног приземља. Продуховље- ност и одмереност израза, уз одсуство сувишних детаља, одликују Јовановићеву прву престоничку палату, градотворно уклопљену у шири амбијент. Несклон фигуралној фасадној скулптури рето- ричко-симболичког садржаја, Јовановић је није аплицирао ни на првој Стојановићевој кући. Складно пропорционисана, проткана урав- нотеженим ритмовима и контрастима архитек- кућа марка стојановића (1885) – прво самостално оствареЊе арХитекте константина јовановића у београду 17 тонских маса, палата је дуго доминирала у ур- баном окружењу, инспиришући наручиоце и пројектанте приватних здања. Од подизања до данас, честа је тема уметничке, журналистичке, топографске и аматерске фотографије, док се на разгледницама јавља већ с њиховим увођењем у српски медијски простор (1895). Најзаступљенија је на топографским разгледницама које приказују значајне урбане и природне амбијенте.58 У води- чима за путнике кроз престоницу, првенствено је представљана као Аустроугарски конзулат, однос- но круна завршног потеза главне улице.59 Као тековину европеизацијског смера срп- ске профане архитектуре с краја XIX века, Стоја- новићеву палату су у раздобљу између светских ратова засенила већа и просторно обухватнија здања подигнута у ближој околини – Спасићева задужбина (1929–1930) у Кнез Михаиловој ули- ци 47, архитекте Јосифа Најмана, и Југословенска удружена банка (1929–1931), у Улици краља Пе- тра 21 (с прочељем и у Рајићевој), Хуга Ерлиха,60 а данас Трговачко-пословни и хотелски комплекс „Рајићева Београд“ (2017), у Рајићевој 54, Милана и Владимира Лојанице, чију екстремну домина- цију ублажава пространа пјацета.61 Значај Стојановићеве палате за Јовановићеву и српску архитектуру Уважавајући сва претходна тумачења Стоја- новићеве палате, можемо закључити да је естети- ка академизма темељно одредила њен архитектон- ски програм, заснован на евокативној синтези нововековних стилова. Прилагођена београдској средини једноспратним конструктивним склопом на врху Савске падине, представља директну ин- терполацију бечких еклектичких искустава. Њене доминантне ренесансно-маниристичке слојеве, употпуњавају наноси француског барока (кубе- та, атике и украси горње зоне), такође презенто- вани у духу бечке рецептуре. Сличну варијанту еклектицизма у недалеком Срему и Бачкој ра- звијали су архитекти Титус Мачковић (1851– 1919) и Владимир Николић (1857–1922). Мачко- вић је такође студирао на циришкој Политехници 1869. године (настављајући школовање у Ахену и Бечу), да би потом, на палатама Самка Манојло- вића (1881) и Лазара Мамужића (1892), у Субо- тици,62 понудио програм сродан Јовановићевом. Талентовани бечки ђак, Ханзенов студент Влади- мир Николић је подједнако нагињао синтези но- вовековних стилова, наглашавајући необарокна кубета на крилним ризалитима репрезентативних здања („Гранд хотел“ у Вуковару 1896, Стефане- ум у Сремским Карловцима 1903, палате – Јовић у Бечеју 1904. и Кронић у Сомбору 1907).63 У Хр- ватској су сличну методологију примењивали Ла- вослав Хенигзберг (Leo Hönigsberg, 1861–1911) и Јулије Дајч (Julio Deutsch, 1859–1922), такође беч- ки ђаци и дугогодишњи сарадници.64 Градећи у престоници Србије на бечки начин, Јовановић је отворио ново поглавље у њеној еклек- тичкој архитектури, коју су до тада профилисали будимпештански студенти Александар Бугарски и Андрија Вуковић.65 Утицаје бечког еклектицизма, прилагођене београдским условима, преносиће и Ханзенови српски ученици Светозар Ивачковић, Јован Илкић и Душан Живановић.66 Између својих уникатних београдских пала- та, Јовановић је развио дубљи унутрашњи дијалог, будући да је свака у односу на претходну пред- стављала концепцијски искорак. Како би, попут Земпера, избегао формалистичке замке много- струког еклектицизма, уз синтезна, примењивао је и чистија једностилска (неоренесансна) ре- шења. После прве Стојановићеве куће, синтезни приступ је усавршио на двоспратној задужбини Николе Спасића (1889), у Кнез Михаиловој 33, с карактеристичним мансардним кровом,67 која плени светло-тамним контрастима архитектон- ске пластике. Садржи и компактнији унутрашњи распоред од двојне Стојановићеве зграде (чему је допринела и правилнија конфигурација грађе- винске парцеле), с разрађенијим системом ади- ције салонских просторија.68 Кућа предузетника Драгомира Радуловића (1890), изграђена на углу улица Вука Караџића 12 и Делијске 1, иако нижа од Стојановићеве палате, има истакнутији угао и боље пропорционисане прочелне квадратне тра- александар кадијевић 18 веје, умеренију декорацију и шира везивна поља.69 Још чистији пример нове ренесансе представља складно пропорционисана узидана палата Ко- сте Миленковића (1900), у Змај Јовиној 9, инспи- рисана Земперовим делима.70 Друга кућа Марка Стојановића (1899–1900), урбанистички повезана с првом, садржи мање наметљиве барокне детаље (медаљони изнад портала и централног спратног прозора), подређене доминантним неоренесан- сним слојевима. Због скромније квадратуре, по- седује једноставније просторно решење, с развије- нијим баштенским простором.71 Иако је Јовановићу после прве Стојановиће- ве куће пошло за руком да изгради тек неколико већих приватних грађевина, извођењем монумен- талне Народне банке (1889), у Улици краља Петра 12 (чији ће анекс дозидати након Првог светског рата),72 градотворни потенцијал неоренесансне архитектуре афирмисаће до крајњих граница, јер је проширено здање обухватило читав блок. По архитектонским квалитетима, с првом Стојановићевом кућом и Спасићевом задужби- ном може се упоредити мањи број приватних палата с краја XIX века, почев од узиданих ви- шеспратница и угловница Александра Бугар ског у Кнез Михаиловој улици (које су биле мање ра- зуђене и у блоку истакнуте),73 преко палата Кр- смановић (1889), Милорада Рувидића у Улици кнеза Симе Марковића 2,74 до шабачке палате Крсмановић (1891), у Масариковој улици 2, Јо- вана Илкића.75 Са друге стране, Јовановићев бео градски првенац евидентно заостаје за на- метљивијим и просторно обухватнијим јавним објектима тог времена, као што су поменута На- родна банка, Официрски дом и Министарство војно (1895), у које су уложена знатно већа др- жавна средстава.76 Ипак, по броју реализација у широј зони Кнез Михаилове улице, Јовановић и даље предњачи међу домаћим и иностраним гра- дитељима који су је градили у последњих сто пе- десет година.77 Закључак Статички угроженој новијом градњом у не- посредном суседству, функционално неаде кватној за администрирање и представљање све разгра- натијих садржаја Факултета ликовних уметности, првој Стојановићевој кући је неопход на хитна техничка заштита, али и виши статус у хијерар- хији културних добара.78 С обзиром на то да је очувала аутентичну просторну структуру, услед пренамена и у тицаја атмосферилија, уз енте- ријерну, највише је страдала њена спољна декора- ција (балкони и фасадна пластика). Укључивање у културна добра од великог значаја, или барем у издвојена културна добра на подручју Општи- не Стари град, заслужује не само као прва Јовано- вићева престоничка грађевина која је више пута мењала намену (стамбено-трговачки објекат, Аус- троугарски конзулат, Трговачки музеј, Факултет ликовних уметности),79 већ и као антологијски пример раног академизма у српској архитектури.80 Тиме би се, уз архитектонско-урбанистички, пот- цртао и њен велики друштвени значај у новијој историји српске престонице. Проф. др Александар Ђ. Кадијевић, историчар уметности Филозофски факултет Универзитетa у Београду aleksandarkadije@sbb.rs кућа марка стојановића (1885) – прво самостално оствареЊе арХитекте константина јовановића у београду 19 НАПОМЕНЕ: 1] Константин А. Јовановић је рођен у Бечу 13. 1. 1849. године, у породици уметничког фотографа и литографа Анастаса Јовановића (1817–1899). Након завршетка основне и средње школе у родном граду, од 1867. студира на Политехничкој школи у Цириху, која је имала ранг универзитета. Након дипломирања 1870. године, у Бечу отвара приватни пројек- тантски биро (о којем се врло мало зна), градећи на широ- ком простору монархије и балканских земаља. Бавио се и путописним цртежом, теоријом, историографијом, дневном критиком и мемоарском публицистиком. У Београду је за- бележио више реализација и неизведених пројеката. Био је и велики српски патриота. Преминуо је у Цириху 25. 11. 1923. године (Babić 1960; 1961; Маневић 2008; Клеут 2009; Јовановић 2012; Ванушић 2013). Грађа о Јовановићевом делу је најпотпуније систематизована у Музеју града Београда, у склопу Фонда архитекте Константина Јовановића Збирке за архитектуру и урбанизам (Ванушић 2013: 89–106). 2] Roter Blagojević 2012; Макуљевић 2015; Кадијевић 2017; Mitrović 2018. 3] Тимотијевић 2002; Весковић 2010; Ванушић 2013: 69–70; 4] Маневић 2008: 179; Банковић и Мацура 2019: 24–35. 5] Karge 2001; Brucculeri i Frommel 2015. 6] О појму и типологији палата видети: Curl 1999: 474; Maldini 2004: 98–99; Bogunović 2005: 1393–1934. О исто- рији и архитектури Капетан Мишиног здања видети: Ми- шић 2008; Шупут 2015 (са старијом литературом). 7] Милетић Абрамовић 2002. 8] Ротер Благојевић 2006: 98–99. 9] Ђукановић 2017. 10] Кадијевић 2005. 11] Категоризацију подручја и решења о његовом прогла- шењу за културно-историјску целину, видети на сајту За- вода за заштиту споменика културе града Београда: http://beogradskonasledje.rs/kulturna-dobra/gradske-opstine/ nepokretna-kulturna-dobra-na-teritoriji-opstine-stari-grad-2; http://beogradskonasledje.rs/kd/zavod/stari_grad/knez_ mihajlova_ulica.html. Видети и: Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964: 31–35. 12] Несторовић Н. 1937. 13] Никић 1957: 348; 1976: 138; Babić 1961: 26; Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964: 30–31; Секулић и Шкаламера 1966: 28– 29; Гордић 1966: 38; Несторовић Б. 1974: 156; 2006: 323. 14] Šćekić 1988а: 9; 1988b: 9, 13, 23, 93; Maksić 1992: 66–68; Гор- дић и Павловић Лончарски 2001: 20–21; Милетић Абра- мовић 2002: 68–69; Вујовић 2003: 128; Ћоровић 2004: 368; Bogunović 2005: 839–840; Кадијевић 2005: 316; Ротер Бла- гојевић 2006: 269–272; Клеут 2006: 233–234; Маневић 2008: 179; Ђурић Замоло 2009: 179, 181–183; Божовић 2009: 95–96; Ванушић 2013: 65; Николић 2017: 19–20; Цветић 2018; Банковић и Мацура 2019: 33. 15] Babić 1962: 26. 16] Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964: 30. 17] Гордић 1966: 38. 18] Секулић и Шкаламера 1966: 29. 19] Маневић 1969: 61; 1972: 11–13; Несторовић Б. 1974: 156; 2006: 323–325 (рукопис приређен почетком седамдесетих година и потом постхумно објављен). 20] Поредећи Стојановићеву кућу с Јовановићевом палатом на углу Вука Караџића 12 и Делијске 1, Љубомир Никић је 1976. закључио да су обе пројектоване у ренесансном сти- лу (Никић 1976: 138), док је Милан Шћекић 1988. користио синтагму стил италијанске ренесансе (Šćekić 1988b: 9). 21] На фотографији у албуму Београда Љ. Велицког из 1886, зграда се види на парцели, што значи да је саграђена раније (Ђурић Замоло 2009: 181). Ревизија датовања објављена је у првом издању те монографије 1981. год. 22] Babić 1961: 27; Гордић 1966: 28–29; Гордић и Павловић Лончарски 2001: 18–19; Ванушић 2013: 65; Николић 2017: 14–16. 23] Лончарски и Гордић 2001: 20. 24] Анализирана је са културно-историјског, архитектонско-ур- банистичког, правног, конзерваторског и херитолошког ста- новишта. То је у нас био први научни симпозијум посвећен неком знаменитом новијем здању. Видети: Пецић 2019. 25] Кадијевић 2005: 7–102. 26] Јовановић 1988. 27] Већина афирмисаних државних архитеката Краљевине Србије, као и продуктивних приватних, стекла је високо стручно образовање у Будимпешти, Бечу, Минхену, Бер- лину, Карлсруеу, Ахену или Цириху. 28] Кадијевић 2005: 291–417. 29] Максимовић 1967; Димитријевић Марковић 2017; Vuksanović Macura 2018. 30] Кадијевић 2005: 301; Покрајац 2013: 80–86. 31] Покрајац 2013: 93–99; Мишић 2013. 32] Јовановићева вишестилска решења концепцијски и хро- нолошки кореспондирају са синтезним еклектичким ост- варењима тог доба, на која је 1994. указао историчар Пол Мињо. Диференцирао је два смера у тадашњој еклектичкој архитекури: типолошки еклектицизам, који преовлађује у архитектури јавних објеката, заснован на уверењу да одређен тип зграде мора да се изрази језиком једног при- мереног историјског стила, и синтезни, својствен јавним и приватним зградама, у којем су равноправно заступљени елементи разичитих стилова (Mignot 1994: 100–101). александар кадијевић 20 33] Од 1863. до 1873. године, уз прерано преминулог Алексан- дра Катанића, Константин Јовановић је био једини српски дипломант Одсека за архитектуру Политехничке школе у Цириху, засноване на универзитетском принципу. Ви- дети: Трговчевић 2003: 177–178. О устројству и интерна- ционалном карактеру школе, чију је нову зграду Земпер пројектовао 1869–1870, опширније видети у: Wolanski 2002; Tshanz 2015. 34] Љиљана Бабић је напоменула да је Земпер по доласку у ту установу успоставио катедарски академизам у архитекту- ри, уобличавајући своје идеје у академску догму (Babić 1960: 8). О његовој наставничкој, истраживачкој, пројек- тантској и теоријској делатности видети: Нав. дело: 8–10; Dobrović 1965: 95–102; Herrman 1984; Mallgrave 1996; KruÁ 1997; 229–233; Šerman 2000; Prelovšek 2002; Damljanović 2002; Hvattum 2004; Brucculeri i Frommel 2015: 203–216; Von Orelli-Messerli 2016. 35] Клеут 2007: 138–139; Ванушић 2013: 22–27; Kadijević 2019: 9, 13. 36] Damljanović 2002; Ванушић 2013. 37] Богдан Несторовић је напоменуо да су сва Јовановићева дела израз јаке и талентоване индивидуалности (1969: 51). 38] KruÁ 1997: 229–233; Šerman 2000. 39] Видети: Писмо К. А. Јовановића Српској Краљевској Ака- демији (5. Х. 1910), Архив САНУ, Документација о из- градњи Дома, бр. 672. 40] Škalamera 1963; Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964; Гвоздено- вић 1975; Maksić 1992; Bogunović 2005: 499–513. 41] Рођен је у Шапцу 4. априла 1844. године. Након завршет- ка основне школе похађа правни одсек београдског Ли- цеја, издржавајући се послуживањем и ношењем порција. Служио је код војводе Узун Мирка, а касније код Косте Протића, краљевског намесника. Од 1870. се бави адво- катуром, правном теоријом и публицистиком. Оснивач државне Народне банке постаје 1884, а од 1895. и њен ви- цегувернер, главни сарадник Ђорђа Вајферта. На том по- ложају се задржао до 1902. године. Други мандат вице- гувернера започиње 1912, а завршава 1923. Био је и члан Монополске и Београдске задруге и Београдског кредит- ног завода, као и члан и оснивач неколико задужбинских одбора. Са Вајфертом 1913. оснива Инвалидски фонд Св. Ђорђа. Иницирао је и образложио (1904) подизање зајед- ничког споменика вожду Карађорђу и кнезу Милошу, по- стављеног недалеко од његове палате (Cvetić 2018: 83–85). Имао је супругу и четири кћери. Преминуо је 21. 9. 1923. године. Марко Стојановић је фотографијом почео да се бави почетком 90-их година XIX века. Најбројниjи су ње- гови портрети угледних савременика из друштвеног и културног живота, који су само делимично сачувани. Да- нас се налазе у приватним збиркама и Архиву Народне банке Србије. 42] Ћоровић 2004: 367–369. 43] Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964; Гвозденовић 1975; Maksić 1992; Bogunović 2005: 499–513. 44] На Плану Београда из 1886. године (објавио га Светозар Љ. Велицки у албуму Београда са кратким описом и пла- ном), запажа се да је блок дефинитивно формиран (Не- дић 1976: 176). 45] Kadijević 2015а; Николић 2017. 46] Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964: 22–23, 29–30; Ђурић Замо- ло 1988: 30–31, 86–90. 47] Roter Blagojević 1998; Dajč 2019. 48] KräÁner and Riha 1983; Šorske 1998; Samitz 1998; Plasmayer 2018. 49] Убирањем ренте од трговаца и конзулата, власник је успео да поврати део средстава уложених у изградњу и одржа- вање зграде. 50] Отуд их је до краја осамдесетих година XIX века било вео- ма мало – у броју 18 и 40. Видети: Roter Blаgojević 2012: 51. 51] Несторовић Б. 2006: 323. 52] Ђукановић 2017. 53] Stanković 1995: 169–171; Bogunović 2005: 1242. 54] Стојановић 2008: 53–61. 55] Нав. дело: 117–169. 56] Зато се у историографији његова прва кућа најчешће на- зива Кућа адвоката Марка Стојановића, а друга Кућа Марка Стојановића. Видети: Божовић 2009. 57] Cvetić 2018: 30–31. 58] Пераћ 2009: 95, 119. 59] Костић 2009: 105–106. 60] Kadijević 1990: 102; 2015b; Марковић 2006. 61] Милашиновић Марић 2017. 62] Јањушевић 2011: 108–109, 112–113. 63] Станчић 1999: 168–174, 104–109, 185–191, 198–204; Јању- шевић 2011: 126–133. 64] Дипломирали су на бечкој Вишој техничкој школи код проф. Хајнриха Ферстела. Видети: Knežević i Laslo 2011: 176. 65] О архитектури неоренесансе у Будимпешти видети: Csáki, Hidvégi and Ritoók 2009. О Бугарском и Вуковићу као уте- мељивачима српског академизма, видети: Кадијевић 2005: 300–304. 66] Ђурић Замоло 2009: 120–124, 134–166. 67] Борић 2002; Клеут 2006: 236–239. 68] С временом ће добити пандан у палати Јоце Јовановића Шапчанина из 1902. године. Видети: Гордић и Павловић Лончарски 2001: 44–45. 69] Никић 1976: 138; Клеут 2006: 234–236; Ванушић 2013: 66. 70] Милетић-Абрамовић 2002: 48, 72– 73; Несторовић Б. 2006: 260; Клеут 2006: 241; Ванушић 2013: 65–66. 71] Клеут 2006: 241–243; Божовић 2009; Ванушић 2013: 67; Николић 2017: 20–21. кућа марка стојановића (1885) – прво самостално оствареЊе арХитекте константина јовановића у београду 21 александар кадијевић ЛИТЕРАТУРА: Babić, Lj. (1961), Život i rad arhitekte Konstantina A. Jovanovića. Posebni deo, u: Zbornik Arhitektonskog fakulteta Univerziteta u Beogradu 2, Beograd: Arhitektonski fakultet: 1–35. Babić, Lj. (1969), Život i rad arhitekte Konstantina A. Jovanovića. 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Видети: Ђурић Замоло 2009: 47–49. 77] Поред Јовановића, значајан траг у архитектури Кнез Миха- илове улице оставили су Александар Бугарски, Милан Ан- тоновић, Андра Стевановић, Драгутин Ђорђевић, Данило Владисављевић, Милош Савчић, Петар Поповић, Драгиша Брашован, Дионис Сунко, Јосиф Најман, Александар Јан- ковић, Николај Краснов, Роман Верховски, Леонид Мак- шејев, Миладин Прљевић, Бранко Бон, Александар Дероко, Иво Куртовић, Дејан Настић, Миодраг Мирковић, Слобо- дан Рајовић, Реља Костић и Спасоје Крунић. 78] То питање је покренула историчарка уметности Ана Радо- ванац Живанов на симпозијуму о згради ФЛУ марта 2019. године. Видети: Пецић 2019: 18. 79] Факултет ликовних уметности је усељен 1937, а одлука о де- финитивној национализацији зграде је донета 1958. године. 80] У сакупљању грађе за овај чланак, као и корисним савети- ма, помогле су ми колеге др Драган Дамјановић и др Тања Дамљановић Conley, којима срдачно захваљујем. 22 Ђурић Замоло, Д. 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(Beograd: Arhitektonski fakultet Univerziteta u Beogradu): 91–131. Ротер Благојевић, М. (2006), Стамбена архитектура Београ- да у 19. и почетком 20. века, Београд: Архитектонски факул- тет : Орионарт. Roter Blagojević, M. (2012), Stvaranje modernog kulturnog identiteta Beograda, Limes plus 1–2 (Beograd): 37–59. Samitz, A. (ed.) (1998), Architecture in Vienna, Wien: Springer Verlag. Секулић, Ј. и Шкаламера, Ж. (1966), Архитектонско наслеђе града Београда II, Саопштења Завода за заштиту споменика културе 4 (Београд): 1–38. Stanković, S. (1995), Prozori u arhitektonskom nasleđu Beograda, Stanovanje iz sadašnjosti ka budućnosti, Arhitektonika 9 (Beograd): 165–186. Станчић, Д. (1999), Архитект Владимир Николић, Нови Сад: Општински завод за заштиту споменика културе. Стојановић, Д. (2008), Калдрма и асфалт, Београд: Удружење за друштвену историју. Тимотијевић М. (2002), Мит о националном хероју спаситељу и подизање споменика кнезу Михаилу М. Обреновићу III, На- слеђе IV (Београд): 45−78. Трговчевић, Љ. (2003), Планирана елита, Београд: Исто- ријски институт. Tschanz, M. (2015), Die Bauschule am Eidgenössischen Polytech- nikum in Zürich. Architekturlehre zur Zeit von Gottfried Semper (1855–1871), Zürich: GTA-Verlag, Herrmann, W. (1984), Gottfried Semper : In Search of Architecture, Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press. Hvattum, M. (2004), Gott¡erd Semper and the problem of histori- cism, Cambridge, Massachusetts: Cambridge University press. Cvetić, M. (2018), Knez Mihailova 55, Beograd: Arhitektonski fakultet, Univerzitet umetnosti i Fakultet likovnih umetnosti. Csáki, T., Hidvégi, V. and Ritoók, P. (eds.) (2009), Budapest neoreneszánsz építészete, Budapest: Főváros Levéltára. Curl, J. S. (1999), Oxford Dictionary of Architecture, Oxford: Ox- ford University Press. Ћоровић, Љ. (ур.) (2004), Улице и тргови Београда, књ. 1, Бео- град: Библиотека града Београда. Šerman, K. (2000), O problemu istine u arhitekturi: Gottfried Semper i pokušaj ustroja istinskog arhitektonskog sustava, Prostor 8 (Zagreb): 137–174. Škalamera, Ž. (1963), Knez Mihailova ulica – gornji potez, Arhi- tektura i urbanizam 21 (Beograd): 22–24. Шкаламера, Ж. и Јаковљевић, З. (1964), Кнез Михајлова ули- ца, Саопштења Завода за заштиту споменика култутре гра- да Београда 3 (Београд): 1–36. Šorske, K. E. (1998), Fin-De-Siècle  u Beču : politika i kultura, Beograd: Geopoetika. Шупут, М. (2015), Капетан Мишино здање. Од породичне па- лате до здања Београдског Универзитета, Задужбинар 5 (Бео- град): 8–25. Šćekić, M. (1988a), Konstantin Jovanović arhitekta. Architecture & Morality, Komunikacija 64 (Beograd): 4. Šćekić, M. (1988b), Konstantin Jovanović arhitekta, Beograd: Muzej grada Beograda. Wolanski, J. (2002), Central European Students at the Zurich Poly- technic Institute 1860–1872, Centropa II-2 (New York): 152–153. александар кадијевић 24 ALEKSANDAR KADIJEVIĆ abstract: »e Ærst independent work of the Viennese architect Konstantin A. Jovanović (1849–1923) in Belgrade, the house of solicitor Marko Stojanović at 53–55 Knez Mihailova Street, built in 1885, signiÆes the Europeanising surge of the secular architecture in the Kingdom of Serbia, which conclusively suppressed the Oriental architectural practices. Jovanović’s father Anastas helped him develop friendship alongside the business relationship with the patron of the house. »is allowed Jovanović to construct a notable privately-owned building in the city thoroughfare, thus recommending himself to the favour of wealthy investors. OÁen linked in historiography to Jovanović’s cult of the Italian Renaissance, Stojanović’s house also contains elements of Mannerism and Baroque, harmoniously combined into an eclectic whole. Adapted to the Belgrade setting as a two-storey structure built at the top of the Sava River Slope, the house is a direct interpolation of the Viennese eclectic experiences. Keywords: architecture, Konstantin A. Jovanović, Marko Stojanović, Europeanisation, Viennese Eclecticism THE HOUSE OF MARKO STOJANOVIĆ (1885) – THE FIRST INDEPENDENT WORK OF ARCHITECT KONSTANTIN JOVANOVIĆ IN BELGRADE 25 T he Ærst independent creation of the Viennese architect Konstantin Jovanović (1849–1923) in Belgrade,1 the house of solicitor Marko Stojanović at 53–55 Knez Mihailova Street, built in 1885, signifies the Europeanising surge of secular architecture in the Kingdom of Serbia which con- clusively suppressed the oriental construction prac- tice.2 Jovanović’s father Anastas helped him develop a friendship alongside the business relationship with the patron of the house. »is allowed Jovanović to construct a notable privately-owned building (Figure 1) in the city thoroughfare, aÁer Ænishing the marble pedestal of the monarchist monument to Prince Mi- hailo M. Obrenović III in the »eatre Square (1874– 1882),3 recommending himself thus to the favour of wealthy investors.4 Often linked in historiography to Jovanović’s cult of the Italian Renaissance, Stojanović’s house also contains elements of Mannerism and Baroque, har- moniously combined into a multi-layered eclectic whole. »is means that in designing it he did not ad- here strictly to the Renaissance style5, whose prima- cy he resolutely defended; rather, he used a wide ar- ray of later modern-period styles. In terms of size, the construction expenses, and its signiÆcance in urban planning, Stojanović’s house is one of the most notable palaces in the capital built aÁer the Mansion of Miša Anastasijević (1863).6 Functionally, it is a mixed-use type of privately-owned building, including both com- mercial and residential space.7 In terms of the spatial layout, it is classed as a storeyed single-family home, divided into two functional units, with a courtyard, and shops on the ground floor.8 Lastly, in terms of its positioning, it is classed as a structure embedded in a quadrilateral urban block. As regards the gener- al construction features, it is an example of a massive brick structure.9 In addition to laying the foundation to Jovanović’s Belgrade oeuvre, it also spurred on the development of the Serbian architectural Academi- cism,10 an eclectic school of thought accepted from central Europe. With a status of a protected monument located in the cultural and historical spatial unit of Knez Mihailo- va Street,11 Stojanović’s house has been analysed a num- ber of times in the Serbian historiography. For the most part, it is discussed brieÇy, in a few succinct sentences, without more detailed critical assessment. Unexpect- edly omitted from the Ærst historiographic overview of the 19th-century architecture of the capital, authored by Nikola Nestorović (1937),12 it was brought up reg- ularly in post-WWII monographs, articles, exhibition catalogues on Jovanović as an architect, as well as in handbooks, overview essays, reference books, and en- cyclopaedias. Its Ærst interpreters, Ljubomir Nikić, Ljil- jana Babić, Željko Škalamera, Zoran Jakovljević, Jovan Sekulić, Gordana Gordić, and Bogdan Nestorović, made important observations regarding its style, lay- out, and its position in the urban setting.13 Generations of later historiographers expanded on these observa- tions by detailed typological and contextual analyses.14 Nonetheless, criterial disagreements regarding the architectural style of Stojanović’s house have per- sisted, and are manifest in diÈerent terms and phras- es used, such as the style of the Italian Renaissance, a Renaissance style, the style of the Renaissance, the Re- naissance, Neo-Renaissance, Historism, Historicism, Academicism, Academicist eclecticism, and Eclecti- cism. In addition to testifying to a lack of termino- logical agreement, the historiographic interpretations in question also point to the diÉculties in the con- strual of Jovanović’s polysemous architecture. Along- side Jovanović himself, an overly narrow focus on the Renaissance as its sole paradigm was initiated in his- toriography in 1961 by Ljiljana Babić, who observed that the “Renaissance façades of Stojanović’s house are an example of harmonious proportions and sim- ple charm characterising all of Jovanović’s architec- ture.”15 In the descriptions that followed, Željko Škal- amera and Zoran Jakovljević used the phrase “the Neo-Renaissance style” in 1964,16 also utilised by Gor- dana Gordić in 1966.17 »is phrase was expanded by Jovan Sekulić and Škalamera to include a view that “the building is one of the most notable examples of the 19th-century Academicism.”18 As a result, Jovano- vić’s oeuvre has more oÁen been linked to the archi- tecture of Academicism since the late 1960s,19 while not detracting anything from the importance of his pseudo-Renaissance layers. Although this trend con- aleksandar kadijević 26 tinued, the lack of terminological agreement was not removed, as testified by the renewed insistence on the Renaissance style on the part of Ljubomir Nikić (1976) and Milan Šćekić (1988).20 Arbitrarily dated to 1889 for a long time, the house has been associated with 1885 from 1981 on- wards owing to Divna Đurić Zamolo.21 Echoes of its spatial layout have been identiÆed by Bogdan Nestor- ović in Nikola Spasić’s building, erected near the far end of Knez Mihailova Street in 1889.22 Subsequent interpreters also emphasised the foundational impor- tance of the Ærst Stojanović’s house in articulating Jova- nović’s Belgrade oeuvre, noting that the richness of its interior has disappeared in the numerous changes of its use.23 However, the open questions on the origin and character of its architectural conception (the direct in- terpolation of Viennese or Budapest eclectic experi- ences; the arbitrary peripheral interpretation of foreign models), have still not been precisely answered. Posed in March 2019 at the national academic conference ex- amining the Faculty of Fine Arts building, at which Stojanović’s house was given a comprehensive analyti- cal treatment,24 they were not considered in greater de- tail as a result of the small turnout of experts in the area of Jovanović’s architecture. The aesthetic of the Academicist architecture – the foundation of Jovanović’s oeuvre In order to discredit the conservative higher education methods of the architects they thought of as obsolete, critics in the late 19th century took the term Academicism from the Æeld of philosophy, and turned it into a pejorative axiological qualifi- cation.25 »e negative meaning was kept in the his- toriographical interpretations which subsequently favoured avant-garde art. As time went on and Post- modernism entered the stage of the architectural cul- ture, the term went from being a tool for expressing disapproval to acquiring a descriptive technical role. In modern historiography, it has a double meaning: the universal aesthetic law of form; and the preva- lent style in the visual art of high Historicism (1870– 1914).26 However, its application is still diluted by the related terminological substitutes and synonyms, Fig. 1 / ¢e House of Marko Stojanović, 53–55 Knez Mihailova Street, the main frontage (from the photo library of the Cultural Heritage Preservation Institute of Belgrade) the house of marko stojanović (1885) – the first independent Work of architect konstantin jovanović in belgrade 27 such as Historism, Historicism, Eclecticism, neo-styles, Neo-Renaissance, Neo-Mannerism, Neo-Baroque, and Neo-Classicism, resulting in the conÇation of concep- tual diÈerences between them. As a universal artistic principle, Academicism implies adherence to the norms established by an in- Çuential school of art, stemming from a lack of inno- vation or its deliberate suppression. Active Academi- cism rests on advocating the cult of the “eternal” and “irreplaceable” architectural canons, suitable for any and all designing projects and locations, and can be seen in architectural practices, ex catedra lectures, and theoretical treatises. On the other hand, passive Academicism refers to the consistent and unques- tioning application of these canons. Taken from cen- tral-European art academies and polytechnic schools as a dogmatic academic doctrine, Academicism de- veloped in the Serbian architecture of the second half of the 19th century, spurring on a revival of the mod- ern-period styles. »e appearance of Academicism coincides with gaining state sovereignty during the second reign of Prince Mihailo Obrenović III (1860–1868). »e cul- tural ties with the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, sup- ported by its dynastic successors, meant an accept- ance of Academicism as a be-all and end-all style, based on the principle of evocative eclecticism. Until the onset of the First World War, Serbian patrons and architects followed the traditions of central-European Academicism on a mass scale in designing buildings of diverse uses. Its prevalence was not dented even by the appearance of Viennese Secession, whose mod- ernising potential was underused. Developing spontaneously until 1865, the re- vival of historical styles in the Serbian architecture began to be subjected to stricter rules with the aim of stopping the wave of uncontrolled Romanticist improvisations. A greater respect for Academicist norms, above all the cult of the central mirror sym- metry and the division of the façade into three parts, with a prominent main motif, was introduced by the architects educated in central Europe.27 Although it did not have the form of a strict policy, the leading Academicist authorities Friedrich Schmidt, Hein- rich von Verstel, Karl von Hasenauer, Gottfried Sem- per, »eophil von Hansen and Josef Durm prompt- ed the development of the Serbian Academicism in their theoretical work or via their students. Howev- er, the analysis of the known examples, conducted from a historical distance, reveals that the Serbian Academicism had the most independent develop- ment in south-eastern Europe. It is divided into three developmental stages: early Academicism (1865– 1900), with a full adherence to the strict composi- tion norms; high Academicism (1900–1914), when these norms were given a more liberal interpretation under the inÇuence of Viennese Secession; and late Academicism (1918–1941), with monumental struc- tures bearing the mark of the Yugoslav ideology. Aca- demicism had a short-lived existence in the period of Social Realist development (1945–1952).28 »e Classicist style, which leÁ a deep mark in the Serbian art of the Ærst half of the 19th century, was revived in the period of early Academicism as an equally important layer of hetero-stylistic compo- sitions. Alongside the Renaissance, Mannerism, and Baroque, it leÁ an imprint on the architecture of no- table public and privately-owned buildings. »e tra- ditional features of the historical styles, subjected to Academicist rules of selection and merging, suited the taste of the authorities and the rich citizens in Serbia, including the enlightened Marko Stojanović. »e introduction of regulations in architectural practices (since 1865), by precisely categorising the streets in terms of building types, suited the cham- pions of order and urban harmony. In the construc- tion of monumental public buildings, their social function was foregrounded by means of exceptional positional value and deviations from the original or- der and direction of the regulation line. »is created a sort of urban square replacement in the form of a rectangular space in front of the buildings. Private- ly-owned freestanding houses and houses embedded in the block structure, as well as villas on the out- skirts, were not set apart in the same way, occupying the corners or central portions of the available land lots. »erefore, the city-building component marked a century of the Serbian Academicism, advocated as aleksandar kadijević 28 well by the Ærst urban planning specialist Emilijan Josimović (1823–1897).29 »e construction of the National »eatre (1867– 1869) in Belgrade according to the design of Aleksan- dar Bugarski,30 brought about the rise of Academicism in the architecture of monumental public buildings. Inspired by the frontage of the late 18th-century Te- atro alla Scala in Milan, Bugarski introduced the prin- ciple of analogical eclecticism. He foregrounded more extensively the monumentality and the many layers of the Academicist-style façades of the Palace of King Milan (1881–1884; better known as »e Old Court Palace),31 which dominated the administrative cen- tre of the capital for a long time. On the other hand, Konstantin Jovanović’s oeuvre is characterised by a single-style (Neo-Renaissance) and multiple-style synthetic solutions (the combinations of Neo-Renais- sance, Neo-Mannerism, and Neo-Baroque),32 which suited the aristocracy and the citizen entrepreneurs alike until the appearance of Art Nouveau. »e pri- macy of Academicism was supported by the majority of the lecturers in the Department of Architecture at Belgrade University’s Polytechnic Faculty, modelled between 1896 and 1898 aÁer the central-European higher education institutions. »e young Jovanović was introduced to the aes- thetic of Academicism as a student of architecture (1867–1870) at the Polytechnic Institute in Zurich,33 following the recommendations of his charismatic mentor Gottfried Semper (1803–1879) on the revival of the Renaissance art.34 Travelling around Italy with Semper and other students, Jovanović developed the travel book-investigative drawing as an expression of the personal perceptual geography, featuring mostly Renaissance buildings.35 Personally inclined towards the Renaissance, he adhered to its traditions in de- signing as well, adapting them to the Academicist revival methods. »is is why, following Semper’s ex- ample, he developed in the majority of his creations a purer variety of the Neo-Renaissance architecture, never adding the layers of other styles.36 He was not alone in this, as many architects around the world championed the same ideals at the risk of being crit- icised for their conservatism. On the other hand, he promoted in a smaller number of his works a syn- thesis of modern-period styles, which was especially prominent in his Ærst Belgrade palace. Adapting the Academicist aesthetic to his own artistic imagination, Jovanović created in Belgrade a recognisable authorial expression,37 welcomed by the local patrons. Using discreet chromatic, light and dark, and plastic contrasts, he brought to life the lay- ered frontages of unique buildings. He toned down their rustic elements, made the floor bases more complex, and spread out the highest zones, never pil- ing up ornamental motifs. By applying Neo-Baroque cupolas, attics, balusters, and mansard roofs, he en- hanced the silhouette dynamics of the Ænishing ele- ments of eclectically designed buildings, announcing a more liberal, post-1900 phase of the Serbian Ac- ademicism. InÇuenced by Semper,38 he conceptual- ised buildings in more functional terms than most of his contemporaries. Unlike freestanding and cor- ner buildings, he did not considerably visually fore- ground the buildings embedded in the centre of densely packed blocks. By embracing the Viennese experiences of the day, Jovanović constructed the capital of a young Christian Kingdom of Serbia (founded in 1882) af- ter a central-European fashion – a style aspired to by the other regional centres as well. Although he would publicly state that he exclusively “worked in the style of the Renaissance”,39 rejecting Secession and early Functionalism, he did not diÈer from most of the architects of the day, who allowed themselves ideological inconsistencies, even radical conceptual reversals, as exempliÆed by Otto Wagner, Hendrik- us Petrus Berlage, and Louis Sullivan. Nonetheless, unlike these inÇuential artisans, Jovanović’s incon- sistency did not result in a radical modernization of architectural programmes; instead, it held him even tighter to the past. The architecture of Stojanović’s house The influential investor Marko Stojanović (1844–1923), who was a solicitor and photographer in addition to his work in Ænancial management40, embarked on the construction of a dual-purpose, the house of marko stojanović (1885) – the first independent Work of architect konstantin jovanović in belgrade 29 commercial and residential stately house at the far end of the upper portion of Knez Mihailova Street, in the direction of the Kalemegdan park.41 Renamed in 1870 during urban layout alterations of a post-ori- ental town,42 Knez Mihailova Street became the main street in the social centre, full of commercial, busi- ness, hospitality, educational, treasury, and residen- tial facilities.43 Intended for marginal construction, it was linked up via a system of rectangular blocks to the adjoining streets, which are now part of its pro- tected zone. Located along the perimeter of the emerging block defined by Rajićeva, Pariska, and Knez Mi- hailova streets44 (Figure 2), the Ærst Stojanović’s ho- use belongs to the corpus of dispersed corner inter- polations.45 It was built in the place of Menzulana (Coaching Inn), the Ærst Serbian postal service. Its complex internal layout notwithstanding, it Æt in well with the array of adjoining two-storey houses erect- ed in the Classicist, Romanticist, and Neo-Renais- sance style (the hotel Greek Queen from 1835 at street number 51; the hotel Serbian Crown from 1869–1870 at street number 56; and the mixed commercial and residential building of Milan Pavlović from 1880– 1885 at street number 52),46 without deviating from the existing street regulation. Spacious, with a regu- lar positioning at the top of the Sava River Slope,47 despite the falling terrain and the complex conÆgu- ration of the land lot, it does not stand out, nor is it plastically expansive. Constructed as a four-cornered building with an irregular basis combining two structures with sepa- rate entrances, Stojanović’s house was atypical of the Belgrade, but not of the Viennese, architecture of the day.48 Separate functional units, covered by a shared façade mantle, have a three-tract spatial layout. »e ground Çoor of the connected buildings at the front- age side had general shops and craÁ shops for rent, which were often repurposed and changed lessees (grocery shops, textile and leather goods shops, shops selling furniture or products for children, bookstores, hardware shops, jewellery shops; today, there are gal- leries and art supply shops). »e modestly decorated entrance into the building at 53 Rajićeva Street used Fig. 3 / Floor plans, taken from the publication: Škalamera, Ž i Jakovljević, Z. (1964), Knez Mihailova ulica, Saopštenja Zavoda za zaštitu spomenika kulture grada Beograda 3 (Beograd): 31. Fig. 2 / ¢e corner of Knez Mihailova and Rajićeva streets (photograph by A. Kadijević, March 2019) aleksandar kadijević 30 to lead to the renting spaces, with a hallway fork- ing oÈ on the leÁ-hand side to the staircase leading to the upstairs area. Upstairs, rooms were set up for Stojanović’s family members (Figure 3), while the building at street number 55 was rented out, with the Austria-Hungary consular oÉce as the Ærst tenant in 1900.49 »is is why its entrance had more ornaments, and the ground Çoor designated for formal occasions contained a majestic stairway hall. A two-storey set-up of the building in the main city street was no exception at the time, as three-sto- rey buildings were considered unproÆtable.50 Howev- er, the Çoor areas of the separate and forcibly connect- ed segments of Stojanović’s house do not represent the most functional solution as a unit, due to the irregu- lar positioning of the land lot, which is not noticeable from the outside (except from the courtyard).51 »e building was constructed in a massive skeletal sys- tem52, with brick walls, a wooden inter-storey struc- ture strengthened by means of vault ribs, while the façades were treated with lime mortar. Glassed sur- faces are most numerous in the ground Çoor area of the main frontage. »e façade walls are used for both load-bearing and partitioning, as are the interior walls. »e carpentry, locksmithing, and sheet metal works, as well as the ornamental Neo-Baroque domes of Stojanović’s building (among the Ærst on the main city street) (Figures 4–5), were completed by the Bel- grade artisans. At the foot of the lateral frontages, the rectan- gular windows with chambranles and drapes are lo- cated below three-part semi-circular Mannerism - -style windows (Figures 6–7). The double-wing rectangular windows on the Ærst Çoor, with a roof- light above them, are embedded in the façade wall plane and framed by the majestic pseudo-Renais- sance aediculae.53 »e street base under the main frontage was paved with granite cubes between 1886 and 1887.54 »e tenants obtained water from the Delijska drinking fountain until the water supply and sewerage networks were installed at the begin- ning of the 20th century, followed by the telephone and electricity supply infrastructure.55 Jovanović built another house for the same investor between Fig. 5 / ¢e corner of Knez Mihailova and Pariska streets (from the photo library of the Cultural Heritage Preservation Institute of Belgrade) Fig. 4 / ¢e corner of Knez Mihailova and Pariska streets (photograph by A. Kadijević, March 2019) the house of marko stojanović (1885) – the first independent Work of architect konstantin jovanović in belgrade 31 1899 and 1900, located in the adjoining land lot at the top of the Sava River Slope (15 Pariska Street). »e house was also modelled on the principles of Academicism, with a solicitor’s oÉce and an archive on the mezzanine.56 Although the buildings at 53–55 Knez Mihailo- va Street have different spatial solutions and total surface areas (the second one is more expansive and elongated, with a rounded front in the direction of the garden, and does not lean against the adjoining building), they are brought together via a compact outer mantle with three morphologically harmoni- ous fronts, void of dissonant tones which would indi- cate an interior programmatic duality. »is is why the entrances to both buildings are placed on the later- al frontages in Rajićeva and Pariska streets. »e roof cover has multiple outlets and does not stand out in the overall visual presentation. The façade fronts of the house are connect- ed by a continuous horizontal strip with a balanced rhythm, enriched with vertical Çank accents intro- ducing a plastic dynamism (the Neo-Baroque-style cupolas, avant-corps, and corner balconies). The fourth façade, facing the courtyard and not notice- able from the street, is divided into a smaller wing at street number 53, with a Çat used by the building jan- itor, and a projecting Neo-Mannerism-style porch in the shape of a semi-cylinder on the ground Çoor (to- day, there is a Çat wall in its place), with the Neo-Re- naissance-style avant-corps below a gable roof at street number 55. Along its vertical axis, the building has a base- ment, ground Çoor, and the ‘noble’ Çoor (i.e. the Vi- ennese nobelstock – a paraphrase of the early Renais- sance system of piano nobile). »e stairway vestibule on the ground Çoor of the building at street num- ber 55 is shaped as a majestic eight-cornered entry- way with Neo-Renaissance niches, which takes away a great deal of useful space from the interior. The courtyard tract on the ground Çoor contains a spa- cious reception hall, while the rooms and shops in both buildings are approximately the same size, each at 16 (4 × 4) square metres of surface area.57 »e noteworthy owner’s Çat, located on the Ærst Çoor of the building at street number 55, used to have seven rooms placed along two street tracts and in the direction of a lateral tract. »e spacious rectangular lobby is surrounded by rooms on three sides, with the Fig. 6 / A detail of the ground ¥oor facing Rajićeva Street (photograph by A. Kadijević, March 2019) Fig. 7 / ¢e façade facing Pariska Street (from the photo library of theCultural Heritage Preservation Institute of Belgrade) aleksandar kadijević 32 narrow double-tract courtyard on the fourth, used for illumination, airing, and communication between the separate buildings. »e glass partition parapet, secured by thin angle irons and oval medallions, is located between the dining room and an open sky- light, providing exceptional illumination for the cen- tral area. »e central area on the Ærst Çoor of the ad- joining building at 55 Knez Mihailova Street has two parts and is reached via a three-Çight stairway and a square-shaped lobby. »e hall is surrounded on three sides by six successive rooms, and the fourth side has a room and a skylight. Combining the traditions of different mod- ern-period styles, Stojanović’s house is primarily in- spired by the palaces of the Roman High Renaissance (1500–1520), but also to an extent by the palaces of Mannerism (1520–1575). Baroque motifs were ap- plied in developing the upper section. Adapted to the Academicist methods of reviving the past, the syn- thesis of modern-period styles was a fundamental determinant of its architectural programme. Jovano- vić’s views on their synthesis were based on studying structures in situ, the available historiographic litera- ture, and Semper’s ex catedra interpretations. It is important to note that Stojanović’s house is not a replica, nor is it a paraphrase of an Italian modern-period building. It is an original creation by Jovanović, adapted to the Belgrade environment and based on the principles of the Viennese eclec- tic school, which he belonged to by vocation. Unlike the non-compact interior layout, its exterior is har- moniously rounded by the application of the central axial symmetry along the iconographically balanced façades. »e highly reÆned combination of historical motifs classes it as a civically ‘noble’ and prestigious building, which captures the eye with its charm. It stands apart in multiple ways in the city milieu, with its cautious light and dark, plastic, and chromatic contrasts, developed both vertically and horizontal- ly, securing new commercial orders for its creator. As an example of a balanced eclectic concept, it is more attractive than the more austerely decorated Neo-Re- naissance palaces, as well as less pretentious than the Neo-Baroque ones. On the main frontage of Stojanović’s house, which is about 25 meters wide, four rectangular ground Çoor shop windows are located below pairs of Çoor windows in the aediculae; on the wing avant- corps, however, they are found below a single larger window. Instead of using functional shop windows, the ground Çoor areas of lateral façades are spread out by means of Neo-Mannerist-style windows with an arch Ænish and a prominent keystone. »e hori- zontal strips on the building frontages are separated by a shallow parting cornice, interrupted by balco- ny doors on the Çank edges. Modelled aÁer the ear- ly Renaissance palaces, pilasters made in diÈerent styles are placed in a succession along the vertical axis (Tuscan Doric on the ground Çoor, and Corin- thian on the Ærst Çoor), while the rustic façade ele- ments of the horizontally grooved Çuting are more prominent on the wing avant-corps ground Çoor sec- tion. Jovanović masterfully embeds functional inno- vations, such as the wide rectangular shop windows, within the harmonious whole, as is the case with the light wrought-iron balcony railing. »e lateral wing avant-corps, located below the attics with balusters and domes on the main frontage, are connected by means of continuous linking sec- tions, rhythmically separated by thematically congru- ent traves. »e linking section traves are separated by means of one Corinthian pilaster, while those of the wing avant-corps are separated by two each. »e cor- ner domes, which narrow down plastically and end in pointed lanterns as they transition from a square basis to an octagonal one, together with the balconies and attic vases (as Baroque-style-enhancing additions), contribute to an ideal balance of the unit, rather than standing out as self-suÉcient extensions. In the spirit of Mannerism, Jovanović underscores a compact plas- tic of cut angles, while a Baroque dynamism domi- nates the treatment of the Ænishing sections. Despite the application of diverse historical mo- tifs, the building frontages are linked into a thematic and rhythmic whole, with the courtyard wing devi- ating from this to an extent. »e strongly projecting loÁ cornice is not overly prominent, which is true of the toned-down rustic elements of easily accessible the house of marko stojanović (1885) – the first independent Work of architect konstantin jovanović in belgrade 33 ground Çoor as well. »e spiritual quality and mod- eration of the architectural expression, without any superÇuous details, characterise Jovanović’s Ærst cap- ital ediÆce, embedded in the wider environment in a city-building fashion. Averse to Ægurative façade sculpture with a rhetorical-symbolic content, Jovano- vić did not use it for the Ærst Stojanović’s house either. With harmonious proportions, balanced rhythms, and architectural mass contrasts, the palace dominated the urban environment for a long time, inspiring patrons and designers of privately-owned buildings. Since its erection to the present day, it has oÁen been the object of artistic, journalistic, topo- graphical, and amateur photography, and made its appearance on postcards as soon as they were intro- duced into the Serbian media sphere (1895). It ap- pears most frequently in topographical postcards which present important urban and natural set- tings.58 In Belgrade travel guides, it is presented pri- marily as an Austria-Hungary consular oÉce and as a crowning achievement in the Ænal section of the city thoroughfare.59 As a product of a European tendency in the Serbian secular architecture of the late 19th century, Stojanović’s house was overshadowed by larger and more spacious buildings erected in the vicinity be- tween the two world wars, i.e. the Spasić Foundation (1929–1930) at 47 Knez Mihailova Street, designed by architect Josif Najman; and the Yugoslav Unit- ed Bank (1929–1931) at 21 Kralja Petra Street, de- signed by Hugo Ehrlich;60 in the present day, there is also the business and hotel complex Rajićeva Be- ograd (2017) at 54 Rajićeva Street, designed by Milan and Vladimir Lojanica, whose radical domination is toned down by a spacious piazzetta.61 The place of Stojanović’s house in Jovanović’s oeuvre and the Serbian architecture Acknowledging all previous interpretations of Stojanović’s house, it can be concluded that its archi- tectural programme is defined by the Academicist aesthetic, based on an evocative synthesis of the mod- ern-period styles. Adapted to the Belgrade environ- ment by means of a two-storey structure at the top of the Sava River Slope, the building is a direct interpo- lation of the Viennese eclectic experiences. Its domi- nant Renaissance-Mannerist layers are complement- ed by elements of the French Baroque (cupolas, attics, and upper section ornaments), reÇecting the spirit of the Viennese approach as well. »e architects Titus Mačković (1851–1919) and Vladimir Nikolić (1857– 1922) developed in the near-by Srem and Bačka a similar variety of eclecticism. Mačković also studied at the Polytechnic Institute in Zurich in 1869 (contin- uing his education in Aachen and Vienna), and went on to present a programme similar to Jovanović’s on the stately houses of Samko Manojlović (1881) and Lazar Mamužić (1892) in Subotica.62 As a talent- ed Viennese student of Hansen’s, Vladimir Nikolić was equally inclined towards a synthesis of the mod- ern-period styles, emphasising the Neo-Baroque cu- polas on wing avant-corps of notable buildings (the Grand Hotel in Vukovar, erected in 1896; Stefaneum in Sremski Karlovci, erected in 1903; the 1904 Jović stately house in Bečej and the 1907 Kronić stately house in Sombor).63 A similar methodology was ap- plied in Croatia by Leo Hönigsberg (1861–1911) and Julio Deutsch (1859–1922), themselves also Viennese students and long-standing collaborators.64 By designing Viennese-style buildings in the Serbian capital, Jovanović opened a new chapter in its eclectic architecture, proÆled until then by the Budapest-educated students Aleksandar Bugarski and Andrija Vuković.65 »e echoes of the Viennese Eclecticism, adapted to the Belgrade environment, would also be carried further aÆeld by Hansen’s Ser- bian students – Svetozar Ivačković, Jovan Ilkić, and Dušan Živanović.66 Jovanović developed a more profound internal dialogue between his unique Belgrade palaces, as each one was a conceptual break-through with respect to its predecessor. In order to follow in Semper’s footsteps and avoid the formalist traps of manifold eclecticism, he applied purer, single-style (Neo-Renaissance) solu- tions in addition to the synthesising ones. AÁer the Ærst Stojanović’s house, he perfected the synthetic ap- proach on the three-storey Spasić Foundation (1889) aleksandar kadijević 34 at 33 Knez Mihailova Street, with the characteristic mansard roof,67capturing the eye with its light and dark contrasts of the architectural plastic elements. It also contains a more compact interior layout than the dual Stojanović’s building (a feature contributed to by a more regular land lot conÆguration as well), with a more developed system of salon room addi- tion.68 Although lower than Stojanović’s stately home, the house of the entrepreneur Dragomir Radulović (1890), erected at the corner of 12 Vuka Karadžića Street and 1 Delijska Street, has a more prominent an- gle and better-proportioned square-shaped frontage traves, a more moderate decoration, and wider linking sections.69 An even purer example of the ‘new Renais- sance’ is a harmoniously proportioned in-built house of Kosta Milenković (1900), located at 9 Zmaj-Jovina Street and inspired by Semper’s ideals.70 »e second house of Marko Stojanović (1899–1900), connected to the Ærst one in terms of the urban layout, contains less garish Baroque details (the medallions above the portal and the central Çoor window), subordinated to the dominant Neo-Renaissance layers. Due to a small- er surface area, it has a simpler spatial solution, with a more developed garden space.71 Although Jovanović managed to erect no more than a few larger privately-owned buildings aÁer the first Stojanović’s house, designing the monumen- tal National Bank building (1889) at 12 Kralja Pet- ra Street (with the annex added aÁer the First World War)72 would provide an ultimate aÉrmation of the city-building potential of Neo-Renaissance architec- ture, as the addition covered the entire block. A small number of privately-owned late 19th century stately houses can be compared to the Ærst Stojanović’s house and the Spasić Foundation build- ing in terms of their architectural qualities. »ese in- clude the in-built multi-storey structures and corner buildings by Aleksandar Bugarski in Knez Mihailo- va Street (which were less spread out and less promi- nent in the block),73 the Krsmanović buildings (1889) designed by Milorad Ruvidić at 2 Kneza Sime Mark- ovića Street,74 and the Krsmanović building in Šabac (1891), located at 2 Masarikova Street, designed by Jovan Ilkić.75 On the other hand, Jovanović’s Ærst Bel- grade work evidently lags behind the more dominant and spatially spread-out public buildings of the day, e.g. the above-mentioned National Bank, the OÉcers’ Club, and the Ministry of Defence (1895) build- ings, which received considerably more state funds.76 Nonetheless, in terms of the number of implemented construction projects in the wider area of Knez Mi- hailova Street, Jovanović is still ahead of the other lo- cal and foreign architects who contributed to its de- velopment in the last 150 years.77 Conclusion As it is statically jeopardised by the more recent construction projects in the immediate vicinity, and functionally inadequate for administering and pre- senting increasingly diverse activities of the Faculty of Fine Arts, the Ærst Stojanović’s house needs urgent technical protection as well as a higher status in the hierarchy of cultural property.78 Given that it has pre- served its authentic spatial structure, its exterior dec- oration (the balconies and the façade ornamentation) was damaged most by repurposing and weathering. It earns its place on the list of cultural property of great importance, or at least being regarded as prom- inent cultural property in the Belgrade municipality of Stari Grad, not only as the Ærst Jovanović’s build- ing in the capital, which changed its purpose many times (a mixed commercial and residential purpose building, the consular oÉce of Austria-Hungary, the Museum of Trade, the Faculty of Fine Arts),79 but also as an anthological example of the early Academ- icism in the Serbian architecture.80 In addition to its architectural and urban planning signiÆcance, this would highlight its social signiÆcance in the recent history of the Serbian capital. Prof. Aleksandar Đ. Kadijević, PhD Art Historian Faculty of Philosophy, University of Belgrade aleksandarkadije@sbb.rs the house of marko stojanović (1885) – the first independent Work of architect konstantin jovanović in belgrade 35 NOTES: 1] Konstantin A. Jovanović was born in Vienna on 13th January 1849 to a family of art photographer and lithographer Anastas Jovanović (1817–1899). AÁer completing his primary and sec- ondary education in his hometown, in 1867 he became a stu- dent of the Zurich Polytechnic Institute, which had the status of a university. Upon graduation in 1870, he opened a private architectural design oÉce (about which very little is known to- day), erecting buildings throughout the Monarchy and the Bal- kan countries. He concerned himself with travel-book drawing, theory, historiography, daily criticism, and memoir writing. In Belgrade, he had a number of completed as well as incomplete projects. »is great Serbian patriot died in Zurich on 25th No- vember 1923. (Babić 1960; Babić 1961; Маневић 2008; Клеут 2009; Јовановић 2012; Ванушић 2013). »e material on Jova- nović’s oeuvre is best systematised in the Belgrade City Muse- um, as part of the Konstantin Jovanović Fund in the Architec- ture and Urban Planning Collection (Ванушић 2013: 89–106). 2] Roter Blagojević 2012; Макуљевић 2015; Кадијевић 2017; Mitrović 2018. 3] Тимотијевић 2002; Весковић 2010; Ванушић 2013: 69–70; Борозан 2019: 43–45. 4] Маневић 2008: 179; Банковић и Мацура 2019: 24–35. 5] Karge 2001; Brucculeri & Frommel 2015. 6] On the concept and typology of palaces, see: Curl 1999: 474; Maldini 2004: 98–99; Bogunović 2005: 1393–1934. On the history and architecture of the Mansion of Miša Anastasijević, see: Мишић 2008; Шупут 2015 (with older literature). 7] Милетић Абрамовић 2002. 8] Ротер Благојевић 2006: 98–99. 9] Ђукановић 2017. 10] Кадијевић 2005. 11] For the categorisation of areas and the decisions on designat- ing it a spatial cultural and historical unit, see the web-site of the Cultural Heritage Preservation Institute of Belgrade: http://beogradskonasledje.rs/kulturna-dobra/gradske-opstine/ nepokretna-kulturna-dobra-na-teritoriji-opstine-stari-grad-2; http://beogradskonasledje.rs/kd/zavod/stari_grad/knez_mi- hajlova_ulica.html. See also: Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964: 31–35. 12] Несторовић 1937. 13] Никић 1957: 348; Babić 1961: 26; Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964: 30–31; Секулић и Шкаламера 1966: 28–29; Гордић 1966: 38; Несторовић 1974: 156; Никић 1976: 138; Несторовић 2006: 323. 14] Šćekić 1988: 9; Šćekić 1988a: 9, 13, 23, 93; Maksić 1992: 66– 68; Гордић и Павловић Лончарски 2001: 20–21; Милетић Абрамовић 2002: 68–69; Вујовић 2003: 128; Ћоровић 2004: 368; Bogunović 2005: 839–840; Кадијевић 2005: 316;Ротер Благојевић 2006: 269–272; Клеут 2006:233–234; Маневић 2008: 179; Ђурић Замоло 2009: 179, 181–183; Божовић 2009: 95–96; Ванушић 2013: 65; Николић 2017:19–20; Цветић 2018; Банковић и Мацура 2019: 33. 15] Babić 1962: 26. 16] Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964: 30 17] Гордић 1966: 38 18] Секулић и Шкаламера 1966: 29. 19] Маневић 1969: 61; Manević 1972: 11–13; Несторовић 1974: 156; Несторовић 2006: 323–325 (the manuscript was pre- pared in the early 1970s and then published posthumously). 20] Comparing Stojanović’s house with Jovanović’s palace at the corner of 12 Vuka Karadžića Street and 1 Delijska street, Ljubomir Nikić concluded in 1976 that both “were designed in the Renaissance style” (Никић 1976: 138), while in 1988 Milan Šćekić used the phrase “the Italian Renaissance style” (Šćekić 1988a: 9). 21] »e photograph in the Belgrade Album by Lj. Velicki from 1886 shows the building in the land lot, which means that it had been built before (Ђурић Замоло 2009: 181). »e dating was revised in the Ærst edition of the monograph in 1981. 22] Babić 1961:27; Гордић 1966: 28–29; Гордић и Павловић Лончарски 2001: 18–19; Ванушић 2013: 65; Николић 2017: 14–16. 23] Лончарски и Гордић 2001: 20. 24] It was analysed from a cultural-historical, architectural and urban planning-related, legal, conservation-related, and heri- tological standpoint. »is was the Ærst academic convention dedicated to a well-known recent ediÆce in our country. See: Пецић 2019. 25] Кадијевић 2005: 7–102. 26] Јовановић 1988. 27] »e majority of the established state architects of the King- dom of Serbia, as well as the productive private ones, received their university education in Budapest, Vienna, Munich, Ber- lin, Karlsruhe, Aachen, or Zurich. 28] Кадијевић 2005: 291–417. 29] Максимовић 1967; Димитријевић Марковић 2017; Vuksa- nović Macura 2018. 30] Кадијевић 2005: 301; Покрајац 2013: 80–86. 31] Покрајац 2013: 93–99; Мишић 2013. 32] Jovanović’s multi-style solutions correspond conceptually and chronologically to the synthesising eclectic creations of the day, as pointed out by the historian Paul Mignot. He distin- guished between two schools of thought in the eclectic archi- tecture at the time: the typological eclecticism which was prev- alent in the public building architecture, and is based on a view that a certain type of building must be expressed using the language of one appropriate historical style; and the syn- aleksandar kadijević 36 thesizing eclecticism, characteristic of both public and private- ly-owned buildings, where the elements of diÈerent styles are present in equal measure (Mignot 1994: 100–101). 33] Between 1863 and 1873, alongside Aleksandar Katanić, who died prematurely, Konstantin Jovanović was the only Ser- bian graduate of the Department of Architecture at the Zu- rich Polytechnic Institute, itself organised as a university. See: Трговчевић 2003: 177–178. On the structure and the inter- national character of the institute, the new building of which was designed by Semper 1869–1870, see more in: Wolanski 2002; Tshanz 2015. 34] Ljiljana Babić notes that upon his arrival at the institution, Semper established an ex catedra academicism in architecture, shaping his ideas into an academic dogma (Babić 1960: 8). On his teaching, research, designing, and theoretical activities, see: Babić 1960: 8–10; Dobrović 1965: 95–102; Herrman 1984; Mallgrave 1996; KruÁ 1997; 229–233; Šerman 2000; Prelovšek 2002; Damljanović 2002; Hvattum 2004; Brucculeri i Frommel 2015: 203–216; Von Orelli-Messerli 2016. 35] Клеут 2007:138–139; Ванушић 2013: 22–27; Kadijević 2019: 9, 13. 36] Damljanović 2002; Ванушић 2013. 37] Bogdan Nestorović noted that all Jovanović’s creations are ‘an expression of a strong and talented individuality’ (Несторовић 1969: 51). 38] KruÁ 1997: 229–233; Šerman 2000. 39] See: Letter of K. А. Jovanović to the Serbian Royal Academy (5.Х.1910), Archives of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Art, Documents on the erection of the Building, no. 672. 40] He was born in Šabac on 4th April 1844. AÁer completing his primary school education, he attended the legal department of the Belgrade Lyceum, supporting himself by working as a serv- ant and busboy with Voivode Uzun-Mirko, and later with Kosta Protić, who was appointed to the Regency council. From 1870, he worked as a solicitor, and concerned himself with legal theory and writing. He founded the National Bank in 1884, and became its Vice-Governor in 1895 as Đorđe Vajfert’s principal associate. He remained in oÉce until 1902. His second term as Vice-Gov- ernor started in 1912 and ended in 1923. He was also a member of the Monopoly and Belgrade cooperatives, the Belgrade Credit Bureau, and a member and founder of a number of foundation boards. In 1913, he founded St. George’s Disability Fund with Vajfert. He initiated and provided the rationale for erecting the joint monument to Grand Vožd Karađorđe and Prince Miloš, which was erected near his house (Cvetić 2018: 83–85). He was married and had four daughters. He passed away on 21 Septem- ber 1923. Marko Stojanović became a photographer in the early 1890s. He took a great number of portraits of eminent contem- poraries from the social and cultural sphere, which are only par- tially preserved. Today, they are kept in private collections and the Archives of the National Bank of Serbia. 41] Škalamera 1963; Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964; Гвозде- новић 1975; Maksić 1992; Bogunović 2005: 499–513. 42] Ћоровић 2004: 367–369. 43] Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964; Гвозденовић 1975; Maksić 1992; Bogunović 2005: 499–513. 44] »e Plan of Belgrade from 1886 (published by Svetozar Lj. Velicki in the Album of Belgrade with a Brief Description and Plan) reveals that the block was deÆnitely formed (Недић 1976: 176). 45] Kadijević 2015; Николић 2017. 46] Шкаламера и Јаковљевић 1964: 22–23, 29–30; Ђурић Замоло 1988: 30–31, 86–90. 47] Roter Blagojević 1998; Dajč 2013. 48] KräÁner i Riha 1983; Šorske 1998; Samitz 1998; Plasmayer 2018. 49] By receiving rent money from the tradesmen and the consular oÉce, the owner managed to return a part of the funds invest- ed in the construction and maintenance of the building. 50] »is is why there were so few of them until the late 1880s – at 18 and 40. See: Roter Blаgojević 2012: 51. 51] Несторовић 2006: 323. 52] Ђукановић 2017. 53] Stanković 1995: 169–171; Bogunović 2005: 1242. 54] Стојановић 2008: 53–61. 55] Стојановић 2008: 117–169. 56] »is is why in historiography his Ærst design is most oÁen referred to as the House of the Solicitor Marko Stojanović, and the second one as the House of Marko Stojanović. See: Божовић 2009. 57] Cvetić 2018: 30–31. 58] Пераћ 2009: 95, 119. 59] Костић 2009: 105–106. 60] Kadijević 1990: 102; Марковић 2006; Kadijević 2015б. 61] Милашиновић Марић 2017. 62] Јањушевић 2011: 108–109, 112–113. 63] Станчић 1999: 168–174, 104–109, 185–191, 198–204; Јањушевић 2011: 126–133. 64] »ey graduated from the Viennese Polytechnic School, having studied with Professor Heinrich von Verstel. See: Knežević i Laslo 2011: 176. 65] On the Neo-Renaissance architecture in Budapest, see: Csáki, Hidvégii Ritoók 2009. On Bugarski and Vuković as the found- ers of the Serbian Academicism, see: Кадијевић 2005: 300–304. 66] Ђурић Замоло 2009: 120–124, 134–166. 67] Клеут 2006: 236–239. 68] Over time it would have a counterpart in the stately house of Joca Jovanović Šapčanin from 1902. See: Гордић и Павловић Лончарски 2001: 44–45. 69] Никић 1976: 138; Клеут 2006: 234–236; Ванушић 2013: 66. 70] Милетић-Абрамовић 2002: 48, 72–73; Несторовић 2006: 260; Клеут 2006: 241; Ванушић 2013: 65–66. the house of marko stojanović (1885) – the first independent Work of architect konstantin jovanović in belgrade 37 71] Клеут 2006: 241–243; Божовић 2009; Ванушић 2013: 67; Николић 2017: 20–21. 72] Babić 1961: 13–15; Маневић 1969: 72; Гордић 1999; Гордић и Павловић Лончарски 2001: 12–17; Kадијевић 2005: 314– 315; Bogunović 2005: 838; Клеут 2006: 218–221, 230–233; Божовић 2012; Ванушић 2013: 58–60; Николић 2017: 12–14. 73] Покрајац 2013: 87–93. 74] Пaвловић Лончарски 1997: 69–74; Живановић 2004: 132– 133; Кадијевић 2005: 333. 75] Кадијевић 2005: 308; Грчић 2009: 67, 73. 76] »ey were designed by the renowned state architects of the Kingdom of Serbia, also former students at Viennese higher education institutions. See: Ђурић Замоло 2009: 47–49. 77] In addition to Jovanović, the following people leÁ a mark on the architecture of Knez Mihailova Street: Aleksandar Bugar- ski, Milan Antonović, Andra Stevanović, Dragutin Đorđević, Danilo Vladisavljević, Miloš Savčić, Petar Popović, Dragiša Brašovan, Dionis Sunko, Josif Najman, Aleksandar Janković, Nikolay Krasnov, Roman Verhovskoy, Leonid Makseev, Mila- din Prljević, Branko Bon, Aleksandar Deroko, Ivo Kurtović, Dejan Nastić, Miodrag Mirković, Slobodan Rajović, Relja Ko- stić, and Spasoje Krunić. 78] »is issue was raised by art historian Ana Radovanac Živanov at the convention examining the Faculty of Fine Arts building in March 2019. See: Пецић 2019: 18. 79] »e Faculty of Fine Arts moved into the building in 1937, while the decision on full nationalisation was made in 1958. 80] I extend my sincere thanks to my colleagues Dr Dragan Da- mjanović and Dr Tanja Damljanović Conley, who provided useful advice and help in collecting the material for this article. Summary: ALEKSANDAR KADIJEVIĆ THE HOUSE OF MARKO STOJANOVIĆ (1885) – THE FIRST INDEPENDENT WORK OF ARCHITECT KONSTANTIN JOVANOVIĆ IN BELGRADE The first independent work of the Viennese architect Konstantin A. Jovanović (1849–1923) in Belgrade, the house of solicitor Marko Stojanović at 53–55 Knez Mihailova Street, built in 1885, signiÆes the Europeanising surge of the secular architecture in the Kingdom of Serbia which conclusively suppressed the Oriental architectural practices. Jovanović’s father Anastas helped him develop friendship alongside the business relationship with the patron of the house. »is allowed Jovanović to construct a notable privately- owned building in the city thoroughfare, recommending himself thus to the favour of wealthy investors. OÁen linked in historiography to Jovanović’s cult of the Italian Renaissance, Stojanović’s house also contains elements of Mannerism and Baroque, harmoniously combined into an eclectic whole. Adapted to the Belgrade setting as a two-storey structure at the top of the Sava River Slope, the house is a direct interpolation of the Viennese eclectic experiences. As it is statically jeopardised by the more recent development projects in the immediate vicinity, and functionally inadequate for administering and presenting increasingly diverse activities of the Faculty of Fine Arts, the Ærst Stojanović’s house needs urgent technical protection and deserves a higher status in the hierarchy of cultural property. Given that it has preserved its authentic spatial structure, its exterior decoration (the balconies and the façade ornaments) was damaged most by repurposing and weathering. It merits being listed as cultural property of great importance, or at least as prominent cultural property in the Belgrade municipality of Stari Grad, not only as the Ærst Jovanović’s building in the capital, which changed its purpose many times (a mixed commercial and residential building, the consular oÉce of Austria-Hungary, the Museum of Trade, the Faculty of Fine Arts), but also as an anthological example of synthetic Academicism in the more recent Serbian architecture. Prof. Aleksandar Đ. Kadijević, PhD Art Historian Faculty of Philosophy, University of Belgrade aleksandarkadije@sbb.rs aleksandar kadijević 38 
work_zycg6gymcvamxosqe6jv6j4zoq	----	1 Persistence and Fashion in Art Italian Renaissance from Vasari to Berenson and Beyond* Victor Ginsburgh ECARES, Université Libre de Bruxelles and CORE, Université catholique de Louvain and Sheila Weyers Université catholique de Louvain June 2005 Abstract The paper looks at the survival of reputations over time. Painters from the Italian Renaissance are a good case, since they were discussed in a systematic way by Vasari some 400 years ago. Their reputation is considered to be represented by the length of entries in seven famous art histories, spread over time from Vasari to the end of the 20th century. Though some artists appear, disappear or reappear, there is a surprisingly large degree of consensus over time: among the first fifty to whom scholars devote space, one half is recognized at all times. This observation is sustained by several statistical tests, which all confirm this view for the 250 artists discussed in the paper: their rankings are strongly correlated over time. However, the dataset does not make it possible to decide whether this is due to the intrinsic or aesthetic quality of artists (or their works), or to the social consensus that has built around them. Forthcoming in Poetics, 2005 * We are grateful to Peter Burke, Christophe Croux, Catherine Dehon, Philippe Junod, Thierry Lenain, François Mairesse, Didier Martens and the late Ignace Vandevivere for preliminary discussions, references and suggestions. Two anonymous referees as well as the editor of the journal made the paper much tighter than it was. They should also be very gratefully thanked. 2 [David Sylvester] could silence the cheerful gossip at any dinner table by posing with urgent solemnity a question like "But who do you think is greater, Giotto or Matisse?" [Even] as he lay dying, he insisted on having his guests play his favorite game of quantification, listing who are the greatest of the great. Robert Rosenblum.1 1. Introduction We are interested in the survival of artists over time. Painters from the Italian Renaissance, including precursors such as Cimabue, Duccio, Giotto, or Simone Martini, are a good case to explore how fame unfolds, since they were first discussed in a systematic way some 400 years ago by Vasari (1568) in the second edition of his Vite,2 considered as one of the founding texts in art history. One can therefore try to study whether artists discussed by Vasari remained so afterwards and are still those whom we consider the most important, or how much our views of the Renaissance have changed over time. This is probably the longest possible time period that can be analyzed in a quantitative way. We examine whether there is consensus in the choices over time, or whether changes are frequent. We find that among the first fifty or so artists to whom art scholars devote time and space, one half is unanimously recognized over the 400 years between 1568 and 2000, while the other half comes and goes. This observation is made more precise by several statistical analyses, which all confirm that there is a strong consensus on the ranking and the critical judgment of some 250 artists. The nature of the process which generates such a consensus has aesthetic as well as sociological and economic components. Aesthetic theory suggests that beauty lies in the artwork itself. Generalist philosophers claim that there are general standards, or criteria, which make a work good. According to Beardsley (1982), for example, there exist three general properties, unity, intensity and complexity, such that if one of them is present in an artwork, the artwork is better. There may be other characteristics, which are "secondary," and which may make a work better in a certain context, or worse in another. Singularists on the other hand sustain that there exist no such general standards, and that every property, or characteristic is contextual. 1 In his introduction to Sotheby's Catalogue, David Sylvester: The Private Collection, London, 26 February 2002. 2 Vasari published two versions of his Vite, the first in 1550, the second, more complete, in 1568. This is the version that we use. Vasari himself used various sources. On this issue, see W. Kallab, Vasaristudien, Vienna, 1908. 3 The idea of objective aesthetic criteria was found interesting by scientists from other fields than art theory. Birkhoff (1933), a mathematician, devotes a book on aesthetic value and feeling. The various chapters of his 200 pages book discuss polygonal forms, ornaments, tilings or vases but also melody and musical quality in poetry.3 The 20th century famous mathematician Weyl (1952) devotes a large part of his book on symmetry and the feeling of beauty that it generates. Recent experimental research on "beauty" in human beings and attractiveness in animal species also stresses the importance of symmetry, an obviously objective and measurable characteristic, that is even noticed by babies.4 Other philosophers, such as Hume (1757, p. 6), believe that "[b]eauty is no quality in things themselves: it exists merely in the mind which contemplates them; and each mind perceives a different beauty," and that the "ground of judgments of taste [is located] not in some object which is the target of the judgment, but in the maker of the judgment."5 Maker or makers? Bourdieu (1983, 1996) takes an additional step and argues that value is arbitrary, and constructed by the social structures of cultural hierarchy. It is objective but only as a social fact. Accordingly, there are no criteria that allow determining the intrinsic quality of a work, but only professional judges who "possess the socially accepted authority to ascribe specific properties to a work ... and how it should be ranked."6 Culture and art result from material production (artists, publishers, art galleries, etc.) and symbolic production (the judgment made by critics, art historians and philosophers, etc.) and consumers are offered this combination. Note, however, that Verdaasdonk (2003) argues that Bourdieu leaves too little room to rationality. He shows that in the specific case of the New York Times Book Review, the ranking of books by critics clearly results from rational behavior. Did Vasari act as one of the "creators of the creator, that is [an agent] producing belief in the value of goods in question" (Van Rees and Dorleijn, 2001, p. 332). Is Vasari the symbolic agent who was authoritative enough to influence art critics and historians during the 400 years that followed his Vite? Or should we agree with the idea that history is a proving ground for value, and follow most art philosophers for whom the works of a real genius will endure, while "authority or prejudice may give a temporary vogue to a bad poet or orator, but this reputation will 3 A similar idea is taken up by Simonton (1980, 1998) for whom the properties of musical compositions that form the classical repertoire "can be predicted using variables derived from a computerized content analysis of melodic structure." 4 See Etcoff (1999, pp. 161-164, 185-187). 5 Shiner (1996, p. 237). 6 See Van Rees, 1983, p. 398 and Van Rees, 1987, p. 280. Van Rees (1987), for example, shows that the consensus that was built around the work of Faverey, a Dutch poet whose fame he analyzes, was reached by critics on the basis of extra-textual factors. 4 never be durable or general."7 Is the test of time a necessary or only a sufficient condition for value. According to Levinson (2002, p. 235), many valuable works have failed the test, but passing it is almost always to a work's credit, and, as is pointed out by Coetzee (2002, p. 18) "the criterion of testing and survival is … a criterion that expresses a certain confidence in the tradition of testing, and a confidence that professionals will not devote labour and attention, generation after generation, to sustaining [artworks] whose life-functions have terminated." This, in a nutshell, expresses the economic "cost minimization" component.8 The consensus that is present in our findings can be due to several reasons. First, it may suggest that all historians have a common set of criteria, that may be based on objective characteristics of the works even if these are not properly spelled out, but that may also result from social norms. Secondly, and this is explicitly acknowledged by some, art historians perpetuate what their predecessors have written. This is considered a form of evaluation by Silvers (1991, p. 219) who puts narratives, so much used in art history, as a possible explanation of how "temporal duration contributes to the formation of canons."9 Thirdly, and though experts can distinguish themselves from a group by producing dissenting opinions, consensus is more likely once experts are also subject to career concerns. This is analyzed in Janssen (1997) who shows that the process by which critics reach agreement is coercive, since it is difficult for any of them to dissent without putting at risk his reputation.10 This process is made formal in a model explored by Deschamps (2004). To analyze whether there is consensus or dissension, we count, and follow over time, the number of pages or citations devoted to some 250 artists from the Italian Quattrocento, including some forerunners, doing what had already been suggested by Teyssèdre (1964, p. 187), the expert of the French art critic de Piles (1635-1709), who writes that "even if ratings are difficult to assess, one could just look at whether artists are quoted or not." Milo (1986) uses the length of entries in encyclopedias and dictionaries over time, to study whether 17th century French painters who are praised today were already so between 1650 and 1750. Landes (2003) looks at some 850 American artists active in the late 19th and early 20th century, whose paintings were shown in three important exhibitions in Paris in 1900, 7 Hume (1965, p. 9). 8 A similar argument is made by Verdaasdonk (2003, p. 362). 9 Note that this goes against Simonton's exponential decay. If evaluations were following a first-order autoregressive process, the influence of past evaluations decreases with time, so that what Vasari had written in 1568 would hardly be taken into account in Grove's 1996 Dictionary of Art. Actually, this is not the case. Vasari is present in the bibliography of almost all the artists from the Italian Renaissance to whom the Dictionary devotes an entry. 10 Note that the art historian Milizia (1781) dared expressing a very negaitive opinion about Michel Angelo, accusing him of being harsh, extravagant, small, vulgar and affected. He was obviously not followed by his peers. 5 and in New York in 1913 and 1939. He tests whether those who were recognized by awards, or elected as members of a distinguished academy have more staying power than others. Rosengren (1985) applies a similar idea to study how the fame of Swedish writers born between 1825 and 1849 is perceived in two points of time (the 1880s, and the 1960s). Verboord (2003) describes similar procedures to assess the value of some 500 writers, though he also uses other indicators such as awards, the number of academic studies devoted to each author, literary encyclopedias, the literary status of publishers. Verdaasdonk (1983) analyzes contemporary Dutch narrative prose, and finds "masterpieces" to be dependent on commercial success and the position of authors in the literary hierarchy. Attributing their success to artistic criteria is merely an ex post judgment. In his 2003 paper, he analyzes the positions of fiction titles on the New York Times bestsellers lists. Simonton (1998) gauges the aesthetic success of 496 operas created between 1607 and 1938. Instead of following their success over time, he looks at their reception when created, and today.11 He finds that the success of an opera in our time is positively correlated with the success it enjoyed when created, but that this consensus exhibits cycles over time. Simonton (1991) shows that the posthumous reputation of American presidents, philosophers and thinkers, painters and sculptors, and classical composers is more likely to be due to genius than to Zeitgeist. The paper is organized as follows. Section 2 describes and justifies the choice of art historians that we use as "experts" to evaluate Italian Renaissance artists from 1568 to 1996. Section 3 turns to the quantitative results, which show that there is a quite large consensus in the ranking of artists over time. Section 4 returns to the possible reasons that lead to this consensus. 2. Data We started with all painters12 to whom Vasari devotes a Vita. To this list, we added all painters to whom Lanzi (1824) devotes at least 20 lines, those quoted at least twice by Berenson (1926) in his well-known book on the Italian Renaissance as well as those whose names appear in the entry on Italian painting in the Grove (1996) Dictionary of 11 Simonton bases his success criteria on more indicators than number of lines or citations. He also counts the number of performances, and of languages in which the opera was performed, as well as the number of recordings and videos, and the number of dictionaries in which an opera is cited. 12 Is also considered as painter an artist who devoted (sometimes a large part of his) time to other forms of art, such as Leonardo da Vinci, Michel Angelo or Giulio Romano. Fresco painting is assimilated to oil-painting. 6 Art.13 This makes for a list of 253 artists14 for whom we went again through Vasari's Vite (1981, [1568]), Félibien's Entretiens (1967, [1725]) written between 1659 and 1685, Lanzi's art history of the Quattrocento (1789), Burckhardt's Cicerone (1855), Berenson (1926), Chastel (1995, [1956]), and Grove's (1996).15 Vasari's Vite appears as an undisputable choice, though, as has often been pointed out, the work is biased towards Florentine artists, and gives little credit to Venetians, such as Giovanni Bellini or Giorgione.16 Though at the time of Vasari's writings, Florence had lost its supremacy, it had obviously been the center of the arts, for geographical, political and sociological reasons. It was also one of the largest Italian cities and certainly benefited from the more liberal organization of artists' guilds. As suggested by Gombrich (1972) the competition between artists was fiercer than elsewhere, thus leading them to "surpass themselves." In the color vs drawing debate, Vasari was also supporting the primacy of drawing, as is made obvious in some sentences of the vita he devotes to Giorgione whose paintings are described as "hiding with color his clumsiness in drawing." Félibien (1967, p. 40) who comes one hundred years after Vasari, mentions that "as far as modern painters are concerned, I merely follow what Vasari, Borghini, Ridolfi, the cavaliere Baglione and a few others have amply described, and with whom I agree." Nevertheless, and though he was also a defender of drawing, he discusses at great length Venetians, in particular, Veronese, Tintoretto, Giovanni Bellini and Sebastiano del Piombo. He is considered as the father of art history and art criticism in France. Under the influence of Winckelmann, Lanzi makes art history into a discipline that does more than describing the lives of artists. His work encompasses Italy as a whole. He classifies artists according to schools, including a large number of local schools that he discusses at great length. Lanzi tries to convey an impartial view of history, putting aside his personal neo-classical tastes.17 13 Of course, our interest centered on the parts of this entry devoted to the following subsections of vol. 16, pp. 654-668: "Late medieval painting, c. 1100-c. 1400," "Early Renaissance painting, c. 1400-c. 1500," "High Renaissance and Mannerist painting, c. 1500-c. 1600." 14 Since this list is too long, we do not include it in the paper, but it can be obtained from the authors. 15 This may give the impression of a useless going back and forth. It is in fact a procedure meant to find names of artists first, and then look at what has been written about them in a series of seven important contributions to art history, even if some are not quoted in every contribution. For instance, Jacopo Bassano does not appear in Vasari's Vite, but is in our list, since he is quoted eight times by Berenson. Another example is Baldassare Peruzzi, who is ignored by Berenson, though he has a rather long vita in Vasari and 220 lines in Lanzi. He will also appear in our list. Lazzarro Vasari who has a vita was excluded since he is not cited by any other historian. We also decided to exclude Giorgio Vasari: In the Vite, he devotes 31 pages to Raphael's life and 42 to his own. 16 The same is true for Veronese and Tintoretto, though here one could think that they were too young for Vasari to have known them well. 17 According to Bazin (1986, p. 91), Lanzi's work contains 3,000 names of artists, and he is proud to claim that he makes no selection but also discusses mediocre artists, who, given their relations with the "great," do also participate. 7 Burckhardt is almost unanimously considered to be one of the greatest historians of the Italian Renaissance, and is representative of Kulturgeschichte, a movement which suggests that art produced in an era cannot be separated from the society by and in which it is produced. He was also deeply influenced by Vasari.18 By choosing Berenson (1926) to represent the views of the early 20th century, we privilege connoisseurship. As will be seen, however, Berenson's choices were very influential on the whole century.19 To represent the mid 20th century, we selected the last (posthumous, 1995) edition of Chastel's celebrated work on the Italian Renaissance. Chastel is considered as the most influential art historian in France after World War II.20 The most recent views of the 20th century are those of the Grove Dictionary of Art. Thus we end with an art encyclopedia a description of what started with the encyclopedic work of Vasari on the Italian Renaissance.21 Scholarship guided our list of art historians and critics. We tried to select undisputed works published at more or less equal time intervals in order to span as best as possible the 430 years between 1568 and the end of the 20th century. The authors were also chosen for their overall coverage of the Italian Renaissance, even if they put forward their own preferences. Though his preferred artists are Florentine, Vasari discusses Venice and Northern Italy. Félibien, Berenson and Chastel are obviously admirers of Florence, but this does not dispense them from ranking very highly Venice's 16th century painters. Nevertheless, in order to check whether other historians would have led to different conclusions, we also study what would have happened if Félibien, Berenson and Chastel were replaced by historians who were their contemporaries: de Piles (1699) for Félibien, Adolfo Venturi (1901) for Berenson and Argan (1968) for Chastel.22 Note that the 20th century is represented by three art historians or art histories (Berenson, Chastel, Grove), while the three hundred years between Vasari and Berenson are spanned by four names only (Vasari, Félibien, Lanzi and Burckhardt). There are several reasons for this. First, we are obviously more interested in how our era evaluates art. Secondly, if, as suggested by Junod (2002), the past can be rediscovered through contemporary works, it is necessary to examine who and what 18 In Kultur der Renaissance in Italien, Burckhardt mentions having copied over 700 excerpts from Vasari's Vite, to insert them at the right places in his own book. See Gombrich (1969). 19 This is quite surprising, since the entry on Berenson in Grove (1996, vol. 3, p. 764) goes as far as saying that "it is nevertheless probable that, by contemporary standards, Berenson would not be considered as an art historian [since] he himself regarded the history of art, in the full sense of the term, as suspect and pedantic." Zeri (1991) portrays him as being a two-faced personality: a snob and an aesthete, but also "a monument of knowledge and thought, of questions and intuitions." 20 See the entry concerning Chastel in Grove (1996). 21 See Rouchette (1959, chapter 1) who describes Vasari's "brain-trust" used to write the Vite. 22 A different picture may also have emerged if we had considered the writings of more local art historians such as Ridolfi or Boschini, reacting against Vasari's too "parochial" views. 8 has been rediscovered. It may thus be important to have a finer "grid" for more recent years. It was easy to retrieve the number of lines devoted to each artist in Vasari, Félibien, Lanzi, and Grove's Dictionary, since this is how the works are organized. For Burckhardt, Berenson23 and Chastel, we collected the number of times each artist was quoted. Table 1 gives a summary view of the database that was set up. [Table 1 about here] 3. Analysis To compare the information given by the number of lines in some cases and of citations in others, both are transformed into ranks,24 which offer the advantage of smoothing the effect of excessively long or short entries, and allow using nonparametric statistical tests based on less severe assumptions.25 The analysis may sometimes be slightly misleading, given previous wrong attributions. A well-known example26 is the Madonna Rucellai in the Santa Maria Novella church in Florence that Vasari and many art historians after him had attributed to Cimabue, while it was later and is still today considered to be by Duccio. This results in all historians, until Berenson, to describe in greater length or give more citations to Cimabue, and less to Duccio.27 We consider two different groups of names: (a) a first one that consists of the 56 painters28 ranked highest by each historian (this leads to a total of 132 names, since historians may have different names in their lists of "most preferred painters"), and (b) all 253 artists. Most of our discussion will be in terms of the smaller group of 56 painters, from which we will try to extract the canon, if it exists. 23 In the edition we had access to, there was no index. 24 Normally, ranks are integer numbers (1, 2, 3, etc.), but when two or more painters are equally ranked, fractional numbers may also appear. For instance, Chastel gives the same number of citations to Giovanni Bellini and to Masaccio. They both get rank 10.5, since there is no reason to give rank 10 to one of them and rank 11 to the other. There is thus no artist ranked 10 or 11 in Chastel. The next artist is ranked 12. 25 See Siegel (1956) and Siegel and Castellan (1988) for details. 26 But there may be others; attributions changed over time between Masaccio and Masolino; in recent times, very little is still attributed to Stefano Fiorentino, etc. 27 This is of course the reason for which Duccio's name appears much later in time. 28 Our goal was a group of 50 painters, but given the ties (identical ranks, because the number of lines, or the number of citations may be identical for several names) that are present in some cases, we were forced to consider 56 names instead of 50. For instance, Burckhardt ranks Raphael first (45 quotations), Michel Angelo second (31 quotations), etc. Then we come to rank 40. After rank 40, 15 painters get five quotations each. There is of course no reason to take only ten of these, and all fifteen have to be included. To account for ties, we were led to include the 56 painters ranked first by each historian. 9 We start with a rough measure of how much all possible pairs of seven historians agree on the ranking.29 The calculations are illustrated in Table 2, in which each cell contains the number of artists ranked among the first 56 by the two historians who appear in the corresponding row and column. Consider for example the row for Grove. Twenty-eight are common between Grove and Vasari, 29 are common between Grove and Félibien, etc. and 46 are common between Chastel and Grove. [Table 2 about here] The number of common artists is often larger than 28, that is 50 per cent of the 56, but this does not tell everything since those who are not common may be far apart (for example, Vasari gives Salviati rank 7, while Burckhardt ranks him 139th). A better measure is provided by the simple correlations coefficients30 which appear in Table 3. [Table 3 about here] All coefficients are positive and significantly different from zero (with the exception of the Burckhardt-Berenson pair), implying that there is, in general, reasonable agreement on rankings. Note also that correlations between Berenson (roughly 1900), Chastel (roughly 1950) and Grove (1996) are consistently positive and large. The overall agreement between all seven historians can be assessed by a global measure, the so-called κ-statistic,31 which varies between -1 (full disagreement ) and 1 (perfect agreement). There are various ways of arranging the data to do this. Here, we assigned a value one if the artist was rated among the first 56 by each of the historians, and zero otherwise. The resulting κ-statistic is equal to 0.240, and is highly significantly different from zero at the 1% probability level (its standard deviation is equal to 0.022). There is thus positive agreement, even if it is not extremely high. We finally provide some results of tests conducted on the differences in ranking for the whole group of 253 artists, using Spearman's rank correlation 29 It is useful to point out that some artists may be very highly ranked because they were active not only as painters, but also as architects, sculptors, etc. Michel Angelo is of course such a case, and may have received more credit than what is solely due to his talent as painter. In principle, every art historian must have taken this into account, and since we compare rankings over historians, this should have no effect. 30 In this case, we can unfortunately not compute rank correlation coefficients, since the two series of artists ranked by two art historians do not contain all the ranks. Therefore we are led to compute parametric correlation coefficients with the underlying assumption of a linear relation between the two series (even if these are expressed in terms of ranks). 31 See Siegel and Castellan (1988, pp. 284-291). Kendall’s coefficient of concordance (Siegel, 1956, pp. 229-239) cannot be used here, since some ranks are missing. 10 coefficient.32 Table 4 gives an overview of the results. All correlations are positive, indicating that taken two by two, art historians agree (with the exception of the Vasari-Lanzi pair, for which the correlation is not significantly different from zero, which should come as no surprise since Lanzi was very critical of Vasari). Note that for the Berenson-Chastel-Grove group, correlations are again very large. [Table 4 about here] The information can be summarized even more by computing Kendall's coefficient of concordance between all seven historians. This coefficient is equal to 0.499 and is very significantly different from zero,33 indicating once more that a very good global agreement exists over time. Note that Kendall’s coefficient assumes that the rankings are made independently one from the other. This may not be fully so if art historians base their narratives on what their predecessors had written. Therefore, we also submitted the correlation matrix of Table 4 to a principal components analysis, 34 which shows that the two first principal components account for 51 and 16 per cent of the overall variance, again a good empirical proof of a large consensus of art historians over time. Interestingly, the first component is positively correlated with every ranking, which seems to point to an agreement based on common ground or criteria of evaluation. The second component is negatively correlated with the two oldest rankings by Vasari and Félibien, has negative but insignificant correlation with the late 18th and 19th century rankings by Lanzi and Burckhardt, and positive correlation with the three rankings made during the 20th century, which may be the sign of some changes in evaluations. What happened to Vasari’s choices? Even if there is no large disagreement between historians taken two by two, this does not mean that choices do not change over time. It is easy to construct examples in which no artist who belongs to the group of those who are common between say, Vasari and Félibien is common between Vasari and Grove. It is therefore interesting to go into the details of names of artists who are consistently present, and of those who appear and disappear. 32 This is allowed here since all ranks are present when the whole group of 253 artists is considered. Spearman's rank correlation coefficient is a much better measure since it assumes no parametric form for the linear relation between the ranks attributed by two art historians. 33 The computed value for the χ2-test is equal to 880.5, which considerably exceeds the tabulated value with 252 degrees of freedom at a very small probability level. See Siegel (1956, pp. 229-239). 34 Note that the principal components analysis is based on rank correlation coefficients, and not, as is usual, on Pearson correlation coefficients. See Croux and Haesbroeck (2000). 11 Table 5 lists the artists whom Vasari considered as the most important and shows what happened to them afterwards. Nine names (Michel Angelo, Raphael, Giotto, Titian, Leonardo, del Sarto, Perugino, Mantegna and Piero della Francesca) are present through time and are ranked among the first 56 by all historians. The next group consists of 19 artists present among the top 56 both in Vasari and in Grove, but who disappear in the meantime, though some only very briefly (Fra Angelico, Filippo Lippi and Verrochio, three Florentine artists, are hardly discussed by Lanzi; Bramante and Botticelli are held in low esteem by Félibien; Peruzzi is not even mentioned by Berenson and Giulio Romano is not ranked very high). Others disappear more frequently from the top list, sometimes in consecutive rankings, that is, during much longer periods. Finally, among these, some disappear and reappear several times. It is however remarkable that half of the names appear both in Vasari and in Grove, thus passing the 400 years' test of time, though fluctuations in rankings impact all but very few artists.35 [Table 5 about here] Twenty-eight of those to whom Vasari devoted an important vita disappear from Grove's list. Half of them were obviously given too much importance by Vasari, since eleven already disappear with Félibien at the end of the 17th century. Another group of nine disappear more gradually with and after Lanzi. Finally, the fame of an additional group of eight artists fluctuates over time. Whom did Vasari ignore Table 6 considers those painters who are ranked among the top 56 in Grove's Dictionary, and who had been neglected by Vasari. Fifteen of these are from Venice and the North and five are Sienese. Though Félibien defended drawing (Florence) against color (Venice and the North), he could not refrain from introducing Tintoretto, Veronese, Giorgione and Corregio among his first choices. These four painters also passed the test of time since they remained high on each of the lists that followed. The other notable break is due to Berenson who introduces Duccio,36 Domenico Veneziano, Tura, Gentile da Fabriano, Ercole de 35 The case of Botticelli is interesting, since it is often claimed that he was discovered at the end of the 19th century only. See Rosenthal (1897). This is obviously wrong. He was indeed not hold in high esteem in Félibien's Entretiens (1659-1689) or Lanzi's (1789) work, but was present and ranked 47 in Vasari's Vite and 36 in Burckhardt's Cicerone in 1855. And so are many artists as can be checked by the reader. 36 This is due to the reattribution of the Madonna Rucellai, which was previously considered to be by Cimabue. 12 Roberti, Crivelli and Ambrogio Lorenzetti but, quite surprisingly, ignores Jacopo Bellini, Masolino, Lorenzo Monaco, Paolo Veneziano, Cavallini and Sassetta who only appear later. Though Table 6 contains 28 painters, it should be noted that only six were not considered as important enough by Vasari to be honored by a vita: Tura, Crivelli, Paolo Veneziano, Sassetta, Bassano, and Barocci, though three of them are at least quoted in the Vite. Thus, only Crivelli (Venice), Paolo Veneziano (Venice) and Sassetta (Siena), seem to have been unknown to Vasari, and can be considered as "late discoveries," or "rediscoveries" as suggested by Haskell (1976), though, following Savile (1982), one can argue that rediscoveries may simply be due to a lack of understanding the work at the time it was produced, and not to the work itself. [Table 6 about here] The twentieth century: What happened to Berenson’s choices? In Table 7, we turn to those artists who have been among Berenson's 56 first choices. Sixteen appear among the first 28 in both Chastel's work and Grove's Dictionary, while 19 are added if one extends this list to the first 56 choices. There is thus agreement over 35 out of 56 names during the 20th century. [Table 7 about here] Table 8 displays the names of those artists who were almost never ranked better than 56th until Berenson "discovered" them,37 and who are still ranked high (among the first 56) in Grove. These include Duccio, Tura, Altichiero, Ambrogio Lorenzetti, Gentile da Fabriano, Crivelli, Domenico Veneziano, Cima da Conegliano and Ercole de Roberti. Altichiero to whom Berenson (and to a lesser degree, Chastel) devotes a large attention is again considered as less important (rank 103) by Grove. This is not a very large number of artists, and, interestingly, only one of them (Domenico Veneziano) is from Florence. This number is even smaller if one performs the same exercise with Grove. The only discoveries are Jacopo Bellini, Paolo Veneziano and Sassetta, again a small number. [Table 8 about here] 37 They may have been "rediscoverd" at some point of time between Burckhardt and Berenson, but only appear with Berenson in our lists. 13 All these artists were known (though not considered as very important) before they were singled out in the course of the 20th century, with the notable exception of Paolo Veneziano, who is absent from all the full lists (of 253 artists) and appears, but only as 152th in Chastel.38 These various configurations are cast in a statistical framework by Simonton (1998), who offers the following useful classification: (a) Transhistorical stability. Successive generations may disagree over time, but not in a systematic way, suggesting that they apply largely the same set of criteria in evaluating works. (b) Exponential decay. Judgments by a generation take into account judgments of the immediately preceding generation, suggesting that they are governed by a first-order autoregressive process, implying decreasing correlations of evaluations over time. 39 (c) Gradual attrition or steady decline, in which case correlations between contemporary and subsequent judgments would decline in a linear way. (d) Cyclical fashion, with periodic or quasi-periodic fluctuations in assessments. (e) Complete transhistorical instability, if judgments lack any consistency over time. This leads to zero correlations of assessments over time. Our analysis shows that (b), (c), (e) obviously do not apply to the Italian Renaissance. Correlations between evaluation do not go to zero over time as would be implied by exponential decay in (b). They do not decline in a linear way either as suggested by gradual attrition in (c). And there obviously is absence of transhistorical instability suggested in (e). There are however indications that some assessments are cyclical as in (d), but to a low degree. Therefore, criterion (a) of transhistorical stability is the one that seems most likely to be of some relevance here. Whether this is the result of artistic genius that is recognized over and over, or of a socio-cultural consensus that is perpetuated may be considered an open question, though it is hard to believe that such consensus can be maintained over four centuries. 38 This seems to be due to the recent realization that Paolo Veneziano (like, long before him, Cimabue, Duccio and Giotto) was instrumental in merging Gothic and Byzantine art by quoting from both. This is what Grove Dictionary's entry says about Paolo: "Understanding Paolo's art and that of Venice as a whole in this period has been hampered by a false [our italics] dichotomy between Gothic and Byzantine influences and by the failure to appreciate the progressive role of Byzantine painting...[Paolo's] influence on later Venetian painters of the 14th century seems to have been fundamental and almost universal [our italics]." In the bibliography which is quoted in support of this entry, one finds 13 references, out of which 11 are articles or books written after 1950 only. 39 Note that this needs the coefficient of the autoregressive process to be smaller than 1. If this coefficient is equal to one, the correlations over time are all equal to 1. 14 On the views of other art historians A pervasive question is whether we made the right choices of art historians to represent the 400 years between Vasari and the end of the 20th century. Given the approach taken in this paper, we cannot consider historical works that are devoted to specific regions or painters, since this would make comparisons at one point in time impossible.40 Therefore what we need is works that encompass the Italian Renaissance as a whole. Vasari is the obvious starting point and so is the Grove Dictionary, the latest comprehensive art history. Lanzi's art history of the Quattrocento (1824) and Burckhardt's Cicerone (1855) also seem undisputable. But Félibien (late 17th century), Berenson (early 20th century) and Chastel (mid 1950s) may have had a Florentine bias. Félibien was a supporter of drawing (Florence) against color (Venice and Northern Italy), while de Piles, who lived at the same time, supported color against drawing. Though Berenson covers all Italian regions, he spent most of his active life in Florence, and willing or not, may have been influenced by this. Therefore, Venturi's history of Italian art published during the first years of the 20th century may give a different view on the likes and dislikes in the early 20th century. Chastel, finally, wrote his dissertation on the Florentine Renaissance, and may also be suspected of a biased view, that may be offset by Argan's (1968) Storia dell'Arte Italiana, known for its North-Italian and Venetian preferences. Clearly if the pairs Félibien-de Piles, Berenson-Venturi and Chastel-Argan had very different views, the approach taken in this paper, and its conclusions, would be worth very little. This is fortunately not the case and is documented in Table 9, in which, for the sake of easy comparisons, we show the agreement on the ten, 28 and 56 first artists. One can verify that Félibien and de Piles, on the one hand, and Chastel and Argan on the other, have very close views, since almost 80 percent (44 and 45) of the top 56 artists are common in their lists. Berenson and Venturi agree on 32 artists only, but this is still a very large number. [Table 9 about here] This analysis shows that the detailed results discussed earlier would be altered, since the names given in the various tables for artists appearing, or disappearing, would not be the same if Félibien, Berenson and Chastel were replaced by de Piles, Venturi and Argan. But the qualitative arguments that are the object of the conclusions that follow would hardly be affected. 40 How can one compare in a quantitative meaningful way what Roberto Longhi wrote on painters from Ferrara in his Officina Ferrarese with what Giuseppe Fiocco writes on Carpaccio. 15 4. Concluding Remarks Some painters obviously pass the test of time and obtain canonical status, even if, as pointed out by Silvers (1991, pp. 212-213) this may be reached by several paths. For a work (or an artist) to be canonized it may qualify by: (a) acquiring valuable properties sufficient to qualify it, or (b) failing, despite systematic scrutiny, to reveal defects or disagreeableness sufficient to disqualify it, or (c) revealing previously unnoticed meritorious or agreeable properties sufficient to qualify it. Silvers suggests that (a) accounts for the process of canonization in terms of events which change the view with which the artist or the works are looked at, while (b) and (c) account for this process in terms of changes (or permanence) in the opinions of art scholars. Nine artists from the Italian Renaissance (Michel Angelo, Raphael, Giotto, Titian, Vinci, del Sarto, Perugino, Mantegna and Piero della Francesca) are always present among the top 56 painters (see Table 6), though even Raphael and Michel Angelo may have spent moments in Inferno.41 These are canonized in terms of Silvers’ (b) criterion. Among the 56 artists ranked first by Berenson, 35 are still among the first 56 in Chastel and 38 are common to Berenson and Grove. The additions are consistent with criterion (c) proposed by Silvers, according to which previously unnoticed meritorious properties were revealed. Moreover, previous cycles have come to more stability during the last century. This may seem to go against the idea that standards are being abandoned in contemporary art.42 But, it may, at the same time, be felt that some standards are needed and agreeing on Old Masters is certainly less risky. In a comparison between Michel Angelo and Picasso, Silvers (1991, p. 212) suggests that "it is unremarkable to be far more assured of the continuation of Michel Angelo's reputation than that Picasso will enjoy as bright a future. This is not to pronounce on how Picasso's reputation will fare in future. It is only to recognize how much more securely we can prognosticate about the reputation 41 Note that even Berenson criticizes Michel Angelo, though he eventually ranks him very high. See Berenson (1926, vol. 2, p. 112 et sq.). 42 Michaud (1999), for instance, writes that "the artworld keeps pretending to unify the diversity of contemporary productions; this merely leads to a contemporary concept of art that is incredibly heterogeneous. The very concept of an art without definition is now becoming the focal point of its very definition." 16 of artists and works that have enjoyed success for centuries than about recent works for which no cumulatively successful history exists. Works with no history face overwhelming difficulty in achieving the kind of security of reputation in which canonicity consists, at least until they can acquire a past." A very similar argument is made by Verdaasdonk (2003, p. 366) for literary works: "…works that have remained part of a nation’s literary heritage for centuries are considered to be more valuable than works that just entered this repertoire." But it is also remarkable that there is more consensus than dissension among historians, as shown by the large value of Kendall's coefficient of concordance, by principal components analysis, as well as by the paired correlation coefficients which do not decrease over time (and are constant over space). Thus evaluations cannot result from random choices and there is, in terms of Simonton's classification, transhistorical (and transnational) stability. However, the analysis and the data are not suited to decide whether this is due to intrinsic value (which has only very seldom been represented by objective characteristics43) or to social consensus. Is genius possible and recognizable (objective characteristics) or is art dominated by social field theory and subjectivity? Or is, as Becker (1982) suggests, the staying power of some artworks or artists due to their historical importance? All three reasons may lead to the consensus that we observe, but one can wonder whether is it reasonable to believe that a consensus can last as much as 400 years if Zeitgeist and social contracts only were at work. Is it thinkable that the hundreds of critics and art historians who have written the entries on Italian Renaissance artists in the 34 volumes Grove Dictionary of Art published in 1996, still feel compelled to follow the 1568 "opinion leader" Giorgio Vasari? Or is Vasari's influence merely working indirectly through historians who kept discussing the same artists, and even copying as in the case of Burkhardt, from previous historians?44 Some artists who were celebrated in their time, came nevertheless to be forgotten and were eventually rediscovered: Salviati was ranked 7 by Vasari, fully ignored between 1850 and 1960, and back as 27th in the late 20th century. This is in agreement with Milo (1986) who finds that there is no resurrection: those who are there today, were already there when alive. There are also examples of artists ignored in their time, and discovered somewhat later (criterion (c) of Silvers’ canonization process). Vasari hardly 43 For an exception, see de Piles’ Balance des Peintres in de Piles (1708), and its analysis by Ginsburgh and Weyers (2005). 44 It is however worth mentioning that Vasari's Vite are quoted in almost every entry in the Grove Dictionary of Art. 17 discussed Venetians and North Italians, but many of them found their way into Félibien's Entretiens (and even earlier than that, into Ridolfi's (1684) Maraviglie dell'arte) and remained there since. As Silvers writes, "no one can know at a work's point of origin, before it had time to demonstrate its influence, whether it possesses this power." Botticelli who was somewhat forgotten during the 17th and 18th centuries reappears with Berenson, and the ascent of Art Nouveau, Piero della Francesca's appreciation increases in the age of abstraction,45 thus in the light of new approaches. This is consistent with Junod's (2002) observation about looking at the past through our contemporary "rear-view mirror," as well as with disjunct (a) of Silvers’ canonization process in terms of events which change the view with which the artist is looked at. But there are also more surprising and unexplainable sudden changes. Morone, who was praised by Berenson in the late 19th century, is ranked 212 in Grove's late 20th century Dictionary. Giulio Romano is almost ignored by Berenson though he was 9th in Vasari's Vite, is 13th in Grove but, very surprisingly, has no entry in the Italian Enciclopedia Universale dell'Arte, published in 1967. Changes may be related to some transitory debates, which are not the result of underlying properties of works, but of changing social values. Colore and disegno, the relative importance of which has considerably varied over time, is obviously one of the most important dimensions. Ethical, political as well as ideological aspects were all intertwined in this debate. At times, color had to yield to drawing, just as the senses had to surrender to reason.46 Epic painting (featuring noblemen, battles and the clergy) was supposed to need drawing more than color.47 In the times of Louis XIV, drawing was even used as an instrument of political power by the Académie des Beaux Arts. Félibien was a supporter of drawing, as was Vasari more than 100 years before, but Félibien gives much credit to Venice. The dispute between Félibien (Poussinism and drawing) and de Piles (Rubenism and color) turned temporarily in favor of de Piles, but the baton was handed over to supporters of Delacroix versus Ingres and is still alive nowadays.48 Cycles of discoveries and disappearances of painters may be linked to this, but there may also be other reasons, such as iconographic factor, subject, genre, etc. During the Renaissance, gusto was gradually 45 This was suggested to us by Peter Burke in a private communication. See also Burke (1986). 46 The most extreme opinion can be found in (the not so old) Grammaire des arts du dessin (1876) by Charles Blanc, for whom "drawing is male and color is female. [C]olor will destroy painting in the same way as Eve destroyed humanity." For more on this sexist issue, see the discussion by Junod (1976). 47 See Teyssèdre (1957, p. 164). 48 See Junod (1976, pp. 126-127). 18 substituted to giudizio,49 as well as pleasure to comprehension, and a certain absence of rationality to intellectualism. But gusto will, at some point in time, take a normative character and the years that followed will hesitate between taste and good taste that used to be thought by "academies." 49 See Klein (1970). 19 References Argan, Giulio Carlo (1968), Storia dell'Arte Italiana, Firenze: Sansoni. Bazin, Germain (1986), Histoire de l'histoire de l'art. De Vasari à nos jours, Paris: Albin Michel. Bec, C. (1983), Lo statuto socio-professionale degli scrittori, Litteratura Italiana 2: Produzione e Consumo, Torino: A. Asor Rosa. Becker, Howard (1982), Artworlds, Berkeley: The University of California Press. Berenson, Bernard (1926), Les peintres italiens de la Renaissance, 4 vol., Paris: Editions de la Pléiade. Bourdieu, P. 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Essai sur l'art, de l'Antiquité à nos jours, Paris: Rivages. 23 Table 1 Overview of the data ________________________________________________________________________ Approximate Historian Life Publication Form of Number of period (author) of historian date of book data used artists ________________________________________________________________________ 1550 Vasari 1511-1574 1550, 1568 No. of lines 178 1650 Félibien 1619-1695 1659 to 1689 No. of lines 138 1775 Lanzi 1732-1810 1789 No. of lines 237 1850 Burckhardt 1818-1897 1855 No. of citations 216 1900 Berenson 1865-1959 1926 No. of citations 120 1950 Chastel 1912-1990 1956 No. of citations 172 2000 Grove 1996 No. of lines 239 All 253 ________________________________________________________________________ 24 Table 2 Number of artists among the first 56 common between all pairs of historians _______________________________________________________________________ Vasari Félibien Lanzi BurckhardtBerenson Chastel Grove 1550 1650 1775 1850 1900 1950 2000 _______________________________________________________________________ Vasari - 34 23 29 22 28 28 Félibien 34 - 29 33 28 30 29 Lanzi 23 29 - 25 26 23 24 Burckhardt 29 33 25 - 34 32 28 Berenson 22 28 26 34 - 38 37 Chastel 28 30 23 32 38 - 46 Grove 28 29 24 28 37 46 - _______________________________________________________________________ 25 Table 3 Correlation coefficients between ranks given by all pairs of historians to the 56 first artists _______________________________________________________________________ Vasari Félibien Lanzi BurckhardtBerenson Chastel Grove 1550 1650 1775 1850 1900 1950 2000 _______________________________________________________________________ Vasari - 0.34 0.40 0.29 0.16 0.17 0.21 Félibien 0.24 - 0.17 0.16 0.22 0.37 0.28 Lanzi 0.25 0.45 - 0.40 0.42 0.56 0.59 Burckhardt 0.41 0.35 0.17 - 0.12 0.44 0.49 Berenson 0.29 0.28 0.22 0.21 - 0.63 0.52 Chastel 0.38 0.56 0.45 0.45 0.40 - 0.64 Grove 0.45 0.48 0.50 0.59 0.55 0.55 - _______________________________________________________________________ Notes. Every row considers the 56 artists ranked first by the art historian whose name appears in the row and gives the correlation with the ranking of the historian whose name appears in the column. Therefore, the table of correlation coefficients is not symmetric. 26 Table 4 Spearman rank correlation coefficients between rankings of all 253 artists made by all pairs of historians _______________________________________________________________________ Vasari Félibien Lanzi BurckhardtBerenson Chastel Grove 1550 1650 1775 1850 1900 1950 2000 _______________________________________________________________________ Vasari - 0.63 0.16 0.40 0.25 0.34 0.35 Félibien 0.63 - 0.33 0.43 0.30 0.38 0.39 Lanzi 0.16 0.33 - 0.34 0.23 0.33 0.31 Burckhardt 0.40 0.43 0.34 - 0.48 0.50 0.52 Berenson 0.25 0.30 0.23 0.48 - 0.64 0.62 Chastel 0.34 0.38 0.33 0.50 0.64 - 081 Grove 0.35 0.39 0.31 0.52 0.62 0.81 - _______________________________________________________________________ Note: The correlation table is symmetric, since all artists are taken into account. All correlation coefficients are significantly different from zero at the 0.001 probability level since, with the exception of one (Vasari-Lanzi), all t-values that can be computed are larger than the treshold value of 3.29 (with 251 degrees of freedom). 27 Table 5 Painters present among the first 56 in Vasari and in Grove's Dictionary (Ranks) _______________________________________________________________________ Region Vasari Félibien Lanzi BurckhardtBerenson Chastel Grove 1550 1650 1775 1850 1900 1950 2000 _______________________________________________________________________ Always present among the first 56 Michel Angelo Florence 1 3 3 2 3.5 1 1 Raphael Center 5 2 1 1 2 2 4 del Sarto Florence 6 5 9 21 37.5 32.5 28 Giotto Florence 10 9 6 4 1 3 3 Titian Venice 11 8 5 7 6 5 5 Leonardo Florence 13 6 4 28 5 4 2 Perugino Center 17 36 18 21 9 28.5 21 Mantegna North 41.5 46 8 36 3.5 8 7 Piero d. Francesca Center 52 41 27 48 15.5 7 16 Present among the first 56 in Vasari and Grove, but possibly not always Salviati Florence 7 37 44 139.5 abs abs 27 Giulio Romano Center 9 1 25 5 71 17.5 13 Ghirlandaio Florence 15 71.5 94 28 58.5 40 24 Sebastiano d. Piombo Venice 16 13.5 64.5 28 85 45.5 33 Fra Angelico Florence 19 18 131.5 48 24.5 28.5 15 Uccello Florence 22 58 154 68 15.5 22.5 32 Carpaccio Venice 25 abs 71 96.5 30 71.5 41 Parmigianino North 26 31 227.5 abs 71 22.5 46 Lippi (Filippo) Florence 29 48 119.5 36 30 40 31 Bramante North 31 128 50 3 43.5 6 12 Peruzzi Center 33.5 20 13 6 abs 14.5 37.5 Bartolomeo d. Porta Florence 35 196 14 96.5 71 61 34 Verrocchio Florence 36 44 215 8 22.5 17.5 20 Bronzino Florence 43 94 104.5 28 71 40 43 Masaccio Florence 44 32.5 58.5 96.5 8 10.5 14 Botticelli Florence 45 128 102 36 13.5 22.5 11 Lippi (Filippino) Florence 47 38.5 159 36 85 36 25 Cimabue Florence 50 27 24 96.5 85 14.5 50 Signorelli Center 54 88 169 28 17.5 45.5 39 _______________________________________________________________________ Note. "abs" means that the name does not appear in the author's list. Entries in the table are ranks. For instance, Vasari ranks Bramante number 31. 28 Table 6 Painters present among the first 56 in Grove but not in Vasari (Ranks) _______________________________________________________________________ Region Vasari Félibien Lanzi BurckhardtBerenson Chastel Grove 1550 1650 1775 1850 1900 1950 2000 _______________________________________________________________________ Appear with Félibien Tintoretto Venice 67 7 12 21 12 20 6 Veronese Venice 121 4 7 10 11 17.5 9 Giorgione Venice 58 34 32 48 10 12 10 Correggio North 75.5 43 2 21 13.5 9 18 Appear with Burckhardt Pollaiuolo Florence 97.5 abs 175.5 12 20.5 13 53 Appear with Berenson Duccio Siena 125.5 128 112 191.5 7 32.5 17 Domenico Veneziano Florence 80.5 abs 175.5 139.5 50 52.5 26 Tura North abs abs 138.5 139.5 20.5 52.5 36 Gentile da Fabriano North 107.5 69.5 62 139.5 43.5 36 37.5 Ercole de Roberti North 83 128 58.5 abs 50 36 45 Crivelli Venice abs abs 156 139.5 43.5 52.5 48 A. Lorenzetti Siena 116 128 127.5 68 33.5 32.5 56 Appear with Chastel Masolino Florence 113 71.5 175.5 139.5 106.5 25.5 30 Lorenzo Monaco Florence 82 128 abs 139.5 106.5 52.5 44 Cavallini Center 94 61.5 117 139.5 abs 32.5 54 Appear with Grove J. Bellini Venice 149.5 66 195 96.5 106.5 61 23 Paolo Veneziano Venice abs abs abs abs abs 152 51.5 Sassetta Siena abs abs abs 139.5 106.5 86 55 Fluctuate Gi. Bellini Venice 149.5 19 68 21 19 10.5 8 Francesco Maurizio Siena 135 abs 211.5 15.5 106.5 17.5 19 Martini Siena 88 30 21 191.5 26 25.5 22 Lotto Venice 124 84 39.5 96.5 43.5 22.5 29 Antonello Center 69 42 44 139.5 106.5 28.5 35 Cima da Conegliano Venice 175 abs 175.5 139.5 50 86 40 J. Bassano Venice abs 88 10 139.5 33.5 61 42 A. del Castagno Florence 80.5 17 200.5 191.5 43.5 45.5 47 Barocci Center abs 58 16 139.5 abs 86 49 Pisanello North 107.5 53.5 81.5 139.5 17.5 28.5 52 _______________________________________________________________________ Note. "abs" means that the name does not appear in the author's list. "Appear" means that the painter appears in the top group of 56 painters. Entries in the table are ranks. For instance, Vasari ranks Veronese number 121. 29 Table 7 Painters present among the first 56 in Berenson and in Grove's Dictionary (Ranks) _______________________________________________________________________ Region Berenson Chastel Grove _______________________________________________________________________ Always present among the first 56 Giotto Florence 1 3 3 Raphael Center 2 2 4 Michel Angelo Florence 3.5 1 1 Mantegna North 3.5 8 7 Leonardo Florence 5 4 2 Titian Venice 6 5 5 Duccio Siena 7 32.5 17 Masaccio Florence 8 10.5 14 Perugino Center 9 28.5 21 Giorgione Venice 10 12 10 Veronese Venice 11 17.5 9 Tintoretto Venice 12 20 6 Corregio North 13.5 9 18 Botticelli Florence 13.5 22.5 11 Piero della Francesca Center 15.5 7 16 Uccello Florence 15.5 22.5 32 Pisanello North 17.5 28.5 52 Signorelli Center 17.5 45.5 39 Gi. Bellini Venice 19 10.5 8 Pollaiuolo Florence 20.5 13 53 Tura North 20.5 52.5 36 Verrocchio Florence 22.5 17 20 Angelico Florence 24.5 28.5 15 Martini Siena 26 25.5 22 Lippi (Filippo) Florence 30 40 31 A. Lorenzetti Siena 33.5 32.5 56 del Sarto Florence 37.5 32.5 28 A. del Castagno Florence 43.5 45.5 47 Gentile da Fabriano North 43.5 36 37.5 Lotto Venice 43.5 22.5 29 Bramante North 43.5 6 12 Crivelli Venice 43.5 52.5 48 Ercole de Roberti North 50 36 45 Domenico Veneziano Florence 50 52.5 26 Ghirlandaio Florence 58.5 40 24 Present among the first 56 in Berenson and Grove, but not in Chastel Carpaccio Venice 30 71.5 41 J. Bassano Venice 33.5 61 42 Cima da Conegliano Venice 50 86 40 _______________________________________________________________________ Note. Ghirlandaio is 56th tied with others, and has therefore a mean rank of 58.5. Entries in the table are ranks. For instance, Berenson ranks Tintoretto number 12. 30 Table 8 Berenson's, Chastel's and Grove's discoveries (Ranks) _______________________________________________________________________ Region Vasari Félibien Lanzi BurckhardtBerenson Chastel Grove _______________________________________________________________________ Discovered by Berenson Duccio Siena 125.5 128 112 191.5 7 32.5 17 Tura North abs abs 138.5 139.5 20.5 52.5 36 Altichiero North 161 abs abs abs 24.5 86 103 A. Lorenzetti Siena 116 128 127.5 68 33.5 32.5 56 Gentile da Fabriano North 107.5 69.5 62 139.5 43.5 36 37.5 Crivelli Venice abs abs 156 139.5 43.5 52.5 48 Domenico Veneziano Florence 80.5 196 175.5 139.5 50 52.5 26 Cima da Conegliano Venice 175 abs 175.5 139.5 50 86 40 Ercole de Roberti North 83 128 58.5 ans 50 36 45 Discovered by Chastel Masolino Florence 113 71.5 175.5 139.5 106.5 25.5 30 Cavallini Center 94 61.5 117 139.5 abs 32.5 54 Lorenzo Monaco Florence 82 128 abs 139.5 106.5 52.5 44 Tibaldi North 116 abs 58.5 96.5 106.5 52.5 59 Pollai(u)olo Florence 97.5 abs 200.5 96.5 abs 52.5 63 Discovered by Grove J. Bellini Venice 149.5 66 195 96.5 106.5 61 23 Paolo Veneziano Venice abs abs abs abs abs 152 51.5 Sassetta Siena abs abs abs 139.5 106.5 86 55 _______________________________________________________________________ Note. "abs" means that the name does not appear in the author's list. Entries in the table are ranks. For instance, Vasari ranks Altichiero number 161. 31 Table 9 First ten, 28 and 56 artists ranked by pairs of "competing" historians ____________________________________________________________________ Félibien de Piles Berenson Venturi Chastel Argan ____________________________________________________________________ Total no. of artists discussed 138 77 120 244 172 153 Number of artists common among the First ten 7 6 10 First 28 17 12 23 First 56 44 32 45 ____________________________________________________________________